My new novel – The Devil’s Serenade – features a most extraordinary willow tree,
inspired by a real example of the species which grows (quite impossibly) by the
river, near my home in North Wales.
I say ‘impossibly’ because this tree does
not perform like your typical weeping willow. In fact it doesn’t ‘weep’ at all.
It twists, turns, its branches jutting out at odd, serpentine angles. At some
stage in its history, it appears to have been struck by lightning and, at
certain times of the year, judging by the charred remains of burned out candles
and various items of assorted bric-a-brac, appears to be the focus of some kind
of ritual.
Who knows what provided the inspiration for
the poignant tale of the Willow Wife which has passed into Japanese culture and
tradition.
The story goes that, once upon a time, the
inhabitants of a Japanese village were much enamoured of the magnificent and
beautiful willow tree growing in the centre of their community. It not only
charmed the people it also seemed to protect them from the worst of the winter
elements.
A young boy named Hiroshi could see the
tree every time he looked out of his bedroom window. When he walked to school,
he would often stop and breathe in its scent, marveling at its grace and
beauty. Then some years later it seemed the willow’s life might be threatened.
The elders of the village decided to build a bridge over the river and started
to fell trees for their timber. Hiroshi was scared the willow might be next in
line to face the axemen. He pleaded for it to be saved and even offered the men
money so they would not cut it down. They agreed it should be spared.
Hiroshi now became more and more attached
to the tree. He would whisper his secrets to it, stand underneath it and give
thanks for all of nature around him. As he grew older, so he became more
convinced than ever that the tree understood him and, in its own way, healed
his soul.
One day, he came upon a beautiful young
woman standing under the tree where he normally stood to say his prayers.
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.
She smiled. “He will not come.”
“But how terrible. What kind of man would
not meet such a fair woman? How sad it is when love is not returned.”
“He loves me,” the woman said.
Hiroshi was now confused. “But why does he
not come to you?”
Again, she smiled at him. “His heart has
always been here, under the willow tree.”
To his dismay, the woman then disappeared.
But she returned the next night and they talked – about the stars, the beauty
of the peaceful night and the place where they were standing. The woman told
Hiroshi that her name was Kaori, but she would say no more about her family or
who she was.
They continued to meet, night after night,
until Hiroshi was sure he had fallen in love with this mysterious and beautiful
woman. He asked her to marry him and she agreed – with one proviso. “Don’t ask
me anything about my past.”
Hiroshi readily agreed. He loved her as
much as he loved the willow. Nothing else mattered.
The following year, now married, the couple
had a soon they name Daiki. Their happiness shone around them. They were always
smiling and laughing. But, as always, such happiness could not last.
The emperor of Japan wanted to build a
temple to Kwannon, the goddess of mercy. He needed timber from all the villages
– even the most sacred trees. The elders of the village decreed that the lovely
willow should be their offering. None could compare with it. “It will be our
most sacred gift for the most sacred of temples,” they said.
The next morning, Hiroshi and Kaori woke to
the sound of the axes chopping down their beloved tree. In bed, beside Hiroshi
Kaori shuddered. “My love, my hair is falling from my body. My limbs are
shattering!”
Hiroshi held her close. “No, no, my love.
You are having a bad dream,” he said and held her close.
Outside, a loud crash. The tree was felled.
In that moment, Kaori disappeared, leaving Hiroshi holding a single branch of
golden willow leaves.
Too late, Hiroshi realized his beloved wife
was really the spirit of the willow.
For the rest of their lives, Hiroshi and
Daiki continued to give thanks for their beautiful, gentle wife and mother.
A haunting post Cat.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Shey :)
DeleteLovely post - love to read about folklore from around the world.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Sue. I think the Japanese have a particularly rich and imaginative heritage there :)
ReplyDelete