Spirit of the Lake

Spirit of the Lake

Annin loved to travel, though, neither views of streaking clouds above majestic mountains, nor of red sunsets over sensuous shores, could increase the murmur in his breast. Rather, he enjoyed the near silence of a breeze caressing the trees, the sigh of waves sinking into sand, the clop of horses prancing on a bridge, the laughter of joyful children. You may say he could sample all of these without traveling hardly at all and you would be right, as Japan was at peace. Annin was a storyteller, which was one of the few vocations a blind person could strive to master.

He was enjoying a cup of tea with a sweet rice cake at a local tea shop when he heard rumors of a lake monster terrorising fishermen. Always interested in new events, he set out on the three day trip with his cane tapping the road. A half day’s travel from the fishing village, he stopped in a town. A breeze carried the aroma of charcoal broiled fish; like the tendril of a vine, it wrapped itself around him and pulled him into an inn.

Annin felt the cloth hanging over the entrance of the inn, and parting it with one hand, wished he could see the inn’s name he knew was on the cloth. He stepped inside, instantly the proprietor shouted, “Welcome!”

Annin smiled. “Could someone kindly lead me to an open chair?”

The proprietor’s daughter saw that their guest was blind. She recognized the small folded cloth balanced on his shaven head and an apron’s pockets filled with scrolls and brushes as the costume of a storyteller. “Yes, I’ll be with you right away.” The sound of wooden sandals on hard packed clay and the swish of clothing approached. “Sorry to keep you waiting, honored guest. Here, take my hand.”

Annin held out his hand. It was evening and his hand was cold, so the warmth of the dauther’s hand made him feel welcome. He couldn’t help smiling, as this was one of the benefits of being blind. “Thank you.”

“I’ll bring you tea.”

Annin nodded and gave his order. While waiting, he listened to two men at another table.

An enthusiastic voice said. “Aah, this fish is delicious!” While chewing on his food, he went on. “I haven’t eaten fresh fish for awhile. Thank you for bringing me here.”

An calmer voice answered, “Yes, isn’t it?” He paused to lay down his chopsticks, and considered his next remark. “Have you been to the market? The price of fresh fish is really high now.”

Nodding, his friend answered, “Yes, that’s true. You know, it’s because of that monster in the lake. The fishermen are afraid to go out in their boats. They’re only fishing from shore.”

The calm voice turned grave. “Something needs to be done, or we’ll soon round out of fish to eat.”

“Well, you could go out and ask the monster to leave.” They both laughed.

After dinner, Annin paid for bedding in a large communal room. The next morning, after breakfast, he prepared to leave the inn to head west for the fishing village.

The master of the inn parted the cloth at the entrance, and bowed as Annin stepped into the street. “Thank you for staying at our humble inn.”

Annin bowed. “The pleasure was mine.”

“Here is your lunch that I have packed for you.” The master placed the package wrapped in bamboo bark in Annin’s hands. “May you have a safe trip.”

Annin bowed, put the package in the sleeve of his kimono, and thanked him. Then, he straightened his posture, and tapping the road, proceeded west with his bowlegged gait. He felt the rising sun on his back. As the day progressed, sweat started to bead on his brow until a cool wind from the north unhindered by trees relieved his discomfort. Aah, he thought, I’m on the border of the lake. Soon the rustle of gentle waves on sand confirmed his guess.

Further on, the plunk of a baited hook entering the water stopped his steps. He swiveled, raised his head, heard the crunch of shoes on crushed shells, and said, “Good afternoon.”

Being from a small village, the fisherman didn’t recognize the garb of a storyteller, he replied, “Good afternoon, monk.”

Annin smiled. “I’m not a monk, just a bad storyteller. Are you from the fishing village?”

“Yes, do you wish for directions?”

“Is this the road to the village?”

“Yes, it is. Do you know someone there?”

“No, I’m going there to hear about the monster lurking in these waters.”

“You need go no further. If it’s alright with you, I can tell all about her.”

“I would be happy to hear it from you if it isn’t a bother.”

“If you wait there, I can lead you to a nice place to sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“This way. Be careful, there’s a dip in the road. Good, now follow the path down and turn right. Just a little further. Here, there’s a log. Let’s sit here.”

Annin found the log with his hand and with a grunt sat down.

“So, storyteller, what is your name? Mine’s Gonta.”

“Very well, Gonta. Mine’s Annin.”

Gonta was hungry. He had been about to eat the lunch his wife had packed for him. She had made his favorite today, getting up before him to cook. He wondered if Annin were as lucky as he to have a person like his wife. He spoke with a respective tone. “Have you any food? If not, I would gladly share the miserable lunch my wife made.”

“That would be wonderful!” Annin beamed. “I will share mine, though I’m sure it’s not the equal of yours.”

Each opened their lunch and shared with delight. Gonta unfastened a flask from his belt. “I have some tea. Take this cup.” He put the cup into Annin’s hand and poured the tea. With a slight bow Annin raised the cup to his lips and drank. He voiced his pleasure, wiped the cup with a cloth from his sleeve, and handed the cup back with a bow. He heard Gonta noisily drink his tea and tie the flask to his belt.

Annin asked, “What is the nature of the monster?”

Gonta looked out over the lake. “It’s not a monster. It’s a hag. A water spirit. Very ugly with open sores on her face. Her hair is falling off. You can see her scalp in places. Her hair must have been beautiful once. Long and shining black. It’s like this lake. Dirty now, but beautiful in my boyhood. I sense she’s angry at the filth the town and village put into the water.”

“I heard in the town that she won’t let anyone go out onto the water.”

“That’s true. She rises out of the lake and scares us away. She can raise a chilling fog. We can only fish from the shore.”

“You can’t catch enough from the shore, can you?”

“Not enough to sell. Barely enough to survive is all.”

“If you take me out in a boat, I’ll talk to her.”

Gonta turned to look with disbelief at the foolish man who was willing to risk his life for his village. “Don’t do it. No one can predict what she’ll do. It’s better if you just go back to where you came from.”

Annin smiled. “I’m a storyteller. I make my living entertaining people with tales of adventure. I need something new. I have a plan in case I fail.”

Gonta bowed deeply. “I’ll take you to the village. You can tell your plan to the elders.”

That evening Annin laid out his plan to the council. Without much argument, yet with much discussion, it was accepted.

The next morning as the sun rose, mist began to swirl above the lake. Annin spiked the sand with his cane, and clambered into the boat. Tethered to it was another boat that Gonta would return to shore in. When Annin wanted to return, he would yank on the tether, and his boat would be pulled to shore. Annin sat down in the middle of the boat. He raised his hand and waved forward.

Gonta got to the side of the boat and pushed. His feet sank into the sand as the boat slid down the beach toward the water. He ran alongside the boat pushing as he went and jumped in as the boat slid into the lake. Looking back, he saw his brother jump into the other boat.

Gonta stood at the stern. Moving the single oar back and forth through the gray water, he never looked to shore at his neighbors praying for their safe return, only straight ahead into the mist. He wanted to believe they were gliding among clouds, safe from she who hated them. Yet, he shivered, for he couldn’t block out the splash of water on the boat’s prow.

The rope in the stern was unwinding its last coils as Gonta raised the oar out of the water and into the boat. His brother’s boat came alongside. He spoke to Annin, “Take care.”

Annin turned. “Yes, pray for me.”

Gonta got into his brother’s boat. “I’m be waiting for your signal. See you in a while.” He kept his eyes on Annin until he vanished in the mist.

Annin calmed his breathing. He focused to catch any sound beside the gentle lapping of the lake, yet he couldn’t ignore the clammy clutch of the mist; it permeated the folds of his kimono, chilling his skin till he felt the bumps form. A gust rushed from behind, blowing up over his back and scalp. He heard a disturbance in the water. Ripples rocked his boat, then the sound of water dropping on the stern of the boat. He could tell the drops were large by the way they slapped the wooden bottom; approaching, they thumped in harmony to the pounding of his heart.

A voice hissed, “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Without turning, Annin answered, all the while his teeth chattering, “My name is Annin. I’m writing a story in my mind.”

“Look at me when you speak.”

Annin turned while rubbing his face to warm it. With an inner strength he stopped shivering. “I can face you, but I can’t look, and my eyes are ugly and disturbing.”

“Your face is like a baby’s compared to mine. It’s good that you cannot see it.”

“I’ve heard that your hair glistens darker than the deepest black. I can only imagine how it would light my soul if only I could glimpse it.”

She raised her hands to her face, but didn’t touch it. “My face is marked with bloody sores.”

“Your sores can heal if the lake is healthy.”

“The people living here polluted my home. I should have acted sooner. I was beautiful.”

“You can be beautiful again. I can help make it happen.”

“Make me believe you, and I will let you live.”

“I will tell the fisher folk what you have told me. They will go to the town to tell the people there. I will write a story of you and the lake, and travel throughout the land. Some people will change when they hear our story. Little by little, they will learn to protect this world. This will be the starting place. If you are patient, it can happen.”

“Trust... without love, lies betray trust. Can you love me?”

“Yes, I can love you for your loneliness, for that is my pain, too.”

The spirit of water knelt and offered herself. They embraced, making the boat add waves to the lake.

Finally, everything was still. The spirit broke the silence. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Annin gently kissed her blistered lips. “How can we meet again if we never part?”

The spirit clung to Annin a moment longer then rose. “I shall always look back upon this day with love, and I look to the day when I am healed. May we meet on that day.” She floated off the boat and disappeared into the mist.

Annin let out the air in his lungs in relief, then tugged the rope. He had his story, and was eager to spread it.