kwaidan- 第14部分

　the　dead　body　of　a　female　ant。









RIKI…BAKA





His　name　was　Riki；　signifying　Strength；　but　the　people　called　him

Riki…the…Simple；　or　Riki…the…Fool；　〃Riki…Baka；〃　because　he　had　been

born　into　perpetual　childhood。　For　the　same　reason　they　were　kind　to　him；

even　when　he　set　a　house　on　fire　by　putting　a　lighted　match　to　a

mosquito…curtain；　and　clapped　his　hands　for　joy　to　see　the　blaze。　At

sixteen　years　he　was　a　tall；　strong　lad；　but　in　mind　he　remained　always　at

the　happy　age　of　two；　and　therefore　continued　to　play　with　very　small

children。　The　bigger　children　of　the　neighborhood；　from　four　to　seven　years

old；　did　not　care　to　play　with　him；　because　he　could　not　learn　their　songs

and　games。　His　favorite　toy　was　a　broomstick；　which　he　used　as　a

hobby…horse；　and　for　hours　at　a　time　he　would　ride　on　that　broomstick；　up

and　down　the　slope　in　front　of　my　house；　with　amazing　peals　of　laughter。

But　at　last　he　became　troublesome　by　reason　of　his　noise；　and　I　had　to　tell

him　that　he　must　find　another　playground。　He　bowed　submissively；　and　then

went　off；　sorrowfully　trailing　his　broomstick　behind　him。　Gentle　at　all

times；　and　perfectly　harmless　if　allowed　no　chance　to　play　with　fire；　he

seldom　gave　anybody　cause　for　complaint。　His　relation　to　the　life　of　our

street　was　scarcely　more　than　that　of　a　dog　or　a　chicken；　and　when　he

finally　disappeared；　I　did　not　miss　him。　Months　and　months　passed　by　before

anything　happened　to　remind　me　of　Riki。





〃What　has　become　of　Riki？〃　I　then　asked　the　old　woodcutter　who　supplies

our　neighborhood　with　fuel。　I　remembered　that　Riki　had　often　helped　him　to

carry　his　bundles。





〃Riki…Baka？〃　answered　the　old　man。　〃Ah；　Riki　is　dead　　poor　fellow！。。。

Yes；　he　died　nearly　a　year　ago；　very　suddenly；　the　doctors　said　that　he　had

some　disease　of　the　brain。　And　there　is　a　strange　story　now　about　that　poor

Riki





〃When　Riki　died；　his　mother　wrote　his　name；　'Riki…Baka；'　in　the　palm　of

his　left　hand；　putting　'Riki'　in　the　Chinese　character；　and　'Baka'　in

kana　（1）。　And　she　repeated　many　prayers　for　him；　prayers　that　he　might　be

reborn　into　some　more　happy　condition。





〃Now；　about　three　months　ago；　in　the　honorable　residence　of　Nanigashi…Sama

（2）；　in　Kojimachi　（3）；　a　boy　was　born　with　characters　on　the　palm　of　his

left　hand；　and　the　characters　were　quite　plain　to　read；　'RIKI…BAKA'！





〃So　the　people　of　that　house　knew　that　the　birth　must　have　happened　in

answer　to　somebody's　prayer；　and　they　caused　inquiry　to　be　made　everywhere。

At　least　a　vegetable…seller　brought　word　to　them　that　there　used　to　be　a

simple　lad；　called　Riki…Baka；　living　in　the　Ushigome　quarter；　and　that　he

had　died　during　the　last　autumn；　and　they　sent　two　men…servants　to　look　for

the　mother　of　Riki。





〃Those　servants　found　the　mother　of　Riki；　and　told　her　what　had　happened；

and　she　was　glad　exceedingly　　for　that　Nanigashi　house　is　a　very　rich　and

famous　house。　But　the　servants　said　that　the　family　of　Nanigashi…Sama　were

very　angry　about　the　word　'Baka'　on　the　child's　hand。　'And　where　is　your

Riki　buried？'　the　servants　asked。　'He　is　buried　in　the　cemetery　of

Zendoji；'　she　told　them。　'Please　to　give　us　some　of　the　clay　of　his　grave；'

they　requested。





〃So　she　went　with　them　to　the　temple　Zendoji；　and　showed　them　Riki's

grave；　and　they　took　some　of　the　grave…clay　away　with　them；　wrapped　up　in　a

furoshiki　＇1＇。。。。　They　gave　Riki's　mother　some　money；　ten　yen。〃。。。　（4）







〃But　what　did　they　want　with　that　clay？〃　I　inquired。





〃Well；〃　the　old　man　answered；　〃you　know　that　it　would　not　do　to　let　the

child　grow　up　with　that　name　on　his　hand。　And　there　is　no　other　means　of

removing　characters　that　come　in　that　way　upon　the　body　of　a　child：　you

must　rub　the　skin　with　clay　taken　from　the　grave　of　the　body　of　the　former

birth。〃。。。









HI…MAWARI





On　the　wooded　hill　behind　the　house　Robert　and　I　are　looking　for

fairy…rings。　Robert　is　eight　years　old；　comely；　and　very　wise；　I　am　a

little　more　than　seven；　and　I　reverence　Robert。　It　is　a　glowing　glorious

August　day；　and　the　warm　air　is　filled　with　sharp　sweet　scents　of　resin。





We　do　not　find　any　fairy…rings；　but　we　find　a　great　many　pine…cones　in　the

high　grass。。。　I　tell　Robert　the　old　Welsh　story　of　the　man　who　went　to

sleep；　unawares；　inside　a　fairy…ring；　and　so　disappeared　for　seven　years；

and　would　never　eat　or　speak　after　his　friends　had　delivered　him　from　the

enchantment。





〃They　eat　nothing　but　the　points　of　needles；　you　know；〃　says　Robert。





〃Who？〃　I　ask。





〃〃Goblins；〃　Robert　answers。





This　revelation　leaves　me　dumb　with　astonishment　and　awe。。。　But　Robert

suddenly　cries　out：





〃There　is　a　Harper！　　he　is　coming　to　the　house！〃





And　down　the　hill　we　run　to　hear　the　harper。。。　But　what　a　harper！　Not　like

the　hoary　minstrels　of　the　picture…books。　A　swarthy；　sturdy；　unkempt

vagabond；　with　black　bold　eyes　under　scowling　black　brows。　More　like　a

bricklayer　than　a　bard；　and　his　garments　are　corduroy！





〃Wonder　if　he　is　going　to　sing　in　Welsh？〃　murmurs　Robert。





I　feel　too　much　disappointed　to　make　any　remarks。　The　harper　poses　his

harp　　a　huge　instrument　　upon　our　doorstep；　sets　all　the　strong　ringing

with　a　sweep　of　his　grimy　fingers；　clears　his　throat　with　a　sort　of　angry

growl；　and　begins；



Believe　me；　if　all　those　endearing　young　charms；

Which　I　gaze　on　so　fondly　to…day。。。







The　accent；　the　attitude；　the　voice；　all　fill　me　with　repulsion

unutterable；　shock　me　with　a　new　sensation　of　formidable　vulgarity。　I

want　to　cry　out　loud；　〃You　have　no　right　to　sing　that　song！〃　For　I　have

heard　it　sung　by　the　lips　of　the　dearest　and　fairest　being　in　my　little

world；　and　that　this　rude；　coarse　man　should　are　to　sing　it　vexes　me　like

a　mockery；　angers　me　like　an　insolence。　But　only　for　a　moment！。。。　With

the　utterance　of　the　syllables　〃to…day；〃　that　deep；　grim　voice　suddenly

breaks　into　a　quivering　tenderness　indescribable；　then；　marvelously

changing；　it　mellows　into　tones　sonorous　and　rich　as　the　bass　of　a　great

organ；　while　a　sensation　unlike　anything　ever　felt　before　takes　me　by　the

throat。。。　What　witchcraft　has　he　learned？　what　secret　has　he　found　　this

scowling　man　of　the　road？。。。　Oh！　is　there　anybody　else　in　the　whole　world

who　can　sing　like　that？。。。　And　the　form　of　the　singer　flickers　and　dims；

and　the　house；　and　the　lawn；　and　all　visible　shapes　of　things　tremble　and

swim　before　me。　Yet　instinctively　I　fear　that　man；　I　almost　hate　him；　and

I　feel　myself　flushing　with　anger　and　shame　because　of　his　power　to　move　me

thus。。。







〃He　made　you　cry；〃　Robert　compassionately　observes；　to　my　further

confusion；　as　the　harper　strides　away；　richer　by　a　gift　of　sixpence　taken

without　thanks。。。　〃But　I　think　he　must　be　a　gipsy。　Gipsies　are　bad　people

　and　they　are　wizards。。。　Let　us　go　back　to　the　wood。〃





We　climb　again　to　the　pines；　and　there　squat　down　upon　the　sun…flecked

grass；　and　look　over　town　and　sea。　But　we　do　not　play　as　before：　the　spell

of　the　wizard　is　strong　upon　us　both。。。　〃Perhaps　he　is　a　goblin；〃　I　venture

at　last；　〃or　a　fairy？〃　〃No；〃　says　Robert；　〃only　a　gipsy。　But　that　is

nearly　as　bad。　They　steal　children；　you　know。〃。。。





〃What　shall　we　do　if　he　comes　up　here？〃　I　gasp；　in　sudden　terror　at　the

lonesomeness　of　our　situation。





〃Oh；　he　wouldn't　dare；〃　answers　Robert　　〃not　by　daylight；　you　know。〃。。。







＇Only　yesterday；　near　the　village　of　Takata；　I　noticed　a　flower　which　the

Japanese　call　by　nearly　the　same　name　as　we　do：　Himawari；　〃The

Sunward…turning；〃　　and　over　the　space　of　forty　years　there　thrilled　back

to　me　the　voice　of　that　wandering　harper；



As　the　Sunflower　turns　on　her　god；　when　he　sets；

The　same　look　that　she　turned　when　he　rose。



Again　I　saw　the　sun…flecked　shadows　on　that　far　Welsh　hill；　and　Robert　for

a　moment　again　stood　beside　me；　with　his　girl's　face　and　his　curls　of　gold。

We　were　looking　for　fairy…rings。。。　But　all　that　existed　of　the　real　Robert

must　long　ago　have　suffered　a　sea…change　into　something　rich　and　strange。。。

Greater　love　hath　no　man　than　this；　that　a　man　lay　down　his　life　for　his

friend。。。＇









HORAI





Blue　vision　of　depth　lost　in　height；　sea　and　sky　interblending　through

luminous　haze。　The　day　is　of　spring；　and　the　hour　morning。





Only　sky　and　sea；　one　azure　enormity。。。　In　the　fore；　ripples　are

catching　a　silvery　light；　and　threads　of　foam　are　swirling。　But　a　little

further　off　no　motion　is　visible；　nor　anything　save　color：　dim　warm　blue　of

water　widening　away　to　melt　into　blue　of　air。　Horizon　there　is　none：　only

distance　soaring　into　space；　infinite　concavity　hollowing　before　you；　and

hugely　arching　above　you；　the　color　deepening　with　the　height。　But　far　in

the　midway…blue　there　hangs　a　faint；　faint　vision　of　palace　towers；　with

high　roofs　horned　and　curved　like　moons；　some　shadowing　of　splendor

strange　and　old；　illumined　by　a　sunshine　soft　as　memory。





。。。What　I　have　thus　been　trying　to　describe　is　a　kakemono；　that　is　to

say；　a　Japanese　painting　on　silk；　suspended　to　the　wall　of　my　alcove；　and

the　name　of　it　is　Shinkiro；　which　signifies　〃Mirage。〃　But　the　shapes　of　the

mirage　are　unmistakable。　Those　are　the　glimmering　portals　of　Horai　the

blest；　and　those　are　the　moony　roofs　of　the　Palace　of　the　Dragon…King；

and　the　fashion　of　them　（though　limned　by　a　Japanese　brush　of　to…day）　is

the　fashion　of　things　Chinese；　twenty…one　hundred　years　ago。。。







Thus　much　is　told　of　the　place　in　the　Chinese　books　of　that　time：





In　Horai　there　is　neither　death　nor　pain；　and　there　is　no　winter。　The

flowers　in　that　place　never　fade；　and　the　fruits　never　fail；　and　if　a　man

taste　of　those　fruits　even　but　once；　he　can　never　again　feel　thirst　or

hunger。　In　Horai　grow　the　enchanted　plants　So…rin…shi；　and　Riku…go…aoi；　and

Ban…kon…to；　which　heal　all　manne