Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

When the bride moved from the banquet hall to the retiring room to perform the wedding cup ceremony, the attendant suddenly caught sight of her face and gasped.

Her face lacked almost any vitality, as though she might stiffen at any moment, yet this agitated state made the attendant uneasy; even so, she continued offering the change of garments.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

she asked in a hushed voice.

The bride turned her frigid eyes and looked at the attendant.

“What.”

Having dismissed the question with only that single word, she neither moved her body nor shifted her gaze, staring fixedly at some distant point where her thoughts lay—whether it was changing robes, tightening obi, adjusting collars, or aligning hems, all were entrusted to others’ hands.

The attendant, alarmed by the bride’s abnormal demeanor, fidgeted anxiously for reasons unknown.

“This way.”

Following those words without hesitation, she quietly walked down the corridor and was soon led to the bedroom.

In the bedroom, the groom was already present, waiting for the bride to arrive.
He was an army captain whose name was Kondo Shigetaka.
The ceremony need not be elaborated upon; the matchmaker’s wife withdrew, and all the attendants retired.

Alone now in the bedchamber, the two faced each other—the bride sat rigidly upright, her body tensed as if carved from stone, gazing directly at her husband’s face with neither warmth nor modesty in her bearing.

The captain crossed his arms, his posture equally unyielding; for nearly five minutes, their eyes remained locked in mutual scrutiny until finally, the husband spoke first in a solemn voice:

“Oto.”

He called out only that—

The bride’s name was Oto.

In response,

“Yes.”

That was all.
She spoke clearly.

The captain, as though forcibly calming his thickly agitated chest, spoke in a deep, forceful tone—

“You actually took me as your wife.”

Oto did not hesitate in the slightest,

"There was nothing to be done."

The captain remained silent for a while, then slightly raised his voice.

“Hey, what of Kenzaburo?”

“He is well.”

“You managed to part ways with him after all.”

“Because there was no other way.”

“Why was there no other way?”
“Hmm.”

Oto did not answer this, instead reaching into her pocket to take out a letter, which she spread open before her husband before properly placing both hands on her knees.
The captain extended his right hand, pulled the lamp closer to himself, and fixed his eyes to read through it.

The text was as follows.

I humbly leave this message for Oto: You and Lord Kondo Shigetaka are betrothed.

However, as your marked aversion toward that man appeared to this humble person’s eyes—though you are a woman, the reason proved too difficult to explain—I remained silent until my final moments.

However, once I had humbly promised the matter of kinship, it brought shame upon Lord Shigetaka’s honorable ancestors; now you must become a pitiful sacrifice without alteration—to entrust yourself to that man for the sake of this humble person’s name—and with the heartfelt anguish I bore when drafting this will, I humbly apologize to you.

Month Day Kiyokawa Tsuuchi

Oto-dono

After reading it two or three times over, the Captain’s countenance changed.

“Oto, I am your husband.”

Oto heard this and did not steady her hands.

“Yes, I am your wife.”

At that moment, the Captain arrogantly looked down upon Oto as she kept her face lowered,

"You will surely obey what I say."

She kept her head lowered,

"No—unless you compel me to obey, it cannot be done."

The captain’s eyebrows did not twitch.

“Hmm.
However, Oto—now that you’ve taken me as husband—you will keep a wife’s fidelity.”

Oto jerked her face upward,

“No—if I can manage it, I’ll shatter it.”

The captain’s fury stabbed through his breast like wildfire—

“What?!”

And he made himself repeat those words once more.
Oto did not flinch, showed not a trace of fear—

“Yes. For me… For me… There exists no such duty as having to maintain fidelity—so if I can manage it, I will break it!”

She declared boldly, without a trace of fear, a smile playing on one cheek.

The captain immediately nodded.
Having already calculated this in his heart—the extremity of heat having turned to cold—his speech became utterly composed,

"Hmm. I will make sure you keep your fidelity."

He sneered at the edge of his lips.

II

Aimoto Kenzaburo was alone in Kiyokawa’s study. He stared vacantly at one corner of the room, silent and lost in thought. Before his study’s veranda hung an exquisitely crafted birdcage containing a pure white parrot that had grown tired of pecking at its food; tilting its head left and right with a lonely air as it watched Kenzaburo’s back. The room had been quiet for some time when Kenzaburo turned his refined face toward the parrot—looking deeply lost in thought, as if troubled or apprehensive, or perhaps wary of being overheard—and called out once: “Biwa.” Biwa must indeed have been the parrot’s name. Just as he blew a low whistle—

“Tsu-chan, Tsu-chan.”

As the crying voice pierced through the depths of the study—its peculiar tone reverberating—Kenzaburo was overcome with sorrow and could not hold back his tears.

Biwa had long been kept at the Kiyokawa household.
Between Oto and her cousin Kenzaburo, it had fostered their affectionate bond.
For there was no other means—when Oto, as the household’s beloved daughter living in separate rooms while managing domestic affairs before being wedded to Kondo—whenever Kenzaburo needed to meet her for some purpose, just as he had done moments prior, he would call to Biwa in her cage and blow a whistle in this manner. Having been trained to relay messages with its crystalline voice crying “Tsu-chan, Tsu-chan,” Biwa would lift her voice two or three times as she did now. Meanwhile, the woman sewing silently in the curtained depths would set down her ruler, lay aside her needle, and immediately come to Kenzaburo—exchanging smiles as was their custom.

Now, it was gone.
Though knowing it was futile, Kenzaburo could not help but repeat this fruitless childish game day after day and night after night.

Now, around that time—the time when the expedition to Qing had been launched—it was precisely when conscription orders for the reserve and auxiliary forces had been issued.

Aimoto Kenzaburo, too, having been enrolled as a reserve soldier under our nation’s conscription laws, had already entered his regiment a week prior. Since the brigade was to depart for the front the very next day of that month and date, and considering the sentiments of relatives and family heads, he had been granted a day’s leave from camp. Though an orphan without parents or other dependents, he had come here since morning to meet the aunt who had raised him from childhood—whom he regarded as a mother—to lament their impending long parting. Yet all they had spoken of and heard could not fill the span of that endless summer day. As the hour for his return to camp drew near, Kenzaburo stiffened in his military uniform and hesitated on the verge of taking his leave.

There was an item in the study; having forgotten to place it in his helmet bag, he who had already reached the entrance turned back alone to the study.

The aunt and her servants were all gathered at the entrance, each bearing a sorrowful expression.
Those awaiting the man bound for the hail of bullets—who should have arrived any moment—found five minutes passing, then ten, yet still he did not come from the study. As they each privately wondered what Kenzaburo could be doing, a sound came from the distant depths of the silent, spacious house—

“Tsu-chan, Tsu-chan.”

At the parrot’s cry—a sound so familiar—the aunt’s expression changed in that moment alone, and she hurriedly arrived at the study.

Kenzaburo had Biwa call out Oto’s name, but the one who should have come was not there. Though this was usual, as tomorrow he would depart for the battlefield—and this was a voice he could neither see nor hear again—even as he set out with resolve, he found himself involuntarily tearing up.

At that moment, there came the sound of footsteps on the veranda.
When Kenzaburo stood up—not wanting to be seen with an effeminate demeanor—the aunt had already hurried over and abruptly opened the cage door.

In the blink of an eye—amidst startled gazes—Biwa flapped its wings high and fled the cage.

“Oh!”
“What are you doing?”

Kenzaburo hurriedly asked.
The aunt did not look back toward him, gazing instead at Biwa’s path as she stood on the veranda—whether at pitiful remnants of snow lingering among tree branches or the white parrot flickering in and out of view amid shadowed emerald foliage—and when a cicada let out a single cry, she wiped her tears with her hand before slowly turning to face Kenzaburo.

“No—it’s just that lingering attachments are dangerous. I thought it best not to hear that voice anymore.……”

The aunt swallowed a sob.

Kenzaburo wore a look of shame.
Without giving an answer, he fastened the buttons on his chest.

“I shall take my leave now.”

He stomped out of the study.
The aunt kept pace at his left side as they walked, speaking hurriedly:

“Now listen—you won’t renege on what we settled earlier?”

“What do you mean?
Are you referring to your suggestion that I visit Ms. Oto before departing?”

Aimoto Kenzaburo stopped.

“Ah—that matter! You, someone going off to the army—could you possibly have any other wish?”

“That’s quite a problem.”
“It’s five ri to that place.”
“This morning I rushed there by rickshaw, but they said they wouldn’t let me meet her at all, so I lost all desire to go.”
“There’s no time left now.”
“Even reaching the barracks in thirty minutes would take a mad dash.”
“I’ve lingered here far too long.”

Before he could finish listening, the aunt grew slightly impatient,

“I’ve heard your excuses, but try putting yourself in a woman’s place! She’s been shoved into that backwater for over a year—not a single outing allowed—clinging to life by a thread just for the chance to see you. If you leave without even showing your face, she’ll truly die.”
“You’re being utterly thoughtless.”

As she seized his military uniform and would not let go, Kenzaburo struggled in distress,

“What you say isn’t unreasonable, but to meet her now, I would have to desert.”

“Ha! Desertion or whatever—just go!”
“Oto’s so pitiful—please, I beg you.”

With one hand gripping the sleeve of his military uniform and the other raised in desperate prayer, Kenzaburo turned pale,

“Well, whatever becomes of me—I don’t care about honor or anything—but then… then I would be neglecting my duty as a citizen.”

But how could his earnest, strong voice ever reach his aunt’s ears? She shook her head vehemently,

"I don’t care what gets neglected!"
"No matter what happens—just this one glimpse! I beg you!"
"I beg you!"
"Go meet her for her sake!"

"But not that."

As Kenzaburo kept refusing, the aunt finally erupted in anger, her face turning crimson,

“So, no matter what I say, you won’t agree? You think it’s fine to refuse because I’m alone—if Uncle were here, you’d never dare say such a thing! What? You—saying that again like your constant refrain! You’re always making grand promises about repaying the debt of being raised, yet—! When I’m pleading this much, do you think your obligations are fulfilled? It’s too much—too much!”

Kenzaburo could find no words to defend himself, sank into thought for a moment with his head lowered, and while patting his aunt’s back—

“Very well.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes and meet her without fail.”

At these words, the aunt looked up, her face brightening with joy, yet growing uneasy at the unnatural pallor of Kenzaburo’s complexion,

“Are you certain about this?
“You’re not unwell or anything?”

“No—there’s no need for concern.”

He smiled with lonely eyes.

III

“Madam, where are you going?”

Suddenly halted from behind—she who had stealthily slipped out unnoticed and now reached the doorway—Oto gasped, her breath catching sharp.

Yet pretending not to hear, she fumbled with the lock when—an old man clutching a hand lantern rushed out, seized her waistband with a gnarled grip, and hauled her back.

His hair silvered, forehead domed high, beard patchy—a face carved severe—he growled at Oto: “Madam! This midnight foolishness ends here! Abandon this folly!”
“Mihara Dennai’s keepin’ watch—you ain’t budgin’ an inch.”
“Tryin’ tricks? Won’t work.”
“Why’d I let you out?”
“Get over here!”
“Said get over here!”

Oto sharply turned around,

“Let go! Me trying to step outside for a moment—it’s none of your concern! Let go of me, I say!”
“Let go of me already!”

“Ain’t happenin’.”
“Tryin’ to go meet ’em in the hemp field—ain’t gonna work.”
“Get over here now—I said!”

Oto moved shoulders.

"You—what about your master?"
"Haven't you gone a bit too far?"

"What do I care about the master or his damn loofahs? All I gotta do is follow Lord Shigetaka's orders proper—that's all that matters."
"Ain't no way I'm listenin' to whatever you say."

“You should temper your cruelty.”
“Haven’t you gone too far?”

Oto glared at the old man’s face with her dark, lustrous eyes.
Dennai stood unflinching,

“Cruel or callous—I don’t give a damn.”
“I just gotta follow Master’s orders proper—that’s all that matters.”

Seeing coercion would not work, Oto softened her tone,

“But surely you understand human feeling.”
“Just consider this.”
“Since he first knocked two nights ago—three full nights now—he’s been hiding in that hemp field without a morsel to eat. Even indoors it’d be misery enough, but with mosquitoes swarming—imagine!”
“He deserted his post.”
“You know as well as I—since dawn there’ve been endless search parties. If they catch him, it’s over.”
“What harm could it do? If I just glimpse him—if he glimpses me—it’s midnight! Midnight! The Master won’t know. But if you still refuse… Fine—even you’ll suffice. Listen—I’ve managed to prepare this meal for him in secret. Just take it to him quietly. Please—I implore you.”
“To endure such torment just to see me once—what must that be like for me?”
“Please—I can’t bear it another moment—sitting or standing, I can’t stay still.”
“I beg you—just deliver this.”

Dennai merely shook his head.

“Ain’t no use no matter what ya say.”
“That’s—no—it’s plumb impossible.”
“That’s exactly why the Master went and assigned guards to keep watch on ya.”

Oto, in a voice brimming with anguish,

“I-I know you’ve said that… Ah, there’s no way left to plead…”
“Then you—crush my eyes! If you do that, there’ll be no worry of me seeing his face.”

“That ain’t happenin’.”
“Lord Shigetaka’s strict orders are—keep close watch over your ladyship, not even lettin’ a flea near ya.”
“Crushin’ your eyes ain’t gonna solve nothin’.”
“What fool notion is this!”
“Even blindfolded, your ladyship could still yammer away.”
“Lord Shigetaka’s orders—no meetin’ menfolk nor lettin’ ’em talk.”
“Best give it up now.”
“No matter what you say, it ain’t gonna work.”

Oto’s chest felt ready to burst. “No!” she cried out, trembling bodily and shaking her shoulders,

“I— I’ll just kill ’im off!”

Dennai remained composed,

“Now you’re makin’ another impossible demand.”
“Not even lettin’ a flea bite ya—how’m I s’posed to kill ’im?”
“Quit yer whinin’ and get over here already.”
“The mosquitoes are terrible, ain’t they?”
“Ain’t they bitin’ you?”

“Oh, this isn’t just about mosquitoes biting.”
“You’re too cruel—cruel, cruel!”

“What’re you on about? Ain’t half as cruel as you make it out.”
“Ever since he started targetin’ this house, detectives’ve been sent here time an’ again.”
“Well, if I just tell ’em it’s the hemp field, he’ll get nabbed right away. Then I won’t have to lose a wink o’ sleep keepin’ watch over your ladyship—hell, might even get a reward.”
“Them fellas—Master ain’t ordered us to report nothin’, so I’ll just play dumb an’ push through.”
“But in return—well, I ain’t deviated a hair’s breadth from what I’ve been ordered to do.”
“Ain’t lettin’ nothin’ be taken outside.”
“Even if I gotta use brute force—ain’t lettin’ you meet ’im. So you’d best get that through yer head.”

Oto burst into loud sobs.

Dennai frowned,

“Oh? Crying now?”
“What’s got into you—this ain’t like you at all.”
“Your ladyship was driven out from that very spot on your weddin’ night without even beddin’ down proper, and now over a year’s passed—not even grabbin’ a tomcat, just holed up inside.”
“The order was ‘Don’t let ’er cross the threshold—keep sharp watch,’ see? Now I ain’t sayin’ I didn’t try to refuse—your ladyship’s pain cuts so deep, watchin’ you’s near unbearable. But this Master’s the third generation I’ve served—this old man’s been bred under ’em since forever. When they say ‘Turn sideways things upright,’ you obey. Sure, I bowed proper-like—but knowin’ you’d keep weepin’ away… felt my life shrink just thinkin’ on it.”
“Turns out it was easier than stewin’ over—you’ve stayed put in one place all this time, but I’m plumb amazed at how well you’ve given up.”
“Whether it’s my head playin’ tricks or not, she seems to be shrivelin’ bit by bit—though never once slouchin’, keepin’ herself square-shouldered and fiery. Me—well, the skylight’s been saggin’ lower. Huh—this here’s backcountry through ’n’ through.”
“Wherever I’ve been, there ain’t been no joy for this old coot—thinkin’ how dreary it all is, gettin’ right blue—but your ladyship, you’re one tough dame.”
“I figured she’d reached nirvana through nine years o’ wall-starin’—but here comes somethin’ no medicine bag can fix—your ladyship’s bawlin’ like I ain’t never seen.”
“I ain’t sayin’ I don’t grasp your feelin’s, but the Master—he ain’t replaceable.”
“Well, this ain’t your usual style at all.”
“Just quit fightin’ already, your ladyship.”
“Ain’t no use blubberin’ now you’ve gone ’n’ spilled your guts.”

As the old man had rightly said, Oto had now spent a full year confined in this isolated house—and never once had she ceased to express her anguish through tears, through words, through her very bearing, through the torment in her heart.
Her dignified composure was such that scarcely a hint of vulnerability could be discerned.
But once the foundation of a great boulder was overturned, it was not akin to pebbles tumbling.
For three days and nights he had hidden in the hemp fields, refusing even a grain of rice in his desperate bid to meet her once more—only to return as food for woodlice. Yet even Mount Tai itself could not withstand such agony endured by her beloved; Oto collapsed utterly.

“If you understand so well, then just for a little while—turn a blind eye and let me see.”

As she lost all sense of time and place in her panic, Dennai didn’t loosen his grip one bit.

“Hmm… Ain’t no sense to it. What kinda thing is this?”

Oto choked on her tears,

“Fine—no reason needed! Let me go—just let go—let me go!”

“If you won’t agree no matter what—goddammit—I’ll tie you up so you can’t move.”

Dennai let out a sharp breath.

Truly fitting of Kondo—in his extremity of obsession, he deemed that for a woman’s chastity to be truly devoted to him, she must guard an empty chamber her entire life; unless she could maintain fidelity without his presence for even a single moment, he would not acknowledge her as faithful to him. Though he knew from the start that Oto’s loathing for him surpassed even that for serpents and scorpions, he clung to her relentlessly as if bewitched—shattering the love that had already taken root between Oto and Kenzaburo to claim his sacrificial prize. Yet upon realizing how fiercely the cousins’ affection endured, his jealousy grew so intense that he suppressed all lustful intent; from their wedding night onward, he not only refrained from sharing her bed but never once visited his wife—choosing this old man as jailer to confine her in a solitary house.

Oto had no choice but to exert her utmost strength, briefly grappling with Dennai—but how could a woman too weak to withstand even the wind, her body emaciated by grief, possibly oppose his robust strength?

Effortlessly led deeper inside, she was forced down right there.

Oto concluded that no matter what means she employed, it was ultimately impossible to make this old man loyal to her.
The backlash of her fury, now grown heavy, plunged her into despondency. Oto collapsed without resistance, sighing sorrowfully.

“Old man, don’t go meddling.
“Please have mercy—I beg you, old man.”

As if overwhelmed by her own existence, she lay stiffly with her elbow as a pillow, her body seeming like cotton.

Upon hearing these words, Dennai’s sunken eyes welled with tears at once; he stepped back from where he sat, crossed his arms, clenched his fists, and said nothing.

The tolling of the bell was distant, and the night deepened.
When all sounds of heaven and earth had ceased, someone faintly knocked on the gate door,

“Tsu-chan… Tsu-chan.”

he called twice.

The moment Oto heard that voice, she sprang up like a coiled spring and planted one knee on the floor—but barred by Dennai’s watchful gaze, she could not answer.

Outside, the words had ceased; inside hung an air of taut vigilance.

“Tsu-chan… Even after all this, they still won’t let us meet—so I suppose there’s no use holding out hope…”

Breaths came ragged and faltering, seeping through the cracks—and Oto sat upright with stiff formality, hands pressed against the tatami as she listened with forced composure, her back shuddering, hair trembling faintly.

“The truth is… Aunt kept saying it couldn’t be helped—that she’d made it seem unavoidable—but I wanted to meet you… really… it was me.”

Just as he began to speak, two or three dogs barked loudly—might they have surrounded Kenzaburo?—and the sound of "Shoo! Shoo!" chasing him could be heard.

The tone having lowered further—feeble in the windless midnight—,

“The truth is… I forced Aunt into making it so we had no choice but to meet.”
“So you see—whatever becomes of me, I had to ensure she wouldn’t fret.”

At that very moment when he was saying this, there came a tremendous crashing sound against the large gate.

“Ah—ow!”

As for Kenzaburo’s cry—whether his leg had been bitten, his hand seized—was it not from being caught in the dogs’ vicious fangs? In the ensuing silence where words had been severed, Oto—overcome by unbearable emotion—involuntarily sprang up to rush out, but upon catching sight of Dennai with his shoulders and arms imposingly positioned, turned pale and froze in place.

Having seen this and heard him, Dennai—determined to intervene—abruptly rose to his feet in the earthen-floored entryway and reached for the latch.

“Alright—I can’t—can’t—can’t stand it! Now or never—let ’em meet!”

With a clang, he threw open the large gate—the corrugated-iron dogs swiftly retreated.

Dennai wedged his body between Oto, who clung desperately forward, and Kenzaburo—blocking the lieutenant’s attempt to stagger inside.

“Nah, ya ain’t gettin’ through that easy.”
“By the Master’s orders—long as this Mihara Dennai’s on watch—ain’t no crossin’ this threshold.”
“Wanna force yer way? Kill me.”
“Go on—slice me clean through.”
“Quit stallin’! When folks get this desperate—someone’s gotta die here.”
“Hah… Stabbin’ myself’d shame me before the Master.”
“Can’t face that shame—so I ain’t dyin’. Not dead yet? I’ll keep blockin’ ya.”
“Kill this nuisance—seventy-year-old man.”
“Ain’t worth sparin’, am I?”
“Do it.”
“Enough!”
“This gets us nowhere.”

Dennai spread open his collar with both hands, exposing his upturned Adam’s apple. Kenzaburo stared without blinking for a long moment—then the bayonet flashed once, cleaving through the darkness.

“Forgive me!”

With that cry still hanging in the air—the white blade lodged in his throat—Dennai went rigid.

At the same instant he tried to enter, Kenzaburo caught his foot on the threshold and collapsed face-down on the earthen floor, hands splayed out, unable to rise.
Oto, as though possessed, threw herself upon Kenzaburo,

“Kenzaburo… Kenzaburo… I… I wanted to see your face.”

As she clung to his shoulders and held his knees, at that very moment came the sound of boots and the clang of swords.
Five or six men burst in, wrested Kenzaburo—now barely conscious—from Oto’s grasp, and dragged him away without allowing protest. Oto sprang up with a cry of “Ah!” yet stood dazed—teeth clenched, eyes fixed—then staggered rigidly as they supported her shoulders and seized her arms.

“You—what will you do? Look—the thick one.”

This was her husband’s voice—seething with suppressed rage—that Oto had not heard even once since their wedding night.

IV

For deserting his post during deployment and committing murder, Kenzaburo was naturally executed by firing squad.

Even after Kenzaburo’s death, his familiar eight-mat study in the Kiyokawa residence remained unaltered from its former state.

With late autumn’s arrival, the rattan mat had been replaced by a resplendent floral carpet woven from autumnal field brocade and laid out in full splendor.

The flowers in the alcove vase showed no wilt; beneath west-facing lattice windows sat an immaculate desk—its inkstone lid dust-free—with a zabuton cushion laid before it; blackened fire tongs rested beside a paulownia brazier where charcoal embers burned bright.

On Murasaki-tan’s corner tea tray lay several inverted teacups alongside a plate arranged with sweets.

Upon the desk was enshrined a single photograph of Kenzaburo; with all surrounding sliding doors having been shut tight—even without this measure, it being late autumn—the room stood dimly illuminated while its corners gradually darkened into obscurity. Not a sound could be heard save for the faint steam rising from the iron kettle suspended over the brazier, the sound of its boiling water silent.
Just then, from beyond, the sliding door opened.
A gust of wind rushed in, and as the rising steam wavered, a pale face peered into this shadowed study—

“Kenzaburo.”

she called out.
The hem of her kimono rustling smoothly as she entered; snugly shutting the sliding door behind her; advancing to the center of the room; sorrowfully surveying her surroundings; neither sitting nor standing; chin buried in her collar as she stood desolate—Oto’s figure appeared emaciated.

Before long, she sat before the paulownia brazier, avoiding the deceased’s futon as she collapsed beside it.

“Kenzaburo.”

And again she called in a low voice, then—as if startled by something—hunched her shoulders and lowered her head.
Touching the outer surface of the iron kettle,

“Oh, it was boiling well.”

She fixed eyes on the tea tray, removed its lid, peered into the cold teacups inside—with a despondent air—

“Shall I make you some tea?”

She gazed fixedly at the photograph; tears streamed down her face. After that she spoke no more, sinking into deep thought—not even a twitch of movement remained.

Fallen leaves rustled softly against the shoji; night gradually drew near; and Oto’s faint figure became enveloped in twilight’s hues.
When the charcoal embers shifted, how could their sound be heard?

“Tsu-chan.”

Biwa called Oto.

Again,

“Tsu-chan.”

Biwa called Oto.

Oto awoke from a meditative dream and abruptly looked up toward the source of the voice.

“Tsu-chan.”

And again it repeated.
Oto absentmindedly stood up, took one step forward, walked two paces, emerged onto the veranda, descended into the garden, falteringly stepped out through the forgotten back emergency exit, and wandered away to nowhere in particular.

And so, during that span of time as she wandered wherever her feet took her, Oto suddenly came to her senses,

“Oh, where have I come to, I wonder.”

Oto, having doubted herself, changed color the moment she saw.

This was indeed the vicinity of the burial ground under Army jurisdiction.

Kenzaburo—executed by firing squad—lay buried here too.

That night Oto had seized her chance to embrace Kenzaburo once more—but before their eyes could meet, her beloved had been captured.

When her life-thread—already frayed beyond mending from anguish—had been medically preserved, leaving her neither living nor dead for two months thereafter, Shigetaka one day compelled Oto to accompany him on an outing through nearby fields.

As they ascended a moderately high hill, they suddenly noticed a flat expanse at their feet spanning over ten chō in circumference, at one end of which stood a new cross.

Oto’s gaze grew shameful; her husband, having likely prepared in advance, had orderlies bring camp stools, lined them up there, brazenly detained Oto, and did not permit her to avert her eyes.

The soldiers suddenly rose up at the foot of the hill—an entire company of troops.
As the khaki-clad figure of a single bound prisoner was escorted into closer view, Oto—without consciously intending to look—suddenly caught sight of the captive, then cast a sidelong glance at her husband seated beside her.
Her husband had once said, “Watch what I’ll do,” and this was precisely that.
The moment Oto caught sight of the cross, her trembling dread transformed into something else entirely. Before her eyes, the prisoner was bound hand and foot; with the reports of the marksmen’s first, second, and third volleys—until a thin stream of fresh blood spilled from the prisoner’s tightly clenched lips and trailed down his chest—Oto watched without blinking, neither moving her hands nor shifting her posture, like one turned to stone. Tears traced one or two paths down her cheeks; even her stray hairs remained utterly still.

After the execution had been fully carried out and until the smell of gunpowder had dissipated, the captain had been closely observing Oto’s every move; with an air of satisfaction, he twisted his mustache,

“Go ahead and try to break your chastity now.”

He said with a smile playing on one cheek.
Oto turned pale at that moment,

“Now, even if I wished to break it, it cannot be broken.
But death—dying—is something I can do at any time.”

The captain could not bear to hear another word,

“Fool.”

he fiercely rebuked her.
Seeing Oto’s head lowered,

“Orderly, escort her home.”

The orderly who had received the command could not even bring himself to rise out of fear until Oto herself urged him to do so.

And thus the tragedy of that day reached its conclusion.

From the moment she returned home, Oto’s words and actions remained nearly as they had always been; though she might weep or rail against her fate, she never once relinquished the demeanor and bearing proper to the wife of Captain Kondo.

Thereafter permitted a homecoming she had never before been allowed, Oto returned to her parents’ house; yet upon coming under her mother’s care, her strained resolve slackened—she became childlike, crying and laughing like an infant, her frenzied state prolonging itself day after day.
Her mother did not return her daughter to Shigetaka and spent over a month thus.

Thus, as if Kenzaburo—now lost to the world—still resided in the study, she swept and wiped, arranged the desk, arranged flowers, brewed tea, and set out sweets—all these acts being but glimpses of Oto’s unbearable, unendurable longing.
The mother, perceiving her daughter’s heart, could neither restrain nor prohibit her behavior, though it verged on madness.

Five

Oto, mistaking it for Biwa—the voice calling her name—wandered out and inadvertently came near the burial ground where Kenzaburo’s grave lay. When she came to her senses and saw the still-fresh earthen mound, violent memories of bygone days assailed her—a maelstrom of emotions: resentment, longing, despair, misery—each alone potent enough to kill a person.
Above all, through Shigetaka’s persistent scheme of revenge—being forced to witness her beloved’s execution by firing squad with her own eyes—she could no longer contain the bitterness of that time.
The woman’s pride and strained resolve had compelled her to suppress her fury; now it coursed through her veins with hundredfold intensity. Her face turned ashen, crimson lips clamping over white teeth as she nearly lost herself—and at that very moment, a tall figure emerged from the distant field of pampas grass within her view.

Striding through the burial ground, he appeared to pause abruptly—then marched resolutely to Kenzaburo’s grave, raised his foot and stomped down hard, spat with a splatting sound. Seeing this brazen act that seemed plucked straight from arrogance itself, Oto’s fury blazed so fiercely smoke might have risen from her veins—how could she endure this?

At the sound of approaching footsteps crunching through gravel, that figure turned around.
This was none other than Kondo Shigetaka.

He had been away with his brigade and was now returning from a mountain hunt.
When they suddenly came face-to-face thirty paces apart—Oto’s countenance at that moment being truly ghastly—the captain involuntarily let out a shriek,

“I’ll kill you!”
“Kill me!!!”

No sooner had he spoken than he loaded his hunting rifle and, trembling, aimed it.

Had the arrow or bullet struck true—but with a roaring shot whose report tore through the clouds—the captain appeared to cry out in agony; Oto seized his topknot with both hands, and for ten minutes they lay motionless together upon the ground. A clump of black hair never rose again from where it fell, remaining in the captain’s hands as he feebly stood up—Oto’s mouth stained with blood from her husband’s bitten-through throat.

Without even attempting to wipe away the blood, she took one step, two steps, three steps toward Kenzaburo’s grave, her voice so thin and strained—

“Kenzaburo...”

With those words, she slumped sideways and stiffened.

The moon was blue, the mountains were black; a white thing flew through the sky and left a rustle of wings on a nearby branch. With the sound of wind blowing through leaves,

“Tsu-chan, Tsu-chan, Tsu-chan.”

Echoing back again and again, Biwa called her name incessantly.
Biwa called her name incessantly.

Meiji 29 (1896), January