An Autumn Mountain 173
“ ‘It’s all like a dream,’ he murmured. ‘I really can’t help wondering if that Mr Chang wasn’t some sort of hobgoblin.’ ”
“So that is the story of the Autumn Mountain, said Wang Shih-ku after a pause, and took a sip of his tea. ‘Later on it appears that Mr Wang made all sorts of exhaustive enquiries. He visited Mr Chang, but when he mentioned to him the Painting of an Autumn Mountain, the young man denied all knowledge of any other version. So one cannot tell if that Autumn Mountain which Yen-k’o saw all those years ago is not even now hidden away somewhere. Or perhaps the, whole thing was just a case of faulty memory on an old man’s part. It would seem unlikely, though, that Yen-k’o’s story about visiting Mr Chang’s house to see the Autumn Mountain was not based on solid fact.”
“Well, in any case the image of that strange painting is no doubt engraved for ever on Yen-ko’s mind. And on yours too.”
“Yes,” said Wang Shih-ku, “I still see the dark green of the mountain rock, as Yen-k’o described it all those years ago. I can see the red leaves of the bushes as if the painting were before my eyes this very moment.”
“So even if it never existed, there is not really much cause for regret!”
The two men laughed and clapped their hands with delight.
Akutagawa Ryūnosuké (1892–1927)
This story was first published in 1921
Translated by Ivan Morris
