The Isle of South Kamui and Other Stories Read Free Page A

doctor’s point of view was extremely unsanitary. However, as guest of honor I could hardly refuse, and so I grudgingly went along with it.
    At some point the traveling salesman, who was staying at the inn, had slipped into the banquet. He seemed to be particularly fond of this island. He slapped the shoulders of the mayor and headmaster and, frequently raising the sake cup to his lips, proclaimed loudly, “This is the best island I have ever been to!” The banquet was becoming increasingly rowdy. Once the salesman began dancing naked, his corpulent belly thrust out, I fled outside to the garden.
    I could hear the sound of drums in the dark night. Looking in their direction, I saw the red glow of a fire halfway up the mountain we had climbed that afternoon. There had indeed been a small shrine around there, so perhaps that was the shrine to the island deity. It looked like they were holding an all-night festival to celebrate the day’s harvest of Streaked Shearwaters.
    Even though night had fallen, the heat still lingered. I was just lighting a cigarette when the salesman called out behind me, “What’re you up to out here?” He was in high spirits, and reeked of alcohol. When I replied that I was watching the fire, he smirked. “Arriving on a festival day, it’s bound to be a lucky year for you,” he said happily. “How about coming up to the shrine with me now? It’s quite spectacular.”
    With a lewd smile, the salesman explained that in the past there had been women ama divers on the island, and their customs had been retained in this festival. The women, in the style of the ama , bared their breasts and danced as though possessed around the fire.
    â€œIt’s pitch black. But all the women have great tits,” he commented, grinning.
    I tried imagining the half-naked women in the light of the fire. It was a healthy, erotic scene that I should have enjoyed, but it just left me cold. It was inextricably connected with the image of the woman slitting the Streaked Shearwater’s belly that afternoon.
    â€œThe head priest here is known as the ‘Chief.’ He’s a small, feeble old man.” The salesman continued his account of the festival. Knowing nothing about the island, I must have been the ideal audience for him. The only reason I was tamely listening to him now was not because I had any interest in the festival itself, but because it was preferable to remaining in that dull banquet with the mayor and the rest of them. “As its name suggests, there is a legend that this island was created by a god. South Kamui’s version of Ninigi’s heavenly descent, I suppose you could call it. The Chief is descended from the god and is apparently able to hear him speak. He has tremendous authority. In the olden days it seems he had the customary privileges, too. Lucky bastard.”
    â€œCustomary privileges?”
    â€œSurely you know what that means? He got to sample all the virgins. Although it’d be wasted on an old body like his.”
    The salesman sniggered and nudged me in the ribs. He was completely absorbed in his own story.
    â€œAt the festival, several of the island’s youths are chosen to don devil masks and they become the god’s messengers. Apparently, if the old Chief ever gave them the order to ‘Kill!’ they would grab the arms and legs of the person to be sacrificed and mercilessly rip them apart, you know.”
    His words made me think again of the Streaked Shearwater’s white belly slit open by the woman.
    â€œThat was long ago, wasn’t it? They can’t do things like that now, not with the police officer here.”
    â€œNo, I guess not.”
    The salesman ran his hand smoothly over his shiny face, flushed red with drink. I got the impression he was almost disappointed that it was a thing of the past.
    â€œHow about it? Won’t you come up to the shrine with me? Tonight everyone