Chapter 58: Tōkigan (Part 2)
“A very, very long time ago,” Ōgami began, his voice taking on the quiet, measured cadence of an ancient storyteller, “a small, battered boat, the lone survivor of a vicious storm at sea, drifted with the ocean currents and finally washed ashore on the remote coast of Mie Island.”
“The villagers, upon investigating the wreck, discovered a young man and woman huddled in the boat’s small, cramped cabin. The man, who carried a large, mysterious wooden box on his back, introduced himself as Tōkigan, a humble doll maker. The woman, he said, was Takehime, his wife.”
“The villagers, who knew little of the outside world and its troubles, welcomed the strangers with a simple, open-hearted hospitality. They prepared a lavish feast of fresh fish and strong wine, and, their curiosity piqued, asked Tōkigan about his perilous journey and his purpose for coming to their isolated island.”
“As it turned out, Tōkigan’s tale was one of desperation. His hometown was on Izu Island, where he had made a meager living from his craft as a doll maker.”
“But his skills, he confessed, were… lacking. His customers grew fewer and fewer, and Tōkigan’s life became one of quiet, grinding poverty. Although his devoted wife, Takehime, could weave fine cloth to supplement their meager income, the ever-present cost of the rare woods and fine silks needed for doll making often left the couple in a state of deep, gnawing worry.”
“Then, by chance, Tōkigan heard a rumor. A whisper, a tale told by traveling merchants. That on the distant, overseas island of Mie, there lived a deity, a god who possessed an unparalleled, almost supernatural skill in the art of doll making. Many of the most renowned master doll makers on the main island of Honshu, it was said, claimed to have received secret guidance from this very god.”
Junko suddenly raised her hand, her excitement overriding her manners. “Wait, wait a minute. Is there really such a god? A god of doll making? That sounds so… specific. So strange.”
“Well, they say there are eight million kami in Japan, don’t they?” Takada Shōji shrugged, trying to sound knowledgeable. “It doesn’t seem too strange that there would be one with such a peculiar specialty, right?”
Ōgami Yōsuke offered a patient, academic smile. “Although they are all referred to as ‘kami,’ or gods, the precursors to many of these deities can actually be considered ‘yōkai’ – supernatural creatures, spirits, or monsters. As the great founder of Japanese folklore studies, Yanagita Kunio, once wrote, the greatest characteristic of Japanese yōkai is their inherent duality; their capacity for both good and evil, which can be interchangeable. For example, a onryō, a vengeful spirit, if properly appeased and worshipped, can be transformed into a guardian deity or a functional god, one that serves a specific purpose.”
“In the myths and legends of many other cultures, gods are almost always benevolent and just, while the forces of evil and chaos are given other names: fairies, ghosts, devils, demons, and so on.”
“Those who are worshipped or revered are usually the good and just. Fairies, ghosts, and demons are almost never the objects of worship. So, in comparison, it’s quite natural that in Japan, there are many beings referred to as gods by locals or specific groups that outsiders or laypeople would find difficult to understand, or even consider monstrous.”
“In this legend, the ‘god’ who makes exquisite dolls is likely also a yōkai-like entity, who only came to be called a god after being worshipped by a certain sect of doll makers.”
Junko frowned, mulling this over, then finally nodded. “Okay, I think I get it. But still… is there really such a spirit? The story says that several famous doll makers from Honshu actually received guidance from this god. Is that part true?”
“It’s impossible to confirm.” Ōgami Yōsuke shrugged again. “I’ve looked at the materials my father was given. In fact, even the time period in which the story of Tōkigan takes place is incredibly difficult to determine. Even the locals on Mie Island, and the priests at the local shrines, aren’t clear on it. All that is known for certain is that the legend is ancient, almost certainly predating the written word, passed down for well over a thousand years.”
“I see,” Junko said, resting her chin on her hand. “It’s like the Mizuno Shrine here in our own city, right? And the Lord Mask-Taker Shrine. It’s said that the Lord Mask-Taker Shrine separated from the Mizuno Shrine, and Lord Mask-Taker is mentioned in its own legends, but if you try to trace back the specific time, the specific events, it’s all just… lost to time.”
“Well, the main reason for that, I think,” Kana suddenly interjected, “is that a standardized written language appeared relatively late in Japan’s history. For events that happened in an era without writing, it’s already a miracle that they’ve been passed down at all, even through a flawed and unreliable oral tradition.”
At this point, Takada Shōji, who had been listening with a focused intensity, suddenly asked, “But the story says Tōkigan was carrying a huge wooden box on his back. Doesn’t that imply that the dolls he made were very large? Can’t we use that as a clue to trace the time period of the story?”
Junko nodded eagerly at this. “Yeah, yeah! That’s a good point! The traditional Japanese dolls we usually see are quite small, aren’t they? Like the Hina dolls used for the Girls’ Day festival, and the Ichimatsu dolls that you can change the clothes of… they’re all pretty small, aren’t they?”
Girls’ Day, also known as the Peach Blossom Festival, is a traditional festival introduced to Japan from China. On the third day of the third month each year, Japanese girls wear traditional clothing and admire the peach blossoms, a festival to wish for the future happiness and health of girls. On this day, people imitate the customs of the ancient imperial court, displaying beautiful dolls, known as “Hina-ningyō,” alongside peach blossoms, and drinking a sweet liquor made from glutinous rice.
Ōgami Yōsuke spread his hands helplessly, a gesture of a patient teacher dealing with eager but misguided students. “The Dairi-bina dolls used for Girls’ Day originated around the Edo period. Ichimatsu dolls also appeared in the mid-Edo period. By this time, the craft of doll making had matured considerably, and the specifications for different types of dolls were more or less standardized. Even if Tōkigan did make large dolls, all that would suggest is that his story took place long before the Edo period. To be more specific, probably more than 600 years ago, during the so-called ‘primitive era’ of Japanese doll making. But how primitive, how long ago, we can still only guess.”
Junko blinked. “But isn’t that still some progress? We’ve narrowed it down a bit.”
“However,” Ōgami Yōsuke shook his head again, dashing her hopes, “there is no evidence or historical record to suggest that the dolls Tōkigan made before he traveled to Mie Island were large dolls. So, that entire line of inquiry is, I’m afraid, not very reliable.” Anything they could think of, he knew, his father, a seasoned professional, would have already considered and thoroughly investigated.
Kana thought for a moment, then suddenly asked, “But what if we start with the master doll makers from history? Surely, there’s a chance there, right? If we just check which of the famous doll masters mentioned a doll-making god on Mie Island, wouldn’t that give us a rough idea?”
“It’s a feasible line of inquiry, yes,” Ōgami Yōsuke explained again, with a long-suffering patience, “but there are countless self-proclaimed ‘master doll makers’ in Japanese history. Among them, there are those with superb skills and long, venerable lineages, and of course, there are also those who are just… frauds, charlatans. If you were to ask them, it’s highly probable that many would lie for the sake of enhancing their own fame, claiming that their ancestors had just such an experience. So, investigating that way would also be unlikely to yield any reliable, verifiable results.”
Yomikawa Tsuko, seeing that they were getting nowhere near the main topic and that, at this rate, who knew how much more time would be wasted on these fruitless speculations, finally spoke, her voice cold and sharp. “Ōgami-kun’s father has surely, and with far more expertise than any of us possess, considered all of these possibilities. The few of you should stop trying to be so clever. Let Ōgami continue with the legend of Tōkigan.”
As expected of the Senpai, the moment she spoke, no one else asked any more questions. Although they still looked as if they had a million other things they wanted to say, they all held their tongues for the time being.
Ōgami Yōsuke nodded, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, and continued his tale. “After carefully inquiring about the precise location of Mie Island, Tōkigan sold all his worldly possessions and set sail with his wife, Takehime. Unexpectedly, they encountered a violent shipwreck along the way. Fortunately, they had enough food on their small boat, and the powerful ocean currents carried them to the shores of Mie Island just before their supplies ran out.”
“The simple, kind-hearted villagers had never heard of such a god living on the island where their families had resided for generations. Nevertheless, they took in Tōkigan and Takehime, and even helped Tōkigan build a small house on an empty plot of land in their village.”
“And from that day on, Tōkigan would venture deep into the uninhabited, and some said, haunted, parts of the island every single day, searching for any trace of the elusive and perhaps mythical god of the dolls.”
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