Intermission: The Man in the Fox Mask Gets Drunk Alone

Intermission:
The Man in the Fox Mask Gets Drunk Alone

 

“HOW UGLY,” the man murmured as he was buffeted by a howling wind fit to pierce his skin.

The man stood on a fire watchtower, looking down over the spirit realm town. The watchtower was made of wood, and of a kind rarely seen nowadays. Standing on top of the roof to which the fire bell was fixed, the man observed the crowds of spirits coming and going.

The man’s appearance was pretty strange for the spirit realm. He was clad in a British-style three-piece suit. Its silhouette, which snugly fit his slender body, emphasized his gentlemanly air. The black coat around his shoulders was made of leather. He seemed somehow out of place in the spirit realm, with its rows of Japanese-style buildings.

Strangest of all was his face. From his build, one would have guessed that he was a middle-aged man, but a crucial identifying feature—his face—was hidden and could not be seen.

The thing that hid it was a fox mask. The eyes drawn onto its white base were as thin as threads, and it was painted here and there with scarlet patterns. The fox’s face seemed to be laughing, lending it a celebratory air.

“Ugly, ugly, ugly, ugly… Argh, everything is so ugly. They’re disgusting. They’re repulsive!”

However, at odds with the expression on the fox mask, the man continued to hurl insults at the spirits walking about below him. His persistent rebukes coupled with his needy tone made clear his strange personality.

“Nevertheless…”

As soon as he spotted a certain person amongst the spirits, the man’s mood instantly improved. He took a skillet out of his breast pocket and, shifting his mask slightly to the side, gulped down its contents.

Letting out a sigh of satisfaction, he wiped his mouth, which was damp with sake. Spreading his hands as if he were an actor on a stage, he declared, “There are some things that look beautiful precisely because they are in the midst of ugliness.”

He was gazing at two figures making their way through the jostling crowds of spirits coming and going. One was a young woman who carried a black cat on her shoulders; she smiled in a relaxed manner as she walked. The other was a young man with white hair. He carried a black dog in his arms, and for some reason, his face was faintly red.

The two of them stood out more than any of the spirits below. Butterflies that emitted an unearthly light had gathered about them. This, more than anything, was proof of their humanity. But even here in the spirit realm, where many spirits loved to eat humans, no one attacked them.

From the man’s point of view, this was an unusual sight indeed. By nature, spirits didn’t possess the power of reason; they gobbled up humans just like wild animals driven by the need for blood. They also lacked the propensity for sophisticated society, choosing instead to take up primitive lifestyles. As far as the man was concerned, spirits were inherently inferior creatures.

So how were these two humans getting away with not being hunted down in this realm?

“What’s the meaning of this? What can it mean? How curious it is…” the man murmured in a singsong tone as he crouched on the roof and rested his chin in his hands.

At that moment, the watchtower swayed unsteadily. At the same time there came the sound of shoving and pushing and some sort of scream. Thrown slightly off-balance by the shaking, the man leaned over and peered under the roof.

“How long do you intend to keep me waiting?” the man asked icily, and silence fell at once.

“My apologies. I’ll be with you in a moment,” a hoarse voice replied. It was impossible to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman.

Shlurgh…crack. Crack…crack…crack. Shlurgh.

Sounds so vividly grotesque that they would make anyone want to block their ears filled the air at the top of the tower. But the man seemed unbothered. He listened silently to the sound that echoed up into the sky, but which didn’t reach the hustle and bustle below.

Finally, something moved within the watchtower. A hand, covered in a sticky black liquid, caught hold of the edge of the roof. The person to whom the hand belonged vigorously hauled their body up, exposing a pair of plump breasts to the starlight.

“How’s this? I think it’s pretty good quality.”

It was a woman, naked from the waist up. Her jet-black hair, glossy under the moon, adorned skin so pale it was almost transparent. But in contrast to the bewitching beauty of her top half, the lower half of her body was ominously covered by a blood-spattered kimono. After looking down for a moment, the woman turned to look toward the fox-masked man; like him, she wore a mask, though hers was of an old man’s face. She tipped her head to one side.

The man didn’t even glance at her, only brought his lips to the skillet again. “Whatever,” he said coldly. “Hurry up and go.”

“Yes, sir.”

The woman seemed not the least bit intimidated by his forbidding attitude. As if this happened all the time, she launched herself off the watchtower. In the next moment, a loud flapping sound echoed through the night air; the woman had transformed into a bird, and she soared high up into the air.

When at last the figure of the bird had been swallowed up by the darkness, the man muttered to himself. “A child cannot become independent just as they please, not without the permission of their parents.”

Chuckling low in his throat, he happily watched the two humans and their butterfly attendants walk on for as long as he could.