Pathway to Japanese Literature

(At Shuzenji Temple in Izu, there exists what is called Lord Yoriie's mask. The maker remains unknown. Its origin remains unknown. Carved from wood, this mask's features had blurred with age, yet its timeworn appearance evoked a peculiar poetic charm when beheld. (Recalling those days, this account was composed.))

Cast of Characters Mask Artisan: Yasha-ō Yasha-ō's Daughter: Katsura

Same: Kaede Kaede's Husband: Haruhiko Minamoto no Yoriie Shimoda Goro Kageyasu Kaganokubo Yukichika Shuzenji Monk Yukichika's Retainers and Others

Act One

Izu Province, Kano Manor, Shuzenji Village (present-day Shūzenji), by the Katsuragawa River—Yasha-ō's dwelling. A thatched-roof, aged two-story structure. Tattered walls hung with dance masks and the like; at the front, a navy-blue noren marking the entrance. In the lower area, a hearth had been cut out, with unglazed earthenware teapots hung nearby. The garden entrance—a gate woven from bamboo; outside, a great willow tree. Beyond its rear, separated by fields, stretched the continuing peaks of Tō-no-mine—mountains or hills—appeared.

Genkyū 1, July 18 (1204). (The single-room structure adjoining the upper level of the two-story building served as the workshop, its three sides hung with aged reed screens. Along the garden fence where autumn grasses bloomed lay a coarse straw mat, upon which sat the elder daughter Katsura, twenty years of age. The younger sister Kaede, eighteen years old. Facing each other, they pounded the paper mallet.) Katsura (eventually stopped pounding the mallet) "I've been pounding this over an hour straight. My shoulders and arms have gone completely numb." "Haven't we done enough? Shouldn't we stop?" Kaede: "That being said, we had Bon festival break till yesterday. Shouldn't we put proper effort into working from today onward?"

Katsura: “If you want to work, then work alone.” “Father and Lord Haruhiko will both praise you.” “I refuse—I can’t endure this any longer.” (She flung down the mallet as though casting off filth) Kaede: “We sisters labor at this humble craft, yet you grow weary of the paper mallet we’ve pounded these many years—declaring you can no longer bear it—your recent manner so altered from former days—what has wrought this change?” Katsura (sneering): “No—unchanged from days of old.” “Not changed one whit.” “I never cared for such things from the first.” “Had Father gone to Kamakura as he ought, we wouldn’t live thus—yet clinging to his precious ‘artisan spirit’ that scorns renown, he hides us in these Izu mountain hovels—dragging even his children into rustic obscurity—leaving us no choice but this wretched existence.” “Still—I’ll not dream of rotting here forgotten.” “Consider our Shuzenji paper we pound now—though first shaped by base hands, once hailed as Charming Paper and sent into the world—even noble hands may touch it.” “A woman’s path runs no differently.” “Though raised in lowliness—should Charming Paper’s hues prove fair—one might still be summoned to the regent-chancellor’s very presence—so why must we lowborn women pound paper mallets until when?” “Is it so unreasonable that I say I can’t endure it?”

Kaede: “That may be your constant refrain, but each person has their proper station. To cling to such dreamlike hopes of being summoned to the Lord Shogun’s inner circle—your heart soars ever higher, but what will become of you? I cannot help but worry.” Katsura: “Your heart and mine are cut from different cloth. You, my younger sister, are eighteen this year and have taken a man named Haruhiko. In contrast, I, your elder sister, have reached twenty years this very day without securing a husband—precisely because I refuse to spend my entire life rotting away in some thatched hovel. You all—content to live as artisans’ wives—could never understand my heart.” (Scoffs derisively.)

(Kaede's husband Haruhiko, in his twenties, emerged from the rear.)

Haruhiko: “Lady Katsura. You speak of artisans as if they were base creatures—but among countless craftsmen, does not the mask maker’s trade bring shame to none in this world? Need I remind you? Since Japan’s very dawn, was it not Prince Shōtoku who first carved dance masks? Then Lord Fujiwara no Tamenori after him? Great Master Kūkai? Kasuga of the Treasury Ministry? From such noble forebears to our present day—can you not see ours is a lineage of artisans most venerable?” Katsura: “The craft holds no nobility. It is Prince Shōtoku and Lord Tamenori themselves who were noble. Those exalted ones likely never practiced mask-making as their livelihood...”

Haruhiko: "Is it demeaning as livelihood? You speak of such a different matter. Even were I to create a peerless mask tomorrow and gain renown as the greatest under heaven, would you still scorn me as a mere artisan?" Katsura: "What nonsense. Even heaven's greatest artisan remains an artisan—they'll never equal court nobles or warriors." Haruhiko: "Are court nobles and warriors truly so noble? Are artisans truly so lowly?" Katsura: "How tedious. It's obvious enough…"

(Katsura turned her face away, refusing to engage. As Haruhiko glowered and pressed forward, Kaede frantically interposed herself between them.) Kaede: "Ah now—once my elder sister sets her mind thus, her temperament drives her to argue without relent. It would be ill-advised to oppose her." "Pray cease this quarrel at once." Haruhiko: "Knowing that temperament full well is why I've endured daily—yet 'excessive' falls short of describing how her words overstep bounds." "Through marital ties to my wife, you grow haughty when standing as sister—this detestable arrogance that so lightly demeans me." "By circumstance's measure, I'll not have you called sister."

Katsura: “Oh, even were I never called sister again, it would matter not. Having a mere artisan for a brother-in-law does nothing for a sister’s standing or achievements.” Haruhiko: “You dare say more?” (As Haruhiko pressed forward again, Kaede restrained him with concern.) At this moment, from behind the workshop curtain came Father’s voice. Yasha-ō: “Enough of this clamor. Will you not quiet down?” (Hearing this, Haruhiko checked himself.)

Kaede rose and lifted the reed curtain to reveal Yasha-ō of Izu—a man past fifty in a black-lacquered cap, straight-sleeved robe, and narrow hakama—carving a wooden mask with chisel and mallet. (Around his knees lay scattered wood shavings.)

Haruhiko: “She persists in baseless arguments—this careless blunder that hinders our craftwork—I humbly beg your understanding.” Kaede: “This too stems from me having spoken presumptuous words to Elder Sister.” “You’ll scold Elder Sister and Master Haruhiko properly too, won’t you?” Yasha-ō: “Oh, why would I scold them? I’ll not scold them.” “Sisterly quarrels are common enough.” “There’s nothing strange in that.” “Now then—the day already wanes.” “The autumn dusk wind pierces deep.” “You lot—to the rear with you. Prepare supper and tend the lamps.”

The two: “Yes.” (Katsura and Kaede rose and entered the rear.) Yasha-ō: “Now, Haruhiko. Unlike her younger sister, she’s an elder sister with a certain disposition. If you share the same roof day and night through three hundred sixty days yearly, many will prove trying—but bear all matters for my sake. The mother who bore her once served capital nobles—by fate’s twist she became this Yasha-ō’s wife and drifted eastward, yet her upbringing bred such haughtiness she could never accept an artisan’s lot. She died lamenting her hollow life while rotting beside me. Though born of one womb and lineage, these sisters differed—the elder inheriting her mother’s courtly blood, the younger her father’s artisan spirit. As their hearts diverged, so did parental love: their mother favored the elder, their father the younger. In our own rivalries over favoring children—we even had foolish marital squabbles at times.” “Ha ha ha ha ha.”

Haruhiko: “If that be accepted—though Lady Katsura daily scorns artisans and prides herself that none but renowned court nobles or warriors could make worthy husbands—this too stems from her mother’s bloodline. Truly, blood will out.” Yasha-ō: “Therefore, no matter what she says, I shall seldom take offense. Born with such lofty pride that she regards none as her equals—being her mother’s child makes this inevitable.”

(The evening bell tolled. From the rear, Kaede came out holding a lamp.)

Haruhiko: “Ah, I’d forgotten amidst the commotion. I suppose I must go to Ōni Town now to retrieve the chisel and small knife I had custom-made the other day.” Kaede: “Today has already grown dark. Why not have it done tomorrow…"

Haruhiko: "No, no—these are vital tools for an artisan. I should secure them without delay." Yasha-ō: "Oh, an artisan must maintain such resolve. Go now—go before the hour grows late!"

“Though night has fallen, this oft-trod path holds no mystery—I shall return ere long.”

(Haruhiko departed.) Kaede stood at the gate watching him leave. A monk from Shuzenji Temple holding a lantern led the way, followed by Lord Minamoto no Yoriie aged twenty-three. Behind them came Shimoda Goro Kageyasu, seventeen or eighteen years of age, bearing Lord Yoriie's long sword.

Monk: “Behold! This is the Lord Shogun’s secret visit. You must not make any missteps!”

(Kaede gasped and prostrated herself.) As Lord Yoriie and his retinue advanced inside, Yasha-ō too came forth to greet them. Yasha-ō: Though your arrival was unforeseen and we’ve made no proper preparations, please first proceed yonder. (Minamoto no Yoriie takes a seat on the veranda.) Yasha-ō: And what might be the nature of your lordship's request? Yoriie: You’ve likely discerned it already without needing to ask. “To leave our visage as a memento for posterity, we previously summoned you and ordered a mask made in our likeness—even sending a portrait. Yet days pass without completion, with repeated delays offered. What reason lies in this prolonged deferral until now?”

Goro: “No matter how intricate the crafting of a single mask may be—regardless of care invested—it shouldn’t consume a hundred days. This commission was ordered at spring’s beginning—half a year now wasted without presentation. Such negligence tolerates no further delay, for His Lordship’s displeasure burns without restraint.”

Yoriie: “We are impatient by nature.” “No matter how many days We wait or nights pass—no resolution comes. With frustration growing unbearable, We deemed messengers futile and have deigned to come Ourself to press you.” “How dare you neglect this commission?” “Account for yourself—explain thoroughly.” Yasha-ō: “I deeply regret incurring Your Lordship’s displeasure.” “To carve Your Lordship’s visage—you who bear both the title of Barbarian-Subduing Generalissimo and pillar of the Minamoto clan—is my craft’s highest honor and my being’s pride. How could I treat this with negligence?” “These six months since accepting Your Lordship’s commission—though my skill be wanting—I’ve carved day and night to my limits. Yet not one piece satisfies, forcing remaking after remaking. Thus against my will delays compound—I beg your gracious understanding.”

Yoriie: “Hmph—the same excuses every time We press you… We’ve had our fill of that justification!” Goro: “At this point, mere delays will no longer suffice. Set a definitive completion date and offer your apology in advance.” Yasha-ō: “I cannot name that date. Do you imagine masks spring forth simply by holding a chisel left and mallet right? Housewrights raising beams differ fundamentally from us mask artisans—we who carve lifeless timber to implant every soul of man and woman, celestial being and yasha demon, rakshasa fiend; all manifestations of virtue and vice.” “Only when vitality coursing through my limbs converges naturally—when my spirit flows through him like a current—does the mask take form.” “But whether that moment comes in half a month, one month, or even a year or two… Not even I can say with certainty.”

“Lord Yasha-ō,” said the monk, “as His Lordship himself has proclaimed, he is a man of most impatient temperament. Should you continue offering slippery replies like those freed eels at Mishima Shrine—answers with neither head nor tail—his displeasure will only mount fiercer. As one who takes pride in your craft’s honor, you would do well to set a clear date and make proper answer.” “Even so,” Yasha-ō retorted, “it cannot be done, I tell you.”

“Nonsense! Could there be anything beyond your skilled hands?” “Among the many mask artisans—when they speak of Yasha-ō of Izu—why, your fame resounds even to Kyoto and Kamakura...”

“Well, that is precisely why I say it cannot be done,” Yasha-ō declared. “When they speak of Yasha-ō of Izu, even I am not entirely unknown among men. Even should I incur punishment, to leave behind in this world a craft that does not resonate with my own heart—that would be truly unbearable.”

Yoriie: “What… ‘Unbearable,’ you say….” “If that be your answer—even should I incur divine wrath—you insist it cannot be completed with haste?”

Yasha-ō: "With all due respect... To complete it hastily—" Yoriie: "Hmph—prepare yourself, wretch."

(Yoriie, his irritation reaching its peak, snatched the greatsword Goro was presenting and was about to draw it.) (From the rear, Katsura rushed out.) Katsura: "Now, now—if you would kindly wait a moment."

Yoriie: “Hmph—away with you! Out of my sight!”

Katsura: “Kindly compose yourself.” “I shall present the mask at once.” “Now, Father.”

(Yasha-ō remained silent and did not answer.)

“What? The mask is already finished?”

Yoriie: “Hmph—you wretch.” “Making contradictory claims to deceive Us, are you?” Katsura: “No, no—it is no falsehood.” “The mask has indeed been completed.” “Here, Father.” “There can be no further debate.”

Kaede: “That’s exactly right. Why not present that mask you finally completed last night…” Monk: “Excellent, excellent! You too are but a mortal. You must cherish your name, but you must also cherish your life. If there exists a completed mask, present it swiftly to His Lordship and plead for mercy—that would be the wisest course of action.”

“Is it your life you cherish? Your reputation?” “This matter concerns none of you.” “Hold your tongue.”

"Then again—can we simply overlook this?"

“Now then, my lady. Bring that mask here and show it to him without delay. Hurry, hurry!”

Kaede: “Aye, aye.”

(Kaede rushed into the workshop and carried out the box containing the wooden mask.) Katsura received it and offered it before Yoriie. Yoriie gazed wordlessly at Katsura’s face, his demeanor appearing slightly softened. Katsura: “Proof beyond falsehood—kindly behold this.”

(Yoriie took the mask and gazed intently at it, then let out an involuntary exclamation of admiration.) Yoriie: “Ah, magnificent!” “You have carved it masterfully!” Goro: “It is His Lordship’s very face made flesh.”

Yoriie: "Hmm." (Unable to look away, he continued gazing intently.)

The monk derisively chuckled. “Did I not say precisely this? To have completed such a masterpiece yet stubbornly withheld it—Lord Yasha-ō, you remain a man beyond comprehension.” His laughter echoed through the workshop. “Ha ha ha ha ha!” Yasha-ō straightened his posture, the cedar shavings crunching beneath his knees. “Though I had resolved not to show others this work that fails to meet my standards,” he declared, his voice roughened by decades of wood dust, “circumstances leave no alternative.” His calloused fingers brushed invisible imperfections from his robe. “How does this mask appear before your esteemed eyes?” Yoriie rotated the carved visage, firelight glinting off its lacquered surface. “Truly worthy of the name Yasha-ō—a most remarkable artisan.” The shogun’s thumb traced the mask’s brow ridge where wood grain mimicked mortal veins. “We are satisfied.”

Yasha-ō: "Though I must respectfully decline Your Excellency's splendid praise through my own poor judgment, this mask stands as Yasha-ō's life's greatest failure. Pray examine it closely. The mask lies dead."

Goro: To think the mask is dead... Yasha-ō: "The masks I've carved through the years—people called them lifelike, and I permitted such praise. Yet mysteriously, this mask alone... however I rework it, shows no vital hue—a soulless corpse's visage..." "That is no mask of any living being in this world." "It is a dead man's countenance." Goro: Though you declare it so, to our eyes it remains a living man's face— "It bears no likeness to a dead man's features, I must say."

“No—no matter how I re-examine it, this bears no resemblance to living flesh,” Yasha-ō declared. “Moreover, its eyes harbor malice—as though cursing some unseen foe—resembling nothing so much as vengeful wraiths or spectral phantoms…” The monk interjected, “Ah, now—such ill-omened words must not be spoken! If it satisfies Your Lordship’s desire, then all is well—we should offer humble thanks.” Yoriie grunted. “Regardless—this mask meets my expectations.” His hand closed possessively over the wooden visage. “I shall claim it!” “If Your Excellency insists…” Yasha-ō’s voice trailed into resentful silence.

Yoriie: “Ah, We desire it!” “There.” (When Yoriie indicated with his chin, Katsura understood, placed the mask into the box, and offered it to him with a hint of coquetry.) (Yoriie stared fixedly at that face.) Yoriie: “No—this lord has yet another request.” “We desire to take this girl into Our service—does she possess the will to serve?” Yasha-ō: “While deeply grateful for Your Excellency’s gracious will, this matter rests with the individual’s own heart—a parent cannot presume to answer in their stead.”

(Katsura stepped forward without hesitation.)

Katsura: “Father.” “I beg you… let me serve.”

Yoriie: “An obedient one.” “You declare your wish to serve?”

“Yes.”

“Then from this moment forth, present that mask and accompany Yoriie.”

Katsura: “As you command, my lord.” (Yoriie rose. Goro also rose. Katsura rose following. Kaede grabbed her sister’s sleeve and whispered anxiously.) Kaede: “Sister… You’re entering into service…” Katsura: “You laughed at my dream-like hope earlier—but that very dream-like hope has now come to pass.”

(Katsura looks back with pride and steps down into the garden.)

“Well, well—with this, even this humble monk can finally breathe easy.” “Lord Yasha-ō, we shall meet again tomorrow.”

(Yoriie, about to depart, stumbled over an object.) (Katsura rushed over and took his hand.)

Yoriie: “Oh—it’s grown dark without notice.” (The monk steps forward and passes a lantern to Katsura.) Katsura hands the mask box to the monk; I take hold of the lantern with one hand and lead Yoriie out with the other.

(Yasha-ō stood deeply engrossed in contemplation.)

Kaede: “Father... You should see them off.” (Yasha-ō, as if realizing for the first time, saw them off at the entrance together with his daughter.) Goro: “Your reward shall be decided at a later time.”

(Yoriie and his retinue departed one after another.)

Yasha-ō stood up and remained silent for a time, then stomped onto the veranda. He brought a hammer from the workshop, took down the various masks hanging on the wall, and poised to smash them. Kaede, startled, clung to him. “Ah! Father—what are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” “I was driven to desperation with no alternative—submitting my crude work became my irreversible misfortune,” Yasha-ō lamented inwardly. “Should such a mask pass into the Shogunate’s hands, recorded in treasure ledgers as ‘the work of Yasha-ō of Izu,’ leaving mockery for a thousand years... Lifelong disgrace! Eternal humiliation! The name Yasha-ō would be ruined.” His grip tightened on the hammer. “This craftsman ends today—never again shall I lift this tool.”

“Father, you are being rather short-tempered,” said Kaede. “Even the greatest masters cannot control whether their work succeeds—it’s all the whim of the moment. If one creates even a single splendid masterpiece in their lifetime, does that not make them a true master?”

Yasha-ō: "Hmm." Kaede: "If you find such bitter regret in having released crude craftsmanship into the world, then henceforth apply yourself with redoubled vigor! Create magnificent masks that startle both heaven and mankind alike—I implore you to cleanse this disgrace."

(Kaede clung to him and wept.) Yasha-ō did not answer, his eyes closed in contemplation. As day fell, the sound of a flute echoed in the distance.

Act 2

At the edge of Katsura River, near Kokei Bridge. By the riverside stood a few willows, with miscanthus and reeds growing in wild tangles. Across the bridge, the temple gate of Shuzenji came into view.

The same evening.

(Shimoda Goro carried Lord Yoriie’s sword while the monk cradled the mask box.) Goro: “His Lordship deigned to stroll along the riverside with Lady Katsura, ordering us attendants to proceed ahead—yet the Shuzenji residence now lies directly before our eyes. Shall we stand at this bridge’s edge and wait together for their return awhile?”

“No, no—that would hardly be proper,” said the monk. “Having found such a graceful lady as Lady Katsura, His Lordship is wholly absorbed in their moonlit stroll—if unwanted interlopers like ourselves linger here, we would only sour His Lordship’s mood.” “Well, if you say so,” replied Goro.

(Even so, Goro lingered with an uneasy air.) Monk: Especially as this humble monk bears responsibility for the bath—I must return promptly to make preparations. Goro: "A bath's water boils and rises on its own. There's no need to rush the preparations... Just wait." Monk: "Now, now—such vulgar pragmatism ill suits one of your station. Monks and warriors have no place intruding where young lovers share tender words. Ha ha ha! Come along, come along!"

(The monk pulled forcibly on his sleeve.) Goro, though reluctant, was dragged along and led across the bridge. The moon rose.

(Katsura held a lantern and led Yoriie out by the hand.) Yoriie: “Ah—the moon has risen.” “To walk along this riverside by night... Among reeds tangled with miscanthus roots—the murmur of water, insects’ chorus... Autumn nights in these mountain dwellings hold a particular charm.” Katsura: “Though I’ve grown accustomed to our rustic ways... How different this must feel from Kamakura Mountain’s star-strewn nights.” “These Izu autumn evenings must seem unbearably lonely to you.”

(Yoriie sat on a nearby stone, while Katsura stood leaning against the bridge railing, still holding the lantern.) (The moon shone brightly, the sound of insects faintly audible.) Yoriie: “Kamakura may be the realm’s seat of power—where great and minor lords line their warrior quarters with rooftops vying in splendor—but that is mere superficial glory. Its underbelly is a terrifying alley of sins—a den of demons.” “No place for humans to dwell.” “Not even in dreams would I return to such a place.” (Looking up at the moon) Katsura: “Had Your Lordship remained prospering at Kamakura Mountain—we who grew up in mountain dwellings would never have been deemed worthy even by lowly officials of Japan’s foremost Shogunate. Though your fortune may seem meager—it is my greatest blessing.” “This past March I shall never forget—on the descent from my pilgrimage to the cave shrine—at the headwaters of Katsuradani Valley—when I first had the honor of meeting Your Lordship.”

“Ah! When We asked your name then, you said it was Katsura—the same as the river’s.”

Katsura: But that wasn’t all. “At this cave’s headwaters stand two Katsura trees,” I humbly explained, “from whose roots springs rise unbidden. As their waters flow down to Shuzenji, so the river gained its name—Katsura. And since ancient times, those trees have been called the Married Couple Katsuras.” When I finished this account, Your Lordship—what did you deign to say? Yoriie: Even unfeeling trees have their wedded pairs. “Even among humans there must be wedded pairs... We believe We jested so carelessly then.”

Katsura: “Whether Your Lordship spoke in jest or earnest, those words overflowed with such divine favor that—to ensure this wish would be granted—for a hundred days I made secret daily pilgrimages to the cave. There, the Married Couple Katsura trees showed their sign: even the river’s untraceable waters flowed together in joyous union… And now this very moonlit night finds me summoned to Your Lordship’s side—such is the measure of divine favor…” Yoriie: “Does serving at the side of this ill-fated Yoriie truly bring you such joy? You must already know this full well. We once kept a concubine called Wakasa—daughter of Hiki no Jō Yoshimochi—but when Yoshimochi fell, pitifully Wakasa too departed this world. From this moment forth, you shall be Our second concubine, bearing that same name of Wakasa.”

“Um… I’m to be Wakasa no Tsubone…?” “Yes, I humbly thank you.”

“Where warm waters spring forth, there too well up warm human affections,” declared Yoriie. “Having lost love, I have here gained new affection—the pain in my heart at last healed.” He gazed at the moonlit riverbank. “Now that I’ve severed all earthly desires, I would spend my days peacefully in this land.” Yet clouds veiled the moon. “Should this hope too lie shattered,” he continued, voice hardening, “and ill befall Us, you shall keep as memento that mask your father struck for Us.” The Shogun’s fingers tightened on the bridge railing. “Uncle Kama-dono—innocent of any crime—became one with Shuzenji’s earth.” His laughter held no mirth. “Our fate may yet tread that same path—sooner or later.”

(The moon hid—darkness fell.) Two soldiers clad in armored sleeves, shin guards, and belly armor emerged from above and below to lurk within a clump of miscanthus. (The insects’ chirping suddenly ceased.)

“The chorus of chirping insects around us… ceased as if snuffed out.”

Yoriie: “People have come.” “Be on your guard.” (Kaganokubo Yukichika, in his thirties, appeared in eboshi cap, hitatare robes, armored sleeves, and shin guards.) Yukichika: “Lord, have you taken residence here?” Yoriie: “Who goes there?” (Katsura held up the lantern. Yoriie became visible through it.) Yukichika: “Kaganokubo Yukichika at your service.” Yoriie: “Oh, Hyōe? “From Kamakura—how did you come here?” Yukichika: “As Lord Hōjō’s messenger…” Yoriie: “What? Lord Hōjō’s messenger…— “So—this plot aims to strike down Yoriie!”

“This was unforeseen by me,” Yukichika said with ominous courtesy. “This humble servant comes solely to pay respects—there exist no other particulars.”

Yoriie: “Silence, Hyōe. This midnight arrival clad in full armor—We surmise it to be a stratagem under Hōjō’s secret orders to ambush Us…” Yukichika: “Though Yukichika says the realm has at last been pacified, the Heike remnants remain undestroyed. Moreover, as there have been reports of bandits roaming the mountain paths west of Hakone, Yukichika has adopted this fearsome attire as a precaution for his journey. Having served Your Lordship—how could Yukichika ever commit such base acts as ambush or lawless violence… how could…”

“Even should you plead thus, We have no need to meet with Hōjō’s detestable envoys and their ilk.” “We need not hear the envoy’s message.” “Go! Get out!”

(Yukichika remained calm. He quietly glanced back at Katsura.)

Yukichika: “The woman here...” Yoriie: “She is Our serving girl.” Yukichika: “That Your Lordship—in his circumspect wisdom—would keep such low-born girls of unknown lineage close at hand...” (Katsura, unable to endure any longer, stepped forward.) Katsura: “Master Hyōe—or whatever you call yourself—are you a fortune-teller? A physiognomist? To one you’ve only just met—how dare you address me as some low-born girl with such careless words! I was born in the capital—my mother served even a court noble. All the more now that I have been summoned to attend His Lordship and bear the title Wakasa no Tsubone—for you to utter such uncouth remarks without even basic courtesy resembles nothing of Kamakura samurai conduct. Truly, this reveals one wholly unlearned in decorum.”

(Sneered at, Yukichika furrowed his brow.)

Yukichika: What. “Wakasa no Tsubone…” "And by whom was that permitted?"

“Ah, We permitted it.”

Yukichika: “You did not see fit to consult even Lord Hōjō...”

“What of Hōjō? You people invoke Hōjō at every turn. Is Hōjō so precious? Both Tokimasa and Yoshitoki are Our retainers.” “Even so... the Nun Palace resides here...”

Yoriie: “Enough, you tedious wretch.” “We’ve no ears to hear your prattle.” “Withdraw! Begone!”

Yukichika: “When Your Lordship’s displeasure blazes so fiercely, this Yukichika finds no words fit for offering. In accordance with Your Lordship’s command, I shall withdraw this night; particulars may be reconsidered when I present myself anew come morning…”

“No—you shall not return again!” “Wakasa! Approach!”

(Yoriie stood up, took Katsura’s hand, and led her across the bridge to depart.) Yukichika watched them leave. From amidst the silver grass, soldiers emerged. Soldier 1: “We have been lying in wait since earlier, yet you’ve given us no signal…”

“Finding no moment to strike, we have done nothing but watch time slip through our hands.”

“Having received Lord Hōjō’s secret decree,” Yukichika declared, “I attended this night intending to draw near and strike—but as expected of His Lordship, having discerned our purpose with such speed and granted us no opening through carelessness, we have regrettably failed.” He straightened his armor’s sleeve guard. “Now we shall lay siege to Shuzenji’s imperial quarters and storm in with our full force at once to fulfill our objective! His Lordship wields blade-work worthy of a master; his attendants move with veteran precision.” His voice hardened like drawn steel. “Never mistake their few numbers for weakness—guard against complacency! The terrain constricts us; this is night combat.” A final warning sliced through the dark: “Panic breeds fratricide—mark your strikes true.”

“Yes, sir!”

“One of you will run downstream from here and relay orders to those stationed at the village exit—attack at once.” “Understood!”

(One soldier ran downstream.) Yukichika took one soldier and proceeded upstream.

From the shadow of the trees, Haruhiko peered out.

Haruhiko: Along the road returning from Ōni Town—armored soldiers stationed here five, there ten—scrutinizing all who came and went... I could not comprehend it at first, but now I see—this must be Kamakura's command to do away with His Lordship. A plot indeed. This is gravely serious.

(From near and far came the startled cries of sleeping birds taking flight.) Shimoda Goro crossed the bridge and exited.

“This mountain village—usually so quiet—tonight feels strangely restless, as if momentous events stir beneath the surface.” “Best make a patrol along both riverbanks to be certain.”

“Is that not Master Goro?”

“Oh, Haruhiko.”

(Haruhiko approached and whispered.) Goro: “What? You can’t mean—” “Kaganokubo’s involvement then…” “His Lordship…” “So it’s exactly as you say.” “Hmm.”

As Goro was turning back hurriedly, a soldier wielding a naginata emerged from atop the bridge and attacked without warning. Goro crossed blades with him and cut him down instantly. Several soldiers ran out from both directions and swarmed Goro. “Haruhiko!” “I’ll hold them here.” “You—make haste to the imperial quarters and report this!”

Haruhiko: “Yes, sir.” (Haruhiko crossed the bridge and ran away. Goro took on enemies to both sides and fought fiercely.)

Act III

The former residence of Yasha-ō.

Yasha-ō stood at the gate and gazed. The rapid tolling of Shuzenji Temple's bell rang out.

(From the opposite direction, Kaede came running out.)

Kaede: “Father.” “It’s a night assault!”

“Oh, daughter,” said Yasha-ō. “Did you go to scout and return?” “I don’t know who the enemy is,” said Kaede, “but their numbers reach two or three hundred—they’ve launched a night assault on Shuzenji’s imperial quarters!”

Yasha-ō: "The sudden clamor of men and horses—I had thought it might be something trivial, but a night assault on Shuzenji... Could they be Heike remnants? Or Kamakura assassins? This bodes ill beyond measure." Kaede: "Most regrettably, Master Haruhiko cannot be found—what dreadful turn might this signify?"

“Our milling about will serve no purpose,” said Yasha-ō. “We can only watch how matters unfold now. In dire times, it’s but father and child withdrawing hand-in-hand. Whether Heike triumphs, Genji prevails, or Hōjō ascends—it concerns us not.” Kaede wrung her hands. “But what of elder sister amid this sudden battle? Should she flee in panic and err...” “No—” Yasha-ō’s voice carried the weight of damp cedar beams. “That too lies with fate’s whim—naught can alter it. Elder sister bears her own prepared resolve.”

(The temple bells and battle bells mingled as they rang out.) Kaede paced restlessly, repeatedly going out to the gate with an anguished air. (From ahead, Haruhiko came running out.)

Kaede: “Oh, Master Haruhiko! I’ve waited so long.” Haruhiko had inadvertently overheard the Hōjō faction from Kamakura discussing their night assault plans while standing hidden beneath a tree’s shadow. He raced to Shuzenji Temple intending to report this intelligence, but found both front and rear gates fully surrounded. Without wings to fly over, he could not gain entry, and ultimately returned in bitter disappointment. Kaede: “Then you don’t know elder sister’s fate either?” Haruhiko: “Setting aside elder sister’s situation, even His Lordship’s safety remains unknown. Though few in number, the attendants are repelling them with sparks flying—the battle rages even now.”

"No matter what one says—overwhelming numbers against few—even His Lordship’s forces are no demonic gods; the battle’s outcome was plain from the start. An unavoidable conclusion to His Lordship’s fate. Be it Kamo-dono or His Lordship—what karma makes Genji blood seep through this Shuzenji soil down to its very roots?"

(The temple bell tolled violently. Haruhiko and his wife peered outside again.) Kaede: "Oh... Countless footsteps..." The grinding clash of tachi blades...

Haruhiko: “They’re drawing nearer here too.” (Katsura emerged—Yoriie’s mask clutched in hand, hair cascading over her face, hitatare robes clinging to her frame, nagamaki longsword gripped tight—staggering wounded to the gate before collapsing.)

Haruhiko: “Oh—someone’s at the gate…” (The couple ran over, helped her up, and led her into the front garden—where Katsura collapsed once more.) Haruhiko: “This wound is shallow!” “Steel your resolve.” Katsura: (With labored breath) “Oh... Sister...” “Master Haruhiko…” “Where is Father?”

Yasha-ō: Oh! What— (Yasha-ō approached suspiciously.)

Katsura raised her face. (Everyone gasped in shock.) Haruhiko: “Oh… The retainers are more numerous than expected…” Yasha-ō: “Oh! Daughter?”

“Is that... Elder Sister?” Haruhiko: “But... this condition...”

Katsura: “His Lordship was taking his bath when the Kamakura forces launched their surprise night assault...” “Our allies are few in number—they fight desperately.” “Though I am but a woman—this Katsura—from first service to last service, wearing this mask as decoy... Such swift judgment...” Seizing advantage of the moonless dark, she descended into the garden gripping her blade. Shouting “The Left Guards Captain Yoriie stands here!” again and again as she ran out, the swarming enemies—peering through night’s obscurity and distance—took her for His Lordship in truth and gave chase lest their prey escape.

Yasha-ō: “So you became His Lordship’s substitute—deceiving them with this mask—and fought your way through to here?” (Took the blood-stained mask and stared intently at it)

Haruhiko: “Since even we were mistaken for samurai retainers, the enemy being deceived was only natural.” Kaede: “Still... this pitiful state...” “Sister, don’t die!” (She clung desperately, weeping)

“No... no...” Katsura shook her head weakly. “I’ve no regrets in dying.” Her breath hitched as blood seeped through her hitatare robes. “What meaning would there be if this lowborn creature wasted centuries cowering in some hovel?” A bitter smile touched her lips. “But to be summoned to His Lordship’s side—granted the name Lady Wakasa even for half a day—this alone makes advancement possible.” Her trembling hand gripped Kaede’s sleeve. “My heart’s desire... is fulfilled.”

(As she began to speak but faltered, Haruhiko and his wife tended to her. Yasha-ō stared at the mask without speaking.

(The Shuzenji monk from earlier came fleeing, covering his head with his kesa.)

“Disaster! Disaster!”

“Take shelter, I implore you! Hide yourselves, I beg you!” (Rushing inside and seeing Katsura, he gasped again) “Ah! Another casualty here...” “Oh, Lady Katsura...” “You too...?”

Katsura: “And... His Lordship...?” Monk: “Mournful indeed... His Lordship’s end.” Katsura: “Ah...” (Crawling up to stare intently) Monk: “Not only His Lordship... most retainers were cut down too... We fled for our lives before suffering collateral injuries.” Haruhiko: “Then... even the decoy proved futile...” Kaede: “So... His Lordship’s end came in vain...”

(Katsura collapsed again in disappointment.) (Kaede clung to her and shouted.) "Sister," Kaede said. "Steady your heart…" "Oh, Father." "Sister is going to die!" (Yasha-ō, who until now had been staring fixedly at the mask, finally turned his gaze.) "Oh! Is Sister dying?" Yasha-ō said. "She must surely consider this her true wish." "And Father too considers this his true wish."

Kaede: “Yes...”

“No matter how many times I remade this mask—that death’s visage appeared so vividly upon it—this sprang not from clumsiness.” “Nor dullness of hand.” “That Shogun Yoriie of the Minamoto clan was destined for such fate—only now, at this very moment, have I grasped it.” “The destinies of men, unknowable even to gods—first made manifest through my craft by nature’s resonance, nature’s marvel—this marks the divine culmination where skill becomes deity itself.” “Yasha-ō of Izu—even I must declare this peerless artistry beneath heaven!” (He laughed heartily)

Katsura: (Laughs similarly) “I too am a splendid Lady-in-Waiting.” “I’ll harbor no regrets even in death.” “Not a moment too soon do I follow His Lordship’s footsteps… To attend him in the underworld…”

Yasha-ō: “There now, daughter.” “I want to record this young woman’s death throes visage as a model for posterity.” “Endure the pain and wait a while.” “Haruhiko—the brush and paper…” Haruhiko: “Right away.” (Haruhiko dashed into the workshop and brought back a brush and paper. Yasha-ō took up the brush.)

“Daughter, show your face.”

Katsura: “Aye.” (Katsura crawled forward supported by Haruhiko and his wife. Yasha-ō took up the brush and attempted to sketch her face. The monk chanted a prayer under his breath.)

――Act――