The Fukutomis had a family to support, unlike the Takamukus next door. There had been many children, and the eldest son had married early, but after the birth of his first child the son had fallen ill and died (partly for lack of money to take proper care of him). The Fukutomis' other children had all married and settled down by then, but they were left with the care of the young widow and her child, not yet four. Fukutomi now had to try to support his wife, daughter-in-law, and grandchild all on his own. He himself had not much minded the success of his next-door neighbors, but, egged on by the old witch, he began to feel that for the sake of his daughter-in-law and her child he ought indeed to learn the art of farting from his neighbor and try to rise in the world. However, he felt embarrassed to ask, in the name of neighborliness, to become the pupil of a man whom he had up to then treated with considerable contempt, and so he kept on postponing the request.
In the meantime, the now wealthy couple next door had moved to a fine new house on Fifth Avenue where it rises into the eastern hills. One reason for the move was that it would not do for an artist who had received the title of Master from the Emperor to live in a shabby, broken-down tenement. An even more important reason was to escape from the jealous, envious eyes of their fellow tenement dwellers. Now that they had suddenly struck it rich, the neighbors who had hitherto completely ignored them, or showed outright contempt, underwent a change in attitude that was total. Some people now approached them as if they had always been the closest of friends and offered humble flattery. Some declared that it was a great honor for the whole tenement that it had produced such eminent persons. There were, alas, also evil-doers who crept into the couple's room while they were gone in order to relieve them of some of their now too-abundant treasures. (There was a certain congruity between this last group and those who were so generous in their praise.) And so there grew about the couple a circle of fawning flatterers; but those who could not hope to enter that circle and enjoy its benefits felt hatred for their more adept neighbors and soon began to revile the old couple who had caused all the fuss as villains of the worst sort. It was this kind of trouble with their neighbors that the Takamukus wanted to escape.
After the couple had moved away, the old witch went at her husband: "You and all your dithering! Now get on over to their new house." She made such a racket about it that even the always slow-to-act Fukutomi was galvanized into action.
Fifth Avenue at the eastern hills. The Takamuku residence was even grander than rumor suggested. There were so many gates, one was at a loss where to enter. Fortunately, just then a servant emerged from the mansion, so Fukutomi gave his name and asked to be announced. Very soon Hidetake himself appeared, courteously inviting his former neighbor to come in. Relieved to find Hidetake as modest and friendly as always, Fukutomi sped through his formal greetings and then blurted out his request: "I hope you'll accept me as student and teach me the art of farting."
"There's no need to learn it specially—anybody can do it."
"But there must be some knack, some special technique Since the other was so insistent, Hidetake agreed to teach him the secrets of the art. Fukutomi went to Hidetake's house for lessons a number of times, and the Master gladly taught him the essentials of farting, showing great kindness and patience in the process.
One day, after the lesson, the Master quietly began: "I have nothing more to teach you. You've mastered it all. Now just give me a brief demonstration of what you've learned." Whereupon Fukutomi bared his buttocks, got down on all fours, gathered all his strength in his belly, and let fly: "Pppuuu."
Hidetake thought for a bit: "It's a fine sound. Yes, you're already a master farter." Then, continuing, "Now, when you give a major performance, I suggest you eat your fill of really first-class food beforehand and then take some of this medicine here. You'll find it'll improve your tone." And he gave his pupil the two pellets his wife had given him.
Fukutomi's heart was dancing, and his feet seemed barely to touch the ground as he returned home, Hidetake's parting words still ringing in his ears: "You're a professional; you are ready to perform anytime, anywhere." And when he got home and told the whole story to the old witch, her joy was even greater than his.
"You see, it's all turned out just as I said it would. You're a qualified farter. The man himself called you a professional, didn't he? But why didn't he tell you to give your debut concert on Suzaku Avenue, I wonder. Or why didn't he urge you to present yourself at the lieutenant general's residence? He must be jealous! He knows your farts are of finer quality than his own, and he's afraid you'll take away his audience. That's why he said nothing, mediocrity that he is. You're younger, and your farts are louder, livelier, better in every way. Don't bother with a concert on Suzaku Avenue—go right for the lieutenant general's. Then you'll replace him as the greatest farter in the land! Go on now, off to the lieutenant general's with you!" she cried, and Fukutomi himself began to think it not a bad idea. "So, he's jealous of me, is he?..." he muttered. "All right, then, I'll go to the lieutenant general's tomorrow."
What a time the two of them had that night! The old witch prepared a pile of delicacies to set before her husband. "Eat, eat," she urged. And he, thinking of the morrow, ate as much as he could. The two of them could not stop laughing as they thought of the mountain of gifts they would be getting from the lieutenant general. They'd get this, they'd get that—it was like a dream! Finally, late that night, holding his belly filled to bursting, Fukutomi went to bed.
He awoke to find his wife already up and about, with everything prepared for the big day. There was even a large cart waiting in front of the house—wherever had she found it?
"Your reward from the lieutenant general will be too heavy for you to carry. This cart should just about do, though, so take it with you when you go."
Fukutomi reached the residence a little before noon. The guard at the gate came out, looking rather severely at the man and his cart, and demanded to know his business.
"My name is Fukutomi Oribe. I am master of the art of farting as practiced by Takamuku Hidetake, who enjoys the patronage of the lieutenant general. I have come all the way from Seventh Avenue here to Imadegawa, hoping to display my art before your master." He threw out his chest and spoke impressively; and the guard, hearing the phrase "Hidetake's master," or something like it, decided he could not ignore the man and hurried to report to the lieutenant general.
"What? Hidetake's master? I've never heard of anyone like that...." The officer thought it strange but had the man summoned into his presence, wishing to see for himself. Leaving his cart beside the gate, Fukutomi was escorted to the room where the officer was.
"You claim to be the teacher of Takamuku Hidetake: are you, in fact? You look perhaps ten years younger than he."
"It is true, sir, that I am ten years his junior. Yet, young as I am, I am in fact his teacher. The fellow copies my art and then ignores my existence—that's why he said nothing of me to you, sir. The man has stolen my art!"
"Stolen? Hidetake has? I find that hard to credit.... Still, since you are so positive about it, perhaps I ought to believe you. To tell the truth, I've become just a trifle bored with Hidetake's farting lately. If you are indeed his teacher, you should be able to perform even more impressively than he. Let me hear you."
Suddenly the official residence was full of bustle. While Fukutomi ate his hoped-for lunch, messengers went out to various parts of the capital—to the residences of the Grand Councilors and the Middle Councilors, and to the Imperial Palace itself. Soon the guests began to arrive—the Grand Councilors, the Middle Councilors, and, from the Palace, the court ladies in all their finery.
The residence was filled to overflowing with these noble persons. Fukutomi, having eaten his fill of the splendid lunch and taken the two pellets, was ready to go onstage. The audience waited in breathless anticipation of a demonstration of supreme artfulness. He made his entrance and began to dance: "Pppuuu." There was something a bit odd about this first blast,
but the artist just gathered his strength and tried again. "Bbb. Bbb. Bbbuu. Buri-buri. Bu-bu-bu-bu."
The sound was not that of wind breaking but of loose bowels exploding. Fukutomi was surprised, of course; but thinking it was some minor problem, he gamely went on dancing and farting with all his might. He was sure that at any moment he would produce a good sound, a ravishingly fine sound. But all he did produce was a great quantity of excreta. It was as if golden snow had piled up all around, followed by rain. But the golden snow and rain gave off the most appalling odor which assaulted the noses of the fine ladies and gentlemen who filled the chamber. People scattered in all directions, seeking to escape from the stench. The lieutenant general fled to an inner room, holding his nose. Once there, he found himself laughing at the ludicrous situation; then, thinking of how the garden he took such pride in had been ruined, his anger blazed forth.
"Give the fellow a good thrashing," he commanded, and his retainers went to work with a will, beating Fukutomi mercilessly with poles. Each time he was struck, a strong smell arose from the fellow's body; and the greater the stench, the angrier his assailants became. He was soon beaten bloody, and one of the retainers picked him up and tossed him outside the gate, as one would an unwanted kitten.
Fukutomi's wounds pained him and a strong odor clung to his person; but these things did not bother him so much. What he had to struggle to endure was the bitterness of having been taken in, utterly taken in, by Hidetake. Naturally he hated him, but he was also angry at himself for being gulled. Also, he was ashamed of being so easily misled by the old witch's flattery. He writhed in humiliation at having failed at this, his one great chance. Then, too, there was the fear of going home. What would his wife say? And how disappointed his daughter-in-law would be! And his grandchild, he would be expecting a fine present. No, he didn't feel like going home, and found it impossible to move from the spot. He even felt like ending it all right there; but then the faces of his family floated up before him, and he could not.
He had sat there for a good long time when at last he raised himself shakily, clinging to the cart which had, like himself, been reduced to wreckage. He managed to stand and, dragging the cart along after him, started to walk. People on the street, looking at this sad figure of a man, held their noses and laughed out loud: "My, my, what strange things one sees on the streets!"
Fukutomi's wife was waiting impatiently for his return. Looking at the faces of her daughter-in-law and grandchild, she told them, "Grandpa'll be bringing back a whole cartload of treasures. Yes, we'll be getting beautiful new clothes now; no need for the rags we've been wearing. I'll burn all this trash, so there'll be room for the treasures he's bringing." With the help of her daughter-in-law she set to work, throwing old household articles and ragged clothing into the fire.
But her husband's return was strangely delayed. A bit worried, she sent her grandchild out to look for him, and then continued hurling broken items into the flames. The daughter-in-law looked regretful at the waste, but the woman laughed at her: "You'd think you were born to be poor. We're rich now, I tell you!" Just then the child returned to report that he'd seen Grandpa three blocks away, wearing a funny-looking red kimono and pulling his cart so slowly he was hardly moving.
"Ah, he must have gotten a fine crimson robe from the lieutenant general. He couldn't wait till he got home to try it on. And the cart must be just loaded with presents—too heavy for him to pull, really. Well, shall we all go and give him a hand?" And so the three of them set off to meet Fukutomi on the way.
Soon enough they had clear sight of him. He wasn't wearing a fine crimson robe—his clothes were covered with blood. Behind him he wearily dragged the empty cart. Stunned, his wife ran up to him and grabbed him. He just repeated the words "loose bowels" and burst out crying. At those words, coupled with the sight of her husband, the woman understand everything.
"Idiot! Numskull! Botching your biggest chance like that!" she scolded. Even so, having helped her bloodied husband home, she removed his kimono, covered with urine and feces, and was about to cover his nakedness with fresh clothes when she discovered that there were none—she had burned them all. Then she began to massage his legs, naked as he was; the more she rubbed, the stronger the smell that emerged from his body. For the second time, she took him to the well and poured bucketfuls of water over him, but still the smell did not quickly disappear. When at last it did, she put him to bed naked under their thin quilts, called the doctor and had his wounds treated. Her husband, overcome by exhaustion, fell into a dead sleep.
Fukutomis wounds healed in about a month, but he still had problems with his stomach and bowels. Everything he ate came out as watery diarrhea; he had lost the ability to control his bowels and constantly dirtied himself. Ever since that day he had remained in bed, speaking to no one. It seemed as if he were only waiting for death to come. And, some three months after the incident at the residence, he did die, covered in his own filth. At that point the daughter-in-law decided to leave, taking her child with her. The widow was left alone in the house, still reeking from her husbands illness. As she thought over what had happened, her hatred for Hidetake, who had ruined her husband, grew and grew. Certainly she would have her revenge—she would kill him.... Thus, the demon of vengeance took hold of her.
The renowned "Master of Farting," however, now seldom appeared on the streets. His usual concerts on Suzaku Avenue grew rare. He performed only at the lieutenant generals, to the delight of the Grand Councilors and Middle Councilors, and even the Emperor. If the old witch tried to visit his house on Fifth Avenue, she could expect no more than to be turned away at the gate. And so she resigned herself to lying in wait for him on Suzaku Avenue. "He's bound to come back here—it's where all his success began. He'll never forget this place, and he'll come back." Day after day, in the wind and the rain, she crouched on Suzaku Avenue, waiting for Hidetake to show himself.
It was a bright spring day. Drawn, it may be, by the glorious sunny weather, the celebrated Master of Farting came strolling down Suzaku Avenue all by himself, without any attendants. The passersby gazed at him respectfully and told one another how fortunate they were to catch a glimpse of the great Master Takamuku Hidetake in such a place as this. Aware of the whispering voices, Hidetake felt very pleased with himself and moved down the avenue with the calm, assured gait of the great man.
Suddenly something black butted into him from the side of the road. It was the witch, her hair bristling, her eyes drawn up into slits, her mouth a red gash extending to her ears. She sank her teeth into one of Hidetake's breasts. He cried out in pain, for a moment not grasping what was happening to him. He tried frantically to push the black thing away, but it held on with the strength of a lifetime's resentment.
The witch's teeth gnawed at his breast as if to tear it off, like a snapping turtle that would die before letting go of its prey. Hidetake writhed and struggled, but she held on. "You lying little fart!" she growled, and kept on biting.
Lazybones Taro
In the village of Atarashi in the Chikuma region of Shinano province, there lived a man called Lazybones Tarō. It was, of course, just a nickname, but there was no one who called him anything else: he was Lazybones Tarō to one and all. Perhaps he himself had forgotten his real name.
According to the story passed on like a local legend in the village, when he was born he uttered the single syllable "wa," the normal "waugh-waugh" being just too much of an effort. He took only his mother's milk until the age of three; and that only because the breast was brought right up to his mouth. He was never known to cry and demand the breast because he was hungry. The infant Lazybones seemed to feel that it would be better to go to his eternal rest than to do anything so vulgar, and effortful, as crying for food.
When he was three, his mother left his father and perforce also Lazybones. There must have been some compelling reason to make her abandon her own dear child, just turned three, but no one in the village knew what it might be since the whole
family lived as outsiders in Atarashi. His parents had drifted into the village shortly before his birth. The father was originally from the capital; but what he had done there, and why he had come to live in distant Shinano, was a mystery to the villagers. When asked about it, the father would say only that it didn't matter, or that it was so long ago he no longer remembered.
Thus Tarō's family lived a shadowy sort of existence in Atarashi, never mingling with the residents, their only link being O-roku, a neighbor woman who acted as maid-servant. When he came to the village, the father had brought with him some one hundred books and an old-fashioned biwa lute, and he spent his days reading and playing the lute. As the years passed, however, he read and played music less and less, spending most of his time staring vacantly into space.
When his mother left the household, she hugged Tarō tight and told him, "I have to leave your father's house today. That means we must say goodbye forever." Having to part from her son like this, she must have been overcome with memories, for large tears began to roll down her cheeks. She tried to say something more but could not speak for crying. For two hours she wept until no more tears would come. Then she said in a strained voice, "Tarō, you can't go on being so lazy. Starting tomorrow, look on O-roku as your mama, and eat everything she gives you."
She hoped her Tarō would stop being so lazy, at least when it came to eating. Little Tarō opened his eyes wide in wonder and looked doubtfully at his weeping mother, but gave only a little nod in response. Even that seemed to set her mind at ease, though, and saying, "You understand, Tarō? Well, Mama has to go now. Goodbye," she hurried off without a backward glance.
And so Tarō was deprived of his mother; but from the very next day he began to treat O-roku as his mama, as he'd been told to do. He showed no signs of longing for his real mother and ate everything O-roku gave him. The boy had superb powers of forgetfulness, and seemed soon to forget not only his mother but even the fact that he had ever had one.
Lotus & Other Tales of Medieval Japan Page 8