Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

From February to March of Kan'en 2, the Year of the Snake (1749), two heads were displayed at the execution grounds in Osaka's Sennichimae district.
One belonged to a thick-necked man named Kurōemon; the other to a beautiful woman called O-hae. The man executed earlier had been a pirate known by the alias Akagōshi.
The woman had been Kashiku - a celebrated courtesan of Kita no Shinchi lured by a warehouse agent's client to reside near Temma's ancient pine. Yet her drunken rages proved her undoing when she wounded her brother Kichibē, resulting in her being paraded through Osaka before facing public display.

This became the talk of all Osaka, and the Toyoza Puppet Theater immediately sought to adapt it into a joruri play.
As playwrights Namiki Sōsuke and Asada Ittori gathered their wits to devise their plot, there came yet another new material.
In Daibutsuchō, a nineteen-year-old youth named Rokuzaburō—apprentice to master carpenter Shōzō—along with Osono, a courtesan from the Minami no Shinyashiki Fukushima-ya brothel, carried out a double suicide at Nishi-Yokobori on the night of March 19th.
Moreover, this Rokuzaburō had a connection to one of the heads displayed at Sennichi Temple.

While those in the theater world must have rejoiced at this continuous wellspring of material, among the people gathered as fodder for their plays, the youngest—Rokuzaburō—was the most pitiable.

Rokuzaburō was Kurōemon’s child.

Kurōemon’s background was not well known.
It seems he had been running a small business in Nagamachi, but born with boldness in his veins, he proved ill-suited to petty commerce.
Growing impatient with tallying abacus beads, he staked everything on a get-rich-quick scheme in Dōjima’s rice market—only for his plans to collapse completely, plunging him into ruin so deep that liquidating his meager fortune couldn’t save him.
Flight under night’s cover became his sole recourse.
He abandoned his wife and son, disappearing into obscurity.

With no other relatives or friends to turn to, the abandoned wife found herself in a precarious situation, living in back-alley lodgings with her son Rokuzaburō.
Kurōemon's whereabouts were never discovered.
The wife, whose constitution had always been frail even under normal circumstances, was crushed under the weight of hardships and died fragilely in the spring of the following year, as if from a nervous condition.

Rokuzaburō was still a child of ten years old and had no idea which way to turn.
Through the kindness of neighbors, his mother’s funeral had somehow been managed, but as Rokuzaburō wandered lost about what to do next, helplessly sobbing, the carpenter Shōzō took pity on him and brought him to his home in Daibutsuchō.
Thus, the orphan Rokuzaburō became a carpenter’s apprentice.

Abandoned by his father and having lost his mother, Rokuzaburō had no one to rely on in all of Osaka besides his master.
Shōzō was a man of integrity who often looked after Rokuzaburō.
That an orphan with nowhere else to go—even if he suffered some mistreatment—had managed to find such a good master was undeniably the greatest happiness he could have hoped for.
Rokuzaburō, feeling grateful for this blessing, served his master diligently.

Rokuzaburō had inherited none of his father’s traits. He had been born with his mother’s gentle brows and eyes. He had been born with her guileless, fragile spirit. Though perhaps too meek for the rough carpentry trade, this very frailty deepened his master and wife’s pity, allowing him to serve without earning resentment from seniors or peers until his coming-of-age ceremony. His skills proved adequate enough. Though no ordinary apprentice, the master kindly promised that upon cleanly completing his decade-long indenture, he might dwell in back-alley lodgings or even start a household. Being a youth who resembled a tenant farmer’s child, Rokuzaburō first shaved his forelock in his eighteenth spring.

However gentle a man he was, he was now eighteen.
Urged by senior apprentices and friends that having shorn his forelock meant joining adult society, Rokuzaburō first crossed the threshold of Fukushima-ya brothel in Shinyashiki that summer.
The courtesan paired with him was named Osono, three years his senior.
To Osono—who had entered the pleasure quarters at sixteen and now stood in her professional prime—this guileless youth with his artless sincerity appeared endearing.
Rokuzaburō, who had believed no one dear existed beyond his master and wife, discovered another cherished soul from that night onward.
Even an honest man grows bold through love; thereafter he continued stealing away to Shinyashiki, evading his master's and seniors' eyes.

Had they both been young peers, they might have recklessly climbed to ruin in their fervor; but fortunately, the woman was older than the man.
She had come to know thoroughly both the allure and hardships of the pleasure quarters.
Even considering his status as one newly risen from apprenticeship, she knew meeting five times where three would suffice—twice where once was enough—served their interests.
She knew too of Koharu Jihee and Umekawa Chūbee's tragic ends.

“I don’t want our names to be sung in jōruri.”
“Until I turn twenty-five in the New Year, we both must endure patiently.”

Osono had always counseled Rokuzaburō as if he were her younger brother.
A firm promise about their future had already been forged between them.
Yet partly due to her aversion to scandalous rumors, and partly because keeping a lover who was not only younger but also a former carpenter’s apprentice clashed with her standing as a working courtesan, Osono resolved to keep their relationship concealed until she gained her freedom.
She feared spreading such gossip would harm the man’s prospects.
When the young man grew impatient to visit her, the woman instead restrained him.
Having taken up with someone younger, Osono found herself weighed down by countless anxieties.
She had always shouldered half their tryst expenses herself.

Precisely because they took pleasure in this plain, hidden love, their relationship continued without showing any signs of rupture. Although the master had vaguely sensed it, he never could have imagined that their love had taken such firm root. Thus, he refrained from uttering any real reprimands, thinking it best to overlook the youth’s occasional visits to the pleasure quarters.

In the second year of Kan'en, Rokuzaburō turned nineteen.
Osono turned twenty-two in the spring.

Behind the master’s house lay a wide vacant lot.
Since they used this area as their workplace, in the corner of the vacant lot stood a lumber shed where they stacked and stored timber.
At the corner of the shed grew a single cherry tree that had been planted long before Rokuzaburō’s arrival and now stood as a considerable large tree.
Rokuzaburō would work with plane and saw beneath this cherry tree, gazing up each spring at the white blossoms crowning its branches.
In mid-February of that year, when those branches were about to turn white once more, it was the evening of a cloudy yet warm day.
Rokuzaburō returned from work at a job site and visited a nearby bathhouse.
By the time he exited the bathhouse gate with a damp hand towel, fine raindrops had begun scattering down onto his forehead.

“Excuse me, excuse me.”

Called out from the dimly lit roadside, Rokuzaburō halted.
The person who had called out was dressed for travel, his face concealed beneath a deep sedge hat.

“Would you be Rokuzaburō the carpenter?”

“Yes. I am Rokuzaburō.”

The traveler glanced around briefly but then approached directly and took Rokuzaburō’s hand.
Startled, he tried to pull his hand away, but the man did not loosen his grip.

“Rokuzan.
You’ve kept yourself well.
I am your father, Kurōemon.”

After a span of ten years since last seeing his father, Rokuzaburō, having suddenly encountered him, could not utter a word for a time due to both joy and nostalgia.
He clung to his father’s hand and did nothing but weep.

Somehow—where he had heard it remained unclear—the father already knew his child was under Master Shōzō’s care in Daibōji-chō.
“At that time I kept a shop in Hakata in western Japan,” he continued, “running an extensive smuggling trade with Chinese merchants.
It brings thousands of ryō yearly.
That’s why I’ve come for you.
A carpenter’s apprenticeship leads nowhere.
Come west with me,” he whispered urgently, “and inherit a merchant’s fortune.”

Rokuzaburō felt as though he were dreaming.
The father whose whereabouts had long been unknown suddenly returned and declared he would make him heir to a great merchant—he should come along.
Though it all sounded rather like a fabrication, honest Rokuzaburō did not doubt his father.
Yet he insisted leaving immediately without informing the master would cause trouble.
He begged his father to let him properly thank the master and calmly request leave.

Kurōemon resisted at first but ultimately yielded to his son’s pleas, agreeing to negotiate with the master.
When Hakata was finally decided upon, Rokuzaburō meant to confess about Osono but found no chance.
As rain fell steadily father and son hurried drenched through streets.
Neither knew black shadows clung at their heels.

The black shadow was a town constable.
Before the father and son could reach Daibōji-chō, the constables surrounded them.
Kurōemon swiftly slipped through and fled, but Rokuzaburō, left bewildered and floundering, had both arms seized immediately.

Four gates were closed.
The alarm drum boomed ominously.
Exits were blocked one after another, and Kurōemon found himself with nowhere to flee.
He managed to evade the constables’ eyes for a while by pacing back and forth in one area, but around the Hour of the Dog that night, he was finally caught in their ropes.

Though it was called Chinese trade, he did not conduct his business openly on land like the merchants of Nagasaki.
He was what they called a smuggler, venturing out by boat under cover of night to engage in clandestine trade with foreign vessels.
Smuggling was strictly prohibited, and in this era, they were called pirates.
He left his hometown of Osaka and, while wandering through western Japan, this bold man found a suitable new occupation and joined that band of smugglers.
This venture fortunately succeeded, and while ostensibly he ran a Chinese goods shop in Hakata Town, in truth he made his living as what they called a pirate, slipping past the Nagasaki Magistrate’s surveillance.

As he spent ten years this way, even he eventually grew nostalgic for his hometown.
Having passed forty himself, when he discovered white threads at his temples while facing the mirror, he grew involuntarily nostalgic for the wife and son he had abandoned in his hometown.
Unable to bear his overwhelming nostalgia any longer, he quietly made his way up to Osaka.
During his absence, through some trivial incident, the secret was exposed, and one of his comrades was apprehended.
The Nagasaki Magistrate Office dispatched an express courier bearing a portrait and requested the Osaka Magistrate Office to apprehend him.

Unaware of any of this even in his dreams, he had walked straight into the net himself.
When he wandered through the Nagamachi area where he once lived and discreetly inquired about his wife and child’s circumstances, he learned that his wife had long since passed away.
He learned that his son had become a carpenter’s apprentice and was living in Daibōji-chō.
He belatedly came to regret the past, though it was beyond redemption; while wandering near Daibōji-chō with the desperate hope of at least retrieving his son to live together as father and child, he finally fell into their waiting net.

“Having seen my child’s face after ten years, I have nothing left to say—but precisely because we met again needlessly,” Kurōemon wept in the sand-floored tribunal, “the thought that my innocent child might face punishment by association fills me with sorrow.”

Even the magistrate had tears in his eyes.
Rokuzaburō had always been known for his honesty; moreover, though they were father and son, their ten years without contact made it abundantly clear he bore no connection to his father’s crimes.
Meanwhile, Master Shōzō had petitioned the town headman about these circumstances and persistently pleaded for Rokuzaburō’s pardon, until finally he was released without further penalty.

“What an unexpected calamity, but well, it can’t be helped. Having a wretched parent is karmic fate—you must resign yourself to it,” the master said consolingly.

Though Rokuzaburō imagined Osono must be deeply worried upon hearing these rumors, his circumstances demanded strict seclusion. Unable to venture out recklessly—whether out of deference to his master or societal expectations—he endured silently and passed his days in quiet obedience.

Being a man of unshakable resolve, Kurōemon now harbored no lingering attachments and cleanly confessed his crimes, so the investigation proceeded without particular difficulty.
After being paraded throughout Osaka, they displayed his head before Sennichi Temple.

This ill-advised reunion with his parent became Rokuzaburō’s misfortune.
Though he had steeled himself for this likely outcome, when he learned his father’s crime had indeed been sentenced to public display, terror and sorrow gripped him so profoundly that he could scarcely feel alive.
On the day the death sentence was carried out, he wept without touching his meal.
The Master too could offer no comfort beyond repeating, “Resign yourself, just resign yourself.”

The senior apprentices also sympathized with Rokuzaburō.
The neighbors also felt sorry for him.
Yet society was cruel; beneath expressions of pity and sympathy, many would whisper derogatory remarks—calling Rokuzaburō the carpenter “the pariah’s child” or “the pirate’s son”—implicitly belittling him.
In truth, being a pirate’s son brought him no honor.
The timid Rokuzaburō grieved his father’s tragic death while simultaneously fearing the cruel persecution from society bearing down upon him.
It wasn't just himself—he lamented, feeling deeply remorseful for having tarnished even the face of the master who had shown him great kindness.

“Don’t brood on such things forever—people’s gossip lasts seventy-five days, and it’s bound to fade away naturally before long.”
“Just endure a little while longer.”
“Pay no mind to whatever folks might say.”

The master would say this and always encourage Rokuzaburō.
Rokuzaburō listened gratefully, tears streaming down his face.
When he saw that fragile tear-stained face, even the master found himself unbearably moved by its pathos.
"No use brooding over what's done," he would add. "Try having a little sake instead."

On the thirteenth night after his father’s severed head had been displayed, Rokuzaburō wrapped his face in a hand towel and quietly went to visit Fukushima-ya.
In his current circumstances, he couldn’t engage in ostentatious revelry.
He called Osono to the latticed entrance and showed her his haggard, pale face.
Osono, who had been living in constant worry for the man’s well-being since that incident, felt tears suddenly gush forth when she saw Rokuzaburō’s lonely figure standing dejectedly under the dim eaves lantern.

“The rumors circulating openly throughout Osaka—I’ve heard every last one.”
“Even so, the fact that no harm has come to you is the only blessing there is.”
“And how fares Master?”

“As I always say, Master is a kind person.”
“He cares for me more than ever.”
“And I’ve no hardships at all.”

Even as he spoke these words, seeing the man’s utterly withered face—now so emaciated he looked like a different person compared to half a month before—Osono found herself overwhelmed by imagining his pitiful struggles, her tears flowing without cease.

II

Master was a kind person who had been strengthening me in various ways.
I had no choice but to give up on my father.

Thinking this way, Rokuzaburō found himself with no immediate troubles; yet what he feared most remained society's eyes and tongues.
He was reviled as the pirate's son through cruel words and glared at as the pariah's child through cold eyes.
This meant he could no longer show his face in society.
He couldn't even go to work at client sites.

“When I think of that, I don’t feel alive anymore,” Rokuzaburō wept helplessly.

Osono had long known of the man’s fragile spirit, and seeing him weep so pathetically now struck her as increasingly pitiful and heartrendingly poignant.
Osono comforted him as one would a child—No matter what the world may say, no matter who points fingers behind your back, you still have your dependable Master. You have me.
“You mustn’t let yourself feel so desolate.”
“A nineteen-year-old man shouldn’t spend all his time weeping.”
“You must harden your heart and behave like a man,” she instructed, enunciating each word as though pressing them into his very soul.
Rokuzaburō listened vacantly, offering only meek compliance.

The two parted as they were—though mountains of things they wanted to call out remained—but Osono, concerned about the household's circumstances, thoroughly impressed upon him that it would be best to endure quietly for the time being, then sent him off with careful instructions.

And then another half-month passed.

The cherry blossoms at the Master’s house bloomed white, faithful to spring.
Rokuzaburō too had lately been working at the workshop in the vacant lot, planing split planks beneath these cherry blossoms.
The Master too had no intention of sending Rokuzaburō out to external jobs for the time being.
However, as days passed, the bad rumors seemed only to spread further—whether those reaching the Master’s own ears directly or the various tales other apprentices brought back from society—all of them nothing but detrimental to Rokuzaburō.
At certain client sites, they said not to send Rokuzaburō for work anymore.
A craftsman said he wouldn’t work with Rokuzaburō.
The Master was astonished at how unexpectedly potent society's hatred and persecution toward the pirate's son had become.

“Poor thing—Rokuzaburō has done nothing wrong.”

No matter how much the master shielded Rokuzaburō, he could not withstand the immense foe that was society with his hands alone.
In the end, the master too thought.
As things were, Rokuzaburō would remain a social outcast forever and never be able to live openly in society.
He even considered that perhaps it would be better to send him to another province for the time being, so that society might forget him.

“If you’re being pointed at as the child of a convicted criminal, even Osaka must be difficult for you to live in.”
“I’ll write a letter of introduction and ask the master craftsmen in Edo for you, so go apprentice there for two or three years until the gossip dies down.”

said the master.

Rokuzaburō meekly agreed.
The senior apprentices also recommended that it would be best.

For Rokuzaburō in his current circumstances, leaving this land for the time being was undoubtedly the wisest course of action. Rokuzaburō thought so too. However, carrying this out meant confronting two bitter sorrows for him. The first was parting with Osono—the reason for which went without saying. The second was leaving this land. Born in Osaka and never once setting foot beyond it, Rokuzaburō found himself longing for the very soil of Osaka that cursed him. The thought of plunging alone into a foreign land he knew nothing about was somehow terrifying. Living in Osaka while being pointed at as the pirate’s son was painful, but being scorned as an outsider in Edo would also be bitter—this terrified his timid heart.

Rokuzaburō went to Fukushima-ya on the evening of March 15th.
He met Osono and explained in a subdued voice the reason he had to go to Edo.
Osono was initially shocked, but she came to think the Master’s opinion wasn’t unreasonable.
Indeed, she thought that leaving this land for the time being to let things settle down would be for Rokuzaburō’s own good.

"An apprenticeship in another province will surely be harsh, but that's where endurance comes in. Even if you had to bite into stone, they won't call you a real man unless you endure it. By the time you return, my term of service will have just ended. Then we'll start a household together—even in some narrow back-alley home—and live out our days side by side as we've always promised. Let's look forward to that day while living apart for now—you in the east and me in the west. Two or three years mean nothing—even five or ten, I'll wait. My heart won't change. You should go make friends with Edo girls and such, but don't forget I exist. If you find a way to send word to Master, let me hear from you too." When the time finally came for him to depart, Osono added one last instruction—"Come see me once more"—before they parted that night at the lattice gate.

Rokuzaburō too had now resolved himself.
With a heavy heart, he steeled himself to part from the cherished soil of Osaka and bid farewell to his beloved Osono, venturing to a foreign land where he knew neither east nor west, resigned that for now he had no choice but to endure this bitter trial.

“Well then, Master. I have resolved to depart for Edo.”

“That’s wise. What’s two or three years of endurance? When the time is right, I’ll call you back myself. Hone your skills to the fullest and return as a splendid craftsman who’ll astonish the people of Osaka. A person’s worth depends on their skill. If you develop true skill, even those who’ve spoken ill of you till now will come bowing their heads to beg for your work.”

Master wrote a letter addressed to a certain master carpenter in Edo and said that if he took this with him, they would surely look after him. Since it was his first journey, he told him to be careful and gave him various instructions about travel precautions. He prepared his travel arrangements and provided him with journey funds. The senior apprentices also gave parting gifts each in their own way. Even as everyone’s kindness touched him deeply and brought him joy, Rokuzaburō found it increasingly painful to part with these kind people and step out among strangers in a foreign land. He wiped away tears from time to time in places unseen by others.

As the twentieth was deemed an auspicious day, it was finally decided he would don his straw sandals that very morning.
The day before that, Rokuzaburō said he wanted to visit his mother’s temple.

“You’ve been very thoughtful. Since you won’t be able to visit for some time, go to your mother’s grave, properly explain the reasons, and pay your respects,” said the master as he wrapped some temple offerings.

Rokuzaburō gratefully received the temple offerings and left the master’s house after midday.
It was another dull, overcast day, and the cherry blossoms in the vacant lot behind had already begun to fall despite the absence of wind.

The temple was located in Nagamachi-ura, where Rokuzaburō had once lived.
Even after being taken into the master’s house, Rokuzaburō had never missed his visits to the temple, which had struck the priest as peculiar.
The priest, being aware of this recent incident, sympathetically comforted Rokuzaburō over his misfortune.
When he heard about Rokuzaburō's plan to go to Edo, he acknowledged it as reasonable. "However many years you may be away," he assured, "you would never leave your mother's grave unattended. Depart with peace of mind." He also wrote letters of introduction to contacts in Edo.

When he finished saying his farewells and left the temple, the rain began to fall.
Rokuzaburō went to Sennichi Temple in the rain.
Even though his father’s severed head was no longer displayed, he wanted to at least visit the grave.
The corpses of those executed were treated like discarded refuse, with no grave markers visible from the start; yet through the temple priests' compassion, a single new sotoba stood erected.

That his father, whom he had reunited with after ten years, would so soon become part of this earth seemed nothing but a fleeting dream.
And that dream was a terrifying one.
At the cemetery, the spring grass was green.
Fine rain soundlessly wet the sotoba.
Recalling how he had been drenched in similar rain on that evening he met his father, Rokuzaburō wiped the droplets from his face—tears now mingling with raindrops at his fingertips.

He had finished bidding farewell to his deceased parents. Now he had to bid farewell to the living.
As day darkened, Rokuzaburō next went to Shinyashiki.

“You’ve come after all.”

Osono took Rokuzaburō to the teahouse.
Tonight marked their farewell for the time being.
A standing conversation at the lattice gate would not suffice.
When they sat before the dim candlestick, the rain still had not ceased.
Osono somehow procured two ryō of gold as a parting gift.
Then, saying she had sewn it herself, she gave him an undergarment.

Although he had resolved himself, Rokuzaburō still found parting from Osono painful.
The cursed land was still dear.
Even as he discussed their future with Osono, he found himself moved to tears by every little thing.

“As I said before—you’re a man. You mustn’t cling to such weakness.”
“Even women leave their birthplaces—many go as far as distant Nagasaki or the hinterlands of Oshu.”
“Even among those in this quarter, few were born in Osaka—some come from nearby Kyō-Tamba, others from distant Shikoku and Saigoku, sold into service to endure harsh apprenticeships in foreign lands.”
“Knowing this, how could any man claim he can’t withstand two or three years of hardship?”

Osono repeated the same words and fortified her resolve.

“I know that too.”
“I’ve been told by the master, urged by the senior apprentices, and counseled by you—I’ve steeled myself to go to Edo no matter what.”
“I’ll endure every hardship and become a proper craftsman to return here—please wait for me until then.”

Even as his words spoke with manly resolve, tears betraying them pooled in Rokuzaburō’s eyes.

To Osono, the frustratingly frail man remained endearing.
More than endearing, he struck her as pitifully vulnerable.
To escape society's prying tongues, his Edo apprenticeship seemed sound.
If tempered among strangers, he would surely grow stronger—hone his skills.
However painful temporarily, it would ultimately serve him.
Yet upon reflection—people being what they are—Rokuzaburō seemed ill-suited for such work, his physique always frail.
That timid disposition stemmed partly from bodily weakness.
What would become of him cast adrift in foreign lands, knowing neither east nor west among strangers?

“Even birds—a crow far from home gets bullied.”

Osono found herself sorrowfully imagining such things.
When she had first sunk into this brothel district, she had often been bullied by malicious peers and cried in secret.
There had even been times when she had felt like she might as well die.
Rokuzaburō—frail in body and timid in spirit—would undoubtedly repeat the same bitter, sorrowful experiences she herself had endured.
She had heard that Edo craftsmen were short-tempered.
Thrown among them, he would be scolded and pushed around daily, made to suffer harsh treatment—and if by chance he fell ill, those around him being mere strangers, there’d likely be no one to properly care for him.

Thinking this, the thin face of the man slumped before her, his disheveled hair—all of it became seeds that clouded Osono’s heart. Though she tried to swallow her tears and force herself to send him away for the man’s future, she herself had mountains of reluctance to part. Though she spoke of two or three years, there was no telling what might befall her in that time. Tonight might be the last time she would see his face, and they might never meet again. As she thought such things, Osono found her resolve weakening slightly, as though being swept along by the man’s emotions.

Even so, there was nothing to be done about it now. Now that things had come to this, she had no choice but to steel herself and send the man off to Edo, even if it meant forcing him. Though weak, the man had already steeled himself for this. There must be no showing of fragile tears from her that might dull his resolve. In the end, both he and she were unfortunate to have fallen into such a painful predicament. To overcome this misfortune required a strong resolve. Having resolved to try everything within their power—and if their pained feelings still failed to shine through, they would have no choice but to resign themselves to being truly ill-fated—Osono, who had endured more than her share of worldly hardships, summoned a resolve stronger than Rokuzaburō’s—he who clung to her like a child—and forced a smile onto her face. And then she enthusiastically told him about the famous sights of Edo she had heard of from customers—Asakusa Kannon, Ueno’s cherry blossoms, Shinobazu Benten—making them sound as interesting as she could.

Rokuzaburō listened with an unsmiling face. No famous place seemed as appealing as his hometown. Even if they couldn't meet daily, he wanted to keep living in the same place where Osono lived.

“About what time will you depart tomorrow?” Osono asked, mindful of the sound of the rain.

“I’ll board the Yodo River boat from Hachikenya at half past six in the morning.”
“Since I hear tomorrow’s an auspicious day for departure, I intend to set out resolutely unless the rain turns severe. The master and senior apprentices said they’d see me off as far as Hachikenya.”

“It’s truly a long journey, so selecting an auspicious day from the calendar is crucial.”
“I too will face north at that hour and see you off from the shadows.”
“Given the recent weather patterns, tomorrow likely won’t clear up either—though it probably won’t be too heavy.”

“It’s a long road ahead.
We can’t let rain stop us,” Rokuzaburō said with a desolate laugh.

“You’ve never held your liquor well, but drink with me tonight—our farewell cup.
Let’s get drunk and make merry while we can.”

They tried to drown their grief by emptying cup after cup.

Mid-March had passed, and the spring rain scattering Naniwa's blossoms could be heard quietly until late into the night.

“It would be bad if they worry at home.”
“Especially with your early departure tomorrow.”
“Though I hate to see you go, it’s time you returned,” Osono said gently after a moment, gazing at the man’s face.

“You’re right.”
“Rokuzaburō left home at noon—the master must surely wonder where I’ve been and what I’ve done all this time.”
“I mustn’t face scolding at this crucial moment of departure.”

“Hoho, how considerate of Master.”
“He’s likely guessed already,” Osono laughed.

Rokuzaburō also laughed silently.
Osono brought her mouth close to his ear and said.
“Don’t go getting cozy with women in Edo, you hear?”
“What? That’s just me being foolish.”

When Osono saw Rokuzaburō's retreating figure as he finally stood up, her chest suddenly tightened. As she accompanied him those few steps, the constriction in her chest grew fiercer, and she felt an uncanny dark shadow coiling about her. It seemed she wandered through darkness together with this man, her legs locking in terror. His enfeebled steps dragged slowly.

However she considered it - banishing this fragile man to some distant unknown land, forcing such suffering upon him - the cruelty wrenched her heart. That he would endure hardships pained her without doubt, but now she vividly foresaw her own torment - mornings and evenings spent agonizing over his struggles. After bearing such anguish, whether any future joy might await them at all - this uncertainty too abruptly flooded Osono with dread. Before her eyes, the darkness deepened inexorably.

“Rokuzaburō-san.”
“Are you truly set on going to Edo?” Osono pressed once more, as though it were the final chance, placing her hand on the man’s shoulder.

The man stopped with a puzzled look on his face.
Two pale faces faced each other.
Osono felt as though she had been enveloped by a dark shadow.

The night’s spring rain still pattered softly.

The rain continued falling until morning, washing away the fresh blood of the man and woman whose corpses had been exposed at Nishi-Yokobori riverbank.
The man had pierced his throat with a chisel.
The woman had also slashed her throat with a razor.
Following the inquest, it was quickly determined that they were Rokuzaburō the carpenter and Osono the courtesan, but no one knew when the two had slipped out of Shin'yashiki.
Why they had chosen this Nishi-Yokobori as their death place—that too remained beyond anyone’s comprehension.

Rokuzaburō had kept a farewell note inside his robe.
It was addressed to his master, containing a brief apology for having mistaken kindness for enmity and thereby repaying benevolence with ingratitude.
Osono had left behind a farewell note addressed to her closest companions.
Written within was that sending Rokuzaburō-san to Edo seemed too pitiful to bear alone, so they had resolved to die together.
That Osono and Rokuzaburō had shared such profound intimacy only became apparent now.
Even Osono’s dearest colleagues had never imagined—until receiving this note—that she, at the height of her career and popularity, had been entangled in a life-risking romance with a carpenter’s apprentice.

“You were truly born under an ill-fated star,” wept the master as he tried to claim Rokuzaburō’s corpse, but under the laws of that time, he was not permitted immediate retrieval.
The corpses of Osono and Rokuzaburō, who had committed double suicide, were displayed for three days at a place colloquially known as Ash Mountain behind Sennichi Temple.
Without leaving the place where his guilty father’s head had been displayed, the child exposed the corpse of their love.

Three days later, Rokuzaburō’s corpse was handed over to his master.
Osono, having no relatives, was handed over to her master.

On the day Osono and Rokuzaburō committed double suicide, in Kanzaki a man called Jūemon the palanquin bearer cut down numerous horsemen. As new material kept proliferating one after another, the jōruri playwrights struggled with selecting which to include. However, at the Toyotake-za theater they combined the three incidents—Osono Rokuzaburō, Kashiku, and Jūemon—into one, deciding to perform a new jōruri titled Yaegiri Naniwa Hamaogi starting from the 26th of that month.

The names of Osono and Rokuzaburō were finally sung in jōruri. However, unlike in Chikamatsu’s time when there had grown to be a custom requiring restraint against constructing stories directly from factual events, Rokuzaburō the carpenter was reimagined as a samurai and listed in the playbills under the name Koshiba Rokuzaburō, a rōnin from Yamato.