THE GOLDEN GUARDIAN OF KURASHIKI

THE WAY THE STORY WAS TOLD was that a man named Shigeru was the one who had resided in the home that now sits empty at the top of the hill, peaking just above the fields below. The story has been modified so much over time that it would be pointless to note who gave Shigeru the home, or if the man was still to be found in it. Perhaps, it was wrong to note him as a man after all still, and it would be more fitting to refer to him as the beast keeping watch over the town. 

At any rate: none of that all seemed to matter. Shigeru lived his life mostly in between the four walls of his home, and if it must be known, the home was left by his father in his neatly penned will after his passing.

He was a man of great timid nature, of twisting and interwoven fingers that were wiped slowly and with purpose over trouser legs with every moment of each day riddled with day-to-day anxiety. Meekness prevented him from much success, but his inner wishes were often snuffed out before they could present themselves as the desire for any real action, anyhow. As a boy, there had been a few wishes that Shigeru held a light to— to be a teacher, a politician, a soldier. All, however, required a strength that the boy– nor he now as a man– possessed. 

However, finances began to grow tight as Shigeru left the years when he felt it was still appropriate to enroll in university. He had always been a bright boy and grew to be a sharp man; not taking into account his inability to make much eye contact or any sort of interpersonal connection of much value whatsoever. Money began to run dry from his father’s estate, and he felt almost unable to put ink on paper and write to his brothers. He had tried numerous times, and yet, usually ended up with his head cradled in his hands and elbows perched on his thighs, craving some sort of comfort. 

Most often, Shigeru found that comfort in the usual ways a man of his age might-- a good meal, a nice book, the occasional company in the form of a drink or two, or three. Maybe five. 

The days grew longer and the nights dipped into syrupy heat; foods tended to spoil much faster-- partially due to the man’s own forgetfulness, leaving things out in the humidity. Trips to the market begrudgingly became more frequent, and it was almost a daily occurrence where he could not descend the hill without leaning against a tree and taking a moment to breathe. He would often wonder if he was out of shape; if the cotton he wore was too thick. Nonetheless, he would make it to the market and quickly find his groceries. 

He would say good morning, greeting a merchant tending to their stall at the market. He would toss and turn a few fruits or vegetables in his hands. Place coins on the stall. Thank you, goodbye, he would say, already turned most of the time. 

Occasionally, the merchant would not play their proper role in the ideal scenario he would practice beforehand. An outstretched hand awaiting payment, a comment about the weather, clipped small talk regarding their farm. Shigeru would give a pained twist of lips, a nod, and would most often forget to say goodbye. 

Good morning, he said today. The merchant was an older woman, as they often were, and he towered above her, sifting through persimmons. 

“Good morning,” she greeted back. “You’re lucky you’ve arrived before most of the crowd today. Festival preparation, those persimmons will go quickly, surely.”

Shigeru’s eyes flicked from the fruits to the woman, who was squinting in the sun and adorned with a large mole on her cheek. She was downright diminutive. “Well.” He was not particularly sure what he was supposed to say next. He attempted to continue gathering his necessary persimmons, realizing he could not fit more than two in each hand at a time. What idiotic fumbling, he thought to himself. But–

 “The festival?” He inquired (his voice unpleasantly rising in pitch, almost cracking in a childish way), having heard of no such thing occurring— for it was the middle of the summer, Tanabata had already passed, and there were no shrine-specific activities that he was aware of. 

This made the woman react in a way that old women do when they believe the youth are impolite or society is losing its culture or foolish young men have lost sight of important community events such as festivals.

“The festival! Oh, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. Everyone is working so diligently to pull it off!” She busied herself by quickly organizing the fruits she had displayed, making them no neater but slightly less likely to topple over at any moment. Pursing her lips and placing her hands on her hips, she looked Shigeru up and down. “Why have you not volunteered to handle the lion?” She tsked, reaching out to feel Shigeru’s arm, causing him to jump backward. “Strong man. You smell of liquor, though.” The woman wagged her finger. 

Shigeru shook his head, holding his selected persimmons tightly. He knew he needed other items, but at this point, he was ready to run. “I really must be on my way…”

The old woman gave him a stern look. “You must do this favor for me. I’m old and dying and this is my dying wish. I have no children so you have to listen to me.”

Unwavering, she held her stare for a moment before bursting out in a dry cackle. Shigeru found no humor in the situation and stared blankly at her. To be frank, the old woman’s joke was hilarious, but Shigeru was in no position to find anything particularly humorous and was far too preoccupied by the slight fear that he would be sick all over her.  

“The persimmons will be free. Come, boy,” she beckoned, waddling to her bags of personal items (a hat, brittle from the sun sitting on top of it all; a shawl curled up around her satchel) while Shigeru reluctantly followed, stupefied. With a grunt, she bent down to retrieve an ornate lion mask. Or, perhaps, more of a head that fits overtop the wearer, with deep red paint and bared teeth. It was alarming and attention-grabbing in a way Shigeru had never been and had a sense of urgency for attention that fascinated the man. 

“Now, this–” the woman explained, “with these.” She dumped the mask and a set of clinking robes with gold decorative additions in his arms, ignoring the persimmons as he now sagged under the weight of the strangely heavy items. He made an attempt to say something, to remind the woman of his delicate cargo and intent to leave, but she steamrolled his pathetic attempt at a protest and continued valiantly on. “The parade is tomorrow at sundown, you must meet at the mouth of the river down thataway around an hour prior so we can ensure you’re ready to go. I must get back to attending the stall, now, boy.” Like nothing happened, she went back to fiddling with her stall’s items and pretending like she couldn’t really see Shigeru. 

It was almost as if a tornado had ripped through the street and thrown Shigeru in this extremely peculiar situation. Somehow, he now found himself responsible for being the representative, beautiful lion to open tomorrow’s festival. Now, if he looked around he did see that there really were preparations being made for this event: lanterns and paper decorations being strung on posts; a man on the side of the street was sweeping stray, dirty blossoms and leaves off into the dirt. There was a general air of business, and suddenly Shigeru felt extremely ill-prepared for this new role he had unknowingly assumed. 

Quickly, and without any hesitation, Shigeru launched into action. He made his way up the hill, huffing and puffing with exhaustion but hurrying all the while. In the safety of his home, it was time for preparation.

The mask fit perfectly, as if he had been present while the craftsman created it. It cradled his face and with shaking, apprehensive hands, he adjusted it once more and it fell the last bit of the way it needed to be snug with a soft thunk. There was a small slit for air and he sucked in an invigorated breath, eyes darting to look around through the pin-prick eye holes. With an experimental squat, Shigeru gauged the weight of the thing– it was no heavier than his real head, surprising him. For long bouts of wear, he reasoned. If he reached under the chin, there was space to take it off or to fit food or drink up to his mouth. No use, then, in taking it off immediately…what a waste that would be!

And so it went: Shigeru did not take off the mask, and went through his normal routine. He made his meals and fed them to himself through the gap by his chin, day drank, and stomped around his house to prepare for the parade. With clomping feet, he practiced into the night with a newfound sense of confidence and vigor. Had he had any immediate neighbors, they surely would have contacted the authorities on grounds of a strange man they rarely ever saw leaving the house stomping around and pounding his chest as he practiced mock roars and attempted “dances”. When he changed into the robes the strange woman had thrust upon him, every movement of his was accompanied by an array of clinkings and jinglings, the light coat swinging with force and the weight of the embellishments. He only removed the robes to sleep and found a plane on the back of the mask that allowed him to lay comfortably against his futon, falling into a restful slumber that night.

The morning of the festival arrived and, surprisingly, the anxiety and trepidation that Shigeru would typically feel did not. He stretched a stretch of bleary-eyed shakiness and even prepared himself a meal that had all the proper elements of a true nourishing breakfast. There was no need for a dose of liquid courage in the form of room-temperature sake, nor was there the commonplace urge to now completely abandon this responsibility as it became real and the hour approached. Shigeru, in all of his lionesque glory, lazed about until the sun was high in the sky, where he then decided it was much too great of a waste to not be out and about with his beauty; the wind carrying him. 

With a slow sort of reverence, Shigeru pulled the robes over his body, draping himself in veneration.  The walk down the hill was one that he completed with vigor; he ran with predator’s confidence and prey’s elegance, not catching on a single root or stopping to rest against a tree. 

The streets were decorated and busy with life, the sort of transformation that seemed to border on magical. It wasn’t that the streets were typically dreary or desolate– no– but Shigeru chalked it up to having a new lens on the world…the grass greener, the blossoms more vibrant and floating down with a gentle spin instead of a face-first, swift plunge to earth. The townspeople were enchanted by Shigeru, like he was an actor for some sort of entertainment. Children began to weave around his legs as his sandals clopped clopped clopped down the street, but the more he attempted to pay attention to it, it seemed less apparent and more of the soft padding of a bare foot. 

Complete freedom. It was something Shigeru had never experienced before, not as a boy, and surely not as an adult. Perhaps the events of this story would have turned out differently had his father raised him differently or had he turned out more like his brothers, and yet, in the moment, Shigeru was completely content to make a show out of his existence in the way that a politician or actor or father might. His steps were accompanied by his (now polished) roars and the clanging of his robes’ decoration. 

Perhaps the first problem Shigeru runs into is the fact that it seems everyone around him is confused by his presence. How confusing, he begins to think, Perhaps they’re wondering why they’ve never seen me before. Is this what I get for being such a hermit? Oh, poo. Don’t stare at a man with such incredulity. It’s rude!  Well, that settles it, Shigeru was now a man of unlimited confidence. Nonetheless, he made his way through the crowds– who seemed to be parting for his very existence. 

A stall was ahead of him to his right with a wonderful assortment of meats, all of which he could smell wafting through the air and swaying him to walk over, ignoring the shrill shriek of a small boy when he passed.  Maybe his mother should have been more careful about bringing him to such an event where he could be scared by tall men in masks and actors and the like. 

“Excuse me,” Shigeru started when he stepped up to the stall, seeing the man attending it. It was with a face of surprised horror that he looked up, freezing when he made eye contact with Shigeru. With a slow, tentative hand, the man picked up what looked to be some sort of sausage and flung it in the general direction over Shigeru’s shoulder. When he turned to see what had just happened, sputtering, the man screamed and ran in the opposite direction. 

How unprofessional! Shigeru scoffed mentally. No reason to be so scared as a grown man. And to throw perfectly good food…

 (It must be noted that Shigeru did go to retrieve the flung sausage off the ground, where it was only mildly scuffed and he reasoned it couldn’t be worse than letting it go to waste.)

He decided a rest was fair, for just a moment, and so he did just that. The passerby all seemed to notice him, and with a puffed chest he basked in the glory of it all. Just a ways down the road was the location of the river where he was supposed to prepare for the parade, and he began to make his way to it. 

This little walk was when Shigeru, had he not been slightly full of himself now and oblivious, should have noticed that something was very much amok. Simply put, the reactions of the people surrounding him were not that of people scared of a silly little mask nor that of people shocked to see such a wonderful actor as he really channeled the energy of a true lion. No, these reactions are reserved for people truly horrified– as if they had seen a monster running through the street and demanding their children or something equally terrifying and unpleasant. 

Where the parade was to start was full of actors and excited chatter as well as all of the moving parts that were required to seamlessly pull off such a large-scale event. It was beautiful, truly, and in what was perhaps the first instance, Shigeru felt his heart warm at the thought of being a part of such a community. Beautiful women in powder and their hair done up extravagantly were busy moving about and men in their own respect were making themselves appear more busy than they actually were, doing all sorts of useless heavy moving to demonstrate the fact that they could, but it brought him a sense of communal joy nonetheless. What did confuse Shigeru was the very apparent lack of the persimmon-stall old woman. The little old woman, for being so little and hunched and old, was still noticeably absent and Shigeru was confident in his ability to find her in a crowd. 

Shigeru emerged from the sidelines to integrate himself into the preparations and was immediately greeted by yells and terrified yelps. 

“Lion! Someone! Help!” 

Poor Shigeru turned to find where this lion was, and with a sense of his own shock, found that the townspeople were all staring at him as they screamed their screams of lion! Lion!

“It’s a mask, I’m here for the parade!” Shigeru exclaimed, alarm creeping into his own voice. How could a mask as tame as this be so frightening? As a young boy, he had seen kabuki more realistic and terrifying and was still able to keep his wits about him. However, this defense seemed to do nothing to better the situation– in fact, after he finished his defense, more shrieks rang throughout the grounds. Well, raise your hands in a peaceful gesture, Shigeru!

Shigeru did just that, and rather unfortunately was granted with more scared townsfolk and a newly created torch being waved in his general direction by a rather large and intimidating looking man. 

“It’s upright!” was mixed in the cacophony of frightened jeers and commentary being shouted at and around him. It was at this moment that Shigeru discovered that indeed, something was not quite right. In a last-ditch effort of peace, he took another step forward and spoke clearly and slowly:

“Hello?”

This caused the townsfolk to jump back, most running for the hills while a few brave individuals attempted to brave the lion that was coming to ruin their festival, roaring and getting on its hind legs and all. Shigeru did try to look at himself to understand what everyone else was seeing, and yet, nothing was out of the ordinary. His hands were smooth and unblemished like any other man who does no labor, his feet clad in his sandals and his robes still delightfully clinking with any slight movement. Now, this is where the panic set in. 

“It’s Shigeru! I live on the hill, over there,” he desperately attempted to explain, his voice rising in pitch and growing extremely frantic in nature. His gestures were wild and untamed, his hands flailing broadly and without much rhyme or reason at all. All this did was seem to antagonize the townspeople more, who were now running through the streets and warning everyone of the lion on the loose who kept swinging its limbs at the poor festival goers.  

“The old woman told me to come, I’m here for the festival! I’m the lion!”

All of this was to no avail. For Shigeru’s cries were roars that were delightfully accurate because they were indeed coming from a lion– from an outsider’s eye, that is. As the man trampled through the streets, making any effort he could to be heard, he was only acknowledged by passersby scared out of their sane minds. Shigeru made no further attempts to speak, his breath beginning to run rapidly and his head hurting with the sheer impossibility and absurdity of it all. He retreated to his home in the hills, fumbling with the robes that were now far too warm and terrifyingly constricting. However, when he went to remove the mask, he was horrified to find that in all the ways it was able to be removed just last night, it no longer was, no matter how hard he tried or what techniques were employed. 

There isn’t much that is known beyond that. Unfortunately, Shigeru still did not have those neighbors to report on a strange lion now residing in the house that used to belong to a man, and no one heard from him again after the festival fiasco so we could have a better idea of what actually became of him. In the years that followed, there were no shortages of strange and unexplained occurrences– chickens missing and a clinking, jingling noise being carried through the air inexplicably, messy letters asking where the short old woman with the mole who sold persimmons was (there was no such old woman– or, at least, no one had ever heard of nor seen of such a woman). The house atop the hill sat presumably empty– for, after the lion ran all the way up and through the fields, no one ever saw the strange, quiet man again and the worst was assumed. His brothers came to inquire on one or two occasions but were told the unfortunate news that a lion presumably ate their brother and now prowled around their father’s estate which not only confused them but greatly upset them. City boys, they were, so they made no real attempt at getting their hands dirty and investigating for themselves. 

Some rumors say that a lion lurked in the wooded areas around the streets, especially by the market. If one wanted to be in his good graces, one could leave out the scraps from their meals or otherwise provide some food. Still, now, if you wish to prove it for yourself, you simply have to cup your hands round your ear at night to hear it: those faint roars and the twinkling of gold.