Pathway to Japanese Literature

I Though her natural beauty was enhanced by lipstick—blending into its hue—the charming sound did not originate from her lips. Otsuta held a pokeweed toy between her white teeth…… “Mrs. Hayase looks twenty but she’s thirty—a woman of that age playing with a pokeweed toy? You can guess her breeding,” gossiped the wives in this officials’ neighborhood where grand residences clustered. Just last night too, at the Kagurazaka festival night when she went to buy primroses, she had picked out a nice one and brought it home tucked in her obi sash day and night. Offering it to the neighbor’s daughter—a schoolgirl—with “Here, have one,” only to be rebuffed by “I don’t want such a barbaric thing!” Having been rejected, she resented the girl’s affected air.

It wasn’t exactly spite. There she stood—just a single fence separating this kitchen with its waist-high sliding door from the neighbor’s daughter’s parlor—her hands tucked into her sleeves, idly clicking the pokeweed toy with an air of restlessness. Then suddenly, she tilted her head, disheveled side locks of her ginkgo-leaf hairstyle shifting, and widened her eyes sharply as if straining to listen.

There came a clack-clack-clack-clack, then a croak-croak-clack-clack. In time with the clacking of lips. When she paused her blowing for just a moment, the sound now fell into silence, and though the warm spring sun beat dully against the waist-high sliding door, there was no cat prowling along the eaves, nor even the shadow of a sparrow.

Thinking it might be a mouse, she glanced sideways up at the shelf, but neither pots nor stacked boxes made so much as a clang, nor did old newspapers rustle.

While glancing around, her teeth accidentally brushed against the pokeweed toy. To that faint sound came an immediate response—clack-clack. When she focused harder and blew continuously again, without pause came croak-croak keeping perfect rhythm. Having pinpointed the source,

“Oh,” she exclaimed, descending to the lower wooden floor where the maid Ogen had just dashed out moments earlier to attend to an entryway guest—one sandal left behind. She flipped over the sandal carelessly to reveal its black lining, adjusted it with a flick of her white fingers, stepped over it barefoot, and slid open the waist-high door to the left—whereupon the sun past ten o’clock streamed diagonally through willow branches above the well across the way, flooding the kitchen to set aglow in crimson the spinach roots neatly arranged on the cutting board.

Probably that’s it—the sake shop’s errand boy who had guessed about the mimicry wasn’t hiding anywhere. Frowning yet with an absentminded, unforced expression, she now produced not so much a hum as a deliberate experimental cluck with the tip of her tongue. In response to the resonance came clattering, but though she restrained herself after one blow, the other side seemed invigorated, clattering on and on.

Hearing this, she crouched down, grabbed the hem of her work jacket spread across the floorboards, tucked the end of her tucked-up underrobe securely between her knees, leaned her shoulder out past the waist-high sliding door, and fixed her gaze on the stagnant water pooled in the gutter right before her eyes. Naturally, with the gutter cover in place, the creature's form remained unseen—yet this exquisite duet emanated precisely from within. With a smile, she blew a low hoot into it, and clack-clack-clack—the rhythm matched perfectly, the sound growing louder as they drew closer, their tempo sharpening into a rapid click-click-click!

“So it’s a frog.” With a gentle smile—her lips like crimson-dyed petals—she took the pokeweed toy between her fingers, lightly smoothing her collar as she... “You’re impossible, Ogen…” She started to call out “Come see,” but swallowed her voice and instead sucked on the pokeweed toy again. Cluck-cluck blow, clack-clack; cluck-cluck blow, clack-clack—like butterfly wings striking a shamisen’s body—the quiet, lingering spring day settled a few inches onto Otsuta’s sleeves.

"Hey!" came a vigorous voice from afar, drawn out and thrust forward. The one who arrived was an Edo-style fishmonger.

II Here came Ogen—the petite, Shimada-coiffed maid who had opened the partition between kitchen and living room, carried tea and sweets downstairs from the second floor, and now wore a flushed face—

“Madam, the fishmonger has arrived.” “Don’t speak so loudly.” Otsuta turned and admonished in a low voice as Ogen stepped aside from behind her. “They’ll hear you.” When Otsuta gave a meaningful look, Ogen smiled faintly and lowered her gaze before poking her flushed face out through the kitchen entrance to peer down the alley. “Where’s Madam?” Me-gumi’s voice struck her face like a physical blow. As his trademark “Hey there!” tone echoed again, Ogen frantically waved her hands to hush him—just as the fishmonger stood shouldering his cutting board, revealing himself to be none other than the renowned Edo-style vendor nicknamed “Me-gumi.”

His work jacket was lightly soiled, his apron’s color had faded, his sash sat twisted, his work pants were shrunken—but his cutting board remained pristine. His usual headband had been replaced by a misshapen hat worn lotus-leaf style through several days of unseasonable warmth, its appearance offering no semblance of coolness. As was his custom—red-faced and bleary-eyed from morning drinking—he spotted Otsuta there,

“Come here, Madam, heh heh heh heh.”

“I said stop it already—how pretentious can you be? You too, Ogen.”

With the tip of her finger scratching her temple lightly while brushing her sleeve against the maid’s shoulder, “You’re saying it too now? A Madam in a work jacket—does such a thing even exist in Edo?” “But hey now, Mr. Me-gumi.” Adjusting her sleeves, Ogen crouched before the cutting board. “Then are you the newlywed?” “There’s no such money for that, I tell you.” “Well then, Mistress.”

“Right-o.” “Heh,” With a single chest-heaving laugh, he set down the cutting board and propped up the scale—glancing down at Ogen’s back as she meticulously arranged the spinach. “Still got that big backside taking up the whole kitchen, huh? This ain’t some sideshow act! If you measured it by eye, just how much d’you reckon it’d come to?” “It’d measure about your bulk.” “That’s the kind of talk I’d expect. Ha ha ha ha, that’s Madam’s coaching at work, I’ll bet.” “Mr. Me,”

“Yeah,” “There are guests upstairs, aren’t there? Even though Madam told you to stop.” “Oh right, that’s so.” Noisily sucking his tongue, “What do you mean keeping her in the shadows? Such a fruitful, generous…” “I won’t haggle.” “Honestly! To think they’d keep a fine housewife like you hidden away.” “Ain’t he one clueless master?” “It’s fine since I’m fully aware of it,” Lowering her eyes with torn canthus, Otsuta rested her chin against her collar—appearing modest, meek, and tearfully composed—so Me-gumi nodded quietly.

Ogen interjected sideways, “What is it?” “Heh, what a clueless thing to ask. They’re still wolfin’ down my prime goods as usual. Not even botherin’ to slip me the payment quiet-like.”

“Yes, yes, we’ll gratefully accept it without payment as usual. As for your fish, Me-gumi—whether cash or credit—we’ve never once troubled ourselves to collect payment.” “Sarcastic, aren’t you? No matter how you spin it, you’re taking it without payment anyway.” “We humbly receive your generosity through the Master.” “Hey, look—she’s shaking her Shimada.”

“Hey now, quit squabbling like a pair of watchmen.” “Ogen, is the meal ready to be served to the guests?”

“How does this find you? As she’s a lady, she likely won’t take up too much of your time.”

III

“But you don’t look like you’re leaving anytime soon.” As he said this and peered into Me-gumi’s uncovered cutting board, the sea bream’s glistening wet hues shone with an ambiance reminiscent of Hiroshige’s prints—though willow shadows didn’t fall upon it, the morning moonlight from the riverbank still clung undiminished to its scales. When he passed the cutting board with a thud, the crimson span beneath its eyes arced sharply as it flipped over with vigor. Unlike his usual bleary-eyed manner, he gripped the deba knife with a glint, adopting a stance as if wielding ceremonial chopsticks, “Sashimi?” “Let’s see…” Otsuta adjusted her hanten sleeves and leaned slightly.

“Not grilled—we had sashimi yesterday too…” As he set his stance, his arm flashed—a swift sweep sent scales pattering down like spring rain. “While you’re at it, why not grill some extra—heh heh heh—that’d suit you proper.” “What with that fine lady guest upstairs being so deep in talk, I hear.”

“Madam,” “The guest is the Madam—mother of the Master’s friend.” While Ogen watched Me-gumi’s sea bream filleting technique—always admired as profoundly skillful—she stepped in and spoke up. He stabbed the gills once and flung them aside, “Dented, eh?” “Not like that fresh cut last time—this old salt overdid it here.” “Speaking of which, Me-gumi—”

Otsuta, with one hand tucked into her bosom, smoothly pulled at her slipping black satin collar,

“The other day, I asked you to make deliveries to Mr. Kano's place, but you haven’t been going there since—what’s the matter?” “Hmm, Kano?” “You mean that mansion in Minami-cho?” “Ah, for some reason, ‘The fishmonger isn’t coming’—yesterday someone came inside and informed the master of that.” “Aren’t you going?” “I ain’t going.”

“Really,” “I most certainly will not!” “Why?” “Why?! You’re the one acting like a damn animal!” Ogen hurriedly—

“Me-gumi,” “What?”

“Me-gumi. Isn’t that Madam Kano—Mr. Kano’s mother—upstairs? You’d best mind your manners.” With his hat turtled down over his head,

“Hoy, by Amida Buddha! I thought that place was packed with nothing but retirees...”

“Oh no, they say she only just arrived the day before yesterday from her hometown in Shizuoka.” “When I went to receive her, she declared, ‘I am Madam Kano.’” “So even though Madam herself came visiting, Mr. Kano claims there’s nothing good to eat here—you hear that?” “That’s rich—coming from someone with no palate!” “And Shizuoka of all places!” “Ah,” “Since the Restoration, it’s where Lord Yoshinobu—the great leader of us Edo townsfolk—took refuge.” “First off, even this old salt Me-gumi here holed up there for over two years when they were rounding up stragglers after Edo Castle surrendered.”

Don’t mock it—it’s the land where the great leader lived and where I stayed. You’d think they’d all be proper Edo townsfolk by now—so how come a beast like that exists there? Ain’t listening.

The other day too—look, you—it’s really you—even though going all the way over there to that one house out of my way is a pain, I went anyway since I slipped up a bit and they were complaining about having no good fish—so I made rounds like you told me to say—that’s what you said back then.

“I went two or three times—dragging my shins.” “What the hell? You think I went there once and hollered, ‘Hey, teach—you in?’ like some mutt?” Otsuta smiled gently, “Who’s this ‘teach’ anyway?” “Our friend here.” “Since they kept yapping about Mr. Kano being some scholar or professor or teacher, I made sure to address him with all due ceremony!” —and sliced off the fin with a decisive chop.

IV

“What’s wrong with that? You’re the one callin’ him ‘teacher’—so teacher he is!” “I never called ’im ‘bastard’ or ‘brother’ or nothin’.”

and slid the knife’s tip dangerously close before rubbing under his nose, “So what? That fat O-san—plantin’ her big flat face right there—went spoutin’ ‘Say “Master” this an’ “Professor” that! The neighbors’ll hear!’, didn’t she?” “Well, if they wanna be worshipped so bad, they shoulda hired Sandayu or some fancy servant.” “If they’re taxin’ my tongue, then screw ’em—I ain’t drinkin’ their booze or sellin’ their fish!” “Even sayin’ this right to your face, Ogen.” “Whoops—this bit here’s the ass end.”

“If I’m such a bother, I’ll move aside.” Ogen adjusted the cutting board and turned to face him directly. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Today, well—” “Well? Are you getting angry and storming off now, huh?” “Out of consideration for you, I suppressed my anger.” “I made rounds the next day too, but this time their way of speaking really didn’t sit right with me.” “Today we’ve already got our dishes ready—don’t need any more, I tell ya!” “Does that make any damn sense?” “Even with the fish I sell, it’s only natural folks have their preferences depending on the type.” “Take a good look at the goods—if you don’t want it after that, then just say so.” “Wasting fish they don’t even wanna eat—buying ’em just to keep up appearances ain’t right. If they’re gonna poke at ’em with their chopsticks whinin’ ‘bout indigestion, first off—it’s downright pitiful for the fish!”

“Here I am at the fish market fighting like I’m taking heads in battle, hauling in the best catch just to serve you up somethin’ tasty—dripping sweat as I run myself ragged! An ugly hag goes hunting for sweethearts only to get told ‘We’re all set here’—since when does that math add up? Hey now, Tsuta-chan’s right here listening but—”

“Shall I turn my back this time?”

Otsuta reached over the maid beneath her toward the opposite shelf and took the coarse-mesh basket placed upside down on the grinding bowl. “Here—this one’s for Master.” “This one’s for Ogen-bo.” “The mistress can have the scraps—whether you boil them or salt them down, let her gnaw at the skylight with eyeballs bulging.” “Am I supposed to gnaw on the skylight?” Otsuta smiled gently while making Me-gumi hold the basket, lightly tapping the cool sea bream’s eye with her fingertip. “Talking like I’m some mutt—how utterly rude!”

Then Ogen scooped from the bottom of the bucket with a clatter of the ladle. “You country bumpkins—go switch loyalties to the Kano estate! Even if they’ve got beef for breakfast, there’s never been a dog since Edo times that eats sea bream eyes.” “Yes, yes,”

Pulling up the hand bucket, Ogen bent at the waist, stepped out, and clattered her geta against the drainage board. “Oh! Don’t step there so roughly. My paramour lives there, you see.” “A paramour, huh?” “Yes?” No sooner had she spoken than—wearing a busy expression—she dismissed the maid, who clattered off to the wellside. “In the gutter, hmm?” Crouching in his workman’s coat and pointing toward the drainage board, he spun his dented hat around with a flourish. “That’s odd.”

“Shall I show you?” “I sure wanna see it!” “Wait for it,” The mesh basket moved toward the gutter. Otsuta straightened up and gripped the waist-high sliding door before stretching over the drainage channel. With performative exaggeration, she compressed the pokeweed toy—it emitted a hollow pop answered instantly by rhythmic clicks that echoed through the air like prearranged signals. “See? Isn’t he sweet?” *Clickety-clack!*

“A frog! A frog! “Ha ha ha ha! This one’s a charmer!” “Might just be Tsuta-chan’s paramour after all.” “It’s the color of a hazy moonlit night.” Her smugly composed face was resplendent against the willow. “Worship the damn thing!”

Crouching with curiosity and attempting to remove the gutter board, Me-gumi’s gesture resembled that of opening the lid of a magic treasure box.

“Stop that—it’ll get away,”

Just as she spoke came the genteel sound of wooden stairs being descended. What resounded with a splash at the corrugated iron wellside was not wind through willow branches—rather, someone had leisurely overturned the bucket there.

見知越

V

Next came a rough, thudding descent—this was Hayase Chikara, master of the Hayase household—and immediately his voice could be heard at the entrance. "My apologies to Mrs. Kano... I'll... pay another visit." "Goodbye..."

The sound of the lattice door meant the guest had stepped outside. At that moment—ignoring Otsuta’s attempts to stop him—Me-gumi swept aside the gutter cover in his eagerness to witness the rhythmic exchange. But before he could glimpse even a shadow of the frog, Otsuta had already slipped behind the waist-high sliding door. Ah—how pitiful to hide like this when I’m no fugitive at all—she thought as she peered through the latticework at whoever had just departed. There stood a woman straightening up from her slight bow—the chignon-wearing figure now confirmed as Kano’s mother, that very subject of recent neighborhood whispers.

Her retreating figure wore a black crested haori lined with silk habutae—slightly longer in the back—with its collar fastened tightly. Despite her son’s status as a scholar and professor’s protégé, her age could be roughly surmised without dispute—though her hair was thin, the comb left it gleaming with an oily sheen. She was tall, with slightly plump shoulders set in a defiant hunch—a misfit for one in the bloom of youth, but at her current age, her fine attire lent her an air of authority. The dark brown shawl she wore likely felt rather cumbersome in today’s mild weather, but this too was part of recent etiquette—ladies of status maintained such proprieties even after the iris season had passed.

Just when one thought she would depart immediately, she then put gloves on both hands, but when she meticulously adjusted each one firmly up to her wrists, the red lining of her underrobe fluttered into view. Having mentally noted her approximate age, Me-gumi caught one glimpse of those flashes and—as if sparks had flown—jerked his neck back sharply, when— “Still making her grand exit?”

Otsuta whispered in a low voice. "附際々々、" Just as Me-gumi was about to duck his head completely, the other party took hold of the bat umbrella propped against the lattice door and offered yet another bow. “So full of herself. Whoa there!” “Yowza!” Oops—he clapped a hand over his mouth. Though his voice likely hadn’t carried, they must have realized someone was here. She turned back—her broad forehead and straight-nosed face casting a piercing glance, eyes gleaming—then continued leisurely down the alley toward the main street. ――Of course, she wouldn’t use the kitchen entrance. Me-gumi stomped forward two or three steps,

“Well, well, well,” Letting out an off-key voice, he spread his hands and stiffened in bewilderment. “What’s gotten into you?” “Fishy business, I tell ya!” And suddenly wheeling around with vigor,

“So that’s… the one just now… uh… Kano’s mother, huh? Shizuoka’s her hometown, right?”

“Yes.” “Ain’t her family doctors or somethin’?” “Hmm.” “What’s wrong, Me-gumi?” Briskly appearing in the kitchen was a neat-looking man of twenty-seven or twenty-eight—Chikara. “Heh heh heh,”

His face brimming with a smile, Me-gumi peered out from beneath his lotus-leaf hat with a complexion like the evening glow.

“Good morning.” “What’s early about it? It’s already lunchtime—what’s on the menu?” he peered in,

“Ah, a sea bream.” “You must call it ‘sea bream’ properly—how uncouth.” Otsuta laughed. “Other fishmongers may sell sea bream, but only Me-gumi’s count as real sea bream—right, Mei-kou?” “Ain’t wrong.” “But Master—it’s unlike you! Our lord should properly say ‘sea bream,’ shouldn’t he, Mei-san?” “Ain’t wrong.” Chikara heaved a joyless sigh, “Regardless—I’m starving.” “Of course you are! You overslept and skipped breakfast entirely.”

“Ain’t wrong—it sure as hell is,”

With that, Me-gumi headed toward the alleyway entrance.

Six

“You seem rather infatuated there. What’s come over you?”

Noticing Me-gumi’s peculiar demeanor despite his own hunger, Chikara... “Did you fall for her figure from behind?” “Look here—she’s already quite the old lady.” “But Master, she might seem ancient to you, but she’s just right for Me-gumi.” “Hey, listen—” “Heh heh, ain’t wrong.” “You sure do say ‘Ain’t wrong’ often.” “That’s why I think it must be true.”

He muttered to himself and swallowed hard, then looked up and took the carrying pole while,

“Master,”

“I’ll pass on that,” said Chikara, shaking one shoulder with his hands tucked in his sleeves. “Huh? What’s that?” “Why don’t you deliver a letter or something?” “Quit messin’ with me. Actually, quit jokin’ around—did that guest look like they were headin’ straight back to the South Town house just now?” “Hmm, did he say he’s goin’ straight home?” “Much obliged,” Me-gumi slapped his forehead. “Tail ’em—oh right, get movin’.” “Are you off to see Mr. Kano?” “Just a bit,” “Well, that’s fine, but... Master,”

Otsuta looked at Master and smiled faintly,

“Mei-kou’s being willful again and causing such trouble,” “Because he’s putting on mansion lord airs and treating me like everyday side dishes, he says he won’t go to Mr. Kano’s anymore.” “Even though you’d specially asked him, I thought you’d be troubled, so I was just about to give him a piece of my mind.” “I see.”

For some reason, Master gave an unenthusiastic reply. “Just look at this.” “Then suddenly—it happens exactly like that.” “There’s no way he’s truly changed his mind.” “He’s as changeable as a cat’s eyes!” “Ain’t wrong—he’s a pup with cat eyes!” “Whoa there, busybody!”

Seeing him about to lift his load,

“Wait, wait,”

“Plenty! Master’s got three pieces here.” “There’s still yesterday’s leftovers sittin’ around, ain’t there?” “Me-gumi’s fine with it.” “Let this one here get a look at your fish tub, and they’ll all start demandin’ their share…” “Hey,”

Master wore a bitter expression,

“What’s this ‘periphery’ business? Now I’m being handled like some stray cat.” “But...!” “Me-gumi, you’re not one to stay silent and smirk. Say something—this woman’s obstructing commerce!” “I refuse, Me-no-ji. We’ve more than enough already,” “Now listen here—” “No, ‘enough’ I say! This household must be managed properly.” “How remarkable.”

“I’ll close the shoji now.” “Me-gumi, this attitude of yours.” “Heh heh heh—not even a dog would touch this one! No—I’ll gobble down four-sun cuts each!” “Hey, I said wait!” “Hurry up and get over here! Don’t just stand there gawkin’ like some fish-stall rookie!” “No—there’s no need for that.” Using his carrying pole as a pivot, Me-gumi spun around once in a full circle. “Beggin’ for side dishes after already gettin’ your share—I said no—” Laughing while glaring at Otsuta, “Hey, Me-gumi.”

“Yeah,” “You’re going to Kano’s now, right?” “Three slices laid out and I’ll dash over.” “Actually, regarding that—there’s a matter I need to discuss here.”

Seven “Well, regarding the matter of going to Kano’s—” Chikara hesitated mid-sentence,

“What—” He signaled to Otsuta with his eyes.

“Is there no tea?” “Tea?! “There is.” “Hohohoho, my—aren’t you one to scold others while standing right at the edge looking unsightly yourself? —There is— Now, off you go.” As Master stood blocking the kitchen she was trying to enter, she gave a light poke to the edge of his sleeve, “Come on,” Me-gumi energetically, “Right, the rest’ll be tomorrow night… Nah, the mornin’ after.” “Wait a second—” “Sure thing, Me-no-san.”

“Hmm, what should I do…” she muttered, shaking her head. “You all—” Chikara laughed with an exasperated roar, “You’re not exactly quick-witted yet leap to conclusions so fast it’s impossible to untangle.” “Me-gumi—after slacking off this whole time—no need to get flustered now.” “Wait—I’ve got something to discuss.” “So… regarding this tea—it’s cold…” He brought it to his lips and pantomimed drinking with his fingers. “And that settles this whole affair.” “Me-gumi…”

“Enough, enough! If it were me—” With nothing but loud bluster, he suddenly struck a wasp-waisted stance and dragon-mouthed glare, poised to drink. “That won’t do—you’re already drinking as it is. Go ahead and push your luck further. Or you’ll just leave the cutting board here again like the other day, or something like that—” Otsuta flung the sleeve of her short coat and coquettishly brandished her fist at the drunkard,

“And then you’ll disappear without a trace for five days straight.” “Master, I tell ya—when it gets to this point, people sure are stubborn.” “Enough now—you already know how this goes.”

“Well then, tag along with Me-gumi and come hang out or whatever.” “Even if you get hungry—ain’t my problem.” “Move aside, will you? Can’t get through like this!” “Oh, hey there—”

Chikara sidestepped to let them pass while,

“I deeply apologize for your displeasure, but while we’re at it, might I trouble you for a cup of that same cold one as well?” “I don’t know.”

She slipped inside. “Master ain’t no amateur at shakin’ folks down either. You’ve gotten real used to it,” “You’ve gotten real good at it,”

In a tone already slurred from drink, he thrust his head through the waist-high sliding door, “Next time, come visit my place in Hatchōbori. First off, I’ll show you my special trick for wheedling sake outta Hikihizaemon.” “Your wife wouldn’t let me through the door—she’d be flat-out shocked if someone like me came barging in like a wild boar from Yamanote. Different places breed different customs, eh, Me-gumi?” Heading toward the lower floorboards, Chikara settled himself down,

“Now, there’s something I need to mention—this matter regarding Kano.” “What is it, Master—”

With a face so serious it was startling. "There’s no reason for you or the missus to find anything too difficult to tell me, nor anything I’d find burdensome to handle." "They didn’t even ask to borrow Hikihiza—that’s what it boils down to." "If they require my services again, I’ll oblige."

"The crux of the matter is this. Since they insist you take that detour through Minamimachi despite it being out of your way, my household ended up mediating—which makes this part particularly awkward to explain, but as I said earlier, that’s where our dispositions don’t quite mesh." "That mother who just left has been lodging all sorts of complaints. You’d do well not to visit their house anymore." "It’d be troublesome if you made her resentful." "Anyway—I’ll stand you both drinks soon enough."

he said earnestly.

VIII

Without hearing everything out, Me-gumi strained, “Who—who’d go to such a place? I’ve been sayin’ all along—even if they begged me, I ain’t goin’!” “But then they changed their tune again—sayin’ we oughta come rushin’ over three abreast.” “What’s that now? Hah! Even if I felt like it—which I don’t—you think I’d go there on business?” “Takes real nerve to go mock that mother o’ theirs.” “That’s exactly why you’re gettin’ mixed up with Minamimachi—their whole way o’ thinkin’.”

With a tray bearing teacups—two grudging portions—and crisp roasted seaweed arranged with defiant carelessness rather than reverence, Otsuta appeared in the kitchen. “Did the guest complain about Me-gumi?” “Our complaints outweigh theirs—but they did have their reasons.” Taking the tray and leaning forward, “Have some tea. “Though these snacks seem to protest their own inadequacy—don’t you have something more substantial?”

“He’s not greedy like you, Master.” “Me-gumi doesn’t eat a thing, you know.” “It’s not just that he doesn’t eat—sometimes this causes such a ruckus he can’t eat at all. Heh heh,” Lifting his hat up, he vigorously smoothed out the wrinkles on his forehead and took a hearty gulp. Like a wagtail’s tail, he flicked away his left index finger, firmly set his head, and licked his lips repeatedly. Chikara voraciously stuffed his cheeks with seaweed, “Me-gumi is fine, but as for me, I’m absolutely starving here.”

“So have your meal already—I might say all sorts of things, but I wouldn’t go so far as telling you to make rice balls.” “Actually…” he said with a sly grin, “It’s not that I’m completely unwilling.” “That’s enough now—Me-gumi has his business to attend to.” “Do hurry up and get to the point already.”

“Yes, yes.” “Oh, how generous of them!” She stroked the stitched hem once,

“Their reasoning goes like this.” “They say Me-gumi is acceptable enough, but bellowing ‘Hey!’ from outside the gate and asking ‘Is that scholar in?’—now that’s troublesome.” “Just the other day, he even cornered their retired elder and tried to force-feed the old lady this—it’s utterly beyond the pale.” “It seems they have acquaintances in Uchijagaen, and this truly makes things awkward for the neighborhood.” “Moreover, I hear he mainly frequents geisha teahouses and such places, which does nothing beneficial for their daughters and, above all, causes disorder in the household.” “Moreover, according to rumors, households that deal with Me-gumi are all in financial straits, so despite their earnest requests for assistance, they ended up saying something like ‘Please handle this appropriately from your end…’ and that’s the gist of it.”

From Me-gumi’s side, Otsuta made a face of dismay. “They actually came all this way just to say no?”

“It wasn’t entirely that, but well, that was one part of it.” “That’s quite an exaggeration.” “Though it may seem slightly exaggerated, when this man barged into the kitchen entrance of a mansion they socialize with, they must’ve been as startled as if there’d been a small fire. When he was new to this, he’d sometimes come shouting loud enough to make you think there was a blaze. They found it impossible to manage. Me-gumi mustn’t lose his temper.” “Understood…”

He suddenly slapped his knee, “Master, I knew it! That’s why I said I wasn’t wrong. That bastard’s got a rap sheet.”

“Whaaat—” What had happened was this: Chikara’s hand—the one holding the sake cup—wavered momentarily before steadying itself with deliberate precision.

“A criminal record?” Otsuta clutched at her sleeve. Me-gumi fixed his gaze with an aimless glare, “That—I—I know that, uh, know it for sure.” “I know—I know it ’cause—’cause I do.…”

Nine

“Uh—that’s why I figured if I keep comin’ round, no matter what happens, it won’t get exposed—that’s my resolve.” “On our side, since it’s just up to the kitchen, we didn’t notice a thing, but over there, they must’ve spotted it from the back rooms.” “They came from Shizuoka around the day before yesterday, and they’re still talking about Otsuta-chan, aren’t they?”

“Just look at this situation—they’d been coming from way before! Their customs ain’t proper—what about the neighborhood’s reputation? They’re turnin’ us into a laughin’ stock!” he bellowed with vigor. “What? What’s this about a rap sheet?”

“So that Madam Kano’s the one, huh?” Otsuta too fixed him with a serious look, her face all puzzlement.

“If it ain’t her, then who the hell’s the one with the rap sheet?” “Ohoho, Master—there’s no need to listen so seriously.” “If we’re talking about criminal records per Me-gumi’s claims, that Madam may put on airs, but her deepest secret’s just a fondness for daifuku rice cakes.” “Even those who make ohagi for the equinoctial rites will speak of their own wives like enemies.” “You see? That’s how it is.” “Me-no-ji must have a sweet tooth.” “Either way, if she’s hiding some indulgence, a thieving drunkard would make a natural ally.”

“Hehe, exactly—an indulgence is an indulgence, but what she indulged in…”

“What?” “A horse.” “A horse…?” “A traveling actor, you mean?” “Nah—a stablehand… Teizo… he’s a stablehand, see. Back when I was down in Shizuoka, there was this drinking buddy of mine—while her husband was off at war, he slipped into bed with her. Came down with some illness and got such an earful it made him belch up regrets.”

Chikara involuntarily leaned forward—though there was sake involved, he did so with vigor.

“Is that true, Me-gumi? Really true?” he pressed provocatively. “It’s a lie, Master. How could such a thing happen with those people? Me-no-ji, you mustn’t make such wild claims—this isn’t like other matters.” “That’s no joke. If this is a lie, then my sea bream’s out of place.” “Yes, Master—the Kano family’s main house is in Shizuoka; they’re doctors there, right? Look here—it’s because of the Kano name that you didn’t notice. There was a huge enoki tree at the gate—when they said ‘Enoki Estate,’ you know, its name reached all the way to Okitsu and Ejiri.”

If you look now, that guest who left here was none other than the Madam of Enoki Estate—the stablehand’s mistress. “That’s why I thought I’d go mock ’em good.” “Whether it’s lies or truth—ah! A child! A child!” “Ah—” He took another swig, then rinsed his teeth that had crunched on pickles, “Hey—don’t you think there’s a whole litter of brats?” “The scholar from Minamimachi’s one too—they say the family’s crawling with siblings.” “Might be eight or nine—no, if true, that’d shock anyone.”

“Oh, wait—how old is that teacher?” “Six or seven.” “Twenty, you say? So is he older than that, or younger? Either way, it ain’t that guy. In any case, the root of a stablehand’s troubles is always a woman. They’ll probably get married off eventually, but there’s nothing as certain as this. I’ve got special knowledge about this, so no one else knows a thing. It’s not just the husband who’s in the dark—the only one who knows is me, Sosuke the fishmonger (my real name).”

“Hahaha! That servant ain’t got no control over his mouth.”

With the hand that had just wiped his lips, he plopped the lid onto the tea bowl. “Danger, danger—ain’t no time for mockin’ anyone. The abalone soup and this one here—even if I risk my life, I can’t hold ’em back. Can’t even accept that person’s damn serving.” “With the army doctor’s wife bein’ an expert at that—if she slips you poison, it’d be a disaster.” “But y’see, Master ain’t one to play dumb either—it’s all ’bout keepin’ peace in the neighborhood.” “Ah, so you’re not comin’ anymore either.” “Like hell I’m goin’! Even if they tell me to go, I’m refusin’!” “Refused! Hehehe… refused!”

He twisted the tea bowl.

“What a bothersome person you are. There’s no helping it. Come now, hand over the tea bowl.”

“Oh ho!” Having pondered something deeply, Chikara suddenly looked up, “Could you let me hear that story in a bit more precise detail?”

From the wellside—as though a woman’s kite had snapped loose—Ogen darted straight in. “M-Master, um… what… um… um…” Yagurumasō

Ten Ogen’s flustered state—her rushed breathing from running, her face turning bright red as she blurted out words in a rapid-fire rush—immediately darted from the kitchen through the parlor to relay the message, writhing as though shedding her own skin while removing her work sash,

“The one from Masagochō—” “Oh, the Professor?”

The moment he heard "Masagochō," Chikara stood up abruptly.

Otsuta promptly dodged aside and nimbly pressed herself against the wall. “No, it’s the young lady.” “So it’s the young lady—Ms. Taeko?” No sooner had he spoken than he kicked over the lacquer tray—still holding a tea bowl with sake—with his leaping foot, grabbed the cord of his haori, and made to vanish sideways from the kitchen. “Red, is it?” He looked toward Otsuta and stroked his face, his cool eyes bearing a look that said “See that?” “Anyone who sees it would…” he said, firmly composing himself. “This is troublesome,” she pressed her head.

“Morning bath, bath, bath…” he muttered with a wry smile. “What a strategist—Zhuge Liang himself!” he scoffed dismissively before clattering out noisily to greet them at the entrance. Sosuke of the Me-gumi stood swaying slightly, his unfocused eyes still lingering on the tea bowl he refused to relinquish, his slack-jawed face dissolving into a drunken grin as he peered over. “Well now, Heavenly Maiden,” he leered. “That’s forbidden!” Otsuta’s sharp rebuke froze him mid-gesture—just as Ogen’s hand darted sideways to snatch away his prized tea bowl with nimble precision.

“How rude,” she declared flatly. Startled by this rebuke, he silently ducked under the hanging scale and nimbly landed at the center of the cutting board. Leaning his shoulder against the opposite plank fence—with practiced awareness to clear the path from afar—he slipped smoothly away.

By now, when Otsuta thought the lattice door at the entrance must surely be opening—yet with neither sound nor voice—she...

“Look here,” she signaled with her eyes. Having held back from peeking out of politeness, she leaned at the waist and peeked out just her eyes from the water outlet, then immediately recoiled back as if repelled.

“This is urgent! They’re coming to the kitchen entrance.” “They’re coming to the kitchen entrance.” “Yes, over here,”

Smoothing her hem, she looked up at the sky—then, as if intending to emerge from the gable—pulled taut with precision and closed the sliding window with a click.

“Oh! Madam.”

“You—hurry up with that tray!” she urged, ducking as if sheltering beneath a temple bell before flipping sharply over her shoulder into the parlor. Startled was Ogen-bō—her eyes, which had been darting about moments earlier, now briefly flashing with alertness—only to then crumple spinelessly into a seated bow of abject terror.

“Forgive me.” At the gentle voice and the sudden fragrance of falling flowers—Runanki’s scent—Ogen lifted her face in rapture. Her obi, sleeves, collar, and sash formed a standing figure adorned with blossoms. Oh my! With a yagurumasō flower—layered in purple, water-pale yellow, white, and crimson—tucked into one sleeve, she resembled a peacock beneath moonlit night. The ditch where Me-gumi had splashed the liquid now held water so clear that the hazy blue sky was beautifully reflected in its depths. O frog child, whose ancestors composed love poems to the Dragon Princess only to be exiled to such a place—come now, cling to your sleeves that mirror willow branches.

Taeko was the beloved daughter of Sakai Shunzo—a renowned German literature scholar, professor at a certain university, and Bachelor of Letters. Her father was mentor and great benefactor to Hayase Chikara, master of this household, as well as his patron. Thus, upon hearing “the young lady,” all those who since morning had been guzzling cold sake in the kitchen—their demon-like antics of matching fishmonger with tea bowls—now vanished from where they stood. But even more discreet was how the sliding window’s closure left the kitchen dark… that… someone.

Eleven Taeko’s hand stood out against the yaguruma flower’s hues as she lightly adjusted the branch amidst its gentle leaves, “Since I have this with me, I’ll take the lead here,” she said, looking sympathetically at the flustered Ogen. Then she smiled softly and kindly, “I’m sorry for intruding.”

“Not at all—it’s already in shambles here,” she said, grabbing a cleaning rag. “Oh, your hem—” As she spoke, her azuma geta sat neatly aligned, white tabi socks faintly visible beneath wisteria-hued hems swept gracefully aside. Against deep indigo fabric, her obi—woven in pale yellow and crimson with dianthus and water-patterned satin—arched forward as she bent toward the water jar. The violet-adorned hairpin and ribbon’s color flickered first, pale yellow like butterfly wings, before she inserted the yaguruma branch, its dew now glistening even more vividly in five hues. “Let me leave this here.” “My, there’s no scent of sake here—” As she released her hand, the yaguruma plant swayed precariously, its fragrance condensing into dewdrops, while her face flushed peach-like with intoxication.

“Look—the yaguruma plant’s swaying drunkenly,” she said with an innocent smile. Ogen was flustered, “Yes—the liquor store errand boy was rather careless.” “He just spilled a bit.” “So he’s a mischievous one after all?” “He’s probably just playing with dogs all the time—the one at my place is the same.” Speaking with an air of proper social critique as if lecturing, she ascended the steps and set down the perfectly square purple furoshiki bundle she’d been holding in one hand.

“Your hem will get dirty, Miss.” “No, it’s fine,” Though she lifted the hem of her kimono, she let her sleeves spread out across the wooden floor. “Well… please prepare these as side dishes.”

“I’m terribly obliged.”

"They’re not particularly good—just homemade, after all." After a brief pause,

“Is the master in?”

“Yes,” “Mr. Chikara is… your Master—” She started to say—then suddenly caught herself,

“My, what’s the matter? It’s so dark in here.”

Indeed, while light reached as far as the water inlet, the path leading further back remained dark.

“Oh dear, there’s simply no helping it, truly—goodness, what shall we do?”

Ogen leaped up and frantically swung open the sliding window with a clatter. A phantom rainbow suddenly brightened, streaming from the girl’s shoulder to the pokeweed toy.

At that moment, Master Chikara and Taeko—who had calmly appeared in the kitchen—exchanged glances. “I thought I’d give you a proper scare,” she said with a laugh, making playful banter as she knelt facing the flower arrangement in its vase. At this, he respectfully braced one hand against the wooden board. “I dislike being startled.” “Then why do you come in through that water inlet? Am I not dutifully greeting you at the entrance?”

“Even so,” he tilted his head affectionately and,

“Bringing side dishes through the main entrance would be too cumbersome,” he said. “Besides… I wanted to water the flowers too.” “How lovely! Well now, Ogen—don’t you think it’s beautiful?” “Truly beautiful,” he replied, gazing at Taeko. “May I have some too?” “What shall I do? Tea would be acceptable, but sake—that would be pitiful.” “Sake?”

“How dreadful—ohoho—Master Chikara! You’re drinking again?” “Haha, well, come on—let’s go upstairs.”

As if making an escape. The rustling sound of clothing from behind. Near the base of the staircase, Chikara seemed to recall something,

“Indeed, today is Sunday.” “Well of course—it’s because ‘Sunday’ came calling.”

Twelve

Upon entering the six-tatami study on the second floor, she—apparently deeming it impolite to draw closer to the desk—brought out a brazier to the seating area and sat on a cushion before the tokonoma alcove.

“Please have a seat.” Chikara adjusted his posture and rested a hand courteously against [the board]. “My, what a pleasure to have you here.” “Yes,” was all she replied.

Regarding the student who had lived there for many years—he was quite willful, acted spoiled, interfered with studies, spoke ill, and even picked fights. He found himself torn between a hat and a floral hairpin. But once things reached this point, even if their hearts were aligned, a divide as vast as that between a military sash and a woman’s obi emerged. If Chikara were treated in that manner, the young lady—radiant as her complexion—would flutter a towel matching her movements; the tatami seemed to shimmer with heat haze. “I apologize for my long absence.” “It is splendid that Madam remains unchanged.” “The Professor still… drinks alcohol?”

"Just like someone... after all..." he smiled gently. Since he was sitting restlessly, he gripped the corner of the brazier with force while averting his eyes from the alcove hanging scroll.

Chikara placed his hand on his forehead, “Oh, not at all—you flatter me.” “But today’s drinking—this really gets the blood rushing.” “I visited the morning bathhouse earlier.” “Father also gets drunk at the morning bathhouse, you know.” “It’s strange, isn’t it?” Chikara, having composed his posture, placed his hands firmly on both knees, “I humbly ask that you keep this confidential from Madam.” “You must not speak of Hayase being drunk at the morning bathhouse either.” “If only Father would agree to even half of what Mother says… but everyone at school talks about it too. It’s awful how they coldly label me as ‘sake pourer.’”

"Isn't that just perfect?" "I detest that." "But you see, if the Professor gladly drinks the sake you pour him as the young lady, nothing could be better." "An official commendation will follow from the proper channels." "Whether it's Yoro Falls or anything else—since antiquity, parents of dutiful children have generally been drinkers." "Those who call you 'sake pourer' are the sort who roast sweet potatoes for their parents, buy rice cakes... tea-pouring model daughters." When he laughed uproariously, Taeko simply looked at him with resentful eyes, yet adorably.

“I’m leaving now.” “You mustn’t make such playful jests.” “Now we’ll have roasted sweet potatoes and rice cakes.” “Yes, because I’m your tea-serving filial daughter.” “Well then, I shall present you with a reward.”

As Chikara pulled the tea utensils closer and surveyed them, "You had a guest, didn't you? I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" "No, they'd already left." "An unpleasant sort, hmm?" she said abruptly with feigned innocence. "Did you see her?" "I didn't see a thing—but do take a look. There's a bowl overturned on the tea tray, isn't there? People who leave bowls overturned on trays—you despise that, just like Father does." "A masterful deduction! You must hail from the esteemed Hon'ami school," he remarked while opening the teapot.

“Who was it?” “It’s someone you don’t know.” “A friend of mine named Kano… The one who came was his mother.”

“Kano, huh?” “Mr. Chikara,” Taeko tilted her head with her voluminous bangs, “Not the scholar one, but…” “Are you aware?” she asked, pausing her hand on the tea caddy. “That Mother you mentioned—over forty but youthfully dressed, wearing light makeup, slender-faced with a straight nose and rather authoritative air… am I wrong?”

“Honestly!” “Why would you—” “To my school—to observe.”

New Scholar

Thirteen “Yesterday Mother came and imposed on you.”

And there, tonight by Chikara’s desk, Kano Eikichi—even before adjusting the knees of his Western suit— “You must have been quite put out—Mother’s nothing like me, all that imposing dignity and solemnity, hahaha,”

He shook his shoulders in a laugh that was innocent enough on the surface yet somehow lacking in depth. Along with a business card bearing his title of Bachelor of Letters, he adjusted his beard—freshly grown and handsomely youthful in its newness. He was a man with a rather prominent mouth that stood out incongruously against his gentle voice. There were times when his bluster came across as mere grumbling. Of course, his was a status where one needed only to count on fortune and virtue in all matters. He knew no poverty—and thus had no cause for complaint—but even his habit of referring to his own parent as "Mother" before friends at that age made his circumstances plain enough. A man who grew addicted to alcohol without ever getting drunk on sake.

He was twenty-seven years old. The eldest son of Eimin Kano—holder of Junior Fifth Rank, Third Class of the Order of Merit and former Surgeon General—Eikichi stood as the sole male among seven siblings: one elder sister and five younger sisters, three of whom were already married. His elder sister had taken a certain medical scholar as a son-in-law at their main residence in Shizuoka and was currently running a hospital there. In the Minami-cho residence, with Grandmother overseeing as supervisor, Eikichi as master, and his three younger sisters each attending school, even the already married young ladies had all commuted from there. It appeared as a separate household yet also functioned as an academy; the family patriarch had thus named it Kiryō Juku. Since the military surgeon had a penchant for Chinese poetry, there must have been some basis for "Kiryō"—though that reasoning does not withstand scrutiny.

When asked about this, Eikichi would say something as flavorless as hot water. They likely meant that branches would prosper and leaves multiply—but since pines and cypresses signify antiquity, they opted instead for paulownia and poplar. Some theorists proposed this interpretation: the paulownia in Kiryō symbolized boys, while the poplar stood for the young ladies. It shares the character from “The Han emperor, coveting beauty, sought to overturn a realm… there was a daughter of the Yang house.” By this logic, all being beauties might hold true. Yet regarding the male aspect—despite claims of paulownia paired with phoenix—its origins seemed suspect, as if lifted straight from flower cards. In the end, neither theory carried weight.

To digress—the Kiryō Juku in Minami-cho had Grandmother as its supervisor and young ladies as its alumni, with nothing left to restrain them. Thus peace reigned under heaven and safety prevailed within the household: whenever phoenixes danced, Eikichi played to his heart’s content. Even during his studies—overwhelmed by figures like Ameiri and Ukane—he frequently pursued enlightenment; though his graduation was delayed by about two years, upon hearing he had successfully obtained his degree, his parents first divined (with a *biki* divination rod) that it was Aotan’s doing, then busied themselves day and night replanting seeds—staying overnight here and idling there by day. Having received Grandmother’s orders, the sisters delivered their reports with the meticulous regularity of comb teeth. With an air of preparing for marriage consultations should a suitable bride emerge, Mother had now come to Tokyo; that she had even observed Taeko’s school made her intentions all too clear.

“So, how about it? You must’ve felt quite uncomfortable, eh?” His mother had come and offered an innocent greeting like “I’m sure this has been quite a bother,” but when she spoke of Mother’s dignity, solemnity, and constrained feelings, it sounded as if she were declaring, “How grand! You must’ve been intimidated!” Since he knew it was her usual manner, Chikara paid no particular attention and—of course—had no need to feel intimidated. “It’s not like I’m taking her as my mother-in-law—I wasn’t uncomfortable at all.” He sat cross-legged before the desk, leisurely blowing tobacco smoke into rings.

“But tell me—what exactly do you mean by ‘naturally’?” Kano scraped the ashes with fire tongs as if to emphasize his point. “I’m troubled by how constrained I feel. “With Mother being like that—it’s as if I naturally straighten up, you see…” “My own younger sisters normally bolt about like startled hares, but before Mother, they’re practically veritable maidens.” He twisted his beard.

Fourteen

“So… about Mother—” Laughing, Chikara deliberately mimicked the “Mother” address and tapped his pipe,

“How long will Mother be staying?”

“She might stay about a month, ah—” Kano leaned against the brazier. “So you’ll be on your best behavior for a while then.” “Tonight of all nights, you’ll head straight home from here—no detours anywhere, I suppose.”

“Heh, just thinking,” he said, drawing another line in the ashes. “Still can’t sit still, can you?” “Hmm, not really.” “With Mother doting on me, the house stays lively while she’s here.” “It’s bustling, the cook’s skilled—dishes taste great. You should know—last night my sisters treated me to Western food. Seven plates I put away.” “Hahaha!” He tossed the fire tongs into the ashes with a clang, leaned back propping his cheek on one hand, and stuck a leg out like a kite’s tail.

“When it comes to feasts at our house—it’s always been Me-gumi who comes—” Without waiting for completion, Eikichi interjected brusquely, “That man—he needn’t come anymore.” “Since he’s such an ill-mannered lout that Mother took grave offense—you must be the one to dismiss him.” He declared with affected solemnity, hastily pulling a handkerchief from his sleeve pocket to wipe his mouth, “After all—Tokyo fish being what they are—none stay fresh no matter whose you buy.” “If you imagine them being chopped on boards now and then—she said they either squirm with maggots or play host to conjured loaches beneath the flounder.”

“If Me-gumi heard this,” he remarked coolly after declaring your life wouldn’t last a moment, “Shizuoka’s got refined tastes—a place that eats good food.” “Try a railway lunchbox sometime—they’re the best on the Tokaido line.”

Chikara remained every bit the bearded young master with an unresisting disposition, "Well now—someone in our household sampled Me-gumi's wares and found them most agreeable, so when they insisted we have more delivered posthaste, I obliged without delay." "Though not entirely ignorant of your family's ways, I complied knowing full well—since you yourself insisted—" "I don't mind." "I don't mind myself, but given his manner, Grandmother and my sisters certainly do." "Even the maid we brought from home was appalled." "Mother summoned me for a proper talking-to." "Have I done something so base as to be treated like a comrade by his sort?" "She scolded me—'Those local geishas keep company with fishmongers and kamaboko craftsmen and soba delivery boys! You must be part of some troupe yourself!'—you see."

“As for me—that guy’s just a passerby. Even if he goes to Hayase’s place, today again, they’ll feed him something delicious. When I said, ‘Is she there?’ in that tone, Mother retorted, ‘Of course she is—with Hayase, it’s always that mistress…’” He started to say but abruptly checked himself, then grinned slyly, “You—I’m not one to chatter.” “I’d never be so talkative.” “I know you’re keeping it secret, so I won’t say anything that’d disadvantage you—but my sisters know.” “Since they’d heard about it somewhere, I just—”

[He] trailed off with a pitiful look. “Well, fine—I don’t mind that. But if you’re going to keep company with me, I’d like you to rein in your debauchery a bit more.” “Just yesterday your Mother came by and lamented at length about your youthful missteps—doesn’t it seem like I’m some hanger-on egging you on?” “You broker high-interest loans and pocket commissions.” “You ply them with drink and wash it all down.” “You summon them into your private chambers and think scattering flower cards will cover it up.” “It’s nothing but that bit from *Bishōnen-roku*—what was it again—Anbo Yagorō Naoyuki.” “To the point she scorned you as someone who’d even run a honey trap—” “The way Mother put it—”

His tone had grown slightly more intense, but suddenly shifted to a nonchalant, jesting manner— “Well, Captain, could you just be a bit more prudent?”

“While Mother is here, I must remain prudent.” He stirred the ashes, “Instead, seven plates of Western food!” he declared, dropping the fire tongs with a clatter.

Fifteen “So I’m prioritizing appetite over charm—does it not look as though I’m eating recklessly?” “Still, if that settles matters, then all’s well.”

“It’s not settled at all! After seven plates comes a flask, then egg with seaweed—it’d be fine if that were the end of it, but since I end up sleeping alone anyway, my legs end up all stiff.” “Moreover, with Mother here now, I’ve got a bit of pocket money—thinking of slipping out for two or three hours.” “What do you say—would that trouble you?”

With a cajoling posture, he slumped limply onto the floor cushion and peered sideways as he spoke.

“What trouble? With you yourself going out personally, there’s absolutely no inconvenience at all. There’s no trouble at all, but…” “No—but tonight, since Mother knows I came to your place,” he said. “If it’s this sort of talk again, she’ll worry that Mother might think you were the one who dragged me out.” “If you wish to suspect me, that’s your prerogative. Even if it gets on my nerves—what’s there to fear? What’s your mother going to do?”

He started to say but changed his tone, “If I put it that way—that’s stripping all pretense.” “Having my harmless guts poked at—even I find that disagreeable.” “Still—I’m amazed she didn’t kick up more fuss about you declaring you’d go carousing at Hayase’s.”

“Well now—it’s not that she hadn’t harbored doubts before meeting you.”

Boldly maintaining an utterly unashamed demeanor, "Since meeting you yesterday, she's been nodding as if to say you're not that sort of person." "Mother has excellent judgment, you see—what they call possessing the discernment to recognize true talent." "So—she has this *discernment to recognize true talent*, yet still suspects I'm not that sort of person? Does she?" "We've only met once. Interact three or four times—then you'd know for certain. I won't claim five times."

“There’s no need for you to socialize with Mother.” “If only she were at least middle-aged—but she’s already an old Madam.” He turned sideways, smiled, and looked at the book on the desk. The ex-libris mark of Sakai’s collection was visible, though what book it was remained unclear. It was likely borrowed from Masago-cho. Eikichi, peering over the brazier, did not look at that passage, “She may have aged, but she still looks young.” “You see, at women’s association meetings, her back is sometimes mistaken for her sister’s.”

“Well you see—it’s precisely because she has such a keen eye for judging people that we’ve left all son-in-law selections to Mother. We hit the mark every time! That medical graduate we got for my sister? Absolute jackpot. Just take a look at how impressive that hospital’s become.”

“Would someone like me even make it into such selections?” When he—perhaps distracted by the book—uttered something as incongruous as grafting bamboo onto a tree, [Kano] received it with unexpected seriousness. “You? What are you—you may not have a degree, but I know you’re capable when it comes to Germany.” “If you just earn Mother’s trust, it’s nothing.” “Well you see, my sisters have always been well-regarded, you handsome devil—hahaha,”

he laughed innocently with his whole body,

“But what am I supposed to do?” “The one downstairs—” He glanced behind,

“Hot water? I suppose it wasn’t noticeable?”

Chikara couldn’t help a derisive chuckle, yet turned back to engage properly in the conversation. “Come now, that’s enough—why don’t you hurry up and take a wife already?” “Worry about yourself before others’ affairs.” “Do that and your dissipation will cease.” “Anbo Yagoro—I’m not giving bad counsel here. What say you?”

“Hmm… Regarding that matter.”

He sat up from his slumped position, wiped his mouth again with a handkerchief, straightened his striped trousers for some reason, and assumed a properly formal posture. “Actually, that’s precisely the matter at hand.”

“What ‘matter’ are you even talking about?”

“It’s that matter after all.” “I suppose it’s that matter in the end.”

“Oh, you know about it?” “I don’t know a thing,” and took the tobacco pipe, “No—seriously, seriously. Have you found any clues?”

Marriage Proposal

Sixteen When Kano spoke of "that matter," it invariably concerned women—yet Hayase had grown accustomed to this man's florid tales of romantic conquests: serenading nightingales one moment, chasing butterflies the next. No—when he said *this*, what did he mean? When he proposed *that*, how should one respond? He had been petitioned—what should he do? He wanted to refuse if possible—but if he refused, would they come to resent him? Being resented would prove most inconvenient. After all, this combination of professed affection coupled with monetary demands made for such strange alchemy. Peculiar indeed. Struggling to discern where true intentions lay※—applying rouge with painstaking care while poking at earthworms for counsel— He dreaded being pressed for an answer.

He was a ceremonious young master who prided himself on seven-course Western banquets—criticize him coldly and he took it to heart; dismiss him outright and he sulked; try to evade, and he pressed forward. Were he to give even a half-hearted reply, he would unwittingly become an advisor in matters of debauchery. Having been no small trouble—this weakness called Otsuta had accustomed him to secret cold sweats—he resolved firmly against inquiring further into such matters; tonight he maintained utmost seriousness solely regarding his trouser knees. Admittedly, consultations about one’s mistress were no jest either. Especially as it grew increasingly—an unprecedented matter—he fidgeted,

“Actually, Mother said I should consult you…” “A marriage proposal? Now that’s serious business.” He studied Kano’s face with fresh interest, “Through Mother’s referral—a marriage proposal brought to me for consultation? I’ve no current leads on such matters. Ah,”

He lightly knocked his knee.

“The house next door?” “Hmm, she’s quite a looker.” “A bit haughty, but they say she’s rather accomplished in her studies.” Eikichi shook his head like a child, “Hmm, that’s not it.”

“No.” “Then who is it?” When he calmly inquired, he hurriedly thrust a hand into his kimono sleeve, raised his shoulders, and gave a single shake—

“The one from Masagocho—” “Masagocho⁉” The moment he heard this, his parrot-like repetition intensified. The cornflowers in the alcove, glistening with dew, ignored the lamplight—having absorbed instead the starlight from Fujimicho’s expansive sky that shone too warmly through the paper doors—and stood vibrantly alive. Behold—where Kano had angled his seat aside, neither the tomozome blossoms preserving yesterday’s sleeve fragrance nor the silk brocade mists had faded from the tatami.

When "Masagocho" was repeated back, both men sharply fixed their eyes on the spot—a resolve that, if called shocking, would defend even their shadows with their very bodies. Eikichi propped the fire tongs like a support, pushed himself up on his hips, and leaned over the brazier, “Well, Sakai—your teacher’s—” “He has a daughter there, right?” “There is,” he said, though it came out more dismissive than intended, sounding cold even to his own ears.

“Didn’t you know? You’ve been thoroughly engaged in that direction—there shouldn’t be any oversight.”

“The darkest place is under the candlestick,” he quipped with mock grandeur, “I never noticed at all. She must visit your residence occasionally too, I presume?” “She maintains proper decorum,” Kano countered. “In my case, there’s the master to consider.” “Then you should’ve encountered her at least once by now.” Kano’s complaint—tinged with petulant insistence—carried an accusatory edge: Why had he been kept unaware? Hayase deflected it like skimming a stone across water. “Fate simply didn’t weave your threads together.” “Ah, but there’s a twist!” Eikichi chuckled, collapsing sideways into an undignified slouch.

“It’s not ‘meeting when longed for but encountering when unexpected’... or so they say.” “Though she comes here and I come here too—you’d think we’d meet at this house—but instead you saw her at school.” “Ah—at that person’s school, Miss Taeko’s school.”

Since the conversation wasn't going anywhere, Hayase pressed further and said— Taeko—that this man had already come to know her name—Hayase felt this as a humiliation for her, and a displeased look appeared at the root of his brow. "Why at school..." he deliberately asked at this juncture. Even though he had already been aware of the mother and son's visit—

17

“There’s no particular reason.” “Mother and I went to observe.” “The vice principal is my classmate, you see.” “They kept saying ‘Come see! Come see!’ but since it’s a school that didn’t look like much on the surface, I’d looked down on it—but I was surprised.” “Of course, they did mention there are good ones in the fifth grade, but—” “So that vice principal also serves as a matchmaker, does he?” He delivered the remark with razor-sharp precision, but the other remained utterly unfazed, “I do.” “Instead, when it comes to matchmaking meetings and such, I’m the one who’ll be the matchmaker.”

“Outrageous.” “Black and white—wait?” “A swapping of maroon and crimson crepe.” “No—what fine audacity.” “I’ll present them all lined up for your selection—the latest in petite checkered fashion.” “What’s wrong with that? The school’s purpose is to mold good wives and wise mothers. If we have them attend physiology lectures, why shouldn’t we arrange marriages too?” And coming from this man, what a remarkable aphorism.

Hayase adopted a humbled posture, "I see,"

“Of course you assess each person individually—no matter how much matchmaking you do, you can’t just approve everyone.” “If they have status, wealth, and an academic degree,” he declared with unshakable composure, his manner brimming with self-assurance, “It’s mutually beneficial to mold good wives and wise mothers in the lecture hall and properly hand them over to their parents.” “The vice principal is weighing that aspect too, you know.”

“So what?” Hayase defiantly squared his shoulders at an angle, “So that’s where you saw her—my teacher’s daughter.” “Ah, and she’s the top student. She’s quite capable, isn’t she? And upon seeing her, she’s graceful, refined, and charming. They’re not common—exceedingly rare. Not a single high-class candidate among three hundred could rival her. The foremost figure at Shōyōden, you know. Exceedingly excellent—and her school is Shōyō Girls’ School.” He gulped down a mouthful of cold tea. With an air of giddiness, he began, “Ha ha, it’s not just me—first and foremost, Mother took a liking to her. ‘Well, if she were to become a bride of the Kano family, she’d be presentable enough... not an embarrassment,’ they said. When I asked the vice principal, he told me her name was Sakai Taeko. Since we just had a quick chat in the teachers’ office—leaving detailed discussions for later—we went home that day.”

Then yesterday, Mother came to visit here. “On their way back—just as they were about to exit Mitsuke from Iidamachi—a palanquin came racing toward them! Mother claimed the one inside the horo was her—Yaguruma no Hana.”

He started to say but stopped, staring intently at the tokonoma, “Ah, this is it! This is it!” Swiftly raising his hips, he darted out his hand from his crouched posture in a motion that looked as if he were about to draw a sword in one swift motion—

“Kano!” “Yes,”

“And then?” “Hey—this is the crucial part.” “Hmm,” Having surged forward only to be reined in, he then abruptly straightened up,

“She said that figure standing out splendidly through the cloud of dust, racing past—how beautiful it was,” “When she stopped to watch, they must have set down the palanquin at this inner corner.” “They were just turning back—Mother did, you know.” “‘To the resting rickshaw puller: Is that young lady heading to the middle house?’” “‘Yes, that’s right,’ they heard, and then went back, you see.” He chattered rapidly, “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” “You,” he said, looking steadily at him. “The way you went ‘Tsk’ makes it seem like I’m the beauty. Detestable.” “If you go proposing marriage or such nonsense,” he said with a laugh, thoroughly mocking him, and gave a light jab to his shoulder.

“You philandering bastard!” “Not philandering—dead serious this time. Don’t you think it’ll work?” Coaxingly straightening up, he thrust his face forward, fingers propping his chin as he busily twisted his beard. Hayase stayed silent awhile before unconsciously unfolding his arms. Leaning an elbow on the desk behind him, he planted one hand firmly on his knee. “I’ll take her.” “Huh?” “Take her.”

“Will you hand her over?” “That depends on how we discuss it.” “Meaning you’re not the successor?” “Naturally not the successor.”

“Well then, assuming we can discuss this,” he said with feigned composure, then fixed Hayase with a meaningful look. “But what the—I—” came the abrupt shift in tone, “I refuse to be your matchmaker—I’m not the vice principal of Shōyō Girls’ School.”

Eighteen Then Eikichi, with an air of prior understanding, spoke of course needing a proper matchmaker—but his words carried a belittling tone, as if sneering, “Could someone like you even manage such a role?” “Well, should it come to that, we have an uncle who’s a celebrated moralist in academic circles, and there’s also someone under Father’s wing currently occupying a distinguished post in that field—they’d handle it quite splendidly. But you—before we even appoint a formal matchmaker—”

He aligned his hands, leaned over the brazier, and inched closer. “We must verify the other party’s social standing, assess Taeko’s conduct—already dropping formal address—and well, her school performance as a top student should suffice.” “Since Sakai is known to be a heavy drinker, there’s also hereditary concerns to consider.” “Assuming that’s all settled—though such beauties are prone to it—there must be no tuberculosis risk. I’d need you to provide detailed information about Sakai’s relatives, Taeko’s social connections—all those points.”

Chikara could endure no longer and violently disrupted the contents of the brazier. Despite the warmth, Kano had to shield his hands because the fire in the brazier was nearly out, and as he had turned sideways to add charcoal, the veins that flashed like lightning across his averted forehead remained unseen—

“Let me ask again—what was it now?” “The other party’s social standing?” “Yes, the other party’s social standing.” “A German literature scholar, a Bachelor of Letters... a university professor.” “You know him—my teacher.” “Hmm, I understand that, but there’s also the matter of Taeko’s conduct.” “And then,” “Heredity, you know,” “Tuberculosis, you say?” “Kinship relations, the nature of her associations, you know.” “What? Things like friends aren’t a major condition.” “Once married, associations from one’s single days naturally grow distant.” “If Mother disciplines her strictly, there’d be no concern about her, but hmm—the main point remains the financial situation.” “But isn’t Sakai struggling financially?” “Since he’s known as a man with a chivalrous streak, helping others inevitably leads to considerable expenses.” “Plus, he’s a notorious drinker—they say he carouses like there’s no tomorrow. What about his debts?”

Chikara silently poured tea but appeared forcibly composed.

“What—are you expecting a dowry or something?” “Don’t talk nonsense. When marrying off my sisters, we make them bring dowries from our side—but when I marry? How could the heir of the Kano family possibly stoop to expect a dowry?” “You see—in my family—whenever a girl is born, we start a savings fund from her seventh-night celebration. That ensures adequate preparations.” “After marriage, the interest covers her cosmetics and pocket money.” “Naturally, this gives us leverage in her marital household.” “Of course, we don’t transfer those funds to the son-in-law’s name—in the Kano family, each account stays under the individual’s name. So even if some layabout son-in-law quits his salaried post for months—no disgraceful collapse follows.”

“That’s how we maintain such an orderly household. We don’t expect wealth from the other party, but if they seem too financially strained, we’d be troubled to end up burdened through family connections. Through marital ties with daughters, temporary loans and such tend to happen.” “Professor Sakai is a true son of Edo!” he suddenly barked, “Even if we had to hawk our wares at the Kanda festival, would we ever borrow through our daughter’s marriage? Kano!”

with a sharp intensity in his gaze. Raising his eyebrows,

“With that beard of yours and all your bookish ways, our interactions feel so constrained.” “You call overpowering someone barbaric.” Otsuta returned from the bath. Her glossy damp hair carried the rich fragrance of plum blossoms; even the jet-black beads on her satin collar seemed to conceal their scent in the evening alleyway. Avoiding the lattice door, she slipped into the kitchen’s shadows where the upstairs voices rang unusually loud, with no sign of Ogen coming to greet her. Clutching the soap-wrapped hand towel, she stole to the foot of the stairs and found Ogen pressed against the door, listening intently.

Nineteen “Whether the Professor drinks or abstains, whether he’s drowning in debt or free of it—that’s no concern of yours.” “What do heredity, tuberculosis, or conduct matter?” “We never offered her up for marriage in the first place—without even knowing whether we’d hand her over or flatly refuse should you ask, how dare you suggest inspecting someone’s precious daughter like she’s livestock? Isn’t that the height of rudeness?” “Let me make this clear, Kano—” “Those self-styled holy men who go around calling us ‘children of sin’ and spouting salvation drivel—it’s all just pious marketing.” “I couldn’t care less about patent medicine ads—but what gives you the right to fling that ‘sinful spawn’ nonsense at decent folk?” “However you judge the individual, branding their parents like that—it’s beyond disgraceful.”

“Now then—if even one of these interrogation-style conditions for investigating the professor’s daughter’s background comes from your own volition—” “If this originates from Mr. Kano Eikichi’s own will, I’ll have nothing more to do with scholars or gentlemen.” “Instead—I’ll throw on a workman’s coat and knock you flat.” “Ha ha ha! Hey now—” His tone broke abruptly, “This is all Mother’s direction, isn’t it? Every last detail.” “Given how closely we’ve associated, I know your true nature.” “You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?” “You set your sights on Taeko without a second thought.”

“Uh… well…” He fidgeted under the other man’s frantic gaze. “If you’re in love—if she’s truly lovely and charming—why not stake your life to win her? Even if she becomes disabled after marriage, contracts tuberculosis, or you both collapse from its spread—who’d care about such things?” “Putting all else aside—to nitpick over the bride’s family wealth is unconscionable! Suppose her parents fell into dire straits and begged for help. They’re your beloved wife’s parents, aren’t they? I’ve got parents too—if I could afford it, I’d naturally support them. If not, I’d refuse.” “But if we’re talking human compassion—you’d split three bowls of rice into single portions. When giving clothes away, you strip to your undergarments!”

With an air of deep conviction, the hand holding his cigarette trembled fiercely at its tip, yet his opponent Kano remained oblivious—listening absently with head bowed low—while beyond the sliding door, it was Otsuta whose tears began falling silently down her cheeks.

“What are they talking about?” Worried by the vehement voices, she listened quietly at the foot of the stairs. “It’s about a marriage proposal,” answered Ogen. “Oh—the master’s…?” Her face, still flushed from the bath’s heat, paled slightly. “No—Mr. Kano’s own,” she heard, and with a resigned smile, she crept up the stairs. Brushing past the railing, she slipped into the shadow of the open sliding doors on both sides of the three-tatami room at the stairway’s landing—all unnoticed by the two men.

Kano spoke in a tone that lacked vigor for himself and held no tension for the listener. “But Mother…” “What about Mother?” “Mother isn’t the one getting married—you’re the one taking a wife, aren’t you?” “You always handle things that way—or rather, I’ve often been told about all the marriage proposals you’ve pursued and meetings arranged. I haven’t counted each one, but there must have been about thirty.” “Out of all those, I doubt there’s even one you refused yourself.” “All of them were said by Mother.” “Uncle says this, Father says that—they pick holes and call off the engagement.”

“I don’t know just how distinguished your family’s lineage really is. Every woman in society who receives a marriage proposal from Kano ends up humiliated—I’ve long found it intolerable. If provincial lords of old could search through portraits, that’s one thing—but expecting anyone to meet such exacting demands—honestly, Kano—where in the world would you find that?” With a sigh, she concluded.

Kano suddenly became animated, “What do you mean there aren’t any? “Of course there are! “You see, all my sisters have been groomed to meet any such demands.” They were all uniformly attractive in appearance—strangely enough, every one of them a beauty. “You know that, right? “Even if some were peculiar-looking infants—quite dark-skinned at birth—once Mother applies her efforts, by marriageable age they’ll at least become average or better, right? You know that.”

Chikara had no retort and was compelled against his will to nod in agreement. For it was indeed a fact.

Household Lineage

Twenty “Moreover, as I mentioned earlier regarding assets—each has their share prepared.” “When it comes to illness or anything else—since both Father and Brother are professionals—they ensure thorough attention.” “As for everything else—Mother oversees it all and trains them properly.” “Setting aside personal preferences—since we’ve properly arranged all other conditions required on our end—you can’t say it’s entirely selfishness driving our demands.” “However, regarding matters of conduct—one might argue doubts could arise.” “You see, we make allowances for human nature too—just when they might start developing romantic notions, before my sisters could possibly concoct any mischievous ideas about men themselves—our parents evaluate and bestow suitable husbands upon them.”

“There’s no room for refusal.” “They won’t utter a word about even the patterns on their clothes.” “They won’t utter a word—after all, they’re given away without knowing anything.” “But there’s no mistake—in that regard, Mother’s discernment is unmatched.” “So what—even when selecting grooms, all those conditions must be met first?” “Of course—that’s why everything proceeds smoothly.” “The eldest sister married a Bachelor of Medicine, the next one’s wedded to a Bachelor of Science.” “The next after that is a Bachelor of Engineering.” “None will ever go hungry.” “…And now, this fourth one we’re discussing—also a Bachelor of Medicine,”

“You’ve gone to strange lengths to handpick and line them up.” “Yes—that’s Father’s principle. To assemble all our brothers and clan into a unified class that dominates society through academic hierarchy.” “We aim to establish clear seniority-based rankings for individual incomes too—if the eldest sister gets three hundred yen, then two-fifty for the next, two hundred after that, one-fifty next, and a hundred for the youngest. All neatly ordered.” This system was already operational—for now at least. The ideal being their descendants’ gradual social ascension through generations. “For instance—if this generation holds bachelor degrees, the next becomes doctors, then grand doctors.” “You.”

“Putting it another way, even the House of Peers could form a political party with just one family,” he said. “There’s this grand vision that we could organize an entire cabinet from our clan alone. And fortunately, Father’s already got eight or nine grandchildren. We’ve taken in and educated three or four nieces too. We’re making steady progress—it all comes down to how my sisters attract capable men.”

Though it was another’s affair, Chikara’s pale face flushed crimson,

“Then your sisters are all just bait to hook bachelors.” “Even if they’re bait, I don’t mind.” “It’s all for the Fujiwara clan.” “Even if one or two sacrifices must be made, there’s absolutely no cause for concern.” “Parents’ eyes are not clouded.”

“Since we aim to gradually elevate our status, geniuses, prodigies—exceptional individuals—are unnecessary. Such people occasionally cause failures. What we desire is mediocrity that’s free from errors—that’s what’s preferable. It’s an honorable formation—the Shingen-style strategy. Brandishing Azuki Nagamitsu to charge into enemy ranks may be exhilarating, but it’s no strategy for perpetual prudence…” In that ideal framework—with me at its core within the Kano family—there could be no doubt. Since she’s the wife meant to be positioned at its core, one must adopt an extremely cautious approach. “In short—she’s the queen of the household, so—”

Kano expounded one article of what he called his "honorable principles." The depth with which this ideal had taken root—even as articulated by this man—sounded nothing like his habitual complaints, bore no resemblance to his fidgety posture, and stood as something nearly immovable and resolute.

“No, I understand perfectly now. With those principles of yours, you’d inevitably have to conduct physical examinations on people’s daughters.” “But I detest it!” “If it were my daughter, I’d refuse—even if she passed your precious examination—” When Chikara laughed coldly, Kano—ever true to his nature—responded with haughty laughter that blended conviction with smug comprehension,

“But if the conditions are met, I’ll marry her. Ha ha ha—I’ll definitely take her! Hey, I’ll take this round.”

Like a fleeing rabbit—as if he’d planned it all along—he sprang up at that moment, shoulders angled, one hand thrust into his coat pocket, and hurried toward the alcove where his fingers already grazed the flower-patterned arrow wheel. Raising one knee, his complexion shifted abruptly, “That won’t do.” “Why not?” He turned with finality to face him. Chikara, slightly flustered, “Why, you ask—” “Ha ha ha! ‘That’s precisely the crucial point,’ Mother said.”

He stood stiffly and grinned,

“Hayase, aren’t you acting strange? Hey—Taeko.”

Twenty-One Whether in cold calculation or heated anger—like a dagger, a blade of mere inches—Chikara sought to silence Eikichi’s wagging tongue, but finding himself unable to muster a sharp retort in that instant, he wordlessly clenched his fist. Eikichi assumed a stance as if demarcating a sumo ring with his “Now’s the moment!” posture, gripping a flower stem in one hand while twisting his mustache with the other, his eyes glaring fiercely… yet their light remained dull. “That’s right—you’re referring to the *tsuitsutsuzura* split hairstyle, aren’t you?” “If that’s your phrasing, then state it clearly. I too have terms to consider—how does that suit you?”

Despite the Shingen-style adversary’s employment of this surprise tactic, Chikara’s retort involved neither rotating formations nor elaborate stratagems—it remained resolutely mundane. “Don’t spout such absurdities—this isn’t some streetcorner pantomime. We’re discussing Miss Taeko, a lady of consequence.”

“Aren’t you meddling with that precious young lady? Or perhaps nursing feelings for her in your heart?” “I keep telling you not to utter such impertinent things.” “So you’re certain?” “There’s no cause for concern.” “In that case, why oppose our Kano family’s ideals and hide Taeko’s circumstances when someone’s making such pains to inquire? Once matters are settled, that person will find happiness too—she’ll become queen of the Kano faction.”

“Whether it brings happiness or misfortune—I don’t know—but I detest it.” “For the sake of the clan’s prosperity—using daughters as bait and conducting bridal physical examinations—that’s something I want no part in.” “Unless you don’t mind even leprosy or tuberculosis once smitten, I’ll never discuss Miss Taeko’s affairs.” “Of course the young lady is a flawless jewel, but parading her before the Kano family would be like the moon showing its face at Taira no Kiyomori’s summons.” Having uttered this pointed remark, he exhaled a thick plume of tobacco smoke that dissolved into the scene—precisely resembling the hazy glow lingering at a mountain’s edge.

“Fine then—I’ll just ask elsewhere instead of consulting you.”

Surprisingly, Eikichi showed no pretense of dignity, adopting instead a triumphant air as if he’d won the argument.

“But it’s auspicious—I’ll take this one.” “Since it’s a flower Taeko brought,” “...” “If you’ve no objections, there’s no sense begrudging one or two stems when there are so many here,” “...” “Excuse me,”

He was just about to pull it out when a nostalgic human fragrance abruptly assailed him. “That won’t do,” said Otsuta as she straightened her hanten collar, emerging smoothly from the sliding door. Placing a hand on Eikichi’s shoulder—causing him to stagger mid-turn—she slipped past to kneel before the alcove, shielding the flowers with her body. “Please don’t! You’ll ruin the arrangement I made.” She smiled with bewitching charm. “But—you’ve just jammed them in! There’s no Ikenobo refinement here, no Enshū elegance.” “Even plucking one or two won’t make your precious display collapse.”

He finally withdrew his hand and thrust it into his usual sleeve pocket instead, but right before Otsuta’s eyes—pantomiming “Catch the child! Catch the child!”—he stomped about noisily in his leather-soled tabi boots, clattering back and forth. “Yes, this is called the Yanagibashi-ryū style,” she said. “Arranged in clusters like willow branches—don’t you see there’s a proper style to it?”

“Just lie—I don’t mind. It’s a flower I’ve grown smitten with.”

Chikara pulled the brazier sharply toward himself. Otsuta gracefully stood up, "But this flower already has an owner, you know." “It has an owner!” he exclaimed, eyes widening. “Yes, there certainly is—Chikara, I tell you.” “See there, Hayase!” “What the—you!” “No—when you pull this flower, sir, it’s no different from trying to woo me.” “It has an owner, you know.” “Go ahead—try pulling it.” When she drew near, Eikichi took a step back. “Go on, try to woo me,”

When she drew near, Eikichi took a step back. Each time she smiled and sidled closer, he falteringly retreated—until at last he slipped out to the adjoining room. Mr. Moralist

22

The twelfth day of the month was the festival day of Yakushi-sama in Hongo, and even after the streetcars began running, it remained as bustling as ever. At a street stall that the Bunkyūdō bookstore had set up slightly closer to Tomisaka along the main road—amidst questionable wares mixed with disorganized old books—a man was viewing a *Sansesō* fortune-telling book under the light of a soot-darkened lantern: its cover missing, its edges frayed, its pages heavily worn. This man was Hayase Chikara.

What business had he—a man molded by Professor Sakai’s tutelage, who at the very least had established his household through foreign languages and drank morning sake at his own expense—to now fret over whether he’d been a parrot or orangutan in some past life?

To be sure, even if one called oneself a scholar, on a fine day while strolling through Asakusa, one might not necessarily avoid catching sight of Okuyama. If at such a time there existed someone who would pose the absurd question of why one should look at signs for ball-balancing acts, that person would be either a fool or bordering on madness. Even if one claimed to have caught a whiff of something delicious while passing an eel restaurant, as long as they didn’t pause to savor the aroma with chopsticks in hand before darting into the neighboring tea-and-rice shop, it was presumptuous to declare it must be Iseya. Even Chikara—if he claimed he had merely happened to pass by and had his attention caught by a *Sansesō* fortune-telling book among the old volumes at the street stall, and thus only glanced through it—that would have been the end of the matter. Yet wasn’t he currently preoccupied with considering someone’s marriage proposal? Moreover, the section he had opened to—concerning marital compatibility—could not be dismissed.

Moreover, his complexion—unlike that of a peaceful, cheerful gentleman strolling in a crested haori with his wife in thick-lined kimono, a child in sailor uniform, and another carried in arms while debating whether to have sushi or red bean soup—bore none of such ease; instead, Chikara’s countenance showed a sullen, gloomy, troubled cast. When a handsome man moves through society with a scowling countenance, leafing through a street-stall copy of *Sansesō*, he differs little from willow-shade palm readers or hex-reading specters—his confusion surpassing even theirs.

And indeed, there was reason for this: the cloud over Chikara’s countenance had cast its shadow since that moment he contended with Kano Eikichi over the yaguruma grass in the alcove—over Taeko’s flower. At that time, it was through Otsuta’s wit that softness had prevailed over strength—so much so that one might have expected celebratory toasts to be raised over how, as the saying goes, “No—or rather, a man ought to have such a wife.” Yet Chikara, wearing a sullen expression, asked whether the water had been heated and then left abruptly—as though wishing to wash his ears, which had heard of this marriage proposal, with tap water.

By all rights, when a friend had come seeking his counsel about marrying the professor’s daughter, yet he refused to hear him out—such obstinacy epitomized narrow-mindedness. Acting his age as a young man—merely because it was a flower given by the daughter—it scarcely warranted others’ pity. With this manner of his, were some scrap from his mistress to become mixed in, he’d end up chasing after the wastepaper collector in such agitation that he might well bellow “Thief!” Even those sufficiently refined to jest properly—uttering lines like “Pray spare this gentleman”—might have allowed Hayase to claim floral victory through some courtesan-like stratagem in that moment; yet toward the Kano household, even Otsuta’s sentiments became unmistakably clear.

This was likely due to having overheard, from behind the sliding door, how Eikichi’s opinions clashed with the master’s regarding marriage. Even if that weren’t the case—wasn’t there some geisha he might fancy? To Eikichi—who kept badgering about whether there wasn’t some colleague who could entangle the new graduate by any means necessary—Otsuta recoiled at the mere notion: What repulsive nonsense—targeting a refined young lady who speaks with a gentleman’s hand guiding hers. And so—countless marital threads within the household were cinched tight by parents, swiftly unraveled like cormorant ropes that sent daughters diving into society’s turbulent currents. Right at the decisive moment, they made them swallow sweetfish bait before yanking them close until their throats were gripped—all to claim their prey and scheme for clan prosperity. To think they’d marry off the young lady under such machinations!

"No—I won’t agree to this," Otsuta insisted to Ogen—just as Chikara clattered back into view, having somewhat regained his composure after the hot-water incident—and pressed him with such intensity: "You there—are you quite all right?"

23 What exactly was "all right" struck Chikara as abrupt—he couldn’t immediately grasp her meaning—while Otsuta’s fervor grew only more intense.

It wasn’t yet a settled matter—merely that he’d taken a fancy to her at school—he stated it with such lewd insistence. Moreover, this marriage proposal—where love demands crossing a log bridge and falling through, yet they tap on a stone bridge and lean on a cane to cross—would, as they walk about gathering opinions, be swept away in a river-stopping flood should someone pour cold water on it, leaving them dizzied in its wake.

Yet for some reason, merely hearing that mother and son had gone to observe her at school together—it felt as though Taeko had been made into a spectacle, with herself made complicit in the display—grated on her nerves. “However, it won’t come to anything,” Chikara said calmly. “No—I’m worried.” “No matter where you inquire or how you investigate, there’s no one who can find fault with that young lady.” “There’s no doubt they’ll eventually make a formal proposal to the Masagocho household.” “Moreover, while Mr. Kano has no other merits to speak of, his persistence is his sole reliable trait. With one push after another—if things take a bad turn—it could very well come to pass.” “I can’t shake this feeling that it might actually happen.” “I’ve had this awful dream where Miss Taeko was being licked all over—I’m terrified I’ll get sleep paralysis tonight just lying here. It’s too pitiful to bear.” “Master, you mustn’t let your guard down,” she said—Otsuta had dreamt that very night of being covered in caterpillars. Because she had always thought Kano’s eyebrows resembled them. ——

Admittedly, Kano had kept his eyebrows neatly trimmed and slender, but on his father’s orders—to avoid appearing overly groomed—he had recently thickened them; thus, they were not caterpillars but sleeping silkworms. However, this unproductive beauty—unaware of how silkworms benefit the world yet fearing what should be despised as caterpillars—could only be deemed thoughtless. And so, even if Master—despite his usual ways—secretly harbored unrequited feelings for Miss Taeko, Otsuta would find it acceptable. She rejected the notion with such extremity that she declared—"I’d sooner be driven out as Master’s lawful wife than have her married off to Kano."

Having gained this ally of shared resolve with one heart and mind, Chikara felt somewhat reassured—but as for where the wind blew, for about half a month, Eikichi uncharacteristically did not show his face.

And one day,

“Is Mr. Hayase in attendance?”

There was someone who, in a manner that seemed proper yet not entirely without fault, had Ogen pass along a business card. Chikara set aside his translation brush mid-stroke and took it. Though initially puzzled, when he asked what sort of person it was, [the servant] described the most immediately noticeable feature—"Ah, the pockmarked gentleman"—and he understood at once. His real name was Sakata Reinoshin; his street name was Pockmarked Lord—a moniker born when some fast-talking man dropped the *ta* from *abata-danna*. If spoken slowly, it became Abata-danna—either version sufficed. No one writes their nickname on a business card just because it's well-known. The business card was impeccably printed: Sakata Reinoshin... and alongside it in Roman letters, L. Sakata.

Namely, he was the distinguished Mr. Moralist. His moral philosophy was not religious but ethical—or rather, it pertained to male-female relations. And with his pockmarks and his wife’s youth and beauty, he was renowned as a gentleman in lecture halls and speech meetings alike. Needless to say, he was a paragon of moral perfection—however, his current wife was his third, the previous two having died young, and lately her complexion had grown pale. That is not to say he deliberately tarnished a gentleman’s virtue, but nor did he engage in needless chatter. The gentleman had merely killed off two wives himself; through thrice-three-times-nine nuptial cups, three rounds of Three Pines’ Whisper, and twenty-sevenfold libations, he had grown quite accustomed to matrimonial affairs.

In this situation, being a renowned moralist—and since there were few matchmakers in the land as trustworthy as this—he could skillfully mediate matters, bridging Wu and Yue without distinction. Consequently, his frequent visits to the inner chambers of various households were at times repulsive! There were rumors to that effect. Pulling at sleeves and grasping hands—these so-called interactions between men and women must be this man’s surplus virtue. However, there was no concrete proof of such successes. Indeed, whether it’s not that he refrains but rather that he cannot—regardless, his morality stood firm. Here, with upright conduct, even someone working as a matchmaker could make a living…

24 Given that this was Sakata Reinoshin—the Moralist—would he ever deign to visit a household frequented by the likes of the Me-gumi? There was no way he would show his face at such a household. Chikara had initially suspected as much, but upon realizing that Kano’s uncle was acquainted with a certain fellow moralist, he involuntarily furrowed his brow. A matchmaker frequenting various households—indeed, a leading figure in what might be called the local matchmaking trade—and now, with Taeko’s matter already weighing on Chikara’s mind, he first ushered him upstairs regardless; the man appeared to be around fifty. The man’s pockmarks were pitifully pronounced at first glance—and what’s more, inky black. If we were to argue by literal definitions, he was no moonlit ice matchmaker but a kitchen charcoal burner; yet his well-groomed figure, with its starched white collar and polished face, gleamed conspicuously. His hair, so thin it revealed the scalp beneath, was neatly combed into a single part, while his beard—from its pointed tip to the edges of his nostrils—glared with oil; it all suggested his wife was in poor health.

With a perfunctory “How do you do? I trust your translation work prospers—though one might suppose you’re scarcely scraping by,” he delivered this thinly veiled jab as effortless flattery, then produced from his robe’s breast pocket a lordly tobacco pouch. His Western-style attire—a flashy salt-twilled iron-gray fabric adorned with creeping iron-fan vines—marked him as a man keeping pace with recent fashions. The item he took out—likely a gift from some matchmade bride whose marriage he had arranged—still carried the lingering scent of perfume from its gifting day, now repeatedly resprayed with the same fragrance to mask its worn, secondhand state. In his fastidious hands—their overgrown nails unsettlingly conspicuous—he held a short silver pipe with shallow auspicious carvings. After sucking in sharply through a back tooth, he settled into a posture so composed he might have been canvassing for life insurance.

“This is rather abrupt, I must say, but regarding the matter of Mr. Sakai Shunzo’s daughter…” He sucked his teeth sharply again. “Ahem! Now, speaking of tobacco pipes—while proper etiquette should always come first, to offer a toothpick to someone you’ve not even served a meal, be their breath reeking of garlic or their teeth clogged with dried cod fibers—that’s nothing short of rudeness.” And so, having no choice but to suppress his itching urge beneath restrained lips, he immediately drew in another suspicious wind through his teeth and—if I may—considered that such matters ought not be broached too directly... To put it succinctly, he declared: “As I have yet to make the gentleman’s acquaintance, I should like you, his disciple Chikara, to provide an introduction.”

Good grief—the bridge had been crossed. Before anyone knew it, Taeko had passed her examination. It now seemed they had reached the point of formally proposing the marriage arrangement. Moreover, that Sakata would request an introduction from him—not only did Chikara feel needled by this rebuke stemming from his prior opposition to Eikichi, but he also found himself considerably ambushed by the enemy’s swift maneuverings. No—I must decline. It’s not that I have any particular quarrel with Eikichi-kun, but I find every root and branch of the Kano family’s ideals disagreeable. If you wish to seek an introduction elsewhere, by all means do so—but Professor Sakai isn’t the sort to distinguish between guests based on such formalities. Should you speak directly and fate ordains a connection, matters will naturally resolve themselves. When someone—like a young warrior—rushes headlong into refusing to abet even a single business card’s worth of morally objectionable affairs, an old campaigner who’s traversed a hundred battlefields would comprehend their stance in full.

"For now," he hissed through sucked teeth with a sly grin, "it seems your inquiries about the young lady's circumstances failed to gain approval—or so I hear." "By your logic—if it's a woman you fancy, even a prostitute would suffice"—here he added some rhetorical flourish—"'Let us perish together if death comes.'" "No—we must value life's vigor"—another teeth-suck—"but there's society to consider, and parents too..." Then the moralist truly revealed his colors, expounding for Kano's benefit thousands of words about ideals morally flawless beyond reproach. After roughly half a day, he finally took his leave just before sunset. Though he'd stayed nearly half a day, his practiced avoidance of mealtimes showed veteran cunning.

25 With Otsuta—who hid whenever guests came—present in the house, there was no way Chikara could hold his own against the Moralist in debate. Whatever Chikara declared with spirited determination was merely sucked away by Reinoshin’s teeth, but with an attitude of making his last stand—pillowing his head on a castle—he obstinately refused to provide an introduction to Professor Sakai, his resolve tinged with recklessness. After leaving those words—“I urge you to reconsider this one point”—and departing, the fact that the Pockmarked Lord was the matchmaker made it all the worse. Taeko’s face turned ashen as though she were about to be executed, brooding without even touching her sake. Meanwhile, Otsuta—for her part—was so shocked it was as if she’d been ordered to behead the “princess” she’d been sheltering at the toll of a bell. In her frenzy, she resolved that if this was the precious daughter her beloved husband cherished, then she herself would become the substitute. Everything followed the model of a jōruri’s third act, yet it wasn’t unlikable.

“Now, Master—this is no time to linger here. You must go to Masagocho at once. If you delay, even Mrs. Sakai might consult that man. You must beg them not to.” “Quick—change into your haori,” she said, yanking open the drawer with a clatter. “Ah! It’s been too long since we paid our respects. The Me-gumi will come tomorrow—you must bring some gift. They say the professor prefers simple things, and abalone would make that fool pine for what he can’t have.” Her tone carried calculated nonchalance.

"What nonsense—if you stand before the marriage proposal and dare slander it, you’ll be the one disowned! Since the professor isn’t that sort of man," he dismissed with a single stroke—alas, the Yanagibashi strategy went unused. Considering again, even without the moralist’s arguments, there was no disadvantage to the Kano family. Even Eikichi was merely somewhat undisciplined—and if I were to say that marriage would naturally settle him down, then that would likely be the case. Whether he referred to her as Mother or Father in public, there was no moral impediment—it might even be preferable.

The reasoning behind criticizing this... namely... it was difficult to articulate—thus, it held no water in public discourse. If he crossed his arms and muttered, "This is troublesome," Otsuta too showed her distress, sighing, "How vexing."

The one who came bearing great tidings here was Ogen.

Though she had been sent on a routine errand and returned quite late, Ogen threw open the kitchen door with a clatter. "Madam," she announced energetically, "all is well—I've just returned." Otsuta briskly asked, "Will it be ready by the day after tomorrow?"—having sent an old summer yukata to the dyer to have its dye removed and shaped into a summer wrap—but no, this wasn’t about her inquiry regarding the dyer’s progress. This loyal servant, sharing in their anxieties, had on her return from the dyer—still carrying the furoshiki-wrapped bundle of plants—first passed by the house before proceeding to Mitsuke, where she consulted a riverside diviner.

"I told him the other party was the scholar, and when I had him divine it, he declared there was absolutely no destined connection—something to abandon entirely. So I was overjoyed and mustered a single white copper coin for the three-sen consultation fee." "Serves them right!" she exclaimed, laughing heartily all by herself. "Well, isn't that delightful! You even knew the young lady's age, didn't you?" When Otsuta said this, Ogen made a puzzled face and replied, "No, I don't know anyone's age." Otsuta wore a dubious look. "Didn't the fortune-teller ask about your age?" "Yes, he asked, so I told him my age."

"Of course! When your suitor's a scholar and you're just you—" Hearing Chikara's exasperated words, her eyes widened. After a moment: "What?!" Frustrated, she fled into the kitchen—"Damn that fortune-telling fraud!"—stomping away noisily.

The two exchanged a look and burst into laughter. Immediately, Otsuta sent a new undergarment collar as a token of gratitude, and that evening saw the market bustling. A few days later—regardless—Chikara set out for Masagocho to return the lunchbox Taeko had entrusted him with while bringing souvenirs along. As it happened, the professor was out, his wife away visiting gravesites, and Taeko delayed in returning from school.

26

Even if he had met with the professor or his wife that day, he had no intention of bringing up the marriage proposal himself, nor was there any reason for them to mention it. Yet after such a long absence, finding everyone away left him deflated. Because this newly arrived entrance hall student was unfamiliar with them, even when they kept stoking the brazier filled with rolled tobacco stubs, no engaging conversation arose. However, over the past day or two, he only managed to ask whether Sakata the moralist had visited the professor and learned that he had not—this being his sole accomplishment. Stuffed carelessly into his sleeve without even folding the furoshiki that had held the souvenirs, his sleeve bulging unbecomingly, he was returning in a daze when—midway down the side street—a voice called out with abrupt familiarity: “How do you do, Mr. Hayase?”

At the rickshaw stand he’d frequented since his days at the entrance hall, from behind the counter where sliding doors had been placed sideways to block the glaring sunlight, the rickshaw puller who served the Sakai household poked his face out with a grunt. Stopping with a casual “Oh” and exchanging a few words in passing, Chikara suddenly remembered to ask whether anyone had come around lately inquiring about the professor or the young lady—to which the rickshaw puller replied that at the month’s start, a distinguished gentleman with pockmarks wearing mourning clothes had. He came! “Since it’s such a happy occasion,” he’d said, “do let me hear how things are progressing.” “And finally—‘I suppose you’ll accompany me? Where’s the attending physician?’ he inquired.”

From the kitchen emerged a maid in tube-sleeved work clothes, who popped out with a start. “Oh my, Mr. Hayase!” she greeted with a smile. “No—even if this is just a temporary post, I consider it my service here—truly! I’ve been praising and praising and praising to high heaven about it.” “And I hear the young mistress’s marriage will soon be settled—congratulations, sir! Heh heh,” she gushed excitedly. He left with a displeased look, muttering “Unnecessary meddling,” but at least Sakata hadn’t pressed the rickshaw puller for information. Still, the man’s audacity in wearing mourning clothes—how utterly infuriating.

When one considered that detectives had likely even visited the area around the corner pickle shop, across the street stood a Western-style tobacco store. This shopkeeper too was a chatterbox of a man, but when he glared as if to say he’d already reported everything, there sat a student he was dealing with—those gold teeth of his glaring conspicuously. Upon returning home, Otsuta—being Otsuta—set out again that very night. This time, when she herself stood before the fortune-teller and received an oracle declaring this match would surely be sealed, she sank into profound despair.

Of course, the fortune-teller was no fool. Compared to when Ogen had visited, just by observing their circumstances, it was clear that Otsuta would inevitably be bound. A day later, when Chikara returned home after finishing his teaching duties at the school he’d been entrusted with, there stood Sakata Reinoshin at the gateway—stroking his chin and scrutinizing the nameplate with unblinking intensity. He had already been here for some time, sucking his teeth with a hiss as he waited... It was rather odd. Evidently, there had been no one to respond to his inquiry. “Is the maid out?” Otsuta hid……

"My apologies for being unattended," said Chikara. "Please come in," he added, though his guest fumbled with his lace-up boots. Chikara impatiently kicked off his shoes and stormed upstairs in irritation. From beneath the staircase door's shadow came Ogen's voice: "Why, Master!" She popped into view—no wonder she hadn't answered the door. There she stood in her kitchen apron, clutching a broomstick like a naginata under her arm. She'd draped a hand towel over the tall broom's bristles and now brandished it like a polearm, her face flushed crimson. "You idiot!" roared a voice from above as someone leaped up moments before Moralist-sensei came shambling in with heavy steps.

As the upstairs dispute grew too heated, the incense sticks kept for thunderstorms released their pungent aroma. From the living room emerged Otsuta—lacking moxa but meticulous in her countermeasures—a pinch of tobacco clutched in one hand. She tiptoed to the entrance and slipped it into Reinoshin's shoes. This burning herb worked its magic. ※ With smoke from the (fire + 發) character billowing like a signal flare, someone came charging down from the second floor. When Otsuta ducked into the alleyway, the smoke still lingered. Mesmerized by this bit of witchcraft, Ogen scooped slop water with her hands and doused it down with a splash—leaving a strange burnt-leather stench and water pooling everywhere.

27

Considering history thoroughly—whether castles, encampments, or battlefields—armies that include women among their ranks generally meet defeat. On that day, the scholar did not emerge victorious against Moralist-sensei; with his shoes bearing wounds of honor, Reinoshin withdrew in triumph. "Therefore, should aversion exist, we shall cease seeking introductions. Instead, our side will formally propose to the Sakai family regarding this marriage arrangement. You must refrain from voicing any criticisms of Kano to the Professor." "Opinions remain opinions," Sakata had stated with diplomatic indirection, "and emotional matters stand apart—but this single request I must make." Though phrased circumspectly—knowing overt interference would invite obstruction—Chikara had responded with masculine forthrightness that no concern was warranted. Yet in essence, the nail had been firmly driven.

Given that even Sakata Reinoshin had gone so far as to investigate the rickshaw puller frequenting the Sakai household, his efforts were thorough indeed. Consequently, he must have discerned that the professor’s trust in Chikara—nay, his paternal affection, akin to that for a son or younger brother—ran so deep. Thus, by striking first to gain the upper hand, he perfectly stifled that voice of dissent. Hayase himself had declared that slanderous tongues would never prevail—yet through this very disciple’s own words, someone had splendidly managed to shatter even a well-formed bond.

There, the die was now in Kano’s hands. Be that as it may, whether it fell on odds or evens depended solely on the will of the Sakai household—or so it was declared.

If the Professor were to voice his disapproval—but if he consents, then that would settle it. Taeko would become Kano Eikichi’s wife. Was it that Taeko would become Kano Eikichi’s wife? Otsuta herself, rather than fretting over consequences, seethed with frustration and made such a clamor that Chikara’s wavering grew extraordinary. Above all else, when he thought of how matters stood in Masagocho—though it concerned another household—the very existence of Otsuta made him feel somehow blemished; his mind concocted reasons why crossing that threshold seemed so daunting.

So he had kept his distance somewhat unconsciously until finally, two days prior, he ventured out to pay his respects after a long absence. Yet now, fearing the worst—that Reinoshin might already have arrived and marriage talks could be underway—he suddenly felt guilty for approaching so readily. "If you keep dawdling like this—it doesn't suit you at all—hurry up now......" Otsuta urged impatiently, her voice tinged with frustration.

The day he mustered his courage and went out, the professor had a visitor and was engaged in conversation. The entryway attendant would relay [his visit], and ("Come next time.")—he started. Yet there was no pretext. Anxious that their secret regarding Otsuta might have been exposed—though he told himself it couldn’t be—he managed only a brief greeting to the mistress. Even as he observed the mistress—her noble figure poised in dignified needlework, her refined and maternal presence as she received his greeting—comparing her to Otsuta only deepened his guilt. When her gentle face, which had smiled softly with words like "It’s been so long—won’t you stay for a drink?" began receding dazzlingly as if retreating from his conscience, he made to leave as though fleeing. But then—"Who is the visitor?" he quietly asked the attendant at the entrance. Sakata Reinoshin—ah, it was all over now.

For a time, Hayase's household lay quiet like extinguished embers. Then, driven by his excessive anxiety, he resolved decisively to venture once more to Masagocho—which coincided with the Yakushi festival.

With an air of trepidation, he first peeked into the entranceway. Seeing the student reading under the lamplight, he hesitated from the start to intrude. Then when he inquired, “And the professor?” he was told: “His Excellency went out earlier.” When he asked about the mistress, the student replied, “She’s come down with a slight chill.” “In that case, I’ll pay my respects—” he began, moving toward the inner rooms via the engawa corridor, but the maid interjected, “She’s currently sleeping soundly.” Quietly returning to the entrance, when he made his final inquiry about the young lady, it turned out a former maid—who had married into Yotsuya and come for her first visit in a year—was supposed to stay overnight. After supper, following the mistress’s instructions, she had accompanied the young lady to the Yakushi festival.

"In that case, I'll take my leave for now and return later," he resolved. As he was leaving, he asked one last time: "Has Sakata come by since then?" The student responded with practiced ease: "You mean Pockmarked Lord?"—having already adopted the nickname. "Hahaha! He did come."

This afternoon. Male metal and female earth.

28

Chikara, preempted by Reinoshin's two swift initiatives and—compounded by the exposure of the Otsuta matter that had so profoundly wounded the Professor's feelings that one couldn't help suspecting deliberate intent—with a heart as cold and unyielding as the entranceway tatami, folded his arms in resignation and drifted from back alleys onto the main street. Passing before the pickleshop, he found himself facing an imposing estate's black-planked wall across the way. For a time, festival stalls hemmed him in from three sides like a swaying tide, stars glinting sharply overhead before darkness pooled among Koishikawa's treetops beyond Tomizaka—a stretch where foot traffic dwindled to nothing.

To the east and west stood faintly pale stakes marking storage intervals along vacant lots—not a single carriage remained. At the edge of an ink-black ditch lay a checkered furoshiki spread open over what seemed like dampened ashes from a field fire. Beside it burned a small ceremonial lamp whose light shone with such fierce clarity that even summer insects dared not approach. Before the woman lay three to five bundled sticks of kindling arranged in rows. Propping herself up with hands pressed against the ground, she bowed forward—her matted hair exposing a clean nape where white collar edges gleamed starkly. In her arms squirmed an infant lying supine, legs kicking as if having cried itself to sleep. A six-year-old boy clung to her knee, sucking his thumb while wide eyes darted across passersby. Pressed against her back leaned another child of about four years.

When a gust of wind blew, their figures and makeshift stall seemed on the verge of being swept away—a poignant scene. The shadow puppets of the floating world, by some demonic contraption, were projected onto the moonless crossroads.

Yet the festival deities did not descend where coin offerings showered, but manifested precisely here: spreading their sleeves like a canopy over mother and children—"May dew drench you not; may night winds spare you"—while letting them hear, faintly, the distant rhythms of Kanze-style festival music. Silently cursing the Kano clan—"Thrive and prosper, you lot; may Imawaka and Ushiwaka rise again"—Chikara tossed pine needles from his sleeve with a dry rustle and hurried past them. At the same moment the gold-toothed tobacco shop owner—chest puffed out before his box brazier, pipe reversed so its mouthpiece pointed rigidly outdoors—suddenly grinned and caught Chikara's eye. Four or five students blocking the storefront turned this way. As if the character for 'eight' had morphed into 'nine,' they erupted into commotion: one shouted "Yo!," another cried "Banzai!," while a third hissed "Quiet!" to suppress them.

The field in Masagocho across the way enveloped lonely flames rising toward midair around its center like remnants of a concluded fire ritual, people forming a black circular gathering. Along the edge of that desolate field passed two women at this moment.

The moment he saw them, Chikara’s heart stirred. The one on the right was Taeko. Her ribbon and face both shone pale white; her kasuri-patterned haori fluttered through the night’s luster like passing butterflies as she walked. Though her sleeves trailed long with crimson accents, her everyday attire made her appear two or three years more mature—less girlishly charming than bewitchingly elegant. The woman carrying a cloth bundle in her left hand and moving to the left sported an imposing round chignon that seemed too large for her short stature beneath the flower hairpin. Nicknamed Tako, she was a squat woman with slightly bulging round eyes and a forehead creased by upward-gazing wrinkles—a maid who had served during Chikara’s time stationed at the entranceway.

A diligent woman of solid character, who even after settling into her position maintained the resolve to pay such courtesy visits inquiring after others' welfare. The manner in which she accompanied her master's daughter while securing her own standing—the very bulk of that round chignon felt reassuring in such circumstances. At the tobacco shop with its spinning and crackling—within the span of a single glance—Chikara positioned himself at the center as if to block Taeko from view with his own body. But finding himself too conspicuous, he refrained from stepping forward from this side to call out.

As Taeko passed by without noticing him, Chikara felt an inexplicable loneliness in his heart. Until just the previous year, it had been I who accompanied her like that.

As the ribbon fluttered, Taeko came to a halt. Her shoulders had drawn apart, her large white tabi socks freshly clean; it was her round chignon that approached the pitiful lamplight of the wife selling kindling. Bending down politely as an honest woman would, she reached out her hand—apparently offering alms. When the mother and child bowed together, Taeko's hand holding the kinchaku slipped beneath the cord of her haori, and her figure melted into the shadows of the crossroads. The students trooped out from under the tobacco shop’s eaves and looked up at the stars in unison.

29 ○ Male Metal and Female Earth: Great Fortune. Five or nine children; abundant clothing and food, wealth and honor— "Male Metal and Female Earth—now that is great fortune!" "Clothing and food overflowing…………" The poetic section following "clothing and food overflowing" had become illegible from worm-eaten pages, rain stains, and wear, but above it was drawn an illustration of figures resembling Narihira and Komachi facing each other, an earthenware vessel before them as five courtiers in eboshi caps prostrated themselves in a row. Undoubtedly, this was indeed a great fortune. Chikara watched Taeko's retreating figure, hands tucked into his sleeves as though chilled by the wind, walking with downcast gaze toward Yakushi Hall. There among the stalls, his eyes caught on a Three-worlds divination book lying overturned—its pages splayed open as if demanding attention. Absentmindedly, he picked it up and turned to the compatibility section.

That Eikichi being Metal and Taeko being Earth had been divined beforehand by Otsuta, who summoned Tiger, Rabbit, Dog, and Boar from the joints of her beautiful fingers. Would this count as moderately auspicious? The "great fortune" held nothing favorable for Chikara. Of course, however lost I might be, I'm not the sort to dwell on Three-worlds divination. Still, while the Professor naturally needs no mention, the Mistress does occasionally invoke Ichibakukushi. Even with elemental compatibility, if it were a match beginning well but turning unfavorable midway before ending uncertainly, there might be hope for dissolving negotiations... but "clothing and food overflowing with wealth and honor"... that posed a problem.

Not only that, but with five or nine children predicted, the roots of the Heike clan and Fujiwara lineage becoming ever more widespread across the land appeared inexorable. Reinoshin had already made overtures on previous occasions and indeed again this very afternoon—these repeated advances serving as the impetus—and somehow this match seemed to be solidifying, leaving me profoundly uneasy. Ah—though these were matters I couldn't tell the Professor or ought to refrain from mentioning to the Mistress—still, when I caught sight of Taeko before that field moments ago, had I called out to stop her and said just one word: "If Kano's proposal arises, tell them you refuse!"—it would have sufficed.

If talking on the main street had seemed suspicious, I could have suggested going to one of those Western restaurants nearby without hesitation—and within the torii gate there was also yabusoba. There had been no need for direct conversation; with her round-chignon maid in attendance—their years-long camaraderie as old comrades left no room for reserve or formality. Miss Taeko would have laughed with that look in her eyes and asked, "Do you have any pocket money?" Even if I dismissed it as mere nitpicking, this hadn't been the time to imagine being taken somewhere with such resentment—I'd really messed up.

His thoughts swirled without focus as he stared fixedly at this "great fortune." Gradually, the court noble in the illustration grew a beard; no sooner had its legs splayed out like a tail than the figure collapsed sideways to lean against Komachi's knee—and there, slackly melting across her lap, was a face indistinguishable from Kano Eikichi's in every particular. "How about it, sir?" "Heh heh," came an eerie, abrupt laugh from behind the lantern light—the stall owner himself, squinting and glaring with his brow.

"It seems this has quite caught your fancy, heh heh." "How much?" Startled, Chikara absently tried asking the price. "That it is." Peering through the brim of his old hat while bending forward, "I'll let you have it for twenty sen," he proclaimed tenfold louder from beneath his skylight-like hat brim. At that moment, the stall owner pressed harder. Chikara involuntarily dropped the Three-worlds divination book,

“That’s too expensive!” “This here’s a rare item, heh heh—not like those cheap prints you get nowadays, your Nine Stars Quick Guides or Tsuchimikado Handbooks.” “I don’t care what it is—it’s filthy and falling apart.” “Ah, but look how orderly these pictures are! Illustrated by Shūransai Sadahide himself—the master of Three-worlds divination art, I tell you.” He spoke with reckless confidence. Had the compatibility results been unfavorable, Chikara wouldn’t have balked at paying double the twenty sen.

"That’s too expensive," he said, starting to rise. "How much would you pay?" "Well, sir." he pressed down as if to pin it in place. "Half?" "Right you are!" "Even that’s no bargain." Thirty— The stall owner hugged his knees and leaned back, his face arrogantly challenging like a Zen master awaiting debate. "Half price? That’s robbery! If you were buying plants, you’d say ‘Don’t you need a pot?’ and shake hands. I can’t just rip out the pictures for you." "Do me the honor of being generous." "Five sen or ten sen—what’s such pocket change to a gentleman?" "Heh heh heh heh heh—"

“It’s utterly overpriced—this is highway robbery!” Chikara found that tone detestable, which only made him increasingly lose any desire to purchase it. “But you see, once you go down Kiridoshi Slope, 5 or 10 ryō will vanish in no time.” “So there you have it—heh heh—a scheme where they want to know compatibility but keep ages secret.” “Yes sir, do purchase the Three-worlds Divination as a celebratory item.”

Growing increasingly irritated,

“I don’t need it,” he said, starting to rise again. “Then five sen—five hundred—just five sen!”

He opened one hand, his elbow forming a habitual shoulder-rubbing gesture, and scattered them fluttering before Chikara’s eyes. He sprang to his feet indignantly. Over Chikara’s shoulder, something glinted—a silver coin that sliced through the lantern’s smoky glow like a jewel, casting a striking gleam across the old books.

At the same time, "If you need it, buy it properly." A voice tinged with rust yet dignified rang out. Chikara instinctively straightened his posture. Sweeping his hat off—ha—he lowered his hand. "Professor." The stall owner crawled forward, hastily bracing a hand among the antique wares while pinning down the silver coin with the other, gazing up vacantly.

A brown fedora worn casually over a black underrobe with a thousand tea-colored stripes, a single-layer plain silk kimono. A black nadeshiko-patterned haori jacket bearing three clove-shaped tomoe crests, a neatly tied navy Hakata brocade obi at his waist—one hand tucked into his chest, the short sleeves of the haori draped casually—his tall stature and lean frame exuded an air of refined elegance. Moreover, with refined propriety in his attire—the collar of his black hachijō silk fastened neatly—his complexion somewhat dusky, his nose straight, his eyes fearsomely authoritative, his features distinguished, his eyebrows striking; only the set of his mouth resembled Taeko’s, containing boundless affection that might soothe even an infant.

At first glance, one would not take him for the father of that young lady. His lawful wife was his childhood betrothed, and Taeko was the young blossom on a sapling when the Professor was still a gold-buttoned cadet. It is also said that the couple shared their charms...

Sakai, seeming to be returning from some modest drinking engagement, moved alone through Gyokuju's temple fair periphery, brushing past the crowds. By then, even the laborers had grown sparse in this area, leaving only Yakushi Hall's precincts where the very atmosphere seemed to sweat under low-hanging oil smoke that weighed upon the street stalls' large umbrellas.

Nodding slightly and raising his face—Chikara’s face—Professor Sakai looked piercingly at him with those authoritative eyes,

“What’s a trifling amount? Do you think anyone who haggles over small change in public is present here? It’s unseemly.” With that dismissal, he immediately shifted his stride—his slightly raised shoulders resembling the clean bearing of a plum tree enduring frost and weathering snow. With a dumbfounded expression, the stall owner leaned far forward,

“Here you go, sir.”

Without a word, he snatched the Three-worlds Divination that had been fearfully offered up, and when they followed after him, he was already five or six ken ahead. “I’m terribly sorry. Oh—it’s not as though I particularly need it, sir.” He quailed under that initial scolding and muttered half to himself in self-justification. Sakai, keeping his hands smoothly tucked in, glanced back obliquely, “Why ask the price of something you don’t need? Window-shopping, are you?”

“…………” “Are you just browsing?” “Well, not really,” he looked down resentfully, crumpling and twisting the Three-worlds Divination.

After a short while, Sakai abruptly halted his steps,

“Hayase.” “Yes, sir.”

This response indeed sounded joyful.

31 So starved had he been for even the simple pleasure of hearing his name called—so prolonged had their estrangement been—that he eagerly drew near with nostalgic warmth, but Professor Sakai's subsequent words pierced Chikara's heart like a heavy blade. "Where do you think you're going?" At this abrupt dismissal, he involuntarily stumbled back three and a half shaku.

The back alley just past one field was where the Professor resided. For someone heading toward his own home to ask "Where are you going?" of the very person following him—how heartless. Overwhelmed by this utter failure, even his words grew disjointed, "I am taking a walk."

"Did you come all the way out to this temple fair?" "No, actually..." He managed to gather his words somewhat... "I called at your residence earlier, but finding you absent, I thought I would return later. In the meantime, I have been wandering about this area. Professor—"

Because Sakai had started walking briskly ahead, he followed falteringly after him. “Where to?” “Me?” “Are you returning directly home?” When he posed what seemed an obvious question merely to keep the conversation going, this answer turned out to be unexpectedly startling. “Well, I’m heading to your place now.”

“Ah!” he exclaimed, straightening up with dawn-like vigor above all else, “Then—from here... to the corner train—” I stepped back as I spoke, then flusteredly rushed forward again, “Shall I call a rickshaw?” he fidgeted restlessly. “We’ll walk to Suidobashi.” “Ah, sobering up.” With that, he shook out his collar, thrust his hands forcefully into his sleeves to form tightly crossed arms, then turned past the fruit shop—its apples gleaming beautifully, banana-like fruits fragrantly perfuming the air under vivid blue lamps—and plunged without hesitation into the side alley’s darkness.

The gaslight from the boarding house cast dim illumination, making their faces indistinct in the shadows and thereby easing conversation somewhat. "I hear your wife has taken ill with a chill—most regrettable." "You saw her?" "No—I was informed she slept peacefully and chose not to disturb her." "Was Taeko present?" "She resides with her husband's family in Yotsuya now—she took Mitsu along to visit the temple fair." "I see. If my daughter's well enough to gad about at festivals, her mother's condition can't be grave indeed."

As Professor Sakai’s tone softened slightly, Chikara let out a sharp breath and finally stowed away the Three-Worlds Divination he had been clutching into his pocket—when at the foot of Ikinosama Slope came a sudden ambush. "Is everyone at your place in good health?" The air grew cold again. In the house, there was only the maid and himself... For someone to ask Is everyone healthy? was no ordinary matter. But thinking it couldn’t be—that this “everyone” must be a mishearing—he found himself doubting even his own ears,

“Pardon?”

When Sakai casually dismissed what was meant as a request for clarification, it effectively became an affirmation: "That is correct." And he felt uneasy. The nighttime view of the artillery arsenal at the end of the street, when viewed optimistically, resembled a magic lantern projecting Mukojima’s blooming flowers midair—the roaring reverberations one might mistake for carriages crossing Azuma Bridge—but when viewed pessimistically, the smoke turned sulfurous and the flames ink-black.

As they passed by, steam surged sideways like a pure white waterfall, blocking the road. At length, they reached the foot of Suidobashi—Sakai mounted that cloud with composure; Hayase, wrapped in mist, staggered unsteadily. During the silence, Sakai abruptly discarded the fragrant rolled tobacco he had been smoking, its smoke still coiling, and there the steam condensed into dew as the fire went out with a sizzle.

When chartreuse lights scattered sparsely into the darkness, a star shining like a torch came flowing along the thoroughfare by the outer moat, carrying people.

A train.

Thirty-two

Though unrelated to Kano's marriage proposal to Sakai, on this same night of the twelfth, Moralist Sakata Reinoshin—chief organizer and manager of the Mixed-Gender Social Gathering (alternately named Family Discussion Meeting, requiring no elaborate explanation)—oversaw an assembly where several married couples gathered to drink, eat, and chatter...to put it crassly. A gathering where gentlemen and ladies of high society mingled; though rarely touching upon politics, assessments of religion, literature, art, theater, and music were conducted there. A confluence of modern thought—combining celestial ideals with earthly feasts under roses' perfume and stars' glimmer—yet being an event indifferent to diapers and work sleeves, it left homes where potatoes burned on stoves and children wailed. A neighborhood nuisance...those military funds for the Mixed-Gender Social Gathering. Having collected over one hundred yen from various sources to pay at the usual banquet hall, he donned mourning attire at night and boarded the brightly lit train.

("The Pockmarked Lord? Ha ha ha—this very afternoon.") As this report from Professor Sakai's student to Chikara occurred on the same day in question, those knitted boots left footprints across the city too numerous to tally over a single day. One must say it was a tremendous ordeal. An ancient sage said, "Time is gold." Rather than resorting to such time-wasting measures, wouldn’t it seem better to collect the social gathering fees on the spot and settle the payment immediately? Yet he first took possession of them and then went to the trouble of personally delivering them to the Confucian scholar—why? Don’t they realize? There are those who claim that during these transactions, without paying seat fees, you can have some so-called sister there serve tea and get to hold hands without paying a penny. It is said there are even ladies of high society who serve as organizers for theater viewings and use that position to kiss actors.

Of course, this was likely a lie. However, it is a fact that he boarded the train with the membership fees stuffed into his breastplate.

“Yes, it’s quite crowded, so please be careful.” Reinoshin clung to the train strap, maintaining as composed a demeanor as possible with each jostle of the car and its passengers. Through gaps between shoulders, cheeks, and ears, his pockmarked face surveyed the variety of sideburns, hairpins, hat brims, and gazes—sipping them one by one like palate cleansers between courses in a solitary feast. “Ah, an Edo native wouldn’t know this flavor,” he mused, sucking his teeth with relish as he stroked his chin with one hand, savoring the drifting perfumes of women in the crowded car. But at the conductor’s warning, grasping its implication, he stiffened abruptly, shuddered with a chill that pierced his skin, and tensed his body for action.

The moment he pulled back, he seized the wrist of the young man in the workman's coat with his slimy hands—drenched in both the cold sweat of the moment and lingering greasy sweat. The Moralist-sensei's virtue was not solitary—it seemed a pickpocket had been sitting right beside him. “…………” Trembling and flustered, he simply glared. The young man—not even wearing a headband in his artisan-like manner—jerked into a bow so deep his hair shook. “Forgive me,” he pleaded with a furtive, pitiful look.

“O-out… out with it!”

he said in a trembling voice,

“Idiot!” he snapped. “Forgive me, I beg you, please…!” Still clinging to the leather strap, the artisan went limp and looked utterly dejected—less like someone wishing to vanish from shame and more like one who, in remorse for his crime, had strangled himself. “Hey!” he shouted again, his pockmarked face contorting uncontrollably as he raised a clenched fist and struck the side of the young man’s cheek with a smack. “Ah, ow!”

he leaned sideways, his voice turning tearful,

“That’s too cruel… sir… Ah, ow!” With another fist, he triumphantly— “There’s nothing ‘cruel’ about it!”

Amidst the sudden uproar of many people rising to their feet, inside the train like black clouds scudding past the moon. Clutching a leather briefcase protectively, the conductor said in a shrill, rapid voice, “Excuse me—what’s going on here? What’s going on here?”

Thirty-three Given that the gentleman with a pure white collar and neatly parted hair had grabbed the workman’s coat and was shouting “Hand it over! Hand it over!”, the situation became immediately clear at a glance, and the conductor wasted no time in firmly seizing the culprit’s shoulder. “Get off—now,”

With one forceful jerk, he released the strap and staggered against the wall. As they leaned back against the workman's coat once more—the three of them tangled together and pressed out toward the conductor's platform—the driver, who had been standing by since earlier with his hand on the door handle after swinging it open to peer inside, brought the train to a halt at that very station without ringing the bell. In the area where Mitakesan lies a short distance past and Hitotsubashi-dori can be seen to the right, this streetcar would, as you well know, pass in front of Tomeikan and continue on to Ryogoku.

“Just a moment…” The conductor too gripped the culprit’s shoulder in this major incident; breathing rapidly, he restrained the four or five crew members waiting to push their way in while leaning backward and pulling the suspect into a defensive stance—then Reinoshin thrust both hands forward and followed with a heavy thud. From behind came seven or eight people trooping out, scrambling eagerly to witness the spectacle. Seeing something was amiss, those about to board now halted and pressed around them. Two women joined the crowd.

Once the crowd had been expelled outside, the wind swept through, leaving the car refreshingly transparent. Though the passengers’ knees remained neatly aligned in their seats, they twisted around as they pleased to peer through the glass doors. Among them sat a man who appeared to have been dozing unsteadily—one leg thrown over his knee, sleeves of his clove-and-tomoe haori folded together, his brown fedora pulled low over his forehead. This was Sakai Shunzo.

However, the moment Reinoshin was seen stepping outside now, the pupils of his clearly opened eyes showed not a trace of drowsiness. Presumably, though concealed within the crowd’s cover, Reinoshin had been noticed—and fearing that the professor might preface their conversation with “those translation matters” and proceed to broach “the marriage proposal affair” regardless of propriety or setting, he had likely devised this strategy there. However, there was not the slightest trace of any indication that he had disliked the marriage proposal.

“Were you robbed?” “Yes.”

As soon as he noticed this, Sakai—who had been sitting directly across—shifted to the right, away from his original position. There, precisely where the culprit had stood beneath the train’s sleeve-like overhang, Chikara was positioned, and thus he answered. “What do you mean? It’s just a commotion.” Chikara had restrained himself from causing a disturbance before the professor, but despite his disciple sitting composedly with hands on knees in feigned indifference, Sakai stood up decisively. Drawing himself up stiffly, he proceeded to the conductor’s platform and—at that moment—emerged onto the main street through the lingering crowd clustered beneath Yaji’s figure.

In a role reversal, the culprit's hand flew with a smack, shattering Reinoshin's pockmarks as if sparks would fly. "You foreign ape!" Unthinkably—agh!—he pressed his cheek and retreated, then thrust his shoulder diagonally into the moralist's collar ornamentation and shoved sideways with force,

“What? What? What? What’re you saying?! Thief! Bandit!... Eat shit! What’s with that mug of yours, like lumpy porridge—go sugarcoat it, damn you! Well then, where exactly did I steal your wallet?” “I ain’t pulled any tricks here. In this crowded mess, I figured you’d stepped on my foot or something. Even if you did step on my foot, the way you’re getting angry is mighty grand—but take a look at that face! It’s no different from a heel. Hahaha!”

And laughter echoed into the night street, “You’re the one getting angry over having your face stepped on—just resign yourself to it.” “Consider it a blessing—the honorable day laborer craftsman has deigned to apologize to the salaried worker.” “I don’t know when they cooked up this damn rule—‘Don’t go sticking your crotch out!’—like some fat nursemaid getting all worked up over nothin’. Annoying as all hell, but since we’re all boardin’ knowing that, if you go stepping on other folks’ feet, you’ll get dragged right off—so just resign yourself to it.”

and gave a quick bow to the conductor, “Heave-ho! Once I step down… What’s this? A pickpocket?” “What’re you callin’ a pickpocket?”

He lunged at Reinoshin again.

Thirty-four

“You’re hollerin’ ‘I was robbed! I was robbed!’—who knows how much kitchen cash you’ve skimmed over the years—but with that mug of yours, you never had two coins to rub together anyway.” “Hmph, you blockhead.” “Either way, you got robbed alright—but with that dimwit face, did you even have enough in your own purse here to begin with? You’d have had it swiped long ago.” “C’mon then—let’s see the goods! Strip off that kimono and show us your Kanda-raised hide! You ain’t courtin’ some lady here—no fear of ruinin’ your eyes—go on and let us admire that starched loincloth of yours in peace!”

“Well then—after putting on that composed act—let’s see what you’ll do.” “Ah, the wind has shifted! The wind has shifted!” With that declaration, Sakai cheerfully returned to Hara’s seat. Passengers came clattering in from the conductor’s platform. Immediately after—having presumably reported the situation to the guard and handed over the incident—the conductor returned listlessly, gave his leather bag a clattering shake, and jingled the bell. Yet he still leaned halfway out onto the main street with lingering reluctance, watching the jostling crowd churn below as the train continued onward as if merely passing by.

Like how Hasegawa might have displayed the moonlit scenery of Kintaikyo Bridge with stage props, the few trains that had been lined up in a row and come to a stop turned the main street into a revolving stage.

Inside the train car where the incident occurred, rumors swirled in all varieties. "That is the pickpocket’s technique," remarked a man who appeared to be a small merchant-type with some discernment, wearing an apron that suggested he was part of the same group. "Given how nervous he looked at first, there’s no doubt he did the deed—but by the time we get off this train, he’ll have slipped it into his accomplice’s sleeves. With no evidence left, he’ll turn the tables on you." To this, the retired gentleman with the monk-like tonsure admonished, "One must search seven times before suspecting others—such careless accusations should not be made lightly, no."

“If you say so, then that gentleman in Western attire who claims to have been robbed is quite a peculiar individual as well.” “As for this young lady here—” Hōnen Tenmado tapped the knee of a plump-skinned girl sitting beside him who appeared to be his granddaughter— “you kept reaching out to touch her hairpin while standing there.” “Given your own conduct,” he continued, “this girl grew so embarrassed pleading ‘Please stop! Please stop!’ that I nearly spoke out myself—‘What are you doing?’—but held back for her sake.” “Grandma, stop it!” The girl repeated her plea here too, her face flushing crimson.

Hōnen Tenmado forced a bitter smile… whether it was being pestered from behind or having large, hairy legs thrust at them from the front—such scenes existed even in jōruri puppet plays, you see. In the old days, women were shamelessly harassed on those up-and-down ferry boats, but to think they’d do such things even inside trains nowadays… Well, in the end, those nuisances are more troublesome than pickpockets, I tell you. “It was futile—after all, you’d gone and yanked him down so abruptly! With that, everyone scattered every which way all at once. Even if there’d been accomplices nearby, they’d have darted off quicker than you could blink—leaving no trail to follow,” retorted the small merchant-type passenger. “If not a single passenger had scattered and stayed put, we wouldn’t have been able to wash our hands of it either.” “If the police come,” he added, “it could lead to an investigation.” “Well, what’ll happen next? A pickpocket’s only guilty if caught red-handed. Without evidence, if they claim ignorance—that’s that.” “Besides,” declared a young apprentice-like fellow clutching a leather briefcase, his voice rising as he argued with the countryman beside him, “who knows if he was truly robbed? The fool probably never had much to steal anyway.”

After all, this was not a matter worth celebrating for Moralist-sensei. He was not the type to take pleasure in others' misfortunes, yet neither was he noble enough to grieve over Reinoshin's troubles as if they were his own. Chikara, who seemed likely to say something like "Look at this mess" if things worsened, listened intently to the adults' unfavorable rumors with a heavily clouded expression. Why was he truly feeling so despondent?

He must not forget that Professor Sakai across from him was, in some way, glaring at him as if scrutinizing his every move.

Thirty-five It was only natural to succumb to gloom. Though surrendering himself to the train’s motion, Chikara felt adrift—as if carried upon clouds—with no certainty of where he might be taken. Earlier, at the Yakushi festival, he had obediently accompanied Professor Sakai from Suidobashi Station aboard the Outer Moat Line to his own residence in Iidamachi as instructed. But that night—between the street vendor’s sharp rebuke and the professor’s icy demeanor along the way—it became clear Sakai’s customary balance of kindness and authority had tipped decisively toward punishment. On the train, Chikara had shrunk into a corner, grateful for the crowded car that let him hide his face in human shadows, shielded from that piercing glare. Yet now, having disembarked at Kagurazaka and crossed Mitsuke Bridge—its arch looming unnaturally high tonight—the fortune-teller’s lantern by the ink-black stone wall flickered like phantom fire. As wind through pines along the embankment whispered suddenly around him, his footing grew unsteady, his heart darkened, and what pressed upon his breast was Otsuta’s plight.

Entirely due to the dreadfulness of that glaring gaze—for whatever he sought to conceal was tied to the satin obi—he now approached the entrance... Though he dared not speak fondly of his lover, he could hear his own footsteps.

If those footsteps—his own among others—were clearly perceived with a "Welcome back," someone would surely emerge. What particularly churned his mind was Taeko's situation. This very concern had brought him here to inquire about Masagocho's affairs, but lacking the Shingen-school composure implied by that spousal adage about shared traits, he found himself hopelessly incapable of masking his turmoil.

If it were exposed... Chikara broke into a cold sweat, his chest pounding. Unfortunately, Sakai—true to form—marched ahead without speaking, leaving no chance for explanation; already they stood at the alley leading to his house.

Unable to bear it any longer, he called out, “Professor!”—but since it would be rude with the maid asleep—he hurried ahead. No sooner had he spoken than—I’ll go first!—he propelled himself forward bodily, dashing sideways through the alley while thinking: Ah, even I recognize how clumsy my excuse was. Wait! Wait! Then came a voice calling out to him. Sakai stopped there. He stood resolutely— To disturb a household that’s been asleep since evening—how pitiful that would be. Let’s go elsewhere—you come with me.

And so the path changed—as the Professor directed, what he boarded with the sensation of being seized by an eagle was this Ryōgoku-bound train— He had no leisure whatsoever to reflect on rumors about Moralist-sensei, whether favorable or damning. Even as the train pierced straight through Manseibashi crossing, the eagle showed no sign of folding its wings—leaving Chikara to wonder: Would he face exile down the Sumida River now? Or perhaps lighter punishment—expulsion from Tokyo beyond Honjo? He closed his eyes in resignation and hung his head.

“Hayase,”

“Yes, sir.” “We’re getting off.” The broad avenue, now fully unfurled before them, appeared as a brocade curtain studded without a gap—second-floor lights, third-floor lights, shop lights, streetlights in azure, chartreuse, and crimson—only to be instantly fragmented by layers of passing figures into thousands of gleaming bell-filled orbs that rustled with the wind and seemed cast scattering in all directions. Here, where the night clouds layered thickly with green hues—perhaps from the tide flowing into Sumida, the water’s shadow, or stars twinkling.

The figures of Sakai and Chikara became two specks along this broad avenue. Having fully crossed Asakusabashi Bridge, they entered diagonally into a side street where Fukikama loomed like a giant and Jinrin stood castle-like at opposing corners. Through countless polished-glass lanterns under the eaves—alluringly desolate, flickering like falling snow—they proceeded stealthily, cloaked as if in straw raincoats. Kashiwa House

Thirty-six At length, passing before a grand restaurant where white paper marked "Reserved" contrasted against dark gate pillars and brightly lit paving stones—all hushed yet eerily resonant with shamisen notes that flickered like water flowing—they moved through three or four shadows cast by house lanterns while being welcomed by sacred lanterns' glow. Reaching the middle of that side street with its rain-dampened ground and glossy eaves, they came upon a single mist-hazed path.

Between the eaves of two geisha houses, peering through revealed a bamboo fence in the depths like sketched in pale ink and a single plum tree with cool young leaves. Though there was no moon, they walked with an air of refined elegance; beyond the opposing wooden fence, a green willow's stealthy form swayed smoothly, strands of trailing foliage caught as if in its teeth. Passing between plum and willow trees, Sakai turned along the bamboo fence when—from the neighboring house's rear entrance—a low stone lantern crouched in squatting form peered at the alluring sway of his haori's back.

Chikara stood surveying his surroundings. With shoulders hunched and hands tucked in his sleeves, Professor Sakai lazily knocked twice on the lattice door—*ton-ton*—as pattering footsteps sounded and the veranda's rain shutters opened a sliver. Through the gap flashed Tomozome-patterned fabric revealing a perfectly round face; even without lamplight, those piercing eyes beneath sharply cut bangs were visible across the single-layer partition. Catching sight of the clove tomoe crest directly before her, she offered a knowing smile before withdrawing silently—pat-pat-pat—her footsteps retreating.

Not long after—seemingly triggered by someone tightening a screw somewhere—the electric light in the small tatami room flickered on abruptly. At this signal appeared a geisha with a Shimada hairstyle: slender-waisted, around twenty years old, her narrow face lightly powdered with sharply defined eyebrows and tightly drawn lips, affecting an exaggeratedly respectable air. With his lined kimono properly arranged and apron tied without adjusting the hem, Professor Sakai stepped into garden clogs, clacked across two or three stepping stones, then pushed open the door and surged inside—where a wordless blow struck his back once. This was Tsunaji, the fashionable geisha known as junior to Koyoshi, the elder sister of this Kashiwa House.

“What an exaggerated fortress.” “It’s positively perilous, you know.” “Have you saved even a penny?”

He roughly ascended the corridor. Following the professor, Chikara—his face clouded—passed by Tsunaji closing the door behind them. “What a rare visit!” “………” “Is Sister Tsutakichi well?” came a soft voice. Chikara started with a jolt, ultimately saying nothing. Wearing a fearful expression, he shot a brief glare, quietly stepped up, and slipped his body through the open shoji—only to crouch at the threshold edge.

Professor Sakai stood abruptly in the center of the tatami room—as Tsunaji entered, having slid the rain shutters closed to obscure the tea-colored garden behind her. “Well? Do I look like some dashing fellow put on display?” he demanded, striking a bold pose with his chest thrust forward. “I couldn’t say,” she replied, her voice coolly deferential. “Do show it to Elder Sister—she’ll return soon enough.” “Since you’re blind to what’s before you,” he retorted, “you’ll keep grinding tea leaves forever. These days, even schoolgirls aren’t home at this hour. Why not scamper off to Hibiya instead?”

“Reserved Sir, our banquet rooms have only just opened for the evening.”

From before the mirror, she smoothly pulled the floor cushion and straightened it beside the alcove. “Here you go, Mr. Hayase,” she said, placing another cushion. Chikara left it placed beside his knee. The one wearing the Tomozome-patterned haori came carrying a brazier from the shop and placed it carefully beside his knees as if it were something precious, whereupon Professor Sakai—crossing his legs into a casual seated position—tucked it between his knees and stroked his mouth once. “Go on, lay it out.”

he looked toward Chikara.

“Yes,” With just that response, he stiffened as if pierced by those eyes, looking nowhere, and when he turned his face away—there it was, the mirror before the heavy chest. The willow-like hair being combed there must be long; the height of that mirror was considerable.

Thirty-seven “Do make yourself comfortable—when you visit this house, the Professor won’t do a thing. There’s no need to hold back.” With spirited determination, she dominated the literary scholar. This woman found herself feeling constrained by Chikara’s composure rather than pitying him for it. Yet with the Professor, she sat unceremoniously beside him, knees propped up as she leveled the brazier’s ashes and briskly smoothed its rim with her hand.

“One tea—hot.” Sakai pretended not to hear this, “And sake.”

Tsunaji turned back toward the low entrance sliding door and, in a prayer-like manner, knocked with her snow-white hands. “Do it yourself.” “You lazy thing—don’t slack off to extremes.” “I refuse. “You’re failing to maintain proper vigilance.” “Because Elder sister has given you instructions.” While saying this, he smiled nostalgically, “Say, Mr. Hayase.”

"Well, perhaps," he said, gradually shifting back on his knees. From a distance, he arched his back and stretched forward, extending his arm to light a rolled tobacco—but upon catching sight of the undergarment sleeve that Otsuta had measured with a ruler, he grew self-conscious and hastily withdrew.

“Why not open it a bit? It feels stuffy in here.” “The veranda?”

“Hmm,” When he nodded, Tsunaji swiftly stood up and opened the casement window behind them. Through it could be seen a forbidding black-painted fence topped with anti-climb spikes—brand new—leaving only a narrow gap for rainwater runoff. “Why don’t you take a proper look?” She turned toward Chikara, laughing again. Sakai gazed fixedly at the fence. “A whole expanse of standing cedars—a dense forest indeed.” He chuckled quietly to himself. “But given it’s the site of a mountain fire, this pitch-black is ghastly.” “I too once thought I’d eventually be taken into this household, but after they built the back addition and the river view disappeared, I changed my plans.”

There came Tomozome flitting over.

“The first tea—quickly.”

“Yes,” “Make sure it’s hot.” “Hey—don’t just use children. At least show some concern for those who stand and eat.” “What about Tami? That one’s fine.” “Because she works diligently.” “When she returns later, I’ll have her pour sake without fail.” “Well—with that charm of hers.” “If you’re so fond of youth, then the young lady of your household would be suitable.” “Hey—Mr. Hayase.”

To this，Hayase did not respond，and the Professor smiled wryly. “Taeko has become quite difficult lately．Exchanging glances with my wife—she just can’t handle the sake flask properly．She won’t even pour the first serving．At school，they apparently call her ‘Miss Sake-Pourer．’ For children，they certainly come up with appropriately sarcastic remarks．”

“To you，even a child would already be of marriageable age，wouldn't she? Sometimes those school graduates who visit here too go on about 'Professor Sakai’s angel' or something like that—making such a fuss，you know.”

“So, a baby, is it? Whose little boy is that?” “Oh my, saying such a thing. And someone like Mr. Hayase here is just the right age for it, don’t you think?” Though she had stated it so nonchalantly, Chikara pressed the Three-Worlds Divination from his pocket against his chest and looked down. “Yet she herself treats marriage like it’s child’s play—a mere picture of a mouse.” He started to say but then smiled gently, “Hmm, this is dangerous talk to have in front of the cat.”

He blew smoke toward a profile, “Scratch it for me,” she said, raising her hand, but then rose from her seat as if remembering something.

“What’s wrong with the telephone, I wonder,” he muttered, starting to leave.

“Hey, where’s the old hag?” “She’s already gone to bed.” “No—an old person would prefer it that way.”

Without letting the atmosphere turn awkward, Tsunaji immediately turned back and said, "Elder Sister says they've already left."

No sooner had she spoken than a single rickshaw, swift as a loosed arrow, came rattling to the gate. "Coming through!" came the rickshaw driver's voice.

38

“Is that so?” With a... meaningful gentle voice directed briefly at someone, the one who soundlessly slid open a fusuma door and entered smoothly was Koyoshi returning from the banquet room. Her melon-seed-shaped face, with its straight nose and gentle eyes, was thin yet spirited; even her abundant black hair suggested domestic competence and refined grace. Thickish eyebrows; a neat hairline; freshly washed hair pulled taut into a gingko-leaf twist, cleanly parted by comb teeth—like willow branches glistening with rain, cool and lustrous. The kimono collar smoothed over her shoulders; the rear view of her obi tied slightly higher in a drum shape appeared as though reflected in a full-length mirror—as though emerging from a slender, water-clear moon—so noble it seemed. Indeed, if this woman’s mother were here, even the old woman of the geisha house would nod in agreement and go to bed early.

“My, you’ve made it here after all.” Greeting Chikara with a smile, her appearance—modestly accompanying Professor Sakai in a dark brown two-layered kimono patterned with crane-feather crests; an indigo-grey half-collar; an off-white Hakata silk obi with old man’s plaid; and an antique-patterned sky-blue crepe underrobe—bowed effortlessly. Given the night’s delicate circumstances, Chikara respectfully lowered his hands. “Good day,” he said with a polite bow.

At that moment, the Professor looked despondent,

“Since when does anyone greet geisha?” Though a retort was warranted, Elder Sister being meek, “Your tea has gone cold,”

Taking Sakai's teacup, she briskly stood up and poured it out from the open bay window into the dark rain gutter with a splash, then glanced back over her shoulder diagonally. "That's quite the grand tea cozy you've got at your place." "You're always saying such things," he said as he looked at Chikara and smiled gently—his age suited even dyed white teeth, with not a trace of impropriety showing. Then Koyoshi lowered her eyes and poured tea for the two men. However, Tsunaji—whose role required her presence there—upon the carriage's arrival promptly declared, "Well then, time to depart," and hastily exited the tatami room—this should be understood.

Sakai lightly adjusted his collar. "Now then—about the meal—" "Tsunaji-san has already made arrangements." "Another hotpot, I suppose? With extra shirataki noodles, they said." "How does that sound?" She glanced at him sideways, her smile brimming with quiet delight. "It'll be a meager catch either way." He dismissed the matter with a wave before turning squarely to face him. The voice that called "Hayase" turned grave. "Yes." "Show me that Three-Worlds Divination book from earlier."

Since there seemed to be a matter requiring careful attention, he started in surprise—it was not something he could decline. ...Even if they cleaned the Kashiwa House attic, such a thing would never be found there—so he hesitantly offered up the slightly soiled volume under the electric light to the Professor's hands. He took it, flipped it open forcefully, leaned in and raised a knee, his expression growing stern. When he saw this, it was Chikara whose blood ran cold; Koyoshi, completely oblivious, leaned in with a cheerful expression,

“Have you found some clue?” He gave no answer. He viciously stubbed his half-smoked cigarette into the ashes. “What’s this about?” Caught off guard by his abrupt question, Koyoshi stared at Sakai’s face as if mesmerized... “You know... that spirited one... skilled in Kiyomoto music... so full of life...” He kept flipping through the tattered book, “They say when she adjusts her obi before the mirror... it’s like watching a painting...” Under his piercing gaze, Koyoshi seemed drawn into some invisible current— “Tsutakichi.”

Having said this, he forgot his half-smoked pipe. Chikara shuddered by the skylight. “What became of her?”

“Huh?” “I’ve been stuck in Yamate and haven’t heard a thing about your affairs—business still booming here?”

Thirty-Nine Koyoshi involuntarily—her gaze flowing toward Chikara with an unvoiced Oh, what should I do?—forced herself to suppress this impulse, her face trembling as she looked at Sakai.

“Ms. Tsutakichi has already been manumitted, I heard.” Without letting her finish, “(That’s right—) How suspicious.” “Living right in the neighborhood—how could anyone not know? Can you definitively state she’s been manumitted?!” “Yes,” Koyoshi replied, lowering her eyes—her gentle eyelashes fluttered toward Chikara’s face as if signaling, Do something. Sakai, without so much as glancing at Chikara, adopted a leisurely tone, “How commendable—leaving that mire of a profession was most auspicious." “So where is she now? Back then…?”

“I’m not certain… Um, they say she’s somewhere in Fukagawa.”

“Fukagawa? “Was she manumitted by someone named Fukagawa, or do you mean Fukagawa across the river?” “………….” “Well? Hey! Is there anyone who doesn’t know?” “Didn’t you say you were on good terms, like sisters?” “Even though your sworn sister has been manumitted, you don’t know her whereabouts—how could that be possible?” “You were calling her ‘sister’ and ‘Koyoshi-san’—they must’ve distributed red rice for the manumission celebration over there. You ate it, didn’t you? That stuff.” “They went on about how fluffy it was and what a nice color it had—so pleased with themselves. And we even chipped in fifty sen for postage or whatever as our congratulatory gift, didn’t we? “It’s written in your household ledger, isn’t it?” “How could there be anyone who doesn’t know where that woman has gone?”

“If you don’t know, you’re a fool! Of course—given that someone like me would even stoop to associate with a simpleton—it’s clear you were never clever from the start! I don’t care if she’s a fool—she’s just a geisha anyway, outside proper society! A geisha’s foolishness I’ll tolerate, but heartlessness is unforgivable! Heartlessness! The truly heartless ones are people like us!” “When have I ever been heartless—”

Just as she indignantly stiffened, Sakai’s fury proved too intense, and her voice faltered, choked with tears. “I’m not heartless! “Heartlessness?” “If I don’t know the whereabouts of a woman I’m close to, does that make me heartless?” “But… Master. “But… the other party hasn’t been sending any messages either, so…” “Even if the other party doesn’t send word, your heartlessness can’t be excused.” “Why don’t you come asking us?” “It’s because of this line of work—there’s no time to spare.” “Even if we don’t visit, not knowing where they live—what if there’s a fire nearby?!” “You don’t even send the neighborhood head to check after a fire! How can you call yourselves close friends? That’s heartless! That’s cold!”

Seeing the elder sister tremble, Chikara, unable to endure his self-inflicted anguish,

“Professor,”

He called out—but only in his heart, the words never leaving his lips. Sakai paid no heed,

“It’s a shame—since I don’t want you, who’s practically family, to seem heartless, I’ll tell you where she is.” “That’s the route you take when visiting Horinouchi.” “Bring a bag of rice crackers or something when you go see her.” “Hey! Tsutakichi’s right now living at Hayase Chikara’s place in Iidamachi Gochome.”

He turned deathly pale,

“Professor,” “Hayase!” With a sharp shout, he pivoted his knees, and like a sudden gust scattering dark clouds, sent the Three-Worlds Divination hurtling through the air to land with a thud before Chikara.

His eyes blazed as if— “Look! That bastard’s got his summer kimono thrown on like some country bumpkin! The woman wears a sedge hat and holds a shamisen—that illustration of the gate entrance shows your compatibility. You knew from the start, didn’t you? At this late hour, skulking around my jurisdiction in backwater Hongō and sneaking peeks through that Three-Worlds Divination—what’s the damn point?” It was precisely that level of idiocy that made stallkeepers mock him. “What a fine dirt farmer you’ve turned into, you provincial oaf!”

Forty

Chikara finally spoke—with a voice as dry as if his saliva had evaporated, rasping— “The reason I was examining the Three-Worlds Divination... it wasn’t for anything like that...” His words faltered into silence. “Were you translating something? Perhaps your past life was an ox or a horse?”

The sharp interrogation, almost farcical in its mock-seriousness, made his words stand out more clearly, "No—actually, it's not that... "Well, I heard your daughter's marriage negotiations have been ongoing for some time now, so..."

Koyoshi quietly looked at Sakai. She had only recently heard about Taeko’s marriage proposal and seemed intrigued by it. “Ah! So you examined Taeko and Kano Eikichi’s compatibility, did you?” Indeed, through Reinoshin’s maneuvering, the professor already knew about the Taira nobles—and Chikara, even in this moment, forgot himself.

“Yes,” he said, and when he inadvertently looked up at the Professor’s face, his eyelids darkened as if swept by a sudden shadow, his eyebrows knitting tightly at their roots. “Much obliged for your concern." "What business does some lowly disciple have meddling in Taeko’s marriage proposal—one backed by Sakai Shunzo as her father and Tsutsui (the mother’s name) as her clearly distinguished mother?" "Audacious! Disrespectful! Divine retribution awaits!"

“You complained about managing this male household—no, whined about the food being bad or the maid serving nothing but grilled tofu—but listen well: that tiered meal I brought over recently? Taeko cut the udo stalks, and my wife simmered them. Since you lot lack proper utensils—how wasteful!—after I personally inspected and artfully arranged those tiered boxes, you had the gall to use serving chopsticks with some streetwalker and spout impertinent nonsense about not measuring up to Benmatsu!”

“It’s a wonder that arrowhead didn’t get lodged in your throat and kill you on the spot. How utterly insolent! And on top of that, what do you mean by interfering with Taeko’s marriage talks?” he bellowed. Chikara instinctively straightened up defiantly, “Interfering... I—how could I possibly interfere with such a thing?” “You’re not interfering! Then why did you refuse when Sakata asked you to make the introduction regarding the marriage proposal?” “—” “Why did you refuse?”

“That Moralist—” “What about the Moralist?” “Enough.” “The Moralist isn’t some dog like you—not a beast!” “They say you voiced dissatisfaction—disapproval even—toward the Kano family’s ideals and principles.” “What dissatisfaction? What disapproval?!” “Don’t speak like a human!” “You overstepping cur—know your station!” “First! How could that warped mentality of yours grasp the Professor’s intentions?!” “Whether you disapprove while I approve, or you object while I’m convinced—what could you possibly know?”

“After making all sorts of complaints—(*‘Your disciple must fancy the young lady,’* Sakata sucked his teeth in understanding)—what do you say to that?” “What?! “Those pockmarks—” he shot back, his face flushing. Chikara was now beading with sweat, “This isn’t like other matters—you can’t ignore this. “I—I must speak with Sakata again.” “Discuss with Sakata? “No need to discuss anything with Sakata. “What would you do if you thought that way? What would the Professor do if he thought that way?”

“Who would do such a thing, Professor?” “Nonsense—the student at my entrance hall also said that whenever Sakata came to see me, your eyes would shift suspiciously.” “The rickshaw puller said it too—his wife said it as well!” “Asking around, ‘Has anyone come inquiring about Taeko?’—you even went to the rickshaw stands to ask, I hear.” “Aren’t you ashamed? How far do you plan to parade that thinly bearded face of yours around, putting on such airs?” He gruffly shook the brazier.

41 “Who’s this fool staggering east and west around my neighborhood like a fox-possessed madman—turning it into Kasai Kaidō and stinking it up with manure buckets?” “And from what I hear, they claim it’s inconvenient—no, downright uncouth—for the Kano side to be scrutinizing Taeko’s background, but…”

Ah, Reinoshin has blabbered everything... “What do peasants know of pride or disgrace?” “Listen here—Kano isn’t some fox-possessed wretch like you!” “A distinguished man with academic credentials is taking a precious bride. What do you expect if they don’t investigate thoroughly? It’s only natural to investigate. Don’t turn a geisha into a wet nurse.” “Moreover, I want you to investigate my side thoroughly. Go ahead—criticize me anywhere you like! I’ve raised her with Tsutomu so that she can be shown naked without shame.”

“What’s there to fear? What’s your complaint? What’s so difficult? I’ve no idea how much more trouble your fumbling about causes than their investigations!” “Even if you find their background checks bothersome—if it irks you—I understand perfectly well. Not a single finger—on the day I concealed Taeko’s background, even if those moralists swarm like masseurs with canes and peer over fences, they’ll find not a speck! Who do you think did this? Hey—it was me!”

He glared intently once more, “Why didn’t you stay calm and collected—no, why didn’t you say ‘How auspicious!’ and make the introduction when asked? When some Moralist who calls this ‘irritating’ and ‘uncouth’ grabs you by the scruff of your neck”—(here he imitated Sakata’s teeth-sucking)—“‘Ah, Mr. Hayase’s turned into quite the wounded boar over this!’—that’s how he mocks you!” “You damn fool! I’ve got disciples to spare, but you’re the only one I kept at my side since childhood—letting you suck candy sticks—the only one raised alongside Taeko. Why would that subordinate of mine do something to be ridiculed by moralists?”

(“There exists such a man in society.”) “As they say—bitten by one’s own kept dog.” “‘Since then, that disciple has shown not an ounce of interest in the young lady.’ Do you know what Sakata said?” “You damn fool—” His pressing tone now carried a note of paternal affection. “He wasn’t entirely witless—this is divine punishment.” “The penalty for blinding your Professor’s eyes and dragging in that kept woman has struck—malice itself has possessed you.” “She’s a daughter on the verge of marriage—never again utter Taeko’s name with that fox-bewitched mouth.”

“Don’t get cocky picking faults with the Moralist—as a slap to your face, I’ll have my daughter handed off to Kano Eikichi! You’d better believe it!”

“Master,”

Koyoshi raised her face and, “Mr. Hayase, I do not know what misstep may have occurred on your part, but it was certainly not done with any ill intent toward your household or the young lady…” Her voice clouded. “…it would never have been done with any wish to bring harm.”

“What?” “Why would someone who claims not to mean harm drag a geisha into this and commit such shameless acts against their master?” “And you—”

A bolt of lightning streaked westward, “You’re cut from the same cloth! Conspirators! Equally guilty!” “You—what do you imagine geishas to be?” “Do you think this some rare delicacy, like some green apprentice gaping at Shinbashi on their first holiday?” “Being the fool you are, you presume that by burdening me with inconveniences and escaping unscathed, I must prize keeping a geisha’s paramour about—is that your notion?” “Stop spewing such arrogance—lower your head!” He started and bowed deeply, tears pooling in his eyes. “Nothing of the sort! Master, you couldn’t possibly be grateful for this...”

“Why did you introduce Tsutakichi to my prized disciple when there’s nothing to be thankful for?!” Chikara braced his hands against the floor and slid backward out of the room.

“Professor—Elder sister knows nothing about this—it’s all a misunderstanding—” she exhaled a deep breath from her chest, “Shut up!” “Since the day I was born, the only misjudgments I’ve made have been you two.”

42 “I beg your pardon for contradicting you, but—” Chikara, sensing Koyoshi’s affection might prove detrimental, could no longer remain still and braced himself, “I know not who whispered such things to you, but the very idea of a geisha residing within these walls is outrageous.” “After all, there’s nothing questionable about that Sakata.” “I stand prepared regarding that bastard,” he declared fervently, eyes bloodshot, yet the murkiness of his situation showed no signs of clearing.

“You have resolve—what resolve?!” “Having no excuse for yourself—planning to hang yourself?” “No—Sakata’s bastard is making baseless claims—” “Fool!” After scolding, he eased his tone, “Enough excuses!” “How dare you! You think I’m some Sakai who eavesdrops on private quarrels and suspects groundless things?” “It’s your own blindness that made you commit wrongs, yet you act smug thinking you’ve deceived me.” “What happened earlier? What happened at Ushigome Mitsuke?” “Panicking with some ready-made excuse—‘The maid’s asleep; how rude’—you rushed out. Explain that!” “The old woman isn’t running a moneylending den—where’s this servant who sleeps before ten when the master’s away?”

“And who exactly said it’s rude to still be asleep? Even if my eyes are dim, they shine bright enough to see through you lot. Among my informants in Iidamachi, there are those who know exactly what impertinent women’s geta lie hidden beneath the entryway’s raised floor—down to the color of their thongs. You imbeciles! A household so inept at keeping secrets they couldn’t conceal even applying moxa to a guest’s boots—one the Moralist would call ‘a domestic horror’—dares plot to blind my eyes and scheme a rebellion grand enough to shake the realm?!”

“If you’re going to do evil, at least do it with more finesse and grandeur! Go on—make a perfect spectacle of your own idiocy! Even when spouting the same damn lecture, I’ll grudgingly praise you for that one point—though I’ll be tallying every nose hair while I do it—since it’s so damnably thorough. Third-rate lackey! Even if you steal the Professor’s gaze, all you amount to is a fledgling (Tashen, Deep).” This was what they called an (abductor). Chikara abruptly supported his hands as if they might break. “Scared now, are you?”

"But... truly... that... such a thing..." "There isn't?" "……"

“Are you saying there’s no geisha inside?”

“Yes.”

Like a thunderbolt, “Get out!”

Koyoshi involuntarily stiffened her shoulders. "Mr. Hayase, I—I'm not—" As her voice trailed off, Koyoshi covered her face completely with the sleeves of her crested kimono, leaving not even her eyebrows visible. "No—you repulsive maggot! An apprentice who can't even face defeat with dignity!" "A stingy wretch like you isn't fit to stand upwind of a thief! To appear before Sakai is an outrage! Get out!" Even adultery has its circumstances; even filial impiety comes with justifications. With junior-level connections at play—once you've taken someone into your household—you need proper tools for every task, like keeping bonito flakes ready even for kitten disposal. "I meant to mediate matters, sever ties cleanly, and settle everything properly when coming to you—prepared with one or two hundred yen in my pocket."

“Even at this point—still—ah—you’ve misunderstood! Since you can’t even say ‘Please mediate this,’ your scheming to hide everything means you’d rather leave your house exposed to the heavens and keep quarreling with that woman! If you think you can make a living that way, then go ahead and try! If you find this mortifying, boy—go become a man like me! One who keeps a familiar geisha at his side and lets his own disciple chew him out! Then come back and start over!” “Get out, get out, get out! Disgusting! Why don’t you get out?! This is my tatami room! I’m driving you out of my tatami room! Won’t you get out, bastard?! I’m telling you to leave! If you don’t get up from there, I’ll kick you to death!”

“Oh my, please offer your apologies,” pleaded Koyoshi, flustered as she shielded him with her own body. Chikara wrung his frame as though urging himself to “Shatter!”,

“Ms. Koyoshi, please mediate,” he pleaded, staring fixedly as his face paled. “To your wife—plead with your wife!”

Forty-Three “What—asking your wife for help? Shut up!” “Do you think you’d have a geisha mediate your affairs?” “As I said earlier—Koyoshi, you’re one of them too. Those of a kind share the guilt!” “Once I’ve driven Hayase out, I’ll be the one expelled next—so consider this the end between us too.” As she was told, a stifled sound escaped her lips; the trembling of her shoulders shook her sleeves. Koyoshi, like a child, shook her head pathetically and made a disgusted face.

“Elder sister,”

With a resolute expression, Chikara raised his face; rubbing his eyelids, he put on a tone of forced vigor... yet his demeanor remained completely incoherent, descending into confusion. "You... you mustn't concern yourself... Professor,"

Once again, he supported himself with both hands, gasping for breath,

“There is no excuse. This unforeseen blunder has caused you trouble. Please—instead of saying such things to Elder Sister—direct your full displeasure at me.” “If I direct it fully, I’ll have no choice but to kick you to death!” He spat out the words, then finally took a deep drag of smoke. “So you were cowed after all. Tsutakichi is inside your house, isn’t she? You’ve stopped making excuses now.” “I misunderstood… I can offer no defense.”

No sooner had he exhaled a breath—almost a kiss—than his voice trembled tearfully.

Having now admitted her guilt, Koyoshi—who until this moment had been unable to intercede—judged that now was the time and, with her initial sincerity, began fumbling at the edge of her sleeve while... “I beg you to show leniency, Master.” “Ms. Tsutakichi doesn’t have any ill intentions.” “She would never do anything to harm Mr. Hayase’s household.” “She was doing her best.” “A courtesan as flamboyant as her couldn’t possibly hold a proper manumission celebration, Master. She even went without proper clothing, took on debts, and fled under cover of night to secure her freedom.”

"If she can just maintain a respectable household, in time society will forget her past profession, so it shouldn't damage Mr. Hayase's standing. By now she can handle laundry and even sew unlined garments—why, just the other night she came to see me late, you see." Her voice melted into a coquettishly tearful tone,

“‘I can’t go out during the day without a haori jacket,’ she sulked—but oh, how happy she looked!” “Moreover, being a timid geisha unfamiliar with the area—with Mr. Hayase away like this—she must be feeling so forlorn right now, clinging to the door, standing in the dirt-floored entryway, waiting for his return… When I imagine that…” Sky-blue stained her eyelids, the lightly pressed sleeve cuffs of her undergarment. Seeing her face glistening with tears under the moon, Chikara too let his tears stream down.

“Don’t spout such nonsense.” Without hesitation, Professor Sakai dismissed their tears, “Hayase—what do you say? Will you part ways?” “There is nowhere else for me to go—it can’t be helped. If only you would show mercy, Professor, my reputation and such matters…” “Social appearances,” he half-muttered, his mouth going dry. “No—absolutely not. I won’t allow it.” “That you deign to say such things is because you have society’s best interests at heart.” “As for myself—I alone have resolved this matter—while in society, those with considerable skills become wealthy sons-in-law through marriage, or you arbitrarily declare you’ll take a bride and demand physical examinations of others’ daughters,”

His face flushed crimson, and at that moment, a tinge of blood rose to his brow. “While there are those who teach at girls’ schools and arrange marriages… wouldn’t taking in society’s castoffs—those with no one to claim them—into one’s household be a lesser sin, though equally improper?” “I would never make her my wife or anything of the sort.” “I intend only to keep her discreetly as a lifelong servant living in obscurity—nothing more.” “Don’t be deluded.” “Those who become wealthy sons-in-law through skill or arrange matches at girls’ schools—that’s their business, as they’re not my disciples. But whoever takes a geisha into their household isn’t my disciple either. Don’t you understand?”

Forty-Four Just then, Tomozome appeared carrying the dining table—her loveliness resembled lingering late-blooming flowers against the atmosphere of seats that seemed like traces of a storm-wrecked gale. Even the gleaming electric lights—paired with the wintry wind and a lone moon in the sky—made the scene intensely bleak. The three people's mouths—not uttering a single word—seemed clamped shut as if ready to shout "Boo!" in unison for their own sake. Tomozome stiffened along with the flower in her hair, set down the meal tray, rose as though floating upward, and edged toward the sliding door in tiny steps.

River plovers passed through there, their chirring sounds coming to a halt. Even as someone bustled about carrying cup washers and bowl dishes, neatly arranging them in compact order, Elder Sister had merely shifted the brazier slightly before slumping forward—then, as if restraining herself from striking her head against it, she tilted her pallid hand resting on the fire tongs and her blank expression sharply sideways, leaning forward as if about to stand when she deemed the moment right— “Is this all there is to eat?” Sakai smiled, but in that moment—as if being force-fed salt through a skylight—Tomozome felt her dignity ripped open; she shriveled trembling behind the sliding door and melted into the wall’s shadows.

Because Tomozome had left in panic without closing the door behind her, Koyoshi began to notice and rise—but just then, Tsunaji came bustling in, swiftly smoothing her hemline. Upon hearing the urgent summons just delivered, she hurriedly drew heated sake from the copper kettle and planted herself imposingly before the long brazier. Having shed her apron completely, she stood in the iron-lined storage nook—brushing aside her white figured silk crepe with angular motifs and varicolored skirt, layered in matching double-lined robes beneath a black satin obi woven with golden tea-hued irises, scarlet satin underrobe sleeves revealing cold snow-pale arms—and without a trace of hesitation angled the sake decanter she carried.

“May I pour?” When she poured with a crisp sound, the bush warbler darted off—the electric light blended into the heat haze wavering above the meal tray, melting hazily back into spring.

“Is it still early evening?”

“Not just Kashiwa House alone,” she smiled gently. “You may go out freely—but how indecent.” “Oh? Why’s that?” “It’s past eleven—what sort of tatami-room business is this?” “Forgive me—this is the demimonde, you know.” “Come now, Mr. Hayase—eat up! Gulp it down.” “No, I’ve already...”

Chikara merely gazed at the sake cup. "You should read between the lines." As she poured another drink for the professor, "Our cherished Tamiko-chan has been detained at Oeyama—I must go rescue her." "I'm Watanabe's Tsunaji, you see." "Your precious logic amounts to chainmail masquerading as armor." "It's not like some shikoro helmet flap with overgrown roots—really now." "Elder Sister," She touched her hairpiece.

“No,”

Her words carried the unspoken meaning: (There’s no need for such concern.) Tsunaji, with an air of relief, lightly stroked her chest,

“Something delicious will come right after—”

“Elder Sister Tsunaji, there’s another phone call.” And from the corridor came the voice of an apprentice geisha. “Yes, yes, they’re calling me over there too. “Well then, I’ll be right back—don’t you go home now! I’ll bring Tamiko-chan over, and we’ll all have sweet bean soup together again.”

Sakai silently nodded.

“Mr. Hayase, take your time.” Ah, the departing spring—Chikara watched even that apprehensively before turning his face away from the professor’s gaze. Sakai solemnly presented the sake cup, “Hayase, come closer. Closer.”

Urging him closer, he raised his shoulders and stared fixedly,

“Now then—let us drink.” “What say you—shall this be our parting cup?” "—" “Or will you cast off the woman?” “Koyoshi—pour for him! Well? What say you, Hayase?” “Here—pour for him! Won’t you drink?”

Raising the sake decanter and taking the sake cup, the two faced each other.

45 At that moment, his gaze pierced left and right like lightning, "What are you dawdling for?"

“What are you dithering about?” “This is my humble request,” said Koyoshi, pressing one hand firmly against her pounding chest, “At least for tonight’s affair, please permit Mr. Hayase to return home.” “Let him reflect properly and give his answer anew—I beg of you, Master.” “Come now, Mr. Hayase, you must comply.” “Since the Professor insists so vehemently, you must show sound judgment here—I shall bear full responsibility for everything. So…”

Even when urged, he couldn’t bring himself to stand—Chikara was anxious about what would follow. “Even if Tsutakichi-san had done anything at all—no matter what—it would have been enough had I kept pretending not to know. But since everyone thinks the same way, I—”

With her chin buried deep in her collar and her words tumbling out in rushed breaths,

“Because it struck so close to home, I ended up doing this sort of thing—and if we trace it back to its origin…” “You being at fault like this—how could such a thing exist?”

He said with his shoulders tensed in an effort to shield her before Sakai, but as he tried to continue— “(Even if you don’t look after me……)”—the rest of that unspoken sentence settled in his heart as something proper, and he shrank back with a start. “No, I am the one at fault. So I will be scolded later, so you must go home now, no matter what…”

“I won’t allow it! What use is judgment or empty husks at such a moment?! If we spare this fool and send him back, he’ll likely abscond with the woman. We’ll seize you by the neck and cut you down where you stand.” “Hayase.”

he said in an irritated tone, “There’s no right or wrong here. Well then, even if I’m being unreasonable, it doesn’t matter. Even if I’m heartless, it’s no concern. Let the woman resent me. Let her weep. Let her waste away yearning until she dies for all I care. It’s the Professor’s order—cut it off.” “Abandon me or abandon the woman.” “Hmm, there are no other words beyond this.” “Well?” he seemed to say with a gesture of his chin, then calmly looked up at the ceiling, turned his back sharply, and slammed his elbows onto the table.

“I will abandon her.” “Professor.”

he declared clearly. At that moment, Koyoshi’s sake decanter and Chikara’s cup touched with a clink. “To eternity—the cup.” Having said this, he drank deeply and shut his eyes. Without speaking, keeping his back turned as if making small talk, the Professor addressed Koyoshi,

“That one—the hot one over there.—Another cup. Another.” One after another—five or six. When the sake flushed his face, he tucked his pocket items away, adjusted his haori cord, and stood up sharply. “Hayase—dry your tears before stepping outside.”

Koyoshi pressed firmly against Sakai’s shoulder, her bangs nearly touching him as she clung pleadingly from behind. “Are you leaving?” “Tsutsushi is ill.”

he slid open the storm shutters himself.

“That is impermissible,” she declared on the veranda, retrieving with practiced grace the sky-blue hem of her Sumida spring kimono that had fluttered down. Koyoshi’s weakened feet clattered against her garden clogs, but before the wicket gate could fully open, Chikara shifted his seat into the shadow of the shoji screen and busily puffed on a hand-rolled cigarette.

It was after about two o'clock that Chikara left through Kashiwa House's wicket gate—though it must have been closer to one by then. At that time, starting with Elder Sister along with Tsunaji and another—the young one called Tamiko who resembled a peony blossom—the three of them accompanied him as far as the alley corner. "Let's both endure this," Tsunaji declared in a flamboyant voice tinged with liquor as she saw Chikara off. Simultaneously, she and Elder Sister tightly clasped each other's hands. At that moment in the desolate backstreet—sandwiched between the white glow of a hanging lantern and the black shadow of a plank fence—a man lying low with his face wrapped in cloth peered both ways before stealthily emerging. After passing five or six steps beyond Hayase... he quickened his pace with soundless footsteps.

“Hey,” ………… “A moment ago... well.” “You really did me quite the favor back there now, didn’t you?”

The face that had removed its cloth covering… was that of the hanten-clad figure caught by Reinoshin in the train.

Who pulls the sleeve

Forty-Six

On Saturdays, classes ended by noon—with girls streaming from classrooms, Shōyō Girls' School blossomed all at once like hothouse flowers against green skies, their vibrant beauty bathed in radiant sunlight more fragrant than lilies, more violet than Japanese irises. The fifth-year seniors had finally filed out in quiet procession, and now not a single bloom remained overlooked. Among four or five people scattered toward the formal entrance, Taeko was there.

The young lady, most vivacious of them all, briskly flipped up the hem of her large crimson-dyed tomosode sleeve from its lilac-lined eight-openings and—as if leaping down in her haste—aligned her shoe tips before stepping onto the earthen floor with a soft *ton*, just as a janitor came clattering up in straw sandals.

“Ah, Miss Sakai.” he said. Being an honor student with such striking looks, there was no merchant frequenting the dormitory who didn’t know her; yet precisely because he was a familiar old janitor, he didn’t trouble himself with calling her Shōbu and instead addressed her by name. “Y-yes.” When she turned around, the janitor bent slightly at the waist, “The Vice Principal has a brief matter requiring your attention.” “For me...?”

“Please come with me for a moment.” “Oh, what could it be?”

Her friends too peered with startled expressions, whereupon at the exit—one aligning her komageta clogs, another beginning to open a parasol, yet another preparing to return together to the usual crossroads nearby—the regular companions all fell silent as they gazed at Taeko’s face from three directions. Was this arrangement something the vice principal had instructed in advance, or had the Old Man, discerning the wagging tongues around them, shown quick-wittedness? “There is something requiring conveyance to your father.”

“Oh, is that so?” Taeko smiled gently, directing her dark, pleading eyes at all three friends at once. “Will you wait for me?” As if by some prior agreement, even the other two patted their chests and giggled—conveying “We’re starving,” or so it seemed they meant. Taeko briskly followed the janitor back down the hallway while making an angry face, then turned around and rubbed her chest area in mimicry. “It’s in the reception room.” As they passed the faculty room, there was a calligraphy teacher facing away, meticulously smoothing a furoshiki cloth while wrapping something. Lying on his back beyond him, both elbows raised skyward while gripping his head against the chairback was the mathematics teacher. The woman who had just laughed boisterously in nurse-like attire was unmistakably the gymnastics instructor.

As something caught her eye while passing by, Taeko immediately looked down, her clacking footsteps quickening. Passing behind the staircase, she found the reception room door two rooms ahead half-open. Beyond paint-coated glass doors of a large bookshelf lay a few newspapers on the desk facing them—but instead, there under the glaring skylight was Miyahata Kanko, vice principal of this girls' school and holder of a bachelor's degree in ethics and English literature, reading midway through a new Western book whose spine glittered with golden letters. He was a close friend of fellow literary scholar Kano Eikichi—one of those individuals Chikara resented for "receiving favors in teahouses and returning them at school" (a case of trading shrimp tea for scarlet crepe).

The chronicler of this chapter thanks you, Vice Principal, for enabling him to insert here the inventive phrase "the lingering fragrance of Runanqi, rich and abundant" when describing a man. Of course, it goes without saying that this fragrance belonged to the twentieth century. Taeko remained, half her body hidden behind the door. The janitor continued straight past. Kanko directed his gleaming glasses toward her and glared sharply, narrowing his eyes and stiffening the tips of his beard, his rounded chin— “Over here,”

He said magnanimously and, recomposing himself, resumed his reading. Taeko remained pressed against the door, standing to the left of the entrance while keeping hold of her book bundle as she bowed gracefully—yet made no move to advance further. “Over here,” he called out casually this time without looking up from his reading, but when she still showed no sign of settling, he abruptly raised his head with such force that his glasses jumped on his nose. He pressed both hands firmly against his cheekbones, hastily adjusted the temples of his glasses along the bridge of his nose, clamped down his fluttering eyelashes in surprise, then dug his fingertips into his eye sockets and rubbed his eyelids vigorously.

“Ha, ha, ha,” he forced a meaningless laugh, but then turned back with a solemn expression. “Well?”

Forty-Seven When Vice Principal Kanko glared sharply again, expecting her to approach any moment, Taeko remained motionless, standing resolute. Her refined eyebrows appeared to float at the hairline like clouds as she kept her gaze lowered—perhaps intimidated by his vigor into keeping her head down. No, that must be it, he thought... yet it was not so. Professor Sakai’s daughter wore a smile. It was indeed a charming, innocent smile; yet to the Vice Principal in that moment, precisely because she neither obediently consented nor presented herself before him, it seemed to contain something malicious and unyielding. He made a bitter face,

“Miss Sakai, you must come here.” At that moment, the Vice Principal arched his chest and slammed his fist against the low table with a *don*; Taeko then stepped forward resolutely, facing him directly, her plump double eyelids opened wide and round without a trace of timidity.

“Do you require something?” The demeanor with which she spoke held an indescribable dignity; Kanko, caught off guard, was startled into looking down. Even if this were a classroom, for the two of them to speak privately was in fact the very first time since birth. But under any circumstances outside the classroom, it was impossible to imagine it being like this. But then—surely a man of the Vice Principal’s standing should not be in such a state—when he raised his doubtful eyes once more, there sat Miss Sakai, still as dignified as ever, gazing up at himself sitting straight-backed in his chair.

“Miss Sakai…” The voice’s origin wasn’t delivering an ethics lecture. His throat convulsed with tremors – “Ahem!” He coughed into a handkerchief, wiped his mouth, and scanned the surroundings, but finding neither hot water nor cold available— “Jani-tor!” he barked. “Yessir—?” The deferential reply echoed through the room. This allowed the Vice Principal to substantially recover his dignity. Riding this momentum, “There’s a matter I must ask you about,” “Yessir?” “Regarding Hayase Chikara—the one handling General Staff Office translations while retaining his German at school—he was your father’s disciple, correct?”

“Yes, that’s…” “And I hear your esteemed household took him in for training—around what age was he when that began?”

“I don’t know.” “I don’t know,” she replied brusquely. “You don’t know?”

he made a strange face and looked up at O-Taeko from under his brow, “You don’t know?”

“Yes, it’s been since before. Since he’s part of the household, I don’t know exactly when it began.” “From what age have you been associating?” “...”

She silently looked at the Vice Principal with a puzzled expression. “This talk of ‘associating’—I find repulsive. Mr. Hayase is a member of our household,” she replied with a faint smile. “A member of the household.” “Yes,” she nodded without hesitation. “Miss, you must not say such things. If you call him a ‘member of the household,’ it would implicate your parents’ honor as well as your own, ah—”

he opened his mouth and grinned slyly.

Taeko turned her head away haughtily; gentle anger pooled at the corners of her eyes. Kanko peered at her averted face—hunching his chest and patting his knee—then snickered through his nose: "For you to associate with such filth! They say he keeps some geisha wife! Disgraceful! Unpardonable misconduct! A scholar’s dignity dragged through mud! You shan’t visit that man’s hovel again! You know everything already!"

Taeko said nothing, but for the first time, she blinked as if dazzled.

The janitor came in, bowed low to receive the order, and the Vice Principal indicated with his chin, “What? Bring tea!” “Yessir?” “Close that on your way out. The dorm students might be peeking.”

Forty-Eight When the door closed, the Vice Principal relaxed his posture and threw his head back to laugh,

“Well—have a seat there.” “I say this solely for your benefit.” He rose unnecessarily to adjust her chair—the edge catching his sleeve and shifting his arm position—but Taeko merely executed a formal bow and maintained her sideways stance. “Hayase’s affairs barely scratch the surface,” he resumed instantly, brow furrowing into an interrogative crease, “Miss Sakai—that man’s a felon! A scoundrel whose very name decent folk avoid uttering!”

Slowly extending his hand, he stroked the newspapers scattered across the desk, “Miss Sakai, aren’t you going to look at today’s A… newspaper?” When she heard those words, her eyelids flushed crimson, and O-Taeko tightly gripped the edge of her Tomosode underrobe’s sleeve. “Won’t you look?” When he pressed her again, the Vice Principal arrogantly propped his chin on the desk. With only a murmured “Yes,” O-Taeko looked down, blinking rapidly as her gaze darted sideways. “By any chance, regarding the major incident—hasn’t Hayase come to your father’s presence recently?” “Or have you heard anything about it, Miss?”

Her voice was small, yet clear,

“No,” she said, biting the purple furoshiki bundle cradled in her sleeve with pearly white teeth. At this moment, this color stole the vermilion from her eyelids and appeared forlornly white.

“He must have gone to see him. You know this, Miss—yet you still hide it from me, don’t you?” “I don’t know.” She shook her head, her childlike gesture both sulky and vexed by his persistence. “Well then, let’s suppose you don’t know. Now then, I have something to tell you. Hayase—that man is an accomplice to kidnappers, no better than a pickpocket’s partner!” The flower in her hairpin stood rigidly vivid as she whirled to face the Vice Principal, but her clear eyes found no resting place—darting instead across the world map covering the opposite wall, wandering restlessly near where the Sahara lay bleached on paper.

“Of course, Hayase resigned and was dismissed from the particularly strict General Staff Office before this newspaper was published.” “This matter regarding the kidnappers—you must know the person involved himself—it first reached the ears of Mr. Sakata Reinoshin.” “Well then, if you won’t look, take a look.” “It’s been written about in two or three other newspapers as well.” “This A… has the most detailed account.”

He calmly opened it to that section and pointed out the third page with his finger.

“It’s here—please read it.” “I’ll hear about it at home when I return,” she said, her lips quivering as if in battle. “Ha, ha, ha! You called him ‘(someone from home),’ so that must feel awkward, eh? Well, if you don’t know, that’s fine. I’m telling you this out of concern for your honor and as a warning, so listen carefully. It won’t do any good even if you hear about it when you go home.” he continued in a tone thick with scorn, “Father considers him his disciple—he’d keep it hidden nine times out of ten. How could I possibly know the truth?”

There was a series of knocks from the corridor. The Vice Principal’s eyes glinted sharply, but he leaned back, “Come in,” he answered without delay.

The knock and the "Come in" were too perfectly synchronized, as if they had been prearranged.

The one who pushed the door slightly ajar—like a seven-minute exposure photograph—and thrust his upper body through face-first to peer inside was Kano Eikichi. The white necktie with star patterns and the glint of a diamond pin alone sufficed to imagine his entire outfit from head to toe that day, his hair so oiled it seemed ready to melt. With an expression of inexpressible delight,

“Hey,” he called out, and with a passing exchange, there was a loud thud from behind.

The door's reverberation trembled through the tip of Taeko's slender shoe, and the waves of the Atlantic on the map stirred her quivering chest.

Forty-Nine

“Pardon me, pardon me.”

With a slight lift and a practiced air, Kano proceeded to shake hands with the Vice Principal,

“Ah, pardon me,” he said while scrutinizing O-Taeko’s profile from behind her. To the degree that Kano’s manner grew animated, the Vice Principal maintained an attitude cool to the point of aloofness,

“Where have you come from?”

"I did some research at the university"—here he emphasized "university"—"library, then had lunch at Seiyoken and came here." "Now I must also go to Dr. H’s place." He busily shrugged his shoulders. "You," he deliberately called in a low voice, "this person…"

“The student—” he said contemptuously.

“Ah,” “Miss Sakai,” he said, turning aside with a stifled laugh. “Hmm, the Sakai family of Masago-cho—” He craned his neck, looking at Taeko’s face with an ambiguous expression—as if he understood yet didn’t, recognized her yet didn’t—but, “You there, do introduce me.”

“At school, such an introduction would be improper.” “But this isn’t a classroom anymore!”

"In that case," he said with genuine reluctance before adopting a stern tone, "Miss Sakai - who attended the observation session previously - this is Mr. Kano Eikichi, Bachelor of Letters."

The large business card bearing identical characters—exuding a fragrance that suggested hasty preparation—was snatched up deftly and nearly thrust toward O-Taeko’s brushing sleeve in a swift motion. Clumsy! Noticing this, the Vice Principal checked him with a stroke of his beard, repeatedly rubbing his mustache upward toward the sides of his nose. Eikichi widened his eyes and hurriedly stuffed both hands—along with the business card—into his coat pockets. But as he twisted his hips askew, he scurried about with the map still on his back, planted himself directly before O-Taeko, gave his shoulder another rub, wiped his sweaty palms against his trouser side in a show of composure, then crookedly thrust out his arm—as if abruptly aiming for a handshake—only for his immovable black hair to part the surrounding space of its own accord.

“Ah, ha ha ha ha, pardon me.”

Eikichi became utterly flustered, retreated backward, and assumed a posture as if about to exclaim, Oh God. “Please come visit us. My sisters—though they attend different schools—all know you. Well…” He nodded to himself, circled widely around the edge of the table, thudded down until he was sprawled prone, and clambered onto the spread-out newspaper.

"What were you talking about?" Glancing at the Vice Principal, one would see Kanko glaring with his brow furrowed in displeasure, disciplining their transgression as he replied: "To tell the truth, I am currently advising Miss Sakai." Taeko's cheeks flushed anew. "Precisely! Now then, Miss Sakai..."

“Since you remain silent—” “Miss Sakai!” “Y-yes,” came a trembling voice. “If your daughter doesn’t know about this matter, you should inquire properly.” "It happened recently—as I mentioned earlier—Mr. Sakata Reinoshin had about a hundred yen stolen by a pickpocket on a Ryogoku-bound train." “The moment he realized he’d been robbed, he grabbed that culprit and dragged him off the train with the conductor’s help. But then that pickpocket—who’d been cowering fearfully until then—suddenly flared up like raging flames and started beating Mr. Sakata senseless.”

“So he was beaten… How awful for Mr. Sakata.” “A true misfortune.” “So what happened?” “The police came, but with no evidence found, it ended right there—leaving Mr. Sakata having taken a beating for nothing.” “Listen—you.” There was no evidence, but given the man’s suspicious appearance, officers tailed him. Then around 2 a.m. that same night near Asakusabashi, by sheer luck they apprehended him—this time with Mr. Sakata’s stolen money in a fukusa-wrapped purse, untouched by hand.

“Hey, you there.” “They arrested him and conducted a strict investigation.” “Where had he hidden it until then?” “So it would mean that purse wasn’t there earlier…” When the Vice Principal spoke with utmost caution, Eikichi acted flippantly, “Strange—it’s strange.” “So strange, isn’t it?”

Fifty “The pickpocket’s name was in the papers—they call him something like Kozō Manta.” “According to his confession: when he tried to pickpocket on the train, he was caught red-handed and cornered. But after Mr. Sakata struck his face—which infuriated him beyond measure—he swiftly slipped the stolen purse into the sleeve of a man who happened to be bowing beneath his arm, then twisted the situation around by claiming victory right there.” By the way—thinking he ought to find some honest work—he was loitering around Yanagibashi late at night when he carelessly ran into that man who’d let the purse slip earlier. Wondering what became of the money, he figured if he got caught that’d be the end of him, but with reckless resolve, he confronted him. “No wonder your sleeve’s so heavy,” the man said, finally realizing, then searched his sleeve and pulled out the purse. But once it passed into his hands, since this was how pickpocket fellows operated, he made sure to wrap it up like a parcel and hand it over to the gang properly. “Come to the police box together!” Without saying a word, out of obligation to that clear-headed person, he intended to slip away without laying a hand on anything and was just about to return to the flophouse when he was apprehended. He was caught precisely because he had tried to play the good man for even a single moment—had he kept his thief’s heart, he boasted, he could’ve leapt from Asakusabashi’s railing onto Fukigama’s roof and still evaded the gentlemen’s grasp. The bold one remained bold.

“Miss Sakai. Who do you suppose the man was—the one who took custody of Mr. Sakata’s purse beneath the pickpocket’s sleeve? This was Hayase.”

The Vice Principal pushed his chair back and lightly struck the table. "What do you think? Even if you hear this, it must seem strange, but..." According to the authorities, they had quickly identified leads among those involved, and Hayase had indeed been summoned by the police once or twice. However, since his testimony matched the pickpocket’s account, Hayase possessed a certain social standing and—above all—was a disciple of your esteemed father. For these reasons, the matter was resolved without any complications.

Detectives apparently visited your family's residence in Masago-cho regarding this matter too, but out of discretion, it wasn't reported in the newspapers, and your parents likely kept you from hearing about it. And so, due to this unexpected misfortune, it was neatly reported in the papers that Hayase had resigned from his position as translator for the General Staff Office—but consider this. Having been on the same train, he couldn't possibly have been unaware that Mr. Sakata had been pickpocketed during that commotion. "He knew—didn't he?—that the wallet was in his own sleeve... Well, even if we suppose he didn't notice until the pickpocket mentioned it—when he finally realized, he didn't try to return it to Mr. Sakata, whom he knew..."

Having also explained the matter to Kano, "How utterly unthinkable to hand it directly to the pickpocket!" "Above all else—whispering secretly with such a thief... You couldn't do it openly. It'd have to be done through covert channels." Though no one contradicted him, he alone pressed forward, "Transferring a purse hand to hand like that—so improper, so shady." "But—" Every so often pretending to consult the newspaper while stealing glances at Taeko's face, when the young lady turned away and stopped casting sidelong looks, he finally stared at her unabashedly—then spoke in a voice drained of vigor.

“There’s no such thing as what Sakata suspects—that he’s an accomplice of the pickpocket. You,” “There’s nothing more to say. Just because he was in Mr. Sakai’s household doesn’t mean we know whose child he is or his true background.” “Father… please… ask…” Taeko said resentfully, her voice choked with tears. Exchanging a secret glance, the Vice Principal said bitterly, “There’s no need to actively pursue such investigations—but even if we were to set everything else aside and not press the matter, he must have at least sympathized with the pickpocket. Isn’t that right?”

“That might be that man’s ideology.” “An ideology—an extremely dangerous one.” “In summary, Miss Sakai. Associating with such a person first jeopardizes your honor, then this school’s reputation. From now on, you are not to exchange words with him.” “Is that understood?” “Stay away from him—it’s dangerous. Who knows what such a man might do.”

Taeko, as if striving to keep her composure, stared intently at the map with eyes wide open—how much she had endured since earlier. When she could no longer hold back her tears, they had already turned into glistening dew and spilled onto the purple cloth. If they make an example of poor Chikara, I would not spare my life for his sake.

Fifty-One

Oh, the two scholars were astonished.

“Young lady, what’s wrong?”

When the Vice Principal abruptly stood from his chair, Taeko kept her grip on the sleeve she had been clutching from the start—her elbow rounded within the cylindrical sleeves of her white silk underrobe, layers of fabric overlapping the book-wrapped bundle—and with shoulders hunched as if pressing down her very being, she lowered her face and wept without making a sound. "Why on earth are you crying?" As Miyahata approached with loud footsteps, Kano also hastily stood up, "You mustn’t cry now—there’s nothing to be sad about." "I wasn’t scolding you."

“However, your way of speaking was a bit unsteady.” “That’s why you were misunderstood.” “There’s no need for you to cry,” He stealthily placed his hand on her shoulder, but Taeko did not shake it off—because, lost in tears, she was unaware of it…

Kano Eikichi wore a happy-looking face, “Now, cheer up and let’s talk properly,” he said, his eyes darting about as he gradually brought his cheek closer to Taeko’s bowed, jewel-like neck from the side. When he lightly touched the bow of her ribbon, his entire body trembled with nervous excitement—yet the Vice Principal pretended not to notice, for it was understood that Kano would be paying tonight’s bill. The moment Taeko shifted her position, he staggered back with a clatter as if knocked away. “May I go home now?”

“May I go home now?” Taeko said while hiding her face. To this, there could be no retort.

“Of course you may!” Before the Vice Principal had even finished speaking, she pivoted sharply without offering a bow and began to stride out. Clattering his shoes noisily, the Vice Principal pursued her until he caught up to her at waist level. “When you return home, you must not speak to your father about such matters. I merely advised you out of respect for your honor—you see? Is that clear? Hmm?” Hearing him speak hurriedly with his face pressed close as if coaxing her, Taeko stopped and nodded obediently—her demeanor suggesting forgiveness, yet still gentle.

“Ah…” With a sigh of relief, the Vice Principal stood dazedly in the center of the room. Kano’s figure darted sideways, hurriedly positioning himself ahead to open the door and stand by it, while Taeko—passing him at the same moment—dashed through and let the sleeve she had pressed to her face fall.

The Chinese flowering crabapple bore rain; dust in the corridor had settled, and though noon had passed, shadows already gathered—yet beyond the formal entrance platform, the day remained splendid. Pressing weightily together, they aligned their faces like clustered berries on a bough and uniformly saw Taeko off; the viscous persistence of their four beards resembled nothing so much as a slug's glistening trail.

When returning to the house in Masago-cho—where a student was stationed at the entrance, requiring formal greetings—she always slipped past them instead. Pushing open the side gate with a thud, she would circle around from the water inlet into the garden and leap onto the veranda; this was her customary routine. Today, while stepping on the garden stones and calling out “Mother’s meal,” she seemed about to be scolded—“Honestly, you still haven’t said a word even now.”

That was not the case.

As was her custom when entering the garden, Mother—whose cold had lingered though she was mostly recovered—sat with shoulders slightly hunched from residual chills. Over her nightclothes she wore a striped haori, her appearance made charming by an elegant pallor that seemed drained of all color, accentuated by a rare headscarf that framed her haggard yet refined features. Sitting upright on her bedding with the collar of her quilted robe draped across her knees, she read the day’s newspaper—one half of it softly spread over the futon. When she saw this, Taeko became as if rooted to the stepping stones and came to a halt.

The shadow of a beautiful sleeve passed through the drawing room, and Mother composed herself,

“You’re late.” “Yes, I was discussing our compositions with friends.” Having apparently prepared an answer for the Vice Principal’s sake out of kindness, she replied smoothly yet with an air of listlessness as she began to remove her shoes—when suddenly, hurried footsteps approached from the entrance to the adjacent tearoom, followed by a student’s voice from beyond the sliding door: “Is it you, young lady—the one who did the newspaper clipping today?” Purple.

Fifty-Two

After swishing down her rice with tea and her favorite fresh-cut horse mackerel, she took up an inkstone and a tasseled toothbrush. Having just removed her hakama trousers, she tucked a hand towel into the stiffly wrapped sash cinched tight enough to strangle her waist, then hoisted a clanging metal basin. Her warped kitchen clogs—black-lacquered with pale green cotton straps standing rigid—clamped onto snow-pure bare feet, the short hem of her unstockinged attire utterly disregarded. Exiting through the water inlet gate into sunlight, her figure resembled not so much a dancer drawing stage tides as Fujima’s newly devised *Shepherdess* pose.

Taeko went out to the well by the front entrance, before the hedge, and without hesitation stepped onto the dry yet slippery well curb in her warped geta. Though maids were present, Mother’s strict upbringing meant that from age eleven or twelve she had never let others handle tasks ingrained in her very being, so there she stood—accustomed to this spot, attuned to the water’s ways—until around last year still drawing it up clatteringly without reserve during midsummer heat, pressing lips to the well bucket so that even when the red plum by the well bore leaves, flower petals would sometimes float. She promptly took out a pink sash and, throwing back her sleeves, tucked them in. Her bare upper arms—like willow catkins scattering—no sooner saw the well rope race than water splashed swiftly onto the inkstone placed in the metal basin, turning purple as ink scattered.

Intending to wash away the old ink, she began scrubbing the toothbrush bristles with her little finger, but whether from impatience or something else, she yanked it away abruptly, handling it roughly.

To the front of the tenement within the compound—dressed in an unusual suit he rarely wore except for commuting, his collar oddly puffed out, and even carrying a bat umbrella he would not normally have brought during summer—Hayase entered dejectedly while glancing furtively around, when he caught sight of Taeko near the plum tree...

“Oh,”

he called out in a hurried, nostalgic tone, “Miss.” Taeko had not noticed until then. When called, she stopped her hands and looked at Chikara—perhaps from the lingering effects of drawing water, her face faintly flushed—her eyes that spoke without words were more beautiful than dew or jewels, than any lovely thing in this silent world; more heartfelt than any song. “You’re up to your water mischief again, I see.” He met her gaze cheerfully and laughed heartily, then his soft eyes moved as if glaring and stopped—

“I’m not keeping goldfish, you know. I’m washing the inkstone.” “Ah, I see.”

When he first peered into the metal basin and looked down, he blinked imperceptibly before assuming an air of nonchalance. “A fair copy?” “No—it’s a drawing. A proper one. I need to finish it by the day after tomorrow for school.” “What’s your model? Your sister’s face?” “Don’t be silly! Ah—” She smiled faintly and nodded to herself. “Something lovelier—irises and Yatsuhashi.” “‘While wearing the robe, I grew accustomed...’” he began quoting, then trailed off despondently.

He began to speak—then fell silent with a despondent look. Taeko remained oblivious, her face bright with animation. "My, when did you memorize that? That's rather impressive!" "How pitiful." As he smiled bitterly, Taeko's expression turned solemn. "But Mr. Chikara, didn't you get drunk and sing at my birthday celebration last year? You chanted 'Though shallow, clear waters flow your way.' Proper songs aren't your forte at all." She delivered this bluntly. "Oh no, I'm most humbled," he replied, briefly pressing a hand to his forehead. "What about the Professor?" he asked again, nodding with apparent significance.

“Stay here, on the second floor.” Conveying *Do come now* through her demeanor, she gazed up at the second floor from the neatly trimmed hedge. Chikara, as if suddenly struck by an idea, “Miss,” he said, and in the same breath threw down his bat umbrella like a discarded object, pressed it against the well post with violent force, and began vigorously pulling his coat off one arm. “It’s been a while; let me wash it for you,” he said, hanging the coat he had taken off so forcefully against the well post that it seemed about to be shoved in, leaving Taeko no time to speak. He thrust his hands into the metal basin,

“You there—that tasseled toothbrush.” “—A shallow yet clear stream.”

Fifty-Three “Oh, how rough! “I say—the well bucket’s still dripping, yet you take it off right here.” Chastising him, Taeko took the coat and cradled the pale garment to her chest with small arms white as dew, as though wrapped in habutae silk. “You’re as finicky as the Professor—hauling things to the well even in winter and sloshing water about. Washing this way may feel satisfying, but you’ll stain your hands with ink.” “Once it seeps under your nails, it won’t come out easily.”

“Ugh, don’t go acting all magnanimous.” “Nobody asked you to.” “I’m not acting magnanimous.” “It’s your nails—you’re ruining those pretty fingertips that look like they’ve been dipped in rouge. That’s why I’m saying this.” “You should have the entryway student handle it like when I was still here.” “Ah, this—” With a lopsided smile, “This ink isn’t particularly high-grade.” “Fine!” “It’s cheap anyway.” “I’ll do it myself and be done with it.”

“Even though you say your hands will get covered in ink,” he said, “you speak such cruel words while my hands are acting as your substitute here, aren’t they?” “Even so,” she replied, gripping the garment tightly with both hands and smiling pointedly, “these hands holding your clothes are really, truly being put upon.”

“You haven’t changed a bit,” he said, then muttered as if to himself, “But tell me—why have you been studying so diligently lately?” “Why do you say that, Mr. Hayase?” “Because you’re already preparing today for the painting you need to present the day after tomorrow.” “Tomorrow’s Sunday—I must go enjoy myself.” “Ah, Sunday.” He wiped away the ink droplets—the inkstone’s surface now shone mirror-smooth. After examining it intently, he looked up and said, “Please take that tissue paper—the one in the sleeve pocket.”

“Mr. Hayase.” “Hmm?” “Hohohoho,” she laughed. “What’s so funny? Did ink splash on your face?” “No, hohohoho.” “Then what—” “Well,” “Yes?” “Perhaps……” “Go on.” “Hohoho—the next day’s Sunday again! I’ll come visit you.” The reflection of Chikara in the water suddenly darkened to pale ink. Alas, due to certain circumstances, the house in Iidamachi was no more.

“Please do come,” he answered with fervor in a contemplative tone. “So, have the white lilies in the garden bloomed yet…” “…………” “When I went there last time, the buds were still tight, so I puffed them up with ‘hoo-hoo’ as a charm to make them bloom sooner, but…”

The very corners of her mouth puffed out as she spoke. Chikara's back thinned as if pressed by a wooden clamp. Just as Taeko was about to speak upon seeing him, the lattice door clattered open, and the student at the entrance suddenly appeared. Even when offered a gratuity, he refused to comply; with his haori cords left untied and hanging long, he came striding over in great steps, “Mr. Hayase, the Professor—” The second-floor corridor loomed overhead—the Professor already knew.

“Yes, right away,” Though his figure remained unseen, he called out a reply toward the second floor, placed the inkstone in hand, and hurriedly stood. Opening his coat, he moved behind himself, put on the geta though they hung loosely, and adjusted the garment to drape over his shoulders. “Well now, this is quite something.” Draped over his back that seemed ready to snap, he rubbed his body as if trembling, “You’re being spiteful—so stiff and stubborn.” “Oh, how hateful you are!” Frowning at his own movements—whether it was the chattering old woman’s face peering from the tenement window, the stray cat sitting heavily at the alley entrance, or the student sullenly twirling his haori cords—he paid them no mind whatsoever, calmly donning his coat, pressing down the collar, and rising onto his tiptoes,

“Ugh—why’s there so much dandruff thriving here?”

Fifty-Four

When Chikara hurriedly squeezed through the lattice door with a clatter, Taeko—her hands dangling idly as she saw him off—wore an innocent suppressed laugh.

“My, how crude!” He had indeed entered with the inkstone in hand, but in exchange had forgotten the Western-style umbrella and the bowler hat hanging from its handle. The student who had lingered behind and peered over here smirked so broadly at seeing Taeko’s smile that he nearly crumbled, then swung those haori cords into a loop shape and slouched inside while knocking on the lattice door. Once everyone had left, Taeko—her double eyelids puffed up to their limit (given how quickly she moved)—looked up at the second floor where Chikara seemed to have gone, sidestepped toward the well’s pillar, placed her hand on it, and stretched upward. Leaning against the pillar, she turned around in a swift motion and rested there. Taking the sleeve of her school uniform—still as it was when she returned home—she shook it out lightly and brought it back to her hand. Staring intently until her eyelashes grew heavy, she carefully parted the overlapping sleeves of her lined kimono and dyed silk under-kimono, as if scrutinizing every thread, then plunged her wrist deep inside. Though she believed this act concealed her from prying eyes, the gesture only made her more conspicuous.

However, since her manner of handling it was innocuous, to the still-watching wife at the tenement window, it seemed like—oh my—a small seashell, a ball, or perhaps a hard bean; but it was none of those. What she had pulled out was a small, slender piece of paper with writing on it—though suspicious-looking, there was no need for concern—it was a newspaper clipping.

Precisely because of this, even in the school’s reception room, she had been constantly fussing with her sleeve—for within it was an article, no more than a narrow column’s worth, concerning Chikara’s theft of over one hundred yen from Sakata… a matter related to pickpocketing, needless to say. That morning, as Taeko prepared for school, she pretended to collapse by the breakfast tray while the maid brought in miso soup. Following her usual routine of feigning to speed-read the third page—where Chikara’s scandal appeared under the provocative headline “The Scholar-Pickpocket”—she fidgeted with the article, rereading, tugging, and folding it with visible distress. But no sooner had she made a sharp, angry face than she rose swiftly to the lamp stand, brushing past the maid who held out a tray. Concealing scissors beneath her sleeve, she glanced around before plunging them decisively into old chiyogami paper—whether remnants from past keepsakes or evidence of newfound sewing prowess—and began snipping with flawless precision: snip-snip-snip.

Her mother had feigned illness and gone upstairs to summon the Professor—just as she was calling “Chikara! Chikara!”—when... The student clattered noisily at the entrance. The maid happened to be hidden by kitchen steam at that moment, so no one had noticed; yet this was not something that could remain concealed. Even if they cut out just this article, Chikara’s disgrace could not be hidden—after all, two or three other newspapers had arrived in the house as well—but such matters were beneath their concern. Without waiting for the Vice Principal’s explanation, Taeko already knew everything—so rather than being shocked when she heard the story, her bitter tears flowed first.

The student had a peculiar hobby of sending anonymous letters to what resembled an internal postcard bulletin. That day, he had been lying in wait from his bed, anticipating today’s edition would hit the mark—but being a late riser, someone else had beaten him to it. When he later rushed to check, he found that precisely where his target should have appeared—on the third page—a small section had been clipped out, leaving him crestfallen. No—this mischief was unmistakably the young lady-like doing—and seething with resentment that pierced him to the marrow, he waited in ambush behind the entrance screen, glaring through the shoji at her unusually late return. The moment she passed through the gate, he chased after her to press his interrogation—to which Taeko’s only reply at that moment had been a dismissive, “Oh, that was me.”

As she sat there alone reviewing it once more, halfway through she averted her eyes and seemed lost in thought for some time. Then she briskly tore it apart, rolled it into a ball, and flung it away without looking. Her gaze settled instead on Chikara's bowler hat hanging from his Western-style umbrella near another pillar. "Hateful!" she muttered, her face flushing red as she knocked it away, took the hat, and vigorously dusted it off with her sleeve. The student dashed out through the lattice door—where was he hurrying off to?—and passed in front of Otae,

“Heh heh heh.” At that moment, Otae pulled Chikara’s Western-style umbrella close,

“Where are you going?” “I must hurry to the rickshaw stand.” “Oh, is Father going out?” “No, I’ll have them bring a rickshaw to summon the Pockmarked Lord, ha ha ha.”

Send-off

Fifty-Five

The matchmaker being present in the early evening, with a lamp between them, Sakai and Sakata Reinoshin sat facing each other. "At present being engaged in your service," began Sakata, stroking his forehead with teeth bared in a smile, "I must express profound gratitude for your particular consideration in sending your carriage. Though I had indeed stepped out briefly on personal business—as they say, 'a worm of foreboding whispers'—some compulsion made me hasten home. Upon arrival, finding a carriage at my gate, I thought 'Ah, a visitor!' But no—" "Hahaha! Your carriage arrived most opportunely," he continued with forced mirth. "We might call this truly auspicious—indeed, this too must surely be an omen of our destined connection. Ah yes—"

Sakai, too, uncharacteristically straightened his posture,

“I must apologize for summoning you like this, but my wife is unwell,” he said, reaching out to pull a roll of tobacco from its case with a decisive motion. “By the way—if I might inquire—how fares your honorable wife’s condition?” “Regarding her esteemed recovery, I had made similar inquiries during our previous meeting as well.” “The Kano household has been notified too—Eikichi’s mother in particular has voiced profound anxiety.” “Might I ask what precise symptoms she exhibits? For I myself am gravely troubled by this matter—ah,”

“There’s no particular cause for concern. “It’s neither tuberculosis nor leprosy, I assure you.” The Professor delivered this cutting remark while brushing ashes from his lapel, head bowed. He then thrust his left hand into his sleeve opening, expanded his chest with theatrical emphasis, and drew deeply on his tobacco.

Sakata Reinoshin slapped both knees of his formal trousers with outstretched hands, let out a drawn-out “Sū,” then fixed his gaze diagonally at Sakai’s face. “It’s merely a cold that’s worsened.” “They say colds breed all maladies—and so they do.” “You must take every care.”

His oddly blank face appeared red in the lamplight, “In that case, given your honorable wife’s current illness, there would naturally be no time for consultation with her regarding your daughter’s marriage arrangement—would there?”

As he solemnly drew back, Sakai adopted a nonchalant tone. "No—I did consult her." "Ah! You consulted her?" He rubbed his chin with a hissing breath. "How might your honorable wife’s thoughts lie on this matter?" "To speak plainly—in such affairs, your honorable wife’s opinion naturally supersedes your own. A single word from her would settle this decisively. Though I overstep by pressing thus—Kano’s mother herself chooses to remain in Tokyo awaiting an auspicious day rather than demand formal reply." "Ah." "With but one word from your honorable wife—"

With great enthusiasm, he busily slurped— “Well, even for someone such as myself to undertake this matter, my heart pounds so within my breast—indeed—”

When Sakata gazed intently, Sakai sat with eyes half-closed, "Since this comes through your esteemed mediation, and as I understand it, the Kano household leaves nothing to be desired." "Truly, this surpasses our fondest hopes for a match. Naturally there should be no objections whatsoever. Though I must say—she remains an unpolished daughter—" "Not at all—not at all—" Sakata Reinoshin shook his head vigorously, rousing himself like an actor taking center stage, "What astonishing words! To think even you, her own father, would call Madam Kano Eikichi 'unpolished'! Why, Sakata Reinoshin cannot let such remarks pass unremarked—hahaha!" "So may we consider this matter settled?"

“My wife is overjoyed and says she eagerly desires this match.” At that moment came a soft rustle of garments brushing against the sliding door—from the adjacent tatami room—the Professor’s second floor comprised two chambers: an eight-mat space serving as his study and a six-mat room where he now faced Sakata across the raised threshold. Sakata Reinoshin pressed his hand to his forehead once more: “Oh, it’s nothing worth mentioning. “I feel as though my greatest wish has been granted. “Under your esteemed patronage, even my pockmarks prosper indeed. “Ha, haha.”

Moralist-sensei's declaration of his own disfigurement was confined to instances where discussions had reached their conclusion, serving as a customary practice.

Fifty-Six

Given that this was a match so desirable it could scarcely be hoped for, and with no objections raised, Moralist-sensei—drawing from past experience—had assumed the arrangement was already settled. Yet Sakai, contrary to his usual stern and unyielding demeanor, remained leisurely composed, taking long drags from his tobacco in a manner that suggested the conversation was far from concluded. There was likely more to come—a tickle of anticipation deep inside—and so Reinoshin found himself pacing day after day, the lingering heat of unresolved matters making the linings of his tabi socks feel unnaturally warm against his soles.

Fidgeting with his seated knees,

“Now, if your honorable wife graciously consents, what are your intentions?” Without a moment’s hesitation, “I have no objections whatsoever.” “Ah, I see,” he responded, but the matter was not yet settled. This must settle the matter… “Then, regarding the individual in question—Miss Taeko—if I may…” “My daughter is a child.” “It’s the sort of marriage arrangement where you hold chopsticks, pick up the groom, snap it shut, and spoon-feed it to them—so there’s no room for refusal or consent.”

He tapped off the ash in quick flicks but immediately returned to his cigarette. Moralist-sensei, unable to endure any longer, clenched his fists and jiggled his knees. "In that case—now that your honorable parents and the bride herself have given consent—might we proceed directly to discussions about betrothal arrangements?" "Good works demand haste," he proposed, trotting out an aphorism beyond his usual lectures. "Professor—precisely that point," came the interjection as someone thrust an ashtray forward forcefully. "I see. Regarding this matter—is there some separate condition?"

“There certainly is.” (His tone shifted.) “We consider this our desired match and will permit no peculiar objections here.” “Of course you will become Mr. Kano’s bride.” “Yes—but there remains another person from whom I must have consent through your mediation.” “Might I ask you to consult this individual?” “Nothing could be simpler.” “What need for hesitation? If they are an honorable relative of yours or suchlike, I would deem it most proper to hasten there at once.” “Now—the honorable name and residence?”

“The residence is in Iidamachi, but—” As he spoke, the Professor’s shoulders rose slightly. “It’s Hayase.” “Your disciple,” Sakata uttered in astonishment. “He’s the man from that pickpocketing incident,” Professor Sakai said with a meaningful smile.

Reinoshin, with a thoroughly bitter expression, “Heh-heh, now what might that circumstance be? I had merely heard he was your disciple, but if there exists some profound reason…” “There’s no reason at all.” “Hayase is peculiarly infatuated,” he declared calmly. Sakai Shunzo was a renowned literary scholar of his time. The Moralist—aghast, his pockmarks—rounded his eyes and clamped his mouth shut. “Rather than the real parents or the individual themselves, it would be most proper—and least prone to error—to follow the wishes of the one who’s head over heels in love.” “If Hayase approves this marriage proposal, I will promptly offer Taeko.” “No complications will arise.” “It’s perfectly acceptable for the Professor to take her by the hand right there and for you to bring her to Kano.” “If Hayase deems it unacceptable, we will resolutely refuse—that’s all there is to it.”

He could not remain silent. “In that case—then…”

His complexion changed slightly, “Your disciple...to Miss Taeko...” he trailed off in a manner even an outsider would hesitate to voice... Sakai remained composed, “He’s certainly infatuated.” “Having grown up together in the same household, indulging each other’s whims—if he isn’t in love with her by now, there must be something wrong.” “Now as for the nature of this infatuation—this ‘love’—whether it resembles siblings, cousins, master and disciple, lord and retainer, or something from novels or romances, I cannot say. But since he’s undoubtedly smitten, I find it far simpler—nay imperative—to entrust my daughter’s marriage arrangement to this lovestruck man rather than heed parents, uncles, aunts, relatives, friends,” he added with a dismissive wave, “or even some honorable matchmaker.” “What do you think, Moralist-sensei? Isn’t this a supremely brilliant plan?” “Or does this reek of drunkard’s reasoning again?”

He remarked jokingly and paused briefly, but pressed on despite the Moralist being too astonished to speak, “Please proceed with that decisively.”

Fifty-Seven “You—well—your words stand as they are, but—” Sakata sucked in his cheeks until they hollowed, pressing on earnestly… “If that being the case—should your disciple Hayase declare his love for your daughter and wish to marry her—how might Your Honor intend to arrange such a matter?” “I’ll let them do as they please,” the Professor answered without hesitation. This again left him not a little daunted,

“So you mean to say you approve of free marriage?”

“No—” “Ah—what might your esteemed intention be?”

“I was the engaged party,” Sakai laughed. “Engaged? Then Hayase and your daughter are engaged, I take it?” “There is absolutely no such thing.” “The engagement was between myself and my wife.” “So you both agreed to that…?” “Since we mutually consented, we became husband and wife.” “As for Taeko’s true intentions, I have even less understanding.” “If she clings to Hayase and calls it a free marriage—let it be free. If she elopes with someone—then an elopement marriage it shall be,” he declared with composure.

“Heh heh heh, what an amusing jest.” “Your arguments verge on extremism!” “Professor, when you consider it carefully, demanding ‘Hand over your daughter as a bride’ is itself the more extreme proposition.” “Yet since it’s customary, nobody questions it.” “You initiated this marriage proposal.” “Given there exists a man enamored with my daughter, I find nothing strange in resolving matters according to his disposition.” “Force her into an abrupt wedding, and that devoted man—ah, the disappointment! The anguish! The torment!—everything will slip and tumble until the world becomes an absolute nuisance.”

“Now, if I may say so—should this marriage arrangement fall through—while Hayase might consider that acceptable—Eikichi would suffer precisely the same measure of disappointment, anguish, and torment… I most humbly entreat Your Honor’s consideration of this aspect.”

“It’s fine,” he replied with a faint smile, as though settling the matter. “Since antiquity, no matchmaker-brokered proposal’s collapse ever caused life-or-death consequences. The real disturbances always stem from secret liaisons made without mediators.” “Ah,” murmured the Moralist, gaping blankly at Sakai’s face before pressing on— “Yet I hear Hayase has installed some geisha-type woman in his household.”

“Indeed—if he keeps a geisha and deems the arrangement inconvenient himself, he won’t lay a finger on Taeko.” “I shall promptly consent to her marrying into the Kano family.” “Or if he secretly harbors designs on Taeko, then before taking her as his wife, he must be practicing household management with that geisha.” “In either case, you must hear that fellow’s answer.” “Should he declare, ‘I may not want Taeko myself, but she cannot marry into Kano’s house,’ then I too shall refuse.” “Either way—since he’s a man peculiarly obsessed—whatever that woman he truly loves declares will hold for my daughter the weight of divine revelation.”

With the situation being what it was, if someone were to bring up the pickpocketing matter now, it would only lead to the collapse of further plans—Reinoshin found himself cornered, his face flushing crimson. “There is no question of right or wrong here.” “In any case, I shall persuade Hayase and once again request your esteemed consent.” “But this is rather troubling.” “Well, just earlier, as I happened to pass by that alley in Iidamachi where Hayase resides and peered in, some fishmonger-type fellow was in the midst of giving instructions and packing up belongings.” “When I asked where they were moving to,” he said, “he barked, ‘We ain’t movin’—it’s a moonlight flit!’ so I haven’t the faintest idea of the destination.”

The Professor burst into laughter, “Ha ha ha ha, it’s the truth.” “Because he helped with some pickpocketing or whatnot, that idiot couldn’t stay in Tokyo and ran off.” “He already came here to bid his farewells, but since he said he’s retiring to his hometown of Shizuoka, he must be from the same place as Mr. Kano’s family home.” “It might prove convenient for your consultations.” “As you wish—take it back.”

Ah, what use is a matchmaker now.

Forgetting the yellow handkerchief, Sakai saw Reinoshin off at the entrance himself, turned back, went up to the second floor—when Sakai opened the door to the eight-tatami study next, there was Chikara, hands propped before the meal tray, prostrating himself in tears. Mrs. Sakai was also beside him. The professor briskly took his seat in the upper position, “Pour the farewell cup with reverence.” “Hayase, that was your farewell gift.”

58

Chikara's heart was shrouded in darkness as he descended the creaking staircase with unsteady steps. Though light spilled out like grain from a split sack through the study's eight-tatami room where the Professor and his wife remained—passing through one adjacent room—the lower floor was a long six-tatami space, with the genkan right there and even the students' desks shrouded in gloom. True to form, Professor Sakai had been cautious—intending it as a parting gift for Hayase—and had discreetly sent him elsewhere that night to prevent the Moralist from overhearing their conversation. Whether he had tied his haori cord or not, he had not yet returned.

Though not drunk, he staggered, barely steadying himself against the wall as he descended the stairs. Chikara felt as if he had fallen into a pitch-black hole—his knees buckled as he tried to brace himself. While he had managed to decline Mrs. Sakai’s attempts to see him out—humbly, as if pushing her back—for though the Professor was one matter, having his wife rise from her seat would be unseemly—his resolve now wavered in the darkness. Steeling himself, he took long strides forward as if kicking his own hesitant hips into motion.

With a swift slide of the fusuma door stood a figure in a checked meisen haori over a Tomozen-dyed Chinese crepe obi—a vision recalling someone glimpsed at a festival years past, appearing three or four years beyond her true age. Holding aloft a Western-style lamp—its round glass shade crowning a tall bamboo stand like a ceremonial staff—she emerged abruptly from her mother’s chamber. When Chikara saw Taeko’s face, he offered no words but knelt instantly, bowing until his forehead nearly touched the tatami. Taeko too sat silently beside the lamp she had set down, shoulders drawn inward and fingertips aligned, her sleeves whispering across the mat as they settled.

Such a courteous exchange of greetings was, for both of them, a first. At the entranceway’s shoji screen where their hems nearly touched, they faced each other like this—and thus they parted. As Chikara angled his chest and raised one hand to his knee, Taeko’s ribbon—its color indiscernible—fluttered like a pure white butterfly in the wavering lamplight, drifting free from her black hair. “Are you leaving already?” Being addressed from ahead, he slightly raised his face and looked at Taeko, but the impression of this moment was something Chikara would never forget until the end of his days.

Sitting sideways at the desk, she fussed over her slightly disheveled collar, adjusting it repeatedly with her hands—her demeanor somehow chilled and spirit subdued—yet her lips, inky black as if stained by violet droplets of iris-painting ink, glistened with alluring loneliness. Even the stray hairs meant to be tied up the next morning trembled at her brows, their shadows lingering like white peony petals upon her heart.

“Miss.” “…………” “Farewell.” “You too.” The words were brief, yet brimming with boundless emotion. As he put on his shoes and stepped out through the lattice door, Taeko—turning her back to the Western-style lamp, gripping the frame of the shoji—watched him off, peering intently all the while.

“Goodbye.” She declared it forcefully, but this was no heartfelt farewell—the words had escaped mechanically, like those exchanged when parting from schoolmates, an utterance governed by social convention rather than genuine sentiment. When Chikara’s flickering form beyond the lattice vanished entirely, Taeko pressed her face petulantly against the shoji screen, violently scraping its captured edge two or three times with her palm. Twisting her back in anguish, she bent forward as if peering across vast distances through the sliding doors—there beneath the suspended Western lamp by the elongated brazier sat the maid, embodying both textbook propriety and mundane reality.

The ship that had been rocking violently - cautioned in a low voice with "You'll catch a cold like that" by someone leaning over a desk in the adjacent room while drawing pictures - had by now become a complete wreck. Having assessed this situation, Taeko threw open the lattice door before she knew what she was doing - her abrupt movement loosening the end of her carelessly tied crimson underbelt.

59 “I can’t bear it, Chikara-san—if you go to the countryside.” Taeko’s hand clung to the plum tree by the well, but her voice halted Hayase. “…………” “I can’t bear it—you going off to some countryside like this.”

Chikara must have looked around—his hat shifted amidst the dark foliage.

“I’ll be back soon, so please don’t worry.”

"But even if you say 'soon,' you won't come back in a month or two, will you?" "It's because I'm closing up the house and leaving." "I plan to withdraw for two or three years." "I can't stand it—two or three years." "...Even waiting for those Sundays when I went out about once a month felt endless." "Two years? Three? I can't bear it—I just can't." Until she stepped through the lattice door, Taeko had carefully avoided drawing attention, but now her voice—which showed none of the restraint one might expect—suddenly grew hushed there.

“Um... You—being scolded by Father—the secret... wife,” “Yes!” “Is it because you parted with that person that you’re leaving for the countryside out of sorrow? Wait—no?”

“…………” “Then you must endure.” “Mother says that person deserves pity too—she’ll speak to Father when the time comes to let you live together.” “I’ll play the drink-pourer, make him drink his fill of sake, then make our request then and there—Father will consent.” “…You speak words that court divine punishment! “Tears overflow me—this kindness is too great.” “The Professor’s counsel has roused me from delusions—as though reborn with my very soul exchanged. I’ll consider this my training henceforth and bear no grudges.” “Though my own transgression, being branded a pickpocket with all manner of slanders—I cannot show my face among people.”

"The Professor says that if things become too troublesome, I can return to the entrance and he'll take me back in, but remaining by his side would only make the 'pickpocket' name grow more notorious in society." "It may seem cowardly, but I believe withdrawing to the countryside for now and relying on that saying about rumors fading in seventy-five days—feeble as that hope may be—is the wisest course. Even when merely taking day trips, arriving at Shinbashi and Ueno Stations fills me with such joy I could worship this beloved Tokyo. Yet I must part from it for a time."

“I can’t bear it—I can’t bear it if you go.”

When their words ceased, a sound came—the droplet from the well bucket fell.

When he leaned forward, Taeko’s feet were faintly white. “Once I go to Shizuoka and settle in, once arrangements are made, I’ll decorate even the humblest thatched cottage beautifully with flowers and welcome you—so during your summer break, please come for a seaside visit.” “Ejiri and Okitsu are right there, and though you haven’t seen them yet, there are famous spots like Kunōzan and Ryūgeji—plus Seikenji Temple and Miho Pine Grove are nearby too.” Until he could show her Mount Fuji—that mountain said to reach the heavens—Chikara continued coaxing the princess with his words.

“I can’t stand it—more than all that, once I graduate next year, I won’t need that school or the vice principal anymore. Then I could come to your place every morning from dawn and show that vice principal up, you know.” “It’s infuriating—they call you things like an accomplice of kidnappers and kin to pickpockets.” “And they say I mustn’t speak to you—that it damages the school’s honor.” “Well now, I thought about going straight to Mr. Hayase on my way home and giving you a piece of my mind, but they’d dock my conduct points.” “If I did that, I’d lose face with my friends—it’d be too humiliating—so I kept quiet, but I cried.” “Chikara-san.” “Once I graduate, from that very day, I wanted to stay in your second floor and say, ‘Am I a pickpocket too? Take a look,’ and get revenge for you—how disappointing it all is.”

and pressed closer, "Isn't there a way to avoid going to the countryside?" Taeko asked as if forgetting herself, leaning against his shoulder with her hand clinging to his chest. Chikara took her hand as though lifting an offering upward and unintentionally pressed his lips to her ring. "I won't forget. Even if I die and become a vengeful spirit—I will cling to your shadow," she declared, rustling the fresh leaves.

The Fledgling Hawk

Sixty

“Hey! Here, here! Professor from Iidamachi—this way, this way! Ha ha ha ha!”

In the sparse, gloomy interior of Shinbashi Station nearing twelve o'clock, it was Me-gumi no Sōsuke who called out to Chikara in a piercing high-pitched tone. The luggage had apparently been entirely taken charge of by this Isami, who had come ahead to wait. He laid the large Chinese leather suitcase on its side and plopped down onto it with a heave-ho. Pulling close to his lap like a gourd the heavy burden of a small attached folding-leather suitcase and the greedily crammed volumes whose spines bore Kroos-lettering that glittered with Berlin's starlight proclaiming "thus shines celestial radiance," he blocked—just enough to avoid reprimand—the entrance to that third-class waiting room at the right corner, his posture resembling one beneath trees upon stones, his lamp-lit face appearing ninety-nine percent steeped in drink.

In that state—unable to endure any longer—after parting from the young lady at Izutsu in Masagocho amidst falling green leaves and splitting branches, and having drunk somewhere along the way, Chikara too was in a daze; just as he thrust his hat through the entrance to peer into the second-class waiting room, Me-gumi called out from his so-called "over here." That this single utterance resounded with a boom gives some measure of its volume. "Ah! Kept you waiting, huh?" Chikara too now seemed invigorated by the situation.

With a heave-ho, he set down the luggage and stood up,

“Kept you waiting, huh, Mr. Hayase? I’ve been here since nine.”

“You must have been bored—I’m sorry about that.” “Nah, ’s nothin’.” With a grin, he opened his coat and, at a slant across his workman’s apron, discreetly revealed a Masamune four-gō flask, “This here—no way I’d get bored. “I’d just blow the horn now and then, y’know,” and tossed his head with the headband, “I was watchin’ the ticket window, see. Ha ha ha! That beauty—your hands there, all dazzlin’ white fluttering about—ain’t nothin’ but butterflies fluttering or fireworks in the movin’ pictures. Quite a sight, eh?” “Thanks for the show!” “Ha ha ha ha!”

“You fool—what do you think I am? An official? Outrageous.” Forcing a wry smile while admonishing him, “Has the house been fully cleared out? It must’ve been quite the ordeal.”

“It’s a battle—a downright battle!” “But hey, with the accounts manager coming and haulers helping out, they’d swept up everything down to the broken lamp under the veranda before lighting time.” “What’s to be done? You said to sell off every last scrap, but that didn’t pan out.” “When Otsuta-chan dug into that bran miso—seemed a shame to toss it—we passed it to the rickshaw house granny.” “The altar—Otsuta-chan wouldn’t let others handle it, so I lugged it home on my back once. But you made this a no-women zone—couldn’t let her take charge, so we had to surrender the fort. Bloody nuisance.” “When those stitching thread scraps rolled up neat in paper came outta the long brazier’s drawer—Ogenbou started blubbering.” “After all the care the missus put into this household—pfft, they wrecked it good.”

“Oh yeah, we drank alright! We stacked them rolled tobaccos into mountains—went to the local fishmonger’s where they had bonito—picked out a prime lively tuna myself, hauled it over in a handbasket and showed off my knife skills proper. Masterful work—a real one-minute trial!” He licked his thumb over the die that was about to land on one while they heated sake by the hearth. “‘C’mon, drink up!’ The three of us got started, but once things heated up, we called every last idle errand brat in sight. That fella peepin’ into the dim kitchen? They say he’s the greengrocer from Otowa. ‘Get your ass over here! Tofu guy’s your pal too, ain’t he? Drag that bastard in!’ ‘Hey sake-shop punk! You—belt out a work song!’ Just when things turned rowdy, Ogenbou comes back from her neighborly rounds—and there she was, changin’ into a fresh kimono all made up, wasn’t she? With them flea-huntin’ eyes scroungin’ for scraps, she’d just march right out again! Since it was her last day of service when they all came sayin’ ‘Let’s pour one out,’ I thought ‘Thanks loads, Dainichi Nyorai—I’ll cart ’em myself!’ No—‘I’ll do it!’ What a battle that was!”

Speaking of battles—the greengrocer from Otowa put on a lecture act, while the master spouted naniwa ballads.

Ah, if only this were a celebration for starting a household—Ogenbou teared up with such meekness. You see, once the rabble quieted down, they must’ve gotten all solemn-like, don’t you think? “A battle, eh?” “Crying here, ha ha ha ha, laughing there, ha ha ha!”

61 “So then you—why’re you shuttin’ down the household? If it’s ’bout money, even if we pooled funds through a mutual aid group, we wouldn’t let this house’s master ’n mistress sneak off at night,” said the tofu seller dressed in shabbiest clothes, lookin’ like he hadn’t a penny to his name. “Well done, eh?” “If it’s ’bout cash, Me-gumi’s got your back,” I declared, thrustin’ the plate of rolled tobacco into the center—not that I’d have thought to. “Obligations can’t be met—the mistress been under the professor’s care since his early days, but this big-shot teacher Mr. Masagochō won’t approve.” “He wouldn’t listen.” “Masters ’n parents ain’t to be reasoned with—that’s what the Great Founder said.” “Even though it’s unreasonable, they gotta push through—’n since every point’s dead right, without a single word, the mistress stepped back too.” “You two were so cozy, heh heh.”

“Hey, won’t you show some restraint?” “Oh come on, you—no need to hold back. The sake shop’s errand and the helpers all know about it.” “My apologies.” “Oh, you can’t just keep swallowing it all down.” “And yet even after getting scolded by the great teacher—you obediently turned it into a breakup story. Gotta admire that, Mr. Hayase.” “But what—so you’re closing up the house over that?” “When some young pickpocket bungles his job and gets slapped around in the crowd, then blinks ‘Help!’—that’s a man for you.” “When someone was asked to comply and hid the wallet for ’em, but it got exposed—then they started callin’ ’em accomplices to pickpockets and whatnot. So since dealin’ with the gentlemen became too much trouble, they cleared out and eloped, I tell ya.” “The story might be all wrong, but when you’re asked to back off and don’t—sayin’ that with such vigor—so you go ‘Hey, everyone, let’s take the lead!’ But since the master’s a scholar, we gotta cheer ‘Banzai!’ instead.” “Long live the Master! Then Long live the Mistress! Long live the Great Teacher! And while we’re at it—Long live Ogen-chan! That much was fine, heh heh—but then they got carried away. Might as well cheer for that pickpocket too!” “Fine by me!”

Getting carried away, Me-gumi no Sōsuke exchanged hand gestures at the station. "We cheered 'Long live pickpockets!'—though you might've heard it as '(Slippery banzai!)'." "Looks like a fire's broken out nearby." “Where’s the blaze?” they hollered in work-song cadence before roaring “Long live purse-snatchers!” Just as they revved up the celebration again, the overseer—who’d been standing guard over the greengrocer and tofu seller’s wares while watching the crowd—suddenly pulled a wry face at you. “Now now, let’s at least mind the fire precautions,” someone called out—and quick as you please, the rickshaw house’s missus decided to give the veranda another sweep for good measure. She filled a watchman’s bucket and stood at the ready, declaring “No cause for alarm!”

“I took the Buddhist altar and—since Otsuta-chan couldn’t bear leaving the garden lilies—gathered five or six stems with buds still closed to hang them up. Then I watched Ogenbou and the rickshaw house’s wife operate the veranda’s storm shutters, all while imagining myself as Yuranosuke of the Plum-Shaven surrendering the castle.”

“In this world there’s some real oddballs—right in the middle of us still clearing out the junk, one showed up wearing hakama!”

He started to say—then shot a sharp look at Chikara’s attire.

“Heh heh. You’re all dressed up tonight too, though…” “Well, that’s fine.” “So then—this pockmarked bastard, big-faced too—comes barging into that alley yelling, ‘Vacant? Empty?’” “That bastard wanted to see the Professor—wasn’t a tear in his eyes or nothin’.” “He was sayin’, ‘Is the house vacant?’” "Though it’s become popular lately, that’s downright rude." “That bastard barging into someone’s move-in chaos and asking about prices—” “Even if—what—they’re moving into some grand two-gated mansion, scattering rice grains they did—even the sparrow chicks’d feel sad lingering over the leftovers! And Otsuta-chan here, all settled in—when you shake a winter cherry, it rattles—what’d Ryūgen’s frog do then, frettin’ away, ain’t that right?”

“Stop that talk.”

Chikara tugged his hat brim lower. "Oh come on—bastard comes barging into all that, talkin' like he'd been camped out waitin' for the place to go vacant, then actin' all high-and-mighty on top!"

“It seemed like it didn’t matter whose nerves it got on—I found the whole thing hilarious.” “The rickshaw house’s helper—you see—eh, eh, ehhh—that mean-spirited bastard pretended to be deaf, then jammed his ear sideways into the bridge of that pockmarked bastard’s nose! Didn’t think he would!” “That bastard must’ve gotten furious too—he yelled, ‘Is it vacant?’ So I pulled out what looked like a powder jar Otsuta-chan had stashed under the stairs and bellowed back, ‘Vacant as hell!’” “When he asked, ‘Hayase—you’re shocked, huh?’ I threatened, ‘We eloped at night,’ and he went, ‘Heh heh, master...’”

Me-gumi spoke in an extremely small voice: "I thought I was a loan shark, so..." "Even if the story's about that—what a waste of Moralist-sensei... A loan shark!"

62 Just when it seemed he’d fallen silent for a moment, Me-gumi restlessly glanced around his surroundings, then—with the practiced swiftness of Kaitensai handling his tools—tilted back the four-gō jar and gulped down its contents in one go, not even pausing to exhale. “And then, you see—that pockmarked bastard made a fool of everyone and started askin’ where the overseer was.” “The overseer? I told him, ‘The overseer’s gone chasing after the master of this house who eloped!’ Then that bastard pulled a sour face and said—don’t you think he’d say—‘Don’t know how much the rent is, but I’d been wantin’ to rent it once it emptied out!’” “Ain’t you had enough?” “Hey, ain’t you had enough?” “This is the house where Yanagibashi’s Tsutakichi set up her household with her lover! You think we’d hand it over to the likes of you?” “There’s this big wholesaler at the fish market named Sōsuke of the Me-gumi—he’s turning it into a villa, I tell ya. Five hundred ryō deposit’s already paid.” “When I yelled ‘Get out!’, he got scared and left! Ha ha ha ha! How’s that, Professor? You liked it, didn’t you?”

“Don’t play such pranks.” “But you see—not just his way o’ talkin’, but his whole damn frame galls me. Since he was sober then, we scraped through alright. But mark my words—after that ‘Long live pickpockets!’ business, Ete-kichi’s survival’s hangin’ by a thread.” As Me-gumi grew bolder in his storytelling, Chikara listened with amused fascination—their boisterous voices and shameless postures, planted like staggered channel markers in the night-flooded station, must’ve struck observers as both brazen and oddly captivating. Beside these engrossed figures, a station attendant crept close until—abruptly near Me-gumi’s side—came three metallic clangs: clang, clang, clang.

“Gah!” he gasped, eyes fixed wide, falteringly retreating as the station employee coldly marched off toward the entrance with a metallic clang.

Chikara also startled. “Tickets! Tickets!” He unintentionally let it slip and hurried off. “Whoa, whoa! Professor! The tickets are taken care of.” “You already bought them? That’s impressive.” Sōsuke did not answer this and— “Yeah, I was surprised—no joke—it was the two-and-a-half gō that got me acting up. C’mon now, get on in.”

Pulling up the luggage, the two of them exited through the ticket gate. The contrast between the hanten coat and the light-colored suit was striking, but the passengers numbered no more than fourteen or fifteen, their shadows merely flickering apart. Me-gumi rushed out in a flurry from the middle [of the platform], peered into one second-class compartment and moved to another, then nimbly jumped in—by the time Chikara approached, he had stowed the luggage and stepped back out. "This'll do here, Professor."

“What’s this—a blue ticket?” “That’s plain as day,” “Don’t talk big—aren’t we just runaways? How much was it again?” As he twisted sideways to search his kimono sleeve, Me-gumi clattered the donburi bowl, “Got it covered, Professor.” “Do you think I’d let you handle the dealings?”

“Hmm,” he said solemnly, shaking his head, “The money from selling off every last tool’s weighing heavy here.” “Since I’m still holdin’ onto what you told me to give Tsuta-chan, no need to hold back! Hahaha!” “In that case, I won’t hold back.”

When they boarded, there were two others. Without even looking properly, Chikara stood by the window, leaned out, and said something strange. It concerned Sadazō the groom—a matter that Me-gumi had let slip about, one that Kano’s mother had previously been involved with—. “I’m counting on you.” “Mm, agreed then.”

Chikara laughed, “That’s not what I meant—the groom’s whereabouts. I’ll search too, but you do your part as well.” “……Understood.”

He stepped back and readjusted his headband as he turned away. Keeping his hand raised, he spread his fingers upward like fireworks bursting and shouted, “Hooray!” Then he lunged into a deep bow toward the approaching station employee, bellowing, “Not a chance in hell! Hahaha!” As Chikara straightened up from the window, he glimpsed a graceful figure with an elaborate chignon retreating into the far corner. The glass door slammed shut against the corrugated iron with a thud—the one who had turned back diagonally was Otsuta.

When she suddenly realized, Otsuta feigned ignorance and turned her back again with a swift motion.

The train departed.

Noblewoman

I

The following day, as the Kobe-bound express train emerged from the Hakone Tunnel, there was a young male passenger seated in the dining car who, though at a separate table, was conversing fluently in German with a foreign guest. At her own table sat a splendidly dressed noblewoman who watched with evident delight and admiration as our compatriot skillfully wielded foreign tongues, all while periodically attending to an adorable boy of about four years perched on the adjacent chair. Clad in a matched kasuri-patterned lined kimono and straight-sleeved haori jacket, she displayed remarkable dexterity in wielding meat fork and small knife to carve portions onto his plate.

The verdant leaves stretched into view under today’s steadily pattering rain that fell upon the window’s green frame—clouds came fluttering like white egrets in flight, only to rush past the mountain’s flank. Under the dripping rain that squeezed through Hakone Ridge, the skin of the noblewoman bathed in nature appeared as smoothly carved jade. Against the snow-white ribbon, the luster of her black hair absorbed the gleam of the gold-lacquered comb until it shone like polished lacquer. Her under-collar—graded in wisteria purple with peony blossoms and golden stamens—lay beneath a chestnut-and-plum-crested fine silk kimono, its hem draped in pale hues over a shadow-dyed black underrobe faintly tinged with crimson. The rain-cooled willow-like slenderness of her waist appeared bound by thirteen strands into the black satin maru obi, where gold-painted koto strings swept smoothly across its surface. One of the patterned koto bridges pressed against the curve of her full bosom, fastening the golden chain of her watch. The haori was of pale red crepe—though one struggled to discern—adorned with five family crests. As the hand holding the small knife moved, several linked gemstones on rings glittered to dazzle the eye, resembling yet not quite like crystal prayer beads being counted—for the floating world now basked in its prime colors. It was as if a glamorous actress had brought along a child actor. As for age, if she were the child’s mother, she would have to be at least forty-five; but if she were his sister, she could be nine or twenty without issue.

The noblewoman became so absorbed in observing her compatriot—a dark-complexioned man with a straight nose, delicate features, slightly intense eyebrows, a somewhat stern mouth, and a piercing gaze as he skillfully engaged in soliloquy—that the child, now having finished eating with hands freed, began idly tracing circles on his plate out of boredom. He too—appearing bored with round eyes—gazed at the noblewoman's face and turned toward her in the same manner, but finding this foreign uncle more intriguing than his utterly unremarkable Japanese brother, leaned in with an innocent stare.

The sight of those eyes darting about in wonder was so utterly charming that even the boy who had been pacing triangularly by the corner window allowed himself a faint smile. At this, the foreigner—his beard bristling into a broad grin—had just started peeling a post-meal apple when he gripped the small knife at an angle, flipped the peel upward in one swift motion, and offered up the fruit while muttering something rapid. The youth turned around, twisting his body as he reached for the chair where the child sat perched.

“Come here, young man. I’ll give you something nice,” he said, but as he strained to lean out in the opposite direction, the force in his gripped arm caused the chair to tilt sideways toward the Noblewoman. He did this cheerfully, unabashedly— “Ahaha,” laughed the child. The youth, out of playfulness, deliberately shifted his hips and, this time gripping safely with both hands, rocked it unsteadily like a cradle,

“Ahaha,” he grew even more delighted. Gauging her good mood, “Come here, come here.” Seeing the noblewoman nod without ulterior motive, he made the child kick his small boots up and down as he pleased, went over to the foreigner, and no sooner had he set down the knife and apple together than he swiftly reached out his hand, scooped up the child, lifted him high above eye level with a thud as if wrenching him from the floor, and in an unsteady voice— “Banzaaai—” Boi amiably clapped his hands. At that moment in the dining car, the guests consisted solely of this group.

II

“Was that gentleman German?” After the foreign guest had left the dining car, the Noblewoman asked the youth. Having already ascertained that their conversation hadn’t been in English, she could discern the man’s cultivated knowledge. The youth swiveled his chair around. “I thought so too, but no—he was Italian.” “Ah, an Italian merchant?” “No, he seemed to be a scholar. Though not being one myself, I couldn’t discuss scientific matters. But from his manner, he did strike me as rather like a physicist.”

"A physicist, you say?" She placed a hand on the child's shoulder,

"This one's father also dabbles a bit in that field, you see." So he was a Bachelor of Science or something of the sort.

When the Noblewoman said this, she appeared somewhat triumphant.

“I’m sure you had a most fascinating conversation.” The rustle of snow clogs shifting accompanied her movement as she bent her soft arm against the tablecloth patterned with karakusa arabesques, leaning forward with earnest attention—a gesture that inexplicably made the youth adopt a troubled expression. “I hardly know how to respond—you honor me too much. I’m but a dilettante physicist, you see.” “Well,” He scratched lightly at the ceiling, “Having eaten an apple, I recalled my ancestor Mr. Newton—hence styling myself a physicist.” “Haha! Truthfully, I haven’t the slightest grasp of any of it.”

“Oh!” “How wicked of you.” “You—” With a faint smile came the coquettish allure of her sidelong glance. Sensing her penetrating gaze, the youth averted his eyes and instead beckoned to Boi—who stood waiting beyond the partition, their faces meeting through the glass—

“Coffee.” “Ah, over here as well.” And the Noblewoman added her order while continuing, “But you managed to have quite an extensive conversation, did you not? Was it perhaps about the literature of that country?” “Not at all,”

The youth grew increasingly flustered, “Even foreigners must understand that one should tailor their teachings to the listener.” “For someone of my standing, I’d never presume to start such lofty conversations with you—but he did say something peculiar.” “Ah yes, he mentioned next year’s affairs.” “Though in the West, it seems even demons don’t find such talk laughable.” “What affairs regarding next year would those be?”

“What do you mean? He said he’d return to his home country once this year and come back properly next year.” “(There will be a solar eclipse, so I’ll set out again to observe it—in the Orient it’s almost total,) he said, but it seems Japan still has no such rumors yet.” “Even if such rumors existed, I wouldn’t pay them any mind whatsoever. Someone like me remains utterly oblivious until the Grand Shrine of Ise circulates the new almanac at year’s end.” “Though he only mentioned ‘the Orient’—whether it’s China or Korea, or maybe Hokkaido or Kyushu, who knows where exactly he plans to observe it—just as I was about to ask him that, you entered the dining car, so I thought, ‘Well, this is no time for eclipses!’”

"So then, after that, you must have been teasing me, I daresay." "You mustn't say such teasing things."

“Then, what was your conversation about?”

“To tell the truth, he asked what sort of noblewoman you were…” “Ah,” “What do you mean? If you take offense, I’ll be in trouble, you see,”

He bowed his head and lowered his voice, "I said you were an actress." "Oh!" Her clear eyes opened wide as if to glare sharply, but her mouth held a smile, showing no sign of being troubled.

“Enough of such talk—please don’t tease me so. “I’ll be getting off now, so...” “Where...?” When he asked hesitantly, the Noblewoman—as if she had completely forgotten about the child—responded with a suddenly animated tone, “Shizuoka—so beyond that, you may do as you please. But even if our compartments differ, it would be cruel while I remain aboard.” “There’s no need to worry. “I’m getting off at Shizuoka too.” “Hot water.” As the child spoke, the coffee he held remained hot.

III “Where in Shizuoka will you be going?”

When the Noblewoman cheerfully inquired, the Youth appeared somewhat drained of vigor,

“There’s no particular place I can name. For the time being, I intend to stay at an inn.” If that were the case, he seemed inclined to inquire about the local area. “Are you residing in Shizuoka, or are you merely traveling there?” “When I say I’ve come from Tokyo to earn my living, I do have some skills to offer, but being just a country actress, I must say it’s rather embarrassing. And calling this countryside a backwater—doesn’t that make even its name sound pitiful? In the makeshift theaters of the outskirts, I merely tend to kitchen duties—a humble country actress, I’m afraid.”

She laughed, covering her mouth with a violet handkerchief, but the beauty of her downcast eyebrows—unhidden by her bangs—was undeniable.

The youth fell silent for a moment, inadvertently taking out his rolled tobacco as he—

“I’m terribly sorry. “I never meant any harm by it. “If there were an actress of your caliber, I thought it would bring honor to our country—and since the person asking was a foreigner, no, I truly meant it that way when I said it—but I sincerely apologize.”

he added with sincere contrition, "While I'm being rude—and meaning to apologize again—might I ask if you know someone called Mr. Kano in Shizuoka?" "Kano... why," nodded deeply, "Yes," "Oh! Kano is one of us." Unconsciously taking the child's hand, she rose from the table as if lifting herself up, straightening her posture—the koto-string pattern on her obi swaying like plucked cords—as she focused her intent.

“And you?”

"I have the honor of being acquainted with Mr. Eikichi. I am called Hayase Chikara." The youth abruptly left his chair and stood up.

“Well, Mr. Hayase, I should have known! You’re being quite mischievous, aren’t you?” she said with a knowing smile.

Chikara looked surprised. “Are you saying I’m being mean? Are you referring to when I called you an actress?” “No—you declared our household disagreeable, so you refuse to grant Mr. Sakai’s daughter to Eikichi, ohoho.” “......” “My brother has already grown despondent and pale. Mr. Hayase, how do you do?” This person too stood up, still holding the handkerchief, and at this belated moment they exchanged an informal bow.

“I am Mr. Eikichi’s sister.” “Ah, I’ve heard of you through rumors. Are you Dr. Shimayama’s honorable wife? ...Ah, I see.” Shizuoka Prefecture... a certain... principal—Dr. Shimayama’s wife Sugako—was this the beauty Eikichi had once likened to “a hare in flight”? Once she set foot in Shizuoka—her presence as renowned as Princess Sakuya of Asama Forest—this flower blooming in the remote grasses indeed compelled nods of recognition.

The Kano clan's foremost beauty. The wealth, status, and glory of that lineage might well be said to find their sole embodiment in this Madam. Her husband, the scientist, had studied abroad in the West for many years. Though occupying an eminent position, he remained a man of pure scholarly temperament—free from worldly desires, serene, utterly indifferent to food and clothing. To call him uncultured would miss the mark; he was simply unaffected by such matters. Since he ate when hungry and dressed when cold, his only requirement was that provisions be abundant. It mattered not whether dishes were boiled, grilled, or vinegared. Whether wearing a heko sash, trousers, or a haori lacking fastenings—he remained entirely unperturbed; even when meeting others, he would exchange mere greetings and rarely engage in conversation. To compensate for these deficiencies—perhaps through his wife's presence—Sugako proved supremely adept at socializing: fond of splendor, conversation, amusement, hospitality, and caretaking. Thus the endless stream of calling cards at their entrance—journalists, students, clerks, drapers, painters, actors, religious figures... all passed through Madam's hands, their names said to acquire luster solely through the gemstone's glow upon her ring.

IV Some received five-yen envelopes as alms; others were treated to beer before being sent home. Some she took out sightseeing; others she secured invitations to concerts for; still others she discussed charity bazaar plans with. She received guests without weariness, tedium, or faltering—mastering the art of inspiring deep reverence in all who came—and moreover, that her eyes possessed an eloquence transcending eras became clear to Chikara at a glance. As might be expected, though more than half of the scientist’s considerable salary was expended for Sugako’s sake, her husband—who desired nothing for himself—felt no pain letting matters take their course. Moreover, as Eikichi had noted, since her family provided a cosmetic allowance, applying rouge and powder to her heaven-given beauty made discretionary funds freely available. Though her elegant robes made her seem slender, her jade-like skin retained its lush fullness—her sweat would transform into crimson dew! Truly fitting for a woman of the Yang lineage. The character for “Yang” in Tōyō Juku, the Kano family’s academy in Ushigome Minami-chō, might well have been chosen because Sugako existed. Thus she stood as an accomplished graduate of a certain women’s college.

At that time, they would clatter through the girls’ school corridors in their lined indoor sandals with red cords trailing—a practice that spread throughout the entire school and caused a temporary uproar. In recent Shizuoka fashion trends regarding both garments and hair ornaments, two Madams reigned supreme: one being this Madam, and the other—a newcomer from Tsuruya, the wealthiest household in the region known for its thousand-year-old willows that overshadowed Mount Ōiwa’s peaks near Abe River’s bridge—a family who had last year managed to wed a daughter from a certain Tokyo aristocrat. Together, these two Madams swirled like twin eddies in the Tomoe River, their influence surging with the force of a moat’s overflowing waters.

“I truly didn’t know—please forgive my rudeness. You bear absolutely no resemblance to Eikichi-kun, so naturally there was no reason for me to make the connection.”

Chikara’s greeting here was truly impeccable. Upon closer inspection, there was indeed a faint resemblance in their features—for whether in crystal or porcelain, the largeness of their eyes was more or less identical—but since no Madam would take pleasure in being told she resembled Eikichi, he resolved that they bore not the slightest likeness. That part had been expertly handled, but when he took out a match from his coat pocket, lit it by striking it against the tip of his nose, and blew out a puff of smoke—no sooner had he done so than the bellboy came darting over like an arrow, making as much commotion as if he had spotted a small fire,

“Smoking is not permitted here, sir.” “Oh, this is—” Flustered, Chikara spun around, hurriedly opened the door, thrust [the cigarette] into the spittoon in the adjacent lounge, crushed out the stub, then returned with an exaggeratedly apologetic posture and summoned the bellboy—all while Madam smiled serenely and issued some quiet instruction. However, her laughter did not seem to mock others’ failures, but rather appeared amused by a relative’s clumsy efforts. “I’ve completely lost face.” “This is my first time in a train’s dining car since I was born.”

he muttered, half to himself.

Just then, four or five customers came clamoring in. Without sparing them a glance, “Ohoho—this isn’t the Japanese way at all, is it? You must find it quite disagreeable.” “Not at all—utter humiliation.”

“Not being travel-savvy is, if anything, an Edoite’s honor.” Seeing the bellboy bring the change and hand it to Madam, the thoroughly flustered Chikara left his barely sipped coffee untouched and remained standing without sitting down, “Put this on the bill as well.”

He approached close, bent down, and said politely in a low voice, "As for covering our shared expenses—"

“Don’t be absurd, you—” This time, as Chikara spoke with fiery haste, Madam settled the matter by tucking the billfold into her obi—the golden chain glinting— “A seasoned country laborer’s…” She nearly said “actress” but, as there were guests present, “Please leave it to the onnagata.” With a slender, towering stature, half her face vividly framed against the russet window drape like a goddess of Roman hues, she brushed past Chikara’s shoulder, one hand trailing as if leading Love itself by its wrist.

“Now, do come over here and partake of plenty tobacco.” Without so much as a backward glance, she took the lead and guided him to the aforementioned lounge. She stood with her back turned, tilting her head slightly as she crossed her arms and squared her shoulders—Chikara followed behind with long strides.

Outside the window lay Chinese milk vetch across the foothills, snow upon the high peaks, Fuji gleaming white beneath a rain-purple sky.

V According to what was heard, Madam had come up to the capital about a week prior and had been staying at Tōyō Juku in Minami-chō. The cherry blossoms had already passed, and it wasn’t even the Iris Festival—so this wasn’t a pleasure trip. The purpose concerned this child’s two-year-older sister, who suffered from an eye disease—or rather a condition so severe she could barely see. Even at her family’s hospital, every possible treatment had been exhaustively investigated, but to no avail, leaving her likely destined for lifelong misfortune. For her to abandon her efforts, her husband—the scientist—was currently away on official business in the Kyushu region. The mother had gone to Ushigome concerning her brother Eikichi’s affairs—various matters requiring attention—and had then proceeded to the university’s ophthalmology department to have him undergo a diagnosis; today marked her return journey.

Naturally, for the girl's sake—given that her maternal grandfather had been a Rangaku physician of that era ("a relic of bygone days," she interjected lightly) and the hospital director was her uncle by marriage—they could hardly neglect proper care. Initially, they had consulted reputable Tokyo specialists for two or three months, but since nothing proved effective, they had already resigned themselves three years prior regarding their blind daughter ("How pitiful," she remarked in an objective tone). Though they knew full well that visiting the university now would ultimately prove futile... in short, it had been used as a pretext—here her speech took on a slightly hardened edge.

“Though my husband indulges me in many matters, he harbors some deep-seated aversion to letting me visit Tokyo—I couldn’t even argue my way into going.” “When two whole years pass without seeing Ueno’s blossoms or Sumida’s moon, even the haori I had dyed in Kyoto loses its luster. How pitiful it seems to my own eyes—dull and lifeless.” “Oh, do look,” she said, peering out the window. “Even this Mount Fuji—had Tokyoites remained ignorant of it—would never have gained such renown.” “In the countryside, I feel like buried timber—so anxious I can scarcely endure it.” “With my husband away on extended travels, I thought ‘Now’s my chance!’ But as the household’s caretaker, I couldn’t possibly journey forth—not with my family’s standing to consider. So I used my blind daughter as pretext and slipped from the cage.” “May the parent bird avoid hawks’ talons—let the fledgling bear any punishment,” said the Madam with a bright, twittering laugh.

This conversation took place face-to-face in the narrow lounge sandwiched between the dining car and passenger compartment as Chikara smoked one hand-rolled cigarette after another without pause. The space between chairs was so narrow their sleeves nearly brushed when seated opposite each other; her long hem pooled around tabi-clad feet while her posture in high-waisted snow boots kept only the toe tips grazing the floor. With each jolt of the train scattering Tonanaki blossoms and disarranging Tomozome flowers, Madam repeatedly adjusted and readjusted them. Chikara caught sight of the blind daughter mentioned earlier. It happened when a young boy from the dining car suddenly reached for the glass-paned door to the passenger compartment. A woman in her mid-thirties—her hair styled in a gingko-leaf twist, neat and earnest-looking—sat at the seat’s edge. She rose immediately to open the door for the child, whom he took for a nursemaid until noticing another girl beside her: primly seated in a quilted coat despite the warmth, hands withdrawn into sleeves, head drooping listlessly against the woman’s lap—the sickly child he realized must be the blind daughter from their conversation.

Though the nursemaid could not see Madam's figure from her withdrawn position in the rear, Chikara—aware that he himself was being observed through the glass from afar—seemed to feel constrained, frequently casting uneasy glances about. Yet even this demeanor revealed the nursemaid's gentle, compassionate nature: having deeply sympathized with the young mistress's blindness, she appeared to have naturally mirrored the girl's condition, closing her eyes in unison and bowing her head low whenever addressing the boy, never once peering beyond the room.

And so, exchanging phrase after phrase without reserve, their conversation continued unabated until they at last arrived in Shizuoka. In the train car, her body thoroughly wearied, Madam threw her arms back against the window, her temples drooping as if pillowed there—even the loosened obi at her waist seemed beyond her strength to adjust—yet her bell-like eyes remained vivid, their large pupils fixed on Chikara’s face from her pale wrists as she showed no sign of tiring in their exchange.

The Outskirts of Kusabuka

VI

The gentlemen who commuted daily to the prefectural offices, police stations, normal schools, middle schools, newspaper companies, and Marunouchi—even the most habitually tardy among them having already departed—left the samurai alley of Kusabuka Town in Shizuoka as silent as if claimed by demons during that transient hour around nine or ten in the morning, mirroring the stillness of nine or ten at night. Through this desolation clattered a single carriage: its glossy canopy framing Mount Fuji’s crystalline form against the dawn sky, kickplates ablaze with peacock feathers, backrest adorned in Tomozome-dyed patterns, riding high on slender wheels.

That crisp, light creaking sound of a carriage... was undoubtedly that one going out. She must have returned from Tokyo yesterday. There they stopped on the small bridge to admire her seasonal wardrobe change; there they rushed out from inner quarters moments after seeing off their masters; there they paused their work at well pulleys—women from all walks of life uniformly raised their eyes to look. The carriage—undoubtedly that recently repainted masterpiece kept aside for about ten days at the intersection checkpoint near the fire watchtower, where wisteria trellises adorned the eaves and waterways flowed below, awaiting its inaugural ride by the wife of Shimayama—rolled empty save for a single furoshiki bundle, its bareheaded coachman dashing onward.

After about half an hour had passed, the same horse-drawn carriage came charging through the tea fields from the thoroughfare and was pulled into Kusabuka Town. The tofu sellers and greengrocers who happened to pass by at that moment—along with wives hawking goods like "How about some nori?"—took those riding in the carriage for actors from the Wakatake-za troupe. Meanwhile, mistresses peering over verandas from empty parlors or hiding behind entrance screens cried out in commotion that this must be the new actor from Chidori-za playing Kan'ichi in Konjiki Yasha.

When Chikara returned to this place once more, his manly demeanor stood out almost comically; his cropped hair glistened as if freshly washed, his complexion appearing paler and clearer than before—undeniable effects of the water treatment. Under the land’s transparent light—(he had changed into a dust-covered Western suit)—even the secondhand black silk-lined haori bearing Professor Sakai’s two-comma crest appeared lustrous, its creases sharp and dignified. The summer kimono in Kurume or Satsuma-style indigo-dyed splashed pattern—newly made this year—must have been something Otsuta poured her heart into creating when the deutzia flowers bloomed.

He had lodged at the Daitōkan Inn in Kofukumachi the previous night and, having been met by Madam that morning, had come to Kusabuka. He looked up at Asama's flowing forest and looked down at the moat's rushing waters. A crimson wisp of cloud suddenly appeared, veiling his vision like a dream. When he recognized silk tree flowers and heard the stream's murmur, the carriage clattered onto the stone bridge and halted at the massive black gate.

“Here?” he said, hopping out lightly. “Yes, sir.” The coachman rushed into the gate and clattered open the attached lattice door; he spread his body sideways and bent at the waist, revealing the pale yellow lining of his garment as he waited. The traditional wooden gate, remaining old-fashioned with its foundation stones still in place, made it impossible to pull the carriage in sideways all the way to the entrance.

While thinking the boy would likely come running out ahead, Hayase Chikara removed his hat and, brushing his sleeve against green dew by a rain-freshened pine, passed through the lattice into the earthen-floored entryway where an old-fashioned grand entrance loomed—its ceiling high enough to hang a palanquin. When he looked, there before him was the raised entrance platform. In one corner, a plank door stood ajar, and in the light streaming from the rear veranda, her black hair alone stood out distinctly. Yet across the dim earthen floor, with the vague hues of her garments and her pale figure, the Madam appeared to have grown impatient waiting.

Without allowing even a greeting to be exchanged, without uttering a word, she stood there with a welcoming smile, “Oh, you were late, weren’t you? You’ve had quite the ordeal.” She briefly called out to the coachman, “I thought you must have overslept.” “Now, this way.” “Now,” Urged on by her hurried words, Chikara ascended quickly. Having entered from the bright outdoors onto the entrance platform twice as dark, he stepped high and thudded against the plank door—all while Sugako, remaining unaware of his clatter, continued hastening him along. “This way—straight through here. Hohoho! Ichikawa Sugajo—to the room.”

Along the veranda she went with a rustling—the sound of her bare feet swiftly managing her hem.

VII

Chikara caught fragments of "Ichikawa Sugajo..." but, with Sugako rushing so frantically from the entrance corner toward the veranda that she might have tripped, he followed swiftly without grasping the meaning—until halfway down the veranda, he finally realized: this was the repercussion of having mockingly called Madam an actress to that foreigner on yesterday's train. When he realized this and smiled faintly, his eyes remained sharp, unlike the rest of his expression. Just beside it was a ten-tatami room that appeared to be a guest chamber, but Madam had already made her way past it along the veranda to the next (Sugajo Room) from,

“Do come straight through,” she called out. When Chikara hesitated, “Oh now, you mustn’t peek into the parlor—it’s still in disarray.”

she laughed. The moment this thought struck him, his entire figure stood vividly reflected in the full-length mirror at the veranda's end—the indigo kasuri pattern crisp, even the astonished glint in Madam's eyes as she entered the room captured with such clarity that he wondered where she had observed him from. Before the mirror stood a long chair, the veranda's width allowing ample space. On the wall facing the sliding-door compartment hung shelves displaying perfumes, pomades, white face powder mingled with vases, alongside brushes and combs arranged in what seemed a Western-style vanity—evidently converted from a closet by removing its sliding doors and repurposing the fixtures through renovation.

A pale green window curtain hung between the long chair and the storm shutters, its gathered hem fluttering like a raised stage curtain. The silk tree flowers glimpsed from the carriage now stood beyond the garden's black plaster wall, where an irrigation channel curved beneath them—following the stone bridges before the gate—in its flowing course. Regrettably, the garden amounted to nothing more than a rectangular plot with two or three neglected plantings, but in compensation, Mount Fuji dominated the view. As if the earth had been upended from its very axis and propped like a fallen shogi piece, embracing all surrounding peaks at its base, Mount Fuji fluttered snowy sleeves against the azure sky of that moment, resting lightly upon the pale red silk tree flowers.

"What a splendid residence you have here." There, having uttered a passing yet appropriate remark and entered the room, he found her sitting beyond the long hibachi—her unadorned S-shaped coiled hair dripping with glossy darkness. Her striped tussah silk crepe haori lay carelessly draped over a silk serge fabric in the storeroom; with her loosely tied obi and casually arranged living space, she seemed ready to sit with knees raised at any moment. Beside the decorated chest of drawers, behind the mirror stand's glass, cascading strands at her jewel-like neck trailed through, the freshly applied light makeup's beauty visible through to her back. The scent of white powder had perhaps permeated the zabuton cushion—when Chikara sat down, it became richly fragrant.

“Since I’ve brought you to such a place as this, well, please refrain from stiff formalities.” “You must have been rather lonely staying alone at the inn last night.” A white hand that seemed to grip fire tongs parted the steam rising from the copper kettle, flickered, “I did consider sending for you last night, but if I don’t let you feel a touch of loneliness first, you’ll never understand how precious friends are when coming to an unfamiliar place.” “So you mustn’t treat me carelessly or act insincerely from now on………”

With a gentle smile, she cast a fleeting glance, "And besides, the house is in such disarray. When I'm away for even a week, it becomes deserted enough to spread sparrow nets at the gate." "Not a single letter has come." "Since first rising this morning, I've been in such a frenzy myself—holding the broom here, sweeping things out there." "It's still not tidied up one bit, but I thought you wouldn't mind, and since I wanted to see you quickly, I made do and told them to send the carriage posthaste."

“Even those provincial carriages are swift, aren’t they? But still—‘Is he here yet? Not yet?’ I kept standing up and sitting down, couldn’t settle to anything at all. Look at me—still in full makeup without even having tidied my dressing table! In the end, I stood blocking the entrance waiting for you. Which route did you take?” Without waiting for an answer, she gazed up at the pendulum clock—throat arched ivory-like, chest thrust forward—one hand pressed against the tatami.

“My, it hasn't even been an hour yet. It felt like I waited half a day. Where did you stop along the way? Did you see that large wasabi signboard right next to Daitōkan? The post office—did you see the brick building across Hirokoji Avenue on your right? That's the prefectural office. It's inside the castle compound. Oh right—Mr. Hayase, do have plenty of cigarettes. I even received Russian ones, but Shimayama—my husband—doesn't smoke them at all...”

VIII Then, declaring it a local specialty, she brought out manju from Senya, her movements graceful as she roasted the tea—though with the iron kettle still unboiled, she scooped water from the copper pot using a ladle whose handle had not only been snapped short but, after transferring it twice to the earthenware teapot, plunged another scoop in with a splash. The handle had simply come loose,

"My," she exclaimed with a startled expression, tilting it askew to peer through—a gesture that, matching this Madam's allure, resembled tortoiseshell patterns on her middle finger held up to filtered light. "What can you do?" she laughed, tossing aside the handle—her manner of showing little concern for domestic affairs retained vestiges of student life. When Chikara inquired about the children, it emerged that both had gone out early that morning with their nurse, bearing souvenirs and news of their return from Tokyo.

“Since Kano’s father knows he’s been secretly using the children for Tokyo excursions too, even if he doesn’t say anything, he’ll surely glare at me through his beard with that bitter look—it’s nothing to be thankful for!” “With Mother having her daughter come visit affectionately, she must be pleased enough. She’ll return before long.” “Until then, I don’t plan to show my face at my parents’ house—for now, I’ll claim I’ve caught a cold.”

Leaning her elbow on the edge of the hibachi and staring fixedly at the man’s face, she uttered words devoid of malice as though her soul had departed. “That’s not good.” Chikara, on the contrary, appeared concerned. “Is someone coming from over there? If they find out you’ve returned—” “Would they even come?” “My brother-in-law—the medical scholar, my sister’s husband—is busy, and he doesn’t let my sister out even for a moment.” “Because he’s so hopelessly doting.” “And Father—well, lately he’s been holed up in the main house working on some coherent manuscript about familism. Sometimes he even spends entire days shut inside the storehouse, you know?” “The storehouse is full of books, you see.” “My father is a doctor, you see, but he’s someone with grand aspirations—rather than curing individuals one or two at a time, he wants to cure the nation’s ills.” “Last year, you know, familism and individualism caused quite a stir in the newspapers.” “Back then too, Father fought against the enemy with fiery intensity, supported by Uncle in Tokyo and Mr. Sakata (the moralist).”

"Regrettably, my brother Eikichi also worked tirelessly, but with no proper institution behind him, it ended up being published in some mere educational magazine—neither his paper nor his name gained any recognition. So now he’s working doubly hard out of sheer disappointment." "If I recall correctly, wasn’t your Professor Sakai one of the leading figures on the opposing side during that time?" The sudden question came like an arrow, and he seemed somewhat flustered, but— "How was it? I’ve already forgotten," he answered casually.

It didn’t seem she had any particular aim. "But tell me—you remain an individualist at heart, do you not?" "I’m a manju-ist and bancha-ist."

he said competitively for some reason, shoved the bun unceremoniously into his mouth with one hand, and without even pausing for breath gulped down the coarse tea. “Oh what lies! You’re all about Yanagibashi-ism yet—”

Madam’s faintly smiling eyes opened wide—her dark pupils dominating as if cleaving through her eyelashes—and she glared. “I was just a bit surprised... There now, look—I’ve still more surprises for you.” As she turned around, twisting her shoulders backward to reach toward the tea shelf, the hem of her under-robe slipped in that brisk movement.

Remaining seated sideways without any theatrical pose, she leaned her shoulder diagonally from beside the long hibachi and held it open as if to shade something...

“Oh! You bought the textbook, didn’t you?” “Professor, what do you call this?” “You mustn’t criticize your own professional tools.” “No, I mean it seriously—since you said you’d open a German tutoring school here in Shizuoka, I got ahead of things and already bought it.” “I’ll be your very first pupil!” “Now, how do they say ‘Leider’ in German…” “*Lesebuch*—I’ll cover the monthly tuition.” “*Lesebuch.*”

Nine

“What was... that?” she asked in a genuinely open tone, “If I study diligently—how many years until I could read famous works like Goethe’s Faust or Schiller’s Wilhelm Tell... was it? Those kinds of books?” “You could read them immediately,” he replied as he took the textbook and flipped through its pages roughly with one hand, “with the caveat that this applies to someone at my level.” “But...” “No—it’s possible.”

“Oh, really…” “Though it does depend on the tuition fees.” “Oh, come now!” She recoiled as if struck and spoke in a chiding tone, “Why would that be?” “I’m well aware of the treat, you know.” Opening the sliding door by the tea shelf was a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old country maid from beyond the 280-ken bridge in the Mariko area, wearing a kimono that hung too short on her frame. “Yes’m,” she said in a thick country accent.

Just from hearing it, the clever Sugako seemed to have already grasped the matter.

“Did someone come?” “Y-yes’m?”

“Oh, how bothersome! Didn’t I tell you to say we’re away for now?” “Well, yes’m, but it ain’t no proper guest—it’s them clerks from Kofukumachi, see.” “Ah, Taniya’s clerks? That’s fine, send them over here.”

She started to say, then turned her gaze toward Chikara, "Since there's someone being hidden here... ho-ho-ho, let's go over there." No sooner had she adjusted her collar than she briskly stood up, brushed the crouching servant girl's hair with her sleeve, and was already gone.

With a blank expression, the servant girl withdrew heavily without closing the door behind her.

This was perplexing—in such an expansive residence, aside from the wet nurse, was there truly only that maid? With the master away on a trip to Kyushu and the madam absent for some seven days, managing the household seemed untenable through his efforts alone. First of all—given how even Mariko appeared unreliable at serving tea amidst numerous guests coming and going—Hayase surveyed his surroundings (as he would later learn during their absence, a coachman retained by her family home had come nightly while his wife attended by day). It became clear during lunch that all hospitality for visitors had been entirely procured via telephone from restaurants... Though perhaps these were deemed honored guests.

Such matters were trivial, but curiously enough—during that period when frequent comings and goings occurred between Hayase and the Madam—there had been a student boarder named Mino Yasuhachi who was being supported by this household while attending middle school. He had returned to his hometown immediately after the Madam departed for Tokyo, citing his parents’ illness. Had he been present, even if attending school during daytime hours, there would have been nothing particularly remarkable about the situation.

Now, it seemed the Madam had shown the clerk from Taniya to the ten-mat room next door, and while voices conversed within, “Mr. Hayase—” Chikara, hearing the Madam’s voice from afar as she had taken the long way around after leaving this room, quietly followed her path—his response delayed—when,

“Mr. Hayase,” the Madam called again from nearby. Just now, she had made that teasing remark about “the person being hidden.” “How many rooms would you need approximately?” “What? What?” It was too abrupt for him to comprehend. “The house that you intend to rent.” “Hold on,”

“Yes, that’s right.” “Oh-hohoho, you’re taking such a roundabout way! Come over here. Oh-hohoho, from the veranda, the veranda!” Following the Madam’s instructions, Chikara started toward the sliding door by the tea shelf—but then circled all the way around through Sugajo’s Room, emerging onto the veranda with a wry smile, only to find—! The next tatami room lay just three steps away. Leaning against the open shoji with her knee raised high, Madam rested her cheek on her plump exposed elbow, the deep hem of her kimono spilling around her.

“Since morning you’ve been wandering door to door—if you stayed over, how would you ever...” As she turned her face, its flower’s hue merged with the silk tree’s shadow.

“Heh heh heh.” And there, waiting across the way, was none other than the clerk from the fabric store. A turmeric-dyed cotton furoshiki held a stack of yukata fabric.

Two clerks.

Ten

In the afternoon, with the rhythmic tapping from cotton-beating in Miyagasaki-cho's upper floors serving as an untimely accompaniment like fulling blocks, Madam Shimayama and Hayase—having reached Asama Shrine's southern entrance and back gate—seemed to emerge onto a ceremonial path. When they approached the stream by the gate, the waterway—swollen from recent rains—surged in blue torrents that twisted like leaping dragons beneath dense foliage, its currents clear despite nearly overflowing the path. As Mount Shizuhata's shadow stretched across the open sky, Madam closed her Western parasol while crossing the bridge.

Her jet-black hair remained unchanged, but her back appeared slender and her obi swayed gracefully—a result of having changed into this single-layer lined garment without haori. This style suited her far better, enhancing her figure. However, the coquettishness had diminished, making her appear somewhat more dignified—which only heightened her refined elegance. She had changed at the residence before departure—serge tabi socks that made her resemble a military officer's wife, bare feet that might suggest she'd emerged from a teahouse—now wearing against her skin a crimson-patterned crepe underrobe.

As a mother of two children, her fiery appearance often inclined toward the military officer’s wife aesthetic favored by many, but when worn by someone as refined, spirited, and fair-skinned as herself, it did not exude the clammy warmth of sweat-beaded chaenomeles flowers—rather, it took on the crisp elegance of maple leaves beneath snow. In the room, even when she had first put this on earlier, there had been no sense of feminine modesty—no demure adjusting of the garment to flatten her chest or discreetly slip sleeves into place as one might when conscious of male attention. With the pink cord wrapped tightly around her underrobe, she stood before the full-length mirror on the veranda like a figure emerging from a peony flower,

With a faint smile—as if recalling “Sugajo Ichikawa”—she composed herself, gathered the hem of her lined kimono, adjusted her collar, then twisted her neck backward to inspect the drape of her collar in the mirror. At that moment, she noticed Hayase taking a brush from the veranda shelf and scratching vigorously at the skylight as though irritated. “Is there really such a rough way to scrub? I’ll do it for you, so wait.” When he tried to quickly withdraw, pretending not to hear what she had said, “Wait, you there—” she called out, having just fastened her obi, and rushed over to snatch the brush from him. She swiftly drew the window curtain aside, neatly parted it near the edge, then circled around front and peered into his face with searching eyes.

The coursing blood beneath her chest surged in waves, appearing to battle the wind itself—her unyielding skin’s innate flush. With such spirited vitality, even at twenty-six, the crimson hue showed no trace of fading. When Madam’s robes came to rest beneath the cherry trees’ shade in the shrine precincts, Hayase—standing at her side—gazed into the distance.

“There’s a teahouse—let’s rest there.” “Over there?” “Exactly as requested—with a crumpled red blanket spread out and a fresh-faced old woman present. Let’s have some tea before going.” Though maintaining a composed expression, Hayase—who had apparently been gifted a flask of sake during lunch—remained in unobjectionably good spirits.

“Are you thirsty?” “It feels parched.” “Well then…” The teahouse proprietress appeared ceremonially aged, her hacking cough audible through the walls, which made the Madam seem reluctant to enter. Nevertheless, she walked straight in under the gawking eyes of two or three nursemaids.

“Please have a seat. “It’s a fine day.” “How pious of you to visit the shrine.” Seeing Madam hesitate to sit, Hayase took a crisply folded handkerchief from his breast pocket and shook it out over the blanket. “Here, please.” When he said this with a laugh, Madam—positioning the proprietress behind her—settled down leisurely. “An Edo native certainly knows his way around things.” “You’re mocking me.”

As the Madam’s collar came loose across from him, he peered into the shopfront, “Oh—they have sweet sake…”

Eleven "Stop that." "You just ate that earlier—it'll upset your stomach." She admonished in a low voice—the "earlier fare" being tuna over rice specially ordered from a nostalgic teahouse at what was once Lord Keiki's residence. Within this luncheon spread, Madam had placed sashimi on the tray with the remark that such delicacies needn't be exclusive to Edo—which he then shoveled down with tea-soaked rice. Seeing this, she had been thoroughly pleased at the time. None among the Kano clan appreciated this delicacy, and Madam too found it regrettable yet unavoidable.

“If we don’t drink sweet sake here, it’d be like pigeons with beans!” When she said this, the old woman—quick to catch the cue— “Five rin per bowl on the tray.” “I’ll entertain myself with the pigeons. You may have sweet sake or cold sake as you please.” With that, she lightly scattered the contents laid out on the bench before her. A rustling sound arose as pheasant pigeons swarmed in unison—like islands emerging from the divine age—their mass surging forward. She rose to fetch another basin, then yet another, scattering each in turn.

“One basin, two basins, three basins, four basins, five basins!” Hayase counted them one by one,

“Ah, I’ve only had one cup.” “Granny, bring the sweet sake quickly!” “Yes, yes! Oh my, just look at how delighted the pigeons are! They’ve received so much from you, Madam—cooing away, ohh ho ho!” Nodding repeatedly while spilling hoarse chuckles, she ladled sweet sake from the pot. In an instant—as if the glittering dark tide had receded—the pigeons scattered into the sky like swept-away leaves. Upon the suddenly desolate sunlit ground, a hazy shadow fell as a figure emerged crawling feebly.

Though his philtrum remained intact, from the sharply emaciated chin to the base of his ears grew a salt-and-pepper beard like chestnut burrs—wiry and dense—while his cheek flesh sagged sharply, his nostrils protruded, his sunken eyes burned red, and forehead wrinkles lay carved deep as if small skylights had been pressed into the skin. His complexion pallid and grime-ridden, hands clinging to emaciated shoulders barely held together by sinews gripped a bamboo cane—thicker than his legs yet sturdy—as this man nearing fifty, whose downfall retained traces of former dignity…tuberculosis unmistakable at a glance…wore a grime-glazed collar with broken mending threads, his tattered sleeping robe ill-suited to the hour.

Dragging his straw sandals with such frailty that he couldn’t even stir dust, he came trudging straight ahead as though sinking into the earth’s depths—likely intending to rest there—but with his vision already dimmed, he seemed unaware until drawing near. When he saw the noblewoman there, he retracted his half-extended foot inward, braced himself with his cane, and—squinting his eyes as if dazzled yet wearing a pitiful smile—fixed the old woman with a sharp glare. “Oh, Mr. Teizo!” At the teahouse proprietress who had called his name in a conspicuously youthful tone, Hayase stiffened and glared sharply.

But since Madam had turned her face away, she remained unaware of anything. “What’s come over you? Haven’t seen you in ages.”

Even as she spoke—her words seemingly grounded in some truth—the old woman began coughing hoarsely the moment she laid eyes on him. “Can’t be helped,” Unexpectedly, his voice alone retained clarity. Whether from chills or not, he rubbed his shriveled neck—retracted like that of a petulant child refusing stubbornly—against the torn collar of his sleeping robe, “It’s not getting better—this long-standing cold. I can’t work anymore, just growing weaker by the day.” “They say if you boil banana leaves and drink the decoction, the fever’ll go down, so...” He squared his shoulders as if to cough but, lacking the strength, pressed a hand to his mouth and looked downward.

"They say it works better than anything—did you drink it, Teizo?" “Well then, I’ve asked all sorts of people to prepare it for me—drank it and drank it, enough to swallow a whole big banana leaf—but not a bit of…” and let his head droop, "There’s no sign of it working." It was not that the remedy lacked efficacy—his body would soon vanish, leaving only the phantom of split banana trees, rootless upon Mount Shizugatake, standing there in futility. Nodding repeatedly with hacking coughs, as the old woman brought over the sweet sake, Hayase reached to take it—but she swiftly swatted his hand away in silence to prevent him. At this moment, Madam pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and snatched the sweet sake bowl to the edge of the bench.

Twelve

“If you keep drinking that banana leaf decoction without pause, it must have some effect—but your eagerness to recover quickly makes you impatient, which only hinders your progress. The best medicine is taking your time to rest properly.” “Now, Teizo—it all depends on your frame of mind.” The old woman offered words meant to comfort him, though they lacked conviction in her own voice. The patient lacked even the vigor to voice his suffering; he nodded faintly with his eyes, heaved breaths from his shoulders, and kept breathing,

“Lately I haven’t the strength to fight this illness—whatever becomes of me, I’ll just throw myself in. Some say garlic works for certain people,” he said. “They say garlic becomes medicine for the lungs, but even looking like this, I don’t think it’s consumption—it’s from this stubborn cold getting worse. If only the fever would subside... Well, banana leaves it remains.”

Pitifully repeating his complaints, he switched the hand clinging to his cane. "I tell you, boiling and drinking it's too tedious—I want to just bite straight into the root already," he said, contorting his face like a tormented lion. "You're being too hasty. Getting worked up won't help—won't help at all," she chided. "Won't you rest a while now? Teizo, this must be so exhausting for you." "I'd like to rest a bit, but..."

Seeing Kanko and Hayase present, he behaved reservedly and fidgeted,

“Once I sit down, I can hardly stand back up. Since I’ve come out after so long, I’ll just look around here a bit and stop by on my way back.” “To climb up this Men’s Slope at Miharu—merely seeing these hundred-and-four steps makes me shudder… shudder…” He shook his heavy head, turned his face sideways, and raised his cane—its tip trembling violently. Hayase remained seated where he was. Straightening up, he seemed about to call out “Rest here if you like”—but when Madam shot him a glance and silenced him with a snap of her fingers, he stayed quiet.

“Then do come by on your way back, and take care on your way.” Without a word, he nodded as if asleep, shuffled his feet, and the broad shadows of banana leaves—spacious enough for a sleeping child—scattered and vanished behind the foliage. Before long in this world, only that cane would remain. Even were that cane planted in a wild grave, no dragonfly would alight upon it. For a while after the sick man had gone, even when scattering feed, there remained no scene where pigeons might gather. “Granny,” Hayase called out in a lively tone.

Even the old woman, who had been thoroughly dejected, seemed to revive at this young, vigorous voice, “Yes?”

“If it’s about these rumors, I’ll put a stop to that. I’ve only just witnessed this and my heart already aches.” Since threats seemed futile, Madam pressed one hand together as if in prayer and feigned reluctance. “No—do you happen to know of any leads? I intend to inquire about houses. That matters more than sightseeing.” “Ah, right.” “Do you know of any rental houses available?” “Well, it’s not that there are none, but there are no residences here befitting masters like yourself. Have you inquired about the Takajōmachi area?”

“Precisely in that Takajōmachi area, there are nothing but grand estates—no houses that we could possibly live in.” “What sort might you be seeking?” “Something cheap is fine—anything cheap will do.” “Mr. Hayase,” Madam interjected, restraining her disapproval. “A row house is fine—a row house, I tell you!” He pressed on regardless, prompting her to chastise him with a look. “Heh heh heh, just how much are you looking to spend, I wonder?”

“Do you have any leads?” With a rasping cough, she crawled out from behind the sweet sake pot. “In Shizuoka, how much is one shō of rice?” “Yes.” “Ugh, spare me the theatrics.” Avoiding the old woman while maintaining his stance as Madam brushed her shoulder against him, Hayase stepped back and peered at her over Madam’s shoulder. “Or how much per yen—then inquire about the rent.” “I can’t—” Madam exclaimed, as if unable to endure further. She struck Hayase’s knee with a slap, then burst out of the teahouse into the temple grounds, her flushed face half-concealed behind a handkerchief.

十三 Everywhere remained unchanged—old men with furoshiki bundles slung around their necks and straw sandals on their feet, others in weather clogs with kimono hems tucked up, and sturdy fellows in top hats—four or five of them strolled about the temple grounds. What they were looking at was unclear; they all passed by with their faces turned upward. Near the base of the stone steps, the figure of Madam—enveloped in greenery and standing out with particularly vivid hues—moved slowly enough that her shadow seemed about to reflect in the pond water where scarlet koi leaped through the fresh foliage. Waving her handkerchief to beckon, she pulled Hayase over from the teahouse, “That’s enough now—this is getting embarrassing, you know.”

“Here, you forgot this.” With a composed face, the servant returned the umbrella by its handle. Madam switched her handkerchief to her other hand and took it with her now-free one… Strangely, the man’s hand showed no trace of sweat. In anyone’s case, on such occasions, the hand that held it would become damp; some even grew clammy. … Madam slightly lowered her eyes and lightly supported the Western umbrella. “You’re so oblivious. (In a small voice,) What a bother.”

“Ha! Since I shall be accompanying Master Chikara, you need not have the slightest concern about the journey.” “Shizuoka must be so carefree, hohohoho.” “With third-class rice at around six shō, it’s an easy place to live,” the old woman said, didn’t she? “Ugh, you’re insufferable! “For mercy’s sake, I beg you to spare me just that bit about ‘how much is the rice?’” “I’m so mortified I could die—I can’t bear the thought of traveling together with you.” “Well, if you say so, then please do stop beckoning like that with your handkerchief.” “If I may say so, that’s rather trite.”

"In any case, this isn't Yanagibashi..." "No—even now, those nursemaid women saw you waving your handkerchief... Ha ha ha ha!"

“What did you say?”

“Ha ha ha ha ha ha!” they continued laughing nonchalantly, “(A man, a woman, and roasted beans—five rin per plate!)” they’d jeered—what nonsense!—and scampered off with a raucous laugh.” She turned away with a haughty sniff, her spine stiffening. Tearing it off, she flung the handkerchief down with a thud, kicked her skirt aside, and stomped off ahead. At that moment, Yoshitsune remained utterly unperturbed. As the wind tousled the fallen violet silk and the scent of pigeon feathers abruptly wafted by, he leisurely picked it up and thrust it into his sleeve. Keeping his hands thus occupied—crossing his arms and pulling his sleeves together—his expression changed imperceptibly as he bowed his head. But immediately afterward, he took long strides after Madam and caught up with her where the shrine’s corridor curved.

“Madam.” ………… “Have you taken offense? This complicates matters terribly.” “Having ventured to an unfamiliar province—should you abandon me now—I’d lose all sense of direction and be utterly helpless.” “Please restore your good humor, Madam.”

“……” “Eikichi-kun’s esteemed younger sister, Kanko-san.” “……” “Shimayama Madam... Miss Kano... Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.” Muttering to himself, he walked on and on, “Please truly regain your composure—you must look after me. Because I rashly sent you that letter, now that I’m alone, I feel so helpless I don’t know what to do.” “I shall never again mention rice prices before you.” “In return, please make an effort to consider a row house-style residence—something unaristocratic where I might actually live and where we could consult each other.” “To be honest, given your demeanor, you didn’t seem to have dwellings under twenty yen in mind at all—I meant it as a gentle satire.”

Before they knew it, they had passed through the renowned Zuijinmon Gate and emerged from the northern exit at the front gate. The shrine faced mountains with fields stretching beyond, yet its rear gate connected it to the town through houses lining the exit—when passing these dwellings, Chikara too fell silent. Madam naturally kept her mouth closed. Soon bending past tea fields, they pressed into a shabby outskirts town sparsely dotted with small houses, their aloof demeanor unbroken. Above Daiiganzan town lay only a small ditch; through torn shoji screens no human faces peered out—at that moment they drew right up close,

“Please say something.” “…………”

“Madam,” “…………”

14 After a short while—Chikara no longer attempted to speak, nor did his expression betray particular distress—he walked with arms crossed, following one step behind Madam. When they reached the middle of the backstreet, houses on both sides stood desolate as extinguished fires—just when they seemed vacant, faint spinning wheel sounds like drawn spiderwebs drifted from unseen homes. By the roadside stood an old stone well curb, its chipped edges moss-overgrown. No dampness remained there—parched and brittle, its flow had long dried up. In those several houses nearby, likely none polished rice enough to count daily repetitions. Feeble coughs—devoid of vigor—occasionally emerged from shadows, groaning like voices from graves still clinging to life. On a half-detached signboard, the shop name advertising black cough drops was rendered unreadable by wind—another testament to this place's abandonment.

When they looked back toward where they had come from, they saw the town's entrance blocked by trees standing like a pitch-black tunnel, through which fiery rays of light pierced like flames. Above it all, Daiiganzan Mountain—now shadowed by the sun—loomed toweringly as if declaring "Here lies the valley where people have fallen," its peak roaring with wind that came rushing down. Scattered crimson petals fluttered against both the Madam's hem and the eaves' sea bream designs—the sea bream being part of a faded indigo-dyed curtain depicting Ebisu clutching his catch, marking one establishment ("Dyeing Shop") that stood there. On the clothes-drying pole protruding from the eaves lay a forgotten strip of faded crimson cloth. Below, a cart's detached wheel had tilted and fallen into a ditch choked with refuse—beyond this boundary stood an even more dilapidated neighboring house. Its soot-blackened sliding door framed walls displaying some sort of talisman; above it read "Harunoyama," beneath which emerged the figure of a mottled black-and-white dog with a split mouth, forelegs raised as if alive—its form hazily materializing through rain-sodden charms like something brought to life. Yet perhaps demons would come peering through shutters resembling crudely drawn festival scrolls—under their knotholes lay fallen holly branches... Even a demon would need to stoop, for the sagging roof hung so low that one glance revealed this vacant house—how could anyone dwell here?—its eaves adorned with talismans through which a spectral dog seemed to prowl, appearing truly terrifying.

Madam suddenly stopped and peered into the thatched house. What she thought of it remained unclear as she stepped back to avoid Chikara, tucked her Western umbrella under her sleeve, and without hesitation parted the indigo curtain with her hair to lean into the neighboring dyer’s shopfront. “Excuse me—I’d like to rent the house next door.” “What was that, may I ask?” came the shop attendant’s wife’s abrupt voice.

“How much is the rent?” “Ah, you mean Mr. Teizo’s house.”

At Madam’s overly decisive behavior, Chikara, left dumbfounded and bewildered, pricked up his ears sharply at the name Teizo. “It is not vacant, however.” “Ah, so it’s not vacant. My apologies.” She parted the shop curtain and stepped out, “How mortifying! How mortifying!” she said, smiling faintly,

“Mr. Hayase—” “……” “Calling people aristocratic—but when it comes down to it, even I can manage something like this for you. Even if you said you wanted to rent this house, they wouldn’t give you the time of day. You think I can’t handle a bit of household management?”

Even Madam seemed to find this feat remarkable, the rims of her eyes flaring sharply as her breath caught in her chest. Staring fixedly at her flaming face, after a moment, “I was surprised.” “You were surprised, weren’t you? Serves you right,” With a joyful, triumphant look on her face, she started to walk away but cast another glance at the thatched house. “But this is so awkward.” “There’s nothing I can say. As a token of my gratitude for now…” he said, producing the violet handkerchief he had picked up earlier. She merely nodded silently, reaching out yet not quite taking it as they walked on shoulder-to-shoulder. Their sleeves continued to rub together as Madam still hadn’t taken it—if he let go, it would fall, yet with his hand already reaching out… he couldn’t withdraw it… holding it aloft… until the handkerchief now acting as a barrier between their nearly touching sleeves—the two simultaneously glanced left and right. On both sides’ low-eaved houses—ah, on every roof’s edge crouched those suspicious talisman dogs…

Rental Kimono

15 The letter that had arrived was likely from her husband Dr. Shimayama, notifying Madam of his return home—or so Chikara vaguely surmised as he sat rigidly upright at the corner of the dining table away from the long brazier, drinking beer alone in what was called the Sugame Room during this spell of unseasonable warmth that persisted through three or four days and into the night. Before the fence, irrigation water flowed with such force it rippled endlessly; upon the window curtain swayed shadows of silk tree flowers. With prying eyes unable to reach here and the veranda’s rain shutters left open, one could drink without concern—yet despite being such an avid drinker, whenever Madam was absent, he would set aside his glass cup as if even pouring into it pained him, appearing thoroughly despondent.

The sliding door opened to reveal her emerging without her haori coat, the knot of her sash slipping sideways as she reclined in relaxed disarray. From her chest rose a softly rounded, pure white line diagonally bisected by an unfinished letter she held like a precious document, its repeatedly unfolded edge dangling trembling from her collar like a figure kicked loose by Hokusai’s brush—all bearing traces of a geisha’s lingering grace. “I finally got them to sleep.” She slumped down as if collapsing into herself and dropped heavily onto the floor,

“The older child has favored the wet nurse from the very beginning, and my son hasn’t asked to sleep with me in such a long time. But since I’ve been entirely consumed with you and absent so frequently, you witnessed how they clung to me earlier.”

She said hurriedly while glancing through the letter. When the meal had first been served there, both children clung to Madam—the boy putting on a warrior’s airs with great vigor. The blind daughter sat with a lonely air, repeatedly stroking the obi sash that hung from Madam’s lap with both hands, while the young boy, slung over her shoulder, pressed his cheek against her averted face and nibbled at her ear whenever she turned away—such was their clinging display of affection. In moments, her hair became disheveled at the temples, her face gaunt as her pale hand swept back strands falling around her mouth—clutching at empty air—while her cry of “Send the wet nurse here!” sounded nearly like a scream. The wet nurse—having turned toward Chikara with a flustered “My, what is this? Both young lady and young master before our guest”—found them refusing to meet her gaze, their faces perpetually tilted downward in mistress-adoring slumber. Smiling weakly, she pulled at the daughter’s hand only for it to be yanked away reluctantly. When the boy rejected all coaxing—culminating in tearful violence—Madam, who seemed loath to leave her seat even briefly, went to put them to bed.

Thereupon, after some time, the mail arrived—

She finished reading it smoothly. As she rewound the letter and raised her face, she irritably swept back the disheveled strands of hair that still hung loose, "I never even thought about it—being made to drink milk and having the life squeezed out of me." Having hurriedly adjusted her collar, "Now, let me pour you a drink." When she lifted the bottle, it was heavy. "Oh my, you haven’t touched a thing. You can’t do without someone to pour your drinks—that’s rather extravagant of you. Hohoho, the house is settled now—what will you do when you have to manage a household all by yourself?"

“I’ve had plenty—I’m truly sorry to have imposed on you so much…… I should take my leave now, little by little.” He said with grave seriousness. “No, I won’t return you. “All this time I’ve been saying ‘Stay over, stay over,’ but you kept refusing and I held back—but very well, you may stay now. “Now look—I’ve received a letter from Mother in Ushigome saying that since we’ve had the good fortune of making your acquaintance while you’re in Shizuoka, we must entertain you to the fullest of our ability. “I’m happy—I am.”

“You know, this is actually a reply,” she said. “Since we met on the train and you’re opening your school here for your purposes—you mentioned knowing nothing about the area—I offered to assist and sent a letter about it. This is that reply.”

and tapped the letter she had rolled up in her palm lightly once with a crisp tap, “If Mother says it’s fine, then all is settled.” “Please take your time and eat.” “And you absolutely must stay tonight.” “Since I’ve had the bath prepared with that in mind, please go in.” “Will you take your bath before bed, or would you prefer to rinse off quickly first?” “Either way, it’s already heated.” “And you are staying.” “It’s settled.” After applying careful persuasion, she eventually made him agree,

“Ah, yesterday and the day before, you came beneath the silk tree flowers only to return looking so lonely each evening.”

16

When heading to the bath, he passed through the Bachelor of Science scholar’s study for the first time. The desk was cluttered with no zabuton cushion placed there—it seemed they had made Hayase lay one out. A newspaper left spread out occupied space on the desk, children’s toys sat atop it, while household items were kept on the large bookshelf above. The bath required passing through a vast dim-lit kitchen with wooden flooring, exiting to an earthen-floored area and stepping over an eaves space—since the fixed tub was heated from this open ground, rainy days must have been quite troublesome.

There, squatting with her usual hitched-up hem, was that maid Mariko; having checked the bath’s temperature, she found it perfectly adjusted. Sinking deep into the bath, he heard distant sounds of storm shutters being slid shut and soft footsteps crossing the kitchen two or three times. After finishing washing and bathing again, he noted how the bath’s design seemed antiquated compared to the mansion’s modernity. From within steam hazily lit by the small lamp, he emerged wearing only a loincloth and geta sandals. Through the wind-swept eaves space, the moon came into view. He glimpsed it at the eaves’ edge—not bright enough to cast shadows—yet what solemn radiance! As if his naked body had been sheathed in quicksilver armor, the skin around his upper arms took on a bluish cast.

He instinctively looked up, “Ah, Miss Taeko.” His lowered shoulders trembled, “Otsuta!” When he staggered and leaned against the main house’s wooden paneling,

“Mr. Hayase,” came Madam’s showy voice from the kitchen.

“When you go up, please change into this. I’ll leave it here for you,”

“I couldn’t possibly—” Regaining his composure, he climbed up and saw a yukata laid out on a thin mat. A Ryukyu tsumugi student haori had been placed beside it, but deeming that unnecessary, he took only the yukata and slipped it on. The sleeves fell absurdly short on his arms—no matter how much he tugged them up, the hem dragged along the floor—until he finally adjusted it and retreated to the room... Of course—it was women’s clothing. The yukata’s medium-sized alluring pattern exuded the fragrant scent of indigo. As he stood staring, Madam supported herself in a half-crouch while hanging the iron kettle,

“It suits you, doesn’t it? The other day, Taniya brought this over, and since you were kind enough to select it, I had it tailored right away. Shimayama’s hasn’t been sewn yet, and the ones we have are old, so please bear with wearing it as sleepwear.” “What a waste of a perfectly new one.” Chikara pulled at the sleeve. “No, I tried it on just now—it’s not the first time. Please don’t hesitate—but it doesn’t feel unpleasant at all. Because I tried it on briefly,” “It feels unsettling,” “……”

“Is that so? It’s hardly too extravagant.” He had settled the matter, but something still felt amiss. “The obi?” “Yes,” “I’ll adjust this.” He stood up smoothly and tightened the hemp-leaf-patterned silk crepe obi with a practiced motion.

“…” Their eyes met, “That’s fine,” she said. [She] let it drop abruptly onto the tatami mats,

“I think I’ll take a bath now.” “While there’s still time.” Chikara later left the parlor and paced along the veranda—from in front of the ten-mat guest room to near the entrance—walking until his footsteps grew somewhat audible. The maid came and abruptly stood up, “Madam said as how, if you’d like to cool off, we’ll open the storm shutters.” “No, that’s fine.”

“Yes,” she replied earnestly. “Around what time do you usually go to bed?” While asking in a friendly manner without waiting for an inarticulate reply, he returned briskly to the long brazier and grabbed roughly into the paper holder. Quickly he had two ryō coins in the paper. “One is for the wet nurse—you’re to tell Madam it’s from you.”

Seventeen

Kanko had gone to bed around one o'clock. The meal had been cleared away, the white embers in the brazier growing feeble as night deepened into a desolate chill. Though their conversation turned earnest—repeated murmurs of "Let's sleep now"—they never replenished the charcoal. Still clinging to the brazier's residual warmth, they sat sideways—adjusting hems and pressing shoulders against its rim until bare elbows nearly grazed ashes—gathering embers no larger than adzuki beans [...] Fresh from bathing and wearied by daytime excursions, Kanko appeared wilted in every aspect—hair disarrayed, robes slipping from shoulders, obi slackened—save her faintly flushed face ("Beer's too bitter," she'd declared), having drained two glasses of wine. Drowsiness lingered: pupils wide beneath dewy lashes, lips glistening with moistened rouge. Even imagining her chilled limbs must ache, Hayase found her mind still tethered to their endless talk—until he voiced what others might deem improper: "It grows too late; your retainers will think it strange." Yet despite his repeated pleas, Madam resisted conclusion...... When her robe's lining slipped from a shoulder tenderly arched over the brazier's divide, she nodded as if frostbitten—and in that breath he sprang upright……

The skirt tangled around her knees slipped down, and the staggering sleeve fluttered against the sliding door by the tea cabinet. Drawing back her shoulders and arching her chest, she awkwardly pushed through with her body to enter the next room. Beyond a single wooden corridor lay a four-and-a-half-mat room with floor bedding where two children lay pillow-to-pillow back-to-back, an empty space between them. Though the wet nurse had apparently laid them facing opposite directions, they now slept soundly—the wet nurse herself absent. Having passed through and vanished from sight—the sliding door left ajar behind her—Madam did not return even as time passed.

Hayase stared at the pile of hand-rolled cigarette butts thrust into the ashes, thinking how he had smoked them all, how he had rambled on. This discussion stemmed from their prior agreement about translating Goethe's work literally—how the great poet, as legend told it, had once clinked a wine cup with Schiller and vowed, "Our poetry shall grow ever more precious with age, like this wine." Madam held her glass cup aloft to the firelight, its crimson hue like blood staining her brow, and remarked proudly, "What a scholar he was!" But when the conversation turned to how the wine-pouring should have been done by Ryōgoku geisha rather than herself, Goethe's name resurfaced later: "You must tell me about this 'Hayase' project," she insisted. "I heard from my brother in Tokyo about your parting with Professor Sakai—but what became of your lover?" "I don't want to speak of it," he was forced to confess.

Hayase spoke as if confessing everything in detail, but for practical purposes, we will summarize the essentials here... When talk of separation arose from obligation, Otsuta however had no intention of returning to geisha work, for fortunately the wife of Me-gumi's Sōsuke was a master hairdresser of the Shimada style. In Yanagibashi—where geishas rotated their assignments—she herself had received hairstyling from them and grown close; moreover, being within Me-gumi's circle allowed candid discussions, so she resolved to become their apprentice and make her living through hairdressing. Since starting her trade, she always worked alone—the Ginkgo Twist posed no difficulty, and she would even amuse herself crafting Peach Splits for apprentice geishas, receiving what she knew to be insincere compliments. There should be nothing she couldn't manage—no parents, no siblings. If she had to go anywhere, it would be back to her former Yanagibashi master, but rather than that, she would enter as an apprentice at the fishmonger's and assist with hairdressing tasks temporarily... Thus she resolved to entrust everything to her heart—and with that, matters were settled. Professor Sakai had been informed of this arrangement and privately met Otsuta directly in an Iidamachi upstairs room; deeply impressed by the nobility of her resolve, he nodded gravely and personally provided spending money along with various thoughtful items—so it was said.

After that, he had intended to withdraw to Shizuoka without ever seeing her face again, but through Me-gumi’s Sōsuke’s arrangements, they had arranged to meet aboard a train where she saw him off to Yokohama—or so the account went. However, as it was the last train terminating at Yokohama, they discreetly stayed overnight at an inconspicuous inn in Noge’s outskirts to avoid prying eyes.

(At such times,) The intoxicated Madam interjected, looked at his face and laughed; after a moment, (Back-to-back, yet apart.)

The next day, he boarded the express train from Hiranuma and thus met Madam.…… Drifting in and out of sleep.

Eighteen Though he felt sympathy—even gloom—at being drawn into the conversation midway, “You really should give up on geishas,” Madam said. Chikara had been in a daze from the start, unable to speak unless drunk, but countered: “Madam—though Japan may be vast—the only woman who ever cooked rice for me was Otsuta.” “Since she never knew her mother’s face,” he continued, sighing as he gazed at the ceiling, “who would blush so deeply just to inquire about rental housing for her sake?” When Madam turned cold at his sidelong glance, he added bluntly: “Forgive me, but I can’t manage household life alone. You’d never cook rice.” “I’ll cook tomorrow.” “I’ll boil rice properly,” he laughed, their conversation meandering—but pitiful as it was, wretched as she found it, Madam maintained her stance: “Abandon geishas entirely... Even if Professor Sakai later approves, I shan’t consent.” And so the night had truly deepened.

She isn’t coming out—what could have happened to Madam?

The kitchen that had clattered grew utterly silent as if receding into the distance—its once-familiar sounds now vanished—yet outside swelled the voices of tens of thousands of frogs. Frog, frog, frog, frog, frog—each written character pulsed with sound resonating between heaven and earth, much like how chronicles of ancient battlefields hold rhythms where every chapter and verse cries out in unison. Unbidden clouds emerged, shifting whitely across the sky as they stirred turbulence, until the very land seemed to darken under their gathering momentum.

At times, when he thought of the steam-filled bathhouse and the moon filtering through the eaves, memories of solitary nighttime journeys along desolate post roads would surface in his lifelong travelogue. He pressed a hand to his forehead with melancholy gravity.

“Please do rest.”

With her usual downcast and gloomy demeanor, the wet nurse propped her hands over the threshold.

“I must apologize for all the trouble.”

She immediately stood up abruptly, "Where would you like me to go?" “From there, please proceed to the sitting room… And about earlier…” she said with a bow. The bedding had been laid out in the very center of the ten-tatami room. Beside the pillow were a water jar and a tray bearing an overturned glass cup. A tobacco tray was arranged alongside another small black-lacquered gold maki-e shelf, decorated with a blue woolen hydrangea flower that wrapped around the remaining lamp from Tamamaru Firepot Shop and rested upon it. On the middle shelf sat an incense pouch placed diagonally alongside an old bronze incense container, with nose paper on the lower stand. Instead of a weight, a woman’s gold watch with a clear bottom was shining like a twinkling star.

She gazed sharply, smiled faintly, and as she stepped onto the futon, her hips sank down. She took the velvet bolster pillow and moved it aside, stretched her legs to layer them beneath her skirt, then pulled closer the pink silk-padded haori resting on yellow-striped Gunma cloth—her hand slipped, coolly brushing against the habutae silk lining that shimmered as if ablaze. In the next study with corrugated iron walls, the sound of an obi being smoothly untied echoed. Chikara, who still hadn’t lain down, propped both elbows on the collar of his haori.

The wet nurse seemed to say something, but it went unheard as Madam’s flamboyant voice— “Ah, I’ll just sleep like this.” “It’s ruined anyway.”

No sooner had she spoken than the center portion of the dividing sliding door smoothly opened from both sides. Though this ten-mat Kyoto-style room remained spacious, with the dim lighting from beyond, her robe stayed hidden while the obi sash beneath her breasts became visible. “Good night.” “Excuse me.” he said. He closed the sliding door and pulled back his shoulders. But a single phantom wreath lingered in mid-air where her black hair had been, standing as an enduring image that refused to fade. Hayase Chikara fell onto his back but did not use a pillow; instead, he wrapped both hands around the back of his head and held it firmly. His eyes remained wide open, fixed on the lingering vision that refused to disappear. Time passed, time passed—and in that passing time, it became apparent that the wet nurse had extinguished the lamp by the long brazier. “I need to go, I need to go,” came a child’s voice, but soon all settled down, and time passed.

Hayase stood up, took the remaining lamp from the shelf, and went out to the veranda. Passing through the next study led him to another north-facing veranda where a toilet stood at its far end; but since Madam had retired, he detoured widely to the entranceway, traversed the hem of Mariko the housemaid’s sleeping quarters, opened a wooden door, exited through a corner doorway in the kitchen, relieved himself, washed his hands, and upon taking up the hand towel—likely left hanging after Madam’s bath—its chill met his fingers carrying a faint scent of white face powder.

Nineteen Returning to the bedroom with resolute determination, Hayase energetically laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes. Yet the scent by his pillow was neither from an opened package nor a fragrance transferred from a hand towel. Vivid—though bearing no trace of any particular flower’s shadow—it held a delicate aroma that seemed transparent yet glistening, quivering with dew as it traced ethereal waves that whispered of love. Following the sleeve of his haori, it came to gently caress his face. As if to sweep it away, he roughly rubbed his hands over his eyes. The fragrance appeared to dart beneath the pillow, slipping soundlessly into the corner of the veranda’s shoji screen—yet once more… borne by an impossible breeze, it circled back and settled lightly upon his chest.

When he turned over, his sleeve fluttered and brushed it away—the gathered momentum at the edge of the sliding door separating the rooms—until the scent returned to the flower petals in the field. The fragrances converged in one place, their aroma swelling like a rising tide.

Feeling a pleasant yet intense stimulus, Hayase opened his sleepless eyes. At the spot where Kanko had left the imprint of her long underrobe's pattern upon the sliding door—midway up, near shoulder height—when she had said "Good night" earlier, the phantom wreath now appeared. Though its colors had faded and the flowers turned translucent white, they still remained vivid in his vision. Propping his hand on the pillow and sitting up abruptly, he noticed—as if beneath that floral wreath, at the seam of the sliding door where the shadow of the remaining lamp lingered—the tatami mat stained pale purple by the familiar violet handkerchief that had fallen in perfect stillness.

As the fragrance swelled from that point onward, Hayase felt his senses fully surrender—and there, upon the chartreuse-colored tatami, a cluster of violets seemed to burst into bloom all at once. Within the hazy floral wreath, the petals of the most prominent flower—those with the largest rings—fluttered no sooner than they stirred, transforming mid-air into wings that became butterflies, while the dark-eyed visage of a woman flickered ceaselessly in that very same space. Hayase lay sprawled as if upon a spring field—sweet, fragrant, warm, velvety—pillow reversed, sleepwear-clad body prone atop his haori, half-emerging from the futon's edge while propping his cheek on a hand. Entranced, he gazed at the violets until their scent grew nostalgic in unison with the butterflies hovering above—or so it seemed.

Slowly reaching out to pull at the purple shadow, he found the handkerchief coming cleanly into his hand. Yet the violets clung rooted, refusing to part from the sliding door's seam. Puzzled, he fluttered the handkerchief like butterfly wings with his hand—whereupon the door... creaked... slightly... open. Peering through, he saw a crimson phantom strand softly tied to one end of the handkerchief, now trailing smoothly into Madam's boudoir.

Violets bloomed and butterflies danced in this season when spring graced the human world—in such places, there always lay this single fallen strand, what people called the thread of fate. Just like the forbidden fruit of knowledge, it remained even now a divine test—those who cast it aside untouched would become God's children, while those who grasped and bound it became demons' kin, reduced to beasts' folly. If dreamed of, it turned into a butterfly; if yearned for, a flower; if unraveled, a beautiful mist; if tied, a fearsome serpent.

How intense this moment was!

The dividing sliding door opened wider. In an instant, the crimson serpent—its blazing hue adorned with golden-scaled patterns—coiled around Chikara’s wrist with the tail that had slipped through violet flowers, while its head bit beneath the woman’s breast, revealing a flash of red. As the floral wreath vanished in a swift gust, Madam’s black hair—pillowed sideways—and the area around her shoulders, emerging from the haori collar turned backward, became exposed to view. The remaining lamp had been placed by her pillow as well, but by neither light was the connection between them severed. ……

Trembling violently, Madam suddenly emerged from the futon, pressed a hand to her chest, and with eyes fixed intently peered around the boudoir. Appearing dazed—still ensnared in an unawakened dream—she drifted as though wandering through a spring field blooming with violets, her robe rippling across the tatami. After a moment, she finally seemed to notice the strange obi sash wrapped around herself—and with a stifled “Ah—”, her beautiful butterfly-like face, eyes wide as if haunted, dropped forward into the violets.

Consideration

Twenty

Taeko entered a certain alley in Hatchōbori entirely alone, without any companion, dressed in her school uniform on her way back from school.

Her school was in the Kōjimachi area, but however she had detoured here, for a young lady from Masagochō to come to this neighborhood was akin to embarking on a journey—trekking far and wide over mountains and fields... Even the shamisen being practiced nearby echoed the refrain: *Travel robes are of suzukake*, *travel robes are of suzukake*, as the song went. With eyes wide open as if listening through them—her dark pupils dominating in a face as charming as when one glimpses a nightingale's song—Taeko stood in the alley peering about. She looked at the gate plaque bearing only the surname "Uehara" alongside tachibana and well-frame crests and neighborhood association notices from Horinouchi, adjusted the collar of her unlined kimono with a slight motion, then smoothly approached the lattice door. Standing sideways while propping her Western umbrella, she appeared about to call out—but her face reddened as she peered diagonally inward through it, then fell silent looking downward with lowered eyes. Her eyelashes were long from the corners of her mouth, and the shadow cast by the sun stayed small beneath the eaves.

She tapped the dirt at her toes with her Western umbrella, but “Excuse me.” she said softly—modest in tone yet clear and bright—the words piercing straight through the lattice-paned shoji.

From within came a rather similar voice, somewhat composed and quiet in tone.

“Who might this be?”

Taeko had intentionally kept her voice low, certain it wouldn't carry—yet the immediate reply came with something of an ambush's abruptness, startling her into lifting her face.

“Who might this be?” “Um… Is this where the hairdresser is?” “Yes, this is the place,” she responded, her voice taking on an elegant lilt as she rose from her seat.

Peering straight through to the interior, she pressed her eyes against the lattice door. "How may I assist you?" She slid open the somewhat translucent shoji screen with a graceful motion. Stylish and elegant in subdued striped silk crepe, with a black satin maru obi and a married-woman-style round chignon that appeared surprisingly modest at first glance—yet her lustrous black hair remained beyond compare—this was Yanagibashi's Koyoshi. Standing up straight, she looked outside from the door frame—at such a gate, Saimeiji—and in an unexpectedly ladylike manner, hurriedly assumed a kneeling position.

“Unfortunately she is out at present. Might I inquire whom I have the pleasure of addressing?” “When she returns, I shall have her attend upon you directly.”

Taeko, who had been gazing without once looking away, belatedly nodded in acknowledgment. “Well, but… isn’t someone here?” “Aren’t you going to let me come inside?” “I want you to do my hair.” “Anyway, it’s just like this, so...”

Without even pressing with her fingers, she unhesitatingly shook the sideburns of her bundled hair, "It doesn’t have to be the master. If there’s an apprentice here, please have them do my hair." she pleaded earnestly without malice, firmly gripping the lattice while peering in, "Even you would do, Ma’am." Having been told to have her—Ma’am—do her hair, she—as if forgetting herself—broke into a truly beautiful smile from the heart, "Miss, my, where are you from? Um, are you from the neighborhood?"

“No, it’s far.” “Is it quite far?”

“I’m from Hongō.”

“Yes,” “Well, I’m from Hongō, you know… the Sakai family.” “Oh my, Miss,” As Koyoshi stepped down onto the dirt floor with one foot, her hand hurriedly opening the door from the frame—whether she noticed pressing against Taeko’s fingers gripping the lattice from outside or not—she stepped backward halfway onto the tips of her clogs, gazing absently as if oblivious even to the disheveled hem of her kimono kicked askew, “Miss Taeko.” “Ma’am, are you… um… Mr. Hayase’s… Otsuta?”

21 “Welcome,”

As Koyoshi squared her shoulders and pressed three fingertips down, Taeko found herself formally seated—though with visible discomfort—in the place of honor within the six-mat room. "Oh my, what brings you alone to such a place?" "Did anything happen on your way? It must have been sweltering." "I'll prepare a cool towel for you at once." Bombarded by these questions in quick succession, she halted the hand that had been fanning her chest with her sleeve. "It's not the heat—I'm just feeling rather faint, you see, and so—"

She pressed her sleeve to her face, revealing only bell-like eyes, "Are you... Miss Otsuta?" she asked again in a low voice. "Oh dear, what should I do? You came so entirely without warning that I became quite flustered. Hohoho, I'm getting everything backwards—oh my, please forgive me. I... am not. You see... how shall I put it... Miss Otsuta has taken ill and is lying down, so you've come to visit her."

“Yes, she’s ill,” Taeko murmured with concern, leaning forward. “Ah, it’s been quite some time...” Koyoshi replied. “Is it very serious?” “No, it doesn’t seem to be that severe, but since she’s bedridden, she likely can’t style your hair.” “But please, do come in and make yourself comfortable.” “Lately, Miss Omasu has been concerned and will return shortly, so truly... Miss,” Koyoshi edged closer, gazing at her absentmindedly.

The upper threshold was a three-tatami entrance area, immediately followed by this six-tatami room. At the bend of the front veranda was another room; though its shōji doors stood open at the center, behind their closed sections there seemed to be an alcove. The opposite side ended at someone else’s storehouse, but there was a garden—a space no larger than a cat’s forehead—where a touch of greenery could be seen. The neatness, though excessive for a drunkard’s dwelling, showed Omasu’s skill as a wife—even the tatami mats bore a bluish hue. The nameplate reading "Uehara" was neither an alias to conceal their circumstances nor anything of the sort—in other words, this was indeed the residence of the Me-gumi group, or more accurately, it should be called the home of Omasu, the female hairdresser.

All of Sōsuke’s regular clients called him Onda the Peasant. Needless to say, the profits from tenant farming and business—drinking them away, gambling them away, spending them on purchases—but how could that be all? He drank away the profits, bought with the capital, then gambled away the wife’s clothing fund. As soon as she saw his old habits had resurfaced, the wife clanked locks onto every last asset they owned, thrust the key into her day-and-night obi, and left for work declaring, “I won’t let you do business for a while.”

There wasn't even bath money in Tokamasu's tobacco pouch. Cursing himself as a worthless wretch trapped in his own house prison, he huddled before the brazier until—in a fit of malice—the weighted end of his hanging tobacco pipe knocked over the iron kettle. Boiling water spilled into the gutter, and before the rising steam had even dissipated, he resigned himself to a bowl of bamboo-tray soba. At that time he had been disowned by his wife, but ever since their eventual reconciliation, he had entrusted all valuables—down to the stacked boxes—to various associates, leaving the house with furnishings so sparse and mismatched it scarcely resembled a home. Everywhere she looked was starkly empty—though the cramped interior seemed tidy enough at a glance—but with no wall hangings to avert her eyes toward, Taeko kept nervously twisting her sleeve,

“It’s fine, Auntie. I only said I was coming to the hairdresser’s because I felt awkward about it, but I truly don’t mind if my hair isn’t styled.” “I don’t want it done at all,” she blurted out, “Mr. Hayase’s—I mean, Mr. Chikara’s wife—can’t I meet her?” “Elder sister,”

Tap, from inside the shōji.

“Ah,” said Koyoshi as she rose to her feet and turned toward the veranda to fix her gaze upon you. “May I go there?”

Koyoshi hurried along the veranda, pushing the shoji aside as she went, and kneeled across the threshold by the pillow. It was Otsuta—her shoulders resting thinly against the pillow, figure half-slipped out of the summer quilt—who now took a shallow breath, her emaciated hands gripping firmly at the yukata collar that had slipped open over her nightclothes, clutching desperately at the exposed skin of her frail chest. Her disheveled ginkgo-leaf-shaped sidelocks were hastily tied back into a heavy bun, and her translucent pale face—marked by a straight nose bridge—dropped heavily onto her shoulder.

Twenty-Two As her body suddenly rose up in struggle, Otsuta turned her face toward the dark side of the closet adjacent to the bed and seemed unable to even look back.

To the slender, twisted back visible through the pillow, Koyoshi slipped her hand in close, as if trying to lift her up. “Aren’t you in pain, Otsuta-san? Can you get up? You mustn’t push yourself.” “Ah, thank you,” she finally managed to sit up straight. Removing her head covering, she brushed back her stray hairs with a pitiful manner,

“Somehow, it feels like my bones have been pulled out—how strange. How embarrassing, isn’t it? I’m just… completely drained,” she said with false levity and tightened her feeble knees in frustration.

Taeko had already come to stand on the six-tatami veranda and was peering in while gripping the shoji screens, “Please stay in bed—yes, do stay like that." “I’ll go there myself.” Though she had been reserved until then, now that the moment arrived, she moved with sudden resolve to sever hesitation and rush in—perhaps because Koyoshi, having already seen Otsuta first through prior familiarity, proved an inadequate intermediary—brushing against the black satin obi tied in a loose drum-shaped knot, she sat down and, peering out from beside her sleeve, stared unblinkingly at Otsuta’s face as they met for the first time.

With shoulders slumped, Otsuta tried to rise from under the futon, “Please stay just like that.” “If you do that, I’ll be troubled.” “How do you do,” she said while lowering her unnaturally pale neck—where blood barely seemed to circulate—and propping herself up with her hands,

“It would be rude of me,” “Please—I’ll be troubled. "You must stay in bed—please." “Auntie, please say that for me.”

Fretting and losing all composure, she tapped Koyoshi’s back repeatedly and urged her to relay the message. Perhaps moved by that kindness, Koyoshi firmly grasped Otsuta’s hand, her fingers trembling as— “Otsuta-san, please stay in bed—the young lady insists so earnestly.” “No, it isn’t like that. If it isn’t pressing, I’ll lie back down directly. Young lady, I’m deeply grateful. Young lady—you’ve truly come all this way to see me, haven’t you?”

“And you found the house after all. You don’t often come to this area, do you?” Koyoshi spoke earnestly again, as if newly impressed. “Well… I didn’t know where it was,” “Asking around everywhere made me feel so awkward,” “Even searching was such a bother,” “Somehow I thought—well—the aunties might not… you know… agree to meet me at all, so I was worried.”

“We...” “Why ever would that be?” They spread out to either side with Taeko in the middle and peered curiously at her face; she smiled faintly while looking down,

“But I don’t have a single coin to my name. Unless I go to a teahouse and have you summoned, I wouldn’t be able to meet you at all, would I?”

Otsuta gasped sharply, and Koyoshi laughed deliberately. “Do such things even happen with injuries? Moreover, Otsuta-san has also become respectable. I—well, not that you came here to see me, of course, but—”

For some reason gazing with eyes that seemed both resentful and tender, "I am nothing of that sort, I assure you." "Oh hush, Auntie! I saw photographs of you both and knew everything already."

Without any malice, she placed her hand on Koyoshi’s shoulder, pushing back her bangs as she pressed her forehead against her and hid her face. The two met each other's eyes. "How awkward, Otsuta-san." “Sister, I’m so embarrassed.” “Oh, come now…” “Ah,” Unintentionally, they spoke in unison. “I won’t take any photos,” she said.

Twenty-Three

At times, Taeko would peek secretly into her sleeve from behind Koyoshi, but then took out something wrapped in thin paper with apparent hesitation, "Auntie, you see—I didn't realize Otsuta-san was unwell, so this isn't a formal visit. It's just, well, I brought a little gift—though I feel rather awkward about it." "Since I have nothing to offer, I thought I'd knit something with yarn for you." "But I have no idea what would be suitable." "Since you're such stylish geisha, Western-style things wouldn't be suitable, I suppose." "Since tabi socks, gloves, or coin purses—things like that—wouldn't do, I've brought this instead—though I must say, it's rather awkward." "Please give this to her from me, Auntie."

“You must rejoice—the young lady has—” “Oh my,”

As she happily accepted it, Koyoshi watched intently, perching her knee on the futon, "What did you bring?" "May I open it?" "Let me see it quickly." "Oh! Don’t look—how mean of you, Auntie!" Pushing her on the back—this person who had just been an ally moments ago now treated her as an enemy and poked at her. Otsuta, weakened in both body and spirit by illness, "Shall I refrain?" she said obediently, carefully placing it on her lap. "I truly envy you, Otsuta-san."

When Koyoshi said this with apparent envy, Taeko suddenly looked upward, her eyes widening as if pondering something, then charmingly pulled out a small scarlet velvet drawstring pouch from her other sleeve. “Auntie, I’ll give you this. Don’t be angry, okay? I wish there were more, but there are only three large silver coins—fifty sen each.” “When I had that paper case before, there were… well… about four yen in bills, but I ended up dropping it the other day.”

She looked surprised,

“I wondered what to do. But it’s just a little something, so please don’t be angry and take it, Auntie.” Otsuta stared sharply up with raised eyes at Koyoshi’s astonished face, “Ah, the Professor’s daughter.” “...No matter... whatever... please take it, Sister.”

“I offer my deepest gratitude.”

With proper etiquette, she rested her hands—the refined elegance of her willow-like hair remaining evident even as she kept her head lowered, her voice growing clouded with emotion. "Please, may this money let you escape the bitter world."

At that moment, Otsuta too opened the kana-labeled package from Imoto in a spirited tone, "Oh, a half-collar... Sister, in Edo purple." "It's Master Chikara's favorite color." Delighted that her gesture had been well-received, Taeko shifted her knees sideways for the first time and draped her sleeve over the futon. "Sister," Then Otsuta lifted the downcast Koyoshi and sat upright with their knees touching, pressing the half-collar against her throat until her cheeks turned faintly pale, deeply indenting her chin with its pressure—the purple stood out vividly against her summer kimono, a beauty of that blood-coughing chest.

“When I die, Sister, I don’t need any burial kimono—just drape this half-collar I received from the young lady over me. Promise me that.”

Beneath these words, like dew trickling down a bellflower, beads scattered down her collar. "Oh, my dear, you mustn't say such... well, such petulant things." "The young lady's kindness—I, someone like me, will use this congratulatory gift I've received today as capital to establish a bank." "And repay my debts, then quit being a geisha for good." While saying this in a jesting tone, at the sight of Otsuta's frail figure, Koyoshi's emotions crumbled vulnerably; turning her face away from Taeko in their midst, there was no tobacco smoke to obscure it.

The turmoil in Koyoshi's heart—regardless—and Otsuta's fragile, pleading demeanor were both perceived by Taeko as well, her eyelashes faintly fluttering as— "Is she under a doctor's care?" "No, I too held that opinion. She neither consults the doctor properly nor takes her medicine—she detests it—so please tell her that yourself."

And then, taking her first smoke from the tobacco tray, Koyoshi wore an expression of eager anticipation as she waited to hear Taeko's voice.

The meal tray

Twenty-Four At that moment, what Taeko said was so unexpected that Koyoshi hurriedly flicked the silver mouthpiece and discarded her pipe. “Doctors and medicine—I hate them too,” she said with utmost seriousness, “They force me to take bitter medicine, then say I mustn’t eat sweets or apples—all sorts of things.” “Why don’t you do something fun instead?” When Koyoshi gaped in astonishment (“Oh my!”), Otsuta offered a lonely smile,

“Young lady... you... there’s nothing amusing here,” she said with labored breathing. “Why not go see Mr. Hayase?” “Huh?” “You want to see him, don’t you?” Even when the two gazed in silence, Taeko didn’t so much as blink,

“I want to see him too. “It’s been a full year since he went to Shizuoka—I think that’s quite something—and he hasn’t even sent any letters. “I think that’s too much. “When making a clean copy of the painting, he washed the inkstone for me, and then that evening we parted—wasn’t that exactly this month? “Those irises from back then—I mean, I think they look as if a baby had drawn them. “It's been so terribly long, you know—I want to see him too!”

Her eyes instantly grew moist, yet her vibrant face showed no weakness, and her voice retained its crystalline clarity. "That's why I figured you must want to see him too." "Truthfully, I came seeking your counsel." "I kept resolving to visit sooner—again and again—but it felt too awkward. I feared someone like me wouldn't be received kindly. So many times after school, I'd come as far as Kudanshita only to turn back."

“Even so, um, I asked a friend who comes from Tsukiji about this area beforehand and figured out how to ride the train from Kudanshita. But you know, there was a time I got off at Manshibashi and couldn’t come at all.” “When I come with that friend, they say they'll show me as far as Shintomiza Theater, but since it would be bad if something were said at school again, today too I tried not to ride the same train and waited awhile inside Yasukuni Shrine—then a male student lodger came up beside me and started following me around.” “I was terrified I’d be cut down, you know, since they say flesh from one’s buttocks makes good medicine—it’s dangerous!”

“I came here with all my might, and well, I thought it was good.”

“Um, well...” pulling the stitching thread of the straw mat, “Both you and Mr. Hayase were scolded by Father—that’s why you’re like this now—how pitiful.” “If it were me, I wouldn’t stay quiet—I’d speak my mind without restraint.” “But even I can’t stop drinking the wine Mother says I mustn’t touch!” “I’m at fault too.” “If you’re scolded, just apologize.” “And Father—when Mother or I say anything—he finds it so detestable he won’t listen at all—but when others come asking favors? He never says ‘No,’ accepts every single one.” “I know exactly how to handle him—want to share the trick—if you can’t come yourself being ill—Auntie—”

she continued without reserve, placing her hand on Koyoshi’s knee,

“Even you, Auntie, would do. Don’t mind anything and come to my house. The student lodgers at the entrance stare at female guests, so if you feel uncomfortable, don’t hesitate—just come straight through the garden.” “I’ll take you straight upstairs. Then, you see, Mother will bring out the sake. I’ll pour the drinks and get him drunk. Ahaha! If I laugh heartily and he lets out a booming voice, then it’ll be fine.”

“Please call Mr. Hayase without fail.” “By telegram—if you say it’s a telegram, that should work.” “If Father says it’s improper or something like that, I’ll grab his knees and refuse to let go.” “And tell him Ms. Otsuta feels so lonely she’s making this fuss—just see what happens.” “However intimidating he acts, he’ll cry straight away at such a pitiful story—he’ll surely agree.” “In exchange, when Mr. Hayase returns, I’ll visit on Sundays—so then...”

Grabbing the edge of the straw mat, she peered into Otsuta’s face,

“You too—don’t find me disagreeable. Let’s spend time together.” “Even when I wanted to visit Iidamachi before, since you kept hiding yourself, you can’t imagine how much restraint I had to exercise.” Both of them were already weeping, but Otsuta suddenly averted her face.

25 Otsuta wiped her tears. "Sister," she said, "I find myself clinging to this fleeting world. "I've come to treasure my life again. Please don't worry about me—from today onward, I'll see a doctor and take my medicine properly." "Miss," she continued, turning to Taeko, "even if I never meet Mr. Hayase again, as long as you stay healthy, I no longer wish to die." Her body pressed forward in a violent tremor. "You're chilled, aren't you?" Taeko said. "Come, lie down. Let me cover you."

Watching Taeko unhesitatingly thrust both sleeves and hands into the collar of the quilted wrap and pull,

“Oh, you shouldn’t have. You mustn’t go to such lengths. Everyone says it’s not contagious, but I cough up colored phlegm—your precious health could be at risk if you catch this.” The complexion of her resigned face, now abruptly tinged pink, was unsettling. “It’s fine!” “It’s not fine at all. Oh, and you don’t have any chills at all. I’m so hot that I’m sweating, and then, Sister—”

She looked at Koyoshi, “Something…” When she said that, Koyoshi silently nodded. “When he comes, instead of a place like this, he should go over there—with you and the young lady.” “Let me handle it today.” “No,” “There’s no need. I’ll do it, I tell you.” “Oh, Miss, you see how it is.” “You come to visit, yet there’s something about it that feels like tormenting the patient.” “You’re the one always making unreasonable demands, but I’ve got my reasons.”

“I have my reasons too.” “Well, I told you before too, didn’t I?” “When I parted with Hayase-san and things came to this, the Professor told me to buy tobacco—those three crisp 10-yen bills without creases that I took from him.” “Since it seemed wasteful, I wanted them used for my funeral when I died—wrapped them in paper and put them in the Buddhist altar drawer—but today I want to use that money.” “Give it to the young lady, and since I want to eat too,”

Even just uttering that—only coming from the patient—sounded as insubstantial as a last will.

“Very well, then do it that way.” “Now then, let’s hurry and place the order.” “It must be sweltering outside.” “What nonsense, Otsuta-san.” “Since this is for the young lady’s sake, there’s no need to stubbornly use a Western parasol.” “We’ll borrow the telephone at the corner sundries shop.”

“Ah, I know that place,” Taeko replied. “Somewhere not too crude and moderately sized would be best, don’t you think?” “Personally, I’m dying for a large skewer,” Otsuta said, “but what about you, Miss?” “I absolutely refuse unless we all eat together here.” “I’d be delighted to join you,” Koyoshi chimed in cheerfully. “With the place settings arranged however you like.” “Then I’ll take a large one too.” “How admirable,”

Otsuta smiled gently. "My, how surprising!" Koyoshi stood up.

“We’ll have the rice together too.” “Right away,” As she stepped down from the doorframe—nearly catching her kimono hem—and turned around, the rims of her eyes swollen, Koyoshi clutched her chest while the lattice door rattled. “Miss,” Otsuta said wistfully, “We did part under that agreement originally, but on my side too... A full year has passed without a single letter.” “Someone told me you could learn all about a place through its newspapers, so since last July I’ve been subscribing to this Shizuoka Minyu Shimbun. Every morning I check it first thing—scouring even the ads whenever I can—but there’s never been a word about Hayase-san. I’ve no idea how he fares there.”

“Lately I’ve been so disheartened, with neither drive nor vigor left, but still I find myself compelled to check. There was just one article that mentioned Mr. Hayase—I cut it out and kept it in a paper holder, so allow me to show you now.”

Twenty-Six

Otsuta settled back on the futon and slid open the closet door to the right—both top and bottom shelves were filled with Buddhist altars, one belonging to the household. The altar Otsuta herself tended was kept below due to their cohabitation. This too held an air of pathos, but her figure from behind—with its wilted hems and frail form—seemed like something from a tale. From the hem of her robe emerged a waist so slender it nearly vanished into the altar space, shoulders slumped, her shadow faint against the dimness. The newspaper clipping—stored with such pitiful care in the paper holder that fingertips had to search awhile, neatly folded small alongside a Hamacho charm for Lord Kiyomasa's success—was produced, whereupon Taeko leaned sideways against the futon without reservation, as though they'd been companions for a decade, stretching her neck in eager anticipation.

“So, what does it say? It's not that he did something improper like helping pickpockets again or anything, is it? Please do hurry and tell me.” “Oh no, well, you should read it yourself.” “Allow me to see.” As Taeko lay sprawled out, propping her cheek on her hand and read on the tatami, Otsuta peered into the half-opened drawer of the Buddhist altar. There she saw Chikara’s photo placed face-up, and with tears welling in her eyes, shut it with a quiet click. Taking the paper package of banknotes bestowed by Professor Sakai from her pocket, she blew away the ash from the incense holder that had fallen into the Buddhist altar with soft puffs, then smoothed it with her hand.

A goldfish seller passed by outside. "What could it be? This janitor is acting suspicious again, isn't he?" Taeko said, her face turning red. The newspaper article titled (AB Yokocho) described an alleyway on the western outskirts near Asama—already on the verge of becoming part of the county district—that people had recently nicknamed AB Yokocho. Though the name aligned too perfectly with Abe County where it was located, this moniker originated when German scholar Hayase Chikara established his private school there. Students had jokingly named it after hearing his ceaseless lecturing from morning onward, and the nickname spread until even tofu shops called it AB Yokocho, making it a local landmark. Speaking of local specialties, there were also the young members of this Hayase Juku who handled everything from cooking and cleaning to general upkeep. Unlike typical student servants, these were stylish brotherly figures who hummed tunes rather than engaged in scholarship. It was said that when Mr. Hayase had worked as a lecturer at a Tokyo school, a janitor he knew there came to join him—a man skilled at imitating actors' voices who could perform rakugo comedy. The gossip column essentially reported how this janitor, who would occasionally bellow "Welcome!" and startle commuters by tagging their footwear with slips, had become quite the character through his antics. Repeatedly called "Janitor! Janitor!", he enjoyed considerable favor from noblewomen learning German in that alleyway, starting with the renowned Lady Shimayama, as this locale had recently become something of a trend.

Koyoshi returned cheerfully, exclaiming, "Oh, it's so hot!" while making her way back.

As their conversation turned to that janitor’s affairs—whatever it might be—the three became engrossed in exchanging various rumors when Takeba arrived with a hearty “Sorry to keep you waiting!” When Koyoshi lit the fire, the unpretentious young lady carried a kettle out to the kitchen. Otsuta too, swept up by the momentum, staggered to her feet and went out; with her proudly roasted bancha at just the right strength, the three amiably laid out the meal. Taeko exclaimed at the Nara pickles; her face flushing hotly so she washed it. Koyoshi took up a brush and briskly redid her makeup, while Otsuta wiped a comb and decisively slid a tooth into place.

The two careworn women worked in tandem—Taeko cultivating an air of refined elegance about her while possessing an improper beauty one could never tire of gazing upon—as Koyoshi repeatedly fell into entranced dazes. Ah, she’s the spitting image of her father—that much was evident—but Otsuta found such unreserved admiration too vexing to let pass and resolved to tease her about it later... But... ah, even so... "It must stay secret from her parents," she said without pretense—even following Taeko to the entranceway to add "(Though it was delicious)"—before Taeko departed on the eighth-hour train while night was still young. After seeing her off to the alley corner and lingering a moment before turning back, Koyoshi came clattering in and—in near-frenzy—clung tightly to Otsuta.

“I can’t stand it.” “I can’t stand it.” “I can’t stand it.” “The Madam from Masagocho gets credit for raising such a lovely young lady, but I... I was the one who gave birth to her.” “She’s my child, Otsuta-san—every time her sleeve brushes against me, my chest aches unbearably. Look—see how my breasts have swollen?”

Taking her hand and pulling it tight, she let out a loud cry, and they instinctively embraced each other tightly,

“Now steady yourself, Koyoshi-san—it won’t do to let your temper flare up.” “What karma have we...” Even as geishas who had plumbed the depths of love’s every shade—women who had earned their professional names—they wept like virgins.

Small Geisha Teahouse

Twenty-Seven "Hey hey, Sis! Sis! Open those peepers and say somethin'." "Though even if ya do pop 'em wide, with those foggy lamps o' yours that can't tell Fuji from Tsukuba." "Bwahaha! Since when's an Edo-style fishmonger got folks hollerin' from doorways?" "Customer here!" "I said customer comin' through!" "Hey! Even if your side don't need snacks, our side needs a parlor!" "The hell!" "No parlors? Quit yer moldy jabberin'! This ain't no geisha dry season!"

He thudded the wooden serving tray down sideways and propped up the balance scale with practiced nonchalance. Slightly intoxicated Sōsuke of Me-gumi. He'd gotten delayed on his way back from deliveries—this was precisely why his wife refused to keep even an iron kettle in their home. The teahouse maid who had risen to greet them bustled about in a perpetual half-crouch without ever properly sitting. "This is truly most inopportune."

In front of the blocked entrance, he calmly plopped down, "Look—every time I go through this hassle, that bowl clatters." "It ain't my stomach growling—it's the sound of money!" "No need to be so jumpy." "If that's what you want, I'll sweep the dust from my feet with a thousand-ryō bundle and march right through!" With a raised knee, he roughly yanked off his clunky boots and plopped down beside the salt container.

At the loud voice, another maid came clattering out from the back, and as the commotion intensified, the first maid seemed to gain renewed resolve. “Truly, sir, there are no parlors available.” “Take down the signboard!” he bellowed, “If there’s no parlor, then show me to the closet! Even the ceiling would serve my purpose! Look at this! A brand new single customer here!” he declared in a rising tone, contorting his heretical face into a pout like one grimacing from salt thrown in their eyes. "That one over there looks reasonable." “Hmm, yep—still no parlors available. That’s how it looks!” “Weird look you’ve got there!” “Ha ha ha ha! The one sayin’ such things ain’t got such a strange face herself!”

He rubbed a clenched fist against his stymied nose as if twisting it into the flesh. “Don’t let appearances fool ya—I keep a proper mistress for public outings!” “You think I’d come sniffin’ round teahouses to shop for some hag who’ll live forever?” “Oy! When Me-no-ji from Hatchōbori comes callin’, don’t you think you should’ve phoned ahead? Eh? Eh?” “It’s Miss Koyoshi from Yanagibashi’s place!” “And Tsunaji from Kashiwa House—that stunner—popped up outta nowhere!” “Whatcha think? Shook?” “The bank president’s gone and disguised himself as a fishmonger!” “Now there’s a fancy scheme for ya!”

With a strange gesture, he suddenly thrust it right at the maid’s nose, “Or maybe you’re gonna spit out some excuse like ‘We can’t hand over haoris ’cause they’ll damage the signboard’—go on, try it!” “I’ll haul a whale from the riverbank and set it loose to swim in your place—the whole Hamachō district’ll flood!” “More terrifying than an earthquake—the building’s framework will float right up!”

The two maids exchanged glances, “At any rate, please do come in,” “I’ll make it work.” “Oh, I’ll manage.” He was spouting pretentious nonsense like someone etching filigree on a lattice. But he had seen through their true intentions. “Nah—I’ll show myself in!” Letting out a shrill cry, he thudded against the corridor wall while— “Where is it? Where is it? Come on, bring me the parlor!”

He abruptly stood up and spread his arms wide. “Please come this way.”

After parting in the corridor, as one turned the corner and ascended to the second floor, he noisily barged in from behind. Plunging into a six-tatami room without even waiting for a futon to be laid out, he sprawled in his soiled half-pants.

“Would you care for some sake?” “Don’t ask how many masu to heat. If you’ve got it stocked, bring out every last drop!” As the maid gave a strained smile and began to stand, he stretched his arm out full length, shook his head with fixed eyes, tsked loudly, and clucked his tongue. “Wait, wait! Let me stage a proper performance and make the waterfall’s torrents flow!”

He suddenly stood up. “Show me to Washio Saburo! Execute the Hiyodorigoe reverse drop! From the back stairs—the toilet! The toilet!” He must have heard it at some night lecture.

28 Me-gumi lumbered toward the water basin. With the posture of a homesick rejected suitor, he peered restlessly at the lower guest rooms beyond the courtyard, but having somehow determined where to go without waiting for guidance and without returning to the original second floor, he lumbered into a certain room and thudded down cross-legged against the sliding door.

A maid hurriedly rushed in,

“Oh my, where do you think you’re going?” she said reproachfully. “Here I am! Hahaha, don’t you worry.” “This is a problem,” she insisted. “There are guests in the neighboring parlor.” “Don’t give a damn,” he retorted. “Don’t give a damn at all.” “Even if we don’t mind here, the other guests will.” “What’s the fuss? We’re all cut from the same cloth here.” He spread his arms defiantly. “Ain’t like those fancy folks over there are holdin’ back—comin’ to a joint like this. Attendin’ the landlord’s retired master’s funeral’s no better than havin’ the whole block pawned off at a loan shop.” He thumped his chest. “I’m just a fox with one damn hole! Can’t stand these cat-infested heights—gives me the creeps worse than some disowned brat. I’ll stick to livin’ in a tenement that suits my station.” A coarse chuckle escaped him. “Hell, the racket through the walls? Downright comforts me these days.”

“That won’t do, sir—if you didn’t prefer this parlor, why’d you come? There’s plenty others vacant!” “Vacant?! Look—I just told you there ain’t no parlors free now! Said I’d take whatever’s open! I ain’t askin’ for nothin’ fancy—nothin’ fancy at all—so shut yer trap and hurry up heatin’ it already.” Having no choice but to accept his unreasonable demand, she made a displeased face,

“Then please just serve the sake. What about the side dishes?” “The side dishes’re right here on my platter! Wrap it in bamboo leaves—there’s a sickle-cut portion of spotted salmon, so grill that ’n’ bring it here. Otsuta used to like this, but these days she ain’t touchin’ a bite. Even if I save some to take home, I’ll end up wolfin’ it all down today anyway.”

He muttered to himself and slumped down, “Givin’ it to Mama ain’t worth the trouble. Don’t grill it! Don’t grill it!”

The maid, apprehensive that he might be mad, made a suspicious face but tentatively— “And are you going to involve Tsunaji-san?” “Nah, this time I’ll take whatever’s open here. She ain’t no regular nor mistress. Depending on how you court someone, there’s things you just can’t do, I tell ya. Sure, I’m in love—I am in love! No need to wait—they’re seducing someone next door with two people at it!” “Hey,”

Stopping him, the elder sister wore a look of waning interest.

"I'm alone here—when she comes, you'll help me sweet-talk her, won't ya? What's this, what's this—" He pricked up his ears. "—pure love! What's with that gapin' asshole over there?" He slammed his face against the sliding door with a thud— "Ants crossin' a damn threshold—goddammit, you hairy barbarians!" "Quiet!" Someone from the neighboring room finally snapped and barked at him. "That's your real voice!" "Huh?!" The maid's restraining hand fell short as Me-gumi threw open the door with a bang—when had he prepared it? From within his discarded towel emerged a deba knife pulled from his apron.

"You hairy barbarians - watch what I'll do to you!" "Ah!" exclaimed the Western-clad figure who had fled to the front veranda—Kano Eikichi. Next, as Teruharu Girls' School Vice Principal Miyahata Kanko attempted to dash out—colliding chest-first with his button torn off—Me-gumi grabbed him from behind with a slipping hand. "Th-there you are weeping, Professor's daughter." "I bowed to you once in the back alleys of Iidamachi—ain't never forgotten that." "I spotted these bastards draggin' you into this hellish inn, so I figured I'd sip my drink slow-like while mockin' their dirty talk and beat 'em down proper when the time came—but damn if I could wait that long!" "Miss Sakai! While I'm keepin' 'em busy here—come on over and beat these barbarians down! Beat 'em down! Beat 'em down!"

Why was I in such a place again? What... Had you come to Hatchōbori? Yes—if we met on the train you'd be taking home, they'd claim a young woman walking alone looked suspicious, so as part of my teaching duties I had to investigate... The height of absurdity.

“Hmm... Normally I wouldn’t let you bastards live, but you’re beasts from a different realm—come pay your respects at Bon!” When he shoved, Miyahata Kanko’s crouched body collapsed onto Eikichi, who stood panting on the veranda while flailing his arms like a man performing calisthenics. As their legs tangled and swayed, [Me-gumi] grabbed a bowl from the low table and scattered beans through the skylight with a clatter. Sōsuke laughed uproariously, his voice booming: “Out with the demons! Out with the demons—”

Michiko

Twenty-Nine Her face powder was thick due to her husband’s preference, but its hue remained pale. This pallor did not signify any deficiency in her beauty. Autumn flowers differ from those of spring - they neither vie in brilliance nor boast of splendor. Their elegance favors shade over sunlight, night over day, moon over sun - profound in melancholy yet fleeting in charm. Such was the bearing of Michiko, wife of Hospital Director and Medical Scholar Kano, eldest daughter of the Kano household. Amidst sisters who bloomed with vivid floridity, radiant in daylight's glare, she alone maintained modest composure - a hibiscus stretching tall in solitude, awaiting dew and yearning for moonlight; its crimson accents restrained as self-cultivation, its adorned robes like a bell cricket's sanctuary.

Though she typically remained reclusive, finding solace only in her husband's presence, today saw her attending a charity bazaar at Wakazakiza Theater in Teramachi—where noblewomen had erected a temporary canopy over an improvised field to host philanthropic activities alongside a benefit play for an orphanage. Needless to say, the younger sister from Kusabuka was the fearless general who had taken up the vanguard. Thus it came to pass that Michiko would attend—not of her own volition, but because the esteemed mother of the main household, who might well be called the chief strategist of this gathering, had unfortunately fallen ill. Though her condition was not serious, physicians strongly advised against her appearing at such an occasion and exerting herself with social niceties, deeming it most unfavorable for her prognosis. This occurred in late June.

Her morning preparations were completed in the cool dawn. A breeze rustled gently; sleeves fluttered against her arms against the tightly fastened white underrobe. Verdant young leaves adorned her carriage, their green hues framing a lustrous marumage chignon where shadows played through the tortoiseshell hairpin on her middle finger. Her melon-seed shaped face resembled none other in its contours. When she stepped forth with noble poise, her demeanor remained crisp yet gentle—dignified without coquetry, embodying the very pinnacle of the Kano clan’s elegance. With such tastes and temperament, she seemed less the hospital director’s wife than the cherished daughter of a prominent merchant household. The vista along the way—a levee path cutting through rice fields, Mount Fuji rising beyond green paddies—lent this noblewoman bound for the charity bazaar more the air of a shrine maiden making proxy visit to Asama Shrine than an urban philanthropist attending metropolitan festivities.

The carriage came from Yokota, where the hospital was located, crossed these rice fields, raced along the castle’s back streets—not heading toward Wakazakiza Theater—eventually turned into Nishikusabuka, and arrived at the stone bridge near Shimayama Gate.

Michiko had come to invite Kanko, feeling uneasy about attending the unfamiliar venue alone, but when she entered the quiet interior, there was no sign of her sister—the children, nursemaid, and student lodgers were all absent—with only the master of the house—a Bachelor of Science—sitting before the long brazier wearing a listless expression as if he had overslept at a boarding house, reading his newspaper faced toward the meal tray. A pot of miso soup hung over the brazier, and since it had not yet come to a boil, he waited there like this.

Had he been more approachable, he might have asserted his authority to the fullest, but the elder sister merely bent slightly at the waist and—peering in from the edge of the veranda—half-concealed her gentle smile behind a neatly folded handkerchief. "Alone?" "Oh, I thought it was someone else."

He showed a smile on his thickly bearded lips, but given his well-known disposition, he said nothing more. The elder sister remained half-hidden, “Where are Taki-chan and Tōru-san?” “Since Mother is going out, we’re following her trail—the nursemaid’s taking them, and since it’s Sunday, Yamada (the student lodger at the entrance) is tagging along for the outing.” "Normally they’d come to your residence, but since you’re also attending today’s charity event due to your schedule, it’s not unusual—though I suppose they’ve gone to Asama again to have them eat beans or wheat gluten."

“Then Ms. Kanko has already departed, I take it?” “She left earlier.”

Why hadn’t she waited? Without showing any expression that betrayed the thought, “Oh, if only I had come sooner,” she said. “I had wanted us to go together, and since you haven’t come these past four or five days, I wanted to see Taki-chan and Tōru-san’s faces.” She spoke kindly, though without genuine intent. Within the entire clan, she alone had not a single child.

Thirty Seeing his elder sister-in-law’s seemingly insincere demeanor, the Bachelor of Science thought Ah, how pitiable—yet with her alone he grew uncharacteristically reticent, offering neither explanation nor consolation, instead giving an unprecedented smirk before falling silent. Should she leave immediately? What should she do? Her listless figure exuded loneliness. Without another word, the elder sister turned her back on the pillar she had been leaning against and gazed over the black fence at the Sunday morning rice fields, where silk tree blossoms scattered as though clouds had parted—when the pot’s bubbling clamor interrupted.

When she looked, steam billowed up as the Bachelor of Science removed the lid, appearing quite hungry— "Excuse me," he said, taking the bowl in hand. "Wait a moment—hasn't it reduced too much?" Wearing a flesh-colored sheer silk underrobe, the hem of her crepe silk kimono making no rustling sound, she glided before the long brazier and peered skillfully into the pot. "My, this is barely passable as it is." She poured hot water from the copper kettle and lightly pressed once with the ladle. "Allow me to prepare it for you," she said seductively.

"I'm much obliged." After handing over the bowl, the Bachelor of Science watched with barely contained emotion as Michiko—her round chignon not a single hair out of place nor its luster excessive, her collar thickly powdered with white makeup standing stiffly pristine, clad in pale navy-blue satin-crepe with small arabesque patterns—prepared the miso soup with pale hands. “Please don’t bother with your delicate hands,” he offered with grandiose flattery and laughed cheerfully, “What a treat!” (slurp) “This is delicious.”

"Using another's things to fulfill obligations. Hohoho, I didn't bring any souvenirs either." Without so much as a word of thanks, the Bachelor of Science set down his chopsticks and gulped noisily. "It's remarkably delicious. I'd always thought miso soup was just tasteless hot water unless made salty enough. You put two scoops in with the drying ladle just now, didn't you? Is that some charm to make the broth taste better?" "Yes, it's a charm." The edges of Michiko's eyes held a bud-like smile as she said this.

“Ha ha ha! A skewered jest indeed.” “Why not ask Ms. Kanko yourself?” “Speaking of which, you really ought to be leaving now.” “Oh, I’m in no particular hurry myself. But since I’m acting as proxy today, I must assist promptly lest Ms. Kanko reprimand me again—though by now, it must be time to depart for Wakatake-za.” “Mmph.”

With his cheeks stuffed full of rice came a muffled voice. "He took a detour. If you're going now, you should call on Hayase - he'll likely be there." "In that case, is that gentleman also gathered there?" "They're not together. You see how obstinate Hayase can be. He half-mocks us and won't support causes like orphanage donations. They say he won't even attend today's meeting. Since I insisted they must refute his arguments and drag him out, he's probably holding forth with that crimson tongue of his right about now. Ha! Haha!"

laughed boisterously and made a disagreeable face,

“Won’t you go take a look? You,” “You,” “Yes,” For some reason, she bowed her head, but the elder sister maintained her graceful farewell bow without another word. “May we not miss each other again. I must apologize for interrupting you mid-meal.” “Oh no, I’ve already finished.”

That day, unusually, the Bachelor of Science escorted her out to the entranceway. The housemaid Mariko—her silk tabi socks silent on the quiet tatami mats—hadn't noticed the guest's arrival until the master's heavy footsteps echoed through the house, making her abruptly peek out from the kitchen. "Good day," the elder sister addressed her in a gentle voice, leaning slightly forward. She stood frozen with a gasp—this noblewoman who frequented the house had never before shown her such consideration.

The rickshaw puller rushed in from outside the gate and adjusted his geta clogs. “AB Yokocho, was it? We’ll head there then,” “Right away—to the lick-spittle professor’s place,” came the prompt acknowledgment.

Thirty-One

Hayase knew that his sister had been brought to their father’s residence and had come to the hospital two or three times, but what of this strapping cram school (custodian) who had even been written about in the newspapers? Since it was said to be a male household with no others present, Michiko confidently assumed the (custodian) would undoubtedly answer the door—feeling both the curiosity of someone about to witness something novel and a thrilling sensation akin to being in vogue—they soon entered AB Yokocho, the recently famous alley near Daiiganzan at the western edge of Kusabuka Town, where the path ahead would immediately lead to Abe's Ando Village. There stood a single-story house with weathered black walls encircling its front garden, its gate structure low and tilting yet standing alone, bearing only a new signboard that read "German Language Instructor."

After having the rickshaw wait, when she opened the poorly-hung gate—a space not five steps across for a woman’s stride—the lattice door directly ahead creaked softly. Given that state, one might have expected voices to be audible already, yet no sound of her sister’s voice resonated. Instead of the custodian who should have emerged with a puzzled expression, there appeared Hayase Chikara—the so-called "lick-spittle professor" from the rickshaw puller’s words—wearing a kasuri summer robe with wide sleeves, the left cuff frayed. Upon seeing her face, he greeted her with a smile that seemed to say "Ah, it’s you," and "This way," but before they could even halfway retreat to the parlor, he abruptly withdrew in his characteristic impetuous manner. Without time to look left or right, the elder sister picked her way through the disordered clutter of desks and stands like a crane lost on a mountain path.

When she first asked about Ms.Kanko, there was still no sign of her. But she would undoubtedly stop by eventually. At any moment now, the vigorous clatter of geta clogs would be heard. When the lattice door clattered open, he sat down beside the desk and said, “Since your presence will be revealed in this room the moment you stand there, please rest here while waiting,” started to smoke a cigarette, then abruptly stubbed it out, stood up to bring out a futon, slid open the shoji screen while declaring “Let’s air it out,” then remarked, “Though it would be better if this garden were just a bit more spacious.” “It’s quite cluttered here,” he remarked, and tossed out the newspapers from the alcove. He tried to push out the brazier and set it down, but “What’s this—it’s hot!” he exclaimed, hurriedly rubbing it again. For some reason, he bustled about in an unsightly manner, restlessly circling around the director’s wife as if weaving a spider’s enclosure. In between, he kept talking without pause—“Welcome! How unexpected! What an extraordinary noble lady! How strange, how strange!”—chattering incessantly.

"Oh, please, do come in," Even the Madam who had settled into the space found herself speaking rapidly—tilting her head up, slightly arching her chest, and making a motion as if to brush away smoke with one hand. At that moment, Hayase had left his seat before the desk and was standing abruptly behind the Madam, so their gazes met from different heights. Perhaps from being flustered so intensely, the timid Madam’s face flushed crimson up to her eyelids. Then Hayase, as if transformed into another person altogether, calmly returned to his seat, slowly took out a rolled tobacco, and without lighting it, rested one hand firmly on his knee, his shoulders squared.

“Madam, you’ll be going to the charity bazaar now to work for the poor’s sake, won’t you?” he said calmly. As her face was being stared at, she lowered her eyelashes, “Yes, but I am merely assisting.” “I have a request.”

As if prostrating himself, Chikara abruptly braced both hands against the floor. Overwhelmed by the sheer unexpectedness of his actions, she found herself at a loss for words and could only watch him with sidelong glances. Yet he remained with his head bowed endlessly, his hands gripping the tatami in evident distress—until she felt she could no longer simply leave him there. "You—acting so unlike yourself—what is this about?" Though she had spoken these words, the intensity of the man's demeanor made her uneasy, and she lifted her knees to edge backward. "Though impertinent to say, this charity work you engage in—beginning with today's event—spreads compassion as broadly as rain upon parched earth." "Withered plants may indeed revive through such mercy," he continued, "but that requires nature's boundless power. Human efforts amount to little more than sprinkling dew on burning stones."

Thirty-Two “Rather than scattering your compassion like fleeting mists that vanish midair through broad ambitions alone, let that dew of benevolence collect fully—then pour it solely upon the roots of one being. Let even a single leaf of nameless grass revive in verdant vitality through your grace.” “Could you not take this work done by multitudes and assign each task to individuals? Save one person completely—exclusively. If your strength allows—two people... three people... five people.” “While tending others’ children, prevent your own from catching cold. With the same heart that pities foreign slaves, show compassion to the maid you employ—though this is but a rough analogy. I make no specific insinuations.”

“However, at this very moment before your eyes, there exists a pitiable soul who cannot find peace even in death without receiving a single teardrop from you.” “Regarding this matter, I have been tormented to the point of sleepless nights.” Finally having calmed somewhat, “For some time I had wished to entreat your compassion—but unlike with Mr. Shimayama, I could not approach you lightly. Yet leaving matters unattended would lead to an irreparable calamity. As I agonized over what course to take, your truly unexpected and wondrous visit—particularly occurring while en route to the charity bazaar—may indeed be called divine providence.”

“I beseech you—could you not spare just a single drop, a mere droplet, from that watering-can water of benevolence you intend to shower far and wide, and apportion it my way? You may know him as an eccentric wanderer, but Hayase would owe you a lifelong debt.” As he spoke with tightly clenched fists, she seemed to listen with a mixture of surprise, dismay, and fear. The Madam’s heavy brows relaxed into a smile as she responded in a tone both kind and admonishing—

“Is it money that you require?” With a supple motion, she placed her hand to her chest—a gesture that gradually slid down toward her obi sash as she leaned forward, retrieving a delicate pouch from between the folds of her kaishi paper. Michiko had often heard rumors through her younger sister and understood his circumstances.

Hayase’s voice intensified, “It’s not about money or anything—I’m not speaking of my own affairs.”

"My... what a rude thing to say―" She adjusted her collar as her face flushed, "What am I to do?" "Then since this does not concern you." "Yes―of course―there exists another whom I wish you to save." "Please... consult Shimayama regarding that matter." "If it lay within my power... I too might assist discreetly―but Kano (the medical scholar) proves so meddlesome." ……She bowed her head forlornly,

“As for me, I simply cannot manage it myself.” “I would be quite inept at that... and besides, my younger sister is more accustomed to such matters.” “No—it must be you.” “Therefore, I am at my wit’s end.” “That person is already a dying patient in a condition that won’t last another day.”

“He’s an old man nearing sixty—no grandchildren to speak of, no relatives at all, a complete widower. Even the shadow that kept him company has vanished into that tattered futon. Reduced to nothing but bones and skin—and that skin, Madam, rubbed raw from bedsores until it’s worn through.” “He opens eyes that can no longer perceive daylight, yet pleads to see just one glimpse—just one glimpse—of your face.” “Yes,” “No nursing required, no need to hold hands, no need to exchange words—needless to say, there will be absolutely no financial burden. For he says that by glimpsing you just once from the pitch-dark depths of hell—considering you a Buddha, a celestial being, moonlight at the mountain’s edge—he wishes to smile gently as his lifetime’s memory. Should you grant this request, you would truly achieve a virtuous deed surpassing human measure.” “Madam, with your heart of great compassion and mercy, could you not grant this wish? I do not ask for even ten minutes of your time.”

As he pressed closer inch by inch, the Madam unconsciously shifted her knees forward— “Where is this person from? What sort of person are they?” “He’s right here in Andō Village. His name is Teizo—he once worked as a groom at your family’s estate... Madam... your true... father...”

Thirty-Three "That... if you were to read the letter, you would have no doubts left." "It concerns your father—when Mr. Eimi was away at war, your mother and your household's groom Teizo..." Hayase hesitated mid-sentence... The Madam's trembling hands released their grip, letting a single sheet of hanshi paper inscribed with feminine characters flutter onto her lap. As though this jade-sealed missive contained some virulent poison within its folds, her face drained of color—the pitiful rouge staining her lips fading against her white collar—while she stared fixedly at the shadow cast beneath her deeply bowed chin,

"...Such words should never reach your ears under normal circumstances, but given the urgency of the situation, there's no time for delicate phrasing." "And precisely because you were conceived in this manner, while you were still in the womb, your mother considered drowning you. But remaining in the area would draw unwanted attention at every turn. The wet nurse who had raised your mother hailed from Mino Yasu—and the student lodger currently at Shimayama's entranceway is reportedly her grandson." "It was during her absence while she went there to deal with you that she sent a letter to Teizo."

Though he served as a groom, Teizo was the son of a former feudal retainer who had received proper stipends - it being a case of youthful indiscretion and circumstances conspiring, he had an affair with the master's wife. In his giddy excitement, he reportedly even boasted drunkenly about it while pointing at his nose. But being no true villain at heart, he trembled at the terrifying proposal to dispose of the child, insisting that if matters stood thus, they should abandon their social standing and flee together instead. When she refused to consent, he made the unexpected declaration that if she wouldn't agree to drastic measures, he would stage a public confrontation. Just as the mistress was agonizing over this dilemma, an unexpected matter was quickly settled with Mr. Eimi's triumphant return. Since the maternity belt had developed a slight gap, days passed accordingly, and you were born as a ninth-month child.

"But in society they say: 'Ah, Mrs. Kano grew up so well—her household being doctors.'... For they say most ninth-month children wouldn't survive otherwise." "Also, the old-fashioned folks reportedly said that because so many people died in the war, births happened sooner." "Was it concern for honor that moved him, or perhaps the overwhelming joy of his firstborn child? Mr. Eimi is indeed your father." "Teizo, upon seeing the face of the safely delivered healthy child just once and feeling reassured—with his lingering memory of having gotten drunk at your seventh-night celebration—took his leave and departed from the estate."

Out of consideration that if he kept seeing your face morning and night, some new complication might arise—along with his constitution prone to tuberculosis, having had a sickly disposition since youth— When leaving the estate outright, he couldn't resort to forceful means. Yet with his elderly mother—still robust at the time—to support single-handedly, he used a sum of funds provided by the mistress as severance or consolation money to establish an archery range behind Asama Shrine's votive tablet hall initially.

“Fortunately, his business hit its mark and reached a point where he could somehow make ends meet—that’s when he took a wife.” “No—the punishment was swift.” “After spending considerable time at the temple grounds, she conspired with a showman and absconded with all their money.” “Moreover, you—it’s said his wife was pregnant with child as well, isn’t that so?” “My...”

And the Madam involuntarily sighed. "Frustrated, he sold his shares in the archery business, then rented cheap vacant land in Andō Village to set up a horse track and start a rental venture." "You, sheltered by nursemaids and parasols in those days—on your return from pilgrimages to Asama Shrine, surely there were times you clung to those round bamboo fences and gazed out." "Teizo knows how you would pick clovers along the path and toss them to the horses." After his mother died, the horse track gradually declined; he sold two horses that had perished suddenly and drank himself into ruin—already at rock bottom. Rice became impossible to buy; the gruel grew thinner. He finally managed to install joists in the stable to shelter from rain and dew—he remains there even now—though what was once the horse track has become a dyer’s drying ground......"

Thirty-Four

“Through a strange twist of fate, I visited Shizuoka last year… on the very next day after that incident. When passing near Shimayama’s area and Asama Shrine, I stopped at a teahouse to rest—that’s where I met Teizo. After growing close enough for him to confide these secrets in me, given how critically ill the old man now lies, it has become absolutely necessary that this matter reach your ears.” “Even I—who wanted nothing more than for you to meet him—have tried persuading him many times until now. But no—telling these things to you who knew nothing of this would be like seizing your ankle to drag you down into hell. After this deed, even the moon and sun would darken in your sight.” “What a wretched shame,” Teizo said, shaking his head.

He held back, as it was only reasonable. Though my efforts were inadequate, I also arranged for a doctor and had him take medicine. I suggested that since Mr. Kano is a renowned medical scholar, perhaps he should be admitted to his hospital—where he might catch a glimpse of you from afar—but he adamantly refused, calling it utterly unthinkable. "He is a pure soul." "You see what a wicked man he is—if your mother were his opponent and he had that letter in hand, Teizo could live comfortably drinking sake with sashimi from morning till night for the rest of his life!"

"If there were even the slightest hint of obstinate resolve or a single sen's worth of thought that might cause you concern, I swear I would never speak of this." "That's not it! He endured even that desire to see you just once—and that too... because the old man himself still didn't believe he was beyond recovery. Decocting and drinking it was too troublesome, and since there was no one to tend to the medicine pot, he reportedly chewed the banana leaves—touted as medicine—raw and green—"

“Thanks to that vitality, the medicine somehow worked its effect—there was even a time when he went with me to the Abe River to eat mochi and drink tea before returning home. But when that showed good results, he recently took to his bed again in earnest, and now that he’s resigned himself, he’s come to say he wants to see you—to meet you just once.” “Given how critical his condition is, I’ve been anxious for him to see you while he still breathes—but this isn’t something I could discuss with others. Even were I to visit your residence to speak of it, this can only be done by facing you directly.”

“Though impertinent to mention, I heard from Mr. Shimayama that your husband the medical scholar is frightfully jealous precisely because he loves you so intensely.”

She had been nearly overwhelmed with bewilderment when this visit today could truly be called miraculous. She hadn't even uttered the word "Father"—nor had she desired to do so until now. For he speaks of wanting just one glimpse of you, likening it to Amida Buddha's white light—if only you would meet him, even the soot that had blackened every corner of his hut would bloom into wisteria flowers, and within that purple cloud, how joyous it would be for him to behold your face. "If that comes to pass," Chikara continued, "this utterly wretched, pitiable old man would instead attain a happiness not one in a million could obtain—clearly beholding a radiant celestial being and achieving rebirth in paradise—Madam."

The sound of Chikara’s words seemed to seep from the Madam’s shoulders and permeate her entire being. “Teizo is your biological father—and in a certain sense, I must say he’s the savior of your life.” “Y... yes.” “The charity bazaar will be crowded.” “Wakatake-za will be packed.” “Moreover, since night will deepen, there’ll be no trouble avoiding prying eyes.” “It’s an irreplaceable opportunity.” “Might I accompany you to pay a brief visit?”

No sooner had he taken hold of a matchbox with one hand than his other hand shot out without hesitation to snatch the old letter from the Madam’s lap. “Once we’ve spoken—even if you do not consent—these things are…” With a scratch, he struck the match; it flared up with a flutter, turned blue, and vanished. But within the billowing smoke, the Madam’s face flickered, and somehow compelled, her knees swayed unsteadily. Adjusting her seated position and composing herself,

“Please, do take me with you.”

The lattice door clattered open. That matter should remain unspoken. Kanko's figure had already materialized at the seat. Resplendent in her dazzling attire yet refusing to settle properly, "Oh, Sister!"

Whispering.

Thirty-Five “It’s already late, Sister. If you don’t come quickly, what could you possibly be doing?”

Kanko said hurriedly while remaining on her feet. Whether from the outdoor heat or her hurried entrance, her face flushed crimson. While the flustered Kanko agitatedly beat her chest, Michiko remained composed. "I've been waiting since earlier." "Even if you've been waiting, I have matters all over to attend to—can't you just hurry up and go?" "What's this? How unkind—I was waiting for Wame. I stopped by Kusabuka on my way here. I thought I wanted you to take me along. Well then, let us be on our way, shall we?"

"I have matters to attend to." "Are you taking a detour?" "Well... not exactly, but I need to discuss something with Mr. Hayase here and drag him off to the charity meeting no matter what. It’ll take some time." and still did not sit down.

Chikara crossed his arms and, “Ha ha ha! Well now—you must hear what Mr.Kanko calls an argument.” “No matter how much he tries to persuade me of anything, it won’t do any good.” “Shall I handle this?” As the elder sister-wife—having half-risen—settled her knees back down, a somewhat reluctant air became visible about her. “You must come quickly… It’s fine for me, but Sister—your brother (the medical scholar) makes such a fuss over you.”

The face looking down; Michiko's pale face tilted back at an angle, blood rushing to it as she stood rigid—but then she smiled bleakly and, "Oh, right. I will go ahead. Though I don’t know how the venue is arranged, there likely won’t be any cause for confusion."

She said obediently and bowed formally, "I must apologize for the intrusion," she said, briefly meeting Hayase's eyes—they both blinked.

"Why, wouldn't it be better for us to stay together? You should join us too, Ms. Kanko." "No, we can't remain like this—there's more—" Her voice intensified as she spoke. "There are several matters I wish to discuss with you, but..." "I'll be ready shortly myself." "I'll be waiting." With gentle composure, her figure retreated quietly into the shadows. Chikara escorted her to the entranceway, concealed his presence, and discreetly pressed the edge of his sleeve.

“Goodbye!” She turned back energetically, and already a carriage was rumbling outside the gate. “Hot, hot—it’s really unbearably hot, isn’t it?” Kanko sat there already, lightly adjusting her sleeves, dewy sweat betraying discomfort as she loosened the edge of her ibis-colored crepe silk garment. The area resembled morning glories in full bloom, while in the bright room, only the white garments cast cool shadows.

"It's been a while." "It hasn't been that long at all." "What on earth was that remark?" "...I can't bear listening nearby—it's too pitiful for Sister." "But it's the truth!" "Though she's fully occupied with hospital work, the director knows every time Sister speaks to someone—he simply can't endure it anymore." "Still we must value him—the hospital director supports our entire household financially." "Even our guardian's youngest sister of nine has already had her bridal trousseau prepared."

“It’s not like he’s indulging in frivolous pursuits—he works solely for your sake, you know. If you provoke even the slightest anger in him, it’ll mean disaster. You must take care, or I’ll be in dire straits.”

“What are you saying—it’s not amusing.” “What was that attitude just now—you’re being awfully familiar. And taking sides, aren’t you? You can’t afford any carelessness or openings!” “That’s enough.” “And your nonsense—” “But Sister isn’t the type to sit facing a man for even five minutes, no matter what happens.” “You’re just smooth-tongued and keep up appearances—that’s why you’re sitting there so comfortably, isn’t it?” “It’s truly unbearable.” “If you’re going to philander like this, that’s quite enough.”

“This might as well be an illustration from a ninjōbon.” “What’s this? Sitting face-to-face like this—what sort of pretense are we maintaining?”

36

In a hushed voice, the hospital director’s wife— “You… what will you do?” “……”

“Even after all my entreaties, you still refuse to let Brother Eikichi have Miss Taeko? You know how many times I’ve pleaded with you—isn’t this excessively cruel?” “He’s been courting her relentlessly since last year. When Mother in Tokyo heard you’d first come to Shizuoka and become acquainted with me—‘Show him every courtesy,’ she wrote in her letter—it was precisely because she wanted you to broker this marriage alliance with the Sakais.”

“You can’t imagine how worried Mother must be. There’s never been such disgrace before. For us to propose marriage and be rejected—it’s a humiliation to the Kano family! An absolute disgrace!” “Brother clearly adores Miss Taeko, but given his wild lifestyle, this rejection has left him utterly despondent—he’s become completely reckless. If you drink yourself to death, wouldn’t you hate that? I mean—”

In an even lower voice, “No matter what happens, he keeps collapsing into those small waiting rooms,” she said. “After my superintendent uncle privately warned us, we stopped sending Brother funds from home ages ago—officially for his independence, but really it’s practically disownment.” “They say he doesn’t even visit Kitamachi’s Toyo Juku anymore these days.” “But wherever he lands, everyone demands funds.” “Where could it come from?” “He’ll borrow eventually.” “And there are lenders who know the Kano family’s situation—charging outrageous interest rates—it’s unbearable.” “Mother settled debts twice with sums of a thousand and fifteen hundred.” “The funds set aside for Brother’s study abroad vanished long ago—by the third time, they’d even tapped into our sisters’ shares—isn’t that right?”

Since Miss Taeko's situation began—though I had gone to Kitamachi and knew about it—he had become pitifully earnest. …… Originally timid and raised in luxury—a spoiled young master through and through—his dissipation might have been dismissed as childish petulance, but that very upbringing made his reckless violence all the more unbearable when it emerged.

The hospital director’s brother-in-law was an adopted son—among so many siblings, to treat someone irreplaceable who had finally earned his degree in such a manner would truly bring hardship upon the household.

“Mr. Hayase, couldn’t this matter be resolved through your will alone?” “Since it’s me asking—please agree to help, won’t you? Otherwise... you’re being heartless.”

“That’s why, that’s why,” Miyahata interjected urgently. “I would never say I refuse. I’m not refusing. I’ll go this instant—speak with the Professor and retrieve the betrothal gifts myself.” He laughed dismissively. “Wait, wasn’t it supposed to be the other way around? Shouldn’t we be presenting the betrothal gifts from our side?” “In exchange for that, you’d have us hold the wedding in that beggar’s shack beside Anto Village’s dyeing workshop, wouldn’t you? Why must you stubbornly harp on such miserly concerns like rice prices?”

“This is no jest at all! This concerns our household’s very survival, you understand? You can’t fathom how I’ve suffered through this ordeal. Look how thin I’ve become! Lately, whenever I see Mr. Shimayama—that Bachelor of Science—my whole body seems to shrivel up inside. Don’t you go rushing down to the earthen floor to fiddle with your boot laces?” “It’s practically like kneeling to kiss my husband’s feet! Who’s forcing this humiliation upon me, Mr. Hayase? Isn’t this all due to your obstinate pride?”

“If you’d just show a little understanding and agree, I don’t think you’d be entirely penalized for it.”

Chikara, who had been leaning on the desk and listening with a laugh for some time, suddenly straightened up, “Then are you saying that, confronting yourself, you want Miss Taeko as a bride?” “Well… yes.” “Ah, so you resorted to seductive ploys, did you?”

37 “You’re angry—you mustn’t get angry, I tell you.” “You’ve truly become so strong-willed lately—I wonder why that is.” “Because you’re the one being standoffish.” “Who’s to say which of us is being standoffish? I can’t tell.” “I can’t possibly go out at night, and even when I come for practice, there’s such a crowd.” “We don’t even have time to talk properly.” “What did you say the other day?” “Since those silk tree flowers hold memories—sneaking there at midnight, standing by the irrigation channel listening to insects and frogs—if you were to show yourself from beyond that black wall with your sash like this, what do you think would happen?” Petals fluttering—or darkness? Fireflies? The moon? Venus? “In what world could such dreams be seen? When someone mocked it as theatrical nonsense—saying the laundry needed doing or the melons must be cooled—that’s when I told Shimayama to finally cut through that wooden fence and make a water gate.”

“This headache won’t let up—I want to lie down alone in the middle of the ten-mat room, but no—whenever I try to arrange it, you won’t even pass through without stopping, will you?” “It’s like a stage play.”

he chuckled softly,

“Putting ideals into practice,” she said with a smile. “How would you cross?” “You surely don’t have the words to build a bridge.” “So you probably won’t be able to cross.” “The silk tree’s branches hang low.” “Grab them and cross over.” “It’s not like we’re kappa,” “Ohoho,” And this time, it was the wife who began to laugh.

“After all, you are being dishonest.” “What exactly am I being dishonest about?” “Please do something about this.”

—As night deepened—

“Miss Taeko.” “So you’re calling it seductive tactics, then?” “With such a scary face,” she said with a gentle smile, “the truth is... I’ve been deceiving myself.” "For my family’s sake—sacrificing my own honor—I’ve been coming here intending to take Miss Taeko from you as my brother’s bride." "If not for that, how could I face Shimayama? How could I face Mother?" "I can’t even show my face to my own wet nurse." "And somehow... that blind girl frightens me more than anyone." "When she calls me ‘Mother’ and stares with those unseeing eyes, I shudder." "I may seem well, but it feels like my very flesh is being whittled away—I’m wasting away before your eyes." "If you pity me at all... please give me Miss Taeko." "That alone would bring me peace of mind... And Mother—she notices everything. Since spring’s poetry gatherings, she’s been suspecting things that don’t even exist." "Do you wonder what will become of me?" "If you grant me Miss Taeko, it becomes my perfect excuse—in form and substance both." "Perhaps even Mother believes she acts for Miss Taeko’s sake." "When she sees your face—‘I’ll make Mr. Hayase agree’—I say it before she can speak." "I’m begging you, Mr. Hayase."

She repeated herself, speaking as though clinging to him.

“What nonsense. How can you use the professor’s daughter as an excuse?”

“Then I might never be able to face Mother again.” “Even I… so that I might never see the Professor’s face again while I live…” He clenched his fist involuntarily. The wife, as if restraining herself, perceived this deeply. “Then my—my body—what will become of it?” “It’s simple—get divorced by Shimayama, and—” “Is such a thing even possible?” “Can’t it be done? It’s only natural,”

When he said this composedly, she looked at him in astonishment, then... smiled faintly, "Why would that be?"

38 "There’s no other way about it—isn’t that only natural?" "They even say that righteous men would not eat the grain of Zhou. You—" “You—” Chikara began to say with composure, but at the夫人’s unusual eye color, he clamped his mouth shut. Kanko, perhaps suppressing her breathless chest, placed her hand on her breast. "What do you mean? That’s going too far, Mr. Hayase!" she snapped.

“It’s absolutely improper! Even though Mr. Shimayama disapproves, you keep visiting here at every turn.”

“And yet, there’s no way to preserve domestic peace. Just lay out the facts plainly and leave everything to your husband’s judgment. I too haven’t made any cowardly resolution.” His voice grew firmer. “Since I’ve clearly brought his wife—the one he detests—to my residence, I must humbly yield to Mr. Shimayama’s will.” “So you should do likewise. What place is there for anguish or torment? Those who violate the nation’s great laws and commit outrageous acts, then wipe their mouths and feign innocence—they’re fundamentally mistaken.”

Mrs. Michiko listened to this as if it were a jest, showing no sign of taking Hayase’s words seriously in the slightest,

“You must be joking!” “Even as a lie—if you say such things and something happens—what will become of the children?” Without letting her finish, he answered nonchalantly: “Of course—leaving it entirely up to Mr. Shimayama—if he tells me to take you away together, I’ll take you away. If he tells me to leave you behind, then I’ll leave…” “I can’t even muster the anger to be upset with your carefree ways.” “Please let this truly sink in—won’t you…”

“What do you mean ‘nonchalant’? There’s nothing less nonchalant than this.” “Even with just the clerk and me—struggling as it is on our tuition income—I’d be taking on you and your children.” “In Shizuoka, six shō’s worth would be too much for these thin arms to bear.”

Regarding my circumstances—the夫人 stared fixedly—

“While I’m struggling so much, you’re truly faithless.” “If I were to abandon you and flee when the time comes, that would be faithless. If I stand firm with full resolve, and Mr.Shimayama persists in suspecting me to the point of quadrupling his accusations, then I say we should confront him directly with doubled sincerity. How does that make me faithless? I truly know nothing about it, but I won’t say that Madam comes here on a whim.” “If you put it that way, there’s no room for argument.”

“And again, there’s no room for argument.”

"But the world doesn’t operate as you claim it should." "It’s not that it can’t happen—it does—but we shouldn’t act recklessly. Love may be free, but in this society, it can become a sin. Thieves may exercise their freedom, but naturally it becomes a crime. Murder and arson—all might be expressions of liberty, yet they remain crimes. Having committed such offenses, isn’t it only proper they receive due punishment? When people dither and conceal, cowardly regrets and miserly schemes take root—they become like mating cats, troubling others while still eating their husband’s rice. That’s sheer stinginess. Steady your courage and return to your rightful station. As for me—I resolved long ago not to face the Professor... nor lay eyes on Otsuta... ever again. From this moment onward, I shall fear nothing."

"Moreover, you make Mr. Shimayama feel unpleasant while still trying to maintain the facade of a virtuous lady—a chaste wife to your husband, a compassionate mother to your children, a filial daughter to your parents, a refined lady in society, endowed with virtues that should serve as a model for the world—which is why you grow thin and suffer so." "To be unfaithful while being a chaste wife, filial daughter, compassionate mother, refined lady—how can such a person exist?" "Then... me—"

Sidling closer, "You’re not even calling it outrageous." Even she turned pale and glared fiercely, then he nodded, "At the same time, I too—" he said with a laugh. She pushed his shoulder, "Well, it's an unavoidable act of selfishness."

Thirty-Nine “You’ve been like that from the very start.……” The moralist Sakata Reinoshin (Pockmarked Lord)—who’d been dismissed from the General Staff Office by official order after assisting a kidnapper, all because he found brokering my brother’s marriage negotiations galling— The kidnapper considered it a favor; though the police claimed they’d slipped evidence into his sleeve unnoticed and twisted his arm, he’d actually taken the wallet from the kidnapper’s hand with full awareness. “So by all means attend properly—Hayase Chikara, that Tokyo down-and-outer who aided a kidnapper!” That’s what he declared when opening this cram school, threatening to make public speeches at Chidori-za or such places—though I stopped him……”

With her back turned toward Hayase’s chest, staring intently at the hem she had spread out,

“How in the world did I ever become friends with such a rough person?”

She muttered to herself as though doubting her own words, “While knowing he’s an inconvenient person, isn’t this the same as me associating with you?” “Yet I’ve never done a single thing to harm you, while you keep insisting on making my position untenable, utterly untenable. If visiting Mr. Hayase is wrong—(Do whatever you please! I leave it to your discretion.)—what sort of logic is that? Why would even Shimayama say such a thing, even as an example?”

“If Mr. Shimayama divorces over this—if that happens—what do you think will become of the Kano family name first and foremost? Won’t a blemish remain for generations to come, sullying the lineage?” “Such issues already exist, don’t they? Aren’t you attempting to conceal them? That’s cowardice, I say.”

“Why do you say such things when you—” She partially sat up, still turned away, “I hold not a shred of malice toward you—it’s as though I’ve dedicated all my honor and everything here together,” she said resentfully, “You’re trying to torment me, aren’t you?” “I’m not tormenting you at all.” “But even that—you’re saying such violent things,” “It’s not that I want to deliberately expose what troubles you.” “Because you speak of ‘unfaithfulness,’ ‘heartlessness,’ ‘what will become of my body,’ I say your body must—amidst the clearing clouds of suspicion—face judgment.” “To claim it’s only you would be dishonest.” “If we declare the man shares responsibility, there should be nothing heartless in that.” “How about that?”

With a face that said this, she glanced askance, "So even without such drastic measures—if only you'd hand over Taeko-san—not only would everything resolve peacefully, but I too could finally ease my mind and escape these pangs of conscience. That's what I keep telling you." "You refuse!" "And you call that heartless." "Isn't this the plea of a woman who's offered up both honor and everything else? You could at least grant me this." "'Honor and everything,' you say."

“Ah, yes,” she said, twisting around and opening her eyes wide with clarity. “Why don’t you go ahead and mention both the family and Kano?” “Does any family exist apart from its honor?” “Is there a Kano separate from the family?” “As long as you and others cling to these pretentious notions of family prestige, you’ll never comprehend true affection.” “That’s what drives people to prioritize parental approval over their spouses or subject other daughters to physical inspections.” “Would you really let them point fingers at Taeko-san?” “If you wish to discuss Taeko-san’s situation, then you must first set an example—discard both honor and family to prove one can be with whoever they love.”

When he declared vehemently with fervor, this time Madam responded in a listless, exhausted, and weary tone, “And also—(hold the wedding in that thatched hut in Anto Village, the one that looks like a beggar’s shack)—isn’t that right? You are completely opposed to our way of thinking. Somehow you seem intent on destroying the Kano family—you’re an enemy to the house. Why don’t I despise someone like you? I can’t even comprehend my own feelings—it’s maddening. Ah, and now I must go to the charity bazaar. I don’t care about anything anymore! I don’t care about anything anymore.”

After parting with the Madam…… Chikara flung open the shoji and gazed up at the sky for a while,

“Ah, today is Miss Taeko’s day,” he muttered and lay on his back—Taeko’s day meaning Sunday.

Twilight.

Forty

The same Sunday night.

As dusk fell, Hayase went out to the entranceway and sat on the threshold, his geta left on the dirt floor behind him as he leaned on one hand beneath the lamp's glow, stretching his solitary form into the shadows. There was no joy in having been born male here, nor was it the season for listening to insects; though the house stood old, no miscanthus sprouted from its walls, and lacking any painter's artifice, no elegant single-stroke moon adorned this scene. Vexation permeated everything—the dim lamplight at his back on the raised threshold resembled a gatekeeper's fire. This faint glow passed through the lattice door, darkened momentarily beneath the eaves before vanishing within, then coalesced into a blurred ring that hazily reflected on the rain-weathered, deeply grained surface of the gate door. Not bat shadows but rather like dark clouds racing across the sky, patches of darkness would abruptly deepen... then brighten again.

Without taking his eyes off it, as Hayase stared fixedly, the turbid lamplight swayed two or three times—then like ripples scattering stones across water gathering moonlight’s circle upon its surface—a pale woman’s face peered through. Without the gate door opening... next emerged snow-pure robes, their contrast sharpening jet-black hair at the temples. Where pale indigo shoulders caught a glimmer and the obi’s hues blazed vivid—there stood Michiko.

She stood hidden at the gate, quietly opened the door, and peered in from the side.

As soon as he caught sight of her, Hayase sprang to his feet, sliding open the lattice door while beckoning urgently. He straightened up and turned his back, surveying AB Alley to both sides before entering backward and shutting the rear door with a clatter. After scurrying over in three quick steps—as if wanting yet another barrier against prying eyes—he secured the lattice once more. “Welcome,” he said with a faint smile. Madam pressed her folded handkerchief to her mouth, breath coming in short, ragged bursts,

"Did anyone…" "No one." "What about the clerk?"

She managed to ask if he had already grown accustomed. "I sent him to Teizo's side first thing this morning. It's a condition that requires constant attention." "I am grateful for everything... To have you care for my parent alone... I'm so sorry." The handkerchief obscured her eyes. "The one who should apologize is me. But you managed to slip away from the venue quite skillfully." "Yes, since my complexion looked poor, everyone suggested I rest at the teahouse in the waiting area. Taking advantage of that, I slipped out amidst the crowd during the evening lighting. Though using our family carriage would have been improper, I hadn't realized when hiring a rickshaw midway that the driver—with those eyes like an oyster's—would keep turning around to peer into the hood with such dreadful intensity. How utterly unnerving it was." "Finally, I alighted at this alley's corner and made my way to the gate, but stood there awhile in case any guests might be present who could cause trouble."

"I can imagine your thoughtful consideration," he said with a bow. "Regarding Mr. Shimayama and Ms. Kanko..." "I only just arrived now. To have kept you waiting so late—all for my sake—" "Not at all." "Then I must have taken a roundabout path. Just before they lit the lamps—it was such a crowd—I merely glimpsed their figures from afar without exchanging words, then hurried away."

“I see—or rather, I must apologize for not offering tea, but taking time for that would complicate matters beyond acceptability.” “Immediately—now—”

“Please proceed as you must—you’ve endured such hardships.” “This is no time for hardships. Now, let me accompany you.”

As if suddenly remembering,

“Wait, Madam.”

Forty-One

Hayase gazed anew at Michiko’s elegant figure adorned with the white collar, “Even in twilight gloom, your appearance stands out dreadfully—there’s no telling whether that hawk-eyed rickshaw man might spot you again. Quickly—your handkerchief.” In that urgent moment, heedless of where his hands brushed, he seized it as if snatching, wrapping it shawl-like about Madam’s shoulders from behind. Her sloping shoulders narrowed further as she shrank inward, yet maintained a presentable poise. He produced another hand towel from his breast pocket and handed it to Madam,

"Do the sister's headwrap properly, like country folk do." "I am country folk through and through." She tilted her head slightly and touched her chignon. "Like this?" As she lowered her face beneath the white cloth, her black hair became hidden—yet the lingering fragrance of her side locks spilled out like plum blossoms pressed into snow. Chikara peered from the side, looking left and right,

“No good, no good—you still stand out. Madam, pardon me, but tuck up your hem—no, not like that. If your underrobe sticks out like that, people might take you for a Kiyomoto performer.”

Muttering to himself, "Even if it feels uncomfortable, tuck it into your chest, pull it up firmly, and tug it down between the tabi socks. Ah, you poor dear." "How dreadful this is." “Forgive me for this.” No sooner had he spoken than Hayase’s hand cut through the air, his body crouching down— "Oh!" Flaring up, she staggered, her head heavy with impending collapse—thrusting a hand against Chikara’s shoulder, Michiko barely steadied herself. Yet Hayase’s palm had already scooped soot from the wall’s corner, smearing it over Madam’s shin to conceal the ordinary yet perilously exposed disarray of her hem—the frayed edge that refused to stay hidden.

“There, that’s done. No one would recognize you as Madam Kano now.” With that, he snuffed the framed Western lamp from above—phut! Using the ryūnanki opening as cover, they drew close,

“Now, let’s be on our way.” The Madam’s shoulder, which had brushed against his chest, kept trembling until he guided her forward.

From this alley to Anto Village stretched a road of less than five cho, lined only with the lowly dwellings of the outskirts. The sky hung heavy with rain-promising summer clouds, rendering the stars more distant than their true stations. The sparse lights that occasionally seeped through might have been mistaken for those of an isolated mountain dwelling.

A daughter of prestigious lineage reared in seclusion—one who without her husband present should not lightly exchange words with others—yet in her heart since that morning lay turmoil that left much to be inferred. "I know I am the child of a transgressor, and my father lies critically ill." In this fleeting world where meetings ended in partings, clinging to deathbed memories, she thought of the charity bazaar's radiance—glittering candles and silver lamps beneath a moonlit sky—from which she had stolen away from Wakatake-za, finding the alley's deepening darkness surpassed even the gloom of the underworld. With her hem tucked up and head wrapped like a man—an utterly unseemly appearance. If even a glimpse were caught by others, and someone uttered so much as "You are..."—that would spell her end; this was the perilous strait where life could not go on. The destination she struggled to reach... was her true parent's deathbed. What must have been in Michiko's heart.

When the phantom of Daiganzan overwhelmed their vision with the darkness's force, and the canal's dreadful roar seemed to shake the earth, Michiko's very silhouette—even the color of her garments—seemed to speak in a voice so faint it might not have existed at all: "I wonder if this isn't a dream. It feels as though I'm walking on air—I'm staggering and about to collapse. Mr. Hayase, please let me hold onto your sleeve." "Steady! The timing's perfect—there's no one about." No people were visible; only a strange dog running along the eaves might have been glimpsed. The carp on the dyer's shop curtain glowed like will-o'-the-wisps that burned without flame; to those who remembered former times, the clatter of hooves seemed to linger where phantom horse shapes might still materialize—thus they reached Anto Village.

42

Michiko’s voice drifted as if wandering,

"Is this a field?" "Why you?" "There's a dreadful hole right in the middle." "Ah, that's merely a roadside well." Hayase answered while straining his eyes. The ancient well gaped like the great maw of hell itself. From Hayase's side, the madam's stealthy steps in her geta clattered even more loudly, their clumsy echoes rebounding through the darkness until they were finally led beneath pitch-black eaves to halt there. Had she regained her bearings, this timorous woman might well have collapsed outright—particularly as that familiar black-and-white spotted dog now crouched upon her very neck.

Before any sound could announce his presence came the thud of someone kicking up from the tatami to stand, the door sliding open coinciding with the appearance at its frame of a small Western lamp—its glass chimney blackened by oil smoke yet glowing crimson—and there abruptly stood a sharp-featured man with knit brows and piercing eyes, his narrow face handsome beneath a slim unlined kimono secured by a three-foot sash hanging low at his hips: a dashing figure some might recognize as none other than the cram school clerk—astonishing! Astonishing! Astonishing! This was Manta—the abductor who had botched pickpocketing Lord Aba. Abruptly, Manta and Chikara came face to face,

“Boss!” “……” "No good," he said with ashen intensity. “What the— Idiot, there’s company here.” “Oh Boss, it’s terrible!” "What’s happened?" They burst in. Clutching at sleeves like disheveled sacrificial birds, fretting over wing-torn garments, they passed through the roost-like door. Bare feet descended as the clerk clicked the lock shut behind them. “The patient’s gone cold.”

“Yes,” “I was just about to rush out.” “The doctor?” “We called the doctor right away, but he said it was no use and left just now. I was just sitting there in a daze, but then I realized there was no help for it—we had to get the Professor here—and was about to rush out when...”

“There’s no such way. To die...” “To die...” He rushed in and sat down simultaneously—since it was a single room—dropping to his knees at the sickbed’s rush-mat-like pillow side to peer in, then hastily straightened up. Lifting the three-width futon, he pressed his hand against the supine patient’s chest where bluish bones stood out starkly, scrutinizing intently— “Madam,”

he called quietly. As Michiko, having just taken the hand towel and trailed it over her knee without even a moment to adjust her appearance, pressed forward and knelt down, Hayase stepped back and turned around.

“Buy some incense sticks—and other necessary items.” “Right away, sir!” The clerk who had been standing dazedly at the entrance rushed out barefoot just as he was. At the sight of Teizo’s corpse—its lingering affection-drawn movements resonating through the rush mat and seeping into her very being—Michiko’s knees trembled violently as a faint voice reciting a Buddhist invocation escaped her lips. “Take a good look.” “You should show it to them as well.” “Ah, it’s too dark—we can’t see the face—”

The hand lamp was slid out, but as its low-crawling light couldn’t reach properly—there being a soiled rice tub beneath the dyer’s broken latticework drying rack at the back—Hayase placed it on top and carried it out. Michiko received it at face level while rising up, her tear-filled eyes fixed ahead, but no sooner had her quivering hands made it tremble than the sloped lid slid off. With an “Ah!”, she leaned into her sleeve while blowing at the flame, only for it to fall onto the tatami and shatter! The ceiling turned deep purple; the rush mat flared bright red.

By this light, Teizo’s face appeared as though alive with open eyes, his pale nose visible, but Hayase—grabbing the hem of Michiko’s hand towel that flared up like a pine torch, flames and all—slammed it onto the earthen floor, his voice strained with urgency, “It’s terrible—the obi!” he cried out. Dazed by the extremity of it all, he pulled at the knot of Michiko’s obi as if to snap it—she who had been trying to retreat from her seat—and as she fell sideways, the flaring hem of her robes rippled upward from her chest, flames seeming to ignite what was in truth merely firelight reflecting off snow-pale skin, barely separated from combustion by her underkimono. Hayase threw himself onto the corrugated iron and rolled around and around over the oil. The fire was extinguished because of this, and for a time there was no distinguishing black from white. From afar along Abe Kaido came the whinnying voice of a horse being ridden back. Outside, the sound of a dog barking.

"How dreadfully dark it is."

Having prepared the funeral items and borrowed a lantern against the road's darkness, the clerk lumbered back inside to find Michiko's pale-patterned kimono flowing across the tatami like water as she lay prostrate there, while Hayase sat perched on the window lattice with the pane opened, silently rubbing his arms.—A tiger awakening groggily from gorging on flesh.

Rubbing and scrubbing, the wind exacerbates the irritation.

Along the corridor

43

Though it was the family profession, being a woman of delicate constitution who shuddered at the surgery room, she necessarily refrained from attending there; but Michiko, by her parents' admonition—or rather command—made it her duty to visit each in-patient's room thoroughly without fail once every evening around ten o'clock before retiring for the night. At these times, nurses on duty accompanied her in shifts of two at a time, uttering only formal phrases like "How are you feeling?" and "Please take care of yourself"—yet their innate kindness naturally imbued these words with unspoken compassion, so that patients derived no small comfort from them. In the end, many came to anticipate Michiko's elegant presence more eagerly than even the director's rounds. What wasn’t improper was how those hospitalized for mere colds would grumble about wanting medicine directly from your hands—though surely that was unthinkable.

Now—regarding this matter, her husband (a medical scholar named Rijun)—the director didn't entirely approve, but since comforting patients was a virtue any noblewoman could perform without issue, and her parents strongly desired it, he maintained an attitude of silent acquiescence without raising objections.

Tonight as well, with the clatter of geta accompanying her, after completing her rounds of the lower-floor wards—viewing Yokota’s rice paddies to the left and the station to the right while remarking on the fine weather ahead where clouds stretched to reveal the sea—she ascended to that second floor, the hospital director’s wife at the center flanked by nurses in white uniforms holding paper lanterns. As if parting clouds, she climbed the stairs—her hair came into view, then her shoulders and obi were revealed. In her plain summer kimono with the day-and-night obi—tied in a drum-shaped bow, paired with red thong straps and white tabi socks—though on winter nights she would change into a nightgown with a pale blue sash instead. At such times, the scent of her night-white powder would waft through the air like some exotic incense, and patients would reverently praise it as Amida’s welcoming descent, their devotion burning fervently.

Indeed, the Madam’s dignified bearing and beauty as she led the nurses had always been revered like that of an angel—yet how diminished she had become recently, particularly tonight. Her complexion lacked its usual luster, the round chignon weighing heavily on her bowed neck, sleeves pressing against her chest in a demeanor that seemed less modestly composed than utterly withered, as though invisible eightfold ropes had coiled round and round her willowy waist that once swayed in the wind. Thus, the two white-uniformed figures flanking her front and back appeared like beautiful jailers of heaven leading the Madam to some lofty celestial court.

The opened door of the vacant room revealed an emptiness extending through; to both sides lay a pure white moonlit night—on the moon’s surface, Mount Fuji’s pristine whiteness; on its reverse, a purple hue evoking the sea’s vigor. The station roof sparkled, glistening with flowing dew. Following routine, paper lanterns entered room after room as nurses in white uniforms exited—Michiko becoming retreating figures while nurses faced forward—their footsteps clattering rhythmically, the disciplined muffled sound pausing and resuming down the long corridor. Moonlight intermittently replaced lantern glow before they should have disappeared into the distant dark rear staircase—but tonight, moving single-file down the corridor’s center like figures from a watercolor lantern painting, they smoothly reversed course toward this side, veering slightly toward the front staircase rather than midway. When they reached the vacant right-neighboring hospital room facing Mount Fuji, Michiko halted as the white-uniformed nurses parted to either side.

Among all the rooms she had visited in order, this single room alone was one she had—for some reason—left unvisited during her initial rounds... When she looked, there among the tags numbered in white pigment was one inscribed "Hayase Chikara." Michiko stood between them, slowly looking back left and right before silently nodding in greeting. Almost unconsciously extending her supple hand—one nurse lowering it with both hands to knee level, another with a single hand—she received the paper lantern passed to her, its light forming a fluttering cluster of snow. They moved some distance away and retreated straight back down the corridor.

Michiko was drawn into the door. No sooner had she thought this than—peering through the gap of the incompletely closed door, her profile visible at a low height as though slightly hunched—she glimpsed down the corridor to see two nurses in white uniforms clinging together around a lantern at the front staircase railing, watching her direction, before they smoothly vanished and sank into the platform.

44 The pallor of the patient's face, sunken into the sickbed, made one wonder—was this truly Hayase? Michiko set the snow-viewing lantern at her hem, her figure dimly illuminated from the obi at her waist to her chest, her face shadowed as she moved hesitantly along the sickbed. In the lamp's faint light that strained her anxious eyes, she gazed upon his ash-gray countenance—yet those eyes remained wide open.

No sooner had she thought this than—turning her face away from Hayase and covering her eyes—her pupils seemed to shift, her eyelashes quivering violently. After a moment, “Mr. Hayase, do you recognize me?”

“…………” “It seems that since around noon today… you’ve finally become able to recognize people’s faces again.” “It’s thanks to your sheltering.” The words were clearly audible. Yet they seemed to emerge from his abdomen—his lips remained motionless. “You had a terrible fever, didn’t you?” “I heard from the nurse.” "For about ten days exactly, I was completely unconscious—it’s astonishing." “Unbeknownst to me, it’s already mid-July, I hear,” he said, eyes still closed.

“At home, my sisters from Tokyo have all returned for their summer vacation.”

He adjusted the pillow slightly, "Did Eikichi... come as well?" "No, he alone hasn't come." "These days he's become so bound by obligations that he can't return home—truly pitiable." "Ah, now that you mention it," he said gently, glancing sidelong at the shelf by the pillow. "You must have been obliged to return to Tokyo." "How unfortunate your illness made the timing so inconvenient." "Did you see Professor Sakai's telegrams?"

"I saw them—just now, for the first time." His tone grew subdued. “Both telegrams,” “Both of them.” "The first simply said ‘Return immediately,’ while the second mentioned ‘Tsubabyouki (Otsuta’s illness)’—I had already heard about it from your sister." “It seems your wife is gravely ill.” “After consulting with your clerk and your sister from the countryside, I took the liberty of opening the telegrams at your bedside and, in my name, replied that you regrettably cannot return given your current feverish condition.” "But, well—what unfortunate timing this must be." “I offer my deepest sympathies.”

“This illness is a blessing. Even if I were in good health—with what face could I meet the Professor and the others?”

"Why? You..."

As she set her jaw firmly and looked down at his face, Hayase barely opened his eyes. "Why do you ask?" "......"

"For one thing, I have no face I can show you." As he spoke with labored breathing, the exposed bones of his gaunt chest shifting beneath the cast-off blanket, Michiko's shoulders trembled violently too, her alabaster hands quivering like snow stirred by wind.

“That time I accompanied you to Andō Village… wasn’t a dream, was it?” Hayase—crushed by the hand placed on his chest as though his breath had stopped, as if trying to dispel that agony—gripped it with his emaciated hand and answered with great effort, his mouth moving repeatedly as he spoke.

“It was not a dream—but neither does it belong to this world.” “M-Michiko… let me drink the poison… let me drink it all at once.”

His white teeth twisted like a parched fish gasping for air as what appeared to be a flower petal spilled from her disheveled locks and struck them abruptly. She averted her face with sudden sharpness, "If it wasn't a dream... what should I do!"

Michiko collapsed as though her legs gave way, bending her knees and pressing her forehead against the edge of the sickbed.

The moon at the window glinted with the luster of a hairpin, and the snow lantern faintly illuminated a neck like a jewel.

Just before this, as the nurse vanished from the railing and Hayase’s sickroom door was firmly bolted shut, a woman abruptly materialized on the back staircase—her sharp eyes, undimmed even by heavy bangs, piercing straight down the long corridor. She approached with muted footsteps and stole into the neighboring vacant room—a fact that must be disclosed. This was Michiko’s mother.

The same thing—the same thing… continued night after night.

Forty-Five It was a strange thing—each night, the later Michiko was in leaving Hayase’s hospital room, the longer the pairs of nurses lingered at the staircase railing before leaving, though their numbers changed. They weren’t there to descend together after all—in other words, the time they spent observing Hayase’s room from afar had grown longer.

And tonight as well, after parting from Michiko in front of Hayase’s hospital room, the two nurses in white uniforms lingered as if suspended in time at the railing. Across the wide garden in the main house, since early evening, the daughters of the Ushigome Kiryō Juku who had returned for summer vacation were gathered with the household’s children—nephews and nieces—and now another group of young guests arrived, along with the Kusabuka family. Violins could be heard, a piano rang out, and songs were sung—adding yet another set to this crowd. Tatsuko, Kanko’s younger sister, was married to a councillor in Fukui Prefecture last autumn and had already borne a child. When that particular group gathered at the Kano residence, it was only at this time that—alongside Michiko—the entire clan without exception, including wet nurses, maids, and nursemaids, formed a contingent of roughly fifty people. With their parents leading them, they had established an expansive villa for this very purpose in a location near Shimizu Port and Miho—a place chosen for leisurely strolls to Tagono-ura, Kunōzan, Ejiri, and of course, Okitsu and Seikenji Temple—where they unfailingly retreated for summer each year. "Behold the glory of our clan," the Eisei couple would proclaim in their moment of triumph—last year only Eikichi had been absent, but... this year too seemed uncertain. Instead, a newly appointed prominent official from Fukui Prefecture would join them……

As for the main house, enlivened by lanternlight filtering through the leaves, there were sounds of children setting off small fireworks and even a meteor that soared higher than Mount Fuji above the pine treetops—but now all had fallen silent.

Soundlessly from beneath the platform, a tall white figure emerged abruptly into the corridor—and no sooner had it done so than the two nurses started back in alarm.

The one who arrived was Director and Medical Scholar Kano Rijun.

He wore a white undershirt, a loosely striped slovenly suit, and indoor shoes; he seemed to have drunk some beer. His face was flushed, with a scarred forehead and sparse beard—a man who glared at the nurses through gold-rimmed glasses that glinted sharply. “You all…” The eyes that had spoken glared bloodshot through his gold-rimmed glasses. “You’re siding with Michiko, aren’t you?” “Y-yes,” one of them bowed her head. “What’s the matter?” “When she visits Mr. Hayase’s room, we never accompany her,” she answered in a clear voice.

"Why is that?" "The mistress says, 'Since he's a friend of Master Eikichi from the main household, bringing nurses along would make me look ostentatious—like I'm putting on airs about my condition. It would be embarrassing.' That's why she doesn't take anyone with her, and…" "Is that always how it is?"

When he asked this, he thrust both hands into his coat pockets and shook his shoulders. “Yes, always,” “Hmph, I see,” he muttered dismissively and strode roughly down the corridor. “Oh, those are the Director’s footsteps.” “The Director?” Michiko’s face paled, “Oh no—what should I do? He’s coming this way!” “Ah!” “There’s nothing strange about the Director visiting a hospitalized patient,” Hayase said calmly while lying down. Her eyes were anything but ordinary, and she floundered in panic,

“Even my parents don’t know—my husband will make you suffer terribly!” she cried, wringing her sleeves as though clamped in a vise while standing rigidly frozen,

“Hide under the sickbed.” “It’s all right,”

Abruptly sitting up, Hayase flipped the blanket over, concealing the wife's hem as he took a defensive stance on the sickbed's corrugated iron frame. "The Director is making his rounds!" resounded a nurse's piercing shriek with terrifying force. Rijun had already reached the room and was about to open it when suddenly—from nowhere—the mother materialized and violently seized the medical scholar's forearm that gripped the door, declaring:

“Director.” With her usual sharp eyes, she glared at him through her gold-rimmed glasses, her expression ineffable. “This way. No—absolutely.” No sooner had she tucked his arm—burning with jealousy like a flame—firmly under her own than she pulled him back toward the rear staircase and retreated.

Firefly

Forty-Six

“Do you recognize me? Do you? “Oh, it’s Sakai!” “Did you understand? Stay with me.” Sakai Shunzo alone leaned his face intimately close by Otsuta’s deathbed.

In the next room... “Ah, everyone’s here. “Taeko’s here too. "There are many people here—keep your spirits up! “It’s just that Hayase isn’t here—you must find that regrettable. I find it regrettable too. “Since he’s hospitalized due to illness, there’s nothing to be done. “You must resign yourself.” He pressed his mouth close to her pale, almost translucent ear—the only part of her that seemed ready to vanish beneath that raven hair destined to endure for a thousand generations— “Meet me in the future. Meet me in the future. "If we meet in the future, cling to me with all your might and never let go. “Beware so that nuisances like me don’t intrude. “Never let go—do you hear? “Don’t cling to someone like me—a teacher.”

I had no idea about such matters. Because I favored Hayase over you, I tried to make sure he wouldn’t make any mistakes or get hurt—but all I did was cause misery. Through eyes that refused to blame Hayase, your shadow seemed bewitched by that man’s demonic spell. I thought you were a demon; I became your enemy. I forced the timing—you’re no innocent. If you truly wanted to meet, no effort could make it happen. It was about appearances—living together openly would’ve been scandalous, but I meant to turn a blind eye if kept secret. Yet even that obligation proved too much for you two—did you endure it until death? Poor thing.

“I won’t make cowardly claims now—resent me, resent Sakai Shunzo, curse me!”

“How about this? Instead of letting your own heart grow weak until you can’t go on living—instead of thinking about dying—can’t you find the spirit to gnaw on stones again if you must recover? Take Hayase’s hand and show me your vengeance against the man who split apart the living tree! Have you no pride left?” “It’s hopeless now.” He took Otsuta’s limp hand—as though she’d already forgotten it—and placed it on his knee, studying it intently. “You’ve wasted away.” “Halved since I saw you two days back.—Hey—open your eyes. Stay awake. It’s me—don’t you recognize your own teacher?” “Everyone’s here. Taeko too.” “Your elder sister—Koyoshi? She’s right over there.”

“Why won’t you wait patiently for Hayase to become someone of my stature? Even I have geisha mistresses to spare—this world is troublesome. That frail youth who’d stagger if you poked his back—do you imagine he could establish himself by taking you into his household? I gave you that tongue-lashing to prevent mutual ruin, but pitiful thing—here you both are, separated by provinces, unable to even comfort each other. What cursed karma binds you two? You must be desperately awaiting Hayase’s arrival. ‘Because he’s coming,’ you said—so you had your hair styled last night. Ah, that Shimada coiffure was exquisitely done—I saw it myself.”

As he spoke, a muffled sob came from the next room. Next came the sound of stifled weeping, and foremost among them was Omasu the hairdresser who had arranged Otsuta's coiffure. The geisha's Shimada hairstyle—how it must have exemplified the honorable woman's devoted care. Having exchanged the ill-suited pillow, sinking into the bundled quilt—even the disarray at her nape heightened her piteousness—Otsuta had even applied faint makeup. Whether from shame or wanting to be seen, Otsuta twisted her shoulders, aligned her topknot squarely forward, angled her neck until its downy hairs showed translucent against the skin, and as a ripple passed through the smoothly draped kakekomi near her knees, she appeared to gather strength and turned over.

Forty-Seven

“It suits you, it suits you! Ah, the Shimada was done beautifully.” “What would Hayase know?” “Show me your face. Come on.” Pressing his knees firmly closer, Sakai—silhouetted against the moonlight streaming through the veranda—observed the cold face with pale pink, moistened eyelids that fluttered as if battling the night wind, casting its shadow in the sickbed’s dimness. “Someone come take this firefly cage away—the color is unpleasant.” “H-heh,” came Me-gumi’s abruptly cheerful yet muffled voice as he crawled along the veranda in patched pale blue-green half-length work pants—the women were all absorbed in the six-tatami room, some even embracing and weeping—leaving Sōsuke alone by the three-tatami brazier, sitting awkwardly with legs splayed in deference, his lion-biting face flushed crimson as if molten wax might drip from his forehead, resembling the lighthouse demon from paintings. Each time the patient’s room fell silent, he would crawl into the neighboring group of women on all fours and peer in,

"(Is she dead?)" he wondered, only to receive a sidelong glare from his wife Omasu. "Is it not yet?" he thought—earning another glare as he retreated with a bitter smile—then crawled out reverently before the great teacher and beside the soon-to-be-Buddha's pillow, stood up briskly to remove the firefly cage—but his stiffened hips refused to steady themselves, wavered—and thud! Down he went onto the veranda on his backside. His soul seemed to shatter, emotions scattering through his chest—when with a start, he realized it was the cage's fireflies that had flashed so suddenly.

“What’s the matter with you?” Under his nasal-voiced wife’s piercing glare, he scrambled back in retreat.

At this noise, Otsuta opened her eyes wide again and, with uneasy loneliness, pressed her pillow closer to Sakai... “Everyone is here—you’re not lonely.” “But how about this?” “When Hayase comes, I’ll have everyone go to the next room. Like this—just us two—there must be things you want to say.” “There’s no alternative—resign yourself.” “Resign yourself—think of me as Hayase.” “Think of me as a husband unmatched in all the world.” “I’m a better man than Hayase.” “Educated. Renowned. Skilled. Older than him.” “Taller stature. Firmer belly. Louder voice. Drink more. More debts. More manly than him.” “I have a wife. A mistress. A daughter.” “A scholar of far superior standing and honor.” “Think of Sakai Shunzo as your husband—your lover—as Hayase Chikara. Say what you will. Do what you desire. You’ll want for nothing.” “No need for prayers or Amida—just chant the man’s name wholeheartedly.” “Call out ‘Hayase.’ Cling to his sleeve. Embrace his chest—Otsuta.” “...Hayase has come. He’s here.”

When he said this, she clung to him, and as she settled onto his lap, he cradled her neck in his arms. Her hands, attempting to grasp him, lacked strength and groped two or three times in vain, but trembling, she firmly seized Professor Sakai’s collar, "My throat... it's burning. Ah—I can't breathe." “It’s rather amateurish,” she said with a wry smile, “but having you feed me the medicine mouth-to-mouth…” Without hesitation, Sakai took the liquid medicine into his mouth. As it slumped heavily down her throat, she felt on the verge of losing consciousness and lay on her back in a daze, but—

“Mr. Hayase.” “Otsuta.” “Mr. Hayase…” “Hmm.” “Earlier, when the Professor said it was all right to meet you, I was so happy!” Sakai’s tears streamed down.

Visit

Forty-Eight In the hospital room's sickbed, Hayase—who had been drifting in and out of consciousness—suddenly awoke... Since around last night, he had become able to walk to the restroom by himself, so nurses no longer attended him. Michiko, who had visited with clockwork regularity every night, had stopped coming entirely since that night two days prior... Now, having dozed off and awoken again, even his daytime encounter with Kanko felt separated by worlds, leaving his heart desolate. He edged sideways through the room and—finding no reason to linger—gripped the sickbed's edge and hunched forward to exit. Once past the door, he realized his legs felt steady again. On both sides, basins of pale pink mercuric chloride solution glinted whitely under flickering pillar-mounted lamps—a sight so pitiable it left his mind strangely refreshed as he passed through.

Everyone had fallen asleep, leaving the place silent. As the heat had intensified markedly over the past two or three days, some nurses lay sleeping in doorways with their snow-white skirts spilling into the corridor, having left their doors open. In the distance, a dog’s bark could be heard, but fortunately no moans were audible—it must have been around two in the morning. The toilet was located near the front stairs where the lights shone brightly, but with the pleasant breeze and cold corridor air—and walking itself being a novel experience—Hayase deliberately entered the dimly lit area beside the far back stairs.

While splashing water, he absentmindedly gazed through the latticed window at the rice fields—the moon must have risen above the roof ridge, for though no shadows were visible, the green paddies glowed pale white.

When the wind rustled through, the tips of the leaves parted like waves, and though the water in the paddies wasn't clear enough to see through, something glimmered faintly here and there. Slow and languid, flowing like lightning—within the haze where one could count the earth's folds—it wound low around the roots of Daiigan Mountain and vanished. It might have been a distant electric light flickering into view, or perhaps fireflies taking flight. The water and that vista left him shuddering with cold, and he immediately tried to open the door to leave. He sensed something had come to stand outside the door, making it feel unnaturally heavy. Before he knew it, he hesitated. In the darkness, catching sight of his own white yukata—changed into earlier that day—he shuddered violently and stifled a cough that died soundlessly in his throat.

“Mr. Hayase.” “Otsuta?” Startled more by his own voice than the sound he’d heard, Hayase listened intently—then flushed crimson and lost all composure. He yanked recklessly at the door. It creaked slightly as his hand grasped something icy cold. When he finally pulled it open, the backstairs yawned before him like a vast black pit, utterly empty. Near the roof ridge, as if biting the tiles, a night crow cawed—"Caw!" As it cried and glided along the edge, he gazed up dazedly. Led as if by some force, he staggered out unsteadily. When the cry ceased, he found himself in the corridor beside the stepped platform.

When he looked diagonally across at the half-opened door of his hospital room, he glimpsed the figure of a woman—had she exited? Entered?—she vanished instantly. With hurried footsteps that even surprised himself, he rushed straight there, but at the room's entrance found himself frozen as if nailed to the spot.

With a rustling sound, like a handful of cotton dancing, swelling and swirling as it tumbled and flew across the shelf by the pillow—it was a large, pale moth.

In the dim lamplight cast by the pillow, a shadow resembling a ball suddenly appeared. On the shelf was a large Western flower arranged by Kanko, resembling pale yellow velvet—but his attention was drawn instead to a single streak: the medicine bottle containing the once-remaining dose he had pleasantly prepared yet forgotten to drink due to his inherent distaste for medication. As he stood gazing intently at where it rustled against the bottle, a thudding sound like footsteps descending stairs echoed. Without knowing its source, he turned toward the front staircase. The brightest lamp on the wall directly ahead flickered unsteadily, on the verge of going out.

At that moment, as if lunging at the moth—the instant he charged forward— "I’m here…" he murmured, sinking to the floor. Just then, from the ceiling above his feet, he thought he heard Otsuta’s voice—a sound like a frayed telephone wire, like the lingering echo of a fading dream, reaching only his chest—and the moth plummeted with a thud.

When he first became aware of it—cold from gripping the toilet door—the fluttering of a slender tail in his left fist, which he had been clenching tightly until now, belonged to a gecko. As he flung his hand open with a start, it fell like a dewdrop with a plop onto the floor yet remained motionless, legs braced rigidly. Without averting his gaze, he reached for the medicine bottle. Overextending himself in the motion, he staggered and caught himself on one knee against the floor. Opening his mouth wide, he poured out a viscous stream—the liquid's hue glinting as the gecko raised its head like a glaring eye. The instant it dripped down, [the substance] whirled violently like a pinwheel, turning crimson as though bleeding vermilion while the gecko trembled and drew in its legs. Hayase anchored his pupils and stared unwaveringly.

Forty-Nine Hayase held the remaining liquid medicine up to the firelight and, observing poppy-seed-sized bubbles swirling like wind within the transparent liquid, smiled faintly—

“Fascinating!” He discarded the words like trash yet showed no fear. The gecko that mere moments earlier had raged crimson as flame now lay frozen on the floor, its belly turned upward in blue-tinted exposure. He plucked it up by the tail, carelessly dangling it as he grabbed tissue paper. Wrapping both creature and medicine bottle together in eight tight layers, he shoved the bundle deep into the clothes compartment of the bedside cupboard. Then he began searching the area—likely trying to retrieve the fallen moth—but found no trace.

On the shelf remained two other medicine bottles of different prescriptions—now unused—identical in type. He took one and smashed it with a crack, disregarding the shards scattering across the floor, then leapt up with momentum onto the sickbed and firmly crossed his legs in a high posture. No sooner had he done this than he glared sharply toward the corridor. “You fools!” “Who do you think it is?” As soon as he uttered this, he immediately lay on his back and pulled the blanket to his chest. Listening to a rooster’s crow, he slept soundly with an audacious snore.

Toward dawn, the Director once and the Kano family's matriarch once each, one after the other, peered into this hospital room and left without anyone knowing...

When Hayase awoke, the nurse in charge was there— “Did you take your medicine?” “The bottle had fallen and broken.” It went without saying that she had given this warning. And though a new bottle had already arrived, he calmly took this dose. That day, just before the lamps were lit, Hayase tightened his obi and called for the nurse, “I appreciate your care.” “Thanks to your gracious protection, I managed to pull through.” “They say I may now be discharged, and since they kindly suggested that for my subsequent recuperation I come to Shimizu Port where the Kano family members reside, I think I shall go.” “In any case, I will temporarily return to the school, but as there are various matters to attend to, please send someone to call our clerk.” “Furthermore, I must apologize for the inconvenience of having you call someone, but there is something I wish to discuss.” “I would like to request that Mr. Kano be brought to this room,” he said. “No—not the Director. The one residing in the main house: Mr. Eisei.”

“Ah, I will inform... the esteemed professor.” “Please do.” “Ah, wait—wait—”

Hayase called to stop the plump-waisted figure in white about to leave— "If he happens to be reading, depending on his convenience, I could come over instead." Familiar with such requests, she wordlessly nodded, left the room, and headed toward the front staircase—her footsteps dissolving into the bustling evening chorus of cicadas. From somewhere came the sound of a newspaper being read aloud, though scarcely five minutes had passed. Even as he thought she couldn't possibly have descended all the stairs yet, the nurse came clattering back in a flurry and thrust her face in with urgent determination,

“There’s a guest.” “Mrs. Shimayama?”

As he spoke without pausing for breath, Hayase opened his eyes wide and stared blankly. More than the strangeness of last night's events, the scene now before his eyes felt so dreamlike that his dazed state seemed only natural. Overlapping with the nurse's white uniform stood Taeko—clad in a purple arrow-feather pattern of pale yet vivid hue, her crimson satin obi embroidered with silver and Kanze water motifs tied high at her chest, a scarlet spotted shawl draped over her shoulders, cheeks faintly flushed cherry-pink as she gazed intently toward him! "Oh!..."

Hayase stared blankly and fixedly.

“Mr. Hayase.” With—a year’s longing layered over a decade’s yearning and a century’s tenderness in her voice—she slipped past the nurse and strode straight in. “Are you feeling better now?” She leaned forward to peer at him, the lacquered-bone fan tucked in her obi angling across her chest. “Young lady...” he murmured, still dazed. “It’s been so long.” Having been addressed so directly, he finally looked up in surprise. “And the professor?” “He sends his regards—mother too,” he answered properly.

Fifty In the narrow space between the sickbed and chair, that blazing obi shining before his eyes made him try to slide down, yet he couldn't. As if gazing up at stars in the azure sky, he looked up at Taeko's face. "Why did you come? Who with? You. When? Which train?" he pressed frantically in one breath. "I came on today's noon train." "With Sōsuke the fishmonger." "Yes, with Me-gumi as escorts." "How do you know about that?"

“It’s about Miss Otsuta—” As she began to speak, her lips quivered and her eyelashes grew heavy with tears. When she turned and saw the nurse still standing there, she hastily grabbed her sleeve and buried her face in it. A strand of hair slipped from the edge of her beautiful brow, and the sleeve of her pale pink gauze underrobe slid down. “I don’t want to talk about that now!” she said abruptly. Of course—with someone present during this exchange, she could not contain her tears, as the account goes.

The nurse understood the situation. “Then, um, your message?”

“Let’s leave that for a bit later. Miss, and where are those Me-gumi fellows who accompanied me?” “They’re retrieving the luggage at the station. They said half a day would be fine, so they packed it in ice and brought your favorite fish. If it’s the hospital, they’ll find it right away. I told the carriage driver to come quickly, and—well—I wanted to get here fast too, so I came ahead. Everyone thinks that way, but you’re being cruel. You don’t even send letters. Miss Otsuta...”

Her voice grew thick as she looked at Chikara, who remained silent with his head bowed. "Well, you know, I have so many things to talk about." "When I heard she was hospitalized, I thought she must be in terrible shape, but she's able to sit up after all." "Even so... Oh, Miss Otsuta... I... I may scold you sometimes, but there's an important matter to attend to first. Let's take our time after that's settled, all right?" Her tone shifted instantly into something coquettish, adopting an air of intimacy,

“Do you have a small knife?”

The question was too abrupt—he couldn't speak…and his eyes flew open again. "Then come—cut my hair cord." "The hair cord?" "The Young Mistress's?" "Yes—my hair's—" Had Chikara not shifted back, she might have tumbled into his lap. Without ceremony, she settled backward on the sickbed's edge, her obi tied in a flat drum shape. The scarlet-checkered pattern blazed anew. Taeko bent forward, offering her jade-like neck. "Cut it now—quickly." "Father knows—it's permitted."

When she turned her head with a beautiful sidelong glance, his hand nearly trembled. The knife's tip flicked the hair tie as if in a dream. When Taeko lightly shook the swaying cascade of hair that had fallen down, a handful of black tresses suddenly dropped from the swiftly flowing scatter of wispy clouds and landed upon Chikara's lap. Hayase shuddered violently as if doused in ice water. “I entrusted it to Miss Otsuta. “Um, as a memento—please take this, Mr. Hayase,”

Facing away, she prostrated herself against the chair's armrest, and the flower ornament of the hairpin she had pulled out struck the ribbon and swayed violently.

“I can’t meet anyone else anymore.” The commemorative hair ornament from Otsuta blazed in his right hand as if aflame, while his starched underrobe clung with icy stiffness. Parting Taeko’s excessively long hair like a well-bucket rope drawn through water, Chikara pressed his left hand firmly against its length. Now settled solidly in posture, his voice emerged with clarity as he spoke— “The hair of someone who’s passed away…” “That’s absurd.” “Did the Professor say it was acceptable? Or did Madam?” “To put such a thing into your head—” “Is this not your precious health before your rise to prominence?” “Ah—cranes and turtles, cranes and turtles...”

As if touching something sacred, he quietly stroked its emerald sheen.

“I don’t want any of that success.” “I’ll become a hairdresser or anything!”

Boldly straightening up, "Father says—Mr. Hayase—when you've recovered from your illness, you should return to Tokyo. And then, um... let's visit the grave together."

Solar Eclipse

Fifty-One

On the path between rice fields under the blazing midday sun, there were no shadows of grass, nor any people in sight. In the villages, there were even many cases where they had lowered the shutters from morning and sealed the lattice panels. The countryside, ever dutiful, passed down warnings: an eclipse was the sun’s affliction—its shadow held poison, its light harbored demons, and its heat brought sickness. Even without such portents, that year’s eclipse was already ninety-nine percent—it was said to be nearly total.

The early morning sunrise remained dull and murky, neither clearing nor clouding over. Tinged with an eggshell hue, it floated solitary in the boundless azure sky. Another radiant solar orb existed apart—appearing like some primordial prototype, desolate beneath the gray wilderness sky— No wind blew all day. The sweltering heat steeped in malice seemed to crush the country houses beneath it; the air had turned to solid bedrock—infants' cries sank unheard, even chickens' wings hung too listless to flap, and those lingering on ladders beneath eaves found even gazing skyward felt ominously tangible. Sunlight filtering through gaps resembled wind-stilled powder—settling like ash on sleeves, undisturbed by movement or shadow—so densely enveloping everything that limbs and faces alike took on a uniform hue, as if hardening into wax or stone while breath grew steadily shallower.

The daylight congealed, enveloping the sun's yellow entirety—a scene resembling the coagulation of chaotic clouds. The universe teetered on the brink of death—the ominous messengers' urgent knocks answered only by crows ceaselessly darting about. Like black gravel, like gray demonic birds, they scattered in chaotic flight—and as if startled by this, the sea heaved great waves. It—writhing through mountain roots, leaping against rocks, churning across shores, surging high into the open sky—filled the space between heaven and earth where I stood. What mysterious shadow dared obscure the light of the perfect sun? As if to scrub clean the tormented face of a great ruby, it seethed with agitation, writhed in anguish, raged with fury—yet as noon approached, its strength spent and bones withered, this flowing colossus gathered its scattered waves like limp blue cotton unfurling, then soundlessly collapsed across Oitsu, Ejiri, Shimizu, Miho’s cape, Tago’s inlet, and Kunō’s shore.

The eclipse began to wane at once; around two in the afternoon came the sound of hurried carriages—what fleeing nobles were these? Around eight carriages continued ceaselessly for about a hundred meters, rumbling along the rural road as they raced from Shimizu Port toward Kunōzan. The lead carriage carried Kano Dainagon’s wife, Tomiko; the next held Madam Shimayama Kanko; following was Tatsuko, new wife of Fukui Prefecture’s councilor—this being the third younger sister. After her came the fourth daughter, Misao, her hair in a high shimada chignon and betrothed that summer to an engineer; the fifth carriage bore Kinuko, a thirty-five-year-old beauty. In the sixth carriage was Taeko.

They had intended to go together to Tokyo—but due to certain circumstances—Hayase persuaded them to stay and invited them instead to go sea bathing at Shimizu Port.

Michiko rode in the carriage after Taeko. At the rearmost position was Sōsuke of Me-gumi and a group of women carrying flower baskets that swarmed like hornets, but this fellow would never leave the side of the precious young lady. This was indeed an event proposed by the clan's supreme leader, Kano Eisei—Junior Fifth Rank, Third Class of the Order of Merit—combining scenic viewing with plans to observe the solar eclipse at Kunōzan's summit. To these people, it was no different than flower viewing or moon gazing, but to the astonished peasants peering out, it must have seemed as though some celestial calamity had struck the heavenly palace, driving the divine beings to flee.

Their respective husbands, all staying together at the villa in Shimizu Port, had each prepared boats to row around Miho to Kuno Beach—every one of them planning to meet their lovers on the return journey and sail back across the sea while night fishing. The children—those too young—along with tutors, wet nurses, and others remained at the villa for the day. As I had mentioned before, this proposal was Eisei’s; Kanko was the first to clap her hands in approval; I gladly agreed without objection; and Madam Shimayama was especially delighted.

The reason for this was that last year on the train, after Chikara had heard from an Italian—as Madam had relayed—when there were still no rumors yet, it was the science scholar who had published a detailed analysis of that day’s phenomenon in a Tokyo newspaper. Its name spread instantly throughout the land, and in Shizuoka, they even dubbed this solar eclipse the "Shimayama Eclipse."

Fifty-Two As they passed through the rice fields, a white heron startled and rose up. When leaving the village, the shadows of their procession flickered across the portulaca in a small shop's garden. The linked carriages—having dispensed with horo cloaks under the pallid sun—held aloft parasols of varied hues in every hand, as though multicolored silks had been set fluttering midair. A dead wind blew coolly and briskly, brushing against the beauties' faces as they reached Kunō's foothills, yet along the way they encountered not a single soul—not even a wandering monk.

Atop a rock bored like a foothold through the black clouds shrouding the sun’s castle—a day besieged by eclipses, upheavals, wars, chaos, and demons—they arrived at the foot of Kunō’s stone steps. Every teahouse stood bolted shut as if in deepest midnight; not a dragonfly stirred. Seeing only the whitened road, glowing as if lit by moonlight, lying utterly still—the grand madam said: “How barbaric.”

Mocking [the scene], she directed the coachmen to have one shop opened. After resting briefly and completing preparations—since they would return by boat, they decided to send the carriages back without delay—they untied the string of a large bouquet. The hems of the seven women’s sleeves, draped vertically over the stone steps, fluttered as they waved their fans, resembling butterflies in flight. With Me-gumi bringing up the rear, they began ascending those stone steps. But when the Kano clan reached the summit, they were about to encounter an unexpected figure.

Earlier, there had been a certain gentleman—majestic in bearing, as if a bronze statue had come to life—with a long beard at his chin, supporting a thick, sturdy cane whose grip gleamed silver. His Napoleon-style hat cast deep shadows, carving dark wrinkles upon his forehead as he gazed upward toward the summit with a face ablaze in fury. Muffling his footsteps, he climbed the stone steps and vanished among the pine boughs. This man—right here, positioned as if he were the figurehead of a ship at sea, just as the Grand Madam had done—was none other than Kano Eisei, the supreme leader of the Kano clan.

When Eisei climbed these stone steps—now just one flight below what would become the main hall of Tōshōgū Shrine—reaching a vantage point where the sea hung high upon his sturdy shoulders, he looked leftward at the famed Kansuke Well and rightward at a valley like carved tofu within a thousand-ren precipice. Through pine trunks he glimpsed thatched huts along the shore; upon branches hung white beaches; green waves of needles rustled like leaves. And there—beneath a lookout pine—he saw a young man reclining leisurely on a fixed bench: elongated, elbow-propped, face half-hidden under a Homburg hat, folded haori tucked into his kimono, a small bundle resembling a medicine bottle placed beside his pillowed head.

When Eisei stepped forward and thrust his cane out before him, Chikara swept aside the hat shading his face, rose smoothly, and met him with a prepared stance, standing resolute. That youth was none other than Hayase Chikara—his pallid complexion from convalescence purely emaciated, a crane-like figure. Eisei fixed a piercing gaze from under his hat’s brim. “Quick to arrive, eh?” he remarked magnanimously with a jerk of his chin. “You’ve gone to great trouble.” Chikara said, looking up. “Ah, I was the one who proposed meeting here—you’re still recovering from illness. However, it was you who willingly raised such matters—fifty-fifty responsibility, eh? Ha ha ha ha,”

Within his beard, his lips moved slightly as he sneered.

Hayase smiled lightly while gesturing to the bench beside him. "Please, have a seat." He flicked his finger against the wooden slats. "No need," Eisei retorted, tucking his cane under one arm and clamping the cigar between his teeth. "This'll be brief." "Your expedience is admirable. Now—your answer from our last meeting?" "You asked 'What's to be done?' Let's hear it again." "Shall I state it plainly?" "Hmm." He spat out a mouthful of saliva-laced tobacco juice. "Shall we conclude this here? If you insist on giving your response at Kuno Mountain like during our hospital meeting, that creates complications. This is Kuno Mountain already. Should you demand 'again,' we'd have to drag this to Ryuzan Mountain next. Then it'd be like tengu holding council."

“Don’t waste breath on trifles. State it plainly.”

With a touch of anger now coloring his earlier jest,

“If I’m your opponent, I’ll settle this right here!” “First!” ...he said... Chikara’s voice was resonant.

“Divorce your wife.”

Falcon

Fifty-Three

Despite the words constituting extreme insolence, Eisei conversely listened with calm composure. "Why?" "Because your wife had improper relations with the groom Teizo and gave birth to Michiko." Having forcefully settled his statement, "And then," "Second, surrender Michiko to me." "Why?" "We are involved with each other." "Hmm," he muttered under his breath. "And then,"

“Third—retrieve Ms. Kanko from Shimayama and be done with it.”

“Why?” “She made a promise with me.” “With whom?” Suddenly glaring, Hayase remained composed, “With me.” “Hmm. What next?” “Fourth—shut down the hospital.” “Why?” “The Medical Scholar feigns poisoning.” “There was more, I see,” he inquired calmly. “The Kano family’s household has been utterly corrupted in this manner… By now, when taking a wife for your son, you will no longer engage in such insolent acts as investigating the lineage charts of other important daughters. Nor will you use your daughters as bait to reel in sons-in-law for the sake of your clan’s prosperity.”

“Above all, you must apologize for having forgotten your station and committed unforgivable disrespect toward Professor Sakai Shunzo, scholar of German literature, and his honorable daughter.”

“If you do that, the Kano family will be thrown into disarray—the demise of your so-called family ideology. In that case, you’d be a defeated general. You should withdraw to Teizo’s stable in Anto Village. Well, that’s about it.” With his hat, he gently fanned his chest. As the eclipsing sun became increasingly obscured—as if the terrifying roars of warring asuras resonated through the cicadas’ cries that permeated the mountain’s base—Eisei spoke in a rough voice: “Madman!”

“Ah, a madman I may be—but while other lunatics rave about the impossible, this madness does nothing but calmly propose what can actually be done.” His tongue slightly stiffened, lips twitching, “Then—if I refuse this demand—what would you do?” he said with a heavy sigh.

“With this bottle of poison—though it’s a rather old-fashioned gesture—I propose we drink it with due trepidation.” “With that, your house will surely meet its ruin.” Eisei barely managed to hurl abuse. “This is fraud!” “It is fraud indeed.” “This is blackmail.” “You—” “It is blackmail indeed.” “So you call yourself human?” “Am I a beast, then?” “And yet you call yourself a German teacher?”

“No.” “And now you’d have us call you a scholar?” “Not at all.” “Sakai’s disciple?” “Since coming to Shizuoka, I haven’t been such a person. It’s fraud.” “What? Fraud—” “Blackmail. Then I’m a beast. And I am the Kano family’s sworn enemy.” “Silence!” With a thunderous shout, he emitted a tiger-like growl and clenched his cane tightly,

“Impudence!” “Silence, brat!” “What now, old man?” he said. Even as Kano Eisei burned with rage both physically and mentally, he inadvertently stayed the weapon he was about to swing down, whereupon Hayase Chikara thrust his face forward and laughed boisterously,

“Hey—what do you take me for? Because I had my nest in Asakusa Tanbo and stretched my wings toward Kannon-sama, they called me ‘Falcon’s Strength’—a pickpocket, a purse-snatcher. Ha ha ha ha! I won’t play along with that attitude now—look, I’m asking you, old man.”

Fifty-Four "When I was a twelve-year-old brat."

“Parting through the morning-dewed forest, I never imagined I’d venture into the deep mountains to find a roost. The mechanical fountain—set up like something striking a frog’s face—had divided the sister’s white-powdered, frost-patched countenance in half as it emerged with a stylish splash. At that fishing pond stood four men in Western clothes, their faces still bearing signs of drunkenness, hats worn in utter disarray. Yoshihara Geeri was fishing for carp first thing in the morning, you see. What they were catching were carp—though they might as well have been rice paddy loach from somewhere. Those officials returning home at dawn in their Western attire looked down from their high perches, scoffing at the very idea of fishing—yet among them, someone reached for the gold chain around that crucian carp-like fellow’s neck! This arm was seized with a groan.”

"Were they going to grab and beat me? But there he was, calmly fishing with one hand. After putting his catch into the basket, he barked, 'Kid, carry this and follow me.' When he glared down at me then, I shrank back for the first time in my life."

This was indeed beyond the reach of a mere falcon's claws. My mistake had been failing to properly see his face—though his character could be read from his bearing alone. He'd been a junior official in Taiwan back then, but now served as customs chief at the same institution: Inazaka, a legal scholar and roc of a man, accompanied by three subordinates. I later heard there'd been another time when he brought his newlywed wife to mock Yoshihara, meeting an old flame at the latticework. "Let's both go up!" he'd declared, dragging her inside by the hand. Then he'd shooed his proxy to an adjacent room with orders: "Wait here tonight—I'll be entertaining a courtesan." What a bold fellow, bedding prostitutes like that.

From then on, the wife never grew jealous, and the husband showed not a hint of jealousy either. Once, when he left Taiwan for about three months, leaving behind his young wife along with the maid and live-in student, women everywhere proved to be the same. The female subordinates who had been there from before—those women called Madam this or Someko that—suspected the chief’s young wife among themselves. They bribed the maid and made her spread slander. When the legal scholar returned home, they would greet him with "Welcome back, sir," then immediately report, "And as for your wife—such an outrageous matter," insinuating an affair with the live-in student. Without even listening properly, he roared, "Get out!"

“Who do you think he told?” “Not his wife.” “To that maid.” “How about that?” “Being slow-witted or overly jealous—beyond ordinary people’s work—your precious sons-in-law don’t have such qualities, do they, Mr. Kano?” The man I seized was that very person. With my neck hunched and carrying a basket of carp under the guise of a fish peddler’s apprentice, I followed him as he strolled leisurely—claiming it aided digestion—until noon, when we arrived at Professor Sakai’s residence in Masagocho.

The school was unattended, but being close friends, he marched right in, and even the boy was escorted up to the second floor. "(Madam, please give me a meal tray too.)" — and even to the pickpocket, the same soup course tray was provided. Without leaving it to the maid, she—who was no less than Mrs. Sakai—still young in her crepe silk haori, personally set down the meal tray and gently said, "Please eat without hesitation." That was when I first shed tears.

When the Professor returned home and four meal trays had been laid out, there was this cute kid sitting there. When asked “What’s this?” and the legal scholar Inazaka opened his mouth wide to declare “A pickpocket,” I abruptly decided to stay—even dogs and beasts have their soft spots. The legal scholar took out one yen, saying “Here’s your payment and a bonus,” and told me “If you can’t drink sake, eat your meal and get going. You’ve worked hard—next time, steal more skillfully.” As I pressed my face to the tatami weeping, I thought I heard the mistress’s voice, choked with emotion, say “He has no parents, does he…” “Why not eat tonight’s meal here and tomorrow’s too? I’ll keep you in Sakai’s cage, Hayabusa.” Then mimicking a parent bird’s voice, he warbled in German—a phrase that still lingers to this day.

“In this world, Mr. Kano, there exist those who’d shelter and nurture a stray monkey like this—yet you people, what absurd principles you cling to! Using your precious daughters as gaming pieces, choosing sons-in-law by their fat salaries to prop up the family’s prestige—what sort of scheme is this? To be born human—and comely at that—only to be stuffed into some oaf’s arms like a sightless bird caged, never knowing life’s fleeting hues or love’s passions in your one brief existence? Demand they become ‘chaste maidens,’ ‘wise mothers,’ ‘good wives’ all you want—you can’t work your conjurer’s tricks here. This charade won’t hold.”

“Just watch—if my arm so much as brushes against them, all those chaste women, wise mothers, and good wives that schools and moralists have crafted like delicate sugar sculptures will clatter down like toppled shogi pieces.” Eisei’s eyes were bloodshot.

“It’s not just your precious Kano household.” “Nothing in this world’s more wretched than parents marrying off daughters for family gain. They spin pretty lies about ‘your best interest,’ cornering those girls until there’s no escape—how’s some sixteen-year-old innocent supposed to shake her head no?” “She blushes, goes blank, stares at her lap—deal sealed. They shove that crimson-faced fool into a carriage, force-feed him liquor like revival medicine—call this travesty the san-san-kudo ritual.” “Sleep through that night, wake up somebody’s wife.”

“If they carelessly speak to others, they’ll immediately get an earful. So when those two link up and strut about putting on airs, you parents swagger around in your crimson-laced armor like you’re flaunting your precious pride, eh?”

“Don’t you know that if you let your daughter be with the man she loves, she’d be happier carrying a miso strainer than wearing a crown of jewels? What looks like a straw mat to others’ eyes becomes silk brocade to her own. A husband, hey, isn’t his parents’ property.” “If you think I’m lying, go ask Ms. Michiko herself. The hospital director’s wife says she’d rather set up house with Hayase in a stable than stay as she is. And ask Ms. Osuga too.” “You insolent wretch?”

Eisei’s beard trembled in color; his opened mouth resembled black smoke. "I'm well aware I'm unscrupulous. I knew full well they were unscrupulous acts—call them unscrupulous all you like, I won’t flinch. Though I’d be shocked if you called this splendid." "There’s no need to panic now—I’ve known from the start. In a family tradition like yours, having affairs with daughters you’ve married off is easier—that’s common practice—than taking maids to the theater."

"There's no point putting on airs now," "If I say I feel no fear—" he continued with a smile,

“Don’t give me that boorish look and listen to what I’m saying—”

“Hey, there’s more to shock you. Another branch meant to make the Kano tree flourish—that fourth daughter you’ve been counting on? The untouched young lady who just returned from Tokyo for summer vacation? She was defiled by a medical scholar.” “They made me feign poisoning. To quietly settle the Michiko incident that nearly came to light, it was pinned on the director through the matriarch’s arrangements.” “Manta—my partner in crime and childhood friend pickpocket accomplice—had properly supplied the evidence.”

“It was all for the sake of the family, after all. To protect the Kano family’s honor—knowing their past evils—didn’t they try to poison Hayase, who’d caused trouble with Michiko, and in doing so sacrifice one of their own daughters?” “That’s precisely my point. You’re what they mean by a cruel parent who values house over child.” “Why won’t you kneel and repent?” “I was wrong.” “From now on I shall never exploit my beloved daughters for reputation.” “I shall neither flaunt our lineage nor show disrespect to other daughters—nor ever dare presume otherwise.”

“Even if you sacrifice one child without resorting to poisoning, you still won’t shave your head and apologize.”

Fifty-Six

Without so much as touching his face, he continued speaking, "And then, what did you say?—The other day at the hospital, before this negotiation, when I asked just to be sure.—" "You declared you wanted Miss Taeko as a bride for Eikichi-kun. When I asked, 'Even though she’s actually the daughter of a Yanagibashi geisha—is that acceptable?', you made an utterly appalled face and said, 'No—preposterous.'" “'If her origins are that base, even if Eikichi were to yearn for death over it, we parents would never consent.'" "You said it concerns the family name, didn’t you?"

“This isn’t limited to just your family. The world’s crawling with such heartless schemers—that’s why I held up your precious Kano clan as Exhibit A to shove in those bastards’ faces.”

“It’s fine if it’s a marriage proposal that was never going anywhere from the start—but suppose this one, where both the professor had given his consent and their daughter had taken a liking to the man, were to fall apart at the crucial moment because of some absurd lineage check revealing she’s just a geisha’s child. How do you think the professor and his wife—no, how do you think *their daughter* would feel then?” “Because we thought of that—because we considered how you’d never deign to associate with some titled errand boy unless he was first groomed into respectability—the professor and his wife magnanimously declared they’d let their precious daughter marry him if he fancied her. Such was their noble design.” “To that Edo-bred young lady who vowed to outshine that pseudo-moralist Sakata by standing shoulder-to-shoulder with pickpocket trash—throwing away one life’s a bargain for full repayment. I’d gladly give her two.”

“What a pity for you. You must find this most troublesome, I presume.” He said with a polite laugh, “Could a pickpocket ever consider trouble or pity? To those who aren’t proper humans—you can preach reason or lecture them on duty, but since they don’t fear you as much as the police, they’ll meet their end without a word. If you consider it a military defeat, that’s acceptable.” “Even if you breach stone walls that would topple at a pickpocket’s touch and moats that crumble from ants, erecting the Kano banner would still be a futile endeavor.”

“You must be seething with resentment. Strike me if you wish, kill me if you must—I may not know any honorable way to die through duty, but this life I gave her, I’ll discard it now. And I’ll account to Michiko-san and Kanko-san too.” “Even in death I won’t be lonely—my woman waits beyond.” “Otsuta and I are resolved to become venomous serpents guarding dear Miss Taeko.” “Look—they say that pearl in Ryūgū, entwined by an evil dragon, curses to death any unworthy who approach it, don’t they?”

“You’re cursed—utterly cursed.” “Pointing at Miss Taeko—you’re all cursed.” As he placed his hands on his knees and turned his profile toward the sea—now swiftly darkened as if phantom shapes raced across it—his face took on a look of yearning toward the shadow of that evil dragon in the watery depths, illuminated by the dreadful eclipsed light; in that moment, Hayase Chikara’s countenance resembled nothing so much as a philosopher’s. Eisei kept silent like a moss-encrusted stone unmoving through ages.

When a pheasant cried out with a single clarion call, the mountain darkened.

As the youngest daughter climbed up first with sudden determination to peer into Kansuke Well's star, followed by the others materializing hazily like spirits of renowned beauties, Eisei—who seemed to have prepared himself for this moment—abruptly drew a revolver from his garment's pocket and aimed at Hayase's chest. Sōsuke, who had just managed to grab hold of him in the nick of time, was thrown down and fell. But upon seeing that he was in peril, Michiko and Kanko shielded Chikara with their bodies—covering him with their backs and chests—so Eisei turned his face away with a sigh. The instant he shifted his aim, he shot the matriarch, felling her. Amidst the gunpowder smoke, as he gazed up at the eclipsed sun’s visage, this arrogant commander drove the bullet through his own brain.

Embracing each other, exchanging glances, the beautiful sisters hurled themselves off the cliff. Alas—the lingering regrets of Michiko and Kanko, who clung to the ivy vines, were no different from shattered coral upon the ruined world’s ocean floor.

At that moment, far out at sea—appearing like a star in a sunless day—a single white sail connected to the heavens was the ship carrying the two husbands and also resembling the shadow of a corpse; hiding it from Taeko, Chikara raised his hand high.

That night, at an inn in Shimizu Port, as the old man comforted the young lady with talk of gathering firewood in the mountains and watched her fall peacefully asleep, Hayase resolutely drank the poison while holding Otsuta’s black hair.

Hayase’s suicide notes were addressed to Professor Sakai and Kano in two separate copies. The one addressed to the literary scholar Kano: Eikichi... It is a fact that Madam Shimayama attempted to ensnare me using her talents and charms for your sake. It is also a fact that I myself, taking advantage of Michiko’s gentle and obedient nature, schemed to elicit her affection. However, I did not violate the chastity of either. As it was nothing more than a mutual silent understanding between us, I beg you—for the sake of your sisters—do not doubt their virtue. Especially regarding the matter of your mother’s groom and immorality—it was nothing more than a widespread barbarian rumor. Having confirmed it was untrue, I was disappointed that my initial objective could not be achieved; but whether by fortune or misfortune, I was able to stage a ruse using the name of a patient I encountered at Asama Shrine—who happened to be called Teizo—to lure out your sister-wife. Thus, regarding your fourth younger sister—and the complete lack of basis for the poison rumors—it was upon seeing a moth perish at the lamp in the dead of night that I conceived the idea. Colluding with my associate Manta, I had him prepare the poison, poured it into a medicine bottle with my own hands, and immediately confronted your family’s patriarch.

Adultery, poisoning—even between fathers and sons, husbands and wives, those closest and most beloved—to ascertain their truth, these accusations erupted like thunder under conditions too unspeakable to voice and assailed the Kano household. I am a pickpocket; from the very beginning against enemies, I believed there was no harm in employing scheming stratagems, counterintelligence, desperate measures, and every manner of ruthless tactic. In essence, it was merely my hope to create a fissure in your pride of lineage and compel your house to concede even slightly before one such as Hayase—I never imagined there would be an incident at Mount Kuno. I solemnly express my profound respect for that austere principle of your family patriarch—one that allows no mingling of impurity—while lamenting his momentary fury that brooked no hesitation.

Eikichi-kun, to the fullest extent possible, embody my will and construct a second household that is more beautiful and pure. He had inscribed the sentiment: "Does one not perceive life's vital force?"—and similar expressions. Veiled by his clan's resplendent glory, Eikichi—who had forgotten both his own being and scholarly autonomy—found his mind sharpening and eyes gleaming with clarity as the eclipse lifted on that darkened day, driven to voice lamentations and seek explanations from Chikara.

Hayase's resolute actions and so forth—twenty-one lines deleted.—We ask that you interpret this meaning consistently throughout the preceding and following chapters. When first serialized in the newspaper, these twenty-one lines were not present. When later published in book form, extraneous elements were appended due to editorial exigencies. Or perhaps out of deference to distinguished owners of this same single-volume edition who might harbor reservations regarding this passage.

Meiji 40 (1907), January–April