Sweet potato porridge summary. Ryunosuke Akutagawa

This happened at the end of the Genkei years, or perhaps at the beginning of the reign of Ninna. The exact time does not matter for our story. It is enough for the reader to know that this happened in the hoary old days, called the Heian period... And a certain goyi served among the samurai of the regent Mototsune Fujiwara.

I would like to give, as expected, his real name, but, unfortunately, it is not mentioned in ancient chronicles. He was probably too ordinary a man to be worth mentioning. In general, it should be said that the authors of ancient chronicles were not too interested in ordinary people and ordinary events. In this respect, they are strikingly different from Japanese nature writers. The novelists of the Heian era, oddly enough, are not such lazy people... In a word, a certain goyi served among the samurai of the regent Mototsune Fujiwara, and he is the hero of our story.

He was a man of extremely unsightly appearance. To begin with, he was short. The nose is red, the outer corners of the eyes are drooping. The mustache, of course, is sparse. The cheeks are sunken, so the chin seems very tiny. Lips... But if you go into such details, there will be no end to it. In short, our goyim’s appearance was extremely shabby.

No one knew when or how this man ended up in Mototsune's service. All that was certain was that for a very long time he had been carrying out the same duties every day and tirelessly, always wearing the same faded suikan and the same crumpled eboshi hat. And here is the result: no matter who met him, it never occurred to anyone that this man was once young. (At the time described, the goyim had passed forty.) It seemed to everyone that the drafts at the crossroads of Sujaku had inflated his red, cold nose and symbolic mustache from the very day he was born. Everyone unconsciously believed in this, and, starting from Mr. Mototsune himself and to the last shepherd boy, no one doubted it.

It would probably not be worth writing about how others treated a person of such appearance. In the samurai barracks, the goyim were paid no more attention than a fly. Even his subordinates - and there were about two dozen of them, with and without ranks - treated him with amazing coldness and indifference. There was never a time when they stopped chatting when he ordered them to do anything. Probably, the figure of the goyim obscured their vision as little as the air. And if his subordinates behaved this way, then those senior in position, all sorts of housekeepers and commanders in the barracks, in accordance with all the laws of nature, resolutely refused to notice him at all. Hiding their childish and senseless hostility towards him under a mask of icy indifference, if they had to tell him anything, they made do exclusively with gestures. But people have the gift of speech for a reason. Naturally, from time to time circumstances arose when it was not possible to explain with gestures. The need to resort to words was entirely due to his mental insufficiency. On such occasions, they invariably looked him up and down, from the top of his crumpled eboshi hat to the tattered straw zori, then looked him up and down, and then, with a snort of contempt, turned their backs. However, the goyim were never angry. He was so devoid of self-esteem and so timid that he simply did not feel injustice as injustice.

The samurai, equal to him in position, mocked him in every possible way. The old people, making fun of his unattractive appearance, repeated old jokes; the young people also did not lag behind, exercising their abilities in so-called impromptu remarks, all addressed to the same address. Right in front of the goyim, they tirelessly discussed his nose and his mustache, his hat and his suikan. Often the subject of discussion was his partner, a thick-lipped lady with whom he had separated several years ago, as well as a drunken boss, rumored to be in a relationship with her. At times they allowed themselves very cruel jokes. It is simply not possible to list them all, but if we mention here how they drank sake from his flask and then urinated there, the reader will easily imagine the rest.

Nevertheless, the goyim remained completely insensitive to these tricks. At least he seemed insensitive. No matter what they said to him, even his facial expression did not change. He just silently stroked his famous mustache and continued to do his job. Only when the bullying went beyond all limits, for example, when scraps of paper were attached to the knot of hair on the top of his head or straw zori were tied to the scabbard of his sword, then he strangely wrinkled his face - either from crying, or from laughter - and said:

- Really, really, you can’t do that...

Those who saw his face or heard his voice suddenly felt a pang of pity. (This pity was not only for the red-nosed goyim, it belonged to someone whom they did not know at all - to many people who were hiding behind his face and voice and reproaching them for their heartlessness.) This feeling, no matter how vague it is no matter what, it penetrated for a moment into their very heart. True, there were few who retained it for any length of time. And among these few there was one ordinary samurai, a very young man who came from the province of Tamba. A soft mustache had just begun to emerge on his upper lip. Of course, at first he, too, along with everyone else, without any reason, despised the red-nosed goyim. But one day he heard a voice saying: “What, really, you can’t do that...” And since then these words have not left his head. The goyim in his eyes became a completely different person. In the wasted, gray, stupid face, he also saw a Man suffering under the yoke of society. And every time he thought about the goyim, it seemed to him as if everything in the world had suddenly flaunted its original meanness. And at the same time, it seemed to him that the frostbitten red nose and sparse mustache showed his soul some kind of consolation...

But this was the case with one single person. With this exception, the goyim was surrounded by universal contempt, and he lived a truly dog's life. To begin with, he did not have any decent clothes. He had a single blue-gray suikan and a single pair of sashinuki pants of the same color, but they had all faded to such an extent that it was no longer possible to determine the original color. Suikan was still holding on, his shoulders only sagged slightly and the cords and embroidery took on a strange color, that’s all, but as for his pants, at the knees they were in an unprecedentedly deplorable state. The goyi did not wear lower hakama, his thin legs showed through the holes, and his appearance caused disgust not only among the evil inhabitants of the barracks: as if you were looking at a skinny bull dragging a cart with a skinny nobleman. He also had an extremely used sword: the hilt could barely hold on, the varnish on the scabbard was all peeling off. And it was not without reason that when he trudged down the street with his red nose, on his crooked legs, dragging straw shades, hunched over even more than usual under the cold winter sky and casting pleading glances around, everyone touched and teased him. Even street peddlers, this happened.

One day, walking along Sanjo Street towards Shinsen Park, the goyim noticed a crowd of children at the side of the road. They're launching a top or something, he thought and went up to look. It turned out that the boys had caught a stray dog, put a noose around its neck and were torturing it. The timid goyim was not alien to compassion, but until then he had never tried to translate it into action. This time, however, he gained courage because in front of him were only children. Having some difficulty putting a smile on his face, he patted the eldest of the boys on the shoulder and said:

- You should let her go, the dog is in pain too...

Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Sweet potato porridge

A long time ago, among the samurai of the regent Mototsune Fujiwara, a certain unsightly and pathetic little man served, performing some simple duties. Everyone treated him with disrespect: both his colleagues and servants. He was surrounded by general contempt; he lived a truly dog's life. His clothes were old, worn, his sword was extremely used.

However, the hero of the story, a man born to be despised by everyone, had one passionate desire: he wanted to eat his fill of sweet potato porridge. This sweet dish was served at the imperial table, and a person of lower rank received little of the delicacy at annual receptions.

One day, on the second of January, the annual ceremonial feast took place at the regent's residence. The remaining food was given to the samurai. There was also sweet potato porridge. But this time there was especially little of it. And therefore it seemed to the hero that the porridge should be especially tasty. Having not eaten it properly, he said, not addressing anyone:

And then Toshihito Fujiwara, the bodyguard of Regent Mototsune, a powerful, broad-shouldered man of enormous stature, laughed. He was already pretty drunk.

If you want, I'll feed you to your heart's content.

The nameless hero of this story, not believing his luck, agreed and a few days later went with Toshihito Fujiwara to his estate.

We drove for a very long time. The hero of the story would definitely have turned back if not for the hope of “getting drunk on sweet potato porridge.” On the way, Toshihito drove and caught a fox and told it in a pompous tone: “Tonight you will appear at my estate and say that I intend to invite a guest to my place. Let them send people and two horses under saddle to meet me tomorrow.” With the last word, he shook the fox once and threw it far into the bushes. The fox ran away.

The next day, at the appointed place, the travelers were met by servants with two horses under saddles. The gray-haired servant said that late last night the mistress suddenly lost consciousness and said unconsciously: “I am the fox from Sakamoto. Come closer and listen carefully, I am telling you what the master said today.”

When everyone had gathered, the lady deigned to say the following words: “The gentleman suddenly intended to invite a guest to his place. Tomorrow, send people to meet him, and with them bring two horses under saddles.” And then she fell asleep. She is still sleeping.

Even the animals serve Toshihito! - Said the mighty samurai.

While the arrivals were resting, the servants collected a huge amount of sweet potatoes, and in the morning they cooked several large cauldrons of sweet potato porridge. And while the poor samurai woke up and looked at how such an abyss of deliciousness was being prepared and thought that he had specially dragged himself here from the capital in order to eat this same sweet potato porridge, his appetite decreased by half.

An hour later, at breakfast, he was offered a silver cauldron filled to the brim with sweet potato porridge.

“You didn’t have to eat to your heart’s content of sweet potato porridge,” the owners told him, “Go ahead without hesitation.”

Several more silver pots with sweet potato porridge were placed in front of him, but he managed to overcome only one. And then yesterday’s fox messenger appeared and, on Toshihito’s orders, she was also given porridge. Looking at the fox lapping up sweet potato porridge, the well-fed poor fellow sadly thought how happy he was, cherishing his dream of eating his fill of sweet potato porridge. And from the realization that never again in his life would he put this sweet potato porridge in his mouth, calm came over him.

And then Toshihito Fujiwara, the bodyguard of Regent Mototsune, a powerful, broad-shouldered man of enormous stature, laughed. He was already pretty drunk.

If you want, I'll feed you to your heart's content.

The nameless hero of this story, not believing his luck, agreed and a few days later went with Toshihito Fujiwara to his estate.

Even the animals serve Toshihito! - Said the mighty samurai.

An hour later, at breakfast, he was offered a silver cauldron filled to the brim with sweet potato porridge.

“You didn’t have to eat to your heart’s content of sweet potato porridge,” the owners told him, “Go ahead without hesitation.”

Once upon a time, among the samurai Fujiwara Mototsune, there was one pitiful and unsightly man who performed simple duties. Everyone treated him without respect, including his colleagues and servants. General contempt surrounded him, and he truly lived like a dog. He walked around in shabby, old clothes with a sword used to the extreme.
But this hero, who was born to public contempt, had one fiery and cherished desire: he longed to eat his fill of sweet potato porridge. Such a sweet dish was served only to emperors, and people of lower rank received very little delicacy at the annual reception.

Once on the second of January, a festive feast took place at the regent’s residence, which was held annually. What was left of the food was given to the samurai. Among other food there was sweet potato porridge, which was unusually small this time. And so the hero thought that the porridge this time should be even more delicious than usual. He could not really enjoy it, and turned to himself with these words: “I would like to know if I will ever be able to eat enough of it?” Then he took a deep breath and said one more thing: “This won’t happen, because an ordinary samurai is not fed sweet potato porridge.”

Toshihito Fujiwara, who works as Regent Mototsune's bodyguard, immediately laughed. He was a rather powerful and broad-shouldered man of great stature. At this point, he was already pretty drunk and said in response to our hero: “If you want it so much, I can feed you to your heart’s content.”
The hero of this story could not believe his luck. He immediately agrees and a few days later goes with Fujiwara Toshihito to his estate.
They drove for a very long time. The hero of our story might have returned back, but he was entertained by the hope of eating plenty of sweet potato porridge. On his way, Toshihito Fujiwara chases and catches a fox. After which he pompously orders her to appear at his estate that very night and say that I have decided to invite a guest to my place. He ordered her to send people to meet him tomorrow under the saddles of two horses. Saying the last word, he shook the fox once and threw it far into the bush. The fox immediately ran away.

The next day they were met at the appointed place by servants. Under the saddles, as ordered, were two horses. The gray-haired servant said that late at night yesterday the mistress suddenly lost consciousness and said in her unconsciousness that she was supposedly a fox from Sakamoto. She asked them to come close to her and listen well as she conveys to us what the owner told her today.
When everyone was gathered, the hostess announced that the owner suddenly wanted to invite a guest to his home. It is necessary that tomorrow you send people to meet him and two horses under saddles. After that, she fell into a deep sleep, from which she has not emerged to this day.
The mighty samurai said that even animals command Toshihito.

While the arrivals were resting, the servants collected a large number of sweet potatoes, and in the morning they cooked several huge cauldrons of sweet potato porridge. Meanwhile, the poor samurai watched how such an abyss of deliciousness was being prepared. While he was thinking that he was coming here from the capital itself to eat these pots of sweet potato porridge, his appetite dropped by half.
At breakfast, one hour later, he was offered a silver cauldron filled to the brim with sweet potato porridge.
The owners served him porridge and said: “You have never been able to eat enough sweet potato porridge, so go ahead and eat without hesitation.”

More silver cauldrons with sweet potato porridge were placed in front of him, but he was able to overcome only one cauldron with his strength. At this moment, yesterday’s fox appears out of nowhere. Toshihito orders her to eat the porridge. Now our well-fed hero looks with sadness at the fox, who was lapping up this sweet potato porridge, and thinks about how happy he was when he cherished his dream of eating enough of this very porridge. Now he calmed down, because he understood that never again in his life would he be able to put this porridge in his mouth.

The summary of the story “Sweet Potato Porridge” was retold by A.S. Osipova.

Please note that this is only a brief summary of the literary work “Sweet Potato Porridge”. This summary omits many important points and quotes.

- Really, really, you can’t do that...

- You should let her go, the dog is in pain too...

The boy turned around, raised his eyes and stared at him contemptuously. He looked at the goyim in exactly the same way as the manager in the barracks when the goyim could not understand his instructions. He took a step back and, arrogantly sticking out his lip, said:

- We can do without your advice. Get lost, red nose.

Goi felt as if these words had hit him in the face. But not at all because he was offended and angry. No, he was simply ashamed that he had interfered in something that was not his own business and thereby humiliated himself. To hide the awkwardness, he smiled forcedly and, without saying a word, walked further towards Shinsen Park. The boys, standing shoulder to shoulder, made faces at him and stuck out their tongues. He didn't see this, of course. And if only he had seen what this could mean for a goyim devoid of pride!

But it would be a mistake to say that the hero of our story, this man born to universal contempt, had no desires. For several years now he had an unusual affinity for sweet potato porridge. What is sweet potato porridge? Sweet mountain yams are placed in a pot, covered with grape syrup and boiled until they are reduced to a pulp. At one time, this was considered an excellent dish; it was served even at the august table. Consequently, it could only come into the mouth of a person of such a rank as goyim once a year, at some annual reception. And even in these cases, very little got in, just to lubricate the throat. And eating to the fullest of sweet potato porridge was the long-standing and cherished dream of our goyim. Of course, he did not share this dream with anyone. What can I say, he himself was probably not quite clearly aware that his whole life was permeated with this desire. And yet we can safely say that this is exactly what he lived for. People sometimes devote their lives to desires that they do not know whether they can be satisfied or not. Anyone who laughs at such quirks simply does not understand anything about human nature.

Oddly enough, the goyim’s dream of “getting drunk on sweet potato porridge” came true with unexpected ease. To tell about how this happened, the story “Sweet Potato Porridge” was written.

One day on January 2, the annual reception was held at the Mototsune residence. (The annual reception is a large feast given by the regent, the first adviser to the emperor, on the same day as the thanksgiving banquet in honor of the empress and heir. All nobles, from ministers and below, are invited to the annual reception, and it is almost no different from the temple feasts.) The goyim, along with other samurai, treated themselves to what was left on the dishes after the distinguished guests. In those days, it was not yet the custom to give away the remains of the servants, and they were eaten by samurai warriors gathered in one room. Thus, they seemed to participate in a feast, however, since this was in the old days, the number of snacks did not correspond to their appetites. And they served rice cakes, donuts in butter, steamed mussels, dried poultry meat, malga from Uji, carp from Omi, planed perch, salmon stuffed with caviar, fried octopus, lobster, tangerines large and small, persimmons on a spit and much more. There was also sweet potato porridge. Goi hoped every year that he would be able to eat his fill of sweet potato porridge. But there were always a lot of people, and he got almost nothing. This time there was especially little of it. And therefore it seemed to him that it should be especially tasty. Looking intently at the empty bowls, he wiped away the drop stuck in his mustache with his palm and said, not addressing anyone:

As soon as he said these words, someone burst out laughing. It was the casual, rough laughter of a warrior. The goyi raised his head and looked timidly. Laughed was Toshihito Fujiwara, bodyguard of Mototsune, son of Tokunaga, Minister of National Affairs, a powerful, broad-shouldered man of enormous stature. He gnawed on boiled chestnuts and washed them down with black sake. He was already pretty drunk.

“It’s a pity, really,” he said mockingly and contemptuously, seeing that the goyim raised their heads. “However, if you want, Toshihito will feed you to your heart’s content.”

The hunted dog does not immediately grab the bone thrown to him. With his usual incomprehensible grimace - either crying or laughing - the goyim moved his eyes from the empty bowl to Toshihito’s face and again to the empty bowl.

- Well, what do you want?

Goi was silent.

- Well, what then?

Goi was silent. He suddenly felt that all eyes were directed at him. As soon as he answers, ridicule will rain down on him. He even understood that they would mock him in any case, no matter what the answer was. He hesitated. He probably would have looked from the bowl to Toshihito and back ad infinitum, but Toshihito said in a bored tone:

– If you don’t want to, say so.

And, hearing this, the goyim answered excitedly:

- No, no... I humbly thank you.

Everyone listening to this conversation burst out laughing. Someone mimicked the answer: “No, I humbly thank you.” Tall and round samurai hats shook at once in time with the peals of laughter, like waves, over bowls and baskets with orange, yellow, brown, red food. Toshihito himself cackled the most cheerfully and loudest of all.

“Well, if so, I invite you to my place,” he said. At the same time, his face wrinkled, because the laughter bursting out collided in his throat with the vodka he had just drunk. - Okay, so be it...

“I humbly thank you,” repeated the goyim, stuttering and blushing.

And, of course, everyone started laughing again. As for Toshihito, who was only trying to attract everyone's attention, he cackled even louder than before, and his shoulders shook with laughter. This northern barbarian recognized only two ways of spending time in life. The first is to pour sake, the second is to laugh.

Fortunately, very soon everyone stopped talking about them. I don’t really know what’s going on here. Most likely, the rest of the company did not like that public attention was drawn to some red-nosed goyim. In any case, the topic of the conversation changed, and since there was not enough sake and snacks left, general interest was attracted by the report of how a certain squire tried to mount a horse, hastily getting both legs into one leg of his mukabaki. Only the goyim, apparently, did not hear anything. Probably all his thoughts were occupied by two words: sweet potato porridge. There was a roasted pheasant in front of him, but he did not take the chopsticks. His bowl was filled with black sake, but he did not touch it. He sat motionless, with his hands on his knees, and his whole face, right down to the roots of his hair, touched with gray, glowed with a naive blush from excitement, like a girl at a bride's show. He sat, forgetting about time, staring at the black lacquered bowl of sweet potato porridge, and smiled meaninglessly...

One morning, a few days later, two horsemen rode leisurely along the road to Awataguchi along the Kamogawa River. One, with a long rich sword, a handsome black mustache with luxurious curls, was in a thick blue kariginu and hakama of the same color. The other, a samurai of about forty, with a wet red nose, wore two padded jackets over a frayed suikan, was carelessly belted, and generally looked extremely lax. However, both had excellent horses, three-year-old stallions, one dun, the other bay, good horses, so that peddlers and samurai passing along the road turned around and looked after them. Behind, keeping pace with the horsemen, walked two more - apparently a squire and a servant. There is no need to prompt the reader that the riders were Toshihito and the goyim.

It was winter, but the day turned out to be calm and clear, and not the slightest breeze stirred the stems of withered wormwood along the banks of the river that ran between the gloomy stones on the white plain. Liquid, like butter, sunlight illuminated the leafless branches of the low willows, and even the shadows of wagtails, wagging their tails on the treetops, stood out clearly on the road. Above the dark green hills of Higashiyama, the Hiei Mountains rose roundly, like waves of frost-covered velvet. The horsemen rode slowly, without touching their whips, and the mother-of-pearl inlay of their saddles glittered in the sun.

- May I ask where we are going? - said the goyim, tugging at the reins with an inept hand.

“We’ll be there soon,” Toshihito answered. - It's closer than you think.

- So this is Awataguchi?

- It may very well be...

Luring the goyim this morning, Toshihito announced that they would go in the direction of Higashiyama because there was a hot spring there. The red-nosed goyim took this at face value. He had not washed in a bathhouse for a long time, and his body itched unbearably. Treat yourself to sweet potato porridge and, in addition, wash yourself with hot water - what more could you ask for? This was all he dreamed of, shaking on the dun stallion, Toshihito’s replacement steed. However, they passed one village after another, and Toshihito did not even think about stopping. Meanwhile they passed Awataguchi.

“So it’s not in Awataguchi?”

“Be patient a little longer,” Toshihito responded, grinning.

He continued driving as if nothing had happened and only turned away so as not to see the faces of the goyim. The huts on the sides of the road became less and less common, only crows foraging for food could be seen in the spacious winter fields, and the snow, preserved in the shadow of the mountains, cast a dull blue in the distance. The sky was clear, the sharp tops of the yellowberries pierced it so much that it hurt my eyes, and for some reason it made me feel especially chilly.

“So this is somewhere near Yamashina?”

- Yamashina - there she is. No, it's a little further away.

Indeed, they passed Yamashina too. Yes, Yamashina. They quietly left Sekiyama behind, and there the sun passed midday, and they approached the Miidera Temple. Toshihito had a monk friend in the temple. We went to the monk, dined with him, and at the end of the meal we again mounted our horses and set off on the road. Now their path, unlike before, lay through a completely deserted area. But it must be said that in those days gangs of robbers were prowling everywhere... The goyi, completely hunched over, looked into Toshihito’s face and inquired:

– Are we still far away?

Toshihito smiled. This is how a boy who has been caught in a mischievous prank smiles at an adult. Wrinkles gather at the tip of his nose, the muscles around his eyes stretch, and he seems ready to burst into laughter, but hesitates.

“To tell the truth, I intended to take you to Tsuruga with me,” Toshihito finally said and, laughing, pointed his whip somewhere into the distance. There, Lake Omi sparkled dazzlingly under the rays of the sun.

Goi was confused.

– Did you deign to say – to Tsurugu? The one in Echizen Province? The same one?

He had already heard today that Toshihito, having become the son-in-law of Tsuruga's Arihito Fujiwara, mostly lives in Tsuruga. However, until now it had never occurred to him that Toshihito would drag him there. First of all, is it possible to safely reach Echizen Province, which lies behind many mountains and rivers, like this - just the two of us, accompanied by only two servants? Moreover, in times like these, when there are rumors everywhere about unfortunate travelers killed by robbers?.. The goyim looked pleadingly at Toshihito.

- How can this be so? - he said. “I thought we had to go to Higashiyama, but it turned out that we were going to Yamashina.” We got to Yamashina, but it turned out that we need to go to Miideru... And now you say that we need to go to Tsuruga, to the province of Echizen... How can this be... if you had just said it right away, otherwise you would have dragged it with you like some slave... In Tsurugu, this is ridiculous...

Goi almost cried. If the hope of "eating up on sweet potato porridge" had not aroused his courage, he would probably have immediately left Toshihito and turned back to Kyoto. Toshihito, seeing his confusion, slightly knitted his eyebrows and said mockingly:

– Since Toshihito is with you, consider that a thousand people are with you. Don't worry, nothing will happen on the road.

Then he called the squire, took the quiver from him and hung it behind his back, took from him the bow, shining with black varnish, and laid it in front of him across the saddle, touched the horse and rode forward. The goyim, deprived of pride, had no choice but to submit to Toshihito’s will. Fearfully looking at the deserted expanses around him, he muttered the half-forgotten sutra “Kannon-ke”, his red nose almost touched the pommel of the saddle, and he swayed monotonously in time with the steps of his restless horse.

The plain, echoing with the clatter of hooves, was covered with thickets of yellow miscanthus. Here and there puddles were visible, the blue sky was coldly reflected in them, and therefore it was impossible to believe that they would be covered with ice on this winter evening. A mountain range stretched in the distance, the sun stood behind it, and it appeared as a long dark purple shadow, where the usual sparkle of unmelted snow was no longer noticeable. However, the dull bushes of the miscanth kept hiding this picture from the eyes of travelers... Suddenly Toshihito, turning to the goyim, said vividly:

- And here is a suitable messenger! Now I will transfer the order with him to Tsurugu.

Goi did not understand what Toshihito meant. He looked with fear in the direction where Toshihito was pointing with his bow, but still not a single person was visible anywhere. Only one fox lazily made its way through the thick vine, the warm color of its coat shining in the setting sun. The moment he noticed her, she jumped in fear and started running.

- It was Toshihito, waving his whip, and let his horse gallop towards her. The goyim, forgetting about everything, rushed after. The servants, of course, didn’t stay long either. For some time the plain was filled with the sound of hooves hitting the stones, and finally Toshihito stopped. The fox had already been caught. He held her by the hind legs and she hung upside down from his saddle. He probably chased her until she could run, and then caught up with her and captured her. The goyim, excitedly wiping the sweat that had formed in his sparse mustache, rode up to him.

- Well, fox, listen to me carefully! – Toshihito said in a deliberately pompous tone, raising the fox before his eyes. “Tonight you will appear at the estate of Tsuruga Toshihito and say there: “Toshihito suddenly intends to invite a guest to himself. Tomorrow at the hour of the Snake, send people to meet him in Takashima, and with them bring two horses under saddles.” Do you remember?

With the last word, he shook the fox once and threw it far into the bushes. The servants, who had already caught up with them by that time, clapped their hands with laughter and shouted after her: “Let's go! Let's go!" The animal, flashing its skin the color of fallen leaves, ran away as fast as it could, not making out the road among the stones and tree roots. From the place where the people stood, everything was clearly visible, because it was from here that the plain began to gradually descend and turned into the bed of a dry river.

“An excellent messenger,” said the goyim.

He looked up with naive admiration and reverence at the face of this wild warrior, who even tricks a fox around his finger. He didn't have time to think about what the difference between him and Toshihito was. He only clearly felt that the limits within which Toshihito’s will reigns are very wide and his own will is also now enclosed within them and is free only insofar as Toshihito’s will allows it... Flattery in such circumstances is born, apparently, in a completely natural way. And henceforth, even noting clownish traits in the behavior of the red-nosed goyim, one should not rashly doubt the character of this person just because of them.

The thrown fox ran head over heels down the slope, deftly slipped between the stones through the bed of a dry river and ran diagonally to the opposite slope. As she ran, she turned around. The samurai who had caught her were still towering on their horses on the crest of the distant slope. They seemed small, no more than the size of a finger. The bay and dun were especially clearly visible: bathed in the evening sun, they seemed to be painted in the frosty air.

The fox looked back again and rushed like a whirlwind through the thickets of dry grass.

As expected, the next day at the hour of the Snake, the travelers arrived at Takashima. It was a quiet village near the waters of Lake Biwa, a few thatched roofs scattered here and there under a gloomy sky, not the same as yesterday, covered with clouds. Through the gaps between the pines growing on the shore, the surface of the lake, like an unpolished mirror, covered with light ashen ripples, looked coldly. Then Toshihito turned to the goyim and said:

- Look there. My people are meeting us.

The goyim looked - indeed, between the pine trees from the shore, twenty or thirty people on horseback and on foot were hurrying towards them, with their sleeves fluttering in the winter wind, leading two horses under saddles. Having stopped at the proper distance, the horsemen hastily dismounted, the foot soldiers bowed respectfully at the side of the road, and everyone began to reverently await Toshihito's approach.

“I see the fox fulfilled your instructions.”

“This animal has the nature of a werewolf; completing such an assignment is a piece of cake for her.”

So, while talking, Toshihito and the goyim drove up to the waiting servants.

- Stirred! - said Toshihito.

The people, bowing respectfully, hastily jumped up and took the horses by the bridles. Everyone suddenly rejoiced at once.

Toshihito and the goyim descended to earth. As soon as they sat down on the fur mat, a gray-haired servant in a brown suikan stood in front of Toshihito’s face and said:

- A strange thing happened last night.

- What's happened? - Toshihito lazily inquired, handing the goyim boxes of warigo with snacks and bamboo flasks brought by the servants.

- Let me report. Last night at the hour of the Dog the lady suddenly lost consciousness. In her unconsciousness she said, “I am the fox from Sakamoto. Come closer and listen carefully, I am telling you what the master said today.” When everyone had gathered, the lady deigned to say the following words: “The gentleman suddenly intended to invite a guest to his place. Tomorrow at the hour of the Snake, send people to meet him in Takashima, and with them bring two horses under saddles.”

“This is truly a strange thing,” the goyim agreed, in order to please the master and servant, while he himself shifted his keen gaze from one to the other.

“That’s not all the lady deigned to say.” After that, she shook terribly and shouted: “Don’t be late, otherwise the master will expel me from the ancestral home!” – and then cried inconsolably.

- What is it like? – Toshihito said triumphantly, turning to the goyim when the servant fell silent. – Even animals serve Toshihito!

“You can only marvel,” responded the goyim, bowing his head and scratching his red nose. Then, depicting extreme amazement on his face, he froze with his mouth open. There were drops of sake stuck in his mustache.

The day passed and night came. Goi lay awake in one of the rooms of the Toshihito estate, staring unseeingly at the light of the lamp. In his soul, one after another, the impressions of the evening the previous day floated - Matsuyama, Ogawa, Kareno, which they passed on the way here, chatting and laughing, the smells of herbs, tree leaves, stones, the smoke of fires on which last year's tops were burned; and a feeling of great relief when they finally arrived at the estate and through the evening fog he saw the red flame of coals in long boxes. Now, in bed, I thought about all this as something distant and long ago. The goyim stretched out his legs with pleasure under his warm yellow cloak and thoughtfully surveyed his current situation in his mind's eye.

Under his smart cloak he wore two cotton-lined kimonos of shiny silk, lent by Toshihito. It's so warm in these clothes alone that you might even sweat. And then the sake, drunk in abundance at dinner, adds to the heat. There, right behind the shutter at the head, there was a wide courtyard, all shiny with frost, but in such a blissful state it was not scary. A huge difference compared to those times, say, when he was a samurai apprentice in Kyoto. And yet, some kind of incongruous anxiety was brewing in the soul of our goyim. Firstly, time passed too slowly. On the other hand, he felt as if he did not want the dawn - and the hour of enjoying sweet potato porridge - to come quickly. And in the clash of these contradictory feelings, the excitement that had taken possession of him due to the sudden change in the situation subsided, froze, matching today's weather. All this, taken together, disturbed him and took away the hope that even the longed-for warmth would give him the opportunity to fall asleep.

And then a thunderous voice was heard in the yard. Apparently, the voice belonged to the same gray-haired servant who met them just now in the middle of the road. This dry voice, perhaps because it sounded in the cold, was terrible, and it seemed to the goyim that every word echoed in his bones like gusts of icy wind.

- Listen to me, slaves! In fulfillment of the master's will, let everyone bring here tomorrow morning by the time of the Hare a bag of mountain sweet potatoes three suns thick and five shakus long! Do not forget! By the time of the Hare!

He repeated this several times and then fell silent, and suddenly it was winter night outside again. In the silence you could hear the oil hissing in the lamp. A light fluttered, looking like a ribbon of red silk. Goi yawned, chewed his lips and again plunged into incoherent thoughts. He was ordered to bring mountain sweet potatoes, of course, for sweet potato porridge... As soon as he thought about this, a restless feeling returned to his soul, which he had forgotten while listening to the voice in the yard. With even greater force than before, he felt how he wanted to delay the treat of sweet potato porridge as much as possible, and this feeling ominously strengthened in his mind. So easily the opportunity to “eat up on sweet potato porridge” appeared to him, but patiently waiting for so many years now seemed completely pointless. When you can eat, then suddenly some obstacle arises, and when you can’t, this obstacle disappears, and now you want the whole procedure of the treat that you finally waited for to go somehow safely... These thoughts, like a top, were constantly spinning in head of the goyim, until, exhausted by fatigue, he suddenly fell asleep in a dead sleep.

When he woke up the next morning, he immediately remembered the mountain sweet potatoes, and hurriedly lifted the curtain and looked outside. Apparently, he overslept and the hour of the Hare had long passed. In the courtyard, on long mats, several thousand objects, similar to rounded logs, were piled up to the roof. Taking a closer look, he realized that these were all incredibly huge mountain sweet potatoes, three sun thick and five shaku long.

Rubbing his sleepy eyes, he looked blankly in amazement, almost horror, at what was happening in the yard. Everywhere, on newly built trestles, stood rows of five or six large cauldrons, around which dozens of women of vile rank in white robes were fussing. They were preparing to prepare sweet potato porridge - some lit the fire, others scooped out the ashes, others, using brand new wooden tubs, poured grape syrup into the cauldrons, and everyone was fussing so that it dazzled their eyes. The smoke from the boilers and the steam from the syrup mixed with the morning fog, which had not yet had time to dissipate, and the entire yard was soon covered in a gray haze, and in this darkness only the flames fiercely beating under the boilers stood out as bright red spots. Everything that the eyes saw, everything that the ears heard, was a scene of terrible commotion, either on the battlefield or in a fire. The goyim thought with particular clarity of thought that these giant sweet potatoes in these giant cauldrons would turn into sweet potato porridge. And he also thought that he had dragged himself from Kyoto here to Tsuruga, to the distant province of Echizen, specifically to eat this very sweet potato porridge. And the more he thought, the sadder he became. By this time, the compassionate appetite of our goyim had already decreased by half.

An hour later the goyim was sitting at breakfast with Toshihito and his father-in-law Arihito. In front of him stood a single silver pot, but this pot was filled to the brim with sweet potato porridge as abundant as the sea. The goyim only recently saw how several dozen young guys, deftly using cutlasses, chopped up, one after another, an entire mountain of sweet potatoes, piled up to the very roof. He saw the maids, fussily running back and forth, dumping the crumbled sweet potatoes into the cauldrons, down to the last piece. He finally saw, when there was not a single sweet potato left on the mats, columns of hot steam, saturated with the smells of sweet potatoes and grape syrup, floated out of the cauldrons, curving into the clear morning sky. He saw all this with his own eyes, and there was nothing surprising in the fact that now, sitting in front of a full pot and not yet touching it, he already felt full... He awkwardly wiped the sweat from his forehead.

“You haven’t had to eat to your heart’s content of sweet potato porridge,” said Arihito. - Proceed without hesitation.

He turned to the servant boys, and at his command several more silver cauldrons appeared on the table. And they were all filled to the brim with sweet potato porridge. The goy closed his eyes, his red nose turned even redder, and he, plunging a clay ladle into the porridge, struggled through half the pot. Toshihito pushed a full pot towards him and said, laughing mercilessly:

- Father told you. Go ahead, don't be shy.

Goi realized that things were bad. There was no need to talk about embarrassment; from the very beginning he could not see this mess. Overcoming himself, he somehow managed to overcome half of the pot. And then there was no way out. If he eats even a little more, he will stomp everything back out of his throat, and if he refuses, he will lose the favor of Toshihito and Arihito. Goi closed his eyes again and swallowed about a third of the remaining half. He couldn't swallow another drop.

“I humbly thank you,” he muttered in confusion. “I’ve already eaten my fill... I can’t take it anymore, I humbly thank you.”

He looked pitiful, large drops of sweat hung on his mustache and on the tip of his nose, as if in the height of summer.

The servants, on the orders of Arihito, began to take up scoops to scoop up porridge from a full pot, but the goyim, waving their hands as if driving away flies, humiliatedly began to refuse.

“No, no, that’s enough,” he muttered. – I’m very sorry, but I’ve already had enough...

Probably, Arihito would have continued to insistently treat the goyim, but at this time Toshihito suddenly pointed to the roof of the house opposite and said: “Wow, look!” And this, fortunately, diverted everyone's attention. Everyone looked. The roof was flooded with the rays of the morning sun. And there, bathing its glossy fur in this dazzling light, sat a certain animal. The same fox from Sakamoto that he caught the day before yesterday in the dry wastelands of Toshihito.

“The fox also came to try the sweet potato porridge,” said Toshihito. - Hey, whoever it is, let this creature eat it!

The order was immediately carried out. The fox jumped off the roof and immediately took part in the treat in the yard.

Staring at the fox lapping up sweet potato porridge, the goyim, with sadness and tenderness, mentally looked back at himself as he was before coming here. It was he whom many samurai made fun of. It was he whom even the street boys called red-nosed. It was he, a solitary man in a faded suikan and tattered hakama, who wandered despondently, like a stray dog, along Suzaku Street. And yet it was he, the happy goyim, who cherished the dream of eating sweet potato porridge to his heart's content... From the consciousness that never again in his life would he take this sweet potato porridge into his mouth, calm descended on him, and he felt the sweat drying up on him and drying up. even a drop on the tip of the nose. The mornings in Tsuruga are sunny, but the wind chills to the bone. The goyim hastily grabbed his nose and sneezed loudly into the silver bowler.