Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

It was the afternoon of May 14, Meiji 1 (1868).
“The government forces will attack the Shōgitai militia at Tōeizan as soon as day breaks tomorrow. All residents in the Ueno district must evacuate immediately.” —Such was the notice issued that afternoon.
In the evacuated premises of Furukawa Masabee’s haberdashery in Shitaya-cho 2-chome, a large male calico cat sat quietly in an incense-box pose before some abalone shells in a corner of the kitchen.

Of course, even in the afternoon, the house with its doors shut tight was pitch-dark.
Not a single human sound could be heard.
The only sound that reached the ears was the ceaseless drumming of rain that had been falling for days.
The rain would sometimes suddenly pour down onto the unseen roof above, only to eventually recede into midair.
Whenever the sound grew louder, the calico cat widened its amber eyes into perfect circles.
Even in the kitchen where not even the stove was discernible, only at this moment could an eerie phosphorescent glow be seen.
But upon realizing that nothing had changed except the sudden downpour, the cat once again narrowed its eyes to slits without moving a muscle.

As this sequence repeated several times, the calico cat finally fell asleep—or perhaps simply ceased even opening its eyes.
However, the rain still alternated between intensifying and calming.
Eight o’clock, eight-thirty—time gradually shifted toward dusk amidst the sound of rain.

Then, when seven o'clock approached, the calico cat suddenly opened its eyes wide as if startled.
At the same time, it pricked up its ears.
However, the rain had become far lighter than before.
The voices of palanquin bearers racing past along the street—apart from that, nothing else could be heard.
Yet after a few seconds of silence, the pitch-dark kitchen had unnoticedly begun to brighten dimly.
The stove blocking the narrow wooden floor, the glint of water in the lidless jar, the Kōjin pine, the cord of the sliding window—such things too gradually came into view.
The calico cat, growing visibly more anxious, stared fixedly at the open water inlet as it slowly heaved its large body upright.

The one who opened this water inlet at this moment—no, not merely opened it but had even fully slid open the waist-high sliding door—was a beggar drenched like a drowned rat.
He stretched only his neck—still wrapped in an old hand towel—forward and for a while listened intently to the quiet atmosphere of the house.
However, having confirmed the absence of human presence, he—still showing the vivid wetness of his new straw raincoat—quietly ascended into the kitchen.
The calico cat flattened its ears and retreated a few steps.
However, the beggar showed no surprise. Closing the sliding door behind him with his back to it, he then slowly removed the hand towel from his face.
His face was buried in a beard, with plasters stuck in two or three places.
However, even covered in grime, his features were rather ordinary.

“Mikeneko.”
“Mikeneko.”

The beggar wrung water from his hair and wiped droplets from his face while calling the cat’s name in a low voice.
Perhaps recognizing the voice, the calico cat returned its flattened ears to normal.
However, it still stood there, from time to time casting suspicious glances at him.
In the meantime, the beggar, having removed his straw raincoat, sat down cross-legged before the cat, his mud-caked legs obscuring even the color of his shins.

“Mr. Mikeneko.”
“What’s wrong? Seeing as there’s no one here, you’ve been left behind, huh.”

The beggar laughed alone while stroking the cat’s head with his large hand.
The calico cat recoiled slightly.
However, it did not leap away further; instead, remaining seated there, it gradually began to narrow its eyes.
When the beggar stopped petting the cat, he next took out an oily pistol from the breast of his old cotton kimono.
And then, in the dim, uncertain light, he examined the condition of the trigger.
A beggar tinkering with a pistol in the deserted kitchen of a house permeated with the air of “battle”—it was indeed a scene straight out of a novel, an extraordinary spectacle.
However, the calico cat—its eyes narrowed and back still arched—sat coldly as though privy to all secrets.

“Tomorrow, Mr. Mikeneko, bullets’ll come raining down on this neighborhood like a downpour.”
“Get hit by one of those and you’re done for. No matter what ruckus breaks out tomorrow, stay hidden under the floorboards all day long.…”

While examining the pistol, the beggar occasionally spoke to the cat.

“You and I have been acquainted a long time.”
“But today’s our farewell.”
“Tomorrow will be a day of great calamity for you too.”
“I might die tomorrow too.”
“Even if I survive this time, I don’t intend to scavenge through garbage dumps with you ever again.”
“If I do that, you’ll be overjoyed.”

Before long, the rain began to fall noisily once more.
The clouds must have pressed so close to the roof that they obscured the ridge tiles.
The faint light that lingered in the kitchen grew even dimmer than before.
But the beggar, without raising his face, meticulously loaded ammunition into the pistol he had finally finished inspecting.

“Or do you feel even a hint of reluctance to part ways?”
“Ah, but they say cats forget a kindness after three years—so I suppose you’re no exception.”
“But, well—none of that matters.”
“But if I’m not here either, then――”

The beggar suddenly clamped his mouth shut.
The moment he did, there was a sense that someone had approached the water inlet from outside.
For the beggar, putting away the pistol and turning around happened simultaneously.
No—in fact, the sudden opening of the water inlet’s shutter occurred at the same instant.
Bracing himself reflexively, the beggar met the intruder’s gaze head-on.

No sooner had someone slid open the shoji and caught sight of the beggar than they themselves seemed taken by surprise, letting out a faint cry of “Ah.” It was a young woman, barefoot and holding a large black umbrella. She almost impulsively tried to dart back into the rain from which she had come. But once she recovered her courage from the initial shock, she peered intently at the beggar’s face through the faint kitchen light.

The beggar, perhaps taken aback, remained with one knee raised in his old cotton kimono, staring fixedly at her. No longer did his eyes show the wary vigilance they had moments before. The two of them remained in silent stillness for a brief moment, their eyes locked in mutual gaze.

“Well, aren’t you Shinkō?”

Having regained some composure, she addressed the beggar in this manner.
The beggar grinned slyly and bowed his head to her a few times.

“My apologies. The rain was coming down so hard, I ended up slipping into your empty house—not that I’ve taken up burgling empty houses as a new vocation or anything.”

“You scared me, really—even if you say you’re not a burglar, there’s a limit to how brazen you can be!”

She flicked the droplets from her umbrella and added irritably.

“Come on, get out here! I need to get into the house.”

“Oh, I’ll leave. I’ll leave even without you telling me. Haven’t you evacuated yet, Miss?”

“I did evacuate. I did evacuate, but—what does that matter?”

“So you’ve come back for something forgotten, have you? —Well, do come over here.”
“You’ll get rained on there.”

Still visibly irritated, she gave no reply to the beggar’s words and sat down on the wooden floor by the water inlet. Then stretching her mud-caked feet toward the sink, she began noisily splashing water about. The beggar sat cross-legged with unruffled composure, stroking his bristly chin while staring fixedly at her form. She was a petite woman with sun-darkened skin and freckles dusting her nose—the very image of a country girl. Her clothing consisted solely of a servant’s plain handwoven cotton kimono and an ogura obi. Yet her vibrant features and sturdy frame held a beauty reminiscent of freshly picked peaches or pears.

“So you came back in the middle of all this commotion—you must’ve forgotten something important.”
“What’s that forgotten thing?”
“Huh? Miss.”
“――Miss O-Tomi.”

Shinkō continued his questioning once more.

“What does it matter? Rather than that, just hurry up and get out of here.”

O-Tomi’s reply was brusque.
But then, as if suddenly remembering something, she looked up at Shinkō’s face and earnestly began to ask:
“Shinkō, don’t you know the calico cat from the house?”

“The calico?”
“The calico was just here—oh, where has it gone off to?”

The beggar looked around.
Then, before anyone knew it, the calico cat had neatly curled up into an incense-box pose amidst the mortar and iron pots on the shelf.
That figure must have been spotted by both Shinkō and O-Tomi simultaneously.
No sooner had she thrown down the ladle than she stood up on the wooden floor, as though Shinkō’s presence had slipped her mind entirely.
And then, smiling brightly, she made as if to call the calico cat on the shelf.

Shinkō shifted his gaze from the calico cat on the dimly lit shelf to O-Tomi with a look of wonder.
“The cat, Miss? You’re saying that’s the forgotten thing?”
“What’s wrong with it being a cat? — Mikeneko, Mikeneko, come on down here.”

Shinkō suddenly burst into laughter.
That laughter sent an eerie echo reverberating through the relentless rain.
Then, her cheeks flushing crimson with renewed anger, O-Tomi rounded on Shinkō with a shout.

“What’s so funny?
The mistress forgot Mikeneko and’s gone half-mad over it, hasn’t she?
What if they kill Mikeneko? Isn’t she weeping herself sick about that?
I came back through this downpour out of pity for her—does that amuse you?”
——”

“Alright, alright. I won’t laugh anymore.”

Shinkō continued laughing while cutting off O-Tomi’s words.

“I won’t laugh anymore, but…
“Well, just think about it.
“When they say the ‘battle’ could start any day now, fussing over just a cat or two—no matter how you look at it, this is absurd.”
“Though I say this to your face, there’s no stingy wretch as unreasonable as the mistress of this house.”
“First of all, to search for that Mr. Mikeneko,……”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear your slander about the mistress!”

O-Tomi nearly stamped her feet in frustration.
But the beggar remained unshaken by her outburst.
Not only that—he stared brazenly at her form with growing intensity.
Indeed, her figure at that moment embodied a primal beauty.
The rain-drenched kimono and underrobe clung relentlessly to her skin wherever one looked, revealing every curve of her body.
Moreover, her youthful physique unmistakably declared her virginity at first glance.
Keeping his eyes locked on her, Shinkō persisted in speaking with laughter still coloring his voice.

“First off, sending you to look for that Mr. Mikeneko—I get it alright.”
“Right? Ain’t that so?”
“There ain’t a single house left in Ueno that hasn’t cleared out now.”
“Even with shops lined up, it’s no different from an empty field.”
“Might not be wolves prowlin’, but you could run into trouble—didn’t she say that first thing?”

“Quit fussin’ over nonsense and just grab the cat already.—What danger could there be even if this ‘battle’ starts?”

“Don’t joke around.”
“If a young woman walking alone isn’t considered dangerous at a time like this, then nothing could ever be called dangerous.”
“To put it bluntly, there’s nobody here but you and me.”
“If I were to get any strange ideas, Miss—what would you do then?”

Shinkō’s tone grew increasingly ambiguous—whether joking or earnest became impossible to discern.
Yet O-Tomi’s clear eyes showed not a trace of fear.

Only her cheeks now bore a deeper flush than before.
"What’s this, Shinkō—are you trying to scare me?"

O-Tomi stepped closer to Shinkō as if startling herself.

“Scare you?”
“If it’s just scaring you, isn’t that fine enough?”
“Even with gold braid on your shoulders, this world’s full of ill-natured bastards.”
“Besides—I’m a beggar.”
“Might not stop at just scaring.”
“If I really got strange ideas……”

Before Shinkō could finish speaking, his head was struck hard.
O-Tomi had already raised the large black umbrella before him.

“Don’t you dare speak so insolently.”

O-Tomi once again brought the umbrella down on Shinkō’s head with all her strength.
Shinkō reflexively tried to dodge.
But the umbrella came down squarely on his shoulder in that instant.
Startled by the commotion, the cat kicked down an iron pot and leapt onto the kamado shelf. At the same time, the kamado’s pine branch and oil-shining lamp stand tumbled down onto Shinkō.
Before Shinkō could finally leap up, he had no choice but to be struck down again and again by O-Tomi’s umbrella.

“Damn you!”
“Damn you! Damn you!”

O-Tomi kept swinging the umbrella.
But even while being struck, Shinkō finally managed to grab the umbrella.
No sooner had he flung it aside than he lunged fiercely at O-Tomi.
The two grappled on the narrow wooden floor for a brief moment.
Amid this scuffle, the rain resumed pounding on the kitchen roof with renewed ferocity.
As the rain’s roar intensified, the light rapidly faded into gloom.
Shinkō kept trying to pin O-Tomi down despite her strikes and scratches.
Yet after several failed attempts, just as he finally seized her—he was suddenly repelled as though flung backward toward the water inlet.

“You witch…!”

Shinkō, with the sliding door at his back, stared fixedly at O-Tomi.
O-Tomi, her hair now disheveled at some point, sat plastered to the wooden floor, gripping in a reverse hand a razor she had apparently brought tucked into her obi.
It was filled with murderous intent yet also strangely alluring—akin to the cat that had arched its back upon the kamado shelf.
The two remained silent for a moment, peering into each other’s eyes.
But after a moment, Shinkō forced a sneer and took the pistol from his breast pocket.

“Go ahead, thrash around all you want.”

The muzzle of the pistol slowly turned toward O-Tomi’s chest. Even so, she kept staring at Shinkō’s face with apparent frustration, not opening her mouth at all. Shinkō, seeing she wasn’t making a commotion, now turned the muzzle upward as if struck by an idea. Beyond it, in the dimness, glimmered faintly the amber-colored eyes of the cat.

“You ready? Miss O-Tomi—”

Shinkō let out a voice laced with laughter, as though tormenting his opponent.

“When this pistol goes ‘bang,’ that cat’ll come tumbling down head over heels.”
“The same goes for you.”
“There, you ready?”

The trigger was about to be pulled.

“Shinkō!”

Suddenly O-Tomi cried out.

“You mustn’t. You mustn’t shoot.”

Shinkō shifted his gaze to O-Tomi.
Yet the pistol’s muzzle remained trained on the calico cat.

“You know that’s not allowed.”

“You mustn’t shoot. It’s too pitiful.”
“At least spare Mikeneko.”

O-Tomi, her eyes now completely changed from before and filled with worry, let her fine teeth show between slightly trembling lips.
Shinkō gazed at her face with a half-mocking, half-puzzled expression and finally lowered the pistol’s muzzle.
At the same time, a relieved look appeared on O-Tomi’s face.

“Then I’ll spare the cat.”
“In exchange…”

Shinkō declared with arrogance.

“In exchange, I’ll be taking your body.”

O-Tomi briefly averted her eyes.
For an instant, hatred, anger, disgust, sorrow—a tangle of emotions erupted within her heart.
Shinkō watched her shifting demeanor intently as he sidled sideways behind her and threw open the parlor’s shoji.
The parlor stood even dimmer than the kitchen.
Yet amid the gloom, abandoned tea cabinets and elongated braziers left behind in the evacuation remained clearly visible.
Shinkō lingered there, his gaze dropping to O-Tomi’s collar where sweat glistened faintly.
As if sensing this, O-Tomi wrenched her body around to stare up at Shinkō behind her.
Her face had already regained its vivid color, unchanged from moments before.
But Shinkō—with a panicked look—gave one strange blink before abruptly aiming the pistol at the cat again.

“You mustn’t. I said you mustn’t!—”

O-Tomi stopped him and, at the same time, dropped the razor in her hand onto the wooden floor.

"If you won't stop, then go over there."

Shinkō wore a faint smile.

“Disgusting!”

O-Tomi muttered resentfully.
But she suddenly stood up and briskly strode into the parlor like a sulky woman.
Shinkō appeared somewhat surprised at how readily she had resigned herself.
By then, the rain had long since quieted.
Moreover, as if the light of the setting sun had begun to break through the clouds, even the dim kitchen gradually grew brighter.
Shinkō stood amidst it, listening intently to the sounds from the parlor.
The sound of a Kogara obi being untied, the sound of someone lying down on the tatami.—After that, the parlor fell completely silent.

After a moment’s hesitation, Shinkō stepped into the dimly lit parlor.
In the center of the parlor lay O-Tomi alone, her face still covered by her sleeve, motionless on her back.
Shinkō had no sooner seen that figure than he retreated back to the kitchen as if fleeing.
His face was filled with an indescribable, peculiar expression.
It was an expression that looked like disgust yet also seemed like shame.
He had no sooner stepped onto the wooden floor than, still with his back to the parlor, he suddenly let out a pained laugh.

“It was a joke.”
“Miss O-Tomi.”
“It was just a joke.”
“Come out here now.……”

A few minutes later—O-Tomi with the calico cat tucked into her kimono and an umbrella in one hand—was chatting casually with Shinkō, who had spread out a torn mat.

“Older sister.”
“There’s something I want to ask you—”

Shinkō, still appearing awkward, kept trying not to look at O-Tomi’s face.

“What?!”

“It’s nothing in particular, but… Well, entrusting one’s body—that’s a grave matter for a woman’s entire life.”
“Now, Miss O-Tomi—you exchanged yourself for that cat’s life. Isn’t this too rough a way to treat you?”

Shinkō fell silent for a moment.
But O-Tomi merely smiled and continued stroking the cat in her kimono.

“Is that cat really so dear to you?”

“Well, Mikeneko is dear to me too.—”

O-Tomi gave an evasive reply.

“Or maybe you’re renowned even in the neighborhood for your devotion to your master.”
“Or were you worried that if Mikeneko had been killed, you’d have no way to explain it to the master of this house?—”

“Ah, Mikeneko is dear to me too—”
“It’s not that I don’t care about the master either.”
“But it’s just that I—”

O-Tomi tilted her head slightly, her eyes looking as though she were gazing at something far away.

“How should I put this? At that time… if I hadn’t done that, somehow I just felt like it wouldn’t feel right.”

After some further minutes had passed, Shinkō—now alone—sat absently in the kitchen, still clutching the old summer kimono to his knees.
Twilight gradually closed in here as well amidst the sparse sound of rain.
The shade-pull cord, the water jar by the sink—such things too vanished one by one.
Then, the bell of Ueno began to spread its heavy, oppressive sound, each stroke muffled within the rain clouds.
Shinkō, as if startled by the sound, looked around the hushed surroundings.
Then, groping his way down to the sink, he scooped water brimming into a ladle.

“Murakami Shinzaburō Minamoto no Shigemitsu… Today, I’ve been outplayed.”

He muttered this and drank the twilight water with relish…

＊ ＊ ＊

On March 26 of Meiji 23 (1890), O-Tomi walked along Hirokōji Avenue in Ueno with her husband and three children.

That day marked the opening ceremony of the Third Domestic Exposition at Take no Dai.
Moreover, around Kuromon, the cherry blossoms were mostly in bloom.
So the pedestrian traffic on Hirokōji Avenue was almost overwhelming.
From Ueno’s direction, a procession of carriages and rickshaws—seemingly returning from the opening ceremony—poured incessantly into the area.
Maeda Masana, Taguchi Ukichi, Shibusawa Eiichi, Tsuji Shinji, Okakura Kakuzō, Shimojō Masao—such individuals too were among the passengers of those carriages and rickshaws.

Her husband, holding their five-year-old second son and with their eldest son clinging to his sleeve, wove through the dizzying pedestrian traffic while occasionally glancing back at O-Tomi behind him with a worried look.
O-Tomi, leading her eldest daughter by the hand, would respond each time with a radiant smile.
Of course, those twenty years had brought old age to her as well.
Yet the sharp light in her eyes remained largely unchanged from before.
She had married her current husband—the nephew of Furukawa Masabee—around Meiji 4-5 (1871-1872).
At that time her husband had been in Yokohama; now he ran a small watch shop somewhere in Ginza.....

O-Tomi suddenly raised eyes.
At that very moment, in the two-horse carriage that had just drawn alongside, Shinkō sat leisurely.
Shinkō—or rather, Shinkō’s present form—was practically buried under various emblems of honor: ostrich-feather plumes, imposing gold moiré cords, and several medals of differing sizes.
However, the ruddy face peering out from amidst the half-white beard was no different from the beggar of yesteryear.
O-Tomi involuntarily slowed pace.
But strangely did not feel surprised.
Shinkō was not merely a beggar.—Somehow had known this.
Whether it was face or words or pistol carried—had somehow known.
O-Tomi gazed fixedly at Shinkō’s face without so much as a twitch of brows.
Shinkō too—whether intentionally or accidentally—was watching face.

The memory of that rainy day from twenty years earlier surfaced in O-Tomi’s heart with a clarity so poignant it ached.
That day, she had recklessly sought to surrender her body to Shinkō in order to save a cat.
What had driven her—she did not know.
Yet even in such circumstances, Shinkō had refused to so much as lay a finger on the body she’d thrown before him.
What had driven him—she did not know that either.
Yet despite not knowing, to O-Tomi, all of this felt only natural—so natural it seemed self-evident.
As she passed by the carriage, she felt something within her heart expand.

When Shinkō’s carriage had passed by, her husband looked back at O-Tomi again from within the crowd. When she saw that face, she smiled as if nothing were amiss—lively and happily…

(August 1922 [Taisho 11])