[Illustration]
About two hundred years ago, there lived in Kyoto a merchant named
Kazariya Kyūbei. His shop was in the street called Teramachidōri, a
little south of the Shimabara thoroughfare. He had a maid-servant named
Tama,--a native of the province of Wakasa.
Tama was kindly treated by Kyūbei and his wife, and appeared to be
sincerely attached to them. But she never cared to dress nicely, like
other girls; and whenever she had a holiday she would go out in her
working-dress, notwithstanding that she had been given several pretty
robes. After she had been in the service of Kyūbei for about five
years, he one day asked her why she never took any pains to look neat.
Tama blushed at the reproach implied by this question, and answered
respectfully:--
"When my parents died, I was a very little girl; and, as they had no
other child, it became my duty to have the Buddhist services performed
on their behalf. At that time I could not obtain the means to do so;
but I resolved to have their _ihai_ [mortuary tablets] placed in the
temple called Jōrakuji, and to have the rites performed, so soon as I
could earn the money required. And in order to fulfil this resolve I
have tried to be saving of my money and my clothes;--perhaps I have
been too saving, as you have found me negligent of my person. But I
have already been able to put by about one hundred _mommé_ of silver
for the purpose which I have mentioned; and hereafter I will try to
appear before you looking neat. So I beg that you will kindly excuse my
past negligence and rudeness."
Kyūbei was touched by this simple confession; and he spoke to the
girl kindly,--assuring her that she might consider herself at liberty
thenceforth to dress as she pleased, and commending her filial piety.
*
Soon after this conversation, the maid Tama was able to have the
tablets of her parents placed in the temple Jōrakuji, and to have the
appropriate services performed. Of the money which she had saved she
thus expended seventy _mommé_; and the remaining thirty _mommé_ she
asked her mistress to keep for her.
But early in the following winter Tama was suddenly taken ill; and
after a brief sickness she died, on the eleventh day of the first month
of the fifteenth year of Genroku [1702]. Kyūbei and his wife were much
grieved by her death.
*
Now, about ten days later, a very large fly came into the house, and
began to fly round and round the head of Kyūbei. This surprised Kyūbei,
because no flies of any kind appear, as a rule, during the Period of
Greatest Cold, and the larger kinds of flies are seldom seen except in
the warm season. The fly annoyed Kyūbei so persistently that he took
the trouble to catch it, and put it out of the house,--being careful
the while to injure it in no way; for he was a devout Buddhist. It soon
came back again, and was again caught and thrown out; but it entered
a third time. Kyūbei's wife thought this a strange thing. "I wonder,"
she said, "if it is Tama." [For the dead--particularly those who pass
to the state of Gaki--sometimes return in the form of insects.] Kyūbei
laughed, and made answer, "Perhaps we can find out by marking it." He
caught the fly, and slightly nicked the tips of its wings with a pair
of scissors,--after which he carried it to a considerable distance from
the house and let it go.
Next day it returned. Kyūbei still doubted whether its return had any
ghostly significance. He caught it again, painted its wings and body
with beni (rouge), carried it away from the house to a much greater
distance than before, and set it free. But, two days later, it came
back, all red; and Kyūbei ceased to doubt.
"I think it is Tama," he said. "She wants something;--but what does she
want?"