The Red Lacquer Cup

Once upon a time, long, long ago, in a small house beyond the mountains, there lived a lonely woodcutter. He was very poor, cutting trees in the forest and barely getting by day to day.

One evening, a weary traveler passed by his hut, barely dragging his feet and leaning on a stick.

"Excuse me, please. I feel very awkward asking you this, but I’ve gotten lost and don’t know what to do. Would you let me stay the night?" the traveler asked the woodcutter.

The woodcutter looked at him and saw that the traveler had apparently come from afar—covered in dust, exhausted, and barely able to stand. The woodcutter took pity on him and said:

"Yes, yes, I can see you’re very tired. If my poor hut doesn’t frighten you and you like it here, please stay with me without any hesitation."

The traveler was delighted and entered the house. The woodcutter poured out the last of the rice from a small box, prepared a meal, and offered it to the traveler. The only seasoning for the rice was miso (a thick paste made from soybeans, used as a condiment), but the guest filled his bowl several times and cheerfully exclaimed:

"Ah, how delicious! How delicious!"

And so, he ate all the rice that was in the pot. The woodcutter, however, only sipped water in secret, as there was nothing left in the pot for him.

"I am deeply indebted to you. You’ve helped me regain my strength. Thank you! I will never forget your kindness," the traveler said to the woodcutter the next morning. "There is a pond in these mountains; if you ever find yourself in need, come to this pond and clap your hands three times: clap, clap, clap! And each time, you will receive a festive feast. Just be sure to return the table and dishes. In truth, I am an old carp and live in this pond."

And with these astonishing words, the traveler suddenly vanished. Such unusual things do happen!

The woodcutter felt so strange, as if he had been bewitched by a fox spirit.

"How did he say it? 'Near the pond, clap your hands three times. Then a festive feast will appear.' Could it really be true?"

The woodcutter pinched his cheek to make sure it wasn’t a dream. "Why speculate? I’ll go and try it once," he finally decided and set off for the mountain pond.

The water in the pond was, as always, blue and clear; the trees and clouds were reflected in it. There was nothing unusual about it.

"Did the guest play a trick on me?" thought the woodcutter, but he decided to test the old man’s words and clapped his hands three times loudly: clap, clap, clap!

Ahhh! To his utter amazement, the water in the pond began to churn, and a beautiful lacquered table appeared on its surface. On the table was laid out a magnificent feast, and it floated right up to the woodcutter standing on the shore.

"It’s true! It’s true! What a miracle! What a miracle!" The woodcutter even jumped for joy. He took the table home and ate the delicious food. Then, as instructed, he returned the table to the pond. The table immediately sank to the bottom.

They say that from then on, the poor woodcutter from the mountains became as rich as a prince. Whenever he got hungry, he would clap his hands three times and always receive a splendid feast.

"Why should I work so hard? That’s foolish," he said, and all he did was sleep.

After sleeping, he would eat, and after eating, he would sleep again. And he became very, very fat.

"Ah, how pleasant, how pleasant!"

This time, too, the woodcutter happily ate the feast he had brought from the mountain pond and admired the exquisite red lacquer bowls.

Suddenly, he thought: "It would be nice to have at least one of these magnificent bowls at home! True, I was told to return them… Oh, what does it matter? I’ll just take one little bowl. No one will notice. It’ll be fine, it’ll work out!"

He stole one beautiful bowl and hid it in his cupboard. Then, cleverly rearranging everything on the table, he returned it as if nothing had happened.

The next day, feeling hungry, the woodcutter went to the pond as usual and clapped his hands: clap, clap, clap!

"Well, what do you know!"

The water in the pond remained completely calm, and nothing rose to the surface.

Clap! Clap! Clap! The woodcutter, now angry, clapped his hands with all his might, again and again, until his hands hurt, but still, not a single bubble appeared on the water.

"Damn it! He must have found out I stole the bowl!"

The woodcutter stomped his feet in frustration, but there was nothing he could do.

"Ah, well! At least I stole one bowl. I’ll sell it to a junk dealer. It’s probably worth some money," he decided.

But that evening, flames suddenly burst from the cupboard in the woodcutter’s house, and the entire house burned to the ground in an instant. The red bowl, of course, was also burned. Not even a trace of it remained.

"Oh, have you ever seen such a fool?" sighed the woodcutter, sifting through the ashes of the fire.

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The Red Lacquer Cup

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