Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things

MUJINA

On the Akasaka Road, in Tōkyō, there is a slope called
Kii-no-kuni-zaka,—which means the Slope of the Province of Kii. I do
not know why it is called the Slope of the Province of Kii. On one side
of this slope you see an ancient moat, deep and very wide, with high
green banks rising up to some place of gardens;—and on the other side
of the road extend the long and lofty walls of an imperial palace.
Before the era of street-lamps and jinrikishas, this neighborhood was
very lonesome after dark; and belated pedestrians would go miles out of
their way rather than mount the Kii-no-kuni-zaka, alone, after sunset.

All because of a Mujina that used to walk there. (1)

The last man who saw the Mujina was an old merchant of the Kyōbashi
quarter, who died about thirty years ago. This is the story, as he told
it:—

One night, at a late hour, he was hurrying up the Kii-no-kuni-zaka,
when he perceived a woman crouching by the moat, all alone, and weeping
bitterly. Fearing that she intended to drown herself, he stopped to
offer her any assistance or consolation in his power. She appeared to
be a slight and graceful person, handsomely dressed; and her hair was
arranged like that of a young girl of good family. “O-jochū,”[1] he
exclaimed, approaching her,—“O-jochū, do not cry like that!... Tell me
what the trouble is; and if there be any way to help you, I shall be
glad to help you.” (He really meant what he said; for he was a very
kind man.) But she continued to weep,—hiding her face from him with one
of her long sleeves. “O-jochū,” he said again, as gently as he
could,—“please, please listen to me!... This is no place for a young
lady at night! Do not cry, I implore you!—only tell me how I may be of
some help to you!” Slowly she rose up, but turned her back to him, and
continued to moan and sob behind her sleeve. He laid his hand lightly
upon her shoulder, and pleaded:—“O-jochū!—O-jochū!—O-jochū!... Listen
to me, just for one little moment!... O-jochū!—O-jochū!”... Then that
O-jochū turned around, and dropped her sleeve, and stroked her face
with her hand;—and the man saw that she had no eyes or nose or
mouth,—and he screamed and ran away. (2)

Up Kii-no-kuni-zaka he ran and ran; and all was black and empty before
him. On and on he ran, never daring to look back; and at last he saw a
lantern, so far away that it looked like the gleam of a firefly; and he
made for it. It proved to be only the lantern of an itinerant
_soba_-seller,[2] who had set down his stand by the road-side; but any
light and any human companionship was good after that experience; and
he flung himself down at the feet of the _soba_-seller, crying out,
“Ah!—aa!!—_aa!!!_”...

“_Koré! koré!_” (3) roughly exclaimed the soba-man. “Here! what is the
matter with you? Anybody hurt you?”

“No—nobody hurt me,” panted the other,—“only... _Ah!—aa!_”

“—Only scared you?” queried the peddler, unsympathetically. “Robbers?”

“Not robbers,—not robbers,” gasped the terrified man... “I saw... I saw
a woman—by the moat;—and she showed me... _Ah!_ I cannot tell you what
she showed me!”...

“_Hé!_ (4) Was it anything like THIS that she showed you?” cried the
soba-man, stroking his own face—which therewith became like unto an
Egg... And, simultaneously, the light went out.