Titmice, Beckoning Cat, and the Kudan
前兆： シジュウカラ、招き猫、件
*** Ume POV ***
“What!” Shishi exploded, her hand dramatically on her hip. “I won’t go. I belong with Ume-san.”
Mikito-sensei let her words roll off his back, remaining surprisingly calm. “It’s for the best. You won’t be separated for long.”
“Why?”
“Two reasons. First, you are more difficult to cleanse than the others are. Both of us need to be able to focus without distraction. Second, as long as you are in contact with Ume-san, Mikawa has a link to her. It will be easier to cleanse her if you are not there. Once we are done, you two can be together again. It will only be a few days.”
“Okay, whatever,” came her resigned reply.
With a regretful back glance, she trooped off to the temple while we stayed in the relative comfort of the house. And that was it for the next couple of days: simple food, chanting at an altar, ritual baths, being sprinkled with salt, etc., etc., etc. And no smoking. It would have been a nice vacation except for that and missing Shishi. Not hot-springs level, but still relaxing.
Tomo and I had plenty of free time, which I spent semi-isolated in a sparsely furnished warded room with tatami mat flooring, an altar at one end, and rolled-up futons on the other. Tomo, who was less affected by Shishi’s curse, could leave the room, but not the main house. I spent some of my time with Tomo and drove him crazy with my talking. Mainly about Shishi. I couldn’t stop. As much as I tried, the nicotine withdrawal made me twitchy and talk incessantly. Tomo would snap at me or leave to find peace elsewhere; sometimes meditating at an altar or helping Kan-chan with her duties.
In desperation, I tried to lose myself in writing.
Shishi’s life story needed to wait till I could consult with her. Instead, I frantically wrote a story, “The Handmaiden’s Tears,” about a jochuu who fell in love with her mistress and her agonies at every word of praise or condemnation she received. It was a tragic story, reeking of angst. I poured some of my angst into it as well, including a lavish scene of the jochuu describing her mistress’s hair. Raven black tresses scented of violets and sandalwood. I wondered if Shishi would recognize herself in it.
Tomo read an early draft and complimented it. A rarity. “I have to say it’s full of emotion.” He suggested, however, that instead of a tragic ending it would be better if the handmaiden realized her mistress’s praise wasn’t hollow formalities but were genuine tokens of affection at the story’s conclusion. “It’s not quite the story you intended, but it’ll sell better and leaves room for sequels.”
I made the changes he recommended and had him reread it. He seemed to find it amusing, but said, “It’s good. You’ve always had a good handle on disaster lesbians. The story is a little cheesy, but your readers will love it. There won’t be a dry eye in the house.” With those words of praise, I sent it to “Yuri Sokutatsu,” a magazine that had published my fiction before.
On the work front, I sent my boss some BS about an accident and health stuff. It wasn’t entirely a lie, but I couldn’t tell them the whole truth. I said that I was recovering well and hoped to be back soon. They responded that day labor might fit my health and family needs better at this time,
It wasn’t being sacked, but it wasn’t good. I hoped my story sold, and quickly.
After a quiet five days with nothing trying to kill us, Mikito released us. The first thing Tomo and I did was go outside to smoke. It was a wintry morning, with the sun sparkling on the frost-covered foliage in the temple garden.
We didn’t know if it was appropriate to smoke on the Temple grounds, so we stood next to an adjacent apartment building, back away from the street. The smoke of our cigarettes mingled with the steam of our breath. Across from us was the temple garden, which I examined as I smoked. The bushes could use trimming and earth showed through the gravel along a path leading from the road to the temple. A small flock of green and black shijukara flitted around the garden. Their antics put a smile on my face, and after my experiences in Muko, the contrast was pleasant.
“Look,” I said, pointing with my smoke. “That’s a good omen.”
There was an amused chuckle. “No, you look,” he said. I followed his pointing finger and saw Shishi emerging from the temple on the other side of the garden. She had gotten a puffy light green jacket from somewhere, and it made her look like one of the little birds in the garden when it ruffled its feathers in the sun. Only blue hair crowned this vision instead of black feathers.
At first, she fumbled with a pack of smokes, but when she saw us she hurried over, cigarette forgotten. The shijukara scattered as she passed, calling out tsushī tsushī tsushī, then resettled. Shishi settled in the middle of the concrete driveway, a few feet away, unlit cigarette still between her fingers — a huge smile on her face.
“Hug her,” Tomo said to Shishi. “She’s been pining for you.”
“Is it okay? Not too clingy?”
“Not too clingy,” I forced out. “I missed you.” If the chill hadn’t already turned my checks pink, they were now.
She moved the rest of the way to me and swallowed me in her arms. I found my face pressed into her hair. “Sandalwood and violets,” I thought. “A warm smell, like her, mysterious.”
This was our first embrace, and like a doofus, I just stood there. With that thought, I put my arms around her, “She’s soft and warm, like her hair,” I thought. The smell was intoxicating, and I pushed my face a little deeper. If I’d been a cat, I would have purred. As it was, I found one of my hands stroking her hair and the other pulling her closer. Her breasts pressed against me. Her breasts…
“My White Knight.”
Her comment interrupted my thoughts, and I drew away. At that moment, the last thing I wanted to be was her White Knight. But things are as they are and at least we’re a step closer to “Ume and Shishi.”
Tomo was watching, amused. “You lovebirds better hurry. Sensei and his people will call us any second.”
He was right; we didn’t have much time, so we hurriedly lit smokes, hiding whatever emotion might have been on our faces. It might not be romantic, but the smoking and chatting was a welcome interlude. Shishi said one thing after we had taken a few drags that grabbed my attention.
“I’ve been dying for a cig and almost left a few times. I wanted to smoke so bad, even one of your nasty smokes.”
She took another drag and then pointed her camel at my face. “But then I would imagine your face if I left, and I would stick it out. You know, I missed your face, even the sour face you make when I mess up.” There was a pause. “I never missed Mika’s face like that or even Kuma’s. I missed you.”
I responded by telling her I was proud of her. My deeper thoughts almost escaped at that moment and if we had been by ourselves, they might have. But instead of romantic drama, the three of us continued puffing away on our smokes.
Later, I thought about how we must have looked like a cluster of grinning maneki-neko. Silly grins on our cat faces, our paws perpetually waving as we relieved five days of nicotine withdrawal.
As pleasant as it was, our smoke break ended soon when Kan-chan arrived and asked us to join Mikito-sensei.
Kan-chan had briefed us on what to expect. Tomo, Shishi, and I sat on faded red cushions at a low table in a room decorated with Shinto and Buddhist scrolls. Mikito-sensei sat facing us next to one of his sons, a young man without the gravitas of his father. We waited silently while Mikito-sensei carefully measured matcha, whisked it, and finally served us tea in elegant, green-glazed cups. It reminded me of my grandfather all those years ago. Only Mikito-sensei brought a sense of calm to the ceremony rather than stiff tradition.
When we had finished our matcha, Mikito said, “Tell me your story, Ume-san.”
Tomo and I took turns telling him what had happened. I skipped personal details and most of Shishi’s history and misbehavior. Partway through, Kan-chan and Kao joined the group, but they remained silent, listening and occasionally nodding their heads.
While we told our tales, Mikito listened intently, occasionally asking clarifying questions. At one point he had me explain my relationship and history with Hanayome-shin. At the end, he asked if I’d ever had dreams about Shiomi-san or Mikawa-san before meeting them. I hadn’t, nor were they familiar to me beforehand.
“That is good,” he responded. “The strings of fate are still only loosely tied to you. That will make things easier.”
He turned to his son. “See if the new information helps with the divinations.”
He turned back to us as his son left. “Mikawa is now exiled to Kakuriyo, the place you call Muko, but there are still several mysteries. There are too many factors involved: Shiomi-san, Ume-san, Mikawa, Hanayome-shin, fate, and others we don’t recognize. But for the moment, you’re safe.”
“Sensei,” I began. “We appreciate everything you’ve done. I wish there was a way we could repay you, but our situation is dire. We were barely making it before and because of all this, my work hours are being cut back.”
He waved his hand as if shooing a fly, “Some clients make a small tithing from what they earn, others find they can help us later, or ones with high reikon like you or Shiomi-san sometimes come and study with us.”
I was going to ask about this “reikon” but Kan-chan interrupted. “May I speak?”
“By all means,” Mikito said.
“I spoke to Shiro, and she said if Tomo is interested, they have an opening for a fleet mechanic. You’ll have to commute from where you live, but it pays well and Shiro makes sure all the employees are happy.”
“Is this the beginning of Hanayome-shin’s aid,” I thought, “or because of the friendship developing between Tomo and Kan-chan? Or both?”
Tomo looked as surprised as I was and quickly answered, “Thank you. Thank you very much. It would be an honor.”
“You sure?” I asked. “Your back.”
“I’ll give it my best shot. We need the money, and Kan-chan says Shiro understands queer folk and…” his voice trailed off for a second. “I’ll make it work. This is your chance to focus on your writing. Ganbarou.”
I had always suspected that workplace discrimination was part of Tomo’s problem. Not that we talk about it. He probably thought he should be tougher. “Ganbarou,” I replied.
Sensei’s son returned at that point and whispered to his father, who explained. “There are still things we don’t understand, but as I said, you are currently safe. I will give you charms that will keep Mikawa-san away. Unfortunately, she won’t give up. Eventually, the charms will fail or she will find a way past them. That could be tomorrow or twenty years from now. Ume-san’s guardian may protect Ume and Shizu-san, but only if Ume-san doesn’t tie her fate with Shiomi-san.”
He paused, then continued, “I have a question I hope will clear up some of the mystery. Does a cow, a cow watching, mean anything to you?”
“You mean the kudan?” Shishi asked.
“Ah, yes. A kudan,” Mikito-sensei said, folding his hands in front of him. A faint smile touched his lips. “Tell us about the kudan.”
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Note: “If Ume doesn’t tie her fate with Shiomi.,” I think we know Ume’s response to that. As for the kudan, I hope you haven’t forgotten its prophecy. What the kudan foretells always comes true.
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Story by Nara Moore
Twitter/X:@nara_moore
Mastodon: sakurajima.moe
WordPress: Josei Yuri and Paranormal Romance
Art by Mai-sensei
Twitter: @Maiisheree
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