by Donald Keene
It was fall, and a bitter storm one night set Mōemon to thinking how he might fortify himself against the rigors of winter. He decided on a treatment of moxa cauterizing. A maidservant named Rin, who was adept at administering the burning pills, was asked to do the job for him. She twisted several wads of cottony herb, and spread a striped bedcover over her dressing table for Mōemon to lie on. The first couple of applications were almost more than he could bear. The pain-wracked expression on his face gave great amusement to the governess, the housemistress, and all the lowly maids around him. When further doses had been applied, he could hardly wait for the final salting down which would finish the treatment. Then, accidentally, some of the burning fibers broke off and dropped down along his spine, causing his flesh to tighten and shrink a little. But out of consideration for the girl who attended him, Mōemon closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, and mustered up all his patience to endure the pain. Rin, full of sympathy for him, extinguished the vagrant embers and began to massage his skin. How could she have known that this intimate contact with his body would arouse in her a passionate desire for Mōemon, which at first she managed to conceal from others but eventually was to be whispered about and even reach her mistress's ears?
Unable to suppress her desire for Mōemon, Rin hoped that somehow she might communicate with him, but as her education had only been of the most humble sort, she could not write anything, not even the crude-looking characters which Kyūshichi, a fellow servant, used to scribble out as personal reminders. She asked Kyūshichi if he would write a letter for her, but the knave only took advantage of her confidence by trying to make this love his own.
So, slowly, the days passed without relief, and fall came with its long twilight of drizzling rains, the spawning season for intrigue and deception. One day, having just finished a letter to her husband in Edo, Osan playfully offered to write a love letter for Rin. With her brush she dashed off a few sweet lines of love and then, addressing the wrapper "To Mr. Mo—, from someone who loves him," Osan gaily turned the note over to Rin. Overjoyed, the girl kept looking for a suitable opportunity to deliver it, when all at once Mōemon was heard calling from the shop for some fire with which to light his tobacco. Fortunately there was no one else in the courtyard at that time, so Rin seized the occasion to deliver the letter in person.
Considering the nature of the thing, Mōemon failed to notice his mistress's handwriting and simply took Rin for a very forward girl, certainly an easy conquest. Roguishly he wrote out a reply and handed it to Rin, who was unable to read it of course, and had to catch Osan in a good mood before she could learn its contents.
"In response to the unexpected note which your feelings toward me prompted you to write, I confess that, young as I am, your advances are not wholly distasteful to me. I must remind you that such trysts as you propose may produce complications involving a midwife, but if you are ready to meet all of the expenses incidental to the affair—clothes, coats, bath money, and personal toiletries—I shall be glad to oblige to the best of my ability."
"Such impudence I" Osan exclaimed when she finished reading the blunt message to Rin. "There is no dearth of men in this world, and Rin is hardly the worst-looking of all women. She can have a man like Mōemon any time she wants."
Thus aroused, Osan decided to write further importunate messages for Rin and make Mōemon her loving slave. So she sent several heartbreaking appeals to him, moving Mōemon to pity and then to passion. At last, to make up for his earlier impertinence he finally wrote Rin an earnest note in reply. It contained a promise that on the night of May 14, when it was customary to stay up and watch the full moon, he would definitely come to see her. Mistress Osan laughed aloud when she saw this, and told the assembled maids, "We shall turn his big night into a night of fun for all!"
Her plan was to take the place of Rin that night, disguise herself in cotton summer clothes, and sleep in Rin's bed. It was also arranged for the various women servants to come running with sticks and staves and lanterns when Osan called out. Thus all were ready and in their places when the time came, but before she knew it Osan herself fell blissfully asleep, and the women servants too, exhausted by all the excitement that evening, dozed off and started to snore.
Later, during the early morning hours, Mōemon stole through the darkness with his underclothes hanging half-loose around him. Impatiently he slipped naked between the bedcovers; his heart throbbed, but his lips were silent. And when his pleasure was had, Mōemon sensed the faint, appealing fragrance which arose from the lady's garments. He lifted up the covers and started to tiptoe away. "Indeed, she must know more of Ufe than I suspected. I thought she was innocent, that she had loved no man before, that now—but someone has been here ahead of me," he concluded apprehensively. "I must pursue this no further."
When he had gone Osan awoke of her own accord. To her surprise the pillows were out of place and everything was in disorder. Her sash, missing from her waist, was nowhere at hand; her bed tissues were a mess. Overcome with shame at the realization of her undoing, Osan considered. "There is no way to keep this from others. From now on I may as well abandon myself to this affair, risk my life, ruin my reputation, and take Mōemon as my companion on a journey to death."
She confided this resolution to Mōemon, and though it was contrary to his previous decision, nevertheless, being halfway in and feeling the call to love, Mōemon gave himself over to visiting her each night without a care for the reproofs of others, and spent himself in this new service as thoroughly as he had in his work. Thus, together the lovers played with life and death, the most dangerous game of all.
THE LAKE WHICH TOOK PEOPLE IN
It is written in "The Tale of Genji," "There is no logic in love." When the image of Kwannon was put on display at Ishiyama Temple, the people of Kyoto left the cherry blossoms of Higashi-yama and flocked to see it. Travelers, on their way to and from the capital, stopped for a visit when they crossed Ausaka Pass. Many among them were fashionably dressed ladies; not one of whom seemed to be making the pilgrimage with any thought of the Hereafter. Each showed off her clothes and took such pride in her appearance that even Kwannon must have been amused at the sight.
It happened that Osan and Mōemon also made the pilgrimage together. They and the flowers they saw seemed to share a common fate; no one could tell when they might fall. Nor could anyone tell whether the lovers again might see this bay and the hills around Lake Biwa, so Mōemon and Osan wanted to make it a day to remember. They rented a small boat in Seta, and wished their love would last as long as the Long Bridge of that town,7 though their pleasure might still be short-lived. Floating along, the lovers made waves serve them as pillow and bed, and the disorder of Osan's hairdress testified to the nature of their delight. But there were moments, too, when the beclouded Mirror Mountain seemed to reflect a more somber mood in Osan. Love for these two was as dangerous a passage as Crocodile Strait, and their hearts sank when at Katada someone called the boat from shore; for a minute they feared that a courier had come after them from Kyoto.
Even though they survived this, it seemed as if their end might be told by the snows of Mt. Hiei, for they were twenty years old and it is said that the snow on this Fuji of the capital always melts before twenty days have passed. So they wept and wetted their sleeves, and at the ancient capital of Shiga,8 which is now just a memory of past glory, they felt sadder still, thinking of their own inevitable end. When the dragon lanterns were lit, they went to Shirahige Shrine and prayed to the gods, now even more aware of the precariousness of their fate.
"After all, we may find that longer life only brings greater grief," Osan told him. "Let us throw ourselves into the lake and consecrate our lives to Buddha in the Eternal Land." But Mōemon, though he valued his life hardly at all, was not so certain as to what would follow after death. "I think I have hit upon a way out," he said. "Let us each send letters to the capital, saying that we shall drown ourselves in the lake. We can then steal away from here to anywhere
you please and pass the rest of our years together."
Osan was delighted. "When I left home, it was with that idea in mind. So I brought along five hundred pieces of gold in my suitcase."
That, indeed, was something with which to start life anew. "We must be careful how we do this," Mōemon cautioned, as they set about writing notes to various people: "Driven by evil desires, we have joined in a sinful love which cannot escape Heaven's decree. Life has no place for us now; therefore today we depart forever from the Fleeting World." Osan then removed a small image of the Buddha Sakyamuni which she had worn as a charm for bodily protection, and trimmed the edges of her black hair. Mōemon took off the dirk which he wore at his side, made by Seki Izumi no Kami with an iron guard embellished by twisting copper dragons. These things would be left behind so that people could identify them as belonging to Mōemon and Osan. Then, as a final precaution, they even letr their coats and sandals at the foot of a willow by the shore. And since there lived at the lakeside men with a long tradition as experts in fishing, who could leap from the rocks into the water, Mōemon secretly hired two of them and explained his plan. They readily agreed to keep a rendezvous with the couple that evening.
When Mōemon and Osan had prepared themselves properly, they opened the bamboo door of the inn and roused everyone by shouting, "For reasons best known to ourselves we are about to end our lives!" They then rushed away, and presently from the height of the craggy rock faint voices were heard saying the nembutsu,9 followed by the sound of two bodies striking the water. Everyone wept and raised a great commotion over it. Meanwhile Mōemon, carrying Osan on his shoulder, made his way to the foot of the mountains and plunged into the dense growth of fir trees, and the two fishermen, who had dived under the waves, surfaced on the beach at a place where no one would expect them.
All the people were beating their hands and lamenting the tragedy. With help from men living along the shore they made a search but found nothing. Then, as dawn broke, more tears fell upon the discovery of the lovers' personal effects. These were quickly wrapped up and sent back to Kyoto.
Out of concern for what people would think, the families involved privately agreed to keep the matter to themselves. But in a world full of busy ears the news was bound to leak out, and all spring long it gave people something to gossip about. There was indeed no end to the mischief these two souls created.
THE TEAHOUSE WHICH HAD NOT HEARD OF GOLD PIECES
Hand in hand, Mōemon and Osan trekked across the wilderness of Tamba. They had to make their own road through the stubborn underbrush. At last they climbed a high peak, and looking back whence they had come, reflected on the terrors of their journey. It was, to be sure, the lot they had chosen; still, there was little pleasure in living on in the role of the dead. They were lost souls, miserably lost, on a route that was not even marked by a woodsman's footprints. Osan stumbled feebly along, so wretched that she seemed to be gasping for what might be her last breath, and her face lost all its color. Mōemon tried every means to revive and sustain his beloved, even catching spring water in a leaf as it dripped from the rocks. But Osan had little strength left to draw on. Her pulse beat more and more faintly; any minute might be her last.
Mōemon could offer nothing at all in the way of medicine. He stood by helplessly to wait for Osan's end, then suddenly bent near and whispered in her ear, "just a little farther on we shall come to the village of some people I know. There we can forget all our misery, indulge our hearts' desire with pillows side by side, and talk again of love!"
When she heard this, Osan felt better right away. "How good that sounds! Oh, you are worth paying with one's life for!"
A pitiful woman indeed, whom lust alone could arouse, Osan was carried by Mōemon pickaback into the fenced enclosure of a tiny village. Here was the highway to the capital, and a road running along the mountainside wide enough for two horses to pass each other. Here, too, was a teahouse thatched with straw built up of cryptomeria branches woven together. A sign said "Finest Home Brew Here," but the rice cakes were many days old and dust had deprived them of their whiteness. On a side counter were tea-brushes, clay dolls, and dancing-drummer dolls—all reminiscent of Kyoto and therefore a tonic to the weary travelers, who rested there a while. Mōemon and Osan enjoyed it so much that upon leaving they offered the old innkeeper a gold piece. But he scowled unappreciatively, like a cat that is shown an umbrella.10 "Please pay me for the tea," he demanded, and they were amused to think that less than fifteen miles from the capital there should be a village which had not yet heard of gold pieces.
Thence the lovers went to a place called Kayabara, where lived an aunt of Mōemon's whom he had not heard from for many years—who might be dead for all he knew. Calling on her, Mōemon spoke of their family past, and she welcomed him as one of her own. The rest of the evening, with chin in hand and tears in her eyes, the old woman talked of nothing but his father Mosuke; but when day broke she became suddenly aware of Osan, whose beauty and refinement aroused her suspicions. "Who is that?" the aunt asked. Mōemon had not prepared himself for all the questions she might ask, and found himself in an awkward spot. "My younger sister," he replied. "For many years she has served in the home of a court official, but it was a strict family and she disliked the fretful life of the capital. She thought there might be an opportunity to join a quiet, leisurely household—something like this—in the mountains. So she terminated her service and came along with me in hopes of finding housework and gardening to do in the village. Her expenses need be no concern; she has about two hundred pieces of gold in savings."
Thus he blithely concocted a story to satisfy the old woman. But it is a greedy world wherever one goes, and Mōemon's aunt thought there might be something in this for her. "Now," she exclaimed, "that is really most fortunate. My son has no wife yet and your sister is a relative, so why not have her marry him?"11
It was a distressing proposal. Osan sobbed quietly, cursing the fate which had led her to such a dismal prospect. Then as evening fell the son came home. He was frightful to behold, taller than anyone she had ever seen, and with his head set like a Chinese lion gargoyle on his squat neck. A fierce light gleamed in his big, bloodshot eyes. His beard was like a bear's, his arms and legs were as thick as pine trees, and a wistaria vine held together the rag-woven clothes he wore. In one hand he carried an old matchlock, in the other a tinder-rope. His hunting basket was full of rabbits and badgers, as much as to say: "This is how I make a living." He was called Zetarō the Rock-jumper.
In the village it was no secret that he was a mean man. But when his mother explained to him her proposal for a marriage with the lady from Kyoto, Zetarō was pleased. "Good, let's waste no time. Tonight will do." And he reached for a hand mirror to look at his face. "Nice looking fellow," he said.
His mother prepared the wedding cup, offered them salted fish and passed around a wine bottle which had its neck broken off. She used floormats as screens to enclose the room which would serve as a nuptial chamber. Two wooden pillows were also provided, two thin sleeping mattresses, and one striped bedcover. Split pine logs burned in a brazier. It would be a gay evening.
But Osan was as sad as could be, and Mōemon terribly depressed. "This is the price I must pay for having spoken so impulsively. We are living on when we should have died in the waters of Lake Biwa. Heaven will not spare us now!" He drew his sword and would have killed himself had not Osan stopped and quieted him. "Why, you are much too short-tempered. There are still ways to get out of this. At dawn we shall depart from here—leave everything to me."
That night while she was drinking the wedding cup with good grace and affability, Osan remarked to Zetarō, "Most people shun me. I was born in the year of the Fiery Horse."12
"I wouldn't care if you were a Fiery Cat or a Fiery Wolf. I even like blue lizards—eat 'em in fact. And you see I'm not dead yet. Twenty-eight years old, and I haven't had one case of Worms. Mister Mōemon should take after me! As for you: a soft creature brought
up in the capital isn't what I'd like for a wife, but I'll tolerate you, since you're my relative." In this generous mood he lay down and snuggled his head comfortably in her lap.
Amidst all their unhappiness Osan and Mōemon found the brute somewhat amusing. Nevertheless, they could hardly wait until he went to bed, at last giving them a chance to slip away. Again they hid themselves in the depths of Tamba; then after many days had passed came out upon the road to Tango. One night they slept in a chapel of the god Monju, who appeared to Osan in a dream midway through the night. "You have committed the worst of sins. Wherever you go, you cannot escape its consequences. But that is all part of the unredeemable past; henceforth you must forsake your vain ways, shave off the hair you take such delight in, and become a nun. Once separated, the two of you can abandon your evil passion and enter upon the Way of Enlightenment. Then perhaps your lives may be saved!"
It was a worthy vision, but Osan said to herself, "What becomes of me now does not matter. I left my husband at the risk of my life because this love appealed to me. Monju may understand the love of men for men,13 but he knows nothing about the love of women."
That instant she awoke from her dream, just as the morning breeze blew in through Hashidate's seaside pines, bearing with it the dust of the world. "Everything is dust and defilement," Osan told herself, and all hope was lost of ever saving her.
THE EAVESDROPPER WHOSE EARS WERE BURNED
Men take their misfortunes to heart, and keep them there. A gambler does not talk about his losses; the frequenter of brothels, who finds his favorite engaged by another, pretends to be just as well off without her; the professional street-brawler is quiet about the fights he has lost; and a merchant who speculates in goods will conceal the losses he may suffer. All act as one who steps on dog dung in the dark.