Japanese Tales

by Royall Tyler

  The fox stayed faithfully with him and often rescued him again. More and more touched by its fidelity, he was very glad indeed that he had had the good sense to return that ball.

  207.

  SINGED FUR

  Kōya Brook runs east of Ninnaji, just northwest of the Capital. One evening at dusk a pretty young woman stood on the bank. When a man rode by toward the city, she asked him to let her up behind and take her with him. With a brief word of assent he had her get on. After a quarter of a mile she jumped down and ran. She turned into a fox as he chased her and got clean away, barking.

  This happened more than once and the word spread. One day the warriors of the Palace Guard were passing the time among themselves when the story came up in the conversation. A brave and clever young warrior swore he would catch the girl and mocked all those who had let her get away. The rest of the guards were sure he would fail, but he ignored them and promised he would do it that very evening.

  He rode to Kōya Brook alone on a good horse. When he first crossed the stream there was no sign of the girl, but once he turned back toward Kyoto she was there on the bank. “Please take me up behind you, sir!’ ” she called, smiling sweetly at him.

  “All right!” he answered. “Where are you going?”

  “To the city, sir. It’s already sundown, you see, and I wonder if I mightn’t ride with you.”

  She got on. Quick as a flash he tied her to the saddle with a rope he had ready. “Oh sir, what are you doing?” she cried.

  “You’re coming to bed with me, so I just want to make sure you don’t get away.”

  Darkness fell. He rode east along First Avenue and had just passed West Omiya when he saw torches coming his way, accompanying a procession of carriages. Servants were going before the procession with loud and imperious shouts to clear the road. Obviously a person of quality was on his way somewhere. He cautiously turned south down Omiya, continuing east when he reached Second Avenue. Finally, after a long detour south around the palace compound, he reached the gate where he had told his fellow guards to meet him. They were all there.

  Untying the girl, he roughly pulled her to the ground, seized her arms, and forced her in through the gate. Guards with torches lit his way to their headquarters where the rest of the men were waiting. “Here she is!” he announced. The girl, terrified by so many men, was crying and begging him in vain to let her go. The guards surrounded him and his captive.

  Torches blazing, the guards urged him to let her go in the circle. He said no, she would get away if he did, but they insisted and a dozen drew their bows, shouting what fun it would be. “We’ll shoot her miserable butt!” they cried. When he gave in and let her go, she instantly turned into a fox and darted off, barking.

  The fire and the circle of men vanished. He was alone in the dark.

  Completely confused, he called to his companions over and over but got no response. A glance at the surroundings told him that he was somewhere (he had no idea where) out in the wilds. Though his heart pounded and he was overcome with dread, he managed not to lose control of himself. From the look of the hills and the lie of the land he judged that he must be in the great burning ground at Toribeno. Naturally his horse was nowhere to be seen.

  The trouble must have started when he turned down Omiya Avenue to avoid the procession of carriages. After that he had only believed he was heading for the Tsuchimikado Gate, but had actually been coming here. All those torches on First Avenue had been fox-fires. He started walking and reached home late in the night.

  The next day he was almost dying. The guards who had missed him the night before were meanwhile having a good laugh at his expense and pressing him to join them. Late on the third day he finally went, still looking far from well, to face their questions and taunts. They demanded to know what he had done with the fox. He answered that he had suddenly become ill and had not been able to go after the fox after all. “But tonight,” he promised, “I’ll try again.”

  “Well then, bring us two foxes!” his companions cried. Taciturn as ever, he left without another word.

  He did not really suppose that the fox would be foolish enough to appear again, but if it did he was prepared to hold on to it all night if necessary. If it did not, he would hide himself from the world forever.

  This time he took the strongest of his own men with him. He thought as they rode how mad he was to risk his whole career on such nonsense, though of course his promise left him no other choice.

  There was no sign of the girl when they crossed Kōya Brook. Then they turned back and there she was. At least, there a girl was, because the face was different from last time. As before she asked to ride behind him and he let her get up; and as before he tied her securely to the saddle and continued on toward town along First Avenue.

  By now it was dark. He had some of his men ride ahead of him with torches and kept others right beside him. The band reached their gate without meeting a soul and dismounted. He seized the girl by the hair and forced her, despite her tears and cries, to the same spot as before.

  His fellow guards were all there, clamoring for news. “Here she is!” he replied again. This time he had tied her up so tightly that she kept her human form for some time, but the men tormented her till she turned into a fox in the end, despite being a prisoner. They singed the fox’s fur off with their torches and shot it over and over with stinging arrows, shouting at it all the while never to try its tricks again. In the end they let it go without killing it, and it managed somehow to run off, although it could hardly walk. Only then did the warrior confess how the fox had fooled him the first time and led him off all the way to Toribeno.

  Ten days later he decided to visit Kōya Brook again. A very sick-looking girl, loitering on the bank, declined his invitation to get up behind him. “I’d like to,” she said, “but you burned me so badly last time!” Then she disappeared.

  208.

  NOT REALLY A TREE AT ALL

  Chūdaifu lived in Nara since his uncle was the high priest of the Kasuga Shrine. Late one afternoon Chūdaifu’s horse disappeared while out grazing. Chūdaifu and a servant set out eastward toward the mountains to look for it, armed with bows.

  They had not gotten far when the sun set and night fell. There was only the dimmest light from a veiled moon. As they walked on, still hoping to find the stray animal, Chūdaifu glimpsed through the gathering shadows a colossal cryptomeria tree, twelve feet thick and a good two hundred feet tall. He stopped dead in his tracks. “Am I seeing things?” he exclaimed. “Has some spirit addled our brains? Do you see that cryptomeria too?” The servant answered that he did. “Then it’s not my imagination,” said Chūdaifu. “We must have met one of those gods who get you lost, and he’s led us off goodness knows where. Where in the whole province of Yamato are you going to find a cryptomeria like that?”

  “I’ve no idea, sir,” the servant replied. “I’ve seen a few cryptomerias here and there, of course, but they’ve all been quite small.”

  “That’s it, then. We’ve been bewitched and now we’re lost. What are we going to do? I’m frightened, you know. I think we’d better get on back. I wonder how far we’ve come. This is terrible!”

  “It’s a strange business we’ve run into, sir, but it would be too bad just to go home again without trying anything ourselves. I suggest, sir, that you shoot an arrow into that tree, then come back tomorrow morning and check it.”

  Chūdaifu heartily approved and said they should both shoot the tree. When their arrows hit the tree it suddenly vanished. “Sure enough,” said Chūdaifu, “we’ve met a spirit! Let’s get away from here!” They practically ran home.

  Early the next morning Chūdaifu and his servant returned to the scene. They found a bald old fox lying dead with a cryptomeria branch in his jaws and pierced through the belly by two arrows. “Aha!” they exclaimed. “Here’s the fellow who had us so confused!”

  Before leaving, they retrieved their arrows from the corpse.

  2
09.

  THE WHITE FOX: FOUR DREAMS

  Shaped like a fat, falling drop, the Wishing Jewel

  is an emblem of good fortune. The tails of magic foxes

  sometimes end in a Wishing Jewel shape.

  Four nights ago someone brought me what he said was a picture of the Kasuga God, though I couldn’t see what the god looked like.

  The night before last I watched the evening star and a bright moon rise over Flower Mountain. Star and moon were the same size.

  Last night in the fields I came to a big stone that looked like a Wishing Jewel, and I touched it. It was warm. North of the stone lay three foxes. I picked the white tuft off one’s tail and saw it was a big white fox. “Wear red,” the fox said, “when you bring me offerings.”

  At dawn I got twenty golden relics of the Buddha.

  As I write down this marvelous sequence of dreams, I shiver again with joy and awe.

  210.

  THE TELLTALE FISH

  Once upon a time a monk went visiting. His host served him wine and a special delicacy: some tiny, delicious fish which had just come into season. Of course monks are not supposed to eat fish at all, but the host may have suspected that this one would be broad-minded.

  Having excused himself a moment, the host noticed on his return that there were now fewer fish in the dish than when he had left the room. Naturally he said nothing. But while the two chatted, a little fish suddenly popped out the monk’s nose.

  “Pardon me,” said the host, “but how’d that fish get up your nose?”

  “Oh, these little fish, you know, they’re coming out eyes and noses everywhere lately!” replied the monk without missing a beat.

  Both men roared with laughter.

  211.

  A TASTE FOR FISH

  Rin’e, a monk from Nara, was on his way up to the Capital when he stopped at a house by the Kizu River and asked for fresh fish. The request shocked his host, who knew that monks are not supposed to eat the meat from any living creature.

  The man’s wife had been suffering from an abnormally swollen belly and to all appearances was dying. That night she dreamed that eight boys, announcing themselves as Rin’e’s familiars, tapped her on the belly and expelled all the foulness from it. She awoke perfectly well and found the impure matter from inside her all over her sleeping mat.

  When she told her husband, he realized that Rin’e was no average monk. First thing next morning he brought Rin’e more fish.

  Accomplished holy men certainly do sometimes eat both fish and fowl. For example, they say that Ninkai ate small birds. Not that ordinary monks ought to imitate them!

  212.

  THE PROMISE

  It is unclear whether or not this Ninkai really

  is the dame monk as in no. 211.

  Ninkai, a monk in Nara, was peerlessly talented as a scholar, but one day he decided to give up his temple and its conventionally studious atmosphere in order to devote himself more freely to true religious practice. Unfortunately, the abbot would not hear of his plan.

  Ninkai resorted to courting a woman who lived across town, and soon people were gossiping about his affair. To make sure everyone knew, he would stand behind her at her gate with his arms around her. The passersby were properly shocked. Actually, though, he never slept with her. Instead he spent his nights, sleepless and weeping, before an altar.

  This reached the ears of the abbot, who revered Ninkai all the more and began to want his company all the time. The desperate Ninkai ran off, married a local official’s daughter some distance away, and even gave up carrying his rosary. But he only longed for enlightenment the more.

  A county magistrate who noticed Ninkai became deeply attached to him. For some time he and his wife accompanied Ninkai everywhere and prepared his food, clothing, and bath. They did so, as they told Ninkai himself, out of pure reverence for his sanctity. “We have only one concern,” they confessed. “How can we make sure to be with you when you pass away?” Ninkai reassured them. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll be with you.” Then he went his way.

  Years later, at nightfall on a snowy winter day, Ninkai came to their house. They greeted him gladly, excused their servants, and brought him food themselves. Then he took a bath and lay down.

  The next morning the couple rose early. As they were preparing breakfast a marvelous fragrance from Ninkai’s room filled the whole house. They decided he must be burning some rare incense. He had said he wanted to leave early, but it was light by now and he still was not up. When the morning gruel was ready they asked a disciple to let him know. The disciple refused. “My master has quite a temper,” he said, “and if I bother him he’ll only beat me. I’m sure he’ll be up any moment.”

  By sunrise the couple were worried enough to call Ninkai through the door. There was no answer. When they entered they found him seated facing the west with his palms together in prayer. He was dead. Deeply stirred, they prostrated themselves with Ninkai’s disciples before the husk of the saint. At dawn they had smelled the perfume of Amida’s welcome to Ninkai’s soul. Ninkai had known when he would die and had kept his promise to his friends.

  213.

  THE JELLYFISH’S BONES

  The renowned monk Zōga was born in Kyoto, but his parents soon moved to the East. They built for the journey a sort of palanquin which they mounted on a horse, and installed in it a wet nurse with their little son in her arms. Unfortunately, it was such a long way that the wet nurse fell asleep and dropped the baby. Little Zōga tumbled to the ground.

  Nearly a mile further on, the wet nurse woke up and realized the baby must have fallen out, though goodness knows where. The news drove Zōga’s parents wild. They ranted and raved about how all the passing horses, oxen, and people must have trampled him to death, but they turned back anyway since they still wanted his poor body. They found the baby on his back in the middle of the narrow trail, smiling happily. There was not a spot of mud or a wet patch on him.

  It was a miracle. That night Zōga’s parents had a dream. A sumptuous couch spread with a costly coverlet rode on an expanse of mud, and on it lay little Zōga. Four exquisite boys, one at each corner of the couch, chanted in the language of the scriptures:

  This child is born from the Buddha’s mouth,

  wherefore we keep him from all harm.

  Now Zōga’s parents knew their son was unusual, and they raised him tenderly.

  When he was five, little Zōga announced that he would soon be going to master the Lotus Sutra on Mount Hiei. His parents thought him much too young to be saying things like that and feared some spirit might be talking through him. But soon his mother dreamed that even as she nursed her boy he grew into a mature monk with a sutra scroll in his hand; and beside him stood another monk who explained that it was her son’s destiny to enter religion. Zōga’s parents stopped opposing their son’s plan and were happy about it instead.

  When he was eleven, Zōga found a distinguished master on Mount Hiei. After a few years everyone recognized his piety and learning. He caused quite a stir, though, when he came back starked naked from the Ise Shrine, having been inspired by a dream (a voice told him, “Forget the body!”) to take off all his clothes and pass them out to the beggars. People thought he was mad, and though his master more or less understood, he felt obliged to remind Zōga that the wish to transcend worldly ambition did not necessarily exempt him from behaving normally. Another time, when his master had just been promoted to the highest ecclesiastical rank, Zōga joined the triumphal procession mounted on a bony old ox, with a dried salmon at his waist instead of a sword.

  Respectability and success really meant nothing to Zōga, who wanted above all a quieter place to live. He chose Tōnomine in the hills south of Nara. When the abbot refused him leave to go, he quickly changed the abbot’s mind. He stopped sending a servant to fetch his meals but instead came with a blackened and filthy sort of box to collect them himself. Then he would squat by the path with the workmen, pick up a couple
of twigs for chopsticks, and share out his dinner as he ate. People decided he was crazy and the abbot was glad enough to let him go.

  Zōga found the top of the mountain at Tōnomine too thick with the demons that hinder enlightenment and instead built a hut at an inconspicuous spot in the valley. Alas, he was so revered by now that the emperor insisted on naming him to his personal staff of healers, and naturally other great nobles demanded his services as well. Zōga generally ignored these calls, but when he did go he behaved like a madman and got out of the Capital as fast as he could.

  There was, for example, the empress’s ordination. Planning to retire into the religious life, the Sanjō Empress invited Zōga to preside at the ceremony. Her messenger thought this a fine idea, since so holy a man would no doubt make the empress into a properly worthy nun.

  Zōga’s disciples assumed their master would fly into a rage and perhaps even beat the messenger, but he did nothing of the kind. He accompanied the messenger back to the empress’s palace without a murmur.

  All sorts of great nobles and monks had gathered for the rite. There was even someone to represent the emperor. They all noted Zōga’s fierce eyes and impressive bearing, but thought he seemed a little unwell.

  Zōga went right up to the empress’s curtains and started the ceremony. At the appropriate moment the empress put her long, beautiful hair out through the curtains and Zōga, in the gesture which above all divides the worldly from the religious life, cut it off. Within the curtains the empress’s ladies wept as though their hearts would break.