Pathway to Japanese Literature

You may not believe what I am about to tell you. No, you will doubtless think it a lie. In times past I cannot say, but what I am about to relate occurred in this enlightened age of Taisho. And it occurred here in Tokyo—this very city you know so well. Step outside, and trams and automobiles were running. Step inside, and the telephone bell was ringing incessantly. Open a newspaper, and you found reports of labor strikes and women’s movements. That in such an age as this, an eerie incident—the sort one might find in a tale by Poe or Hoffmann—had occurred in a corner of this great metropolis was something you would have found hard to credit as fact, no matter how earnestly I might have insisted it so. And this was only natural. But no matter how many millions of lamps illuminated Tokyo’s streets, they could not possibly burn away all the night that descended with sunset and turn it back into day. In exactly the same way, no matter how much wireless telegraphy and airplanes might have conquered nature, it did not mean they had succeeded in mapping the mysterious world lurking in nature’s depths. Then why should we say that even in this Tokyo, bathed in the sunlight of civilization, the secret power of spirits who ordinarily cavorted only in dreams did not at times and in certain places manifest wonders akin to Auerbach’s cellar? This was no mere matter of time and circumstance. If you ask me, depending on your attentiveness, astonishing supernatural phenomena came and went ceaselessly around us, much like night-blooming flowers.

For instance, on a late winter night, were you to take a stroll along Ginza Avenue, you would surely have noticed paper scraps—some twenty or so—gathered in one spot upon the asphalt, swirling in a vortex of wind. Had that been all, there would have been nothing worth mentioning—but had you tried counting those swirling paper scraps, Between Shinbashi and Kyobashi there were invariably three spots on the left side and one on the right—all without exception near crossroads—so one might have attributed this to air currents without contradicting observable facts. But had you observed more carefully, within every vortex of paper scraps there was always one red fragment—whether a movie advertisement, a scrap of chiyogami paper, or even a matchbox label—and though the objects themselves varied, the crimson hue remained constant. No sooner would the wind stir—as though leading the other scraps—than that crimson fragment would flutter upward first. Then from within faint sand dust arose a whisper-like voice, whereupon the white paper scraps scattered about vanished instantly into the asphalt sky. They did not vanish. All at once they drew swift circles and flew as if flowing. When the wind died down—in every instance I observed—the red paper came to rest first. At this point even you could not have remained free of doubt. Naturally I was doubtful. Indeed two or three times I had stopped on thoroughfares and peered intently through nearby display windows at paper scraps fluttering incessantly within broad shafts of light. For in truth when I looked thus I felt even things invisible to human eyes—like bats blending into twilight—might have appeared dimly before my sight.

But the strange things in Tokyo’s streets were not limited to the paper scraps fallen upon Ginza Avenue. Even on trams ridden late at night within the city, one sometimes encountered bizarre occurrences that defied ordinary explanation. Among these, the strangest was how red trams and blue trams traveling through deserted neighborhoods would come to a full stop at stations where no passengers boarded. If you find this as dubious as those paper scraps, why not test it yourself tonight? Even among trams within the same city, the Dōzaka Line and Sugamo Line were said to be particularly prone to this phenomenon. Just four or five nights prior, the red tram I rode had likewise jerked to a halt at an empty stop—this occurred at Dangozaka-shita on that very Dōzaka Line. And would you believe it—the conductor, while gripping the bell cord, leaned halfway out toward the street and called out in his routine manner, “Are you boarding?” As I stood right beside the conductor’s platform, I immediately peered out the window. Outside, only hazy moonlight filtered through thin clouds drifted faintly across the midnight thoroughfare—where beneath the tram stop’s pillars and along both sides of townhouses with every door shut tight—not a single human shadow could be discerned. The moment I found this peculiar, the conductor pulled the bell cord and set the tram in motion. Yet as I continued gazing out while the stop receded into darkness, I fancied I glimpsed—there in the moonlight—a figure growing ever smaller. This may well have been a trick of my nerves—though I need hardly say so—but why would that red tram’s conductor stop at a station with no waiting passengers? Moreover, such experiences were not mine alone—three or four others among my acquaintances reportedly shared similar encounters. When you consider this, one can hardly claim the tram conductors were merely drowsy each time. In fact, one acquaintance reportedly seized a conductor and demanded, “There’s no one here!” To which the conductor replied with a puzzled look, “I could have sworn there was a crowd.”

Were I to enumerate further—the smoke from artillery arsenal chimneys flowing against the wind’s direction; the bell of St. Nicholas Church, untouched by any ringer, suddenly tolling at midnight; two trams bearing identical numbers passing through dusk-cloaked Nihonbashi in succession; thunderous cheers echoing nightly within the utterly vacant Kokugikan—these so-called “nocturnal aspects of nature” manifested ceaselessly across Tokyo’s bustling districts, like beautiful moths fluttering through darkness. Therefore, the tale I am about to relate is not—as your imagination might presume—a matter wholly detached from the real world, nor an event of utter inconceivability from beginning to end. No—now that you have come to know Tokyo’s nocturnal secrets, you would not dismiss my tale as nonsense. Should you still feel, even after hearing me through to the end, that this carries the vulgar sensationalism of Tsuruya Nanboku’s shochu-fire effects, then I must think the fault lies not in any falsehood within the events themselves, but rather in my own inadequacy as a storyteller—one who cannot hope to approach the literary heights of Poe or Hoffmann. The reason being this: one or two years prior, when the party involved in this incident sat facing me on a summer night and recounted in detail how they had encountered such uncanny phenomena, I felt—to an extent I still cannot forget—a kind of sinister aura thickly shrouding us all around.

The man referred to as the party involved was the young master of a publishing house in Nihonbashi who frequented my residence. Ordinarily, he would promptly take his leave once our business was concluded, but on that particular night—as a sudden evening shower had begun at dusk—he must have resolved to wait out the rain, for he settled in with uncharacteristic composure. The fair-skinned, slender young master with closely set eyebrows sat formally on the veranda, illuminated by the dim light of a bonbori lantern, engaging in casual conversation until well past the early hours of the night. Amidst this casual conversation, he interjected, “I’ve been meaning to have you hear this at least once, Professor,” his face tinged with apprehension as he slowly broached what was unmistakably the tale of the witch. I still vividly remember how that young master, wearing a summer haori that looked as if a single stroke of ink had been smudged from the collar down over the shoulder fabric, sat before a plate of watermelon and began whispering in hushed tones—as though wary of being overheard—when he started his account. Speaking of which, I also cannot forget how strangely poignant it felt—the bonbori lantern above his head, its rounded body faintly illuminated with autumn grass patterns, and beyond it, the rain-cleared sky swirling with thick, inky clouds that blotted out the heavens.

The crux of the matter, then, is this: that summer when Shinzo—the young master we shall refer to as such to avoid complications—was twenty-three, he visited a spirit-summoning crone residing near Honjo Hitotsume to consult her about a somewhat troubling matter. This marked the very beginning of it all. One day in early June, Shinzo dragged out his friend from commercial school days—who ran a kimono shop in that neighborhood—and went together to Yohei Sushi. While having drinks there, he ended up divulging the whole worrisome matter without being asked. Upon hearing this, his friend Tai-san suddenly put on a serious face and earnestly urged, “Then you should have O-Shima-baasan take a look at it.” Upon inquiring further, it emerged that this spirit-summoning crone had moved to her current residence from Asakusa two or three years prior—she performed divinations and rituals with such spiritual efficacy that one might think she wielded iizuna familiars. “You’re aware of this too, I suppose?” “Just the other day, the widow from Gyomatsu drowned herself. —They couldn’t get her corpse to surface no matter what, but when they got a talisman from O-Shima-baasan and threw it into the river from Ichinohashi Bridge, didn’t it float up that very day?” “And right at the bridge pillar of Ichinohashi Bridge where they threw the talisman.” “It was just the rising tide at sunset, but fortunately, there happened to be a stone boat’s boatman there who found it.” “Well, with all the commotion over a customer—a floater—they must’ve rushed to report it to the bridge-end police box.” “When I happened by, the constables had already arrived—but peering through the crowd from behind, there was the widow’s corpse they’d just fished up, laid out under a straw mat. And what do you think was stuck diagonally across the bloated soles of her feet, right where they poked out from under that mat?” “That talisman was stuck perfectly diagonally.” When Shinzo heard his friend’s words—“Even I couldn’t help but shudder”—his own back grew cold too. The color of the evening tide, the shape of the bridge pillars, and the drowned woman’s form drifting beneath them—all these things seemed to float up before his eyes at once. But, in his tipsy cheer, he pressed on stubbornly: “That’s fascinating. “I must have her take a look at least once,” he persisted stubbornly. “Then I’ll guide you.” “Ever since I went to consult her about a financial matter some time ago, I’ve become quite friendly with the old woman now.” “I’m counting on you.” —With these words, they left Yohei still chewing on their toothpicks, straw hats tilted against the western sun after a break in the rainy season, summer-clad shoulders brushing as they ambled off toward the spirit-summoning crone’s abode.

Now, to recount Shinzo’s worrisome matter: among the maids who had worked in his household was a woman named O-Toshi. Though the two had been mutually attached for over a year, she had gone to visit her ailing aunt at last year’s end—and since then, all word of her had ceased. Not only Shinzo was shocked—Shinzo’s mother, who had taken an interest in this O-Toshi, grew concerned as well. Starting with hired investigators, they mobilized every connection in their search, but ultimately could not ascertain her whereabouts. Some claimed to have seen her working as a nurse; others whispered rumors of her becoming a mistress—yet despite all this speculation, when pressed to uncover the truth, they remained utterly clueless as to what had become of her. Shinzo first grew anxious, then became enraged, and lately had sunk into mere apathy—but his listless state, which his mother had vaguely sensed hinted at their relationship, likely became a fresh source of worry for her. She took him to plays. She recommended a hot spring cure. Or even had him serve as his father’s proxy at business banquets—she began exerting herself in such ways to forcibly lift Shinzo’s despondent mood. So that day as well, under the pretext of having him inspect small shops in the Honjo district, his mother—stopping just short of explicitly telling him to go enjoy himself for a change of pace—even went so far as to place spending money in his wallet. Seizing upon the fortunate coincidence of having a childhood acquaintance in Higashi-Ryogoku, he dragged out this Tai-san and went for drinks at the nearby Yohei Sushi—their first outing there in quite some time.

Given these circumstances, even as he set out for O-Shima-baasan’s residence, there must have lingered within Shinzo’s slightly intoxicated heart a kernel of genuine resolve. Turning left at the foot of the first bridge and proceeding some hundred meters along the sparsely populated Tatekawa riverbank toward the second bridge, one came upon a soot-blackened latticework house with bamboo-latticed windows wedged between a plasterer’s workshop and a hardware store—and when told this was the abode of that spirit-summoning crone, an eerie premonition seized him first, as though his and O-Toshi’s fates now hung upon a single utterance from this uncanny O-Shima-baasan. At that moment, they say, even his earlier drunkenness had completely dissipated. Indeed, O-Shima-baasan’s dwelling itself was a single-story structure with sagging eaves—depressing at mere glance—and so unnervingly damp that the moss coating the rain-washed stones along its foundation, now vividly green from recent weather, seemed ripe for fungal growth. To compound matters, a willow tree thicker than a man’s embrace stood at the boundary with the neighboring hardware shop, its cascading branches nearly obscuring the windows. Thus did shadows cling even to the roof tiles, while beyond the single layer of shoji screens there brooded an atmosphere thick with secrets—as if unspeakable truths lurked within—or so it was recounted.

But Tai-san remained utterly unfazed. Stopping before the bamboo-latticed window, he turned back to Shinzo. “Well then—shall we go meet the witch?” “But don’t let yourself get startled now,” he added with belated warning. Shinzo naturally scoffed. “I’m no child. Who’d fear some old crone?” he dismissed. Yet Tai-san returned his retort with a mischievous glare. “What? The crone herself won’t shock you—but there’s an unexpected beauty here you’d never imagine.” “Hence my warning.” Even as he spoke, his hand was already on the lattice door. “Pardon our intrusion!” he called out heartily. Immediately came a muffled “Yes.” The shoji slid open quietly to reveal a pitiful girl of seventeen or eighteen kneeling at the entrance threshold. No wonder Tai-san had cautioned against surprise—this explained everything. Her pale face boasted delicate features—a straight nose bridge and immaculate hairline framing eyes that glistened unnaturally. Yet beneath this beauty lay painful emaciation; even her carnation-patterned merino obi seemed poised to overwhelm the indigo-dyed summer kimono at her chest. Tai-san removed his straw hat upon seeing her face. “Where’s the old woman?” The girl wore a helpless expression. “She’s unfortunately out,” she answered tearfully, as though confessing fault. But when her cool gaze suddenly darted beyond the lattice door, her complexion changed. “Oh!” she gasped faintly, nearly leaping up. Given the location’s nature, Tai-san initially thought a street demon had struck—but whirling around in panic, he found Shinzo had vanished from where he’d stood moments before in the sunset glow. Before he could process this second shock, the spirit-summoning crone’s daughter clutched his sleeve. Gasping urgently, she pleaded: “You—please warn your companion! He must never approach this area again.” “Otherwise... something dreadful will happen—something endangering his very life.” Her words came in fragmented gasps. Tai-san stood dumbfounded as if smoke-blinded, but bound by duty as message-bearer managed: “Understood.” “I’ll relay it faithfully,” he said—clearly thoroughly rattled—before dashing outside still clutching his straw hat, chasing after Shinzo for half a block.

About half a block away—right before a desolate stone riverbank where only the upper reaches were tinged with sunset, with nothing but a utility pole—there stood Shinzo, dejectedly pulling his summer coat sleeves together as he gazed at his feet. But when Tai-san finally caught up, still catching his breath, he exclaimed, “This is no joke.” “I’m the one who told you not to be startled—you have no idea how much you’ve shocked me.” “Just what were you planning with that beauty—” Tai-san began, when Shinzo—walking restlessly toward Hitotsume Bridge—answered in an excited voice, “I know. That was O-Toshi.” Tai-san was startled for the third time—as he must have been. After all, the very woman whose whereabouts they were about to have examined turned out—of all people—to be O-Shima-baasan’s daughter. Yet given that Tai-san had been entrusted with a grave message from that same girl, he couldn’t afford to remain merely startled. No sooner had he put on his straw hat than he launched into an animated recitation of O-Toshi’s warning—mimicking her very tone—that he must never approach this neighborhood again. Shinzo listened quietly to these words, but soon furrowed his brows and fixed Tai-san with a bewildered gaze. “I understand being told not to come,” he said, “but claiming that coming here would endanger my life—that’s absurd.” “Rather than mysterious, it’s downright unreasonable,” he said in an angry voice. However, since Tai-san himself had merely heard the message and rushed out of O-Shima-baasan’s house without pressing for details, no matter how much he wished to console Shinzo, he could only string together half-hearted platitudes. At this, Shinzo fell even more silent—like a different person altogether—and briskly quickened his pace. But when they soon arrived beneath the fluttering banner of Yohei Sushi once more, he suddenly turned to Tai-san and muttered in a tone tinged with regret, “I should’ve just met O-Toshi and left it at that.” At that moment, Tai-san casually remarked in a teasing tone, “Well then, let’s go see her again”—though in hindsight, this very remark must have poured oil on the fiery longing burning in Shinzo’s heart. After parting with Tai-san shortly thereafter, Shinzo immediately turned back to Bōzu Shamo in front of Ekōin, where he emptied two or three sake bottles while waiting for the surroundings to grow dark. And just as the day had grown completely dark, he burst out from there once more—exhaling alcohol-laden breath, flinging back the sleeves of his summer coat—and stormed over to O-Toshi’s place: that spirit-summoning crone’s house.

It was a starless, pitch-dark night—the kind common in the rainy season—where the ground’s humid exhalations steamed oppressively yet chilling gusts occasionally swept through. Shinzo, of course, was seething with suppressed anger—resolved not to leave without hearing O-Toshi’s true feelings—so despite the ominous house beneath ink-spilled skies where willows towered over bamboo-latticed windows aglow, he paid no heed. He abruptly slid open the lattice door with a clatter, planted himself in the narrow earthen entryway, and bellowed, “Good evening!” Just from hearing that voice alone, she must have quickly surmised who it was. Her gentle, muffled reply seemed to tremble in that moment. Then, as the shoji slid open quietly, O-Toshi’s disheveled figure—hands pressed against the threshold, bathed in the electric light streaming from the next room—appeared so silently one might think she was still weeping even now. But Shinzo, already deep in his cups, kept his straw hat tilted back like a halo as he looked down disdainfully at O-Toshi. “Well? Is the old hag in? I’ve come to have her take a look at something for me—will she deign to see me? Announce me.” “I came up because there’s something I’d like you to take a look at—will you deign to see me? What do you say?” “Announce me,” he sneered sharply.—How agonizing this must have been for her—O-Toshi remained kneeling with hands pressed to the floor, shoulders slumped as though she might vanish into nothingness. “Yes,” she whispered, then seemed to swallow tears for a long moment. But just as Shinzo drew another rainbow-hued breath of liquor to repeat “Announce me—”, from beyond the sliding screen in the next room came a voice like a toad’s croak: “Who’s there, you. Go wait in the restraint parlor.” came O-Shima-baasan’s lifeless, nasal voice. That one’s quite the brute—the instigator who had hidden O-Toshi. “First, I’ll deal with this one—” was his bold declaration. In one swift motion as he entered, Shinzo tore off his summer coat and, leaving his straw hat in O-Toshi’s instinctively outstretched hands, strode proudly into the next room. The pitiable one was O-Toshi, left behind—pressed tightly against the sliding door’s frame with no thought of tidying away the summer coat or straw hat, her tearful, cool eyes fixed upward at the ceiling, delicate hands clasped to her chest—appearing to fervently offer some prayer.

Having entered the next room, Shinzo unceremoniously spread a cushion beneath his knees and arrogantly surveyed his surroundings. The room matched his expectations—a shabby eight-tatami space with soot-stained ceiling beams and pillars. At the front stood a shallow six-foot alcove where, before a hanging scroll inscribed “Bodhisattva Daijin,” one sacred mirror, a pair of ceremonial sake flasks, and three or four small ritual paper strips carved from red, blue, and yellow paper had been reverently arranged. Beyond the veranda to the left flowed the Tategawa River. Whether real or imagined, a faint sound of water resonated through the closed shoji, barely audible. Now, when he looked for his crucial adversary, there she sat—to the right of the alcove, beneath a cabinet lined with offerings: confectionery boxes, cider bottles, sugar sacks, and egg crates. O-Shima-baasan loomed massively across the tatami like a malevolent spirit—a large-framed woman with a bobbed haircut, a flat nose, a wide mouth, and a bloated, bluish face. Her unlined black kimono’s collar hung loose; her sparse-lashed eyes were shut; her damp-looking fingers interlaced as if summoning rot. It had been noted earlier that this crone’s voice resembled a toad’s croak, but seeing her seated like this—looming as no ordinary toad but a full-fledged toad demon masquerading in human form, poised as if to spew venom—even Shinzo reportedly felt an eerie sensation so intense that the light of the electric lamp above his head seemed to dim.

But of course, he had steeled himself thoroughly for such trifles. "Then allow me to make a request concerning a marriage proposal," he declared bluntly—whether she hadn't heard or not, O-Shima-baasan finally half-opened her eyes, cupping one hand to her ear. "A marriage proposal?" she repeated in the same blurred voice. "You want a woman, do you?" she sneered nasally from the outset. Shinzo, simmering with impatience, retorted, "It's precisely because I want her that I'm consulting you." "Otherwise, who'd ever—" he added with uncharacteristic bravado, snorting derisively in turn. Yet the crone remained unperturbed, fluttering her ear-cupped hand like a bat's wing as she interrupted with a half-sneer: "No call for anger now—a sharp tongue's my nature." Then shifting tone with feigned gravity: "Their ages?" "The man's twenty-three—Year of the Rooster." "The woman?" "Seventeen." "Year of the Rabbit." "Birth month—" "Enough," she cut in. "The year suffices." As she spoke, the hag bent her fingers twice as if tallying stars before raising sagging lids to fix him with a glare. "'Twon't do," she croaked. "'Twon't do at all." "A dire omen among omens," she pronounced bombastically, then muttered as if to herself: "Forge this bond and one must perish—be it you or the girl." It was Shinzo who erupted then, having discerned her machinations behind the life-threatening warnings—his restraint shattered. Audibly shifting his knees, he scratched liquor-scented stubble and proclaimed with swelling bravado: "Dire omen? Splendid! When a man loves, courting death's breakfast work! Only through fire, steel and flood does love bloom true—mark that!" The crone narrowed rheumy eyes again, working thick lips: "And what of women destroyed by men's folly?" "What of men ruined by women?" she pressed, voice dripping mockery. "Left howling in despair." "Lay one finger on O-Toshi and—" Shinzo glared defiantly as he declared, "The woman has her man!" Unmoved, she clasped damp hands while her glossy cheek curled slyly: "Then what of the man?" "I shuddered despite myself then," Shinzo later confessed—for truly it felt she'd issued formal challenge, an encounter undeniably chilling.

Moreover, after delivering this retort, the old woman—seeing Shinzo’s flinching expression—yanked open the collar of her black unlined kimono and purred, “No matter how fiercely you struggle, human power has its natural limits. Cease your futile resistance.” But then she suddenly widened her large eyes unnervingly white and whispered gravely, hands cupped to her ears, “There—there! The proof lies before your eyes. Can’t you hear those sighs?” Shinzo involuntarily stiffened and strained his ears, but beyond the single sliding screen where O-Toshi lay hidden, he could hear nothing at all. Then the old woman rolled her eyes even more wildly. “Can’t you hear them? Can’t you hear those sighs clinging to the stones of that riverbank, you brash youth?” she pressed forward until her shadow loomed large against the chest of drawers behind her. Then, as the old woman’s stench struck Shinzo’s nostrils, every object—the shoji screens, sliding doors, ceremonial sake bottles, sacred mirror, chest, and cushions—manifested grotesque forms within the murky miasma, utterly transformed. “That girl too—blinded by lust like you—dares defy the great deity this crone serves! Thus shall she incur divine retribution! In the blink of an eye, she’ll cast away her life— A fine example you’ll make! Hearken!” A voice assailed Shinzo’s ears from all directions like the buzzing of countless flies. At that very moment, a splintering splash—as if someone had thrown themselves into the Tategawa River beyond the shoji—ripped through the evening gloom. Shinzo, his boldness shattered by this, could no longer endure staying even five minutes. Leaving his brusque excuses half-finished and seemingly forgetting even the weeping O-Toshi, he staggered out of O-Shima-baasan’s house.

When he returned to his house in Nihonbashi and checked the newspaper first thing the next morning, there indeed had been a drowning suicide in the Tategawa River the previous night. Moreover, it was the son of the Taruya family in Kamezawa-cho—the cause being a failed love affair, and the location of the plunge reported as the stone riverbank between Ichinohashi and Ninohashi. That must have gotten to his nerves.

Shinzo suddenly developed a fever and remained bedridden for about three days thereafter. Yet even as he lay abed, his thoughts inevitably turned to O-Toshi. Now that he looked back, it was clear her sudden resignation and refusal to ever return to this neighborhood bore no relation to any fickleness of heart—they were undoubtedly all part of O-Shima-baasan’s schemes. This realization made him ashamed of having doubted O-Toshi so belatedly. At the same time, he found himself utterly perplexed—why would this witch, against whom he harbored no grudge whatsoever, weave such intricate plots against him? Moreover, if she remained with that demonic crone who watched impassively as people drowned themselves, O-Toshi would soon be stripped naked, bound in coils around that ancient pillar enshrining the Bodhisattva Daijin, and likely subjected to pine-needle smoldering. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind than Shinzo felt he could no longer rest peacefully. On the fourth day, the moment he left his sickbed—determined at all costs to seek Tai-san’s counsel—a telephone call arrived from none other than Tai-san himself. Moreover, that very phone call concerned none other than the matter of O-Toshi, for upon inquiry, it turned out that O-Toshi had come to Tai-san’s place late last night. She said she absolutely must meet with Young Master once to discuss the details in person, but since she couldn’t possibly call the shop where she used to work, she wanted to ask you to relay a message—that was the gist of her request. “I want to see her just as much,” Shinzo nearly clung to the telephone receiver as he urgently demanded, “Where does she say we should meet?” The eloquent Tai-san began with a deliberate preface: “Well, you see—for such a timid girl to suggest coming to my place, when we’ve only met two or three times… She must be truly desperate.” “When I thought that, I felt thoroughly pressured myself. I even considered arranging a meeting place right away, but since she said she’d be coming out under the pretense of going to the public bath—and given that crossing the river would be too far—and there being no other suitable place—I said, ‘Fine, I’ll vacate my second floor for you.’ But she kept insisting it was too imposing or whatnot and absolutely refused.” “Well, I thought it was only natural she’d feel hesitant, so when I asked if you had any place in mind, she suddenly turned red.” “In a small voice, she asked if Young Master could come to the stone riverbank nearby tomorrow evening.” “Outdoor rendezvous are guilt-free and preferable,” he said, suppressing a laugh. But Shinzo was in no mood for laughter. “So it’s settled on the stone riverbank, then?” he impatiently pressed. With no alternative, Tai-san confirmed the arrangement—the time between six and seven, with the added request that she stop by his place afterward once her business was concluded. Shinzo replied with gratitude and agreement, then promptly hung up the phone—but from that moment until sunset, the wait wasn’t merely interminable; it was excruciating. He worked the abacus. He helped with the accounts. He arranged the mid-year gifts. In the intervals between these tasks, he wore an impatient look and kept glancing at the clock hands above the accounting office lattice.

After enduring such agony, Shinzo finally slipped out of the shop a little before five o’clock, while the western sun still blazed. But then something peculiar occurred: as he stepped lightly onto the asphalt street from behind a newly erected signboard for publications—its surface still emanating the scent of still-damp paint—where an apprentice had lined up fair-weather clogs, two butterflies grazed past the brim of his straw hat and flew away. They must be what they call Common Raven butterflies. A butterfly with an ominous bluish luster on its black wings. Of course, at that moment, he paid no particular heed. Gazing up briefly as both butterflies were swept up into the high sunset sky until they vanished, he promptly boarded a fortuitously passing Ueno-bound tram. But when he transferred at Sudachō and alighted before Kokugikan-mae, what fluttered around his straw hat were once more two black swallowtails. But Shinzo could not imagine that butterflies had trailed him all the way from Nihonbashi, so even now he paid them no heed. Assuming he still had time before the appointed hour, he turned at the first corner and found a neat little soba shop bearing a sign that read “Yabu,” where preparations were underway—and there he entered. However, today he abstained entirely from alcohol, and with an oddly stifled feeling in his chest, he managed to finish a bowl of cold noodles. By the time the sunlight had faded from the streets, he slipped out through the shop curtain like a fugitive avoiding prying eyes. Then, as he stepped outside, they came swooping after him—and there, fluttering straight up to his startled nose, was another pair of Common Raven butterflies, their black velvet wings dusted with blue powder like crushed lapis lazuli. Perhaps it was his imagination at that moment, but the shape of the butterfly that had fluttered against his forehead seemed to have cut a crow-sized hole in the cold, clear evening air. Startled, he instinctively halted his steps—only for it to swiftly shrink back to size, the pair tangling together before blending into the sky’s hue in the blink of an eye.

Repeatedly witnessing the butterflies’ eerie behavior, even Shinzo began to feel a creeping dread. It’s said he even hesitated, thinking that if he went and stood at that ill-omened stone riverbank, he might be driven to throw himself into the water. But precisely because his greatest worry was for O-Toshi—who would come to meet him tonight—Shinzo quickly regained his composure and raced straight toward the promised spot along Ekōin-mae street, where twilight figures flitted about like bats, without so much as glancing sideways. However, when he rushed there once more, two butterflies floated down from the sky above the riverbank lined with granite komainu guardian statues. In the blink of an eye, their bluish-glowing wings tangled together before both were swept away by the wind and vanished at the base of a utility pole where faint twilight still lingered.

So as he loitered before that stone riverbank, waiting for O-Toshi to arrive, Shinzo remained on edge. Adjusting his straw hat, checking the watch hidden in his sleeve—the entire hour left him even more agitated than when he had been behind the shop’s accounting office lattice earlier. But no matter how long he waited, O-Toshi remained nowhere in sight. Unconsciously leaving the stone riverbank behind, he walked about half a block toward O-Shima-baasan’s house when a public bathhouse appeared on his right. Its freshly painted sign bore a large peach illustration and the grandiose proclamation “Cure-All Peach Leaf Bath” in pseudo-Chinese characters. This must be the bathhouse O-Toshi mentioned as her excuse for leaving home—and just at that moment, someone lifted the women’s bath curtain and stepped out into the evening-darkened street: unmistakably O-Toshi herself. Her attire remained unchanged from before—a pink carnation-patterned merino obi over an indigo kasuri unlined summer kimono—but tonight, fresh from the bath, her complexion glowed radiantly, and the ginkgo-leaf upswept hair at her temples shone so sleekly with comb tracks that one might think it still damp. She cradled a damp hand towel and soapbox to her chest, her anxious eyes darting left and right down the street as though fearing something—but she must have spotted Shinzo almost immediately. With eyes still feigning innocence, she smiled and briskly approached his side. “I’ve kept you waiting so long,” she murmured with apparent unease. “What, I haven’t been waiting long at all. But more importantly, you actually managed to get out!” Shinzo said this while beginning to walk slowly back toward the stone riverbank with O-Toshi, but his companion remained restless, constantly glancing back over her shoulder. “What’s wrong? You look as if you’re being pursued,” he called out teasingly. O-Toshi suddenly flushed crimson. “Oh my, here I am without even properly thanking you for coming—truly, it was so kind of you,” she replied with lingering unease. At this, Shinzo grew concerned and pressed for details during their walk, but O-Toshi merely let out a pained smile. “Just imagine if we’re discovered here. Not only myself, but you too—there’s no telling what terrible fate you would suffer.” That was her only reply. By then they had nearly reached the appointed stone riverbank. O-Toshi cast her eyes toward the granite komainu guardian statues crouching in the dim light and sighed with apparent relief. Meandering down the slope toward where Nebukawa stones lay stacked by boats—it was there she finally halted. Following timidly behind her into the stone embankment, Shinzo took shelter in the komainu’s shadow. Grateful to avoid prying eyes, he casually sat on an evening-dampened stone and pressed again: “What’s this about my life being at risk? What terrible fate are you talking about?” O-Toshi gazed across the Tategawa River’s bluish-black waters soaking the stones, quietly murmuring what seemed like a prayer. At last she turned back to him with her first genuine smile. “Now that we’ve come this far,” she whispered, “we’re safe.” Shinzo wore a look of utter bewilderment as he silently met her gaze. Then, hearing O-Toshi sit beside him and begin whispering intermittently, he understood they faced a fearsome enemy who could take their lives depending on circumstance.

Originally, while people regarded O-Shima-baasan as something like a mother figure, she was in fact a distant aunt, and during the time O-Toshi’s parents were alive, they had not even associated with her. According to O-Toshi’s father—who had been a palace carpenter for generations—"That old woman ain’t human." "If you don’t believe me, look at her flank." "Ain’t there fish scales growing all over her flank?" he’d say—and whenever anyone encountered O-Shima-baasan on the street, they’d immediately start snapping flint stones or scattering salt like seafoam.

Yet shortly after her father’s death, a sickly orphaned girl—O-Toshi’s childhood friend and her mother’s niece—became O-Shima-baasan’s foster daughter. This naturally led to family-like interactions beginning between O-Toshi’s household and the witch’s. However, even that lasted only a year or two. When O-Toshi lost her mother and had no siblings to care for her, she ended up entering service at Shinzo’s house in Nihonbashi before even completing the hundred-day mourning period—thus severing all ties with O-Shima-baasan as well. As for how O-Toshi came to return to that old woman’s abode—I shall save that tale for later.

Now, as for O-Shima-baasan’s origins—unless one were to inquire of her deceased father—O-Toshi knew nothing. She had only heard from her mother or someone that the old woman had been a spirit-summoning shamaness since ancient times. But since O-Toshi became aware of her, she had apparently been conducting ritual incantations and divinations by borrowing the power of that suspicious entity known as the Great Deity Basara. This Great Deity Basara, much like O-Shima-baasan herself, was a deity of utterly unknowable origins—some rumored it to be a tengu, others a fox—but to O-Toshi, even the priest of her local Tenmangu Shrine was unquestionably something from the water realm. Perhaps because of this, every night when the clock struck two, O-Shima-baasan would climb down from the rear veranda via a ladder and immerse herself in the Tategawa River, remaining submerged up to her head for over thirty minutes—and though this might not have been so taxing in the current mild weather, they said that even in midwinter, wearing nothing but a yumaki undergarment, she would plunge into the water like a human-faced otter amidst swirling sleet. Once, worried, O-Toshi slid open the storm shutters with a lamp in one hand and peered cautiously into the river—only to find that across the water, where snow lingered palely on Namizo’s roof, the black surface seemed all the darker for it, with just the old woman’s bobbed head drifting like a floating nest. On the other hand, everything this old woman did—whether ritual incantations or divinations—proved effective. To say this might make it sound as though she only used her powers for good, but there were also many who paid her to curse their parents, husbands, or brothers to death. In fact, even that man who had recently thrown himself into the river from this stone riverbank—at the request of a certain rice merchant who had taken a fancy to a Yanagibashi geisha or the like—had been made by that old woman to abandon his life without difficulty. But for whatever secret reason—perhaps because someone had been cursed to death there—in a place like this stone riverbank, even that old woman’s ritual incantations could not harm the people around her. Moreover, it seemed that whatever one did there remained invisible even to the old woman’s clairvoyant-like eyes. This was why O-Toshi had specifically summoned Shinzo to this stone riverbank.

Now, as for why O-Shima-baasan so vehemently interferes with O-Toshi and Shinzo’s romance—it stemmed from a certain stockbroker who had been visiting her since around that spring to consult on market fluctuations. This man took notice of O-Toshi’s beauty and, using large sums of money as bait, lured the old woman into promising to make her his concubine. Now, if that were all, the matter could at least be resolved with money—but there existed another peculiar complication: should she release O-Toshi, that old woman would become incapable of performing both ritual incantations and divinations. The reason was that whenever O-Shima-baasan set to work, she would first invoke the Great Deity Basara into O-Toshi’s body, then receive each instruction through the entranced O-Toshi’s mouth. One might think the old woman herself could simply become entranced by the deity instead of resorting to such methods, but those who entered such trances—a liminal state between dream and reality—though privy to hidden truths of the unseen world during their possession, forgot everything upon awakening. Thus, she had no choice but to invoke the deity into O-Toshi and receive its words through her. Given these circumstances, one must conclude it was only natural for that old woman not to release O-Toshi. Yet the stockbroker saw this very weakness as an opportunity—since taking O-Toshi as his concubine would inevitably bind O-Shima-baasan to him, he aimed to exploit her divination skills for market gains and, if fortune favored him, dominate the financial world—a scheme fueled by lust and greed.

But from O-Toshi’s perspective—even if spoken in a dreamlike trance—O-Shima-baasan’s evil deeds were carried out precisely according to her own commands. For one who lacked a conscience, this might mean nothing, but being used as such a tool was undeniably terrifying. Speaking of which, the foster daughter of O-Shima-baasan mentioned earlier had been taken in precisely to serve this role. Already of delicate health, she grew increasingly infirm until finally, tormented by guilt, she hanged herself while the old woman slept. O-Toshi had taken her leave from Shinzo’s household when this foster daughter died—pitifully, seizing upon a single farewell letter the deceased had addressed to her childhood friend O-Toshi, the old woman must have already intended to install her as a replacement. Having cleverly used that as a pretext to make O-Toshi take leave and lure her to her current residence, the old woman apparently delivered a fierce ultimatum: "Even if I kill you, I won’t let you return to your master." However, O-Toshi—who had made a firm promise with Shinzo—had apparently intended to flee back that very night, but the old woman must have been on guard. It’s said that every time she peered through the lattice door, there was invariably a snake coiled in a large spiral outside, so she couldn’t muster the courage to take a single step beyond. Then, time and again after that, she would seize any opportunity to attempt an escape, only to encounter similar mysterious phenomena, making it utterly impossible to achieve her goal. Therefore, these days, having no other choice, she resigned herself to all karmic entanglements and tearfully submitted to the old woman’s every command.

However，ever since Shinzo’s recent visit had exposed their relationship，that usually cruel old woman wasn’t merely scolding O-Toshi—she was tormenting her. Not only did she beat and pinch her，but also，come late night，employed sinister rituals—suspending both arms in midair，coiling snakes around her neck—subjecting her to horrors chilling enough to make one’s hair stand on end. Yet what tormented her even more than this was how，in the intervals between such abuse，that old woman would sneer and threaten with venomous glee：“If you still refuse to yield even after this，I’ll shorten Shinzo’s life and never relinquish O-Toshi to anyone else.” Now cornered with no escape，O-Toshi—who until this moment had resigned herself to fate—finally resolved to confess everything to the man，fearing that should some irreparable calamity befall Shinzo，all would be lost. However，even this—after Shinzo had heard all the details—made her fear he would come to both dislike and despise her as a woman who did such terrible things，so by the time she finally rushed to Tai-san’s place，she had apparently been so torn with indecision that it was beyond measure.

Having finished her account, O-Toshi raised her face—pale as ever—and gazed steadfastly into Shinzo’s eyes. “Given these karmic circumstances of mine,” she began, “no matter how bitter or sorrowful, I must resign myself to the past when nothing had happened and simply—” But it seemed she could endure no longer. Clinging to the man’s knees, she bit her sleeve and began to weep. It was Shinzo who found himself at a loss. For a while, he simply rubbed O-Toshi’s back, alternating between scolding and encouraging her. Yet when it came to confronting that O-Shima-baasan and determining how they might safely realize their love, he had no choice but to admit there was ultimately no chance of success. But of course, this was no time to show weakness for O-Toshi’s sake either. Forcing a cheerful voice, he said, “What’s there to worry about so much? Given enough time, we’ll surely find a way,” he offered as fleeting comfort to deflect her fears. At this, O-Toshi finally stopped crying and pulled away from Shinzo’s lap, yet her voice still quavered: “If it were a long time, perhaps something could be done… But the old woman at home said she’ll summon the deity the night after tomorrow.” “If I were to say something careless then—” she uttered helplessly.

This revelation struck Shinzo like a blow to the chest twice over, crushing even his forced cheerfulness into utter despondency. If the day after tomorrow arrived without him contriving some plan between now and then, not only himself but O-Toshi too would inevitably sink into an abyss of irreparable misfortune. But how could he possibly apprehend that suspicious crone within two days? Even if they reported it to the authorities, crimes perpetrated in the spirit realm lay beyond the law’s reach. And society at large would surely dismiss O-Shima-baasan’s wickedness as laughable superstition, leaving it unaddressed. As these thoughts churned through him, Shinzo could only cross his arms and stare vacantly, as though comprehending his powerlessness anew. After an interminable silence, O-Toshi lifted tear-brimmed eyes to gaze at the faint starlight in the evening sky. “I wish I could just die,” she whispered faintly, then flinched as if startled by some unseen presence. Casting fearful glances about, she added with bone-weary resignation, “If I stay too late, Grandmother will scold me again. I should go home now.” True enough—thirty minutes had surely passed since their arrival. Dusk’s shadows mingled with river mist to envelop them, obscuring both the firewood stacks on the opposite bank and the straw-matted boats moored below in a monochrome azure haze. Only the Tategawa’s waters remained visible, glimmering pale like some great fish’s belly as they rippled downstream. Shinzo drew O-Toshi close, pressing gentle lips to hers before declaring, “Come back here tomorrow evening without fail. “I’ll wring every drop of wisdom from my mind by then,” he vowed with desperate vigor. O-Toshi nodded mutely, dabbing at tear-stained cheeks with a damp cloth. When she rose from the Nezugawa Stone to depart with her utterly drained lover toward the desolate street beneath the granite komainu statues, fresh tears suddenly welled up. Revealing a nape luminous even in darkness, she bowed her head plaintively and murmured once more, “Ah, I wish I could just die.” At that precise instant— Where two black butterflies had vanished earlier near the utility pole’s base, a single enormous human eye materialized faintly. Lashless and veiled in bluish film, its murky iris measured over three shaku across while gazing at nothing in particular. First it surfaced like a water bubble before drifting to hover dimly above ground—then its soot-black pupil abruptly slid toward the outer corner. Strangest of all, though this colossal eye blurred into the flowing street darkness and appeared indistinct, it nonetheless harbored an indescribable glint of malice. Shinzo instinctively clenched his fist while shielding O-Toshi, staring fixedly at this apparition. In that moment, it felt as though icy wind pierced every pore—a spine-chilling dread so profound it stole his breath.

No matter how desperately he tried to cry out, his tongue would not move. Yet even that eye—for a time—seemed to concentrate desperate malice within its murky pupil as it glared back at them. But its form swiftly faded until finally, a seashell-like eyelid fell away, leaving only the utility pole behind with no trace of anything uncanny remaining. However, something resembling a black swallowtail butterfly appeared to flutter upward—though perhaps it was merely a bat skimming the ground. Afterward, Shinzo and O-Toshi—their faces drained of color as though awakening from a nightmare—exchanged glances. But the instant they recognized a dreadful resolve in each other’s eyes, they instinctively clasped hands and trembled violently together, it was said.

About thirty minutes later, Shinzo—his eyes still wild—sat in the well-ventilated back room facing Tai-san and recounted in a hushed whisper the various strange occurrences he had encountered that night. The matter of the two black butterflies, the secrets of O-Shima-baasan, the vision of the giant eye—all these things would strike a modern young man as nothing but preposterous, but Tai-san, long acquainted with that old woman’s sinister curse powers, showed not a flicker of doubt as he offered ice cream and listened with bated breath. “When that enormous eye vanished, O-Toshi turned deathly pale and said, ‘What should we do? The fact that I met you here has already been discovered by Grandmother.’” “But I puffed up my chest and declared, ‘Now that it’s come to this, it’s as if war has broken out between us and that old hag. Whether she finds out or not, I don’t give a damn.’” “The trouble is, as I’ve just told you, I have a promise to meet O-Toshi again tomorrow at that stone riverbank.” “However, if that old woman has discovered tonight’s meeting, she probably won’t let O-Toshi go out tomorrow.” “So even if I had a brilliant plan to rescue O-Toshi from under that old crone’s claws—and even if I came up with that plan by tomorrow—” “If I can’t meet O-Toshi tomorrow night, all our plans will come to nothing.” “When I thought that, I already felt as if abandoned by both gods and buddhas.” “Even after parting with O-Toshi and coming here, I felt as though my feet weren’t touching the ground.” Having finished recounting every detail, Shinzo—as if suddenly remembering—fanned himself with a uchiwa while anxiously studying Tai-san’s expression. But Tai-san, surprisingly unperturbed, spent some time simply watching the wind spin the hanging plant by the eaves. When he finally turned his gaze to Shinzo, he nevertheless furrowed his brows slightly and said, “In short, for you to achieve your goal, there are three major obstacles.” “First, you must—safely, mind you—snatch Miss Toshi from O-Shima-baasan’s clutches.” “Second, you must carry this out without fail by the day after tomorrow.” “Then, to coordinate the execution of this plan, you need to meet Miss Toshi by tomorrow—that’s the third obstacle.” “So regarding this third obstacle—” “If we can just get past the first two obstacles, I believe we’ll find a way,” he said in a tone brimming with confidence. Shinzo, still wearing a gloomy expression, asked doubtfully, “Why?” Then Tai-san, wearing an infuriatingly composed expression, said, “What trick? There isn’t any. “If you can’t meet—” he began, but then abruptly looked around and said, “Ah! Let’s keep this under wraps until the crucial moment.” “From what you’ve been saying, it seems that old witch has set up tight surveillance around you, so we’d better not say anything careless.”

“To be honest, I think even the first two obstacles can be overcome—it’s not impossible—but…” “Now now—leave everything to me.” “Anyway, tonight you should drink some beer and build up your courage.” With that final remark, he masked his words behind an airy laugh. Shinzo found this both exasperating and infuriating, but when the beer finally began flowing, something happened that proved Tai-san’s caution had been justified. This occurred after their awkward small talk had begun—Tai-san suddenly noticed the cup on Shinzo’s tray remained untouched beside a plate of smoked salmon, still filled to the brim with black beer whose foam had completely dissipated. It was precisely when Tai-san grabbed the dripping beer cask’s base and urged, “Come now—let’s drink cheerfully,” that Shinzo absently lifted his cup to take a swig. On the glossy surface of the black beer—forming a circle about two sun wide, reflecting both the ceiling lamp and reed screen behind him—there abruptly appeared an unfamiliar human face. No—to be precise, it was merely an unfamiliar visage whose humanity remained uncertain. Depending on perception, one might imagine it as a bird, beast, or even snake or frog. Rather than a full face, it resembled a fragment—particularly from eyes to nose—as if peering into the cup over Shinzo’s shoulder, blocking the lamplight to cast a vivid shadow. Though this description suggests duration, it lasted but an instant—the indistinct eye of something peered at Shinzo from within that two-sun circle of black beer before vanishing completely. Shinzo set down his untouched cup and glanced furtively around the room. Yet the electric lamp still shone brightly, the hanging plant by the eaves spun lazily in the breeze, and nothing carrying a sinister aura could be detected in this cool back room. “What’s wrong?” “Did a bug get in?” When Tai-san posed this question, Shinzo wiped his sweaty brow and answered sheepishly: “Nothing—just saw a strange face reflected in this beer.” Hearing this, Tai-san peered into the cup while echoing, “A strange face?” Yet aside from his own reflection, nothing resembling a face remained visible. “It’s just your nerves.” “Surely that old crone wouldn’t dare meddle with me too.” “But you said it yourself earlier!” “That she’s cast her net around me without leaving gaps!”

“So you insist.” “But surely—surely that old woman wouldn’t have stuck her tongue into that beer cup and taken a sip.” “Then drink it already.” In this manner, Tai-san tried various ways to lift his companion’s somber mood, but Shinzo grew only more withdrawn, until finally—without even finishing the cup—he began preparing to leave. Thereupon Tai-san too had no choice but to repeatedly add kind words urging him not to lose heart, and since trams were deemed unreliable, it is said he arranged for a car to be prepared.

That night, even when he slept, he saw nothing but strange dreams and was tormented by them repeatedly, but when morning finally came, Shinzo promptly called Tai-san to thank him for the previous night. When he called, it was the clerk from Tai-san’s shop who answered, informing him: “Sir went out early this morning to some place.” Shinzo wondered if Tai-san had perhaps gone to O-Shima-baasan’s place, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask so openly. Even if he had inquired, there was no way the clerk would know. So after earnestly requesting that he be notified upon Tai-san’s return, Shinzo hung up the phone for the time being. However, when it approached around noon, this time Tai-san called and said that he had indeed gone to O-Shima-baasan’s place this morning to have the house’s layout inspected. “Fortunately, I met Miss Toshi, so I wrote down just my plan in a letter and quietly had her hold onto it. “We won’t know her reply until tomorrow, but given the dire circumstances, Miss Toshi will likely agree despite her fears.” Listening to Tai-san’s words—which made everything sound as though it would proceed smoothly—Shinzo grew increasingly eager to learn the details of this plan. “What exactly are you planning to do?” he pressed. Over the phone, Tai-san chuckled smugly just as he had the previous night. “Well, wait two or three more days. With that old woman involved, even telephones aren’t safe for careless talk.” “Well then, I’ll call you again later.” “Goodbye.” That was how he concluded.

After hanging up, Shinzo sat behind the account counter as usual. But when he thought that within these two days his and O-Toshi’s fates would be decided, he felt neither fear nor frustration—nor even joy—only a strange restlessness that left him unable to touch the ledger or abacus. So that day, using the pretext that his fever hadn’t subsided yet, he spent the afternoon sleeping in the second-floor living room. But even during this time, what continually troubled him was the sensation that someone was intently observing his every move—a feeling that clung to him persistently, whether he was asleep or awake. Indeed, around three in the afternoon, there was definitely someone crouching at the top of the second-floor staircase landing, their gaze seemingly directed toward him through the reed screen. He immediately leapt up and went to investigate but found only the polished corridor floor faintly reflecting the sky outside the window—no sign of anything human-like.

With matters in this state, when the next day arrived, Shinzo grew increasingly anxious, waiting impatiently for Tai-san’s call. Finally, at the same hour as the day before, he was summoned to the telephone as promised. However, when Shinzo went out to meet him, Tai-san declared in an even more spirited voice than the day before: “At last—we’ve got O-Toshi’s reply! Everything will proceed exactly as I’ve planned.” “What? How did I get her reply?” “I prepared another pretext and went over to that old woman’s place myself.” “So since I’d sent a letter yesterday requesting it, when Miss Toshi came out to receive me, she immediately slipped the reply into my hand.” “What a charming reply!” “‘It says “I have understood,” written in hiragana—’ he declared triumphantly.”

But today, strangely enough, from the midst of these very words, not only Tai-san's voice but another person's voice began to intrude. To be sure, this voice—though utterly incomprehensible in its words—stood in stark contrast to Tai-san's vigorous tones: a nasal, feeble, gasping, sluggish sound that wove through his chattering like shadow threading sunlight, seeping into the depths of the receiver. At first, Shinzo dismissed it as a mere crossed line and paid it no mind, so he kept urging, "And then? And then?" while listening raptly to the precious news of O-Toshi. But before long, Tai-san must have heard this strange voice as well. "It's somehow noisy. Is it on your end?" he asked. "No, not on mine," Shinzo replied. "It must be a crossed line." When he responded thus, Tai-san clicked his tongue irritably and said, "Then I'll hang up and redial," while complaining to the operator once or twice—or even three times—persistently having them reconnect the call. Yet that muttering voice—like a toad's whisper—could still be heard. Tai-san finally relented. "It can't be helped. There must be a fault somewhere in the line. But more importantly—now that Miss Toshi has agreed, I expect everything will proceed exactly as planned. Just wait calmly for good news." Tai-san resumed his earlier explanation, but Shinzo, still unsettled about the specifics of this "plan," pressed him again as he had the day before: "What exactly are you going to do?" The other man replied with his usual composure: "Endure one more day. By this time tomorrow, I think you'll surely be informed." "Well, don't rush so much. Wait as if you're aboard a great ship." "Good things come to those who wait, as they say," he answered jokingly. Then, before that voice had even finished, another blurred voice suddenly came close to his ear and sneered clearly, "Cease your futile struggles!" Tai-san and Shinzo both involuntarily asked each other from either end, "What was that voice?" But after that, the receiver fell completely silent, and even that muttering nasal voice could no longer be heard.

“This is bad.” “That just now—it was that old woman!” “If things go wrong, our carefully laid plans—well, everything depends on tomorrow.” “Well, I’ll take my leave now.” As Tai-san said this while hanging up the phone, there was undeniably a flustered quality to his voice. If O-Shima-baasan had indeed begun monitoring even their telephone communications, then she must certainly have also detected Tai-san and O-Toshi’s exchange of secret letters—making Tai-san’s panic entirely justified. Moreover, putting himself in Shinzo’s position—even if he didn’t know what exactly was planned—once that old woman saw through Tai-san’s irreplaceable scheme, there would truly be nothing left but utter ruin. Thus Shinzo left the telephone receiver and, like someone bereaved of spirit, wandered dazedly to the second-floor living room, where he did nothing but gaze at the blue sky beyond the window until sunset. It is said that in that sky—perhaps a trick of the mind—those detestable black swallowtail butterflies would sometimes gather in swarms of dozens upon dozens, weaving eerie calico patterns. But Shinzo, both body and soul utterly exhausted, could no longer even register such wonders as wonders.

That night too, Shinzo was tormented by endless nightmares and could barely sleep at all. Yet when dawn broke, a faint resolve stirred within him, so after forcing down a breakfast as tasteless as sand, he promptly called Tai-san. “Don’t be ridiculous—it’s too early! Calling someone like me—a late sleeper—at this hour is cruel.” Though Tai-san actually still sounded drowsy as he lodged this complaint, Shinzo ignored it entirely and continued: “Since that phone call yesterday, I just can’t stay cooped up at home anymore.” “I'm coming to your place right now.” “No, I can’t rest easy just hearing your plan over the phone.” “Listen.” “I'm coming right now,” he insisted like a spoiled child. Upon hearing this utterly agitated tone, Tai-san likely had no other choice. “Come then.” “I’ll be waiting,” came the straightforward reply, so Shinzo hung up the phone no sooner than he heard it. After showing only a stern face to his anxious mother, he dashed out of the shop without a word of explanation about his destination. When he stepped outside, the sky hung thickly overcast with a dull gloom, red-copper light drifting among eastern clouds—an unnervingly sultry day—but having no leisure to mind such things, he immediately boarded a tram and settled into a central seat, grateful for the sparse occupancy. Yet perhaps the fatigue that had seemed momentarily alleviated still lingered maliciously, for Shinzo now felt his spirits sink anew, accompanied by such an intense headache that it was as though a stiff straw hat were gradually tightening around his head. In his desperate desire to distract himself, he lifted his gaze—which had been fixed on the tips of his geta—to look around his surroundings, only to discover yet another strange phenomenon aboard this tram. The reason was this: all the hanging straps lining both sides of the ceiling swayed like pendulums with the tram’s rocking—except for the one directly before Shinzo, which remained utterly motionless in its place. At first, he found it oddly amusing and didn’t pay it much mind, but as time passed, that eerie sensation of being watched grew stronger on its own. Thinking that sitting beneath this particular strap must be ill-advised, he deliberately moved to an empty seat in the opposite corner. After moving, when he happened to look up, the strap that had been swaying until now suddenly stopped as if fixed in place, while in its stead, the previous strap began swinging vigorously, as though rejoicing in its newfound freedom. As always, Shinzo felt an indescribable terror—so intense it even made him forget his headache—and instinctively scanned the other passengers' faces as if seeking salvation. Then, diagonally across from Shinzo, an old woman who seemed to be a retiree adjusted the collar of her black gauze haori and peered back at him through gold-rimmed glasses with a piercing gaze. Of course, there was no doubt that she bore no relation whatsoever to that witch who summoned spirits. But the moment Shinzo met her piercing gaze, he instantly recalled O-Shima-baasan’s bloated bluish face—and he could bear it no longer. As soon as he suddenly handed his ticket to the conductor, he jumped off the tram faster than a pickpocket who had botched their job.

However, given that the tram had been moving at tremendous speed, the moment his feet touched ground, his straw hat went flying. The thong of his geta snapped. On top of this, he fell forward face-first, scraping his knees in the commotion. No—had he risen a moment later, he would have been crushed beneath the wheels of a freight truck that came barreling down kicking up sand clouds. Covered in mud, Shinzo felt gasoline fumes blast across his face as the yellow-painted truck—bearing what resembled a black butterfly emblem on its rear—careened past him sideways. In that instant, his narrow escape struck him as nothing short of divine intervention—or so it was later recounted.

It was about one chō before reaching Kurakake Bridge tram stop when, by fortune, a passing rickshaw appeared. Shinzo clambered into the vehicle nonetheless and, still pale-faced, urged the driver to hurry toward Higashi-Ryogoku. Yet throughout the journey, his heart pounded; the wounds on his knees throbbed; and compounded by the recent commotion, he was plagued by an ominous dread that the rickshaw might overturn at any moment—so much so that he felt scarcely alive. When the carriage approached Ryōgoku Bridge, Shinzo gazed at black clouds edged in hazy silver piling above Kokugikan’s roof and sail shadows clustered like pale-winged butterflies on the broad Ōkawa’s surface. Stirred by a tragic resolve—as though he and O-Toshi stood at life and death’s precipice—tears welled involuntarily in his eyes. When the carriage crossed the bridge and finally lowered its shafts at the entrance to Tai-san’s house, Shinzo—unable to tell whether he felt joy or sorrow, his chest tightening unbearably—pushed past the rickshaw driver’s bewildered face and ducked through the shop’s curtain in such a flurry that he begrudged even the moment spent handing over an exorbitant fare.

When Tai-san saw Shinzo’s face, he stopped just short of grabbing his arm and ushered him into the usual back room. But upon noticing the wounds on his limbs and the torn summer haori, he blurted out, “What happened? What’s with your state?” he asked in exasperation. “I fell from the tram and nearly jumped off at Kurakake Bridge,” Shinzo replied. “You’re not some country bumpkin—but there’s a limit to being this slow-witted,” Tai-san retorted. “But why on earth did you try to jump off there of all places?” Thereupon, Shinzo recounted every strange occurrence he had encountered on the tram. After listening intently to the entire account, Tai-san frowned more deeply than usual. “The situation grows increasingly dire,” he said. “I think Miss Toshi may have failed,” he added as if muttering to himself. When Shinzo heard O-Toshi’s name, his heart began pounding again. “Do you mean she might have failed? What exactly were you trying to make her do?” he demanded. Yet Tai-san did not answer directly. “Though perhaps this outcome is my fault,” he sighed with genuine remorse. “Had I not told you over the telephone about handing Miss Toshi that letter, that old woman would never have caught wind of my plans.” Shinzo could bear it no longer. “Isn’t it cruel,” he said, voice trembling, “to still withhold your plan from me even now? Because of this, I endure double the suffering!” Tai-san raised a restraining hand. “Now, now—that’s entirely reasonable.” “I’m well aware it’s reasonable,” he continued. “But against that hag, this secrecy remains unavoidable. Had I kept silent about the letter, everything might have proceeded more smoothly.” “Your every word and action lie completely exposed to O-Shima-baasan,” Tai-san pressed on. “Truth be told—since that phone call—I’ve not escaped her scrutiny either.” “But unlike you,” he reasoned, “no such bizarre events plague me yet. Until I know whether my plan has truly failed, I must keep this locked within me—even if you resent me.” Yet Shinzo’s concern for O-Toshi remained undiminished. “Even so,” he pressed with stern intensity, “you’re certain nothing’s amiss with her condition?” Tai-san wore matching worry. “Well…” He glanced at the pillar clock in the adjoining room before declaring with sudden resolve: “I’ve been terribly concerned myself. Let us scout near the witch’s house.” Shinzo himself had been too restless to remain idle any longer and naturally agreed without protest.

There, their discussion quickly concluded, and within less than five minutes, the two left Tai-san’s house side by side in their summer haori. However, no sooner had they left Tai-san’s house than they heard clattering footsteps rushing up from behind. Both turned around simultaneously, only to find nothing suspicious—merely one of Tai-san’s shop boys hurrying after his master with a snake-eye umbrella slung over his shoulder. “An umbrella?” “Yes—the manager said it looked like rain and told me to bring it.” “Then you should’ve brought one for our guest too.” With a wry smile, Tai-san accepted the umbrella. The shop boy scratched his head cheekily, gave an exaggerated bow, then dashed back toward the shop. Now that he mentioned it—overhead, black storm clouds had indeed seethed outward more thickly than before, their gaps leaking steel-cold light that carried an ominous chill. Shinzo walked beside Tai-san, gazing at this sky until another ill omen assailed him; his conversation faltered as he mindlessly quickened his pace. Thus Tai-san lagged behind, perpetually trotting to catch up while mopping sweat with evident fluster—until at last he seemed to resign himself. Leaving Shinzo ahead, he followed with the snake-eye umbrella over his shoulder, casting occasional pitying glances at his friend’s retreating back as he ambled on. When they turned left at Ichibashi Bridge’s edge and reached the stone riverbank where O-Toshi and Shinzo had seen the giant eye at dusk, a rickshaw sped past Tai-san from behind—but upon glimpsing its passenger, he suddenly furrowed his brow and shrilled, “Hey! Hey!” to halt Shinzo. Shinzo stopped reluctantly, turning with irritation etched across his face as he snapped, “What?” Tai-san hurried over and posed an odd question: “Did you see that rickshaw passenger’s face?” “I saw him.” “A gaunt man in black-tinted glasses?” Shinzo retorted skeptically before striding ahead again—but Tai-san pressed on gravely: “That’s Kenzō—a stock speculator who frequents my shop.” “I suspect he’s the one wanting to take Miss Toshi as his concubine—what do you think?” “No particular reason—just a sudden hunch,” he added unexpectedly. Yet Shinzo dismissed this gloomily—“Just your imagination”—and marched onward without even glancing at Momo-no-Yu’s familiar signboard. “Not mere imagination.” Tai-san pointed ahead with his umbrella handle. “Look— “That rickshaw’s stopped right before O-Shima-baasan’s house.” He glanced triumphantly at Shinzo. Indeed—the vehicle now sat beneath rain-heavy willow branches, its gold-crested rear facing them as the driver lounged leisurely by the footboard. Shinzo stirred faint passion beneath his stony expression yet kept his tone languidly dismissive: “But surely other speculators besides Kenzō visit that witch for divination.” By then they had likely reached the plasterer’s shop beside O-Shima-baasan’s residence.

Tai-san did not press his own argument further but remained vigilant of their surroundings as if shielding Shinzo, their summer haori brushing shoulders as they slowly passed in front of O-Shima-baasan’s house. As they passed by, glancing sidelong to assess the situation, the only deviation from the usual was the rickshaw Kenzō had ridden in—now halted much closer than its earlier distant position, boldly parked before the plasterer’s water outlet with its thick rubber tires. The driver, a cigarette butt tucked behind his ear, sat reading a newspaper with utter nonchalance. As for the rest—the bamboo lattice windows, the sooty lattice door at the entrance, even the reed door still unchanged—not only did everything remain as usual down to the aged color of the shoji paper behind the latticework, but the house itself also seemed to be enveloped in its ordinary sinister quiet. Moreover, not even a glimpse of O-Toshi’s figure—not so much as the flutter of her demure indigo kasuri sleeves—met their eyes as they arrived hoping against hope. So when the two passed in front of O-Shima-baasan’s house toward the neighboring hardware store, not only did the tension in their hearts ease, but they also could not help but shoulder the disappointment of their earnest hopes being dashed.

Yet when they arrived before that hardware store—its front displaying Asakusa paper, tawashi scrubbers, and hair-washing powder beneath a large red lantern inscribed “Mosquito-Repellent Incense”—the figure standing there conversing with the shop’s mistress was unmistakably O-Toshi, wasn’t it? The two instinctively exchanged glances and, without a moment’s hesitation, flipped up the hems of their summer haori as they strode briskly into the hardware store. Noticing their presence, O-Toshi turned toward the two men. A faint flush rose beneath her pallid cheeks, but mindful of the hardware store’s mistress, she must have restrained herself. With willow branches from the eaves draped over her shoulder, as if forcibly suppressing the pounding in her chest, she let out a faint exclamation of surprise—“Oh…”—or so it is said. Then Tai-san, remaining perfectly composed, touched the brim of his straw hat and casually addressed her, “Is the old woman at home?” “Yes, she is here.” “And you?” “I came to buy writing paper for a customer’s errand—” Before O-Toshi could finish these words, the shopfront—already dim beneath the willow branches—darkened further. In an instant, a single glistening thread of rain slashed coldly past the belly of the red lantern for mosquito-repellent incense. At the same moment, thunder rumbled so violently that the willow leaves seemed to quiver—or so it is said. Tai-san, seizing this opportunity, stepped back a pace outside the shop and said, “Then please just tell the old woman… “I came up because there’s another matter I wished to discuss—even now, I called out ‘Excuse me!’ several times at the gate, but there was no response at all. When I wondered what was wrong, turns out the one who should have answered was here dilly-dallying!” He glanced equally at O-Toshi and the proprietress of the hardware store, flashing a brisk, cheerful smile. Of course, the proprietress of the household goods store—utterly unaware of the truth—had no way of noticing Tai-san’s skillful act. “Then hurry along now, Miss Toshi,” she urged with flustered haste, before turning to frantically stow away the red lantern for mosquito-repellent incense as rain began pelting down. There, O-Toshi also bid farewell with a polite “I’ll return later, Auntie,” then exited the hardware store flanked by Tai-san and Shinzo on either side. True to their plan, none of the three paused before O-Shima-baasan’s house. Already catching the scattered large raindrops on their snake-eye umbrella, they quickened their pace toward Ichibashi. In truth, during those several minutes, not only the parties involved but even Tai-san—usually so full of vigor—must have felt that the time had come to cast the die of fate and determine whether it would land heads or tails. Until they reached that stone riverbank, all three kept their eyes downcast as if by prior agreement, continuing to walk in silence, seemingly oblivious to the rain that had intensified into a downpour before their very eyes.

When they finally reached the spot where the granite guardian dogs faced each other, Tai-san lifted his face and turned to the other two. “They say this is safest—let’s rest here until the rain stops,” he declared. Sheltering under a single umbrella, they picked their way through gaps between stacked stones—likely a stonecutters’ workplace—and entered beneath the mat roof stretched at the riverbank’s edge. By now the rain fell with such violence that the opposite bank of Tatekawa River vanished behind a churning white curtain. The flimsy mat roof might as well have been tissue paper against this deluge. Mist-like spray billowed inward with clods of wet earth, drenching them despite their shelter. The three huddled together on a half-carved granite gatepost beneath their snake-eye umbrella’s scant protection. Shinzo broke the silence first. “O-Toshi—I’d feared I’d never see you again.” As he spoke, pallid lightning slashed diagonally through rain-lashed air. Thunder cracked like splitting heavens. O-Toshi pressed her ginkgo-leaf chignon to her knees and froze motionless. When she finally raised her bloodless face, her dreamlike gaze fixed raptly on the downpour outside. “I too had resolved myself,” she murmured with unnerving calm. Shinjuu—the characters for “lovers’ suicide” burned into Shinzo’s mind like phosphorus script at her words. Tai-san, wedged between them and holding aloft the umbrella, glanced left and right with furrowed brow yet kept his voice buoyant: “Steady now! You must stay strong too, Miss Toshi.” “Death clings fast in such moments.—But speaking of clinging—isn’t today’s visitor that speculator Kenzō?” “Yes—I know him.” “He’s the one wanting you as his concubine?” Tai-san briskly redirected the conversation. O-Toshi blinked as if waking from trance. Meeting Tai-san’s eyes with newfound clarity, she answered bitterly: “Yes—that man.” “There! Just as I thought!” Tai-san shot Shinzo a triumphant look before sobering instantly. He leaned toward O-Toshi: “This storm will keep Kenzō housebound another twenty minutes at least.” “Tell me now—how fared our plan?” “If all fails, we men charge headlong!” “I’ll confront Kenzō myself at his home.” His resolute tone heartened even Shinzo. All through this exchange, thunder mounted its assault—daylightning flogged the waterfall rain ceaselessly—yet O-Toshi seemed beyond sorrow now, her desperation absolute.

Her face carried an ominous aura rather than beauty, her vividly quivering lips remaining unchanged as she answered in a thin, piercing voice: “They’ve exposed everything—it’s all over now.” Then, as O-Toshi—beneath this mat roof amid the thunderstorm—recounted her story between panting breaths and in broken fragments, Shinzo learned that Tai-san’s plan, of which he had been unaware, had in just a single night developed such sharp twists and utterly failed.

When Tai-san first heard from Shinzo that O-Shima-baasan was invoking deities through O-Toshi for divinations, what instantly occurred to him was that having O-Toshi simulate spirit possession to deceive the crone would be the most direct method. As previously mentioned, under the pretext of consulting about house geomancy, when visiting O-Shima-baasan's residence, he secretly passed O-Toshi a letter detailing this scheme. Though O-Toshi considered executing this plan akin to crossing a treacherous bridge, with no alternative strategies emerging to evade their imminent peril, she resolutely delivered her response to Tai-san the next morning: "I consent." Yet when midnight arrived that very night—after the hag had immersed herself in Tatekawa River as customary and commenced invoking the Basara deity—they discovered an obstacle utterly beyond mortal means. To properly explain these particulars requires first recounting that witch's occult rituals—practices inconceivable in this modern era—in their proper sequence. When summoning deities, O-Shima-baasan would—outrageously—strip O-Toshi to a single underrobe, bind her hands behind her back, unravel her hair from the roots, extinguish electric lights, and force her to sit north-facing in the room's center. Then naked herself, candle clutched in left hand and mirror in right, she would block O-Toshi's path while muttering secret incantations, thrusting the mirror repeatedly as she channeled fervent prayers—procedures sufficient to make any ordinary woman faint. As her chants gradually intensified, she advanced shield-like with the mirror until—whether from its oppressive aura or not—she drove O-Toshi's bound body backward onto tatami without respite. Having thus felled her prey, like some carrion-feeding reptile she would crawl atop O-Toshi's chest, compelling endless upward stares into that eerie mirror illuminated by candlelight—or so accounts claim. Soon thereafter, the Basara deity would seep through darkness like miasma from ancient swamps, soundlessly possessing the woman's form. O-Toshi's eyes would fixate as limbs twitched convulsively, whereupon she'd breathlessly divulge secrets in response to rapid-fire queries—or so reports maintain. Thus that night too did O-Shima-baasan follow these steps unerringly. But O-Toshi, honoring her pact with Tai-san while feigning madness externally, maintained inner vigilance—resolved at opportunity's first glimmer to deliver false oracles against obstructing their love. Naturally she had determined to feign divine displeasure toward all probing questions. Yet gazing at that small mirror blazing beneath candlelight however fiercely she clung to resolve—her mind grew hazy autonomously, besieged by peril of unwitting self-abandonment. Still the crone chanted ceaselessly while scrutinizing her expression, permitting no chance to avert eyes. Gradually the mirror—as if magnetizing O-Toshi's gaze—emitted intensifying sinister radiance, approaching inch by inexorable inch more unnervingly than fate itself. Moreover those endless muttered spells from bloated blue visage ensnared her psyche like spectral cobwebs, dragging toward realms betwixt dream and reality. Duration proved unrecallable—not even vague memories remained when later reflecting. Regardless after what felt like endless night—O-Toshi's efforts proved vain as she fell into that hag's ritual snare. Within dim candle-flickers countless black butterflies swirled skyward then vanished with the mirror from sight as she sank into customary deathlike slumber.

In the midst of thunder and rain, O-Toshi finished recounting the entire story, desperation flooding her eyes and lips. Tai-san and Shinzo—who had been listening intently until now—sighed in unison and exchanged fleeting glances. Though they had steeled themselves for the plan’s failure, hearing each excruciating detail made them acutely feel the belated yet devastating force of despair: this time, everything had truly come to naught. For a time, the two men sat in mute silence, blankly listening to the roar of torrential rain that blanketed the sky. Yet soon enough, Tai-san seemed to rally his courage. Whether from the recoil of his earlier agitation or not, he turned toward O-Toshi—now visibly sinking into gloom—and asked in an encouraging tone, “Do you remember nothing at all from that time?” O-Toshi lowered her eyes and answered, “Yes, nothing—”, but then timidly raised a pleading gaze to Tai-san’s face and resentfully added, “By the time I regained my senses, morning had already broken.” Suddenly pressing her sleeve to her face, she stifled a sob. Even as this unfolded, not only did the weather outside show no sign of clearing, but the thunder rumbled ominously overhead as if ready to strike at any moment. With each peal, lightning that seared the eyes flashed ceaselessly even beneath the mat roof. Then Shinzo—who until now had not moved a muscle—suddenly stood up as if possessed. With a ghastly expression contorting his face, he began lunging toward the raging storm of rain and lightning. Moreover, in his hand, he now held a chisel that the stonecutter had apparently left behind. No sooner had Tai-san seen this than he threw down the snake-eye umbrella and immediately rushed after Shinzo from behind, restraining his shoulders as if embracing him. “Hey—have you lost your mind?!” Tai-san shouted reflexively as he tried to forcibly pull him back. But Shinzo—in a voice unlike his own, strained and shrill—yelled, “Let go of me!” “Now that it’s come to this—either I die or kill that old hag—there’s no other choice!” he screamed frantically. “Don’t do anything foolish! “For one thing, isn’t Kenzō here today as well?” “So I’ll go over there and—” “What does Kenzō matter? “The bastard who wants to take O-Toshi as his concubine—you think he’d listen to your pleas?” “Rather than that, just let me go!” “Hey, as your friend, I’m begging you—let me go!” “Have you forgotten about Miss Toshi?” “If you do something so reckless, what will become of her?” — While the two men grappled, Shinzo felt a pair of gentle arms—trembling yet powerful—encircle his neck.

Then he gazed at tear-filled cool eyes that held an infinitely sorrowful light fixed intently upon his face. Finally, threading through the sound of the downpour, he heard a voice so faint it was almost inaudible whisper, “Please let me die with you.” At the same moment, there must have been a lightning strike nearby. With a thunderclap that seemed to split the heavens and a scattering of purple sparks before his eyes, Shinzo, still held by his lover and friend, sank into unconsciousness.

Several days had passed since then.

When Shinzo finally awoke from a long, nightmare-like coma, he found himself lying quietly on the second floor of his Nihonbashi home with an ice bag pressed to his head. Beside his pillow, alongside a medicine jar and a thermometer, sat a small morning glory pot with a delicate lapis lazuli flower in bloom—it must still be early morning. Rain, thunder, O-Shima-baasan, O-Toshi—as Shinzo hazily retraced these memories, he suddenly turned his gaze to the side and unexpectedly found O-Toshi sitting there by the reed door, her ginkgo-leaf styled hair disheveled and cheeks still pale, looking deeply concerned. No—not only was she sitting there, but upon seeing Shinzo regain his senses, she immediately blushed faintly and modestly addressed him: “Have you come to your senses, Young Master?” “O-Toshi.” — Shinzo murmured his lover’s name as if still dreaming, when suddenly from his bedside came Tai-san’s equally unexpected voice: “Ah, now we can finally rest easy.—Oh! Stay still, stay still. You must keep as quiet as possible.” “So you were here too.” “Well, I’m here too.” “Your mother is here as well.” “The doctor just left moments ago.” — Exchanging these words, Shinzo turned his gaze away from O-Toshi and gazed dreamily at the opposite side as though observing something distant. Sure enough, there sat Tai-san and his mother near his pillow, exchanging looks of relief. But for Shinzo—who had finally regained his senses—not only could he not fathom how he had returned to his Nihonbashi home after that terrible thunderstorm, but he also failed to grasp the circumstances surrounding it. For a time, he simply stared blankly at the three faces before him. But soon his mother gently peered into Shinzo’s face and spoke with visible concern: “Now that everything has been safely resolved, you must rest well and regain your strength as soon as possible.” Then from behind her, Tai-san added, “Rest assured. “The feelings of you two reached the gods.” “O-Shima-baasan was struck by lightning and died while speaking with Kenzō,” he added more cheerfully than usual. The moment Shinzo heard this unexpected good news, he was swept up in a strange emotion that defied description as either joy or sorrow. Tears spilled unbidden down his cheeks, and he closed his eyes. To the three people nursing him, it must have seemed as if he had fainted again. Suddenly, everyone began bustling about in a flurry of commotion, so when Shinzo opened his eyes again, he saw Tai-san—who had been halfway to his feet—deliberately click his tongue with exaggerated annoyance and say, “What? You scared us.—Don’t worry.” “You were crying one moment and laughing the next,” he said, turning to the two women. Indeed, when Shinzo considered that the shadow of that suspicious old woman no longer loomed in this world, he felt a smile naturally forming on his lips. After savoring this blissful smile for a while longer, Shinzo turned his gaze to Tai-san and asked, “What about Kenzō?”

“Kenzō?” Tai-san replied with a laugh. “Kenzō just rolled his eyes,” he said, seeming to hesitate for some reason, but then continued as if changing his mind: “I went to visit him yesterday and heard it from the man himself. “When Miss Toshi was possessed by the spirit, she reportedly said over and over that if anyone interfered with you two’s love, it would mean that old woman’s life.” “But that old woman thought it was all an act,” he went on. “So when Kenzō went there the next day, she was all fired up—swearing she’d tear you two apart even if it meant resorting to atrocities.” “When you think about it,” Tai-san mused, “my plan must have ended in failure—but wasn’t it precisely what we’d planned that actually came to pass?” “But for O-Shima-baasan to have thought it was a sham,” he added with a shrug, “only to end up destroying herself—no matter how you look at it, that was unexpected.” “With this,” he concluded with a perplexed look, “even the Basara deity—I can’t tell anymore whether it’s good or evil.” Upon hearing these accounts, Shinzo could not help but feel increasingly astonished at the uncanny power of the netherworld forces that had toyed with him all this time. Yet almost immediately, he found himself wondering what had become of him since that thunderstorm day. When he asked, “And what of me?”, O-Toshi now took over from Tai-san and earnestly added: “We took you straight from the stone riverbank by rickshaw to a nearby doctor. Perhaps because you had been drenched in the rain, your fever rose terribly high. Even when we brought you back here at dusk, you were entirely out of your senses.” Hearing this, Tai-san also leaned forward with a satisfied look: “The fact that your fever finally broke is entirely thanks to your mother and Miss Toshi. “For three full days now,” he continued, “Miss Toshi and even Mother haven’t slept a wink nursing you through your delirious ramblings.” “Though as for O-Shima-baasan,” he added matter-of-factly, “I’ve handled all the funeral arrangements for her memorial services.” “Not a single thing here,” he declared emphatically, “hasn’t been taken care of by Mother.”

“Mother.” “Thank you.” “What’s this? You should be thanking Tai-san more than me.” As these words were spoken, both parent and child—no, O-Toshi and Tai-san too—all had tears in their eyes. But Tai-san, being a man, promptly raised his voice cheerfully: “It must be around three o’clock now.” “Well then, I’ll take my leave now.” As he started to rise halfway, Shinzo furrowed his brows suspiciously. “Three o’clock? “Isn’t it still morning?” he asked in a strange manner.

Tai-san, momentarily stunned, said, “Don’t joke around,” while pulling out a watch from his obi as if to open its cover and show it. But noticing Shinzo’s gaze had fallen on the morning glory flower by the pillow, he suddenly broke into a bright smile and began recounting: “This morning glory—it’s a potted plant Miss Toshi carefully nurtured ever since her days at that old woman’s house. Yet only this lapis lazuli blue flower that bloomed on that rainy day has mysteriously remained unwithered even now. Miss Toshi kept telling us she truly believed you’d recover completely as long as this blossom stayed alive. Since you’ve come back to your senses through her devotion, even among strange phenomena, this one feels rather tenderhearted, doesn’t it?”

(Taisho 8, September 22)