Dororo: A Novel - Part 5 Chapter 3 - The Tale of Hakumenfudō, the Demon Without a Face

Dororo: A Novel

Tsuji Masaki

 

Part Five

The Tale of Hakumenfudō,
the Demon Without a Face

Chapter 3 

Hyakkimaru sat on a stump in a grove of trees. He’d been sitting there for a very long time. Since parting with Dororo, his limbs felt heavier, and eventually his tiredness compelled him to rest.  

What the hell is that guy even thinking? Hyakkimaru thought. Of course, he was thinking about Dororo. He’s always following me. He’s such a scaredy-cat and a crybaby, but every time he gets called out, he’s full of misplaced pride! 

There were countless reasons why Hyakkimaru thought that Dororo following him was a flat-out terrible idea. Even by the standards of the age, Dororo was a downright nuisance. 

If he was still following me, he’d probably still be after my swords, Hyakkimaru thought. Dororo was single-minded, moreso than anyone else he’d ever met. 

No matter where I go, Dororo will probably find me again, Hyakkimaru thought resignedly. Really, he probably should have tried to get rid of Dororo a long time ago. He’d never truly considered what that would mean until now. 

“Hehe.” 

Hyakkimaru stood up and turned sharply around, expecting to see Dororo, but there was only a cold wind blowing from the north. That wind carried the sound of a giggling voice to him, along with the roar of another voice underneath it. 

Hyakkimaru scented a demon on the wind. His whole demeanor changed in an instant. Laugh again, why don’t you? Hyakkimaru thought mockingly. The laughter would only help Hyakkimaru track the demon more effectively. 

The demon did keep laughing as Hyakkimaru tracked it. Once, it stopped, only to resume with much more force and volume.  

The demon wasn’t alone. The woman who had lured Dororo into a trap was there, and Dororo was alert enough to struggle against her. 

“What are you doing? Let me go! Hey!” Dororo cried out. He was suspended in the air, inside a net. He reached out to the woman with both arms, but she shoved him harshly away with great force. This was likely the demon’s doing, since the woman hadn’t harmed Dororo directly before.  

“Help me! Help!” Dororo yelled. There was a flowing waterfall surrounding him, the waters moving intensely around him and flooding his body with icy cold. The woman stepped away from him, and the water from the waterfall became stronger, intensifying every second. 

Shivering in his net, Dororo recognized where he was. The woman had explained to him that this place was protected by Fudō. As the spray soaked Dororo, he looked down and saw that the waterfall fell twenty meters at least. If his net broke and spilled him out of it, it would be a very long way down.  

The statue of Fudō was clearly visible despite the waterfall, perhaps because Dororo was practically inside it and could see through the rest of the water easily.  

The woman took another step away from Dororo, and Dororo faced Fudō squarely. Unlike all other Buddha that Dororo had seen before, this one had no face at all! 

Fudō had no eyes or nose or mouth. The stone’s surface was bare and smooth where the face should be.  

“A demon!” Dororo exclaimed. The waterfall echoed his voice back at him and magnified it several times. 

“I want... a face...” 

“Huh?” Dororo asked. He couldn’t tell who had spoken, but it hadn’t been the woman or himself.  

“Give me... your face...” 

Dororo frowned at the demon Fudō statue. The flow of the waterfall increased in speed and strength again, and then Dororo saw something human-shaped land at Fudō’s feet with a splash.  

This body, which had bounced off rock corners three times within ten meters, was a mass of blood and mud when it reached Fudō. Dororo peered at the corpse in dread and saw that it, too, had no face at all.  

“I have done as you asked, oh great Fudō,” the woman said, bowing deeply. “Another lies near the waterfall, in the usual place. I hope they please you.” 

The woman jumped down, nudging the dead body in front of the statue over a ledge and into the deep waters below. Then she looked up, turning toward  Dororo. “You see, Dororo--we have no choice. The holy and sacred Fudō desires a face, so you must give him yours.” 

“There’s nothing holy or sacred about that thing!” Dororo shrieked. “It’s a demon! No matter how many faces you give it, it’s always going to want more of them!” As he struggled, he kicked himself internally for falling for the woman’s scheme. “I can’t believe I thought you looked like my mom! I’m an idiot! And you’re evil!” 

“Please don’t say such things,” the woman said. She was trembling. “I understand. I suffer as you do. But I must do as Fudō says. I have no choice.” She cast her eyes down. 

Dororo looked sidelong at the woman and felt a stab of pity despite himself. Mom, he thought. The woman looked like his mother had the night she’d died, cold and abandoned in the snow.  

“I want... a face...” Fudō said again, his voice echoing from ten meters below. The water rushed by Dororo, falling into the gorge. Dororo remembered that the waterfall had changed its intensity several times, and considered the idea that Fudō might have power over it. 

“Mom?” Dororo asked softly. 

“Eh?” the woman asked. 

“What would happen if you let me go?” 

“What?” 

“Would Fudō kill you?” Dororo asked. 

The woman nodded. Her face was haunted, like she knew that she’d be condemned to hell for what she was doing. “I would have died long ago, without Fudō’s help. He saved me—brought me back from death. If I don’t help him, he’ll take away all the help he’s given me.” 

Dororo gasped. This woman was already dead! “I understand,” he said, more than a little in desperation. “I’ll face the demon. I won’t fight.”

The woman tilted her head. This sudden change in Dororo’s demeanor surprised her.

“I don’t want you to die because of me,” Dororo said. “That would just be tragic. You really do look like my mom. It would be too much like condemning my own mother to die. I can’t do it.”

The woman was speechless.

“Hehehe,” Dororo said. “But…well, I’d like to ask you to let me out of this net, first. I’m the world’s greatest thief, and I want to fight this demon on equal terms, if I can.”

“Don’t,” Fudō said. “If you let him out of the net, he will run. I know what he’s thinking.”

“I won’t!” Dororo said. “I promise I won’t!”

The roar of the waterfall around them became louder in protest.

Dororo made sure he was looking straight at the demon when he said, “Now look here! I won’t let you disparage me! You don’t know what’s going on in my head!”

Fudō remained silent.

“Or do you?” Dororo asked. “Is that it? Everyone wants something special for themselves, and demons are no exception. You claim to take faces, but what you’re actually taking is their lives—their hearts and minds!”

Suddenly, Dororo felt an oppressive weight on his chest, and his arms felt too heavy to move.

“Dororo,” the woman hissed, “you have to get out of here!” She loosened the net so that Dororo could win free.

“What?”

The woman caught Dororo in her arms for a moment, then let go. “Run!”

Fudō let loose an angry howling of wind.

“What are you doing?!” Dororo asked.

“I can’t bear to watch you die! Please, go!” she cried out breathlessly. “Before I died, I had a child just like you.”

“Stop,” Fudō commanded the woman. His voice was as hoary as an old and withered tree. “Give me that child’s face!”

“No!” the woman cried out.

The waterfall answered her, gushing forth and splashing everywhere. Slowly, the water formed a vast shape with horns and gnashing teeth. The mouth of the water-formed demon opened, preparing to swallow Dororo and the woman whole.

“Ah!” The woman gasped, then used what little strength she possessed to throw Dororo toward the rocks, away from the waterfall and out of reach of the demon.

Dororo landed with a thump. “Ow!” He was free of the net, which meant he had his freedom of movement back. He dashed back to the woman, crying out, “Mom!”

The woman gasped again, falling to her knees when the water demon passed over her. When Dororo looked to see if she was all right, he saw that her face no longer resembled his mother’s. Had Dororo only perceived this woman as his mother because of the demon’s influence? Perhaps it didn’t matter who she was, only what she’d done. In saving Dororo, the woman had done exactly what his real mother would have.

“Mom, hang on, I’m coming!” Dororo ran recklessly toward the crashing water, but he slipped and fell. Before he could reach the woman, a stick as sharp as any spear that Dororo had seen shot forth from the waterfall and pierced the woman through the heart.

The woman’s final words were, “My… son…” Dororo was too far away to hear them. He heard nothing but the terrible splashing and frothing of the water all around. He felt like he’d been speared through the heart, himself, and didn’t rise from his knees for what felt like a long time.