The Man Who Made Trees Bloom

A dog was barking out in the field, sharp and urgent, not like its usual bark. An old man puttering about in his yard looked up at once. Before he could even ask what was wrong, the dog rushed up, caught the hem of his robe in its teeth and tugged him toward a big tree at the far end of the field. The old man let himself be pulled along, laughing as he went, though he was a little surprised. He had never seen Shiro so eager.

The story of this old man has been told in Japan for a very long time. It is so old that no one can remember when it was first told. The old couple in the tale lived a simple life, working their small field day after day. They had only one regret: heaven had never given them a child. The one joy of their old age was a snow-white dog named Shiro, and they loved him as if he were their own son.

At the big tree, Shiro stopped, scratched at the ground and barked again and again, as if telling the old man to look down. So the old man took his hoe and tried digging there. He had swung it only a few times when the earth opened onto a heap of old gold coins, glittering in the afternoon sun. His hands trembled with joy, and he called his wife out to see. From that day on, the couple never again had to worry about going without. Yet in their hearts, the most precious gift was still the dog who had led the way.

Word soon reached the house next door. The neighbor was a greedy man. When he heard the story, he burned with envy. He came over and begged and begged to borrow Shiro, hoping the dog would show him a place to dig for gold too. The kindly old man could not bring himself to refuse, so he let Shiro go home with the neighbor.

In his own field, the neighbor also chose a big tree and forced Shiro to dig. The dog dug and dug, but in the end only a heap of rotten, stinking rubbish came up out of the ground. The neighbor was furious. He was sure the dog had tricked him on purpose. Anger rushed to his head, and Shiro never came home again.

The old man and his wife waited and waited, but the dog did not return. When they went next door to look for him, they learned the terrible news, and their hearts broke. The old man asked the neighbor for the very tree where Shiro lay, to take home as a keepsake. He cut the tree down with his own hands and carved it with great care into a mortar for pounding rice. That way, each time he looked at it, he could still almost see his faithful friend.

One day the old woman put some rice into the mortar to try it. Strangely, the more the rice was pounded, the more of it there was. Soon the mortar was brimming with soft, fragrant rice cakes, enough to eat for a whole season. The good news flew next door once more. The neighbor came straight over to borrow the mortar, and he took it home to pound rice, hoping to grow rich the same way. But the moment he pounded, his rice turned into a thick, foul-smelling mess, good for nothing at all. Bitter at wasting his effort again, the neighbor smashed the mortar to pieces and burned the wood to ease his rage. Then he tossed the leftover ashes back to the old man, as if he were throwing out rubbish.

The old man quietly gathered up the ashes and carried them home, without a word of blame. In his garden stood a tree whose branches had been dry for a long time, bare of leaves for several seasons. He took a handful of ash and sprinkled it over those dry branches, simply in memory of Shiro. Then, right before his eyes, buds burst from the bare twigs. Flowers opened, pure white, and their scent filled a whole corner of the garden.

News of a tree blooming out of season spread across the region. It reached the ears of a lord who was deeply troubled. The finest cherry tree in his garden had suddenly withered, and nothing could save it. When he heard of an old man who could work such a miracle, the lord sent his men to invite him to his residence.

The old man brought the small bag of ash he still had and went to stand before the dead cherry tree in the lord's garden. He climbed up into the bare branches and slowly sprinkled ash over them, one branch at a time. The whole garden fell silent, waiting. Then, all at once, tiny pink buds sprang up along every branch. In the blink of an eye, the whole cherry tree burst into bloom. Pale pink petals covered it from top to bottom. It was so beautiful that the lord stood still, too overjoyed to say a word.

The lord rewarded the old man generously, with silver, gold and many precious gifts. He also gave him a new name, Hana-Saka-Jijii, which means the old man who makes flowers bloom. From then on, wherever he went, people called him by that name with respect, even more often than by his real name.

When the neighbor heard the news, his jealousy boiled over. He hurried to scrape together the ash left in the heap of half-burned wood and carried it to the lord's residence. There he claimed that he was the real Hana-Saka-Jijii. The lord, still delighted with his blossoming tree, gave him a chance to show his skill on another dead tree in the garden.

The neighbor climbed the tree and boldly flung handful after handful of ash, muttering as he waited for the flowers to burst out like the miracle before. But the branches stayed bare. Not a single bud appeared. Just then a gust of wind blew the ash back, straight into his face and into the eyes of the lord, who was standing nearby. The lord was furious. He shouted for his guards to drag the impostor down and throw him out of the residence. Covered in ash from head to toe, the neighbor ran home with his head hung low. No one in the region ever looked at him the same way again.

As for the kind old man, he lived on peacefully with his wife in their little house. Everyone in the region loved him and called him by the name the lord had given. That afternoon, in a corner of his garden, the tree once touched by the ash of Shiro's mortar stood quietly in the soft sunlight. Each petal trembled gently in the breeze, like a little dog wagging its tail to welcome its master home.