Pathway to Japanese Literature

It was at a tea house called "Kikyo" that Taneda-kun and I rested our weary bodies after going to view plum blossoms together and walking from Omori.

"Will you let us stay?" Taneda-kun said in his usual drawn-out tone, then gave a light laugh—an "ehehehe" that seemed to suggest he was laughing despite there being nothing amusing.
I was in Western clothes, but Taneda-kun wore a black satin-striped cloak that was popular among gentlemen at the time and had on an imported mouse-gray Homburg hat.

“Welcome,” she said as she came up, then immediately took the lead up the stairs and guided us to the second floor—this was Oito-san.
Oito-san, with her dusky complexion, medium build, and prominent mole on her right cheek, was not what one would call a beautiful woman.
Nor was she what one would call exceptionally amiable.
Nevertheless, we came to like Oito-san starting that very night.
We would invariably go to visit once or twice a month.
Taneda-kun had already passed forty.
I was not an irresponsible student either.
Nor were we the sort to frequent places drawn by the faded allure of post-station courtesans.
For us, who had been walking about searching for a place to relax our work-weary minds—somewhere with a different atmosphere—Oito-san’s establishment proved most suitable.
Whenever we mentioned there being a pleasant tea house in Shinagawa, we introduced it to various friends.
Matsuda-kun also went.
Miyagawa-kun also went.
Kusaka-kun, who loved card games and always lost, also went.
Oito-san quickly became a favorite among these people as well.
“Shall we go enjoy ourselves at Kikyo?”
As soon as two or three people gathered at Taneda-kun’s Ginza office, the matter would be settled.
There were times when we would go without waiting for sunset.
When someone suggested covering that night’s expenses, they would draw lots to decide who’d treat the others.
There were times when we wagered meal costs on games of Go.
At Oito-san’s establishment, they also ran a separate geisha house.

Omochiya, the server, was also our favorite.
I believe she was fourteen at the time.
She was a lovely girl with a round, plump face whose forehead resembled that of the present Kikugoro, so we called her Otohaya Otohaya.
When called Otohaya, she would become delighted and often listened to what we said, cleaning the playing cards or handling the Go stones for us.

“Let’s head over there now.”
When six o'clock passed, Oito-san would always start urging everyone.
With six o'clock as the boundary dividing day and night’s offerings, she never guided them over there before six.
This was because she wanted to spare guests unnecessary trips.
Perhaps it was precisely such considerations that appealed to us.

“I’m staying right here today.”
There were times when I would say this and refuse to budge.
Then Oito-san would press us.

“You can’t stay here—don’t you have someone waiting?”

“Who’s waiting for whom?”

“Who could that be?”

“But really now—we’re not exactly popular, are we?”

“Oh, stop your teasing! As if such a thing could ever happen to you all! Why, everyone makes such a fuss over you!”
Though Oito-san spoke this way, she never engaged in those underhanded tricks—like whispering fabricated sweet nothings to customers under the guise of courtesan banter—that less scrupulous proprietresses might employ.

"It would be awkward to ask you how to put this, Oito-san, but you're actually quite unamiable," I said with a straight face.

“Hmm, whatever could be the matter?”
“What a waste on you all,” Oito-san would say with such sympathy—though that was the extent of it.

"There were times when someone would say, 'Try switching things up,' but"

“It’s fine not to be popular at all,” I said without stating it clearly.

“You’re so refreshingly honest,” she never pressed us to reconsider our approach.

At times, the whole group would lose their usual restraint and make a great commotion.
Miyagawa-kun alone was a heavy drinker; all the rest were lightweights.
That lightweight Taneda-kun had Oiwake folk songs as his specialty.
It wasn't that they held any particular sweetness, but his melancholic, composed melodic phrasing could cast a forest-like hush over the gathering.
The geisha Kintaro often earned enthusiastic applause for her spirited dancing.
Omochiya played the hand drum.
Oito-san also sang dodoitsu folk songs and hauta ballads in her middle register with that thin, clear voice of hers.
Her singing style was splendidly professional.
Amidst all this, I too would sing half-remembered songs like Gosho-guruma with competitive spirit.
One evening, Oito-san,

“Omochiya-san said this—‘Mr. Kurimura is a good person because he doesn’t sing,’ you see,” Oito-san laughed while clutching her stomach.

“Honesty’s a virtue.”
I laughed along with them.

“When I hear Omochiya-san has taken a fancy to Mr. Kurimura, that girl becomes quite amusing.”
“She says having feelings would be pointless—the age difference is too great.”
“She thinks it must be someone around her own age.”

“That’s how it is.”
“Thirty and fourteen might be a bit too far apart, don’t you think?”

In the space of a little over a year, our amusements had begun losing their vigor somewhat.
Whether the momentum had faded or our interest had waned—
In any case, our visits had grown considerably more infrequent.

“You’ve quite forgotten about us, haven’t you?” Oito-san would sometimes call to say things like this.
We had continued exchanging perfunctory greetings, but by that time we had come to mainly gather for entertainment in Shinbashi.

“What a rare occasion!” Oito-san said as soon as she saw my face. “It truly has been ages.”

For some capricious reason, I went to "Kikyo" with Kusaka-kun after about half a year.

"I hear you've been frequenting Shinbashi lately. They're young and beautiful there—it's only natural, I suppose," Oito-san said such things and entertained us with what seemed like genuine rarity.

“So—is Matsuda-kun coming?”

“Well,” Oito-san hesitated, then assumed an air of having resolved herself.

“Haven’t you all been meeting him?”

“It’s not that we never see him, but I’m not too familiar with his whereabouts.”

“Is that so?”
“Actually, it’s quite serious.”
“Look—she’s right over there, isn’t she? Gochan.”

“That ‘old woman’?”
Kusaka-kun interjected.

“How pitiful. She hasn’t even turned twenty-five yet.”
“She hasn’t even turned twenty-five yet.”

“If twenty-five makes her an old woman, then sure,” I remarked,

“though I can’t say I really understand what sort of woman she is.”

“He must have done this two or three times before,”
“In that house she’s their top-ranked courtesan.”
“Now she’s completely smitten—‘Mr. Matsuda here,’ ‘Mr. Matsuda there,’ constantly gushing about him.”

“So what?”

“Because Mr. Matsuda works his charms again.”
“When you’re young and handsome—and wealthy to boot—anyone would fall for that,” Oito-san continued, her tone softening imperceptibly.

At first he came with companions, but recently Matsuda had taken to visiting alone and becoming intimate with a woman called Hagoromo.
We had heard she was already a notorious wastrel with no redeeming qualities left as a woman.
Matsuda still retained something of the spoiled young master about him, though that’s not to say he was so green as to throw himself wholeheartedly into such a woman.
Perhaps those empty compliments had gradually bound him until he found himself in an irreversible predicament.

“So what does Matsuda say he’ll do?”

“Since there’s nothing else to be done, perhaps I should at least pay off her debts,” he had said.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What good would that do?”

“I’ve been thinking about various approaches myself, but there’s no point in me bringing it up.”
Oito-san always became this serious when it came to matters of customer misconduct.

Kusaka-kun and I wrote a letter under Matsuda’s name.
He had played around too much, things had turned out badly, and been sent off to work at the Shanghai branch.
On some day of some month he left Tokyo and arrived here on some day.
Just the fact that it was a foreign country should make it clear—I’m truly unbearably lonely.
We wrote a letter with this gist, sent it to a friend in Shanghai, and had them send it from there.
Meanwhile, having met with Matsuda-kun, we kept her at bay for the time being.
Oito-san received the letter bearing a Shanghai postmark and showed it to the woman.
The letter had been addressed to Oito-san so that it would reach the woman through her.
The woman had completely taken it at face value,

“Mr. Matsuda’s wife has gone too far.”
“That was all just some frivolous game!” she said angrily. “Even so, poor Mr. Matsuda...”
“To be sent off to some foreign land you’ve never known… Being an adopted child must be so hard,” she was said to have wept pitifully before Oito-san.

It was about three years after I began frequenting "Kikyo". I went to Taneda-kun’s office. Miyagawa and Kusaka had already arrived ahead of me and were engrossed in idle talk.

“Oito’s coming now,” Taneda-kun said as soon as he saw me.

“Huh.”
“What happened?”

“Apparently there’s something they need from you, Sensei—we just got a call.”

“It’s been a while. Rumors from that quarter too.”

“It’s been ages since all four of us got together, hasn’t it?” said Miyagawa-kun, the eldest among us.

“Somehow this doesn’t look like it’ll end quietly.”
Kusaka-kun was smirking as usual.
“I’ll pass on the Shinagawa area.”
While discussing such matters, when Oito-san arrived, everyone seemed to be thinking of doing some sort of stunt.

“Today you’re the guest of honor, Oito-san.”

“Right this way then!”

When Oito-san arrived, all four men chimed in with teasing remarks.

“Oh my!”
Oito-san too was startled by this gathering’s unexpected sight.

“Oh my,” she said again.
“What have you all done?”

“We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Since you called earlier, I went ahead and gathered everyone.”

Oito-san’s business turned out to be trivial.
An employee from a minor Shinagawa newspaper had come peddling scandalous stories, so Kikyo’s proprietress had given him a modest sum as a favor.
The same had happened at two or three other establishments, so evidence was found and he got hauled to the police station.
Oito-san too was summoned to the police station due to her involvement.

“When I went to the police station and explained the situation, the Inspector listened to each detail and told me to stamp my seal on some document they’d prepared.”
“When I said I hadn’t brought my seal, they told me a thumbprint would do.”
“In the end I wrote my name and gave my thumbprint there, but what exactly is this document supposed to be?”

“What kind of document? That’s precisely what we want to ask you here,” said Taneda-kun.

"But I didn't even read it through properly!"

"Who stamps documents they haven't read?" I remarked with a hint of derision as I turned to Taneda-kun.

"Might this be an indictment?"

"That's about right."

"What exactly does this indictment involve?"

"It essentially states: 'Since this man committed extortion，we humbly request your appropriate disciplinary measures.'"

"No! I never once made any request about disciplinary measures."
"If you phrase it like that，it'll leave an official record."

“Then it might be an incident report.”
“And then what happened?”

“Since the Inspector said I could go home, I thought that meant the matter was settled, but then yesterday this postcard arrived.”

Oito-san took out a single-page postcard folded in two from the fold of her obi.
Taneda-kun and I almost reached out together.
When we looked, it was a standard summons from the preliminary judge stating that since there were matters requiring questioning, she was to appear on such-and-such date.
Both Kusaka and Miyagawa, who had been silently facing the Go board all along despite being distracted by the conversation, now looked at it as well.

“What the hell is this?”
Miyagawa-kun was first to burst out.

“This postcard came yesterday evening—it’s telling me to come to court, isn’t it? I was trembling all over and so worried I couldn’t sleep a wink last night.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, is there?”
Taneda-kun said with a smile.

"But doesn’t that mean I’ll be thrown into that pending trial detention?"

“Don’t be ridiculous—nothing of the sort!”
I immediately refuted.

“But our Elder Sister would make such a tremendous fuss. If you go to pending trial detention, they say you need blankets and paper and all that. I left home this morning resolved not to return tomorrow—I’ve been praying to Fudo-sama since daybreak.”

“So you’re saying you were the one who got shaken down, right?”
“That’s correct.”

“If I’m the one being extorted, how could I possibly endure being sent to prison?”

Taneda-kun explained with complete seriousness.

“This postcard means they want to question you—that’s all it says.”
“It’s nothing significant.”
“You’ve been summoned as a witness—you specifically.”

“Oh? Does that mean I’ll face police questioning again?”

“Exactly.”

“Then, sir—”
Oito-san regained some composure.
“Sir—since leaving evidence would be problematic, I did give them the money. But I offered it before they even mentioned anything. Would it be wrong to say that?”

“That’s exactly what would cause a pending trial uproar.”
I took over the conversation.
“Even if you claim you gave them money when they hadn’t said a word, who would take that seriously?”

"That does seem right."

"You shouldn't tell such lies."
Miyagawa-kun also chimed in from beside us.

"But it would leave evidence behind."

"Just because there's evidence,"
"What matters more is tomorrow."
"If you're honest about what happens from now on," I said firmly, "even Fudo-sama won't find fault."

"So they won't throw me into that pending trial detention right away?"
Oito-san pressed anxiously for reassurance.

“It’s fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Won’t both gentlemen act as your guarantors?”

Since Kusaka-kun had concluded this discussion, Oito-san appeared genuinely pleased.

"So in our private consultations about what would be best—Elder Sister and I considered various approaches—but I ultimately thought asking you gentlemen directly would be fastest, which is why I telephoned."
"I worried someone like me approaching might inconvenience you."
"Ah, with this I'm entirely relieved now," she said, bowing repeatedly and deeply.

“What about showing your gratitude to the gentlemen?”
Miyagawa-kun began his teasing.

“Oh no—I’ll do absolutely anything,” she said with a smile.

Even at a time like this, not a single gesture that could be considered alluring was visible in this woman. If she were to be treated in that frivolous manner, one might find it rather tiresome, but try as I might, I simply couldn't perceive her as a woman raised in the pleasure quarter who had spent her whole life breathing its air.

The next time I met Oito-san was after about a year had passed.

At Tokyo-za, Danzō's Moronao and Baikō's Oiwa were drawing large crowds as the main attractions.
I took my wife and child to see the performance.
That day Oito-san too had come with members of the Three Trades Union to the masu seating area right beside ours.
When she noticed me, she came over and began talking about various matters.
She had already greeted my wife too.
"Omochiya-san is here as well," she said,

"She's over there in the earthen-floored section wearing an onando-colored haori, with her hair done in the Taka Shimada style.
Right now she's half-crouching like this—that's her there."

As she was pointing, Omochiya also suddenly turned toward us. Oito-san gestured for her to come over and, with a motion that seemed to say "What?", made her way toward me along the frame of the masu seating.

“Mr. Kurimura.”
“Omochiya-san.”

“My,” Omochiya said, bowing her head.

“You’ve grown so much.”
I truly couldn’t help saying this.
“You’ve become a proper Elder Sister now.”

“Oh my—these days I can’t just be tucked away in some corner anymore.”
Oito-san said to Hasuha.

“Now stop that, Elder Sister.”
Her wide-set eyes and broad forehead remained exactly as they’d been during her serving days, but what struck me as remarkable that day was how completely she’d transformed into womanhood.

“This one here, eh?” I said, turning to my wife,

“The one who said ‘If only she didn’t sing, she’d be a good person,’ was me.”

“Is that so?” my wife laughed.

“Do you still remember such things?” Omochiya-san laughed.

During the next intermission, Oito-san bought what she called an “Omochiya box” for my child and brought it over. Then she invited us to visit the shrine they had established backstage for Lady Oiwa.

“What a lovely young lady! Truly adorable!”

With that she took my daughter’s hand. We followed behind. At the top of the dimly lit second floor backstage stood an altar. First harvest offerings, vegetables, whole fish with heads and tails, and ritual sacrifices stood in neat rows; painted lanterns, paper lamps, and multicolored banners filled the space with decorations; in the shrine set slightly deeper within, incense smoke hung thick while candle flames flickered dully. Oito-san knelt formally before the shrine and performed an elaborate worship.

“What did you pray for? ‘Please grant me a good man,’ perhaps?”
“I prayed for business prosperity.”

“Still being greedy even here?”

“It’s best when there’s no need for pretense, don’t you think?”

“Who in the world would put on airs before the gods?”

“Speaking of putting on airs, I did cause you all such worry with that trial matter some time ago.”

“What happened? I heard a bit from Mr. Taneda, but...”

“Thanks to your help, you know. After hearing your account, I felt completely relieved and ended up staying until dinnertime, you see. I returned home around ten o’clock, you see. Since I’d left home just after noon and hadn’t returned, they were worried sick wondering what had happened, you see. When they saw my face, Elder Sister said ‘Where have you been?’ you see. When I told them the whole story, everyone was kind enough to say it had turned out well enough. Even so, it’s all well and good for me to be carefreely treated to meals and such, but since my family had been so terribly worried, I felt rather awkward facing Elder Sister.”

“So you went to the courthouse?”

“Yes, I went.”
“Because it was scheduled for nine o’clock in the morning, I made sure to get up early and went out.”
“I was kept waiting in that corridor by the chairs until around eleven o’clock and ended up in a terrible state.”
“When I went before the judge, he got all high and mighty, saying ‘Who do you think you are?’”

We were already at the stage corridor.
It being that transitional season when people switch from summer fabrics to serge, and with the day unfortunately being muggy, many had come out into the corridor during the long intermission to cool off.

“Then he goes, ‘Do you know someone called...?’ so I says, ‘Yes sir.’”
“When he asks why I gave him money and I tell him we were acquainted, he yells ‘Since when does being acquainted mean handing over cash?’ By then I was shaking like a leaf.”

Just then, Omochiya also arrived.

“You’re completely absorbed, Elder Sister.”

“Ah.”
“That trial story.”

“Right.”
“My, how you’ve grown.”
I found myself nodding once more.
“How old are you?”
“I turned eighteen.”

“It’s already been four or five years, after all.”

“They haven’t been coming around at all lately, you know.”
“Don’t you think so, Elder Sister?”

“Well, Shinbashi is more upscale after all.”

“That’s not the case.”
“They’ve all settled down completely.”
“That’s right.”
“The other day in Yamato Shimbun or some such paper—there was an article reviewing Shinagawa geisha—and it wrote that Omochiya-san was a first-class trendy girl; I’ve been secretly pleased about it.”

“How very kind of you.”

"But can women really change this much? Compared to that, Oito-san always stays the same—but really, how old is she anyway?"

"She’s already an old woman, you know."

"I don’t think that’s quite true. But even when we first met, she couldn’t have been nineteen or twenty. So she’s still alone after all?"

"Who would ever keep her company?"

The stage preparations evidently being complete, the tree was brought in. Before long, the curtain-opening flourish’s musical instruments resounded close to our ears.

Our group had also undergone various changes.
Matsuda-kun had spent about two years establishing an insurance company and a bank, occupying positions such as president and chairman, and was making his rounds as a young entrepreneur.
Kusaka-kun had become the manager of his company.
Miyagawa-kun had failed at something and hadn’t been in contact for ages.
The most pitiable was Taneda-kun, who had been ill for a long time.
And then he became unable to move freely due to a spinal disease.
Even walking a short distance was no easy task.
He had been living as a semi-invalid.

It was around mid-January last year.
Taneda-kun and my family had gone on an outing to Anamori, stayed one night, and were beginning our evening return journey.
The Shinagawa-bound train we transferred to at Kamata happened to be crowded, with no seats available.
For Taneda-kun in his sickly condition, standing while clinging to the hanging strap appeared agonizing.
We finally reached Shinagawa after periodically squatting down along the way.
When we alighted from the train, he complained of dizziness.
Though we resolved to rest somewhere, having no other familiar places to go no matter where we considered, he proposed going to Kikyo.
The wives and children went on ahead while I stayed behind.

The two opened Kikyo's entrance door and went inside. At the edge of the six-mat raised floor, around a zelkova-log brazier, Oito-san and Onaka-san sat listlessly. The cold air from the doorway we had opened pierced the skin of the two women who had warmed themselves just right. The light on the god shelf above the beam flickered slightly.

“Good evening.”

“Oh!”
The two women simultaneously looked up.

“Well, it’s been an age.”
Taneda-kun spoke in his usual manner and gave his characteristic laugh.

“Oito-san?”

“She’s here. Do come upstairs,” Onaka-san said to us, heading toward the second floor.

“Elder Sister Oito! Elder Sister Oito!” he called.
Hurriedly descending from the second floor, Oito-san,
“What’s happened?” she said, taking hold of Taneda-kun’s coat as he was halfway through removing it and helping him out of it,
“Honestly now, this is too much, I tell you,” she said, uttering something incomprehensible as she tugged at Onaka-san’s sleeve.
“What’s the use of upstairs?”
“Just let me rest a bit—the back room’s fine,” said Taneda-kun, half-rising to hold his hands over the brazier.

“We’re coming back from Anamori today.”
“Because Mr.Taneda said he was feeling unwell, we came here after obtaining the wife’s approval.”
“Please keep me warm.”

The two were soon shown to the back.
Now laying out two zabuton cushions because they seemed too thin, now lighting three braziers with roaring flames since two proved insufficient,Oito-san bustled about working alone.
When things had calmed down a bit,Taneda-kun’s condition improved.
Since he was hungry,he had something prepared.
Oito-san prepared a hot water bottle and brought it along with a nightgown,

“Well now, hold onto this for the time being and do put on your nightgown. I was truly startled.”
“Even so, you haven’t forgotten us, have you?” she said, changing the subject,
“I heard Mr. Taneda had been unwell for a long time, and while I was aware of the situation, I must apologise for not having visited to check on you.”
“Are you feeling somewhat better?”
“You still don’t seem well, do you?”
“You must be in such distress.”
“For such a good person to come down with this illness—Heaven truly is cruel.”

“Honestly now. Where exactly are you feeling unwell?”

“Around here,” said Taneda-kun, stroking the area around his waist,
“Because your lower back feels unsteady.”
“Goodness me – how could I have contracted such an ailment?”
“It’s the wages of dissipation.”
Taneda-kun said with a laugh.
“How could such a thing happen to you?

“Say, Mr. Kurimura.
By the way, have you warmed up at all?”

“Most thoroughly.
Thanks to you, splendidly so.
I’ve grown quite comfortable.
Shall we have Omochiya-san summoned?”

“Are you certain that’s wise?
Even if you do such a thing.”

“It’s not as if I’ll start courting her merely because Omochiya comes over, you know.”

“Ah yes, of course,” said Oito-san, rising to clear the meal tray before fetching a sake decanter to dispel the lingering melancholy.
Soon enough Omochiya arrived.

“Well now.”

Taneda-kun welcomed this mature woman's figure with curious eyes.

"Oh, stop it! Why must you keep staring at my face like that?"

"You've turned into quite the beauty."
The drawn-out tone conveyed genuine surprise without a hint of exaggeration.

"After all, we're first-rate here in Shinagawa."

"It's not as if I'm flattering you that much."
"Now then, let me hear it after all this time."

"Can I really sing? They'll just start saying all sorts of things behind my back again."

“You’ll end up forgetting all that anyway. They’re just things of the past.”

“How about it? You’re what I call a heartless woman.”

"That's quite alright."

"It was the year before last, wasn't it? When we met at the theatre."

"That's right. My apologies for that occasion."

Omochiya gave a slight bow and picked up the shamisen. Taneda-kun sang the Oiwake folk song. The perfectly pitched voice pleasantly flowed into everyone's ears.

"What about Mr. Kurimura?"

"I'll sing. Is it really alright if I do?"

"I shan't raise any objections this time."

Things became quite lively. Oito-san had seen off the second-floor guests and freed up her hands.

“It would be lovely if you all could come together sometime.” Oito-san said this and, taking each member of our group who had been there for some time in turn, asked repeatedly, “How have you been?”, but—

“The other day, Matsuda-san came by.”

“Oh?”
We listened to Oito-san’s story.

“He came with four or five others, saw that everyone was properly attended to, and then promptly took his leave himself."
"As for you," he said with a laugh, "Oito-san, I’ve changed from the old days too—somehow I just can’t manage courtesan patronage in Shinagawa anymore."

“That’s true—Matsuda-kun’s a rising star these days,” I chimed in.
Oito-san followed those words with,

“Yours is still here.”

“Huh—that’s the one? Well, this is a surprise.”

“You should go take care of that tonight.”

“It’s not as if this concerns Matsuda-kun—but really… Though we did speak of it occasionally back then, Oito-san—I simply couldn’t get along with that woman.”

“That’s how it was, wasn’t it. What do you suppose happened?”

“I suppose I’m just not popular after all. Now then—there’s quite the curious tale. Something I haven’t even told you, Oito-san.”

“About that person.”

“That’s right—it was around year’s end when we all went there together from here. With no banquet rooms available, we tried to leave straightaway as usual when someone oddly insisted we stay. Strange as I found it, I suppose there was some vanity in that too.”
“Well, we settled into the famous establishment.”
“Then a woman came over, likely spouting that insincere flattery of hers.”
“When we were half-heartedly humoring her, that old woman came and told us to prepare several bolts of New Year’s hand towels.”

“Did such a thing truly occur? And what did you do about it?”

“It’s not as if they could outright refuse, correct? So I deliberately inquired, ‘About how much would that require?’”
“When they claimed it wasn’t anything substantial,” I told them this should suffice and left behind a single ten-yen note.
“Given she’s a woman who’s endured nearly a year, that amount hardly counts as a loss—or rather, I’ll simply regard it as no loss at all.”
“Yet whenever I suspect they’re underestimating me, it rankles terribly.”

“Even so, you left her all alone like that, didn’t you.”

“What difference would going back make?”

“That’s why you should go settle it tonight.”
“I’ve had more than enough.”

Though I had spoken those words, I found myself unable to suppress the desire to see how she was keeping. Four years had passed - I too had changed. The woman must have changed as well. I wanted to meet her and witness the extent of her transformation. Yet should I visit unannounced now - what would she think? I had always maintained a certain yearning for women of her sort. Were I to imagine her present feelings toward me through this cherished illusion of mine, she would surely feel ashamed. The anguish of a woman compelled to declare, even now after four years, "I still carry on in this wretched state," could scarcely be ordinary.

“If you possessed enough kindness to come today,” she would say—and even if unvoiced, would surely hold resentment in her heart— “why couldn’t you have departed without seeing my face?” Though convinced the woman must be enduring such anguish, I deemed the act of going to witness her pained countenance too cruel an undertaking. Should she instead—contrary to my imaginings—be moving through her affairs with unexpected composure, my cherished longing would fracture, my beautiful illusion dissolving in an instant. This outcome would bring me torment instead. I still wished to dwell as one within the dream.

“After all, I’m your caretaker today,” he said, and we left Kikyo a little past nine.

The piercing midwinter night wind was so cold it pierced through our overcoat sleeves.
The bodies of the two who had finally warmed up now seemed about to freeze solid again.
Taneda maintained a steady pace as he walked.

“I simply can’t fathom it,” he muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“The kindness of those people there.”
Taneda-kun remarked with deep emotion that even a night like tonight was truly something to be grateful for.

Then for a year there was nothing beyond records of my illness. Since early December of last year when someone from the household had mentioned encountering Oito-san at the Imperial Theater, there had been no further news. It was mid-March of this year; plum blossoms had already faded while cherry blossoms remained unopened. As my convalescent body had grown weary, I thought I might visit Anamori for leisurely diversion. I decided to go with my friend Fujinami-kun, just us two. Yet still feeling somewhat unsatisfied, I suddenly recalled something heard during my illness—that matter where someone from the household had reported after returning home how Oito-san claimed being in Haneda when we met at the Imperial Theater. Perhaps she might have opened an inn there; if so, visiting would suffice. I immediately had someone call Kikyo.

"The attendant said, 'Oito-san has come to the phone.' Finding this strange, I tried speaking myself and learned that the claim about her being in Haneda was some sort of misunderstanding—she was still at the establishment after all."

"If you were in Haneda, I thought I’d pay a visit, you know."

"No, I’m still at the establishment."
"You’re all going to Haneda?"

“We’re about to head out now. How about it? Want to come along?”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”
At first I wasn’t serious, but in the end we settled on a promise that I’d come right away so she should get ready and wait, then hung up.

“Let’s go.”
I pressed Fujinami.
Our departure had been slightly delayed by an unexpected visitor who arrived just as we were leaving.
We alighted from the train at Yatsuyama-shita.
The area remained as bustling as ever with people coming and going.
On the bridge spanning the railway tracks, everyone paused briefly to watch the earth-carts operating at the reclamation site.
“Hey! No loitering!” barked the Officer as he brusquely shooed them away.
No sooner had one group dispersed than new onlookers stopped in their place.
The Officer spent his entire day repeating that same “Hey!”

Oito-san had been waiting impatiently.

"I did wonder if you were having me on," she said, "but the call sounded serious, and you don't seem the sort for such tricks..."

"My apologies for keeping you."

"Oh now, no need to stand on ceremony like that.
Are you quite well these days?"

"Well, I've managed to hang onto life at least."

“That’s wonderful news.”
“What sort of illness was your…”

“Pleurisy.”

“I see.”
“Our Omochiya has it too.”

“She’s got pleurisy?”

“Yes, she’s been going to the Red Cross Hospital. It’s been about two months now.”

“Troublesome business—damaging your precious money box like that.
This illness does linger.”

After wetting our throats with coarse tea poured by Okina-san, we three set out together.

When we passed through the inn’s gate, a maid stood waiting at the entranceway.

“You must think we’re quite the peculiar guests,” I said while looking at the maid.

“It’s two men and one woman, you see.”
Fujinami-kun also laughed.

“And this old woman here is so shabby, you see.”

Sure enough, in the maid’s eyes floated a look of apparent uncertainty.

“Will you be staying the night?”
Whether it was a matter of room availability or she was seeking material to ascertain our identities, the maid asked this.

“We might stay, but regardless—it’s two o’clock. We’re famished here.”

“Understood,” said the maid, showing us to the inner parlor room on the second floor.

The day being fine, by the time we crossed the bridge from the train and walked along the path lined with red torii gates, our bodies had become slightly damp with sweat. When we settled into the parlor room, I felt a mild fatigue and immediately lay down. As my afflicted left pleura still throbbed, I pillowed my head on my right arm. Oito-san found a pillow and brought it over, then took my mantle and laid it atop me, saying it was chilly.

"You really have gotten thinner, haven't you?"

"Just look at this."
Lying down, I extended my left arm.

"How pitiful."
"But look at me—" Oito-san said as she lifted her right sleeve to show her arm.
Though it was a short-jointed, round and plump arm, it lacked any feminine fullness.

"Looks strong."
Fujinami-kun said this,

"What do you think of mine?"
The skin of his sturdy forearm bore a slight reddish hue, visibly proclaiming robust health.

“What a fine physique,” I murmured admiringly, unable to tear my gaze away from it.

I was growing drowsy.
Oito-san and Fujinami-kun were discussing various amusing matters.

“So you’re alone now?”
Oito-san asked Fujinami-kun.

"I am alone.
Last month, my eighth wife ran off on me."

“What did you do about it?”

"They left even though I hadn’t done a thing."

“How could such a thing happen?”

“It’s true. Of eight wives, two died on me and six ran away.
Even though I clasped my hands and prayed ‘Please...’, they all ran away.
And that would’ve been manageable if it happened when business was good—but they only kicked up a fuss when things were hopeless anyway. Couldn’t even give those fleeing women proper settlements.”

“Are women who run away still dear to you?”

“Of course I do. It’s not like I bear them any ill will at all, you know. Even if they abandon me like that, I figure they must be struggling as women right away, so I always end up pleading with them to bear it until I can sort things out. Women are cruel. It’s because they start making a fuss when business is bad.”

“When you parted with your wife, weren’t you lonely?”

“That’s lonely. Ah, whenever I think I’ve become alone again, the world seems to turn utterly dark.”

“Even so, it would be nice if you could find someone new.”

“Well.”
“But the former one’s still dear to me, isn’t she?”

I was half-consciously listening to this conversation. When I returned last month from my convalescent stay in Izu, Fujinami-kun told me about what had happened during my absence. After that, while pouring tea, Fujinami-kun himself mentioned that he had divorced his wife.

“She probably intended to threaten me—she came demanding I stamp the divorce papers,” he said. “Alright,” he added, immediately signing and stamping them. “And I went ahead and mailed it directly to the family registry office myself. Then my wife sent a letter saying that divorce paper didn’t reflect my true intentions, but since I’d already mailed off the documents, she must be quite shocked by now.”

“That’s rather reckless of you.”

“Oh, if I come into money again, things will sort themselves out. But given my current circumstances, I’m in quite a bind.”

Fujinami-kun’s attitude appeared to show nothing beyond regret over his current poverty preventing him from providing settlements to the women who left him—no lingering attachments whatsoever. However, listening now, I thought that even in the heart of that careless—if anything, somewhat lazy—man, there lay a loneliness he had tasted when women left him.

In the midst of this, the maid brought a tray.

“Elder sister, just five shaku will do,” Fujinami-kun said as he ordered sake,

“Let’s liven things up,” he declared, cheerfully buoying himself alone.
I too roused myself and joined in taking up my chopsticks.

“Your stories are quite interesting,” Oito-san said to me.
“You truly don’t have a wife?”
“Oh, that’s all just nonsense.”
“Even so—”
“There’s nothing I can do about it.”
Oito-san looked at Fujinami-kun and laughed brightly.
“I’m ready right away on my end.”
“All I want is someone who’ll stick by me forever.”
“With you around though—that part’s certain.”

“I don’t know.”
“I might be the type to run away when business turns bad.”

“Kushige may be Kushige, but you don’t have one yet,” I rephrased.

“If I possessed anything that thoughtful.”

“Are you saying you truly don’t?”

“Honestly.
If such a thing existed, it would spell disaster.”

“What’s so disastrous about that?”

“It’s me, you see. That’s rather difficult to manage, you see.”
“Difficult? But Oito-san is Kikyo’s protégé, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”

“Then why is that?”

“It’s quite impossible for me.
I’ve already given up.”

“You’re hardly at an age to give up yet.
Just how old are you?”

“I’m a Snake.”

“They say Snake-year people tend to be persistent.”

“No, even among Snakes, First White and Third Blue differ.
It’s a star with weak karmic bonds.”

“I’m a Snake too.”
“Then you’re Second.”
“I too remain conquered by the stars,” Fujinami-kun said.

“Your stars are ill-aligned too, aren’t they?”

“A Snake would be thirty-two? In that case, one might say you’re still in your prime. You could still manage something now.”

“It’s already too late. Just think about it. What kind of person would come for me? A gentleman who’s thirty-five or thirty-six and still single—there must be some reason for that.”

“Well, perhaps... Things like being left by a wife or having children after someone’s death. Otherwise, they probably can’t support themselves or something like that, I suppose.”

“That’s precisely why when I think about it, it becomes terrifying. Though I suppose there’s no way a man in his twenties would have me either.”

“That’s true too, I suppose.”
“But if we did that, you wouldn’t feel so adrift.”

“I do feel rather adrift myself.”
“When I think about things like where I’m headed...”
“But when it comes to men, I can’t help feeling there’s nothing less reliable.”

“Because you’re in the business of handling philanderers, that’s why such aspects catch your eye.”

“I for one believe there’s nothing less reliable than women,” said Fujinami-kun.

“That’s not true at all.
Women are still more reliable.”

“Even if you say that, it won’t work,” I said to Fujinami-kun,

“Oito-san only knows men when they go woman-buying – she never sees them during their earnest moments.”

"Oh my, this conversation has become quite complicated."
"Oh! Your courtesan."
"She even performed Shito."

"Is that so?"
"I did want to meet her once."

"Lies!"
"This right here proves men can't be relied upon."

Around the time we finished our meal, guests arrived in the room next to ours.
From behind the maid who slid shut the partition’s paper door, we managed to catch a glimpse of those guests.
They were a young man and woman who didn’t appear to be husband and wife.
The one with his hair tied in a traditional topknot and wearing a haori coat over his slender shoulders was no merchant.

“They’re really going at it.”
Fujinami-kun laughed in a restrained voice.

“It’s because you’re so jealous that your wife can’t stand you.”
Oito-san added in a hushed tone and laughed.
I laughed too.

The days were growing short.
At five o'clock, the lights came on.

Saying it was because of night business, Oito-san began preparing to leave.
As they said they would see her that far, the three of them went out together.

“Are you all going to pay your respects?”

“Inari-sama or whatever doesn’t matter.”

“But Inari-sama is truly potent.”

“Making a vow then?”

I turned to Fujinami-kun.

"Is this about ensuring that matter succeeds?"

“Anyway, do come along.”
Oito-san exited the Yōkan and headed left toward the main hall.
We followed along.
Passing behind the hall and turning right brought us to the shrine office.
There were also counters for receiving amulets and rice.
Beyond that lay O-Ana-sama.
Oito-san bought fried tofu and offered it to O-Ana-sama.
Then she shook the sacred bell repeatedly.
She softly clapped her hands in prayer.
She prayed at length.
Finally she inserted the ladle into the dark cavity and filled a paper bag with three scoops of sand.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“This?”
“I’m taking some sacred sand with me, you see.”
“I’ll sprinkle this in the front yard – as a prosperity charm for the business.”

Then we emerged before the main hall.
There as well, Oito-san paid her respects.
We too found ourselves compelled and prayed with sincere hearts.

“What about souvenirs?”

“I’ve had quite enough already.
Thank you for everything,” Oito-san said, taking two or three steps before—

“Aren’t you coming tonight?” he said.

“Ah, because I’m a patient, you see.”

“Ah, that’s right.”
“Then I’ll take my leave.”
“Do visit again soon.”

We saw off Oito-san’s retreating figure as she hurried back home by the large red torii.

(Meiji 45 [1912], June 8-10 draft / Published in "Subaru" July 1912 / Included in Path of Beasts)