Prevod

This, too, happened long ago. There was a painter of Buddhist images named Yoshihide. A fire broke out in the house next to his, and as it bore down on him before the wind, he fled into the street. Inside his house was an image of the Buddha that someone had commissioned him to paint. His clothes and silks, his wife and children, were all still within. But he paid no heed to any of them; thinking only of his own escape, he took his stand on the opposite side of the street. By then the fire had spread to his house, and smoke and flames were rising from it. He stood across the way, simply watching. People came to offer their sympathy, saying what a terrible thing it was, but he showed no distress. When they asked what was the matter, he merely watched his house burn, nodding to himself and laughing from time to time. “Ah, what a gain this is! How badly I have painted all these years!” At this, those who had come to console him said, “What is this? How can you stand there like that? This is dreadful! Have you been possessed?” “What spirit could possibly possess me?” he replied. “All these years I have been painting the flames around Lord Fudō badly. Now that I see this, I understand: this is how fire burns! What a gain indeed! If I am to make my way in the world by this art, I need only paint the sacred images well, and I can have a hundred, a thousand houses. It is you, with no particular talent to your names, who must begrudge the loss of things.” And there he stood, laughing scornfully. Perhaps it was after this that he painted the Writhing Fudō, which people admire to this day.