Without thinking, Gauche raised his foot and gave the window a good kick. The glass gave out a massive crack as it broke into two and then three shards, the entire window falling out of the building, frame and all. The cuckoo shot out through the gaping hole like an arrow. It continued flying on and on, in an endless straight line, until eventually it was out of sight. Gauche stood staring out after it with a look of amazement on his face, before crashing in a corner of the room and falling asleep.
Chapter Four
The next evening also, Gauche was having a cup of water, exhausted from once again practicing his cello into the early hours, when he again heard a knock at the door. He had decided that tonight, he would frighten off whatever animal appeared as soon as they came, like he had finally done to the cuckoo the previous night, and he stood waiting with his cup in hand, when the door opened just a fraction, and in walked a little raccoon dog. Gauche pushed the door open a little wider and stamped his foot on the ground,
“Hey, raccoon dog! Do you know what raccoon dog soup is?” he yelled.
The little raccoon dog gave a confused look as he neatly sat himself down on the floor, and for a few moments he cocked his head sideways, thinking as hard as he could, before finally replying,
“No, I don’t know what raccoon dog soup is.”
After watching the raccoon dog’s face Gauche nearly burst out laughing, but forced himself to look as mean as possible,
“Then I'll tell you,” said Gauche. “To make raccoon dog soup, you start with a raccoon dog, like yourself, mix in some cabbage and some salt, then boil it for a few hours, and then that gets eaten by people, like me.”
The little raccoon dog looked up at Gauche with a confused expression on its face,
“But my pa said that you were really nice, and that you weren’t scary at all, and that I should go and take a lesson from you.”
Gauche burst out laughing.
“What did he tell you to learn? Don’t you know how busy I am? And sleepy too.”
Encouraged, the little raccoon dog took a step closer in.
“I play the snare drum. My pa told me to go learn to play with the cello.”
“I don't see any snare drum.”
“Ah, here,” said the little raccoon dog as he grabbed two sticks from his back.
“What are you going to do with them?”
“So, please play The Merry Coach House.”
“What's The Merry Coach House? Is that jazz?”
“Um, this is the music here,” said the little raccoon dog, grabbing a sheet of music from his back.
Gauche laughed as he took the music.
“Hmm, this looks a little weird. Alright, I’m gonna start playing. So are you going to play the snare drum, are you?” As he began to play, Gauche continued to glance down at the raccoon dog, waiting to see what it was going to do.
Using his sticks, the little raccoon dog started tapping ♬rat-a-tat-tat-♬ directly beneath the cello’s bridge, in time to the music. In fact he was really quite good and Gauche started to enjoy himself. When they reached the end of the piece, the little raccoon dog cocked its head sideways in thought.
Then, as if finally working out a difficult problem, he said to Gauche,
“Master Gauche, when you play on that second string, you fall just a bit behind, don't you? It puts me off my rhythm a little.”
Gauche was taken aback. Ever since last night he'd had the feeling that no matter how quickly he played that string, the sound never came out straight away.
“Hmm, you might be right. It's the cello,” replied Gauche dejectedly. The little raccoon dog gave Gauche a sympathetic look and was again lost in thought, but then said,
“I wonder what's wrong with it. Could you play one more time?”
“Alright, here I go,” said Gauche and started again.
This time, the little raccoon dog tapped on the bottom of the cello like before, but every now and then he placed his ear up against the bottom of the cello. When they reached the end, a silver haze was once again showing in the eastern sky.
“Ah, the sun's coming up. Thank you very much.” The little raccoon dog hurriedly placed his music and sticks on his back and tied them down with an elastic band, bowed two, three times and then left.
Gauche stood dreamily breathing the fresh air blowing in through the hole where the window had fallen out the previous night, but then thinking to get a decent rest before going into town, he quickly jumped into bed.
Chapter Five
The next evening also, Gauche had been practicing his cello all through the night, and with dawn approaching, had started to fall asleep with the sheet music in his hands, when something knocked at the door. It was so faint, it was barely even audible, but this being a nightly occurrence, Gauche soon called out, “Come in!”
Making its way in through a gap in the door was a field mouse. With it was a tiny baby mouse, and together they scampered over toward Gauche. The baby field mouse was no bigger than an eraser, and Gauche couldn’t help but laugh. The mouse stopped in front of Gauche, staring up at him as if wondering what he was laughing at, before placing a green chestnut at its feet and bowing politely.
“Master Gauche, this child is not well and looks like he might die. Have mercy and save him please.”
“But I'm no doctor!” answered Gauche somewhat bewildered.
The mother mouse looked down at the ground briefly in silence, before speaking with renewed resolve,
“Master Gauche, that's a lie. Master Gauche, haven't you been healing everyone's illnesses every day with such great skill?”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Why, it was because of you the bunny rabbit's grannie got better, and it was you who healed the raccoon dog's pa; you even healed that mean-spirited horned owl, so it would be terribly unfair if you didn’t help this poor little one.”
“Hey, hey, this is some kind of mistake. I’ve never healed no horned owl. I must admit there was a little raccoon dog that was here last night practicing for his band…Hmm…,” Gauche looked bemusedly down at the baby mouse and laughed.
The mother mouse burst into tears.
“Oh, if he had to be sick, why couldn't he have been sick earlier? Just before you were playing with such gusto, but you stopped just when he started to feel sick, and now you won't play no matter how much I beg you. Oh! What an unfortunate child!”
“What!?” exclaimed Gauche in shock. “Are you saying that the horned owl and the rabbit got better just because I was playing the cello? How does that work? Strange...”
The mother mouse wiped away its tears with a paw.
“Yes, all of the animals in this area, whenever they get sick, they climb under your floor so they can get better.”
“And they get better?”
“Yes. Some feel better straight away, their circulation improves through their whole body and they feel terrific afterwards; but some have to wait until they get home before they feel better.”
“Ah, so that’s it. What you are saying is that the sound of my cello makes all of these vibrations, and that works like a massage, and makes you better? Right. I get it. Let's give it a try,” said Gauche, his cello giving out a ♬-gyuu gyuu-♬ sound as he gave it a quick tune, before plucking up the baby field mouse and squeezing it through a hole near the bottom of the cello.
“I'm going too. They’d let me in any other hospital,” cried the mother mouse, jumping up on the cello like a lunatic.
“I'm not sure you'll fit,” said Gauche, and tried pushing her through the hole as well, but she could only get her head half-way through.
Flapping and flailing, she cried out to her little one,
“Are you alright? Did you land with your feet together like I taught you?”
“Yup. I landed good,” said the baby mouse in a tiny voice like a mosquito from the bottom of the cello.
 
; “He'll be right. Really, you can stop crying,” said Gauche as he placed the mother down, picked up his bow and launched into a rhapsody with great gusto. The mother stood anxiously listening to the sound of the cello, but then, as if she couldn’t take it one second longer, cried out,
“That's enough! Please, let him out.”
“Huh, is that all you want?” asked Gauche, and he leaned the cello on its side with his palm over the hole and waited for the baby mouse which eventually popped out.
Gauche quietly placed it back on the floor. The baby mouse stood with its eyes closed tightly, shaking and trembling all over.
“How was it? Are you Ok? How do you feel?”
The baby mouse made no reply but continued shaking and trembling with its eyes closed until all of a sudden it got up and started running.
“Oh, he's better! Thank you so much. Thank you so much,” said the mother mouse running around with her son, before stopping in front of Gauche and bowing deeply,
“Thank you so much. Thank you so much,” she said at least ten times.
Gauche felt a little sorry for them,
“Hey, do you guys eat bread?” he asked.
As if taken by complete surprise, the mother mouse cast her gaze nervously around for several moments, before replying,
“I may be mistaken, but I have heard that bread is a very delicious food made by kneading and baking flour which rises all soft and fluffy, but no Master Gauche, we have never been inside your pantry and, certainly you have been so good to us, we would never steal from you.”
“No, that's not what I mean. I was just asking if you eat it. So you do right? Wait a second. I'll give you some for the little one’s sore tummy.”
Gauche lay the cello on the floor, grabbed a chunk of bread from the pantry and placed it in front of the mother mouse.
The mother mouse was beside herself, laughing and then crying and then bowing, before placing the bread delicately in her mouth, and with the little one in front of her, headed out the front door and off home.
“Ahhh. Talking to mice can wear you out too,” said Gauche, collapsing into bed and falling fast asleep.
Chapter Six
It was evening, six nights later. The members of the Venus Orchestra filed neatly off stage and into the dressing room at the back of the town auditorium, their instruments in hand, their cheeks glowing red. They'd just carried off a successful performance of Symphony No. 6. Inside the auditorium the sound of applause was reverberating like thunder. The conductor wandered slowly between the musicians with his hands thrust in his pockets, looking as if he didn't care at all about the applause, but the truth was he couldn't have been happier. The musicians were lighting their cigarettes and packing away their instruments.
The sound of applause continued unabated. In fact the noise was reaching fever pitch, threatening to spiral out of control. In came the master of ceremonies wearing a large white ribbon draped across his chest.
“They are calling for an encore. Can you do a short piece for them or something?”
“No, we couldn't do that,” replied the conductor with a stern look. “What could we possibly follow up with after playing such a brilliant piece like that?”
“Well then, please come out and say a few words to the audience.”
“That wouldn’t do. Hey, Gauche, go out and play something for them.”
“You want me?” replied Gauche dumbstruck.
“Gauche! Yes, Gauche!” shouted the first violinist suddenly looking up.
“Go on, get out there,” cried the conductor. The other musicians shoved the cello into Gauche's hands, opened the door and thrust him out onto the stage. As Gauche stumbled bewildered through the door holding his battered cello, the audience caught sight of him and burst into wild applause. Some were even screaming.
“So they want to make a fool of me? Well I'll show `em. See how they like Tiger Hunting in India,” muttered Gauche as he walked with complete calm out onto the middle of the stage.
He launched into Tiger Hunting with the ferocity of a raging elephant, just like he'd done that night with the cat. The audience became silent, completely captivated by the music. Gauche played on and on. He passed the bit where the cat could take no more and sparks started to fly from its head. He passed the bit where it threw itself against the door, over and over again.
After finishing the piece, Gauche picked up his cello and ran off as fast as that cat had, leaving the stage without so much as a glance at the audience. Backstage the conductor and the other musicians all sat silently staring into space as if they’d just watched a house burn down. Now at the point of desperation, Gauche walked hurriedly passed the others and sat, half-collapsing onto a wooden bench at the far side of the room, and crossed his legs.
Everyone turned as one to look at Gauche, but their expressions were quite sincere and no one was laughing.
What a weird night, thought Gauche.
The conductor got to his feet.
“Fantastic Gauche! Even with that piece, you still had everyone here on the edge of their seat. You’ve improved a lot in what, a week, ten days? If I compare you now to what you were like ten days ago, you’ve gone from a baby, to a warrior. You see Gauche, you can do it if you just try!”
All the other musicians started walking up to congratulate him.
“It’s only because he’s so strong that he can play like that,” said the conductor from the other side of the room, “That'd kill an ordinary person.”
That night Gauche returned home late.
He then gulped down a glass of water as usual. Afterwards he opened the window and staring out at the distant sky in the direction the cuckoo had flown off so many days before, he sighed,
“Ah cuckoo, sorry about that night. You know, I wasn't really angry.”
THE END
The Nighthawk Star
by Kenji Miyazawa
Nighthawk really was an ugly bird.
He had a patchy face as if bits of mud were stuck to it, and a flat beak that opened right up to his ears.
He was terribly shaky on his legs; he couldn't even walk two meters.
The other birds would only have to look at Nighthawk's face, and they would be horrified.
Take Skylark for example, not one of the prettiest birds itself, but it thought itself way above Nighthawk, so if of an evening it should run into Nighthawk, it would close its eyes tight and turn its head away as if it were truly disgusted. And the little talkative birds were always saying awful things about Nighthawk, right in front of his face;
"Hmph. There he goes again. Just look at that, would you. It makes me ashamed to be a bird."
"Yeah, look at that gaping mouth. I bet he's related to some kind of frog."
That sort of thing. But if it were Hawk instead of Nighthawk, just the mention of his name would be enough to make those superficial little birds shake with fright, and the color to drain from their faces, and they would have curled up in a ball and hidden away in the foliage of a tree somewhere. But Nighthawk was no brother to Hawk; he wasn't even a close relative. Nighthawk was actually a brother to the beautiful Kingfisher, and that jewel of all birds, Hummingbird. Hummingbird fed on pollen from the flowers, Kingfisher on fish, and Nighthawk caught and fed on winged insects. And because Nighthawk lacked sharp claws or a sharp beak, not even the weakest of birds were afraid of Nighthawk.
So it's quite strange that he carried the name hawk at all, but one reason was his powerful wings which cut through the wind, and made him look just like a hawk. The other reason was his high pitched cry that sounded very similar to that of a hawk. Of course this used to trouble Hawk terribly, and he was very much against Nighthawk using his name. And that's why every time he saw Nighthawk's face, he would square his shoulders at him, and say, "Hurry up and change your name! Change your name!"
One evening, Hawk came at last to Nighthawk's house.
"Oi! Are you there? Are you
going to change your name or not? You really are a shameless bird, aren't you? You know you're nothing like me. For starters, on a clear day, I can fly as far as I want. But you? Unless it's a cloudy day with barely any sun, you don't even come out until it's dark. Now take a good look at my beak and my talons. Right, now compare them to yours."
"Hawk. I can't do it. I didn't give myself my own name. God gave it to me."
"No, that's not right. You might say God gave me my name, but you? Well, you've just borrowed one from me and one from the night. Now give it back."
"Hawk. I can't."
"Yes, you can. I'll tell you a good name. Call yourself Ichizo. Yeah, Ichizo. It's a good name. Now, to change your name, you have to make an announcement. You got me? What that means is, you hang a name plate around your neck that says Ichizo, and then you go 'round to everyone and say, 'From this day forth my name is Ichizo,' and then bow."
"There's no way I can do that."
"Yes, you can. So do it. I'll give you until the morning after next, and if you haven't done it, I'll go straight for you and finish you myself. Remember it, I'll come and get you if you don't. Early in the morning, the day after next, I'm going to call in and see every single bird, and I'll ask 'em whether you came or not. If there's just one bird you didn't visit, that's the end for you."
"But that's just impossible. I'd rather die than have to do that. Just kill me now."
"Well, you have a good think about it after I'm gone. Ichizo is not such a bad name." Hawk spread his wings right out and flew off in the direction of his own nest.
Nighthawk sat still, his eyes closed, thinking.
Why does everyone hate me so? Is it because I look like I have mud on my face, and I've got such a big mouth? But I've never done anything bad my whole life. Didn't I pick up that baby white-eye after it fell out of its nest, and take it back to its parents? And then they grabbed it off me like they were getting it back from a thief. Afterwards they made terrible fun of me. And now,...now this talk of changing my name to Ichizo, and making me wear a name plate around my neck. Why, it's just so painful.