Pathway to Japanese Literature

(At Shuzenji Temple in Izu, there exists a mask known as Lord Yoriie’s Mask. Its creator remains unknown. Its origin remains unknown. A wooden mask, its features indistinct from years of weathering yet bearing what might be called an antique patina, evokes a kind of poetic charm to those who behold it. (This work was composed in recollection of that time.))

Characters

Mask Artisan: Yasha-Ō Yasha-Ō's Daughter: Katsura Yasha-Ō's Daughter: Kaede Kaede's Husband: Haruhiko Minamoto no Sakyōno-gon no suke Yoriie

Shimoda Gorō Kageyasu Kanakubo Hyōe no Jō Yukichika Monk of Shuzenji Temple Kanakubo Yukichika’s retainers and others

Act I

Izu Province’s Kano Manor, Shuzenji Village (present-day Shūzenji), by the Katsura River—Yasha-Ō’s dwelling. A weather-beaten two-story thatched-roof structure. Torn walls hung with dance-drama masks; at the front, an entranceway draped with an indigo noren. A hearth was cut into the lower part of the room, with unglazed earthenware teapots hung above it. The garden entrance had a gate woven from bamboo; beyond it stood a great willow tree. Behind it, separated by fields, the mountains—or perhaps hills—connected to Tō-no-mine were visible. July 18th, Genkyū 1 (1204).

(The single-room structure adjoining the upper part of the two-story building served as a workshop, with old reed screens lowered on three sides. In the garden, along a fence where autumn grasses bloomed, a rough mat had been laid out; the elder daughter Katsura, twenty years old; the younger sister Kaede, eighteen years old. Facing each other, they pounded paper mallets.)

Katsura (eventually stopping her mallet work): Her shoulders and arms had gone numb from pounding for over a good while. "Haven't we done enough already?" Kaede: "Even so—since yesterday marked the end of the Bon holiday—shouldn't we work diligently starting today?" Katsura: "If you want to work, do it alone. Father and Lord Haruhiko will both praise you." "I won't do it anymore—I've had enough." (Flinging down her mallet)

Kaede: “That you—who once worked alongside your sister at this humble craft, pounding paper mallets year after year until they became second nature—should now grow so weary of it all, so utterly disgusted... What has brought about this change in your recent bearing so unlike your former self?” Katsura scoffed: “No—I haven’t changed from days past.” “Not one bit have I changed.” “I’ve never liked such things from the start.” “Had Father gone to Kamakura as he ought, we wouldn’t be living like this! But with his stubborn artisan temperament that disdains reputation—hidden away in this mountain hovel of Izu—dragged along by our parent till even we children grew up provincial... This is the wretched lot we’ve been forced into.” “Yet I refuse to dream of rotting away here!” “Consider this Shuzenji paper we pound—though made by lowly hands at first, once it emerges into the world as what they call ‘colored fine paper,’ even noble hands may deign to touch it.” “Women fare no differently.” “Even one raised in lowliness—should her ‘hue’ prove pleasing enough—might find herself summoned to serve at the regent’s court or shogun’s household! What use lies in a baseborn woman clinging to this paper-mallet drudgery till when?” “Is it truly so unreasonable—this ‘disgust’ I speak of?”

Kaede: “You keep saying that like a mantra, but every person has their ordained station. To cling to such dream-like notions as being summoned to serve in the shogun’s inner circle—your heart soars to impossible heights while your future remains uncertain. I cannot help but worry.” Katsura: “Your heart and mine are different. 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 without a husband—precisely because I refuse to waste my entire life dwelling in this grass-thatched house. To you who’ve become wives of lowly artisans and live contentedly—my heart would be beyond your understanding, I suppose.” (Scoffs derisively)

(Kaede’s husband Haruhiko, over twenty years old, emerged from the rear.)

Haruhiko: “Lady Katsura.” “You may dismiss us as lowly artisans, yet among craftsmen of all stripes, a mask artisan’s work brings no shame to this world.” “Need I remind you? Since Japan’s very founding, the first to carve dance-drama masks were none other than Prince Shōtoku himself—then Lord Fujiwara no Tamenori, Great Teacher Kūkai, Kasuga of Kurabe. Do you not see ours is a lineage handed down from these august figures to this very day?”

Katsura: “It’s not that the occupation itself is noble. It is Prince Shōtoku and Lord Tamenori—those very people—who are noble. But those very people likely didn’t practice mask-making as their livelihood…” Haruhiko: “Is it base when practiced as a livelihood? To hear such unexpected words from you… Even if I, Haruhiko, were to create an unparalleled mask tomorrow and earn renown as the greatest in the land, would you still scorn me as a lowly artisan?” Katsura: “What nonsense. Even the 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 base?” Katsura: “Hmm, how tedious. It’s obvious…”

(Katsura turned her face away and refused to engage. Haruhiko glared and pressed forward, while Kaede hurriedly interposed herself between them.) Kaede: “Ah now—once Elder Sister sets her mind to something, she’ll argue it to the bitter end. It’s no use opposing her.” “Please stop this quarrel now.” Haruhiko: “Precisely because I know that temperament, I’ve endured it daily—but if pressed, your words overstep.” “Connected through marriage to your sister, yet when standing beside you as your elder sister, you grow arrogant—all too ready to belittle me! How detestable!” “Depending on how this unfolds, I may not even call you ‘Elder Sister’!”

Katsura: “Oh，it matters not if you don’t call me ‘Elder Sister’. Having a lowly artisan for my sister’s husband brings neither pride nor credit to me as her elder sister.” Haruhiko: “Still you persist?”

(Haruhiko pressed forward again, and Kaede restrained him with concern.) (At this moment, from within the bamboo screen of the workshop—the father’s voice.)

“Enough of this racket.” Yasha-Ō’s voice cut through the commotion. “Will you not be still?”

(Hearing this, Haruhiko held back.)

When Kaede rose and lifted the reed screen, there sat Yasha-Ō of Izu—over fifty years old, wearing a black-lacquered court hat, a narrow-sleeved robe, and short hakama trousers—chisel and mallet in hand as he carved a wooden mask. Around his knees lay scattered wood chips and such.

Haruhiko: “Having persisted in making baseless claims and neglected how this hinders my craft—this thoughtless blunder—I humbly beg your esteemed judgment.”

Kaede: “This too stems from me having spoken presumptuously to Elder Sister.” “Elder Sister and Master Haruhiko will surely reprimand me as well.” Yasha-Ō: “Oh—why would I scold you? I will not scold you.” “Sisterly quarrels are common occurrences.” “Nothing unusual about that.” “Look—today already draws to a close.” “The autumn evening wind cuts to the bone.” “You there—go to the back and prepare dinner and light the lamps.” Both: “Yes.” (Katsura and Kaede rose and entered the rear.)

Yasha-Ō: Now, Haruhiko. “Different from her younger sister, she’s a headstrong sort of elder sister.” “Sharing the same roof three hundred sixty days a year may bring scant joy—but bear all things with me in mind.” The mother who bore her had once served among Kyoto’s nobility. Through some twist of fate, she became man and wife with this Yasha-Ō and drifted eastward to the provinces. Yet reared as she was, she kept lofty airs—lamenting a life wasted in futility while yoked to a lowly artisan’s station until her dying day. These sisters, though sprung from the same womb and lineage, diverged in nature—the elder inheriting her mother’s courtly temperament, the younger her father’s artisan spirit. As their hearts differed, so too did their parents’ affections: the mother doted on the elder; the father favored the younger. From clinging each to their cherished child sprang many a petty marital squabble. Ha ha ha ha!

Haruhiko: “If that be so, then Lady Katsura’s daily scorn for artisans—her pride in refusing any husband save a court noble or warrior of renown—must flow from her mother’s bloodline. Truly, blood cannot be denied.” Yasha-Ō: “Thus shall I seldom take offense at her words, whatever she may say. Being her mother’s child—born high of spirit, deeming others beneath notice—it cannot be helped.”

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

Haruhiko: “Oh! I’d forgotten in the commotion. I must go to Ōni Town now to retrieve the chisel and small knife I had ordered.” Kaede: “The day has already grown late. Why not postpone it until tomorrow…”

“No, no. For an artisan, these are important tools,” said Haruhiko. “I must retrieve them without a moment’s delay.” Yasha-Ō nodded. “Ah, an artisan must possess that very mindset. Before night deepens—go, go.” “Though it is night,” Haruhiko replied, “the path is familiar. I shall return within a short while.”

(Haruhiko exited.) Kaede stood at the gate and watched him leave. A monk of Shuzenji Temple holding a lantern led the way, followed by Lord Minamoto no Yoriie, twenty-three years old. Shimoda Gorō Kageyasu, seventeen or eighteen years old, emerged behind carrying Lord Yoriie’s tachi. Monk: “Now, now—this is His Lordship’s incognito presence. Take care not to commit any blunders.” (Kaede gasped and prostrated herself. When Lord Yoriie and his retinue advanced into the premises, Yasha-Ō too came forth to greet them.) Yasha-Ō: “As your visit was entirely unexpected, we have made no preparations worthy of your presence. But first, I beg you to proceed over there.”

(Minamoto no Yoriie sat down on the veranda.) Yasha-Ō: “And so—may I inquire as to the nature of your esteemed commission?” Minamoto no Yoriie: “You need not ask—you’ve likely already surmised as much. To leave behind my visage as a memento for posterity, I summoned you and commanded you to craft a mask resembling me—even providing a portrait for reference! Yet days pass without completion. You have repeatedly requested delays—what is the meaning of this endless postponement?”

Gorō: “The crafting of a single mask—no matter how painstakingly wrought—should not consume a hundred days! You were commissioned at spring’s first dawn—yet half a year has passed without presentation. Such negligence defies all measure! No further delays shall be tolerated—His Lordship’s displeasure knows no bounds.” Minamoto no Yoriie: “I am impatient by nature. However long I wait through days and nights, nothing comes of it! So exasperated have I grown that I deemed messengers useless—I have come myself to demand it in person.” He glared at the artisan. “You—why do you neglect your craft? Speak your reasons—give me your explanation!”

Yasha-Ō: “I deeply regret incurring your noble displeasure.” “To be entrusted with carving the visage of His Excellency the Shogun, leader of the Minamoto clan—this is my craft’s greatest honor, my personal distinction. How could I conceivably treat such a charge with negligence?” “Having received your august commission half a year past, though my skills remain wanting, I have labored day and night to the limits of my ability and endurance. Yet not one piece has met my standards, compelling me to remake them repeatedly—unintentionally compounding delay upon delay. I humbly beg your understanding of these circumstances.”

Yoriie: “Hmph—the same refrain with every demand… I’ve grown weary of these excuses!” Gorō: “Mere postponements will no longer suffice. Set a definitive date for completion and proffer your apologies in advance.” Yasha-Ō: “I cannot name a deadline. Do you imagine that gripping a chisel in one hand and mallet in the other effortlessly births a mask? Unlike carpenters raising houses or pagodas—we mask artisans carve lifeless timber to implant souls: men, women, heavenly beings, Yasha, Rakshasa—every spirit spanning virtue and vice.” “Only when vitality coursing through my limbs converges of its own accord—when my soul streams into the wood—does the mask take form. Whether this occurs in half a month’s span… a month… or years beyond…” “Even I cannot say with certainty.”

“Now, now, Master Yasha-Ō,” said the monk. “As His Lordship himself has declared, he is exceedingly impatient. If you persist in slippery evasions like eels loosed at Mishima Shrine—all dodges and no substance—his temper will blaze hotter still. As one blessed with an artisan’s divine fortune, you ought to set a firm date and give proper answer.” “Even so,” Yasha-Ō replied, “it cannot be done.” “Nonsense! What lies beyond your skill? Among all mask artisans, when they speak of Izu’s Yasha-Ō—why, your fame reaches even Kyoto and Kamakura...”

Yasha-Ō: “Well now—that is precisely why I say it cannot be done. I, Yasha-Ō of Izu—when they speak of me—am known to some extent among others. Even should I incur punishment, to leave behind in this world a craft that does not satisfy my heart—that would be truly unbearable.” Yoriie: “What—‘unbearable,’ you say… Do you claim it cannot be hastened even at the cost of divine retribution?” Yasha-Ō: “With all due respect… it cannot be hastened.” Minamoto no Yoriie: “Hmph—you wretch, prepare yourself!” (Exasperation mounting, Minamoto no Yoriie snatched the tachi offered by Gorō and was about to draw it.) (From the rear, Katsura rushed out.)

“Now, now—I beg you to wait.” “Hmph—out of my way! Away with you!” “First, I beg you to calm yourself. I shall present the mask at once. Listen, Father.”

(Yasha-Ō remained silent and did not answer.) Gorō: “What? The mask has already been completed?”

Minamoto no Yoriie: Hmph—you wretch. "You make inconsistent claims and try to deceive me."

“No—no falsehood whatsoever,” Katsura insisted. “The mask stands completed.” She turned toward Yasha-Ō, pressing the carved visage forward. “Here, Father.” Her voice hardened like drying lacquer. “This ends all debate.”

Kaede: “Indeed, that is so. Why not present that mask you finally completed last night…?” Monk: “That would be best, that would be best. You too are but a mortal. You may cherish your reputation, but surely you cherish your life as well? If you have a completed mask, present it to His Lordship at once and beg for mercy—that would be the wisest course.” Yasha-Ō: “Is it my life you think I cherish? Or my honor? That’s none of your concern. Keep silent.”

Monk: “Even so—can you stand idly by and watch this?” “Now then, young ladies.” “Bring that mask here and present it for His Lordship’s viewing at once—no more delays.” “Hurry, hurry!”

Kaede: “Yes, yes.”

(Kaede rushed into the workshop and carried out the box containing the wooden mask.) Katsura received it and offered it before Yoriie. Minamoto no Yoriie gazed wordlessly at Katsura’s face, his demeanor appearing slightly softened. Katsura: “Proof that this is no deception—please behold it.”

(Minamoto no Yoriie took the mask and gazed intently at it, inadvertently uttering an exclamation of admiration.)

Minamoto no Yoriie: “Oh, splendid! You’ve carved it superbly!” Gorō: “A living likeness of His Lordship’s face!” Minamoto no Yoriie: “Hmm.” (He continued scrutinizing it relentlessly.) Monk: “Did I not say as much? To possess such mastery yet stubbornly withhold it—Master Yasha-Ō remains an enigma.” “Ha ha ha!” Yasha-Ō: (Altering his bearing) “Though I never intended to show others work unworthy of my standards, since matters have reached this juncture...” “How do you all judge this mask?”

“Truly worthy of being called Yasha-Ō—a most admirable man,” declared Minamoto no Yoriie. “I am satisfied as well.” Though humbled by my lord’s generous praise, this mask remains my life’s greatest failure, Yasha-Ō thought. Look closely. It bears death within. “The mask…is dead?” Gorō murmured. For years people praised my masks as living things—indeed, I permitted such flattery—yet this one alone defies all effort, Yasha-Ō reflected. However I recarve it, no vitality emerges—only the pallid visage of a soulless corpse… This depicts no living soul of our world. It shows death made manifest.

Gorō: “Even if you say so, to our eyes it still appears as the face of a living person… It bears no resemblance to a deathly countenance.” Yasha-Ō: “No—no matter how I re-examine it, this is not the face of a living person. Moreover, its eyes harbor resentment—as though cursing someone—like vengeful spirits or apparitions…” Monk: “Ah, now—you must not speak such ill-omened words! If it meets His Lordship’s approval, then all is well—we must humbly give thanks.”

“Hmm.” “In any case, this mask has fulfilled Yoriie’s expectations.” “I shall take it back.”

Yasha-Ō: “Since you so insistently desire it…” Minamoto no Yoriie: “Oh, ’tis my desire! There.” (When Minamoto no Yoriie indicated with his chin, Katsura understood, placed the mask into its box, and offered it to him with a hint of coquetry. Minamoto no Yoriie gazed even more intently at her face.) Minamoto no Yoriie: “No—furthermore, this lord has another request. I wish to take this girl into my service. Does she have the heart to serve?” Yasha-Ō: “Though deeply grateful for Your Lordship’s gracious intention, this matter rests with the individual’s own will—a parent cannot answer in their child’s stead.”

(Katsura stepped forward without hesitation.)

Katsura: “Father.” “Please—allow me to enter service…”

Minamoto no Yoriie: “You are a good one! You say you wish to enter service?”

Katsura: “Yes.”

Minamoto no Yoriie: “Then henceforth, present that mask and attend upon me.” Katsura: “Understood.” (Minamoto no Yoriie rose. Gorō also rose. Katsura rose in succession. Kaede tugged at her elder sister’s sleeve and whispered anxiously.) Kaede: “Elder sister... You... into service....”

Katsura: “You laughed earlier at what you called a dream-like hope—but now that dream-like hope has been realized.” (Katsura looked back with pride and descended into the garden.)

“Well, well—this humble monk can at last breathe easy.” “Master Yasha-Ō, we shall meet again tomorrow.”

(Minamoto no Yoriie stumbled over an object as he was leaving.) (Katsura rushed over and took his hand.) Minamoto no Yoriie: “Oh—it’s grown dark already.”

(The monk stepped forward and handed a lantern to Katsura. Katsura handed the mask box to the monk; I took hold of the lantern with one hand and led Yoriie out with the other. Yasha-Ō appeared deep in contemplation.)

Kaede: “Father… you should see them off…”

(Yasha-Ō, as though realizing something for the first time, saw them off at the entrance together with his daughter.)

Gorō: “Your reward shall be formally determined at a later time.” (Minamoto no Yoriie and his retinue exited one after another.) Yasha-Ō stood up and remained silent for a time. Then he strode briskly onto the veranda, brought a mallet from his workshop, took down the various masks hanging on the wall, and was about to smash them. Kaede, startled, clung to him. Kaede: “Ah! What are you doing?” “Have you gone mad?” Yasha-Ō: “Driven into a corner with no choice—submitting my crude work is an irreversible misfortune I must lament.” “If such a mask were to pass into the hands of the shogunate, be recorded in the treasure ledger as the work of Yasha-Ō of Izu, and leave behind laughter for a thousand years, it would be a lifelong disgrace, an eternal humiliation—ultimately, the name Yasha-Ō would be ruined.” “This artisan’s work ends today. Never again shall I take up the mallet.”

Kaede: “That is rather impetuous of you.” “No matter how skilled the master artisan, the success or failure of their work depends on the whims of fortune.” “If someone could create even a single splendid masterpiece in their lifetime, would that not make them a master artisan?”

Yasha-Ō: “Hmm.” Kaede: “If you feel such regret over having released crude works into the world, then from now on strive ever harder—create splendid masks that will astonish all, and wash away this shame.” (Kaede clung to him and wept.) Yasha-Ō did not answer, closing his eyes in contemplation.

(Night fell, and the sound of a flute was heard in the distance.)

Act II

Likewise, by the banks of the Katsura River, at the foot of Kokei Bridge. By the riverside stood several willows, with silver grass and reeds growing in wild profusion alongside them. Across the bridge came into view the mountain gate of Shuzenji Temple.

On the evening of the same day.

(Shimoda Gorō carried Minamoto no Yoriie’s greatsword, while the monk emerged cradling the mask box.) Gorō: “His Lordship has deigned to stroll along the riverside with Lady Katsura. Though we retainers were ordered to proceed ahead, Shuzenji Temple’s residence now lies before our eyes. Let us linger here at the bridge’s foot awhile and await their return.” Monk: “Nay, nay—that would hardly be wise. Now that His Lordship has discovered such a delicate blossom as Lady Katsura and gives himself wholly to their amorous wanderings, should meddlesome creatures like ourselves cling about them, we would only sour His Lordship’s mood.”

Gorō: “What nonsense is this?” (Despite his words, Gorō remained standing with uneasy posture.) Monk: “Particularly as this humble monk oversees the baths—I must return promptly to make arrangements.” Gorō: “The baths flow with naturally boiling springs. There’s no call for hurried preparations... Wait here.” Monk: “Fie—such vulgar words ill suit your station. Where young lovers whisper sweetly, monks and warriors become unwelcome intruders. Ha ha ha ha! Come now, come along!”

(Forcibly pulled his sleeve.) Gorō, though unwillingly dragged along, was pulled across the bridge.

The moon rose.

Katsura held a lantern and, taking Yoriie by the hand, exited.) Minamoto no Yoriie: “Oh! The moon has risen.” “To walk along this riverbed through autumn night—where silver grass tangles with reed roots beneath murmuring waters and chirping insects—this mountain autumn reveals its deepest poetry.”

Katsura: "Though I may have grown somewhat accustomed myself, compared to Kamakura Mountain’s starry moonlit nights, these autumn evenings in Izu’s mountain dwellings must seem profoundly lonely to you, my lord." (Yoriie sat down on a nearby rock while Katsura stood leaning against the bridge railing, still holding the lantern.) (The moon shone brightly as insects chirped.)

Yoriie: “Kamakura may be the realm’s hegemonic capital, its samurai districts—great and small—competing in splendor with their tile roofs row upon row, yet that is but surface radiance. Beneath lies a terrifying den of iniquity—a demon’s nest.” “No place for mortal dwelling.” “Not even in dreams does Kamakura beckon.” (Gazing moonward) Katsura: “Had you remained prospering in Kamakura Mountain as Japan’s preeminent shogun, you would never have employed mountain-raised folk like us as lowly servants. Though your divine favor might be meager, such fortune is mine alone.” “I shall never forget this March—on the pilgrimage path to the caverns, upstream in Katsura Valley—where first I beheld your august countenance.”

“Ah—when I asked your name then, you said ‘Katsura,’ the same as the river’s name.”

“It was not merely that,” Katsura continued. “At the headwaters of this cave stand two Katsura trees, from whose roots spring water gushes forth naturally. As it flows downstream into Shuzenji Temple, the river came to be named Katsura. Since ancient times, those trees have been called the husband-and-wife Katsura. When I answered so, what did Your Lordship say in response?” Yoriie gazed at the moonlit reeds. “Even unfeeling trees have their husband-and-wife pair.” A wry smile touched his lips. “I may have jested that people too might have such pairs…”

Katsura: "Whether it was in jest or not, those words overflowed with divine favor—that this wish might unfailingly be granted. For a hundred days I made secret pilgrimages to the cave, where the paired Katsura trees stood witness. Even the unknowable waters converged in joyous union... And now, this very moonlit night, to be summoned close to your side—such is the divine favor upon me..." Yoriie: "Does it bring you such joy to attend one as ill-fated in battle as I? You must be well aware of this. I once had a concubine named Wakasa—daughter of Hiki no Hangan Yoshimochi—but when Yoshimochi fell, poor Wakasa too departed this world. From this moment forth, you shall be my second concubine, bearing the same name: Wakasa."

Katsura: "I—as Lady Wakasa…" "Ah, I humbly thank you, my lord." Yoriie: "Where warm waters spring forth, warm human affections also spring forth."

Having lost love, Minamoto no Yoriie now found new love here, and the pain in his heart was at last healed. Now he wished to sever all worldly desires and live out his days peacefully in this land.

Yet clouds marred the moon. That hope too lay shattered in vain; should aught befall me, let the mask your father wrought serve as my memento. Uncle Lord Kaba, though innocent, became one with the soil of this Shuzenji Temple. My fate too—sooner or later—might well follow the same path.

(The moon hid; darkness fell.)

Two soldiers clad in gauntlets, greaves, and belly armor emerged from above and below, hiding amidst a cluster of silver grass. (The chorus of insects abruptly ceased.)

Katsura: "The chorus of insects around us... they've ceased as if blown out..." Yoriie: "People approach." "You—stay vigilant."

(Kanakubo Hyōe no Jō Yukichika, in his thirties. He appeared in court cap, *hitatare* robe, gauntlets, and greaves.) Yukichika: “Has Your Lordship taken position here?” Yoriie: “Who goes there?”

(Katsura held up the lantern.) (Yoriie peered through.) Yukichika: “I am Kanakubo Yukichika.” Yoriie: “Oh, Hyōe. How did you come from Kamakura?” Yukichika: “As His Lordship Hōjō’s messenger…” Yoriie: “What—Lord Hōjō’s messenger… So this is your aim—to strike down Yoriie!” Yukichika: “This was beyond my imagining. I, Yukichika, have come solely to pay my respects; there is no other purpose whatsoever.” Yoriie: “Enough, Hyōe. To come before me at midnight clad in full armor—this can only be a scheme under Hōjō’s secret orders to ambush me, but…”

Yukichika: “Though we may say the realm stands pacified at last, Heike remnants remain unrooted. Moreover, hearing reports of bandits roaming mountain paths west of Hakone, I deemed it prudent to adopt this martial guise for journey’s safeguard.” “To stand before Your Lordship and perpetrate such ambush outrages—how could I? How could I ever…?” Yoriie: “Spare your pleas. I’ll not parley with Hōjō’s hated envoy.” “No need to hear the messenger’s words.” “Away! Away with you!”

(Yukichika remained calm. He quietly turned to look at Katsura.) Yukichika: "This woman here..." Yoriie: "She’s merely a serving girl of mine." Yukichika: "That Your Lordship—in his solemn station of restraint—should keep women of base birth and unknown lineage at his very side..."

(Katsura, unable to contain herself, steps forward.)

“Sir Hyōe—are you a diviner or a physiognomist? To one meeting you for the first time as myself, do not address me with such presumptuous words as ‘lowborn woman.’ I was born in the capital; my mother served even a court noble. Moreover, now that I have been summoned to His Lordship’s side and bear the name Lady Wakasa—to utter such insolent words without even a cursory greeting ill befits a Kamakura warrior; truly, you are one who knows nothing of decorum.”

(Being met with a scornful laugh, Yukichika furrowed his brows.) Yukichika: “What?” “Lady Wakasa…” “And by whose authority was that permitted?”

Yoriie: “Ah, I permitted it.” Yukichika: “You did not even consult Lord Hōjō…” Yoriie: “What of Hōjō?” “You lot—the moment you open your mouths, it’s ‘Hōjō’ this and ‘Hōjō’ that.” “Is Hōjō so revered?” “Tokimasa and Yoshitoki are my retainers!” Yukichika: “Even so—the Nun Shogun still resides in Kamakura…”

“Ugh, you tedious oaf! I’ve no ears to hear what you lot say! Away with you! Begone!”

Yukichika: If Your Lordship is so deeply incensed, then Yukichika has no means to present his words. “In accordance with your command, I shall withdraw tonight. The details will be revisited tomorrow morning upon my audience…” Yoriie: No—you shall not return again. “Lady Wakasa, come here.”

(Yoriie stood up, took Katsura’s hand, and led her across the bridge as they departed.) Yukichika watched them depart. The soldiers who had been hiding among the silver grass emerged. Soldier 1: “We have been lying in wait since earlier, yet no signal was given…” Soldier 2: “We found no opportunity to strike and merely let time pass.” Yukichika: “Having received Lord Hōjō’s secret command, we stealthily positioned ourselves tonight intending to strike him down when near, but His Lordship—as expected—perceived it early and showed no opening for us to exploit. Thus, though regrettable, we have failed in our task.” “Now we shall press upon His Lordship’s quarters at Shuzenji Temple and storm in with all our forces at once to achieve our purpose!” “His Lordship is a master of swift blade-work, and his attendants are seasoned warriors.” “Do not underestimate them as a small force and be caught off guard.” “The terrain is confined—this is night battle.” “Do not panic and strike your comrades.”

“Understood!” Yukichika: “One of you will run downstream from here and deliver the order to those waiting at the village exit—attack at once.”

Soldier 1: “Understood.” (One man ran off downstream.) Yukichika took a single soldier and entered upstream. (From the shadows of the trees, Haruhiko emerged.) Haruhiko: “On my way back from Ōni Town, I found it perplexing—fully armed soldiers encamped here in groups of five, there in tens, scrutinizing everyone coming and going—but now I see: this was Kamakura’s command to assassinate His Lordship.” “This is dire indeed.” (The startled cries of sleeping birds took flight near and far.)

Shimoda Gorō crossed the bridge and emerged.

Gorō: This mountain village is usually so quiet, yet tonight—somehow—it feels unsettlingly restless, as though something were brewing. Just to be safe, perhaps I should patrol along the river’s upper and lower reaches.

“Is that you there, Sir Gorō?”

Gorō: Oh, Haruhiko.

(Haruhiko approached and whispered.)

Gorō: "What— What did you say?" "Kanakubo's involvement..." "The Lord..." "So it's true then." "Hmm." (As Gorō turned back hurriedly, a soldier wielding a nagamaki emerged from atop the bridge and attacked without warning.) Gorō drew his sword and swiftly cut him down. Several soldiers ran out from both directions and swarmed him.

“Hey, Haruhiko.” “I’ll handle this here.” “You—make haste to the lord’s quarters and report this matter.”

“Yes, sir!”

(Haruhiko crosses the bridge and runs off.) Gorō takes on enemies to both sides and fights fiercely.)

**Act Three**

Yasha-Ō’s former residence. Yasha-Ō stood at the gate and gazed out.

The urgent bell of Shuzenji Temple tolled.

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

“Father! It’s a night attack!” “Ah, child,” said Yasha-Ō. “You went to look and returned?” “We don’t know who the enemy is,” said Kaede, “but there are two or three hundred men—they’ve attacked His Lordship’s quarters at Shuzenji Temple!” The clamor of men and horses he had heard—the noise he had wondered about—meant a night assault on Shuzenji... Remnants of the Heike? Or Kamakura’s strike force? This was no ordinary crisis. “And Sir Haruhiko isn’t here,” said Kaede. “What could have happened?”

“Our milling about in commotion will serve no purpose,” said Yasha-Ō. “We can only watch events unfold. Should crisis strike, father and child need but clasp hands and withdraw. Whether Heike triumphs, Genji prevails, or Hōjō conquers—these hold no stake for us.” “But Father,” Kaede pressed, “if we withdraw as you say—what of Sister amid this sudden battle? Should she flee in panic and meet misfortune…” “Nay—that too lies within fate’s whim,” Yasha-Ō replied. “No remedy exists. Sister must harbor her own resolve.”

(The temple bell and camp bell mingled audibly. Kaede paced restlessly between standing and sitting, repeatedly venturing to the gate with visible anguish. From across the way, Haruhiko came running out.) Kaede: “Oh, Sir Haruhiko! I’ve been waiting desperately.” Haruhiko: “The attackers belong to Kamakura’s Hōjō faction—I happened to overhear their night attack plans while hidden beneath a tree’s shadow! I raced to Shuzenji Temple to report this urgent matter directly to His Lordship’s quarters... but found every gate encircled front and rear! With no wings to fly over walls or means of entry... I’ve returned empty-handed in bitter shame.”

Kaede: “Then... have you not ascertained Sister’s safety either?”

Haruhiko: “Setting Sister aside, even the Lord’s fate remains unknown. Though few in number, the retainers are clashing swords, sending sparks flying as they drive them back—the battle now rages at its fiercest.”

Yasha-Ō: “No matter what one says, it’s the many against the few. Even the lord’s forces are not supernatural beings—the outcome is all but decided. “It is indeed an inescapable fate ordained by heaven. “Be it Lord Kamo or His Lordship—by what fate does this Shuzenji Temple have Genji blood soaked deep into its very soil?”

(The temple bell rang out fiercely.

Haruhiko and his wife peered outside once more. Kaede: “Oh, the tremendous sound of footsteps...” The clashing of swords at their ridges… Haruhiko: “They’re gradually approaching here as well.” (Katsura, holding Yoriie’s mask with her hair draped over her face, donned a hitatare robe and grasped a nagamaki. Feigning injury, she dashed out and collapsed at the gate.) Haruhiko: “Oh! Someone’s at the gate…” (The couple ran over, helped her up, and escorted her into the garden, where Katsura collapsed once more.)

Haruhiko: "This wound is shallow. Keep your wits about you." Katsura: (Gasping for breath) "Oh... Sister... Sir Haruhiko... Where is Father?" Yasha-Ō: "Oh! What in the—" (Yasha-Ō peered suspiciously and halted.)

Katsura raised her face. (Everyone was astonished.) Haruhiko: "Oh! I thought it was a samurai..." Yasha-Ō: "Oh! My daughter?" Kaede: "Sister...?" Haruhiko: "And this condition..." Katsura: "His Lordship was taking his bath when...the Kamakura forces launched a surprise night attack..." "Our allies were few in number, fighting desperately." "Though I am but a woman—from my first act of service to my last—I donned this mask as a decoy with swift resolve..." Taking advantage of the moonless dark, I grabbed a weapon and descended into the garden. Shouting over and over 'Left Guards Commander Yoriie is here!', I dashed out—and the swarming enemies, mistaking me in the dimness of night and distance for the true Lord, gave chase determined not to let me escape.

Yasha-Ō: “So you became His Lordship’s decoy and deceived the enemy with this mask, managing to cut your way through to here?” (Takes the bloodstained mask and stares intently at it.) Haruhiko: “If even we were mistaken for samurai, it’s no wonder the enemy was deceived.” Kaede: “Even so... this wretched appearance...” “Sister… please don’t die.” (Kaede clings to her, weeping desperately.)

Katsura: “No, no.”

“I have no regrets even in death.” “What good would it do for a lowly one in a hovel to live a hundred or a thousand years in vain?” “Even if only for a mere moment, since I was summoned to the Shogun’s side and granted the name Lady of Wakasa, with this my hopes for advancement have been fulfilled.” “Even in death, I am fulfilled.”

(As she faltered mid-sentence, Haruhiko and his wife tended to her.) Yasha-Ō stared at the mask and remained silent.

The monk of Shuzenji Temple from before came fleeing, his Buddhist robe thrown over his head. Monk: "Disaster! Disaster! Come quickly and hide, I beg you!" (Rushing inside and spotting Katsura, he gasped again) "Ah! Here's another injured person... Ah, Lady Katsura... You as well?" Katsura: "And His Lordship...?"

“How tragic… His Lordship has met his end.”

Katsura: “Yes.” (Crawling up, she stares intently.)

“Not only His Lordship—most of his retainers were cut down… We fled for our lives before becoming collateral casualties ourselves.” “Then… even this decoy proved futile…”

Kaede — So it had finally come... His Lordship’s end. (Katsura collapses again in despair.) (Kaede clings to her and cries out.) Kaede: “Here, Sister.” “Steady your heart…” “Father…” “Sister is going to die!”

(Having stared intently at the mask until now, Yasha-Ō turned to look for the first time.) Yasha-Ō: “Oh! Is my elder daughter going to die?” “My elder daughter too must surely be fulfilled.” “Father too is fulfilled.”

Kaede: “Yes...” Yasha-Ō: “No matter how many times I remade this mask—the deathly countenance that appeared so vividly within it—it was not due to my lack of skill. Nor my dullness. That Lord Minamoto no Yoriie of the Genji clan was destined for such a fate—only at this very moment have I realized it. The fate of men unknowable even to gods—that it first manifested in my creation speaks to nature’s resonance, nature’s wonder. To enter the realm of the deity of craftsmanship—this is what it means! Yasha-Ō of Izu—even I must say, this is truly the foremost under heaven!”

(Laughs cheerfully)

Katsura (laughs in kind): “I too am a splendid Lady of Wakasa!” “I have nothing to regret even in death.” “Not a moment too soon… I yearn to follow His Lordship and accompany him to the netherworld…”

Yasha-Ō: There now, my daughter. "The face of a young woman in her death throes—I want to sketch it as a model for posterity." “Endure the pain and wait a while.” “Haruhiko, the brush and paper…”

Haruhiko: Hah.

(Haruhiko ran into the workshop and brought back a brush, paper, and such.) Yasha-Ō took up the brush.) Yasha-Ō: "Daughter, show me your face."

Katsura: “Yes.”

(Katsura crawled forward, supported by Haruhiko and his wife.) Yasha-Ō took up the brush and prepared to sketch her face. The monk muttered a Buddhist prayer under his breath.)

――Curtain――