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

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The Demon at Agi Bridge and Other Japanese Tales (Translations from the Asian Classics) Page 12

by Philip K. Dick


  The stories in the Uji shūi monogatari are not records of oral performances but are written narratives that assume the characteristics of an oral presentation. Accordingly, the setsuwa open with set phrases like “Now, long ago” (Ima wa mukashi) and end with “so it has been told” (to ka, to zo, to nan). “How Someone Had a Wen Removed by Demons” (3) concludes with a didactic message, but it was probably added as part of the convention of storytelling. The story “About the Priest with the Long Nose” (25) was adapted by the novelist Akutagawa Ryūnosuke (1892–1927) into his noted short story “Nose” (Hana). Akutagawa also used “How Yoshihide, a Painter of Buddhist Pictures, Took Pleasure in Seeing His House on Fire” (38), which also appears in A Miscellany of Ten Maxims (Jikkinshō, 1252 [1:6]), for his famous short story “Hell Screen” (Jigokuhen).

  The setsuwa “How a Sparrow Repaid Its Debt of Gratitude” (48) belongs to the long tradition of ongaeshi (repaying-gratitude tales) involving animals. “How a Man Received a Bounty After a Period of Prayer at the Hase Temple” (96) is about the miraculous powers of Kannon (Avalokiteśvara), the bodhisattva of mercy, at Hase Temple (in Nara) and belongs to the category of stories about the miraculous powers of a deity or a temple. A similar story appears in the Konjaku monogatari shū (16:28), in a section on Kannon. The real interest of this tale, however, is in the rise from poverty to wealth through a series of fortuitous exchanges, which begin with something very small (a stalk of straw and a horsefly) and gradually increase in size. Finally, “How a Priest Falsely Stated That He Would Drown Himself” (133) is included here because it criticizes the actions of a Buddhist priest at a time when Buddhist priests and Buddhist tales were held in high esteem.

  How Someone Had a Wen Removed by Demons (3)

  At a time now past, there was an old man who had a large wen on the right side of his face. It was as big as a mandarin orange. This made it difficult for him to associate with others, and so, in order to support himself, he went to the mountains to gather firewood. One day, the wind and rain were so overpowering that he was unable to make his way home. Much against his wishes, he was forced to spend the night in the mountains. With no other woodcutters around, one can hardly imagine how frightening it was.

  He found a tree that had a hollow and crawled into it. But, being unable to get to sleep, he pushed his way farther into the hollow until, far in the distance, he heard the sound of a large number of people noisily moving about. He had supposed that he was all alone in the mountains, and yet there seemed to be signs that others were present as well. Taking courage from this, he looked more carefully and found that he could make out demon-like creatures of all different shapes and figurations—red ones dressed in green, black ones wearing red loincloths, some with only one big eye, some with no mouth, some so strange they defied description—a hundred of them, all crowded around together. They had a fire going, like a sun in the sky, and were seated in a circle around it in front of the tree with the hollow in it. The old man was utterly astonished.

  The demon who seemed to be their leader was seated at the head of the company, with the other demons ranged to the left and right, their number too great to be reckoned, their features so varied that one could never finish describing them. Wine was being passed around, and they were amusing themselves exactly as human beings do. From time to time, they exchanged wine cups, and the chief demon appeared to be drunker than the others.

  From the lower end of the circle a young demon stood up alone, placed a tray on top of his head, and, chanting some kind of rigmarole over and over, advanced ceremoniously to where the chief demon was seated; there he continued his chanting. The chief demon, holding his wine cup in his left hand, fell over in a fit of laughter just the way humans do.

  The demons peel the wen from the cheek of the old man. (From Konjaku monogatari emaki, Edo period, with the permission of Kokuritsu kokkai toshokan)

  When the young demon had finished his dance, others from the lower end of the circle one by one came forward to dance, some completely hopeless at it, others quite good. The chief demon, observing all this with surprise and delight, said, “This evening’s entertainment has been even finer than usual. But I wish I could see someone perform a truly unusual dance for us!”

  The old man, hearing him go on in this way, perhaps possessed by some outside force or moved to do so by the gods and buddhas, thought to himself, “Well, then, why don’t I get up and dance?” He pondered this for a bit, but somehow, as he listened to the encouraging hand claps of the demons, he made up his mind: “Whatever comes, I’ll just get up and dance. If it means death, then there’s an end to it!” This thought in mind, the old man emerged from the hollow of the tree, his hat hanging down over his nose, the hatchet he used to cut firewood fastened at this waist, and danced his way forward to the place where the chief demon was seated.

  “What’s this?” cried the demons, leaping to their feet in astonishment and milling about. The old man flung up his arms, hunched his body over, and danced with all his might, posturing in every possible fashion and emitting whoops of exhilaration as he pranced and paced his way around the circle. The chief demon, along with the others in the demon company, all stared in amazement.

  Then the chief demon spoke up: “Many years now we’ve been enjoying this sport, but never have we seen anyone like you! From now on, old man, you must make certain to join our entertainment!”

  “You have only to command, and I will surely do so,” the old man replied. “In my haste, I have at the moment forgotten the concluding figures of my dance. But if what I have done so far pleases you, next time I will perform in a more leisurely manner.”

  “Aptly spoken!” said the chief demon. “That you must surely do.” But the demon in the third seat away said, “This old man has given his promise, but for all we know he may very well not keep it. He should be made to give some pledge of his fidelity!” “Quite right, quite right!” said the chief demon. “What should we ask for as a pledge?”

  While the others were discussing what would be appropriate, the chief demon said, “This old man has a wen on his face—we could take that! A wen is a mark of good fortune, so he would certainly be unwilling to lose it!”1

  “If it’s only an eye or a nose you want, that’s one thing,” said the old man. “But when it comes to this wen, I must beg you to excuse me. It’s been with me for so many years that I would be totally lost without it.”

  “See how loathe he is to part with it!” said the chief demon. “So that’s what we must have.” “Just so!” said the other demons, crowding around. “Off with it!” And they proceeded to wrench and peel it away from his face, though in fact he felt no pain at all. “And be sure to join us when we have our festivities next time!” came their voices.

  Birds were singing in the dawn, and all the demons had vanished. When the old man felt his face, he could find no trace of the wen that had been there for so many years—it was as smooth as though it had been wiped clean. Forgetting all about the firewood he had intended to cut, he returned to his home. When his old wife asked, “Where have you been all this time?” he explained that this, that, and the other had happened to him. “An amazing story!” she said.

  There was an old man living next door who had a big wen on the left side of his face. When he saw that the first old man had somehow gotten rid of his wen, he said, “How did you get rid of your wen? What doctor removed it for you? Please tell me so I can get mine removed too.”

  “It was not removed by any doctor,” said the first old man. He explained that such and such had happened and that the wen had been removed by demons. “Then I’ll get mine removed in the same way!” said the second old man. He asked about the exact circumstances under which the removal had taken place, and the first old man gave him instructions.

  Following these, the second old man entered the hollow in the tree, waited for a while, and, just as he had been told would happen, the demons appeared. They were sitting in a circle, drinking wine and
amusing themselves. “Well, well!” they exclaimed. “It’s the old man!” The old man, thoroughly terrified, trembled as he approached them. “The old man’s come to join us!” the demons said.

  “Come here and be quick with your dancing!” said the chief demon. But this old man, unlike the earlier one, had no talent for dancing, and his movements were awkward in the extreme. “This time your dancing is abominable!” said the chief demon. “It’s dreadful any way you look at it! Give him back the wen we took as a pledge last time!”

  And the demons in the lower part of the circle came forward, declaring, “Very well, we hereby return the wen he gave us as a pledge!” and they proceeded to stick it onto the other side of his face. Thus the old man ended up with wens on both sides of his face. As they say, no good comes from envying others.

  About the Priest with the Long Nose (25)

  Long ago in Ikenoo lived a Buddhist priest named Zenchin Naigu.2 He was skilled at reciting the mantras of Esoteric Buddhism and for many years had been highly esteemed for this ability. Thus the people of the time frequently requested him to offer prayers of various kinds for them. He was therefore very well off, and his Buddhist halls and living quarters were kept in excellent repair. His altars were never lacking in offerings and votive lights, and there were ample meals for his temple personnel and frequent meetings held at the temple to expound the doctrine, so the temple’s living quarters were at all times bustling with clergy in residence. Not a day passed when the water in the temple bathhouse was not heated and there were not crowds of bathers there. Moreover, many small houses had been built in the vicinity of the temple, and the whole village prospered because of it.

  The young acolyte holds up the nose of Zenchin with a flat board while the priest eats. (From an Edo-period wood-block edition of Uji shūi monogatari, with the permission of Komine Kazuaki)

  As it happened, Priest Zenchin’s nose was very long. It measured some five or six inches in length, and seemed to droop down below his chin. It was reddish-purple in color and had bumps on it like the rind of a large mandarin orange. And it was intolerably itchy. He would take a container for heating liquids, fill it with water, and bring the water to a boil. Then he would take a wooden tray with a small hole in it just big enough to fit his nose and, using the tray to protect his face from the steam, insert his nose through the hole and down into the hot water in the container. After he had steeped his nose in the hot water for a considerable time, he would pull it out and it would be a deep purple in color.

  He would then lie down on his side, put a board under his nose, and have someone trample on it. Each of the bumps on his nose would then emit something that looked like steam. If the person trampled hard, white worms would come out of all the holes. Using tweezers to pull them, you could pull a white worm one or two inches in length out of each hole. After that the holes stayed open. If Zenchin put his nose back in the hot water and heated the water to boiling point, the nose would shrink to the size of an ordinary person’s nose. But after two or three days, it would once again get as big as it had been before.

  As a result, most days Zenchin’s nose was large in size. At mealtime, he would have a young disciple monk sit beside him holding a flat board an inch in width and about a foot long. Thrusting the board under the nose, the monk would lift it up out of the way so that Zenchin could finish his meal. If anyone else tried to perform the task, his lack of skill in handling the board made Zenchin so angry that he could not eat his food. Therefore, he always had this disciple monk hold the board when it came time to eat.

  It so happened, however, that this disciple monk was one time taken ill and there was no one to hold up the board so Zenchin could eat his morning bowl of rice gruel. “What am I to do now!” Zenchin fretted. The boy who delivered word of the illness later said, “I could perfectly well hold up the board. I’m sure I could do just as well as the distinguished gentleman who usually does it!” The disciple monk, hearing of this remark, informed Zenchin of what the boy had said. The boy was of a certain standing among the acolytes, and moreover was not unattractive in appearance, and he was accordingly summoned to Zenchin’s quarters. He picked up the board that held up the nose, positioned himself properly in his seat, and held the board just right, not too high and not too low. As Zenchin began to eat the gruel in a slurping fashion, he said, “This boy is really good! He’s even better than the monk who usually waits on me!”

  But while Zenchin was slurping away, the boy felt a tickling in his nostril. Turning to one side, he gave a loud sneeze. As he did so, his hand shook, and Zenchin’s nose slipped off the board and fell with a plop into the bowl of gruel. Both Zenchin’s face and that of the boy were splattered all over with blobs of rice gruel.

  Zenchin was enraged. As he wiped the gruel from his scalp and face with a piece of paper, he said, “You are an utterly evil-hearted wretch! No better than the most ignorant beggar brat! If you were to attend the nose of someone, unlike myself, who was vastly your superior, would you do this kind of thing? You’re nothing but a brainless idiot—get out, get out!”

  Driven from the room, the boy said, “If there are any others who want to come and hold up his honorable nose, they’re welcome to the job. I’ve had enough of this drivel-mouthed bonze!” At these words, all the other disciples, fleeing to a place where they couldn’t be heard, broke down in laughter.3

  How Yoshihide, a Painter of Buddhist Pictures, Took Pleasure in Seeing His House on Fire (38)

  Long ago, there was a painter of Buddhist pictures named Yoshihide. Fire broke out in the house next to his, and as it was being spread by the wind, he fled from his own house and took refuge in the broad avenue in front. He had valuable Buddhist paintings in his house that he had been asked to work on, and his wife and children, lacking proper clothes to appear in public, were still in the house. But he never bothered about them, thinking it quite sufficient to dash out alone and stand on the far side of the avenue.

  And as he stood watching, he saw that the fire had already spread to his own house. Smoke and flames were shooting out of the house, yet he merely stood there staring.

  “How terrible!” people said, gathering around in sympathy, but he was not frantic. “What happened?” they asked, but he simply stood there watching his house burn down. He nodded his head, and now and then laughed. “Ah, what a wonderful lesson I’ve learned!” he said. “All these years I’ve been painting them the wrong way.”

  At this, the people who had gathered around said, “What are you saying? A terrible thing like this—how can you just stand there? Has some spirit taken possession of you?”

  “Why would you think me possessed?” he said. “For years now, I’ve painted the flames that surround the deity Fudō in the wrong way.4 But now I see what real fire is like. I’ve learned the key to it. That’s the wonderful lesson! When one sets out to make a living by my kind of work, if one can just paint the Buddhist deities in a convincing way, then one can have hundreds and thousands of houses. But you guys—you have no talent at all! That’s why you’re so attached to objects!” he said, and stood there laughing scornfully.

  It must have been after this that Yoshihide painted The Flame-Adorned Fudō, which even today has so many admirers.

  How a Sparrow Repaid Its Debt of Gratitude (48)

  Long ago, on a spring day when the sun was shining brightly, an old woman of about sixty sat and picked lice out of her clothing. A sparrow was hopping around in her garden when a child picked up a stone and threw it at the bird. The stone struck the bird and broke its back. It fluttered its wings in helpless confusion, while crows wheeled ominously above. “Ah, poor thing!” said the woman. “The crows will get it!” and she rushed to the rescue. She managed to calm it down and gave it something to eat, putting it in a little pail and leaving it like that overnight. The next day, she fed it some rice and copper shavings as medicine.5 Her children and grandchildren laughed at her scornfully, saying, “Just look at Grandmamma—she’s taken to raisin
g sparrows in her old age!”

  After a few months had passed in this way, the sparrow bit by bit got so it could hop around. And in its heart, it felt unending gratitude for the care that it had received. As for the old woman, whenever she went somewhere, she would always leave word with others, saying, “Look out for the sparrow—see that it has something to eat.” Her children and grandchildren laughed with scorn. “Why worry so much about a sparrow?” they said. She replied, “You’re right, but it’s such a pitiful little thing!”

  As a result of this care, the sparrow in time was able to fly once more. “Now it probably won’t be at the mercy of the crows,” said the old woman, and she took it outdoors and held it up on her hand. “You can fly all right now—just try!” she said. And as she held it up, the bird fluttered its wings and flew away. “All these months,” said the old woman, “when night came I’d always put it in the house, and next morning I’d give it its food. And now look—it’s flown away! Will it come again? I’ll have to wait and see.” Left with so little to do, she kept thinking of it, while the others laughed at her.

  Some twenty days later, a sparrow was making a great deal of noise in the vicinity where the old woman lived. “That’s a very noisy sparrow,” she thought. “I wonder if my sparrow has come?” And when she went out to see, it was indeed her sparrow. “Just look!” she said. “It hasn’t forgotten me—it’s come after all!”

 

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