Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Shinji had taken Osaku as his wife when he was twenty-five and she was twenty, in the winter exactly four years prior. At fourteen, his oversensitive mind had been galvanized by biographies of wealthy merchants, leading him to rush to Tokyo where he toiled relentlessly for eleven years at a sake wholesaler in Shinagawa, blind to all else. When he rented a small house in Omotecho and opened his new shop dealing in sake, soy sauce, firewood, charcoal, and salt, he labored without respite, grudging even mealtimes. He maintained constant vigil at the shopfront in his workman's tasuki sash and tabi socks worn barefoot, hunched over as he wolfed down his meals between tasks.

Shinji had rather good features. He was an oval-faced, fair-skinned man with a straight nose and gentle mouth. Even as he worked briskly in his apron, his hair trimmed in what they called a business cut and wearing a deep-collared wool shirt, there remained an indefinable air of refinement about him. That he had been raised in a snowy mountain country with pure waters was evident even in the exceptional beauty of his skin's complexion.

The one who arranged Osaku's marriage was a fellow sake merchant named Izumiya. "I'll find you a wife. I have a good one for you," Izumiya began when he'd formed the expectation that Shinji's shop might finally become viable.

Shinji did not immediately take to the proposal. “It’s still too early to tell whether this venture will sink or swim.” “If I can’t see clear signs this shop will maintain its foundations, I feel too unsettled to even consider taking a wife.” “Take a wife and you’ve got to brace yourself for children coming along,” he said, an uneasy smile playing across his lonesome features.

Yet Shinji felt the necessity of it. Whether he was out collecting orders or at the public bath, he couldn’t feel at ease for a moment with just the apprentice. He had to handle both the accounting and preparation of three meals a day entirely through his own labor and mental effort. Shinji deeply and meticulously considered the economic advantages and disadvantages of taking a wife versus remaining single. He clicked each abacus bead one by one, calculating in as much detail as possible what would happen if he gained one more mouth to feed and what would come to pass if a child was born after two years. Estimating the shop’s annual profit, savings amount, and interest at their minimum values; ascertaining nearly error-free projections; calculating how much capital would accumulate by which year—there was no work more interesting to Shinji than this.

For about three months, he had agonized over the matter of taking a wife, but ultimately found himself unable to refrain from doing so. Osaku was working as a housemaid at a government official’s residence in Hongō Nishikata-chō around that time. She had been born in a small town well before Hachiōji, where her uncle ran a substantial katsuobushi shop in front of Dentsūin Temple. One day, Shinji made a special trip by train to investigate the woman’s birthplace and background.

II

Osaku’s family home was a fairly large hardware store in that town. Pots, buckets, ceramics, soap, tissue paper, straw sandals—all sorts of goods were cluttered together in what appeared to be an old establishment, its soot-darkened thick pillars smoothly polished. Shinji rushed into a shady, dimly lit eatery nearby and, while sipping his drink in small gulps, cornered a woman to shrewdly interrogate her about the hardware store’s circumstances, the family’s character, and the local reputation. The woman, tilting her oily Shimada-chignoned head as she poured drinks, told him everything she knew. She mentioned there was a storehouse akin to a small storage shed with a modest rice field. She mentioned that the older brother farmed while the younger had been adopted out to another family. She explained they engaged in sericulture during its season and conducted temporary money lending here and there.

When weighed against Shinji’s own family lineage, it was not a particularly distinguished marital connection. Shinji’s family, though now fallen into complete decline, had been one of the most pedigreed houses in the village. Shinji had been raised as a young master until he was seven or eight. Among his relatives too were many families of noble lineage. Even having lost their material wealth, the family’s standing had not sunk so low.

However, Shinji did not concern himself much with such matters. Given his current station, he considered that sufficient.

After consulting with a friend from the same village about the matter, Shinji finally moved forward with the arrangements. They decided to hold the matchmaking meeting at a nearby variety hall. Shinji went out tentatively in his everyday clothes, led by Izumiya and accompanied by that friend. Osaku wore a thin white haori resembling komon-shibori silk over a shawl, sitting between her uncle and her brother who had come from the countryside, her face slightly tilted. The uncle had a shaggy face and wore an old double-layered haori. The brother was a large-mouthed man with a diamond-shaped face, wearing a flannel shirt that gave him a rustic air. Because she sat facing sideways, Shinji couldn't properly see the woman's face. He could only make out that she was fair-skinned and round-cheeked. Osaku kept stealing furtive glances at Shinji over people's shoulders while his heart pounded and his head swam.

As they left the vaudeville theater, Shinji caught a fleeting glimpse of Osaku’s departing figure. Osaku also turned to look back, gazing intently two or three times at the man’s standing figure from the front. Osaku was a petite woman, and her way of walking seemed somewhat better than when she was seated. After exiting there, Izumiya fluttered the sleeves of his ill-fitting long double-layered haori and returned a step ahead with Osaku’s group.

“How about it—what kind of woman is she?” Shinji quietly asked his friend.

His mind felt hazy. The peasant-like appearances of her uncle and older brother somehow nagged at him. But he didn’t find them utterly intolerable.

III

The next morning, after sending his apprentice out early to collect orders and busily scrubbing barrels at the shopfront himself, Shinji noticed a man hurrying toward him through streets still chilled by lingering shadows. It was Izumiya, wearing that thin Yanagiwara-style haori—the usual double-layered one.

Izumiya removed his stiff woolen bowler hat, offered a brief greeting, then settled onto the shopfront where he hurriedly pulled a tobacco pouch from his obi and began smoking. “Your reputation is truly remarkable,” Izumiya suddenly declared in a booming voice. “They’ve taken quite a liking to you over there—insisting they want this union by all means.” “You shouldn’t speak ill of them,” said Shinji, still scrubbing vigorously. A restless unease prickled at him.

“No—absolutely,” said Izumiya, arching his back, “and since they say it’s better to settle things quickly, they want us to set the date even today if possible. Now then—the woman’s hardly a bad match, wouldn’t you agree?” He then rattled on about her excellent family circumstances and gentle temperament. He explained astrological alignments and compatibility factors while keeping their implications to himself. Of course there would be no proper trousseau, but for better or worse, she would likely bring at least one chest of drawers. She’d probably contribute one set of bedding too. Take her in and see—working together would bring such purpose and satisfaction. With foam gathering on his grimy gums, he pressed on persuasively: “With that woman, I guarantee we’ll establish the Okama at Masushin.”

Shinji sat before the shop counter lattice, listening with a somewhat dissatisfied expression, then muttered in a low voice while tilting his head: “Well, I suppose I’ll take her then.”

“But when she comes and sees this place, she’ll be shocked. No matter what, she’d never imagine it being such a ramshackle household. But never mind—I’ll leave it to you then. If she runs away, we’ll handle it when she does.” “It’s not like that. Nothing ventured—I’ll take her in and see.”

Izumiya returned home with evident satisfaction.

About seven days later, one evening, a large number of various people gathered at Shinji’s house. Two former colleagues and one friend named Ono—the latter especially had been there since morning to help with decorating the room and directing tonight’s feast. They did things like replacing the shoji paper and bringing cheap hanging scrolls from somewhere. It was also Ono who borrowed and brought a diagonally woven haori of the sort Shinji would wear and some sort of worn-out hakama. He was a man who earned small commissions, was shrewd in minor matters, and enjoyed taking charge of others’ affairs.

When this man provided an estimate for the feast, Shinji contorted his gentle face.

“This is really a problem. With my current circumstances, having you pull off such extravagant stunts...” “I don’t even know what those are, but let’s just scrap those ceremonial gift things or whatever they’re called.”

IV

Ono showed no anger. With a charming round face suffused with a smile, he said, “Don’t be so stingy. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime occasion.” “Even if you scrimp on such things, it won’t make much difference.” “First of all, looking shabby just won’t do.” “But listen—I’m already scraping together every last coin for this wedding.” “There’s no need to suffer hardships and put on airs of vanity.” “Look, Mr. Ono, that’s just my principle.” “People like you who can sit back and make easy money—I’m a bit different from that, you see.”

“Logic is logic,” said Ono without relinquishing his smile, “Since this differs from other situations, you need to consider social appearances at least a little…” “What’s wrong with it? We’ll earn plenty later through hard work.” Shinji picked pungent tobacco with his blackened fingertips, packed it into the brass pipe, lit it beneath the iron kettle where charcoal powder smoldered, then sat with a thoughtful expression as he exhaled thick smoke.

In the six-tatami room stood a solid paulownia wardrobe already installed. A new dressing table had been placed atop it. Borrowed hibachis and yellow-striped floor cushions lay piled on the ochre tatami. The hard-of-hearing hired maid was cleaning up in the kitchen just after lunch. Shinji kept grumbling about something. Holding Ono’s estimate, he calculated figures in his head. Since opening this shop while barely eating, he’d saved thirty or forty yen bit by bit. Having to disburse most now pained him slightly.

Shinji had never intended to hold such an extravagant ceremony. He had meant to bring her in quietly and settle the formalities discreetly. It wasn't purely about begrudging the expense. Fundamentally, conspicuously festive occasions and lavish displays ill-suited his frugal disposition. He preferred working unnoticed and hoarding money where none could see. The mere notion of others discerning his earnings and savings already displeased him. A strange, skewed way of thinking—something resembling independence, something akin to individualism—had seeped deep into his mind since his apprenticeship days. Ono's interference sat unpleasantly with him. Yet without this man, he could hardly have managed anything in these circumstances. Grumbling complaints under his breath, he found himself unable to mount proper resistance.

When it became past three o'clock, he went to the barber and then took a bath. When he returned home, the house was already lit. Shinji said, “Ah,” and sat down before the long brazier. Ono wore a beaming face as if his own bride were coming. “How about it, Shin-san? You must be eager.” “Shall I brew some tea?” “Don’t talk nonsense.” Shinji gave a forlorn laugh.

V In the meantime, two beautifully polished table lamps were lit in the cramped tatami room, and the brazier and floor cushions were neatly arranged. The small ceremonial platform, sake decanter, cups, and other items had also been set up on the low floor before anyone noticed. When dishes were brought in from the kitchen, the hard-of-hearing elderly maid meticulously wiped each tray and arranged them, then lined up ceremonial gift baskets—fresh bamboo-colored containers piled splendidly with shrimp and clams—in a row in the tea room. Ono kept tearing newspaper and carefully covering the dishes to protect them from dust. Shinji grew restless. Dressed in a finely tailored underkimono and with a dazzling expression, he would go stand over there, then come sit down here.

“There, our preparations here are completely finished,” said Ono with his head shining like a dragonfly’s multifaceted eyes as he sat in the center of the tatami room. “She may arrive whenever she pleases without issue. Let’s take a breather.” “No, thank you for your trouble,” Shinji replied, scratching his head as he sat down beside the other two. “Truth be told, I’m really not accustomed to such formalities at all…” he excused himself.

“What do I know? It’s all nonsense,” he laughed. “Tonight, let’s drink heartily to shake off the fatigue. After all, you’re our most honored guest here.” Shinji found himself feeling somewhat uneasy at this festive gathering where there was not a single relative to speak of. Thinking back on the long years of hardship it had taken to struggle through to this point, it seemed as if he had walked various winding narrow paths before emerging onto a broad avenue, making everything up until yesterday feel like a dream. There was also the profound realization that from now on his responsibilities would grow weighty. Bright, almost divine lamps swayed before his eyes despite the absence of wind, and tears welled up in Shinji’s eyes. His flower-like new bride, drawn by the mysterious thread of fate, seemed to descend as if from heaven itself.

“But she should be here by now,” said Ono, looking up from the newspaper on his lap. “This is getting rather affected,” he added with a stifled yawn. “I suppose so.” “But night’s only just fallen,” said the other two as well, exchanging glances before rising to peer out the shop entrance. The shop remained tightly shuttered except for its entrance. The apprentice sat beside the unlit counter lattice, hands tucked in his sleeves as he kept nodding off. The clock struck precisely seven.

Around the time when Ono and Shinji had donned their haori and hakama and reseated themselves, the rumbling sound of a handcart began to be heard from afar through the quiet evening town.

“There she comes!”

Ono and Shinji exchanged glances and stood up. The other two and Shinji also involuntarily stood up.

The dull rumble of the handcart being pulled through the dark streets of Shinkai carried an inexplicable solemnity.

The four of them stood shoulder to shoulder at the shop entrance, gazing 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.

VI

While Shinji’s heart pounded, five handcarts unloaded their shafts in front of the shop. The first to jump down was Izumiya, only the tips of his feet white. Next to alight was Mrs. Izumiya, her short neck held firm beneath a round chignon, wearing a pale crested kimono. Third came the unimpressive small-framed Osaku stepping down, followed by a woman of about forty—purportedly her uncle’s companion—wearing a black Azuma coat, who alighted while calling out to the young men in a casual Tokyo accent: “There now, thank you for your hard work.” The brother wore a wide-brimmed black fedora and carried himself like a dignified lord.

Izumiya and Ono seated everyone at their places. The cheerful aunt was a somewhat refined woman. With thin eyebrows slanting downward at the outer corners, her soft pale face revealed glimpses of gold teeth through her amiable smile. "Well now, this is our first meeting... I am the wife of her uncle here, and truth be told, her mother has unfortunately been unwell these past few days, which is why I've come in her stead today. I do hope you'll kindly..." "On this occasion, we present such an unworthy person..." The aunt delivered this lengthy ceremonial greeting, after which the brother followed with a stiffly formal address of his own.

Afterwards, a forest-like silence fell as pale tobacco smoke drifted before everyone's eyes. Shinji, seated on the right side at the front, sat rigidly with arms crossed—his glossy-haired head framing a face flushed with vitality, eyes holding gentle moisture beneath their surface. Osaku kept her lightly powdered face turned downward, crimson spreading across her cheeks. Her knees remained tightly pressed together while her shoulders and chest showed no trace of elegant bearing. Even her formal Shimada updo and decorative hairpins seemed like foreign objects precariously balanced atop her flattened head. Yet she displayed no airs; periodically raising expressionless eyes to gaze vacantly at nothing before lowering them again as if dazzled by emptiness itself.

Izumiya and Ono moved in and out of the narrow tatami room while making their hakama rustle briskly; before long, sake decanters and cups were brought in. After completing the simple three-three-nine exchange ceremony, the red cups were passed in turn to the hands of people seated on both sides.

“Congratulations,” voices rang out as the crowd bowed in unison. Shinji and Osaku’s faces were uniformly flushed, their eyes shining beautifully.

VII When the sake cups had completed their first round, the young Noh singer Ono had procured from somewhere sat in the lowest seat and suddenly boomed out in a loud, abrupt voice to begin chanting "Takasago". At the same moment, Osaku rose to change in the adjoining room while trays were brought before the guests, cheerful laughter and chatter mingling all at once as sake cups flew vigorously here and there. “Well then, the formalities are done,” Izumiya declared. “Now we drink.” Shinji too rose from his seat. “My household still isn’t properly settled yet—I can’t rightly call this a feast—but we’ve ample sake at least. Please do take your leisure.”

“Why, this is quite the splendid feast…” said the brother, placing a sake cup on his large palm. He made a foolishly deferential bow and offered it to Shinji. “I’m just a country bumpkin who don’t know nothin’ ’bout city ways, but I beg your pardon—please look after her proper.” “No, if anything, it’s I who…” Shinji humbly demurred. “After all, I’ve only just started a household… And with no relatives to speak of here, I must admit I’m rather uneasy about it all.” “Well, with all of your kind support, until I become a full-fledged merchant, I intend to work myself to the bone.”

“Not at all…” The brother accepted the returned cup with both hands. “Unlike the likes of us, you possess such skill…” “Hey, Shin-san, quit yammering about money-making and have a drink already,” Ono called out in a high-pitched voice from across the room. Shinji sheepishly looked back and forced a smile onto his forlorn face. “This isn’t a joke. “Starting tomorrow, there’ll be one more mouth to feed.” “I can’t afford to be careless,” he said in a low voice.

“No, for those managing households, that very mindset is crucial,” interjected Izumiya, who had been engaged in earnest discussion with the aunt. “The bride who’s come to this household is truly fortunate.” “He possesses manly spirit and genuine skill.” “Why, of course that’s so,” said the aunt, toying with her gold toothpick as she offered a polite smile.

“Take good care of your wife now, and there’ll be nothing left wanting,” someone interjected. Sake decanters kept being brought in one after another. The voices rose ever higher in pitch until the narrow tatami room hung thick with the scent of liquor and tobacco smoke.

“Where’s the bride? Where’s the bride?” someone shouted impatiently.

Izumiya went to check the next room. Osaku had changed into a silk crepe kimono of some sort, inserted a gaudy ornamental hairpin, and now sat alone with downcast eyes before the long brazier, her back to the lamplight.

“Now then, Ms. Osaku, you must go out there and serve drinks.” Osaku blushed, gathering wrinkles around her slack mouth as she laughed.

VIII With Ono slightly drunk from feasting and beginning to hold forth, the whole group left without incident a little past nine o'clock. Amidst the commotion, the aunt and brother had exchanged drawn-out farewells, though when departing, the brother's legs faltered. Shinji's friends drank another round before finally taking their leave.

With an air of “Ugh, I can’t fathom why people make such a fuss over someone else’s wedding,” Shinji—his ashen face now cleared of drunkenness—sank exhaustedly into bed. When he awoke the next morning, Osaku had already risen. By the pillow lay a tobacco tray with its ash neatly leveled from the lit tobacco and a newspaper with its folds still crisp.

It seemed a light rain had fallen since dawn, for the gentle sound of raindrops felt pleasantly soothing to his sleep-greedy head. The bean seller's bell also held a dampness in its sound.

He felt as though he’d been saddled with some sudden burden since this morning, but when he recalled having felt the same unease upon opening his shop, it was merely that the path ahead seemed a little dark—though even within that darkness, there had been light. As he left the bedding and moved toward the tearoom, he unexpectedly came face-to-face with Osaku. Osaku wore a machine-woven everyday kimono with a red tasuki sash, her face showing uneven patches of clumsily applied white powder. “Oh,” she said, bowing her flushed face, but Shinji did not so much as smile and went straight to the shop. At the shop, a young girl from the nearby poor neighborhood and a shriveled old man of about forty carrying an infant had come to buy charcoal and miso.

Shinji, together with the apprentice, put on a completely changed, amiable face and conducted business energetically.

At breakfast time, he was able to scrutinize Osaku's face for the first time. At the narrow dining table where they had arranged last night's leftover dishes, they took up their chopsticks facing each other, but Osaku occasionally raised her eyes to look at Shinji's face. Shinji also stared fixedly at her profile as she served rice. It was a compact, rounded face with a small nose and a receding forehead. On her short-jointed hands she wore some sort of stone-set ring. After finishing the meal, Shinji—suddenly looking harried—smoked two or three puffs of tobacco, then began speaking loudly to the hired maid eating her meal at the kitchen entrance.

“Granny, given the circumstances we’ve discussed before, my place has no further need of you.” “Since it’s your decision to leave, you can take your leave whenever you want…” Granny set down her miso soup bowl and nodded twice with “Yes, yes.” “But today, well, there is all sorts of cleanup to do, and you have only just arrived and have been handling water chores and such…” The maid directed a smile at Osaku.

“My household ain’t in no position to be sayin’ such things. From today on, you gotta start workin’,” Shinji said brusquely. “Oh, please do!” Osaku murmured in a low voice.

“Hey Masazo, what’re you staring blankly at? Hurry up and finish your damn meal,” Shinji snapped as he stood up abruptly.

IX In the morning, Shinji went out two or three times and hurriedly returned each time. Like the apprentice, he went around delivering salt and wood scraps to regular customers. He shouldered a carrying pole and went around delivering small amounts of soy sauce and sake as well. When the shop looked likely to become empty, he clicked his tongue and peered into the back. “Tch, utterly hopeless,” he muttered under his breath. Then he called out to Osaku: “Hey! Get out here—the shop’s opening!” Osaku, while fussing over her face and hair, awkwardly came to the shop counter and sat down.

Shinji took hold of the bride who had arrived just the previous night and began instructing her about the quality and pricing of soy sauce and sake. “Since there’s plenty of poor folk around here, everyone sticks to small transactions.” “Since seventy or eighty percent of our customers are laborers, retail sake sales make up most of our business.” “Since we get two or three fellas daily who come determined to drink from a masu at the counter—when those types barge in, you twist the sake tap here like this and shove out the masu along with it.” “Those bastards’ll likely use some pinch of salt trick to gulp it down and scram.” “Being a new shop, we’ve set that aside from the ledger, we don’t give any credit at all.” He then briskly ran through methods for recording sales. Osaku simply kept grinning vacantly. Whether she understood or not, Shinji found it exasperating. Without properly smoking his tobacco, he hoisted the carrying pole and went out again.

When evening brought a lull in his work, Shinji donned simple formal attire and an old bird-hunting cap. Entrusting the shop to Osaku and the apprentice, he announced he was going to Izumiya’s and left the house. Osaku let out a sigh of relief afterward. His gentle face belied a remarkably fierce disposition. Though reserved in manner, there was something manly about his complete lack of pretense. When she tried to fold away last night’s haori coat and hakama trousers into the chest, Shinji said in a low voice, “That set was borrowed from Ono elsewhere,” producing a wrapping cloth to carefully bundle them himself. His practical handling of the matter—devoid of vanity or posturing—somehow struck her as reassuring. To her unaccustomed self, his words could be harsh enough to make her heart lurch, yet she sensed him to be as forthright as split bamboo. Within two or three years, this shop will expand considerably... she recalled him saying last night after they retired. When she remembered his declaration about enduring with closed eyes until they built their own house and saved thousands of yen, Osaku felt an unexpected pang of anguish. The anxiety and upheaval of these past five days had melded with her exhausted body, leaving a sensation—half joy, half fragility—adrift within her chest.

Osaku leaned on the desk and gazed absently at the sprawling Shinkai town. The pale winter sun occasionally clouded over, and lonely shadows spread across the entire scene. Ice-like figures drifted like dreams through the streets. Osaku's eyes were moist. Shinji’s face—still lacking any clear impression—seemed to appear from within something like a hazy ring-like shape.

X

The blissful months and years slipped away like water through fingers.

After marriage, Shinji devoted himself even more diligently to the family business. In his work ethic compared to before, a certain capacity for preparation and prudence began to emerge. Managing the apprentice, handling procurement, and cultivating clients—he grew adept at all these. While moving his body had become relatively less frequent, there was also a growing tendency to rely more on his intellect.

But Osaku was of no use at all. That this woman’s only merits—her gentle disposition, modest demeanor, and limited material desires—had become increasingly apparent. When Shinji went out, Osaku could employ neither initiative nor resourcefulness beyond what her husband had ordered. Mistakes in diluting sake or selling expensive soy sauce cheaply became commonplace. She couldn’t grasp account book inspections or client relations at all. Not even the effort to try comprehending showed in her.

When such things piled up time and again, Shinji seethed with anger.

“You’re a complete imbecile.” “What sort of merchant’s wife pulls this nonsense?” “Where’ve you been stuffing your three square meals?” The mouth that once spoke gently now spat these words from Shinji. Osaku’s face flushed crimson as she offered only a vacant grin.

“Damn it, useless,” Shinji muttered irritably, his whole face darkening. “I’ve gone and saddled myself with a real dud here. What kind of Izumiya is he anyway? If he were any kind of friend, he’d have found me a wife with half a brain in her head. That matchmaker just sweet-talked me… This is like they saw I was desperate and dumped some castoff on me,” he grumbled resentfully.

Osaku made a face that seemed about to burst into tears and bowed her head helplessly.

“Starting tomorrow, get yourself out of sight.” “If you 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 rags or something.” “If you can’t even handle this much, there’s no way you’d manage wherever you went.” “And yet you managed to serve in a grand household?” Shinji’s lashing tongue carried both venom and fire. Hot tears spilled from Osaku’s eyes. “I’m a fool…” she said nervously.

Shinji suddenly fell silent. He then took deep drags on his tobacco. His taut-muscled face turned pale, eyes fixed like a drunkard’s. The will to speak had drained away, yet his chest still seethed.

When he remained silent like this, Osaku’s mind grew increasingly uneasy.

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

Eleven After such incidents, Osaku would inevitably retreat to sit before the six-mat chest in the back room and take up her needlework. Even when Shinji lectured for half a day or longer, she would wrinkle the corners of her eyes and mouth in that familiar way. While maintaining a semblance of amiable smiles and meek responses, she could never bring herself to voice that a ripe persimmon had been crushed. During her time under her parents' care, and through three years of service at a government official's residence in Nishikata-cho, it had sufficed to perform her duties honestly and earnestly. Her parents had praised her as a model daughter; her master had called her good-natured and obedient. When arrangements were made for her transfer to this household and she received her dismissal, they must have thought: "You at least won't neglect your husband." Housekeeping should suit her well. This assumption of spousal suitability had earned her an excessively generous farewell gift from her former master. The mistress herself had presented her with a half-collar and hairpin, seeing her off beyond the estate gates. When Shinji denounced her outright, Osaku's mind churned into confusion until nothing made sense. She suspected he might be posturing. She wondered if he deliberately stirred commotion to frighten her. Such tasks seemed manageable through repetition—today's failures might become tomorrow's routine. In any case, she knew about his short temper from the old maid's whispered warnings during her departure—knowledge that let Osaku dismiss these outbursts lightly. Though scoldings made her chest tighten with dread of consequences, this anxiety never lingered long enough to curdle into self-reproach.

Even so, as she paused her needlework, there were moments when she sighed. Sitting alone beside the long brazier during quiet afternoons when there was no work to do, tears would naturally fall. There were even times when she thought it would be easier to return home and serve at her former master’s residence. From around that time, Osaku began frequently facing the mirror. When she confirmed no one was around, she quietly removed the mirror’s cover and gazed at her own reflection. She fixed her hair, applied white face powder to her cheeks, and for a while gazed there raptly. And she would relive those wedding days that felt like yesterday and the joyful dreams of the following half year. Her own figure and the lively splendor of that evening’s scenes also vividly rose before her eyes—now, not even those shadows lingered. Whenever she remembered, she felt increasingly pathetic—so much that she wanted to burst into tears.

Shinji, who had been tallying accounts at the shop, suddenly let out an "Ah..." sigh and came peering into the back room with an equally disinterested expression. Osaku flushed red and hastily replaced the mirror's cover. "Hey, brew some tea," Shinji said with a stern face, turning back toward the rear. When they found themselves together by the rectangular charcoal brazier, the two would lapse into an awkward silence. The fire in the long brazier had died out, leaving the iron kettle cold.

Twelve Osaku was strangely flustered; suddenly bringing charred charcoal from the kitchen, she kept picking up embers of charcoal briquettes that resembled stars, all while periodically observing Shinji's expression.

“How infuriating.” Shinji tsked softly, yanked the fire tongs as if seizing them, and began puffing to revive the flames himself. “What do you do all day? Keeping you around is no better than raising a kitten—might as well be raising one for all the good you do,” he said as if joking.

Osaku continued grinning vacantly, staring fixedly at the flames coming to life. Shinji wiped his flushed face with both hands. “You’re hopeless because you’ve never truly experienced hardship. “I’ve been through real hardship—started my apprenticeship in Shinagawa at fourteen, endured eleven years of hard labor. “I’d go without proper meals, standing all day in the earthen-floored workspace. “In the bitter cold that splits your fingertips, when they made me grind charcoal, I’d end up crying for real.”

Osaku wrinkled her sagging lips into a grin. “Shouldn’t things get easier from now on?” “This isn’t a joke,” Shinji spat out. “The real hardship starts now. Up until now, just being able to move my body and endure was enough, but when it comes to running my own shop, it ain’t that simple. The mental strain’s no small thing.” “But there must be some enjoyment too.”

“What kind of enjoyment?” Shinji widened his eyes. “We haven’t even reached where folks find enjoyment yet.” “Getting there ain’t something just anybody manages.” “For that, you need to shape up too. … I’ll handle my part.” “I’ll make damn sure it happens.” “When I fall, I rise with something in hand.” “But what about you?” “You’re just cramming three meals down your throat and moping daily like some layabout.” “That’s why working’s got no pull for me.” “Makes me sick,” Shinji said, his face twisting in disgust.

“But we still have money left.”

“Obviously it does.” Shinji’s eyes crinkled with a fleeting smile that soon hardened into a frightening expression. The fact that Osaku lacked not just frugality but any inclination toward spending money at all came as some small comfort to Shinji. She neither contemplated where to economize nor considered how to manage resources—yet conversely, she never once felt moved to spend even a single copper coin of her own will. Since their arrival here, Shinji’s household management had gradually grown more prosperous. Their everyday tools had multiplied. The hand chest and mousetraps Shinji had procured cheaply from somewhere now gleamed with polished luster, while their kimonos were at last properly arrayed. Having secured insurance, he had separately maintained monthly savings all along. Osaku had never once made a purchase through her own discretion. Shinji had personally selected nearly every side dish for their three daily meals himself. Osaku merely drifted through these motions like some dull-witted automaton.

Thirteen

One of the apprentices who had been making rounds to regular customers had no sooner nonchalantly returned than he tossed down his container and called toward the back, “Master.” “Mr. XX complained about the sake. “They said it can’t be that watery—next time you need to inspect it properly... “I’m taking care of it now.” “Inspect it properly?” Shinji scowled. “There’s no way it’s watery. “Who made that complaint?” “The master himself said so.”

“There’s absolutely no truth to that—though they did say to make it a bit drier, so I went ahead and made it dry...” Shinji dashed out to the shop, slipping into his geta and stepping down into the earthen-floored area 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 complain endlessly," Shinji muttered as he returned to his usual seat. His eyes betrayed anxiety about their patrons' opinions through their restless gleam. Osaku prepared coarse tea and set damp salted rice crackers on the wooden tray. Shinji began mechanically crunching them while deep in thought. Osaku nibbled intermittently with her fragile-looking teeth. It was late March, and spring had thoroughly permeated the outdoors. Behind the storehouse, cherry blossoms hesitantly unfurled pale petals under the day's gentle warmth. The bustle beyond their walls carried a restless energy. Shinji felt an unexpected tranquility settle over him. Sitting like this, a peculiar emptiness took root in his chest—likely the accumulated fatigue from prolonged strain finally surfacing. That he'd gained enough mental respite to contemplate such matters might have contributed too.

Osaku seized the opportunity during a conversation and said, “…When the flowers bloom, shall we go to the countryside once?”

Shinji silently looked at Osaku’s face. “It’s not like there’s anything particularly worth seeing there, but even so, the countryside is lovely. Lotus flowers and dandelions bloom… Picking herbs in the sun-drenched fields during that season is truly delightful.” “That’s easy for you to say,” Shinji laughed bleakly. “I could go to your hometown, but really, I ought to visit my own at least once out of duty.” “Why haven’t you returned to your hometown in seven or eight years? That’s rather extreme.” Osaku laughed, showing her gums that had bitten into the rice cracker.

“Where would that kind of money come from?” Shinji’s face twisted bitterly. “One trip would wipe out a month or two’s profits.” “After all this time, we can’t show up empty-handed.” “Even if it’s your hometown, you need to bring at least some token offering.” “…And what exactly would you do about the shop?”

Osaku suddenly wilted.

“We’ve got no time for that sort of thing. “It’s the truth.” Shinji gulped down his tea and suddenly stood up.

Fourteen

When caterpillars infested the cherry clusters, Osaku suddenly stopped menstruating. Osaku had always been prone to chills. Her lips were discolored and her complexion sallow. Her teeth too were weak. When chrysanthemum transplanting season came, she slept with a foot warmer at her hem while Shinji mocked her. Though she had no particular illness, undigested food would sometimes rise back up. On days when the dry winter wind blew cold, she hunched over the brazier with a pallid, goosefleshed face. Even slightly harsh water work quickly chapped her small hands until they crackled when rubbed together. At bedtime each night, Shinji made her drink a cup of fortifying strong sake. Hearing of a skilled moxibustion practitioner near Dentsū-in Temple, he had her try that too.

“What are you doing acting like that now? You’re just like an old woman,” Shinji scoffed. Osaku made a face full of remorse and each time put on a show of working energetically. That she had become pregnant with such a frail constitution seemed somewhat strange. “You’re lying. There’s something wrong with your body,” Shinji refused to believe.

“No,” Osaku said with a flushed face, “I’ve felt something was off for quite some time now. When I had it divined, that’s what it said.” Shinji gazed into his wife’s face with uneasy eyes. With eyes that seemed to say, “What’s happening to me, with this frail body…,” Osaku looked up at Shinji’s face with an awkward air. Then began an intimate conversation between them, moist with emotion. Shinji now found it pitiable how he had constantly showered her with abuse all this time. He even began feeling remorse for having been utterly incapable of regarding her as his wife. Just four or five days earlier, he had flown into a rage over her taking a long bath—after harshly berating her, resentful as if saddled with some burdensome dependent, he had roared “Get out! Leave right now!”—behavior he himself now found despicable.

Moreover, if she were to become pregnant, he somehow felt it might bring a shift in his state of mind. Alongside some anxiety and unpleasant feelings, he also felt as though he was entering a period where his life was becoming more secure.

Osaku had already begun worrying about childbirth and related matters. She had even started talking about ceremonial first garments and swaddling cloths.

“I’m weak-bodied, so I’m sure the birth will be difficult…” Osaku blinked her moist eyes—eyes that seemed both happy and uneasy—and gazed at the man’s face. Shinji felt something pitiable yet touching about her.

Osaku, hearing twelve o'clock, suddenly thrust her needle into the pincushion. Her face had a rare gloss, and her eyes held a glistening moisture. Shinji gazed at her face with captivated eyes.

Fifteen

Osaku showed the same innocent freshness as during their wedding and a coquettish demeanor toward her husband while picking up scattered fabric scraps and thread ends. Shinji closed the kodan storybook he had been reading beside her and stretched his indolent frame until his joints creaked, urging himself on with a "C'mon, can't just sit around like this."

“Am I really going to become a father?” he muttered, rubbing his arm.

“How time flies—it feels just like a dream,” Osaku said with enraptured eyes, her voice taking on a coquettish tone. “It’s strange to think that even someone like me could have a child, isn’t it?”

The two of them then recalled their feelings from around the time of their wedding and began talking about even trivial matters as though they were meaningful. During such harmonious moments between them, talk of each other’s parents and siblings would often come up. Conversations about relatives and stories from their own childhoods emerged as well.

“Mother says she should come from the countryside when the time comes, but I can just stay at home, right?” When the clock struck one, Osaku, as if suddenly remembering something, hurriedly laid out the bedding. After dressing Shinji in his nightclothes and settling him into bed, she spent some time folding discarded garments and extinguishing the brazier’s fire. For two or three days, such tender exchanges continued. Shinji would sometimes dart to her side and press a fervent kiss against Osaku’s cheek. On occasion, seized by sudden whimsy, he would take her to the neighborhood vaudeville theater.

However, after such moments, a storm would soon arrive. From unexpected circumstances, Shinji's mental balance would suddenly begin to fracture. “I’ve been spoiling her too much—this is what it comes to.” When Shinji noticed Osaku swaying drowsily before the daytime brazier, nearly nodding off, he clicked his tongue irritably at the tip of his nose and abruptly turned on his heel to retreat.

Osaku jolted in surprise, her heart racing, but once matters reached this point, there was no remedy left. With Osaku's limited understanding, nothing more could be done. She could only weep silently within, convinced they were fundamentally mismatched. Shinji's conduct had flipped like the palm of a hand; even glimpsing his face now churned her stomach.

When late autumn arrived, Osaku was taken back to her rural family home. By that time, her belly, unusually small for her stage, had become quite noticeable. The aunt from Dentsūin-mae came and settled the matter with Shinji in her usual refreshing manner.

The emotions between husband and wife became entangled like snarled threads. Osaku felt she might already be cast aside, worn out and discarded. Shinji felt that Osaku would not return as she was. Osaku, at any rate, seemed to think that the general sentiment of people was indeed such.

Shinji had a little travel money prepared and placed nourishing wine in the corner of the bag.

"I'll come by eventually." "Please do come properly." Osaku, lagging behind, reiterated her plea repeatedly.

Sixteen

After Osaku left, Shinji felt as though he had dropped something. The house suddenly grew lonely, and when facing his three daily meals, he would strangely recall Osaku’s figure sitting there. He thought of how he had cursed Osaku and spoken ill of her, and it pained him somewhat. He found his own coarse emotions despicable when he had bellowed things like, “Keeping a useless thing like you around is far worse than raising a kitten,” or “Just get out already—then I can finally breathe easy.” Yet he couldn’t bring himself to go out of his way to visit Osaku. Each time Osaku sent him clumsily written letters saying she missed Tokyo, found the countryside lonely, or asked him to come because her health was failing, he would click his tongue, crumple the letter, and toss it aside. When Osaku sent a photo of herself with her mother, older brother, cousin, and a whole crowd, Shinji spat out, “Every last one of ’em looks like country bumpkins.” “Makes me sick,” he spat out, and didn’t give it another glance.

Around that time, Ono had gotten married, rented a room in Kyōbashi’s Okazakichō, and was living a neat little life. The woman was known only to be from Ise, and her background remained unknown. Compared to Osaku, she was three or four years her senior, but her appearance remained youthful. “What exactly is your wife?” Shinji asked Ono curiously when he visited after Shinji had first seen this woman. “What does she look like to your eyes?” Ono grinned with a sly look in his eyes.

“I don’t get it. She’s definitely not some amateur,” Shinji said. “Putting on airs like a fool—even if she were a geisha, there’s still something rough around the edges…” “She’s not that kind of woman,” Ono replied, laughing as he looked away. Ono still cut a dapper figure. His stiff new kimono rustled faintly as he moved, paired with a crisply tied tea-brown Hakata obi and a pure gold ring glinting on his finger. He was always swapping out his accessories for showier pieces. Lately he’d taken to bringing Shinji proposals—like snatching up discounted gold watches from certain shops or acquiring subdued tobacco pouches at bargain prices.

“Even if someone like me were to bring such things, it’d be no use. Maybe when I’ve retired to a life of leisure, I’ll take you up on that.” With that, Shinji refused to engage further. “But you’ve got it made. Dressed to the nines year-round like that, and your wife’s a beauty too…” Shinji said, banging his greasy pipe relentlessly against the brazier’s edge. “I’m a miserable wretch. A complete failure.” Then he began spilling details about Osaku.

“How has she been since then?” Ono asked, shooting a sharp glance at Shinji. “What’s become of her—I haven’t gone to see her once.” "If she never comes back at all, all the better—that’s what I think." “If there’d been a child, things wouldn’t have come to this.”

Seventeen “What kind of brat could even come from this?” Shinji muttered resentfully.

Ono silently looked at Shinji’s face. “But these arranged meetings—they’re completely unreliable.” “Though I say this in your presence, Shin-san, he overestimated things a bit.” “On the wedding night, when I first saw Osaku-san’s face, I couldn’t help thinking, ‘Well, well.’” “You’re telling me.” Shinji laughed forlornly. “It’s not like there was ever any hope for marital harmony to begin with... Even if I could endure that much, she hasn’t a shred of consideration in her.” “Even when customers come, she doesn’t even know how to greet them properly—can’t manage a single neighborly interaction.” “I’ve drawn a terrible lot in life,” Shinji sighed.

“Anyway, you really should have thought more about it,” Ono said with feigned sympathy. “But it can’t be helped—we’ve already been together a year or two. Even if you say you’ll leave her now, it might be fine for you, but poor Osaku-san.” “But I bet that woman’s bored stiff too. We’d quarrel every other day—cursing her and beating her. ...From the start, I never treated her like a human being, you see,” Shinji said with a hollow laugh.

“That’s bad,” Ono said with an empty laugh. “Who knows how this’ll end,” Shinji muttered pensively. “She’s already trembling at my rough temper. If she goes whining to her mother or brother and ends up pregnant, maybe they’ll bring up divorce themselves. This damn situation can’t stay like this forever anyway.” He forced out a bitter chuckle. The murky storm in his chest seemed ready to burst through its restraints.

“Not quite,” Ono said, nodding to himself. “Women are surprisingly resilient. Even if you try to drive them out, they won’t leave.” “What are you talking about? That’s not how it is.” Shinji blinked his dazed eyes rapidly. “I treat you well enough, keep up appearances with customers—it’s a world of difference compared to the harpy I’ve got at home.” Whenever the two met face to face, such talk would always begin. Ono appeared thoroughly nonchalant and smug. When Ono left, Shinji would make a listless face and sink into thought, looking thoroughly bored. When he dwelled on these matters, working so hard seemed to have no worth.

Busy December arrived. Shinji’s body and mind no longer had leisure to dwell on such problems. The more he worked, the more he found work enjoyable; at each day’s end came an unspeakable satisfaction, and when laying his head on the pillow, he would think of how business had prospered since last year and how his clientele had expanded—weaving pleasant dreams. It seemed there was nothing left to desire. “When things ease up a bit,” he thought, “I should visit Osaku sometime and make her happy.”

Eighteen

One morning, as Shinji was reviewing the account books at the shop counter, a woman with her hair styled in a ginkgo-leaf bun arrived by rickshaw at the storefront, wearing a pale Azuma coat. That was Ono's wife, Okuni. Okuni wore downtown-style attire. She had on a modest silk kimono of inferior fabric with a bellflower-hued haori coat that exuded charm, paired with stylish geta clogs. The woman was petite and clear-eyed yet with a slightly unusual gaze, her fair-skinned face plump and amiable.

“Excuse me,” she said in a voice both carefree and innocent, then slipped smoothly inside. The apprentice who had been sitting there reviewing the client ledger scrambled back to a corner in fluster. Shinji kept his brush tucked behind an ear as he gave her a curt greeting. “Shin-san, oh something dreadful has happened.” The woman set down a wrapped confectionery box before removing her shawl and unfastening her coat front. Her wind-chilled cheeks carried a rosy flush while her glistening eyes shone beautifully—yet held an undercurrent of fear. Pale lips contrasted with disheveled locks straying from their pins.

“What’s wrong?” Shinji anxiously scrutinized her face but soon averted his gaze. “Do come in,” he said. “In such a dirty place—there’s nowhere proper to sit.” “And with no wife here—it’s been an all-male household all along, which might feel unsettling—but do come through to the back room.” “No, not at all….” The woman smiled warmly and glanced around the shop. “Truly a prosperous-looking shop.” “It’s heartening how well-stocked everything is.”

"No, given what this place is, it's hardly worth mentioning." Shinji went to the back room, spread a futon before the rectangular brazier, and beckoned with "Please..." "I'm sorry to trouble you during busy hours," Okuni said while removing her coat and stepping inside. With formal composure - "It's been too long..." - she bowed deeply while scrutinizing every corner. "It's kept quite orderly here," he said through teeth gripping a brush handle. "And fully stocked too - Ono could never match this." He extracted sweets from her package, slid them aside carelessly while muttering indistinct words.

Shinji made a troubled face, scratched his head, and bowed while saying, “Is that so?” “A merchant must have at least one proper shop, isn’t that right? There’s nothing more certain than running a solid business.” Shinji said while pouring lukewarm tea, “I’m no good. I don’t have the knack for making money while keeping it easy like Ono does.” “But aren’t you making steady progress? The shop looks completely different from when I last visited.” “Ono’s so wishy-washy and useless,” she said, then fell silent as if disheartened. The redness in her face had gradually faded, leaving it pale.

Nineteen

After a moment, Okuni began awkwardly recounting the sudden incident of Ono being taken into custody the previous morning. She recounted in detail how on that previous evening—because they had gone as a couple to Fudo’s festival night market—walking about here and there shopping and eating soba until returning home late and exhausted—the next morning at dawn intruders stormed into their bedroom while they were still asleep and dragged him away without even giving him time to wash his face. Ono sat up abruptly and said, “I don’t recall doing anything that warrants arrest." “If I go, I’ll find out,” he said, then changed into a kimono, took his wallet and watch, and followed the detective out.

“It’s just some mistake. I’ll be back soon, so don’t worry,” he chided the flustered Okuni, but as he left, his face bore an inexplicably unpleasant expression. There was no word after that. Last night she had waited all night without sleeping, but seeing that even this morning he hadn’t been returned, today too seemed somehow strange. Could it be he’d done something wrong and been thrown into pre-trial detention? From the detective’s tone, there had seemed no indication he’d be released even if he protested with something like ‘That’s…,’ but...

“What on earth could have happened?” Okuni fixed anxious eyes on Shinji’s face. “Well…” Shinji said before falling silent and sinking into thought. Okuni’s eyes took on an even deeper shade of anxiety. “What kind of man is Ono?” “What kind? Just… that sort of man,” he muttered, sinking back into thought. “Then could it be some mistake? If it’s a mistake, wouldn’t they have taken him away talking about suspicion or something?” Okuni remarked with overfamiliarity, resting her cheek on her hand by the brazier.

“Dunno,” Shinji heaved a sigh. “But he’ll come back today. No need to fret.” “But they said the report came from his hometown court.” “The detective told me that,” Okuni added in a tone that probed deeper into the wound.

“That’s why I feel something’s off—thinking he might be up to no good back home,” he said, fixing her with a suspicious stare.

“I don’t know about things in his hometown, but either way, today should shed some light on the situation.” In Shinji’s mind surfaced Ono’s recent extravagant lifestyle. He nodded at the certainty that Ono must have been involved in something dangerous. “That’s why I told him so,” he thought to himself.

Okuni kept talking until around midnight. During the conversation, Shinji got up and went to the shop two or three times. Okuni recounted detailed secrets about Ono’s lifestyle that Shinji hadn’t known, frequently letting slip a tone that cast suspicion on Ono’s behavior and his money-making methods.

Twenty

Ono’s arrest case proved more troublesome than anticipated. On the day he was arrested, he was immediately sent from the Metropolitan Police Department to a rural court. The exact details remained unclear, but it became known only that some error had arisen from a promissory note in dealings with a merchant from the countryside. It was said he had rewritten the dates on expired promissory notes and used them. The plaintiff was cunning, but Ono’s methods were also underhanded. Two or three letters came from Ono addressed to his wife. He also sent some to Shinji. Since Okuni has no influential relatives in Tokyo to depend on, I ask that you look after all matters for her. There was also a request conveying that once he was cleared of all charges, he would surely repay the favor. In relation to securing a lawyer, he also made requests along the lines of needing money. In late December, after the 20th, Okuni consulted with Shinji, borrowed money from various sources, pawned kimonos and such, and managed to send Ono a modest sum of money.

Okuni and Shinji began meeting face-to-face nearly every day. On days when Shinji did not go out himself, Okuni would usually come to Omotecho. Their conversations always centered on Ono in pre-trial detention and rumors about court proceedings. They even began voicing concerns about what they would do should he end up being detained for two or three years.

"When I ask around, they say it's rather serious." "They insist he'll have to serve about two years." "If he stays locked up that long—mark my words—it won't be him suffering inside, but me left outside." "They get public funds over there, but that doesn't help us here." "And I've already turned nearly all my decent things—rings, combs—into cash to send him..." Okuni murmured. Shinji replied, "Now now, I know Ono well enough—they wouldn't abandon you like that." "Things will sort themselves out," he said, though no real strategy had taken shape.

As the year approached its end, the shop grew gradually busier. Bamboo poles stood lined along every eave, rustling noisily in the wind. Even in Shinkai’s dreary new district, the year-end tide had swept in, transforming the agitated redness that had colored Shinji’s eyes. Before anyone noticed, Okuni had settled into near-constant residence over these past few days. She managed all inner household affairs with the seasoned efficiency of one long practiced in domestic management. To Shinji’s eyes, her methods seemed somewhat frivolous and showy. Yet her work carried vibrant energy. Even wielding just a broom, she swept with such pristine care it felt soothing. The perpetually dim lamp now burned with crystalline brightness, its glow reflecting off the long brazier and vermin-proof chest until both gleamed. The clumsy stews and watery soups Osaku had prepared for every meal gave way to Tokyo-style dishes deftly made by Okuni’s hands—yet the meal trays never lacked flavorful pickles. Whether opening closets or stepping into the kitchen, one found every detail meticulously ordered, attention reaching even the most overlooked corners.

Twenty-One Shinji felt something like an irritating itch. He also found it somewhat unsettling. “Having everything so neatly regimented is actually a problem,” he said with a grimace. “Business is business—it won’t be all prim and proper anyway.” “But doesn’t it feel unpleasant?” said Okuni as she tidied up Osaku’s needle cases, baskets, and unsewn fabric—items she had respectfully refrained from touching—while pulling out old tabi socks and underkimonos. “Doesn’t it feel all dusty here? With New Year’s coming, we can’t just leave it like this." “I’m the type who can’t just leave things be once I see them—regardless of whether it benefits me or not…” “I’ve been bothered by this spot for who knows how long,” she said, bundling various items together and neatly packing them into the trunk.

Shinji made a bitter face and withdrew.

This kind of work continued for two or even three days. Okuni frequently went out shopping. She bought shimenawa sacred ropes and nematsu pine branches with roots attached, as well as small ceremonial vessels for the household altar. It was also Okuni who placed a red-and-white kagami mochi rice cake—about eight sun in diameter—beside the shop counter, decorating it with Kamakura-style shrimp ornaments and ritual gohei paper streamers. She properly prepared stacked ceremonial food offerings called kuzumi. On New Year’s Eve, bow-shaped lanterns were lit atop straw-wrapped bundles piled at the shopfront, making even the gloomy district of Shinkai appear bright—at least around this area. In the inner quarters, the altar lamp flickered in drafts from the latticework, its light trembling across the green pine wreaths where the new year’s shadow already lingered.

Okuni had her hair styled by a neighborhood hairdresser, draped a komon-patterned haori over her shoulders, and sat before the long brazier with a bright expression.

By past nine o'clock, the shopfront had mostly taken shape. Shinji treated the two apprentices to New Year’s dishes and soba, then sent them to the bathhouse and barber in shifts. The shopfront and inner quarters finally grew quiet. The oil-deprived lamp squeaked faintly, and a lonely shadow crept into the room. A cold luster gleamed on the darkened pillars and the edges of the brazier. It was a night of piercing cold, and the footsteps of passersby on the street echoed sharply through the air.

Shinji sat cross-legged before the brazier, hanging his head as he sank into thought. He recalled tonight last year when he had just begun living with Osaku, still newly arrived. "What are you daydreaming about?" Okuni said as she lifted the sake decanter from the copper pot and extended it toward Shinji with an awkward gesture. Shinji said, "Oh, I'll handle it myself...," and reached to take the sake decanter.

“There’s no need for that.” “Pouring sake is just…” After pouring for Shinji，she said， “Since it’s my New Year’s too，I’ll have a little，” and poured some for herself.

After draining his cup, Shinji now poured himself another drink while saying, “Thank you for all your help.” “This year, thanks to you, I somehow feel like it’s finally a proper year-end…”

Twenty-Two

Okuni drank two or three more cups by her own hand. Shinji feigned ignorance. The rims of Okuni’s eyes reddened faintly, her lips glistening with delicate moisture where they had touched the sake cup. Her long-lashed eyes and cleanly defined hairline—when she looked down—made her appear rather foolish. Yet even as he observed this, cold calculations flowed through Shinji’s mind. For three or four days now, an unease like having his entire household overturned had clung persistently to his thoughts, but witnessing how this woman drank tonight intensified his discomfort. Contempt—Who did this rootless stray think she was?—and rebellious resentment welled up within him.

“After all, these are just an outsider’s meddlings—you probably don’t approve—but I’m spending this year-end alone too, and it’s simply unbearable,” Okuni said nonchalantly. “If I kept moping around that second-floor room with its meager brazier, it wouldn’t do any good. That’s why I’m helping out like this—to distract myself.” Her voice lowered slightly. “Even when spring comes… I’ve nothing to look forward to.”

"But there's no point in you working at my place like this." "I'm perfectly fine with it, but you're the one finding it dreary here," said Shinji in a tone that both dismissed and burdened her with obligation.

Okuni fell silent with a deflated expression. Then, putting down the sake cup, she sank into thought about something. When he saw that face, it seemed to say, "I can see right through your heart, Shinji." Shinji also fell silent, as if self-conscious. After a while, the woman lifted the sake decanter and said with polite courtesy, "Won't you have any more sake?"

“Mr. Ono must be struggling this spring without being able to drink sake,” Shinji abruptly remarked. Then between them began talk of Ono’s reputation. Okuni had known that man for two or three years already, having heard countless careless lies from him. Back then she had come to Tokyo with a young man of student-like disposition while still utterly inexperienced. His family farmed in the countryside. As that man lacked resolve, she had endured prolonged hardship. Not long after, she became acquainted with Ono. He had been presented as a company employee, but reality proved far different—when they set up household together, myriad flaws emerged. Money would occasionally arrive in snatched sums of thirty or forty yen, yet his inner life never matched the carefree front he displayed. Though he possessed talent and eloquence—and staying with him might have spared her utter ruin—she found herself gripped by unease. “He buys me kimonos and takes me to plays,” Okuni began in a subdued tone, her words uncharacteristically plain, “but those moments vanish like dew—with no future in sight, how could such trifles satisfy?”

“I truly mean this.” “Since I’ll be twenty-five when the year turns... perhaps we should make a clean break with the tide...”

Shinji remained silent. As he listened, he began to feel something of what it meant for a woman's emotions to seep into his chest.

Twenty-Three

After the New Year began, Shinji visited Osaku in the countryside once. The town’s desolation meant no hint of spring lingered in the air. Everywhere along the road stood houses with latched windows as if their occupants slept, while here and there across the northwind-bleached path, the frozen shadows of nannies and children occasionally came into view. All the low eaves seemed to tilt precariously. Kimono shops displayed faded fabrics in sparse arrangements. Dust-choked stores selling Chinese imports and secondhand clothes evoked a town withering year by year. Then his eyes caught a small eatery he’d once rushed into. That time—passing through its dubious gate, being led from the garden to a shabby annex-like tatami room, eating what resembled spoiled sashimi while drinking wretched sake to investigate Osaku’s family circumstances—even he had approached with absurd earnestness. Shinji turned his face away and walked past.

He couldn't help feeling that Osaku's circumstances—having grown up in such a town—were somehow pitiable. When he thought of her remaining in this desolate, lonely town for over two months now, her large belly among earthy-smelling people, that too seemed pitiable. Sunken eyes, a haggard face, pallid skin, rough palms and feet—all these had become visible. He felt somewhat guilty yet reluctant to go see her face.

After crawling along a league and a half of frozen rice paddy paths through nose-numbing winds in the rickshaw, when he was finally let down at the shopfront along with the crossbar handle, his legs had stiffened to the point where he could barely walk. As he was paying the rickshaw driver his fare, Osaku emerged from behind the shoji screen with an "Oh!" Shinji’s profile—wearing a new Inverness coat and a navy-tinged bowler hat pulled low over his eyes—looked strikingly handsome, and the way he bowed his head to take coins from his clasp purse somehow seemed to elevate his bearing by one or two degrees.

"You made it here after all. It must have been cold." “You must have been cold,” said Osaku as she helped him remove his hat and Inverness coat, then led him further inside. “Mother, he’s here at the house,” she called out. When Shinji sat by the brazier in the dimly lit tea room, Osaku’s mother emerged from the next room—which resembled a storage closet—with a sleepy expression on her face. He had heard that her chronic rheumatism made her burrow into the kotatsu whenever it grew cold, but she looked plumper than when he'd last seen her. Perhaps it was his imagination, but she also appeared pale and swollen. Her eyes seemed afflicted, their rims reddish and somewhat inflamed.

The mother exchanged lengthy greetings. When Shinji presented the year-end sugar bag and New Year’s hand towel together, she bowed politely two or three times in response. After a while, the sister-in-law also came up from the back and offered an absurdly polite greeting. When asked about her brother, they said he had gone to his younger brother’s adoptive home in the neighboring village that day, so no menfolk were present at the house.

Twenty-Four The sister-in-law was also a woman from somewhere in this vicinity, her manner of speaking utterly tactless. Her figure—with its receding hairline and complete lack of style—was lanky in posture. He had seen her about twice before, but no impression of her face remained. This too seemed to have been the case before. Today, at last—as if determined to get a good look at Osaku’s much-vaunted husband’s face—she stared intently. Osaku clung closely to Shinji’s side and sat down, still smirking as always.

“Now, this place is unbearably dreary. “Osaku, take him to the back… Though we’ve nothing worthy to offer, with spring’s arrival upon us, let us at least share a sip of sake…”

“No, I can’t stay like this,” Shinji scratched his head. “I’m truly uneasy about leaving the shop unattended...” “It’s fine, isn’t it?” Osaku spoke in a tone that was both spoiled and frivolous, perhaps because she was in her parents’ home.

“Come now, let’s go over there.”

Shinji moved to the back. As he listened to Osaku speaking with her mother and sister-in-law, she referred to her husband Shinji as though he were her master or something of the sort. Toward her sister-in-law, this was even more pronounced. “He doesn’t drink much sake,” or “He truly has such a restless nature…”—though spoken in this manner…it didn’t seem to strike the sister-in-law’s ears as particularly odd. “Oh, is that so?” said the sister-in-law, staring fixedly at Shinji’s face. Shinji felt a self-conscious discomfort.

After a while, they were left alone together. They sat side by side at the ceramic brazier filled with fluffy straw ash, poking at charcoal that clinked metallically as they warmed themselves. Osaku had changed into a fine-patterned haori without his notice. Her complexion looked somewhat fresher than during their Tokyo days. A peculiar glint showed through her watery eyes. Though her belly remained smaller than he'd imagined, she breathed through raised shoulders. Perhaps burdened by heavy thoughts, her speech came haltingly. When facing him directly she would fall silent and look down, though occasionally she'd make coquettish gestures while stealing glances upward at his face. Shinji turned away to gaze at Admiral Togo's glass-framed lithograph hanging on the wall. The tokonoma displayed a large skewered persimmon atop the mirror rice cake beside plum blossoms arranged in a vase.

“You could stay over tonight, couldn’t you?” Osaku brought it up as if seizing an opportune moment.

“No, that ain’t happening.” Shinji said curtly without looking up from his ledger.“I came here intendin’ t’return by sundown.” After a long silence broken only by charcoal crackling in the brazier:“They say...Mr.Ono’s wife keeps comin’ round our place.” “Okuni?” His brush paused mid-column.“She’s there.” Osaku worried ash patterns with fire tongs.The question hung unspoken until:“Will she...stay permanent-like?” “How should I know?” He slammed the account book shut.“Strange creature anyhow.”

Twenty-Five "But if she were to keep clinging around indefinitely, that would be a problem, wouldn't it?" Osaku said with a pitiful look, her face flushed red. Shinji stayed silent. "We can't very well turn her away now." "It's not that simple." "Okuni's got nowhere else to go for the time being," Shinji said with a suspicious look. "And the household can't function at all without a woman's help." "Hiring someone new would be its own hassle." "So it's not like we're losing out here either..." he added, nodding to himself.

Osaku’s face grew even more uneasy. “But when Mr. Izumiya came by the other day…he mentioned something about that woman managing the household all by herself…I heard he told Uncle in Koishikawa something like that,” Osaku said timidly. “And you never come to see me—whenever I feel even slightly unwell, I get so terribly lonely…I keep thinking over and over—why did I ever retreat to a place like this?”

“Wasn’t it your side that took her in? It’s because having her give birth near her parents and siblings would make everything more secure—that’s why the aunt from Koishikawa came and took her away,” Shinji said resentfully.

"That may be true, but..." "At that time, didn't I even distribute pocket money properly and go so far as to plead with Auntie?" Shinji's tone grew slightly sharper. "I've been properly doing everything I should. "I don't believe there's any reason for you to find fault with me. "Look at what Ono does—even though it's been ages since he took up with that wife of his, now they've ended up renting a room in someone else's house. "From what I hear tell, he's been giving his wife no end of trouble. "And that's what led to this recent mess, I suppose. "His wife's been left with nothing but the clothes on her back. "If you've got nowhere to stay, you can't even put food in your mouth. "And yet when it comes to that wife of his, she's quite the capable one. "Her way with customers is something to see, and she keeps the household running smooth as clockwork... How come someone like you can't even begin to measure up?"

Osaku sat with a red face, looking down. “I’m being plenty good to Mrs. Okuni as it is. If you go complaining now, there’ll be no satisfying you.” “It’s not that I’m complaining, but…” Osaku sat alone in anxious suspense, worrying whether her words might carry to the other room. “Really now…” He snorted through his nose. “That Izumiya bastard just keeps spouting nonsense. What trouble have I ever caused him? There’s no call for meddlin’.” Shinji muttered under his breath.

“That isn’t it exactly, but…” Osaku grew flustered.

Twenty-Six

“Come now, just a sip…” With this urging, he was first made to drink the cloyingly sweet toso. Then came a black-lacquered tray. Arranged upon it were what appeared to be red sashimi from a caterer, soup bowls, and salt-grilled mullet. “Come now, Osaku—you pour for him. It’s unfortunate we’ve no one else to serve us...” “It’s unfortunate we’ve no one else to serve...” Osaku poured sake from a large decanter with clumsy hands. Shinji slurped down the sashimi nonchalantly, then abruptly brought the sake cup to his lips as if suddenly remembering.

“Mother, how about one?” he offered her the sake cup. “Is that so? Well then…” The mother responded with a strained smile, accepting the cup with both hands. She had Osaku pour a little more, then promptly drained it and handed it back. “This must be from her long stay in Tokyo—she’s grown terribly homesick for the countryside... And with her time drawing near, her spirits seem to sink lower still. She keeps saying she wants to dig her own grave and crawl inside.” She then began extolling how Osaku remained ever mindful of her husband and home, blessed with the gentlest disposition. “At her previous place of service, they sorely missed her when she left. Even as a child, she never once spoke back to her parents or brother.” “Being frail from birth, we feared a difficult birth would overwhelm her—so we’ve been tending to her morning and night with utmost care, giving her a daily measure of milk to strengthen her blood.” She had someone bring Osaku the newborn’s first garments and recounted her own childbirth experiences at tedious length.

Shinji offered hollow “Ha, ha” laughs in response, but by then the alcohol had already begun to take effect.

“The shop too will gradually prosper—truly splendid indeed.”

Osaku’s mother changed the subject. “Well, thanks to you, we’re somehow managing…” Shinji had mostly finished off the dishes and now began smoking tobacco. Then he hurriedly pulled out his pocket watch. “It’s already four o’clock.” “Oh my, you’re doing quite well for yourself. Since it’s the start of spring, please stay a while longer… Her brother should be returning soon as well,” Osaku’s mother said, standing to replace the sake decanter.

They both fell silent and looked down. The light through the shoji screens had already faded, and a dim, twilight-like shadow drifted through the room. The wind appeared to have died down, and outside lay hushed.

"Today has been truly nice, hasn't it?" Osaku hesitantly began to speak.

“What’s a merchant to do abandoning his shop?” Shinji gulped a mouthful of cold sake in one go. After being detained for nearly an hour, when he finally took his leave, Osaku pleaded repeatedly in a hushed voice, “When the birth comes, you must come without fail.” When seeing him off at the shopfront, her eyes brimmed with tears.

Twenty-Seven When the handcar arrived at the station, lights glimmered through patches of forest shadows. From the neighboring sake shop leaked the savory aroma of a simmered dish, with shadows of laborers visible through the windows as they laughed in gravelly voices. Hearing four or five nursemaids gathered in the chilly square singing a mournful tune, he recalled his own childhood of poverty in the countryside. Shinji suddenly found his shadow looking lonesome and muttered to himself, "When it comes to kin... well, there's only Osaku's family now."

The train soon departed. Shinji lay down curled up on the hard cushion and promptly closed his eyes. He had been thinking aimlessly about Osaku until around Nakano. He had never thought her particularly endearing, yet somehow her image had become deeply engraved in his heart. Just as he had drifted off to sleep, he noticed the train car growing increasingly crowded as they entered Tokyo.

By the time the train left Iidamachi Station, the drunkenness had completely worn off. Shinji walked unsteadily down the wide, moonlit avenue, as if urged on by something.

In the shop, two apprentices were reading storybooks at the counter. When he passed silently to the back, only the sound of boiling water struck his ears in the tea room. There by the closet corner, Okuni lay collapsed on a laid-out futon, her lower back being kneaded by the masseur as she slept utterly unconscious. Her neck with the ginkgo-leaf hairstyle hung limply backward over the pillow’s edge, body twisted diagonally prone. This slack form bore no resemblance to the briskly efficient Okuni who moved through her duties. The shabby male masseur rolled his unsettling pale eyes upward, periodically stealing glances toward the lamp.

When he sat down and put down the iron kettle, Shinji's complexion changed. After tapping his pipe against the edge of the brazier two or three times, he cast a disgusted glance at the woman’s figure and began puffing vigorously on his tobacco. As he did so, Okuni woke up.

“Welcome back,” she called out in a slurred tone. “Please excuse me for a moment. My shoulders are so stiff… You must be tired as well. Why not have someone give you a massage later?” Shinji did not say anything.

After a while, Okuni sluggishly turned her face halfway toward him while keeping it down.

“How was Osaku-san….” “Well, there doesn’t seem to be any particular change.” Shinji stared at the ceiling. Okuni tried to say something more in a drowsy voice, but her words dissolved into faint moans before she sank back into sleep. After drinking two or three cups of tea, Shinji went out to the counter. He spread open the large account book and tried to tally the day’s earnings, but felt inexplicably irritable and restless. The shockingly dissolute nature of the woman seemed to reveal itself for the first time.

“Quit playing dumb. Starting tomorrow, you’re out.”

Twenty-Eight

When the treatment was finished, Okuni took money from her own purse and dismissed the masseur. In the neighborhood, it was already the time when doors were clattering shut. Okuni remained sitting listlessly before the brazier for a long time, while Shinji too stayed glued to the shop counter until past eleven. When they began preparing for bed, the two of them exchanged unpleasant looks again. Shinji burrowed into the futon without properly exchanging a word, his face already showing he’d lost all patience. Okuni lowered the lamp, extinguished the fire, washed the tea utensils—going about her usual tasks—but her face remained absentminded.

As she prepared for bed, smoking a cigarette by the lamplight in a gloomy tone, she sighed, “Ah… I’ve grown so sick of everything.” “I don’t care which way it goes anymore—just let them decide quickly.” “Until they settle the trial, there’s nothing we can do.” “Well, Mr. Shin, what do you suppose is taking them so long?”

Shinji had been listening while pretending to sleep, but at this moment he shifted slightly. “Don’t know.” “But well, wouldn’t it be better to assume you’ll be found guilty and figure out how to position yourself?” “I think so too,” he said, his voice half-muffled by the futon. “So you’re saying we should wait for it to come out.” “But even I can’t keep waiting patiently forever,” he said while still in his nightclothes, crouching beside his pillow and tapping his pipe against it repeatedly. “Even that person’s health—there’s no telling what’ll happen once he’s released.”

Shinji fell silent.

When he awoke the next morning and looked, Okuni was still asleep. As he opened the door and washed his face, she finally rose and came out.

After finishing breakfast, Okuni fetched hot water in a metal basin, washed her face and hands, brought out Osaku's mirror stand, and began her toilette. When that was finished, she changed into outdoor clothes and slipped out to the shop front.

“I’ll just step out for a bit…,” she said, kneeling before the counter, then left without specifying her destination. Shinji seemed vaguely troubled but silently let her leave. The apprentices uniformly watched her departing figure with looks of contempt.

Okuni did not return even when noon came, nor when evening fell. Shinji wore an unpleasant expression all day. That evening, while drinking sake, Shinji began discussing the woman. “Since that one clearly has no intention of coming back, starting tomorrow morning we’ll all take turns cooking meals.” The apprentices each began disparaging her. They started muttering how she’d put on airs as the household mistress, how her presumptuous guest act rankled them, and how she couldn’t possibly be any ordinary woman.

Shinji merely forced a bitter smile.

Twenty-Nine

By late February—some time after receiving news of Osaku’s miscarriage—when Shinji went to visit her, Osaku still had a pale face. Her nostrils were sunken，the flesh around her eyes was hollowed，and her hair had thinned somewhat. With a hip cushion placed against her，her legs still seemed unsteady． The fetus was said to have been a beautiful boy． When she took down the trunk—a somewhat heavy object—from the shelf，whether reaching out her hand had been unwise or not，inside there was nothing particularly heavy within it nor was the shelf all that high． What with Osaku’s naturally frail constitution，this year’s exceptional cold spell，and her anxious disposition—engaging in unnecessary fretting over imagined troubles，feeling insecure about her current circumstances，worrying over their house in Omotecho—all these factors combined had likely overstrained her nerves… Such was her mother’s explanation that sounded both like an excuse and a complaint．

After miscarrying, Osaku had immediately begun losing consciousness as her surroundings grew dark - she thought she might die like that - and now interjected during her mother's explanations to recount these sensations from before and after the event. She said she couldn't bear pitying the child who'd been taken to that dark place and began crying. However you considered it - this was a child of my own flesh and blood - that he hadn't even come to see its face made me resentful if not for myself then for how pitiful the dead child was.

When Shinji heard the detailed account, he felt a kind of terror at himself. He hadn't intended to be so heartless, but when confronted with her words, he came to realize with painful clarity just how cold his heart had truly been. "I thought that since it was already dead anyway, seeing its face would only make me feel worse—that it was kinder not to look... And around that time, Ono's trial was happening. He himself wanted us to send another lawyer from Tokyo, so Okuni and I were running all over the place... It couldn't be helped out of obligation to a friend," he made excuses.

"Then you could have at least come for the seventh-day memorial..." Osaku resented, her eyes brimming with tears. "And you—when it comes to Okuni-san, you’ll abandon household matters without hesitation…" she muttered under her breath. This struck Shinji’s ears with particular sharpness. Of course, Okuni still frequented the house. There had been times when they quarreled and he drove her out—the first instance requiring him to placate her into returning, the second seeing the woman come back silently of her own accord. On the night he brought her back, they dined together at a tempura restaurant in Kyobashi before returning by train. When they reached Omotecho’s corner, he walked a block ahead before they separately entered their respective brightly lit shops. It held no particular meaning beyond his compulsion to maintain appearances. Thereafter, Okuni grew more docile than before. He felt himself enveloped for the first time in that peculiar warmth unique to women.

Thirty For two or three days afterward, they would live together harmoniously again, but soon trivial conflicts would arise. When Okuni left, Shinji found himself inexplicably preoccupied with her whereabouts all day—a vexing and oppressive weight on his chest that felt unbearable. “Don’t spout nonsense.” Shinji forced a laugh. “You think Okuni and I are carrying on together, don’t you?”

“No, that’s not what I mean… But seeing as you didn’t even come when our child died, it’s clear you no longer care about me at all.”

Shinji turned sideways and remained silent. Of course, when he recalled Osaku’s miscarriage, it was as though he were seized by illness. That woman was pitiable too—he felt he ought to go see her at least once, yet when it came down to it, he couldn’t bring himself to take that step. While telling himself “tomorrow, tomorrow,” he ended up postponing it. It was as though his mind had been torn asunder in all directions, and the anguish that had weighed on Shinji’s chest this past month was beyond what words could convey. That anguish—how could Osaku possibly understand it? Osaku was not someone he could confide such things in, he had decided.

“So if I return home, Okuni-san will have to leave.” Osaku timidly asked.

Shinji was muttering something vague under his breath. “Out of obligation, I can’t just tell her to leave outright, but I’m sure Okuni-san will come to her own decision eventually…” “So when do you think you’ll be able to come back?”

“I think another week should be enough for me to recover… But with Okuni-san here, I just can’t bear it.” “Mother says that too.” “Aunt in Koishikawa says if that’s the case, I must heal quickly and return home… but…”

Shinji felt his heart race anxiously as he realized the relationship between them was already nearing such a crisis. "In any case, you need to recover quickly..." he offered hollow reassurance, but found himself strangely repelled by how efficiently matters were being resolved.

On the tenth day after parting with Shinji, Osaku returned to Omotecho, led by her sister-in-law. It was around ten o'clock in the morning, and though March had come, the lingering winter chill remained severe—this being around the seventh or eighth of the month. As the rickshaw entered the town's entrance, Osaku felt an inexplicable tightness in her chest. The townscape remained unchanged from when she had left, and when passing before a shabby barbershop, its portly bald proprietor widened his narrow eyes to gaze curiously at her figure. The soba shop, the hardware store, even the figure of the hard-of-hearing old man sitting at the storefront of the rice cracker shop across the way with his grandchild on his lap—all felt somehow nostalgic.

When she alighted from the rickshaw, Osaku glanced back at her sister-in-law and hesitated. "Sis…" Blushing, she let her sister-in-law enter first.

Thirty-One In the shop, there was only Masuzo alone, and Shinji was nowhere to be seen. When they passed through to the back, from Mizuguchi came a woman’s voice speaking in a frivolous tone. The other party seemed to be a young worker from the fishmonger’s. She was saying things like wanting them to bring some tasty dried fish, or how the recent salmon had been awful. She griped that the master at their place was all bluster—the fish was never fresh, the sashimi so clumsily made it was beyond help.

Osaku sat properly with her sister-in-law, as if they were guests, listening from a foot away from the brazier. "Alright then, one portion of sashimi for tonight... Got it?" After saying this, Okuni put something away into the kitchen cupboard and then entered the tearoom. She wore a soft haori thrown over her shoulders and had tied a pink cord 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 pressed on their knees,

“Oh my,” she said with feigned surprise, “Goodness me, I had no idea at all. Even so, you’ve recovered so splendidly already. Is she well enough to ride trains now?” Okuni took a seat before the brazier, lifted the iron kettle, and adjusted the fire. “Oh...” Osaku raised a lonely smile. “I’m not fully recovered yet...” Turning to her sister-in-law, she added, “Sis, this is Mrs. Ono...”

As her sister-in-law was about to greet her with “Is that so?” Okuni stared intently at her demeanor, stepped slightly to the side, and offered a breezy greeting. She then served sweets and poured tea. “I hear you had a miscarriage.” “I did think of visiting you at least once... but there simply weren’t enough hands to manage things here.”

Osaku exchanged glances with the sister-in-law and looked down. "Even during year-end and New Year's, I was all alone." "And when it comes to Shinji-san here, he's quite difficult to manage..." "Well now, I can finally rest easy." "The strain of managing someone else's household is no small matter at all."

“Truly,” Osaku said with a reddened face, looking apologetic. “I’m deeply sorry for troubling you all this time.”

After a while, Osaku changed into a kimono and then went out to the kitchen. Okuni bossily called out instructions from beside the brazier—telling her to sprinkle a bit of salt on the horse mackerel she had set aside and grill them with the iron grill, or to take out the pickles from the lower portion. Osaku, unaccustomed to the kitchen and feeling like she was in someone else’s house, began preparing lunch in a fluster. Shinji returned home at mealtime. When Shinji saw Osaku’s face, he merely said, “Hoh…,” and did not attempt to start a conversation. At mealtime, Osaku sat next to Okuni and ate her meal with a feeling as if chewing sand.

Thirty-Two Even so, while her sister-in-law remained present, they could sustain some conversation. Thus the house maintained an air of liveliness. As dusk approached, her sister-in-law abruptly changed tack and attempted to take her leave, claiming she now needed to stop by Koishikawa on her way. Osaku suddenly wore a desolate expression.

Osaku called her sister-in-law to the kitchen, took her toward Mizuguchi, and began some sort of secret discussion. “Ms. Okuni is acting so strangely,” she grimaced. “I feel utterly repulsed—I just can’t bear it.” “She truly seems like a self-important, disagreeable woman,” the sister-in-law said with genuine resentment. “But she won’t stay forever, right? If even I go home, that woman will likely leave too. Just ignore her and settle things decisively.”

“But what is he thinking?” “Well, Shinji’s just too softhearted,” the sister-in-law said ambiguously. She then let out a sigh. When she saw that face, it somehow looked lacking in hope. Her face seemed to say both “You need to get a grip,” and “That woman isn’t even worth opposing,” with equal measures of admonishment and despair.

For thirty or forty minutes, they sat facing each other, but no substantial conversation took shape. They could only repeat predictable assurances—that Okuni would leave eventually, that Shinji surely had no real intentions regarding that woman, that she should simply endure it a while longer. Osaku entreated her sister-in-law to properly convey these matters to Shinji. "Please try asking him yourself, Sis—find out what he truly thinks," she said.

“You should ask him yourself, Ms. Osaku. If I were to ask him that, it might just stir up trouble and make things worse.” “I suppose so,” Osaku said with a troubled expression.

When they came out of the kitchen, Okuni was in the shop. Shinji was also in the shop. As Osaku and her sister-in-law made to enter the tearoom, Okuni also came in. Taking this as her cue, the sister-in-law announced her departure: “I must be going now...” “Oh, you’re leaving already. “Oh, it’s quite all right.” Okuni spoke in a hollow-sounding tone.

After seeing off her sister-in-law, when she entered the back room, the unlit space was suffused with evening hues. Osaku leaned against the pillar at the kitchen entrance and sank into thought, her mind aimlessly adrift. From the poor tenement behind, the feeble cry of an infant could be heard—a hoarse, listless voice due to lack of milk. The surroundings were 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 feeling welled up in her chest. She also felt as though, in the cold earth’s depths, it still hadn’t fully died and was crying. Cold tears streamed down her cheeks.

Osaku went out to Mizuguchi and wept for some time.

Thirty-Three

When Osaku entered the room, Okuni was diligently sweeping the area. She wore an expression that seemed to say, “What an absent-minded mistress.”

When Osaku said, “The lamp—” and moved to fetch it, Okuni declared loudly, “No need! You’re unwell,” swept away the dust, hung the broom by the kitchen wall, and laid a cushion before the brazier. “Come now, have a seat.”

After lighting the lamp, Osaku—being short—had Okuni hang it for her. With a meek "heh, heh," she gave a friendly-seeming laugh and sat down with one knee raised.

During dinner, the conversation revolved entirely around Okuni. Ono’s trial was supposed to be today, and Shinji brought up wondering what the outcome would be. "If he were to be imprisoned long, I’d have no choice but to throw caution to the wind…" as Okuni had said. “Well, isn’t that just convenient. A single woman can roll wherever she pleases—it’s not like she’ll starve to death or anything,” she declared with reckless abandon. Osaku made a bewildered face.

"You’re the lucky one," Shinji started telling Osaku. "Just look at Ms. Okuni—barely two years together and this is how it ends up. No matter what happens, I’d never trouble my wife even for a day. You should be worshipping me for that. Absolutely right." Osaku smirked. After finishing dinner, when Osaku went to the kitchen, Shinji and Okuni sat facing each other across the brazier, chattering about something. It sounded like Shinji was trying to stop Okuni from leaving, yet also like Okuni was refusing to go—the conversation seemed thoroughly tangled. Various personal entanglements appeared involved. Osaku finished washing the dishes and stood lost in thought without drying her hands. Then Shinji seemed to flare up about something and abruptly left for the shop. When Osaku returned, Okuni was puffing away at a long-stemmed pipe.

That evening found the three of them in a peculiar state. Osaku tried to begin her work beneath the lamp but found herself oddly unsettled. When she kept her head bowed like that for some time - whether from her blood's imbalance or not - dizziness soon crept through her mind. Even when Okuni attempted conversation, she discovered responding felt strangely laborious. Shinji had left saying he was going to the bathhouse, but appeared to be dawdling about the neighborhood instead, for he never returned.

Even after going to bed past eleven o'clock, Osaku still couldn't settle her mind. Just when she would start to doze off, she’d be tormented by unpleasant dreams. She dreamed of Shinji and Okuni lying side by side with their pillows aligned. When she approached and tried to lift them up, the two stared at Osaku’s face and laughed uproariously. When she awoke and looked around, Okuni was sleeping alone, separated at the shop entrance.

Thirty-Four

After the notification came that Ono’s prison term had been set at two years, Okuni’s behavior grew even more unstable. At times, she would lament how she’d suffered so terribly because of Ono and curse him, or declare that she’d manage on her own strength alone, her breath coming in angry snorts. For Shinji, having Okuni act so domineeringly had become utterly unbearable. At times, he would feel he understood Okuni’s emotions deeply and show sincere sympathy, but soon after, her selfishness would grate on his nerves, making her seem like a detestable woman. When Osaku would spill out her complaints, Shinji would always brush her off with a snort and refuse to engage, but within his own heart, resentment greater than hers had accumulated.

The three of them spent each day making disagreeable faces at one another. Osaku thought that if only Okuni were removed, everything would be settled. But Shinji did not think the same. "What should we do... Perhaps for the time being, how about returning to the countryside?" Shinji broached to Okuni one afternoon. At that moment, Okuni, feeling slightly under the weather with a cold, had promptly pasted paper strips on her temples and appeared disheveled. "If not that... perhaps enter service somewhere in Tokyo?" Shinji said with uncharacteristic coldness. "As for staying at my place—I wouldn't mind you remaining indefinitely, but... Unlike Mr. Ono, we're a proper business household—having some unexplained woman around doesn't look good either..."

Shinji had begun to lay bare what he had long meant to say. Osaku, doing needlework in the dimly lit area some distance away, occasionally lifted her eyes to observe their faces. Okuni sat by the brazier with a sharply pale face. After a moment, she said, "Well, I've thought about that too." Shinji enumerated one or two more of his own circumstances. Okuni remained deep in thought until finally, after a long while, she began smoking tobacco and—

“There’s no need for concern. Wherever I land... this body’s all I have,” Okuni laughed bleakly. “Exactly... Women are convenient creatures,” Shinji replied. “But decide your destination, and I’ll help however possible.” She scratched her head violently with a hairpin, silent. After supper, Okuni wrenched open the closet and rifled through the trunk. Tightening her obi and swapping her haori, she bowed formally to them both before turning to leave.

Her demeanor was so unnervingly composed that even Shinji began to feel somewhat uneasy.

“Where are you going?” Shinji asked, but Okuni only replied, “Oh, just out,” before suddenly leaving. Neither Shinji nor Osaku spoke another word afterward.

Thirty-Five

When the loud-voiced Okuni was gone, the household became desolate like receding water. Osaku felt she had expelled a cumbersome obstacle that had been in the way, yet Shinji wore an inexplicably lonesome expression. Even his manner of speaking to Osaku developed a strangely sharp edge. Though he felt some unease about Okuni's whereabouts, he found himself anxiously awaiting her return. Yet the next day too, Okuni did not return. Shinji kept rooted at the shop counter, his keen eyes tracking shadows of passersby outside. Even when occasionally entering the back room, he would scowl disagreeably without properly settling down.

Osaku too suddenly lost her vigor. Seeing Shinji’s face had become achingly painful, so she tried to stay as far away from him as possible. Even at lunchtime, she served the meal in silence and picked up her chopsticks as though the food were tasteless. When Shinji abruptly stood up, for no particular reason, tears simply began to flow. Around two o'clock, Osaku changed her clothes over and over before reluctantly emerging into the shop.

"Um... Would it be all right if I went to Koishikawa for a bit?" she asked timidly. Shinji shot her a sharp look. "Do you have some business?" Osaku couldn't give a clear reply. She had gone out, but somehow her legs felt heavy. She had no desire to burden her uncle with unpleasant matters. She found it disagreeable to be interrogated about various things by her uncle. If she couldn't go to her uncle's place, then for the time being, there was nowhere else to go. Osaku simply wandered aimlessly.

When she left Omotecho, she found herself in a bustling thoroughfare. The outside air had grown spring-like in its warmth, sunlight nearly dazzling. Through Osaku’s eyes, groups of schoolgirls descending the slope looked truly vivacious. Without conscious thought, her feet turned naturally in the opposite direction—she stopped abruptly at a four-way crossing and scanned her surroundings. Somehow, nostalgia gripped her for the household where she’d once served. Memories surfaced—the compact rooms she’d perpetually scrubbed clean, kitchen layouts she’d arranged. She recalled a kind mistress’s voice tinged with Chinese inflections, those gentle eyes. The infant boy she’d left behind must be grown now; she yearned to witness his adult form.

Osaku came to Yanagicho and bought one box of monaka. Then, wrapping it in a furoshiki with a feeling as though she had been somehow compensated, she set off briskly. The Nishikata neighborhood was an old, familiar town. The air in this area felt bright overall. Osaku felt a kind of nostalgia even for the sight of kindergarten students walking along the boxwood hedge. Even the futile feelings that arose when the cherry blossoms scattered here welled up in her chest.

The house was called Matsuki, located a short way down the street to the left. Directly beyond the gate stood a lattice door, and over the new fence, the tops of low-standing trees could be seen growing vigorously. Osaku came to the gate of her former master who had once cherished her and hesitated slightly.

Thirty-Six Inside the gate, an elegant rickshaw stood waiting with its passenger. Osaku emerged from the dense shade of a juniper tree and came out to the drainage area paved with coke cinders beside the bathhouse. Peering quietly into the kitchen from behind the shoji screen, she found no one there, though the kitchen’s layout had changed somewhat. Gas lines had been installed, and Western cooking tools were cluttered about. Compared to when she had worked there, everything looked more prosperous. From deeper within the house came the voice of a maid doting on a child. The voice of Mrs. Matsuki conversing with someone could also be heard. The guest appeared to be a woman; her laughter sounded bright and lively.

After a short while, an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old woman appeared briskly, her pompadour hairstyle adorned with a flower hairpin and her appearance immaculately neat. She was holding a red tray, but when she saw Osaku, she widened her round eyes and asked in a low voice, "Who is there?" "Is Madam available?" Osaku asked, her face flushing red. "Yes, she's here, but..." "It's not that I have any particular business, but she told me to come since I'm the Osaku who used to work here before..."

"Oh, so you're Osaku," said the maid, scrutinizing her from head to toe. She wiped the tray clean, set two small cups upon it, then withdrew into the inner rooms. After a moment, the babble of a two-year-old child mingled with half-formed words reached her ears. The maid's laughter—like cherry blossoms bursting open—wafted through the air. That laughter held no shadows or complications. Osaku remembered the three years of tranquil life she had passed within these warm walls.

Madam did not come out right away. After some time had passed, the maid came out and said, “Um, please come this way.”

Osaku went up to the maids' room. By the window shoji in the maids' room stood a warped mirror propped up. White aprons and haori hung on the wall. After a short while, Mrs.Matsuki showed her face briefly. She was a slender woman with a desolate face; her hair seemed to have thinned considerably of late. Osaku lowered herself deeply and bowed. "How have you been keeping? "A merchant's wife must find it quite trying." "And you look rather pale, don't you? "Are you unwell?" Mrs.Matsuki inquired.

“Oh...” began Osaku, about to speak of her miscarriage, but Mrs.Matsuki hurriedly cut her off with “Do stay and relax awhile,” before retreating into the inner rooms. For a while, she and the maid moved the child here and there, doting on him. The child had a milky complexion and was well-nourished. Last month, when they had gone to the Odawara area and she had accompanied them—Otake began talking breezily about such matters. The conversation consisted entirely of harmless topics—how the sea at Odawara had been, what the plum gardens were like, which young ladies had come to visit and made it enjoyable…… Osaku listened absentmindedly.

When she stepped outside, an evening mist had settled over the groves of trees in the gardens there. Osaku trudged down Shinzaka slope toward Koishikawa.

Thirty-Seven

When she returned, the shop was in turmoil. A filthy man who frequented the place—with reddish-brown hair grown long, small eyes, and a flattened nose—stood barefoot, gulping down sake from a cup while shouting something at the top of his voice. When she looked at the apprentices' faces, they all wore anxious expressions as they watched the drunkard. Even in the back, there seemed to be some sort of commotion. The rattan-topped geta, carelessly discarded at the entrance, were Okuni’s.

“Has Ms. Okuni come back?” Osaku asked the apprentice. He replied, “She just returned,” giving her a dubious look. When she quietly went up and looked, Shinji was sitting with one knee raised by the long hibachi, smoking tobacco. Okuni was in front of the back closet, having removed the trunk lid, also with one knee raised, her eyes filled with murderous intent. Even when Osaku’s shadow fell across them, the two pretended not to notice. Shinji tapped his pipe with a *pon-pon* sound and sighed, “I can’t make amends to Mr. Ono this way...”

"That's none of your business, Shin," Okuni said as she folded something resembling a red undergarment. Her hair hung in even wilder disarray than yesterday's dishevelment, while from around her raised knee spilled a Yuzen-patterned waistcloth with deliberate allure.

“I’m going where I belong. Who cares what anyone says?” she snorted fiercely. Osaku stood blankly at the entrance. “If it were somewhere in Tokyo, I wouldn’t complain,” Shinji retorted with rising intensity, “but there’s no need to go all the way out to Chiba... What’s even in Chiba?” “I don’t rightly know myself, but someone like me could never manage respectable work here in Tokyo...”

“So there’s a teahouse in Chiba or something?” Okuni remained silent. Shinji also silently watched. “This body of mine—who knows where it’ll drift or end up. Might as well sink it somewhere and be done with it. Easier that way,” Okuni declared dismissively. “But there’s no need to go that far...” Shinji faltered, repeating similar words: “No reason to throw yourself into reckless abandon like that.”

“It’s not like I want to throw myself into reckless abandon either. But somehow I always end up that way. When I got together with Ono too, I meant to properly settle things...” Okuni muttered under her breath before suddenly sighing. “Just let it all rot away, will you? If anyone comes asking from Ono’s side, tell them you don’t know where I went. What becomes of me from here—even I don’t know.”

"Well, if you're set on going, there's no need for it to be tonight." The shop suddenly became noisy and chaotic. The drunkard began singing in a strangled voice.

Thirty-Eight

After some time, the dining table was set up beneath the lamp. In a voice tinged with agitation, Shinji barked at Osaku, “Sake! Pour the sake!” “Well then, let’s have one last drink before parting.” Okuni obediently agreed and came to sit there. She smoothed her hair into a neat appearance. Osaku couldn’t quite grasp the mood of the moment. She also didn’t fully understand where Okuni was going or what she would do there. Scolded by Shinji, she mechanically poured sake and knelt formally beside him.

Okuni glared with sharp eyes as she gulped down the sake. The more she drank, the paler her face became. The outer corners of her eyes were slightly upturned, and a pulse throbbed at her temples. Her lips held a beautiful sheen while her cheeks grew hollow. Shinji sat with a reddened face, tending to look downward. The vivid image of Okuni going to a teahouse in Chiba—guzzling alcohol like tonight while speaking with reckless abandon—rose clearly before his eyes. His head pounded violently as his heartbeat grew fierce. Yet in the depths of his chest, something cold flowed.

“Mr. Shin, I’ll take my leave here,” Okuni said, emptying the sake cup and handing it over. Osaku silently poured the sake.

“You’ve been very kind to me too, Osaku-san,” Okuni declared. “No,” Osaku said in a faltering tone.

“I’d like to say ‘Please come visit once I’m there…’ but truthfully, I’m going somewhere where even being seen would make me feel awkward.” “After this, I don’t intend to ever see anyone again.”

Osaku looked up at that face. The drunkard seemed to have already left, and the shop was silent. It was a night when a tepid breeze blew; if one stayed still, it felt as though one could hear the sound of a distant alarm bell striking in the depths of one's keenly attuned ears. No sooner had one thought this than it was drowned out by voices from the tenements behind.

“Ah, I’m drunk!” Okuni exhaled a breath that seemed to rise from the fiery depths of her belly. “Well then, Mr. Shin—let’s make this a clean farewell.” “Driven by drunken bravado...” She crisply adjusted the folded part of her obi and gave it a firm pop. “So, you’re leaving tonight then?” Shinji squinted at her eyes. “I could see you off...” “No.” “If you do that, it’d just...” Okuni picked up the sake cup again and drank unconsciously.

Okuni departed by rickshaw.

Shinji lay spread-eagle 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—nowhere to take it—lay sprawled in the middle of a desolate field. After some time had passed, he glared at Osaku’s face as she covered him with a quilt. Shinji pulled her close and tried to kiss her cheek. Osaku’s cheek was as cold as ice.

＊　　　　　＊　　　　　＊

"In commemoration of the third anniversary of the shop's opening..." Straw-covered bundles had been piled up at Shinji's shop; at the end of that autumn, Osaku became pregnant again.