That is no laugh. Obaa-San cackles like an old hen.
I think she is unhappy now and then—always, perhaps.
Has she not her weeping willow tree—the grandmother?
Ay. She loves the tree.
The grandmother of the weeping willow tree! It's well for the misshapen, and the childless, and the loveless to have a tree to love.
But, O-Sode, the weeping willow tree can not love her. Perhaps even old Obaa-San longs for love.
Do we not come daily to her to talk to her? And to ask her all about her weeping willow tree?
Oi! Obaa-San.
[A sigh is heard.
What was that, O-Katsu?
Someone sighed—a deep, hard sigh.
Oi! Obaa-San! Grandmother!
[The sigh is almost a moan.
It seemed to come from the weeping willow tree.
O-Katsu! Perhaps some evil spirit haunts the tree.
Some hideous Gaki! Like the Gaki of Kokoru—the evil ghost that can feed only on the unrest of humans. Their unhappiness is his food. He has to find misery in order to live, and win his way back once more to humanity. To different men he changes his shape at will, and sometimes is invisible.
Quick, Katsu, let us go to the shrine—and pray—and pray.
Ay. There!
[They go out. The Gaki appears.
Why did you sigh?
O Gaki of Kokoru! My heart hangs within me like the weight of years on Obaa-San.
Why did you moan?
The tree is growing—and it tears my heart.
I live upon your unrest. Feed me! Feed me!
[The tree sighs and moans and The Gaki seems transported with joy.
Please! Please! Give me my freedom.
Where then should I feed? Unless I feed on your unhappiness I should cease to live—and I must live.
Someone else, perchance, may suffer in my stead.
I care not where or how I feed. I am in the sixth hell, and if I die in this shape I must remain in this hell through all the eternities. One like me must feed his misery by making others miserable. I can not rise through the other five hells to human life unless I have human misery for my food.
Oh, can't you feed on joy—on happiness, on faith?
Faith? Yes, perhaps—but only on perfect faith. If I found perfect faith—ah, then—I dare not dream.—There is no faith.
Do not make me suffer more. Let me enjoy the loveliness of things.
Would you have someone else suffer in your stead?
Someone else—someone else—
Ay—old Obaa-San—she whom they call the grandmother.
[The Tree moans.
She will suffer in your stead.
No! No! She loves me! She of all the world loves me! No—not she!
It shall be she!
I shall not leave!
You give me better food than I have ever known. You wait! You wait!
Here comes Obaa-San! Do not let her suffer for me!
You shall be free—as free as anyone can be—when I have made the misery of Obaa-San complete.
She has never fully known her misery. Her heart is like an iron-bound chest long-locked, with the key lost.
We shall find the key! We shall find the key!
I shall warn her.
Try!
Alas! I can not make her hear! I can not tell her anything.
She can not understand you! She can not see me unless I wish! Earth people never see or hear!
Hai! Hai! Hai!
[Obaa-San enters. She is old, very, very old, and withered and misshapen. There is only laughter in your heart when you look at Obaa-San unless you see her eyes. Then—
My tree! My little tree! Why do you sigh?
Hai! Hai! Hai!
Sometimes I think I pity you. Yes, dear tree!
Hai! Hai! Hai!
Now I am a traveller. She sees me pleasantly.—Grandmother!
Ay, sir!
Which way to Kyushu?
You have lost your way. Far, far back beyond the ferry landing at Ishiyama to your right. That is the way to Kyushu.
Ah, me!
You are tired. Will you not sit and rest?—Will you not have some rice?
Oh, no.—Where is your brood, grandmother?
I have no brood. I am no grandmother. I am no mother.
What! Are there tears in your voice?
Tears! Why should I weep?
I
