Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

A-kun—a gentleman who appeared to be nearing forty yet retained the spirited disposition of a student—would preface his tales with remarks like, "A country bumpkin unversed in manners..." After such prefaces, often adding something like, "This may be terribly rude of me…," he would launch into his ghost stories with remarkably lively eloquence. My hometown lies in Kyushu, near that famed Shiranui phenomenon. The town of my birth lacks any proper river, but venture about one ri into the countryside from town, and you'll find what we call Obana River at the village outskirts. Its official name is said to be Tōjin River, though all locals refer to it as Obana River. I never learned why it was called Tōjin River, but since tales tell of silvergrass once blanketing its embankments, the name Obana River likely stems from that growth. While true of most rural rivers, I've known since childhood that this river's banks still preserve remnants of that past—silvergrass grows thick there even now.

It was a long river, but its width measured about twenty ken (approximately 36 meters), likely no more than a quarter of the Sumida River's breadth. Since ancient times, its embankments had been low, with water lying perilously close to ground level, so it easily overflowed beyond its banks. During my childhood, there had been flooding that continued for four straight years. But what I was about to recount didn't belong to such distant history. That said, this wasn't yesterday's affair—consider it a tale from my student days, fifteen or sixteen years prior.

At that time I was attending university in Tokyo, but only that year did I remain in my hometown even after the school’s summer vacation had ended. I’ll explain the reason in due course, but first—I returned home for summer vacation on that unforgettable July 12th. The town where I was born lies over three ri from the train station. Nowadays motor buses run this route, but in those days there were only horse-drawn stagecoaches in great numbers. There were rickshaws available, but since I didn’t have any significant luggage and—most importantly—the price difference was considerable, I immediately boarded a stagecoach upon alighting at the station.

Due to the inconvenient train schedule, I alighted at 1:00 PM when the midday sun was at its fiercest—though I found it unbearable, I couldn’t afford to loiter here until nightfall. Wiping away sweat, I boarded the stagecoach to find only three passengers including myself in its eight-seat compartment. This lonely station saw few comings-and-goings even ordinarily, as locals eschewed both rickshaws and carriages, preferring to trudge along shouldering heavy bundles. While I’d long known the coach rarely filled completely, three passengers still seemed far too few. But thinking that having fewer passengers was rather fortunate—especially in such heat—I comfortably occupied one bench. Across from me sat a man of about twenty-four or five, seemingly my age, and a young woman of nineteen or twenty. Judging by their features, they appeared unmistakably to be siblings.

What caught my attention was how utterly dissimilar this brother and sister were in appearance—while the young man could at once be recognized as a simple farm youth, his sister wore alluringly flashy attire far more refined than any barmaid in our town, leading me to imagine she must likely be a geisha from somewhere. Both brother and sister remained silent. The brother would occasionally turn to gaze out the carriage window, while the sister—her complexion pale and her air listless—kept her eyes downcast on her lap throughout. As I read through the Osaka newspaper and local papers I had bought on the train, the carriage passed through the town center from the station before entering the village. As I mentioned earlier, reaching my town required trudging over three ri (approximately twelve kilometers) along this country road—a truly arduous journey in such heat.

Exhausted from the long train journey and the heat, I had drowsed off while reading my newspaper in the rattling stagecoach when—violently jolted—I startled awake to find myself halfway tumbling from the bench. The young woman opposite nearly fell over, but her brother sitting beside her caught her in his arms, preventing disaster. Looking around to see what had happened, I found the stagecoach horse had suddenly collapsed. So this was animal abuse's doing. They hadn't been feeding it properly while cruelly whipping it under the blazing sun—no wonder it gave out. That explained why the horse had collapsed mid-journey.

The driver, also at a loss, jumped down from the driver’s seat. We too got out of the carriage for the time being. The driver, of course, along with the young man and myself, helped fetch cold water from a nearby farmhouse well—giving it to the horse to drink and splashing it over its body. Because the driver knew what to do, he obtained something like a coarse straw mat from somewhere and draped it over the horse’s back. Amidst all this commotion, the horse somehow managed to get back up again, so we led it into the shade of a tree to let it rest for a while.

When we had wiped our sweat and were about to catch our breath, the young man suddenly let out a cry.

“Damn!” “She ran away again?!”

Wondering who had fled, I turned to look and found that the geisha-like woman had disappeared without a trace. While we were preoccupied with tending to the horse and absorbed in our commotion, she must have vanished somewhere. Why she had fled or hidden herself, I naturally had no idea, but the young man clicked his tongue with an anguished expression. He seemed to be deliberating what to do next before finally turning to address the driver.

“How about it? Can this horse walk?”

“I think it should be all right if we let it rest a little...” said the driver pensively. “But he’s been getting terribly weak in the legs lately.” I thought it would be troublesome if we set out again only for the horse to collapse once more along the way. The young man also seemed to share this apprehension, for he declared that he might as well walk from here on out. And so, after negotiating with the driver, it was agreed that we would reclaim half the carriage fare. Though we hadn’t even come one ri yet, I thought getting half the fare back was a somewhat unfavorable deal, but there was nothing to do but resign ourselves to this misfortune as a mutual loss. I received half the fare, shouldered my single bag, and started walking. Then the young man fell into step beside me. Given this situation, I couldn’t very well refuse to walk alongside him. I asked as we walked.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m heading to KB Village,” he replied politely and clearly. “Then we’re taking the same road.” “I am returning to MK Town.” Through this exchange, when it became apparent that I was the son of MK Town’s Akizaka family, the young man further adjusted his demeanor, his greetings growing increasingly polite. Though my family wasn’t particularly wealthy landowners, being among the region’s most established old families meant he clearly recognized the Akizaka name and consequently began showing marked deference to me as the family’s heir apparent. He carried only a single small cloth-wrapped bundle, nearly empty-handed. I too had just one bag, but crammed full of clothing as it was, its weight showed plainly. Despite my persistent refusals, he ultimately insisted on carrying my bag for me.

The young man was clearly a strong walker, and I wasn’t particularly weak-legged myself, but trudging along a country road under the height of a July afternoon—with the earth scorching and stifling heat emanating from the vegetation—was unbearable. The two of us occasionally rested under trees, and as the hour drew near five in the afternoon, we finally caught sight of my town.

II

People in Tokyo likely know little of countryside affairs, but what we found most tedious during our student years was having to return home every summer vacation. It wasn't that I disliked going back, but once home, I absolutely had to make courtesy visits to relatives and acquaintances. Managing with just one visit was tolerable enough, but depending on the person, there were cases requiring two or three calls - sometimes even overnight stays. Nor was this limited to within town boundaries. I'd go to a neighboring village, then to the next one beyond. In extreme instances, we had to cross mountain passes to reach places six or seven ri away - an utterly exhausting ordeal. Of course I'd had to repeat this ritual again that summer too, leaving me occupied through nearly all of July.

When August arrived and I had finally finished all those obligations, I felt like my body was truly my own again—but lying around every day wasn’t exactly entertaining. I had brought along various books with the intention of studying during my homecoming, but when it came down to it, my usual laziness surfaced. But that being said, after all, it was such a small town that there were no real places to go for entertainment. I decided I might as well try going fishing, and on a cool day in mid-August, I took my family’s fishing gear and set out for that Obana River to fish. Of course, knowing full well that there’d be no chance of catching anything during the day, I got up from my nap, washed my face, and set out around four in the afternoon. Even after I walked 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 aside the silvergrass on the embankment, I settled into a suitable spot and began leisurely casting my line, gazing at the row of wax trees on the opposite shore bathed in the evening sun.

Though the preface has grown somewhat long, you must understand that the main story is finally about to begin.

I had never been particularly skilled since childhood, but with age I seemed to have grown even worse—I cast my line for nearly an hour without a single bite. Growing somewhat bored, I stopped paying attention to the float altogether. While gazing at the wildflowers scattered around my feet, I suddenly noticed a small blossom drifting on the water’s surface. In my homeland they call this ghost algae or ghost plant. The usual ghost plant refers to red spider lilies that grow thick in gloomy places like graveyards—hence names like ghost plant or specter flower—but what we call ghost algae here is an entirely different species: an alga-like floater that drifts wherever the current takes it. From early summer through mid-autumn you’ll often spot these flowers on the water. They say they bloom even amidst snowfall too, but that’s clearly nonsense.

As for why they bestowed it with the name 'ghost,' it seemed to have ultimately come from the shape of its flowers and leaves. The flowers came in two varieties—pale white and pale purple—all bearing a somewhat clouded hue. Above all, the shape of its leaves was ill-omened. With their thin, pale bluish-green elongated form, they looked almost like hands rising from the water to beckon. Given this—whether considering its flowers or leaves—it being such an ill-omened plant, one could imagine it had come to be given these ominous names like "ghost algae" or "specter grass" in some bygone era. Yet concerning this matter, there existed another legend altogether.

Long ago, a beautiful Heike court lady fled from Dan-no-ura and 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, sending her tumbling into the depths below. I don't know how they identified her as a Heike court lady, but that's how the tale stands. What later surfaced in this river was that ghost algae—its pale white flowers said to mirror her kimono's hue, its faint purple echoing her hakama's color. Though one would expect scarlet for a court lady's hakama, this was said to be pale purple. Legends of pitiful women's spirits taking root in plants exist throughout many provinces. This appears to be one such instance.

Unlike the Shuimangcao from Liaozhai Zhiyi, this ghost algae was not a poisonous plant. However, it was feared even more than toxic flora due to a legend claiming that should its flower touch a young woman’s skin, she would inevitably be cursed. For men, it held no particular significance—merely an aquatic plant—but bearing such an ill-omened name as “ghost,” we never felt entirely at ease with it either. Whenever we found this algae drifting where we swam or fished in the river, someone would inevitably shout “A ghost has appeared!”—some frightening others into panic, some fleeing themselves—and all manner of commotion would ensue.

Of course, my present self could no longer entertain such childish notions, yet when I noticed the ghost algae—seen after so long—drifting dimly upon the twilight water, memories of my boyhood days arose one after another. As I gazed dreamily at those flowers for a time, a sudden rustling sound reached my ears. Startled, I turned to look and saw a young man emerging through the silvergrass thicket no more than three ken from where I crouched. He wore a white kasuri-patterned summer kimono and a straw hat.

He and I exchanged glances and greeted each other simultaneously. “Hey.” The young man was the son of my town’s pharmacist who had obtained his pharmacist license in Fukuoka or Kumamoto and now also dispensed medications at his own shop. His name was Ichino Yakichi, and he should have been the same age as me. His parents were still in good health, and with one apprentice working for them, the shop seemed to be thriving quite well. He was my elementary school friend, and we had often come to this river to swim together as children. Even so, as we both grew older, whenever we happened to meet like this, our greetings to each other naturally grew more polite. Especially Ichino, being in a customer-facing business, was particularly attentive. He called out politely.

“Are you fishing?” “Well,” “But I’m not catching anything at all,” I answered with a laugh. “I thought as much,” he said with a laugh. “In recent years, it’s gradually become harder to catch anything. "But if you try night fishing, you might catch eels." “Though sometimes a remarkably large sea bass gets caught…” “Are the sea bass still being caught as usual? “I came here to kill time, so I shouldn’t care either way, but it’s still not fun if I don’t catch anything.”

“Of course…” “Are you fishing too?” I asked. “No.” He had just said, seeming slightly at a loss for a response, but soon added with a laugh. “I came to catch insects.” “Insects...” “I came to catch katydids to give to the neighborhood children and keep at my own home. “Well, half of it’s just to cool off…” “It’s the same as your fishing.”

If his sole purpose was catching katydids, I thought, he wouldn't have needed to come all the way here—there should be plenty of grassy areas much closer by. Of course, if cooling off was part of his purpose, that would be one thing—but even so, he didn't have any tools for catching insects. He didn't seem to have brought a net, a bag, or a basket. I found it slightly odd, but since it wasn't particularly important to me, I didn't dwell on it. Then Ichino pushed through the silvergrass and came up beside me.

“Isn’t that ghost algae floating there?” “That’s ghost algae, you know,” I said, pointing at the water’s surface. “Nowadays, there probably aren’t any people who fear it anymore.” “Yes, unlike when we were children, these days there seem to be fewer and fewer people who fear ghost algae.” “But they said it’s a plant rarely found in other regions—last year, people from Kyushu University even came specially to collect it. What came of that?”

“It would be nice if this were discovered to be a valuable medicinal herb,” I said with a laugh. “That would be quite a coup though…,” he said with a laugh. After exchanging a few more words, he suddenly looked back as if noticing something. “Oh, I must apologize for intruding.” “Well, do catch plenty.”

Ichino climbed up the low embankment and walked away. The water's surface still held light, but the silvergrass-thick embankment already grew dim with approaching twilight. When I turned around absently, two pale shapes appeared through the veil of silvergrass leaves. One was unmistakably Ichino, but the other pale figure remained unidentifiable. Yet even from behind, I could clearly discern it was a woman. That business about catching insects had been nothing but a flimsy pretext—Ichino had been waiting here to meet a woman, I realized with a private smile. Simultaneously, the memory surfaced of that geisha who'd vanished from the stagecoach days earlier. In evening's half-light, having glimpsed only a retreating back from afar, I possessed no means to ascertain what manner of woman accompanied Ichino—yet against reason, I grew convinced she resembled that very geisha. Why this conviction took hold remained beyond my own comprehension.

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

Three

The young man who had accompanied me the other day was a man named Katsuta Ryoji from KB Village along this river. Though primarily a farmer, he sold a small selection of hardware goods at his shop and had arranged about two benches in front of the storefront, where he also operated something like a rest tea house serving cheap sweets, fruits, bread, and such. “It would be better to focus solely on farming,” he said, “but ever since my grandfather’s time, we’d started various side businesses like a hardware store and a rest tea house. Now we can’t just stop them—it’s become rather troublesome.” “Because of that, even my sister has turned into a good-for-nothing,” he said while walking, carrying my bag.

Because we were running various businesses at the shop from the time my sister Omutsu was attending elementary school—while helping out by selling hardware and serving tea to customers—it seemed someone had enticed her until one autumn when she turned fourteen and declared she wanted to go into service somewhere. The Katsuta household consisted of four members: our mother O-Tane; myself [Ryoji], the eldest son; my younger sister Omutsu; and my younger brother Tatsuzō. Since I worked the rice paddies and fields with Tatsuzō while Mother and Omutsu managed the shop’s affairs even one missing pair of hands left us short-staffed—so neither Mother nor us brothers approved of letting Omutsu leave home. With everyone opposed and seeing no way left to achieve her goal Omutsu disappeared without permission.

“We were worried at the time,” Ryoji sighed as though it were only now dawning on him. “Then we divided up to search for my sister’s whereabouts, but found no trace.” “Finally through the police’s help, it wasn’t until March of the following year that we first discovered where she was...” “My sister had taken residence as a barmaid at a restaurant in a town near Kumamoto.” “I rushed there immediately, repaid her advance debt, and brought her back home once—but just when I thought she’d behave for two or three months, she’d run off again.” “Each time, we’d search everywhere.” “We’d bring her back.” “Since this kept repeating, Mother and I had given up entirely—we left her to her own devices, and for over five years had no word from her, no idea where she was or what she was doing.”

Then at the end of June this year, she suddenly sent a letter saying that while working as a geisha in Moji, her health had recently been poor and she wanted to return to her family home for a while to recuperate. Therefore, she wanted either her brother or Mother to come explain the circumstances to her employer. “When we heard about her poor health, we couldn’t just leave it be. After discussing it with Mother, I went all the way to Moji this time, negotiated extensively with her employer, and managed to bring my sister back—at least temporarily. Today, after arriving at this station and boarding the same stagecoach as you for the return trip, she vanished again, just as you saw.” “She’s truly a hopeless one—making our parents weep, her siblings weep—it’s beyond all description.” “When she was at home, she didn’t even know how to hold a shamisen properly, but after wandering from place to place, somehow she must have learned it somewhere—now she’s working as a geisha of sorts and has become a completely different person from before.”

"Even so," Ryoji said, "I can't understand why she would hide herself again after coming all the way back here with me." Even I couldn't quite imagine it. Before long we arrived at my town, so I thanked him for carrying my bag and parted ways with the pitiable brother.

After that, I hadn’t been interested enough to investigate what had become of the sister, so time had simply passed by. But now, having accidentally spotted someone who resembled her—and moreover seeing her walking off with Ichino—I found myself somewhat compelled to think. However, not being curious enough to go out of my way to follow them and confirm it, I turned back toward the water and resumed my fishing—but of course, there were none of the large sea bass Ichino had mentioned, nor even a single small fish biting, so I finally lost 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 the evening dusk, the sound of large fish leaping up—taunting me—reached my ears several times from the dark water's surface. In the grass all around, insect chirping filled the air. Tokyo had probably just exited the Dog Days, but even here in the south, autumn seemed to arrive early—or so I thought as I made my way home carrying an empty fish basket. Well, though I say I was returning home, I'd barely made it halfway when—since the river's course began winding considerably from there—I bid farewell to the silvergrass on the embankment and started walking straight along the path below. Then, something swaying unsteadily like a ghost emerged from the darkness. I instinctively stopped and peered ahead—though how they could tell in this darkness, I don't know—when that person spoke in a low voice.

“Is that not Mr. Akizaka?”

It was the voice of a young woman.

It was said that foxes sometimes appeared along the Obana River embankment, but dismissing this as mere superstition, I boldly answered.

“Yes. I am Akizaka.”

The ghost or fox-like woman approached my side. "I must apologize for my rudeness the other day." In the darkness, I couldn't make out her facial features, but I'd already formed a general assessment. "Are you Katsuta's sister?" "That is correct." Indeed, she was Katsuta Ryoji's sister - the geisha herself. Before this realization could fully settle, she spoke again. "Are you returning to town now?" "Oh." "I'm going home now."

“Then, might I be permitted to accompany you? I too wish to go to town,” said the woman as she slid even closer toward me. I couldn’t exactly refuse, and mixed with a certain interest in wanting to draw out some secret from this woman, I started walking alongside her.

“Have you known Mr. Ichino from before?” the woman asked.

It was finally confirmed that this woman had been the one walking with Ichino. As I gradually conversed with her, it became apparent she too had been concealed in the silvergrass shadows, likely eavesdropping on Ichino's and my exchange. Moreover, it seemed Ichino himself had informed her I was someone named Akizaka—otherwise, she could never have known my name. In any event, I truthfully answered that I'd known Ichino since childhood. However, having lived in Tokyo these past years and only meeting him about annually, I preemptively established a defensive stance by declaring complete ignorance of his recent affairs.

“Are you going to Mr. Ichino’s place again tonight?” I asked, feigning ignorance. “The truth is, I was with him until just a little while ago… He’s probably already dead by now.” I started in surprise. In the darkness, I couldn’t make out her expression or posture, but hearing her state this so calmly made me suspect she might have gone mad—then she spoke again with icy detachment:

“I’m going to the police now.” “What are you going there to do?” “But, you see, “After all, you can’t just kill someone and remain unaffected.” Precisely because she remained so composed, I gradually grew increasingly uneasy. No matter what, this woman seemed insane. I thought it wasn’t impossible that she might suddenly bare her white teeth and lunge at me, but since I couldn’t very well run away now, I walked alongside her with considerable wariness. If I were to say this, people might laugh and call me a coward or a weakling—but walking along this deserted country road with such a woman as my companion was anything but pleasant. If only there had been at least some moonlight, but unfortunately tonight was pitch black.

“So, did you really kill Mr. Ichino?” I pressed. “Since I stabbed his throat with a razor and pushed him into the river, I believe he’s certainly dead. I am going to the police now to turn myself in.”

“You’re joking,” I said, forcing a laugh with what I imagined was great courage. “Those who don’t know may dismiss it as a joke, but whether it’s a joke or the truth will become clear tomorrow.” “It may be that I returned to my hometown this time in order to kill that man Ichino.” I was startled once more. “Since you likely know nothing of this, if I suddenly say such things, you must think it’s a joke or that I’ve gone mad…,” the woman said again, as though she could see right through me. “But it is the truth.” “I heard you returned home with my brother the other day. Did he say anything about me then?”

"Oh, I heard a little about it. I heard you were in Moji..." I answered honestly.

The woman seemed to ponder for a moment, but soon began to speak quietly. "That man Ichino is my mortal enemy." "It’s only natural that I killed him, don’t you think?"

I remained silent and listened.

IV

From the roadside thicket, a firefly darted out and drifted away as if vanishing into nothingness. The fireflies here were large. Yet their faint autumn shadows appeared lonely in their leanness, and as I watched with a somber mood, the woman too seemed to gaze fixedly at where the firefly had gone. "It looks rather like a will-o'-the-wisp," said the woman. We continued walking as she spoke. "If you've heard from my brother, you must already know most of this—but since I'm twenty now, it was seven years ago when I was fourteen." "Mr. Ichino would often come fishing to this river, stopping by my shop on his way to buy cigarettes or matches." "Sometimes he'd rest on a camp stool and eat pears or muskmelons before leaving." "Back then Mr. Ichino was nineteen, but I was just a fourteen-year-old girl without an ounce of charm." "We'd simply grown close from meeting so often—until one day around this same season." "When Mr. Ichino stopped by my shop after fishing as usual, drinking tea and eating rice crackers, I casually approached him asking, 'Did you catch much today?' He laughed and said, 'No—strangely nothing today.'" "'My basket's empty as you see,' he said, pulling out something grass-like from it—when I peered inside without thinking..." "You know about ghost algae...."

“Ghost algae….” “I know,” I nodded in the darkness. “Thinking ‘How awful!’, I instinctively tried to pull away when Mr. Ichino—half-jokingly—said ‘See? A ghost will possess you now,’ and shoved that plant into my chest.” “It was the height of summer, and my summer kimono hung open at the chest. The damp algae slipped into my bosom, clinging slimy and cold around my breasts—I shuddered from both the chill and the revulsion.” “Mr. Ichino laughed as if amused, but I couldn’t help feeling furious—even a prank should have its limits.” “After Mr. Ichino left, my anger subsided only to give way to sudden sadness. I sat tearfully on the camp stool when my mother, returning from outside, noticed me. ‘Why are you crying? Did you fight with someone?’ she pressed repeatedly, but I said nothing.” “Well, that matter was settled, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.” “When I thought how ghost algae touching a woman’s skin would surely curse her, it felt both terrifying and sorrowful…” “It would’ve been better to confess this to Mother or Brother immediately, but even speaking of it seemed frightening—so I kept thinking alone without telling anyone.”

“When I later told Mr. Ichino about it, he laughed it off as just my nerves, but that night I had a terrifying dream,” she said. “A beautiful court lady dressed in a white kimono and purple hakama sat by my pillow as I slept, staring fixedly at my sleeping face. I became so terrified I couldn’t make a sound—clinging desperately to my futon until I awoke drenched in sweat from my neck down.” “The next morning, my head felt heavy, my body was feverish, and I was in an indescribably foul mood. But since it wasn’t bad enough to stay in bed, I endured and went to work at the shop.” “Now,” she continued gravely, “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 strange and not strange at all. In fact, it might be perfectly natural, I thought.

However, as I became interested in how this incident would develop from there and listened intently, the woman took a breath and began to speak again.

“However, I don’t know why, but today of all days, I couldn’t help feeling driven to wait for Mr. Ichino.” “It wasn’t that I wanted to confront him about yesterday’s grudge—I simply found myself compelled to wait.” “I don’t truly understand why myself, but regardless, just when I thought how good it would be if Mr. Ichino came quickly, he never appeared that day.” “I felt somehow tormented and strangely restless, so much that I couldn’t sleep properly that night. When morning came, my head felt heavier still, yet the restlessness remained, and there I was again today waiting for Mr. Ichino.” “When he didn’t come that day either, my impatience grew unbearable until I could neither sit still nor stand calmly.”

Now that I think back on it, it all seems like a dream. As evening fell, I took a quick bath, finished my dinner, and stood vacantly in front of the shop when it suddenly occurred to me—could Mr. Ichino have come for night fishing? After all, when he had visited two days prior, he had mentioned that due to the recent heat, he might switch to night fishing for a while—perhaps he had set out around this time. As soon as this thought came, as if pulled by a string, I suddenly staggered forward. When I reached the river embankment, that night was pitch black like tonight, and there was a lone night fisherman with a small lantern among the silvergrass. I crept closer on tiptoe—only to find it was a completely different person, an old man. I became unreasonably angry, to the point where I even considered throwing a stone into the water to startle him.

Having no choice but to turn back vacantly, I found another light appearing midway along the embankment. This one was a square lantern like those carried by policemen. As we gradually drew closer to each other, there was someone holding that light in one hand and a long fishing rod in the other... “When I confirmed it was indeed Mr. Ichino, I ran toward him in a frenzy, suddenly clung to him, pressed my face against his chest, and began sobbing like a child.” “Why I cried—I myself don’t understand.” “I simply felt a sort of sadness come over me.”

“Late that night, I returned home,” the woman said. “Where have you been wandering around playing until this late hour?—my mother and brother scolded me, but I said nothing.” “Because it wasn’t something I could honestly say.” “Then whenever I sneaked down to the riverside after dark every other day or so, Mr. Ichino was always there as promised.” “As we continued meeting frequently like this, my mother and brother began to fuss over my nighttime outings, interrogating me about where exactly I was going. Since staying at home made it impossible to meet as we wished, I thought of going into service somewhere—but as my mother and brother wouldn’t consent to that either, after consulting with Mr. Ichino, I finally left home without permission.”

“Of course, I fully understood that Mr. Ichino was still dependent on his parents and couldn’t possibly take me in—so at that time, I received about thirty yen. But after ten yen was taken as a fee for the person who helped arrange it, the remaining twenty yen was split between Mr. Ichino and myself.” “According to our initial agreement, he was supposed to come meet me at least five or six times a month—but Mr. Ichino turned out to be a terrible liar, and after that, he never showed his face even once.” “Moreover, that teahouse served meals and was practically a brothel—the hardship was beyond description.” “There were times I thought of ending it all in one go,” she said, “but I still couldn’t let go of Mr. Ichino—clinging to the faint hope that he might come for me eventually. I endured until around March of the following year, but when my family filed a missing person report with the police, my whereabouts were finally discovered. My brother came straight to where I was working to bring me home.”

“So I was free from my difficult service and thought I could return near Mr. Ichino’s home—I was temporarily overjoyed—but when I returned, what do you think happened? During my absence, Mr. Ichino had left his house and enrolled in a pharmacy school in Fukuoka or somewhere—I was utterly devastated. Then couldn’t he have at least sent one letter to inform me he was going far away for such reasons? To think such heartless people exist—I became so angry it left me speechless. Even if I was just some young girl, when they look down on you that much—really, doesn’t it make perfect sense to feel resentful?”

Toying with a young girl, then selling her off to a dubious teahouse, only to walk away to some distant place with feigned innocence—this was truly an outrageous act indeed. I had known nothing until now about Ichino having such old misdeeds in his past, but I thought it only natural this woman would be outraged by his conduct.

“Did Ichino really do such a thing? I’m shocked,” “That’s truly unacceptable,” I said in agreement. “I too was filled with bitter regret at that time.” “But after returning home and settling in for ten days or half a month, my agitation gradually subsided. Being deceived by such a man stemmed from my own thoughtlessness—it’s too late for regrets now.” “Having resolved to cast that man from my mind—determined to work quietly at home henceforth—I had completely reformed my outlook and was assisting at the shop as before when, one evening—” “I had another terrifying dream.”

Just like last year’s dream,a court lady dressed in white kimono and purple hakama came to my bedside and stared fixedly at the sleeping face.When that dream ended,I would find myself drenched in sweat.The next morning,the head felt heavy.Everything was the same as before,andto my own surprise,I found myself longing for Mr.Ichino.“I don’t understand why someone who’d resolved everything could feel such longing again—the logic escapes me—butI became desperately lovesick untilI finally resolvedto go seek Mr.Ichinoin Fukuoka.What areckless morning gloryI was.”“So without thoughtof consequences,I rushedto town’s train station—onlyto realizeI had no train fare.AsI wanderedin confusion,a merchant-like manthere called familiarly,‘SinceI’m goingto Fukuoka too,I’ll buy our tickets,’andputmeonthetrain.”

“I was such a fool that I went along cheerfully,” she continued, “and when the train stopped at a station, the man said he was getting off there. Though it seemed oddly close for Fukuoka, we disembarked together, whereupon he hailed a rickshaw and took me to a dimly lit restaurant on the outskirts of town.” “Having remembered last year’s incident, I thought ‘Ah!’ but there was nothing to be done. The mention of Fukuoka had been a lie—we hadn’t even gone halfway there—and that small town turned out to be another dubious teahouse, just as I’d feared. When I tried to run away startled, he demanded, ‘Then return the train fare and rickshaw fee before you go.’” “With no choice left, I ended up enduring harsh service there once again. But after about three unbearable months, I sent word to my brother, and he came to retrieve me right away.”

The woman's account stretched at length, but as repeating similar events grew tiresome, to summarize the sequence: having returned to her hometown village determined to endure patiently this time, no sooner had she settled than the court lady reappeared at her bedside. Then she would long unreasonably for Ichino. When she could no longer endure it and ran away again, she would encounter villains along the way who threw her into dark dens. Such incidents recurred until eventually even her brother stopped coming to inquire. Nor did she send any word herself. During years spent in mutual silence, the woman drifted rootlessly until becoming a geisha in Moji.

The woman from the dubious teahouse had become a geisha after all—which meant she had somewhat risen in status—but before long contracted a terrible illness. While initially thinking it was a mild case of venereal disease, as it gradually seemed to worsen, her employer advised her and she herself agreed to contact her brother after a long interval. When she did, her brother Ryoji came to retrieve 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 the train 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.

五

Regarding the subsequent events，the woman called Omutsu explained as follows． “As you know，when the carriage horse collapsed en route and you all were tending to it，I slipped away somewhere—but that wasn’t planned from the start at all．I had fully intended to return home with my brother，of course．” “However，when we came partway along the road，there was someone sitting by a farmhouse at the roadside talking about something．” “That was undoubtedly Mr．Ichino．” “Though we parted when I was fourteen，on my part I have never forgotten him．” “As I looked at that through the carriage window and gasped in realization—how strange！—the carriage horse suddenly buckled at the knees and collapsed．”

“Then, while everyone was in an uproar, I slipped away and abruptly appeared before Mr. Ichino. My appearance had changed so completely that he didn’t seem to recognize me at first, but he finally did, and we remarked on how long it had been. But since we couldn’t let my brother find us there, Mr. Ichino pulled me around to the back of the house where there was a cornfield. We hid among the stalks and talked for a while. Once the horse situation settled down and you and my brother started walking ahead, we waited until you’d passed before following slowly behind.”

“On our way back, Mr. Ichino and I discussed many things—how he had graduated from pharmacy school after that, obtained his pharmacist’s license, and returned home to establish a proper business. He said he deeply regretted the past, offering constant excuses and apologies. Thinking there was no use clinging stubbornly to bygone matters now, I resolved to forgive him.” “Mr. Ichino expressed sympathy for my illness—saying that if we traced it back to its origins, it had all stemmed from his own actions—and promised to send me some allowance while I stayed at home.”

So we parted safely then, and I returned home a step behind my brother. Though my illness was serious, it wasn’t as if I had to stay bedridden all the time. The next morning, for the first time in ages, I went up to the riverbank and wandered through the silvergrass when I noticed small, pale white and pale purple flowers floating faintly on the water near my feet. When I saw the ghost algae still blooming, I felt strangely nostalgic for it. Picking up a fallen branch nearby, I scooped up the algae—well, I don’t know what possessed me—and stuffed that wet plant into my bosom. “Just as Mr. Ichino had stuffed something into my bosom seven years ago…” “The cold, wet sensation sent a chill through my skin today—it felt strangely pleasant—so as I held it tightly against my kimono for a while, I suddenly found myself longing for Mr. Ichino again.”

As I mentioned before, during my wanderings from place to place, I had never once encountered Mr. Ichino, and even upon returning this time, I had no intention of rekindling our relationship—but as I held this ghost algae, a surging impulse overcame me, and I immediately went to town. “So when I called Mr. Ichino out front, he came out with an annoyed look and said, ‘If a woman like you comes visiting, it’s terribly awkward for me—in front of my parents and the neighbors. If you have business, I’ll come to you instead.’” “So I made him promise to come to the Obana River embankment by around seven tonight and parted ways. When I went there at the appointed time, Mr. Ichino had arrived as promised.” “It seemed he thought I had come to demand money, so he offered me fifteen yen as temporary spending money. I pushed it back, saying I didn’t need a single sen and pleaded for us to return to how we were before—but Mr. Ichino only made an increasingly troubled face and refused to give any clear answer.”

“So that night ended ambiguously, but I simply couldn’t give up. Taking advantage of my every-other-day trips to the town hospital, I made sure to visit Mr. Ichino’s shop each time, calling him out front to persistently demand we return to how we were before. Mr. Ichino, evidently at his wit’s end, agreed to come to the Obana River embankment again that night to finally settle the matter.”

“I could hardly wait for sunset. Pushing through the silvergrass on the embankment, I found you had already arrived and were fishing there.” “Since that was our usual meeting spot with Mr. Ichino, I had no choice but to hide in the silvergrass shadows and wait for him. When he finally arrived and was talking with you, my impatience grew unbearable—I peered out from the silvergrass. When Mr. Ichino noticed me, he gave you a perfunctory farewell, and we agreed to head downstream together.”

“If you insist this strongly,” Mr. Ichino said, “we could return to how things were before.” “We might even formally marry if I explain everything to my parents.” “But your current situation—constantly visiting hospitals—makes that impossible.” “First you must cure that vile disease of yours. Nothing can proceed until then.” “Your condition won’t be healed by ordinary injections alone.” “I’ve spent years developing a secret medication—take it for two months and you’ll surely recover.”

"I immediately agreed and said, 'Yes, if there's such medicine, I'll take it.' Then Mr. Ichino took out a small bottle of powdered medicine from his sleeve and said, 'This is a secret medication—you must never show it to anyone. Once you've taken it, throw the empty bottle into the river.' The situation struck me as suspicious, so I firmly grabbed the man's sleeve with one hand and pressed him: 'You—is it truly safe for me to take this medicine?' Mr. Ichino's voice quivered slightly as he asked why I would say such a thing. I yanked the sleeve I was gripping tighter and demanded: 'You—this is poison, isn't it?' At this he began trembling violently until he could no longer speak a word."

“Tonight was to be our final negotiation, and depending on his response, I was prepared to act—I had concealed a razor in my obi when leaving home—so with just the words ‘You beast!’, I suddenly slashed at the man’s neck and throat with all my strength, and he collapsed without uttering a word. Still uneasy, I pushed the body over and rolled it into the river, intending to throw myself in afterward—but I suddenly changed my mind. As I walked alone down the dark road intending to surrender at the town police station, I happened to meet you. I must have caused you great inconvenience by making you my unexpected companion, but as I do not know where the police station is located, I would like to ask you to guide me there.”

The woman’s story came to an end here for now. In truth, I wasn’t without feeling inconvenienced, but as I couldn’t bring myself to coldly refuse her either, I honestly agreed and ended up going with her to the police station. On the way there, the woman said something like this again. “Last night too, the usual court lady came to my bedside.”

It also seemed as though the shadow of a spectral demon from the river clung persistently behind the woman, and I, being faint-hearted, shuddered. The murder on the Obana River embankment became the talk of our small town. Particularly since the perpetrator was a geisha, the rumors grew ever more feverish. That night, having been the sole person who encountered the victim at the scene—and given my involvement in escorting the perpetrator to the police—I found myself summoned repeatedly to the station as their only material witness. I endured interrogations by the preliminary judge too. Thus it came to pass that even when September's semester began, I remained compelled to postpone my return to Tokyo.

In October, I finally went to Tokyo, but her trial had not yet been decided. I later heard that the following April, she had been granted a suspended sentence and released from prison without incident. It seemed the court had taken various extenuating circumstances into consideration.

However, she was not unscathed. By the time she returned home, her illness 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. Whether to atone for the crime of murder or because she could no longer endure her illness—she left no written note or anything of the sort to explain these things.

The next day, her corpse was discovered in the lower reaches of the Obana River—an event that endangered the souls of legend believers. Ghost algae had enmeshed the corpse entirely, making it look exactly like a fish caught in a net.