402: Japanese folklore: Misconceptions

Quick disclaimer, there are some slight adult themes this week.

Please see the post on mythpodcast.com for more info.

This week, on Myths and Legends, there are three stories of love from Japan.

We'll see why you shouldn't go seeking filth and squalor abroad when there's so much for you at home.

And how, when it comes to love, the best is one that doesn't involve poison, deception, or murder.

The creature this time is three angry heads who want to make their problems your problems by setting you on fire.

This is Myths and Legends episode 402, Misconceptions.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore.

Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins.

Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen.

Today, there are three stories of love from the Edo period in Japan.

The Edo period spanned between 1603 and 1868, and it was a time of peace and strict social order under the Tokugawa shogunate.

It was a time of art, theater, isolation from foreign influence, and where samurai became, largely, bureaucrats nostalgic for a warrior past, and merchants were on the rise, despite their more common backgrounds.

Almost none of that matters, except in the background for today's stories, though.

And we'll start our love stories with the man who's been recently widowed.

Kind of.

Alas, I am a widower.

Yoshifuji gripped his kimono and looked to the sky forlorn.

Setting down the tea, his servant looked left and right.

Um

was he gonna be the one to say it?

No one in in the house met the servant's eyes.

Okay, looks like this one was his.

Uh you're not a widower, master, the servant said.

His wife was fine.

They just got a letter from her that morning.

She went away to the capital, Kyoto, with the children.

She would be back in a week.

I am a temporary widower, the merchant actually said in the original.

That's that's not a thing.

The servant set the tea down, and then left, because he knew where this was going to go.

After a few minutes of calling to the servant that it was a thing, the rich man finished his tea and sat back.

Then rose.

Well, those were some lustful thoughts.

Better walk those off.

And

according to the original, he was plagued by those when he was a temporary widower.

And so he did.

And instead of staying in his house where he couldn't really get into trouble, he started off toward town.

But he was barely off his own property when he saw, oh, it's a lady.

And it was a lady.

A beautiful young woman walked on the road, and she froze when she saw him.

My lustful feelings are aroused, it said in the original, and he hopefully didn't say out loud when, rushing up to the woman, she began to flee from him.

What?

Who are you?

Yoshifuji cried out.

Asking if they could please stop running, he slowed down.

And so did she.

The young young woman turned.

No one, she said.

She was no one.

That was difficult to believe.

She was dressed in these ornate, beautiful silks.

How about this?

You come over to my house right now, he said.

That would be unseemly, the woman stepped back.

What?

No.

All he wanted to do was have sake,

he redirected that sentence, when he guessed where the former one would land.

How about this?

How about he comes over to her house?

he said in a very enthusiastically menacing way that made it clear that he would be following her home.

But he didn't.

He walked next to her, holding her hand.

You know, I never knew this was back here, he said, marveling at the mansion in the woods that was almost directly behind his house.

A half-dozen servants spilled from the mansion, exclaiming that her ladyship had returned.

They treated the merchant and the lady to dinner, where Yoshifuji learned that she was the daughter of the house.

The story tells us that they spent that night together.

If, like me, you're wondering how she felt about that, well, the story sure doesn't.

The next morning, he woke up alone and made his way to the main room, where a hunched bearded man grasped his hands.

Congratulations on spending the night with my daughter, the man grinned, nodding.

Uh

okay, thanks.

Yoshifuji said.

Or you're welcome.

I'm not really sure how to respond to any of this.

It's all a pretty new situation for me.

This bond was obviously predestined.

The old man clapped.

Now you must stay with us.

Can I spend more nights with your daughter?

Yoshifuji asked.

Yes, the old man beamed.

Then stay I shall.

And he did.

Where is he?

The servant who had served Yoshifuji tea the previous day asked, back at the house.

Back at the house?

Oh,

before I left last night, he said he was going to go walk off his lust, another servant said in passing.

Oh, got it, the servant said and waited for his master to return from whatever he had gotten himself into in town.

Yoshifuji didn't return that night, or the night after.

The servant sent someone to town who said that Yoshifuji never arrived.

His wife and son, Tadasada, returned from Kyoto.

And still, the father hadn't come home.

He went out on a lust walk.

His wife looked to the floor when she met with his brothers.

They sighed.

They never understood why he did that, just stay at home.

Still,

it's been 10 days.

Might be better off to start looking for remains.

Yoshifuji's wife broke down, and they comforted her.

They ordered a statue of Canon carved so they could petition it to find the location of Yoshifuji's body.

13 years was a long time in paradise, but it felt like just yesterday he had menaced his future wife on the road.

And now they had this wonderful life together.

And they had a beautiful son.

Nothing against his first wife and son, but with all due respect, he was going to profoundly hurt and disrespect them both by declaring this son with this woman his heir.

You know, years can fly by.

Before you know it, your podcast is 10 years old and kids who started listening when they were 12 are graduating from college.

I've had projects where I blink and it's been years since I've looked at them.

Completely unrelated, fictional will be back this year.

So maybe I can understand how it's been years.

And Yoshifuji wouldn't have even thought about maybe going home or going into town to have his hair officially changed with his brother, who is a senior officer in the government.

Oh, hello, strange man, Yoshifuji said, as a man hobbled up to the manor.

We don't get too many travelers around here.

Come to think of it, they hadn't gotten any travelers or visitors

in 13 years.

Huh.

Oh, well, nothing ominous to read into there.

Hey there, elderly man.

Yoshifuji waved.

Turning, he was going to ask his wife and father-in-law to prepare some food for the the traveler, but they were huddled in the back of their house, as far away as they could get, shaking and refusing to move.

Um

okay, getting harder to ignore the weirdness.

I guess I'll get some foo He turned back around and the man was no longer hobbling along the path.

He was right next to Yoshifuji.

You are fast, Yoshifuji laughed.

And then the man picked up his cane and poked Yoshifuji sharply in the side with it.

Ow!

Yoshifuji said.

Don't do that.

The man didn't listen.

He poked Yoshifuji again.

Hey, stop it, rude.

It's too rude, Yoshifuji shouted.

The old man poked him again.

The man moved between him and his house.

He poked Yoshifuji yet again.

The old man was relentless.

And Yoshifuji figured that, even though he could probably take the old man in a fight, if this man was willing to poke complete strangers on their own doorsteps, well, Yoshifuji was actually going to be very respectful and not beat up an old man.

Not because he was scared of this wiry old dude and his no-nonsense, pokey energy.

Okay, so woods, right?

You want me to go into the woods with you?

Yoshifuji said, then called back to his house.

Honey, I'm being

slowly kidnapped.

Go to the magistrates, please, and talk to my brother.

He'll know what to do.

But the house was silent.

Wow, this is a thick forest.

Yoshifuji was having a hard time pushing through.

The trees had grown so close together that it was basically a squeeze, and the man was still poking.

Yes, I get it.

Go that way.

I am.

Wow, it is dark out here and

stinky?

It was dark.

Night, somehow.

But he could only squint up at the sky.

Even the moon was bright out here.

But why?

Why was the moon bright?

Then he looked down at his arms.

They were withered and caked with filth.

But

where was he?

Dad?

A voice called out from the darkness.

Tadasara had given up hope of ever finding his dad.

His uncles had carved the statue of Canon and prayed for days, though admittedly, he didn't think anything would come of that.

But then, unable to sleep, he woke in the middle of the night and felt like something was calling him out to the storehouse.

That vague and general spiritual calling turned into a literal grunting and groaning as, approaching the storehouse, a dirty, grimy figure crawled upon the ground.

Tadasara thought that it could be a yokai creature, like one of those ones that licks the bathroom or shows you its butthole, but its butthole is an eye.

Then he squinted.

There was something strangely familiar about this thing, though.

It was then that he realized it was his father.

Tadasara praised Canon.

After 13 days, they had found his father.

13 days.

No, it's been thirteen years since I was a temporary widower, Yoshifuji said.

The wife grimaced.

She told him to stop saying that when she had to travel.

That wasn't a thing.

The servant arrived with a bucket, a rag, and a lantern to begin washing the filth off of him.

I

had a son.

Yeah, hi, dad, Tadasada said.

No, no, my beautiful, precious boy.

I was going to disinherit you, Yoshifuji said.

Tada Sada said he didn't need to know that.

The wife asked, and where is the son?

This wife, are they

are they here right now?

Yoshifuji laughed.

What?

No.

The withered arm, caked with dirt and excrement, pointed shaking, as Yoshifuji said it was in the forest, the forest just over there.

There was a beautiful, grand mansion.

The eyes of the mother, son, and the servants followed the man's finger, and the trail of filth, not to the forest, but to the storehouse.

The mother gestured to the servant, who rose with the lantern.

The trail went not to the door of the storehouse, but to a gap in the boards underneath.

The wife took the lantern and pushed it into the darkness.

The stench and swirl of a dozen foxes exploded out at her as they rushed from the hole, taking off into the forest.

The foxes, the kitsune,

had bewitched Yoshifuji, making him think that he had been in a grand mansion with them for over a decade, when really he had been mired in fox filth, underneath his own storehouse.

One fox lingered, and, a tear making a track through the grime left on his face, Yoshifuji reached out,

and then that fox followed the others.

They had a monk come by and pray for him, and others come to exercise the evil influences.

After a few months, he looked like himself again.

When he finally let go of the illusion, he marveled how he thought the bottom of the storehouse, that wasn't six inches off the ground, could have been a grand manor.

He thanked his son and brothers and wife for not giving up on him, I guess, not knowing they were actually just looking for his body, and said he truly learned his lesson.

Everyone should invoke and meditate on canon.

His wife and son's smiles faded.

What?

The son said he thought the lesson might be be faithful to your spouse or honor your commitments or don't become enslaved by lust or don't menace strange women on the road and follow them home.

And forsake canon?

The father gasped.

No, I mean those lessons don't conflict at all.

It's just like it seems like you're focusing on being bailed out instead of not making mistakes in the first place.

And it seems like you're imposing moral rules from afar, instead of respecting my rights to abandon my family and disinherit my son for strangers who may or may not be foxes.

Yoshifuji closed his eyes and raised a palm.

As for him, he would serve and respect Canon.

The son said that that was a...

False dichotomy.

It wasn't an either or or.

You could respect canon and also not abandon your family.

Whatever.

And so Yoshifuji did.

He lived for another 10 years until he was 61, and he invoked and meditated on canon throughout that time.

He also did not abandon his family for foxes again.

Definitely because it was wrong, definitely also because of the lack of opportunity, because they already chased all those good-looking foxes off the property.

The end.

That is the story and its lesson.

Canon, as we've talked about before, is a deity in Japanese Buddhism, and roughly analogous to the Bodhisattva Guangyan from the journey to the west.

We've talked about Kitsune too, but in Japanese folklore, there are two types.

The first are the good ones, the messengers of the Shinto deity Inari.

The ones in the story today were not those.

These were the other types.

The tricksters, the mischievous and malevolent pranksters who will slowly starve you to death for following them home with or without provocation.

Anyway, as we saw in the last story, it is possible to fall out of love.

That happens on the next story, but not with a person.

It's with a place.

That will, however, be right after this.

Frog didn't hate Kyoto.

He didn't have any major issues with Kyoto.

This was the 17th century, so over-tourism wasn't really a problem yet.

There were samurai and temples and people moving this way and that in what was technically the capital of the empire.

He didn't hate Kyoto, but he did kind of

hate himself.

Well, hate is too strong of a word.

He was annoyed with himself.

When he was growing up as a young frog under his parents' log, he told himself as soon as he could, he was gone.

There was a whole world out there, and he wasn't about to be stuck in his childhood home.

And he did leave for a bit.

For the outskirts.

A bunch of natural beauty.

There's that one temple with the gates.

It was good stuff.

But he knew.

Kyoto.

He knew where all the good spots were for flies and everything else frogs eat, because as we've talked about, frogs are low-key horrifying and will eat whatever fits in their mouths, snakes, mice, but don't google it.

He knew the frog grocery stores and the frog school districts.

He settled down for a bit, just a bit while he figured out what he would do next.

And yeah, that was years ago.

The time just got away from him.

But he could do something about that.

He could make a change.

He was only four years old, and if he was lucky, he had another four to go.

He'd rather live the life he chose than the one he had fallen into, thanks to his own inertia and inaction.

He packed his frog bag, hopped from his stream and put on his brown coat and striped trousers, and told his mother and father goodbye.

He was going to see the world.

He was going to see Osaka.

Osaka, currently, is a major city in Japan.

I think it's the second largest.

It's about 50 kilometers or about 47 miles from Kyoto, and it's a major shipping port.

It takes about 15 minutes on the Shinkansen, the high-speed train, an hour to drive it, and 11 hours for a human to walk.

So the frogs had a trip in front of them.

Then, yes, frogs.

You see, in Osaka, there was another frog, living in a ditch down by the ports.

Every day he saw ships come and go, and every day he stayed put.

All of his friends, at one point or another, hopped aboard, but he had been too scared.

So he stayed in Osaka, the commercial center of the empire, where, even though he saw people and frogs and animals from all over Japan, he never left.

That is,

until today,

he couldn't exist between two places, between his dreams and reality.

He had to live in one.

So he would hop the road up to Kyoto, the home of the emperor, and see the world.

Then, who knows?

So he, too, grabbed his frog bag, a jacket, and pants, and hopped off.

Like I said, according to Google Maps, it would take a human about 11 hours to walk between Osaka and Kyoto.

The frog from Kyoto, happy to be making some change, any change, hopped along.

The Osaka frog did the same.

Seeing that the world outside its city was not all that scary, it was actually kind of charming.

Then, one morning, each frog saw something up ahead.

It was a frog.

The frog from Osaka hopped up to the frog from Kyoto.

Oh, hey, what was the other doing so far from his home?

They learned that they weren't so different from each other.

In fact, they were hardly different at all.

Despite some slight tweaks in their respective motivations, they were pretty much exactly the same.

They had the same wish to see the world outside their home.

It was nice to see a similarly cultured and motivated frog, and it had been a long journey so far for both of them, so they found a cool bit of mud in which to relax, ate some flies and maybe an easily accessible mammal or snake in a horrifying manner, and continued their conversation.

The frog from Osaka asked the frog from Kyoto what his city was like, and he said it was, well, but a city.

It had some buildings, some shrines, some temples.

There was a body of water nearby.

How about the Osaka frog?

He laughed.

Actually, yeah.

Same deal.

Buildings, shrines, temples, body of water.

Wow.

He breathed deeply.

Um, okay, kind of weird question, but what if

it's not worth it?

Kyoto Frog said, what?

Yeah, like, what if we're leaving what we know for more of the same, but worse?

Like, we don't know anyone and we're in a strange place, but it's just the same.

That sounds legitimately terrible, the Kyoto frog said, and added that the thought had been growing in his head as well.

He stood and pointed.

That rock.

Osaka frog said, yeah, it was a rock.

The highest point nearby, what's that?

What's up?

Kyoto Frog said, well, they could position themselves as they were walking, get on that rock, and each boosting the other up, helping him to stabilize on his back legs,

each could see where they were going and decide if it was different or worth it at all.

Osaka Frog said, no, yeah, that made sense.

He rose.

The Kyoto Frog met him on top of the rock, the wind blowing in the morning sun.

and they positioned themselves as they had been hopping.

Kyoto frog facing southwest, Osaka Frog facing northeast, toward Kyoto.

They held on to each other's slimy frog hands as, shaking, they rose on their hind legs and there, at the top of the rock, each could see a city in the distance.

Kyoto Frog looked and laughed.

Osaka was nothing but a copy of Kyoto.

It had an imperial palace, a massive amount of shrines and wooden storefronts nestled into low mountains nearby, all with somber samurai and court officials.

Osaka Frog laughed himself.

Kyoto was

just another city crisscrossed with canals, shops, merchants, warehouses, and docks, opening up to a bay with lively traders all over.

So, there's a joke here.

The story describes the frogs with eyes on the backs of their heads, which I...

isn't, I think, 100% true, but isn't completely false.

Regardless, even though their nose nose might be facing one way, while they're on their hind legs, the city that their eyes see is their own city.

And this is played for, I guess, laughs, because the two cities in question, Osaka and Kyoto, are very different despite being so close.

We'll talk about this more later.

The frogs steadied themselves as they lowered, smiling their bemused frog smiles.

Exactly the same for you, one frog said to the other.

Exactly the same.

The frogs nodded to one another and croaked their goodbyes as each hopped off back home: Osaka frog to Osaka, and Kyoto frog to Kyoto.

When they returned, they actually enjoyed their homes.

They found new, small things to appreciate, and knowing this was where they were going to be because there was no point in living anywhere else because every place was exactly the same,

they could rest.

They lived out their frog lives happy and unburdened.

So yeah, like I said, Kyoto and Osaka were at the time this story was put down to paper so different that it would be impossible to get them confused.

Today they're a little closer.

Kyoto is more built up than a sleepy city full of temples that it's portrayed as on YouTube and in that one photo of that one street you always see, but they're still different.

Kyoto has a preponderance of temples and shrines while Osaka today roughly has the same population as New York City and is way bigger population-wise than say Los Angeles.

Most of our audience is in the U.S., so it's analogous to saying like Washington, D.C.

and New York City were exactly the same if they were closer.

This story really speaks to me.

We've moved around a little bit and there's a pull for us to just get up and go.

Carissa and I call it our two-year itch, where you've been in a place for two years and just want to go somewhere else.

What I've found though is that if you don't kind of change how you look at the world, you'll end up having a very similar life in that different place.

I know that, yeah, we could like move to Hawaii or the Pacific Northwest.

We'd likely end up with our current life, just with a nicer backdrop while we're driving to get groceries or at soccer practice or outside my office window while I type away at scripts.

It's kind of making peace with being where you are while you're there.

The frogs in the story did that and found happiness and contentment.

Granted, it was out of their own mistakes and ignorance, but I found deeper explanations of the story saying that there's like a Buddhist idea of things not being what they seem and making peace with the illusion.

On the final story today, it's a geisha who does what she must to survive and all the guys who just want to keep her forever.

Sakura Ko smiled as she plucked the shamisen.

She always had a talent for appearances, for hiding in her heart what she truly felt, and for only showing the world what she wanted them to see.

She still remembered the day that her father died.

He wasn't cut down in the street by some young man trying to make a name for himself, or executed after some court intrigue.

He simply dropped to the ground while out in the market, clutching his chest.

Her father, a great samurai and friend of the daimyo, fell and never rose again.

His creditors moved fast, but Sukuriko moved faster.

She was only 16 then, but she had been trained as a future lady.

She was prepared to manage an estate and navigate political alliances.

That would have been her life.

But dance, the shamisen, the tea ceremony, calligraphy, to say nothing of conversation, she had been raised to address the shogun.

Talking circles around the Okasan was easy.

Within the hour, she had secured enough to pay off her father's entertaining and gambling debts, so her mother could live comfortably.

It only cost Sakuriko everything.

That was years ago.

Now

she was Sakuriko, flower of the cherry, the beautiful dancer of Edo, the geisha without peer, a geisha without peer, but still a geisha.

The gentlemen of Edo had to have their pleasure, so every night she was called upon.

Every night she was the focus of attention, of music and dance and conversation and just the right laugh at just the right time to make a gentleman feel like a conquering general.

She wore silk and pinned her hair with coral and jade and whitened her face.

All this was perfume on a corpse.

Sakura Ko might be the focus, but she was invisible in all the ways that truly mattered.

After the parties were over, save a few untoward offers from those who seated command of their wits to the sake, she was invisible.

No one cared where she went.

No one

she sighed when she answered the door the following day.

No

my master no.

You didn't even wait to hear my master's offer, the man stepped forward, blocking her from closing the door.

I don't need to, she said, with a look to the lady who owned the house.

A whisper would travel to the men who would make sure the visitor left when he was asked.

Do you know who my master is?

The man asked.

Yes.

And you have no business on the street, Sakuraiko said.

You have lost your way.

You should have gone to the street with the toy shops, the dolls.

That's what your master desires.

And there are no dolls here.

When the man saw she couldn't be bullied, reasoned with, or, yes, bought,

his shoulders drooped, and he left.

Sakura Ko knew that this wasn't the end of it.

And she was right, when his master arrived that evening by lanternlight.

Oh, flower of the cherry, he swooned, I must have you.

Must?

she asked.

He nodded, yes.

Must.

What will you give me?

He leaned against the doorway.

Fine attire, silk and brocade, a house, white mats and cool galleries, servants, gold hairpins, whatever she wished.

No doubt he had those things and more, many times over, but there was one thing on that list that wasn't mentioned by this third son of one of the richest merchants in Edo.

And what would I need to give you for all these things?

His eyes looked her up and down.

Herself, just herself, all of her.

Body and soul.

Body and soul, she sighed and began to close the door.

What did I say?

It's like everything I have, not enough for you?

The man was so enraged, spit began flying from his mouth.

It's not everything.

Not nearly, Sakuriko corrected him.

And that was what she was going to need.

If she was going to give all of herself to him.

He laughed.

She couldn't expect him to what with a geisha?

Oh, is this is she on the clock?

Entertaining him with a fun joke?

Ha ha ha ha.

She was so good at her job.

And I am to keep it, not throw it away for words.

Goodbye.

Don't come back.

She closed her door in his face.

He screamed for a bit before the men outside told him that he would be doing a different sort of screaming if he didn't comply with what the geisha said.

Now, we've talked about it, I think, but there was a specific structure to the Edo period in Japan when it came to, well, sex work.

We won't dive too deep into the discussion because it isn't super warranted here, but despite perceptions that have persisted since the 1800s, being a geisha wasn't and is not that.

Didn't Didn't stop guys from trying, though.

I love you, a client said later on in the week, over tea.

Sakuriko sighed inwardly.

It was

certainly a week.

Outwardly, she smiled at the man whose face was lined by age, not care.

He had dalliances in his youth.

dalliances he told Sakuriko about an extensive and explicit detail over tea, and she listened.

She told the proprietor of the tea house to stop linking her up with this man, but he was as rich as he was foolish, and kept piling money and putting social pressure on the manager until she had to relent.

You are too cruel, he said.

Didn't she know he loved her?

Oh, absolutely, yeah, that was never a question, Sakuriko replied.

You will come to my house tonight, the man said.

She was about to object, but he said, no, no, no, not like that.

He had already cleared it with the manager.

Sakura Ko could bring a lady if she wanted.

He was strictly hiring her as a geisha.

He hoped she would see him for who he wasn't.

He wasn't so old.

Not yet.

You have made it to old age, Sakura Ko smiled.

It was a gift not given to all, and he still had time to prepare for his end.

He should be reading the law and meditating, not entertaining young women.

He laughed.

Good joke, good joke.

She was an entertainer, truly.

He would see her tonight after sunset.

She helped him to his feet and he left, nearly shaking with excitement.

We'll see what the old man is thinking, but that will, once again, be right after this.

Lanterns illuminated the wooden storefronts, and the sound of someone strumming the shamisen echoed through the streets of Netto.

Just after sunset, Sukuriko and Silverwave, two of the geishas from the pleasure district, wound their way through the streets in a palanquin, with a curious onlooking trying to peer through the slats and see a geisha.

She rarely left her quarters, so it was reinvigorating to feel the city around her and take in its sights and smells, but soon the city seemed to fade below as they ascended to the manors in the hills west of the city.

The old man wasn't quite a daimyo or a samurai, nor did he live down in the hustle of the city with the commoners from whom he'd so desperately tried to separate himself.

The only people who knew what he was were the only people who mattered, though.

So he spent.

He spent his money on a grand mansion, on pride and pleasure, yet he was alone.

The palanquin shuffled to a stop, and the servants of the manor spilled out.

One in particular bowed to Sakuriko and Silverwave and said they were honored by their presence.

Inviting them inside, they led her directly to a tea room, where the geisha ordered her shamisin, but the servant laughed.

No, no, that wouldn't be necessary.

She wouldn't be entertaining for the tea drinkers.

She would be having tea with the master.

Sakuriko turned to Silverwave, who was being rushed off to help out elsewhere, and dismissed her with a nod.

Sakura Ko sat on the cushions, while course after course arrived from without.

Being a geisha had only honed her innate ability to understand exactly what the men wanted and used the conversation to draw them this way and that.

Something was different about him tonight, though.

There was always a not-so-subtle yearning, a hunger he likely satisfied as soon as he left his regular meetings with her.

Tonight, though, he barely touched his fish, his rice, his soup.

He was crackling with a nervous energy.

Just like she thought, even though the dinner was for her, she couldn't get away with doing nothing.

She called Silverwave over and she brought her shamisen, and Sakura co-performed for the elderly merchant, who appeared to have tears rimming his eyes.

He patted the cushion next to him as she made her way over, and obeyed.

Now,

the sake, he said, almost breathlessly.

The geisha, Silverwave, that's a translation, the public domain version of the story doesn't give her real name, looked to Sakuriko as she poured the warm sake from the flask into her lacquered cup.

She lifted the sake flask and complimented the elderly man on his beautiful home, and he couldn't be bothered.

He couldn't tear away his eyes from Sakuriko.

Sakuriko let the sake sit for a moment, and the man, glancing down at it occasionally, chuckled.

He started talking about the changing seasons and reciting poetry.

Sakuriko saw the sweat start to bead on his forehead.

Her smile feigning interest, her fingers found the cup, she lifted it to her mouth, and drank.

The sigh was audible.

The man smiled, nodded, and took his own cup of sake, and drank it in one gulp.

Well,

it was finished then.

Sakuriko touched his shoulder.

The dinner might be finished, but they could still enjoy each other's conversation.

He said, No.

Well, yes, they would enjoy each other's conversation.

He could never not enjoy her conversation.

Now they would enjoy it forever.

Sakuriko looked at him.

What did he mean?

What he meant was that she would be his bride.

My love, you are mine for many existences, the man said.

There was poison in the sake.

Be not afraid, for we shall die together.

Come with me to Meiro,

the realm of the dead, in traditional Japanese cosmology, where people face the judges of the dead.

Sakura Ko handed him her cup and told him to drink.

He did, and wait, tea?

The geisha took the old man into her arms.

Silverwave was tasked with figuring out what was going on, and she was a good friend.

But but my servants, the man blubbered, have never even seen a geisha.

Fantasy is our business.

Did you think we would not discover yours?

The old man began to tremble, already feeling the winds and hearing the cries of Medo.

We are not children to be so easily fooled, and I told you no,

Sakuriko said, but she drew him close and began rubbing his arm in an embrace.

I pity you.

I will stay with you until you die.

The elderly man clung to her.

For all he was able to do and have control of in this world, for all his riches and power, he was still terrified of the end.

His weeping became mumbling, mumbling became choking, and soon he was still.

Sakura Ko laid his head down on a pillow and studied the silk of her gown, where the sweat and tears of his face and the foam of his mouth had stained it.

Keep your tears.

There are many causes for weeping in this world.

He is not one of them, Silverwave said.

The pair walked from the room, called for the palanquin, and rode home.

That was the end of the geisha's second suitor.

The death of the old man, poisoned while having dinner with a geisha he had been menacing, might have stirred up outrage among his family or friends, if he had either.

As it stood, the mistress of Sakuriko's house informed the authorities, who could only chuckle at the old fool, who poisoned himself for his obsession with a geisha.

They didn't even come talk to Sakuriko.

The days spilled over into weeks, and weeks into months.

She chose her clients carefully, and none of them became more obsessed than she wanted them to be.

Then the dinner.

The dinner was easy enough.

It was a festival at the house of a powerful samurai.

She played, she talked, and sang and danced, though she did remain straight-faced throughout the dance.

She couldn't help but notice the young man looking at her from the back of the room, and every time her eyes had an occasion to move in his direction, they lingered a little longer on him.

His eyes were on her for the entire performance, but that was nothing new.

All All eyes were on her.

While she sang and talked, she kept a mental note of where he was,

and he seemed not to notice her at all.

He had an unpretentious ease about him.

He was the son of a samurai, about her age.

He never came to find her that night, so she didn't speak to him.

Not until the following day he found her sitting out on her balcony, singing.

I saw you looking at me last night, flower of the cherry, the man said.

The young woman blushed and the man chuckled.

Now she really did look like a cherry blossom.

She said, yes, young lord.

She remembered him well.

I am not so young, he smiled, and he was right.

They were about the same age.

Child,

go home.

Think of me no more.

I am too old for such as you, she said.

He laughed.

She wasn't even a year older than him, and they were both right.

There was only a year difference in their age.

Sakuriko smiled.

No, not a year, but an eternity.

In a time where women were married between 15 and 18, and men were married between 18 and 25, her being roughly the same age meant that she was older.

Unlike the last two guys,

he could take a hint.

Sighing, he said goodbye to Sakuriko and proceeded to head home to die.

Or start dying.

Reading these old stories or any French literature from the 18th and 19th century, you think that the leading cause of death for medieval and early modern teens was heartbreak.

That's what's going on for this young samurai.

His young blood was on fire, which having barely just gotten over the flu, if you can't tell, that just sounds like a regular fever.

He couldn't eat, drink, or sleep.

He pined and grew pale, wandering day and night.

His parents and servants apparently didn't see a problem with this because they let him wander into the city.

That's how, returning late one night or early one morning from a festival, Sakurai Ko witnessed him collapse in front of her door.

She rushed to him and helped him up, eager to make sure no one saw.

Waving a palanquin driver over, she stuffed him inside and the samurai mumbled out an address before Sakura Ko got in.

By sunrise, they had passed beyond the city, and when the sun was in the sky, they made it to the samurai's country house.

The servants rushed to roll out the bedding and prepare for the unexpected visit, and Sakuriko stayed until he would take a bit of food and drink.

Only in her presence, because, remember, this is a legitimate medical condition and not the samurai being over-dramatic.

People, I guess, do die of broken hearts.

Sakuriko knew that she should leave, but she enjoyed the samurai's company, so she lingered until he regained his strength, something that happened much faster with her around.

Hours became days, and she stayed by his side while the servants tended to him.

He was strong enough to speak, and then sit.

And then, when she said she should be getting back to work, he put his hand on hers as she rose.

Their eyes met, and she stayed for three moons.

My mother bade me spin fine thread out of the yellow sea sand.

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear God speed me.

My father gave me a basket of reeds.

He said, Draw water from the spring and carry it a mile.

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear God speed me.

My heart would remember.

My heart must forget.

Forget, my heart, forget.

A hard task, a hard task.

May the dear God speed me.

The samurai wiped a tear tear away from his eye as the pair sat out by the garden.

That was a beautiful song.

What did it mean?

Sakura Ko said that while the past three months had been the best of her entire life,

while this was, in fact, the life she had dreamed about when she was a girl, it meant that she was leaving, and that she must forget him.

And he must forget her.

Though it would be the hardest thing they would ever do, the samurai grew serious.

Why?

He would never forget her, not in a thousand existences.

Even so, Sakura said that he should marry and have children.

Yes, marry her, and she should have their children.

She smiled.

No,

no, she loved him too much to do that to him and his line.

Someone of his level couldn't marry a geisha.

He stopped her.

He knew from her bearing and education and parentage that she wasn't from a commoner family.

But I am one, now, she said, pulling her hand away.

The customs and their gods forbade their marriage.

All the world lay between them.

And she loved him too much to do that to him.

He didn't want to talk about it anymore, and she said that was okay.

They should enjoy their final day together.

He only laughed.

The next day, Sakura Koh was gone before the samurai woke.

He rushed to Naedo, to the street of the geisha.

He barged into her room, but it was empty.

The woman who ran the house says Sakura Ko left before the sun rose.

Fifteen years later, the samurai's son played in front of their estate.

He was barely five, and he gasped when he saw someone lingering near the edges of the property and rushed inside, returning with some rice for the woman's begging bowl.

It was a Buddhist nun.

His mother, a young noblewoman, had taught him about giving alms earlier that year, so he tried to do so every chance he got now.

The woman was so grateful that tears seemed to form in her eyes.

She seemed fixated on him.

Holy nun, why do you look at me like that?

the boy asked, as the grains of rice bounced into the bowl.

You look like him.

Your father, she smiled, taking hold of the boy's hand.

Then she grew serious.

And my son.

The boy was confused, her son, but nuns didn't have sons.

I went away and left him, she said, the tears beginning to come again.

To the boy that was only a tragedy.

Poor little boy, he said, looking to the ground.

No,

it was better for him.

The woman looked up, to the property, where the master of the house was walking out, standing frozen, and realizing who his son was talking to.

Far, far better.

She shared a nod with the samurai, the man she had loved enough once upon a time to say goodbye,

and turned.

By the time the samurai arrived at the gate, with the young boy's half brother, the nun was gone.

The boy was confused, but the fourteen year old samurai in training asked if that was her.

His father nodded.

The three walked walked solemnly back to the house while the nun, who had dissolved into the crowd, made the long trek back to her temple.

Sakuriko, who had long since given up that name, found her way home to her simple cell in a monastery.

Despite her song, she had never been able to forget.

She had never been able to forget her father, her mother, her hardships,

or the love that she couldn't have.

But she would also never be able to forget

him, the samurai, or the happiest time in her life, or her son, or the look of them standing side by side today,

both of them thriving, showing why her sacrifice all those years ago had been necessary.

Sakura Ko allowed herself a small smile before she prayed and fell asleep.

Sakuriko is the picture of love.

She loves her son enough in the end to send him to live with his father, so he might have a good life.

She loves the sambari enough to leave, knowing that he loved her enough to throw away everything.

She loved her mom enough to do what was necessary to survive, and she loved herself enough to refuse the first two offers.

Offers that would have made her life more comfortable, but weren't what she wanted for herself.

Sometimes, love is sacrifice.

Sometimes love means doing what's best for the person, even if it hurts, even if it means saying goodbye.

Next time, in two weeks, we're back in the North Sagas, where we'll see that riding around everywhere with 11 Viking guys is a great way to get what you want, whether it's that high-stakes betrothal for your kid, or helping your son out with his poetry career.

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We're also on Discord, Instagram, and elsewhere.

There are links to all those in the show notes.

The creature this time is the Maikubi from Japan.

Now, the Mykubi isn't technically a creature.

It's three guys, but it's not three guys either.

It's three guys' heads.

Being a samurai was good, I imagine.

You're in the top couple tiers of society, you get education and training and probably have money.

There are also expectations.

And I'm not talking like in the story today with marriage, but mainly regarding killing.

Some authors have muddied the waters with just how honor-obsessed samurai were.

Would they challenge you to a duel if you looked at them the wrong way?

I don't know.

Would they do it if, like Kosanta, Matashige, and Akugoro, they were drunk?

Seems likely.

Sources conflict on just what happened.

One says three samurai, one says three gangsters.

Regardless, three easily angered men with swords were playing a game at a festival.

If that sounds like a recipe for disaster, well, yeah.

Each man equally offended, they rose, drew their swords, and started fighting right there in the middle of the crowd.

Now, we're not sure if mildly cooler heads prevailed and someone managed to convince the three men to take their fight to the cliffside, where they couldn't hurt hurt anyone, or if they in fact hurt and or killed someone at the festival, leading to their arrest, according to another source.

Regardless, they ended up on the cliffs where, according to one place, they decided to just do a three-person duel, which, yeah, completely undercuts the word duel, but I'm not going to be the one to tell them.

Somehow, impressively, they all both won and lost.

When they cut each other's heads off, all three bodies slumped to the grass and the heads tumbled into the sea.

And if you thought that would be the end of it, well, you obviously aren't a samurai.

They kept biting at each other and breathing flames, trapped in an unending feud.

In the other version, they were all just executed, and their heads and bodies dropped into the sea.

But to the likely surprise of the people who rubber-stamped that speedy execution, the heads surfaced and kept fighting.

They are apparently bad luck if you see them on the sea.

I'm no maritime expert, but I would guess it probably has less to do with like evil portents and luck than just, you know, three angry samurai heads that can set your boat on fire in the middle of the water.

That's it for this time.

Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser.

Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Colmes.

There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes.

Thank you so much for listening, and we'll we'll see you next time.