The Day It All Changed
Before that day,
my wife and I never had much of anything. We had loved each other, of course, and we were happy, but we had always been poor farming folk with just enough to get by, and often a little less. That day was no different. I left the house in the middle of a snowstorm so that I could sell a few straw hats in town and buy some things to celebrate New Year’s Day with.
As I walked into town, the snowfall was thick and heavy. I could barely see two feet in front of me. Everything was completely white.
When I had left my house an hour earlier, the snow was only ankle deep. Now it was halfway up to my knees. For an old man like me, trudging through this amount of snow was tiring and slow going. I stopped to catch my breath many times. At one point, I glanced around and tried to get my bearings. As I searched for some kind of landmark to check my location with, something red flashed through the falling snow and disappeared.
What was that? I wondered. I looked in the direction where it had been but all I could see was white. There was no indication of anything beyond the world of snow that enveloped me.
Am I getting close to town? I asked myself. I’ve certainly been walking for a long time now. Maybe someone is out there.
“Hello,” I called out. But there was no answer.
Hmm, I thought, maybe it was just my imagination. Lowering my head, I lifted one foot and started walking toward town again.
After about ten steps, I felt a strange urge to look up and to the right. Once again, a quick flash of red caught my eye.
What could that be? I wondered. Peering into the whiteout, a thought occurred to me. Not far from town there was a crossroads where six waist high statues of Jizou, the Buddhist deity, stood on the side of the road. They were made of stone, and they were always dressed in red bonnets and bibs.
That red thing must be the Jizou, I told myself. I must finally be at the crossroads. To check, I walked in the direction of the red flash.
Sure enough, the statues were there, half buried in snow, but for some reason they weren’t covered with any garments. That’s strange, I thought.
I looked around, trying to see the flash of red again, but all I saw was a haze of white.
Turning back to the Jizou, I felt really troubled: These statues are always dressed in their red bibs and bonnets. I’ve never seen them without them before. Did someone take them? I wondered. Who would do something like that? It’s not right.
Feeling like I ought to do something, I reached forward and pushed the piles of snow off the statues’ heads and shoulders. I wiped the patches of windblown snow from their childlike faces. I got down on my knees and dug their legs and feet out of the deepening snow. As I did this, I smiled. Something about it was deeply satisfying.
When I finished clearing the snow from the legs of the last statue, I stood up. Looking at the six Jizou, I found that snow had already begun sticking to their faces again, and that more than an inch of snow had already piled up on their heads and shoulders.
What the heck! I thought. Instantly, I was irritated. Jizou are the protectors of children! They’re wish-givers and saints! They shouldn’t be left uncovered in a storm like this! There must be something more that I can do.
As soon as I said this to myself I remembered that I was carrying hats into town. That’s it! I thought. I can give them my hats. Then I lifted the string of hats from my shoulder, pulled it over my head, and began untying the knots that held each of the five hats in place.
Carefully, I wiped the snow from the head of the first Jizou and replaced it with one of the cone shaped hats my wife and I had made. “It’s not much,” I said while bowing at the waist, “but it’s the least I can do.” Then I moved on to the next statue and, one by one, repeated the process.
I don’t know why I didn’t realize it sooner, but after wiping the snow from the fifth statue it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t have enough hats for all of Jizou. What am I going to do? I thought. I can’t just leave one Jizou uncovered. I leaned my head back and looked up to the sky in search of a solution. It was an old habit of mine. As I did so, something gave me a light tap right between my shoulder blades. I jumped.
Who’s there? I asked, quickly looking all around, but I was alone.
At that moment, it dawned on me. I did have one more hat. It was on my head. Chuckling to myself, I wiped the snow off the last jizou, removed the hat from my head, and placed it on the statue.
“I apologize for giving you such an old and dirty hat,” I said while bowing deeply. “It’s all that I have.”
Stepping back, I looked at the six Jizou. I can’t explain why, but for some reason, they seemed happy to me, and this feeling filled me with joy.
Well, I thought, there’s no reason to head into to town now. I don’t have anything left to sell.
Laughing to myself, I took the straw covering that was draped over my shoulders, placed it on my head, and started the long walk home.
When I got to my house,
I slid the door open and removed the round snowshoes and straw boots from my feet. Somewhat timidly, I called out to my wife, “I’m home.”
“Welcome back,” my wife answered. Then she continued chatting cheerfully, “That was quick. Were you able to …”
I stepped into the main room of our house and my wife immediately stopped speaking. Looking directly at me, she asked, “Where’s your hat? Why are you all wet?”
“Well,” I began hesitantly, “I gave it away.”
“You gave it away?” she asked.
“Umm …” I stammered. “Yeah. I gave them all away.”
“What do you mean you gave them all away?” she implored. “You gave each and every hat away, all the ones we made and yours too?”
“Well …” I paused. “Yeah.”
Bewildered, my wife curtly asked, “Who did you give them to?”
“Well … “ I began. “Before I got to town, I came across those six Jizou statues near the crossroads.”
“Jizou statues?” my wife quickly interrupted. “Did you give our hats to a bunch of Jizou statues?”
“Yes,” I stated blankly. “I did. When I came across them, they were just standing there, covered in snow. They weren’t wearing any bonnets or bibs or anything. They were just covered in snow.”
As I spoke, my wife glared at me. Her eyes trembled and filled with tears.
“Something about them moved me,” I continued. “I can’t quite explain it, but I just felt like I ought to do something for them.”
My wife lowered her glance to the floor. Her shoulders began to shake.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know tomorrow is New Year’s Day and we don’t have anything to celebrate with, but we’ll figure something out. We always do.”
At this point, I expected my wife to be angry with me. I expected her to yell at me, or even worse, stop talking to me all together.
She took a step toward me and I became nervous. I didn’t know what she was going to do. To my surprise, though, rather than yell at me, she grabbed both of my hands and said, “What you did was a good thing. We’ll find a way to get by tomorrow. Like you said, we always do.” Then she looked me in the eyes and we both started to laugh.
That night,
my wife woke me up in a panic. She knelt next to my futon and shook my shoulders forcefully.
“Hey! Wake up!” she whispered sharply. “Wake up!”
I opened my eyes. “What is it?” I groaned. My legs ached from trudging through the deep snow all day. I felt exhausted.
“Listen!” she commanded in a hushed tone.
In the distance, there was a strange, haunting sound. It seemed to have an eerie, droning melody.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Shhh!” she snapped at me.
We both listened in silence. The sound slowly grew in volume. It seemed to be getting closer to our house.
I sat up.
“What are you going to do?” my wife asked quietly.
I didn’t answer. I just focused on the noise. It was starting to sound like a chant of some kind.
My wife put her hand on mine and squeezed it tightly. She seemed scared. I rubbed my thumb across her fingers to comfort her, but truthfully, I was the one who was scared.
As we sat there, the noise grew louder. It was coming from all around our house. Little by little, the words became clear to me. It was a song of some sort, a short chant-like song being sung by deep, hypnotic voices.
“It can’t be,” I said in disbelief.
“What?” my wife asked.
“The jizou,” I answered.
“What do you mean, the Jizou?”
“Listen!”
The song had become so loud now that the windows and doors of our house shook.
“To the old man’s house?” my wife asked. “Is that you?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “What if it is?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “What should we do?”
Just then, the night went silent. In that vacuum of sound, there was a strange moment that almost felt weightless. I looked at my wife and she looked at me.
Then the silence erupted outside in one tremendous thud that made our whole house jump.
“What was that?” my wife shrieked.
By the time she had finished speaking, I had already pulled my hand from her grip and stood up. I hurried across the room to the door of our house, stepped down onto the cool dirt of the foyer, unlatched the lock, and slid the door open.
Without even bothering to put on my sandals or boots, I stepped outside into the snow. There, on the edge of the darkness, I saw what seemed to be the hazy silhouettes of six short figures receding into the night.
“Look!” my wife gasped from behind me.
I turned to see her covering her mouth with one hand and pointing with the other. I followed the line of her arm out to a spot in front of our house. There was a massive round disk of white mochi sunken in the fresh and unbroken snow. Behind it were towers of beautifully lacquered wooden boxes stacked one on top of the other. Still in my bare feet, I stepped further into the snow and walked over to them. My wife followed.
“What is it?” she asked.
I reached out and removed the lid from one of the boxes. “You’re never going to believe this!” I said. I lifted the uppermost box from its base and turned to my wife. “Look!”
Inside the box were steamed lobster tails, candied gingko beans, thick strands of knotted konbu, filets of salted fish, and other delicacies.
My wife dropped to her knees when she saw it. Her face flushed white.
I dropped down onto my knees in front of her. “Can you believe it?” I asked, setting the lacquered box down between us.
She looked at me but didn’t speak.
I smiled at her.
Tears welled up in her eyes and her lips trembled. All of a sudden, she bent her neck and looked off into the distance behind me. Then hurriedly, she turned her head and looked to the left and right.
I followed her glances.
Finally her eyes settled on something. She stood up.
Bowing deeply in all directions, she called out, “Thank you! … Thank you! … Thank you!”
This is an interpretation of a Japanese folktale called Kasa Jizou. If you’re interested in reading a more traditional rendition, you can find one here: A New Year’s Tale. If you take the time to read both versions, I would love to hear which one you prefer. Thanks in advance!
When I read the first line, I thought you were writing about yourself, until I read on. Then I recognized the story, since you had posted a translation before. I found this version to be more gripping in a way, like someone was telling me a story instead of me reading one. I really like this version!
Thanks for the feedback. I’m glad you liked it.
Considering writing a book of folktales has me trying to answer the question of why? and what for?
It’s already been done, and while I think a lot of the Japanese folktales that have been translated into English would benefit from being updated, I don’t know that it’s necessary.
I think it might be more interesting, and perhaps more valuable to readers who aren’t children to repackage these stories into a type of short story format.
I’m not sure though.
I have enjoyed the last two “short story” versions myself.
I appreciate your input!
I’m not sure where I’m going with these stories, but I keep finding that when I go back and read the typical folk tale pieces I’m not satisfied with them. Maybe this approach will work for me. Or, maybe this is just my way of building up to creating my own stories. We’ll see.
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