Hachiro sighed. Now he was involved with men he had been taught to fear, carrying messages for them. Since neither Kuemon nor Hachiro could read, these were verbal messages, often with puzzling content. Hachiro wondered what kind of life his karma had led him to, and he decided he must have been very wicked in a past life to deserve this fate. He started walking again.
He reached the spring, looked around at the tranquil woods, and brightened up a bit. The clear water made a cheerful sound as it burbled from the earth. Hachiro’s stomach was full, something that wasn’t always true in the life of the farmer. Despite the work and abuse, maybe this life of the bandit was not too bad.
He looked down at the spring to dip his bucket in. His eyes widened in disbelief, and for a few agonizing moments he was paralyzed with surprise and fear, unable to run and unable to cry out. Then, dropping the bucket, he ran back to the camp as fast as his legs could carry him, shouting for help.
Fifteen minutes later a noisy group of men returned to the spring. They were making jokes and talking loudly among themselves. Hachiro was being dragged by the arm by one of the men, who pushed the youth toward the spring and demanded, “Well, baka! Where are they?”
Hachiro pointed down at the soft mud that surrounded the spring. “There!”
The men gathered around and looked at the mud. Deeply imprinted into the black earth were the footprints of some giant creature. The laughter and talk died.
“It looks like some kind of giant bird,” one man said in the silence. “It has three front toes and a spur out the back.”
“Maybe it’s a lizard.”
“Have you ever seen a lizard that big? Each footprint is longer than my forearm.”
“Well, have you ever seen a bird that big?”
“Has anyone ever seen dragon prints?”
“Dragon prints? Have you ever met anyone who’s seen a dragon? Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Ridiculous? Me? Listen, you son of a union between a dog and a pig, did you ever see anything as big as these prints? Why not a dragon?”
“Does anyone know what a kappa’s tracks would look like?”
“A kappa? How big would a kappa have to be to leave tracks like this?”
“Maybe they have big feet.”
“But what is it?”
“The tracks come from the forest, where the pine needles hide them. It went to the spring for a drink, then it turned around and returned to the forest. See! Right here. The tracks fade out as it went back on hard ground.”
“Look, here comes Boss Kuemon. Maybe he’ll know what this is.”
Kuemon approached the knot of men and said, “What’s all this foolishness? Are you letting a baby-faced boy spook you? First the woman and now the boy. I’ve never seen such a bunch of weak-minded baka!”
“But look! Hachiro didn’t imagine the tracks. They’re still here.”
Kuemon walked up to the spring and stared down at the tracks. He stared for a long time, the rest of the men waiting for his judgment. Finally, one of the braver bandits prompted, “Well?”
Tearing his eyes away from the tracks, Kuemon stuck out his chest and said, “It must be some kind of trick. Or maybe a freak accident of some kind. They just look like tracks. They couldn’t be real.” He glared at his men. “If one of you is making some kind of joke with these tracks, I’ll cut your heart out! Tell me now, before I really get mad! Did one of you do this?”
“No.”
“No, Boss.”
“It’s not one of us. They look real.”
“We were all with you. It couldn’t be a trick.”
Kuemon looked at the faces of his men, trying to detect a guilty party. They were all hardened men, however, and used to lying. Still, Kuemon could see nothing in their faces except questions and fear. Curse that woman, and now this boy.
“Well, whatever it is, I’m not going to let a few tracks in the mud bother me. Hachiro! Pick up the bucket you dropped and fetch the water. We still have to make the evening’s rice.” Kuemon straightened his shoulders and strutted back to the camp. It bothered him that none of the men immediately followed. They wanted to stay by the spring, staring at the tracks.
In the hills above the camp, Kaze saw the men rushing to the spring. He settled back into a comfortable spot at the foot of two large trees. He didn’t have to sneak down to the spring to see what was happening. He knew the effect of the dragon tracks would be as great as when he and the boys first saw them in the snow, so many years ago.
In the bandit camp, the men were silent and sullen. Kuemon didn’t like it, and after dinner he decided to give the men courage through drink. “Hachiro! Bring out some shochu from my hut,” he ordered. “Open a barrel of sake, too!”
The men, sitting around a campfire after their evening meal, looked up in anticipation at Kuemon’s order. Shochu was a fiery liquor produced by peasants.
“What’s the occasion, Boss?” one asked.
Kuemon laughed. “I’ve decided to have a party. It isn’t every day we see the footprints of ghosts or dragons.” He raised his hands high into the air, making claws with his fingers. On his face he put on a grimace worthy of a kabuki actor. “I’m the ghostly creature,” he intoned as he made his way around the campfire, provoking nervous laughter from the men. “I don’t know what I am, but I must be pretty scary to have such big feet! Maybe I’m a ghost. Maybe I’m a kappa. Maybe I’m a demon. Maybe I’m just a stupid bunch of tracks designed to scare old women and weak boys! Boo!”
The tension of the men dissolved in laughter. Kuemon, meeting success, started an impromptu dance, scampering around the fire saying “Boo!” at the men. Soon other men were joining him, striking twisted poses and making blood-curdling shrieks.
Hachiro broke open several jugs of shochu. He poured the contents into cups and handed them around. Then he took a barrel of sake out and broke it open and poured some of its contents into an old metal pot. Instead of putting the pot into hot water, he simply put it over the fire to warm up. In a few minutes he was handing Kuemon a square wooden box that acted as a cup, filled with sake. Kuemon drained the sake in one long drink and demanded more from Hachiro before the others could be served.
“Put more wood on the fire!” Kuemon demanded. “Let’s build the fire large to keep away all the spirits and ghosts and demons. Boo!”
The dry wood was piled on, and the fire crackled and hissed as sparks flew up into the night. The shimmering orange light of the fire cast weird flickering shadows that added to the demon imitations of Kuemon and the others.
Most of the men were up and dancing around the fire, holding cups of shochu or wooden boxes of sake in one hand and clawing at the air with the other. All were laughing and making scary sounds.
“Booo! Booo! Watch out ghosts! I can be as scary as you!”
“Look at me! I’m a demon, a scary demon!”
“Ooooh! Ooooh! Watch out for me. Ooooh! I’m a wailing demon.”
“You sound more like a woman having sex! Come here, little demon, I have something for you!” The man crudely grabbed his crotch.
Instead of taking offense, the wailing demon sidled up to the taunter and said, “Oh yes! I’m here for you, you big hunk of man. But wait, what’s that tiny thing you’re holding in your hand? Surely you don’t think that small thing will part my jade gates, do you? Why that thing wouldn’t fill up a female rabbit! Perhaps I should turn around so you can treat me like a young boy?” He faced away from the fire, bent forward, flipped up the back of his kimono, and exposed his loincloth-covered buttocks to the man. The rest of the group started laughing uproariously.
Encouraged, the wailing demon pushed his rear out even further and said, “Yes, I’m sure you will like this best. But I still can’t feel anything. Are you so small that …?” The man’s voice trailed off and he abruptly stood up, staring into the forest away from the campfire. The group of half-drunk bandits was still laughing ebulliently, and the object of the joke came up to the wailing demon and gave him a rough shove. The wailing demon staggered forward, but instead of getting mad he put up his hand and hissed, “Look!”