Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

Shinkichi took Osaku as his wife when he was twenty-five and she was twenty, exactly four years ago in winter. At fourteen, his oversensitive mind had been stirred by success stories of tycoons and the like, and after rushing off to Tokyo, he worked like mad for eleven years at a sake wholesaler in Shinagawa, paying no heed to those around him. When he rented a small house in Omotecho and opened his new shop selling sake, soy sauce, firewood, charcoal, salt, and such, he worked ceaselessly, so pressed that he begrudged even the time to eat. He remained constantly at the shopfront with his sleeves tied back by a tasuki sash and wearing only his tabi socks, sitting there as he hurriedly shoveled down his meals.

Shinkichi was quite a fine figure. He was an oval-faced, fair-skinned man with a straight nose and a gentle mouth. Even as he worked apron-clad, his hair cropped in what they called a business cut and wearing a deep-collared knit shirt, there was an indefinable air of refinement about him. That he had been raised in a snowy, mountainous region of pure waters was evident even in the exceptional beauty of his skin's luster.

The one who arranged Osaku’s marriage was a fellow sake merchant named Izumiya. “Let me find you a wife—I’ve got a good one for you,” said Izumiya, broaching the subject when he had formed the plan that Shinkichi’s shop might just manage to get on its feet.

Shinkichi did not immediately agree to the proposal. “It’s still uncertain, you see.” “Unless I can see a solid forecast that the shop’s foundation will hold up with this arrangement, I’m too uneasy to even think about taking a wife.” “If I take a wife, I’d have to be ready for children to come along,” he said, forcing an uneasy smile onto his lonely face. However, Shinkichi felt the necessity of it. Even when he was out making deliveries or at the public bath, he couldn’t feel at ease leaving just the apprentice in charge for even a moment. Both the bookkeeping and preparing three daily meals required using his own hands and head. Shinkichi was deeply and meticulously weighing the economic gains and losses of taking a wife versus remaining single. He clicked each abacus bead, calculating in as much detail as possible everything from what would happen if another mouth was added to how things would be in two years if a child was born. Estimating the shop’s annual profits, savings amounts, interest, and such at their minimums; ascertaining with near certainty where no error lay; calculating in which year how much capital would accrue—there was no work more interesting to Shinkichi than this.

For about three months, he had agonized over the wife matter, but in the end, he couldn’t refrain from taking one. Osaku was at that time in service at the residence of a certain government official in Hongō Nishikatamachi.

She had been born in a small town well before Hachioji, where her uncle ran a sizable dried bonito shop in front of Dentsuin Temple. One day, Shinkichi made a special trip by train to the woman’s birthplace to investigate her background.

2

Osaku’s family home was a rather large hardware store in that town. Pots, buckets, Seto ware, soap, tissue paper, and sandals were crowded together in display, giving the appearance of an established shop, its darkened thick pillars gleaming smoothly. Shinkichi immediately ducked into a suspiciously dim eatery nearby and, while nursing his sake in small sips, cornered a woman to shrewdly interrogate her about the hardware dealer’s financial standing, the family’s character, and the local reputation. The woman with her greasy chignon kept sticking out her neck to pour drinks but told him everything she knew. She mentioned there was a small amount of farmland and a storehouse that resembled a modest shed. She also noted that her older brother was a farmer and her younger brother had been adopted into a local family. She further explained that during sericulture season they raised silkworms and occasionally made small loans here and there.

When weighed against Shinkichi’s own family standing, it wasn’t an especially substantial connection. Shinkichi’s family had now completely fallen into decline, but in the village, it had been one of the respectable households. Shinkichi had been raised as a young master until he was seven or eight. His relatives also included many families of good standing. Even if they had lost their possessions, the family’s status was not so diminished.

However, Shinkichi showed no particular concern for such matters. In his current standing, he deemed that sufficient. After consulting a friend from his native village about the matter, Shinkichi finally moved forward with the marriage negotiations. They decided to hold the meeting at a nearby storytelling hall. Shinkichi set out with that friend under Izumiya’s guidance, still wearing his everyday clothes as he walked with tentative steps.

Osaku sat slightly tilting her face between her uncle and her brother who had come from the countryside, wearing a shawl over a thin, pale haori that resembled komon-patterned crepe. The uncle had a face like a thicket of hair and wore an old layered coat. The brother was a man with a lozenge-shaped face and a large mouth, wearing a flannel shirt and looking thoroughly rustic. Because she was turned sideways, Shinkichi could not get a good look at her face. All he could discern was that she was fair-skinned and plump. Osaku, peering over someone’s shoulder, stole glances now and then toward Shinkichi, while his heart pounded with excitement, his mind feeling almost intoxicated.

As they left the vaudeville theater, Shinkichi caught a fleeting glimpse of Osaku’s departing figure. Osaku also turned to look back, scrutinizing the man’s standing figure directly two or three times. Osaku was a petite woman, and her way of walking seemed somewhat better than when she was seated.

Upon exiting that place, Izumiya fluttered the sleeves of his ungainly long Inverness coat and returned ahead of the others with Osaku’s companions.

“So? What kind of woman is she?” Shinkichi quietly asked his friend.

His mind felt hazy for some reason. The farmer-like appearances of her uncle and brother somehow nagged at him. But it wasn’t to the point of being utterly unbearable.

3

The next morning, after sending the apprentice out early to collect orders, he was scrubbing barrels at the shopfront when a man came hurrying toward him down the still-shadowed, faintly chilly street. It was Izumiya, clad in that familiar layered coat—thin and flimsy Yanagihara fabric.

Izumiya removed his stiff-looking woolen bowler hat, gave a brief greeting, sat down right there at the shopfront, and hurriedly pulled out a tobacco pouch from his obi to start smoking. “Your reputation is truly remarkable, I must say,” Izumiya suddenly exclaimed in a loud voice. “They’ve taken such a liking to you that they’re saying they want to be together no matter what.”

“You shouldn’t speak ill of them,” Shinkichi said, still scrubbing vigorously. He felt a restlessness that wouldn’t settle. “Oh, absolutely!” said Izumiya, arching his back. “They want things settled quickly—they’re asking you to pick the date even today! What do you say? She’s no bad match, surely?” He then launched into a torrent of praise—her respectable family circumstances, her gentle temperament, and more. He touched on astrological alignments and compatibility too, though keeping those calculations to himself. “Of course there’s no proper trousseau to speak of, but for better or worse, they’ll bring at least one chest of drawers.” “A set of bedding too, no doubt.” “Just take her in and see—working together’ll give you purpose! Make things lively!” “With that woman,” he urged, foam gathering at his grimy gums, “I guarantee we’ll establish Masushin’s Okama.”

Shinkichi sat before the accounting counter, listening with a vaguely dissatisfied expression, then tilted his head and muttered in a low voice, “I’ll take her, then.” “But when they come here and see it, they’ll be shocked. No matter what, they’d never imagine such a ramshackle place. But, well, fine—I’ll leave it to you then. If they run away, we’ll deal with it when they do.” “It’s not like that. Things should be tested—well, take her in and see.”

Izumiya returned home with a self-satisfied air.

Then, about seven days later, one evening, people of all sorts gathered in great numbers at Shinkichi’s house. Two former colleagues and one friend named Ono—these had come early in the morning to help decorate the rooms and oversee the preparations for that evening’s meals. They replaced the shoji paper and even procured cheap hanging scrolls from someplace. It was also Ono who borrowed a drizzle-patterned haori of the sort Shinkichi would wear and some well-worn hakama. He was a clever, helpful man who handled small commissions and such.

When this man provided an estimate for the meal, Shinkichi knit his brows into a gentle expression.

“This is truly troubling… With my current household situation, having you do such extravagant things…” “I don’t know what the hell they’re about, but let’s scrap those banquet gifts or whatever they’re called.”

4

Ono did not get angry. With a smile playing across his charming round face, he said, “Don’t be so stingy. It’s only once in a lifetime. Even if you save on these things, it won’t make much difference. Above all, it mustn’t look shabby.” “But listen,” Shinkichi replied, “I’m barely scraping together enough for this wedding. There’s no need to suffer hardships just to feed vanity, don’t you agree? That’s my principle, Ono. I’m different from folks like you who can fold your arms and rake in easy money.”

“Logic is logic,” said Ono, keeping his smile intact, “Since this differs from other situations, you must consider social appearances a bit…” “It’s fine, isn’t it? We’ll work rigorously later and earn it all back.”

Shinkichi picked up some pungent tobacco with his blackened fingertips, packed it into his brass kiseru, lit it beneath the iron kettle filled with charcoal dust, then exhaled a thick cloud of smoke with a contemplative expression. In the six-tatami room, a solid paulownia chest had already been placed. A new mirror stand had also been set atop it. Borrowed hibachi and yellow-striped floor cushions were piled on the reddish-brown tatami mats. They had just finished lunch, and the hard-of-hearing hired old woman was cleaning up in the kitchen.

Shinkichi kept grumbling on and on. He would take Ono’s written estimate in hand and mull over the numbers to himself. Ever since opening this shop, by barely eating enough to survive, he had scraped together thirty or forty yen in savings. The fact that he now had to part with almost all of it weighed painfully on Shinkichi. He had never intended to hold such a grandiose ceremony. The plan had been to bring her in quietly and settle matters discreetly. It wasn’t just about clinging to his money. At his core, these flashy displays and lavish ceremonies ran utterly counter to his frugal nature. He preferred to toil unnoticed and stash his earnings where no prying eyes could find them—that was his way of life. The mere thought of others speculating about his profits or savings already put him ill at ease. That warped mindset—a blend of self-reliance and what you might call individualism—had taken root in him ever since his apprentice days. Ono’s meddling grated on him. Yet without this man’s help, he couldn’t have managed a thing under these circumstances. He kept muttering complaints but couldn’t muster the will to outright refuse.

When it became past three o'clock, he went to the barber, then entered the bath. When he returned home, the house was already lit.

Shinkichi said, “Ah,” and sat down before the long hibachi. Ono wore a beaming face as if his own bride were arriving and said, “How about it, Shin-san? You must be eagerly waiting.” “Shall I make some tea?” “Don’t talk nonsense.” Shinkichi gave a forlorn laugh.

5 In time, two beautifully polished table lamps were lit in the cramped tatami room, and the hibachi and floor cushions were neatly arranged. The small ceremonial platform, sake flasks, cups, and such were also arranged on the low platform before anyone noticed. When dishes were brought from the kitchen, the hard-of-hearing old woman carefully arranged them on trays she had meticulously wiped, then lined up in the tea room the splendid bamboo-colored banquet gift baskets filled with magnificent shrimp and clams. Ono kept tearing newspaper and carefully covering them to keep off the dust.

Shinkichi grew restless. He had put on a formal kimono of the finest silk, his eyes shining with a dazzling intensity as he paced back and forth—standing over there one moment, coming to sit down here the next.

“There! Our preparations here are completely finished.” “She may come at any time now—there’s no problem.” “Well, let’s take a breather,” said Ono, his head gleaming like a dragonfly’s compound eyes as he sat down in the center of the tatami room. “No, thank you for your trouble,” said Shinkichi, sitting down beside the other two and scratching his head. “I’m just… not used to such things, you see…” “Oh, what do I know? It’s all nonsense,” he laughed.

“Tonight, please drink heartily to shake off today’s fatigue. You’re the first guest of honor, after all.” At this festive occasion, Shinkichi somehow felt unmoored, with not a single relative to speak of. Somehow managing to reach this point, when he thought of the long years of hardship—as if he had walked various winding paths and emerged onto a broad avenue—everything up until yesterday seemed like a dream. He also felt moved by the weight of responsibility that now lay ahead. Bright, almost divine lamplight swayed before his eyes despite the absence of wind, and tears welled up in Shinkichi’s eyes. His flower-like new bride, pulled by some mysterious thread of fate, gave him the sensation of descending from heaven itself.

“But she should be here by now,” said Ono, looking up from the newspaper he’d been reading on his lap. “What an affected delay.” He gave a deliberate yawn. “That’s right.” “Though it’s only just gotten dark,” said Ono as he exchanged glances with Shinkichi and peered out through the shop entrance. The shop was closed up tight except for the entrance. The apprentice sat beside the cold cashier’s grating, hands tucked into his sleeves while his head bobbed drowsily. The clock struck exactly seven o'clock.

Around the time Ono and Shinkichi had donned their haori and hakama and sat back down, the rumbling sound of a handcart began echoing from afar through the quiet evening town.

“Here they come!”

Ono exchanged glances with Shinkichi and stood up. The other two people and Shinkichi also stood up involuntarily.

Through the dark streets of Shinkai, the sound of the handcart being pulled dully along had an oddly ominous quality. The four of them stood shoulder to shoulder at the shop entrance, peering out into the darkness. The eaves light of the salt cracker shop across the way cast a lonely glow on one side of the dark, wide street.

6

While Shinkichi's heart raced in his chest, five handcarts lowered their tiller poles at the shopfront. The first to jump down was Izumiya, only the tips of his feet white. Next descended Mrs. Izumiya, her short neck held erect beneath a round chignon hairstyle, wearing a light-colored crested kimono. Third came Osaku—unassuming in her petite frame—who hopped down unceremoniously. Following her descended a woman of about forty, introduced as the uncle’s wife, clad in a black Azuma coat. “There now—thank you for your trouble,” she called out in breezy Tokyo dialect to the young men assisting them. Brother wore a black wide-brimmed fedora and carried himself with authority.

Izumiya and Ono, working together, had everyone take their seats.

The brisk aunt was a woman who had shed some of her provincial air. She had thin eyebrows, downturned eyes, a doughy fair-skinned face, and a charming mouth from which gold teeth glimmered. “Well now—this being our first meeting… I am this one’s uncle’s wife,” she began with ceremonial cadence. “Her mother unfortunately took ill these past few days—hence my standing in today—I humbly beg your kind indulgence…” “On this occasion we present you with such an unrefined offering…” The aunt drew out her formalities like unspooling thread until Brother followed with stiff greetings that hung awkwardly in the air.

For a while afterward, they fell silent as blue tobacco smoke drifted before everyone's eyes. Seated to the right at the front, Shinkichi sat rigid with arms crossed—his slicked-back hair glistening, face beautifully flushed, eyes glistening with gentle moisture. Osaku kept her lightly powdered face turned downward, flushed crimson. Her knees remained tightly drawn together, shoulders and chest area lacking any composure. The tightly bound Shimada-style chignon and ornamental hairpins looked as if they had been brought and placed atop her flattened head. Yet she showed no airs of refinement, occasionally raising expressionless eyes to gaze vacantly before lowering them again as if overwhelmed.

Izumiya and Ono moved in and out of the narrow tatami room, their hakama swishing sharply, until soon sake decanters and cups were brought in. After completing an unceremonious sansankudo ritual, crimson cups began circulating one by one to the people lined along both sides. Voices chorused “Congratulations” as the multitude bowed simultaneously in unison.

Shinkichi and Osaku’s faces were uniformly flushed, their eyes shining beautifully.

7 Around the time the cups had made one full round, the young Noh reciter whom Ono had fetched from somewhere sat in the lowest seat and suddenly raised an outlandishly loud voice to begin chanting Takasago. At the same time, Osaku rose to change clothes in the adjacent room, trays were brought before the guests, and cheerful laughter and conversation erupted all at once, with cups flying busily here and there.

“Well, the formalities are over. Now we’re going to drink,” Izumiya declared.

Shinkichi also left his seat. “Our household still isn’t properly settled, so I can’t say we have much in the way of a feast—but we’ve got plenty of sake. Please do take your time.” “Oh no, this is quite the lavish spread…” said Brother, placing a sake cup on his large palm and offering it to Shinkichi with an overly deferential bow. “I’m just a country bumpkin who don’t know anything’, but I humbly ask for your kindness.” “Oh no, if anyone should be grateful, it’s me,” Shinkichi humbly accepted, pressing his palms against his knees. “After all, I’ve only just started this household… And with not a single relative here on my side, I must admit I feel rather insecure.” “Well, with all of your guidance and support, I intend to work myself to the bone until I become a full-fledged merchant.”

“Not at all…” Brother said, accepting the returned cup with both hands. “Unlike folks like us, you’ve got real skill…” “Hey there, Shinkichi! Quit yappin’ about money and have a drink!” called Ono in a high-pitched voice from across the room.

Shinkichi turned around awkwardly, a lonely smile floating across his face. “This isn’t any joke. Starting tomorrow, there’ll be one more mouth to feed. Can’t afford to be careless,” he muttered in a low voice. “No, what truly matters for a householder is that very resolve,” interjected Izumiya, who had been earnestly conversing with the aunt. “The bride who’s come to this household is truly fortunate. He’s got fine manly qualities and real skill too.” “Why, of course it is,” said the aunt, fiddling with her gold teeth using a toothpick as she offered a sociable smile.

“Now take good care of the mistress, and there’ll be nothing wanting,” someone interjected. Sake decanters were carried in one after another. The voices grew increasingly boisterous, and in the narrow tatami room, the scent of sake and tobacco smoke hung thick in the air.

“What’s happened to the bride? What’s happened?” someone shouted discontentedly.

Izumiya went to check the adjacent room. Osaku had changed into a silk-woven kimono and inserted a showy flower hairpin before sitting hunched over at the long charcoal brazier, her back turned to the lamplight. “Now then, Osaku, you must go out there and pour drinks.” Osaku blushed, her lips forming a loose smile as she laughed.

8 With Ono having gotten slightly tipsy and rowdy, everyone safely left a little past nine. The aunt and Brother had been exchanging lengthy greetings amidst the commotion, but when departing, Brother’s legs were unsteady.

Shinkichi’s friends drank for a while longer before taking their leave.

"As if to say, 'Ah, I can’t fathom why people make such a racket at someone else’s wedding,' Shinkichi—his drunken flush faded to a pallid complexion—collapsed onto the futon."

When he awoke the next morning, Osaku was already up. At the bedside lay a tobacco tray with its ashes neatly leveled and a newspaper whose crisp folds remained undisturbed.

It appeared that a light rain had fallen since dawn, and the gentle sound of raindrops was pleasantly audible to his sleep-heavy head. The bean seller’s bell had a damp ring to it.

He felt as if he’d been saddled with an unforeseen burden since morning, but remembering how he’d harbored similar anxieties when first opening his shop, the path ahead seemed only dimly lit—yet within that darkness lingered a faint glimmer of hope. When he rose from the futon and moved toward the tearoom, he unexpectedly came face-to-face with Osaku. She wore an everyday gas-thread kimono with a red tasuki sash across her shoulders, her face mottled by unevenly applied white powder. “Oh,” she murmured, flushing crimson as she lowered her gaze, but Shinkichi offered no smile and proceeded directly to the shop. There waited a girl from the impoverished neighborhood nearby and a wizened man of about forty—an infant strapped to his back—both come to purchase charcoal and miso.

Shinkichi, together with the shop boy, put on a strikingly amiable face and energetically conducted business. At breakfast, he was able to scrutinize Osaku’s face for the first time. At the narrow dining table, they laid out last night’s leftover dishes from the feast and sat facing each other to take up their chopsticks, but Osaku occasionally raised her eyes to look at Shinkichi’s face. Shinkichi also stared intently at her profile as she served the rice. It was a compact, rounded face with a small nose and a narrow forehead. Her stubby-fingered hand wore a stone-set ring. When the meal was finished, Shinkichi—suddenly restless in manner—smoked two or three pipes of tobacco, then abruptly began speaking loudly to the elderly maid eating her meal by the kitchen entrance.

“Granny, like I’ve been saying, we’re done here.” “Since it’s up to you, leave whenever you like...”

Granny set down her miso soup bowl and nodded twice, saying, “Yes, yes.” “But today, well, there’s all this tidying up to do, and you’ve only just arrived and have been dealing with water chores and such…” she said, turning a smile toward Osaku. “My household ain’t in any position to be making such allowances. “You’ll have to start working today,” Shinkichi said curtly.

“Oh, please go ahead!” Osaku said in a low voice. “Hey, Masuzō! What’re you gawkin’ at? Get that grub down your gullet already,” Shinkichi barked as he jerked upright.

9

During the morning, Shinkichi went out two or three times, each time returning in a hurried flurry. He went around delivering salt and wood scraps to regular customers, just like the shop boy. He shouldered a carrying box and went around delivering small amounts of soy sauce and sake as well. When the shop was about to empty, he clicked his tongue in annoyance, glanced toward the back, and called out, “Hey! Get out here and mind the shop.” Osaku, while fussing over her face and hair, came to the counter and sat down awkwardly.

Shinkichi took hold of the bride who had just arrived the previous night and began instructing her on the quality and prices of soy sauce and sake. “Since there are many poor people around here, all our business is in petty transactions. “Since our customers are seven- or eight-tenths laborers, liquor retail makes up the bulk of our sales.” “Since there are two or three people a day who come to the shopfront and settle on drinking from a square cup, when one of those types rushes in, you twist the spout here like this and shove the whole cup out at them.” “Those bastards probably use pinches of salt or something to guzzle it down and take off.” “Since ours is a new shop, we’ve decided not to extend any credit beyond what’s in the ledger.” Then he briskly taught her how to handle sales tabs and such. Osaku merely grinned vacantly. Whether she had understood or not, Shinkichi found himself vexed. And without even properly smoking his tobacco, he shouldered the container and went out again.

In the evening, when he had gained some free time, Shinkichi put on a plain formal kimono, donned an old bird-hunting cap, left the shop in Osaku and the shop boy’s care, and departed the house saying he was going to Izumiya.

Osaku was relieved afterwards. Despite his gentle face, his temperament seemed strikingly fierce. Though he seemed quiet, the way he laid everything bare without reservation also struck her as manly. When she tried to fold and store last night’s haori and hakama in the wardrobe, Shinkichi said in a low voice, “Those were borrowed by Ono from elsewhere…,” then produced a wrapping cloth and carefully bundled them himself. His manner—devoid of vanity or concern for appearances—made her feel somehow reassured. He would sometimes direct startlingly harsh words at her—a newcomer—yet she also thought him a man as straightforward as split bamboo. She also recalled what he had said last night after they went to bed—that he intended to greatly expand the shop within two or three years… When she recalled his words—“Keep your eyes closed and endure until we’ve built our own house and saved one or two thousand yen”—Osaku felt an unexpected, heartrending emotion. The anxiety and turmoil of these past five or six days melted together with her weary body, and a feeling both joyous and ephemeral drifted through her chest.

Osaku propped her elbows on the desk and gazed distractedly at the wide reclaimed-town streets. The pallid winter sun intermittently clouded over, letting desolate shadows creep across the entire scene. People moved like frozen specters drifting dreamily through the thoroughfare. Osaku's eyes grew damp. Shinkichi's face—still lacking distinct features in her memory—seemed to materialize from within a nebulous ring of haze.

10

The blissful months and years slipped away like water.

Shinkichi became even more diligent in the family business after marriage. In his work habits compared to before, he gradually developed a certain leeway for preparation and prudence. He grew adept at utilizing the shop boy, managing suppliers, and cultivating regular customers. While moving his body became relatively less frequent, there was also a growing inclination to engage his mind more extensively.

However, Osaku was of no use at all. That she had a gentle disposition, was modest in her daily conduct, and had few material desires—it became increasingly clear these alone were this woman’s virtues. When Shinkichi went out, Osaku could employ neither initiative nor resourcefulness beyond what her husband had ordered. It was not uncommon for her to miscalculate how to dilute the sake or sell expensive soy sauce at cheaper prices. She couldn’t grasp things like checking the ledger or assessing regular customers’ situations at all. She showed no sign of even trying to grasp them.

When such incidents piled up time and again, Shinkichi would fume with anger.

“You’re a damn fool. What sort of merchant’s wife does something like this? Where do you put all those three meals a day?” These words now came from gentle Shinkichi’s mouth. Osaku’s face flushed red as she simply grinned vacantly.

“Damn it, this is hopeless,” Shinkichi said resentfully, his entire face darkening. “I’ve ended up saddled with a real piece of work. And Izumiya’s no Izumiya at all! If he’s going to play matchmaker for a friend, he should’ve found me a wife with some wit about her! The matchmaker just talks a big game... This is like sizing up someone’s weaknesses and foisting a castoff on them,” he muttered.

Osaku, her face on the verge of tears, helplessly hung her head. “Starting tomorrow, just stay out of sight.” “If you even come out to the shop, you’ll just get in the way of the family business.” “You’d be better off staying in the back mending old rags or something.” “If you can’t handle something this simple, there’s no way you’d manage anywhere else.” “And yet you somehow managed to serve in that mansion.” Shinkichi’s scolding tongue held venom and fire.

Hot tears spilled from Osaku's eyes.

“I’m a fool, so…” she stammered nervously.

Shinkichi suddenly fell silent. Then he drew deeply on his tobacco. His taut face turned ashen, eyes glazed like a drunkard's. The will to speak left him, yet his chest still seethed. When met with this silence, Osaku's heart grew ever more uneasy.

“I’ll do my utmost to be careful from now on…,” she apologized in a trembling voice, but her words held neither confidence nor resolve. There was nothing but terror.

11 After such incidents occurred, Osaku would invariably sit down before the chest of drawers in the six-mat room at the back and begin her needlework. Whether Shinkichi spoke for half a day or a full day, those familiar small wrinkles would gather at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. While offering a kindly smile and obedient responses, she couldn’t even mention that the ripe persimmon had been crushed. During her time under her parents’ care and her three years of service at a government official’s residence in Nishikatamachi, it had been enough to simply do what she could with honesty and diligence. Her parents had praised her as a model daughter, while her employer cherished her as a good-natured, obedient woman. When arrangements were made for her to settle into this household, they had said upon her departure: “You would surely not neglect your husband.” Managing a household would suit her well. When they remarked she was certain to be considered an ideal wife, she received an excessively generous monetary gift from her employer. The mistress herself had given her detachable collars and hairpins, seeing her off all the way beyond the gate. Yet when Shinkichi denounced her outright, Osaku’s mind grew muddled until nothing made sense. It seemed he was merely putting on a show of authority. She suspected he might be deliberately making noise to intimidate her. That sort of thing—even if she failed today—seemed manageable with two or three more attempts to grow accustomed. In any case, she already knew of his short temper and irritability—the old maid had discreetly warned her when leaving—and so Osaku, feeling this way, did not dwell deeply on it. When scolded, her heart would race with anxiety about what might happen, her chest tightening—but only in the moment. Though clouds of anxiety lingered, she never sank to self-pity.

Even so, while pausing her needlework, there were times when she would sigh. Sitting alone beside the long brazier during quiet afternoons when she had no work to do, tears would naturally flow. There were even times when she thought it might be easier to simply return home and go back into service at her former employer’s mansion.

From around that time, Osaku began frequently turning to face the mirror. When she confirmed no one’s shadow lingered nearby, she quietly removed the mirror’s cover and gazed upon her own reflection. She fixed her hair, applied water-based face powder, and sat there entranced for a while. And then she would relive the events of her wedding day as though they were yesterday, retracing those blissful dreams of the half-year that followed. Her own figure and the lively, splendid scenes of that evening would also rise vividly before her eyes. —Now, not even a trace of those shadows remained. Remembering it all made her feel so desolate she wanted to burst into tears.

Shinkichi, who had been doing the accounts in the shop, suddenly let out an “Ah…” and, with a look of utter boredom, came peering into the back room. Osaku, her face flushed, hurriedly covered the mirror.

“Oi, why don’t you make some tea?” Shinkichi said with a stern expression, turning back the way he’d come.

When they came together by the long brazier, the two would fall into an awkward silence. In the long brazier, the fire had gone out, and the iron kettle had turned cold.

12 Osaku, acting restlessly, suddenly brought charred firewood from the kitchen and, picking up the star-like charcoal briquettes, kept glancing at Shinkichi’s expression from time to time. “Infuriating.” Shinkichi clicked his tongue softly, snatched the fire tongs as if seizing them, and began reviving the fire by blowing on the embers himself.

“What’ve you been doing all day? Keeping you around’s worse than having a kitten—who knows how much more use that’d be,” he said mockingly. Osaku kept smiling nervously, her eyes fixed on the reviving fire. Shinkichi rubbed his flushed cheeks with both hands. “You’re hopeless ’cause you’ve never known real hardship.” “I started my apprenticeship in Shinagawa at fourteen—eleven years of hard labor.” “Stood all day on dirt floors without decent meals.” “That cold that split your fingers like cracked pottery—when they made me grind charcoal—I’d end up bawling like a baby.”

Osaku wrinkled the slackened skin around her mouth and smirked. “Then you can take it easy from now on, can’t you?”

“This isn’t a joke.” Shinkichi spat out. “The real hardships are yet to come. Until now it was enough just moving my body and enduring—but now that I'm running my own shop, that doesn't cut it. The mental strain’s no joke.”

"But there must be some pleasures too." "What kind of pleasures?" Shinkichi widened his eyes. "I haven't reached any enjoyable places yet." "That sort of goal isn't something you just row up to casually." "For that matter, the wife needs to be reliable too... That part I'll handle." "I'll show you." "I won't stay down even if I fall." "But what about you?" "You're just cramming down three wasted meals daily and lazing about every single day." "That's why I've got no spirit left for work." "I'm sick of this," Shinkichi said with thoroughly disgusted features.

"But we're saving money." "That's only natural." Shinkichi's eyes momentarily brightened with a pleased smile that quickly hardened into something almost fearsome. What consoled him wasn't Osaku's thriftiness but her utter lack of initiative in spending. She neither considered economizing here nor managing there—nor ever felt moved to squander even a single copper coin of her own will. Since their union, Shinkichi's household provisions had steadily grown more ample. Their daily implements multiplied. The cheaply acquired cabinet and vermin-proof chest he'd procured somewhere gleamed with new polish; a basic rotation of kimonos now filled their wardrobe. They'd secured insurance policies and maintained separate monthly savings besides. Never once had Osaku ventured out to shop independently. Shinkichi had come to personally select every side dish for their three daily meals down to the last pickled radish. Osaku simply drifted through these routines like some dull-witted automaton.

13

One of the apprentices who had been making his rounds to regular customers returned nonchalantly, tossed down his delivery basket there, and called out toward the back room, “Master.”

“Mr. XX complained about the sake,” said the apprentice. “He said it’s no good being that diluted, so next time you must check it more thoroughly…” “I’m taking it now.” “Check it thoroughly?” Shinkichi frowned. “There’s no way it’s diluted. Who said that?” “The master said so.” “That’s absolutely not true!” Shinkichi spat out. “Though they did say to make it stronger—so I tried blending it drier…” He stormed into the shop, jammed his feet into wooden clogs, and stepped down to the earthen floor while muttering complaints under his breath.

In the shop, a gurgling sound could be heard. After a while, the apprentice went out again.

"They don't even drink proper sake, yet keep complaining," Shinkichi muttered to himself as he returned to his usual seat. The anxious look in his eyes betrayed his worry over what the customers might be thinking.

Osaku brewed coarse tea, then placed damp rice crackers on the wooden tray. Shinkichi, while lost in thought, unconsciously began crunching on them. Osaku, with her seemingly weak teeth, was nibbling intermittently as well.

It was the end of March, and outside was becoming quite spring-like. The cherry tree behind the storehouse had begun to scatter white blossoms here and there under a warm sky bathed in gentle light. Outside, the comings and goings of people sounded somehow bustling. Shinkichi found himself feeling an unexpected sense of tranquility. As he sat there like this, he also felt as though a peculiar emptiness had formed within his heart. It was likely due to the accumulated fatigue of many years surfacing all at once. Having gained some mental space to reflect on things was probably another contributing factor.

Osaku brought it up during some conversation: “…When the flowers bloom, shall we go to the countryside once—just the two of us?”

Shinkichi silently looked at Osaku’s face.

“There’s nothing special to see there or anything, but still, the countryside is lovely.” “Milk vetch and dandelions bloom… Picking wild greens when the fields are warm and sunny is truly delightful.” “You make it sound so easy,” Shinkichi laughed bleakly. “Going to your hometown’s fine, but I’ve got obligations—need to visit my own at least once first.” “Why haven’t you gone back to your hometown in seven or eight years?” “That’s really something.” Osaku laughed, her gums showing as she bit into a salt rice cracker.

“Where would we get that kind of money?” Shinkichi made a bitter face. “If we go even once, a month or two’s profits will vanish.” “After all this time—I can’t exactly return empty-handed.” “Since it’s my birthplace, I’d have to drag along even some paltry gift like a kite’s feather.” “…And first off—what do you plan to do about the shop?”

Osaku suddenly wilted. “This ain’t the time for that sorta thing. “It’s God’s honest truth.”

Shinkichi gulped down his tea and suddenly stood up.

14

At the time when caterpillars infested the cherry thickets, Osaku abruptly ceased menstruating. Osaku had always been susceptible to cold. Her lips held a pallid hue, her complexion lacked vitality. Her teeth too were frail. When chrysanthemum transplanting season arrived, she would sleep with a foot warmer tucked at her hem while enduring Shinkichi’s derisive laughter. Though free of any defined illness, there were times when undigested food would rise back up her throat. On days when arid winter winds blew cold, she would hunch over the brazier with a bloodless face that seemed to bristle with gooseflesh. Even modest water chores left her small hands chapped within moments; rubbing them together produced a parched crackle. Each night before bed, Shinkichi made her drink a thimble-sized cup of fortified sake for nourishment. Hearing of an adept moxibustion practitioner near Dentsū-in Temple, he had her undergo that treatment too.

“What’re you gonna do about that now? You’ve turned into a proper granny.” Shinkichi laughed scornfully. Osaku put on a guilty face and made a show of working vigorously each time. That this frail body had gotten pregnant did seem rather strange.

“Don’t lie.” “Your body’s just acting up,” Shinkichi said without believing her.

“No,” Osaku said with a flushed face, “I’ve felt something wasn’t right for quite some time now. “When I had it divined, that’s what they told me.” Shinkichi stared at his wife’s face with uneasy eyes.

With a look that seemed to ask, "What’s happening to me, with this weak body…?" Osaku also gazed up at Shinkichi’s face with an awkward air.

Then began a conversation between them—soft and moist like kneaded earth thawing in spring. Shinkichi now found it pitiful how he had ceaselessly showered her with abuse all this time. Regret welled up within him—regret for having been utterly unable to regard her as his wife. Just four or five days prior—angry over her long bath, he had hurled every vile insult until finally roaring in bitter resentment as if saddled with some burdensome dependent—even he himself now thought it contemptible.

Moreover, if she were to become pregnant, he felt his spirits might somehow lift. Despite some anxiety and unpleasant feelings accompanying him, there was also a sense that he was entering a period where his life was becoming more certain.

Osaku began worrying about childbirth. She started talking about first garments and swaddling clothes.

“Since I’m physically weak, I thought the childbirth would surely be difficult...” Osaku gazed at the man’s face with eyes that seemed both happy and anxious, blinking sleepily. Shinkichi felt a pang of tender pity.

Osaku heard twelve o’clock strike and suddenly stabbed her needle into the pincushion. Her face had a rare gloss, and her eyes held a beautiful moistness. Shinkichi gazed at her face with an entranced expression.

15 Osaku showed the same freshness as on their wedding day and an affectionate demeanor toward her husband as she picked up the scattered cloth scraps and thread ends around them. Shinkichi closed the storybook he had been reading beside her and stretched his lethargic limbs until they creaked, muttering in an urgent tone, "Well, I can't just sit around like this."

"Am I really going to be a father now?" he rubbed his arm. "How time flies—it feels just like a dream," Osaku said with entranced eyes, her voice sweetly coquettish. "It feels strange—even for someone like me to think I'll have a child." The two then began recalling their feelings from around their wedding time, talking about even trivial matters as if they held significance. During such harmonious moments between them, rumors about each other's parents and siblings would often surface. Stories about relatives and tales from their own childhoods emerged.

“Mother says I should come to the countryside when the baby comes, but I can just stay home, right?”

When the clock struck one, Osaku—as if suddenly remembering—hurriedly laid out the bedding. After dressing Shinkichi in his nightclothes and settling him into bed, she busied herself once more—folding discarded garments and extinguishing the brazier’s embers. For two or three days, this manner of affectionate interaction continued. Shinkichi would sometimes draw close and plant a fervent kiss on Osaku’s cheek. He would sometimes suddenly think to take her to a nearby vaudeville hall. But after such times, a storm would soon follow. From an unexpected event, Shinkichi’s mental equilibrium was suddenly shattered.

“That’s enough—I’ve indulged you too much already.” When Shinkichi noticed Osaku swaying drowsily before the daytime brazier, about to doze off, he clicked his tongue irritably and promptly turned on his heel to leave. Osaku gasped, her heart racing, but once matters had reached this point, there was nothing left to be done. With Osaku’s limited wits, nothing more could be done. Realizing they were fundamentally incompatible, she could do nothing but weep silently in her heart. Shinkichi’s demeanor had flipped like the palm of a hand, and even the sight of his face now filled her with nausea.

When late autumn arrived, Osaku was taken back to her rural family home. By that time, her belly—unusually small—had grown quite noticeable. The aunt from in front of Dentsū-in Temple came and settled the matter with Shinkichi in her usual brisk manner. The emotions between husband and wife were tangled like snarled thread. Osaku felt as though she had already been grown tired of and discarded. Shinkichi felt that Osaku might not return like this. In any case, it seemed to Osaku that this was indeed the general sentiment of those around her.

Shinkichi had an errand boy carry some items and placed nourishing wine in the corner of the bag for her. "I'll come by before long." “Please come see me properly.” Osaku, while lagging behind, reiterated her plea time and again.

16

After Osaku left, Shinkichi felt as if he had lost something. The house suddenly felt desolate, and at each of the three daily meals, Osaku’s figure sitting there would strangely come to mind. When he thought about how he had cursed Osaku and slandered her, he even felt pained. Despite this, he found his own crude emotions shameful when recalling how he had roared things like, “Keeping a kitten would be better than keeping a useless thing like you!” or “Get out already—then I’d finally breathe free!” during his outbursts. However, he couldn’t bring himself to go visit Osaku. Every time Osaku sent clumsily scrawled letters saying she missed Tokyo, found the countryside lonely, or begged him to come because her health was failing, he would cluck his tongue, crumple the letters, and toss them aside. When she sent a photo taken with Mother, Brother, her cousin, and a crowd of others, Shinkichi spat out, “Every damn one of ’em—peasant faces plastered all over this,” “Makes me sick,” he snarled, refusing to look at it again.

Around that time, Ono had gotten married, rented a room in Kyōbashi’s Okazakichō district, and was living a tidy little life. The woman was known only to have been born in Ise, her background remaining unclear. She was three or four years older than Osaku, yet her appearance retained a youthful air. “What exactly *is* your wife?” Shinkichi asked curiously when Ono came to visit after he’d first seen the woman. “What does she look like to your eyes?” Ono grinned with a sly glint in his eyes.

“I can’t figure her out,” he said. “She’s no amateur—that’s certain.” “Acts all high-and-mighty for a fool,” he continued, “but even as a geisha she’s still got unpolished edges…” “She’s not that sort of merchandise,” Ono replied with a laugh, eyes darting away. Ono maintained his usual elegant appearance. He wore a crisply starched new kosode fastened with a neatly arranged tea-brown Hakata silk obi, a pure gold ring glinting on his finger. His accessories changed constantly—always some pretentious item. Lately he’d been pressing Shinkichi about deals: vintage gold watches available cheap here under-the-counter there; discreet tobacco pouches going for a song elsewhere.

“Someone like me—I’ve got no use for such things.” “If I ever attain the status of a carefree retiree, then I might wish for it,” said Shinkichi, brushing him off.

“But you’ve got it made, haven’t you? Flaunting those fine clothes year-round, and your wife’s a beauty too…” Shinkichi said, violently rapping his greasy pipe against the brazier’s edge. “Me? I’m just wretched. A complete failure.” Then he began pouring out his grievances about Osaku.

“How’s she been doing since then?” Ono shot a sharp glance at Shinkichi’s face. “What’s become of her? I haven’t even gone to check. If she never comes back at all, I’d be better off.” “If a child comes along, things won’t go that way.”

17 “What kind of brat would come along?” Shinkichi muttered resentfully.

Ono silently looked at Shinkichi’s face. “But things like arranged meetings are completely unreliable. In front of you, Shin-san, but he overestimated things a bit. On the wedding night, when I first saw Osaku-san’s face, I couldn’t help but think, ‘Oh dear.’”

“Absolutely.” Shinkichi laughed forlornly. “There’s no hope for reconciliation anyway… Even if I put up with that much, that woman hasn’t got an ounce of initiative.” “When customers come, she doesn’t even know how to greet them properly—can’t handle a single neighborly interaction either.” “I’ve drawn a terrible losing lot in life,” Shinkichi sighed. “You really should’ve thought it through more,” Ono said with feigned sympathy. “But what’s done is done—you’ve been together a year or two now. Even if you want to leave, you might manage fine, but poor Osaku-san would suffer.”

“But I suppose that woman isn’t having any fun either,” Shinkichi said. “We quarrel every other day—I curse her out and beat her.” He forced a hollow laugh. “...Never treated her like a human being from the start.” “That’s rough,” Ono replied with an empty chuckle. “Who knows how this’ll end,” Shinkichi mused. “She’s already trembling at my temper. If she tells her mother or brother and winds up pregnant, maybe divorce talks’ll start—not that things can stay like this anyway.” He barked out a joyless laugh, the turmoil in his chest threatening to spill over.

“Not necessarily,” Ono said with a self-assured nod. “Women are surprisingly resilient, you know. Even if you try to throw them out, they won’t just leave.” “Why, that isn’t true at all,” he said. Shinkichi blinked his dazed eyes. “You treat her well enough, she’s charming to customers—compared to that hag in my house, it’s like heaven and earth.” Whenever they met, these sorts of rumors would always begin. Ono appeared thoroughly carefree and self-satisfied. When Ono left, Shinkichi would always wear a drained expression and listlessly brood. Dwelling on this and that made his ceaseless toil seem utterly pointless.

The busy month of December arrived. Shinkichi’s body and mind no longer had room to dwell on such problems. The more he worked, the more he found himself enjoying it again, ending each day with an inexpressible satisfaction. When he lay his head on the pillow, thoughts of this year’s improved business compared to last and his growing clientele wove themselves into pleasant dreams. It seemed there was truly nothing left to complain about. Once things ease up a bit, I’ll go visit Osaku and let that woman have something to be pleased about, he thought.

18

One morning, as Shinkichi was checking the ledger at the counter, a woman wearing a pale azuma coat with her hair in a ginkgo bun arrived by rickshaw at the shopfront. That was Ono’s wife, Okuni.

Okuni was dressed in downtown-style attire. She wore a robe of mediocre silk, had on a bellflower-tinted alluring overcoat, and wore stylish clogs. The woman was petite, with a clear yet slightly peculiar look in her eyes, her fair-skinned face plump and charming.

“Pardon me,” she said in a voice both frivolous and childlike, then glided inside. The apprentice—who had been seated there leafing through the client ledger—scrambled to retreat into a corner. Shinkichi greeted her curtly, the brush still tucked behind his ear.

“Shin-san, oh—something terrible has happened!”

The woman placed the box of confectionery there, took off her shawl, and unfastened the front of her coat. Her cheeks, having met the cold wind, took on a rosy hue, and her moistened eyes shone beautifully. But they carried an indefinable dread. Her lips were pale, her disheveled hair tousled. "What's wrong?" Shinkichi gazed uneasily at her face but soon averted his eyes. "Please, come in. In such a dirty place, there's nowhere proper to sit. Moreover, my wife isn't here—it's been an all-male household for so long that it might feel eerie—but please do come through to the back."

“Not at all…” The woman smiled warmly and looked around the shop. “What a truly thriving shop you have here. The goods are stocked so neatly.” “No, given the nature of this place, it’s not worth mentioning at all.” Shinkichi went to the back room, laid out a futon in front of the long charcoal brazier, and called out, “Please….”

“I’m terribly sorry to trouble you when you’re so busy,” said Okuni as she removed her coat and was shown to the back room. “It’s been a while…,” she composed herself, bowed, and surveyed her surroundings. “It’s quite well-organized.” “And with everything fully stocked here, someone like Ono could never compete.” He took sweets from the package, pushed them toward the corner, and muttered something under his breath.

Shinkichi made a troubled face, scratched his head, and bowed, saying, “Is that so?” “A merchant must have a proper shop. After all, there’s nothing as certain as engaging in steady commerce, you know.”

Shinkichi poured lukewarm tea as he served it, saying, “I’m no good—I don’t have the knack like Mr. Ono for making money without lifting a finger.” “But you’re rapidly building it up, aren’t you? The shop looks completely different from when I last visited,” she countered. “Someone like Ono is vague and unreliable—utterly useless.” Her voice trailed off dejectedly. The rosiness faded from her face, leaving it pale.

19 After a moment, Okuni, appearing awkward, began to recount the sudden incident of Ono being taken into custody yesterday morning. She explained in detail how it had all unfolded: the previous evening, the couple had gone to Fudo’s festival together, walking about here and there, shopping and eating soba until they returned home late and exhausted; then early the next morning, they were roused from sleep, dragged away without even having time to properly wash their faces. Ono bolted upright and said, “I have no recollection of being arrested. Once we get there, you’ll see,” he said, changed into his kimono, took his wallet, watch, and other items, and followed the detectives out.

“It’s just some mistake. “I’ll be back soon, so don’t worry,” he chided the flustered Okuni, though his complexion looked somehow unpleasant as he left. Since then, there had been no word from him. Last night she waited without sleeping all night, but seeing that he still hadn’t been returned even this morning, today too seemed somehow strange. Could it be that he’d done something bad and been thrown into pre-trial detention? From the detectives’ tone, there had seemed no indication that he would be released anytime soon, but…

“What in the world has happened?” Okuni fixed eyes brimming with unease on Shinkichi’s face. “Well…” Shinkichi let the word hang, falling silent as he sank deep into thought.

Okuni's eyes took on an even deeper hue of anxiety. "What sort of man is Ono?"

“What kind of… Well, he’s just that guy through and through…,” Shinkichi trailed off, sinking into thought again. “So could it be some mistake?” “If it were a mistake, wouldn’t they’ve taken him saying it’s just suspicion or something?” Okuni leaned her cheek against the brazier with overfamiliar ease. “Dunno,” Shinkichi sighed. “But he’ll come back today. Nothin’ to fret over.” “But I heard his hometown’s court contacted us here.” “The detectives said so themselves,” Okuni added, her tone digging deeper into the wound.

“That’s why I feel something isn’t right.” He fixed her with suspicious eyes. “I keep thinking he must have done something bad out in the countryside.” “I don’t know anything about his country dealings,” she replied, “but either way, we should find out what’s happening today.” In Shinkichi’s mind rose vivid images of Ono’s recent extravagant lifestyle—the lavish meals, fine clothes, unexplained absences. He gave a mental nod; no doubt the man had been involved in shady dealings. “Told you so,” he thought bitterly.

Okuni kept talking until around midnight. During their conversation, Shinkichi got up and went to the shop two or three times. She shared petty confidential stories about aspects of Ono’s daily life unknown to Shinkichi, repeatedly slipping into a tone that cast suspicion on Ono’s behavior and the means by which he made money.

20

Ono’s arrest turned out to be more complicated than anticipated. On the day he was arrested, he was immediately transferred from the Metropolitan Police Department to a rural court. Though the detailed circumstances remained unclear, it became known only that some mistake had arisen from a promissory note in dealings with a merchant in the countryside. It was said he had rewritten the dates on expired promissory notes and reused them. The plaintiff was cunning, but Ono's methods were deceitful. Two or three letters came from Ono to his wife. He also sent some to Shinkichi. Since Okuni had no relatives in Tokyo who could support her, he asked to be looked after in all matters. There was also a request conveying that once cleared of all charges, he would surely repay the favor. Regarding hiring a lawyer, he mentioned wanting money. After the 20th day of December’s end, Okuni consulted with Shinkichi, borrowed from various sources, pawned kimonos and other items, and managed to send a modest sum of money.

Okuni and Shinkichi began seeing each other nearly every day. On days when Shinkichi did not go out, Okuni would usually come to Omotecho. Their conversations were always dominated by matters of Ono being in pre-trial detention and rumors about the trial. They would even bring up consultations about what should be done if he were to be imprisoned for two or even three years. “When I inquired with various people, they said it’s somewhat serious, you know.” “They said he’ll inevitably have to serve about two years or so.” “If he were to be imprisoned for two whole years, it wouldn’t be him inside but me left behind who couldn’t bear it.” “Over there, it's government-funded, but here, things don’t work that way.” “Moreover, I’ve already turned most of the somewhat decent things like rings and combs into cash and sent them off…” Okuni began to spill out.

“Oh, I know Mr. Ono’s character well enough—it’s not like they’d leave you out to dry all alone. It’ll work out somehow,” Shinkichi said, though he had no concrete plan in mind.

As the year-end approached, the shop gradually grew busier. Bamboo poles had already been erected all along the eaves of the gates, rustling noisily in the wind. Even in the bleak streets of Shinkai Town, the waves of year’s end came rushing in, and the frenzied look in Shinkichi’s eyes had changed. Before anyone knew it, Okuni had become a constant presence in the household over the past two or three days. She managed all inner household affairs with efficiency, as though she were a seasoned homemaker of long practice. From Shinkichi’s perspective, her actions seemed somewhat frivolous and showy. But her work was vigorous. Even when holding just a single broom, she swept so thoroughly it felt satisfying. The lamp that had always been dim now burned brightly at all times, and both the long brazier and mouse-proof container gleamed spotlessly. The lumpy stews and thin soups that the inept Osaku prepared for their three daily meals were replaced by Tokyo-style dishes skillfully made by Okuni, yet the dining tray never lacked appetizing pickles. Whether one opened the closet or stepped into the kitchen, everything was meticulously organized down to the last detail.

21 Shinkichi felt a creeping restlessness. He also found something vaguely unsettling.

“If you organize everything so tight and proper, it’ll just cause trouble,” he said with a frown. “Business is business—it ain’t gonna be all prim and polished.” “But doesn’t it feel downright unpleasant?” said Okuni as she tidied Osaku’s neglected sewing box, trunk, and half-unstitched fabrics—items she’d politely avoided touching until now—while pulling out old tabi socks and moth-eaten underskirts. “Doesn’t it feel all gritty? With New Year’s coming on, there’s just no bearing this.” “I’m the sort who can’t leave well enough alone once I lay eyes on something, even if it don’t profit me a whit…” “Truth is, I’ve been itching over this corner here since who-knows-when,” she said, gathering sundry clutter into a bundle and packing it neat into the storage trunk.

Shinkichi made a bitter face and withdrew.

This sort of work continued for two or three days straight. Okuni frequently went out to do shopping. She bought New Year’s decorations like sacred straw ropes and pine branches with roots still attached, as well as small vessels for offerings at the household altar. It was also Okuni who placed a red-and-white kagami mochi—about eight sun in size—beside the accounts desk and adorned it with Kamakura-style shrimp-and-fish ornaments and sacred paper streamers. She prepared all the essentials of what are called stacked food offerings. On New Year’s Eve evening, crescent-shaped lanterns were lit atop the piled straw bundles at the shopfront, making this corner alone bright amid the murky gloom of Shinkai Town. In the back room, the altar lamp fluttered like a banner in the wind, its light catching on the green of small circular pine decorations where the new year’s first glimmer could already be glimpsed.

Okuni had her hair styled at the neighborhood hairdresser, draped a komon-patterned haori coat over her shoulders, and sat before the long brazier with a bright, cheerful face. After nine o'clock, the shop had mostly taken shape. Shinkichi treated the two apprentices to year-end dishes like soba, then sent them in shifts to the bathhouse and barber. Both the shop and the back rooms finally grew quiet. The lamp, its oil nearly spent, emitted a faint sputtering sound, and a lonely shadow began to cling to the room. On the soot-darkened pillars and the edges of the brazier, a cold sheen could be seen. It was a night of biting cold, and the footsteps of people passing by outside echoed sharply through the air.

Shinkichi sat cross-legged before the brazier, head bowed deep in thought. The memory surfaced of this very night last year when he had first begun living together with Osaku, newly arrived. “What are you spacing out about?” Okuni pulled the sake decanter from the copper kettle and held it out to Shinkichi with an awkward gesture.

“Nah, I’ll handle it myself—” Shinkichi said as he reached to take the sake decanter.

“What’s the harm? Pouring sake is just…” Okuni poured some for Shinkichi, then said, “Since it’s New Year’s Eve for me too, I’ll have a little,” and poured some for herself as well.

Shinkichi drained his cup in one gulp, then poured himself another as he said, “I’m truly grateful for all your assistance. This year, thanks to you, I somehow feel like it’s a proper New Year’s…”

22

Okuni drank two or three cups by herself. Shinkichi pretended not to notice. The rims of Okuni’s eyes took on a faint redness, and her lips—which had licked the sake cup—now bore a delicate moisture. Her eyes with their long lashes and the area around her forehead with its neat hairline—when she looked down—appeared foolish. But even as he watched this, cold thoughts flowed through Shinkichi’s chest. For the past three or four days, a vague unease—as though the entire household were being turned upside down—had persistently clung to his mind, but seeing how the woman drank tonight only intensified his discomfort. Contempt—who knows where she came from—and resentment welled up within him.

“It’s someone else’s doing after all—you probably don’t care for it—but spending this year-end alone isn’t satisfying for me either.” “Moping around by that cheap fire in the second-floor room wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I’ve been helping out here to distract myself.” “Even if spring comes, I have no joy at all.”

“But there’s no point in you working here like this.” “It’s truly fine by me, but you must find it dull,” Shinkichi said in a tone both dismissive yet self-important. Okuni’s face wilted into silence. She set down the sake cup and sank into thought. Seeing that expression, it seemed to say, “I can see right through Shin’s heart.” Shinkichi too fell silent, as if conscience-stricken.

After a while, the woman lifted the sake decanter and looked at it, saying with careful politeness, “Would you care for more sake?”

“Mr. Ono probably can’t drink any sake this spring and is struggling,” Shinkichi said abruptly. After that, talk of Ono began between them. Okuni had known that man for two or three years now, having already endured many half-baked lies from him. Back then, she had come to Tokyo with a young man of scholarly airs—still green to everything—whose family were farmers back home. Because that man lacked spine, she’d suffered long under him. Soon after parting ways, she grew close to Ono. He’d been introduced as a company man, but reality diverged sharply from rumor—when they set up house together, every manner of flaw came exposed. Money would sometimes arrive in thirties and forties, yet their inner lives never matched the carefree front they showed. Capable he was, and silver-tongued too—sticking with him meant she’d likely avoid starving—but unease clung stubbornly to her mind. “He’d dress me in fine silks and take me to plays,” Okuni began in an uncharacteristically subdued tone, her words plain beyond their wont, “but those were passing trifles—with no future visible ahead, how could mere trinkets satisfy?”

“I truly mean it. Once the new year comes, I’ll be twenty-five… Maybe I should make a clean break now, at the turning of the tide…”

Shinkichi remained silent. As he listened, he began to feel—somehow—that the emotions of this woman were seeping into his chest.

23

After the New Year arrived, Shinkichi visited Osaku in the countryside once.

Because the town was desolate, there was no sense of spring here. The streets were lined with houses that all seemed to have their shutters latched and occupants asleep wherever one looked; here and there along the road bleached white by the north wind, the shadowy figures of childminders and children numb with cold could be glimpsed. Every low eave seemed to be teetering. At the draper’s shop, faded-looking remnants were arranged sparsely as if on display. The dust-laden curio shops and secondhand clothing stores, too, evoked the pitiable decline of the town year by year. A small restaurant he had once dashed into came into view. When he entered through that suspicious gate, was led from the garden to a storage-like crude tatami room, ate what looked like rotten sashimi, drank terrible sake, and investigated Osaku's family situation, even he himself had been absurdly earnest. Shinkichi turned away and passed by.

He couldn’t help finding Osaku’s circumstances—she who had grown up in such a town—pitiable. When he thought of her staying in this desolate, lonely town for over two months now—carrying her swollen belly among earthy country folk—that too struck him as tragic. Her sunken eyes, her drawn face, the pallor of her skin, the roughness of her palms and feet—all these details had now become vividly apparent to him. He felt vaguely remorseful, yet at the same time found himself reluctant to go see her face.

After slowly traveling about one and a half ri along a bitingly cold country road—the kind where your nose might freeze off in the howling wind—in a rickshaw, his legs had stiffened so much when he was let down at the shopfront alongside the shaft that he could barely walk at first.

As he was paying the rickshaw man his fare, "Oh!" Osaku emerged from behind the shoji screen. Shinkichi’s profile—wearing his newly tailored Inverness coat and a navy-tinted fedora pulled low over his eyes—appeared strikingly handsome, and the way he looked down while retrieving coins from his frog-mouthed purse made him seem several degrees more refined than usual. "You’ve come all this way. It must have been cold," Osaku said as she helped him remove his hat and Inverness coat, then led him further inside.

“Mother, he’s here at the house,” Osaku called out. When Shinkichi sat down beside the brazier in the dimly lit tea room, her mother emerged from the next room—which resembled a storage closet—with a sleep-dulled face. He had heard that her chronic rheumatism kept her burrowed into the kotatsu whenever it turned cold, but she looked plumper than when he had last seen her. Perhaps it was his imagination, but she appeared pale and bloated. Her eyes, which seemed afflicted by a congenital condition, had rims that were ruddy and slightly inflamed.

Osaku’s mother gave a lengthy greeting. When Shinkichi presented both the year-end sugar bag and New Year’s hand towel together, she bowed courteously to these offerings two or three times as well. After some time had passed, the sister-in-law too came up from the back and offered an equally foolishly deferential greeting. When asked about her older brother, it seemed he had gone to her younger brother’s adoptive family in the neighboring village that day, leaving no trace of male presence in the house.

24

The sister-in-law, too, was a woman from somewhere in this vicinity and utterly inept at conversation. She had a high forehead and a gangly posture, devoid of any presence or poise. He had seen her about twice before, but her face had left no impression. It seemed this had been the case before as well. Today, I’ll finally get a good look at Osaku’s prized son-in-law’s face… she seemed to think as she stared fixedly at him. Osaku pressed herself tightly against Shinkichi’s side as she sat down, continuing to grin slyly as always.

“Well now, we can’t have such a dreary mood here. “Osaku, take him inside… Even if we have nothing else to offer, since it’s the start of spring, let’s at least share a sip of sake…” “No, I can’t do that,” Shinkichi said, scratching his head. “I’m truly uneasy about leaving the shop unattended…” “There’s no harm in it.” Osaku spoke in a tone that was both clingy and flippant, as one might in their parents’ home.

“Well, please come this way.”

Shinkichi was led to the back room. As he listened to Osaku speaking with her mother and sister-in-law, she kept referring to her husband Shinkichi as "master" or something of the sort. This was even more intense when directed at her sister-in-law. She would say things like, “He doesn’t partake much in sake,” or “The master is truly such a restless sort…,” yet none of this seemed particularly strange to her sister-in-law’s ears. “Oh? Is that so?” [the sister-in-law] said, staring intently at Shinkichi’s face. Shinkichi felt awkward.

After a while, he was alone with Osaku. By the ceramic brazier filled with fluffy straw ash, they stoked the charcoal vigorously and sat side by side. Osaku had changed unnoticed into a fine-patterned haori coat. Her face looked somewhat dewier than when she had been in Tokyo. Within her seemingly watery eyes lingered a certain light. Her belly wasn’t as large as he had expected, yet she still breathed from her shoulders. Whether weighed down by gloom or something else, her speech had turned sluggish. When facing him directly, she would fall silent and look down—yet occasionally adopt a coquettish manner and steal timid glances up at his face. Shinkichi turned his gaze away, looking at objects like the glass-framed lithograph of Admiral Tōgō hanging on the wall. On the ceremonial kagami mochi lay large skewered dried persimmons, while plum blossoms stood arranged in a vase.

“You could stay over tonight.” Osaku brought it up as if it were a casual matter. “No—that’s not happening! I came here planning to return by day’s end.” Shinkichi responded curtly. After some time had passed: “I hear Mrs. Ono has been coming around lately…”

“Ah—Okuni’s here,” Shinkichi said, for some reason raising his voice.

Osaku looked down and fiddled with the ashes. After another moment had passed, "Does she intend to stay indefinitely?" "Well, who knows what she’s thinking… She’s a strange one, that woman." Shinkichi said dismissively.

25

"But if she were to keep clinging on like this indefinitely, it would be troublesome, wouldn’t it?" Osaku said with a pitiful look, her face flushed red.

Shinkichi remained silent. "You can't just turn her away now." "It's not that simple." "Okuni has nowhere else to go for now," Shinkichi said with shifty eyes, "and besides, we can't keep house at all without a woman's hand." "Hiring help would just mean more trouble." "So it ain't like I'm losing out either…" He gave a self-affirming nod.

Osaku’s face grew even more uneasy. “But the other day when Mr. Izumiya visited, she was handling the household all by herself… Uncle in Koishikawa was telling such stories,” Osaku said timidly. “And you never come to see me at all, and whenever I feel even slightly unwell, I grow so anxious… I keep wondering why I ever withdrew to such a place.”

“Wasn’t it your people who took her in? If your family had her give birth near relatives, thinking it’d be safer in every way, then Aunt from Koishikawa came and took her away, I suppose,” Shinkichi said resentfully. “That may be true, but…” “Didn’t I even distribute pocket money properly back then and go so far as to plead with Aunt to take care of things?” Shinkichi’s tone grew slightly sharper. “I’ve done everything properly on my end. I ain’t given you any cause to complain. If you look at what Ono’s done—he’s been with that Mrs. Ono for quite some time now, but here he is reduced to renting a room in someone else’s house. From what I’ve heard, he’s been causing Mrs. Ono quite a bit of trouble. And that’s what led to this latest incident, I suppose. Mrs. Ono’s been left with nothing. If she’s got nowhere to stay, she can’t even eat. Yet for all that—when it comes to Mrs. Ono—she’s got real skill. She handles customers with real finesse, keeps everything in order at home… So how come you can’t even come close to measuring up?”

Osaku’s face had turned red as she looked down. “I’m treating Mrs. Ono well enough as it is. If you’re going to complain now, there’s no pleasing you.” “It’s not that I’m complaining…” Osaku fretted anxiously alone, worried her voice might carry to the other room. “Honestly—” Shinkichi snorted through his nose— “that Izumiya bastard’s been spouting nothing but nonsense. What’s it got to do with him? Nobody’s got any right meddling.” He kept muttering under his breath.

“That’s not quite it, though…” Osaku grew flustered.

26

“Well, just a sip…” she said, and he was made to drink cloyingly sweet toso right from the start. Then a black-lacquered meal tray was carried in. On the meal tray were arranged red sashimi apparently from a caterer, bowls, salt-grilled mullet, and such. “Go on, Osaku—you pour him a drink. We’ve no one else to serve us, you see…” Osaku poured sake from the large flask with clumsy hand movements. Shinkichi was slurping down the sashimi with gusto and sitting there unperturbed when, as if suddenly remembering, he brought the sake cup to his mouth.

“Mother, how about one?” he then offered to her.

“Is that so? Well then…” Her mother forced a smile and accepted the sake cup with both hands. Then she had Osaku pour just a little, promptly drank it down, and handed it back. “This must be because she’s been away in Tokyo so long—she’s grown terribly homesick for the countryside… And with her due date drawing near, her spirits seem weighed down. She keeps talking about wanting to dig a hole and crawl into it.” Then she began expounding on how devoted Osaku was to her husband and home, emphasizing her exceptionally gentle disposition. She spoke of how Osaku had been sorely missed at the household where she previously served, and of her obedient nature—how since childhood, she had never once talked back to her parents or brother. She also explained that given Osaku’s lifelong frailty, they feared a difficult delivery would take its toll, so they were taking meticulous care morning and night—making her drink a cup of milk daily to fortify her blood. They’d brought over the baby’s first clothes and droned on about their childbirth experiences.

Shinkichi offered hollow responses—“Ha, ha”—but by then, the alcohol had already taken hold. “In time, your shop too will prosper splendidly—truly most commendable.” Her mother changed the subject.

“Well, thanks to you, we’re managing somehow…” Shinkichi had already devoured most of the food and now began smoking tobacco. Then, hurriedly pulling out his watch, he said, “It’s already four o’clock.” “Oh, you must be in such a hurry. Since it’s the beginning of spring, do stay a while longer… My son will be back shortly.” Her mother stood to replace the sake flask.

Both of them fell silent and bowed their heads. The light through the shoji had already dimmed, and a shadow as if aware of evening hovered in the room. It seemed the wind had died down, and outside was hushed in stillness.

“Today is truly lovely, isn’t it?” Osaku hesitantly began to speak.

“What good does it do a merchant to leave his house empty?” Shinkichi gulped down a mouthful of cold sake in one go. After being kept there for nearly an hour, when he finally announced his departure, Osaku pleaded repeatedly in a hushed voice: “Please come when it’s time for the birth.”

When she saw him off to the storefront, her eyes were brimming with tears.

27

When the handcar arrived at the station, lights glimmered here and there through the forest shadows. From the sake shop ahead wafted the inviting aroma of a warm stew, with shadows of laborers visible chatting and laughing in gravelly voices. Hearing four or five nursemaids gathered in the cold square singing a mournful-toned song, he found himself recalling his impoverished childhood in the countryside. Shinkichi suddenly thought his shadow looked lonely and muttered, "When it comes to relatives... well, there's only Osaku's family now."

The train soon departed. Shinkichi huddled on the hard cushion and lay there, soon closing his eyes. He had been thinking aimlessly about Osaku until around Nakano. He had never thought her particularly endearing, yet somehow it felt as though she had become deeply etched into his heart. Before long, he had just dozed off when, as they entered Tokyo, he noticed the passenger car gradually filling with commotion.

By the time they left Iidamachi Station, his drunkenness had completely worn off. Shinkichi walked unsteadily down the wide, moonlit avenue, as if compelled by some unseen force.

At the shop, two shop boys were reading storybooks at the counter. When he passed silently through to the back, in the tea room only the sound of boiling water met his ears, and there in the corner by the closet, Okuni lay sprawled on a spread-out futon, her waist being kneaded by a masseur as she slept in a limp, unconscious state. Her neck with its ginkgo-leaf twist hairstyle turned backward dangled limply as if about to slip from the pillow, her body lying diagonally face down. It was hard to believe this was the same Okuni who carried herself with such sharp composure when working. The gaunt male masseur, exposing the eerie whites of his eyes, kept glancing intermittently toward the lamp.

When Shinkichi sat down and set aside the iron kettle, his complexion had changed. After tapping his pipe two or three times against the edge of the brazier, he glared at the woman with distaste and took quick, sharp puffs of tobacco. As he did so, Okuni opened her eyes.

“Welcome back,” she called out in a languid, slurred tone. “Do forgive me for a moment. “My shoulders were so stiff… You must be exhausted. “How about having me give you a massage later?”

Shinkichi said nothing.

After a while, Okuni languidly turned half her face this way, still keeping it lowered. "How was Osaku…?"

“No, there doesn’t seem to be any particular change.” Shinkichi gazed upward.

Okuni mumbled something else in a sleepy voice, but after a faint, moan-like sound could be heard, she soon drifted back into a doze.

After drinking two or three cups of tea, Shinkichi stepped out to the ledger counter. He spread out the large ledger and attempted to tally the day’s accounts, but a strange restlessness agitated him, leaving him unable to settle. It seemed he was seeing the woman’s appallingly dissolute true nature for the first time.

“You’re making a damn fool of me. Starting tomorrow, I refuse.”

28 When the treatment concluded, Okuni took money from her own purse and dismissed the masseur. In the neighborhood, it had reached that hour when doors began shutting one after another. Okuni sat motionless before the brazier indefinitely, while Shinkichi stayed rooted at the ledger counter past eleven o'clock. As they commenced bedtime preparations, the two exchanged disagreeable looks once more. Wearing an expression of utter exasperation, Shinkichi crawled wordlessly into the futon without offering conversation. Okuni performed her usual tasks—lowering the oil lamp, extinguishing fires, washing tea utensils—but her countenance too appeared drained of vitality.

As she prepared for bed, smoking a cigarette by the lamp’s light, she uttered a sigh in a gloomy tone: “Ah, I’ve grown so sick of everything.” “I don’t care which way it goes anymore—just let it be settled soon.” “As long as the trial remains undecided, there’s nothing we can do.” “Hey, Shin-san, what should we do, don’t you think?”

Shinkichi had been listening while pretending to sleep, but at this moment he stirred slightly.

“I dunno.” “But well—wouldn’t it be better to just assume it’ll come in and sort out how you’ll handle yourself?” “That’s what I think,” came his voice, half muffled by the futon. “So we wait for it to come through.”

“But even I can’t keep waiting around forever,” he said, remaining in his sleeping robes as he crouched by his pillow and tapped his kiseru pipe—pon, pon. “Even that man’s condition—who knows what’ll become of him once he gets out.”

Shinkichi had already fallen silent.

The next day, when he awoke and looked around, Okuni was still asleep. He opened the door and was washing his face when she finally got up. After finishing breakfast, Okuni drew hot water into a metal washbasin, washed her face and hands, brought out Osaku’s vanity, and began her toilette. When that was done, she changed into her going-out clothes and smoothly appeared at the shopfront. “I’ll be stepping out for a bit…,” she said, kneeling before the counter before leaving without saying where she was going.

Shinkichi felt uneasy about something, but he silently let her leave. The apprentices uniformly watched her depart with contemptuous looks. Okuni did not return even when noon came, nor when evening fell.

Shinkichi wore an unpleasant expression all day. That evening, while drinking alone, he began speaking about the woman.

“Since that woman clearly has no intention of coming back, from tomorrow morning we’ll all take turns cooking meals, I tell you.” The apprentices each began bad-mouthing her. They complained she’d been putting on airs as the mistress of the household, that her acting like some honored guest was insufferably smug, and that she was no common strumpet after all.

Shinkichi was merely forcing a bitter smile.

29

At the end of February—some time after news had come that Osaku miscarried—when Shinkichi went to visit her, Osaku still wore a pallid face. The wings of her nose and flesh around her eyes had hollowed, while her hair had thinned noticeably. Propped by a support cushion at her waist, her legs still trembled unsteadily.

The fetus was said to have been a beautiful boy. When she unloaded the wicker basket—a slightly heavy item—from the shelves, perhaps stretching her arms out awkwardly, there was nothing particularly weighty inside, nor were the shelves all that high. What with her already frail constitution combined with this year's unusually severe cold, and moreover Osaku being prone to worry—engaging in all sorts of needless anxieties, feeling desolate about her current situation, fretting over their downtown residence—all these factors together had likely caused her to overexert her nerves... This explanation that sounded like both an excuse and a complaint came from her mother.

After miscarrying, Osaku soon felt herself growing faint; as everything around her went dark, she thought she might die right then and there. During her mother’s explanation—which sounded like both an excuse and a complaint—she interjected to describe her state of mind before and after that moment. Then she said how pitiable it was that the child had already gone to that dark place, and began to cry. Even though it was a child of my own blood, the fact that you didn’t come to see its face—regardless of my own feelings, I resented how pitiable the dead child was.

When Shinkichi heard the full details, he felt a dreadful sense about himself. Though he hadn’t meant to be heartless, hearing her words made him realize with painful clarity how cold his heart had truly been. "I figured it’d be kinder not to see its face—since it was already gone, and looking would’ve just made me feel worse... And back then, Ono’s trial was dragging on—he kept begging us to get another lawyer sent from Tokyo. Okuni and I had no choice but to run around everywhere... Couldn’t be helped—friend’s duty and all." He offered excuses.

“Then you could have at least come for the seventh-day memorial...” Osaku resented, her eyes brimming with tears. “And whenever it’s about Okuni-san, you just cast aside household matters…” she muttered under her breath. This pierced Shinkichi’s ears with acute sharpness. Of course, Okuni still lingered incessantly at the house. There had been once or twice when fights broke out and he drove her away—the first time, he placated her and brought her back; the second time, she returned wordlessly on her own. That evening after retrieving her, they dined together at a tempura shop in Kyobashi before riding the train home. When they reached Omotecho’s corner, he walked a block ahead and they entered his brightly lit shop separately. Though meaningless, he felt compelled to do so. Thereafter, Okuni became more docile than before. For the first time, he felt enveloped in something warm—the essence of womanhood.

30

For two or three days after that, they would live harmoniously again, but soon minor conflicts would arise. When Okuni left like that, Shinkichi found it unbearably painful to spend the entire day plagued by an inexplicable preoccupation with her whereabouts—a vexing, oppressive feeling he couldn’t shake. “Don’t talk nonsense.” Shinkichi deliberately forced a laugh. “You think Okuni and I are up to something, don’t you?”

“No, that’s not what I mean… But seeing as you didn’t even come when our child died, you don’t think anything of someone like me anymore.”

Shinkichi turned sideways and remained silent. Of course whenever he recalled Osaku’s miscarriage，it felt like being possessed by illness. That woman was pitiable too—he did think he ought to visit her at least once…yet when it came down to it，he couldn’t muster the resolve to go. While telling himself “tomorrow，then tomorrow，”he kept postponing. It was as though his mind were being rent apart—the anguish weighing on Shinkichi’s heart these past months had grown so profound，it defied words. How could Osaku possibly comprehend such torment? He’d long concluded she wasn’t someone he could confide such matters to.

“So if I return, Okuni-san will have to leave, won’t she?” Osaku inquired timidly.

Shinkichi was muttering something vague under his breath. "Out of obligation, I can’t just tell her to leave... But I’m sure Okuni has her own plans in mind..." "So when do you think you can come back, hmm?"

“I think another week should be enough… but with Okuni-san here, I just can’t bear it.” “Mother says the same thing.” “Only Auntie in Koishikawa insists that if that’s how it is, I must heal quickly and return home, but…”

Shinkichi felt his heart flutter anxiously as he realized their relationship was already on the brink of such a crisis.

“Either way, if you don’t recover quickly…” he offered hollow reassurance, yet felt an inexplicable aversion to how swiftly matters were being settled.

Ten days after parting with Shinkichi, Osaku returned to Omotecho, led by her sister-in-law. It was around ten in the morning—though March had come, the lingering chill remained severe, as this was around the seventh or eighth of the month. When the rickshaw entered the town entrance, Osaku felt an oppressive tightness in her chest. The town’s appearance remained exactly as it had been when she left; as they passed by a dilapidated barbershop, its portly, bald-headed proprietor stared wide-eyed at her figure with apparent curiosity. The soba shop, the hardware store, and even the figure of the hard-of-hearing old man sitting at the front of the salt cracker shop across the way with his grandchild on his lap—all of it felt somehow nostalgic.

When Osaku stepped down from the rickshaw, she glanced back slightly at her sister-in-law and hesitated.

“Sis…” Blushing, she let her sister-in-law enter first.

31

In the shop, only Masazo was present; Shinkichi was nowhere to be seen. When they went through to the back, from the direction of the water spout came a woman’s voice speaking in a frivolous tone. Her counterpart seemed to be a young man from the fish shop. She was saying things like wanting them to bring some tasty dried fish, or that the salmon they’d brought last time had been awful—that sort of thing. There were also complaints about how his master was all bluster but their fish weren’t fresh at all, or that their sashimi preparation was so clumsy it was unbearable.

Osaku sat properly with her sister-in-law, about a foot away from the brazier, listening as if they were guests. “Alright then, one order of sashimi for tonight… Got it?” After saying this, Okuni put something away into the kitchen shelves and then entered the tearoom. She wore a soft haori thrown over her shoulders and had tied a peach-colored scarf around her round chignon. Her hairline was sharply defined, and Osaku thought she was a beautiful woman. When Okuni saw the two sitting properly with their hands on their knees,

“Oh my!” she exclaimed with feigned surprise, “Goodness me, I had no idea at all. Even so, you’ve already recovered so splendidly. Are you well enough to ride the train?” she asked, taking a seat before the brazier and lifting the iron kettle to adjust the fire. “Oh, already…” Osaku offered a lonely smile. “It’s not quite fully healed yet…” She turned toward her sister-in-law. “Sis, this is Mrs. Ono…”

When her sister-in-law began to greet her with “Is that so?”, Okuni scrutinized her demeanor, stepped slightly aside, and returned the greeting with a nonchalant air. She then served sweets and poured tea. “I hear you suffered a miscarriage yourself,” she said. “I did think about visiting you… But we’ve been short on help here.” Osaku exchanged glances with her sister-in-law and looked down. “Even at year’s end, even during New Year’s—I was completely alone, you see. And Shinkichi can be quite difficult to handle… Well, now I can finally rest easy. Caring for another’s household is no ordinary strain, I assure you.”

“Truly, though,” Osaku said, her face flushed red with an apologetic look. “I’m truly sorry for the prolonged inconvenience.”

After some time, Osaku changed her kimono and then went out to the kitchen. Okuni called out bossily from beside the brazier, instructing her to sprinkle salt on the reserved horse mackerel and grill them on the iron grill, and to take out pickles from the bottom of the jar. Osaku, unaccustomed to the kitchen and feeling like a guest in someone else’s home, began preparing lunch in a fluster.

At mealtime, Shinkichi returned home. When Shinkichi saw Osaku's face, he let out a "Ho..." and made no attempt to start a conversation. At mealtime, Osaku sat next to Okuni and ate her own household's rice with a feeling as if chewing sand.

32

Even so, while her sister-in-law was there, they could manage some conversation. And so the house was lively. As evening approached, her sister-in-law suddenly changed her mind and tried to take her leave, saying she now had to stop by Koishikawa on her way. Osaku suddenly looked desolate. Osaku called her sister-in-law to the kitchen, took her over by the water spout, and began some secret discussion. “Ms. Okuni is acting completely strange.” “I just find it all so detestable—I can’t stand it,” she said with a grimace.

“Truly, she seems like such a self-willed, disagreeable woman,” the sister-in-law said with genuine distaste. “But she isn’t going to stay forever. Once I leave, that woman will probably go too. Don’t mind her; just settle it quickly and decisively.” “But what could my husband be thinking?” “Well, Shinkichi is so meek,” the sister-in-law said ambiguously. And then she let out a sigh. When she saw that face, it somehow seemed to hold little hope. It seemed to say, “You really need to get your act together,” and yet also appeared disappointed, as if thinking, “You’re no match for that woman anyway.”

For thirty or forty minutes, they sat facing each other, but no particular conversation coalesced. It amounted to vague reassurances—that Okuni would surely go home before long, that Shinkichi probably had no intention of doing anything with that man anyway—and advice for her to endure it a little longer.

Osaku asked her sister-in-law to properly convey the matter to Shinkichi on her behalf. "Sis, please try asking my husband about his intentions," she said. "You should ask about that yourself, Ms. Osaku." "If I were to ask about that, things might just get tense and end up making matters worse." "I suppose…" Osaku made a troubled face.

When she came out from the kitchen, Okuni was in the shop. Shinkichi was also in the shop. Just as Osaku and her sister-in-law entered the tearoom with purposeful momentum, Okuni too came into the tearoom. Seizing the moment, her sister-in-law announced her departure: "I must have been a bother…" "Oh, you're leaving already?" "Well, that's perfectly fine." Okuni spoke in a hollow tone.

After seeing her sister-in-law off and entering the back rooms, she found the unlit space suffused with twilight hues. Osaku leaned against the pillar at the kitchen entrance and sank into thought, her mind adrift without grasping at anything in particular. In the poor tenement behind the house, the feeble cry of an infant could be heard—a hoarse, languid voice from lack of milk. All around was hushed, with no other sound or echo to be heard. Osaku felt as though she were hearing the voice of her deceased child, and an indescribably sorrowful emotion welled up in her chest. She felt as though it were still there in the cold earth’s depths, not yet fully dead and weeping. Cold tears trickled down her cheeks.

Osaku went out to the water spout and cried for a while.

33

When Osaku entered the room, Okuni was briskly sweeping the area with vigorous strokes, her expression clearly conveying, "What a scatterbrained mistress we have here." "Ah, the lamp—" Osaku began moving toward it, but Okuni cut her off in a booming voice: "No need for that! You're still recovering." Having finished sweeping out the dust, she hung the broom on the kitchen wall and laid a cushion before the brazier. "Now, sit down."

After lighting the lamp but being too short to reach it up, Osaku had Okuni hang it for her. With a meek "heh-heh" laugh meant to appear obliging, she sat down with one knee raised.

During dinner, the conversation revolved entirely around Okuni. Shinkichi brought up that Ono’s trial was supposed to be today and wondered how it would turn out. Okuni had said that if he were to be imprisoned long-term, she would throw caution to the wind... “Well, it’s liberating in a way,” she declared with resignation. “A woman alone—no matter where she ends up—won’t exactly be left out to dry.” Osaku made a bewildered face.

“You’re the fortunate one,” Shinkichi began saying to Osaku. “Just look at Ms. Okuni—this is how things end up after barely two years of marriage. “As for me, no matter what happens, I’d never do a single thing to trouble my wife. “You ought to be worshipping me for it. “Damn straight.” Osaku smirked.

After finishing the meal, while Osaku was in the kitchen, Shinkichi and Okuni sat facing each other across the brazier, talking animatedly about something. It sounded like Shinkichi was trying to stop Okuni from leaving, yet conversely also like Okuni was refusing to depart—their discussion growing increasingly convoluted until the matter seemed thoroughly complicated. One could sense various personal motives becoming intertwined in it all.

After washing what needed to be washed, Osaku remained without wiping her hands, lost in thought for some time.

With that, Shinkichi—acting irritably—seemed to abruptly head out to the shop. When Osaku entered, Okuni was puffing away on her tobacco with a long-stemmed pipe. That night, there was a strange air between the three of them. Osaku tried to begin her work under the lamp, but for some reason, she couldn’t settle her mind. After hanging her head like that for a while—whether due to her blood condition—her head soon began to swim. Even when spoken to by Okuni, she found it strangely laborious to reply. Shinkichi had left saying he was going to the bathhouse, but apparently ended up dawdling around the neighborhood, for he never returned.

Past eleven o'clock, even after Osaku went to bed, her mind remained unsettled. Just when she thought she might doze off, unpleasant dreams tormented her. She dreamed of Shinkichi and Okuni lying side by side with their pillows aligned. When she approached to rouse them, they both stared at her face and roared with laughter. Waking with a start, she saw Okuni sleeping alone by the shop entrance.

34 After the notice arrived that Ono's prison term had been fixed at two years, Okuni's behavior grew increasingly unstable. At times she would bitterly curse Ono for making her suffer so terribly; at others she'd declare, "If it's come to this, I'll manage with my own two hands!" her nostrils flaring with determination.

Shinkichi had reached his limit with Okuni’s domineering presence—it had become utterly unbearable to him. At times he would feel he understood Okuni’s emotions perfectly and show heartfelt sympathy, but soon afterward her selfishness would grate on his nerves, making her seem like a detestable woman. When Osaku began to voice her complaints, Shinkichi would always dismiss her with a snort and refuse to engage, yet in his own heart, grievances greater than Osaku's had accumulated.

The three of them spent each day exchanging unpleasant looks. Osaku thought that if only Okuni were removed, then the matter would be settled. But Shinkichi did not think so.

“What should we do? How about returning to the countryside for a while?” Shinkichi proposed one afternoon to Okuni. Okuni at that moment had a slight cold, with quick-acting plasters stuck to her temples and a disheveled appearance. “Otherwise, you could enter service somewhere in Tokyo…” Shinkichi continued with uncharacteristic coldness. “Having you stay here indefinitely wouldn’t trouble me in itself. But—” “Unlike Mr. Ono’s situation, this is a business establishment—people thinking there’s some woman of unclear standing about doesn’t reflect well on our reputation…”

Shinkichi had been attempting for some time now to lay bare what he wanted to say. Osaku, who was doing needlework at a distance in the dim light, occasionally looked up to watch their faces.

Okuni sat by the brazier with a severely pale face. After some time, she said, "Well, I've been thinking about that too."

Shinkichi listed one or two more of his own circumstances. Okuni remained deep in thought for quite some time; then, as she began to smoke tobacco, “You needn’t worry. “No matter where I end up, I’ve only myself to rely on…” she laughed desolately. “That’s right… Women are handy things to have around.” “However, once it’s decided where you’ll go, I intend to do everything I can.”

Okuni remained silent, frantically scratching her head with a hairpin. When the evening meal was finished, Okuni suddenly opened the closet and began rummaging through the wicker basket; then, after tightening her sash and changing into her haori, she offered a formal farewell to the two and attempted to leave.

The manner in which she carried herself was so composed that Shinkichi began to feel somewhat uneasy.

“Where are you going?” Shinkichi asked, but Okuni merely said, “Oh, just out,” and left abruptly. Neither Shinkichi nor Osaku spoke afterward.

35

When the high-spirited Okuni was gone, the house grew desolate, like water draining away. Osaku felt she had expelled the obstructive nuisance occupying their space, but Shinkichi wore a vaguely lonesome expression. Even his manner of speaking to Osaku took on an oddly sharp edge. He felt some unease about where Okuni had gone, so he also found himself waiting in eager anticipation for her return. But the next day as well, Okuni did not return. Shinkichi remained planted at the sales counter, keeping a sharp eye on the shadows of people passing by outside. Even when he occasionally came into the back room, he would scowl unpleasantly and never settled down properly.

Osaku too suddenly lost her vigor. Seeing Shinkichi’s face seemed so painful that she tried to stay as far away from him as possible. At lunchtime too, she silently served the meal and silently took up her chopsticks as if the food were tasteless. When Shinkichi abruptly stood up, for no particular reason, tears just began to flow. Around two o’clock, Osaku changed into her everyday kimono and reluctantly came out to the shop. “Um… Would it be all right if I went to Koishikawa for a bit?” she ventured timidly, whereupon Shinkichi glared at her.

“What business?” Osaku couldn’t muster a clear reply. She stepped outside, but her legs felt leaden. The thought of confiding unpleasant matters to her uncle held no appeal. Being interrogated by him would be equally disagreeable. With her uncle’s house now inaccessible, she found herself without any immediate destination. Osaku simply drifted aimlessly. Beyond Omotecho, the streets teemed with activity. Spring’s warmth had suffused the air, sunlight glaring almost painfully. Through Osaku’s eyes, clusters of schoolgirls descending the slope seemed impossibly vivacious. Her feet had turned of their own accord—noticing this, she halted abruptly at the intersection and scanned all four directions.

Somehow, she felt a nostalgic longing for the household where she had once worked as a maidservant. The compact tidiness of each room she had constantly swept and cleaned, and the layout of the kitchen she had tended to, rose before her eyes. The voice and eyes of a kind lady with a Chinese accent came back to her. When she left, the boy who had been an infant must have grown up by now, and thinking this made her want to see what kind of adult he had become. Osaku came to Yanagicho and bought one box of bean-jam wafers. Then, wrapping it in a furoshiki with a feeling as though some part of her had been repaid, she set off briskly.

The Nishikata-chō neighborhood had long been an old, familiar town. The atmosphere here seemed generally bright. Osaku felt nostalgic even seeing kindergarteners walking by the katsura hedge. The same helpless feelings she'd felt when cherry blossoms fell here rose in her chest. The house called Matsuki lay a short way left down the street. Just past the gate stood a lattice door, with low-standing trees' crowns visible thriving beyond the new fence. Osaku reached the gate of her former master's house where she'd once been loved and paused briefly.

36 Inside the gate, a beautiful rickshaw stood waiting. Osaku slipped out from beneath the shadow of a thick juniper and emerged at the water inlet paved with coke slag beside the bathhouse. Peering stealthily into the kitchen through the shoji screen's edge, she found no one present, though the kitchen's arrangement had changed somewhat. Gas pipes now ran along the walls, and Western cooking utensils lay cluttered about. Compared to her time here, everything seemed more prosperous. From deeper within came the muffled voice of a maid tending a child. The mistress could be heard conversing with someone. The guest appeared to be a woman; bright laughter occasionally rippled through.

After a short while, an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old woman with a flower hairpin in her bobbed hair and a neat appearance came out briskly. She was holding a red tray, but upon seeing Osaku, she rolled her round eyes and asked in a low voice, "Who are you?" "Is Madam in?" Osaku asked, her face red. "Oh, she’s here, but…" "I don’t have any particular business, but please tell her that Osaku, who used to work here, came to visit..."

“Oh, so you’re Sayo?” The maid looked her up and down, then wiped the tray, placed two small cups on it, and retreated into the back. After a short while, a two-year-old child could be heard saying something in broken speech. The maid’s laughter—like blossoms bursting open—rippled through the air. In that laughter lay no trace of cloudiness or reservation. Osaku recalled three years of quiet life spent in this warm house.

The mistress did not come out right away. After quite some time had passed, the maid came out and said, “Ah, please come this way.” Osaku went up to the maids’ room. By the window’s shoji screen in the maids’ room, an uneven mirror stood propped up. White aprons and haori jackets hung on the wall. After a short while, the mistress appeared briefly. She was a slender woman with a lonely face, her hair seeming to have thinned considerably of late. Osaku bowed deeply.

“How have you been lately?” “Running a shop must wear on your nerves.” “And your complexion looks rather poor.” “Are you unwell?” Madam inquired.

“Oh…” Osaku tried to bring up her miscarriage, but the mistress hurriedly dismissed her with “Do stay and relax,” then retreated into the inner rooms.

For a while, she and the maid took the child back and forth between them, doting on him. The child had a milky complexion and was quite plump. Otake began speaking cheerfully about how she had gone to the Odawara area last month and accompanied them on such outings. The conversation consisted entirely of harmless topics—how the sea at Odawara had been, what the plum garden was like, which young ladies had come to visit and made it enjoyable... Osaku listened with her mind elsewhere.

When she went outside, the evening mist had settled over the clusters of trees in the nearby gardens. Osaku trudged down Shin-saka slope toward Koishikawa.

37

When she returned, the shop was in disarray. The man who often came by—with his faded reddish hair grown long, small eyes, and a flattened nose—stood planted barefoot, gulping down cupfuls of sake while bellowing something loudly. When she looked at the apprentices’ faces, they all wore uneasy expressions as they kept watch over the drunkard. Even in the back room, there seemed to be some sort of fuss. At the entranceway, a pair of rattan-woven geta had been carelessly kicked off—they were Okuni’s.

“Has Okuni-san left?” Osaku asked the apprentice, who looked at her with suspicious eyes and replied, “She just left now.”

When she quietly ascended and looked, Shinkichi was sitting with one knee raised by the long charcoal brazier, smoking tobacco.

Okuni was in front of the back wardrobe closet, having removed the lid of the wicker basket, also with one knee raised, her eyes filled with a murderous glint. Even as Osaku’s shadow fell, the two pretended not to notice. Shinkichi tapped his tobacco pipe rhythmically and sighed, “Mr. Ono... I can’t face him like this...”

“That’s none of your business, Shin-san,” said Okuni as she folded what appeared to be a red undergarment. Her hair was even more wildly disheveled than the day before, and from around her raised knee, a yuzen-patterned waistcloth spilled alluringly. “I’m going where I belong, that’s all. Who cares what anyone says!” she declared with a fierce snort.

Osaku stood vacantly at the entrance. "If it were somewhere within Tokyo, I wouldn't complain—but there's no need to go all the way out to the sticks of Chiba..." Shinkichi said with slightly heightened intensity. "What's in Chiba anyway?" "I don't really know myself, but... I simply can't manage respectable domestic service work in Tokyo..." "So does that mean there's some teahouse waiting for you in Chiba or something?"

Okuni remained silent. Shinkichi, too, watched in silence. “Who knows where this body of mine will drift off to or what’ll become of it. If I can just settle this body somewhere, it’ll be a relief.” Okuni said dismissively. “But there’s no need to go that far…” Shinkichi said in a faltering tone, repeating similar sentiments: “There’s no reason to be so resigned either.”

“It’s not like I want to resign myself to this either. But somehow, that’s how it always ends up for me. When I first got together with Ono too, I meant to straighten out properly…,” Okuni muttered under her breath before suddenly sighing. “Just let things take their natural course. If anyone from Ono’s side comes asking, tell them you don’t know where I went. Because even I don’t know what’ll become of me from here on.”

“Well, if you’re set on going, it doesn’t have to be tonight.” The shop suddenly burst into commotion. The drunkard began to sing in a voice that sounded like someone was choking.

38

After a while, the dining table was set under the lamp. Shinkichi shouted at Osaku in an increasingly agitated tone, “Pour the sake! Pour the sake!” “Well then, let me have one farewell drink.” Okuni said compliantly and came over to sit there. She smoothed her hair into a neat appearance. Osaku couldn’t quite grasp the mood of the situation. She also didn’t fully understand where Okuni was going or what she would do there. Scolded by Shinkichi, she unconsciously poured sake and sat submissively nearby.

Okuni glared fiercely as she gulped down the sake. The more she drank, the paler her face grew. The outer corners of her eyes lifted slightly, a pulse throbbing at her temples. Her lips glistened with moisture while her cheeks appeared hollowed.

Shinkichi had a red face and tended to look downward. The image of Okuni going to a teahouse in Chiba, gulping down sake just like tonight and uttering reckless words, vividly rose before his eyes. His head pounded violently, and his heartbeat grew fierce. But deep within his chest, a cold current flowed.

“Shin-san, I’m done here,” Okuni said as she drained her sake cup and handed it over.

Osaku silently poured the sake.

“Osaku-san, I’ve truly been indebted to you,” Okuni said. “No,” Osaku replied falteringly. “I’d like to tell you, ‘Please come visit me there…’ but truthfully, I’m going somewhere too shameful to even be seen.” “This will be the last time—I don’t intend to meet anyone ever again.”

Osaku looked up at that face. It seemed the drunkard had already left, leaving the shop as quiet as a forest. It was an evening when a tepid wind blew - if one stayed still, they might fancy hearing the distant toll of an alarm bell deep within their clear ears. No sooner had this impression formed than it was smothered by voices from the back tenements. "Ah, I'm drunk!" Okuni exhaled a breath that seemed to rise from her burning core. "Well then, Shin-san, let's make this a proper farewell." "On drunken momentum..." she added, briskly adjusting the folded part of her obi and giving it a decisive tap.

“So, you’re leaving tonight then?” Shinkichi glared into the woman’s eyes. “I could see you off, but...” “No. If you were to do that, it would only...” Okuni picked up the sake cup once more and drank unconsciously.

Okuni departed by rickshaw.

Shinkichi lay spread-eagled under the lamp and slept for a while. He couldn’t tell whether Okuni was still there or not. He felt as though his body—with nowhere to go—lay stretched out in the middle of a vast wilderness.

After some time had passed, he glared at Osaku’s face as she covered him with a quilt.

Shinkichi pulled her close and tried to kiss her cheek. Osaku’s cheek was as cold as ice.

＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊

“In celebration of the third anniversary of our opening...” straw festoon decorations had been piled up at Shinkichi’s shop, and late that autumn, Osaku found herself pregnant once more.