Lotus & Other Tales of Medieval Japan

by Takeshi Umehara

  "It's no wonder you're under a curse, saying things like that. Go and ask the god's advice, anyway. What have you got to lose?"

  "Ahh, I don't feel like doing it."

  "What a shilly-shallier you are! I'm sick to death of you. Will you listen to me for a change, just this once? Go and ask. It'll bring you good luck."

  With his wife continually at him that way, the old man could hardly fail to do something. Unwillingly, he dragged himself to his feet, changed into streetwear, and betook himself to Tenjin Woods near Fifth Avenue, to receive the deity's oracle. Strange to say, the mere act of going to the shrine seemed to arouse some pious feeling in the old man. He prayed earnestly to the god to "please tell me the kind of work I should do," and, after a short time, a priest emerged and handed him a twig: "I asked the god about the right kind of work for you. The answer was that you are a person of exceptional spiritual powers, and the god will give you direction privately, in a dream. This twig is from a seven-leaved nanten bush. Place it under your pillow before you go to sleep on the night of the winter solstice. On toward dawn, you'll see a dream in which the will of the god for you will be revealed."

  Now the old man had never had much faith in religion, and he suspected the priest was just making it all up; yet a certain curiosity quickened his footsteps as he made his way home. Arriving back, he told his wife exactly what the priest had said. She was a believer, devoted to the gods and inclined to trust whatever oracles came her way, so she was all a-twitter. "The winter solstice is only a few days off, and then the god himself will tell you what job to take to change our bad luck into good!" All her hopes were set upon the promised dream.

  The night of the solstice came round. The old woman used every penny she had to buy sake and special foods. Her husband ate and drank his fill (it was for the first time in a great while), and then went to bed happy. His wife had been much kinder to him than usual.

  Next morning, when the old man woke up, his wife asked eagerly if he had had a dream. He was not the sort of man who dreams very often; and, though he had carefully placed the nanten twig under his pillow, it seemed that last night too he had failed to dream. But his wife kept after him until at last, straining to remember, he began to feel vaguely that he might have had some sort of dream on toward dawn. He dredged the depths of his memory for the remnants of that dream.

  "A mandarin orange (mikan)... I saw something like a mandarin orange. But it was also sort of like an iron bell. Then I seem to remember hearing a pleasant sound. Oh, of course, it was the jingling of the bell! It was a fine sound."

  "A funny dream. I can't make out what it means. Surely the god isn't telling you to go into the mandarin orange business—or the iron or the bell business either, for that matter."

  No matter how hard they tried, the old couple couldn't make head or tail of the dream. Then the old woman had an idea: "I've got it! There's a man named Abe Hayasuke, known throughout the city for interpreting dreams. You should go and see him. They say he never misses!"

  So the two of them went off and knocked on Abe Hayasuke's door. His house was crowded with people come to ask the meaning of their dreams. When, after a considerable wait, their turn came, Hayasuke appeared to take no notice of their wretched clothes and greeted them with the words "Well now, sir, what sort of dream have you seen?" The old woman explained about the oracle of the wayside god and the dream; and the dream-reader thought for a bit before beginning to speak: "A most unusual message from the gods. No one in all Japan has ever before received such an oracle! Now this is what it means: mikan, or mikara— 'from one's person.' From one's person, there comes an iron bell, with a very nice sound. Well, obviously, that's means breaking wind! The dream is telling you to break wind in a melodious way—turn it into an art, and you'll be a rich man in no time. Remember, another word for iron is kane, and that also means 'money.' So it's a very lucky dream, promising plenty of money for you, my friend."

  The old couple sat there for a time, dazed at Hayasuke's unexpected reading of the dream. Suddenly, though, the old woman spoke up, as if remembering something: "He's hopeless, he is, fails at everything he does—why, we've been lucky to survive this long. But at least his farts are good and loud.... I've thought it strange all these years.... And they're not just loud, they've a fine sound to them, and they go on and on. It's often I said to myself, 'Ah, if only the man was as fine as his farts are!' Yes, I well remember thinking that."

  Then Hayasuke said, as if he too were drawing on old memories, "The Way of Wind-breaking is one of the Fortyeight Arts going back as far as Prince Shōtoku himself. I remember when I was a child there was still one man proficient in the art who gave public concerts down by the Kamo River. I thought all that was gone forever, but now the god is urging you to restore the splendid lost Art of Wind-breaking. What great good fortune for us all!"

  The old woman was happy as could be. "Oh, thank you so much, dear Mr. Abe. I don't know how to express our gratitude. We're very poor, you see, and can't really give you the fee you deserve."

  "Don't worry about that. You can pay me after you've gotten rich—or not at all, as you like," replied the dream-reader. "But do me the favor of letting me hear one good blast right here and now—how about it?"

  The old woman chimed in at once: "Yes, let's hear one of your finest. Come on, now, out with it."

  The old man, willing to oblige, rolled up the skirt of his kimono to expose his rear, got down on all fours, summoned all his strength, and farted. High and lovely was the sound! To their ears, it sounded like "Pp-pp, patterned robes. Bb-bb, brocades. Jj-jj, jingling gold." Hearing it, Hayasuke said with great dignity and formality, "A truly wondrous sound. I warrant it will be the talk of the capital."

  The old couple returned home overcome at the prospect of such unlooked-for good fortune. The old man wanted the very next day to give a performance of that art in which, as Hayasuke had assured him, the cultivated people of the capital would delight. His wife, however, was more cautious. "Of course it's a fine sound as it is, but you're a little lacking in variety. Leave it that way, and I'm afraid your artistic career will be short." This was the old woman's firm opinion, and so she made her husband practice long and hard, giving him very specific directions as to crescendos, diminuendos, sostenutos, and the like.

  Now the old woman was very fond of the works of the Noh master Zeami, who had divided the Art of the Noh into three general styles: the August Style, the Martial Style, and the Feminine Style. She decided to try to perfect her husband's Art along the lines of Zeami's theories. The August Style would be used for the crepitations of a god, or other venerable personage. The Martial Style was for samurai (or, more generally, masculine) farts. And the Feminine Style was reserved for breaking of wind on the part of young ladies. Divine crepitation would have to be somewhat reserved and ethereal; a man's farts, viGorōus and forceful; and a lady's wind, soft and delicate. The old woman insisted that her husband learn clearly to distinguish these three styles in performance. She then went on to compose numerous "pieces for wind instrument," all based on Zeami's Three Styles. The old man's progress was rapid, and within three months he could do justice to even the most taxing composition. In the fourth month, his wife took him along to the shrine of the wayside god and offered prayers for the success of his first public concert.

  Shortly afterwards a strange rumor began to spread throughout the capital: "They say there's going to be a wind concert soon on Suzaku Avenue." "Apparently there's this master farter named Takamuku Hidetake—he's going to give the most extraordinary performance." Soon the people of the capital were informed of the actual date of the wind concert.

  "Lovers of novelty are the people of the capital," as the old saying goes, and indeed there was a great crowd of onlookers on Suzaku Avenue at the appointed day and hour. The old couple appeared, the woman dressed like a Shintō priestess and the man in courtier's costume of the previous age (which created a rather comical effect). After the woman had delivered an impr
essive-sounding introduction, her husband began to dance, waggling his buttocks before the intent gaze of the audience. "Aya-chu-chu, nishiki-sara-sara, goyō-no-matsubara, toppin-parapin-no-pppuuu!"

  It was undeniably the sound of breaking wind, yet it hardly seemed so to any in the audience. It had such beauty of tone, it seemed variously like the soughing of the wind in some shadowy valley, or the twitterings of birds, or the deep roll of a drum. The audience was overcome with amazement, half shocked, half entranced by the sound. When at last the concert was over, there was wave upon wave of applause. In their excitement, the crowd flung at the great master of wind-breaking Takamuku Hidetake and his wife everything they had—the fans they held in their hands, the clothes on their backs, and the money in their purses. The old man and woman bowed deeply to the audience, looking rather awkward as they did so, picked up the offerings, and hurried off. The crowd was still so excited that it seemed unwilling to leave the spot.

  Thus, all of Kyoto was soon talking about "the old farter," as some termed him. But his wife was still very cautious. It would not do for her husband to give these concerts every day. No, he would have to rest for several days, concentrating his energies and re-tuning. The first concert on Suzaku Avenue had been on the day of the ox, and so the second was set for the day of the horse, six days later.

  Each time a concert was given on Suzaku Avenue, the audience grew, as did the volume of applause and the amount of gold and other valuables with which the old couple were showered. Then one day a messenger came from a lieutenant general of the guards who lived on Imadegawa, asking for a wind concert at the gentleman's residence on a certain day and time. Now the lieutenant general was a nobleman who enjoyed the Emperor's favor and a man of culture versed in music, dance, and all the arts. And here he was, eager to hear the old man break wind! The couple were ecstatic and prepared themselves for the great day with even more intense practice.

  The concert turned out to be a great success. Apart from the lieutenant general himself, there was a large number of noblemen with a personal interest in music and dance gathered there. Grand Councilors and Middle Councilors alike waited with keen anticipation to see just what kind of concert would be given by this man famed throughout the town as "the old farter." Especially numerous in the audience were the ladies of the court, who had heard rumors of the old farter's existence and were wild to hear and see him. Yet they couldn't bring themselves to be so shameless as to sneak out of the palace and make their way to Suzaku Avenue to listen, in public, to the sound of farting. Thus, when a message came from the lieutenant general, inviting them to his residence for a private concert, they vied with one another in their haste to accept and, taking along their closest friends, rushed off to Imadegawa.

  The couple made their entrance in the usual formal costumes and, after an impressive introduction by the old woman, the husband began to dance. "Goyō-no-matsubara, toppin-pararin-no-pppuuu." The ladies had hidden themselves behind folding screens and were trying to keep from laughing; but soon they could hold back no longer, and began to giggle. The laughter spread from one to the other, like an epidemic; and by the time the performance ended, there were gales of shameless mirth. One of the court ladies actually rolled about on the floor; while another laughed so hard that she began to choke, and only a timely cup of water saved her.

  The lieutenant general was extremely pleased and gave various presents to the couple. The courtiers, too, and the nobility from Grand Councilors on down showered them with possessions. The old couple had brought along a boy to help carry the gifts they anticipated receiving; but what they actually got weighed far too much for even the three of them to carry off.

  The concert at the lieutenant general's house solidified Takamuku Hidetake's fame, making him a much-talked-about figure not only in the market-place but even in the Imperial Palace. As a result, there were command performances one after another at the palaces of the Grand and Middle Councilors. The Emperor himself attended a concert at one of the Grand Councilors' palaces and was reported to be exceedingly pleased with what he heard—so pleased, in fact, that he bestowed the title of Master on this famous artful farter. Yet, although Takamuku Hidetake had risen so far as to be granted an audience with the Emperor and be given the official title of Master, he never neglected to perform for the general public as well. And so his popularity kept on growing, and he and his wife kept on getting richer and richer.

  A full year had passed since the night when the two of them had had that momentous conversation as they lay wrapped in their meager quilts. Once again the old couple chatted with one another as they lay in bed in their section of the ten-apartment tenement. The look of their room, though, was completely different from what it had been a year before. The cracked door and broken-down screens were nowhere to be seen. The door now displayed a splendid painting on its surface, while the sliding screens were of thick, Chinese-style paper covered with silver- and gold-leaf. The old couple no longer slept on wafer-thin quilts, but on layer upon layer of thick silken bedding, far more than was necessary to merely fend off the cold. All around were ranged the gifts they had received, covering the floor from wall to wall till there was hardly room left for the two of them.

  "You know, it's a whole year since that day you went to pray to the wayside god. Time flies, doesn't it."

  "Only a year? It feels like much longer ago. One year, and our life has changed totally!"

  And indeed, that single year had wrought great changes for them—above all, in the fact that a year before they had been so poor they did not know if they would survive the winter, but now they were so famous that everyone in the capital knew their names, and they had become very rich. The old woman even looked different. No doubt because of the good food she was getting, she had put some meat on her bones, grown plump, and looked ten years younger. The old man, on the other hand, had not changed a bit; he was as thin as ever. If he ate too much rich food, his art suffered, so he had to exercise continual restraint. Even so, his face shone with a new happiness. He was no longer a miserable old man eking out his wretched life; the rigors of dedication to his art lent a special radiance to his face and filled his body with new energy.

  "I'm grateful to you, because if you hadn't urged me to go and pray that day, my luck would never have changed."

  "That's right. I changed your luck. But I could only do it because you had that special talent right from the start. I just helped you uncover it."

  "It's not talent so much as luck. Anyone could master this art."

  "What are you saying? Why, your belly, your rear-end, they're one in ten thousand—no, one in a hundred thousand!"

  "That's not true. Sometimes I think all this must be a dream, and that we'll wake up one of these days. My art's ... not worth a fart! Anybody could learn it, that's what I think."

  "Don't be so weak-spirited! You want to lose everything we've built up? No—we have to protect what we've got!"

  "I won't be able to protect it. The god giveth and the god taketh away."

  "Look, the god gave you this good fortune, but now that it's come your way, it's your job to hang on to it and not let it get away. That's what the god wants. And if anybody tries to take it away from you, he'll have me to deal with!"

  The old woman insisted that her husband guard his present position whatever happened, and said she'd allow no one to threaten it. Jumping out of bed, she took something from a chest of drawers. "If anyone does come along and cause problems, just give him some of this," she commanded, handing her husband two medicinal pellets.

  Now unbeknownst to them, this exchange was overheard by a third party, the wife of their next door neighbor, one Fukutomi Oribe. Fukutomi (whose name meant "Luck-and-Riches") was as poor a man as Takamuku Hidetake had ever been. In his youth he had inexplicably fallen in love with and married a woman ten years older than himself, and ugly. Thus, though he was ten years younger than Hidetake, his wife was older than their neighbor. This woman had a bald patch toward the c
enter of her scalp. Her eyes slanted sharply upward at the corners and were, in addition, asymmetrically placed. Her mouth split off at the corners in the direction of either ear. The people of the area generally referred to her as "the old witch." But husband and wife got along extremely well. They were very poor but had one consolation: that next to them lived the old couple who were even poorer than themselves. Every time they complained of their own poverty, they concluded with the comforting remark, "We're better off than they are, anyway." Now, suddenly, the next-door neighbors were very rich; they had robbed the Fukutomis of the single greatest consolation in their dismal lives.

  "Filthy rich they are now, those two old fools! There's no reason we can't be the same," thought the old witch. And so, saying nothing to her husband, she had gone over to spy on them. She had not managed to hear everything that was said, but she clearly recalled the old man stating that anyone could master the art of farting and that he'd surely lose his position to somebody someday. She rushed back home and said to her husband, "You know that arty farting the old fool next door engages in? Well, I know that you can do it too! Imagine the two of them trying to monopolize it, and making a pile of money in the process! Oh, it makes me sick, just sick to think of it!"

  "But the art of farting is not such a simple thing to learn."

  "You're wrong. I heard it with my own ears: anybody can do it."

  "You mean, I could do it too?"

  "Sure you could. If that fool can do it, why can't you? You're younger than he is, and your farts'll be livelier than anything that dried-up old thing can produce. You'll replace him in no time."

  "Hmm. I wonder... I'd sure like to."

  "And you will, you will! You'll master the art of farting and become the most famous artist in the capital. We'll be rich, no question about it."

  "Shall I give it a try, then?"

  "Of course. You'll be the world's champion farter, and we'll have our revenge on those two old fools next door!"