Long, long ago there lived, in a village named Atama, a gallant warrior and his beautiful wife. They were not wealthy but they were frugal and industrious, strong in arm and gentle in manner. Both were fond of children but for years had they been wed, and for years had they been childless. The warrior, Tadao of the Sarutobi, longed for a son to bear his name and his lady wife, Akira of the Sarutobi, prayed each day at the shrine for a babe to dote upon.
One winter after a long fall of drought, when the fields were barren of rice and all the people of the land were desperate, Tadao was called to battle, wearing upon his back the standard of his clan and in his hand, a naginata.
Blood in plenty was had that day, falling in great torrents from countless fighters of all sides; Sarutobi and bandits alike. No sooner had the battle been drawn to an end did blinding lightning and roaring thunder erupt, shocking many with its brightness and great noise.
So great was the might unleashed did torrential rains soon beset the land! The rains turned the world upon itself, setting Tadao to wander, half-deaf, haloes of light dancing within his eyes to blind him. For hours did he shamble and wander, light-blind and confused when he heard upon the wind a cry.
"A child?", cried the warrior to his peers. "Have any seen a child?"
The Sarutobi huddled together and began to comb to mud, bodies, rocks and shattered trees in the search for the cries.
"Here!", shouted one who later swore he heard thunder, "no, it comes from here!" bellowed another through the ringing in his ears.
After hours of fruitless searching, Tadao felt the warm fuzz of life brush his hand. He gathered the wailing bundle into his arms, eyes yet still unfocused, and rallied his comrades together to return to the village.
A child, he thought, bundled for warmth in the cold months. His warmth did he give, tucking the child into his vest on the long trek home.
“Wife, wife”, Tadao cried upon the door of his home. “Fetch milk and a bottle!”
“Whatever for?”, questioned the wife even as she raced about the home after ushering him inside to the fireside.
Inside, the warrior collapsed upon his side, the child clutched to his chest. The little creature wept and wailed where it lay.
Akira rushed to her husband’s side with a bottle, dragging him along. Even unconscious, the warrior refused to release his charge.
“What love!”, the wife thought, “I wed a kind and great man indeed.”
A kind and great man indeed;
Ere long, Tadao’s head rested in his wife’s lap while she drew the child from his vest and so shocked was she at the sight of it - dark in skin and blond of mane with a tail twice the length of its body, that it nearly slipped from her grip!
“What a kind and great man! And blind as well”, the wife thought as she offered the monkey the bottle. The creature’s little mouth cinched to the nub of the bottle, drinking the contents eagerly as a valiant, kind, great - and blind man slumbered in her lap.
For days did they exist just so; husband feverish, thunder-deaf and battle-blind, wife fussy and doting, their little monkey hungry and cold until it was fashioned clothes of its own. During Tadeo’s brief moments of wakefulness did he inquire about the child, ever the first thing on his lips before wondering about his own state.
“Wife, wife”, he ever asked in his tossing and turning, “do we have a boy?”
“Yes, yes, my dear husband: we have a son.”
Ichiro, as he was named by his foster parents, grew tall and wiry, queerest of the boys of his village, but all grew to love him as one of their own. He was ever smiling, ever kind, quick to help in all things that Tadao could no longer do. Such joy and good fortune was brought by him! Others beyond the village took notice of the happiness of the townspeople: even the sad and somber monkeys which dwelled in the forests were drawn by the boy's light. His life in Atama was a good one and a known one.
credit: @Kizo
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