Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Sugita Genpaku had left his residence at Shin-Ōhashi and arrived at Nagasaki-ya Gen’emon’s establishment in Honmoku-chō 3-chōme just slightly past the Hour of the Snake. But when he was guided by a familiar clerk to Interpreter Nishi Zenzaburō’s room and entered, just as yesterday, Ryōtaku appeared to have arrived long before and was sitting composedly. After finishing his greetings to Zenzaburō, Genpaku turned toward Ryōtaku and,

“Good morning! I must apologize for yesterday,” he greeted. However, Ryōtaku merely inclined his glossy, full head of hair slightly and did not so much as crack a smile on his fair-skinned, high-nosed, large face with its faint mottling. Genpaku felt a slight unpleasantness, though this was nothing new. He had long known the name of Maeno Ryōtaku, physician to the Nakatsu domain lord. And he had held considerable respect for his reputation as a scholar. Yet when actually meeting the man face-to-face, he found himself paradoxically unable to feel any closeness.

He had by now shared gatherings with Ryōtaku there five or six times. Last year, when the Captain had been staying at that inn, they had met about twice as well. This year as well, over the seven days from when the Captain had arrived in Edo on the 20th day of the month until today, Genpaku had shared gatherings with Ryōtaku three or four times. And yet, he could not feel any closeness to this man. That said, he neither disliked nor hated Ryōtaku. Yet every time they sat together, he felt a strange oppressive pressure emanating from Ryōtaku. Whenever he sat with Ryōtaku, the awareness of Ryōtaku’s presence clung stubbornly to his nerves and would not leave. Ryōtaku’s every move preoccupied him. His every look and gesture preoccupied him. The more he tried not to occupy his mind, the more he found himself unable to stop thinking about him.

Yet when Genpaku saw Ryōtaku’s attitude—as if matters concerning himself scarcely registered in the other man’s awareness—he found himself unable to prevent his feelings toward Ryōtaku from growing ever more strained. Access to the Dutch trading post in Nagasaki had been strictly regulated under established protocols, but entry to this Nagasaki-ya—the inn where the Captain was staying during his Edo visit—naturally involved no formalities, being but a temporary arrangement.

Consequently, everyone from those aspiring to Dutch-style medical arts, materia medica, product studies, and scientific inquiry to curious hatamoto and wealthy merchants flocked there daily. It was rare not to see the faces of Noro Genjō of the medical arts; Yamagata domain’s physician Yasutomi Kiseki; Nakagawa Jun’an of the same domain; Aono Chōbei, a purveyor at Kuramae known for his curiosity; Sanuki domain’s rōnin Hiraga Gennai; Hosoi Soan, a monk attendant; and Ōkubo Suiko, a Confucian scholar. Such gatherings would pose various questions to the Captain through unreliable interpreters. Those were, for the most part, often trivial foolish questions concerning the Dutch and their strange customs and manners. When they realized through the Captain’s answer that it was a foolish question, everyone doubled over laughing.

When shown instruments like the Waelglas (barometer), Thermo meter (thermometer), and Donder glas (seismoscope), they delightedly clamored like children encountering a rare toy. Yet at such times, it was Ryōtaku who sat looking down coldly upon the gathering. He never posed the kind of foolish questions everyone else asked. From beginning to end, he remained silent, a faint smile that was neither a sneer nor a proper smile lingering at the corner of his lips.

Even when the gathering burst into frivolous laughter, his firmly closed mouth did not easily loosen. But when, on some matter, the group had exhausted their inquiries and naturally fallen silent, Ryōtaku would invariably pose one or two probing questions. For the members of the gathering, even grasping the meaning of those questions was often beyond them. But when the Captain received the question from the interpreter, he would always open his eyes wide in surprise, suddenly adopt a serious demeanor, and proceed to give a lengthy answer.

The members of the gathering seemed not to pay any heed to Ryōtaku's attitude—that air of solitary superiority he carried—but Genpaku alone found it strangely, unbearably grating.

Just yesterday, something like this had happened. To put it another way, it was nothing of consequence, but Captain Carans, likely for the group’s amusement, took out a small bag and showed it to everyone. The interpreter, having received the Captain’s intent, said the following. “According to Captain Carans, please try opening this bag’s mouth.” “To whoever splendidly opens it, this bag shall be presented.” Captain Carans, his fully bearded face breaking into a smile, beamed.

The gathering was thoroughly entertained. First, Hosoi Soan took it up in hand. But he, being impatient, after fiddling with it for a short while, soon cast it aside. “Let me have a look,” said Yasutomi Kiseki as he took it up with great care, but after pondering it for some time, he too found himself at a loss and cast it aside. The bag passed from hand to hand among the members of the gathering. Each time one person failed, the gathering burst into loud laughter. Captain Carans watched everyone struggling to open it, looking pleased and beaming.

When it came to Genpaku’s hands, he too picked it up with a beaming smile. Attached to the mouth of the bag was a metal fitting. It had likely been designed as a ring puzzle mechanism. Genpaku tried pushing and pulling here and there, but the mouth did not open even a fraction. He finally gave up. With a wry smile, he attempted to pass it to the next person. However, by that time, most of those present had already tried their hand at it. Only Ryōtaku, seated to Genpaku’s right, remained unapproached—due to his excessively composed and reserved demeanor, everyone found it difficult to pass the object to him.

“Mr. Maeno, how about you?” Genpaku casually attempted to hand it to Ryōtaku. However, Ryōtaku remained coldly indifferent and made no move to accept it. He must have found it bitterly distasteful—the way the members of the gathering were amusing themselves with such a trivial plaything. No—he must have found it bitterly distasteful that those who should be scholar-officials were being so deftly manipulated by the Captain through such trivial playthings. He did not so much as glance at the bag Genpaku had offered.

The bag remained placed between Genpaku and Ryōtaku, and the gathering became somewhat deflated.

But just at that moment, Hiraga Gennai fortuitously arrived late. He casually picked up the bag upon hearing about it from the gathering and immediately opened it. The gathering overflowed with voices praising his extraordinary talent. His genius had rescued them from their deflated spirits. Yet within Genpaku’s heart, something between stubbornness and resentment toward Ryōtaku began crystallizing from that moment.

When Ryōtaku was present at the gathering, Genpaku could not voice even half of the questions that came to mind. Whenever he thought that Ryōtaku might already have understood what he was inquiring about, the act of posing a question felt like confessing his own ignorance before him, and he simply could not bring himself to do it. Genpaku was deeply ashamed in his heart of such feelings as concern for reputation and pretense. But even as he was ashamed, he could not help but remain bound by them. He thirsted for knowledge of Dutch matters, academics, and especially medical arts, yet due to some stubborn pride, he could not bring himself to ask questions freely.

That day too, he had wanted to meet Zenzaburō alone before the others arrived—and especially before Ryōtaku arrived. He wanted to state his long-standing aspiration to read Dutch script and inquire of Zenzaburō whether such an endeavor was possible. For this purpose, Genpaku had arrived half an hour earlier than the previous day, but Ryōtaku being there before him came as a considerable blow. But he felt ashamed of his own excessive preoccupation with Ryōtaku. He, taking advantage of Ryōtaku being the only one present, ventured to state his earnest ambition.

“Mr. Nishi!” “Today I have a matter I wish to inquire of you with some urgency—it concerns not myself.” “Might this Dutch script be something we foreigners could read?” “Or is it something beyond our grasp no matter how we strive?” “Pray answer according to the true circumstances.” “We too possess some understanding of these matters.” Genpaku’s inquiry brimmed with sincerity. Nishi nodded two or three times as if approving Genpaku’s fervor. Yet the answer he gave proved negative. He replied in that spirited tone peculiar to men of Saikai.

“Well now, that’s something three or four gentlemen have asked about too.” “But when we interpreters answer, we can only advise you to abandon such efforts.” “No matter how much you labor, it’ll remain beyond your grasp.” “To speak plainly—even among us interpreters, those who truly comprehend Dutch letters number no more than one or two.” “The rest merely jot down sounds in kana, memorize them through recitation, and thus manage our duties.” “Trying to understand every word of their tongue is fundamentally impossible for us foreigners.” “Take this example—if you ask their Captain or sailors what they call ‘drinking hot water or sake,’ you’d start with gestures.” “Hold up a bowl, mimic pouring, bring it to your lips and ask—they’d say ‘derinki.’” “We learned ‘derinki’ means drinking.” “Simple enough so far.” “But try advancing further—ask how to distinguish heavy drinkers from abstainers—and we’re utterly baffled.” “No gesturing method exists.” “Even when we mimed guzzling drink after drink to show heavy drinkers, they never understood.” “For some drink much yet hate sake; others sip little yet crave it—appearances reveal nothing.” “Thus with innate dispositions—no amount of gesturing lets you ask properly.”

“I see.” “That is perfectly reasonable.” Genpaku could not help but nod at the reason in his counterpart’s response. When Genpaku nodded in agreement, Nishi continued speaking with a touch of pride. “As for difficult examples of the Dutch language—there are such cases as this. “There exists a term called *Aantrekken*.” “The term *Aantrekken* means ‘to like or have a taste for.’ We interpreters—born into interpreter households, having learned this word since childhood and used it countless times—never truly grasped its meaning until reaching fifty years of age, when we finally attained understanding during this journey.” “*Aan* means ‘origin’.” “*Trekken* means ‘to pull’.” “*Aantrekken* is the desire to draw what lies yonder close at hand.” “Liking sake means the desire to draw sake close at hand.” “To *aantrekken* one’s hometown means to yearn for it so deeply that one wishes to draw it close at hand.” “Thus, even a single word can prove so difficult that those like us—who have been in close contact with Dutch people morning and evening since childhood—find ourselves scarcely able to grasp it.” “Let alone for those residing in Edo—it is ultimately an unattainable matter.” “You must be aware of this already.” “Lords Noro Genjō and Aoki Bunzō—year after year they had been coming to this inn on official business and exerting themselves tirelessly—yet their understanding had not borne fruit in any satisfactory manner.” “You too would do well to abandon such aspirations without fail.”

Nishi said this as if he himself had long since given up completely. “Indeed, that stands to reason.” Genpaku could do nothing but answer in kind. With the other party persistently discouraging him, he could not very well press to inquire about methods of study. “Indeed, if even you, Chief Interpreter, hold such convictions, then no matter how we resolve ourselves, it is beyond our reach.” “Ultimately, there is nothing for it but to abandon our efforts.”

It was when Genpaku had offhandedly said those words. Ryōtaku, who had been silently listening to the exchange between Nishi and Genpaku until now, suddenly interjected.

“No—while your words hold truth, sirs, our understanding of the circumstances differs.” “Though they may be called Westerners, there exists no earthly reason why texts created by human hands cannot be comprehended by human minds.” “The Chinese characters we daily wield, the Confucian teachings we scholar-officials uphold—at their first arrival, these too must have been as impenetrable as Dutch script appears to us now.” “Through our forebears’ unrelenting labor did they chip away at those mysteries—word by stubborn word.” “Two thousand years of countless souls have drunk from that wellspring of their sacrifice.” “This is where Ryōtaku’s purpose takes root.” “For those who follow, we would endure the torment of carving wisdom into our very bones.” “Mr. Sugita—do not relinquish your aim; pray commence this work.” “Though I stand at forty-nine winters, I mean to labor until these bones collapse.”

Genpaku could not help feeling profound shame upon hearing Ryōtaku’s ambition. Hearing this vigorous resolve, he could not help feeling ashamed to his core. He could not help considering this precious counsel directed at himself. Yet he could not help feeling considerable discomfort at how abruptly the other man had touched upon a vulnerability he wished left unexposed. He could not help feeling this discomfort toward one who had earnestly confronted him without mercy regarding what had been half-intended as a polite remark.

II

It was not more than five days later that Genpaku acquired the Dutch book *Tafel Anatomia*.

Genpaku's ambition had originally lain in Dutch medical arts. The reason he had wanted to learn Dutch was so that he could read through Dutch books concerning medical treatments and pharmaceuticals by means of it. Consequently, when he was shown *Tafel Anatomia* by a certain interpreter, he could not help but widen his eyes in astonishment and delight. When he beheld the exquisitely detailed illustrations of viscera, bones, and joints colored in deep red and blue, he felt that all the profound mysteries of the human body had been unraveled there. Though he could not read a single character of the Dutch script—resembling patterns running between one illustration and the next—his heart could not help but overflow with fierce curiosity and profound emotion. He coveted it from the depths of his heart. The price—three ryō—was an exorbitant sum for him with his 25-koku stipend. But he gave no thought to the consequences. After handing over the ichibu-gin silver he had in his pocket as a deposit to the interpreter, he rushed back to the domain residence to secure funds.

The place he rushed to was the residence of Chief Retainer Oka Shinzaemon. Oka had long held goodwill toward Genpaku. When he heard Genpaku’s plea, “You may request it—but will it prove useful?” “Should it prove useful, I shall arrange to have the price lowered from above and secure it for you.”

When answered thus, Genpaku too was stirred with inspiration.

“Though I cannot claim to have such a definite objective at present, I shall by all means render it useful and present it before your eyes,” he could not help but vow.

Just then, a man named Kogura Saemon joined the gathering. "I earnestly request that you arrange this matter." "I advise that Mr. Sugita will not render it futile." Having made *Tafel Anatomia* his own, Genpaku leapt for joy and rejoiced.

III

It was March 3rd. Genpaku went to Nagasaki-ya that day as well. Since the Shogunate’s viewing of the Dutch had concluded without incident the previous day, and the Captain—along with two clerks and interpreters of varying seniority—had all relaxed their spirits accordingly，the meeting bustled with unprecedented energy. Finally，to conclude，the Captain produced a rare wine called Chintaku and hosted all present with hospitality. That day，with Ryōtaku notably absent，the assembled group—comprising Nakagawa Jun’an，Kosugi Genteki，Mine Haruyasu，Toriyama Shōen，and other physicians exclusively—maintained tense dialogue that seldom strayed beyond medical topics. Particularly compelling was one clerk named Bubble，whose surgical expertise drew everyone to encircle him while they voraciously posed question after question.

In particular, Mine Haruyasu was earnestly listening to the technique of bloodletting.

As the long spring day waned and the Dutch withdrew for their meal, everyone came back to themselves with relief from the tense dialogue. It was when they were hurrying to prepare to return.

From Nakagawa Jun'an's private residence, a servant came rushing in, carrying a document box affixed with red paper.

Jun'an picked up the document box marked as urgent with a slightly uneasy expression, but as he read the letter inside, his anxious face melted into joy.

“Gentlemen! “Rejoice! “Our long-cherished wish has been fulfilled! “Tomorrow, there will be a dissection at Honkawara! “There will be a dissection!” He raised his voice in jubilation and indicated the letter to those assembled. It was a confidential report from Tokunō Manbei, retainer to Town Magistrate Magaribuchi Kai no Kami, concerning a dissection to be performed by a certain hand surgeon at Senju Honkawara on the fourth day. “A dissection! “A dissection!” Everyone cried out in shared elation.

For Jun’an, Genteki, Genpaku, and others devoted to Dutch-style medical arts, dissection had been a long-cherished wish for years. But that opportunity had not been easily obtained. Moreover, they had recently heard new accounts from Bubble regarding the internal structure of the body, so their long-cherished wish for dissection now burned all the more fiercely, as if oil had been poured upon it.

When Genpaku heard about the dissection, he could not suppress his soaring heart. He had waited with the impatience of one counting each day as a thousand autumns for this moment ever since obtaining *Tafel Anatomia*. He knew the illustrations in *Tafel Anatomia* differed utterly from all ancient doctrines. He burned to verify them against reality and confirm their truth without delay. The faces of those gathered shone with elation.

“In that case, let us return home at once to rest tonight and agree to meet tomorrow at dawn at the teahouse by the exit of Sanya-chō.” Jun’an looked around the gathering. The gathering immediately agreed to it.

At that moment, Ryōtaku’s face suddenly surfaced in Genpaku’s mind. He knew that Ryōtaku too harbored an ardent hope for the dissection. He knew his hope was no less ardent than anyone else’s in the gathering. Even if Ryōtaku was not present at this gathering, he felt this was not someone to exclude from tomorrow’s undertaking.

But he could not bring himself to casually utter Ryōtaku’s name. Because of a slight resentment he harbored toward Ryōtaku, he could not bring himself to mention it easily. Moreover, in a corner of his heart, there was a faintly stirring thought that Ryōtaku—who always maintained a haughty, condescending attitude toward the gathering—missing this crucial undertaking would serve as a fitting lesson. Moreover, since no one had noticed anything regarding Ryōtaku, he thought there was no need for him to particularly bring it up.

But as the gathering was about to rise as it was, Genpaku’s heart gradually grew troubled. A mild reproach lashed at his heart. He could not help but notice the baseness of his own attitude toward Ryōtaku. He could no longer remain silent. “There is Mr. Maeno!” “There is Mr. Maeno!” “I wish we could somehow manage to inform Mr. Maeno as well.”

At such times, Genpaku himself felt a bright, almost salvific mood. “Oh, there is Mr. Maeno!” He had completely forgotten about Mr. Maeno. “We cannot possibly fail to send word to Mr. Maeno!” Genteki immediately responded to that. But the others did not seem particularly enthusiastic. Jun’an said as if making an excuse. “We do wish to inform Mr. Maeno as well, but his residence in Kōjimachi lies a considerable distance away.” “By now, the first watch has already passed; there is no means to send word.” “There will be another opportunity for Mr. Maeno.”

Genpaku wondered if he should remain silent. His own heart was settled with this. He thought there was neither obligation nor responsibility requiring that Maeno absolutely had to participate in tomorrow’s undertaking. But precisely because he was aware that deep within his own heart lay a part that secretly rejoiced in Ryōtaku’s absence, remaining silent in that manner pained him with guilt. “But I cannot say there is absolutely no means to send word. At the gate of Honrokuchō, there must surely be couriers available. If we prepare a letter and have the couriers leave it at his residence, there should be no reason our message fails to reach him.”

Genpaku’s idea was a brilliant one for the time. “That is a splendid insight indeed!” The members of the gathering all agreed to it. Genteki immediately set about writing the letter.

While Genpaku himself had called for Ryōtaku, there had not been a moment when feelings of regret did not stir within him. But when he suddenly thought of the *Tafel Anatomia* he possessed, a different emotion stirred within him. He imagined the triumphant feeling he would have when presenting that rare book before everyone. He considered his own feelings about opening *Tafel Anatomia* before Ryōtaku—before this Ryōtaku by whom he always felt somehow cowed—and imagined what that moment would be like.

He thought that inviting Ryōtaku had indeed been the right decision.

IV

On the morning of March 4th, near the second hour of the Tiger, Genpaku departed from Shin-Ōhashi domain residence, passed through Asakusabashi and Kuramae, emerged onto Hirokōji, and arrived at the teahouse by Sanya-chō’s exit via Bamichi—all as Sensō-ji’s dawn’s sixth toll resounded solemnly through the pale violet sky of spring’s early light.

When he climbed up to the teahouse's tatami room, Genteki and Ryōtaku were already sitting facing each other around a brazier in the chilly morning air. Seeing that Ryōtaku—who lived in Kōjimachi Hirakawachō—had arrived before him, Genpaku could not help feeling a considerable sense of surprise.

When Ryōtaku saw Genpaku enter, he bowed more politely than was his custom. “Mr. Sugita! Last night, I understand your esteemed self took the initiative to have a messenger sent; I am deeply grateful. Thanks to your esteemed self’s efforts, this one is able to partake in such a rarely convened undertaking and is filled with profound joy.” Indeed, when thanked so directly to his face, Genpaku could not help but feel somewhat ashamed within himself of his previous sentiments toward Ryōtaku. Genteki interjected from beside them.

“Mr. Sugita! It is said Mr. Maeno has not slept a wink since last night. The messenger arrived near the Hour of the Rat, and it is said he departed from his residence around the second hour of the Ox. Even during that time, whenever he thought of today’s undertaking, his heart would leap so that he did not sleep a wink.”

When Genpaku realized that Ryōtaku’s obsession was more intense than his own, he could not help but feel a loneliness akin to being outmatched by Ryōtaku in every aspect. But such loneliness was immediately comforted when he thought of the *Tafel Anatomia* he carried in his pocket. When he thought that he alone had brought this rare book to today’s gathering, such loneliness toward Ryōtaku immediately vanished.

Before long, Jun’an appeared. About a quarter of an hour later, Haruyasu and Ryōen arrived together. When the six faces had gathered, they set off together toward Kotsugahara.

While letting their faces be caressed by the gentle breeze of an early spring morning, the six conversed animatedly in their excitement. All six were men past middle age, yet their hearts leaped with anticipation. The six men’s pace had quickened before they knew it. The small-statured Jun’an tended to lag behind at times. Genpaku had been thinking about when to take out the *Tafel Anatomia* and present it to everyone. He had thought to present it earlier at the Sanya-chō teahouse but had ultimately failed to find the right moment.

As they approached Kotsugahara’s execution ground, on a gallows tree facing the highway hung the head of an old woman who seemed to have been executed not long before. When they realized that torso would be dissected today, the six could not help but feel a slight sense of discomfort.

The hinin chief guided the six to the yoriki guardhouse at the entrance of the execution ground. Until the preparations for the anatomical dissection were complete, the six had to wait there.

Genpaku, thinking now was the moment, tried to reach for the *Tafel Anatomia* in his pocket. But at the same moment, Ryōtaku—as though suddenly remembering something—began unwrapping the cloth-wrapped bundle he held in his right hand while speaking. “Exactly! “Exactly!” “I have something I wished to disclose to all of you.” “When I went to Nagasaki some years ago, I acquired and brought back home to keep a Dutch anatomical text, but…” Saying this, he took out a volume from the cloth bundle and pointed it out before everyone.

Genteki took it, his eyes glistening with curiosity. The eyes of the five fixed on it in unison. But when Genpaku saw it at a glance, he couldn't help doubting his own eyes. It was a book identical in every detail to the *Tafel Anatomia* he carried in his pocket. He stood in a daze, utterly speechless. The final stronghold he had believed he could maintain against Ryōtaku had been crushed with cruel ease. Yet Genpaku couldn't avoid producing his own book from his pocket.

“Mr. Maeno—have you had this all along?” “In truth, I too have recently acquired a copy.” Genpaku disclosed it as if it were nothing. But not a trace could be felt of the pride and pomp he had been looking forward to since last night when presenting it. It was a feeling like chewing on something bitter. But when Ryōtaku saw it, he seemed genuinely surprised. He took up the book Genpaku had presented and examined the cover and frontispiece by flipping through them.

“This is undoubtedly the same book.” “This is a marvelous coincidence.” “What a marvelous coincidence!”

As he said this, Ryōtaku clapped his hands several times. Ryōtaku’s bearing radiated like the vault of heaven itself. “That you and this one should both unwittingly possess copies of the *Tafel Anatomia*—this must be deemed an auspicious omen foretelling Dutch medicine’s destined flourishing among us.” Ryōtaku continued his pronouncements with booming laughter. He indicated an illustration in the volume to Genpaku as he spoke. “Observe! “This they name ‘Long’—the lung. “This they name ‘Hart’—the heart. “This they name ‘Maag’—the stomach. “This they name ‘Milt’—the spleen. “The doctrines set forth in our medical classics—the Five Viscera and Six Bowels, lungs divided into six lobes, livers split threefold left and fourfold right—bear not the slightest likeness to what lies before us. “This very day marks the hour when we shall ascertain whether Chinese theories hold truth or Dutch diagrams prove faithful.”

Ryōtaku’s face glowed with excitement for the pursuit of truth. Genpaku, too, as he came into contact with Ryōtaku’s high-spirited and fervent feelings, found himself forgetting the strange reservations that had lingered in his heart.

V

Before long, the six proceeded together to the site for organ observation.

In a corner of the execution ground, a crude temporary hut had been constructed from straw mats. A certain hand physician had been waiting together with three minor officials and two yoriki.

The corpse was, as expected, that of the old woman whose severed head alone adorned the gibbet. The old woman was called Aocha-baa, guilty of the heinous crime of having murdered countless children she had taken in as her own. Though said to have been famed for her beauty in youth, even past fifty years her white, plump body showed not a single wrinkle. The sword-bearer was a minor official named Toramatsu, nearing his ninetieth year. He stood hale and vigorous with ruddy-black skin that seemed almost to exude the greasy pallor of executed criminals' corpses.

He boasted that since his youth, he had undertaken anatomical dissections many times and had dissected several people. Though driven by their pursuit of truth, when the six beheld that headless pallid corpse—its form grotesquely misshapen—none could help but avert their faces. The grotesque assault on their eyes and nostrils made the scholars’ chests tighten. Yet Ryōtaku, Jun’an, and Genpaku wore expressions of grim resolve as they endured the visceral horror. The elderly minor official gripped a honed *deba* knife in reverse stance and began cleaving through the corpse’s chest—squelching thrusts like those used to butcher livestock. From flesh where the head had been severed less than half a koku prior, thick blood seeped in viscous trails with each plunge of the blade—half-coagulated strands clinging to steel.

The chest was cut open first. Both Ryōtaku and Genpaku, while opening the chest diagram in the *Tafel Anatomia*, were intently comparing it with the corpse’s chest as it was being opened in vivid red. For Ryōtaku and Genpaku, what a miraculous wonder it was. Not a single bone being severed by the *deba* knife’s edge, not a single muscle, nor the white bizarre strands running like a web between the flesh, nor the pale fat rising whitely, nor the lungs spreading out grotesquely to fill the thoracic cavity, nor even the crimson heart resembling a peach fruit peeking from beneath the left lung—none differed by so much as a hair’s breadth from the illustrations in the *Tafel Anatomia*.

Ryōtaku, Genpaku, and the other four were rendered speechless by profound astonishment. Next, the abdomen was cut open. The stomach revealed there, the intestines crouching in bizarre shapes, even the nameless viscera concealed behind the stomach—not a single one differed by so much as a hair’s breadth from the Dutch illustrations. When the old butcher stopped his hand holding the deba knife, Ryōtaku cried out as if regaining his senses for the first time. “Utterly perfect! “Utterly perfect!” “There is not the slightest difference from the Dutch book’s illustrations.” “The theories of Japan and China spanning a thousand years have all been determined to be baseless fallacies.” “Medical arts have now been dealt the final blow by the Dutch.”

“Utterly perfect!” “Utterly perfect!” Everyone joined their voices to Ryōtaku’s fervor. On their way back from the execution ground, Haruyasu and Ryōen had fallen a step behind, leaving Ryōtaku, Genteki, Jun’an, and Genpaku as a group of four. The four were immersed in the same profound emotion. It was an awe-filled reverence for the mysterious wonders of Dutch medical science.

For six or seven chō from the execution ground, they walked in silence, each immersed in their own emotions, but when they came upon Asakusa fields, Jun’an spoke as if unable to contain himself.

“Today’s experiment leaves me with nothing but utter astonishment. “To think we had been oblivious to such matters until now fills me with the utmost disgrace. “We physicians who serve our lords through the medical arts—to think we had performed our duties day after day until now without comprehending even the true form of the human body, which should be called the very foundation of our craft—it is utterly shameful. “If only we could practice medicine with at least a rough understanding of the body’s truths based on today’s experiment, then it would become justification for us to establish ourselves in this world through the medical arts.”

Ryōtaku, Genpaku, and Genteki could not help but concur with Jun’an’s sentiments. Genpaku took up the thread of discussion from there.

“Indeed, your words are most reasonable. And yet I must by all means express my desire to translate this volume of Tafel Anatomia. Should we accomplish this translation, we would gain clear understanding of both the body’s interior and exterior workings—I firmly believe this would bring immense benefit to medical treatments from this day forward.”

Ryōtaku, too, had opened up wholeheartedly.

“Ah, Mr. Sugita’s words are most reasonable.” “In truth, this one too has carried a long-standing desire to read Dutch books these many years, but without companions sharing this ambition, could only lament while passing days in frustration.” “If all of you would unite your purposes with mine, nothing could bring greater joy.” “Fortunately, during my Nagasaki studies years past, this one retained some small measure of Dutch language memory. Let us take that as our seed and together begin reading this *Tafel Anatomia*.”

Genpaku, Jun’an, and Genteki all clapped their hands in agreement. They were bound together by an extraordinary fervor.

“Then I say we must make haste.” “Starting tomorrow, please come to my humble residence!”

Ryōtaku said, his large eyes shining.

6

As per their agreement, beginning the following day, the four met at Ryōtaku’s house in Hirakawa-chō five or six times each month.

The three, excluding Ryōtaku, had not even properly memorized the twenty-five Dutch letters at first. Ryōtaku provided instruction in the Dutch language to the three people. He, having studied in Nagasaki as might be expected, possessed some understanding of Dutch and sentence structure, though even this proved barely adequate. After about a month had passed, there remained nothing more for Ryōtaku to teach the three.

When the instruction of the three was completed, the four for the first time turned to the book of *Tafel Anatomia*.

Yet from the very first page of the opened volume, they found themselves adrift in boundless obscurity—like a ship without rudder or helm setting out upon the ocean—utterly dumbfounded, with no way to begin. However, after flipping through two or three pages, they came upon a diagram of a fully supine human figure. They thought. While the internal structures of the human body were difficult to ascertain, since they already knew every name and location of the external features, they concluded that matching the symbols in the diagrams with those in the text would be the most approachable method.

They searched the text for symbols attached to eyebrows, mouth, lips, ears, abdomen, thighs, heels, and other parts. And they proceeded to memorize each term one by one—eyebrow, mouth, lip, and so forth. Yet even if such individual words were understood, the surrounding sentences remained utterly beyond meager capabilities. Even after pondering a single phrase or chapter through a long spring day, they often found themselves unable to clarify even a vague semblance of meaning. What the four finally deciphered after two days of intense deliberation was a single phrase: "Eyebrows are hair growing above eyes." The four roared with laughter at the trivial phrase, yet each could not help feeling tears of joy welling in eyes.

When they moved down from the eyebrows to the eyes and reached the nose, the four collided with a phrase stating, “The nose is that which has been made Furuhehhendo.”

Of course, there was no complete dictionary. However, in the small booklet that Ryōtaku had brought back from Nagasaki, there was a translation note for Furuhehhendo. It was a phrase that said, “After cutting a tree branch, [it] forms Furuhehhendo; when one sweeps the garden, the gathered dust forms Furuhehhendo.” The four, even when consulting that translation note, could not easily decipher it. “Furuhehhendo! Furuhehhendo!”

The four, occasionally muttering the term under their breaths, deliberated from the Hour of the Snake until the Hour of the Monkey. The four pondered on in silence, their eyes meeting without exchanging a single word. Around the time when the Hour of the Monkey had passed, Genpaku leapt up and slapped his knee.

“I have arrived at an understanding! “I have arrived at an understanding! “Gentlemen, it is thus. “When one cuts a tree branch and it heals, a protrusion forms. “When dust and dirt gather, this too will form a protrusion. “Therefore, since the nose is located in the center of the face and forms a protrusion, Furuhehhendo must signify ‘protrusion’,” he said. The four clapped their hands and rejoiced. Tears glistened in Genpaku’s eyes. His joy surpassed even that of gaining jade worth fifteen cities.

But when it came to terms such as "nerve," even after a month of continuous consideration, they could not grasp their meaning. Every time they initially encountered an incomprehensible term, they would draw a circle with a cross as a mark. They called this Kutsujūmonji—a circle with a cross. Throughout the first year, countless Kutsujūmonji marks dotted every page and its corresponding original. Yet their valiant pioneering spirit could not be stopped from conquering every obstacle. Their faithful observance of meeting six or seven times each month had been rewarded. By the time over a year had passed, translated terms had multiplied, passage structures had clarified, and the Kutsujūmonji marks within the text were all but erased.

The struggles of being pioneers came to be rewarded with the joy known only to pioneers. As the meanings of phrases became clear, gradually—like chewing sugarcane—the sweetness of previously unknown truths contained within began to seep into their hearts. They, with the joy of being the sole ones able to set foot upon scholarly fertile ground untouched by their countrymen, each time they gathered, felt as though they were children off to a festival viewing, growing so impatient for dawn that they could scarcely wait for night to end.

VII Any trace of the slight resentment Genpaku had initially harbored toward Ryōtaku was now gone. He had come to hold sincere respect for Ryōtaku’s character and profound scholarship. But as the translation work progressed, Genpaku gradually came to realize that his own ambitions and those of Ryōtaku were diverging. Genpaku’s ambition was to translate *Tafel Anatomia* as swiftly as possible, apply it to practical medical treatment, and make it a seed for innovation among the physicians of the world. He thought to himself. The transmission and perfection of Chinese learning in Japan required the efforts of several, even dozens of generations. In the same way, he thought that the perfection of Dutch Studies would undoubtedly require several generations. He believed it better to focus his ambition on a single text to achieve within one generation rather than aspire to such grand undertakings that could hardly be completed in a lifetime. Though the disordered tangle of five-colored threads was beautiful, he thought that for practical application one must settle on a single hue—red or yellow—and cast all others aside.

Therefore, he devoted himself entirely to the translation of *Tafel Anatomia*. What he could decipher in a day’s meeting, he would immediately translate upon returning home. But Ryōtaku’s ambition was far-reaching. His ambition lay in the perfection of Dutch Studies. A work such as *Tafel Anatomia* was scarcely within his consideration. He was versed in all matters of the Netherlands and harbored the grand ambition to read through any and all books from that country. For the first one or two years, there had been no conflict of opinion between Ryōtaku and Genpaku. But as their skills progressed, the two men continued to have the same kind of arguments.

“I have come to fully grasp the meaning of this passage.” “Now, shall we advance?”

Genpaku was always hurrying ahead. But Ryōtaku remained composed with dignified calm.

“No—please wait.” “Even if the passage’s meaning comes through, the individual words’ definitions remain unclear.” “When word meanings stay obscure while only the text’s overall sense emerges—this we term conjecture.” Ryōtaku remained immovably steadfast.

VIII

Four years passed.

Genpaku revised the manuscript of *Tafel Anatomia* twelve times. However, within the text there remained five unresolved sections and seventeen difficult sections. Genpaku single-mindedly hurried the publication. However, Ryōtaku refused to consent to publication until those unresolved and difficult sections had been solved. Ryōtaku and Genpaku repeatedly debated the matter. But no matter how much they debated, the two could not find common ground. That was the fundamental difference in their attitudes toward Dutch Studies.

Genpaku finally resolved to publish under his own name alone *New Book of Anatomy*, the translation of *Tafel Anatomia*. But even he could not ignore Ryōtaku’s name. Although the transcription of the translation had been carried out by Genpaku’s own hand, half the credit for the translation should rightfully be attributed to Ryōtaku. Genpaku visited Ryōtaku and beseeched him to write a preface. But Ryōtaku refused even the preface, declaring as follows: “No—when this one once journeyed through Kyushu and paid homage at Dazaifu Tenmangu Shrine, I made such a vow.” “When Ryōtaku resolved to pursue Dutch Studies, it was to seek true principles—not for fame or profit. Thus did this one pray that divine protection be bestowed for this scholarship’s fulfillment.” “Since I would be violating this very vow, I cannot possibly permit the matter of a preface!”

When he heard that, Genpaku felt lonely. Yet he could not bring himself to belittle his own approach in the slightest. He respected Ryōtaku’s approach. But at the same time, he could not help but affirm his own.

In his memoir from later years when Dutch Studies flourished, he asserted his approach as follows.

"This old man, being by nature negligent and unlearned, lacked the ability to render Dutch theories into translations that people might quickly grasp and benefit from understanding. Yet entrusting others would fail to convey my true intent; thus, heedless of my own crude inadequacy, I took up the brush myself." Even where I sensed there might lie precise subtleties, I refrained from forcing interpretations where comprehension proved difficult, recording only what my understanding had reached. For instance, should one wish to journey to Kyoto, they must first know there exist two routes—the Tōkaidō and Tōsandō—and hold foremost the principle that continuing ever westward will ultimately bring one to the capital. If one deemed it enough to teach the path’s course, then one set forth its general outline. When first embarking on such an endeavor, one cannot proceed with so middling a perspective as to dread future censure. It became simply a matter of translating what could be grasped through fundamental principles. The Sutra of Forty-Two Sections in Sanskrit Translation has at last taken its place within the Complete Buddhist Canon. This was the enduring ambition and aspiration this old man had nurtured since those days. Had there been no Ryōtaku in this world, this path could never have been opened. "But without someone like this old man—a person of broad intent—this path could not have been cleared with such swiftness; this too must be counted as divine aid."