Drawing on the Past
An artist finds an admirer who really gets into his work.
The slender young man stopped on the top of the hill and admired the landscape that spread out before him. Although Shikoku was a small island, the thick stands of cedar and mist-covered mountains surrounded him on all sides. The Iya valley below was a carpet of brilliant green dotted with flowers and small trees.
This was the spot. Yoshi removed his backpack and pulled out his sketch pads and pencils, then settled on the soft grass so he could look out over the beautiful scene. Birds called from distant branches, and a soft breeze carried the pleasant smells of earth and plants. There were no signs of modern life anywhere - no roads, no power lines, not even any aircraft visible as white jet streams in the brilliant blue sky.
One ancient farmhouse stood far below on the hillside, just a museum now. It was a low, wide wooden structure with a heavy thatched roof, hundreds of years old. Although the fields had long ago been reclaimed by the wild grass and flowers, Yoshi had no trouble imagining what this place might have looked like a few hundred years ago when it was a working farm.
He closed his eyes and let the image fill his mind. An ox-drawn plow turning over the earth, the farmer and his family carefully placing the seeds that would grow into food. So different from the crowded, noisy city that stank of car exhaust and demanded that everyone rush, rush, rush. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes and began to draw.
The drawing took shape quickly, for most of it was right in front of him. The shapes of the mountains, a box for the farmhouse, the contours of the valley. Trees next, stark dark trunks that filled the mountainsides and framed the still-blank pasture. He switched to colored pencils now, finding dark greens and browns to create the cedars, blues and soft grays for the sky with its puffy clouds.
Three hundred years had darkened the old farmhouse walls, but he chose the golden brown of new wood to recreate the building as it had been long ago. Flowers were added along the walls, providing spots of bright color. Then he started on the fields.
Instead of the bright green grass that rolled out before him, Yoshi began to sketch in the fields from his imagination. Even rows of rich black-brown dirt, ready for planting. He was just starting to outline an ox and plow when a child's voice came from just over his shoulder. "That's a pretty picture!"
Startled, Yoshi jerked his head around to see a coarse-featured boy grinning at him. Maybe nine years old, he wore only a dark and dirty brown kosode of homespun cotton. His hair was a ragged mop, and he both looked and smelled like he had not bathed in many days. "Oh! Uh, who are you?"
The boy gestured at the pad Yoshi held. "I live here."
Yoshi frowned. "I thought this whole place was just a museum." He was annoyed at the interruption of the tranquility, but realized the boy was dressed to fit the scene. Was he here as a play-actor? Many historical sites had people in costume to serve as guides, or pose for tourist's pictures. He doubted too many visitors would appreciate the authenticity of this boy, at least if they were downwind.
The boy laughed. "No! Not that!" He pointed at the old farmhouse and wrinkled his nose. "All dead and forgotten." Then he touched the brightly colored drawing in Yoshi's lap. "I live there."
Yoshi looked at the artwork, and then back down into the valley. Was there a small working farm down there he had somehow overlooked? "Oh. I did not see any place else."
The boy poked a finger at the stick outlines of the plow and ox. "You draw me here!"
Yoshi almost told him to go away, but the boy did look the part. And he had wanted to have someone planting. Picking up a sharp pencil, he looked at the boy for a moment, then worked in a rough figure that he detailed out with colored pencils. The figure was too small to have any real detail, but the general shape and colors made it easy to imagine the boy.
His subject nodded enthusiastically. "That is very good!" A dirty finger jabbed at the last blank area, where the ox and plow would go. "Now we finish! Good day, much to do."
"We?" Yoshi was amused and annoyed at the same time. This self-proclaimed critic was trying to take over his artwork, even though they both seemed to have the same final product I mind. "I think I am the one doing all the work here." He looked back at the boy. "I will give you a piece of paper and some pencils if you want to draw."
The boy shook his head. "No, I will help you finish up your picture."
Before Yoshi could reply, the boy reached forward and placed his hands on either side of Yoshi's forehead. "The plow is easy. I will help you with the ox." He started to rub Yoshi's temples with a firm, circular movement.
Being seated, Yoshi could not really pull away, and the action was harmless, if odd. The boy's palms were warm and the massage felt very nice. "If you want to help, you should be quiet and let me get back to drawing." It was hard to be mad with the boy. His cheerful grin was infectious, and the pressure of his hands seemed to be drawing tension out of his whole body.
"You like that place." The boy stared into his eyes, bright and curious. It was a statement instead of a question. "My farm."
Yoshi sighed. "Yes. It is so peaceful."
The boy nodded, dropping his hands to rub the sides of Yoshi's face. "The ox has a simple life, free of worry."
Yoshi thought about that as he relaxed a little more. "I guess so." He set the pad down and grinned. "Are you trying to put me to sleep?"
"No." The boy laughed. "You need to think like the ox. Be strength and contentment."
"That sounds nice." Yoshi chuckled. "Strength and contentment." Actually, he did feel content. The interruption should bother him, he would normally have chased the boy off.
"You are the ox." The boy's hands slid over his cheeks and jaw. "Be the ox."
Going along with the game, Yoshi nodded his head slightly. "I am the ox."
The boy stopped the massage and sat on the ground in front of him. "Yes, you are the ox."
Blinking, Yoshi had to struggle a moment to clear his thoughts. "What?" He was confused. Why had he stopped drawing? What was the boy doing here?
"I said that you are the ox. Now we can finish the artwork." The boy gestured at the open pad in Yoshi's lap.
"Oh. Right." Yoshi frowned and picked up the pad and pencil again. He felt a little strange, disoriented and thick-headed. Puzzled, he reached up to rub one temple with the back of his hand. Huh? The pencil fell from his grip as he traced large protrusions on his forehead with his fingers. They swelled out even as he touched them, and the forward part of his skull seemed to deflate.
Yoshi scrambled up, the drawing forgotten and he felt his face in growing panic. His normally smooth cheeks had a rough growth of hair on them, and his jaw and mouth were thick and wide. "What's happening?" Could it be some allergic reaction? Had he been stung by a bee? Did the boy have some kind of poisonous plant juice on his hands?
The boy was watching him with the same bright curiosity as he might give a good television program or movie. "You are the ox! A nice, big strong ox."
There was a sudden pressure inside Yoshi's head and he cried out as weight pulled on his forehead. His hands discovered massive horns protruding from his skull, and a dark mass began to split his vision as his nose and mouth expanded into a muzzle. "Noooo!" Yoshi's cry of fear twisted into an outlandish bellow, and he stumbled back and fell on the soft ground.
The boy got up and stood over him, still grinning as if this were some game. "Do not be afraid. You are the ox. Big, strong. Content." He squatted down and began to stroke the broad, furry muzzle that now seemed fully-formed. "You are the ox. Strong. Content."
Yoshi's panic kept him from hearing the boy's words at first, but the firm brush of fingers gave him something to focus on. Strong. Content. Yoshi was confused. How could the boy be so calm? He was turning into a beast! Yet as the stroking continued, Yoshi found his fear fading away. He was still confused, but as he felt his neck thicken and shoulders throb with new muscle, the words began to sink in. Strong. Content.
The boy moved to take one of Yoshi's hands. He felt the numbness first, then saw his fingers darken and merge, swelling into a massive cloven hoof. The boy grinned. "See? Strong. Powerful. Big."
The other hand followed, and Yoshi dropped forward when it was done to rest his weight on newly-formed forelegs. He was dazed and still confused, but as the boy's hands slid over his shoulders and back, drawing forth shaggy hade and heavy muscle, Yoshi felt the mantra sinking into his brain. "You are the ox. Strong. Content."
A heavy, rich scent filled Yoshi's nostrils, the odor of an ox. His scent. His identity. He was the ox. The boy's hands were sliding over his rump and thighs now, and Yoshi had to shift constantly as his body enlarged. Confusion was fading, his thoughts dulling. He was the ox, strong, content. He flicked his tail, snuffling curiously as the boy walked around him slowly, touching his side here, his neck there.
Coarse ropes formed a loose harness around him, and the grass before him was suddenly partially-turned earth. The boy flicked a stick at his rump, the light sting now a recognized command. He lunged forward to get the plow started, and then plodded steadily ahead, his mass and weight making the job simple. He was the ox. Strong. Content.
************
The caretaker for the museum frowned when she saw the litter scattered on the hillside over the farmhouse. Grumbling, she hiked up and found a backpack and clothing scattered over the grass. An artist's drawing tablet was lying face-down on the ground, and she flipped over to see what was on it.
Whoever had done the drawing was very good. It showed the ancient farmhouse as it might have been when it was new, fresh wood shining golden in the sunlight. The cedar trees provided a deep green border for the cultivated fields in the center, where a boy was plowing the fields with a huge brown ox.
The end