"Otsuberu and the Elephant" Kenji Miyazawa

Otsuberu was quite something. He had six threshing machines installed, all working in unison, making a loud and steady “thrum, thrum, thrum” as they processed the rice. Sixteen farmers, their faces completely flushed red, used their feet to power the machines, threshing through a mountain of rice. The straw was constantly tossed to the back, forming a new pile. The area was filled with fine dust from the rice husks and straw, giving everything a strange yellowish haze, almost like a cloud of desert sand.

Otsuberu, with a large amber pipe in his mouth, walked leisurely back and forth through the dimly lit work area, hands clasped behind his back. He was careful not to drop any ash from his pipe onto the straw, squinting his eyes to stay alert. The barn was impressively sturdy, as large as a school, but with the six modern threshing machines running, the noise was deafening. Inside, the constant hum made you feel hungry, and Otsuberu, in fact, used it to his advantage. By lunchtime, he’d have a hearty meal—about six inches of steak and a fluffy omelet the size of a towel, freshly cooked.

And so, with the machines thrumming on, the work continued. But then, out of nowhere, a white elephant appeared. Yes, a white elephant—not one painted with white paint, but a real one. Why did it come? Well, it’s an elephant, after all—perhaps it just wandered out of the forest, aimlessly drawn to the place.

When the elephant slowly poked its head into the barn entrance, the farmers were startled. Why? You ask why? Well, no one knew what the elephant might do next. Getting involved could be disastrous, so everyone kept their heads down and focused intensely on their threshing.

At that moment, Otsuberu, who had been pacing near the back of the machines with his hands in his pockets, gave the elephant a sharp glance. Then, just as quickly, he looked away, acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary, continuing his back-and-forth stride as before.

But then, the white elephant lifted one of its legs onto the floor. The farmers were startled again. Still, they were too busy with their work, and getting involved with the elephant could spell trouble, so they kept their eyes on the rice and continued threshing.

Otsuberu, standing in the dimmer part of the barn, took his hands out of his pockets and cast another quick glance at the elephant. Then, feigning boredom, he let out an exaggerated yawn, clasped his hands behind his head, and resumed his casual pacing. But just then, the elephant boldly extended its two front legs and started climbing up into the barn. The farmers tensed up, and even Otsuberu was a bit startled. He blew out a puff of smoke from his large amber pipe, though still acting as if nothing unusual was happening, continuing his slow walk.

Eventually, the elephant stepped fully into the barn and began wandering leisurely in front of the machines. However, the machines were spinning so fast that the flying grains of rice hit the elephant like a hailstorm, pattering relentlessly against its body. The elephant squinted its small eyes in discomfort but, if you looked closely, you could tell it was slightly smiling.

Otsuberu, having finally made up his mind, stepped forward in front of the machines, ready to speak to the elephant. But before he could say anything, the elephant spoke first, in a surprisingly clear and sweet voice, almost like that of a nightingale.

“Oh, I can’t take this. It’s too noisy, and the sand is getting in my teeth.”

Indeed, the grains of rice were pelting its teeth, as well as its white head and neck.

Now, Otsuberu had to act fast. Clutching his pipe tightly in his right hand and gathering his courage, he said, “So, what do you think? Is this place interesting?”

“Interesting enough,” the elephant replied, tilting its body slightly and narrowing its eyes.

“Why not stay here for good?”

The farmers held their breath in astonishment, staring intently at the elephant. Otsuberu, having spoken those words, suddenly started trembling with fear. But the elephant remained unfazed and calmly replied, “Sure, I could stay.”

“Really? Well, let’s make that official, then!” Otsuberu, his face flushed with excitement, smiled broadly, clearly thrilled by the agreement.

And just like that, the elephant was now part of Otsuberu’s possessions. Mark my words, Otsuberu will either make the elephant work for him or sell it to a circus. Either way, he’s going to make a fortune—at least tens of thousands!

The Second Sunday

Otsuberu really was something. And that elephant he had so cleverly made his own at the threshing barn was quite remarkable as well. It had the strength of twenty horses. Most impressive of all, its hide was a flawless white, its tusks were made of pure ivory, and its skin was sturdy and robust. The elephant worked hard, but it was clear that the real genius behind it all was its master, Otsuberu.

“Hey, don’t you need a watch?” Otsuberu asked one day, standing in front of the log-built elephant barn, puffing on his amber pipe with a frown on his face.

“I don’t need a watch,” the elephant replied with a smile.

“Well, take this one anyway. It’s a fine thing to have,” Otsuberu said as he hung a large tin watch around the elephant’s neck.

“It’s quite nice,” the elephant agreed.

“You’ll need a chain for that, too,” Otsuberu added, and without waiting for a reply, he attached a 100-kilogram chain to the elephant’s front leg.

“Hmm, the chain is quite nice,” the elephant said after taking a few steps.

“How about some shoes?”

“I don’t wear shoes.”

“Just try them on; they’re a fine thing,” Otsuberu said, frowning again as he placed a pair of large red papier-mâché shoes on the elephant’s back feet.

“They’re quite nice,” the elephant replied.

“But they need some decoration,” Otsuberu said hurriedly, and he fastened a 400-kilogram weight onto the shoes.

“Hmm, the shoes are quite nice,” the elephant said again, happily taking two steps.

The next day, the tin watch broke, and the cheap paper shoes tore apart, but the elephant joyfully wandered around, still dragging the heavy chain and weights.

“I’m sorry, but the taxes have gone up. Could you fetch some water from the river today?” Otsuberu said, hands clasped behind his back, frowning as usual.

“Oh, I’ll fetch the water. I’ll bring as much as you need!” The elephant, eyes squinting with happiness, brought back fifty loads of water from the river that afternoon and watered the vegetable fields.

That evening, the elephant sat in its barn, munching on ten bundles of straw and gazing at the slender crescent of the moon. “Ah, working feels good—so refreshing,” it said contentedly.

“I’m sorry, but the taxes have risen again. Could you fetch some firewood from the forest today?” Otsuberu, wearing a red hat with a tassel and his hands stuffed in his pockets, said to the elephant the next day.

“Oh, I’ll bring the firewood. It’s such a nice day. I really love going to the forest,” the elephant said with a smile.

Otsuberu was a bit startled by this response and almost dropped his pipe, but when he saw the elephant happily and leisurely walking away, he felt reassured. He placed the pipe back in his mouth, gave a small cough, and went to check on the farmers’ work.

That afternoon, the elephant carried 900 bundles of firewood and squinted in satisfaction. In the evening, as it sat in the barn, munching on eight bundles of straw, it gazed at the fourth-day crescent moon in the west and murmured to itself, “Ah, that feels good. Santa Maria.”

The next day, Otsuberu approached again.

“I’m sorry, but the taxes have increased fivefold. Could you go to the smithy today and work the bellows for a while?”

“Oh, I’ll blow the bellows. If I put my full strength into it, I could probably blow stones away with my breath,” the elephant replied.

Otsuberu was taken aback once more but managed to regain his composure and smiled. The elephant lumbered over to the smithy, sat down with its legs folded beneath it, and spent half the day blowing the charcoal with its breath, replacing the bellows.

That night, back in the barn, the elephant chewed on seven bundles of straw while looking up at the fifth-day crescent moon. “Ah, I’m tired, but happy. Santa Maria,” it said.

And so, from the following day, the elephant worked from morning onwards. That day, it only had five bundles of straw to eat. Remarkable, isn’t it? How could such strength come from just five bundles of straw?

The truth is, the elephant was incredibly efficient. And all of this was thanks to Otsuberu’s intelligence and leadership. Otsuberu really was quite something.

The Fifth Sunday

Otsuberu, you say? Well, I was about to tell you—he’s gone now. Calm down and listen. Otsuberu treated that elephant we spoke of before a bit too harshly. Things gradually became worse, and the elephant stopped smiling. At times, it would look down at Otsuberu with piercing red dragon-like eyes.

One evening, the elephant was sitting in its barn, eating only three bundles of straw, and gazing up at the tenth-day moon. It whispered, “I’m in pain. Santa Maria.”

Upon hearing this, Otsuberu became even more cruel toward the elephant.

Another night, the elephant collapsed in its barn, sitting weakly on the ground without eating a single blade of straw. Staring up at the eleventh-day moon, it said, “Goodbye now, Santa Maria.”

“What’s this? Goodbye?” the moon suddenly asked the elephant.

“Yes, goodbye. Santa Maria.”

“What a giant coward! You’re all size and no courage. Why don’t you write a letter to your friends?” the moon mocked.

“I don’t have a pen or paper,” the elephant replied in its delicate, sorrowful voice, and then started sobbing quietly.

“Here you go,” said a small child’s voice right in front of the elephant. The elephant lifted its head to see a young boy in a red robe, offering him ink and paper. The elephant wasted no time and quickly wrote a letter:

“I’ve been through enough. Everyone, come help me.”

The child took the letter and started walking toward the forest.

By the time the boy in the red robe reached the mountain, it was around lunchtime. The elephants in the forest were playing a game of Go under the shade of a sal tree. They gathered around to read the letter:

“I’ve been through enough. Everyone, come help me.”

At once, all the elephants stood up and roared in fury.

“We’ll take down Otsuberu!” shouted the lead elephant.

“Yes, let’s go! Grarraagaa, Grarraagaa!” the others bellowed in response.

In an instant, they stormed through the forest like a raging storm, trampling through the underbrush, trees being uprooted and crushed underfoot. Grwaa, Grwaa, Grwaa, Grwaa! They burst out into the fields like fireworks. They ran and ran, and finally, in the distant blue haze of the fields, they spotted the yellow roof of Otsuberu’s estate. At that moment, the elephants erupted like a volcano.

Grarraagaa, Grarraagaa! It was exactly half-past one. Otsuberu was lounging on his leather bed, in the midst of a nap, dreaming of crows. The rumbling noise was so loud that the farmers working at Otsuberu’s estate ran to the gate, shielding their eyes with their hands as they looked out. They saw what seemed like a forest of elephants charging toward them, faster than a train. Panic-stricken, they lost all color in their faces and rushed inside, shouting at the top of their lungs,

“Master! It’s the elephants! They’re coming! Master, the elephants are here!”

Otsuberu, being the sharp man he was, opened his eyes and immediately understood the situation.

“Hey, is that elephant in the barn? Is it? Is it? Yes? Good. Close the doors. Close the barn doors right away. Hurry up and lock that beast in! Bring the logs, tie them to the doors, and secure them tightly. It can’t do anything—its strength has been reduced. Hurry, bring five or six more logs. All right, it’s secure now. Don’t panic! Everyone, now close the gate. Bar the gate. Push! Push harder! That’s it. Don’t worry, everyone. Stay calm and stand firm!” Otsuberu, now fully prepared, encouraged the farmers in his commanding, trumpet-like voice.

But the farmers were beside themselves with fear. None of them wanted to get caught up in their master’s trouble, so they each wrapped their arms in towels, handkerchiefs, or any dirty white cloth they could find—a sign of surrender.

Meanwhile, Otsuberu grew more frantic, running back and forth. His dogs, equally agitated, barked ferociously, darting through the estate.

Soon, the ground began to tremble, and the air filled with the terrifying sound of the elephants. The herd surrounded the estate, shaking the earth. “Grarraagaa, Grarraagaa!” they roared, with a softer, reassuring voice calling out amidst the chaos, “We’re here to rescue you. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you! I’m so glad you came!” a voice replied from the elephant barn.

Hearing this, the surrounding elephants grew even more enraged, running around the estate walls, trunks flailing. Occasionally, an elephant’s trunk would lash out from inside the walls, but the barrier held firm—it was made of cement and reinforced with steel, too strong for the elephants to break through easily. Inside, Otsuberu stood alone, shouting. The farmers, blinded by fear, wandered aimlessly.

The elephants outside started using each other’s bodies as platforms, clambering up and finally beginning to scale the wall. One by one, their enormous, wrinkled, gray faces appeared over the top. Otsuberu’s dog fainted at the sight of the looming elephant faces.

Then Otsuberu opened fire—his six-shot pistol rang out. Boom! “Grarraagaa!” Boom! “Grarraagaa!” Boom! But the bullets were useless. They bounced off the elephants’ tusks. One elephant even muttered, “This is annoying. These bullets keep hitting my face.”

Otsuberu, recalling hearing those exact words somewhere before, hurriedly reloaded his pistol from a case on his belt. But by then, one of the elephants had already started to climb over the wall. Then another, and another, until five elephants tumbled down into the estate all at once. Clutching his pistol case, Otsuberu was crushed in an instant.

The gate had already been forced open, and the elephants surged in, “Grarraagaa, Grarraagaa!” pushing through relentlessly. “Where’s the cage?” they cried, storming toward the barn. The logs blocking the door were snapped like matchsticks, and the white elephant, now emaciated, emerged from the barn.

“My goodness, you’ve gotten so thin,” the other elephants murmured gently as they approached. They removed the chains and weights from the white elephant’s body.

“Thank you so much. You really saved me,” the white elephant said, smiling weakly.

“Wait, don’t go into the river!” someone called out.