The Grateful Crane

“Fighting sparrows are not afraid of people,” says the old proverb. But it was not a sparrow that tumbled out of the sky one day. It was a crane, and it landed close to the feet of Musai, a farmer’s son, as he waded through the mud of his rice field, where he worked from dawn until dusk.

Musai was used to cranes. On dry land they stalked along right behind the plow, quite unafraid, which the narrator praises as the Honorable Lord Crane. That affectionate picture is soon interrupted by evidence that someone has shot this bird. The graceful birds seemed to like being near people when they worked in the flooded paddies, where the seed was sown and the rice grew under four inches of water. The crane moves so gracefully that a dainty, well-mannered little girl may hear herself praised as “the bird that rises from the water without muddying the stream.”

Musai sloshed through the soft mud to the grassy bank at the edge of the field as fast as he could to see what was wrong with the bird. He threw down his hoe and searched the grass, and there he found the crane with an arrow stuck in its back and red drops speckling its white feathers. It did not seem frightened as he came close. Instead it bowed its neck, as if it would let him do whatever he thought best.

Gently Musai drew out the arrow and helped the bird to its feet, pushing back the bushes so it had room to spread its broad white wings. After a few weak tries it opened its wings, rose from the ground, circled round and round the young man as though thanking him, and flew away toward the mountain.

Musai went back to his work, hoping his labor would bring a good harvest when the time came. He had a widowed mother to support and had to toil every day. His one pleasure was to come home tired from the long hours in the muddy field to a hot bath, which his mother always had ready. Then, washed and in a fresh kimono, after a little rest before supper, he was ready for a quiet evening with the neighbors.

So the days went by, one like the next, until autumn was close. One evening he came home before the sun had quite gone down and found a lovely girl sitting beside his mother. Muddy and bare-legged as he was after his day in the field, a sorry sight, she greeted him as gracefully as a princess.

Too dirty to think of returning her greeting, he pulled off his headcloth, drew in his breath respectfully, bowed to his mother and asked, “Who is this honorable lady, and how does she come to be in our poor hut?”

“My son,” said his mother, “you are a grown man, but you have no wife yet. You are known everywhere for your obedience, your devotion to your mother, your loyalty and your good manners, and so this fair young woman is willing to be your wife. But I could not answer her without your consent. What do you think?”

The young farmer was very flattered, but at first he said little and thought hard. “She has been delicately brought up, and she may be of noble birth. If I agree, how will she bear the poverty we are used to? Will she stay patient when she has to go hungry? Or will we be parted, and what promises love and happiness last only a little while, and then pass, leaving gloom and sorrow behind?”

But as the days slipped by and he saw how kind she was to her new mother, always patient, unselfish and loving, his fears blew away like clouds before the wind, and the two young people were married.

When full autumn came and the ears of rice should have filled out, there was nothing in them but husk. The harvest had failed completely. The heavy taxes were unpaid, there was no food in the house, and starvation stared them in the face. By winter the whole family was in desperate need.

Then the patient wife showed a new talent and cheered her husband. “I can make cloth such as this province has never seen,” she said, “if you will build me a room of my own. I cannot weave here. I can only make the fine red-and-white pattern when I am alone and in complete silence. Build me a room, and the money you need will come pouring in.”

The old mother had her doubts about her daughter-in-law’s plan, and even Musai was only half convinced, but he set to work with a will. With beams, wattle and thatch, a floor of mats, a window of paper over a wooden lattice and walls made snug with a good coat of clay, he built the room apart from the house. There, day after day, shut away from everyone, the sweet wife worked unseen.

Mother and son waited patiently, and after a week the young wife came back to the family circle carrying a roll of woven cloth, white and shining, as glossy and pure as new-fallen snow. Here and there a crimson thread ran through it, which only made the white look whiter. Pure red and pure white were the only colors in this wonderful cloth.

“What shall we call it?” asked her astonished husband.

“It has no name, for there is nothing else like it in the world,” said the lovely weaver.

“But it must have a name. I’m going to take it to the Daimio, and he won’t buy it if he doesn’t know what it’s called.”

“Then tell him it is called White Crane’s-Down Cloth,” said his wife.

The snowy cloth soon passed into the hands of the lord of the castle, who sent it as a gift to the Empress in Kioto. Everyone marveled at it, and the Empress ordered that the giver be richly rewarded. Musai hurried home with a thousand coins in his bag, spread the shining silver at his mother’s feet and thanked the wife who had made his fortune. They held a feast, and for many weeks the family lived comfortably on the money. Then, when they were close to want a second time, Musai asked his wife whether she would weave another length of the wonderful Crane’s-Down Cloth.

She agreed cheerfully, but she warned him to leave her alone and not to look at her until she came out with the cloth.

But oh, for prying and wicked curiosity! Not content with being saved from starvation by a wife who worked like a servant for him, Musai crept up to the paper wall, wet a pane of the lattice with his tongue, silently poked his finger through to make a little round hole, pressed his eye to it and peeped in.

What a sight met his eye! There was no woman at the loom, but a noble white crane, the very bird he had found in the field with the hunter’s arrow in its back. Bent over the spinning wheel, the crane was plucking the silky down from her own breast and twisting and twining it into the finest thread mortal eyes ever saw. Every so often she pressed red drops from her heart’s blood to dye a few of the strands, and so the weaving went on. The cloth was almost finished.

Musai stood frozen, staring, until his mother suddenly called him and he shouted back, “Yes, I’m coming!” The startled crane turned and saw the eye in the wall. Flinging down thread and cloth, she stalked angrily to the door, gave a shrill cry and flew out into the open sky. For a little while she showed as a white speck against the blue hills, and then she was gone.

Mother and son were left to face poverty and loneliness, and Musai went back to splashing bare-legged through the mud of his rice field.

Where this tale comes from

This telling follows “The Grateful Crane” in William Elliot Griffis’s The Fire-Fly’s Lovers and Other Fairy Tales of Old Japan (1908). Griffis names the young farmer Musai and opens with an old proverb about fighting sparrows before turning to the wounded crane.

In his version the wife names her weaving “White Crane’s-down cloth,” and the Daimio sends it to the Empress in Kioto. The story ends not with a reward but with a broken promise: one peek through a paper wall, and the crane is gone.

Read the original: The Fire-Fly’s Lovers and Other Fairy Tales of Old Japan (Internet Archive)

Suggested for ages 9–12 with an adult: includes a wounded bird, fear of starvation, plucked feathers and blood used in weaving.

The cloth records the cost of making it

The red and white threads first appear as beautiful colours; the glimpse through the wall reveals feathers and blood. The same object is now evidence of the weaver’s bodily effort. Musai’s rescue of the bird was freely offered, but gratitude does not give him unlimited rights over her later work or privacy.

Read the cloth before and after

Describe the first roll as Musai sees it, then describe it after the weaving-room scene. Which details change meaning? Write a respectful question he could have asked about her wellbeing without secretly watching her.

Talk about it

• How did Musai first help the crane?
• Why do you think the wife asked not to be watched while she wove?
• What might have happened if Musai had kept his promise?

Related stories

• The Tongue-Cut Sparrow — a Japanese bird who repays kindness
• The Story of Urashima Taro, the Fisher Lad — a creature rescued, a magic marriage and a warning ignored
• The Snow Woman (Yuki-Onna) — another Japanese wife with a secret