[Illustration]
O-Kamé, daughter of the rich Gonyémon of Nagoshi, in the province of
Tosa, was very fond of her husband, Hachiyémon. She was twenty-two, and
Hachiyémon twenty-five. She was so fond of him that people imagined her
to be jealous. But he never gave her the least cause for jealousy; and
it is certain that no single unkind word was ever spoken between them.
Unfortunately the health of O-Kamé was feeble. Within less than two
years after her marriage she was attacked by a disease, then prevalent
in Tosa, and the best doctors were not able to cure her. Persons seized
by this malady could not eat or drink; they remained constantly drowsy
and languid, and troubled by strange fancies. And, in spite of constant
care, O-Kamé grew weaker and weaker, day by day, until it became
evident, even to herself, that she was going to die. Then she called
her husband, and said to him:--
"I cannot tell you how good you have been to me during this miserable
sickness of mine. Surely no one could have been more kind. But that
only makes it all the harder for me to leave you now.... Think! I am
not yet even twenty-five,--and I have the best husband in all this
world,--and yet I must die!... Oh, no, no! it is useless to talk to me
about hope; the best Chinese doctors could do nothing for me. I did
think to live a few months longer; but when I saw my face this morning
in the mirror, I knew that I must die to-day,--yes, this very day. And
there is something that I want to beg you to do for me--if you wish me
to die quite happy."
"Only tell me what it is," Hachiyémon answered; "and if it be in my
power to do, I shall be more than glad to do it."
"No, no--you will not be glad to do it," she returned: "you are still
so young! It is difficult--very, very difficult--even to ask you to do
such a thing; yet the wish for it is like a fire burning in my breast.
I must speak it before I die.... My dear, you know that sooner or
later, after I am dead, they will want you to take another wife. Will
you promise me--can you promise me--not to marry again?..."
"Only that!" Hachiyémon exclaimed. "Why, if that be all that you wanted
to ask for, your wish is very easily granted. With all my heart I
promise you that no one shall ever take your place."
"_Aa! uréshiya!_" cried O-Kamé, half-rising from her couch;--"oh, how
happy you have made me!"
And she fell back dead.
*
Now the health of Hachiyémon appeared to fail after the death of
O-Kamé. At first the change in his aspect was attributed to natural
grief, and the villagers only said, "How fond of her he must have
been!" But, as the months went by, he grew paler and weaker, until
at last he became so thin and wan that he looked more like a ghost
than a man. Then people began to suspect that sorrow alone could not
explain this sudden decline of a man so young. The doctors said that
Hachiyémon was not suffering from any known form of disease: they
could not account for his condition; but they suggested that it might
have been caused by some very unusual trouble of mind. Hachiyémon's
parents questioned him in vain;--he had no cause for sorrow, he said,
other than what they already knew. They counselled him to remarry; but
he protested that nothing could ever induce him to break his promise to
the dead.
*
Thereafter Hachiyémon continued to grow visibly weaker, day by day;
and his family despaired of his life. But one day his mother, who
felt sure that he had been concealing something from her, adjured him
so earnestly to tell her the real cause of his decline, and wept so
bitterly before him, that he was not able to resist her entreaties.
"Mother," he said, "it is very difficult to speak about this matter,
either to you or to any one; and, perhaps, when I have told you
everything, you will not be able to believe me. But the truth is that
O-Kamé can find no rest in the other world, and that the Buddhist
services repeated for her have been said in vain. Perhaps she will
never be able to rest unless I go with her on the long black journey.
For every night she returns, and lies down by my side. Every night,
since the day of her funeral, she has come back. And sometimes I
doubt if she be really dead; for she looks and acts just as when she
lived,--except that she talks to me only in whispers. And she always
bids me tell no one that she comes. It may be that she wants me to die;
and I should not care to live for my own sake only. But it is true,
as you have said, that my body really belongs to my parents, and that
I owe to them the first duty. So now, mother, I tell you the whole
truth.... Yes: every night she comes, just as I am about to sleep; and
she remains until dawn. As soon as she hears the temple-bell, she goes
away."
*
When the mother of Hachiyémon had heard these things, she was greatly
alarmed; and, hastening at once to the parish-temple, she told the
priest all that her son had confessed, and begged for ghostly help. The
priest, who was a man of great age and experience, listened without
surprise to the recital, and then said to her:--
"It is not the first time that I have known such a thing to happen;
and I think that I shall be able to save your son. But he is really
in great danger. I have seen the shadow of death upon his face; and,
if O-Kamé return but once again, he will never behold another sunrise.
Whatever can be done for him must be done quickly. Say nothing of the
matter to your son; but assemble the members of both families as soon
as possible, and tell them to come to the temple without delay. For
your son's sake it will be necessary to open the grave of O-Kamé."
*
So the relatives assembled at the temple; and when the priest had
obtained their consent to the opening of the sepulchre, he led the way
to the cemetery. Then, under his direction, the tombstone of O-Kamé
was shifted, the grave opened, and the coffin raised. And when the
coffin-lid had been removed, all present were startled; for O-Kamé sat
before them with a smile upon her face, seeming as comely as before the
time of her sickness; and there was not any sign of death upon her. But
when the priest told his assistants to lift the dead woman out of the
coffin, the astonishment changed to fear; for the corpse was blood-warm
to the touch, and still flexible as in life, notwithstanding the
squatting posture in which it had remained so long.[1]
It was borne to the mortuary chapel; and there the priest, with a
writing-brush, traced upon the brow and breast and limbs of the body
the Sanscrit characters (_Bonji_) of certain holy talismanic words.
And he performed a Ségaki-service for the spirit of O-Kamé, before
suffering her corpse to be restored to the ground.
[Illustration]
She never again visited her husband; and Hachiyémon gradually recovered
his health and strength. But whether he always kept his promise, the
Japanese story-teller does not say.
[Footnote 1: The Japanese dead are placed in a sitting posture in the
coffin,--which is almost square in form.]