kwaidan-第14部分
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
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
