The Slaying of the Tanuki

The Slaying of the Tanuki

From the Japanische Murchen und Sagen.

Near a big river, and between two high mountains, a man and his wife

lived in a cottage a long, long time ago. A dense forest lay all round

the cottage, and there was hardly a path or a tree in the whole wood

that was not familiar to the peasant from his boyhood. In one of his

wanderings he had made friends with a hare, and many an hour the two

passed together, when the man was resting by the roadside, eating his

dinner.

Now this strange friendship was observed by the Tanuki, a wicked,

quarrelsome beast, who hated the peasant, and was never tired of doing

him an ill turn. Again and again he had crept to the hut, and finding

some choice morsel put away for the little hare, had either eaten it if

he thought it nice, or trampled it to pieces so that no one else should

get it, and at last the peasant lost patience, and made up his mind he

would have the Tanuki’s blood.

So for many days the man lay hidden, waiting for the Tanuki to come by,

and when one morning he marched up the road thinking of nothing but the

dinner he was going to steal, the peasant threw himself upon him and

bound his four legs tightly, so that he could not move. Then he dragged

his enemy joyfully to the house, feeling that at length he had got the

better of the mischievous beast which had done him so many ill turns.

‘He shall pay for them with his skin,’ he said to his wife. ‘We will

first kill him, and then cook him.’ So saying, he hanged the Tanuki,

head downwards, to a beam, and went out to gather wood for a fire.

Meanwhile the old woman was standing at the mortar pounding the rise

that was to serve them for the week with a pestle that made her arms

ache with its weight. Suddenly she heard something whining and weeping

in the corner, and, stopping her work, she looked round to see what it

was. That was all that the rascal wanted, and he put on directly his

most humble air, and begged the woman in his softest voice to loosen his

bonds, which her hurting him sorely. She was filled with pity for him,

but did not dare to set him free, as she knew that her husband would be

very angry. The Tanuki, however, did not despair, and seeing that her

heart was softened, began his prayers anew. ‘He only asked to have his

bonds taken from him,’ he said. ‘He would give his word not to attempt

to escape, and if he was once set free he could soon pound her rice for

her.’ ‘Then you can have a little rest,’ he went on, ‘for rice pounding

is very tiring work, and not at all fit for weak women.’ These last

words melted the good woman completely, and she unfastened the bonds

that held him. Poor foolish creature! In one moment the Tanuki had

seized her, stripped off all her clothes, and popped her in the mortar.

In a few minutes more she was pounded as fine as the rice; and not

content with that, the Tanuki placed a pot on the hearth and made ready

to cook the peasant a dinner from the flesh of his own wife!

When everything was complete he looked out of the door, and saw the old

man coming from the forest carrying a large bundle of wood. Quick as

lightning the Tanuki not only put on the woman’s clothes, but, as he was

a magician, assumed her form as well. Then he took the wood, kindled the

fire, and very soon set a large dinner before the old man, who was very

hungry, and had forgotten for the moment all about his enemy. But when

the Tanuki saw that he had eaten his fill and would be thinking about

his prisoner, he hastily shook off the clothes behind a door and took

his own shape. Then he said to the peasant, ‘You are a nice sort of

person to seize animals and to talk of killing them! You are caught in

your own net. It is your own wife that you have eaten, and if you want

to find her bones you have only to look under the floor.’ With these

words he turned and made for the forest.

The old peasant grew cold with horror as he listened, and seemed frozen

to the place where he stood. When he had recovered himself a little,

he collected the bones of his dead wife, buried them in the garden, and

swore over the grave to be avenged on the Tanuki. After everything was

done he sat himself down in his lonely cottage and wept bitterly, and

the bitterest thought of all was that he would never be able to forget

that he had eaten his own wife.

While he was thus weeping and wailing his friend the hare passed by,

and, hearing the noise, pricked up his ears and soon recognised the old

man’s voice. He wondered what had happened, and put his head in at the

door and asked if anything was the matter. With tears and groans the

peasant told him the whole dreadful story, and the hare, filled with

anger and compassion, comforted him as best he could, and promised to

help him in his revenge. ‘The false knave shall not go unpunished,’ said

he.

So the first thing he did was to search the house for materials to make

an ointment, which he sprinkled plentifully with pepper and then put in

his pocket. Next he took a hatchet, bade farewell to the old man, and

departed to the forest. He bent his steps to the dwelling of the Tanuki

and knocked at the door. The Tanuki, who had no cause to suspect the

hare, was greatly pleased to see him, for he noticed the hatchet at

once, and began to lay plots how to get hold of it.

To do this he thought he had better offer to accompany the hare, which

was exactly what the hare wished and expected, for he knew all the

Tanuki’s cunning, and understood his little ways. So he accepted the

rascal’s company with joy, and made himself very pleasant as they

strolled along. When they were wandering in this manner through the

forest the hare carelessly raised his hatchet in passing, and cut down

some thick boughs that were hanging over the path, but at length,

after cutting down a good big tree, which cost him many hard blows, he

declared that it was too heavy for him to carry home, and he must just

leave it where it was. This delighted the greedy Tanuki, who said that

they would be no weight for him, so they collected the large branches,

which the hare bound tightly on his back. Then he trotted gaily to the

house, the hare following after with his lighter bundle.

By this time the hare had decided what he would do, and as soon as they

arrived, he quietly set on fire the wood on the back of the Tanuki. The

Tanuki, who was busy with something else, observed nothing, and only

called out to ask what was the meaning of the crackling that he heard.

‘It is just the rattle of the stones which are rolling down the side of

the mountain,’ the hare said; and the Tanuki was content, and made no

further remarks, never noticing that the noise really sprang from the

burning boughs on his back, until his fur was in flames, and it was

almost too late to put it out. Shrieking with pain, he let fall the

burning wood from his back, and stamped and howled with agony. But the

hare comforted him, and told him that he always carried with him an

excellent plaster in case of need, which would bring him instant relief,

and taking out his ointment he spread it on a leaf of bamboo, and

laid it on the wound. No sooner did it touch him than the Tanuki leapt

yelling into the air, and the hare laughed, and ran to tell his friend

the peasant what a trick he had played on their enemy. But the old man

shook his head sadly, for he knew that the villain was only crushed for

the moment, and that he would shortly be revenging himself upon them.

No, the only way every to get any peace and quiet was to render the

Tanuki harmless for ever. Long did the old man and the hare puzzle

together how this was to be done, and at last they decided that they

would make two boats, a small one of wood and a large one of clay. Then

they fell to work at once, and when the boats were ready and properly

painted, the hare went to the Tanuki, who was still very ill, and

invited him to a great fish-catching. The Tanuki was still feeling angry

with the hare about the trick he had played him, but he was weak and

very hungry, so he gladly accepted the proposal, and accompanied the

hare to the bank of the river, where the two boats were moored, rocked

by the waves. They both looked exactly alike, and the Tanuki only saw

that one was bigger than the other, and would hold more fish, so he

sprang into the large one, while the hare climbed into the one which was

made of wood. They loosened their moorings, and made for the middle of

the stream, and when they were at some distance from the bank, the hare

took his oar, and struck such a heavy blow at the other boat, that it

broke in two. The Tanuki fell straight into the water, and was held

there by the hare till he was quite dead. Then he put the body in his

boat and rowed to land, and told the old man that his enemy was dead at

last. And the old man rejoiced that his wife was avenged, and he took

the hare into his house, and they lived together all their days in peace

and quietness upon the mountain.