Samon’s aged mother called to him: “Although the man’s heart be not fickle like autumn, is it only today that the hue of the chrysanthemum is rich and warm?11 If he is sincere about returning here, what reason have you to reproach him, though the gentle rains of early winter fall? Come inside, lie down, and wait again tomorrow.” Unable to disobey, Samon reassured his mother and asked her to retire first, and then, just in case, he stepped out through the door and looked again. The Milky Way shone faintly; the solitary moon cast its light on him alone; a watchdog’s bark reached him clearly from the distance; and the waves on the shore seemed to crash at his very feet.12 As the moon set behind the hills and its light faded from the sky, he thought it time to go inside and was about to shut the door behind him when he glimpsed a figure in the shadows, moving toward him with the wind. Doubting his eyes, he looked again. It was Akana Sōemon.
Samon’s heart leaped with joy. “I have been waiting for you since early this morning. How delighted I am that you have kept your pledge! Here, please come in,” he said, but Akana merely nodded and did not speak. Samon led him to the south window and seated him there: “Since you were so late, my brother, our mother grew weary of waiting. ‘He will come tomorrow,’ she said, and went into her bedroom. I shall go to waken her.” Akana stopped him with a shake of the head. Still he said nothing. Samon said, “You have traveled day and night; your heart must be weary and your legs tired. Please have a cup of saké and rest.” He warmed the saké, arranged some dishes of food, and served them; but Akana covered his face with his sleeve, as though to avoid a foul smell. Samon said, “This is simple, homemade fare, inadequate to welcome you properly, but I prepared it with all my heart. Please do not refuse it.” Akana still did not reply. Heaving a long sigh, he paused, then finally spoke: “My brother, what reason could I have to decline your heartfelt hospitality? I lack the words to deceive you, and so I shall tell the truth. You must not be startled. I am not a man of this world. A filthy ghost has taken this form briefly to appear before you.”
Samon was astounded: “What makes you say this monstrous thing, my brother? I am certain that I have not been dreaming.” Akana said, “Parting from you, I returned to my native place. Most of the people there had submitted to Tsunehisa’s authority; no one remembered En’ya’s kindness. I called on my cousin, Akana Tanji, at Tomita Castle. He explained the advantages and disadvantages and arranged for me to have an audience with Tsunehisa. Tentatively accepting my cousin’s advice, I observed Tsunehisa’s conduct closely and found that even though he is a man of great courage who trains his troops well, he is jealous and suspicious in his dealings with men of learning and, as a consequence, confides in no one and has no retainers willing to give their lives for him. I saw no point in lingering there, and so, explaining my chrysanthemum vow with you, asked for leave to go; but Tsunehisa looked displeased and ordered Tanji not to let me out of the castle. This state of affairs continued until today. Imagining how you would regard me if I broke my pledge, I pondered my options but found no way to escape. As the ancients said: A man cannot travel a thousand ri in one day; a spirit can easily do so. Recalling this, I fell on my sword and tonight rode the dark wind from afar to arrive in time for our chrysanthemum tryst. Please understand my feelings and take pity on me.” As he finished speaking, his eyes seemed to fill with tears: “Now we part forever. Please serve our mother faithfully.” With this, he rose from his seat and faded from sight.
In a panic, Samon tried to stop him, but, blinded by the dark wind, he could not tell where Akana had gone. Falling to his knees and then on his face, he began to wail loudly. His mother, startled from sleep, came to look and found Samon lying on the floor among the saké flasks and plates of fish that he had arranged by the seat of honor. Hurrying to help him rise, she asked, “What is wrong?” But he sobbed quietly, saying nothing. His mother spoke again: “If you resent your brother Akana now for breaking his pledge, you will have nothing to say if he comes tomorrow. Are you such a child that you can be so foolish?” Thus she admonished and encouraged him. Finally Samon replied, “My brother came tonight to fulfill our chrysanthemum pledge. When I welcomed him with saké and food, he refused them again and again and said, ‘For this and that reason, I was about to break our pledge, and so I fell on my sword and came these one hundred ri as a ghost.’ Then he vanished. As a result, I have roused you from your sleep. Please forgive me,” he said and began to weep, the tears streaming down his face, whereupon his mother said, “I have heard that a man in prison dreams that he has been pardoned, and a thirsty man drinks water in his dreams. You must be like them. Calm yourself.” But Samon shook his head: “Truly, it was nothing like an empty dream. My brother was here.” Again he cried out in grief and threw himself down, weeping. His mother no longer doubted him, and together they passed the night raising their voices in lamentation.
The next day, Samon bowed in supplication to his mother and said, “Since childhood I have devoted myself to the writing brush and ink, but I have neither made a name for myself in public service nor been able to discharge my filial duty to my family; I have merely dwelt here uselessly between heaven and earth. My brother Akana gave his life for loyalty. Today I shall set out for Izumo, where I intend at least to bury his remains and fulfill his trust. Please take good care of yourself and give me leave to be away for a time.” His mother said, “Go, my son, but come back soon and comfort me in my old age. Do not stay there so long that you make today the day of our final parting.” Samon said, “Our lives are like foam on the water—we cannot know but what they might fade away, morning or evening, but I shall come back soon.” Brushing away his tears, he left the house, went to beg the Sayos to look after his mother, and started down the road to Izumo. Even though he was hungry, he did not think of food; even though he was cold, he forgot about clothing; and when he dozed off, he lamented all night in his dreams. After ten days, he reached Tomita Castle.
He went directly to Akana Tanji’s house and sent in his name, whereupon Tanji came to greet him and led him inside. Questioning Samon closely, he said, “Unless you heard of Sōemon’s death from some winged creature, how could you know? It does not seem possible.” Samon said, “A samurai does not concern himself with the vicissitudes of rank and fortune; he values only loyalty. Valuing his pledge, my brother Sōemon came one hundred ri as a ghost. I, in return, have traveled day and night to come down here. I should like to ask you, sir, about something I learned in my studies. Please answer clearly. In ancient times, when Gongshu Zuo of Wei lay ill in bed, the king of Wei himself came and, holding Zuo’s hand, said, ‘If the unavoidable should happen, whom shall I appoint to protect the country? Give me your guidance.’ Zuo replied warmly, saying, ‘Even though Shang Yang is young, he has rare ability. If your highness does not employ him, do not let him cross the border, even if you must kill him. If you allow him to go to another country, calamity will surely result.’ Then Zuo secretly summoned Shang Yang and told him, ‘I recommended you, but the king appeared not to accept my advice, and so I told him to kill you if he does not employ you. This is putting the lord first and the retainer after. You must go quickly to another country and escape harm,’ he said.13 How would you compare this case, sir, with that of you and Sōemon?” Tanji hung his head and said nothing. Samon moved closer: “My brother Sōemon was a loyal retainer for remembering En’ya’s former kindness and not serving Amako. You, sir, having abandoned En’ya, your former master, and submitted to Amako, lack the righteousness of a samurai. My brother, cherishing his chrysanthemum pledge, gave up his life and traveled one hundred ri: this is the ultimate sincerity. You, sir, seeking favor with Amako, have tormented your own kin and caused his unnatural death: this is to lack the sincerity of a friend. Tsunehisa forced him to stay here; but if you had remembered your long-standing friendship, you would secretly have shown the utter sincerity of Zuo with Shang Yang. Instead you were driven by wealth and fame—this differs from the way of a samurai house and must be the way of the
House of Amako as well. No wonder my brother had no wish to linger here. Now I, valuing loyalty, have come. Leave behind you a name stained by unrighteousness!” He had not finished speaking when he drew his sword and struck in one motion. Tanji fell with a single blow. Before the retainers could raise an alarm, Samon escaped without a trace. It is said that Amako Tsunehisa heard the story and, moved by the warmth of the brothers’ loyalty, chose not to pursue Samon. Truly, one must not form bonds of friendship with a shallow man.
NOTES
1. The nature of Samon’s and Sōemon’s relationship has been debated by Japanese scholars. The most persuasive arguments in favor of a homosexual reading have been offered by Matsuda Osamu, “’Kikka no chigiri’ no ron: Ugetsu monogatari no saihyōka (2),” Bungei to shisō 28 (1963); and Uzuki Hiroshi, Ugetsu Monogatari hyōshaku, Nihon koten hyōshaku zenchūshaku sōsho (Tokyo: Kadokawa, 1969), pp. 135–136. Neither of them mentions the title of the story in this context, although it is the title that clinches the matter. The most thorough treatment I have found in English is in Timon Screech, Sex in the Floating World: Erotic Images in Japan, 1700–1820 (Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1999), pp. 151–154. See also Gary Leupp, Male Colors: The Construction of Homosexuality in Tokugawa Japan (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), p. 110; and Bernard Faure, The Red Thread: Buddhist Approaches to Sexuality (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1998), p. 259, n. 49, which quotes Onna Imagawa oshiebumi (An Imagawa [copybook and book of maxims] Teaching Text for Women, 1778?): “On the ninth day of the ninth moon occurs the union of the chrysanthemums, after a banquet during which many wines are served; one celebrates that day by practicing the way of the youths.” “The way of the youths” translates wakashudō (sexual relations between a man and a boy).
2. John Lyman Bishop, trans., “Fan Chü-ch’ing’s Eternal Friendship,” in The Colloquial Short Story in China: A Study of the San-Yen Collections (Cambridge Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1956), pp. 88–102.
3. The virtue of the mother of Mencius was proverbial.
4. Samon is quoting Confucius, Analects 12:5.
5. “military texts”: refers to the seven Chinese military classics, the best known of which is Sunzi, Sunzi bing fa (The Art of War, sixth century B.C.E.).
6. Ōmi Province corresponds to the modern Shiga Prefecture.
7. This sentiment derives from Mencius 2.A.6., in which Mencius argues that humans are altruistic by nature.
8. “Onoe”: can mean simply “mountaintop” or refer to the Onoe district of Kakogawa. The text alludes to a poem composed in 1171 by Priest Gen’yū:
The blossoms at Onoe [or, on the summit] will have scattered in the spring breeze—
waves lap at the row of cherries here on Takasago shore. (Fuboku wakashō, vol. 25, no. 94)
Takasago is at the mouth of the Kako River.
9. An allusion to a poem by Mansei:
To what shall I compare the world?
Like a ship that rows out at dawn and vanishes, leaving no wake. (Man’yōshū, no. 351)
10. Akashi is a port in Hyōgo Prefecture, on the Inland Sea, about twelve miles southeast of Kakogawa; Ushimado is a port in Okayama Prefecture, about thirty-seven miles southwest of Kakogawa, and just north of the island of Shōdoshima; Azukijima, now called Shōdoshima, is an island in the Inland Sea, in Kagawa Prefecture, about twenty miles by sea southwest of Murotsu; and Murozu, now called Murotsu, is a major port in the Inland Sea, in Hyōgo Prefecture, between Kakogawa and Ushimado.
11. An allusion to a poem by Sagami:
When I saw the hagi’s lower leaves change color,
I knew before all else the fickle heart of man in autumn. (Shinkokinshū, no. 1352)
Hagi (Lespedeza japonica) is Japanese bush clover.
12. An allusion to the “Suma” chapter of The Tale of Genji, in which the pounding of the surf at Suma seems to be at Genji’s ear.
13. Akinari based this account on chapter 68, “Biography of Lord Shang,” of Sima Qian’s Records of the Grand Historian. Gongshu Zuo was prime minister of the kingdom of Wei (fourth century B.C.E.). Shang Yang, or Lord Shang (d. 338 B.C.E.), one of the fathers of the Legalist school of Chinese thought, left Wei and eventually reorganized the state of Qin, paving the way for the unification of the Chinese empire about a century later by the first Qin emperor (259–210 B.C.E.).
* * *
“living on bean gruel and water”: a hyperbolic expression of filial devotion that derives from a line attributed to Confucius in the Book of Rites: “To sip bean gruel and drink water, and to do so joyfully—this is what I call filial devotion.”
“poor saké”: an expression of humility.
“grass hut”: signifies a humble dwelling and is not to be taken literally.
“more than one hundred ri”: signifies a great distance.
“dwelt here uselessly”: that is, he has not been a good Confucian, in either his public or his private life, except insofar as he loves learning.
BOOK TWO
THE REED-CHOKED HOUSE
TITLE
The title, “Asaji ga yado,” denotes a neglected house overgrown with chigaya reeds. The wording recalls a waka in the “Kiritsubo” (The Paulownia Court) chapter of The Tale of Genji:
Even here above the clouds [at court] the autumn moon is blurred with tears.
How then could it be clear, and how can you dwell, in a house overgrown with reeds [asaji fu no yado]?1
The phrase asaji ga yado appears in chapter 137 of Yoshida Kenkō’s Tsurezuregusa (Essays in Idleness, early fourteenth century), which is more closely related to Akinari’s story:
Does the love between men and women refer only to the moments when they are in each other’s arms? The man who grieves over a love affair broken off before it was fulfilled, who bewails empty vows, who spends long autumn nights alone, who lets his thoughts wander to distant skies, who yearns for the past in a dilapidated house [asaji ga yado]—such a man truly knows what love means.2
CHARACTERS
Like “Shiramine” and “The Chrysanthemum Vow,” “The Reed-Choked House” has only two important characters, the fictional Katsushirō and Miyagi, supported by minor figures. Unlike the previous stories, however, this tale focuses on the lives of peasants, who were second on the Tokugawa social scale, below the samurai class but above artisans and merchants. Katsushirō and Miyagi are remarkably literary peasants, given to quoting and alluding to court poetry. This has the effect of elevating them to a status closer to that of the characters in the previous two stories.
PLACES
“The Reed-Choked House” is centered on the village of Mama, now part of the city of Ichikawa, just east of Tokyo, in Chiba Prefecture (formerly, Shimōsa Province). Mama is implicitly contrasted with the sophistication of Kyoto (the capital) and Ōmi Province (Shiga Prefecture).
TIME
Spring of 1455 to summer of 1461.
BACKGROUND
The historical events mentioned in “The Reed-Choked House” provide a factual background for the strange story, but the details have no direct bearing on the lives of Katsushirō and Miyagi.3
AFFINITIES
“The Reed-Choked House” draws from a number of Chinese and Japanese sources, the most important being the story “In Which a Wife, After Her Death, Meets Her Former Husband” (27:24), in the late-Heian setsuwa collection Konjaku monogatari shū (Tales of Times Now Past, ca. 1120); Qu You’s “Aiqing zhuan” (The Story of Aiqing), in Jiandeng xinhua (New Tales After Trimming the Lamp, 1378); Asai Ryōi’s adaptation of “Aiqing zhuan”: “Fujii Seiroku yūjo Miyagino o metoru koto” (In Which Fujii Seiroku Marries the Courtesan Miyagino), in Otogibōko (Talisman Dolls, 1666); and the “Yomogiu” (The Wormwood Patch) chapter of The Tale of Genji. The story also contains parallels to Zeami’s nō play Kinuta (The Fulling Block) and allusions to a number of other Japanese classics, including Ise monogatari (Tales of Ise, ca. 947) and Genji. Many waka from imperial anthologies and other s
ources are alluded to or quoted.
OTHER OBSERVATIONS
“The Reed-Choked House,” along with “A Serpent’s Lust,” was the basis for Mizoguchi Kenji’s film Ugetsu monogatari (1953).
In the province of Shimōsa, Katsushika District, in the village of Mama, lived a man named Katsushirō. Since his grandfather’s time, his family had lived here in comfort, holding many paddies and fields; but being by nature indifferent to details, Katsushirō came to dislike farming as he grew up, finding it irksome, so that finally the family grew poor. Mortified to see that he had lost favor with many of his relatives, he considered various schemes to revive the family fortunes. In those days, a man named Sōji of Sasabe came down from the capital every year to stock up on dyed silk from Ashikaga.4 Having distant relatives in the village, he often came to visit and had been on familiar terms with Katsushirō for some time. Katsushirō pleaded that he, too, wanted to become a merchant and go up to the capital. Sasabe agreed immediately. “Let me see, when will the next trip be?” he said. Delighted that he could now rely on Sasabe, Katsushirō sold off his remaining paddies, used the gold to buy a large supply of plain silk, and prepared for his journey to the capital.
Tales of Moonlight and Rain Page 9