Japanese Title: 虫愛ずる姫君
Author: Unknown
Taken From: 堤中納言物語 (Late Thirteenth Century?)
Published By: 角川文庫ソフィア (1963)

Next door to the princess who loved butterflies, there lived the daughter of the Grand Counselor of Regional Inspection. She was not of ordinary elegance, and, since her parents took great care in raising her, she had no equal.

This princess said, “People who love things like flowers and butterflies are foolish and strange. People are able to comprehend the inner nature of things, so it is tracing something to its origins and understanding its essence that is truly amusing.” She thus collected various types of insects with great passion. Saying, “I want to see the way they change,” she put them into several small boxes. Among them, she declared that “It is the profundity of the caterpillars that is elegant.” So, day and night, tucking her bangs behind her ears, she placed them in her palms and watched them carefully.

Because her ladies in waiting were afraid of insects, she summoned young boys of low social standing to catch them for her. She would ask the names of the insects and delight in naming her newest acquisitions.

Proclaiming that “It’s not good to fuss over one’s appearance,” she completely neglected to shave her eyebrows. Also, saying that “It’s annoying and dirty,” she did not blacken her teeth. Smiling with her blindingly white teeth, she would play with her insects lovingly.

Her ladies in waiting, thinking that her behavior was quite strange, would flee in fear and raise a great fuss. To these frightened young women, she would say, “You’re being rude and indecent,” all the while glaring at them from under her coarse black eyebrows, and they would become all the more perplexed.

Her parents would think “How extremely strange that she is so different.” And yet such thoughts were followed by embarrassed musings, such as, “Perhaps there may be some sense to her way of thinking. It’s strange. Whenever we think to say something to her, she becomes irritated. She’s a very intense child.”

They would say to her, “Well, that may be, but you’re getting a bad reputation. What people like is a pleasing appearance. If you keep amusing yourself with those creepy caterpillars, and people were to get wind of it, that would be terrible.”

In response, she would say, “That doesn’t bother me. It is in inquiring about everything in this world and seeing how it ends up that is important. What you’re saying is immature. After all, caterpillars become butterflies.”

She would take out some caterpillars that were entering metamorphosis and show them to her parents.

“What people call silk and wear on their bodies comes from silkworms that haven’t grown wings yet; and, when these silkworms become butterflies, it’s as if they had put on mourning clothes, since they become worthless.”

When she would say things like that, her parents had nothing to say in response and would give up. Of course, the princess was careful not to show herself to them, thinking that it is better for demons and women not to be seen. She would roll up the bamboo blinds in the dim interior of the main house just a little; and, screening herself off behind multiple blind frames, address her parents in this clever way.

Japanese Title: ３２歳のデイトリッパー
Author: Murakami Haruki (村上春樹)
Taken From: カンガルー日和 (1983)

I’m 32, and she’s 18…. If you think of it like that, it’s kind of ridiculous.

I’m only 32, and she’s already 18…. Maybe that’s better.

We’re friends, nothing more, nothing less. I’ve got a wife, and she’s got six boyfriends. On weekdays, she goes on dates with her six boyfriends, and once a month, on a Sunday, she goes on a date with me. On the other Sundays, she sits at home and watches TV. When she watches TV, her face is cute like a walrus.

In 1963, when she was born, President Kennedy was assassinated. Also, I asked a girl out on a date for the first time. Was the song that was popular then maybe Cliff Richard’s “Summer Holiday”?

Ah, whatever.

In any case, she was born that year.

In 1963, I would never have thought that I would be going on dates with a girl who was born in that year. It still seems a little strange to me now. I feel like I’m smoking a cigarette on the dark side of the moon.

The consensus among my friends is that dating a teenage girl is boring. Despite that, they go on dates with teenage girls all the time. Is it that they’ve managed to find a girl who isn’t boring? No, that’s not it. Simply put, it is the very boringness of these girls that they find so appealing. While buckets full of boring are being dumped over their heads, they try not to let a drop fall on the girl. It’s a complicated game they enjoy wholeheartedly.

At least, that’s what I think.

The truth is, nine out of ten teenage girls are boring. Of course, they haven’t noticed this. They’re young, beautiful, and full of curiosity. They think that something like “boring” has nothing to do with them.

Good grief.

This doesn’t mean that I blame them, and it doesn’t mean that I hate them. I like them. They make me remember the time when I was a boring teenage boy. How would you put it, it’s a pretty awesome thing.

“Hey, have you ever thought that you’d like to be 18 again?” she asked me.

“Not really,” I answered.

“You don’t want to be 18 again… Really?”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“I guess I’m fine the way I am now.”

Putting her elbows on the table, she rested her chin in her hand. Deep in thought, she twirled her spoon around in her coffee cup with a clacking sound. “I don’t believe you.”

“You’d better believe me.”

“But isn’t it cooler to be young?”

“Probably.”

“Then why are you fine the way you are now?”

“Because being 18 once was enough.”

“It’s still not enough for me.”

“But that’s because you’re still 18.”

“Hmmm.”

I flagged down a waitress and ordered my second bottle of beer. It was raining outside, and I could see Yokohama Harbor through the window.

“Hey, when you were 18, what did you think about?”

“Sleeping with girls.”

“Besides that.”

“Just that.”

She giggled and took a small sip of coffee.

“So, were you successful?”

“There were times when I was successful and times when I wasn’t. Of course there were probably more times when I wasn’t.”

“About how many girls did you sleep with?”

“I never counted.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t want to.”

“If I were a guy, I would definitely end up counting. Don’t you think it would be kind of fun?”

I’ve had times when I’ve thought that it wouldn’t be so bad to be 18 again. But, when I try to think of the first thing I’d do when I turned 18 again, I can’t come up with anything.

I’d probably end up dating a charming 32-year-old woman. That wouldn’t be so bad.

“Have you ever thought that you’d like to be 18 again?” I would ask her.

“Let’s see,” she would grin at me while pretending to think about it. “Nope. Well, probably.”

“Really.”

“Yup.”

“I don’t get it,” I would say to her. “You know that everyone says that it’s awesome to be young.”

“That’s right, it is pretty awesome.”

“Well then, why don’t you want to be 18 again?”

“You’ll understand when you’re older.”

But really, I’m 32 years old, and I’ve reached the point where fat sticks out around my belly if I’m lazy about jogging for a single week. I can’t go back to being 18. I guess that’s only natural.

When I get back from running in the morning, I drink a can of vegetable juice, plop down into a chair, and listen to the Beatles song “Daytripper.”

“Daaaaaay-ay Tripper…”

When I listen to that song, I feel like I’m sitting in the window seat on a train. Outside, stuff like telephone poles and train stations and railway bridges and cows and horses and chimneys and piled-up garbage quickly passes by. No matter where you’re going, the scenery doesn’t change much. And I used to think that scenery was pretty amazing, too.

“Would you like to change seats with me?” I ask.

“Thanks,” she says. “That’s really kind of you.”

It’s not that I’m kind, I smile bitterly. It’s just that you’re not yet used to how boring it is.

Tired of counting telephone poles,
I’m a 32-year-old
Daytripper.

Japanese Title: 帰還
Author: Kanai Mieko (金井美恵子)
Taken From: 金井美恵子全短編, Volume I

Having returned from a long journey, she was approached by a young man, who said he had come to meet her. She was extremely surprised. She turned towards the young man and asked, “Are you sure you don’t have the wrong person?”

“No, that’s not the case. I’ve heard all about you. Because your husband is ill and can’t come to meet you, I came in his stead. Wow,” the young man said with a sigh, “it’s really gotten hot. Let me take your luggage.”

She was forced to repeat herself. “I’m afraid you have the wrong person. You seem to know my name, but I don’t have a husband. Besides, I didn’t tell anyone that I was coming home today. Please excuse me, but I’m in a hurry.”

As she said this, a smile spread across the young man’s face, as if to say that he knew she must be pretending to be serious in order to joke with him. He made a gesture urging her to pass her bags to him. “You husband is sick, and he wants to see you as soon as possible.

“You received a telegram from him at your destination. Don’t you remember? The telegram went, ‘COME HOME SOON. I LOVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER. YOUR HUSBAND.’ We received your reply last night. It said, ‘I WILL ARRIVE AT 2PM ON THE 7TH. YOUR LOVE.’ So I came to meet you. Since I asked your husband about you, I knew you immediately. Black hair, black eyes, skin that’s probably been tanned in the sun… I think the image of you that your husband gave me fits you perfectly! I knew you at first sight!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! The person you’re looking for is someone completely different. I didn’t receive a telegram from my husband, and I didn’t send one back. This is as it should be, since I’m single. I don’t have a husband!”

Finally, the young man seemed to begin to realize the extraordinary nature of the situation. An embarrassed expression crossed his face, and he stammered, “Your address is 446 N. Street, right?” Although she didn’t understand why, when she heard him say her address, she felt her anger rise. “Yes, that’s definitely it, but I don’t understand why in the world you’re teasing me with a cruel joke like this. To go so far as to look up my address, are you some kind of police dog?” she said quickly, without pausing for breath.

The man, surprised at her fierce look, said, “As for you, please stop teasing me. Your husband is waiting at your house at 446 N. Street. He told me not to tell you, but his illness is fatal. So, when you tell me that you’re unmarried, it’s too cruel, even for a joke.”

She was bewildered. It was almost as if she couldn’t even begin to understand what was going on. Apparently, there is a man with a fatal illness at her house on 446 N. Street who is calling himself her husband and saying that he will always love her! Since she had never been proposed to, much less married, how could there be a husband waiting for her at her house on N. Street? She wondered if perhaps she had gone crazy, or if perhaps she had lost her memory. She felt sick, as if she had suddenly found herself lost in the midst of a nightmare.

“In any case,” she proclaimed to the man in a domineering tone, “since 446 N. Street is my house, I intend to return there. When we get there, I imagine that everything will become clear. Because, heaven knows, I don’t have a husband. I don’t know if maybe something has happened to my head, but, if not, you’re crazy!”

While they drove toward her house in the young man’s car, she was dead silent. She had a lot of things she had to think about, but she didn’t know where it would be best to start thinking. What in the world had happened while she was away? No sooner had a young man – whom she had never seen before in her life – appeared, then he starting talking about her husband. And, on top of that, the husband had become bedridden with a fatal illness and wished to see her.

The feeling was grotesque. When she opened the door to her house (or, more properly speaking, when it was opened from inside by a young woman, who appeared to be a nurse, when the young man rang the doorbell), there was some sort of unpleasant smell, and she felt the bile rise in her throat. She and the young man entered the living room and sat down on the sofa. This was definitely her house, and everything was set up just the way it had been when she left. However, on top of a table, there was a silver frame that she had never seen before, and in it was a photograph. In the picture, a man and a woman were sitting in a chair on a terrace against a setting of the sea at sunset with a cloudy sky. The outline of the couple sparkled faintly in the light of the setting sun. The man was looking straight ahead, and the woman’s face was hidden by a large white hat. The couple had drawn their bodies close together. The man’s arm was wrapped around the woman’s shoulder, and one of the woman’s hands was placed on the man’s leg. The woman picked up the photograph and gazed at it. She seemed as if she would ask the young man who the people in the picture were, but she thought she already knew the answer. This is a picture from your honeymoon, she thought that the young man would answer, definitely. And then, just as the thought passed through her mind, the man said exactly that. “That’s a picture from your honeymoon.”

She scowled. “You’re saying that this woman is me? What on earth? I’ve never seen this woman, and I haven’t ever seen this man, not even once!”

The young man gazed at her intently with a surprised expression. “How can you say that? You’re probably exhausted. You must be feeling ill again. If you rest, perhaps you’ll calm down.”

When he said this, she made up her mind to not listen to anything more. “Stop it. I will not be ticked by these petty little details. I’m sure that the woman in the photo resembles me. Look at the dirty trick you used. Can’t you see how her face is hidden by this big hat? You’re quite mistaken if you think that will fool me. Show me this person who you’re calling my husband, so I can say it to him – I’ve never seen you before, and you need to get out of here right now!”

She said all of this in a voice trembling with anger. She burned with rage. Even if she didn’t understand the meaning of this idiotic state of affairs, for the time being, she needed to get these men out of her house. She stood up from the sofa, glared at the young man directly, and said, “Fine. Take me to where that person is! Surely, he can’t be using my bedroom.”

The young man, astonished by her furious look, led her to the room of her so-called husband. When she saw that it was indeed her bedroom, she became so extraordinarily angry that she almost felt dizzy. When she entered the room, a strange, rank stench clogged her throat.

The man laying in her bed raised his face insidiously, and, smiling weakly, said, “So you’ve come home. I knew that you would surely return. I knew you couldn’t betray our love. Let’s forgive each other for everything. I love you so much.”

The creepiness of the whole situation made her shiver. She gagged at the stench that seemed to emanate from the man’s disease-ravaged body, and said, “Who are you? Who the hell are you?”

“Your lover, forever.”

He answered in a faint, low voice, but the woman was strangely able to hear him clearly. As a faint smile floated over his lips, he slowly closed his eyes. Those were that man’s last words, for he had died as he smiled.

Japanese Title: フリオ・イグレシアス
Author: Murakami Haruki (村上春樹)
Taken From: 夜のくもざる

After he had stolen away our mosquito-repellent incense, we no longer had any means left to protect ourselves from the attacks of the sea turtle. We had attempted to send away for more incense from a mail-order company, but, just as we thought, the telephone lines had been cut, and our mail had stopped coming to us a few weeks ago. When you think about it, there’s no way that wily turtle would have allowed such a thing – up until now, we had been able to stave him off solely on account of the incense. Now, however, he must be contentedly napping in preparation for tonight at the bottom of the blue-green sea.

“This is it for us, isn’t it,” she said. “When night comes, we’ll both be eaten.”

“We can’t lose hope,” I said. “We just need to come up with a plan.”

“But the sea turtle stole every last stick of the incense.”

“We’ve got to try to think about this logically. If the turtle hates mosquito-repellent incense that much, then there must be something else he hates just as much.”

“Such as?”

“Julio Iglesias,” I said.

“Why Julio Iglesias?” she asked.

“I don’t know, it just suddenly popped into my head. Like a hunch or something.”

Following my intuition, I set the turntables of the stereo system to Julio Iglesias’s “Begin the Beguine” and waited for nightfall. When darkness fell, the sea turtle would attack, and the final showdown would begin. Will we be eaten, or will the turtle go hungry?

When I heard wet, squishy footfalls close to the door a little after midnight, I lost no time in dropping the needle onto the record. As Julio Iglesias started to croon “Begin the Beguine” in his sugar-water voice, the footsteps came to a dead halt, and we heard the turtle moaning painfully. We had triumphed.

That night, Julio Iglesias sang “Begin the Beguine” one hundred and twenty-six times. I myself rather dislike Julio Iglesias, but fortunately not as much as the sea turtle.

Japanese Title: パンドーラーの壺
Author: Kurahashi Yumiko (倉橋由美子)
Taken From: 大人のための残酷童話

Zeus was feeling spiteful because Prometheus had stolen fire from the heavens and given it to mankind, so he made up his mind to take out his anger on man and on Prometheus’s younger brother Epimetheus, as Prometheus was somewhat hard to deal with. Zeus therefore sent orders to the skilled blacksmith Hephaestus to create Pandora out of kneaded mud. Pandora was equal to her name, for the gods gave her all manner of gifts. Starting with a beauty rivaling that of a goddess, they provided her with absolutely everything that a woman could desire. Only Athena, who had grown weary of Zeus’s childish games, put off giving Pandora intelligence. Besides, she wouldn’t admit that her gift is necessary for a woman.

Well then, Epimetheus was a character who was certainly equal to his name, which means “thinking afterwards.” When he saw the alluring Pandora, he made her his wife at once, oafishly ignoring his older brother’s advice that one should not accept gifts from the gods.

Pandora had an abundance of curiosity to make up for her lack of wisdom, and she ended up removing the lid of a box that everyone told her should absolutely not be opened because she wanted find out what was inside. When Prometheus noticed Pandora lifting the lid from the box, he let out a horrible shriek and made a desperate attempt to clamp it down, but the damage had already been done.

Some people say that all kinds of misfortune flew from the box and spread throughout the world, leaving only a thin glimmer of hope. According to another explanation, only unsympathetic “hope” was left behind after all the joys of the world flew from the box for destinations unknown. The truth, however, is that something a bit more troublesome occurred.

What left the box and spread throughout the world was misfortune for women. This misfortune was envy, and the women of the world were consumed by the desire to scratch at their hearts with jealousy when they realized that Pandora was the most beautiful woman to ever live. From then on, women rated each other’s beauty against their own and gradually came to hate one another. Prometheus was troubled by this situation, so he took self-knowledge from what was left in the box and scattered it among women. This elixir was too potent, however, and women, now aware of their own ugliness, started committing suicide one after another. It seemed that women would continue killing themselves until not one remained, and it would not do for Pandora to be left as the last living woman. Prometheus looked into the box once more and saw that “hope” still remained inside. Pleased with the clarity of his foresight, which he had put aside until that point, Prometheus sprinkled this “hope” over the women on the earth. As a result, the suicides stopped. Although women still hated each other, they stopped hating their own ugliness. Over time, women were able to exist by not thinking entirely of themselves.

Meanwhile, Epimetheus, completely unconcerned with the painstaking care of the human race that tortured his brother Prometheus, enjoyed his marriage to the childlike and innocent Pandora as if nothing had ever happened, and the two of them lived happily ever after.

Moral:
The gods gave women jealousy and conceit.

Japanese Title: 安達ケ原の鬼
Author: Kurahashi Yumiko (倉橋由美子)
Taken From: 大人のための残酷童話

Once upon a time, a monk who had set forth from the capital for spiritual training passed through the desolate Shirakawa barrier gate into the far north of Japan. He found himself in a place called the Adachi Moor just as the short autumn day had begun to grow quite dark. The monk was weary after a day of ceaseless walking. He thought to beg lodging for the night if he could find even a poor farmer’s cottage, but he could see no thread of smoke rising into the sky above the field of abundant autumn grasses. Just as the monk felt himself beginning to despair in the midst of a gathering wind, he suddenly saw the will-o’-the-wisp flicker of a mysterious light in the distance.

Could it be that the legend of the demon lair on the black hill of the Adachi Moor in the northern reaches of Japan is no mere story . . . ?

The monk thought that the house was probably the lair of a demon, just like in the old songs, but he was pulled in by the light and hurried towards it. Before long the rotting shack was there before him.

Peeping through a hole in a shōji screen, the monk saw a solitary old woman squatting in the shadows thrown by a floor lamp. She was mumbling an evil-sounding spell deep in her throat as she wound thread. As the monk watched the lazy rotations of the spinning wheel, he felt a string of drowsiness wrap around the length of his body. The old woman turned in his direction, and the monk came to himself with a start. He found his voice and begged her to give him lodging for the night. The old woman was reluctant, protesting that she could provide him with neither a good meal nor adequate bed clothes in her isolated house in the middle of a moor. When the monk persisted, claiming that he merely sought shelter from the rain and the dew, the old woman readily complied, as if she had been waiting for this earnest request. Happy to have stumbled upon such an obviously kind-hearted old granny, the monk accepted her offer of accommodation with an untroubled mind.

The old woman threw firewood into the back of a sunken fireplace and boiled some millet porridge for the monk. When dinner was finished, the monk recounted a few tales of his journey. The old woman nodded as she listened to his stories, turning her spinning wheel all the while.

Before long, the fire at the back of the sunken fireplace had grown thin and weak, and the piercing night wind blew into the shabby house. Seeing the monk rearrange his robes with trembling hands, the old woman stood up.

“If I had known that I would be receiving a guest, I would have put away more firewood. Could you kindly do me the favor of looking after the place while I step out to the nearby mountain to gather some?”

“What are you talking about?” protested the monk. “There’s no reason for you to go through such trouble so late at night. Please let me go instead.”

The old woman laughed. “What would a traveler know about where to find firewood in these parts? Besides, since I couldn’t provide you with a good meal, please at least consider a roaring fire as a substitute for a proper dinner.” With these words, the old woman cheerfully prepared to set out.

The monk suddenly became uneasy. “Hasn’t it been said since ancient times that a demon dwells on the Adachi Moor?” he asked, bringing up a certain old song.

“I wonder,” the old woman replied. “But not even a demon would go outside on a night like this! Anyway, I have a favor to ask of you. Even if I take some time getting back, please don’t look into the back room. Please, could you be sure to do this one thing for me?”

After the old woman had departed into the wind, leaving behind her request, the monk began to wonder about the mysteriously gleeful mood in which she had set out. Why did she repeat her request about the back room as she left? The fear that perhaps this was the lair of a demon after all reared its head. Maybe he was imagining things, but the monk started to hear various wailing voices intermingled with the sound of the wind. He froze and covered his ears unconsciously. It was as if the voices of a host of lost souls, crying mournfully in complaint, had been set free. Even worse, it sounded as if these voices were somehow emanating from the room that he was told he must not open. The monk, in an ecstasy of terror, found himself pulled uncannily closer to the forbidden room. He placed his hand on the door.

He decisively pulled the door open, and a bloody stench poured out. In the middle of the room, things resembling human corpses were piled up almost to the ceiling. There were things stained red with blood, things tinged green with decay, things flowing with yellow pus. The corpses within this dead mountain of myriad colors seemed to be disintegrating as they moved their hands and feet while emitting terrible moans. One pushed itself out from the middle of the pile and rose to its feet. It bared the teeth of its rotting face and laughed.

“Demon!” The monk dashed out of the old woman’s shack and ran for his life. The field of rich autumn grasses overflowed with an otherworldly luminescence. All around the shining grass undulated like the back of a running beast. The multitude of carcasses rose and lurched out of the house. While emitting sounds that were neither laughter nor wails but could have been both, they all came together and pursued the monk as one body. The monk fled before them while chanting sutras in a voice filled with desperation. Suddenly he saw the shape of the old woman on top of a hill in the distance. She seemed to be shouting something in his direction while laughing maniacally. As the monk returned her screams, he felt an immense power take hold of him from behind. His legs were captured by a hideous tidal wave, which dragged him down into a bloody sea.

Nothing was left of the monk except a stain of black blood on the earth of the Adachi Moor.

Moral:
There are other demons besides old women.