A TAIL OF NINE

CHAPTER TWO: Magic--a Sticky Business

The day is full of poetry, literally. While we're staying in yet another beach house, Kon recites a bunch of poems. She loves W.B. Yeats. Her favorite lines are from his "The Stolen Child":

... Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

She moves on to Robert Frost and his "Acquainted with the Night":

I have been one acquainted with the night.

I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.

I have outwalked the furthest city light.

Then there's Blake's "The Tyger":

Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

She finishes up with one of my favorites. She's whispered it to me ever since I can remember. It was written by someone named Shibumi. According to Kon he died young. A lot of artsy types do.

In the moon's light burn many dreams,

Of love and youthful woes,

But a fox's eyes cry many words,

Of morning joys and evening sorrows.

Made immortal within these cords,

Their beauty is soon swallowed by their whispered schemes.

Anyone that's ever stared at a fox knows what Shibumi's talking about. Blake's tiger has nothing on a fox.

A lot of poetry sucks, but Kon breathes life into every word so that each image sticks in your head. She makes it music.

When we need to stretch our legs some, we walk along the beach. Just off shore, a bunch of dolphins arch through the water. About six of them suddenly turn toward the beach, riding the waves like I've seen humans do. Just before they're in danger of being beached, they veer away, swimming back out to catch another wave.

Around bedtime, we stare out at the ocean and add Dylan Thomas to our mix of dead poets.

Tread, like a naked Venus,

The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait;

Thomas' "My Hero Bares His Nerves" is definitely best at sunset.

After sucking in a lungful of salt air, I ask, "Some Yosa Busan now?"

Kon looks over her shoulder. Even though she goes right into one of his poems, I think that's the last thing on her mind. "Sumizumi ni nokoru samosa ya ume no hanna."

I translate, "In nooks and corners/ Cold remains: / Flowers of the plum."

<<The cold always remains,>> Kon mumbles.

One of her tails swishes by my cheek. Magic crackles around her. Something smells like death and then with a SSSSHHHCRACK! a jar now sits between us. It looks like it's been carved out of a piece of stone. Its stopper has been carved into the shape of a cat and has been painted orange. I think it's the most powerful thing Kon owns.

I'm always drawn to the Eye of Horus that's been etched into the side.

"To protect against dark spirits." I trace it with my finger. "Remember the time we ran into that salawa from Egypt? I'll never look at egg salad the same way again."