by Catrien Ross
Otsuyu was deeply disturbed by this unexpected turn, but realized that there was nobody else to take care of her father. She begged him to move to a quieter place where she hoped his mind could rest and eventually recover. Heizaemon agreed, and the two retired to a house in Yanagishima Yokogawa. After the move, Heizaemon passed the time tending the garden and trying to calm his still furious heart. Occasionally, however, he suddenly remembered what had happened to him at the hands of Okuni and Genjiro. At such times he became completely deranged, and would rage through the house or garden, brandishing his sword and swearing to kill Okuni. Sometimes he even tried to kill Otsuyu, mistaking his long-suffering daughter for his faithless second wife. But each time, Otsuyu controlled her father’s mad outburst by talking softly and asking him to recall who she was. Heizaemon would wave his sword wildly about for awhile longer but then would abruptly fall into a brooding silence. This also discouraged Otsuyu, who would again coax her father, gently saying, “Please, father become the person you once were. Become the father I used to know and loved so well.” Then she would take her koto, at which she was especially skilled, and play to console the troubled man.
DREAM OR REALITY?
Near the quiet retreat where Heizaemon and Otsuyu lived was a large, wide moat. One day a young samurai, Hagiwara Shinzaburo, who lived in Nezu, came fishing there with his friend, Dr. Shijo. They planned to fish, and hired a small boat for that purpose. As they sat on the water Shinzaburo heard the sound of a koto coming from the house at the far edge of the moat. What a lovely sound, thought Shinzaburo dreamily, losing himself in the plaintive melody. Before he knew it he had left the boat and was standing at the back entrance to the house. The door opened and a servant, Yone, signaled Shinzaburo to come inside. She led him to a room where Otsuyu, the koto player, sat waiting.
With their first glance Shinzaburo and Otsuyu took to each other, and, abandoning any pretense at shyness, began to talk in detail about themselves. “I am Hagiwara Shinzaburo from Nezu,” announced the young samurai. “Both my mother and father are dead and I have been alone in the world, but from now on I hope you will keep a close relationship with me.” Otsuyu then explained her own family history, saying that she, too, was glad to have found someone like Shinzaburo. The two talked on like this for what must have been hours. During a pause in their conversation, Otsuyu drew out a small incense burner delicately etched with a design of autumn grass. “I received this from my mother just before she died,” said Otsuyu. “Now I would like you to keep it as a token of our deep and lasting friendship.”
At the very moment she handed the gift to Shinzaburo, Heizaemon leapt into the room, his sword unsheathed. In an unfamiliar, cracked voice he shouted, “At last the evil man has been found out.” Otsuyu, terrified, jumped up to protect Shinzaburo, throwing her body against him. But Heizaemon’s sword was swift. Down it flashed, slicing into Otsuyu’s body and felling her dead. A shaken Shinzaburo fled into the garden, followed by the still-raving Heizaemon. Unable to find his way out, Shinzaburo was finally cornered. Heizaemon’s eyes glittered as he approached with a terrible glee. “This serves you right, Okuni, my wife, and Genjiro, my servant. Now you will learn your lesson.” Once more, the sword flashed, killing Shinzaburo at one stroke. Then, Heizaemon turned the blade on himself and committed seppuku.
Shinzaburo screamed as in a nightmare and opened his eyes to find himself awake and alive. Pinching himself he looked around and saw that he was still in the boat. Obviously it had all been a bad dream. His first thought was to tell Dr. Shijo, who sat quietly fishing, but then he heard the sound of a koto coming from the house at the far edge of the moat. And there was something else. Reaching into his kimono, he drew out a small incense burner delicately etched with autumn grass—the very incense burner he had accepted with so much gratitude from Otsuyu in his dream. Now he was unsure about what had really taken place. Seeing the young man’s puzzled frown, Dr. Shijo asked what was the matter. But Shinzaburo simply asked whose house it was at the far edge of the moat, from which he could hear the sound of a koto. Dr. Shijo looked up. “Oh that is the Iijima family’s house, but I don’t hear any koto. You must be imagining it.” Shinzaburo looked suspiciously at his friend, but concluded that he was telling the truth. He decided to let the matter drop, and said nothing about his strange dream.
THE SOUND OF GETA
Thoroughly mystified, Shinzaburo returned to Nezu with the incense burner safe inside his kimono. Shortly afterward, an old family friend named Yusai, who had been a trusted advisor to Shinzaburo’s father, dropped by to see him. Noting that Shinzaburo seemed depressed, Yusai tried to cheer him up. “I don’t know what’s bothering you, but surely it can’t be that bad. Why don’t you try to forget whatever it is and not let it get you down. If you don’t dwell on it, the matter will probably clear up by itself in no time.” And off he went, leaving behind a listless Shinzaburo who had said not a word about the day’s baffling events.
Night fell, and the house and surrounding neighborhood became totally quiet. Everyone was asleep but Shinzaburo, who sat wide awake trying to interpret his dream. At the hour of midnight he suddenly heard the sound of geta, ka-ran-ko-ron, faint at first, but coming nearer and nearer until the footsteps stopped right at his front door. A voice cried out, “Shinzaburo, sir, this is Yone. I have brought my young mistress to see you. Please open the door.”
“Otsuyu!” cried Shinzaburo, overjoyed in spite of himself and without considering it strange that the two women from his dream should be visiting him at midnight. He opened the door as if he had been expecting this all along. And, sure enough, there stood Otsuyu with her servant Yone, who was carrying a paper lantern with a peony design. Shinzaburo also noticed that Otsuyu was wearing a kimono dyed with the same design of autumn grass that graced the incense burner she had given him. “Come in,” said Shinzaburo. From out of the night the two glided into the room, a slight wind stirring as they moved. Shinzaburo saw nothing amiss, either in their style of walking or their faces, which were a little too pale. He was only glad, so glad, to see Otsuyu again. Although he had not yet come up with a rational explanation for his dream and the fact of the incense burner, Shinzaburo willingly abandoned his mental struggle. He sat down with Otsuyu, and the two immediately resumed their intimate talk.
When the first rooster crowed, Yone started and cried out in a frightened voice, “Young mistress, come away right now. Let’s finish this night and leave before others find us.” The two women glided out the door, a slight wind stirring behind them. Long after they had gone Shinzaburo could still hear the sound of geta, ka-ran-ko-ron, echoing in his ears.
THE MONK’S DREADFUL MESSAGE
The next morning, Shinzaburo awoke very late. Finding his energy level low, he did not feel like doing much of anything. Indeed, all he could think about was the coming night and how he longed for darkness to fall so that he could see Otsuyu again. He sat around all day, waiting. Eventually night fell, and midnight came. Again, the sound of geta approached, just like the night before. And there again stood Otsuyu with her servant Yone, carrying the paper lantern. “Come in, come in!” exclaimed Shinzaburo, his vigor returning. And once more he invited Otsuyu into the room, where the two talked ceaselessly until the first rooster crowed.
This continued night after night. Soon, the townspeople began to talk, whispering among themselves that young Hagiwara was spending his nights with a ghost. A rumor arose that outlined against the shoji screen of his room, one could see Shinzaburo’s shadow sitting through the night. Worse, facing him sat the shadow of what looked like a skeleton and the two shapes moved as if they were talking. “Dangerous, dangerous,” whispered the neighbors, chills running up their spines. But no one dared do anything about the frightening situation.
At last the rumor reached Yusai who, concerned as always, hurried to pay Shinzaburo a visit. He found the young man unperturbed, if a little tired. “What’s this I hear about your talking with a ghost?” demanded Yusai, anxiously.
“I’ve been told of your ghostly visitor each night, but it can’t be true. Tell me what’s really going on.”
Shinzaburo remained unruffled. “Visited by a ghost? Of course not. And to prove it, here is the incense burner she gave me when we first met.” Yusai saw the small incense burner delicately etched with a design of autumn grass. Then Shinzaburo explained the story from the beginning, telling of his fishing trip with Dr. Shijo and the house by the moat where the koto played, and the subsequent midnight visits.
When Yusai heard Shinzaburo’s story, he became extremely agitated and went to see Dr. Shijo to confirm the story of the fishing trip. “Yes, it’s perfectly true that we went fishing in that moat,” said Dr. Shijo. “But I’m curious why you are asking this now, because the trip was about eight years ago.”
“Eight years ago? Not recently?” queried Yusai.
“No, it was around eight years ago. Around the same time we went fishing, I happened to hear the story about the Iijima family that lived in the house at the far edge of the moat. The mad master Heizaemon had just killed his daughter Otsuyu, along with her servant Yone. He then committed suicide and died. The details of this sad story stayed quite vivid in my mind.”
Confused, Yusai asked Dr. Shijo to accompany him to the moat where the latter had gone fishing with Shinzaburo around eight years previously. They found Iijima Heizaemon’s house in ruins, the once-tended garden overgrown with grass. “It does seem that the family was completely ruined some time ago,” mused Yusai. “I don’t understand at all, but it is a bad sign.”
He then consulted the monk at the Shinbanzuiin temple, where the tomb of the Iijima family was placed. Yusai related all he knew to the monk, who listened carefully, his expression gradually growing more and more concerned.
“If all this is true, then it is indeed terrible,” said the monk. “It shows that Otsuyu and Yone are not happy in their graves, and that their spirits are wandering. Now that you tell me this, I realize that the peony lantern at the tomb of Iijima has remained fresh and new without even a single tear for the last eight years. Never once have I seen it torn or damaged in anyway, and it is only a paper lantern. I always thought it strange, but now I know what has befallen Shinzaburo.”
The monk looked long and hard at Yusai. “I am very sorry to have to tell you this. But Shinzaburo has only a few more days to live.”
Horrified, Yusai clutched the monk’s robe. “Is there nothing you can do to stop this ghost from haunting Shinzaburo? Nothing at all?”
At first, the monk shook his head. But then he muttered, “It might be possible, there may be a way.” He instructed Yusai to take strips of paper on which the monk would write special protective sutras, and place them over every door, window, and other opening of Shinzaburo’s house. He also told Yusai to order Shinzaburo to begin chanting at night, and to continue chanting no matter what might happen.
“If my instructions are precisely followed,” cautioned the monk, “then the ghost will be unable to enter the house, and we might have a chance of exorcising this demon that is haunting Shinzaburo. I myself will also chant for as long as necessary.”
Yusai took the strips and covered all openings at Shinzaburo’s house. He commanded Shinzaburo to begin his chanting and not to stop for any reason. Shinzaburo did as he was ordered. In his heart, however, he refused to believe that his beautiful Otsuyu, so lively and so dear, might be a ghost.
THE RUINED PEONY LANTERN
Out of respect for Yusai, Shinzaburo began chanting when night fell. At midnight, as usual, the sound of geta, ka-ranko-ron, approached and halted just outside his door, now covered with protective sutras. Unable to enter, Otsuyu cried out, “Shinzaburo, please let me in as you always do and let’s talk together again.”
Although Shinzaburo longed to see her, he refused to open the door, but concentrated and continued chanting, despite Otsuyu’s many pleas throughout the night. Finally, the first rooster crowed. The sound of geta withdrew from the house and faded into the distance. The next night, and the night after that, and the next, the same thing happened. Otsuyu and Yone would approach and beg to be let in. Each time, they would leave when the first rooster crowed. For seven nights, Shinzaburo kept up his chanting. At Shinbanzuiin, the monk, too, was chanting, praying that the sutras would soon take effect.
On the eighth night, the sound of geta again neared, and the voice of Otsuyu called out piteously, “Shinzaburo, please open the door. If I could only see you once more, my deepest hope would be realized. I have nothing to live for in this desolate world. Please let me in, Shinzaburo, please.”
Although his heart felt as if it were being torn open, Shinzaburo steeled his will against Otsuyu and ignored her mournful begging. For seven more nights, he continued chanting, stepping up his pitch so that he would not have to listen to Otsuyu’s wailing at the door. After fourteen days and nights, the sutras did not seem to be having much effect on the ghosts, who continued to arrive as midnight arrived and beg to be let in. But still Shinzaburo chanted.
The twentieth night came. As usual the two women arrived and Otsuyu pleaded, her voice as rending as a koto strain, “Shinzaburo, you never let me see you any more. This makes me so sad. All I am asking is that you let me see you just one more time.”
Shinzaburo could hear Otsuyu sobbing. But he rang the bell and clutched his prayer beads, chanting louder than ever. At the first rooster’s crow, Otsuyu and Yone disappeared. When he could no longer hear the sound of the geta, Shinzaburo fell heavily against the altar where he had been chanting and wept. “Otsuyu, I, too, want to see you, more than you can ever know. But I cannot, I must not, do it. Please understand this and forgive me. Accept that it is all over between us.”
The twenty-first night arrived. Clasping the incense burner inside his kimono, Shinzaburo began chanting. At midnight, the sound of geta approached, ka-ran-ko-ron. Otsuyu’s voice, now weak and low, called out, “Shinzaburo, tonight is the twenty-first night. This will be the last night that I will come to see you because after tonight I can never come again. This is goodbye.”
When he heard her words, Shinzaburo felt a deep sadness wash over him. “Otsuyu, is tonight really your last night to visit me?”
‘Yes, Shinzaburo, it must be so. Although I have tried my best, over and over, I am not strong enough to overcome the power of the sutras and your chanting. It means that I can never see you again. Now all is finished. This is the end for me.”
Shinzaburo felt a miserable mixture of shock and pity. “If that is so, I know that if I never see you again I, too, will no longer have the will to live. Oh, Otsuyu, I recognize what a terrible thing I have tried to do to you by banishing you.”
Then Shinzaburo struggled to stand up, his body weakened by twenty-one nights of continuous chanting. Mustering his last reserves of strength, he staggered to tear down the sutras and let Otsuyu in. As soon as he opened the door, Otsuyu, waiting for precisely this moment, flew to Shinzaburo and flung herself upon him. At that moment, in the far distance, the first rooster crowed.
Also at exactly that moment, the prayer beads broke in the hands of the monk still chanting for Shinzaburo at Shinbanzuiin. The beads scattered over the floor. Immediately the monk stopped chanting. “So...” he murmured, bowing his head, “So Shinzaburo was still too young. He could not be helped.”
The monk understood. He put out the candles at the altar and slowly left the prayer room, his task finished.
Next morning, Yusai went to Shinzaburo’s house and was shocked to find every door and window flung wide open. Rushing inside, he called out for Shinzaburo, but stopped and screamed, paralyzed with fright. There on the floor, the incense burner with the design of autumn grass in hand, lay Shinzaburo, dead. With his hair matted, and with a long, unkempt beard, he looked like an old, sick man, emaciated and sucked dry. Yet, when Yusai looked closer, he thought he could see a trace of a smile around Shinzaburo’s lips.
Yusai immediately went to Shinbanzuiin to inform the monk, who
had done his best to help. Before Yusai could speak, however, the monk said sadly, “Yusai, you have seen the true nature of human beings.” And he began to pray.
Then, together, Yusai and the monk walked to the Iijima family tomb. There they found the peony lantern which for the last eight years or so had been kept so new and fresh. It now lay as if knocked over by a strong wind, torn into tatters.
Tokaido Yotsuya Ghost Story
Some say she walks the streets of Tokyo, a forlorn figure in white, her long hair hiding her face. As she approaches, she suddenly reveals her horribly scarred features, a face twisted by death agonies. When people scream and run in terror, she disappears, laughing.
So goes the story of Oiwa, perhaps the most famous ghost in Tokyo. Her tragedy is the main tale in a mix of separate incidents pulled together for dramatic effect in Tsuruya Nanboku IV’s well-known kabuki play, Tokaido Yotsuya Kaidan (Tokaido Yotsuya Ghost Story), more popularly known simply as Yotsuya Kaidan. The play incorporates a true account of two murders committed by two servants, each of whom had killed his master.
During the Edo era, murder of one’s master was considered on a par with patricide. For such a crime, punishment could be gruesome. The criminal’s head might be slowly severed from the body with a bamboo saw—an excruciating death. Alternatively, the criminal might be sent to a workhouse, more akin to a chamber of horrors, where every day was a living hell.
In Nanboku’s version of the Oiwa story, a darkened stage is the setting for murder. Iyemon has just killed the father of his young, beautiful bride Oiwa, simply because the victim knew about foul deeds committed earlier by Iyemon. Iyemon is a ronin, or masterless samurai, who is now obliged to earn a living as an oilpaper umbrella maker to support Oiwa and their new baby. This affront to his dignity festers into a hatred of Oiwa, which makes it easy for him to succumb to the temptation offered by the granddaughter of a wealthy neighbor. The girl herself is crazy about Iyemon and wants to marry him.