The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old JapanWingfield, Lewis
History
The Curse of Koshiu: A Chronicle of Old Japan
Wingfield, Lewis
Historical fiction; Hojo family -- Fiction; Japan -- History -- Kamakura period, 1185-1333 -- Fiction
In the first place, the farmer and his wife were of too mean a stock
to be permitted to put an end to themselves, just as the children
were too young to perform the act, even if accorded the privilege. No,
they must be handed over to the Etas, members of the lowest class in
Japan--people who dig graves and kill animals--social outcasts beyond
the pale of society, filthy and degraded, who are never allowed to
enter a house, or eat or drink or cook at any fire in company with
decent persons. Being unworthy of mats or hangings, the device of the
paper was an ingenious thought, for the blood of mere peasants must
not defile the private ground of my lord, and yet the spirits of the
departing must not be overcomforted by too much consideration. As the
execution was to take place at the hour of the cock, or sundown, it
would be necessary to have lights, but not too many, or of too grand a
kind, for excessive illumination would be indecorous. Four tall bamboo
poles, carrying lanterns of plain white, were placed at four corners,
while behind a screen were concealed a lance, a dirk upon a tray,
buckets to contain the heads, an incense burner, cloths, and a pail of
water. In the centre of the space facing the crosses, thick mats were
laid, covered with rich embroideries, for the accommodation of my lord
and his party, behind which was to be arranged, standing in rows, his
brilliant retinue in their most splendid and glittering array. Down
the sides, behind a low barrier, were mats of a coarser kind for the
town's-people, with fire boxes or hibachis, and bronze kettles and tea
things, and cakes and sweetmeats on trays of gold lacquer, in order
that none of his vassals might accuse his benignant lord of want of
hospitality or lack of thought for their comfort.
It was a beautiful and still evening in autumn, with the opalescent
sky of crystalline clearness, which so often in Japan gives us a hint
of the infinite. The sun was just dipping behind the outer wall,
flanked by its massive towers, tipping with gold the eddies of the
brawling river which protected the side of the square opposite the
crosses, when a flourish of conch shells announced that the time was
come.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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