Lafcadio Hearn's Japan (30 page)

The night was clear, with a great moon,—and windless, and very warm. Shinzabur
ō
sought the coolness of his veranda. Clad only in a light summer-robe, he sat there thinking, dreaming, sorrowing;—sometimes fanning himself; sometimes making a little smoke to drive the mosquitoes away. Everything was quiet. It was a lonesome neighborhood, and there were few passers-by. He could hear only the soft rushing of a neighboring stream, and the shrilling of night-insects.

But all at once this stillness was broken by a sound of women's
geta
⁴
approaching—
kara-kon, kara-kon;
—and the sound drew nearer and nearer, quickly, till it reached the live-hedge surrounding the garden. Then Shinzabur
ō
, feeling curious, stood on tiptoe, so as to look over the hedge; and he saw two women passing. One, who was carrying a beautiful lantern decorated with peony-flowers,
⁵
appeared to be a servant;—the other was a slender girl of about seventeen, wearing a long-sleeved robe embroidered with designs of autumn-blossoms. Almost at the same instant both women turned their faces toward Shinzabur
ō
;—and to his utter astonishment, he recognized O-Tsuyu and her servant O-Yoné.

They stopped immediately; and the girl cried out,—

“Oh, how strange! . . . Hagiwara Sama!”

Shinzabur
ō
simultaneously called to the maid:—

“O-Yoné! Ah, you are O-Yoné!—I remember you very well.”

“Hagiwara Sama!” exclaimed O-Yoné in a tone of supreme amazement. “Never could I have believed it possible! . . . Sir, we were told that you had died.”

“How extraordinary!” cried Shinzabur
ō
. “Why, I was told that both of you were dead!”

“Ah, what a hateful story!” returned O-Yoné. “Why repeat such unlucky words? . . . Who told you?”

“Please to come in,” said Shinzabur
ō
;—“here we can talk better. The garden-gate is open.”

So they entered, and exchanged greeting; and when Shinzabur
ō
had made them comfortable, he said:—

“I trust that you will pardon my discourtesy in not having called upon you for so long a time. But Shij
ō
, the doctor, about a month ago, told me that you had both died.”

“So it was he who told you?” exclaimed O-Yoné. “It was very wicked of him to say such a thing. Well, it was also Shij
ō
who told us
that
you
were dead. I think that he wanted to deceive you,—which was not a difficult thing to do, because you are so confiding and trustful. Possibly my mistress betrayed her liking for you in some words which found their way to her father's ears; and, in that case, O-Kuni— the new wife—might have planned to make the doctor tell you that we were dead, so as to bring about a separation. Anyhow, when my mistress heard that you had died, she wanted to cut off her hair immediately, and to become a nun. But I was able to prevent her from cutting off her hair; and I persuaded her at last to become a nun only in her heart. Afterwards her father wished her to marry a certain young man; and she refused. Then there was a great deal of trouble,—chiefly caused by O-Kuni;—and we went away from the villa, and found a very small house in Yanaka-no-Sasaki. There we are now just barely able to live, by doing a little private work. . . . My mistress has been constantly repeating the
Nembutsu
for your sake. To-day, being the first day of the Bon, we went to visit the temples; and we were on our way home—thus late—when this strange meeting happened.”

“Oh, how extraordinary!” cried Shinzabur
ō
. “Can it be true?—or is it only a dream? Here I, too, have been constantly reciting the
Nembutsu
before a tablet with her name upon it! Look!” And he showed them O-Tsuyu's tablet in its place upon the Shelf of Souls.

“We are more than grateful for your kind remembrance,” returned O-Yoné, smiling. . . . “Now as for my mistress,”—she continued, turning towards O-Tsuyu, who had all the while remained demure and silent, half hiding her face with her sleeve,—“as for my mistress, she actually says that she would not mind being disowned by her father for the time of seven existences,
⁶
or even being killed by him, for your sake! . . . Come! will you not allow her to stay here to-night?”

Shinzabur
ō
turned pale for joy. He answered in a voice trembling with emotion:—

“Please remain; but do not speak loud—because there is a troublesome fellow living close by,—a
ninsomi
⁷
called Haku
ō
d
ō
Yusai, who tells people's fortunes by looking at their faces. He is inclined to be curious; and it is better that he should not know.”

The two women remained that night in the house of the young samurai, and returned to their own home a little before daybreak. And after that night they came every night for seven nights,— whether the weather were foul or fair,—always at the same hour. And Shinzabur
ō
became more and more attached to the girl; and the twain were fettered, each to each, by that bond of illusion which is stronger than bands of iron.

IV

Now there was a man called Tomoz
ō
, who lived in a small cottage adjoining Shinzabur
ō
's residence. Tomoz
ō
and his wife O-Miné were both employed by Shinzabur
ō
as servants. Both seemed to be devoted to their young master; and by his help they were able to live in comparative comfort.

One night, at a very late hour, Tomoz
ō
heard the voice of a woman in his master's apartment; and this made him uneasy. He feared that Shinzabur
ō
, being very gentle and affectionate, might be made the dupe of some cunning wanton,—in which event the domestics would be the first to suffer. He therefore resolved to watch; and on the following night he stole on tiptoe to Shinzabur
ō
's dwelling, and looked through a chink in one of the sliding shutters. By the glow of a night-lantern within the sleeping-room, he was able to perceive that his master and a strange woman were talking together under the mosquito-net. At first he could not see the woman distinctly. Her back was turned to him;—he only observed that she was very slim, and that she appeared to be very young,—judging from the fashion of her dress and hair.
⁸
Putting his ear to the chink, he could hear the conversation plainly. The woman said:—

“And if I should be disowned by my father, would you then let me come and live with you?”

Shinzabur
ō
answered:—

“Most assuredly I would—nay, I should be glad of the chance. But there is no reason to fear that you will ever be disowned by your father; for you are his only daughter, and he loves you very much. What I do fear is that some day we shall be cruelly separated.”

She responded softly:—

“Never, never could I even think of accepting any other man for my husband. Even if our secret were to become known, and my father were to kill me for what I have done, still—after death itself— I could never cease to think of you. And I am now quite sure that you yourself would not be able to live very long without me.” . . . Then clinging closely to him, with her lips at his neck, she caressed him; and he returned her caresses.

Tomoz
ō
wondered as he listened,—because the language of the woman was not the language of a common woman, but the language of a lady of rank.
⁹
Then he determined at all hazards to get one glimpse of her face; and he crept round the house, backwards and forwards, peering through every crack and chink. And at last he was able to see;—but therewith an icy trembling seized him; and the hair of his head stood up.

For the face was the face of a woman long dead,—and the fingers caressing were fingers of naked bone,—and of the body below the waist there was not anything: it melted off into thinnest trailing shadow. Where the eyes of the lover deluded saw youth and grace and beauty, there appeared to the eyes of the watcher horror only, and the emptiness of death. Simultaneously another woman's figure, and a weirder, rose up from within the chamber, and swiftly made toward the watcher, as if discerning his presence. Then, in uttermost terror, he fled to the dwelling of Haku
ō
d
ō
Yusai, and, knocking frantically at the doors, succeeded in arousing him.

V

Haku
ō
d
ō
Yusai, the
ninsomi,
was a very old man; but in his time he had traveled much, and he had heard and seen so many things that he could not be easily surprised. Yet the story of the terrified Tomoz
ō
both alarmed and amazed him. He had read in ancient Chinese books of love between the living and the dead; but he had never believed it possible. Now, however, he felt convinced that the statement of Tomoz
ō
was not a falsehood, and that something very strange was really going on in the house of Hagiwara. Should the truth prove to be what Tomoz
ō
imagined, then the young samurai was a doomed man.

“If the woman be a ghost,”—said Yusai to the frightened servant,“—if the woman be a ghost, your master must die very soon,— unless something extraordinary can be done to save him. And if the woman be a ghost, the signs of death will appear upon his face. For the spirit of the living is
y
ō
ki,
and pure;—the spirit of the dead is
inki,
and unclean: the one is Positive, the other Negative. He whose bride is a ghost cannot live. Even though in his blood there existed the force of a life of one hundred years, that force must quickly perish. . . . Still, I shall do all that I can to save Hagiwara Sama. And in the meantime, Tomoz
ō
, say nothing to any other person,—not even to your wife,— about this matter. At sunrise I shall call upon your master.”

VI

When questioned next morning by Yusai, Shinzabur
ō
at first attempted to deny that any women had been visiting the house; but finding this artless policy of no avail, and perceiving that the old man's purpose was altogether unselfish, he was finally persuaded to acknowledge what had really occurred, and to give his reasons for wishing to keep the matter a secret. As for the lady Iijima, he intended, he said, to make her his wife as soon as possible.

“Oh, madness!” cried Yusai,—losing all patience in the intensity of his alarm. “Know, sir, that the people who have been coming here, night after night, are dead! Some frightful delusion is upon you! . . . Why, the simple fact that you long supposed O-Tsuyu to be dead, and repeated the
Nembutsu
for her, and made offerings before her tablet, is itself the proof! . . . The lips of the dead have touched you!—the hands of the dead have caressed you! . . . Even at this moment I see in your face the signs of death—and you will not believe! . . . Listen to me now, sir,—I beg of you,—if you wish to save yourself: otherwise you have less than twenty days to live. They told you—those people—that they were residing in the district of Shitaya, in Yanaka-no-Sasaki. Did you ever visit them at that place? No!—of course you did not! Then go to-day,—as soon as you can,—to Yanaka-no-Sasaki, and try to find their home! . . .”

And having uttered this counsel with the most vehement earnestness, Haku
ō
d
ō
Yusai abruptly took his departure.

Shinzabur
ō
, startled though not convinced, resolved after a moment's reflection to follow the advice of the
ninsomi,
and to go to Shitaya. It was yet early in the morning when he reached the quarter of Yanaka-no-Sasaki, and began his search for the dwelling of O-Tsuyu. He went through every street and side-street, read all the names inscribed at the various entrances, and made inquiries whenever an opportunity presented itself. But he could not find anything resembling the little house mentioned by O-Yoné; and none of the people whom he questioned knew of any house in the quarter inhabited by two single women. Feeling at last certain that further research would be useless, he turned homeward by the shortest way, which happened to lead through the grounds of the temple Shin-Banzui-In.

Suddenly his attention was attracted by two new tombs, placed side by side, at the rear of the temple. One was a common tomb, such as might have been erected for a person of humble rank: the other was a large and handsome monument; and hanging before it was a beautiful peony-lantern, which had probably been left there at the time of the Festival of the Dead. Shinzabur
ō
remembered that the peony-lantern carried by O-Yoné was exactly similar; and the coincidence impressed him as strange. He looked again at the tombs; but the tombs explained nothing. Neither bore any personal name,— only the Buddhist
kaimy
ō
,
or posthumous appellation. Then he determined to seek information at the temple. An acolyte stated, in reply to his questions, that the large tomb had been recently erected for the daughter of Iijima Heizayémon, the
hatamoto
of Ushigomé; and that the small tomb next to it was that of her servant O-Yoné, who had died of grief soon after the young lady's funeral.