[Decoration]
[10] From the _Konseki-Monogatari_
THE body was cold as ice; the heart had long ceased to beat: yet there
were no other signs of death. Nobody even spoke of burying the woman.
She had died of grief and anger at having been divorced. It would have
been useless to bury her,--because the last undying wish of a dying
person for vengeance can burst asunder any tomb and rift the heaviest
graveyard stone. People who lived near the house in which she was lying
fled from their homes. They knew that she was only _waiting for the
return of the man who had divorced her_.
At the time of her death he was on a journey. When he came back and was
told what had happened, terror seized him. "If I can find no help before
dark," he thought to himself, "she will tear me to pieces." It was yet
only the Hour of the Dragon;[11] but he knew that he had no time to
lose.
[11] _Tatsu no Koku_, or the Hour of the Dragon, by old Japanese
time, began at about eight o'clock in the morning.
He went at once to an _inyoshi_[12] and begged for succor. The _inyoshi_
knew the story of the dead woman; and he had seen the body. He said to
the supplicant:--"A very great danger threatens you. I will try to save
you. But you must promise to do whatever I shall tell you to do. There
is only one way by which you can be saved. It is a fearful way. But
unless you find the courage to attempt it, she will tear you limb from
limb. If you can be brave, come to me again in the evening before
sunset." The man shuddered; but he promised to do whatever should be
required of him.
[12] _Inyoshi_, a professor or master of the science of
_in-yo_,--the old Chinese nature-philosophy, based upon the
theory of a male and a female principle pervading the
universe.
* * * * *
At sunset the _inyoshi_ went with him to the house where the body was
lying. The _inyoshi_ pushed open the sliding-doors, and told his client
to enter. It was rapidly growing dark. "I dare not!" gasped the man,
quaking from head to foot;--"I dare not even look at her!" "You will
have to do much more than look at her," declared the _inyoshi_;--"and
you promised to obey. Go in!" He forced the trembler into the house and
led him to the side of the corpse.
* * * * *
The dead woman was lying on her face. "Now you must get astride upon
her," said the _inyoshi_, "and sit firmly on her back, as if you were
riding a horse.... Come!--you must do it!" The man shivered so that the
_inyoshi_ had to support him--shivered horribly; but he obeyed. "Now
take her hair in your hands," commanded the _inyoshi_,--"half in the
right hand, half in the left.... So!... You must grip it like a bridle.
Twist your hands in it--both hands--tightly. That is the way!... Listen
to me! You must stay like that till morning. You will have reason to be
afraid in the night--plenty of reason. But whatever may happen, never
let go of her hair. If you let go,--even for one second,--she will tear
you into gobbets!"
The _inyoshi_ then whispered some mysterious words into the ear of the
body, and said to its rider:--"Now, for my own sake, I must leave you
alone with her.... Remain as you are!... Above all things, remember that
you must not let go of her hair." And he went away,--closing the doors
behind him.
* * * * *
Hour after hour the man sat upon the corpse in black fear;--and the hush
of the night deepened and deepened about him till he screamed to break
it. Instantly the body sprang beneath him, as to cast him off; and the
dead woman cried out loudly, "Oh, how heavy it is! Yet I shall bring
that fellow here now!"
Then tall she rose, and leaped to the doors, and flung them open, and
rushed into the night,--always bearing the weight of the man. But he,
shutting his eyes, kept his hands twisted in her long hair,--tightly,
tightly,--though fearing with such a fear that he could not even moan.
How far she went, he never knew. He saw nothing: he heard only the sound
of her naked feet in the dark,--_picha-picha_, _picha-picha_,--and the
hiss of her breathing as she ran.
At last she turned, and ran back into the house, and lay down upon the
floor exactly as at first. Under the man she panted and moaned till the
cocks began to crow. Thereafter she lay still.
But the man, with chattering teeth, sat upon her until the _inyoshi_
came at sunrise. "So you did not let go of her hair!"--observed the
_inyoshi_, greatly pleased. "That is well ... Now you can stand up." He
whispered again into the ear of the corpse, and then said to the
man:--"You must have passed a fearful night; but nothing else could have
saved you. Hereafter you may feel secure from her vengeance."
[Decoration]
The conclusion of this story I do not think to be morally satisfying.
It is not recorded that the corpse-rider became insane, or that his
hair turned white: we are told only that "he worshipped the _inyoshi_
with tears of gratitude." A note appended to the recital is equally
disappointing. "It is reported," the Japanese author says, "that a
grandchild of the man [_who rode the corpse_] still survives, and that a
grandson of the _inyoshi_ is at this very time living in a village
called Otokunoi-mura [_probably pronounced Otonoi-mura_]."
This village-name does not appear in any Japanese directory of to-day.
But the names of many towns and villages have been changed since the
foregoing story was written.