24 October, 2017
"Koichi, do you understand what I'm saying?" The boy's mother stood before him, reaching up to take his drawn face in her hands. Koichi would not make eye contact with her. Still, she spoke to him, all the while knowing he would not answer. He had barely spoken to her for almost a year now. In fact, he had barely said a word to anyone at all.
"We must try," she pleaded with him. She knew that he could hear her and would follow her if she took him by the hand, but she was not sure if he completely understood everything she was telling him. What worried her most was the rule. She had heard that if one broke it, one would not be healed properly, or perhaps not at all. She was hesitant to go through with it, but everything else she had tried to help him had failed. They had no choice but to try.
"Hellooo," Koichi's mother called timidly as she and her son entered the small, dim foyer. It was lit by a single candle and the scent from the incense that burned beside it was so thick and heavy in the air, she almost choked.
"Please come in Koichi," a woman's voice called gently from the room beyond.
"Just focus on her hands," his mother reminded him. She knew she would have to send him in alone and carefully pushed aside the curtain for him to enter, being sure to only look down herself. Koichi had grown freakishly tall over the past year. He had to bend over, stooping to fit through the doorway. He was nervous, looking at the patterns on the floor that led him to the tatami mat and low table at the other end of the room. Behind it in the shadows sat the woman. He walked slowly, deliberately placing each foot on a patterned square. By the time he reached her, he felt a strange calm wash over him. For the first time in a very long time, so long that he could no longer remember, he relaxed.
"Please, have a seat." Her voice felt vaguely familiar to him and there was a kindness in it that put him at ease. Koichi sat down and his gaze was drawn to her hands at the table, but he was careful not to raise his eyes to hers. He couldn't pinpoint what it was exactly, but somehow the hands did not match the voice. But he did not care. He felt light and serene, like he belonged and was no longer afraid. His mother had been worried he would not be able to sit through the entire ceremony, but he immediately fell into a trance, watching the woman's hands carefully prepare the tea. There was something comforting about her movements and he sat patiently until it was time for him to drink. He could never have imagined that tea could smell and taste so good. He felt almost giddy. Most surprisingly of all, the enormous guilt that had clutched his heart and held it in a vice for so long was suddenly gone. He was blissfully unaware of the dark figure in the far corner of the room. But it was watching him intently, quiet as a mouse.
When it was all over, Koichi obediently stood and bowed. He had not directly seen her face, but thought he had caught a glimpse of her wispy, grey hair. It did not matter to him what she looked like. Without thinking he blurted out, "Thank you Obaa-san!"
She did not react when he called her 'Grandma' but simply replied, "You are free."
Koichi's mother looked at him curiously as he emerged from the room. She almost did not recognize him. He no longer had to bend over to fit through the doorway, but Koichi did not seem to notice. He was free of the darkness that had plagued him since his father's mysterious disappearance a year ago. And for the first time in a long time, he just felt like an ordinary boy again.
The front door slowly creaked open and the old man pushing on it squinted as he tried to adjust to the darkness within. There was the familiar candle and incense burning on a little wooden table to the right of the tiny entrance. He paused for a moment, staring at the sheer curtain hanging over the doorway that led to the inner room beyond.
"Okaerinasai Ojii-sama," a woman's voice called gently from beyond the curtain, welcoming him back. The old man was startled. How had she known it was him? His wife had suggested he stop in a day early, as he was going to be in town that day for another appointment and they lived a great distance away. But he had no way of contacting her to let her know in advance.
"Tadaima," he answered, a wave of warmth flooding over him and almost instantly, he relaxed. Without another word the man carefully pushed aside the curtain, his eyes cast downward as he followed the markings printed on the floor. They led to a tatami mat at the other end of the room where his hostess sat waiting patiently.
Only the person being treated was ever allowed to enter beyond the curtain. There could be no parents, no children, no guests of any kind. But besides this, she had only one rule - no one was to look directly at her face. For this reason, there were varying accounts of her appearance. To some, she was a beautiful young woman. To others, she seemed older and grandmotherly. Still others claimed she had just been an average, middle-aged woman. No one had ever looked her in the eye, but many claimed to have cheated a glance. Was it possible she had actually been more than one person? They wondered. But when asked, she claimed no, it was just her. She worked alone.
The old man now sat before her, looking down at her hands. This at least as far as he knew, was allowed. They were average looking hands, neither too young nor old. She gently laid out all her utensils on the low table between them. He sat mesmerized by her slow, deliberate movements, by the bright color and aroma of the tea which seemed to sedate him, relax him into submission.
The entire ceremony was done in complete silence. There were no questions, no answers. No small talk. No way of communicating, except for the movements of the ceremony itself. But they all felt it. Everyone that had been there sensed that she somehow knew the real reason they had come, and that she instinctively knew which tea to use and how to administer its healing properties to treat whatever ailment they had come to her with. Sometimes it took more than one session. But there didn't seem to be anything she could not cure.
The old man sensed something different today. Somewhere behind her he thought he spied some movement, another presence in the room. But still he dared not raise his head. Then, a cry arose, so unexpected that it shook him out of his reverie and he couldn't help but look up. There was a small child sitting in the far corner on a raised cushion. He turned to the woman now, looking directly at her for an explanation. He noted she was younger than he expected, but pleasant to look at. Suddenly realizing he had broken the rule, he immediately looked down again and began apologizing.
"Sumimasen, sumimasen," the old man kept bowing his head, his hands clasped together in a praying motion. But rather than being upset with him for looking at her, or the girl for crying out, she seemed completely unshaken.
"Daijobu," she reassured him. Then she addressed the child, sternly, but with no anger in her voice.
"Kumiko...you must be still." And with that simple request, the child sat mutely once more, hidden in the depths of the far corner. Then came something unexpected, a simple explanation.
"Forgive me Mr. Sugimoto. She has been ill and her father could not watch her today." The aura in the room had shifted. So she was a young mother, and not so mysterious after all. He wanted to ask her questions about the child, but she silenced him before he could speak again.
"Let us continue," she said. It was hard for him to concentrate after that, but the woman acted like nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Together they completed the ceremony and he took his last sip of tea. It was to be his final visit. He knew he would not be coming back, but the thought of being able to tell people about his discovery excited him.
At the end of the session, he bowed gratefully and turned to go. Then he turned slightly and added,"I hope your daughter feels better," hoping the child would hear him. The woman answered him slowly.
"You are now free, Mr. Sugimoto. And thank you, but she is not mine." He turned to look for the child one last time but was surprised to find the room completely empty...
"How was your session dear?" Mrs. Sugimoto asked her husband as he arrived home.
"Hmmm?" The old man seemed confused.
"The tea ceremony," his wife reminded him.
"Oh yes, yes," he answered, lost in his thoughts. "It was fine. Yes, just fine." He felt like he had just awoken from a dream and could no longer recall any of the details. He now looked at the woman he had been talking to in his living room, wondering who she was and why she was there. But about one thing he was sure. As his doctors would later confirm, his brain cancer had been completely cured. However, what they discovered shocked them. It was a miracle that he could function at all, for half his brain was now completely gone.
No one had questioned the existence of the little apothecary shop that suddenly appeared at the edge of town. All anyone knew was that the woman within was some sort of miracle worker. They didn't seem to care where she had come from or how she did it. People came from all over. They came with a variety of illnesses and broken hearts, and each in their own way had been cured. But for some reason they chose to turn a blind eye to the sacrifices that were required. Sometimes they were small things that went unnoticed. But they were sacrifices that came with no warning, and most importantly, no consent.
Some began to notice that her hours were becoming increasingly erratic, and sometimes the shop would be closed for weeks on end. But few complained. And for the most part, those that came to her were still blinded by their hope and what they wanted to believe. Had someone been watching more closely, they would have also noticed that although many entered the little shop, not everyone left.
The young man that approached now was different than most of her usual customers, and he momentarily checked himself before proceeding through the front door. Like always, the candle and incense were placed neatly on the table beside the entrance and the curtain hung masking the woman in the room beyond. But before he could enter, she called out to him.
"How did you find me?" He was impressed with her ability to sense his presence.
"It was only a matter of time," he replied. But he did not move. After a long pause, she finally responded.
"You know the rule." The man took this as an invitation to enter. He pushed aside the curtain and looking down at the floor, marched confidently toward the shrouded figure sitting at the other end of the room. He sat before the low table, but this time it was the man who laid out the utensils and pulled a pouch of brightly colored tea from his coat pocket. The woman sat silently, watching him work with the same dexterity she was used to showing her clients, and this time it was the woman on the other side of the table who sat entranced. The man never looked up from what he was doing, but he was keenly aware of the other presence in the room. Finally, when he was done with his preparations he spoke.
"Drink," he instructed her. But instead of obediently taking the ceramic mug from him as her clients would have, she struck it from his hand, the hot tea scalding his forearm as it was flung through the air.
"Never," she said as she jumped up from the table. But he had anticipated her reaction, and ignoring the pain in his arm, sprung up to catch her before she could flee. The small child in the corner was jolted from her trance.
"Father?" She now recognized him and ran towards him.
"Stay back!" He warned her, but it was too late. The woman wriggled free and grabbed the child clutching her to her chest.
"You can't have her!" She screamed, frantically pulling the child along as she backed away and tried to run, but there was nowhere to go.
"Let her go. It's over," replied the man calmly.
"Kumiko," the man now looked at the child. "Trust me."
He extended his hand out to her. At first the child seemed frightened, not daring to pull away from the woman's fierce grasp. But at her father's prompting she seemed to gain back her will, realizing she no longer had to be a prisoner there. She shook free of the woman and ran, embracing him as he scooped her into his arms.
"You are free," he whispered to the girl and the woman suddenly slumped to the floor, aging as she did so, until she was nothing but a pile of withered old bones.
"What will the townspeople do now?" She cried, trying to appeal to his sympathies.
"They will let fate dictate the outcome of their lives once more as they should," he replied. "And you will return all that you've stolen from them."
"If I don't?" The old woman squeaked in defiance.
"Then I shall leave you as you are."
"You wouldn't dare, after everything I've done for you, and could still do for you."
The man's jaw clenched. "You may have saved my daughter's life, but you lied to me. You said you wanted to help others, but you only wanted the power for yourself. I shared my darkest secrets with you, taught you everything I knew. And how did you repay me? You took her, lured her away when I was at my most vulnerable. And my wife..." The man's voice trailed away, his face pained with the memory. But he quickly regained his composure and now looked her sternly in the eye.
"You have a choice. Drink, and I will restore your youth and beauty and you can be on your way, or..." He paused before continuing. "Don't you want to be free? You may have thought you loved me, but I know now you've only ever cared about yourself."
"How can you be so cold?" She gave him a wounded look. "I sacrificed everything for you. Does that mean nothing to you?"
"Drink. I will release you."
"What if I don't want to be released?"
"Foolish woman...I will never love you." He looked at her with such pity and contempt that she seemed to shrink further into herself.
"Drink!" The man was now losing patience. "Why are you resisting? You won't need her anymore." He now looked towards his daughter.
"Father, wait!" Before he could stop her, the young girl reached for the other cup of tea and drank. The man froze. He shook his head in disbelief and cried out..."No!"
Both figures began to transform before his eyes. The old woman now appeared as a child, and the girl he thought had been his daughter had been turned into a stunningly beautiful woman. She smiled coyly at him, and her voice was now calm and soothing.
"I'm sorry I had to trick you. You didn't realize that you had freed me the moment you whispered into the child's ear."
The man was in shock. How could he have missed her sleight of hand?
"But don't worry, I'm not leaving," the woman continued. "I tried to make you see reason of your own free will, but I realized you needed help to see the truth. And I didn't want to fight you anymore. I do love you. More than you know. And you will come to love me too." She looked at the young girl now.
"The child has been a great solace to me in your absence. Her powers have been extremely useful and are growing stronger every day. I knew you'd come for her, and back to me...As for your wife, she never left you. She was here with me all along." A small smile appeared on the woman's face.
"I have put her to good use. In fact," she gestured around the room, "she is still here." But a quick scan of the room revealed no other presence.
"What have you done with her?" the man demanded, his desperation growing.
"You've forgotten already?" the woman looked amused.
"I needed her form, her body. The old one, beautiful as it may have been, would never do. It was already starting to decay, no matter how hard I tried to preserve it. Sadly, no spell could replace live, human flesh. But it took time for the transformation to be complete. Hence, the rule. I was surprised at how easy it was, to steal her thoughts, her essence, assume her identity, and no one was the wiser. Yet you no longer seem to recognize her."
The woman cocked her head now and studied his face. Her explanation seemed to take him by surprise.
"But," the man looked stunned. "How?..."
"It doesn't matter now," she answered. "This is how it was always meant to be, can't you see? We are together now. We can be a family once more."
The man staggered backward, his vision beginning to blur. Something in the air shifted. Then all at once he felt a strange calm wash over him and the woman reached out to take his hand. The girl took his other hand and together, the three of them walked out the front door and into the sunlight. The man had to squint to readjust to the brightness.
The door to the abandoned apothecary shop creaked as the authorities tried to pry it open. They had to hold their nose from the stench that wafted from within. It was a mixture of incense and decay that made one man almost throw up.
At the back of the shop, they found a low table covered with an array of unidentifiable tools and brushes. Beneath the table were little plastic bags. Some were filled with tea leaves and others with a powdered substance in a vast array of vivid colors. In the dim light they could see scrolls that lined the walls, some with scenes of nature, others of frightening images of obake and otherworldly creatures. One of the men leaned up against a scroll to keep from passing out, but when he did, a portion of the wall beneath him fell away to reveal yet another hidden room beyond.
The odor was much stronger within, and they all pressed their hands harder against their nose and mouth to try to mask the smell. It didn't seem possible, but on a little table to the side of the hidden entrance they found a single candle and a short stick of incense still burning. They drew their weapons, but the room remained eerily silent.
Against the walls were shelves lined with old books and an assortment of vials and jars filled with liquids that held strange tissues in suspension. In one of them were two perfectly preserved human hands. The odor was so strong now it was impossible to detect exactly where it was coming from. But just beyond them, slumped over beneath a white shroud and still dressed in a brightly colored kimono they found the rotting corpse of a woman.
No one could remember the last time anyone had entered the dilapidated shop, but it was clear from the amount of decay that the woman had been dead for some time. The police could not make sense of the jars and vials or where the body parts had come from. And the coroner was never able to identify the woman, or her exact age. He wondered how no one could remember the owner of the shop, and was even more baffled by the fact that few seemed to be able to recall that it existed at all. But of one thing he was certain. Whoever she had been, and however long she had been there, the woman inside had died from an overdose of a powerful narcotic - one that had been ingested with tea.
