Pathway to Japanese Literature

Seisaku was mounding soil around the barnyard grass roots while declaring, "It's sunset now, sunset now!" By then, the bronze sun had sunk behind the ultramarine foothills to the south, leaving the fields strangely desolate as white birch trunks appeared to emit some pale powdery substance.

Suddenly, from the direction of the oak grove across the way came a voice—wildly out of tune and absurdly strange— “Turmeric shappo! Kankara Kan no Kaan!” it roared. Seisaku turned pale with shock, flung down his hoe, and stole silently toward the sound on hushed footsteps.

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 the painter—wearing a red fez, clad in a baggy mouse-gray garment, shod in shoes—an unnaturally tall figure with sharp eyes, fuming with anger.

“What a wretched way to walk!” “You’re practically crawling!” “Like a mouse!” “Well? Any defense?”

Of course, Seisaku had no words of defense, and thinking that if things got too bothersome he’d start a fight, suddenly threw his head back and filled his throat—

“Red shappo! Kankara Kan no Kaan!” he bellowed. Then that tall painter suddenly released Seisaku’s neck and burst into laughter that sounded almost like a roar. The sound echoed sharply through the grove.

“Brilliant, absolutely brilliant! How about it—shall we take a little stroll through the grove? Ah yes—both of us had forgotten to exchange greetings. I’ll go first. Listen—no, good evening. Across the fields lie scattered tiny clipped shadow figures, don’t they? My greeting goes like this. Do you get it? Now it’s your turn.” "Ahem, ahem," the painter said while suddenly adopting a mean-spirited expression, looking down at Seisaku contemptuously from a diagonal angle above.

Seisaku was completely flustered but—since it was evening and he was hungry while clouds resembled dumplings—hurriedly said: “Uh… Good evening. Good evening to you. Uh. The sky will soon be dusted with silver powder. I’m sorry.”

said Seisaku. However, the painter was now thoroughly delighted. He clapped his hands, then sprang up and said.

“Hey you, let’s go. Let’s go to the grove. I’ve become an honored guest of the Oak Tree King. I’ll show you something interesting!”

The painter suddenly became serious, shouldered his grimy paintbox smeared messily with red and white, and briskly entered the grove. Thereupon, Seisaku—since he wasn’t holding his hoe and his hands were free—swung them idly and followed along. The grove was pale yellow and filled with a cinnamon-like scent. However, the third young oak tree from the entrance had just begun raising one leg to mimic a dance when it noticed the two approaching. Startled, then deeply embarrassed, it awkwardly licked the knee of its lifted leg while staring fixedly out of the corner of its eye at them passing by. Especially when Seisaku passed by, it gave a slight sneer. Seisaku, feeling somehow resigned, silently followed the painter.

However, every tree made pleasant faces for the painter but showed unpleasant expressions to Seisaku. As Seisaku passed by, a gnarled oak tree suddenly thrust out its leg in the dimness to trip him, but Seisaku—

“Hup!” he said, leaping over it.

The Painter, “What’s wrong?” he said, turning around briefly, but immediately faced forward again and walked briskly onward.

Just then, as the wind arrived, all the oak trees in the grove moved together—

With thin, eerie voices, they chanted, “Sraa sraa sraa, Seisaku! Sraa sraa sraa—boo!” trying to frighten him.

However, Seisaku instead opened his mouth splendidly wide and twisted it sideways.

“Snicker-snicker-snicker, Seisaku! Snicker-snicker-snicker, you old hags!” he roared, leaving all the oak trees utterly cowed into silence. The Painter laughed—"Ah-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha!"—in a limping cadence. Then the two wound their way through the trees until they reached the Oak Tree King’s domain.

The Oak Tree King had nineteen hands of various sizes and one thick leg. Around him, sturdy retainer oaks were earnestly and vigorously striving in great numbers. The painter set down his paint box with a clunk. Then, the Oak Tree King straightened his bent waist and said to the painter in a low voice.

“Are you leaving already? “I have been waiting.” “That one there—a new guest, I see.” “But attend to that one.” “He’s an ex-convict, mark my words!” “Ninety-eight prior offenses, mark my words!”

Seisaku got angry and shouted. "That’s a lie! Calling me an ex-convict?" "I’m honest!"

The Oak Tree King also swelled his gnarled chest and roared. “What nonsense! “The evidence stands plain before you! “And ’tis writ clear in the ledger! “Ninety-eight stumps marred by your accursed axe yet linger in this grove—count them yourself!” “Ah-ha-ha! “A farcical tale indeed.” “So these ‘footprints’ you wail about are mere stumps?” “What of it?” “I’ve paid proper tribute—two shō of sake to Fujisuke, the mountain’s lawful master.”

“Then why haven’t you bought me any sake?” “I’ve got no reason to buy you any.”

“No—there is! There’s plenty! Buy it!” “I have no reason to buy you any.” The Painter frowned and stood dejectedly listening to this quarrel when, at that moment, he suddenly pointed east through the trees and shouted.

“Hey now，stop fighting! You’ll be laughed at by the round general!” There，above the eastern deep blue mountain range，a large gentle peach-colored moon had risen. Near the moon，the area turned a pale green，and all young oak trees stretched both hands toward it as if leaping up and cried out.

“O Moon, O Moon, dear O Moon, O Moon, we failed to recognize you—forgive us, Because your appearance was so different, O Moon, we failed to recognize you—forgive us.” The Oak Tree King twisted his white beard, muttering “hmm hmm” while gazing fixedly at O Moon, then began singing quietly: “Tonight you wear a peach-colored robe of old, donning ancient vestments— This night of the oak grove— the third night of the summer dance—”

Soon you will don water-blue— wear today’s raiment— The oak grove’s delight— hangs ever in your sky.”

The painter clapped his hands in delight.

“Well done, well done! “Good, good.”

The third night of the summer dance. Everyone came out here one by one and sang. They sang with their own lyrics and their own melodies. “From first prize to ninth prize, I’ll write large medals and hang them on the branches tomorrow for you.”

Seisaku, now thoroughly caught up in the excitement, declared.

“Bring it on.” “As for the incompetent ones from first to ninth place, tomorrow I’ll chop them down clean and haul them off to a place that’ll make ’em tremble.”

Then the Oak Tree King got angry. “What are you saying? You insolent wretch!” “What’s so insolent about that? I’ve already bought sake for Fujisuke, the mountain owner, for cutting down nine trees!” “Then why haven’t you bought me any?” “I have no reason to buy you any.” “No—there is! There’s plenty!” “There isn’t.”

The painter frowned, waved his hands busily, and said. “It’s started again.” “Well, I’ll handle things my way—let’s start the songs.”

Gradually, stars began to appear as well.

“Listen up—I’ll sing. This is the prize song! First prize: Platinum Metal Second prize: Golden Metal Third prize: Mercury Metal Fourth prize: Nickel Metal Fifth prize: Sudden Metal Sixth prize: Counterfeit Metal Seventh prize: Lead Metal Eighth prize: Burl Wood Metal Ninth prize: Match Metal From tenth prize to hundredth prize— metals of uncertain existence.”

“Metals of Uncertain Existence.”

The Oak Tree King regained his good humor and laughed—wahaha wahaha. The oak trees formed a large ring with the Oak Tree King at their center.

The moon had just changed into water-colored robes, transforming the surroundings into something resembling shallow water’s depths—tree shadows fell to earth like a delicate netting of lace. The painter stood rigidly upright, his crimson shappo swaying as though flickering with inner fire, clutching his notebook while running his tongue over a pencil tip. “Come now—begin at once! Those swiftest shall earn higher marks!”

At that moment, 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 with mock solemnity and said. “Horse and Rabbit.”

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

“The rabbit’s ears are long…” “Hold on!” The painter interrupted. “The pencil broke.” “Wait a moment while I sharpen it.” And the painter took off his right shoe and began sharpening his pencil inside it. The oak trees, all admiring from afar, were watching while whispering among themselves. At that, the Oak Tree King finally spoke.

“No, honored guest, thank you. Your noble resolve to keep the grove unspoiled is truly commendable.”

However, the painter remained unperturbed and

“No, I’ll be making vinegar from these shavings later, you see.” Because he had replied thus, even the Oak Tree King looked somewhat awkward as he turned aside, the oak trees all lost their enthusiasm, and the moonlight somehow took on a whitish hue.

However, the painter, having finished sharpening, stood up cheerfully and— “Come on, start!” he said.

The oak trees rustled, the moonlight pierced through blue, and the Oak Tree King, having regained his good humor, gave a satisfied “Hmm.”

The young tree stood tall and began to sing anew. “The rabbit’s ears are long but not longer than a horse’s.” “Wow, great! Great!” “Ah ha ha! Ah ha ha!” Everyone laughed and cheered.

“First prize: Platinum Metal,” the painter shouted loudly as he wrote in his notebook.

“Mine is a fox song.”

Another young oak tree stepped forward. The moonlight turned slightly green.

“Alright, begin!” “Fox, kon-kon, fox child, “O Moon, its tail burst into flames!” “Wow, splendid! Splendid!” “Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!” “Second prize: Gold Metal.”

“This time, I’ll do it.” “Mine is a cat song.”

“Alright, begin!” “Wildcat, meow, purr purr Village cat, pitter-patter, purr purr.”

“Wow, great! Great!” “Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha!”

“Third prize: Mercury Metal.” “Hey everyone! Even you big ones need to step up!” “What’s taking you so long?” The painter made a slightly mischievous face.

“Mine is a song about a walnut tree.”

A slightly larger oak tree came forward hesitantly.

“Alright, everyone quiet down.”

The oak trees sang. “Walnuts are green-gold, you see, Blown by the wind—swoosh swoosh swoosh, The walnut’s a green tengu’s fan, Blown by the wind—clang clang clang,

“The walnuts were green-gold, you see. ‘Blown by the wind—swish swish swish.’ ‘That’s a fine tenor voice! Well done! Waah waah!’ ‘Fourth prize: Nickel Metal.’”

“Mine is the monkey’s stool.” “Alright, begin!” The oak tree put its hands on its hips.

“Little monkey, little monkey, Your stool’s getting soaked, Fog, plop plop plop,”

“Your stool will rot!” “What a tenor! What a tenor! Splendid! Splendid! Waah waah!” “Fifth prize: Totan Metal.” “Mine is a shappo song.” That was the third tree from that entrance.

“Very well.” “Begin!”

“Turmeric shappo’s Kankara Kan no Kaan!” “Red shappo’s Kankara Kan no Kaan!”

“Great! Great! Splendid! Waah waah!” “It’s splendid! Waah waah!”

“Sixth prize: Counterfeit Metal.”

Until this moment, Seisaku had been listening quietly out of necessity, but he suddenly shouted out. “What the—this song’s a fake! You just copied what someone else sang earlier!” “Silence, insolent wretch! This is no place for the likes of you to speak.” The Oak Tree King quivered with rage and shouted. “What’d you say? I called it a fake ’cause it *is* a fake! If you keep talking back, I’ll bring my axe tomorrow and chop every last one of you down!”

“How dare you be so impudent!” “Such matters are beyond the station of the likes of you.” “Don’t spout nonsense! I’m buying two shō of sake for Fujisuke, the mountain owner, tomorrow!” “Then why won’t you buy any for me?” “I have no reason to buy you any.” “Buy it.” “I have no reason to.”

“Enough, enough! Since it’s counterfeit, I’m giving Counterfeit Metal.” “Don’t squabble like that.” “Now then, what’s next?” “Come out with it, come out!” The moonlight turned pale blue and translucent, making everything look like the bottom of a lake.

“Mine is a song about Seisaku.”

Another young, seemingly sturdy oak tree stepped forward. “What did you say?!” When Seisaku stepped forward to strike, the painter stopped him.

“Now, now, wait a moment.” “Your song isn’t necessarily just insults.” “Very well.” “Begin!”

The oak tree sang while swaying its legs.

“Seisaku, wearing a first-class soldier’s uniform, went to the field and gathered lots of grapes. And so it went. ‘Someone continue after this.’” “Hoo, hoo.” The oak trees all jeered at Seisaku like a storm and shouted. “Seventh prize: Lead Metal.”

“I’ll take up the next part!” From right beside the last tree, another oak tree burst forth.

“Very well, begin.”

The oak tree glanced briefly at Seisaku and laughed mockingly, but immediately turned serious and began to sing.

“Seisaku squeezed out every last grape, added sugar, and packed them into bottles by the dozen.”

“Hey, someone continue after this.”

“Hoot-hoot-hoot,” The oak trees let out strange, wind-like voices and taunted Seisaku.

Seisaku was itching to leap out and beat every last one of them to a pulp, but with the painter firmly blocking his path, he simply couldn’t get through. “Eighth Prize: Tinplate Metal.”

"I'll do the next one." From right beside the previous tree, another oak leaped out.

“Alright，begin!” “The wine that Seisaku stored in the shed—” methodically “All of them burst and disappeared.”

“Ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha, hoot-hoot-hoot, hoot-hoot-hoot, hoot-hoot-hoot.” “Clamor, clamor, clamor….”

“Shut up!” “Why’re you bastards rememberin’ someone else’s wine?!” When Seisaku tried to leap out, he was firmly seized by the painter.

“Ninth Prize.” “Match Metal.” “Come on, next! Next! Step up!” “Keep ’em coming!”

However, everyone had already 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 still, no one came forward. Having no choice, the painter,

“This time I’ll give out a much better metal! Hurry up and come out!” When he said this, the oak trees finally rustled in response. At that moment, from the depths of the grove came a rustle rustle rustle rustle sound, and then, “Hoot-doodle-doo, hoot-doodle-doo, Hoot, hoot, Gogi-gogi-hoot, Hoot, hoot,”

And a great number of owls, fluttering their bluish-white wings in the moonlight, came sliding smoothly out one after another and perched all over the oak trees' heads, hands, shoulders, and chests.

The Owl General, adorned with splendid gold braid, flew skillfully without making a sound and appeared before the Oak Tree King. The dark circles around his bright red eyes looked truly peculiar. He seemed quite elderly. “Good evening, Lord King, and noble guests. This very evening, we ourselves have just concluded our grand examination of flight and grip-and-tear techniques.”

“Therefore, how about we now jointly commence a grand dance festival? For it was due to the all-too-exquisite melody of your song resounding even into our dwelling that we have thus deigned to come forth in this manner.”

“ ‘Exquisite melody,’ my ass!” Seisaku shouted.

The Oak Tree King pretended not to hear and nodded deeply.

“That would be most agreeable.” “That would be splendid indeed.” “Come now, shall we promptly commence?”

“Therefore,” The Owl General turned to face everyone and sang in a voice as cloyingly sweet as black sugar.

“Karasu Kanzaemon—” swaying his black head to and fro, Tonbi Tozaemon— With a gallon of oil, swaying and sloshing, That darkness is the owls’ The warrior, bravely and boldly, When seizing earthworms, the call resounds! “When attacking sleeping prey, the call resounds!” The owls had all become like fools and were shouting. “Hoot-doodle-doo,” Hoot, hoot, Gogi-gogi-hoo, “Hoot, hoot.”

The Oak Tree King furrowed his brow and said.

“Your song is decidedly low-class.” “It is not something a gentleman should listen to.”

The Owl General made a strange face. Then, the owl deputy adorned with red and white sashes laughed and said.

“Well now, let’s not get too cross tonight.” “We’ll give you a proper song this time.” “Everyone shall dance together!” “Come now—trees and birds, are you prepared?” “Miss Moon, Miss Moon, round-and-roundy-lun” “Mister Star, Mister Star, glimmer-twinkle-lun” “Oak trees go kanka-kan karanran” “Owls slow-draggle-doo—Hoot-doodle-doo-hoo!”

The oak trees raised both hands and arched backward, threw their heads and legs upward as if to the heavens, and danced with all their might. In unison with this, the owls swiftly fluttered their silver wings open and shut. Indeed, it was perfectly synchronized. The moonlight took on a pearly haze like mother-of-pearl, and the Oak Tree King, delighted, immediately sang out. “The rain pours down, splish-splash-splosh!

The wind roared, rumbling and rumbling! Hail clattered down in a rattling cascade! "The rain pours, splashing and sploshing!"

“Ah, this is bad! The fog’s coming down!” shouted the Owl Deputy in a high voice. Sure enough, the moon was already shrouded in a bluish-white fog, dimly visible as a mere circle, while that fog came pouring down into the grove like a rain of arrows. The oak trees all lost their composure, raising one leg, stretching both hands in that direction, eyes bulging, and stood frozen as if turned to stone.

Cold fog suddenly swept across Seisaku’s face. The painter had already gone somewhere, leaving only his red shappo behind, and he himself had vanished without a trace. There came the sound of owls—those who hadn’t yet mastered flying through fog—fleeing with frantic flapping.

Seisaku left the grove there. The oak trees, all frozen in their dancing poses, regretfully watched Seisaku depart from the corners of their eyes.

After leaving the grove and looking up at the sky, the area where the moon had been until moments before was now dimly bright, with a cloud shaped like a black dog racing across it, and from the direction of the swamp forest far beyond the grove— “The red shappo’s Kankara Kan no Kaan!”—the faint sound of the painter’s voice shouting with all his strength could be heard.