Japanese Tales of Mystery & Imagination
Page 17
"'Could it be possible,' I asked myself with a shudder, 'that my brother purposely reduced himself in size by dint of the black magic of the wicked binoculars and went to join the girl of his undying affection in the pasted rag picture?'
"Jolted by this thought, I quickly aroused the owner of the booth and asked him to let me have another look at the picture slide of the Kichijo Temple. Sure enough, as soon as I saw the pasted rag picture by the light of an oil lamp, I found that the worst had come to pass. For there, in that fantastic setting, sat my brother instead of the character Kichiza, passionately hugging the gorgeous Oshichi.
"Strange to say, I did not feel any sadness or remorse. On the contrary, I was extremely happy to know that my brother had finally attained his long-cherished desire.
"After succeeding in negotiating with the peep-show owner for the sale of the picture to me—for some queer reason, he never noticed that my brother, clad in his Western suit, had usurped the role of Kichiza—I hurried home and told the whole story to my family. But of course no one believed me—not even my mother. They all thought that I had gone stark raving mad."
Concluding his story, the old man began to chuckle to himself. And for some unexplainable reason, I too found myself smiling.
"I could never convince them," he suddenly continued, "of the possibility of a man's turning into a rag-picture doll. But the very fact that my brother had completely vanished from the face of the earth proves that such is possible.
"My father, for example, still believes that my brother ran away from home. As for my mother, I finally succeeded in borrowing enough money from her to buy the tablet bearing the precious rag picture. Shortly after I journeyed to Hakone and Kamakura, carrying the picture with me, for I would not deny my beloved brother a honeymoon.
"Now you can well understand why I always prop the picture up against the window whenever I ride on a train, for it is always my desire to let him and his lover enjoy the passing scenery.
"Before long, my father liquidated his business in Tokyo and moved to his native city of Toyama. I too have lived there for the past thirty years. And then, a few days ago, I decided to let my brother enjoy the sights of the new Tokyo, and that is the reason why I am making this trip.
"Sad to say, however, there is just one setback to my brothers happiness, for while the girl always remains young and fresh—for she is actually nothing but a doll despite her life-like features—my brother grows older and haggard with the passing of each year, for he is human, of flesh and blood, just as you and I. Where once he was a handsome and dashing young man of twenty-five, he has now been reduced to a white-haired old man, feeble of limb and ugly with wrinkles.
"Ah! What a sad situation! And what irony!"
Sighing deeply, the old man straightened, as if he had suddenly awakened from a trance.
"Well, I've told a long story," he remarked. "And I assure you that every word I've spoken is true. You do believe me, don't you?"
"Of course, of course!" I reassured him.
"I am truly happy to know," he replied, "that my narrative has not been wasted."
He then turned to the rag picture, and began to speak in a soft voice, like the cooing of a dove:
"You must both be tired, my dear brother and sister-in-law. And you must also be feeling embarrassed, for I told the story in your presence. But cheer up, I'll put you to bed now."
With these words, he again wrapped the picture painstakingly in the cloth wrapper.
As he did this, I caught a fleeting glimpse of the faces of the two figures, and I could have sworn that they had thrown me a smile of friendly greeting. As for the old man, he had lapsed into silence.
On and on sped the train. About ten minutes later the tempo of the rumbling wheels grew slower, while a few scattered lights could now be seen glimmering outside the windows.
Shortly after, the train came to a halt at a small and obscure station high in the mountains. Looking out, I saw only one station clerk standing on the platform.
The old man got to his feet.
"I must now bid you farewell," he muttered. "This is where I must get off, for I am staying with relatives in this village tonight."
With these words, the old man hobbled down the aisle and stepped off the carriage, the mysterious parcel clutched tightly under his arm.
Gazing out the window, I caught a final glimpse of him handing his ticket to the clerk at the wicket, and a moment later he was swallowed into the night.
TUTTLE CLASSICS
Table of Contents
Cover
Copyright
CONTENTS
PREFACE
THE HUMAN CHAIR
THE PSYCHOLOGICAL TEST
THE CATERPILLAR
THE CLIFF
THE HELL of MIRRORS
THE TWINS
THE RED CHAMBER
TWO CRIPPLED MEN
THE TRAVELER WITH THE PASTED RAG PICTURE
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