Thousands of pinkish white petals fall like snow upon the rain-dampened ground. It is April, the season in northern Kyoto during which cherry trees blossom and draw people from miles around to witness their beauty. There is something strange about the scene, however: a single dead tree, its branches gnarled and bare, stands out boldly. It looks out of place indeed, but who would have guessed that it was the seed of a horrific tragedy centuries ago?
A samurai, his sword flashing harshly in the morning sun, strode down the road toward a teahouse. He was a formidable man of towering stature; his magnificent weapons reinforced his powerful image. As he sauntered to the teahouse, he noticed that next to it was a splendid cherry tree in full bloom. The samurai thought that these flowers would make a nice gift for the geisha whom he intended to visit. He sat down at a table, and was soon greeted by the elderly owner. “Would you like a cup of seasonal tea, sir?” asked the humble man.
“Not today. I’m more interested in your cherry tree. It’s very beautiful,” replied the samurai.
The older man smiled proudly. “Yes, it certainly is. It was planted here and blessed many years ago by Shinto priests,” he said. “This sacred tree is what has brought prosperity all these years to my little teahouse.”
“I want a branch off of it,” said the samurai as he rose from the table and drew his sword. “It shall be a gift to a lovely geisha.”
A horrified look crossed the teahouse owner’s face. “No sir, you must not! The priests instructed me to care for this tree as though it were my child and to let no harm befall it.” Desperately, as the samurai only ignore him, he reasoned again while trying to hold him back, “Don’t you remember the proverb saying that we may only cut plum branches for decoration, but not the cherry branches?”
The samurai was quickly losing all patience. “Let go of me you old fool,” he spat as he shoved the feeble owner to the ground. “I’m a noble samurai! I rule thousands of men and have close relations with the emperor himself, so if you value your life then obey me and step back this instant.”
By now the samurai had reached the tree. The old man threw himself before the samurai and begged, sobbing, “Great samurai, if you will not respect the sacredness of this tree, then please at least accept my life as an exchange!”
“Get out of my way,” growled the fearsome samurai as he raised his sword.
“Please, no!” yelled the weeping old man, and he clung to the tree, trying to protect it with his frail body.
The samurai was a cruel person. He stabbed the owner relentlessly until he died then cut off a branch and walked away. But even in death, the old man remained faithful to his duty. Later, people spent a half hour prying the body from the tree.
One tragedy followed another; the owner’s wife, overcome with grief, hanged herself on the cherry tree. The tree itself began to die; within two months, it was completely lifeless. The teahouse was closed, and the surrounding shops suffered bad business. Local people often reported hearing at night the mourning wails of an old woman. They also described transient sightings of a bent, old man clinging to the dead cherry tree.
The samurai kept the murder a secret, telling only his father. When he heard the rumors about the ghosts, the samurai was disturbed. He decided to visit the place again in hopes of disproving the ghost stories. He told his father, who tried to dissuade him, then went off on a windy, cloudy night. Shortly after he left, the father grew so concerned about his son’s safety that he set out to follow him.
The dim lights of some distant shops helped the samurai find the tree. He could see that this place had been virtually abandoned. He circled around the tree cautiously, listening and watching for any movement. A strong gust whipped by, and the moon slipped out of the clouds, coldly illuminating the scene. Suddenly the dead tree sprang into blossom; soon it became exactly how it had looked years ago on the day of the murder. A stream of blood began to flow from a branch, and the samurai recognized it as the wound that he had created himself. He went mad with fear and started hacking at the tree with his sword with bestial fervor, trying to drive off what he believed to be demonic apparitions; blood sprayed and splattered with every motion of his sword. As he slashed, he heard a scream emanating from within the tree. His lips curled in a manic grin as he realized that he had hurt the demon and resumed his attacks with renewed strength. But then the clouds hid the moon and threw the samurai into darkness once more. Exhausted, he collapsed, gasping and trembling.
He did not know how long he had been asleep, but he woke to the rising sun. He remembered last night and shuddered. As he got up to leave, he tripped over something: a severed arm. Before him laid the dismembered remains of a man. The samurai’s legs gave away and he vomited. That was when he saw the head of his father at the foot of the tree; next to it was his own sword.
Did he ever battle the spirit of the cherry tree? The vengeful ghosts of the teahouse owner and his wife? Or was it solely the evil of his own mind and heart that haunted him?
The gentle spring
breeze beckons the flowers to fall, and
the trees seem to dance. Only one remains perfectly still.
I used the “found item” format for this story, because the cherry tree was a tangible object with significance. I decided to stay close to the original plot, but I really tried to incorporate a different style and mood in the writing. I added some details about the scenery in the very beginning and the latter half of the story because I wanted to emphasize the beauty as well as the horror. I tried to include details about Japanese culture, such as the season of the cherry blossoms, the proverb about not cutting cherry branches for vases, and the status of the samurai. The visual details in the last scene (including the moon and the bleeding tree) were ones which I created myself. I tried to make things more eerie than just blatantly gruesome, because the ending contained too much blood and gore already. This is a very creepy story, in my opinion.
This story was different from the previous two in that it possessed a more tragic note. The way that the teahouse owner protected and loved the cherry tree was heroic and moving. The beauty of the tragedy coincided with that of the cherry blossoms and was poetically elegant. The introduction paragraph and ending line was my attempt at recreating this elegance.
I implied
many things, because I felt that describing and
explaining them directly would detract from the mysteriousness and
elegance of
the story. Also I left out the very last lines about the samurai
committing
suicide because it would have been overshadowed anyway by the dramatic
scene
where he realized that he had killed his own father. I wanted it to
have a
strong ending.
“The
‘Jirohei’ Cherry Tree” by Richard Gordon Smith, from
Ancient Tales and Folk-lore of Japan (1918). Web Source: Sacred Texts
Archive.
Image Information: Cherry Blossoms. Web Source: ZEEU.