Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Legend of Sarugakyō's One-Eared Man

“My ear hurts unbearably.”

The woman said, pressing her left ear with her palm.

Though middle-aged yet beautiful, the samurai’s wife had peeked her face through the gap where the curtain of the palanquin—set down on the ground—had been lifted and said so.

Another palanquin had been set down on the ground, in which rode what appeared to be the woman’s husband—a splendid samurai—

“This is quite troublesome,” he said gently. “If you can bear it a little longer... It should pass soon.”

“I cannot bear it any longer,” she replied, her face—with its thin eyebrows and pointed chin looking too vengeful for a samurai’s wife—contorting as she writhed in pain. “The throbbing won’t stop—I feel my ear might tear clean off!”

“If we continue being jostled in this palanquin all the way to Numata,” she gasped, “I will die—I shall surely perish.”

“Foolishness,” the samurai retorted. “It’s merely an ear.” Then after a pause, his voice softened: “Though... if it pains you so gravely...”

The samurai said in a perplexed manner.

This was Sarugakyō in the Sukawa region of Gunma.

Surrounded on all sides by the mountains of Mikuni, Ōgenda, Sennokura, and Mantarō, it was a basin where the confluence of the Nishikawa and Akatani Rivers flowed below one’s gaze.

The afternoon sun of late March in Bunsei 2 (1819) shone smoothly, making the trees of the mountains and valleys glisten like mercury and adorning the mountain stream—which struck rocks and sent up spray—with a faint rainbow.
Mountain cherry blossoms that had just begun to scatter, carried by occasional passing breezes, came drifting down onto the palanquins and people’s shoulders.

“It cannot be helped.”

the samurai said.

“Though your father must be eagerly awaiting us, with your ear in such pain, I cannot force us to press on.
“...We shall stay tonight at Sarugakyō’s hot spring inn.”

“If you would allow that… After tending to it through the night… I shall surely be well by tomorrow.”

The woman said, looking toward Kikyōya—the hot spring inn built clinging to the mountainside in the distance downstream along the mountain stream.

“You heard?”

The samurai sat down on the grass beside the palanquin and spoke to the seemingly loyal old servant who had placed a writing box on his knees.

“We shall lodge at this hot spring inn tonight.
“You’ll get to smooth out your wrinkles too.”

“Most gracious of you.”

I said.

“The journey from Nagaoka in Echigo over Mikuni Pass has been arduous for this old man, but if I can take the hot spring cure even for one night, I should regain my vigor.”

True to its name Sarugakyō, this area had many monkeys watching these people from tree branches and thicket shadows. From beyond the hill came the cry of a bush warbler by a bamboo thicket.

“It hurts! Oh why does it hurt so!”
“Oh why does it hurt like this!”

The woman collapsed forward inside the palanquin.

“Palanquin bearers, take us to Kikyōya.”

The samurai said hurriedly.

Oran was set to enter the bridal palanquin for Shin’ichi—the eldest son of the Fuseya inn in Shibukawa-juku with whom she shared mutual affection—once the month had passed. Tonight as well, while envisioning the joys of her wedding day, she sat beside the father examining the ledger within the lattice-paneled accounting area and moved her sewing needle. Her newly tied shimada hairstyle glistened glossily under the lamplight, and her adorable face with its pointed chin even bore a blissful smile.

The front door separating the earthen floor had already been closed, but cherry blossoms that had blown in during the day remained beneath the threshold, appearing like a long pale streak of snow.

“There exists such a pitiable man.”

When this voice was heard, her father—his bald head retaining only sparse hair around both ears—lifted his face and turned toward its source, so Oran too directed her gaze that way.

The sole hot spring inn standing in Sarugakyō, this Kikyōya was said to be an old establishment that had endured for over a century—a claim one could readily accept upon seeing how the floorboards in its main room gleamed black as ebony.

In the plank-floored room was a sunken hearth, and steam rose from the iron kettle hanging on the adjustable hook. Gathered around the hearth were five hot spring cure guests, who had been talking while sipping tea.

“There exists such a pitiable man.”

The speaker was a thirty-eight- or thirty-nine-year-old man among them who identified himself as a silk merchant, his face bearing faint chrysanthemum-stone markings.

“He was a samurai, you see. In his youth, he entered service at a certain estate as a retainer.”
“Now at that estate resided a young and beautiful lady. She had become engaged to the son of a magistrate from their domain and was finally set to depart.”
“They say even that young retainer was entranced by her beauty when she rode in the palanquin dressed in bridal finery.”
“But then—can you imagine?—at the very hour when they would surely be singing ‘Takasago’ at that distant mansion, the young lady returned alone and reportedly commanded the retainer: ‘You shall go with me this instant.’”
When the retainer asked in astonishment where they were going, she reportedly insisted, “Never mind that—just come with me.”
“So the retainer followed along in a daze—whereupon the young lady hired a palanquin along the way, crossed the mountains to a certain hot spring town, and spent the night there with him—though of course nothing transpired between them…”

“Huh, that’s admirable… But still, why from the wedding ceremony itself?”

Having one ear cut off,

The one who interjected thus was a small-framed man of thirty-one or thirty-two who claimed to be an Etchū medicine seller.

“Now, do listen. ...The young lady utterly detested the magistrate’s son who was to become her husband—a harelipped ugly man—but as it was their parents’ arrangement, she could do nothing. Thus she attended the wedding ceremony, yet when she thought of being with this man from tonight onward… she found herself unable to sit still. So she fled the banquet… taking the retainer with her to escape to a hot spring resort...”

“Even though it was her wedding night—staying alone at such an inn with a young retainer—it’s truly remarkable nothing occurred.”

The one who had spoken was the same Etchū medicine seller.

“But people wouldn’t believe it.”

“That’s exactly it.”

And the Silk Merchant continued his story.

“It’s said the young lady’s father refused to believe it at first...”

“What happened?”

“On the grounds that he was an insolent retainer who seduced his lord’s daughter, took her away, and left her injured...”

“What happened?”

“Beheading…”

“Huh.”

“Just when they were about to do that, they cut off one ear and cast him out instead, so it’s said.”

“They did something horrible. There’s no reason the daughter couldn’t have stopped that.”
“That’s precisely it.”
“And then what happened to the daughter?”

"The following year, it's said she was happily wedded into the household of the son of a senior official from another domain."

"A fine thing indeed—Hmph!"

"The one for whom things didn't turn out well was the retainer—the samurai—they say his nature changed completely."

"Changed, did he?"

"From then on, they say he came to hate every last woman."

“I’d hate them too, you know.”

The one who interjected was a man around forty who claimed to be the proprietor of the Yagihara Post Town teahouse.

“It’s not just me—anyone would hate them, you know.”
“…isn’t that right, innkeeper?”

Having said this, the man who claimed to be the Yagihara Teahouse owner turned his face toward the Kikyōya innkeeper.

Sagoemon, the proprietor of Kikyōya, lightly tucked the brush he was holding behind his ear, but as he nodded toward the account counter, he nearly struck his forehead against it.

“You’re absolutely right. If someone were subjected to such terrible treatment through women’s doings, anyone would come to hate women indeed.”

“You’d feel sympathy for that retainer too, wouldn’t you?”

The one who interjected again was a thirty-four- or thirty-five-year-old man who claimed to be a plasterer foreman.

“Exactly so. As for that pitiable Mr. Retainer, not only I, but anyone would surely sympathize.”

And Sagoemon nodded again.

“Now then, shall I tell you how that retainer—the samurai—came to hate women so intensely?”

And the Silk Merchant began to continue his story.

“After that incident, the samurai lost his livelihood... Well naturally—who would employ a man missing an ear? They say he wandered rootlessly through various regions.”

“...It’s said that while drifting along the Kisokaidō highway, he stopped at a leaf-roofed teahouse on Itabashi-shuku’s outskirts and took his midday meal there.”

“Beside him sat a woman of twenty-one or twenty-two in travel clothes that suggested some vendetta—she too was eating her meal, so they say.”

“When settling the bill came—a charge of one hundred mon—the woman surprisingly produced a koban and said ‘Take this as payment,’ it’s told.”

“But such roadside teahouses never kept change.”

“When they told her this, the woman made a troubled face and said ‘I’ve no small coins either,’ then swiftly turned toward the samurai—”

“I must trouble you to cover the payment.”

“Very well.”

And remarkably enough—so it’s said—the samurai covered the payment from his meager purse. Using this as pretext, they walked together until reaching Kamagaya-shuku at dusk, whereupon the woman’s figure vanished from sight.

“There’s no way we could’ve gotten separated...”

Puzzled by this, he stayed at a cheap inn in that post town, and when he set out the next morning and reached Kumagaya-shuku, there was that woman at a roadside teahouse—so it’s said.
There, the samurai too stopped to drink tea and spoke with the woman, but when it came time to settle the bill, the same thing occurred again—so it’s said.
...The woman produced a koban; the teahouse had no change.

“I must trouble you to cover the payment.”

“Very well.”

Having thus left that place, when they came upon a country path, the samurai steeled himself and demanded,

“Repay the money I covered for you.”

...Then the woman looked at him with utter contempt,

“Such a paltry sum…”

“The moment she said this, the samurai cut her down—no—rather, beat her unconscious with the back of his sword, so it’s said.”

“I see.”

“The samurai’s state of mind was like this, so it’s said—‘If a woman deceives a man under the pretense of weakness, it cannot be tolerated’...”

“That’s only right.”

The one who had spoken was a man with a topknot who claimed to be a fortune teller.
“Innkeeper, what do you think?”
Having said this, he looked toward Sagoemon.

Sagoemon made a slightly perplexed expression but,
“That’s correct.
The matter of women deceiving men—this is truly improper, I must say.
……Time and time again, that samurai has been most unfortunate.”

The firewood split and the hearth's flame flared up suddenly.

The hot spring guests all jerked back in unison, yet each and every one of the five exchanged glances with the others.

The Reason He Became a Bandit

(What a dreadful story.)

Oran thought.

Men have their faults, but the woman was worse...

To this hearthside, night after night, guests would gather and engage in idle talk out of boredom.
Finding enjoyment in listening, Oran too would come here nearly every night and sit beside her father—who had been left alone after her mother's early death—making a habit of listening attentively.

But for a seventeen-year-old virgin who would be married off in a month’s time, this present "story about a man who hates women" was hardly pleasant.

(Maybe I should go to bed)

"But pitifully enough, that samurai ended up ruining half his life not just because of women, but over money too."

When the man claiming to be a silk merchant began to speak, Oran inadvertently pricked up her ears again.

“After that, the samurai fell even further into decline and came to live in a wretched back-alley tenement in Shitaya.”
However, this tenement’s landlord was a man of some means—though his cruelty made him hated, his wealth left them powerless to oppose him. So the tenants could only grind their teeth while fawning over him, or so it’s said.
“One evening, under the pretense of some celebration, this landlord invited all his tenants to his home for a feast. Just then, ten newly minted koban coins were delivered there—so it’s said.”
“Well now, he’d wanted to show off those koban coins, so that bald-headed landlord invited them all over.”
“Having boasted about them was all well and good, but after the feast ended and everyone left, when he checked the koban coins, one was missing.”
“Stolen!”
The moment he thought this, the face of the impoverished samurai who’d been sitting closest—with its covetous look—floated before his eyes, so it’s said.
“So he started spreading word: ‘That bastard stole it!’—so it’s said.”
“This became the talk of the entire tenement.”
“The samurai finally couldn’t bear it any longer and left—so it’s said—but when departing, he silently tossed one koban into the landlord’s doorway.”
“‘So that bastard did it after all!’ the landlord went around saying—but in truth, the samurai had sold his precious sword and used that money to compensate.”
“But lo and behold, when New Year’s Eve came and they did the soot cleaning, the missing koban turned up beneath the tatami mats.”
“Well now, even that formidable landlord was at his wits’ end.”
“‘I must apologize to that samurai,’ he resolved—but his whereabouts remained unknown.”
“He spent his days bewildered until March arrived. When he went cherry blossom viewing at Mukojima, there was the samurai beneath the blossoms—chanting noh songs and begging for alms.”
“There, the bald-headed landlord timidly approached to explain and return the koban—when a sharp voice cried ‘Hey!’”
“They looked to find the landlord’s head rolling on the embankment. Just as they were about to go—it turned out he’d been struck down with the back of a sword.”
“However, things turned dire from there. ‘It’s precisely lacking money that brings this disgrace,’ declared the samurai. That very night, he robbed the landlord’s house of a fortune—his first act as a notorious bandit.”

The Doll in the Bath

“A thief!”

It was Sagoemon who said this in a frightened voice.
But he immediately nodded several times,

“It’s only natural...
If someone’s subjected to one terrible ordeal after another, no matter what kind of person they are...”

“Oh, so you think that too, master?”

Having said this was the man who claimed to be a fortune teller, but—
“That’s a relief.”

He continued as if letting the words slip out, then seemed to startle and abruptly fell silent.
At that moment, a sharp flute note rang out from the depths of the valley.

“What could that be?”

It was Sagoemon who had spoken.

“Since it’s the wrong season for deer calls… Maybe a signal flute.”

He tilted his head and furrowed his brow between his eyebrows.

Oran stood up.

“Where you off to?”

“I’ll take a bath first, then go to bed.”

“On a night like this, it’s better to turn in early, I suppose.”

The five hot-spring guests too seemed to grow suspicious at the flute sound they had just heard; they silently exchanged glances and strained their ears.

Oran was soaking in the bath, lost in thought.

(I won't have men hating me, or let an important man's heart twist into something that despises women.)

She was daydreaming about such things.
The "important man" referred to the son of the Fuseya family, who in one month’s time was to become her husband.

(After all, Shin'ichi-san isn’t the kind of person to beat people down over something as trivial as a single koban’s discrepancy—so I can rest easy.)

The story told by the hot-spring guests earlier still weighed on her mind.

This bathhouse stood separate from the main building and had been constructed lower than it.
A staircase of twenty steps slanted upward to where an old rectangular lantern hung above the entranceway.
Thus this bathhouse—spanning barely ten tsubo—remained dimly lit throughout.
The bathing area measured perhaps three tsubo across, so that anyone standing atop those high stairs looking down at Oran soaking in the water would have seen pale yellow lamplight and gray steam enveloping what appeared to be nothing so much as a charming little naked doll performing its ablutions.
The alum-rich waters of this hot spring shone more crystalline than purest stream, beautifying every bather’s form.
Oran’s body—with its full chest and legs stretching straight from the knees downward—glowed agate above the waterline where her chest emerged, while below it appeared white as bleached wax.
She would occasionally purse her lips, tilt her face upward, and blow away the silken threads of steam gathering near her eyes.
Each exhalation came with a soft whoosh.
That motion embodied an innocent child’s carefree gesture through and through.

She blew another whooshing breath.
Then she laughed.

Just then, a sound came from behind her.
Oran turned to look.
A man with a cloth covering his lower face stood at the foot of the stairs, his back to the lantern light.

"Oh!"

Oran said.

“That’s my robe. What do you think you’re doing?”
There was nothing strange about a man entering the mixed-gender bathhouse, but since this man was holding Oran’s kimono that had been left in the clothes rack, that was why she had spoken.
The man returned the kimono to the shelf.

“Why don’t you get in the bath?”

Oran said.

“Sir, what’s your room number?”

However, the man did not respond, staring at Oran with piercing eyes from within the dark cloth masking the lower half of his face.

“You’re a strange one... What was your room number again?
“...Please get in the bath.”

After saying this, Oran floated her back on the water’s surface, swam to the far side of the bath with a breaststroke, turned around to rest the crook of her elbow on the edge of the bath, pursed her lips to blow a whoosh of steam, and faced the man.

“You’re a strange one, standing there like a wooden post... I get it—you’re shy about bathing with a girl, aren’t you?”
“……Don’t worry, I won’t mind a bit.”
“……Please get in.”
“Whoosh.”

“Can I get in?”

said the man for the first time.
His voice was deep yet murky, carrying a quality that sent chills through those who heard it.
Moreover, it was a suppressed voice, as if wary of being overheard.

The Suspicious Man

But Oran didn’t seem to notice any of that,

“You’re such a strange person anyway—coming for a hot spring cure but asking if you can get in?
“……Please come in.”

“Alright, I’ll get in.”

The man stepped down into the bathtub.
He sank immediately.

“There’s no need to keep your face covered in the bath.”
“Please take it off now.”

“Best I don’t take it off.”

“Why?”

“Don’t go gettin’ scared.”

“Who would?”

“You would.”

“Me? Hmph.
……If a bathhouse girl got scared seeing men’s faces, there’d be no business.”
“Whoosh.”
“It’ll rain tomorrow—tonight’s bath has such thick steam, you see.”
“The smell’s strong too.”
“……Then you must be a hunter.”

“Hunter?”

The man was startled,

"Why's that?"

"You've got such a good build... Sturdy bones, well-muscled, broad shoulders..."

"Ain't no hunter."

"Then you're a woodcutter?"

"A woodcutter?"

Startled,

"Nope."

"I see."

"What's your name?"

And this time the man asked.

“Oran-chan.”

“Hmm.”
“So how old are you, Oran-chan?”

“Seventeen.”

“Prime age.”

“That’s right.
“So I’m getting married next month.”

“Where to?”

“To Shin’ichi’s place.”

“Don’t get so familiar. You known him long?”

“We’re childhood friends.”

“He treatin’ you right?”

“He’d hurl snowballs and make me cry all the time.”

“What a terrible bastard.”

“Said my crying face was too cute not to see.”

“I lost.”

And the man laughed for the first time.
It was a laugh filled with goodwill.

At that moment, another piercing flute sound came from the valley.
And in response, a similar flute sound came from the mountains.

“Tsk.”

The man clicked his tongue.

“They’ve surrounded us.”

“What?”

Oran pressed him.

“Surrounded us?”

“They’ve cornered a ferocious beast.”

“A boar? But... it isn’t the season.”

“It’s a beast more terrifying than any boar.”

“What could it be?”

“Wicked—that’s right, he particularly hated women. ... Robbery, arson, murder—a bastard who committed every evil deed imaginable.”

“Then it’s someone like ‘Mikuni Pass’ Gon.”

“You know about him?”

“Everyone knows Mikuni Pass’ Gon is a villain.”
"But wasn’t that Gon captured by the lord?"

“Yeah, in the castle town of Numata, he was captured by Lord Toki’s men.”

"They say you were thrown into prison, isn’t that right?"

"I broke out of that prison."

"Oh."
"When?"

“Last night.”

“Oh...”

“That guy seems to have fled into this land.”

“How do you know?”
“’Cause the hunters surrounded this house.”
“Then inside this house?”
“Yeah. …Scared?”
“I’m scared.”
“That’s why I asked earlier if you were scared! I’m Gon!”

With a surge, the man rose from the bathwater as though heaving up a massive pillar.

“Phew.”

Oran blew out a puff of steam.

“I’ve figured it out—you must be an actor!”
“What’s that?”
“You must be a traveling actor.”

“……”

“You’re quite the skilled playactor.”

The man sank back into the bathwater.

Mikuni Pass' Gon

“Is that so? You’re calling me an actor?”

With a sigh, the man said.
His face beneath the cheek cloth remained bowed, gazing at the water’s surface.

“You’re really good at imitating Mikuni Pass’ Gon, you know.
You’re quite the actor!”

“How can you tell it’s an act?”

“That’s discernment for you.
“……I’m the daughter of a hot spring inn that serves customers.
So whether someone’s bad or good—a fake or the real thing—I can tell at a glance.”

“I see… So that’s how you judged me…”

“I judged you as a good person.
Well of course—you’re the one getting embarrassed about bathing with a woman, being shy about your face being seen, not even taking off that cheek cloth.
There’s no such thing as a shy person being a villain!”

“There’s no villain among the shy. But am I really a shy person…?”

“My eyes don’t deceive me.”

“If you say so...”

“Phew.”
“There’s no mistake.”

“It’s my first time.”

the man said with heartfelt sincerity.

“From the very start you called me a good man and came at me without a shred of doubt—tonight’s Oran-chan’s the first. …I owe you thanks.”

Fierce whistle blasts rang out from both front and back of the hot spring inn, while from the distant main building came shouts and screams of a large crowd, accompanied by crashing sounds of storm shutters and paper screens collapsing.

“Those damn hunters finally came for the hunt! Alright then!”

By the time he said this, the man had already leaped from the bath.

“Hey Oran-chan, sorry but I’m taking your kimono. …Was planning to take more than just clothes—your body too—but seeing you come at me all pure and naked like that… couldn’t lay a hand on you. …Might’ve been good for you too, but it was good for me.”
“From now on—at least where women are concerned—”
“……And that too is thanks to you—my view of women has changed.”
“I guess there are women like you in the world after all.”
“Still… If the first woman who ever confronted me had been someone like you… I wouldn’t’ve ended up like this…”

He removed the cheek cloth and wiped his body with a towel,

“Still, Mr. Shin’ichi’s a fortunate man to wed someone as lovely as you, Oran-chan. …Hey Oran-chan, we’ll give you a parting gift.”
“Just keep that pure heart you showed me here naked when you devote yourself to Mr. Shin’ichi. …Men now—they’ll bend any which way depending on how a woman handles ’em.”

The man quickly wrapped himself in Oran’s kimono.
“AHAHAHA! I’ll blind those hunters with this wind and make my escape! …Thanks to you, I could bathe… My body got cleansed along with my heart.”

Oran stared at the man’s face with wide, astonished eyes,

“Ah! Your ear...! No no! There’s only one!”

By this time, the man had already gone up the stairs, but he turned back and said.

“Mikuni Pass’ Gon is one-eared.”

By the time Mikuni Pass' Gon—disguised in women's clothing with his cheeks covered—burst from the bathhouse and ran along the corridor toward the main building, dozens of hunters from the Numata domain had already crowded into this hot spring inn and were searching through every room.
This great thief—a former samurai who had operated across Kozuke, Shimotsuke, Musashi, Hitachi, Awa, Kazusa, Shimōsa, and Sagami provinces, committing heinous acts of robbery, arson, and murder sometimes alone and sometimes with dozens of followers—would have required the Numata domain to mobilize its hunter units and exert tremendous effort for his recapture based solely on his prison break alone. But beyond that, on the very night of his escape, Mikuni Pass' Gon had broken into the estate of the domain's granary magistrate Ioeda Shōzaemon, cut off one of the master Shōzaemon's ears, then threatened as he departed: "I shall break into the residence of Sakatana—spear instructor to the Nagaoka Maki family where your daughter Matsuno married—and cut off Matsuno's ear too!"

It was only natural that the entire domain had been thrown into panic, dispatched dozens of hunters, and swiftly surrounded the Sarugakyō hot springs where he had taken refuge.

Gon was now running down the corridor. Then four or five hunters appeared ahead.
Gon swiftly slid open the fusuma panel of the room lining the corridor and leaped inside.

“There!”

And the hunters came running.
When they slid open the fusuma panel and peered inside, a young woman lay face down, covering her face with both sleeves.

“It’s a woman!”

“There’s nothing to fear. AHAHA!”

With that, the hunters ran off.
Gon remained still for a while, but soon stood up, went out into the corridor, and started hurrying toward the main building.
He came to a place where the corridor formed a T-junction.
The moment he turned left, he collided with two hunters.
His face was seen.

The Repentant Wife

“Outlaw!”

And one of the hunters grappled him from the front.

“Agh!”

And the hunter let out a scream and collapsed.
Blood was flowing from his flank.

“Thou!”

And another hunter lunged at him from the side.
Gon’s dagger flew to the hunter’s throat.
Gon abandoned the fallen hunter thrashing about and ran.

“Boss—!”

A voice called out.

From the descending path ahead, the silk merchant who had been talking about the one-eared samurai by the hearth showed his face.

“Shichigorō? What about the others?”

“Until just now, we were all five together by the hearth waiting for your arrival, Boss—but when those hunters came bursting in, we scattered every which way through this house...”

“We need to regroup them. …Gather everyone and cross Mikuni Pass to the Echigo border!”

Separated from the main house, on the mid-slope of a cliff stood a single annex built into the mountainside, surrounded by cherry, camellia, and magnolia trees, standing in solemn silence. What connected the main house and annex was a roofed corridor, where pearl-like moonlight filtered through the trees to cast dappled patches of light upon the corridor's railing. In one room of the annex lay Matsuno, suffering from an ear ailment. Beside her pillow stood a small bucket filled with water, and next to it sat her husband Uchinosuke, his face etched with concern.

This kind and devoted husband had not slept as he tended to his wife.

“The commotion grows fiercer by the minute—what could it be?”

Uchinosuke—eldest son of Sakatana Kuranosuke and spear instructor of Nagaoka domain—stared vacantly at the dimmed andon lamp he had lowered for his wife’s comfort while muttering these words with tilted head.

Matsuno lay eyes closed beneath bedding’s edge—aching left ear upturned—opposite cheek pressed into pillow—pale face ghostly against nightwear’s collar.
Earlier—sharp whistle’s cry pierced air—followed by screams from main house—fusuma panels kicked open—shōji screens shattered—footsteps thundering—then my old Sanpei rushed off to investigate yet still hadn’t returned.—These disturbances weighed upon her mind—yet greater matters consumed her thoughts.

That was this very room.

When she was still a maiden, it had been decided that she would marry Gennoshin—son of Saitō Gendayū, spear instructor of their shared Numata domain—and she had attended the wedding ceremony.
However, Gennoshin was such an ugly man that she grew disgusted (To think I’d have to spend my long days in this fleeting world with such a man—).
...disgust! Disgust!) she resolved, and driven by the single-minded passion of an uncompromising maiden who heeded neither past nor future, fled the ceremony, escaped back to her parental home, took along a young retainer named Iguchi Gonnosuke who happened to be present, desperately ran away from home, crossed mountains by palanquin, and spent one night in this very room of this very annex at this very Kikyōya in this very Sarugakyō—...

(To stay in this karmic room...)

Matsuno opened her eyes and looked around the room anew.
The remote mountain hot spring inn's structural features and decorations remained unchanged from before.
Even the rain-leak stains on the ceiling persisted exactly as they had.

(Gonnosuke had been accused of seducing the daughter of the main house and had one ear severed by my father before being exiled—what became of him after that? ...Rumors say he fell into ruin and became a fearsome bandit—the outlaw known as Gon of Mikuni Pass.
...All of this ultimately stems from my carelessness.
...That person was innocent.)

“It hurts!”

Matsuno involuntarily let out a scream.
The pain in her ear had intensified.

A message had come from her biological father Shōzaemon: since they hadn’t met in so long, he wanted to see her—she should come visit along with your husband. Thus, Matsuno had set out on this homecoming journey with her husband, but last night around the Asagai inn, her ear had begun to ache, gradually intensifying. The pain had now become unbearable.

(The grudge of Gonnosuke, whose ear was cut off!
So that's why my ear...!)

It occurred to her—another thought.

(To think I'm tending to an aching ear in this dreadful karmic room...)

A shudder ran through her.

She cast a furtive glance at her husband. Unaware of his wife's past transgressions, Uchinosuke—who loved Matsuno with single-minded devotion—gazed intently at her face with concern.

“Does it hurt? This is most troubling,” he said. “There are no doctors in this area…”

The deafening noises from the direction of the main house grew increasingly fierce.

Then footsteps came running along the corridor toward them.

Uchinosuke instinctively gripped his sword.

The one who hurriedly slid open the fusuma and came rushing in was my Sanpei, but—

“It’s terrible!”
“A manhunt!”
“...the great bandit Gon of Mikuni Pass, who broke into Lord Numata’s prison last night...”

“Ah—!”

Matsuno sat up.

“Gon of Mikuni Pass?”

“Yes… Not only did he break out of prison… My lady, my lord—please do not be alarmed—though how to put this… That bandit Gon… he infiltrated your parental home—Lord Ioeda’s estate—and cut off Lord Shōzaemon’s ear…”

“Ah—!”

Matsuno stood up.

“Father’s ear! ...Gon did?!”

“Yes. ...And then he fled here—to this Sarugakyō—it’s said.”
“...So Lord Numata has dispatched constables—”

“Gon! O Gonnosuke! ...’Tis only natural—prithee, cut off my ear as well!”
“...All of this—’tis my fault!”
“...Cut it off and avenge your grudge!”
“...Oh, it hurts!”
“This pain—this agony in my ear!”
“It would be better if it were cut off!”
“I shall give it! This ear—I shall give it!”
“Gon! O Gon! Cut it off for me!”
“That’s why it’s been hurting since last night!”
“Father was cut! ...This ear that began aching at the very same hour!”
“’Tis the father’s agony passed to his daughter!”
“...All of this—every bit—is Gon’s grudge!”
“...Gon! Now cut off this ear!”

Matsuno ran out into the corridor.

A life spared, a heart preserved

Some time before this, Sagoemon, the proprietor of Kikyōya, had been pacing restlessly around the front desk area while carrying a paper lantern.

(My daughter?)

He had been thinking of nothing but this.

*Where had she gone? What is she doing?! At a time like this, during such a dangerous commotion!*

From the corridor, from every room, from both upstairs and downstairs came a terrifying cacophony—footsteps, screams, shouts, curses, the sound of objects being thrown, and the slamming of fusuma doors.

Just as five hot spring guests were discussing the one-eared samurai by the hearthside, over a dozen constables kicked open the front door and swarmed in, shouting, “The bandit Gon of Mikuni Pass is hiding in this house! We’ll bind him and take him!” before commencing their search of the building. It seemed constables also broke in through the back entrance, for from that direction too came sounds of footsteps and shouting.

That had been mere moments ago, and now there were neither constables nor hot spring guests left in the inn’s main room. For the constables had rushed deeper inside, and the hot spring guests had scattered in panic.

“The daughter?”

As if after a storm had passed—with the accounting lattice broken, the inkstone box overturned, and the medicine pot sending ashes swirling like ritual dancers through the inn’s main room—Sagoemon paced in circles while thinking of nothing but (Where is daughter?).

Ah! She went to bathe!

He finally remembered.
He threw down the lantern and dashed toward the corridor.

“Father—!”

And then Oran came running in from that corridor.

“Oran!”
“Wh—that look of yours!”

Oran was wrapped in men’s clothing—garments so ragged they might as well have been tatters.

“This is Gon’s garment—Gon of Mikuni Pass’s…”

“Gon’s…?”
“Then you…”

“I met him... Gon... In the bathhouse...”

“Gyaaah! Then you—your body—to Gon!
“Gyaaah! Your bride-to-be’s body!”

“What are you saying?”
“Gon’s a good person—shy too.”
“He isn’t some villain.”
“My eyes don’t lie!”
“…I’ve got to help him!”
“It’d be too cruel if they catch him!”

“You’re saying he didn’t lay hands on you?”
“On you?!”

(Is that really true?)

(If only that were true!)

Beneath that hopeful thought surged an immediate anxiety that such a thing could never be.

(That Gon of Mikuni Pass—notorious for his viciousness—alone in the bathhouse with a young girl...)

Suspicions seethed and swelled.

Yet when he saw his daughter remain solely consumed by desperate efforts to help Gon—showing neither anger, sorrow, nor resentment toward him—he had no choice but to acknowledge that Gon had indeed refrained from sinking his fangs into her.

(She’s the daughter who’s to become Shin’ichi’s wife in a month—the girl betrothed to the man she loves! If such a thing had been done to her by that thief… Forget wailing in resentment—with a heart pushed to its limits, he’d have strangled the bastard.) And yet look at her—Oran is single-mindedly trying to help the bandit Gon. ……Then Gon really, truly hadn’t laid a hand on Oran! “You’re something else, Gon!”

And Sagoemon, overwhelmed by joy, gratitude, and a feeling as though he’d encountered some divine miracle, found himself shouting out before he knew it.

“Ain’t no villain, Gon, I tell ya!”
“Far from a villain—he’s practically a god-like man!”

“The bamboo horn, Father! The bamboo horn!”

“Blow it? Go ahead! Blow that bamboo horn and scatter those constables!”

Sagoemon yanked off the bamboo horn that had been hanging on a pillar.

“I’ll blow it! I will!”

With that, Oran snatched the bamboo horn from her father and dashed outside through the front door’s moonlit opening—still hanging open from being kicked.

Following in pursuit, Sagoemon also ran.

Just then came the sound of constables shouting.

“Everyone, be on your guard! Five of Mikuni Pass’ Gon’s underlings are lying in wait at this inn to meet that Gon!”

(Ah!)

When Sagoemon heard this, he cried out under his breath.
And then he thought.

Ah! Now I understood—the five guests gathered around the hearth had been Mikuni Pass' Gon’s underlings!
The story they’d told—the tale of the samurai who’d had his ear cut off—had been an event from Gon’s past.
Having made us listen to that story, he’d posed a riddle for us to become his allies in such a situation.
No doubt about it.
...When you’re made to suffer like that over and over, anyone’d turn villain... But Gon of Mikuni Pass—at heart he was a good man!

When the sound of a bamboo horn came from the valley, the constables—likely thinking Gon of Mikuni Pass had been captured—emerged from inside buildings and tree shadows and ran toward the valley.
Seizing that opportunity, Gon of Mikuni Pass—protected by five underlings—was seen fleeing toward the mountains opposite the valley.
He had to conceal himself without a moment's delay.
When he looked, separated from the main building, there was an annex built into the mountainside, connected to the main building by a corridor.
"I'll hide in that annex for now and change into the clothes the underlings prepared"—this was Gon's thought.
There, he climbed the cliff and crawled up into the corridor.
Just as he tried to rush into the room—

“...Gon!”
“Cut this ear!”

A woman’s voice rang out as she came running from the room.

……

……

Gonnojō—Gon of Mikuni Pass—and Matsuno came abruptly face-to-face.

From the valley, the sound of Oran’s bamboo horn had remained audible.

“Gon!
“...Gonnojō-sama! Please, cut this ear of mine that bears your grudge!”

From the valley came the sound of Oran's bamboo horn—as if crying, “O Gon of Mikuni Pass, who is no true villain! Escape quickly from here!”—its notes carrying through the air.

“I...”

Gon said.

"I don't know nothin' 'bout you—from way back till now, I ain't never known a woman like you."

Matsuno collapsed in the corridor.

As the pain in her ear gradually faded away, she thought.

(Saved!)
(Saved! I have been saved.)

As he walked leisurely through the forest of Mikuni Pass with his five underlings, Gon of Mikuni Pass thought:

Whoever blew that bamboo horn... Thanks to it, I was saved.

Gon later reformed, it is said.