Prevod

This, too, happened long ago. There was a man named Middle Counselor Morotoki. One day a holy monk appeared before him, an extraordinarily dark-skinned fellow wearing a short, ink-black robe and a stole of the kind called a Fudō kesa, with a large rosary of soapberry seeds dangling from his neck. “What sort of monk are you?” the Middle Counselor asked. Adopting a most pitiful tone, the monk replied, “The fleeting nature of this transitory world has become more than I can bear. That we have wandered through birth and death since time without beginning is, in the end, because our passions hold us fast, keeping us from escaping this sorrowful world. Seeing how futile this is, I have cut off my passions, resolved that this time I shall pass beyond the bounds of birth and death. Such a holy man am I.” “And what do you mean by cutting off your passions?” asked the Middle Counselor. “Here, see for yourself,” said the monk, lifting the front of his robe. Sure enough, there was no manly member to be seen, only a beard of hair. As the Middle Counselor gazed at this marvel, he noticed that the pouch hanging below was unusually large. “Is anyone there?” he called, and two or three retainers appeared. “Lay this monk out flat,” he ordered. The holy man put on a solemn air, invoked Amida Buddha, and said, “Quickly, quickly! Do with me as you will.” Then, with a woebegone expression, he spread his legs and pretended to fall asleep. “Pull his legs wide apart,” said the Middle Counselor. Two or three men held them apart, and he summoned a young page of twelve or thirteen. “Lay your hand flat over that monk’s groin and rub it up and down.” The boy did as he was told, rubbing away with his plump hand. Before long the holy man assumed a solemn air again and said, “That will do now.” But the Middle Counselor said, “It is doing him good. Keep rubbing. There, there!” “This is most unseemly,” protested the monk. “That will do now!” They perversely kept him pinned down and went on rubbing, until something like an enormous matsutake mushroom emerged wavering from the hair and began slapping briskly against his belly. The Middle Counselor and everyone gathered there burst out laughing together. The holy man, too, clapped his hands and rolled about with laughter. It turned out that he had tucked his member into the pouch below and stuck hair over it with rice paste, hoping to deceive people with this innocent-looking disguise and beg alms from them. A rogue of a monk he was.