Tanaka Kōtarō :: The Face in the Hearth

I translated this story for Kaiki Volume 1: Tales of Old Edo, which was published by Kurodahan Press.

The story was originally written in 1928, and since it’s now in the public domain, I have decided to release my own English translation to the public domain as well.

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The Face in the Hearth

竈の中の顔 (Kamado no naka no kao) by Tanaka Kōtarō (1928) 田中貢太郎

English translation by Edward Lipsett

– 1 –

“Want me to beat you again today?” asked Aiba Sanzaemon, grinning at the spa’s innkeeper over the go board spread out between them.

“I was rather soundly thrashed yesterday, wasn’t I? I was up all night thinking up new strategies… I don’t think I’ll be the one to lose today.”

The innkeeper chuckled quietly, and reached out to place a stone.

“Have to watch you closely, then, I guess… Never underestimate your opponent, they say,” smiled Sanzaemon, watching the other player’s fingers trembling as he placed stones here and there. A nervous habit.

“I won’t be the loser today!”

The innkeeper dearly loved go, but perhaps he loved it so much because he was really not very good at it. He usually needed a handicap of four or five stones. Sanzaemon played him to pass the time between hot soaks in the spa.

“Well then, let’s have at it, shall we?”

Sanzaemon had come from Edo to this spa, deep in the Hakone mountains, over twenty days ago.

“I know I’ll win today.”

The clicks of their stones hitting the board echoed intermittently, almost as if they would suddenly remember to play the next stone. Just outside the open shōji doors a country road ran through the mountains in the early summer sun, and the people walking up or down drew faint shadows as if seen through a fine mist.

“Isn’t that a customer?” asked Sanzaemon, noticing a shadow that might have been a person, or perhaps a bird.

The innkeeper was still deep in the game.

“You may have to turn him away if he’s not a decent fellow,” laughed Sanzaemon, glancing through the open shōji toward the veranda again. A monk, pale and thin, stood there.

“A traveling monk, I see. And good day to you!” he nodded to the visitor.

“I hope you don’t mind me watching a bit… I love a good game of go myself,” replied the monk, returning the nod with a small bow. At his voice the innkeeper finally took notice.

“Ah, come in, come in. Please, join us!” “Thank you. I’ll just watch for a bit, then.”

The monk was wearing a torn robe. He untied the strings holding on his broad sedge hat, and took a seat on the edge of the veranda, peering diagonally over the go board.

“Then I’ll move now, shall I?” asked Sanzaemon, placing the stone he’d been holding.

“My turn now… where shall I go? Where shall I go?”

The innkeeper placed his own stone, the monk forgotten already: “Here! Here’s the perfect place!”

Sanzaemon’s quiet voice was punctuated by the uncertain tones of the innkeeper.

“Ah! Missed it! These stones have connected now, haven’t they! I’ve lost again!” he said, despondently.

Sanzaemon chuckled, “I thought you couldn’t lose today. What happened?”

The innkeeper, bobbing his head and scratching the edge of his ear lightly in embarrassment, glanced at the sitting monk.

“I guess I’m just not very good at go, am I?” he asked. “I love the game, but I’m hardly any good myself…”

“A new opponent is always interesting… what do you say? Would you like to challenge him?”

The monk’s expression made it clear he was interested as Sanzemon broke in: “Maybe I could make a suggestion?”

“I’m sure I’ll not make a worthy opponent…,” the monk demurred, swinging his legs up onto the veranda and taking a cross-legged position on the floorboards.

“No, you’re sitting on the hard floorboards. Please, step inside,” he invited, urging the monk to come into the room and sit on the soft tatami mats instead. The monk shook his head.

“I am used to sitting on stone and boards,” he refused. Sanzaemon brought the go board closer to the veranda,

placing one of its legs on top of the runner for the shōji doors. “We seem to be more evenly matched,” said the monk, tak-

ing the box of go stones that the innkeeper held out. “I’ll go first, if that’s all right?” asked Sanzaemon.

“I’ll go first,” broke in the monk, placing his first stone even as Sanzaemon was speaking.

“I thought I would go first!” “Next time, then.”

The two began to place stones. Sanzaemon was relaxed, playing a slow game, and the monk followed suit. The dry click-clack of the stones hitting the board was the only sound for a while.

At last, the board was packed with black and white stones, and Sanzaemon said: “I’ve lost the game. By two or three stones, I would say…”

Even so, he had enjoyed the game, and found his opponent intriguing.

“No, surely by no more than two stones,” countered the monk. They counted, and just as the monk has said, Sanzaemon had lost by two stones.

“My turn to go first,” said Sanzaemon, placing his first stone. The monk let him, placing his own stone in response. The game ended with the monk losing by two stones. Sanzaemon was beginning to truly enjoy himself.

“My turn this time,” said the monk.

“What a match!” praised the innkeeper, as happy as if he himself were playing.

– 2 –

Sanzaemon and the monk played game after game until the evening, winning alternately…the one who played first always won, and the one who placed the second stone always lost. They were very evenly matched, and that made the competition that much more interesting.

After the last game, as the monk was getting ready to leave, Sanzaemon asked “Are you at one of the temples around here?”

He almost felt sad that the monk was leaving.

“A small hermitage up on the mountain,” replied the monk, placing his hat back on his head and standing.

“So we can play again? I do hope you’ll give me another chance to beat you tomorrow.”

“Of course, I’d be delighted. I cannot resist a good game of go. I’ll be happy to play you tomorrow, and the next day, and indeed every day, if you so wish.”

“Thank goodness! I’ve been at a loss for what to do with myself these past days.”

“Then let us meet again tomorrow,” promised the monk, stepping back to the road and trudging up the hill like a bird flying home in the evening sunlight.

“I don’t recall ever seeing that monk around here before,” said the innkeeper.

“You don’t remember seeing him?” queried Sanzaemon, absently, his mind already turning to thoughts of a warm soak in the spa.

“No, I don’t think I’ve seen him in the area. I wonder where he lives… there are many monks around here, though,” warned the innkeeper, “and of all kinds. One must be careful whom one associates with. But he does seem to be a good fellow, doesn’t he?”

“Why? Have you heard something about one of these monks?”

“Yes, in fact, there is a rather bizarre tale. They said that a strange monk lives in these mountains, and people suddenly die. The rumor somehow stays alive even though nobody ever seems to have died because of something he did, or even claimed to have seen him.”

“Really? Well, even if he is a strange monk, I certainly have no objections as long as he can play go well!”

The monk came again the following day. Sanzaemon had been eagerly awaiting his arrival, and immediately set up the go board, placing the first stone himself. And, just as had happened the previous day, the person who played first won, and he who placed the second stone lost. The two of them played each other game after game until evening, and finally the monk left for home again.

The monk came to play every day, after that. Sanzaemon began to feel bad about how it was always the monk who made the trip to play, and to feel curiosity about what sort of life the monk led. Finally one day he spoke his thoughts.

“You always take the time to come here to the spa to play me,” he pointed out. “I am the one with plenty of spare time, and I would like to come play you at your hermitage one day instead.”

“My hermitage is deep in the woods, frequented by wolves and foxes and whatnot,” the monk explained. “It offers no beautiful scenery and is, in fact, a quite unpleasant place. Please, you would be better off here.”

“I certainly don’t want to put you to any trouble, but I feel bad that I’ve never visited your hermitage even once to play.”

“Please, put yourself at ease. I assure you, my hermitage is hardly a place for guests. I appreciate your offer, but I must refuse.”

“I see…,” replied Sanzaemon, then, turning the conversation back to the game, “In that case, have you time for another match?”

The monk came for about ten days, then suddenly failed to show up, perhaps because of sudden business. Sanzaemon did not feel like playing go with the innkeeper, so instead went out to find something to do, accompanied by his retainer, a younger man who come with him from Edo.

The mountain in early summer was decorated with young leaves, and he could see the river winding between black rocks at the bottom of the valley to the right of the road, like a silver thread. The cuckoo called from somewhere in the valley.

Sanzaemon, looking for a better place to enjoy the view from, climbed a narrow trail off the main road, leading up to a small peak.

Above them rose the bare and wind-swept heights of what must have been Komagadake Peak. Its heights were enwrapped in bluish-white wisps of cloud.

The path ran into a small forest of cedar and cypress, which hid the looming mountain and the colors of the sky. The cypress branches were draped with beard lichen, and the moisture of the mist seeped up around them, chilled.

The cedar and cypress trees gave way to a mixed forest with scattered rock outcroppings, and they saw a small stream tracing through a valley before them.

“There’s a hut over there, sir,” called his retainer from behind, and Sanzaemon turned to look. The other was pointing at a spot high up on the far side of the valley.

“Where?”

“Right there, sir,” replied the other. Sure enough, he could make out what looked like a small hut, right under a rock draped with black branches like a horse’s flowing mane.

“Oh, there it is!” Sanzaemon exclaimed, and suddenly recalled the monk. “And maybe this is where he lives.”

“Who, sir?”

“The monk, of course, the monk who comes to play go every day.”

“Isn’t he attached to a temple?”

“He said he was at a hermitage, not a temple, and that might well be it. Let’s go and see, shall we? And if it’s just the hut of a forest watchman, that’s all right, too. I’m getting hungry anyway.”

Sanzaemon looked for a way across the stream. Broken rocks were strewn across almost like stepping stones, and it was no great difficulty for the two of them to cross to the other side.

There was a faint path, looking as if it had been created by human beings, winding through the rocks and random trees. They followed it, only to discover it almost blocked by devil’s tongue and brambles that forced them to proceed slowly and carefully.

The path ended right in front of the hut, which stood in the

shadow of a huge boulder. Sanzaemon paused to catch his breath, then stepped up to the doorway.

“Hello? Anyone here?”

“Who is it?” came a reply from inside, and a face appeared. It was the monk.

“And I told you not to bother coming!” he said, making a face. “Well, since you’ve come anyway, you might as well come inside.”

Sanzaemon recalled the monk’s words when he said he would come to visit the spa each day, and suddenly regretted having come.

“I had no intention of coming here, I assure you. When you didn’t come today I was bored and merely went for a walk with my man here. Down in the valley I happened to see this hut, and I remembered you. And I just dropped by, that’s all.”

“It doesn’t really matter… In any case, please, come inside and have some tea,” invited the monk, and Sanzaemon slipped off his straw sandals and stepped in. The hermitage had a reed floor, and he could see an adjoining room for a Buddhist shrine, but that door was closed. There were two hearths to the left, along with a teapot and kettle.

“I’m terribly sorry to have bothered you in your prayers. I’ll be on my way in a flash,” said Sanzaemon, following the monk inside and sitting down across from him, in front of the hearths.

“No, it’s no imposition at all, it’s just… well, let me boil up some tea, then,” replied the monk, eyes hard and glittering.

“Please, don’t go any trouble on my behalf. Really, I’m not thirsty,” refused Sanzaemon, glancing at the teapot. Just for an instant, he saw a human face peering out from the hearth, below the teapot: a pale and frightening visage. Sanzaemon was astonished, but he hid his shock completely as he looked at the monk’s expression, silently. Perhaps because the monk had also seen the face, he was glaring in that direction, and the pale face quickly pulled back out of sight.

“Hmph. I live in the midst of the woods, but somehow seem to have managed to run out of firewood. Wait a moment, let me get a few branches,” said the monk, standing up and stepping outside.

Sanzaemon pulled his katana, lying on the floor, a bit closer, peering intently around the hut, and especially in the hearth. It would be unlucky to stay here longer, he thought, and decided to leave quickly. As a samurai, of course, it would be embarrassing to leave as if fleeing in fright, so he felt he had to leave an offering in return the monk’s kindness… if he tried to just leave through the front door, though, it was likely the monk would find some reason to refuse to accept it, and ask him to stay a bit longer. He had to put something down here, immediately, and use the deed done as an excuse to leave as soon as the monk returned.

I wonder if it would be best to leave it in the Buddhist altar, he thought to himself, still watching the hearth. He decided that would indeed be the best idea to leave a small packet of money on the altar shelf, as was tradition when honoring the dead. He pulled out his wallet, and wrapped a few coins in a piece of paper.

“Genkichi!” he called out to his young attendant, sitting on a rock near the front door.

“Yes?”

Genkichi stood, and quickly approached. “Put this in the altar, would you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Genkichi stepped inside, and took the paper packet from Sanzaemon. Crossing to the Buddhist altar, he reached his hand out to open the altar doors, and suddenly jumped back in astonishment.

“My…! A head! A head!” he cried.

Already on edge by what he had seen in the hearth, Sanzaemon wondered what could have happened now.

“What is it?”

“A head! A severed head!”

Sanzeomon leaped to his feet and ran over. In front of the weathered Buddhist altar, blackened and strange with time, sat a man’s head, complete with topknot, facing away.

“Give me that money!” said Sanzaemon, snatching the packet from the man’s hand and slapping it down on the altar between the statue of Buddha and the severed head. The statue was bizarre, too, with glinting eyes shining from a multitude of faces and protruding limbs.

“Good! Step back outside and look innocent,” he instructed, quickly closing the altar doors again and returning to his seat. Genkichi returned to his post outside, sitting nonchalantly on the rock as before.

“How silly of me… running out of firewood in the middle of the forest…,” muttered the monk to himself, returning with a bundle of branches.

“I’m so terribly sorry to have put you to such trouble,” said Sanzaemon politely, not letting down his guard for an instant. “Imagine that! Forgetting to keep firewood stocked even though I’m surrounded by it,” exclaimed the monk, beginning to load the dry branches into the hearth. Sanzaemon watched

closely, and sure enough, the face slid back into view.

The monk suddenly made a fist, and tried to strike the face, but it quickly pulled back out of sight again. The monk picked up the flint and steel lying nearby, and lit the flame in the hearth.

“It’ll boil quickly; it’s been on the fire for hours already.” “Really, I must be on my way… please don’t go to any more

trouble!” said Sanzaemon, watching the monk’s every action closely, ready to strike if he tried anything suspicious.

“If you have a go set with you,” suggested the monk in the same gentle voice he used at the inn, “I’d love to play a game.”

Sanzaemon didn’t relax his guard for a moment.

“Ah! The water is boiling!” The monk brought out two teacups from somewhere, and a dipper.

“One cup, then, and then I really must be on my way.” “No need to hurry. Please, stay a while.”

“No, the road back is difficult, and I really must insist.”

“I see,” murmured the monk doubtfully, dipping a cupful of tea and placing it in front of Sanzaemon, then carrying another toward the front door. As soon as the monk’s face was turned away, Sanzaemon dashed the tea into the reeds.

“Here you are, please, have some tea,” came the monk’s voice, and the sound of Genkichi accepting.

Sanzaemon grasped his sword and stood as the monk returned.

“I am terribly sorry to have been such a nuisance. We’ll be leaving now. If you have time tomorrow perhaps you’ll stop by for a game or two?”

“Leaving already? Well, then, let us meet again on the morrow.”

Taking care not to turn his back on the monk, Sanzaemon slipped on his straw sandals. Genkichi stood, rubbing his hands together.

– 3 –

Still cautious, Sanzaemon left the hut behind, descending the hillside.

“Did you drink that tea?” asked his man, breathing close on his heels.

“What did you do?”

“I threw it in the bushes.”

“The right thing to do, I think. I would never drink that! I pretended to, and dashed it out.”

Sanzaemon hurried Genkichi, and they practically flew down the hillside, returning to the inn.

With a sense of foreboding, Sanzaemon called the master of the inn: “We had a terrible day today… Tell me, what do you think of the monk who comes to play me every day at go?”

“Did you see something strange?”

“I’ll say! We happened to pass close to his hut, and I saw something I’ll not soon forget!”

As if suddenly remembering something, the master raised a hand and motioned Sanzaemon to pause.

“Please, don’t speak of it! Your life will surely be forfeit if you speak of that terrible monk to another person! You mustn’t say it! Please, leave here at once. I’ve heard say that you should stay at another inn quietly, and return to Edo as soon as possible tomorrow.”

His voice was trembling, and his face had gone pasty white. “But what in the world is all this! I don’t understand

what’s happening!” cried Sanzaemon, confused at the bizarre happenings.

“I mustn’t say! I am sure you’ve had a strange and terrifying experience, but it would be best if you not talk of it at all, and leave at once. Do not tell a soul, at peril of your life!”

“So you say… but it was strange indeed, today.”

“No, please, I beg of you… do not say another word! I am telling you the truth, I swear it! Please, hurry!”

Sanzaemon still didn’t quite understand just what the master of the inn was so upset about, but his memories of the bizarre sight he had just seen made him realize there must be a core of truth to the matter, and decided to return to Edo at once. He settled his bill and left.

It was already getting dark. Sanzaemon and his manservant spent the night at a small inn at the foot of the mountain, and after a day of hard traveling, the next night at an inn near Fujisawa.

They rushed on to Kanazawa the following day, and when they arrived at their inn for the night found a few retainers from his estate in Edo waiting.

“Why are you here?” demanded Sanzaemon.

“We were told you’d be returning to Edo today, and came to meet you.”

Sanzaemon was curious: “How in the world did you know I’d be here?”

“A monk came yesterday, about forty years of age, and told the men at the gate that you were returning hurriedly from Hakone. He said you’d be arriving today, and that you’d asked him to come tell us. So we came at once to meet you.”

“A forty-year-old monk, you say?” “Yes, wearing a tattered black robe.”

Sanzaemon fell silent, and continued on to his residence in Edo, arriving that night. Countless relatives and friends had gathered there to celebrate his return.

Sanzaemon stepped into the house, and everyone came crowding closer. His cherished four-year son, his youngest child, who was standing on the veranda, suddenly gave a shriek, shocking Sanzaemon… The child’s headless body collapsed onto the floorboards.