The Goddess Chronicle - Softcover

Natsuo Kirino is a prize-winning Japanese writer, most famous for her novel Out, which received the Grand Prix for Crime Fiction and was a finalist, in translation, for the 2004 Edgar Award. Four of her novels have been translated into English: Out, Grotesque, Real World and What Remains.

Rebecca L. Copeland, professor of Japanese literature at Washington University in St. Louis, Missouri, received her Ph.D. in Japanese Literature from Columbia University in 1986. Her published works include The Modern Murasaki: Writing by Women of Meiji Japan (2006), co-edited with Dr. Melek Ortabasi; Woman Critiqued: Translated Essays on Japanese Women’s Writing (2006); The Father-Daughter Plot: Japanese Literary Women and the Law of the Father (2001), co-edited with Dr. Esperanza Ramirez-Christensen; Lost Leaves: Women Writers of Meiji Japan (2000); and The Sound of the Wind: The Life and Works of Uno Chiyo (1992). She has also translated the works of Kirino Natsuo, Uno Chiyo, and Hirabayashi Taiko, among others.

And so it came to pass that sisters who had been the best of friends were forced to follow separate paths. ?Separate’ is not quite the right word. Our paths were more distinctly different, as if she were to follow the day and I the night; or she the inner road and I the outer; she to traverse the heavens and I the earth. That was the ?law’ of the island ? that was our ?destiny’. Of course, as a child, I had no way of understanding what it meant.

The following day Kamikuu gathered up her belongings and left the house. From now on she would live with Mikura-sama in her tiny cottage just beneath the entrance to the Kyoido cape. Because I had always believed Kamikuu and I would be together for ever, it hurt me to see her leave. I stood there and watched her move further and further away. I think she was sad to leave me, too. Whenever she could evade Mikura-sama’s careful watch, she would turn back to me, her eyes full of tears.

Poor Kamikuu, ?Child of Gods’. It must have been even more difficult for her than it was for me. She was taken from her parents, from her brothers, from me, and from that day forward she was expected to train as the next Oracle. No longer would we play together on the beaches or run naked through the rain. No longer would we wile away our time collecting flowers and doing all the things children on our island were wont to do. The sweet days of childhood had ended so suddenly.

It wasn’t long before the island chief gave me a new role to fulfill. My mother and the other women in the village took turns to prepare Kamikuu’s meals. The chief told me that it would fall to me to deliver them to her. Apparently Mikura-sama had made her own preparations while she lived alone. But now, with another under her roof, my mother and others in the village had to prepare and deliver meals made especially for Kamikuu.

I carried the food to Kamikuu once a day; she divided it into two and ate it in two sittings. We used two baskets for this purpose, both carefully woven in tight plaits from the fronds of the betel palm, both with lids. Each day I carried one of the baskets laden with food and left it in front of Mikura-sama’s cottage. Then I took up the empty basket, which had contained the meal from the previous evening, and carried it home to my mother.

My duty came with harsh restrictions. I must never lift the lid and look inside the basket. If Kamikuu had left any food in it, I was not to eat it but to carry the basket to the top of the cape on my way home and throw all of the contents over the cliff and into the sea below. Finally, I was never to speak to anyone of these matters. Those were the four rules I was given.

When I heard about my new assignment I was beside myself with joy. I now had an excuse to see Kamikuu and I would be able to learn more about her new life. What was Mikura-sama teaching her? How was she spending her days? I was bursting with curiosity.

The next day, as dusk set in, Mother handed me the basket. The weave was so tight, it was impossible to see what was inside. But as I carried it, the smells that wafted up from it were so intoxicatingly delicious I nearly grew dizzy. No doubt it contained a veritable feast. When Mother was preparing the food she had told me I wasn’t allowed to watch so I had gone off to play. But from the way the contents now sloshed in their containers I guessed she had made a sea-turtle broth. Or perhaps sea-snake soup. And there was the smell of grilled fish, and the dried fish the men brought home after their long sea voyages. But even more precious was the handful of steamed rice I imagined to be inside the basket, wrapped neatly in a bamboo leaf.

Of course I had never tasted anything quite so delicious. I doubted that anyone else on our island would have eaten such delicacies. Far from it. Everyone was always hungry. The island was small and there was a limit to what we could grow. As it was, the island association was hard pressed to make the little we had go round. All it took was a heavy storm that damaged our crops and it wasn’t unusual for some to starve to death. Sometimes a group of men went to sea and never came back because there was nothing for them on the island. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I couldn’t help feeling envious that Kamikuu was allowed to eat such wonderful food.

Once Mother handed the basket to me, I carried it with the utmost care to the little cottage on the edge of the Kyoido grove. The road to Mikura-sama’s house extended upward to the cape and I could hear the sound of the waves. I could also hear the murmur of Mikura-sama offering prayers. And just beneath her voice I heard Kamikuu’s. I pricked up my ears to catch the words they chanted, humming in rhythm with them, not thinking about what I was doing.

For a thousand years, the northern cape,
For a hundred years, the southern beach,
A cord strung across the seas, calms the waves.
A net stretched across the mountains collects the winds.
Sanctify your song,
Rectify my dance.
Today, this very day,
May the gods
Live for ever.

?Is someone there?’

When I heard Mikura-sama’s stern voice I shrank back. My grandmother opened the door and stepped outside. Her eyes narrowed into a momentary smile when she caught sight of me. I remembered how she had pronounced me ?impure’ at the ceremony earlier, yet now she was gazing at me with the affection a grandmother bestows on a beloved grandchild. Relieved, I began to explain, ?Mikura-sama, the island chief told me I should bring this basket up here to you.’

As I handed it to her, I peered into the dimly lit cottage. Kamikuu was kneeling stiffly on the wooden floor. She glanced over her shoulder at me and smiled with delight, waving her tiny hand. I smiled, too, and waved back, but Mikura-sama quickly pulled the door shut.

?Namima, thank you for your trouble. When you come tomorrow, leave the basket in front of the door. Here’s the basket from yesterday. Kamikuu didn’t eat all the food so what she left is in here. Go up to the cape and throw the leftovers over the edge. And you mustn’t sneak a bite for yourself. That, you must never, ever do.’

Basket in hand, I cut my way through the thickets of pandan and banyan. Hardy pemphis shrubs clung to the side of the cape as though climbing to the summit. I was so hungry that I was tempted to open the basket and steal a bite of the leftover food, but Mikura-sama’s stern words rang in my ears. Once I reached the summit, I opened the basket and hurled the contents over the side of the cliff. Gingerly I worked my way to the edge and looked down. The morsels of food floated for a few seconds on the rolling waves, then sank.

It seemed so wasteful. But my mother and grand¬mother had given strict instructions. The finest food the island could provide was to be gathered for Kamikuu and what she left was to be thrown away. I had no choice but to obey. And the task I’d been given had allowed me a glimpse of my sister. She had looked well so I was happy. I began to sing as I turned for home.

Little girls of my age rarely walked alone at night. As I hurried along the southern beach, the cliffs glittered white under the full moon. I could see the bats taking flight from under the droopy branches of the tea trees. Suddenly I was terrified, my eyes darting left and right. Tomorrow I would make this trip again, and the night after that, and after that as well. Would I ever grow used to it? How could I? The night scenes were so frightening.

The moon shone brightly over the beach, and I saw a person. Someone had come to meet me, perhaps, worried for my safety. I started to run but almost as soon as I did I froze. I didn’t recognise the...