Books on My Desk

1. Old and New True Tales

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There is a book called Old and New True Tales, written by Kita, a painter of Osaka. It is in four volumes, front and back, and is interspersed with illustrations done by the author himself. It is not an especially rare book, but it has a somewhat eccentric flavor, so I shall give an outline of it.

Old and New True Tales contains twenty-one strange stories. Yet though they have the appearance of ghost tales, they are in fact not ghost stories at all. Take, for example, “How a Ghost Feared the Nigatsudo Temple Talisman.”

“In Imanishi Village there was a wealthy farmer named Hyoemon. In his household there was a maidservant, prettier than most and gentle in disposition as well, and the master Hyoemon would from time to time steal into her room. Hyoemon’s wife was a deeply jealous woman, and when word of this affair reached her, her breast burned with the flames of wrath. Secretly she summoned a manservant and said, ‘That girl must be killed. If you carry it through well, I will give you plenty of gold and silver.’ The fellow was startled, but being by nature greedy, he readily agreed. (Omitted.)

“The maid, unsuspecting, was walking along a path by the embankment, when from the shadow of the pampas grass the manservant suddenly sprang out, seized her crosswise in his arms, and hurled her into the pond. (Omitted.)

“The sun was already slanting toward the western hills, and though a thin rain happened to be falling, a certain man, who delighted in strolling by night, was swinging his arms as he walked on his way to his daily devotions at Soga Shrine. As he passed that place, someone called out from the pond, ‘Excuse me! Excuse me!’ He stopped and wondered who it might be. Then the woman from before rose up out of the pond and, before she could finish saying, ‘Since you are a man, I have something I would ask of you,’ he, supposing it to be the work of foxes or badgers, and thinking they meant to trick his eyes, rolled up his sleeves and squared himself to attack. ‘No, no, I am no such creature,’ she said. ‘I served in the house of Hyoemon of Imanishi Village, but because of such-and-such circumstances I died in vain. Because the treatment I received was too heartless, my one thought has never left this body: I mean to go to that house tonight and have my revenge. Yet my master has always worshiped Kannon, and because he has pasted a Nigatsudo talisman on his gate, the spirit of the dead cannot draw near. (Omitted.) If you will remove the talisman for me, I shall remain in your debt through life after life,’ she begged in pitiable distress.

“The man was a bold one. (Omitted.) ‘Show me the place, then. I will grant your wish,’ he said, and hurried after her. Before long they came to Hyoemon’s house. Following the woman’s directions, he tore down and flung away, without even knowing what it was, the protective charm that had been pasted there. The woman rejoiced, opened the door, and seemed to enter the house; then she fastened her teeth on the throat of the wife, who was lying asleep, and easily took her life, after which she ran out the front. (Omitted.)

“The woman ran out and said, ‘Now that things have come to this, take me somewhere, anywhere with you,’ and while she still clung close to his back, the household suddenly broke into uproar. ‘What villain has done this?’ they cried, overturning everything in search of the culprit, with lanterns and torches. The man too, against his better judgment, fled as fast as his legs would carry him, and before he knew it he had returned to his own house. (Omitted.) Since he lived alone, there was no one to question him, but having brought a ghost home with him made him feel vaguely ghastly. ‘Now that your wish has been fulfilled, please go wherever you like,’ he said to himself, inwardly reciting the nembutsu, which was rather comical.

“The ghost sat for a while with her head bowed. (Omitted.) ‘I have bitten to death the enemy I hated; once that single thought dispersed, I ought to have gone below to the underworld, yet how strange that I still remain in this world,’ she said, and when he took a closer look, there was in fact nothing about her much different from an ordinary woman. (Omitted.) As they talked of one thing and another, it became plainer and plainer that she was not a ghost at all. (Omitted.) Since the man had no settled wife either, the two came to an understanding, left that place, and, having acquaintances in Osaka, moved there together. Hyoemon never so much as guessed that matters had turned out this way; instead, the whole affair merely became a source of profit for the clergy, who performed rites to rescue his lawful wife and the maidservant from the torments of the realm of carnage.”

This is not an unprecedented story. One may find the same ghost tale in Suzuki Shosan. Kita’s only addition is a realist interpretation, translating the supernatural into the natural. Nor is this confined to this story alone. The same is true of “How a Woman of Kishu Hidaka Killed a Mountain Ascetic,” which translates the tale of Anchin and Kiyohime; of “How a Beast Coupled with a Human and Bore a Son,” which translates the story of Kuzunoha; and of “How a Jealous Woman Prayed to Kibune Myojin,” which translates the tale of the Iron Crown. In that last piece especially, the woman who longs to become a demon of jealousy rejoices, “What a blessed revelation! My wish is fulfilled,” and leaps into the river; yet since “it happened to be late in the eleventh month, (omitted) the four quarters were buried in white snow, the river wind blew fiercely, and when her body froze stiff as ice, her hands and feet numbed, and she was on the very point of breathing her last,” she somehow forgot all about her jealousy. Who could fail to let out a laugh at the grim humor of this cruel realist?

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Now look at “The Dutiful Son, the Golden Kettle, and His Daughter.”

“An old farmer named Sanpachi served his widowed mother, and there was none to equal him in filial devotion. One year, toward the end of the eleventh month, his mother said she wished to eat bamboo shoots. He was poor, of course, but in all other matters he always provided her meals as she liked them, morning and evening; only these bamboo shoots had him at his wit’s end. (Omitted.) Wrapping himself in a straw raincoat and hat, he set out for a bamboo grove two or three cho away that he thought might have some. He pushed aside the snow that had piled up over the fallen leaves, searching and searching, but in vain. (Omitted.) ‘Alas, Heaven means to destroy me,’ he cried, wetting his sleeves with tears and snow. Unable to do anything else, he started home, when on the road he found a small bucket bound with rope. Wondering what it was, he picked it up. There was no note on it saying it was a gift to the dutiful Sanpachi, but when he lifted the lid, there inside were salted bamboo shoots. He was happier than if he had been handed gold. (Omitted.) When he told his wife, who shared the same devotion toward her mother-in-law, she quickly soaked the salt out of them, shaved bonito over them, and at once made a soup, which she served. The taste was no different from fresh shoots, and the mother was delighted beyond measure. Whoever had dropped them there, it was another marvel.

“Yet for all his filial heart, the poorer he worked, the poorer he became; his household gradually declined, until now even the morning and evening cooking smoke came only faintly and fitfully from his roof. Then Sanpachi said to his wife, (omitted), ‘The daughter born between us has now grown to fifteen. (Omitted.) What do you think of taking her toward the capital, putting her into service somewhere, and trying somehow to manage on the wages?’ His wife replied, ‘I too have long thought the same, though....’ (Omitted.) So Sanpachi made his preparations and set out, leading his daughter with him. He headed first for the great harbor of Naniwa, famous by name, asking a little here and there for guidance, and from there placed her in service at a teahouse. (Omitted.) As for the daughter, from the very first day she went out to work, a fabulously rich nobleman took notice of her and promptly bought out her contract. He brought Sanpachi, his wife, and even the old mother to Osaka, and their life changed completely from what it had been. In summer, Sanpachi, who had once used a mosquito net in place of a garment, now had maidservants at his bedside fanning him as he lay down; his wife, who had once given her mother-in-law her own milk, now replaced it with Toraya sweets; even carp kept on ice seemed old-fashioned, and they amused themselves by letting Korean goldfish swim in crystal basins. Such was the work of perfect filial piety.”

Heaven does not grant happiness to the dutiful son. The things that granted happiness to this dutiful son were only some salted bamboo shoots someone happened to lose, and perhaps his only daughter, sold into service. The author’s sneering at pious commonplaces may also be called sheer malice. I myself have a certain sympathy for this ironic realism. Only, it is regrettable that the author’s logical mind was not especially sharp. In pieces such as “On the Assembly for Hungry Ghosts and Holy Spirits,” “A Dialogue Between a Temple Monk and a Sick Man,” or “A Buddhist and a Confucian Debate Sugawara no Michizane in China,” whenever he attempts argumentative prose, then no matter how favorably one looks on it, it is generally not much better than listening to a master barber expound his philosophy of life. By the way, Old and New True Tales was published in the first month of Horeki 2, with a preface in Chinese by Dokeinen. The publisher was Murai Kitaro of 1-chome, Minami-Hommachi, Osaka. It may be amusing to note that it appeared in the same year as Old and New One Hundred Tales and Present-Day One Hundred Tales.

2. The Scheming, Pleasure-Seeking Man of Amorous Designs

The Scheming, Pleasure-Seeking Man of Amorous Designs is the prototype of that Bean-Man’s Sightseeing in Edo. The copy in my house consists only of Books One and Four, but there is something in Daizuemon’s adventures that recalls Rabelais.

Daizuemon was a man of Yamashina in eastern Kyoto. His mother, “though she was no Choji of Salt,” dreamed that she swallowed a horse, then conceived him, and for that reason named him Daizuemon. The origin of the name therefore hardly needs much explanation. When Daizuemon was twenty-three, “he climbed Mount Osaka intending to gather sanekazura vines and sell them to the noble ladies of Kyoto,” but by chance met a heavenly maiden of surpassing beauty and was given a single pellet of golden elixir. “He reverently raised it to his head and swallowed it, whereupon his body at once dwindled away like snow or frost melting, until he became like a tiny doll no bigger than a poppy seed.” This seems as though it would make human intercourse impossible; but according to the fairy’s explanation, “whether in the pleasure quarters or in the inner rooms of distinguished town households, you may enjoy yourself as you please. (Omitted.) If you enter the bosom of the man whom the woman you wish to meet holds dear, that man’s soul will come out, you may temporarily replace him, and make free with the woman. Is that not a delight beyond compare?” It was, then, a remarkably convenient power of transformation.

From then on Daizuemon fished for sensual pleasure throughout the land, but life, like a labyrinth, does not easily bestow happiness. Consider, for instance, “An Elder Sister’s Admonition: The Oak Pillow That Makes the Ears Ache,” in Book One.

“He sprang up from the kitchen, made for the inner rooms, slipped down through a crack where the sliding door stood slightly open, and came out into the great reception room. (Omitted.) Lifting a Chinese calico curtain, he passed through a long four-mat room. Beyond it was a smaller raised chamber, brightly lit by the dying fire. ‘This must be the master’s bedchamber,’ he thought, and after poking a small hole in the paper sliding screen, he entered through there. Inside, husband and wife lay with pillows side by side, sleeping so soundly they knew nothing before or behind them, joined in a duet of snores. (Omitted.) First he peered at the wife’s face. She was so lovely that, though she looked about thirty, she must really have been thirty-five or thirty-six. (Omitted.) The husband looked thirty-one or thirty-two, and certainly seemed strong by nature. ‘So this beauty took a fancy to him, though he is two or four years younger than I, perhaps only an adopted bridegroom....’ With that he entered the husband’s bosom, and their souls exchanged. (Omitted.) ‘Come then, wake up and entertain me,’ he said. But the wife awoke, stared as if thunderstruck, shoved him away, sat upright, and cried, ‘You madman! Do you think this is your own house? Since the night is not far gone, go on back, go on back!’ ‘I’ve been playing tiresome cards till late into the night; I can’t very well go home now. The master has gone off to the Otsu Festival and is away, so let me stay the night at least. There’s no need for such reserve between brother and sister, sharing a bed like this.’ To which she seized him as if he were her younger brother and said, ‘Fool! What beastly conduct is this? I want no part in turning into a beast.’ (Omitted.) She slapped the tatami in anger, saying his behavior was disgraceful. ‘Then, merciful heavens, you’re my elder sister after all. This is the grossest blunder....’ babbling things without head or tail, he crept back into the bedclothes from which he had come, and sooner than he had lain down he slipped away from the place. (Text breaks off.)”

(June 1924)