A Treasury of Japanese Folktales

Kobutori Jiisan (The Old Men With Wens)

IN A JAPANESE VILLAGE LONG AGO—when such things as demons and
goblins existed—there lived two men.

One lived in a little wooden house with a thatched roof, and the
other lived next door in another wooden house with a thatched
roof. They both had large wens on the side of their faces. If you look
at the pictures above you can tell what I mean by a wen.

Thus, they looked alike, but one man had his wen hanging from
his right cheek and the other man had his wen hanging from his
left cheek.

There was another difference between the two men. One was
jolly, kind, and full of fun, so everybody liked him. He was Yoi
Ojiisan, the good old man.

His favorite pastime was dancing. Often, after entertaining his
guests with green tea and bean cakes and good sweet rice
dumplings, he would stand up with a wide smile on his pleasant
round face.

“Ya korya, korya!” he would begin, singing a little meaningless
song. “Yoikora dokkoi dokkoi na!”

His arms above his head moved this way and that. He stepped
backward and forward on his toes, swaying and turning. He
hopped first on his right foot, then on his left, dancing gaily all

around the straw mats of his little home. He was a very good
dancer, but the large wen on his face wobbled this way and that
and got in his way. He looked so funny that his guests had a hard
time trying to pay attention to his dancing.

The other man in the next house was a mean old fellow and did
not like company.

“I don’t want to see anyone. They’ll only make fun of me or pity
me,” he would complain, trying to hide his big wen with his hands.
He was well-to-do, but he kept everything to himself and only
scowled at passers-by, so people called him Warui Ojiisan, the bad
old man. He really was quite unhappy, poor old fellow.

One day Yoi Ojiisan went to the hills to cut down brush wood—
as many old men did in those days. He worked hard all day and

was just thinking of returning home when suddenly the sky grew
dark with black clouds. Yoi Ojiisan found himself caught in a
heavy thunderstorm. Ojiisan didn’t mind this very much, as
showers are common on hot days in Japan. But the rain fell harder
and harder so that he soon became drenched and began shivering
like a drowned rat. He looked around to find shelter and saw a big,
hollow tree which seemed just the right size for him. He stepped
inside, and crouched in it, waiting for the rain to stop.

He waited for a long time. He was tired from cutting wood the
whole day long and the monotonous sound of the rain made him
drowsy. Before long he was sleeping like a big owl.

Sometime afterwards he awoke with a start. The thunder had
ceased, so had the rain; but Yoi Ojiisan must have been sitting
sleeping a long time for it was already night. A big, round moon
had risen high and bright, making everything look weird and
unreal.

“I’m quite a simpleton sleeping all this while,” thought Ojiisan
pulling himself up. “I must hurry home.”

Just then he heard confused voices coming closer and closer. He
thought, “Ah, those must be some people. I will walk down the hill
with them.” He stuck his head out of the hollow and waited to see.

But they were not people! At first he could not imagine what
they were. However, when they came nearer he saw that there
were many, many devilish-looking goblins with pointed beaks and
fiery eyes. They all wore caps and had claws for hands and feet. Yoi
Ojiisan drew back his head in a hurry, scarcely daring to breathe.

The beaked goblins came very close to the big hollow tree and
arranged themselves in a ring in the clearing. A few sat in the
middle with big, earthen bottles of rice wine, which is called sake.
The one with the longest nose sat on a raised dais.

Then the drinking party began. Big wine cups were passed
around. They were drained, passed around, and drained again.
Voices became louder and gayer. Finally a few very merry goblins
stood up. At a sign, the drummers began to drum; the fluters began

to flute; the singers began to sing; and the goblins danced with
might and main, sprightly and gleefully. When one got tired
another took his place. And as everything was as clear as day with
the big round moon shining quietly; this certainly was a very
cheerful party.

In the meantime, Yoi Ojiisan became more and more fascinated
with the dancing. His body moved with the music, so did his head
and his hands. Little by little Yoi Ojiisan became bolder until he
could restrain himself no longer.

Stepping out of his hole, he hopped forward first on his right

foot, then on his left. His arms above his head moved this way and
that. He pointed his toes forward then backward in Japanese
fashion. His large wen wobbled this way and that. It was a funny
sight to be sure. But he was such a good dancer and kept time so
well with the music that the goblins enjoyed it tremendously!

“He must be one of those human beings!” exclaimed the
chieftain, clapping his claws in time with the dance. All the rest
followed suit, bobbing up and down with delight.

“Ya korya, korya! Yoikora dokkoi dokkoi na!”
Yoi Ojiisan continued his dance for a long time, until he was
tired and sat on the ground wiping his wet forehead.

All the goblins shouted their praises, and the chieftain, leaning

forward, threw him a bag full of gold coins.

“Well earned! Well earned!” he cried out. “The dance was good.
Come again tomorrow night.”

“Hai, hai,” answered Yoi Ojiisan, very proud of himself. “I will
practice more at home and come again.”

But the rest of the fierce goblins screamed together, “Do not let
him go yet. We will take something away from him so that he’ll
have to come back for it!”

They rushed toward Ojiisan who suddenly trembled with fear.

“We’ll take his cap!”

“We’ll take his axe!”

“We’ll take his kimono!” they cried.

But the chieftain shouted, “Stop that noise! Don’t you see that
the wen hanging on his face is his lucky treasure? Tear it off and
bring it to me.”

The ruffians took hold of the wen and pulled with a mighty
strength. How funny it didn’t hurt! It was just like tug-of-war until
the thing came off with a pop! It was over before you could think.
But you know, Yoi Ojiisan was in a magic ring so almost anything
could really happen.

Just about that time a crow high up in a tree cawed, which is a
sign that dawn is breaking. The goblins collected their belongings
in a hurry.

“Come again tomorrow night and we’ll give you back your wen,”
they shouted as they clattered away, soon vanishing in a
mysterious fashion.

Yoi Ojiisan, for all his fears, was really delighted. He rubbed his
cheek up and down where the wen had hung and chuckled with
joy, for he only felt a smooth cheek. With long free strides he
walked down the hill, and by the next morning the good news had
spread all over the village.

As soon as he heard of it, Warui Ojiisan came to Yoi Ojiisan,
saying:

“Ojiisan, Ojiisan, I envy you very much. Tell me how you got rid
of the ugly thing.”

So Yoi Ojiisan told Warui Ojiisan all that had happened. Then,
because he wanted the same good luck, Warui Ojiisan said eagerly,
“Now I can help you tonight. Surely you don’t want your wretched
wen back again. I can get the bag of gold for you.”

Yoi Ojiisan, who felt sorry for the old crosspatch, said, “That’s a
good idea. You go and collect the gold instead of me.”

When it was dark, Warui Ojiisan set out to the hills. Sure
enough, toward midnight devilish goblins with hawk-like noses
assembled in a ring and started a drinking party.

Very soon the chieftain called out, “Where’s the human being?
Hurry, human being! Come out! Come out!”

And all the rest shouted and clapped their hands.

“I suppose I should go out now,” thought Warui Ojiisan. Scared
to death, he crawled out of the big tree.

The goblins were full of joy to see him. The moon shone high
and bright, and the musicians started their music with such fervor
that Warui Ojiisan was dazed and could only blink and gaze
around nervously.

“Come on! Start your dance!” shouted the chieftain.

Gingerly Warui Ojiisan took a few steps forward. He hopped
and turned, trying hard to remember how Yoi Ojiisan had danced.
He stretched his hands about him and groped around. He looked
awkward and silly and it was no fun at all. The goblins looked at
each other and bobbing up and down screamed:

“Show us the good dance of last night. Come on!

Come on!” Warui Ojiisan tried several times, but he only
became more nervous.

The chieftain screwed up his face in disgust and said to his
followers:

“What do we want with such a clumsy man? We can’t waste
time with him. Anyone here can dance better than that! Human
beings are so treacherous! Give him back his wen and get rid of
him.”

The other goblins screamed with anger, and in a great rage,
they flung the wen toward Warui Ojiisan. It struck his left cheek
where it stuck on as firm as that on his right. All the blood left his
face, for now he had two wens hanging down from both sides of his
cheeks. In great misery he fled down the hillside crying and
sobbing, “All is over with me! All is over with me!”

I feel quite sorry for Warui Ojiisan and all his bad luck, but this
is how the story goes and, if he’s still alive, which I doubt, he still
has two wens hanging from both his cheeks.

















Hanasaka Jijii (The Old Man Who Made

Trees Blossom)

THIS IS THE STORY OF A HARD-WORKING, kind man, a little white dog
and cherry blossoms. The man loved his dog dearly. They were
great friends and were always seen together.

The country in Japan was lovely in the spring. It was warm and
sunny and the earth yielded so much fruit that it kept the good
man very busy every day.

On such a bright morning, the little white dog came leaping up
to his master and tugged at his sleeve.

“Come master—please—come with me!” his shining eyes
seemed to say.

The good man straightened his back, brushed the dust from his
worn-out trousers, and gave a gentle laugh.

“Well, well, my little Pochi, how excited you are today. What’s
the matter, and where do you want to take me?”

The good man followed, as the little dog trotted proudly ahead
until he came to a certain place hidden under the bushes in the
farmer’s property.

“Koko hore wan wan, dig here, dig here, wan, wan, wan,” he
barked, and placing his two paws together, scratched the ground
with great energy.

After watching him for a while amazed, the farmer fetched a
spade and dug up the earth.

What a lot of gold coins he found! Here was money, and more
money to spare. He could now hire men for his work, and live a rich
man’s life.

He did so and, being a kind man, was generous to everybody,
giving large sums to the poor. All the village people liked him, and
he was the happiest of them all, living with his faithful little white
dog.

But this is not the end of my story, for there lived another man
next door. He was a greedy man and, though he had received much
from the good man, he was not satisfied. He hated his neighbor for
being so lucky. He was also jealous of the little white dog.

One day he came to the fence of the good man and bowing in a
sullen fashion said, “Good morning, my friend. What a lucky man
you are and what a faithful companion you have in that little dog.

Will you not lend him to me for a little while?”

The good man did not see why he should do so, especially as he
did not like the greedy man, but this thought troubled him so, he
said:

“You shall have Pochi—just for this morning, but take great
care of him. He is far from strong. Be sure to bring him back as
soon as he tires you.”

Poor little Pochi trembled all over while a string was tied to his
collar. He gave his master such a sorrowful look as he was pulled
away that the good man had to turn aside and close his eyes. He

was already sorry that he had promised to lend his little dog.
As soon as the unkind man was at a safe distance he began to

jerk the dog’s string and whispered angrily, “Fetch me money!
Fetch me money! You’ll do me a good turn too—you will!”

Pochi had to be dragged along, for he wanted very much to run
away.

Coming near the unkind man’s house he laid his little head
down, put his tail tight between his hind legs and, whining
unhappily, refused to move. Seeing this, the greedy man fetched a
spade and dug up the earth with great effort, but he only came
across dirty stones, broken china and lumps of clay.

This made him so angry that he rushed at the dog and struck

him with his spade once—twice—thrice, and again many times.
And alas! Fragile little Pochi, yelping with pain, rolled over and
died.

Later the bad man came back with the cold body of Pochi and,
muttering an apology, left in a hurry. He must have been a little
frightened.

The good man was filled with grief. It seemed to him that this
misfortune was all his fault. All night he stayed awake beside poor
little Pochi in humble regret while bitter tears of loneliness
trickled down his face.

At last the sun rose and shone upon his garden, and the birds
twittered. The good man shook off his sadness, and looked out of
his paper doors. Presently, he took a spade and dug a hole just
outside his room, and there he tenderly buried Pochi. Over the
grave he raised a mound and on it he planted a little pine tree.

Now this pine tree grew very rapidly—in fact it shot up like a
beanstalk. Before many months had passed, it was a great strong
tree with branches that spread out in all directions. The wind blew
through them and whistled and whispered, and the good man,
looking up in astonishment, seemed to hear his little dog crying
—“Cut me down, cut me down and use me, dear master! Good will
come of it to you.”

Well, as it was nearing the New Year and as New Year’s Day in
Japan is a grand occasion, the good man cut down the tree and
made a nice Japanese rice-mortar out of it. He thought he would
pound rice cakes for his friends and relatives.

“Pettarako, pettarako,” went the pestle.

And each time the honest man was astonished to see fine white
rice flowing from the bottom of the mortar. It overflowed and
spilled all over the floor, and flowed on and on until he had a rich
store of rice.

This strange happening reached the ears of the bad man. You
may be sure he did not waste time to come and borrow the mortar.
On the contrary, in vain his pestle struck stones and dirt and hurt
his hands and arms so much that, in a terrible temper, he smashed
the wooden mortar to pieces and burnt it up to ashes.

“Oh my poor wooden mortar!” sighed the honest man. “I will at
least take the ashes back to Pochi’s grave.”

But as he was crossing his garden, a gust of wind blew the
ashes from him, and the most extraordinary thing happened.

All the bare trees sprang into wonderful blossom! Where all
around everything was bare and wintry, in the honest man’s
garden it was now spring!

This was such an amazing sight that the good man clapped his
hands with delight and, taking some more of the ashes in a basket,
cried out:

“Hanasaka-jijii! Hanasaka-jijii! I’m a flower-blossomer! Who
would like to see a bare tree bloom!”

At this time the lord of the province happened to pass by on his
return from a hunting trip. He came galloping in very fine fashion
with his suite following him. When he saw the farmer, he cried
aloud in a cheerful voice:

“Come here my good fellow and let me see what you can do.”

So the good man climbed up a big bare tree on a nearby road
and sprinkled it all over with ashes from his basket.

At once the tree blossomed forth as one of the prettiest cherry
trees imaginable.

All the lord’s followers and the lord himself, wondering, said
“Oh!” and clapped their hands together joyfully.

They were so pleased with the good man that they took him
with them to the lord’s mansion and treated him to a wonderful
meal, bestowing on him many gifts.

Sometime later, the greedy man hastily took the remaining
ashes in a basket, shouting as he went:

“Hanasaka-jijii! A flower blossomer! Who would like to see bare
trees burst into bloom!”

He was so sure of himself that when he caught sight of the lord
of the province he ran toward him, bowing and showing his basket
of ashes.

“Let him come and sprinkle more of our bare trees and make
them bloom,” said the lord, thinking he was the same man.

The greedy man waved his arms and threw the ashes all over
the trees by the wayside, but the wind blew and scattered them in
all directions. Some blew into the lord’s eyes, making him blink
with pain.

All the followers cried out together, “Oh! What horrible dust has
been thrown in our eyes. What a nasty man he is! Surely this is not
the kindly man we met before.”

A few of them ran and took tight hold of him. Then they
realized that he was a very disagreeable man. So they bound him
with a rope and led him away. Thereupon the bad man wept
bitterly, thinking of the punishments that had come upon him, and
cried, “Have pity on me! Have pity on me!”

But he was a coward and richly deserved to be punished. So he
was tried and sent to prison for his misdeeds.

People say he came back a better man with better thoughts.













Issunbōshi (The One-Inch Boy)

MY SMALL DAUGHTER was playing with her friend. They had built a
beautiful blockhouse and all they needed now was a one-inch boy.

“I wish we had a live one,” sighed my little girl. “We could take
him around in our pockets and play with him.”

I said, “He might find it uncomfortable. Besides, who would like
to be as small as that? You know, even the One-Inch Boy grew up
into a fine young man.”

“Did he? Please tell us the story about him.”

I looked at my watch—as grownups do—and decided there was
just time enough to tell it.

So my daughter nestled up on one knee and her friend on the
other. I leaned back and felt their warm sweetness against me. I
closed my eyes and was soon far off in wonderland.

In the deep country of Japan stood a wayside statue of happy
looking Ojizō-san. Around his thick stone neck he wore a frilly red
bib. Ojizō-san is the god who looks after Japanese babies, so
mothers make pretty bibs for him to wear.

“Please, most honored Ojizō-san,” said a woman’s soft voice,
“Please, we would so much like to have a baby of our own. A tiny
little fellow—even as small as an inch. It would make us so happy.”

A young woman and her husband knelt there in deep prayer.
The couple were good, simple, country folk. They came every day
and prayed and wished very hard for a long long time.

At last, to their delight, a little boy was born to them. But he
was a very, very small fellow, smaller than a baby’s chopsticks.
However, the couple was pleased and laughed happily about the
size of their new baby.

Very soon he was no baby at all. Year by year he grew older but
still no bigger, so his parents named him Issunbōshi, which means

One-Inch boy.

When he went out on the street the other boys would come
running and shout, “Oi, Oi! Here comes the little one. Look out,
clumsy! There he is under your feet. Don’t step on him!”

The rough boys would boast, “I can pick him up between my
thumb and finger and crush him to death. Hello, peanut! Hello,
toothpick! Now, where oh where can you be!”

You may be sure Issunbōshi didn’t like this but he always kept
quiet and just smiled pleasantly.

Well as the days and months passed, Issunbōshi grew tired of
everything. He was tired of getting up every morning to eat from
his doll china bowl and nutshell. He was tired of being teased by
great big boys. He was tired of sleeping on his handkerchief-sized
Japanese futon. He wanted to venture out to seek his own fortune.

His parents were anxious for him. But they looked around and
presently his father picked up a sharp glistening needle from his
mother’s workbox, and his mother picked up his father’s big red
lacquer soup bowl with his ivory chopsticks.

Issunbōshi girded the needle around his waist and there it hung
against him, looking sharper than a sword. And, carrying the red
lacquer bowl and chopsticks, he went as far as the beach of
Sumiyoshi, accompanied by his father and mother.

When he got there, he turned to them and, bowing very politely,
said, “Otōsan, Okāsan, itte mairimasu. I am going.”

“Take good care of yourself,” they cried. “You have the world
before you.”

“Indeed I have!” said Issunbōshi happily. “You wait—I will
surely succeed.”

He jumped into the bowl, which floated well on water, and
began rowing with one of the chopsticks—back and forth, back and
forth—just as Japanese fishermen do.

Issunbōshi rowed for days and days up the Yodo River. He met
with wind that nearly toppled him over and rain that came with
rushing water. Somehow or other, he finally succeeded in reaching
Kyōto, the old capital of Japan.

When he landed he was astonished at the crowds of people
walking the streets. He feared he would be crushed to death in a
short time, so he hid behind a big stone. He could hear the clomp-
clomp of many clogs around him, and the clink-clink of swords
when fierce looking warriors strode past, and the neighing of many
horses. He saw wonderful wooden houses and temples and shrines.
“Oh,” he thought, “this is a busy and wonderful city!” In spite of his
danger, Issunbōshi was glad he had come. He was able to observe

many things without anybody noticing him.

As he looked, he saw a beautiful lacquered palanquin pass by
borne by sturdy men, and he heard a clear voice from inside
commanding them to stop. As the men rested to mop their brows,
Issunbōshi ran out and, from behind, climbed into the furthest
corner of the palanquin.

Nobody noticed him—least of all the little princess seated
inside, who was too busy fanning herself and pouting, for she was
very tired and uncomfortable from the long ride. Being beautiful
and spoilt and young, she did not think of her bearers, who were
much more tired and hotter than she.

“You may start up again,” she called after a while, “and try not

to jostle too much.”
Issunbōshi sat crouched in the dark corner as quietly as

possible, and the princess sat still with a frown on her brow, for she
wanted to be fanned by her maids and enjoy delicate sweet bean
cakes.

Presently the palanquin was carried through a magnificent
black wooden gate and the servants announced in a loud voice,
“Hime-dono okaeri!” which means, “The Princess returns.”

Issunbōshi jumped off the carriage and hid himself behind a
pillar, while the princess stepped down with much ado and was led

inside.

When the bustle had subsided, Issunbōshi crept out once more,
and called in a voice as loud as possible, “Gomen kudasai! Gomen
kudasai! Pardon my intruding.”

Just at that moment, the lord of the house and the father of the
princess, Saishō-dono, came to the entrance on his way to a feast of
the Emperor’s. He heard the voice but could not see anyone, until
peering under the steps, he found Issunbōshi standing upright by
the side of his high clogs.

Saishō-dono laughed. “Look at this wee fellow!” His retainers
bent down, and all started laughing too.

“Ha ha ha! What a mite! How absurd!”

Issunbōshi drew himself up indignantly.

“I have come all the way from Naniwa to find a way to success,
and it grieves me sorely to find that here too you make fun of me.”

Saishō-dono stopped laughing, for he was a kind man.

“No, no, my boy. None of us did mean it. I think you are most
courageous to make your journey all the way to this busy city. I
will gladly try and help you, if you are willing to work for me here
and get used to city life.”

Issunbōshi, who had wanted nothing better all the while,
promised he would try his best and from that day lived in the large
mansion.

Now as soon as the princess saw him, she liked him ever so
much and, being spoilt, wanted to have him all to herself. She liked
to take him out on her rides and to have him near to play with at
home.

“Issunbōshi, irrasshai! Come here!” she called all day long.

Issunbōshi liked the princess too, for with all her tantrums she
was a lovable person, but he did so want to take part in the

interesting work of the palace. He thought playing with the
princess was no proper work for him.

One afternoon, after playing all morning, the little princess
dropped off into a nap. Sitting close by, a tiny forlorn figure,
Issunbōshi suddenly had a bright thought.

He had a small-sized box of Japanese sugar candies that
Saishō-dono had given him. He ate them all; then he quietly
scattered leftover bits around the princess and on her robes.

Issunbōshi went to Saishō-dono’s room, where the old
gentleman sat on a thick cushion smoking a long handled pipe.

“Honored master,” he lamented, “the princess your daughter
has robbed me of my precious palace cakes. I cannot stand it!
Please remove me to other quarters.”

Saishō-dono, who was aware that his daughter was spoilt,
picked Issunbōshi up in a hurry and went to the princess’ room.
What he saw made him very angry and he shouted at the top of his
voice, “What unlady-like appearance you make! You are no
daughter of mine. Take her away from this palace! I do not want to
see her anymore.”

And he nearly threw Issunbōshi down on the straw mat as he
strode angrily away.

Issunbōshi was greatly astonished and very sorry for the
commotion he had caused.

But in those days the word of a lord was a command. Issunbōshi
had to follow the weeping princess away from the palace.

He thought he’d take her back to his home-in Naniwa until
Saishō-dono’s anger had cooled off. So they found a fisherman’s old
boat to take them down the Yodo River.

The princess went through all kinds of hardships she had never
known before. She did not complain, but grew considerate and

quiet and so gentle toward Issunbōshi that his heart ached for her.
There came a strong wind and, as the princess had no idea how

to manage a boat, they drifted on the swift current until they were
completely lost.

A few days later, hungry and tired, they landed on a mysterious
island. Wonderful flowers grew all around. Birds of many colors
sang on weird-shaped trees. They were very glad to be on land
again and gazed around in wonder.

But suddenly there appeared a hideous-looking ogre, who