Little Matsue and other tales

By Larry Boyd

Little Matsue and Other Tales encompasses a magnificent thread of entangled journeys of acceptance and resignation, but also longing, and resolution. The uniqueness of each story comes from Larry Boyd's intricate and vivid storytelling, which allows the reader to effortlessly step into the point of view of the characters and connect to

• Language: English
• Publisher: ES-Press
• Release date: Mar 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781925052886

Book preview

Little Matsue

‘PLEASE STOP SOON?’ Little Matsue pleaded as he sat hunched in the doorway of the main temple. ‘My master will be angry that I do not bring these rice cakes for his lunch and he will beat me.’

The late summer storm poured down relentlessly, each great drop splintering into glistening fragments as it splattered against the white pebbles of the courtyard. Pine needles washed across the stone pathways where the monks walked every morning to chant prayers for the start of the day. The lotus ponds were overflowing and a fat, golden koi flopped over the side of one and disappeared down a drain.

Little Matsue knew the monks’ chants by heart. If only I had been born a monk, he thought. He quietly intoned the harvest chants. The Harvest Festival will be ruined if it doesn’t stop raining.

The great vermilion pillars of the temple’s main gate glowed palely through the grey slashing rain. As he sang, a stooped figure appeared in the gate, its face hidden by a huge black umbrella.

Little Matsue instinctively moved the rice cakes closer and wrapped his arms around himself as the figure entered the temple courtyard. It is my master. He has come for me.

A fierce gust of wind tore away a branch of a tree, which knocked the old man to the ground as it fell. His umbrella flapped into the air like some fierce, black dragon and lodged high in a tall pine. The old man lay motionless. In spite of his terror, Little Matsue leapt to his feet almost without thinking. ‘Master Yoshitoro, I am here. It is I, Little Matsue. I will help you.’

Little Matsue scooped up the old man in his arms and battled through the storm to the shelter of the temple portico. He laid the motionless figure on the wooden slats of the floor and removed the shawl from where it had blown across the man’s face. Little Matsue jumped back in fright. The old man’s hair was as white and as long as his thin white beard, but his face was the beautiful face of a young man. A stranger, but a man of the highest birth.

‘I’m sorry Daimyo, forgive me for touching you,’ the boy stammered. ‘I thought you were my Master, Yoshitoro the Administrator’s clerk.’

The stranger slowly opened his eyes and looked at Little Matsue. They were the most beautiful eyes Little Matsue had ever seen, soft and dark as the midnight harvest sky. The stranger turned his eyes towards the two rice cakes at the temple door.

‘Are you hungry, Daimyo?’ Little Matsue shivered. Those rice cakes were for his master Yoshitoro’s lunch. But how could he refuse such a noble person as this?

‘Would you like the rice cakes, Daimyo?’ Little Matsue whispered. The stranger nodded. Without hesitation, but with great foreboding, the boy picked up the rice cakes. I will be beaten very badly by my master for this. But the stranger is injured and hungry and has come through this terrible storm to seek shelter in the temple. Who knows what important business he is on? I cannot refuse him.

Little Matsue turned and offered the two rice cakes to the stranger. He took the cakes and ate them with a vigour that surprised the boy.

‘Are you thirsty, Daimyo? I shall go to the well and fetch you a cup of water to drink.’

When Little Matsue returned, the stranger was nowhere to be seen. Nor was the umbrella stuck high in the pine tree. It had gone. ‘How strange,’ murmured the boy as he gazed around the courtyard.

Little Matsue turned the events over in his mind. Then, when at last the rain stopped, he remembered he had no lunch for Master Yoshitoro.

‘My master might kill me. I am a bad boy!’ he wailed. ‘What can I do?

Little Matsue paced inside the temple, fearful at the thought that his master would beat him very hard. He looked around for inspiration. There, in front of the main altar, was a large plate of rice cakes, offerings to the God of the Harvest Moon. Today was his festival and Hirotami Suzuki, the wife of the silk dyer, had made her special rice cakes as an offering from all of the village. So many rice cakes! Surely nobody would notice if I took two. Why, Hirotami Suzuki is just as likely to bring more offerings now that the rain has stopped. I’m sure she will.

As quickly as a cricket hopping out of harm’s way, Little Matsue took two cakes, concealed them in his shirt and ran out of the temple. He did not notice Hirotami Suzuki and the Venerable Kisaganawa standing silently at the rear of the altar. Hirotami Suzuki lowered her head. This was a terrible sacrilege. The boy had stolen the food of the God. He had defiled this holy place and compromised the head monk who had witnessed the theft.

Hirotami Suzuki knew what she had to do. She reported the transgression to the Magistrate of the Prefecture. He ordered that the boy be brought to him at once. Trembling with fear, Little Matsue admitted his crime. He accepted his punishment without a word, to be beheaded by sunset, before the Harvest Moon Festival began.

At the appointed time, Little Matsue was brought to the execution yard. Master Yoshitoro was screaming at the boy and boxed his ears as he was marched through the wooden gate into the stone yard. Little Matsue knelt at the execution block and leant forward as two monks intoned the chant for the dead. He trembled at the thought of the great long sword bringing atonement.

In his head he joined in the chants for the dead, and as he silently mouthed the sacred words, he was filled with a great warmth. As the swish of the falling sword filled his ears and the searing burn of the blade sliced his neck, Little Matsue felt himself scooped up in a powerful pair of arms. Even before his head hit the ground, he was gazing into the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen, as soft and dark as the midnight harvest sky.

Other Tales

Christmas Death

CHRISTMAS DAY DAWNED hot and humid. Beata had got her family through breakfast and done the wash-up by the time Kevin’s parents arrived. They crowded into the lounge room where a small Christmas tree winked coloured lights at them. The presents were opened with cries of glee from the kids as the temperature climbed towards thirty degrees.

Beata had just stuffed the turkey with all sorts of delicious things and layered the baking pan with slivered carrots, parsnips, fennel and leeks. The vegetables were glistening with duck fat that had already melted in the heat of the kitchen.

She placed the turkey on top, covered the breast with rashers of bacon then poured a cup of orange juice over the trussed bird. To keep the bird moist during the cooking, her mother had advised a week or so ago while packing the suitcase she was taking with her to Poland.

Beata looked out the kitchen window to the back yard where she had banished the family. The chaos of them all crowding around her in the small, stifling kitchen had become unbearable and she had snapped. ‘Right,’ she commanded. ‘Out, the lot of you. Then maybe I can get on with the cooking.’

They all grumbled, especially Kevin’s mother, Elsie. She wanted to stay and make sure Beata didn’t spoil the turkey. Elsie was suspicious of all those vegetables and had had words with Beata about them earlier.

Kevin snapped at his father, Jack, telling him to take Elsie and the kids outside. Bradley, their eldest child, was already out the door with his box of dinosaur parts which he would now assemble into a model skeleton. Tyrannosaurus Rex!

Jack bridled at his son’s bossiness but headed for the door, snatching a beer from the esky as he went. Elsie had grabbed the twins and was shepherding them out of the kitchen. ‘Come on, Natasha. You too, Tomas. We know when we’re not wanted.’ Kevin hesitated, looking at Beata. God you’ve changed since we got married, he thought, not for the first time. He wanted to tell her to cool it, but the look on her face, the sweaty gloss on her skin, the ruddiness, the damp hair falling across her face stopped him from saying anything. An odd tenderness rose momentarily in his chest, but he turned and walked outside.

Beata basted the turkey and opened the oven door, recoiling from the blast of heat. She picked up the baking pan, stumbling backwards under the weight. Righting herself, but slopping globules of fat onto the bench, she managed to slide the baking dish with its cargo of Christmas riches into the oven. She swatted at a blowfly that had got into the kitchen and was buzzing around her. Buzz, buzz.

Straightening herself, Beata saw through the window Kevin’s brother, Darren, push into the yard through the back gate. A slab of beer under one arm and a girl on the other, he was ‘ho-hoing’ loudly at the twins. He never told me he was bringing someone, Beata thought. The least he could have done was ring and check it was alright. But that’s Darren.

I have to get out of the kitchen and this heat. She thought of her mother. Poland will be under snow, mama rugged up in her new coat and woollen hat. Why did I say no when she asked me to go with her? No, because this is my family. This is where I belong now.

Tomas’s scream brought her attention back to the yard.

‘Come to grandma, darling,’ Elsie called. ‘Kev, you’ve cut his hand. What a naughty daddy.’ Natasha wailed and Tomas screamed for ‘mama!’ Kevin stood over the little boy, holding the wrench he had yanked from his son’s hand. Elsie tottered towards the twins, barely able to walk on the grass in her new silver slingbacks. Two strong shandies didn’t help either.

‘I told you not to go into my tool shed, Tomas. Not to take anything off the pegs. Now you can see why. They aren’t toys. You’ve cut yourself.’

As Elsie leaned to pick up the still-wailing Natasha, she overbalanced and sank to her knees. ‘Jesus! My stockings. Help me up, Kevvie love.’

Jack turned from his wife on her knees in the dirt. Abandoning her, he swore under his breath and got another beer from the esky. Kevin hauled his mother to her feet then joined Darren and the new girl.

‘They’re alright mum. Just leave ’em.’ Kevin turned back to Darren, grinning. Beata came out of the kitchen and, taking the twins from Elsie, kissed them better. First Natasha’s cheek then Tomas’s cheek and hand. ‘Can you put some antiseptic on the cut Els? It’s in the bathroom cupboard.’ She kissed the twins again, gave them a cuddle and handed Tomas over to Elsie. She walked back to the kitchen.

‘Come on Natasha, let’s go and wipe that face.’ Elsie gave her knee one last brush. ‘C’mon, Tomas love, grandma will put a Band-aid on the cut. Daddy didn’t mean it. You mustn’t play with his tools though.’ She took each by the hand and led them inside to the bathroom. On the verandah, Bradley turned back to the dinosaur and slotted another piece of the skeleton into place.

In the kitchen, Beata rested her hand on the bench. The slops of fat hadn’t congealed in the heat. She pulled her hand away and a gob of fat splattered