Crackling Mountain Kachikachiyama

The traditional tale of “Crackling Mountain” describes a vendetta that a rabbit carries out against a badger. The badger had been captured by an old man and was going to be made into a stew. While his captor was away, however, the badger killed the old man’s wife and, assuming her form, served her as the stew to the old man upon his return. The rabbit, as a friend of the old couple, took vengeance by performing the deeds elaborated by Dazai in his reworking of the tale.

As with “Taking the Wen Away,” Dazai begins “Crackling Mountain” with a preface, this one meandering for several pages before the story itself gets underway. Among other things, he describes a problem that arises from a recent change in the old tale, a change that tones down some of the cruelty for the saké of young readers. Dazai sees this change as giving rise to a new problem. For when the badger is himself killed after merely wounding the old woman in self-defense, then justice is ill served.

Perhaps this commentary is not meant to be taken seriously. Dazai writes at least partly in jest, and the surest note that he plays in these opening paragraphs is one of self-caricature. Indeed, as the story unfolds, the suggestion that the author is poking fun at himself through his portrayal of the badger becomes almost irresistible.

Certainly Dazai transforms the traditional tale radically, even as he retells its main episodes. Satirical to a heavy-handed degree perhaps, “Crackling Mountain” can be read all the same for its humor, energy, and inventive play. As with the previous selection, “Taking the Wen Away,” the principal puzzle crops up in the epilogue.

Given the total context of the tale, this episode could amount to the author’s playing a joke on himself. For, after raising in his preface the problem of the unjust treatment of the badger in the newer editions of the traditional tale, Dazai claims to provide a solution with his revolutionary interpretation of the identity of the two principal characters. But, rather than make the tale more understandable, this ploy creates its own problems, and intractable ones at that.

One certainty about “Crackling Mountain” is the author’s pose of personal involvement. Dazai was thirty-seven when he wrote “Crackling Mountain,” the same age as his badger. Indeed, the association between author and badger is hinted at throughout the tale. This makes the epilogue doubly perplexing. For, in addition to wondering whether to dismiss the foolish badger or sympathize with him, one also must question if the author sees himself in this badger to the very end.

In spite of appearances, the rabbit in “Crackling Mountain” is actually a teenage girl, while the badger who undergoes a heartrending defeat is an ugly man in love with her. That’s how things look to me, no doubt about it.

The setting of the tale is supposed to have been around Lake Kawaguchi, close to Mount Fuji in the Kōshū region. The exact spot is now called The Inner Mountain of Funazu. People in the Kōshū region are—well, brusque is the word. Maybe that’s why “Crackling Mountain” is rougher than the other Otogi Zōshi tales. First of all, the story begins on a cruel note, with the old woman being turned into a stew. Now that was hardly a prank! No, it was downright wicked. The badger committed other atrocities too—like that terrible business of scattering the old woman’s bones under the veranda. It’s a shame, but the tale had to be banned for children.

In the illustrated version now on sale, the badger only wounds the old woman before running away. In my opinion no one should object to this change as a means of getting around the ban. But, in taking vengeance for this mischief, the rabbit goes much too far. A valiant avenger should dispatch the enemy with one blow. Not in this case, though. Our rabbit taunts her victim, mocks and almost hounds him to death before luring him into the clay boat that, as it crumbles, leaves the poor creature gurgling helplessly in the water. Yes, a cunning scheme from beginning to end, but hardly in accord with the Way of the Japanese Warrior. If the badger had followed through on his vicious intention to serve up the old woman as stew, no one would think twice at the well-deserved punishment he receives. But in the new version that protects innocent children and circumvents the ban, the badger merely wounds the old woman and flees. In all fairness the rabbit shouldn’t be allowed to torture and humiliate the badger so relentlessly, drowning him at last in that disgraceful manner.

The badger was merely frolicking in the hills when he got caught by the old man. With his captor planning to make him into stew, the situation seemed hopeless. Desperate for a way to escape, he finally succeeded in tricking the old woman and saving his own skin. Now, the scheme to make her into stew was wrong. But the badger’s only crime in the recent illustrated version is to claw the old woman while making his escape. One can hardly call reasonable self-defense a terrible deed, even if unintended injury is inflicted.

My five-year-old daughter is very homely—just like her father. Unfortunately she thinks in the same eccentric way too. We were in the family air-raid shelter together, and I was reading the illustrated “Crackling Mountain” to her when she blurted out, “The badger . . . what a pity.” “What a pity”—that’s a phrase she’s picked up recently, and she repeats it over and over regardless of what she sees. Since she’s obviously trying to play up to her softhearted mother, her behavior is hardly surprising. Of course, in this case it could well be that she likes badgers. She once saw a group of them nervously trotting about in their cage when her father took her to the neighborhood zoo in Inokashira Park. Maybe that’s why she’s instinctively drawn to the badger in “Crackling Mountain.” Whatever the grounds, though, this little tenderheart of mine is mistaken. Her notions are flimsy, the origins of her compassion obscure. Actually, I shouldn’t be making this much fuss over her.

Still, that chance phrase—“What a pity”—seemed to have something suggestive about it, even when mumbled by a mere child. Reflecting on the matter, the girl’s father began to realize that, yes, the avenging rabbit had indeed gone too far. With this toddler of his, he might gloss over the matter; but wouldn’t older children, having been taught about The Warrior’s Way and Forthrightness, find the methods of the rabbit underhanded? Now that he had reached the heart of the matter, the dim-witted man started frowning.

When things happen as in the recent illustrated books—the badger terribly mistreated by the rabbit for merely clawing the old woman; his back burned and then smeared with red pepper; and his death assured by the ride in the clay boat—well, then it’s only natural that any child smart enough to attend our public schools might begin to wonder. Even if the badger had tried to make the old lady into stew, why couldn’t the rabbit have acted like a true warrior by solemnly proclaiming its pedigree and dispatching the enemy with a single blow? A rabbit may be frail, but that’s no excuse for deviousness. God favors the righteous, and revenge must be carried out openly. Even in the face of heavy odds the avenger must cry out, Heaven wills it! and leap directly upon the foe. When his skills aren’t equal to the task, he must discipline himself like that vanquished Chinese king of Yueh who slept every night on a woodpile to remind himself of the bitter taste of defeat.

Or else he might wholly devote himself to practicing the martial arts at Mount Kurama. For ages the Japanese hero has generally acted in this manner—in fact, there don’t seem to be any other vendetta tales in which the avenger, regardless of how extreme the provocation, uses wily tricks and torments his opponent to death. Only in “Crackling Mountain” is revenge accomplished by disgraceful means. Hardly the way a man would act, is it? Child or adult, anyone with even a slight concern for justice would feel something was wrong.

But don’t worry, I’ve thought this problem over. And I’ve figured out why the rabbit took this unmanly approach to vengeance. The rabbit’s not a man, but a pretty girl. No doubt about that. She’s fifteen years old—not quite ready to flirt and meaner than ever for just that reason.

Everyone knows that lovely goddesses often appear in the Greek myths. Even in their company Artemis is alluring beyond compare—after Aphrodite at least. Artemis is well known as Goddess of the Moon, and her brow displays the pale glimmer of a new, crescent moon. Like Apollo, she is shrewd and determined, and all of the wild animals are subject to her. That doesn’t mean she’s a sturdy Amazon, though; she has a small, slender figure, and her limbs are delicate. Her face is so uncommonly beautiful as to give one a shudder. In spite of this, she lacks the femininity of Aphrodite. Her breasts are small, and she is callous toward those whom she dislikes. By splashing the hunter who peeked at her while she was bathing, Artemis instantly turned him into a stag. If that’s what happened to someone who saw her bathing, I can’t imagine how she would punish a man who tried holding her hand. Such a woman will humiliate any suitor. It’s too bad that stupid men easily give into temptation and thereby seal their own fate.

Those who doubt what I say should observe our poor badger as he yearns for his Artemis-like teenager. If I’m correct, the malicious and unmanly chastisement of the badger is perfectly understandable. Whichever crime he committed, stewing the old woman or clawing her, makes no difference to the girl—this we must grant as fact, even as we sigh over it. Moreover, our so-called badger is just the sort who would woo an Artemis-like teenager. That is, he’s a roly-poly glutton both stupid and uncouth who cuts a sorry figure even among his cohorts. One can surmise already the wretched end awaiting for him.

In the story itself, then, the old man had captured the badger and decided to make him into stew. But, desperate to see his rabbit-maid once more, the badger fretted and struggled until he finally escaped into the hills. Restlessly he searched all over for her, mumbling something or other all the while.

“Cheer up!” he exclaimed upon finding her. “I got away in the nick of time. I waited till the old man was gone; then I let out a shriek, went right for the old woman, gave her a mighty blow and escaped. Was luck ever with me.” Thus did the badger speak of his brush with death, his face beaming and spit flying from his mouth.

As the rabbit listened, she sprang back to avoid the spray. Humbug!—that’s what her look said. “What’s there to cheer about?” she retorted. “You’re a filthy . . . Imagine, spitting like that. And besides, the old man and lady are friends of mine. Didn’t you realize that?”

“Oh?” the badger exclaimed, taken aback. “No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry, if only I had known ... Even if they were going to make stew of me or whatever . . .” He was obviously disheartened.

“It’s too late for excuses now! You must have known about their garden, and how I’d help myself to their luscious beans ever so often. If only you’d known ... Liar! You’ve got a grudge against me.”

Even as she berated him, the rabbit was already thinking ahead to revenge. A maiden’s ire can be scathing and merciless, especially when her victim is both ugly and dumb.

“C’mon, forgive me—I didn’t realize. I’m no liar. Honest, I’m not.” Even as he entreated her in his sweetest manner, the badger stretched his neck and gave the rabbit a bow. He also noticed a fallen berry and instantly gobbled it up, his eyes darting hither and thither in search of more. “I’d rather die than see you so angry,” he said. “Really, I mean it.”

“Nonsense! All you think of is eating.” She turned away primly as though she felt nothing but contempt for him. “Besides being a lecher, you’re the filthiest glutton I can imagine.”

“Please, don’t make a fuss about that. I’m so hungry ...” Having confessed to this weakness, the badger anxiously scoured the nearby area even as he lamented, “If you only knew how I suffer ...”

“Didn’t I tell you to keep away from me? Phew! Move over there. You want to know what I heard? I heard you eat lizard, that’s what. And scat, too!”

“Oh, surely ...” The badger smiled lamely, but he didn’t seem able to deny the charge. His mouth twisting as he smiled once again, the badger meekly repeated, “Oh surely ...”

“You needn’t bother pretending. I can tell because you smell even worse than usual.”

Even as she dismissed him, the rabbit seemed taken with a brilliant scheme. Suddenly her eyes glittered and she turned to the badger. Suppressing the cruel smile that seemed ready to cross her face, she said, “Well, I’ll forgive you this once. Hey! I told you to keep your distance. You need watching every moment. And how about wiping that slobber from your face. You’re dripping under the chin. Now listen closely. I’ll forgive you just this once, but there’s a catch. The old man’s feeling dejected now, so he won’t be up to gathering firewood in the hills. Let’s go ahead and do it for him.”

“Together? Both you and me?” The badger’s small, turbid eyes lit up with pleasure.

“That doesn’t suit you?”

“What do you mean—doesn’t suit me? C’mon, let’s go right now.” The badger was so happy that his voice turned hoarse.

“Let’s go tomorrow instead,” the rabbit countered. “Is early in the morning okay? You’re probably worn out today—and hungry too,” she added, her generosity beyond belief.

“How good of you!” the badger responded. “I’ll gather plenty of things for a meal. When we get to the hill, I’ll work with all my might and cut a whole cord of firewood. I’ll deliver it to the old man’s place, and then you’ll forgive me, won’t you? And we’ll be friends again?”

“You do carry on, don’t you? Really, it depends on how well you do. I guess we’ll be friends.”

“Heh-heh,” the badger snickered. “What a provocative tongue. So you’re putting me on the spot. Damn! I’m already ...” The badger paused, then snatched a spider crawling nearby and devoured it. “I’m so happy I could cry.”

He sniffled and pretended to weep.

The summer morning was cool, and a white mist enveloped the waters of Lake Kawaguchi. Though drenched in dew, the badger and the rabbit busily gathered brushwood on the mountain top.

To all appearances the badger was utterly absorbed in the task. He had worked himself into a near frenzy—flailing his sickle about, groaning excessively, and making his travail known by crying “Ouch!” now and then. He rushed about without pause, anxious that the rabbit notice how hard he was working. This rampage had gone on awhile when he suddenly flung away his sickle, his look proclaiming that he was through.

“There!” he exclaimed. “You see these blisters? Ah, my hands really sting. I’m thirsty too—and hungry. Well, hard work’ll do that to you. Shall we have a break? And get to the lunch, maybe. Heh-heh.”

Having let out this sheepish chuckle, the badger opened the lunchbox. It was as huge as a utility gasoline can, and he stuck his nose right in. Thereupon the box echoed with sounds of snatching, munching, and swallowing, the badger losing himself in the task of eating. The rabbit stopped cutting brushwood, a stunned look on her face, then peeked into the lunchbox. Whatever was inside must have been awful, for a tiny squeal escaped her lips and she immediately covered her face with both hands.

All that morning the rabbit had refrained from abusing the badger as she usually did. Perhaps she already had another scheme in mind; for, even as she ignored the capering rascal and concentrated on quickly cutting the brushwood, an artful smile had played about her lips. Though astonished by the inside of the great lunchbox, she merely cringed and went on cutting the brushwood in silence.

So lenient was the rabbit that the badger almost hugged himself with glee. Even this impudent girl had finally given in. Hadn’t his brushwood-cutting act done the trick? Well, this masculinity of his— what woman could resist it?

Ah, he had eaten his fill. And was he ever weary. Yes, he’d have just a quick nap. Putting on his carefree manner, the badger became so relaxed that he was soon fast asleep and snoring heavily. Even as he dreamt, he mumbled about love potions—they weren’t worth a damn, they didn’t do any good ... And when he awoke from his lewd dreams, it was almost noon.

“You really had a good sleep,” the rabbit said, still indulgent. “I’ve got my wood bundled up too,” she went on, “so let’s hoist the load on our backs and take it to the old man.”

“Oh,” the badger answered, “let’s be off then.” He yawned prodigiously and scratched his arms. “Am I ever hungry. How could anyone sleep on an empty stomach like this? Too sensitive—that’s my problem.” Having said these things—without the least hint of a smile, either—he went on. “Well, I’ll hurry up and collect my brushwood, and then we’ll head down, I guess. Since the lunch is gone, I’ll have to finish this chore quickly so I can look for more food.”

They set off, each one carrying a load of brushwood.

“You go first,” the rabbit urged. “There are snakes around here and I’m scared of them.”

“Snakes? Who’s afraid of snakes? When I spot one, I’ll grab him and ...” About to say “eat him,” the badger caught himself just in time. “I’ll grab him and kill him,” he said, correcting himself. “You just stay behind me.”

“At times like this you can really depend upon a man.”

“Oh, please, no flattery,” the badger answered sweetly. “You’re certainly nice today, aren’t you? It almost makes me edgy. Surely you’re not taking me along so the old man can make badger stew. Hahhah, you can count me out of that.”

“Well! That’s a queer thing to suspect. If that’s how you feel, maybe we should part company right here. I’m perfectly capable of going alone.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. We’ll go together, all right? I’m not afraid of snakes or anything else in this world—except for that old man. He talked about making badger stew, and I didn’t like that. Downright disgusting, isn’t it? And hardly in good taste, if you ask me. Anyway, I’ll take the brushwood to the hackberry tree in the old man’s garden, but no further. I’m turning back there, so you’ll have to carry it the rest of the way. All I can say is, a queasy feeling comes over me when I see the old man’s face ...Hey! What’s that? That strange noise—what could it be? Don’t you hear it too? It’s sort of a crackling noise ...”

“What did you expect?” said the rabbit. “That’s why they call this place Crackling Mountain.”

“Crackling Mountain? Here?”

“Sure. You didn’t know that?”

“No, I didn’t. It’s the first time I’ve heard this mountain even had a name. It’s such a strange name too—you’re not making it up, are you?”

“Oh, really! But every mountain’s got a name. There’s Mount Fuji and Mount Nagao and Mount Ōmuro . . . They all have names, don’t they? So this one’s called Crackling Mountain. Listen, don’t you hear that crackling sound?”

“Yeah, I hear it. Strange, though. I’ve never heard that sound before on this mountain. I was born here, and for thirty-some years this ...”

“Wha-a-at! You don’t mean to say you’re that old? Why, just the other day you told me you were seventeen. Oh, this is too much. Your face is all wrinkled and you stoop a bit too, so I didn’t take you for seventeen. But I hardly thought you’d hide your age by twenty years. So you’re almost forty—the nerve!”

“No, seventeen, I’m only seventeen. Seventeen, I tell you. The stoop comes from hunger, and it doesn’t have anything to do with age. My older brother—he’s the one in his thirties. You see, he’s always talking about it, and I mimicked him, that’s all. It’s only a habit I’ve picked up, my dear.” Calling her “my dear!”—that certainly showed how flustered the badger was.

“Only a habit?” the rabbit replied curtly. “This is the first I’ve heard of an older brother. You once told me how lonely you were—no parents, no brothers or sisters. How did you put it then? I didn’t know how forsaken you felt—wasn’t that what you said? Now what did you mean by that?”

“Yes, yes ...” the badger replied, losing track of what he wanted to say. “Things are certainly involved, you know, and it’s not so simple. I’ve got an older brother, and yet I don’t ...”

“Nonsense!” interjected the rabbit, now totally fed up. “You’re talking through your hat!”

“Well, to tell the truth, yes, I’ve got an older brother. It hurts to say this, but he’s just a drunken scoundrel. I’m ashamed, embarrassed really, because for thirty-some years—no, that’s my brother—you see, for thirty-some years he’s been giving me trouble ...”

“That’s odd. A seventeen year old ... trouble ... for thirty-some years?”

The badger ignored this remark.

“There are plenty of things you can’t sum up in a word. Right now, he doesn’t exist, not for me, anyway. I disowned him and ... Hey, that’s odd. Smells like smoke ... Don’t you notice it?”

“Not at all.”

“H’mm.” The badger was always eating smelly food, so he couldn’t trust his own nose. Twisting about with a suspicious look on his face, he said, “Could I be imagining this? There! There! That noise—isn’t that roaring and snapping like something on fire?”

“Well, what did you expect? That’s why this place is called Mount Roaring-and-Snapping.”

“Liar! You just said it was called Crackling Mountain!”

“That’s right. The same mountain’s got different names, depending on the spot. Halfway up Mount Fuji there’s Smaller Fuji, and Ōmuro and Nagao are lesser peaks of Mount Fuji too. Didn’t you know that?”

“I’m afraid not. So that’s it—we’re on Mount Roaring-and-Snapping. Well, for thirty-some years I’ve been—my brother, I mean—he’s been calling it The Mountain Out Back. Oh, is it ever getting warm. Is there an earthquake brewing? Something’s really wrong today. Yaa! Oh, is it ever hot! I can’t stand it! Help! Help! My brushwood’s on fire! Ouch! ...”

The next day the badger remained secluded in his lair. “Oh,” he moaned, “how painful. Too much even for me. I’m done for. Come to think of it, I’ve got the worst luck. The women shy away just because I was born good-looking—a respectable man always loses out. They all take me for a woman-hater. Hell, I’m no saint. I like women. They must think I’m noble-minded, so they never play up to me. But, when it comes right down to it, I want to run around screaming, I’M CRAZY ABOUT WOMEN! Ouch! Ouch! Oh, why can’t I do anything about this nasty burn? It just keeps throbbing. After I’d barely escaped becoming badger stew, I had to stumble onto this unheard-of place—Roaring Mountain, wasn’t that it? And did my luck ever run out there. What a good-for-nothing mountain! Brushwood going up in flames—was it ever horrible. In thirty-odd years ...”

The badger paused, his eyes darting about.

“So why hide it?” he went on. “Magic, I’m thirty-seven. Heh-heh, what’s wrong with that? Be forty in three more years. It’s so obvious anyone could figure it out. All it takes is one look. Ooh, that hurts! I’ve been playing on The Mountain Out Back ever since I was born, and not once in my thirty-seven years did I run into anything so weird. Crackling Mountain, or Roaring Mountain—even the names are odd. How strange,” the badger concluded, knocking himself on the head and then lapsing into a reverie.

Presently a pedlar called out at the front entrance, “Magic Ointment for sale. Anyone here suffering from burns, cuts, or a dark complexion?”

Dark complexion—that really woke up the badger. “Hey, ointment pedlar!” he called out.

“Oh, where are you, sir?”

“Here! In this hole! So it’ll really cure a dark complexion?”

“In one day.”

“Ho-ho.” Elated, the badger crawled from his lair. “Whaa! You’re a rabbit.”

“Yes, I’m certainly a rabbit—and a medicine man, besides. Been peddling in this area for thirty-odd years.”

“Whew,” the badger wheezed, tilting his head. “There’s another rabbit just like you. Thirty-odd years ...Ah yes, so you must be the same ... Look here, let’s just forget about my age. Damned silly, anyway. Enough is enough. Well, that’s that.” Having confused the issue, the badger went on. “Anyway, could you spare a bit of that medicine? To tell the truth, I’ve got a little affliction.”

“Oh dear, you’ve got a terrible burn! This will never do. Ignore it, and you’re dead.”

“Damn, I’d rather be dead—I don’t care about the burn. Right now, it’s my looks that ...”

“What are you saying! This burn could be fatal—don’t you realize that? Oh, your back’s even worse . . . How did this happen?”

“Well, you see ...” The badger twisted his mouth about. “You see, I’d just gotten to this place with the fancy name—Mount Roaring, Snapping or whatever, and the craziest thing . . . It was amazing.”

The badger looked puzzled as the rabbit began snickering helplessly. But he too joined in and started laughing. “Absolutely,” he went on. “It was the craziest thing ever. I’m telling you, don’t go near that mountain. First it’s Crackling, then it’s Snapping, and then it’s Roaring—and that’s the worst kind ever. Things are bound to go wrong. When you get to Crackling Mountain, you’d better just beg off. If you stray onto Mount Roaring, you’ll end up like me. Ooh, the pain! You follow me? I’m telling you for your own good, now. You’re still young, so when an oldtimer like myself says—well, I’m not that old. Anyway, you just take what I say as friendly advice and don’t poke fun at me. You see, I speak from experience. Ooh, that hurts . . . ouch!”

“Thank you, sir, I’ll certainly be careful. Now, what about the ointment? In return for your kind advice, I won’t charge anything. Shall I put some on your back? Lucky I came just now, otherwise you’d be good as dead. Something must have brought me here. I guess it was fate, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” the badger moaned. “If the ointment’s free, rub it on. I’m pretty broke nowadays— fall in love and it’s bound to cost you. By the way, would you mind putting some of that medicine on my palm!”

With an anxious look, the rabbit asked, “And what will you do with it?”

“Oh, nothing at all. I just want a look—so I can tell the color.”

“It’s the same color as any ointment. Here, have a little.” The rabbit dabbed a speck on the badger’s outstretched hand.

When the badger suddenly tried to rub it on his face, the startled rabbit seized his hand—the badger mustn’t learn about this ointment just yet. “Aa! Don’t do that!” the rabbit cautioned. “This medicine’s slightly strong for your face. It won’t do.”

“No, let go!” the badger pleaded desperately. “I beg you, let go of my hand. You don’t know how I feel! Or how wretched I’ve been for thirty-odd years—and all because of this dark complexion. Let go. Just let go of my hand so I can use this ointment. I’m begging you, just let me rub it on.”

Finally the badger lifted his foot and kicked the rabbit away. Then, quicker than the eye could see, he smeared the medicine on his face.

“I’m ashamed of my face,” he exclaimed. “The features are fine, but this dark complexion—well, this’ll fix it. Wow! That’s awful. Does it ever sting. If the medicine wasn’t strong, though, it wouldn’t cure my complexion. Ah, this is terrible. I’ll bear it, though. Damn! Next time we meet, she’ll really be taken with this face of mine. Heh-heh, so what if she hankers for me. Won’t be my fault. Ah, does that ever sting. This medicine’ll do the trick for sure. Well, I’ve come this far, so you might as well smear it all over—on my back or wherever. I don’t care if I die, not if it lightens my complexion. Go ahead, smear the stuff on. Don’t hesitate, just start splashing.”

Already the badger was a pathetic sight. But a proud, beautiful teen is a virtual demon who is utterly ruthless. The rabbit calmly picked herself up and applied a thick layer of the pepper paste to the badger’s burnt back.

The badger writhed in pain. “Oh, nothing to it. This medicine’ll work for sure. Wow! That’s awful. Gimme water! Where am I! In hell! Hey, you’ve got to forgive me—l don’t remember falling into hell! I didn’t want to become badger stew, that’s why I went after the old woman. I haven’t done anything wrong. In my thirty-odd years—and all because of this dark complexion—not one lady friend! Then, there’s that appetite of mine—ah, what an embarrassment! But nobody’s concerned about me, I’m entirely on my own. Yet I’m a good man and not so bad-looking, either.” Racked with pain, the badger kept on with his pathetic ranting before fainting to the ground in a heap.

Even so, the badger’s ordeal wasn’t over yet. So terrible was his plight that your author, even as he writes these words, can feel a sigh welling up inside. In all of Japanese history, there are scarcely any instances of so depressing an end. No sooner had he rejoiced over escaping the ordeal with the badger stew than he sustained that queer burn on Mount Roaring and barely escaped alive once again. He just managed to crawl back to his lair where he lay groaning through twisted lips—only to have so much hot pepper smeared over his burn that he fainted in agony. Next he’ll launch his clay boat on Lake Kawaguchi and sink to the bottom. What an utter mess! Yes, there’s something to be said for a broken affair. Unfortunately, a sleazy instance like this one hasn’t got any romance to it.

Hardly able to breathe, the badger remained in his lair for three days, his spirit wandering forth, but only along that dim border between life and death. When the hunger pangs started up on the fourth day, he was more miserable than words can describe. Nevertheless, he hobbled forth on his cane, mumbling to himself as he searched here and there for food.

Thereafter he quickly recovered, thanks to the large, sturdy body with which he was endowed. Within ten days he was back to normal, his appetite flourishing as of old, his lust also beginning to stir. He should have known better by now, but eventually he found himself heading once more toward the rabbit’s nest.

“Here I am,” the badger sheepishly announced. “Just thought I’d drop by for a visit, heh-heh.”

“Oh!” the startled rabbit exclaimed, the malice in her look conveying a good deal more. So it’s you?!! Or something even stronger, like, What’s the big idea! Here! Again? The nerve ... No, it was even stronger than that. Oh, I can’t stand it! The plague’s arrived! Or even worse. Filthy! Stinking! Rot in hell! Yes, her look was one of utter hatred. But our uninvited guest doesn’t seem to notice the host’s mood—a strange phenomenon which the reader should take note of. You set out grudgingly for a boring, irksome visit and end up being most heartily welcomed. On the other hand, you fondly imagine, ah, what a comfortable place ...it’s almost like my own ...no, more cozy than home even ...a refuge . . . Yet, in spite of your high spirits, the host is usually upset, frightened, repelled—and the broom behind the sliding door is turned upside down to bring about your early departure. One who looks for refuge in the home of another proves himself a fool. A mere visit can lead to amazing blunders, so one should keep away even from close relatives unless there’s a special reason for the visit. If you doubt my advice, observe the badger as he becomes entangled in this very folly.

The rabbit exclaimed, “Oh!” and gave the badger a malicious look, but he did not catch on. To him that “Oh!” seemed a maiden’s impulsive cry of surprise and delight—and her look conveyed sympathy because of his recent accident on Mount Roaring. The badger shuddered with pleasure and said, “I’m fine, thank you,” even though he had not been asked how he felt.

“Don’t worry,” he continued. “I’ve already recovered. The gods were with me. And I’m lucky. Mount Roaring wasn’t much—just a farting kappa.¹ A kappa’s supposed to be tasty, too. I’ve thought about getting hold of one and having myself a meal. Well, that’s another matter. That was some surprise the other day. A real blaze. How’d you make out? Don’t seem to have any burns. You got away quick, then, did you?”

“Got away quick, my foot!” the rabbit objected, looking quite peeved. “You’re the one. You ran away and left me alone with that fire. The smoke was so stifling I almost choked to death. Was I ever furious. I realized then how little I meant to you. Now I can see what you’re really like.”

“I’m sorry, please forgive me. I got a bad burn too. Maybe the gods weren’t with me. I ran up against it there. It’s not that I forgot about you. You see, my back got scorched right away and I didn’t have time for a rescue. Can’t you see that? I’m no traitor— anyone would be helpless with a burn like that one. And then there’s that elementary—I mean, alimentary salve or whatever it was. The worst thing—just terrible stuff. Doesn’t help a dark complexion at all.”

“A dark complexion?”

“No . . . I meant to say a dark, syrupy concoction. That was really strong. There was this odd runt—he looked a lot like you—and he said he wouldn’t charge, either. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And so I asked him to put some of it on. Good lord! I tell you, be careful when the medicine’s free. You can’t be too cautious. I felt this whirlwind swirl right through my head and then I toppled over.”

“H’mm,” the rabbit murmured disdainfully. “Serves you right. That’s the price for being stingy. Trying out a medicine because it was free—and not the least ashamed to tell about it, either.”

“Damn your tongue,” the badger muttered, although he didn’t appear upset. Indeed, he seemed to bask in the warm presence of his sweetheart. He plopped down, his turbid, dead-fish eyes roaming about for something he could snatch up. “Guess I’m just lucky,” he uttered, gobbling an insect. “I keep ticking no matter what happens. The gods must be with me. You made it through, and this burn of mine got better without any trouble. So now we can just take it easy and have a chat. Ah, this is just like a dream.”

The rabbit had been hoping he would leave, and now she could tolerate him no longer. He was so awful she felt like dying. Desperate to be rid of him, she again came up with a devilish scheme.

“By the way,” she asked, “have you heard that Lake Kawaguchi is swarming with carp? They’re supposed to be delicious.”

“Nope, I haven’t heard that,” the badger replied, his eyes now sparkling. “When I was three years old, my old lady caught me a carp. That was some meal. But I can’t even catch any sort of fish, let alone a carp. Not that I’m clumsy—no, not at all. I know how delicious carp is, but for some thirty-odd years now—hah-hah, there I go again, mimicking my older brother. He likes carp, too.”

“Is that so?” the rabbit remarked offhandedly. “I don’t care for them myself. But if you like them that much, I can take you fishing.”

“Yeah?!” The badger was elated. “Those carp are slippery fellows, though. I tried catching one and almost went under for good.” Having confessed to his own ineptitude, the badger came right out and asked, “But how do you catch them?”

“It’s easy with a net. Some really big carp have been coming near the shore at Ugashima. Well? Shall we give it a try? How about a boat? Do you know how to row?”

The badger sighed. “I wouldn’t say I can’t row. Not,” he anxiously insisted, “if I put my mind to it.” “Then you do row?” The rabbit knew the badger was only putting on, but she pretended to believe him. “Ah, that’s perfect. I’ve got a boat, but it’s so small we can’t get in it together. It’s not well made, and the flimsy boards always leak. I don’t care about myself, but nothing must happen to you. Why don’t we both pitch in and build you a boat. A wooden one’s dangerous, so let’s build something sturdy out of clay.”

“Sorry to be such trouble. I’m about to weep—you won’t mind if I have myself a good cry. Oh, why do I break down so easily?” But even as he pretended to weep, the badger came out with a brazen proposal. “Could you go ahead and build a sturdy boat, then? Huh, would you do that? I’ll do something for you in return. Maybe I could put together a small meal while you’re working. I do think I’d make a fine chef.”

“Oh yes,” the rabbit nodded, as if she agreed with this conceited opinion. The badger, musing about how indulgent people were, smiled gleefully—and thereby sealed his fate right then and there. The rabbit was nurturing a horrible scheme even as she pretended to indulge his silliness. But the simpering badger didn’t notice. He merely thought that all was well.

When they arrived at Lake Kawaguchi, the surface was clear and utterly calm. The rabbit went quickly to work, kneading the clay for a fine, sturdy boat. For his part the badger scampered about diligently gathering a meal and mumbling over and over, Sorry to be such trouble. Eventually an evening breeze came up, and tiny waves rose all over the lake. In due course the small clay boat, gleaming like a piece of steel, slid into the water.

“Yep, not bad,” the badger jested as he placed on board the large gasoline utility can that held the lunch. “You’re good with your hands too—building such a nice boat in a twinkling. Now that’s real talent,” he concluded, a piece of flattery so transparent as to set your teeth on edge.

Greed, as well as lust, now held the badger in thrall. He imagined himself taking this clever, industrious girl for his wife, then living a life of ease and luxury on her labor. Regardless of what happened, he would cling to her forever. And, with this thought in mind, he clambered aboard.

“I guess you’re pretty good at rowing too, then? When it comes to rowing a boat, even I ... certainly ... Well, it’s not that I don’t know how. But just for today I’d like to observe my wife’s skill.” It was utter impudence, and it didn’t stop there. “I used to row in the old days,” he went on. “They called me an expert, a champ, and all that. But I’ll just lie here today and watch. Since it’s all right with me, you go ahead and fasten my boat to yours. If our boats hug one another, we can only perish together. Don’t abandon me now.” After this odious and affected speech, the badger sprawled out on the bottom of his clay boat.

Did the fool suspect? Fasten my boat to yours— that remark had caught the rabbit off guard. One glimpse, though, and she knew that nothing was amiss. The badger was already dreaming, blissful love written all over his smiling face. The rabbit grinned scornfully as the badger began to mumble in his sleep—Wake me up when the carp’s ready. I can taste ’em now. Thirty-seven, that’s me. Presently the rabbit tied the clay boat to her own and dipped her oar in the water. With a splash, the two boats slid away from the shore.

The Ugashima pines seemed to flare up, bathed as they were in the light of the setting sun. Now this next part will make me seem a know-it-all, but that description of a pine grove comes from a pack of Shikishima cigarettes. I’ve checked this out with a dependable person, and readers won’t be any worse off taking my word for it. But then again, Shikishimas aren’t around any longer, so younger readers won’t care anyway. To them, I’ll just be showing off about nothing. Pretend to know something, and you end up with this sort of foolishness. Oh, those pines! Perhaps readers thirty years or older—no one else—will faintly remember the pines, along with their geisha friends and parties. Maybe such readers can’t do anything other than look bored.

“Ah, how lovely,” the rabbit murmured, entranced by the sunset over Ugashima.

This is strange indeed. It seems that not even the worst villain could be taken with natural beauty the moment before carrying out some cruel deed. Yet, our fifteen-year-old charmer squints her eyes and contemplates the scenery, an indication that innocence is truly a hairbreadth from villainy. Certain men will sigh—Ah, the Innocence of Youth—and drool over the nauseating affectations of a selfish, carefree teen. They had better watch out, though. She remains as composed as this rabbit, even while Murder and Intoxication dwell together in her breast. A wild and sensuous dance goes on, and no one notices. It’s like the foam on beer—nothing more perilous.

Idiotic, demonic—such words come to mind when mere skin-deep feeling takes precedence over ethics. Sometime ago popular American movies portrayed boys and girls who were full of innocence. Highly endowed with this skin-deep feeling, they fidgeted around and darted about as if on springs. I don’t mean to stretch things, but this “Youthful Innocence” I’m talking of might well be traced to America or thereabouts. It’s just a Merrily-We-Ski-Along sort of thing.

On the other hand these innocents commit silly crimes without the least concern. That’s the demonic, rather than idiotic, side of this. Or, maybe sometime in the past, the demonic was idiotic. Once comparable to Artemis the Moon Goddess—she of the graceful limbs and small, delicate figure—our fifteen-year-old rabbit has suddenly become dull and dreary. Idiotic, you say? Well, that’s the way things go.

“Hyaa!” cries a strange voice from down below. It’s that dear badger of mine, a thirty-seven-year-old male who’s not the least bit innocent. “Water!” he cried, “it’s water! This is awful!”

“What a nuisance you are! A clay boat’s bound to sink. You didn’t know that?”

“I don’t get it. This is much too much. And not proper at all. Unreasonable—that’s the word for it. Surely you wouldn’t—not to me, anyway—surely not such a dastardly thing as ... No, I don’t get it at all. Aren’t you my wife? Ya! I’m sinking! That’s all I can tell—I’m sinking! The joke’s gone too far—it’s almost a crime. Ya! I’m sinking! Hey, what’re you doing to me? Won’t the meal go to waste? There’s earthworm macaroni and skunk droppings in the box. Isn’t that a shame? Gulp! Ah, I just swallowed water. Look here, this bad joke’s gone far enough. I’m begging you. Hey there, don’t cut that rope! If we perish, it’ll be together. Husband and wife for two lives—that’s a bond you can’t severe. No! Don’t! Oh, now you’ve done it. Help! I can’t swim! I’ll be honest with you. In the old days I could swim a little, but the muscles stiffen here and there on a thirty-seven-year-old badger. I can’t swim at all. I’ll be honest. I’m thirty-seven—too old for you, really. But you mustn’t forget the old maxims—Respect your Elders! Help the Aged! Gulp! Ah, you’re a nice girl. So act like you should now and stretch your oar over here. I’ll get a grip on ... Ouch! What’re you doing? Don’t you know that hurts—banging an oar on someone’s head really hurts! So that’s it. I get it. You mean to kill me. Now I know.” Faced with his own death, the badger finally saw into the rabbit’s scheme. But it was too late.

The oar banged mercilessly against his skull time after time. The water glistened in the sunset as the badger sank into the lake and rose to the surface over and over again.

“Ouch! Ouch! Aren’t you going too far? What did I do to you? What’s wrong with falling in love?” he exclaimed before going under for good.

Wiping her brow, the rabbit declared, “Whew, I’m drenched with sweat.”

So, what have we here? A cautionary tale on lust? A comedy scented with advice on avoiding pretty teenagers? Or perhaps an ethics lesson that bids the suitor to moderate his delight in the beloved? After all, persistent visits provoke such contempt that one’s life is endangered.

But maybe the tale is mostly humorous, merely hinting that people don’t revile and chastise one another because of morality. (Actually, they do these things simply out of hatred, just as they praise others or submit to them out of affection.)

But no, let’s not fret over what conclusions a social critic might reach. Sighing, we allow instead the last word to our badger—“What’s wrong with falling in love?”

That sums up, briefly and without any exaggeration, all of the world’s woeful tales from the days of old. In every woman dwells this cruel rabbit, while in every man a good badger always struggles against drowning. In the mere thirty-odd years of your author’s life, uneventful though they be, this has been made utterly clear. And probably, dear reader, it’s the same with you. I’ll just skip the rest of it, however.