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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.
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