The Tale of the Princess of the Crescent Moon

Sixteen

Izayoi was helping Nakamura-sensei in his garden. Nakamura-sensei had complained that he couldn't find the proper types of bamboo to make arrows, brushes, and implements for the tea ceremony, so Izayoi brought him plants from the feudal era. She had collected enough rare and exotic plants to make his private garden the envy of any botanical garden in the world; but for the two of them, it was simply a source of raw materials and of many happy hours of quiet meditation.

She was busily repotting the plants he used for arrow shafts when Nakamura-sensei gently tugged at her head kerchief. "You know, my dear," he said gently, "You needn't hide your true nature while you're here. Your secret's safe with me."

Izayoi blushed. She poked absently at the dirt in the pot she was filling, and said nothing.

"Remember, the bow, the cup, the brush, all speak only the truth about yourself," he said kindly. "In them, I see your courage, a valor that burns with a fire of unquenchable love; and I also see your sadness, your pain, and especially your loneliness. Times have not changed so very much, have they? The life of a hanyou has always been a lonely one, has it not?"

Izayoi was so surprised to hear her teacher use the word "hanyou" that she nearly dropped the pot she was filling. Instead, she put it down carefully, took a deep breath, and removed her kerchief. She wiggled her ears in the garden's gentle breeze, grateful to have them uncovered and free, and Nakamura-sensei nodded approvingly.

"Never be ashamed of what you are, Izayoi," Nakamura-sensei said gently, "Never. You are a child of courage and of light, and the very thing that you consider your greatest shame is, in fact, your greatest strength." He patted her kindly on the hand. "I've known what you were for a long time, Izayoi," Nakamura-sensei said, "and because today you have trusted me enough to reveal your own truth, I will trust you with mine. My grandmother was exactly what you are—the child of a hanyou and a miko."

"Really?" asked Izayoi.

"Really," smiled Nakamura-sensei. "Great-grandfather was the son of a fox youkai and a human woman. Youkai blood runs very strongly in your father, as it does in you, so much so that you are as much a hanyou as your father. But my grandmother was more human than hanyou, and the fox-youkai blood from great-grandfather ran very weakly in her, and in my mother. Still, there is a little youkai blood yet in me..." and he held out his hand, and above it there appeared a tiny blue flame.

"Fox fire!" gasped Izayoi.

"Fox fire," agreed Nakamura-sensei. He closed his hand and extinguished the flame. "That's all I inherited from great-grandfather," he said, but then he looked mischievously over his glasses at Izayoi. "But in my youth...I could have really used his shape-changing abilities." He chuckled, remembering some secret wayward days of his past; then he asked Izayoi, "Have you ever met a fox youkai?"

"Oh yes," she said. "I met him when I was only a baby."

"Him?" asked Nakamura-sensei, with a smile.

"Oh...yes, my...my..." Izayoi's voice trailed off, and she began poking absently at the pot of dirt again. "It's...kinda hard to explain. Shippou...he was my big brother when I was a baby, and he's been my best friend since we grew up. When I first learned to talk, I couldn't say his whole name—I called him 'Po-chan.' Sometimes, I still do." Izayoi giggled at the thought. "When I was born, I was the same size he was. He was so small, he couldn't even hold me—they had to kind of prop me up and lean me against him, and I'd suck my thumb and pull on his fur. But now," she laughed, "He's even taller than I am." She sighed, blushed, and continued, "He's handsome, he's funny, he's kind, and he understands me like nobody else does...and now...now I was hoping that he might become...something more..."

"Ah," said Nakamura-sensei knowingly. "I understand. So you too know the love of a fox youkai..." He sighed, sat back from the table, and looked into the distance. "They are such subtle and sweet beings; they are tricksters because they love life dearly, and find joy and laughter in the smallest of things. They are steadfast and valiant in battle, and steadfast and tender in love. A fox youkai is a remarkable creature...even rarer than ever, nowadays." He smiled at Izayoi, and said impishly, "I have never met him, but I am describing your...Shippou, am I not?"

Izayoi blushed, giggled, and nodded. "How did you learn so much about fox youkai?" Izayoi asked.

"Ah," said Nakamura-sensei again. He picked up his gardening scissors, took a few judicious snips from the bamboo plant he had been transplanting; then he paused, and set down his scissors.

"Her name..." he said quietly, "her name was Hinoki. Her eyes shone like the dewdrop that clings to the reed that rises above the lake; her fragrance was fresh and sweet, like the first flowering of a springtime meadow; her voice was the song of the morning dove, her laughter the sound of water joyfully trickling into a brook as the snow melts; and her breath on my cheek was a butterfly alighting on a cherry blossom. And her fur was...so soft, so very soft..." He sighed, lost in his memories; then he leaned dramatically towards Izayoi and said gravely, "And in all my years of scholarship, I have never once found in song, poem, or story, or in all the lore of the ancients...the word that properly describes the color of my father's face when I introduced her to him as my intended."

He laughed loud and long, and so did Izayoi. Nakamura-sensei rose and disappeared into the house for a few moments, and shortly returned with a pot of tea and two ceramic cups. Pouring a cup for Izayoi and himself, he said merrily, "Never before had two families been more perfectly united. They were utterly one...in their opposition to our union. My father and her father could not have disliked each other more thoroughly upon their first meeting ...but when it came time to denounce our union, you would have thought they had been friends for life." He laughed again, then sipped his tea pensively. "Hinoki and I finally resolved to disregard our families' wishes and run away together. Tradition and family be damned! We loved each other, deeply, and that was all that mattered."

"That's so romantic! What happened? Did you run off together?" Izayoi asked excitedly.

"After a fashion..." He laughed again, "We each told our parents that we were going on a retreat, to meditate alone in the woods; but we were hardly alone." He chuckled again. "Please forgive me: such tales are not for a young maiden's ears. But as you said, it was very romantic. They were the happiest days of my life."

"So where is she now?" asked Izayoi.

"Gone...alas, long gone. We returned from our ... 'retreat,' utterly resolved to run away together; we had even chosen the date. But Hinoki wished to spend one last night with her family, to say goodbye...and that night, the monsoon struck; and she, and all her family, were washed away. So many died that night...so many were lost..." He sighed heavily, and sipped his tea slowly. "My father was surprisingly comforting, but he lost no time in arranging a 'more fit' marriage for me, someone 'more suitable for my station'...and, needless to say, someone human. And Hanako was a wonderful woman: she was warm, resourceful, and mild; a man could not ask for a more dutiful wife. In time, I do believe that we grew quite fond of one another. She bore me three strong sons, and kept a wonderful home for us all. No family could have wished for a more loving mother. She died many years ago, and I miss her still. And yet...and yet I cannot remember the color of her eyes. I looked into them as I begat my children; and they looked into mine as she breathed her last. I know they must have been brown...but in my mind's eye, I cannot see them. But I remember the color, the scent, the softness, of every last hair on Hinoki's head."

Izayoi blushed, and a tear slid down her cheek and dropped into her teacup. She did not hear Nakamura-sensei get up, but she felt his kind hand on her shoulder, and he pressed a small white handkerchief into her hand. "Do not be sad, my dear," he said comfortingly. "I have no regrets. No regrets at all! Who knows what might have happened if things had been otherwise? I might have joined her in death, washed away by the monsoon that took so many others. Or we might be yet living in the forest somewhere, and then would you and I have ever met? I think not. And now that you have heard my story, what will that mean for you and your young friend? And what adventures will your children have, and your children's children, because you and I have had this conversation?" He patted her gently on the back, then picked up her teacup. "Let me get you a fresh cup. Tears are a very poor sweetener, either of tea or of an afternoon's company." As he walked into the house, he smiled and said over his shoulder, "Just remember, when you have children of your own... 'Hinoki' is a very nice name, is it not?"

He did not see Izayoi place her hand gently on her heart, or hear her whisper softly: "I promise...I'll remember."