Spirits of the Noh

2

A fter a Saturday filled with classes and homework, Sunday morning began with a knock on her door. Kara sat at the dining table drinking a glass of juice, barely awake. She’d pulled on a pair of threadbare denim shorts and still wore the oversize T-shirt she’d slept in, and she rubbed sleep out of her eyes as she went to answer the door. Pulling it open, she found Miho and Sakura waiting on the stoop, smiling conspiratorially.

“Good morning, Kara!” Miho said brightly.

Kara leaned against the jamb, still half-asleep. “You guys aren’t supposed to be here for another hour.”

Sakura replied with an unusually open grin. “Change of plans. Get dressed. The guys will be here soon!”

Guys. Soon. That woke her up. Kara didn’t think of herself as especially vain, and Hachiro might even think the just-rolled-out-of-bed look was cute, but if they were going out, she wanted to pull herself together, and better to do it before the guys arrived.

More focused now, she studied the girls. Sakura had added a streak of red into her hair, though she’d have to take it out by the time school started tomorrow. Miho had her hair back in a ponytail, and both girls wore loose dresses. Under Sakura’s, she glimpsed the straps of a bikini. They had talked about going into Miyazu City today, having lunch with Hachiro and Ren, maybe doing a little shopping if the guys could be convinced to endure it.

“Wait, when you said change of plans…?”

Miho laughed and switched to English. “Now you’re awake. Yes, we’re going to the beach.”

It took a second for Kara to translate. She’d been speaking Japanese so much that half the time she thought in that language instead of her native tongue, and when Miho switched in the middle of a conversation, sometimes she had to catch up.

“Are we going with English today, then?” she asked.

“Of course!” Miho replied. “You promised.”

Sakura made a face. Speaking English helped them both to become more fluent in the language, just as speaking Japanese helped Kara. To Miho, it was fun, almost a game, and she hoped to live in America someday, at least for a year or two, to pursue both her career and American boys, who fascinated her endlessly. But Sakura had made it plain that spending hours speaking English felt too much like homework to her.

“All right,” Kara relented, still speaking English. “For a while at least.”

She stepped back to let the girls in. “Have some juice or something. I need to take a quick shower and get dressed. I’ll go fast. Try to be quiet, though. My dad’s sleeping late.”

At that, she heard a rustle of fabric from behind her and turned to find her father standing in his bedroom doorway in pajamas and a Boston Celtics shirt.

“Not anymore,” he said, smiling, his face dark with weekend chin stubble. “Good morning.”

Embarrassed, Miho glanced away. “Good morning, Harper-sensei,” they chorused.

Sakura seemed to find the moment just as awkward as Miho, even blushing slightly. Kara smiled to herself. Sakura wanted to be different, to break the mold that society expected her to follow, and she did that, to an extent. But she wasn’t the bad girl as she tried to portray herself.

Kara’s father chuckled softly. “I’ll stay out of your way, don’t worry.”

When he shuffled back into his bedroom and closed the door, Kara gestured for the girls to sit and made a beeline for the bathroom.

Less than twenty minutes later, she had showered, shaved her legs, and pulled on a black-and-white striped bikini, fretting over the way she looked in it. Living in Japan and eating Japanese food had made her thinner, which hadn’t necessarily been a goal-she’d liked the way she had looked before-and from the way her top fit, it seemed like her breasts had gotten smaller. She poked and tucked and retied the top and finally gave up worrying about her appearance at all, tying her wet hair back with a rubber band. Then she pulled on a V-neck white shirt and a black cotton skirt and slipped her feet into brown leather sandals.

“Ready!” she announced, stepping into the dining room.

Sakura and Miho were sprawled in their chairs, pretending to have fallen asleep waiting for her. Kara laughed, whopped Sakura in the head, and got them moving. They went out onto the front step, leaving Kara’s father to putter happily around, not worrying about who might see him in his pajamas.

“I’m surprised the guys haven’t arrived yet,” Miho said, still working the English, and doing a fine job of it.

As if summoned, Hachiro and Ren appeared down the street from the grounds of Monju-no-Chie school. The boys ambled along the street, Hachiro carrying a faded beach umbrella over one shoulder, and Ren burdened with what appeared to be a very full picnic basket. They were an odd pair, Hachiro tall and barrel-chested, and Ren short and thin, with almost elfin features and that stylishly ragged bronze-hued hair. Kara assumed it was dyed, despite his claims to the contrary, but apparently the school had different rules if you dyed all of your hair, versus a single streak as Sakura had.

“Good morning!” Ren called in Japanese.

“No, no,” Miho corrected. “Speak English.”

Ren rolled his eyes as he and Hachiro walked up to the house. “Again? Do we have to?”

“We won’t answer you otherwise,” Miho assured him in English, smiling.

Hachiro reached out with his free hand and clasped Kara’s fingers in his. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head.

“Was this your idea?” he whispered-in Japanese-into her ear.

“Not at all,” she replied in the same language. “But I indulge Miho. It makes her happy.”

Hachiro pulled back, gazing into her eyes, and Kara shivered with how good that gaze made her feel. The connection between her and Hachiro had been growing stronger, but it troubled her that they had stopped putting words to it. Mostly, their rapport went unspoken. She believed he felt what she did, but he didn’t talk about it much.

You’re going back to America, she reminded herself. He doesn’t want to make more of it than it can be. The trouble with that thought was that Kara couldn’t turn her heart off, and she didn’t think Hachiro could, either. He seemed to be trying, though, and it hurt her that he’d become so silent about what he was really thinking.

Maybe it’s for the best, she thought.

But it didn’t feel that way.

“All right,” Hachiro said in English, turning to Miho, Sakura, and Ren. “English until lunch. That’s a good compromise, okay?”

Everyone agreed, and moments later, they set off on the trek to Ama-no-Hashidate.

Though young people covered the shores in summertime, Japan wasn’t really known for its beaches. Kara had been to Hawaii with her parents when she was ten years old, and Japan had nothing on the Hawaiian islands. One of the better-known beaches in the country actually imported its sand from Australia. In many other places, the sand was more like fine gravel than the soft stuff Kara was used to from home, and she had heard that a lot of beaches were quite dirty.

But Ama-no-Hashidate was an exception. The spit of land that jutted like a finger out into Miyazu Bay boasted a variety of beauties and uses, not least of which came from the miles of white sand that lined its shore. It was known as one of the most beautiful spots in the country, and that included the beach.

Walking out along the spit, they came in sight of one of the busiest stretches of beach. Couples and some families relaxed under sun tents-the Japanese were far more wary of sun exposure than Kara was used to in America-while teenagers and twentysomethings performed the usual summertime mating rituals. They threw one another into the water, played music too loud, tossed balls back and forth in the surf, and generally lounged around trying to look as cool and toned as possible.

Kara’s friends, on the other hand, paid little attention to such things. Hachiro and Ren were just about the least self-conscious guys she had ever encountered, either at home or in Japan. They wore the big, baggy bathing shorts that most guys their age wore, but there was no evident effort to make their clothes look good. Hachiro stood out among Japanese guys due to his size-a gentle giant-and though Ren was fit enough, that seemed like a natural gift rather than an effort.

The girls, on the other hand, were totally self-aware, and going to the beach with them amused Kara greatly. The world tilted on its axis every time they got into their bathing suits. The normally demure Miho had a stunning body, and a tiny, expensive bikini that she wore because it was the only one that fit her. Still, she seemed marvelously oblivious to the looks she earned. Sakura, on the other hand, lacked Miho’s natural curves, and fidgeted awkwardly any time a guy went by who might be checking them out.

The five friends relaxed on sandy mats, the guys chivalrously giving the shade of the umbrella to Miho and Sakura. Kara put on plenty of sunscreen and lay out, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her skin.

They all talked-it seemed to be what they did best-chattering about classes, about movies, about everything and nothing, and all in English. At one point, Kara felt Hachiro’s fingers brush hers and she smiled, eyes still closed, as he took her hand. They lay that way on the beach for quite some time.

“Where did you get the umbrella, anyway?” she asked in Japanese. “You live in the dorm.”

Miho admonished her to stick to English.

Hachiro rolled his eyes at Miho, then smiled at Kara. “I have my secrets. I am a mysterious guy.”

She laughed, meaning no harm, and then laughed harder at the hurt look in his eyes. She soothed him by dragging herself over to his side and kissing him, twining together with him on the sand.

The gibes of the others finally drove them apart, but afterward, Kara relished the feeling of where his skin had pressed against hers. After a few minutes, she glanced up and found Hachiro watching her, eyes full of emotion, but he said nothing.

“Time for a swim, I think!” Sakura said, jumping up and kicking sand at Ren and Hachiro.

She tore off down the sand, shrieking happily as they gave chase. Miho and Kara exchanged a smile and rose to follow. Kara had been to the beach half a dozen times this summer, but swimming in the Sea of Japan had not lost its novelty.

Later, as they sat beneath the umbrella eating a picnic lunch of sushi and seaweed-wrapped rice balls called onigiri, Kara found herself in a moment of such pure bliss that she had to catch her breath. The shadows of the spring had truly been dispelled. She still had nightmares, but only of the sort that vanished upon waking.

She hadn’t been so happy in a very long time.

Late Monday afternoon, after their calligraphy club meeting, Kara and Sakura went around the back of the school to the large field that separated the main building from the dormitory. On the far side of the field, toward the dorm, the girls of the soccer club were having a practice, but Kara and Sakura were there to watch Hachiro and the other boys of the baseball club. The soccer girls always seemed so much more serious, whereas the baseball club boys grinned from ear to ear. Nothing made Hachiro smile like playing baseball-not even Kara. He had his Boston Red Sox cap pulled down snugly to shade his eyes, and he waited patiently at second base for anyone to dare hit one past him.

Kara had never been a huge baseball fan, but she was a Hachiro fan, and she loved the smile he wore while playing.

“Wow,” Sakura said quietly beside her. The two girls were leaning against the back wall of the school. Sakura wanted a cigarette, but agreed to forestall her nicotine craving for a few minutes.

Kara glanced at her. “What makes you say ‘wow’? Nothing interesting happened.”

Sakura smiled. “That’s why I said ‘wow.’ This is actually quite boring, but you’re watching with such fascination. You’re falling in love with Hachiro. Or have you already fallen?”

Kara sighed and turned her attention back to the baseball game. “We’re not talking about it. I can’t afford to fall in love with him. I’m leaving in the spring, remember?”

“I remember,” Sakura said. But she did not sound at all convinced.

Before the conversation could continue, Miho came rushing across the grass toward them, an enormous grin on her face, obviously bearing some news she could not wait to share. Kara was glad to have the interruption.

“Sakura, listen to this!” Miho cried, loud enough to draw attention. It made her blush and she turned her back to the other baseball spectators and lowered her voice. “This is going to be the most amazing few months I’ve ever had.”

Kara noticed that Miho had barely included her, even with a glance, so the news seemed exclusively for Sakura. The two girls were her best friends now, but they had been friends, and roommates, long before Kara had come to Japan. There would naturally be things that the two of them shared that did not involve her. Still, it stung a bit.

“What is it?” Sakura asked. “Wait, don’t tell me. An American high school baseball team is coming to visit and all the boys are staying in our room while they’re here?”

Miho blinked, perhaps a bit startled by the impropriety of the suggestion. Then she arched an eyebrow, face alight with mischief.

“No,” she said, pushing a strand of her long hair away from her face, “but if you know a way to arrange it, I’m in.”

Kara gave a low laugh of surprise. Miho didn’t really mean it, in spite of her fascination with American boys, but there’d been a time when she wouldn’t even have joked about it.

“All right, so what’s your big news?” Kara asked.

Miho shot her a dark look, and for a second, Kara thought the girl might truly be angry with her. But then Miho’s expression lightened and she reached out and gave Kara a light punch on the shoulder.

“Like you don’t know. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!”

Sakura glanced at Kara, who only gave a confused shrug. For a second, she wondered if this had to do with Ren, if somehow Miho had her wires crossed and had gotten the impression Ren wanted to go out with her or something, even though Miho hadn’t talked much about her interest in him for months. But that didn’t make any sense.

Miho huffed and rolled her eyes. “Hello?” she said, an affectation she’d picked up from Kara, who often translated her American idiom slang into Japanese. “I just got out of a Noh club meeting.”

“Ohhhh,” Kara said, smiling. Now she got it.

“Oh, what?” Sakura asked.

Miho grinned at her. “Aritomo-sensei just announced that this term, the Noh club will be producing and performing an actual Noh play! Everything! The acting, the music, the sets! I can’t believe it. I knew she was cool, but I never thought she would let us do something like this, especially since she takes Noh theater so seriously. That she’d entrust us with an actual performance… it’s just amazing!”

“That is great news,” Sakura said. “Of course she trusts you all with it-the club takes it just as seriously as she does. Especially you, Miho. Why did you think Kara already knew about this?”

“On the way out of the meeting, Aritomo-sensei told me she did,” Miho said, looking at Kara, once again sweeping her hair back from her eyes. “In fact, she said she’d suggested you two do the same play as your next manga.”

Sakura crossed her arms. “So why am I just hearing about it now?”

Kara shrugged. “Aritomo-sensei told me about it when she came over to my house the other night. She and my father were making dinner together. That was strange enough. Anyway, she swore me to secrecy about the play until she had announced it to the Noh club, which” – she made a flourish of her hands-“she now has.”

Without conferring about it, the three of them fell into step together, working their way around the baseball field, heading back toward the dorm. Kara waved to Hachiro, who grinned but kept his baseball glove down, focused on the game.

“So what is this Noh play, anyway?” Sakura asked. “Why does Aritomo-sensei think it would be a good manga for us?”

“Apparently because you’ve already done one gruesome manga,” Miho said. “This one is a horrible story about a woman driven mad by love, who becomes a flesh-eating snake demon.”

Sakura smiled thinly. “Lovely.”

“It really would make a cool manga though,” Miho said, a bit defensive of anything having to do with Noh. She adjusted her glasses. “The Hannya is fearsome and the story is tragic.”

“Aren’t they all?” Kara asked.

Sakura bumped her purposely as they walked. “So your father and Aritomo-sensei are getting pretty close.”

Kara nodded. “Looks that way. But I’d much rather talk about anything else.”

A look of concern crossed Miho’s face. “I didn’t know it was bothering you so much.”

“I’ll be fine,” Kara said. “I want my father to be happy, and I really like Aritomo-sensei. It’s just, I don’t know, weird.”

They reached the dorm and Sakura used her ID card to open the door. She turned to Kara. “You still want to do a new manga, though, right? This awkwardness with Aritomo-sensei won’t keep you from working with her?”

Kara smiled. “Not at all. I was worried that you wouldn’t want to start a new manga right away, that you might need a rest first. I’ve got the easier job, after all. Illustrating the pages takes a lot more time than writing them. And anyway, Aritomo-sensei knows everything there is to know about Noh theater, and almost that much about manga. She’s a huge help. No, I’ll adjust. The awkwardness will go away eventually.”

“Good,” Miho said, as they walked up the stairs to the second floor. “Because I already asked Aritomo-sensei if you two could help out for the play. Noh club will be running late, so if you want, you could come down after calligraphy club and work with us. It might help with your manga.”

Sakura and Kara exchanged glances.

“I’m up for it if you are,” Sakura said.

Kara nodded. “Okay.” Then she looked at Miho. “I’m just surprised, I guess. Doesn’t it seem a little strange that she would choose such a violent play after what the school has been through this year?”

“I had the same thought,” Sakura said.

“Maybe a little strange,” Miho agreed. “But, after all, it’s only a play.”

In Miho and Sakura’s room, they looked through the finished pages of the manga Sakura and Kara had done about ketsuki, and then-as Miho told them the story of Dojoji, the Noh play that the club intended to perform-Sakura began to sketch what the characters might look like in a manga version. As she drew the lines that would make the demon serpent woman, Hannya, Kara shuddered. She’d had enough of monsters for a while.

With a private smile, she chided herself that she was being silly. Miho was right, after all. It was only a play.

Kara is at home, in her bedroom in Medford, Massachusetts. The walls are a pink wash and the curtains are sheer lace. A breeze washes through the windows, billowing the curtains, the smell of an imminent rainstorm in the air. The room is just as her mother decorated it for her, right down to the hand-painted fairies above the headboard of the bone-white sleigh bed.

They share a love of fairies, Kara and her mother.

She lies in bed, a sleepy smile on her face, turns over and settles deep into her bedclothes, relishing the cool breeze and the distant rumble of thunder. It’s heaven. Her mother created this little slice of paradise for Kara when she turned seven, as a present, and painted those fairies herself. This isn’t right, of course. Kara redecorated in the eighth grade, painted the walls white-too old for pink, now-and her mother even helped her brush thick, eggshell finish right over the fairies. That was not long before…

This isn’t right, but it’s perfection.

Bliss.

A soft rap comes at the door, punctuated by a crack of thunder, the rainstorm coming nearer. Sprinkles patter the windows as Kara rises on her elbow, genuinely curious.

“Who is it?”

The knob turns, the door opens a crack, and from deep inside her there comes a sense of painful longing, of fluttery, excited certainty that her mother is about to enter the room, perhaps to tell her that breakfast is ready.

But the door swings open on darkness. Green eyes-cat eyes-stare out at her from the black shadows, growing huge-a massive, bent, bestial silhouette separating itself from the deeper darkness. The face dips into the room, shadows coalescing around it, but she can see the horns and the twisted mouth and jutting fangs of Kyuketsuki, the demon whose ancient whispers spoke a curse upon her.

Terror seizes her, but all Kara can do is burrow deeper into the bed, a little girl again. Her breath catches in her throat and she bites her lower lip, tasting blood.

Something tumbles from the shadows, as though spilling from the Kyuketsuki’s own darkness, and sprawls to the floor.

Hachiro. Dead. Limbs twisted up like some castaway doll, eyes open, dull and glassy.

Kara opens her mouth to scream, but no sound emerges.

“It’s all right, sweet pea,” a voice says beside her.

Hope surges through her, and love, and a kind of lightness of spirit that she has forgotten is even possible. Kara turns in bed and looks up into the face of her mother, her sandy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, blue eyes smiling.

“It’s all right, K-baby. It’s only a dream. Watch.”

Kara watches as her mother strides across the room, Hachiro’s broken body dispersing into smoke, and closes the door, shutting out the darkness and the demon and its curse.

“There, see?” Annette Harper says as she walks back to her daughter. “All gone. Trust me, honey. There’s nothing in the dark that isn’t there in the light.”

Kara’s mother climbs into bed beside her and Kara snuggles close, wrapped in her mother’s arms, her pulse slowing, relief and contentment sweeping through her. Outside the window, the rain begins to fall harder and the breeze kicks up, the curtains rising like ghosts. The storm is here now, but Kara doesn’t mind at all. She has her mother…

And she wakes.

When Kara opened her eyes she saw rain pelting the windows, the sky gray and heavy with storm. Tuesday morning had arrived, but it was impossible to discern the time from the gloomy daylight.

In the lingering embrace of the dream, she felt emotion well up within her and tears began to slip down her face. As she attempted to brush them away, her breath hitched, and she started to cry more fiercely.

Part of the dream had been a nightmare-but, really, it was only an ordinary nightmare. She had had others. The fear and unease would dissipate, as they always did.

But to dream of her mother-her smile and the comfort and security of her embrace-and to wake to the reality that she would never see her mother again-that was an anguish that would never go away, and a weight on her heart far worse than any nightmare.

Kara thought of those fairies on her bedroom wall back home, and how her mother must have felt the day she painted them over. A small thing, really, but God, how she wished she had seen the hurt of it then, even afterward, so that she could have apologized.

If only.

The two saddest, loneliest words in the world.