Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta japanese literature. Mostrar todas las entradas
Mostrando entradas con la etiqueta japanese literature. Mostrar todas las entradas

domingo, 1 de octubre de 2017

蛍の光 - AULD LANG SYNE

(STANZA)
Should auld acquaintance be forgot
and never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot 
for the sake of auld lang syne?

(REFRAIN)
For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne...
We'll take a cup of kindness yet
for the sake of auld lang syne!

This Scottish folk song is, here in Europe and especially up north, regarded as a drinking song. A cozy pub or Kellerkneipe, with a table or a bar full of friends and a stein of beer before every friend, is what immediately comes to one's mind's eye.
To a Japanese listener, however, the same tune conjures either the New Year's broadcast on TV, graduations at either level of the school system, or shops and restaurants closing for the night (the tune replacing the background music to usher customers out). But not only the context has changed - the lyrics themselves are starkly different.
In the Taisho era, Auld Lang Syne was translated with completely different lyrics (at least literally, the metaphorical meaning being similar) into Japanese as Hotaru no hikari (蛍の光, The Light of Fireflies):

(STANZA)
蛍の光、
窓の雪、
書読む月日、

重ねつゝ。
Hotaru no hikari,
mado no yuki,
fumi yomu tsukihi
kasane tsutsu.

(REFRAIN)
何時しか年も、
すぎの戸を、
開けてぞ今朝は、

別れ行く。
Itsushika toshi mo,
sugi no to wo,
aketezo kesa wa
wakare yuku.

Which, translated into English to render the lyrics singable to the tune (this is my own translation), would sound like this:

(STANZA)
The light of fireflies, the snow
falls past a windowpane...
So many days and nights thus spent
reading come shine or rain...

(REFRAIN):
The years went by, meanwhile,
the years went by...
This morn we part at break of day,
after all the years gone by...

It's easy to see why it's regarded as a song about leave-taking (and thus played at such convenient scenarios, like graduations or New Year's Eve TV shows), instead of reminiscence like the source text.

Translation of a text that is sung in vocal music for the purpose of singing in another language—sometimes called "singing translation"—is closely linked to translation of poetry because most vocal music, at least in the Western tradition, is set to verse, especially verse in regular patterns with rhyme
Translation of sung texts is generally much more restrictive than translation of poetry, because in the former there is little or no freedom to choose between a versified translation and a translation that dispenses with verse structure. One might modify or omit rhyme in a singing translation, but the assignment of syllables to specific notes in the original musical setting places great challenges on the translator. The process is almost like strict verse translation because of the need to stick as closely as possible to the original prosody of the sung melodic line.
Other considerations in writing a singing translation include repetition of words and phrases, the placement of rests and/or punctuation, the quality of vowels sung on high notes, and rhythmic features of the vocal line that may be more natural to the original language than to the target language. A sung translation may be considerably or completely different from the original, thus resulting in a contrafactum.
Interesting word, "contrafactum." It's in Latin, second declension neuter; one contrafactum, two contrafacta. Coincidentally, and you may have spotted the family resemblance, it's a cognate of our English "counterfeit."
Contrafacta are different lyrics written to be sung to already existing tunes. You read any of the filks -about Westeros or any other fandoms-, for instance on this blog (Tywin of the Lannisters being the latest, am I right?) and get the idea, because filk songs are contrafacta by another name.
I mean, filk songs are contrafacta. The Mad Hatter's Little Bat is a contrafactum, sung to a classic French eighteenth-century tune mostly known as Little Star (and it can also be sung to Mozart's Little Star variations; wouldn't putting Carroll's Hatta and Amadeus in the same song cover be an instant piece of art?), and countless other contrafacta can be found across Carroll's Alice (The Little Crocodile, Father William, The Voice of the Lobster...).
A contrafactum happens when a rewriter in a target language takes the tune into account much more than the lyrics. This would be the case when the tune is the most important part of the package. Not translation proper in the linguistic sense, this is nevertheless a translational action: a result of importation of musico-verbal material between languages and cultures (and again, Auld Lang Syne / 蛍の光 may be a perfect example). A totally rewritten set of lyrics in a target language may contain only a single word, phrase, image, or dramatic element taken from the source lyrics. Also, the original lyrics (and singing performance) may influence the translator's impression of the melody, and thus, the production of the new lyrics. If these new lyrics allow the song, as a cultural artifact, to cross linguistic borders, the practice can be seen as translational action. For example, the impact of 蛍の光 in Japanese culture as a leave-taking song (at graduations, on New Year's TV, in shops and restaurants about to close for the night).
Joaquín Sabina's Mil maneras de olvidar a un chulo, based upon 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover, is not a contrafactum; the lyrics are more or less true to the original, but the tune is slightly different -being a musical variation on the original-. Still, the different tune and lyrics full of Spanish local colour make it an interesting adaptation, changing the song from US to Spanish culture with a different aesthetic, in the process changing the whole song (tune AND lyrics) from lethargic blues to lively, savvy flamenco. It's not a contrafactum, but still one of those translated songs whose target lyrics surpass the source lyrics.
Another of those translated songs whose target lyrics surpass the source lyrics would be Jag vill se schack. Comparing it to The Arbiter and preferring the Swedish version is something that, like when it comes to Mil maneras surpassing 50 Ways, is something that leads to the fact that I am always short of words for praising the target lyrics. It is NOT a contrafactum, but a singable translation that improves the original.

A contrafactum would be Var beredd, or Komm liebes Becherlein, or Alices snaps by Cornelis Vreeswijk (a song about a drunken dysfunctional family during a crawfish party, set to the heartwarming La chanson pour l'Auvergnat), or any of my filk lyrics (What's your name? TYWIN OF THE LANNISTERS!). Or 蛍の光 .

Translator Stanislav Korotygin also emphasized the creative joy of bringing this madcap talk into Russian, but admits that translating lyrics is alway a difficult balancing act. “It’s like searching for the best path through the forest which must satisfy several conflicting criteria: it must be the shortest, the nicest and the safest. And you have to meet the wolf on the way,” he jokes. “You start thinking like a poet or songwriter.”

And to Mile Živković, the number of syllables proved to be the biggest challenge in the Serbian translation. “It required me to compress everything so that I could imagine singing it in Serbian,” he says. “Initially, I attempted to make the entire song rhyme, but it proved virtually impossible with the line length.”

domingo, 16 de abril de 2017

MUKASHIBANASHI SO FAR

MUKASHIBANASHI SO FAR

I was obliged to add two extra mukashibanashi to my list of retellings, because I have just remembered these two. I'm on a writing streak like Alexander Hamilton's, so let's make the most out of it, right?
Lord Ricestraw is the story of a poor orphan stripling whose prayer to the Goddess of Mercy is answered by a series of convenient chance encounters, just like in the film and novel Pay It Forward, but without the domestic violence; a good deed leads to another in a snowballing chain of kindness. And yes, it all begins with a rice straw by the wayside.
The Lucky Kettle is about a tanuki, or raccoon, who can turn into a kettle at will; fortunately, he is far more well-intentioned than the one in Kachikachiyama/Mount Crackle... Given that I began with a tanuki, I should end with one as well to mirror it, right?

MUKASHIBANASHI 8: PRINCESS KAGUYA

MUKASHIBANASHI 8: PRINCESS KAGUYA (KAGUYAHIME)

In this mukashibanashi, one that has been retold left and right through the ages (whether as comedy or drama, or even science fiction!), and that has given name to Moon missions, a maiden of unearthly beauty descends upon Earth to... best not to tell anyone, for that would be spoilerific!

Mukashi mukashi, once upon a time, the Nayotakes, an old woodsman and woodswoman, husband and wife, had been married for decades without having any children or even grandchildren, no matter how many their prayers for one that would bless them with much needed help and comfort. 
Until... One summer evening when the Moon was full, yet the rabbit formed by its seas did strangely not appear on its blank surface, as the woodsman returned home with the axe on his shoulder, he noticed a shimmering silvery light, far brighter than that of any firefly, in the middle of a bamboo thicket. Cutting his way towards the mysterious light, he discovered its source to be an unusually large bamboo cane from which the glow radiated. It would be needless to say he chopped down the cane, wondering about the reason for the light within... But imagine the face of the old woodswoman when her husband returned home to their thatched cottage with the axe on his right shoulder as usual... and a healthy little baby, glowing with a silver light, cradled in his left arm! Though it was a girl, they were contented with the prospect of a granddaughter miraculously born from a bamboo cane; the gods had replied to their prayers at last! Because of the light of the full moon, and the similar light of the little girl herself, the old woodswoman named her foster grandchild Kaguya, which means "Shining."
As time went by, Kaguya became the woodsfolk's pride and joy; she thrived in both body and soul as far as their eyes could see, and what's more, every time her foster grandfather returned home from the woods he brought a gold nugget he had found while chopping a tree-branch; and thus, soon the little Nayotake family was wealthy and their cottage had grown into an estate, with horses and gardens and an arbour and all! 
Moreover, she must also have been a soother, for whenever the husband or the wife was feeling cross or feeling down, it took just a look or two at their girl for their spirits to rise.
And Kaguya picked up the fine arts of the court ladies, should she come to shine in the greater world; not a more graceful handwriting, nor a more skilful poet or flower arranger, was there in the whole Empire when she was a maiden, no longer a child yet not yet a woman, with long hair as black as midnight and skin as fair and pale as the full moon, and a mind that was equally bright... and thus, it came as no surprise as suitors stormed in, dashing lordlings, from both the capital and the provinces, desiring to win the heart and hand of the lovely Princess Kaguya. Yet she knew what to expect from each and every one of the suitors, that they were mainly after her family fortune, and sent them all away. She wanted a true prince; a young man that was dashing, brave, intelligent, able to lead the armies during wartime and to patronise the arts during peacetime... long story short, a bridegroom such as she had never seen among her countless suitors.
Yet she did not despair the least to attain what she desired, determined as she was not to stop at the first best marriage of convenience and to choose herself, come hell or highwater, no matter his rank, a spouse worthy of her.
So she sent her various suitors on different quests that were actually fools' errands, sending each and every one of them away with a graceful flick of the wrist. Or so she did rather to those who managed to return alive to her presence, since many of the quests were literally a matter of life and death. Lord Kurumochi was asked to bring a branch of the fabled golden ruby-tree, with fruit and all; the one he brought to the Nayotake Mansion was revealed to be a forgery made by skilful artisans who had cast the gold and cut the rubies into berry shapes by hand (when the jewellers he had hired stormed into the mansion and demanded payment for the three years' work it had taken them to make the ersatz ruby branch; when His Lordship refused, Kaguya paid them generously, while the embarrassed Lord Kurumochi left the court and lived in the woods as an ascetic for the rest of his life). The Minister of the Left was asked to bring a rainbow pearl from the tiara of the Dragon Queen, but he never returned to Kaguya's estate, having been swallowed up by a wave on a stormy night, having set sail and scoured the Pacific to bring the moon-white maiden the precious jewel.
Eventually the Crown Prince himself, the eldest son of the Empress, came to the Nayotake estate to try his luck at winning the renowned --and now regarded as unattainable-- Princess Kaguya. The Moon had begun to wax as the suitors were sent away, and it would be full on that summer night. To Kaguya's surprise, the Crown Prince was young and good-looking, dashing and charming, full of clever liveliness, and it came as no surprise that he found her charming, and she found him after her taste. The next day, they would start for the palace above all palaces, on the outskirts of the capital, and Kaguya, the rare provincial bride, would eclipse all the born and bred court ladies like the full moon shines above all the stars in the night sky... But why were there tears in her eyes as she looked that evening at the full moon, rabbitless as it had been ever since the Nayotakes had adopted her?
She summoned both her grandparents and her imperial bridegroom into her bedchamber and mournfully told them... "I must return to whence I came from."
All three mortals listened attentively, turning pale and eyes widening with concern, as Kaguya explained that she was the Rabbit that pounded moon cakes for the moonfolk on the full moon; having heard many a night the prayers of old Mrs. Nayotake, she pitied the childless woodswoman and descended upon Earth as a human child, to be a source of joy and love for mortalkind. But now her servants, sent by her master --the moon-god Tsukiyomi--, were due to take the Rabbit up to the full moon where she belonged. She thanked the Nayotakes for raising in the best of ways, adding that she was very sorry to part with them, and planted a kiss upon the brow of her imperial fiancé.
There was obviously much consternation; the old grandmother dried up her tears on her husband's sleeves, and the Crown Prince commanded his escort to guard the whole Nayotake Mansion, one guard at every door, throughout the night, for the moon-folk not to take the lovely Kaguya away.
However, they were as powerless as the moon-bright maiden had foretold; little by little, officers and men alike began to feel drowsy and weary, slumping on their posts as the great harvest moon was shrouded with clouds and a silvery carriage descended upon the balcony of the princess's bedchamber. At once Kaguya opened the window and stepped onto the ledge to enter her carriage, yet before she spoke many a comforting word to her guardians and fiancé, consoling them with the thought that they would always keep her in their hearts and remember her when looking at the Rabbit on the full moon.
Taking off her shawl, she dried up her grandmother's tears with it and left it to the old woodswoman as a keepsake. She also handed over a little lacquered clay vial to the Crown Prince, claiming that it was the Elixir of Life, before entering her carriage, that ascended until it disappeared upon the silvery full moon.
After that, the face of the moon, when full, regained its missing Rabbit. The old Nayotakes adopted orphans to secure their fortune, and the prince inherited the imperial crown that had been his late father's, yet, upon facing the prospect of a marriage of state to a wanton court lady, he abdicated in his next brother in line and left the grandeur of the palace for an ascetic life in a shrine hermitage on the ever-snowy slopes of the Fuji-san, having asked what the highest peak, closest to the sky, in the Empire was, and being directed to said volcano in response. There, hesitating for a while whether he should drink the Elixir of Life, putting the vial to his lips, he finally lit a fire and, not having downed a single drop, poured the potion upon the flames, convinced as he was that a lifetime of eternity was not the one to lead without Kaguya by his side.


REMARKS ON THIS TALE:
  • This story, the oldest mukashibanashi ever recorded, contains a riddle princess story similar to those of Portia, Savitri, or the Princess in Story the Fourth of The Snow Queen by Andersen; where only the right suitor can pass the engagement challenge. But the framing of the tale with the premise of an otherworldly being, like a deity, spending some time upon Earth among mortalkind, adds even more complexity to it.
  • A Moon-studying Japanese probe has been called Kaguya after the heroine of this tale. Its subsatellites are called Okina (archaism for jiisan/grandfather) and Ouna (archaism for baasan/grandmother) after Kaguya's guardians.
  • Many anime and videogames, from Studio Ghibli's Princess Kaguya to a subplot in Okami via Queen Millennia (The New Tale of Princess Kaguya being its original title) are retellings of the Kaguya story. The two latter, and furthermore the Ultra Beast Pokémon Celesteela (Tekkaguya in the original Japanese), take a sci-fi inspiration by making the titular character a humanoid space alien.
  • Minami Kaido of Go! Princess Precure has also starred in a stage version in the School Play episode of the series.
  • The Asian cultures see a Rabbit pounding rice for the moon gods where we Europeans see the face of the Man in the Moon; in reality these are the seas ("maria"), or plains, of the Earth's only natural satellite.
  • The ending is reminiscent of Arwen's decision to become human, and thus mortal, to stay by Aragorn's side; isn't it poetic and heartwarming?


MUKASHIBANASHI I HAVE DONE SO FAR AND THOSE LEFT TO TELL:

Benizara and Kakezara
Kaguyahime (Princess Kaguya)
Taro Urashima
Momotaro (Peach Taro)
Grampies with Wens (Kobutori Jiisan)
Old Man Bloom (Hanasaka Jiisan)
The Hatted Jizos (Kasa Jizo)

The Tengu's Cloak
Mount Crackle (Kachikachiyama)
The Macaque Vs. the Crab (Saru Kani Gassen)
Lord Ricestraw
The Lucky Kettle (Bunbuku Chagama)


MUKASHIBANASHI 7: TARO URASHIMA

MUKASHIBANASHI 7: TARO URASHIMA

Taro Urashima is the Japanese Rip van Winkle or Peter Klaus, who lives among the Pacific merfolk. Now more about these merfolk, and the fact that they're as close to dragons as they are to Norse mers or Mediterranean sirens and nereids, will be told below in the tale itself.

Mukashi mukashi, in a little coastal village on a little island, there lived a stripling by the name of Taro Urashima. He was a good-natured, kind-hearted lad, and no matter if he, like most of his countrymen, lived off the ocean as a fisherman catching fish and seafood in a little junk-like sailboat, he had a soft spot for all the various animal species that dwell in the vast Pacific. 
One bright summer morn, when about to set sail, he saw the three village bullies tormenting a green sea turtle which the tide had beached upon the shore. Now you may have noticed that not all boys are as friendly as they ought to be, and these three wicked brothers were the worst lads on the whole island, so they were beating on the poor beached turtle's carapace as if it were a drum, or trying to break it with beach pebbles, as one of them did, in fact. Who knows how old this reptile was --turtles can live for centuries!--, and how mournful a look she had in her eyes!
"Let the poor thing go!" Taro said, but the three bad boys kept on with their cruelty. So he kept on trying to coax them with friendly smiles, and even offering the bullies a pair of koban from his own savings; that settled it, the three brothers went away, and Taro put the free turtle in his boat and, after having calmed her on board, set her free in the middle of the ocean.
A few days after that, Taro got lost in a terrible storm, so far away from land that all he could see were leaden waves as high as mountain peaks with snow-crests of foam. He was still young and inexperienced, after all, and thus he had set sail without looking forwards at the ominous nimbus clouds. His sailboat was a tossing and turning nutshell, and soon it capsized, as it should, and the poor stripling was swallowed up by the waves only to cling to something hard, round, and with a plaque pattern that turned out to be a rather familiar carapace. In her beak, the turtle held a strand of algae, and she seemed to encourage Taro to consume it. So he put the algae to his lips, and, wincing slightly, swallowed it whole. Right then he began to be overcome by a strange drowsiness, and, as he fell asleep, he heard the turtle speak in his own language: "Please cling to my carapace tight, Taro Urashima."
Now Taro would have drowned and been torn away by the currents had he not clung that tightly to the turtle, and he felt that his kindness had been rewarded with such a life-saving deed, and, as he fell unconscious clinging to the turtle's carapace, she plunged back into the Pacific, fathoms below, with Taro on her back. The stripling did not drown, however; evidently, the algae he had ingested proved to be some kind of gillyweed that endowed him with underwater respiratory organs.
When Taro Urashima awoke he looked left and right, and wondered what ever had happened: he lay on a bed with a mattress of algae, in the midst of a bedchamber made out of brightly coloured coral; he doubted whether he was dead or alive. What's more, he was underwater, yet he could breathe saltwater and stay alive for some reason. Looking down, he saw the gills, like a blood-red collar, protruding on the sides of his throat. Various cetaceans (dolphins, orcas...), turtles, an octopus, a pair of puffers, and three maidens with gills and dragon tails --dragons from the waist downwards-- surrounded him in the bedchamber. Luminescent sea jellies lit up the chamber as lamps of cold, icy light.
Since childhood, Taro had, like many other children, heard of the Dragon Palace, the court of the dragons or merfolk. In Asia, unlike here in Europe, dragons are considered creatures of the water rather than fire; they live in both freshwaters and seas, they can turn human from the waist downwards as reptilian merfolk, or into green turtles... and their ruler, the Dragon Queen Otohime, keeps her court at a royal palace of colourful corals right in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Hither it was that Taro Urashima had been carried. So the Dragon Palace was not a folktale!
A shrill squeaking from the dolphins, like a cetacean fanfare, filled the bedchamber and in strode the loveliest maiden Taro had ever seen, also with a dragon's tail for legs and a collar of gills; but by the array of the pearl tiara and coral jewellery she wore, he recognized none other than the Queen herself.
Standing up to bow very low in her presence, Taro began to feel a little twinge in his chest as she approached.
"You saved Our life, Taro Urashima, when We were beached on your shore not long ago. As a token of Our gratitude, you are heretofore a guest of honour at Our court; an honour which few to no mortals have ever held."
"Th-th-thank... you..." a blushing, awkward Taro replied, not understanding why the lovely voice of Otohime and the look in her eyes, so reminiscent of the one she'd had as a turtle, made him feel at a loss for words. She clapped her dainty hands and more octopi entered, carrying a tray full of delicacies of sushi and algae in each of their arms. After the feast, all the courtiers --fish and turtles, dragons and cetaceans-- danced with one another in a ballroom full of luminescent jellies, and the Queen herself danced with her mortal guest, whom she had proclaimed to be her consort.
The next day, she gave the stripling a tour of her palace, showing him the turtles which the mer-dragons rode through the ocean, the rehearsals of the court's dolphin choir, the lovely lush anemone and algae gardens, and she led him to a garden arbour with four windows, each one oriented towards a different cardinal direction; the eastern window showed cherry blossoms and butterflies in springtime on land, the southern one a searing summer complete with loud chirps of cicadas, the western one the warm colours of the autumn maple woods, the northern one a winter landscape enchanting with snow and frost. In such a manner did the merfolk amuse themselves, since they could not live on land, by looking at what it was like through these enchanted windows.
There were also many different theatre plays and operas performed at the Dragon Palace, as they were at any mortal royal court on land; and a new show, which always was an exciting one, was put on every day.
Thus sped what seemed to be a week, or maybe a fortnight, among underwater courtly entertainments, when the stripling began to miss his good mother and friends back in his native village. Queen Otohime lent him one of her fastest turtles to take him to shore, as well as the antidote algae that would give the lad back his lungs, and the two consorts took their leave of one another with a warm kiss and a little lacquered casket, a tamatebako (what we here in Europe call a Pandora's box), for a keepsake with the obvious interdiction not to open it.
Now anyone should know that the greatest temptation when it comes to Pandora's boxes is to let the lid fly open. You cannot entrust such a box to anyone because the interdiction has the effect of making the longing for opening the box grow stronger and stronger until the lid is finally pried. Yet the gods, all over the world and across cultures, keep on giving away Pandora's boxes to mortals precisely for that reason.
When he had swallowed the seaweed that made him become human once more, Taro Urashima came in sight of his own shore... or was it his own shore? He might as well have said with the Ancient Mariner: "Is this the hill? Is this the shrine? Is this my old country?" Because a middle-sized town stood where his village should have been, yet he recognized the hills and the cliffs in its environs, and the local shrine, as those of his native community.
Upon landing, most of the faces that met his eye were strangers'. He asked for his mother left and right, and an aged man, about a century old, was the one to give him a reply: Mrs. Urashima had fallen seriously ill and died, her heart having ostensibly broken in twain, when her only boy Taro had not returned from the ocean on that stormy summer day ninety years ago.
Steeling himself, holding back the tears, Taro asked the old man: "Did Taro Urashima really never return?" And the aged one replies: "My lad, you are the spitting image of that young man... Last time I ever saw him, I remember, my brothers, bless their souls, and I were playing with... or rather bullying a beached turtle, and he coaxed us to leave it be in exchange for a pair of koban..."
So the old man was one of those three bad boys who had bullied Otohime on that bright summer morning... and it had been ninety years ago! Storming uphill to the shrine, looking all over the cemetery, and finding his mother's grave overgrown with moss, drying up his tears on the hard gravestone, the stripling realised that time sped far slower in the underwater realm of dragons than on land... Now there was no place left for him... The temptation to open the lacquered box could not be stronger. He counted to three and lifted the lid.
The casket was full of purple mist, or smoke, which Taro Urashima breathed in, as he rapidly weakened and aged into seniority, just like Walter Donovan in The Last Crusade
At this point, all sources differ when it comes to relating the end of his tale. Some say he finally crumbled into dust, just like Walter Donovan. Others relate that he lived on in his own birthplace as the local old madman, entertaining children with anecdotes of the century before during the decades he had left of his life. A third version, the one towards which I am the most inclined, states that he ran back down to shore and begged the Ocean Queen for his pardon; Otohime forgave him and fed him more gillyweed, and thus he returned to her coral palace as her consort, for the centuries to come.


REMARKS ON THIS TALE:
  • The Year-Inside-Hour-Outside chronology of magical lands is also mentioned in references to Celtic Fairylands and in Story the Third of Andersen's Snow Queen, with the good witch's garden of eternal springtime in which Gerda is kept for half a year: she enters in mid-springtime and does not leave until late autumn, around November. However, just like Rip van Winkle, Peter Klaus, or the Seven Sleepers of Norse lore, Taro Urashima is kept in the underwater realm of dragons for decades.
  • As for Asian dragons and their overlapping with merfolk, I explain it in the story itself. To give another example, seahorses are called "baby dragons" (tatsu no ko) in Japanese. The same I have said about dragons and merfolk goes for Pandora's boxes.
  • Juan Valera has retold this story in Spanish and made it quite popular in Spain.
  • The story, due to its Year-Inside-Hour-Outside premise, is one of the most frequently retold mukashibanashi, lending itself particularly well to science fiction, since in outer space, just like in the realm of merfolk, time moves at a far slower pace than on Earth. It's therefore also been used by serious physicists, in academia, to explain the theory of relativity to students.
  • "Urashima-jótai" (浦島状態) is a phrase used in popular culture to describe someone who has been left behind by the times, or otherwise rendered unaware of his changing environment. It can also be used describe someone who is unfamiliar with a formerly familiar surrounding, upon his return from an absence. Its Western equivalent is Odysseus syndrome / el síndrome de Ulises, obviously taken from the titular character's return to Ithaca in the Homeric Odyssey.
  • A Brazilian TV commercial for the airline Varig which aired in the late 60s and 1970 (as a promotion for Expo 70) did feature Taro as a fisherman who nursed a sick turtle - the retelling of the storyline was that he and the turtle ended up in Brazil and living among natives (with two mountain peaks resembling Sugarloaf and Urca Hill (landmarks of Rio de Janeiro), where he is marooned for the remainder of his life, aging into an elderly man (with imagery of Brazilian landscape including Iguaçu Falls). Despite his old age, one of the natives gives him a sealed box - he opens it where he experiences reverse aging and it has a Varig Airways boarding pass (plane ticket) - a second TV commercial has him back in Japan where he meets up with his relatives and back in his village until a tsurumaru transforms the village into a futuristic scenery - the landscape of the Expo 70 grounds. In both TV commercials, Varig Airlines was promoting its Rio de Janeiro to Tokyo international route.





MUKASHIBANASHI 6: THE HATTED JIZOS

MUKASHIBANASHI 6: THE HATTED JIZOS (KASA JIZO)

Since we mentioned the Japanese peasants' traditional winter occupation of making and selling those conical rice-straw hats in the last tale (Old Man Bloom), I thought that it would make a good springboard for this other story, in which the kindness of childless old people is rewarded by the gods (there's no unkind foil to this jiisan and baasan, but still, the good deed rewarded is what counts):

Mukashi mukashi, once upon a time, there lived an old childless couple in a cottage thatched with rice-straw, with a few chickens and a little rice pad of their own, on the slope of a dormant volcano (whether it was the Fuji-san or another volcano, the sources differ depending on who is telling the tale). During the winter, both to keep themselves busy and earn some money, they would make these conical hats, called "kasa" in Japanese, from the straw left after threshing the rice and mending the thatched roof, and the old man would sell the hats in the nearby market-towns.
One such winter evening, when the whole countryside round was blanketed in white and every treetop but the pines' was frosted and bared, the husband returned home at dusk with the five hats he had left, those hats he meant to sell another day, strapped to his back. A sixth kasa he wore on his own head to keep out the cold and the sleet, keeping his own head warm; for, after all, it's from there that most of the body warmth leaves the system, and he was a pretty sensible, aside from kind-hearted, good old man. 
Now on the uphill path, right outside the old country shrine, stood a half dozen Jizos in a row. And you, dear reader, may wonder what on Earth these Jizo things are, so let me explain: a Jizo is a god, or more or less of a god (actually, also a past life of Buddha) depicted as a shaven child monk, or novice, known as the patron god of children dead and alive, even stillborn and adopted infants. So he takes good care of all children, especially orphans and those who have died young, giving them all tender loving care that the latter need in the afterlife. He wears also a long wand or staff in his right hand, and in fact each of these six Jizos carried one, to alert the bugs around of his approach, and have them retreat in advance, for a Jizo is so kind he will not even step on a line of ants (That's how you can identify a Jizo if you bump across one: by the childhood, the shaved head, and the wand held in his right hand; in fact, the bug-warning staff is the most impressive thing I've heard a deity can carry; since it's not a weapon but rather a life-saver!).
Now having been childless for decades had never allowed a grudge against the god Jizo and the six Jizo statues within the pious, good-natured hearts of the old folks. In fact, seeing the storm clouds approach and sensing the blizzard ahead, the old hatter-farmer thought the poor things (though made of volcanic stone, the god Jizo dwelled within every single one of them) would surely freeze to death... what better than giving them a few gifts, without asking for anything in exchange? And so, as he trudged homeward, he hatted each of the Jizos with one of the hats he carried on his back. When he came to the sixth Jizo, the only hat the old man had left was the one on his own head... but still, he put his own hat on the last Jizo's head and hastened home, to return by a friendly wife and a warm fireside right before the snowstorm set in.
"You must be freezing!" his wife told him, looking at him with concern in her eyes and wondering what had become of his hat; had the wind knocked it off? So her hubby told about the good deed he had done by hatting all six Jizos, and then the old lady gave him a hug and a kiss, thanking the gods for having married someone so kind-hearted, no matter how humble and childless were the lives they led.
After a frugal meal of rice and vegetables, both spouses went to bed, but, in the middle of the long, cold, dire winter night, they were awakened by the sound of children singing. Surely, they thought, the village children have come to give us a New Year surprise! Yet, as the voices grew clearer and clearer, the old folks could hear distinctly that the children sang:
"When the storm was coming,
right before it came,
the hatter, with such noble aim,
gave us six good straw hats,
one for each head:
we should reward him now in bed!
Thank the hatter and his wife, very much indeed!"
Imagine the old folks' surprise when they went up to the threshold and found all six Jizos, with smiles on their stony faces, greeting them right outside! All six little gods carried their bug-warning staffs in their right hands, even though in winter there were no bugs to warn of their approach, and each and every one carried a different gift in his left hand: a bottle of distilled sake, a pair of kimonos of silk brocade, a batch of freshly made moon cakes, a little casket full of gold koban, a pair of snug and soft warm winter blankets, and decorations made from bamboo and pine branches to ring in the New Year!
The old couple warmly and sincerely thanked the Jizos and invited them into their humble home. At sunrise, the little stone gods returned to their place outside the shrine, where they still stand, yet from that day on there has never been a winter during which the locals have hatted all six of those Jizos, which has become a regional tradition.

REMARKS ON THIS TALE:
  • This tale, as seen before, lacks the unkind person foil, like Kakezara or the wealthy young couple in Hanasaka Jiisan (Old Man Bloom), typical of the kind-and-unkind pattern, but still what matters is the meaning, the universal message that kindness and generosity are never wasted. Like Shakespeare's Cerimon, this hatter demonstrates the worth that charity, learned or not, aye bears.
  • It also reminds me of Die Sterntaler (The Star Doubloons), gathered by the Grimms, and The Frangipani Maiden; in both of these tales, a humble homeless orphan girl gives away all of her attire, one piece of clothing at a time, to strangers in a direr need than that of herself, during a cold winter night... and is subsequently richly rewarded.
  • On the Jizos' bug-warning staffs I have already spoken, and obviously praised the idea, as a Lemony narrator in the tale, as you can read above.



MUKASHIBANASHI I HAVE DONE SO FAR AND THOSE LEFT TO TELL:

Benizara and Kakezara
Kaguyahime (Princess Kaguya)
Taro Urashima
Momotaro (Peach Taro)
Grampies with Wens (Kobutori Jiisan)
Old Man Bloom (Hanasaka Jiisan)
The Hatted Jizos (Kasa Jizo)

The Tengu's Cloak
Mount Crackle (Kachikachiyama)
The Macaque Vs. the Crab (Saru Kani Gassen)

MUKASHIBANASHI 5: OLD MAN BLOOM

MUKASHIBANASHI 5: OLD MAN BLOOM (HANASAKA JIISAN)

A kind-hearted childless old couple, animal abuse, friendship beyond death, and the theme of virtue rewarded and sin punished: the quintessential building blocks of the mukashibanashi appear all of them in this tale. Also, the jiisan makes cherry trees bloom in midwinter, while his younger and wealthier, yet more curmudgeonly rival tries to accomplish the same in vain...

Mukashi mukashi, once upon a time, two childless couples lived in the same village; one of them young and wealthy, the other aged and humble. Old Man and Old Woman Bloom had a pet dog, a white spitz called Shiro ("Whitey"), who kept them company and was the grandson they never had, aside from guarding their little chicken farm and rice pads. While Young Man and Young Woman Gloom did not even keep a bug, such as a beetle or cricket, as a pet in their grand estate, for they thought they had more serious things in which to take their time, such as writing poetry or arranging flowers; furthermore, they were hard-hearted and curmudgeonly, while the old folks were always friendly and smiling, and it was not a rare sight to see them on their porch, with Shiro at their feet and all the village children gathered round in a half-circle listening to old yokai tales.
It came as no surprise that the Glooms hated the Blooms with all of their hearts, or rather what they had left within their chests; blame the green-eyed monster. Yet soon that hatred which the young nobles kept concealed would finally see the light thanks to a strike of luck their rivals could not even foresee that they would have.
One summer evening at sunset, Old Man Bloom returned home from the rice pads as usual to find Shiro barking livelier than usual and standing on his hind legs, as if he were to call the master's attention. Needless to say the old farmer followed his spitz to the back of the little rice-straw-thatched cottage, to find a hole dug in the ground as if to bury a bone and something shining in the sun at the bottom of the hole. Picking up one of these egg shaped things and dusting it clean of soils, Old Man Bloom realised that it was a koban, a Japanese doubloon, a gold coin (which looks exactly like the charm on Meowth's brow); furthermore, the hole was full of koban, as he took his hoe and dug deeper than what Shiro had dug to bury his bone on that fateful day. Imagine the face of Old Woman Bloom when her husband came home with a basket full of golden treasure! That evening, they drank to the health of their puppy and praised him for such a valuable finding... now they could even afford an estate just like the young Glooms', and would never bother to live off the land again! Those lucky old folks!
Those lucky old folks... thought Young Man Gloom; the news of the aged farmers' fortune had spread throughout the shire like wildfire. Needless to say he and his lady wife were more cross than ever, yet still it would be unwise to wear their hearts upon their sleeves. A cunning plan was what they needed.
One day, a maid from the Gloom estate showed up at the porch of the little cottage. "The Master would like to borrow your dog for today." The Blooms were too kind-hearted to refuse, and, furthermore, they thought the local nobles decent folk (as all the smallfolk in the shire did), so off Shiro went with the maid to the estate.
That day, Young Man Gloom, a spade in his right hand and Shiro on a tight leash in his left, prowled the estate gardens. "DIG, YOU BLOODY MUTT!! THERE MUST BE TREASURE IN HERE!!", he commanded like a spoiled child giving a tantrum, as he pulled the leash, which tightened around the spitz's neck like a noose, and threatened him wielding the spade. At nightfall, the gardens were full of holes, creating a lunar landscape around the mansion, but not a single copper was to have been found. Now the lordling had finally run out of patience, and, setting all of the anger pent up within him free, he had no other choice than to blame the bloody mutt for his misfortune. Dropping the spade, he seized the leash with both hands and pulled with all his strength, increased by anger. After kicking and writhing for a while, trying in vain to break free, Shiro was strangled to death. A remorseless Young Man Gloom shoved the dead dog into one of the holes in the shade of a mighty pine, covered the hole with soil, and commanded the estate gardeners to cover up the rest of the holes. "And don't tell the lady a word about this." What's more, he didn't tell her himself. So Young Woman Gloom never got to know what her husband had done to the old folks' white spitz.
The next day, a maid showed up at the Blooms', crying floods of tears and saying the Master was very sorry for Shiro having fallen ill and breathed his last in the Gloom Mansion the day before. Needless to say the old folk shed sad and bitter, sincere tears, being (unlike the false maidservant) truly brokenhearted. So both Old Blooms, husband and wife, donned their mourning white kimonos, for throughout Asia white is the colour of mourning, and went on with their daily chores wearily, listlessly. That night, they had a dream in which a familiar white spitz appeared to them as a ghost, telling his masters how the wicked lordling had choked him to death in a fit of rage and buried him under the mightiest pine in the estate gardens.
The next day, Old Man Bloom, still in mourning and with his rice-straw hat full of koban, showed up at the gates of the Gloom estate, asking the young nobles to chop down the oldest pine tree in their gardens, for he wished to purchase the trunk to make a fine pinewood rice mortar, or hand mill, out of that. The glitter of gold was enough to coax the guards, the servants, and even the Young Glooms themselves, into doing the farmer's bidding... for what was an old pine that had stood on the mansion grounds for generations compared to a hat full of doubloons? And thus, soon the pine trunk was in the Bloom cottage, carved into a nice wooden hand mill where the old woman pounded her rice to make, for Mid-Autumn and New Year, for Girls' Day and Boys' Day, moon cakes which tasted better than any other moon cakes within the whole Empire of the Rising Sun.
(A moon cake is a cake made out of rice paste, really sticky, given this name for being as white and round as the full moon. Girls' Day [the Princess Festival in the Pokémon anime] is on the 3rd of March, and it's customary to wrap moon cakes in cherry blossoms; while Boys' Day [Kids' Day in the Pokémon anime] is on the 5th of May, and it's customary to wrap moon cakes in oak leaves). Furthermore, that pinewood mortar always churned up moon cakes, in holiday or workday, and never ran out of them; the pestle was always feather-light and the cakes were always scrumptious, ensuring that the Old Blooms never grew weary of living exclusively of moon cakes day in and day out.
No wonder that, when word of this second wonder reached the Gloom estate after the Mid-Autumn festival, the young Master sent out a maid to ask the old farmers to borrow the mortar for the day. Though they had a reason to mistrust their lords, after losing Shiro and learning from his ghost the true story of how their spitz had died, the Blooms were too kind-hearted, and besides too weak-willed, to say no this time as well.
That day, the cooks of the Gloom Mansion took it in turns to pound rice in the magical mill, but its pestle felt heavy as if made of basalt stone, and every single try made cakes that were equally hard, and besides tasted like pumice in the mouth. Even the young Master and his lady wife got to experience that disappointment, so, at nightfall, they made a bonfire in the mansion gardens and the mortar proved to be quite inflammable.
Of course they would have never set fire to it if they had known in the first place that magical objects, in every oral tradition, have a righteous tendency to turn against greedy, selfish owners. But alas, upper-class twats as they always had been, the Young Glooms soon reduced the warming, blazing, searing pinewood hand mill to ashes.
The next day, the maid came to the Bloom cottage as usual, lamenting that a clumsy kitchen boy had accidentally shoved the mortar into the oven and burned it, not to a crisp, but to ashes. "Ashes to ashes," the mournful Old Blooms said to one another, drying up each other's tears and clad once more in mourning white. That night, a familiar ghost dog appeared to them in their dreams for a second time and told them the truth about the wooden hand mill. Hat full of koban, Old Man Bloom returned to the Gloom estate, and the glitter of gold once more convinced the guards and gardeners to let the aged farmer rake up the ashes of the former night's bonfire.
These ashes the Old Blooms kept in their ancestor household shrine, as a keepsake to be reckoned with, to remember both their ersatz grandchild and their wonder mortar. However, when autumn turned to winter and every treetop but the pines' was bare and frosted, the ground wrapped in a white blanket as if all of Nature were in mourning, and both old folks were busy making rice straw hats, a playful draught of the winds of winter stole through the Bloom cottage, picking up some of the ashes from their altar, and getting out through a cranny in the wall, to sprinkle the dashes of ashes on some barren and frostbitten cherry treetops.
The next day, returning home from the market-town where he had sold the aforementioned straw hats, Old Man Bloom realised that the cherry trees near the cottage were pink and fluffy as sunset clouds, laden with those lovely blossoms that are always seen as a sign of springtime, standing out in stark contrast to both the surrounding treetops and the blanket of snow on the ground. Cherry blossoms in midwinter! And he was sober and wide awake! Now hadn't a draught of air passed in and picked up some of their ashes from the altar at home the day before? Putting two and two together, the elated old farmer dashed off homeward and returned to the spot with his wife in tow. Needless to give an impression of her surprise! The next day, the Old Blooms scattered ashes on other cherry treetops and their hypothesis that the ashes retained the powers of the pinewood mortar was confirmed. At the same time, word spread through the shire that the Shogun himself, the military dictator and ruler of the lands in those days, had left his palace in Edo, the capital (present-day Tokyo), to take a tour of the provinces, and that rather soon, in that same winter month, the shire would have the great honour of being blessed with his august presence. Old Man Bloom had already heard of the Shogun's arrival from the folks at the market where he and other farmers sold their hats in winter...  the whole entourage of the ruler would be impressed to find cherry blossoms in the direst season indeed! Needless to say they were impressed, all the warriors in polished breastplates and maids in the finest silks... but most impressed was the dictator himself, even more when he saw the cherry treetops turn from bare and cold to fluffy and rosy as the good old folks scattered ashes over the frosted branches.
That winter, the Old Blooms received a bottle of the best distilled sake to warm themselves from within, and a chest filled with twice or thrice as many koban as Shiro had found by chance when burying the fated bone that stated it all. They were even offered a position as the Shogun's own gardeners, but wisely chose to remain in their humble thatched cottage rather than live among high-and-mighty courtiers.
Now the Young Glooms, who had tried before in vain to seek favour at court, felt more possessed than ever by the green-eyed monster. As winter changed into spring and every cherry treetop was pink and fluffy as a sunset cloud, their scheming did never change. "We send a ninja to steal some of their ashes in the middle of the night. Then, when the Shogun does his next tour of the provinces in midwinter, we'll try to replicate the success of these lucky old bastards, posing as disciples of Old Man Bloom's!"
Needless to say these upper-class twats did exactly as they had planned, or rather schemed. And that winter, the courtly entourage got word that the local lordlings had become disciples of Old Man Bloom's and they were obviously pretty pleased with it. Claiming that he was far more successful than his frail old codger of a mentor, Young Man Gloom scattered some ashes over the barren treetops to no avail; not even a cherry bud came forth on those frosted branches, and, furthermore, the same wistful draught that changed the lives of the Old Blooms for the third time now stole into the scene and carried the pinewood ashes towards the Shogun's august eyes.
A wincing, squinting dictator commanded his armoured guards to seize Young Man and Young Woman Gloom and carry them to a fortress prison for a lifetime behind bars for miracle-worker impersonation. And of course his will was done. Since, if you remember, the Young Glooms were childless at the start of it all, the Old Blooms seized their chance and took over their empty, ownerless estate. And there they lived for a few decades, for Japanese seniors can live up to a century... but, unfortunately, as they shuffled off this mortal coil, their successors in the mansion were wicked, scheming courtiers.


REMARKS ON THIS TALE:

  • This story, like that of Benizara and Kakezara, speaks volumes about the common mukashibanashi motif of poetic justice, of virtue rewarded and sin punished.
  • The Yo-kai Elder Bloom, Hanasakajii in Japanese, is based obviously upon the titular character of this tale: a friendly aged man with a basket of ashes, dressed in the colours of springtime, with cherry petals for facial hair.
  • Most dogs in Japan, regardless of breed or fur colour, are called Shiro after the pet of the Blooms (the Hanasakas in the original version).
  • The mortar or hand mill in this tale is the same kind that appears in Saru Kani Gassen/The Macaque Vs. the Crab. Only that this one is magical and its ashes make flowers bloom in winter if a good-hearted person scatters them about, obviously!
  • The so-called "charm" the Pokémon Meowth wears on his brow is actually a koban (that's right!)
  • The motif of colourful plants (whether flowers or berries) popping up in midwinter is very frequent in such kind-and-unkind tales, in which the righteous are always rewarded with such a rarity while the unrighteous are never graced with it. The "Dobrunka and Zloboha" versions of the Dyed Moroz tale (as told in Bohemia and Italy, for instance) have the former character, the kind orphan stepsister, receive during three winter nights during which she helps the seasons gathered round a campfire, in this order, flowers from Springtime personified, berries from Summer, and mushrooms from Autumn. Her envious stepsister, the stepmother's daughter Zloboha, who had asked her for those three fools' errands, goes herself to command the seasons like a spoiled brat for flowers, berries, and mushrooms... only to have Old Man Winter summon a blizzard that freezes her to death.
  • The ending of this version is of my own invention, thinking that life goes on after happy ever after (at the end of the day, valar morghulis), and remembering the closure of a fairytale by Oscar Wilde: "Yet ruled he not long, so great had been his suffering, and so bitter the fire of his testing, for after the space of three years he died. And he who came after him ruled evilly."











jueves, 6 de abril de 2017

MUKASHIBANASHI 4: KOBUTORI JIISAN

KOBUTORI JIISAN (OLD MEN WITH WENS)

This tengu tale (for once, a tengu tale!) presents similarities to a tale heard in my own native land, surrounding witches and the days of the week. Note the symbolism of the left and right sides, as well as the story fitting into the general kind-and-unkind pattern that is especially found in mukashibanashi.

Mukashi mukashi, once upon a time,  there were in the same village two old men, each with a cumbersome wen the size of a tennis ball on a different side of his face. The old chap with the wen on the right side, whom we shall refer to as Mr. Right for convenience's sake, was your typical Fezziwiggian jolly old chap, friend to all children, life-loving, and always ready for celebration. The grown-ups said he was a good-for-nothing lush; while the children were always pleased with his presence.
Now he was returning home at twilight from the shrine where he had gone to say his prayers for the umpteenth time (never despairing that the gods didn't seem to care about the cyst on his right cheek, proximal to the ear) when our jolly old chap was surprised by a dreadful thunderstorm. Luckily, he found a cave in the volcanic rock where he should hopefully be safe from lightning strike until the storm cleared. Presently he heard many excited footsteps, and slurred song, and drunken laughter. And whom did he see entering the cavern where he had sought shelter from the storm?
Tengu. Tengu, or flying goblins. Kurama tengu with raven wings and beaks, and red tengu with glowing, long noses and leaf fans. Drunken tengu, dancing tengu, partying tengu.
Now Mr. Right was sober and wide awake, and eager for glad company. Without any disbelief, he greeted them, told them in a friendly tone about having sought shelter from the storm in their cavern, and was subsequently heartily welcome. Weary as he was with the long journey and the pursuit of shelter from the storm, he felt terribly thirsty; the sake offered by the tengu, of amazingly good flavour, slipped down his throat like a priceless elixir. They quaffed the same sake and danced to the same tunes, and the old chap with the wen like a tennis ball on the right half of his face was the life and soul of the party, singing folk songs and downing more sake than he had ever drunk before. 
When the sky cleared at morning twilight, the King of the Tengu, a soused old kurama tengu with ruffled raven feathers and a pillbox hat for a crown, clapped his wings and thanked Mr. Right for the best night ever. The old chap swore that he would come the next day, and the day after that, and so ad infinitum. 
As a pledge of his loyalty, the Tengu King reached for the old man's wen and gently pulled it closer with feather fingers; the cyst came off like a freshly-picked fruit. And Mr. Right, elated, caressed the right side of his face and returned home dancing and whistling those lively tengu tunes.
The elation he felt was such that he didn't suffer any hangover from that night's intoxication!
In little hamlets, rumour spreads like wildfire. So it came as no surprise that everyone, even the old chap with the wen on the left side of his face, whom we shall refer to as Mr. Left, was soon aware of Mr. Right's good fortune. And thus, Mr. Left turned at least slightly green with envy and resolved to coax the secret out of his fellow old chap.
Now Mr. Left was exactly the kind of person you would never like to invite to supper. He was a curmudgeon, very wary of children and of his personal space, and abstaining entirely from strong drink, music, and anything else that might disrupt the focus he had on his labour. And he had entirely given up every last shred of hope to get rid of the wen and subsequently stopped praying to the gods, resigned as he was to bear with the wen for a lifetime, no matter how impressive sideburns he had grown (the wen always popped out from his left whiskers). Another "endearing" quality of Mr. Left's was his envy of those more fortunate. And, when it came to Mr. Right's wen, he listened attentively, being all ears, to the latter's account of the stormy night in the tengu cave. Now Mr. Left didn't believe in tengu or other magical creatures, but the prospect of losing the cyst was so tempting that he decided to give it a try.
When the tengu came that evening, one hour before their human friend should come and visit them (that hour before was to make the preparations for his welcome), for their feast in the cave, they found a far surlier old chap with a cyst on the left side of his face (instead of a cheerful, cystless one), pinching his earlobes to see whether he was really wide awake and the tengu had really come.
And Mr. Left was definitely out of his element that night. He scowled, he spat out the sake, and, when it came to dance, he had two left feet and, to prove he could dance, stamped about like an oni (ogre) or a rabid macaque. Offended by the sacrilege of having a curmudgeon spoil their precious soirée before a good friend arrived, all the tengu unanimously agreed to give a rightful punishment for his joy-killing. And by RIGHT-ful punishment, I am referring to putting Mr. Right's lost wen on the right half of Mr. Left's face. The Tengu King, flushed with sake and with anger, threw the cyst at the curmudgeon like a tennis ball, and onto his right cheek it firmly fixed itself.
So he returned home a pitiful, broken man, with two wens, each one on either side of his face.

TENGU TRIVIA

  • Tengu are commonly depicted as tricksters (as oni are depicted as brutes, or tanuki as lushes).
  • There is a tengu emoji, some of whose versions, like the Google version, retain the pillbox hat. The emoji depicts the prototypical humanoid red tengu, while the corvid kurama tengu are a far rarer sight in popular culture (the Yo-kai Tengloom being one of the most memorable portrayals of the latter).
  • The Pokémon Shiftry (Dirtengu in Japanese) is inspired by both red tengu and Pinocchio.


REMARKS ON THIS TALE
This tale sounds pretty much like one from my own hometown of Castellón, involving two Moorish hunchbacks' encounters with the Witches of the Plain. The kind-hearted Moor Al-Phabet, hidden in the undergrowth, overhears the witches chanting:
"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, three! Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, three!", constantly, and decides to spice up the song by adding a second verse:
"Thursday, Friday, Saturday, six!"
So the witches sing: "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, three! Thursday, Friday, Saturday, six!" and they thank the hunchback for improving their song by removing the hunch from his back.
Envious, curmudgeonly hunchback Al-Marduix coaxes the secret out of Al-Phabet and decides to seek out the witches on the plain and add yet another day of the week to their rhyme. The witches come and begin to chant: "Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, three! Thursday, Friday, Saturday, six!"
And Al-Marduix, seeing his chance, bellows: "Sunday, seven!"
The witches, however, hate Sundays because the church bells are too loud and disturbing. So they smite Al-Marduix by placing Al-Phabet's hunch on his back, forcing him to walk on all fours like a human Bactrian camel.
A similar story, which only differs in the names of the hunchbacks, I have read of in an Irish fairy book. Not only does it replace the witches with fey maidens; Al-Phabet is here called Lusmore and Al-Marduix is Jack Madden. The folktale type is 503.


MUKASHIBANASHI I HAVE DONE SO FAR AND THOSE LEFT TO TELL:

Benizara and Kakezara
Kaguyahime (Princess Kaguya)
Taro Urashima
Momotaro (Peach Taro)
Grampies with Wens (Kobutori Jiisan)
Grampy Blossom (Hanasaka Jiisan)
The Hatted Jizos (Kasa Jizo)
The Tengu's Cloak
Mount Crackle (Kachikachiyama)
The Macaque Vs. the Crab (Saru Kani Gassen)

MUKASHIBANASHI 3: SARU KANI GASSEN

 SARU KANI GASSEN (THE MACAQUE VS. THE CRAB)

Following on from our latest mukashibanashi, here's another lurid animal tale of revenge. One that will teach you, dear primates, the power of never underestimating a decapod, for they will surely come back and pinch you in the ass!

Mukashi mukashi, once upon a time, there was a macaque. Macaques are the only non-human simians in Japan; in fact, when they just say "saru" (ape/monkey), they mean, by proxy, "nihonzaru" (macaque: literally, Japanese ape). The empirical observation of their behaviour has proved that these are very intelligent primates, in fact, they are famous for plunging sweet potatoes they are holding into the ocean and rubbing them to both wash and salt the tubers.
However, there are some nihonzaru, like the one in this tale, who are only bright enough to wash and salt their sweet potatoes on the beach. Their talent for business only boils down to corruption. On this story's beach, our macaque, whom we shall refer to as Saru ("Ape," ut supra), once found a persimmon seed on the wet sand.
In the meantime, a decapod we have decided to give the name of Kani ("Crab") was scampering back into the ocean with a rice ball (nigiri, like the one put under sushi), which she had also found in the sand (Gods know how the nigiri made it to that deserted beach). For some reason, Saru offered Kani the seed in exchange for the rice ball, which was far less hard to crack, and the female crab somehow agreed.
In spite of the fact that, like all decapods, she breathed underwater and could not survive quite long on land, Kani managed to find enough time to grow a persimmon tree on the beach -at least, a sapling that yielded edible fruit... om nom... waiting for autumn so I can eat persimmons myself...- But alas, she couldn't climb up the trunk to harvest the fruit, and here is where Saru, who had come to wash his potatoes in the ocean once more, came in and offered to help her with the persimmon-picking. But, rather than sharing it, our opportunistic simian gorged upon the ripe fruit, and, when Kani chided him from below, he silenced the crustacean with a well-aimed hard green persimmon to the carapace, and, indifferent to her plight, climbed down and left her for dead.
When the crab came to her senses, she decided to seek revenge on the primate who had taken advantage of her and given her a near-fatal concussion. So she decided to seek out his den and give Saru his just desserts (one thing that keeps me worried: how did Kani contrive to survive for so long on land, actually? Did she use some kind of diving bell, like Fish out of Water or an Araquanid? Let's assume it!).
As she passed through the woods, she recruited a chestnut still in its prickly shell, after spotting the nut on the floor. The villain of this story must have been an ape and a son of an ape, for the chestnut was quick to join the party.
As the crab and the chestnut passed through a flowery meadow, they recruited a cow pie (and I am not referring to an oven-baked one). A cow pie, a cow pat, a meadow muffin... by any other name would smell as strong.  The villain of this story must have been an ape and a son of an ape, for the cow pat was quick to join the party.
As the crab, the chestnut, and the cow pie trudged on across the meadow, they recruited a few worker bees which they found drinking nectar. Now the stings of honeybees are attached to their intestines, which makes the first time they sting in self-defense ironically the last one as well.  The villain of this story must have been an ape and a son of an ape, for the bees were quick to join the party, no matter if they should forfeit their lives.
As the crab, the chestnut, the cowpat, and the honeybees passed through a village, not far from Saru's mountainous den, they recruited a mortar -and here I am referring to the one that comes in conjunction with a pestle-: a big, heavy wooden mortar used as a rice hand mill.  The villain of this story must have been an ape and a son of an ape, for the mortar was quick to join the party.
When they all reached the cottage (on the outskirts of the same village) where the macaque lived, the master was away (washing and salting those sweet potatoes, presumably?), and thus, the lucky conspirators laid out a battle plan to booby-trap the place and lie in wait for an ambush, for a surprise attack.
KANI: Chestnut, take position at the fireplace!
CHESTNUT: Yes, ma'am!
KANI: Bees, hide in the water bucket!
BEES: Yes, ma'am!
KANI: Meadow Muffin, lie in wait at the threshold!
COW PIE: Yes, ma'am!
KANI: Mortar and I will strike the final blow from the rooftop!
MORTAR: Yes, ma'am!
When the ape came home at twilight, it was cold and it would be nice to warm himself by the fireplace,
but then the chestnut struck him in the face...
So he thought a bucket of water may do well to ease the pain,
but then upon him stings of bees did rain...
(A minute of silence for the collateral damage that was the death of all these worker bees)
So he ran out and he slipped on the still wet cow pie,
when a mortar with a crab inside fell right from above and caused him to...
Yes, you get the picture.
As for the conspirators, after holding a short requiem for the honeybees who had so gallantly lost their lives during the quest, they became the best of friends.


REMARKS ON THIS TALE
Here's another animal tale of revenge, as lurid as Kachikachiyama (the one with the raccoon or tanuki in the mud boat, remember?). It also includes an object (the mortar), which is most likely to be a tsukumogami (100-year-old object god: when an object becomes 100 years old, it gains a divine spirit of its own).
As for the plot, there are parallels with the Grimms' Musicians of Bremen and Herr Korbes, and the similar Andalusian folktale Benibaire, all of which are tales where various animals (and sometimes objects: Benibaire is attacked by a cow pie, and by a needle as well!) lay in ambush in a lair-like home when the wicked primate (human in these cases) master is away, then throw a serial surprise attack when he returns, resulting in the master's death (Herr Korbes/Benibaire) or his retreat (Musicians of Bremen).

miércoles, 5 de abril de 2017

MUKASHIBANASHI 2: MOUNT CRACKLE

MOUNT CRACKLE (KACHIKACHIYAMA)

This mukashibanashi is a lurid story of revenge and violence starring a tanuki, a Japanese raccoon, as the antihero. The main conflict is between Tanuki and our heroine (or rather shero) Usagi, a rabbit. Also the common jiisan (grampy) and baasan (granny) old folks that frequently appear in the genre have got a brief appearance in the rather lurid opening scene...

Mukashi mukashi, once upon a time, there was a tanuki who frequently raided a vegetable plot, stealing vegetables and spoiling the rice pads in his wake. The old folks who owned the plot did use all their wits to try catch the bloody coon, and imagine their joy when the husband finally caught the bloody vermin in a trap!
So before he went tilling the rice pads, he tied the raccoon's four legs to a beam inside the cottage and entrusted the beast to his old wife. Now they didn't know that a tanuki is really shrewd and can be really wicked if he doesn't have his way. So once her hubby's away, the old lady, who is grinding rice with a mortar and pestle, hears the poor thing crying and wailing and begging to set her free... she's got a heart of gold, so she frees the tanuki and... THUD!! As soon as the coon is on the ground with his feet relieved from the strain of the rope, he takes up the machete and off with her head! Then he turns into a likeness of the old lady, cooks up the real old lady in a stew, and sits down waiting for her husband to come, for both of them to have supper together.
At dusk, the old man arrives and, not knowing everything that's taken place in his absence, greets the one he takes for his wife, thanks her for the surprise of preparing a scrumptious pork ragoût, a luxury for such poor farmers, for supper to surprise him (a stew which allegedly also contains "that scoundrel of a tanuki")... And they eat the stew, they eat the real old lady together. Her spouse and the raccoon who has stolen her identity. Then, for the coup de théâtre, the tanuki resumes his own beastly form and tells the old man: "YOU JUST ATE YOUR WIFE!!!"
Then the tanuki scampers back to his li'l den in the hills, while the old man takes the ancestral sword of his once great forefathers and throws himself upon it.
That was Act One, friends and readers. Gory, even cannibalistic. Now comes Act Two, the Revenge.
Now the old man and the old lady had no children of their own; their best friend was a bunny who kept her burrow near their cottage but, unlike the raccoon, never spoiled their plots. Imagine the despair of our usagi, or rabbit, when she heard about her human friends' tragic demise. So she took upon her shoulders the burden of avenging the old man and the old lady. 
The weather is fair and off Usagi goes to Tanuki's den. She finds him still there, curled up in the dark, for the scoundrel doesn't dare to show himself in public after such a dastardly deed.
"It's a shame we don't go out together on such a sunny day, isn't it? A perfect day for picking firewood", our bunny says, and the coon agrees. After all, who can suspect a cotton-tailed, soft, huggable white rabbit that looks so adorable and so trustworthy? (There was nothing like Monty Python and the Holy Grail in those days, which made Tanuki trust Usagi even more!)
At dusk, they return home from their firewood-fetching trip, each one of them to their own den, shoulders laden with firewood sticks, the raccoon in front and the rabbit behind, when suddenly the latter takes out a flint and an iron ore, lets some sparks fly, and sets fire to Tanuki's load of wood. And the flames, as flames are wont to do, crackle. Which leads to this exchange:
TANUKI: What's that crackle?
USAGI: Nothing... just a sign that we're approaching Mount Crackle.
The raccoon suddenly perceives the smell of smoke and a searing pain on the back: the fire has even burned off the fur there!! OWWWWW!!! And off he runs to his den, where the bunny finds that bastard bedridden, lying on his belly. And she thinks of this:
"Third-degree burns, surely lethal... no, no, no; death is too good a punishment. I must concoct a fate worse than death for one worthy of such torture... Aha!" So Usagi goes home to her own burrow and makes a wasabi ointment before returning to the raccoon's.
USAGI: You must bear it, for it's a wonderful medicine even for those third-degree burns. Without the ointment, you would... yes indeed, you would die.
TANUKI: Well, what are you waiting for!? Apply it at once!!
But no language can describe the agony as soon as the wasabi had been pasted all over his sore back. He rolled over and over and howled loudly. The rabbit, looking on, felt that the farmer's wife was beginning to be avenged.
After a month of convalescence, Tanuki's burns have healed, but Usagi is not yet satisfied with her vengeance. So off she goes to the coon's den and goes: "Oh how fine you have recovered!! Isn't it a lovely fishing day? The ocean is smooth, the breeze is just right..."
So they agree to go catch fish in the ocean, but, while the rabbit's got a little wooden boat of her own, the raccoon's got to make his own fishing boat. And, for some unexplainable reason (which maybe had to do with the trauma of the firewood on fire and the wasabi poultice... or maybe because he was much more of a landlubber?), he decides to make it out of MUD. Just plain mud, dried in the sun instead of a kiln.
So, when they go sailing and fishing, the mud boat begins to dissolve and soon the tanuki is flailing about with hands up in the air, for he cannot swim. And even though he screams desperately and begs the rabbit to give him a helping oar, she's just fine to watch him drown, gloating and glaring, only dashing the oar against the raccoon's head to knock him out... which means that, once he is unconscious, it takes far less time for the water to fill his lungs.
And that was the end of the tanuki. The bunny rowed shorewards and pulled her wooden boat on the beach. Then she sets off to her own burrow, finally at peace, at ease, after justice had been done.


MUKASHIBANASHI I HAVE DONE SO FAR AND THOSE LEFT TO TELL:

Benizara and Kakezara
Kaguyahime (Princess Kaguya)
Taro Urashima
Momotaro (Peach Taro)
Grampies with Wens (Kobutori Jiisan)
Grampy Blossom (Hanasaka Jiisan)
The Hatted Jizos (Kasa Jizo)
The Tengu's Cloak
Mount Crackle (Kachikachiyama)
The Macaque Vs. the Crab (Sarukani Gassen)

REMARKS ON THIS TALE
The opening of this mukashibanashi, with the cannibalistic ragoût, recalls the Grimms' Juniper tale and its literary variants (Atreus, Tereus, Tantalus, Titus Andronicus, Sweeney Todd), but the first time I heard it (in that version, both the husband and wife were the step-parents of both children) as Peret i Marieta (Peterkin and Little Mary), a folktale from my own region, at the tender age of four, I had never imagined that magic tales (in this case, type 720) could be so jarring. This was one of the incidents that scarred my childhood.
Worthy of notice is that general, in most of the type 720 tales mentioned, including Kachikachiyama, the unsuspecting dupe who unwittingly eats the flesh of his own loved one happens to be male (the exceptions being Tamora in Titus Andronicus and Demeter in the story of Tantalus and Pelops, as well as Red Riding Hood in La Finta Nonna!). This provides truly, in the realm of gender and orality, some serious food for thought.
The second half is even more graphic, with a sadistic bunny rabbit giving the raccoon, who is often depicted in Japanese lore as a trickster and/or a lush with oversized testes, a taste of his own medicine. It seems that the sole purpose of this tale is to elicit schadenfreude: it also recalls Kurosawa films and Shakespearean revenge tragedy à la Titus or Hamlet...
Now let us pause and think for a moment of the story. It begins like a good Tarantino flick, it ends with a revenge fantasy that makes me think a bit of classic revenge tragedies. In Hamlet, for instance, the plan to kill the titular prince devised by the usurper Claudius is ostensibly a Morton's fork: "If he isn't hurt with his opponent's poisoned sword, Hamlet is to die when drinking poisoned wine to quench his thirst. It all backfires: Laertes himself is wounded with the poisoned rapier, the Queen drinks some of the wine, and Claudius is forced to quaff the rest of the poisoned grape juice. Nevertheless, the crown prince dies himself, having been fatally wounded in the swordfight." But the snag is that not only Hamlet dies thanks to the flaws in the ostensibly perfect backup plan. The tanuki here appears to be as twattical as Claudius. And the rabbit... nobody suspects a fluffy bunny rabbit of committing deeds of violence (at least if they don't remember Monty Python and the Holy Grail), right?