Asleep in Nara (Short Story Series, Pt. 10)

Note: Set in Nara, Japan, this entry continues the story of Sebastian’s Faustian deal with Persephone.

Part 10 finds our characters on the road, one of many. I don’t know how many more chapters this tale goes on; the characters have taken control of the story. They have their own lives, dreams, and ambitions. I’m just here to share those with you.

They have by now told me where they’re going. I’ll report as faithfully as I know how. I hope you enjoy.

As always, you can find the previous chapters here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, and Part 9.

For the first ten minutes or so of their journey, Persephone only interrupted the silence to point and impart basic directions. Sebastian followed. When he ran out of cigarettes in his current pack, he sighed and produced another.

“Don’t open that,” Persephone said. It was the first time she had openly told him to stop smoking.

“Why not?”

“Because I hate the smell.”

“Hmph.”

He considered defying her, but the look in her eye told him she was serious. He replaced the pack in his pocket.

“So what’s this rich guy’s name?”

“Inoue,” Persephone said.

Sebastian nodded. He didn’t really listen to her response. Absentmindedly, he traced a finger along the length of the scar on his forearm. Lost in thought, he started humming. Persephone let him go on for a while. His humming was preferable to his smoking.

“Is that…‘Crossroad Blues’?” Persephone asked.

“Hm?” Sebastian snapped back to the present. “Yeah, uh, just got it stuck in my head. Sorry.”

Persephone smirked. “I wonder what could have gotten that song in your head?”

Sebastian shook his head and played dumb. He knew the song was related to a crossroads demon somehow, but he wanted to hear it straight from the source. Persephone took the opportunity to indulge, hoping she could unsettle him some.

“You already know the straight interpretation of the song, right?” Persephone asked.

This time, Sebastian’s dumb look was genuine.

“Jesus Christ,” she said, “you’re from the South, aren’t you?”

“Yeah…” Sebastian said defensively, in the way all Southerners learn in their youth. He hunched forward.

“In ‘Crossroad Blues,’” Persephone said, shaking her head, “Johnson sings about trying to hitchhike at a crossroads as the sun is setting.” She raised two inquisitive eyebrows, expecting this information to jog at least some understanding on Sebastian’s part. Nothing. She sighed.

“Johnson was black.”

Slowly, Sebastian figured out where she was going. “Oh…”

“Yeah…” Persephone added sardonically. “I can’t believe I’m having to explain racism to a human--and a Southerner, too.” She shook her head. “Do they still teach history in your schools?”

Sebastian recognized the question as rhetorical. He grit his teeth, refused to respond, and imagined what Persephone’s smirk would look like if he set her face on fire.

“Anyway,” Persephone continued, “there’s an occult interpretation, too.”

Sebastian realized there wouldn’t be any smirk if he set her face on fire. It would just be smoky teeth and pain. He held that image in his head for a while, and it almost made him smile. Almost. He feared Persephone’s predilection for violence was rubbing off on him.

“...so the rider in Clapton’s version is the demon Johnson summoned. He’s stuck with her now,” Persephone said. She paused, letting her point sink in.

Sebastian, suddenly realizing he had missed the whole explanation, nodded slowly, hoping to cover for his lapse in attention. Persephone could tell by the glazed-over look in his eyes that she had lost him, but she wasn’t quite sure how long ago he had checked out.

“Your attention span is shit,” she said.

“Bite me,” Sebastian said.

“Sorry, hon,” Persephone replied, “but I’m not your rider.”

Having missed the story, Sebastian didn’t get her joke. He grimaced. Didn’t she just say the rider was a crossroads demon? Seeing the consternation on his face pleased Persephone even more than her retort.

They had reached the outskirts of town. Persephone stopped and motioned for Sebastian to do the same. She put a finger to her lips and pointed to the ground.

Sebastian mouthed a question: “What?”

Persephone only pointed more forcefully at the ground. Sebastian’s eyes followed. They were standing on a dirt road now, dead center of a crossroads.

“Make a wish,” Persephone whispered, sneering.

“Is that how it works?” he asked.

“Only if you have something worth trading.”

“Such as…?”

“Well, I’m nicer than most crossroads demons,” Persephone said. “I left you with a soul you could still sell. I could make an exception and take that, too. Got anything else you want in return?”

He wanted his life back. He wanted her gone. He wanted her dead.

“You wouldn’t give me what I want,” Sebastian said.

Persephone grinned. “Probably not.”

They stood in the center of the crossroads for a while, listening to the wara wara laughter of the wind sifting through the encroaching bamboo. Three corners of the crossroads were thick with it. The last corner, to the southwest, was sparsely dotted with more bamboo.

Persephone inspected every direction. She looked down the southern stretch of road and then back up the northern path, leading uphill. She stared that way for a long time, not moving a muscle.

“What’s go--?” Sebastian began.

“Sh!” Persephone held a hand out behind her, palm flat. She didn’t turn around to face him. Sebastian glowered, taken aback. When she was satisfied the road was, in fact, populated by nothing more than the wind, Persephone turned back toward Sebastian.

“Let’s go,” she said. “We’re close.”

Sebastian wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard an anxious quiver in her voice. He didn’t know what could possibly frighten Persephone, but he was certainly curious. He should have been afraid as well, but that thought never crossed his mind.

Their walk continued through the crossroads. They followed the eastern path. In the distance, Sebastian saw the edge of a secluded property, walled off with large hewed stones that reached up to about chest height.

He knew the drill by now. Soon, the stalking would begin and then, depending on Persephone’s mood, maybe the interrogating. If she was feeling impatient, they would move right to the killing.

He didn’t want to like it, but he did. His pupils dilated. His heartbeat sped up. His fingers longed for the katar’s embrace.

He hoped to hold it again soon.

***[The photo is my own, taken along the entryway to Wakamiya Shrine in Nara Park]