apart the stones, digging the dirt and hauling it here, wouldn’t I be crushed under all its weight? do men always say such unreasonable things? I hate this man who says such unreasonable things, but if after he says these unreasonable things he roasts me over the cattails and I lose my life, then I don’t know what the purpose of having survived all this time will have been, in the end, I don’t go to sleep, instead I break apart the stones, dig up the dirt, and haul seven full cauldrons’ worth in seven days, that’s what I did, I showed them, and here I am.
Just as I’m wondering what he’s going to say next, the man saunters over nonchalantly and torments me, telling me I need to scoop up some water, just as I’m wondering what he’s going to give me to do it with, he hands me a bamboo basket, I look at it and see there are holes in it so big that fish, big and little ones, could slip right through, as I stare at it wondering how on earth to keep water in it, tears well up in my eyes, the tears well up as fast as I wipe them away, I go to the riverbank as I weep, and there the water flows steadily along, I don’t know how deep it is, I look and see myself reflected once, twice upon the water, there I am, if I had a regular life I could live to be more than a hundred years old, but can I make it that far? what would my mother, who wrapped me in silk underclothes and stuck a stalk in the hole in my ear, think if she knew about this? but there’s no way I can scoop up water in a bamboo basket with holes, maybe if I ask the spirit-child who lives in this abundant river that flows along so steadily, he might give me divine aid and help me scoop up the water, so here I am standing on the railing on the bridge and praying, oh, Spirit-Child of the River! I want to scoop up the water from this river but I can’t, I want to but I can’t, I want to but I can’t, when I stand up straight and intone this three times with tears falling, an oil vendor comes from the far side of the bridge.
Is this child weeping because she can’t scoop up water? look, I’ll give you this oil paper, paste it on your basket then scoop up the water, with this the oil vendor takes a piece of oiled paper in his big hands and gives it to me, when I paste it on my basket, I scoop up the water and my task is complete.
Now, just as I’m wondering what he’s going to say next, the man saunters nonchalantly over and torments me again, telling me to use my fingernails to cut down ten reeds and bring them to him, how can my fingernails possibly cut down reeds? my fingernails are the thin, thin nails of a three-year-old child, thinner than even the reeds, they are soft, soft, so very soft, but if I don’t cut them I’ll get roasted again in the cattails, do men always say such unreasonable things? tears well up at the question, but then a man in black comes toward me, he says, is this child weeping because she can’t cut down reeds? with this, he takes out a knife, the knife the man in black has shines in the sun, the blade is big, and it cuts down ten reeds right before my very eyes, how terribly grateful I am!
Then the man saunters nonchalantly over and torments me, telling me, Anjuhimeko, suck on this, so I suck on it hating it the whole time, next he torments me, telling me to hold it in my mouth, I think how much I hate this, but I think how awful it is to be roasted by cattails so I hold it in my mouth hating it the whole time, next he torments me, telling me, Anjuhimeko, put this down there, here I am, a three-year-old child, if I put that thing down there my body will split wide open and that’ll be the end of me, I beg him with tears, no, not that, anything but that, but the man makes scary faces at me, it’ll be the cattails for me, the cattails for me, do men always say such unreasonable things? I don’t want to be broiled over the cattails anymore, even if I die I’ll be none the worse for it, so I stick that thing down there, to my surprise it isn’t all that I thought it would be, but I do feel like my guts are being all stirred up and popping out, I pick up my guts one by one and put them back into my body, my guts and my flesh spring out and slide around so it is really hard to put them back in, however I am happy because my guts are such pretty colors, I’m happy because they are bright blue and bright red, colors that really wake you up.
Next he lights fires under the seven cauldrons, then torments me again, telling me, now Anjuhimeko, I’ve taken the water you scooped up and poured it over the cauldrons of soil you dug and lit fires underneath with the reeds you cut, now walk over here with no clothes and no shoes, the cauldrons are boiling hot and making bubbling noises, I stand on the edge, do men always keep saying such unreasonable things one after another? I cry out loudly, here I’m in tears when a sparrow comes flying by, the man is looking the other way when it chirps to me, now is the time to run, oh Anjuhimeko, three years old, now is the time to run, so with no clothes and no shoes, I escape following the sparrow, finally, I arrive at an unfamiliar house standing in the middle of a field.
Excuse me, excuse me, I call out, and a man comes from deep inside the house, he asks me, where’ve you come from with no clothes and no shoes? just looking at you, I can see you’re still only a child of three years old, I want to give you shelter, but if that man chases you here then he’ll torment me, too, he’ll broil me with cattails and kill me too, please, get out of here quickly, when I go outside, the day is rapidly drawing to a close, a heavy rain is beginning to fall, what shall I do? the man is chasing after me, if he catches me this time I really will die, what shall I do? then I hear a voice saying, little girl, little girl, come back, there’s no doubt the voice is calling me, it is a man’s voice, I return along the path and dash into the unfamiliar house in the middle of the field.
Little girl, little girl, you’ve come back? here, quick, have some rice to eat, then get into this bag and I’ll hang you from the rafters, you’ve come to me asking for help because of some karmic connection, I’ve decided to save you no matter how much he torments me or roasts me with cattails, here, quick, have some rice to eat, then get into the bag, once you’re in the bag hanging from the rafters, you mustn’t scratch your ears or even break wind, and with this he picks me up and the bag, too, he is so powerful, so stalwart, so strong, the man who was chasing me arrives at the house, he reproaches the man in the house, asking if Anjuhimeko hasn’t come here, Anjuhimeko who is three years old, every time I tell her to do something, she plays tricks on me like a good-for-nothing and slips away, she’s a cunning little brat, there’s no place other than here for her to go, look, that bag hanging over there just swung a little, get it down and show me what’s inside.
I’m resigned that once I’m down, I’m going to die, I’m resigned that both I and the man who has given me shelter will die, roasted over cattails, but the man who has given me shelter says to the man who was chasing me, I’ll lower the bag if you repent for what you’ve done, then the man who was chasing me says, I’ll cut it down with a saw, then the man who has given me shelter scoops some water into a basin and shoves it in front of the man who was chasing me, when he saw his reflection in the water, his mouth was ripped open so wide his lips extended to the back of his neck and his teeth jutted out in every direction, the man who’d given me shelter jeered at him, saying, so you’re really a demon at heart? repent, repent, we don’t need any demons here, repent, repent, no demons here, repent, repent, and finally, the man who was chasing me disappears, he is gone, nowhere to be seen.
Here I am, clad in dyed-black clothes, indigo leggings, cotton tabi and belt of straw, ready to set out to see my mother, but nowhere do I see the woman called mother, I travel around these sixty-some provinces to find her, but nowhere do I see the woman whom I call mother, I sleep in both fields and mountains, I sleep upon my folding fan as a pillow, and I use my straw hat as a screen to stop the wind, the rain falls on me, the wind blows at me, dogs bark and bite at me, I’m afraid of the laughter of the crows and the loud rustling of the trees so I cover my ears and run past, but I don’t see my mother anywhere, my mother was the one who gave birth to me so long ago, but she has disappeared, and I can’t find her anywhere, still her child has grown up like this even without a mother, her child has grown even though she didn’t suckle at her mother’s breast, I wish my mother would just die prematurely, die and show me her body just as it is, that way I wouldn’t have to go see her, but since that doesn’t happen, she must be living somewhere, and so I have to go see her.
I’m seven years old, and it is spring, around the month of April, I walk on and on, the days grow dark and draw to a close, I make my way into mountains so deep that one can’t tell forward from backward, I want to stay in an inn but there are no villages, finally, as the day is drawing to a close, I look and see a hut of grassy bamboo in the distance, there is a light, I try to go there in search of lodgings, but I can’t get there, in front of the hut is a big river, I look both upstream and downstream, but there is no bridge, I’ve come this far but I can’t cross, I can’t cross, how sad I am! I try to pray to the spirit-child of this rapidly flowing river, thinking that perhaps his divine grace will help me cross, oh, Spirit-Child of the River! I want to cross this river but can’t, I want to cross but can’t, I want to cross but can’t, I intone this request three times, and then a dead tree falls down all by itself, then a second dead tree falls down all by itself, and then a third dead tree falls down all by itself, forming a bridge over the river, how terribly grateful I am, this is all thanks to the divine child of the river!
Excuse me, excuse me, I call out, going into the bamboo hut, and there is a young woman, her voice makes her sound so young, she invites me in, and with this I’m let into the hut, finally, after something to eat, I heave a big sigh, thinking I’ll try having a conversation about this and that with the young woman, and so I ask her, young lady, have you been blind since birth?
She says, oh child, you ask questions without any reserve, how could anyone possibly have karma as bad as mine? I’ve not been blind since birth, in only three years I gave birth to three children, but my husband buried in the
