Ho-ichi traveled from village to village telling stories and playing his biwa. Along the way he heard of strange happenings off the Coast of Dan–no-ura.

“One time I was traveling the coast of Dan-no-ura. I had heard all the stories of the unusual happenings in that region where the Heike family and Genji clan fought their last sea battle for control of the country. Off the coast of Dan-no-ura the two greatest clans in Japan faced each other in two fleets of ships. As I tell in my stories, the Heike family was destroyed during that battle and after that, strange things began to happen along the coastline.

“On dark nights ghost fires hovered above the shore or skipped over the waves. Whenever the winds became strong a sound like the tumult of battle came from the sea. Sometimes ships passing in the night sank or swimmers gliding through the water were pulled under never to be heard from again.

“So the villagers knew that the spirits of the Heike had not found eternal rest. To try and appease the spirits the people built a temple on the hill overlooking the sea. A graveyard with monuments inscribed with the names of the boy emperor, his lords, and warriors was placed close by the temple near the beach. For a while, things seemed to settle down. But peculiar things did still occur now and then.

“I heard all these reports but gave no thought to them as I traveled from village to village along the coastline. Until one day…

Next time: “Ho-ichi and the Temple Priest”

Having learned his storytelling craft, Ho-ichi is ready to set out to seek his fortune as a traveling storyteller.

After a brief pause, Ho-ichi began the next part of his story.

“The morning I set out to seek my fortune as a storyteller my parents said a fretful goodbye, worried how their blind son whom they’d always protected would fare in the big wide world.

“My mother prepared bread, dates, and raisins to start my journey with. My father gave me the walking staff his father had passed down to him. I rolled up my sleeping mat and slung it and my biwa on my back. My bag of food and skin full of water I hung on my shoulder.

“When I hugged my mother and father goodbye I felt their tears wet my cheeks as we embraced. My brother and sister spoke words of encouragement and patted me on the back. My goodbyes finished, I turned and started down the path that led away from our hut. I knew that path well, having walked it with my father many times. Using my walking staff and my sharp ears to guide me, I began my journey.

“Thus I commenced my life as a storyteller, telling stories from village to village in exchange for food, lodging, clothes and money. Life was not easy. I lost my way many times. I was robbed by unprincipled youth who preyed upon a blind man. Many a night I slept outside under a tree by the road, wrapped tightly in my cloak. Sometimes, if I was fortunate, a wealthy lord would invite me to be his guest for several days. In return for my storytelling I was given a roof over my head, a full belly, and a warm place to sleep. Life was good.”

My life went on like this for many years, traveling from village to village, telling stories and playing the biwa.

Next time: “Stories of Unusual Happenings”

Ho-ichi accompanied his father to the market where he heard the village storyteller. Enthralled by the stories and the teller, Ho-ichi asked his father for a bi-wa.

“When we returned home that night from the market place I asked my father to buy me a biwa so I could learn to play it and tell stories like the village storyteller. My father said, ‘Ho-ichi, you are blind. How can you play a biwa and travel from village to village?’ But my uncle who happened to be visiting, spoke up on my behalf. ‘Ho-ichi is a clever lad. I’m sure he can learn.’

“So with persistent encouragement from my uncle, my father eventually bought me a biwa. Then I went to the village teller and asked to be his apprentice. At first he was hesitant. But when he saw how eager I was to learn to play and tell, he agreed to teach me his craft.

“Every morning the storyteller instructed me on the bi-wa and every afternoon I accompanied him to the marketplace, listened to him tell the ancient stories, and tried to play along on the biwa. I listened and learned until I too could tell the tales and play the biwa. Soon I was telling parts of the stories with the village storyteller. One day, when he was feeling ill, I went to the market place and told stories in his place. That’s when I knew I was ready to set out on my own to seek my destiny.”

Ho-ichi paused for a moment before beginning the next part of his story.In the silence I felt a stirring in my own soul, as if I, too, were about to begin my own journey in search of my destiny.

Next time: “Ho-ichi’s Journey Begins”

Blind Ho-ichi longed for light. Light dawned with the village storyteller.

“One morning my father called me, ‘Ho-ichi!’ ‘Hai! Papa-san!’ I replied. ‘Ho-ichi, take my hand and come with me to the market.’

“I held out my hand and felt my father’s strong, warm hand take mine. Off we walked hand-in-hand to the village.

“When we reached the market my father said, ”Ho-ichi, sit here.’ Papa lifted me unto the top of a wooden barrel next to the door of the potter’s house. ‘Stay here while I buy oil for our lamps and rice for our meals.’ ‘Yes, papa-san,” I said, as I settled myself on the barrel top.

“I could hear the whirl of the potter’s wheel. I tried to imagine what he might be shaping. A pot? A bowl? A cup? Little did I know that I was about to be shaped by what I heard.

Music captured my ear. It was the biwa of the village storyteller. He was playing as he recited the tales of the mighty Heike clan of Japan. Jumping off the barrel I followed the sound of the music and the storyteller’s voice to the edge of the crowd that surrounded him. I wiggled my way through several pairs of legs and sat at the teller’s feet.

As the storyteller spoke and played I saw in my mind’s eye the great and noble Heike family parading through the streets to and from their great manor. I watched the mighty Heike samurai practicing their martial arts. I was there at the last ferocious battle of the Heike against the Genji clan in the waters off Dan-no-ura. The village storyteller brought light to my darkness.”

Next Time: “Ho-ichi Learns His Craft”

During my walk through the woods I sat down to rest, fell asleep, and dreamed that I met Ho-ichi the storyteller. Hoichi began his tale.

“My life began in darkness. I was born blind. Why? I don’t know. Nobody knows. All I have ever known is darkness. But the outer darkness paled in comparison to the night that filled my soul for the first half of my life.

“As a boy, I cursed the darkness and railed against the deity that birthed me blind. The sounds of my brother and sister playing filled me with sadness and bitterness. They would call, ‘Ho-ichi, come play! Ho-ichi, come kick the ball!’ I would run toward the sound of their voices and try to kick the ball of rags they rolled toward my feet. They laughed when the ball rolled under my foot that kicked only the air, then their voices trailed off as they chased the ball leaving me standing alone in the darkness again, longing for some light.

“But I still remember the day things began to change for me.”

Next time: “The Village Storyteller”

I first heard the story of “Ho-ichi the Earless” on storyteller Rafe Martin’s tape, “Ghostly Tales of Japan” many years ago. The story planted itself deep in my psyche and continues to haunt me. It haunts me because, as you will see in my retelling of the tale, it speaks to me of my own fight with my inner and outer demons and how that fight has shaped my life.

Ho-ichi the earless is a character from Japanese mythology. His story is well known in Japan, and the best known English translation first appeared in the book Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things, by Lafcadio Hearn.

As you will see, sometimes it’s hard for me to tell where Ho-ichi’s story ends and my story begins. So come with me and we will begin.

On a warm and sunny fall day I walked slowly along the trail through the woods of the Watchung Reservation. The sun warmed my back. Birds chirped and squirrels chattered in my ears. A breeze caressed my face and floated red, yellow, and gold leaves gently to the ground.

I meandered for hours along a stream that led to a pond. At the pond I sat at the foot of a tree, shade over my head, trunk against my back. In the peace, quiet, and warmth I began to doze, then to dream.

He was an old man, short and hunched over. His shaved head revealed scarred-over holes on either side of his head where ears once protruded. A white silk robe hung to the ankles of his bare feet. An understanding and compassionate smile lit up his face. He was blind. But his unseeing eyes seemed to gaze to the depths of my soul.

He sat down beside me, and taking his biwa, a mandolin-like instrument, began to play a haunting melody. His baritone voice was deep, rich, full, and melodic as he began his story.

“My name is Ho-ichi. I am a storyteller…”

Next time: “Birthed in Darkness”