Chương Chương 3 · Rokuro-Kubi

Nearly five hundred years ago there was a samurai, named Isogai

Héïdazaëmon Takétsura, in the service of the Lord Kikuji, of Kyūshū.

This Isogai had inherited, from many warlike ancestors, a natural

aptitude for military exercises, and extraordinary strength. While yet

a boy he had surpassed his teachers in the art of swordsmanship, in

archery, and in the use of the spear, and had displayed all the

capacities of a daring and skillful soldier. Afterwards, in the time of

the Eikyō[1] war, he so distinguished himself that high honors were

bestowed upon him. But when the house of Kikuji came to ruin, Isogai

found himself without a master. He might then easily have obtained

service under another daimyō; but as he had never sought distinction

for his own sake alone, and as his heart remained true to his former

lord, he preferred to give up the world. So he cut off his hair, and

became a traveling priest,—taking the Buddhist name of Kwairyō.

But always, under the _koromo_[2] of the priest, Kwairyō kept warm

within him the heart of the samurai. As in other years he had laughed

at peril, so now also he scorned danger; and in all weathers and all

seasons he journeyed to preach the good Law in places where no other

priest would have dared to go. For that age was an age of violence and

disorder; and upon the highways there was no security for the solitary

traveler, even if he happened to be a priest.

In the course of his first long journey, Kwairyō had occasion to visit

the province of Kai. (1) One evening, as he was traveling through the

mountains of that province, darkness overcame him in a very lonesome

district, leagues away from any village. So he resigned himself to pass

the night under the stars; and having found a suitable grassy spot, by

the roadside, he lay down there, and prepared to sleep. He had always

welcomed discomfort; and even a bare rock was for him a good bed, when

nothing better could be found, and the root of a pine-tree an excellent

pillow. His body was iron; and he never troubled himself about dews or

rain or frost or snow.

Scarcely had he lain down when a man came along the road, carrying an

axe and a great bundle of chopped wood. This woodcutter halted on

seeing Kwairyō lying down, and, after a moment of silent observation,

said to him in a tone of great surprise:—

“What kind of a man can you be, good Sir, that you dare to lie down

alone in such a place as this?... There are haunters about here,—many

of them. Are you not afraid of Hairy Things?”

“My friend,” cheerfully answered Kwairyō, “I am only a wandering

priest,—a ‘Cloud-and-Water-Guest,’ as folks call it:

_Unsui-no-ryokaku_. (2) And I am not in the least afraid of Hairy

Things,—if you mean goblin-foxes, or goblin-badgers, or any creatures

of that kind. As for lonesome places, I like them: they are suitable

for meditation. I am accustomed to sleeping in the open air: and I have

learned never to be anxious about my life.”

“You must be indeed a brave man, Sir Priest,” the peasant responded,

“to lie down here! This place has a bad name,—a very bad name. But, as

the proverb has it, _Kunshi ayayuki ni chikayorazu_ [‘The superior man

does not needlessly expose himself to peril’]; and I must assure you,

Sir, that it is very dangerous to sleep here. Therefore, although my

house is only a wretched thatched hut, let me beg of you to come home

with me at once. In the way of food, I have nothing to offer you; but

there is a roof at least, and you can sleep under it without risk.”

He spoke earnestly; and Kwairyō, liking the kindly tone of the man,

accepted this modest offer. The woodcutter guided him along a narrow

path, leading up from the main road through mountain-forest. It was a

rough and dangerous path,—sometimes skirting precipices,—sometimes

offering nothing but a network of slippery roots for the foot to rest

upon,—sometimes winding over or between masses of jagged rock. But at

last Kwairyō found himself upon a cleared space at the top of a hill,

with a full moon shining overhead; and he saw before him a small

thatched cottage, cheerfully lighted from within. The woodcutter led

him to a shed at the back of the house, whither water had been

conducted, through bamboo-pipes, from some neighboring stream; and the

two men washed their feet. Beyond the shed was a vegetable garden, and

a grove of cedars and bamboos; and beyond the trees appeared the

glimmer of a cascade, pouring from some loftier height, and swaying in

the moonshine like a long white robe.

As Kwairyō entered the cottage with his guide, he perceived four

persons—men and women—warming their hands at a little fire kindled in

the _ro_[3] of the principle apartment. They bowed low to the priest,

and greeted him in the most respectful manner. Kwairyō wondered that

persons so poor, and dwelling in such a solitude, should be aware of

the polite forms of greeting. “These are good people,” he thought to

himself; “and they must have been taught by some one well acquainted

with the rules of propriety.” Then turning to his host,—the _aruji_, or

house-master, as the others called him,—Kwairyō said:—

“From the kindness of your speech, and from the very polite welcome

given me by your household, I imagine that you have not always been a

woodcutter. Perhaps you formerly belonged to one of the upper classes?”

Smiling, the woodcutter answered:—

“Sir, you are not mistaken. Though now living as you find me, I was

once a person of some distinction. My story is the story of a ruined

life—ruined by my own fault. I used to be in the service of a daimyō;

and my rank in that service was not inconsiderable. But I loved women

and wine too well; and under the influence of passion I acted wickedly.

My selfishness brought about the ruin of our house, and caused the

death of many persons. Retribution followed me; and I long remained a

fugitive in the land. Now I often pray that I may be able to make some

atonement for the evil which I did, and to reestablish the ancestral

home. But I fear that I shall never find any way of so doing.

Nevertheless, I try to overcome the karma of my errors by sincere

repentance, and by helping, as far as I can, those who are

unfortunate.”

Kwairyō was pleased by this announcement of good resolve; and he said

to the _aruji:_—

“My friend, I have had occasion to observe that men, prone to folly in

their youth, may in after years become very earnest in right living. In

the holy sûtras it is written that those strongest in wrong-doing can

become, by power of good resolve, the strongest in right-doing. I do

not doubt that you have a good heart; and I hope that better fortune

will come to you. To-night I shall recite the sûtras for your sake, and

pray that you may obtain the force to overcome the karma of any past

errors.”

With these assurances, Kwairyō bade the _aruji_ good-night; and his

host showed him to a very small side-room, where a bed had been made

ready. Then all went to sleep except the priest, who began to read the

sûtras by the light of a paper lantern. Until a late hour he continued

to read and pray: then he opened a little window in his little

sleeping-room, to take a last look at the landscape before lying down.

The night was beautiful: there was no cloud in the sky: there was no

wind; and the strong moonlight threw down sharp black shadows of

foliage, and glittered on the dews of the garden. Shrillings of

crickets and bell-insects (3) made a musical tumult; and the sound of

the neighboring cascade deepened with the night. Kwairyō felt thirsty

as he listened to the noise of the water; and, remembering the bamboo

aqueduct at the rear of the house, he thought that he could go there

and get a drink without disturbing the sleeping household. Very gently

he pushed apart the sliding-screens that separated his room from the

main apartment; and he saw, by the light of the lantern, five recumbent

bodies—without heads!

For one instant he stood bewildered,—imagining a crime. But in another

moment he perceived that there was no blood, and that the headless

necks did not look as if they had been cut. Then he thought to

himself:—“Either this is an illusion made by goblins, or I have been

lured into the dwelling of a Rokuro-Kubi... (4) In the book _Sōshinki_

(5) it is written that if one find the body of a Rokuro-Kubi without

its head, and remove the body to another place, the head will never be

able to join itself again to the neck. And the book further says that

when the head comes back and finds that its body has been moved, it

will strike itself upon the floor three times,—bounding like a

ball,—and will pant as in great fear, and presently die. Now, if these

be Rokuro-Kubi, they mean me no good;—so I shall be justified in

following the instructions of the book.”...

He seized the body of the aruji by the feet, pulled it to the window,

and pushed it out. Then he went to the back-door, which he found

barred; and he surmised that the heads had made their exit through the

smoke-hole in the roof, which had been left open. Gently unbarring the

door, he made his way to the garden, and proceeded with all possible

caution to the grove beyond it. He heard voices talking in the grove;

and he went in the direction of the voices,—stealing from shadow to

shadow, until he reached a good hiding-place. Then, from behind a

trunk, he caught sight of the heads,—all five of them,—flitting about,

and chatting as they flitted. They were eating worms and insects which

they found on the ground or among the trees. Presently the head of the

aruji stopped eating and said:—

“Ah, that traveling priest who came to-night!—how fat all his body is!

When we shall have eaten him, our bellies will be well filled... I was

foolish to talk to him as I did;—it only set him to reciting the sûtras

on behalf of my soul! To go near him while he is reciting would be

difficult; and we cannot touch him so long as he is praying. But as it

is now nearly morning, perhaps he has gone to sleep... Some one of you

go to the house and see what the fellow is doing.”

Another head—the head of a young woman—immediately rose up and flitted

to the house, lightly as a bat. After a few minutes it came back, and

cried out huskily, in a tone of great alarm:—

“That traveling priest is not in the house;—he is gone! But that is not

the worst of the matter. He has taken the body of our aruji; and I do

not know where he has put it.”

At this announcement the head of the aruji—distinctly visible in the

moonlight—assumed a frightful aspect: its eyes opened monstrously; its

hair stood up bristling; and its teeth gnashed. Then a cry burst from

its lips; and—weeping tears of rage—it exclaimed:—

“Since my body has been moved, to rejoin it is not possible! Then I

must die!... And all through the work of that priest! Before I die I

will get at that priest!—I will tear him!—I will devour him!... _And

there he is_—behind that tree!—hiding behind that tree! See him!—the

fat coward!”...

In the same moment the head of the aruji, followed by the other four

heads, sprang at Kwairyō. But the strong priest had already armed

himself by plucking up a young tree; and with that tree he struck the

heads as they came,—knocking them from him with tremendous blows. Four

of them fled away. But the head of the aruji, though battered again and

again, desperately continued to bound at the priest, and at last caught

him by the left sleeve of his robe. Kwairyō, however, as quickly

gripped the head by its topknot, and repeatedly struck it. It did not

release its hold; but it uttered a long moan, and thereafter ceased to

struggle. It was dead. But its teeth still held the sleeve; and, for

all his great strength, Kwairyō could not force open the jaws.

With the head still hanging to his sleeve he went back to the house,

and there caught sight of the other four Rokuro-Kubi squatting

together, with their bruised and bleeding heads reunited to their

bodies. But when they perceived him at the back-door all screamed, “The

priest! the priest!”—and fled, through the other doorway, out into the

woods.

Eastward the sky was brightening; day was about to dawn; and Kwairyō

knew that the power of the goblins was limited to the hours of

darkness. He looked at the head clinging to his sleeve,—its face all

fouled with blood and foam and clay; and he laughed aloud as he thought

to himself: “What a _miyagé!_[4]—the head of a goblin!” After which he

gathered together his few belongings, and leisurely descended the

mountain to continue his journey.

Right on he journeyed, until he came to Suwa in Shinano; (6) and into

the main street of Suwa he solemnly strode, with the head dangling at

his elbow. Then woman fainted, and children screamed and ran away; and

there was a great crowding and clamoring until the _torité_ (as the

police in those days were called) seized the priest, and took him to

jail. For they supposed the head to be the head of a murdered man who,

in the moment of being killed, had caught the murderer’s sleeve in his

teeth. As for Kwairyō, he only smiled and said nothing when they

questioned him. So, after having passed a night in prison, he was

brought before the magistrates of the district. Then he was ordered to

explain how he, a priest, had been found with the head of a man

fastened to his sleeve, and why he had dared thus shamelessly to parade

his crime in the sight of people.

Kwairyō laughed long and loudly at these questions; and then he said:—

“Sirs, I did not fasten the head to my sleeve: it fastened itself

there—much against my will. And I have not committed any crime. For

this is not the head of a man; it is the head of a goblin;—and, if I

caused the death of the goblin, I did not do so by any shedding of

blood, but simply by taking the precautions necessary to assure my own

safety.”... And he proceeded to relate the whole of the

adventure,—bursting into another hearty laugh as he told of his

encounter with the five heads.

But the magistrates did not laugh. They judged him to be a hardened

criminal, and his story an insult to their intelligence. Therefore,

without further questioning, they decided to order his immediate

execution,—all of them except one, a very old man. This aged officer

had made no remark during the trial; but, after having heard the

opinion of his colleagues, he rose up, and said:—

“Let us first examine the head carefully; for this, I think, has not

yet been done. If the priest has spoken truth, the head itself should

bear witness for him... Bring the head here!”

So the head, still holding in its teeth the _koromo_ that had been

stripped from Kwairyō’s shoulders, was put before the judges. The old

man turned it round and round, carefully examined it, and discovered,

on the nape of its neck, several strange red characters. He called the

attention of his colleagues to these, and also bade them observe that

the edges of the neck nowhere presented the appearance of having been

cut by any weapon. On the contrary, the line of leverance was smooth as

the line at which a falling leaf detaches itself from the stem... Then

said the elder:—

“I am quite sure that the priest told us nothing but the truth. This is

the head of a Rokuro-Kubi. In the book _Nan-hō-ï-butsu-shi_ it is

written that certain red characters can always be found upon the nape

of the neck of a real Rokuro-Kubi. There are the characters: you can

see for yourselves that they have not been painted. Moreover, it is

well known that such goblins have been dwelling in the mountains of the

province of Kai from very ancient time... But you, Sir,” he exclaimed,

turning to Kwairyō,—“what sort of sturdy priest may you be? Certainly

you have given proof of a courage that few priests possess; and you

have the air of a soldier rather than a priest. Perhaps you once

belonged to the samurai-class?”

“You have guessed rightly, Sir,” Kwairyō responded. “Before becoming a

priest, I long followed the profession of arms; and in those days I

never feared man or devil. My name then was Isogai Héïdazaëmon

Takétsura of Kyūshū: there may be some among you who remember it.”

At the mention of that name, a murmur of admiration filled the

court-room; for there were many present who remembered it. And Kwairyō

immediately found himself among friends instead of judges,—friends

anxious to prove their admiration by fraternal kindness. With honor

they escorted him to the residence of the daimyō, who welcomed him, and

feasted him, and made him a handsome present before allowing him to

depart. When Kwairyō left Suwa, he was as happy as any priest is

permitted to be in this transitory world. As for the head, he took it

with him,—jocosely insisting that he intended it for a _miyagé_.

And now it only remains to tell what became of the head.

A day or two after leaving Suwa, Kwairyō met with a robber, who stopped

him in a lonesome place, and bade him strip. Kwairyō at once removed

his _koromo_, and offered it to the robber, who then first perceived

what was hanging to the sleeve. Though brave, the highwayman was

startled: he dropped the garment, and sprang back. Then he cried

out:—“You!—what kind of a priest are you? Why, you are a worse man than

I am! It is true that I have killed people; but I never walked about

with anybody’s head fastened to my sleeve... Well, Sir priest, I

suppose we are of the same calling; and I must say that I admire

you!... Now that head would be of use to me: I could frighten people

with it. Will you sell it? You can have my robe in exchange for your

_koromo;_ and I will give you five _ryō_ for the head.”

Kwairyō answered:—

“I shall let you have the head and the robe if you insist; but I must

tell you that this is not the head of a man. It is a goblin’s head. So,

if you buy it, and have any trouble in consequence, please to remember

that you were not deceived by me.”

“What a nice priest you are!” exclaimed the robber. “You kill men, and

jest about it!... But I am really in earnest. Here is my robe; and here

is the money;—and let me have the head... What is the use of joking?”

“Take the thing,” said Kwairyō. “I was not joking. The only joke—if

there be any joke at all—is that you are fool enough to pay good money

for a goblin’s head.” And Kwairyō, loudly laughing, went upon his way.

Thus the robber got the head and the _koromo;_ and for some time he

played goblin-priest upon the highways. But, reaching the neighborhood

of Suwa, he there leaned the true story of the head; and he then became

afraid that the spirit of the Rokuro-Kubi might give him trouble. So he

made up his mind to take back the head to the place from which it had

come, and to bury it with its body. He found his way to the lonely

cottage in the mountains of Kai; but nobody was there, and he could not

discover the body. Therefore he buried the head by itself, in the grove

behind the cottage; and he had a tombstone set up over the grave; and

he caused a Ségaki-service to be performed on behalf of the spirit of

the Rokuro-Kubi. And that tombstone—known as the Tombstone of the

Rokuro-Kubi—may be seen (at least so the Japanese story-teller

declares) even unto this day.