The Boy Who Drew Cats and Other Japanese Fairy Tales (6 page)

O
NCE UPON a time there lived an old couple who had seen better days. Formerly they had been well to do, but misfortune came upon them, through no fault of their own, and in their old age they had become so poor that they were only just able to earn their daily bread.

One joy, however, remained to them. This was their only child, a good and gentle maiden, of such wonderful beauty that in all that land she had no equal.

At length the father fell sick and died, and the mother and her daughter had to work harder than ever. Soon the mother felt her strength failing her, and great was her sorrow at the thought of leaving her child alone in the world.

The beauty of the maiden was so dazzling that it became the cause of much thought and anxiety to the dying mother. She knew that in one so poor and friendless as her child it would be likely to prove a misfortune instead of a blessing.

Feeling her end to be very near, the mother called the maiden to her bedside, and, with many words of love and warning, entreated her to continue pure and good and true, as she had ever been. She told her that her beauty was a perilous gift which might become her ruin, and commanded her to hide it, as much as possible, from the sight of all men.

That she might do this the better the mother placed on her daughter's head a lacquered wooden bowl, which she warned her on no account to take off. The bowl overshadowed the maiden's face, so that it was impossible to tell how much beauty was hidden beneath it.

After her mother's death the poor child was, indeed, forlorn; but she had a brave heart, and at once set about earning her living by hard work in the fields.

As she was never seen without the wooden bowl, which, indeed, appeared a very funny head-dress, she soon began to be talked about, and was known in all the country round as the Maid with the Bowl on her Head.

She was known in all the country round
as the Maid with the Bowl on her Head.

Proud and bad people scorned and laughed at her, and the idle young men of the village made fun of her, trying to peep under the bowl, and even to pull it off her head. But it seemed firmly fixed, and none of them succeeded in taking it off, or in getting more than a glimpse of the beautiful face beneath.

The poor girl bore all this rude usage patiently, was always diligent at her work, and when evening came crept quietly to her lonely home. Now, one day, when she was at work in the harvest field of a rich farmer, who owned most of the land in that part, the master himself drew near. He was struck by the gentle and modest behavior of the young girl, and by her quickness and diligence at her work.

Having watched her all that day, he was so much pleased with her that he kept her in work until the end of the harvest. After that, winter having now come on, he took her into his own house to wait upon his wife, who had long been sick, and seldom left her bed.

Now the poor orphan had a happy home once more, for both the farmer and his wife were very kind to her. As they had no daughter of their own, she became more like the child of the house than a hired servant. And, indeed, no child could have made a gentler or more tender nurse to a sick mother than did this little maid to her mistress.

After some time the master's eldest son came home on a visit to his father and mother. He had been living in Kyoto, the rich and gay city of the Mikado, where he had studied and learned much. Wearied with feasting and pleasure, he was glad to come back for a little while to the quiet home of his childhood. But week after week passed, and, to the surprise of his friends, he showed no desire to return to the more stirring life of the town.

The truth is, that no sooner had he set eyes on the Maid with the Bowl on her Head than he was filled with curiosity to know all about her. He asked who and what she was, and why she was always seen with such a curious and unbecoming head-dress.

He was touched by her sad story, but could not help laughing at her odd fancy of wearing the bowl on her head. But, as he saw day by day her goodness and gentle manners, he laughed no more. And one day, having managed to take a sly peep under the bowl, he saw enough of her beauty to make him fall deeply in love with her. From that moment he vowed that none other than the Maid with the Bowl should be his wife. His relations, however, would not hear of the match. “No doubt the girl was all very well in her way,” they said, “but after all she was only a servant, and no fit mate for the son of the house.” They had always said she was being made too much of, and would one day or another turn against her benefactors. Now their words were coming true, and besides, why did she persist in wearing that ridiculous thing on her head? Doubtless to get a reputation for beauty, which most likely she did not possess. Indeed, they were almost certain that she was quite plain-looking.

He fell deeply in love with her
and vowed to make the Maid with the Bowl his wife.

The two old maiden aunts of the young man were especially bitter, and never lost an opportunity of repeating the hard and unkind things which were said about the poor orphan. Her mistress even, who had been so good to her, now seemed to turn against her, and she had no friend left except her master, who would really have been pleased to welcome her as his daughter, but did not dare to say as much. The young man, however, remained firm to his purpose. As for all the stories which they brought him, he gave his aunts to understand that he considered them little better than a pack of ill-natured inventions.

At last, seeing him so steadfast in his determination, and that their opposition only made him the more obstinate, they were fain to give in, though with a bad grace.

A difficulty now arose where it was least to have been expected. The poor little Maid with the Bowl on her Head upset all their calculations by gratefully, but firmly, refusing the hand of her master's son, and no persuasion on his part could induce her to change her mind.

Great was the astonishment and anger of the relations. That they should be made fools of in this way was beyond all bearing. What did the ungrateful young minx expect; that her master's son wasn't good enough for her? Little did they know her true and loyal heart. She loved him dearly, but she would not bring discord and strife into the home which had sheltered her in her poverty; for she had marked the cold looks of her mistress, and very well understood what they meant. Rather than bring trouble into that happy home she would leave it at once, and for ever. She told no one, and shed many bitter tears in secret, yet she remained true to her purpose. Then, that night when she had cried herself to sleep, her mother appeared to her in a dream, and told her that she might, without scruple, yield to the prayers of her lover and to the wishes of her own heart. She woke up full of joy, and when the young man once more entreated her she answered yes, with all her heart. “We told you so,” said the mother and the aunts, but the young man was too happy to mind them. So the wedding-day was fixed, and the grandest preparations were made for the feast. Some unpleasant remarks were doubtless to be heard about the beggar maid and her wooden bowl, but the young man took no notice of them, and only congratulated himself upon his good fortune. Now, when the wedding-day had at last come, and all the company were assembled and ready to assist at the ceremony, it seemed high time that the bowl should be removed from the head of the bride. She tried to take it off, but found, to her dismay, that it stuck fast, nor could her utmost efforts even succeed in moving it; and, when some of the relations persisted in trying to pull off the bowl, it uttered loud cries and groans as of pain.

The bridegroom comforted and consoled the maiden, and insisted that they should go on with the ceremony without more ado.

And with the bowl fell a shower of precious stones: pearls, diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, which had been hidden beneath it.

And now came the moment when the wine cups were brought in, and the bride and bridegroom must drink together the “three times three,” in token that they were now become man and wife. Hardly had the bride put her lips to the
saké
cup when the wooden bowl burst with a loud noise, and fell in a thousand pieces upon the floor. And with the bowl fell a shower of precious stones, pearls, and diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, which had been hidden beneath it, besides gold and silver in abundance, which now became the marriage portion of the maiden.

But what astonished the wedding guests more even than this vast treasure was the wonderful beauty of the bride, made fully known for the first time to her husband and to all the world. Never was there such a merry wedding, such a proud and happy bridegroom, or such a lovely bride.

L
ONG AGO, as I've heard tell, there dwelt at the temple of Morinji, in the Province of Kotsuke, a holy priest.

Now there were three things about this reverend man. First, he was wrapped up in meditations and observances and forms and doctrines. He was a great one for the Sacred Sutras, and knew strange and mystical things. Then he had a fine exquisite taste of his own, and nothing pleased him so much as the ancient tea ceremony of the
Cha-no-yu;
and for the third thing about him, he knew both sides of a copper coin well enough and loved a bargain.

None so pleased as he when he happened upon an ancient tea-kettle, lying rusty and dirty and half-forgotten in a corner of a poor shop in a back street of his town.

“An ugly bit of old metal,” says the holy man to the shopkeeper. “But it will do well enough to boil my humble drop of water of an evening. I'll give you three
rin
for it.” This he did and took the kettle home, rejoicing; for it was of bronze, fine work, the very thing for the
Cha-no-yu.

A novice cleaned and scoured the tea-kettle, and it came out as pretty as you please. The priest turned it this way and that, and upside down, looked into it, tapped it with his fingernail. He smiled. “A bargain,” he cried, “a bargain!” and rubbed his hands. He set the kettie upon a box covered over with a purple cloth, and looked at it so long that first he was fain to rub his eyes many times, and then to close them altogether. His head dropped forward and he slept.

And then, believe me, the wonderful thing happened. The tea-kettle moved, though no hand was near it. A hairy head, with two bright eyes, looked out of the spout. The lid jumped up and down. Four brown and hairy paws appeared, and a fine bushy tail. In a minute the kettle was down from the box and going round and round looking at things.

Four brown and hairy paws appeared, and a fine bushy tail.

“A very comfortable room, to be sure,” says the tea-kettle.

Pleased enough to find itself so well lodged, it soon began to dance and to caper nimbly and to sing at the top of its voice. Three or four novices were studying in the next room. “The old man is lively,” they said, “only hark to him. What can he be at?” And they laughed in their sleeves.

Heaven's mercy, the noise that the tea-kettle made! Bang! bang! Thud! thud! thud!

The novices soon stopped laughing. One of them slid aside the
kara-kami
and peeped through.

“Arah, the devil and all's in it!” he cried. “Here's the master's old tea-kettle turned into a sort of a badger. The gods protect us from witchcraft, or for certain we shall be lost!”

“And I scoured it not an hour since,” said another novice, and he fell to reciting the Holy Sutras on his knees.

A third laughed. “I'm for a nearer view of the hobgoblin,” he said.

So the lot of them left their books in a twinkling, and gave chase to the tea-kettle to catch it. But could they come up with the tea-kettle? Not a bit of it. It danced and it leapt and it flew up into the air. The novices rushed here and there, slipping upon the mats. They grew hot. They grew breathless.

“Ha, ha! Ha, ha!” laughed the tea-kettle; and “Catch me if you can!” laughed the wonderful tea-kettle.

Presently the priest awoke, all rosy, the holy man.

“And what's the meaning of this racket,” he says, “disturbing me at my holy meditations and all?”

“Master, master,” cry the novices, panting and mopping their brows, “your tea-kettle is bewitched. It was a badger, no less. And the dance it has been giving us, you'd never believe!”

“Stuff and nonsense,” says the priest. “Bewitched? Not a bit of it. There it rests on its box, good quiet thing, just where I put it.”

Sure enough, so it did, looking as hard and cold and innocent as you please. There was not a hair of a badger near it. It was the novices that looked foolish.

“A likely story indeed,” says the priest. “I have heard of the pestle that took wings to itself and flew away, parting company with the mortar. That is easily to be understood by any man. But a kettle that turned into a badger—no, no! To your books, my sons, and pray to be preserved from the perils of illusion.”

That very night the holy man filled the kettle with water from the spring and set it on the
hibachi
to boil for his cup of tea. When the water began to boil—

“Sorcery!” cried the priest. “Black magic! Help! Help! Help!”

“Ai! Ai!” the kettle cried. “Ai! Ai! The heat of the Great Hell!” And it lost no time at all, but hopped off the fire as quick as you please.

“Sorcery!” cried the priest. “Black magic! A devil! A devil! A devil! Mercy on me! Help! Help! Help!” He was frightened out of his wits, the dear good man. All the novices came running to see what was the matter.

“The tea-kettle is bewitched,” he gasped. “It was a badger, assuredly it was a badger. It both speaks and leaps about the room.”

“Nay, master,” said a novice, “see where it rests upon its box, good quiet thing.”

And sure enough, so it did.

“Most reverend sir,” said the novice, “let us all pray to be preserved from the perils of illusion.”

The priest sold the tea-kettle to a tinker and got for it twenty copper coins.

“It's a mighty fine bit of bronze,” says the priest. “Mind, I'm giving it away to you, I'm sure I cannot tell what for.” Ah, he was the one for a bargain! The tinker was a happy man and carried home the kettle. He turned it this way and that, and upside down, and looked into it.

“A pretty piece,” says the tinker. “A very good bargain.” And when he went to bed that night he put the kettle by him, to see it first thing in the morning.

He awoke at midnight and fell to looking at the kettle by the bright light of the moon.

Presently it moved, though there was no hand near it.

“Strange,” said the tinker. But he was a man who took things as they came.

A hairy head, with two bright eyes, looked out of the kettle's spout. The lid jumped up and down. Four brown and hairy paws appeared, and a fine bushy tail. It came quite close to the tinker and laid a paw upon him.

“Well?” says the tinker.

“I am not wicked,” says the tea-kettle.

“No,” says the tinker.

“But I like to be well treated. I am a badger tea-kettle.”

“So it seems,” says the tinker.

“At the temple they called me names, and beat me and set me on the fire. I couldn't stand it, you know.”

“I like your spirit,” says the tinker.

“I think I shall settle down with you.”

“Shall I keep you in a lacquer box?” says the tinker.

“Not a bit of it, keep me with you; let us have a talk now and again. I am very fond of a pipe. I like rice to eat, and beans and sweet things.”

“A cup of
saké
sometimes?” says the tinker.

“Well, yes, now you mention it.”

“I'm willing,” says the tinker.

“Thank you kindly,” says the tea-kettle. “And, as a beginning, would you object to my sharing your bed? The night has turned a little chilly.”

“Not the least in the world,” says the tinker.

The tinker and the tea-kettle became the best of friends. They ate and talked together. The kettle knew a thing or two and was very good company.

One day: “Are you poor?” says the kettle.

“Yes,” says the tinker, “middling poor.”

“Well, I have a happy thought. For a tea-kettle, I am out-of-the-way-really very accomplished.”

“I believe you,” says the tinker.

“My name is
Bumbuku-Chagama;
I am the very prince of Badger Tea-Kettles.”

“Your servant, my lord,” says the tinker.

“If you'll take my advice,” says the tea-kettle, “you'll carry me round as a show; I really am out-of-the-way, and it's my opinion you'd make a mint of money.”

“That would be hard work for you, my dear
Bumbuku,”
says the tinker.

“Not at all; let us start forthwith,” says the tea-kettle.

So they did. The tinker bought hangings for a theater, and he called the show
Burrtbuku-Chagama.
How the people flocked to see the fun! For the wonderful and most accomplished tea-kettle danced and sang, and walked the tight rope as to the manner born. It played such tricks and had such droll ways that the people laughed till their sides ached. It was a treat to see the tea-kettle bow as gracefully as a lord and thank the people for their patience.

The people Rocked to see the wonderful tea-kettle dance,
sing, and walk the tight rope.

The
Bumbuku-Chagama
was the talk of the country-side, and all the gentry came to see it as well as the commonalty. As for the tinker, he waved a fan and took the money. You may believe that he grew fat and rich. He even went to Court, where the great ladies and the royal princesses made much of the wonderful tea-kettle.

At last the tinker retired from business, and to him the tea-kettle came with tears in its bright eyes.

“I'm much afraid it's time to leave you,” it says.

“Now, don't say that,
Bumbuku,
dear,” says the tinker. “We'll be so happy together now we are rich.”

“I've come to the end of my time,” says the tea-kettle. “You'll not see old
Bumbuku
any more; henceforth I shall be an ordinary kettle, nothing more or less.”

“Oh, my dear
Bumbuku,
what shall I do?” cried the poor tinker in tears.

“I think I should like to be given to the temple of Morinji, as a very sacred treasure,” says the tea-kettle.

It never spoke or moved again. So the tinker presented it as a very sacred treasure to the temple, and the half of his wealth with it.

And the tea-kettle was held in wondrous fame for many a long year. Some persons even worshiped it as a saint.