Anthology of Japanese Literature (39 page)

It was a distressing proposal. Osan sobbed quietly, cursing the fate which had led her to such a dismal prospect. Then as evening fell the son came home. He was frightful to behold, taller than anyone she had ever seen, and with his head set like a Chinese lion gargoyle on his squat neck. A fierce light gleamed in his big, bloodshot eyes. His beard was like a bear's, his arms and legs were as thick as pine trees, and a wistaria vine held together the rag-woven clothes he wore. In one hand he carried an old matchlock, in the other a tinder-rope. His hunting basket was full of rabbits and badgers, as much as to say: "This is how I make a living." He was called Zetar
ō
the Rock-jumper.

In the village it was no secret that he was a mean man. But when his mother explained to him her proposal for a marriage with the lady from Kyoto, Zetar
ō
was pleased. "Good, let's waste no time. Tonight will do." And he reached for a hand mirror to look at his face. "Nice looking fellow," he said.

His mother prepared the wedding cup, offered them salted fish and passed around a wine bottle which had its neck broken off. She used floormats as screens to enclose the room which would serve as a nuptial chamber. Two wooden pillows were also provided, two thin sleeping mattresses, and one striped bedcover. Split pine logs burned in a brazier. It would be a gay evening.

But Osan was as sad as could be, and M
ō
emon terribly depressed. "This is the price I must pay for having spoken so impulsively. We are living on when we should have died in the waters of Lake Biwa. Heaven will not spare us now!" He drew his sword and would have killed himself had not Osan stopped and quieted him. "Why, you are much too short-tempered. There are still ways to get out of this. At dawn we shall depart from here—leave everything to me."

That night while she was drinking the wedding cup with good grace and affability, Osan remarked to Zetar
ō
, "Most people shun me. I was born in the year of the Fiery Horse."
¹²

"I wouldn't care if you were a Fiery Cat or a Fiery Wolf. I even like blue lizards—eat 'em in fact. And you see I'm not dead yet. Twenty-eight years old, and I haven't had one case of Worms. Mister M
ō
emon should take after me! As for you: a soft creature brought up in the capital isn't what I'd like for a wife, but I'll tolerate you, since you're my relative." In this generous mood he lay down and snuggled his head comfortably in her lap.

Amidst all their unhappiness Osan and M
ō
emon found the brute somewhat amusing. Nevertheless, they could hardly wait until he went to bed, at last giving them a chance to slip away. Again they hid themselves in the depths of Tamba; then after many days had passed came out upon the road to Tango. One night they slept in a chapel of the god Monju, who appeared to Osan in a dream midway through the night. "You have committed the worst of sins. Wherever you go, you cannot escape its consequences. But that is all part of the unredeemable past; henceforth you must forsake your vain ways, shave off the hair you take such delight in, and become a nun. Once separated, the two of you can abandon your evil passion and enter upon the Way of Enlightenment. Then perhaps your lives may be saved!"

It was a worthy vision, but Osan said to herself, "What becomes of me now does not matter. I left my husband at the risk of my life because this love appealed to me. Monju may understand the love of men for men,
¹³
but he knows nothing about the love of women."

That instant she awoke from her dream, just as the morning breeze blew in through Hashidate's seaside pines, bearing with it the dust of the world. "Everything is dust and defilement," Osan told herself, and all hope was lost of ever saving her.

THE EAVESDROPPER WHOSE EARS WERE BURNED

Men take their misfortunes to heart, and keep them there. A gambler does not talk about his losses; the frequenter of brothels, who finds his favorite engaged by another, pretends to be just as well off without her; the professional street-brawler is quiet about the fights he has lost; and a merchant who speculates in goods will conceal the losses he may suffer. All act as one who steps on dog dung in the dark.

But of them all the man who has a wanton, mischievous wife will feel his misfortune most, convinced that there is no more heartless creature in the world than she. To the outer world Osan's husband treated her as a closed issue: she was dead, and nothing more could be said or done about her. There were times when he was reminded of their years together and would feel the greatest bitterness toward Osan, yet he would still call in a priest to hold services in her memory. Ironically enough, he offered one of her choice silk garments as an altar cloth for the local temple, where, fluttering in the fickle wind of Life and Death, it became a further source of lamentation.

Even so, there is no one bolder than a man deeply attached to the things of this world, and M
ō
emon, who before was so prudent that he never went outdoors at night, soon lost himself in a nostalgic desire to see the capital again. Dressing in the most humble attire and pulling his hat down over his eyes, he left Osan in the care of some villagers and made a senseless trip to Kyoto, all the while fearing more for his own safety than a man who is about to deliver himself into the hands of an enemy.

It began to get dark when he reached the neighborhood of Hirozawa, and the sight of the moon, reflected in the double pond, made him think again of Osan, so that his sleeve became soaked with idle tears. Presently he put behind him the rapid Narutaki, with its myriad bubbles, dancing over the rocks, and hurried on toward Omuro and Kitano, for he knew that way well. When he entered the city his fears were multiplied. "What's that!" he would ask himself, when he saw his own silhouette under the waning moon, and his heart would freeze with terror.

In the quarter with which he was so familiar, because his former master lived there, he took up eavesdropping to learn the state of things. He heard about the inquiry which was to be made into the overdue payment from Edo, and about the latest style in hairdress, as discussed by a gathering of young men, who were also commenting on the style and fit of each other's clothes—the sort of silly chatter that love and lust inspire in men. When these topics of conversation were exhausted, sure enough they fell to talking about M
ō
emon. "That rascal M
ō
emon, stealing a woman more beautiful than all others! Even though he paid with his worthless life for it, he certainly got the best of the bargain; a memory worth dying with!" But a man of more discernment upheld morality against M
ō
emon. "He's nobody to raise up in public. He'd stink in the breeze. I can't imagine anyone worse than a man who'd cheat both his master and a husband at once."

Overhearing this, M
ō
emon swore to himself, "That's the voice of the scoundrel Kisuke, of the Daimonjiya. What a heartless, faithless fellow to be so outspoken against me. Why, I lent him eighty ounces of silver on an I.O.U.! But I'll get even for what he just said: I'll get that money back if I have to wring his neck." M
ō
emon gnashed his teeth and stood up in a rage. Still there was nothing a man hiding from the world could do about the insults offered him, and while he suppressed his outraged feelings another man started to speak. "M
ō
emon's not dead. He's living with Mistress Osan somewhere around Ise, they say, having a wonderful time."

This shook M
ō
emon and sent chills through his body. He left in all haste, took a room in a lodging house along Third Street, and went to bed without even taking a bath. Since it was the night of the seventeenth,
¹⁴
he wrapped up twelve copper coins in a piece of paper and handed it to a beggar who would buy some candles and keep the vigil for him that night. Then he prayed that people would not discover who he was. But could he expect that even Atago-sama, the patron of lovers, would help him in his wickedness?

In the morning, as a last memory of the capital before leaving it, he stole down Higashiyama to the theatre section at Shij
ō
-gawara. Someone told him that it was the opening day of a three-act play by Fujita. "I must see what it is like and tell Osan when I return." He rented a cushion and sat far back to watch from a distance, uneasy at heart lest someone recognize him. The play was about a man whose daughter was stolen away. It made M
ō
emon's conscience hurt. Then he looked down to the front rows. There was Osan's husband himself; at the sight M
ō
emon's spirit almost left him. He felt like a man with one foot dangling over Hell, and the sweat stood like pearls on his forehead. Out he rushed through an exit to return to the village in Tango, which he did not think of leaving again for Kyoto.

At that time, when the Chrysanthemum Festival was almost at hand, a chestnut peddler made his annual trip to the capital. While speaking of one thing and another at the house of the almanacmaker, he asked where the mistress was, but as this was an awkward subject in the household none of the servants ventured to answer. Frowning, Osan's husband told him, "She's dead."

"That's strange," the peddler went on, "I've seen someone who looks very much like her, in fact, someone who doesn't differ from her one particle. And with her is the living image of your young man. They are near Kirito in Tango."

When the peddler had departed, Osan's husband sent someone to check up on what he had heard. Learning that Osan and M
ō
emon were indeed alive, he gathered together a good number of his own people, who went and arrested them. There was no room for mercy in view of their crime. When the judicial inquiry was duly concluded, the lovers, together with a maidservant named Tama who had earlier been their go-between, were paraded as an example before the crowds along the way to Awataguchi, where they died like dewdrops falling from a blade of grass. Thus they met their end on the morning of September 22, with, it should be remarked, a touching acquiescence in their fate. Their story spread everywhere, and today the name of Osan still brings to mind her beautiful figure, clothed in the pale orange slip which she wore to her execution.
¹⁵

TRANSLATED BY W. THEODORE DE BARY

1
The tradition of practicing penmanship on New Year's Day is roughly equivalent to the Western custom of making New Year's resolutions. On that day continence was to be observed.

2
Literally, the "love-knowing" bird, which taught the ways of love to Izanagi and Izanami, the first man and woman.

3
Theatre section where the
kabuki
drama originated; built on land reclaimed from the bed of the Kamo River in Kyoto. The names Takenaka, etc., are the assumed names of actors.

4
See page 234.

5
Kyoto actor famous for his impersonation of women, who set many styles in ladies' apparel, particularly from 1673 to 1681.

6
See page 264.

7
The Long Bridge (
Seta no Nagahashi
) opens a passage studded with references to places around Lake Biwa, east of Kyoto, in which the characters' moods are described in terms of the names of the places they pass. (This passage is called a
michiyuki
, as in a play.)

8
Capital of the Emperor Tenchi (666-682) on the southwestern shore of Lake Biwa.

9
An invocation meaning "Homage to Amida Buddha," by which believers in Amida expect to achieve salvation.

10
Roughly equivalent to "casting pearls before swine."

11
Marriage between relations once removed was not at this time taboo. On the contrary, a match between cousins was thought highly desirable.

12
This year marked the coincidence of Fire with Fire on the old lunar calendar, the horse itself representing Fire. It was considered a dangerous year to be born in, and women born then were said to bully and frequently kill their husbands. Zetar
ō
's reply is in the nature of a crude joke, for there is no year of the Fiery Wolf.

13
According to a vulgar belief, Manjusri (Monju in Japanese) was the lover of Sakyamuni. He was therefore taken as the patron god of homosexuality.

14
The moon of the seventeenth night was known as the "stand-and-wait moon," and people would keep all-night vigils.

15
Those condemned to death were allowed to wear only an undergarment to the execution.

THE UMBRELLA ORACLE

[
Saikaku Shokoku-banashi, I, iv
]
by Ihara Saikaku

Saikaku wrote his famous "Tales from the Provinces," the collection from which this story is taken, in 1685. From his early youth he had been fond of travel and now, at the age of forty-three, he attempted to record the most interesting of the stories, tales, legends, and incidents that he had heard or witnessed in his travels throughout Japan.

Commendable indeed is the spiric of philanthropy in this world of ours!

To the famous "Hanging Temple of Kwannon" in the Province of Kii, someone had once presented twenty oil-paper umbrellas which, repaired every year, were hung beside the temple for the use of any and all who might be caught in the rain or snow. They were always conscientiously returned when the weather improved—not a single one had ever been lost.

One day in the spring of 1649, however, a certain villager borrowed one of the umbrellas and, while he was returning home, had it blown out of his hands by a violent "divine wind" that blew up suddenly from the direction of the shrine on Tamazu Isle. The umbrella was blown completely out of sight, and though the villager bemoaned its loss there was not a thing he could do.

Borne aloft by the wind, the umbrella landed finally in the little hamlet of Anazato, far in the mountains of the island of Kyushu. The people of this village had from ancient times been completely cut off from the world and—uncultured folk that they were—had never even seen an umbrella! All of the learned men and elders of the village gathered around to discuss the curious object before them —reaching agreement, however, only upon the fact that none of them had ever before seen anything like it.

Finally one local wise man stepped forth and proclaimed, "Upon counting the radiating bamboo ribs, there are exactly forty. The paper too is round and luminous, and not of the ordinary kind. Though I hesitate to utter that August Name, this is without a doubt the God of the Sun,
¹
whose name we have so often heard, and is assuredly his divine attribute from the Inner Sanctuary of the Great Shrine of Ise, which has deigned to fly to us here!"

All present were filled with awe. Hurriedly the salt water of purification was scattered about the ground and the divinity installed upon a clean reed mat; and the whole population of the village went up into the mountains and, gathering wood and rushes, built a shrine that the deity's spirit might be transferred hence from Ise. When they had paid reverence to it, the divine spirit did indeed enter the umbrella.

At the time of the summer rains the site upon which the shrine was situated became greatly agitated, and the commotion did not cease. When the umbrella was consulted, the following oracle was delivered: "All this summer the sacred hearth has been simply filthy, with cockroaches boiled in the holy vessels and the contamination reaching even to my Inner Shrine! Henceforth, in this entire province, let there not be a single cockroach left alive! I also have one other request. I desire you to select a beautiful young maiden as a consolation offering for me. If this is not done within seven days, without fail, I will cause the rain to fall in great torrents; I will rain you all to death, so that the seed of man remains no more upon the earth!"

Thus spake the oracle.

The villagers were frightened out of their wits. They held a meeting. and summoned all the maidens of the village to decide which one should serve the deity. But the young maidens, weeping and wailing, strongly protested the umbrella-god's cruel demand. When asked the reason for their excess of grief, they cried, "How could we survive even one night with such a god?"—for they had come to attach a peculiar significance to the odd shape which the deity had assumed.

At this juncture a young and beautiful widow from the village stepped forward, saying, "Since it is for the god, I will offer myself in place of the young maidens."

All night long the beautiful widow waited in the shrine, but she did not get a bit of affection. Enraged, she charged into the inner sanctum, grasped the divine umbrella firmly in her hands and screaming, "Worthless deceiver!" she tore it apart, and threw the pieces as far as she could!

TRANSLATED BY RICHARD LANE

1
The deity of the sun was normally a goddess, but about this time popular belief had him a god.