The Grateful Crane (Campfire Story)

Long ago, in a snowy village in the mountains of Japan, there lived a poor young man named Yohei. He earned a few coins by gathering firewood and selling it in town, and he lived alone in a little wooden house at the edge of the forest.

One cold morning, as he walked through the snow, he heard a terrible cry. There, in a field, was a beautiful white crane, caught in a hunter's trap. Its leg was tangled in the rope, and it was flapping and struggling, and its feathers were spotted with blood.

'Hold still, now,' said Yohei softly. 'I won't hurt you.' Carefully, he untangled the rope and freed the crane's leg. The crane stood for a moment, looking at him. Then it spread its great white wings and flew up into the gray sky, calling, until it disappeared.

That night, the snow came down thick and heavy. There was a knock at Yohei's door. Standing outside was a young woman, with snow on her hair, shivering in a thin white kimono. 'I'm lost,' she said. 'Please, may I stay until the storm passes?'

Of course Yohei let her in. He gave her the warmest place by the fire, and shared what little rice he had. The storm lasted for days, and then for weeks. The young woman, whose name was Tsu, stayed. She cooked and cleaned and laughed and told stories, and the little house, which had been so lonely, was full of warmth. Before spring came, Yohei and Tsu were married.

But they were very poor, and there was hardly any food. One evening, Tsu said, 'There's an old loom in the back room. Let me weave some cloth for you to sell. But you must promise me one thing. While I'm weaving, you must never, ever look into that room.'

'I promise,' said Yohei.

Tsu went into the back room and slid the paper door shut. All night long, Yohei heard the loom. Clack, clack. Clack, clack. In the morning, Tsu came out, pale and tired, holding a bolt of cloth more beautiful than anything Yohei had ever seen. It was white as snow and soft as a cloud, and it shimmered like moonlight.

Yohei took it to town. A rich merchant bought it for a bag of gold. 'Bring me more,' said the merchant. 'As much as you can.'

So Tsu wove again. Clack, clack, all night long. And again, and again. Each time, she came out paler and thinner and more tired. And each time, Yohei grew more and more curious. How could she make such cloth? She had no silk. She had no thread. What was she doing in there?

One night, he couldn't stand it any longer. He crept to the paper door and slid it open just a crack, and peeked in.

Sitting at the loom was not his wife. It was a white crane. She was plucking out her own feathers, one by one, with her long beak, and weaving them into the cloth. She was so thin that he could see her bones.

The crane turned and looked at him. And then there was Tsu, standing in the room, with tears in her eyes.

'I am the crane you saved from the trap,' she said. 'I came to repay your kindness. I would have stayed with you forever. But you have seen my true form, and now I cannot stay.'

'Please,' said Yohei, 'I'm sorry. I don't need the cloth. I don't need the gold. I only need you.' But it was too late. Tsu stepped out into the snow, and she became a crane again, thin and ragged, and she rose up into the winter sky. She circled the little house once, twice, three times, calling. And then she was gone.

Yohei watched the sky every winter for the rest of his life. And sometimes, they say, a single white crane would fly over the little house, and call, and fly on.

Storyteller tips: let the clack, clack of the loom be soft and steady. After the story, ask: why do you think she didn't want him to look? Is there anything someone has trusted you not to do?

Versions differ on who the crane helps. In many she comes to an old couple as a daughter; in others, like this one, to a young man as his wife.