Pathway to Japanese Literature

Seisaku, muttering “Come on, it’s dusk! Dusk!” to himself, was busily heaping soil around the roots of the barnyard grass. By then, the bronze-crafted sun had sunk to the ultramarine base of the southern mountains, leaving the fields eerily desolate, and the white birch trunks seemed to be spraying some sort of pale powder.

Suddenly, from the direction of the oak grove ahead came a voice—completely out-of-tune and absurdly strange—roaring: “Ukonshappo’s kankarakan kaan!” Seisaku paled in shock, flung down his hoe, and stole silently toward it without letting his footsteps make a sound. Just as he reached the front of the oak grove, Seisaku was suddenly grabbed by the collar from behind. When he turned around in surprise, there stood a tall painter with sharp eyes—wearing a red Turkish cap, mouse-colored baggy clothes, and shoes—fuming with anger.

“What a disgraceful way to carry yourself.” “You’re practically crawling!” “Like a mouse.” “Well? Have you any excuses?” Of course, Seisaku had no words of excuse, and thinking he’d start a fight if things got too troublesome, suddenly threw his head back and bellowed at the top of his lungs—

“Red cap’s kankarakan kaan!” he roared. Then that tall painter suddenly released Seisaku’s collar and burst into roaring laughter. The sound resounded clearly through the grove.

“Splendid! Truly splendid!” “How about it—shall we stroll through the grove?” “Ah yes! We’d both neglected to exchange greetings!” “I’ll go first with mine.” “Now listen—no, good evening! The fields lie scattered with small shadow figures, don’t they?” he declared. “This is my greeting.” “Do you grasp it?” “Now it’s your turn.” “Ahem, ahem,” said the painter while abruptly resuming a spiteful expression, peering down at Seisaku from his slanted height as though scorning him.

Seisaku was completely flustered, but since it was dusk and he was hungry, and the clouds looked like dumplings, he hurriedly— “Uh... Good evening. A fine evening to you. Huh? The sky will now be dusted with silver kinako powder. I’m sorry.” he said.

However, the painter was already thoroughly delighted; he clapped his hands, then leaped up and said: “Hey you, let’s go. “Let’s head into the grove.” “I’ve come as the Oak Tree King’s honored guest.” “I’ll show you something interesting.” The painter abruptly turned serious, shouldered his grimy paint box smeared haphazardly with red and white and all manner of colors, and briskly strode into the grove. Thereupon Seisaku, since he wasn’t carrying a hoe and his hands were free, swung them idly as he followed along.

The grove was pale yellow and filled with a cinnamon-like scent. However, the third young oak tree from the entrance—just as it had raised one leg to begin imitating a dance—startled completely upon seeing the two approach, then grew terribly embarrassed. Awkwardly licking the knee of its raised leg over and over, it stared fixedly out of the corner of its eye at them passing by. When Seisaku passed by, it sneered mockingly. Seisaku, feeling there was nothing to be done about it, silently followed the painter.

However, every tree made pleasant faces for the painter but showed unpleasant ones to Seisaku.

A gnarled oak tree, as Seisaku passed by in the dim light, suddenly thrust out its own leg to trip him, but Seisaku— “Hup!” he exclaimed, leaping over it. The Painter,

“What’s wrong?” he said, glancing back briefly, but immediately turned forward again and continued walking briskly.

Just then, as the wind arrived, all the oak trees in the grove joined together, In thin, eerie voices chanting “Seisaku! Scare-scare-scare-baa!”, they tried to frighten him. However, Seisaku instead twisted his own mouth into an enormous width sideways and— “Heh heh heh Seisaku, heh heh heh, you old hags!” he bellowed, causing all the oak trees to lose their nerve and fall completely silent. The painter let out a ha ha ha, ha ha ha laugh that sounded like a hobble.

And the two of them passed straight through the trees and came to the Oak Tree King’s place.

The Oak Tree King possessed nineteen hands of assorted sizes and one thick leg. Around him, numerous sturdy vassal oak trees were earnestly applying themselves.

The painter set down the paint box with a clatter. Then, the Oak Tree King stretched his bent waist and said in a low voice to the painter: “Are you departing already?” “I have been waiting.” “So that’s a new guest, I see.” “But see to that person.” “He’s a repeat offender!” “Ninety-eight prior offenses, I tell you!”

Seisaku got angry and shouted. “That’s a lie! A repeat offender?!” “I’m honest, I tell you!”

The Oak Tree King also puffed out his gnarled chest in anger. “What?!” “The evidence is plain as day!” “It’s all written in the ledger too!” “Ninety-eight scars from your cursed axe still mark this grove clear as night!” “Ah ha ha.” “What nonsense.” “Your ‘ninety-eight scars’ are just stumps!” “So what?” “I’ve bought two shō proper for Fujisuke—the mountain owner!”

“Then why haven’t you bought me any sake?” “I have no reason to buy you any.” “No—there’s plenty of reason! Buy!” “I have no reason to buy you any.” The painter stood frowning dejectedly as he listened to this squabble when suddenly, from between the grove’s trees, he pointed eastward and shouted.

“Hey now, quit squabbling. The Round General’s gonna laugh at you.” “The Round General’s gonna laugh at you.” When they looked, a large gentle peach-colored moon had risen over the deep blue mountain range to the east. The area around the moon turned a pale green, and all the young oak trees thrust both hands toward it as if leaping up and cried out. “O Moon, O Moon, O Great Moon, We failed to recognize you properly—forgive us Because your appearance was so different,

“We failed to recognize you properly—forgive us.” The Oak Tree King twisted his white beard, muttering “Hmm, hmm” for a while as he gazed at the moon, then began to sing quietly: “Tonight you wear ochre robes of old, garments from ancient times donned with grace. This night in the oak grove, the third night of summer’s dance. Soon you’ll clothe yourself in water-blue, today’s raiment worn with poise. The joy of this oak grove lies draped across your sky.”

The painter clapped his hands delightedly. “Bravo! Bravo!” “Excellent! Excellent!” “The third night of the summer dance.” “Everyone will take turns coming out here and sing.” “They’ll sing with their own lyrics and their own melodies!” “From first prize to ninth prize, I’ll paint big medals and hang them on your branches tomorrow.”

Seisaku, thoroughly elated, said. “Bring it on. As for the ones who flop from first to ninth place—tomorrow I’ll chop ’em clean off and haul ’em to a scary place.”

Then the Oak Tree King became furious. “What nonsense do you speak?! You insolent fool!” “What’s so insolent about that? I’ve already bought sake for Fujisuke, the mountain owner, for cutting nine trees.” “Then why haven’t you bought me any?” “I have no reason to buy you any.” “No—there are reasons! Plenty of them!” “There aren’t.” The painter frowned and waved his hands busily as he spoke. “Here we go again. Now now, I’ll sort things out, so let’s start singing.” Gradually, stars began to appear as well. “Listen up—I’ll sing. This is the prize song!”

“First prize—a platinum medal!” “Second—golden!” “Third—quicksilver!” “Fourth—nickel bright!” “Fifth—galvanized iron!” “Sixth—gilded lies!” “Seventh—leaden weight!” “Eighth—tinplate shine!” “Ninth—matchstick’s spark!” “Tenth through hundredth—” “Medals unseen by mortal eyes!” The Oak Tree King roared with laughter—a deep “Wahaha! Wahaha!” shaking his gnarled branches.

The oak trees formed a large ring facing the Oak Tree King. The Moon had just changed into a water-colored robe, making the surroundings resemble the bottom of shallow water, while the tree shadows fell to the ground as delicate nets.

The painter’s red cap flickered like a flame as he stood straight, holding his notebook and licking his pencil. “Alright, let’s get started quickly.” “The quicker ones get better points!” Thereupon, a small oak tree nimbly leaped out from within the ring and bowed to the Oak Tree King. The moonlight abruptly turned blue.

“What’s the title of your song?” The painter frowned solemnly and said. “Horse and Rabbit.”

“Alright, begin,” The painter wrote in the notebook and said.

“The rabbit’s ears and nose…” “Wait a moment,” the painter stopped them. “The pencil broke. Wait a bit while I sharpen this.” And then the painter took off his right shoe and began sharpening his pencil inside it.

The oak trees, from a distance, were all impressed and whispering among themselves as they watched. Thereupon, the Oak Tree King finally spoke.

“Ah, honored guest, thank you. Your noble intent to keep this grove undefiled is truly beyond reproach.”

However, the Painter remained unfazed and “No, I’ll be making vinegar from these shavings later.” Because he had replied this way, even the great Oak Tree King turned aside looking somewhat awkward, all the oak trees lost their enthusiasm, and the moonlight somehow took on a whitish hue. However, the Painter, having finished sharpening, stood up cheerfully and,

“Alright, let’s begin,” he said. The oak trees rustled, the moonlight pierced through blue, and the Oak Tree King, having regained his good humor, grunted approvingly. A young tree puffed out its chest and sang anew: “The rabbit’s ears are long,” “But no match for the horse’s!” “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! Ahaha! Ahahaha!” Everyone laughed and cheered. “First prize—platinum medal!” the painter announced loudly while writing in his notebook.

“Mine is the fox song.”

Another young oak tree emerged. The moonlight turned slightly green.

“Alright, begin!”

“Fox, yip-yip, fox’s cub, O Moon, my tail’s ablaze!”

“Wow, brilliant! Simply brilliant!” “Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!” “Second prize—gold medal.” “My turn now.” “I’ll sing the cat song.” “Very well—begin!” “Mountain cat goes meow-meow-purr, Village cat—Takko!—purr-purr-purr.” “Marvelous! Absolutely marvelous!” “Hahaha! Hahaha!”

“Third prize, mercury medal.” “Hey, everyone—the big ones should step up too.” “Why’re you all dragging your roots like this?” The painter pulled a mildly spiteful face.

“Mine is the walnut tree song.”

A slightly larger oak tree emerged bashfully.

“Alright, everyone settle down.” The oak tree sang. “Walnuts are green gold, you see, Blown by the wind—sweeping by, sweeping by, sweeping by, Walnuts are green tengu fans, Blown by the wind—clang clang clang, Walnuts are green gold, you see, Blown by the wind—ting ting ting.”

“What a splendid tenor!” “How skilled! Whoo-whoo!”

“Fourth prize, nickel medal.” “Mine is the monkey’s stool.”

“Alright, begin.” The oak tree placed its hands on its hips. “Little monkey, little monkey, Your stool’s getting soaked, Fog—plop plop plop, Your stool’ll rot away.” “What a fine tenor! What a fine tenor! So skillful! So skillful! Woo-hoo woo-hoo!” “Fifth prize, Totan Metal.” “Mine is the Cap Song.” It was that third tree from the entrance.

“Very well. “Begin.” “The golden cap’s kankarakan’s kaan” “The red cap’s kankarakan’s kaan.”

“That’s good, so good!” “Wonderful. Woo-hoo woo-hoo!”

“Sixth prize, counterfeit metal medal.” Until this moment, Seisaku had been listening quietly against his will, but now he suddenly shouted.

“What the—this song’s a fake! You just ripped off what someone else sang earlier!”

“Silence, insolent one! This is no place for the likes of you to speak.” The Oak Tree King fumed and shouted.

“What’s that? I called it fake because it *is* fake! If you keep sassing me, I’ll bring an axe tomorrow and hack down every single one of you!” “How dare you show such insolence! This is no place for your kind.” “This is no place for your kind.”

“Don’t be stupid! I’m buying two shō of sake for Fujisuke the mountain owner tomorrow!” “Then why won’t you buy it for me?” “I have no reason to buy.” “Buy it.” “I have no reason to.”

“Enough, enough! I’m giving a counterfeit metal medal because it’s counterfeit.” “Don’t keep fighting like this.” “Alright, who’s next?” “Step up, step up!”

The moonlight pierced through blue, turning the surroundings into something like the bottom of a lake. “Mine is Seisaku’s song.” Another young sturdy-looking oak tree stepped forward. “What did you say?!” When Seisaku stepped forward to strike, the painter stopped him.

“Now, wait a moment.” “Your song isn’t necessarily an insult.” “Very well.” “Begin.” The oak tree sang while swaying its legs unsteadily.

“Seisaku wore a first-class private’s uniform, went out to gather grapes from fields aplenty. And so our tale proceeds! Who’ll carry on? Step up now!”

“Hoo, hoo!” The oak trees all jeered at Seisaku like a storm and shouted. “Seventh prize, lead medal.”

“I’ll take up the next part.” From right beside the previous tree, yet another single oak tree sprang forward.

“Very well, begin.” The oak tree glanced briefly at Seisaku, laughed mockingly for a moment, but immediately turned serious and sang. “Seisaku pressed out all the grapes added sugar packed them into bottles in great quantity. Hey, someone continue after this.” “Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo,” The oak trees jeered at Seisaku with strange, wind-like voices.

Seisaku was itching to leap out and pummel every last one of them, but with the painter standing firmly blocking his path, he couldn’t break through. “Eighth prize, tin medal.”

“I’ll take the next turn.” From beside the previous one, yet another single oak tree leaped out.

“Alright，begin!” “The wine Seisaku stored in the shed— in orderly succession— they all burst and were gone.”

“Wahahaha, wahahaha! Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo.” “Clamor, clamor, clamor…” “Shut up!” “Why the hell do you bastards remember someone else’s booze?” When Seisaku tried to rush out, the painter firmly grabbed him.

“Ninth prize.” “Match medal.” “Come on, next! Next! Get out here!” “Keep them coming!”

However, everyone had fallen completely silent, and not a single one stepped forward. “This won’t do.” “Come out, come out! Everyone needs to come out!” “Come out!” The painter shouted, but by now, no one would come out no matter what. Having no choice, the painter,

“This time I’ll give out some really good medals! Hurry up and come out!” When he said this, the oak trees stirred restlessly for the first time. At that moment, from deep within the forest came a rustling, rustling sound, and then— “Norozuki-ohon, norozuki-ohon, Ohon, ohon,

“Glorp-glorp ohon, “Ohon, ohon,” And a multitude of owls, their pale blue wings fluttering in the moonlight, came gliding smoothly out to alight en masse upon the oak trees’ heads, hands, shoulders, and chests.

The Owl General adorned with ornate gold cord flew skillfully without making a sound and appeared before the Oak Tree King. The dark rings encircling those crimson eyes looked truly bizarre. He looked quite advanced in years.

“Good evening, Your Majesty, and noble guests. This very night, we ourselves have just concluded our grand examination of flight techniques and claw-rending arts.” “In light of this, how about we now commence a grand joint dance festival?” “Due to the sublime song melodies that had resounded even into our gathering, we have thus made our appearance.”

“Exquisite song melodies, my ass!” Seisaku shouted. The Oak Tree King pretended not to hear and gave a grand nod. “Very well.” “Most splendid indeed.” “Well then, shall we promptly commence?” “In that case,” The Owl General turned to face everyone and sang in a sickly sweet voice like molasses.

“Karasu Kanzaemon—” swaying and swirling his black head, “Kite and Tōzaemon—” with a liter of oil, swirl and twirl,

The darkness belongs to owls—where spirited warriors seize earthworms and strike at sleepers! Spirited and brave warriors— It’s when we seize earthworms! “It’s when we strike at sleepers!”

The owls had all become like fools and were shouting.

“Norozuki-ohon, “Ohon, ohon,

“Gogi no gogi ohon, “Ohon, ohon.” The Oak Tree King frowned and said.

“Your songs are low-class indeed.” “It’s not something gentlemen should listen to.” The Owl General made a strange face. Then the Owl Deputy adorned with red and white sashes laughed and said. “Now now, let’s not get too angry tonight.” “We’ll perform superior songs this time.” “Let’s all dance together.” “Alright, trees and birds—are you ready?”

O Moon, dear Moon, perfectly round you spin

O Stars, dear Stars—sparkle-twinkle-twirl! Oak trees clatter-clang—clank-a-clankle-lan! “Owls are slow-strikers—Ohhohohohohohon!”

The oak trees raised both hands, arched backward, flung their heads and legs toward the heavens, and danced with all their might. Matching their movements, the owls briskly opened and closed their silver wings. Everything synchronized perfectly.

The moonlight, like pearls, grew slightly hazy, and the Oak Tree King, delighted, promptly burst into song. “Rain pounds down—pitter-patter-patter-pour! The wind roars and roars—dodododododo-dow! Hail clatters down—clatter-clatter-clatter-clatter-clatta-claaash! Rain pours down—pitter-patter-patter-patter-pour!”

“Ah, it’s no good—the fog’s coming down!” cried the Owl Deputy loudly. Indeed, the moon was now completely veiled in a bluish-white mist, visible only as a dimly glowing circle, and that mist came descending into the woods like arrows. All the oak trees lost their composure, raising one leg, stretching both hands in that direction, and glaring with upturned eyes, then stood frozen as if turned to stone. Cold mist swept over Seisaku’s face. The Painter had already vanished somewhere, leaving only his red cap discarded, and he himself was without trace or form.

In the mist, there was the sound of owls who hadn’t yet mastered the art of flight flapping noisily as they fled.

Seisaku left the grove there. The oak trees, all frozen in their dancing poses, watched Seisaku depart with sidelong glances full of regret. After exiting the grove and looking up at the sky, the area where the moon had been until just moments ago was now dimly aglow, with a cloud shaped like a black dog racing across it, and from the direction of the distant marsh forest beyond the grove— The faint voice of the Painter shouting with all his might, “Red cap’s kankarakan!”, could be heard.