Book II 九 Part 09 (Smile)

Illustration by K. Ryan

When Chiyo awoke, she was only half-surprised to see she was alone. Faint trails of sunlight peeked in through the window slats, revealing a pointedly empty room.

“Ugh,” she groaned, wiping a paw over her face. “If you turned into a bug or something I’m leaving you behind.”

Her complaint was met with silence, confirming the fact that Shichi had indeed wandered off somewhere. The kitsune made a few lazy stretches, shaking the sleep from her eyes before hopping out into the hallway.

She found Shichi in the small garden behind the inn. Rather than fussing over the various plants or sitting in meditation, he was, oddly enough, fixated on the pond at the center. The small pond was clearly devoid of plant life, not to mention fish of any kind. She watched him, puzzled — it only took a moment to realize what he was doing.

At first, his face was set in a stern frown, as if the water’s very presence had somehow offended him. A second later the corners of his mouth lifted, quirking unevenly as he squinted at his reflection.

“What kind of expression is that supposed to be?” Chiyo asked from the doorway, startling the monk upright. He instantly reddened, wishing he had heard her approach.

“It’s a smile,” he said hesitantly. “Isn’t it?”

“That’s not a smile, that’s just scary.”

Shichi cleared his throat, touching the side of his face to see just how hot his skin had become. He was certain he had made some progress, though apparently his smile needed work. Taking a breath, he tried again, allowing his lips to curve into a forced grimace.

“That’s even worse,” the kitsune said, cringing at the sight of it.

“You’ve had a century to practice this,” Shichi protested. “I just started.”

“Maybe you should just give up.”

The monk sighed. Perhaps she was right; the only emotion he’d been able to successfully portray thus far had been shock. It seemed he’d felt quite a bit of it recently.

“This mouth is just so strange,” he said, poking his lower lip with a flat fingertip. “And soft.”

“Human mouths are great. You don’t need those weird tengu cups to drink,” she said with a shrug. It seemed she had noticed the difficulty he’d had drinking with human utensils. At Urameshiya he had used a cup with a small spout, allowing liquids to easily slide into his beak.

“There’s nothing wrong with tengu cups,” he said. “And my beak can do anything your mouth can.”

“It can’t kiss,” Chiyo said, now grinning. He was momentarily taken by her words, recalling Kana and the way she would kiss him between the eyes — as well as the way he’d been unable to reciprocate.

“I wouldn’t know,” Shichi mumbled, drawing his eyes back to the pond.

“You’ve never kissed before?”

“Well, no — how could I?”

“It’s the best!” Chiyo said, her expression brightening. “You want to try, right? This might be your only chance.”

“W-what? With you?” he said, tripping over his own words. “But isn’t it… isn’t it personal? With someone you love?”

Chiyo answered him with a laugh, her tails shaking as she snickered. Shichi narrowed his eyes, failing to see the humor in his statement.

“Well, how do tengu do it? With your beaks?” she asked, still grinning in amusement.

“Well, we… it’s— we just touch, like—“ he attempted, the red in his cheeks intensifying. “I-I’ve never done it.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll find that special bird lady someday.”

“I’m not looking for a bi— er, a woman. I’m a monk!” Shichi insisted, knitting his brow at the insufferable kitsune.

“You’re also a pickled plum, by the looks of your face.”

Shichi instantly covered his face with both hands, able to feel the terrible heat on his palms. Though he no longer had to worry about his feathers puffing in embarrassment, he now had to live in constant fear of turning bright red.

“Stop teasing me,” the monk begged, still hiding his eyes behind his fingers. “This is hard enough as it is.”

“Fine, fine. We need to go eat breakfast, anyway. How much longer do you think we should—“

Chiyo was unable to finish her question. Fortunately for the innkeeper’s son, he had fully recovered from his bout of food poisoning. Unfortunately for the kitsune, he was now standing directly behind her in the foyer.

“Ah!” Munetoshi cried, his eyes locked on the talking fox. “Y-yokai!”

“Okay,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Time to go.”

The pair narrowly avoided the innkeeper as they departed the inn, making sure to leave the proper amount of coins on the table of their room. Luckily, Munetoshi was no braver than Shichi, having turned to run terrified in the opposite direction. As they made their way down the main street, they unanimously agreed it would be best to leave town.

“We should stock up before we go,” Chiyo said, eyeing a stand selling sweets.

“Yes,” Shichi agreed. “We used quite a few herbs for the innkeeper’s son.”

“Oh, right. Herbs.”

Much to the kitsune’s disappointment, they returned to the medicine shop. They were once again hit with a wall of scents — of dried stems and grasses and the odor of preserved animal parts.

“Welcome back,” the shopkeeper said, quickly recognizing Chiyo. “Oh, where is your bird?”

Chiyo noted that the woman looked a bit too pleased with the raven’s absence.

“He’s, uh — he’s resting. Being a bird is hard work,” she said, absently gazing at the rows of hanging roots.

“And who is your companion?”

“My name is Shichi,” he replied, bowing his head. “I’m a physician and a monk.”

“A monk with hair?” she asked curiously. “And traveling with a woman?”

“Ah…”

“Nevermind that, don’t you have some herbs to buy?” Chiyo cut in before he could panic. Shichi took in a sharp breath, gathering himself before stepping past the kitsune to view the shopkeeper’s wares. Luckily, he now had hands. He made mental notes of the herbs they had in their bag, calculating which types would be most efficient to carry along.

“May I see your dried yarrow, please?”

The woman complied happily, offering Shichi one drawer after another as he asked for various ingredients. The longer she watched him, however, the more concerned her expression grew.

“Perhaps you should purchase some turmeric, as well,” she offered, now staring quite obviously.

“Ah, perhaps,” he said, glancing up. “Why do you—“

“Your eyes look quite jaundiced, though I’ve never seen it in the irises before,” she said. “How strange. You should take care of your liver.”

It took Shichi a moment to respond, unsure of exactly what she was referring to.

“I see. Thank you.”

As they left the shop, Shichi couldn’t get the woman’s comment out of his mind. Jaundice — why did she think he had jaundice? He quickly went through the visible signs in his mind, recalling a discoloration of the skin and eyes, specifically the color—

“Chiyo,” he said, his breath short as he caught her attention. “Are my eyes yellow?”

“Haven’t they always been?” she said as she browsed a hat stall.

“Wh— but—“ he stammered. “But humans don’t—“

Shichi stopped himself, remembering they were out in public. He lowered his voice, glaring at his friend as he spoke.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” the kitsune said. “Not all transformations are perfect. I mean, look, my hair is white.”

“Yes, but the shopkeeper thought I looked strange. What if—“

“Here,” Chiyo said, slapping a sugegasa onto his head. “Problem solved.”

Shichi faltered, taking a moment to get used to the weight on his head. Sure enough, the straw hat cast a shadow over his face, effectively hiding his eyes from view. When he thought about it, he could recall human monks occasionally wearing such hats in Osaka. Not only would it conceal his eyes, but it would also cover the fact that he had not shaved his head. It was an ideal solution. Either Chiyo was absolutely brilliant, or she had just grabbed the nearest thing to her hand in order to shut him up.

“I suppose this will do,” he said, adjusting it over his head.

“Of course it will,” the kitsune said. “I’m a genius.”

It was then that the vendor’s voice interrupted her gloating.

“Hey, are you going to pay for that?”

#

Shichi didn’t breathe easily until they had left the town. Though he had fit in with a human body, he found himself growing increasingly conscious of his inhuman behavior.

“Chiyo,” he said, adjusting the egg in the crook of his arm. “Do human monks not travel with women?”

“Yeah, but who cares? Unless you want me to leave,” she answered from his shoulder.

“Of course not,” Shichi said, shaking his head. “I suppose I can… be a rebel.”

“You? A rebel?” Chiyo snorted, then burst into a fit of laughter.

“Chiyo…”

She continued laughing; the sound filled the air between the trees, making the quiet forest unnaturally loud.

“Stop that,” he said, though he knew his request would go ignored. Perhaps it would be best to think as she did— to simply not care what others thought. There were, after all, some human traits he would rather not mimic.

They continued until nightfall, finding a small clearing nestled in a circle of ancient trees. As Shichi leaned back onto a slope of thick roots, he found the bark coarse against his bare arms. It seemed he had once again taken his feathers for granted. He held in his complaints, certain that Chiyo had grown tired of hearing them. Though the trees felt rougher, he couldn’t help but notice that the fox’s fur felt softer in return.

Once again, he dreamt of the cat. He could see Gin waking up in the forest, alone. The confusion and anguish consumed Shichi, as if he were the one who had been abandoned. It ached terribly, weighing him down as he watched the cat wander through the forest, failing to find the way back. He cried for his human, calling out in hopes that she would hear, that she would come through the trees to pick him up and take him home. Yet she never came. Never again would he see her face, nor the farmhouse he had once called home.

 The dream took Shichi to another place, one years later and many miles away. He could hear a voice, one that he knew — that he could never forget.

“No, I’m through hunting bears.”

“But Zaisei, you’ve been doing it for years.”

“Exactly. It’s tiring. You hunt one bear and you’ve hunted them all.”

The men’s voices were low in the village inn, their table scattered with empty sake bottles. In a nearby seat was another man, one with silver hair — one not quite human. The stranger crouched over his table, listening intently to the conversation at his side.

“So what now? Wolves?”

“Ha, don’t be stupid,” the hunter said, giving his companion a grin. “I’ve found something much more interesting.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to hunt men.”

“Not quite. The samurai put a bounty out for a yokai — a tengu. Apparently some kind of monk. Satake is offering quite a bit of coin for his head.”

“Ah, I heard about that. I should have known you’d be fool enough to do it.”

“It’s not only money, you know. He’s offering his sister-in-law’s hand as well. She’s quite pretty, I’ve heard.”

“Ha! Since when are you so interested in women?”

“Hunting is my life, I’ll admit,” he said, looking down at the table. “But… it would be nice to settle down, wouldn’t it? To have a home again — someone to love.”

The hunter smiled thoughtfully as his companion filled his cup.

“Don’t you think?” Zaisei continued.

“Cheers to that,” his friend replied, lifting his cup as they both drank. From the table beside them, the stranger opened his eyes. They glowed green in the dark, flickering as he committed two words to memory.

Monk.

Home.

Shichi woke with a start. He jerked upright, clutching the fabric over his chest as he shifted back into reality. The dream was still sharp in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” Chiyo muttered from his lap. She was curled around the egg and clearly annoyed at being woken.

“Gin,” he said, taking a slow breath. “I dreamt about Gin again.”

“Who?” Chiyo asked groggily.

“The cat.”

“Oh, right.”

“He was— ah, why am I wet?” Shichi muttered, touching his forehead. “Oh, this is sweat, isn’t it? Ah, it’s… disgusting.”

“Get used to it.”

“Anyway, he was afraid,” Shichi continued, recalling the scenes from memory. “He’s been afraid for so long.”

“That’s too bad,” Chiyo said, closing her eyes to return to sleep. To her chagrin, Shichi continued talking.

“It’s like he’s forgotten what kindness is — he can’t remember what it felt like to be loved. That must be why he’s acting this way.”

“Mystery solved. Now go back to sleep.”

“No, Chiyo. I— I can’t let this go on. We have to—”

“Oh, no.”

“We have to help him.”

Chiyo whined dramatically, rolling over to bury her face beneath her tails.

“Just listen to me,” Shichi said. “He isn’t doing this to be cruel, he’s just confused. Maybe we can talk to him, or at least show him that—“

“Shichi, he’s evil.”

“He’s not evil. He’s just alone,” the monk said, looking down at the kitsune in his lap. “You know what it’s like to be lonely, don’t you?”

Chiyo fell silent.

“Let’s help him,” Shichi pressed. The clearing was silent for a long while. The fox took in a slow breath, finally letting it out to reply.

“Fine. Fine, we’ll help the big angry cat that’s trying to kill us,” she said. “Now can we go back to sleep?”

“Thank you, Chiyo.”

The fox gave him one last glance before closing her eyes. It was a good thing she did — it seemed the monk had finally learned the proper way to smile.