A DEAD SECRET

A long time ago, in the province of Tamba (1), there lived a rich
merchant named Inamuraya Gensuké. He had a daughter called O-Sono. As
she was very clever and pretty, he thought it would be a pity to let
her grow up with only such teaching as the country-teachers could give
her: so he sent her, in care of some trusty attendants, to Kyōto, that
she might be trained in the polite accomplishments taught to the ladies
of the capital. After she had thus been educated, she was married to a
friend of her father’s family—a merchant named Nagaraya;—and she lived
happily with him for nearly four years. They had one child,—a boy. But
O-Sono fell ill and died, in the fourth year after her marriage.

On the night after the funeral of O-Sono, her little son said that his
mamma had come back, and was in the room upstairs. She had smiled at
him, but would not talk to him: so he became afraid, and ran away. Then
some of the family went upstairs to the room which had been O-Sono’s;
and they were startled to see, by the light of a small lamp which had
been kindled before a shrine in that room, the figure of the dead
mother. She appeared as if standing in front of a _tansu_, or chest of
drawers, that still contained her ornaments and her wearing-apparel.
Her head and shoulders could be very distinctly seen; but from the
waist downwards the figure thinned into invisibility;—it was like an
imperfect reflection of her, and transparent as a shadow on water.

Then the folk were afraid, and left the room. Below they consulted
together; and the mother of O-Sono’s husband said: “A woman is fond of
her small things; and O-Sono was much attached to her belongings.
Perhaps she has come back to look at them. Many dead persons will do
that,—unless the things be given to the parish-temple. If we present
O-Sono’s robes and girdles to the temple, her spirit will probably find
rest.”

It was agreed that this should be done as soon as possible. So on the
following morning the drawers were emptied; and all of O-Sono’s
ornaments and dresses were taken to the temple. But she came back the
next night, and looked at the _tansu_ as before. And she came back also
on the night following, and the night after that, and every night;—and
the house became a house of fear.

The mother of O-Sono’s husband then went to the parish-temple, and told
the chief priest all that had happened, and asked for ghostly counsel.
The temple was a Zen temple; and the head-priest was a learned old man,
known as Daigen Oshō. He said: “There must be something about which she
is anxious, in or near that _tansu_.”—“But we emptied all the drawers,”
replied the woman;—“there is nothing in the _tansu_.”—“Well,” said
Daigen Oshō, “to-night I shall go to your house, and keep watch in that
room, and see what can be done. You must give orders that no person
shall enter the room while I am watching, unless I call.”

After sundown, Daigen Oshō went to the house, and found the room made
ready for him. He remained there alone, reading the sûtras; and nothing
appeared until after the Hour of the Rat.[1] Then the figure of O-Sono
suddenly outlined itself in front of the _tansu_. Her face had a
wistful look; and she kept her eyes fixed upon the _tansu_.

The priest uttered the holy formula prescribed in such cases, and then,
addressing the figure by the _kaimyō_[2] of O-Sono, said:—“I have come
here in order to help you. Perhaps in that _tansu_ there is something
about which you have reason to feel anxious. Shall I try to find it for
you?” The shadow appeared to give assent by a slight motion of the
head; and the priest, rising, opened the top drawer. It was empty.
Successively he opened the second, the third, and the fourth drawer;—he
searched carefully behind them and beneath them;—he carefully examined
the interior of the chest. He found nothing. But the figure remained
gazing as wistfully as before. “What can she want?” thought the priest.
Suddenly it occurred to him that there might be something hidden under
the paper with which the drawers were lined. He removed the lining of
the first drawer:—nothing! He removed the lining of the second and
third drawers:—still nothing. But under the lining of the lowermost
drawer he found—a letter. “Is this the thing about which you have been
troubled?” he asked. The shadow of the woman turned toward him,—her
faint gaze fixed upon the letter. “Shall I burn it for you?” he asked.
She bowed before him. “It shall be burned in the temple this very
morning,” he promised;—“and no one shall read it, except myself.” The
figure smiled and vanished.

Dawn was breaking as the priest descended the stairs, to find the
family waiting anxiously below. “Do not be anxious,” he said to them:
“She will not appear again.” And she never did.

The letter was burned. It was a love-letter written to O-Sono in the
time of her studies at Kyōto. But the priest alone knew what was in it;
and the secret died with him.