Free Otogizoshi: The Fairy Tale Book of Dazai Osamu (Translated) by Dazaï Osamu Page B

the bottom of the shell. Allow me to put it this way:
    Time and tide are man’s salvation.
    Oblivion is man’s salvation.
    It’s possible to view Princess Oto’s gift as the ultimate expression of the Dragon Palace’s exquisite and noble hospitality. Isn’t it said that memories only grow more beautiful with time? As for the unleashing of those three hundred years, that too had been entrusted to Urashima’s own emotional state. He was being granted unlimited license even now that he was back on land. If he hadn’t despaired, he wouldn’t have turned to the shell. It was only to be opened if he simply couldn’t think of anything else to do. Once it was opened, poof !—three hundred years and instant oblivion. I won’t belabor the point any further. This is the sort of profound compassion that permeates Japanese fairy tales.
    It’s said that Urashima Taro lived another ten years as a happy old man.

Click-Clack Mountain

    The rabbit in the story of Click-Clack Mountain is a young female, and the tanuki badger she so thoroughly destroys is an unattractive male who’s madly in love with her. There’s no doubt in my mind that these are the true facts of the case.
    The incident is said to have occurred in the province of Koshu, in the hills behind what is now the town of Funazu, on the shore of Lake Kawaguchi (one of the Five Lakes of Mount Fuji). There is a rowdy, rough-and-ready side to human nature in Koshu, and perhaps that’s why this tale is somewhat more hard-boiled than other Japanese children’s stories. It’s steeped in cruelty right from the start. I mean, “grandmother stew”? It’s downright gruesome. There’s no way to make an outrage like that seem comical or witty. Let’s face it: the tanuki pulled a monstrous trick. Once we find out that the old woman’s bones have been scattered beneath the floorboards, we know we’ve entered a realm of grisliest darkness.
    As so-called children’s literature, therefore, I’m afraid the original tale must accept its current ignominious fate of being banned from sale. Contemporary picture books of Click-Clack Mountain seem, wisely, to leave it at the tanuki merely injuring Obaa-san and fleeing. That prevents the books being banned, which is all well and good, but now the revenge the rabbit exacts upon the tanuki seems excessive; and, in any case, the rabbit’s methods have nothing in common with the noble tradition of cutting down one’s enemy in a gallant and straightforward manner. No, it’s burn him half to death, torment and tease him, and finally send him gurgling to the lake bottom in a dissolving boat of mud. It’s all about deception, from start to finish. This is hardly a technique sanctioned by Bushido, our nation’s Way of the Warrior. If the tanuki has actually tricked Ojii-san into eating a stew containing the flesh of his own murdered wife, then he is guilty of a loathsome crime and we are less outraged at the torture to which he is subsequently subjected. But to have the tanuki merely injure the old woman—albeit out of consideration for the effect on impressionable young minds, not to mention the fear of being banned from sale—is to make the pain and humiliation meted out to him, culminating in that inglorious death by drowning, seem more than a bit unjust.
    This tanuki badger had been living a leisurely life in the mountains, a mischievous but fundamentally harmless moocher and ne’er-do-well, when he was captured by the old man. Facing a hopeless situation and on the verge of being made into tanuki stew, he writhed in agony as he racked his brains for a way out and at last resorted to tricking the old woman in order to save his own skin. Let us be clear: there can be no excuse for the heinous grandmother stew scheme, and no punishment could be too severe for its perpetrator. But if the tanuki merely scratched the old woman, injuring her, as in the picture books nowadays, the sin seems far less unforgivable. The tanuki, after all,