bamboo, and in the play
It seems that the song isn’t limited to Sendai but rather sung by children all across Japan. However, because of the fact that this version bids us to “see the
In the bamboo forest surrounding Ojii-san’s thatched hut, in any case, live countless sparrows, and they raise a deafening racket morning and evening. In late autumn of this year, on a morning when crystalline pellets of frost crunch musically underfoot, Ojii-san finds a little sparrow upside down in his garden, flopping about with a broken leg. He picks the bird up and carries her into his room, where he sets her by the fire and brings her some food. Even after the sparrow’s leg is healed, she stays on in Ojii-san’s room, fluttering out to the garden from time to time, or hopping about on the veranda, pecking at the crumbs Ojii-san tosses out to her.
“You filthy thing!” Obaa-san shouts when the sparrow inadvertently poops on the veranda. She chases after the bird, and Ojii-san silently takes some paper from his pocket and cleans up the droppings. As the days go by, the sparrow seems to learn whom she can count on to be kind to her and whom she can’t. When the old woman is home alone she takes refuge in the garden or under the eaves, but as soon as Ojii-san returns she comes flying. She sits atop his head or hops about on his desk or drinks from the inkstone with a tiny gulping sound or hides in the brush stand, interrupting Ojii-san’s studies with her constant games. But Ojii-san, for the most part, ignores her. He does not, like so many bird lovers, give his pet an affected name or speak to it. (“Oh, Rumi, you must be lonely too!”) He displays, rather, absolute indifference to where the sparrow might be or what she might be up to. But from time to time he silently rises, shuffles to the pantry, scoops up a handful of grain, and scatters it on the veranda.
No sooner does Obaa-san exit with the laundry today than the sparrow comes fluttering back from beneath the eaves and lands on the edge of the desk, where Ojii-san sits with his cheek on his hand. Ojii-san looks at the sparrow with no change of expression. But this is where the tragedy begins.
After a pause of some moments, Ojii-san says, “I see,” and sighs heavily. He spreads out a book on his desk. He turns a page, and then another, and then he rests his cheek on his hand again and gazes off into the middle distance. “So she wasn’t born to do laundry. Still dreams of romance, I guess, with a face like that.” He cracks a small, wry smile.
It’s then that the sparrow on his desk begins to speak in human language.
“And you?” she says.
Ojii-san isn’t particularly startled.
“Me? Me, well… I was born to tell the truth.”
“But you don’t say anything at all.”
“That’s because the people in this world are all liars. I got sick of talking with them. All they do is lie. And the worst part is that they don’t even realize they’re doing it.”
“That’s just a lazy man’s excuse. Once you human beings acquire a little learning, you tend to become awfully arrogant. Look at yourself. You don’t do anything at all. Remember the old proverb? ‘Don’t wake the house while still a-bed’? Who are you to criticize others?”
“You’ve got a point.” Ojii-san remains unruffled. “But it’s a good thing that men like me exist. I may seem to be good for nothing, but that’s not completely true. There is something that only I can do. I don’t know whether or not the opportunity to show my true worth will arise during my lifetime, but if it does I assure you I will expend every effort. Until such a time should come, however-well, until then it’s silence, exile, and reading.”
“You don’t say.” The sparrow cocks her head. “That’s the sort of empty, self-serving boast you expect to hear from men who are tyrants at home and cowards abroad. ‘The Venerable’-isn’t that what you call yourself? Trying to find comfort in dreams of a past that will never come again, rather than hope for the future. You’re pitiable, really. Your boasts don’t even amount to real boasts. They’re more like the grumblings of a disgruntled old crackpot. It’s not as if you’re involved in anything of any value to the world.”
“When you put it that way, I can see your point.” Ojii-san is, if anything, even less ruffled now. “But the fact is that I’m engaged in something laudable at this very moment: in a word, desirelessness. Easy to say, hard to do. Just look at that Obaa-san of ours. After ten-plus years at the side of a man like me you’d think she would have abandoned worldly desires, but apparently that’s not the case. She still seems to have some notions of romance. Hilarious.”
Obaa-san sticks her head in through the doorway.
“I do
“Visitor?” Ojii-san mumbles unintelligibly, as usual.
“I beg your pardon. You were definitely speaking to someone just now. And speaking ill of
“You think?” Ojii-san replies vacantly. “But there’s no one here.”
“Stop teasing me!” Obaa-san is genuinely angry now. She plops down on the veranda. “What in the world do you take me for? Heaven knows how much I’ve put up with all these years. You treat me like a complete fool. Well, I’m not from a wealthy family and have no education, so maybe I’m simply no match for you, but now you’ve gone too far. I was still young when I came to your home as a servant, to take care of you, and before I knew it, it turned into this. I knew that your parents were good and proper folks, so I thought that being matched with their son wouldn’t be such a-”
“Lies. All lies.”
“Oh? Name one. Name one thing I just said that’s a lie. This is exactly how it was. Back then, I understood you better than anyone. I felt that it had to be me, that no one but I could look after you properly. What part of that is a lie? Tell me,” she demands, her face darkening.
“The whole thing’s a lie. Back then you were all about base desires. Period.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I have no idea what you’re talking about. Quit trying to belittle me. I married you because I thought I could help you. It had nothing to do with ‘base desires.’ You say the most vulgar things sometimes! You have no idea how lonely I’ve been day and night since marrying you. Is it too much to ask you to toss me a kind word now and then? Look at other married couples! No matter how poor they might be, at least they still enjoy themselves chatting and laughing together over dinner. I’m not a greedy woman by any means. I could endure any hardship and still be satisfied if you would only say a gentle word to me once in a while.”
“Here we go again. I see what you’re doing. Still trying to put it all on me with that same old tale of woe. It won’t work. Everything you say is deceitful. You just spew any old thing, according to your mood. Who do you think made me such a taciturn man? ‘Chatting and laughing’ about
