I
There was once a young noble who was very poor. He was a Samurai who had offended his lord and so was obliged to leave his own province and travel in search of employment. It was very hard for him to find anything to do, for neither he nor his fair young wife had been taught to work.
“Alas! my bride! White as the lily art thou and tender as the carnation,—to what has thy love for me brought thee!” he cried.
But Tsuiu caressed him sweetly and said, “I am happy since my lord has taken me with him. The good-luck god will surely hear our prayers and we shall find a fortunate issue.”
Then was the soul of Shindo lightened and he strode along the highway gladly, and Tsuiu walked beside him, and the breath of the morning was sweet and kind. They walked for many hours and found no rest; but the music of the grass-larks was sweet and the sun was bright.
But when the shadows began to fall, and the fireflies to flit among the tall grasses, and the moon to creep slowly above the crest of the mountains, the little wife drew closer to Shindo San; for in her terror she saw robbers in every tree and bush.
“Be not afraid, my beloved,” he said, as he drew her within his sheltering arms. “See! here is a pleasant knoll beneath this sendai tree. Wrap yourself in my mantle. Pillow your head upon my arm. Then may the god of dreams send you a good-luck dream and may your slumber be sweet. I will watch!”
“I will obey, my lord,” said Tsuiu. She closed her eyes, and, holding the left sleeve of her kimono across her face, she was soon fast asleep.
Shindo watched and waited, his hand upon his sword; but he too was weary, and soon his eyes closed and his head drooped. He slept and dreamed that two huge dragons came out of the West and sought to devour them; and lo! as he cried aloud in terror for the safety of Tsuiu San, a greater Dragon came out of the East and devoured the first two, and he and his bride escaped.
Then he awoke suddenly and sprang to his feet, putting O Tsuiu San behind him, for robbers were upon him, and there were two. He drew his sword and fought fiercely, but they well-nigh overpowered him. He felt his strength fail. The blood was gushing from a wound in his arm. Suddenly there appeared upon the scene a ronin who quickly put to flight the robbers and saved the life of Shindo.
Then he and O Tsuiu San thanked the ronin very heartily, and finding the morning dawn at hand, and hearing the morning bell from a distant temple, they started on their way.
“Tell me first, whence you come and whither you go,” said the ronin. “For I well see that you are of better times, and that misfortune has brought you here.”
“We are in dire distress,” said the Samurai, “and I have scarce a yen[8] to buy rice for the breakfast of my wife.” Then he told all their story to the ronin, who, being of a good heart, was grieved at their sorrows.
“It is little that I can do for you myself,” he said, “since I am but a wanderer with nothing in my sleeves. But come with me and I will set you in the way of making a good but simple friend. Yonder are the towers and temples of Yedo,” and he pointed to the roofs of a city gleaming gold in the morning sun. “In a certain street lives a tradesman, a poor fellow, yet of a good heart. He bears the name of Chohachi. Seek him and tell him I commend you to his kindness. My road lies elsewhere. Sayonara!”[9]
Bidding good-by to the ronin, the two hurried on and finding Chohachi, he took them in and made them welcome. There they remained several days until O Tsuiu San recovered from her fatigue, and Shindo from his wound. Then Chohachi spoke.
“Honored One,” he said, “very welcome are you and yours to the shelter of our roof tree, but the rice pot holds not enough for four. Is there any way in which you are able to make the pot boil?”
“Good friend,” replied Shindo, “in the house of my fathers the rice pot ever boiled without assistance from me. I know no way.”
Chohachi knit his brows.
“Can the Honorable One teach the young men to fence?”
“Alas,” cried Shindo. “I have little skill as a swordsman. I fear I know not enough to teach fencing.”
“Can the Honorable One teach writing?” demanded Chohachi.
“Of that I know even less,” replied his guest, so mournfully that Chohachi hastened to reassure him. “Some way shall be found to boil the pot even if we have to hunt the magic paddle of the Oni.”
So the tradesman thought and thought.
“What can this dear fellow do?” he asked himself.
“It must be something of the easiest for he seems not to have much thought for trading. I have it! He shall be a waste-paper man! A boy or a simpleton could do that!”
So he purchased a light pole of bamboo with two baskets at the end, and a pair of bamboo sticks. He called the Samurai “Chobei,” for Shindo was too fine a name for a waste-paper man, and the Samurai was started in business.
The first day Chobei lost himself, and had to pay a man to guide him home. He had bought no waste paper and Chohachi laughed at him, and scolded, too, saying,
“Call out! No one will know what you want if you walk about the streets in silence like a monk!”
Chobei was anxious to do all things right, for it pained him to be depending upon the good trader, and it hurt him still more to think of little O Tsuiu San sitting all day over her embroidery, trying to earn a few coins with which to boil the pot.
So, in order to grow used to the sound of his own voice, he went to an open lot, where there was not a house in sight, and shouted, “Waste paper! waste paper!” all day until he was hoarse. The street boys thought he was mad, and they laughed at him and threw stones. Then he went home more discouraged than ever, and Chohachi, choked with laughter, explained again patiently,
“See, good Samurai, go into the back streets; rich people do not sell waste papers. Talk with the women, engage them with pleasant words and flattery, and then say, ‘Perhaps you have some waste paper to sell.’”
“CHOBEI WENT FORTH TO TRY AGAIN”
So Chobei went forth to try again, and this time he sought in the poorer streets. There young women were washing upon the steps, children were playing upon the pavement, old women were talking in the doorways, and to them all Chobei smiled and bowed, “May the sun goddess smile upon you, honorable august Madame,” he would say with his most courtly air. “That you and your honorable family are in good health is my wish. It gives me pleasure to meet you. I am from a far street and I ask the honor of your acquaintance. Have you any waste paper to sell?”
Although the good women understood, he might have left unsaid all his remarks except the last. But they were pleased with his air, and they ransacked their houses for waste paper. They called him the “Knightly Waste-paper Man,” and soon he had a very good trade and earned many yen, which Chohachi helped him carefully to spend. Then O Tsuiu San and the little daughter whom the gods sent to them, were well cared for.