The Demon at Agi Bridge and Other Japanese Tales (Translations from the Asian Classics)

by Philip K. Dick

  Be that as it may, we know from examples such as this how fearful are the evil impulses in a woman’s heart. Therefore, the Buddha sternly warned us to keep women at a distance. Understand this and avoid them. Such, then, is the story that has been handed down.

  How Kaya no Yoshifuji of Bitchū Province Became the Husband of a Fox and Was Saved by Kannon (16:17)

  Long ago in Bitchū Province, the district of Kaya, the village of Ashimori, there was a man known as Kaya no Yoshifuji. He knew how to profit from money transactions and was very rich. By nature wild and profligate, he was much given to amorous adventures.

  In the fall of the eighth year of Kampei [896], when his wife had gone to the capital and Yoshifuji was staying at home alone—a widower, as it were—he went out one evening for a stroll. All at once, he caught sight of a beautiful young woman. He had never seen her before, but, roused to feelings of passion and desire, he tried to approach her. When she looked as though she was about to slip away, Yoshifuji came closer, took hold of her arm, and said, “Who are you?”

  Although the woman was attractively dressed, she replied, “I’m no one at all.” She spoke in a charming manner. “Come to my house,” said Yoshifuji. “That would not be proper!” she replied, and seemed to be on the point of fleeing. “Then where do you live?” asked Yoshifuji. “I’ll go there with you.” “It’s right close by,” she said, and began to walk. Yoshifuji, holding her arm, went with her.

  In no time, they came to a handsomely built house that one could see was properly furnished inside. “Strange,” thought Yoshifuji, “I don’t remember there being such a place!” Inside the house were men and women of various ranks all bustling around and exclaiming, “The young mistress is back!” “She must be the daughter of the family!” thought Yoshifuji, and very much pleased, he proceeded to spend the night with her.

  The next morning, someone who was evidently the master of the house appeared and said to Yoshifuji, “Some bond of fate must have brought you here. And now you must remain with us.”

  Treated in a highly welcoming manner, Yoshifuji fell completely in love with the woman, vowed to be true to her forever, and, waking or sleeping, remained always by her side. As for his own wife and children, he never gave them a thought.

  In the meantime, as evening came on and Yoshifuji failed to return, the people of his household thought, “As usual—off on one of his secret escapades!” Night came and, to their annoyance, still no sign of him. “What madness! Have people go look for him!” Past midnight, but although they scoured the neighborhood, no trace of his whereabouts. They wondered if he had gone away, but none of his traveling clothes were missing, only an ordinary white robe. While they were racing around, the night came to an end, but nowhere they looked yielded a clue. Had he been a younger man, they might have thought he had a sudden change of heart and become a monk, but that would have been impossibly strange behavior for a person of his kind.

  While all this excitement went on, Yoshifuji was passing the months and years in his new location. His wife became pregnant, and when the months had gone by, she gave easy birth to a son. Thus he grew more devoted than ever to her. So the months and years passed, all was contentment; all, it seemed, was as he wished it to be.

  After Yoshifuji’s disappearance, the people of his household continued their search for him but met with no success. Yoshifuji’s elder brother, the district chief Toyonaka; his younger brothers, the village administrator Toyokage and Toyotsune, the assistant priest of the Kibitsuhigo shrine and temple; and Yoshifuji’s son, Tadasada, were persons of wealth. All, distressed and saddened by his disappearance, thought, “We must search for his remains!” Joining together in religious vows, they decided to fashion an image of the eleven-faced Kannon.18 Carving a piece of yew wood, they created an image that was the same height as Yoshifuji had been and then, bowing in obeisance before it, voiced this prayer: “Show us where his remains are.” And from the day when Yoshifuji first disappeared, they had begun to recite the nembutsu19 and chant sutras, hoping to aid him in his next existence.

  Meanwhile, at the house where Yoshifuji was staying, a layman carrying a stick suddenly thrust his way in. When the head of the household and the other inhabitants saw him, they all fled in abject terror. The layman, poking Yoshifuji in the back with his stick, forced him to leave the house by way of a narrow passage.

  It was the evening of the thirteenth day since Yoshifuji’s disappearance. His people, missing him and grieving, said to one another, “What a peculiar way to disappear! And it was just about this time of evening!” At that moment, a strange black creature looking something like a monkey, its rear end in the air, crawled out from under the storehouse in front of them. “What’s this!” they exclaimed, demanding an explanation. “It’s me!” said a voice, and it was Yoshifuji’s. Peculiar as it was, his son, Tadasada, recognized it as without doubt his father’s voice. “What are you doing here?” said Tadasada, falling to the ground and pulling up the creature.

  “Those times in the past when I was alone—a widower, as it were,” said Yoshifuji, “I always used to long for a woman. Then suddenly I found I had to get married to a certain gentleman’s daughter. And in the years since then, I’ve sired a son. He’s a beautiful boy—day and night I fondle him, never letting him out of my arms. I call him Tarō, my firstborn, and you, Tadasada, I regard as my second son. That’s because his mother is so dear to me.” Hearing this, Tadasada said, “And where is this precious son of yours?” “He’s here,” said Yoshifuji, and he pointed in the direction of the storehouse.

  When Tadasada and the other members of the family heard this, they were dumbfounded. Looking at Yoshifuji, they saw that he had grown thin, as though suffering from an illness. Examining his clothes, they saw that they were the ones he had been wearing when he disappeared. And when they sent someone to examine the area under the storehouse, they found it teeming with foxes, all of which ran away. This was the place where Yoshifuji had been in hiding. Then it dawned on them: “Yoshifuji has been duped by one of these creatures and has become its husband. He’s not in his right mind—that’s why he talks like this.”

  Immediately, they summoned a high-ranking monk to conduct prayers, and called in an On’yōji master20 to exorcise the evil. Yoshifuji was again and again bathed, and his hair washed, but he still did not look like his former self. Little by little, however, he returned to his right mind and felt great amazement and shame at what had happened.

  Yoshifuji had remained under the storehouse for a period of thirteen days, and yet to him it seemed like thirteen years. When they took up the crossbeams under the storehouse, they found that there was no more than four or five inches of space under them. Yet Yoshifuji had viewed it as broad and lofty, and had gone in and out as though in a grand mansion. All this had been due to the uncanny powers exercised by the foxes. And as for the layman who came poking in with a stick—that was a manifestation of Kannon that had been fashioned for Yoshifuji’s welfare.

  Therefore, we know that people of our age should concentrate on devotions centering on Kannon. Yoshifuji suffered from no further illnesses and died at the age of sixty-one.

  This incident was told to the Imperial Adviser Miyoshi no Kiyoyuki when he was governor of Bitchū.21 Such, then, is the story that has been handed down.

  How Ōe no Sadamoto, Governor of Mikawa, Became a Buddhist Monk (19:2)

  Long ago, in the reign of Emperor En’yū [970–984], there was a man named Ōe no Sadamoto who was governor of Mikawa Province. He was the son of the Confucian scholar Ōe no Narimitsu, an Imperial Adviser, a Major Controller of the Left, and a Commissioner in the Ministry of Ceremony. He had a nature marked by pity and compassion and was a person of superior talent. After serving in the Chamberlain’s Office, he was promoted to the post of governor of Mikawa.

  In addition to the wife with whom he had lived from past times, Sadamoto was much taken with an attractive young woman of upright character. He found it all but impossibl
e to dismiss her from his thoughts. His wife reacted with intense jealousy, and as a result the couple, forgetful of their matrimonial vows, abruptly parted. Sadamoto then made the young woman his wife, and she accompanied him when he went to his new post as governor of Mikawa.

  After they reached Mikawa, the woman came down with a grave illness that caused her prolonged suffering. Sadamoto, grieved and distressed, did everything in his power to help, offering prayers for her recovery, but the illness showed no sign of mending. As the days went by, the woman’s beautiful looks faded away. Observing this, Sadamoto’s grief passed all description, but the woman’s condition continued to worsen until she died.

  Thereafter, plunged into bottomless despair, Sadamoto for a long time could not bear to carry out the funeral. He continued to cling to the corpse, but as the days passed and he kissed the woman’s lips, a strange, foul-smelling odor emerged from them. Repelled in heart by this, he agreed to a funeral, weeping all the while. After that, Sadamoto came to look on the world as a hateful place, and his thoughts all at once began to turn to religion.

  In the province to which he had been assigned, the local people carried out what was known as the Wind Festival.22 At that time, Sadamoto observed how the people caught a wild boar and, while it was still alive, cut it up as an offering. “I must get out of this province at once!” he thought, and he became more determined than ever to enter religious life.

  In addition to the boar, the people caught a pheasant and brought that also as a live offering. The governor said, “Well, now, are we going to eat the pheasant alive too? We might try to see how delicious it is that way.” Hearing this, some of his underlings, not stopping to consider but hoping to ingratiate themselves with the governor, said, “That would be splendid! The flavor would be even better that way,” and they urged him to proceed.

  Those in the group who had some feeling about such matters thought to themselves, “What a barbarous way to do things!” But the others brought the pheasant and began to pluck its feathers while it was still alive. For a time, the bird fluttered its wings in alarm, but they pinned it down and went on plucking. Tears of blood began to flow from the bird’s eyes as it batted its eyelids and looked from one in the group to another, so that some of them, unable to bear the sight, stopped what they were doing. Others, however, exclaimed, “Look—the bird is crying!” and, laughing and heartless, went on with their plucking.

  When the plucking was done and the carving began, the blood gushed out in torrents under the blade. Again and again, they had to wipe the blade, until the bird, emitting an unbearably piteous cry, finally died. This done, they began to roast it over a fire. “You’d be surprised!” they said. “It tastes much better than roasting a bird that’s already been dead!”

  Sadamoto, watching all this intently and listening to what was said, burst out crying, huge tears rolling from his eyes, appalled that anyone could talk about how good something tastes at such a time. That very day, he left the provincial office and journeyed to the capital, resolved once and for all to enter religious life. Cutting off his topknot, he became a priest, taking the religious name Jakushō. The people of the time referred to him as the lay monk of Mikawa.23 He had observed these strange events of the Wind Festival in order to affirm beyond all doubt his determination to enter religious life.

  Thereafter, Jakushō went from place to place in the capital, spreading the doctrine and soliciting contributions. Arriving at a certain house, he was invited to come in, shown to a seating mat, served a splendid meal, and urged to eat. The curtain to the inner apartments was then raised, and a woman dressed in fine clothes appeared. When Jakushō looked closely, he saw that it was none other than the wife from whom he had separated long ago.

  “This beggar!” she said, as they stared at each other. “I always thought I’d see the day when you were begging for your food!” But Jakushō showed not the slightest sign of embarrassment. “You honor me greatly!” he said, and proceeded to eat the fine food that had been served him and then take his leave. His attitude was one of sincere gratitude. Because of his adherence to religious principles, though he was treated as some sort of pariah, he did not allow this to disturb him. This was most admirable.

  Later, Jakushō decided that he wanted to journey to China to pay his respects at the outstanding holy places associated with the Buddhist faith. At the time he made this decision, he had a son, a monk named——,24 living on Mount Hiei.25 In order to take his leave before setting off for China, Jakushō climbed Mount Hiei, visited the Konponchūdō, and paid his respects at the Hie Shrine. On his way back, he stopped at the lodge where his son, the monk——, was living and knocked at the door. The door opened, and——appeared on the veranda. It was the middle of the Seventh Month,26 and the moon was shining brightly.

  Jakushō, addressing his son on the veranda, said, “I am determined to pay my respects to the holy sites of Buddhism, worthy as they are of veneration, and so I am setting out for China. It may be difficult for me to return from such a journey, and so tonight will perhaps be our last meeting. You must without fail remain on this mountain, continue your religious practice, and never be remiss in your studies.” Jakushō shed tears as he spoke these words, and——too wept endlessly.

  When Jakushō started on his return to the capital,——went as far as Great Peak to see him off. The moon was exceedingly bright, and dew bathed the surroundings in a white sheen. Autumn insects with their varied voices lent an air of sadness. Everything contrived to fill one with melancholy and wake sorrow in the heart. The son was about to accompany Jakushō down the mountain, but Jakushō said, “You must hurry back now!” With this, the son, weeping all the while, turned back, his figure fading from sight in the mist.

  In time, Jakushō, having journeyed to China, paid his respects at the various holy places as he had planned. The emperor of the country received him in audience, treated him with the utmost respect, and gave ear to his teachings.

  At that time, the emperor called together all the most outstanding religious figures of the realm, decorated a hall to receive them, had food suitable for monks prepared, and cordially invited them to help themselves. The emperor announced, “At today’s religious feast, we won’t be having any attendants to serve the food. So may I ask each of you to take the bowl that is placed in front of you, cause it to fly through the air, and in this way receive your portion of the food.” His object in doing this was to put Jakushō to a test.

  Following the emperor’s instructions, each of the monks, beginning with the one seated in the place of honor, caused his bowl to fly through the air and in this way received his helping of the food. Jakushō, since he had entered the monastic order at a more recent date than the others, had been assigned to the lowest seat. When his turn came, he picked up his bowl and rose from his seat. But others in the group said, “Why are you doing that? Make your bowl fly through the air and get your fare that way!”

  At that time, Jakushō, holding up his bowl, said, “To make one’s bowl fly through the air requires a very special technique. One must learn the art before one can do so. But I have never studied that art. It is said that in Japan in ancient times there were a few people who performed this feat, but now in this latter age there is no one who can do so. Hence the art has been lost. How, then, could I possibly make my bowl fly through the air?”

  “The reverend from Japan is too slow, too slow with his bowl!” said the others accusingly. Jakushō, greatly troubled in mind, exerted all his mental energy, saying to himself, “You Three Treasures of Japanese Buddhism, help me! If I cannot make my bowl fly through the air, it will mean extreme disgrace for the country of Japan!” With that, the bowl in front of Jakushō suddenly began to spin around and around like a top, sailing through the air even faster than the bowls of the other monks, and returned to him filled with his portion.

  At that time, everyone, from the emperor down to the high ministers and the hundred officials, applauded Jakushō and paid him unlimit
ed respect. And thereafter, the emperor was more heedful than ever of his doctrines.

  Jakushō also made a pilgrimage to Mount Wutai.27 There he performed various acts designed to bring religious benefit, such as having water heated to provide a bath for the community of monks. When the monks had gathered at that time to enjoy a communal meal, a very dirty-looking woman, carrying a child and accompanied by a dog, appeared in front of Jakushō. Because the woman was covered with unspeakably ugly sores, the others in the group, seeing her, were repulsed and tried to drive her away. But Jakushō, restraining them, gave the woman her helping of the food and prepared to send her off.

  The woman said, “My body is covered with sores that are almost too much to endure. I’ve come so I can bathe in the water. Please let me receive a little benefit from the hot water!” The others, hearing this, drove her back, so she was forced to withdraw to a distance. Nevertheless, she managed to steal into the bathhouse, where, holding the child and accompanied by the dog, she splashed about in the hot water.

  When the others heard what she was doing, they cried, “Drive her out!” But when they looked in the bathhouse, she had disappeared as though by magic. They were startled and mystified by this, but when they emerged from the bathhouse and looked around, they saw a purple cloud gleaming and rising beyond the eaves. “It must have been Mañjuśri, who changed into the shape of a woman and appeared here!” they exclaimed. Weeping tears of regret, they bowed to the ground in obeisance, but by that time it was too late.

  These last events took place when Jakushō was accompanied by his disciple, the monk Nengu. When Nengu returned to Japan, he relayed an account of them.28 He told how Jakushō had won over the emperor of China to his teachings, and how the latter had bestowed on him the title Great Teacher and the religious name Entsū.29