Kusamakura

Rage? But that would wreck the harmony completely. Bitterness? No, too vulgar, unless it had a poetic air of romance to it. After pondering this and that possibility, I final y light on the answer: the one emotion that I’ve forgotten to include in my list is pity. Pity is an emotion unknown to the gods, yet of al the human emotions it is closest to them. In Nami’s expression there is not one jot of pity. This is its great lack. When on an instant’s impulse that emotion registers on her face, that wil be the moment when my picture is complete. But when might I ever see this happen? The usual expression to be seen on that face is a hovering smile of derision and the intently furrowed brow of someone with a frantic desire to win. This is quite useless for my purpose.

A rustling crunch of approaching footsteps shatters my ideas for the painting wel before they have arrived at a final form. Looking up, I see a man in tight-sleeved workman’s clothing tramping along through the dwarf bamboo with a load of firewood on his back, making toward Kankaiji temple. He must have come down from the nearby mountain.

“Lovely weather,†he says, taking off the little towel wrapped around his head and greeting me. As he bows, light flashes along the blade of the hatchet thrust into his belt. He’s a strapping fel ow, whom I guess to be in his forties. I feel I’ve seen him before somewhere, and he too behaves with the familiarity of an old acquaintance.

“You paint pictures too, do you, sir?†he asks. My painting box is open beside me.

“Yes, I came along hoping to paint the pool. It’s a lonely sort of place, isn’t it? No one passes this way.â€

“That’s true. It’s certainly deep in the hil s here. But tel me, sir—you’d have had a good soaking coming over the pass after we met the other day, I should think.â€

“Eh? Ah yes, you’re the packhorse driver I met, aren’t you?â€

“Yes. This is what I do, cut firewood like this and take it down to the town,†says Genbei. He proceeds to lower his bundle to the ground and sit on it. A tobacco pouch comes out—an old one, whether paper or leather I can’t tel . I offer him a match.

“So you cross that pass every day, eh? That’s hard work.â€

“No, I’m quite used to it, real y. And anyway, I don’t go over every day. It’s once every three days, sometimes even four.â€

“I wouldn’t want to do it even once every four days, I must say.â€

He laughs. “Wel , I’m sorry for the horse, so I try to keep it down to about every four days.â€

“That’s good of you. So the horse is more important than you are, eh?†I remark with a laugh.

“Wel , I wouldn’t go that far. . . .â€

“By the way, this pool strikes me as very old. How long can it have been here?â€

“It’s been here a long while.â€

“A long while? How long?â€

“A very long while, believe me.â€

“A very long while? I see.â€

“I’l tel you this, it’s been here since the Shioda girl threw herself in a long while ago.â€

“You mean the Shiodas who run the hot spring inn?â€

“That’s right, yes.â€

“You say the girl threw herself in? But she’s alive and wel , is she not?â€

“No, not that girl. This one lived a long while ago.â€

“A long while ago? When would that have been?â€

“Oh, a very long while ago, believe me.â€

“And why did that girl from a long while ago throw herself in here?â€

“Wel , she was a beauty, you know, like the present girl is, sir. . . .â€

“Ah?â€

“And one day, one of them bonzes came along . . .â€

“You mean a begging monk?â€

“Yes, one of them bonzes that plays the bamboo flute and goes about begging. Wel , when he was staying over at Shioda’s place—he was the vil age headman at the time—that beautiful young girl fel head over heels for him. Cal it karma if you wil , but at al events she wept and declared she simply had to marry him.â€

“Wept, did she? Hmm.â€

“But headman Shioda wouldn’t hear of it. He said no bonze would be marrying his daughter. And in the end he cried, ‘Be off with you!’â€

“To the monk?â€

“That’s right. So then the young girl, she takes off after him and comes as far as the pool here—and throws herself in, right over there, where you can see that pine tree. And it al caused quite a stir, I can tel you. They say she was carrying a mirror on her, and that’s how this pool got its name.â€

“Wel , wel , so someone’s thrown themselves in here before, eh?â€

“A dreadful business, sir.â€

“How many generations back would it be, do you think?â€

“Al I can say is it’s a good long while ago. And I’l tel you another thing—wel , this is just between you and me, sir.â€

“What’s that?â€

“There’s been crazies in the Shiodas since generations back.â€

“Fancy that.â€

“It’s a curse, that’s what it is. And the present young lady too, everyone’s been looking askance lately and muttering about how she’s gone a bit peculiar.â€

“Surely that’s not so!†I exclaim with a laugh.

“You think not? But her mom was a bit peculiar, you know.â€

“Is she at home there?â€

“No, died last year.â€

“Hmm,†I say, and make no further comment, but simply watch the thin curl of smoke rising from the end of my cigarette. Heaving the bundle of firewood onto his back again, Genbei goes on his way.

I’ve come here to paint, but at this rate, with my head ful of such musings and my ear ful of such talk, days wil pass without me producing a single picture. Wel , I’ve set everything up, so at least I must go through the motions and make a preliminary sketch or two. The scenery of the opposite shore wil more or less do for what I want. I’l try my hand at it, just for form’s sake.

A blue-black rock towers ten feet or more into the air, straight up from the bottom of the pool; to the right of its sheer face, where the dark water lies in a curve at the jutting corner, dwarf bamboo crowds densely al the way down the steep mountainside to the very water’s edge. Above the rock a large pine tree at least three arm-spans thick thrusts its twisted, vine-clad trunk out at an angle that leans precariously half over the water.

Perhaps it was from this rock that the girl leaped, the mirror tucked in her bosom.

I settle myself before the easel and survey the elements of the scene—pine, dwarf bamboo, rock, and water. I can’t decide how much of the water to include. The rock and its shadow each measure about ten feet. One could almost believe that the luxuriance of dwarf bamboo extends beyond the water’s edge on down into the water, so vividly does its reflection seem to penetrate right to the bottom. As for the pine, it appears to soar as high as the eye can see, while the reflection it casts is likewise extremely long and thin. Reproducing the actual dimensions of what lies before me wouldn’t work as a composition. Perhaps it would be interesting to give up al thought of depicting the objects themselves and simply show their reflections. People would no doubt be startled to be shown a picture consisting only of water and the reflections in it. But it’s pointless simply to surprise the viewer; what must surprise them is the realization that this is successful as a picture. What to do ? I wonder, gazing intently at the surface of the water.