reigned all around them.
Suddenly, from somewhere inside the house, there came the sound of a broom sweeping the mats: "Zawatt, zawatt."
Throwing their arms around each other's shoulders, the children tiptoed inside to see who had made the sound. But they found not a soul in any room. They noticed only that the sword-box in one room was lying there silently and that, outside, the hedge of ground cypress looked greener than ever. Not another soul was to be seen anywhere, neither inside nor outside.
"Zawatt, zawatt" came the sound of the broom again.
Was it the voice of some distant shrike; was it the murmur of the Kitakami River; or was it the sound of beans being sifted? The two children wondered and wondered while they listened quietly to the sound. But they could think of no explanation for it.
They were sure that, from somewhere, they had heard the sound of a broom going "Zawatt, zawatt."
Once again, stealthily, they peeped inside, but still there was no one in any of the rooms. There was nothing to be seen but the bright sunshine filling the air.
Such is the story of the zashiki-bokko.
2. "Here we go along the highway! Here we go along the highway!" Shouting these words at the tops of their voices, ten children had made a circle with their hands and were going round and round in the zashiki. They had been invited to the house for a feast.
Round and round they went in a circle. And then suddenly, without anyone's knowing when or how, there were eleven children in the circle.
There was no unfamiliar face among them, nor was any face repeated twice. And still, no matter how they counted themselves, there were always eleven of them.
A man came in and said: "The extra person must surely be the zashikibokko."
But which one of them was it? Each child sat there looking innocent as though declaring that the zashiki-bokko was anyone but himself.
Such is the story of the zashiki-bokko.
3. There is another story.
The main household of a certain family made it a custom to invite the children of its cadet branches to celebrate the festival of Nyorai Buddha at the main house during the beginning of each old-calendar August. One year, one of the cadet children had the measles and was confined to bed.
"I want to go to the festival of Nyorai-san. I want to go to the festival of Nyorai-san," the boy kept saying every day as he lay in his bed.
The grandmother of the main household came to visit him. She patted him on his head and said: "I'll put off the festival until you can come. So hurry and get well."
The boy finally got well in September, and all the children were invited to the main house for the festival. But the other children were spiteful: not only had the festival been postponed for the sick boy, but they had had to give up their favorite toys—a lead rabbit here and some other wonderful plaything there—so the boy would have something to play with while he was in bed.
"We've paid dearly for his being sick," they said among themselves. And they promised each other: "We won't play with him when he comes to the festival today."
While they were playing in the zashiki one of them suddenly cried: "Oh, here he comes, here he comes."
"All right, let's hide." And with these words they all went running into the next room.
But look! There, in the center of the next room, was the boy who had had the measles and whom they had seen just approaching the house. He was sitting there politely with a new toy bear on his lap. He was gaunt and pale and seemed on the point of weeping.
"It's the zashiki-bokko!" one of the children cried and ran out of the room. The others ran out after him, shouting.
The zashiki-bokko sat in the middle of the room weeping.
Such is the story of the zashiki-bokko.
4. Once the ferryman at the Romeiji Crossing of the Kitakami River told me this tale:
"Once on the night of August 17 of the old calendar I had been drinking sake and went to bed earlier than usual. Then someone called me from the
Suddenly, from somewhere inside the house, there came the sound of a broom sweeping the mats: "Zawatt, zawatt."
Throwing their arms around each other's shoulders, the children tiptoed inside to see who had made the sound. But they found not a soul in any room. They noticed only that the sword-box in one room was lying there silently and that, outside, the hedge of ground cypress looked greener than ever. Not another soul was to be seen anywhere, neither inside nor outside.
"Zawatt, zawatt" came the sound of the broom again.
Was it the voice of some distant shrike; was it the murmur of the Kitakami River; or was it the sound of beans being sifted? The two children wondered and wondered while they listened quietly to the sound. But they could think of no explanation for it.
They were sure that, from somewhere, they had heard the sound of a broom going "Zawatt, zawatt."
Once again, stealthily, they peeped inside, but still there was no one in any of the rooms. There was nothing to be seen but the bright sunshine filling the air.
Such is the story of the zashiki-bokko.
2. "Here we go along the highway! Here we go along the highway!" Shouting these words at the tops of their voices, ten children had made a circle with their hands and were going round and round in the zashiki. They had been invited to the house for a feast.
Round and round they went in a circle. And then suddenly, without anyone's knowing when or how, there were eleven children in the circle.
There was no unfamiliar face among them, nor was any face repeated twice. And still, no matter how they counted themselves, there were always eleven of them.
A man came in and said: "The extra person must surely be the zashikibokko."
But which one of them was it? Each child sat there looking innocent as though declaring that the zashiki-bokko was anyone but himself.
Such is the story of the zashiki-bokko.
3. There is another story.
The main household of a certain family made it a custom to invite the children of its cadet branches to celebrate the festival of Nyorai Buddha at the main house during the beginning of each old-calendar August. One year, one of the cadet children had the measles and was confined to bed.
"I want to go to the festival of Nyorai-san. I want to go to the festival of Nyorai-san," the boy kept saying every day as he lay in his bed.
The grandmother of the main household came to visit him. She patted him on his head and said: "I'll put off the festival until you can come. So hurry and get well."
The boy finally got well in September, and all the children were invited to the main house for the festival. But the other children were spiteful: not only had the festival been postponed for the sick boy, but they had had to give up their favorite toys—a lead rabbit here and some other wonderful plaything there—so the boy would have something to play with while he was in bed.
"We've paid dearly for his being sick," they said among themselves. And they promised each other: "We won't play with him when he comes to the festival today."
While they were playing in the zashiki one of them suddenly cried: "Oh, here he comes, here he comes."
"All right, let's hide." And with these words they all went running into the next room.
But look! There, in the center of the next room, was the boy who had had the measles and whom they had seen just approaching the house. He was sitting there politely with a new toy bear on his lap. He was gaunt and pale and seemed on the point of weeping.
"It's the zashiki-bokko!" one of the children cried and ran out of the room. The others ran out after him, shouting.
The zashiki-bokko sat in the middle of the room weeping.
Such is the story of the zashiki-bokko.
4. Once the ferryman at the Romeiji Crossing of the Kitakami River told me this tale:
"Once on the night of August 17 of the old calendar I had been drinking sake and went to bed earlier than usual. Then someone called me from the
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