Japanese Tales

by Royall Tyler

  “ ‘I’m not going the Capital,’ I shouted back. ‘I’m here to rendezvous with another ship and then I’m heading for Suō myself. You’d better find a vessel bound your way!’ He said all right, but he wouldn’t find one till tomorrow, and meanwhile he’d just stick with me. He anchored right by us in the lee of an island.

  “The opportunity was golden and my men were determined to get their hands on that cargo. You can imagine their amazement and horror when we boarded. We were tossing everyone over the side, men and women alike, when the master of the ship began pleading with me, shedding great big tears. ‘Take everything I have,’ he begged, ‘but please, please spare my life! My old mother in the Capital is dying and she’s sent me word she wants so much to see me again! That’s why I’m on my way as fast as I can go!’ He was looking me straight in the eye as he spoke, and wringing his hands. But I told my men they weren’t to take any sob stories. ‘Over he goes with the rest!’ I ordered. He still kept his eyes on mine, though, while big tears rolled down his cheeks, and I felt sorry for him. Yes, I knew it was cruel, but I had my ways, and I couldn’t see why I should do him any favors. Overboard he went.

  “Over the side too went that little monk from the cabin roof, frantically clutching the Sutra he had in a bag slung round his neck. But he stayed afloat, lifting the sutra bag high out of the water. In fact he was floating higher and higher, and it seemed he would never sink. He should have drowned by now. We started bashing him over the head and jabbing him in the back with the steering oar, but he still floated as high as ever, holding the Sutra in the air. I couldn’t understand it. Then I saw several beautiful children in the water with him, fore and aft, each carrying a slender white staff. One was holding his head up while another supported the hand that carried the Sutra.

  “My men insisted they saw no children, but I could see them. They were keeping him afloat. I was beginning to feel like saving him, now, so I gave him the end of a pole and hauled him back to the ship. My men grumbled a bit, but I got him aboard. The children weren’t there any more.

  “When I questioned him, he said he was on his way to the Capital because at home he’d never been able to get properly ordained. The master of the ship had offered to take him along and had promised to have him ordained by a monk friend of his. I asked him who those children had been, the ones who had held him up, but he said he had no idea what I was talking about.

  “ ‘Well,’ I told him, ‘one was supporting the hand you were holding the Sutra with. Anyway, why were you so busy holding the Sutra up when you knew you’d soon drown?’ ‘I knew I was going to drown,’ he answered, ‘but that didn’t really matter. I just wanted to keep the Sutra dry as long as I could. It’s true my arm didn’t get tired, in fact it felt very light and seemed to get longer and longer. Even then I realized it was somehow the Sutra’s power that was doing it. Thank you for saving my life.’ And he wept.

  “I was deeply impressed. I asked him whether he would turn back now or whether he would go on to the Capital and get his ordination, and I promised to take him if he was going on. He said no, he didn’t feel like getting ordained any more, he just wanted to go home. So I offered to take him that way, too. But I had to ask again who were those beautiful children I’d seen, and I was so overcome that I was crying myself. ‘I’ve chanted the Lotus Sutra constantly ever since I was six,’ he answered, ‘even when I was badly frightened, so I suppose the gods who protect the Sutra must have been with me.’

  “That was when my eyes were opened to the Buddha’s noble truth. Right there I dropped my quiver, my dagger, and my sword and resolved to go with that monk and lead a holy life. I got a little food together for us to take, but the rest of the spoils I left to my men. They thought I’d gone mad, of course. They were convinced some demon had gotten into me and they did their best to make me forget the whole thing, but I paid no attention. Off I went with the monk to the mountain temple where his teacher lived, and there, inspired by the memory of my crimes and of those divine children, I became a monk myself. Ever since then I’ve chanted the Sutra too.”

  151.

  A LITTLE LESSON

  Two holy men once lived at a mountain temple. One, Jihō, was devoted to the Lotus Sutra and the other, Jikon, to the Sutra of Diamond Wisdom. Their huts stood a few hundred yards apart.

  Jikon had visibly put the power of his sutra into action, because his meals came to him all by themselves and he never had to give them a thought. Jihō, on the other hand, got all his provisions from the faithful who visited him and was far from well off. Puffed up with pride at his success, Jikon assumed that thanks to the sutra he served, and thanks to the superiority of his own practice, the angels and protector gods were watching over him day and night; whereas that Lotus fellow was wasting his time on a sutra of lesser stature and had in any case less merit, so that the protectors could not be bothered with him.

  Jikon was entertaining these ugly thoughts when Jihō’s acolyte happened by. Jikon took the opportunity to advertise his own power and virtue. “And what are your master’s powers?” he inquired.

  “He doesn’t have any,” the boy answered. “He just manages with what people bring him.”

  Jihō’s only comment was, “He’s quite right of course, quite right.”

  There came a day when Jikon got no food. He got none the next day either. By sundown on the third day he was not only hungry and frightened, but also angry with Subhuti, the Buddha’s chief disciple in the sutra he served. That night he dreamed that an old monk, with his right shoulder bare in the Indian fashion, came to him and said, “I’m Subhuti. You may serve the Diamond Wisdom Sutra, but so far you’re no model of what it teaches. That’s why the angels bring you nothing. What makes you think you’ve any right to complain?”

  “But then, who’s been providing my food?” asked Jikon.

  “Your food? Oh, that’s from Jihō. He’s kind enough to take pity on you and he sends you the food which the protector gods of the Lotus bring him. But you’re so stupid you’ve gotten all puffed up about it and you’ve slandered Jihō instead. You’d better go to him right away and confess your fault.”

  When Jikon woke up, he bitterly regretted his behavior. He went straight to Jihō’s hut, prostrated himself, and begged his pardon. “But why,” he asked, “have you sent me no food just these last few days?”

  Jihō smiled. “I’m afraid I simply forgot to ask the protectors to bring you any,” he answered. And his acolyte set the dinner he had just made before Jikon.

  Once Jikon was home again, the meals came as before. Jikon gave up his pride and became Jihō’s follower. In time the two passed away together and were welcomed by all the saints into paradise.

  152.

  HEROIC PATIENCE, ALMOST

  One evening some monks on Mount Hiei decided it would be fun to make rice dumplings. A young acolyte pricked up his ears at their talk, but thought he had better not look as though he were waiting up for the dumplings. Instead, he went off into a corner and pretended to go to sleep. Eventually a flurry of activity announced that the dumplings were ready.

  The boy felt pretty sure they would wake him now, and at last, thank goodness, a monk did call him. If he answered right away, though, they would know he had been lying awake all the time. Bravely, he steeled himself to be patient till they called him again.

  “Now, now, don’t bother him!” chided another voice. “He’s just a child and he’s fast asleep!”

  What a letdown! There was no second call. All he heard was chewing and the smacking of lips. Finally he could stand it no longer. Ages after the one call he piped up, “Yes? What is it?”

  The monks roared with laughter.

  153.

  THE POT-HEADED DEMON

  The boy acolytes at the great Buddhist temples are popular with the monks, who are sometimes sorry to see them ordained and their beauty tarnished by plain, dull robes.

  At a sort of farewell party before an acolyte’s ordination, one of the mo
nks became very drunk. In his befuddled gaiety he reached for a three-legged cauldron that happened to be handy, then stuck his head into it so that he could dance as a three-horned, pot-headed demon. His nose was a bit in the way but he squashed it down, got his head in, and performed to the company’s uproarious applause.

  When his dance was over, he tried to get the cauldron off. The festive mood was dampened when he discovered he could not, and the monks began wondering what to do. They tried coaxing and tugging the cauldron, but blood just ran down the fellow’s neck, which swelled till he could hardly breathe. The could not break the cauldron, either, and the awful clanging inside it when they tried was more than the fellow could bear.

  Finally they gave up, threw a cloth over the cauldron’s projecting legs, gave the monk a staff to lean on, and led him by the hand to a physician in town. All the way there the people stared and stared.

  He looked very peculiar sitting there in front of the physician. When he tried to talk, his voice was so muffled that no one could make out what he was saying.

  “My books have nothing about a case like this,” the physician declared. “There’s no oral tradition on the subject either.”

  So they took him back to the temple, where his relatives and his aged mother gathered with tears and groans at his bedside. It was impossible to tell whether he even heard them or not.

  Finally someone pointed out that the monk’s life at least could be saved, though he might lose his ears and nose in the process. The idea was simply to pull as hard as possible. They carefully lined the cauldron with straw, to keep the metal away from his face, and pulled till they practically tore his head off. Off came the cauldron with the nose and ears, leaving only blank holes.

  154.

  RIOTOUS LIVING

  Zōyo, the fifth son of Major Counselor Tsunesuke, was such an impressive monk that people thought him a living buddha. He had done the great pilgrimage through the Ōmine Mountains twice, and in some of his rites he conjured up visions of snakes, dragon-horses, and other bizarre creatures. You could hear actors and musicians carrying on at his house from two hundred yards away, and young guards from the palace or from private households were always wandering in and out and making a great noise. Peddlers would come around selling saddles, swords, and practically anything else, and since Zōyo paid whatever price they asked, the area outside his gate was a veritable market. Every luxury in the world was his to enjoy.

  Zōyo was deeply involved with a young wizard whom he had once seen dance, to loud applause, at a rice-planting festival. Hopelessly in love, he had quickly decided that if he wanted the boy with him all the time he would have to make him into a monk. “I don’t know,” the boy said, “I’d rather stay as I am for a while.” But Zōyo, incapable of letting the matter drop, kept after him till very reluctantly he agreed.

  Now, it was a dreary day and the spring rain was pouring endlessly down. Zōyo asked a servant whether the boy’s old clothes were still around somewhere.

  “Yes, Your Grace, they’re still in the storeroom,” the servant replied.

  “Then bring them here.”

  The clothes were brought and Zōyo told the boy to put them on.

  “But I’ll look funny in them now!” the boy protested.

  “Put them on!” repeated Zōyo in a tone that discouraged argument.

  The boy went off into a corner and changed. He came out wearing his dancer’s bird headdress, and in fact looked exactly as he had before Zōyo made a monk of him. Zōyo’s face crinkled up at the sight as though he was going to cry; and the boy too, standing before his master, suddenly looked very serious.

  “Do you remember the steps of your Hashirite dance?” Zōyo asked.

  “No, I’m afraid not. But I do remember a little of Katasawara because I rehearsed it so much.”

  The boy began to dance, leaping gracefully about the little room like a bird. Zōyo let out a howl of anguish and burst into tears.

  “Come here,” he commanded. The boy came, and Zōyo fondled him tenderly. “Why, oh why did I ever make a monk of you?” he groaned.

  “I told you!” said the boy. “I told you you ought to wait!”

  Zōyo made him undress and led him into the next room. Goodness knows what happened after that.

  155.

  THE BOY WHO LAID THE GOLDEN STONE

  A monk on Mount Hiei was a fine scholar, but having no patron he was so poor that he finally found it impossible to stay on the mountain. Instead, he moved to a temple named Urin’in in the northern part of Kyoto. He did not even have any parents to turn to for help. All he could do was go each month to Kurama, a mountain sanctuary not far away, to pray for divine aid. He made these pilgrimages faithfully for several years.

  One day in the middle of the ninth moon, he went to Kurama as usual, accompanied by a single, miserable little acolyte. On his way back he reached the outskirts of the Capital just as the sun set, but the moon was so bright that he hurried on. As he came down a little street north of First Avenue, a handsome boy of about sixteen, wearing a casually belted white robe, fell in beside him. The boy looked as though he must be from some temple and the monk found it odd that he had no monk with him.

  “Where are you going, Your Reverence?” asked the boy.

  “Home to Urin’in,” the monk replied.

  “Please take me with you!”

  “Well, I don’t even know you and I’m afraid I really shouldn’t. Where are you going, anyway? To your master’s house? To your parents? I’d be happy to take you home with me, of course, but I hate to think what trouble I could get into for it later on!”

  “I understand how you feel, Your Reverence, but you see, ten days ago my master and I quarreled, and I’ve been wandering in a daze ever since. I don’t have any parents because they died when I was young. So I decided that if I could just find someone to love me, I’d follow him anywhere.”

  “Well then, I’ll be glad to have you. It won’t be my fault, after all, if there are repercussions. But I’ve no one living with me, you know, except this poor child here. I’m afraid it’ll be a very dull life for you.”

  Despite these and similar dutiful protestations which he made as they walked along, the monk found the boy so beautiful that he loved him already, and he was determined now to go ahead. When they reached Urin’in he lit a lamp and looked the boy over more carefully. With his white skin and his prettily rounded face he was really adorable, and extraordinarily distinguished-looking. What amazing good fortune! This was no commoner’s son. But the boy refused to answer any questions about his father.

  The monk prepared the bed with special care, had the boy lie down, and lay down himself next to him. After chatting awhile both fell asleep. In the morning all the neighboring monks came to admire the boy, but the monk was not anxious to display him and did his best to keep him out of sight. His growing passion for the boy surprised him.

  That evening the monk cuddled up to the boy and began fondling him. Then a startled look came over his face. “I’ve never touched any woman’s body but my mother’s since the day I was born,” he said, “so I’m not quite sure what a woman feels like, but you’re very different from the temple boys I’ve been with before! I don’t know what it is, I just seem to melt toward you. Are you a girl? Tell me if you are. I’ve wanted you ever since I first saw you, and I just can’t understand it otherwise.”

  “What if I were a girl?” said the boy, smiling. “Wouldn’t you want me any more?”

  “If you’re a girl and I keep you, people are going to talk a lot and I don’t like the thought of that one bit. And how is the Buddha going to feel? That’s even worse!”

  “I suppose it is pretty bad, as far the Buddha’s concerned, if it’s my being a girl that makes you so fond of me! But anyway, other people won’t see you with anything but a boy. You must always talk to me and behave with me as you would with a boy.” The young person seemed highly amused.

  “So he is a girl!” thought the mon
k, frightened now and wishing he had never gotten himself into this. He could not send her away, she was just too dear, but he avoided sleeping too close to her and made sure there was at least some clothing between them. In the end, though, he could not help being a man, and they became a loving couple in every sense of the word. The monk was so happy that he could hardly believe it, while his neighbors could not imagine how a destitute fellow like him could ever have gotten himself so delicious a young man.

  In time the “boy” began feeling unwell and stopped eating. The monk could not understand it. “I’m pregnant, you see,” she explained.

  The monk’s face fell. “Oh no!” he groaned. “This is awful! For months now I’ve been presenting you to everyone as a boy. What are we going to do when you have a baby?”

  “Just behave as though nothing had happened. Don’t tell anyone anything. And when the time comes, keep quiet.”

  The monk spent the next months in an agony of apprehension. When the moment was finally near, the “boy” looked very sad and cried all the time. The monk cried too.

  “Oh, I hurt down there!” she exclaimed. “I think the baby’s coming!”

  The monk went into a paroxysm of agitated distress.

  “Don’t get flustered,” said the “boy.” “Spread me a mat in a shed somewhere.”

  The monk spread a mat in a storage shed and she went in to lie down. Soon she gave birth, and when it was over she put her outer robe over the child and nursed it. Next, she simply vanished. The astonished monk crept to where the baby lay and removed the robe.

  It was not a baby at all but a big stone. Despite the wave of fear and revulsion that swept over him, he brought up a light for a better look. The stone gleamed gold. In fact, it was gold! The “boy” was gone and he missed her with all his heart, but he realized that the whole thing had been planned for his benefit by the Bishamon of Kurama. After that he broke off bits of the gold to sell, a little at a time, and lived as comfortably as he wished.