Rashomon

        By Ryunosuke Akutagawa (1915)

        Translated by Takashi Kojima

        It was a chilly evening. A servant of a samurai stood under the Rashomon, waiting for a break in the rain.

        No one else was under the wide gate. On the thick column, its crimson lacquer rubbed off here and there, perched a cricket. Since the Rashomon stands on Suzaku Avenue, a few other people at least, in sedge hats or door-passer's raincoats, should have been standing there to wait for a break in the rain. But there was no one except this man.

        The reason was that for the past few years the city of Kyoto had been visited by one calamity after another: earthquakes, whirlwinds, fires, and famines.[1] The whole city was in a state of utter desolation. According to old records, Buddhist statues and altars were broken up, and their wood, with its vermilion lacquer and gold or silver leaf, was piled up by the roadsides and sold as firewood.[1] With the city in such a condition, the repair of the Rashomon was naturally out of the question.[1] Taking advantage of the desolation, foxes and other wild animals made their dens there.[1] Thieves lived there. Finally, it became a custom to bring unclaimed corpses to the gate and leave them there.[1] Consequently, after sunset, people were afraid to approach the gate, and no one dared to set foot in its vicinity.[1]

        Instead, a large number of crows flocked there. During the daytime, they circled high above the ridge-tiles of the gate, cawing. When the sky above the gate turned red in the evening, they looked like scattered sesame seeds. The crows, of course, came to peck at the flesh of the corpses on top of the gate. On this particular day, however, not a single crow was to be seen, perhaps because of the lateness of the hour.[1] Only their white droppings were visible on the crumbling stone steps, where long weeds grew in the crevices.[1] The servant, in a worn blue kimono, sat on the seventh and highest step, vacantly watching the rain, while he toyed with a large pimple on his right cheek.[2]

        As has been said, the servant was waiting for a break in the rain.[1][2] But he had no particular idea of what to do after the rain stopped. Ordinarily, of course, he would have returned to his master's house, but he had been discharged just before.[2] As I have said, the city of Kyoto was in a state of extreme decline.[1] This servant's being discharged by his master, with whom he had lived for many years, was only a small consequence of this decline. So, instead of "waiting for a break in the rain," it would be more correct to say that the servant, "brought to a standstill by the rain, had nowhere to go and was at a loss." The weather, too, contributed to his depression. The rain, which had begun to fall in the late afternoon, showed no sign of stopping.

        The servant's mind was occupied with the question of how he was to make his living tomorrow—in other words, how he was to do the impossible. He listened pensively to the sound of the rain falling on Suzaku Avenue.

        The rain, enveloping the Rashomon, gathered strength and came down with a pelting sound that could be heard far away. Looking up, he saw a fat black cloud impale itself on the tips of the tiles jutting out from the roof of the gate.

        He had little choice of means, whether fair or foul, because of his helpless circumstances. If he chose honest means, he would undoubtedly starve to death beside the wall or in the Suzaku gutter. He would be brought to this gate and thrown away like a stray dog. If he decided to steal...

        His mind, after making the same detour time and again, came finally to the conclusion that he would be a thief. But he did not have the courage to affirm this conclusion.[3]

        The servant sneezed, and he stood up wearily. Kyoto—so chilly in the evening—was already cold enough that he wished he had a brazier. The wind and the darkness blew mercilessly between the pillars of the gate. The cricket that had been sitting on the red pillar was long gone.

        The servant tucked his head into his chest, hunched up his shoulders—clad in the blue kimono he wore over his thin yellow underclothes—and looked around the gate. If there was a place where he wouldn't be bothered by the wind or the rain... a place where he wouldn't be seen... a place where it looks like he can sleep comfortably all night... then he would spend the night there.

        Fortunately, he found a broad lacquered stairway leading to the tower over the gate. No one would be there, except the dead, if there were any. So, taking care that the sword at his side did not slip out of the scabbard, he set foot on the lowest step of the stairs.