In other sects of Buddhism, this procession signified the welcoming home of spirits that were loose in their native countryside. This was known as "The welcoming of the sacred spirits" to the family, and for three days the departed ones were to live with their mortal relatives. This occasion was not a period of mourning and so there was no grieving. To the contrary, there was a certain element of rejoicing in the reunion and although there would be no actual merrymaking, people did not deny themselves luxuries or good food. Meat and fish tabooed at mourning would be partaken freely. In good Buddhist families the elder members usually could recite sutras and there would be recitation of these as usual in the presence of the assembled family, but no special effort was made to increase the religious services by the invitation of the priest.
When there was a recent death or "first bon" for the family, friends and relatives usually came to the house in order to lighten the sorrow of the family. For three days the family would be joined in spirit by the departed ones and on the night of the sixteenth day the spirits were to return where they came from. The ritual of "god-speeding the spirits" was performed. Where there was a creek or river a good-sized boat was fashioned out of straw. This was loaded with the seasonal produce that had adorned the altar. At a signal, all the assembled straw boats had their candles lighted simultaneously, and they were let loose to float down the river. The little fleet silently glided and eventually, one by one, disappeared to the bottom. The scene was eerie and mystic.
In regions where there was no river or stream, a horse would be constructed out of an eggplant or cucumber and the rest of the sweets and vegetables would be piled on his back. The horse would then be set down at the turn of the road and a safe journey to the nether world wished for him. In this manner the annual visit of the souls to earthly brethren was made. The annual festival in which the living and the dead both had a part was over, and people went back to the dreary routine of daily life.
The dead, therefore, were not considered in the fearful way that is the case in other countries. On the contrary, a sense of familiarity and the sensation of proximity of the departed ones was fostered in the minds of the children so that the conception of fearful spirits would be foreign to upbringing. It was natural that all should wend their way to ancestral graves to report anything momentous that was to be undertaken in the family, whether joyful or sad, or report in person when they returned from distant lands after a long journey.
As Torao grew up, he joined the young men's club. In a community where elders have absolute say, and age is a factor to be reckoned with, the young people naturally got together socially to relax. Leaders encouraged such a gathering to prevent delinquency among the teenagers. Wholesome fun was a natural development. The club had its meetings at night and played their pranks on the younger and newly initiated members. Typical was the event that occurred on the night of December 14, to test the nerve of the boys and have fun at their expense.
The leader rose and faced the younger boys. "Three hundred years ago, the forty-seven samurai of Akoh went out in the midst of the night to chop Kira Kozuke's head off. Kira was the enemy of their dead lord. Tonight you will be asked to show that you too are not afraid. You will not be asked to take any villain's head, but as a sign of your courage, you will be asked to bring back certain articles or erect a flag at some spot. Are you afraid of the dark? You, Kosuke?"
"No. Of course not."
"Have you been to the shrine on the Todoroki Road? You will bring back the gohei that is on the altar. I heard that there is a pair of old foxes living in the bushes in back of the old building, and they sometimes come out at night in the guise of a young woman. You, Yosaku!"
"Yes."
"You are to go to the cemetery, to the grave of the newly dead and buried Tanaka woman. Bring back the branch of greens that is in the vase and plant this flag in the new mound. Goichi, you will proceed to the jizo-san near the river. Leave this red flag on the steps of the jizo. You must take the road that goes under the tree from which the crazy old woman Omoyo hanged herself two years ago."
As the lone boys proceeded, tremulously whistling to hide their inner quavering, there would be a rustling noise in the nearby bushes or eerie hooting or howling from the roadside. A special detachment of older boys were there to frighten the youngsters. After the boys returned to the clubhouse, a check would be made to ascertain whether the marker was actually stuck where it was intended. Then there would be a frugal feast on homemade noodles to emulate the example of the forty-seven samurai who had similarly filled their stomachs before they started out on their memorable expedition of vendetta.
Torao was brought up in such an atmosphere. He was taught to revere his ancestors, to take pride in his heritage, and to be brave. Next to loyalty to the emperor, parents came first in the consideration of his everyday conduct. Filial piety was stressed with the utmost emphasis, and he loved his mother above everybody else. But there was an epidemic of dysentery in the countryside and his mother fell ill. Within a short time she was laid at rest not within the family graveyard, but in an isolated spot because the disease was contagious. The ignorant bureaucrats thought it necessary to quarantine the corpse, lest it might contaminate the graves of the non-infectious dead. Western ideas of sanitation and epidemic diseases had just been adopted and in the knowing application of these sciences, the health official was considered to be enlightened and modern.
To the three children it was like the end of the world. There were no more pleasant sorties than those to their ancestral home at Amizu village, and there was no more delightful storytelling than the many folk tales and ancient historical epics handed down among the villagers. The effect on Sadaki was equally great. By that time old Mosaku and his wife had died and Sadaki was master of the Murayama holdings.
Bereft of a helpmate, the farm was hard to maintain without some hired help, but Sadaki was not in a position to pay for help. The most natural thing for him to do was to marry again. In any country, to get married to a widower with three children was not the best marriage that a girl could wish to make, and the man himself did not look for his ideal of womanhood. If she were good enough to take care of his family and be good to the motherless children, then he must consider himself lucky.
The woman he took for his second wife came from typical farmer stock. She had been taught the art of farming but knew little or nothing of the finer training that a girl should have had. She worked hard from morning till night. That she had remained single until past twenty-five showed that she had no physical charm and had not been overlooked by the village swains without reason. For Sadaki it was fortunate that she was such a proficient worker as he was a poor farmer himself and now could rely on her better judgment in the choice and management of the crops.
But the children could not forget their deceased mother and could not make themselves like this intruder. Even in their immature minds—perhaps more so because of their simplicity—they would compare the merits of the two women. Their feeling could not remain hidden from her and she resented their disrespect. The atmosphere in the home was continuously strained and life was miserable for all.
Torao, now fifteen, was cognizant of the open breach and tried to repair it by being nice to her, but the gap was unbridgeable and finally he gave it up and openly rebelled. Time and again he would take his sister Osada to Amizu, their maternal grandfather's home, and stay for weeks: until someone came for them. Their maternal relatives naturally took sides and the talk was lively at Amizu. Their ancient family pride asserted itself. The children felt the satisfaction of basking in the limelight of a controversy in which they were the chief participants.
Even to the illiterate woman, the conduct of these step-children was irritating, for she had to think of her reputation. This outward flaunting of her authority did not win sympathy for her and did not improve her station among the village women, who had a high regard for the deceased wife and were naturally semi-hostile to her even under the best arrangement. Gossipy women spread rumors which, in a distorted form, came back to her. Chagrined, she would complain to her husband who naturally did nothing,