The Indian woman’s sharp eyes darted over his face. A sneer tugged at her lips. “You’re out of luck. I gave it up a while ago. These days you give people what they want and they don’t even take the time to thank you!”
The American didn’t stop to blink. “A gentleman always shows his gratitude,” he said, pulling out a draft for 300 dollars and sliding it over to her. “And that’s just for starters. If your reading proves correct, you can expect quite a bit more.”
Glancing at the draft, the woman smiled wide. “A gentleman indeed! Tell me now, what do you want to know?"
“When will Japan and America go to war?” he asked, pinching the tip of the cigarette hard with his teeth. “If my business associates and I knew in advance, then we could stand to make a handsome profit.”
“Well then. Come back tomorrow and I’ll tell you.”
“Of course. But make sure there are no mistakes.”
The Indian woman reclined and puffed up her chest. “In my 50 years of doing business I haven’t been wrong once--not once! Every word comes straight from the mouth of Agni— it can’t be wrong!”
When the American had gone, the old woman shuffled into the next room. “Elen! Elen!” she called.
A lovely Chinese girl came out in response. She was beautiful, but looked exhausted. The skin over her cheekbones, taught and swollen, looked as pale as wax.
“Where have you been?” the woman turned and snarled at her. “You’ve got some nerve. I bet you were dozing off in the kitchen again!”
Elen fixed her eyes on the floor and remained silent.
“Listen up. Agni is going to pay us a visit tonight. It’s been a while, so I suggest you prepare yourself!”
The girl raised her sad eyes to the dark face of the woman. “Tonight?” she asked.
“Tonight at midnight. Don’t forget!” the old woman snapped and threateningly jabbed her finger at the air in punctuation. “You make my life a living hell! If you get any ideas like last time, that’ll be the end of you! If I wanted to get rid of you, why I could snap your neck like a chicken...” The woman stopped short and scowled. She saw that Elen had gone to sit by the open glass window. She watched the people below walk up and down the lonely street.
“What are you looking at?!”
Elen pulled her gaze from the window. All the color had drained from her face. The woman glared back at her and, seizing a broom from the corner, began to shout. “I see. If you insist on making a fool of me, then someone needs to beat some manners into you!”
Just then, the sound of someone pounding on the door filled the room.
2
About the same time that same day, a young Japanese man had been passing by the old woman’s house. He saw a Chinese girl gazing out the window on the second floor, and the sight of her so surprised him that he stood transfixed in the street.
A moment later an old Chinese man pulling a rickshaw came passing by.
The Japanese man flew at him, shouting. “Hey! Do you know who lives up there? Up there on the second floor?”
The Chinese man, without loosening his grip on the rickshaw, raised his eyes to the window. “Up there? An old Indian woman lives there,” he said. Then, lowering his eyes in fright, he began to take off.
“Wait!” The Japanese man shouted. “This Indian woman—what business is she in?”
“She’s a fortune teller,” the rickshaw driver said. “But if the rumors around these parts are true, she’s into black magic, too. If you know what’s good for you, you’d better stay away.”
The man walked off, pulling his rickshaw behind him. The young Japanese man crossed his arms and stood for a moment in thought. Then, as if he had made up his mind, he darted into the house. He heard the sound of the Chinese girl sobbing amidst the scornful shouts of the old woman. Without a moment of hesitation, he bounded up the dark steps two or three at a time. Soon, he was at the door to the old woman’s room, and he pounded his fist against it with all his might.
The door opened immediately. When the Japanese man entered, the Indian woman was alone—there was no trace of the Chinese girl. He suspected she was hiding in the next room.
“May I help you?” the woman asked, looking him up and down with suspicion.
“You’re a fortune teller, aren’t you?” he snapped at her, his arms crossed.
“Yes.”
“Then you should know why I’m here, shouldn’t you? I want my fortune read.”
“And what would you like to know?” she asked, growing more suspicious.
“My benefactor’s daughter went missing last spring. What can you tell me about that?” he said, emphasizing each of his words. “My benefactor is a Japanese diplomat in Hong Kong. His daughter’s name is Taeko. My name is Endo, I’m a student. Do you need anything else? Now then, where is she?” He reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a pistol. “She should be in this neighborhood. The police in Hong Kong believe she was taken by an Indian woman. It would do you no good to lie.”
Unfazed, the old woman’s lips twisted into a mocking smile. “What are you getting at? I don’t know anything about girls in Hong Kong.”
“Liar. The girl I just saw looking out that window looked just like Taeko,” Endo said. With the pistol pointed at her he motioned to the door of the next room with his free hand. “Still playing dumb? Bring the girl out here.”
“She’s my daughter—I adopted her.” The woman let a cruel smile creep over her face again.
“I don’t care. I only need to see her for a second to see if that’s true. If you won’t bring her out, then I’ll go see her myself.”
Endo stepped toward the door but the Indian woman rushed to block his way. “This is my house. Why would I let a stranger rummage through my rooms?”
“Out of my way. Move or I’ll shoot you dead.”
Endo raised the pistol. In a flash, the woman let out a shout like the death throws of a crow and the pistol, as if struck by lightning, clattered to the floor. Endo was dumbfounded with fear. He glanced around the room before pulling himself together and shouted: “You witch!”
In a rage Endo leapt at the woman, tiger-like. But she was quick on her feet. Dodging him in one swift move, her hands found the handle of a broom. She swept a pile of dust at his face before he could rush towards her again. Instantly, the dust exploded into fireworks and seared into his eyes, mouth, and face.
Caught up in a whirlwind of burning flecks, Endo ran out the door and stumbled down the steps into the street.
3
As midnight drew near, Endo stood alone in the street before the house. He stared at the shadows playing on the glass of the second floor window.
He was lost in thought. Even though he finally found the girl he was unable to take her back. Should he just tell the police? No, no—he has had enough of the idle hands of the Chinese police in Hong Kong. But if she got away now, he’d never find her again. But what good is a pistol against a witch? No, he would have to...
A scrap of paper fluttered to the ground from the second-floor window high above, interrupting his thoughts. Wondering if the scrap was a letter from the girl, Endo pulled a flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on. Illuminating the paper in a perfect circle, he saw faint pencil marks scrawled across the page. The handwriting was unmistakably Taeko’s.
Mr. Endo:
The woman who lives here is a terrible witch. Sometimes, in the middle of the night, she calls on an Indian god, Agni, to possess me. When he possesses me I fall into a sleep so deep it’s as if I’ve died. I don’t know what happens, but the woman says that Agni borrows my mouth to deliver prophecy. Tonight, at midnight, the woman will call on Agni again. Normally, I fall asleep before I even notice it, but tonight, before I fall asleep, I’ll pretend that Agni has possessed me—I’ll tell the woman that Agni will kill her if she doesn’t return me to my father. She’s terrified of Agni, so I’m sure she’ll send me home. Please come back tomorrow morning. There’s no other way
for me to escape from here. Till then—
Endo finished reading the letter and pulled out his pocket watch. It was five minutes till midnight.
“It’s almost time. But what match is a child for a witch? If she’s not lucky.”
Before he could finish his thought, the light from the second floor snapped off. The magic had begun. The acrid scent of incense floated silently from somewhere, so heavy it sunk into the cracks and valleys of the cobblestones.
4
In the darkened room, the Indian woman opened her magic tome on the desk, and began chanting a spell. Soon, exotic and ancient writings appeared, wavering, in the light of the burning incense. Elen, or rather Taeko, dressed in her Chinese clothes, sat in a chair before the woman. Had her letter reached Endo? She was sure that she had seen him outside, but what if she had been wrong? The very thought of it caused her knees to tremble. But if she showed her concern the woman would see through her plan to escape from the den of black magic. So she pressed her hands together to keep them from shaking and waited, breathlessly, for her chance to act out the possession.
The woman finished her chanting and began to walk circles around Taeko, forming all sorts of delicate symbols with her hands. Sometimes, she stood in front of Taeko and spread her arms wide, other times she crept up from behind and covered Taeko’s eyes like some kind of childhood game. If someone were to peer into the room from outside just then, she would have looked like an enormous bat, flapping circles through the pallid smoke of the incense.
A heavy fatigue began to settle over Taeko as usual. If she fell asleep now, her plan would be ruined. If her plan was ruined, she would never see her father again.
“Oh gods of Japan, please watch over me, please do not allow me to fall asleep. If you allow me to escape, if you allow me to see my father’s face just one last time, then you can strike me dead. Oh gods of Japan, help me to trick this woman, lend me your strength.”
Taeko continued to recite the prayer to herself. But the fatigue that came upon her grew ever stronger. Then, faintly, she heard a chanting voice, like the reverberations of a gong seeping into her being. She knew the voice—it was Agni, descending from above.
Despite her efforts, she could not stay awake. The globes of burning incense and the motions of the Indian woman before her began to fade, to dissipate into a nightmare.
The old woman, laying prostrate on the floor before Taeko, rasped: “Agni, Agni, please hear me!”
Taeko was dead asleep in the chair before her.
5
Of course, both Taeko and the old woman assumed that no one would see the secret place where they performed their magic. But they were wrong. Endo was peering into the room through the keyhole in the door.
After reading Taeko’s letter he considered waiting in the street for dawn, but the thought of harm coming to Taeko set him off. He snuck into the house like a thief, flew up the stairs to the door on the second floor, and set about peering in on the two of them through whatever crack he could find, and the only crack he could find was a keyhole. Through it he had a clear view of Taeko’s face, caught in the pale light of the incense and hanging slack like a dead woman’s. He couldn’t see the magic tome on the desk nor the old woman lying prostrate on the floor. But he could hear her raspy voice scratching through the door: “Agni, Agni! Please hear me!”
Taeko sat motionless, she did not even breathe. But upon hearing the plea of the old woman, her mouth opened. The voice that issued from her lips, however, did not belong to a young girl—it was a gruff, deep voice of a man.
“I will listen to your pleas no longer. You’ve defied my words, twisted them, and used them for your own ends. I will abandon you—but first you must be punished for your misdeeds.”
The woman fell silent for a while, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. Her breath came in hoarse rasps. Taking no notice of her, Taeko continued: “You have stolen this girl from her father. If you value your life you will return her to her home tomorrow—no— tonight.”
Endo pressed his eye hard against the keyhole and waited for the woman to respond. He expected her to be shocked or fearful, but she let out a tortuous burst of laughter and leapt to her feet before Taeko.
“You think you’re clever don’t you? Who do you think you’re dealing with? You think I’m so senile that I’d be fooled by you? ’Give the girl back to her father?’ you say? Since when was the great god Agni a police officer?” She spat her words at Taeko’s face before pulling a knife out and thrusting the point at Taeko’s closed eyelids.
“Spit it out, girl. You’re just pretending to speak for Agni!”
Endo had no way of knowing that Taeko was actually asleep, so his heart pounded against his ribs at the sight of the knife.
Taeko did not flinch. A thin smile formed on her lips. “Your death will come soon. Does this voice sound like a human’s to you? This voice is low, but it lights the fires in heaven—but what would you know of such things? You are free to do what you wish, but I ask again: will you return the girl or will you suffer my wrath?”
The woman faltered for a moment. Regaining her confidence, she strengthened her grip on the knife, dug the fingers of her free hand into Taeko’s neck, and dragged her to the edge of the chair.
“You’ll have to do better than that! Fine! If that’s how you want to play it, then I’ll send you to hell, just as we agreed!”
The woman raised her knife. Endo flew to his feet and threw his weight against the locked door, but it would not budge. He pounded and kicked, but it was no use. He beat his knuckles raw and bloody.
A piercing scream cut through the darkness, followed by the heavy sound of a body crumpling against the floorboards. Endo, howling like a lunatic, called out Taeko’s name again and again as he threw himself against the door.
The boards cracked, the lock clattered across the room, and the door finally flew open. But the room appeared empty, save for the soft, silent flickers of the burning incense.
Endo looked quickly around the room in the dim light. His eye fell on Taeko, slumped like a corpse, still in her chair. Her presence gave Endo a solemn impression of a halo over her head.
He rushed to her side and, pressing his lips to her ear, called her name again and again. But Taeko’s eyes remained shut, her mouth still.
“Taeko! Taeko! Wake up!! It’s me—Endo!”
As if waking from a dream she feebly opened her eyes and spoke. “I couldn’t do it...I fell asleep...forgive me.”
“It’s not your fault. You did just as you said you would, and your act would have fooled me. But nevermind that for now. We’ll worry about it later. Let’s get out of here.”
Endo helped her out of the chair.
She crumpled against him and whispered into his chest. “No... that can’t be right... I fell asleep! I have no idea what happened. I messed it all up, no—I’ll never get away.”
“That’s not true. Stick with me and we’ll get out of here.”
“But what about the old woman?”
Endo glanced around the room again. Just as before the magic tome lay open on the desk. The Indian woman was collapsed underneath it. She lay in a pool of blood, her knife sticking from her chest.
“What happened to her?” Taeko asked.
“She’s dead.”
Taeko looked Endo in his eyes and furrowed her beautiful brow. “I had no idea. Did you. Did you kill her?”
Endo pulled his gaze from the body to look at Taeko. The plan had failed, and yet with the woman dead Taeko was free to return home. In that moment, the mysterious power of fate struck his mind.
Endo held her close and whispered to her. “I didn’t kill her, and neither did you. It was Agni...It was Agni.”
In a Grove
The Woodcutter’s Testimony to the High Commissioner
Yes, that’s correct sir, I was the one who found the body. Yes, it was this morning; I’d gone to cut cedar out by the mountain just like always. I found the body in a gr
ove that lies in the shadow of the mountain. Where you say? About a quarter mile from Yamashina road. There’s a small grove of bamboo and thin cedars. It’s very secluded.
The deceased man wore a light-blue, silk kimono and his tall, Kyoto styled hat was still on his head. He lay flat on his back, facing the sky. It looked as though he had been stabbed straight through his chest, as all the bamboo leaves around him were stained a deep red. No sir, he was no longer bleeding. The wound looked as though it had dried over. There was a large horsefly glued to the cut that took no notice of my footsteps.
Was there a sword or something nearby? No sir, nothing like that. But there was a coil of rope lying on the roots of a nearby cedar. What else? Oh yes, that’s right. There was a comb as well. That was all, sir. But now that you mention it, the grass and leaves around the body were all stomped flat and torn, as if the man had been through a terrific struggle. Excuse me? Was there a horse around? No, sir. No horse could pass through that grove. The bamboo grows far too thick.
The Traveling Monk’s Testimony to the High Commissioner
Yes, I met the poor man yesterday—I suppose it was around noon. We met somewhere on the road from Sekiyama to Yamashina. He was walking toward Sekiyama alongside a woman on horseback. The woman wore a scarf that covered her face, so I cannot speak of her other than her clothes, which were silk and lilac-pink. The horse was a palomino; its mane was cropped short. How tall was she? A little over four feet, I suppose. Honestly though, I am a monk—so I did not spend time studying the woman. The man. yes, he had a sword tied to his waist, and he also carried a large bow and a set of arrows. Yes, I remember very clearly his black quiver, filled with at least 20 arrows.
I had not imagined that the man would meet such a fate. The life of a man is no more than a flash of lightning, no more than the morning dew. Truly words fail me—what else can I say of the poor man?
The Police Officer’s Testimony to the High Commissioner
The man I arrested? He went by the name Tajomaru, and he was a notorious thief around these parts. When I found him he had fallen from his horse on the Awataguchi bridge and was moaning in pain. What time you ask? In the early hours, last night, sir. I would like to state officially that just as when I failed to capture him a few nights ago, he was wearing a dark blue coat and carried a large sword. Though when I apprehended him yesterday he was also carrying a large bow and set of arrows. Is that so? The very same ones as the murdered man carried? Well then it is clear that Tajomaru did the poor soul in. The bow was leather-wrapped, and the black quiver was filled with seventeen hawk feather flushed arrows—I assume that all of these belonged to the man. Yes, that is correct. Just as you say, the horse was a Palomino with a very short mane. That the beast would throw him is only fitting for a man of his character. I found the horse just a little down the road, his reigns swaying free while he pulled at clumps of grass.