Category: A Tale of the Sea

“Will you go back to the sea again?” a voice called from behind. Saburou stopped in ankle-deep water and turned to look. An old man with a pearl-white beard that trembled with the northward sea breeze was standing a few meters away on the sand. His back was as bent as a juniper tree.
“Yes, I’m thinking of setting out again tomorrow, Tou-jii—, no, Urashima Tarou-san,” Saburou replied. He was a little taken aback to see the old man in modern clothes. He was himself not used to his own outfit that was too tight at the shoulders and around his hips. He looked down at his feet through the water. Although so much damage had been done, the water was still crystalline. On the rocks by his feet, there were several limpets slowly grazing algae that surrounded their flat, round shells, often mistaken for rock. A lone hermit crab with a rickety gait went scavenging on its way.
Saburou spoke again, “the battle is not over yet and you must know that very well. You, who must have gone through this journey many more times than I have,” Saburou continued, “how old are you actually, Tou-jii?”
Grandpa Tou smiled under his beard. “It doesn’t matter how old I am or how many times I have done this. I will keep trying as long as it takes to see the old Ryūgū again.” It was hard to tell for Saburou whether the old man was still smiling as his expression was always hidden behind his excessive beard and eyebrows but still, he knew that Grandpa Tou’s smile had faded. He felt the wave lap against his calves. He walked out to join the old man.
The old man noticed that Saburou was beside him. “Sampē has joined forces with his father and his mother, Otohime, again too to help Ryūjin with this terrible battle,” he said.

Early, the next morning, Saburou took his boat out. It wasn’t his regular fishing boat but a slightly bigger one which had a storage space under the deck. He didn’t say a word to Sampē nor was he planning to talk to the boy but Tou-jii’s words gnawed at him all night.
He packed some dried fish and rice in bamboo leaf parcels as provisions as he didn’t know what his journey would be like. After having prayed to the wooden bodhisattva statue in his room he grabbed his knife and was ready to set out. He pushed his boat into the water with a stick in hand and by planting the stick into the sand, he hopped onto the boat when he was knee deep in water.
The boat rose and fell as it hit each swell head-on. The tide was beginning to turn as Saburou guided the wasen past the rocky inlet that curled like a claw around the edge of his village coast. The sky was still the dull blue of early morning, streaked with pale ribbons of cirrus. The sun was hidden behind the clouds clustered at the horizon. Its warmth had not yet burned off the mist that clung low across the water. Saburou’s hands, wrapped in hemp rope to prevent from blistering by the oars, were still stiff with cold.
The wasen creaked gently as it caught a southerly breeze. Unlike his usual gyosen boat, this one was deeper and broader in the middle, fitted with a low sail fashioned from oiled washi cloth and a storage hold under the foredeck— barely enough to crouch in but useful for stowing the parcels of rice and fish, the extra rope and the water gourds.
Saburou stepped carefully along the thwarts and moved to the mast. He untied the sail’s bindings and let it rise slowly, the wind catching it with a snap. The boom groaned as it swung wide and Saburou steadied it with a pole. The wind, coming off the land, pressed from the northeast now. If he played it right, he could use the angle to cut out past the shallows and into the deeper, darker waters where the coastal current met the edge of the Kuroshio.
He squinted toward the southeast horizon. There, where the water took on a bluer, more cobalt hue, he hoped to find the black stream—the Kuroshio, that the mitten crabs had instructed him. Its warm and fierce current, that curled up from the southern seas like a great living cord, pulsing northward and giving life to the cold northern waters.
By midmorning, the sun was higher and the sea had grown brighter. Its surface shimmered with a thousand points of light. Salt dried on his cheeks, Saburou tucked his kimono sleeves tighter beneath his vest. A few terns circled above, trailing the boat. There were no gulls among them. Saburou did not look back at the shore.
The wasen rocked in a steady rhythm. Occasionally, Saburou adjusted the tiller, an oar mounted through the stern, to counter the wind against his sail and to correct his course. He kept the boat angled slightly off the wind and watched how the sail curved with practiced instinct. His eyes were sharp, always checking on the color of the water, the shape of the clouds and the feel of the air. The current here was uncertain. Eddies spun from unseen shoals below but still the pull was not what he sought.
He passed a cluster of floating logs, maybe wreckage from some old storm, maybe markers for the outer edge of the fishermen’s usual range. He verified whether they were parts from Jirou’s boat but they weren’t. Beyond the wreckage, even the seabirds thinned out. He was not yet to find a lone seagull…
By noon, the wind shifted slightly westward, warming as it passed over the open sea. The sun now struck him from above and to the left, casting the sail’s shadow low across the deck. He ate one of the rice parcels and drank sparingly from the gourd. Then he checked the lashings and re-tightened the sail.
Around mid-afternoon, the water changed. It was sudden but subtle. Had he not been looking for it, he might have missed it. The swell became longer and smoother. The color deepened. It darkened to a velvet blue unlike the greenish hue of the coastal sea. And there was movement beneath which was different from the churning chaos of wind waves but instead, something deeper and sturdier. The boat began to drift faster, even as the wind held steady. He had found it.
“Banzai! The Kuroshio!” He shouted with arms in the air.
Saburou stood for a long moment, hand on the mast, letting the boat carry him in silence. A few flying fish skittered across the surface ahead, silver arcs vanishing as quickly as they came. The warmth of the current rose into the air, mingling with the sunlight. He removed the vest that he was wearing over his kimono.
Without letting it fight the current, Saburou adjusted the sail again to travel with it this time.
“Ehhossa! Ehhossa!” Saburou tried to sing, remembering the crabs’ recitation. When he spoke finally after days of not meeting anybody, he found his own voice strange. “Look for a gorgeous golden one, ehhossa,” He paused as he had to remember the following line, “a gorgeous, golden what… was it again?” He wondered aloud to himself.
“A squid.
Among the turtles moving north,
Ehhossa!” A voice said behind him.
Saburou thought he would topple off the boat. He spun his head around to find Sampe sitting on the foredeck. Beside him lay the plank and the storage hold was semi open.

“Tou-ji, I would like to ask you a favor.” Saburou pleaded with his head down on the wooden floor.
“Put your head up, young man,” Tou-ji murmured. His voice was the most soothing thing Saburou had heard in a while and he just felt like going into the old man’s arms and crying his heart out. “What is it you want to ask me?”
“It’s about Sampē,” Saburou began, “could I ask you to keep him by your side when I’m gone?”
“Ah, Jirou’s little kid?” Grandpa Tou thought for a moment. “But isn’t he asking you to take him along?”
“Tou-ji?!” Saburou gasped. “H-how could I?!”
“Hm.” The old man stroked his beard. “In that case, the boy will have to find the way there on his own,” the old man concluded as though there was no issue at all in what he had just said. Saburou’s mouth opened and closed, too perplexed to utter a word.
“B-bu-but Tou-ji,” Saburou at last managed to say, “t-th-that is no logical conclusion t-t-to what the boy s-s-should d-do! He has lost his father very recently and his mother died before he could form any memory of her!” Saburou had begun to pant by the end of his statement.
“But Saburou, that is no logical reasoning either as to why the boy cannot go to the Ryūgū.” The old man’s voice was as soothing as when he would console a baby. “In fact, it is all the more reason as to why he would want to look for his parents as he can’t find them in the places that he is familiar with.”
Saburou could not, for the life of him, fathom how the old man could talk so nonchalantly about sending a little kid like Sampē for a journey to the Ryūgū. He began wondering whether Grandpa Tou was being serious with him at all. There was a moment of silence. Saburou’s mouth quivered but no words came out of it. A sweat trickled down his temple and fell on the wooden floor making a dark spot on it. As Saburou didn’t rebut, the old man continued, “Sampē is the child of a fisherman and an ama diver. His mother was the best woman diver that the village has ever known. The boy has everything he needs to go to the Ryūgū palace under the sea.”
“But he’s a mere child,” Saburou muttered.
Tou-ji’s expression did not change. In fact it was always hidden behind his long white beard. “Sampē ‘s instinct is enough to guide him.”

“Do you remember where I had left off in the story last time?” Grandpa Tou asked the children.
“The Ryūgū!” a girl said.
“Tarou stayed for three days!”
“With jellyfish lullabies!”
Grandpa Tou chuckled, taking a hand over his beard. “Yes, yes, very good. Tarou stayed in the Ryūgū for what felt like three perfect days—feasting, dancing and watching sea horses race and octopuses pirouette. But then…Tarou began to think of his mother. He missed her nagging voice, missed the way she would chase him around with a ladle for giving away their dinner. He even missed the squeaky floorboards in their little hut. And so, Tarou went to Princess Otohime and told her, ‘your home is like a dream, and you have shown me more kindness than I could ever repay. But my heart… my heart aches for home.’
Otohime’s smile faded, just a little. She nodded and gave him a box, a beautiful lacquered artifact tied with a silver ribbon. ‘This is a tamate box,’ she said, ‘a treasure box. Take it with you, but promise—promise that you will never open it.’ Tarou promised. And then, with one last bow to the palace and its wonders, he rode a giant turtle to the surface, the box clutched tightly in his hands.
When Tarou stepped onto the shore he found something strange. He couldn’t recognise the way home. Everything had changed.
The beach was the same, or similar at least but the houses, the trees that weren’t as large and tall and the faces he saw were all different.
Tarou ran through the village, calling out. But no one knew him. He asked about his mother. About the fishermen. About the cats who used to nap in the sun. But no one remembered them. No one remembered him.
Dejected, he sat beneath a tree. A kind monk came by and noticed him. The monk said, ‘Urashima Tarou? A family by the name of Urashima used to live in this village but that was generations before… From nearly three hundred years ago.’
Three nights in the Ryūgū had been three hundred years on land. Alone, lost in time, Tarou looked at the tamate box in his hands. He remembered the princess’s warning to never open it but he was tired. He had no home, no family. He thought, maybe, just maybe, there was something inside that could help.
And when he lifted the lid, a puff of white smoke came out like a cloud. It wrapped around him and when it cleared, Tarou was no longer a young man.
His back bent like a bow. His hair turned white as sea foam. His hands grew wrinkled, and his voice, if he had tried to speak, would’ve come out like wind across dry leaves. The tamate box had held the years he had escaped. And now, they had come back all at once.”

Saburou just looked, eyes almost falling off their sockets, at the crabs as they formed a red and maroon mound as tall as himself. They were still climbing, clinging and cantillating. Saburou’s legs gave way under him and he fell on his buttocks. Now, the mound towered over him and he was totally absorbed in the chanting that went on.

“Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
Mindful should young Saburou be,
Ehhossa!
When he crosses the black currents,
Ehhossa!
Look out for the large flying squid shoal
Making their way northward,
Mindful should young Saburou be,
Ehhossa!”

As they continued their chant, the crabs began metamorphosing. It was as though their chitin bodies were liquifying and the molten material stiffened around a new shape.
“Jirou!” Saburou exclaimed. The crabs had taken the shape of his dead friend.
“Where have you been? I thought you were dead and gone, now you come back to me in the form of crabs? What kind of joke is this?” Unaware of his wet cheeks, Saburou pressed his friend with questions. He had millions of them to ask but the other man’s expression didn’t change. His eyes had no glow and the chant continued, now from his mouth, as though Saburou had not uttered a word.

“Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
Look for a gorgeous, golden one,
Ehhossa!
Among the turtles moving north,
Ehhossa!
He shall show you the way till here,
Down to the Ryūjin’s lair.
Look for a gorgeous, golden one,
Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
Set out before the sun’s ray’s out,
Ehhossa!
The day after one morn and night,
Ehhossa!
The time to set out will be ripe,
The weather, — clear and fine.
Set out before the sun’s ray’s out,
Ehhossa!

Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
Seek a calling seagull above,
Ehhossa!
Trace the plunge where sky meets the sea,
Ehhossa!
Follow the birds trail of bubbles
Down to the silent depths.
Seek a calling seagull above,
Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
Chase it past the rocky bottoms,
Ehhossa!
Through the blue veil of clear water,
Ehhossa!
Do not fear breathing in water,
You’ll soon remember how.
Chase it past the rocky bottoms,
Ehhossa!

Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
There comes a point where darkness reigns,
Ehhossa!
You’ll lose the sense of up from down,
Ehhossa!
Left and right will vanish from sight
Where time and space unwind as one.
There comes a point where darkness reigns,
Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
Yet still the seagull swims on true,
Ehhossa!
And deep below a golden line,
Ehhossa!
Marks the parade of ocean souls,
That leads to rebirth beyond all seas.
Yet still the seagull swims on true,
Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
Trust its path to Ryūgū’s gate,
Ehhossa!
Follow wings through the silent flood,
Ehhossa!
And when you reach the palace grand,
Where sea and spirit intertwine,
Trust its path to Ryūgū’s gate,
Ehhossa!

Mesmerised, Saburou took a step towards the form of his friend, unsure whether to approach him. He felt like if he got any closer, his friend might disappear somewhere.
“This is too good to be true. Snap out of it, Yozaburou!” He thought to himself and yet, he caught himself taking another step. Saburou blinked several times to stop the tears from clouding his vision. Even when he could clearly see, Jirou looked as true as living flesh. His chest rose and fell, his moving lips were moist, his stubbles had grown and he was even wearing the yellow kimono that Saburou had so often seen on his friend, the worn out and repeatedly repaired piece of clothing with faded shibori patterns that Saburou had subconsciously observed suddenly stood out to him. Everything about the figure was unmistakably Jirou. Except for the eyes. They did not blink and instead stared at a distance, right through Saburou while he was trying desperately to meet them with his.
“Jirou! Why aren’t you looking at me? I’m right here!” Saburou choked as he spoke. He extended a trembling hand but his fingertips hovered beside Jirou’s arm. He couldn’t bring himself to touch his friend he had believed had died a day ago.
Before he knew it, Saburou’s finger brushed against Jirou’s skin and the form wasn’t human anymore. Jirou’s skin began to flake and revealed underneath, the maroon chitin of the mitten crabs. The column of crustaceans fell to the ground like a bamboo watchtower on fire and Saburou watched as they dispersed in all directions. He fell on his knees and sat on the moist ground. He couldn’t make heads or tails as to why these crabs had to show him this performance.
“Jirou, is it you sending me a message from the sea?” He mumbled, partly to himself and partly hoping that Jirou was listening somewhere out there.

Saburou sat in Jirou’s room. It was bare and quiet. He could hardly hear the ocean waves from here. Above the sunken irori fireplace on the floor there still was a kettle hung, waiting to be heated. He looked up at the corner of the ceiling from where a ray of sunlight was seeping in. Below that, on the floor, there was a puddle.
“I keep forgetting to fix this damn hole and the rain gets in from here every time!” Saburou remembered Jirou complaining at the hole that he finally never got to fix although he had had plenty of planks propped up against the wall beside half a dozen bamboo fishing rods. The biggest fishing rod among them had a glossy lacquer finish. Jirou must have gotten it from the city, Saburou wondered.
Jirou would always sing a little rhyme while he would fish. It was a rhyme they had all learnt from Tou-jii as kids so Saburou was also familiar. He struggled to remember the words and his throat was still sore from the incident that happened a day ago. Either way, he tried to sing it to himself in a low voice:

“The secrets of the ocean blue
Tell me li’l fish, I wish I knew,
Scampering went the tiny crab,
Mindful of the old seagull’s jab.
Flight of the flying fish in the air, — ”

Suddenly another voice joined in:

“Splash went the mackerel over there.” Saburou spun his head around to find Jirou standing by the door. His eyes widened, “Jirou?” He asked.
“Sampē,” the owner of the voice corrected. Saburou rubbed his eyes and looked again. The person standing there was indeed not Jirou but his son who looked like a younger version of his father.
“Oh it’s you,” Saburou said standing up, “where were you? I entered the house as I didn’t find anyone although the door was open.” He asked although the answer was obvious from the fishing rod and a pail full of sea breams and horse mackerels.
“Saburou! I am coming with you!” The boy exclaimed as though the question was never asked, “aren’t you going to find my dad in the Ryūgū ?”
“No!” Saburou’s voice came out louder than he expected but not enough to stop the kid.
“Why not? Do you think I’m a weekling? That I don’t know how to navigate the sea?” The boy pressed so much that he didn’t let Saburou speak.
“You aren’t going anywhere, Sampe! Your father has already lost his life at sea and I have not been able to take care of him, I will not be able to look after a child on the boat!” Saburou snapped.
Suddenly a seagull broke into the house. It was getting chased by four eagles and had taken refuge into a space it thought the eagles wouldn’t come in. With excessive speed, it banged against the confined walls of the small hut.The eagles lost track of the foe and flew away. Making a magnificent U-turn, the intruder came flying towards Saburou with its claws wide open. Saburou ducked. The seagull went for its second chance and pecked at the poor man’s hair. Saburou tried to ward off the bird with his arms in vain and ran out of the house.
“Damned bird!” Saburou said under his breath when he had at last managed to shoo away the bird.The seabreeze had started to get stronger and it blew Saburou’s already dishevelled hair in every direction. Although he knew it would get dark soon, he plopped himself on one of the boulders of the rocky beach. He pursed his lips and heard himself breathe hard through his nose. He needed some time to calm down, some time alone to figure out how he would go to the Ryūgū. His eyes were in the direction of the horizon but weren’t really looking at it.
The incident of the storm and the oarfish that had disintegrated into millions of other fish replayed in his memory. He thought about Jirou’s advice to leave the net and go. His eyes teared up and he bit his lips trying to stop his mouth from making a grimace. He thought about the alternate future where he hadn’t pulled the oarfish out of the water and had saved his friend instead.
Two crabs came out from under the boulder he was sitting on and scuttled into the sea. He wiped his tears off. So unlike me, he thought. He put his head in his hands and tried to think hard but his head was filled with the images of his friend’s boat, the storm and the giant messenger. He got up and kicked the sand up in anger but realized that he disturbed a number of crabs that had come up to the shore. The crabs retreated radially away from Saburou.
“Sorry, I didn’t want to disturb you all,” Saburou apologized to the crabs. The tide had risen as it had gotten darker and there were quite a few crabs that had come out on the shore now. And they kept increasing. A moment ago, he hadn’t noticed but soon their scuttling began ringing in his years. Saburou found it strange as these crabs don’t aggregate in this manner unless they were molting and protecting themselves but the shore around him was filled with the maroon crustaceans. Apart from the shuffling sound of the crabs on the rocks and sand, Saburou thought he heard something, or someone, rather. He felt a shudder when he didn’t find anyone. He snickered at himself. No way, he thought.
The wind in his hair and around his ears started to bother him as he felt chilly. He figured it would be better to return home so he turned to go but he heard it again, a voice, no, — two, or was it a million? Saburou refused to believe it and was determined to walk ahead but he couldn’t speed up with the multitude of crabs at his feet. They were clambering at his feet as though he was just another obstacle on their way.
“Scuttle, scuttle, scuttle,” the millions of hurried steps went but Saburou seemed to be hearing something more. He stopped on his tracks and stuffed his fingers into his ears but he still heard them, — voices that chanted, “ehhossa! Ehhossa!”
The crabs began gathering, clambering, clustering and heaping up on each other in a rhythmic parade. Saburou didn’t know what they were up to but he tried hard to listen to the mumbling he heard merely out of curiosity, even though he had blocked his ears.

“Ehhossa!
Ehhossa!
To work we go, the mitten crabs,
Ehhossa!
No doubt, if Lord Ryūjin bids us,
Ehhossa!
Find young Saburou on the shore
And have a word or two,
To work we go, the mitten crabs,
Ehhossa!”

“A long, long time ago, there was a kind fisherman named Urashima Tarou. He was the kindest man one could have ever met.” Saburou remembered listening to Grandpa Tou as a seven year old boy, sitting with the other village children in the old man’s tiny room, not so tiny then. Grandpa Tou’s beard used to be as white and as shiny then too. The children would tug at it when the old man repeated a story. “Tou-jii, we heard this already!” They would complain. This time around, fortunately, they listened.
“Urashima Tarou was from a poor family so his mother used to scold him as he was so kind as to give away the fish he caught,” Grandpa Tou continued, as always, caressing his beard all the while.
“She would shout, ‘Tarou! We can’t eat your kindness for dinner!’” And all the children would giggle, imagining an old woman chasing her son around the kitchen with a ladle.
“Tarou, the sweet boy that he was, would give his fish away, anyway. If he saw a hungry cat, he would give it a fish. A fisherman with a broken net, he would give him two. A seagull with a sore throat, he would give it three sardines and hot tea!”
The tiny room would be filled with laughter.
“One day, Tarou was walking along the beach, humming a silly little tune.

‘All the secrets of the ocean blue
Tell me li’l fish, if only I knew!’

His silly song was interrupted when he saw a group of boys poking at something near the tidepools. It was a turtle. A small one, with a cracked shell and eyes like old, wise marbles. The boys were laughing, trying to flip it over. Seeing this, Tarou shouted, ‘Hey! Leave the turtle alone!’ And the boys said, ‘We’re just playing!’ but Tarou knew better. He chased them off with a stick and carried the turtle to the sea himself. He even whispered to it: ‘Don’t worry, friend. You’ll be safe now.’ And the turtle blinked at him then disappeared into the waves.
That very night, when the moon looked like a sliced radish in the sky, Tarou heard a knock at his door.
“Knock-knock!”
When Tarou opened the door, outside stood a beautiful woman in clothes that shimmered like fish scales and pearls. She bowed and said, ‘Urashima Tarou, you saved someone very dear to me. Please come with me to the Ryūgū palace beneath the sea.
The Ryugu palace was like heaven underwater with lobsters that wore tiny suits, crabs that danced with silver spoons, jellyfish that sang lullabies…
Tarou followed her to the submarine palace. She led him to the shore and then into the sea. Taro was surprised to breathe in the water as though it was on land. The two went down, eventually reaching the heart of the ocean.
Tarou was captivated by the Ryūgū palace with lanterns that floated in bubbles, dolphins that played the flute and giant sea breams that came to serve him tea. And in the center, the dragon God of the sea, the Ryūjin stood in his human form. Beside him was the Sea Princess Otohime, graceful as a koi in spring water. She thanked Tarou and said, ‘Stay with us, kind fisherman, in our palace of joy.’
Tarou agreed and stayed for a day… for two days…for three days and nights, he feasted, danced and enjoyed his time in the palace.”
Grandpa Tou stopped and stroked his beard.
“But what happened next?” one child asked, impatient.
Grandpa Tou’s eyes twinkled. “Ahh. That part of the story,” he said, leaning forward, “is a tale for another time.”
“No-ooo!” the children would wail in chorus and Saburou would join in.

As Saburou flipped the page of the 6th September 1996 Wakayama newspaper, he thought about the centuries that passed in the span of five to six days. He struggled a little to read the modern printed Japanese script: “Drive hunt for cetaceans begins in Taiji,” the headline read in bold letters. He crumpled the papers and tossed them in the waste paper basket. He grabbed the doorknob that had become whitish with corrosion and pushed the door of his tiny lodging open. The immediate seabreeze was a relief to Saburou. He filled his lungs with it and stepped out. His lodging was on the first floor of a two-story house on top of a cliff, from where the rocky bay of Taiji could be seen. The house belonged to an old fisherman who rented the rooms out for twenty thousand yen. Saburou paid him with a gold coin out of the 6 that he was carrying as he did not have the modern means of payment. The old man had hesitated saying that a gold coin was a little much for the rent but Saburou offered it anyway. When you live as long as he did, money becomes a trivial thing.
He took the road that led down the back of the cliff and stopped at an isolated shrine that was dedicated to the dragon God Ryujin. The stone torii archway and the flagstones were covered with moss but the paper streamers attached on them by ropes were white and spotless. When Saburou stood before a stone sculpture of the Ryujin and picked up the bamboo ladle to cleanse his body and soul, his mind travelled to a monsoon day, 418 years ago.
It was a few days after the villagers of Taiji (in the Kii province in Wakayama prefecture) had taken their fleet out to sea for the hunting season. It was the time when the whales would arrive in hundreds and move up north with the Kuroshio current. Saburou and his friend Jirou had taken their boats out to fish some sardines and mackerel that would also come with the great “black” current of the season, as they used to call it.
Although the burning sensation from the harsh sun was still fresh on his back, Saburou saw the horizon darkening. Saburou’s jaw dropped. He had never seen anything like it – on sea or on land. Both the fishermen immediately decided to pull their nets up. It was time to head back to the shore. Saburou tried to gather his net as fast as possible but it seemed to be unusually heavy. He kept the side of the net that was out on the boat under his foot so that it didn’t slip back into the water. He knew that he had caught something massive. The dark clouds were already overhead, sending down roars of thunder.
“Are you done yet?” Jirou shouted over the sound of the waves.
“No!” Saburou yelled and strained his muscles to work harder. “It’s a big catch!”
“Let the net go! We’ve got no time!” As Jirou shouted, Saburou caught a glimpse of the creature in the net. It was massive indeed. And unusually long. Just then, a lightning tore the sky open and the clouds let loose a deluge of sharp-stinging raindrops. “We’re done for!” Jirou cried, “the Ryujin has begun his dance of rage!” The lightning that flashed across the sky indeed looked like the dragon lord Ryujin. Saburou struggled although the rain was battering his face.
“Huzzah!” he bellowed a final time and at last got the entire net on the boat, “come on Jirou, we’re out of here!” Saburou and Jirou started paddling but their movement seemed insignificant. Another lightning lit the sky up and the two of them put their heads down on the boat, their hands gripping the oars tight and their bodies trembling. Saburou sat up with a shudder when he heard a booming voice on his boat. It was from the massive fish.

“Damned hairless spawn of apes, though clawless, venomless and fangless, without recess writhe from mud to challenge the cosmic forces. As Owatatsumi’s waters empty itself out, it shall become the wretched gremlins’ grave.”

All of a sudden the talking fish burst into millions of tiny sardines that flapped their bodies on the deck of Saburou’s boat. He didn’t have time to bother about the fish though, as a giant wave hit both their boats headlong in a go. The thunder made an ear-splitting sound even as Saburou’s boat came back up. Saburou coughed and caught his breath back. With trembling hands he wiped the stinging water out of his eyes. He noticed that the net and fish were gone.
“It’s gone!” he yelled to Jirou, “the talking fish!” He looked around only to find that Jirou’s boat hadn’t come up. His stomach dropped and his blood ran cold. He leaned over the side of his boat scanning the grey water. He ran across the deck but slipped and knocked the back of his head. Rain and sea water splashed in his boat. He got up and looked on all sides hoping that Jirou would have come up for air. Then he found a speck of yellow a little away at the surface of the dark blue waves. It was Jirou’s kimono! He paddled his boat till the speck just to find a driftwood instead of his friend. Saburou’s heart sank.
“Jirou!” He called out but his voice was overpowered by the sound of rain splashing on water. “Jirou!” He cried again but his voice broke. He called yet again, and again, until his throat felt sandpapered and his vocal chords could produce no sound. It was way past the time a normal human being could be saved after having drowned and lost consciousness. Exhausted, he grabbed the oars but his eyes were still looking for Jirou’s yellow kimono. He slowly sat down and his arms began rowing although his gaze never left the water. While also keeping an eye on the direction of the current, he paddled back landward.

“You must have caught an oarfish, the messenger of the dragon Lord Ryujin,” Saburou heard Grandpa Tou mumble under his beard as white and lustrous as Akoya pearls. The old man ran his hand on it over and over. The villagers sat huddled around him on the wooden floor, as they had a hard time catching the words but also because the room was small. Grandpa Tou’s hut stood on top of a hillock within the village and whenever there was a problem the villagers would run to him.
“Poor Jirou has lost his life. The whalehunt must have angered Lord Ryujin. The right whale that we killed must have been one of the deities of the sea.”
“What shall we do, Tou-jii?” Some of the impatient villagers pounced.
“We need to go to Lord Ryujin and ask for forgiveness,” as the old man was saying this, he had stopped stroking his beard and his eyes that were always hidden behind his bushy eyebrows became wider and wider, “ otherwise our future, whether far or near, will be doomed!” The last few words rang in the ears of the villagers in the tiny room like thunder. All of them straightened a little bit and some had to gulp their saliva down, including Saburou.
“To meet The Ryujin, one would have to go to the Ryugu palace underwater where he resides. The journey will be hard without the guide of the Lord Himself.” Grandpa Tou’s voice was the loudest the villagers had ever heard from him. Saburou tightened his fists until his knuckles became white. He lifted his hand above his head. “Tou-jii, I, Hamada Yozaburou shall go,” he declared. Everyone’s eyes were on Saburou. The old man’s eyes were back behind his eyebrows.
“Saburou, are you sure about that?” Grandpa Tou asked, his hand running over his beard again, “even if you may not be able to make your way back?”
“Yes,” Saburou replied.