How to Fool a Cat
Page 4
Then a shoji screen slid open quietly.
His daughter was sending their family cat into the room.
The cat walked up to the father, rubbed against his knees, and said, “Nya-u!”
The father had seen his daughter send the cat into the room. He realized she really did want to marry this poor man.
He said, “This cat is also a member of my family. I told you that I would give my permission if any of my family said ‘Nyau.’ Very well, I will give my permission.”
So that poor man and that rich girl got married.
Oshimai.
COMMENT FROM FUJITA-SAN: This story took place in the old days, when fathers had the right to decide whom their daughters would marry. But the father in this story was kind enough to respect the daughter’s wish, which he could tell from seeing her send the cat.
TIP FROM FRAN: Listeners enjoy helping each family member say “Nyau wa nai.” If they have heard A NAME FOR THE CAT, they will know what’s coming when the girl sends her cat into the room!
Number Petition
INSIGHT: Long ago, rice was the currency in which farmers had to pay land tax to the government. In years when the rice harvest was poor, the farmers might have no rice left to eat after they had paid their land tax. They had to live on wheat noodles and barley dumplings. In those days, very few people besides priests and upper classes could read and write.
Once upon a time, in a village, the farmers gathered together to discuss a problem. “We won’t be able to survive unless the government cuts the land tax. We must write a petition and take it to the governor, asking for his mercy so that they won’t take so much rice from us.”
“Yes, let’s do it. Let’s do it.”
“But wait. Which one of us knows how to write? Yes! Let’s go to our Shoya (village head man) and ask him to write for us.”
“That’s a great idea.”
Everybody agreed. They all went to their Shoya. The problem was that Shoya could write only numbers. But he didn’t want to admit it in front of everybody.
“All right. I will write a petition for you. Then, we’ll bring it to the governor.”
He spread out a piece of paper, ground an ink-cake, filled a brush with the ink, and started to write something.
All the farmers were impressed.
“Like the great Shoya that he is, he writes things. Well, we should bring this petition to the governor.”
They rolled the paper into a scroll, and all together they went to the governor.
“Governor, please read this.” They handed him their petition. The governor unrolled it and opened it. All he saw were numbers:
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
“Ummm . . .” The governor groaned. He couldn’t say any more.
Shoya came to the front and said, “Please excuse me. I will read what I wrote.
One by one, we have to explain.
Too bitter it is.
Three years of crop failure.
Far more than we can endure.
Five kinds of grains produced no crop.
Sickness came to our village.
Seven hungry children
Ate nothing for
Nine days.
Ten villages—all of us are in trouble.
Please have mercy and reduce our land tax.
The governor angrily said, “What kind of government do you think this is? Here is our reply.” He wrote, and handed down a piece of paper which read:
Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.
Shoya didn’t know how to read this letter.
“I will read it for you,” the governor said.
Ten villages,
Nine days,
Ate nothing, you said about the
Seven children?
Sick of it, I am.
Five deaths you deserve
For a petition like this, but
Three great generations of governors have had
Too much faith in you.
Once and once only, I will forgive you the
land tax.
Now get out of here,
The governor said.
Oshimai
TIP FROM FRAN: It is fun to tell this story with two prepared scrolls showing the numbers. Or if a whiteboard is handy, you can write the numbers as you tell the story. Western numerals will do, but older children are often fascinated by the traditional Japanese numerals.
88th Birthday Souvenir
INSIGHT: You’ll find out what suehiro are!
Once upon a time, there was a very rich family. When their grandfather turned eighty-eight, they planned a big celebration. His son, the master of the house, thought, “We will give away suehiro as party favors.”
He called one of his farm workers and said, “Hey! Come here. I want to give suehiro as a souvenir at Jisama’s eighty-eighth birthday celebration. Go to town and get fifty suehiro. Buy ones with firm bamboo ribs. Also check if they are well papered, and they must open and close smoothly. Be careful that they have nice pictures on them, too.”
“Yes, sir,” the young man replied and ran to town. But as he ran, he wondered, “Suehiro? What is suehiro?” It sounded like an old-fashioned name for something. But what?
He knew it had to have bamboo ribs and paper. And you can open and close it. Something that opens and closes smoothly. Something that has a design painted on it.
“What is it? What can it be? Oh, it must be a paper lantern!”
So he went to a lantern store.
“Hello, I want to buy some paper lanterns. Yes! A paper lantern has bamboo ribs and paper! And it opens and closes. Yes, this one is quite smooth. Oh, it has a nice design, too. This one is quite good. I will buy fifty of them.”
He got fifty lanterns and went back. “Master, master, I bought these.”
He showed them to his master.
But the master said, “You fool! Why did you buy these chyo chin (lanterns)? I said suehiro. Suehiro! Take these back and get suehiro.”
So the worker ran to town again and returned the lanterns.
“Well, if it is not a lantern, what can suehiro be? It has bamboo ribs. It is papered. And it has a design. You can open it and close it, open it and close it. Oh,” he thought, “it’s an oiled paper umbrella!”
An umbrella has bamboo ribs covered with paper, and opens and closes. So he went to an umbrella store and bought fifty umbrellas that opened and closed smoothly and had a beautiful design.
He went back to his master and said, “Here you are, sir.” He showed the umbrellas.
“You fool! These are kasa, umbrellas. I told you to buy suehiro.”
So the worker had to go back to town again.
“What can it be?” he wondered.
It has bamboo ribs, is papered, and has a design. It opens and closes, opens and closes. “What can it be?” It opens and closes. It opens and closes. “What is suehiro? What is suehiro?”
Muttering to himself, he walked into town. A passer-by asked him, “What are you thinking about so hard?”
“I don’t know what suehiro is. I’m trying to think what it is,” replied the man.
The village man told him, “Oh, suehiro! You can buy suehiro here.” He took the man to a store that sold folding paper fans.
“Does this open smoothly? Oh, this has a beautiful design! And its bamboo ribs are quite firm and strong.”
He checked them well. He bought fifty suehiro and went back.
His master was very pleased.
Oshimai
COMMENT FROM FUJITA-SAN: In modern Japanese, a folding paper fan is sensu. But the old-fashioned name was suehiro (su-e = end/edge, hiro = wide). Its spreading shape, promising prosperity and happiness, suggested it as a souvenir for special occasions. Until recent times, fans were given as souvenirs by traditional artists of tea ceremony, dance, Kabuki, and Noh. Banks and big stores even gave them—printed with advertising—to customers in summertime.
; Furthermore, when you hold a fan upside down, its frame has the inverted-V shape of the number eight in traditional Japanese script. For these reasons, suehiro were a traditional party favor for celebrating an 80th or 88th birthday.
TIP FROM FUJITA-SAN: When I tell this story, I bring a drawstring bag packed with a little lantern, a miniature oiled-paper umbrella, and a fan, and take them out one by one. Many modern Japanese children do not know the word suehiro. I sometimes ask them to guess what it is from the clues: “It has bamboo, paper, and a design. You can open and close it.”
Some answer, “Shoji! (Paper screen).” These days, some shoji have a design printed on their paper, so they meet all the requirements. But I explain that shoji is too large for a souvenir.
These days, shoji is more familiar to children than a lantern or an oiled-paper umbrella.
A Rich Man’s Camellias
Once upon a time, there was a rich man. He didn’t inherit his money. He made his fortune all by himself. So he had to wake up early every morning and work hard with his men. At night, he never went to bed without locking up by himself.
He saved all his money in a jar and put the jar under a tatami floor mat in his room. Then he laid his futon bed over it and slept. He was such a hard-working, cautious man.
Once, he had to travel to do some business.
He thought, “Where should I hide my money while I am gone? A thief might come and steal it. Where is a good place to hide it?”
He had never told anyone about his money, even his family. Nobody knew where he hid it every night. Now that he had to leave it at home, he had to think hard where to hide it.
He thought and thought. “A thief usually comes into a house. It might be safer if I hide the money outside.”
The night before he started on the trip, he got up alone after his family and his men were asleep. He was going to bury the money jar. Then he thought, “Well, no. It might be even safer if I bury the money itself without the jar.”
He dug a big hole under a camellia tree in his garden. He threw his gold coins in the hole, covered it with mud, and smoothed the ground with his feet. Then, early next morning, he set off.
His business took longer than he had expected. After three or four months, he finally headed back home. As he came near his village, he heard some children singing.
“Camellia tree of the camellia millionaire,
“Why do your leaves shine?
“That’s because they sucked up gold.”
The man wondered, “Who is the camellia millionaire? True, I have a big camellia tree in my garden. But they can’t be singing about me.”
He walked a little further. A woman taking care of a child was singing the song as a lullaby:
“Camellia tree of the camellia millionaire,
“Why do your leaves shine?
“That’s because they sucked up gold.”
“This is strange.” Wondering about the song, he went home.
He saw his big camellia tree in his garden. Its leaves were shining like gold.
He was so surprised, but because he had buried the money in secret even from his family, he had to wait till night to check on it.
He woke up alone at midnight and dug the ground under the camellia tree.
The gold coins were all gone.
Oshimai
COMMENT FROM FUJITA-SAN: One nice autumn day, my Uncle in the Field told this story to me under the shining leaves of a big camellia bush. After he told the story he played at shopping with me, pretending that fallen camellia leaves were money. In those days, I used to believe that camellia leaves shined because they had sucked up the spirit of Oban and Koban (old-time gold coins).
A Man Who Couldn’t Become Poor
Once upon a time, there was a very rich man. He had no family and lived all alone in his big mansion. He hired a cooking woman, a cleaning woman, and a laundry woman.
He even hired a shutter woman. What did this shutter woman do? Her only job was to open and close the shutters that sealed off his porches and windows at night. But this mansion was so big that it had twenty-five shutters on its east side, fifty shutters on the south, and twenty-five shutters on the west. That means that in total, this mansion had one hundred shutters. And those wooden shutters were not like the metal ones we have today, that easily slide in tracks to open and close. In the old days, people had to lift each heavy shutter into place and lift it off, one by one.
Her job was to take off all the shutters starting early in the morning. She went,
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,
nine, ten . . . fifty . . . sixty . . . seventy . . .
eighty . . . ninety . . . ninety-five, ninety-six,
ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, phew!
I finished taking off all one hundred shutters!
Phew!
She wiped the sweat off her forehead and took a deep breath. The sky was just getting dark.
Oh-oh, it’s already evening. I have to shut the
shutters. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
eight, nine, ten . . . fifty . . . sixty . . . seventy
. . . eighty . . . ninety . . . ninety-five, ninety-six,
ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine.
She shut one hundred shutters.
Phew! Finally it’s over. Well, and now it’s
morning again. One, two, three . . . .
When she finished taking off all one hundred shutters, it was evening. When she finished setting on all one hundred shutters, it was morning. So, that was her job.
That’s how big the rich man’s house was!
The cooking woman rinsed rice, shaka, shaka, shaka, shaka (sound of rice being rinsed). Then she cooked it on the kitchen range. She also made hot miso soup.
“It’s hot, hot, hot.” Saying so, she poured the miso soup.
“It’s hot, hot, hot.” Saying so, she served the rice. She also prepared a very hot side dish. On a small personal tray she put those hot bowls and dishes. Then, to bring it to her master, she had to walk through the long, long corridors a long, long, long, long way to her master’s room.
“Master, here’s your breakfast.”
By the time she finally reached her master’s room through those long, long corridors, it was already close to noon.
Well, it wasn’t so bad in spring, summer, and autumn.
But in winter, there was a problem. The first thing the master had to do was to break the ice on the top of his miso soup with his chopsticks. Crunch, crunch. Crunch, crunch. He drank icy cold soup.
Then he ate his rice, which was frozen. The frozen rice went, grunch, grunch.
“Oh, I hate being rich. Living this rich life, in this huge house, I will never be able to eat hot rice, or hot miso soup. I wish I were poor. How can I be poor?”
He thought hard.
“Yes! In the storage sheds standing in a row behind this house, I have a lot of treasure chests each containing one thousand Koban (gold coins). All I have to do is throw them away!” So one day, he left one of his treasure chests on a street.
But in his village, he was the only man rich enough to own a treasure chest. When a villager found it on the street, he said, “Oh, a treasure chest! This must belong to that rich man.”
So he brought it to the rich man and said, “Master, you left your treasure chest on the street.”
“Leaving a chest on the street is no good. People find it and bring it back here. Oh! I’ve got an idea. I have so much land. I’ll have men dig holes and bury those chests in the ground.”
He hired many men—fifty or one hundred or so. Some dug with big hoes. Some dug with sticks. They all dug hard.
“Master, we got this deep. Is this deep enough?”
“No, not yet. Dig deeper and deeper.”
“Oh, yes? All right.”
They dug and dug again. “Master, we got this deep. Is this deep enough?”
“Well, it’s quite deep. But can you dig a li
ttle deeper?”
“Oh, yes? All right.”
They dug and dug again. “Master, we got this deep. Is this deep enough?”
“Well, I think that is deep enough. But can you dig just a little bit more?”
“Oh, yes? All right then.”
They dug just a little bit more. Then they struck something. “Well, something is here.”
They took off the mud and dug it out.
“Master, we found a treasure chest!”
People digging over there also struck something. “What is this?”
They dug it out and called the master.
“Master, we found a treasure chest!”
People digging here and there all yelled,
“Master, we found a treasure chest!”
“Master, we found a treasure chest!.”
So he could never become poor. What a poor man.
Oshimai
TIP FROM FUJITA-SAN: “The house was much, much bigger than this school. Its yard was much, much bigger than this playground.” I start the story like that to elementary school children, and they get excited and listen to me eagerly. Their faces show that they are thinking, “This is too silly. Just give it a good laugh.” I love silly stories like this myself so I often tell this story.
These days, some children listen to me with glum faces. Some have no expression on their faces. But sometimes, those children burst out laughing, their tension loosened. That makes me happy.
FOOLISH SON
Baka Musuko (foolish son) does exactly what he is told to do. We can say that he is very obedient. The trouble is that he doesn’t change when the situation changes. That’s what makes him funny. Laughing at the foolish son, we learn we have to think for ourselves and act according to time and circumstances.