Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

A-kun—a gentleman nearing forty in appearance yet possessing remarkably vigorous student-like energy—prefaced his tale with words like, "A country bumpkin knows no manners... This may be terribly rude," before launching into the following ghost story with brisk eloquence. My hometown lies in Kyushu near the famed Shiranui lights. Though my birthplace lacked any proper river, venturing about four kilometers into the countryside brought one to Obana River skirting a village's edge. Its official name was Tōjin River, but locals exclusively used Obana River. I never learned why it bore that Chinese-derived name, though I supposed Obana—meaning 'silver grass flowers'—came from historical accounts describing embankments thickly overgrown with reeds. Like most rural waterways, this one still retained vestiges of that past; even as a child I knew its banks remained densely clustered with silver grass.

Though it was a long river, its width measured about twenty ken (approximately thirty-six meters), roughly a quarter of the Sumida River’s breadth. Since ancient times, its embankments had been low, with the distance between ground and water perilously close, so it easily overflowed and flooded. When I was a child, there were times it flooded for four consecutive years. No—what I’m about to tell isn’t some tale from that distant past. But neither did it happen yesterday or today—you must understand this occurred during my student days, fifteen or sixteen years ago now.

At that time I was attending university in Tokyo, but only that year I remained in my hometown even after summer vacation had ended. I would explain the reason in due course, but first, let me note that I returned home for summer vacation on July 12th—a date I’ll never forget—and that my hometown lies over three ri from the train station. These days shared buses run this route, but in that era there were only rickety shared horse-drawn carriages. There were rickshaws available, but as I didn’t have much luggage and—more importantly—the price difference was considerable, I immediately boarded a shared horse-drawn carriage upon alighting at the station.

Due to the inconvenient train schedule, I alighted at 1:00 PM—the height of midday heat that felt unbearable—but since idling here until sunset was out of the question, I wiped my sweat and boarded the shared horse-drawn carriage. Including myself, there were merely three passengers in a vehicle meant for eight. This lonely station saw few comings and goings even ordinarily, compounded by locals avoiding both rickshaws and carriages to instead shoulder heavy loads and trudge off briskly. While I’d long known carriages rarely filled here, three passengers still struck me as far too few. But considering this miscalculation in passenger numbers a fortunate mistake—especially welcome in such heat—I comfortably claimed one bench. Sitting across were a man in his mid-twenties who appeared about my age and a young woman of nineteen or twenty; judging by their features, they unmistakably seemed to be siblings.

What caught my attention here was the stark contrast in their appearances—while the brother could at once be recognized as a simple farm youth, the sister wore alluringly flashy attire far more refined than any barmaid from our town, leading me to surmise she must have been a geisha from somewhere. Both brother and sister remained silent. The brother occasionally turned to glance outside the carriage, while the sister—her complexion pallid and bearing a listless air—kept her eyes lowered to her lap throughout. As I read the Osaka newspaper and local papers I’d bought on the train, the carriage passed through the town center from the station and soon entered the village. As I mentioned earlier, reaching my town required trudging over three ri along this country road—a veritable ordeal in such heat.

Nevertheless, exhausted from the long train journey and heat, I had been reading my newspaper while being rocked by that rickety carriage when I must have nodded off without realizing—only to be suddenly jolted awake by a violent shake that left my body halfway tumbling from the seat. The woman opposite nearly fell too but was caught by her brother sitting beside her. Looking around to see what had happened, I found our carriage horse had collapsed. It was animal abuse plain and simple. Starved and mercilessly whipped under this blazing sun—the poor creature never stood a chance. That’s why it had collapsed mid-journey.

The driver, looking troubled, jumped down from his seat. We too stepped out of the carriage temporarily. The driver naturally took charge, with both the young man and I assisting—drawing cold water from a nearby farmhouse well to make the horse drink and douse its body. Knowing his trade, the driver procured a coarse straw mat from somewhere and draped it over the animal's back. Amid our frantic efforts, the horse somehow staggered upright again, so we guided it into a tree's cool shade to recuperate. Just as we wiped our brows and prepared to rest, the young man abruptly shouted—a sharp cry torn from his throat.

“Damn it!” “She ran off again?” When I turned to see who had fled, the woman who looked like a geisha had already disappeared without a trace. While we’d been distracted tending to the horse and caught up in the commotion, she must have slipped away somewhere. Why she’d run off or where she’d hidden—I naturally had no idea—but the young man clicked his tongue with an expression bordering on anguish. He appeared to be weighing his options when he finally addressed the driver:

“How about it? Can this horse walk?” “I think it’ll be all right if we let it rest a bit…,” said the driver thoughtfully. “But this horse’s legs have grown terribly weak lately.” I thought it would be troublesome if we set out again only for the horse to collapse midway once more. The young man also seemed to share this apprehension, for he declared that he might as well walk from here. And so, through negotiations with the driver, it was agreed that half the carriage fare would be refunded. Though we hadn’t even traveled about one ri, getting only half the fare refunded seemed a poor deal, but there was nothing to do but accept this disaster as a mutual loss. I too received half the fare, shouldered my single bag, and started walking, whereupon the young man fell into step beside me. Under these circumstances, I couldn’t very well refuse to travel together with him. I asked while walking.

“How far are you going?”

“I am going to KB Village,” he answered politely and clearly. “So we’re taking the same road.” “I’m returning to MK Town.” From such beginnings, as we gradually talked and it became clear that I was the son of Akisaka from MK Town, the young man further altered his attitude, his greetings growing increasingly polite. My family wasn’t exactly what you’d call landed gentry, but as we were one of the region’s most prominent old families, he too knew the name Akisaka and seemed to have developed considerable respect for me as its son. He carried just one small cloth-wrapped bundle, making him practically empty-handed. I too had only one bag, but since it was stuffed to bursting with clothes inside, it looked quite heavy. Despite my repeated refusals, he ultimately ended up carrying my bag for me.

The young man was naturally a strong walker, and I wasn’t exactly weak-legged either, but trudging along a country road under the blazing July sun—the earth scorched and steaming with vegetation—was unbearable. The two of us occasionally rested under trees, and as the hour approached five in the afternoon, we finally caught sight of my town.

II

People in Tokyo may not be well acquainted with provincial affairs, but what we found most tedious during our student days was the annual summer homecoming. It’s not that I disliked returning home, but once I did return, I had to make sure to visit relatives and acquaintances at least once. Having to do it just once was still manageable, but with some people there were places that demanded two or three visits—or even required staying overnight. Moreover, it wasn’t just within the town. We had to go to a neighboring village, then to the next neighboring village. In the worst cases, this meant crossing mountains to travel six or seven ri—it was utterly unbearable. Of course, I had to repeat this routine even then, so I spent nearly the entire month of July living in constant busyness.

When August arrived and I had finally completed all those obligations, I felt as though my body was truly my own again—but lying around every day wasn't exactly entertaining. I had brought various books with the intention of studying during my homecoming, but when it came down to it, my usual habit of laziness emerged. That said, given how small the town was, there were no places to go for fun. Having decided I might as well try going fishing instead, on a cool day in mid-August, I took out our family's fishing gear and set off to angle in that Obana River. Of course, knowing full well that I was unlikely to catch anything during the day, I woke from a nap, washed my face, and set out around four o'clock in the afternoon. Even after walking about one ri from town, the sun these days still showed no sign of setting. Since I had often come here since childhood, I was generally familiar with the fishing spots along this stretch of the river; pushing through the silver grass on the embankment, I settled into a suitable spot and, while gazing at the rows of wax trees on the opposite bank tinged by the evening sun, leisurely began casting my line.

The preface has run a bit long, but you must understand that the main story is finally about to begin. I hadn’t been particularly skilled at fishing even as a child, but now that I was older, I seemed to have grown worse—I’d had my line in the water for nearly an hour without a single bite. Growing bored, I stopped watching the float and let my gaze wander over the wildflowers scattered at my feet when I suddenly noticed a small blossom drifting on the water’s surface. In my hometown, we call this ghost algae or ghost grass. What people generally refer to as “ghost grass” are red spider lilies—flowers given names like ghost grass or ghost flower because they bloom profusely in dark, damp places like graveyards. But the ghost algae found here belongs to an entirely different species: a type of floating plant resembling algae that drifts wherever the current takes it. From early summer through mid-autumn, one often sees these flowers floating on the water. They say they bloom even amidst snowfall, but that claim seems rather dubious.

As for why it was bestowed with the name 'ghost,' it seemed to have ultimately derived from the shape of its flowers and leaves. The flowers came in two varieties—pale white and pale purple—all tinged with a somewhat clouded hue. Particularly unsettling was the shape of its leaves. Slender, pallid elongated leaves that somehow resembled hands rising from the water to beckon. For these reasons—its flowers and leaves alike making it an ill-omened plant—it had likely been given ominous names like "ghost algae" or "ghost grass" in some bygone era, one might imagine; but regarding this, there was also such a legend.

Long ago, a beautiful Heike court lady who had fled from Dan-no-ura wandered far until she reached this village. Exhausted and parched with thirst, she climbed down the embankment to scoop river water to drink when her foot slipped, and she was sucked into the depths below. I don't know how they determined she was a Heike court lady, but that's how the story goes. And so it was said that what later surfaced in this river was that ghost algae—its pale white flowers matching her kosode's hue; its faint purple mirroring her hakama's shade. If it were a court lady's hakama, one would expect scarlet, but it was said to have been pale purple. Legends of pitiful women's souls taking residence in plants and flowers are numerous throughout the provinces. This too seems to be one such example.

Unlike the Shuimangcao from Liaozhai Zhiyi, they say this ghost algae isn't a poisonous plant. Yet what makes it feared more than toxic plants lies in the legend that when its flower touches a young woman's skin, she will surely be cursed. Thus while for men it meant nothing—being merely another aquatic weed—even they couldn't feel entirely at ease with something bearing such an ominous name. Whenever we spotted this grass drifting by while swimming or fishing in the river, we'd shout things like "Ghosts are coming!" to spook each other before fleeing ourselves and causing all sorts of uproar.

Of course, I could no longer entertain such childish notions now, but still—when I noticed the ghost algae drifting dimly across the water at dusk—the ghost algae I hadn’t seen in years—one memory from my boyhood after another rose unbidden, and as I gazed dreamily at those flowers, a sudden rustling sound near my ear startled me to awareness. Turning to look, a young man emerged from a silver grass thicket no more than six meters from where I crouched, parting the stalks as he appeared. He was wearing a white splatter-pattern summer kimono and a straw hat.

When he and I made eye contact, we simultaneously exchanged greetings.

“Hey.” The young man was the son of a pharmacy owner in my town who had obtained his pharmacist license in Fukuoka or Kumamoto and was now dispensing medications at his own shop. His name was Ichino Yakichi, and he too should have been the same age as me. His parents were still in good health, employing one apprentice, and the shop seemed to be thriving quite well. He was my elementary school friend, and when we were children, we often came to this river to swim together. Even so, as we both grew older and happened to meet like this, our greetings naturally became more formal. Especially since Ichino was in a customer-facing trade, he was particularly attentive. He called out politely.

“Are you fishing?”

“Ah. However, I’m just not getting any bites,” I answered with a laugh. “I suppose so,” he said with a laugh. “In recent years, the fishing has gradually gotten worse. But if you try night fishing, you might catch eels. Occasionally, you might even hook a very large sea bass…” “Are the sea bass still biting? Since I came here just to kill time, it shouldn’t matter either way—but still, if I don’t catch anything, it’s not very fun, is it?”

“Well, of course…”

“Are you fishing too?” I asked.

“No,” he had just said, and seemed slightly at a loss for how to respond, but soon continued with a laugh: “I came to catch insects.”

“Insects…”

“I came to catch katydids for the neighborhood children and to keep at my house.” “Well, half for cooling off…” “It’s the same as your fishing.”

If his sole purpose was catching katydids, I thought, there would be no need to come all the way here—there should be plenty of grassy fields much closer by. Of course, if it were simply to cool off, that would be one thing—but even so, he wasn’t carrying any equipment for catching insects. He didn’t seem to have prepared a net, bag, or basket either. I thought it a bit strange, but since it wasn’t a major issue for me, I didn’t pay it much mind. Then Ichino parted the silver grass and approached my side.

“Isn’t that ghost algae floating there?” “It’s ghost algae,” I said, pointing at the water’s surface. “Nowadays, there’s probably no one left who fears it anymore.” “Yes, unlike when we were children, it seems those who fear ghost algae have gradually become fewer these days.” “However, since it’s a plant rarely found elsewhere, last year people from Kyushu University even came specifically to collect it—but what became of that afterward?”

“It would be nice if this were discovered to be a valuable medicinal herb,” I said with a laugh. “If that were the case, it would be quite advantageous...” he said with a laugh.

After exchanging a few more words, he suddenly looked back behind him as if he had noticed something.

“Ah, I must apologize for interrupting. “Well, may you catch plenty.” Ichino climbed up the low embankment and walked away.

The water’s surface still held daylight, but the embankment dense with silver grass had already sunk into twilight’s gloom. When I turned idly, two pale shapes emerged from behind the silver grass blades. One was unmistakably Ichino, though the other figure’s identity eluded me—yet even from its retreating back, I knew with certainty it was a woman. That business about catching insects had been a blatant lie; Ichino had been waiting here to meet someone, I realized with a private smile. Simultaneously, my mind conjured the geisha who’d vanished from our shared carriage days earlier. In this murky evening light, glimpsing only a distant silhouette, I possessed no means to discern what manner of woman accompanied him—yet an uncanny conviction seized me that she resembled that very geisha. Why this association arose remained beyond my own comprehension.

Ichino wasn’t particularly a close friend of mine, so whatever relationships he might have with any woman were none of my concern. However, if that woman were indeed the geisha, I had to give it some thought.

III

The young man I had accompanied the other day was Katsuta Ryouji from KB Village along this river—a man who, though primarily a farmer, sold sundries at his shop while also running a makeshift teahouse of sorts out front, where he had arranged two benches to serve snacks, fruits, and bread. “It would be better if we just focused solely on farming,” he said, “but ever since my grandfather’s time, we’ve started various side businesses like a sundries shop and a teahouse. Now we can’t very well stop them—they’ve become more trouble than they’re worth.” “Because of that, even my younger sister has turned out no good,” he said as he walked along carrying my bag.

Because the Katsuta household was running various businesses at the shop, his younger sister Omutsu—from her elementary school days—had been helping out by selling sundries and serving tea to customers. Then, apparently instigated by someone, she expressed her desire in the autumn of her fourteenth year to go into service somewhere. The Katsuta household consisted of four members—the mother Otsu, eldest son Ryouji, younger sister Omutsu, and younger brother Tatsuzou. Ryouji and Tatsuzou worked the fields while Otsu and Omutsu managed the shop. With even one person missing leaving them short-handed, neither the mother nor the brothers wanted Omutsu to leave home. With the entire family opposed and seeing no way to achieve her goal, Omutsu disappeared without permission.

“We were so worried back then,” Ryouji sighed as if reliving the memory. “After that, we split up to search for my sister’s whereabouts, but found no trace of her. “In the end, we had to get the police involved—it wasn’t until March the following year that we finally learned where she was…” “My sister had become a barmaid at a restaurant near Kumamoto.” “I rushed there at once, repaid her advance, and brought her back home—but just when I thought she’d stay put for two or three months, she’d bolt again.” “Each time, I’d search.” “Bring her back.” “When this kept recurring, Mother and I gave up—we told her to do as she pleased and washed our hands of it. For over five years, we heard nothing—no idea where she was or what became of her.”

“Then at the end of June this year, she suddenly sent a letter saying she was working as a geisha in Moji, but her body had worsened and she was struggling, so she wanted to return to the family home for a while to recuperate. ‘Therefore,’ she wrote, ‘I want either my brother or mother to come explain this reason to my employer.’ Hearing of her poor health, we couldn’t leave her be. After consulting with Mother, I went to Moji this time and negotiated thoroughly with her employer. In any case, I resolved to bring my sister home temporarily. Today, after arriving at this station and boarding the same carriage as you for the return journey—well, as you saw with your own eyes—she vanished again somewhere along the way. She’s truly a hopeless creature—making parents weep, making siblings weep—it defies all description. When she lived at home, she couldn’t even hold a shamisen properly. But after drifting from place to place—who knows where or how she learned—she’s now become some clumsy geisha, utterly transformed from the person she once was.’”

Even so, Ryouji said he couldn’t comprehend why she had come all this way back with him only to disappear again. I couldn’t quite imagine it either.

Before long, I arrived at my town, so I expressed my thanks for him carrying my bag and parted ways with the pitiable brother.

Afterward, I hadn’t been interested enough to investigate what became of his sister, so I had simply let it pass. But now, having coincidentally spotted a figure resembling her—and moreover seeing her walking off with Ichino—I found myself compelled to ponder. However, lacking sufficient curiosity to go out of my way to follow them and confirm it, I turned back toward the water and resumed my fishing—but with neither any of the large sea bass Ichino had mentioned nor even a single small fish biting, I ultimately lost all patience.

Let’s go home, let’s go home. This is pointless. Muttering to myself, I put away my fishing gear. As I wandered back along the long embankment in evening twilight, large fish leapt repeatedly from the dark water’s surface as if mocking me. Insect cries filled every corner of the grass. Though Tokyo had likely just emerged from midsummer’s heatwave, here—even in this southern land—autumn came early, I mused while carrying my empty fish basket home. Or rather, having barely covered half the distance home where the river began its sharp bend away from town—after bidding farewell to embankment reeds—I started straight down the lower path when something swayed ghostlike from shadows. Stopping instinctively to peer through darkness—how they recognized me remained unclear—the figure spoke low:

“Is that you, Mr. Akisaka?”

That was the voice of a young woman. Though people said foxes sometimes appeared along the Obana River embankment, dismissing it as mere superstition, I answered boldly. “Yes. I am Akisaka.” The woman—resembling a ghost or fox—drew near to me. “I must apologize for my rudeness the other day.” Though her features remained indistinct in the darkness, I’d already formed a general assessment. “Are you Katsuta’s sister?”

“Yes, I am.”

Indeed, she was Katsuta Ryouji’s sister, the geisha. No sooner had I thought this than the woman spoke again.

“Are you returning to town now?” “Oh, I’m heading home now.”

“Then may I have the honor of accompanying you? I too wish to go to town,” the woman said as she edged closer to me. Partly because I couldn’t exactly refuse, and partly because I felt a certain interest in drawing out some secret from this woman, I began walking alongside her. “Have you known Mr. Ichino for a long time?” the woman asked. That the one who had been walking with Ichino was indeed this woman had now been confirmed beyond doubt. As we gradually talked, it became clear that this woman too had been hiding in the shadow of the silver grass and had likely eavesdropped on the conversation between Ichino and me. And it seemed Ichino had told her through his own words that I was a person named Akisaka. Otherwise, there’s no way she could have known my name. In any case, I answered honestly that I had known Ichino since childhood. However, having been in Tokyo in recent years and only meeting him about once a year, I had laid out a precautionary defense by stating upfront that I knew nothing about his current circumstances.

“Are you going to Mr. Ichino’s place again tonight?” I asked innocently. “Actually, I was with him until just a little while ago… He must be dead by now.”

I was shocked. Given how dark it was, I couldn't make out her expression or form, but seeing her state such things so calmly made me suspect she might have gone mad. Then she spoke again, her voice icy.

“I am going to the police now.” “What are you going there to do?” “But you see—” “You can’t kill someone and stay calm.” Precisely because she remained so composed, I found myself growing increasingly unsettled. There was no doubt about it—this woman was mad. I thought she might bare her white teeth and suddenly lunge at me, but since I couldn’t very well run away now, I walked alongside her with utmost caution. If I were to say this, people might laugh and call me cowardly or weak-willed, but walking along a deserted country road with such a woman as my companion was not at all pleasant. If only there were at least some moonlight, but unfortunately tonight was pitch black.

“So you really did kill Mr. Ichino?” I pressed further. “Since I stabbed his throat with a razor and pushed him into the river, I believe he must certainly be dead.” “I am going to the police to turn myself in now.” “You’re joking,” I said with forced bravado, laughing unnaturally. “Those unfamiliar with the matter may dismiss this as a jest, but whether it’s a jest or truth will become clear tomorrow.” “I may have returned to my hometown this time precisely to kill that man Ichino.”

I was startled again. "Since you know nothing of this matter, sir, you must think this sudden declaration either a jest or madness..." said the woman again, as if seeing through my innermost thoughts. "But it is the truth. "I heard you returned with my brother the other day. Did he say anything about me then?"

“Ah… I heard a little about it. I heard you had gone to Moji…” I replied honestly.

The woman seemed to pause in thought for a moment, then quietly began speaking again. "That man Ichino is my lifelong enemy." "It was only natural to kill him."

I was listening silently.

IV

A firefly flew out from the roadside grass thicket and drifted away as if disappearing into nowhere. The fireflies here are large. Even so, the faint, emaciated shadows of autumn looked lonely, so as I watched with this dim sort of mood, the woman too seemed to be gazing intently at where the firefly had gone.

“It somehow looks like a will-o’-the-wisp,” the woman said. We continued walking as she resumed speaking. “If you’ve heard from my brother, you must already know most of this—but since I’m twenty now, it was nearly seven years ago when I was fourteen.” “Mr. Ichino often came fishing to this river, sometimes stopping by my shop on his way back to buy tobacco or matches.” “Occasionally he’d rest on a camp stool and eat pears or muskmelons before leaving.” “Back then Mr. Ichino was nineteen, while I was just a fourteen-year-old girl without an ounce of charm.” “We’d simply grown familiar from meeting so often—until one day around this same season.” “When Mr. Ichino stopped by my shop as usual after fishing—drinking tea and nibbling salted rice crackers—I casually went over and asked, ‘Did you catch much today?’ He laughed and said, ‘No—strangely not a single bite today.’” “‘As you see, my creel’s empty,’ he continued, ‘but I did bring back this.’ He pulled out something plant-like from the basket.” “When I leaned in without thinking, I found river ghost algae inside.” “You must know about ghost algae…”

“Ghost algae…” “I know,” I nodded in the darkness. “Horrified, I instinctively tried to recoil—but Mr. Ichino, half-jesting, said, ‘Look, a ghost will possess you!’ and thrust that plant against my chest.” “It was hot then, and my summer kimono hung open at the chest—so when that wet algae slid into my robe and clung stickily to my breasts, I shuddered from both the chill and revulsion.” “Mr. Ichino laughed in amusement, but thinking his prank had gone too far, I couldn’t contain my anger.” “After Mr. Ichino left, my anger gave way to sudden sorrow. I sat on the camp stool weeping silently until my mother returned from outside and noticed. She kept asking why I was crying—had I quarreled with someone?—but I said nothing.” “That matter was settled for the time being, yet I couldn’t stop dwelling on it.” “When I thought how ghost algae touching a woman’s skin would surely curse her… it felt both terrifying and sorrowful…” “I should have confessed it sooner to my mother or brother, but since even speaking of it felt somehow frightening, I kept it to myself and dwelled on it alone.”

“When I later told Mr. Ichino about it, he laughed and said it was all in my head, but that night I had a terrifying dream.” “As I slept by my pillow, a beautiful court lady in white robes and purple hakama trousers sat beside me, intently staring at my sleeping face. I became so terrified I couldn’t even scream—clutching desperately at my futon—and when I finally awoke, my neck and entire body were drenched in sweat.” “The next morning, my head felt strangely heavy, my body was feverish, and I was filled with an indescribably ominous feeling—but since it wasn’t bad enough to keep me in bed, I endured it and went to work at the shop as usual.” “Now, this is where the story truly begins.” “Please listen carefully.”

That a young woman ensnared by the legend of ghost algae would be assailed by such a dream seemed both uncanny and inevitable. It might rather be an entirely natural thing, I thought. But now gripped by curiosity about how this incident would unfold from here, as I listened intently, the woman drew a breath and resumed her tale.

“However—I don’t know why—today of all days, I can’t help feeling compelled to wait for Mr. Ichino to come.” “It wasn’t that I wanted to meet him to voice yesterday’s resentment—I just felt somehow compelled to wait for Mr. Ichino.” “I don’t quite understand why myself, but no matter how much I wished Mr. Ichino would come quickly, he never appeared that day.” “I felt strangely provoked, this restless irritation gnawing at me—so much so that I couldn’t sleep peacefully that night. By the next morning, my head felt even heavier, yet the agitation remained. Still, I waited for Mr. Ichino to come again that day.” “Since Mr. Ichino didn’t come that day either, I grew increasingly frantic—so restless I couldn’t sit still or stand still.”

Now that I think about it, everything seems like a dream. After night fell and I had taken my bath, finished my evening meal, I found myself standing vacantly in front of the shop when it suddenly occurred to me: what if Mr. Ichino had come for night fishing? He had mentioned during his visit two days prior that with this persistent heat, he might take up night fishing for a while—perhaps he had gone out there by now. With that thought tugging at me like a pulled string, I suddenly began walking unsteadily until I reached the river embankment. That night too was pitch-dark like tonight, where I saw a lone night fisherman with a small lantern among the silver grass. Stealing closer on tiptoe, I discovered it was unmistakably the wrong person—an old man—and such unreasonable fury welled up in me that I even considered hurling a stone to startle him.

“Having no other choice, I turned back absentmindedly—and midway along the embankment, another light appeared. This time it was a square lantern like those carried by policemen; as we gradually drew closer to each other, the figure holding that light in one hand and a long fishing rod in the other was…” “The moment I confirmed it was Mr. Ichino, I ran frantically toward him, suddenly clung to him, pressed my face against his chest, and began sobbing like a child.” “Why I cried—even I didn’t understand.” “It was just that I somehow felt sad.”

“That night, when it got late, I returned home,” said the woman. “My mother and brother scolded me—‘Where have you been wandering until now?’—but I said nothing.” “Because it wasn’t something I could speak of honestly.” After that, every other day or so when I stole down to the riverside after dark, Mr. Ichino would always be there waiting as promised. “As we kept meeting like this, my mother and brother began making a fuss about my nighttime outings—‘Where exactly do you go?’ they pressed. Since staying at home made it impossible to meet him freely, I resolved to enter service elsewhere. But when they refused even that, after consulting with Mr. Ichino, I finally left home without permission.”

“That said, since Mr. Ichino was still dependent on his parents and couldn’t possibly take me in—a fact I fully understood—I received about thirty yen at the time. However, ten yen was taken as a commission by the person who arranged things, so we split the remaining twenty yen between Mr. Ichino and myself.” “According to our initial agreement, he was supposed to come see me at least five or six times a month, but Mr. Ichino turned out to be a terrible liar—in the end, he never showed his face even once after that.” “Moreover, this so-called teahouse served meals and was practically a brothel, so the hardship I endured there is too awful to put into words.” “There were times I thought about ending it all in one go, but because I still clung to Mr. Ichino—hoping against hope he might come for me—I endured until around March of the following year. But then my family filed a missing persons report with the police, so my whereabouts were finally discovered. My brother came straight to where I was working and took me back home.”

“So I thought my harsh service would finally end and I could return near the home of Mr. Ichino, whom I longed for—I was even briefly delighted—but when I returned, what do you think I found? During my absence, Mr. Ichino had left his home and enrolled in a pharmacy school in Fukuoka or somewhere, and I was truly disheartened. If that’s how it was, you could have at least sent a single letter to inform me you were going far away for such reasons! To think there could be such a heartless person—I became so angry I was left utterly astounded. Even if I was just a young girl, being belittled so mercilessly made it truly unbearable—don’t you think that’s only natural?”

To toy with a young girl, then sell her off to a shady teahouse and coldly walk away to some distant place as if he knew nothing—it was truly unconscionable. I had known nothing until then about Ichino having such a past misdeed, but I thought this woman’s outrage at his conduct was only natural.

“Did Ichino do such a thing? I’m shocked,” I said, agreeing with her. “At that time, I too was truly filled with regret. However, after returning home and settling in for ten days to half a month, my feelings gradually calmed down as well—being deceived by such a man arose from my own lack of foresight, and there was no use dwelling on it now. Having resolved to put that man out of my mind and work quietly at home from then on, I was helping at the shop as usual when one evening—I had another terrifying dream.”

“Just like last year’s dream, a court lady in white robes and purple hakama came to my bedside and intently stared at my sleeping face. When I awoke from that dream, I was drenched in sweat. The next morning, my head felt heavy. Everything was the same as before, and I found myself longing for Mr. Ichino so much that even I found it strange. I don’t understand why someone who’d once resolved to cut ties could long for him so intensely again—the logic escapes even me. But this reckless longing grew unbearable, until I finally resolved to go all the way to Fukuoka to seek out Mr. Ichino. What a reckless bloom I was. So without any thought of the consequences, I rushed to the town station—only to realize I had no train fare. As I was pacing about in confusion, a merchant-like man who happened to be there addressed me with undue familiarity and began kindly asking all sorts of questions. Being a fifteen-year-old who’d known hardship but was still naive, I carelessly let myself be drawn in. When I told him I wanted to go to Fukuoka but had forgotten my train fare, the man put on a deeply sympathetic face and said, ‘That must be terribly troubling for you.’ He said, ‘Actually, I’m heading to Fukuoka too, so I’ll buy your ticket,’ and put me on the train.”

“Because I was a fool, I was led along cheerfully—but when the train stopped at a station, the man said he was getting off here. Though I thought it seemed oddly close for Fukuoka, we got off together anyway. Then he summoned a rickshaw and took me to a dimly lit restaurant on the outskirts of town.”

“Because I remembered what had happened the previous year, I thought ‘Oh!’, but there was nothing I could do anymore. The claim of it being Fukuoka was a lie—we hadn’t even gone halfway there, stopping instead at a small town along the way where, as I’d feared, there stood another shady teahouse. When I panicked and tried to flee, they demanded, ‘Then return the train fare and rickshaw fee before you go.’ Since there was absolutely no way out, I ended up having to endure harsh service here again. But even so, it was too harsh—so after about three months had passed, I sent word to my brother, and he came to pick me up again right away.”

The woman’s story was quite lengthy, but since repeating the same things over and over would be tedious, I’ll summarize the gist of it: after returning to her hometown village once more, resolved to endure this time, that same court lady would appear by her pillow again. When that happened, she would be overwhelmed with longing for Ichino. When her patience finally snapped and she ran away again, she would encounter another wicked man along the way and be cast into some dark den of iniquity. Such things happened repeatedly, until in the end even her brother stopped coming to inquire. Nor did she send any word. During the years they spent without contact, the woman drifted from place to place until she became a geisha in Moji.

The woman from the shady teahouse had, at any rate, become a geisha—so in her case she had somewhat risen in status—but before long, she contracted a terrible illness. Initially believing it to be a mild venereal disease—but as it gradually seemed to worsen—both her employer advised her and she herself thought likewise; when she contacted her brother after a long absence, her brother Ryouji came to fetch her again. With her employer’s consent, it was decided she would temporarily return to her family home to recuperate, and on July 12th, she arrived at a station near her hometown for the first time in six years.

That was when she boarded the same carriage as me, as I had mentioned before.

5

Regarding what happened afterward, the woman called Omutsu explained as follows. “As you are aware, when the carriage horse collapsed along the way and you were all tending to it, I slipped away somewhere—but this wasn’t something I’d planned from the start. Of course, I had fully intended to return home with my brother.” “However, when we came partway, there was a person sitting by a farmhouse at the roadside, talking about something.” “That was indeed Mr. Ichino without a doubt.” “We parted ways when I was fourteen, but I never forgot him.” “As I looked at that from the carriage window and was struck by the thought—how strange!—the carriage horse suddenly buckled at the knees and collapsed.”

“Then, while everyone was making a commotion, I slipped away and suddenly appeared before Mr. Ichino. My appearance had completely changed, so he didn’t seem to recognize me at first, but eventually he did realize—and so it became a reunion after all this time.” “But Mr. Ichino said we mustn’t let my brother find us here, so he pulled me around to the back of the house where there was a cornfield. We hid among the cornstalks and stood talking for a while until the horse situation had been settled and you and my brother started walking ahead. After letting you pass by, we followed slowly behind.”

“Along the way, Mr. Ichino and I discussed many things. He had since graduated from pharmacy school, obtained his pharmacist license, and returned home to run a proper business. He spoke of deeply regretting the past—kept making excuses and apologizing repeatedly—so thinking there was no use clinging to bygone matters now, I resolved to forgive him.” “Mr. Ichino expressed sympathy for my illness, saying that if we traced it back through time, it had indeed stemmed from his own actions. He told me he’d send some allowance money while I stayed at home.”

“So we parted safely then, and I returned home a step behind my brother. Though my illness was said to be serious, it wasn’t as though I had to stay bedridden all the time. The next morning, when I went up to the river embankment for the first time in ages and wandered through the silver grass, I noticed small pale white and faint purple flowers floating dimly on the water’s surface near my feet.” “When I saw the ghost algae still blooming as ever, I felt an odd sense of nostalgia—I picked up a fallen tree branch nearby, scooped up some of the algae, and well, I don’t know what came over me, but I stuffed that wet grass into my bosom.” “Just as Mr. Ichino had pushed it into my bosom seven years ago…” “The cold, wet algae felt chilling against my skin today, yet so strangely comforting that as I held it tightly against my kimono, I suddenly found myself longing for Mr. Ichino again.”

“As I mentioned before, while drifting from place to place, I had never once met Mr. Ichino, and even though I’d returned this time, I’d had no intention of rekindling anything—but while clutching this ghost algae against me, something shifted inside, and I went straight to town. “When I called Mr. Ichino out front, he emerged with a troubled look and said, ‘A woman like you visiting would be terribly awkward before my parents and neighbors. If you’ve business, I’ll come to you instead.’ “So I made him promise to meet at the Obana River embankment by seven that evening. When I went at the appointed hour, Mr. Ichino had come as agreed. “He seemed to think I’d come demanding money—offered fifteen yen for pocket expenses—but I thrust it back saying I didn’t need a single sen, begging him just to make things right again. Mr. Ichino only grew more flustered, refusing to give any proper answer.”

“So that night we parted ways without resolving anything, but since I absolutely could not give up, I used my hospital visits to town every other day as an opportunity—each time without fail, I would go to Mr. Ichino’s shop, summon him outside, and persistently pressure him to reconcile with me no matter what. It seemed Mr. Ichino had finally become thoroughly exasperated, for tonight too he came to the Obana River embankment, and we finally agreed to settle things decisively.”

“Impatiently waiting for sunset, I pushed through the silver grass on the embankment—only to find you had already arrived first and were fishing there.” “Since that was where I always met Mr. Ichino, I had no choice but to hide in the silver grass and wait for him; when he finally came and began talking with you at length, my impatience grew until I peered out from the grass—and once he noticed me, he gave you a hasty farewell before we agreed to go downstream together.”

“If you insist so persistently,” Mr. Ichino said, “I suppose we could reconcile.” “I might even explain everything to my parents and make our marriage official.” “But your current situation—this constant hospital treatment—is problematic.” “First you must cure that vile illness of yours. Nothing can proceed otherwise.” “Your condition won’t respond to ordinary injections.” “I’ve spent years developing a secret formula—take this consistently for two months and you’ll surely recover.”

“I readily agreed, saying, ‘Yes, if there’s such a medicine, I’ll take it.’ Then Mr. Ichino produced a small bottle of powdered medicine from his sleeve and said, ‘This is a secret formula—you must never show it to anyone. Once you’ve taken it, throw the empty bottle into the river.’ Sensing something amiss, I grabbed the man’s sleeve tightly with one hand and pressed him: ‘You—are you certain I should drink this?’ Mr. Ichino replied in a slightly trembling voice, ‘Why would you ask that?’ So I yanked hard on the sleeve I gripped and demanded, ‘You—this is poison, isn’t it?’ At that, Mr. Ichino began shaking violently, no longer able to speak.”

“Tonight was our final negotiation, and depending on his response, I was resolved—having concealed a razor in my obi from the moment I left home. With just a single ‘You beast!’, I suddenly slashed the razor with all my might from the man’s nape to his throat. Without uttering a word, he collapsed in a heap.” “Still unsettled, I pushed and rolled his body into the river, intending to leap in after him—but then abruptly changed my mind. As I walked alone down the dark road toward the town police station to surrender myself, that’s when I chanced upon you.” “I’ve made you an unwitting accomplice in this affair, and it must be terribly inconvenient for you, but truthfully I don’t know where the police station lies. I would ask you to guide me there.”

The woman’s story had first come to an end here. In truth, I couldn’t say I wasn’t inconvenienced, but at the same time, it felt too cruel to coldly refuse her—so I honestly agreed and ended up going with her to the police station. Along the way, the woman spoke again of such things.

“Last night too, the usual court lady came to my bedside.” The shadow of a water demon seemed to cling to the woman’s back, and timid as I was, I shuddered. The murder at the Obana River embankment became a sensational topic in the small town. Especially since the perpetrator was a geisha, the rumors grew even more intense. That night, I had been the only one who encountered the victim at the scene, and since I had also brought the perpetrator to the police myself, I was summoned multiple times as their sole witness. I was questioned by the preliminary judge too. For that reason, even when September arrived and classes were about to begin, I had no choice but to postpone my return to Tokyo.

When October came, I finally returned to Tokyo, but her trial had still not been decided. I later heard that when April of the following year arrived, she had been granted a suspended sentence and was safely released from prison. It seems various extenuating circumstances had been taken into account by the court.

However, she did not emerge unscathed. By the time she returned home, that illness of hers had gradually worsened, and after being confined to bed for about two months, on a rainy night at the end of June, she crawled out of her sickbed and threw herself from the Obana River embankment. Was it to atone for the crime of murder, or was it because she could no longer endure the suffering from her illness? She left no note to explain such things.

The next day, her corpse was discovered downstream, but here was something that had threatened the souls of those who believed in the legend. Her corpse was found completely entangled in that ghost algae, looking just like a fish caught in a net.