Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part I

Though my body was wrapped in brocade, it did not reside in the depths of a jeweled palace. Were my name revealed, most would have nodded in understanding—my husband stood present. The rice cooked morning and evening at the hearth—even had they wasted a year's worth and discarded it all, it would hardly have been a conspicuous domestic matter. People came uninvited to flatter; though I disdained socializing with other wives, they still yielded me the seat of honor and acclaimed me as Madam Imio. Was this truly life's misfortune? To spring flowers and autumn moons alike, my husband had not abandoned me. In Ueno, by Sumida—two figures. How I longed to walk together, yet this remained unentrusted to your august heart, so burdened with worldly affairs. Not even a single petal of the garden cherry blossoms did he admire unless I stood beside him. Though the window's moon shone clear, he turned away when I was absent. Tears I would claim to wipe away, smiles I would share with you—that the world graciously permitted such treatment. Was this truly life's misfortune? Moreover, my husband—a man of peerless erudition, grand political vision, and chivalrous spirit, yet also a refined gentleman—had been one whom others heard of only by reputation and admired from afar. Yet through unforeseen acquaintance, I was welcomed into his life, becoming one addressed as 'sister' and addressing him as 'brother' in return—was this truly a state of misfortune? If this indeed were called misfortune, then what could one name as life's happiness?

Now then, as long as this absolute infinity—being equated with that sole august deity which exists nowhere beyond the great spirit and great motive force—how could there exist such things as happiness unaccompanied by misfortune or misfortune unaccompanied by happiness? If one were to seek satisfaction outside enlightenment, though possessing heaven and earth itself, still it would not suffice to be called absolute happiness. Should one attain sudden enlightenment here through single-minded focus, even a body homeless across the three realms becomes sufficient to count as fortunate. In a world where enlightenment erases both joy and sorrow, it is precisely our unawakened state that renders human existence so poignantly bittersweet.

Though I too remained among those numbers, finding no escape from discrimination—how sharply joys and sorrows pierced. When one wrapped oneself in counterfeit happiness, they sank into abysses of secret tears. Enviable were this world’s innocents—those who could still envy others’ glory! Was dew upon ragged sleeves alone to be called sorrowful tears? Jewels scattered over brocade—though they were life’s very water—deceived by gilded trappings; though none thought to ask why, hearts shattered into thousand fragments. Were I to break and fall at last into my original droplet form—this present self that seemed to ride jeweled palanquins—none would come offering pity; to whom could I ever voice such grief? Heaven stayed eternally high; earth stayed eternally low—yet heaven heard no boasts nor heeded earth’s complaints. Humans alone quarreled over fleeting distinctions unworthy of mention—why must they clamor so? Though knowing myself wretched yet bound by love’s unbreakable fetters—thus chained to this world—my daily laments fell upon society’s ignorant tongues. Yet despite this—how Her Ladyship’s carefree air and social climbers must loathe it all! Putting on cheerful faces lest origins be discovered; dissatisfied looks however far they climbed—currying favor through this and that! The husband remained husband—but Madam—was she not utterly detestable? In truth—I who spent years scheming over household affairs without fine robes or theater-box pretensions of humanity—recalled nothing of such matters. Even when handled like festering sores came fresh litanies of complaint. Were I told to leave—parents still awaited in my hometown. My brother being quite the merchant with three or four servants—any hardship would lie on my husband’s side! Though returning home meant no maternal indulgence. Even as divorcee among kin—I felt no anxiety about being outshone by some sister-in-law from another house. Yet accepting this as woman’s lot—perseverance bred complacency. Before you it seemed otherwise—but being truly cherished lasted mere two months at first. “Clumsy oaf! Okame-faced!”—my nose known from outset! Their shrill taunts of sudden flatness merely skimmed intellect’s surface. Were matters settled—even needing brother’s seal on deeds—how could Mother’s pocket money supplement my obi?

Though it be an obi, when diverted to household expenses, even half-measures would amount to a sum like winding Mount Mikami sevenfold. Do they consider this a favor? He only seeks some fairy-tale princess elsewhere. Ohoho, this is no jest. If being born a woman in truth means inherent disadvantage by nature, then truly there exists no means of resignation. When hearing rumors about Madam Imio, I bitterly resented even the parents who bore this uncomely body—why must fortune differ so among us women? In this too I am no different—though you may deign to hear. A nose that waxes and wanes like the moon—even lowly placed, it’s no deformity. Since two holes prove I curse none, still people would not call my nose mere holes. This nose of mine—slightly raised like ornate craftwork, as if hand-carved—its cunningly shaped tip became a perch for tengu spirits until my beauty turned society’s mockery and my own undoing. A recent example being Madam Imio—her poise commendable, features comely, education refined they say. With all this and that, the gentlemen have been in great uproar lately. To think they’d take such a wife—the bachelors worst of all. Before one such as me, even my husband partakes in critique. There were times I praised you in ways that practically banished you to corners without saying so outright. Honor proves but scorn’s seed in the end. As for who pried from curiosity—who could have done such? Now none remain ignorant—trace my roots and blossoms once fair on boughs prove hollow things indeed. When all heard my husband voice those palpable insults through his own lips—“See there!”—I deliberately praised him back through absurdity, making those same praising lips utter fitting punishment for that philanderer. Ohoho how wicked you are—to name those words mere slander! Ah—that’s precisely it.

As for that Madam's origins—publicly presented as adoptive parents from the Akita family to maintain social appearances—the truth was a usurious moneylending business operating on meager capital. Was that honorable father merely an eccentric loner, or was it the financial strain of an ill-managed household? In a household without even a maidservant—just male hands—he both cooked meals and lent money. That man would hand over the meager interest payments, then completely entrust me from tender years to some so-called girls' school, where upon graduating at twenty years of age I was made to devote myself as an instructor at that very institution—when one considers it, a daughter behind glass panes they crafted, my appearance made transparently beautiful precisely because of where they positioned this face. Her tightly coiled chignon made for a regrettable figure—and Lord Imio, through what connections had he maneuvered? As the daughter of the Akita family, her wedding had been indeed splendid. With lavish attire that spared no expense and a doll-like appearance befitting her noble bearing, she dazzled all eyes at the time—that much had been admirable. Her real father soon vanished somewhere; even the rumors of relocation, when traced to their source, proved as elusive as mirage water—a destination impossible to grasp. The high-interest loans must have collapsed, and he too fell into ruin and fled—that much seemed certain. Or could it be that Lord Imio was secretly providing him financial support somewhere? The rumors varied—their origins unknown—but they all insisted there was indeed a retirement residence. Yet the ward office, having fixed upon disappearance as the established narrative, deigned to forget her honorable status—one so elevated that no path could be forged—in this presumptuous act. The gilded veneer of glory clung fast to that strikingly beautiful face. Even the maids had heard all manner of rumors about how her ironclad mask of composure and her melancholy countenance remained indistinguishable. If spoken through my husband’s mouth—though he would surely deny it—what remained now was only the opening notes of lingering attachment, so detestable. Ohoho, to act so restlessly at such a critical moment—one might say your tatami remained new. Someone like me—treated like a kitchen to be trampled with muddy feet, jealousy aside—each time I grew furious at how even now this body might be crushed into kindling if I faltered, I planted seeds of envy toward that Madam’s status too. Yet from what I now heard in detail, even her standing amounted to little more than this. Then indeed, as anticipated—no matter how much the husband might rise in station, they showed society a face that said “not yet enough,” concealing their true joy within. This was the very nature of social climbers who’d mistaken affectation for refinement. When I thought of that, even if scolded, women who withdrew into constrained households would consider it a virtue not to be targeted by society and endure in silence. Ohoho—what your so-called patience amounted to! Even for one as unreliable as Your Ladyship, there existed some in society who envied my husband’s dutiful endeavors. Ah, how wicked people were—then I would comply accordingly.

But I shall not have anyone serve my husband alone. From me as well—twice as much. Very well, that will suffice. Yet has not my honorable husband’s stipend of two thousand yen received privileged treatment since the very next day? Ah—one does not ignite flames from within the household. All this remains unknown to outside observers. Were you in such a position, even multiplied wealth would never reach the wife’s hands. Merely diverting flows to Shinbashi and Yanagibashi—the mountain god’s shrine stands declared ruined. Had benefits circulated thoroughly upstream, eight hundred would firmly secure any household. Thus Lord Imio appears all the more pitiable—possessing wealth rendering stipends unnecessary yet avoiding infidelity, binding his wife like butterflies to blossoms. Where does that one flutter now—his pride-swollen mind ascending like incense smoke? This wife-pursuing flattery of Madam’s. That even His Excellency’s presence in the second party cabinet proves insufficient—Her Highness comports herself indecorously, words clashing with tone. Retribution strikes swift—my affairs become mockery behind hands. These ladies’ gatherings in flower-patterned ignorance differ little from tenement wives’ gossip.

Middle

Yet how weary I grew. This body already burdened with party duties had been dragged into the cabinet, and now as its queen found no moment’s respite from visitors who came at all hours—day or night. Since these were unavoidable duties, one could not complain—yet... Even local party members whose names I could not recall were now fearfully seeking to register as candidates in droves.

Having finally concluded matters in his absence and returned—perhaps thinking he might relax for the first time in ages this evening—Imio Harumori settled himself comfortably near the veranda in his secluded study, quietly stroking his beard. Though not yet forty—with thick brows and piercing eyes—his striking presence blended gentility with nobility. "You must be truly exhausted," she offered from three feet away at her husband’s side, fanning him with foremost care—this being surely the rumored woman herself. Her freshly arranged chignon dipped demurely; her striped gauze summer kimono draped sleekly over shoulders—how could this be perceived as the former schoolteacher-turned-madam? A smile overflowed—verdant dewdrops—"Do behold." Sanzō had sprinkled water like an artificial evening shower. Fireflies seemed to dance about the artificial hill, enhancing its beauty. Moon-themed poetry at the official residence—how diverting that must be. Having gathered flowers and heated water, she prepared sencha with such grace—more fragrant than dripping gyokuro—that none could name this elegant countenance anything but composed. Only in solitude could she ponder thoughts she vowed her husband must never know—tears dissolving even her light makeup’s powder as they fell. The rouge too served her husband—this cultivated demeanor masking weariness. Her eyelids alone retained the faint cherry hue of distant misty peaks—substitutes for crimson rouge. Yet did she believe months spent perfecting such adornments would fade from memory? Whenever witnessing her husband’s advancement, ancestral songs echoed through her—inevitable yet bitter—while longing burned for a father whose whereabouts remained unknown. Were these words from world’s end but a solitary dream—his decree—then even obeying his command not to seek him might bring some solace. "If circumstances require concealment," came the paternal edict, "declare me nonexistent to your husband alone." "Why did I—stubborn recluse by nature—expose myself to metropolitan society?" He had been the father who wed her to Japan’s finest son-in-law. "As Imio Harumori’s wife yet no man’s daughter," she mused, "I’ll whistle at moons through tattered eaves and laugh among rapeseed blossoms—how absurd!" "Though blood kin abandon even a sole father," Taichi’s voice echoed, "reflect on severed karma’s weight—never let courtesy toward Lord Harumori wane." "If your heart ever seeks me," his command continued, "devote yourself doubly to your husband."

A hundred years spent in devotion—may my lifespan become Imio’s soil. Having become soil, at the time when my soul meets yours in the world beyond—then shall I recount today’s circumstances. Until then—as one bearing a single secret—though it may bring no shame before heaven and earth, rather than risk disgrace in society, I shall bury this secret within society’s depths and serenely savor the destiny ordained. To seek my whereabouts through misguided filial piety— To wound my resolve and expose my shame before society—this is the act. Unfiliality toward myself; infidelity toward my husband—there can be nothing beyond this. I solemnly vow that throughout my life, I shall not lay hands upon the secret-laden course of my existence. That queenly figure who had received such wondrous honorable precepts lamented the months without correspondence, yet the sleeves dampened by this remained unseen by her honorable husband’s eyes; considering how the letters—mementos of life—held secrets unknown until death, her anxiety over her own circumstances grew all the more. Left behind alone, I worry about both rain and snow. This anguish I cannot speak aloud—the bond from my heart to my husband, who graciously treats all without worldly discrimination. If hiding [it] for my father’s sake is considered filial piety, then this unchaste self feels as though I have committed a grave sin. Each time I hear your kind words—more piercing than any physical wound—I endure it with resolute patience. Even if I alone were to attempt to investigate your whereabouts—that alone would defy your words. Though my inconsolable heart weeps over clues fruitless to pursue, my mouth smiles as ever. From where, through what crevice did tears leak, becoming seeds for society’s scorn? Even kings and nobles—in a land where they dwell without shedding tears of affection—should such a place exist, there they would be scorned. What deficiency do my tears possess? Are society’s shallow conjectures still preferable, or is there no remedy? To the world’s backbiting, she adds a demure dimpled smile. Though even Harumori, concerned about her unknown whereabouts, had comforted her in that very moment. Amidst various matters of his busy self—whenever distracted—he entrusted household affairs to his capable wife.

Though he did not attribute his recent forgetfulness to that matter, the gauntness of her cheeks that had finally become visible—wondering if something weighed on her mind—Harumori gazed intently at his wife’s delicate hands toying with the fan. What had Kiyoko done? “Lately your complexion has been poor—do you not consider it an illness?” When told “Summer is especially taxing—you must take care of yourself and see a doctor at once,” she suddenly mustered a show of vitality. “Ohoho! This thinness? ’Tis but my natural constitution—in summer I always slim thus. Why, this year I’ve even grown plump still.” “For summer leanness, rather than physicians, ’tis milk I apply myself to with vigor.” “Come autumn I shall swell most ample—then you may laugh at this unseemly figure of mine.” “Rather than that, ’tis you I worry over—with busyness piled upon busyness these days.” “Hahaha! You think it’s me? This frame of mine isn’t so fragile.” “If weariness could strike one who treats work as pleasure-play, I’d have perished long ere now.” “Should one collapse at this opening stage of a long road ahead—why then, he’d have no business meddling in politics from the start.” “What we grandly call a party cabinet remains infantile—this second attempt’s first iteration ended anticlimactically, inheriting remnants reclaimed by domain cliques.” “None among these greenhorns grasp how things operate—yet how they do debate!” “Though all know they’ve yet to function as institutions properly advancing national prosperity and public welfare.” “Restoring credibility for this cabinet—once fated for ruin—stands urgent now; thus have I reluctantly mounted this stage despite disinclination.” “So you deem my casual comings-and-goings regrettable—think that’s why gloom’s taken root?” He posed a question from unexpected quarters. Having shifted his wife’s heartstrings, he believed he’d instantly divined her melancholy’s cause. Kiyoko remained ignorant of her husband’s thoughts—yet her strained tone retained its customary brightness.

“Ohoho! How perplexing—what an outrageous notion!” “Were I someone who could comprehend such matters, I would gladly share some portion of your burdens.” The carefree ignorance of one who understood nothing of political party cabinets—observing his busyness from afar, she lay alone awaiting blessings to reap. Even setting that aside, these days—from every quarter—the reverence shown to his honor and even her own standing felt almost wasteful in its excess. But when she began to say “What am I to do with this ill-suited body…,” then faltered mid-speech—Harumori feigned ignorance with an “Ah, so that’s it?” Well now—what curious words to hear. “Unsuitable”—what exactly was deemed unsuitable here? Her being ten years his junior was no recent development. The mismatch of pairing this bearded visage with a beauty needed no belaboring now. Ah—he understood! She’d mistaken his cabinet appointment for rank-seeking ambition—now lamenting him as a husband unworthy of his wife, one unimpressed by mortal honors? Would tomorrow find Imio Harumori suspected even by his spouse? Deliberately raising a hand to his forehead while stealing furtive glances at Kiyoko, he remained convinced she harbored some profound secret to uncover. Kiyoko believed that voicing fragments of his words—her heart breaking unspoken—would only manifest as harsh truths; better instead to let subtle hints convey fragments of her thoughts. Since he persisted in teasing her thus with unexpected matters, she resolved to speak truthfully. When she spoke of mismatch, it meant an unworthy one like herself beside his honorable self. Had she been introduced as a gentleman merchant’s daughter, people might have kept silent— Yet in this era where noble wives outshone their husbands, rumors spread that Lord Akita was not her true kinsman. Whenever these troubles weighed upon her—counting her inadequacies, fearing future disgrace—unease welled up only to be suppressed. Hah! How absurd—he’d expected her concerns to carry logical weight, yet this proved an anticlimax. When had she—by what means—so altered her principles?

Though it made for an incongruous analogy—were this the ramblings of some country bumpkin unaware of how Meiji-era statesmen’s wives were favorably treated by society, one might let it pass. Having been raised in the city with broad exposure—for you who knew well the distinction between heavenly virtue and mortal honors—was this not excessively vehement rhetoric? Moreover, though unworthy, this I was no base man who aimed for wealth and status. It had been merely a temporary necessity from the perspective of implementing sound governance that I joined the cabinet. That was what society deemed as success—but was that what *I* considered success? Even without rank or office, Harumori remained Harumori. Had I married you on that day of even greater honor—as a scholar who dedicated his life to commoner ideology—what change would there have been in our bond, even were I to become a minister or prime minister? As Harumori’s wife standing before society, you must summon greater resolve—hold fast to what you permit yourself, and defy worldly conventions to the last. Spineless men who clung to marital connections, impudent women who flaunted their dowries—could we not resolve to purge these two breeds from society? Ahaha, a willow must remain a willow—I shan’t impose unreasonable burdens upon you. Yet to his words—carefully masticated and offered—that she should at least find confidence in herself alone to disregard trivial matters, Kiyoko gave no answer, spilling hot tears upon her husband’s knees as the moon too slipped through cloud seams to shine upon their bond, luminous and unending. Harumori rejoiced at his wife’s seeds of concern—even as she saw them dissolve. If she understood, then that was sufficient. Though you were not one who should be unaware—that such matters weighed on your mind ultimately stemmed from physical frailty—in any case, you should see a doctor. Though I do not mean to belabor the point.

In truth, I had been most reluctant from the very start regarding this matter of establishing Akita as my hometown— As you well know, that clause where I reluctantly yielded to your father’s obstinate demand—that he wouldn’t arrange any marriage unless you became someone’s adopted daughter— Or rather, speaking of Father—I’ve heard nothing of his circumstances since then. Has there still been no word? Though this too cannot be ignored, with urgent domestic and foreign affairs demanding attention, I entrusted household matters to you—yet you show no concern over this. How peculiar. The casually spoken words pierced Kiyoko’s breast like arrows. She firmly suppressed the lump of gratitude welling up again, feigning composure. Since it concerns that matter, you will surely deign to worry yourself over it. As I’ve long said, he’s by nature an unsociable eccentric. With only a father and daughter—and even I being immature—he found keeping me nearby bothersome. After depositing me at school, I preferred enduring loneliness to facing his displeasure when visiting on Sundays. Though he never failed to send tokens of affection every third day and occasionally visited, this father who wouldn’t accept even one as dear as me was truly peculiar. Though he’s lived in Tokyo twenty years, what are social connections but people trading lies? In his temperament that boasts having no friends, I find my stability in his assured departure. He must have hidden himself in some refuge beyond this vulgar world. Even so, when he recalls my endearing qualities, he might deign to visit me. Being one who knows my father’s nature, I remain untroubled. From these recent grievances—with anguish weighing my chest and gloom compounding exhaustion—shall I seek solace in beer? Suddenly, with a silken rustle, her outstretched right sleeve lightly brushed the call bell—a timely motion indeed. The student lodger deferentially approached the anteroom and presented a letter addressed to Madam. Though bearing her name in an unfamiliar hand, the sender’s origin was unmistakably marked with her biological father’s name. Perhaps to conceal hands trembling from sheer surprise, she straightened her posture.

“You know, when we go over there, I’ll mention coming to see the flowers.” “Oh, splendid! I’ll go deliver the instructions myself—though playing the part of your noble wife feels rather absurd. Now do wait right here, won’t you?” Though she deftly withdrew from the situation while evading her husband’s gaze, it seemed she had resolved to keep the letter’s perilous contents concealed for the present.

Lower One Shichijo Station did not bustle to the extent of Shimbashi or Umeda. The unceasing flow of four o'clock visitors made Kyoto seem Japan's very park. Travelers from across the provinces boarded and alighted—half being blossom admirers and autumn-leaf viewers, summer visitors seeking riverbank coolness—where a single droplet of flowing water's refreshment, worth ten million gold coins against one shō of Tokyo's parched earth, drew those wishing to wash eastern sweat away to the Western Capital. Even leisurely journeys rode express trains in this age of uniform equality, where at ticket gates high and low mingled without distinction, red-white-blue multitudes jostling to be first through the turnstiles. A woman with a marumage hairstyle lagging behind drew eyes with her striking appearance—"A prized customer here!"—as swarming rickshaw men called in unison: “Madam, where to? Let me take you! Shall we go to your residence?” First avoiding Kyoto's drawn-out cadences with deliberate effort. When she sat on a teahouse stool, the proprietress guided her with excessive ceremony to an inner parlor—special treatment that chafed like ill-fitting silk. “There’s no need to fuss—here will do. Rather than that, please take this to retrieve my luggage and summon a rickshaw immediately.” “Where shall I take you, ma’am?” “Yanagihara Village—they call it Zenza Village.” “That Yanagihara—you’re certain there’s no mistake?” he pressed with puzzled insistence—another Kyoto peculiarity—urging his stationary rickshaw forward until they saw what passed for Zenza Village... Small houses lined both sides, roofs drying sandal thongs while barefoot children—all scab-headed and uniformly grimy—dashed through muddy lanes. Drawn by novelty, villagers clustered around the rickshaw front and back, creating a clamor. As they traversed two or three blocks, a peculiar stench assailed them, evoking indescribable discomfort—a perfectly reasonable reaction. Onion scraps and rat carcasses—discarded since who knows when—clogged ditches heaped with refuse; even seemingly clean houses displayed raw animal skins inside and out. When she questioned the driver about this strangeness, he stated: “This is an Eta village.” This body has no business in an Eta village—could there truly be no other Zenza Village in the Western Capital? “That’s all very well, ma’am—but Zenza Village’s name belongs solely to this place... What’s your wish?” The driver voiced lingering doubts without commitment. “Then there’s no alternative. Though I can scarcely credit it... Inquire whether a Kawai Taichi resides in this village.” “Very well, ma’am,” the driver called out at a certain gate. To the white-clad figure came running an aproned wife. “If it’s Mr. Taichi you want—third house left past the crossroads. Since we’re all familiar here, I’ll guide you if needed.” The sleeveless-coated woman accompanied them with overfamiliarity—her ulterior motive being to announce this rare visitor’s arrival throughout the neighborhood—calling at each house along the way as local custom dictated. Meanwhile, the rickshaw passenger broke out in goosebumps despite midsummer heat, feeling a chill that penetrated marrow-deep.

“Father, how are you feeling? Though I wished to come sooner, the journey took fifteen hours—I’ve only just arrived. You must have waited most anxiously.”

On torn tatami mats, atop a mattress thin as rice crackers, lay an old man facing the wall—behind him, someone sat motionless in a trance-like state. Her knees found no purchase as she sat; entrusting the commotion outside to the setting sun’s care, she quietly closed the shōji. “How to begin… In unguarded moments since leaving Tokyo,” she thought, “I’ve reinterpreted even those nights’ unforgettable longing and the weight of your teachings, weeping alone through each dawn and dusk—until yesterday’s unforeseen message.” “Oh joy—yet how my anxieties outpace even this reunion… Your grave illness.” “This urgent summons—though I know not whose hand penned it—must have come with your consent.” “The joy of seeing you—had I come without this dread for your health—how much sweeter it would have been! Such is glory’s way.” “Having obtained my husband’s permission with all haste,” she declared aloud, “I’ve come to tend you. From this moment onward, I beg you to rest assured.” “Until now—with your illness being what it was—you must have suffered great hardship alone.” “Now that I’m here,” she continued, “whatever’s needed—even hospital care—I’ll arrange as you wish. Your full recovery shall be swift.” “Your sleeping form suggests better condition than I feared. At this rate, you’ll surely regain health ere long.” “But above all—if you’ll but keep your heart tranquil—that itself shall prove the finest remedy.” His cheeks lay sunken—not that they’d ever been full—now withered beyond recognition. Even in profile, his emaciated frame spoke of sorrows known too intimately. Affecting nonchalance to hearten him—this filial duty’s first gesture—she edged closer and reached to stroke his back. The invalid slapped her hand aside. “Preposterous! What maid mistakes herself thus? Since daybreak you’ve prattled of fathers—this visitation makes no sense!” “Your noble bearing,” he rasped, “your refined air—no daughter Shinpei’s father could claim such! How came you to wrong gate?” “This touches your station—begone at once!” “Ah… This old man does recall a daughter.” “But circumstances severed that bond—a written pledge confirms I’m no father, you no daughter.” “Why come rushing to seek parents here? You’re no fool.” “There must be some mistake.”

“This report of illness—I can’t make sense of it.” “Likely some prank—whether they truly sent a letter matters not.” “Concealment breeds exposure—your known whereabouts spell calamity. Though the thread’s now spun, none would willingly unravel this secret.” “Act now and even mistaken identity may suffice.” “Before society catches wind—leave swiftly! Return at once!” “Severed bonds notwithstanding—this old fool who once knew fatherly love frets even over strangers’ daughters.” “Mistaken for Shinpei’s get, neither you nor your lord husband could stand tall. Is that this father’s true design?” “Mistaken visit or no—this carcass shall mend, shan’t die yet. Depart reassured.” “After all this—still you dawdle? Can’t rise? Can’t leave? What lumbering maid!” “Very well! These useless arms shall hoist this wreck—you’ll be dragged out!” The woman staggered on unsteady feet—rising halfway before collapsing—tears flowing as she reached to support him. The old man wept bitter tears too, eyes brimming even as his mouth maintained its stern refrain: “Go home—go home!”

Just then, the gate creaked open to admit a man wearing a haori half-coat—his attire bore no trace of rusticity. His eyes bloodshot with a leather item at his side, he held a tobacco pouch in hand and plopped down cross-legged. “Taichi, don’t get angry—I’ll take responsibility for my rough ways and apologize.” “Now maid, calm yourself—since you’ve come all this way, listen.” “From this situation—Taichi’s illness being a truly terrible fever that won’t easily heal—even in such a village as this, the whole community—relatives, acquaintances, even laypeople—worry with nothing but kindness.” “But me especially—back when Taichi was just a snot-nosed apprentice, I didn’t just teach him his letters. We were closer than hell.” Ever since Taichi returned to this village last spring after twenty-five long years, I found myself recalling our brotherly bond all the more as I worried about him beyond measure. “When he left here, there should have been a single nursing infant.” “I won’t ask where you left them, but if they live, have word sent.” “If something were to happen, I kept telling him how pitiful the aftermath would be—but no matter how many times I said it, he wouldn’t listen.” “When he found himself in dire straits during his wanderings, he sent her away as a parentless child.” “A daughter whose very survival was uncertain—he sent her away, declaring he had no desire to meet her, dismissing it all with a single word.” In the fever-intensified delirium, he continued to call out again and again: “Okiyo, Okiyo.” “Harumori-san managed to become a minister—how splendid.” “How joyful, Okiyo! You must be happy—though it’s a shame we cannot meet. Behold the karma of parents forbidden reunion!” “With every other word of ‘cannot meet,’ amidst the repeated cries of ‘Okiyo, Okiyo,’ Harumori-san’s status as minister stood out conspicuously.” “Hmm—there must be some circumstances behind this. When I considered it, it did make sense.” Among all the much-discussed new ministers who had risen meteorically, there undeniably existed a man named Imio Harumori. This was unmistakably Taichi—though he hadn’t been in Tokyo, his speech betrayed an undeniable Tokyo accent. It must be the usual sort—someone sold their daughter to a brothel or such, forming a connection, and now that Harumori fellow had her by his side, wouldn’t you say?

Don’t get angry—it was just a spur-of-the-moment conjecture. If she longs for it that much，then letting them meet would be an act of Buddhist merit.

A few days prior, when the doctor had tilted his head in concern— "So be it—even if I'm mistaken, this won't land us with the police." "Whether the divination hits or misses, I'll cast my lot." Though he'd written that abrupt letter urging immediate arrival— As for Tokyo—the location remained unknown. "Minister Harumori's household—Okiyo-sama." "If this proves true—what a triumph! When the daughter appears and I witness their joyful faces, I'll trumpet my success!" "Sending the letter without consulting Taichi—what dimwitted scheme." "Earlier my wife mentioned some distinguished lady visitor had come." "Yes! It struck true! Come to see their glad faces—and look at me now, decked out in haori for the occasion!"

"A colossal miscalculation, a grave blunder—Taichi scolded, 'Get out and never return!'"

Eavesdropped outside—the torment of existence. Feeling pity for the daughter and her endearing nature—fully aware I'd incur wrath—I confessed my overreach. "Taichi, you're worried they'll call her Shinpei's daughter." "A parent's mercy might be as you say—but now she's come, there's no way around it." "Having spent all day breaking barriers—just because we met—if I don't make the girl speak a man's name..." "Even if the neighbors learn she's your daughter, it'll stay unknown which commoners from where took her in." "After acting coarse, I'm not being slick with words here—Taichi." "I swear by Amaterasu's Grand Shrine, Hachiman-gū, and Kasuga Myōjin." "Not just my wife—till death itself, it won't pass my lips." "Meet her with peace of mind." "Now little Okiyo, isn't that right?" "You wouldn't know this, but I'm Kahē the drum-maker—past forty now." "When I was twenty and handy with tools, I celebrated your birth with a spinning drum." "That baby face back then—never dreamed you'd bloom into such a woman." "Whatever your station now—it's me or myself who's the village talk." "Ha ha ha! My rude apologies—don't go scolding me now!" Even while whispering, he kept watch inside and out—chastened by experience into standing guard. Kahē paced and fidgeted. Taichi glared with eyes full of bile. "Sit down, Kahē—what's the use now? Don't play dumb."

“Do you think blocking the sliding doors will block society’s wagging tongues?” “You fool! What do you think will come of this?!” The voice of anger too—the physical exhaustion—the breath exhaled while clutching a pillow—all deeply anguished the heart. Kiyoko’s trembling form—“Let me soothe your pain”—tentatively reaching out—unwittingly caressed him, her sorrows no less than her father’s. Ah—such was the fate of one’s station? To have been maligned as a country bumpkin even until now—the thought of what might follow filled me with shame. Even were I to persist further—I shall not return to my husband’s house. To be known as Shinpei’s daughter—that too would suffice; better than being hailed a noblewoman yet failing in filial duty. Even Shinpei—being human—must forge a singular path; only thus does one’s birth hold worth. Children of the same people—commoners—divided into old and new. On the surface they proclaim an end to discrimination—society’s customs rejoice in every stroke of this “new” character. Yet contrastingly—the ideograph “new” imposed upon commoners contains all sins and stains; that people should be misled by this follows natural logic. From yesterday through today—this self that accompanied my husband—even this self that elevated commoner ideology as supreme truth—upon hearing myself called Shinpei’s daughter— A newness beyond reason—this self feeling tainted by corruption—even I— How much more so—in this transient world’s hierarchy-mountains where hearts crave nobility while the lowly resort to adultery for sustenance—when those denying Shinpei’s lineage take pride in false honor—how dare society’s tongues condemn only the Eta? The true Eta lie in the corruption staining every heart among the populace—this should be challenged. Very well—even so—from this day forth—here shall be my final resting place. Were I to let him recuperate fully—and beyond that achieve complete recovery— Were parent and child to dedicate themselves—staining their names with shared defilement—devoting themselves wholly to others... Were there joy arising from within even then—why must this self lament? No—wait but a moment—even granting that thread of logic... Having taken Shinpei’s daughter as wife—this disgrace to my husband—this stain upon his name from tomorrow onward—what remedy exists? The unknown past might be excused—but knowing this truth—to purify myself through withdrawal—would that not cleanse this disgrace? Had I known this karma-bound self—I should never have taken you as husband—this half-measured love achieving completion only to become void; unknowing such affection differed from true devotion—I let longing gather daily like bay waves advancing only to retreat—yet why did I mistake for chaste virtue this self tearing itself asunder through separation?

"You cruel Father," she thought. "If you were Shinpei, you should have revealed yourself as Shinpei long ago." Her mind raged at how he'd hidden himself away, never entrusting her to society—least of all to those of noble standing. "This much is your failing." The unspoken accusation hung heavy—"You make only Shinpei your stepchild; does society not find fault with that?" Kiyoko's face trembled—tears pooling yet restrained—as she bit back words longing to burst forth. Taichi, recognizing this silent struggle, heaved his weighted pillow upright. "Don't weep, Okiyo." His voice rasped with effort. "I've matters to discuss properly—rest your hands awhile." Then sharper, addressing the other: "Hey Kahē! You meddlesome fool—since you inserted yourself into this bout, listen well alongside her." A chipped bowl scraped against tatami as he requested: "Cold water or hot—pour me some." The act of moistening his throat became deliberate ceremony.

Lower Two

Ah, what a pity—this Taichi here, in Kyoto’s Nakagyō district where people knew him as a doctor’s son, was handed over to a stepmother due to his youth—though I knew not why—such became his lot in life, breeding resentment. That even the servants scorned me as an elder brother who bore no resemblance to my younger brother—when I considered whether this too was my stepmother’s doing—nothing remained tolerable. Even the one book I enjoyed—no sooner would I start reading than the whispers of my younger brother and stepmother would distract me. Enough already—rather than staying cooped up at home doing such things, I’d wander out aimlessly for some distraction. Easily swayed by bad friends, I’d spend mornings clucking my tongue over sake in teahouse upper floors—back then, even the snack bills and medicine fees mostly came from my own pocket. When Father discovered I’d even taken the money he kept on hand—his fury about disowning me effective today—I didn’t feel the slightest remorse. Most likely this too was my younger brother Iegachi’s doing—the stepmother’s slander had deceived him, and our merciless father resented me for it. What a waste—had I but recognized my father’s true affection back then, these tears of blood would have sufficed. If only I’d clung weeping to any relative and offered apologies, the disownment’s stubborn pride could have been resolved. Go on then—drive me out! Cast me away! For using what belonged to parent and child alike—Father who’d replace his heir over a paltry sum had no use for me either. A man’s body may weigh a hundred kan, but does having not even three hundred mon mean there’s nowhere for him to exist? Though he assumed I’d come crawling back—‘Don’t you dare think of returning!’—my eighteen-year-old recklessness and filial impiety drove me to leave anyway. Ah, society is a fearsome thing—kindness purchased with coin may line every street, but human affection bought without cost—throughout Kyoto, signs declaring it 'sold out' could stack mountain-high. A body severed from the sevenfold radiance of parental favor finds every path blocked—no matter how I approached, people would not draw near. Though I tried crafting apologies to my parents and devising ways to respectfully distance myself, society offered no bridge for survival—only then did I realize the shelter of parental favor that had kept me untouched by rain or dew. How many times had I not thought of visiting relatives while still protected? No matter how I tried to maintain my bravado—now that my stepmother had overheard it—I clung to a pretense that wasn’t even a proper bluff. "A man shouldn’t be like this," I thought, yet found myself at a dead end in every direction—the dreariness of it all. I never imagined I would die, but even if I went to Katsura, my legs found no path that matched my expectations.

In the deep night where none passed—a fortunate place for contemplation. Leaning on Katsura Bridge’s railing, listening to water’s flow—was it profound karma that the passerby there would become my father-in-law? From that moment—with a stranger’s unexpected kindness—did I consider drowning myself? When he insisted on escorting me home, I found myself unable to refuse. When I protested that this disowned self had no home, they grew more insistent—declaring I could stay however long needed. Thus was I led under moonless night’s shroud, this self forsaken even by moonlight—that I should end in this village surpassed my darkest imaginings, yet perhaps proved inevitable. The parlor’s decorations, the master’s bearing—even at dawn they appeared as respectable merchants whose kindness surpassed parents’; though their faces suggested such courtesy unnecessary, with shopfront shuttered and trade unclear, this self received solely in parlor required no inquiry. What I had thought a brief respite became an unforeseen stay; my daughter’s koto ensnared even this heart. Until told to leave, I settled—a lifelong miscalculation. I noticed not the trap set for outsiders. For this self born to a cold maternal embrace— In people’s rare compassion, months and days blurred. After forgetting myself, I perceived my true birth. Already too late—this matter after pledging my future to my daughter. Pondering deeply—even this world held such paradise. Better keep surfaces clean—if folk prefer being called Eta than housing demon hearts. The human heart’s flower blooms in such soil only to be plucked by amateurs—is this nature surpassing even Eta? Once logic exhausted itself—days brought shame; judging eyes clouded, leather’s stench no longer reached noses. That I entered this village as son-in-law and bore fruit—it was your single seed. Whenever seeing it, I recall—how Father must have been mortified. However youthful the error—surely you wouldn’t disown one to become this village’s refuse for life.

Trash of a human, trash of a man—making parents and siblings objects of ridicule, turning even my own child into refuse... In the end, there was nothing I could do. Even as Eta, how could I raise a child born in this era of commoners in this village for an entire lifetime without restraint? At least by bringing my ancestors' remains into the world of ordinary people, I would make amends. My wife, who had discerned my thoughts and consented—even as she left you behind, a nursing infant, when she fell ill and died. Please, with your own hands, cleanse this child of their tainted blood. The Kawai family name matters not; the family storehouse belongs to this child. Because this child has an amateur for a father—if purification were possible—even the ancestors would raise no objections. The faces of both this child’s grandparents will surely rejoice in the afterlife; I can already see it clearly now—how joyfully I will go to my death. That face which had burst into laughter—unbefitting of his birth—was indeed one of a beautiful heart. There, my resolve had solidified; after liquidating the family storehouse into cash and relocating to Tokyo— So that my origins would not be discovered, I had moved my registry, bought a house, and conducted myself with scrupulous integrity. Taking advantage of their ignorance regarding my origins in Dare Eta Village, I enrolled you in school. The reason I, even while making my living through moneylending alone, did not expand my reach nor engage in social interactions— Following that conversation, I stored away everything—single-mindedly, with utmost caution—so that my identity would not be discovered and no unnecessary funds would be spent. When I sought to have her accompany a splendid man, the taint that could not be wiped away was unavoidable. Not to mention various arts—clothing, furnishings, the luster that money could purchase—if only I could provide these things, such was the parental heart I devoted myself to. For over twenty years—this joyless life of a recluse—not even keeping you, who severed ties with friends and kin, by my side; I kept at arm’s length—such was my callousness. When the time came for your marriage, this body that intended never to declare itself as your parent—better to have been apart from the very beginning. The lock on my heart that refuses to let affection become ordinary. Three or five years might be one thing, but twenty years with that habit—could I really have failed to become a true recluse?

Truly, what a heartless father I was—and how suspicions had been raised. The parent’s eyes that feigned blindness to the face stained with tears and resentment—this recluse wept in his own fashion for twenty years. All my efforts had borne fruit—among all existing men, not merely in name but in essence, a nature discernible even from a single encounter. As for my looks—having handed them over to a man surpassing even discernment—this body of mine became useless. Having fabricated separate parents and ensured the Kawai name remained hidden, this old man had become utterly obsolete. Though I was a parent unworthy of the name, my presence nearby became your hindrance. If only I could retreat to a place beyond society’s eyes and ears—yet when I considered this, my longing for my homeland surged with sudden intensity. The wonder of human kindness that even three days as a beggar could not erase—it was I who had toiled in foreign lands so as not to leave you in this village. I alone had wished to become one with this village’s earth, intending to live out what little remained of my life in hiding— Burying my head in the sand—how could I apologize to you for this failure born of my own carelessness? Had I known this would happen, I should have long ago disclosed my true background to you—then you would have been prepared. Had I informed you, would I have spent my life tormented by conscience? Yet preserving my affection for my living child had only sown the seeds of this failure—how regrettable. There was nothing more to be done. Even if Kahē failed to notice, thinking all matters could be wrapped up with petty tricks had been my mistake—once this burst into the open from somewhere, my son-in-law would still be pitiable. This old man alone would not be resented. If it were revealed that father and daughter shared the same blood and had deceived him all this time—if he were to probe this unrepentant heart—even you, in your position as his wife, would find no peace of mind. Cut ties resolutely now—quietly secure a divorce and return. Or if His Lordship the son-in-law, preserving his honor as a man, declared he would not divorce you and that even Shinpei was acceptable—then that would indeed have been splendid. Consider this old man long dead and gone; blame this self a hundred thousand times over. Let ordinary women become models of chastity ten thousandfold—then let society see whether Shinpei’s daughter had been defiled. At present, my deliberations came down to these two matters.

If even a moment were delayed, it stood to reason that rumors about me would multiply. Take the luggage and send him off to where Kahē’s rickshaw waited. The measure of paternal love—unyielding as iron—lay within the old man’s resolute words that dismissed all bodily suffering. Yet that she would consider me to such an extent—in her unknowing child’s heart, the tragedy of her still resenting her parent even now.

“Father, please forgive me.” “Even if your reasoning holds true—given such grave circumstances—if abandoning one’s parent to return home truly constitutes the path of a chaste woman, then in what form could filial piety possibly manifest?” “Though this status displeases me, having humbly nursed you as I am—should my husband deem this insufficient, that discrepancy originates from his side; the proper course lies beyond my knowledge.” “Surely even Harumori would not prove so unreasonable a man.” “When I showed him yesterday’s letter—though unable to go myself due to my condition—I offered you twice the care.” “He even suggested bringing one or two helpers and extended his support, yet…” “Following your longstanding teachings on secrecy—considering what might transpire—I exercised utmost caution and thus came without attendants.” “This status would not be exposed so immediately.” “After nursing you for four or five days—once your condition stabilizes—it would not be too late to proceed.” Though her words feigned composure, if one considered it, this bond had not yet lasted even a year or two. Like ordinary couples, they knew nothing of entrusting matters to others’ hands. O Izumo Deity—is this... my husband? My wife? she wondered. Having been brought together thus—it was no union forced against reason. Having met as strangers and observed each other without bias before mutual acceptance—unlike doll-like couples who spend lifetimes sharing beds yet remaining strangers to each other’s hearts throughout their days. Within what she believed surpassed ten thousand years of familiarity— Her origins, like something from a dream—this alone she begged forbearance for, what even she had not known. How could she propose severing ties from her own volition? If she could shamelessly face her husband, no resolution regarding divorce would be needed. Rather than present an unbearable countenance, she would continue nursing him here in this village.

"If I resolved to end my life here—if I at least conveyed this intent through letters—then even should I never again behold my husband’s face, to live out my days being thought a pitiable creature would still constitute a barely acceptable fulfillment of my purpose; let my complaints remain my own indulgence. Over twenty years of your exalted benevolence—the upbringing urging me alone to become someone ordinary, the parental love vast as sea and mountain—parents are such beings, I supposed. A child has their own affections, though. If I were to leave your side now and return home, and if my background were deemed no obstacle, then even I would have no reason to force a separation. In such times—my infidelity toward my husband; you with your longstanding temperament. If my happiness alone was your true intention—if I am neither parent nor child—then after our correspondence ceased, how could filial piety take form? Was that truly what you intended?" Taichi glared at Kiyoko, who fidgeted hesitantly as countless unspoken thoughts remained unresolved. "Still not gone, you fool?" "You think I give a damn about this illness?" "Even if my daughter’s hands were to nurse me under this fixed lifespan, would this old man’s days be extended by even one?" "Until you first return home and settle matters definitively, you who’ve long ceased to be my daughter—" "Even if you drew me a single bowl—nay, half a cup—of hot water, you think I’d drink it?" "Even if you try nursing me when I won’t accept such care, what’s the point of you staying?" Kahē and the villagers—precisely because of their kindness—she had even returned. "To still fret over that and dawdle for even a moment—that moment would render decades of my toil meaningless, you fool who can’t grasp this!" "You utter fool who can’t comprehend this heart of mine despite all I’ve said—I’ve no further use for that fool." "Do as you damn well please then."

He grabbed the pillow and hurled it away; even as his strength waned, Kahē stood astonished near the central pillar. “Whoa now, Taichi—no need to get quite so angry.” “’Tis the sickness’s poison—show some forbearance.” “’Tis my fault—now, hold on there!” “I’ll make your daughter listen—I’ll make her listen proper. So hear me out, Taichi! Wait—both her and me!” He let out a breath riddled with missteps. Good grief—this was complicated. There was both duty and logic at play here. I meddled unnecessarily and drove them away—my blunder. The more I heard, the more I saw—no manner of apology sufficed. “It’s my fault—but apologies won’t settle this. Now, Okiyo, be reasonable and leave.” “I beg you—I implore you—please, Okiyo.” “Long as you stay in this house, Taichi rages and you weep.” “Hearing both sides being perfectly reasonable like this—I can’t bear it.” “If you’ll believe I’ll help sort this mess, just step outside for now.” “In exchange—I’ll take full charge of Taichi’s care. Nurse him in your stead, no matter what.” “Now Taichi—ain’t that so? Your daughter’s trying filial piety here—no call for rage.” “Let’s settle this together—you state your terms; I’ll state mine.” “Leaving obedient-like—this, Okiyo, is true filial piety.” Kahē took it upon himself and made ready to lead. Taichi too—as expected—pretended not to see, yet when their gazes met abruptly as she looked back while departing—

Ah, a single teardrop of sorrow—even the muddy path of her return journey seemed a memento of this cherished land. The traces fading behind her must have etched themselves deep within her heart.

Within mere days, the sudden report of Minister Imio's resignation shocked the public's ears. It was at the same time that Mrs. Imio’s background as Shinpei’s daughter could no longer remain hidden from the world. That he, with such a station, did not decline the honor of an audience before the august presence was—by all accounts—an exceedingly presumptuous matter. He had acted with exceedingly childish emotional issues, which the opposition party sought to exploit. The then-Prime Minister dismissed it with a laugh and departed without a backward glance. In response to this, Minister Imio came to a profound realization. Rather than being cast into the maelstrom where plunder was one’s pursuit—a savage spirit within civilization’s vessel—only to end his days with empty cries, he resolved: Let them laugh if they will at my effeminacy; for humanity's sake, I shall turn myself to educational endeavors for a time, all while deliberately biding my moment. Along with all his assets, he relocated himself to Hokkaido. He gathered under the name Immigrant Academy those pitiful, despairing children born of circumstances from tender youth and scattered here and there across the nation. With the aim of cultivating folk renewed in heart as well as land, he redeemed all of Shinpei’s children with his own hands. "I am the father, Kiyoko the mother," he proclaimed with a laugh. He led the multitude of families forth. It was heard that but a few high-minded individuals came to see them off even at Ueno. (*Bungei Kurabu*, August 1899)