Rashomon by Akutagawa Ryunosuke (best book clubs .TXT) 📖

Knocked off balance by the blow, Lorenzo fell down. But he got up slowly, and looking up to the sky with tearful eyes, he prayed in a quivering voice: “Lord, forgive Simeon, for he knows not what he does.” Disheartened by these words, Simeon only went on slashing and flailing his arms for a time at the doorway. Finally restrained by the other brothers, he folded his arms, and with his face as fierce as the threatening sky, he glared resentfully at the back of Lorenzo who was sorrowfully leaving the gate of Santa Lucia. According to the story from the brothers who happened to be there, at that very moment Phoebus, quivering in the wintry blast, was driving his crimson orb of day below the western sky of Nagasaki, and the angel of a crestfallen Lorenzo plodding his weary way straight into the light of the heavenly disk seemed to have a nimbus of celestial flame.

After that, Lorenzo was a being changed from the time when he used to offer incense in the chancel of Santa Lucia. He was reduced to wretched beggary and lived in an outcasts’ hovel on the edge of the town. Since he was formerly a believer in the Lord’s doctrine, he was despised and abused by the heathen rabble, and he could never walk on the streets without being mocked by heartless boys. Time and again he was caned, stoned, or cut at with a sword. Once he lay in the grip of a dreadful fever that raged in the town of Nagasaki; in pain and agony, he writhed by the roadside for seven nights and days. And the God of infinite love and boundless mercy not only rescued him from death, but gave him mountain berries, fish, and shellfish when he was given no alms of money or rice. Thus, morning and evening he prayed as he had in the days at Santa Lucia, and he never took the beads of jasper off his wrist. Moreover, in the dead of night he used to steal out of his outcasts’ hovel and in the moonlight make his way as near to Santa Lucia as he dared, to pray for the blessings of Jesus Christ.

The Christians who worshipped at the church paid no heed to the boy, and finally no one, not even the Fathers, felt pity for the boy. Since they were convinced of the truth of the scandalous rumors which prevailed at the time of his excommunication, nothing was farther from their thoughts than that he should ever be a boy of such piety as to make a nightly visit to Santa Lucia alone. This was a great pity for Lorenzo; inevitable as it was, being one of the unfathomable mysteries of God.

In the meantime the old umbrellamaker’s daughter gave premature birth to a baby girl, who became a favorite of the stiff-necked old man because she was his first grandchild. He took great care not only of his daughter but also his of grandchild, caressing it in his arms and giving it a doll to play with. This was natural for a grandfather. But Simeon, the brother, was remarkable for his singular conduct. After the girl gave birth to the baby, this young man who looked like a giant strong enough to overpower the devil, called upon the umbrellamaker’s family whenever he had spare time, and taking up the infant in his rough arms with tears on his bitter face, he would recall the quiet, ashy and handsome Lorenzo whom he had loved as his younger brother. However, the girl appeared to be grieved and chagrined that Lorenzo, since his excommunication, had not come to see her or her child, and she did not seem pleased that Simeon should call.

Time and tide wait for no man. A year passed like a snowflake that falls into the river, a moment white and then gone forever. Then unexpectedly, a disastrous fire broke out and threatened to ravage all of Nagasaki in one night. Such was the fury of the fire that it appeared as if the trumpet of the last judgment had sounded, rending the flames of the holocaust. Since the umbrellamaker’s house was downwind from the fire, it was enveloped in flames in an instant. Terror-stricken, all the family scurried away from the flames, when they suddenly realized that they had left their baby sleeping in another room. All the old man could do was to rave and stamp on the ground. The girl would have rushed back into the burning building to save her baby, had she not been prevented by others. The fierce wind added to its strength every moment, and the pillars of flames soared and raged as if to scorch even the stars in the sky. The townspeople who had banded together to bring the fire under control could do nothing but warn others of the danger, while all that the people who stood by could do was to calm the frenzied girl. At that moment there came Simeon, the brother, pushing his way as easily as if walking through tall grass, since he was a sturdy hero who had felt the sting of bullets and arrows in battles for feudal lords. Quickly grasping the situation, he rushed boldly into the flames but only to flinch before the terrible force of the fire. He had hardly crept into a few clouds of smoke when he beat a hasty retreat. Reappearing before the old man and his daughter, he gasped, “This is the will of God, you must resign yourselves to the inevitable.” At that moment, “Lord save us!” someone cried by the side of the old man. Since the voice sounded familiar to him, Simeon looked round to see where it came from. It was Lorenzo beyond all doubt. A glance showed the old samurai his angelic face and figure, dressed in rags as he was, his pure, thin face shining in firelight, with his black hair, which, ruffled by the wind, reached down below his shoulders. Poor Lorenzo in the form of a beggar was staring into the blazing house. But that was only for the twinkling of an eye. Scarcely had a terrible wind swept past to fan up the raging flames when he plunged headlong into the pillars of fire, the beams of fire, and the walls of fire. “Lord save us!” cried Simeon, breaking into a cold sweat all over his body, and crossed himself. Somehow at that moment in his mind’s eye, he saw the graceful and sorrowful figure of Lorenzo going out of Santa Lucia straight into the light of the heavenly disk quivering in the wintry blast.

The brothers, who were near by, were amazed at Lorenzo’s heroic action, but remembered his old offense. At once unsavory comments, on the wings of the wind, swept over the crowd of people. One person and another heaped abuse on him, saying, “Indeed a father is a father. Lorenzo, who hasn’t dared come near because of shame for his sin, has just rushed into the fire to save his own child.” The old man seemed to agree with their views, and apparently to conceal the agitation of his heart, he was yelling silly things in restless anxiety. Frantically the daughter was down on her knees, covering her face with both hands. She knelt motionless in a trance, offering fervent prayers with all her heart and soul. Sparks of fire fell like rain from the sky. Smoke billowed over the ground and smote her face. But she was lost in her prayers, forgetting herself and the world around her.

After a time there was a sudden stir among the people crowding before the blazing fire, when Lorenzo with disheveled hair appeared enshrouded in a tower of flames, holding the infant aloft in both arms, as if descending from heaven. One of the beams must have broken then, for with a terrific crash, a volume of smoky flame rose high up into the sky, and the figure of Lorenzo disappeared. And nothing was to be seen but a pillar of blazing fire shooting high up like coral.

Struck by the great misfortune, Simeon, the old man and all the other brothers were stunned and dazed. The girl gave a shriek, and jumped up with her legs exposed, but again prostrated herself on the ground, as if struck by lightning. Be that as it may, before they knew it, the baby girl was found tightly wrapped in the hands of the girl who had thrown herself to the ground. Oh, the boundless and infinite wisdom of God! Words are inadequate to sing the praise of his power. The infant, whom Lorenzo had thrown with his last desperate strength as he was struck by the fall of the burning beam, fortunately dropped unhurt at the feet of the mother.

Then there arose from the mouth of the old man a solemn voice in praise of the love of God, together with the voice of the girl who was on the ground weeping tears of joy. In the meantime, Simeon, in his whole-hearted desire to save Lorenzo, had dashed straight into the storm of the raging fire, and the old man’s voice rose up into the night sky in an anxious and pathetic prayer. Not only the baby’s grandfather but all the Christians standing around the mother and child offered tearful prayers. The son of the Virgin Mary, our Lord Jesus Christ, who regards the sufferings of all men as his own, granted their prayers at last.

Behold, Lorenzo, horribly burned, rescued and in Simeon’s arms away from the flames and smoke.

Those were not all the misadventures of that night. Lorenzo, gasping for breath, was immediately carried in the arms of the brothers up the hill to Santa Lucia, and was laid at its gate. The umbrellamaker’s daughter, choked with tears, had been pressing her baby to her breast, now threw herself on her knees at the feet of the Father Superior and made an unexpected confession of her love affair: “This baby girl is not a child by Lorenzo. To tell you the truth, this is a child I had by becoming intimate with the son of the heathen family next door.” The trembling of the distracted girl’s voice and the glistening of her eyes bathed in tears proved beyond all doubt that there was not a shadow of falsehood in her confession. Her startling confession took the breath and voice out of the mouths of the brothers who stood by, hardly aware of the raging and crackling sky-scorching flames.

Wiping away her tears, she continued, “He had such a firm faith in God and treated me so coldly that I came to bear a grudge against him. By making a false statement that the baby was his child, I hoped to have revenge on him for his coldness. But he was too noble-minded to hate me for my sin, and at the risk of his own life, he graciously rescued my baby from the fiery inferno. His love and deeds make me adore him as a Jesus Christ reborn. When I think of my heinous sin, I wouldn’t care if my body were torn to pieces by the devil’s talons.” She had scarcely finished the confession of her love affair before she threw herself to the ground in tears.

At that time the outcries, “Martyr,” “Martyr!” surged up from among the Christians who crowded around two and three deep. “Out of his love for the sinner,” the voices cried, “he degraded himself to beggary, following in the footsteps of our Lord Jesus Christ. But no man, not even the Father Superior whom he looked up to as his father, and Simeon whom he relied on as his brother, knew his heart. What is this but a martyr?”

While listening to the daughter’s confession of her love affair, Lorenzo could only nod slightly. His