by Ueda Akinari
Because he knew that Sasabe was a reliable man, Katsushirō was pleased at his reply. He soon sold his remaining rice fields, spent the money on bolts of white silk, and prepared to depart for Kyoto. His wife, Miyagi, who was beautiful enough to stop any man's eyes, had always taken good care of Katsushirō, but at this decisive moment she disapproved of his purchase of goods and of his projected journey to Kyoto. She did her best to dissuade him, but in the face of his impetuous nature all her efforts were in vain, and so, though deeply distressed by the uncertainty of her own future,193 she faithfully helped him to get ready.
‘While you're gone I shall have no one to turn to,’ said Miyagi on their last night before the painful parting. ‘My heart is sure to wander lost among the moors and mountains,194 and it will be a lonesome time for me. Remember me day and night and hurry back. I shall pray with all my heart for your good health;195 no one knows what tomorrow may bring. Be resolute, but still, feel pity for me.’
‘You know how I shall drift, as if on floating wood,196 and stay long in unknown provinces,’ Katsushirō replied, consoling her, ‘but when the leaves begin to turn, in the fall, I'll come back.197 Please have courage while you wait,’198 and as dawn broke in the cock-crowing land of Azuma,199 he left and hurried toward the capital.
In the summer of that year200 fighting broke out in Kamakura between Lord Shigeuji and Governor Uesugi.201 After his mansion had been burned to the ground, Shigeuji was forced to withdraw to Shimōsa, where he had strong support, and the entire East was suddenly thrown into turmoil. Young men were conscripted as soldiers, and more and more it became a matter of every person for himself; old people fled to take refuge in the hills, and the word would spread, ‘Today the army will burn our village,’ or, ‘Tomorrow enemy troops are coming,’ and women and children ran here and there, crying in consternation and anguish.
Miyagi wondered if she too shouldn't take safety somewhere, but she trusted in her husband's bidding to wait until autumn, and though her heart was filled with anxiety, she remained at home, counting each day. But after the autumn winds came and Miyagi still heard no tidings, she lamented in disappointment, ‘He too has grown as fickle as the inconstant world,’ and she wrote,202
Mi no usa wa I cannot convey
hito shimo tsugeji The bitterness of my sorrow,
Osaka no But would you point out to him –
yū zuke tori yo Songbird of evening –
aki mo kurenu to203 That autumn is almost over.
Still, many provinces separated Miyagi from her husband, and there was no one with whom she could send word.
After the outbreak of war people's ways changed for the worse. A man who from time to time had visited the house and knew of Miyagi's beauty tried to seduce her, but she staunchly kept her moral standards and succeeded in remaining faithful. From then on, she bolted her door and refused to see any visitors.
Meanwhile, her maidservant had left. She used up her small hoard of savings, and though the old year ended, things were still unsettled in the new one. During the previous autumn, Shogun Yoshimasa204 had ordered Tō no Tsuneyori,205 Lord of Shimotsuke, who held Gujō, in the province of Mino, to take the imperial banner and go to his domains in Shimotsuke. From here, he made preparations with his clansman, Chiba no Sane-tane,206 to attack Shigeuji, but the latter put up a staunch defence, and no one knew when the war might end. Bands of outlaws everywhere pillaged and burned settlements and built fortifications. No place in the Eight Provinces207 remained safe, and throughout the wretched world there was great destruction.208
Having arrived in Kyoto with Sasabe, Katsushirō soon sold all209 of his silk, because around this time in the capital there was a great demand for luxuries. He made a good profit and was preparing to return East, when he heard reports that Uesugi's troops had taken the Kamakura Palace and pursued Shigeuji to an area around his home, which had become the centre of a raging battle.210 ‘It's like the crossroads of Cho Lu,’211 people said. Katsushirō knew that even rumours about local events were often exaggerated, and that there was no telling what had happened in a place as far away as the distant white clouds; but he nevertheless felt uneasy when he left the capital at the beginning of the Eighth Month.
On the all-day climb over lovely Kiso hill,212 a band of robbers barred his way and stripped him of everything he possessed. In addition, he heard that further east new barriers213 had been set up here and there and that travellers were forbidden to pass. Now he had no means of sending word to his wife. ‘Perhaps,’ he thought, ‘my home has been lost in the fires of war, and Miyagi is no longer living in this world, and my native village now serves as a dwelling place for demons.’ Thereupon, once again he turned toward Kyoto, but when he reached Musa,214 in the province of Ōmi, he suddenly fell ill, stricken with the fever.
In that village there lived a wealthy man named Kodama Yoshibei,215 who was Sasabe's father-in-law, and Katsushirō implored his help. Kodama took him in, summoned a physician, and paid for all the medicines. When Katsushirō’s fever had at last subsided, he thanked his benefactor profusely; but he was still not well enough to travel, and he had no choice but to stay there until spring. Meantime, because people liked his straightforward nature and his amiable disposition, he began to make friends in the village, and not only Kodama but others as well valued his company. Later he went to Kyoto and called on Sasabe; afterward he returned to mi and took lodging with Kodama, and before he knew it seven years had gone by as if in a dream.
It was now the second year of Kanshō.216 The Hatakeyama brothers,217 in the province of Kawachi, near the capital, were engaged in a dispute, and trouble threatened the area around Kyoto. Also, in the spring of the same year plague spread out of control, and corpses lay piled in the streets. People believed that the end of the world was coming, and they grieved at the transience of life. Katsushirō thought, ‘How degenerate I've grown! What use have I made of my life ? I've done nothing, and here I am in a distant province living218 off the charity of a stranger. How long can I go on this way ? I don't know what has become of my wife, who I left in my native village, and by staying these long years in fields that grow the grass of for gotten love,219 how can I think of myself as a reliable person! Even though Miyagi may be dead and everything changed, I must at least go and find out and make her a grave mound.’
iii The House Amid the Thickets: Katsushirō and Grandfather Uruma return to the house amid the thickets to pray for Miyagi's soul
Katsushirō told his friends about his decision, and during a spell of fine weather in the Rainy Month,220 he took his leave, reaching his native place in little more than ten days. He neared his former home late one day when the sun had already set in the west and rain clouds hung low, almost touching the earth, making the evening unusually dark. But this was, after all, his old familiar village, and as he crossed the summer moorland it scarcely occurred to him that he might lose his way. A bridge that once spanned221 the rapid stream had now collapsed; to be sure, no sound of horses’ hooves could be heard. The fields lay desolate and abandoned, and he could barely tell which way the path led. Although most of the dwellings were gone, in several of those that still stood here and there he noticed some sign of life. Virtually nothing, however, looked at all familiar, and after standing and wondering which house might be his, he retraced his steps about twenty paces. There, by the starlight that shone through a rift in the clouds, he at last recognised the tall pine tree that had been split by lightning222 – the landmark of his home. Joyfully, he went toward the house and saw that it had not changed, and he could tell that someone was inside, because through the chinks in the old door he spied gleams of light from a flickering lantern. ‘What if it's a stranger ? Can it possibly be her ?’ he thought, trembling with anticipation. He approached the door, clearing his throat223 as he did so, and from inside immediately came a voice saying, ‘Who is there ?’
True, it sounded aged and decrepit, but he knew unmistakably that it belonged to Miyagi. ‘Can I be dre
aming?’ he wondered, his heart in turmoil, and he shouted, ‘I've come back! It's a miracle that you've survived, unchanged, living alone in this wilderness.’ Miyagi recognised his voice and without delay opened the door. She looked black and dirty, with sunken eyes and hair that hung dishevelled down her back. He wondered if she were, indeed, the same person. When she saw Katsushirō, Miyagi without saying a word uncontrollably began to weep.
Astonished, Katsushirō, too, was silent for a long time, and at last he whispered, ‘Had I thought that you were still alive, I wouldn't have waited so many years. When I was in Kyoto I heard about the fighting at Kamakura,224 and how when Shigeuji was defeated he fell back to Shimōsa and that Uesugi kept pressing the attack. At the beginning of the Eighth Month I took leave of Sasabe and set out from Kyoto, but on the Kiso Highway robbers took all my money and clothing, and I barely escaped with my life. Then I learned from villagers that along the Eastern Sea Road and the Eastern Mountain Road new barriers had been set up and travellers were being turned back. I also found out that To no Tsuneyori had been sent to help Uesugi fight against Shigeuji. I heard that our province was nothing but scorched earth, and that horses had trampled every foot of ground. You must have passed away to dust and ashes, I thought, or if not that, I imagined, perhaps you had drowned. Eventually I went back to Kyoto where I managed to live for seven years on other people's good will. But recently I found myself wondering more and more about old times, and I decided that the least I could do was to return and pay my respects. Even in my wildest dreams, you see, I never imagined that you might still be alive. Surely, you must be like the cloud of Witches Hill225 or the apparition at the Palace of Han ?’226 Thus did he try to explain his behaviour.
‘Soon after you left,’ said Miyagi, holding back her tears,227 ‘before the autumn I begged you to return by,228 trouble broke loose in the world. The villagers fled229 from their homes to take to the seas or to find refuge in the mountains, and the few men who stayed mostly behaved like brutes. No doubt feeling bold because I was now living alone, someone tried to trick me with flattering words, but I knew that I would rather die as a broken jewel than go on living as common clay.230 Many times I had to bear heartache and sorrow. When the Milky Way231 told of autumn, you had not returned, so I waited through winter. But spring came and there was still no news. I thought of going to Kyoto to find you, but even a strong man could not loosen the barrier locks, and there was no way at all for a woman to get past. I stayed here, like the pine outside the house, waiting with the owls and foxes,232 until today in vain. But now that you've come back, I'm delighted, and all my reproaches for you are forgotten. I'm very happy now, but you should know233 that a woman could die of yearning, and a man can never know her agony.’
Again she broke into weeping, and Katsushirō took her in his arms and comforted her, saying, ‘These nights are the shortest of all,’ and they lay down together. In the cool darkness the window paper rustled as the breeze whispered through the pines. Exhausted from his travel, Katsushirō fell into a sound sleep. Around the fifth watch,234 however, when the sky began to grow light,235 he suddenly became partially aware of the world of the senses. He vaguely knew that he was cold, and groping with his hands, he tried to pull up the covers. But to his surprise leaves rustled beneath his touch, and as he opened his eyes a cold drop of something fell on his face.
He wondered if it were rain coming in, and then he noticed that the roof was gone, as though torn away by the wind, and that it was daybreak, and the pale shining moon of dawn still remained in the sky. All of the shutters to the house were gone, and through spaces in the dilapidated latticework bed236 there grew high grass and weeds. The morning dew had fallen and soaked his sleeves wringing wet. The walls were covered with ivy and vines, and the garden was buried in tall madder weed. The season was still late summer,237 but the desolation of the house reminded him of autumn moors.
‘Miyagi is not here! Where could she have gone ?’ he thought, upon finding that she no longer lay with him. ‘Have I been bewitched by a fox ?’
Although it had been long deserted, the dwelling was without a doubt his old home. He recognised its spacious interior, its walls, and even the storehouse – all of which he had built to suit his own particular tastes. Bewildered and uncertain and scarcely knowing where he stood, he slowly realised that Miyagi was surely dead and that this was now the home of foxes and badgers – and perhaps, too, of fearsome evil spirits who had entered this desolate place and taken the form of his wife. ‘Or was it her ghost,’ he thought, ‘her ghost yearning for love that came back to meet me ?238 It was just as I remembered her,’ and in an excess of grief, he began to weep.
10 ‘I traveled on over mountains and through hamlets until once more I found myself by the shores of the lake’ (p. 136). Right half of paired screens by Yosa Buson. (Formerly in the collection of Yokoe Manjirō, Osaka; from Buson meiga.)
11 ‘It is our privilege to grant you for a time the shape of a golden carp’ (p. 136). A pair of paintings by Matsumura Goshun. (Hyōgo, Itsuō.)
‘It is only I, I alone who remain unchanged,’239 he muttered, as he searched – first here, then there. Finally, in what had been the sleeping quarters he saw her grave, a heaped up mound of earth, which someone had covered by boards removed from the verandah in order to give protection from rain and dew. ‘Is this where her ghost came from last night ?’ he wondered, horrified and yet entranced.
Amid the implements that had been placed there to dispense holy water, he found a crude strip of wood with a slip of old and tattered Nasumo paper.240 Although patches of the writing had faded away and some of the characters were hard to read, he recognised his wife's hand. No holy name241 and no date were there, but merely thirty-one syllables that showed sharp awareness of approaching death:
Sari-tomo to I have wept in sorrow,
omou kokoro ni Longing for him to come back,
hakararete But how can I go on living
yo ni mo kyō made In this world, till now deceived
ikeru inochi ka By vain hopes of his return!
Recognising for the first time that Miyagi was in fact dead, he flung himself to the ground, weeping bitterly and lamenting how cruel it was not even to have knowledge of the day or the year on which she had perished. At last he stopped weeping, and arose. The sun had climbed high in the sky, and walking to the nearest house,242 he saw the man who lived there and realised that it was not one of the old residents, but he wondered if he perhaps knew.
‘Where are you from?’ demanded the other man, before Katsushirō had a chance to speak.
‘I used to be the master of the house next door,’ Katsushirō replied with a bow, ‘but I've spent the past seven years in Kyoto on business and just came back last night, only to find that my place is in ruins243 and no one lives there. It seems that my wife has died and that someone made a grave, but I wish that I knew just when it all happened. If you by chance have heard, I wonder if you'd please tell me ?’
‘You must feel terribly upset,’ the man said, ‘but I haven't lived here for even a year, and I suppose that her death must have taken place quite a while before I came. I don't know much at all about the previous residents, for most everyone who used to inhabit this village fled when the fighting broke out, and a great majority of the people who now make their home here came from elsewhere. Still, there's an old man who seems to have stayed. Sometimes he goes to your house and prays for the salvation of a departed soul. Perhaps he can tell you about your wife.’
‘Then, could you please show me where this old man lives ?’244 Katsushirō asked.
‘About a hundred paces toward the seashore there are many hemp fields that he has planted,’ the man explained, ‘and nearby you'll find a small hut where he dwells.’
Feeling a sense of relief, Katsushirō made his way there and discovered an old man of about seventy years of age whose back was piteously bent seated on a round woven mat, sipping tea in front of his open-air fireplace. As soon
as he recognised Katsushirō, he asked, ‘Why did you take so long to come back ?’
Katsushirō then saw that this was Grandfather Uruma, who had long resided in the village, and he greeted the old man politely and described how he had gone to Kyoto and stayed, quite contrary to his original intentions. Katsushirō told him of his strange experience the night before and began to thank him for having said prayers, but he could no longer hold back his tears.
‘Soon after you went far away,’ Grandfather Uruma explained, ‘in the summer, I think it was, raging battle broke out, and the villagers scattered and fled. All of the young men were conscripted, and the mulberry fields quickly changed back into thickets fit for foxes and rabbits. But your brave wife trusted that you would keep your promise to return by fall and refused to desert her home. Because my legs are lame and I have trouble walking even a hundred steps, I too shut myself up tightly245 and never left. Although tree spirits and other fearsome monsters at one time established themselves in your place, that young woman continued to stay on, though I never in my whole life saw anything more pitiable. Autumn passed; then spring came, and that year on the Tenth Day of the Eighth Month she died. Grieving desperately at her loss, I carried soil with my own decrepit hands and buried her in a coffin. To mark the grave mound I used a verse that she herself had composed before she passed away. I did my best to assemble some things for prayer and for dispensing holy water, but because I never learned how to write even a little, I had no way of recording the date, and the nearest temple is so far away that I could not get a name for her memory. Five years have since passed, but judging from what you've said, no doubt your brave wife's ghost has visited you to tell you of the anguish that she suffered. Let us go back once again and pray with all our heart.’
So saying, the old man took up his staff and led the way. The pair of them knelt in front of the grave, lifting up their voices in lament and chanting prayers all night, until the dawn. As they kept their vigil in the darkness, the old man told Katsushirō a story: