Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things

ROKURO-KUBI

Nearly five hundred years ago there was a samurai, named Isogai
Héïdazaëmon Takétsura, in the service of the Lord Kikuji, of Kyūshū.
This Isogai had inherited, from many warlike ancestors, a natural
aptitude for military exercises, and extraordinary strength. While yet
a boy he had surpassed his teachers in the art of swordsmanship, in
archery, and in the use of the spear, and had displayed all the
capacities of a daring and skillful soldier. Afterwards, in the time of
the Eikyō[1] war, he so distinguished himself that high honors were
bestowed upon him. But when the house of Kikuji came to ruin, Isogai
found himself without a master. He might then easily have obtained
service under another daimyō; but as he had never sought distinction
for his own sake alone, and as his heart remained true to his former
lord, he preferred to give up the world. So he cut off his hair, and
became a traveling priest,—taking the Buddhist name of Kwairyō.

But always, under the _koromo_[2] of the priest, Kwairyō kept warm
within him the heart of the samurai. As in other years he had laughed
at peril, so now also he scorned danger; and in all weathers and all
seasons he journeyed to preach the good Law in places where no other
priest would have dared to go. For that age was an age of violence and
disorder; and upon the highways there was no security for the solitary
traveler, even if he happened to be a priest.

In the course of his first long journey, Kwairyō had occasion to visit
the province of Kai. (1) One evening, as he was traveling through the
mountains of that province, darkness overcame him in a very lonesome
district, leagues away from any village. So he resigned himself to pass
the night under the stars; and having found a suitable grassy spot, by
the roadside, he lay down there, and prepared to sleep. He had always
welcomed discomfort; and even a bare rock was for him a good bed, when
nothing better could be found, and the root of a pine-tree an excellent
pillow. His body was iron; and he never troubled himself about dews or
rain or frost or snow.

Scarcely had he lain down when a man came along the road, carrying an
axe and a great bundle of chopped wood. This woodcutter halted on
seeing Kwairyō lying down, and, after a moment of silent observation,
said to him in a tone of great surprise:—

“What kind of a man can you be, good Sir, that you dare to lie down
alone in such a place as this?... There are haunters about here,—many
of them. Are you not afraid of Hairy Things?”

“My friend,” cheerfully answered Kwairyō, “I am only a wandering
priest,—a ‘Cloud-and-Water-Guest,’ as folks call it:
_Unsui-no-ryokaku_. (2) And I am not in the least afraid of Hairy
Things,—if you mean goblin-foxes, or goblin-badgers, or any creatures
of that kind. As for lonesome places, I like them: they are suitable
for meditation. I am accustomed to sleeping in the open air: and I have
learned never to be anxious about my life.”

“You must be indeed a brave man, Sir Priest,” the peasant responded,
“to lie down here! This place has a bad name,—a very bad name. But, as
the proverb has it, _Kunshi ayayuki ni chikayorazu_ [‘The superior man
does not needlessly expose himself to peril’]; and I must assure you,
Sir, that it is very dangerous to sleep here. Therefore, although my
house is only a wretched thatched hut, let me beg of you to come home
with me at once. In the way of food, I have nothing to offer you; but
there is a roof at least, and you can sleep under it without risk.”

He spoke earnestly; and Kwairyō, liking the kindly tone of the man,
accepted this modest offer. The woodcutter guided him along a narrow
path, leading up from the main road through mountain-forest. It was a
rough and dangerous path,—sometimes skirting precipices,—sometimes
offering nothing but a network of slippery roots for the foot to rest
upon,—sometimes winding over or between masses of jagged rock. But at
last Kwairyō found himself upon a cleared space at the top of a hill,
with a full moon shining overhead; and he saw before him a small
thatched cottage, cheerfully lighted from within. The woodcutter led
him to a shed at the back of the house, whither water had been
conducted, through bamboo-pipes, from some neighboring stream; and the
two men washed their feet. Beyond the shed was a vegetable garden, and
a grove of cedars and bamboos; and beyond the trees appeared the
glimmer of a cascade, pouring from some loftier height, and swaying in
the moonshine like a long white robe.

As Kwairyō entered the cottage with his guide, he perceived four
persons—men and women—warming their hands at a little fire kindled in
the _ro_[3] of the principle apartment. They bowed low to the priest,
and greeted him in the most respectful manner. Kwairyō wondered that
persons so poor, and dwelling in such a solitude, should be aware of
the polite forms of greeting. “These are good people,” he thought to
himself; “and they must have been taught by some one well acquainted
with the rules of propriety.” Then turning to his host,—the _aruji_, or
house-master, as the others called him,—Kwairyō said:—

“From the kindness of your speech, and from the very polite welcome
given me by your household, I imagine that you have not always been a
woodcutter. Perhaps you formerly belonged to one of the upper classes?”

Smiling, the woodcutter answered:—

“Sir, you are not mistaken. Though now living as you find me, I was
once a person of some distinction. My story is the story of a ruined
life—ruined by my own fault. I used to be in the service of a daimyō;
and my rank in that service was not inconsiderable. But I loved women
and wine too well; and under the influence of passion I acted wickedly.
My selfishness brought about the ruin of our house, and caused the
death of many persons. Retribution followed me; and I long remained a
fugitive in the land. Now I often pray that I may be able to make some
atonement for the evil which I did, and to reestablish the ancestral
home. But I fear that I shall never find any way of so doing.
Nevertheless, I try to overcome the karma of my errors by sincere
repentance, and by helping, as far as I can, those who are
unfortunate.”

Kwairyō was pleased by this announcement of good resolve; and he said
to the _aruji:_—

“My friend, I have had occasion to observe that men, prone to folly in
their youth, may in after years become very earnest in right living. In
the holy sûtras it is written that those strongest in wrong-doing can
become, by power of good resolve, the strongest in right-doing. I do
not doubt that you have a good heart; and I hope that better fortune
will come to you. To-night I shall recite the sûtras for your sake, and
pray that you may obtain the force to overcome the karma of any past
errors.”

With these assurances, Kwairyō bade the _aruji_ good-night; and his
host showed him to a very small side-room, where a bed had been made
ready. Then all went to sleep except the priest, who began to read the
sûtras by the light of a paper lantern. Until a late hour he continued
to read and pray: then he opened a little window in his little
sleeping-room, to take a last look at the landscape before lying down.
The night was beautiful: there was no cloud in the sky: there was no
wind; and the strong moonlight threw down sharp black shadows of
foliage, and glittered on the dews of the garden. Shrillings of
crickets and bell-insects (3) made a musical tumult; and the sound of
the neighboring cascade deepened with the night. Kwairyō felt thirsty
as he listened to the noise of the water; and, remembering the bamboo
aqueduct at the rear of the house, he thought that he could go there
and get a drink without disturbing the sleeping household. Very gently
he pushed apart the sliding-screens that separated his room from the
main apartment; and he saw, by the light of the lantern, five recumbent
bodies—without heads!

For one instant he stood bewildered,—imagining a crime. But in another
moment he perceived that there was no blood, and that the headless
necks did not look as if they had been cut. Then he thought to
himself:—“Either this is an illusion made by goblins, or I have been
lured into the dwelling of a Rokuro-Kubi... (4) In the book _Sōshinki_
(5) it is written that if one find the body of a Rokuro-Kubi without
its head, and remove the body to another place, the head will never be
able to join itself again to the neck. And the book further says that
when the head comes back and finds that its body has been moved, it
will strike itself upon the floor three times,—bounding like a
ball,—and will pant as in great fear, and presently die. Now, if these
be Rokuro-Kubi, they mean me no good;—so I shall be justified in
following the instructions of the book.”...

He seized the body of the aruji by the feet, pulled it to the window,
and pushed it out. Then he went to the back-door, which he found
barred; and he surmised that the heads had made their exit through the
smoke-hole in the roof, which had been left open. Gently unbarring the
door, he made his way to the garden, and proceeded with all possible
caution to the grove beyond it. He heard voices talking in the grove;
and he went in the direction of the voices,—stealing from shadow to
shadow, until he reached a good hiding-place. Then, from behind a
trunk, he caught sight of the heads,—all five of them,—flitting about,
and chatting as they flitted. They were eating worms and insects which
they found on the ground or among the trees. Presently the head of the
aruji stopped eating and said:—

“Ah, that traveling priest who came to-night!—how fat all his body is!
When we shall have eaten him, our bellies will be well filled... I was
foolish to talk to him as I did;—it only set him to reciting the sûtras
on behalf of my soul! To go near him while he is reciting would be
difficult; and we cannot touch him so long as he is praying. But as it
is now nearly morning, perhaps he has gone to sleep... Some one of you
go to the house and see what the fellow is doing.”

Another head—the head of a young woman—immediately rose up and flitted
to the house, lightly as a bat. After a few minutes it came back, and
cried out huskily, in a tone of great alarm:—

“That traveling priest is not in the house;—he is gone! But that is not
the worst of the matter. He has taken the body of our aruji; and I do
not know where he has put it.”

At this announcement the head of the aruji—distinctly visible in the
moonlight—assumed a frightful aspect: its eyes opened monstrously; its
hair stood up bristling; and its teeth gnashed. Then a cry burst from
its lips; and—weeping tears of rage—it exclaimed:—

“Since my body has been moved, to rejoin it is not possible! Then I
must die!... And all through the work of that priest! Before I die I
will get at that priest!—I will tear him!—I will devour him!... _And
there he is_—behind that tree!—hiding behind that tree! See him!—the
fat coward!”...

In the same moment the head of the aruji, followed by the other four
heads, sprang at Kwairyō. But the strong priest had already armed
himself by plucking up a young tree; and with that tree he struck the
heads as they came,—knocking them from him with tremendous blows. Four
of them fled away. But the head of the aruji, though battered again and
again, desperately continued to bound at the priest, and at last caught
him by the left sleeve of his robe. Kwairyō, however, as quickly
gripped the head by its topknot, and repeatedly struck it. It did not
release its hold; but it uttered a long moan, and thereafter ceased to
struggle. It was dead. But its teeth still held the sleeve; and, for
all his great strength, Kwairyō could not force open the jaws.

With the head still hanging to his sleeve he went back to the house,
and there caught sight of the other four Rokuro-Kubi squatting
together, with their bruised and bleeding heads reunited to their
bodies. But when they perceived him at the back-door all screamed, “The
priest! the priest!”—and fled, through the other doorway, out into the
woods.

Eastward the sky was brightening; day was about to dawn; and Kwairyō
knew that the power of the goblins was limited to the hours of
darkness. He looked at the head clinging to his sleeve,—its face all
fouled with blood and foam and clay; and he laughed aloud as he thought
to himself: “What a _miyagé!_[4]—the head of a goblin!” After which he
gathered together his few belongings, and leisurely descended the
mountain to continue his journey.

Right on he journeyed, until he came to Suwa in Shinano; (6) and into
the main street of Suwa he solemnly strode, with the head dangling at
his elbow. Then woman fainted, and children screamed and ran away; and
there was a great crowding and clamoring until the _torité_ (as the
police in those days were called) seized the priest, and took him to
jail. For they supposed the head to be the head of a murdered man who,
in the moment of being killed, had caught the murderer’s sleeve in his
teeth. As for Kwairyō, he only smiled and said nothing when they
questioned him. So, after having passed a night in prison, he was
brought before the magistrates of the district. Then he was ordered to
explain how he, a priest, had been found with the head of a man
fastened to his sleeve, and why he had dared thus shamelessly to parade
his crime in the sight of people.

Kwairyō laughed long and loudly at these questions; and then he said:—

“Sirs, I did not fasten the head to my sleeve: it fastened itself
there—much against my will. And I have not committed any crime. For
this is not the head of a man; it is the head of a goblin;—and, if I
caused the death of the goblin, I did not do so by any shedding of
blood, but simply by taking the precautions necessary to assure my own
safety.”... And he proceeded to relate the whole of the
adventure,—bursting into another hearty laugh as he told of his
encounter with the five heads.

But the magistrates did not laugh. They judged him to be a hardened
criminal, and his story an insult to their intelligence. Therefore,
without further questioning, they decided to order his immediate
execution,—all of them except one, a very old man. This aged officer
had made no remark during the trial; but, after having heard the
opinion of his colleagues, he rose up, and said:—

“Let us first examine the head carefully; for this, I think, has not
yet been done. If the priest has spoken truth, the head itself should
bear witness for him... Bring the head here!”

So the head, still holding in its teeth the _koromo_ that had been
stripped from Kwairyō’s shoulders, was put before the judges. The old
man turned it round and round, carefully examined it, and discovered,
on the nape of its neck, several strange red characters. He called the
attention of his colleagues to these, and also bade them observe that
the edges of the neck nowhere presented the appearance of having been
cut by any weapon. On the contrary, the line of leverance was smooth as
the line at which a falling leaf detaches itself from the stem... Then
said the elder:—

“I am quite sure that the priest told us nothing but the truth. This is
the head of a Rokuro-Kubi. In the book _Nan-hō-ï-butsu-shi_ it is
written that certain red characters can always be found upon the nape
of the neck of a real Rokuro-Kubi. There are the characters: you can
see for yourselves that they have not been painted. Moreover, it is
well known that such goblins have been dwelling in the mountains of the
province of Kai from very ancient time... But you, Sir,” he exclaimed,
turning to Kwairyō,—“what sort of sturdy priest may you be? Certainly
you have given proof of a courage that few priests possess; and you
have the air of a soldier rather than a priest. Perhaps you once
belonged to the samurai-class?”

“You have guessed rightly, Sir,” Kwairyō responded. “Before becoming a
priest, I long followed the profession of arms; and in those days I
never feared man or devil. My name then was Isogai Héïdazaëmon
Takétsura of Kyūshū: there may be some among you who remember it.”

At the mention of that name, a murmur of admiration filled the
court-room; for there were many present who remembered it. And Kwairyō
immediately found himself among friends instead of judges,—friends
anxious to prove their admiration by fraternal kindness. With honor
they escorted him to the residence of the daimyō, who welcomed him, and
feasted him, and made him a handsome present before allowing him to
depart. When Kwairyō left Suwa, he was as happy as any priest is
permitted to be in this transitory world. As for the head, he took it
with him,—jocosely insisting that he intended it for a _miyagé_.

And now it only remains to tell what became of the head.

A day or two after leaving Suwa, Kwairyō met with a robber, who stopped
him in a lonesome place, and bade him strip. Kwairyō at once removed
his _koromo_, and offered it to the robber, who then first perceived
what was hanging to the sleeve. Though brave, the highwayman was
startled: he dropped the garment, and sprang back. Then he cried
out:—“You!—what kind of a priest are you? Why, you are a worse man than
I am! It is true that I have killed people; but I never walked about
with anybody’s head fastened to my sleeve... Well, Sir priest, I
suppose we are of the same calling; and I must say that I admire
you!... Now that head would be of use to me: I could frighten people
with it. Will you sell it? You can have my robe in exchange for your
_koromo;_ and I will give you five _ryō_ for the head.”

Kwairyō answered:—

“I shall let you have the head and the robe if you insist; but I must
tell you that this is not the head of a man. It is a goblin’s head. So,
if you buy it, and have any trouble in consequence, please to remember
that you were not deceived by me.”

“What a nice priest you are!” exclaimed the robber. “You kill men, and
jest about it!... But I am really in earnest. Here is my robe; and here
is the money;—and let me have the head... What is the use of joking?”

“Take the thing,” said Kwairyō. “I was not joking. The only joke—if
there be any joke at all—is that you are fool enough to pay good money
for a goblin’s head.” And Kwairyō, loudly laughing, went upon his way.

Thus the robber got the head and the _koromo;_ and for some time he
played goblin-priest upon the highways. But, reaching the neighborhood
of Suwa, he there leaned the true story of the head; and he then became
afraid that the spirit of the Rokuro-Kubi might give him trouble. So he
made up his mind to take back the head to the place from which it had
come, and to bury it with its body. He found his way to the lonely
cottage in the mountains of Kai; but nobody was there, and he could not
discover the body. Therefore he buried the head by itself, in the grove
behind the cottage; and he had a tombstone set up over the grave; and
he caused a Ségaki-service to be performed on behalf of the spirit of
the Rokuro-Kubi. And that tombstone—known as the Tombstone of the
Rokuro-Kubi—may be seen (at least so the Japanese story-teller
declares) even unto this day.