Draft version of the text „The ambiguity of evil and disgrace in the traditional Japanese ghost story Tōkaidō Yotsuya Kaidan”, in: Evil and Ugliness Across Literatures and Cultures, R. Wolny, S. Nicieja i A. Ciuk (eds). Opole: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Opolskiego, 2012, pp 231-244 „That’s Cruel, Lord Iemon!” — the Ambiguity of Evil and Disgrace in the Traditional Japanese Ghost Story Tōkaidō Yotsuya Kaidan Katarzyna Marak Exploration of the colonised does not actually lead to finding out more about the colonised─it c i k z s / t n i r p e r p is the coloniser that eclipses that which he intends to explore, as Edward Said points out in Orientalism1. Then, as the colonised writes back, the coloniser learns even more. Therefore, the West has neither tools nor words to define Japan. It cannot possibly have any, because Japan has never been colonised. This situation leaves the literary critic in a difficult but also very interesting position. Murakami Fuminobu in his book Postmodern, Feminist and Postcolonial Currents in Contemporary Japanese Culture paraphrases a Japanese philosopher and thinker, Yoshitomo Takaaki, who has posed the following question: Can “theories born in the West based upon Western cultures . . . be applied to Japanese everyday experience,” i.e. to Japanese culture (Fuminobu 2005: 99)? A good, although indirect answer to this question is the example of the attire of a Japanese bride, which I have used elsewhere to illustrate this issue. When a Euroamerican person sees a traditionally dressed Japanese bride, they find nothing surprising about her white kimono because Euroamerican brides wear white at the time of their wedding. This similarity, however, is purely coincidental, since in Japan white is the colour of mourning. The outer kimono of the bride represents her symbolic death as she is no longer a part of her former family. The inner kimono is red, the colour associated with birth, representing the equally symbolic rebirth of the bride into the groom’s family (Marak in Łaba 2009: 189). Unlike the Western cultural frame, within which the clear opposition good – evil is held as sound and rational, the Japanese culture does not offer such a clean division of character and deeds. Evil is not absolute but relative, defined by many factors. And like in the case of the bride’s white dress, the Euroamerican audience can be easily mislead. Just because 1See Said, Edward: Orientalism 1 (pre-print) we know what evil is in our culture, it does not mean that we will fully comprehend the nature of that evil in another culture. These notions are clearly visible in one of the most famous traditional Japanese ghost stories, Tōkaidō Yotsuya Kaidan, also known in the West as The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya or Yotsuya Ghost Stories. The story follows Tamiya Iemon, a former retainer of a now abolished house of Enya, who kills Yotsuya Samon who would not let him marry his daughter, Oiwa, and then tricks Oiwa herself into marrying him, claiming that someone else killed her father and he, Iemon, will help her avenge the murder. They live in poverty until the granddaughter of Itō Kihei, Oume, falls in love with Iemon. Hoping that Iemon would leave Oiwa to marry Oume, Itō sends a disfiguring poison to Oiwa, who after giving birth to Iemon’s son remains c i k z s / t n i r p e r p weak and sickly. Told that it is a medicine for blood pressure, Oiwa takes the poison and, having realised that she has been betrayed, dies filled with hatred, cursing Iemon and the Itō family. Iemon accuses his servant, Kohei, of killing Oiwa and kills him, although he is perfectly aware that it was the poison sent by Itō that lead to her death. During Iemon and Oume’s wedding night Oiwa’s ghost appears, causing Iemon to involuntarily kill his new bride and father-in-law, and then haunts him until he is killed by her brother-in-law, Yomoshichi. Yotsuya Kaidan has been staged and adapted for film many times over the years, with the 1959 film adaptation by Nakagawa Nubuo being the most celebrated one (Goldberg, in McRoy 2005: 22). It continues to be a significant influence on the contemporary horror cinema in Japan. Understanding The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya with its themes and motifs allows for better understanding and appreciation of various aspects of the Japanese culture, its comprehensive world view and, most importantly, its construction of evil and morality. The fact that the play is a ghost story is actually of little relevance, since, as Colette Balmain points out in Introduction to Japanese Horror, the Japanese vengeful ghost story conveys the concepts of betrayal and vengeance common to Euroamerican understanding without, however, questioning the “ontological materiality of ghosts” (Balmain 2008: 53). The shape of the story depicted in The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya and the fact that it explores evil and wickedness have a lot to do with it being a kabuki play. One of kabuki’s major themes is moral conflict and, as Shirane explains, [k]abuki’s focus on evil was one of its characteristics in the nineteenth century, especially in the work of Tsuruya Nanboku, who—along with Chikamatsu, Namiki Sosuke (Senryu), and 2 Mokuami—was one of the leading kabuki-joruri playwrights of the early modern period. (Shirane 2002: 843) The only question remaining now is whether the evil captured and depicted by the kabuki plays─or, for that matter, Japanese art and culture─is identical with the evil as it is comprehended by the English-speaking world? The seemingly simple evaluation of what is evil is more complex than expected, in all cultures, not only Japanese. In Japanese frames of mind: cultural perspectives on human development, Hiroshi Azuma points out that c i k z s / t n i r p e r p [t]he moral evaluation of a deviant act will depend on the story in which the act is embedded and hence on the moral script activated in an attempt to understand the act. A lie is bad in any culture. But it is possible to place the lying in the context of a sympathetic story or in an unsympathetic story. Cross-cultural differences in the repertory of moral scripts will lead to differences in how a deviant act is evaluated. (Azuma, in Hidetada 2001: 35) As it has already been pointed out, when we judge an act or person as evil, we might not do this for the same reason as the Japanese would do in such case. Therefore, if we were to analyse Iemon’s behaviour and deeds, we would discover that there is more to the moral evaluation of his behaviour than it would seem. An important fact regarding the first staging of the play, and one that allows for better understanding of the story is that the first staging of The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya at the Nakamura Theatre in the summer of 1825 (Brazell 1998: 456, Brandon and Leiter 2002: 136) was conducted in an unusual way. Two plays were staged at the same time, and acts of The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya were presented alternately with acts of a classic revenge drama from 1745, Chūshingura (The Treasury of Loyal Retainers). The story depicted in Chushingura is based on a true event which took place between 1701 and 1703, and concerns the revenge of forty-seven former retainers of the daimyō Enya Hangan, who was ordered to commit seppuku after being provoked to draw his sword and strike a senior lord, Kō no Moronō (Cavaye et al, 2005: 145). As Haruo Shirane notes: . . . [i]f Chūshingura reflected the popular uplifting view of the famous vendetta, Ghost Stories at Yotsuya revealed the negative, dark, hidden side of the same world, of those at the bottom of society who wanted to participate in the vendetta but could not. Instead of rising up like the exemplary heroes of Chūshingura, these men fall down a hole of self-destruction. . . 3 (pre-print) The warrior values of loyalty, obligation, self-sacrifice, and patience, which are extolled and dramatized in Chūshingura, are replaced in Ghost Stories by acts of betrayal and murder for the sake of sex and money. (Shirane 2002: 846) Similarly, in Kabuki plays on stage, co-edited with Samuel Leiter, James Brandon argues that the alternate presentation of acts of Chūshingura and The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya allowed “audiences to contrast the world of dark and light; the [The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya]’s representation of ghosts and grim lower-class life were set against the aristocratic heroics of Japan’s outstanding vendetta play” (Brandon and Leiter, 2002: 136). This juxtaposition highlights the importance of the concept of disgrace in The Ghost Stories at c i k z s / t n i r p e r p Yotsuya, contrasted with glory and loyalty in Chūshingura, although Karen Brazell points out in Traditional Japanese Theatre that “[s]ince [the first] performance, the two plays have seldom been presented together, and the relationship is no longer considered particularly important” (Brazell 1998: 456). The complex interrelation of the notions of evil, ugliness and disgrace in The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya begins with the main male character, Tamiya Iemon. One of the most interesting aspects of this character is that he is an archetype of iroaku─a character simultaneously evil and erotic, attractive and repulsive (Shirane 2002: 846, 843). Iemon’s physical beauty stands in stark contrast with his spiritual and moral ugliness, which manifests itself symbolically later in the play. Oiwa’s beauty, on the other hand, does not lie in her face alone─she is beautiful both physically and spiritually. Graceful and demure, she puts up with Iemon’s behaviour without a complaint like an ideal wife─as far as the Confucian society model, especially the warrior-class, is concerned (Shirane 2002: 888). It is Oiwa’s ability to fulfil her role of a wife in a dignified, feminine manner that accounts for a considerable part of her “beauty,” which in case of a woman includes the attributes of both heart and body. As the most important part of the story, i.e. the second act, begins, Tamiya Iemon has already established himself as an evil character. He murdered Oiwa’s father, Yotsuya Samon, who had confronted Iemon about stealing and betrayal, and, to protect Oiwa, demanded that Iemon give her up. Murder is an act which is clearly morally wrong in itself, but that which makes it decidedly evil and abhorrent is the fact that Iemon did it for personal gain. The egoistic motivation is very important to the Japanese audience, who will consider a possibility that there might be a good reason for a foul act (Azuma in Hidetada 2001: 42). In other words, even Iemon’s evil act could have been regarded in a sympathetic light if he had been motivated by good intentions or at least ignorance. 4 Having committed the murder, Iemon tricks Oiwa into believing that her father died by someone else’s hand, and promises cynically to avenge his death if Oiwa stayed him. By lying to her, he pulls her into his impure world─since she agrees to marry him for the sake of revenge─and locks her in a miserable marriage. Ironically enough, that marriage makes both of them unhappy as Iemon, having obtained what he desired, becomes disinterested and resentful. He neglects his duties as a husband and father, and, given a chance, jumps at the prospect of abandoning his wife and child, towards whom he seems to have no warm feelings. He calls his son “that brat” (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 464) and remains indifferent to Oiwa’s weak state after giving birth. On this aspect, present also in the 1959 film adaptation of the story, Collette Balmain comments: c i k z s / t n i r p e r p When Iemon leaves the house he hears his child cry and turns around, but after a moment’s hesitation continues on his way. The juxtaposition of this scene with the following one, in which he rescues Ume from bandits, is significant, in that Iemon has already been shown as demonstrating a lack of ninjō (compassion) and giri (duty) to his wife and child. (Balmain 2000: 58) In Japanese culture, Paul Varley refers to the conflict between ninjō and giri, as “one of the most important social themes” in all the literature of the time (Varley 2000: 184). He defines ninjō as “human feelings” and giri as “heavy sense of duty imposed on the individual by the feudal laws and mores of the age” (Varley 2000: 184). Iemon’s behaviour shows that he experiences no such conflict. He neglects his giri and, as Balmain noted, appears to have no ninjō towards Oiwa and the child. Apart from having no feelings towards his wife, Iemon also disregards Oiwa’s feelings, which shows his another morally contemptible trait: lack of omoiyari, empathy to the needs and feelings of others (LeVine in Hidetada 2001: xvi). Omoiyari is associated with the emotional upset an event has caused and the central actor’s responsibility for restoring harmony by demonstrating sincere concern for the feelings of others. This . . . reflects omoiyari and related concepts such as “magokoro, a sincere heart, or sunao na kokoro, a naive, receptive sensitive heart” (Kondo, 1990, p. 105). It suggests, in my opinion, that such concepts and the scripts related to them entail taking responsibility for the emotional states of others to a degree that exceeds the expectations embodied in the Anglo-American terms empathy or interpersonal sensitivity. (LeVine, in Hidetada 2001: xvii) 5 (pre-print) In other words, Iemons actions are evil to the Japanese audience because they cause Oiwa’s immense emotional pain. When Iemon leaves for the Itō mansion, Oiwa remains alone on the stage, and the temple bell sounds in the background. Because the sound of the temple bell not only stands for striking of the hour or for the purpose of emphasising action, but also indicates an atmosphere of loneliness or foreboding (Brazell 1998: 465), here it signals the emotional quality of Oiwa’s forthcoming soliloquy. Oiwa: Iemon has been mean to me from the moment we were married. He didn’t even look pleased when I told him his baby was a boy. Every day from dawn to dusk he c i k z s / t n i r p e r p complains that the "brat" is nothing but a nuisance. He grumbles that for him, a baby is just another mouth to feed. He says things like that even when he knows I can hear him. (She hugs herself to endure emotional pain) Living in this house is constant torture, with little wounds that never heal . . . But I must remember that Iemon promised to help me attack my father’s murderer. (She stops and weeps, then continues to cry as she says) If I can just endure this a little while longer, I’ll be able to leave this evil man. Please, let us avenge my father’s murder soon. (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 465) When Oiwa laments the way Iemon treats her, it may come as surprise to the English- speaking audience that she refers more to Iemon’s words and attitude than a violent act of any kind. She agonises over the fact that Iemon obviously does not care about his child and that he is unkind to her. What is most important, however, is that Iemon expresses his aversion and distaste loudly enough for Oiwa to hear, thus being fully responsible for her misery. The stage directions state that in the middle of her speech Oiwa hugs herself to endure “emotional pain,” right before she calls her life “a constant torture, with little wounds that never heal.” This torture is Iemon’s lack of responsibility for his wife’s emotional state. At this point Oiwa decides to take the “medicine” sent from the Itō house. Although the audience does not yet know that “the medicine” is, in fact, a poison, the long, detailed scene of Oiwa taking the drug creates an ominous, foreboding atmosphere. To slow background music, she picks up the packet of medicine with a prayer of thanks. Ominously, the action is emphasized by the boom of a temple bell. She lays down the package and picks the comb up off the floor and puts it back in her hair. Oiwa walks a little unsteadily to the little brazier where there is a pot of hot water, fills a teacup and returns to sit beside the baby. She unfolds the packet and puts it carefully back on th floor, then wipes her hand 6 with a handkerchief. She pours the medicine directly onto her hand, happily lifts both hands to her forehead in a gesture of gratitude and takes the medicine. ( Oshima in Brazell 1998: 466) A surprising amount of detail is devoted to this scene, making it the pivotal point of the plot. Oiwa’s repeated gestures of gratitude imply that something very good is happening, but the pacing of this scene and the sound of the temple bell contradict this impression, suggesting some dark scheme at work. As Oiwa, with her back turned towards the audience, is hidden inside the mosquito net, the nature and proper effect of the poison are not revealed immediately, and only Takuetsu’s violent, nervous reactions indicate that something is c i k z s / t n i r p e r p seriously wrong. The scenes change, and the tension and dread are enhanced at this point by the use of mawari-butai, a revolving stage2. The swift change of scenes and sets contrasts Oiwa’s innocent tragedy, as her silhouette disappears from the audience’s sight, with the merry atmosphere at the Itō mansion where Iemon, about to discover Itō’s plot, finds himself tended to beyond expectations. This scene marks another stage of Iemon’s moral downfall in more than one way. Firstly, when he finds out that Itō poisoned Oiwa, who is, after all, his lawfully wedded wife and the mother of his son, he comes to terms with it rather quickly and agrees to leave Oiwa, in this way despicably betraying her. Although he is not the one who poisoned Oiwa, his decision is morally contemptible and evil in the eyes of the play’s native audience, once again because he decides to leave Oiwa for his own benefit─i.e. marrying into a wealthy family, neglecting his duties again only to satisfy his desires. Furthermore, the fact that he condones Itō’s depravity makes him responsible for Oiwa’s fate. Secondly, as soon as he agrees to marry Oume, Iemon asks Itō to make him Lord Moranao's retainer. It is a disgraceful act, since Lord Moronao is the enemy of Iemon’s former master, which Iemon himself expresses explicitly in the previous scene. Whatever remnants of moral awareness in Iemon seem to disappear along with his sense of responsibility for Oiwa and the child when he agrees to marry Oume. By expressing his will to serve the person responsible for the death of his master, Lord Moronao, Iemon disgraces himself both morally and socially so much that later in the play, when Iemon’s father finds out about this plan, he disowns Iemon and attempts to duel him out of shame. This is not only due to hostile feelings or principles. The matter is related to the structure of the social system: 2 S e eBr a z e l l1 9 9 8 :3 7 7 (pre-print) Japanese feudalism was successful and stable for the more than 250 years of the Tokugawa Shogunate, which involved an elaborate role hierarchy. A person was expected to fit into the role assigned to him rather than choosing or creating his own role. Everyone was assigned to a social role, and his or her welfare depended on loyalty to the requirements of that role. (Azuma 2001: 32) The requirements of the social role of a samurai and Lord Enya’s retainer for Iemon were honour and loyalty to his master. As a masterless samurai, he should accept his fate or perhaps commit an honourable suicide instead of turning to the sworn enemy of Lord Enya. c i k z s / t n i r p e r p As Varley explains, the social order of the time “called upon people everywhere to accept without question their lots in life and to place highest value in the performance of such duties as filial piety to their parents and loyalty to their overlords” (Varley 2000: 172). When Iemon returns home he finds Oiwa horribly changed. Her previously beautiful face, hideously swollen and disfigured, makes Iemon jump back in shock. The only purpose of the poison was to disfigure Oiwa, not to kill her, just like Itō promised, claiming that he clung to that thought─although it is arguable whether that is in fact more merciful, as it only added to her misery of being betrayed. As the poison takes full toll on Oiwa, she loses her hair, which is the symbol of youth and beauty and the most adored, “richest ornament” of Japanese woman (Hearn 2004). Her right eye is swollen shut; the combination of all the above gives her features a dreadful, demonic look. Oiwa’s face, until that moment hidden from the audience, now no longer conceals the horrible truth about Itō and Iemon’s heinous deed, reflecting in appearance the moral weight of Iemon’s act. Like the picture of Dorian Grey, Oiwa’s physical ugliness mirrors Iemon’s spiritual and moral ugliness, her face revealing his evil. Even after agreeing to leave Oiwa, Iemon continues to treat her cruelly. He mercilessly tells her that he is no longer interested in avenging her father’s death and, in an attempt to drive her out, takes away her kimono and the mosquito net, intending to pawn it for money. The most important, however, is the item he tries to take away from her before he settles for the kimono and the mosquito net─an ornamental tortoise shell comb, a keepsake from Oiwa’s mother. The comb is something Oiwa treasures above all her other possessions; crafted out of tortoise shell, which symbolises old age and wisdom, the ornament is the only thing that Oiwa has left of her mother. In a manner of speaking, Iemon’s disrespect for the comb amounts to disrespect for the memory of Oiwa’s mother. The tortoise shell comb is not 8 just an accessory─as Dorothy Perkins states, “[t]he Japanese traditionally believe that the six cardinal virtues are inscribed on the tortoise shell: wisdom, loyalty, sincerity, friendship, charity and contemplation.” (Perkins 1991: 361). Therefore, in this scene the comb not only serves as a stand-in for Oiwa’s absent parent, but also it points to the values that Iemon himself lacks, as he tries to take the ornament away from Oiwa: loyalty, wisdom and sincerity. When Oiwa learns about Iemon’s betrayal, she is humiliated and hurt. In the play, Oiwa’s feelings are highlighted by her next words: (Oshima’s version) Oiwa: (spoken with great deliberateness): c i k z s / t n i r p e r p I never guessed the truth these gifts concealed, sent day after day by our good neighbor Itō Kihei. My heart swelled with thanks. Even when the wet nurse came, the destroying poison in her hand, to force me to my ruin, I clapped my hands in gratitude. Now each time I think of it, my heart fills with shame. They must laugh and laugh at me. Bitter, oh how bitter, is this humiliation. (She lies on the floor sobbing.) (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 476) Again great emphasis is laid on Oiwa’s emotional state. She speaks with “great deliberateness,” no longer mindful of her weak state or pre-occupied with the matters of house; the thoughtfulness of her words clearly demonstrates her composure and full understanding of what had transpired. The detailed, coherent account of her emotional state, reinforced by the juxtaposition of her initial attitude (“my hearts swelled with thanks”, “I clapped my hands in gratitude”) and her present feelings of shame and humiliation, conveys to the audience how profoundly her feelings had been hurt, which is of greatest consequence in this situation. This focus on emotions, culminated in the last part of her speech through the repetition of words (“laugh and laugh” and “bitter, oh how bitter”), is the crucial aspect of the scene, as it demonstrates plainly that the moral weight of Itō’s act is not determined by Oiwa’s physical deformation, but by her emotional response. Betrayed and disfigured, consumed by hatred, Oiwa professes her intent of seeking vengeance on Iemon and the Itō family: 9 (pre-print) Oiwa: Every moment is uncertain, as the end comes for Oiwa. But one thing is sure, the moment I die he will marry that girl. I can see the scene right before my eyes. Now I have nothing but hatred for you, Iemon, and hate for the house of Kihei, hatred for the Itō family. None of you shall ever escape to a life of peace. The more I think about it the more my heart is filled with bitter, bitter hatred. (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 478) Again the repetition (hatred─hate─hatred─hatred) emphasises the emotional value of c i k z s / t n i r p e r p Oiwa’s words. The same word that asserted her agonizing mortification, “bitter,” is used to denote the asperity of her hatred (“bitter humiliation”─“bitter hatred”) highlights the relation between both feelings, establishing her position of (?as a?) victim of Itō and Iemon’s evil plot. When Oiwa dies, however, the balance of good and evil is disrupted. After her death, Oiwa is to become an onryō, vengeful spirit. Although her retribution is rightful within the Japanese outlook, her actions will bring more bloodshed. Significantly, when she dies, rats appear on stage, auguring the presence of her spirit. Although in most versions of the play they try to snatch the baby, in the original staging they killed a cat, an animal thought to be able to raise the spirits of the dead. (Brazell 1998: 479). The rats are associated with both affluence and demons, intelligence and calamity (Tomaszewska-Bolałek 2007: 27, 38), good and evil─which is important insofar as Oiwa was born in the year of rat. When Iemon returns to find Oiwa dead, he quickly assesses the situation and cynically decides to accuse Kohei of murdering her, even though he is fully aware that Kohei is innocent. Iemon’s moral downfall, steadily deepening up to this point, reaches its peak when he is called a monster by Kohei, who is not only a servant, but a thief, after all (although for good reasons). What is more, in his accusation Kohei names the true intentions of Iemon: Kohei: Master, what a monster you are. Iemon: What the hell are you talking about? Kohei: You may have bound my hands and gagged me, but I know that hounding Oiwa to death in that miserable way was all your doing. Takuetsu told Oiwa everything about the plot between you and your neighbor Kihei. He told her about the poison that disfigured her. How could you drive out your wife at a time like this, all for your 1 0 own advancement? Do you really think you can prosper that way? You’re the lowest scum! (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 480) Kohei’s words are not a mere insult. When Iemon’s wickedness and disregard of giri in their true form and intention are revealed by his own servant, he suffers disgrace due to the fact that his private feelings and ideas, honne, could not be contained behind tatemae─public morality, the general consensus of the world Iemon belongs to (Shimizu 2001: 10). When Iemon, shamed, lashes out at Kohei to drown out the accusation, the violent character of his outburst reflects his anxiety and dismay: c i k z s / t n i r p e r p Iemon: Shut up! Peasant! Oiwa was killed with your sword. You killed her. You killed your master’s wife. You killed her! You killed her! You killed her! (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 480) It is impossible to say whether Iemon repeats those words just in an emotional frenzy, or whether he is actually trying to convince himself of Kohei’s guilt. From the standpoint of Japanese moral and judiciary system, a confession is superior to all other evidence (Miyazawa 1947: 55). Since Kohei has nothing to confess, he fights Iemon until the end, in this way only highlighting his innocence and Iemon’s deplorable lie. Iemon murders Kohei; as if in contrast, right after this foul act takes place, Iemon’s new bride, beautiful young Oume, arrives with her father. Oume has come to be Iemon’s wife, but she confesses to Omaki, the maid, that she is afraid of Oiwa. Her fear serves as a foreshadowing of the first appearance of the ghostly Oiwa during the wedding night, when Iemon looks at his young wife and is terrified to see Oiwa’s face. Although Oume’s kimono and the amulet on her neck tell the audience that it is in fact Oume herself, her lovely face is replaced by the ghastly, disfigured features of Oiwa. Iemon’s dishonourable, sinful past, represented by the ugliness of Oiwa’s face, desecrates the new happy life he believed he could lead. Confronted with his cruelty incarnate, Iemon is not remorseful. On the contrary, his first impulse is not to apologise to the woman he betrayed, but to swing his sword at her. Oume: Yes, Iemon, you are my husband. (She lifts up her face. The red charm is around her neck, but the face is that of Oiwa. She glares with hatred at Iemon and cackles. Iemon picks up a sword from nearby, draws it, and strikes her, immediately closing the screen door behind him. The decapitated head of Oume falls to the floor.) (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 482) 11 (pre-print) In some version of the play rats may surround the head; this happens in the version given in Early Japanese Literature: an anthology: “[r]ats come onstage and surround the head, accompanied by the sound of light doro-doro drum patterns” (Shirane 2002: 872). The presence of rats points towards the ambivalent nature of Oiwa’s revenge; it is due to her deception that Iemon cuts down his so coveted bride. It is worth noticing that later the symbolic use of an animal is called upon again to represent the ghost of Kohei, Iemon’s servant. When Iemon kills his new father in law, he does so because he is tricked by the vision of Kohei. Similarly as with Oume, when Itō’s head falls to the ground, a snake emerges and crawls to coil around its neck (Oshima in Brazell 1998: 483). Kohei was born in c i k z s / t n i r p e r p the year of the snake, and the snake, similarly to the rat, represents both good and evil (Tomaszewska-Bolałek 2007: 88). Both the snake and the rat continue to appear in the narrative, constantly reminding the audience of the complex ambiguity of the ghostly revenge Iemon has brought upon himself. Iemon escapes to Snake Mountain Hermitage, where he is still hounded by the vengeful ghost of his victim. Stage directions portray his face as “pale and feverish, framed by bushy, unkempt hair that signifies illness bordering on madness” (Oshima in Leiter 2002: 155). Oiwa, whose moral aligment becomes more and more vague as the story progresses, haunts him incessantly, tormenting him and appearing in his dreams. As an onryō powerful enough to disregard the protective prayers of the hermit and his followers, she kills Iemon’s parents in a gruesome manner, setting rats on his mother and then ripping her throat out, and hanging his father. Eventually Iemon, having fled from the hermitage, is slain by Yomoshichi, who comes forth as Oiwa’s avenger. In the version translated by Kenelly, numerous rats appear on Iemon’s sword during his duel with Yomoshichi, causing Iemon to drop his weapon and allowing Yomoshichi for a clear strike, in this way mercifully putting an end to the misery of tormented, exhausted and half-insane Iemon. The bloody finale of the play leaves the Euroamerican audience with a disturbing inability to precisely identify the nature and agents of evil in the story. The initial balance of what is black and what is white, at first so clear no matter whether from a Japanese of an Euroamerican point of view, dissolves slowly as we look into the story, whereupon we begin to perceive the ambiguity of the wickedness. Oiwa’s bloody revenge could be regarded as a natural, almost karmic consequence of Iemon’s deeds. Her retribution returns his own wickedness to him; evil for evil. Furthermore, Oiwa’s bloodlust in death as well as her impure 1 2 motivation behind marrying Iemon─as she did it solely to avenge her father’s death─indicate that we all carry a light and a dark side to our heart. We, the Euroamerican audience, may instinctively strive to draw a clear line between the good and the evil, and between victims and those who are at fault, but The Ghost Stories at Yotsuya exist within a different construct of morality, where every light creates a shadow, and every omote─the front side─necessarily has an ura─a hidden side (Lebra 1976: 112). However ready to condemn Iemon as wicked, the Japanese audience will calmly acknowledge the internal balance of good and evil, beautiful and ugly and honourable and disgraceful in the soul of every person, thus interlacing all those impulses and drives into one dense fabric of human nature as it is seen in the Japanese frame of mind. c i k z s / t n i r p e r p References Balmain, Colette. Introduction to Japanese horror film. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. 2008. Print Brandon, James and Leiter, Samuel. Kabuki plays on stage. Honolulu : University of Hawai'i Press. 2002. Print Brazell, Karen. Traditional Japanese Theatre. New York: Columbia University. 1998. Print Cavaye, Ronald, Paul Griffith and Akihiko Senda. A Guide to the Japanese Stage. Tokyo: Kodansha. 2005. Print Fuminobu, Murakami. Postmodern, Feminist and Postcolonial Currents in Contemporary Japanese Culture. New York: Routledge. 2005. 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Early Japanese Literature: an anthology, 1600-1900. New York: Columbia University Press. 2002. Print Shimizu, Hidetada; LeVine, Robert. Japanese frames of mind: cultural perspectives on human development. New York: Cambridge University Press. 2001. Print Sugiyama Lebra, Takie. The Japanese self in cultural logic. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi c i k z s / t n i r p e r p Press. 2004. Print Tomaszewska-Bolałek, Małgorzata. Zwierzęta zodiaku w kulturze Japonii. Warszawa: Hanami. 2007. Print Tucker, Richard N. Japan: Film Image. London: Studio Vista. 1973. Print Varley, Paul. Japanese Culture. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press. 2000. Print Young, Robert. Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. 2001. Print 1 4