Lazy

Takeshi Umehara

Lazybones Tarō,

  In the village of Atarashi in the Chikuma region of Shinano province, there lived a man called Lazybones Tarō. It was, of course, just a nickname, but there was no one who called him anything else: he was Lazybones Tarō to one and all. Perhaps he himself had forgotten his real name.

  According to the story passed on like a local legend in the village, when he was born he uttered the single syllable "wa," the normal "waugh-waugh" being just too much of an effort. He took only his mother's milk until the age of three; and that only because the breast was brought right up to his mouth. He was never known to cry and demand the breast because he was hungry. The infant Lazybones seemed to feel that it would be better to go to his eternal rest than to do anything so vulgar, and effortful, as crying for food.

  When he was three, his mother left his father and perforce also Lazybones. There must have been some compelling reason to make her abandon her own dear child, just turned three, but no one in the village knew what it might be since the whole family lived as outsiders in Atarashi. His parents had drifted into the village shortly before his birth. The father was originally from the capital; but what he had done there, and why he had come to live in distant Shinano, was a mystery to the villagers. When asked about it, the father would say only that it didn't matter, or that it was so long ago he no longer remembered.

  Thus Tarō's family lived a shadowy sort of existence in Atarashi, never mingling with the residents, their only link being O-roku, a neighbor woman who acted as maid-servant. When he came to the village, the father had brought with him some one hundred books and an old-fashioned biwa lute, and he spent his days reading and playing the lute. As the years passed, however, he read and played music less and less, spending most of his time staring vacantly into space.

  When his mother left the household, she hugged Tarō tight and told him, "I have to leave your father's house today. That means we must say goodbye forever." Having to part from her son like this, she must have been overcome with memories, for large tears began to roll down her cheeks. She tried to say something more but could not speak for crying. For two hours she wept until no more tears would come. Then she said in a strained voice, "Tarō, you can't go on being so lazy. Starting tomorrow, look on O-roku as your mama, and eat everything she gives you."

  She hoped her Tarō would stop being so lazy, at least when it came to eating. Little Tarō opened his eyes wide in wonder and looked doubtfully at his weeping mother, but gave only a little nod in response. Even that seemed to set her mind at ease, though, and saying, "You understand, Tarō? Well, Mama has to go now. Goodbye," she hurried off without a backward glance.

  And so Tarō was deprived of his mother; but from the very next day he began to treat O-roku as his mama, as he'd been told to do. He showed no signs of longing for his real mother and ate everything O-roku gave him. The boy had superb powers of forgetfulness, and seemed soon to forget not only his mother but even the fact that he had ever had one.

From then on time passed uneventfully for Tarō until, at the age of eighteen, he experienced another parting. His father had taken to his bed for two or three days with what seemed to be a minor illness when suddenly he left this world on his journey to the next. Tarō consulted with O-roku and arranged for the usual ceremonies—the funeral, and the memorial services on the seventh, the twenty-seventh, and finally the forty-ninth day. Then he immediately sold off the house and household furnishings and built a simple little hut on a small plot facing the road. He explained his plans to O-roku: "I want to lead a totally lazy life from now on. By 'a lazy life,' I mean lying around doing nothing, day and night. There's a saying, The greatest pleasure in this life is a good snooze,' and I plan to enjoy my earthly paradise right here in this little hut. But there is one problem, one obstacle to my life of laziness, and that's the fact that a man has to eat. Just think how simple it would be if he didn't! Why, men would easily have become like gods. By the way, O-roku, I have some money left over from selling the old house and furniture, and after paying for this hut. This is all the money I have in the world now. I figure it'll pay for my food for about the next five years. And as far as food goes, I won't cause you any trouble, I promise: three rice balls and a pot of tea each morning is all I'll be needing."

  O-roku didn't quite know how to respond to Tarō's suggestion so she consulted her son Shichisuke, who said, "That'll mean a big profit for us. If that's all he wants, the money would easily last ten years—maybe twenty, if you cut corners. Anyway, we're sure to make a profit. You're a lucky woman, Mother, to have such a fool for a master. You'd better say yes."

  O-roku was worried about what Tarō would do when the five years were up, but he responded, "We'll worry about that when the time comes. Anyway, I want to hibernate for the next five years." With this reply, and encouraged by Shichisuke, O-roku decided to go along with the plan. Shichisuke took care to let the people of the neighborhood think that his mother had received only a fifth of the money she actually had, so everyone praised her for being such a kind-hearted person and taking such good care of her former master's son.

  Thus Tarō had succeeded in reducing the energy he expended in the act of eating to a minimum, but there remained one other bothersome aspect of human life to be dealt with: excretion. A man has to go to the bathroom several times a day to take care of this need. Unless he could find a way to minimize the energy used in going to the bathroom, his lazy way of life would remain a dream. So Tarō devised a clever plan and put it into effect. He had a long narrow hole dug in the earth below his sleeping-mat, just where his buttocks rested when he lay down. Then he cut a round hole in the corresponding section of the mat. Now he could urinate while lying face down and defecate face up. Thus he was able to cut to an absolute minimum the energy involved in excretion. There was at first a problem with the smell from below; but he devised a solution to that by making a lid for the hole in the earth and a drawstring for the one in the sleeping mat, so once his business was done, everything could be put back to normal.

  Despite these elaborate measures, Tarō's room was not very pleasant. He couldn't seem to get those three daily rice-balls into his mouth without scattering grains of rice here and there; sometimes, too, he accidentally stepped on a riceball, so there were clots of mashed rice all over the floor. Then too, he often forgot to close the lid after going to the toilet, and sometimes neglected to wipe himself; so the room was spattered with excrement, liquid and solid, and gave off a truly horrendous stench. Innumerable flies alighted on the bits of rice and feces, and great clusters of them covered Tarō's rice-balls. He was, in effect, eating their leftovers day after day. Tarō was completely unconcerned, however, and happily munched away at his rice-balls, occasionally getting a fly or two along with them. "Sorry, sorry," he'd say to the flies, "I almost ate you up! By the way, how was the rice today? Good?"

  Tarō's room was a world where feces and rice, urine and tea were jumbled together. The smell was worse than a pigsty, and no one would go near the place apart from O-roku. That was fine with Tarō—he could enjoy his lazy life unhindered.

  And what precisely did he do all day, in this lazy life of his? Certainly he read a little, for he had kept five books out of the hundred owned by his father and placed them by the bed. Alas, however, even those five books became covered with rice-grains and excrement and lay scattered in disorder beside his pillow. Later on, Tarō would explain that in the course of this lazy way of life he was cultivating his imaginative powers. Now imagination is a convenient thing: in actuality, Tarō dwelt in a filthy hut, but in imagination he could live in the most splendid of houses. Tarō could freely create in his mind a grand mansion and then see himself as its noble inhabitant.

  Sometimes, of course, even he tired of these imaginings; yet he was never bored by his life because he could always enjoy the pleasure of conversation with his guests—those guests being the flies. At first he had tried to drive them off, but no matter what he did, they were impossible to get rid of. And so he decided it would be best to make friends with them. Observed with a sympathetic eye, the flies proved to have their own individual traits and personal characteristics. For example, when O-roku brought the rice-balls, some of the flies immediately alighted on them, while others would avoid them and make for the grains of rice sticking to Tarō's lips and chin. Still others would ignore the rice completely and seek out excrement. After the most painstaking observation, Tarō succeeded in distinguishing one fly from another and became aware of these individual differences. To him, this was a great discovery, and he spent the next half year or so in the most intense study of fly society. As he came to understand the ecology of their society, he was able to form friendships with the flies and engage them in conversation.

  "Well, Gurukichi, what good wind has blown you in my direction today? It's been a long time, you know. I guess you don't like my rice-balls anymore: I bet you're buzzing around looking for something more to your taste. What's that? You say you had a good feast on some bear's liver the day before yesterday? And yesterday you had a real delicacy, dragon's brains? And today you drank some cat-wine brought all the way from Southern Barbary? My rice-balls can't compete in terms of flavor, you say? Yes, well, that's fine. It's fine with me, Gurukichi, but you're putting yourself in real danger. I'm happy to have you fellows come over for some rice-balls; but, you know, gourmets tend to be stingy, and cruel too. You wouldn't think they'd lose much by letting a few flies have a nibble at their food; but I think you'll find they'll get hopping mad and be after you with a fly-swatter. One swat with one of those and you'll be flat as a pancake! Ohh, you think you're too smart to let some human half-wit get you with a fly-swatter? Don't be too sure of yourself, Gurukichi.

  Its dangerous, I tell you, very dangerous. You'll end up swatted one of these days. It'd be better for you to come and have rice-balls with me. It may not be very delicious, but it's safe. And anyway, it's rather vulgar to spend your time flying about looking for better and better things to eat. You should avoid such base behavior."

  Gurukichi listened to these admonitions with a bored expression, as if to say "Yes, yes, I know all that." He never reappeared at Tarō's hut, though, and it was said that he had been swatted to death in the kitchen of a rich landowner a block or so away.

  "Nauko, you're the best-looking fly I've ever seen. You're always being followed by a swarm of boy-flies. You lead them around as you buzz about, lost in wonder at your own beauty. 'I'm the most beautiful creature on earth,' you seem to be saying to yourself. But be careful! It's not only boy-flies, under the spell of sex, who are watching you. There are bees and dragonflies that would love to eat you up. And spiders are very fond of flies, too. I heard some of them talking just the other day: 'That Nauko looks real good. Let's get her,' they were saying. So don't get too infatuated with your own looks. They're not that special, to begin with. A butterfly would think herself far more beautiful than you. And a bird would be sure she was much more beautiful than any butterfly. And the same for humans. Now, I think even the handsomest human is uglier than a bird or butterfly—or a fly, for that matter; but there are human beings (particularly among the females) who believe themselves to be the most beautiful creatures on earth. Anyway, it's dangerous to fall in love with your own beauty!"

  Nauko laughed as she listened to what Tarō had to say, but she too never appeared again. According to her boyfriend, who was always hanging around her, she was buzzing about engrossed in herself one day when suddenly a bird flew by and gobbled her up.

  Tarō also spoke with Dobuhei, whose favorite spot was the area around his mouth, with the grains of rice sticking there. "You always used to like being around waste-matter, didn't you, Dobuhei? You lived in an outhouse for years: your body smells of it. So why did you decide to move, and pick the area around my mouth?" Tarō asked this question many times, but Dobuhei wouldn't answer, until finally one day he gave this unwilling reply: "I like dirty places, and I find the smell of night-soil wonderfully fragrant. I couldn't live a single day without it. But, you know, an outhouse is a dangerous place. You never know when someone's going to take a crap—you could be crushed! Your mouth is a much safer place. And it has much the same smell, too. The smell of crap and sweat and dirt and garbage, all combined together—wonderful! And it's all so nourishing: spit and snot and sweat mixed in with the rice stuck here—what could be more delicious? So I decided, from now on forget about outhouses, I'm staying near Tarō's mouth forever."

  "You're quite a guy, Dobuhei. It's like we're brothers!" said Tarō, and from then on he made sure to leave plenty of rice sticking to his lips and chin so his friend would feel right at home.

  This was the reality of Tarō's lazy life over a period of five years. Of the twenty-four hours in a day, he slept for twelve and lazed about for another six, mostly fantasizing or observing and chatting with his friends the flies. Of course he also read a little once in a while, just for fun.

  The agreed-upon five year period was coming to an end, and O-roku was concerned about what Tarō would do from then on. One day she said timidly, "Master Tarō, the five years we agreed on are up this month. I'm not saying the money you gave me for food for the five years wasn't enough. But prices have risen since then, so the cost of food has been high too. And anyway, we had an agreement. So after this month, I won't be able to provide you with three rice-balls and a pot of tea everyday, like before.... Still, you are the son of my dear late master, so if you want, I'd be willing to keep on providing the rice-balls and tea—not forever, you understand, but for a while."

  Tarō, however, turned down this offer. He thanked O-roku warmly for her devotion over the past five years but said that they'd had an agreement, and from now on there was no need for her to make three daily rice-balls for him.

  "Well then, what will you do for food?" she asked.

  "Could you please send a notice 'round to the neighbors and ask them to bring me any leftover rice they might have? I'm not trying to force them, of course. If there's rice, I'll eat it, and if there's not, I'll go hungry. If there's no rice for a long time, and I end up dying of starvation, that'll be fine with me too." O-roku was surprised, but she did as Tarō said and asked the neighbors to let her know if there was any leftover rice, so she could take it to him. She was feeling a bit guilty so she made a point of going from house to house each evening to collect the rice, which she then delivered to Tarō. Occasionally too she would make rice-balls for him as before, saying they were someone else's leftovers.

  Still, Tarō was not receiving rice as regularly as he had been before. Whenever O-roku took her own rice to him, pretending it was leftovers, her son Shichisuke gave her a dirty look. It sometimes happened, then, that Tarō went without food for several days; even so, he never complained. One day O-roku delivered five special festive rice-cakes to him. "I got something nice today so I brought some along for you!" she said happily. They were large, flat, plate-shaped cakes eaten on the third day after a wedding. One of her relatives had got married and O-roku had been given ten, of which she brought five for Tarō, hiding the fact from her son. Tarō had not eaten anything for four or five days, so he was famished and polished off four of the cakes immediately. Actually, he wanted to eat the last one as well, but he didn't know when he might eat again if he did. So he kept it and played with it, rolling it around on his chest, licking it, rubbing some of the oil from beside his nostrils on it, and balancing it on the top of his head. As he was amusing himself in this fashion, the rice-cake slipped away from him and rolled over the floor, out of the hut, and on to the side of the road. It would have been too much trouble to go and get it. Someone would come along and retrieve it for him, surely. So Tarō waited. But humans aren't the only ones who are fond of rice-cakes. Dogs came, and crows, eyeing the cake by the roadside. Lazybones Tarō kept them off with a pole from inside the hut and waited for a passerby.

  On the third day, the local steward, Atarashi Zaemon Nobuyori, passed by on horseback on his way home from a hawking expedition, accompanied by fifty or sixty mounted warriors. As he passed along the road in front of Tarō's hut, the steward heard a strange, harsh-sounding voice calling after him: "Master Steward, Master Steward, Lazybones Master Steward!" Surprised to be so addressed, the steward drew up his horse and approached the hut. A strong odor assailed his nostrils. He threw the door open and walked in. What a terrible sight! A veritable pigsty. It was a wonder to the steward that any human being could live in a place like this. Yet there was Tarō sprawled on the floor, his head raised like a snake about to strike, gazing fixedly at him.

  "Are you the famous Lazybones Tarō?" asked the steward.

  "That's right—the one and only, the genuine article!"

  "I see. Now then, you called me 'Lazybones Steward' just now, didn't you. Why do you call me lazy?"

  "Because you are lazy. The rice-cake I dropped three days ago is sitting right there by the road, and you couldn't be bothered to pick it up! I'm amazed anybody so lazy can carry out the important duties of a steward."

  The steward glanced out and saw that, indeed, a large round rice-cake was sitting by the side of the road. Stunned, he stared at Tarō for a moment and then said, "I see. You really are the laziest man in Japan. Tell me, though, how do you get your food?"

  "If people give me food, I eat; and if they don't, I don't. Sometimes I go for three or four days without a meal, but even so, I can't give up this lazy life of mine. There's nothing like it. You should give it a try yourself, sir! I'll gladly teach you the rudiments."

  "You want me to lead a lazy life? No, no, that won't do. It's you who should give up the lazy life! How about it: if I give you some land, will you become a rice-farmer?"

  But this kind offer on the steward's part was flatly rejected: "Absolutely not! I'd rather die than tie myself to some little plot of land."

  The steward tried another tack: "Well then, I'll stake you in a business. Why not try your hand at trade?"

  "A country man like me wouldn't be good enough at duping people for that."

  He's quite a character, thought the steward, and decided to demonstrate his goodheartedness by sponsoring Tarō for a further three years of lazy living. Thus, he ordered the people of Atarashi to provide him with food for the next three years. A troublesome whim of the steward's, from their point of view, but if it were only a matter of having O-roku carry on with the three rice-balls and pot of tea each day, it would be a simple enough demand to satisfy. And so Lazybones Tarō's lazy life was extended for another three years.

  The three years' sponsorship was nearing its end when another, more troublesome demand was made of the people of the village. Atarashi was in fact a manor owned by a certain Middle Councilor living in the capital, Kyoto, and managed by the steward assigned for that purpose by the military government in Kamakura. The Middle Councilor had sent an order that someone from the village be despatched at once to the capital for a period of obligatory service, as was the custom in those da

ys. It would involve three months' service, with almost no wages. Naturally, no one in the village was eager to go, yet the order had to be obeyed. The villagers held an assembly to discuss whom to send, but no one would agree to go: everyone, it seemed, had an ill parent at home, or, if they had no parents, had been expressly forbidden at their father's deathbed ever to set foot in the capital. The discussions went on for days without any solution in sight. Suddenly, though, a village elder had a brilliant idea: send Lazybones! He was a burden to the village anyway, so by sending him off to do service, they would be killing two birds with one stone.

  The elder, in a state of great excitement, presented his idea to the group, but there were two doubtful points. First, even supposing Tarō agreed to go to the capital, would the people at the Middle Councilor's residence find him of any use at all? Would there not come a complaint against the villagers for sending such a good-for-nothing? Some people had quite strong negative views on this matter; but it was suggested that, if need be, the village could always say that Tarō had been a model worker while in Atarashi, and something must have gone wrong with him after he went to the capital. Someone suggested that, on the other hand, Tarō might in fact change for the better once he got to the capital. By dint of such ingenious arguments, the doubters were silenced, and it was decided by consensus to send Tarō.

  The bigger problem was whether he would agree to be sent. If he refused to go, the "great" plan would indeed "grate" on everyone's ears, wouldn't it? Even so, the prevailing view was that they should "make the attempt," "there could be no harm in trying," "what did they have to lose?" and so on. Chōemon, the elder whose idea it was, and Hambei were appointed to go and convince him.

  It was the first time either of them had ever visited Tarō's hut, and when they entered, what filth, what a stench! They'd heard gossip, of course, but the reality of the dirt and smells exceeded all expectation. Chōemon held his nose as he began: "Good day to you, Tarō. The three years ordered by the steward are almost up now, and we were all wondering if, you know, you might not like to go off to the capital. There's a grand palace there where the Emperor himself lives! How about going to live at the Middle Councilor's place in the Emperor's capital? Ahh, it's a fine mansion, and there's lots of pretty girls living there too. It'd be like a sightseeing trip for you. You could stay, oh, about three months and do a little work now and then for the Middle Councilor. What's that you say? A man like yourself, used to a lazy life for such a long time, is unable to work? Not at all, Tarō! You've given your body a good long rest these past years, and now you're brimming with energy! And, you know, it's not healthy to lie about too much. Work is the thing for health! And though I say 'work,' what you'd be doing in the capital is much easier than the farm work that goes on here in the village. So how about it, Tarō, won't you go?"

  Now Chōemon and Hambei fully expected an initial refusal, so they were surprised to hear Tarō's reply: "I'll go, of course I'll go. I'll be glad to go to the capital."

  While leading his lazy life, Tarō had fantasized daily about living in a grand mansion and becoming a Middle Councilor, or a Grand Councilor, or even Emperor. What could be better, therefore, than to go to the capital? From that very day, he gave up his life of idleness and said goodbye to his longtime companions in solitude, the flies. Then, bidding farewell to the villagers, he set out on his journey. Relieved at getting rid of this burden to the village and at having carried out the Middle Councilor's command, the people of Atarashi sent Tarō off loaded with gifts. There was considerable unease, however, as to whether he would actually do the work required by his obligatory service.

  Having despatched Tarō to the capital, they lived in fear of receiving any day now a reprimand from Kyoto. When a messenger did come, however, he brought unexpected news: Tarō was a very hard worker, and the Middle Councilor was highly pleased. True, he had the strange habit of going round to look at the mansions of the Grand Councilors and Ministers and even the palace of the Emperor, on his day off; but that did not really matter, and the Middle Councilor was warm in his praise for Tarō's devoted service.

  As if this news were not surprise enough for the villagers of Atarashi, some four months later there came word of developments a hundred times more startling. Having finished his period of service, Tarō remained in the capital, going to Kiyomizu Temple every day to look among the worshippers for a suitable bride. The woman he found at last was the favorite attendant of the wife of a Grand Councilor. They got to know each other through an exchange of poems; and, though at first she was not interested in him, she was gradually won over by his evident cultivation as well as gentleness. In the end, she became his bride.

  However, this second piece of news seemed rather ordinary by comparison with the third, which was to come. This last was truly earth-shaking: heaven and earth could have crumbled to pieces without producing more amazement among the people of Atarashi. The news was that Tarō was the son of the Prince of Uji, himself the son of a previous Emperor. The Prince of Uji had been banished to Shinano on false charges and had died there. Tarō was, in fact, the son of this prince and a local woman. It had by now become clear to everyone that the charges against the prince had been groundless. Thus, when the Court learned that Tarō was actually his surviving heir, he was granted the fifth court rank and appointed governor of Shinano, the place of his father's undeserved exile. He was expected to return and take up his duties there very soon.

  This news was truly gut-wrenching to the people of Atarashi. If the story had begun and ended in the capital, amazement would have been their only response; but if Lazybones Tarō was to come to Shinano as governor, it would have a great effect on their own destinies. Atarashi was, after all, Tarōs hometown. One normally feels affection for one's hometown, so the new governor would almost certainly do well by the people of Atarashi. That was one viewpoint. But there were persons who very much doubted whether Tarō would feel grateful toward the village, given its treatment of him and his family over the years. The villagers had never dreamed that the man who, some thirty years before, had appeared from nowhere to lead a shadowy existence in their midst had been in reality an august personage of imperial rank. True, they need not accuse themselves of grossly abusing the family of strangers, but neither had they gone out of their way to be kind. And as for Tarō (the son of an Imperial Prince!) with his unaccountable lazy ways, the villagers had always viewed him with contempt as an eccentric, and mocked him as a fool. If they had sent him to the capital, it was to be rid of a tiresome nuisance. Why should Tarō feel goodwill toward people who had treated him like that? No doubt he would pay them back with some punishment as soon as he took up his new post. When one of their number expressed this opinion, the fear of impending punishment spread throughout Atarashi, and the people trembled.

  There was nothing left for it but to seek the help of O-roku, the only person in Atarashi who had shown kindness to Tarō. Suddenly the old woman became a person of importance, kowtowed to by all the villagers, who asked that she go to Government House and beg the new governor's pardon on behalf of Atarashi, if he imposed some harsh exaction on the village. O-roku herself, however, was secretly afraid that Tarō might have become aware of her trickery regarding the costs of his food; like the other villagers, she feared Tarō's return to Shinano as governor.

  Soon afterwards the new governor assumed his post in Shinano, but no message came from him to Atarashi until a half year had passed. His letter stated that Atarashi was his hometown, and that he was grateful especially to O-roku for her kindness. Chōemon and the other elders too had been good enough to send him to the capital, which had led to his present good fortune. He wished to thank O-roku, Chōemon, and the others in person, and asked them to present themselves at the governor's mansion.

  Reading the letter, the inhabitants of Atarashi heaved a collective sigh of relief, and Chōemon and the other elders, together with O-roku, went off to Government House. When they arrived, they were amazed at the beauty of the governor's residence. It was not that it was sumptuous or obviously costly. It had, rather, an elegant refinement combined throughout with a highly functional design: it was this that was so impressive. And the entire edifice had apparently been designed by the governor (that is to say, by Lazybones Tarō), who had given detailed instructions to the builders. It was hard for the villagers of Atarashi to believe that their Lazybones had been responsible for such an impressive structure.

  As they stood there gaping, the governor appeared. He certainly resembled Lazybones; but they simply could not connect the dignified person of the governor, his hair carefully arranged, with the old Tarō, living in a smelly hut, with hair disheveled, body grimy, and rice sticking to his mouth. They were stunned into silence, and the governor too said nothing. The silence continued for a while until the governor broke it by saying, "Welcome, people of Atarashi. I remember you all fondly."

  They didn't know quite what to say to this; but, overwhelmed by the series of shocks, one of them found himself asking a rather rude question: "Are y-y-you really Master Lazybones? We never dreamed Lazybones would become His Excellency the Governor..."

  "A man is an animal that's constantly changing," the governor replied with a smile. "The 'me' of yesterday is not the same as the 'me' of today. Therefore, the Lazybones Tarō of ten years ago is not the same as the man who stands before you now. On the other hand, I do have some memory of him, deep inside me, so perhaps I am the same person after all."

  The villagers didn't really understand what this reply might mean, and they asked him another unseemly question: "We're happy to have the chance to see your official residence, Your Excellency. It's wonderful—there's nothing else like it here in the provinces. And we hear that it was Your Excellency himself, the former Master Lazybones, who designed it and oversaw its building. It's incredible to us who knew Master Lazybones that he could ever have built anything as wonderful as this. We've also heard rumors that Master Lazybones wooed his present wife, the attendant at the Grand Councilor's residence, by writing poems to her. This too doesn't seem at all like the man we knew. Did you really build this mansion and really write those poems?"

  Once again Master Lazybones smiled and responded to their rude inquiry:

  "Among the books my father left me, there was the plan for a mansion—probably his old residence in the capital, I suppose. And there were more plans of other mansions as well. I looked at them everyday and imagined the kind of house I'd like to live in, building it and tearing it down and rebuilding it in my mind. Then when I went to Kyoto, I walked around looking at mansions belonging to various people. So when I was appointed governor and came back to Shinano, I knew how to realize my dream of so many years—though I didn't have the funds to do more than what you see.

  "Among my father's books, there was also a copy of Poems, Ancient and Modern. If you live an idle life for eight years, it's not hard to memorize the poems in that collection. I varied them slightly when I exchanged poems with the lady who became my wife. That gave rise to all sorts of amusing gossip!"

  He laughed heartily. The villagers understood what he meant this time, but it was hard for them to imagine Tarō gazing at house-plans and perusing the classical poetry collection in the midst of that lazy life.

  Finally the villagers asked the governor what concerned them most: what did he think of them and their village?

  "The people of Atarashi were kind to my family; and, in particular, they allowed me to spend eight long years leading the idle life of my choice. I'm grateful for that. O-roku, especially, brought food to me every day; and Chōemon and the others sent me to Kyoto. I'm going to give all of you presents as a sign of my gratitude." And, distributing various gifts, he sent the villagers away. They returned home rejoicing that Lazybones Tarō had not taken revenge for past grievances, but rather had given them gifts. Still, in all his time in Shinano, the benevolent governor never once went to visit the village of Atarashi, his old hometown.

  Lastly, as to the way the governor worked: it was his habit to go to his office daily and take charge of affairs; yet he managed to spend most of his time there reading books and gazing off into space. Occasionally a subordinate would come to ask for his judgment on some matter. "Uh-huh," the governor would say, nodding his head. "That'll be fine. Do as you think best." His residence was of course incomparably larger than Lazybones Tarō's hut; and, since he had a wife, and plenty of maid-servants and retainers, he was never grubby and never had grains of rice sticking to his mouth. But apart from that, his way of life was almost the same as it had been in his days of idleness.

  This new governor, who at first sight must have seemed an incompetent, did something which stunned his subordinates in the first year after his arrival: he announced a new personnel policy. He had the splendid idea of enforcing rewards and punishments fairly at every level of government service, including the lowest. Observing the new policy, the provincial officials all knew in their hearts that there was something mysterious and inscrutable about this governor, who still had a good deal of "Lazybones Tarō" about him. Thus, his orders were carried out, and the province of Shinano was well governed. About three times a year, the "Lazybones Governor" would shake his head as he listened to reports from his staff. That meant a clear "no" to what was being proposed; and his subordinates would realize eventually that by doing this he had nipped some troublesome problem in the bud.

  He had served as governor for ten years, and then one day his sleeping-mat was found empty. His wife and his retainers scoured the province, its mountains and rivers, but no trace of him was ever found. People began to wonder if this governor, whose early life, sudden rise, and final disappearance were all so strange, might not be a god or spirit. In the end, the ex-governor, Master Lazybones Tarō, came to be worshipped as a god. In his hometown of Atarashi, a shrine was erected to the "Great Luminous Deity Lazybones," and people came to worship there, as they do to this very day.