Pathway to Japanese Literature

Sea bream, flounder.

I Though her natural beauty needed no lipstick's aid, that charming sound—blending with the rouge's hue—did not come from her lips. Otsuta held a Japanese lantern plant calyx between her gleaming teeth...

“Hayase’s wife looks about twenty but she’s actually thirty—and at that age making music with Japanese lantern plant calyxes? Well, her background speaks for itself,” gossiped the neighborhood wives from this officials’ quarter of mansions. Already last night too—at Kagurazaka's festival market where she had bought primroses—she had selected a fine specimen, brought back Japanese lantern plant calyxes tucked between her day and night sashes, and offered one to the neighbor's daughter (a female student) with “Here’s a little gift!” only to be rebuffed: “I don’t want such a barbaric thing!” Having been rebuffed with that “sophisticated” retort, she fumed in frustration.

It couldn't exactly be called a spiteful gesture. There she stood—in this kitchen separated from the neighbor's daughter's parlor by nothing but a single fence and a waist-high sliding door—her hands tucked into her sleeves, idly sounding the Japanese lantern plant calyxes with an air of restlessness. Suddenly, she tilted her head, disheveled ginkgo-leaf-shaped sidelocks slipping loose, and opened her eyes wide as if straining to hear something.

Croak croak croak croak, rumble rumble croak croak—the sounds continued. Synchronized with the movement of her lips— When she briefly stopped blowing, silence now reigned in the stillness, and though the warm spring sun beat hazily against the waist-high sliding door, no cat crept along the eaves nor sparrow shadows flitted by. Thinking it might be a mouse, she glanced sideways up at the shelf, but neither pots nor tiered boxes clattered, nor did old newspapers rustle even slightly. While surveying her surroundings, her teeth carelessly grazed the Japanese lantern plant calyx. To that faint sound came an immediate croak croak in response. When she focused and blew in continuous succession, without pause came a "rumble rumble," matching her rhythm perfectly.

Having ascertained the source, “Oh,” she said, descending to the lower wooden floor where a single zōri sandal—left behind by the maid Ogen when she had rushed out moments earlier to announce a visitor at the entrance—lay overturned. Adjusting the carelessly overturned sandal showing its black sole with her white fingers, she hooked it onto her bare foot and slid open the waist-high sliding door to the left with a clatter. The sun past ten o'clock now poured obliquely from beyond the wellside willow, flooding through to illuminate the trimmed roots of spinach on the cutting board in crimson light.

Probably that’s it—it must be someone mimicking the sound—the liquor store errand boy who had made this guess was nowhere to be found. With brows furrowed yet wearing an entranced, unhurried expression, she now—rather than humming—deliberately tried producing a clicking sound with the tip of her tongue. Responding to the resonance came *croak croak*; though she held back after a single blow, the other party—seemingly spurred on—*croak croak croaked*.

Hearing this, she crouched down, gathered up the skirt of her work coat spread over the wooden floor, tucked the hem of her underskirt—which had been caught between her knees—neatly inward, and leaned out from the sliding door's lower frame until her shoulders protruded, fixing her gaze on the drainage pool right before her eyes. Of course, since there was a drain cover, the form of the creature remained unseen, yet the exquisite duet emanated precisely from within. With a smile, she blew a low croon into it, and the frog rumbled in rhythm—the closer it drew, the higher the pitch rose, their syncopation sharpening into a clatter-clatter-clatter!

“A frog,” she murmured.

With a faint smile—as if staining her lips crimson—she took the Japanese lantern plant calyx between her fingers and, while lightly adjusting her collar, "You're such a nuisance, Ogen…" She tried to call out "Come here and see," but when her voice escaped, she suppressed it and sucked on the Japanese lantern plant calyx once more. Crooning softly—clatter-clatter; crooning softly—clatter-clatter—like butterfly wings brushing against a shamisen's body—the quiet lingering spring day draped two or three inches down Otsuta's sleeves. "Hey there!" came a robust voice booming from afar.

The arrival was an Edo-style fishmonger.

II

Here came Ogen—the petite Shimada-coiffed maid who had opened the partition between the kitchen and parlor, carried in tea sweets, and descended from the second floor—her face flushed as if in a fluster. “Madam, the fishmonger has arrived.” “Don’t raise your voice like that.” Otsuta turned around and admonished in a low voice, opening her posture to let Ogen pass behind her, “They’ll hear you.” When she gave a meaningful glance, Ogen smiled faintly and looked down, then poked her slightly flushed face out through the kitchen door to peer down the alleyway.

“Where’s Madam?” he directed his voice at her face like a striking blow. As this too resounded in that “Hey there!” tone, Ogen fretted and waved her hands to hush him—just as the fishmonger, who had hoisted his wooden tray onto his shoulder and risen to his feet, stood there: the notorious Shibakko they called by the nickname “Megumi.” His work coat was lightly soiled, the color of his apron had faded, his sash was twisted askew, and his work trousers had shrunk—but his wooden tray was immaculate.

His usual headband—unbearable after four or five days of unseasonable warmth—had been replaced by a crushed hat worn lotus-leaf style, which did nothing to make him appear cooler. As usual having drunk heavily since morning—his face flushed and eyes bleary—he spotted Otsuta there and, “Come here, Madam—heh heh heh.” “Stop it already—isn’t that pretentious? “Ogen too,”

With the tip of her finger, she lightly scratched her temple while brushing her sleeve against the maid’s shoulder, “You’re saying it too—since when does Edo have Madams traipsing about in work coats? What nonsense.” “But really now, Megumi-san.”

Ogen brushed past the sleeve and squatted before the cutting board. “So you’re the new missus now, eh?” “There’s no such coin for that.” “Well then, Boss.” “Right away!” “Heh,” With a chesty laugh, he lowered the wooden tray and was setting up the scales when—peering down at Ogen’s back as she tidied the spinach— “Still hauling that big rear around, huh? Takes up half the kitchen. No kiddin’.” “If I were to eyeball it, how much d’you reckon it’d weigh out?”

“Your heft’s about the measure.” “That’s some mouth you’ve got. Hahaha—Madam’s training, eh?” “Menoji,” “Yeah,” “There’s guests upstairs, y’know? Even though Madam told you to quit.” “Oh! Right,” Slurping his tongue noisily, “What’re you hidin’ such a solid, generous catch in the shadows for…?” “I won’t haggle,” “Honestly now—callin’ her a proper homemaker. Ain’t he a clueless master?”

“It’s fine—I’ve approved it myself.”

With her eyes cast down at their frayed corners, Otsuta rested her chin on her collar—appearing modest, demure, and with a moist gaze—so Megumi meekly nodded.

Ogen interjected sideways, “What is it?” “Heh, asking such boorish questions.” “Still stuffin’ yer faces with my prime goods, ain’tcha?” “Y’ain’t even quietly handin’ over the goods.” “Yes, yes, we’ll be sure to receive it without any payment, as always.” “As for Megumi-san’s fish—whether in cash or at month’s end—you’ve never once deigned to collect payment.” “Yer one to talk with that mouth of yours.” “Anyway, y’re just takin’ it without payin’ anyway, ain’t ya?”

“We gratefully acknowledge your kindness—we’ll receive it through the master.” “Look there—the Shimada’s swaying!” “Enough squabbling over your posts. Ogen—will dinner be ready for our guests soon?” “How should we proceed? Being a lady guest, she probably won’t require extensive preparations.”

三

“But you don’t look like you’re leaving anytime soon.” As he said this, Megumi flipped open the lid of the wooden tub and peered inside. The sea bream glistened with a watery sheen, reminiscent of a Hiroshige print—though devoid of willow shadows, the morning moonlight along the riverbank still clung to its scales. With a thud, he passed over the cutting board. The foot-long crimson beneath its eyes flipped sharply before landing with decisive finality.

Contrary to its dull-eyed appearance, the blade glinted as he gripped it in a calligrapher’s stance, “Sashimi today?”

“Let’s see…” Otsuta adjusted her hanten sleeves and tilted slightly. “Not grilled—since yesterday was sashimi too…” As he set his stance, his arm flashed—a swift swoosh sent scales scattering like rain. “While you’re at it, grilling a portion or two would be most suitable, heh heh heh.” “Since it’s a lady guest upstairs who’s apparently deep in conversation.” “Madam Hikisama.” “The guest is the mother of the master’s friend.”

While watching, mesmerized by Megumi filleting the sea bream with his much-admired technique—a sight deeply admirable no matter how often seen—Ogen took over and seasoned it.

He stabbed the gills once and gave a forceful yank, “It’s dented.” “Ain’t as fresh as last time’s haul, but yours truly here went overboard with the salt.” “Speaking of which, Menoji—” Otsuta slipped one hand into her bosom and smoothly adjusted her sliding black satin collar, “About that request I made the other day—they’re saying you still haven’t made your rounds to Mr. Kōno’s place since then. What’s going on?”

“Hmm, Kōno, huh.” “That mansion in Minamimachi, you mean?” “Ah yes—‘the fishmonger hasn’t come,’ he told the master when he came inside yesterday too.” “You’re not going?”

“I ain’t going.” “Really?” “I won’t go, I tell you!” “Why not?” “Why? ’Cause you—that beast—” Ogen hurriedly— “Megumi-san,”

“What?” “Megumi-san. The one upstairs is Mr. Kōno’s mother, you know. Mind your manners.” With her hat pulled down snugly like a turtle retreating into its shell, “Well I’ll be damned! Thought that place was just full of retirees…” “No—she arrived from Shizuoka the day before yesterday. When I went to greet her, she said, ‘I am Madam Kōno.’” “So even though his mother’s here, Mr. Kōno keeps whining ‘There’s nothing tasty!’ You hear that?”

“I’m appalled he dares speak of ‘delicious fare’.” “Well now—and Shizuoka of all places!” “Hah,” “Ever since the Restoration—where Lord Yoshinobu, our great Edo boss, went groundward.” “First off—this very Megumi here lived there two full years when they surrendered Edo Castle and sorted out us outcasts.”

“Don’t mock it—the land where the great boss lived and where I stayed,” he thought. “They should’ve all turned proper Edo natives by now—so why’s there still a beast like that around?” Wasn’t listening. “The other day too—you, really you—even though hauling out to that lone house was a pain, I went on a whim ‘cause they kept whining ‘bout having no decent fish, and ‘cause you told me to make the rounds—so I did like Otsuta-chan said.”

He dragged his feet and went two or three times. "What the hell? I don't recall ever once hollerin', 'Hey Teach! You there?' all chipper-like."

Otsuta smiled gently, “Who’s this ‘Teach’ you’re talking about?” “Our friend here.” “Since they say Mr. Kōno’s some kinda bachelor’s degree holder or scholar or teacher or whatnot, I called him with all due respect.” and chopped off the fin with a swift cut.

“What’s wrong with that? You—he’s Teach ’cause he’s Teach.” “I never called ’im no guy or brother or nothin’.”

and dangerously slid the tip of his kitchen knife, then rubbed under his nose,

“So what’s this? That plump O-san puffed out her chubby cheeks and spat out somethin’ like ‘You should address ’im proper as Master or Teacher—the neighbors’ll hear!’ didn’t she?”

“Well, if they want such fawning service, they should hire Santadayu proper. If my words come taxed, then damn me if I’ll drink their sake or sell ’em fish—present company excepted, Ogen.” He jabbed his knife at the fish’s tail. “This here’s the rear end.” “If I’m in the way, I’ll move,” said Ogen, adjusting her cutting board to face him squarely. Megumi barked a laugh. “Hah! Today of all days—” “What then? Will you stomp off angry?” “Only spared your delicate sensibilities that rage stayed corked. Went back next day too—their fresh excuses soured worse than three-day mackerel.”

“We don’t need any today since the side dishes are already done, see?” “Ain’t that just typical!” “Even with the fish I handle, folks’d naturally have their preferences based on quality.” “Take a proper look at the goods—if you don’t want ’em after that, I’ll back off.” “Forcin’ people to buy what they don’t wanna eat outta obligation ain’t how trade works! When they get indigestion burps and just poke at it with their chopsticks—hell, I pity the fish first and foremost!” “Here I am—bustin’ my hump at the wharf tryin’ to be top dog, huntin’ down primo catches so I can serve up somethin’ real delicious! Workin’ up a damn sweat sprintin’ around for this!” “An ugly dame starts scoutin’ for a sweetheart, then gets shot down with some ‘already taken’ line—makes the whole effort worthless!” “Y’know—sayin’ this right in front of Otsuta-chan here,”

“Shall I turn my back this time?”

Otsuta reached over the maid beneath her toward the shelf across the way and took the mesh sieve lying inverted on the mortar. “There now—this here’s for the master.” “This one’s for Ogen-bō.” “The mistress can have the trimmings—whether you stew them or salt them down—she’ll just bare her teeth and roll those eyes of hers.” “Am I supposed to be baring my teeth?” Otsuta smiled faintly, making Megumi hold the sieve while brushing her fingertip against the sea bream’s cool eye. “You’re talking like I’m some mutt—how utterly rude!”

Ogen scooped water from the bottom of the bucket with a ladle, making a clattering sound. “Country bumpkin! Go switch over to the Kōno household! Even if they’ve got beef for breakfast, there ain’t been a dog in Edo since olden times that eats sea bream eyes!” “Yes, yes.” Pulling up the hand bucket, Ogen bent at the waist, stepped out, and clattered the drain cover with her geta. “Oh! Don’t stomp so roughly. Because my lover’s here.” “A lover, you say.”

“Hey there,” No sooner had she said this than the maid, wearing a busy expression, ignored her and clattered off toward the well. “In the drain, huh?”

Lowering his workman’s haori at the waist and pointing toward the drain cover, Megumi spun his crushed hat around with a flourish. “How strange,” he remarked. “Shall I show you?” Otsuta offered. “I’d sure love to get an eyeful of that!” “Just wait.” She sent the mesh sieve into the drain. Straightening up with her hand on the waist-high shutter, Otsuta then stretched over the drain and—with theatrical care—twanged a Japanese lantern plant calyx. A rattling response echoed through the pipe: korokorokoro. “See? Isn’t it charming?” *Clatter clatter clatter!* “Frogs! Frogs!” Megumi guffawed. “Hahaha! This one’s a real character! Well now—might this be Otsuta-chan’s secret lover!”

“It’s the color of a misty moonlit night.” Her face, wearing a smugly satisfied expression, stood out vividly against the willow’s backdrop. “You damn beast—go bow properly!” Crouching with meddlesome curiosity as he tried to lift the drain cover, Megumi moved his hands with the practiced grace of someone opening a legendary treasure box. “Stop that—they’ll escape,”

At that very moment came the genteel sound of footsteps descending the wooden stairs. The 'swoosh' that resounded by the corrugated iron wellside was not wind through willow branches—it was someone serenely overturning the well bucket.

Michikoshi

Five

Next came the thudding, rough descent of the one named Chikara—master of this household, Hayase—and immediately his voice could be heard at the entrance. "My apologies to Mr. Kōno… Please… do come visit again." "Goodbye…" The sound of the lattice door meant the guest had exited. At that moment, ignoring Otsuta’s attempts to stop him and determined to witness the drain’s duet firsthand, Megumi abruptly flipped off the cover—but before he could even glimpse the frog’s form, Otsuta swiftly retreated to hide behind the waist shutter. Thinking "Ah, pitiful—and not even a fugitive," he peered through the lattice at where the guest had just emerged, wondering what manner of person this might be. And there, having bent down once and straightened up, the woman with the chignon was none other than Kōno’s mother—the very woman who had been the subject of rumors since earlier.

The retreating figure wore a black crested haori with a double-layered hem—slightly elongated, its collar tightly fastened. Even if her son was styled a bachelor’s degree holder or scholar, her approximate age remained undisputed—though her hair was thin, it bore a glossy sheen where the comb had passed. She was tall, with slightly plump shoulders that seemed perpetually indignant—a misfortune for one past her prime—but at her age, an air of authority naturally accompanied such refined attire. Moreover, the dark brown shawl she wore likely felt rather burdensome in today’s warm weather, but this too was part of recent etiquette—noblewomen continued to adorn themselves thus 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 at the wrist with a firm tug, the crimson lining of her underrobe flashed into view.

Having mentally estimated her age, Megumi caught sight of that fluttering and—as if sparks had flown—jerked his neck back just as— “Still milking your grand exit?” Otsuta said in a low voice. “Fuss-fuss-fuss,” Just as Megumi was about to shrink his neck in one final cringe, the other party took up the bat-patterned umbrella leaned against the lattice door and offered yet another polite bow. “She’s putting on quite the show. Whoa there!” She quickly covered his mouth. Her voice likely wouldn’t carry, of course—but she must have realized someone was here.

She turned back—her broad forehead and straight-nosed face casting a piercing gaze, eyes glinting—then continued leisurely down the alley toward town. Of course, she would not pass through the kitchen entrance. Megumi stomped two, three steps, “Oh my, oh my, oh my,”

He let out a discordant cry, spread his hands wide, and stood frozen in bewilderment. "What's wrong with you?" "Somethin' suspicious, I tells ya."

and suddenly turned back with vigor,

“So that’s—what’s-her-face—the mother of that Kōno fella? Shizuoka’s their hometown, ain’t it—?” “Ah.” “Ain’t their household supposed to be doctors?” “Hmm?” “What’s wrong, Megumi?” Appearing nonchalantly in the kitchen was Chikara—a neatly dressed man in his late twenties.

“Hehehehe...”

With his face filled with a smile, Megumi, from beneath his lotus-leaf hat, had a complexion like the evening glow.

“Good morning.” “What’s so early about it? It’s already lunchtime. What’s the feast?” he peered in and, “Aha, sea bream.” “Say ‘sea bream’ properly—how uncouth!” Otsuta laughed. “Other fishmongers may deal in sea bream—but yours alone are the real thing, eh, Megumi?” “Ain’t wrong.” “But that’s not like you—Lord Chikara properly says ‘sea bream,’ you know? Right, Megumi-san?” “Ain’t wrong.”

Chikara let out a charmless sigh,

“Whatever the case, I’m starving now.” “See? That’s what happens when you sleep in—you still haven’t eaten breakfast.” “Ain’t wrong—certainly is,”

With that, Megumi headed up toward the alley entrance.

Six “You seem rather taken—what’s gotten into you?” Noticing Megumi’s peculiar behavior despite his own hunger, Chikara— …… “Did you take a liking to her from behind?” “Hey now—she’s already a proper old lady.” “But to you she’s an old lady—for Megumi here, she’s just the right age.” “Now listen—” “Heh heh—ain’t wrong.” “You do love saying ‘Ain’t wrong,’ don’t you.”

“So I figure it must be true.”

He muttered to himself, swallowed hard, and while looking up to take the carrying pole, “Master,”

“I’ll pass,” said Chikara, shaking one shoulder with his hands tucked in his sleeves. “Huh? What’s that about?” “Why don’t you deliver a letter or something?” “Cut the crap. Nah, cut the jesting—did that guest just now seem about to head straight back home to Minami-chō?” “Hmm, did they say they’d go straight home?” “Much obliged,”

He slapped his forehead.

“I’ll follow after ’em—oh right! Go on, tell ’em that!”

“Are you going to Kōno-san’s place?” “Just a smidge,” “Well, that’s fine by me. You,”

She looked at Chikara with a faint smile, “Megs here—he’s being willful again and causing such trouble.” “Because he puts on airs like some grand estate and they treat him like everyday fare—he says he won’t go to Kōno-san’s anymore.” “After all the trouble they went through to request it—I thought you’d be in a bind—I was just about to go give him a piece of my mind.” “I see.”

For some reason, Chikara gave a disinterested reply. “Look here. “Then suddenly—just like that.” “There’s just no making sense of his whims!” “It’s just like a cat’s eyes, isn’t it.” “Ain’t wrong—it’s a pup with cat’s eyes!” “Ain’t got time for this—”

Seeing him about to lift his load,

“Wait, wait,”

“Enough already.” “You’ve got three slices.” “You still have leftovers from yesterday, don’t you?” “Megumi-san, it’s fine.” “When I let them peek at your workstation here, they all start wanting it because…”

“Here,”

Master made a bitter face. "What's this about? Treating me like some stray cat here on the margins!" "But..."

“Megumi, you’re not just sitting there grinning silent—say something! This woman’s meddling with business.” “I won’t have it, Megs—there’s more than enough already.”

“Well, you—”

“No, there’s plenty—this household matters too much.” “How astonishing.” “I’m closing the shoji now.” “Megumi, this conduct of yours.” “Heh heh—not even dogs’d want this! Nah—gimme four-sun cuts each!” “Hey! I said wait!” “Quit dawglin’! This ain’t how you treat a fishman!” “No choice in the matter.”

Using his carrying pole as a pivot, Megumi spun around once. “Don’t you dare go begging for side dishes after the meal, I said no!”

Laughing while glaring at Otsuta, “Hey, Megumi.” “Yeah,” “You’re heading to Kōno’s now, aren’t you?” “I’ll dash over with three slices lined up.” “Speaking of which, there’s something I need to discuss here briefly.”

Seven “Now, about you going to Kōno’s...”

Chikara faltered in speech,

“What—”

Chikara signaled to Otsuta with his eyes, “Isn’t there any tea?” “Tea?!” “There is.” “Hohohoho! My, you’re one to scold others—you’re the one looking unsightly right here on the edge! —There is— Now, off you go over there.” As Chikara stood blocking the kitchen entrance where someone was trying to come up, Otsuta gave a light poke to the edge of his sleeve, “Now,” Megumi boisterously— “Right, the rest tomorrow night... no, the mornin’ after.” “Hey, wait a second!”

“It’s fine, Megs.”

“Hmm, what should I do...” she shook her head. “You people,” Chikara gave an exasperated laugh, “You’re not exactly quick on the uptake, yet you jump to conclusions so fast it’s all tangled beyond repair.” “Megumi’s been dawdling all this time too—no need to get him all flustered now.” “Now wait—if I say I have something to discuss,”

“So here’s the thing… the tea, you see… is cold…”

She pressed it to her lips, mimicking drinking with her fingers. “And that settles that matter.” “Megumi—” “Enough! That’s enough! “If I were—” With nothing but loud proclamations, she suddenly struck a wasp-waisted pose, forced it into a dragon-mouthed stance, then adopted a posture ready to drink. “No good—I’m already drinking, see? “Go on—try riling me up more.” “Or maybe you’ll say something like last time—‘Just mind the cutting board for me again,’ eh?” Otsuta flung her work coat’s sleeve and coquettishly shook her fist at the drunkard,

“And then you’ll vanish without a trace for five days straight.” “Boss, when it gets to this point, I just gotta have it—humans are stubborn creatures.” “It’s fine—I understand already,” “Well then, tag along with Megumi and come hang out or whatever you like.” “Even if you get hungry, I won’t care.” “Now, move aside there—you’re blockin’ the way.”

“Ah, hey now,”

Chikara sidestepped out of the way as he passed through,

“I do apologize for your present irritation, but while I’m at it, might I trouble you for a cup of that same cold [tea]—” “I don’t know.” He slipped in. “Boss, your extortion methods ain’t amateurish at all. “You’re rather seasoned,”

In a tone as if he’d already started drinking, he stuck his head through the waist-high shutter, “Next time, come on down to my place in Hatchōbori.” “First off, I’ll show ya how I squeeze sake outta Kubikubizaemon.”

“The wife probably wouldn’t let me near—she’d be shocked first thing if someone like me barged in like a wild boar from Yamanote. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, eh, Megumi?”

and headed downstream to the wooden-floored area, Chikara plopped himself down,

“By the way, there’s something I need to mention—this Kōno matter.” “What’s this, Boss?” he said with a face so serious it startled.

“You an' Madam—there ain't nothin' you'd find too nasty t'say t'me， nor nothin' I'd be too put out t'take on.” “Ya didn't even ask t'borrow Kubikubi—that's th'long an' short of it.” “If there's any other use ya need me for， I'll take care of it.”

“To put it bluntly, here’s how it is. Minamimachi’s a bit out of your way, but since they’re dead set on having you make the detour, my household’s been putting in a word for you—which makes this part rather awkward to bring up, but as I said earlier, that’s precisely where we rub each other the wrong way.” “That mother who just came by is going on about this and that, so you’d best not go to their house anymore. If they go and make you feel bad, that’d be a problem. Oh come now—I’ll treat you to a drink soon enough.”

he said earnestly.

VIII

Without waiting to hear the rest, Megumi strained, “Who’d—who’d go to a place like that? I’ve been sayin’ all along—even if they begged me, I ain’t goin’.” “But then they changed their tune again—started yammerin’ ‘bout chargin’ in three abreast or some nonsense.” “Why’s that, huh? Once those fools get notions in their heads, I ain’t doin’ business there.” “Damn right—what kinda gall you need to go mockin’ that old crone?” “That’s exactly why you keep gettin’ tangled up with Minamimachi.”

With a tray bearing teacups... portions for two disgruntled souls... and roasted seaweed arranged with crisp precision yet held in a decidedly unceremonious, rough manner, Otsuta appeared in the kitchen. “Did the guest say anything about Megumi?” “We’re the ones with complaints, but the justifications were all on their side.”

[She] received the tray and pushed forward, “Now, go ahead and have a cup of tea. By the way, even the tea sweets are speaking up—don’t we have something a bit more substantial that’ll stick to your ribs?” “Not everyone’s as greedy as you. Megumi won’t eat a thing.”

“He doesn’t just not eat—sometimes they cause such a ruckus that he can’t eat at all. “Heh heh heh,” Pulling his hat upward, he vigorously smoothed his forehead wrinkles and took a hearty bite. Like a wagtail’s tail flicking, he lightly snapped his left index finger forward, firmly set his head, and lapped with his tongue.

Chikara vigorously stuffed his cheeks with nori, “Megumi’s fine, but as for me—I’m absolutely starving here.” “So have your meal already—if I keep talking like this, I might just tell them to make rice balls instead.” “Well, actually…” he said, smiling gently all the while, “It’s not that I’m entirely against the idea.” “That’s enough now—Megumi has business to attend to. “Hurry up and tell me already.”

“Right, right. “Well, aren’t you full of yourself.” She smoothed the hem of her kimono once, “The reasoning behind that goes like this: “That fishmonger’s all well and good, but when he comes shouting ‘Hey!’ from outside the gate with ‘Is that priest here?’—that’s a problem.” “The other day, they even dragged the retired master into it—feeding this to an old woman is truly going too far.” “It seems they have connections at Uchijagae-en, which makes things truly awkward for the neighborhood.” “Moreover, I hear they mainly frequent geisha houses and such, which isn’t good for the girls and above all disrupts the household.” “What’s more, according to rumors, households that deal with that fishmonger all end up in financial straits—so they went to the trouble of asking for your assistance. To make things go smoothly, they first wanted to... well, that’s the gist of it.”

From where Megumi stood, Otsuta made a disgusted face. "They went out of their way to come decline it?"

“It wasn’t entirely that, but well, that was certainly one of them.” “That’s quite the exaggeration.” “It might be a bit exaggerated, but when this man barged into the kitchen entrance of a house they had dealings with, they must’ve been startled as if by an actual blaze.” "When he’s new to it, he sometimes shouts like there’s a fire." “They couldn’t manage him at all.” “Megumi mustn’t lose his temper.”

“Understood…”

She suddenly slapped her knee and, “Master, I knew it! That’s exactly why I said I wasn’t mistaken.” “That bastard’s got a criminal record.” “Hmm—”

Before he knew it, Chikara’s hand—casually holding the teacup of sake—settled firmly into place.

“A rap sheet?” Otsuta also hugged her sleeves.

Megumi fixed his eyes in a glare that seemed to have no clear target, “That... I... I’ve known that, uh, all along.” “I knew it... Knew it, so... so...”

Nine “W-well, that’s why I figure if I keep comin’ round here regular-like, there ain’t no way nothin’ll get found out.” “This here’s just the kitchen—didn’t catch wind of nothin’. But over yonder place? Bet they been spyin’ from them inner rooms.” “That one came up from Shizuoka ’bout two days back, ain’t that right? Still jawin’ ’bout Otsuta-chan here, eh?”

“Look at this situation—she’d come way earlier than that! Their family’s precious ‘traditions’ don’t match up one bit, and now they’re worried about neighborhood gossip? They’d laugh themselves sick!” he boomed with exaggerated vigor. “What’s this? What criminal record?” Chikara demanded. “So… it’s Madam Kōno’s Mother then?” Megumi pressed. Otsuta stared at him with genuine puzzlement. “If it ain’t her, then who’s the real crook around here?” “Ohoho, darling, no need to get so serious,” Otsuta tittered. “When Megumi here says ‘criminal record,’ he just means that proper Madam over there secretly stuffs herself with daifuku mochi when no one’s looking. You know—the type who’d call her own wife an enemy even while making ohagi for Ohigan. Right? That’s all there is to it. Menoji here must’ve developed a sweet tooth for scandals.”

“Sooner or later, if there’s hidden vice—thieving drunkards make natural allies.” “Hehe, exactly—it’s hidden vice all right, but what they consumed...” “What—” “A horse.” “A horse...”

“A traveling actor, huh?”

“Nah—a stablehand… Teizō… he’s a stablehand, see.” “A drinkin’ buddy I had back when I was holed up in Shizuoka—when her husband went off to war, she slyly nibbled a bit at first, but with her sickly constitution, ended up eatin’ so much she was belchin’ ’em out.”

Chikara instinctively leaned forward and, though there was sake involved, energetically—

“Is that true, Megumi? Is it really true?” he pressed challengingly. “That’s a lie! How could such things happen with those people? Menoji—you mustn’t spout such nonsense! This isn’t like your usual blather—understand?”

“Wait—this isn’t some trivial jest! If this were a lie, my sea bream would be out of place here! Yes—the Kōnos’ main house being in Shizuoka makes them doctors through and through! There—look! They didn’t even realize it was the Kōnos! With that big enoki tree at their gate—when they called it Enoki Estate—you know—its fame reached all the way to Okitsu and Ejiri!”

If one were to look now, the guest who had left here was none other than the Madam of the Enoki Estate—the mistress of that stablehand. So I thought I'd go tease them. Whether lie or truth—a child! A child. "Ah—"

He took another big gulp, then rinsed his teeth after crunching on pickled vegetables,

“Hey, wouldn’t there be a whole bunch of children?” “The bachelor from Minami-machi is also one of them—apparently there are many siblings.” “It might be eight or nine—no, if it’s true, that’s astonishing.” “Oh, hold on—how old is that bachelor anyway?” “Six or seven.” “So he’s twenty, then? Are they older or younger?” “Either way, it ain’t that person.” “They say the root of the stablehand’s karma is a woman.” “She’ll get married off eventually, but there’s nothing as certain as this.” “I’m specially in the know here, so ain’t nobody gonna find out.” “It ain’t just the husband who’s in the dark—the only one who knows is Fishmonger Sōsuke (his real name).”

“Hahaha, these lowly types sure can’t keep their traps shut!”

With the hand that had firmly stroked his lips, he closed the teacup lid with a clack. “Dangerous, dangerous! This ain’t no time for mockin’ around! With abalone soup an’ this stuff here—even if I risk my neck, I can’t hold back—so I ain’t takin’ no drinks poured by that one neither. If that army doc’s wife gets her mitts on poison—she’s a real pro at this—it’ll be hell to pay. But see here, Master ain’t playin’ dumb ’bout it neither—whole damn neighborhood wants to keep their kimono clean.”

“Oh, so you’re not going either now?”

“As if I’d go! Even if they tell me to go, I’m refusing!” “I’m refusing—hehehe—I’m refusing,”

he twisted the teacup.

“What a disagreeable person you are.” “There’s no helping it. Now, hand over the teacup.”

“Oh,”

After being deep in thought for a moment following Megumi’s “Oh,” Hayase Chikara suddenly looked up— “Won’t you let me hear that story in a bit more detail?”

From the wellside, as if a woman’s kite had snapped loose, Ogen came darting straight in. “M-Master… um… what… um… uh…” Yaguruma grass

Ten

Ogen’s flustered state—her panting from having run there, her face flushed crimson from her rushed, urgent speech—sent her immediately dashing from the kitchen through the parlor to attend to receiving the visitor, the struggle to remove her tasuki sash resembling the agony of shedding one’s own skin.

“From Masago-cho—” “Oh—the Professor?” The moment he heard “Masago-cho,” Chikara reflexively sprang upright. Otsuta swiftly dodged aside and nimbly pressed herself flat against the wall.

“No, it is Miss Young Lady.” “Young lady—Miss Taeko?” No sooner had he spoken than he kicked over the lacquer tray holding a still-full sake cup with his leaping foot, grabbed his haori cord, and attempted to vanish sideways from the kitchen— “Is it red?” When he looked toward Otsuta and stroked his face, his cool eyes held a gaze that said, “See?”

“Anyone would see…” he said, composing himself firmly. “This is troublesome,” she muttered, pressing a hand to her head. “Morning bath, bath…” she smiled gently.

“A strategist indeed, Zhuge Kongming!” he declared dismissively, then clattered noisily out to greet them at the entrance. With dazed eyes fixed and still clinging to the teacup out of reluctance, Sōsuke of the Megumi group—his face collapsing into a broad smile, his demeanor glazed-over— “Hey there, Angel,” he peered over. “None of that now,” When Otsuta declared firmly—her voice suddenly turning stern—Megumi stood bewildered, at which moment Ogen’s hand darted in from the side and nimbly snatched away the teacup he’d been clinging to,

“That’s rude.” she declared conclusively. Heavens! Startled into silence, he ducked beneath the scales and nimbly slipped into the center of the counter. Leaning his shoulder against the opposite plank fence—with the practiced awareness of clearing a path from afar—he too slipped smoothly away. Just when she thought the lattice door at the entrance was about to open—yet with neither sound nor voice—Otsuta, “Take a look,” she signaled with her eyes. Having refrained from peeking out of propriety, Ogen then saw her crouch low to peer out from the water outlet with only her eyes showing—but no sooner had she done so than she jerked back as if recoiling,

“It’s urgent! They’re coming to the kitchen entrance.” “Right—this way.” Sweeping aside her hem, she gazed skyward—as if searching for something—then sharply tugged an invisible cord from the gable and snapped the sliding window shut with a clack.

“Oh, Madam.”

“You—hurry up with that tray!” she urged, ducking as if beneath a temple bell before flinging herself from the doorway into the parlor. Startled Ogen-bō went blank-faced—her eyes, which had been darting about busily with a vacant look, momentarily sparkled before she plopped down unceremoniously and bowed in abject fear. “I’m so sorry!” At the gentle voice and sudden fragrance of scattering blossoms—Runanqi perfume—Ogen looked up in a daze to behold a standing figure adorned with flowers: at her obi, sleeves, collar, and decorative sash—a kaleidoscope of floral hues. My!

With purple, pale yellow, white, and crimson blooming in layers upon a sprig of yaguruma grass at her sleeve—like glimpsing a peacock beneath a moonlit night.

The ditch where Megumi had splashed back the liquid had now cleared, and the hazy blue sky was beautifully reflected in its depths. Ancestors who composed love poems to Princess Otohime and were exiled to such places—O child of frogs, come forth now; cling to your sleeves that resemble willow branches. Taeko was the beloved daughter of Shunzō Sakai—a renowned German literature scholar, professor at Nanigashi University, and Bachelor of Letters. Her father was teacher, great benefactor, and liege to Hayase Chikara, master of this household. Precisely because of this, the moment word of the young lady’s arrival spread, those who had been gulping down cold sake since morning in the kitchen and clashing teacups with the fishmonger—their demon-like antics—vanished from sight on the spot.

What was even more discreet than that was how [Otsuta] had closed the sliding window, leaving the kitchen dark... and... someone.

Eleven

Taeko’s hand, standing out against the yaguruma flowers’ hues, adjusted the branch slightly amidst their gentle leaves, “Since I have this with me, I’ll go first.”

She looked pityingly at the flustered Ogen. She smiled softly and kindly, “I’m afraid I’ve intruded.”

“Not at all—it’s already quite a mess,” she said, snatching up a rag. “Oh! Your clothes—”

In that moment, her Azuma clogs lined up daintily, white tabi socks peeking faintly beneath a wisteria-colored hem swept aside over deep indigo fabric. At her waist—a carnation-patterned sash in pale yellow and red damask—she bent toward the water jar, where the violet hairpin and ribbon’s hue first fluttered like pale yellow butterfly wings before she inserted the yaguruma sprig, its five-colored dewdrops now doubly vivid. “Let me place this here. “My, there’s a scent of sake,” she said, releasing her hand—and from the swaying yaguruma grass, the fragrance alone seemed to tinge the dewdrops, her face flushing peach-like.

“Look—the yaguruma grass is drunk and swaying,” she said with an innocent smile. Ogen grew flustered, “Yes, the liquor store boy is rather careless.” “He just spilled a little. “A mischievous lad through and through, isn’t he? “Probably spends all day toying with dogs—the same applies to what’s at my place.” With the air of someone delivering a sophisticated social observation—as if lecturing—she ascended and set down the square purple furoshiki bundle she had been carrying in one hand.

“Your hem will get dirty, young lady.” “No, it’s fine,” Though she tucked up her hem, she spread her sleeves across the wooden floorboards.

“Um, please make this into a side dish.” “Thank you kindly.” “It’s not particularly good—after all, it’s homemade.”

After a slight pause, “Is he inside?” “Yes,” “Chikara-san is… I mean, the Master is—”

She began to say, then suddenly caught herself, “My, what’s the matter—it’s dark here.”

Indeed, while light reached as far as the drain's edge, the path beyond remained dark. "Oh dear, there's simply no remedy for this—truly now, whatever shall we do?"

Ogen leaped up and frantically flung open the sliding window with a clatter. A sudden bright phantom of a rainbow—from the girl’s shoulder to the yaguruma grass. At that moment, Hayase Chikara—having settled into the kitchen and revealed himself—and Taeko exchanged glances. “I thought I’d give you a surprise,” she said with a laugh, her jesting tone light as she knelt there facing the vase of flowers. He respectfully braced one hand against the floorboard. “I don’t like being startled, I tell you.”

“Then why did you come in through that drain? I was properly waiting at the entrance to greet you, wasn’t I?” “Even so,” he said affectionately tilting his head. “Bringing side dishes through the main entrance would be too grand, you see. And also, well, I wanted to water the flowers too.” “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Well, Ogen, what do you think—isn’t it lovely?” “It’s truly beautiful,” she said, gazing enraptured at Taeko.

“May I receive the same?” “What should I do? If you’re taking tea that’s acceptable enough—but drinking sake would be pitiful.”

“What? Sake?” “Oh dear—ohoho—Chikara-san! You’ve been drinking!”

“Ha ha... Well, come on—upstairs with you.”

he said as if escaping. The rustling of garments followed behind. Near the base of the staircase, as Chikara suddenly remembered,

“Ah, I see—today is Sunday, isn’t it?” “Of course it is—‘Sunday’ came to visit, you know.”

Twelve

Upon entering the six-tatami study on the second floor, he apparently thought seating someone across the desk would be impolite, so he brought the brazier into the seating area and took his seat on a zabuton cushion before the tokonoma alcove. “Please do take your seat.” Chikara straightened himself and, with utmost courtesy, rested his hands, “My, you’ve come all this way.” “Yes,” was all she offered.

As for that long-term live-in student - he had been rather excessive - acting willful and spoiled at times; interrupting studies; speaking ill of others; even picking fights.

They sat between hat and hairpin. But now that things had come to this, even with their hearts as one, a divide as wide as that between a ceremonial sash and a workaday obi formed. If Chikara treated her in that manner, then the young lady—fluttering a towel matching her complexion along with her figure—would set the tatami mats ablaze with heat haze. “I must apologize for my prolonged absence.” “It’s good that Madam remains unchanged as well.” “Is the Professor still… drinking?”

"In the same way as someone... after all..." he smiled gently. Because he was sitting restlessly, he placed his hands firmly on the edge of the brazier while averting his eyes to the hanging scroll in the alcove.

Chikara placed a hand to his forehead,

“No, I’m embarrassed,” said Chikara. “But today’s incident—this really has me flustered. I visited the morning bath earlier.” “Father also gets tipsy from morning baths, you see,” Taeko replied. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” Chikara settled his posture and placed his hands firmly on both knees. “Please keep this strictly between us and Madam,” he urged. “You must not speak of such things as Hayase getting tipsy from the morning bath either.” “If only Father would listen to Mother even half as much as you do—but at school everyone gossips so,” Taeko lamented. “It’s truly wicked how they coldly criticize me as ‘Miss Sake-pourer.’”

“Isn’t that splendid?” “I hate it!” “But you see, if the Professor contentedly partakes of sake poured by his daughter, there could be nothing better than that. Later, a reward will come from that quarter. Whether it’s the Yoro Waterfall or whatever—since ancient times, the parents of filial children have mostly been sake drinkers. Those who call you ‘Miss Sake-pourer’ and such are the sort who prepare roasted sweet potatoes for their parents, buy botamochi…—they’re just pantomiming dutiful daughters.”

When he laughed heartily, amused by his own remark, Taeko merely looked at him with resentful eyes—adorably so. "I'll be going now." "You mustn't make such jests. We'll have those roasted sweet potatoes and botamochi now." "Yes, I'm just a dutiful daughter putting on a show, after all."

“Well, I’ll give you a reward.” As Chikara pulled the tea utensils closer, she surveyed them.

“You had a guest, didn’t you?” “Have I not been an intrusion?”

"No, she had already left." "An unpleasant woman, isn't she?"

She said with sudden composure. “Did you see her?” “I didn’t, but look here—there’s a teacup overturned on the tray, isn’t there? You despise people who place cups facedown like that, don’t you? Even Father does.” “A splendid appraisal—you’re quite the Hon’ami connoisseur,” he said, opening the teapot. “Who was it?” “Someone you don’t know. A friend of mine named Kōno... It was his mother who came.” “Kōno, you mean? Chikara-san,” Taeko said, tilting her head with its fluffy bangs,

“Not the bachelor, but—” “Do you know?” she said, stopping her hand on the tea canister. “As for this ‘mother’—over forty but looking youthful, wearing a bit of makeup, with a slender face and straight nose—somehow giving off this air of authority—am I wrong?” “Honestly.” “Why would you—” “To my school, for observation.”

New Bachelor's Degree Holder

Thirteen “Yesterday, Mother came and caused you trouble.”

And there at Chikara’s desk that evening—before Kōno Eikichi had even relaxed his posture in his Western trousers— “You must’ve been flustered! Mother’s all dignified solemnity compared to me—hahaha!” he said, shoulders shaking with a laugh too artless for its lack of depth.

He shook his shoulders in a laugh that was innocent enough on the surface yet somehow too lacking in substance. Along with a business card bearing the title "Bachelor of Letters," he pressed and kneaded his youthful beard—beautiful precisely because it was new. A man whose somewhat conspicuous large mouth contrasted unexpectedly with his gentle voice. There were times when his bluster came across as mere complaints. To be sure, whatever he did, his station in life was such that merely tallying up fortune and virtue would suffice. Though one might say he knew nothing of poverty—and thus had no cause for complaint—even his manner of addressing his own parent as "Mother" at that age and before friends made it largely understandable. A man who became addicted to alcohol without ever getting drunk on sake.

He was twenty-seven years old. The eldest son of Kōno Eikimi—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 had already married. His elder sister had taken a certain medical scholar as her husband at their main residence in Shizuoka and was currently running a hospital there. The Minamimachi residence had Grandmother serving as supervisor, Eikichi as master, and his three sisters each attending school; even the young ladies who had already married had all commuted from there. Resembling a separate household yet also serving as an academy, the family patriarch had titled it Tōyō Juku. Since he was a military doctor with a fondness for Chinese poetry, there must have been some basis for "Tōyō" in that connection—though that rationale remains unexamined.

When asked about it, Eikichi would give answers as bland as plain hot water. It must mean that branches flourish and leaves grow thick; since the pines and cypresses were old, hence 'Tōyō'.

Some had formulated a theory: "The paulownia in Tōyō represents young men, while the poplar symbolizes young ladies." This invoked the Han Emperor who prized beauty enough to topple kingdoms... sharing ideograms with 'the Yang family's daughter.' Given that this logic presumed all were beauties, such reasoning might indeed hold water. Yet regarding the men's side—solely linked to paulownias and phoenixes through origins as dubious as plucking motifs from flower cards—neither theory ultimately proved credible.

But to digress: At Minamimachi's Tōyō Juku—with Grandmother as supervisor and young ladies as classmates, utterly free from constraints—peace reigned supreme, domestic security prevailed, phoenixes danced as they pleased, and Eikichi indulged without restraint. Even during his studies—plagued by Amekiri and Karasugane’s overwhelming influence—he had frequently stumbled into setbacks; not only that, but though his graduation was delayed by two years, upon hearing he had secured his degree, his parents immediately deemed it a sure bet. Convinced it was Aotan’s doing, they busied themselves day and night with replanting schemes—lingering through evenings and idling through days. Having received Grandmother’s orders, reports from the sisters came as incessantly as comb teeth. With their posture of both offering opinions and properly assessing any potential brides who might appear—coupled with the fact that this time the mother had come to Tokyo—indeed, her observation of the girls' school Taeko attended made their intentions perfectly discernible.

“So, how was it? You must’ve felt quite constrained, eh?” His ostensibly well-meaning greeting—“My parent came and must have inconvenienced you”—when combined with declarations about Mother’s dignity, formality, and solemnity making one feel constrained, sounded as if he were conclusively declaring: “How magnificent! You must’ve been overwhelmed!” Since he recognized this as Kōno’s usual manner, Chikara paid it no particular mind—and of course, there was no need to feel intimidated— “It’s not like I’m taking her as my mother-in-law—there’s nothing constraining about it at all.” In front of the desk, sitting cross-legged like the immortal Tieguai, he leisurely blew tobacco smoke into rings.

“But you—this self-imposed... what should I call it?”

And muttering something indistinct, he stirred the ashes with fire tongs, “I’m the one feeling constrained here. “Since Mother is like that, it’s as if I must naturally comport myself properly…” “My younger sisters are quite like fleeing rabbits normally, but before Mother they become veritable virgins.” he twisted his beard.

Fourteen

“So, what about Mother—”

Chikara laughed and deliberately echoed the term “Mother” while tapping his kiseru pipe. “Will Mother be staying long?” “She might remain for about a month—ah,” he said, leaning against the brazier. “So you’ll be keeping up appearances for a while then.” “Tonight too—you’ll go straight home without any detours, I imagine.” “Heh heh—I’m considering it,” he replied, stirring the ashes again with a stick. “Still incapable of patience, I see.” “Hmm—not exactly. With Mother doting on me, the house stays lively while she’s here.” “It’s bustling—and since her cooking’s superb, the meals are splendid.” “Last night she treated my sisters and me to Western cuisine—I devoured seven plates myself.” “Hahaha!”

He threw the fire tongs into the ashes with a clang, tilted his head back, propped his cheek on his hand, and stretched one leg out like a kite's tail. “Speaking of feasts—there’s Megumi who comes to the house, but—” Without waiting to hear the rest, Eikichi blurted out abruptly, “That fellow doesn’t need to come anymore. Since he’s such an ill-mannered oaf—Mother has taken great offense—you should be the one to dismiss him.” He said with seriousness, hurriedly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his mouth, “After all, it’s Tokyo fish—no matter whose you buy, none of it’s fresh. Occasionally, when you think they’re being chopped on the cutting board, they’re squirming with maggots—or if not, there’s a trick loach swimming under the flounder. That’s what Mother said, wasn’t it.”

If Megumi were to hear this—declarations that would endanger his very life—he stated it all coolly. “Shizuoka has refined tastes—a place known for fine cuisine. Just try the station bento—it’s tops on the Tōkaidō line.” Chikara maintained his bearded young master persona throughout, showing no intent to contradict— “Well now—after we sampled Megumi’s wares and found them most agreeable, someone insisted we must have more delivered posthaste—so we obliged without delay. I wasn’t ignorant of your house customs, but knowing full well, since you insisted—”

“I don’t mind.” “I don’t mind, but given his manner, Grandmother and my sisters certainly do.” “Even the maid we brought from my hometown was shocked.” “Mother summoned me for a discussion.” “Did I do something so wrong as to be called a comrade by the likes of him?” “She said, ‘Those geishas around there have customers like fishmongers, kamaboko craftsmen, and soba delivery boys—so you must be part of some troupe somewhere, right?’ and I was scolded.”

“As for me—well, he’s just some passing peddler. “Even if he goes to Hayase’s place—today I’ll let him eat something decent. “When I said ‘Are you here?’ like that—Mother snapped back: ‘Of course! With Hayase being… his wife…’” He started to say but caught himself—grinning slyly— “You—I’m not being talkative. “I’m certainly not verbose. “Since I know about keeping secrets—I won’t say anything that’d harm you—but my sisters know. “They must’ve heard it somewhere—so I just let it slip...”

[He] said with a sympathetic air. “Well, fine—I don’t mind that, but if you’re going to maintain this friendship with me, I’d like you to rein in your debauchery a bit more.” “Just yesterday your mother came again and went on at length about the Young Master’s missteps—doesn’t it make me look like some troublemaking hanger-on stirring up commotion?” “You arrange high-interest loans and take your cut.” “Let me drink my fill before sending me off.” “If you summon me to the inner chambers, you must think I’ll go scattering hanafuda cards about.” “It’s nothing—that episode from *Bishōnenroku*, what was it—Abe Yagorō Naoyuki.” “To think she’d suspect me of orchestrating a honey trap—that’s how thoroughly she despises us.” “Mother’s very tone—”

His tone had grown slightly more intense, but he abruptly adopted a casual, jesting manner, “Hey, Captain, could you behave a bit more properly?” “I’ll behave properly while Mother’s here.” he stirred the ashes,

“In return, seven plates of Western food,” he clattered the fire tongs.

Fifteen

“So it’s appetite over charm—you’re eating like a man possessed. But well, if that settles it, fine by me.” “It’s not settled at all! After seven plates comes a flask, then egg with seaweed—if that were the end of it, fine—but since I end up sleeping alone anyway, my legs get terribly stiff. Moreover, since Mother has come, I have a bit of pocket money—I think I’ll slip out for two or three hours. What do you think? Would this cause you any trouble?”

Slumping onto the zabuton with an ingratiating posture and peering sideways from its edge, he said.

“What trouble?” “There’s not the slightest trouble in you going out yourself.” “No trouble at all, but…” “No—tonight’s different. Mother knows I came to your place.” “With talk like this, I’m worried she might think you dragged me out again,” he said. “It’s your prerogative to suspect me. Even if it rankles—what’s there to fear? What’s your mother to me?”

He started to say but changed his tone,

“If I put it that way, it strips away all pretense,” said Kōno Eikichi. “I don’t like having my harmless intentions scrutinized either. Still, I’m surprised your mother didn’t raise objections when you mentioned going to Hayase’s for amusement.” Hayase Chikara responded with deliberate brazenness, “Well now... I must admit I harbored some doubts myself before meeting you.” “Since yesterday’s encounter,” he continued unabashed, “she’s been nodding in approval—as if concluding ‘He’s not that sort of man.’ You see, Mother possesses exceptional discernment—what you might call the clarity to recognize true gentlemen.”

“So this ‘clarity to recognize true gentlemen’ means she still suspects I’m not one—is that how it seems?” “But you’ve only met her once! Have three or four interactions—see?—and she’ll understand properly. I won’t say five.” “There’s no call to involve Mother in our affairs.” “If she were at least middle-aged... but she’s just an old woman now.”

He turned sideways with a faint smile and looked at the book on the desk. The Sakai collection seal was visible, though what book it was remained unclear. It had likely been borrowed from Masagocho.

Eikichi peered over the brazier while not looking at that passage, “She may be advanced in years, but she still looks youthful where it counts, I tell you.” “At the women’s association and such places, people sometimes mistake her back view for my sister’s from behind, I tell you.” “And well—since she’s got that discerning eye for judging people—we’ve left all son-in-law selections entirely up to Mother.” “She’ll land proper catches.” “You—that medical bachelor we took for my sister’s husband? Absolute jackpot.” “Just look how splendid their hospital’s become.” “Would the likes of me ever make it into such selections?”

Whether his attention was captured by the book or not, when he uttered something as incongruous as grafting bamboo onto a tree, his listener accepted it with unwarranted gravity, "You? What about you? You might lack a degree, but I know you're competent in German matters." "If you just secure Mother's trust, what's there to worry about?" "Ah you—my sisters already hold you in high regard, you charmer, ha ha ha," laughing guilelessly with his entire frame, "But what should I do? "The one downstairs," He glanced back over his shoulder,

“The bath? Didn’t seem to be there.”

Chikara couldn’t suppress a derisive chuckle but turned back to rejoin the conversation. “Oh, that’s enough already—why don’t you hurry up and take a wife?” “Mind yourself before others’ affairs.” “Do that and your debauchery will cease.” “Anbo Yagorō—not to speak ill—but how about it?”

“Hmm, about that matter…” He sat up from his slumped position, wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, inexplicably straightened his striped trousers, and composed himself properly. “Actually, it’s about that matter.” “What ‘that matter’?” “It’s still that matter.”

“It must be that matter, then.”

“Ah, you know about it?” “Not a thing,” he took up his kiseru, “No—seriously now—have you found any prospects?”

Marriage Proposal

Sixteen

When Kōno spoke of "that matter," it undoubtedly concerned a woman, but Hayase had always endured this man's florid tales of romantic conquests—serenading nightingales, dallying with butterflies—though each time he'd protest, "No, that's not what I meant," or "How should I phrase this?" I’ve been hit up for money—what should I do? I’d rather refuse if possible—if I refuse, will he come to dislike me? Being disliked would be most disagreeable. It’s truly odd—to speak of love while demanding money. Struggling to comprehend where his true intentions lay—all while he applied rouge※("so̅ro") with that affected flourish, even prodding earthworms for opinions? He feared being questioned about them.

For this was a ceremonial young master who prided himself on seven-course Western banquets—if you criticized him coldly, he’d take it earnestly; if you dismissed him outright, he’d sulk; even if you evaded the matter, he’d press forward. Should one offer even a half-hearted response, they’d unwittingly become an advisor to his debauchery. Plagued by no small troubles himself—and with his own vulnerability named Otsuta drawing unnoticed cold sweats—he steeled himself against further inquiry about that matter, only to find Kōno tonight absurdly earnest about his trouser creases. Not that confiding in regular companions was entirely frivolous either. Growing peculiarly intent on this unprecedented affair, he fidgeted,

“Actually… Mother also said I should try consulting you about it…”

“It’s a marriage proposal, isn’t it—a serious one.”

Chikara looked curiously at his face, “Through Mother’s gracious introduction—at that time I had no prospects regarding this marriage proposal brought for consultation—ah—”

He lightly tapped his knee. “The one next door? Hmm—she’s quite the beauty. A touch haughty perhaps, but they say she’s remarkably accomplished in her studies.”

Eikichi shook his head like a child, “Hmm… No.”

“Wrong.” “Then who is it?” When he calmly pressed the question, he hurriedly thrust his hand into his kimono sleeve, raised his shoulders high, and gave a single shake— “The one from Magasuku-cho—”

“Magasuku-cho⁉” No sooner had he heard this than he parroted back with forceful emphasis. The yaguruma flowers in the alcove, dewy and glistening with moisture, turned away from the lamplight to harbor starlight from Fujimichō’s vast sky—warm beyond measure as it filtered through the shoji screens—thriving in exquisite vitality.

Behold—where Kōno had shifted his seat askew, neither the blossoms still fragrant from yesterday’s sleeves nor the damask-patterned haze had faded from the tatami. When “Magasuku-cho” was echoed back, all eyes snapped toward that spot with such intensity that one might say they stood ready to shield even their shadows with their own flesh. Eikichi propped himself up with the fire tongs like a crutch, thrusting out his hips as he leaned over the hibachi. “That Sakai—your teacher’s place... They’ve got a daughter there, right?”

“There is,” he said, though the response felt excessive yet ill-fitting—even to himself, it sounded coldly detached— “Didn’t you know? You’ve been so fixated in that direction—there shouldn’t have been any oversight.” “It’s darkest beneath the lampstand,” he quipped grandly, “so I utterly failed to notice. She visits your residence occasionally too, doesn’t she?” “She does make appearances.” “To me—she’s my wife.” “Then you ought to have met her at least once.” The words—tinged with lingering regret yet delivered with insistent presumption—carried an accusatory edge of “Why didn’t you show her to me?” Hayase reacted like stones tumbling downstream:

“There just wasn’t any fate involved.” “There’s a connection, ha ha ha,” he said, breaking into a grin as he shifted his posture and plopped down sideways. “It’s not ‘longing without meeting, meeting without longing’... That’s not it at all. If she came here and I came here too, we should have met at this house—but instead, you saw her at school. Ah yes—at that person’s school, at Miss Taeko’s school.” He pressed on insistently when the conversation stalled. That this man had already come to know her as “Taeko”—Hayase felt this as a personal disgrace to her, his brow furrowing with displeasure.

“Why—at school—”

At this juncture, he deliberately inquired—though he had already known about the mother and son’s visit.

Seventeen

“There’s no way around it, I tell you. Mother and I went on a school visit. The vice principal and I are alumni from the same school, you see. They kept saying ‘Come see for yourself, come see,’ but since it’s a school that doesn’t have much reputation appearance-wise, I’d been looking down on it—but I was surprised. Of course, they did mention there are some fine ones in the fifth grade, but…”

“So that vice principal also serves as a matchmaker, does he?”

[Hayase] retorted sharply with a flick of his tongue, but [Kōno] showed not the slightest reaction, “I do. In return, at meetings and such, I’m the one who acts as matchmaker.” “Outrageous. Black and white—wait? An exchange of school uniforms for silk crepe, then. No—what splendid nerve! Line them up in a row and present them for selection—it’s the checkered-patterned approach.” “What’s wrong with that? The school’s purpose is to produce good wives and wise mothers. If they’re made to attend lectures on physiology, why not arrange marriages too?”

And here was this man delivering what he considered a brilliant quip. Hayase assumed an air of being deeply impressed, “I see,” “Of course I’ve got to judge each candidate individually—no matter how much matchmaking I do, I can’t just rubber-stamp every proposal.” “If they come with status, wealth, and academic credentials—” Composedly stating this himself, he carried an air of proud confidence,

“It’s better for both parties if they craft good wives and wise mothers in the lecture hall and properly hand them over to the parents.” “The vice principal considers that aspect too.” “So what about it?” Hayase angled himself defiantly,

“So that’s where you saw my—my teacher’s daughter.” “Ah, and top of her class at that.” “Quite accomplished, wouldn’t you say?” “When I observed her—graceful, refined, positively charming.” “Such specimens are scarce—exceedingly rare.” “Three hundred highborn maidens wouldn’t hold a candle.” “Foremost scholar at Shōyō-den’ura.” “And as if that weren’t distinction enough—the institution itself being Shōyō Girls’ School.”

He gulped down a mouthful of cold tea. In his buoyant state, he carried himself with affected grace, “Ha ha, it’s not just me—first and foremost, Mother approved.” “If we were to take her as a bride for the Kōno family—passably presentable… not shameful—or so they claimed. When I asked the vice principal, he told me her name was Sakai Taeko.” “Since I only had a brief standing chat in the faculty room—leaving particulars for later—I went home that day.” “So yesterday—Mother came here to visit.” “On their way back—just as they were about to exit Mitsuke from Iidamachi—a rickshaw came tearing through. They said she was inside that horo hood—with yaguruma flowers.”

He started to say—then stared fixedly at the tokonoma— “Ah, this is it! This is it!”

The way he lightly raised his hips and stretched his hand from his crouched position made it appear as though he were about to draw a sword in one smooth motion,

“Kōno!” “Yes,”

“Go on.” “Hey, this is the crucial part.” “Hmm,”

Having ridden out only to be drawn back in, she then defiantly settled herself, “In that cloud of dust, she stood out vividly as if dashing through—Mother said it was beautiful.” “When she stopped to watch them depart, they must’ve had the rickshaw set down at that inner corner.” “So Mother soon turned back, you see. ‘Is the young lady headed to the middle house?’ she asked the resting rickshaw puller. ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she heard, and then went back home, I tell you.” He rattled on rapidly, “She’s a beauty, isn’t she.” “You,” he said, looking at him with leisurely composure.

“The way you’ve handled this makes me out to be some beauty—disgusting. “You went and proposed marriage or something,” he said with a laugh, as if delivering grand satire, and poked the shoulder lightly. “You philanderer!” “I’m not being fickle—this time I’m dead serious, you know. You, don’t you think something might come of it?” Again with a coaxing air, he properly positioned his face and, propping his chin with fingers, busily twirled his beard. Hayase remained silent for a while, but upon unconsciously releasing his folded arms, he leaned an elbow on the desk behind him and firmly planted one hand on his knee.

"I'll take her." "Huh?" "You take her." "Will you give her to me?" "Depending on how you phrase it, I'll give her to you." "So you're not the successor then."

“Of course I’m not the successor.” “Well then, assuming we can proceed with the discussion,” he said calmly, this time gazing meaningfully at Hayase’s face. “But what’s this? I’m—” His tone shifted,

“I refuse to be the matchmaker—I’m not the vice principal of Shōyō Girls’ School.”

Eighteen Then Eikichi—with the air of one who had long anticipated this—remarked that while a matchmaker ought naturally to be a suitable person, his words carried a tone that seemed to belittle and demean, as if questioning whether such an individual could possibly measure up. “Well now, should it come to that,” he said, “we have an uncle who’s a renowned moralistic scholar in educational circles, and there’s also someone currently occupying a prominent position in that field under my father’s patronage—they’d manage things splendidly. But you—before we even engage a matchmaker—”

Aligning his hands, he thrust them over the brazier and inched forward, “We must verify their social standing, evaluate Taeko’s—(already dropping formal address)—moral conduct, and consider her academic honors.” "Given Sakai’s reputation as a drinker, hereditary factors require scrutiny." “Assuming those are satisfactory—though such beauties often prove susceptible—we must eliminate any consumption risk. Then you must provide detailed particulars regarding Sakai’s familial connections and Taeko’s social circle.”

Chikara, unable to endure any longer, smashed into the brazier with a violent crack. Despite the warmth, the fire in the brazier had nearly died out—so much so that Kōno cupped his hands over it—and as he turned sideways to add more charcoal, the veins that flashed like lightning across his averted forehead remained unseen,

“Let me ask again—what was it now?” “Their social status?”

“Yes, her family’s social standing.” “A German literature scholar. Bachelor of Letters... University professor.” “You know him—he’s my teacher.” “Hmm, I’m aware of that pedigree. But there’s Taeko’s moral character—” “And?” “Hereditary factors—” “Consumption?”

“Kinship relations, the nature of her associations.” “Oh, things like friends aren’t significant conditions.” “If she marries, her social interactions from maidenhood will naturally dwindle.” “Moreover, if Mother disciplines her strictly, there’d be no concern there—hmm, but the main point remains the assets.” “But Sakai isn’t in financial straits, is he?” “Since he’s that well-known philanthropic sort, helping others inevitably incurs significant expenses.” “Moreover, he’s a notorious drinker, and they say he’s quite the carouser—what about his debts?”

Hayase Chikara silently poured tea but appeared forcibly composed. “What now? Are you expecting a dowry or something?” “Don’t spout nonsense. When marrying off my sisters, we provide the dowry from our side—but when I take a wife, would the Kōno heir ever stoop to demand such things?” “In my household—you see—when a daughter is born, we start a savings fund from her seventh night onward. That ensures proper preparations. After marriage, the interest becomes her allowance for cosmetics and personal expenses. Naturally, this grants her leverage even in her marital home. Of course, we don’t transfer those funds to the son-in-law’s name—though in your household, they keep everything under separate accounts per individual. So even if some son-in-law stopped contributing his salary for months, there’d be no shameful financial collapse.”

“Thus it’s become a harmonious household,” he said. “We don’t seek their assets, but if they seem too destitute—given our kinship ties—we’d inevitably face inconveniences. That would be troublesome.” “With marital connections come frequent requests for temporary loans.” “Professor Sakai’s blood is pure Edo!”

Hayase abruptly barked, “Even if we had to hawk our wares at the Kanda Festival, would we ever borrow money through our daughter’s marital ties?!” “Kōno!” With a piercing glare, Raising his eyebrows, “Having beards or reading books—our interactions are strained.” “They call it barbaric to knock someone down.”

Otsuta returned from the bath. Her glossy wet hair carried the rich fragrance of plum blossoms; even upon the jet-black beads of her satin collar, the scent lingered through the alleyway’s evening. Hesitating at the latticed door, she slipped into the kitchen’s shadows. Upstairs resounded with unusual clamor, and there was no sign of Ogen coming to greet her.

Still holding the soap-wrapped hand towel, she quietly went to the foot of the staircase, where Ogen was pressed against the door, listening intently.

Nineteen “Whether the Professor drinks or abstains, whether he has debts or not—that’s none of your concern.” “What’s this about heredity? Consumption? Conduct?” “We’re not offering domestic service here. First off—even if you condescend to want something, whether we’d hand it over or flatly refuse remains unclear. Yet you dare suggest stripping someone’s precious daughter naked for inspection? Isn’t that the height of rudeness?”

“First of all, Kōno—those self-styled religious types who go around calling us ‘children of sin’ and spouting their salvation spiels—that’s just business talk for them. I don’t mind patent medicine ads, but calling fastidious prigs ‘children of sin’? Never mind the individuals themselves—to say such things about their parents is downright outrageous.” “Now—even one of those conditions you grilled her about—this background check on the Professor’s daughter—if this comes from Mr. Kōno Eikichi’s own will, I’m done associating with scholars and gentlemen.” “Instead—” His voice cracked into laughter, “I’ll join the laborers’ brawl and knock them flat! Ha ha ha! Hah! Oi!”

his momentum broke, “It’s your mother’s doing, isn’t it—every single detail.” “Given how closely I’ve been acquainted with you, I know your true nature.” “You’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?” “You took a shining to Taeko-chan without a second thought.”

“Ugh, well…” Kōno’s face flushed crimson as he fidgeted awkwardly. “If you’ve fallen for her—if she’s so adorable, so charming—why aren’t you staking your life to win her over?” “After getting married—even if you were to become disabled, contract tuberculosis, or have that tuberculosis spread and cause both of you to collapse—who would care about such things?” “Well, above all else—to go on about the bride’s family assets—that’s the height of insolence.” “In the extremely unlikely event that her parents were to fall into hardship and request financial assistance—” “They’re your beloved wife’s parents, aren’t they?” “You have parents too—if you had means, you’d naturally support them.” “If you don’t have it, refuse.” “But out of human compassion, you’d split three meals into single portions.” “You’d strip off your kimono down to your undergarments and hand them over.”

Assuming a posture of deep conviction, the fingertips of his cigarette-holding hand trembled violently—yet his opponent Kōno showed no sign of noticing, merely listening with distracted indifference as he kept his head bowed. Instead, it was Otsuta beyond the sliding door who found herself involuntarily shedding tears that streamed down her face.

What was this about?

Concerned about the vehement voices, she listened quietly beneath the staircase. When Ogen answered, "It's a marriage proposal," her freshly bathed face flushed crimson as she ventured, "The master's...?" only to be corrected with, "No—Mr. Kōno's own." At this, she gave a disbelieving wry smile, stealthily climbed the stairs, brushed past the railing into the three-tatami room beyond the landing, and slipped behind the open sliding doors—all unnoticed by the two men.

Kōno replied in a tone that lacked vigor for himself and held no engagement for the listener, “But Mother…”

“What about Mother?” “It’s not Mother who’s taking a wife—aren’t you the one making her your bride?” “That’s always your approach—no, I’ve heard countless times about these marriage proposals you pursue, these matchmaking meetings. I haven’t tallied them individually, but there must be around thirty.” “Among them all, I doubt there’s even one you personally rejected.” “Every single time—Mother said this.” “They’d find fault with uncles being some way or fathers being another, then break off the engagement.” “I don’t pretend to know how distinguished your family lineage truly ranks.” “But every woman in society who receives a marriage proposal from Kōno seems to suffer disgrace—this has long been unbearable to me.”

“If you were searching through portraits of provincial daimyos from ages past, that would be one thing—but responding to such demands? Now listen here, Kōno—where in the world would you find anyone who’d comply with that?” And with that, Chikara said with a sigh. Kōno suddenly became animated, “What? There’s no such thing as that not existing.” “Of course there is!” “You see, all my sisters have been groomed to meet any such demands.” “They’re all uniformly attractive—and strangely enough, each one a beauty.” “You know that, right?” “Even if some are born looking quite odd—dark-skinned infants and all—Mother puts her heart into raising them, and by the time they reach marriageable age, they become at least average or better—right? Isn’t that so?”

Chikara had no retort; to this, he was compelled to nod. For indeed, it was the truth.

The entire clan

Twenty "And as for the assets—as I mentioned earlier—they’ve been prepared for each individual." "Illnesses or whatnot—since both Father and Elder Brother are professionals in that field, they’ll ensure proper care is provided." "As for everything else, Mother takes charge of managing and training them." "Putting personal preferences aside—we’ve properly prepared every condition *we* require on *our* end too. So you can’t call it entirely selfish." "However, regarding moral conduct—though one might raise doubts—" "You see, we make allowances in terms of moral principles—just when they’re beginning to show signs of romantic inclinations, before my sisters could develop any mischievous ideas about men on their own, our parents assess and select suitable husbands for them."

“There’s no room for refusal. They won’t even comment on the patterns of their clothes—how could they complain when they’re given away knowing nothing? But rest assured, Mother’s discernment never errs in such matters.” “So you mean”—Chikara’s voice sharpened—“that even in selecting sons-in-law, those conditions must all be met without exception?” “Naturally. That’s why everything proceeds harmoniously.” Kōno counted off on his fingers: “The eldest sister holds a Bachelor of Medicine. The next married into a Bachelor of Science household. Then comes a Bachelor of Engineering. None have been left wanting. Why, the fourth currently under discussion is another Bachelor of Medicine—”

“You’ve really gone out of your way to handpick and assemble them, haven’t you?” “Hmm, that is Father’s principle—to gather the entire clan of brothers and relatives and form a single class in society. Ideally, we aim to neatly establish a seniority-based hierarchy for each individual’s income—if the eldest sister receives 300 yen, then the next would get 250 yen, followed by 200 yen, then 150 yen, and the youngest 100 yen.” “It’s already being implemented, for now. And through their children and grandchildren, gradually elevating their status in society—that’s the ideal. For example, if the current generation are bachelor’s holders, the next should be doctors—grand doctors, you see. You.”

“To put it another way—even the House of Peers could form an entire political faction with just one family. There exists a grand ideal that even the Cabinet could be formed entirely from our clan. And fortunately, Father has already been blessed with eight or nine grandchildren. There are also three or four nieces we’ve taken in and are educating,” he said. “We are steadily advancing step by step. In any case, it’s my sisters who secure the talented individuals.”

Though it concerned him personally, Chikara flushed crimson. "So your sisters are all merely bait to hook bachelors."

“Even if they’re bait, I don’t mind.” “It’s all for the Fujiwara clan’s sake.” “It’s acceptable to make one or two sacrifices—but rest assured, there’s nothing to worry about.” “Their eyes aren’t clouded.” “Since we aim to gradually elevate our status, prodigies and exceptional talents are unnecessary.” “Such people occasionally cause failures.” “Our ideal candidates are those of average ability who are reliably mistake-free.” “A fair and square formation—Takeda Shingen-style tactics.” “Brandishing Kozunagamitsu to charge into enemy ranks may be exhilarating, but it’s no strategy for enduring prudence...”

In that ideal framework of theirs—with me as the central figure of the Kōno family—lay its core. Since she was the wife meant to be positioned at its center, they had to adopt an extremely cautious attitude. “In short, since she’s the queen of the household,”

Kōno presented what he called his single article of fair-and-square doctrine. The depth of its roots within this ideal—even when voiced by this man—was something nearly immovable and resolute, bearing no resemblance to his restless demeanor yet transcending what might otherwise sound like his habitual complaints.

“No, I fully grasp it—with such principles, you’d have no choice but to subject others’ daughters to physical inspections.” “But I refuse!” “If it were my daughter, I’d decline—even were she to pass your examination.”

When Kōno laughed coldly—affecting the bearing of an eminent figure—he responded with a haughty, self-assured chuckle that suggested absolute certainty in his position, "But if she clears the conditions, I'll marry her. Hahaha! I'll definitely take her. Hey, I'm claiming this one for sure."

Like a startled hare—as if enacting a long-prepared scheme—he abruptly rose at that moment, shoulders slanted, one hand thrust into his robe pocket. Hurrying toward the alcove, his hands were already upon the arranged yaguruma flowers.

With one knee raised, his complexion abruptly changed, "That won’t do." "Why’s that?" Having said that, he turned to look back. Chikara, appearing slightly flustered, "Well, because—" "Hahaha—that’s precisely the crucial point Mother mentioned." He remained standing abruptly and smirked, "Hayase—you’re acting rather strange here. Hey—what about Taeko?"

Twenty-One Cold or hot—a dagger, a sliver of steel—Chikara rushed to silence Eikichi’s wagging tongue, but finding himself unable to spit forth even a needle’s retort in that instant, he silently clenched his fist. Kōno Eikichi, seizing his moment, positioned himself like a wrestler in the ring—one hand gripping a flower stem, the other twisting his mustache as he rolled his eyes… their gleam dull and lifeless. “I suppose—you call it Tsutsuitzutsu Furiwakegami.” “Then say so plainly—I too have my own adjustments to make. What do you say?”

Despite the Takeda Shingen-style opponent having deployed this surprise tactic, Chikara’s response was neither a kuruma-gakari rotating formation nor anything elaborate—merely commonplace. “Stop this indecent talk—this isn’t some vulgar joke. She’s an esteemed young lady.” “Then why mishandle that esteemed young lady of yours? Or do you harbor feelings yourself?” “I said stop this indecent talk.” “So it’s confirmed then?” “Your concern is unwarranted.” “Then why oppose our Kōno family’s ideals and conceal Taeko’s circumstances when someone’s making earnest inquiries?” “Once settled, that person would find happiness too—becoming queen of the Kōno faction.”

“Whether it’s fortunate or unfortunate—I wouldn’t know—but I won’t have it.” “Using daughters as bait and subjecting brides to physical examinations for your clan’s prosperity—that’s utterly contemptible.” “Unless you’d accept her even with leprosy or consumption out of true affection, I’ll never discuss Taeko’s matter.” “Of course the young lady is a flawless gem,” he managed to say, exhaling thick tobacco smoke through his lips, “but presenting her for the Kōno family’s inspection would be like the moon gracing Lord Taira no Kiyomori’s summons.” The scene carried precisely such an air—like an indistinct moon hovering at the mountain’s edge.

“Fine then—I’ll inquire elsewhere instead of asking you.”

And unexpectedly, Eikichi showed no sign of moral rectitude, instead adopting the demeanor of one who had prevailed in a dispute, “But it’s auspicious—I’ll take this one. These are flowers Taeko graciously brought.” “…………”

“If you have no objections, you shouldn’t begrudge one or two stems—especially with so many here.” “…………” “Excuse me.” He was on the verge of plucking it out. Then, a familiar fragrance suddenly assailed him, “That won’t do,” said Otsuta as she adjusted the collar of her work coat and emerged smoothly from the sliding door. Placing her hand on Eikichi’s shoulder, she caused him to stagger and spin around—then, positioning herself before the alcove to shield the flowers, she knelt down. “I refuse! The arrangement *I* made will be ruined.”

With a bewitching smile, she laughed softly. "But you're the one who inserted them! This isn't Ikenobō or Enshū-style work." "Even if I pluck a stem or two, your arrangement won't collapse." Finally restraining his hand, he thrust it into his coat pocket instead—then right before Otsuta's eyes, he stomped his booted feet in a mock-tadpole-chasing dance. "This is Ryūgōbashi-ryū style." "They're arranged in willow-like cascades—doesn't this school have its own established methods?"

“Go on and lie then—never mind that. It’s a flower I’ve become infatuated with.”

Chikara yanked the brazier closer to himself. Otsuta rose smoothly, "But these flowers already have an owner, you know."

“There’s an owner!” he exclaimed, eyes widening. “Oh yes—one called Chikara,” she replied. “Look here, Hayase,” “What are you doing?” “No—when you pull this flower, you’re courting me. There’s an owner. Go on—pull it.” As she stepped closer, Eikichi retreated a pace. “Come now—try to woo me,” With each smiling advance, he faltered backward until finally slipping into the adjoining room.

Moralistic scholar

Twenty-Two

The twelfth day of the month was the festival day at Hongo's Yakushi-sama, as bustling as ever even after the streetcars began running.

At a street stall slightly closer to Tomisaka along the main road—where even the reputable bookseller Bunkyūdō had set up shop—amidst dubious tools and scattered old books, a man examined a copy of *Three Worlds Physiognomy* under the soot-stained light of a lantern. The book’s cover was missing, its edges frayed, its pages heavily worn. This man was Hayase Chikara. What was this about? A man who, under Professor Sakai’s tutelage, had at least established his household through foreign languages and drank morning sake at his own expense—what possible need could there be now for him to fret over being a parrot or orangutan in some past life?

Even if one called himself a scholar, on a fine day while strolling around Asakusa, he might well end up visiting Okuyama. If there were someone who, at such a time, posed the absurd question of why one would look at a ball-balancing performer’s signboard, then that person would be either a fool or bordering on madness. When passing by an eel restaurant, even if one claimed to have smelled something delightful yet immediately dashed into the neighboring tea shop without so much as sniffing while holding chopsticks, it was rash to conclude definitively that it must have been Iseya.

As for Chikara, it could simply be said that he had merely glanced at it because Three Worlds Physiognomy, found among the old books at the street stall, had caught his eye as he was passing by. However, was he not currently contemplating someone's marriage proposal? Moreover, the section he had opened to—the matter of marital compatibility—could not be ignored. And his complexion was not like that of the gentleman strolling peacefully along—wearing a crested haori, accompanied by his wife in thick-lined kimono sleeves and a young boy in a sailor suit while carrying another child in his arms, cheerfully debating whether to have sushi or red bean soup—but rather, Chikara’s face bore a troubled, sunken, and melancholy hue.

A handsome man navigating the world with a careworn expression, perusing Three Worlds Physiognomy at a street stall—he differed little from palm readers under willows or specters haunted by the Eight Trigrams; indeed, his bewilderment surpassed theirs. Thus had the cloud settled upon Chikara’s countenance—its shadow first cast when he quarreled with Kōno Eikichi over the yaguruma blossoms in the alcove, Taeko’s flowers. Though Otsuta’s wit had then achieved the soft conquering the hard—a moment ripe for exchanging toasts over spousal virtues—Chikara now wore a sullen mien. After tersely inquiring about prepared bathwater, he departed brusquely, his bearing suggesting one wishing to scour with tap water the ears that had heard this marriage proposal.

Under normal circumstances, when a friend came seeking counsel about wishing to marry the Professor’s daughter, to refuse him an audience was sheer stubbornness—the mark of a narrow mind. Acting like some youth over mere flowers given by a daughter—there had been nothing worth begrudging others about it. If one were to employ this approach, upon claiming that a mistress’s discarded letter had become mixed in, they would chase after the waste paper collector and, in their panic, likely end up shouting “Thief!” Even those who ought to have possessed the refinement for witty refusals like “Spare this one here”—when they too, at that very moment, had made Hayase bear flowers through some maid-like gesture—it became glaringly clear what sentiments even Otsuta held toward the Kōno family.

That was likely due to having overheard behind the sliding door how Eikichi and the lady of the house had clashed over their differing views on marriage. Even so—was there no geisha he might fancy? To Eikichi—who kept pestering about whether there were any peers likely to broker matches for this "new bachelor"—Otsuta recoiled at even the mere thought: How vile—treating such an important young lady, one who ought to have a proper husband supporting her hand as she spoke. Here—with countless marital threads throughout the household being tightly gripped by parents, neatly sorted like cormorant ropes, plunging their daughters into society’s turbulent waters, force-fed sweetfish at this decisive juncture, then yanking them close by the throat to claim their prey while scheming for clan prosperity—how could anyone marry off a young lady to such machinations?

"No, I won’t agree to this," insisted Otsuta while cornering Ogen for discussion, when Chikara—having muttered "The water was too hot" with partially regained composure—clattered back into the room, prompting her to press him intently: "You there—are you quite all right?"

Twenty-Three What exactly did "all right" mean? To Chikara, the question felt abrupt—nearly impossible to grasp on the spot—while Otsuta’s fervor only deepened his confusion. "It’s not settled yet," she pressed. "He just leers about having taken a fancy to her at school." "This proposal—clattering across stone bridges with canes when love demands tumbling from log bridges—if someone spills water while they’re haggling over such arrangements, it’ll swirl into a dam-bursting flood and wash the whole affair away."

However, for some reason, merely hearing that he and his mother had gone to observe her at school made it feel as though Miss Taeko had been turned into a public spectacle—and he found it galling. “However, it probably won’t come to anything,” Chikara said calmly. “No matter where or how you inquire, there’s no one who can find fault with that young lady.” “They’ll no doubt make their approach to Masagochō-sama before long.” “Moreover, that Mr. Kōno may have no other merits, but you see, his persistence is his one reliable trait—so with one push after another, if things go badly, it could very well come to pass.” “I can’t help but feel it will come to pass.” I’ve somehow already had this dream of Miss Taeko being licked all over, and now I’m afraid I’ll be plagued by nightmares just lying here tonight—I can’t help but feel so terribly sorry for her. “You mustn’t let your guard down,” she said—Otsuta had dreamt that night of being covered in caterpillars. I’d always thought Kōno’s eyebrows resembled them.

―― To be fair, Kōno had once kept his eyebrows neatly thin, but on his father’s orders—to avoid appearing overly groomed—he had recently thickened them into what resembled silkworms at rest rather than caterpillars. Yet this unproductive beauty feared what ought to have been shunned about caterpillars while remaining ignorant of how silkworms benefit our world—one could only call her misguided. And so Otsuta conceded that even if he—despite his usual demeanor—secretly harbored an unrequited affection for Miss Taeko. "If they mean to shackle her to Kōno," she rebelled inwardly with vehemence unmatched, "I would sooner have them cast me out as your lawful wife!"

With this unique ally who shared his heart though not his form, Chikara felt vaguely reassured—but as for where the winds blew, Eikichi had not shown his face for nearly half a month, contrary to his usual habits.

Then one day,

“Is Mr. Hayase in?”

A visitor arrived in a manner that balanced propriety with unmistakable correctness, and had Ogen pass along his business card. Chikara set down his translation brush mid-stroke and received the card. Finding no immediate recognition upon examining it, he asked what manner of person this was. When told, "Ah—the pockmarked gentleman," describing the most immediately noticeable feature of his appearance, he understood at once. His real name was Sakata Reinoshin, his street name Aba-dono—a moniker born when some fast-talking man dropped the “ta” character. If spoken slowly, it becomes Aba-ta-dono; either way, it gets through just fine. Even if a nickname works well enough, no one writes their alias on a business card. The business card was impeccably printed: Sakata Reinoshin... with Roman letters beside it—L. Sakata.

Namely, he was a notorious moralistic scholar. His moral philosophy was not religious but ethical—or rather, it concerned male-female relations. Alongside his pockmarks and his wife being both young and beautiful, he was renowned as a gentleman in lecture halls and speech meetings alike. Needless to say, his morals were impeccable—though this was his third wife, the previous two having died young, while the current one's complexion had recently grown pale. Not that this meant to impugn the gentleman's virtue—but neither did he indulge in idle chatter. The gentleman had merely killed two wives himself thus far, but through the three-times-nine cups ritual, three rounds of 'Pine Wind' ceremonies, and twenty-seven total nuptial rites, he had become thoroughly versed in marital affairs.

Here was a moralistic scholar of renowned reputation—and given how few matchmakers in all the land could be trusted to this degree, he would skillfully mediate matters regardless of whether they hailed from Wu or Yue. Consequently, his frequent comings and goings through the inner chambers of various households grew at times downright repulsive! Such rumors circulated. The acts of pulling at sleeves and grasping hands—these so-called male-female interactions—were likely this man’s excess of virtue. However, there was no concrete evidence of such successes. It wasn’t that they refrained from such acts—they simply couldn’t perform them. Regardless, their morals remained unassailable. Here then—through his upright conduct—he could make a living even as a matchmaker...

Twenty-Four As Sakata Reinoshin was a moralistic scholar of repute, what possible business could bring him to a household frequented by someone like Megumi? There was no reason for such a man to show his face where even Megumi came and went. Chikara had initially found this suspicious, but when he realized Kōno’s uncle belonged to the same breed of moralists, he involuntarily furrowed his brows. A matchmaker who frequented elite households—the undisputed master of local marital brokerage—Chikara no sooner grasped this concerned Taeko than he ushered the man upstairs regardless. The visitor appeared to be around fifty. His pockmarks were pitiable at first glance, blackened and severe. To parse it literally, he was no moonlit go-between but a kitchen charcoal burner; yet his deportment remained impeccable—starched collar white, polished face gleaming greasily. His thinning hair was neatly parted in a single comb line, while the area from beard-tips to nostrils glistened with oil—every inch suggesting a wife languishing in poor health.

"Well now—our first meeting—how do you do? With your translation work ever increasing," he uttered this flattery that stopped just short of stating outright "you must be struggling to make ends meet," then produced from his coat pocket a palatial-grade tobacco pouch wrapped in flashy salt-patterned silk of pale iron hue, its surface woven with vine-like iron-fan patterns—all part of his recently fashionable Western-style attire. Likely a gift from some matchmade bride—he withdrew an item that, even now worn with age, still carried the same perfume reapplied again and again to preserve its lingering gifting fragrance. With overgrown nails and hands averse to washing, he gripped a short silver pipe bearing shallow auspicious carvings, sucked sharply on a back tooth, and settled into such a composed posture that he might have been peddling life insurance.

“This is rather abrupt, if I may, but regarding the matter of Mr. Sakai Shunzō’s daughter…” he said, then sucked his teeth sharply again. “Well now—*ahem*! To speak of spittoons while prioritizing etiquette—yet when one offers no hospitality at all, even if their belch reeks of onions or dried cod fibers stick between their teeth, presenting a toothpick would be sheer discourtesy.” Thus compelled to suppress his fidgeting mouth from below, he immediately drew another *zōro*-style breath through his teeth and continued: “If I may—such matters ought not to be broached too directly… To put it plainly: as I’ve yet to make her acquaintance, I should like an introduction through your disciple Chikara.”

"Good heavens—the bridge had been crossed," Chikara thought. Before anyone knew it, Miss Taeko had passed her examination with flying colors. It now appeared they had reached the stage of formally presenting the marriage proposal. Moreover, that they would ask him for an introduction—partly due to his previous opposition to Eikichi—not only made Chikara feel as if he were being spitefully provoked, but he had also been considerably caught off guard by his opponents' swiftness. "No, I must decline," Chikara stated bluntly. "It’s not that I have any particular complaint against Eikichi himself, but I find the Kōno family’s so-called ideals utterly disagreeable from root to branch." "You may seek an introduction elsewhere—or better yet, approach Professor Sakai directly since he doesn’t distinguish between guests based on formal introductions. If fate decrees a match, it will come together through honest discussion." Being unable in good conscience to lend even a business card’s worth of support to such morally objectionable matters, he charged forth with all the impetuousness of a young warrior—a vigor that the battle-scarred veteran across from him understood all too well.

"For the time being," he hissed through his teeth, smirked, and began making inquiries about the young lady's circumstances—though it seems this approach was not approved. "According to your argument—if it's a woman you love, even a prostitute would be acceptable (adding a little extra)—you say you'd die together with her." "No—one should prize the vigor of life," he sucked his teeth sharply, "if I may, but there's society to consider and parents as well..."

And now demonstrating the full dignity of a moralistic scholar, he expounded thousands of words on behalf of Kōno—presenting their ideals as ethically flawless and beyond reproach. In roughly half a day, he departed just before sunset. He had stayed nearly half a day, but avoiding mealtimes was something he had clearly mastered.

Twenty-Five

With Otsuta—who would hide whenever guests came—being present inside, there was no logical way he could cross swords with the moralistic scholar and prevail in argument. Every spirited argument Chikara mustered was merely sucked away through Reinoshin’s teeth, but with the attitude of one prepared to die pillowing his head on a castle keep—somewhat recklessly—he flatly refused to provide an introduction to Professor Sakai.

After leaving behind the words "Please reconsider this one point" and departing, having the Pockmarked Lord as matchmaker only exacerbated matters. Taeko's face turned deathly pale as she grew despondent without even touching drink—while Otsuta herself was so startled it seemed she'd been ordered to produce the sheltered princess on the signal of a bell and behead her. "If my dear one treasures this precious charge so dearly," came her frantic reasoning, "then I'll offer myself as substitute instead!" Everything followed the template of a jōruri puppet theater's third act—yet there was nothing objectionable in that.

“Now, you—this is no time to be dawdling here! Hurry to Masagocho and entreat the Professor—his wife too, if necessary—not to consult that man. You absolutely must make this plea!” “Quickly now, change into your haori—” With a clatter, she pulled open the drawer. “Ah, it’s been an age since you last called on them. Since Megumi-san will come tomorrow, do bring some gift. They say the Professor favors modest offerings—and abalone would serve perfectly to leave that wretch languishing in unrequited longing,” she added breezily, as though discussing the weather.

"Don't talk nonsense—if I were to stand before the marriage negotiations spouting slanderous objections, I'd be the one getting disowned! Since the Professor isn't that sort of man," he was cut down with a single retort, leaving Ryōgō's strategy unused.

Moreover, upon reflection, even without the moralistic scholar’s arguments, there was nothing disadvantageous to the Kōno family. Even Eikichi was merely somewhat undisciplined—if he were to marry, that would naturally resolve itself. If I were to say so myself, that would likely be the case. Whether one referred to her as Mother or to him as Father in public, there was no moral impediment—indeed, it would have been quite proper.

The reason for objecting to this... that is to say... it was difficult to articulate—thus on the surface, it held no water anywhere.

When he crossed his arms and muttered "This is troublesome," Otsuta also sighed, "It certainly is a pickle."

The one who brought this great gospel here was Ogen.

Despite having been sent on an errand and returning quite late, she clattered through the water gate—"Ah, Madam! Everything's perfectly fine." "Will it be ready the day after tomorrow?" Otsuta briskly inquired—having dispatched an old summer kimono to have its dye removed and reshaped into a summer underrobe—but upon assuming this was the dyer's response to her follow-up, it turned out otherwise. This loyal servant, sharing her mistresses' worries, had—on her way back from the dyer still clutching the thousand-herb bundle wrapped in furoshiki—purposely bypassed the house, ventured out to Mitsuke, and had her fortune told by an embankment diviner, so it was related.

“When I told them the other party was a bachelor’s degree holder and had my fortune read,” she explained breathlessly, “they said there was absolutely no compatibility and it was hopeless to pursue! So I got so excited that I even threw in a white copper coin along with the three-sen fee.” “Serves them right!” She laughed heartily to herself. “Well now, isn’t that delightful! You actually knew the young lady’s age after all?” When Chikara said this, she blinked in confusion and protested, “No! I don’t know anyone’s age!” Otsuta narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Didn’t that fortune-teller ask about your age?” “Oh! He did ask—so I told him mine!”

"Of course not! When your rival's a Bachelor and you're just you—" Chikara burst out impatiently. Hearing this, her eyes flew wide open. After a beat came her stunned cry: "Huh?!" Humiliated beyond bearing, she bolted into the kitchen—"You rotten fortune-telling hack!"—her curses punctuated by thunderous stomps.

The two of them exchanged glances and burst into laughter. Otsuta promptly sent a new detachable collar as a token of gratitude, and that night the market thrived— A few days later, in any case, under the pretext of returning the lunchbox Taeko had provided and bringing gifts, Chikara set out for Masagocho—only to find, unfortunately, that the Professor was out, his wife away visiting a grave, and Taeko delayed at school.

Twenty-Six Even if he had met the Professor or his wife that day, he hadn’t intended to broach the marriage proposal, nor was there any reason for them to mention it. Yet after such a long absence, finding everyone away left him feeling oddly deflated. Since the newly arrived entryway student was not well-acquainted, even when he kept poking at the brazier filled with makizuki tobacco stubs, no engaging conversation arose. However, over the past day or two, he had asked whether that moralistic scholar Sakata had visited the Professor—the sole merit being that he heard he had not. Stuffing the furoshiki he’d used to wrap the gifts without even folding it properly, his sleeves bulging more unsightly than ever, he was wandering vacantly on his way back when—having reached the middle of the side street—someone called out familiarly with sudden cheer: "Good day to you, Mr. Hayase!"

At a rickshaw garage he had frequented since his days at the main gate—when he looked toward the counter where a shoji screen had been placed sideways to block the glaring sunlight—the one who poked his head out was that very rickshaw puller who served the Sakai household. Stopping with a casual "Oh" to exchange greetings, Chikara suddenly thought to ask whether anyone had come inquiring about the Professor or the young lady lately—to which came the reply: "A splendid gentleman in a morning coat with pockmarks had visited at the month's start." "He came!" "Well, since it's such an auspicious occasion, do let me hear a bit about the situation," he'd said. "And then—'You'll be accompanying him, I take it? Where's the attending physician?'—he inquired."

From the kitchen emerged a maidservant in a tube-sleeved work kimono, who greeted him with an “Oh my, Mr. Hayase!” and said, “Why, though I’m merely in service here, I’ve been singing praises—endless praises—to everyone who’d listen!” “They say the young lady’s marriage arrangement will soon be finalized—congratulations indeed! Heh heh,” she bubbled excitedly.

With a displeased look at the unnecessary comment, he parted curtly—though there had been no need to investigate the rickshaw garage. And even so, what was the point of wearing a morning coat? His bitterness knew no bounds. When it occurred to him that detectives had likely visited even the pickle shop at the corner, there stood a Western-style tobacco shop across the street. This shopkeeper too was a chatterbox—he’d probably made similar reports, Chikara thought with a glare as he passed—and there he sat inside with a student whose conspicuous gold teeth stood out.

Upon returning home, Otsuta—for her part—went out again that very night and stood before a fortune-teller herself. When the divination indicated this match would surely come to pass, she sank into profound despondency.

However, the fortune-teller was no fool. Compared to when Ogen had gone, just by observing the circumstances alone, it was clear that Otsuta would be the one to succeed in securing the match.

A day later, when Chikara returned home after finishing the teaching duties he had been entrusted with at a certain school, there stood Sakata Reinoshin at the gate, slowly stroking his chin while intently scrutinizing the nameplate.

Sucking his teeth with a hiss from here, he had been waiting since earlier... Something was amiss.

It appeared no one would deign to answer his summons. "Was the maid out?" he wondered. Otsuta hid... "No one home—how rude." "Well, do come in," said the other party, but his button-up boots demanded tedious attention.

Chikara impatiently kicked off his shoes and stormed up to the second floor in a fit of irritation. From beneath the stairway door's shadow came an exclamation: "Oh! Master!" As Ogen suddenly emerged and he saw her disheveled state—her sleeves tied back with a kitchen sash and a naginata tucked under her arm—it became clear why she hadn't answered the door. She stood gripping a tall broom draped with a hand towel, her face flushed crimson. "You fool!" Chikara erupted, leaping up moments before the moralistic scholar came shuffling sluggishly behind him. The upstairs quarrel grew so heated that precautionary thunderstorm incense thickened the air below. Otsuta slipped from the parlor clutching pinched tobacco leaves—no moxa for curses, but an inspired substitute. She crept to the entryway and stuffed the herb into Reinoshin's shoes. The smoldering leaves worked splendidly. As acrid smoke coiled upward like battlefield signals, footsteps thundered down from above. Otsuta darted into the alley while Ogen—mesmerized by the prank—scooped wastewater in her hands and flung it wildly at the lingering smoke. The splash released a rancid leather stench that left puddles everywhere.

Twenty-Seven

Upon thorough consultation of history—whether in castles, encampments, or battlefields—armies where women appear are generally defeated. On this day, the linguist did not achieve victory over the moralistic scholar; Reinoshin’s shoes sustained an honorable injury, and they withdrew in triumph. Therefore, if you find this disagreeable, we shall no longer seek an introduction; instead, we ourselves will make a formal proposal to the Sakai family. Regarding this marriage arrangement, you must refrain from voicing any criticisms of Kōno to the Professor. "Your opinions are your opinions, and emotional matters aside," he had stated with circumlocution, "this alone I humbly request." Yet had he expressed it bluntly, it would have invited interference; thus while it was commendable that he answered manfully and clearly with "No need for concern," in essence, a warning had been driven home.

On Sakata Reinoshin's part as well—given that he had even investigated the rickshaw puller making deliveries to the Sakai residence—his efforts proved thoroughly meticulous. Consequently, having discerned that the Professor's trust in Chikara and depth of affection for him were akin to that for a son or younger brother, he presumably acted on the principle that "he who strikes first prevails," thereby precisely silencing his objections. Hayase himself had declared that slanderous words would never take effect, but with just this disciple’s mouth alone, he could have splendidly shattered even a well-established bond.

Here, the dice were now in Kōno’s hands. In any case, whether that contest ended in victory or defeat depended solely on where the will of the Sakai family lay—or so it was said. If the Professor were to voice his disapproval—but if there were a “yes,” then that would be the end of it. Taeko would become Kōno Eikichi’s wife. Would Taeko become Kōno Eikichi’s wife? Even Otsuta—rather than being worried—was more frustrated and making a racket, so Chikara’s vacillation was no ordinary matter. Above all, whenever he thought of the situation in Masagocho—even from afar—the threshold felt daunting due to an inherent sense of flawed footing, a perception that stemmed from Otsuta’s very presence.

And so, having somehow kept his distance, when he finally ventured out two days prior—after a long absence—to pay his respects, he found himself suddenly stricken with guilt over his abrupt proximity, fearing that in the worst case, Reinoshin might have already arrived and marriage negotiations could be underway.

"If you keep dithering like this—it doesn't suit your usual self—do hurry up now......" Otsuta fretted with impatient urgency.

On the day he mustered his courage and went out, the Professor had a visitor and was engaged in conversation. The student at the entrance announced him and relayed the message—"Next time"—which startled him. Yet there was no alternative. Though he deemed it impossible, anxiety that his secret affair with Otsuta might have been exposed made him offer only a cursory greeting to the mistress as well. Each time he saw her receiving his greeting—her noble figure seated with dignified composure at needlework—comparing her to Otsuta deepened his guilt. Had she not refrained from pressing further, he might have lingered over a flask of sake given their long separation. But her gentle face smiling softly as she said "It has been so long" seemed to retreat dazzlingly before him. Withdrawing as if fleeing under pretext of returning another time, he stealthily asked the entrance student: "Who is the guest?..." It was Sakata Reinoshin—ah, this spelled disaster.

For a time, the Hayase household was like an extinguished fire; in his excessive anxiety, he resolved to visit Masagocho once more—which coincided with Yakushi’s temple festival day.

With a touch of apprehension, he first peered into the entranceway. Seeing the student reading beneath the lamp, he politely refrained from intruding outright. When he inquired about the Professor, [he was told] he had gone out earlier. Asking after the mistress, [he learned] she was feeling slightly indisposed. "In that case, to pay my respects—" he began, moving toward the inner rooms, but on the veranda, the maid stated, "She is currently sleeping soundly." Silently returning to the entranceway, he inquired after the young lady as his final recourse. This concerned a former maid who had served in the household before marrying into Yotsuya. She had come after a year's absence to pay her respects and was meant to stay overnight. Having finished their late supper, they had gone out to Yakushi's temple festival at the mistress's instruction, with the young lady accompanying her.

"In that case, I too would take that route... at some later time, seizing this opportunity," he thought. Just to be thorough as he was leaving, he asked, "Has someone named Sakata come by since then?" To which the student replied, "You mean Aba-dono?"—already having learned the nickname. "Hahaha, he came," the student added. "This afternoon." Male metal / Female earth

Twenty-Eight

Chikara had been considerably preempted by Reinoshin’s already having taken the initiative twice—compounded by the exposure of the Otsuta affair, which had deeply wounded the Professor’s feelings (indeed, one couldn’t help but wonder if it had been done deliberately)—and with the sensation of the entranceway’s tatami being cold and unyielding, he folded his arms in dejection and aimlessly emerged from an alley onto the main street. Passing in front of the aforementioned pickle shop, he found himself at a momentarily deserted spot where laborers’ footsteps had ceased. Across the way stood the black-planked fence of a grand estate; for a while now, the temple festival’s sky had pressed in from three directions like a swaying canopy, stars glittering brilliantly before darkening over the treetops of Koishikawa beyond Tomisaka.

Marker posts indicating parking intervals to the east and west stood faintly pale, with not a single carriage in sight. At the edge of an ink-black ditch lay a faded furoshiki cloth spread open—appearing damp as if from a scorched field—upon which someone had placed a small ceremonial lamp whose bold light would surely repel insects even in summer. Before her lay three to five bundles of firewood arranged in rows. Propping herself up with her hands, her disheveled hair revealing a clean neck and white collar edge, the wife bowed low. In her arms lay an infant who seemed to have cried itself to sleep, sprawled supine with limbs akimbo. A six-year-old boy clung to her knee, sucking his finger while peering restlessly about the street. Behind them leaned another child of about four against their mother's back.

When a gust of wind blew, both their figures and the stall seemed on the verge of being swept away—a pitiful sight. The shadow play of the fleeting world, through a demon’s machination, was projected onto a moonless crossroads. Yet the temple festival deities—rather than descending where coin offerings rained down—chose precisely this place to manifest. Spreading their sleeves like a protective canopy over the mother and children, they seemed to whisper: “Let the dew soak you; endure the night wind,” while letting the distant strains of Kanze-style festival music reach them faintly. “May you thrive, you lot—Imawaka, Ushiwaka, rise again!” Chikara silently cursed the Kōno clan as he cast pine needles from his sleeve with a sharp rustle and hurried past them.

Just as Chikara noticed the familiar gold-toothed tobacco shop owner—leaning back before his box brazier, pointing his pipe’s mouthpiece decisively outdoors with a sly grin—four or five students blocking the storefront turned toward him. Their faces contorted as if the character for "eight" had collapsed and "nine" had split apart, erupting into commotion. One shouted "Yo!", another cried "Banzai!", while a third hissed "Hush!" to suppress them.

The field in Masagocho across the way—around its center like the remains of a concluded fire ritual—wrapped a desolate flame rising through empty air, forming a black ring of gathered people. At the edge of that desolate field, two women passed by at this moment. Chikara's heart leapt the instant he saw them. The one on the right was Taeko. Her ribbon and face shone pale white; her kasuri-patterned haori shimmered under the night's glow as she walked with sleeves flecked crimson like fluttering butterflies. Though dressed in ordinary clothes, she appeared two or three years older—matured into a woman more alluring than merely lovely.

The one who had placed a furoshiki-wrapped bundle in her left hand and moved to the left side was a woman with an exceptionally large marumage chignon, though beneath her floral hairpin, her stature remained short. A woman nicknamed Tako, with small, perfectly round eyes and a forehead creased by numerous upward-looking wrinkles—she had been a maid working when Hayase Chikara was stationed at the entranceway. A woman of diligent attentiveness and substance, who even after settling into her position still maintained the resolve to make such courtesy visits. The way she accompanied her mistress’s daughter, steadily establishing her presence—even that large marumage chignon of hers seemed reassuring in such circumstances.

In the tobacco shop where something sizzled and crackled within the single glowing ember of his vision, Chikara stepped into the center as if to shield Taeko with his own body. But finding himself too conspicuous, he held back from stepping forward to call out to her. As Taeko glided past without noticing him, Chikara felt a pang of loneliness. Until just the previous year, he had been the one accompanying her like that. With a flutter of her ribbon, Taeko came to a halt.

Her shoulders drawn back, her large white tabi freshly clean, it was the marumage chignon that approached the feeble light of the wife selling kindling. The honest one bent down politely and extended her hand—she appeared to have given alms. When mother and child bowed together in unison, Taeko’s hand holding the pouch slipped beneath her haori’s cord, and her figure disappeared into the crossroads’ shadows.

The students trooped out from under the tobacco shop’s eaves and all looked up at the stars.

Twenty-Nine ○ Male Metal and Female Earth bring great fortune: five or nine children shall be born, clothing and food will abound, and you will attain wealth and honor— Male Metal and Female Earth indeed bring great fortune! Clothing and food will abound… The section with verses following "clothing and food will abound" was rendered illegible by insect damage, rain stains, and rubbing. Above it remained an illustration of figures resembling Narihira and Komachi facing each other, earthenware set before them as about five courtiers in manzai eboshi hats prostrated in a row. Fraudulent though it might be, it undeniably proclaimed great fortune. Hayase Chikara watched Sakai Taeko’s retreating figure until she disappeared, then walked toward Yakushi Hall with his hands tucked into his sleeves as though the wind seeped through them, head bowed. At a street stall there, his gaze fell upon a Three-worlds divination book lying overturned—its pages splayed open as if demanding attention. Absently picking it up, he turned directly to the section on marital compatibility.

That Eikichi was of Metal element and Taeko of Earth element had been derived beforehand by Otsuta from the joints of her beautiful fingers through Tiger, Rabbit, Dog, and Boar. Was this even half-fortunate? As for great fortune—to Chikara, it held no auspiciousness whatsoever. Of course, confused though he might be, he wasn’t the sort to dwell on Three Worlds Divinations. Still, while the Professor’s stance went without saying, the Mistress would occasionally invoke One White and Nine Purple. Even with elemental compatibility, a match that began well but faltered midway before ending uncertainly might yet offer hope for dissolution… But “clothing and food will abound, wealth and honor”—that spelled trouble.

Not only that—but with five or nine children to come—seeing how the Heike clan and Fujiwara family would spread their roots across the land made it clear this matter wouldn’t be easily resolved. Given that Reinoshin had already made his move some days prior and indeed again that very afternoon—this match somehow seemed to be coming together—leaving him unable to help feeling concerned. Ah—even though there were things I couldn’t tell the Professor and matters requiring discretion with the Mistress—if only when I’d spotted Miss Taeko before the field just then—I had called out to stop her and said: “Should talk of Kōno arise—you must declare ‘I refuse!’”—those few words would have sufficed.

If talking on the main street seemed improper, he could have suggested going to a Western restaurant nearby—or there was even bush soba inside the torii gates. There was no need for direct confrontation; even with her maid sporting that large marumage chignon in attendance—given their longstanding relationship as hunting companions—there remained neither reserve nor formality between them. Miss Taeko would smile again with those eyes and ask, "Do you have any spending money?" Though one might dismissively say it was just being taken somewhere while resenting it, this was no time for such things—I really bungled it.

His thoughts swirled without focus as he stared fixedly at that "great fortune." Gradually, the court noble in the illustration grew a beard; no sooner had its legs stretched out like a tail than the figure collapsed sideways to lean against Komachi’s knee—and there, its face dissolved into a lecherous grin indistinguishable from Kōno Eikichi’s.

“How about it, Master? Heh heh,” came an eerie, abrupt laugh from behind the lantern’s light—the proprietor of this street stall, squinting his eyes and glaring with furrowed brow. “It seems you’ve taken quite a liking to it, heh heh.” “What’s the price?” Startled, Hayase Chikara offhandedly inquired about the price. “That it is, sir,” peering through the brim of his old hat while tilting it,

“I’ll let you have it for twenty sen,” he declared through the skylight, inflating the price tenfold. At that moment, the lantern flared up. Chikara involuntarily dropped the Three Worlds Divination Book, “That’s too expensive!” “This here’s a scarce item, heh heh—not like those shoddy block-printed editions nowadays, the Nine Stars Hasty Conclusions or Tōmiya Primers.” “I don’t know about that—it’s thoroughly soiled and falling apart!” “Ah but sir, the illustrations remain perfectly ordered! These plates are by Shūransai Sadahide—the foremost Three Worlds Divination artist of our age, I assure you.”

he spouted such wild claims. If only the compatibility had been unfavorable, Chikara wouldn't have hesitated to pay even forty sen—double the twenty sen—for it. "That's too expensive," he said, turning to leave. "How much would that be, sir?" "Yes, sir."

he pressed down as if to pin it in place and said. “Half?” “That’s right.” “That’s still not cheap.” Thirty

The proprietor hugged his knees and leaned back, his haughty expression seeming to say, "Bring on your Zen riddles."

“Half price is downright robbery! If you were a gardener, you’d clap your hands and say, ‘Don’t you need a pot then?’ But I can’t just peel off the pictures and hand ’em over.” “Please do your utmost to be generous, sir.” “Five sen or ten sen—for gentlemen like yourself, it’s hardly a mere trifle.” “Heh heh heh,” “This is absurdly overpriced—utterly outrageous!”

And because Chikara found that manner of speech detestable, his desire to make the purchase diminished even further. “Well now, once you go down one o’ them cut-through slopes from here, five or ten ryō’ll go flyin’ out your purse, I tell ya. So there you have it—heh heh—wantin’ to know ’bout compatibility while keepin’ your age under wraps, that’s the game. Yes, Master—do purchase the Three Worlds Divination Book as a celebratory gift.” Finally, thoroughly irritated,

“I don’t want it,” he said, starting to stand again. “Then five sen—five hundred—no, just five sen!” He spread open one hand, his elbow adopting a habitual gesture, and frantically shoved them toward Chikara’s face.

He stood up indignantly with a jolt. Over Chikara’s shoulder flew a silver coin that glinted through the lantern’s smoky light like a jewel, casting an uncanny gleam upon the old book. At the same time, “If you want it, buy it.”

A hoarse yet dignified voice rang out. Hayase Chikara instinctively straightened his posture. He brushed off his hat with a sharp “ha” and lowered his hand. “Professor.” The stallkeeper scrambled forward, bracing himself against the antique wares while pinning down the silver coin with one hand. He gaped upward blankly. A brown fedora sat carelessly atop black fabric crisscrossed with thin ochre stripes—a single-layer underkimono of smooth figured silk. Over this lay a black twill haori bearing three clove-and-tomoe crests, paired with a navy Hakata obi tied crisply at the waist. One hand tucked into his chest and short sleeves casually draped, his tall gaunt frame exuded rakish elegance. Every detail spoke of meticulous refinement—the black habutae collar fastened with precision, swarthy complexion offset by an aquiline nose, eyes blazing with authority beneath finely arched brows. Only the mouth’s contour echoed Taeko’s own—a curve radiating such boundless tenderness it might lull even a squalling infant.

At first glance, one would never take him for the father of that refined young lady. His wife had been his childhood betrothed, and Taeko was a blossom on a sapling from when the Professor was still a student with gold buttons. It is said the couple shared their allure... Sakai, seemingly on his way back from a small drinking engagement, walked alone through the temple festival grounds with Gyokuju, brushing past the surrounding crowds. Once again, the laborers had grown somewhat sparse in this area, leaving only the precincts of Yakushi Hall where the very air seemed to sweat profusely, oil smoke hung low, pressing down upon the street stalls’ large umbrellas.

With a nod and slight lift of his head, Sakai fixed his authoritative gaze on Chikara’s face. "What’s a trifling amount? To have someone haggling over small change in public—how disgraceful." Having dismissed him thus, he immediately resumed walking, shoulders slightly raised like a plum tree enduring frost and snow—its bearing pure and unyielding.

With a dumbfounded look, the stall owner lunged forward, “H-here you go.” As if cowering, he held out the Three Worlds Divination Book—wordlessly snatched without ceremony. By the time they began trailing behind, they were already five or six ken ahead. “I’m terribly sorry... Oh, no, it’s not as if I have any particular need for it, truly...” Quivering from that initial rebuke, he muttered apologetically, more to himself than anyone else.

Sakai, smoothly keeping his hands tucked into his sleeves, glanced back sideways, “Why ask the price of something useless? Window-shopping, are you?” “…………” “Window-shopping?” “Well, not really,” he replied, looking down resentfully as he crumpled and twisted the Three Worlds Divination Book.

After a short while, Sakai abruptly stopped walking. “Hayase.” “Yes,”

And this reply sounded cheerful.

31

So overjoyed was he even to be called by his name after their long separation that he eagerly drew near with nostalgic affection, but the words Sakai spoke next pierced deeply into Chikara’s chest. “Where are you going?” As if thrust away by this, he involuntarily stumbled back three and a half shaku. The backstreet just past the field on this side was the Professor’s residence. To have someone heading toward you yet remarking “Where are you going?” to those following along was heartless. Utterly failing, he became completely tongue-tied,

“I am out for a stroll.”

“Did you go out of your way to come to this temple festival?” “No, actually…” He managed to gather his wits somewhat... “I visited your residence earlier, but finding you absent, I thought to return later and have been wandering about the area in the meantime—” “Professor—”

As Sakai abruptly started walking, he falteringly followed after him.

“Where are you headed?” “Me?” “Are you returning straight home?” When he asked about something obvious merely as a conversational bridge, this answer too proved unexpectedly jarring. "Well, I—I’m heading out to your place now." “Yes!” he exclaimed, but above all else, he felt emboldened as though dawn had broken— “Well then—from here… to the corner streetcar,” he said while taking a step back, then hurriedly stepped forward again, "Shall I call a rickshaw for you?"

he fidgeted restlessly.

“We can walk to Suidōbashi. Ah, I’ve sobered up.” He shook his collar straight, thrust his hands decisively into his sleeves, and had just crossed his arms tightly when they turned past the fruit shop’s corner—where apples glowed beautifully, banana fruits perfumed the air, and lanterns cast vivid blue light—plunging without pause into the alley’s darkness.

The boarding house’s gaslight was distant; since their faces couldn’t be seen, it became somewhat easier to speak, "I hear Madam has taken ill with a cold; I am deeply sorry to hear that." "Did you see her?" "No, as I heard she was sleeping soundly, I thought it best not to disturb her." "Was Taeko there?" "She has been betrothed to Yotsuya, and has taken Miss Mitsu along to the temple festival." "I see. If my daughter is out walking about, her condition can’t be all that serious then."

As the conversation softened slightly, Chikara exhaled a breath and finally stowed away the Three Worlds Divination Book he had been handling into his pocket—when at the foot of Ikinosaka slope, a sudden ambush occurred. “Is everyone at your place in good health?”

The air grew cold again. In the household, there was only the maid and... himself. (Is everyone healthy?) That was no ordinary question. But thinking it couldn’t possibly mean that, he even began to doubt whether this "everyone" might have been a mishearing—

“Huh?” When he attempted to ask again for clarification, Sakai simply let it pass without acknowledgment, taking on the meaning of (That is correct).

And he felt uneasy. The nighttime view of the artillery arsenal at the street's end appeared like a magic lantern projection of Mukōjima in full bloom suspended midair when viewed optimistically, its roaring reverberations resembling carts crossing Azuma Bridge—yet when viewed pessimistically, the smoke turned yellow and the flames black. As they passed by, steam surged sideways like a pure white waterfall, blocking the path. At last they reached Suidōbashi's approach—Sakai riding those clouds with composure, Hayase enveloped in mist and staggering onward.

During the silent interval, Sakai abruptly discarded the fragrant hand-rolled cigarette he had been smoking—still trailing smoke—right there, and the steam condensed into dew with a sizzle as the flame went out. As pale green light scattered pattering into the darkness, a star shining like a torch came flowing along the street and outer moat, carrying people.

Streetcar

Thirty-two

Though unrelated to the marriage proposal from Kōno to Sakai, on that same night of the twelfth day, moralistic scholar Sakata Reinoshin—as the primary organizer and manager—hosted a Mixed Social Gathering (alternately named Family Discussion Assembly). Needless to elaborate, several couples from that circle convened in one place to eat, drink, and chatter... to put it crudely. A gathering where gentlemen and noblewomen socialized with one another—though there was little discussion of politics, evaluations of religion, literature, art, theater, and music were conducted there. A gathering that served as the wellspring of modern thought—a place combining celestial ideals with earthly feasts, where roses perfumed the air and stars shone in aesthetic splendor—and being an event that gave no thought to diapers or work sleeves, back at home, potatoes burned and children wailed. A nuisance to the neighborhood... that war chest for the Mixed Social Gathering. Having collected over one hundred yen from various sources, with the purpose of making a payment to his regular banquet hall, he donned mourning attire at night and then boarded the brightly lit streetcar.

(‘Was that Pockmarked Gentleman? Ha ha ha, this afternoon.’) This report from Professor Sakai’s student to Chikara having occurred on the same day, one could only wonder how extensively those laced leather boots had stamped their footprints across the city within twenty-four hours. The effort truly deserved to be called Herculean. The sages had proclaimed: Time is gold. Even without such time-wasting antics—if it concerned the Mixed Social Gathering’s fees, would it not seem more sensible to collect and pay them directly on the spot? Yet here he was first gathering them into his own possession, only to then go through the farce of personally coddling the master himself? Did they not know—some claimed that during these account settlements, without paying seat fees, they made whichever elder sister happened to be present serve tea and clasped her hand gratis. After all, they said this world contained noblewomen who organized theater viewings as pretexts for kissing actors.

Of course, this was likely a lie. However, it was indeed a fact that he had boarded the streetcar with the membership fees tucked into his pocket. “Attention, please. It’s getting crowded—mind your surroundings.” Reinoshin clung to the strap, maintaining as dignified an attitude as possible with each jolt of the car and press of bodies. Through gaps between passengers’ shoulders, cheeks, and ears, his pockmarks seemed to scatter across their surfaces as his gaze roved—inspecting sideburns, hairpins, hat brims, and varied eye expressions with the casual detachment of one sampling palate cleansers between courses, sipping details like a solitary drinker savoring his cup. "Ah, Edo natives wouldn’t know this flavor," he mused, savoring the drifting perfumes of the women passengers while sucking his teeth and stroking his chin with one hand—but upon registering the conductor’s announcement, he jolted rigid, shuddered with a chill that prickled his skin, and felt his hips go weightless.

The moment he pulled back, Sakata seized the wrist of a youth in a workman's half-coat with hands slick from both immediate cold sweat and lingering clammy sweat, gripping it tightly in desperation. Not only did the Moralistic Scholar's virtue stand unaccompanied—it appeared a pickpocket had been sitting right beside him. “……” Trembling and flustered, the youth merely glared. The opponent—a workman-type not even wearing a hand towel—jerked his head down until his hair swayed, “Please, sir... I beg you,” he said with a furtive look of entreaty.

“Y-You’ve taken it out, haven’t you?” he said in a quavering voice. “Idiot!” he barked with finality.

“Please... I beg you... I really don’t... heh...” Clinging to the leather strap, having gone utterly limp, the despondent workman’s appearance suggested less a man wishing to vanish into nothingness than one who—as if ashamed of his crime—had tried to strangle himself with his own hands. “Hey!” he shouted again, his pockmarks squirming across his entire face as he raised a clenched fist and struck the youth’s cheek with a smack.

“Ah! Oww!” he leaned sideways, his voice turning tearful, “That’s too cruel… sir… oww…” With another triumphant fist raised, he barked, “What cruelty? There’s no need for such talk!” In the streetcar—where shadows of surging passengers loomed like storm clouds racing across the moon—the conductor clutched his leather briefcase protectively and shrilled, “Excuse me! What is this? What’s going on?”

Thirty-three Given that a gentleman with a starched white collar and neatly parted hair had seized a workman’s half-coat and was shouting "Hand it over! Hand it over!", the situation became clear at a glance—the conductor wasted no time and roughly grabbed the culprit by the shoulder.

“Get off—now!” With one convulsive sob, he released the leather strap and staggered to lean against the nearest surface. As the youth in the half-coat leaned against them again, the three tangled together and were pressed out toward the conductor’s platform—just then, from the front, the driver flung open the door abruptly while keeping one hand on the handle and peering inside, bringing the car to a halt precisely at that stop without ringing the bell. Near where Hitotsubashi Street—a short distance past Mitakesan—came into view on the right, this city streetcar would proceed past Tōmeikan Hall on its way to Ryōgoku, as you well know.

“Just a moment…” With the conductor also grasping the culprit’s shoulder from this major incident—breathing rapidly while restraining four or five waiting passengers trying to push aboard—he leaned backward with his body arched to pull the wrongdoer into position. Reinoshin followed suit by bracing both hands and thudding down. From behind, seven or eight people came trailing along, each scrambling to get a view. Having sensed something amiss, those who had been about to board halted in their tracks and pressed in around them. Two women had also joined in.

Having expelled that crowd outside, the air inside became ventilated and crisp with clarity. Amidst this transparency, the remaining passengers sat with knees aligned primly while their bodies twisted freely to peer through glass-paneled doors. Among them appeared a man who seemed to be swaying in uneasy slumber—one leg flung over his knee, sleeves of his clove-and-tomoe patterned haori folded together, his tea-colored bowler hat pulled deep over his forehead. This was Sakai Shunzō. Yet the instant Reinoshin was observed stepping outside, those eyes—now wide open and sharply focused—showed not the faintest haze of sleep.

Presumably—though concealed among the passengers—Reinoshin had been noticed [by someone], and fearing that [he] might preface matters with that usual ("your translation work progresses splendidly") before launching into discussions of "the marriage proposal for the young lady" regardless of time and place, [he] had devised this stratagem here. However, there was not the slightest trace of evidence that he had disliked that marriage proposal. “Was he taken away?”

“Yes,” Chikara replied from beneath the crowd’s periphery where the culprit had stood—Sakai, seated directly across, having shifted rightward from his frontal position. “What do you mean? It’s merely a commotion.” Though Chikara had restrained himself from causing a disturbance before his teacher, Sakai—undeterred by his disciple’s composed posture with hands coolly resting on knees—rose imposingly tall. He pushed through to the conductor’s platform and thrust his face over the jostling mob toward the main street… just as

Roles reversed—the culprit’s hand flew with a smack, and Reinoshin’s pockmarks blazed as if shattered by fire. "You damn monkey-barbarian!" Unbelievably, he gasped while pressing his cheek and retreating, then charged his shoulder diagonally at the moralistic scholar’s collar and shoved sideways with force. “What? What? What? What did you say?” “‘Pickpocket,’ ‘thief,’ you say? Eat shit!” “What’s with that sesame-paste face of yours? Go lick it clean!” “Come on—where’d I steal your wallet?” “This ain’t some damn trick!” “In that packed crowd, I figured someone must’ve stepped on your foot or somethin’.” “So you’re puttin’ on airs over a stepped-on foot? Take a gander at that mug o’ yours—ain’t much different from your heel! Hahaha!”

And laughter resounded into the night thoroughfare,

“In your case, since your face got stepped on, you’re gettin’ all angry—so just give it up already. You should be grateful—a daily-wage Mr. Craftsman went and apologized to a salaried man. I ain't know when they made this rule 'bout keepin' your crotch in check, but if some blubbery nursemaid goes all panicky over nothin', that's her problem. Yeah it's a shitty thing to say, but you knew the deal when you boarded—step on someone's foot, you get dragged off. So quit your whinin' and take your medicine.”

With a quick bow to the conductor, "Hey, you get off and suddenly it's 'What? A pickpocket?'" "The hell you mean 'pickpocket'?!" He charged at Reinoshin again.

Thirty-four “You’re yappin’ ‘bout bein’ robbed and stolen from, but I don’t know how much kitchen petty cash you’ve been skimming all this time. With that face o’ yours, you ain’t got enough to lose in the first place.” “Hmph, blockhead.” “Either way, you were robbed alright—but with that dumb look o’ yours, you think you’d have a pouch this full stashed away? That’d been swiped ages ago!” “Come on then—strip off that kimono and show us your Kanda brat skin! She ain’t some dame you’re sweet-talking—no one’s eyes’ll burst from seein’ that junk. Feel free to gawk at my sheer-cliff loincloth while you’re at it!”

“Well then—now that you’ve finished your grand act of clearing suspicions—let’s see what you’ll do, you.” “Ah, the wind has shifted, the wind has shifted.” With that, Sakai declared briskly and returned to his original seat. Passengers came clattering in from the conductor’s platform, and immediately after—having presumably reported the situation to the watchman and handed over the incident—the conductor returned listlessly, rattled his leather satchel with a clank, rang the bell, yet still leaned halfway out toward the main street as if reluctantly watching the churning crowd while moving past.

The streetcars—few in number yet lined up like Hasegawa's grand stage props recreating Kintaikyo Bridge's moonlit scenery—transformed the avenue into a revolving stage. Inside the car where the incident had occurred, rumors swirled like autumn leaves. "That's pickpocket artistry for you," declared a shop-aproned man with merchant airs to his companion. "No doubt he did the deed, given how jumpy he looked at first. But by alighting time, he'd slipped the goods to an accomplice's sleeve. No evidence means he can twist the blame back." To this, Old Man Hōnen Skylight—a retiree on our side—countered, "Seven searches before suspicion, I say. Reckless accusations won't do, hmm?"

“If you put it that way, that gentleman in Western clothes who claims to have been robbed is quite a peculiar individual himself.” “Young lady—” (tapping the knee of the plump-skinned, granddaughter-like girl seated beside him) “—standing there, you kept fiddling with your hairpin.” “As for your own self—well, given your own self—this girl grew so embarrassed saying ‘Stop it, stop it’ that I nearly blurted out ‘What are you doing?’” “Stop it, Grandma,” and “Stop it,” the girl repeated here as well, their faces flushing crimson.

Hōnen Tenmado forced a bitter smile... Such things—groping from behind, thrusting hairy legs from the front—were tropes found in jōruri ballads, you know. In the old days, women were subjected to these indecent troubles on ferry boats ascending and descending the river, but to do such things even inside a streetcar? Truly... In the end, this was more troublesome than pickpockets. "It was pointless, you see—because you suddenly dragged him down," said a merchant-like passenger, "and then a whole crowd went scattering out in disarray. Even if there'd been accomplices there, they'd have dashed off somewhere quick as lightning—no way to catch them." "If it weren’t for that—if not a single passenger had scattered—we wouldn’t be able to extricate ourselves from involvement either." "If the police come, it could very well result in them conducting an examination or something like that." "Well, what happens next? You see, a pickpocket's only guilty if caught in the act. If there's no evidence and they claim ignorance, that's the end of it." "There's no way to tell if he was really pickpocketed or what—after all, he's a fool through and through," declared an apprentice-like youth clutching a folded leather briefcase, his voice rising emphatically as he explained this to the country bumpkin seated beside him.

After all, this was no cause for celebration regarding the moralistic scholar. He was not one to revel in others’ misfortunes—yet neither was he so noble as to grieve over Reinoshin’s plight as if it were his own sorrow. Chikara, who seemed moments from snarling *Look at this farce*, listened intently to the ill-omened gossip swirling among the adults, his face shadowed by thick unease. Why then did such gloom weigh upon him?

One must not forget that Professor Sakai across from him was glaring at Chikara as though scrutinizing him.

Thirty-five It was only natural to feel gloomy. Though he had surrendered himself to the streetcar’s motion, Chikara couldn’t help but wonder where exactly he was being taken—a sensation akin to being carried away on a cloud.

To be sure, when they had attended the Yakushi temple festival together and boarded the Outer Moat Line from Suidōbashi, Chikara had obediently escorted [Sakai] to his residence in Iidamachi as instructed. But that night—from the street vendor’s rebuke to the circumstances along the way—Sakai’s demeanor had been unyieldingly severe. Given how this mentor who traditionally balanced kindness and authority now seemed unlikely to bestow any favor, while the punitive aspect of his patriarchal role loomed imminent, it went without saying that Chikara had hunched himself in a corner of the streetcar. There, fortunate that passengers crowded around him, he became a shadow among them—averting his face from the dazzling overhead lights to escape notice. Yet upon alighting at Kagurazaka and crossing Mitsuke Bridge, which tonight felt unnervingly elevated, the fortune-teller’s lantern at the base of jet-black stone walls flickered like foxfire. Just as he began hearing pine winds along the embankment, his footing grew unsteady, his heart darkened, and what weighed upon his suffocating chest was none other than the matter of Otsuta.

Solely due to the dreadfulness of that glare—since what he sought to conceal was decisively tied to the satin sash—he now approached the entrance... Though he dared not boast of it, he could recognize his own footsteps. If those footsteps—along with others—were clearly conveyed, then with a "Welcome home," it was certain that she would come out. Especially as he was fretting anxiously over Taeko’s situation. It was for this reason that he had gone to Masagochō, wanting to hear about the situation—particularly since, not being one of those proverbially similar couples nor possessing Shingen-style composure, he found himself quite unable to avoid becoming flustered and exposed.

If it were exposed... Chikara broke into a cold sweat, his heart racing. Unfortunately, Sakai walked briskly without speaking as usual—leaving no time for such words—and already the alley leading to his residence was upon them. Unable to bear it any longer, he called out “Professor!” but—considering it rude with the maid asleep inside—took a step forward! No sooner had he spoken than—“Go ahead!”—he lunged bodily sideways through the gap even as he thought: Ah, how clumsy my words are even to myself.

(Wait! Wait!)

Then, a voice called out.

Sakai came to a halt there.

He stood firmly, (It would be cruel for me to disturb a household that's been asleep since evening. I should go elsewhere—you come with me.) And then the route changed—obeying Professor Sakai’s lead—he boarded this Ryōgoku-bound streetcar with a sensation of being snatched up by a hawk— Regarding those moralistic scholar’s rumors swirling about him now—whether they were good or evil—he had no leisure whatsoever even for self-reflection. Even as their streetcar pierced straight through Manseibashi Crossing’s intersection—the hawk still refusing to fold its wings—perhaps he was now truly destined for exile along Sumida River’s currents—or at least banishment beyond Honjo’s borders from Tokyo itself.

With that, he closed his mind's eye and hung his head.

“Hayase,” “Yes,” “We’re getting off.”

The broad avenue that had unfolded before them was so densely inlaid with lights—second-floor lights, third-floor lights, shop lights, streetlamps—in azure, chartreuse, and crimson that it resembled a brocade curtain without a single gap. The multitudes of people moving through it were instantly fragmented by the rustling wind into countless glittering bell-filled spheres that seemed to scatter in all directions. Here, where night clouds layered thickly with green—whether from Sumida's incoming tide or water's shadow—the stars flickered.

The figures of Sakai and Chikara became two points upon this broad avenue. Having crossed Asakusa Bridge, they obliquely entered a side street where Fukigama loomed like a giant and Jintan stood like a castle, facing each other across the corner. Through the countless polished-glass lanterns under the eaves—charmingly lonely, flickering like falling snow—they moved as if cloaked in straw raincoats, proceeding with utmost stealth. Kashiwaya House

Thirty-six

At length, they passed before a grand restaurant—its white paper sign reading "Reserved," the dark pillars of its gate, the sudden brightness of its stone pavement—where amid solemn yet ethereal quietness, the sound of a shamisen trickled like water flowing faintly overhead. Sent off by three or four house lanterns' shadows and welcomed by sacred lamps' light, they reached the midpoint of that side street with its damp ground and eaves glistening with moisture. There lay a single hazy alleyway. Between the eaves of two geisha houses, peering through revealed a bamboo fence deep within as if sketched in pale ink, and a single plum tree with cool young leaves. Though no moon shone, walking with an air of elegant composure brought into view—across the opposing wooden fence—the willow’s slender form trailing strands of foliage like unbound hair, swaying smoothly in the breeze.

Slipping between plum and willow trees, Sakai turned along the bamboo fence when—from somewhere—the low stone lantern at the neighboring house’s rear entrance crouched in watch, peering at the haori’s back swaying alluringly. Chikara stood there, looking around.

When the Professor—his shoulders hunched up and hands still tucked in his sleeves—lazily knocked twice on the wicket gate with one hand, the clatter of hurried footsteps was heard, and the veranda’s rain shutters opened a narrow slit. The flashy Tomoshiba-patterned fabric became visible, revealing a perfectly round face. Even without a lamp, her round, lively eyes beneath her blunt-cut bangs were unmistakable. The barrier was a single layer, and upon seeing the Chōjibamon crest right before their eyes, she flashed a knowing smile, silently withdrew, and once more came the clatter of hurried footsteps. Before long, signaled by the electric light flickering on in what appeared to be a small tatami room where someone had pressed a switch somewhere, a Shimada-style geisha entered through the central passageway—slender and around twenty years old, with a narrow face lightly made-up to accentuate sharp eyebrows, her mouth tightly drawn—dressed in deliberately prim attire. Wearing her lined kimono smartly with an apron tied and acting oblivious to adjusting its hem, she hooked her garden clogs, stepped across two or three stepping stones, clicked them off, then—as the Professor pushed open the door and slipped inside—landed a single silent slap on his back. This was Tsunaji, the fashionable geisha known as the junior associate of Yoshino, the elder sister of this Kashiwaya house.

“What a formidable stronghold this is.” “It’s dangerous out there, you know.” “Have you managed to save even a little?” Roughly ascending the corridor while saying this, Professor Sakai pressed forward. Following him, Tsunaji closed the rear door while passing the gloomy-faced Chikara. “My, what a rare occurrence.” “………….” “Is Sister Tsuchikichi well?” she whispered. Chikara stiffened. Finally saying nothing, he made a frightened face, glared briefly, quietly stepped up, slipped his body through the open shoji screen, and cowered at the threshold.

Professor Sakai stood stiffly in the center of the tatami room—just as Tsunaji entered, having closed the rain shutters that hid the tea-toned garden. “Well? Do I look like some dandy put on display?” He thrust out his chest dramatically. “I couldn’t say,” she replied. “You should show Sister when she returns—she’ll be back shortly.” “That’s what comes of being blind to what’s before your eyes—too busy splitting hairs.” “Even schoolgirls nowadays aren’t home at this hour.” “Might as well tell them to gad about Hibiya.”

“Mr. Hazukashi, the banquet rooms are only just opening for the evening.”

She smoothly pulled a zabuton cushion from before the full-length mirror and repositioned it beside the tokonoma. "Come now, Mr. Hayase," she said, placing another cushion.

Chikara left it placed beside his knee. The figure wearing the Tomoshiba-patterned haori brought a brazier from the shop and set it reverently near their knees as though handling something sacred. The Professor tucked it between his cross-legged knees, stroked his mouth once, “Use it properly—use it properly,” he said, turning to look at Chikara. “Yes, sir.” With only that response, Chikara stiffened as if pierced by those eyes—looking nowhere—and when he inevitably turned his face away, there stood the full-length mirror before the heavy chest of drawers. The willow-like hair being combed here must have been long; that mirror stood imposingly tall.

37 "Do make yourself comfortable, you. When you come to this house, there's no need for formalities like 'Professor.' Please don't hold back." With spirited vigor, she overwhelmed the bachelor. This woman, rather than pitying Chikara for his orderly demeanor, found herself feeling constrained by it. Yet despite this, she sat beside the Professor without reserve—knees nearly touching his as she perched with one knee propped up—smoothing the ashes in the brazier before running her hand swiftly along its rim.

“One hot tea.” Sakai pretended not to hear what had just been said, “And sake.” Tsunaji turned to face the low entrance fusuma and knocked with her snow-white hands in a prayer-like gesture.

“Stand up yourself.” “You’re barely lifting a finger—don’t be so lazy!” “This is insufferable.” “You must keep proper watch.” “Sister has already given you instructions.” As he spoke, he smiled with nostalgic warmth, “Mr. Hayase.” “Well now,” he said at last, shifting away on his knees. From a distance, he arched his rounded back upward, stretching out an arm to light his rolled tobacco. But catching sight of Otsuta’s underrobe sleeve—the one she’d measured with her ruler—he grew self-conscious and hastily drew back.

“Why don’t you open it a bit? It’s getting stuffy.” “The veranda?”

“Hmm,” As Professor Sakai shook his head, he stood up smoothly and opened the elbow-rest window behind him. Through it—save for a narrow gap left for rainwater runoff—he could see a stern black-painted wall topped with anti-climb spikes, still brand new. “Why don’t you take a proper look?”

She turned toward Chikara and laughed again.

Sakai stared intently at the wall, “A whole expanse of standing cedar trees—a veritable forest.” He chuckled to himself and laughed alone.

“But seeing as it’s the aftermath of a controlled burn, that pitch-black expanse looks truly dreadful.” "I too once thought I might eventually be welcomed into this household, but after they built the addition out back and the river view disappeared, I changed my plans."

There, Tomoshiba came fluttering over. “The first infusion – quickly now.” “Yes.” “And make it piping hot.”

“Hey, don’t just keep using the kids. Show some concern for those who have to eat standing up.” “What about Tami? She’s fine.” “She works diligently.” “When I return later, I’ll definitely have her pour sake.” “That girl’s got such charm, I tell you.”

“If you’re so partial to youth, your own daughter would suit perfectly.” “Now then, Mr. Hayase.”

To this, even Hayase did not respond, and the Professor smiled wryly. “Taeko’s been impossible lately. “Exchanging glances with the mistress and botching the sake-pouring every time. “She won’t pour the first cup. “At school, they’ve started calling her ‘Miss Sake-pourer.’ “For children, they make remarkably cutting remarks.” “To you, even a child’s already marriageable, isn’t she? “Sometimes those school-educated ladies come here too—among them there’s Mr. Sakai’s angel making some fuss or other about something.”

“An infant, you say? Whose little boy is that?” “Oh! To say such things—” “Why, even Mr. Hayase here is just the right age for that, wouldn’t you agree?” Tsunaji boldly stated her piece, but Chikara pressed the Three Worlds Divination Book to his chest and looked down. “Yet the girl herself treats marriage like some doodle of a mouse.” He started to say something but then smiled faintly, “Hmm, this is dangerous talk in front of the cat.” He blew smoke toward his profile,

“Scratch it for me,” he said while raising his hand but then stood up as if remembering something, “What’s wrong with the telephone, I wonder?” he muttered and made to leave. “Hey, where’s the old woman?” “She’s already gone to bed.”

“No, this old man would prefer to remain as such.”

Without allowing the awkward moment to linger, Tsunaji immediately turned back, “Sister says the other party has already left.” No sooner had the words been spoken than a single rickshaw—moving with arrow-like speed—clattered up to the gate,

“Right away!” called the rickshaw driver.

Thirty-Eight

“Is that so?”

With... a meaningful gentle voice directed briefly toward someone, the one who slid open a single fusuma soundlessly and slipped in effortlessly was Kobayashi Yoshino, returning from the banquet room. Her oval face featured a straight nose and gentle eyes, with a gauntness that spoke more of inner weariness than physical frailty. The abundance of her jet-black hair lent an air of domestic competence and quiet refinement. Her slightly thick eyebrows and neat hairline framed a swept-back ginkgo-leaf chignon of freshly washed hair, combed smooth as willow branches glistening with rain—a vision of cool elegance. The neatly adjusted collar lying over her shoulders and the slightly elevated drum-style obi tied at her back created a figure so noble it seemed as though she had stepped forth from a slender moon, translucent as water—as if her reflection had materialized from a full-length mirror. Indeed, were this woman’s mother alive, even the old woman of the geisha house would nod in agreement, thinking, ‘I should go to bed early.’

“Well, you’ve come all this way.” Having greeted Chikara with a smile, Kobayashi Yoshino stood beside Sakai in modest elegance—wearing a dark brown two-layer crested kimono with crane-feather patterns, a navy-gray half-collar, a Hakata maru obi of off-white ground with old-man’s lattice design over a pale blue chirimen silk underkimono bearing ancient motifs. Her effortless bow seemed particularly fitting for the evening’s proceedings, prompting Chikara to politely lower his hand in response. “Good evening,” he said with a polite nod. At that moment, the Professor looked despondent,

“What sort of man greets a geisha?” At this juncture where a retort seemed warranted—Elder Sister being meek by nature— “The first infusion has gone cold,” she took Sakai’s teacup, rose briskly, and poured its contents through the open casement window into the dark rain gutter with a splash before turning her head sidelong to glance back. “What an extravagant waste of tea you keep making at your establishment.” “You’re forever saying such things—” With this, she looked toward Chikara and smiled faintly—a woman whose age suited even the blackened teeth of tradition, betraying not a hint of impropriety.

Then, Kobayashi Yoshino lowered her gaze and poured tea for the two men—but Tsunaji, whose role this would have been had she stayed, upon the carriage’s arrival declared “Well then, time to depart,” and with that fluttered out of the room. Sakai lightly adjusted his collar,

“So, about the feast—” “Tsunaji-san has agreed.” “It’ll be another hot pot, I suppose—with heaps of shirataki noodles.” “How about it?” She glanced sideways, her face breaking into a happy smile. “It’ll be slim pickings soon enough.” He said dismissively but turned to face him directly,

“Hayase,” came his voice now grown graver. “Yes.” “Show me that Three Worlds Divination Book from earlier.” There appeared to be some urgent matter requiring attention; though startled, this was no occasion for refusal. Even were the Kashiwa family to sweep their attic clean, they’d likely never unearth anything like this—so he hesitantly proffered the somewhat grimy item beneath the electric light into the Professor’s hands. Taking it, Sakai flipped it open brusquely, leaned forward with knees drawn up in concentration, and his countenance turned stern.

Chikara was the one who grew pale at the sight; Yoshino, utterly oblivious, leaned in with a bright expression and asked, “Have you found some clue?”

No response. He roughly thrust the cigarette butt into the ashes, "What's wrong? What happened?" Having been asked so abruptly, Kobayashi Yoshino stared at Sakai's face as if entranced...

"That one—quite spirited, excellent at Kiyomoto, full of vitality—" She flipped back through the book— "With her obi tucked and facing the mirror—they say she looks like a painting..." Under his intense gaze, Kobayashi Yoshino seemed to be drawn in, "Tsutakichi-san."

With that, she forgot the half-smoked pipe. Chikara stiffened as he looked down from the skylight. "What happened to that?" “Huh?” "I’ve been completely out of touch with the Yamanote side of things, but is business still thriving as ever?"

Thirty-Nine Yoshino unconsciously forced herself to suppress eyes that seemed to plead (Oh, what should I do?) as they drifted toward Chikara, her face trembling while gazing at Sakai— "I heard that Tsutakichi-san has already been redeemed." Before she could finish speaking, "(So she has.) How suspicious!" he cut in. "Even living nearby—how could anyone not know? Explain clearly—has she been redeemed or not?!" "Yes," she replied—the moment her eyes lowered, her gentle eyelashes signaled toward Chikara’s face: Do something.

Sakai, without so much as glancing at Chikara, adopted a leisurely tone, “That’s commendable—quitting the muddy trade is auspicious indeed. And where is she living now? At the time…?” “I’m not entirely sure… Um, I heard she’s somewhere in Fukagawa.” “Fukagawa? Was she redeemed by someone named Fukagawa, or do you mean Fukagawa across the river?” “………….”

“Well? Hey, you expect me to believe you don’t know?” “You’re the one who said you were close, like sisters, aren’t you?” “Your sworn sister gets redeemed, and you don’t know where she went? That’s absurd!” “Calling her ‘Sister’ this and ‘Yoshino-san’ that—they must have handed out red rice for her redemption celebration over there. You ate some of it, didn’t you? That stuff.” “You were all happy, talking about the steaming rice and its fine color—and from our side too, we even celebrated with about fifty sen worth of postage stamps.” “It’s written in your account book, isn’t it?” “How could you not know where that woman went?”

Not knowing would make one a fool. Of course—given that her mentality was one of mingling with naive simpletons and rotten company like myself—it’s plain she was never clever from the start. I don’t care about fools—she’s just a geisha anyway, not up to society’s standards. “I can tolerate a geisha’s foolishness, but heartlessness is unforgivable! Heartlessness— We have no use for heartless wretches!” “When did I—heartless—” Just as she stiffened in bitter frustration, Sakai’s ferocious demeanor overwhelmed her, leaving her voice trembling and subdued. “I’m not heartless! Heartlessness? If you don’t know the whereabouts of a woman you were intimate with—isn’t that heartless?”

"But, you—" "But... it's because they haven't been in touch either, you see—" "Even if they haven't contacted you, your heartlessness can't be excused." "Why haven't you asked them yourself?" "In this line of work, you have no free time." "Even if we don't visit, if we don't know their whereabouts, what about fires nearby?!" "You don't even send the neighborhood head to check after a fire—what kind of friends are you? Heartless! Cold as ditchwater!" Seeing Sister tremble, Chikara—facing the consequences of his own actions—could no longer endure it—

“Professor—”

He called out—but only in his heart, the words never leaving his lips.

Sakai paid no heed, "My apologies—since you're not a stranger to me either, I don't want to brand you heartless. I'll tell you where she's staying." "It's on your way to Horinouchi shrine visits." "Bring a bag of senbei when you call on her." "Hey—Tsutakichi's holed up at Hayase Chikara's place in Iidamachi Fifth District right now."

He turned deathly pale,

“Professor,”

“Hayase!” With a sharp cry, he shifted his posture and sent the Three Worlds Divination Book hurtling through the air like a sudden gale tearing through black clouds, letting it slam down before Chikara. His eyes blazed like piercing light,

“Look! You bastard—go put on that flimsy summer kimono! The woman wearing a sedge hat and holding a shamisen—that door-to-door performer illustration there—that’s your compatibility. You knew from the start. It’s too late to go poking around suspiciously in my backwater Hongō domain and snooping through the Three Worlds Divination Book like some thief—you’re way off the mark.” It was precisely that degree of idiocy that made even stallkeepers ridicule him. “You’ve turned into a fine peasant now, you country bumpkin!”

Forty Chikara finally managed—his throat parched as if his saliva had dried—to speak in a hoarse voice, "I was looking at the Three Worlds Divination Book not for any such—such reason…" was all he could manage before trailing off. “Were you commissioned for a translation? Or was your past life an ox? A horse?” When this farce-like yet sharp cross-examination was delivered, his words gained a certain prominence, “No, actually—it’s that… well…” “Well, you see... I heard that the young lady’s marriage proposal has been underway for some time now, so...”

Yoshino glanced quietly at Sakai. Even when she first heard about Taeko’s marriage proposal recently, she had seemed intrigued. “Ah, so did you check the compatibility between Taeko and Kōno Eikichi or something?” As expected—through Reinoshin’s machinations, the Professor already knew of the noble scion’s Taira lineage—Chikara, even in this moment, forgot himself, “Yes,” he said, and when he inadvertently looked at the Professor’s face, the man’s eyelids abruptly darkened, his eyebrows tightening into a deep furrow. “How very kind of you.” “What business does some door-to-door performer have meddling in Taeko’s marriage negotiations—she who has a father named Sakai Shunzō and a mother of clear standing called Tsutsui (謹)?”

“You overstep! You’re insolent! You’ll bring divine punishment! Listen here—when you, playing master of this household, complained about bland vegetables or maids serving nothing but grilled tofu! That tiered meal box I brought recently? Taeko sliced the udo roots herself, and the wife stewed them. You lot with no proper utensils—what a waste! After I, your professor, personally inspected that beautifully arranged meal still in its boxes, you pick at it with some peddler woman, spouting nonsense about not measuring up to Benmatsu! Such insolent drivel!”

“It’s a wonder that arrowhead didn’t get stuck in your throat and make you drop dead on the spot.” “Outrageous! And on top of that, how dare you interfere with Taeko’s marriage proposal?!”

he bellowed.

Chikara involuntarily braced himself, “Interfere… I—I would never dare to interfere with such matters.” “Don’t interfere! If you’re not interfering, then why did you refuse when Sakata asked me to make the introduction regarding the marriage proposal?” “……” “Why did you refuse?” “That… that moralistic scholar—” “What’s wrong with the moralistic scholar? Fine then! The moralistic scholar isn’t some dog like you—he’s no beast. I hear you’ve expressed dissatisfaction and disapproval regarding the Kōno family’s ideals and principles. What dissatisfaction or disapproval could there have been? Don’t you dare speak like a proper human. A beast who forgets its station—such insolent presumption!”

“First of all—with your wrongheaded notions—do you think you can comprehend my heart?! You may disapprove, but I approve—you may object, but I’m convinced—how should I know?” “Making all sorts of objections—‘Your disciple must harbor feelings for the young lady, hmm?’—Sakata sucked his teeth and nodded knowingly. Well?!” “What?! Those pockmarks—” Chikara turned pale as he struggled. Dripping with sweat, “This is different from other matters; I cannot simply brush it off. “I—I must take this up again with Sakata.”

“What? You’re going to talk to Sakata? There’s no need to discuss anything with Sakata! What will you do if you think that way? What will I do if I think that way?” “Who—Professor—would do such a thing?” “Not at all! The student at my entrance hall said your expression changes whenever Sakata comes to see me. The rickshaw puller said it too—his wife said it as well! ‘Has anyone come asking about Taeko?’—you’ve been asking even at the rickshaw stand, haven’t you? Aren’t you ashamed, putting on airs and parading that stubbly face all over town?”

and shook the charcoal brazier forcefully.

Forty-One “Staggering this way and stumbling that way like some fox-possessed wretch—who’s the bastard turning my neighborhood into Kasai Kaidō and making it reek of manure buckets?” “They say that over at the Kōno side, conducting an investigation into Taeko’s body is improper or unseemly, but—”

Ah, Reinoshin blabbed everything… “What business do country bumpkins have meddling in matters of pride or propriety?” “Now listen—Kōno isn’t some fox-possessed wretch like you.” “A man with a degree—a respectable man—is taking an important bride. How could they not be thorough? They have every right to investigate. Don’t treat geisha like nursemaids!” “And on my side, I want them to conduct a proper investigation. Go ahead—criticize wherever you like! We raised her with such propriety that she could be displayed naked without shame!”

“What’s so terrifying? What’s there to complain about? What’s so difficult? I tell you—compared to their investigations, the trouble you cause fumbling around there is beyond measure! Even if having those bastards investigate your background is troublesome—if it gets under your skin—I know full well. The day I concealed Taeko’s body with just this one finger—even if those moralistic scholars had swarmed in like a crowd of masseurs, brandishing their canes and peering through fences—they wouldn’t have seen so much as a shadow. Who do you think did that, eh? Me.”

and glared again, "Why didn't you calmly—no, why didn't you say 'How auspicious!' and make the introduction when they asked?" "Irksome! Boorish!"—with those words from the moralistic scholar gripping him by the scruff of the neck ("Mr. Hayase must've turned into quite the wounded wild boar over this," he'd said), Sakata sucked his teeth derisively. "Bastard! We've disciples aplenty, but you're the only one I kept at my side since boyhood—letting you suck candy sticks and raising you alongside Taeko under the same roof. Why would that underling do things that make moralistic scholars mock us?"

“(They’re the sort that exist in society—bitten by the hand that feeds you, as they say. Since then, that esteemed disciple has unfortunately not developed feelings for the young lady.) Do you know what Sakata said?” “You bastard!” Though his tone pressed with intensity, it carried a strange benevolence— “You may not have been entirely dull-witted, but this is divine retribution. Deceiving your professor’s watchful eyes—you’ve been struck by the punishment of dragging in some streetwalker! A demon’s taken hold of you!” “She’s a precious daughter yet to be wed—with that fox-possessed mouth of yours, never utter Taeko’s name again.”

"You impudently nitpick at the moralistic scholar—take this as your comeuppance: my daughter shall be delivered to Kōno Eikichi! Let that sink into your thick skull!" "You..." Kobayashi Yoshino lifted her face, "Mr. Hayase, whatever misstep you may have made—I know nothing of it—but rest assured, neither your household nor the young lady... (her voice faltering) ...were ever meant to suffer harm from our doings."

“What?” “A man who claims to act for others’ benefit—why would he drag in a geisha and commit such an inexcusable outrage against his mentor? First of all, you—” A bolt of lightning flashed westward, “You’re accomplices! Conspirators! Equally guilty! Hey! What do you take geisha for? Do you think they’re some rare treasure to be grateful for, like a green apprentice gawking at Shinbashi on his first day off? Because you’re a fool—if I go through the trouble of inconveniencing myself, you get cocky and think Sakai must be thankful for some geisha mistress? Don’t you dare act high and mighty with that mouth—keep your head down!”

He jolted and bowed his head, eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, you—don't go putting on that grateful act," "Nothing here warrants gratitude! Why did you foist Tsutakichi on my prized disciple?!" Chikara braced himself on his hands and slid out.

“P-Professor, Elder Sister knows nothing about this—it’s all a misunderstanding on your part,”

[Kobayashi Yoshino] exhaled a deep breath from her chest, “Silence!” “In all my born days, the only ones I’ve ever misjudged are you two.”

Forty-Two “I must respectfully contradict your words—” Chikara, realizing Yoshino’s affection toward him might prove a liability, could no longer remain passive and braced himself,

“I don’t know who whispered such things to you, but the very idea of a geisha residing in my household is absurd.” “As expected—that Sakata bastard isn’t involved in anything suspicious.” “I’m fully prepared to deal with him,” he declared, eyes bloodshot with fervor, though the shadowy truths he tried to hide remained stubbornly concealed. “Prepared? Prepared for what?” “Prepared to hang yourself when you’ve no excuses left?” “No—Sakata, that bastard, with his baseless—”

“Fool!”

he scolded, then slackened his tone, “Give it a rest already.” “How rude! Do you take me for some Sakai who eavesdrops on neighbors’ quarrels through walls and suspects baseless things?” “It’s because you’re so morally blind that you commit misdeeds and then swagger about, thinking you’ve stolen a moment from my oversight.” “What happened earlier? What did you do at Ushigome Mitsuke?” “In your panic—with countless excuses available—you fled babbling ‘It would be rude if the maid is asleep.’ What sort of pretext is that?” “The old crone isn’t operating a usury den—since when do servants nap before ten when their master’s away?”

“Who the hell said it’s rude if they’re asleep? If this were applied to you all, even my dim eyes would see through it! Among my subordinates in Iidamachi, they know exactly what impudent women’s geta lurk beneath the entrance board—down to the color of the straps! You fools! A bunch of shallow brats who can’t even keep secrets as trivial as applying moxa to a guest’s boots—earning you moralists’ scorn as ‘a household of horrors’—dare scheme to blind this Professor and plot rebellions fit to shake the heavens?!”

“If you’re going to do evil, then do it properly—with more skill and finesse. Go ahead and make perfect fools of yourselves. Even when delivering the same reprimand, I’ll comb through every strand just to praise you on that single point. You lowlifes! Even if you steal past the Professor’s eyes, the likes of you are nothing but fledgling (Tashen deep) amateurs!” This, it seemed, was what they called (abductors). Chikara abruptly supported himself with his hand as if buckling.

“Intimidated now, are you?” “But... truly... that... such a thing...” “Nothing?”

“…………” “Are you claiming there’s no geisha in your house?”

“Yes.”

Like a thunderclap,

“Get out!”

Kobayashi Yoshino involuntarily stiffened her shoulders. “Mr. Hayase, I—I’m not—” Her voice faded away as she covered her entire face with the sleeve of her patterned kimono, leaving not even her eyebrows visible. “No—you maggots who’ve worn out your welcome! You wretched brats clinging to your miserable existence! Such stingy bastards—I wouldn’t even let thieves like them upwind! To stand before Sakai is beyond audacious—get out!”

Even adultery has its justifications; even filial impiety crafts its excuses. Were there even preliminary affections like an opening act—once you've admitted someone into your inner circle—even disposing of kittens would demand bonito flakes. I meant to negotiate terms, sever connections, and settle matters cleanly—coming to your residence prepared with one hundred and two hundred in my pocket. Yet even now—ah—you persist in this willful delusion. Unable to utter "Be reasonable, Professor," clinging to secrecy—you'd rather leave your house roofless and live defiantly with that woman. If you think that makes you stand tall—then stand! If it rankles so—hey!—go become like me: keeping a regular geisha at my side yet scolded by my own disciple! Then come back reformed!

“Out! Out! Out!” “Disgusting.” “Won’t you leave?” “This parlor is my parlor.” “I’ll expel you from my parlor.” “Won’t you leave, you bastard? I said out! If you don’t rise this instant, I’ll kick you to death!”

“Oh my, you must apologize!” interjected Kobayashi Yoshino, flustered as she tried to mediate. Chikara wrung his body as if urging himself to shatter,

“Ms. Yoshino, please mediate,” he entreated, his gaze burning intently as his complexion drained of color. “Ask Madam—you must ask Madam, please,”

43 "What nonsense—asking Madam for help? Silence!" "You think Tsutsushimu would mediate geisha matters?" "As I told you earlier, Yoshino—you're their accomplice! Complicity means shared guilt." "After I expel Hayase, I'll be driven out next. Since this ends things between us too—accept it!"

As she was told, a stifled whimper escaped her lips, her shoulders quivered, and her sleeves trembled. Yoshino shook her head piteously like a child and grimaced in disgust. “Elder Sister,” With an expression of forced resolve, Chikara lifted his face—rubbing his eyelids as if mustering energy… yet his manner remained utterly unfocused, dissolving into incoherence—

“You… you needn’t concern yourself… Professor,”

Renewing his resolve, he supported himself with both hands, gasping for breath,

"I have no excuse. She has become an unforeseen burden. Please do not speak of such things to Elder Sister—do with me as you will." "If you do as you please, I'll just kick you to death."

He spat out the words, then for the first time drew deeply on his tobacco. “So you were cowed. Tsutakichi was inside. I won’t argue anymore.” “I was mistaken… I have no words to excuse myself.” The moment he exhaled breath through his lips, his voice trembled. Since he had already confessed his guilt, Yoshino—who until now had been unable to mediate—seized this moment, fumbling at the edge of her sleeve even in her inexperience, “Please be lenient and deign to overlook this, your esteemed self.” “Mr. Tsutakichi doesn’t bear any ill will either.” “He would never do anything detrimental to Mr. Hayase’s household.” “He was doing his utmost.” “A flashy courtesan like her isn’t in any position to celebrate her emancipation—she had to sneak away at night to get freed, even leaving without a change of clothes and taking on debts instead.”

“If she can just maintain a respectable household, in time society will forget her former trade, so it would not harm Mr. Hayase’s honorable standing. By now she can handle laundry and even sew simple garments—just the other day she came to see me late at night.”

In an elegant, tearful voice, “Since I don’t have a haori, I can’t go out during the day,” she said with feigned petulance—oh, how delighted she looked! “Moreover, though she’s still unaccustomed to this place and was such a timid courtesan, with Mr. Hayase being away like this—right now, who knows how anxiously she’s clinging to the door, standing in the dirt-floored entryway, waiting for his return? Whenever I think of that…”

Sky-blue tinged her eyelids, the sleeve cuffs of her underkimono pressed lightly down. Seeing her face glistening with moonlit tears, Chikara too let his own tears fall freely. "Don't spout nonsense." Without hesitation, Professor Sakai brushed aside the tears,

“Hayase—what do you say? Will you part ways?” “There’s nowhere for me to go—it can’t be helped. If only you would forgive me, Professor—my reputation and such things…” “Social appearances and such…” he half-said, his mouth going dry. “No—unforgivable. I won’t pardon you.” “The reason you speak so magnanimously is out of consideration for society’s opinion.” “I’ve already resolved this myself—while people in society flaunt their considerable talents yet become sons-in-law through wealth alone, or arbitrarily decide to marry off daughters and demand physical inspections of others’ girls—”

He flushed crimson, a tinge of blood rising to his brow. "Having served as a girls' school teacher and arranged marriages... I believed taking in society's castoffs—those no one claims—though still improper, would be less sinful than those other deeds." "And I certainly never intended to make her my wife." "I'll simply keep her discreetly as a lowly maid—nothing more." "Don't fool yourself. "If men become sons-in-law through merit or arrange matches at girls' schools—that's their own affair, being no disciples of mine. But by that same measure, one who brings a geisha into his household isn't my disciple either. Can't you grasp this?"

Forty-Four Just then, Tomo some appeared carrying the dining table—her loveliness, set against the gathering that resembled the aftermath of a tempest, took on the air of lingering blossoms. Even the gleaming electric lights—paired with the wintry wind and a lone moon in the sky—rendered the scene utterly desolate. The mouths of the three who hadn’t uttered a word—as if they might all at once exclaim “Baa!” to startle, yet for her own sake she felt they were tightly sealed—Tomo some stiffened along with the flower in her hairpin, set down the meal tray, rose as if floating, and with small steps moved to the edge of the sliding door.

The river plovers passed through there, their chirring sound coming to a halt. Even as Tomo some bustled about moving cup washers and bowl dishes, arranging them neatly and cleanly in a compact manner, Elder Sister had merely shifted the brazier slightly—despondent and looking downward—then immediately, as if suppressing her head from striking something, her pale hands resting on the fire tongs and her dispirited appearance abruptly leaning forward; just as she seemed to examine closely and was about to rise,

“Is this all there is to eat?” Sakai smiled, but at that moment—as if salt were being poured through a skylight—Tomo some felt a gaping maw had opened to devour her; shrinking back trembling behind the sliding door, she vanished into the wall’s darkness. Having left in such haste without closing the door behind her, when Kobayashi Yoshino noticed and made to rise, it was Tsunaji who came bustling in, deftly sweeping her hem aside. Responding to the urgent summons, she promptly pulled the heated sake from the copper pot and took up a resolute stance before the long brazier.

Having shed her apron with a dramatic flourish, she stood in the iron-walled storehouse chamber—swept aside a robe of shifting hues over white figured crepe, layered in matching top-and-bottom underkimono, a round obi of black satin woven with golden tea-colored irises, scarlet satin long underrobe—and with snow-pale arms chilled by tension, unhesitatingly presented the sake decanter she had brought. “Your sake,” When the clear sound of pouring rang out, the bush warbler turned toward it. Upon the heat haze above the meal tray, the electric light softened, hazily returning to spring. “Still early in the evening, is it?” “Just the Kashiwaya house alone, then,” she said with a faint smile.

“You may proceed unreservedly—though it’s rather indecent.” “Oh, why?” “Isn’t this banquet room meant for after eleven?” “Forgive me—such is the demimonde.” “Now Mr. Hayase—do eat properly, go on,” “No, I’ve had enough,”

Chikara merely gazed at the sake cup. “You ought to figure it out,” Tsunaji poured another drink for the professor, “My dear patron Tamiko-chan has been captured at Mount Ōe, so I’m going to rescue her. I’m Watanabe no Tsunaji.” “Reason, indeed, is your chainmail disguise,” “It’s not like the roots of a helmet’s neck guard have grown too much. Elder Sister,” she touched her hairpiece.

“No,”

she said, her words carrying the implication *You needn’t worry about that*. Tsunaji, with a reassured demeanor, lightly stroked her chest, “Delicious things will come right after—”

“Sister Tsunaji—another phone call.”

A voice came from the hallway—that of a junior geisha.

“Right, right—they’ve got official business over there too. Well then, I’ll go and come straight back, so don’t you go leaving now. I’ll bring Tamiko-chan with me, and we’ll all have red bean soup together again.”

Sakai silently nodded.

“Mr. Hayase, take your time.” As if seeing off the departing spring itself, Chikara watched even this apprehensively and turned his face away from the Professor’s gaze.

Sakai steadily presented the sake cup, “Hayase, come closer. More...”

[he] made him approach further, shrugged his shoulders, and stared fixedly,

“Now, let’s have one. How about it—shall we make this our parting cup?”

………… “Or will you abandon the woman?” “Yoshino, pour him a drink. Hey—how about it, Hayase?” “Here—pour him a drink. Won’t you take one?”

They lifted the sake flask, took up the small cups, and faced each other.

45

At that moment，his gaze shot left and right like lightning， “What are you dawdling about?” “It is my humble request，” said Kobayashi Yoshino，pressing one hand tightly against her racing chest， “At any rate—for tonight at least—you must allow Mr．Hayase to return．” “Then have them consider it thoroughly and let me hear your answer anew—I implore you，you must．”

“Come now, Mr. Hayase, you must do as he says.” “Since the Professor insists so strongly, you must exercise sound judgment here—I will take it upon myself to handle this matter. So...”

Even when urged to rise, Chikara remained seated, anxious about what would follow. “No matter what Tsutakichi-san did—if only I had kept pretending not to know… But everyone thinks the same way, I—”

Burying her chin deep into her collar, with hurried breath in rapid speech— “Because it hit too close to home... I ended up doing this... If we trace it back—” “You being at fault? There’s no such thing.” He said this with shoulders tensed defensively before Sakai, about to continue— (Even if you don’t look after me——) But catching himself at the impropriety of that thought’s continuation, he shrank back abruptly. “No—it’s my fault. So I’ll be scolded later—you must return now...”

“No! “At this point, do you think there’s any room for discretion or hollow gourds? If they save and return this fool, he’ll take the woman and elope without fail. They’ll grab him by the scruff and cut him down where he stands.”

“Hayase.”

In an irritated tone, "There’s no right or wrong here. Now then—even if I’m being unreasonable, even if it’s heartless—it doesn’t matter. Let her resent me, let her weep—it’s all acceptable. Let her die pining away—that’s acceptable. It’s the Professor’s order—just cut it off." "Abandon me, or abandon the woman."

“Hmm, there are no other phrases for this.”

With a chin gesture that said (How about it?), he calmly looked up at the ceiling, turned his back around, and thumped his elbow onto the dining table. "I will abandon the woman. Professor." he declared clearly. At that moment, Kobayashi Yoshino’s sake flask—still poised from pouring—and Chikara’s small cup touched with a clink. "To everlasting..." he declared, draining his cup in one gulp and covering his eyes. Without saying a word, remaining turned away as if discussing household matters, the Professor addressed Kobayashi Yoshino,

“That one—the hot one.—Another cup—one more.” He kept demanding more—five, six cups in quick succession. When the sake flushed through him with a sigh, he tucked his belongings into his kimono, fastened his haori cord, and stood up abruptly. “Hayase—dry your tears before stepping outside.” Kobayashi Yoshino pressed close against Sakai’s shoulder—her bangs nearly brushing his skin—clinging from behind in desperate entreaty,

“You’re leaving?” “Tsutomu is ill.” He slid the storm shutters closed himself. “That is impermissible,” she said on the veranda, gracefully adjusting with fluttering precision the sky-blue hem of her Sumida spring kimono. Kobayashi Yoshino’s weakened feet clattered in her garden clogs, but before the lattice door could even open fully, Chikara shifted his seat to hide behind the shoji screen and busily puffed on his rolled tobacco.

It was shortly past two o'clock when Chikara left through the Kashiwake family's lattice door—though in truth, it must have been nearing one. At that time, Elder Sister Yoshino—along with Tsunaji and another, a peony-like young woman named Tamiko—all three together accompanied him to the alley corner.

“We must both endure this,” Tsunaji declared in a boisterous, liquor-tinged voice as she saw Chikara off. At the same moment, he and Elder Sister firmly clasped hands. There in the desolate backstreet—sandwiched between the white glow of an eaveside lantern and the black shadow of a wooden fence—a hooded figure lay flattened against the ground. After glancing fore and aft, it stealthily emerged, slipped five or six paces past Hayase’s back... then scurried away with soundless steps.

“Psst,” “……” “Thanks for earlier. You really helped me out there.” The face that emerged when [he] removed his hood—the one in the happi coat who had been caught by Reinoshin in the streetcar.

Whose sleeve tugs?

Forty-Six

On Saturdays, classes ended by noon—with girls streaming out of classrooms, Shōyō Girls’ School blossomed all at once like hothouse flowers unfurling into a green sky, their sunlit hues and fragrances more intoxicating than lilies, their purples deeper than irises.

The older fifth-year students had quietly departed last, and now there remained not a single forgotten blossom. Amid four or five figures scattering toward the entrance platform, Taeko stood present. The Young Lady—most vivaciously flipping up the edge of her large crimson-toned sleeves from their wisteria-hued eight-seam openings as though leaping down in her haste—aligned her boot tips and stepped onto the earthen floor with a thud, just as a janitor came clattering over in zori sandals. "Oh, Miss Sakai."

he said.

Being an honor student with such striking features, there was no merchant frequenting the dormitory who did not know her; yet precisely because of their familiarity with the old gentleman, they ended up calling her by name without using "Ayame". "Yes?"

When she turned around, the janitor bowed slightly, “The principal would like a word with you.” “Me?” “Please come with me for a moment.”

"Oh, what could this be?" When her friends too peeked with looks of surprise—at the exit: one adjusting her komageta clogs; another halfway opening her parasol; their usual companions who would walk home together to that intersection—all gazed at Taeko's face from three directions and fell silent. Had the principal instructed this protocol in advance, or had her father discerned the loose tongues around them and acted with quick wit? "There is something that needs to be conveyed to your father."

“Oh, I see,” she smiled gently,

"Will you wait for me?" she asked the three of them, simultaneously flashing her dark eyes pleadingly—whereupon, as if rehearsed, two of them stroked their chests downward and giggled "Hohoho"—apparently signaling their hunger. Otae briskly followed the janitor back down the corridor—making an angry face, she turned around and rubbed her chest in the same manner. "It is the reception room." As she passed by the staff room, there was the calligraphy teacher facing away, carefully smoothing out the wrinkles of a furoshiki wrapping cloth while in the midst of bundling something. Lying on his back in the opposite direction, both elbows in the air and as if gripping the back of his head while leaning against the chair was the mathematics teacher. The woman dressed like a nurse, who had just laughed loudly, was—needless to say—the gymnastics instructor.

As she passed by—catching sight of them—Otae immediately averted her gaze, her footsteps quickening with sharp clicks. Passing behind the staircase landing, at the second next door—the reception room’s door stood half-open, where before a large bookshelf with painted glass doors, two or three newspapers lay visible on a desk facing it; but instead [of reading those], what glinted under the skylight was the principal of this girls’ school—Miyahata Kankō, Bachelor of Arts in charge of Ethics and English Literature—reading midway through a new Western book with golden lettering blazing on its spine. He was a close friend of Kōno Eikichi—another Bachelor of Arts—who received favors in meeting houses and dispensed them at school (an exchange of shrimp tea and scarlet crepe), one whom Chikara had denounced.

The author of this chapter wishes to express gratitude to you, Principal, for enabling the insertion here of the creative characters 'Ryūnanki no kunpukuikka to shite' ["fragrance as rich as Ryūnan's wonders"] to describe a man. Needless to say, of course, that fragrance belonged to the twentieth century.

Otae concealed half her body behind the door and paused. The janitor continued straight past. Miyahata turned his glasses glinting in her direction and gave a sharp look, narrowing his eyes as the tips of his beard stood stiffly—his chin was round. “Over here.” he said magnanimously, then composed himself and returned to his reading. Otae remained pressed against the doorframe, standing to the left of the entrance with her bundle of books still clasped to her chest. She offered a demure bow yet made no move to advance further. “Over here,” he called out as if casually, this time without looking up from his book—yet unable to maintain composure, he suddenly raised his eyes again, spectacles jumping with the force of his agitation.

He pressed both hands firmly against his cheekbones, hurriedly pushed the temples of his spectacles along the bridge of his nose, pressed down his eyelashes, startled, dug his fingertips in, and rubbed his eyelids. "Ha, ha, ha," he forced a meaningless laugh, then turned to face her with a serious expression. “Well?”

Forty-Seven When Principal Kankō looked sharply again, expecting Otae to approach any moment now, she remained motionless—standing firm with her mature eyebrows appearing to float at the hairline like clouds as she looked downward. One might think she dared not raise her head out of intimidation from his imposing manner... but no—that was not the case. Professor Sakai’s daughter was indeed smiling. It was a smile both endearing and guileless—yet to the principal at this moment, precisely because she neither obediently assented nor presented herself before him, there seemed something ill-natured and unyielding about her. And making a bitter face,

“Miss Sakai, you must come here!” At that moment, the principal arched his chest and slammed the table with a thud of his fist. Taeko bravely stepped forward, met him directly face-to-face, and—without a trace of timidity—opened her full double eyelids wide and unflinching. “May I ask your business?”

With such bearing—an indescribable air of dignity—Kankō, caught off guard, was illuminated as if by a sudden light and looked down. Though they had shared classrooms, this was indeed the first time since birth that the two had spoken privately. But in any situation outside the classroom, one could not have predicted it would be like this. But when the Principal—a man of his standing—raised doubtful eyes once more, thinking this shouldn't be happening as he looked up at her sitting straight-backed and slender in the chair, Miss Sakai remained just as dignified as ever.

“Miss Sakai...” The voice's origin did not progress as one lecturing on ethics.

His throat convulsed with tremors—ahem! He coughed, wiped with a handkerchief, and glanced around his surroundings, but there was neither hot water nor cold water. So— "Hey, janitor!" he shouted. "Y-yes, sir!"

A deferential reply resounded. The principal, by this, was able to greatly restore his dignity and, riding on this momentum, “I have something to ask you,” “Yes.” “He does translation work for the General Staff Office and still has German at the school, does he not?—Hayase Chikara, that is—he was your father’s disciple, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right…………” “And I hear they had him undergo training at your residence—about how old was he when that began?” “I don’t know.” she replied brusquely.

“You don’t know?” Making a strange face and looking up at Taeko from beneath his brow, “You don’t know?” “Yes, it was from before. Since he’s part of the household, I don’t know when it began.” “From around what age did you begin associating with him?”

“…………” She silently looked at the principal with a puzzled air, “Association? I detest it. Mr. Hayase is part of the household,” she said with a faint smile. “Part of the household.”

“Yes,” she nodded without hesitation. “Young lady, you must not say such things. If you go around calling him ‘part of the household,’ it will affect your parents’ honor—and yours as well—ah—” He opened his mouth and grinned.

Taeko turned away haughtily; a gentle anger filled the corners of her eyes. Kankō peered at her averted face, bent forward, patted his knee, and laughed with a “heh-heh” at the tip of his nose, “Associating with such a person—they say you keep a geisha as your wife.” “Disgusting.” “That is outrageous misconduct.” “It truly sullies the dignity of scholars.” “You must not visit such a man’s residence.” “You know all about this, I suppose.”

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

When the janitor came and humbly inquired about the instruction, the principal gestured with his chin, "What? Bring tea." "Yes, sir!"

“Close that on your way out—it seems the boarding students are peeking.”

Forty-Eight

When the door closed, the principal relaxed his formal posture and leaned back laughing, "Well now, do sit there." "I'm only telling you this because it's not for your benefit."

He deliberately stood up and adjusted it; though the edge of the chair brushed against her sleeve, causing her to shift one arm, Taeko merely offered a precisely measured bow and remained standing sideways as before. "As for Hayase's matter, there's still much more—it's nowhere near settled yet," he immediately frowned and adopted a pressing tone, "Ms. Sakai, Hayase is a criminal—a villain whose very name we should hesitate to utter."

Slowly extending his hand, he stroked the scattered newspapers on the table while, “Young lady, don’t you read today’s A… Newspaper?”

When she heard those words，her eyelids suddenly flushed crimson，and Taeko tightly gripped the edge of Tomosome’s undergarment sleeve. “I don’t read it.”

When she retorted, the principal arrogantly propped his chin on the table. “Yes,” was all she said, as Taeko bowed her head, blinking while casting a sidelong glance. “Incidentally—regarding this grave matter—has Hayase come to visit your father at all recently?” “Or perhaps you’ve heard something, young lady?” Her voice was small, yet clear, “No,” she said, biting the purple of the furoshiki bundle held in her sleeve with her white teeth. At this moment, this color took away the vermilion from her eyelids, making them appear forlornly pale.

“There’s no way he hasn’t gone. You know this and are still concealing it from me, aren’t you?” “I have no knowledge of it.”

She shook her head—innocently, seeming sulky, and yet appearing annoyed by the persistence.

“Well then, let’s assume you don’t know. Now, I will explain. Hayase—that man is an accomplice to kidnappers, the very sort who’d split purses with pickpockets!” The flower on her hairpin stood vivid and resolute—or perhaps her spirit intensified—as she abruptly turned to face the principal. Yet her clear eyes, finding nowhere to settle, darted restlessly across the grand world map covering the opposite wall, lingering near where the Sahara Desert lay. “Of course, Hayase—precisely because of that—resigned and was dismissed from the General Staff Office, which maintains particularly strict discipline, even before this newspaper could publish the story. This matter regarding the kidnapper encounter—the person himself, as you know, Mr. Sakata Reinoshin—it first reached his ears.”

“If you haven’t seen it, then have a look.” “It’s also written about in a few other newspapers.” “This A… Newspaper has the most detailed account.” He calmly spread it out before her and used his finger to point to the third page,

“It’s right here—please read it.” “I’ll go home and ask there myself,” she said, the flower of her lips trembling. “Ha ha ha—you calling them ‘the household’ makes this rather awkward, doesn’t it? “Well, if you don’t know, that’s just fine. “I’m saying this as a warning for your honor’s sake, so listen well. “It’s no use even if you go home and ask.” in a thickly contemptuous tone, “Father would keep it hidden in eight or nine cases out of ten since he’s his own disciple. How could I possibly know the truth?”

There was a series of knocks from the corridor. At this, the principal glared sharply, but reflexively straightened up, “Come in,” he answered without delay. The knocking and “Come in” were so perfectly synchronized that they seemed rehearsed. Namely, the one who cracked the door open slightly and first thrust his upper body in—face forward like a seven-tenths-length photograph—to peer inside was Kōno Eikichi. From his white tie with star patterns to the glint of his diamond tie pin alone—one could reconstruct his entire outfit from head to toe that day—the oil in his hair looked on the verge of melting.

With a countenance already brimming with indescribable delight, “Hey,” he called out as he stepped in, and the door behind him slammed shut with a thud. The reverberation of the door quivered up to the tips of Taeko’s slender shoes, then to her trembling chest, where the Atlantic waves on the map churned restlessly.

Forty-Nine “My apologies, my apologies.” With practiced ease, Kōno slightly lifted his hand and shook hands with the principal. “Ah, my apologies,” he said while glancing sharply at her profile from behind. The more animated Kōno grew, the icier and more composed the principal’s demeanor became.

“Where have you come from?” “I did some research at the university”—he stressed the word—“library, then had lunch at Seiyōken before coming 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…” “Student—” he said condescendingly.

“Ah...”

“Miss Sakai,” he said, turning sideways and stifling a chuckle. “Hmm—the Sakai of Masago-chō...”

He stretched his neck and looked at Taeko's face with an ambiguous expression—as if he understood yet didn't, recognized her yet didn't—then demanded, "You there, introduce us." "An introduction here at school would seem improper." "But this isn't even a classroom anymore!"

“In that case,” he said with genuine reluctance, then strictly declared, “Ms. Sakai, you attended the observation the other day—this is Bachelor Kōno Eikichi.” Someone had apparently prepared in advance the large business card bearing identical characters that now emitted its fragrance; he snatched it up lightly and was about to swiftly present it to Taeko’s brushing sleeve—Clumsy! Noticing this with his eyes, the principal checked the motion with his beard and began rubbing upward repeatedly around his nostrils. Eikichi’s eyes widened, and he hurriedly thrust both hands—still clutching the business card—into his coat pockets. But as he twisted his hips diagonally in what seemed like preparation to leave, he instead began taking scurrying steps around the perimeter of the map displayed behind him, eventually planting himself directly before Taeko. He rubbed one shoulder again, wiped his sweaty palms against the sides of his trousers with an air of purification, then abruptly extended his arm at a right angle—perhaps intending an impromptu handshake—only for his immovable black hair to naturally sweep aside the surrounding space.

“Ah, ha ha ha ha, my apologies.” Eikichi turned bright red, stepped backward—looking as though he might cry out “Oh, God”—and, “Please come visit us. My sisters—though they attend different schools—all know you.” “Haa…”

Nodding to himself, he circled widely around the edge of the table and, with a thud, climbed onto the spread-out newspaper until he was lying prone. "What were you talking about?" Glancing at the principal, Kankō glared fiercely from his brow, contorted his face bitterly, and while reprimanding his conduct, "In fact, I am currently in the midst of advising Ms. Sakai." Taeko flushed again. "That's right! Yes, Ms. Sakai…" Since you're silent— "Ms. Sakai!" "Y-yes," came the trembling voice.

"If your daughter doesn’t know, then you should ask." "It concerns recent events—as I mentioned earlier—Mr.Sakata Reinoshin had about one hundred yen stolen by a thief on the Ryōgoku-bound streetcar." "The moment he realized he’d been robbed, he grabbed that scoundrel and—with the conductor’s help—dragged him off the streetcar. But then that thief, who’d been cowering in fear until then, suddenly flared up like raging flames and punched Mr.Sakata—what a commotion!" "I mean, he got punched—poor Mr.Sakata, I felt so sorry for him."

“A true misfortune indeed.” “So here’s the thing.” “The police came, but since they couldn’t produce any evidence, the matter ended right there—so Mr. Sakata essentially got punched for nothing.” “Listen here—young lady.” There had been no evidence, but because he was a suspicious-looking fellow, the relevant authorities had him followed. Then around two o’clock that same morning near Asakusabashi, by a stroke of luck, they apprehended him—and this time, he had Mr. Sakata’s stolen money in a cloth-wrapped purse, completely untouched.

“Hey, young lady. They apprehended him and conducted a thorough investigation. Where had he hidden it until then? It turns out the purse—which hadn’t been there earlier—was… so it goes.”

When the principal spoke with utmost caution, Eikichi responded flippantly, “Strange—strange indeed.” “How utterly strange…”

Fifty

“The thief’s name was in the papers too—it’s something like Kozō Mantarō.” “According to his confession, when he stole [the wallet] on the streetcar, he was caught red-handed and utterly defeated—but since his opponent had punched him in the face, he was so incensed that he swiftly slipped the wallet from the sleeve of a man who happened to be looking down beside him, twisted it backhandedly while thinking ‘Got it now!’—or so he claims.” Now, while loitering around Yanagibashi late at night—thinking he might try his hand at honest work for once—he carelessly ran into the very man who had earlier let the wallet slip away. Wondering what had become of the money and reckoning that getting caught would be the end of it, he confronted him with reckless audacity. “No wonder your sleeve felt heavy,” the man said, finally noticing, then searched his own sleeve and produced the wallet. But once it had passed into his hands, he insisted—emphasizing how thieves like them usually operated—that it must be wrapped like a parcel and delivered to their associates. With great care, he handed it over. Come to the police box together! Without even saying a word, out of obligation to that clear-headed person, he intended to leave without laying a hand on it and was just about to return to the flophouse for the time being when he was apprehended. He’d been caught precisely because he’d tried—even briefly—to play the good man; had he kept his thief’s resolve, he declared with breezy defiance, he could’ve leapt from Asakusabashi’s railing onto Fugikama’s roof without ever falling into the gentlemen’s clutches. The bold fellow remained a bold fellow.

“Ms. Sakai. Who do you think this man was—the one who became the thief’s secret accomplice and took charge of Mr. Sakata’s wallet? Well? It was Hayase.”

The principal shifted his chair and lightly rapped the table, "How about this—even you must find it strange to hear." According to the authorities, they had already identified leads among those involved, and Hayase must have indeed been summoned by the police once or twice. However, since the allegations aligned with the thief’s testimony, Hayase was of a somewhat recognized social standing, and above all, as he was a disciple of your renowned father, the matter was settled without further scrutiny.

Regarding this matter, detectives apparently visited the residence in Masagocho as well, but out of discretion, it wasn’t written about in the newspapers, and your parents probably didn’t tell you. "And so, due to this unexpected calamity, Hayase resigned from his position as a translator-official at the General Staff Office—or so the newspapers neatly reported. But just think about it. Being on the same streetcar, there was no way he could have been unaware that Mr. Sakata had been pickpocketed amid that commotion. "He knew, you see—that the wallet was in his own sleeve… Well, even if we suppose he didn’t realize it until the thief mentioned it—when he finally became aware, he didn’t try to return it to Mr. Sakata, whom he knew…"

Addressing Kōno as well, "If someone were to hand it directly to the thief, how improper would that be?" "Above all, whispering with such bandits... They couldn’t do it openly—it would have to be done in secret eventually." Even though no one was contradicting him, he alone pressed on aggressively, “Transferring a wallet from hand to hand—such an improper, shady act.”

"But," Kōno Eikichi pretended to glance at the newspaper while stealing looks at O-Tae’s face—but when the young lady turned away and no longer even cast sidelong glances—he finally stared at her unabashedly, letting out a drained voice: "There’s no truth to Sakata’s suspicion that he’s an accomplice of the thief." "You— “There’s nothing I can say.” "They claim not to even know whose child he is or his background—just because he was in the Sakai household." “Please ask… Father…”

O-Tae said resentfully, her voice pitiful and choked with tears.

The two secretly exchanged glances, and the principal said bitterly, "There’s no need for such investigations. Even if we disregard everything else and don’t inquire further, someone must have at least sympathized with the thief—wouldn’t you agree?" “That might be that man’s principle.” “Principle—a perilously dangerous principle." “In short, Ms. Sakai. Associating with such a person would first compromise your honor, then this school’s reputation. From now on, you mustn’t speak a single word to him.” “Is that clear?” “Stay away—it’s dangerous. You never know what such a man might do.”

O-Tae kept her eyes wide open and fixed on the map she had been scrutinizing, straining to maintain her composure—how much she had endured since earlier. When she could no longer hold back her tears, they spilled like scattered dewdrops onto the purple package. If making an example of Chikara would serve that purpose, I would not begrudge even my own life.

Fifty-One

Well now, the two bachelors were astonished.

“Young lady, what’s the matter?” When the principal shot up from his chair, O-Tae kept her sleeves—which she had been gripping tightly from the start—pressed against her rounded elbows in the white silk underkimono’s straight sleeves, layering them over the book package as she buried her face, shoulders hunched inward, weeping without a sound. “Oh, why are you crying?”

When footsteps approached loudly from nearby, Kōno too rose hurriedly— "You mustn't cry now—there's nothing sorrowful here." "I wasn't scolding you." "But your manner of speech lacked composure." "That's why it caused misunderstanding." "You've no cause for tears,"

Secretly placing a hand on her shoulder—O-Tae did not shake him off, for she was too lost in tears to notice… Kōno Eikichi wore a delighted expression, “Come now, cheer up and let’s talk,” he said while darting his eyes about, gradually bringing his cheek close from the side to O-Tae’s bowed alabaster neck, lightly touching the ribbon bow before trembling all over—though the principal pretended not to see this, likely thinking Kōno would cover tonight’s expenses.

The moment O-Tae shifted her position, he staggered back with a clatter as if flung away. "May I go home now?"

With her face still hidden, O-Tae spoke. To this, there was likely nothing to say in return.

“Of course you may!” Before the principal had even finished speaking, she twisted her body around and, without so much as a bow, tried to stomp out—but with a clatter of shoes, the principal chased after her, bent forward at the waist. “When you return home, you must not speak of such matters to your father. I was merely advising you out of concern for your honor, you see—is that clear? Hmm?”

Hearing these words spoken in a hurried, coaxing tone with his face pressed close, O-Tae stopped and nodded obediently—her attitude one of forgiveness, yet still gentle. “Ah,” the principal sighed in unison with his relief, standing vacantly in the center of the room. Kōno’s figure flew sideways, flusteredly rushing ahead to open the door and stand at attention—but in that moment of passing, O-Tae dashed through, dropping the sleeve she had pressed to her face.

The corridor’s dust had settled beneath the rain-laden Chinese flowering crabapple, and though past noon had already brought shade, beyond the reception platform facing outward, the outdoors was a splendid day.

Pressing heavily together, their faces aligned like fruits growing on a tree, they uniformly saw O-Tae off; the four beards’ slimy texture was precisely like that of slugs crawling.

When returning to the house in Masagocho, there would always be a student lodger at the main entrance, so to avoid the hassle of being received, she would typically pass by unnoticed, give a thump to the side gate, circle around from the water inlet into the garden, and leap up onto the veranda—this was her usual routine.

At present, she was about to be scolded for stepping on the stepping stones and calling out "Mother, dinner!"—"What is this? You didn’t even announce yourself properly just now."

That was not the case.

As usual, when she entered the garden, Mother—still recovering from a lingering cold but with shoulders slightly hunched from residual chills—sat wearing a striped haori over her sleepwear, her hair arranged in a rare comb-wrapped style. Her face bore an emaciated look, her complexion pale enough to seem drained of color, yet there was something charming in her refined demeanor. Sitting formally on the bed, she draped the collar of her haori over her knees as she read the day’s newspaper—half of it spread softly over the futon.

Upon seeing this, for some reason, O-Tae became as if rooted to the stepping stones and stood still. The shadow of a beautiful sleeve passed through the parlor, and Mother composed herself, "You're late."

“Yes, I was discussing my essay with friends.”

Appearing to have a considerate plan regarding the principal, she replied smoothly yet with apparent listlessness as she started removing her shoes—when hurried footsteps approached from the entrance toward the adjacent tearoom, and through the sliding door came the student lodger's voice: "Young lady, was it you who clipped the article from today's newspaper?"

Purple Fifty-Two

After finishing her meal with swishing ochazuke and her favorite freshly sliced horse mackerel, she took an inkstone and a tufted toothbrush, removed her hakama trousers, tucked a hand towel into the sash wound so tightly around her waist it nearly choked her, hoisted a clanging metal basin, and thrust her snow-white bare feet into the black-lacquered kitchen clogs—their pale green cotton straps standing stiff and their teeth warped—utterly unconcerned about her shortened hem from leaving her tabi socks off. Emerging through the side gate by the water inlet into sunlight, her figure resembled yet diverged from a dancer drawing water onstage—akin to Fujima’s newly devised “Shepherd” pose.

O-Tae went out to the well by the entrance, in front of the hedge, and though it was dry, stepped without hesitation onto the slippery well curb in her warped wooden clogs. Though there were maids, Mother’s upbringing had been so thorough that from the age of eleven or twelve, she had grown accustomed to tasks ingrained in her flesh—never entrusting them to others. Here at this well, she moved with instinctive ease, her rapport with its waters so deep that until just last year, even in midsummer’s heat, she would draw bucket after bucket without hesitation, pressing her lips to the well pulley until the red plum by its stone rim—long after shedding its blossoms—would still occasionally send petals floating across the surface. She promptly produced a pink sash and threw back her sleeves to tuck them up. Her bare upper arms appearing like willow catkins scattering—no sooner did the well rope race than water came rushing down onto the inkstone placed in the metal basin; the water turned purple as ink scattered.

With the intent to wash away the old ink, she began scrubbing the toothbrush bristles, pinching them with her pinky finger—but whether from some impatience, she yanked them apart harshly.

Hayase entered through the tenement gate within the compound in an unusual business suit—a garment rarely worn except for commutes—with his lapels oddly puffed out and even carrying a bat-wing parasol unthinkable for midsummer use. Glancing furtively around as he crept in dejectedly, he spotted O-Tae beneath the plum tree... “Ah,”

he called out in a hurried, wistful voice, “Miss.”

O-Tae had not noticed until then. Called into awareness, she stopped her hands and looked at Chikara—perhaps still bearing traces of having drawn water, her complexion faintly flushed—but her silent eyes held more beauty than dewdrops or pearls, more than any wordless marvel of this world; they held more heartfelt depth than any song. "You're at it again with the water mischief, I see." He looked at her face with feigned cheer and let out a booming laugh—her soft eyes froze mid-motion as if glaring, "It's not goldfish. I'm washing my inkstone."

"Ah, I see." When he first peered into the metal basin and looked down, he blinked unnoticed before composing himself. "Are you making a fair copy?" "No, um—it's a painting." "I'm not very skilled..." "I need to paint something to bring to school the day after tomorrow." "What's your model—your sister's face?" "Don't be silly—nothing like that." "Oh," She smiled faintly and nodded to herself, "Something much finer—irises and Yatsuhashi."

“You’re referring to ‘While dyeing Chinese robes, they grow accustomed,’ I see.” He began to say—then grew sorrowful. O-Tae remained completely unaware, her complexion vivid, “My, when did you memorize that? I’m rather impressed.” “Poor thing.”

As he forced a pained smile, O-Tae's expression turned solemn, "But Chikara-san, didn’t you get drunk and sing at my birthday party last year? You belong to the shallow yet pure stream. Real songs aren’t your style, you know." she said bluntly. "Oh, I’m terribly sorry." (Placing a hand briefly to his forehead,) "And the Professor?" he asked again, then nodded meaningfully. "Stay here, on the second floor." Conveying "Come here" through color, she gazed up at the second floor from behind the well-trimmed hedge.

Chikara acted as if struck by sudden inspiration. “Miss,” he said—no sooner had the words left his mouth than he flung the bat-wing parasol aside like discarded trash, pressed her against the well pillar with fierce energy, and began tugging his coat off one arm.

“It’s been a while—let me wash it for you,” she said, but no sooner had he hung the removed jacket—nearly thrusting it into the wellside—than O-Tae found no moment to speak. She thrust her hands into the metal basin, “You there—that toothbrush.” “—A shallow yet pure stream.”

Fifty-Three "My, how rough. The well bucket's still dripping here—must you undress in such a place?" She spoke like a disciplinarian as she took the jacket from him. With dewy white arms that might have been binding silk habutae, she clasped its pale hue to her chest. "You're as finicky as the Professor—dragging things out to the wellside even in midwinter to splash about with water. This washing business may feel pleasant enough, but you'll stain your hands with ink." "Once it seeps under your nails, you won't get it out easily."

“Don’t act like you’re doing me some grand favor. “No one asked you to, you know.”

“I’m not trying to act like I’m doing you a favor. It’s about your crimson-tipped nails—you’re ruining those beautiful fingertips that look like they’ve been painted with rouge. That’s why I’m saying this. After all, you should have the student at the entrance handle it like when I was here.” “Ah, this is...” With a half-smile, “It’s not particularly high-quality ink, is it.”

“Fine! It’s cheap anyway. I’ll do it myself, so it’s fine!” “Even though I’m telling you your hands will get covered in ink. You say such harsh things, when it’s my hands standing in as your substitute here, isn’t it?” “Even so, you know, these hands holding my garments like this are truly, truly—” (she put force into her words and smiled) “—causing me trouble.”

“You never change,” he said, then added as if muttering to himself: “But tell me—you’ve been studying quite diligently these days, haven’t you?” “Why do you ask, Chikara-san?” “Chikara-san.” “Because you’re already making preparations today for the painting you intend to present the day after tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“The next day’s Sunday—I simply must enjoy myself!”

“Ah, Sunday, isn’t it.”

He wiped away the droplets; the inkstone was so polished it could reflect a face. She gazed up intently, “Um, that Japanese paper in your pocket—please take it out.” “Chikara-san.”

“Yes,”

“Hohohoho,” she simply laughed.

“What’s so funny?” “Huh? Did ink splash on my face?”

“No, hohohoho.” “What are you laughing about?” “You know,” “Huh?” “Perhaps…” “Yes, yes.” “Hohoho, the next day’s Sunday again—I’ll come visit you at your place.”

The color of Chikara reflected in the water abruptly darkened to the murkiness of diluted ink. Alas, through particular circumstances, the house in Iidamachi had ceased to exist.

“Please do come in.”

He answered with vigorous enthusiasm and in a deeply considered tone.

"Um, have the white lilies in the garden bloomed yet?" ………… "When I went there the other day, the buds were still tight, so to make them bloom sooner, I did a little charm—puffing on them like this—but…" The very lips that uttered those words indeed puffed out. Chikara's back became thin, pressed as if under a wooden clamp.

Just as Taeko was about to speak upon seeing this, the lattice door clattered open, and the student at the entrance suddenly appeared. Even when offered a tip, he refused to comply; with his haori cords left untied and hanging long, he came striding over, “Mr. Hayase, the Professor—”

The second-floor corridor loomed above eye level; the Professor already knew. "Yes—right away," he responded. Though his figure remained unseen below, Chikara called up to the second floor in reply. Clutching the inkstone, he hurriedly stood, flung open his outer garment, circled behind, and stepped into geta that hung too long on his feet. He draped the garment over his shoulders like a reluctant embrace. "Oh dear, this is most troublesome," he muttered. As Taeko settled the fabric across his back—thin enough to crush bones, he thought—his body writhed as if trembling. "You're being obstinate on purpose." "How utterly detestable!" Frowning at her own motions—whether at the gossipy old women peering from tenement windows, the stray cat slinking through the alleyway, or the student sullenly twisting his haori cords—she paid them no heed. With calm precision, she dressed him, pressed the collar flat, and rose onto her toes.

“Ugh, why is there so much dandruff here?”

Fifty-Four When Chikara hurriedly ducked through the lattice door with a thudding impact, Otae—dangling her hand as she saw him off—wore an innocent suppressed smile. "My, how careless!" Indeed, he had entered holding an inkstone but left behind his umbrella and the bowler hat hanging from its handle. The student who had been lingering behind and peering their way grinned so broadly at Otae's smile that his face seemed ready to split apart; then, swinging his haori cord into a loop and rapping on the lattice door, he slouched inside.

When everyone had left, Otae—her double eyelids swollen to fullness—already looked up at the second floor where Chikara had apparently ascended (given the speed with which he had done so), then moved sideways to place her hands on the well pillar and stretch upward as far as she could. Leaning back against the pillar, she turned around to rest against it, then took the sleeve of her school-uniform kimono—still as she had returned home—shook it out briskly toward her hand, and scrutinized it until her eyelashes grew thick with focus. With painstaking care, as if counting each layer meticulously, she pulled apart the overlapping sleeves of her lined kimono and Chinese crepe underkimono with dyed patterns, inserted her wrist so deeply that she believed herself discreet—yet this very act made her all the more conspicuous.

However, because her way of handling it was so artless, to the eyes of the wife still peering from that tenement window—oh my—it looked like a small spiral shell, a ball, or perhaps a hard bean, she thought—but it was none of those things.

What she pulled out was a slender slip of paper with writing on it—though improper-looking, there was no cause for concern—it was a newspaper clipping. Precisely because of this, even in the school reception room, she had been constantly fussing with her sleeve—for within it was an article, needless to say, in small print spanning about one column, concerning Chikara’s theft of over one hundred yen from Sakata… a matter related to pickpocketing. Otae, upon leaving for school this morning, had pretended to collapse near the dining tray while the maid was bringing miso soup. As was her habit, she performed her rapid reading of the third page—where Chikara's incident appeared under the somewhat provocative headline "The Pickpocketing German Scholar"—clutching it tightly, rereading, stretching, folding, and appearing deeply troubled. But no sooner had she made an angry face than she stood up abruptly at the lamp shelf, passing the maid who was setting down a tray. Concealing scissors under her sleeve, she glanced around before plunging them in—whether she was cutting vintage chiyogami paper or demonstrating her markedly improved sewing skills—she snipped away with masterful precision.

Mother feigned illness and went upstairs to rouse the Professor while calling "Chikara! Chikara!" The student made a clattering racket at the entranceway.

The maid happened to be hidden by steam in the kitchen at that moment, so no one had noticed—but this wasn't something that could stay concealed indefinitely. Moreover, even if this particular article were excised, Chikara's disgrace couldn't be hidden away, since two or three other newspapers still arrived daily within the household—though such matters were of no concern to them. Thus without awaiting the principal's explanation, Otae already knew everything—her bitter tears welled up faster than any shock at hearing the story could manifest. The student meanwhile nursed an odd habit of submitting letters to what appeared to be an internal correspondence column. That morning he'd lain abed rubbing his hands over which section to target—only for someone else to beat him to it while he slept late. When he later rushed to check, he found precisely where his intended article should have been on page three—a small rectangle cleanly excised. His initial disappointment curdled into marrow-deep resentment—this mischief could only be the young lady's work!—and he waited glaring through the entrance screen for her unusually tardy return. When she finally passed through the gate he gave chase, cornering her with accusations—to which Otae's reply came simply: "Oh, that was me."

Alone once more, she reviewed it here again, but halfway through, she averted her eyes and appeared lost in thought for some time; then tore it roughly with a rustle, rolled it up swiftly, and threw it aside without looking—whereupon her gaze fixed on Chikara's bowler hat hanging from his folded umbrella near another pillar, "How detestable!" she muttered, her face flushing as she knocked it away, grabbed 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 right in front of Otae. “Heh heh...” At that moment, Otae was clutching Hayase Chikara’s Western-style umbrella. “Where are you going?” “To the rickshaw stand—I am in a great hurry.” “Oh, is Father going out?” “No, I’ll have the carriage prepared and call Lord Pockmarks, hahaha.”

Farewell Gift

Fifty-Five

The matchmaker's scene at nightfall found Sakai and Sakata Reinoshin facing each other with lamplight between them. “At present, this concerns mere formalities—I’m profoundly humbled you specially dispatched a carriage,” said Sakata, stroking his forehead with a laugh that exposed his front teeth. “To be frank, I had stepped out briefly on personal business when—as they say, some instinct stirred within me—I hastened home only to find a carriage at my gate. Thinking it must signify a visitor’s arrival, I—” “Hahaha! That is to say, the carriage we had prepared arrived most opportunely.” His laughter rang out again. “Indeed, one might call this most fortuitous—nay, this occurrence itself serves solely as an auspicious portent of our matrimonial connection taking root, I must declare—”

Sakai, unusually assuming a dignified bearing,

“My apologies for summoning you, but my wife is unwell,” he said, reaching out to firmly pull out a roll of tobacco.

“By the way—how fares your esteemed wife’s condition?” “As for her recovery, I had already inquired during our previous meeting as well.” “The Kōno family has been informed too—Mr. Eikichi’s mother in particular is most concerned.” “What exactly ails her? I myself am deeply troubled about it, you see—” “There’s nothing to worry about.” “It’s neither consumption nor leprosy.” With this acerbic remark, the Professor brushed ashes from his tobacco while looking down, then tucked his left hand into his sleeve, drew himself up, and inhaled deeply. Sakata Reinoshin splayed both arms wide, slapped his trouser knees twice with a thwack, gave a sharp hiss through his teeth, and fixed Sakai with a sidelong glare.

“It’s nothing more than a cold that’s taken a bad turn.”

“As everyone says, that cold is the root of all illnesses—and indeed it is true.” “You must take care not to neglect this.”

His strangely expressionless face glowed crimson in the lamplight, "In that case—given your esteemed wife's current indisposition—I presume there has been no opportunity yet to consult her regarding your daughter's marriage prospects?" Sakata began with grave formality, to which Sakai responded in an offhand tone. "No, we did discuss it." "Ah! You did consult her?" He rubbed his chin with a hiss through his teeth, "And how does your esteemed wife regard this matter? To speak plainly—if I may—this affair hinges more upon her ladyship's disposition than your own. A single word from her would settle everything. Though it pains me to press... Mr.Eikichi's mother has been awaiting this response less than she has been anticipating an auspicious day—hence her continued residence in Tokyo." "Ah." "With but one word from her ladyship—"

With eager intensity, he slurped busily, “Well, even for someone such as myself to undertake this matter—truly, my heart positively thunders—though...”

When Sakata gazed intently, Sakai half-closed his eyes while— “Since it is none other than your recommendation, Professor, and as I have ascertained, the Kōno family is indeed an impeccable household. In truth, this is a match beyond our wildest hopes—naturally there should be no objections whatsoever—but as she is an unworthy daughter...” “No, no,”

Sakata shook his head vigorously, rousing himself with great fervor. “This is most outrageous! How preposterous—for you, as her parent, to deign to call Mrs. Kōno Eikichi unworthy! Even from your esteemed lips, Sakata Reinoshin cannot simply let such words pass unheeded. Hahaha.” “Then, would you be so kind as to grant your consent?” “My wife is delighted and says she earnestly desires this.” At that moment came a soft rustle of fabric brushing against the sliding door—emanating from the adjacent tatami room—for the Professor’s second floor comprised two chambers: an eight-tatami study and a six-tatami parlor. Here in the six-tatami room at the upper end of the raised floor sat Sakata facing him.

Sakata Reinoshin once again placed his hand on his forehead, “Oh, it’s nothing at all. “I feel as though my grandest wish has been humbly fulfilled.” “With such patronage to shelter me, my pockmarks flourish splendidly, I must say.” “Ha, haha.”

The moralistic scholar's act of proclaiming his own ugliness was, as a rule, limited to occasions when discussions had reached their conclusion.

Fifty-Six

Given that this was a match one could scarcely hope to obtain and there being no objections, the moralist—drawing from past experience—assumed the marriage proposal was already settled. Yet Sakai, contrary to his stern and principled demeanor, remained composed, leisurely continuing to exhale long streams of tobacco smoke in a manner suggesting the discussion had not yet reached its conclusion. Anticipating some further development, an uneasy itch simmered beneath Reinoshin’s composure; the lingering warmth from days spent pacing about had left the soles of his tabi-soled boots peculiarly clammy.

He fidgeted his seated knees, “Well then, if your esteemed wife has graciously consented, what are your own thoughts on the matter?”

Without the slightest hesitation,

"I have no objections whatsoever." “Ah, I see,” Sakata pressed on, but the matter was far from settled. Thus, this matter must be settled, but... "In that case, the person in question would be Miss Taeko, but..." “My daughter is a child. Since this marriage talk is akin to her holding chopsticks, picking a groom, going ‘snap’ to conclude it—the sort of game you’d indulge—there’s no room for refusal.” He lightly tapped off the ash, then immediately returned to his cigarette.

The moralistic scholar could no longer endure it; he clenched his hands and shook his knees, “Now that both parents and the bride-to-be have granted their approval, how would it be if we were to proceed immediately with betrothal consultations?” “Strike while the iron is hot, I must say,” he proposed, invoking a proverb beyond his usual lectures. “Professor,” he interjected forcefully while thrusting a cigarette into the ashtray. “Ah, I see. Regarding this matter... there is some separate condition?” “There most certainly is. (His tone shifting) “While we’ve no objections to this match ourselves, we won’t permit any complications to arise.” “Of course,” he said bluntly. “You—she’ll become Kōno’s bride.” “Yes, there’s no mistake in that—but there remains one other person whose consent I must secure.” “What do you say—would you be so kind as to consult that individual?”

“A simple matter,” said Sakata Reinoshin with obsequious formality. “What might that entail? If it concerns an esteemed relative or personage of similar standing, I would deem it most proper to dash over there posthaste with these very feet.” He leaned forward slightly, his pockmarked face arranged in eager deference. “Might I inquire as to the distinguished name and residence?” “The residence is in Iidamachi—” began Sakai Shunzō.

As he spoke, the Professor’s shoulders rose slightly.

“It’s Hayase.” “Your pupil?” he exclaimed in astonishment. “He’s a man involved in a theft case,” he said with a meaningful smile.

Reinoshin, with a thoroughly bitter expression, “Ah, well... Under what circumstances might this be, I must inquire? I had merely understood him to be your pupil, but if there exists some profound reason of which you speak...” “There’s no reason at all. Hayase is quite taken with her,” declared Sakai Shunzō with composure—Sakai Shunzō was a renowned literary scholar.

The moralistic scholar—his pockmarks twitching—widened his eyes and fell silent. “Following the wishes of the one who’s utterly smitten—rather than the actual parents or even the person themselves—is by far the surest path.” “If Hayase approves this match, we’ll hand Taeko over at once.” “No complications whatsoever.” “I could take her by the hand right now and deliver her to Kōno myself—perfectly acceptable.” “If Hayase objects, we’ll refuse point-blank.”

He couldn't remain silent. "In that case, well—" and his complexion shifted slightly, "Your pupil has feelings for Miss Taeko..." he began, faltering as even an outsider might hesitate to broach such a matter—but Sakai remained unperturbed, "He's in love with her, of course." "They grew up in the same household, indulging each other's whims—if he weren't in love with her, there'd be something wrong with him." "Of course, the nature of this affection—this *love*—is unclear. Is it sibling-like? Cousin-like? Master and disciple? Lord and retainer? Some novelistic or fantastical bond? I cannot say. But he's undoubtedly smitten. So rather than listening to parents, uncles, aunts, relatives, friends—pardon me—or matchmakers, I'll cut through all that fuss and decisively entrust my daughter's marriage prospects to the man who loves her." "What do you think, Professor—isn't this a most excellent strategy?" "Or is this yet another drunkard's fancy?"

He said jokingly, breaking the silence—but as the moralist sat dumbstruck, speechless, he relentlessly pressed on, “Please carry that out decisively.”

Fifty-Seven

“You—well, your words are most gracious, but—” Sucking in until his cheeks hollowed, Reinoshin pressed fervently... “If it should come to pass that your pupil Hayaseko declares his love for your daughter and wishes to marry her... I must inquire... what would your esteemed intentions be regarding such a matter?” “Let them do as they please,” the professor answered without hesitation. Once again, he was not a little daunted by this,

“If I take your meaning correctly, you graciously approve of free marriage?”

“No,” “Ah... What manner of esteemed intention might that be?”

"I am the one who was betrothed," Sakai laughed. “Betrothed? Then Hayaseko and your daughter are betrothed, I take it.” “That is absolutely not the case.” “The betrothal was between me and my wife.” "And... you both agreed to that?" "Because we were in agreement, we became husband and wife." “As for Taeko’s intentions, I have absolutely no idea.” “If she stays with Hayaseko and calls it a free marriage, then let it be a free marriage. If she elopes with someone else, that’s an elopement marriage,” he declared with composure.

“Heh heh heh—your jest,” said Sakata, his pockmarked cheeks twitching. “Your argument strikes me as rather radical!” “Professor,” countered Sakai, swirling his sake cup, “when you consider it, demanding another man’s daughter like merchandise is far more radical. Yet custom sanctifies it—so no one bats an eye.” He leaned forward, the streetcar’s shadow flickering across his face. “You’ve made this proposal. My daughter has a devoted suitor—why shouldn’t we settle matters according to his heart? Marry her off abruptly, and that lovesick fool would despair, writhe in torment, slip into madness… The world’s troubles would multiply beyond bearing.”

“Now then—if this proposal were to fall through—while Hayaseko may find that acceptable—Mr.Eikichi would surely suffer equal measures of disappointment, anguish, and torment… I must ask that you take this into your kind consideration as well.” “No need to worry—”

He smiled composedly as though concluding the matter. "There has never been an instance since antiquity where failed matchmaker-arranged marriages led to talk of dying or living." "The disturbances invariably stem from those secretive affairs conducted without matchmakers." “Ah...”

Having said this, the moralist opened his mouth and stared blankly at Sakai’s face, but—

“However, sir—if I may venture to say so—it is said that Hayaseko has brought some geisha-like woman into his household.” “Precisely. Should he find this arrangement inconvenient for himself, he wouldn’t lay a finger on Taeko. I shall immediately consent to her marriage into the Kōno family.” “Alternatively, if he secretly intends something with Taeko, he must first practice household management with that geisha before becoming her husband.” “In either case, kindly hear that fellow’s reply.” “Or should he declare, ‘I don’t want Taeko for myself, but letting her marry into the Kōno family is unacceptable,’ then I too shall refuse.” “In any case—being utterly smitten with Taeko as he is—whatever the one who truly loves her declares shall hold the same weight as a divine oracle for my daughter.”

With matters having reached this state, were someone to bring up the theft incident now, it would only hasten the complete collapse of negotiations—Sakata Reinoshin, finding himself cornered, flushed crimson,

“There can be no dispute about this matter. In any case, I shall persuade Hayaseko and once again humbly request your approval. But this is quite troublesome. Yes, just earlier, when I happened to pass by that alley in Iidamachi where Hayaseko resides and peered in, there was someone who looked like a fishmonger giving instructions as they were in the midst of packing up the luggage. When I asked where they were moving to, the fishmonger-type fellow bellowed, ‘We ain’t movin’—it’s a moonlight flit!’ So I’ve no earthly idea where they’re headed.”

The professor burst into uproarious laughter,

“Ha ha ha ha, it’s true.” “That idiot helped some pickpocket and had to flee Tokyo.” “He already came to bid farewell—said he’d withdraw to his hometown in Shizuoka. Same region as the Kōno family’s estate, no?” “Might prove convenient for your scheming.” “…As you please—take your leave.”

Ah, what use was a matchmaker now?

Having forgotten his yellow handkerchief, he personally saw Reinoshin out to the entrance, turned back, and ascended to the second floor. When Sakai opened the door to the eight-mat study beyond, there was Chikara—hands braced against the low table before him, bowing low as tears fell. Mrs.Sakai was also by his side.

The professor briskly took his seat in the place of honor,

“Humbly serve him sake.” “Hayase, consider this your farewell gift.”

Fifty-Eight

Chikara’s heart must have been shrouded in darkness as he descended the creaking stairs with unsteady steps. Though a beam of light—like that from an opened sack—streamed through one room from the eight-tatami study where the professor and his wife resided, below was a long six-tatami space where even the student’s desk near the entrance lay in shadow.

True to form, Sakai had been cautious—indeed intending it as a farewell gift for Chikara—and to prevent them from overhearing the conversation with the moralist, he had discreetly sent them elsewhere earlier that evening. The haori cord—whether properly tied or not—still hung loose where he had not returned. Though not drunk, he staggered—barely catching himself against the wall—and upon fully descending the steps, Chikara felt as though he had plunged into a lightless abyss. His knees nearly buckled as he tried to steady himself, but having already refused Mrs. Sakai's offer to escort him beyond this point—the professor being another matter—he now hesitated here. Should she rise from her seat during his lingering, it would prove most improper. With this thought stiffening his posture, he thrust himself forward as if kicking his own hips into motion, taking a great stride through the doorway.

With a swoosh of the opened sliding door appeared a figure clad in a stiff obi of Chinese crepe dyed in tomo-zome patterns and a checkered meisen haori coat—looking three or four years older than when last seen at that festival night stall. Holding aloft a Western-style lamp—its round glass shade atop a tall bamboo stand—like a staff for support, she abruptly emerged from Mother’s chambers. When Chikara caught sight of Taeko’s face, he offered no words—merely knelt there as if prostrating himself upon the tatami in a deep bow—while Taeko too sat in silence beside the lamp stand she had set down, her shoulders drawn slender and fingertips aligned, the sound of her sleeves sweeping lightly across the mat.

This exchange of such formal courtesies marked the first time for both of them. Where the hems of their garments nearly grazed the entrance’s shoji screens, they faced each other—and thus parted. As Chikara angled his chest and lifted a hand to his knee, Taeko’s ribbon—what color was it?—like a snow-white butterfly, swayed free from her black hair in the lamplight’s flickering shadows.

“Are you leaving already?” Having been addressed first, he slightly raised his face to look at Taeko—an image that would remain unforgotten by Chikara until his dying day. Seated sideways at the desk and somewhat troubled by her disheveled collar—which she kept lightly brushing with her hands—her demeanor appeared chilled and despondent. Yet her lips glistened with an alluring melancholy like ink used for painting irises that holds droplets of purple within its blackness. Even stray hairs meant to be tied up come morning fluttered against her brows like white peony petals casting shadows from her heart’s depths.

“Miss.” “……” “Farewell.” “You as well.” These few words were imbued with boundless emotion.

As he put on his shoes and stepped out through the lattice door, Otae—with her back to the Western-style lamp and clinging to the frame of the shoji screen—watched intently while seeing him off,

“Goodbye.” She said it forcefully, but this was no heartfelt farewell—rather, the words seemed uttered by rote, as if following some schoolgirl protocol for such occasions, like parting from a classmate after lessons.

The moment Chikara's figure flickered out of view beyond the lattice, Otae hid only her face behind the shoji with a sulky air and vigorously rubbed the edge she was gripping two or three times with her palm. Then she twisted her back, bent her body as if in anguish, and peered toward the tearoom beyond the sliding doors as though gazing at some distant place—where beneath the hanging Western lamp by the long brazier sat a maid whose appearance matched both storybook descriptions and reality. The violently rocking ship that someone had been cautioning about in a low voice while leaning over the desk in the adjacent room drawing pictures since earlier—saying "You'll catch a cold"—had by this time become a complete wreck.

Taeko assessed the situation and, without knowing what she was reaching for, threw open the lattice door—the moment she moved, the end of her disheveled crimson obi came undone.

Fifty-Nine

“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 stopped Hayase.

“……” “I can’t bear it—if I go off to the countryside or anywhere like that.”

Chikara must have glanced around—his hat shifted amidst the dark verdant leaves. "I’ll return soon enough, so please don’t worry." "But even if you say 'soon,' you won’t come back within just a month or two, will you?" “Well, I’m closing up the household entirely.” “I intend to withdraw for two or three years.”

“I can’t bear it—two or three years. “……Even those Sundays when we went out just once a month—waiting for them felt like an eternity.” “Two years? Three years? I can’t bear it—I simply can’t!” Until she stepped through the lattice door, Taeko had appeared meticulously cautious about avoiding attention, but now—far from lowering her voice as if concerned about eavesdroppers—she suddenly hushed here, “That—you were scolded by Father over your secret… wife,” “Yes!” “So you’re leaving for the countryside because you’re heartbroken over parting with that person—isn’t that it? Hmm? Or am I wrong?”

“…………” “If that’s how it is, then endure it properly. Mother says that person deserves pity too—when the right moment comes, she’ll speak to Father about letting you live together. I’ll act as ‘Miss Sake-pourer,’ make him drink copiously, and make my request then. Father will consent.” “…What perfectly deserved punishment you describe! My tears overflow—how wasteful. The Professor’s admonitions shattered my illusions—it feels like my very soul has been replaced through rebirth. From now I’ll treat this as spiritual discipline—I resent no one. Though my own transgression caused this, being branded a thief and burdened with slanderous rumors makes public life impossible.”

"The Professor kindly says that if things become too troublesome, I can come to his gate again and he'll take me in, but staying by his side would only make the thief's name spread even more through society. 'It may seem cowardly, but retreating to the countryside for now and relying on the saying that rumors fade in seventy-five days—feeble as it feels—is the surest strategy, I believe. Even arriving at Shinbashi or Ueno Station after just a day's journey makes me so happy I could weep, but beloved as Tokyo is, I must part from it for a time.'"

“I can’t bear this! I can’t bear you leaving!”

When the words ceased, a sound came—a droplet from the well bucket fell. As he bent forward slightly, Taeko’s feet were faintly white. “When I go to Shizuoka and settle down, once everything is arranged, I’ll decorate even the eaves of a thatched hut with beautiful flowers to welcome you. So please come for sea bathing during your summer break.” “Ejiri and Okitsu are right there, and though you may not know them yet, there are famous places like Kunōzan and Ryūsen-ji, with Seiken-ji and Miho no Matsubara also nearby,”

Until he could show her Mount Fuji—that mountain touching the heavens—Chikara kept coaxing the young lady with earnest words.

“I can’t stand it! More than that—once I graduate next year, I’ll have no use for that school or the principal anymore. Then I could come to your place every morning from dawn and show that principal up, but…” “How infuriating! They call you an accomplice of kidnappers, lump you in with pickpockets—that’s what they say about you.” “And they forbid me from speaking of it—claiming it tarnishes the school’s honor.” “Well, I wanted to say I’d go straight to Mr. Hayase on my way home and give him an earful, but they’d dock my conduct points.” “So then, not wanting to fall behind my friends or make a spectacle, I stayed silent—but I cried.” “Chikara-san.” “Once I graduate, from that very day, I wanted to stay in your second floor and take revenge—(What, am I a pickpocket too? Watch this!)—but how bitterly disappointing this all is.”

She sidled closer, "Isn't there some way to avoid going to the countryside?" As if forgetting herself, Taeko leaned against his shoulder and clung to his chest. Chikara took her hand as though lifting it reverently, then involuntarily pressed his lips to her ring. "I will never forget. I shall become a vengeful spirit even in death." As though vowing to cling to your shadow, he rustled the fresh green leaves.

A Hawk Leaving the Nest

Sixty “Whoa! Over here! Sensei from Iidamachi! This way! Ha ha ha ha!”

In the sparse, gloomy interior of Shinbashi Station nearing midnight, it was Megumi no Sōsuke of the Megumi group who called out to Chikara in a piercingly high-pitched voice. It appeared that Isami had taken full charge of the luggage and come ahead to wait. He turned the large Chinese leather suitcase sideways and plopped down onto it with a grunt. With a heavy small attaché case among the luggage and books greedily stuffed inside—their spines bearing Klothos-printed letters that glittered like Berlin starlight proclaiming “Thus shines celestial radiance”—he clutched them gourd-like against his knees, blocking the third-class waiting room entrance at the right corner just shy of earning reprimand, adopting a posture fit for stone benches beneath trees, his face under electric lights flushed like blossoms viewing cherry boughs—ninety-nine percent drunk.

Having clearly reached his limit after parting from the young lady at Izutsu in Masagocho—leaves fallen and branches broken in their wake—Chikara, having drunk who-knows-where along the way, was in such a tipsy state that he abruptly thrust his hat through the entrance to peer into the second-class waiting room when Megumi called out to him from what he termed "(Over here!)". Since this single utterance resounded with a deep boom, one could imagine the sheer volume of that great sound. “Hey, kept you waiting, huh?” Now that things had come to this, even Chikara found himself spirited.

With a heave-ho, he set down the luggage and stood up, "I kept you waiting, Professor. Been here since nine." "You must've been bored stiff—my apologies." "Nah, wasn't nothin'."

Grinning slyly, he opened the front of his hanten coat and furtively revealed a four-go cask of Masamune sake slung diagonally across his belly apron. “This here’s why—ain’t no way I’d get bored! Just gotta toot the horn now ’n’ then,” he added, shaking his head with the headband still tied around it, “Was watchin’ the ticket window, see? Ha ha! That pretty missus’ hands flittin’ snow-white over there—thought maybe she’s usin’ tweezers on butterflies or somethin’! Like fireworks in one o’ them movin’ pictures! Quite the show, eh? Much obliged. Ha ha ha ha!”

“You fool! What do you think they are? They're officials. Outrageous.”

He forced a wry smile while admonishing, “Did you get the house fully sorted? Must’ve been hell.” “A battle—a proper battle, I tell ya! But once the accounts master came ’round and the mill hands pitched in, we’d swept out every last broken Western lamp under the veranda before nightfall. Don’t know what t’do with any of it—you said t’sell off everything root ’n’ stem, but that ain’t how it works. Otsuta-chan wouldn’t let us toss the nukamiso she’d kneaded herself—gave it t’the rickshaw man’s ma instead. As for the altar—since Otsuta-chan refused t’let strangers handle it—I hauled it on my back home once. But y’see, with that women-forbidden rule keepin’ her from takin’ charge, we had t’surrender the castle. Bloody nuisance! When them carefully rolled-up stitchin’ thread scraps wrapped in paper came outta the hibachi drawer—Ogen-bō just burst out cryin’. After Madam put such care into runnin’ this household—and they go ’n’ rip it all apart!”

“Oh yes, we drank all right,” said Megumi. “We piled those tobacco rolls into mountains! Got bonito from the neighborhood fishmonger—handpicked the liveliest tuna you ever saw and hauled it over in one go! Then I showed off my knife skills—clean slices in under a minute!” He rolled an imaginary die, licking his thumb where a one might’ve shown. “Heated sake by the hearth fire till it steamed proper.” “Drink up!” they’d started with just three of us, but once things got lively, we called in every last mill worker who wasn’t busy.” “That shadow peeking into the dim kitchen? Turned out to be the veggie vendor from Otowa.” “Come up here!” “You know the tofu guy too, eh?” “Make that bastard carry it!” “Hey liquor-store brat! Sing us a ballad!” “Just when things were getting good,” he continued, “along comes Ogen-bō—back from her neighborhood rounds—all primped up in a fresh kimono and makeup!” “With eyes sharp as flea-hunters’, she rummaged for her coin purse—should’ve just made a quick exit!” “Then they started pouring drinks ‘as a memento of service’—‘Thank you, Great Sun Buddha! I’ll put you in my cart!’ ‘No, I will!’—turned into a proper battle royal!”

When it came to battles, the vegetable vendor from Otowa mimicked a storyteller’s lecture, and the master performed naniwa-bushi.

“Ah, if only this were a celebration of starting a household—” Ogen-bō had tearfully murmured with meekness. “Y’see, when the rabble quieted down, things must’ve gotten all somber, don’tcha think?” “It’s a battle, ain’t it?” “Whether they were cryin’ or—ha ha ha ha—laughin’ or—ha ha ha ha!”

Sixty-One "So there you have it—'What's this about disbanding the household? If it's money you're lacking, we'd have pooled funds through our mutual aid society before lettin' this house's master and mistress slink off after dark!' said that tofu vendor wearin' clothes so shabby they screamed 'not a copper to his name'." “Quite the spectacle.” "If it’s coin you need, Megumi’s got your back—though I don’t recall anyone thrustin' that plate of rolled cigars into the thick of it." "As for obligations—we can’t square ’em. The Madam’s beholden to that bigwig from Masagocho—the one the Professor’s been tied to since his apprentice days—and he won’t hear none of it." "Won’t listen." "Masters and parents ain’t for reasonin’ with—so said our Founder, mark my words." "Even when you gotta force through what don’t make sense—since every point stood righteous—the Madam stepped back without a peep." “You two were thick as thieves back then, heh heh,”

“Hey, won’t you quit it already?” “Oh come now! No need t’be shy—everyone knows ’bout your arrangements with the liquor merchants ’n’ mill hands.” “Still my doing.” “Ain’t no virtue in swallowin’ pride! Even after that Great Teacher chewed ya out—gotta admire how meekly ya went along with breakin’ things off, Mr.Hayase.” “But why’s that mean shuttin’ up house?” “Some young cutpurse botched his lift—got his face punched mid-crowd while blinkin’ ‘Help!’—so there he was.” “When he came beggin’ me t’hide his wallet ’n’ got found out—they started yappin’ ’bout me bein’ his accomplice! Made dealin’ with them fancy masters too bothersome, so we cleared out ’n’ ran.” “Story might be cockeyed, but since ya asked ’n’ I ain’t one t’back down—figured I’d roar ‘C’mon lads! Give ’em a proper cheer!’ But seein’ as the master’s scholarly, we settled for ‘banzai’ instead.” “So ‘Banzai for the Master!’ Then ‘Banzai for the Madam!’ ‘Banzai for the Great Teacher!’ Even ‘Banzai for Ogen-chan!’ That much went smooth—heh heh—but then they started cheerin’ the damn pickpocket too!” “Real fine mess that was,”

Getting carried away, Sōsuke of the Megumi group exchanged hand gestures at the station, “We shouted ‘Banzai for the pickpocket!’—though it probably sounded more like ‘Suri ban dai!’” “Looks like a nearby fire, eh?” “Where’s the fire?” they shouted in kiyari work songs, then cheered, “Banzai for the pickpocket!” Just as they were starting to celebrate again, the overseer—who had been standing watch over the vegetable and tofu vendors’ loads while observing from within the crowd—suddenly made a wry smile at you. “Now, now—just mind the fire,” [the overseer] said, and efficiently as you please, the rickshaw owner’s wife—intending to give the veranda one more wipe-down afterward—had drawn water into a guard bucket and stood ready. “Rest assured, sir!”

I took the Buddhist altar and—since Otsuta-chan couldn't bear to leave the lilies in the garden to waste—hung five or six stalks with their buds still closed. Then, watching Ogen-bō and the rickshaw owner's wife work the veranda's storm shutters, I surrendered the castle with all the solemn resolve of Umebōzu Yuranosuke himself. "Ain't the world just crawlin' with oddballs? Here we are still clearin' out the junk when some fool comes bargin' right in—"

He started to say, then glared sharply at Chikara’s attire. “Heh heh, you’re all dolled up tonight though.” “Well, s’fine.” “Then what d’ya know—this pockmarked bastard, big mug ’n’ all, comes slinkin’ into that alley sudden-like, hollerin’ ‘S’it vacant? S’it empty?’” “‘That’s the professor ya wanted,’ he says—not a tear in his beady eyes.” “So he goes ‘Is the house vacant?’” “Might be fashionable these days, but that’s plain rude.” “You—bargin’ into folks mid-move askin’ ’bout prices.” “Even if someone’s movin’ to some fancy two-story pile—after leavin’ rice scraps even sparrow chicks’d mourn—wouldn’t Otsuta-chan fret ’bout them drain frogs she’s so chummy with? The ones that croak when she plays her lantern plants.”

“Enough of that.”

Chikara lowered the front of his hat. “Well now, bargin’ into all that ’n’ actin’ like he’d been waitin’ for the place t’empty out—’n’ on top o’ that, puttin’ on airs!” “Seemed t’get under ever’body’s skin same way—struck me as downright laughable.” “So this rickshaw puller—y’see—st-st-stammered all nasty-like, playin’ deaf, ’n’ someone went ’n’ jabbed their ear sideways inta that pockmarked bastard’s snout, I tell ya.” “Bastard got good ’n’ riled too—started hollerin’ ‘Is it vacant?!’ So while I was pullin’ out what looked like a powder case Otsuta-chan had stashed incense under the stairs with, I roared back: ‘It’s empty, damn ye!’” “When he goes ‘Yer shocked, Hayase?’ I threatened ‘We fled in th’ night!’ Then heh heh, sir—”

Megumi said in an extremely small voice, “’Cause I thought I was a loan shark…”

The story was one thing—but what a waste! To reduce a moralistic scholar... to a loan shark.

62 Just when it seemed he had fallen silent for a moment, Megumi glanced around furtively and, with the dexterity of Kiten-sai handling his tools, swiftly gulped down a drink from the four-gō jar without even pausing to breathe,

“And then that pockmarked bastard kept mockin’ folks while askin’ ‘Where’s the overseer?’” “When I told him ‘The overseer’s off chasin’ our master who fled this house,’ he pulls this sour face ’n’ starts yappin’ ‘Don’t care if the rent’s sky-high—wanted t’lease this place once it emptied since forever!’” “You really gonna swallow that?” “Hey—ain’t ya had enough yet?” “This here’s Mr. Tsutakichi o’ Yanagibashi’s love nest—you think we’d hand it over t’your lot?” “Sōsuke from th’Megumi group—bigshot fish market wholesaler—already paid five hundred ryō deposit t’make it his villa!” “When I roared ‘Scram!’ he near pissed himself scramblin’ out—ha ha ha ha! How’s that strike ya, Professor?”

“Don’t play pranks.” “But you see—his way with words was foul enough on its own, and on top of that, his whole build just rubbed me wrong.” “Since I was sober at the time, well—it still ended there without worse trouble.” “See here—if it’d been during that pickpocket banzai business, Ete Kichi’s survival would’ve been lookin’ mighty shaky.” As they grew emboldened in their chatter, someone listened enthralled—planting a staggered stance like channel markers in the night-tide-filled station yard, their unrestrained loud talk and brazenly casual behavior likely grating to onlookers. Beside these absorbed figures, a station attendant stealthily approached and abruptly rang out clang-clang-clang near Megumi’s flank.

“Hyah!” he gasped sharply with wide eyes, staggering back as the station attendant turned away indifferently and headed toward the entrance with a clanging sound. Chikara too was startled, “Tickets! Tickets!”

He blurted out and rushed off, “Hey now, hey now, Professor—I’ve already got the tickets handled.”

“You already bought ’em? That’s impressive.” Sōsuke didn’t answer this, “Yeah, I was shocked—no foolin’ around—sorted out two and a half gō right then.” “C’mon now—get on in.”

Pulling their luggage along, the two of them exited through the ticket gate. The contrast between the hanten coat and the light-gray suit was striking, yet among the passengers, only the flickering shadows of these two men split apart and reflected—no more than fourteen or fifteen people in total. Megumi, starting from the middle, suddenly rushed out in a fluster, peered over one second-class compartment and emerged from another, then nimbly leapt inside—by the time Chikara approached, he had already stowed the luggage and stepped back out. "This spot'll do, Professor."

“What? A blue ticket?” “That’s obvious, sir.” “Don’t spout such grand talk—aren’t we fugitives? How much was it again?” As he twisted sideways to search his kimono sleeve pocket, Megumi clattered the donburi bowl, “I’ve got it handled.” “How could I possibly let you handle the negotiations?” “Hmm,” he said gravely, shaking his head, “The money from selling off all those tools is hefty. Since I’m still holding onto what you told Otsuta-chan to send, no need to hold back, ha ha ha ha,”

“Then I won’t hold back.”

When they boarded, there were two others. Without even looking properly, Chikara stood by the window, leaned out as if boarding, and uttered something peculiar. That was—regarding Teizō the groom, whom Megumi had let slip about and with whom Kōno’s mother had previously been involved—. “I’m counting on you.” “Hmm, so it’s settled then.” Chikara laughed, “Not that—the groom’s whereabouts.” “I’ll search too, but you do your part as well.” “……Got it.” He stepped back and readjusted his headscarf facing away. Leaving his hand as it was, he opened it upward like a firework,

“All right, hooray!”

To the station attendant who had approached, he bowed with a quick, jerky motion, "Not a chance! Ha ha ha ha!" As Chikara straightened up from the window, he caught sight of an alluring figure with a combed-up hairstyle in the far corner. With a thud against the corrugated iron panel where she'd lowered the glass door, Otsuta turned back at an angle.

The moment she realized, Otsuta pretended not to notice and swiftly turned her back again.

The train departed.

Noblewoman

I

The following day, as the Kobe-bound express train emerged from the Hakone tunnel, there sat in the dining car a young male passenger—though at a separate table—engaged in fluent German conversation with a foreign guest, conversing with effortless ease.

At this table sat a resplendently dressed noblewoman who, while watching our compatriot skillfully wield a foreign language with apparent delight and motherly pride, would occasionally turn as if remembering to attend to an adorable boy of about four years old perched on the adjacent chair. The child wore matching kasuri-patterned garments—a lined kimono and sleeveless haori coat—for whom she expertly carved meat onto a plate using meat fork and knife with consummate dexterity.

The verdant foliage stretched endlessly as today's steady drizzle fell upon the window's emerald surface. Through this aqueous veil, clouds resembling white herons flitted past only to race behind the mountain slopes. Bathed in nature by the mist filtering through Hakone's peaks, the Noblewoman's skin appeared smooth as carved jade. Against her snow-white ribbon, the luster of jet-black hair subdued the gleam of the gold-lacquered comb, deepening like polished urushi lacquer. Her layered attire flowed from wisteria-purple gradients blooming with peony motifs—gold-tipped stamens embroidered on the half-collar, a lined kimono bearing chestnut-and-plum crests, pale-hued hem linings overlapped beneath a faintly crimson-streaked black underrobe dyed in the tomozome style. Her willow-slender waist, coolly accentuated by the rain-drenched light, appeared cinched by a black satin obi whose gold-painted cords—as if bound with thirteen strands—mimicked koto strings drawn taut. One patterned bridge from the instrument pressed against the soft curve of her bosom, fastening a golden watch chain that nestled there. Her haori coat of pale azuki-red chirimen silk bore... though one could not quite discern... five family crests. As her knife-wielding hand moved, the gemstones adorning her rings—several linked together—sparkled sharply enough to pierce the eye, not unlike crystal prayer beads slid through fingers, yet not quite; such were the floating world's colors now at their zenith. She resembled a glamorous actress accompanied by a child performer. As for her age: were she the child's mother, she would have had to be at least forty-five; but were she an older sister, she could just as well have been nine or twenty without raising eyebrows.

The noblewoman, frequently observing her compatriot's skillful use of German—his straight nose, slender build, slightly tanned complexion, closely set eyebrows, somewhat stern mouth, and penetratingly clear gaze—became so utterly absorbed that the child, though now free-handed with his belly already full, began idly tracing circles on his plate out of boredom. The child too—appearing bored—gazed at the Noblewoman's face with round eyes and turned toward her direction in unison, but finding this foreign gentleman more intriguing than his utterly unremarkable Japanese brothers, leaned forward with innocent fascination.

The child’s wide-eyed wonder—so utterly endearing that even the waiter lingering by the triangular corner window smiled faintly—prompted the bearded foreigner to break into a grin. Just as he’d begun peeling a post-meal apple, he gripped the knife at a slant, flicked the peel away in one swift motion, and proffered the fruit with rapid words. The young man spun around, twisting his body to reach for the nearby chair where the child perched.

“Come here, little one. I’ll give you something nice,” he said, but having turned the wrong way in his awkward attempt to lean out, the arm he gripped tightened its force, causing the chair to tilt diagonally toward the Noblewoman—a development he greeted with apparent delight and unhesitating boldness. The child laughed, “Ha ha!” The Young Man, with playful intent, deliberately shifted his hips aside before securely placing both hands this time and rocking it like a cradle.

“Ha ha!” he laughed, growing even more delighted. The Foreign Guest gauged her mood, “Come here, come here.” Seeing the Noblewoman nod without hidden intent, the child kicked off his small shoes as desired and went before him. No sooner had he set down the knife and apple together than he swiftly reached out his hands, lifted the boy, raised him high above eye level as if twisting him up from the floor, and with an unsteady voice— “Hooray—!” Boi amiably clapped his hands briskly. At that time in the dining car, there were only that group of customers.

II “Was that gentleman a German?”

After the foreign guest had left the dining car, it was then that the Noblewoman asked her question to the Young Man. Since she had already known their conversation wasn't in English, it became evident that he was a man of cultivation.

The young man swung his chair around, "I thought so too at first, but no—apparently he's Italian." "Ah, an Italian merchant, is he?" "No, he seems to be a scholar." "However, since I'm not a scholar myself, I couldn't engage in scientific discussions, but his demeanor did seem rather like that of a physicist." "A physicist, you say?"

Resting her hand on the child's shoulder, "This one's father also engages in some small measure of that field, you see." So he was a Bachelor of Science or something of that sort. When the Noblewoman said this, she appeared somewhat smug. "It must have been quite an interesting conversation you had." A scraping sound came from shifted snow treads as she bent her soft elbow upon the arabesque-patterned tablecloth and leaned forward to listen intently—for some reason, the young man wore a troubled expression.

“Oh please—you flatter me too much. I’m just a haphazard physicist at best.” “Well,” He lightly scratched the skylight above them, “It was from eating an apple that I remembered my ancestor Mr. Newton—that’s why I called myself a physicist.” “Ha ha! Truthfully, I haven’t the slightest clue about any of that.” “My...” “How wicked.” “You...” She smiled with a beguiling sidelong glance. Feeling her gaze intensify, the young man looked away instead—spotting Boi waiting beyond the partition—and gestured through the glass for him to approach.

"Coffee." "Ah, here as well." The Noblewoman added her order while,

"But you managed to have quite an extensive conversation, did you not?" "Was it perhaps about their country's literature?" "Not at all,"

The young man grew increasingly flustered. "Even foreigners know to tailor their teachings to their audience. With someone like me, I wouldn't start such highbrow conversations with you, but he did say something peculiar. Well, he was talking about something next year. In the West, it seems even demons don't find such things laughable." "Next year's—what matter would that be?" "What do you mean? He said he'll return to his country once this year and come back afresh next year. 'There will be a solar eclipse, so I'm going out again to see it; in the Orient, it's almost all total eclipses,' he mentioned. But it seems that in Japan, there's no such rumor yet."

“Even if there were [such rumors], I wouldn’t pay them any mind—someone like me doesn’t notice a thing until the Grand Shrine’s calendar arrives at year’s end. Though he only mentioned ‘the Orient’—whether that meant China, Korea, Hokkaido, or Kyushu—I was just about to ask where exactly they planned to observe it when you entered the dining car. So I thought, ‘Oh, this is no time for eclipses,’ you see.” “So then, I suppose you must have had your fun at my expense afterward.”

“You mustn’t speak of jesting.” “In that case, what manner of conversation was it?” “Actually, I was asked what sort of honorable lady you were...”

“Ah,” “Please, you mustn’t become angry—well—”

He bowed his head and lowered his voice, “I said you were an actress.” “Oh,” she opened her clear eyes wide as if glaring sharply, but with a smile playing on her lips—she didn’t seem particularly troubled. “That’s quite enough of such teasing.” “I’ll be getting off now, so...” “Where—”

When he hesitantly inquired, the Noblewoman—as though having forgotten all about the child—responded with renewed vigor, "Shizuoka—so beyond that you may amuse yourself as you please. Even if our compartments differ, it would be cruel while I remain aboard."

“There is no need to worry—I am also getting off at Shizuoka.” “Hot water.”

When the child spoke, the coffee they held together was still hot.

III

"Where in Shizuoka might you be coming to?" When the Noblewoman cheerfully inquired, the Young Man appeared somewhat dispirited,

"There’s no particular destination I can name. For now, I plan to stay at an inn." He appeared ready to ask about local accommodations when he inquired, "Might I ask—are you residing in Shizuoka, or merely passing through?" "Though I do possess some marketable skills when venturing from Tokyo," she replied with self-deprecating wit, "being but a provincial performer makes it rather mortifying. Even this rustic hinterland they call 'grass-deep' bears such a woeful name, don’t you agree? In some ramshackle playhouse on the outskirts—this unworthy one merely tends rice pots in the troupe’s kitchen, you understand."

With a violet handkerchief, she covered her mouth as she laughed, yet the beauty of her brows—unhidden by her forelock as she looked down—stood striking. The young man remained silent for a moment, clumsily retrieving his cigarette case.

"I’m terribly sorry. I never meant any harm. If our country had an actress like you, I thought it would bring us honor—and since he was a foreigner, well, I truly meant it that way. My deepest apologies." He bowed earnestly. "Now that I’ve been rude already—and hoping to make further amends—might I ask if you know someone called Mr. Kōno in Shizuoka?" "Kōno… Well—"

She nodded deeply,

“Yes,” “Oh my, Kōno is our family name.” Unconsciously taking the child’s hand, she rose from the table as if lifting herself up, straightening her posture—the koto-string patterns on her obi swaying like plucked threads as she gathered her composure. “And you are?” “I have the honor of being acquainted with Eikichi-kun; my name is Hayase Chikara.”

And the young man abruptly stood up from his chair. "Oh, Mr. Hayase, that explains it. You are quite the mischief-maker," she smiled with knowing eyes.

Chikara looked astonished, “Are you calling me wicked? Is this about my ‘actress’ comment?” “No—you said you dislike our household, so you refuse to let Eikichi marry Miss Sakai’s daughter, ohoho.” “…………” “My brother has already despaired and gone pale. Mr. Hayase, how do you do,”

And she too stood up, still holding the handkerchief, and now belatedly exchanged a casual bow.

"I am Mr. Ei’s younger sister." "Ah, I have heard the rumors. Are you Mrs. Miyahata? …Ah, I see." Sugako, wife of Mr. Miyahata—a Bachelor of Science and principal of a certain school in Shizuoka Prefecture—was this the beauty Eikichi had once likened to a startled hare? As soon as one set foot in Shizuoka—where none remained unaware—this flower of the remote grasslands, facing Princess Sakura of Asama Forest, indeed compelled nods of acknowledgment. The foremost allure of the Kōno clan. The wealth and glory of the entire clan may be said to be singularly embodied in this matriarch.

Her husband, the Bachelor of Science—having studied many years abroad in the West while holding a prominent position yet remaining a pure scholar at heart—was free from worldly desires and serene, utterly indifferent to matters of food and clothing. Less a man without taste than one wholly unceremonious, he ate when hungry and dressed when cold, wanting only that these necessities be available in sufficient quantity. He cared not whether things were boiled, grilled, or pickled in vinegar. Whether wearing a casual sash or trousers, even if his haori lacked its cord—he remained utterly unconcerned with such trifles; when meeting others, he would exchange mere greetings and scarcely engage in conversation. To compensate for these shortcomings—or perhaps because such an esteemed wife existed—Sugako proved exceptionally skilled in social graces, being fond of extravagance, conversation, amusement, hospitality, and tending to others' needs. The ceaseless stream of visitors' name cards at the entryway—newspaper reporters, students, petty officials, kimono fabric merchants, painters, actors, religious figures...—all passed through the madam's hands. It was said their names gained luster solely from the radiance of the gemstone gracing her ring.

IV Some she would wrap five yen as alms, others she would send off after treating them to beer; some she would take out for sightseeing, others she would make plans to attend concerts; still others she would discuss charity bazaars. She received guests tirelessly and without faltering, possessing the remarkable ability to inspire profound admiration in all who came—and Chikara recognized at a glance that her eyes, eloquent beyond measure, were yet another of her timeless talents. As might be expected, though the Bachelor of Science’s considerable annual salary was largely consumed for Sugako’s sake, her husband—wanting nothing for himself—felt not the slightest discomfort in letting her have her way. Moreover, as Eikichi had stated, since cosmetic allowances came attached from her family home, her heaven-sent beauty—adorned with rouge and powder—left her spending money entirely unconstrained. Though her ceremonial robes made her appear slender, her jade-like skin remained luxuriantly full, her sweat becoming crimson dewdrops—how fitting for a woman of the Yang lineage! The character 楊 in Tōyō Juku, the Kōno family’s academy in Ushigome Minami-chō, may well have been chosen for Sugako’s sake. And she was an accomplished lady—a graduate of a certain women’s college.

At that time, they would clatter noisily through the girls’ school corridors in lined-soled uwabaki indoor shoes with crimson cords—a practice that spread throughout the entire school and briefly became a subject of controversy. The prevailing trend in Shizuoka these days saw both clothing and hair ornaments dominated by this Madam and another—the latter being a new bride whom the Tsuruya family, foremost among local magnates known for their thousand-year willow tree sheltering Ōiwayama's peak near Abe River's bridgehead, had managed to wed from a Tokyo noble family last year—these two matrons creating whirlpools in the Tomoe River through their rivalry, their influence swelling like water overflowing a castle moat.

“I hadn’t the slightest inkling—my profound apologies. You bear no resemblance whatsoever to Eikichi-kun, so naturally it never crossed my mind.” Chikara’s greeting proved truly impeccable. Upon closer scrutiny, certain resemblances did emerge—whether likened to crystal or porcelain, the largeness of their eyes shared undeniable similarity—yet since no woman would delight in being compared to Eikichi, he had resolved there existed not the faintest likeness. This maneuver had been executed masterfully, but when someone produced matches from a coat pocket, struck one against his nose tip, and had scarcely exhaled smoke before a waiter came darting over like an arrow, raising commotion as though detecting a blaze,

“Smoking is not permitted.” “Oh, this is...” Chikara panicked, spun around, hastily opened the door, thrust the cigarette into the spittoon in the adjacent lounge, crushed the stub to extinguish it, then returned with an exaggeratedly apologetic posture and summoned the waiter—while the noblewoman smiled gently and whispered some instruction. However, her manner of laughter did not mock others’ failures, but rather seemed amused by a relative’s blunder.

“I’ve completely lost face. This is my first time in a train dining car since I was born.”

he muttered half to himself. Just then, four or five customers came bustling in. He paid them no mind, “Ohoho, it’s not Japanese-style—you mustn’t find it to your liking.” “Not at all—a most humiliating display.” “Being unaccustomed to travel actually honors your Edo upbringing.” Seeing the waiter bring the change and hand it to the noblewoman, a deeply flushed Chikara left his barely touched coffee as it was and remained standing without sitting down,

“Add this to the bill as well.”

He approached, bent at the waist, and said in an courteously hushed voice, "Regarding the combined bill we received—" "Don't be absurd—you—"

As Chikara now tried to hurriedly interject—flustered as if set aflame—the noblewoman settled the matter by tucking her wallet into her obi, the golden chain at her waist glinting. "A well-traveled country laborer..." "(Actress)" was what she nearly said, but since other guests were present, “Leave it to the actress.” She rose gracefully to her full height, her profile vividly framed against the birch-colored window drape like a Roman goddess of hues, pulling the hand of the god of love with one hand as she brushed past Chikara’s shoulder, "Come now, over here. Have plenty of tobacco."

Without so much as a backward glance, she took the lead and guided him to the aforementioned lounge. She stood behind him and tilted her head slightly, but Chikara—arms crossed and shoulders raised—followed with large strides.

Outside the window lay crimson clover across the foothills, snow upon the high peaks, Mount Fuji gleaming white, and rain casting a violet hue.

V

It turned out that 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 fallen, and it wasn’t even the Iris Festival—so this wasn’t a pleasure trip. The purpose concerned this child’s two-years-older sister, who suffered from an eye disease—or rather a condition rendering her nearly blind. Even at her family’s hospital, they had exhausted every investigative approach to treatment, but proving ineffective, it seemed likely to become a lifelong misfortune. To abandon [her efforts], her husband—the Bachelor of Science—was coincidentally away on official business in Kyushu at the time. As it happened, the mother had gone to Ushigome regarding her brother Eikichi’s matters—for various practical reasons, she explained—having gone there to have him undergo a diagnosis at the university’s ophthalmology department, today being her return journey.

For the girl, after all, her maternal grandfather was a Dutch-style doctor of that era—("A relic from the old days," she interjected lightly at this point)—and the hospital director was her uncle by marriage; naturally, they couldn’t neglect her care. They had initially consulted proper Tokyo specialists for two or three months, but since it simply wouldn’t heal, they had already resigned themselves three years prior to having a blind daughter—("How pitiful," she remarked in an objective tone)—and though they knew full well that going to the university now would ultimately prove futile... in short, she had used it as a pretext, she concluded with a slightly stiff phrase.

"My husband indulges me in many things, yet somehow viscerally opposes letting me visit Tokyo—so much that I couldn't even muster a quarrel over how desperately I wanted to go." "When nearly two years pass without seeing Ueno's blossoms or Sumida's moon, even the hue of this haori I had dyed in Kyoto loses its luster—appearing dull to my own eyes—which feels utterly pitiful." Just as she said "Oh do look," she peered out the window. "This Mount Fuji itself would never have gained such renown if Tokyo people didn't acknowledge it." Here I remain in the countryside like buried wood—so unbearably lonely I can scarcely endure it. Even when thinking 'Now's my chance' with my husband away on extended travels, being the housewife left in charge made me feel all the more constrained—I couldn't bear causing a stir that might reach my family's ears—so I used my blind daughter as pretext to slip from my cage." "As long as the parent bird escapes the snare—let any punishment fall upon the chick," declared the noblewoman, laughing brightly through pressed lips.

This conversation had taken place facing each other in that narrow lounge sandwiched between the dining car and passenger compartments, while Chikara continuously smoked one rolled cigarette after another. Because the space between chairs was truly narrow—so much so that sleeves faced each other and touched—even though the hem of her robe hung long over her tabi socks, the tips of her high-waisted snow boots barely touched the ground. As the train jostled, scattering the Runanki and disarraying the Tomozome flowers, the noblewoman repeatedly adjusted them time and again.

Chikara saw the blind daughter. It was when a boy, upon entering here from the dining car, suddenly tried to open the passenger compartment door and placed his hand on the glass panel. A woman in her mid-thirties—her hair styled in a ginkgo-leaf twist, appearing honest and neatly kept—sat precisely at the edge of the seat. She immediately opened the door from that position to admit the child, prompting him to think "Ah, the wet nurse." Upon looking closer, there sat another girl wearing a hifu coat—properly composed yet listless in this warm weather—her hands withdrawn into her sleeves, neck drooping, slumped against the older woman's lap. This sickly-looking girl turned out to be the daughter afflicted with eye trouble mentioned earlier.

From the wet nurse's vantage point—withdrawn further inside—the noblewoman's figure remained unseen, yet Chikara appeared uneasy about potentially being observed through the glass from where he stood, casting frequent glances as if self-conscious. Even this demeanor revealed her nature: the kindhearted wet nurse, profoundly sympathetic to her young mistress's blindness, seemed to have absorbed the girl's condition through natural empathy. With eyes closed identically to the blind child, she leaned forward even more deeply when addressing the boy—not once peering beyond the room.

And so their exchange continued unabated—remark after remark—until they arrived at Shizuoka. Her body lay heavily wearied in the train compartment—arm flung backward against the window as though using disheveled sidelocks for a pillow, even the loosened obi at her waist beyond any effort to adjust—yet the noblewoman’s bell-like eyes remained vivid, their large pupils within pale wrists fixed on Chikara’s face as she showed no signs of tiring in their conversation.

Grassy Hinterland

VI

In Shizuoka's Samurai Alley of Kusabuka-cho—where even the most tardy gentlemen bound daily for the Prefectural Office, Police Station, Normal School, Middle School, Newspaper Company, and Marunouchi had all departed—the nine-to-ten morning hours lay as desolate under demonic possession as midnight's nine-to-ten. Through this emptiness clattered a single carriage: its glossy hood framing Mount Fuji's crystalline night-ascent through the canopy, kickplate ablaze with pheasant feathers, tomozome-dyed backrest, tall and slender-framed.

That crisp, light creaking of carriage wheels... It must be the usual one making its outing. It should have returned from Tokyo yesterday. "Look—there goes someone in seasonal attire!" Women halted on the small bridge, rushed out from inner quarters where they'd just seen off their masters, paused their well-drawing work—all raising their eyes in unison to watch. The carriage indeed stood at the intersection checkpoint near the fire watch hut—where wisteria trellises hung from eaves above flowing waterways—recently repainted as a special piece kept aside for about ten days to have its inaugural ride graced by Madam of the Shimayama household. Yet it carried not a single cloth-wrapped parcel, pulled empty as the driver raced bareheaded.

After about an hour had passed, the same horse-drawn carriage came charging through the tea plantations from the thoroughfare and was pulled into the Grassy Hinterland town. As for the figure in the carriage at that moment—the local tofu seller and greengrocer who happened to pass by, along with the wife hawking "How about some nori?"—they all thought it must be an actor from the Wakatake-za troupe. Meanwhile, the mistresses peering over parlor verandas or from behind entranceway screens while their husbands were away caused an uproar, declaring this must be that new actor from the Chidori-za performing in *Konjiki Yasha*—someone playing Kan'ichi!

When Chikara returned to this place once more, his manly presence stood out almost unnervingly; his close-cropped hair gleamed as if freshly washed, his complexion appearing whiter and clearer than before—a lingering effect of the waterways that could not be denied. Under the land's translucent light, even the secondhand black habutae haori with its two-comma crest—likely bestowed by Professor Sakai—that he had changed into over his dust-covered Western suit held a luster with creases crisply dignified. Whether Kurume or Satsuma in origin, this navy-striped unlined kimono—being new and made this year—was surely something Otsuta had been attentive to since the deutzia flowers bloomed.

He had stayed overnight at Daitōkan in Kōfukuchō and, having been met by Madam that morning, had come to the grassy hinterland. He looked up at the flowing Asama Forest and looked down at the rushing moat water. Suddenly a crimson cloud appeared, blocking his vision like a dream. When he realized—Ah, those were silk tree flowers—and heard the sound of the stream, the carriage clattered onto the stone bridge and lowered its shafts at the black-gated mansion's entrance.

“Is this the place?” he asked, alighting nimbly. “Right.” The driver rushed into the gate grounds, clattered open the attached lattice door, positioned himself sideways, and crouched in his pale yellow-lined garment to wait. The crown-style gate remained in its old-fashioned form with foundation stones, making it impossible to pull the carriage up sideways to the entrance. While imagining a boy would come running out ahead, Chikara removed his hat and—brushing his sleeve against the green dew by a rain-freshened pine—passed through the lattice door into the earthen-floored entryway, where a ceiling high enough to hang a palanquin revealed an old-fashioned grand entrance.

As he looked, there directly ahead was a raised stepping-stone entrance where a single plank door in one corner had been left open. By the light streaming from the rear veranda, her jet-black hair alone stood out vividly against the dimness of the earthen floor beyond, the blurred hues of her robes, and her pale figure standing like a phantom—the noblewoman appeared as though she had waited beyond endurance. Without allowing even a nod of greeting, without exchanging a word, she stood there smiling in welcome,

"Oh my, you were late." "Oh, thank you for your trouble." She briefly called out to the driver, "I thought you must have overslept. Now, this way. Come on," Urged by her rapid tones, Chikara hurried up the steps—having entered from the bright outdoors into the doubly dark entryway, he stepped high and thumped against the wooden door—all while Sugako, oblivious in her haste, pressed forward. "Come this way—straight through here. Ohoho, Ichikawa Sugajo, to the room."

Moving immediately along the veranda came the rustling sound of a robe hem handled by bare feet.

VII

He had caught the words "Ichikawa Sugajo..." in the flurry of cutting through a corner of the entranceway and dashing onto the veranda. Chikara, keeping pace in haste, hadn't grasped their meaning—but halfway along that veranda, he suddenly realized: ah, this was a curse—that yesterday on the train, he had mockingly referred to the noblewoman as an actress in front of a foreigner. When he realized this and smiled, his eyes—unlike the softness of his mouth—were sharp. Adjacent to them was a ten-tatami space structured like a guest room, but the noblewoman had already proceeded past it along the veranda, reaching the next (Sugajo Room) from—

“Do come right in,” she called out.

As Chikara hesitated, "Oh my, you mustn't peek into the parlor—it's still in disarray, you see," she said with a laugh. The moment this thought struck him, his entire figure stood vividly reflected in the full-length mirror at the veranda's end—the navy kasuri pattern of his kimono rendered in crisp detail, even capturing the astonished glint in the noblewoman's eyes as she entered the room, her gaze seemingly piercing through him from some unseen vantage point. Before the mirror stood a long chair; being a spacious veranda, there was ample room to spare. On the wall facing the door compartment hung a shelf arrayed with perfumes, scented oils, face powders interspersed with vases, brushes and combs—appearing as a Western-style dressing area though essentially just a converted closet with its sliding doors removed, structural modifications made, and walls repainted.

The pale spring-green window drape had been hung between the long chair and storm shutters, its tucked hem fluttering like a curtain being drawn open. The silk tree blossoms glimpsed from the carriage now stood beyond this garden's black wall, where the waterway curved beneath to flow past the stone-bridged gate. What a pity—the garden proved merely a rectangular vacant plot with two or three neglected trees planted here and there, though in compensation Mount Fuji dominated the view. As if having uprooted the earth from its very axis like a toppled shogi piece leaning askew, embracing all surrounding peaks at its base, Fuji turned snow-white sleeves against the azure sky and alighted gracefully upon the pale red silk tree blossoms.

"What a splendid residence this is." Having uttered this passing yet appropriate remark as he entered the room, beyond the long brazier sat she who wore no ornaments—the damp hue of the S-volume seeming to drip from her very being. Over a silk serge undergarment from the storehouse, she had loosely thrown a striped tsumugi silk haori; with her obi slackened and the residence in casual disarray, she appeared ready to spring to her knees at any moment. Beside the decorated chest, through the reverse side of the mirror stand's glass, loose strands at her jewel-like nape cascaded freely as they passed by—the freshly applied light makeup revealing a beauty that shone translucent through to her back. The scent of face powder had perhaps settled into the zabuton cushion, for when Chikara sat down, it wafted richly about him.

“Since I’ve brought you to such a place, let’s dispense with formal pleasantries. You must have been terribly lonely at that inn last night.” A white hand that seemed to clutch fire tongs parted the steam rising from the copper kettle, fluttering restlessly as she continued: “I did consider sending for you yesterday evening, but one must subject you to a taste of loneliness when visiting a strange place—else you’ll never appreciate how precious friends are. From now on, you mustn’t be careless or disloyal...”

she said with a gentle smile and a glance, "And besides, the household is already in disarray—when I’ve been away for over a week, they might as well hang sparrow nets at the gate." “Not a single letter has come.” “Since first rising this morning, I’ve been in such an uproar—taking up the broom myself, sweeping things out, and all.” "Though nothing’s been properly put in order yet, I thought you must be bored waiting, and I wanted to meet you quickly—so I told them to make do and send the carriage immediately in great haste."

“Well, even a local carriage moves quickly enough.” “But really—‘Is he here yet? Is he here yet?’ I kept standing up and sitting down, couldn’t focus on a thing! Look at this—still in full makeup with nowhere proper to put the mirror stand!” “In the end, I stood waiting right at the entranceway.” “Which route did you take coming through?”

Without waiting for a reply, she looked up at the pendulum clock, tilting her ivory-like throat upward and arching her chest, one hand resting on the tatami. "My, it hasn't even been an hour yet?" "I felt as if I'd been waiting half a day." "What places did you see coming here?" "Did you notice the large wasabi signboard right by Daitōkan? The post office?" "On the right side of Hirokōji Avenue - directly across - there was a brick building?" "The prefectural office." "It's within the castle grounds." "Ah yes - Mr. Hayase, do have plenty of these cigarettes." "Russian ones too - I received some - but Shimayama (my husband) doesn't smoke them at all..."

VIII She then declared it a local specialty and brought out Ogiya’s manju, her movements as she roasted the tea leaves graceful and delicate—but with the iron kettle not yet boiling, she scooped water from the copper pot using a ladle whose handle had been crushed short. After transferring it two or three times to the earthenware teapot, she plunged in another cup with a plop. It had carelessly come loose from its handle, so, “Oh my,” she exclaimed with a startled expression, tilting her head to inspect it askance—a demeanor that captured the very essence of this lady’s allure, like the mottled tortoiseshell pattern on her middle finger held up to sunlight.

"There's nothing to be done about it," she laughed, tossing aside the handle—her manner retaining traces of student days when she'd given little thought to household affairs. When Chikara asked about the children, he learned both had been taken out by the wet nurse—carrying souvenirs from their Tokyo return—having departed early that morning alongside news of their arrival. “Since Father Kōno knows we secretly used the children as pretext for Tokyo excursions, he’ll surely make that bitter face and glare from within his beard—even if he doesn’t voice complaints. Hardly a blessing.” “With Mother having her daughter come affectionately to her side, she must be in fine spirits—she’ll return before long.” “Until then, I don’t intend to show my face at my parents’ house—for now, I’ll plead having caught cold.”

Leaning an elbow on the brazier's edge and staring at the man's face, she spoke words as harmless as if her soul had departed. "That can’t be good." Chikara, on the contrary, appeared worried,

“Won’t someone come from over there? If they find out you’ve returned.” “Would they even come? My brother-in-law—a medical doctor, meaning my sister’s husband—is busy, and he won’t let my sister step out even a little. Utterly negligent about such things, you see. And Father—well, these days he’s shut himself away in the main house working on some cohesive manuscript about familyism. Sometimes—can you believe—there are days he holes up entirely in the storehouse! It’s full of books, you know. Father may be a doctor, but rather than curing individuals one by one, he’s set on healing the nation’s ills—that’s his grand ambition. Last year—um—familyism and individualism caused quite a stir in the papers. Back then too, Father fought like wildfire against those enemies with support from Uncle in Tokyo and Mr. Sakata—the moralist, you know.”

“Regrettably, Brother (Eikichi) also worked tirelessly for it, but with no proper publication available, it ended up in something like an educational journal—so neither his paper nor his name gained any recognition. That’s why he’s been striving so hard, you see.” “If I recall correctly, wasn’t your teacher Professor Sakai one of the leading figures on the opposing side during that time?”

The sudden arrow of a question appeared to disconcert him somewhat, but—

“How was it? I’ve already forgotten,” he answered nonchalantly.

It didn't seem particularly intentional,

“But what is it—you’re still an individualist, aren’t you?”

“I’m a manju-ist and a bancha-ist.” He declared with unwarranted competitiveness, roughly shoving a manju into his mouth with one hand and gulping down bancha without pausing for breath. “Oh, what lies! For all your Yanagibashi-ist pretensions—” The wife fixed him with wide eyes—her faint smile hardening into a glare through splayed lashes that emphasized her dark irises. “Prepare for a shock— There! See? I’ve more surprises yet.” Twisting her shoulders backward as she turned toward the tea shelf, her vigorous movement sent the hem of her underkimono slipping askew.

Remaining seated sideways without any pretense, she leaned her body diagonally from beside the long brazier, shoulder tilted, and opened it as if casting a shadow—... “Oh! You bought a textbook, didn’t you?”

“Professor, what do you call this?” “Now now—you mustn’t disparage the tools of your trade.”

“No, I’m being serious,” she said. “Since you mentioned opening a German language school here in Shizuoka, I went ahead and bought this right away—didn’t waste any time.” “I’ll be your very first student!” “Now then—how do you say ‘reader’ in German...” “Lesebuch,” he replied. “The tuition fees will come rolling in.” “Lesebuch,” she repeated.

Nine "Well..." she began in a genuinely friendly tone, "if I study hard—how many years would it take me to read famous works like Goethe's Faust or Schiller's Wilhelm Tell... was that the title?... those sorts of things?" "You could read them straight away," he replied, taking the textbook and roughly flipping it open with one hand. "Provided we're talking about someone at my level, that is." "But..." "No—it can be done."

“Oh, really...” “Though that does depend on the tuition fees.” “Oh, obviously!” She suddenly drew back as if to scold, “Why would that be? I’m fully aware of the hospitality involved here, you know.”

The sixteen- or seventeen-year-old maid—wearing a kimono that hung too short on her frame, likely hailing from the Mariko area across the bridge some five hundred meters away—opened the sliding door beside the tea shelf.

"H'lo, Madam," she said in a thick country accent. Just from hearing this, the astute Sugako seemed to have already grasped the matter at hand.

“Did someone come?” “Oh!” “How bothersome. Didn’t I tell you to say we’re not receiving visitors for now? Didn’t I just tell you that?” “Well, yes’m, but it ain’t no guest—it’s them clerks from Gofukumachi, see.” “Ah, Taniya’s people? Then it’s fine—send them here.”

She started to say, then turned to look at Chikara, “Since he’s the one being hidden… Hohoho, let’s go over there.” No sooner had she adjusted her collar than she stood up briskly, brushed the crouching maid’s hair with her sleeve, and was gone. With a blank look on her face, the maid lumbered back without closing the door behind her. He was perplexed—in such a large estate, were there only maids besides the wet nurse? The master was traveling in Kyushu; with his wife being absent for about seven days, he alone couldn’t manage things reliably. First of all, with so many guests coming and going—even Mariko seemed unreliable at serving tea—Hayase glanced around his surroundings—though it later became clear—during their absence, the family’s rickshaw puller had been staying overnight, and his wife came during the day. It became clear during lunch that all meals for guests were ordered in from restaurants by telephone—though perhaps they were considered special guests.

Such matters were trivial, yet strangely enough, during that period when frequent interactions occurred between Hayase and the mistress, Mino Yasuhachi—a male student being supported by this household while attending middle school—had returned to his hometown immediately after the mistress departed for Tokyo, citing his parents' illness. Had he been there, there likely would have been no particular issues even if someone had left for school during daytime hours.

Now, it seemed the mistress had shown the Taniya clerks to the adjacent ten-mat room next door, and while their voices could be heard conversing, “Mr. Hayase—” Chikara, hearing the mistress’s voice also coming from a distant point along the same circuitous route she had taken when leaving this room, quietly traced her path—his response delayed—when— “Mr. Hayase,” she called again nearby. She had just now quipped about him being “the one being hidden,” after all.

"About how many rooms would suffice?" "What? What?"

It was too abrupt for him to comprehend.

"The house you intend to borrow. Just a moment—" "Yes, that’s right." "Ohohoho, you're being so roundabout! Come over here. Ohohoho, from the veranda, from the veranda." Following the mistress’s path, Chikara started toward the sliding door by the tea shelf, swiftly circled through the Sugame Room, and emerged onto the veranda with a wry smile—only to find... The next room lay separated by no more than three tatami mats. Leaning against the opened shoji screen with her back—the hem of her raised knee dipping deeply—the mistress supported her cheek on her plump, rounded elbow now exposed.

"If you’ve been wandering door to door since morning, how will you manage when staying over?" The blossoms' hue upon her turned face held the shade of silk trees. "Heh heh heh."

And waiting in attendance were the clerks from Gofukumachi. In turmeric-dyed cotton wrapping cloths, yukata fabric lay piled high.

The two.

10

In the afternoon, from the direction of Miyagasaki-cho came tunk-tunk sounds of cotton being beaten on upper floors here and there—an untimely rhythm of fulling blocks—as Mrs.Shimoyama and Hayase passed through Asama Shrine’s south entrance back gate and seemed to venture out onto Hanamichi.

When they approached the stream at the gate’s edge, the recent rains had swollen the canal waters nearly to overflowing, sending waves lapping onto the path—yet they ran clear and blue, churning like leaping dragons as they flowed beneath lush foliage. As Shizuhata Mountain’s shadow stretched across from the open sky, Madam closed her parasol while crossing the bridge.

At first glance, her black hair remained unchanged, but the reason her back appeared slender and her obi-clad waist seemed to sway gracefully lay in her attire—a single-layer lined kimono without an outer robe that she had changed into. This style suited her better, enhancing her figure beautifully. However, her coquettishness had diminished, making her appear somewhat more dignified—precisely why her refined elegance stood out. If she wore tabi socks of sailcloth, she might have resembled a military officer’s wife; but going barefoot would have made her seem to have emerged from a teahouse—so she had changed into this outfit before leaving the residence, her skin against the scarlet patterned crepe of her underrobe.

As a mother of two, that vibrant quality of hers might typically align with military men’s tastes, but when worn by someone so refined, spirited, and fair-skinned, it did not exude the damp warmth of a chaenomeles flower in bloom—rather, it stood as dignified as a maple beneath snow. In the room, even when she had put this on earlier, it had not been done with any consideration for men—pressing her breasts flat and slipping the sleeves snugly into place. With the water-pink cord wound tightly around her long underrobe, she stood before the veranda’s full-length mirror like a figure emerging from a peony blossom,

Smiling gently at "Ichikawa Sugame," she adjusted her lined kimono with practiced composure, aligned the collar, twisted her neck backward to check the drape in the mirror—just as Hayase took a brush from the veranda shelf and began scratching vigorously at the skylight as if itching it. “There’s no need for such rough handling. I’ll part it properly for you, so wait a moment.” He pretended not to hear and tried to quickly withdraw— “Wait!” she said, having just finished tying her obi. Rushing over in a flurry, she snatched the brush from him, smoothly pulled the window curtain aside, neatly parted his hair near the edge, then stepped in front to gaze into his face with searching eyes.

The blood coursing through her chest surged like waves clashing against the wind, her resolute skin maintaining the unblemished crimson of youth—with such vitality that even at twenty-six, the vermilion hue showed no trace of fading. When the mistress's kimono hem came to rest beneath the cherry tree shade in the shrine precincts, Hayase gazed ahead from beside her. "There's a teahouse. Let's take respite there." "That place?" "Exactly as described—with a creased red blanket spread out and a spry old woman in attendance. We should have tea before proceeding."

Though he maintained a composed demeanor—having apparently been treated to a flask of sake with lunch—Hayase was in an uncommonly good mood. “Is your throat parched?” “It feels rather raw.” “Then…” The teahouse proprietress appeared ritualistically aged, her hacking cough audible even from outside, making the mistress hesitate to enter; yet under the gawking scrutiny of two or three nursemaids, she swept decisively inside. “Please be seated.” “What fine weather we’re having.” “How gracious of you to visit the shrine.”

Seeing the madam hesitating to sit down, Hayase took out a crisply folded handkerchief from his pocket and briskly dusted off the blanket with flapping sounds.

“Here, please.” When he said this with a laugh, the mistress—positioning the old woman behind her—leisurely settled into her seat, “An Edoite certainly knows their way around things.” “You’re making light of people.” With the mistress’s collar slightly askew across from him, he peered at the shopfront, “Oh, they have sweet sake...”

11 “You mustn’t. You just ate that earlier—it’ll upset your stomach.” She admonished in a low voice—that earlier dish being tuna-chazuke—specially ordered from a nostalgic teahouse at what was once Lord Keiki’s residence. Among the lunch delicacies, the mistress had specifically placed sashimi on his tray (“Surely Edo doesn’t hold exclusive rights to fresh fish”), and when she saw him promptly wolf it down with tea-soaked rice, she had been genuinely delighted at the time. Yet among the Kōno clan, not a soul shared this taste—and so her frustration was inevitable.

“If we don’t drink sweet sake here, it’d be like letting a golden opportunity slip by,”

When he said this, the old woman—quick to catch on— "Yes, five rin per bowl." “I shall play with the doves. You may drink sweet sake or cold sake as you please.” She lightly scattered what had been arranged on the folding stool before her, and with a rustling sound, all the pheasant doves swarmed in as if islands were rising from the sea in the age of the gods—so she took another bowl, then another, and rising to her feet, fetched yet another. “One bowl, two bowls, three bowls, four bowls, five bowls!” Hayase counted them as he,

“Ah, I’ve only had one bowl. Granny, bring the sweet sake quickly,” “Yes, yes! Oh my, just look—see how the doves are delighted? They’ve received so much from Madam here. Coo-coo, isn’t it? Oh ho ho!” Nodding repeatedly with hearty chuckles, she ladled sweet sake from the iron pot. In the blink of an eye—as if the glittering dark tide had receded—the doves scattered skyward like swept dust. Over the suddenly desolate sunlit ground, a dim shadow fell as something emerged trembling and crawling unsteadily.

Though the area beneath his nose was unremarkable, from his sharply tapered emaciated chin to the base of his ears spread a salt-and-pepper beard like chestnut burrs—cheeks that had sunken precipitously, a prominent nose protruding, sunken eyes tinged with redness, forehead wrinkles carved deep as if small skylights had been pressed into his flesh. Pale and grimy-skinned, his hands—with emaciated shoulders barely held together by sinews—gripped a thick bamboo cane sturdier than his legs, this man nearing fifty...clearly consumptive at a glance...wore a threadbare sleeping robe whose fastenings had broken away, its collar grime glistening—his overall appearance suggesting not base wretchedness but genteel ruin.

Dragging his straw sandals with such listlessness that not even dust was stirred—as though sinking into the earth's depths—he had approached from the front and seemed about to rest here, but his eyesight had grown too poor to notice them until drawing near. When he saw the noblewoman there, he drew back his lifted foot, anchored himself with his cane, squinted his eyes as if dazzled, and—with a pitiful smile playing on his lips—fixed the old woman with a sharp glare. "Oh, Sada-san?" At hearing "Sada-san" called out so youthfully it pierced the ear—abrupt as tin sheet clattering—Hayase stiffened and fixed a piercing gaze.

But since the mistress had turned her face away, he remained unaware of this. “Master, what’s happened to you? It’s been ages since you showed your face.”

No sooner had she spoken—though not without basis—than the old woman, having just laid eyes on him, was already racked by a hacking cough. "There’s no hope," Unexpectedly, his voice alone retained clarity, but whether from chills or not, he rubbed his neck—drawn up like a cowering child shaking its head in refusal—against the torn collar of his sleeping robe, "No improvement—this damn lingering cold. Can’t work my trade, just wasting away more each day." "They say if you boil banana leaves and drink the decoction, it reduces fever, so..." He hunched his shoulders as if to cough, but lacking the strength, covered his mouth with his hand and looked downward.

“It’s supposed to be most effective—did you drink it properly, Master?” “Well then, I’ve gone around asking all sorts of folks to make it for me—drank it and drank it, near enough swallowed a whole big banana leaf itself—but not a bit…” He let his head drop with a shake, “There’s no sign of it working.” Though not without effect—your wasting form fades swiftly—a phantom of split banana leaves, rootless even in Shizugatake, standing there in futility. Nodding repeatedly with a hoarse cough, the old woman brought the sweet sake. As Hayase reached to take it, she wordlessly swatted his hand away to stop him. At this moment, the mistress pressed a handkerchief to her mouth and snatched the sweet sake bowl to her side.

12 "If you keep drinking the banana leaf decoction without pause, there must be some effect—but your eagerness to recover quickly makes you impatient, which isn’t helping. Taking your time to recuperate is the best medicine there is." “Now, Master, it all depends on your state of mind, you know.” The old woman said something meant to comfort him, though her own words lacked vigor. The patient—lacking even the vitality to voice his suffering—managed a weak nod with his eyes, drew labored breaths through hunched shoulders, and breathed—

"These days I lack even the strength to fight this illness—do what you will with me, I'm ready to drown myself now." "Some say garlic works better for others, they tell me." "Garlic may be medicine for the lungs, but looking like this though I do, I don't believe it's consumption—just this accursed stubborn cold. If only the fever would break... Well, banana leaves it must stay." Ah, the pitiful litany—repeating it again and again, he shifted his trembling grip on the cane, "Brewing and drinking it's too tedious—I feel like gnawing straight at the roots now."

He contorted his face like a lion in anguish. "You're bein' too impatient—gettin' yourself worked up ain't helpin', ain't helpin' at all." "Oh, why don'tcha rest a spell?" "Master, you must be findin' it so tryin'." "I'd like to rest just a mite, y'know," Seeing Sugako and Hayase present, he appeared hesitant and fidgeted awkwardly,

“Once I sit down, I can’t get up properly, seein’ as I’ve come out after so long. I’ll just look ‘round here a bit and stop by on my way back.” “Climbing up to Miharashi—just looking at these hundred and four steps of the men’s slope has me shuddering, shuddering—”

He shook his heavy head, then raised his cane sideways—the tip quivering violently. Remaining seated where he was and straightening his posture, Hayase began to say something—“Never mind me, rest”—but when the mistress shot him a sharp look and silenced him with a snap of her fingers, he fell quiet. “In that case, do stop by on yer way back, and take care goin’ now.” Without a word, he nodded as if asleep, pushed one foot forward with the other, and the broad shadow of the banana plant—like a sleeping child—tore apart amidst the leaves and vanished. Soon, in this world, only that cane would remain. Even if erected in a wild grave, that cane would not attract even a dragonfly to alight. For some time after the patient had gone, even when feed was put out, there was no sign of pigeons gracing the scenery.

“Granny,”

Hayase called out in a lively tone.

Even the old woman who had been dejected seemed revived by this young, vigorous voice. “Yes, sir?” “If we’re talking about current rumors, let’s drop it. My heart aches just from witnessing that.” Since intimidation seemed futile, the mistress pressed her hands together as if in prayer and reluctantly complied. “No—I meant to ask if you might know of any houses available. That’s more crucial than sightseeing.” “Ah, right.” “Is there a rental house somewhere?”

“Well, it’s not that there are none at all, but there are no mansions in this vicinity suitable for gentlemen of your standing to reside in.” “Might you have inquired about the Takajōmachi area?”

“Precisely in Takajōmachi there’s nothing but grand estates—not a single house we could possibly live in.” “What sort might you be seeking?” “Cheap ones! Anything cheap will do.” “Mr. Hayase,” the mistress said through gritted teeth. “Tenements! Tenements will suffice!” He plowed ahead regardless, earning another ocular rebuke. “Heh heh heh—just how much were you thinking to spend?” “Any leads?” she rasped between coughs, emerging from behind the sweet sake pot on her knees.

“In Shizuoka, how much is one shō of rice?” “Yes.” “Oh please, stop this!” As he shifted to avoid the old woman while maintaining his stance, the mistress pressed her shoulder closer. Hayase stepped back to peer at the old woman over her shoulder, “Or perhaps how much per yen—then I’ll ask about the rent.” “I’ve had enough—” Unable to endure further, she slapped Hayase’s knee and rushed out of the teahouse into the temple grounds, half-covering her flushed face with a handkerchief.

Thirteen

Everywhere remained unchanged—old men with furoshiki bundles around their necks wearing straw sandals, young dandies in fair-weather geta with their hems hitched up and top hats, four or five people strolling through the temple grounds. What they were looking at remained unclear as they all passed by gazing upward. Near the base of the stone steps, the mistress enveloped in greenery—her colors strikingly vivid—walked slowly where crimson carp leapt through fresh leaves in the pond below, her reflection nearly visible in the water. Waving her handkerchief and urging him on, she pulled Hayase over from the teahouse. "That's enough now—this is so embarrassing."

“Here, you forgot this.” With a composed expression, she returned the Western-style umbrella by its handle. The mistress transferred her handkerchief to her other hand and took it... Strangely, this man’s showed no trace of sweat. Anyone’s would become damp after being held on such occasions—some might even end up clammy. ……

The mistress lowered her eyes slightly and lightly supported the Western-style umbrella,

“You’re quite observant, aren’t you.” (In a small voice) “What a bother.” “Ha! So long as I, Chikara, am attending you, you needn’t fret one whit about the journey.” “Shizuoka must be so carefree—ohohohoho.” “With third-class rice at six shō rates—‘tis an easy place to live, or so Granny said.” “Oh not again—how tiresome you are. “I beg you—spare me from uttering things like ‘How much for the rice?’ “I’m mortified enough already—I dread being seen traveling with you.”

“Well then, if you insist—you too must kindly refrain from beckoning like that with your handkerchief. If I may say so, it’s rather clichéd.” “In any case, it’s not as if I can carry on like some Yanagibashi…” “No—even now, those nursemaids saw you drop your handkerchief… Ha ha ha ha!” “What did you say?” “Ha ha ha ha ha ha!” Laughing nonchalantly as if it were nothing: “‘A man, a woman, and roasted beans—five rin per plate!’ they whooped in mockery before scampering off.”

She turned her face away sharply; her spine stiffened abruptly. Tearing it away, she flung the handkerchief to the ground with a thud, then kicked her skirt hem and stomped off ahead. At that moment, Yoshitsune showed no alarm. As wind wrestled with the fallen violet silk and the scent of pigeon feathers wafted up suddenly, he leisurely picked it up and thrust it forcefully into his sleeve. Keeping his hands thus positioned, he pulled his sleeves together and crossed his arms. His complexion changed as he secretly looked down, but immediately strode grandly after the mistress, catching up where the shrine corridor turned.

“Madam.” “…………” “Have you taken offense? This complicates matters.” “Having ventured to this foreign place, should you abandon me now, I’d lose all bearings and be left helpless.” “Pray restore your good graces, Madam.”

“…………” “Eikichi’s dear sister—Sugako-san,”

“…………” “Mrs. Miyahata… Miss Kōno… That won’t do. That won’t do.”

muttered under his breath while walking on and on, “Please restore your good humor properly—you must take care of me. Because I imprudently sent you that letter, now that I’m alone I feel so anxious I can’t manage anything.” “I shall never again speak of rice prices in your presence.” “In return, please make an effort to find something unaristocratic—a nagaya-style residence where I can actually live and where we might properly discuss matters.” “To be frank, given your manner earlier, it seemed you hadn’t considered houses under twenty yen at all—I meant to offer some mild criticism there—”

Before they knew it, they unwittingly passed through the famous Zuijinmon Gate and emerged from the north exit onto the Omote-mon front gate. The shrine faced the mountain and stood immediately adjacent to fields, yet its rear gate connected to the town; however, as houses lined the exit, Chikara too fell silent when passing before them. Mrs.Miyahata naturally kept her mouth shut. Before long, they turned past the tea fields and briskly entered the outskirts town with its scattered small houses, still maintaining an aloof attitude. Above the town of Mt.Ōiwa lay only a small ditch, and since no human faces could be seen through the torn shoji screens, they drew right up close at that moment,

“Please say something.” “…………” “Madam,” “…………”

Fourteen

For a time—Chikara too now showed no sign of intending to speak further. Though his expression bore no particular distress, with arms crossed in that posture, he followed a step behind Mrs. Miyahata. When they reached the middle of the backstreet, the houses on both sides lay as silent as extinguished fires, desolate enough to seem abandoned—yet from unseen homes came the spiderweb-like whir of spinning wheels leaking through doorways. By the roadside stood an old stone well curb, its chipped edges overgrown with moss. No dampness lingered there—only parched dryness, the flow long since withered away. In those several houses around here, there were likely none who polished rice even enough times a day to count. Occasionally, feeble coughs could be heard huddled in the shadows—like groans from a grave proclaiming that something still lived within. On the partially detached lattice, even the shop’s name—written in black on an advertisement for cough drops—was snatched away by the wind and rendered illegible, leaving an ineffable sense of disconnection from the world.

Turning back to look where they had come from, they saw rows of trees blocking the town's entrance like a pitch-black tunnel, through which light pierced like flames. Above it all loomed Mt. Ōiwa where the sun had retreated, its peaks roaring as if declaring "Here lies the valley where men fall!" while gusts swept downward. The scattering crimson proved to be both the hem of the mistress's robe and the sea bream on the eaves—a dyeing shop stood there with an indigo noren where faded colors still showed Ebisu cradling the fish in its design. On the clothes-drying pole jutting from the eaves lay a forgotten strip of faintly soiled red cloth. Below, a cart's detached wheel had tipped into a ditch choked with refuse—marking this boundary stood an especially wretched shack next door. Upon its soot-caked black doorway hung a warding charm inscribed "Harunoyama," from which emerged through rain-blurred paper the figure of a mottled black-and-white dog with split mouth, forelegs raised as though alive. Even if demons came peering through storm shutters warped like falsified ledgers—beneath their knotholes lay a fallen holly branch... Any demon would need to stoop beneath that sagging roof which proclaimed abandonment at first glance—who could dwell here?—yet with this charm-bearing house appearing so sinister one might imagine dogs prowling its eaves.

Stopping abruptly, Mrs. Kōno peered at this thatched house; then—for whatever reason—stepping back just past Chikara, she tucked her Western parasol beneath her sleeve and, without hesitation, used her hair to part the noren curtain as she leaned into the neighboring dyer's shopfront. “Excuse me, I’d like to rent the house next door.” “I beg your pardon?” came the wife’s brusque voice. “What’s the rent?”

“Ah, it’s about Sadazō-san’s house then.” Dumbfounded by the mistress’s decisive behavior, Chikara—(Sadazō)—sharply pricked up his ears at the name. “It isn’t vacant though.” “Oh? Not vacant? My mistake.” She stepped out after removing the noren from her shoulder— “How mortifying! Utterly mortifying!”

With that, she smiled faintly, "Mr. Hayase,"

“…………”

"You go around calling people aristocratic, but when it comes down to it, even I can do this much for you. In this house, even if you said you wanted to rent it, they wouldn't listen to you. You think I can't manage a household at all?" Madam herself seemed to recognize this as quite a feat—the edges of her eyes narrowed sharply as her breath caught in her chest.

Staring intently at her burning face, after a moment, "I was surprised." "You were surprised, weren't you? Serves you right,"

With a delighted expression that radiated triumph, she started to walk away but cast another glance at the thatched house. "But how awkward this is." "There's nothing I can say." "As a token of gratitude for now..." he said, taking out the violet handkerchief he had picked up earlier. She merely nodded silently, neither taking it nor refusing as they walked shoulder to shoulder. Their sleeves continued to brush against each other—with Madam still not having taken it, for if he let go it would fall, yet his hand remained extended… Unable to withdraw it… As he held it aloft… The handkerchief acting as a barrier between their sleeves that threatened to touch—the two simultaneously glanced left and right. On both sides of the sunken houses—ah, every eaves had those sinister talisman dogs…

Rented Kimono

Fifteen

The recent letter had likely come to inform Madam of her husband Professor Miyahata Kankō's return home... With this vague thought lingering—after three or four days of fair weather, the nights now growing too warm—Chikara sat rigidly upright as ever at the corner of the dining table, avoiding the long brazier, drinking beer alone in that (Sugajo Room.)

Before the fence, an irrigation channel flowed so vigorously it seemed to ripple endlessly. The shadows of silk tree flowers swayed continuously across the window screens, and since no prying eyes could peer in from outside, the storm shutters on the veranda remained wide open—allowing him to drink without reservation. Yet this man who so loved his liquor would strangely appear reluctant to pour into his glass cup whenever Madam was absent, setting it aside with what seemed like bitterness, clearly sunk in gloom. The sliding door opened—and there she emerged wearing an informal obi without haori, its knot askew from reclining, her relaxed kimono collar revealing from chest level a softly rounded, pure white line diagonally divided by a half-read letter. From beneath the overlapping front panels dangled the extended edge of that unfolded correspondence, trembling like one of Hokusai's bold brushstrokes—all bearing the air of a neighborhood geisha.

“I finally got them to sleep.” As if collapsing, she slumped down, “The older one has preferred the wet nurse from the start, and though the boy hasn’t asked to sleep with me in ages—what with you monopolizing him and my constant absences—you saw how they clung to me earlier.” She spoke hurriedly while glancing at the letter repeatedly. When the meal was first served here, both children had clung to their mother—the boy putting on such warrior-like airs with his vigorous antics. The blind daughter sat forlornly, incessantly stroking the obi hanging from Madam’s lap with both hands, while the boy clung to her shoulder—pressing his cheek against her averted face when she turned away, then nibbling at her ear when she tried to dodge him in this display of desperate affection. In moments her sidelocks became disheveled, her features growing gaunt as she brushed back strands falling near her mouth—her pale hand clawing at empty air in anguish—until her cry of “Send the wet nurse!” sounded like a scream. The wet nurse had barely turned toward Chikara—exclaiming “My, what behavior! The young miss and young master carrying on so before a guest!”—when the children, ever fixated on acting like proper young ladies and masters with their downcast, sleep-heavy eyes, refused to look her way properly. Smiling weakly, she pulled the blind girl’s hand away—though the child reluctantly let go—but the boy would not comply no matter what she said, finally erupting into violent tears. Madam, who seemed loath to leave her seat even momentarily, went to settle them down for bed.

Then, after a while, came the mail—. She finished reading it smoothly. While rewinding the letter, she raised her face and irritably brushed back her disheveled hair. "I never even thought about it—being made to drink milk and having every last drop squeezed out of me."

She hurriedly adjusted her kimono collar, “Now, let me pour you a drink.” When she lifted the bottle, it was heavy. "My, you haven't touched a drop!" "It simply won't do without someone to pour for you—how extravagant." “Hohohoho! Now that the house is settled, what will you do when you have to manage a household all alone?”

“I’ve had my fill. To impose on you so thoroughly... I’m truly ashamed. I should take my leave in stages now.” he said with dreadful solemnity. “No, I won’t release you.” “All this time I’ve begged you repeatedly to stay—you kept claiming impropriety while I practiced restraint—but enough! You’ll stay tonight.” “Look here—Mother in Ushigome writes: ‘Since Mr. Hayase journeys to Shizuoka and fortune has made you acquainted, entertain him lavishly.’” “How delighted I am.”

“You know, this is actually a reply. Since we met on the train and you decided to open your school here due to your circumstances—when you said you didn’t know the area at all—I wrote a letter offering to help with the arrangements, and this is the reply—”

She lightly tapped once on the letter she held rolled in her palm. "If Mother says it's fine, then it's as good as settled!" "Please take your time and eat." "And you absolutely must stay tonight!" “Since we’ve already drawn the bath with that in mind, please go ahead and take your bath.” “Will you bathe before retiring, or take your bath after a quick rinse?” “Either way, it’s already ready.” "And you are staying tonight." “It’s settled!” After thorough persuasion, she finally extracted his agreement,

“Ah, yesterday and the day before too—you came beneath the silk tree only to return looking so lonely each evening, didn’t you.”

Sixteen When he went to take his bath, he passed through the Professor’s study for the first time. The desk was cluttered, with no zabuton cushion placed there—the one they had Hayase lay out was likely that very cushion. On the desk lay a spread-out newspaper alongside children’s playthings, while atop the large bookshelf sat household items. The bath required traversing a vast dim kitchen floor of wooden planks, emerging into an earthen-floored area and stepping over the eaves space in one stride—since this vacant lot contained the sunken tub’s heating furnace—making rainy days seem particularly troublesome.

There crouched that short-skirted maid Mariko in her usual manner; having checked the bath temperature, she found it perfectly adjusted. Sinking deep into the water, he listened to the distant clatter of storm shutters being drawn and footsteps pattering through the kitchen two or three times, then finished washing and bathed again—though the bath's design seemed oddly aged compared to the rest of residence. From within steam veiled by the dim lamplight, he suddenly emerged wearing nothing but a loincloth and geta sandals. In the wind-swept space beneath the eaves, he glimpsed the moon. Peering from the edge of the overhang—though its light remained too faint to cast shadows—he beheld its noble radiance. The silver glow sheathed his naked form like swift armor, leaving his upper arms tinged blue.

He instinctively looked up. Ah... Miss Taeko. His bowed shoulders trembled, "Otsuta!" When he staggered against the main house’s wooden siding, “Mr. Hayase,” came the flamboyant lady’s voice from the kitchen, "When you come up, please change into this. “I’ll leave it here for you,” "I couldn't possibly..." Regaining his composure, when he went up to look, there lay a yukata on top of a spread-out thin mat. A Ryukyu silk student haori was laid out as well, but deeming it unnecessary he took only the yukata and slipped it on. The sleeves came up short on his arms—no matter how much he tugged them up—the hem kept dragging until he hiked it higher and returned to find... Of course—it was women’s clothing. The medium-sized pattern was alluring with its indigo fragrance. As he stood transfixed watching her—the lady supporting her knees in a half-crouch while hanging the iron kettle—

“It does suit you, does it not? Taniya brought this fabric some days ago—the very one you selected—and I had it tailored immediately.” “Miyahata’s remains unsewn, and what we have here is worn through. Please endure wearing this as sleepwear for now.” “To squander something so new...”

Chikara tugged at the sleeve. "No, I tried it on myself just now—it's not new. Please don't stand on ceremony. Though it doesn't feel uncomfortable. I only wore it briefly," "It feels uncomfortable," "…………" "What's the matter? There's nothing so precious about it." Though settled, something still felt unresolved. "The obi?" "Exactly." "I'll give you this one." He rose smoothly and slid off the hemp-leaf patterned silk crepe obi. "…………"

Their eyes met,

“Very well,” and dropped it onto the tatami with a decisive thud, “I’ll go bathe as well. While I still can.” “While I still can.”

Chikara later exited the tatami room and paced along the veranda—from in front of the ten-mat guest chamber to near the entranceway—walking back and forth until his footsteps grew somewhat audible.

The maid came and stood abruptly, “Madam said that if you wish to cool yourself, we shall open the storm shutters.”

“No, that’s fine.” “Yes, sir,” she replied earnestly. “Around what time do you usually go to bed?” While amiably posing the question without waiting for an awkward response, he strode back to the long brazier and grabbed a handful from the paper case. In a flash, he’d already rolled two in paper. “One’s for the wet nurse. You’re to tell the madam yourself.”

Seventeen

They finally went to bed around one o'clock. The meal trays had been cleared away, the white embers in the brazier growing faint as the night deepened into a lonely chill, yet their conversation grew earnest—and with their repeated murmurs of “We should sleep, we should sleep,” they never added more charcoal. Yet he still relied on the lingering warmth—perching sideways while hiking up his hem with a shoulder tug until his bare elbow nearly dipped into the ashes, leaning over the brazier’s edge to gather adzuki bean-sized embers.…… Fresh from her bath and worn from daytime wanderings, Kōno Sugako appeared wilted in every aspect—hair, collar, obi, figure—save for her faintly flushed face (“Beer’s too bitter,” she’d said, opting instead for two glasses of wine in crystal cups). Her drunkenness remained unbroken: pupils wide beneath lifted lashes glistening moistly; lips’ rouge gleaming wetly. Though their limbs must have grown cold, with their minds remaining fervent and their mutual conversation showing no sign of ceasing, Hayase said something that would surely have seemed strange if overheard—that it wouldn’t do for the retainers to think anything amiss if they stayed up too late—yet even after urging her multiple times, the madam, still unsated with talking, would not consent…… When the inner lining of her kimono slipped smoothly from the shoulder she had been softly leaning over the brazier with, she appeared to shiver slightly from the chill and nodded dejectedly before suddenly springing to her feet……

The skirt tangled around her knees fell away, and the staggering sleeve fluttered against the fusuma panel beside the tea shelf. Pulling her shoulders back and arching her chest, she awkwardly used her body to open the door as she entered the next room.

Separated by a single wooden corridor, there was a four-and-a-half-mat room with flooring laid out, where two children lay back-to-back with their pillows, leaving an open space in the middle. The wet nurse had likely laid them facing opposite directions, but they were fast asleep, and the wet nurse herself was nowhere to be found.

Passing through there and disappearing from view, she left the fusuma open behind her, yet even after some time had passed, the Madam did not return.

Hayase gazed at the heap of hand-rolled cigarette butts thrust into the ashes and thought: Ah, he had smoked; ah, he had rambled. “This story,” she began, referring to that prior agreement about literally translating Gyōte—Erter—as commissioned, “the great poet we’ve all heard of once clinked a grapevine goblet with Schiller and vowed, ‘Our poetry shall grow ever more precious with age, like this wine.’ Isn’t that so?” Holding her crystal cup aloft to the firelight, its blood-tide crimson reflected in her brows, the Madam preened. “What a remarkable scholar! But since your sake-pourer isn’t from Yanagibashi—” Seizing this opening, she continued: “Erter later insisted—oh, do tell me about that piece titled ‘Hayase.’ I heard from my brother in Tokyo about your farewell with Mr. Sakai per his advice, but what became of your lover?” “I don’t want to, but I was forced to tell.”

Hayase spoke as though making a full confession, but for practical purposes, we will here present only the essentials.…… When the conversation turned to parting out of obligation, Otsuta—however—had no intention of returning to geisha work. Fortunately, Sōsuke from the Megumi group had a wife who was a master hairdresser from Shimada. Since Yanagibashi was her regular styling spot where she’d built rapport, and given she could speak openly with the Megumi group in such circumstances, she resolved to become their apprentice and make her living through hairdressing. After establishing her business, she always worked alone. The ginkgo twist posed no difficulty—she even recalled being complimented, if only flatteringly, when tying peach-split styles for apprentice geishas as a pastime. There should be nothing beyond her capabilities—with neither parents nor siblings to consider. If she had to go somewhere, it would be back to her former Yanagibashi master. But instead, she would enter as a live-in apprentice at the fishmonger’s and assist with hairdressing temporarily. ……Thus everything was entrusted to fate—that settled it. This matter was known to Professor Sakai, who through private arrangements personally met Otsuta on Iidamachi’s second floor. Deeply impressed by her admirable resolve, he nodded emphatically and even handed her spending money and various thoughtful items himself.

From then on, he had intended to withdraw to Shizuoka without ever seeing her face again, but through the arrangements of Sōsuke from the Megumi group, he unexpectedly encountered her on the train and was seen off to Yokohama. However, as they had taken the last train and Yokohama was their stop, they discreetly stayed overnight at an inconspicuous inn in the outskirts of Noge to avoid prying eyes. (At such times,)

The intoxicated Madam interjected and laughed while looking at his face. After a moment, (Back-to-back. Separately.) The next day, he boarded an express train from Hiranuma—and thus met the Madam.…

In a drowsy haze.

Eighteen Though drawn into the conversation midway until he verged on despondency through sympathy, the Madam declared: “You really must stop with geishas.” “Though Chikara had been in a drunken stupor from the outset—incapable of speaking unless intoxicated—let me tell you this: across all Japan’s expanse, the only woman who ever cooked rice for me was Otsuta.” “When I saw her sigh ‘Ah…’ and lament while staring at the ceiling—this motherless soul—who do you think reddened to the ears inquiring about rental housing for her?” She cast a sidelong glance and retorted sharply. “Forgive my bluntness, but you couldn’t sustain a household. You probably can’t even cook rice.” “I’ll cook tomorrow.” “I’ll cook the rice,” she laughed, and from there the conversation blossomed—yet pitiful, truly pitiful—and though I felt compassion, I remained unwavering: “You must stop seeing geishas.”…… Even should Mr. Sakai grant permission hereafter, I shall not consent. And so, the night had deepened.

She didn't come out—what had become of the Madam? The kitchen's clattering noises had faded into distant silence; though once familiar sounds now gave way to nothing but ten thousand frogs croaking outside. In those written characters—*frog, frog, frog, frog, frog*—each symbol pulsed with its own resonant note that shook heaven and earth, like battle chronicles where every cadence aligned and each chapter's verses cried out in unison. Somehow clouds emerged, drifting pale across the sky as they stirred unrest—until it seemed the very land itself might darken.

When he thought of the steamy bathhouse and the moon beneath the eaves, he recalled a solitary nighttime journey along desolate post roads from his life's travelogue. He pressed a hand to his forehead in melancholy. “Please retire for the night.” With her characteristic downcast demeanor, the wet nurse braced her hand against the threshold. “I have imposed upon you with numerous errands.”

She abruptly stood up. “Which way?” “Please proceed to the guest room from there… And about earlier…” Ogen bowed. The bedding had been laid out in the very center of the ten-mat room. Beside the pillow lay a water jar and a glass cup placed face down on a tray. A tobacco tray was arranged alongside another small black-lacquered shelf adorned with gold maki-e; upon a blue hydrangea flower knitted from yarn rested the remaining lantern from Tamamaru Biya, while on the middle shelf sat an antique bronze incense container with its incense pouch tilted diagonally, and on the lower stand lay tissue paper. Instead of a weight, a woman’s gold watch lay clear-bottomed, sparkling like stars.

He gazed sharply, smiled faintly, and when he settled onto the futon, his hips sank into its depth. Moving the velvet bolster pillow aside, he stretched his legs beneath layered kimono hems and drew closer the pink-silk-shouldered bedding spread over yellow-striped Kōnai cloth—his hand slipped, grazing the cool underside of habutae silk that burned like flame. When the sound of an obi being untied smoothly came from the adjacent study, Chikara—still upright—propped both elbows on his sleeping robe's collar. The wet nurse seemed to murmur something, but it dissolved unheard beneath the Madam's vibrant voice—

“Ah, I’ll just sleep like this.” “It’s already ruined anyway.”

No sooner had she spoken than the sliding doors parted smoothly from both sides at their center. On this side lay the spacious Kyoto-style ten-mat room, while the dim lamplight from beyond concealed her robes, revealing only the sash beneath her breasts. “Good night.” “Excuse me.” He said. He closed the sliding door and pulled back his shoulders. But a single phantom wreath—where her black hair had been—lingered suspended, persisting as an afterimage that would not fade. Chikara fell backward but, without using a pillow, wrapped both hands around the back of his head and grasped it firmly. His eyes remained wide open, fixedly gazing at that phantom that refused to fade away. Time passed, time passed. In the passing of that time, it became known that the wet nurse had extinguished the lamp by the long brazier. A child could be heard exclaiming, “I need to go! I need to go!” But soon all grew quiet, and time passed.

Hayase sat up, took the remaining lamp from the shelf, and went out to the veranda. Exiting the next study brought him to another north-facing veranda where a toilet stood at the far end; but since the Madam had retired, he made a wide detour through the entranceway, passed where the maid Mariko lay sleeping in her underrobe, opened a wooden door, exited via a corner door in the kitchen, relieved himself, washed his hands, and took up a hand towel—one that seemed hung after the Madam’s bath use, cold to the touch and faintly scented with white powder.

Nineteen Returning to the bedroom with what seemed like resolute determination, Hayase vigorously laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes—but the scent by his pillow was neither from an opened package nor transferred fragrance from a hand towel. Vividly alive—though bearing no trace of any particular flower’s fragrance—this subtle scent permeated transparently; glistening while shaking dew from invisible petals, tracing ethereal ripples that seemed to whisper of love. It traveled along the sleeve of his sleeping robe and gently caressed his face. As if brushing it away, he shamelessly rubbed both hands over his eyes; the scent abruptly fled to the pillow and seemed to slip soundlessly into the corner of the veranda’s shoji screen—yet once more... riding on nonexistent wind, it circled back to lightly settle upon his chest.

When he turned over, it was swept away by his sleeve's flutter, soon gathering at the sliding door's edge between rooms—the fragrance returning to wildflower petals as scents coalesced in one spot, their intensity swelling like a rising tide. The pleasure—yet sharp stimulation—made Hayase open his sleepless eyes. At the sliding door's midpoint where Sugako had left her underrobe's imprint when bidding goodnight earlier, near shoulder height, the phantom wreath lingered—its colors bleached, blossoms turned translucent-white yet still vivid against his vision.

Propping a hand on the pillow, he sat up abruptly to find precisely beneath that wreath—at the sliding door's seam where residual lamplight cast shadows—the familiar violet handkerchief fallen in silence, staining the tatami pale purple. He noticed.

When Kaoru thought this must be how it begins, in that very instant across the tatami mats spread with yellowish-green, what seemed like a cluster of violets burst into bloom. Within the hazy floral wreath, particularly the large, conspicuous petals from the most prominent flowers fluttered briefly before transforming on the spot into wings—becoming butterflies—while a woman's face with dark eyes flickered intermittently in that same space.

Hayase lay in a sweet-fragrant-warm-velvety state - as though reclining in a spring field - having reversed his pillow to lie prone atop his sleeping robe spread over the bedding. Propping his cheek on one hand while leaning over the futon's hem, he gazed trance-like at those violets. As he watched, the floral scent grew nostalgic in tandem with the butterflies hovering above. He slowly reached out to pull at the violet shadow, and the handkerchief came away into his grasp. ...yet the violet had roots that refused to part from the sliding door's seam.

Puzzled, he fluttered the handkerchief like wings with butterfly-like grace—whereupon the sliding door… opened… just a crack.

When he looked, there on one end of the handkerchief lay a crimson phantom—a single strand softly tied—that smoothly connected to the Madam's bedchamber. In this season when violets bloom and butterflies dance—the spring of human life—such places always bear this fallen strand, what one might call the thread of fate. Just as with the forbidden fruit of knowledge, this remains God’s trial even now: those who cast it aside untouched shall become His children, while those who grasp and bind it shall turn into demonic kin, reduced to the baseness of beasts. If one dreams of it, it becomes a butterfly; if one yearns for it, a flower; if one unravels it, a beautiful mist; if one binds it, a fearsome serpent.

How critical this moment was! The dividing sliding door opened wider. In the blink of an eye, the crimson serpent—its scales of gold standing out against its blazing hue—coiled around Chikara’s wrist with the tail that had burrowed through violet blossoms, while its head sank crimson fangs beneath the woman’s breast. When the wreath vanished with a rustle, the black hair of the Madam - who had lain her head sideways - became visible facing backward, the area around her shoulders emerging from the collar of her sleeping robe now exposed. The remaining lamp had also been placed beside her pillow, but whichever light one considered, the connection between them remained unbroken. Trembling violently, the Madam abruptly emerged from the bedding. Pressing a hand to her chest, she peered into the bedchamber with intensely focused eyes, appearing dazed—still caught in an unbroken dream where she wandered through spring fields blooming with violets, her robes rippling across the tatami. After a moment, she finally became aware of the strange sash wrapped around herself. With a stifled "Ah—", the beautiful butterfly-like face—its eyes spellbound—fell forward into the violets.

Trembling violently, the Madam abruptly emerged from the bedding; pressing a hand to her chest, she peered into the bedchamber with intensely focused eyes, appearing dazed—still caught in an unbroken dream where she wandered through spring fields blooming with violets, her robes spreading across the tatami. After a moment, she finally became aware of the strange sash wrapped around herself; with a stifled “Ah—”, her beautiful-eyed butterfly-like face—spellbound—fell forward into the violets.

Compassion

Twenty

Taeko entered a certain back alley in Hatchōbori alone without companions, in the manner of someone returning from school. The school she attended was near Kōjimachi, but by what path she had wound her way here—for the young lady from Masagochō to come to this area was like undertaking a journey, crossing mountains and fields on an arduous trek... Even the shamisen being practiced nearby seemed to sing "travel robes are of suzukake, travel robes are of suzukake."

With eyes that seemed to hear—wide open with their dark pupils dominating—Taeko stood in the alley wearing the same charming expression as one seeing a nightingale’s song. Peering about, she examined the nameplate marked only with the surname Uehara, flanked by Tachibana and Igeta well-curb crests alongside Horinouchi religious group talismans. Adjusting her unlined kimono’s collar with a practiced flick, she glided sideways to the lattice door and steadied her Western umbrella. When she appeared about to call out—leaning at an angle to peer inside—her face flushed crimson. Silently she bowed her head, gaze cast downward. Her eyelashes, long from the corners of her eyes, cast a small shadow that hid beneath the eaves.

Tap-tap went her Western umbrella against the dirt at her toes, but— “Excuse me.” she called out softly yet clearly—though modest in tone—her voice pure and bright, piercing straight through the lattice-framed shoji screen.

From within came a similar yet somewhat calmer, quieter voice. "Who might this be?" Taeko had deliberately lowered her voice, certain her call had gone unheard—but the immediate reply came like an ambush, startling her into looking up. "Who is it?" "Um... Is the hairdresser's place this way?" "Yes, this is the place," she responded, her speaking tone taking on a graceful lilt as she rose with vigor. Facing directly forward, she pressed her eyes against the lattice door to peer through.

“How may I assist you?”

She smoothly slid open the somewhat translucent shoji screen. Stylish and elegant in softly clinging striped silk crepe, her black satin maru obi complementing a newlywed-style round chignon that appeared deceptively modest yet framed jet-black hair of unparalleled luster—this was Yoshino of Ryōgoku. Straightening up to peer through the door frame—though at such a gate one would least expect Saimeiji Temple—she hastily assumed a ladylike kneeling posture. "Unfortunately they're out at present. Young lady, might I inquire who you are?" "When they return, I shall have them attend to you immediately."

Taeko, who had gazed without once looking away from her, offered a belated nod,

"Well... but isn't someone here? Shouldn't you have them come in? I want my hair done. It's just this simple anyway—" Without even pressing down with her fingers, she unhesitatingly shook the side locks of her tied-up hair. "It doesn't need to be the master. If there's an apprentice present, please have them do it." She pleaded guilelessly as if clinging for help, gripping the lattice firmly while peering inside. "Even you, Auntie, would do."

Having been told to have "Auntie" do her hair, she—even herself—formed a genuinely beautiful smile as if having forgotten her usual demeanor, “Oh my, Young lady, wherever did you come from?” “Ah, are you from the neighborhood?” "No, it's very far."

“Is it quite far?” “Hongo.” “Yes,” “I’m... from Hongo... the Sakai family.” “Oh my, Young lady—” As Yoshino hurriedly opened the door from its frame—her hand from inside pressing against Taeko’s fingers gripping the door without noticing—she stepped backward onto the front tips of her geta sandals and gazed distractedly, having even forgotten the disarray of her kicked-out kimono hem. “Miss Tae.” “Auntie, are you... um... Mr. Hayase’s... Otsuta-san?”

<21> "Do come in,"

When Yoshino deepened her voice and placed three fingers on the floor in formal etiquette, Taeko found herself awkwardly positioned in the honored seat of the six-mat room. "Young lady, my goodness—what brings you alone to such a place?" "Did nothing trouble you on the way? The heat must have been unbearable." "I'll prepare a chilled towel for you this instant."

Having been addressed all at once, she stopped the hand that had been fanning her chest with her sleeve, "It's not that I'm hot—I'm feeling unwell, you see, and so, um—" and pressed her sleeve to her face, only her bell-like eyes peering out, “Auntie… are you Otsuta-san?” she asked again in a low voice. "Oh dear, what should I do? Since someone I never imagined would come has arrived, I’ve gone and gotten myself all flustered. Ohoho, I’ve gone and gotten things all mixed up—my, please forgive me.”

"I am... not her." "Well... you see... Since Otsuta-san has taken ill and is resting, I came to visit her." "Ah, she's ill," she leaned forward with concern. "Ah... for quite some time—" "Is it very serious?"

“No, it doesn’t seem to be that serious, but since she’s bedridden, she likely can’t style your hair.” “But please take your time and rest here awhile.” “Lately Omasu-san has been concerned and will return early, so truly… Young lady,”

Edging closer, she gazed absentmindedly. The entrance area measured three tatami mats, with this six-mat room immediately adjacent. At the veranda's angled corner stood another chamber—its shoji screens parted at the center—where beyond their closed panels there seemed to lie what might have been a raised floor area.

The opposite side ended at someone else's storehouse, but there was what you might call a postage stamp-sized garden where a few green things could be seen. Though its neatness exceeded that of a drunkard's abode, thanks to the skill of the wife named Omasu, even the tatami mats had a bluish tint. The nameplate bearing "Uehara" was neither a temporary alias to hide one's identity nor anything of the sort—in other words, this was indeed the residence of the megumi group, though it should more properly be called the home of Omasu, the female hairdresser. All of Sōsuke’s regular clients referred to him as Onda Hyakushō. Needless to say, when it came to mere profits from tenant farming and business earnings—they might drink them, gamble them away, or spend them—but what could possibly be settled by that alone? They drank their profits, bought with capital, and then gambled away their wives' clothes.

When she saw his old tricks starting again, the wife locked up every last possession with sharp metallic clicks, stuffed the key into her ever-present obi sash, declared she wouldn't let him do business for now, and marched off to work. In Tomakasu's tobacco pouch, there wasn't even coin for a bath. Branded a lazy oaf under house arrest, he hunched before the brazier until one day his hanging pipe's weighted end—swollen with spite—dislodged the iron kettle. As boiling water cascaded into the drain, he made do with zaru soba while steam still curled from the gutter.

At that time he had been disowned by his wife, but since finally reconciling, he had entrusted every last valuable—down to the tiered boxes—to various contacts, leaving their home devoid of furnishings that matched its status. Wherever one looked, it was barren—the cramped interior seemed tidy enough in its sparseness—but with no wall-hung pictures to divert her gaze, Taeko kept nervously plucking at her sleeve, “It’s fine, Auntie. I only said I came to the hairdresser’s because I felt awkward, but I don’t mind not having my hair done at all.” “I don’t want to have it done at all,”

she blurted out, “Mr. Hayase’s... um... Mrs. Chikara—can’t I meet her?” “Elder sister,”

A tap came from behind the shoji screen. “Ah,” Kobayashi Yoshino stood poised, turned toward the veranda, and fixed her gaze upon you. “May I go there?” Yoshino hurried along the veranda, pushing the shoji screen aside while placing her knee over the threshold near the pillow. Leaning against the pillow with slender shoulders, her figure half-emerged from a shed sleeping robe—that ephemeral cicada-shell of a frail chest grasped tightly by thin hands clutching the gaping collar of a nightgown worn over summer kimono—disheveled ginkgo-leaf chignon tied back heavily, translucent-pale face with straight nosebridge drooping against shoulder—it was Otsuta who now drew breath through parted lips.

Twenty-Two In her sudden attempt to sit up, Otsuta's body thrashed weakly, her face turning toward the dark side of the closet adjoining the bed—she couldn't even manage to glance back this way. Kobayashi Yoshino pressed her hands firmly against the slender twisted back visible through the bedding and lifted upward as if cradling her. "Aren't you in pain, Otsuta-san? Can you sit up? You mustn't push yourself." "Oh, thank you..." With great effort, she sat upright and removed her nightcap. As she swept back the disheveled hair that fell so pitifully across her face—

“Somehow I feel like my bones have been removed—how absurd. It’s so mortifying, being completely limp like this.” She said with affected nonchalance, her feeble knees tightening together in apparent vexation.

Otae had already come to stand at the veranda of the six-tatami room, gripping the shoji screen and peering through. “Please stay lying down. Yes, just like that—keep resting.” “I’ll go there.” Until then she had seemed reserved, but now she moved with sudden resolve to break past the veranda edge and rush in—perhaps finding Yoshino, who had already assessed the situation at a glance, more approachable—sitting so close that she nearly brushed against the black silk crepe obi tied in a flat drum shape, peering out from beside her sleeve to stare unblinkingly at Otsuta’s face, meeting it for the first time.

Shoulders slumping, Otsuta tried to move out from under the futon, “Please stay just like that now. If you do that, I’ll be troubled.” “How do you do,” she said while lowering her excessively pale neck—where the flow of blood seemed uncertain—and supporting herself with her hands, “This would be improper,” “Oh, I’m in such a bind! You must stay lying down. Auntie, please tell her that.” Worried and losing her composure, she tapped Kobayashi Yoshino’s back repeatedly and urgently said, “Relay this!”

Perhaps moved by that kindness, Yoshino firmly grasped Otsuta’s hand, her own fingers trembling as she did so. “Otsuta-san, please stay lying down. The young lady is saying such things, after all.” “No, it’s not like that.” “If it doesn’t hurt, I’ll lie back down right away.” “Young lady, I am deeply grateful for your kindness.” “Young lady, you’ve truly come all this way, haven’t you?” “And you actually managed to find the house, didn’t you?” “You’ve rarely ever visited this part of town before, haven’t you?”

Kobayashi Yoshino said again with belated admiration, as if deeply moved. “Well... I just couldn’t figure it out. “I felt so awkward asking around everywhere. “Even searching for it was such a bother. “I thought—the aunties probably wouldn’t meet me even a little—so I was worried, you see.” “We...” “Why ever would that be?” Spreading out to either side with Otae at their center, they peered curiously at her face from both left and right—whereupon she smiled faintly while looking down,

"But I don't have a single coin to my name, you know. Unless I go to a teahouse and have you summoned, I wouldn't be able to meet you at all, would I?"

As Otsuta gasped sharply, Kobayashi Yoshino deliberately laughed, “Since when do improprieties require such formalities? Moreover, Otsuta-san has become a respectable woman now. Not that I am… well, of course, it’s not as if you said you wished to meet me, but…” For some reason, she gazed at her with reproachful yet tender eyes, “I am not such a person at all.” “Oh, Auntie, I’ve seen both in photographs and know all about them.”

Innocent of malice, she placed a hand on Yoshino’s shoulder, pushing back her bangs as she pressed her forehead down to hide her face. Their eyes met, "This is so embarrassing, Otsuta-san." “Sister, I’m so embarrassed.” “Oh, come now…” “Ah,”

Unintentionally, they spoke in unison. “Let’s not take any photographs,”—— she said.

Twenty-Three Otae, who had been discreetly peeking into her sleeve behind Yoshino, took out something wrapped in thin paper with an air of hesitation, “Auntie, you see, I didn’t know Otsuta-san was unwell, so this isn’t a get-well gift—um, well, it’s just a souvenir. I feel so awkward about it.” “Since I have nothing else, I thought I’d knit something with yarn for you.” “But I had no idea what would be suitable.” “Since they’re refined geisha, Western-style things wouldn’t do, would they?” “Tabi socks, gloves, coin purses—since none of those would do, I, though feeling terribly awkward, brought this instead.” “Auntie, please give this to her.”

“You should be pleased—the young lady has,” “Oh!”

As Otsuta gratefully accepted it, Yoshino watched intently while settling her knee onto the futon, "What did you give?" "Might I open it to look?"

“Do let me have a look now.” “Oh! Don’t look! That’s terrible of you, Auntie.” She pushed against her back—treating this very person she had just relied on as an ally moments before like an enemy now—and prodded her.

Otsuta, weakened by illness and in spirit,

“Shall I refrain?” she said deferentially, placing it carefully on her lap. “Truly, Otsuta-san is enviable, you know.” When Kobayashi Yoshino said this with apparent envy, Otae suddenly looked up, her eyes widening as if pondering something, then adorably pulled out a small crimson velvet pouch from her other sleeve, “Auntie, I’ll give you this. “Please don’t be upset.” “I wish there were more, but there are only three large silver coins (fifty-sen pieces).”

“Back when I had my purse before, there were paper bills... well... um... about four yen, but I lost them recently.”

With a look of surprise, "I wondered what to do. So it's just a trifle, but please don't be cross and keep it, Auntie." Otsuta looked up sharply, her eyes fixing on Yoshino's startled expression, "Ah, the professor's young lady. ...Well... regardless... please accept it, Sister," "I offer my thanks." She supported her hand with proper decorum, yet the elegance of her willow-like hair— She couldn't even raise her head, her voice clouding,

“Please, may this money help you escape your hardships.”

At that moment, Otsuta too opened the kana-patterned package wrapped in potato vine paper and declared spiritedly: “Oh, a half-collar… Sister, in Edo purple.” “It’s the color Chikara-san likes.” Delighted at their pleased reactions, Taeko shifted her knee aside for the first time and rested her sleeve on the futon. “Sister,” Otsuta lifted the bowed Yoshino until their knees touched in formal posture. She pressed the half-collar to her throat until her cheeks paled to faint blue, chin clenched with resolve—the Edo purple glowing against her yukata like the tragic beauty of a consumptive spitting blood.

“When I die, Sister, I won’t need any burial kimono—just drape this half-collar the young lady gave me over me. Please, I beg you.” From beneath these words, like dewdrops on bellflowers, beads—or perhaps tears—scattered down her collar. “Now, now, you mustn’t speak such petulant words.” “The young lady’s kindness—I, someone like me—I’ll use the congratulatory gift I’ve just received as capital and build a bank.” “And then I’ll repay my debts and quit being a geisha for good.”

Jestingly saying this while crumbling emotionally at Otsuta's frail figure, with Otae between them turning her face away, there was no tobacco smoke left to obscure the scene. Within Kobayashi Yoshino's heart—though Otsuta's fragile demeanor had also been perceived by Otae—the latter faintly fluttered her eyelashes as she said, "I'm under a doctor's care." "No," countered Yoshino, "I too had been of that opinion myself. Without being properly examined and refusing medicine she detests—you must tell her the same."

And then, taking her first puff from the tobacco tray, Kobayashi Yoshino’s face took on an expression of expectant anticipation as she waited to hear Otae’s voice.

The meal tray

24

Because Otae’s statement at that moment was so utterly unexpected, Kobayashi Yoshino hurriedly flicked the small silver mouthpiece and discarded her pipe. “Doctors and medicine—I hate them too.” With utmost seriousness, “They make me take bitter medicine, then tell me eating sweets is bad or forbid me from eating apples—they say all sorts of things like that.” “Instead of that, why don’t you do something fun to amuse yourself?”

When Kobayashi Yoshino reacted with an exasperated “Well…,” Otsuta showed a lonely smile and said with labored breath, “Young lady, that lady has nothing amusing to do, you know.” “You should go see Chikara-san.”

“Huh?” “You want to see him, don’t you?”

Even if the two remained silent and stared, Otae did not even blink her eyes,

“I want to see him too, you know.” “It’s been a full year since he went to Shizuoka—don’t you think that’s outrageous? Not a single letter either.” “I say it’s downright cruel.” When I was making a fair copy of my painting, he washed the inkstone for me—we parted that very evening, just this month, wasn’t it? Those irises I drew back then look like an infant’s scribbles to me now. “It’s been far too long—I want to see him too.”

In an instant, her eyes grew moist, yet her lively face did not falter, and her voice remained clear and resolute. “That’s why I thought you must want to see him too.” “Actually, I came to discuss something.” “I’ve been wanting to come much sooner—I kept thinking I should come, but the circumstances were awkward, you see. And I thought he probably wouldn’t meet with someone like me anyway, so many times after school I came as far as Kudan only to turn back.” “Even so, um, I asked a friend who comes from Tsukiji about this area beforehand and figured out how to take the train from Kudan.” “But you know, there was a time I got off at Manshōbashi and couldn’t come here at all.”

“When I come with that friend, they offer to show me the way as far as Shintomiza, but since it would be bad if something were said at school again, to avoid riding the same train today too, I stayed inside Yasukuni Shrine for a while—then a male student came up beside me and started following me around. I was terrified I might get murdered, you know—they say the flesh from your buttocks makes medicine, after all. It’s dangerous! I came here with all my might, and well—I thought it was worth it.”

“Well, um—”

And pulling the futon's stitching thread, "It's so pitiful—both you and Chikara-san got scolded by my father and ended up like this." "If it were me, I wouldn't stay quiet—I'd speak my mind." "But even I—I'm drinking the liquor Mother says I shouldn't, and I can't help it." "I'm at fault too." "If you get scolded, apologize properly." "And you know—when it comes to what I or Mother say, Father finds it hateful—he won't agree at all. But when people come asking favors, he never says 'No way!' and accepts every single request." "Since I properly know the method, I want to share it with you—if you can't come because of your illness, Auntie—"

Without reserve, she placed her hand on Kobayashi Yoshino’s knee, “Auntie would be fine too. “Don’t worry about formalities and come over to the house. “The student at the entrance stares at lady visitors, so if you feel awkward, don’t hesitate—just come right through the garden. “I’ll take you straight upstairs right away. “Then Mother will bring out the sake. “I’ll pour the drinks and get him drunk. “If he laughs ‘Ahaha’ and lets out a big booming voice, then it’ll be just fine.”

“Please call Chikara-san.” “By telegram—please call it a telegram, I beg you.” “If Father says it’s impossible or anything like that, I’ll grab his knees and refuse to let go.” “Then try telling him Otsuta-san has been so lonely and troubled like this.” “Even though he acts so strict, he’ll cry immediately at such a pitiful story—he’ll surely agree, I tell you.” “In return, when Chikara-san comes back, I’ll visit on Sundays—so if that happens, well…”

and grasped the edge of the futon, peering into Otsuta’s face, "You too—don’t find me unpleasant, please spend time with me." "Even if I wanted to go to Iidamachi before, because you would hide, you can’t imagine how much I had to hold back."

Both of them were already crying, but Otsuta suddenly averted her face.

25 Otsuta wiped her tears,

“Sister, I’ve grown attached to this fleeting world.” “I’ve come to cherish life again.” “I won’t make everyone worry—starting today, I’ll see a doctor and take my medicine properly.”

“Miss, even if I can no longer meet Mr. Hayase, as long as you remain in good health, I no longer wish to die.”

She pressed herself close and trembled violently. "I'm feeling a chill. Come now, you should lie down. I'll cover you." Seeing O-Tae unhesitatingly thrust both sleeves and hands into the collar of the padded robe and pull,

“Oh, this is too much. “You mustn’t go to such lengths. Everyone says it isn’t so, but I cough up colored phlegm—I couldn’t bear it if your precious body were to become infected.” The color of her resolute face, suddenly flushed peach, exuded a fragile vulnerability. “It’s fine!” “It won’t do. Oh, and I’m not feeling any chills or anything. I’m burning up and sweating now, and also, Sister—”

and looked at Yoshino, “Something...” When she said this, Yoshino nodded silently. “If they come, let’s not stay here—you and Miss should go over there.” “Let me handle things today.” “No,” “There’s no need. I’ll do it.” “Oh Miss, you see... “When visitors come like this, there’s something about it that torments the patient—” “You’re always making unreasonable demands—I have my reasons.” “I have my reasons too. “Well, I did tell you before, didn’t I? “When Mr. Hayase and I parted ways and things came to this, he told me to buy tobacco—and the Professor handed over three crisp ten-yen bills without creases. “They were too precious to waste on living expenses—I wanted them saved for my funeral when I die, wrapped in paper inside the Buddhist altar’s drawer—but I want to use them today. “To give them to Miss... and because I want to eat too,”

Even just uttering those words—only the patient did so—it sounded as frail as a last testament.

“Ah, then let’s do it that way.” “Well then, let’s arrange things quickly.”

“It must be hot outside, hmm?” “Not at all, Otsuta-san. Since we’re giving it to Miss, there’s no need to force using a parasol.” “I’ll borrow the telephone at the corner sundries shop.” “Ah, I know—a place that’s not too rough and just moderately sized would be good, don’t you think?” “I’m terribly fond of large skewers myself, but as for you, Miss—” “I won’t have it unless everyone eats together here.” “I’ll gladly join you, with the meal setup or whatever,”

Yoshino said cheerfully. “Then I’ll have a large one too.” “Admirable,” Otsuta smiled gently. “How astonishing.” She stood up. “We’ll share our meal together too.” “Righto,”

When stepping down from the threshold, she nearly caught the hem of her kimono. As she turned around, the rims of her eyes appeared swollen. Yoshino clutched her chest and rattled the lattice door. “Miss,” Otsuta said nostalgically, “Originally, we parted under that very agreement, but not a single word has come to me in a full year... Someone told me that if you read the newspaper, you can learn all about what’s happening in the area. So since last July I’ve been subscribing to this Shizuoka Minyu Newspaper—every morning when I wake up, I check it right away, thinking I mustn’t have missed anything. Whenever I have a spare moment, I even read the advertisements. But there hasn’t been a single thing written about Mr. Hayase, so I don’t know where he is.”

“Lately I’ve been disheartened with no vigor or motivation left, but I still find myself compelled to look.” “There was just one time they wrote about Mr. Hayase—I cut it out and placed it in a paper sleeve. I’ll show you now.”

Twenty-Six

Otsuta settled back on the futon and slid the closet door open to the right—above and below stood Buddhist altars, one belonging to this household. The altar she herself tended, being that of a cohabitant, sat below. This too held an ineffable poignancy—her frail figure viewed from behind, the wilted hem of her kimono making her seem like a character lifted from some tale. From that kimono's hem, her slender waist appeared to dissolve into the Buddhist altar, shoulders drooping, shadow faint. The contents of the paper sleeve had been so pitifully cherished that Otsuta needed to fish about with her fingertips for some time—neatly folded small and orderly alongside Kiyomasa Kō's success charm from Hamachō. As she withdrew the newspaper clipping, Taeko—already leaning sideways on the futon with the unguarded ease of a decade-long acquaintance—craned her neck and waited poised,

“So, what exactly does it say? He didn’t do something unforgivable again, like helping pickpockets or such, did he? Hurry up and tell me, please.” “No, well, why don’t you read it yourself?” “Let me see.” Lying back as if reclining, propping her cheek while reading on the tatami—Otsuta watched this as she peered into the half-opened drawer of the Buddhist altar. There, she secretly gazed at the photograph of Chikara lying face-up, her eyes welling up before closing it with a click. She took the paper bundle of banknotes—bestowed by Professor Sakai—from her pocket, then puff puff blew away the incense ash that had fallen inside the Buddhist altar and smoothed it with her hand.

A goldfish seller passed by outside. “What could it be? This janitor—isn’t he something suspicious again?” Taeko said, her face flushing red. The newspaper article was titled “AB Alley” and described a certain lane in the western grassy outskirts near Asama—on the verge of becoming part of the county—that had recently gained the nickname AB Alley. While its location in Abe District made the wordplay almost too fitting, this moniker originated when Mr. Hayase Chikara—a German scholar—opened his private school there, students whimsically naming it after his ceaselessly audible voice from dawn onward. The name spread until even tofu shops called it AB Alley, cementing its status as a local landmark. Among other local curiosities was the young man at Hayase’s cram school who managed everything from cooking to cleaning—though typically called a student servant, this dashing youth preferred humming tunes to academic pursuits. Rumor had it Mr. Hayase had previously lectured at a Tokyo school where this janitor—skilled in mimicking actors’ voices and performing rakugo—had attached himself to him. The article’s gist described this janitor as quite the charmer who would occasionally bellow “Welcome!” and startle day students by tagging their footwear—a trend so popular that even the renowned Mrs. Shimayama and noblewomen studying German in the alley showed him marked favor.

Yoshino returned briskly, exclaiming, "It's so hot!" As talk of that janitor became entwined in their conversation, Takeha arrived amidst the swirl of their various rumors with a "Hey! Sorry to keep you waiting!" When Yoshino lit the fire, the unpretentious young lady headed to the kitchen carrying a teapot. Otsuta too, swept up in the activity, staggered to her feet and emerged. With her perfectly roasted coarse tea, the three amiably laid out the meal. Taeko started at the Nara pickles; having washed her flushed face, Yoshino took up a brush and deftly retouched her makeup, whereupon Otsuta wiped a comb and firmly adjusted one of its teeth.

The two careworn women worked together on Taeko—refining her elegant features into an improper beauty they couldn't stop admiring, with Yoshino repeatedly looking ready to swoon in rapture—Ah, she's the Professor's spitting image—a natural outcome given her parentage, but it was too unreservedly vexing. Otsuta resolved to tease her about it later... Ah, but then again... "Eventually—since this must stay hidden from her parents," came a voice (utterly abandoning decorum) that followed her all the way to the entranceway. Before night fully fell, Taeko returned home at the eighth hour. After seeing her off to the alley's corner and lingering awhile before turning back, Yoshino came clattering inside in near-frenzy and clung desperately to Otsuta,

“I can’t bear it! “I can’t bear it!” “I can’t bear it!” “The credit for raising such a lovely young lady goes to the Madam from Masago-cho, but I... I’m the one who gave birth to her.” “She’s my child, Otsuta-san. Whenever my sleeve brushed against my body, my chest ached unbearably. Look—see how my breasts have swelled.”

As she pulled [her] hand in and gripped it tightly, letting out a loud cry, they inadvertently found themselves passionately embracing each other,

“There now, steady yourself, Yoshino-san. Working yourself into a fit won’t help matters.” “What karmic fate binds us—” Though they had become geishas who knew everything of love’s ways and life’s intricacies, these veteran women wept with the raw innocence of maidens.

Small Parlor

Twenty-Seven “Hey hey, sis! Sis! Open yer eyes an’ say somethin’!” “Though even if ya do open ’em wide, with those dodgy peepers o’ yours, who knows if you’d make out Fuji or Tsukuba.” “Hahaha! Even for an Edo-style fishmonger, ain’t no one barges in hollerin’ from the genkan!” “Customer here!” “High-standin’ customer here!” “Hey, even if you don’t need side dishes on your end, I need a parlor room on mine.” “The hell?!” “Ain’t no parlor room—quit spoutin’ that old-timey nonsense! This ain’t no geisha’s lean season.”

With a thud, he placed the tray sideways and, putting on airs, propped up the balance scale. Slightly tipsy, Sōsuke of the Megumi group. He’d gotten delayed on his way back from business—this was precisely why his wife didn’t even keep an iron kettle in the house.

The maid of the small parlor who had stood to greet him paced around in a half-crouch without settling down, “It’s truly most inconvenient.”

He plopped himself down unperturbed right before the blocked entrance, “Lookee here—every time I handle business, this donburi bowl clatters." “Ain’t my belly growlin’—it’s the jingle o’ coin.” “Yer so jittery, ain’tcha?” “If that’s what ya want, I’ll sweep the dust off my feet with thousand-ryō bundles an’ be on my way.”

With a raised knee, he forcefully took off his clunky shoes and threw them toward the soy sauce container with a thud. Due to the loud voice, another maid came clattering out from the back. When pressed, the previous maid—now seemingly emboldened— “There really isn’t a parlor room available, sir.” “Take down your shingle!” he bellowed, “If there’s no parlor room, I ain’t guidin’ you to no closet! Even the damn ceiling’d do me fine! “Well now, look who’s here—a brand-new customer all by themselves!” [He] declared with rising inflection, sharpening his mouth into a fiendish leer—his face like a salt-crusted visage.

“That sister over there looks like she can hold a conversation.” “Hmm, just as I figured—no damn parlor available.” “What an odd mug.” “Hahaha! The one sayin’ that ain’t exactly got a normal face either!” [He] rubbed beneath his congested nose as if grinding a clenched fist into it, “Now don’t let appearances fool ya—I’ve got a fancy mistress I take out proper.” “You think I’d waste my life comin’ to parlors to fix up arrangements?” “Oh, Me-no-ji from Hatchōbori showed up, but didn’t bother callin’ to ask ‘Understood? Understood?’” “It’s Ms. Yoshino’s place in Yanagibashi.” “A stunner named Tsunaji from Kashiwaya’s popped up outta nowhere!”

“How about that? Were you surprised? The bank president’s come disguised as a fishmonger! Now that’s what I call theater!”

With a strange gesture, he thrust it right at the maid’s nose, “Or maybe you’re gonna spew some crap like ‘We won’t hand over a work coat ’cause it’ll mess up our signboard’—go on, try me!” “I’ll haul a whale from the docks and let it swim through your place—flood the whole Hamachō district!” “More terrifying than an earthquake—the whole damn house’ll float away!” The two maids exchanged glances, “Please do come in,” “We’ll manage somehow.” “Well, we’ll manage somehow.” She was spouting that pretentious nonsense like she was drawing lattice patterns with her words. But he’d seen right through her act. “Nah, I’ll show myself in!”

He let out a shrill yell and, with a heavy thud against the corridor wall,

“Where is it? Where? Bring me the parlor room now!” He shot to his feet and threw his arms wide. “This way, please,” As they parted in the corridor—one maid turning to climb upstairs—he came barging in right behind her. Stumbling into a six-tatami room, he plopped down cross-legged in his grimy half-length underpants without waiting for a futon. “Would you like sake served?” “Don’t ask how many measures to heat." “If you’ve got stock, you won’t keep up!”

As the maid forced a wry smile and tried to stand, he stretched out a long arm, shook his head with fixed eyes, tsked, clicked his tongue, and— “Wait, wait! Put on a grand performance and make the waterfall’s waters rush!” he abruptly stood up, “Guide Washio Saburō! Execute the Hiyodorigoe reverse charge! From the back stairs—it’s the toilet! The toilet!”

He must have picked that up at some nighttime lecture.

Twenty-Eight

Megumi lumbered over to the water basin. With the posture of a jilted customer nursing homesickness, he peered restlessly through narrowed eyes at the lower rooms beyond the courtyard. Having somehow fixed on a destination—though what or where remained unclear—he lumbered into a random room without awaiting guidance, neither retreating to the original second floor nor pausing in hesitation. At the sliding door's edge, he plopped down cross-legged once more with a heavy thud.

The maid rushed in frantically, “Oh my, where do you think you’re going?” she said chidingly,

“Stay right there.” “Hahaha, don’t you worry.”

“This is troublesome,” protested the maid. “There are guests in the neighboring parlor.” “Don’t give a damn,” Megumi shot back. “Don’t give half a damn.” “Even if you don’t mind,” she pressed, “the other guests might.” “Ain’t it fine? We’re square.” He spread his grimy hands. “Folks comin’ to a dive like this—hell, they ain’t playin’ saint neither.” A bitter laugh escaped him. “When that landlord’s retired geezer kicks it? Whole damn block turns into a pawnshop frenzy.” He spat sideways. “One-trick fox, that one.” His calloused fingers drummed the tatami. “Me? I hate high perches—like where them mangy cats prowl.” He thumped his chest. “Ain’t no disowned brat, but sleep upstairs? You’ll get night-hags for sure.” With finality, he crossed his arms. “I’ll take digs fittin’ my station.” A sly grin crept in. “Tenement walls thin as rice paper—racket next door’s my lullaby.”

“That won’t do! If you’re going to say such things, why not choose a different parlor? There are plenty vacant ones available, aren’t there?”

“They’re empty! Didn’t I just say there ain’t no parlor? I’ll take whatever’s available! I ain’t puttin’ on airs, not sayin’ anythin’ fancy—so shut your trap and hurry up heatin’ that sake already.” Having no choice but to comply with his unreasonable demand, she made a displeased face, “Then please just serve the sake. What about side dishes?” “The side dishes’re on my board here. It’s wrapped in bamboo bark—there’s a cut of spotted salmon in there. Grill that and bring it here. Otsuta-chan used to like it, but these days I ain’t eatin’ nothin’. Even if I went to the trouble of savin’ some to take home, I wouldn’t touch it today either.”

He muttered to himself and slumped limply, “Givin’ it to Mama ain’t worth the trouble. Ain’t bringin’ it grilled, ain’t bringin’ it.”

The maid, suspecting madness, made a puzzled face but tentatively asked, "And will you be calling Tsunaji-san next?" "Hmph, this time I'm takin' what's on offer here," he growled. "I ain't no regular customer or some mistress. Depending on how you try to sweet-talk someone, there's things you just can't pull off, I reckon. Well, I'm in love—I am in love. Can't wait—next door they're tryin' to sweet-talk someone, and with two people workin' on 'em at that." "Wait,"

Tsunaji stopped him with an expression of waning interest.

“I’m alone here. When they come now, you’ll help me sweet-talk ’em too. “What’s this, what’s this,” (pricking up his ears) “pure love, eh?” “What’s with the damn asshole here?” With a heavy thud, he pressed his face against the sliding door, “What’s this ant parade? Damn fools!” “Shut up!” From the neighboring room came a rebuke—someone had reached their limit. “That’s your real voice!” “Huh?” The maid’s restraining hand fell short as Megumi flung open the sliding door—when had he prepared it?—a kitchen knife emerging from the discarded hand towel in his apron.

“You hairy foreigners! See what I’ll do to ya!”

With a startled cry, the Western-clad figure who fled to the front veranda—Kōno Eikichi. Next, as Miyahata Kankō, principal of Teruhi Girls’ School, attempted to rush out, [Megumi] collided with Miyahata Kankō’s chest—then, with a hand whose button had torn loose and slipped, grabbed him from behind. “Th-there you are crying, ain’t ya—the great teacher’s daughter.” "I bowed in an alley in Iidamachi—just once, but I ain’t forgotten." “I saw these bastards drag someone into this hellish inn, so I was plannin’ to take my time—sippin’ my sake bit by bit while mockin’ their dirty little tales—but damn if I could wait any longer; it’s too good to waste.” “Miss Sakai! While I’m at it—c’mere and strike these damn foreigners down! Strike ’em down! Strike ’em down!”

Why here again? What... They told me to come to Hatchōbori. Yes—if they met “you” on the train home, they’d say a young woman walking alone looks suspicious, so he’d inspect you under his teacher’s duty… The height of absurdity. “Hmm, these bastards... shouldn’t be left alive, but—they’re beasts from a different world! Come to Bon and thank me proper!” With a violent thrust, Miyahata Kankō’s crouched body collapsed onto Eikichi—who stood panting frantically on the veranda with exercise-like motions—their legs tangling and swaying in the struggle. Then they grabbed a bowl from the chabudai and scattered beans through the skylight in a shower. Sōsuke roared with laughter and bellowed,

“Demons out, demons out—!”

Michiko

Twenty-nine

Due to her husband’s preference, the white powder was applied thickly, yet its hue remained delicate. That delicacy did not signify any deficiency in her beauty. Autumn flowers differ from their spring counterparts—eschewing rivalry in splendor or pride in beauty—and thus exhibit greater grace in shadow than sunlight, in night than day, in moonlight than sunshine: profound in melancholy yet restrained in allure.

The wife of the Director of Kōno Hospital and medical scholar, the firstborn daughter of the Kōno family—Michiko embodied this essence. Amidst sisters who bloomed vibrantly like showy flowers glittering in sunlight, she alone remained modest and demure—a hibiscus awaiting dew and yearning for moonlight; even when grown tall, it stood solitary, its rouge applied as if through self-restraint, its adorned robes resembling a bell cricket's abode.

Usually withdrawn and finding solace only in her husband’s presence through sight and scent, today there was to be a benefit play for a certain orphanage at Wakatake-za in Teramachi, where the city’s noblewomen had erected an awning over a temporary athletic field to hold a charity bazaar in conjunction with the event. Needless to say, the younger sister from Kusabuka was the flying general who inherited command of the vanguard. Thus, when the esteemed mother from the main household—who might almost be called the chief strategist of this gathering—had unfortunately fallen ill (though not gravely so), and since physicians had strongly cautioned that attending such a venue to manage affairs and exert mental effort would be most inadvisable for her convalescence, Michiko came to attend in her stead—not of her own initiative—in late June.

Preparations were completed in the morning cool, a rustling breeze passing by, sleeves fluttering against arms, the white formal kimono tightly fastened. The green of fresh leaves adorning the carriage; a lustrous chignon where tortoiseshell hairpins cast shadows upon her middle finger; a melon-seed-shaped face resembling no one else; noble and brisk as she stepped forth—crisp yet gentle, without coquetry yet tender, the foremost exemplar of the Kōno family’s refinement. Since her tastes and temperament were such, she seemed less like the director’s wife and more akin to a young lady of a grand establishment. The scene along the way—where the path approached an embankment through rice fields, with Mount Fuji visible beyond the green paddies—bore less resemblance to her who was heading to the charity bazaar than to a noblewoman making a proxy pilgrimage to Asama Shrine.

The carriage set out from Yokota, where the hospital was located, crossed these rice fields, and ran along the castle’s back street—but instead of heading toward Wakatake-za, it soon turned into Nishikusabuka, where the shafts came to rest at the familiar stone bridge before Shimayama’s gate.

Mrs. Michiko had come to invite Sugako because she felt uneasy about going alone to the unfamiliar venue, but when she entered the quiet interior, her sister was nowhere to be seen; neither the children, the wet nurse, nor the live-in scholar were present—only her husband, the academic, sat alone before the long brazier wearing a bored expression as though he'd overslept in a boarding house, reading a newspaper laid out on the meal tray. A pot of miso soup hung over the brazier, and since it had yet to come to a boil, he was waiting like this.

Had it been a casual situation she might have assumed her most authoritative demeanor, but instead the sister-in-law slightly bent her waist—peering in from the veranda—and with a neatly folded hand towel partly concealed her soft smiling countenance. "You're alone." "Oh, I thought it was someone else."

He showed a smile through his bushy beard, but being a man of known disposition, he said nothing definitive.

The sister-in-law remained half-hidden as she— “Where are Taki-chan and Tōru-san?” “Since Mother was going out, they followed after her—the wet nurse took them along, and since it’s Sunday, Yamada (the genkan student) accompanied them for an outing.” “Normally they would come to your residence, but since you’re attending today’s charity event—it’s not unusual—they’ve likely gone to Asama again to feed them beans or gluten cakes.” “So Sugako-san has already arrived, hasn’t she?”

“She has already left.”

Without showing any expression that said Why didn't they wait for me, she remarked, "Ah, if only I had come earlier. I had wanted us to go together, and since she hadn't come for four or five days, I also wanted to see Taki-chan and Tōru-san's faces."

She said gently, though her words rang hollow. Within the entire clan, she alone remained childless.

Thirty Observing the sister-in-law's seemingly insincere demeanor, the academic thought Ah, how pitiful—then, precisely because it was her, became uncharacteristically reticent. Without offering excuses or comfort, he gave an unprecedented smirk and fell silent. As she wavered between leaving immediately or lingering, her listless figure exuded loneliness. Without a word, the sister-in-law turned her back to the pillar she had been leaning against and gazed out over the black fence at the Sunday morning rice fields beyond—where silk tree blossoms lay scattered like rent clouds—just as the pot began bubbling noisily.

When she looked, steam billowed up as the academic removed the lid—and seeing how famished he appeared, "Excuse me," she said, taking a bowl in hand. "Wait a moment—isn't it reducing too much?" In her flesh-colored gauze underrobe, the hem of her ro-chirimen kimono making no rustling sound, she glided smoothly to the long brazier and peered skillfully into it,

“Oh my, this is scarcely seasoned enough,”

she poured hot water from the copper kettle and lightly pressed down once with the ladle,

“I shall serve you,” she said with resplendent charm. “I’m much obliged.” As Michiko handed him the bowl, the academic watched with barely contained emotion—her hands pale against the miso soup ladle, not a single hair out of place in her lustrous chignon, the thick ceruse makeup settling neatly around her collar, her composed white neckline framed by the faint indigo of her silk-weave komon-patterned kimono. “You needn’t trouble your jade hands,” he said with extraordinary flattery and laughed cheerfully, “What a feast! (With a slurp) This is exquisite.”

“I’m using someone else’s belongings to fulfill obligations. Hohoho, I didn’t bring any souvenirs either.” Without even greeting her, the academic set down his chopsticks and began gulping ravenously.

“It’s remarkably delicious.” “I’d always believed miso soup was merely insipid hot water unless sufficiently salted.” “Just now, you added two ladlefuls, didn’t you?” “Is that some charm to make the broth palatable?” “Yes, precisely a charm.” As she spoke, the corners of her eyes held a smile resembling an unopened bud. “Ha, ha, ha—that’s mere jest, isn’t it?”

"Why don't you inquire with Sugako-san?" "Now that you mention it, you really must take your leave soon, mustn't you?" "Oh, I'm not hastening in the slightest, but since I'm also acting as proxy today, if I don't go swiftly to assist, I mustn't receive another reprimand from Sugako-san—well then, I suppose it's nearly time we proceed to the Wakadza-za." "Mmph—"

His cheeks stuffed with rice produced an odd sound. "I made a detour. If you intend to come now, go to Hayase's residence—I shall be there." "If that's the case, is that person also present with you?" "He is not with me. Hayase happens to be that stubborn sort, you understand. When I half-mock him about it, he refuses to endorse any orphanage donations whatsoever. They say he won't even appear at today's meeting. Since I declared I would dismantle his arguments and drag him out bodily, he's likely vigorously exercising that crimson tongue of his even as we speak—ha, haha—"

He laughed boisterously, then made a disagreeable face, “Would you go and see… You—”

“Yes,” For some reason she looked down, yet the sister-in-law maintained her composure and gracefully offered a parting bow. “May we not miss each other again—though it’s improper to interrupt just as you were about to begin your meal—” “No need—it’s already done.”

That day, unusually, the academic came out to see her off at the entranceway. Amidst the silent whisper of silk tabi against tatami, Mariko’s maid—who hadn’t noticed the guest’s arrival—suddenly peeked her face out from the kitchen at the sound of the master’s trampling footsteps rushing forth. “Good day,”

Tilting slightly, the sister-in-law called out gently. “Gah!” she gasped, frozen stiff—for the noblewoman who came and went had never once shown her such kindness before.

The rickshaw puller rushed in from outside the gate and adjusted the wooden clogs.

“AB Alley, was it? “I’ll take you around there, so...” “Hey-hey! That’s Mr. Lickety-Split for ya,” came the knowing remark.

Thirty-One

Hayase knew that his sister had come to their father’s residence and had visited the hospital two or three times, but what sort of strapping fellow was this “janitor” at the cram school who had even been written about in the newspapers? Since it was said to be a male household with no other occupants, Michiko felt certain the janitor would answer the door—a prospect that filled her with the curious excitement of someone about to witness something novel and thrilling. As they soon approached the outskirts of Nishi-Kusabuka near Daiiganzan, where the road would shortly lead to Abe no Andō Village, they entered the recently notorious AB Alley. There stood a single-story house at a dead end, its aged black fence encircling the front garden, its gate structure low and leaning—yet bearing a conspicuously new sign reading “German Language Instruction”.

Having the rickshaw wait, she opened the stubborn gate and took no more than five steps—even for a woman’s stride—when a soft sound slipped from the lattice door directly ahead. Given the circumstances, she expected her sister’s voice to soon reach her ears, but no such call resonated. Just as she anticipated that janitor emerging with a puzzled look, instead appeared Hayase Chikara—the rickshaw puller’s so-called Mr. Lickety-Split—wearing an unlined summer kimono resembling a wide-sleeved robe with frayed cuffs in a splashed pattern. Upon seeing her face, he greeted her with a smile that seemed to say “Ah, it’s you,” and urged, “Come this way,” only to retreat abruptly halfway back to the parlor. With no time to glance left or right, the sister-in-law picked her way through the scattered desks and tables like a crane straying on a mountain path.

When she first asked about Sugako-san, the woman had not yet appeared. But she would certainly stop by eventually. At any moment now, they should hear the vigorous clatter of wooden clogs. "When the lattice door clatters open," he said, sitting down beside the desk, "you'll appear right in this room from where you stand, so rest here and wait." He made to smoke tobacco only to discard it, sprang up to fetch a futon, then slid open the shoji screens while declaring "Let's air this place out"—adding in the same breath, "Though I do wish this garden had more space." "It's rather cluttered," he remarked, tossing newspapers from the alcove. He pushed the brazier out as if to press against it—"What the—it's hot!"—then hurriedly rubbed it again. For reasons unclear, he flustered about unsightly, restlessly orbiting the lady's vicinity like a spider spinning its web. Between these motions, his tongue kept wagging: "Welcome! How unexpected—what a mysterious visitor! Strange indeed, most strange!" he prattled ceaselessly.

“Oh, please, do come in.” Even the Madam—now settled within this commotion—found herself speaking rapidly; tilting up her face while slightly arching her chest, she made a motion as if to wave away smoke with one hand. At that moment, Hayase had left his seat before the desk and stood abruptly behind the Madam, their gazes meeting from above and below. Perhaps overwhelmed by the commotion, the timid Madam’s eyelids had flushed. Then Hayase—as though transformed into another person—calmly returned to his seat, slowly took a rolled cigarette yet did not light it, firmly propped one hand on his knee, and squared his shoulders.

“Madam, you’re going to the charity bazaar now to work for the poor, aren’t you.” He said solemnly. Having been stared at intently, she lowered her eyelashes. “Yes, but I am merely assisting.”

"I have a request." As if prostrating himself, Chikara suddenly planted both hands.

Stunned by the utterly unexpected nature of his actions, she found herself unable to respond and silently watched him with sidelong glances. Yet as he remained endlessly prostrate—his planted hands clutching the tatami in visible distress—she felt she couldn’t simply abandon him there. "You—goodness, what is this formality?" Though she said this, the intensity of his posture filled her with eerie discomfort, and she lifted her knees as if to retreat. “Though this may sound impertinent, your charity work beginning with today’s event—by broadly and indiscriminately bestowing compassion—employs the same method as bringing rain to a drought. Withered plants may indeed revive through such benevolence, but this requires the boundless power of nature—human efforts would amount to no more than sprinkling dew upon scorching stones.”

Thirty-Two “Rather than merely seeking to spread your efforts thin across vast fields, do not scatter your compassion like flames extinguished mid-flight. Let that dew of mercy pool deep—pour it solely upon one root, that even a single nameless blade might revive in lush verdure.” “For work requiring many hands, could you not instead take individual cases—devote yourself fully to saving one person at a time? Should capacity allow—two people, three people, five people perhaps.” “While tending others’ children, ensure your own catch no chill; with the same heart that pities foreign slaves, cease exploiting the maid who serves you. These are but broad principles—I don’t presume to lecture on particulars.”

"However, right before your eyes at this very moment exists a pitiful soul who cannot find peace even in death without receiving a single teardrop from you." "Regarding this matter, I’ve been so tormented I haven’t slept a wink night after night." Finally calming somewhat, "For some time I’d wished to beg your compassion, but unlike with Mr. Miyahata, I couldn’t approach you lightly. Yet leaving things unattended would lead to an irreparable calamity—I was at my wit’s end when your truly unexpected, miraculous visit occurred. That this should happen en route to the charity event could only be called divine intervention."

“Please—if you would deign to redirect but a single droplet of that dew-water you mean to scatter so widely... might you spare one drop for my direction?” “Though you know him as a mere wanderer, Hayase would be indebted to you for life.” As he spoke with whitened knuckles, she listened in equal parts astonishment, bewilderment, and dread. The Madam’s heavy brows softened into a smile as she replied with compassionate yet corrective gentleness,

“Is it money that you require?” Her hand—having been placed supplely against her chest—gradually slid down to slip between the folds of her obi, executing a delicate motion to retrieve a slender pouch from among her pocket papers. Michiko had often heard rumors from her sister and knew of his circumstances. Hayase’s voice intensified,

“This isn’t about money or anything—it’s not my own affair.” “My, how rude of you to say such things,” Adjusting her collar, her face flushed,

“What should I do? Since this doesn’t concern you.” “Yes—of course there’s another who needs your mercy.” “Then please consult Mr.Miyahata about that matter. Though I’d gladly assist behind the scenes if possible... Dr.Kōno makes such dreadful fusses.” ……She lowered her gaze despondently. “I find myself quite incapable of managing such affairs alone. Being utterly inept at these matters... Besides, my younger sister handles them far more adeptly.”

“No, it must be you.” “That’s why I’m at a loss.” “That person is already on death’s threshold—in such a critical state he may not last through tomorrow.” “A man nearing sixty—without descendants nor kin, utterly alone—where even the shadow meant to console his solitary form has vanished into tattered futon, reduced to mere bone and skin—and even that skin, you see, is worn through from bedsores.” “He opens eyes that cannot see daylight’s glow, and with them pleads—just once, just once—to behold your face, Madam.”

“Yes,” “There is no need for nursing care, no need for you to hold his hand, no need to exchange words—it goes without saying there are absolutely no financial concerns. For he says that even from the pitch-dark depths of hell, he wishes to behold you just once—whether as Buddha, celestial being, or moonlight at the mountain’s edge—and smile serenely at this lifelong memory. Should you grant this request, you would truly perform a divine act surpassing human virtue. Madam, with your great mercy and compassion, could you not grant this wish? I do not ask for ten minutes.”

As he edged closer, the Madam unintentionally shifted her knees forward, "Where is he from? What kind of person is he?" "He lives right here in Antō Village. His name is Teizō—he once worked as a groom in your household... Madam... he's your... true... father..."

Thirty-Three “Once… you read the letter, there will remain no doubt.” “That… while your father Mr. Eikimi was away at war, your mother became involved with Teizō—the groom of your household…”

Hayase paused mid-sentence... At that moment, the Madam—trembling—let slip from her grasp a single sheet of hanshi paper inscribed in feminine script that fluttered down to her lap. The missive might as well have contained some dreadful poison sealed within—her face turned deathly pale beneath the white collar where pitiful traces of lipstick lingered faintly, chin deeply tucked as she stared fixedly at the shadowed figure.

"...Such words should never reach your ears—however, given these pressing circumstances, I lack the luxury to refine my explanation." "And because you came into being through that circumstance—while you still resided in the womb—your mother considered disposing of you as a water child, thinking that remaining in the area would attract undue attention through various means. The wet nurse who raised your mother was from Mino Anpachi—and the student currently at Mr. Miyahata's entranceway is reportedly her grandson." "It was during her absence while handling that matter that she sent the letter to Teizō."

Though he worked as a groom, Teizō was the son of a former mounted guard from the old domain who had received proper stipends—a case of youthful indiscretion compounded by aligned circumstances led him to become involved with the master's wife. In moments of drunken giddiness, he had even bragged openly about their affair. But being no true villain at heart, he trembled in terror at the dreadful proposal to dispose of their child, suggesting instead that they abandon their statuses and flee together. When his entreaties met with refusal and he threatened to resort to desperate measures—declaring he would publicly make a scene—the mistress found herself driven to desperation, agonizing over this predicament. Then, as fortune would have it, the external affairs concluded sooner than expected, and Eikimi returned triumphant from his campaign. Due to there being a slight gap in the belly band—and with time passing accordingly—you came into this world as a nine-month child.

"But in society—'Ah, how well she was raised, being from the Kōno family of doctors.'...For otherwise, they say most nine-month children do not survive." "And those old-fashioned folks claimed that because so many people died in the war, children were being born earlier." "Whether Mr.Eikimi acted out of concern for honor, or perhaps being overjoyed at his firstborn—he is indeed your father." "Teizō, upon seeing the face of the child who had been safely born healthy, felt relieved; with the lingering memory of having gotten drunk at your seventh-night celebration, he took his leave and departed the estate."

Out of consideration that complications might arise if he were to see the child’s face morning and night—and with a body prone to tuberculosis, they say he had a delicate constitution since youth. If he were to leave the estate outright, he could not resort to forceful means; yet at that time he still had to support his elderly mother who remained in good health. Thus, using several gold coins provided by the mistress as severance payment or parting gift, he first established an archery range behind Asama Shrine's votive tablet hall.

Fortunately, the business hit its mark, and just as he had managed to secure a livelihood, he took a wife—but, But the retribution was swift. She had long been frequenting the temple grounds, where they eloped with a showman, stole all the money, and fled. "Moreover, you—isn’t it said that his wife was with child?” “Oh,”

And the Madam involuntarily sighed. "In his fury, he sold off his shares in the archery business and rented a vacant lot cheaply in Antō Village, where he prepared a riding ground and started a rental horse service." "You, with your pampered upbringing—on your return from pilgrimages to Asama Shrine, there must have been times when he glimpsed you clutching that round bamboo fence." "Teizō knows how you would pick drumming grass along the way and toss it to the horses." After his mother’s death, the horse grounds gradually fell into decline; he sold off two horses that had perished all at once and drank himself into ruin—now having drunk his last. He could no longer buy rice; his gruel grew thin. "He finally managed to attach baseplates to the stable to shelter from the rain and dew, and he still remains there now; as for the riding ground, it has become a dyer’s drying area…"

Thirty-Four

“Through a strange twist of fate, I went to Shizuoka last year... and that very next day when passing by Mr. Miyahata’s place and Asama Shrine, I stopped at a teahouse to rest and met Teizō there. Afterward we grew close enough for him to confide these secrets—and now with his condition critical beyond measure, I must bring this matter to your ears.” “Even I felt compelled to beg you most earnestly—to meet him—and tried persuading him many times over, but he stubbornly refused each attempt. To tell these truths to you who knew nothing... it feels like clutching your ankle to drag you down into hell’s darkness.” “Afterward,” his voice lowered gravely, “even sun and moon would turn dim before your eyes.” “What wretchedness,” Teizō murmured through bowed head.

He thought it reasonable and held back. Though my skills were limited, I did care for him as a doctor and made him take medicine. I suggested admitting him to the Kōno family's hospital where a renowned medical scholar resides—since he might catch a glimpse of Ms. Michi from afar—but he dismissed it as unthinkable. "He's a man of pure character." "Just see how wicked she was! With your mother as his adversary—had he kept that single letter, Teizō could've dined on sashimi and sake from dawn till dusk his whole life!"

"If there had been even a hint of stubborn ulterior motives in him—or any thought that might cost you a single sen's worth of concern—I swear I would've taken this secret to my grave." "No! He suppressed even the desire to lay eyes on you just once—and that... because he never believed his condition was incurable." "They say he found boiling medicinal decoctions too bothersome—with nobody to tend the medicine pot—so he just chewed those so-called healing banana leaves raw—"

“That very vigor helped the medicine take effect somehow—he even went with me to Abe River once to eat rice cakes and drink tea before returning home. When that showed positive results, he recently collapsed back into bed again, and now from this position of having relinquished all hope, he keeps saying he wants to see you—to meet you just once.” “Given his critical condition, I grew anxious to act while breath still remained in him—but this wasn’t something I could discuss with others. Even had I gone to your residence to speak of it, this matter could only be settled by facing you directly.”

"I must apologize for my bluntness, but I heard from Mr. Miyahata that your husband, the medical scholar, is terribly jealous precisely because he loves you so deeply." Just as she was nearly overcome with bewilderment, today’s opportunity arrived with truly miraculous timing. She nearly uttered that single word—Father—but even that fleeting moment fell short of what he had truly wished for. He insists on seeing you just once, likening you to Amida Buddha’s radiant light—if only you would grant this meeting, even the soot blackening every corner of his hut would bloom into wisteria flowers, and within those purple clouds, what joy it would bring him to behold your face.

“In that case, this old man—utterly wretched, pitiable, and pathetic—would instead attain a happiness not one in a million could find, clearly behold an exquisitely beautiful celestial being, and achieve rebirth in paradise—Madam.”

The sound of Chikara's voice seemed to seep from the Madam's shoulders and spread through her entire being. "Teizō is your biological father - in a certain sense, your life's benefactor." "Y...yes." "The gathering will be crowded. Wakatake-za will be swarming with people. Moreover, as night deepens, avoiding prying eyes won't prove difficult. This is an irreplaceable opportunity. Might I accompany you to pay this brief visit?"

As soon as he grasped a match in one hand, his other hand shot out and snatched the old letter from the Madam's lap without hesitation. "Once we've spoken, even if you don't agree—this thing—" He struck a match—it flared up with a flutter, turned blue, and vanished. But within the billowing smoke, the Madam's face flickered faintly, her knees swaying unsteadily as though drawn by some invisible force.

She adjusted her sitting posture and straightened up,

“Please take me with you. I beg of you.”

The lattice door clattered open. That needn't be said. Sugako's figure was already visible at the venue. In her dazzling attire, not even settling into a seated position,

“Oh, Sister!”

Whispers.

Thirty-Five “It’s already late, Sister! If you don’t come quickly—what are you doing?” Sugako blurted out urgently while still standing. Whether from the outdoor heat or her frantic rush inside, her face had flushed crimson. The Sister-in-law clutched her chest in agitation, while Michiko remained composed instead. “I’ve been waiting here since earlier.”

“Even if you’ve been waiting, I have matters all over town—why don’t you hurry up and go?” “How unkind! I’ve been waiting for Wame. I stopped by the grassy remoteness on my way here. I wanted you to take me along. Well then, shall we go?” “I have business here.” “Are you taking a detour?” “Well… not exactly, but now I’m going to debate with this Mr. Hayase and haul him off to the charity event—it’ll be quite the hassle.”

And still she did not sit down. Chikara crossed his arms and, “Ha ha ha ha, well, you must listen to Ms. Sugako’s so-called argument.” “No matter how much you try to persuade me, it won’t amount to anything.” “Shall I take charge of it?”

As the Sister-in-law began to rise from her knees but settled back down again, a somewhat reluctant air became visible. "You need to hurry... I’m fine, but Sister, you have your brother (the medical doctor) being so fussy—it’s troublesome." The face looking down upon her—when met with the pale sister’s face tilted diagonally upward—blood rushed to her cheeks, and she stiffened—but then smiled faintly,

“Ah, yes, I shall proceed ahead first.” “Though I cannot say how matters stand at the venue, there should hardly be cause for disarray.”

She said obediently and bowed formally, "I must apologize for intruding," she glanced briefly at Hayase’s eyes—they both blinked. "Why, wouldn’t it be better for us to go together?" "You should do the same, Ms. Sugako." "No, we cannot do that—we must..."

Her voice filled with force, "There are various matters I would very much like to hear about, but..." "I'll be ready soon too." "I'm waiting." With gentle composure, her retreating figure slipped away quietly. Chikara saw her off to the entranceway, concealed himself, and silently pressed the edge of his sleeve.

"Goodbye!" She turned back energetically, and already outside the gate, a carriage rumbled away.

“Hot, hot—it’s truly unbearable today.” Sugako sat with her sleeves lightly arranged, dewy sweat glistening as she loosened the edge of her ibis-colored crepe sash. The room bloomed like midday glory flowers, white garments casting cool shadows in the bright space. “It’s been ages,” she remarked. “Hardly an eternity,” Chikara countered. “What was that earlier remark? I could scarcely endure listening—how cruel to Sister.” “But it’s factual. Though immersed in hospital work, the Director knows every soul Sister speaks with at any hour. His omniscience defies limits.”

Even so—if they didn't keep him valued—the director was the household's breadwinner who fully managed their finances. Even the youngest sister under the patron's care—who'd just turned nine—already had her bridal preparations properly made. "It's not that they're indulging in any frivolous pastimes—they're simply working hard, finding their joy in Sister. If you make him even a little angry, it'll be disastrous—so you must be careful, or I'll be in trouble." "What are you talking about? This isn't amusing."

"What was that display just now? Disgustingly affectionate." "And taking her side like that." "You can't afford negligence or gaps." "Enough of this—" "—and your flirtatious games." "But my sister isn't one to sit facing a man for five minutes, no matter what happens." "You're only planted there because of your silver tongue and high spirits, aren't you?" "This is truly repulsive." "If you keep philandering like this, I've had more than enough!"

“This is just like a frontispiece from a ninjōbon romance. What’s this? Sitting face-to-face like this—what sort of spectacle are we making?”

Thirty-Six In a hushed voice, the madam— "You… what are you going to do?" “…………”

“Even though I’ve wished for it this much, you still won’t permit Miss Taeko to marry Brother (Eikichi)." “After all the times I’ve pleaded with you—isn’t this excessively cruel?” “We’ve been negotiating this match since last year." "When Mother in Tokyo heard you’d first come to Shizuoka and become acquainted with me, she wrote instructing, ‘Extend him every courtesy’—precisely because she wanted you to broker the marriage with Mr. Sakai."

“Even Mother must be worried beyond measure. Never before has such a thing occurred in our history! To have our marriage proposal rejected after we initiated it—this... this is a disgrace to the Kōno family! An absolute humiliation!” “Brother clearly adores Miss Taeko so much, but with his already excessive indulgence in pleasure, this rejection has left him utterly despondent—he seems bent on self-destruction now. Wouldn’t it be dreadful if he drank himself to death? I mean—”

she continued in an even lower voice, "No matter what happens, he keeps collapsing into those little teahouses." "Because there was a private warning from our supervisor uncle, the family stopped sending Brother any funds long ago under the pretense of making him independent—though in reality, it's practically disownment." Lately, he hasn't even been stopping by Kita-machi (Kiriyō Cram School), I hear. No matter where he might have been lying around, everyone needs money. "Where does it come from?" "He'll borrow it eventually." "And there were those who knew about the Kōno family's circumstances and lent money at high interest rates—it's truly vexing." "With funds collected in sums of a thousand and fifteen hundred, Mother managed to settle matters twice already." "The portion set aside for Brother's study abroad expenses had long since vanished, and by the third time, hadn't they even dipped into all of us sisters' shares?"

“Ever since talks about Miss Taeko began—though I myself happened to be in Kita-machi and knew of it—he had grown so pitifully earnest it pained me to see. …… He was by nature a timid, coddled young master—his childish indulgences had been tolerable enough—but precisely because of that, when he turned reckless, his roughness became unbearable. The brother-in-law at the hospital was adopted, and among all our many siblings, if we let someone as irreplaceable as him—who’d finally earned his degree—be ruined like that, it would truly bring calamity upon the household.”

“Mr. Hayase, couldn’t this matter be settled through your will alone? Since I’m pleading with you myself, please consent to help… Otherwise… you’re being truly heartless.” “That’s precisely why—precisely why,” he cut in tersely. “I never said I refuse. I’m not refusing at all. Why, I could dash over this instant to the professor’s residence, settle the discussion, and return with the betrothal gifts.” He laughed dismissively,

“No, wait—it’s the opposite. The betrothal gifts are supposed to be brought from our side, correct?” “In return, you’ll say, ‘Hold the wedding in that beggar’s shack next to the indigo dyer’s house in Antō Village,’ won’t you? Why must you stubbornly fuss over such miserly details as if haggling over rice prices?” “This is no trivial matter! This concerns the very survival of our family. Do you have any idea how much I’ve suffered? Look how thin I’ve become! Lately, whenever I see Miyahata—that Bachelor of Science—here at home... my body practically shrivels up. He keeps rushing down to the dirt floor to tie and retie his shoelaces, doesn’t he?”

“It’s practically come to kneeling and kissing my husband’s feet. Who’s forcing this on me, Mr. Hayase? Isn’t this all down to your obstinacy?”

“If you’d show just a little consideration and consent, I don’t believe you’d face full retribution—that’s what I think.” Chikara, who had been leaning against the desk listening with drawn-out laughter, suddenly sat upright, “Then are you declaring that **you** yourself desire Miss Taeko as a bride?” “Well… yes.” “Ah—so you’ve deployed seductive tactics then.”

Thirty-Seven “Are you angry? I simply can’t bear it when you’re angry. “Why have you grown so stubbornly strong-willed these days?” “Because you’re being so distant.” “Who’s being distant here? “I can’t possibly slip out at night, and even when I attend lessons, the place is swarming with people. “There’s never a moment for proper conversation.” What was it you said before? “Since those silk tree blossoms are our keepsake—sneaking there at midnight to stand by the irrigation ditch, listening to insects and frogs... What if you were to appear from behind that black fence with an obi sash trailing?” “Would it be fluttering petals? Darkness? Fireflies? The moon? The morning star?” “When could such dreams ever come true in this world?—You dismissed it as playacting, so I told Miyahata it’d be useful for laundry and cooling melons—that’s how I finally made him cut through that wooden fence to build the water gate.”

“I have such a terrible headache that I want to try sleeping alone in the middle of the ten-mat room—or whatever—but when I try to arrange things, you won’t even pass by without stopping, will you?” “It’s like a play.” He laughed in a low voice, and then— “Putting ideals into practice,” she said with a smile. “How do you cross?” “You surely don’t possess the words to propose bridge-building.” “So you probably can’t cross.” “The silk tree branches are low, you know. Grab them and cross over, won’t you?” “Grab them and cross over, won’t you?”

“What do you take me for – a kappa?” “Hohohoho,”

And this time, it was the madam who began to laugh. “After all, you’re faithless.” “What do you mean by ‘faithless’?” “Please resolve this.” ――And so―― “Miss Taeko.” “So you’re calling this a seductive ploy?” “Making such a fearsome face,” she said with a wan smile. “The truth is… I’ve been deceiving myself.” “For my family’s sake—sacrificing my own honor—I’ve been visiting here intending to receive Miss Taeko from you as my brother’s bride.”

“Otherwise, how could I face Miyahata—or Mother? First off, I can’t even look the wet nurse in the eye anymore. And strangely enough, I’m most afraid of my blind daughter above anyone else. When she calls me ‘Mother’ and those unseeing eyes turn toward me, I shudder through my whole being. I may appear healthy, but it feels like my living flesh is being scraped away—I’m wasting to nothing. If you pity me at all, you must give me Miss Taeko. That alone would set my heart at rest... And it’s not others so much as Mother—she’s grown so watchful since springtime poetry gatherings, suspecting shadows where none exist.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What do you suppose will become of me? If you’d only grant me Miss Taeko, it would make perfect justification—both practical and symbolic. Mother might even believe I’m acting for the girl’s own sake.” She leaned forward urgently. “The moment she sees that face—‘I’ll make Mr. Hayase consent somehow’—I say it before Mother can utter a word.” Her hands twisted in her lap as she repeated herself pleadingly: “I beg you, Mr. Hayase.”

She repeated herself, pleading imploringly.

“Enough of this nonsense. Do you think it’s acceptable to use the professor’s daughter as your excuse?”

"If that’s the case, I might never be able to look upon Mother’s face again." "I too might never see the professor's face again while living..." Hayase unconsciously clenched his fist at this thought—which the madam perceived as him restraining himself—and she felt profoundly, “Then what will become of my... my body?” “It’s simple—get divorced from Miyahata, and—” “How could such a thing ever be possible?” “Is it impossible?” “Of course it is.”

When he said this composedly, she looked astonished—then... smiled faintly, "Why must you be like that?"

38 “There’s no alternative—it’s only natural. They say even the righteous refuse Zhou’s grain—” “As the maxim goes—” “You—”

Chikara began speaking composedly but fell silent at the madam’s unusual look in her eyes. Sugako pressed a hand to her breast, perhaps to suppress her heaving chest,

“What do you mean—that’s going too far, Mr. Hayase!” She huffed. “It’s improper, I tell you! Even though Mr. Miyahata isn’t pleased, you still come here so frequently like this.” And yet, there was no way to maintain domestic peace. “Lay out the facts plainly and entrust it to your husband’s judgment. I too am not making a cowardly resolution. Since I am clearly presenting the facts by having Madam come to my place against that person’s wishes, I shall humbly defer to Mr. Miyahata’s intentions.”

“So you do the same. What anguish? What torment? There are those in this world who violate the nation’s great laws, commit outrageous acts, and then try to wipe their mouths clean and act innocent—they’re mistaken.”

The madam listened to this as if it were a jest, showing no sign of taking Hayase’s words seriously in the slightest, “Don’t be ridiculous! Even in jest, if you say such things and something were to happen, what would become of the children?”

Without letting her finish speaking, he answered as if it were nothing. "Naturally, if Mr. Miyahata orders me to bring them along as he sees fit, I'll bring them along. If he says to leave them behind, then leave..." "I can't even muster the composure to get properly angry. Please take this to heart, won't you..." "What do you mean 'carefree'? There's nothing less carefree than this. Even with just the janitor and me—two mouths to feed—it's already tight on our current tuition income, and now we're supposed to take on the burden of supporting you and your children. Even in Shizuoka, where six shō's worth would do, my meager means can't endure it."

As for me, the Madam stared fixedly, "Despite me going through such hardships, you truly are unfaithful." “Abandoning you and absconding when the crucial moment comes—that would be unfaithful.” "Setting my stance and being fully prepared—if Mr. Miyahata persists in his suspicions and escalates it fourfold—I intend to confront it head-on with twofold sincerity. What’s unfaithful about that?" "Truthfully I know nothing of this affair—I’d never claim Madam visits here for leisure at her own whim."

“If you put it that way, there’s no room for discussion.” “Again, there’s no room for discussion,” “But the world doesn’t proceed as you say it does.” “It’s not that it can’t be—it can—but they won’t leave it be. Love is free, but in this world, it becomes a crime. Thieves may act freely—yet of course it’s criminal. Murder, arson—all might be free acts, yet they’re crimes. Once one commits such sins, isn’t receiving due punishment only natural? It’s because they fumble to conceal things that this cowardly, clinging, miserly mindset festers—letting them feed off their husbands while causing others grief, like cats in heat. Isn’t that just wretched? Steel your resolve and face it properly. As for me—I’ve long since... ceased facing the Professor... or looking upon Otsuta’s face... or so I believed. From now on, I’ll fear nothing.”

“And yet you—while making Mr. Miyahata resent you—still insist on playing the noblewoman: chaste wife to your husband, compassionate mother to your children, filial daughter to your parents, virtuous lady to society, paragon of virtue for the world to emulate. That’s why you grow thin and suffer.”

“You commit infidelity yet play the chaste wife, filial daughter, compassionate mother, virtuous lady—do such creatures exist?” “Then… me,” she pressed closer, “You’re just stopping short of calling it outrageous.” His face paled as he glared fiercely before nodding. “At the same time, I too—” he began with a laugh. Poking his shoulder, she concluded: “Well, there’s no helping your willfulness.”

Thirty-Nine “You’ve been like this from the very beginning……” “That moralistic Pockmarked Lord Sakata Reinoshin—who found mediating your brother’s marriage proposals so irritating—ended up getting administratively dismissed from the General Staff Office after helping kidnappers. The kidnappers treated it as a favor—he told the police they’d slipped the money into his sleeve without his knowledge and outsmarted him, but truthfully, he knowingly took that envelope straight from their hands.” “‘So by all means come study here—Hayase Chikara’s a Tokyo bankrupt who aided kidnappers!’ When opening this cram school, he was exactly the type to give public speeches at Chidori-za or such places—though I stopped him from doing so……”

Near Hayase’s chest, she turned her back and gazed intently at the thrown hem of her kimono, "How in the world did I ever become friends with such a violent person?"

She muttered to herself as if doubting her own words, "Knowing they're an inconvenient party through and through, aren't I just the same as you associating with them?" "But I've never done a single thing to wrong you, yet you keep telling me not to establish myself, not to stand on my own—isn't that right? If visiting Mr. Hayase is so improper, then (do as you like—it's entirely your decision.) But really—how could such a thing ever be said, even hypothetically, by Mr. Miyahata?"

“Assuming Miyahata proceeds with divorce over this—if that happens—what do you think would become of the Kōno family name first and foremost? Wouldn’t a stain cling to it for generations to come, tainting the lineage?” “There’s already been talk about this matter, hasn’t there? Aren’t you trying to conceal it? That’s what I call cowardly.”

“Why do you say such things when—” She rose slightly, still turned away,

“I hold not a shred of malice toward you—as if dedicating my honor and everything all in one place—”

she continued vexedly, “You’re trying to torment me, aren’t you.”

“I’m not tormenting you at all.”

“Even that—saying such violent things—” “I’m not suggesting we should deliberately expose what troubles you. You keep accusing me of being faithless, heartless—‘What will become of me?’—so I’ll tell you plainly: your fate depends on whether these suspicions lift or linger—you must face judgment. If I claimed this burden fell solely on you—wouldn’t that itself be faithless? Yet when I propose we confront this together with the man—where’s the heartlessness in that? Well?”

With a face that said as much, she looked askance, “That’s why I keep saying—even without such drastic measures, if only you’d give us Miss Taeko, not only would everything be resolved amicably, but I too could finally find peace of mind and be spared these pangs of conscience—but no!” “You refuse to consent!” “You call that heartless,” she said. “Isn’t this the plea of a woman sacrificing both honor and all else? You could at least grant your consent.”

“‘Honor and everything,’ you speak of.” “Ah, precisely so,” she retorted, twisting her torso to face him with eyes wide and clear. "Why stop there? Why not declare both the house and Kōno?" "Does any house exist divorced from honor?" "Does any Kōno exist apart from its lineage?" "So long as you cling to these affected notions of familial prestige, you'll never grasp true affection." "This is why you value your parents over your husband—why you subject other daughters to physical inspections." "Would you permit even a finger's touch upon Miss Taeko?"

“If you wish to discuss Miss Taeko’s situation, then you must first demonstrate by example—cast aside both honor and family to unite with any man you love.” When he spoke with impassioned vigor, this time the wife responded in a disinterested, tired, and weary tone,

“And again—(hold the wedding in that beggar’s hovel of a thatched hut in Antō Village)—is what you’d say, isn’t it.” "You are utterly opposed to our way of thinking." "It feels like you’re trying to destroy the Kōno family—you’ve become an enemy to our household!" "Why don’t I despise such a person? I can’t comprehend my own feelings at all." "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 wife... Chikara flung open the shoji screen and gazed up at the sky for a while— "Ah, today is Miss Taeko's day," he muttered, lying down on his back—Taeko's day meaning Sunday.

Dusk

Forty

The same Sunday night.

When dusk fell, Hayase went out to the entranceway, sat on the doorframe, left his geta hooked in the dirt-floored entryway, propped himself up with one hand behind the lamp, and remained there at length alone. There was no festive air celebrating his birth as a man, nor was it the season for listening to insects; the house was old but lacked miscanthus sprouting from its walls, and since this wasn’t a painting, no single brushstroke moon graced the scene. To call it vexing would indeed be vexing—perched on the upper doorframe with his back to the lamp as though kindling a gate fire, that dim glow passed through the lattice door, darkened once beneath the eaves, vanished within, then took on a blurred ring to project hazily upon the rain-beaten, high-grained gate door—not a bat’s shadow but like black clouds traversing the sky, now surging into darkness… now brightening again.

Without ever looking away, as Hayase stared intently at it, that murky lamplight swayed two or three times—then, like ripples settling upon water’s surface to encircle the moon’s orb—a pale woman’s face peered there.

Without the gate door opening… there emerged the hem of a snow-white garment, against which a jet-black hairline stood in stark contrast—then at the pale gray-blue shoulder area, a glint shone, and the obi’s color grew vivid—it was Michiko. Having stood concealed at the gate, she stealthily opened the door and peered sideways to survey the situation.

The moment he saw her, Hayase sprang to his feet, opening the lattice door while beckoning her over. He straightened up and turned his back, glancing around AB Alley to either side, but upon entering backward and clattering the door shut behind him, he hurried over in three small, quick steps. As if desiring yet another barrier against prying eyes, he raised the lattice once more. “Welcome,” he said with a gentle smile.

The elder madam pressed her folded hand towel to her mouth, her breath hissing rapidly through it. "Is anyone..."

“No one.” “What about the janitor?” she managed to ask whether he had already grown accustomed.

“He’s been with Teizō since daybreak. It’s a condition requiring constant monitoring.” “I’m grateful beyond words... For my parent... I’m so terribly sorry.”

And that hand towel obscured her vision. "The one who should apologize is me," he said. "But you slipped away from the venue quite deftly." "Yes—they all insisted I rest at the tea house in the waiting area since my complexion looked pallid. I took advantage of the commotion when they lit the lamps to slip out. Hiring a crossroads carriage midway seemed wiser than using our household one, but you—with those watchful oyster-shell eyes of yours—kept turning to peer into the hood with that dreadful stare. How utterly unnerving it was!" "I finally alighted at this alley's corner and reached the gate, but lingered awhile lest there be guests."

“I can well imagine your consideration,” he said with a bow. “Regarding Mr. Miyahata and Mrs. Sugako...” “They arrived moments ago. Staying so late—at your residence.” “No.” “Then I must have taken a detour along the way. I saw them appear just before the lamps were lit—being among the crowd, I merely glimpsed their figures from afar and left in haste without exchanging words.”

“I see—though I must apologize for not offering tea, we mustn’t let formalities bog us down and complicate matters.” “Right away—let’s go now—” “Please do proceed then—you have my deepest gratitude for your trouble.” “Trouble hardly describes it.” “Now then—allow me to accompany you.”

As if suddenly struck by a thought,

“Wait a moment, Madam.”

Forty-One Hayase looked anew upon Michiko’s elegant figure adorned with the white collar, “Even in twilight’s gloom, your form stands out dreadfully—that oyster-eyed rickshaw puller might’ve spotted you despite everything. Quick—your hand towel.” In that hurried moment he seized it without regard for their touching hands, wrapping her shoulders from behind like a shawl—her smoothed shoulders narrowed further, frame shrinking yet retaining an alluring grace.

Taking another hand towel from his pocket, he passed it to Madam, "Do the elder sister's head-wrap properly, like a country person would." "I'm just a country bumpkin anyway." she leaned forward and lightly placed a hand on her chignon, "Like this?" When she covered herself with the white cloth and looked down, though her black hair was hidden, the lingering fragrance of her temples spilling beyond the wrap resembled snow blanketing plum blossoms. Chikara looked left and right from beside her,

“No good, no good—you still stand out. You—pardon me—tuck up your hem. No, that’s no good. If your underkimono’s too long, you’ll look ready to perform a Kiyomoto narrative.”

Muttered to himself under his breath while, “Even if it feels uncomfortable, tuck it into your chest, pull it up firmly, and adjust the space between it and your tabi decisively.” “Ah, how pitiful this is.” “This is most disagreeable.”

“Forgive me.” No sooner had he spoken than Hayase’s hand sliced through the air, his body crouching—or so it seemed— “Oh—” Overwhelmed, she staggered under her head’s weight and nearly fell—pressing a hand against Chikara’s shoulder, Michiko barely steadied herself. Yet Chikara’s palm had already scooped soot from the wall’s corner, smearing it across her shin to hide the ordinary hem peeking through her tucked-up skirt that refused to stay concealed. “It’s all right now—you don’t look anything like the Kōno family’s honorable wife.”

With that, he snuffed the Western lamp atop the frame—whoosh!

Using Runan-ki for cover, they drew close. “Now then, let us be on our way.” The Madam’s shoulder—which had brushed against his chest—trembled until he guided her forward.

From this side street to Ando Village stretched a road less than five *chō* long—yet along its length stood nothing but lowly houses on the outskirts. The sky, closed off by summer clouds threatening rain, made the stars seem even more distant than their true whereabouts, while the sparse, faintly leaking light cast shadows that might be mistaken for those of a solitary house along a mountain path.

A woman of noble birth raised in secluded chambers—one who, without her husband by her side, ought not even casually exchange words with others—yet regarding the state of her heart since this morning, one could well imagine.

I knew myself to be the child of an immoral man; my father now lay dying. In this fleeting world where every meeting heralds parting, as I dwelled on the charity bazaar's radiance—its candles and silver lamps blazing like moonlight in the sky I'd turned my back on when stealing past the Wakatake Theater to witness a deathbed scene—the alley's encroaching darkness seemed to outstrip even the gloom of the underworld.

Tucking up her hem and covering her head—a man’s guise, an utterly improper sight. Should someone catch even a fleeting glimpse and utter “You—”, that would spell the end—a critical juncture where she could no longer go on living. The destination she struggled toward... was her true parent’s deathbed. What turmoil must have raged in Michiko’s heart? When the phantom of Daiganzan overwhelmed her vision with the darkness’s oppressive force, and the canal’s roar resounded as though shaking the earth, Michiko’s voice—her very silhouette, even the color of her robes—faded to near nothingness as she murmured, “Could this be a dream? It feels as though I’m walking through empty air—staggering unsteadily, about to collapse. Mr. Hayase, please let me hold onto your sleeve.”

“Steady!” “The timing’s just right—there’s no one about.”

With no people about, a suspicious dog running along the eaves would have been visible. The carp-colored curtain of the dyer's shop glowed like phosphorescent flames that did not burn; had one known the past, they might have heard hoofbeats and imagined the shape of horses as they reached Ando Village.

Forty-Two Michiko's voice drifted uncertainly, "Is this a field?" "Why...you?"

“There’s a dreadful hole right in the middle.”

“Ah, that’s a roadside well.” Hayase answered plainly. The ancient well appeared like a yawning maw that hell itself had opened. From Hayase’s side, the Madam’s clogs—though attempting stealthy steps—instead clattered loudly with their trembling, their faltering echoes resounding through the surroundings until they were guided beneath pitch-black eaves and came to a halt. Had anyone noticed, the faint-hearted woman would surely have collapsed then and there—as though that familiar black-and-white speckled dog were perched upon her very neck.

Before the sound could even be questioned—*thud!*—came the noise of someone kicking up from the tatami and opening the door. Simultaneously visible at the frame was a small Western lamp, its crimson light blackened by soot from the wick’s oil smoke. The one who abruptly stood there was a lean-faced, robust man with close-set brows and sharp eyes, wearing a narrow unlined kimono and a three-foot sash slung low on his hips—a dashing fellow you might call someone, namely the cram school’s janitor. Strange! Strange! Strange! It was Manta—the thug who’d botched pickpocketing Lord Pockmarks.

Manta abruptly came face to face with Chikara,

“Boss!”

“…………” “Can’t do it,” he said with feigned nonchalance. “What—? Idiot, there’s someone with me.”

“Hey, Professor, it’s terrible!” “How terrible?” He burst in. Clutching at sleeves, troubled by the disheveled appearance of sacrificial birds and sleeves torn from fluttering wings, they passed through a roost-like door, descended barefoot, and the janitor locked it behind them with a clatter, “The patient’s gone cold.” “Yes,” “I was just about to rush out, see.” “A doctor?” “We called the doctor right away, but it was no use—he just left a moment ago. I was sitting there in a daze, but no matter what, we needed you to come—there was no other way—and I’d just now realized that and was about to rush out when—”

“That’s impossible. Dying—” As he rushed in and sat down simultaneously—since it was a single room—he dropped to his knees at the mat-covered bedside, peered in, then hastily straightened up. Lifting the triple-layered futon, he pressed his hand firmly against the patient’s supine chest where bluish bones stood out clearly,

“Madam,”

He called quietly. As Michiko draped the freshly taken hand towel over her knee as if dragging it down, with no leisure to adjust her appearance, and knelt in unison, Hayase stepped back and turned around. “Buy incense and such—then all the various necessities.” “Right away, sir.” The janitor who had been standing dazedly at the entrance dashed out still barefoot. As one looked on, Teizō’s corpse—drawn by lingering affection—moved in a way that resonated through the mat and seeped into one’s very flesh; Michiko’s knees trembled violently as a faint chanting voice escaped her lips.

"Do take a good look." "You should show him too." "Oh, it’s too dark—then the face—" They adjusted the hand lamp and brought it out, but the flame crawled too low to reach, so behind the dyer’s drying area, under a broken lattice, they found a soiled rice tub and placed it there. Hayase stood and carried it out, which the Madam reached up to receive with tear-filled eyes fixed on his face, but with both hands trembling violently, the lamp—its lid now sloped—slipped, and in an instant, as she cried “Ah!”, it tumbled sleeve-ward; she blew at the flame even as it fell onto the tatami and shattered! The ceiling turned deep purple; the mat blazed bright red.

In this light, Teizō's face appeared as though alive with eyes open, his pale nose visible too, but Hayase—grabbing the hem towel of the Madam that flared up like a torch while still aflame and slamming it into the dirt floor—strained his voice to declare an emergency, "It's terrible—the obi!" he cried out. In her dazed state from the overwhelming situation, as Michiko tried to shift away from her seat, he yanked at the knot of her obi as if to tear it loose—the force sent her tumbling sideways, the flaring hems of her robe rippling upward from her chest area. What appeared to burst into flames was merely firelight reflecting off snow-pale skin, barely contained by the underrobe beneath. Hayase threw himself onto the corrugated iron and rolled around over the oil. The fire was extinguished because of this, and for a while, one could not distinguish black from white.

A horse returning along Abe Kaido let out a distant, drawn-out whinny. Outside, a dog barked. "How terrifyingly dark it is." Having tidied various items and borrowed a lantern against the road's darkness, the janitor Manta lumbered in. The Madam lay prostrate there, her pale-patterned kimono flowing like water across the tatami, while Hayase opened the window, perched on the lattice frame, and rubbed his arms as if kissing them—like a fierce tiger rousing from a drunken slumber. Scratching an insatiable itch, the wind amplifying his formidable aura.

Along the corridor

Forty-Three

Though it was the family profession, being a woman of delicate constitution that made her shudder at the surgical ward, she had no choice but to refrain from going there; however, Michiko—due to her parents’ admonitions, or rather commands—made it her duty to visit every hospitalized patient’s room once each night around ten o’clock before retiring. At such times, two nurses on duty would accompany her in shifts; though their words were limited to formalities like “How are you feeling?” and “Please take care of yourself,” Michiko’s innate kindness naturally imbued her presence with unspoken compassion, offering the patients no small measure of comfort. In the end, many found themselves anticipating her graceful visits more eagerly than the director’s rounds. What’s truly outrageous is patients being hospitalized for mere colds and demanding that you personally administer their medicine—though surely that can’t be the case.

Now—regarding this matter, her husband Rijun, a medical scholar and Director—though he did not entirely approve—the task of comforting patients remained a virtue any noblewoman could perform without reproach; moreover, her parents had strongly desired it, and so he maintained an attitude of silent consent without raising objections. Tonight too, with the clatter of geta accompanying her movements, after completing her rounds in the lower-floor wards—viewing Yokota’s rice fields to the left and the train station to the right while remarking on the fine weather ahead where clouds trailed seaward—she ascended to that second floor, white-uniformed nurses holding paper lanterns flanking the director’s wife at their center. Like clouds parting, they climbed the wooden stairs—hair becoming visible, shoulders and obi gradually exposed.

She wore a simple yukata with a day-and-night obi—specifically tied in a drum-shaped knot—paired with red thong sandals and white tabi socks; though on winter nights she would change into sleepwear with a pale yellow casual obi. At such times, the scent of night powder would also waft forth—as though it were an exotic incense suffusing the air—and the patients would rejoice in devout reverence, proclaiming it a divine visitation.

Indeed, the Madam's dignified bearing and beauty when leading the nurses had always inspired angelic reverence. Yet how diminished she appeared of late—especially tonight—her complexion lacking luster, the round chignon drooping heavily, her bosom barely contained by sleeves that seemed to assail them. She looked not so much modestly despondent as utterly withered, as though some invisible eightfold coil of binding ropes had wrapped round and round her willowy waist that once bent like grass in the wind. Thus, the two white-clad figures flanking her front and back resembled beautiful celestial jailers leading the Madam to heaven's highest court.

The opened-door room's patientless void stretched out; to both right and left lay a pure white moonlit night—the moon's front face revealed Mount Fuji's pristine snow, its reverse side purple, with the sea's latent energy swelling beyond. The train station's roof glittered with flowing dew that shimmered like liquid silver.

As per routine, paper lanterns entered each room while white uniforms exited; the Madam turned her back as nurses faced forward. The disciplined clatter of footsteps echoed down the long corridor before fading—moonlight now filling sections of the hallway, now lanterns flaring abruptly. They should have vanished into the distant dark backstairs after a pause, but tonight returned single-file through the corridor's center—gliding smoothly like watercolor lanterns made manifest—veering slightly toward the front stairs past midpoint. When they reached the vacant room adjacent on the right—the Fuji-facing hospital room—the Madam halted, and the white-clad figures split left and right.

Among those visited in order, this single room alone had somehow been left for later during their initial visit...

When she looked, there alongside the number plate inscribed in white lead was written "Hayase Chikara." Michiko stood between them, slowly surveying left and right before offering a silent bow with her eyes. Almost unconsciously extending her supple hand, one nurse passed her the paper lantern—one using both hands, another with a single hand—lowering it to knee height like a flurry of snow. They retreated down the hallway at a considerable distance. Michiko was drawn through the door. When she peered through the slightly open door's gap—bending her back to reveal her profile at a low position—she saw two white-clad figures entwined around the front stair railing with the lantern between them, watching this way before vanishing smoothly into the shadowed platform.

Forty-Four The pallor of the patient's face sunken into the sickbed made one doubt—could this truly be Hayase? Michiko set the paper lantern by her hem and moved along the bedside—her chest faintly lit from the obi upward, face shadowed—until in the dim glow of the Western lamp, she saw his ash-gray countenance, though his eyes remained clearly open. When this thought struck her, she turned her face from Hayase and covered her eyes—yet while her pupils might have shifted, it was her eyelashes that quivered violently. After a moment, "Mr. Hayase...do you recognize me?"

“......” “I heard that since around noon today, you had finally become able to recognize people’s faces.” “By your gracious care.”

It was clearly heard. Yet it was as though he spoke from his gut—his mouth did not move. "You had such a terrible fever, didn’t you?" "I heard from the nurse. For about ten days straight, I was completely unconscious—it was shocking. Before I knew it, they say it’s already mid-July," he said with his eyes still closed. "At our house, all my younger sisters from Tokyo have returned for summer break."

He slightly adjusted his pillow, “Eikichi… too?” “No, he alone hasn’t come. These days he’s become so bound by social obligations that he can’t even return home—I feel terribly sorry for him.” “Ah, now that you mention it,” she said gently, casting a sidelong glance at the bedside shelf. “You must have truly needed to return to Tokyo. Unfortunately falling ill—it truly was terrible timing. Have you seen the telegram from Mr. Sakai?”

"I saw them—just now, for the first time." Her voice grew heavy. "Both telegrams..." "Both telegrams." "The first simply said 'Return immediately,' but the second had TSUBYŌKI—Otsuta's illness—which I had already heard about from my sister." "I understand your wife is in critical condition." "I consulted with your janitor and my sister out in the countryside—though it was improper of me—and opened the telegrams at your bedside. In your stead, I sent a reply under my name stating you regrettably cannot return due to this fever." "But really—what wretched timing this is." "You have my deepest sympathies."

“...This illness is a blessing. Even if I were well—with what face could I possibly show myself to them? To the professor first and foremost?” “Why? You—” When she settled her chin firmly and looked down at his face, Hayase slightly opened his eyes. “Why do you ask?” “...” “For one thing, I cannot show my face to you.” As his breathing grew ragged beneath the blanket thrown over his thin chest—the exposed bones shifting visibly—Michiko’s shoulders quivered too, her pale hands trembling like swirling snowflakes.

"That time I accompanied you to Antō Village... so it wasn't a dream after all." Hayase lay with hands pressed against his chest as if being crushed, his emaciated fingers twitching like suspended breath trying to dispel agony. He worked his mouth several times before rasping out a reply. "It was no dream—yet neither was it of this world. M-Michiko... let me swallow the poison—all at once—let me drink it clean." His parched teeth gnashed like a suffocating fish's. From disheveled hair at his temples, something seemed ready to spill forth—until a flower petal struck sudden impact against those writhing molars.

She abruptly turned her face away, "If it wasn't a dream... what should I do?!" Michiko collapsed as if her knees had given way, pressing her forehead against the edge of the sickbed. The moon through the window glinted like an ornamental hairpin's sheen, while the snow lantern faintly illuminated a neck smooth as jade.

Just before this, as the nurses vanished from the railings and Hayase’s hospital room door was firmly locked at the same time, a woman suddenly appeared on the back staircase—her sharp eyes, unconcealed even by her thick bangs, piercingly fixed upon the long corridor. It should be mentioned that she stealthily approached with muffled footsteps and slipped into the adjacent vacant room. This was Michiko's mother.

The same thing—the same thing... continued for five, six nights straight.

45

A strange phenomenon occurred: each night, as Michiko stayed later in Hayase’s hospital room—though the nurses taking shifts changed—the pairs of nurses lingered longer at the staircase railings before leaving. After all, they weren’t waiting there to descend the stairs together—to put it plainly, their time spent observing Hayase’s room from a distance had simply grown longer.

And so tonight as well, before Hayase's hospital room, the two white-uniformed figures who had parted from Michiko hung suspended in mid-air for a long moment, lingering at the railing.

In the main house across the wide garden, since early evening, the daughters of Kiriyō Juku in Ushigome who had returned for summer vacation gathered with the household's children—nephews and nieces—to which were added child guests from other families and the Kusabuka clan from the deep countryside; violins could be heard, Western pianos played, school songs were sung—and to this crowd came yet another group. Tatsuko, Kōno Sugako's younger sister, had married a councillor from Fukui Prefecture last autumn and already borne a child. When this group joined the Kōno household, it became an occasion where Michiko would gather with every last member of the clan—nursemaids, maids, and babysitters included—forming a party of roughly fifty people under the parents' supervision. For this very purpose, they maintained an expansive villa near Shimizu Port and Miho, in a location chosen precisely for leisurely strolls to Tagono-ura, Kunōzan, Ejiri as well as Okitsu and Seikenji Temple. There they would invariably retreat every summer. "Behold the clan’s splendor!" the Eimei couple would proclaim in their moments of triumph—last year only Eikichi had been absent, but… this year too seemed doubtful. Instead, a newly appointed high-ranking official from Fukui Prefecture would join their ranks...

As for the main house, enlivened by the lights visible through the leaves—with the sound of small fireworks being set off, and a meteor rising higher than Mount Fuji above the pine treetops—all had now grown quiet.

From beneath the platform, a tall white figure soundlessly slipped out into the corridor—and in that instant, the two nurses recoiled in shock. The one who had come was Director Kōno Rijun, Medical Bachelor. He wore a white shirt, a loosely fitting Western-style suit with coarse stripes, and indoor shoes, and appeared to have gulped down beer—a man with a flushed face marked by cranial sutures across his forehead and sparse facial hair, glaring sharply at the nurses through gold-rimmed glasses that glinted fiercely.

“You…” The eyes that had spoken glared bloodshot through his glasses. “Aren’t you accompanying Michiko?”

“Y-yes,” one of them bowed her head.

“What’s the matter?” “Y-yes, when she comes to visit Mr. Hayase’s room, we never accompany her,” she answered in a clear voice. “Why’s that?” “Madam says—‘Since he is Mr. Eikichi of the main household’s dear friend, bringing nurses along would make it seem ostentatious...like putting on airs about his condition...and feel shameful’—so she does not bring us...” “Does this always happen?”

When he asked this, he thrust both hands into his coat pockets and shook his shoulders. "Yes, always—"

“Hmph. I see,” he muttered dismissively, striding roughly down the corridor. “Oh my, those are the master’s footsteps.” “Is it the Director?” Michiko turned pale, “Oh no, what should I do? He’s coming this way. Oh—” “There’s nothing strange about the Director visiting a hospitalized patient,” Hayase said calmly from his bed. Her eyes were wild with panic, her composure crumbling, “Even I haven’t told my parents, but my husband will make me suffer terribly!” she cried, wringing her sleeves as though stretched on a torture rack.

“Hide under the sickbed.” “Just do it.” Hayase sat bolt upright, flipped the blanket to conceal Madam’s hem, and braced himself against the corrugated iron frame of the sickbed. “The Director’s making his rounds!” The nurse’s shrill cry reverberated harshly. Rijun had already reached the room and was about to wrench open the door when—appearing as if from thin air—the Matriarch materialized and clamped her hand sideways onto the medical scholar’s forearm with a forceful grip... uttering:

“Director.”

With that inscrutable face of hers, she fixed her piercing gaze through those characteristically sharp eyes, “This way, please. No—you must.” No sooner had she firmly tucked that jealous arm—flame-like in its intensity—beneath her own than she was already pulling him toward the back stairs in retreat.—

Firefly

Forty-Six

“Do you recognize me? Do you? “Oh! It’s Sakai!” “Do you understand? Stay with me!” Sakai Shunzō alone leaned in close to Otsuta’s deathbed. In the next room...

“Ah, everyone’s here. “Taeko’s here too. “There are many people here, so stay strong! “It’s just that Hayase isn’t here—you must find that disappointing. I’m disappointed too. “Since he’s hospitalized due to illness, there’s no helping it. “Just let go.” With this, he brought his mouth close to her whitish ear—pale as if ready to vanish beneath black hair that might endure a thousand generations— “Meet me in the future, meet me in the future. “If we meet in the future, cling to me desperately and never let go. “Beware that meddlers like me don’t intrude. “Never let go, you hear? “Don’t cling to some professor.”

I never knew about such matters. Because I found Hayase more endearing than you, I tried to ensure there'd be no mistakes or harm in that arrangement—but what a pitiful thing I've done. Through eyes that refused to blame Hayase, your shadow appeared bewitched by that man. I thought you were a demon; I became your enemy. You weren't some virgin rushing through the moment. If you truly wished to meet, there was nothing you could do to make it happen. For appearances' sake—while cohabitation would cause problems—I thought I could overlook things if kept discreet... But you people made propriety impossible, forcing you to endure until death's end? How pitiful. ...I won't resort to cowardice now—curse me, curse Sakai Shunzō, curse yourself!

"What say you? Won't you stop letting your heart weaken, stop thinking you can't possibly live or about dying? Even if you must gnaw on stones to recover, can't you find the spirit to take revenge against me—the one who split the living tree—by joining hands with Hayase? Have you no pride left?" "It's beyond remedy now."

Taking Otsuta’s seemingly forgotten hand onto his knee, he gazed intently, "You’ve grown so thin. "You’ve become half what you were when I saw you the day before yesterday.—Hey, open your eyes. Stay with me. It’s me—don’t you recognize me? Ah, it’s the Professor." “Everyone is here. Taeko has come too.” “Elder Sister... Yoshino? She’s over there.” "Why won’t you be patient and wait for Hayase to become someone of my stature? Even I have more geisha mistresses than I can handle—the world is such a bother."

"That young man who'd stagger if you poked his waist—do you think taking him in would let you make your way in the world? I gave that scolding to prevent mutual destruction, but look at this pitiful state—both of you suffering across separate provinces without even getting to comfort each other. What cursed fate is this for you two?"

"She must be waiting desperately for Hayase to come. 'You had your hair done last night, saying he would come. Ah, Shimada did a fine job. I saw it.' At that moment, a sob came from the next room. Next came the sound of sobbing, but the very first to cry was Omasu, the hairdresser who had styled Otsuta’s hair. How meticulously Geisha Shimada must have styled the honorable woman’s hair!"

Having exchanged the lowly pillow and sank into the bundled futon, even the disheveled hair at her nape only adding to her pitiable state, Otsuta had even applied light makeup. Whether from shame or wanting to be seen, Otsuta twisted her shoulders to face forward, turning her neck - so pale the veins showed through - toward the summer kimono draped around her knees. A single wave-like motion passed through her before she turned over with visible effort.

Forty-Seven

“It suited you, it suited you! Ah, Shimada did splendidly.” "What would Hayase know about this?" "Show your face. Come on." Sakai drew his knees tightly together, and at that moment—through the moonlight filtering from the veranda—he saw her cold face with pale peach eyelids moistened, quivering in the night breeze as a figure emerged in the shadows of the bedding. “Someone come take this firefly cage away; the color is disagreeable.” “Heeey,” came a muffled, perfunctory reply as Megumi—wearing patched light-green half-length work pants—came shuffling on his knees along the veranda. The women had all lost themselves in the six-tatami room—some even clinging to each other in tears—leaving Sōsuke alone by the three-tatami brazier. Sitting with legs splayed in deference, his face twisted into a lion’s snarl, teeth gritted so hard it seemed candle wax might pour from his forehead—a visage like the lighthouse demon from old paintings. Whenever the patient's room grew quiet, he would crawl on all fours into the neighboring group of women and stick his face out,

(Did she die?) he asked, only to be met with a sidelong glance from Omasu, (Still not yet?) he pressed, only to be glared at again. Forcing a bitter smile, he withdrew and waited—then before the Professor, at the bedside of the soon-to-be-departed, he respectfully crawled out, sprang up to remove the firefly cage, but his crouched stance faltered; he wobbled—thud!—landing hard on his rear on the veranda. As if his soul had shattered, scattering into his chest—the fireflies in the cage flashed abruptly, and just as he realized—

“What’s wrong with you?” Startled by his nasal-voiced companion’s threatening glare, he scrambled away in panic. At this noise, Otsuta once again snapped open her eyes and, with an apprehensive, lonely air, pressed her pillow closer to Sakai... “Everyone is here; you’re not lonely. But how about this? When Hayase comes, I’ll have everyone move to the next room. Like this—just the two of us alone—there must be things you want to say. There’s no helping it—resign yourself. Resign yourself—think of me as Hayase. Think of me as a husband without equal in this world. I’m a better man than Hayase. I’m educated, renowned, skilled, and older than him. Taller in stature; firmer in the belly; louder in voice; stronger in drink; deeper in debt; more impressive in bearing than him. I have a wife, a mistress, and a daughter. I’m a Professor of incomparable status and reputation. Think of Sakai Shunzō as your husband, think of him as your lover, think of him as Hayase Chikara—say what you want to say, do what you want to do; you’ll lack for nothing. You need no Buddhist prayers, no Amida—just chant the man’s name with all your heart. Call him Hayase—cling to his sleeve, embrace his chest, Otsuta... Hayase has come; he’s here.”

When he said this, she clung to him; pulling her onto his lap, he cradled her neck in the crook of his arm. Her hands, attempting to grasp him, lacked strength; though they groped and missed two or three times, trembling all the while, they clutched firmly at Professor Sakai's collar, "My throat hurts. Ah, I can't breathe." "You're such an amateur"—she smiled wryly—"but... feed me the medicine through your mouth..."

Sakai showed no hesitation, taking the liquid medicine into his mouth. As it slid thickly down her throat, she fell back in a daze as if losing consciousness— "Mr. Hayase." "Otsuta."

“Mr. Hayase…” “Mmm,” "When the Professor said we could meet earlier—isn’t that wonderful!" Sakai’s tears fell like scattering petals.

Visitation

Forty-Eight

On the sickbed in the hospital room, Hayase - who had been drifting between sleep and wakefulness - suddenly opened his eyes... Since around last night he had gained enough strength to walk unaided to the toilet, meaning the nurse no longer attended him. Michiko, who until then had visited with clockwork regularity every night, hadn't come once since that moment two nights prior... Now even his daytime encounter with Sugako felt separated by worlds, leaving his heart desolate. He shuffled sideways across the room and, finding no messages awaiting him, gripped the sickbed's edge while hunching forward to exit. Once past the doorframe, he discovered his legs steadier than expected. Flickering pillar lamps revealed white metal basins holding pale pink mercury chloride solution along both walls - their pitiable state paradoxically refreshing him as he passed through.

Everywhere lay asleep in silent stillness. With the heat having intensified markedly over the past two or three days, some nurses lay sleeping across doorways—their rooms left open—snowy hems spilling out into the corridor.

Though a dog barked in the distance, mercifully no groans could be heard—the hour had likely grown late, nearing two o'clock. The toilet stood near the front stairs too—where the light was bright, the breeze pleasant, and the corridor cool—but Hayase deliberately chose to enter the dim area beside the farther rear stairs, even walking felt novel to him now. While pouring water that splashed loudly and gazing absently through the small window's lattice at the rice paddies, he saw the moon must have climbed above the roof ridge—its shadow unseen—leaving the green fields glowing pale white.

When the wind blew softly through, the leaf tips parted like waves, and through them—not through the paddy's translucent water—something flickered intermittently. Slow and languid, flowing like lightning through the mist-hazed air where the earth's folds could be counted, it circled low around Mount Daigan's base before vanishing—perhaps the glimmer of a distant electric lamp reflected, or maybe fireflies taking flight.

Shivering from the wash water and that view, he immediately tried to open the door to leave. Something had come and stood outside the door, making him feel such heaviness that he unintentionally hesitated. In the darkness, catching sight of his own daytime-worn yukata's white fabric, he shuddered and coughed, though the sound remained trapped within his mouth. “Mr. Hayase.” “Otsuta?” Startled more by his own uttered voice than the one he’d heard, the moment he strained his ears, he flushed crimson and lost all self-control. The door he desperately tried to yank open creaked slightly as his hand seized something icy cold. When he finally pulled it open, the rear stairs yawned before him like a great pitch-black void, utterly empty.

Near the roof ridge, as if biting the tiles, a night crow cawed, "Caw!" While it cried and flew gliding along, he gazed up in bewilderment; staggering out as if guided, he found himself emerging into the corridor beside the stepped platform just as the voice ceased. When he looked across at a sharp diagonal—before the half-opened door of his hospital room—the figure of a woman flickered into view. Had she exited? Entered? She vanished instantly. With a clatter—even I was startled by how hurriedly my own footsteps rang out—I dashed straight forward, but at the room's entrance found myself frozen as if nailed to the spot.

With a rustling sound—like fluttering cotton—billowing and swirling, tumbling past the bedside shelf flew a large white moth. In the dim lamplight where a pillow lay propped, a shadow resembling a ball fell. On the shelf sat a grand Western-style flower arranged by Sugako, akin to pale yellow velvet—yet his gaze fixed not there, but on the medicine bottle bearing a single streak of residue from a dose he had prepared with care yet forgotten days prior. As something rustled against it, footsteps clattered like someone descending wooden steps, making him turn instinctively toward the front staircase though their source remained unknown. The brightest lamp on the opposite wall flickered faintly, teetering on extinction.

At that moment, as if drawn to the moth—the instant he lunged forward— As he sank to the floor with a choked "It's me—", he heard Otsuta's voice from the ceiling above his feet—faint as a frayed telephone wire, lingering like a dream upon waking, resonating only in his chest—and in that instant, the moth dropped with a thud. When he first became aware—at the toilet door where his cold-gripped left fist had been clenched until now—what fluttered with a thin tail was a gecko. When his hand sprang open in surprise, it fell like a drop, plopping onto the floor—yet he remained rooted in place, unmoving. Without taking his eyes off it, he reached out and took the medicine bottle; overextending himself in his haste, he staggered and caught himself on one knee. Opening his mouth, he poured the liquid in a steady stream—the medicine glinted as it dripped onto the gecko’s head like a glaring eye. No sooner had it fallen than the creature began spinning fiercely like a pinwheel, turning crimson as though drenched in vermilion, its legs trembling as they retracted—Hayase fixed his gaze and stared unwaveringly.

Forty-Nine Hayase held the remaining liquid medicine up to the firelight. Through the transparent liquid, he observed mustard seed-sized bubbles swirling like a miniature storm, prompting a wry smile. "Fascinating!" He hurled the word dismissively, unperturbed. The gecko that had raged crimson mere moments earlier now lay frozen purple on the floor, its blue-tinged belly upturned. Hayase pinched the creature carelessly between his fingers, grabbed tissue paper, and bundled both gecko and medicine bottle into eight meticulous layers. He jammed the package deep into his bedside cupboard's clothing compartment before scanning the area - likely seeking the vanished moth, though no trace remained.

Moreover, on the shelf there remained two other medicine bottles of identical make but differing prescriptions that had fallen into disuse. He grabbed one and smashed it down with a crack—never once looking at the shards littering the floor—then vaulted onto the sickbed in a burst of energy. No sooner had he planted himself in a defiant high cross-legged position than he drilled his gaze down the corridor,

“You fools! Who do you think I am?” No sooner had he spoken than he lay down on his back and pulled the blanket up to his chest—listening to the crowing of roosters, he slept soundly with audacious snores.

As dawn approached, the Director once and the Kōno family matriarch once peered into this hospital room in succession before slipping away without anyone noticing. When Hayase awoke, the attending nurse inquired, "Did you take your medicine?" "The bottle fell and broke, but..." Needless to say, she had offered this reminder. The new bottle had already been delivered, yet he took this dose without hesitation. Just before the lamps were lit that day, Hayase tightened his obi and summoned the nurse,

“Thank you for your care. Thanks to your protection, I’ve managed to recover. They say I may now be discharged, and regarding subsequent convalescence—since someone suggested coming to Shimizu Port where the Kōno family resides—I believe I shall go there. In any case, I’ll first return to the cram school temporarily, but as there are various matters requiring attention, please send someone to summon our janitor. Furthermore, though I apologize for this imposition, there’s a small matter I wish to discuss. Please ask Mr. Kōno to come to this room for a moment. ...No, not the Director—Mr. Eimei in the main house.”

“Ah… I shall inform the esteemed doctor.”

“Please do. Ah, wait—” He called out to stop the white-clad nurse with her plump figure who was about to depart, “If you happen to be engaged in reading, depending on your convenience, I could come to you instead.” Accustomed to such exchanges, she nodded silently and exited the room; footsteps echoed toward the front staircase, followed only by the busy hum of evening cicadas. In some room, the sound of someone reading a newspaper aloud could be heard, but it hadn’t even been five minutes yet. Though he thought she probably hadn’t even fully descended the stairs yet, the nurse clattered back in a flurry and thrust her face in with urgent determination,

"A visitor has arrived." "Mr. Miyahata?"

As he spoke without even catching his breath, Hayase opened his eyes wide and stared blankly. More than the strangeness of last night’s events, the scene now before his eyes seemed rather like a dream—it was only natural he became entranced. Overlapping with the nurse’s white uniform stood a figure in pale yet vivid purple arrow-patterned silk—her crimson satin obi embroidered with silver and Kanzui water motifs tied high at the chest, scarlet deerskin sash draped across her back—cheeks faintly flushed cherry-blossom pink as she stared intently forward. It was O-Tae!

“Oh!—” Dumbfounded, Hayase stared fixedly. “Chikara-san.” With a voice filled with a year’s longing, ten years’ yearning, a century’s affection, she slipped past the nurse and entered straight in— “Are you feeling better now?” She angled her chest slightly and, along with the lacquered-bone fan tucked into her obi, peered in as if to scrutinize. “Miss...” he murmured, still dazed. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” When told this upfront, he finally made a surprised face, “And the Professor?”

“He sends his regards,” she said properly, “and Mother does too.”

Fifty In the narrow space between the sickbed and chair, with that flaming obi blazing before his eyes, he tried to slide down but found himself unable. As though gazing up at stars in an azure sky, he looked up at O-Tae's face. "How did you get here? "With whom? "You. "When? "Which train?" he fired off in one breath.

“By today’s noon train—I’ve just arrived. Sōsuke the fishmonger is with me.” “Yes, Megumi is accompanying you. How did you know about that?” “It’s about Otsuta-san—” She began to speak, her lips trembling slightly, when suddenly her eyelashes grew heavy and tears welled up. Turning around to find the nurse still standing there, she hastily grabbed her sleeve and pressed it against her face. As she hid her features, the sleeve of her ibis-hued linen underrobe slipped down from the edge of her delicate eyebrow, its fabric flipping over as it fell.

“I don’t want to hear that now!” she blurted out curtly. Naturally—she spoke this way because, with someone present to hear the question, she couldn’t contain her tears. The nurse understood,

"Then, um, your message?" "Let's leave that for later. Miss - and the one who accompanied you, Megumi - where is he?" "He's fetching the luggage at the station. He said half a day would be fine if kept on ice, so I brought your favorite fish. If it's the hospital, they'll figure it out right away - I told the driver to come quickly, and... well, I wanted to get here fast too, so I came ahead. Everyone feels that way, yet you're being cruel. You haven't sent any letters. Otsuta-san..."

Her voice clouded over again as she looked at Chikara, who remained silent with his head bowed, "Well, I... you know, I have so many things to talk about." "They said you were hospitalized, so I thought it must be terribly serious, but here you are sitting up." "And yet... Otsuta-san... I... Though I do sometimes reprimand you, since there's important business to attend to, let's take it easy once that's settled, shall we?" With a coquettish air, she immediately shifted to an intimate tone,

"Do you have a penknife?" The question was so abrupt that he couldn't speak... his eyes flew wide open. "Now then—cut my hair cord." "The hair cord? "Yours, Miss?"

“Yes, my hair—” Had Chikara not leaned back, she might have settled onto his lap—without any coquetry, she perched backward on the edge of the sickbed, adjusting the slender drum-shaped knot of her obi at her waist until the scarlet-spotted silk blazed anew. O-Tae bowed her head, extending her jade-like neck, “Cut it now. Come, hurry. Father knows—it’s permitted.” When she turned that beautiful sidelong glance upon him, his hand nearly trembled. The penknife’s tip brushed the hair cord as if in a dream. As O-Tae shook the cascading locks with a light flick, a handful of black tresses fell suddenly from the swirling disarray of wispy strands, coming to rest across Chikara’s lap.

Hayase shuddered as though doused in ice water. "I entrusted it to Otsuta-san. Well, as a memento, I should give this to you—Chikara-san." As she turned toward it and leaned forward against the chair's armrest, the floral part of the ornamental hairpin she had pulled out struck the ribbon and swayed violently,

“I won’t be able to meet anyone else now.” Otsuta’s commemorative hair cord blazed in his right hand as though aflame, while his left hand gripped O-Tae’s excessively long hair—chillingly cold like her silk underrobe turned to ice. Parting her tresses as one would draw water from a well bucket, Chikara now sat firmly upright, his voice steady as he spoke— “The deceased’s hair... Don’t be absurd. Did the Professor approve this? Or was it Madam? Putting this thing in your hair. This is the precious form you need before your social debut, isn’t it? Ah, crane and turtle, crane and turtle...”

He stroked its green luster as though touching something sacred. "I don't care about social advancement. I'll become a hairdresser or whatever!" Boldly straightening up, "Father says you should return to Tokyo once you've recovered, Chikara-san. And then... let's visit the grave together."

Solar Eclipse

Fifty-One

Under the blazing midday sun, not a blade of grass cast a shadow on the farm path, and not a soul was in sight. In the villages, they had lowered the shutters since morning, with some even boarding up their latticework. The countryside observed strict traditions, passing down that a solar eclipse—being an affliction of the sun—brought poison in its shadow, demons in its light, and illness in its heat. That year's eclipse already covered ninety-nine percent of the sun—what they called nearly total.

The hue of the early morning sunrise—murky from its first appearance—neither cleared nor clouded over. Tinged with an egg yolk's turbid pallor, it hung solitary in the endless azure sky. As though another radiant sun existed—a miniature replica of itself—it appeared desolate against the gray heavens above wild mountains.

There was no wind all day. The sweltering, venomous heat pressed down upon the country houses as if to crush them, the air having turned to great bedrock. Infants' wails sank into silence; even chickens perched listlessly on ladders propped beneath eaves lacked the vigor to flap their wings—the very act of gazing upward at the scorched sky seemed freighted with omen. Sunlight piercing through gaps resembled wind-stilled dust, settling like ash upon sleeves—immune to brushing motions, refusing dissolution in shadows—until limbs and faces alike took on a uniform pallor as though congealing into wax or stone, each breath growing more labored than the last.

Midday congealed into a spectacle resembling chaotic clouds coagulating around the sun's yellow orb. The universe teetered on death's brink—its ill-omened messengers being crows that darted ceaselessly like urgent couriers. Like black gravel and gray-winged demons in chaotic flight—as if startled by this omen—the sea began heaving great waves. Winding through mountain roots, leaping over rocks, rolling across shores, surging high into midair—the sea filled heaven and earth with its presence. As if some monstrous shadow sought to obscure the sun's perfect disk, it raged and writhed to cleanse the great ruby's tormented visage. Yet nearing noon, its strength failed utterly. This once-mighty force stilled its turbulent waves, spreading like limp azure cotton across Okitsu, Ejiri and Shimizu before collapsing soundlessly upon Miho's cape, Tago's inlet and Kunō's shore.

The eclipse suddenly began to wane by one-tenth—around two o'clock came the sound of hurried carriage wheels: fugitives of some sort. Eight carriages rumbled continuously for about one chō along the rural road from Shimizu Port toward Kunōzan. The lead carriage carried Lady Fujiko, wife of Kōno Dainagon, followed by Miyahata Sugako, then Tatsuko—new wife of Fukui Prefecture's councilor and third youngest sister—succeeded by the fourth sister Misako with her hair in the Taka Shimada style, currently betrothed to an engineer this summer. The fifth carriage bore Kinuko, a fifteen-year-old beauty. In the sixth rode O-Tae.

The plan to go to Tokyo together... due to certain circumstances... had been halted by Hayase, who instead invited them to go sea bathing at Shimizu Port. Michiko boarded after O-Tae. Bringing up the rear was Sōsuke of the Megumi group - their party of women with flower baskets swarmed like hornets, these men sworn never to leave the precious young lady's side. This was indeed an event proposed by Kōno Eimei, Junior Fifth Rank and Third Order of Merit, the clan's supreme leader, combining scenic viewing with solar eclipse observation from Kunōzan's summit. To these aristocrats, it differed little from cherry blossom or moon viewing parties, but to the awestruck peasants peering through cracks in their shutters, it must have appeared as though celestial turmoil in the Heavenly Palace had sent its inhabitants fleeing.

Meanwhile, their respective husbands—all staying at villas in Shimizu Port—had separately prepared boats to row around Miho and approach Kunō Beach, planning to meet their lovers on the return journey and sail back across the sea while night fishing. The children—the youngest ones—along with their tutors, wet nurses, and others, had remained at the villa that day as a group. As I had mentioned previously, this proposal came from Eimei; Sugako had been the one to clap her hands in immediate agreement; while I gladly consented without objection, Mrs. Miyahata had been particularly delighted.

This was because the academic had published a detailed analysis of that day's phenomenon in a Tokyo newspaper—at a time when no rumors yet existed—based on what Chikara had reportedly heard from an Italian on a train the previous year, which had been relayed by the wife. His name spread instantly throughout the land, and in Shizuoka they even came to call this solar eclipse the "Miyahata Eclipse."

Fifty-Two When passing through the fields, a white heron startled into flight. When leaving the village, the procession's shadows dappled across the pine-leaved peonies in a small shop's garden. The linked carriages cast off their protective covers under the pallid sun. With parasols of varied hues held aloft in every hand—as though five-colored silks were fluttering through midair—they advanced toward Kunō's foothills. A lifeless wind swept coolly by, brushing past the beauties' faces, yet along their path they encountered not a single soul—no travelers, nor even an itinerant monk.

An age of eclipses and upheavals, soldiers and rebellions—this demon-encircled day—when they arrived at the base of Kunō’s stone steps, those rocks like footholds carved into perforations piercing the black clouds veiling the sun’s fortress, all the teahouses stood with doors clamped shut as if in deepest night, not a dragonfly stirring. Seeing how only the bleached-white road lay desolate, as if bathed in bright moonlight, the Great Madam— “How barbaric.” With a mocking laugh, she directed the coachmen to open one shop. After resting briefly and completing preparations—since their return would be by boat, all carriages were decisively sent back—they untied the large bouquet’s strings. The seven kimono hems flowing vertically down the stone steps, their fluttering folding fans resembling butterflies’ wings, began ascending with the Megumi group pushing from behind.

However, when the Kōno clan reached the summit, they would encounter an unexpected figure.

Some time prior, there had been a gentleman of imposing countenance—his long-bearded chin swaying like a bronze statue come alive—supporting a thick, sturdy cane with a glittering silver grip. Wearing a Napoleon hat with its deep visor casting shadows over dark wrinkles carved into his forehead, his entire face seethed with fiery rage as he gazed upward toward the summit. Suppressing the sound of his leather boots, he climbed the stone steps and disappeared into the pine treetops. This was none other than Kōno Eimei, leader of the Kōno clan—positioned here precisely like a dragon-headed prow upon a ship coursing through the sea, just as the Great Madam had envisioned.

When Kōno Eimei reached the vantage point—one final flight of these stone steps before they became the main hall of Tōshōgū Shrine—the sea now hung high upon his broad shoulders like a sturdy framework. To his left lay the famed Kansuke Well; to his right, a valley carved like sliced tofu into thousand-ren cliffs. As he surveyed each lookout pine—their trunks revealing thatched huts of the inlet through gaps, branches draped with white shores, green foliage aligned like rippling waves—his gaze fell upon a youth reclining beneath one such tree. The young man lay stretched across a fixed bench, elbow propped as a pillow, face half-hidden under a snap-brim hat. His folded haori coat tucked into his kimono front, he rested with a small parcel resembling a medicine bottle placed beside his pillowed head.

As he confronted him, when Kōno Eimei thrust his cane forward, [Hayase Chikara] brushed off the hat shielding his face from the sun, rose smoothly to his feet, and met the approach with a resolute, prepared expression. Who could this youth be?—Hayase Chikara, pallid from convalescence, cleanly gaunt like a crane.

Eimei glared sharply from under the eaves,

“That was quick,” he remarked magnanimously with a single nod of his chin. “You’ve worked hard.” Chikara said, looking up. “No—it was I who proposed meeting here, given how taxing this must be for you in your convalescence. Yet it was you who chose to raise such matters—fifty-fifty, eh? Ha ha ha ha,”

His lips moved faintly within his beard as he sneered. Hayase smiled lightly, “Oh, do have a seat.” and tapped the spot beside him with his finger. “Ah, this spot will do. The matter will be quickly understood,” said Eimei, tucking his cane under his arm and placing a cigar between his lips. “That’s a prompt grasp of things. Now, regarding your reply from the other day?” “You said, ‘What’s to be done?’ you see.” “Try saying that again.” “Shall I state it?”

“Hmm,” Kōno Eimei spat out the saliva he’d been sucking in. “Shall we settle this here? If you try giving your answer at Kunōzan like when we met at the hospital the other day, that won’t do. This is Kunōzan, after all. If you say ‘once more,’ we’d have to go to Ryūzanzan or some such place. Then it’d be exactly like tengu convening a gathering.” “Don’t spout nonsense—just state it plainly.”

With a touch of anger at the jest, "If I'm handling this negotiation, I'll settle it here and now!" "First demand!"

he said... Chikara's voice rang clear. "Divorce your wife." Falcon

Fifty-Three Despite this utterance reaching utmost insolence, Kōno Eimei instead listened calmly.

“Why?” “Because your wife committed impropriety with Teizō the groom and bore Miss Michiko.” Compelling himself to conclude his statement, “And then,” “Second: please grant me Miss Michiko.” “For what purpose?” “We are involved.”

“Hmm,” he muttered under his breath. “Third,” “Third—take Ms. Suga back from Shimayama and be done with it.”

“Why?” “You made a promise with me.” “Who with?”

When Kōno abruptly narrowed his eyes in anger, Hayase calmly composed himself, "With me." "Hmm, and then?" "Fourth—shut down the hospital." "Why?" "The medical scholar concocts poison." "There's still more, I see," he calmly inquired. "The Kōno family household has become thoroughly tainted like this... At this point, you surely won't dare commit such insolent acts as scrutinizing other respectable daughters' lineage charts when taking a bride for your son." "Nor will you use your daughters as bait to lure sons-in-law for your clan's prosperity."

“Above all, you must apologize for acting so rudely and inexcusably toward Professor Sakai Shunzō’s daughter—the German literature scholar’s child—without knowing your place.” “If that’s done, the Kōno family will be utterly fragmented—the demise of your so-called family doctrine.” “In that case, you’re a defeated general.” “You should go hole up in Teizō’s stable in Antō Village.” “There—that’s the gist of it.” With his hat, he gently fanned his chest. As if the horrifying echoes of shura battle cries were trying to smother the ever-eclipsing sun against its will—while evening cicadas’ voices seeped into the mountain’s roots—Kōno Eimei spoke in a rough voice,

“Madman!” “Ah, I am a madman. But while other lunatics rant about impossibilities, this madness of mine simply lays out achievable demands with perfect composure.” His tongue slightly slurred, lips twitching, “And if I refuse this request... what would you do, hmm?” he uttered with a heavy sigh.

“With this bottle of poison—though it may seem rather antiquated—I shall humbly yet resolutely proceed.” “Thus your household shall meet its utter annihilation, I daresay.” Eimei barely managed to spit out his invective. "A deception!" "A deception indeed."

“Blackmail, I say!” “Thou—” “Blackmail it is.” “So art thou human?” “A beast, perhaps?” “And yet you call yourself a German teacher?” “No,” “Would one call you a scholar?” “Not at all,”

“A disciple of Sakai?” “Since coming to Shizuoka, I haven’t been that sort of person.” “A deception.” “What... deception?” “Blackmail.” “A beast it is.” “And I am the Kōno family’s sworn enemy.” “Silence!” With a tiger-like growl, he clenched his cane, “You’re being rude. “Shut up, brat.” “What’s this, old man?” he said.

Even as Kōno Eimei burned with fury in both body and spirit, he involuntarily stayed the weapon he was about to swing down, whereupon Hayase Chikara thrust his face forward and laughed uproariously, "Hey, what do you take me for? "I kept my nest in Asakusa's paddies and spread my wings under Kannon's gaze - that's why they called me 'Falcon's Might.' A cutpurse, a pickpocket." "Hahaha! I won't play this game anymore - here's how it is, old man."

Fifty-Four

“When I was a twelve-year-old brat,” “Pushing through the morning-dewed forest—never did move my roost to the deep mountains.” “Like water smacking a frog’s face, that rigged fountain split right through some elder sister’s powdery mug—her white paint flaking off, hair thinning—gushing out with a splash.” “There at the fishing pond—four suits still reeking of last night’s booze, hats cocked every which way like drunkards.” “Fancy that—Hanamachi folks angling for carp at crack of dawn!” “Carp my ass—more like mud loaches from some paddy ditch.” “Officials stumbling home at dawn in their Western getup—what morons fishing there! Peering down from the skylight all high-and-mighty, I went for the gold chain on that crucian carp lookalike!” “That’s when this arm got grabbed with a pained grunt.”

“Were they grabbing me to beat me up or something? I was just fishing with one hand, keeping my cool, huh? I put the caught ones in the basket, and when they glared down saying ‘Hey kid, carry this and follow me!’—that was the first time in my life I ever shrank back.” “This was indeed beyond even the nimble hands of the Falcon. My mistake was not getting a good look at his face back then—you could tell his character just from his bearing. Back then he was a subordinate official in Taiwan, but now he’s Commissioner of Customs at the same office—a Bachelor of Laws named Inasaka, a man like a great roc, with three underlings trailing him.”

Later I heard that on another occasion, he took his newlywed wife to stroll through Hanamachi, met a familiar woman at the latticework, grabbing her hand with a “Let’s go up together,” he rushed into the establishment, then told his proxy, “You wait in the next room tonight—I’ll be entertaining my lover,” before sending the substitute away and bedding the courtesan. What a bold move!

From that point on, the wife didn't feel jealous, and the husband showed not a hint of jealousy. Once, when he left Taiwan for about three months, leaving behind his young wife along with the maid and live-in student, women everywhere were all the same. "The subordinate old hags who'd been there from before—Madams this and Somekos that—they started suspecting the commissioner's wife's young age among themselves." "They doped up the maid and made her spread slander, see?" "When that Bachelor of Laws returned home—'Welcome back! Now about your wife...'—they'd insinuate an affair with the live-in student. Without even properly listening—'Get out!'—he'd bellow."

“Who do you think he said it to? Not to his wife. To that maid.” “How about that? Deeds too slow or too jealous—hardly ordinary folk’s work. Mr. Kōno, I doubt your precious sons-in-law have anything like this.” “The one I grabbed was that man. With my neck hunched and carrying a basket of carp like some fishmonger’s apprentice, I followed along—thinking it good for digestion—strolling aimlessly till noon. Then I wound up at Professor Sakai’s house in Masagocho.”

The school was unattended, but being close friends, he barged right in, and even the apprentice got shown upstairs to the second floor. “Madam, set a tray for this one too,” they said even to the pickpocket, serving the soup course same as the rest. Without letting maids lift a finger – Mrs. Sakai herself, though she was of such standing – she laid out the meal tray in her crepe silk haori. When she gently said “Eat up now, no need for airs,” that’s when these eyes first spilled tears. When the professor came home – four meal trays laid out proper – there’s this scrawny kid sitting there, see? “What’s this?” he asks, and that Bachelor of Laws yaps out “Pickpocket!” right then I decided to stick around. Even mangy curs got soft spots for kindness, y’know.

The Bachelor of Laws took out one yen, saying, “Here’s your payment and a tip,” then 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 and wept, Madam’s voice—overflowing with pity—trembled as she said, “You have no parents, do you?” though I never imagined she’d sound so moved. “How about eating dinner here tonight and tomorrow’s meal here too? We’ll keep you fed in the Sakai household, Falcon.” Then, imitating a parent bird’s call, he chirped those German words that still flutter in my memory.

“In this world, Mr. Kōno, there’s folks who’d raise and nurture even a monkey like me—yet you lot, what preposterous notions you cling to! Using precious daughters as pawns, picking sons-in-law by their fat paychecks to prop up family prestige—what sort of lunacy is that? These girls get born human—born beauties at that—without ever tasting life’s fleeting colors or love’s passions, stuffed blindfolded into some man’s arms like trussed-up songbirds. You bark orders—‘Be chaste! Be wise! Be dutiful!’—but think your cheap magic tricks’ll make it stick? Like hell they will!”

"Just watch—if I so much as brush my arm like this, all those chaste women and wise mothers and dutiful wives that schools and moralists have crafted like rice-flour confections will come clattering down like a cascade of toppling shogi pieces."

Eimei's eyes were bloodshot.

Fifty-Five “This ain’t just about the Kōno household. In this whole damned world, there’s nothin’ crueler than parents marryin’ off their daughters for family gain however they please. They spout pretty lies about ‘your own good’ and box ’em in till there’s no way out—how’s some sixteen-, seventeen-year-old innocent girl who don’t know nothin’ ’bout life supposed to shake her head no?” “When she blushes all shy-like, gets dizzy-headed and looks down—that’s when they seal the deal. They load that red-faced bastard boilin’ with rage into a rickshaw, force-feed ’im liquor like some revival tonic—that’s what they call the san-san-kudo ritual.” “Sleep there and wake up somebody’s wife.”

“If she carelessly speaks to another man, people will immediately start gossiping about this and that. So if the two become connected and walk around putting on some dazzling show, the parents will flaunt their pride like they’re clad in crimson-laced armor, eh?” “Don’t you know that if you let a daughter be with the man she loves, she’d be happier carrying a miso strainer than wearing a jeweled crown? To others it may look like a straw mat, but to her, it’s brocade. A husband, hey—ain’t his parents’ property.”

“If you think I’m lying, go ask Ms. Michiko yourself. ‘Rather than being the hospital director’s wife—even if she has to live in a stable—she wants to make a household with Hayase.’ Ask Okan-san too.” “You insolent wretch?” Eimei’s beard quivered in color; his open mouth resembled black smoke. “I’m well aware I’m being insolent. That I was aware of my insolence—call it insolent all you like, I won’t so much as flinch. Praise me as bold and I’d be shocked.” “There’s no need to panic now—I’ve known from the start. In a household like yours, carrying on affairs with daughters you’ve married off is easier by far than taking maids to the theater—that’s standard practice.”

“There’s no point putting on airs now. If you’re saying I’m not afraid—” He smiled. “Quit making that boorish face and listen properly. I’m telling you—”

“Hey, there’s more to shock you yet. Here’s another branch you’re counting on to make your family tree flourish—that fourth daughter of yours. The untouched young lady who just returned from Tokyo for summer break? She’s been violated by your precious medical scholar.” “They had me pose as the poisoner. To hush up Ms. Michiko’s nearly exposed incident, they pushed it onto the director through the matriarch’s arrangement.” “My partner Manta—a childhood friend from a pickpocket gang—has dutifully provided all the evidence.”

"It was all for the family’s sake, wasn’t it? To protect the Kōno family’s honor—knowing full well about past misdeeds and having clashed with Ms. Michiko—didn’t you try to poison someone called Hayase while ruining one of your own daughters?" "That’s precisely my point! This is what it means to call parents cruel who value their household over their own children." "Why won’t you kneel and confess? Admit you were wrong! From now on you’ll never again exploit your lovely daughters for reputation’s sake. You won’t flaunt your pedigree or insult other daughters—don’t you dare cower now!"

“Even without sacrificing one child or faking poison, you still won’t shave your head and apologize, will you?”

Fifty-Six Without so much as a change in expression, he continued, "And what did you say?—Just the other day at the hospital, before these negotiations began, when I asked you plainly—" "When I inquired, 'Even though you insist on wanting Miss Taeko—who's actually the daughter of a Yanagibashi geisha—as Mr. Eikichi's bride, would that still present no issue?' you made that utterly scandalized face and declared, 'No—that's preposterous!'" "'If she's of such base lineage,' you said, 'even were Eikichi to pine away to death over it, we parents would never consent.'" "You claimed it concerned the family honor, didn't you?"

"This isn't just about you people. The world's crawling with these ruthless schemers—that's why I held up your precious Kōno clan as a shining example for all those bastards." "This marriage proposal was doomed from the start, but picture this: after the Professor gave his blessing and the young lady fell for the man, they spring some damn lineage investigation at the last moment. How do you think the Professor and his wife—no, how do you think she herself would feel getting dumped just for being a geisha's brat?"

“That’s precisely why we considered it—the noble intention of the Professor and his wife, who raised some title-bearing rogue apprentice who couldn’t mingle with decent folk into a proper man, then deigned to declare: ‘If he’s smitten with our precious daughter, we’ll let her marry him.’ "For the Edo-born young lady who vowed to outdo pseudo-moralists like Sakata by standing shoulder-to-shoulder with pickpocket scum—discarding one life to repay a full debt of gratitude comes cheap, even if I had two to spare." "What a pity for you." "You must find this quite the inconvenience.”

he said with a polite smile, "Do you think pickpockets can work while weighing people's inconvenience and pity? When dealing with scoundrels—preach reason and duty all you like—they’re not half as fearsome as a policeman. You’ll deal with them without a word. Your army’s been defeated; count it a loss." "Even if you raise the Kōno banner over stone walls that crumble at a thief’s touch and moats ants could breach—it’s still a fool’s errand." "You must be choking on rage. Strike if you want to strike, kill if you want to kill. I’ve no noble reason to die knowing duty—this life was given to the young lady, so I’ll cast it off. And explain myself to Ms. Michiko and Ms. Sugako too." "I won’t be lonely dead—my wife’s gone ahead and waits."

Otsuta and another had resolved to become venomous snakes guarding dear Miss Taeko. "Look," he said, "they say that jewel in the Dragon Palace—coiled about by an evil dragon—will curse to death any unworthy soul who dares approach." "They’ve been cursed, they’ve been cursed." Pointing at Miss Taeko, he declared: "You all have been cursed." Placing his hands on his knees and turning toward the sea—now suddenly darkened as if sinister forces raced across it—his face took on a contemplative cast under the fearsome eclipsed sun's light. Gazing at the shadow of that evil dragon beneath the waves, the visage of this falcon-powered man rather resembled that of a philosopher.

Eimei remained silent like a moss-covered stone that did not move.

When the pheasant let out a resounding cry, the mountain darkened.

As the youngest daughter climbed resolutely first to peer at the star in Kansuke Well, followed one by one by others who materialized like hazy spirits of famed beauties, Eimei—apparently prepared all along—suddenly drew a pistol from his robe's fold and aimed directly at Hayase's chest. In that critical moment when Sōsuke tried to restrain him only to be thrown down, Michiko and Sugako—seeing Chikara's peril at a glance—shielded him desperately with their bodies, backs arched and chests bared. Eimei turned his face away with a sigh, then instantly shifted his aim. Amidst swirling gunpowder smoke, he shot down the Matriarch instead. Gazing upward at the eclipsed sun's countenance, this arrogant commander pierced his own brain.

Embracing and exchanging glances, the beautiful sisters hurled themselves headlong over the cliff's edge. Alas, the lingering affections of Michiko and Sugako—clinging like ivy vines—differed not from shattered coral reefs at the bottom of a ruined world's sea. At that moment, far across the waters—appearing like a star in the lightless day—a single white sail anchored to the heavens marked the ship bearing their two husbands, its form resembling a corpse's shadow. Chikara raised his hand high to shield Taeko from seeing it.

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—holding Otsuta’s black tresses—resolutely drank the poison.

Hayase had left two suicide notes—one addressed to Professor Sakai and the other to Kōno. The one addressed to Bachelor Kōno was:

Mr. Eikichi... It is true that Mrs. Miyahata sought to ensnare me through intellect and beauty for your benefit. It is equally true that I myself, exploiting Michiko's gentle and compliant disposition, contrived to foster affection. Yet neither woman's virtue was tainted. As this amounted only to mutual tacit understanding, I entreat you not to question the moral integrity of your esteemed sisters. Particularly regarding the alleged impropriety between your mother and her groom—this was naught but vulgar rumor among the rabble. Having verified its falsehood, I despaired at failing my original purpose; yet whether fortune or misfortune, through encountering an ailing man named Teizō at Asama Shrine's precincts by chance, I succeeded in staging a deception to draw out your elder sister. Thus regarding your fourth sister's affair—and having deduced the poison rumors' groundlessness upon observing midnight moths perish at the lamp—I conspired with my associate Manta, had him concoct the toxin which I myself cast into a medicine bottle, and forthwith challenged your family's authority.

Infidelity, poisoning—even between fathers and sons, husbands and wives, those closest and dearest—to ascertain their veracity, I struck the Kōno household like lightning with unutterable conditions. I am a pickpocket thief; from the outset against enemies, I believed no harm lay in employing schemes and stratagems, sowing discord through sacrifice—any ruthless tactic whatsoever. In essence, I had merely hoped you—perched upon pride of lineage—might permit some fissure in your armor, that your noble blood might yield some concession before one such as Hayase. Never did I foresee Kunōzan's developments. While lamenting your household's severity—that momentary fury allowing no reconsideration—I simultaneously express profoundest respect for that unyielding doctrine permitting no impurity to taint its crystalline clarity.

Eikichi, to the fullest extent possible, embody my will and construct a second household more beautiful and pure. It bore sentiments along the lines of: "Does one not perceive life's vital spirit?"—and similar expressions. Eikichi—whose vision had been shrouded by clouds of clan prosperity, who had forgotten both his own existence and scholarly independence—let out a profound sigh as if to question Chikara when the eclipse lifted on that darkened day. His mind attained clarity; his eyes blazed with illumination.

Hayase resolutely [and so forth], with twenty-one lines deleted.—Please read the entire first and latter installments with this understanding. When first serialized in the newspaper, these twenty-one lines were absent. When later published in book form, superfluous additions had been made for editorial reasons.

Or perhaps out of consideration for those readers possessing this very volume, that they might harbor concerns regarding this passage.

Meiji 40 (1907), January–April