At sunset, a troupe of asobi—singers and dancers—came by the inn. A couple appeared to be only thirteen or fourteen, and one old crone looked like a walking corpse, but the majority of them were in their twenties or early thirties.

They erected a small stage in a large clearing across the road from the inn where the high priestess was staying. Drawn by the offer of free entertainment, many of the members of the caravan came out to see the performance. A set of portable curtains was placed on a nearby rise to allow the high priestess and her companion noblewomen to enjoy the performance without being subject to public scrutiny.

The production began with a few folk dances and renditions of popular songs. The performances were lackluster, at best. Members of the audience got up and began returning to the inn.

The crone, who was the apparent leader of the troupe, stood on the stage and announced, “In honor of the august presence of her highness, the high priestess, we will perform Kojiki, the tale of the gods.”

I admired her quick thinking. Kojiki details the story of Amaterasu-Awaumikami, the sun goddess and patron of the Great Shrine at Isé. The high priestess and her retinue would have to stay and watch. It would have been a terrible breach of protocol for her to miss a performance dedicated to her patron goddess. It would also be rude for any member of her entourage to leave. By performing Kojiki, the troupe leader ensured most of the audience would have to remain through the troupe’s entire performance, regardless of its quality.

A dancer came on stage wearing a headband with a lit candle, representing the light of the sun. “I am Amaterasu-Awaumikami, the Sun Goddess!” she declared, dramatically throwing her arms out above her.

Her performance was absolutely riveting—for the male onlookers. While the dancer was attractive enough, what really caught people’s attention was her impressively large chest. Her “costume” was a single-layer yellow robe, tied tightly at her waist. The thin fabric did little to hide her assets.

She danced with the lesser gods and deities, played by other members of the troupe. Her dance was filled with grand gestures and sweeping movements. Invariably, these set her pendulous attributes swinging, producing fascinating, nearly hypnotic, movement under her thin robe. Behind me, I heard someone quote, “For she shall speak, and the mountains shall move at her command.”

The four imperial guardsmen were seated in the front row. They enjoyed an unparalleled view of the dancer and her two supporting players. While they had been quite vocal in their disapproval of the earlier performances, they were now equally vocal in their encouragement of Amaterasu. Their appreciation of her acting skills was both loud and emphatic.

I also got a bit distracted by her performance and lost track of the storyline. But, then, who didn’t know the story of Kojiki? Amaterasu’s brother, Susano-O, god of the underworld, got into a fight with her. Upset by the discord, Amaterasu decided to lock herself in a cave.

At that point in the story, the actress announced, “You shall not see me again,” and bounced offstage.

As she left, the guardsmen shouted, “No!” in disappointment.

With Amaterasu gone, so was the sun. Most of the on-stage lamps were extinguished to indicate the resulting darkness. The other gods moaned in fear and despair. New members of the troupe appeared onstage wearing terrifying masks. They represented oni, demons from the outer darkness, invading the world.

“Amaterasu! Come back! Save us from the darkness,” the gods cried.

The imperial guardsmen echoed their pleas. “Yes, come back! Save us, Amaterasu!”

Ame-no-Uzume-no-Mikoto, the goddess of dawn and mirth, said, “I have a plan. Let us hang a mirror and a jewel on this tree outside Amaterasu’s cave. Then, we shall have a party. When she looks to see what is happening, she will see her own light in the mirror and be entranced.”

The gods did as she suggested and to get the party started, Ame-no-Uzume, who was wearing at least six robes in a wild variety of colors, stood on a laundry tub and began to dance and sing while stripping her robes off.

The dancer portraying Ame-no-Uzume was quite enthusiastic in her performance. She clearly enjoyed taking her robes off in front of a crowd.

The imperial guardsmen encouraged her, yelling, “Take it off! Take it off!”

From off-stage came Amaterasu’s voice, “What is this sight I see in front of me? It is a glorious light. I must examine it more carefully.”

The dancers sang songs of praise and rejoicing. “Bless her! Bless her! She returns to us…”

The singing faltered as Ame-no-Uzume continued to disrobe. She had her innermost robe open, exposing her chest and still dancing when the old crone came out and finally dragged her off-stage.

Amaterasu made a triumphal entry, springing onto the stage and throwing her arms open in welcome to the crowd.

The imperial guardsmen shouted, “Hooray! She is back!”

The gods formed a long line to celebrate the return of the sun. Amaterasu held the mirror over her head, waving it wildly back and forth to emphasize its importance. Her gyrations were accompanied by the usual motions under her robe. Susano-O carried a magic sword aloft, while Ame-no-Uzume came third in line, bearing the jewel. She still wore on only a single light robe, although at least it was closed.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

The procession circled the audience three times before returning to the stage. They stopped in front of Amaterasu’s grandson, the first Emperor. With great ceremony, Amaterasu, Susano-O, and Ame-no-Uzume presented the first Emperor with the mirror, the sword, and the jewel, the Imperial Regalia.

Amaterasu told him, “Hold these items sacred. They are the symbols of your heritage and proof of your right to rule.”

The general quality of the performance was no better than their earlier efforts, but the two lead actresses greatly increased the appeal of the performance to the mostly male onlookers.

Like most troupes of this type, after the production, members of the audience could hire the dancers and musicians for “private performances” in their rooms, some “performances” lasting all night. Since the individual performers and the troupe leader split the money from the take, it was in both their interests to get as high a price as possible.

The troupe leader was at the center of a group of merchants and guardsmen vying for her attention. The bidding for the performers was brisk. Unfortunately for me, Surei had supplied me with barely enough cash to cover meals and lodging while in Isé, so I slept alone.

As I waited in the common room the next morning, I noticed both the dancer who played Amaterasu and the dancer who portrayed Ame-no-Uzume leaving the partitioned space where the imperial guardsmen had spent the night.

That day, the high priestess allowed her brother to ride his horse. However, she insisted a groom lead it by the harness. He resembled a small boy being led around on an oversized pony.

By the third day of travel, the captain felt secure enough in his riding ability he rode without any help. He led the procession as if his ability to keep from falling out of his saddle was a tremendous accomplishment.

Perhaps for him, it is.

We were following the Tōkaidō, the great east-west highway running from the capital to the eastern provinces. Our route went around Lake Awaumi and then north to a pass in the Suzuka mountain range. It was quite a detour, but the oxen couldn’t pull carts over mountains. Here in the home provinces, the Tōkaidō was a wide enough for ten mounted men to ride abreast. The innumerable travelers who trod the road had packed the dirt of the highway solid.

We passed through fertile rice paddies dotted with peasant houses. Only an occasional manor house, peasant village, or rare religious shrine broke the monotony of the landscape.

In one of the Buddhist hells, souls are tortured for a million million years by being cut to pieces and then instantly restored once they pass out from the pain. I have no fear of this punishment because I traveled to Isé with a caravan containing gyusha. It’s impossible any amount of torture or any period of years could pass more slowly than did our trip.

We didn’t break for meals at midday. Given the slow pace of the oxen, one person quipped that if we stopped for lunches, some of the older members of the party might not live to see Isé. Instead, we took what nourishment we could on the road, eating just enough to keep us going until we had a real meal in the evening.

No matter what I did or where I rode, time dragged. Mid-afternoon of our third day on the road, the sun was unseasonably hot. My robes were soaked through and hung, damp and clinging to my miserable figure.

My mood had soured with the heat. The other members of the caravan were in no better humor. I overheard two merchants talking. One said, “I hear you have fallen on hard times recently. People tell me you’re selling your fabrics quite cheaply. In fact, I picked up some raw silk for my wife at a bargain price.”

The other answered, “Yes and no. I am selling my less expensive, bulkier goods at a price that barely covers my costs. The rare, expensive silks and brocades I have with me in the caravan. I’m taking them to Isé.”

“Why? No one in Isé can afford anything as expensive as your best goods. You’ll have to carry them back to the capital to sell them, and you’ll be out the cost and time of moving them back and forth.”

“Have you looked around Kyoto recently? The place is overrun with country bushi. Where there are country bushi, there’s fighting. When country bushi fight, there’s looting and burning. Neither I nor my goods are going to be anywhere near Kyoto when the trouble starts.”

The first merchant answered, “Well, this has come about because Emperor Go-Shirakawa has spent so much time grabbing power for himself he has neglected his duties to the gods. In the past three months, he’s canceled two purification rituals for the imperial compound. The gods punish insufficient devotion, discord, and strife in the imperial government with plague, disaster, and cataclysms among the people. Taking your goods to Isé won’t protect you from the wrath of the gods.”

“I have noticed the wrath of the gods is relatively indiscriminate. Looting bushi, on the other hand, tend to be much more interested in small, costly, and easily transported things like expensive silks and fine brocade. I will take my chances with the gods in the provinces over the bushi in the capital. However, it is important to propitiate the gods. If trouble starts, I am going to donate all of my stock in the capital to one of the Buddhist monasteries. The priests there should be able to take care of it, and even if they can’t, I will gain merit in the life to come.”

“That’s an excellent idea. I think I may do a bit of donating myself when I get back to Kyoto.”

I rode off, shaking my head. For the merchants, religion was only a cynical ploy to try and bribe the gods. Comparing their jaded attitudes with Akiko’s devout beliefs and sincere efforts to live an exemplary life soured my mood even further. I needed something to distract me.

Out of long habit, I reached into my robe and pulled out the poems Surei and I had exchanged at the inn. I’d read the paper hundreds, probably thousands of times over the years, and had learned it by heart long before. There had always been something comforting about holding the paper in my hand and viewing the writings of those two young lovers.

I’d kept the poems as a sort of a talisman, a symbol of the hope that I might find Surei again someday. Holding the poems in my hand and reading them had served to strengthen my resolve when I faltered or got discouraged. At least, that was how I’d viewed it before I returned to Kyoto.

In hindsight, the whole thing now seemed more than a bit ridiculous. Here I was, acting as an errand boy for Surei, not for her sake, but for Akiko’s. Our long-delayed, emotional reunion had more closely resembled an inept servant being scolded by his long-suffering mistress.

Fools like me should be put on display for public amusement.

I envisioned a crowd of people pointing at me and laughing, contemptuously amused by the poor romantic idiot who believed in love and happy endings. “He probably believes in honest government, too!” one of the imaginary crowd commented, to jeers of laughter from the rest of the spectators.

I thought about tearing the paper up and throwing it away. However, I wasn’t quite ready to let go of the dream. With a sigh, I folded it back up and replaced it in my robe. Still, I tried to send a message back in time to young Yoshi in the inn.

Yoshi, don’t do it! It doesn’t work out the way you think.

I wondered what I was telling him not to do. Don’t get involved with Surei? Don’t leave her alone in the city? Don’t bet all your money on a cricket named Blue Bottle Mandible, no matter how good the odds? I couldn’t tell.