This is our first real taste of kagura on the stage, and it holds two surprises for us. The first is the pageantry. The musician’s intro calls onto stage four dancers, dressed in fine floor-length brocade, with sleeves that hang down, kimono-style, nearly to their knees, all the costumes gorgeously embroidered with gold. On the musicians’ heads are traditional tate-eboshi, the tall black headgear worn by Shinto priests, which have no brim but rise, crown-like, straight up to the top seam. The dancers’ outstretched arms hold, in one hand suzu bells, in the other, gohei paper streamers. They move with precision and ritual, invoking the gods to come down and bestow a blessing upon the assembled.

Three full-length pieces follow: they are the night’s entertainment. One piece tells the story of brothers and a princess and jealousy; like all the pieces, the story is chanted with a strong Iwami dialect that I can’t understand, but that somehow enriches my experience. Another piece features a king, a prince, the god of thunder, and a dispute over the transfer of the kingdom to the goddess of the sun. Both of these pieces are portrayed by masked players, whose facial expressiveness is amazing. How can a performer wearing a heavy wooden mask express astonishment and fear and anger without using his cheeks or eyebrows? Somehow, with the perfect tilt of his head and the perfect frame of his shoulders, the emotion is portrayed and the story is carried along.

While this pageantry is revealing itself, the townsfolk continue to arrive, further squeezing into the tight audience and arranging themselves with polite gestures so as not to block their neighbor’s view. The newcomers delight me: families with school-age children, a mother and young sons, toddlers in pajamas, a group of men in yukata who appeared as if they’ve just emerged, cleansed, from the nearby onsen (having sipped a sake somewhere along the way here). The audience has swelled to twice its original size, spilling out beyond the shōji to the veranda. And this dynamic flow of ordinary people arriving after dinner, after bath time, after the week’s work, is for me the big surprise of the night: a seemingly spontaneous gathering of truly appreciative participants and supporters.