The sea and fields were still, as the setting sun vied with the resplendent red garments of our ladies for favor in the eyes of all. In the company of ladies dressed in such brilliant colors, the wisteria and yellow rose went unnoticed by the throng of other picnickers who had come to see the flowers but now peered instead into our party’s curtained enclosure and were charmed by the sight of pretty maids inside. Forgetting the hour for departure, forgetting everything, these picknickers opened up casks of wine and proclaimed drunkenness man’s greatest delight. Thus, with the enticing sight of the ladies as an appetizer for the afternoon’s revels, they enjoyed themselves to their hearts’ content.
Seijuro was the only man within his party’s curtained enclosure, but the girls drank their full share of wine, and outside the litter-bearers helped themselves to large cups until they fell into a drunken sleep, snoring deeply and dreaming blissfully of themselves as butterflies fluttering at will over the broad fields. At this juncture the other people in the grove suddenly gathered round to watch a passing band of entertainers with a big drum and lion dancers. The troupe passed from one picnic place to another, as the dancers put on a skillful show in imitation of the lion shaking and waving its head. The girls were fascinated by it and abandoned all their other amusements to crowd around, applaud, and cry for encore after encore, lest the entertainment stop too soon. So the troupe stayed there, in that one spot, to run through its whole repertoire of pretty songs.
Onatsu, however, was not among the onlookers. She seemed to be indisposed with a painful toothache and remained alone behind the curtains, resting on her elbow, her sash undone, in complete disarray. Screening her from view was a pile of extra garments, behind which she pretended to snore as if asleep.
. . . the dancers put on a skillful show in imitation of the lion shaking and waving its head . . . . Who would think of this as a good chance to make love, when there could be only a brief moment for consummation?. . .
Who would think of this as a good chance to make love, when there could be only a brief moment for consummation? None but the most determined and accomplished of lovers—certainly no city girl would ever dream of it. But Seijuro, quickly noticing that Onatsu was left alone, went around the back way, through a luxuriant growth of pines, to find his lover beckoning to him. Caring little that Onatsu’s hairdress might become disarranged, the two clasped each other tight, breathing heavily, and their hearts beating fast. Fearful, however, of being discovered by Onatsu’s sister-in-law, they kept their eyes on the spectators beyond the tent.
It was not until they arose that they noticed behind them a woodcutter, who had come up and laid down his load of wood. Holding his sickle in one hand and moving his underpants about with the other, he stood there watching the couple intently, amazed and amused. Truly this was a case of “hiding one’s head and leaving the tail unguarded.”
When Seijuro finally left the curtained enclosure, the performers put a stop to the entertainment outside, although some of the best parts of it remained unplayed. Many of the picnickers were disappointed by this sudden halting of the show, but already a thick mist was settling in and the evening sun was falling fast, so they got their things together and started back to Himeji. Onatsu did not seem to be aware of the mess that had been made of her kimono in the back.
Seijuro, following them, was profuse in his thanks to the company of lion dancers. “I am indeed indebted to you for your services today.”
Think of it! This passing show had actually been arranged in advance, the clever strategem of a desperate lover. Perhaps even the wise gods knew nothing of his secret. And the others, especially that know-it-all wife of Onatsu’s brother—what chance had they of knowing?
4. The fellow who left the mailbag behind at an inn
Now that the affair had been successfully launched, Seijuro hurried it to its destination and eloped with Onatsu, the two hastening to reach the port of Shika-mazu by dusk.
“If we go together to Osaka or Kyoto, I know that we would be happy there, even if it meant having to live in poverty for many years.” Thus Seijuro had resolved and, having made the necessary preparations, they were soon dressed in traveling clothes and standing in a shabby waiting room on the ferry pier. Waiting with them were some pilgrims bound for the Great Shrine at Ise, a hardware merchant from Osaka, a dealer in lacquer from Nara, a Buddhist priest from the monastery at Daigo, a tea-set seller from Takayama, a mosquito-net peddler from Tamba, a clothing merchant from Kyoto, and a diviner from the shrine at Kashima. What makes travel on a ferry so interesting is the fact that all the passengers come from different places.
Then the mate shouted: “All aboard! We’re shoving off!” The sailors all said their prayers for a safe voyage and, requesting donations for the god of the sea at Sumiyoshi, they passed a collection cup around. There was a count of heads, and everyone present, whether he drank or not, was forced to contribute seven pennies. The sailors dipped saké from a bucket with soup bowls, not bothering to heat it. To go with the saké they had dried flying fish, which they tore apart with their fingers. They gulped their wine down quickly and it soon put them in good spirits.
“Good luck to everyone!” the mate shouted. “Now let’s hoist our sails, for the wind is due astern.” And they leaned their sails thirty degrees into the wind.
Soon the ship was well over two miles from shore Then suddenly a courier from Bizen snapped his fingers in anger and cried: “Damn it! I forgot something! I tied my mailbag to my sword and then left it at the inn.” He stared at the shore and wailed that he had left his sword leaning against the side of a little Buddhist shrine at the inn.
The others aboard ship shouted at him: “No matter how loud you wail, they can’t hear you from here. What kind of man are you, wailing that way? Are you a sissy without any goldballs?”
The courier carefully examined himself and then declared: “I certainly do have—two!”
Everyone burst out laughing, and then one of the sailors said: “I guess there’s nothing to do but to turn the ship back.” So they reversed rudder and went back into the harbor.
The passengers were angry at this turn of events and cried: “It looks as if we’re off to a bad start today.”
When the ship reached the shore, men sent from Himeji in pursuit of Seijuro and Onatsu were raising a great commotion, searching everywhere. “Maybe they’re aboard this ship,” they cried.
Onatsu and Seijuro, unable to hide themselves, lamented: “What a terrible thing has befallen us!”
But their pursuers, insensible to pity, did not even listen. Onatsu was placed in a closely guarded litter while Seijuro was bound and taken back to Himeji. Everyone who saw the two weeping and wailing could not help feeling sorry for them.
The others aboard ship shouted at him: “No matter how loud you wail, they cant hear you from here. What kind of man are you, wailing that way? Are you a sissy without any goldballs?”. . .
From that day on Seijuro was shut up in a room, with guards watching over him. Even in the midst of his own miseries, however, he never gave a thought to himself, murmuring only the name of Onatsu, over and over.
“If that rascal had not forgotten his mailbag, Onatsu and I would be together now in Osaka. We would have rented a secluded room in the Kozu section, with only some half-blind old woman for our servant. Onatsu and I agreed that for the first fifty days we would sleep by each other’s side day and night, never parting. But that is, alas, all a thing of the past now. I wish they would kill me. Every day is so long—I am weary, weary of life.”
And as these thoughts went through his mind, a thousand times or more, he would bite his tongue and shut his eyes tight, in the resolution to die, but then yearning for Onatsu would come back to him and he would think: “Perhaps I will be able to see her again, in all her beauty, in one last parting.” He paid no heed to the shame of living on or to what slander people would utter about him. This is what it means for a man to weep. Even his guards were sad to see him thu
s, and tried in every way to remonstrate with him as the days passed.
Onatsu was in the same sad state. For seven days she refused food. Then one day she wrote a request to the god of Murotsu, asking that Seijuro’s life be spared.
Strange to say, that night about midnight an old man appeared at her bedside, a wondrous oracle who proclaimed: “Listen well to what I say to you. When people are sad they usually make such unreasonable requests that, deity though I am, I am unable to fulfill them. Some pray to be made rich overnight. Some covet other people’s wives. Some want to kill the people they hate. Some want the rain changed to sunny weather. Some even want the nose they were born with to be a little bigger. Everyone wants something else. They all pray in vain to Buddha and to the gods, even though their requests cannot possibly be granted, thus making nuisances of themselves.
“During the last festival there were eighteen thousand and sixteen people who came to worship me. There wasn’t one of that number who didn’t pray greedily for some personal profit. I find their requests very amusing, but since they throw money at my feet I am glad to listen, as a god should. Among the worshipers who visited me, there was only one sincere person. She was a servant from a charcoal shop in Takasago. She bowed to me and said: ‘I have no special wish, but hope only that I will continue to be in good health. I will come back to worship you again.’ So saying, she left, only to return the next moment and add: ‘I would also like you to get me a good-looking man.’ I answered her: ‘Make requests of that nature to the god at the Shrine of Izumo; I don’t know anything about that sort of thing.’ But she didn’t hear me and went away.
“If you, too, had taken a husband in accordance with the wishes of your parents, you would not have had anything to worry you, but because you are so particular in love, you have fallen into this trouble. Your life, for which you care so little, will be a long one. Seijuro, whose life means so much to you, will soon come to the end of his days.”
The dream was so real that it made Onatsu wretched. When she opened her eyes she felt so miserable that she wept until dawn.
Then, just as was expected, Seijuro was summoned and examined, but on unforeseen charges. Seven hundred ryo in gold pieces which had been left in a cabinet in a storeroom of the Tajima-ya had disappeared. The story was spread that Seijuro had had Onatsu steal the money and had then made off with it. Circumstantial evidence was against Seijuro and he was unable to explain the matter. Therefore, sad to say, he was put to death on the eighteenth of April, at the age of twenty-five.
“That is the way of the Fleeting World,” thought the people who saw the execution, and their tears wet their sleeves more than an evening shower could have. There was no one of them who did not feel sad and lament the fate of Seijuro.
Later, at the beginning of June, when there was a general cleaning and airing, the place where the seven hundred gold pieces had been put was disturbed, and the money tumbled out of a big chest.
“It just goes to show you how careful you must be,” said an old graybeard in the family with an air of “I told you so!”
5. The seven hundred gold pieces that were found too late
To know nothing is to know the peace of Buddha, and Onatsu had not yet learned of Seijuro’s passing. But one day, as she was thinking of him, some village children came down the street hand-in-hand, singing: “When you kill Seijuro, kill Onatsu too.” Hearing this, Onatsu was troubled. She went to ask her childhood nurse what it meant, but the nurse was unable to answer and burst into tears.
“It’s true, then!” Onatsu cried out in a frenzy. “Better to die than to live on like this, thinking of him.” Whereupon the crazed Onatsu joined in with the children to lead the singing. People pitied her, saying this and that to make her stop, but there was no hope of restraining her now. Their entreaties brought only a deluge of tears from Onatsu.
“The man who passes yonder—
Is he not Seijuro?
The reed hat he wears—
Just like Seijuro!
Yahan, ha, ha—”
Her song ended in a wild, weird laugh. She had lost her senses; her graceful young form was ravaged by madness. She wandered out into the hills and, when it grew dark, lay down in the fields to sleep. One by one the women who went with her there were themselves infected by the same delirious fever, and later all went mad.
Meanwhile, those who had known Seijuro through the years began to think of giving his remains a proper burial. His body, stained like the blood-soaked grass on which it fell, was washed clean and buried. Above it, as a marker, they planted an oak tree and a pine, and people called the spot “Seijuro’s Mound.” Nothing could be more pathetic, even in this pitiful world.
Each night Onatsu came to mourn and had clear visions of her lover as he had appeared in times past. Thus the days followed, one after another, until upon the hundredth day since his death she sat herself among the dewy grasses of his grave and drew a knife with which to kill herself.
But her women companions seized the knife and said: “Your death would avail nothing now. If your grief is indeed sincere, cut off your hair and join a holy order. To pray for those who will die in the years to come—that is the enlightened way of Buddha, and we shall follow you in it.”
Their words soothed Onatsu’s heart. “Let us do just as you say,” she answered, and each of the women proved her sincerity by steadfast adherence to Onatsu’s decision.
They went to the Temple of True Enlightenment, and when admittance had been granted by the superior, Onatsu, just fifteen, changed her summer clothes for garments of black. She became a most worthy nun.
From the valley stream she brought water to the altar each morning, and in the evening, flowers from the mountaintop. Summer nights, by lanternlight, she zealously recited the Great Sutra. People marveled at her piety and spoke of her as the incarnation of Lady Chujo, of whom we hear in legends.5
Even Onatsu’s brother felt the first stirring of his soul toward enlightenment when he visited her rude retreat. The seven hundred pieces of gold, which had brought so much grief, were contributed for the holding of services for the dead, and he himself went into mourning for Seijuro.
About this time the story of Onatsu was made into a play in the Kyoto-Osaka region, and from there it spread to even the most remote provinces, winding through each town and hamlet as an endless stream of love, on which men might embark with all their cares and float as light as bubbles through the Fleeting World.
Footnotes
1 Sanzu-gawa—in hell, where she stood guard and deprived sinners of their clothes.
2 In Osaka.
3 Festival in August for the returning spirits of the dead.
4 A place in Harima famed for its cherry blossoms.
5 Chujo-hime (753–781)—daughter of Fujiwara Toyonari; as a nun she is said to have embroidered the famous Taema Mandala, a tapestry showing the various aspects of Amida’s Western Paradise.
Book Two
The Barrelmaker
Brimful of
Love
1. The cleaning of a well by a man unhappy in love
Life is short; love is long.
There once was a cooper who, from the coffins he built with his own hands, realized how impermanent the world is. Although he worked his saw and gimlet assiduously for a living, he made very little money and could rent only a thatched hut in Osaka. He lived in a manner befitting the poorer section of Temma.
There was also a girl who surpassed all the others who lived in her remote village. Her complexion was white even to the ears and her feet were not stained by contact with the soil. On New Year’s Eve of her thirteenth year her parents were short the sum of silver required as a village tax, which amounted to one-third of their income, and so the girl was sent to serve as a lady’s maid in an imposing city-house near Temma.
As time went on her natural disposition and ready wit came to be appreciated. She was solicitous toward the old couple, pleased the lady of the house, and was well thou
ght of by all the others. Later she was allowed free access to the inner storeroom where all the fine things were kept. Everyone thought so highly of her that it was said: “What would happen to this house if Osen were not around?” This was all because of her intelligence.
Osen knew nothing of the ways of love. She had spent all of her nights in a manner which some might think unworthy of her—alone. Once when a light-hearted fellow pulled her dress she responded with a full-throated shriek, leaving the man to bewail this unfortunate turn of events. After that no man would ever speak flirtingly to her. People may criticize Osen for such behavior, but it would probably be a good thing if all men’s daughters acted as she did.
Our story begins on the seventh day of autumn, the Tanabata Festival day, when silk clothes—guaranteed never to have been worn before—are piled up seven high, right sleeve over left, to be rented to celebrants. It is amusing to see how the upper-class ladies celebrate by tying familiar poems to juniper twigs while the poor people decorate their houses with gourds and persimmons on the branch.
This particular day was a special occasion for the people of the neighborhood because the common well was being cleaned. The people living in rented houses on the side lanes participated in this cleaning and kept water on the boil for tea to be served to the workmen. After most of the dirty water had been scooped out, the bottom of the well was scraped and up came a variety of things mixed in with pebbles. A kitchen knife, the disappearance of which had puzzled people, came to light, and so did a bunch of seaweed into which a needle had been thrust. I wonder why that was done.1 Then, on further search, more things came up including some old pony-design coppers, a naked doll without a face, a one-sided sword-handle peg of crude workmanship, and a patched-over baby’s bib. You can never tell just what you will find at the bottom of an uncovered, outside well.
Five Women Who Loved Love Page 4
