Fairy Tale Tuesday No.89 – The Ogre of Rashomon

In this story from The Japanese Fairy Book, collected by Yei Theodora Ozaki, the city of Kyoto is being terrorised by a savage ogre. According to local rumour, he waits at the gate of Rashomon at twilight and devours those who would pass through. Obviously, they stop using the gate.

Fortunately, a legendary ogre-slaying general happens to be in town with his band of knights. One of them hears the story and shares it with his friend Watanabe, but Watanabe dismisses the idea as ‘some old woman’s story’. When prodded with the accusation that he’s too afraid to believe, he agrees to go and investigate. To show how fearless he is, he has all the other knights write their names on a sheet of paper, so that he can stick it on the gate and thereby prove he was there.

It’s a dark, wet night. Watanabe reaches the gate without incident, looks about, decides that’s quite enough investigation for a stupid bet and sticks the paper on the gate so that he can go home. Then his helmet is pulled from his head, and he realises he’s not alone. Groping blindly in the dark, his hand encounters a vast, hairy arm. There is an ogre after all.

Watanabe slashes at the arm, and quickly regrets it as the rest of the ogre comes into sight. The creature is huge, taller than the gate, and breathes fire. Watanabe holds firm, however, and launches a full-on attack. The ogre is taken aback by his ferocity. Realising the knight is actually quite dangerous, he decides to cut his losses and leg it. Though Watanabe gives chase, he can’t quite catch him, and returns empty-handed to the city. There, under the gate, he finds the arm he cut off. Watanabe brings that back to show his friends.

They are all terribly proud and the story quickly spreads, but Watanabe’s sense of accomplishment is tempered by the knowledge there’s a really angry one-armed ogre out there somewhere who probably wants that limb back. He seals the arm in a box of iron and keeps it in his room, always under his eye.

One night an old lady knocks on the door. She claims to have been Watanabe’s nurse when he was a baby. Though puzzled as to why she would call so late, Watanabe is pleased by the news and orders his servant to bring her in. The old lady is full of praise for his deeds at the gate of Rashomon and begs to be shown the arm. Though very reluctant at first, he finally opens the box to show her. Leaning close, she suddenly plunges her hand inside. “Oh joy!” she bellows. “I have got my arm back again!”

Because of course she’s not Watanabe’s nurse, she’s the ogre, cunningly disguised. Having reclaimed his arm, he takes on his own shape – presumably destroying Watanabe’s roof in the process. Though shocked, the knight reacts fast. He draws his sword and tries to fight, but the ogre just leaps into the air and disappears into the clouds. He never returns to Kyoto.

This story leaves me with several questions. For instance, master of disguise though the ogre evidently is, how did he even know what Watanabe’s nurse looked like? Also, given that he’s at least twice the knight’s size, you would think he might inflict a little more damage. There is no indication that Watanabe’s sword is magical; whatever strength he has is entirely his own. The power of being the hero of the story is a wonderful thing! Provided he can be goaded into using it, that is.

Fairy Tale Tuesday No.86 – The Goblin of Adachigahara

This week’s story comes from The Japanese Fairy Book, collected by Yei Theodora Ozaki. Many travellers have disappeared on the plain of Adachigahara, and rumour spreads of a terrible goblin that lures the unwary to their deaths. Not unexpectedly, people begin to avoid the spot. One Buddhist pilgrim is unfortunate enough not to get the memo and happens to reach the plain just as the sun is setting. Tired, hungry and cold, he walks for hours before spotting a light through a copse of trees. It belongs to a tumbledown cottage, which in turn belongs to an elderly woman. She sits just inside the door, spinning busily. When appealed to by the pilgrim for a night’s lodging, she reluctantly permits him inside.

After her initial reserve, she becomes very hospitable, ushering her guest solicitously close to the fire and whipping up supper for them both. The pilgrim is delighted at his luck. When the fire begins to die down he offers to go out and fetch more wood, but the old lady insists on doing it herself. Her only requirement is that he stay where he is and not go poking about the house while she’s gone. Whatever else he does, he must not look into the inner room.

Until then he had not even thought of looking in that room, but now of course that’s exactly what he wants to do. For a long time he remains obediently still, but the old lady is away so long that at last he can’t resist. Creeping towards the forbidden room, he pushes the door and peers inside.

Inside is a slaughterhouse. The walls are splashed with blood, the floor heaped with human bones. The smell alone strikes the pilgrim with such force that he faints, and despite his terror, for some time he is in such a state of shock he can’t move. Coming to himself at last, he snatches up his things and pelts out into the night.

He has not gone far when a voice calls out for him to stop. The old lady – or rather, the goblin – is on his trail. “Stop!” she cries. “Stop, you wicked man, why did you look into the forbidden room?” Her moral standards may be a bit skewed. On the kind of adrenaline rush only possible when you are being pursued by a carnivorous monster, the pilgrim powers across the plain, praying frantically, but still she gains. She is close enough now that he can see she is carrying a large, bloody carving knife.

Just when it seems she must finally catch him, the first rays of dawn break across the plain and the goblin disappears. The pilgrim gabbles grateful devotions and sets off for a different part of the country, where it is less probable he will be eaten.

I’ve written before about fairy tales in which husbands butcher their wives, but a female Bluebeard is far less common. It’s worth noting, though, that there is not the same degree of intimacy in her association with the pilgrim, and that the story doesn’t blame him for being fooled. In fact, the plot doesn’t really hold together at all. First she almost refuses him lodging, then she leaves him for ages with the knowledge there’s something hidden in her house. What did she expect to happen? Perhaps she was trying to quit cannibalism and simply could not resist an unsuspecting pilgrim when he arrived on her doorstep. At least she didn’t try to marry him.