The Strange Story of the Golden Comb

“Welcome, welcome home, Konojo, son of Saito!” cried Hasunuma. “How has it fared with your knightly adventure?”

“Knightly adventure!” said Konojo, and blushed.

“It is a year since your sudden departure, and we supposed that you had gone upon a quest, or in the expiation of some vow laid upon your soul.”

“Alas, my good lord,” said Konojo, “I have sinned against you and against your house.” And he told Hasunuma what he had done.

When he had made an end of his tale:

“Boy,” said the samurai, “you jest, but your merry jest is ill-timed. Know that my child lies even as one dead. For a year she has neither risen nor spoken nor smiled. She is visited by a heavy sickness and none can heal her.”

“Sir,” said Konojo, “your child, the Lady of the South Wind, waits in a kago without your garden wall. I will fetch her in presently.”

Forth they went together, the young man and the samurai, but they found no kago without the garden wall, no kago-bearers and no lady. Only a broken bough of withered blossom lay upon the ground.

“Indeed, indeed, she was here but now!” cried Konojo. “She gave me her comb—her golden comb. See, my lord, here it is.”

“What comb is this, Konojo? Where got you this comb that was set in a dead maid’s hair, and buried with her beneath the green grass? Where got you the comb of Aiko, the Lady of the Moon, that died for love? Speak, Konojo, son of Saito. This is a strange thing.”

Now whilst Konojo stood amazed, and leaned silent and bewildered against the garden wall, a lady came lightly through the trees. She moved as a wave of the sea, or a cloud of the sky, or the wild bamboo grass in the wind.

“Aiyamé,” cried the samurai, “how are you able to leave your bed?”

The young man said nothing, but fell on his knees beside the garden wall. There the lady came to him and bent so that her hair and her garments overshadowed him, and her eyes held his.

“Lord,” she said, “I am the spirit of Aiko your love. I went with a broken heart to dwell with the shades of Yomi.