Jay Rubin

You know, our hands reach out by themselves for the things we like. There’s no way to stop them

Another time, when construction of the Nagara Bridge seemed to be running counter to the will of the local deity, His Lordship offered up a favorite boy attendant as a human sacrifice to be buried at the foot of a pillar. And then there was the time when, to have a growth cut from his thigh, he summoned the Chinese monk who had brought the art of surgery to our country. Oh, there’s no end to the tales! For sheer horror, though, none of them measures up to the story of the screen depicting scenes of hell which is now a prized family heirloom. Even His Lordship, normally so imperturbable, was horrified by what happened, and those of us who waited upon him – well, it goes without saying that we were shocked out of our minds. I myself had served as one of His Lordship’s men for a full twenty years, but what I witnessed then was more terrible than anything I had ever – or have ever – experienced.

In order to tell you the story of the hell screen, however, I must first tell you about the painter who created it. His name was Yoshihide.

Then one day, as Yoshihide’s daughter was gliding down a long outdoor corridor to deliver a note gaily knotted on a branch of red winter plum, the monkey Yoshihide darted in through the sliding door at the far end, in full flight from something. The animal was running with a limp and seemed unable to climb a post as it often did when frightened. Then who should appear chasing after it but the Young Master, brandishing a switch and shouting, ‘Come back here, you tangerine thief! Come back here!’ Yoshihide’s daughter drew up short at the sight, and the monkey clung to her skirts with a pitiful cry. This must have aroused her compassion, for, still holding the plum branch in one hand, she swept the monkey up in the soft folds of her lavender sleeve. Then, giving a little bow to the Young Master, she said with cool clarity, ‘Forgive me for interfering, my young lord, but he is just an animal. Please pardon him.’

Temper still up from the chase, the Young Master scowled and stamped his foot several times. ‘Why are you protecting him?’ he demanded. ‘He stole my tangerine!’

‘He is just an animal,’ she repeated. ‘He doesn’t know any better.’ And then, smiling sadly, she added, ‘His name is Yoshihide, after all. I can’t just stand by and watch “my father” being punished.’ This was apparently enough to break the Young Master’s will.

‘All right, then,’ he said with obvious reluctance. ‘If you’re pleading for your father’s life, I’ll let him off this time.’

The Young Master flung his switch into the garden and stalked back out through the sliding door.