[Illustration]
Formerly, in the quarter of Reiganjima, in Yedo, there was a great
porcelain shop called the Setomonodana, kept by a rich man named Kihei.
Kihei had in his employ, for many years, a head clerk named Rokubei.
Under Rokubei's care the business prospered;--and at last it grew so
large that Rokubei found himself unable to manage it without help.
He therefore asked and obtained permission to hire an experienced
assistant; and he then engaged one of his own nephews,--a young man
about twenty-two years old, who had learned the porcelain trade in
Osaka.
The nephew proved a very capable assistant,--shrewder in business
than his experienced uncle. His enterprise extended the trade of the
house, and Kihei was greatly pleased. But about seven months after his
engagement, the young man became very ill, and seemed likely to die.
The best physicians in Yedo were summoned to attend him; but none of
them could understand the nature of his sickness. They prescribed no
medicine, and expressed the opinion that such a sickness could only
have been caused by some secret grief.
Rokubei imagined that it might be a case of lovesickness. He therefore
said to his nephew:--
"I have been thinking that, as you are still very young, you might have
formed some secret attachment which is making you unhappy,--perhaps
even making you ill. If this be the truth, you certainly ought to
tell me all about your troubles. Here I stand to you in the place of
a father, as you are far away from your parents; and if you have any
anxiety or sorrow, I am ready to do for you whatever a father should
do. If money can help you, do not be ashamed to tell me, even though
the amount be large. I think that I could assist you; and I am sure
that Kihei would be glad to do anything to make you happy and well."
The sick youth appeared to be embarrassed by these kindly assurances;
and for some little time he remained silent. At last he answered:--
"Never in this world can I forget those generous words. But I have no
secret attachment--no longing for any woman. This sickness of mine is
not a sickness that doctors can cure; and money could not help me in
the least. The truth is, that I have been so persecuted in this house
that I scarcely care to live. Everywhere--by day and by night, whether
in the shop or in my room, whether alone or in company--I have been
unceasingly followed and tormented by the Shadow of a woman. And it is
long, long since I have been able to get even one night's rest. For so
soon as I close my eyes, the Shadow of the woman takes me by the throat
and strives to strangle me. So I cannot sleep...."
"And why did you not tell me this before?" asked Rokubei.
"Because I thought," the nephew answered, "that it would be of no use
to tell you. The Shadow is not the ghost of a dead person. It is made
by the hatred of a living person--a person whom you very well know."
"What person?" questioned Rokubei, in great astonishment.[2]
"The mistress of this house," whispered the youth,--"the wife of Kihei
Sama.... She wishes to kill me."
*
Rokubei was bewildered by this confession. He doubted nothing of
what his nephew had said; but he could not imagine a reason for the
haunting. An _ikiryō_ might be caused by disappointed love, or by
violent hate,--without the knowledge of the person from whom it had
emanated. To suppose any love in this case was impossible;--the wife
of Kihei was considerably more than fifty years of age. But, on the
other hand, what could the young clerk have done to provoke hatred,--a
hatred capable of producing an ikiryō? He had been irreproachably well
conducted, unfailingly courteous, and earnestly devoted to his duties.
The mystery troubled Rokubei; but, after careful reflection, he decided
to tell everything to Kihei, and to request an investigation.
Kihei was astounded; but in the time of forty years he had never had
the least reason to doubt the word of Rokubei. He therefore summoned
his wife at once, and carefully questioned her, telling her, at the
same time, what the sick clerk had said. At first she turned pale, and
wept; but, after some hesitation, she answered frankly:--
"I suppose that what the new clerk has said about the _ikiryō_ is
true,--though I really tried never to betray, by word or look, the
dislike which I could not help feeling for him. You know that he is
very skilful in commerce,--very shrewd in everything that he does.
And you have given him much authority in this house--power over the
apprentices and the servants. But our only son, who should inherit this
business, is very simple-hearted and easily deceived; and I have long
been thinking that your clever new clerk might so delude our boy as to
get possession of all this property. Indeed, I am certain that your
clerk could at any time, without the least difficulty, and without the
least risk to himself, ruin our business and ruin our son. And with
this certainty in my mind, I cannot help fearing and hating the man. I
have often and often wished that he were dead; I have even wished that
it were in my own power to kill him. ... Yes, I know that it is wrong
to hate any one in such a way; but I could not check the feeling. Night
and day I have been wishing evil to that clerk. So I cannot doubt that
he has really seen the thing of which he spoke to Rokubei."
"How absurd of you," exclaimed Kihei, "to torment yourself thus! Up
to the present time that clerk has done no single thing for which he
could be blamed; and you have caused him to suffer cruelly.... Now if I
should send him away, with his uncle, to another town, to establish a
branch business, could you not endeavour to think more kindly of him?"
"If I do not see his face or hear his voice," the wife answered,--"if
you will only send him away from this house,--then I think that I shall
be able to conquer my hatred of him."
"Try to do so," said Kihei;--"for, if you continue to hate him as you
have been hating him, he will certainly die, and you will then be
guilty of having caused the death of a man who has done us nothing but
good. He has been, in every way, a most excellent servant."
Then Kihei quickly made arrangements for the establishment of a branch
house in another city; and he sent Rokubei there with the clerk, to
take charge. And thereafter the _ikiryō_ ceased to torment the young
man, who soon recovered his health.
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[Footnote 1: Literally, "living spirit,"--that is to say, the ghost of
a person still alive. An _ikiryō_ may detach itself from the body under
the influence of anger, and proceed to haunt and torment the individual
by whom the anger was caused.]
[Footnote 2: An _ikiryō_ is seen only by the person haunted.--For
another illustration of this curious belief, see the paper entitled
"The Stone Buddha" in my _Out of the East_, p. 171.]