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THE SNOW TOMB1 MANY
years ago there lived a young man of the samurai class who was much
famed for
his skill in fencing in what was called the style of Yagyu. So adept
was he, he
earned by teaching, under his master, no less than thirty barrels of
rice and
two 'rations' — which, I am told, vary from one to five sho — a month.
As one
sho is .666 feet square, our young samurai, Rokugo Yakeiji, was well
off. The
seat of his success was at Minami-wari-gesui, Hongo Yedo. His teacher
was Sudo
Jirozaemon, and the school was at Ishiwaraku. Rokugo
was in no way proud of his skill. It was the modesty of the youth,
coupled with
cleverness, that had prompted the teacher to make his pupil an
assistant-master. The school was one of the best in Tokio, and there
were over
100 pupils. One January the pupils were assembled to celebrate the New Year, and on this the seventh day of it were drinking nanakusa — a kind of sloppy rice in which seven grasses and green vegetables are mixed, said to keep off all diseases for the year. The pupils were engaged in ghost stories, each trying to tell a more alarming one than his neighbour, until the hair of many was practically on end, and it was late in the evening. It was the custom to keep the 7th of January in this way, and they took their turns by drawing numbers. One hundred candles were placed in a shed at the end of the garden, and each teller of a story took his turn at bringing one away, until they had all told a story; this was to upset, if possible, the bragging of the pupil who said he did not believe in ghosts and feared nothing. Rokugo Sees a Ghostly Spirit At
last it came to the turn of Rokugo. After fetching his candle from the
end of
the garden, he spoke as follows: 'My
friends, listen to my story. It is not very dreadful; but it is true.
Some
three years ago, when I was seventeen, my father sent me to Gifu, in
Mino
Province. I reached on the way a place called Nakimura about ten
o'clock in the
evening. Outside the village, on some wild uncultivated land, I saw a
curious
fireball. It moved here and there without noise, came quite close to me
and
then went away again, moving generally as if looking for something; it
went
round and round over the same ground time after time. It was generally
five
feet off the ground; but sometimes it went lower. I will not say that I
was
frightened, because subsequently I went to the Miyoshiya inn, and to
bed,
without mentioning what I had seen to any one; but I can assure you all
that I
was very glad to be in the house. Next morning my curiosity got the
better of
me. I told the landlord what I had seen, and he recounted to me a
story. He
said: "About 200 years ago a great battle was fought here, and the
general
who was defeated was himself killed. When his body was recovered, early
in the
action, it was found to be headless. The soldiers thought that the head
must
have been stolen by the enemy. One, more anxious than the rest to find
his
master's head, continued to search while the action went on. While
searching he
himself was killed. Since that evening, 200 years ago, the fireball has
been
burning after ten o'clock. The people from that time till now have
called it Kubi
sagashi no hi."2 As the master of the inn finished
relating
this story, my friends, I felt an unpleasant sensation in the heart. It
was the
first thing of a ghostly kind that I had seen.' The
pupils agreed that the story was strange. Rokugo pushed his toes into
his
'geta' (clogs), and started to fetch his candle from the end of the
garden. He
had not proceeded far into the garden before he heard the voice of a
woman. It
was not very dark, as there was snow on the ground; but Rokugo could
see no
woman. He had got as far as the candles when he heard the voice again,
and,
turning suddenly, saw a beautiful woman of some eighteen summers. Her
clothes
were fine. The obi (belt) was tied in the tateyanojiri (shape of the
arrow
standing erect, as an arrow in a quiver). The dress was all of the
pine-and-bamboo pattern, and her hair was done in the shimada style.
Rokugo
stood looking at her with wonder and admiration. A minute's reflection
showed
him that it could be no girl, and that her beauty had almost made him
forget
that he was a samurai. 'No:
it is no real woman: it is a ghost. What an opportunity for me to
distinguish
myself before all my friends!' Saying
which, he drew his sword, tempered by the famous Moriye Shinkai, and
with one
downward cut severed head, body, and all, into halves. He
ran, seized a candle, and took it back to the room where the pupils
were
awaiting him; there he told the story, and begged them to come and see
the
ghost. All the young men looked at one another, none of them being
partial to
ghosts in what you may call real life. None cared to venture; but by
and by
Yamamoto Jonosuke, with better courage than the rest, said, 'I will
go,' and
dashed off. As soon as the other pupils saw this, they also, gathering
pluck, went
forth into the garden. When
they came to the spot where the dead ghost was supposed to lie, they
found only
the remains of a snow man which they themselves had made during the
day; and
this was cut in half from head to foot, just as Rokugo had described.
They all
laughed. Several of the young samurai were angry, for they thought that
Rokugo
had been making fools of them; but when they returned to the house they
soon
saw that Rokugo had not been trifling. They found him sitting with an
air of great
haughtiness, and thinking that his pupils would now indeed see how able
a
swordsman he was. However,
they looked at Rokugo scornfully, and addressed him thus: 'Indeed,
we have received remarkable evidence of your ability. Even the small
boy who
throws a stone at a dog would have had the courage to do what you did!'
Rokugo
became angry, and called them insolent. He lost his temper to such an
extent
that for a moment his hand flew to his sword hilt, and he even
threatened to
kill one or two of them. The
samurai apologised for their rudeness, but added: 'Your ghost was only
the snow
man we made ourselves this morning. That is why we tell you that a
child need
not fear to attack it.' At
this information Rokugo was confounded, and he in his turn apologised
for his
temper; nevertheless, he said he could not understand how it was
possible for
him to mistake a snow man for a female ghost. Puzzled and ashamed, he
begged
his friends not to say any more about the matter, but keep it to
themselves;
thereupon he bade them farewell and left the house. It
was no longer snowing; but the snow lay thick upon the ground. Rokugo
had had a
good deal of saké, and his gait was not over-steady as he made his way
home to
Warigesui. When
he passed near the gates of the Korinji Temple he noticed a woman
coming faster
than he could understand through the temple grounds. He leaned against
the
fence to watch her. Her hair was dishevelled, and she was all out of
order.
Soon a man came running behind her with a butcher's knife in his hand,
and
shouted as he caught her: 'You
wicked woman! You have been unfaithful to your poor husband, and I will
kill
you for it, for I am his friend.' Stabbing
her five or six times, he did so, and then moved away. Rukugo, resuming
his way
homewards, thought what a good friend must be the man who had killed
the
unfaithful wife. A bad woman justly rewarded with death, thought he. Rokugo
had not gone very far, however, when, to his utter astonishment, he met
face to
face the woman whom he had just seen killed. She was looking at him
with angry
eyes, and she said: 'How
can a brave samurai watch so cruel a murder as you have just seen,
enjoying the
sight?' Rokugo
was much astonished. 'Do
not talk to me as if I were your husband,' said he, 'for I am not. I
was
pleased to see you killed for being unfaithful. Indeed, if you are the
ghost of
the woman I shall kill you myself! 'Before he could draw his sword the
ghost
had vanished. Rokugo
continued his way, and on nearing his house he met a woman, who came up
to him
with horrible face and clenched teeth, as if in agony. He
had had enough troubles with women that evening. They must be foxes who
had
assumed the forms of women, thought he, as he continued to gaze at this
last
one. At
that moment he recollected that he had heard of a fact about fox-women.
It was
that fire coming from the bodies of foxes and badgers is always so
bright that
even on the darkest night you can tell the colour of their hair, or
even the
figures woven in the stuffs they wear, when assuming the forms of men
or women;
it is clearly visible at one ken (six feet). Remembering this, Rokugo
approached a little closer to the woman; and, sure enough, he could see
the
pattern of her dress, shown up as if fire were underneath. The hair,
too, seemed
to have fire under it. Knowing
now that it was a fox he had to do with, Rokugo drew his best sword,
the famous
one made by Moriye, and proceeded to attack carefully, for he knew he
should
have to hit the fox and not the spirit of the fox in the woman's form.
(It is
said that whenever a fox or a badger transforms itself into human shape
the
real presence stands beside the apparition. If the apparition appears
on the
left side, the presence of the animal himself is on the right.) Rokugo
made his attack accordingly, killing the fox and consequently the
apparition. He
ran to his house, and called up his relations, who came flocking out
with
lanterns. Near a myrtle tree which was almost two hundred years old,
they found
the body — not of fox or badger, but — of an otter. The animal was
carried
home. Next day invitations were issued to all the pupils at the
fencing-school
to come and see it, and a great feast was given. Rokugo had wiped away
a great
disgrace. The pupils erected a tomb for the beast; it is known as
'Yukidzuka'
(The Snow Tomb), and is still to be seen in the Korinji Temple at
Warigesui
Honjo, in Tokio. 2 The
head-seeking fire. |