Authors: Patrick Drazen
Foremost among the Hearn legends is the account of Earless Hoichi. It was mentioned above that Hoichi was the monk who sang so compellingly of the battle of Dan-no-Ura that the ghosts of the Taira and Minamoto combatants came to hear him. Playing to an audience of ghosts almost proved fatal, however, so, when Hoichi had to perform again for the spirits, the monks painted Buddhist sutras all over his body to protect him from the ghosts. He gained the name “Earless Hoichi” because the monks forgot to paint sutras on one ear…
Another classic Japanese ghost story, one which has recurred again and again, is that of the
yukionna
or snow-woman. In Hearn’s version, a woodcutter is trapped in a blizzard, where he is found by the snow-woman. She takes pity on him and decides not to kill him; however, if he tells anyone about their encounter, she would indeed slay the woodcutter.
As time goes by, he marries, and his wife asks him about his past. Even as he starts to tell her about the encounter in the blizzard with the
yukionna
, the audience knows that he’s sowing the seeds of his own destruction. There’s no need to tell you who his wife turns into…
Kobayashi’s film version of Hearn’s tales is at once modern, edgy, and as traditional as kabuki. The presentation is stagy, stylized, expressionistic, yet they still carry the power to give the audience chills.
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Japan’s best-known literary award is the Akutagawa Prize, awarded generally twice per year (although in some years three prizes have been awarded, and in other years, such as the first three years of the postwar Occupation, no prize at all was given). The award has been given since 1935 by the literary journal
Bungei
Shunju
, and is named for the young author who took his own life in 1927 at age 35.
Born the son of milkman Toshizo Niihara in 1892, Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s mother suffered a mental breakdown shortly after the birth, dying while he was still a child. He was sent to live with the Akutagawas, relatives on his mother’s side. He landed a teaching position at Tokyo University (then called Tokyo Imperial University) when the previous teacher was forced to resign after stating his belief in clairvoyance.
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He worked as a journalist, but his short stories quickly gained him attention. In his thirties, after a stressful trip to China, he began suffering hallucinations. As he described in an essay which serves as his suicide note, Akutagawa said that he was driven by “a vague sense of anxiety about my own future;” presumably, although it’s never stated, he feared he would succumb to his mother’s insanity. He also wrote that “I am left with little appetite for food and women. The world I am now in is one of diseased nerves, lucid as ice… . I do not regard (suicide) as a sin, as westerners do.”
[26]
He attempted suicide twice in 1927, succeeding the second time.
Not known as a writer who specialized in the supernatural, two of his stories nonetheless formed the basis for
Rashomon
, a story in which the dead are allowed to give testimony at inquest through a medium.
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Most of these stories are still alive in Japanese culture, one way or another. Even the cyber-adept generation of the 21st century gets exposed to the ghosts of old Japan at an early age—and manga and anime are among the ways younger generations are exposed to traditional ghosts.
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Sidebar:
Taira/Heike
Wars
The battle of these two clans not only makes a compelling history in itself, but has inspired many compelling works of fiction. In speaking just of ghost stories, the dispute between the Taira and Heike clans figures in “Earless Hoichi,” as written by Lafcadio Hearn and filmed as part of the brilliant ghost-story anthology film
Kwaidan
(1965).
As for the battle itself, it ended a dispute between the two clans that had gone on for almost thirty years. The two families were actually related, both being distantly descended from younger princes of the Emperor unlikely to ever succeed to the throne, and both families hired themselves out as mercenary armies to shore up any local nobility seeking to protect its turf. The two clans’ competition for power was just one clashing point; culture was another, with the Heike perceived as educated sophisticates living to the west of Kyoto while the Taira were the rural rough-and-tumble type suited to the wilderness east of Kyoto. Perhaps it was inevitable that the two would clash.
The Taira at first had enough armed force to expel the Heike, but time changed the equation: by 1181 the Taira patriarch Kiyomori had died, and the Heike armies were now led by Yoshitsune, an infant at the time of the first battles, and a prototype of the bishounen warrior (see my book
Anime
Explosion
). When the naval battle at Dan-no-Ura turned against the Heike, the figurehead boy Emperor Antoku was taken by his grandmother, who jumped into the sea, drowning them both. The boy’s mother, Tokoku, also attempted suicide, but was rescued by some of her troops. She was brought to Kyoto, and lived her remaining six years as a Buddhist nun.
Is any of this important in a book of ghost stories? Yes, because these are critical events in Japanese history, because any period piece in pop culture is built on a historical foundation, and because a reader needs to know at least the bare bones of the history to get the full flavor of the story. For example: Nobuhiro Watsuki’s popular manga
Rurouni
Kenshin
and its anime incarnation draw on the 19
th
century Meiji Restoration and the resistance of the
Shinsengumi
, for example, in the same way that Margaret Mitchell’s novel
Gone
With
the
Wind
draws on the Civil War. The Japanese anime audience brings knowledge of the history into the theater or to the TV screen or to the manga magazine; western viewers who don’t have the knowledge just aren’t getting the whole picture. It’s rather like watching a John Wayne western while knowing none of the history of the west. In the case of the Taira/Heike feud, some two dozen Noh dramas touch on one aspect or another of the history; enjoying or even understanding these plays without understanding the historical background is almost impossible.
CHAPTER 10: OKIKU OF THE PLATES
Our next two ghosts—both also of women who were wronged in life, like Lady Rokujo—have been immortalized in kabuki theater, but their stories existed in legend long before they appeared onstage.
25. “six, seven, eight, nine …”
The first example takes place at Himeji Castle, one of the three major medieval Japanese castles to survive World War 2. Designed in 1346 and built in several stages until 1618, the castle is on Mount Hime in the south of Honshu, Japan’s main island, west of Osaka-Kobe. It’s one of the favorite location shots for Japanese and Western movies and television programs set in olden times, serving as a principal site for films as varied as Akira Kurosawa’s
Ran,
The
Last
Samurai,
and
You
Only
Live
Twice
. Yet it was also as the site of the events in the kabuki play
Bancho
Sarayashiki
[27]
that the castle is remembered in Japan today. Also, it shows the problem of folklore having to sort through different versions of the same story.
On the grounds of Himeji Castle is an old stone well identified as Okiku’s well. Okiku, according to legend, was a maid in service to the lord of the castle. According to some versions, she harbored a deep love for the lord which could never be spoken because of their different social standings. A third party turns this from a romance to a ghost story: Tessan Aoyama, a samurai also in service at Himeji Castle. He lusts after Okiku (even though in some versions of the legend the samurai is already married), but Okiku resists his advances. In other versions of the story, Aoyama is plotting treason, and Okiku heads off the plot. The common factor: Aoyama, looking for revenge, engineers Okiku’s death.
He does this with a set of ten plates, family heirlooms for which Okiku is responsible. Again, different types of plates appear in different versions of the story. Usually the plates are Japanese or Chinese, although they were also said to be rare and expensive Delft plates from the Netherlands. Whatever their origin, one of the ten plates is stolen by Aoyama. According to some, he used the plate for extortion, refusing to return it unless Okiku becomes his mistress. In other versions, the plate is broken and Okiku is blamed. The result is always the same: seeing no other way out, Okiku commits suicide by throwing herself into a well on the grounds (although, variations being what they are, another version has Okiku tortured to death and her body thrown down the well). According to legend, at night on the grounds of Himeji Castle, a woman’s voice can be heard coming from one of the wells, counting; when she gets to nine, she then lets out a scream of fear and sorrow.
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It was said that the lord who ordered Okiku’s death was driven to madness by her ghostly cries.
Still, manga artist Rumiko Takahashi had some fun with the legend in her romantic comedy
Mezon
Ikkoku
. The manga episode “Ido no naka (In the well)” was later animated for the 1986-1988 TV series as episode 29, “Slapstick autumn fest. Inside a well with Kyoko!”
As part of a summer festival “ghost walk,”
[29]
the young widowed boarding-house landlady Kyoko Otonashi has agreed to hide in a shallow well, dressed in classic kimono (if anyone is brave enough to look in) and counting the plates like Okiku’s ghost. Yusaku Godai, the college student tenant smitten by his lovely landlady, has also volunteered to be there, agreeing to be made up as a
nekomata
[30]
cat-spirit, but his hopes for getting some romantic time alone with Kyoko are dashed by the other boarding-house residents. Both Godai and the good-looking tennis coach Mitaka get shoved into Kyoko/Okiku’s well, which is just deep enough to keep them from climbing out on their own. Of course, since Godai and Mitaka are both after Kyoko’s romantic attentions, they don’t exactly cooperate to solve their predicament, for fear of leaving the rival alone with Kyoko. As the manga episode ends, the other boarding-house residents start piling into the well, which definitely wasn’t built for more than three people. Kyoko and Godai end up having the same thought, yet in very different ways: Godai, who’s now squeezed up against his beautiful landlady like commuters on a packed subway train, happily thinks, “I could die now;” Kyoko, hot and sweaty and cramped, is thinking, “I wish I was dead.”
[31]
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Okiku’s story, in all its variations, sets up one of the most common ghost themes in Japanese culture: that a person’s ghost can stay on earth to protest its innocence after having been mistreated. However powerless the victim may have been in life, she finds considerable power in the afterlife. This is especially true of Okiku’s sister in haunting, and one of the star ghosts in Japan, Oiwa.
CHAPTER 11: OIWA AND THE YOTSUYA KAIDAN
One of Japan’s most enduring ghost stories is only about two centuries old, although the type of ghost was certainly familiar by the time it was written. The Kabuki drama
Yotsuya
Kaidan
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was first written and performed in 1825. Its author, Tsuruya Nanboku, said it was based on a true story. True or not, there is a tomb (the Oiwa Inari, or Oiwa Shrine) in Tokyo’s Myogyoji Temple that is still believed to hold the remains of the woman at the center of this story; her date of death is given as February 22, 1636. Anyone who plans to stage
Yotsuya
Kaidan
traditionally goes to Oiwa’s tomb and pays their respects, just to make sure the production isn’t cursed. There are legends about ill-fated productions of
Yotsuya
Kaidan
, just as there are legends about the “curse” associated with Shakespeare’s
Macbeth
. One actress is supposed to have been killed in a car crash, a stage light fell from the ceiling and injured several actors, one member of the crew of another production is supposed to have committed suicide… Other rumors maintain that if you visit the shrine out of morbid curiosity and not to pay proper respects to Oiwa that the visitor’s right eye will be disfigured like hers was; but that’s getting ahead of the story.
Yotsuya
Kaidan
was not only one of the best-known Kabuki dramas, it was also one of the first to be filmed, in 1912. The silent film, which was remade three times in the silent era alone, contains elements still present in Japanese horror movies today. In 1949 the film was one of the biggest postwar features; the first full-color version was made in 1959. There have been at least fifteen different film versions, including the 2006 anime; the 1994 film
Chushingura
kaiden
yotsuya
kaidan
, released with the English title
Crest
of
Betrayal
, directed by Kinji Fukasaku, was actually a double-header, a remake of
Yotsuya
Kaidan
within a remake of
Chushingura
, also known as
The
47
Ronin
. This time around, when the shogun is tricked by a treacherous nobleman into dissolving the estate of a loyal noble, scattering the loyal lord’s group of masterless samurai (ronin) in the process, one of those scattered was named Iemon.
Iemon, the real villain of
Yostuya
Kaidan
, which is in its own way a Japanese version of the ancient Greek story of Medea, is a ronin (a samurai whose master in this case has died). Iemon wants to marry a wealthy woman. Since he’s already married, he arranges for the death of his wife. She (rather, her angry ghost) gets revenge, but this is only a small part of a much richer drama. Each scene of
Yotsuya
Kaidan
could serve as its own play, but they are all interconnected, and establish overwhelmingly that Oiwa was a victim long before her ghost set out to curse others. (It also shows that Jerry Springer and his modern-day friends have no monopoly on dysfunctional families.)
By the way, if you read about an elaborate stage effect here and wonder whether it’s possible—it definitely is. Kabuki started in the Edo period (the 1600s), and they’ve had time to develop complicated and effective special effects machinery. The most important machine is the kabuki stage itself, or
butai
: a rotating circular stage equipped with trapdoors. So, when the script says that the ghostly arms of Oiwa reach out of a washtub on the stage, that’s exactly what the audience sees. And much, much more.
26. “You killed my father, and now me …”
The first act sets up the relationship between Oiwa, elder daughter of Yotsuya Samon, and Tamiya Iemon. Samon and Iemon were both in the service of Lord Enya, who died after his finances went into decline. Iemon had married Oiwa, but then Iemon began embezzling from Lord Enya, bringing about the financial troubles that caused his master’s physical decline and death. Samon learned of Iemon’s embezzlement, and forced his daughter Oiwa to divorce Iemon. Shortly thereafter, Samon is attacked by some homeless men, and Iemon rescues him. He asks Samon to let Oiwa be his wife again, but Samon, still angry at Iemon’s embezzlement, refuses.
Samon’s other daughter, Osode, has found work at a brothel to make ends meet; she’s achieved a major reputation for her services, under the name Omon. One man, Naosuke, wants to marry Osode, but she doesn’t like him; besides, she already has a fiancée (actually, her husband, although this is kept secret), Yomoshichi, who is currently missing. Like Samon, Yomoshichi was part of Lord Enya’s household, thrown out of work and into poverty by his lord’s death. While Osode and Naosuke are visiting one night, during which Naosuke gives Osode a purse of money, Yomoshichi shows up at the brothel to buy Osode’s freedom. When Yomoshichi happens to find Naosuke’s money, Naosuke (who was hiding in the next room) confronts them. After Yomoshichi gives Naosuke back his money, he leaves with Osode, while Naosuke follows at a distance.
Next we meet yet another former retainer of Lord Enya, named Shozaburo, disguised as a homeless man. He is waiting in the dark of night by a roadside shrine to meet with Yomoshichi, so that they could organize other former retainers of Lord Enya (including Samon) to carry out a vendetta. Yomoshichi trades clothes with Shozaburo, then goes off with a message for other conspirators. When Shozaburo is alone, Naosuke kills him, believing him to be Yomoshichi; then, he mutilates the victim’s face to slow up any investigation.
Meanwhile, Samon shows up in order to tell the displaced retainers that Iemon’s stealing caused Lord Enya’s death. Before he can do this, however, Iemon kills Samon. After this second murder, Osode arrives looking for Yomoshichi and Oiwa shows up looking for her father. They discover the two corpses and begin crying and lamenting (remember that the body of Shozaburo is believed to be that of Osode’s beloved Yomoshichi). Meanwhile, the two murderers, Iemon and Naosuke, realize that they have a mutual interest in the situation. They vow to avenge the deaths of Samon and Yomoshichi if Oiwa would return to Iemon and Osode would marry Naosuke. This state of affairs at the end of act 1 clearly suggests that no good can come in act 2.
Time has passed between the two acts. When we next see Oiwa, she has given birth to Iemon’s child and then contracted a debilitating illness. Iemon has a family but no money, and his desire for Oiwa has turned to contempt. Iemon waits to meet with Kohei, a henchman who has stolen a powerful, potentially lethal medicine. Meanwhile he has to put up with other visitors; because of their untimely arrival, Kohei is bound, gagged, and shoved into a closet. These visitors including Takuetsu, the manager of the brothel where Osode formerly worked, the money-lender Mosuke, and Omaki, employed as a wet-nurse by Ito Kihei, a neighboring lord. She has also brought Oiwa some medicine for her condition. Omaki pays Iemon’s debt to Mosuke, then suggests that Iemon accompany her to her lord’s house to thank him for the medicine for his wife. This leaves Oiwa alone with Takuetsu (and Kohei, still tied up in the closet). When Oiwa feels faint, Takuetsu accidentally gives her the medicine Kohei had delivered. The scene ends with Oiwa in extreme pain.
Iemon, meanwhile, is received warmly by Ito Kihei. His granddaughter Oume has told grandfather that she’s in love with Iemon, so grandfather decides to get Oiwa out of the way for his granddaughter’s sake. He knew exactly what the medicine he gave to Omaki would do to Oiwa. What it has done is cause one side of her face to be swollen and disfigured, while her hair starts falling out in great bloody clumps. At first, Iemon rejects the idea of marrying Oume, but, between Ito Kihei’s offer of money and Oume’s threats to kill herself if she doesn’t get Iemon, he caves in.
Iemon goes back to Oiwa to break the bad news to her: not only is he leaving their marriage, but he’s also giving up seeking vengeance for her father Samon (who he murdered). Iemon’s first attempt at leaving Oiwa involves trying to convince Takuetsu to rape Oiwa, giving Iemon an excuse to leave, but Takuetsu refuses. Takuetsu instead tells Oiwa that the medicine came from Ito Kihei’s servant Omaki. Oiwa tries to prepare to go to Ito Kihei, but in trying to attack Takuetsu inadvertently slashes her own throat; Iemon returns with some friends, finds his wife’s body, and blames the death on Kohei, his former servant and owner of the sword that killed Oiwa (never mind that Kohei’s been bound and gagged in the closet since the second act began). Iemon cuts the heads off of both Oiwa and Kohei and the bodies are thrown into the river. (In some versions of the story, Takuetsu takes the place of Kohei as scapegoat.)
Events immediately move to the wedding of Iemon and Oume. The severed head of Oiwa’s ghost, however, shows up in the original play for the honeymoon; film versions of the play have Oiwa’s full corpse, nailed to a door, appear to accuse Iemon. In his fear and guilt, Iemon kills Oume. When he goes to speak to Ito Kihei about this, Iemon sees the ghost of his former servant Kohei instead, and kills his new (dead) wife’s grandfather, thus slipping further into madness.
And that was act two.
The third act begins in late afternoon with Iemon as a fugitive wanted for murder. He runs into his mother Okuma by the Onbobori Canal. She’s carved a wooden tombstone for Iemon, thinking that, if people believe her son is already dead, the authorities will stop hunting for him. Together they set up his fake tombstone.
After Okuma leaves, Iemon runs into Naosuke, who has still been stalking Oiwa’s sister Osode. Naosuke sees the tombstone, figures it to be a joke and throws it into the river. It gets fished out a short way downstream by Oyumi, the older sister of Oume. After the murder of her grandfather and younger sister, Oyumi and the family servant Omaki were forced to live penniless and homeless. When Iemon realizes who Oyumi is, he pushes her into the canal. As the sun sets, the bodies of Oiwa and Kohei float down the canal. Iemon lashes out at them but, because they’re already dead, there’s nothing he can do.
The fifth and final act takes place in an abandoned house (or temple) at Hebiyama. Iemon has taken refuge there, driven to madness by the ghosts and memories of what he has done. The neighbors try to exorcise the ghost of Oiwa, but she will not be denied her grudge now. The ghost of Oiwa is joined by the living: Yomoshichi, the beloved of Oiwa’s sister, and Ohana, the widow of Iemon’s former servant Kohei. They are poised to take their own vengeance as the curtain falls.
All things considered, the living visitors were just frosting on the cake; Iemon was amply punished in his life for his own misdeeds, being plagued by the ghosts of his victims as well as other phenomena; in the 1959 version,
Tokaido
Yotsuya
Kaidan
, Iemon sees snakes everwhere. It’s an open question whether being haunted to madness was “enough”. Still, this is similar to the variation in the story of Okiku and the plates in which the lord of the manor was driven to madness by Okiku’s ghost moaning in the well. There are, in Japanese ghost stories at any rate, things worse than death.
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If you’ve kept track, this synopsis skipped over act 4; so do most modern productions of the play, although in some even shorter versions Iemon throws himself into the canal at the end of act 3. The fourth act, however, is where the ghostly happenings begin in earnest, touching on lives other than Iemon’s, and reflecting attitudes that go beyond, and add another dimension to, the basic ghost story. Act four begins with Naosuke having married Oiwa’s sister Osode, the former prostitute. Things aren’t settled in this household, either: Osode refuses to consummate the marriage with Naosuke, she has to take in washing and sells incense to survive, and in this act ghostly hands reach out of the washtub to strangle Naosuke. Osode finally submits to Naosuke’s amorous demands, only for them to be interrupted by her beloved Yomoshichi, who Osode (among others) thought was dead. She tricks both men into killing her, having already written a suicide note explaining the secret problem: that Naosuke her stalker was actually her brother. When Naosuke finds out, he kills himself. Meanwhile, the ghost of Kohei appears to a member of the ronin seeking revenge against the downfall of their former master Lord Enya. This ronin, Matanojo, is disabled and contemplating suicide. The ghost of Kohei gives him the poisonous medicine that disfigured Oiwa. Matanojo, however, is miraculously healed by it, and this good deed allows Kohei to be reborn into Paradise.
This is an example of how, as Patrick Macias noted, “Japanese horror films… traditionally fold in the concept of karma, drawn from… Buddhism. Rarely do bad things happen to someone without a good reason. Often a curse, a misdeed in the past needs resolution—and there will be no peace until the balance is restored.”
[33]
With so much relentless depravity in this story, from embezzlement to incest, from murder to rape, the act of Kohei’s ghost healing Matanojo is a rare glimmer of light, and perhaps should be left in productions of
Yotsuya
Kaidan
as a reminder to the audience that not all ghosts are evil, and that their deeds may even lead to salvation.