Prevod

Long ago there lived a man named Kanchō, the bishop of Henjōji, who also had charge of Ninnaji. When he ordered repairs to the dilapidated parts of Ninnaji, many carpenters gathered there to do the work. One evening, after the sun had set and the carpenters had all gone home, the bishop decided to see how much they had accomplished that day. Hitching up his robes, he put on his high wooden clogs and, leaning on a staff, went out alone. As he walked about beneath the tall poles lashed together for scaffolding, inspecting the work in the gathering dusk, a man dressed in black appeared before him. His court cap was pulled down so low that his face could not be clearly seen. He crouched before the bishop, drew his sword in a reverse grip, and held it half concealed. “Who are you?” the bishop asked. The man rose onto one knee. “I am a poor wretch, sir. The cold is more than I can bear, and I thought I might ask you to take off a garment or two for me.” Even as he spoke, he looked ready to spring. “Well, that is a trifling matter,” said the bishop. “You need not make yourself so fearsome and threaten me. You have only to ask. What an unreasonable fellow you are!” With that, he wheeled sharply around and gave the man a resounding kick in the backside. The instant he was kicked, the man vanished from sight. The bishop walked calmly back toward his quarters and, when he was close by, called loudly, “Is anyone there?” A young acolyte came running out. “Go and bring a light,” the bishop told him. “A man was just about to strip me of my clothes here, but he suddenly disappeared. It is very strange, and I mean to have a look. Call the monks and bring them with you.” The acolyte ran back, shouting, “The master has been attacked by a robber! Come at once!” From all the surrounding quarters, monks came pouring out with torches and swords, seventy or eighty of them in all. “Where is the thief?” they asked. “There was a thief here who meant to strip me of my clothes. I thought I should be cold without them, so I gave him a good kick in the backside, and he disappeared. Hold your torches high and see whether he is hiding somewhere.” “What a curious thing to say!” the monks remarked, waving their torches and peering upward. There they found a man wedged among the scaffolding poles, quite unable to move. “There is someone up there! We thought he might be a carpenter, but he is dressed in black.” They climbed up to look and found him caught fast between the poles, unable even to stir, his face contorted in a groan. He was still holding the sword he had drawn in his reverse grip. The monks took it from him, caught him by the arms, pulled him free, and lowered him to the ground. They brought him back with them to the bishop’s quarters. “Never again make light of an old monk,” the bishop told him. “It is a most unseemly thing to do.” Then he took off one of his own thickly padded robes, gave it to the man, and sent him on his way.