よだかの星 English

The nighthawk was truly an ugly bird.

Its face was blotched here and there as though smeared with miso, its beak was flat and split all the way back to its ears.

Its legs were so feeble it could not walk even a single step.

The other birds were so put off by the mere sight of the nighthawk's face that they could not bear to look at it.

The skylark, for instance, was not a particularly beautiful bird either, but considered itself far superior to the nighthawk, so that whenever it happened to meet the nighthawk toward evening, it would shut its eyes with an air of deep distaste and slowly turn its head the other way.

The smaller chattering birds always mocked the nighthawk openly to its face.

"Hmph. Out again, are you. Just look at that sight. Really, you're a disgrace to all birdkind."

"And would you look at the size of that mouth. I'll bet it's some kind of frog cousin or something."

That was the sort of thing they said.

Of course, had the nighthawk been a true hawk and not merely a nighthawk, these half-hearted little birds would have trembled at the very sound of its name, gone pale, shrunk into themselves, and hidden behind the shadows of leaves.

Yet the nighthawk was not, in truth, any brother or relation of the hawk.

On the contrary, the nighthawk was the elder brother of the beautiful kingfisher and the hummingbird, that jewel among birds.

The hummingbird ate flower nectar, the kingfisher ate fish, and the nighthawk caught and ate flying insects.

Besides, the nighthawk had neither sharp talons nor a sharp beak, so no bird, however weak, had any reason to fear it.

That a bird so lacking in these qualities should bear the name hawk might seem strange, but it was partly because the nighthawk's wings were extraordinarily powerful, so that when it cut through the wind in flight it looked just like a hawk, and partly because its cry was sharp and resembled a hawk's in some way.

The hawk, of course, was greatly bothered by this and resented it deeply.

So whenever the hawk caught sight of the nighthawk, it would bristle its shoulders and demand that it change its name at once, at once.

One evening the hawk finally came to pay a visit at the nighthawk's home.

"Hey. Are you in? Haven't you changed your name yet? You really have no shame, do you. You and I are of very different standing. For instance, I soar through the clear blue sky as far as I please. You only come out on overcast, dim days, or at night. And look at my beak and talons. Then take a good look at yours and compare."

"Mr. Hawk. That is really asking too much. I did not choose my name myself. It was given to me by God."

"No. My name I might rightfully say was given to me by God, but yours, so to speak, is borrowed from both me and the night. Now give it back."

"Mr. Hawk. That is unreasonable."

"It is not unreasonable. I'll give you a fine new name. It's Ichizo. Ichizo, I tell you. A good name, don't you think? Now, to change your name, you must make a formal announcement. Listen carefully. You hang a sign around your neck with Ichizo written on it, and go around bowing to everyone saying, 'From this day forth I am called Ichizo.'"

"I could never do such a thing."

"Oh yes you can. Do it. If you haven't done it by the morning after next, I'll kill you on the spot. I'll wring the life out of you, so you'd better understand that. I'll go around to every bird's home early that morning and ask whether you came. If there's even one house you didn't visit, that will be the end of you."

"But isn't that asking far too much? If that is what it comes to, I would rather die. Kill me right now."

"Well, think it over carefully. Ichizo isn't such a bad name after all."

The hawk spread its great wings wide and flew back toward its nest.

The nighthawk shut its eyes tightly and thought.

(Why on earth do they all dislike me so?

My face looks like it's been smeared with miso, and my mouth is split wide open.

Even so, I have never done anything wrong.

When that baby white-eye fell out of the nest, I helped it and carried it back home.

But the white-eye snatched its baby away from me as if I were a thief.

And then it laughed at me terribly.

And now, on top of that, they want to call me Ichizo and hang a sign around my neck — what a painful thing.)

The surroundings had already grown dim.

The nighthawk flew out from its nest.

The clouds glowed with a spiteful light, hanging low.

The nighthawk flew through the sky silently, skimming almost level with the clouds.

Then all at once the nighthawk opened its mouth wide, stretched its wings straight out, and shot across the sky like an arrow.

Countless tiny flying insects poured into its throat one after another.

Before its body had even touched the ground, the nighthawk sprang lightly back up into the air.

The clouds had turned ash-gray now, and the fire of the mountain-burning blazed red on the distant hills.

When the nighthawk flew with all its might, it seemed as though the sky itself were being cleft in two.

A beetle flew into the nighthawk's throat and struggled desperately.

The nighthawk swallowed it at once, but at that moment felt a sudden shudder run down its back.

The clouds were now pitch black, and only in the east did the fire of the mountain-burning reflect red — a fearful sight.

The nighthawk, with a heaviness pressing on its chest, rose again into the sky.

Again a beetle flew into the nighthawk's throat.

It thrashed and scratched wildly at the nighthawk's throat.

The nighthawk forced it down and swallowed it, but at that moment its heart gave a sudden lurch, and the nighthawk cried out and burst into tears.

Sobbing, it circled and circled through the sky.

(Ah — beetles and so many flying insects are killed by me every night.

And I, the sole one, am in turn to be killed by the hawk.

That is why this hurts so much.

Ah, it hurts, it hurts.

I will stop eating insects and starve to death.

No — before that, the hawk will surely kill me.

No — before that, I will go far, far away, to the other side of the sky.)

The fire of the mountain-burning spread and flowed like water, and the clouds seemed to blaze red as well.

The nighthawk flew straight to his younger brother the kingfisher.

The beautiful kingfisher had just woken and was gazing at the distant mountain fire.

Seeing the nighthawk come down, he said:

"Brother. Good evening. Is there something urgent?"

"No, I'm going away to a distant place, so I came to see you just before I go."

"Brother. Please don't go. Hachisuzume is already so far away, and I'd be left all alone, wouldn't I?"

"It can't be helped, I'm afraid. Don't say anything more today. And you — please don't catch fish carelessly unless it's absolutely necessary. All right. Goodbye."

"Brother. What's happened? Please wait just a moment."

"No, it would be the same no matter how long I stayed. Give my regards to Hachisuzume later. Goodbye. We won't meet again. Goodbye."

The nighthawk wept as it flew back to its own home.

The short summer night was already beginning to pale toward dawn.

The fronds of the fern swayed cool and blue, drinking in the morning mist.

The nighthawk cried out high and sharp: kishi, kishi, kishi.

Then it tidied its nest neatly, smoothed and arranged all the feathers and down on its body, and flew out from the nest once more.

The mist lifted, and the sun rose exactly in the east.

The nighthawk, enduring the dizzying glare, flew like an arrow straight toward it.

"O Sun, O Sun. Please take me with you to where you are. I don't mind if I burn and die. Even this ugly body of mine will surely give off a small light when it burns. Please, take me with you."

No matter how far it flew, the sun came no nearer.

On the contrary, growing gradually smaller and more distant, the sun spoke:

"You are the nighthawk, aren't you. I see — it must be very hard for you. Try flying through the sky this time and asking the stars. You are not a bird of the daytime, after all."

The nighthawk thought it had bowed once, but then suddenly grew dizzy and fell tumbling down onto the grass of the meadow.

And it was as though it were deep in a dream.

It seemed as though its body were drifting up through red and yellow stars, then blown far away by the wind, and then a hawk came and seized its body.

Something cold suddenly fell on its face.

The nighthawk opened its eyes.

Dew had dripped from a young blade of pampas grass.

Night had fully come; the sky was blue-black, and stars glittered thickly across the whole expanse.

The nighthawk rose up into the sky.

Tonight too the mountain-burning fire was brilliant red.

The nighthawk circled through the air in the faint glow of that fire and the cold light of the stars.

Then it circled once more.

And then, summoning all its resolve, it flew straight toward those beautiful stars of Orion in the western sky, calling out as it flew:

"O Stars. O pale-blue stars of the west. Please take me with you to where you are. I don't mind if I burn and die."

Orion went on singing its bold song and paid no attention whatsoever to a nighthawk.

The nighthawk nearly wept, staggered and fell, then barely caught itself and circled once more through the sky.

Then it flew straight toward the great Canis Major in the south, calling out as it flew:

"O Stars. O blue stars of the south. Please take me with you to where you are. I don't mind if I burn and die."

Canis Major flickered brilliantly in blue and violet and yellow, and said:

"Don't be absurd. Whatever do you think you are? Just a bird, that's all. To reach here on those wings of yours would take a billion, a trillion, a trillion-billion years."

And it turned to face another direction.

The nighthawk, crestfallen, staggered and fell, then circled again twice through the sky.

Then once more, summoning all its resolve, it flew straight toward the Great Bear in the north, calling out as it flew:

"O blue stars of the north, please take me with you to where you are."

The Great Bear said quietly:

"You mustn't entertain such foolish thoughts. Go and cool your head a little. The best thing at a time like this is to plunge into a sea where icebergs float, or if there's no sea nearby, into a glass of water with ice in it."

The nighthawk, crestfallen, staggered and fell, then circled four more times through the sky.

And once more it cried out to the Eagle star on the far bank of the Milky Way, just rising in the east:

"O white stars of the east, please take me with you to where you are. I don't mind if I burn and die."

The Eagle spoke with a grand air:

"No, no, that's completely out of the question — not worth discussing at all. To become a star, one must be of the proper standing. And it requires a considerable sum of money as well."

The nighthawk lost all its strength, closed its wings, and fell toward the earth.

When its feeble feet were just one foot from the ground, the nighthawk shot suddenly skyward like a signal flare.

Reaching the middle of the sky, the nighthawk shook its body and ruffled its feathers just as an eagle does when it swoops upon a bear.

Then it cried out high, high into the air: kishi kishi kishi kishi kishii!

Its voice was exactly like a hawk's.

The other birds sleeping in the meadows and forests all woke, and trembling, looked up at the starry sky with puzzled eyes.

The nighthawk flew up into the sky — on and on, ever higher, without stopping.

The fire of the mountain-burning was now no bigger than the glow of a cigarette stub.

The nighthawk climbed and climbed.

In the cold, its breath froze white against its chest.

The thinning air forced it to beat its wings faster and faster, frantically.

Yet the stars were no larger than they had been before.

Its breath came like bellows.

The cold and the frost pierced the nighthawk like blades.

The nighthawk's wings went completely numb.

It lifted its tear-filled eyes and looked up at the sky one more time.

And so.

This was the nighthawk's last moment.

The nighthawk could no longer tell whether it was falling or rising, whether it was upside down or right-side up.

Only its heart was at peace, and though that great blood-stained beak was bent sideways, it was certainly smiling, just a little.

Then after some time had passed, the nighthawk opened its eyes clearly.

And it saw its own body now burning quietly, transformed into a beautiful blue light like phosphorescent fire.

Right beside it was Cassiopeia.

The pale blue light of the Milky Way lay just behind.

And the nighthawk's star went on burning.

It burned on and on, forever and ever.

Even now it is still burning.