so the trailer for miss hokusai advertised one type of
movie, and then the actual movie was …. something else entirely. but the
trailer gave me ideas, so here they
are:
there is girl –
no.
there is woman –
no.
there is a young woman, an old girl, and she has the eyes of
youth but the weight upon her shoulders is that of age. or perhaps it is the
other way around. perhaps she has the eyes of age, but upon her shoulder is the
weightlessness of youth, of ignorance.
there she is, whatever she is.
her name is kana.
she is the daughter of a famous painter, known as juro. he
is a man larger than life, and he paints wonderful things. he takes what is
ugly, and makes it beautiful. he paints an unhandsome woman as a goddess, a
sneering merchant as a king, a dirty city as a glowing capitol. he leaves all
he touches brighter than it was found.
kana is not like her father.
she is a painter, but she is not famous. she has a mother
she doesn’t speak to, and younger sister she visits as much as she can. she has
pushed them both aside to follow her father, to sit with him in dirty shacks
putting ink to paper as she does her best to make beautiful things. she throws
off the expectations of her gender, of her station, of anything and everything
in her pursuit to be a master painter.
technique is easy. she completes half of her father’s
painting while he drinks, while he whores, while he seduces lords and ladies,
while he paints empty things for empty people, while he leaves her alone in
their dirty shacks. she can do the detail work, has a steady hand and a sharp
eye, but when it comes to the whole picture – it is left lacking.
“her work lacks your beauty,” an old man says, talking to
her old father while she kneels in the corner, ink staining her hands, the
floor, ink just – staining.
“of course it does,” her father says, offhand. “how can she
paint what she does not know?”
kana never expected lack of knowledge to be her downfall.
so that night when her father is gone, she does not stay in
to work. instead kana paints her face, wears a kimono that’s too small on her,
and goes to the worst part of the city, to where the alleyways and walls are
stained red by the glow of the lanterns.
When the Mistress
made me she was full of angry things, that’s why so am I.
She pulled
red threads over skin too tight and she couldn’t turn me, so all the ugliness I
was supposed to hide was out for all to see. Like little crisscrossing scars.
But that’s alright.
She messed
up my head a little bit, stitch, stitch stitching. She fixed it as much as she
could, and in the process she found pause.
She looked
at me, me, for the first time. And
sighed.
She rubbed
her eyes and let go of me almost completely, and I thought she would forget
about me.
But she
didn’t.
She put
more gentle things in me this time. Not for the sake of the enemies of our Kingdom,
but for mine. So I wouldn’t feel so alone.
Instead of nails
she gave me a hawthorn berry for a heart, and soft, soft cotton.
And then
she brushed her thumb across my cheek and clothed me.
“Why?” The
others said.
“So he
feels no cold.”
And then
she gave me a sword, the only sword,
and I felt special.
“Why?” The
others asked.
“You never
send a soldier to war unarmed.”
She pressed
her lips against my forehead and her warm air filled my head.
“A witch’s kiss
is a blessed thing,” they said.
She tugged
on the seams of my pepper filled legs and the rosemary in my chest swelled.
Maybe the mint in my cheeks blushed, but just a little bit.
She gave me
hematite so my will would be strong and shiny, and then she whispered it was my
duty to look after the Junglegreen.
“Protect us
all, my brave little soldier.” And before she left she turned and over her
shoulder blew me a final kiss.
This is my
mission!
There are
no other soldiers. I’m the one and only. I protect the Junglegreen and the Mistress
day and night. I march between the Pottedplants and am a diplomat with the Faepeople,
I see who can visit the kingdom or not, depending if they’re good at heart.
When the Mistress
made me she didn’t have to love me, but she did.
The Carving Witch 