Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Osome listened with a lonely heart to autumn frogs croaking hoarsely in the ditch stream behind. At seventeen years old, this night marked her first night of service. The eve of her debut—undoubtedly a sorrowful experience for anyone—held particular sorrow for Osome with her timid disposition and complete ignorance of the world. More than sorrowful, it was terrifying. She could no longer endure staying in the banquet room and fled from the brilliant lights into the corridor, leaning against the low back railing while half-dreamily listening to the frogs' weakening cries.

Another thing that frightened her fragile soul was that tonight's guest was an Edo samurai.
She had been warned by her master: "You must never show negligence toward any Edo samurai lord."
This too became a solid mass of anxiety for her.

During this era, successive visits were made to the capital by Edo shoguns.
In Genna 9, the second shogun Hidetada visited the capital.
Following this, his heir Iemitsu also visited the capital.
At that time, Hidetada resigned from the shogunate, and Iemitsu was designated to succeed him.
Three years later in June of Kan'ei 3, Hidetada visited the capital once more.
In August of that same year, Iemitsu again visited the capital.

The previous Genna-era visit to the capital had featured an exceptionally splendid procession from the shogun's household, but this Kan'ei-era visit proved even more magnificent—a vivid demonstration of how Edo's prestige had grown increasingly formidable with each passing year.
As former Shogun Hidetada remained in the capital with his vast retinue, the new Shogun Iemitsu arrived bringing an even larger contingent of followers, thus Kyoto became filled with Edo samurai.
Though they were part of the shogun's retinue, these men had no particularly demanding duties beyond formal occasions like palace visits. Forming groups as they pleased, some took pleasure in mountains and waters to explore Kyoto's famous places.
Some sought out the women of Kyoto, drawn by their rouge and powder.
Therefore, Kyoto's streets prospered through the Edo samurai.
Especially in the districts dealing in the trade of love, day and night they bustled as if jostling each other.

Given the necessity of recounting this love story, I feel compelled to provide here a brief explanation of Kyoto's pleasure districts as they existed at that time.
At that time, within Kyoto's bounds, only the brothels of Rokujō Yanagimachi were officially recognized as licensed pleasure districts, while all others—Gion, Nishishigaki, Nawate, Gojōzaka, Kitano, and the like—were districts of unlicensed clandestine prostitutes.
As these unlicensed districts gradually prospered, overshadowing Yanagimachi's fading willows, the people of Yanagimachi repeatedly petitioned the Kyoto Shoshidai to crack down on clandestine prostitutes. Yet even the renowned magistrate Itakura Iga no Kami seemed to pay little heed to the issue, allowing Gion and other pleasure quarters to swell in numbers until each had established their own splendid licensed districts.
Among these, Gion District prospered most splendidly, while Yanagimachi became a lonely figure merely clinging to its prestige.

Osome had been sold to that brothel called Wakamatsuya in the Gion District.

In this situation, driven by Gion's relentless competitive spirit to surpass Yanagimachi, every brothel owner was strict about their courtesans' conduct. Given that their clients were important Edo samurai, it was only natural for the masters to give them various instructions regarding their conduct. However, no matter how many strict warnings she had received, Osome—an inexperienced girl facing her first night's debut—remained utterly clueless about what to do. If she displeased an Edo samurai, not only would it affect the brothel’s business, but she might also face unimaginable punishment—this was what her master had threatened her with. Sadness and terror combined as Osome stepped through the teahouse gate, trembling.

The teahouse was an establishment called Hanabishi, and the guests were a group of seven young samurai.
Among them, Sakata—a samurai of about twenty-two or twenty-three—appeared to be Ohana's regular patron.
He had been telling amusing stories over drinks, frequently making everyone laugh, but Osome could not bring herself to join in the laughter.
Her lips remained tightly sealed in sorrow.
She kept her eyes downcast as if afraid of the bright lights, but before she knew it, tears had filled her eyes.
Her chest grew tight.
Her temples began to ache.
A chill came over her.
She could no longer bear it and vanished from the banquet room like a fading shadow.

It was already the final night of August, and the shadow of the Milky Way, growing fainter with each passing evening, flowed pale and high across the sky.
Amidst the ditch stream’s sobbing-like sounds, the frogs continued their lonely cries.

“Hey, what are you crying for?”

Startled by the sudden voice, Osome froze.
Wiping her tear-streaked face and turning around, she found a man standing rigidly behind her, laughing.

“If there’s something sad enough to make you cry, I’ll help you out.”
“Speak.”

As Osome huddled in silence, the man repeated his words.

“Now, don’t be scared.
“I’m not scolding you.
“What’s so sad? Tell me why.”

Because stating the reason openly was difficult, Osome remained silent.
The light spilling from the corridor did not reach this far, so the man’s features remained unclear, but the forceful clarity of his Kanto dialect revealed him to be an Edo samurai.
Osome realized he was one of tonight’s guests and felt increasingly terrified.

“Is serving in the banquet room what pains you?” The strong voice now carried a touch of gentleness.
“What’s your name?”

“My name is Osome.”

“Osome?”
“And are you already attached to one of tonight’s guests?”

“No,” Osome answered timidly.
“Tonight is my debut.”

“Your debut?” said the man with growing compassion. “Hmm, so that’s why you’re crying.” “No wonder.” “I’ll cover tonight’s fee for you.” “Go home at once.”

Though she felt grateful enough to shed tears, Osome could not bring herself to follow his kind instruction. If she were to have a stranger pay her fee and simply return home, it was certain she would be scolded by her master. As she hesitated in her response, the man seemed unaware of such circumstances.

“Aren’t you a working girl? If the fee gets paid properly, no one will complain. Are there still other difficult rules?”

“The master will scold me.”

“I don’t get it. Why would the master scold you?”

“Even if I were to treat an Edo guest carelessly…”

The man let out a sympathetic sigh.

“So he scolds you for that? Alright then. To keep you from getting scolded, I’ll call the attendant and sort this out properly. Don’t worry.”

However much tonight might be her debut, since Osome was already a working woman, she knew the ways of the pleasure district better than the man did.
She understood his kindness well, but upon further consideration—was this person actually her client?
If it were her own client, that would be one thing, but even if another patron were to interfere from the sidelines, pay her fee and order her to leave, there was no telling whether her client would consent.
The attendant would never permit it either.
Since she deemed such negotiations futile, she first sought to confirm whether this man was her client or not.

“Might I inquire as to who your client is?”

“I don’t know.
“I was invited here for the first time tonight,” the man answered indifferently.
“So, who’s your client?”

“I don’t know either.”

From the very moment she entered tonight’s banquet room, Osome had scarcely lifted her face, leaving her completely unaware of her client’s age or appearance.
The man did not know his own client.
The woman did not know her own client.

“If I’m not your client, can’t they just let you go?” the man finally seemed to grasp the situation and said.

“That is correct.”

“Alright.”
“Then I’ll make you my client.”
“And let you go as you please.”
“Call the attendant.”

Since there was now some semblance of order, Osome summoned the attendant here exactly as instructed.

“Oyuki, the attendant, at your service.”
“How may I assist?”

“To get straight to the point. Let me buy this woman.”

The attendant burst out laughing.

“Oh my, you and your nonsense. Is Miss Osome not your client?”

“Oh? Since when was she decided as my client?” the man also burst out laughing. “In that case, there’s no problem.”
“I’ll pay the fee, so send her home immediately.”
“It’s not because of poor performance in her duties that we’re sending her home, nor is it because we’re displeased with her.”
“Explain the reason thoroughly to the master and ensure this woman doesn’t get scolded.”
“Is that clear?”

“Thank you,” Attendant Oyuki said with a prompt bow of gratitude.

However, since they couldn’t send Osome back before closing the banquet room, she told them both to return there for now and enjoy themselves until the sake was gone.

Osome naturally agreed.
The man also agreed.

Guided by Oyuki, the two returned to their original banquet room, and to Osome’s eyes—which had adjusted from the dimness—the world suddenly appeared transformed into radiant splendor. The mingled scents of sake and white face powder blended before crimson lanterns, hanging thick in the air. The autumn frogs whose cries had drawn tears from Osome did not reach here. She kept her gaze mostly lowered, sitting as demurely as a living ornament, yet still stole upward glances at intervals to discern the man meant to be her client.

The client was a young samurai who appeared to have barely passed twenty by a year or two. His dusky complexion and straight, prominent eyebrows caught Osome's eye. He spoke little and drank his sake in silence. She thought he must have considerable tolerance for drink.

A heavy drinker—this didn't leave a favorable impression on her youthful sensibilities, yet a conviction strong enough to override that aversion filled Osome's heart. It was his kindness. His compassion. Paying her fee to send her home at once—some women might rejoice at this, others might take offense. But for Osome tonight, it brought incomparable joy. The fee itself mattered less; what pierced her heart was the tenderness he'd shown her pitiful, vulnerable self—a kindness that seeped into her very core. Stealing glances at his face between lowered lashes, she found herself tearful now for reasons entirely new.

Around the fourth hour (ten o'clock in the evening), the drinking banquet concluded.
The six guests were each invited by their companions and went to visit Nioi no Ukusu, but only Osome’s guest went straight home.
Osome and Oyuki escorted him out to the noren entrance.

“We await your next visit,” Oyuki called out from behind.

“Oh, I’ll come again. And don’t let the master scold that woman.”

As Osome watched the man's retreating figure grow damp with night dew—her heart filled with indescribable sorrow—the cold autumn wind rippled through the pale blue noren curtain and swept across her shadowed brows.

II

On the following night as well, with that regular patron Sakata leading the way, five samurai came to Hanabishi.
Oyuki, who had imagined that Osome’s patron would naturally be absent since two fewer companions remained from the previous group, looked around at the faces in the brightly lit banquet room and was unexpectedly surprised.
Osome’s patron was among the five men again tonight.

Sakata’s courtesan Ohana naturally came.
The other women also came.
Osome also came.
Sakata drank cheerfully and caused a commotion as usual.
In the midst of the boisterously laughing banquet room, Osome remained with her head bowed, lost in thought over various things.

The fact that she had met last night's guest again tonight was what pleased her most. At the same time, Osome wanted to deeply contemplate why that guest had come again tonight—to truly understand his intentions. Of course, she imagined this likely included socializing with friends. She imagined that as long as he could drink merrily, he might not care about women at all. However, when she inferred from last night's circumstances, it also seemed there was some meaning beyond merely drinking as socializing with friends. Perhaps he pitied my helpless self and called for me again tonight—though she knew it was presumptuous, Osome interpreted it as likely being so. And so, she secretly prayed in her heart that this would indeed be the case.

Tonight was thinly overcast from evening onward, with weak lightning occasionally streaking down from the dark sky.
That evoked the essence of an autumn night, and Osome—who wasn’t drinking—found herself feeling somehow chilled to the bone.

Ohana sang drunkenly.

"The brocade tree stands only to decay in vain; How bitter this life spent without meeting as years pass."

She possessed a voice of such exquisite purity that it held the entire company spellbound. As Osome listened intently, an acute loneliness began crushing against the confines of her narrow chest. When her shadowed eyes chanced to meet her patron's gaze, he too set down his sake cup with a somber expression.

That night again saw four men remain while one prepared to leave. True to form, the departing guest proved to be Osome's patron. Summoning Oyuki to the hallway, Osome made her plea with downcast eyes.

"My client says he intends to leave again tonight. Is there no way to keep him here?"

Oyuki was in agreement. Osome’s client had paid the courtesan fee last night as well and simply left. Tonight as well, he was about to leave immediately. Even if the other party consented, she thought that would be taking too much advantage of a courtesan’s lot. Another reason was that Oyuki also wanted to find such a reliable-looking client for Osome’s sake—she who had just made her debut and still lacked even a single regular patron—and so Oyuki readily agreed.

As the client tried to break away and leave, Oyuki stopped him.
Accustomed to handling clients through seasoned experience, she forcibly pulled back the stubborn man and made Osome his bedchamber client.

That night, a cold rain began to patter down from midnight.
Osome learned for the first time that her client was a samurai named Kikuchi Hankurō, who had recently come up to the capital in attendance upon the new third shogun.
The fact that Ohana’s client was a man named Sakata Ichinosuke was also honestly conveyed through Hankurō’s words.

Osome also revealed her circumstances to the man.
"I am the daughter of a rice shop owner named Yohee living in Rokujō," she said, "and due to a business mishap, my parents were reduced to moving into a back house with my fifteen-year-old younger sister this year."
Due to that karmic retribution, she had been sold here in exchange for two hundred ryō.
"Last night was my debut when I met you."
"I met you again tonight."
And thus she had gotten him to become her true client.
"But the life of service is a sorrowful one," she said through tears dampening the pillow paper, "and there's no telling what sort of client I might meet tomorrow."

Hankurō had been listening with a dark expression, but eventually spoke resolutely.

“Alright.”
“Understood.”
“There’s no need for concern.”
“Starting tomorrow, day and night I’ll book you exclusively—I won’t have you sent to other clients’ rooms.”

“Thank you,” Osome said, clasping her hands together in prayer.

There were no lies among the Edo samurai.
From the very next day, Hankurō booked Osome exclusively, making her his alone.
From the very start of her debut, she secured a fortunate client, and even the master of Wakamatsuya was pleased.
Oyuki was also pleased.
Her fellow courtesans also envied her.

Sakata Ichinosuke also frequently came to visit Hanabishi.
However, it seemed he had several other regular women besides Ohana and was flitting between various teahouses.

"Compared to my man, Lord Han is deeply affectionate and utterly devoted. When I see how lovingly you two are together, I can't help but feel envious—it's almost maddening," Ohana would taunt Osome from time to time.
Teased, Osome would always turn her innocent face crimson.

A little over half a month had passed like a dream.
On the thirteenth night, the moon shone clear.
Hankurō left his lodgings near Gojō and headed toward Gion District as usual when he encountered a young samurai on a roadside bright as day.

“Lord Hankurō?”

“Genzaburō, where are you off to?” Hankurō asked in a friendly manner.

“In search of my brother…”

“What business?”

“If he spends every day and night in revelry, his duties will inevitably be neglected. I am at my wit’s end with my brother’s debauchery,” Genzaburō said bitterly.

“He’s surely in Yanagimachi or Gion again tonight.”

“If you search through Yanagimachi and Gion and find your brother, what will you do?” Hankurō asked again with a laugh.

“As soon as I find him, I’ll drag him back home.”

Sakata Genzaburō, this nineteen-year-old, was a youth of singular rectitude—a man completely different in character from his brother Ichinosuke. He did not know how to sing ballads like his brother but surpassed him in martial arts. He had come to the capital in attendance upon the shogun alongside his brother and was staying at the same lodgings.

And so, while both tread the same soil of Kyoto, the older brother was carefreely enjoying himself as if on a journey. The younger brother, maintaining his duty-bound resolve to attend upon their lord, showed not the slightest negligence. In this way, the two incompatible brothers were both strangely close friends with Hankurō. Since Genzaburō was two years his junior, Hankurō had come to regard him almost as a younger brother.

“Your brother’s debauchery may be improper, but barging into pleasure quarters to forcibly drag him back isn’t quite prudent,” Hankurō said in a placating tone. “Come now, have some patience with him. Your brother is likely being poetic tonight, enjoying the later moon-viewing. He’ll surely return by tomorrow.”

“Will he really return?” Genzaburō still wore an unconvinced expression.

“Oh, I’ll tell him to return.”

The moment Hankurō carelessly let something slip, Genzaburō immediately pounced on it.

“I’ll tell him… In that case, do you know where your brother is? Are you heading there now as well?”

Hankurō found himself slightly cornered.
To prevent his flustered look from being detected, he forced a loud laugh.

"Now don't interrogate me so harshly."
"Whether you go looking or not makes no difference—I know where your brother is."
"I'll track him down myself, so stay put and wait quietly."

“Hmm...”
“You too?”

With a contemptuous look, Genzaburō stared fixedly at Hankurō’s face.
He had vaguely known that Hankurō had been frequenting Gion District lately.
Through his current manner of speaking, he now realized both his brother and Hankurō were likely partners in vice. Toward Hankurō—whom he had considered a close companion—a sudden surge of hatred and contempt welled up within him.
Yet reconsidering that entrusting this to Hankurō would be wiser than tainting himself by entering the defiled pleasure quarter, he made an effort to speak courteously.

“Then I leave it to you. Please give my brother a proper admonishment.”
“Understood.”

The two parted beneath the moon.

“Ha ha, Genzaburō, you’ve caught on,” Hankurō murmured with a smile as he walked.

From his perspective, both his brother and I might appear as the same kind of libertine.
To any observer’s eyes, from the surface it would likely appear so.
"But Ichinosuke and I have different natures," Hankurō laughed to himself.
Ichinosuke can do whatever interesting things he likes wherever he goes—he’s satisfied with that.
I am not like that.
I am not a libertine like Ichinosuke.
I have no intention of seeking any woman besides Osome.
Though both drank in the same pleasure district’s sake, Hankurō strode toward Gion District where Osome waited—gazing up at the moon’s clear, radiant light in the pale yellow sky—while inwardly declaring it a grave mistake to equate Ichinosuke and himself.

III

The time came when Hankurō and Osome had to be separated.

This year’s autumn was drawing to a hectic close, and the September calendar neared its end.
In the waters of the Kamo River, emaciation became visible; the riverside willows, shivering in the morning chill, shook off their pale, withered leaves each day.
Osome gazed sadly at that desolate autumn scene each morning and evening.
The shogun would depart Kyoto for Edo at the end of September or beginning of October—this had been known from the start, but as the date gradually drew nearer, she felt her life being whittled away day by day.

Every time he saw that sunken face of sorrow, Hankurō found himself ever more deeply stirred by mono no aware. One night, he spoke to Osome with profound earnestness.

“The shogunate’s honorable return to Edo was formally announced again this morning by the magistrate.”
“Under these circumstances, an extended stay here will ultimately prove impossible.”
“By the tenth of next month at the latest, our entire contingent must withdraw from Kyoto.”
“The days I can meet you now grow few.”
“Though they call this constant attendance night and day, having barely completed a full month since becoming acquainted—hardly a profound bond—setting aside matters of love or affection, I came whenever possible out of pity for you still unaccustomed to these quarters, offering what feeble support I could. But for samurai, duty takes precedence; abandoning our retinue to linger here indefinitely was never within contemplation.”
“You must understand this.”

Of course, Osome had no way to respond to that.
She could not forcibly detain him.
Even if she tried to stop him, she was well aware the man would not stay.
She had long known Hankurō's gentle protection differed from commonplace romantic entanglements—that it stemmed from a sentimental Edo samurai's pity for the weak.
Especially when serving the shogunate, it was only natural for Edo samurai to return to Edo.
She felt not a shred of resentment toward the man abandoning her.

She felt no resentment.
It was pure sorrow.
It was utter desolation.
Osome—who from her debut had clung solely to Hankurō and lived without knowing hardship until now—what would become of her?
She couldn't endure the terror of peering into the depths of the vast darkness spreading before her eyes.

“Are you crying again? Even on our first night together you wore that tearful face—but now you’ve grown even more haggard since then. Don’t trouble yourself.”

“I’d rather sicken and die than endure this.”

Even as she spoke, tears welled up uncontrollably and streamed down her thickly powdered cheeks in rivulets like drawn threads. Hankurō painfully furrowed his brows and said.

“What good is dying in your youth? If you considered your parents’ sorrow and your sister’s grief—even for a moment—you wouldn’t speak such words. Leave your service as soon as possible and return home to serve your parents.”

“You say ‘as soon as possible,’ but will that be this year or next? The contract term here is a full six years—someone as frail as I am could fall ill and die at any time—who knows.”

“Hmm, such ill omen.”
“There’s a limit to being so timid.”
“Be cheerful like the other women and live with a bright, carefree spirit.”
“Though five or six years may seem long now, they’ll pass like a dream,” Hankurō instructed gently.

To others, it might have seemed cheerful, but everyone working there had their own sorrows.
In fact, even Lord Ichi’s regular partner, the courtesan Ohana, had various hardships with her parents and in her own circumstances.
Moreover, someone as narrow-hearted as herself could never have lived even a single day cheerfully from now on.
Osome continued to cry, resigning herself to the belief that the brief months since her debut had been paradise and the long months ahead would be hellish darkness.

Hankurō was troubled by the predicament.
After agonizing over how to deal with this touching woman, when he visited Sakata Ichinosuke’s lodgings the following morning, Ichinosuke was unusually present at home.
Genzaburō was also there.

The other night, Hankurō had promised Genzaburō along the way that he would surely bring his brother back the next day, but Ichinosuke had gotten dead drunk at Hanabishi and failed to return.
From that time on, Genzaburō increasingly lost trust in Hankurō.
The usual familiarity rapidly faded, and he came to regard Hankurō as his brother’s undesirable companion.

Because Kikuchi Hankurō had come visiting early in the morning, Sakata Genzaburō postponed his intended outing for a while and kept his ears sharply pricked.
With such a watchful presence nearby, Hankurō found himself slightly hesitant to speak up, but being a man of straightforward nature who always wanted to voice his thoughts immediately, he resolved to speak out.

“Now then, Ichinosuke.”
“There’s something I want to request without reservation.”

“What’s with the formality?”

“Hankurō needs money.”
“Could you lend me two hundred ryō in gold?”
“That said, you probably don’t have that much saved up yourself here on your travels.”
“I hear you have acquaintances among Kyoto sword dealers.”
“My sword is Sagami-made.”
"Could you consult that sword dealer about exchanging it for 200 ryō?"

Ichinosuke also slightly furrowed his brows.

“You want to sell your precious sword…
“This is an unexpected request... but what do you need the two hundred ryō for?”

Hankurō said while glancing sideways at Genzaburō.

“I want to buy a Kyoto nightingale.”

“A Kyoto nightingale…”
“Hmm, that’s an unexpectedly poetic notion coming from you,” he began, then seemed to immediately catch himself and nodded.
“Hmm.
“And will you be taking that nightingale to Edo?”

“No—I should just let her out of the cage.”
“The nightingale will likely return to her former nest.”

That riddle was perfectly clear to Ichinosuke as well.
However, as this seemed too bluntly honest, he cautioned Hankurō.

“I’m also quite fond of nightingales—I listen to them wherever I go.”
“Nightingales are beautiful, lovely little birds.”
“Especially since Kyoto’s renowned for them—I’ve spent money and time trying to make them sing as I please, but it all amounts to fleeting amusement.”
“It’s unwise to fixate on a single bird.”
“Return to Edo and you’ll find Edo nightingales again.”

“Of course, I don’t intend to take that nightingale all the way back to Edo, but its song sounds so pitiful that I at least want to let it out of its cage.”
Hankurō was known for his stubbornness, but he was inherently a man prone to tears.
He wasn’t someone with money to spare, nor did he have any means to raise funds while traveling.
“Please understand.”

Hankurō’s nature was something Ichinosuke had long since come to know thoroughly.
And he knew that this quality was both his most beautiful aspect and his greatest weakness.
From the perspective of Ichinosuke—who viewed the pleasures of the pleasure quarters as fleeting diversions—the sight of a distinguished samurai shedding tears over a single prostitute and seeking to discard his family’s ancestral sword for what amounted to just a fortnight or month of acquaintance seemed utterly preposterous.
He repeatedly attempted to advise his sentimental friend.

“Well then, Hankurō. You truly have no lingering attachment to that nightingale?”

“None whatsoever.
I know I keep saying this, but I want to set her free out of pity.
That’s my only reason.”

“Then that makes it even more senseless.
Even if you did have lingering feelings and wanted to claim her as your own, I’d still counsel against it as your friend.
But having neither attachment nor affection—to sell your ancestral sword merely to purchase and release her? For a samurai, this shows appalling lack of judgment.
Compassion and merit should be exercised within one’s means—overreach invites disaster.
Not that I’ve any right to lecture given my own conduct—but I’ve my principles.
A nightingale cares not whether it sings in thicket or cage.
When I admire blossoms or listen to birdsong, a passing fancy suffices—I don’t ponder deeper meanings.
Dwell too long on such matters, and you’ll wound your spirit and lose your way.
A man’s duty is to exhaust life’s pleasures wherever he roams.
What say you, Hankurō?
Reconsider this folly.”

“Then, will you not consent no matter what?”

“I cannot consent.”
“Moreover, refusing is for your own sake.”

Since the other party absolutely refused to engage, Hankurō left in disappointment.
On his way back, he reconsidered Ichinosuke’s opinion once more.
He did not find every one of Ichinosuke’s arguments entirely convincing, but for the mere act of releasing a nightingale from its cage, a samurai would sell his family’s ancestral sword.
Even if he himself had no guilty conscience, the unfeeling people of the world would undoubtedly spread all sorts of rumors.
If it were simply said that Kikuchi Hankurō had become infatuated with a courtesan and discarded his swords, it would damage his honor as a samurai.
There was also his reputation with the overseer to consider.
Since he came to think that perhaps Ichinosuke’s refusal wasn’t unreasonable after all, he hesitated to sell his swords.

Now that things had come to this, it pained him to see Osome's face.
When Osome saw her own face, she too might feel even more sorrow.
Hankurō thought that perhaps it would be better not to meet her again until his departure.
And so, for one night he stayed away from visiting Hanabishi, yet a certain unease and pity lured him back, and the next day found him facing Osome's gloomy expression in Hanabishi's parlor.
Hankurō continued to meet with Osome afterward as well.

When October arrived, Hankurō’s body also grew busy.
As the shogun’s departure was finally set for the tenth of the month, his retainers had to rush about daily making preparations.

Stealing time from their busy schedules, there were some who bought Kyoto souvenirs.
Others made farewell visits to acquaintances.
Others visited shrines and temples to receive protective amulets.
Others went about settling various purchase-related accounts.
Due to all these comings and goings, the streets of Kyoto became crowded once more.

Hankurō, who didn’t have many relatives or connections in Edo, had no need to go around gathering amulets or souvenirs, but he was indeed so driven by his official duties that he had no time to get drunk in Gion.
The Sakata brothers too must have been busy.
Moreover, leaving the busy matters to his younger brother, Ichinosuke continued to frolic around as usual.

“Kyoto will soon be but a memory in two or three days! Let’s make merry—make merry!”

It was the evening of the seventh—a day that had seen a lingering winter shower since morning—and Ichinosuke had been drinking through it all in Hanabishi's parlor. After nightfall, Hankurō arrived too. They hadn't arranged this meeting; their encounter came by chance alone.

“Oh—Hankurō’s here?”

“How long have you been here?”

"I've been here since last night," Sakata Ichinosuke slurred, already collapsed in careless drunkenness.
"Your brother will scold you again," Kikuchi Hankurō said with a bitter smile.

“He’s furious and must be badmouthing his older brother something fierce.”
“What a pain he is.”

Ichinosuke was also laughing.

IV

It was Ichinosuke who had first brought Hankurō there, but never settling in one roost, he wasn’t always Hankurō’s companion. Particularly after being told about the recent nightingale metaphor, he had grown concerned about Hankurō’s excessive honesty, so even last night he had come alone without inviting him—only for Hankurō to coincidentally arrive afterward.

Though it was said there remained two or three days, Ichinosuke thought that night would mark his final revelry in Kyoto. Since it was perfectly clear the eighth and ninth would be filled with pre-departure duties, he cast off all restraint and reveled wildly that night, resolved to indulge himself fully before returning. Hankurō too thought this would be his last chance to meet Osome.

Having resigned herself that crying or laughing would change nothing, Osome too had given up these last couple of days.
Having thought that always showing a gloomy face and dragging a man’s heart into darkness would be ungrateful for all the past kindness and affection she had received, she too made an effort to put on a bright smile tonight.
Ohana was naturally buoyant.
Since tonight was finally their farewell, regular courtesans and attendants had gathered in large numbers, making the parlor more lively than usual.

Regardless of her inner feelings, Osome’s face looked bright tonight, so Hankurō felt somewhat relieved.
Relieved, he drank more than usual.
Particularly tonight, with Sakata Ichinosuke as his drinking companion, he carelessly overindulged and ended up lying down with Osome’s soft knees as his pillow.

“Lord Han. Your retainers have arrived,” relayed Attendant Oyuki as she entered.
“Hachisuke? I don’t know what this is about, but tell him to come here,” Hankurō said without getting up.

Retainer Hachisuke had been guided by Oyuki and arrived, but appearing to find it difficult to speak up before the full gathering, he tried to call his master out to the corridor.

“Master. If you would just step over here...”

“Fool,” Hankurō still did not raise his head. “If you’ve got business, come here.”

“Yes,” Hachisuke still hesitated, but soon resolutely shuffled into the parlor.

“I mostly know what this is about. Have you come to fetch me?” Hankurō said displeasedly.

“That is correct.”

As this was an official procession, each person’s luggage was to be carried by porters at each inn. To prevent such confusion and mistakes, luggage was bundled together by group, with individual tags attached to each bundle. An abrupt order from the overseer had arrived, demanding that all preparations be completed tonight. As there were matters Hachisuke alone couldn’t handle, he had been told to return immediately.

“How annoying.”
“It could’ve waited until tomorrow…”
“However, as doing everything all at once would cause congestion, it has been directed that we get everything sorted and ready by tonight.”

“Ichinosuke. Are you heading back?”
“Are you heading back?” Hankurō asked his drunken companion.

"My brother will handle it," said Ichinosuke, still embodying laziness to its fullest.

"You're blessed with an admirable younger brother."
"I should likely make my return now."

Hankurō reluctantly got up and left with Hachisuke, whereupon Osome came to see them off as far as the corner.

“You... Won’t you be returning after this, I wonder?”

“No—I’ll return.”
“I’ll come right back.”
“Wait for me.”

Even drunk, Hankurō walked with steady steps.
Returning to his lodgings, he instructed Hachisuke and busily began packing.
There wasn’t much luggage to begin with, but even so, after killing a little time, both master and retainer ended up disheartened.
Outside, the rain fell in soft patters.

“Master. It has started raining.”

“It has started raining?”

“It had been threatening since noon.”
“If it rains now, by the time of your departure, an Indian summer might persist.”

The journey could wait, but tonight's rain struck Hankurō as a nuisance. With restless agitation, he immediately tried to go back outside.

“Are you going out again, sir?” Hachisuke said while looking up at the dark sky.

The intoxication was setting in; his body grew weary.
Hankurō wanted to lie down right there, but his heart kept pulling him toward Osome.
Had this been an ordinary night, he might have slept peacefully at his lodgings and spent these hours in quiet. But knowing tonight would be his last chance to drink in Gion left him utterly unable to stay still.

He braved the rain and headed back to Gion.
And thus, guided by fate, he cast aside his own life.

In the Hanabishi parlor, Ichinosuke was still carousing wildly.
While marveling at how anyone could revel so tirelessly, Hankurō once again joined the fray.

“Hankurō, back again?”
“Even I can’t take this anymore.”
“You take over entertaining the women for me.”
“Please, I’m begging you!”

This time, Ichinosuke borrowed Ohana’s lap and lay down.
Hankurō took his place and drank again.
The usually taciturn man even attempted clumsy jokes from time to time tonight, which made the women laugh at him.

“Um, the honored guest...”

Before Oyuki could even mediate, a young samurai strode into the room with rough footsteps.

“Elder Brother! Elder Brother!”

Realizing it was his younger brother Genzaburō, Ichinosuke slightly opened his eyes.

“Oh, Genzaburō?”
“What brings you here?”

“It goes without saying.”
“I have come to retrieve you.”

“If it’s about departure preparations, I’ll leave it to you to handle properly.”

“I cannot comply.”

Though both were retrieval attempts, this was nothing like the retainer’s approach earlier.
Hot-blooded, he became overbearing and pressed his brother.

“If you were aware of the packing matters, why have you not returned sooner?”
“Could this humble one possibly manage all the luggage of two brothers alone?”
“It’s obvious at a glance...”
“Come now—rise at once.”

He grabbed his reclining brother’s arm and tried to yank him up with brute force, so Ohana—who was supporting him on her knees—couldn’t bear to watch and held him steady.

“Now, there’s no need to be so rough— Lord Ichi is drunk as you can see. Even if you take him back, it won’t be of any use. You should handle it alone…”

“If that reasoning held water, I’d not have troubled myself to come to such a place.”
“Meddlesome wenches sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”
“Keep your distance!”

In a fit of warrior's vexation, Genzaburō lashed out.
Even when scolded, Ohana showed no surprise.
She bared her white teeth and taunted the young samurai with her polished Kyoto dialect.

“You’re Lord Ichi’s little brother, aren’t you? That look you always wear—like you’re tracking down your parents’ killer—is quite something for someone so young. Why not take a page from your brother’s book and learn some style? If you’re heading back to Edo soon, let me set you up with some fine courtesans as souvenirs. Kyoto courtesans and Daibutsu rice cakes—their sweetness escapes those who only gaze from afar. If you’ve got the grit to taste life proper, who knows? A young samurai like you might leap straight to a lovers’ suicide after one night’s entanglement. That’s your sister-in-law’s advice. Let’s make this gathering lively!”

“Enough of your prattling, woman! You harlots dare address a samurai as your sister-in-law? Such insolence—I’ll not tolerate this jest!”

He snatched up his fan with such fury that it seemed he might strike her pale cheek, startling the nearby women into intervention. With this commotion erupting above him, Ichinosuke could no longer ignore matters. He reluctantly sat upright.

“Genzaburō, won’t you calm down? Do you think this is some back alley?”

Before the assembled company, the elder brother had no choice but to rebuke him thus, but this only served to further stoke the younger brother’s resentment, and Genzaburō twisted his knees further toward his brother.

“That is precisely what I should be asking you. Elder Brother—what do you take this place for? With our entire group soon to withdraw from Kyoto—official duties aside—amidst this frenzy where everyone spins dizzy preparing belongings these past days, you idly linger in the pleasure quarter through winter’s short daylight! My tasks might be settled even if I alone strain limbs raw, but official duties require each person’s role. Does my lord believe his duty fulfilled thus? Do you imagine our superiors find this satisfactory? You drag me all the way to Kyoto only to make your younger brother shoulder the burdens—is this an elder’s glory? Pray exercise some discernment.”

This was the grievance that had been lodged in Genzaburō’s breast since days past.
In fact, his elder brother did not return last night either.
He did not return today either. Even on the eve of their departure, his elder brother continued carousing without restraint—Genzaburō could only stare in utter dismay.
The young man burned with seething anger.

Tonight, the packing orders had come again, but with just himself and his retainers, he couldn’t figure out how to organize them. However, since waiting obediently meant not knowing when he might return, Genzaburō, seething with impatience, ventured out himself to search for his brother’s whereabouts. Dampened by the passing shower, he first made his way to Rokujō Yanagimachi, but there was no sign of his brother there. Then, changing direction once more, he came to Gion, and when he finally tracked down his brother’s whereabouts, there he was—sleeping innocently with his head pillowed on a woman’s lap. Genzaburō could no longer endure it—his grievances and irritation exploded all at once.

Even Ichinosuke had perceived this.
He thought it only natural his younger brother should seethe with impatience.
He made no attempt to resent the brother who hindered his revelry.
Yet even after hearing his brother's arguments, he found himself unable to depart immediately.

“Enough already.”
“I’ve got it all figured out.”
“I’ll head back soon enough myself—you go on ahead.”

Seeing through this transparent flimsy excuse, the younger brother remained unconvinced.

“No—if you insist on returning, I shall accompany you.”
“Now make ready at once.”

Faced with this relentless siege of demands, even the elder brother found himself overwhelmed.

“That’s impossible.”
“Returning requires proper preparations.”
“Enough—just go on ahead.”

Deeming further engagement too troublesome, Ichinosuke appeared determined to quit the scene. Feigning drunkenness as he staggered to his feet—Ohana encircled him and rose in unison.
The other women too seized this moment to withdraw from the vexatious parlor.

Only Hankurō and Osome remained.
Hankurō was silently drinking sake.

Five

After seeing off his brother’s retreating figure, Genzaburō hesitated for a moment—then he too grasped his sword and made to rise after him. Having seen that he intended to doggedly pursue his brother and forcibly drag him back, Hankurō finally intervened with a call.

“Genzaburō.”
“Wait.”

Genzaburō wordlessly looked back.
Though he had been aware of Hankurō’s presence there all along, he had not offered the slightest acknowledgment.

“Making a scene in such a place is unsightly.”
“It would be best if you obediently returned home tonight.”
“Your brother will surely be brought back by this Hankurō.”
“Go home reassured, go home,” said Hankurō, holding his sake cup.

If it had been anyone else, perhaps—but there was no way Genzaburō would meekly accept mediation from Hankurō, whom he had long regarded as his brother’s nefarious companion. In fact, even on the thirteenth night last month, though Hankurō had made a careless promise to send him back without fail, his brother had not returned that evening. As if declaring that this lying, untrustworthy Hankurō’s words were no longer worth heeding no matter what he said now, Genzaburō answered with a glare and a scathing tone.

“No—I cannot remain reassured.”
“Would anyone truly accept the careless promises of den-dwelling tricksters and return home?”
“Genzaburō will not be tricked by your kind any longer!”
“Even if my brother exhausts all such foolishness, it is precisely because there exist unruly companions like you.”
“With such fine companions, my brother is fortunate indeed. I shall most certainly express my thanks!”

Hankurō laughed off the confrontational greeting.

“Haha, don’t get so angry.”
“You’re still young—you go on about everyone being wicked, but my brother’s my brother and I’m me.”
“When he carouses and I carouse, even if it looks the same, our hearts aren’t in it the same way.”
“But never mind that—tonight’s your brother’s last night of fun in Kyoto. Dragging him back now would be downright cruel.”
“I just went back and packed my own things—you and your men can manage without his orders.”
“Come on—give him this one night.”

“If matters could resolve themselves so easily, I wouldn’t have troubled to come summon him.”

“You’re such a stubborn man. Just go home without another word. Go home!”

“Whether I return or not is my own affair!” declared Sakata Genzaburō, springing to his feet.

Because he seemed stubbornly intent on pursuing his brother, Osome could no longer bear to watch.
She instinctively stood up and grabbed Genzaburō’s sleeve.

“Since Lord Han has spoken thus—now, now—please wait.”

“Enough! You’re insufferable.”
“Step aside.”

Genzaburō shoved her aside without properly seeing who it was—in his anger—and frail Osome staggered as if flung away. Collapsing against the nearby tray, she sent sake and side dishes scattering everywhere at once.
Hankurō also flared up.

“Hey, Genzaburō.”
“If you think treating me like some junior gives you license to dismissively handle me—hurling every insult you please, committing every outrage you desire—I won’t tolerate it any longer!”
“Apologize properly and leave now, and I’ll let this pass. Otherwise, I’ll seize you by the scruff and fling you out of this gate like a mangy cur!”

He was by nature a short-tempered man.
Moreover, he was drunk.
Even so, he had endured Genzaburō—whom he had regarded as his own younger brother—to the utmost limit until now. But having his woman roughly thrown aside before his very eyes and his dining tray overturned—
He could no longer maintain his composure and reprimanded the other party in a loud voice.
Genzaburō, in the heat of the moment, did not attempt to apologize to him for his rudeness.

“Haha—Genzaburō doesn’t cower before such bluster.”
“To what crime should I apologize to a vile friend who drags my brother out day and night, corrupting a fine samurai?”
“You’re a disgrace to Edo samurai!”
“You’re the one who must apologize—or this won’t stand!”

“What? You called this Hankurō a disgrace to Edo samurai.”
“State your reasons.”

“Must you really ask that again?
A wretch who neglects his duties to linger in pleasure quarters—could such a man serve as a model for samurai?
Is there anything strange about having called you a disgrace to samurai?”

“A disgrace to samurai—no mistake about that.”

“Oh, I’ll say it as many times as needed to make you understand!
Kikuchi Hankurō is a disgrace to samurai—a shame-bringer! A wretch unworthy to stand among warriors!”

The color of Hankurō’s eyes changed.

“Oh, well said! Since you dare speak such words to a samurai, I trust you’re fully prepared.”
“Save your concern. A samurai remains ever prepared.”

Hankurō took up his sword and stood firm.

“This debate is futile. Genzaburō, come to the riverbank.”

“Hmph.”

Genzaburō glared back defiantly.
Two samurai headed to the riverbank with swords hastily grabbed—that this meant a life-and-death duel was common knowledge in this era—so Osome turned pale.
She stumbled between the two samurai, forcing her way in.

“Even though you are honorable samurai, to escalate a trivial matter into a life-and-death duel is far too rash.”
“Here I beg of you—I implore you.”
“Please reconsider once more and reconcile with each other.”

Genzaburō once again kicked down the woman who was bowing and pleading.

“Taking advantage of a woman’s intervention to call off the duel you started? Coward!”
“You coward!”

“What the—” roared Hankurō.
“You who say such things—don’t you dare run away!”

He jumped down from the veranda into the garden, and Genzaburō immediately followed suit.

With no means for the women here to mediate a duel between samurai, Osome could only hold her breath and watch the two men's receding figures. Yet being utterly unable to remain still no matter how she considered it, she hitched up the long robe entangling her pale shins and chased after them through the same garden exit.

The night shower had passed unnoticed, and a pale moon dreamily illuminated the Kamo River's waters.

Six

The woman's bare feet moved slowly as she trod the riverbank.
Osome ran, her breath coming in gasps.

On the riverbank illuminated by the pale moon and glistening water, two sword shadows gleamed like the backs of fish leaping in the water. Though she watched from a distance, Osome could not bring herself to approach.

Their swords clashed wildly, their figures tangling and separating. As Osome gradually drew closer, even the clang of sword guards rang as clear as if she could reach out and touch them. Then one shadow suddenly collapsed. The remaining shadow lunged and struck again. When the outcome seemed decided, Osome's heart leapt to her throat. Stumbling repeatedly as she ran closer, she recognized the victor beyond doubt—Hankurō.

“Lord Han,” she called out involuntarily.

“Osome?” Hankurō turned around.

“And… the opposing samurai…?”

“It’s as you see.”

Hankurō pointed with the bloodied sword.
Though her frightened eyes couldn’t discern clearly, Genzaburō appeared to have been cut around the shoulder and waist, lying face down with riverbed pebbles as his pillow.
Upon seeing that gruesome, bloodied figure, Osome shuddered as every hair on her body stood on end.
She sat down heavily there, trembling like someone whose knees had given way.

A mere decade after the fall of Osaka Castle in the Genna era, the samurai—long accustomed to the scent of blood—paid no heed to the enemy corpse lying before him as he quietly scooped river water to drink.
Osome was out of breath and wanted water.

“Could I…”

She gestured with her hands, asking for water.
Her legs had stiffened, and she could no longer walk.
Hankurō nodded and scooped up water in both hands, but his arms seemed to tremble from the recent fight, and by the time he brought it near the woman, more than half the water had spilled out from his large palms.
He frantically tore the sleeve from his undergarment.
The cold Kamo River water, soaked into the Edo man’s sleeve, was poured into the Kyoto woman’s crimson lips.

“A delicate woman would surely be terrified upon seeing blood.”
“Well?”
“Have you calmed down now?”

“Y-yes.”
“Now I’ve calmed down a little.”

Above all else, what concerned her most was the man’s fate. Osome, raised in Kyoto's merchant districts, knew nothing of samurai codes, but she first wanted to confirm whether killing a man like this would go unpunished.

“Even though this was a mutually agreed duel, will you truly face no punishment?”

Since this was a duel mutually consented to between samurai, the custom of this era held that killing one's opponent was his rightful due—indeed considered a mark of samurai valor. Yet an incident like tonight's fell outside this convention. They had been strictly ordered by their overseer when departing Edo to maintain decorum during their stay in the capital and avoid becoming objects of ridicule among Kyoto's citizens. By violating this injunction through repeated visits to the pleasure quarters—this alone constituted a grave offense for Hankurō and his men. Of course, had matters concluded without incident, all might have turned a blind eye, but once such an event occurred, the complexity of any inquiry became inevitable. The location being the pleasure district, the quarrel arising from drunkenness, and moreover the slaying of a comrade—there existed no path to defense, even through the most favorable interpretation. Ritual suicide followed by family dissolution—Kikuchi Hankurō had no choice but to incur this punishment.

Hankurō now felt regret.
He had killed his comrade in a moment of rash anger.
If it had been a hated enemy, that would be one thing—but how could he have resolved to kill Genzaburō, whom he had always treated like a younger brother? Now, in hindsight, it all felt like a dream.
As the alcohol's effects gradually faded from him, his own crime grew increasingly terrifying.

"Even a samurai cannot escape punishment for killing someone like this.
Either commit seppuku properly or confess everything to Ichinosuke and be slain as his younger brother's killer.
There’s no choice but one of the two."

He also let out a deep sigh and collapsed onto the riverbank as if crumbling.

Osome was at a loss. Even so, she mustered all her wits and told the man to flee there. Since she alone knew what had transpired at that place, she urged him to leave quickly before others arrived.

“What nonsense,” Hankurō answered mockingly. “Kikuchi Hankurō is no cowardly man. Having slain a comrade without particular grievance or grudge—to nobly accept punishment is the samurai’s way. In any case, I’ll meet Ichinosuke and settle this properly.”

He retraced his path along the riverbank back to Hanabishi.
As Osome followed behind, dragging her painful legs, Ichinosuke had already retired to bed.

“Ichinosuke, wake up.”

When he called out softly from outside the folding screen, Ichinosuke answered in a sleepy voice.

“Who’s there? Come in.”

“Is there a woman here?”

As he said this and opened the folding screen, Hankurō’s face was as pale as water.
His hair and collar were disheveled.
In the dim lamplight, Ichinosuke stared at this, then moved his companion Ohana aside and sat facing him.

“Hankurō.”
“What happened?”
“Did you cut someone down?” Ichinosuke whispered in a hushed voice.

He noticed that the knees of Hankurō’s kimono were heavily stained with blood spatter.

“You guessed right.”
“Hankurō killed someone and came back.”

“Who did you kill? Did you kill Osome?”

“No—not a woman. I killed Genzaburō.”

Ichinosuke was also startled.
He adjusted the knees of his nightclothes and asked again.

“Why did you kill him? An argument?”

“I was rash, Genzaburō was rash—please forgive me.”

Upon hearing the details of the duel, Ichinosuke grew even more astonished.

"When you and Genzaburō ran out to the riverbank, why didn't Osome quickly inform me? But there's no undoing that now. So, Hankurō—what do you intend to do now?"

"I came declaring myself your enemy to be slain."
"Kill me."

"My brother's killer... There's no overlooking this."
"Naturally I should cut you down here, but I beg you—run away," said Ichinosuke.
"You and I have been friends since bamboo horse days."
"Genzaburō was the same—this wasn't some grudge-fueled duel."
"A spur-of-the-moment clash—both striker and struck victims of ill fortune."
"When my brother came calling earlier, had I just returned meekly..."
"Truth be told, I share blame too."
"Killing you now won't bring my dead brother back."
"I'll feign ignorance—you vanish from here."
"Lingering will complicate inquiries."
"Hide yourself beyond Kyoto's bounds."
"I'll go tend my brother's corpse at the riverbank."
"Use that time to ready yourself."

Having said this, Ichinosuke immediately removed his nightclothes.
He changed into his kimono, put on his hakama trousers, fastened his long and short swords at his waist, and hurried out the front.

Left behind, Hankurō sat with both hands on his knees and thought for a while.

The reasoning of Ichinosuke, who had spared him, was clear to him as well.
However, that was Ichinosuke’s reasoning alone. To kill a close comrade and then simply flee was something he could not endure.
Since he was ultimately bearing a sin he could not escape, fleeing half-heartedly only to be captured would be compounding his shame.
If his brother would not avenge his younger brother’s death, then he had no choice but to honorably destroy himself.
Hankurō resolved to commit seppuku.

The early winter night gradually deepened, and the sound of Kiyomizu Temple’s ninth-hour bell (midnight) resounded across the water. Hankurō sat before the dim lamp and tried to smear his own blood on the blade stained with his comrade’s blood. He considered this to be the proper means of atoning for his sins.

As he regripped the sword, a woman’s face like a ghost appeared from behind the screen. Osome had come sneaking in without anyone noticing.

“Osome.”
“Were you listening?”

Osome collapsed there in tears.

“Ichinosuke tells me to hide,” he said. “But Hankurō cannot do such a dishonorable thing. I will commit seppuku here and now with honor. By tomorrow, Osome’s patron at Wakamatsuya will be denounced in society as a murderer—you too will feel disgraced—but this too is karmic retribution. Forgive me.”

“Um... please let me die with you,” she said, sobbing through her tears.

“No—that’s reckless. You force yourself to uphold unreasonable obligations, and now you would even give your life to this Hankurō—have you no thought for the grief it would bring your own parents and sisters? I bear a sin that demands death. This has nothing to do with you. Pretend you know nothing and get out of here quickly,” Hankurō scolded in a low voice.

Even when rebuked, she did not move. Though born an unfortunate woman, I have clung to you and managed to live until today. The day to part with you was finally approaching, and my heart had long since become as though dead. Being separated from you—the most dependable person in all of Japan—I cannot possibly endure the long years of service that lie ahead. From the evening of my debut, when you became my exclusive patron, I—who have never taken another client—have wished to live my entire life as a pure woman with you alone as my husband. Realizing this, she threw herself before the man’s knees and wept, pleading, “Kill me with you.”

Hankurō also pitied the woman’s heart.
He too did not want to leave Osome’s pitiful body long submerged in the dark depths of the murky inlet—even if it meant parting with his ancestral sword—and had been thinking of rescuing her and sending her back to her parents.
His resolve had come to nothing; moreover he had fallen into ruin such that he killed someone with that sword.
Since things had come to this—he thought—perhaps killing her would instead save her; what might be called a mercy killing.

Having thought this, he gazed intently at the young woman's slender, pale nape—prostrate before him—as if noticing it anew. He stared at her beautiful hair, thick and gleaming black. A warmth different from any love he'd felt before gradually swelled in his chest, until the youthful blood coursing through his entire body seemed to ignite.

It was truly this night that Hankurō first experienced this strange sensation toward Osome. The Osome reflected in Hankurō's eyes tonight was not the courtesan Osome. She was the pure maiden Osome. She was a pure maiden who would bring no shame even as a samurai's wife. Hankurō felt an indescribable happiness.

“I’ve fully understood your feelings.”
“Stop crying now,” Hankurō said as he placed his hand on the woman’s shoulder and pulled her up.
“Yes.”

Osome obediently raised her face.
In her eyes, teardrops glistened beautifully.

They did not attempt to lay the corpse in the teahouse's tatami room.
They did not follow Genzaburō's path by exposing the corpse on the riverbank.
Having decided Toribeyama—where all people eventually go—as their grave, the two quietly slipped out of Hanabishi.

The later authors sang of Osome as if depicting their dying figures: "Against her skin lay a pure white bridal kimono with purple wisteria crests above, an underrobe of scarlet twill and black satin obi—seventeen years fresh as a first bloom—standing wilted in rain."
For Hankurō they described: "The man wore white against his skin—black figured silk lined with pale yellow."

This carries a tone of poignant beauty.
Yet this was at least sixty years removed—a vision reflecting the songwriters' own era rather than the true forms of those who lived this story.

Even so, we do not wish to forever destroy the poignant beauty that has been cultivated for over two hundred years through songs like "Against her skin, a pure white bridal kimono."
This story never once describes their clothing for this very reason.