Rashomon

by 芥川龍之介 · 2026-03-31

One evening, a lowly servant was waiting under the Rashomon for the rain to stop.

Under the wide gate, there was no one else but this man. Only a single cricket was perched on one of the large columns, which had patches of peeling red paint. Although there should have been two or three other people taking shelter from the rain, such as city women with their hats or men in traditional caps, there was only this man present.

The reason for this was that in recent years, Kyoto had been plagued by disasters such as earthquakes, strong winds, fires, and famine. The decline of the town was evident, and according to old records, Buddhist statues and artifacts had been destroyed, and the wood that had been coated with red paint or gold and silver leaf was piled up on the roadside and sold as firewood. Because the city was in such a state, there was no one to repair the Rashomon. This dilapidated gate had become a dwelling for foxes and thieves, and a custom had even developed where unclaimed corpses were discarded here. As night fell, everyone felt uneasy and avoided coming near this gate.

In place of people, crows gathered from who knows where. During the day, several crows flew around the high roofs, cawing and circling. Especially at sunset, the crows looked like they had scattered sesame seeds. They were, of course, coming to peck at the flesh of the corpses above the gate. However, perhaps due to the late hour, not a single one could be seen today. Only the white droppings of crows were visibly splattered on the crumbling stone steps. The lowly servant sat on the top of the seven stone steps, resting his back against a freshly washed navy sliding door, while absentmindedly watching the rain fall, concerned about the large pimple on his right cheek.

The author previously wrote that the servant was waiting for the rain to stop, but in reality, he had no particular plans even if the rain ceased. Normally, he would be expected to return to his master's house, but he had been dismissed by that master four or five days prior. The servant being dismissed by his master, who had employed him for many years, is nothing other than a reflection of the decline of the town of Kyoto. Therefore, it would be more appropriate to say that "the servant, trapped by the rain, was at a loss with nowhere to go" rather than "the servant was waiting for the rain to stop." Today's weather also influenced the emotions of the servant from the Heian period to some extent. The rain that started falling from the hour of the monkey shows no signs of stopping. The servant, while futilely contemplating how to manage tomorrow's living, was listening to the sound of the rain falling on Suzaku Avenue, whether he was aware of it or not.

The rain enveloped Rashomon, gathering the sound of heavy downpours from afar. The evening darkness gradually lowered the sky, and when he looked up, he saw that the roof of the gate was supporting heavy, dark clouds at the tips of the slanted tiles.

In order to do something about what cannot be helped, there is no luxury of choosing a means. While one is choosing, they will only starve to death either under the earthen mound or on the roadside. And they will merely be brought to the top of this gate and discarded like a dog. If one does not choose— the servant's thoughts, while circling the same path repeatedly, finally reached this conclusion. However, this "if" ultimately remained as "if" no matter how long it took. While the servant acknowledged that he would not choose a means, he lacked the courage to actively accept the subsequent notion that "there is no other choice but to become a thief."

The servant let out a loud sneeze and then stood up with great effort. The evening chill in Kyoto was already cold enough to desire a fire bucket. The wind blew through the space between the gate's pillars, unreservedly, along with the evening darkness. The cricket that had been perched on the vermilion-painted pillar had already gone somewhere else.

The lowly man, shrinking his neck, raised the shoulders of his dark blue robe layered over the mountain yellow sweat robe and looked around the gate. He thought that if there was a place where he could sleep comfortably for a night without being affected by the rain and wind or worrying about being seen, he would spend the night there. Then, fortunately, he spotted a wide vermilion ladder leading up to the tower above the gate. Even if there were people up there, they would probably just be corpses. The lowly man, careful not to let the holy sword hanging at his waist slip from its sheath, stepped his foot, clad in straw sandals, onto the lowest rung of the ladder.

A few minutes later, on the middle rung of the wide ladder leading up to the tower of Rashomon, a man crouched like a cat, holding his breath as he peered at the situation above. The light of the fire filtering in from above faintly illuminated the right cheek of the man. There was a pimple filled with red pus among his short beard. The lowly man had assumed from the beginning that those above were all corpses, but after climbing two or three rungs of the ladder, he saw that someone was lighting a fire up there, and it seemed that the fire was being moved. He could see the murky yellow light flickering and reflecting on the ceiling, which was covered with cobwebs. The person lighting a fire on top of Rashomon on this rainy night was certainly not an ordinary person.

The lowly man crept up the steep ladder like a gecko, reaching the top rung. He flattened his body as much as possible, extended his neck forward, and cautiously peered inside the tower.

Inside the tower, just as he had heard in rumors, several corpses were carelessly left behind. The range of the fire's light was narrower than he had expected, and he could not determine the exact number. However, what he could vaguely see was that there were both naked corpses and those dressed in clothing mixed together. Of course, it seemed that there were both men and women present. The corpses lay on the floor, as if they were dolls made of clay, with their mouths open and hands outstretched. The higher parts of their shoulders and chests received the dim light of the fire, casting even darker shadows on the lower parts, making it seem as if they were eternally silent.

The lowly man instinctively covered his nose at the smell of the decaying corpse, but in the next moment, he forgot about it. Strong emotions had almost robbed him of his sense of smell.

At that moment, the lowly man saw for the first time a human huddled among the corpses. It was a short, thin, white-haired old woman dressed in a hinoki-colored kimono. The old woman held a lit piece of pine wood in her right hand and was peering into the face of one of the corpses. Given the long hair, it was likely that the corpse was that of a woman.

The lowly man, mixed with fear and curiosity, had forgotten to breathe for a while. Borrowing the words of an old record's writer, he felt that "the hair on the head also thickens." Then, the old woman stuck the piece of pine wood into the floor and placed both hands on the neck of the corpse she had been looking at. Like a monkey parent picking lice from its child, she began to pull out the long strands of hair one by one. The hair came out in accordance with her hands.

As each strand of hair was pulled out, the fear in the lowly man's heart gradually faded away. At the same time, a fierce hatred towards this old woman began to rise little by little. No, rather than towards this old woman, a resentment against all evil grew stronger with each passing minute. At that moment, if someone had brought up the question the lowly man had been contemplating earlier at the gate, "Should I starve to death or become a thief?", he would likely have chosen to starve to death without any hesitation. The hatred for the evil within him was burning fiercely, like the piece of pine wood the old woman had stuck into the floor.

The lowly man could not understand why the old woman was pulling the hair of the dead. Therefore, he also did not know how to rationally categorize it as good or evil. However, for the lowly man, the act of pulling the hair of the dead on this rainy night above the Rashomon was, by itself, an unforgivable evil. Of course, he had completely forgotten that just a moment ago he had been considering becoming a thief.

Then, the servant put strength into both legs and suddenly jumped up the ladder. While placing a hand on the holy sword, he walked up to the old woman with large strides. It goes without saying that the old woman was surprised.

When the old woman saw the servant, she jumped up as if she had been struck by a crossbow.

“You, where are you going?”

The servant stopped the old woman as she stumbled over the corpse and tried to escape in a panic, cursing at her. Nevertheless, the old woman tried to push past the servant. He once again stopped her and pushed her back. The two grappled in silence among the corpses for a while, but the outcome was clear from the start. The servant finally grabbed the old woman's arm and forcefully brought her down. Her arm was nothing but bone and skin, like a chicken's leg.

“What were you doing? Speak. If you don’t, this will happen.”

The servant shoved the old woman away and suddenly drew the sword from its sheath, thrusting the white steel blade in front of her eyes. However, the old woman remained silent. With trembling hands, breathing heavily, her eyes wide open, she stubbornly stayed mute as if she were deaf. Seeing this, the servant became aware for the first time that the life and death of this old woman were completely under his control. And that realization gradually cooled the hatred that had been burning fiercely until now. What remained was only the peaceful pride and satisfaction that came from completing a certain task successfully. So, looking down at the old woman, the servant softened his voice a little and said:

“I am not an official of the Kenbiwi. I am merely a traveler who just passed under this gate. Therefore, I have no intention of binding you with a rope. Just tell me what you were doing at this gate right now.”

Then, the old woman widened her eyes even more and stared intently at the man's face. She looked at him with sharp eyes like a red meat-eating bird. After that, she moved her lips, which were almost fused with her nose due to wrinkles, as if she were chewing something. One could see the pointed Adam's apple moving in her thin throat. At that moment, a voice like a crow's reached the man's ears, gasping from that throat.

“I want to pull out this hair, you see, I want to pull out this hair and make it into a wig.”

The man was disappointed that the old woman's answer was unexpectedly mundane. And with that disappointment, the previous hatred returned to his heart, now accompanied by a cold contempt. It seemed that feeling was conveyed to the old woman as well. While holding a long strand of hair she had taken from the corpse's head in one hand, she stammered in a voice like a toad and said this.

“Indeed, I cannot understand how bad it is to pull out the hair of the dead. However, the dead here are all people who deserve such treatment. The woman from whom I pulled the hair was selling what she called dried fish, which was actually a snake cut into four inches and dried, to the troops at the sword belt. If she hadn’t died from the plague, she would still be selling it now. Moreover, the dried fish this woman sold was reputed to be delicious, and the people of the sword belt were said to buy it regularly as a vegetable. I do not think what this woman did was wrong. If she hadn’t done that, she would have starved to death, so it was inevitable. Therefore, I do not think what I am doing now is wrong either. This too is inevitable, as I would starve to death otherwise. This woman, who understood such inevitabilities well, would surely overlook what I am doing.”

The old woman spoke of such meanings.

The lower man sheathed his sword, holding the hilt with his left hand, while calmly listening to the story. Of course, he was also mindful of the large, swollen pimple on his right hand. However, as he listened to the story, a certain courage began to sprout in his heart. It was the courage that this man had lacked earlier at the gate. And it was a courage that moved in a completely opposite direction from the courage he had when he captured the old woman at the top of the gate. The lower man did not hesitate between dying of hunger or becoming a thief. At that moment, the thought of dying of hunger was almost completely pushed out of his consciousness.

"I see, is that so?"

When the old woman's story ended, the lower man pressed on with a mocking voice. Then, stepping forward, he suddenly removed his right hand from the pimple, grabbed the old woman's collar, and said in a biting tone.

"Then, do not resent me for wanting to strip you. I must do so, or I will die of hunger."

The lower man quickly stripped the old woman's kimono. Then, he roughly kicked the old woman, who was trying to cling to his legs, onto the corpse. The distance to the mouth of the ladder was only about five steps. The lower man hugged the stripped hinoki-colored kimono to his side and rushed down the steep ladder into the depths of the night in an instant.

After a while, the old woman, who had been lying there as if dead, raised her naked body from among the corpses shortly thereafter. The old woman, making a murmuring, groaning sound, crawled towards the mouth of the ladder, relying on the light of the still-burning fire. From there, she leaned down with her short white hair and peered under the gate. Outside, only the dark night spread out.

No one knows the whereabouts of the lower man.