InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Blind ❯ Summer 2004 to Autumn 2004 ( Chapter 2 )

Blindby FireFalcon1414

 

Disclaimer: I do not own, in whole or in part, the Inuyasha series. All rights belong to Takahashi Rumiko. The story of “The Tongue-Cut Sparrow” is a Japanese fairy tale; I found the version I use here at www[dot]blackmask[dot]com, and it is not mine, either.

 

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Chapter Two: Summer 2004 to Autumn 2004

 

In the summer night,
The evening still seems present,
But the dawn is here.
To what region of the clouds
Has the wandering moon come home?
--Kiyohara no Fukayabu

 

“Keiji,” I said quietly to my companion several weeks later. “Would you do me a favor?” I heard the rustle of cloth as he nodded, and stood slowly, extending my hand for him. “Would you lead me somewhere?”

 

There was a moment when I was unsure of whether he would comply or not, but then my hand was supported by his; his fingers clasped mine, and he asked in his low voice, “Where would you like to go?”

 

“The library, please,” I requested, and let myself follow him out of my room and through the hallways I was yet to know to the room of books I could not read. “Thank you,” I said when I breathed in the scent of old books. Our library really was not much; only a small room with two armchairs, as Souta described it to me, with bookshelves lining two of the walls, a pair of windows in another, and the door through which we entered in the last. I moved to the side, feeling my way to a shelf and pulling out one of the tomes, bringing it back with me to my silent escort. “What is this, Keiji?”

 

“A book.”

 

“Well, yes, Keiji, I knew that much! What is the title of this book?” I specified with a smile, offering it to him to look at.

 

He took it from my hands to study it. “It appears to be a book of traditional Japanese myths,” he informed me.

 

My smile widened. “Would you please do me another favor, Keiji?” I asked, putting on my most hopeful face. He did not respond, so I assumed that was an affirmation. “Would you please read me some of the stories?”

 

I barely caught his almost-silent sigh; nevertheless, he led me to one of the armchairs, and I heard him seat himself in the other. “Which would you like to start with?” he said quietly, and I giggled in childish delight.

 

“Does this book have one called `The Tongue-Cut Sparrow'?” I asked eagerly.

 

“Yes,” he said; I heard the turning of the pages, and he began:

 

“Long, long ago in Japan there lived an old man and his wife. The old man was a good, kind-hearted, hard-working old fellow, but his wife was a cruel woman, who spoiled the happiness of her home by her scolding tongue, and who was always complaining. The old man had for a long time ceased to take any notice of her crossness, as he was out most of the day at work in the fields; and, since they had no child, he kept a tame sparrow whom he loved just as much as if she had been his child.

 

“When he came back at night after his hard day's work in the open air it was his only pleasure to pet the sparrow, to talk to her and to teach her little tricks, which she learned very quickly. The old man would open her cage and let her fly about the room, and he always saved some small tidbits of dinner for his friend.

 

“One day, the old man went out to chop wood in the forest, and the old woman stayed at home to wash clothes. The day before, she had made some starch, and now when she came to look for it, it was all gone; the bowl which she had filled full yesterday was quite empty.

 

“While she was wondering who could have used or stolen the starch, down flew the pet sparrow, and, bowing her little feathered head—a trick which she had been taught by her master—the pretty bird chirped and said, `It is I who have taken the starch. I thought it was some food put out for me in that basin, and I ate it all. If I have made a mistake I beg you to forgive me!' From this, you see that that the sparrow was a truthful bird, and the old woman ought to have been willing to forgive her at once when she asked her pardon so nicely - but not so.

 

“The old woman had never loved the sparrow, and had often quarreled with her husband for keeping a `dirty bird' about the house, saying that it only made extra work for her. Now she was quite delighted to have some cause of complaint against the pet. She scolded and cursed the poor little bird for her bad behavior; and, not content with using these harsh words, she seized the sparrow, fetched the scissors, and cut off the poor little bird's tongue.

 

“`I suppose you took my starch with that tongue! Now you may see what it is like to go without it!' With these dreadful words, she drove the bird away, not caring in the least what might happen to it and without the smallest pity for its suffering.

 

“In the evening, the old man came home. As usual, on the way back he looked forward to the time when he should reach his gate and see his pet come flying and chirping to meet him; but tonight the old man was very disappointed, for not even the shadow of his dear sparrow was to be seen, and so he went to his wife to ask after the bird. `Where is Suzume-san today?'

 

“The old woman pretended not to know at first, and answered, `Your sparrow? I am sure I do not know. Now I come to think of it, I have not seen her all the afternoon. I shouldn't wonder if the ungrateful bird had flown away and left you after all your petting!' but at last, when the old man gave her no peace, she confessed all. She told him crossly how the sparrow had eaten the rice-paste she had specially made for starching her clothes, how when the sparrow had confessed to what she had done, in great anger she had taken her scissors and cut out her tongue, and how finally she had driven the bird away and forbidden her to return to the house again. Then the old woman showed her husband the sparrow's tongue, saying, `Here is the tongue I cut off! Horrid little bird, why did it eat all my starch?'

 

“`How could you be so cruel? Oh! How could you be so cruel?' was all that the old man could answer. `What a dreadful misfortune for my poor Suzume-san to lose her tongue!' he said to himself. `She won't be able to chirp any more, and surely the pain of the cutting of it out in that rough way must have made her ill! Is there nothing to be done?'

 

“The old man shed many tears after his cross wife had gone to sleep. While he wiped away the tears with the sleeve of his cotton robe, a bright thought comforted him: he would go and look for the sparrow on the morrow. Having decided this he was able to go to sleep at last.

“The next morning he rose early, as soon as the day broke, and, snatching a hasty breakfast, started out over the hills and through the woods, stopping at every clump of bamboos to cry: `Where, oh where does my tongue-cut sparrow stay? Where, oh where, does my tongue-cut sparrow stay?'

 

“He never stopped to rest for his noonday meal, and it was far on in the afternoon when he found himself near a large bamboo wood. Bamboo groves are the favorite haunts of sparrows, and there, at the edge of the wood, he saw his own dear sparrow waiting to welcome him. He could hardly believe his eyes for joy, and ran forward quickly to greet her. She bowed her little head and, wonderful to relate, she could talk as of old. The old man told her how sorry he was for all that had happened, and inquired after her tongue, wondering how she could speak so well without it. Then the sparrow opened her beak and showed him that a new tongue had grown in place of the old one, and begged him not to think any more about the past, for she was quite well now. Then the old man knew that his sparrow was a fairy, and no common bird. He forgot all his troubles, he forgot even how tired he was, for he had found his lost sparrow, and instead of being ill and without a tongue as he had feared and expected to find her, she was well and happy and with a new tongue, and without a sign of the ill-treatment she had received from his wife.

 

“The sparrow asked him to follow her, and she led him to a beautiful house in the heart of the bamboo grove. The old man was utterly astonished when he entered the house to find what a beautiful place it was. It was built of the whitest wood, the soft cream-colored mats were the finest he had ever seen, and the cushions that the sparrow brought out for him to sit on were made of the finest silk and crape. Beautiful vases and lacquer boxes adorned the tokonoma of every room.

 

“The sparrow led the old man to the place of honor, and then, taking her place at a humble distance, she thanked him with many polite bows for all the kindness he had shown her for many long years. Then the Lady Sparrow, introduced all her family to the old man. This done, her daughters, robed in dainty crape gowns, brought in a feast of all kinds of delicious foods, until the old man began to think he must have been dreaming. In the middle of the dinner, some of the Sparrow's daughters performed a wonderful dance to amuse the guest. Never had the old man enjoyed himself so much. The hours flew by too quickly in this lovely spot, with all these fairy sparrows to wait upon him, to feast him, and to dance before him.

 

“Nevertheless, the night came on, and the darkness reminded him that he had a long way to go and must think about taking his leave and returning home. He thanked his kind hostess for her splendid entertainment, and begged her for his sake to forget all she had suffered at the hands of his cross old wife. He told the Lady Sparrow that it was a great comfort and happiness to him to find her in such a beautiful home and to know that she wanted for nothing. It was his anxiety to know how she fared and what had really happened to her that had led him to seek her. Now he knew that all was well he could return home with a light heart.

 

“The Lady Sparrow begged him to stay and rest several days, but the old man said he must return to his old wife—who would probably be cross at his not coming home at the usual time— and to his work, and, much as he wished to do so, he could not accept her kind invitation. Now that he knew where the Lady Sparrow lived, though, he would come to see her whenever he had the time.

 

“When the Lady Sparrow saw that she could not persuade the old man to stay longer, she gave an order to some of her servants, and they at once brought in two boxes, one large and the other small. These were placed before the old man, and the Lady Sparrow asked him to choose whichever he liked for a present, which she wished to give him. The old man could not refuse this kind proposal, and he chose the smaller box, saying, `I am now too old and feeble to carry the big and heavy box. As you are so kind as to say that I may take whichever I like, I will choose the small one, which will be easier for me to carry.'

 

“Then the sparrows all helped him put it on his back and went to the gate to see him off, bidding him good-bye with many bows and entreating him to come again whenever he had the time. Thus, the old man and his pet sparrow separated quite happily, the sparrow showing not the least ill-will for all the unkindness she had suffered at the hands of the old wife. Indeed, she only felt sorrow for the old man who had to put up with it all his life.

 

“When the old man reached home, he found his wife even crosser than usual, for it was late on in the night and she had been waiting up for him for a long time. `Where have you been all this time?' she asked him angrily. `Why do you come back so late?'

 

“The old man tried to pacify her by showing her the box of presents he had brought back with him, and then he told her of all that had happened to him, and how wonderfully he had been entertained at the sparrow's house.

 

“`Now, let us see what is in the box,' said the old man, not giving her time to grumble again. `You must help me open it.' They both sat down before the box and opened it.

 

“To their utter astonishment they found the box filled to the brim with gold and silver coins and many other precious things. The mats of their little cottage fairly glittered as they took out the things one by one and put them down and handled them over and over again. The old man was overjoyed at the sight of the riches that were now his. Beyond his brightest expectations was the Sparrow's gift, which would enable him to give up work and live in ease and comfort the rest of his days. He said, `Thanks to my good little Sparrow! Thanks to my good little Sparrow!' many times. The old woman, however, after the first moments of surprise and satisfaction at the sight of the gold and silver were over, could not suppress the greed of her wicked nature. She now began to reproach the old man for not having brought home the big box of presents, for in the innocence of his heart he had told her how he had refused the large box of presents, which the sparrows had offered him, preferring the smaller one because it was light and easy to carry home.

 

“`You silly old man,' said she, `Why did you not bring the large box? Just think what we have lost. We might have had twice as much silver and gold as this. You are certainly an old fool!' The old man now wished that he had said nothing about the big box, but it was too late; the greedy old woman, not contented with the good luck which had so unexpectedly befallen them and which she so little deserved, made up her mind, if possible, to get more.

 

“Early the next morning she got up and asked the old man to describe the way to the sparrow's house. It did not even enter her thoughts that the sparrows might be angry with her— as, indeed, they were—and might punish her for what she had done. Ever since the Lady Sparrow had returned home in the sad plight in which they had first found her, weeping and bleeding from the mouth, her whole family and relations had done little else but speak of the cruelty of the old woman. `How could she,' they asked each other, `inflict such a heavy punishment for such a trifling offense as that of eating some rice-paste by mistake?' They all loved the old man who was so kind and good and patient under all his troubles, but the old woman they hated, and they determined, if ever they had the chance, to punish her as she deserved.

 

“After walking for some hours, the old woman at last found the bamboo grove which she had made her husband carefully describe, and now she stood before it crying out, `Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house? Where is the tongue-cut sparrow's house?' At last, she saw the eaves of the house peeping out from amongst the bamboo foliage. She hastened to the door and knocked loudly.

 

“When the servants told the Lady Sparrow that her old mistress was at the door asking to see her, she was somewhat surprised at the unexpected visit, after all that had taken place, and she wondered not a little at the boldness of the old woman in venturing to come to the house. The Lady Sparrow, however, was a polite bird, and so she went out to greet the old woman, remembering that she had once been her mistress.

 

“The old woman intended, however, to waste no time in words, she went right to the point, without the least shame, and said, `You need not trouble to entertain me as you did my old man. I have come myself to get the box which he so stupidly left behind. I shall soon take my leave if you will give me the big box—that is all I want!' The Lady Sparrow at once consented, and told her servants to bring out the big box. The old woman eagerly seized it and hoisted it on her back, and, without even stopping to thank the Lady Sparrow, began to hurry homewards.

 

“The box was so heavy that she could not walk quickly, much less run, and she had often to sit down and rest her self by the way. While she was staggering along under the heavy load, her desire to open the box became too great to resist. She could wait no longer, for she supposed this big box to be full of gold, silver, and precious jewels, like the small one her husband had received.

 

“At last this greedy and selfish old woman put down the box by the wayside and opened it carefully, expecting to gloat her eyes on a mine of wealth. However, as soon as she lifted the lid, a number of horrible and frightful looking demons bounced out of the box and surrounded her as if they intended to kill her. Not even in nightmares had she ever seen such horrible creatures as her much-coveted box contained. A demon with one huge eye right in the middle of its forehead came and glared at her, monsters with gaping mouths looked as if they would devour her, a huge snake coiled and hissed about her, and a big frog hopped and croaked towards her. The old woman had never been so frightened in her life, and ran from the spot as fast as her quaking legs would carry her, glad to escape alive. When she reached home, she fell to the floor and told her husband with tears all that had happened to her, and how she had been nearly killed by the demons in the box.

 

“Then she began to blame the sparrow, but the old man stopped her at once, saying, `Don't blame the sparrow, it is your wickedness which has at last met with its reward. I only hope this may be a lesson to you in the future!'

 

“The old woman said nothing more, and from that day she repented for her cross, unkind ways, and by degrees became a good old woman, so that her husband hardly knew her to be the same person; and they spent their last days together happily, free from want or care, spending carefully the treasure the old man had received from his pet, the Tongue-Cut Sparrow.”

 

We sat quietly for a while, pondering the story, until his voice broke the silence: “Why did you ask for this myth?”

 

I smiled, lowering my head. “I do not know. I suppose it reminds me of myself, a bit.”

 

His hesitation was a bit longer than usual before he asked me, “Who was the old woman who cut out your tongue, little Sparrow?”

 

I faced him, not letting my smile falter. “My tongue was cut out by my own foolishness, Keiji; and one day it will grow back.”

 

The silence returned; in the end, we read several more stories from the anthology before Mom's key turning in the lock startled us; my ghost was gone before I could warn him, and I felt my way to the front hall to greet my mother.

 

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We finished the book of mythology the next day, and the day after that we moved onto another book on the shelf, and another. When Keiji asked me where my family had gotten so many old books, I responded that Grandpa had collected them; he had always been slightly obsessed with history, so my answer was probably true. Besides, even if it was not true, it did not do either of us any harm.

 

My family remained oblivious of our friendship - of Keiji's existence, for that matter - though they did comment a few times on my improved temperament. I laughed and smiled more, they said, and was less “gloomy”, in Souta's words.

 

Mom got a promotion, which meant that she would be around less, but that our income increased significantly. She worried, at first, that I would be unhappy, home alone so much; but I assured her that I was fine, and that the better profit would bring the day of my surgery - the return of my eyesight - that much sooner. I never doubted that I would, some day, regain my ability to see; and I wanted it more than ever then, if only to see the face of my ghost.

 

I sat upon the window-sill of the library one day, leaning listlessly against the pane of glass, cold rain drenching the other side. I had long since mastered the journey between this room and my own, and no longer required Keiji's assistance, choosing to meet here instead. I sat there, waiting, the chilled glass pressed against my side, and yearned to be outside.

 

“Kagome,” came his voice, the one I always looked forward to. “Come down, away from the window; you'll catch cold.”

 

I turned my head to smile at him, but remained where I was, motioning him instead to come to me. He complied, as he always did, and I felt his warmth on the side opposite that of the icy windowpane. “Can you see the rainbow, Keiji?” I asked him, leaning my head once more against the glass.

 

“Silly girl,” he said, his voice as cold as the rain. “Have you forgotten that the rainbow comes after the rain, and not during it?”

 

I smiled again, continuing to gaze out the window with my sightless eyes. “Ah, but it is there during the storm as well, and more brilliant despite it. The rainbow is formed by the sunlight being filtered through the falling water; it is easier to see after the rain has let up, but if one would only look, they would see it now, as well… and the later arch would seem all the paler in comparison. People just are not inclined to look up, through the rain; they fear the water falling into their eyes.”

 

“I fear nothing.”

 

“There is that pride,” I said teasingly. “But please, do look; if you do, I am sure you will see it.”

 

He did look; I felt him leaning across me to peer upwards and out of the window. By his lack of response, I could tell he had found my rainbow.

 

“Tell me, now: what does it look like?”

 

“It is as you describe; like any other rainbow, only more vibrant.”

 

My smile reappeared, and I leaned against him, off the windowpane of my prior support. “Thank you, Keiji.”

 

He stood for a moment, allowing me to rest, before repeating quietly, “Come down, away from the window; you'll catch cold.”

 

My response was different this time, as I leaned further into him, wrapping an arm around his neck; he interpreted this correctly, and lifted me from the sill to my regular armchair, then went to the shelf to fetch a book before seating himself and beginning to read aloud for me while I reclined in my seat, thoroughly content as I listened to the rain fall outside the window in sweet harmony with his voice as he read the title of the book, sounding surprised.

 

“Ogura Hyakunin Isshu: a book of a hundred poems by a hundred poets; a… very old book of poems. I read it when I was young.”

 

“Really?” I asked eagerly.

 

“Yes. Shall we begin in the beginning?” he asked me.

 

“No; that's so clichéd! Just open to a random page and read a poem. I'm sure it will be beautiful.”

 

I heard the pages flip apart and him draw breath to read from a book that was written centuries ago. “This one is by Fujiwara no Sadakata:

 

“If your name is true,
Trailing vine of `Meeting Hill,'
Isn't there some way,
Hidden from people's gaze,
That you can draw her to my side?”

I propped my elbow on the arm of my chair, leaning my cheek into my palm. “That is a very sad poem…” I said wistfully.

 

“It is hopeful,” he corrected.

 

I glared in his direction. “Well, we can agree that the writer is lonely, at least,” I snapped back.

 

He did not respond for a moment. Then, quietly, he responded with “He isn't necessarily lonely; he simply wants only one person, who is not there.”

 

“Oh, just read the next poem!” I cried, in a huff. He complied, of course, but I detected a bit of smugness in his voice as he moved on to another poem.

 

We continued reading the anthology throughout that week, each poem followed by what Keiji called “stimulating conversation”. The book remains dear to me, even now, years later.

 

In the autumn fields
When the heedless wind blows by
Over the pure-white dew,
How the myriad unstrung gems
Are scattered everywhere around
--Fun'ya no Asayasu

 

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Author's Note: Well, it's been brought to my attention that the last chapter “seemed a little long-winded,” and that this was a bit overwhelming. My response: “Yeah, I noticed that, too (while writing it), but she's telling it in a sort of linear, story-telling way, and when people tell stories verbally, they tend to go on long tangents. It's true. At least, I do. See? (Example A)” So, you see? It's all part of my elaborate scheme to make it sound as though someone is actually telling the story! Mwahahahaha!

--FireFalcon1414