The chests of money, since the strong rooms were already shut fast, were piled up behind the cauldron in the kitchen. That’s where this large fortune saw the old year out: in the kitchen, just as though it had been so much rubble or worthless stone.
THE KITCHEN FLOOR PARTIES OF NARA
THERE is something good and interesting about having the same peddler return year after year and getting to know him over a period of years. There was once a fishmonger who visited Nara over a span of some twenty-four or twenty-five years. And as he sold only octopuses he became known as “Octopus” Hachisuke. He had a goodly number of customers, which enabled him to support his family of three; yet never on a New Year’s Eve had he been able to see the old year out with even so small a balance on hand as five hundred mon. All that he could manage on New Year’s Day was to feed his family and have a bowl of zoni.
Since his youth “Octopus” Hachisuke had been alert to the art of getting on in life. When his widowed mother asked him to buy her a brazier he dared to take some commission from her for the service. As for the neighbors, needless to say, he would never do anything for them for nothing. Even at a time when the midwife was urgently needed, he was reluctant to fetch her until he had been treated to a hasty meal. This world is indeed filled with greed, yet that of Hachisuke was so outstanding that even when he went to buy cloth for a shroud for a deceased member of the Sutra-Chanting Club of which he himself was a member, he insisted on getting his commission on the purchase. Why, he was the sort of man who was actually glad when someone died, for then he could gouge out their eyes for his profit. Still, for all his selfishness, he remained poor; which appeared to be no more than divine justice.
It is a generally accepted fact of life that an octopus has eight legs, but from the very first day Hachisuke began peddling in Nara he made it a practice to slice off one leg and sell seven-legged octopuses. His cunning practice went unnoticed by practically everybody. Then he contracted to sell those single legs to a chophouse keeper of Matsubara, whose wont it was to buy nothing but sliced-off legs. How full of avaricious thoughts is the human mind!
Now there is a proverb which declares that “You may cheat seventy-five times, but no more,” for the time is bound to come when your dishonesty will be discovered. One New Year’s Eve Hachisuke cut off two legs from each octopus and sold six-legged ones. But still his regular customers were so busy that they did not notice the amputations. He went right on selling maimed octopuses in this fashion until he came to the middle of Tegai Street. There he was summoned to a house surrounded by a diamond-shaped bamboo fence, where they bought two octopuses. As he was leaving, the master of the house, whose head was clean-shaven like that of a Buddhist priest, glanced up from his game of go. Leaving off his game, be came over to Hachisuke to look more closely at the octopuses, remarking that somehow they seemed to taper off at the end. All of a sudden he thundered out, “In which one of the seven seas did you catch these anomalies? Never since the age of the gods has any book made mention of six-legged octopuses. It’s a shame how you’ve been cheating all the people of Nara. I’ll remember your face well, fishmonger!”
“Very well!” retorted Hachisuke. “And I in turn refuse to sell my octopuses to such a lazy fellow as you who plays go on New Year’s Eve.”
Later this incident was made public property, though no one seems to know exactly how it got into circulation.
Since Nara was not a very large town, in every nook and corner where people gossipped the infamy of “Leg-Cutting” Hachisuke was spread, until he was no longer able to peddle there-and all because of his inordinate greed.
In Nara it is much quieter on New Year’s Eve than it is in either Kyoto or Osaka. People pay for their credit purchases with all the cash they have on hand; so if they say they can’t pay a bill, the collectors accept their word for it and go their way, not tarrying to press for payment. By ten o’clock in the evening, having ended their payment business, all the people of Nara set about enjoying the New Year atmosphere by holding what is called a “Kitchen Floor Party.” They make a fire under the cauldron in the kitchen and spread straw matting on the earthen floor. Then, gathering from their respective rooms, the entire household, from the master on down to the lowliest maidservant, seat themselves on the matting in the kitchen. According to local custom, they take out from the baskets in which they have brought them, round-shaped rice cakes, and after broiling them eat them all together. It is a fine sight to see, and one which gives the impression that the household is quite well-off.
Low class people who live outside the town start celebrating the season by visiting first of all the home of Inaba, a retainer of the noble priest of the Daijoin Temple. After that they go around town chanting, “Wealth, wealth, wealth l’’ and every household hands out rice cakes and copper coins. Much the same is true in Osaka in the case of those called “evil-chasers.”
When New Year’s Day dawns, men sell printed pictures of Daikoku, the god of wealth, calling out, “Get your lucky fortune! Get your bales of luck!” At dawn of the second day they sell prints of Ebisu, another god of fortune, calling out meantime, “Get your Ebisu here!”
And finally on the dawn of the third day it is Bishamon’s pictures that they sell, crying, “Bishamon! Get your Bishamon here!” In short, for three days they sell the gods of prosperity.
As for the rites observed on New Year’s Day, the people of Nara, before making their calls upon one another, visit the Kasuga Shinto Shrine. On this occasion they invite all their kinsfolk, even to the remotest cousins, and make the occasion quite a merry one. The larger the company they gather, the greater their reputation in the eyes of the world.
No matter where you go, you will discover that it is a most enviable state to be rich. The dealers in bleached cotton of Nara sell their goods to the drapers of Kyoto on credit, collecting the money on New Year’s Eve. That very same night, as soon as they have balanced their account books, they leave Kyoto for Nara with the many thousands of kan of silver which they have taken in for their bleached cotton, making their way by the light of a train of burning torches. The day is just dawning as the procession reaches Nara, where they store the gold and silver in strong rooms, usually finishing the balancing of their mutual debts and credits on January 5th.
In a secluded village of Yamato there once lived a group of poor ronin who, finding it hard to tide over the year end, thought it a good idea to plunder the procession of money chests on their way to Nara. So the gang of four plotted in secret to assault the party at the risk of their lives. The attack was successful, but when they broke open one of the chests they were dismayed to discover that it contained no petty cash such as they might use for “drink money,” but only large sums, such as thirty and fifty kan pieces. They examined all the chests, one after another, but not daring to appropriate such large sums for drink money, in the end they abandoned them.
Then the ronin robbers shifted their place of operations to the Dark Pass between Osaka and Nara, to lie in wait for travellers returning from Osaka. Along came a man of small stature carrying a package wrapped in straw matting. “How very intelligent of him,’’ they agreed, “to carry a heavy thing as though it were light. Surely he must have money hidden in it.” So they attacked him, but as they made off with his package the man cried out that it would be of no immediate use to them.
When the four robbers opened the package, imagine their surprise and consternation to discover inside nothing but dried herring roe!
WHEN MASTERS EXCHANGE HOUSES
THE VERY water sounded busy on the night of December 29th as the waves of the year came washing ashore at Fushimi. The ferry for Osaka was about to leave, and since the passengers were in a greater .hurry than usual they urged the boatman to cast off at once. Himself well aware that the New Year was at hand, the boatman replied, “Don’t worry. I know as well as you that only two days are left in this year-today and tomorrow
.”
Ordinarily the passengers on the Osaka-bound ferry would not be silent. Some would be talking about public scandals, or be singing ditties, joruri, utai, or dance songs; while others would be amusing themselves with tall tales or imitations of popular actors. But tonight they seemed both silent and morose.
At last the ferry left the dock. The silence was broken occasionally by a muttered invocation. Or someone would vent his spleen against the world in general, complaining that in this short span of life to wait the New Year was just like waiting for one’s time to come. Other passengers, unable to get their usual sleep, looked serious and worried. Then a fellow who appeared to be a petty clerk started singing loudly and long-windedly some ballads whose words he had picked up in a shady teahouse. So off-key did he hum the samisen accompaniment, and so grotesquely did he beat time with his head that the company was thoroughly disgusted with his performance.
Meanwhile the ferryboat had progressed as far as the Little Yodo Bridge. As it slipped between the piers stern foremost, a man who, awaking from a nap assumed a sober attitude, spoke out in a manner that seemed to indicate that he considered himself the only intelligent man aboard:
“Look here,” he exclaimed, “if a man works day and night all the year round with unremitting diligence just like that water wheel over there, at the year end he will be able to balance his accounts to conform to his advance calculations. But if he is idle the rest of the year, it does no good for him to start struggling just before the end of the year.”
All the other passengers, who had been listening to him, nodded their heads in approval. Among them was a man who lived on Inn Street in Hyogo. “Those words of yours went straight to my heart,” he said. “Since I live near the sea I can catch plenty of fish and live comfortably. Every year, however, at the year end I discover that somehow my income has fallen just a little short of my expenditures. For the past fourteen or fifteen years now I have been accustomed to visit my maternal aunt in Otsu to ask her for some petty cash say, seventy or eighty momme-anyway I’ve never asked her for a hundred. But this year for some reason she was so fed up with my annual requests that she turned me down fiat. Since I had been taking it for granted that I could get the loan from her as easily as picking up something I’d left behind, her refusal hit me pretty hard. At present I have no idea how I’ll manage to tide over the year end at home.”
Another passenger spoke up: “I brought my little brother up to Kyoto to see an actor with whom I had some acquaintance. I had hoped to apprentice him to the actor’s theatrical troupe and use the money that would be advanced to get safely past the year end. Though this boy is my own flesh and blood, he cuts quite a figure, so I felt sure that some day he would become a star. Sad to say, however, the actor declined to take him on as an apprentice, saying his ears were just a little too small for a regular actor. So all there was left for me to do was to bring my brother back from Kyoto.
“One thing I learned, however, and that is that there are a lot of people in this world. Every day as many as twenty or thirty boys of handsome figure and good manners and fine promise apply for admission into the troupe. In strict confidence the agents are saying that some of them are sons of ronin and physicians: that is, their fathers are of good blood. But since they have found it hard to tide over this year end and want to apprentice their sons to the company of actors, the manager may choose any he wants for a term often years at a consideration of one kan to thirty momme of silver. In point of fairness of complexion and refinement of manners boys from other districts can’t hold a candle to those from the Kyoto-Osaka area. So I have to return home out of money for travel expenses.”
Then another fellow spoke up and said, “My father bequeathed me a chart of the sacred names of the Buddhas which was written out by Saint Nichiren himself. Once a man in Uji wanted it so badly that he told me he would pay me any price I asked for it, but at the time I was reluctant to part with it. This year, ;however, being pinched for money, I went all the way to Uji to sell it to the man. In the meantime, somehow he had been converted to the Jodo sect and I found that he wasn’t at all interested in the chart. As my expectations were dashed to the ground, I felt quite embarrassed. Now I have no alternative plan of procedure. In any case, it will be so annoying to return home and meet the importunate bill collectors that I intend to go straight to ‘If. Mt. Koya without stopping in Osaka at all. How the omniscient Kobo Daishi must be chuckling up his sleeve!”
A fourth man now spoke up and said, “I used to sell rice to the weavers of Kyoto on credit and see the old year out without a care in the world. The arrangement I had with them was that I supply them in December with rice on credit which cost forty-five mamme per kaku. At the end of March they paid me fifty-eight momme per kaku for it. I ran this business every year until this one, when the cloth-workers had a meeting and decided not to buy their rice from me, saying that my interest rate of thirteen momme per koku for three months was exhorbitant. They would rather celebrate the New Year without my rice, they said. So the labor I expended in shipping the rice by water as far as Toba is all lost. I’ve got to store it in a warehouse there and return home. “ These true stories of the lives of ordinary people prove that there was no one aboard the ferry without some kind of worry or other. None of them would be able to spend New Year’s Eve at home. Now, it is impossible for such men to call on friends and stay with them overnight, for unlike ordinary days, on that special day people are extremely busy. The daylight hours can be spent viewing votive tablets at shrines, but when night falls they have nowhere to go. So it is said that those who are heavily in debt usually keep mistresses in whose quarters they may hide in comfort whenever the settlement of accounts is imminent. Although such may be possible for those who have plenty of money at their disposal, it is far beyond the reach of the poor.
There was a man who from early evening began singing ditties in a leisurely manner, much to the envy of another man, who said to him, “You must already have settled all your outstanding debts.” At this the singer burst out laughing and replied, “You seem to be unaware of the tactics which enable us to keep a roof over our heads, while at the same time doing each other a favor on this particular day. Several years ago we hit upon the idea of assuming each other’s mastership to tide us over the year end. For example, two housemasters who are closely acquainted will exchange places for the time being. When a bill collector calls, the visiting master pretends that he is another cold-hearted bill collector and thus addresses the mistress of the house: “Madam, my bill is of a different variety from the ordinary debt. I’ll settle this account with him even if I have to rip it out of his guts !” When any listening bill collector hears such ferocious language used, he gives up clamoring for the immediate payment of his bill and quits the place forthwith.
Such, in brief, is an outline of a recently devised scheme for thwarting bill collectors, which goes by the name of “housemaster exchanging. “ Since it is not yet widely known, it still works.
THE PILLAR RICE CAKES OF NAGASAKI
THE HAST day of November is the deadline for foreign ships to leave Nagasaki; after that day it becomes a deserted seaport. But during the period when foreign trade is allowed, the people of Nagasaki generally earn enough to live on the rest of the year. According to their degrees of fortune, rich and poor alike live comfortably, and do not have to count their pennies. As a general thing, since they buy for cash, when the customary time for the year end settlement of debts arrives, there is not much fuss. Even with the New Year approaching they go right on drinking their salu as usual. Indeed, in this port city life seems easier. Even in December people do not rush about, nor are any December beggars, such as we ordinarily see in the Kyoto-Osaka area, to be seen in the streets. Only by the Ise calendar are the people of Nagasaki aware of the coming of the New Year, and in conformity with time-honored custom, they make it a practice to clean their houses from top to bottom on December 13th. The ba
mboo rake used for sweeping up around the house is tied to the ridge of the roof and left there until the next” house-cleaning day.
Each home, according to its own individual custom, makes rice cakes, the most interesting of which are called ‘pillar rice cakes.’ This kind of rice cake :is made last of all and then stuck on the central pillar of the house (whence its name), to be eaten at the festival of Sagicho, which comes on January 15th and marks the end of the New Year celebrations.
Individual local customs, I have said, are quite interesting. In Nagasaki again, they set up in the kitchen what they call “ lucky poles” in a horizontal position. On them are hung all kinds of foods: yellowtails, dried sea cucumbers, dried sea ears, wild ducks, pheasants, salted porgies, salted sardines, edible seaweed, codfish, bonitos, bundles of burdock, and other foods, all of which will be served at table during the first three days of the New Year.
After dark on New Year’s Eve, beggars, their faces flushed with sake) visit from house to house, bearing trays on which are placed clay masks of Ebisu and Daikoku (gods of fortune), and a heap of crude salt. They call out, “The tide has come in from the sea lying in the direction from which good luck will come this year!” Does this not indeed prove that Nagasaki is the greatest port in the land?
Although it seems to be a national custom that a New Year’s gift not be too expensive, the ones given out in Nagasaki are mere trifles: to men a fan, fifty of which cost one momme; and to women a pinch of tea leaves enfolded in a piece of paper. Since this apparent stinginess is the custom of the entire city, no one should be thought the less of for observing it.
This Scheming World Page 9