Crackling Mountain and Other Stories Page 19

  Those who doubt what I say should observe our poor badger as he yearns for his Artemis-like teenager. If I’m correct, the malicious and unmanly chastisement of the badger is perfectly understandable. Whichever crime he committed, stewing the old woman or clawing her, makes no difference to the girl—this we must grant as fact, even as we sigh over it. Moreover, our so-called badger is just the sort who would woo an Artemis-like teenager. That is, he’s a roly-poly glutton both stupid and uncouth who cuts a sorry figure even among his cohorts. One can surmise already the wretched end awaiting for him.

  In the story itself, then, the old man had captured the badger and decided to make him into stew. But, desperate to see his rabbit-maid once more, the badger fretted and struggled until he finally escaped into the hills. Restlessly he searched all over for her, mumbling something or other all the while.

  “Cheer up!” he exclaimed upon finding her. “I got away in the nick of time. I waited till the old man was gone; then I let out a shriek, went right for the old woman, gave her a mighty blow and escaped. Was luck ever with me.” Thus did the badger speak of his brush with death, his face beaming and spit flying from his mouth.

  As the rabbit listened, she sprang back to avoid the spray. Humbug!—that’s what her look said. “What’s there to cheer about?” she retorted. “You’re a filthy . . . Imagine, spitting like that. And besides, the old man and lady are friends of mine. Didn’t you realize that?”

  “Oh?” the badger exclaimed, taken aback. “No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry, if only I had known ... Even if they were going to make stew of me or whatever . . .” He was obviously disheartened.

  “It’s too late for excuses now! You must have known about their garden, and how I’d help myself to their luscious beans ever so often. If only you’d known ... Liar! You’ve got a grudge against me.”

  Even as she berated him, the rabbit was already thinking ahead to revenge. A maiden’s ire can be scathing and merciless, especially when her victim is both ugly and dumb.

  “C’mon, forgive me—I didn’t realize. I’m no liar. Honest, I’m not.” Even as he entreated her in his sweetest manner, the badger stretched his neck and gave the rabbit a bow. He also noticed a fallen berry and instantly gobbled it up, his eyes darting hither and thither in search of more. “I’d rather die than see you so angry,” he said. “Really, I mean it.”

  “Nonsense! All you think of is eating.” She turned away primly as though she felt nothing but contempt for him. “Besides being a lecher, you’re the filthiest glutton I can imagine.”

  “Please, don’t make a fuss about that. I’m so hungry ...” Having confessed to this weakness, the badger anxiously scoured the nearby area even as he lamented, “If you only knew how I suffer ...”

  “Didn’t I tell you to keep away from me? Phew! Move over there. You want to know what I heard? I heard you eat lizard, that’s what. And scat, too!”

  “Oh, surely ...” The badger smiled lamely, but he didn’t seem able to deny the charge. His mouth twisting as he smiled once again, the badger meekly repeated, “Oh surely ...”

  “You needn’t bother pretending. I can tell because you smell even worse than usual.”

  Even as she dismissed him, the rabbit seemed taken with a brilliant scheme. Suddenly her eyes glittered and she turned to the badger. Suppressing the cruel smile that seemed ready to cross her face, she said, “Well, I’ll forgive you this once. Hey! I told you to keep your distance. You need watching every moment. And how about wiping that slobber from your face. You’re dripping under the chin. Now listen closely. I’ll forgive you just this once, but there’s a catch. The old man’s feeling dejected now, so he won’t be up to gathering firewood in the hills. Let’s go ahead and do it for him.”

  “Together? Both you and me?” The badger’s small, turbid eyes lit up with pleasure.

  “That doesn’t suit you?”

  “What do you mean—doesn’t suit me? C’mon, let’s go right now.” The badger was so happy that his voice turned hoarse.

  “Let’s go tomorrow instead,” the rabbit countered. “Is early in the morning okay? You’re probably worn out today—and hungry too,” she added, her generosity beyond belief.

  “How good of you!” the badger responded. “I’ll gather plenty of things for a meal. When we get to the hill, I’ll work with all my might and cut a whole cord of firewood. I’ll deliver it to the old man’s place, and then you’ll forgive me, won’t you? And we’ll be friends again?”

  “You do carry on, don’t you? Really, it depends on how well you do. I guess we’ll be friends.”

  “Heh-heh,” the badger snickered. “What a provocative tongue. So you’re putting me on the spot. Damn! I’m already ...” The badger paused, then snatched a spider crawling nearby and devoured it. “I’m so happy I could cry.”

  He sniffled and pretended to weep.

  The summer morning was cool, and a white mist enveloped the waters of Lake Kawaguchi. Though drenched in dew, the badger and the rabbit busily gathered brushwood on the mountain top.

  To all appearances the badger was utterly absorbed in the task. He had worked himself into a near frenzy—flailing his sickle about, groaning excessively, and making his travail known by crying “Ouch!” now and then. He rushed about without pause, anxious that the rabbit notice how hard he was working. This rampage had gone on awhile when he suddenly flung away his sickle, his look proclaiming that he was through.

  “There!” he exclaimed. “You see these blisters? Ah, my hands really sting. I’m thirsty too—and hungry. Well, hard work’ll do that to you. Shall we have a break? And get to the lunch, maybe. Heh-heh.”

  Having let out this sheepish chuckle, the badger opened the lunchbox. It was as huge as a utility gasoline can, and he stuck his nose right in. Thereupon the box echoed with sounds of snatching, munching, and swallowing, the badger losing himself in the task of eating. The rabbit stopped cutting brushwood, a stunned look on her face, then peeked into the lunchbox. Whatever was inside must have been awful, for a tiny squeal escaped her lips and she immediately covered her face with both hands.

  All that morning the rabbit had refrained from abusing the badger as she usually did. Perhaps she already had another scheme in mind; for, even as she ignored the capering rascal and concentrated on quickly cutting the brushwood, an artful smile had played about her lips. Though astonished by the inside of the great lunchbox, she merely cringed and went on cutting the brushwood in silence.

  So lenient was the rabbit that the badger almost hugged himself with glee. Even this impudent girl had finally given in. Hadn’t his brushwood-cutting act done the trick? Well, this masculinity of his— what woman could resist it?

  Ah, he had eaten his fill. And was he ever weary. Yes, he’d have just a quick nap. Putting on his carefree manner, the badger became so relaxed that he was soon fast asleep and snoring heavily. Even as he dreamt, he mumbled about love potions—they weren’t worth a damn, they didn’t do any good ... And when he awoke from his lewd dreams, it was almost noon.

  “You really had a good sleep,” the rabbit said, still indulgent. “I’ve got my wood bundled up too,” she went on, “so let’s hoist the load on our backs and take it to the old man.”

  “Oh,” the badger answered, “let’s be off then.” He yawned prodigiously and scratched his arms. “Am I ever hungry. How could anyone sleep on an empty stomach like this? Too sensitive—that’s my problem.” Having said these things—without the least hint of a smile, either—he went on. “Well, I’ll hurry up and collect my brushwood, and then we’ll head down, I guess. Since the lunch is gone, I’ll have to finish this chore quickly so I can look for more food.”

  They set off, each one carrying a load of brushwood.

  “You go first,” the rabbit urged. “There are snakes around here and I’m scared of them.”

  “Snakes? Who’s afraid of snakes? When I spot one, I’ll grab him and ...” About to say “eat him,” the badger caught himself just in
time. “I’ll grab him and kill him,” he said, correcting himself. “You just stay behind me.”

  “At times like this you can really depend upon a man.”

  “Oh, please, no flattery,” the badger answered sweetly. “You’re certainly nice today, aren’t you? It almost makes me edgy. Surely you’re not taking me along so the old man can make badger stew. Hahhah, you can count me out of that.”

  “Well! That’s a queer thing to suspect. If that’s how you feel, maybe we should part company right here. I’m perfectly capable of going alone.”

  “No, no, I didn’t mean it that way. We’ll go together, all right? I’m not afraid of snakes or anything else in this world—except for that old man. He talked about making badger stew, and I didn’t like that. Downright disgusting, isn’t it? And hardly in good taste, if you ask me. Anyway, I’ll take the brushwood to the hackberry tree in the old man’s garden, but no further. I’m turning back there, so you’ll have to carry it the rest of the way. All I can say is, a queasy feeling comes over me when I see the old man’s face ...Hey! What’s that? That strange noise—what could it be? Don’t you hear it too? It’s sort of a crackling noise ...”

  “What did you expect?” said the rabbit. “That’s why they call this place Crackling Mountain.”

  “Crackling Mountain? Here?”

  “Sure. You didn’t know that?”

  “No, I didn’t. It’s the first time I’ve heard this mountain even had a name. It’s such a strange name too—you’re not making it up, are you?”

  “Oh, really! But every mountain’s got a name. There’s Mount Fuji and Mount Nagao and Mount Ōmuro . . . They all have names, don’t they? So this one’s called Crackling Mountain. Listen, don’t you hear that crackling sound?”

  “Yeah, I hear it. Strange, though. I’ve never heard that sound before on this mountain. I was born here, and for thirty-some years this ...”

  “Wha-a-at! You don’t mean to say you’re that old? Why, just the other day you told me you were seventeen. Oh, this is too much. Your face is all wrinkled and you stoop a bit too, so I didn’t take you for seventeen. But I hardly thought you’d hide your age by twenty years. So you’re almost forty—the nerve!”

  “No, seventeen, I’m only seventeen. Seventeen, I tell you. The stoop comes from hunger, and it doesn’t have anything to do with age. My older brother—he’s the one in his thirties. You see, he’s always talking about it, and I mimicked him, that’s all. It’s only a habit I’ve picked up, my dear.” Calling her “my dear!”—that certainly showed how flustered the badger was.

  “Only a habit?” the rabbit replied curtly. “This is the first I’ve heard of an older brother. You once told me how lonely you were—no parents, no brothers or sisters. How did you put it then? I didn’t know how forsaken you felt—wasn’t that what you said? Now what did you mean by that?”

  “Yes, yes ...” the badger replied, losing track of what he wanted to say. “Things are certainly involved, you know, and it’s not so simple. I’ve got an older brother, and yet I don’t ...”

  “Nonsense!” interjected the rabbit, now totally fed up. “You’re talking through your hat!”

  “Well, to tell the truth, yes, I’ve got an older brother. It hurts to say this, but he’s just a drunken scoundrel. I’m ashamed, embarrassed really, because for thirty-some years—no, that’s my brother—you see, for thirty-some years he’s been giving me trouble ...”

  “That’s odd. A seventeen year old ... trouble ... for thirty-some years?”

  The badger ignored this remark.

  “There are plenty of things you can’t sum up in a word. Right now, he doesn’t exist, not for me, anyway. I disowned him and ... Hey, that’s odd. Smells like smoke ... Don’t you notice it?”

  “Not at all.”

  “H’mm.” The badger was always eating smelly food, so he couldn’t trust his own nose. Twisting about with a suspicious look on his face, he said, “Could I be imagining this? There! There! That noise—isn’t that roaring and snapping like something on fire?”

  “Well, what did you expect? That’s why this place is called Mount Roaring-and-Snapping.”

  “Liar! You just said it was called Crackling Mountain!”

  “That’s right. The same mountain’s got different names, depending on the spot. Halfway up Mount Fuji there’s Smaller Fuji, and Ōmuro and Nagao are lesser peaks of Mount Fuji too. Didn’t you know that?”

  “I’m afraid not. So that’s it—we’re on Mount Roaring-and-Snapping. Well, for thirty-some years I’ve been—my brother, I mean—he’s been calling it The Mountain Out Back. Oh, is it ever getting warm. Is there an earthquake brewing? Something’s really wrong today. Yaa! Oh, is it ever hot! I can’t stand it! Help! Help! My brushwood’s on fire! Ouch! ...”

  The next day the badger remained secluded in his lair. “Oh,” he moaned, “how painful. Too much even for me. I’m done for. Come to think of it, I’ve got the worst luck. The women shy away just because I was born good-looking—a respectable man always loses out. They all take me for a woman-hater. Hell, I’m no saint. I like women. They must think I’m noble-minded, so they never play up to me. But, when it comes right down to it, I want to run around screaming, I’M CRAZY ABOUT WOMEN! Ouch! Ouch! Oh, why can’t I do anything about this nasty burn? It just keeps throbbing. After I’d barely escaped becoming badger stew, I had to stumble onto this unheard-of place—Roaring Mountain, wasn’t that it? And did my luck ever run out there. What a good-for-nothing mountain! Brushwood going up in flames—was it ever horrible. In thirty-odd years ...”

  The badger paused, his eyes darting about.

  “So why hide it?” he went on. “Magic, I’m thirty-seven. Heh-heh, what’s wrong with that? Be forty in three more years. It’s so obvious anyone could figure it out. All it takes is one look. Ooh, that hurts! I’ve been playing on The Mountain Out Back ever since I was born, and not once in my thirty-seven years did I run into anything so weird. Crackling Mountain, or Roaring Mountain—even the names are odd. How strange,” the badger concluded, knocking himself on the head and then lapsing into a reverie.

  Presently a pedlar called out at the front entrance, “Magic Ointment for sale. Anyone here suffering from burns, cuts, or a dark complexion?”

  Dark complexion—that really woke up the badger. “Hey, ointment pedlar!” he called out.

  “Oh, where are you, sir?”

  “Here! In this hole! So it’ll really cure a dark complexion?”

  “In one day.”

  “Ho-ho.” Elated, the badger crawled from his lair. “Whaa! You’re a rabbit.”

  “Yes, I’m certainly a rabbit—and a medicine man, besides. Been peddling in this area for thirty-odd years.”

  “Whew,” the badger wheezed, tilting his head. “There’s another rabbit just like you. Thirty-odd years ...Ah yes, so you must be the same ... Look here, let’s just forget about my age. Damned silly, anyway. Enough is enough. Well, that’s that.” Having confused the issue, the badger went on. “Anyway, could you spare a bit of that medicine? To tell the truth, I’ve got a little affliction.”

  “Oh dear, you’ve got a terrible burn! This will never do. Ignore it, and you’re dead.”

  “Damn, I’d rather be dead—I don’t care about the burn. Right now, it’s my looks that ...”

  “What are you saying! This burn could be fatal—don’t you realize that? Oh, your back’s even worse . . . How did this happen?”

  “Well, you see ...” The badger twisted his mouth about. “You see, I’d just gotten to this place with the fancy name—Mount Roaring, Snapping or whatever, and the craziest thing . . . It was amazing.”

  The badger looked puzzled as the rabbit began snickering helplessly. But he too joined in and started laughing. “Absolutely,” he went on. “It was the craziest thing ever. I’m telling you, don’t go near that mountain. First it’s Crackling, then it’s Snapping, and then it’s Roaring—and that’s the worst kind ever. Things are bound to go w
rong. When you get to Crackling Mountain, you’d better just beg off. If you stray onto Mount Roaring, you’ll end up like me. Ooh, the pain! You follow me? I’m telling you for your own good, now. You’re still young, so when an oldtimer like myself says—well, I’m not that old. Anyway, you just take what I say as friendly advice and don’t poke fun at me. You see, I speak from experience. Ooh, that hurts . . . ouch!”

  “Thank you, sir, I’ll certainly be careful. Now, what about the ointment? In return for your kind advice, I won’t charge anything. Shall I put some on your back? Lucky I came just now, otherwise you’d be good as dead. Something must have brought me here. I guess it was fate, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I suppose so,” the badger moaned. “If the ointment’s free, rub it on. I’m pretty broke nowadays— fall in love and it’s bound to cost you. By the way, would you mind putting some of that medicine on my palm!”

  With an anxious look, the rabbit asked, “And what will you do with it?”

  “Oh, nothing at all. I just want a look—so I can tell the color.”

  “It’s the same color as any ointment. Here, have a little.” The rabbit dabbed a speck on the badger’s outstretched hand.

  When the badger suddenly tried to rub it on his face, the startled rabbit seized his hand—the badger mustn’t learn about this ointment just yet. “Aa! Don’t do that!” the rabbit cautioned. “This medicine’s slightly strong for your face. It won’t do.”

  “No, let go!” the badger pleaded desperately. “I beg you, let go of my hand. You don’t know how I feel! Or how wretched I’ve been for thirty-odd years—and all because of this dark complexion. Let go. Just let go of my hand so I can use this ointment. I’m begging you, just let me rub it on.”