The Boy and the Spirits of Things

Once there was a little Ainu boy who was very wise. He rarely played with the other children, for his playmates were the spirits of things. No one could see them, but he talked with them and loved them more than any human friend.

"My friends tell me strange things," he said. His mother asked, "Who are your friends, and what strange things do they tell you, my child?"

"My friends are the spirits of things," the boy explained. "I cannot tell you exactly what they say, but the spirit of the pine tree whispers to me what the north wind tells him; the tall bamboo bends down as it sways and speaks of the sun's glowing rays; the birds and blossoms tell me of the earth's beauty. Even the most common objects have spirits, and they share many secrets with me."

The boy's mother sighed as she looked at him, for she thought he was too wise for his age.

One day the boy fell ill. He was very sick, but no one knew what was wrong. He drooped day after day and seemed to care about nothing. It was wintertime.

One day his mother came to him and said, "My son, the first plum blossom is on the trees. The sun is warm. Won't you go outside to see it?"

"The spirit of the plum blossom whispered to me of its coming," he said. "I will go and see."

Slowly he crept out of the little thatched hut and rested by the door.

He saw the plum blossom and breathed in its delicious fragrance. He smiled a little, and then a strange look came into his eyes. He rested his chin on his hand and sat quietly, nodding once or twice as if saying, "Yes."

At last his mother could bear it no longer; she longed to know his thoughts. She was afraid of losing him and felt jealous of anything that came near him. "Tell me what you are thinking, my little son," she said.

"I will tell you," the boy answered. "Often a boy and a girl come to play with me. They are Spirit Children, and we play many games. Today they have told me why I am ill. It is this: my grandfather had a fine axe. With it he made many things—a tray, a pestle to pound millet, and others. But my father threw the axe away, forgetting how well it had served him. Now it lies rusting, and the spirit of the axe is angry. Because the spirit of the axe is angry, it has made me ill. So, if you do not wish me to die, you must tell my father to find the axe and honor its spirit."

"It shall be as you say, my son," said his mother, and she went to his father and told him everything.

Then the father found the axe, polished it carefully until it shone, and made a new handle of ironwood, carving it with care. He set up a tall worship stick beside it, its feathers curling and waving in the breeze.

Then the spirit of the axe was happy, and the boy was made well, filling his mother's heart with joy.

When the boy grew to be a man, he became a great augur, for the spirits of things came often to him and revealed much that was hidden from others. For the spirits of things were his friends.