An old couple with one daughter lived in a remote valley in a hut that could only be reached by an ancient rope bridge across a fast-flowing river. The couple and their daughter worked hard pulling water from the river and washing their clothes in the cold water. They collected wood in the forest and grew leeks and cabbages and kept chickens. For months on end they saw no-one except themselves and they spoke very little.
The couple had called their daughter Star-girl or Little Star, because she had come into their lives so late, like an evening star. They warned her about straying far from the hut and particularly they told her that she must never cross the rope bridge, or make her way through the forest to the town at the bottom of the valley.
‘Little Star, you must not cross the rope-bridge, for you are so small that a wind might pick you up and blow you away, or an eagle might carry you off to its nest.’ they said.
But the little girl saw the lights of the town shining far down in the valley, and she longed to go there, imagining the combs she could buy for her long black hair, which shone like stones under the water; and the armfuls of peonies she would collect for her mother, and the fine new pipe she would buy for her father.
So when she got a little older, she said to her mother and father, ‘Please let me go over the bridge, because surely now I am big enough that no wind could blow me off, and no eagle carry me away – for the eagles are only the size of the cats that chase the rats in our chicken-pen, and I am not afraid of them.’
But her parents looked away and sighed, and her mother said ‘Little Star, Little Star, you must not cross the bridge, for you are far too clumsy – the rope is as slippery as an eel-skin and you will surely fall; and vines from the forest dangle onto the bridge, and you will surely catch your feet in them. You must not cross.’
But Little Star continued to look down into the valley as she grew older, seeing the lights shining, and thought of the other girls who might be dancing and singing there in the evenings; and of the fresh oranges that she could buy for her mother and the new sharpening stone for her father’s axe. And she begged to be allowed to go.
‘Please let me go over the bridge, dear mother, dear father – for after all, I am nearly a woman now and not a clumsy girl – and I will walk across the bridge when it is dry, and not slippery with rain or ice; and cut the vines from the trees as I go.’
But her father, after listening to her for a long time, seemed greatly moved and upset. And at last he turned to her and said ‘No, my daughter, no Little Star, you cannot go across the bridge. You will understand, once I have told you something that we have concealed from you for many years.
‘Before you were born, Little Star, we had two other daughters. They were called Little Sun and Little Moon. And each one went over the bridge when they were younger than you, and never returned. There is a curse on us and our valley, and we must do everything we can to protect you from it. You must stay here with us where we can look after you, and where we can all live together in peace.’
Little Star could not believe her ears. ‘But I never before heard of my sisters! You always said that I was born late, an only child.’
‘Ah’, sighed her mother, ‘We could not bear to speak of them. One of them was picked up by a fierce wind and dropped into the water, and the other caught her foot on a vine, and plunged down before we had time to save her. But you, our Little Star, have been wise and obedient and listened to your parents – and now you are older, and we hope that you will be spared to us. We could not bear to lose you as well!’
So Little Star tried to give up her dreams of crossing the bridge and going down into the valley, and to think no more about combs, and fresh peony flowers, and oranges and music and dancing. At night, she now slept with her face turned to the wall, so that she neither the lights of the town, or the stars shining in the sky above or reflected in the river.
For a whole year, she lived patiently and sadly in this way, drawing water, washing clothes, tending to the chickens, and listening to the noises of the wind as it sighed in the pines or in the tops of bamboo thickets. And at the end of one year, she thought that her heart would break; and as she lay in her narrow bed as usual, and turned her face to the wall, she wept.
After a long time, when she had almost cried herself to sleep, Little Star thought that she heard a noise outside – a new note to the wind, more haunting than the refrain from the pines, sweeter than the song of the bamboo. She lay and listened, her heart beating faster, and from across the river came a voice, lovelier than a mountain flute.
‘Little Star’, it said, ‘Little Star, come to the window! Come to the window and let me look at you!’
And though her conscience and her fears told her not to move, her heart and her legs were stronger, and Little Star climbed out of her narrow bed and went to the window. And there on the opposite bank of the river, barely distinguishable from the trunks of the ancient pines, stood a young man dressed in sombre grey. He was tall and lithe, and his eyes were gold and silver like a wolf’s eyes, and his smile seemed as sweet to her as the Blessed One’s himself.
And in her heart she knew that she loved him, and that she was lost.
‘You must go away!’ She begged him, fearing for the consequences if she were caught talking to a stranger. ‘For I cannot come across the bridge as my sisters did. It is certain that they are both dead, and certain that they both disobeyed our parents’ wishes – and which is worse?’
But the young man answered in his low, musical voice ‘Do not be afraid, Little Star! I knew both of your sisters and I tried to help them, but they were young, and did not listen to me. But you are a grown woman, neither so small as to be picked up by the wind, nor so clumsy as to lose your footing on a vine; and when you have once skipped across the bridge to me, we will fly down the valley and then up over the distant hills. We will send gifts to your parents from wherever we go, and dance in the moonlight to the sound of the flute, and sing together like crickets in Autumn.’
Little Star was afraid, but she longed to go, and in the morning she once more begged her mother and father to let her cross the rope bridge.
At first they refused, but as the day wore on, it seemed as if she had made up her mind, and they began to lament. ‘Oh Little Star, Little Star, you are leaving us, and we will never see your face again. Our last days will be lived in a mist of tears, our sleeves will be wet from weeping, our backs stiff from carrying wood and water. But if you must go, do not go tonight, when the sun has vanished behind the mountain tops and the stars are rising in the sky and shining in the river. Tomorrow we will help you pack for your journey and see you on your way.’
So Little Star promised she would stay one more night, and as she lay in her bed looking at the lights in the valley below, and the stars shining in the sky and reflected in the river, she heard a voice calling her, sweet and soft as a mountain flute.
‘Little Star, Little Star, come to the window and let me see you!’
Little Star ran to the window, and called to her lover, ‘I am coming! I will come across the bridge tomorrow if you will wait for me. But I am very afraid that I will fall or trip.’
‘You will not fall or trip, if you do exactly as I tell you, Little Star. But you must understand that if you do not obey my instructions in every detail you will indeed be in mortal danger – for there is a powerful curse upon the bridge, and a demon that lives on it who will kill you if you are not obedient, brave and faithful.’
‘Now here is what you must do. You must make sure that when you walk across the bridge you are entirely alone. And as you walk across it you must hold onto nothing except the ropes on either side of you. And finally you must look at nothing except me, where I will be waiting disguised as this pine-tree I am leaning against now. You will know the tree, because when you look for it in the day-time you will see that its branches have the shape of a leaping wolf.’
Little Star was still afraid, but she was comforted by his words, and was more comforted still in the morning when she looked for the pine-tree and saw that its branches curved across the sky in the shape of a leaping wolf; and she also saw that the bridge that day was dry, and the wind was low.
And so she did all her tasks for the last time, drawing water, washing clothes and feeding the chickens, and also stacked enough wood for her parents to make fires for many weeks. And then she packed up what few belongings she had. All the while her parents continued to weep, and as the dusk began to fall, they said to her ‘Little Star, Little Star, you are leaving us. But please do not cross the bridge now, as the sun is falling behind the mountain and the stars are rising in the sky and shining in the river. Wait until tomorrow, when we can prepare special food for you, and wish you a proper farewell.’
But Little Star could wait no longer, and she began to walk down the forest path towards the old rope bridge, keeping her eyes on the wolf-shaped pine, where she imagined as the light grew dimmer that she could see the gold and silver eyes of her lover shining out of the darkness.
And then as she reached the start of the rope-bridge, her mother threw herself at the young woman’s feet and said ‘Little Star, Little Star, I cannot bear it. Please, at least let us come with you half-way across the bridge, to make sure that you are safe, and to help you on your way.’
And Little Star was heart-broken that she was leaving such devoted parents, and thought to herself, ‘Where would the harm be if I were to obey them in this last thing? For although he told me to cross the bridge on my own, he cannot have meant me to push aside my mother.’
And so she set off across the bridge, with her mother before her, and her father behind her. When they had reached a quarter of the way across, her father said to her, ‘Little Star, Little Star, will you not hold onto our hands as we walk, for we would like to be sure that no wind can lift you up, and no vine trip you, although we are bound to part.’
And Little Star thought to herself, ‘Where would the harm be if I were to please them in this one last thing? For although he told me to hold onto nothing but the ropes themselves, he cannot have meant my father’s hand.’
And so she took their hands and they made their way towards the middle of the bridge. And when they reached the half-way point her mother and father said to her, ‘Little Star, Little Star, before you leave, look down with us into the water where your sisters perished, and let us say one final prayer together, although we are bound to part.’
And Little Star said to herself, ‘Where would be the harm if I were to honour them in this one last thing? For although he told me to look at nothing but himself, he cannot have meant my poor sisters.’
So she turned her eyes away from the wolf-shaped pine, and looked down into the water. And too late, she saw the drowned faces of her sisters looking back at her; and too late, she felt herself tripped, not by a vine but by her mother, standing before her on the bridge; and too late, she felt herself lifted up into the air, not by the wind, but by her father’s strong hand. And although she struggled, the last thing she heard before she fell into the water was the song of a wolf, solitary and despairing, as it turned and fled into the forest trees.
Today, the hut is deserted should you choose to visit the place; and the rope bridge is falling into disrepair – though some say that you can still see the couple’s clothes bundled up outside their doorway, and that in the moonlight, it could almost be the old man and woman themselves. They also say that should you wish to walk across the rope-bridge, you must do so alone; and that if, as you make the journey, you feel a wrinkled hand slip into yours, or hear the noise of a mountain flute, you must run, fast as your legs will carry you, out of the dark forest, onto the road, and down into the valley below.