The Spirit Drum Read online

  “Would you mind throwing this away somewhere on your way home?”

  When I accepted it with a smile, his face lit up like a small child. He spoke once more, this time with an extra touch of politeness.

  “Yes, and one more thing. I’m truly sorry, but would you mind keeping this a secret from your teacher?”

  I nearly broke out laughing.

  “Yes, of course. I was going to ask you the same.”

  “Thank you very much. I will never forget your kindness, even in death,” Tsumaki said, suddenly lowering both hands until his head touched the tatami mat.

  His exaggerated, over-polite manner gave me a strange feeling again. The Viscount Tsuhara was said to have died from madness, but there was also something odd about this young man. I wondered if he was cursed by The Spirit Drum.

  Yet at the same time, I had another unbearable urge to see The Spirit Drum. Moreover, I began to feel that now was perhaps the best opportunity for that.

  “If I ask this young man now,” I thought, “he may very well show me the drum. Now is the perfect chance. There will never be another opportunity like this because I don’t know whether I’ll ever come back to this house again.”

  But at the same time I felt horribly guilty, and so I mulled things over while starting at Tsumaki. He stared back at me intently through his dark glasses. Suddenly, as if induced by his smile, the words blurted out of my mouth.

  “It is said that you have an item here called ‘The Spirit Drum’…”

  Tsumaki’s smile vanished in an instant. I summoned all my courage and spoke again.

  “If you don’t mind, could you please show that drum to me in secret?”

  Without saying a word he continued staring fixedly at me, but before long he spoke, voice quieter than before.

  “You must stop this. It’s worthless, that drum…although I heard that because of some odd legend there are hand drum aficionados who desire it… “

  “Indeed,” I said, discouraged to a degree. But what does this mere student know? Just as I was thinking this, Tsumaki began speaking with a certain dramatic flair, as if to calm me down.

  “Those absurd stories are all just superstitions. Because the drum’s first owner was named ‘Ayahime’, people made up worthless legends based on the Noh chant ‘The Hand Drum of Aya’ and the Noh theater piece ‘The Mysterious Mask’. These are completely groundless.”

  “I have heard differently.”

  “Of course you have. That drum was a prop once used as an ornament in the wedding of a certain high-ranking individual. Because it made nearly no sound people made up various rumors…”

  After hearing this point I calmed down, and with a smile I interrupted Tsumaki.

  “Wait…I’ve heard that story before. A woman in my family was deceived by a certain hand drum craftsman. That craftsman told that lie to protect my family. In reality, it was a very well-made drum…”

  But before I could finish speaking I was shocked to see Tsumaki’s facial expression undergo an extreme change in only a fraction of a second. The hair of his eyebrows rippled and stood on end; his mouth dangled open lifelessly, revealing a sloppy, rough tongue where bits of the wafer’s bean paste still clung.

  I shivered as if a bucket of water had just been splashed on my face. Something is terribly wrong here. This young man isn’t of sound mind. This too is surely connected to The Spirit Drum. “I’ve said a terrible thing…” I thought, staring intently at his face.

  But my panic only lasted the briefest of moments. As I watched, Tsumaki calmed down and his usual pale, indifferent expression returned just as a long, trembling sigh escaped from his nose. Then he closed his eyes and mouth, crossing his arms in contemplation; soon after he opened his eyes and spoke, a certain clarity in his voice.

  “All right. I will show it to you.”

  “What…will you really show me?” I blurted out, involuntarily straightening my posture.

  “Yes. However, today will not be possible.”

  “Anytime is fine.”

  “But first, I have something to ask.”

  “Of course…ask anything you like.”

  “Would you happen to have the family name ‘Otomaru’?”

  I can’t say what expression my face had that moment. Staring at Tsumaki’s face intently enough to burn a hole in it, I just barely managed to nod. Then I spoke, my speech fragmentary.

  “…How did you…know I was…”

  Tsumaki nodded deeply, and answered with a dejected look.

  “I guess I don’t have any choice. I’ll tell you the truth. I heard it from the young master of the family you are staying with. I had asked him to teach me how to play the hand drum, but…”

  I swallowed hard. I couldn’t bear to wait for what Tsumaki was going to say.

  “…My aunt asked the young master about the drum. A certain craftsman had claimed it was only a decoration that would not make a proper sound, she said, but was this really true? The young master responded that he didn’t know, but the only way to tell would be to actually play it, and he said he would try to do just that…That was seven years ago, exactly seven years ago today…So when he went home that day he tried to play the drum. After that he went off somewhere and disappeared, but I’ve never heard of him returning to Kudan.”

  “Is the young master still alive?” I asked him without a second’s pause. He nodded silently. Then he spoke again, voice hushed.

  “…cursed by that drum…doomed to live as a living corpse…yet terribly embarrassed…he hid himself away somewhere…so that nobody who knew him would ever find him.”

  “And how do you know all of this?”

  “…when I met with him…he told me this and left. But he also said he suspected a boy named Otomaru would become the successor.”

  My face turned bright red, to the tips of my ears. Thinking about how the young master trusted him made me vaguely uncomfortable.

  At the same time, this student standing before me named Tsumaki now seemed to be a completely different person of high esteem; he must have been a man of great ability in order for the young master to disclose these things to him.

  “And then…what happened after that, sir?” I asked respectfully, feeling compelled to bow deeply to him right then and there.

  I thought I saw a hint of redness on Tsumaki’s face as well, but he continued on with increased enthusiasm.

  “When I heard this I was furious. The idea that a mere hand drum could make a sound that would bring ruin to someone’s life was ridiculous. A drum is something able to produce a variety of sounds based on the feelings of the performer, not something able to change the human heart by itself. I wanted to find a way to play that drum. But just as I was hoping I could use that drum to produce not a malicious sound, but an ordinary, pleasant sound, and avenge the young master, my aunt summoned me. I gladly quit my studies and came to this house.”

  “…Then…did you ever play the hand drum?” I asked, my heart beating out of control. But Tsumaki only gave me a strange cold smile, and said nothing. I grew impatient and spoke again.

  “What did the drum look like?”

  Tsumaki’s strange smile remained for a time, but he eventually responded feebly, as if in resignation.

  “I have yet to see it.”

  “What…you still haven’t…” I said, shocked.

  “No. My aunt is hiding it from me and refuses to show me.”

  “But why?” I asked, my feelings a mix of disappointment and resentment. Tsumaki began to explain, a hint of pity in his voice.

  “When my aunt heard the sound of the young master playing The Spirit Drum, she longed to make such a sound herself. After learning to make that sound she wanted to take the drum and show off to the wives, students, and friends of the Takabayashi family. That’s the reason I have not gone to the Takabayashi residence since.”

  “Then why is she hiding it from you?” I flung another question at him. Tsumaki responded with a bitter smil
e, my pressure starting to put him on the defensive.

  “She surely thinks that I have come to steal the drum.”

  “So do you know where it is hidden?”

  Tsumaki became more defensive as my questions became more direct.

  “…She leaves the house every day. I’ve been searching all over whenever she goes out, but I just can’t find it.”

  “Could she be taking it with her each time she leaves?”

  “No, that’s definitely not…”

  “So does your aunt…does this lady always play that hand drum?”

  His face showed a touch of embarrassment, my question apparently catching him off guard. But, as if justifying himself, he soon mumbled out an answer.

  “I suffer from insomnia every night, so I’ve been taking sleeping pills. She prepares the pills for me and goes to bed after first making sure I’m asleep. She seems to play the drum right around that time.”

  “Oh really…but don’t you ever wake up in the middle of the night?”

  “No, never…especially because she gradually increases the dosage…but I’m looking forward to the day when the medicine loses its effectiveness. This has been going on now for nearly seven years.”

  Tsumaki lowered his head dejectedly.

  Muttering “seven years…” repeatedly to myself I put my hand to my forehead; all the terrible oddness…mystery…weirdness that permeated this family was closing in on me, and my thoughts began to spin around and around like a pinwheel. It seemed that not only was this entire family cursed by The Spirit Drum, but even I myself was…

  However, this young man’s perseverance was far from ordinary. Enduring such a thing for seven years took great persistence. The cruelty of Lady Tsuruhara, who tormented a young man in order to keep possession of the drum…the powerful charm of The Spirit Drum, made evident through her actions…Thinking how this drum was not a thing of this world made the flesh on the back of my neck creep.

  Exhausting the last shred of my courage, I asked another question.

  “So you have absolutely no idea where it is?”

  “I don’t know where it is. If I did I would take it and escape from here,” Tsumaki said with an indifferent grin. I blushed again, embarrassed by the stupidity of my question.

  “Let’s leave here. I’ll show you the inside of the house. That will probably give you some idea what kind of person she is. And seeing things from another person’s perspective may reveal where the drum is hidden.”

  Tsumaki stood up. Despite being on the verge of giving up my search for the drum, I left the room filled with an inexplicable curiosity.

  We walked out of the reception room, and on the left was a concrete-floored room that appeared to once house a rickshaw. Tsumaki made a right and led me into the kitchen.

  The modern kitchen was equipped with electricity and gas, and the well-maintained wooden floor shined. With a practiced hand Tsumaki checked various places around the house––the cupboard in the decorative alcove, below the iron pot and behind it; the sliding doors above and below in the washroom; the charcoal sack and inside the pickling tub; inside the wall between the kitchen and bathroom; the empty closet in the maid’s room; the wooden boxes in the attic––but there was nothing unusual anywhere.

  “Isn’t the maid here?” I asked.

  “No…everyone has left. My aunt is always so noisy…"

  “Then I assume your aunt takes care of the kitchen.”

  “No, I do.”

  “Oh, you take care of the…”

  “I’m actually much more skilled at cooking than playing the drum. I even do all the scrubbing myself, as you can see…” He held out the palms of both hands. Indeed, I hadn’t realized it until now but his hands were pretty rough.

  As I was staring vacantly at his hands, Tsumaki led me out of the kitchen. Passing a Japanese-style garden on the right side, he went into a hallway with glass-paneled walls and opened the white door of the Western-style room on the left, entering the room ahead of me. I followed him inside.

  At first, with the many items of fine quality I couldn’t make out the room’s purpose, but eventually I realized that it was a large dressing room. A magnificent carpet covered half of the shiny, rubber-coated floor. Except for the green-curtained window, both the inside surface of the door and the white walls were completely covered by mirrors, creating a cascade of infinite reflections of the room’s contents––western bathtub, stylish dresser with golden fittings hammered to a black wood frame, kimono rack, towel rack, glass cabinet like you might see in the dentist’s surgical room (filled with various toiletries and what looked like medicines), electric heater in the corner of the room, large bench below the far-side window, intricately patterned electric lamp shades hanging from the ceiling…

  After entering the room, Tsumaki first inspected under the dresser. But instead of focusing on searching for the hand drum, I was wondering wide-eyed about why Lady Tsuruhara, already somewhat far along in years, had been putting on her makeup in a place that seemed suitable for an actress.

  “There doesn’t seem to be anything unusual here either.” Tsumaki smiled and exchanged glances with me, then closed the door. Next he went past the blue door of the Western-style room and placed his hand on the paper wall of the Japanese-style room on the far end of the hallway.

  “What about this room?” I stopped, pointing at the blue door.

  “There’s no way it’s in that room. The entire floor is concrete, with only a single iron bed in the middle. It’s not there.” Tsumaki’s tone was somehow irritating to me.

  “Interesting…" I found myself moving up close to the keyhole and peering inside.

  On the other side of the keyhole was a flat, bluish-black stucco floor and an old packed-dirt wall. The way the light fell suggested that on the far left was a tiny window, creating a gloomy, forlorn atmosphere like an operating room in a poverty-stricken hospital. It was hard to believe this room was in the same house as that stylish dressing room.

  “That’s the room I sleep in every night. It’s like a prison cell, don’t you think?”

  I got the feeling that Tsumaki was sneering at me, but just then I spotted something strange: a short leather whip hanging on the far wall, which at first appeared to be a stain.

  “That’s the room where my uncle died.”

  As soon as his voice came from behind me I jerked my eye away from the keyhole. Seeing a sickly smile stretched across Tsumaki’s face, I felt my body stiffen. Naturally, I did not possess the courage to ask about the whip.

  “Come into this room. I think this is where she plays the drum.”

  I exhaled and entered the room––just as I realized this was the last room of the house…

  As I stepped onto the fresh tatami mat inside the room at the back of the house, I felt my tense nerves calm down immediately.

  Beyond the clean ten-foot-square space was a large, round window, providing a view of what appeared to be beautiful apricot trees.

  Below the window rested a black painted desk with narrow legs, and a series of leaf-green cushions were arranged neatly around a frail-looking square charcoal brazier of paulownia wood. On the left was a chest made from the same wood, upon which were two bookshelves of different sizes and a large glass case enclosing a doll of a kappa water spirit wearing a pretty, long-sleeved kimono.

  On the right, near the desk, was a cupboard and shelf with tea utensils, and below a spigot protruding from the wall was a bundle of rapeseed and milkvetch plants bundled in white thread. The right side of the room had a roughly three-foot-wide decorative alcove next to a shelf of the same size. In the alcove was an old painting of an exquisite Chinese woman set behind a crystal incense burner; on the shelf was what looked like a sketchbook next to four cleanly arranged hand drum boxes. From the sliding doors above and below, to the new curtain of thick abaca cloth covering a partitioned closet on the left, to the modestly-designed silver knobs and the black-framed lamp shades of yellow silk h
anging down from the middle of the ceiling––not a single item lacked elegance.

  I couldn’t help but let out a sigh.

  “This is where my aunt stays.”

  Before he finished speaking Tsumaki casually opened the curtain on the left partition of the closet, shoved two pale hands inside, and began tossing items out: crepe bedding, flax sheets, a satin futon, a fancy sleeved futon of silk, stuffed pillows with stylish red tassels, a white mosquito net painted with a design in India ink…

  “All right…that’s enough…” I felt an odd hesitancy and tried to stop Tsumaki.

  But he didn’t listen. After Tsumaki put back the bedding and other items he had tossed out, he opened the curtain on the right partition of the closet and started pulling out the stacked clothing shelves.

  “Stop. I believe you. I honestly believe you. If you have already searched then there’s no doubt that…”

  “Oh, really? Well then…next is the drawers…”

  “All right…that’s enough already.”

  “Then allow me to show you these drums, just for your reference.”

  As he spoke Tsumaki pulled down the hand drum boxes from the shelf next to the alcove. I took the boxes and placed them in the middle of the room.

  When I looked at the four hand drums, removed from their boxes and laid out before me, something stirred in my chest––the premonition that The Spirit Drum was one of them.

  As anyone would know who has spent any time learning the hand drum, the barrel and head of a drum are like a married couple, two things that were originally apart and have their own unique qualities. It is only when these qualities are combined that a certain sound is produced. So even assuming both are masterfully crafted items, if their qualities are not compatible there will be little sound produced. Even if you stick on a tuning paper and try to adjust the drum, a completely different sound will be made. Therefore, assuming that there are four barrels and four drumheads, putting aside the matter of compatibility there is a total of sixteen different tones that can be made. Perhaps Lady Tsuruhara knows this, and normally keeps the barrel and drum head separate…