2005-11-24

Once there was a silk weaver in Japan who had been well known for his weaving skills. But he was very lonely because he had no bride. In spring he watched the cranes dancing their mating dance together and although their dance was beautiful it made him sad because he had no one to share his rice with at night, no one to help him weave his cloth or admire how light and fine the sails were when they were done. One autumn night he heard the lonely cry of the cranes flying south for winter and the sound made him so sad he stood at his door for a long time - far into the night - watching the birds fly across the moon. He raised his arms and the long sleeves of his kimono flapped in the wind. It reminded him of the way the cranes flapped their wings in their dances and before he knew what he was doing the weaver was dancing on his doorstep, turning in great circles, dipping up and down, just like he had seen the great birds do.

The weaver danced so long into the night that he slept through half the next day and when he awoke he felt ashamed that he had wasted a day of work. He was supposed to deliver a sail the next day to a ship's captain, which he had not even begun to weave. But then he heard the sound of the shuttle knocking against the loom in the weaving room. He thought he was dreaming but when he tried the door he found to was locked. A voice from inside - a beautiful voice, a woman's voice - called from inside. "Please wait and all will be well." The weaver was confused, but also tired and hungry, so he boiled water for tea and waited. All through the night the door remained locked and the sound of the shuttle knocking against the loom went on without a break. "Whoever is in there is the strongest weaver there ever was", the weaver thought. "Even if she is ugly, I will ask her to marry me." But in the morning, when the weaver awoke, the woman who knelt by his side, holding the finished sail, was not ugly. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with skin as white as down, and eyes as black as night. She held out to him the bundle of white silk, which when he took it in his hands was as if he held the wind.
"This is my dowry", the woman said to him, "if you'll have me as your bride."
Of course the weaver was delighted to have this woman who was not only beautiful but also skilled and usefull, as his bride. When he delivered the sail to the ship's captain he was paid twice what he had been paid before because the sail was so fine and light.
"Only you can make a sail like that", the weaver told hi bride. "Will you make me another?"
The weaver's bride was slow to answer, which surprised the weaver because she had always been happy to do all he had asked. Finally she answered. !I do not think you understand, my husband, what you ask of me. The work takes so much of me, I was glad I could do it as a dowry, as a gift from my heart, just as your dance was a gift from your heart. But if you want me to do this, I will make it for you this once."
The weaver was ashamed by her words and he didn't like to feel ashamed. "Yes, wife", he answered, "I wan you to do this for me."

So she went into the weaving room and locked the door and for two days and two nights the weaver heard nothing but the sound of the shuttle knocking against the loom without stop or rest. Finally his wife called from the inside that the work was done. When the weaver came inside he found his bride leaning against the loom, her poor hands still held clutched around the shuttle like birds' claws. On the floor by her side was the sail, as flawless and light as the last one.

The weaver sold this sail for twice again what he sold the last one for and they were able to live two years from that money, but at the end of those two years the money was gone again. When he went to his bride she knew what he was going to ask before he spoke.
Do not ask this of my", she said, "You ask me to give all of myself."
Again the weaver felt ashamed and he didn't like to feel ashamed. "As a good wife should", he said and showed her to the weaving room.

This time she worked three days and three nights without rest or stop. The weaver waited for her call to come inside but when it did not come he began to grow worried, and then afraid, and then angry. "What us o hard about her weaving that she makes such a fuss", he said to himself. "I will see."

When he forced the door open he saw a sight that he would never forget as long as he lived. Trapped inside the loom stood a huge crane. In its claws it held the shuttle. Its long neck bent down to pull a feather from its wing and the the bird used its beak to feed the feather to the shuttle, weaving the cloth out of the downy white feathers. The silk that fell from the loom shook with the rocking of the bird, trembling like feathers in the wind. As he stood in the doorway, his mouth wide open, the bird turned to him and he saw his wife's sad black eyes looking at him. When she saw him she dropped the shuttle and flew out of the window.

The weaver called her name and followed her but although she flew slowly and close to the ground he could not keep up with her. Even after he lost sight of her he followed the path of bloody feathers she left behind her but he never found her.