Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

The rented second floor had two rooms—a six-tatami and a four-and-a-half-tatami—along with a separate storage room of over five tatami mats, all for a mere one yen per month. The landlord resided in two rooms below—a six-tatami middle chamber and a five-tatami rear room. Though the shop area spanned about eight tatami with wooden flooring, as they were not a commercial household, they kept a single lattice shutter lowered even during daylight hours, leaving the space unused and abandoned there.

From the street, a worn path cut through to the garden behind the storage shed—an earthen-floored passageway caked in mud—and halfway along it stood the drinking well. Beside the well stood a kitchen, with two stoves lined up side by side. Behind them hung three-tiered shelves, and there they had placed pots, kettles, mortars, and other kitchen tools. The toilet stood aligned with the well at no great distance from it, and as its water was thick and turbid, they filtered it for drinking use. Having stood for several decades, the old house was meticulously maintained, yet soot clung everywhere, leaving it dim; altogether somewhat gloomy—even within Kaga Kanazawa’s city limits, this area lay in the wetlands along the Asano River’s banks.

The garden, separated by a single-layered fence, adjoined a sunlit plot of cultivated land in the backstreet, where five or six trees—plum, Japanese silverberry, persimmon—stood.
The shoe-removal area, with its large door opened, lay immediately at one end of the earthen-floored passageway through the garden, its entrance step a polished wooden floor.
Adjoining this was a six-tatami room situated between the shop and the rear quarters, referred to in the local dialect as the “tea room.”
In one corner of this tea room sat a long hibachi, behind which stood a bamboo tea shelf neatly arranged with Kutani ware, red-painted bowls, sucking jars, and other accoutrements.
The two teacups placed upside down did not form a pair, owing to the couple’s differing tastes.

The wife was named Otei; though twenty-one, she appeared perhaps two years younger as she sat beyond this long hibachi. Her face was slender, her nose bridge straight; her eyebrows, like distant mountains, not overly thick. Her hairline slightly receding; her hair somewhat thin, yet her fair-skinned face bore a tightly set mouth and lips chapped as if prone to flushing. Her faintly red eyelids appeared heavy—not with the charm of recent tears, but like one who had dozed by a kotatsu and now awoke dazedly; her cool eyes clouded within, their gaze unsteady, as a band of dark clouds veiled her brow—she was pondering something.

Her marumage chignon—tied high at the roots—had strands loosening around her cheeks and temples; her obi was barely fastened with just the lower cord. In keeping with rural summer custom, she wore a dark blue striped yukata directly against her skin.
Not entirely unkempt.

Though not an educated woman, as she enjoyed reading books and such, her skill in writing was not unpolished, and moreover, she excelled in sewing.

As for other arts, she knew them not; the shamisen was her beloved pursuit. At times she would pluck its strings, conjuring muffled melodies of clandestine affections. Yet her husband, being a schoolteacher and mindful of his professional standing, had forbidden public performances. Thus she waited for his absences to dust off the slender-necked shamisen and muffle its sound discreetly.

Otei took up the pipe as if suddenly remembering it, then unsteadily took a puff.

She was no habitual smoker, yet relying on what they call the sorrow-forgetting herb, she endeavored to accustom herself to its use; but having inhaled too deeply, she choked involuntarily and cast aside the pipe as though dropping it, then poured steeped green tea into a teacup—yet too scalding, she waited for it to cool just as it was.

Just then, as the loud clatter of footwear echoed through the house, Otei grew slightly flustered and abruptly turned toward the sound—when with a crash, the front door flew open and a boy burst in, swinging a damp hand towel.

Otei turned—
“Yoshinosuke?”
“Madam, I’m home.”
and removed his geta.

“My, aren’t you dressed up.”

“Hmm.”

Laughing it off, the boy roughly headed upstairs, while Otei followed him with a coquettish glance—
“Yoshinosuke!”
“What?”
He turned to look.

“Oh, come here—let’s talk a bit.”
“Grandmother is taking her nap now.”
“It’s so noisy.”

“Oh, right.”

He came down and stood abruptly before the long hibachi,

“Ah, I’m thirsty.”

Muttering to himself, rather than looking at the tea he had cooled in the teacup, he boldly took it in hand.

“Gimme.”

He gulped it down in one go without another word.

“Oh! How awful you are.”
“I went to the trouble of cooling it for you.”

When she feigned resentment, the boy smiled and,

“There’s plenty left—you’re such a cheapskate, Madam!”

He returned the teacup.
Otei took it in hand and peered inside.
“What? You didn’t leave a single drop.”
She drank what remained at the bottom as if it were medicine.

"Oh, Yoshinosuke, do sit down. And why must you keep calling me 'Madam this, Madam that'? I can't stand it!"

"But when you're wearing a marumage—back when it was the ginkgo style, you were 'Sister', but with the marumage, you're 'Madam'."

二

Otei, with a startled air, gazed at the boy’s face, her swollen eyes filled with intent—

“Now, now—even without you saying so, Yoshinosuke, my hair isn’t thick enough as it is. I’d want to tie it up myself too, but my husband says it’s unacceptable—what can I do?”

“So you’re still Madam after all.”

The boy remained unperturbed.

Otei wilted resentfully,

“But if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t mind—but when you call me ‘Madam,’ it feels so distant. I can’t find any comfort in it.”
“I’d be happy if you’d at least call me ‘Otei-san’ or something.”

With a sigh, she uttered in a feeble tone.
The boy casually—

“So… Otei-san?”

he began to say—

“Doesn’t that make us sound like friends?”

“So you see? ‘Sister’ really is better, isn’t it?”

“But when you wear a marumage—if it were the ginkgo style, you’d look just like the deceased Sister, so I’d think of you as Sister—but with the marumage, I can’t stand it.”

The boy was blunt.

“So am I just a total stranger to you now?”

“It’s not like that… but—”

The boy trailed off.

Otei adjusted the collar and pulled at the front of the yukata as she—

“That’s why even yesterday—before tying my hair—I apologized so much to you, Yoshinosuke.”
“Isn’t that unkind?”
“It’s fine—no matter what my husband says, even if you’re scolded, it won’t be a problem.”
“I’ll undo it right away and fix it properly for you—you know.”

Otei’s complexion was far from ordinary.
The boy was somewhat discomposed,

“Even without that, there was already a commotion like the one before—if you go and do such a thing, that’s exactly what will happen.”
“I’d have to run away again.”

“Really, back then…
“Oh, I didn’t know what to do.”

Yoshinosuke had run away and hadn’t returned for two nights, Grandmother was terribly worried and kept saying what should we do, and Husband—Husband just sat there silent, brooding without a word—and me, I was so ashamed, so mortified, so utterly at a loss, I just… spaced out.
“Later, when I asked about it—apparently I’d been lying there deathly pale.”

“When I heard Mr. Yoshinosuke’s footsteps, I snapped back to my senses and rushed out—but what I’d been doing until then felt like a dream—I couldn’t make sense of it.”

The boy nodded repeatedly,

“So then Beard called out ‘Mr. Minakami,’ and when I wondered what was going on and peered down from the second floor, Sister was collapsed crying while Beard stood at the foot of the staircase landing with a furious look on his face, barking out such rude words as ‘Open this immediately!’”
“So I was so unbearably annoyed that I just left right then and there—figured there’d be some decent place somewhere—but no time to look.”
“Then I stayed at a friend’s place—treated them to beef—and we played cards and had fun.”
“I’m the strongest at it.”
“Crushed them so bad they started cursing up a storm—they got so mad we ended up fighting—couldn’t stay there next night—had no choice but to come back.”

Otei listened while pretending to glare,

“You’re impossible.”
“Playing cards with your friends without even considering my feelings—such a thing shouldn’t be done.”
“I thought I might go mad myself—truly.”

“But when I came back, you came out from the back shouting ‘Yoshinosuke!’—the look on your face then really startled me. It was dusk, after all—I thought you were the ghost of my deceased sister.”

“Ugh! Yoshinosuke.”
“That’s a scary thing to say.”

Otei shuddered and turned away.
The boy smiled.

“What’s this? You’re such a scaredy-cat.”
“It’s broad daylight.”

“But if you keep saying such things, you won’t dare visit the bathroom at night.”

“And yet last night you went with Beard to hear ghost stories—hypocrite much?”

Otei earnestly explained,

“Yes, so we returned to Kiri-mae.”
“Kiri-mae has farces and rakugo—it’s so incredibly entertaining!”

“So Beard’s in a better mood now, has he?”

III

“It’s not exactly that he’s calmed down… Well, that’s just how he is.”
“Even so, Grandmother felt terribly sorry for them—‘The elderly have only just settled down, and relocating again isn’t at all typical—so once a suitable place is found, you may move at your convenience. Even staying here for a month or two would pose no inconvenience.’—and that was the end of it.”
“In return, I was strictly told—‘You must never have conversations with Yoshinosuke.’”
“It seems he still suspects us.”

The boy, holding fire tongs, thrust them vigorously into the ashes with a displeased expression,

“What on earth does he suspect?”
“Even to my grandmother, Sister, Beard said something like, ‘Given that your grandson is still before his rise in the world, it wouldn’t be appropriate to…’”
“‘As for me, I’ll keep an eye on my Otei here, so you’d best not be careless in that regard either.’”
He apparently said it privately.
“Isn’t it strange, I mean, Sister—what is he suspecting?”
“What, does he think there’s some kind of immoral relationship between you and me? If that’s the case, it’s beyond disrespectful, don’t you think?”

When he pressed his questioning, Otei,

“Oh…”

She murmured vaguely, placed a hand on her chest, and lowered her head slightly.

The boy harbored uneasy thoughts.

“Then what? Is it because when we were talking in the back room before that incident, and Beard came home from outside, you panicked and rushed out—is that why?”
“It’s your timidness that’s the problem.”
“It’s always like this.”
“When someone flings the door open, you act all flustered like you’ve been caught in something shameful, speaking breathlessly—doesn’t that look suspicious?”
“Even earlier when I returned—when I opened the door—you were startled and fidgeting about.”
“The other time was just the same.”
“What sort of wife greets her own husband with a formal ‘Welcome home’ like that?”
“Why must you be so timid and jump at every little thing?”
“That’s why he suspects you.”
“It’s absurd.”

Otei contained a lonely smile,

“Even as you say that, you were the one who rushed upstairs in a panic back then, weren’t you?”

The boy showed no particular sign of contemplation,

“What’s that? It’s not that I’m scared of anything—it’s just that I hate Beard.”
“There’s something about him I can’t stand—every time I see him, it gets on my nerves. I absolutely loathe that guy.”

Having brazenly declared this, he dismissed it.
He had spoken recklessly, driven by youthful fervor, but even so—perhaps having grown self-conscious in the wife’s presence—he now watched Otei’s expression.

Otei showed no sign of concern; instead appeared to express agreement as she sighed listlessly—

“There’s no mistaking it to anyone who looks.”
“I still dislike it too.”
“But why do you dislike him?”

The boy, invigorated by Otei’s words aligning with his own sentiments, raised the pitch of his voice.

“Other than that—well—it’s not like I’ve been in this house long enough for concrete reasons. But I think it’s because Beard’s appearance… he resembles my late sister’s husband. That must be why.”

“So he was an awful person, then?”

The boy seemed to be idly reminiscing about bygone days when he suddenly grew indignant,

“Bad doesn’t even begin to cover it—he’s the bastard who killed Sister.”

Otei, with an expression of having deeply felt,

“Oh!”

Her dewy eyes widened.

“How dreadful—why ever did he kill Sister? If your sister were here, she must have been such a gentle, kind soul.”

“It’s not that she truly cared for me or anything. These clothes I’m wearing are all worn out, but since Sister took pains to sew and send them, I keep wearing them out of respect.”

“Is that why they suit you so well?”

And Otei, as though only now realizing it, gazed upon the boy’s pitiable form.
Minakami Yoshinosuke was sixteen years old; his words and deeds were innocent yet not childish.
He bore the marks of one who had endured hardship from birth and come to understand the ways of the world.
His manner of speech was clear and articulate, and for his age, he carried himself with maturity.

IV

If unnecessary, it is omitted here.
The boy narrated a tragic tale: how his sister Oren, having erred in spouse selection during her youth, was tormented by her dissolute and frivolous husband—a certain Judge So-and-so—until driven to drown herself, her spirit crushed to death.
His account was terse yet profound, conveying such deep compassion that it moved the tenderhearted Otei to stifle anguished tears.

Having continued his account, the boy said.

“Sister, you must also be subjected to terrible things—that’s why you hate Beard, isn’t it?”

Just then, as the water bubbled furiously to a boil, startled by the steam that abruptly billowed up, the boy hurriedly removed the iron kettle’s lid, and Otei, leaning sideways, took down the copper water pitcher from the tea shelf and hastily poured in water.

“No, that’s not it.”
“In my case, it’s entirely the opposite of Yoshinosuke’s sister—I’m treated with such excessive kindness that I can’t bear it anymore.”

The boy deeply doubted,

"That’s not how things work."
"How could there be any reason to say you dislike being treated kindly?"

"Oh, do listen."
"If you call it kindness, then yes—it’s kindness, but it’s more like obsession."
"I’ll keep it brief, but I’ll give you a little reward for listening."

She took out a dessert plate, served sweet bean jelly, and added a toothpick.

“Have one. I’ll make fresh tea now.”

and poured out the used tea leaves from the Suiko,

“It’s only because it’s you, Yoshino, that I’m telling this.”
“You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“The truth is, my father began to lose his sanity around middle age and eventually passed away because of it. Though it’s unseemly to speak ill of one’s parents, Mother made a misjudgment—while Father was ill, she involved my uncle and younger brother in matters concerning me.”

“Then, through Grandfather’s arrangements, once I was weaned, he immediately expelled both of them and raised me himself, remaining in good health until I was thirteen—ah, but in the spring I turned fourteen…”
“After he suffered a stroke and became paralyzed, unable to move—the house was spacious with open land on all sides—but living in such a hole-like place meant we had no fear of fires. If burglars were to break in, though, there’d be nothing we could do about it.”
“And there was some money too, I hear.”

“We had a hired old woman, but she was hard of hearing and no help in such matters. Nursing Grandfather alone was beyond my capabilities. When they said we needed a proper guardian—but guardians often make mistakes later on—the relatives concluded their discussions and decided it’d be better to just assign me… and that’s how I ended up with my current husband.”

“Around that time, he’d just graduated from higher middle school, so—well—after coming to our house, there was talk of him going to Tokyo to enter university. Since we originally needed someone to manage our household affairs, they deliberately chose someone much older. So he was twenty-nine, and I was fourteen.”

Otei, now preparing to add hot water to the tea caddy, placed her hand on the iron kettle and counted on the fingers of one hand.

“That’s a fifteen-year difference.”
“Though they say he was a late student—most typically become graduates around twenty-five or twenty-six, you see.”

“Of course.”

The boy interjected while listening intently.

Otei poured sencha and, while first giving it to the boy,

“I don’t know why, but when we had our wedding, I felt neither joy nor fear—I was simply in a daze, not thinking anything at all. But honestly, when it was just Grandfather and me alone without outsiders around—like when we shared meals—I felt so much more at ease.”

I felt oddly constrained—as if staying at a stranger’s house—restricted and dreary; looking back now, I might have disliked my husband even back then.
But I suppose that having been mostly spoiled, my selfishness must have prevailed.

“Perhaps because Grandfather had finally settled into peace, my spirits improved greatly—and then, with my husband about to depart for Tokyo, we held a farewell celebration where we drank a bit more than usual. It was because of that, I suppose, that on the very afternoon he left, Grandfather passed away helplessly.
‘By that time, I was already…’”

Otei’s voice became strained.

V

“From then on, I felt utterly drained. I’d retreat into the dimmest three-tatami room in the house—for some reason—sit properly in the corner, face the wall, and sob quietly. It became a habit… one that persisted for a long time.”
“In the midst of all this, I became pregnant.”

“Isn’t it absurd?”

Otei smiled bitterly.

“Something strange came tumbling out, and it was October of the following year.”

Having begun to speak, Otei appeared with a worried look, but—

“Oh right, Yoshino—before that, you see, after my husband went to Tokyo, starting from the third month onward, every single month without fail, on the first day of each month without exception, he’d have a photo taken and send it to me without missing a single one.”

“Such kindness, isn’t it?”

“Each time, a letter would come attached with things like—‘Ah*, this month I’ve lost a bit of weight,’ ‘This time* my eyes aren’t doing so well,’ ‘How about* comparing this with last month’s? I might look a tad plumper now’—and such written notes would arrive.”

“I was only thinking about Grandfather and didn’t spare a single thought for my husband, so after just a quick glance, I’d stuff them into a wicker trunk and leave them there. Then—when was it?—on some occasion, I happened to meet a friend, and…”

(Oh!
(Otei-san, what an *extraordinarily kind* husband sir you have.) Bet that must’ve really gotten under your skin, huh?

That’s only natural.
On the back of each and every photo was an official inscription.
*[Year], [Month], [Day]. Taken by Nishioka Tokihiko. To Otei-dono.*

In a fit of vexed frustration, I wrote back, “Please refrain from sending photos; do not trouble others excessively.”
What’s with all this “excessively, excessively”? How absurd.
When I said that, he stopped sending them altogether. But with fifteen or so photos already accumulated, I worried they might be seen again. Since I couldn’t give them to anyone or burn them, I had no choice but to bundle them up and tuck them deep inside the household Buddhist altar.
“Since I prayed every day, isn’t that enough?”

Into the cup she had dried earlier, she poured the thick tea from the Suiko in a thin, steady stream, took a hearty gulp, and—finding it too bitter—added hot water.

The boy simply remained silent and listened.

Otei moistened her lips and,

“When I had a child—that habit of constantly sobbing quietly disappeared. I became entirely preoccupied with the little one, with no room left to think or feel anything else. Well, I can’t speak for when they were five or six years old—but during that brief period alone—there was never a time so free of hardship.”

Then, in the early days of that summer, a rickshaw clattered to a halt outside, and a man entered.
Since he stood abruptly in the entryway without waiting to be guided, I left the child I had been putting to bed and went to the entrance.

(Who...?) I thought—glancing up in surprise—but upon looking closer, it was my husband. He was my husband, but had grown so emaciated he was nearly unrecognizable—well, that alone would have been one thing, but his appearance was truly strange.

He wore enormous glasses—jet-black frames stretching from his eyebrows down to his eyes, the lenses so large they seemed to swallow half his cheeks. Unprecedented, really—what could be the purpose? And then he had that thing—something called a respirator—pressed to his mouth, and on top of that, he was growing a beard, wasn’t he? He wore a top hat, and his haori—made of striped sheer silk dyed black, embroidered with a crest of alternating five and three patterns—hung slightly too short. His underrobe was Awa crepe, fastened with a light blue Chinese crepe heko obi, that wide sash.

“What do you think, Yoshino? Even I couldn’t help but smile faintly—not from joy at his return, but because his appearance struck me as utterly absurd.

He’d come back ill, so I worried and nursed him, but since it was called a gastric ailment, he showed no improvement whatsoever.
January passed, then February—yes, for three whole months he languished about, growing thinner each day. With the boy here and my own spirit failing, I began stealing out at night to undertake the hundred-visit prayers.
Then it seems he discovered this,”

“Otei, do you truly wish to cure me so badly?” he said, staring at my face.
“Without thinking, I answered truthfully: ‘Yes, if you don’t recover, what are we to do? We’ll end up destitute.’”

“Oh, he was furious—no, ‘furious’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.
‘So you married me just to secure your livelihood?’
‘I never knew you were this heartless.’ His face turned ashen—I panicked, truly at a loss for what to do.”

VI

"(Why won't he suggest we die together? 'Love isn't some tepid thing,' he'd say.)"

"When he confronts me like that—there's nothing I can say back."

“I’m neither a prostitute nor a geisha—since when should such venomous words be hurled at me? But since my husband’s rage was so fierce, well, I ended up apologizing until my throat ran dry. The boy became our rivet, and things finally settled—but in that moment, I thought, *Ah, what a vindictive man*, and shuddered. Ever since then, it’s felt like I’ve been hauling a boulder on my back, and even now, my shoulders still hunch like an outcast’s.”

“Later, you know—about those black glasses I mentioned earlier—‘Don’t they look absurd, like giant dragonflies?’—I heard him say that after he’d supposedly recovered.”
“So you see, he claimed Tokyo’s dry winds whipped up such awful dust that those glasses were a ‘sand guard’ to keep his eyes from worsening. Though if he’d truly been devoted to his studies, he’d have kept an oil lamp burning all night without sleep! But fussing over his body like that made him utterly useless, I thought—not that I could ever say so. And that respirator? He insisted it was ‘medicine’ for his tuberculosis.”
“And then—that beard of his was downright bizarre.”

And Otei looked at the boy’s face,

“He called it his ‘hygiene beard,’ ohoho.”
“Do you get it?”
“Yoshino.”

“What nonsense—I don’t get this ‘hygiene beard’ thing.”

“Well, you see...”

And still smiling,

“It’s like this.”
“You see, everything attached to the human body—whether it’s nails or grime—has its purpose. Among these, when tuberculosis germs mingle with the dust of the streets and try to fly into one’s nose, the beard acts like a gatekeeper, intercepting them and keeping them out.”
“It’s not for show or anything—he said he grew it for his health.”
“So that’s why it’s called a ‘hygiene beard,’ you see.”
“Ohohohoho.”

Otei pressed a hand to her mouth.
The boy also burst out laughing.

“Even if it’s for hygiene’s sake, that beard alone ought to be abolished. With it, he looks just like ‘Chotto Kosa’—and having the beard makes him all the more similar.”

Otei furrowed her brows,

“I can’t stand you, Yoshino. Chotto Kosa is just too much.
But speaking of Chotto Kosa—the other day, I met that candy seller of his on Kobashi Bridge.”
It was exactly at that moment.
Three students from the school with the cherry blossom emblem bearing the character ‘中’ came walking toward us from the opposite direction. When they caught sight of him, they shouted in unison, “Hey, Mr. Nishioka!” burst into loud laughter, and walked right past. At the time, I had no idea what was going on and didn’t pay it any mind.
“What do you think? At school, they’ve already given my husband the nickname ‘Chotto Kosa,’ and behind his back, they call him nothing else, I hear.”

The boy shook his head.

“If they’d just called him that behind his back, it’d be almost kind—but when he first started teaching at that school, someone apparently asked, ‘Sensei, what’s your honorable name?’”
“So then, just as he was lagging behind and entering from the back of the group—Endō, you know him, right?”
“A man with raised shoulders, like a warrior in training, who often comes to visit me.”

“Oh, right—the man who speaks with an iron fan.”

“Yeah, him—that guy there.”
Endō swiftly stepped beside Beard and said to the student who had asked for the name from his seat, “Hey, you—this teacher here?
“This teacher here? His name’s ‘Chotto Kosa.’” So the whole class burst out laughing—Satomi told me that story once.”

Otei let out a sigh.

“I can’t stand this anymore!”
“So from the very start, he was being undervalued and completely ridiculed, huh?”

“Even if he doesn’t look like it, there are some who say he’s quite scholarly.”
“When he enters the classroom, without any formalities, he suddenly writes a problem on the board,

“Number [X], solve this.”

Having said that, he’d sit back in his chair like this—slightly bowing his head, resting his elbows—and stay silent.
“The poor guy whose number gets called is in for a world of trouble.
If a student hasn’t properly prepared and goes in without practice, they get flustered and say, *‘Sensei, I can’t do this,’* but he doesn’t respond.
Since he just leaves them like that, eventually they cry out, *‘I can’t do this, Sensei!’*—but he doesn’t so much as twitch his face or glance their way, just says *‘Try it,’* and offers no lifeline at all.
Even if they try and clearly can’t do it, they’ll stand up, sit down, start toward the board only to turn back—fumbling around all confused—and by the time the clapper rings to end class, Sensei just up and leaves them like that.
At times like that, he just looks at a single problem and wastes the entire hour.”

Seven

“So, Nishioka remains aloof about everything and must have something on his mind.”
“Impressive!”
“There are some who say so.”

Otei wore a “What?” expression.

When they say he’s thinking, he’s likely just brooding over his own affairs—so much that nothing he does sticks.
Just consider—since Yoshino came here, his way of thinking must have grown all the more severe.
Honestly, there’s no one as jealous as he is.

As we’d discussed before—after my husband returned home due to his illness, he never went back to university and simply idled about, so what little funds we had dwindled away from sitting idle, until we finally sold our former house and moved into this one two years ago.

Even so, there were offers from various places—all quite decent, nothing objectionable. Among them was Yoshinosuke from the Normal School in Niigata Prefecture; he was made principal.
The principal position was acceptable, but since I somehow couldn’t bear staying in one place, I resolved to remain in Kanazawa and proposed that only Husband go to the assigned post—yet there was no refusing it, and in the end we were dragged all the way out to the backwoods of Niigata.
Somehow, I hated it—hated it—I couldn’t bear staying there even for a moment.
I wanted so desperately to return to Kanazawa that with that chronic illness weighing on me, I felt so depressed I did nothing but cry.

Even when my husband came home from school, I wouldn’t go to greet him and just kept crying with my face down,

"(Ah, not again?)" he said pityingly, slumped into his study.
It wasn’t that I was taking my frustrations out on him—I truly wanted to go home.

When my husband finally relented and granted permission—("Very well, you may return")—I immediately regained my vigor. Despite having barely touched my meals for five days, I briskly called the maid: ("Go find the strongest rickshaw puller at once!"). This was past ten at night—how terrifying it was!
I must have seemed like a madwoman.

Leaving my husband behind—the little one was five at the time—when I took him and returned to Kanazawa, the relief was indescribable.
The little one was overjoyed too.

To explain why—ever since he was an infant, the little one never took to his father at all, and once he began to understand things a bit, he’d burst into tears just at the sight of his face. When he began putting on his sandals and toddling outside to play, how pitiful it was. Whenever he tried to enter the house, always—he would peer stealthily through the gap in the outer door and ask in his small voice, “Mother, is Father home?”

“Ah,” I would respond—and still he wouldn’t enter the house. Even when he must have wanted something, he’d go back out to play. Only when told “Father isn’t home” would he come bustling inside and cling to my shoulder as I sewed.

Though she infused her voice with strength—perhaps overwhelmed by unbearable affection—she trembled violently, her face flushing rapidly, then suddenly leaned over the long hibachi and clasped the boy’s neck with a snow-white arm,

“Like this.”

She frantically embraced the boy, who had grown earnest,

“Peek into my face and call out ‘Mother! Mother!’”

Otei was in a state of heavy, fierce agitation.

“And then he’d say, ‘It’s better when Father isn’t here.’ He always said that.”

As she began to speak and looked down, her loose bangs fell forward; brushing them back in annoyance, she finally disentangled her arm from the boy’s grasp—yet still clasped his hand.

“It’s not just during those times.”
“When I get irritable, I take it out on the poor child—scold him and shut him in the closet.”
“Later, when my husband was out, he’d sneak out of the closet on his own—tiptoeing over to my side, peering over my shoulder, and saying, ‘Mother, it’s better when Father isn’t here.’”
“Children who die at five or six years old are truly wise, aren’t they?”
“Girls do have a special depth of affection.”
“So the world had become so unbearably dull—so utterly dull—that I could hardly stand it, but I managed to distract myself because of the child. After he passed away last year, I wanted so desperately to die… but since my husband was oddly subdued and we never had any explosive fights, I couldn’t find the chance to throw myself into the river and just lingered on. Yoshino—ever since meeting you, I’ve stopped wanting to die.”

With that, he gripped the corrugated iron door handle tightly and flung it open with a loud clatter of footsteps.

Eight

How startled Otei must have been! As the door flew open, she sprang up like a machine and rushed frantically to greet him at the entrance. Pale-faced with a fixed gaze, standing in the entryway was a gentleman dressed in Western attire. His chin was slender, his face round; beneath an oversized nose grew a vulgar-looking mustache—thick and sprawling in the shape of the character “八,” nearly obscuring his upper lip—its proportions grotesquely mismatched with his features. His eyes were exceedingly small, their corners drooping so that one might doubt their very presence; particularly, the shape of his eyebrows was disheveled as if smeared with ink, and his forehead bore several deeply etched wrinkles, making him appear older than his actual age—likely around fifty. This face, adorned with glasses and a black top hat, was that of the creature known as Chotto Kosa, the shadow of the man they had gossiped about.

Mistaking him for Yoshio—seeing him as Yoshio—her heart pounded like a rapid temple bell—Otei flushed crimson with anger at this man who was not her husband, fixed her gaze, and glared fiercely at his face. The visitor removed his hat, bowed courteously, then pulled out a small flag from the leather bag in his left hand and shamelessly thrust it before Otei.

“Japan’s great victory—Banzai!”

Having uttered only that without moving a muscle in his face, Chotto Kosa turned around and stood poised with an air of composure.

When he performed in this manner, he became the fortunate man known throughout Kanazawa City—one to whom passersby would toss two or three rin into his palm as they pleased.

“Step right up, step right up, step right up—Chotto Kosa!”

He—once swaying his arms in an eccentric rhythm while dancing—had for years traveled through over three hundred neighborhoods of Kanazawa City selling candy, his face well-known to a hundred thousand people; yet after the Sino-Japanese expedition arose, he altered the nature of his livelihood.
Namely, he went around visiting each house as before, cleverly earning his livelihood.

He was always silent and excessively earnest; though no one had ever seen him laugh, being a model fool, contempt toward him inevitably turned into mockery. Those most despised in society sometimes become material for comedy, and so the people of Kanazawa would pay him two or three rin in exchange for a moment’s laughter.

Otei finally stroked her chest and calmly returned to her former seat.
The fee was to be returned upon viewing; while watching this farce without having paid the admission, Chotto Kosa stood motionless, rooted to the spot.

After a moment, Otei—having collected herself—opened the drawer of the long hibachi to search for small coins to give him, while the boy remained beside her.

“Sis, there’s change left from the bath money. Here.”

When he tossed it onto the wooden floorboards, Chotto Kosa picked it up, donned his top hat in perfect unison, adjusted his demeanor, and departed with dignity.

Nine

Seeing off Chotto Kosa as he departed, the two inadvertently met each other’s gaze.

“So he really does resemble him.”

Otei said as though working it out.
The boy paid no heed.

“Well, what happened after that?”

He urged her to continue with rapt attention.

“Right after we returned from Niigata—the boy’s name was Tamaki—Tamaki grew lively again, bustling about so cheerfully. I felt like I stood under a cloudless sky—as if my illness had never existed.”
“We went to fields and mountains, wandering everywhere—it felt wonderfully freeing.”

“If I could’ve had my way, I’d have lived forever without my husband there—just Tamaki and me alone.”

“But you know, Yoshino,” she said, “I’d come to realize the world never bends to our will.”
“Two or three times my husband sent letters pleading—‘With only servants here, nothing gets done right. Come back once I recover.’ But I stubbornly refused to go. Can you imagine?”
“Not three months after leaving, he resigned and returned, declaring: ‘Of course someone like you couldn’t endure it—Niigata’s water is foul.’”
“The gall!”

“Then Tamaki would—I don’t know why—stop being lively at all, become terribly withdrawn, constantly watch people’s expressions fearfully, retreat into a corner just like I’d seen when I was fourteen or fifteen, and mope there… so I’d end up feeling so low that every time my temper flared, I’d take it out on that innocent child…”

With tears welling up, Otei slumped forward.

“Despite that, my husband doted on Tamaki—oh, how he doted on him!”
“He never even thought to raise a hand to his head, never made as if to glare—yet it was I who flew into a rage when he’d come close, calling me ‘Mother.’”

When I’d say, ‘Oh, you’re so noisy!’ and shove him away, my husband would scold me—‘Why punish an innocent child?’—and then he’d shield me, pleading, ‘Don’t scold Mother! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’
“And then, if my husband tried to pull him away, saying, ‘That kind of Mother is no good—come here,’ Tamaki would burst into tears with a loud wail.”

“Ah, ah—” The husband heaved a deep sigh and abruptly stepped outside. Afterward, Tamaki quietly looked at my face and smiled with such tender longing—gentle and wistful.
That adorableness was beyond compare.
I too smiled gently despite myself, pulled him onto my lap, hugged him tight and pressed my cheek to his—then he’d laugh joyfully and say, “It’s better when Father isn’t here,” parroting my own words like they were his catchphrase.

Because of all that, I somehow ended up disliking my husband.
“But one time,”

“Otei, I too share blood with Tamaki...” When he said this so mournfully, I couldn’t help but pity him terribly.

“Were we sworn enemies from a past life or something, Yoshino? Even when Tamaki was wasting away, he’d gulp down water from my hands—but when my husband tried to give him medicine, he’d turn his face aside, shake his head fiercely, cling to me and bury his face in my chest to refuse... So when my husband—who’d never once raised his voice—suddenly turned livid and—”

“Ungrateful wretch!” he shouted, suddenly swinging his clenched fist at Tamaki. I stiffened and rose onto one knee,

“What are you doing!” I lunged forward.
“The ferocity on my face then—why, even I can imagine how terrifying it must have looked.”
“Hateful as it is to say—in truth, I already wanted to kill my husband then.”
“Even now, I consider my husband Tamaki’s enemy.”
“If only that father weren’t here—why would Tamaki have died? He wouldn’t have died—not if he’d been mine alone.”

Otei remained silent for a time.
After a moment, as if she had remembered something,

“My husband collapsed right there and wept like a man.”

“I seemed to have forgotten how to cry at all. Yes, Yoshino—after Tamaki passed away, I took on decent positions here and there two or three times more. Kanazawa would’ve been fine, but they were all distant places. Somehow whenever I went far away, I’d grow desperately homesick for Kanazawa—consumed by this single-minded urge to return. Even while knowing it was inexcusable, I couldn’t endure it. When I forced myself to bear it, my chronic condition would flare up—making me want to weep over nothing or rage at trifles until I became utterly unhinged. Having no choice but to return, my husband would follow afterward too—as if he couldn’t stand leaving me alone under any circumstances—always wanting us together.”

“Because of that, he couldn’t land any decent positions elsewhere—in Kanazawa he ended up at such a dreary school, that lowly ‘lunchbox carrier’ job.”

And she laughed coldly, alone.

Ten

“There’s no need for you to fret so much—it would’ve been fine otherwise.”
“My husband, you see—you could say he’s been unable to advance in his career because he’s too preoccupied with worrying about leaving the house unattended.”

“Because he cares for me so much, he doesn’t go out carousing at night—truly, since becoming husband and wife, he hasn’t spent a single night away from home.”
“When school lets out, he comes straight home without stopping anywhere.”
“He’s a man of few words—never says anything outright nor shows a stern face—just smolderingly gloomy through and through. That’s why they call him ‘Mr. Quick Glance.’”
“But those small eyes of his somehow give him a certain charm.”
“He’s never spoken a harsh word—so even when I keep saying ‘I hate it, I hate it,’ if asked what exactly I hate, I couldn’t answer.”
“But since I hate it, there’s nothing to be done.”

“That’s why I never oppose whatever he says—because he’s still my husband, even when I hate him, he remains my husband—so I serve him dutifully as a husband should be served. There’s no need to doubt such things, is there? Yoshino—though it pains me how your sister was treated—a man ought to act like one and go out occasionally. If he shows no spirit, even his wife finds him unreliable.”

“On days when my husband returns home, he insists on staying even briefly to keep watch over me. I tell myself it must be due to my own failings, and I’ve resigned myself to being his sacrifice. Though I barely grasp this ‘woman’s path’ people speak of, I don’t stray into affairs—but Yoshino, that’s his weakness. Because of this—his inability to advance—I end up pitiful instead. How pitiful!”

“I could’ve had seven secret lovers or something long ago if I wanted…”

Otei herself flushed with shame at her own excessive words.

“This isn’t something to talk about.”

and dismissed it airily,

“Even if he was watching me, there’s nothing that could’ve been done about it, you know.”

Otei’s face brightened, her wilted figure stiffening, her tone growing strained.

“But Yoshino, what an unreasonable thing this world is!”
“Just from exchanging three ceremonial cups, these absurd things called ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ get formed.”
“A woman’s body becomes entirely a man’s possession, and if she doesn’t obediently comply with whatever she’s told—they’ll say she’s sulky, that she doesn’t know a woman’s proper place, and society will spew all sorts of things.”

“After Grandfather went to such pains to raise someone properly to stand among others, they just claim her as their own without a second thought, and not a soul even utters a word of thanks.”

“And yet women must always take a subservient position, passing off even the unreasonable as reasonable—such an illogical thing shouldn’t exist.”
“Even if I say I want to go somewhere—if my husband forbids it, ‘Yes.’ If he says ‘Get up,’ ‘Yes.’ If he orders ‘Go to bed,’ that too is ‘Yes.’”

“Even if he manipulates someone every which way, doing exactly as he likes, he’s still not satisfied—then if he forbids me from talking with you, Yoshino, how could I possibly speak calmly and comfortably?”

“Who do you think came up with all this ‘guard your virtue’ and ‘obey your husband’ nonsense? I don’t know what warped logic they used—but really, who decided such things?”

“Once you’ve had a wedding ceremony, they brand you as damaged goods and label divorce a woman’s shame. They deny people control over their own bodies—force you to stay by someone you loathe your whole life, suffering worse than death. What kind of logic is that? It makes no sense at all!”

“It’s not as if there was some divine revelation from the gods or Buddhas, you know. If humans originally invented these things, then we’re all the same—anyone could take secret lovers or elope as they please! Once someone proclaimed this and society accepted it, chaste women and virtuous wives might instead be scorned with a flick of the fingernail.”

“And what possible virtue gives my husband the right to decide my freedom? He’s completely made me his own and bound my body, hasn’t he? If they say it’s because they let me eat—even if I did needlework alone, I wouldn’t struggle to make a living. Hey, Yoshino... Yoshino, I’m talking to you.”

The boy, profoundly at a loss for a response, listened without uttering a word.

Eleven

Otei continued to speak with even stronger emphasis,

“Isn’t this just self-serving logic? If *I* had begged him to become my husband, then sure—I could endure anything without complaint. But between my husband and me—listen, Yoshino—he didn’t take a wife; *I* was made into a wife by him.”
“There’s no reason for me to shrink myself, agreeing to everything—no obligation to obey, nor any need to uphold chastity, is there?”

“Even with you, Yoshino—it’s no different.”
“Just because we’ve grown close doesn’t make it strange, does it?”
“When that commotion happened recently and you ran off—even then, my husband kept making difficult remarks. So I told him: ‘Yes, Yoshino and I have become like brother and sister.’”
“‘I don’t know what bond ties us,’ I said, ‘but when I style my hair in the Ginkgo Leaf Hairstyle, he claims I resemble his late sister—and since he adores her so dearly, calling me “Sister” over and over, I can’t help but feel affection.’ I thought this explanation sounded reasonable enough, but they rejected it outright—‘Strangers acting as siblings? Absurd!’”
“Even Uncle and Aunt who were there said the same: ‘Hmph—you think society would accept such nonsense?’”
“‘Of all ways to phrase it—what brother and sister?!’ they scoffed.”
“How utterly infuriating!”
“Yoshino—even if I were to sleep holding you, as long as we remain chaste, what does it matter? Let my husband say whatever he likes—I couldn’t care less!”

Otei, having spoken thus—her complexion flushed, vigorous, appearing quite resolute—suddenly let her tone drop,

“But even though I say this, Yoshino—society just doesn’t make sense.”

“Even if Yoshino and I were utterly blameless, society would never believe it—they’d settle on ‘Hmph, siblings in name only’ with the finality of a feudal decree!”

“It’s not that my husband is at fault, nor that Yoshino and I are to blame—it’s simply society that’s wrong.”

“No matter how innocent we two may be—even if our hearts were pure as snow—society would trample them under muddy feet and soil them.”

“Speaking of snow—you see, when winter comes and snow falls, this house here has fields out back, so the gate won’t open at all. It’s such a bother.”

“Logically, if it were just snow piled against the fence, you could force it open. But when it keeps falling endlessly from those fields beyond—all that force combining into one—it presses inward from outside.”

“Why—no matter what I say—I can’t speak up to society.”

“If it were a man’s strength—who knows—but when a woman tries to force it open, she’d just run out of breath. But since you say you’ll become an officer, Yoshino, when you rise to general or such rank, you could use that power to defeat society however much you like and silence them completely. But as things stand now—just the two of us—there’s nothing we can do.”

“Or if the gods and buddhas would lend us their aid and strength—but such wishes won’t be granted.”

“You may laugh at me for acting like a granny—though someone like you wouldn’t have such concerns—but if you were to lose a beloved child, you’d naturally start thinking about the afterlife too.”

“Even a great bishop—once he starts listening to the sermons my husband recommends—goes on pilgrimages and seeks teachings here and there, you know.”

“It’s all things that make perfect sense, yet even if you defy society, they never let you hear of any divine favor coming from it.”

If one tries to defy this society—strong as snow pressing against a door—the weak will just end up crushed.
Then there’s nothing left but to die, is there?

I too truly want to die, but that too cannot be done, and lately, with this dear thing called Yoshino having come into my life, I’ve grown to despise the thought of death.
It really is!
Having a child I adore, the joy of conversing with Yoshino like this—as long as there are such pleasures, I can endure even the bitterest hardships.
After all, I’m spineless and defeated by society—so of course my husband values me. Even someone as detestable as him, who’s driven me to illness, can’t defy society. Even if he resolves to cut our ties, I’ll let him vent whatever resentment he wants—but I won’t apologize and leave.

She clenched her teeth and sobbed.

Twelve

Otei, who for years had brooded alone and agonized alone, whose pent-up anguish in her heart had never once leaked even a fragment of itself, now laid it bare—her words tumbling out of order, their sequence jumbled, neither chaotic nor coherent—and so she continued to speak.

“Though I say it myself, this is just a woman’s grumbling.”
“As I said earlier—because there exists this thing called society, and since it’s not just about me alone—I’ve resigned myself and serve my husband, yet countless times a day I reach my limit.”

“You know this too, Yoshino.”
“Just the other day—wasn’t it?—when my husband’s friend came that evening. I’d been feeling poorly since morning and lay resting in the back room when they came barging in. With no other room available, I had no choice but to come out and sit here.”

The guest happened to be someone I utterly detested，and since he got along well with my husband，they were chatting away merrily．I already had a headache，but hearing their voices made me feel even worse—my chest ached，my sides stiffened，and gradually everything grew dim around me．
Because they said it was hot，they did not light the lamp．
“Feeling gloomy and starting to think all sorts of things until I couldn’t bear it anymore—I thought about lying down，but since he was right behind me，I couldn’t even sit up properly．So I considered going to the kitchen and lying on the wooden floor instead，but there were too many mosquitoes there．With no other choice，I went outside and crouched under the eaves crying—that’s when you came along and told me to come upstairs．When I quietly went up，well，the elderly lady kindly patted my chest，and I was so grateful and happy that in my heart I clasped my hands together in prayer．”

Thanks to that, her chest finally began to open, and just as she took a relieved breath—

"(Otei must be in a state of distress there.)" he thought, coming to the foot of the staircase landing—her husband had gone out of his way to call her.

Because I was so gloomy and irritated, I stayed silent without responding, and then Grandmother noticed—

“Come downstairs now—now—it’s bad if you don’t,” they had already surmised everything and gently urged me.

"I will stay here!" Otei clung to Grandmother’s knees in refusal.

Because they were still calling from below, Grandmother responded in my place.

“There now, there now,” she said in a low voice, stroking my back. With no other choice, I went downstairs—only to find the guest had already left, met instead by those reproachful eyes glaring back at me.

With no vacant rooms available, we ended up in a bind during such times.
If that were taken the wrong way, it would be a problem.

It wasn’t as if I’d lent the second floor to Yoshinosuke for no reason—though it sounded awful to say—but I’d hated this house from the very start.

The water was foul, and the drainage area was a wetland—perpetually soggy, making it downright unpleasant.
When the snow melted, the garden became full of water.
Then from spring to summer, the plum tree became infested with caterpillars.

Moreover, the entire house was gloomy. Leaving it open allowed a clear view from the street to the back rooms—and since this was such a rundown area hereabouts, no—the neighbors were always prying: “What’s going on over there?” “Look at that!” They even knew what we were having for dinner.
Five or six detestable cats—since there were so many strays—lumbered in, brazenly clambered up, and weren’t the gentle sort to flee when chased.

“The neighbor’s kittens—mere kittens though they are—since the well is shared between our two households, come squeezing through gaps in the fence and go meowing all over the tatami mats and wooden floors.

Since they’re the neighbor’s cats, and that wife of theirs isn’t exactly reasonable, we can’t just shoo them away—people would say things like ‘They’re your cats too!’ So if we give them dried fish two or three times, they settle down for a bit, but then they cling and pester even more… Yoshino, could that be what they call cat pox or something?

Their bodies are covered in sores, each oozing pus—as if their fur has fallen off, exposing raw flesh. So filthy you can’t even touch them.

You see, last night they got into the mosquito net again and licked my feet while I was sleeping.

What cruel fate—now even cats are plaguing me utterly.”

She declared abruptly, as though hurling them.
She gave a wry smile and muttered.

“It really is more laughter than tears.”

Thirteen

When Otei’s words ceased, Yoshinosuke—who until then had not uttered a word while savoring her tale and wandering through moral deliberations—burst into raucous laughter as if struck by some thought.

“Ha ha ha, Sister—you’re all bark at home but no bite abroad.”

Otei had a look of surprise on her face.

“Yoshino, what do you mean by ‘a lion at home and a mouse abroad’?”

“But even though you’re so resolute—what I can’t understand is how when someone slides open the door, you jump like you’ve been struck! The way your whole body freezes—what does that mean? If someone barged in while we’re talking during Beard’s absence, sure—you might flinch at what you call ‘society’s judgment.’ But seeing you now—it’s not just then. It’s always like this—isn’t that absurd?”

“And here’s the contradiction—you shrink like a frightened mouse before Beard. He says one word and you gasp like your breath’s been stolen—yet here with me? You talk like you’ve tasted life’s bitterness and sweetness—like he’s not worth three coppers to you. I drove off Chotto Kosa with leftover bath money—but you price him cheaper still.”

“Yet out there—‘Mrs. Nishimura’s so admirable! Not like modern women at all! She tends her husband like a new bride! Any lady would lie not to follow her example—a model of virtue!’ But then they whisper: ‘What a waste for Nishimura!’ That’s what they say now.”

“If that’s how it stands—why tremble so before society? That’s why I say it—you’re a lion at home and a mouse abroad, Sister.”

Otei listened to the guiltless criticism with a faint smile，then abruptly stood and went to the shop．She peered left and right along the street，returned to her former seat to glance around her surroundings，stretched up onto the wooden floor，scrutinized the kitchen and other areas from the backyard in meticulous detail，and finally settled back into her seat．

“It’s like this，Yoshino．”

The voice that had spoken now trembled abruptly．

“I’m speaking to you as Yoshino，so please listen with that in mind．”

“I… Is that all right?”

“Please listen with that in mind．”

“As for me—I don’t know exactly when it began—but with one thing after another piling up，husband—husband—if only he would…”

If only he would die.
If only he would die.
If only he would die.
If only he would die.

That’s how I came to think.
Ah, how deeply sinful—cursing him is no different.
Is he my parents’ enemy or something? To think “If only he would die” of someone who cares for me more than most—what a perverse notion—yet even when I reproach myself, I still can’t help thinking it.

That thought grew ever more consuming—from morning till night, even in sleep, I could think of nothing else. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t rid myself of it. Though I felt no guilt afterward, whether occupied by tasks or by him, not for a moment did that thought leave me.
It’s always on my mind—no matter what I do, nothing gets done. When I sit still, lost in thought, it’s even worse—I can think of nothing else.
Ah—as someone’s wife, what monstrous thoughts these are! Tormented by the demon in my heart, I find no peace even for a moment, my chest always pounding.

As for why that was—it was because I felt terrified that someone might discover what lay in my heart. Above all, every time my husband looked at me, those eyes seemed to pierce right through to my very core, and I couldn’t help but tremble. When someone called out “Sada,” I immediately thought the next words would be—“You must be eagerly awaiting my death”—and I couldn’t help gasping. So when someone mentioned something unrelated, I’d heave a sigh of relief—and in that rush of gladness, I found myself bustling about with chores or whatever came to hand.

And when I sit here like this, alone with my thoughts, inside my head spins round and round this phrase—“If only he would die”—and before my eyes swirls something terrifying, a demon or a serpent or some unspeakable horror that even I can see, so that I frighten myself and end up chanting Kannon-sama’s name.
If the door were suddenly clattered open like that, how could I not panic?
"(Ah, they’ve found me out!)"—I felt like I was already dead!

It was so worrying, so worrying—I desperately wanted to forget it—so I made a racket over nothing and laughed. To outsiders, I must have seemed to be having such fun, but inside I wanted to cry.
Afterward, I grew even more despondent, and when I sank dejectedly into thought, the usual (If only he would die) seemed to appear again.

Because it was unbearably frightening, I prayed to Kannon-sama that these thoughts would disappear—but perhaps because my sin was deep, they only grew stronger day by day.

Whether it was my imagination or not, my husband’s complexion grew worse by the day, his strength gradually failing—and when I thought, *Is my wish reaching him?* I could no longer sit still or rise in peace.

So whenever my husband’s illness acted up, I jolted into thinking—*I must cure this no matter what, or I’ll curse him to death*—and even if it was nothing serious, I nursed him without sleeping a wink. Yet when I administered the doctor’s medicine myself, it seemed to turn to poison instead—for half a day or so, I was frantic, thinking *Any moment now, the medicine’s poison will course through him, and he’ll cough up blood!* How could I not worry during that time!

But even so, when it came to what I thought about, it was no different at all—*If only he would die.* And the reason I wanted him to recover quickly was precisely because I thought *If only he would die.*

“You see, Yoshino—you understand now, don’t you? My heart’s so overwhelmed I can’t even speak—for pity’s sake, just infer my meaning. Oh, Yoshino—what ever am I to do about you now?”

And how her body trembled with heartrending vulnerability!

Otei's heartfelt turmoil profoundly stirred the boy.
He found himself shedding silent tears.

"Ah, Sister is so pitiable!"
"I'll—I'll—I'll do something about it, so you mustn't die, Sister."

Otei, hearing this, delightedly took the boy’s hand firmly and,

“I’m so glad. Why on earth would I kill myself when society and my husband as my spouse torment me like this?”
“If I let myself be bullied to death and lose, that’s cowardly.”
“I’m so spineless.”
“It’s fine—you don’t need to worry about that.”
“I’m alive, if only to keep up appearances.”
“Even if ten or twenty times more hardships and sorrows were to come, I’d endure them and not die.” Yet even as I declare this with resolve, being unable to die is my cruel fate.”

Tears welled up in the glistening eyes of the boy who watched her.

At that moment, an old woman’s voice came from the second floor.

“Yoshi, dear—have you returned?”
“Oh—it’s Grandmother.”
“Yes—just now.”

Fourteen

The boy climbed about two steps up the staircase platform when—turning to look—he started in surprise.
Tokihiko returned home and was already standing at the upper entrance.
It must have been the moment I rose from my seat.
In the blink of an eye—whether thought or seen—the boy’s quick wit had him peer downward,
“Madam—it’s already late.”
“Ah.”
Otei stood up but suddenly staggered,
rising and sitting.
As she restlessly glanced around her surroundings,
Tokihiko remained standing on the dirt floor,
solemnly retrieving his pocket watch from his obi
and scrutinizing it with care—
not once lifting his gaze to the boy.

“It is six o’clock minus fifty-nine minutes.”

“Han-sama.”

And the boy ascended to the second floor with loud footsteps.

Tokihiko put away his watch.
Neither fully rising nor settling into sitting, he faced his wife in a sunken tone,

“Sada, get the bedding ready. I’m feeling unwell.”
“Sada, get the bedding ready. I’m feeling unwell.”

The face was like dead ashes.

Fifteen

Tokihiko did not rise again from that time onward; the tuberculosis patient’s condition worsened past summer, and by late autumn, all hope of recovery had vanished.

Throughout this period, the heartfelt nursing care that Otei devoted herself to was indeed enough to move the neighbors.

Since her husband’s condition had become critical, she had not slept a wink for nearly a month; especially of late, she had not once closed her eyes for seven days straight. She forsook tea and prayed to the gods.
She forsook salt and beseeched Buddha.
Yet even as she administered medicine to her husband or massaged his aching limbs, the thought of loathing Tokihiko to the extreme and yearning for his swift death did not leave her mind for an instant.
So deeply ingrained was this desire that even as she shortened years of her own lifespan, offered up her own body as a sacrifice to the gods, clasped her hands in prayer, closed her eyes, and entreated for her husband’s recovery, the wish for his death still stubbornly obstructed the sanctity of her devotion.

Her husband’s decline grew more pronounced by the day—all of this stemming from her own resolve, she thought. In the dead of night, with the neighborhood hushed and the world submerged in silence, they had replaced the oil lamp with a dim andon for the patient’s sake. No wind seeped through the gaps to stir even a flicker in the motionless lamplight. Peering through that stagnant glow at the patient’s face—as still as a corpse—Otei turned away, burying her chin deep into her collar. Here and now, her desire for Tokihiko’s death blazed so fiercely she could scarcely restrain herself.
If left unchecked, bizarre visions flickered before her eyes—each time they sizzled like sparks and violated her husband’s skin, thick moans would cease abruptly only to resume thinly, their long, ghostly wails piercing Otei’s ears until she could only think *This can’t be—* as she feared herself, mourned herself, wept and raged and repented, nearly losing all sense of self when—

“Otei.”

In a single utterance, Tokihiko called her name in a gloomy, sunken tone without even lifting his head from the pillow.

The moment she heard this voice—as if doused with a bucket of ice—the blood throughout her body cooled, and Otei—

“Yes.”

Otei trembled.

Tokihiko said in a sunken tone,

“You’ve stopped drinking tea lately.”

“No—there’s no need for you to mind such things.”

she murmured faintly and pressed her chest.

Tokihiko lay on his back, the collar of his nightclothes reaching up to his chin, and gazed narrowly at the ceiling.

“You seem to have given up salt too.”
“Since the day before yesterday, you haven’t eaten rice either—what exactly is your intention?”

*To cure you*—though her conscience would not permit her to say it—Otei hung her head and fell silent.

“The light’s dim—stir it up.”
“You’ve grown so dreadfully thin and forlorn—looking like a ghost no doubt from this dim andon lamp. Hmm.”

“Yes.”

Otei, hearing *ghost* uttered in midnight’s depth, felt cold pierce through marrow and bone.
Shuddering, she edged closer and stirred the lamp’s wick-flame alight.

“What exactly do you intend to accomplish by weakening your body like this?”
“Hmm, Otei.”

Unable to conceal the deeply rooted questioning, Otei replied in an exceedingly small voice,

“You know well, sir.”

“Hmm, I know every single thing you’ve been up to.”

“What?”

Otei recoiled.

“You go so far as to abstain from tea and salt for my sake, yet why don’t I die quickly?”

Otei, upon hearing this, wore a look of disillusionment.

Tokihiko’s tone calmed.

“If you keep thinking it’d be better if I died quickly, why put on such an act?”

he said with a laugh in his voice.
Otei was nearly driven mad.

The patient continued calmly,

“What—there’s no need to be so startled. This isn’t something that began just yesterday or today, but Otei, you’re a far more terrifying woman than I ever imagined. If you want to kill someone because they’re detestable—utterly detestable—I could find a way to accept that. But ‘Just die already’ is truly cruel. Because there’s a rule in this world that if someone kills a person, they too must die—so by throwing oneself into it, meaning by dying oneself, one can then kill that detestable wretch. There is no one who does not value their life—for the desire to live is humanity’s foremost purpose—and those who cast aside that life have already abandoned all hope; ’tis such people who deserve pity.”

“Yours isn’t like that. ‘Just die already’—that’s what you think. You kill someone spiritually without facing any consequences, then under broad daylight, after the loathsome one dies exactly as you wished, you’d become utterly free to indulge every whim: living in luxury all by yourself, enjoying life to the fullest, or doing improper things with your dear Yoshinosuke… You’re harboring such disgraceful thoughts—in other words, you still cling to hope.”

“While praying for someone’s death and scheming about future pleasures—does such a brazen creature even exist?

I will never forgive you.

To have you commit such an outrageous act against me—well, I’m a man; I won’t die biting my fingers.

I’ve always believed this, but I can no longer overcome this tuberculosis—no, rather, I’ve been defeated by you.

In that case, Otei—even if I conclude you’re killing me through a curse—there’s no escaping it.”

“I’ve resigned myself from the start to having no chance of survival—but Otei, I cannot accept you getting your wish and then basking freely under the clear sky, free from consequence.”

“To say this may sound unmanly, but there is absolutely no self-serving logic in committing a sin without consequence and then seeking comfort afterward. Nor am I the kind to let that happen.”

“Otei, you must not apologize. You have no need to apologize, nor do I acknowledge any necessity to hear one. If you think saying ‘I was wrong’ and apologizing will settle everything—if you believe hearing an apology will bring resolution—with such carefree thoughts, you’ll never grasp what I’m saying. Whatever one does—there’s a corresponding reward for it! Not too much, not too little—just the right amount! You’d better believe that! Understand, Otei…… Otei.”

Growing slightly agitated and choking as though on the verge of collapse, he endured the agony for a time—then vomited blood with a gurgling violence.

Whenever such incidents occurred, Otei would turn ashen as if struck by a blade, cling to him, and yet find herself unable to move a muscle.

The patient embraced his own chest, closed his eyes for a long while, and with his voice growing particularly hoarse,

“To put it this way—though you may resent that even a criminal who killed their parent by kicking could at least offer an explanation—the crimes debated in court are ones the prisoner must take responsibility for.”

“Even if you make excuses now and resolve to be kind from today onward, it holds no benefit for me, who am beyond saving. Once I die, you’ll simply bask in the clear light of day, doing as you please and enjoying yourself.”
“I won’t let you have it that easily.”
“Don’t you dare spout excuses.”
“I’m not the sort to listen.”
“And you’re no different.”
“Aren’t you a woman with the audacity to think something even worse than murder—‘Just die already’?”
“Get a grip!”
“Yes, Otei.”

Otei abruptly raised her face,

“Yes, I will never make excuses.”

she declared resolutely, the cloudiness in both eyes clearing away.
A ray of morning light swept off the frost, and the narcissus stood resolute all at once.

The patient nodded contentedly.

“Very well, listen carefully, Otei.”
“To wait day after day for someone’s death while plotting future pleasures—that’s a cunning scheme.”
“Think about it.”
“You must have countless debts to me in terms of human compassion.”
“That—those very debts.”
“Now repay them to me.”
“I will claim them by all means.”

Unfazed by the terrifying voice, Otei leaned forward on one knee and, without bothering to conceal the exhaustion from nursing, adjusted her disheveled collar while straightening her posture and turning her face toward him,

“Husband, how am I to repay them?”

“Let’s get a divorce.”
“Let’s get a divorce right here and now.”
“Abandon me here on the brink of death, take Yoshinosuke’s hand, and go off to some hot spring to recuperate.”
“But since you’re a daughter of a proper household—if you say you can’t leave, well then, there’s no need to go anywhere. Just carry me off—this bedridden wreck who can’t even turn over without getting bedsores—take me with Yoshinosuke and dump me at Obasuteyama. There—either way suits me.”
“Just let it be known to society that ‘a wife has abandoned her dying husband,’ and if everyone in the world treats you accordingly, then so be it—so be it.”
“At least that way you’d be repaying some of your debts.”

However, this was something she could not do.
She was so mindful of societal judgment that even during my healthy days, she wouldn’t have breathed a word of such things.
If she were capable of such a thing, she would have already divorced long ago.
“Hmm, Otei—how about it? Or can you abandon me and get a divorce?”

Otei did not even pause to consider,

“Yes, I cannot do such a thing.”

The patient bore an expression that seemed to say, *I thought as much*.

“In that case, Otei—before I perish from your rancor… kill me.”

he said quietly.

“What? You…!”

“Yes, me.”
“Otei, don’t resort to underhanded ploys—slay me openly and become society’s condemned husband-murderer.”
“Otei, you shall become a husband-killer.”
“Yes, Otei.”

Abandon me or slaughter me—hmm, don’t you dare refuse to choose!
“If you don’t repay your debts somehow, isn’t that too ungrateful for my spiritual merit?”
“No—this isn’t about debts existing or not!”
“If you don’t do this, I shan’t forgive you.”
“Hmm, Otei—which will it be? Kill me or I’ll cast you out through divorce!”

he commanded with grave solemnity.
Otei bore a resolute expression,

“You… How dare you say such a thing to me?”

She asked resolutely in a trembling voice.

“Yes, there is.”

As he declared resolutely, the patient remained haughty.

Otei—in the same state as when her nerves would occasionally fray, her head as if splitting apart, legs trembling, hands shaking, face deathly pale while her body burned with feverish intensity—stood there dazed and vacant, nearly unconscious yet with an air of profound intent. She focused every ounce of her being into her eyes, not even blinking as she fixed her gaze with such intensity it could make one's hair stand on end. Unmoving, she stared at Tokihiko's lifeless face until suddenly she collapsed, shuddering violently before lunging at her husband like a wild thing. A blood-curdling scream pierced the night—

“I’ll kill you, Husband… I…”

With a wail, she burst into tears—as though hurled down—stiffened against the shoji screen, rushed out, groped through the dark kitchen, and seized a weapon.

Tokihiko lay as before with the quilt pulled halfway over his face, gazing at the ceiling on his back. He showed no sign of turning toward her—utterly still and cold, not even stirring his kimono sleeves.

Gentlemen, should you ever travel to Hokuriku and happen to pass through Kanazawa in days to come, if those of curious inclination among you would deign to ask a passerby about the Ghostly Ginkgo Inn—
be sure to inquire thus.
Whether old or young, they will all nod in immediate agreement and obligingly show you the way.
Go there, stay one night, and take heed once you have retired to bed.

In a spacious inn with few guests, when the midnight bell tolled ominously and a chilling gust seeped into one’s bones, resounding footsteps broke the silence as they approached from the far end of the long corridor, and a black figure swiftly cast its shadow upon the shoji screen—a phantom apparition peering at your slumber, gentlemen.
At that moment, you were not to make a sound.
If you so much as coughed, the eerie apparition would vanish immediately.
Were you to stealthily observe, as the shoji slid swiftly open, the figure with the Ginkgo Leaf Hairstyle would enter backward and approach your bedside.
In that instant, upon glimpsing that pale, delicate visage, would you not have found yourself shuddering involuntarily?
The aforementioned ghost blew out the lantern’s flame; the sound of footsteps running through the dark grew distant, ever distant, until reaching the far end of the long corridor—there they halted abruptly.

The night deepened further; in the cold wind, fearing the return of the mysterious figure, you gentlemen would stay awake through the night.

When dawn came, you were to meet with the innkeeper and inquire about last night’s strange occurrence.
The innkeeper would remain silent and say nothing.
You were to ask again, press him further, press him harder still.
Unable to refuse, he would sorrowfully recount the truth.

Would merely hearing leave you unsatisfied? Then you were to ask the innkeeper to take you to a room.
Through gaps in the outer door, you could glimpse the figure with the Ginkgo Leaf Hairstyle lying facedown in the sealed dark room—her back and skirt so motionless they might as well have been a corpse’s remains.
This chaste wife who had killed her husband had been acquitted by the court of law on grounds of insanity; the innkeeper was her uncle.

However, even if attempts were made to enter the room and see her face, the innkeeper would stubbornly refuse.
Gentlemen, if you have tears, do not force them.
For this was why Otei—driven mad by shame at having her husband-killer’s face seen by the people of this world—had long sealed herself within this dark room.
Trembling in fear, she avoided sunlight; were someone to forcibly open the door and let a beam of light pour onto her skin, she would collapse on the spot and all would come to an end.

Such was her aversion to light.
Thus, even a single wisp of lamplight in the dead of night filled Otei with such dread that she extinguished it without fail.

She was buried alive in darkness.
Though she is a wife who killed her husband, gentlemen, I beg you to forgive her.
Do not dare expose her to sunlight and strike down this pitiable chaste wife.
However, having seen only her form and not her face, you gentlemen must surely find this unsatisfactory.
However, here lies a boy—tenfold, twentyfold, nay, a hundredfold more dissatisfied than you gentlemen.
He desired to see not the living Otei but rather her sister’s ghost—and yet even that he could not obtain.

Meiji 29 (1896), February