Have you heard the old story about cannibals? No, not related to the Russian famine. This story happened in Japan. An old man ate an old woman… but why?
It was all a plot concocted by an evil raccoon dog (who was also old). The raccoon dog killed the woman and shape-shifted to look like her. When her husband returned home that night, she fed him “the finest raccoon dog meat” for dinner.
But we all know it wasn’t raccoon dog meat. Except for the old man, of course, who ate it all up and didn’t suspect that anything was wrong at all.
Well? Have you heard the story before? It’s called “The Rabbit and the Raccoon Dog” in old storybooks.
Wait, why are you laughing? The story is terrible! An unsuspecting husband ate his dead wife for dinner! Is there anything more terrifying than that?
Beyond the story’s terribleness is a moral lesson of a sort. People will gladly eat the flesh of their own kind as long as they don’t know that’s what they’re eating. A ravenous beast lives inside every one of us, and it must be fed.
Now, to return to the tale: I’m happy to say that it ends on a satisfying note. The raccoon dog meets his end via the intervention of a rabbit. The raccoon dog paddled his mud boat out onto the water, carrying firewood. The rabbit lit it on fire. By the time the raccoon dog realized it, the boat had sunk into the river, taking its unfortunate owner with it.
To think that such a tiny creature—a rabbit!—killed the raccoon dog. Pondering this story always puts me in a grim mood because of what it implies. Human prosperity is founded on the cycle of beasts killing other beasts. Zarathustra might align with such a moral lesson.
What, you’re still laughing? Fine. You have the ears of a raccoon dog.
Translator’s Note: This story is a companion piece (ideologically) to Akutagawa’s “The Rabbit and the Raccoon Dog,” which is also translated on this blog.
Akutagawa Ryūnosuke
December 1922
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