Popular wisdom tells us that love is blind—and if the The Stingfish (Okoze) is to be believed, this saying holds true not only across cultures, but across species. Bug-eyed, lumpen-faced bottom dwellers bristling with venomous spines, stingfish seldom inspire undying passion. Indeed, their Japanese name, okoze, derives from an old word meaning “ugly,” while their genus, Inimicus, reflects a similarly dim view of their dubious charms.1 By any objective standard, the title character of The Stingfish, probably composed sometime in the sixteenth or seventeenth century, possesses little more appeal than the rest of her kind, despite her high rank in the undersea court. Fatuous, pretentious, and downright ugly, Princess Stingfish falls short of virtually every feminine ideal—and therein lies the humor of the tale, which casts her in the role of romantic heroine, wooed by no less a suitor than the mountain god himself.
The narrator recounts the courtship of this odd couple with tongue firmly in cheek, employing copious poetic allusions to create an atmosphere of high sentiment, broken by only the occasional wink to the fundamental absurdity of the situation. However, the layers of parody and pastiche rest atop a deep mythical foundation. Viewed as a liminal realm where the ordinary gives way to the otherworldly, mountains loom as large in Japan’s cosmology as they do in its geology. Their magic is embodied in the figure of the mountain god Yama-no-kami, who remains an object of veneration in rural areas throughout Japan, although his (or, in some cases, her) precise nature varies widely across regions.2 However, almost all of this deity’s diverse manifestations receive regular offerings of stingfish from their worshippers. Several explanations are given for this custom: some believers hold that the stingfish serves the mountain god, while others claim that they are husband and wife. In locations where the mountain god is in fact a goddess, she is imagined as an ugly woman who takes delight in the stingfish because it is even more hideous than she.3
Whatever bond may connect this mismatched pair, it has existed for centuries; the dictionary Myōgoki (thirteenth century) notes in its entry on stingfish that they are favored by the mountain god.4 Ultimately, the association most likely derives from the legend of the marriage between the hunter Yamasachihiko and the dragon princess Toyotama-hime. The earliest version of the tale, found in Kojiki (Record of Ancient Matters, 712), makes no mention of the stingfish; however, some later variants identify this creature as the couple’s go-between. The Stingfish thus represents a transformation of the original myth, in which Yamasachihiko—whose name means “Luck of the Mountains”—has merged with the gestalt figure of the mountain god, while the stingfish has been promoted from matchmaker to love interest.5
The blossoms of the mountain cherries are merely part of the scenery here, nothing special; when spring is in its splendor, most of the sights truly worth seeing are found on the seashore. The high waves and the low waves, each spilling over the other, washing across the glistening seaweed on the rocks; the plovers bobbing up and down in the water, and the music of their cries; the boats going out to sea, racing along with the gentle breezes in their sails, and the faint sound of voices singing … even if one glances at it without any particular attention, it is all quite elegant. There are a great many things here that one does not see in the mountains. The smoke from the salt makers’ fires trailing into the sky—whose lovelorn tear tracks does it trace?6 One can even look gently on the heartless fisher-girl who breaks off a bough of cherry blossoms while carrying brushwood down from the mountains.
The mountain god and his companions gathered here and composed verses on this and that as the fancy took them. They were rather odd poems, but the gist was something like this:
shibaki toru |
The hearts of the fisher-girls |
ama no kokoro |
gathering brushwood— |
haru nare ya |
perhaps it is spring that has |
kazasu sakura no |
made them sweet, those sleeves bedecked |
sode wa yasashi mo |
with cherry blossoms.7 |
Reciting this verse, the mountain god wandered restlessly hither and yon.
Now among all the fish, Princess Stingfish was a lady of unrivaled elegance. Her face resembled that of the gurnard or the rockfish, with prominent bones, bulging eyes, and a wide mouth. Decked out in her twelve-layered robes and attended by many other fish, she floated atop the waves enjoying the spring.8 She strummed her zither, and the mountain god heard a voice singing, faint but heavily accented:
hiku ami no |
In every eye |
megoto ni moroki |
of the net as it pulls tight |
waga namida |
my tears |
kakarazariseba |
are not drawn to the surface— |
kakaraji to |
and if I am not drawn to the surface, |
nochi wa kuyashiki |
what regret shall follow |
ryōshibune ka mo |
for the fisherman’s boat!9 |
The shrill sound of nails plucking at strings rang out as she sang.
The mountain god watches Princess Stingfish play her zither in the waves. (From Okoze, courtesy of the Tōyō University Library)
The mountain god stood and listened raptly. His first sight of the stingfish had immediately planted a seed in his mind, and he wanted at least to move nearer to her—but since he could not swim, it was no use. When he crouched on the shore and beckoned with his hand, the stingfish cried, “How dreadful! Someone is watching us!” and slipped beneath the waves.
Nonetheless, the mountain god caught a glimpse of the hems of her skirts as she held them up, and he longed to see her again, if only for an instant. So he lingered there, staring at the place where she had been. However, she did not reappear. When at last the sun sank into the west, he trudged soddenly back to the mountains.10
Like Ariwara no Narihira in the distant past, the mountain god spent the night neither waking nor sleeping, unable to forget her face.11 His chest felt heavy, and his condition soon became worrisome; although he gathered nuts and pine seeds to eat, they would not get past his throat. Still, his love only continued to blossom—and though he wished to vanish like the dew on that blossom, he did not die.12 When the day at last dawned, he again set out on the path to the shore, guided by his hopeful heart. Thinking that maybe, just maybe, Princess Stingfish would rise to the surface, he stared out at the open sea where the whitecaps broke over one another, but he did not so much as catch a glimpse of her shadow. Marking his trail with tears, the mountain god returned to his dwelling in a daze. If only some breeze would slip a message through the cracks in her jeweled blinds and let her know the strength of his feelings! Even after he died, if only she were to think of him in passing, surely the weight of his sins would be lightened in the next life.
As one who dwelled in the mountains, the mountain god did not know his way around the water at all, while those who dwelled in the water were at no less of a loss in the mountains, so there was no way for him to speak with her. Heaving a great sigh, he racked his brains over what to do. He made such a queer sight that even one glimpse of him would make you split your sides with laughter. It brings to mind the man who thought that the gargoyle roof tiles on Inaba Hall in the capital resembled the face of his wife back in his village—and even though he was in the capital, he was homesick from his journey, so he burst out sobbing.13 No one could witness such a scene without snickering.
Just then, a river otter happened by, and the mountain god said, “Oh, good sir, you know how to swim! Such-and-such has happened, and I wish to send a letter; will you please deliver it for me?”
“The stingfish is extremely ugly,” the river otter replied. “Her eyes bulge, her bones stick out, and her mouth is wide and red. The humans would be appalled if they were to hear that someone like you—a god of the mountains—was infatuated with someone like her. What a disgrace!”
“No, no—that’s just your own prejudice,” the mountain god said. “They say that a woman’s eyes should have the shape of round bells;14 it is the nature of beautiful women to have big eyes, just as it is the nature of those of noble blood to have prominent bones, and a wide mouth shows intelligence. She is a flawless lady. No one could see her without losing his heart. And if there is gossip, well, that’s just the way of the world.” As they say, “Love makes even a harelip look like a dimple.” Nonetheless, the mountain god’s earnest demeanor was endlessly amusing.
The mountain god entrusts the river otter with a letter for Princess Stingfish. (From Okoze, courtesy of the Tōyō University Library)
“Write your letter, then, and I will deliver it for you,” the river otter said.
The mountain god’s joy was beyond words. He had neither brush nor inkstone with which to write, so he peeled a piece of bark from a tree and put down his thoughts on that: “Although you may find this unexpected, please permit me to send you this humble missive. Some time ago, I stole down to the seashore, and while I was gazing at the spring ocean, I saw you amusing yourself among the waves, strumming your zither, composing poetry, and singing airs.15 I caught only a glimpse of you, but I could see that you were lovely and refined. If you were a flower, you would be a plum or a cherry blossom, delicate and graceful; you had all the elegance of a weeping willow tousled by the wind. I am bogwood from the deep mountains, doomed to helplessly rot away. What shall become of you when only my feelings linger on? I shall be overjoyed if you send me a reply, if only as proof that this letter has come into your hands.” At the end, he added:
|
kanagashira |
Although I may see |
|
mebaru no oyogu |
the rockfish and the grunion |
|
nami no ue |
swimming in the waves, |
|
miru ni tsukete mo |
I only have eyes for |
|
okoze koishiki |
my beloved stingfish. |
After composing this poem, the mountain god handed the letter to the river otter.
His nose tickling with the urge to laugh, the river otter went to the seashore. With a splash, he paddled down to the bottom of the sea, where he obtained an audience with Princess Stingfish and told her everything. When she heard what he had to say, the stingfish was taken completely by surprise; her red face went even redder, and she would not even take the letter in her hands.
“How cold you are!” the otter exclaimed. “Like the little crabs living in the sea wrack, rack your heart and soak your sleeve with tears, for without compassion, how can we make our way in this world? Our way in this world is to honor even the bonds forged by a single night shared in a brushwood shelter—and this is no ordinary bond, but one that is fathomlessly deep. How can you ignore a heart drowning in love? The smoke from the salt makers’ fires may drift in an unexpected direction, and when the wind blows through the spring willows, each trailing bough must twist and turn. Turn your thoughts to the plight of one whose heart, like the willow, is in knots.”16
The river otter went on in this manner, while the stingfish furrowed her brow in thought. In the end, not being made of stone or wood (although there was a trace of embarrassment on her perpetually ruddy face), she wrote: “Although your letter was unexpected, I am moved by the depth of your emotion. Even if your words are trifles and your feelings are empty, such is the way of this sad world. When it comes time for the autumn grasses to wither, perhaps the wind-blown leaves on the bitter vines will not reveal their hidden faces—but then again … If we allow ourselves to grow close, what shall become of us afterward? In any case, if you can, it would be better for you to imagine that you never saw me—but still, as they say, ‘compared with how I feel now …’—so perhaps it is all in vain. Now, I know that I am the boughs of the young willow, and you shall be the wind that enters me.”17 Then she composed a poem:
omoi araba |
If it is your wish |
tamamo no kage ni |
let us sleep in the shadow |
ne mo shinamu |
of the glistening seaweed; |
hijikimono ni wa |
we shall take for our quilt |
nami wo shitsutsu mo |
the waves spreading beneath us.18 |
She handed this to the river otter, who happily returned and presented it to the mountain god. At first, the mountain god could only weep with joy, tears streaming down his face; but then he hastily opened the letter, and you can be certain that he was readily swayed by the words, “I am the boughs of the young willow, and you shall be the wind that enters me.”
“This evening, I will go to Princess Stingfish,” he announced. “You must be my guide.”
“That is easy enough,” the otter said. “I will go with you.”
Meanwhile, the Octopus Lay-Priest had heard what had happened. “What a disgrace!” he cried. “I have sent letter after letter to the stingfish, but she would not even accept them. And just when I was beginning to resent her, she sends a reply to some mountain god who’s never so much as held an ink brush or wielded a sword, saying that she will yield to his suit.19 It’s unbearable! She must look down on me because I’m a priest, if she gives in so easily to him. Brother Squid, are you here? Let’s go get that Princess Stingfish and throttle her to death!” Ranting on in this manner, he spread his eight arms and crawled about restlessly.
“I feel the same way you do,” said the Squid Lay-Priest, who happened to be nearby. “Please, call together all of our kinsmen and resolve to do what must be done.”
“That’s just what I’ll do,” the octopus said. Needless to say, the reed octopus, the long-arm octopus, the spider octopus, the cuttlefish, the gold-spot octopus, the bean octopus, the reef squid, and the flying squid all came, being members of his clan; and the other clans, both great and small, joined the assembly as well.
Enraged that Princess Stingfish prefers the mountain god to him, the Octopus Lay-Priest speaks with a pair of squid. (From Okoze, courtesy of the Tōyō University Library)
The mountain god and Princess Stingfish live happily ever after. (From Okoze, courtesy of the Tōyō University Library)
Upon hearing of this, the stingfish decided that rather than remain where she was, she ought to hide herself deep in the mountains. Accompanied by the rockfish and the grunion, she floated to the top of the waves and then made her way into the mountains—and on the way, who should she bump into but the mountain god, traveling down the narrow path to the seashore with the river otter in tow!
Overcome with joy, the mountain god did not know up from down and began babbling nonsense: “We have met on the mountain path! The surface of the sea lies deep in the mountains, and the river otter is the stingfish!” After that, they returned side by side to the mountain god’s dwelling and vowed that they would be as two birds flying wing to wing or two trees with their branches intertwined. And so it is that whenever someone takes senseless delight in looking at something ugly, people say it is like “showing the stingfish to the mountain god.”
TRANSLATION AND INTRODUCTION BY LAURA K. NÜFFER
The translation and illustrations are from the Okoze picture scroll (early seventeenth century) in the collection of the Tōyō University Library, typeset and annotated in Ōshima Tatehiko, ed., Otogizōshi shū, Nihon koten bungaku zenshū 36 (Tokyo: Shōgakukan, 1974), 475–85. There are three other extant manuscripts of The Stingfish, all of which were consulted: a captioned folding screen in the collection of Yukawa Tomisaburō, a book in the collection of Takayasu Rokurō, and an illustrated scroll owned by Aoyama Gakuin Women’s Junior College.
1. Regarding the etymology of the word okoze, see Yoshida Kanehiko, Ishokujū gogen jiten (Tokyo: Tōkyōdō Shuppan, 1996), 51. An alternative theory holds that okoze derives from oroka (“foolish” or “absurd”). In either case, the root of the word is decidedly unflattering.
2. The cult of the mountain god attracted the attention of many early-twentieth-century folklorists and ethnologists, among them Yanagita Kunio and Minakata Kumagusu. For a brief overview of contemporary mountain god worship, see Nagamatsu Atsushi, “Yama-no-kami shinkō no keifu,” Miyazaki kōritsu daigaku jinbungakubu kiyō 12, no. 1 (2005): 213–19; for more in-depth analysis of specific regional practices, see Yamamura Minzoku no Kai, ed., Yama no kami to okoze (Tokyo: Entapuraizu, 1990).
3. Takaya Shigeo, “Suzuka Sanroku no yama no kami matsuri,” in Yama no kami to okoze, ed. Yamamura, 159–60.
4. Ōshima Tatehiko, “Otogizōshi Okoze no haikei,” in Nihon bungaku no dentō to rekishi, ed. Ronbunshū Henshū Iinkai (Tokyo: Ōfūsha, 1975), 606.
5. Ōshima, “Otogizōshi Okoze no haikei,” 612–15. Yamasachihiko is abandoned by his dragon wife after he glimpses her true form. Unlike her forerunner, Princess Stingfish has no qualms about letting her husband see her as she is, scales and all.
6. The traditional Japanese method of making salt involved boiling seawater. The smoke of the salt makers’ fires became a stock poetic image suggesting lovelorn tears. The connotations of salt making connect to a larger complex of romantic associations surrounding the seashore and its inhabitants, many of which are alluded to in The Stingfish.
7. The poem plays on the double meaning of yasashi, translated here as “sweet.” In the original Japanese, the word means both “elegant” (in reference to the cherry blossom–bedecked sleeves) and “gentle” (in reference to the fisher-girls’ hearts).
8. Twelve-layered robes (jūnihitoe) constituted formal court dress for women.
9. In Japanese, the openings in a net are described as eyes, the basis for a pun on kakaru, which means both “to fall” (as tears) and “to catch” (as fish).
10. The word translated here as “soddenly,” shioshio, more literally means “saltily,” thus suggesting both seawater and tears.
11. The poet Ariwara no Narihira (825–880) gained fame for his romantic exploits, immortalized in Ise monogatari (The Tales of Ise, ca. tenth century). Here, the narrator quotes a poem from section 2 of this work:
|
oki mo sezu |
I passed the night |
|
ne mo sede yoru wo |
neither waking |
|
akashite wa |
nor sleeping, |
|
haru no mono tote |
and I pass the day staring out |
|
nagamekurashitsu |
brooding on the spring. |
12. The original sentence hinges on the double meaning of masari, which not only means “increasing” but also forms part of the word for “chrysanthemum” (masarigusa). I have attempted to preserve some of this wordplay in my use of “blossom.”
13. This is a reference to the kyōgen play Oni-gawara (The Gargoyle Roof-Tile), whose plot follows the summary in this sentence. See The Gargoyle Roof-Tile (Oni-gawara), in The Kyōgen Book: An Anthology of Japanese Classical Comedies, trans. Don Kenny (Tokyo: Japan Times, 1989), 96–100. Inaba Hall is the main worship hall of Byōdōji Temple in Kyoto.
14. Round bells (suzu) resemble Western sleigh bells in their design and are used in Shinto worship.
15. “Airs” is a translation of rōei, Chinese-style poems sung to set melodies.
16. The river otter quotes from the anonymous poem 708 in Kokin wakashū (Collection of Ancient and Modern Poems, ca. 905):
|
Suma no ama no |
The salt-burning smoke |
|
shio yaku keburi |
f the Suma fisher-girls, |
|
kaze wo itami |
wounded by the wind, |
|
omowanu kata ni |
has bent |
|
tanabikinikeri |
in an unexpected direction. |
This entire passage consists of a patchwork of stock poetic conceits and allusions stitched together by kakekotoba, homophonous pivot-words chosen for their double meaning. I have attempted to mark their placement in the original text with English-language homophones.
17. With its florid, breathless prose and barrage of poetic allusions, Princess Stingfish’s letter is a deliberate parody of literary elegance.
18. The poem is a reworking of a verse in section 3 of The Tales of Ise. The word translated here as “quilt,” hijikimono, puns on hijiki, a kind of seaweed.
19. The Octopus Lay-Priest disparages the mountain god for his lack of scholarly and military achievements. The two pursuits—known as bun and bu, respectively—were sine qua non for any cultured gentleman.