The Crane Wife
Recently I stumbled upon the band The Decemberists and happened to listen to the three songs they have written based on the Japanese folktalke "The Crane Wife", the songs inspired me to begin writing a story based on it, and as I wrote I started to do some research on the story. So below I am including the lyrics to the songs, as well as my variation of the story.
[1]
It was a cold night
And the snow lay around
I pulled my coat tight
Against the falling down
And the sun was all
And the sun was all down
And the sun was all
And the sun was all down
I am a poor man
I haven't wealth nor fame
I have my two hands
And a house to my name
And the winter's so
And the winter's so long
And the winter's so
And the winter's so long
And all the stars were crashing 'round
As I laid eyes on what I'd found
It was a white crane
It was a helpless thing
Upon a red stain
With an arrow in its wing
And it called and cried
And it called and cried so
And it called and cried
And it called and cried so
And all the stars were crashing 'round
As I laid eyes on what I'd found
My crane wife, my crane wife
My crane wife, my crane wife
Now I helped her
And I dressed her wounds
And how I held her
Beneath the rising moon
And she stood to fly
And she stood to fly away
And she stood to fly
She stood to fly away
And all the stars were crashing 'round
As I laid eyes on what I'd found
My crane wife, my crane wife
My crane wife, my crane wife
[2]
My crane wife arrived at my door in the moonlight
All star bright and tongue-tied, I took her in
We were married and bells rang sweet for our wedding
And our bedding was ready, we fell in
Sound the keening bell
And see it's painted red
Soft as fontenelle
The feathers in the thread
And all I ever meant to do was to keep you
My crane wife
My crane wife
My crane wife
We were poorly, our fortunes fading hourly
And how she avowed me, she could bring it back
But I was greedy, I was vain and I forced her to weaving
On a cold loom, in a closed room with down and wool
Sound the keening bell
And see it's painted red
Soft as fontenelle
The feathers in the thread
And all I ever meant to do was to keep you
My crane wife
My crane wife
MY crane wife
There's a bend in the wind and it rakes at my heart
There is blood in the thread and it rakes at my heart
It rakes at my heart
[3]
The Crane Wife 3
And under the boughs unbowed
all clothed in the snowy shroud
She had no heart so hardened
All under the boughs unbowed
Each feather it fell from skin
'Til thread bare while she grew thin
How were my eyes so blinded?
Each feather it fell from skin
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
A grey sky, a bitter sting
A rain cloud, a crane on wing
All out beyond horizon
A grey sky, a bitter sting
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
It was a snowy cold evening when I found the crane, a bright contrast of red against white, a strange huddled mound in the snow. As I gathered the crane into my arms I could tell that it was beginning to give up, an arrow was through its wing and it had lost quite a bit of blood into the unforgiving snow. As I lifted it, its head flopped down and hung along my side, as I walked it swung to and fro on its long neck, a strange pendulum for a broken clock.
When we arrived at my house I took it inside and began to work on it. Cranes are supposed to bring luck, and I couldn’t imagine who would think to shoot one. I removed the arrow and bound the wing. I then laid the crane near the fire and went to bed myself, I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
To my surprise, the next morning I found a woman laying where the crane had been, she was naked save for a beautiful white feathered cape. I immediately moved her from the floor and into my own bed, covering her with the blankets. Then I left to go into town to do the odd jobs that the villagers sometimes gave me.
I have never been a wealthy man, I grew up the poor son of a widow mother. My father died early in my life, a victim of the sea, because of this mother would never let me venture near the sea and thus I became a craftsman of sorts. I could not be a fisherman, so instead I repaired items and houses around the village, doing the things the fishermen could not do while they were out at sea. When mother died, from a great gasping sickness of the lungs, she left me the house and not much else. But it was mine and I kept it as well as I could. The odd jobs I ran around town allowed me to buy food and sometimes warmer clothes. Often I was paid with breads or eggs, things that I used instead of buying. It was a quiet and humble life, but as I had known no other I had no reason to complain.
The arrival of the crane changed everything. When I came home that night she had awaken and had tidied the house. She had aired it and the blankets and the house now had a clean open feel to it, instead of the musty crowded feel it tended to get during the winter. That night she fixed a wonderful dinner and we sat eating the food and talked. She had a quiet calm voice, and as I talked to her I was able to look at her, really look at her. She was tall and thin, but not overly so, and she had long dark hair that hung to her waist. Her eyes though were what really caught my attention, they were golden and every so often it seemed as if they flashed with some hidden feeling. While I had been gone in the village she had somehow found a white dress, made of a strange uncommonly fine thread and was now wearing it.
After dinner I tried to offer her the bed and yet she told me to take it and that she would lay by the fire as she had the night before. I felt uncomfortable with this, but as she did not budge I let her have her way.
Late that night I woke in bed to a strange sound, it seemed to be a keening of either a woman in great pain or the strange cry of a bird. I rose from my bed and went to the window to find myself looking out at the woman; she stood in the light of the full moon, her arms outstretched as if to gather it into her arms. Then as I watched she changed, her neck elongated, and her head thinned and became that of a crane, and soon there was nothing left of the woman and only a crane standing in the moonlight. It stood with its wings raised and as I watched it began to beat them and rose into the air in flight. As she flew I noticed that the crane’s wing seemed to be healed, it must be time for her to go. And yet as she flew away I felt a strange sorrow, though I had not known her long I still had grown fond of her. I went back to bed, half hoping that in the morning I would find it all to be a dream.
However, when I rose I found that it had been no dream, the woman was gone. The sorrow I had felt the night before grew deeper. I went to the village and tried to leave my sadness behind me. It did not work, I had the crane woman on my thoughts all day.
I returned that evening and began to fix dinner for myself when there was a knock on the door. I went to open it and found to my surprise the crane woman. I invited her in and asked told her that I had not expected her to return to me. Her answer stunned me. “I have returned in part to thank you, but also because I found that I could not forget your generosity to me in saving my life, I would like to become your wife if that is acceptable.” I was surprised, I had not yet married, mostly because of my poor state. The women of the village wanted a man who would provide for her and I struggled to provide for just myself. I had never thought to hope for a wife as beautiful as the crane woman was, and so of course I accepted.
We were married the next day, there were not many people at the wedding, but those who were talked non stop about my new wife. Where did she come from, who was she, and most of all why was she marrying me? I was all too happy to leave for home with my bride and leave the gossiping crowd behind us.
My first few months with Aife, for that was her name, went well, the curiosity of the villagers about my wife caused them to hire me for odd jobs, just to chat with me so they could get the story right from me. I though was not talking much. I figured my wife deserved her privacy. When the villagers realized that I would not tell them everything they stopped hiring me as much. We fell on hard times as the number of jobs I was given dwindled to one or two a week. Eventually it got very bad, we were on our last few items of food, it looked as if we would go hungry if I did not have someone hire me for a job soon. That night Aife told me she would help out. She said she would weave some cloth to be sold at market, however she had stipulations, I must give her a room to spin and weave in, when she was working I was not to look in on her. If I followed her requests then she assured me that all would be well.
That night I emptied one of the rooms I used for storage and gave it to her for her work. She began working and worked all through the night. I worried for her when she did not come to bed but in the morning she approached me holding a piece of fabric that was the most beautiful I had ever seen. She looked at the fabric and said that it would sell for quite a lot and to not sell it for a small sum. She then retired to the bedroom and I went to market to sell the cloth. She was right, I was able to get such a large sum for the fabric that we would be able to live off it for months, maybe even years if we spent carefully.
At first I was careful, but then as others learned of our new wealth I was approached by other villagers and given advice on how to spend my money. I found myself spending it on items I had always wanted, things I never needed, and soon I found that we were speeding back toward poverty again.
I had grown used to this easy life that the money had provided and so as I saw it begin to slip away I asked Aife to spin and weave more fabric. At first she was reluctant, but as I asked her often she eventually gave in to my entreaties and returned to spinning and weaving. She did not weave a new cloth each night as she had that first night, instead she spent about a week of work on each cloth. It was enough to bring in quite a lot of money.
As the weeks passed Aife declined, looking back now I realize that I noticed her decline but refused to acknowledge it, over the weeks that passed Aife grew pale and thin, her eyes filled with pain and strange love. Her hair grew lank and thin, the gorgeous shine from it gone. But the thread she spun and wove into marvelous fabric sold for so much that I could only think of more, more fabric meant more money. And I spent the money, often when she was at home working I would visit the village tavern and drink away the money she made for us. But I felt that I deserved it, hadn't I known poverty my whole life? Why shouldn't I now use my money when I had it. And it was there, in the dank shadows of the tavern that the idea was put to me.
I had made friends and often I would come and sit, drinking and talking with the other men of the village, telling them my woes. I described how I wished my wife could work faster, make more fabric and thus make us more money. I told them how she had given me the restriction of never looking in on her when she worked. This caused the other men to grow angry for me. They told me that I should not have to listen to a woman's demands, she should listen to mine. They filled me with a false sense of self import and I found myself growing filled with self important rage at my wife, how dare she keep me away, how dare she keep me from a room of my own house. How dare she tell me what to do. I was determined to rectify the matter. Luckily for myself, though I returned home with all intent to burst in on her I also returned home so filled with liquor that I ended up collapsing on the bed and falling asleep almost immediately.
In the morning I woke to the smell of breakfast, I came out into the kitchen to find her finishing the preparations on the meal and beginning to lay out a plate for me. I was tired and had a hangover, I ate and went back to bed. When I woke again I found that she was again working, shut away in the little room that was her workroom. The words of the previous night came back to me, and I began to let them move me once more. However, I was no longer moved my alcohol and my head had cleared from the hangover from before. I came to the door and hesitating a moment at its latch I finally encouraged myself forward with a stern inward lecture at myself for being afraid of a woman. I pushed the latch and the door opened, what I saw inside changed my life forever.
At the loom stood the crane, no longer a woman but rather a bird, no longer quite as beautiful as it had once been. It looked as if it had begun to molt, as many of its feathers were missing. It was thinner, if that is possible in a crane. As I watched it reached down with its long beak and plucked a feather from its downy breast, then taking the feather it placed it upon the thread it was spinning, where the feather met wool the thread changed and took on the fine silky appearance that all of my wife's thread had. Suddenly, with awful horror I realized what my wife had been sacrificing for me. She had been ripping her own being apart just so that I could have the money I felt I so desperately needed, and I took that money and wasted it, feeling as if I deserved it. At this realization I must have made a small sound for the crane who had not seemed to notice me before suddenly turned its head on its sinuous neck and looked at me. Seeing me it turned back to the spinning wheel and with a bowed head two tears ran down its bill and fell onto the thread. It was only as they hit and turned the thread that they touched a deep crimson that I realized they were tears of blood.
The next instant the crane was once more a woman who crouched near the wheel, her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body. I realized I had been shocked into a frozen position, but with this sight of grief and pain I instinctively moved to comfort her. But before I could even touch her she turned, and took a step away from me, her hands were red and her tears dripped from them staining the floor and the thread that curled on it. She looked at me, her eyes red rimmed, and said in a terrible voice, "I would have given everything for you, but just look at what you have done! Because of your greed you broke the one rule I gave you and now I must leave! It is all undone, all my love for you is for naught! Why, why couldn't you just let me be?" She appeared so fierce that I took a few automatic steps back, and for a moment her eyes and face softened and she reached out and touched my face. Then a great pain filled her eyes and she ran from the room. Still in shock I trailed after her, not sure what would happen next.
I followed her to just outside the house and watched as she changed once more into the crane. However, as she changed I noticed that where her head was once pure black, there was now a scarlet crest that adorned it. With one last look at me she once more spread her wings which now were in a pitiful state and began fly away. At first it looked as if her sparse feathers would not support her, but somehow they did and she flew once more from my life.
After she left I fell into a deep depression, but eventually I lifted myself from it, and began to make a life for myself once more. Inspired by my beloved crane wife's profession I began to weave nets for the fishermen, and eventually I started a good business for myself. I was never as wealthy as I had been before, but I was better off than I had been before my crane wife. I never remarried, I could not bear to replace her after I had so terribly betrayed her. But every year when the cranes fly over head I always pause to look and watch them pass. And sometimes I feel that she is looking down at me, and I realize that she is still in my heart.
[1]
It was a cold night
And the snow lay around
I pulled my coat tight
Against the falling down
And the sun was all
And the sun was all down
And the sun was all
And the sun was all down
I am a poor man
I haven't wealth nor fame
I have my two hands
And a house to my name
And the winter's so
And the winter's so long
And the winter's so
And the winter's so long
And all the stars were crashing 'round
As I laid eyes on what I'd found
It was a white crane
It was a helpless thing
Upon a red stain
With an arrow in its wing
And it called and cried
And it called and cried so
And it called and cried
And it called and cried so
And all the stars were crashing 'round
As I laid eyes on what I'd found
My crane wife, my crane wife
My crane wife, my crane wife
Now I helped her
And I dressed her wounds
And how I held her
Beneath the rising moon
And she stood to fly
And she stood to fly away
And she stood to fly
She stood to fly away
And all the stars were crashing 'round
As I laid eyes on what I'd found
My crane wife, my crane wife
My crane wife, my crane wife
[2]
My crane wife arrived at my door in the moonlight
All star bright and tongue-tied, I took her in
We were married and bells rang sweet for our wedding
And our bedding was ready, we fell in
Sound the keening bell
And see it's painted red
Soft as fontenelle
The feathers in the thread
And all I ever meant to do was to keep you
My crane wife
My crane wife
My crane wife
We were poorly, our fortunes fading hourly
And how she avowed me, she could bring it back
But I was greedy, I was vain and I forced her to weaving
On a cold loom, in a closed room with down and wool
Sound the keening bell
And see it's painted red
Soft as fontenelle
The feathers in the thread
And all I ever meant to do was to keep you
My crane wife
My crane wife
MY crane wife
There's a bend in the wind and it rakes at my heart
There is blood in the thread and it rakes at my heart
It rakes at my heart
[3]
The Crane Wife 3
And under the boughs unbowed
all clothed in the snowy shroud
She had no heart so hardened
All under the boughs unbowed
Each feather it fell from skin
'Til thread bare while she grew thin
How were my eyes so blinded?
Each feather it fell from skin
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
A grey sky, a bitter sting
A rain cloud, a crane on wing
All out beyond horizon
A grey sky, a bitter sting
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
And I will hang my head, hang my head low
It was a snowy cold evening when I found the crane, a bright contrast of red against white, a strange huddled mound in the snow. As I gathered the crane into my arms I could tell that it was beginning to give up, an arrow was through its wing and it had lost quite a bit of blood into the unforgiving snow. As I lifted it, its head flopped down and hung along my side, as I walked it swung to and fro on its long neck, a strange pendulum for a broken clock.
When we arrived at my house I took it inside and began to work on it. Cranes are supposed to bring luck, and I couldn’t imagine who would think to shoot one. I removed the arrow and bound the wing. I then laid the crane near the fire and went to bed myself, I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
To my surprise, the next morning I found a woman laying where the crane had been, she was naked save for a beautiful white feathered cape. I immediately moved her from the floor and into my own bed, covering her with the blankets. Then I left to go into town to do the odd jobs that the villagers sometimes gave me.
I have never been a wealthy man, I grew up the poor son of a widow mother. My father died early in my life, a victim of the sea, because of this mother would never let me venture near the sea and thus I became a craftsman of sorts. I could not be a fisherman, so instead I repaired items and houses around the village, doing the things the fishermen could not do while they were out at sea. When mother died, from a great gasping sickness of the lungs, she left me the house and not much else. But it was mine and I kept it as well as I could. The odd jobs I ran around town allowed me to buy food and sometimes warmer clothes. Often I was paid with breads or eggs, things that I used instead of buying. It was a quiet and humble life, but as I had known no other I had no reason to complain.
The arrival of the crane changed everything. When I came home that night she had awaken and had tidied the house. She had aired it and the blankets and the house now had a clean open feel to it, instead of the musty crowded feel it tended to get during the winter. That night she fixed a wonderful dinner and we sat eating the food and talked. She had a quiet calm voice, and as I talked to her I was able to look at her, really look at her. She was tall and thin, but not overly so, and she had long dark hair that hung to her waist. Her eyes though were what really caught my attention, they were golden and every so often it seemed as if they flashed with some hidden feeling. While I had been gone in the village she had somehow found a white dress, made of a strange uncommonly fine thread and was now wearing it.
After dinner I tried to offer her the bed and yet she told me to take it and that she would lay by the fire as she had the night before. I felt uncomfortable with this, but as she did not budge I let her have her way.
Late that night I woke in bed to a strange sound, it seemed to be a keening of either a woman in great pain or the strange cry of a bird. I rose from my bed and went to the window to find myself looking out at the woman; she stood in the light of the full moon, her arms outstretched as if to gather it into her arms. Then as I watched she changed, her neck elongated, and her head thinned and became that of a crane, and soon there was nothing left of the woman and only a crane standing in the moonlight. It stood with its wings raised and as I watched it began to beat them and rose into the air in flight. As she flew I noticed that the crane’s wing seemed to be healed, it must be time for her to go. And yet as she flew away I felt a strange sorrow, though I had not known her long I still had grown fond of her. I went back to bed, half hoping that in the morning I would find it all to be a dream.
However, when I rose I found that it had been no dream, the woman was gone. The sorrow I had felt the night before grew deeper. I went to the village and tried to leave my sadness behind me. It did not work, I had the crane woman on my thoughts all day.
I returned that evening and began to fix dinner for myself when there was a knock on the door. I went to open it and found to my surprise the crane woman. I invited her in and asked told her that I had not expected her to return to me. Her answer stunned me. “I have returned in part to thank you, but also because I found that I could not forget your generosity to me in saving my life, I would like to become your wife if that is acceptable.” I was surprised, I had not yet married, mostly because of my poor state. The women of the village wanted a man who would provide for her and I struggled to provide for just myself. I had never thought to hope for a wife as beautiful as the crane woman was, and so of course I accepted.
We were married the next day, there were not many people at the wedding, but those who were talked non stop about my new wife. Where did she come from, who was she, and most of all why was she marrying me? I was all too happy to leave for home with my bride and leave the gossiping crowd behind us.
My first few months with Aife, for that was her name, went well, the curiosity of the villagers about my wife caused them to hire me for odd jobs, just to chat with me so they could get the story right from me. I though was not talking much. I figured my wife deserved her privacy. When the villagers realized that I would not tell them everything they stopped hiring me as much. We fell on hard times as the number of jobs I was given dwindled to one or two a week. Eventually it got very bad, we were on our last few items of food, it looked as if we would go hungry if I did not have someone hire me for a job soon. That night Aife told me she would help out. She said she would weave some cloth to be sold at market, however she had stipulations, I must give her a room to spin and weave in, when she was working I was not to look in on her. If I followed her requests then she assured me that all would be well.
That night I emptied one of the rooms I used for storage and gave it to her for her work. She began working and worked all through the night. I worried for her when she did not come to bed but in the morning she approached me holding a piece of fabric that was the most beautiful I had ever seen. She looked at the fabric and said that it would sell for quite a lot and to not sell it for a small sum. She then retired to the bedroom and I went to market to sell the cloth. She was right, I was able to get such a large sum for the fabric that we would be able to live off it for months, maybe even years if we spent carefully.
At first I was careful, but then as others learned of our new wealth I was approached by other villagers and given advice on how to spend my money. I found myself spending it on items I had always wanted, things I never needed, and soon I found that we were speeding back toward poverty again.
I had grown used to this easy life that the money had provided and so as I saw it begin to slip away I asked Aife to spin and weave more fabric. At first she was reluctant, but as I asked her often she eventually gave in to my entreaties and returned to spinning and weaving. She did not weave a new cloth each night as she had that first night, instead she spent about a week of work on each cloth. It was enough to bring in quite a lot of money.
As the weeks passed Aife declined, looking back now I realize that I noticed her decline but refused to acknowledge it, over the weeks that passed Aife grew pale and thin, her eyes filled with pain and strange love. Her hair grew lank and thin, the gorgeous shine from it gone. But the thread she spun and wove into marvelous fabric sold for so much that I could only think of more, more fabric meant more money. And I spent the money, often when she was at home working I would visit the village tavern and drink away the money she made for us. But I felt that I deserved it, hadn't I known poverty my whole life? Why shouldn't I now use my money when I had it. And it was there, in the dank shadows of the tavern that the idea was put to me.
I had made friends and often I would come and sit, drinking and talking with the other men of the village, telling them my woes. I described how I wished my wife could work faster, make more fabric and thus make us more money. I told them how she had given me the restriction of never looking in on her when she worked. This caused the other men to grow angry for me. They told me that I should not have to listen to a woman's demands, she should listen to mine. They filled me with a false sense of self import and I found myself growing filled with self important rage at my wife, how dare she keep me away, how dare she keep me from a room of my own house. How dare she tell me what to do. I was determined to rectify the matter. Luckily for myself, though I returned home with all intent to burst in on her I also returned home so filled with liquor that I ended up collapsing on the bed and falling asleep almost immediately.
In the morning I woke to the smell of breakfast, I came out into the kitchen to find her finishing the preparations on the meal and beginning to lay out a plate for me. I was tired and had a hangover, I ate and went back to bed. When I woke again I found that she was again working, shut away in the little room that was her workroom. The words of the previous night came back to me, and I began to let them move me once more. However, I was no longer moved my alcohol and my head had cleared from the hangover from before. I came to the door and hesitating a moment at its latch I finally encouraged myself forward with a stern inward lecture at myself for being afraid of a woman. I pushed the latch and the door opened, what I saw inside changed my life forever.
At the loom stood the crane, no longer a woman but rather a bird, no longer quite as beautiful as it had once been. It looked as if it had begun to molt, as many of its feathers were missing. It was thinner, if that is possible in a crane. As I watched it reached down with its long beak and plucked a feather from its downy breast, then taking the feather it placed it upon the thread it was spinning, where the feather met wool the thread changed and took on the fine silky appearance that all of my wife's thread had. Suddenly, with awful horror I realized what my wife had been sacrificing for me. She had been ripping her own being apart just so that I could have the money I felt I so desperately needed, and I took that money and wasted it, feeling as if I deserved it. At this realization I must have made a small sound for the crane who had not seemed to notice me before suddenly turned its head on its sinuous neck and looked at me. Seeing me it turned back to the spinning wheel and with a bowed head two tears ran down its bill and fell onto the thread. It was only as they hit and turned the thread that they touched a deep crimson that I realized they were tears of blood.
The next instant the crane was once more a woman who crouched near the wheel, her face in her hands, sobs wracking her body. I realized I had been shocked into a frozen position, but with this sight of grief and pain I instinctively moved to comfort her. But before I could even touch her she turned, and took a step away from me, her hands were red and her tears dripped from them staining the floor and the thread that curled on it. She looked at me, her eyes red rimmed, and said in a terrible voice, "I would have given everything for you, but just look at what you have done! Because of your greed you broke the one rule I gave you and now I must leave! It is all undone, all my love for you is for naught! Why, why couldn't you just let me be?" She appeared so fierce that I took a few automatic steps back, and for a moment her eyes and face softened and she reached out and touched my face. Then a great pain filled her eyes and she ran from the room. Still in shock I trailed after her, not sure what would happen next.
I followed her to just outside the house and watched as she changed once more into the crane. However, as she changed I noticed that where her head was once pure black, there was now a scarlet crest that adorned it. With one last look at me she once more spread her wings which now were in a pitiful state and began fly away. At first it looked as if her sparse feathers would not support her, but somehow they did and she flew once more from my life.
After she left I fell into a deep depression, but eventually I lifted myself from it, and began to make a life for myself once more. Inspired by my beloved crane wife's profession I began to weave nets for the fishermen, and eventually I started a good business for myself. I was never as wealthy as I had been before, but I was better off than I had been before my crane wife. I never remarried, I could not bear to replace her after I had so terribly betrayed her. But every year when the cranes fly over head I always pause to look and watch them pass. And sometimes I feel that she is looking down at me, and I realize that she is still in my heart.