The Curse Of The Sakura

"Sound—
That stealeth ever on the ear of him
Who, musing, gazeth on the distance dim,
And sees the darkness coming as a cloud—
Is not its form—its voice—most palpable and loud?"

Edgar Allan Poe

Countless tales of the preternatural throughout the centuries have been ingrained in the Far East, but the one that you will read is fraught, with a lingering horror that is attached to a mysterious geisha and a cherry blossom. Her name was Sakura Koyama, and the location of this story took place in Kyoto, on the remote island of Honshu in the valley of Yamashiro. Kyoto was the exotic place of Buddhist temples, Shinto shrines, plentiful gardens, a canal and an imperial palace. I had never imagined that upon my visit and stay, I would confront the darkest secret of a family's history, or the truth that had lurked from within that secrecy. Secrets I was told as a child were never meant to be disclosed, but there are some that cannot remain concealed forever. It is said that terror has abundant names and faces, but many are enshrouded in the enigmas of legends foretold, or the misdeeds of human envy. I suppose that only time can be the sole witness to their veracity. In the year of 1920 of the month of October, I had traveled to Kyoto to meet a businessman from Japan. His name was Haruto Kawamura. My name is Eugene Carlson, an American by nationality. I was to spend some time on the island, discussing the possibility of creating a business partnership with him or merger. We had met in Tokyo previously ten years ago, when I was visiting the industrious city, for I was a businessman myself. Kyoto was surrounded on three sides by towering mountains known, as Higashiyima, Kitayama and Nishiyama. There were three established rivers, the Uji River to the south, the Katsura River to the west, and the Kamo River to the east that had encompassed the area as well. Mr. Kawamura's residence was on the outskirts of the city.

I had been fond of Japanese culture, for many years. Before my move to Tokyo, I had been living momentarily in Hong Kong, but I was familiarized with Japan. The country was evolving through contact with the West, and more westerners were interested in investing, despite the troubling signs of the depression elsewhere in the world. Mr. Kawamura had been expecting me at his home during the late afternoon. He was a well-established man of reputation and had accomplished his wealth, through his business transactions that were successful. For that very reason, I was confident that he would be able to assist me in my endeavor. After all, it was in his main interest also to deal with the West and maintain good relations with western businessmen. He was a man of average stature and age, but what was noticeable about his appearance was that he was dressed in one of the finest western suits I had ever seen. It was obvious to me that he had embraced western influence. I had traveled from Tokyo to Kyoto, and the trip was by train then ship. I was no stranger to Japan, for it was one of the places that I mostly enjoyed visiting in my trips abroad. However, this was my first visit to Kyoto, and I was eager to reach the island of Honshu at once. When I did, I was met by Mr. Kawamura, who had greeted me with a typical Japanese greeting. Naturally, I had reciprocated his cordiality and gesture, as it was customary to do in Japan.

''Mr. Kawamura, it is a pleasure to see you again. It has been some time, since we have last seen each other, I believe.''

''That is correct Mr. Carlson,'' he replied.

''I see that you have not aged much. For you look the same to me,'' I had commented.

We both chuckled and his response was, ''That is because Kyoto treats our people very well and they traditionally age well also. Look around Mr. Carlson, the beauty of the trees, the flowers, the rivers, the mountains, they keep us all alive and fresh.''

''I must agree with you. The landscape here is picturesque. I could not ask to be in a better place than here.''

''It is a treat to be your host, and for you to me my guest. There is so much we need to talk about. Let us enter and have the discussion inside, where you can be served with the best Japanese hospitality. I have an old tobacco set called tabako bon to offer you that was from my late grandfather, before tea is served.''

''I am curious to take a good puff from that tabako bon, Mr. Kawamura.''

He had entered the house to inform the servants of my arrival and preparation. I remained outside still for a moment to observe once more, the magnificent scenery that had surrounded the general area. As for the description of the house and its environs, the house had lintels and posts that had supported a huge curved roof. The walls were thin but movable in access. The eaves had extended beyond the walls, covering the verandas, and their weight was supported by brackets. Mr. Kawamura's home although traditional was exclusive to mostly people outside of the wealthy or upper class of Kyoto. Indeed, there were areas of poverty in the city, as there are evident in all countries, but I did not come there to impose my moral compass on to the Japanese. Inside, the house had consisted of a single room at the center that was called the ''moya'', and there were particular screens, nearby the large main hall. The home in its entirety had resembled to me, a typical design from fine Japanese architecture. There was a pretty garden that had captured my view and made me recall a certain garden that my mother once had back in America, when I was growing up as a young child. It had been over a decade or so, since I last visited that special garden. Memories are always the moments we remember the most, in particular, when they are extremely good ones. While I had glanced at the beauty that I saw, there was something that I had vaguely seen from afar that caught my immediate attention, and that was a lone shadowy figure of a geisha. I could not distinguish her face much, yet she had seemed to be from another period of time I had intuited. What was she doing there out in the Bamboo grove alone? The groove itself was eerie and gloomy and was no place for a woman to be passing through.

Inside the conversation had begun, with Mr. Kawamura asking me about my trip, ''How was your trip Mr. Carlson? I hope it was to your utmost satisfaction?''

''It was I must admit a bit wearisome, but in the end, it was indeed worth the trip.''

'Good, I am glad that you are here. I have read your correspondence, referring to a possible business transaction?''

'Yes, that is the case. I was hoping we could discuss in privacy, the establishment of a genuine partnership, between our mutual companies. I have invested in the mercantile industry and value your proficiency and business acumen.''

''What exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Carlson?''

''I understand that the economy at the moment is dealing with some deflation and an unsettling financial system.''

''Yes, much like in America. Unfortunately, that is the case, but we are in the process of regaining our economic stability, just as your country is attempting.''

''I am interested in the architectural designs of Japanese traditional houses. You see Mr. Kawamura, I have convinced several businessmen from the United States to move to Japan and invest in the country, but I need to build them homes so that they can live in Japan.''

''I believe I can refer you to a certain architect that could assist you on this endeavor.''

''I would appreciate that kindly. I knew that I could count on you, Mr. Kawamura.''

We had abated the conversation, and I was shown the guest room that I was to stay at, during my time in Kyoto. One of the female servants by the name of Kiyoko had kindly escorted me to my room. She was a young lady in her mid twenties, beautiful and friendly. I did notice she was a bit reserved in her comportment toward me. I knew that Japanese women were of such reverential nature, and it did not bother me. Mr. Kawamura had several other servants in the house, but Kiyoko was instructed to tend to my needs during my stay in the house. I had the general impression that Mr. Kawamura was truly interested in helping me, and more importantly that I could rely on his keen expertise and recommendations. The remainder of the day, I had spent observing the spectacular view of the broad vicinity and pondering the days ahead. I had to return back to Tokyo, when I was finished in Kyoto. I had another engagement with a Japanese businessman, about perhaps investing in the textile industry as well, but the night would prepare me an unwelcomed encounter, with a restless spirit that was haunting the area unbeknown to me. There was nothing in earnest that could prepare me, for the daunting spirit that I had witnessed upon that memorable night. I was not a man to be easily frightened or startled by such supernatural things. However, the experience would convince me that spirits do wander the earth in some capacity or form.

I was sleeping in my futon that was upon a tatami mat, when I was awakened suddenly by the harsh wailing of what had sounded, like a woman in distress and anguish. Immediately, I set aside my kakebutons to investigate the matter. I was uncertain if I was listening correctly to what I had imagined I had been. The eeriness had stirred my curiosity, and I proceeded to seek the origin of the unusual sound. It was coming from outside, there where the grove stood passed the ample garden. A strong gust of wind had brushed my forehead, as an ominous token unfolding. I began to hear the wailing even more, as I had approached the entrance to the labyrinth of tall trees holding a lantern in my hand. I could feel a cold breeze also, as I had walked forth. The fallen branches had crackled with every step I took, and there was little sunlight that had penetrated the soaring stalks of bamboo. The path was narrow and long in width and length. It was impressive in size. I cannot reveal what had possessed me to go out in the middle of the night alone into the grove and investigate something of which, I had no idea of what it was I was searching for in the first place. All that I was cognizant of was the fact that this wailing had arrested my fascination to make a discovery. A discovery that would cause me to be suspicious of what was occurring in the area.

When I had reached one of the gigantic trees, I saw what seemed to me to be a stranger, or a woman standing ahead in the path I was walking. The oddity was that she was dressed, in the traditional garments of a geisha. What was she doing in the middle of the night there all alone, and why was she wailing at such late hours? For what reason? Those questions and several others had entered my mind at that precise time. I had attempted to contact her, and I spoke to her directly. Fortunately, for me, I spoke Japanese fluently. At first, she did not respond to me and kept on crying, as if she did not hear me. After several minutes had elapsed, I tapped her on the shoulder to elicit a response. When I did, she finally addressed me. She had turned around slowly, and I would gaze into the hideous stare and guise of such a ghastly terror. Her eyes were extremely hoary with deep scars underneath them, and her skin was covered in a pale layer of alabaster oshiroi. Her lips were the shade of amaranthine and her silky hair was raven. She spoke no words to me and made no clear utterance, instead, she looked at me and had disappeared like a vanishing specter, into the interminable rows of trees. What I was not aware of was that it was the precursor to the unbridled horror that I would be forced to reveal. I had returned to the house and my room, still bewildered with what I had experienced. No one had seen me leave the house, or enter the bamboo grove I had surmised. When I had returned, I had found a lone cherry blossom in my mattress. Who had left this flower in my room? Was it Kiyoko I had wondered? Did she leave it, when I had left the house? Did she know I have left?

In the morning, I could not resist the temptation to inquire about the mysterious woman I had seen the night before and inquire about the cherry blossom left in my room. Mr. Kawamura had left early in the morning to tend to a private matter, but he would be back soon. In the meantime, I decided to have a private conversation with Kiyoko, the female servant that I had met previously and had tended to my visit. I did not want to intrude in her menial tasks, yet I wanted to know, if she had any true knowledge or reliable information about this ambiguous geisha and had heard the horrible wailing. I wanted to know too, if she had left the particular flower in my room, as a welcomed gesture. I could not accept that I was the only one to have heard the sound and not know of this anomaly. It was highly unlikely that she did not hear this continuous bewailing from her room.

''Kiyoko, if I may ask you, did you leave a cherry blossom in my room last night?''

''A sakura you ask, Mr. Carlson?''

''Yes, a sakura!''

''Not that I know of sir. Why are you asking me?''

''Then who could have left the sakura?''

''I don't know sir!''

I had changed the subject to the wailing sound, ''Did you not hear a strange wailing last night?''

''Wailing Mr. Carlson?''

''Yes, a wailing. It was coming from the bamboo grove I had suspected.''

''I am afraid I did not sir. Perhaps, what you mistook for a wailing was actually a wild fox or boar? There are abundant in the area.''

''At first, I thought so too, but no, it was no boar, wild fox, or any other wild animal. It was a woman dressed, as a geisha with her kimono wailing.''

''A geisha? Are you sure Mr. Carlson?''

''At least, I believe what I had seen was in fact a geisha.''

''I wish I could be more of a service to you sir, but I don't know what to say more?''

''Do you believe in ghosts, Kiyoko?''

''Ghosts sir?''

''Yes, ghosts!''

''I cannot say that I have seen any in my life.''

''But do you believe in them?''

''I cannot say that I do or don't.''

''Do you think that it is possible that the geisha I saw last night was only an apparition?''

I could sense that my questioning began to incommode her and cause her to be anxious, as if she knew what I was talking about, but did not want to continue the conversation on the subject of ghosts.

''I cannot answer that question Mr. Carlson. If you would excuse me, I must return to my daily chores. Mr. Kawamura will be returning soon.''

I ceased the questions and had allowed her to return to her chores. When Mr. Kawamura had returned, I did not mention the ghostly geisha to him. I thought it was prudent to center my conversation at that moment, on the significant affairs that had brought me to Kyoto, his business involvement. How would I speak to him about the geisha being a ghost, if I was not completely certain that she was even a ghost? I had taken breakfast alone, and he excused himself for his absence during the morning. There was one thing that I had admired about the Japanese, and that was their formalities and resolution. I did notice something particular about him, and that was that he did not seem to want to discuss private matters, such as family. He did not mention to me his immediate family, or did I see any members present at the house. There were no family pictures nor portraits to be visibly seen. I did not wish to intrude in my inquiry, nevertheless, it was peculiar in nature. In my opinion, the Japanese were very proud people and respectful of their kindred. In the end, we would forge an amiable agreement, and I would be leaving in the following morning back to Tokyo. Whatever I had seen at the bamboo grove would be left to reminisce in my inner doubts, or so I had concluded in my thoughts.

That same afternoon, I went to the bamboo grove to investigate. My intrigue had caused me to determine what was truly there that I could uncover. Mr. Kawamura was in the city. He had to tend to a personal matter he told me. Kiyoko was occupied with tending to her duties. Once there, I started to look around for any viable clues of the geisha. I had searched as far as I could. It was impossible to seek her throughout the whole grove, due to its immense size. I needed just one clue, but all I found were dried and shriveling cherry blossoms, amongst the thick foliage. There was something abnormal that was transpiring that had trespassed the inconceivable threshold of rationality. All I could perceive was that there was an image of a geisha I had believed I had seen with my own eyes, yet I could not prove her existence nor her appearance. I would have to bear the thought that I had to wait, until I could see her again. I would not have to wait much, for the twilight would accompany her emerging shadow that would be reflected by the eeriness of the moon.

Once again during the late night, I would be instantly awakened by the horrendous sound of the wailing geisha and this time, I would be confronting the actual truth of the mystery that had connected the geisha with Mr. Kawamura's family. My increasing suspicion of the geisha had led me on an endless journey to find her and know of her actual story. Who was she really, and if she indeed was appearing as a ghost, when did she exactly die and why was she haunting in the groove? I had tried to ignore or dismiss the incessant noise, but after several minutes passed, I could take no more. I could not believe that I was the only one to hear her wailing nor want to confront it. Surely, I had thought, Mr. Kawamura would wake up and be startled as I was. Surely, he would investigate the wailing with me. This sound could not be deriving from any animal of the local habitat. Quickly I rose to my feet and had grabbed again a lantern. I headed toward the general direction of the bamboo grove, where I knew the wailing was coming from directly. I was fully convinced that it was the same geisha that I had encountered the prior night. I was determined to discover the unadulterated truth. There had to be an antecedence to this story that took precedence over the reason of her appearances. I did not make much noise, as I had exited the house cautiously. Something in my instinct was telling me that I would come face to face, with the ghostly geisha.

Thus, when I had reached the bamboo grove, the mysterious geisha was nowhere to be found, yet I could hear her familiar wailing near, as it had intensified. Not only did I seek to know what was eventually lurking in the grove, but I wanted as well to prove whether it was an actual person or a ghost I had witnessed. After searching thoroughly throughout the grove, I still could not locate her amongst the towering trees. Where did she disappear to I had asked myself afterwards? Was she in the end, just a figment of my inquisitive imagination? It had seemed pointless to continue, since the bamboo grove was endless and the night was mostly pitch-dark, with the exception of the moonbeams. It was not propitious as well for me to be alone out there. I could have easily lost myself, amidst the narrow maze of trees. As I was heading back in my path toward the house again, I had noticed something bizarre then ahead of me. There was a lone burial mound, with a marked tombstone that was a specific pagoda, with the name of Sakura Koyama written in the Kanji script. Who was this unknown Sakura Koyama, and why was she buried in the middle of the grove, where few people could visit her, instead of a traditional Japanese cemetery? This had quickened my intrigue even more than it was before. Certainly, I had thought, Mr. Kawamura and Kiyoko knew who was buried there in the grove. What if they did know and worse, they were hiding the truth all along? If so for what motive?

I had returned to the house, where I met by Mr. Kawamura and Kiyoko. Oddly enough, they were expecting me at the entrance.

''Mr. Carlson. What are you doing? Where did you go?''

I told him the truth, ''I went outside to the bamboo grove, because I heard a loud wailing from my room.''

''A loud wailing?'' Mr. Kawamura had asked.

''Yes! Did you not hear it?'' I replied.

''I heard something. As you know, there are wild animals in these parts of the area.''

''Forgive me for saying Mr. Kawamura, but it was no wild animal. It had sounded like a woman crying. I saw her. She was dressed, as a geisha.''

''Did you not hear the same thing Kiyoko?'' I had asked her.

''As I told you before Mr. Carlson, the wailing sound could have been any animal, just like Mr. Kawamura has stated.''

''We are accustomed to many wild sounds Mr. Carlson on Kyoto,'' said Mr. Kawamura.

''What about the marked grave I found in the bamboo grove, Mr. Kawamura?''

''What marked grave are you talking about?''

''The one with the name of Sakura Koyama? Who is she? Why was she buried in the grove?''

The expression on Mr. Kawamura was of utter dismay and disbelief. It was apparent that he knew who precisely was this anonymous woman buried, ''You would not understand Mr. Carlson.''

''Understand what, Mr. Kawamura?''

''The woman buried in that grave.''

''Who was she?'' I had insisted.

''She was Sakura Koyama, my grandmother'', uttered Kiyoko.

''Why is buried there? How did she die?''

''She was buried there, by my late grandfather,'' Mr. Kawamura had replied.

''You have not answered, how she died?''

''She was killed by my grandfather.''

''For what reason?''

''Surely you understand our culture, Mr. Carlson. My grandfather was having an affair with her. He was an important man, and she, sadly was only a geisha.''

''I see, but you realize this was murder.''

''Yes, I know. You have to understand that Kiyoko and I have accepted this terrible fate, and we wish for this to remain in secrecy amongst our families.''

''Who am I to tell you or Kiyoko what to do, but the question that I have is, why does her ghost still haunt the area?''

''Because, she has not reached what she has sought Mr. Carlson?''

''What is that? What does she seek?'' I interjected.

''Peace!'' Kiyoko had responded.

''How is she supposed to achieve that?''

''By unburying her!''

I was extremely shocked to hear those words and with every response given by the both of them, it made me shiver with the contemplation of a dead women's spirit existing after all. The worst of all was the fact that were both hesitant to unbury her and had wanted to conceal the truth.

''Then we will unbury her,'' I had ejaculated.

''I am afraid, we cannot do that Mr. Carlson,'' Mr Kawamura proclaimed.

''Why? If you said that she needs to be unburied to have peace, then why are you against that?''

''It would implicate my grandfather and the authorities. There were be a massive scandal on the island. Certainly, you can comprehend my reluctance?''

''I can, but it is not for me to determine your grandfather's culpability. You rather have this poor soul of a tormented ghost haunt the bamboo grove forever? For God's sake, how long has she been dead?''

''For fifty years Mr. Carlson,'' said Kiyoko.

''Fifty years is a long time for her soul to be restless. You owe it to her family, Mr. Kawamura. Stop this cruelty at once!"

He pulled out a pistol and had threatened me intrepidly, ''I wish things were different Mr. Carlson, but I cannot allow you to alert the local authorities. It would ruin my family's reputation, as a disgrace. As you know, we Japanese are a people of honor. I hope you can forgive me."

''Are you going to murder me as well? If so, then you will be perpetuating her agony and your shame even more.''

While all of this was transpiring, the ghastly ghost of Sakura Koyama had appeared before us from beyond the bamboo grove. She had come to seek revenge and spare me from my imminent doom and death. Mr. Kawamura had perceived her presence and so did Kiyoko. I did not in the beginning, until I had noticed their queer behavior and apprehension. Immediately, Mr. Kawamura began to become nervous and so did Kiyoko afterwards. They were totally conscious of her spirit and restless soul. For all these years they had escaped her just wrath, by not unburying her as was necessary. What they did not know was that I had unburied her already. After I had discovered the grave, I dug it up, until I found her skeleton remains putrefied. Her once lovely essence had decayed into brittle bones. The fact that I had uncovered the tomb was not known to them at all. I had accidentally released her somber spirit from the very same chasm of hell that she was buried under unwillingly, fifty years ago.

She stood erect before us undaunted, with her ghoulish white eyes and profound scars that she bore upon her wan countenance so vividly. Blood had covered her lips, her makeup and her geisha attire from top to bottom. She was the sober embodiment of an ineffable spirit provoked by callous humans. Once she had transformed into an alarming ghost, she took the gun away from Mr. Kawamura, with a powerful breath. After that, she grabbed him and had strangled him, with her spectral hands, until he fell onto the floor stone dead gasping for air. It was a horrible scene to have witnessed on that unforgettable night. As for Kiyoko, she was not punished. Instead, she was spared her raging wrath, due to her affinity with the spirit of Sakura Koyama. It was all over, she was now freed from the dreadful place that had imprisoned her for fifty years, ever since she was brutally murdered, by Mr. Kawamura's estranged grandfather. Her plight for justice was effectuated, and her soul could now, at last rest in peace.

I thought it was wise to not inform the authorities about what had taken place with the death of Mr. Kawamura. Who would believe the actual version of the story and me? I did however disclose to them, the location of Sakura Koyama's burial place. I had felt I had owed this to her memory and to her family as well. She was later removed and placed in a proper graveyard, where her family had chosen for her. Kiyoko's involvement in the cover up of her grandmother's murder was nothing more than fear and resignation of the despicable events. Ultimately, she was not charged, but I had imagined the serenity in knowing that her grandmother was now freed of the terrible wailing that oppressed her was much more rewarding than her reluctance and guilt for not reporting, the macabre death and burial of her deceased grandmother. I had understood her hesitancy and diffidence, since she was also threatened by Mr. Kawamura, if she had reported him to the local authorities. Kiyoko had given me a picture of her, the only one that she had in her possession. It was taken ironically at the very same house she was murdered, Mr. Kawamura's home. I could not fathom that it was the same home in which I was a guest at. She was indeed an attractive woman, with striking ebony eyes and hair, but it was her unique smile that had captivated my immediate attention. It was sad to know that she was murdered, and it was terrible to realize, why and how she was murdered, at such a young age of twenty-five. I departed the island of Honshu, with the amazement of what had occurred and the thought that I had an unthinkable encounter, with a ghost whose body had been dead for fifty years. Before I had left, I went back to the bamboo grove and strangely amidst the tall trees, there were cherry blossoms on the ground scattered. I picked one up and had laid it over the burial spot, where she was previously buried. I felt her presence close by observing, and someone or something had tapped me on my shoulder. Who you may inquire? That I will let the reader decide, with absolute discretion. The sakura had been the sign of a horrible curse, but it was now once again, the sign of love. To the Japanese, the sakura represented the transience of life. You are born and live for a brief period of time, then you ultimately wither like the sakura. It also symbolized both life and death, beauty and violence. Sakura Koyama was beauty in life, yet her death was violent.

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