Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Tale of Amakusa Jinnai

“I am Jinnai.”
“As for my surname—well, it seems the world has long called me Amakusa Jinnai.”
“Amakusa Jinnai—have you heard that name before?”
“Ah, but there’s no need to be alarmed.”
“As you know, I am a thief of some repute.”
“However, tonight I have come not for theft.”
“Please rest assured on that count.”

“I hear you are among the most virtuous missionaries in Japan.”
“Considering that, being in the company of someone branded a thief—even briefly—may not be pleasant.”
“But I too—contrary to what you might expect—haven’t spent my days solely on thievery.”
“Some time ago, one of Ruson Sukezaemon’s clerks who was summoned to Jurakudai Palace also called himself Jinnai, if I recall correctly.”
“Moreover, I have heard that the renga poet who presented that water jar—referred to as ‘Akagashira’ and treasured by Rikyū Koji—also went by the real name Jinnai.”
“Come to think of it, wasn’t the name of that interpreter from Ōmura—the one who wrote the book called Amakusa Nikki two or three years back—also Jinnai?”
“Then there was the komusō monk who saved Captain ‘Mardonaado’ during that brawl at Sanjō Riverbed, the merchant peddling Southern Barbarian medicines before Myōkokuji Temple in Sakai... Reveal their true names, and every last one would surely prove to be some Jinnai or another.”
“But more importantly—last year at this São Francisco temple, the golden reliquary stupa enshrining a nail of the Holy Mother Mary that was offered—that too was surely none other than a believer named Jinnai.”

“However, regrettably tonight, I do not have leisure to recount each of those deeds in detail.”
“But please believe this—Amakusa Jinnai differs little from ordinary men.”
“Is that so?”
“Then I shall state my purpose concisely.”
“I have come to request Mass prayers for a man’s soul.”
“No—he shares no blood with me.”
“Nor has my blade ever tasted his blood.”
“His name?”
“As for the name—whether I may reveal it remains unclear even to me.”
“I wish prayers for a man’s afterlife blessings—or rather, for a Japanese called Paul.”
“Is this impermissible?”
“Ah—when Amakusa Jinnai makes such a request, you’d naturally hesitate to comply.”
“Very well—I shall lay bare the circumstances.”
“But first demands a vow of silence—binding in life and death.”
“Will you swear upon that cross at your breast to keep this covenant?”
“No—forgive my discourtesy.”
(Smiling) “For a thief to doubt a Missionary would be presumption indeed.”
“Yet break this vow—” (suddenly grave) “—and though spared Inferno’s flames, earthly punishment shall surely follow.”

It happened over two years ago, on a certain midnight when the winter wind howled.
Disguised as a wandering monk, I prowled through Kyoto's streets.
This prowling through Kyoto's streets had not begun that night.
For about five days already, whenever the first watch had passed, I would stealthily observe houses to avoid detection.
Of course, there was no need to explain my purpose.
Especially since around that time I had intended to make a temporary crossing to Malacca—all the more reason I needed money.

The town had long been stripped of passersby, but beneath a sky glittering with stars alone, the relentless wind roared without respite.
As I descended along Ogawa-dori beneath dark eaves, I turned a corner and discovered a large estate at the bend.
This was the main residence of Hōjōya Yasaburō—a name known even in Kyoto.
Though engaged in the same overseas trade, Hōjōya could never rival houses like Kadokura.
Yet having dispatched ships to Siam and Luzon regardless, he remained undeniably a man of substance.
I hadn’t prowled here seeking this house, but chancing upon it, I resolved to turn profit.
As I’d said before—the deep night and howling wind made perfect conditions for my trade.
I hid my woven sedge hat and staff behind a roadside rainwater barrel, then scaled the high wall in an instant.

“Just hear what the world says.
Amakusa Jinnai uses ninjutsu—so everyone claims.
But unlike common folk, you would not credit such tales as truth.
‘I employ no ninjutsu, nor have I enlisted demons as allies.
During my years in Amakusa, a Portuguese ship’s physician instructed me in natural philosophy.
Apply that learning practically, and twisting open great locks or lifting massive bars becomes no extraordinary feat.’
(With a smile) ‘This unprecedented method of theft—like the cross and muskets brought to these shores—was likewise taught by the West to this uncivilized land called Japan.’”

In less than a moment, I had entered the Hōjōya residence. But when I reached the end of the dark corridor, to my astonishment, even at this late hour, not only was there a light still burning, but voices could be heard coming from a small sitting room. From the look of the surroundings, that could only be a tea room. "A winter wind tea gathering?"—I muttered with a bitter smile as I crept closer. At that moment, though voices could be heard, rather than considering them an interference with my task, I found myself wondering what elegant pastimes the master of this house and his guests might be enjoying within that elaborately designed tea room. —It was to such things that my heart was drawn.

No sooner had I pressed myself against the sliding door than the sound of the boiling kettle reached my ears, just as I had expected. But no sooner had I heard that sound than, unexpectedly, I could also hear someone talking and weeping. Someone—or rather, without even needing to hear it again, I could tell it was a woman. In the tea room of such a prominent family, a woman weeping at midnight was no ordinary matter. Holding my breath, I peered into the tea room through the fortunately open gap in the sliding door.

Illuminated by the andon lamp's glow—a hanging scroll of what appeared to be antique paper in the alcove, frost-touched chrysanthemums in the suspended flower vase.—Within the tea room enclosure, as might be expected, an air of desolate refinement pervaded.
Before that alcove—directly facing me—sat an old man who must have been the master, Yasaburō. Clad in a haori jacket bearing intricate arabesque patterns, he sat motionless with arms crossed, appearing to any casual observer as though he were listening to the kettle's simmering sounds.
In the inferior seating position relative to Yasaburō sat an elderly woman with an elegant chignon adorned with a hairpin, her profile exposed as she intermittently dabbed at her tears.

"No matter how free from want they may seem, troubles still find them."—As I thought this, a smile naturally rose to my lips. Let me clarify—this smile held no malice toward the Hōjōya couple. For one such as myself, who has borne nothing but ill repute these forty years, the misfortunes of others—particularly those who appear fortunate—naturally coax smiles to the surface. (With cruel amusement) At that moment too, I found their distress as entertaining as kabuki theater. (With ironic detachment) Yet this tendency is hardly mine alone. When it comes to tales beloved by all, they seem inevitably tinged with sorrow.

After a while, Hōjōya Yasaburō spoke as if sighing.

“Now that things have come to this pass, weeping or wailing won’t undo it.”
“I have resolved to dismiss the shop employees by tomorrow.”

At that moment another fierce wind violently shook the tea room. The voices must have been drowned out by it. I could not make out what Hōjōya Yasaburō’s wife said. But the master, while nodding, clasped his hands together on his knees and raised his eyes to the woven bamboo ceiling. Thick eyebrows, sharp cheekbones, especially the long corners of his eyes—the more I looked at this face, the more certain I became that I had seen it somewhere before.

“O Lord, Jesus Christ.”
“Please bestow Your divine power upon our hearts, O Lord…”

Yasaburō closed his eyes and began to murmur words of prayer.
The old woman too seemed to be entreating divine protection like her husband.
All through this, I never blinked as I kept watching Yasaburō’s face.
Then when the winter wind howled again, what flashed through my mind was a memory from twenty years past.
Within that memory, I clearly grasped Yasaburō’s form.

As for that twenty-year-old memory—no, there’s no need to recount it.
To state only the essential facts: when I had journeyed to Amakusa long ago, a Japanese ship captain saved my endangered life.
Though we parted then without exchanging names, this Yasaburō before me now was unmistakably that same ship captain of yore.
Marveling at this strange twist of fate, I kept observing the old man’s face.
Now that I looked closely, his broad shoulders and thick-knuckled hands still seemed imbued with the salt spray of coral reefs and the fragrance of sandalwood peaks.

Yasaburō, having finished his long prayer, quietly said to the old woman:

"As for what follows, we must accept everything as the Lord's will."
"Now then—since the kettle's boiling—shall we have some tea made?"

But the old woman answered in a voice so faint it might vanish, as if only now struggling to hold back rising tears:

"Yes... Yet what still torments me—"

"There now—that's what we call idle grumbling."
"The sinking of the Hōjōmaru, all those failed speculations—"

“No—it’s not about those matters.” The old woman replied in a barely audible voice. “It’s just… I can’t help thinking if only our boy Yasaburō were still with us…”

As I listened to this exchange unfolding before me—this domestic tragedy playing out behind paper screens—an involuntary smile once more rose unbidden to my lips.
Yet let me make this clear: my amusement stemmed not from schadenfreude at Hōjōya’s downfall.
Rather—
“The hour has come,” I thought with fierce exultation coursing through my veins like saké warmed over winter coals,
“to discharge my ancient debt.”
Ah! What sublime irony—that I might simultaneously repay both myself and that notorious fugitive Amakusa Jinnai! No—nay! This particular flavor of satisfaction remains mine alone among living men.
(With lips twisted wryly) How pitiful your virtuous souls appear from where I stand!
For you who never soil your hands with wickedness can scarcely imagine—nay! Are constitutionally incapable of comprehending!—the exquisite rapture that floods one’s being when performing good deeds through evil means.

“What—if anything, it’s almost a blessing that such a good-for-nothing isn’t around…”

Yasaburō turned his gaze toward the andon with a bitter expression.

“If that wretch hadn’t squandered the money, we might have weathered this crisis too.”
“When I think of that… disowning him was…”

Having said this, Hōjōya Yasaburō gazed at me in surprise.
It was no wonder he was startled.
At that moment, without uttering a word, I slid open the Sakai door.
Moreover—as for my appearance—having disguised myself as a wandering monk and, instead of removing my woven sedge hat, donned a foreign hood—it was only natural.

“Who are you?”

Hōjōya Yasaburō, though advanced in years, reflexively rose to his knees.

“Oh, there’s no need for alarm.”
“I am Amakusa Jinnai.”
“Now then, please do be quiet.”
“Amakusa Jinnai is a thief, but there is another reason for my sudden visit tonight.—”

While removing my hood, I sat down before Yasaburō.

Even if I do not speak of what happened next, you can probably infer it. I made a promise to save Hōjōya from peril by procuring six thousand kan of gold within three days without fail.—Oh, isn’t that the sound of footsteps outside the door? “Well then, I must take my leave tonight.” “I shall sneak back here again sometime tomorrow night or the night after.” “The starlight of that great cross may shine in the skies of Amakusa, but it cannot be seen in the skies of Japan.” “I too must hide my presence in Japan in such a manner, or else I would bring disgrace upon the soul of Paul who came tonight to seek ‘misericordia’.”

“What, my escape route?”
“There’s no need to worry about that.”
“Whether through this high skylight or that large fireplace, I can come and go as I please.”
“Therefore, I earnestly implore you—for the sake of your benefactor Paul’s soul—to refrain from any disclosure.”

The Account of Hōjōya Yasaburō

“Reverend Father.”
“Please hear my confession.”
“You may already be aware of this, but there exists a thief of considerable notoriety these days known as Amakusa Jinnai.”
“That he resided in Negoroji Temple’s pagoda, stole the tachi of the Bloodthirsty Regent, and even attacked the Governor of Luzon across distant seas—all these deeds were his doing, or so I have heard.”
“That he was finally captured and has now become an exposed head by Ichijō Modoribashi Bridge—this too may have reached your ears.”
“I am profoundly indebted to that Amakusa Jinnai.”
“But precisely because I received such great kindness, I have now encountered a sadness beyond words.”
“I beseech you to hear these details and pray that even this sinner, Hōjōya Yasaburō, may receive the divine mercy of the Heavenly Emperor.”

“It was winter, about two years ago now.
Due to unrelenting storms, our ship the *Hōjōmaru* sank, all our foreign loans collapsed—and with these compounded misfortunes, the Hōjōya family had no choice but to dissolve.
As you well know, while merchants may have business associates, they have no such thing as friends.
In such circumstances, our family business—like a great ship sucked into a whirlpool—could only plunge headlong into the depths of hell.”
Then one night—even now, I have not forgotten that night.
“It was a night of fierce winter wind, but my wife and I were talking in the well-known enclosure, unaware of the late hour.”
The one who suddenly entered there was none other than Amakusa Jinnai, disguised as a wandering monk and wearing a foreign hood.
Of course I was both surprised and angered.
“But upon hearing Jinnai’s account, it appears that man had indeed sneaked into my residence to commit theft. However, in the tea room, not only was there still the light of a fire, but voices could be heard. Peering through the sliding doors, he then realized that this Hōjōya Yasaburō was none other than the benefactor who had saved Jinnai’s life twenty years prior—is this not how it came to pass?”

“Now that you mention it, it must have been about twenty years ago—back when I was still captaining the fusta ship that sailed to Amakusa.”
“When I was working as the ship’s captain, while docking there, I once saved a Japanese man who didn’t even have a proper beard.”
“According to what he told me at the time, it seems he had gotten into a drunken brawl and killed a Chinese man, which led to the authorities pursuing him.”
“Considering this, that man must have become the notorious thief known as Amakusa Jinnai today.”
“In any case, having determined that Jinnai’s words were not lies, I took advantage of my household being asleep and first inquired about the nature of his business.”

Then Jinnai stated that if it lay within his power, he wished to repay the debt from twenty years prior by rescuing Hōjōya from its crisis, and asked about the exact amount of gold immediately required.
I could not help but give a wry smile.
“To have a thief procure money—that was not merely laughable.”
“Even were it Amakusa Jinnai himself, had he possessed such funds, he would not have troubled to break into my residence.”
However, when I stated the sum, Jinnai tilted his head slightly and casually agreed that while procuring it tonight would prove difficult, he would secure the funds within three days.
“But after all, six thousand kan was no small amount—whether he could truly procure it remained far from certain.”
“In truth, by my reckoning, I had resolved to expect uncertainty rather than pinning hopes on fortune’s dice.”

That night, Jinnai had my wife leisurely prepare tea before departing into the winter wind.
Yet when the next day came, the promised gold still did not arrive.
The second day proved no different.
On the third day—a day that brought snow—no word came even after nightfall.
I had earlier declared I placed no faith in Jinnai’s promise.
But that I had neither dismissed my clerks nor altered our course suggested some lingering anticipation must have remained.
Indeed, on that third night, as I sat facing the enclosure’s lantern, every crack of snow-laden branches made me strain to listen.

But when the third watch had passed, suddenly in the garden outside the tea room—could I hear a sound like people grappling? What flashed through my mind was Jinnai’s plight. Had constables apprehended him? No sooner had this thought struck me than I slid open the garden-facing shoji and raised my lantern’s light. Before the snow-burdened tea room, near where Chinese timber bamboo sagged earthward, two figures wrestled—when one suddenly shoved his opponent aside and vanished through shadowed trees toward the wall. The rustle of scattered snow, the scrape against plaster—then silence reigned; he must have escaped beyond safely. Yet his thwarted adversary merely brushed snow from his robes and stepped calmly toward me.

“It’s me. Amakusa Jinnai.”

I stood dumbfounded, watching Jinnai’s figure.
Jinnai was again tonight wearing a foreign hood and monk’s robes.

“Well, I’ve caused quite a commotion.”
“It would be fortunate if no one wakes to the sound of that struggle.”

Jinnai let out a brief wry smile as he entered the enclosure.

“Well, as I was sneaking in, there happened to be someone trying to crawl under this floor.”
“So I tried to catch him and get a look at his face, but he ended up escaping.”

As I was still worried about the authorities from earlier, I asked if it wasn’t an official.
But Jinnai stated that he was not an official—rather, a thief.
“A thief attempting to catch another thief—I doubt there exists anything quite so rare as this.”
This time, a wry smile naturally appeared on my face rather than Jinnai’s.
However, be that as it may, until I heard whether the procurement had succeeded, my heart would find no peace.
Then Jinnai, perhaps having read my mind before I could speak, calmly untied his bellyband and lined up the bundles of gold before the hearth.

“Rest assured, the six thousand kan has been procured.”
“To tell the truth, I had mostly gathered it by yesterday, but since there remained a shortage of about two hundred kan, I brought that tonight.”
“Please accept this bundle.”
“Moreover, the gold I collected by yesterday was already hidden beneath this tea room’s floor without you or your wife knowing.”
“Most likely, that thief tonight also caught wind of the gold and came here.”

I listened to those words as if in a dream.
To receive money from a thief—that could hardly be called virtuous, even without seeking your judgment.
Yet when suspended between doubt and hope regarding its procurement, I gave no thought to morality; nor can I now claim I should have refused outright.
Moreover, had I rejected that gold, not only myself but all my household would have been cast into destitution.
I implore you to show mercy toward this conflicted heart.
There I knelt before Jinnai, palms pressed to the floor in reverence, weeping soundlessly.…

After that, for two years, I heard no rumors of Jinnai.
Yet that we ultimately lived safely through those days without our household scattering was entirely due to Jinnai’s benevolence, and so I always prayed fervently in secret to Holy Mary for that man’s happiness.
But what do you suppose happened? Lately, when I heard the talk in the streets, did they not say that Amakusa Jinnai had been apprehended by the authorities and now had his head exposed at Modoribashi Bridge?
I was utterly astonished.
I secretly shed tears.
Yet if this was retribution for accumulated evil, there could be no recourse.
No—rather, it was almost strange that I had escaped divine punishment all those years.
But as a small repayment of kindness, I wished to secretly perform memorial services for him.—Because I thought this, today I went alone without companions to Ichijō Modoribashi Bridge at once to see that exposed head.

When I arrived at Modoribashi Bridge, already before that exposed head, a large crowd had gathered. The white wooden placard detailing the crimes, the lower-ranking official guarding the head—it was no different from usual. However, the head placed atop three bundled green bamboo poles—ah, that gruesome, blood-soaked head—what could have happened? No sooner had I seen the pale head amidst the clamorous crowd than I found myself rooted to the spot, unable to move. This head was not that man. This was not the head of Amakusa Jinnai. These thick eyebrows, these protruding cheeks, this sword wound between the eyebrows—not a single one resembled Jinnai. But—suddenly, I was struck by such violent shock that the sunlight, the crowd around me, even the exposed head upon the bamboo—all seemed to flow away into some distant world. This head was not Jinnai. This was my head. Myself from twenty years ago—the me of that time when I saved Jinnai’s life—it was. “Yasaburō!”—Had my tongue been able to move, I might have cried out thus. But far from raising my voice, my body was trembling as if stricken with malaria.

Yasaburō!

I gazed at my son’s exposed head as if in a trance.
The head remained slightly tilted back, staring fixedly at me from beneath half-open eyes.
What could be the reason for this?
Could my son have been mistaken for Jinnai through some error?
Yet if proper judicial examination had been conducted, such a mistake could not have occurred.
Or could Amakusa Jinnai himself have been my son?
Was the fake komusō who came to my residence another person borrowing Jinnai’s name?
No—that could not be.
Who in all of Japan besides Jinnai could have procured six thousand kan of gold without missing the three-day deadline by even a single day?
As I considered this—within my heart there suddenly came into clear view the figure of an unknown man who had struggled with Jinnai in the garden on that snowy night two years prior.
Who could that man have been?
Could this possibly be my son?
Now that I thought of it, that man’s appearance—even glimpsed briefly—did seem to resemble my son Yasaburō.
Yet might this be merely my own delusion?
If it were my son—I gazed at the sodden head as if waking from a dream.
Then upon those purplish, strangely slack lips lingered something resembling a faint smile.

The exposed head has a smile remaining—when you hear such a thing, you might laugh scornfully. Even when I noticed it myself, I wondered if it was my eyes' fault. However, no matter how many times I looked again, upon those parched lips, something resembling a smile was indeed lingering. I gazed for a long time at this mysterious smile. And then, before I knew it, a smile had also come to my face. However, as a smile appeared, hot tears naturally began to well up in my eyes.

“Father, please forgive me.—”

In its silence, that smile was conveying this message.

“Father.
“Please forgive my crime of unfiliality.”
Two years prior on a snowy night, I quietly stole into the house solely to apologize for my disownment.
Because even being seen by the shop’s people during the day was shameful to me, I deliberately waited until late at night—even if I had to knock on Father’s bedroom door—with every intention of meeting you.
However, noticing the firelight casting shadows on the surrounding shoji screens, I timidly began to approach—when suddenly someone grabbed me from behind without a word.

“Father.
What happened after that—you know the rest.
Because I was too taken by surprise, no sooner had I seen your figure than I pushed away the suspicious man and fled beyond the high fence.
However, because the figure I saw in the snowlight strangely resembled a monk, after confirming that no one was pursuing me, I boldly stole back to the outside of that tea room.
I eavesdropped on the entire conversation through the surrounding shoji screens.”

“Father.
“The Jinnai who saved Hōjōya is our family’s benefactor.
“I resolved that if Jinnai were ever in peril, I would repay his kindness even at the cost of my life.
“Moreover, only a disowned vagrant like myself could repay this debt.
“For these two years, I have waited for such an opportunity.
“And then—that opportunity came.
“Please forgive my crime of unfiliality.
“I was born a villain, but I have repaid my family’s great debt.
“That is some small solace.…”

On my way back home, even as I alternated between crying and laughing, I praised my son’s gallantry.
"You may not know this, but my son Yasaburō, like myself, had converted to your holy faith—he had even received the name ‘Paul’."
But—ah, but my son was an unfortunate soul.
No—it was not only my son.
Had that Amakusa Jinnai not saved my house from ruin, I would not be lamenting thus.
However much I might cling, this alone must be severed.
Was it better to keep the family whole? Or better to leave my son alive?—(suddenly anguished) Please save me.
If I go on living like this, I may grow to hate Jinnai himself—my great benefactor.

………(Prolonged weeping)

“The Story of ‘Paul’ Yasaburō”

“Ah, Holy Mother Mary! Once dawn breaks, I am to be beheaded.”

Even if my head falls to the ground, my soul will fly to your side like a bird.
No—I, who have done nothing but evil deeds, may plunge headlong into the terrible flames of “Inferno” (Hell) instead of beholding the splendor of “Paradiso” (Heaven).
However, I am satisfied.

In my heart, for twenty years, there had never dwelled a feeling as joyous as this.

I am Hōjōya Yasaburō. Yet my exposed head shall be named Amakusa Jinnai. That I should become Amakusa Jinnai—could any joy surpass this? Amakusa Jinnai—what say you? Is it not a magnificent name? Merely speaking it aloud fills even this dark cell with heavenly roses and lilies blooming in my heart.

It was an unforgettable winter night two years prior, during a heavy snowfall.
I had sneaked into my father’s main residence seeking gambling funds.
But seeing firelight still casting shadows on the surrounding shoji screens, when I tried to stealthily peer through them, someone suddenly seized my collar without uttering a word.
I shook them off only to be grabbed again—though I didn’t know my assailant’s identity, their formidable strength surpassed that of any ordinary person.
Moreover, after two or three such struggles, the tea room’s shoji screen slid open to reveal none other than my father Yasaburō thrusting a lantern into the garden.
Desperately wrenching free from the grip on my collar, I fled beyond the high fence.

However, when I had fled about half a block, I hid under the eaves of a building and looked around the street in both directions. In the street, even in the darkness of night made pale by occasional swirls of snow, there was nothing moving anywhere in sight. It seemed my pursuer had given up; he was no longer coming after me. But what could that man be? In the glimpse I caught in that instant, he was indeed dressed as a monk. But considering his formidable strength—and particularly his mastery of martial arts—he could not be an ordinary monk. First of all, wasn't it strange that a monk would come to the garden on such a heavily snowy night? After pondering for a while, I resolved to steal back to the outside of that tea room once more, even if it was a dangerous feat.

It was about an hour later.
That suspicious itinerant monk, taking advantage of the snow having just stopped, went down Ogawa-dōri.
This was Amakusa Jinnai.
Samurai, renga master, townsman, komusō monk—a thief renowned throughout the capital who could transform into any guise.
I followed Jinnai’s trail from a distance, keeping out of sight.
There was no doubt I had never felt such a strangely joyous feeling as I did at that time.
Amakusa Jinnai!
Amakusa Jinnai!
How often had I longed for that man’s figure even in my dreams.
It was Jinnai who had stolen Shōshō Kampaku’s tachi.
The one who had forged Sashitsuya’s coral tree was also Jinnai.
The aloeswood of the Bizen Minister had been cut by him; the clock of Captain Pereira had been stolen by him; five storehouses had been broken into in a single night by him; eight Mikawa samurai had been cut down by him—and all other rare evil deeds that would be recounted for generations to come had always been committed by Amakusa Jinnai.
That Jinnai now walked before me along the dimly lit snow-covered path, tilting his woven sedge hat—was being able to behold such a figure not happiness enough?
But I wanted to become even happier beyond this.

When I reached the back of Jōgonji, I dashed to catch up with Jinnai.
This stretch of earthen walls without townhouses made it ideal for avoiding eyes even at noon, yet when Jinnai saw me, he showed no particular surprise and quietly stopped there.
Leaning on his staff as if awaiting my words, he remained utterly silent.
I actually prostrated myself timidly before Jinnai.
But seeing his composed face, I couldn't produce even the voice I'd intended.

“Please forgive my rudeness.
“I am Yasaburō, son of Hōjōya Yasaburō.—”

With my face burning, I finally managed to speak these words.

“To tell the truth, I have a small request and have come following your trail, but…”

Jinnai simply nodded.
Even that alone made someone as timid as me feel immeasurably grateful!
As courage had welled up within me too, still kneeling in the snow, I briefly recounted these matters—that I’d been disowned by my father, that I now belonged to a band of drifters, that tonight when breaking into my father’s house I’d unexpectedly encountered Jinnai, and that I’d overheard every last word of the secret talk between my father and Jinnai.
But Jinnai remained unchanged, silently keeping his mouth shut while coldly watching me.
After finishing that account, I edged my knees even closer and peered into Jinnai’s face.

“The debt borne by the Hōjō family falls upon me as well.”
“As proof I’ll never forget this debt, I’ve resolved to become your underling.”
“Please make use of me.”
“I know how to steal.”
“I know the ways of arson too.”
“And as for every manner of wickedness—I know them as well as any man.”

But Jinnai remained silent.
With my heart racing, I pressed my plea with growing fervor.

"Please use me."
"I'll work hard."
"Kyoto, Fushimi, Sakai, Osaka—there's no town I don't know."
"I can walk fifteen ri in a day."
"I can lift a four-to rice bale single-handed."
"I've killed two or three men before."
"Please use me."
"For you, I'll do any job you ask."
"Tell me to steal Fushimi Castle's white peacock—I'll steal it."
"Order me to burn São Francisco temple's bell tower—I'll burn it down."
"Command me to kidnap the Minister of the Right's daughter—I'll abduct her."
"Say the word to take the magistrate's head—"

When I began to say this, I was suddenly kicked down into the snow.

"Fool!"

Jinnai, having barked a single rebuke, seemed about to resume walking as before.
I clung to the hem of his robe almost like a madman.

“Please make use of me.”
“I will never leave you under any circumstances.”
“For your sake, I would go through fire and water.”
“Even the Lion King from Aesop’s tale was saved by a mouse, was he not?”
“I will become that mouse.”
“I will—”

“Shut up.”
“Jinnai doesn’t accept favors from the likes of you.”

Jinnai shook me off and once more kicked me down there.

"You white leper! Go play the filial son!"

When I was kicked down for the second time, a sudden frustration welled up within me.

“Very well! This shall bind you in gratitude!”

However, Jinnai did not look back and hurried along the snowy path.
As the moonlight that had begun to filter through faintly illuminated his woven bamboo hat... From that moment on, I did not see Jinnai again for two full years.
(Suddenly laughing) “Jinnai doesn’t accept favors from the likes of you.”… That man said this.
However, as soon as night broke, I would be killed in Jinnai’s place.

Ah, O Holy Mother Mary!
For these two years, in my desire to repay Jinnai’s kindness, I cannot tell how much I suffered.
Out of a desire to repay kindness?—No, rather than kindness, out of a desire to repay resentment.
But where is Jinnai?
What is Jinnai doing?
——Who would know that?
First, what manner of man is Jinnai?
——There is no one who even knows that.

The fake komusō I encountered was a small man around forty.
But they say the one in Yoshiwara’s pleasure quarter was a ronin not yet thirty—a blushing-faced man with a beard—is that not so?
If we take them all as Jinnai—the red-haired foreigner with a bent back who disrupted kabuki theaters, the young samurai with hanging forelocks who plundered Myōkokuji Temple’s treasures—then discerning that man’s true form would lie utterly beyond human capability.
Then at last year’s end, I fell ill with consumption.

I wanted to repay that resentment—day by day, as I grew more emaciated, that was all I could think of.
Then one night, a sudden stratagem flashed into my mind.

“Holy Mary!”
“Holy Mary!”

That this stratagem was revealed to me must surely be your divine grace.
All I need do is resolve to discard this body—this body wasted away by tuberculosis, reduced to skin and bones—and my true desire shall be fulfilled.
That night, overwhelmed with joy, I kept laughing alone and repeating the same words over and over.
I will have my head cut off as Jinnai’s substitute.
"I will have my head cut off as Jinnai’s substitute.………"

To have my head cut off as Jinnai’s substitute—is this not a splendid thing? If that happens, of course both my crimes and Jinnai’s will vanish—then Jinnai can stride proudly anywhere across the breadth of Japan. In exchange (laughs again)—in exchange, I can become a peerless great thief in a single night. Having been Ruson Sukezaemon’s clerk, having cut the Bizen Minister’s aloeswood, having become friends with Master Rikyū, having forged Sashitsuya’s coral tree, having broken into Fushimi Castle’s treasury, having cut down eight Mikawa samurai—every last one of Jinnai’s honors shall be stolen by me. (Laughs a third time) In other words, while saving Jinnai, I simultaneously destroy his name; while repaying my family’s debt, I also repay my own resentment—there is no retribution more delightful than this. That I continued laughing that night, overwhelmed with joy, was only natural. Even now—even in this prison cell—how can I keep from laughing?

After conceiving this plan, I broke into the Imperial Palace to steal.
Because it was still early in the evening twilight, I seem to remember seeing things like flickers of firelight through the blinds and faint glimpses of flowers among the pines—such sights.
But when I jumped down from the long corridor’s roof into the deserted garden, I was immediately captured by four or five guards—exactly as I had hoped.
At that moment.
The bearded samurai who pinned me down, while desperately binding me with rope, muttered, ‘This time I’ve captured Jinnai with my own hands!’—didn’t he?
That’s right.
Who other than Amakusa Jinnai would dare sneak into the Imperial Palace?
When I heard these words, even while struggling desperately, I involuntarily let slip a smile.

“Jinnai doesn’t accept favors from a wretch like you.” That man declared.
Yet come dawn, I would be slain in Jinnai’s stead.
What deliciously pointed irony!
There I would wait with my head displayed, anticipating that man’s arrival.
Jinnai would surely sense silent laughter radiating from my severed neck.
“Behold Yasaburō’s repayment!”—thus that voiceless mirth would proclaim.
“You cease to be Jinnai.
Amakusa Jinnai resides in this skull! The very thief celebrated across Japan as peerless!”
(Laughing) Ah, how it exhilarates me.
Never in my life have I known such rapture.
Yet should Father Yasaburō behold my gibbeted head—(anguished) grant me pardon.
Father!
Even without execution’s blade, this consumptive frame held less than three years’ breath.
Forgive my unfilial heart; though born to wickedness, at least our household’s debt stands repaid……

(March 1922)