どんぐりと山猫 English

A peculiar postcard arrived at Ichiro's house one Saturday evening.

Dear Kaneta Ichiro, September 19th

I trust you are in good health, and that is splendid.

Tomorrow I have a troublesome trial to conduct, so please come

along.

Please do not bring any weapons.

Respectfully, the Mountain Cat

That was what it said.

The handwriting was altogether poor, and the ink was so rough and gritty it would rub off on your fingers.

But Ichiro was so happy he could hardly contain himself.

He tucked the postcard quietly into his school bag and leapt and bounded all around the house.

Even after he had crawled into bed, he lay thinking for a long time about the mountain cat's whisker-faced look, and what that troublesome trial might be like, and could not fall asleep.

But when Ichiro opened his eyes, it was already fully bright outside.

He stepped outside and found that all the mountains around him rose up swelling and glistening, as if they had just been made that very moment, ranged beneath a deep blue sky.

Ichiro quickly ate his breakfast and set off alone up a narrow path that followed the valley stream, climbing toward the upper reaches.

A clear wind came rushing through, and the chestnut tree scattered its nuts with a clatter.

Ichiro looked up at the chestnut tree and said,

"Chestnut tree, chestnut tree, did a mountain cat pass through here?"

He asked.

The chestnut tree went quiet for a moment, then replied,

"The mountain cat came through early this morning in a carriage, flying off toward the east."

It answered.

"East — that's the way I'm going. How strange. Well, I'll keep going a little further. Thank you, chestnut tree."

The chestnut tree said nothing and scattered its nuts once more with a clatter.

When Ichiro went on a little further, he was already at the Flute-Playing Falls.

The Flute-Playing Falls got its name from a small hole partway up the white rocky cliff, from which water rushed out whistling like a flute and immediately plunged roaring down into the valley below.

Ichiro turned toward the waterfall and called out,

"Hey, hey, Flute-Player, did a mountain cat come through here?"

The waterfall piped back in answer,

"The mountain cat flew past a little while ago in a carriage heading west."

"How strange — west is the direction of my house. But I'll go a bit further all the same. Thank you, Flute-Player."

The waterfall went on blowing its flute just as before.

When Ichiro went on a little further, he found a great many white mushrooms under a beech tree, performing a strange little concert — dotteko dotteko dotteko.

Ichiro bent down and said,

"Hey, mushrooms, did a mountain cat pass through here?"

He asked.

The mushrooms replied,

"The mountain cat came through early this morning in a carriage, flying off toward the south."

They answered.

Ichiro tilted his head in puzzlement.

"South — that's over in those mountains. How strange. Well, I'll go on a little further. Thank you, mushrooms."

The mushrooms all looked very busy and went on with their strange little concert — dotteko dotteko.

Ichiro went on a little further.

Then a squirrel came bounding across the treetop of a walnut tree.

Ichiro quickly waved to stop it, and said,

"Hey, squirrel, did a mountain cat pass through here?"

He asked.

The squirrel, from up in the tree, shaded its brow with its hand and looked down at Ichiro as it replied,

"The mountain cat came through early this morning while it was still dark, in a carriage heading south."

"Two places now have said it went south — how very strange. Still, I'll go a little further. Thank you, squirrel."

The squirrel was already gone.

Only the topmost branch of the walnut tree swayed, and the leaves of the neighboring beech tree flickered with a brief flash of light.

When Ichiro went a little further, the path that had followed the valley stream had grown thin and disappeared entirely.

And to the south of the stream, heading toward the dark forest of kaya trees, a new small path had been made.

Ichiro climbed along that path.

The kaya branches overlapped in deep black masses, blocking out every scrap of blue sky, and the path became a very steep slope.

As Ichiro climbed that slope, his face flushing red and drops of sweat falling one by one, the world suddenly burst open with light, and his eyes pricked sharply.

Before him lay a beautiful golden meadow where the grass rustled and whispered in the wind, and all around it stood a fine forest of olive-colored kaya trees.

In the middle of that meadow, a short, oddly-shaped man stood with his knees bent, holding a leather whip, staring this way in silence.

Ichiro gradually drew closer, then stopped short in astonishment.

The man had only one eye; the blind eye was white and twitching, and he wore something strange that was neither quite a jacket nor quite a short coat; and above all his legs were terribly bent, like a goat's, and as for his feet — they were shaped like the flat wooden spatulas used to scoop rice.

Ichiro found the man unnerving, but tried his best to stay calm as he asked,

"Do you know where the mountain cat is?"

The man glanced sideways at Ichiro's face, twisted his mouth, and grinned as he said,

"The mountain cat will be back here any moment now. You are Ichiro, aren't you."

Ichiro started with surprise and stepped back one pace, saying,

"Yes, I am Ichiro. But how do you know that?"

He said.

The strange man only grinned all the more.

"Well, ye must have seen the postcard, then."

"I saw it. That is why I came."

"That writing was pretty dreadful, weren't it."

The man said, looking down with a sad expression.

Ichiro felt sorry for him, and said,

"Oh, I thought the writing was quite good, actually."

When he said this, the man was overjoyed; he breathed in and out rapidly, turned red all the way to his ears, opened wide the collar of his garment to let the breeze in on his body, and asked,

"And the handwriting — was that quite good too?"

He asked.

Ichiro, barely suppressing a laugh, answered,

"It is very good. Even a fifth-year student couldn't write like that."

At that, the man's face turned sour again.

"Fifth-year — that'd be fifth year of ordinary school, would it."

His voice sounded so weak and pitiful that Ichiro hurried to say,

"No, no — fifth year of university."

At that, the man was overjoyed again; his face became one great wide grin, and he laughed and laughed and cried out,

"It was I who wrote that postcard!"

Ichiro, stifling his amusement, asked,

"Just who are you, anyway?"

The man turned abruptly serious and said,

"I am the mountain cat's carriage groom."

He said.

At that moment a gust of wind came rushing through, the grass rippled in waves all around, and the groom made a sudden, deep bow.

Ichiro thought this odd, turned around to look, and there stood the mountain cat in something like a yellow jinbaori war coat, eyes round and green, watching.

The mountain cat's ears really are pointed and upright, thought Ichiro — and then the mountain cat gave a little bob of a bow.

Ichiro returned the greeting politely.

"Well, good afternoon, and thank you for the postcard yesterday."

The mountain cat pulled its whiskers taut, thrust out its belly, and spoke.

"Good afternoon, and thank you so much for coming. The truth is, the day before yesterday a troublesome dispute broke out, and I found myself quite at a loss over the trial, so I wished to hear your thoughts on the matter. Please, rest awhile. The acorns will be arriving soon. This trial causes me grief every year."

The mountain cat reached into its breast and drew out a box of cigarettes, put one in its own mouth, and

"Would you care for one?"

Offered one to Ichiro.

Ichiro was surprised and said,

"No, thank you."

Whereupon the mountain cat laughed magnanimously and said,

"Ha, still too young for it, I suppose."

And with a swift strike of the match, deliberately screwing up its face, it blew out a puff of blue smoke.

The mountain cat's carriage groom stood at stiff attention, but it was plain that he desperately wanted a cigarette and was forcing himself to hold back — tears rolled down his cheeks in great drops.

Just then, Ichiro heard at his feet a crackling sound like salt popping in a fire.

He stooped in surprise to look, and there throughout the grass, in all directions, round golden things were sparkling and glittering.

Looking more closely, he saw they were all acorns wearing red trousers, and there were so many of them that three hundred would have been a conservative guess.

They were all chattering away — wah wah wah wah.

"Ah, here they come. Swarming in like ants. Right — quickly now, ring the bell. The sun's good over there today, go and cut the grass in that spot."

The mountain cat tossed away its cigarette and hurriedly gave orders to the carriage groom.

The carriage groom was in quite a flurry too; he pulled a large sickle from his hip and hacked away — zak-zak zak-zak — at the grass in front of the mountain cat.

From all sides the acorns came bursting out of the grass, glittering and flashing, crying wah wah wah wah.

The carriage groom now rang a bell — clang clang clang clang.

The sound rang out through the kaya forest — clang clang clang clang — and the golden acorns grew a little quiet.

Looking over, the mountain cat had already somehow changed into a long black satin garment and was seated gravely before the acorns.

It looks just like a painting of pilgrims paying reverence to the Great Buddha of Nara, thought Ichiro.

The groom then snapped the leather whip two or three times — whish-crack, whish-crack.

The sky was clear and deep blue, and the acorns sparkled beautifully.

"This trial has gone on for three days now. Wouldn't it be better to make peace with one another at some point?"

When the mountain cat said this with some concern, though forcing itself to sound authoritative, the acorns cried out all at once,

"No, no, it won't do. No matter what anyone says, the one with the pointiest head is the greatest, and I have the pointiest head of all."

"No, that is wrong. It is the roundest who is greatest. And I am the roundest."

"What matters is size. The biggest is the greatest, and since I am the biggest, I am the greatest."

"That's not right. I am considerably bigger — even the judge said so yesterday."

"That has nothing to do with it. It's height. Height is what matters."

"It's who can push hardest. We should settle it by pushing."

Now they were all babbling at once — yak yak yak yak — and it became utterly impossible to make out anything, like a hornets' nest that had been poked.

So the mountain cat cried out,

"Silence! What do you think this place is? Quiet, quiet."

The groom cracked the whip — whish-crack — and the acorns at last fell quiet.

The mountain cat twirled its whiskers smartly and said,

"This trial has now gone on for three days. Wouldn't it be better to make peace with one another at some point?"

Then all the acorns began clamoring again at once,

"No, no, it won't do. No matter what anyone says, the one with the pointiest head is the greatest."

"No, that is wrong. It is the roundest who is greatest."

"That's not right. What matters is size."

Yak yak yak yak — it was impossible to make anything out anymore.

The mountain cat cried out,

"Silence! Be quiet! What do you think this place is? Quiet, quiet."

The groom cracked the whip — whish-crack.

The mountain cat twirled its whiskers smartly and said,

"This trial has now gone on for three days. Wouldn't it be better to make peace with one another at some point?"

"No, no, it won't do. The one with the pointed head..."

Yak yak yak yak.

The mountain cat cried out,

"Silence! What do you think this place is? Quiet, quiet."

The groom cracked the whip — whish-crack — and all the acorns fell silent.

The mountain cat spoke quietly to Ichiro.

"This is how it is. What should I do?"

Ichiro laughed and replied,

"In that case, you could hand down this verdict: the one among them who is the most foolish, the most absurd, the most utterly worthless — that one is the greatest. I heard it in a sermon once."

The mountain cat nodded as if to say, now that makes sense, and then, putting on an air of great dignity, opened the collar of its satin garment, showed a peek of the yellow jinbaori beneath, and pronounced judgment to the acorns.

"Very well. Be quiet. Here is my verdict. The one among you who is the least distinguished, the most foolish, the most absurd, the most utterly worthless, the most thoroughly squashed in the head — that one is the greatest."

The acorns went completely still.

Perfectly, utterly still — frozen in place.

Then the mountain cat removed its black satin garment, wiped the sweat from its brow, and took Ichiro by the hand.

The groom, overjoyed, cracked the whip five or six times — whish-crack, whish-crack, whish-whish-crack.

The mountain cat said,

"Thank you ever so much. Such a dreadful trial, and you settled it in no more than a minute and a half. Please, from now on, would you become an honorary judge of my court? And if a postcard comes your way again in the future, would you please come? I shall offer you something in return each time."

"Certainly. You need not give me anything in return."

"No, please do accept something in return. It is a matter of my personal dignity. And from now on, may I write 'Kaneta Ichiro, Esq.' on the postcard, and address it to you from this court — would that be agreeable?"

Ichiro said, "Yes, I don't mind at all."

When he said so, the mountain cat still seemed to have something it wanted to say; it stood there for a while twirling its whiskers and blinking, but at last appeared to make up its mind and spoke.

"And as for the wording of the postcard — from now on, what if I write: 'Having a matter requiring your attention, you are hereby summoned to appear tomorrow.' How would that be?"

Ichiro laughed and said,

"Hmm, that sounds rather odd. I think you had better give that up."

The mountain cat, with the look of someone who had phrased things badly and found it terribly disappointing, stood for a while looking down with its whiskers still twirled, but at last gave up and said,

"Then we shall keep the wording as before. Now, for today's reward — would you prefer a sho of golden acorns, or the head of a salted salmon?"

"I would prefer the golden acorns."

The mountain cat, looking much relieved that it wasn't the salmon head, spoke quickly to the carriage groom,

"Bring a sho of acorns at once. If it comes up short of a sho, mix in some gilded acorns to fill it. Quickly."

The groom scooped the earlier acorns into a measure and counted out loud,

"It comes to exactly one sho."

The mountain cat's jinbaori coat flapped and rattled in the wind.

Then the mountain cat stretched itself up tall, closed its eyes, and said in half a yawn,

"Good. Now quickly prepare the carriage."

A large white carriage made of mushrooms was pulled out.

And attached to it was a horse of some grayish color with a peculiar shape.

"Now then, let me see you home."

The mountain cat said.

The two of them climbed into the carriage, and the groom placed the measure of acorns inside it.

Whish, crack.

The carriage left the meadow.

The trees and bushes swayed and blurred like smoke.

Ichiro gazed at the golden acorns, while the mountain cat stared vacantly into the distance.

As the carriage moved along, the acorns grew steadily dimmer, and by the time the carriage stopped they had turned into ordinary brown acorns.

And the mountain cat's yellow jinbaori coat, and the groom, and the mushroom carriage — all vanished at once, and Ichiro found himself standing in front of his own house, holding the measure of acorns.

After that, no more postcards signed "Respectfully, the Mountain Cat" ever arrived.

Ichiro sometimes thinks that perhaps he should have said it was all right to write "summoned to appear" after all.