Seven Japanese Tales

by Junichiro Tanizaki

  I wasn't the only one trying to escape. People were streaming out of the castle under a rain of fiery sparks; I hurried along with them, thrust ahead by the weight of the surging crowd. As I crossed the bridge over the moat there was a long, horrible rumbling noise.

  “Was that the tower?” I cried out.

  “Yes,” said a man next to me. “There's a pillar of flame straight up into the sky — the fire must have reached the gunpowder!”

  “What's become of Lady Oichi and her other daughters?” I asked him.

  “The children are safe,” he answered, “but it's too bad about Her Ladyship.”

  Later I heard more of the details of what had happened; but the man beside me told me that Choroken was the first to reach the top of the tower, and that Bunkasai, who saw through his plot at once, shouted: “Traitor! What are you here for?” and cut him down in a twinkling and kicked his body back down the steps. Then Choroken's men faltered, and more and more of the defenders came rushing up, so that not only was it impossible to abduct Lady Oichi but most of the attackers were either felled by the sword or burned to death. At that time, the three daughters were still clinging to their mother; but Bunkasai, trying to get them out as quickly as he could, thrust them into the midst of a swarm of warriors and cried: “The men who rescue these ladies and take them to the enemy camp will be the most loyal of all!” Each of the nearest samurai took one of the girls in his arms and fled.

  “I expect Lord Katsuie and his wife committed suicide in the fire,” the man added. “I didn't stay around long enough to see!”

  “Then where are the other two daughters?” I asked.

  “Our men must have gone ahead with them,” he said. “The one you're carrying was the stubbornest of all; she hung on to her mother's sleeve till the very last, and wouldn't let go. But she was finally pried loose and given to the fellow who handed her over to you and then ran back into the flames. You have to admire a samurai like that, even if he wasn't one of our own men.”

  I wondered what he meant by “our own men” — and then it dawned on me that Hideyoshi's troops had penetrated the inner walls and crept, up to the very base of the tower, ready to go in after Lady Oichi at a signal from Choroken, and that the men I was escaping with were either traitors or enemy soldiers! “Anyway,” he went on, “even though Lord Hideyoshi worked so hard to win his battle it didn't get him the lady he wanted. He can't be very pleased about the way Choroken bungled it! It's just as well Choroken isn't alive now.” He paused a moment, and added: “But you'll get some credit for saving this young lady, so I think I'll stick close to you.”

  With his arm to lean on, I kept going as fast as I could, though I was panting hard and had long since begun to feel exhausted. Luckily the commander of the enemy foot soldiers had come to look for us, bringing a litter, into which he immediately transferred Ochacha. “You, the blind one,” he said to me. “Did you carry her all the way here?”

  “Yes, sir, I did,” I answered, and I told him the whole story.

  “Very well,” he said. “Come along with the litter!” So I went with them, past camp after camp, till we reached the enemy headquarters.

  Ochacha seemed to have revived completely by then, but she rested for a while and was attended by the servants. Lord Hideyoshi asked to see her as soon as she was ready, and summoned her sisters along with her. That was understandable, of course, but he even asked for me. As I prostrated myself in the anteroom, I heard him call out: “Yaichi! Do you remember my voice?”

  “Yes, My Lord,” I replied. “I remember it perfectly.”

  “Do you?” he said. “It's been a long time since I saw you last. . . For a blind man, what you did today was amazing. I'll give you any reward you like — tell me what you want!”

  It was like a dream: everything had turned out better than I could have hoped. “I am very grateful for your kindness,” I answered; “but why should you reward a coward who shamelessly abandoned his mistress after enjoying her favor so many years? My heart aches when I think of what happened to Lady Oichi this morning. All I can wish for now is to be allowed to go on serving her daughters, as I have in the past. That would be my greatest happiness.”

  Lord Hideyoshi agreed at once. “A reasonable request,” he said. “I shall grant it and make you one of their servants.” Then: “I very much regret the death of Lady Oichi, and from now on I intend to look after these children in her place. But see how big they have all grown! I'm sure it was Ochacha who used to play on my knee!” As he said it, he laughed good-naturedly.

  That is how I was lucky enough to remain in the service of the young ladies, instead of being left to wander about on my own. But to tell the truth my life ended on that day — the twenty-fourth of May in 1583, the day Lady Oichi died. Never again was I to be as happy as I had been at Odani and Kiyosu. You see, the young ladies seemed to have heard that I set fire to the castle tower and let the traitors in, and they began to treat me more and more coldly. In particular, Lady Ochacha would sometimes declare, within my tearing: “This blind fellow rescued me against my will and turned me over to my mortal enemy!” To be with them was like sitting on needles. Better to have died when I had the chance — that was how I felt about my wretched lot. Of course, I deserved my punishment: there was no one to blame but myself. Yet having once failed to die at the proper time, I dared not follow Lady Oichi into the next world and present myself before her; and so I lived on in shame and dishonor, shunned by everyone. Before long, other servants were called in to massage the young ladies, or to accompany them when they played the koto. At last I found myself with nothing to do.

  By that time Ochacha and her sisters had gone to live at Azuchi Castle, and it was only on the orders of Lord Hideyoshi that they allowed me to remain in their service at all. Knowing how they felt, I found it acutely painful to go on being tolerated, clinging to Hideyoshi's favor. Finally I could bear it no longer. One day, without a word of farewell to anyone, I stole quietly out of the castle and set off down the road — I had no idea where.

  Well, that was when I was thirty-one. Of course, if I had gone to Kyoto, asked for an audience with the Regent Hideyoshi, and explained everything to him, I suppose I could have had a stipend large enough to support me for the rest of my life. But I had made my mind up to atone for my sin by living in poverty, as you see me. From that day to this I have wandered from one post town to another, massaging weary gentlemen or trying to distract them by my crude talents at music. . . For over thirty years now I've lived this way, through the many changes we've had, and still it seems to be my fate to go on living.

  Ochacha, for all her hatred of Hideyoshi, her “mortal enemy” as she called him, soon yielded herself to that enemy and went to live at his Yodo Castle. I'd expected that to happen sooner or later. They said Hideyoshi was furious at the failure to abduct Lady Oichi, but when he summoned me into his presence, far from showing any anger, he actually praised me! That was because seeing Ochacha had changed his attitude. In short, he must have had the same feeling that came to me in the midst of the flames — maybe even great heroes, in their innermost hearts, are no different from us ordinary men. But because of a single mistake I had to be separated from her for the rest of my life; while the Regent — the man who destroyed her father and mother and even skewered her brother's head on a pike — soon made her his own, satisfying a desire that had been transferred from mother to daughter, a desire that had lurked in his heart since the far-off days at Odani.

  By what quirk of fate was Hideyoshi so susceptible to ladies of the same blood as Nobunaga? They say he also wanted Gamo Ujisato's wife — she was Nobunaga's daughter, and looked like her aunt Oichi. No doubt that explained his interest in her. Someone told me Hideyoshi sent a message to her at the time of her husband's death, many years ago, expressing his feelings to her; but she refused to listen to him. Indeed, she grieved for her husband so much that she took holy orders. It seems that it was Hideyoshi's displeasure at this that led him to confis
cate the immense Gamo territories in Aizu.

  Anyway, Ochacha was old enough to know what was best for her, and the fact that she yielded so readily to the power of Lord Hideyoshi, inevitable as it may have been, shows that she did. How happy I felt to hear that the person called the Lady of Yodo was the eldest daughter of Asai Nagamasa! The springtime of prosperity has finally come to this child, I thought, after all her mother's pain and suffering. Even though I was dragging out my own worthless life far away, I remained as faithful to her as if I were constantly at her side; and I prayed that she would be spared the ordeals of her mother. Soon I heard the rumor that she had given birth to a son, and I was relieved to think that good fortune would now surely smile on her for the rest of her life. But, as you know, Lord Hideyoshi died in the autumn of 1598, and a few years later came the Battle of Sekigahara. Once again the world was changing, and every day brought fresh troubles to her. Maybe she was being punished for having betrayed the memory of her parents by becoming the mistress of their enemy! I can't help thinking it was a strange fate that brought two generations, mother and daughter, to death by suicide in a doomed castle.

  Ah, if only I had remained in her service until the end, I could at least have cheered her up — just as I had consoled her mother at Odani — and then accompanied her to the other world and begged her mother's forgiveness. But instead I spent the time lamenting my misfortune, fretting and worrying as I listened day after day to the roar of gunfire.

  I'll never forget how shamefully some of Hideyoshi's former retainers behaved: joining Ieyasu's forces in the siege of Osaka Castle, and firing cannon balls into the very quarters of Ochacha and her son Lord Hideyori! Everyone was eager to curry favor with the powerful Lord Ieyasu. Think of Kyogoku Takatsugu, who turned traitor at the time of Sekigahara. Years ago, in spite of his betrothal to Ohatsu, he ran away from Kitanosho before its fall and took refuge with Lord Takeda; after Takeda was defeated he wandered hither and yon, afraid of his own shadow. But finally he was pardoned and even given a large domain — and at whose request? Wasn't it Ochacha — because of his tie with her sister — who helped him? Long ago he had come fleeing through the snow to throw himself on the mercy of Lady Oichi, and later he relied on the sympathy of her daughter: to think that he owed his life twice over to them and yet betrayed Ochacha and Lord Hideyori at the critical moment, demoralizing their forces!

  Oh, but there's no use talking about such things any more! I don't know how many sorrowful or bitter memories I have; but today, when Takatsugu and even the Shogun Ieyasu himself have gone to the next world, the past seems like an empty dream. Now that all the noble ladies and gentlemen I knew are dead, how much longer, I ask myself, will I drag out my own frail life? I have lived a very long time, and all I can do now is pray for happiness in the next world. Still, I wanted the chance to tell this story to someone. . .

  I beg your pardon, sir? You wonder if I remember Lady Oichi's voice? Indeed I do! I remember the lilt of it when she spoke to me, and how beautifully she sang as she played the koto: she had an exquisite voice, clear, but with an underlying warmth and richness, a voice that combined the vibrant tone of the nightingale and the soft melodiousness of the dove. And Ochacha's voice sounded just the same — the servants were always mistaking the two. I could easily understand why Hideyoshi adored her. Everyone knows what a great man he was, but only I could see from the very first what was in his heart. To think that it was I who knew his deepest secret, I who had the honor of rescuing the Lady of Yodo, the mother of his heir Lord Hideyori — when I remember all this I feel that I have nothing more to live for.

  No, thank you, sir, no more. I've drunk too much already, and I've kept you too long with the tiresome memories of an old man. I have a wife at home, but I've never told her all the things I've told you tonight. I only wish you would be kind enough to put something down in writing about me, so that later generations will know my story.

  Well then, please lie down again for a moment, sir. Let me massage your back just a little more, before the night gets any later.

  A Note about the Author

  JUNICHIRO TANIZAKI was born in 1886 in the heart of downtown Tokyo, where his family owned a printing establishment, and studied Japanese literature at Tokyo Imperial University. His first published work, a one-act play, appeared in 1909 in a literary magazine he helped to found. His early novels suggest that his student days were ostentatiously bohemian, in the fashion of the day. At that time he was strongly influenced by Poe, Baudelaire, and Oscar Wilde.

  He lived in the cosmopolitan Tokyo area until the earthquake of 1923. when he moved to the gentler and more cultured Kyoto-Osaka region, the scene of The Makioka Sisters. There he became absorbed in the Japanese past, and abandoned his superficial Westernization. Japanese critics agree that this intellectual and emotional crisis changed him from merely a very good writer to a great one.

  Tanizaki's most important novels were written after 1923; among them are A Fool's Love (1924), Some Prefer Nettles (1928), Maelstrom (1930), Ashikari (1932), a modern version of The Tale of Genji (1939-41), The Makioka Sisters (1943-8) (English translation in 1957), Captain Shigemoto's Mother (1949), and The Key (1956) (English translation in 1961). By 1930 he had gained such fame that his “Complete Works” was published. He received the Imperial Prize in Literature in 1949.

  Tanizaki now lives on the Izu Coast, which is known as “the Japanese Riviera.”

  Table of Contents

  Jun'ichiro Tanizaki

  A Portrait of Shunkin

  Terror

  The Bridge of Dreams

  The Tattooer

  The Thief

  Aguri

  A Blind Man's Tale