Folk Legends of Japan, page 9
"When we reached the other bank, the boy had already disappeared from the boat and there I could see myself sitting at the door of my cottage. I don't know whether this was a dream or not. But it must have been true, because about that time the fortunes of the Sasada family rapidly declined, while at the Saito house in Saraki their invalid got well almost at once, their son graduated from a university, and the family has prospered greatly."
Such is the zashihi-bokko.
PART THREE
SPIRITS
FOR THIRTY-THREE YEARS after bodily death, the reikon (spirit, soul) of a deceased person hovers about its lifetime residence. In this state it can inflict powerful curses on the living; after that period, however, it becomes a general ancestral spirit. Death is therefore regarded as a great pollution in the folk religion of the common people, who insist that the bereaved family live in isolation and cleanse themselves with purification rites. Formerly a widespread custom of double graves separated the body and spirit of deceased persons. According to the researches of Takayoshi Mogami, the common people of Japan buried a corpse in an ume-baka, but after the expiration of the mourning period they visited and held memorial services at a maeri-baka, where the spirit of the departed one rested in peace and purity. In the ume-baka, the spirit was contaminated from the presence of its corpse, and of fresh corpses deposited in the communal cemetery.
Under extreme circumstances the spirit can leave the flesh even before death. If death occurs when the shirei (spirit) is troubled, inflamed, resentful, or in any way disturbed, that angry spirit presents a fearful danger to any human being it encounters, and may indeed enter and possess that person. Hence the reason for goryo shinko, the honoring of a revengeful spirit with a special shrine and a summer festival and noisy pageant, quite at variance with the gravity of the winter festival for tutelary shrines. Goryo shinko began under imperial auspices in 863 to placate the spirits of grudge-bearing warriors believed to ravage cities with epidemics, but eventually the practice spread to the peasantry. The goryo shrines subordinate embittered spirits to more powerful ones, who control their passions. If a person dies suddenly, without opportunity for proper death rites, say by drowning at sea, that spirit (yurci) also grieves and is tormented. In paintings and drawings the spirit-ghost appears without feet, clad in a flowing garment.
All spirits are on their way to becoming kami, who might roughly be described as ancestral or tutelary deities. The social structure of farm-village life, based on a kinship group called dozoku, increases the veneration toward the common ancestral kami of the villagers, who are all his descendants and worshipers. From the viewpoint of legend, it is the vengeful spirit which interests us most, because a story lies behind his hostility and is written into the goryo shrine.
THE GHOST THAT CARED FOR A CHILD
A closely parallel story is in Heam, Glimpses of Unfamiliar Japan (V, ch. 7, p. 192). A pale woman buys a mizu-ame at a shop and is followed by the ame- seller to a tomb, where he finds a live child beside her corpse. There are world-wide references under Motif E323.1.1, "Dead mother returns to suckle child."
Text from Shintetsu Mintan Shu, pp. 61-63. Collected in Yasuhara-machi, Date-gun, Fukushima-ken.
Note: Ame, a caramel-like candy made of wheat or rice gluten.
A LONG TIME AGO someone knocked feebly at the door of a certain confectionery shop at Yasuhara-machi, Date-gun. It was midnight. When the shopkeeper got up and opened the door, a woman slipped into the house. It was a young woman but her hair was disheveled and she wore white clothes. She had a newborn baby in her arms. Nervously putting up her frowzy, loose-hanging hair with her lingers, she said that she wanted some ame, and handed a penny to the shopkeeper. He felt suspicious, but put some ame on a stick and gave it to the woman. She thanked him and went out of the shop.
Next night and the following nights she visited the shop at the same time and with the same appearance and each time bought a penny's worth of ame. The shopkeeper thought it very strange. One day when he met a painter who was an old acquaintance, he told him about the woman. The painter also had suspicions. He asked the shopkeeper for his permission to stay at his house that night and observe the woman. The shopkeeper agreed.
That evening the painter visited the shop with drawing paper and brush, bringing along sake and some food. He spent hours talking and drinking sake with the shopkeeper until midnight. Then there was heard the same knock at the door as on the previous nights. The shopkeeper opened the door, winking at the painter, and the woman slipped in and demanded a penny's worth of ante. While the shopkeeper was intentionally taking time putting the ante on a stick, the painter who had hidden himself in the rear of the shop, drew a portrait of the woman.
A young man of Hashira-mura, sobering up from the effects of sake that he had drunk at a wineshop, was walking homeward along a lonely, drizzly path one midnight, murmuring a little song. Suddenly he heard a baby's cry behind him. He stood still to listen to it. Who on earth was coming that way with a crying baby at the dead of night? He thought he would wait for the person and walk with him. So he remained by the wayside. As the baby's cry came closer, he looked in the direction of the sound. There was a woman, in white clothes with disheveled hair, coming toward him with a crying baby in her arms. She hardly seemed to be a woman of this world. The young man was astonished.
Soon the strange woman slipped past him and went toward Hashiramura. The young man, as soon as he came to himself, followed after her from curiosity. Or he might have been bewitched by the woman. When she came to the graveyard of Toko-ji at Hashira-mura, she turned back and smiled at the young man. No sooner did she do so than a fiery host set the night ablaze, and she disappeared in the smoke. The young man lost his senses on the spot. Next morning the priest of the temple cared for him and sent him back home.
The wife of a certain farmer at Hashira-mura, who was in her last month of pregnancy, died of a sudden illness. On the forty-ninth night after her death, the forty-nine rice cakes that had been offered before the tablet of the deceased in the temple disappeared. People grew suspicious and examined the graveyard, finding a big hole dug beside a new grave. The relatives talked over the matter and decided to open the tomb in the presence of the village officials. When they dug up the coffin and opened it, they saw that the corpse looked as if death had just occurred. Still more strange to say, it embraced a baby in the sleeves of its shroud, and the baby had grown fat and was licking a piece of rice cake which he was holding in his hands. All the people were astounded at the sight. The child had been born alive in the coffin after the funeral ceremony had been performed.
The people tried to separate the child from the dead mother, but they could not, because she would not loosen her arms. After consultation, they took a woman who had a newborn baby to the corpse and had her show her breast and speak to the dead one, saying that she would give milk to the baby and that the other need have no worry if she entrusted the child to their care. Then the dead woman loosened her embrace and let the baby be taken from her arms.
The rice cakes that had vanished from the temple and six ante sticks were found inside the coffin.
THE GHOST OF THE FIRST WIFE
The theme of a dead wife's revenant twice intrigued Hearn. The Izumo legend in A Japanese Miscellany, "Of a Promise Broken" (X, pp. 190-207), gives a cruel climax to the idea treated below; the ghost of the dead wife terrifies and then decapitates the samurai's second wife. In "The Story of O-Kame" in Kotto (XI, pp. 25-29), a husband again promises his dying wife he will not remarry; her spirit haunts him, until a priest opens her grave and traces holy words on her warm
John Greenleaf Whittier based his poem "The New Wife and the Old" on a New Hampshire ghost legend of the dead first wife plaguing her husband's second bride.
Text from Shimane-ken Kohi Densetsu Shu, pp. 46-47.
Notes: Kotatsu, a quilt-covered frame over a charcoal brazier to provide winter warmth for feet and legs. Futon, a heavily padded quilt.
THERE WAS A CERTAIN handsome man among the samurai that served the feudal lord of Matsue. His wife was also very beautiful, and they loved each other. All the people talked of. them favorably. However, Fortune did not smile on them, and the wife fell sick. No medicine or treatment was effective and she became seriously ill. One day the wife took the husband's hand and said: "If I die, you will marry again. I am sad to think of it." The husband answered: "I will never marry again if such a thing comes to pass. So don't worry about that."
The wife was glad to hear his words, and she died with a smile. The husband in his grief buried her reverently. A year passed. The husband's friends advised him to marry again, but he did not accept their advice because of the promise he had made to his wife. However, he became lonely and gradually the memory of his wife faded. At last he married a new wife.
The days passed peacefully for some time. One day the husband went away on business and did not return home that night. The wife, being lonely, went to bed early. Then a woman sat at her bedside looking as hazy as a cloud of smoke. "What a beautiful lady you are! Your husband ought to love you," she said, and touched the wife's face with her hand. Her hand was as cold as ice. The wife thought it must be the ghost of the first wife. But she spoke no words. Afterwards, whenever the husband was not at home the ghost would appear at night and worry the wife. At last the wife could bear it no longer and went back to her family's house and stayed there.
The husband held a ceremony on the anniversary of his first wife's death. That night, after the guests had gone away, the sister of the first wife was resting at the kotatsu. A strange drowsiness overcame her. Then the candlelight on the family altar flickered, and the first wife appeared like a cloud of smoke from the altar. She came to the kotatsu and sat on it. "Dear sister, I am glad to meet you," she said and embraced her sister's shoulder. The sister cried out and called for someone to come. The ghost disappeared immediately, but the futon on the kotatsu was wet with water.
THE MIRROR GIVEN BY THE GHOST
The idea of goryo is clearly presented here. The general Motif E710, "External soul," also appears, although a mirror as a specific location is not represented in the Motif-Index. There are many references for "Magic clairvoyant mirror," Motif D1323.1.
Text from Shimane-ken Kohi Densetsu Shu, pp. 33-35.
THERE WAS A YOUNG MAN named Hayasuke in the house of Matsumoto, who served the feudal lord of Matsue as instructor in the art of the spear. Being an honest man, Hayasuke was loved by his master. He possessed a special skill in flute playing, which he displayed during his leisure.
Hayasuke always had a small box with him which he kept carefully locked. When people asked him about it, he explained no more than to say that it contained a precious object, nor did he ever show it to anyone. The young samurai of the Matsue clan who customarily assembled to perform spear exercises in Matsumoto's exercise hall were all very curious about the box. Several of them conferred together about the matter and one day opened the box secretly while Hayasuke was taking a nap. To their disappointment, however, they found only a little mirror in the box. When Hayasuke awoke from his nap and learned what they had done, he took great offense. He accused them of doing a dishonest deed unworthy of samurai. The young men made apologies for their error, saying: "We were wrong." Then they asked him: "Why do you guard that mirror so carefully and so secretly?"
Hayasuke answered: "Up till now I have kept this mirror in secret, but now that it is discovered, there is no further use to maintain secrecy. I will tell you everything." So he told them the story of the mirror.
In his younger days Hayasuke was greatly enamored of flute playing. One night he ascended Mt. Seikoin with his friend, playing on flutes under the moonlight. It was already late autumn. They wandered around the dewy hillside among the bare trees. Hayasuke was so much absorbed in playing the flute that he paid no heed when his friend said: "Let's go back now." As Hayasuke did not stop his flute playing, the friend said: "I'm going," and went away.
Then suddenly Hayasuke felt someone hold fast to his legs and pull at them with hands as cold as ice. He was startled and turned around. A beautiful woman sat on the ground. She was clad in a white dress, her hair hung in loose tresses down to her shoulders, and her pale face wore a wistful look.
"Who are you?" asked Hayasuke.
"I am a ghost," the woman answered.
Being of stout heart, Hayasuke did not fear and asked the woman to tell all about herself. The woman said: "I am the wife of a merchant in the city of Matsue. But my husband is a loose man and he has indulged in dissipation. He brought his sweetheart home and let her live with us. She was evil-hearted and hated me. One day when I was at the well drawing water, she pushed me down into the well. After she had killed me in this way, she reported to the police that I had committed suicide, and soon she became the legal wife of my husband. Oh, please just think of my bitter resentment! Some day I shall possess her and wreak vengeance upon her. But the difficulty is that I cannot get into their house, because she had a charm pasted on the door which drives away ghosts. I want somebody to take the charm away. Many men have I accosted and tried to ask them to undertake that task, but there has never been a one who did not run away from me. It is very fortunate that I met you tonight. I pray you to grant my request.
"My husband's house is at Odamaki-cho in Suetsugi and his name is such-and-such. As a proof of my trustworthiness I will give you this mirror. I used it whenever I blackened my teeth, and it contains my soul." So saying, she handed him a small mirror.
With some suspicion Hayasuke said: "I will do as you want." Thereupon the strange woman disappeared.
Hayasuke went down the mountain, passed Nakahara and Dote, and came to Odamaki-cho. He examined each house and finally found the one with the charm on the door. He reached out and took the charm down. He had walked on about ten yards, when there arose a sudden clamor in that house, and a man rushed out in great haste.
"What's the matter?" asked Hayasuke.
"The mistress is suddenly taken ill. I'm going for the doctor," answered the man, running.
Afterwards the neighbors of this house told Hayasuke, when he made inquiry about the episode, that the mistress of the house died of a strange disease. She had struggled furiously as if she were being choked and crushed on her breast by some apparition. She refused to take any medicine and died crying: "I was wrong. Forgive me!"
Hayasuke finished his story and added these words: "I understand that a person will be rewarded according to the way he treats others. Ever since, this mirror has warned me against doing any evil deed."
THE DISH MANSION IN UNSHU
In his article on bakemono (ghostly goblins), Joly speaks of the dramatized legend of Okiku, the Well Ghost (p. 15). His version varies from the text below in having a samurai break one of his precious plates in order to fasten blame on the maid Okiku, whom he then propositions. When she refuses his advances, she kills herself and her ghost haunts the well. Joly refers to a print by Hokusai and a tale by Mitford on the legend (in "The Ghost of Sakura," p. 186; in Mitford's rendition the servant-girl breaks the plate and then commits suicide). Hokusai's sketch is reproduced in James A. Michener's The Hokusai Sketchbooks (Rutland, Vermont, 1958), p. 205.
Text from Shimane-ken Kohi Densetsu Shu, pp. 4-5.
DURING THE SHOHO ERA [1644-48] a certain samurai who served the feudal lord of Matsue treasured ten china dishes. His wife was an evil-hearted woman who always treated the maidservant cruelly. The wife broke one of the precious dishes and dropped the pieces down the well after which she declared that the maid had stolen the dish. The maid was given a severe whipping. Having no way to plead her innocence, she hung herself by the well.
After that her ghost appeared every night by the well and counted the number of dishes: "One, two, three..." in a sad voice. When she had counted up to nine she burst out crying without saying "ten." This strange occurrence took place night after night and became known to all the other samurai. The master of the house worried greatly over the matter. One of his friends, who was a steady, clever man, said: "I will get rid of the ghost for you."
So one night he hid himself near the well to wait for the ghost. At midnight the ghost of the young woman came out and began to count: "One, two, three..." As soon as she uttered "nine" the samurai said "ten." At that instant the ghost-woman vanished from sight.
Since then the ghost has never been seen.
FISH SALAD MINGLED WITH BLOOD
The general Motif M460, "Curses on families," applies here. A similar curse occurs in "Blood-Red Pool," p. 235-36, where rice is mixed with blood.
Text from Bungo Densetsu Shu, p. 47. Collected by Ume Namba.
Note: Namasu, a kind offish salad.
THIS IS A STORY told at Kawazoko in Toji-machi. Long ago the village headman's household was very busy preparing food for New Year's Eve. There was an old dish that had been carefully kept in this house from past generations. On this occasion they put namasu in this dish, and a maid broke it by mistake. The master of the house grew very angry and roared at her. The maid worried herself so much that she threw herself down the well.
After that time on every New Year's Eve the namasu served in this house was mingled with blood. Therefore the family decided never to make namasu in that house on New Year's Eve.
WHITE RICE ON THE POT
Text from Shimane-ken Kohi Densetsu Shu, p. 6, from Naka-gun.
DURING THE SHOTOKU ERA [1711-15], a man named Ichijiro in charge of the rice storehouse of the feudal lord lost one of the straw bags of rice while carrying them to Tanojiri. Ichijiro was tried and sentenced to death. This cruel punishment rendered his mind distraught and led him to commit violence on different occasions. The people of his family sought to restrain him, but he broke free from their confinement and killed himself beside the rice pot over the fire.
