The shower had ended, and the room was now wrapped in darkness. "Well, I'll have to be on my way now. Thanks for everything. I'd like to give you a little present for sheltering me from the rain like this. Let's see.... Oh, yes. There's this little wooden drum. The one you have is so shabby-looking! This is a good one. Here, take it. It's a really fine piece, from a famous temple. I don't mind parting with it, if you'll make use of it." Drawing from her sack the fish-shaped wooden drum, she gave it a few taps. It was indeed a fine drum, in its heart-piercing beauty of tone even more than in its outward shape.
"Isn't that a fine sound? Here, you try it out." He did as he was told. It was a good sound, but one that seemed out of keeping with his modest hermitage. "Never mind, never mind, just take it. And I'll take this old drum of yours along with me." Without waiting for a yes or no, the woman exchanged the old drum for the new, and, as if some new and urgent work awaited her, stuffed the old drum along with her now-dry robe into the sack. "I may be back some time," she said without turning to look at him, and was off.
Just who was she? the man wondered. It was natural for her to seek shelter from the rain, but what was she doing out here in the outskirts of the capital to begin with? Was there really a nobleman's villa somewhere nearby? Even so, it was a wonder that she'd stumbled on his little hut.... He couldn't get the mysterious old nun out of his mind. He had had nothing to do with others for a long time now. Thirty days ago a villager had brought him a little rice and salt and bean-paste, but he never had long, friendly talks even with the villager. The first real human contact he had had since his master's death was his encounter today with the old woman.
His only friends for a great while had been the setting sun and the autumn wind; but now a woman—aged to be sure, but still a woman—had invaded his solitude. More than that, she had stridden roughshod into his heart. He knew that he was handling the whole matter very badly, and regretted it; but there was no denying that the woman's warm, frank ways had disturbed his heart, which had up till now been set solely on the Pure Land.
It was ten days later that the woman suddenly appeared again. Just as before, she chattered away for some time and then hurried off. From then on she visited him often and asked lots of questions about his personal affairs. He, however, refused to say a word about his past. She told him everything about herself: she was, she said, of noble birth, had been married but lost her husband, and so became a nun. She'd been quite attractive in her youth and had had lots of admirers, but had always strictly protected her chastity. He couldn't tell if all this was true or a pack of lies. Some of what she said seemed clearly false; actually, though, he couldn't have cared less if what she said about herself was accurate or not. Why should he care about the old woman's past or present, when he himself was aiming at rebirth in the Pure Land in the near future?
Each time she came to visit, the woman brought various foods for him—rice, vegetables, fruit, and even at times venison. "I suppose you'll say you can't eat this meat because you're a monk. But didn't the famous St. Shinran himself say that a monk can eat meat, or even have a wife? Don't be such a stick-in-the-mud—it's delicious meat! Have a good feed. It'll build you up, give you some energy. You're still a young man!"
As he looked at the venison she had taken care to leave, he couldn't help laughing. He'd grown rather plump recently, gorging himself on whatever food she left, whether rice or vegetables or fruit. It was a far cry from his earlier plans to reduce his daily food until he eventually starved to death. Yet the contrast between his past ideals and present practice did not depress him. In fact, it made him laugh. And so, in the end, he polished off even the venison the woman had left behind.
However, he knew in his heart that this would have to stop. "The next time she comes, I'll just refuse: 'Get out and don't come back!' I'll say." He often told himself this, as he ate his meat and rice. Yet it was also true that the woman's kindness had come to mean a great deal to him. And so the days passed, with him never quite able to send her on her way.
He attempted to purify his mind by performing the declining-sun meditation, but the familiar image of the sun sinking until it became a slim crescent like the new moon no longer appeared. He no longer heard the sound of the autumn wind. Instead, the crescent-shaped setting sun grew bigger and bigger day by day (like his own body) until it turned into the red globe of the sun at noon. The autumn wind vanished, and in its place a soft spring breeze bore the sweet scent of flowers.
One day the woman came by carrying a big pumpkin on her head. As always, she kept up a constant stream of talk; and then, on the point of leaving, she said, "You know, the single life is all very well, but there's also something to be said for living as a twosome. You've got some color in your cheeks now; you look a lot healthier. So how about it? Wouldn't you like to take a wife? After all, you say you've completed your preparations for going to Paradise, but if you die, somebody'll have to give you a funeral. And that's a wife's job. You think you can just die on your own? It's not so easy nowadays, I'm afraid. No, you'll need somebody, and that somebody might as well be your wife. So why don't you get married?
"I have somebody in mind for you. She's the daughter of a noble family that's fallen on hard times; her father died recently, and she has no one now. She's in her mid-twenties—a little old for a bride maybe, but it's because she was such a good daughter. Her mother never was very well, and she looked after her for so many years that she passed her prime. Then, after her mother died, she had to take care of her father, and she did a really good job of it, too. She was a filial daughter all right, but so unfortunate! An only child, lost both her parents, and now all alone in the world.... And she'll do whatever I say.... Her looks? Oh, she's a beauty, she is—nice, full figure. And she's a virgin to boot! You'll never find another one like her. So marry her. She'll make you a fine bride.
"She must be joking, you're thinking to yourself. Would any woman want to come live in this miserable little monk's hut? you're about to ask. Well, she would, I tell you. The truth is, I've already spoken about the matter to the girl herself. And she said that if there were someone who'd care for her, she'd be happy to marry him and try to be the best little wife she possibly could. Far better than remaining a spinster all her life, she said. Now wasn't that a splendid answer? I know she'll be a hard worker; and then, after you pass away, she'll give you a wonderful funeral and make sure you rest in peace.
"All right, then, it's settled. Of course there's a bit of a gap in age, but that won't matter once you've lived together for a while. I'll go and make all the arrangements, so you just wait here."
The woman hurried off, leaving the pumpkin on the veranda. He didn't really put much faith in this sudden talk of a bride, but nonetheless it made him feel a bit uneasy. He was too upset, in fact, to bother with the pumpkin, which remained where it was on the veranda.
He was falling in love, in love with the girl of noble family the old woman had described to him, the dutiful daughter he was still to meet. It was not that he had never known a woman before; he had had quite enough of them. Yet now, for some reason, despite his years, he felt his heart throbbing with a new emotion. His imagination knew no bounds; as he did his meditation, the naked body of this girl he had not seen would appear before him. He was sure that, indulging in such lewd thoughts, he would fall into the Hell-Forest-with-Leaves-that-Cut-Like-Swords of which his master had warned him. In that particular hell, the condemned sinner would see a beautiful woman perched at the top of a tree. It would be a woman from his past, and she would beckon to him, calling "Come to me, come to me." The man, unable to restrain himself, would try to climb the tree, and each leaf would turn into a sword and pierce his flesh. Without doubt, he would fall into that hell—or rather, he had already fallen into it.
But was this not what men meant by "love"? He was in anguish, and he waited impatiently for the old woman's return.
And yet, though she had been such a frequent visitor in the past, ever since that d
ay's conversation the woman had stopped coming. So, she had just been teasing him after all... But his mind would not return to its former calm. He had to see the woman once more. Yet he didn't even know her name. How would he ever find her?
Perhaps two months had passed, and the autumn winds had begun to blow when she appeared. "What a lovely season, and how beautiful the susuki grasses are! You're rather like a fox living in a field of susuki, so we'll have a 'foxes' wedding,' like in the old stories! No, no, I'm just joking. The girl's no fox-spirit, you needn't worry about that.
"If I'm a little late with the preparations it's because the girl's so filial. 'I should remain single and devote the rest of my life to prayer for my parents' souls,' she says—even though she is interested, I know. But she's such a dutiful daughter! Well, I worked at her day in and day out, pointing out how her parents would be looking down from heaven, pleased as could be at her making a happy marriage. I wasn't forcing her, mind you. I knew she wanted to. Anyway, she agreed to marry you at one point; but then, well, they may have come down in the world, but she is from a very good family, you know, and she was worried about what people would say. And she didn't want to be seen as 'easy'. But I said, 'Try to see it from my point of view. Your dear dead parents specially asked me to look after you. Besides, you can't devote your whole life to the dead. No, dear, the best thing for a woman is to find a man who loves her, and marry him. This is a god-send for you!' Well, she just bent her head, blushed, and said in a quiet little voice, 'Yes, I understand. Thank you for all you've done for me.' She's a good girl.
"So I arranged to have her come here exactly ten days from now. I suppose I could bring her myself; but she's so bashful, somehow I think she'd be more comfortable coming on her own. That'd be all right, wouldn't it?
"But can't we do something about this room of yours? You need at least some furniture and fittings to welcome your new bride. Oh, and first of all, there's the bedding to think about. You can't spend your bridal night on these paper-thin futon of yours. I'll give you a new set of futon as a wedding-present, how's that? On the other hand, futon are awfully dear.... Let's go half and half on it! Leading the pious life you do, you can hardly have much need for money. Just let me have what you've got here now."
The woman had, on her frequent visits to the little hut, taken a good look 'round and knew very well that he had a little money tucked away somewhere. He took out a one ryō piece and placed it in front of her.
"Ahh, so you do have some money! One ryō—wonderful!"
That single ryō had been meant for his funeral expenses.
"We can buy some fine nuptial bedding with this!" The woman trotted off with the money in hand. The next day, a fine, thick futon of a sort that he had never slept on, or even seen, was delivered to the hermitage. The splendid bedding seemed quite out of place in his shabby dwelling. He set to work at once on repairs, patching the holes in the roof and putting new paper in the screens and windows. The little hut came to life—it was almost unrecognizable. The bright red futon was placed in the center of the room, and it felt as if the girl herself had already arrived. Gazing at the soft red futon, he imagined his wedding night.
The day before the girl was due to come, the old woman appeared again. "My, what a difference! The room's nice and clean, and how warm that futon looks. It'll play its part in the most important ceremony of all. You haven't had any practice in that for quite some time, have you? Well, do your best. And remember, she's a virgin, so be very, very gentle. All right then, I'll be sending her along tomorrow night."
The day itself had come at last. In his mind there was no longer a trace of the crescent-shaped setting sun or the sound of the autumn wind. All he could envision was the figure of the girl. Then suddenly he became uneasy. He had not touched a woman for over ten years, and he was not quite sure he would know how to make love to his bride. He had a drink, and then another, and then a third, until at last he was very, very drunk. Sleep overcame him, and everything that had happened to him seemed like no more than a dream. Waking from sleep, he found that the sun had set, and it was completely dark.
There was a sound. The girl must have arrived!
"What's this? The bedding isn't even spread out." It was the woman's voice.
"And you, you're drunk! I was worried so I came on over to see how the preparations for the wedding night were getting on. It's a good thing I did."
Unrolling the bedding, she urged him to "give it his best," and turned out the light before leaving. "And don't turn the light on; she's a shy little thing." These last words rang through the darkened room, and she was gone. No sooner had she left than he became aware of someone else's presence. So she had come at last! A robe that even in the darkness was obviously red covered her from head to toe. The room was suffused with a feeling of girlish high-spirits.
"How do you do, sir? I am very pleased to meet you," she said in a high voice. It sounded somehow familiar; but he made his own formal greeting in the usual way. Then the bride and groom performed the ritual exchange of cups of sake, as the woman had said they should; and, that ended, the groom placed his bride beneath the crimson quilt. He drew her close. Her flesh was softer and fuller even than the bridal quilts, but her hands and feet seemed rather rough and dry. What worried him, though, was whether or not he would be able to acquit himself well during the next, all-important ritual. It was easier than he had thought, and he was able to bring the marriage rites to a happy conclusion. Perhaps from relief, and certainly with the help of all the sake he had drunk, he slept soundly till morning.
The rays of the morning sun struck his face and he opened his eyes, dazzled. There, lying beside him was—could it be?— the old woman! He was too amazed to speak. The woman turned to him, with a long, loud guffaw: "Surprised? But you were nice and gentle last night. I'll be a good wife to you. I may be a bit on in years, but as we spend time together, you'll care less and less about that. The most important thing is that we like each other. I liked you from the very first moment—that's why I kept visiting you. And you didn't exactly dislike me either, I'd say. I'm an old hand at business, so putting food into your mouth will be no problem at all. So, I'm an ideal wife! Ha, ha, ha, ha." And again she laughed, very loudly indeed, and with a look of great satisfaction. The man himself looked as if he had been tricked by a fox-spirit.
"We'll have a long and happy life together! This sack of mine is full of treasures. I'll be your 'god of good fortune'."
The man's mouth was open, but he said nothing as he listened to the woman's words. Finally he roused himself to say, "Tell me your name."
"Oyō. I'm out to be of service (go-yō) to everyone, so they called me the 'go-yō nun' as I went about selling things. Then 'go-yō' somehow became 'o-yō,' and now everybody calls me the Nun Oyō."
"Oyō...." He murmured the woman's name and wondered if perhaps he had not always known in some corner of his heart that the girl that Oyō had promised to introduce would turn out to be, in fact, Oyō herself.
A Tale of Luck and Riches
Near Seventh Avenue in Kyoto an old couple lived a wretched life in one of ten linked tenement apartments. It was close to the end of autumn, and from the cracks in the door a cold wind came blowing in. It was still evening, but the old man and woman had rolled themselves into their thin quilts for warmth and were having a talk:
"The cold chills you through. If its like this now, just think how it'll be when winter comes. How are we going to get through it? We don't have any coal or rice."
"Oh, it'll work out somehow. Even if we don't have anything, we'll manage to survive. We've scraped by up to now, haven't we?"
"You've been talking like that for forty years now, just lazing your days away."
"I haven't been lazy. You know very well that when I was young, I tried my hand at lots of things. But nothing worked out—like there was some kind of evil plague-spirit that had got its claws into me. Well, if I'm going to fail at everything I do, I might just as well do nothing
at all, I said to myself. I decided to take it easy."
"That's fine for you, but it makes things awfully hard for me, you know. Nothing good to eat, no decent clothes to wear, having to live in an old tenement like this. Yes, there must be a plague-spirit attached to you.... Or you yourself are a plague-spirit. Poor me, having hooked myself up with something like that!"
"So now you're calling me a plague-spirit, are you?"
"I am indeed. If you don't like it, then try getting rid of that evil spirit, the one that's been part of you for these past forty years, until it's become you—try getting rid of that!"
"What a way to talk! And anyway, I sure would get rid of it if only I could.... But what can I do?"
"You should go pray to the roadside god on Fifth Avenue. He's a very powerful god, they say, and he tells people what kind of work is right for them. Heisuke was told to start a greengrocer's, and he made a fortune. The god told Professor Chikurin to take to robbery, and now he's the best-known brigand in the whole capital."
"Ahh, I don't put any faith in divine oracles. It's just a way for the priests to rake in the money."
Lotus & Other Tales of Medieval Japan Page 6