Anecdote #9: Fushimi Inari at Sunset

April 25, 2008

Night 5: Monday, March 24th
near Kyoto

There has always been something a little unnerving about so many red arches snaking through raw forest up the mountain. Why is that? Perhaps in broad daylight Fushimi Inari is nothing but another novel tourist attraction. But at sunset, as the tourists begin to leave, as the last orange light makes the shrine softly glow, there is something thrilling about walking through all those torii, like the start of a grand adventure.

To put it simply, Fushimi Inari at sunset is creepy. But then, that was what we were hoping for.

We brought a picnic dinner to Fushimi Inari: riceballs and snacks we had bought in Uji. When we got to the shrine, the fading sunlight was perfect pictures, which made me happy. Jenny and Hedy were happy going underneath the torii, their first time. The forest around us was bright and crows were cawing.

“This isn’t so scary,” Jenny said.

“Just wait.”

When we sat down to eat our dinner, there were two cats watching us. They were bold cats. I was eating Inari-zushi, rice wrapped up in sweet fried tofu. The cats came right up to us and stared at our food.

“Shoo,” said Hedy, waving at the cats with her hands. They moved two feet back and hissed.

Fushimi inari is named after the god Inari, who uses foxes for messengers. There is nothing foxes like so much as inari-zushi. Foxes can change shape in Japanese mythology. They are neither good nor bad. Some are benevolent. Others are vengeful, malicious tricksters. They take perverse joy in tricking humans.

Hedy had gotten natto sushi by mistake. Natto, fermented soybeans, are pungent and disgusting. “Throw them to the cats.” Hedy rolled it into the forest, but the cats didn’t chase it.

They want my inari-zushi, I thought as I popped the last one into my mouth.

It was getting darker. Crows cackled constantly. Caw, caw, caw. Light was flitting through the rustling forest.

“Okay,” Jenny said, “it is starting to get a little creepy.”

Hedy wanted to go to the top of the mountain, and so we climbed. Up the stairs, through the tunnel, with the light growing dimmer all the time. When we gained altitude, we could see Kyoto lit up at night. It was beautiful. And still the stairs kept coming.

We reached the top and rang the bell. But now it was dark.

“I don’t want to go back the way we came,” I told my friends. “If we go left instead of right, I think we’ll come to a place where the torii are thicker than these ones. I really want you to see it. Or, I know a path that goes through the cemetery.”

“No cemetery,” Jenny said.

We turned off the familiar path and went through the torii. Lanterns came on, giving us dim light. We met a few people coming up. “For once I’m glad this is a major tourist attraction,” Jenny said. “For once, I’m glad there are people here.”

But people grew scarcer. We were going down the mountain. I knew where we were going, I knew, and yet I began to doubt. What if I got us lost? What if this was the work of the foxes? They have confused the landscape and however much we walk, we’ll never make it down the mountain.

The steps down were steep. “I’m going down slowly,” I said, “because I don’t want to slip.” What if I slip and twist my ankle? What if the foxes cause me to slip? Suddenly I can’t get down the mountain. My friends try to help me, but we’re moving slowly. Easy prey.

“What’s that ahead?” Jenny said.

There was a ball of light in the forest.

“It's a flashlight. Someone’s coming up.”

We found the place where the torii grew thick. Behind us, the lamps were still dimly glowing. But there was no light up ahead. The tunnel was dark.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Jenny said.

And suddenly the lamps go out. It’s pitch black and we’re all alone. And then we hear cackling. Not the crows. This is high-pitched, wild, evil laughter. And then we see yellow eyes. The foxes crawl out from the tunnel of torii, and we are in their power now.

“People are coming.”

They came out of the tunnel with a construction worker, who brought a flashlight. When he saw us standing there, he led us down the tunnel. As we came to the end, we knew where we were. We were at the main shrine, where we had started. The train station was only a few minutes walk away. We were safe.

At the inn, I wanted to tell ghost stories, but Jenny, for some reason, didn’t want to hear them.