Long ago in a hut at the edge of a large marsh there lived a duck hunter named Gombei. Does the term "duck hunter" make you think of a tall, stern man who rises before dawn and sets out with a shotgun over his shoulder? If so, I have used the wrong term.

While still young, Gombei had learned the trick of making a snare with a bit of string. All his life, he made a living with that one trick.

Each afternoon he would take a bit of string and set one snare at the edge of the marsh. Each morning he would rise well before noon, remove one duck from the snare, and start the long walk into the village. There he would sell the duck and buy a little rice and a few vegetables for that night's meal. Some days someone in the village would hire him to clear a field or haul some wood. Then he would have the money to make a small but loud offering at the village shrine and to drink a little sake before trudging back to his hut.

It often occurred to Gombei that his life was hard. One day it occurred to him that he could make it easier. Suppose he were to set two snares and catch two ducks? Or suppose he set three snares and caught three ducks? He might even set five snares and catch five ducks. Then for the next five days-- no, four days-- he would not have to leave his hut at all. Imagine such a thing-- a vacation!

Gombei thought awhile about the bright new life before him. Then he gathered up every bit of string in the hut and set out for the marsh, where he set fifty snares for fifty ducks.

The next morning Gombei woke up well before noon to the not too distant sound of quacking ducks. He left the hut with a light heart.

Ducks in snares were scattered all up and down the edge of the marsh. Were there fifty? I don't know. Gombei didn't count them, but began collecting them. He brought each duck, still in its snare, to an exposed root on dry ground.

Finally all the ducks were tied up in one spot. Gombei wrapped the bits of string securely around one hand. He used the other hand to cut the loops from the root.

The ducks, still quacking loudly, flapped their wings and rose slowly in the air. Gombei rose with them. He had not expected this to happen, and he had not planned what to do. And so he did nothing except, of course, to rise slowly in the air.

Eventually Gombei opened his eyes. A little later he looked down. The ducks were flying away from the marsh, and seemed to be headed toward the village. Yes, he could see the high iron roof of the village shrine not too far ahead. Gombei bowed as well as he could, clapped his hands and began to pray desperately.

You may ask how Gombei could clap his hands while holding on to fifty bits of string. Of course he could not. The ducks zoomed up in many different directions while Gombei shot straight down. In a moment he landed on the high iron roof with a loud clang.

All the villagers ran to the shrine to see what had made the noise. They saw a being of some kind, not a bird, huddled high up on the roof. (Gombei may have been very stiff and sore, or he may have been very frightened. In any case, he did not move.) Was it the deity? Was it a thief? Some children said it had flown down from the sky. Some villagers bowed, and some squinted and stared. One called up to the being and asked what it desired.

Now Gombei knew he was still alive, and yelled back down to the crowd. A little rice, perhaps, and some pickles would be fine. And his throat was dry.

Gombei heard the villagers shout, "It's Gombei!" Then he heard a clang, as a stick hit the iron roof near his foot. It was followed by a rock.

Now less stiff and sore, Gombei slid off the roof, jumped to his feet, and ran till he reached his hut at the edge of the marsh. The next morning he awoke hungry, well before noon. He went out and set one snare to catch one duck.