Martin Edmond


Winter Journey

I
We came near the end of winter
snow lay drifted upon the ground

& golden light faded between the trees
as night began to fall.

In the early dawn spokes of yellow sun
picked out the prints a fox had made

crossing a field, where the warmth 
of growing things caused small holes 

to form in the snow. We did not
know why we were there nor how

long we would have to stay. That night
snow fell again, drifting silent

& cold past the window panes 
freezing a film of ice upon the glass. 


II
After the snow plough had been & gone
a heavy black car drove slowly down

the narrow road & stopped outside
the little house in the woods.

I had not yet shovelled a path from
door to road. Behind tinted 

windows whoever it was paused
as if unsure what to do next. Then

the passenger door opened & a man
wearing hat, coat, gloves & rubber boots

trudged to the letter box, brushed
the snow away, pushed something through

the aperture then trudged back to the car. Its white
exhaust followed it away like a departing soul.


III
It was a manila envelope. I took it 
back up the path I’d cleared

into the house, which was warm 
& full of the smell of breakfast cooking 

tore open the envelope, extracted
a piece of paper & read what was written upon it

aloud to my companion. She paused in her work
to listen. It was a summary of

the route we were to take when we drove
north & west to the sea; & an account 

of what we were to do once we arrived
at the Old Port. Where we would stay 

& who we were to see. There was nothing
said about the nature of our mission.


IV
We were to remain in the mountains
for some days yet. If the weather 

was fine we went out walking, making sure
we had bear bells on our belts, though

they were most likely all in hibernation still.
If it snowed, I cleared the path to the road 

& wiped the residue from the car. 
Once we saw the fox whose prints

appeared sometimes near the house. It stopped 
among the bear bamboo & looked back 

at us in such a way as to suggest it knew
not just more than we did but more

than we would ever know. Then it walked
slowly away into the silent trees.


V
My companion said that night it came to her
in a dream. A wise fox, with many tails

perhaps as many as nine. What did it say
I asked but she said nothing. It just

looked the way the one we saw in the woods
looked at us. We were both wondering 

if we were doing the right thing, following
the instructions we had been given. 

We were both afraid of what might
happen if we did not. I wanted her to ask

the wise old fox what we should do
but she said you do not ask such things 

in case it is a trickster. You must wait
until the fox is ready to talk to you.


VI
It was time for us to leave. The fox
had not spoken & so we thought

now it never would. We loaded up the car
with our things, cleaned & secured

the house, warmed the engine then drove
away. As we were passing by the entrance

to the People’s Park we saw
on the path that leads between the trees

a fox. It was not the nine-tailed one 
of the dream, it had just one, bushy, tail 

& did not offer any oracular advice. Instead
it turned & trotted up the path

& away into the woods. We knew then
we were on our own; as we had always been.


VII
The journey to the sea took the best part
of a day. There was little traffic. As we came 

down from the mountains we saw new
growth on the trees. Spring was coming.

Then we drove north along the coast until
we arrived, at dusk, in the Old Port. Our hotel

was near the docks, in a quiet street
of unfrequented bars & restaurants. We ate

at one of these then returned to the ryokan.
The old woman at reception said we had

had a caller. He left a note for us.
It gave us a time & a place to meet with him

next day & requested that we tell no-one
where we were going. Signed: Inari Okame. 


VIII
He did not seem like a fox. More of a bear. 
Big & muffled up in an overcoat

even though it was not cold. Or not to us. 
We sat at a table outside a small café

where fishermen drank. We were couriers, he said 
& did not need to know what we were carrying. 

Only its destination, which was in another city
further up the coast, in a labyrinth of ponds 

nearer to the mainland, over the narrow sea.
Were we in danger my companion asked.

Only if you say where you are headed
or tell someone why you are going there.

And afterwards, I asked. Afterwards
we do not care where you go or what you do.


IX
We did not investigate the contents 
of the package he gave us. Contraband

perhaps. Or documents. Plans, maps, blueprints. 
After all there was a war on. In the City

of Lagoons we met a young woman who wore
a mask over her face the whole time 

we were with her; which was not long.
She said her fiancé had been killed

in the fighting at Mir. She cursed the war
before she limped away. With the money 

she gave us we bought a place to live.
It was the house in the mountains 

where we stayed the time we met the fox. 
We laid the deposit down in cash.


X
We half expected to find a fox
sitting by the doorstep waiting for us

when we returned to take possession
but it was not so. We did not see 

another one for months & then it was
a vixen, with cubs. My companion said

if you go looking for a fox
he will not show himself. Or she, as

the case may be. Sometimes bears
come down from the mountain. Badgers

eat the scraps we throw on the ground
behind the house. Not everything 

I have written is untrue but nor is it
the whole story. We are living here still. 

Martin Edmond has graced the pages of Otoliths since the first issue. He is now living in Japan.

 
 

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