Pathway to Japanese Literature

Even should this body be sundered by a thousand leagues of mountains and rivers, my soul shall never part! Even if Margaret's lips were to touch the divine relic, I wouldn't give a damn! ——Faust

I

Nowadays, these serene Indian summer days continued to shine brilliantly day after day. My lodgings in Mita's Temple District stood at the edge of a row house clinging to a cliffside—the most poorly constructed of them all—yet only the expansiveness of the view consoled my sorrow-filled heart. Yet I had never dreamed of expecting to glimpse distant mountain forms from a window in such a position. But one day, when I gazed northwestward through the second-floor window at the serenely clear sky, I unexpectedly discovered the Tanzawa mountain range undulating its spine along the whitish sky's hem—so resembling cloud peaks—and unwittingly cried out in astonishment.

From that day onward, I would crouch all day on the wicker chair by the veranda edge, recalling with vivid clarity those days—not so long past—when I had grown accustomed to living in a certain impoverished village nestled at the foot of those distant mountain ridges, living a most peculiar life there. “I’m simply looking at the mountains—though I’d rather not have all these associations—but there’s no other peak to gaze upon here.” In front of others, I would speak with such feigned nonchalance, but in truth, I had no leisure for idly gazing at mountains or anything of the sort. I was fixated solely on Meiko at the foot of those mountains.

“Ah, you can really see it! I’d always assumed it was just some sentimental dream of yours…” I had lately taken to propping my cheek on my desk, gazing endlessly at the mountains—this being the gist of the rather lengthy letter I wrote to my young friends Tsurumaki and Ginhara. Yet when the two came visiting together, they could only exchange what sounded like pitying remarks between themselves.

I snatched the telescope from Tsurumaki，and Ginhara too seemed to be concealing a bitter smile. “Ah，I see it now.” “By all means，we must launch a counterattack on that village once more…”

Around that very time, those two had developed a strange habit—whether joking or serious, they would increasingly exchange words using theatrical lines delivered in harsh tones, as if it had become their custom. “I’d like to let a single flower bloom…”

That was their custom—one they maintained solely when exchanging words with me. Unfamiliar people who heard their manner of speech would be struck by an utterly eerie impression and left speechless, yet somehow—precisely from that period onward—as their behavior grew particularly peculiar, this proved most natural for confronting me who sat glaring with my usual indignant posture: that weighty bearing and thick-skinned disposition they maintained at all times. Moreover, though my recent conduct had grown particularly unorthodox, for this self who remained wholly immersed in those realms of memory, it had become nothing more than protective coloration—like that of beetles dwelling in the forest shadows of those worlds. My eyeballs would rotate fiercely like those of a scheming villainous samurai from some play, glaring skyward all the while. My shoulders angled sharply toward the sky; though my arms were slender, they would assume an iron-like heaviness when crossed over my chest, and my voice always emanated in a low rumble from my lower abdomen. My very being had, entirely of its own accord, transformed me into a person of such bearing precisely from that period onward.

“If it’s reached the point where you can go, I’d have gone alone long ago—” “Wouldn’t it be possible to procure the funds?” “O false words and forms! Transform senses and world! Appear here! And there as well—or so I would proclaim.” “Faust again? I can’t stand that. Saying such incomprehensible things might serve as a distraction in these frustrating times, I suppose.” Ginhara sneered as though firing a single retaliatory arrow at the false strongman.

“After all, our failure was no ordinary tragedy.” “I still believe it was an accidental defeat—not by money, but by strength alone!” I found myself striking the muscle bulge on my left arm with a fist while stiffly turning to glare at the photograph of a horse on the wall. “A tragedy, you say?”

The two grinned with gritted teeth and mocked my exaggerated demeanor that clashed discordantly with my profound sorrow. And Tsurumaki, his cheeks flushing crimson with bewilderment, "Is this the anguish of having left behind someone you long for?" "If you must learn such an act, I’d prefer you practice it to your heart’s content during your solitary hours…" Tsurumaki sneered.

“Do you harbor some suspicion about me?” I started, startled at the thought they’d seen through me. Being someone who couldn’t grasp jests or clever wordplay, I always found myself trembling involuntarily at others’ mockery—but most of all shuddering when that ridicule fell upon myself. The crux was this: my habit of perpetually affecting solemnity in action and manner while putting on airs made me resemble some counterfeit dignitary forever anxiously digging his own grave. Thus I feared nothing more than having every aspect of myself perceived as laughable, clinging desperately to maintain my dignity.

“Enough—”

The two raised their voices in unison. "Regrettably, there's absolutely no one who would consider that a tragedy." "Do as you please!" I struck the desk and shouted. "Please don't be angry. "We absolutely did not come here to mock you. "It's just that we wanted to discuss revenge—that's the only reason we finally managed to procure this bottle of sake and come all this way. "We want to toast to Mei-chan."——.

Once told that way, I immediately lost all composure, my usual act abandoned. "If we were to accept defeat against Umino Gorou and Otonashi Taijuu as things stand, it’d be no different from us being dead."

“If we’d let things end like that and you kept staring at mountains all day—that’s what I meant when I said it’d be a comedy.” “The situation is undoubtedly a tragedy.” “If you were going to put it that way, you should’ve said so from the start—” Wasn’t I the one being mocked?! When I realized this, more than anything I was stunned—but even so, why was I secretly obsessing over such posturing? I grieved, yet foolishly found myself intoxicated by Ginhara’s words.

My most secret longing—secret because I feared divulging it would invite ridicule—had always been what I called a "warrior's training pilgrimage." Yet my physique stood in inverse proportion to those grand aspirations, being as frail as a mosquito's. My body weight had never exceeded ninety pounds, and I couldn't keep five-ounce iron dumbbells level for three minutes. For over twenty years I'd secretly yearned after judo and kendo, and time and again—overcome by longing—I would challenge others to duels, yet none who glimpsed my form would deign to cross blades with me as equals. However I might appear outwardly, I told myself that years of training must have granted me considerable skill—so I'd reason while rubbing my pencil-thin arms in midnight hours, gorging on dreams of mortal combat. In the end I'd succumbed to neurasthenia and taken refuge in Tatsumaki Village to nurse my ailments.

Suddenly, in that village, I unwittingly and splendidly dispelled the dream of despair, becoming intoxicated by the madness of crow’s ecstasy. Though now utterly shattered, whenever I recall those glorious spectacles, a robust confidence still surges through my entire being. I did not believe in the word “deception.” I did not believe I had been deceived by Taijuu and Gorou. It was Hazumi’s defeat.

――For two months now, I had been slumped over paper bearing the title "Warrior Window Diary," unable to write a single character more—yet clutching these pages to suppress my raging heart, striving to dispel the foolish dreams of this dim, withered seclusion—but lured by once-tasted luxurious memories, all other thoughts vanished utterly.――Those memories gushed forth from the tip of my sword filled with honor—sword that knew neither enemy nor doubt, like Hazumi’s bell-demon—amidst the vibrant bustle of harvest-time autumn from the year before.

II

Though the reins were left tied to the brake handle, the horse—having already fully discerned its familiar homeward path—galloped along the rice paddy road veiled in evening mist, merrily matching its hoofbeats to the clanging rhythm of bells. I sat leisurely atop a sake barrel, "This night, why does my heart... fantasies welling without cease..." and so I sang. Tsurumaki slid his trombone in and out, Ginhara played the accordion, both accompanying their self-proclaimed vocal virtuoso general's song. ——As mandarin prices soared daily, we would return triumphant from town markets, forever hauling enormous money pouches that jingled like tambourines—sacks swollen with endless sweet dreams—our carts laden with splendid souvenirs, making our grand return with all the swaggering pomp of pirates. When our clamor-laden carriage crossed the bridge at the village border and finally neared the highway, people working in these fields and those terraced plots yonder—having caught wind of the commotion—raised a unified cheer and came swarming toward our festival float-like carriage.

“They’re back! They’re back!” “The Great Master’s triumphant return!” “We’ve been waiting! Our hearts have been pounding all day hoping to witness your beautiful voices and splendid techniques again tonight, Masters.” “Clear the path, clear the path—” People shouted these things in unison—some grabbing Dorian’s bridle to nuzzle against it, others lining up behind the carriage to push with all their might—until our vehicle seemed to grow wings and soar through the air, hurtling us toward Meiko’s tavern. Meiko, upon spotting me, flew up like a heron and tumbled into my arms,

“Please take a good look at my face, Master—I put such care into my makeup.” “Does this look good?” While cooing such sweet nothings, she spared no effort in displaying her utterly adorable coquettish charms. "This is rainbow-hued face powder used by capital noblewomen and actresses, this is what's called lipstick, and this isn't scissors—it's a curling iron to style your hair like a fairy-tale princess! If you danced wearing makeup like this and such a light skirt, our very souls would surely ascend to heaven!" When I once said such things, Meiko spared no charm—donning the paper-made eighteenth-century-style bonnet we used at masquerade balls and attaching parachute-like Rococo skates (mistaking them for current capital fashion trends—). Yet unexpectedly, those costumes suited her remarkably well, wafting an elegance that seemed to channel hibiscus flowers' nobility—thereby guiding my bleary eyes, already quite tipsy atop the carriage, into distant dreams of the romantic Warring States era. Both the villagers' familiar faces and the well-known scenery blurred into twilight's milky haze as her figure emerged—a radiance utterly mismatched with a barmaid from some impoverished village tavern.

“Oh, what a solemn royal entrance by Her Highness the Princess! A golden halo shines resplendently above your head, and from nowhere in particular comes the sound of stork wings beating.” As Ginhara delivered this theatrical declaration, I ceremoniously took hold of the maiden’s arm and,

“I don’t want Otonashi Taijuu to see this beauty. If that bastard catches even a glimpse of you like this, he’ll have his spirit captivated and start sharpening his venomous claws. Let’s get inside.” I urged.

“What the hell you yappin’ about?” “Struttin’ like some big shot over piddlin’ settlement cash from mandarin bales—you’re one no-good bastard.”

“There you are—apparently you’re the only ones ignorant of our prowess!”

We noticed Taijuu’s laughter at the same moment we saw him tilting back a large sake cup in the tavern corner with two or three retainers in tow—while shielding the girl behind us, we sneered right in the bastard’s face. “Say it a hundred times if ya want, bastard! If you’ve got time to be moonin’ over that nursemaid, why not drag your ass to the mandarin groves’ watch hut instead...” “You woman-chasing usurer bastard—” As I hurled insults, a sake bottle flew from the bastard’s hand and shattered against the ceiling. The tavern suddenly transformed into the silence of sunken depths. The people were terrified of earning the bastard’s displeasure. Most villagers were his debtors.

The lights went out—and then I heard Meiko’s scream outside. In my frenzied dash outside, I beheld upon my moonlit carriage charging headlong the spectacle of Meiko thrashing about with the ferocity of a swan beating its wings.

At the riverbank where evening primroses vibrant even in the night swayed in the gentle breeze, I finally clung to the back of the carriage. The lash from times past resounded painfully through the air.

“Don’t hit Dorian! Our Dorian isn’t some nag that gallops under the whip of the likes of you!” Yet the carriage plunged wildly, kicking up violent clouds of dust. Dragged along like a centipede, I fought desperately—until soon Taijuu and I slid down the soft grassy embankment and tumbled onto the riverbank’s wicker baskets. Swung around by the six-foot burly Taijuu like a scarecrow, I seized my chance when he—disoriented by the lack of resistance—looked up at the moon. In that instant, I grabbed a teakettle-sized stone rolling from the basket’s mesh and hurled it at his back with all my might. He clutched at empty air.

Dorian had been heading toward the village but changed direction. "That's Master's skill for you!" "I saw it—Taijuu's legs stretching skyward bathed in moonlight!" "It was too swift for the eye to follow! I saw Master's body slip through Taijuu's waist and in that instant execute a leaping hip throw..."

When engulfed by such voices of praise, I first noticed my own figure holding Meiko and making a swift retreat. The crowd seemed to mistake my being swung around by Taijuu for some display of prowess—though when I thought about it, cold sweat ran down my back—but as they tossed me up amid raucous cheers, my head spun until... Ah, so I truly had been strong all along! Such confidence welled up within me.

Additionally, by my side, Taijuu—who had been subdued by Ginhara and Tsurumaki—finally began regaining his breath, “Underestimated the runt when crossing blades, but turns out he’s some damn crow tengu in disguise—had me cryin’ mercy before I knew what hit me.” “I yield!” “Sake! Hand over the sake! My throat’s ’bout to bleed dry!” As he surrendered while clawing at his chest, my confidence grew ever more resolute, “Remove the mirror from the commemorative barrel!” I boomed imperiously. And I, having received the reverent title “Jones of Tatsumaki Village,” felt my eyes grow misty with euphoria.

The reason the villagers employed honorifics like "Great Master" when praising us was that they revered us as peerless swordsmen of unparalleled skill. Of course, not a single one of them had any way of knowing that we were young literary scholars. Indeed, we engaged in labor at the watermill and mandarin hills to earn our keep, while devoting ourselves to Western-style fencing whenever we found spare moments.

The villagers would gather around curiously whenever we began our practice, their eyes shining with astonishment. "Just look—those sword tips glisten like serpents' tongues! They say that's how you dazzle an enemy's eyes. My word, Western swordsmanship might as well be magic! No foe could stand against such masters!" they would exclaim. Or else: "Waving one hand overhead in some clanging dance rhythm, legs splayed bowlegged like Yajirobe—then a single leaping technique! Makes you laugh despite yourself, then snatches your head when you least expect it! Can't let your guard down for an instant!" Thus they marveled, voices trembling with awe. To think we could have harbored some sophisticated scheme to make spectators laugh—such a notion was utterly inconceivable. No, no—far from making them laugh, we had wanted to demonstrate through our ostentatious swordsman posturing an air of dignity pushed to its absolute limits. Rather than this, my sole wish had been to brandish a gallant longsword and chill the spectators to their core with brilliant form—yet despite my unrefined technique, I would obstinately adopt nothing but pretentious poses in my frenzy, which instead seemed to produce precisely the opposite effect. Thus it would have been safer had they simply roared with laughter from the outset and pointed scornful fingers at us; yet these villagers who clung stubbornly to their terror of our bizarre swordplay found themselves erupting in involuntary guffaws even as they strained fearful eyes to discern some profound meaning within it all. Moreover, for a small-framed man like myself, wielding a standard sword as if it were a spear—nearly succumbing to the weapon’s heft and inevitably performing some disgraceful pirouette—they misinterpreted even such conduct on my part as nothing less than divinely inspired mastery, sparing no exclamation of awe. Look there—how his swordplay maintains such flawless control even in its grandeur! Or how his body moves with a lightness freer than the blade itself—like the wind! Or that battle cry brimming with indescribable inner strength—why, just hearing that would make most monsters surrender on the spot!—they’d heap praise upon praise,

“Like a demon swordsman!” they crossed their arms in awe and tilted their heads. In truth, defying my dragonfly-like frame, I consciously let out a battle cry with all my might, enlivening my unsteady hips that even a gust of wind might have tripped up. “No matter what, our shitty strength ain’t worth a damn against a real master—today of all days, I’ve had that driven right through my skull.” “I may boast daily of my skills, but when I swung back with an eagle’s grip, thinking ‘What the—’... Next thing I knew, sparks flew from my eyes, and my back got pounded till I couldn’t stand it.” “Wasn’t even a contest—got handled like a child.” “Master’s arms are so slender, yet that fist of his holds power like a stone—damned if I wasn’t overwhelmed.”

Taijuu tilted the cup of surrender, heaved a sigh, and gazed up dazedly at my figure. “When you’re raking in coin by the fistful and wielding strength of a hundred men, ’course every lass in the village’ll enshrine you Masters as proper gentlemen—hells, even if some Taijuu goes sniffin’ after Mei-chan here, he’s just a stage prop in some kagura farce that ends up polishi’ your manly reputations all the grander!”

As Umino Gorou said such things and tapped Taijuu’s shoulder, “Off! Off! I’ve cast off my helm—head and all!” With such words, Taijuu prostrated himself before us in a clownish pose. Tsurumaki, Ginhara, and I became utterly intoxicated with our charade as the land’s supreme martial artists, “Does no one dare challenge us?” “At least go mediate some tavern brawl…” “When the boar hunt comes, we’ll outdo even Nita Shiro himself with our exploits and treat you all royally!”

And with such declarations, they puffed out their chests in unison with booming, forced voices. “Anyone foolhardy enough to challenge the Masters must be either a wild boar or wolf from Yagura Swamp.” Gorou muttered such things with his lips paling. “Is that so?!” I swelled with genuine pride, my eyes shining solemnly as I—

“They say wolves roam Yagura-dake—is that truth or tall tale?”

I leaned forward. “You mean you don’t know? By the time we start hearing the wintry winds, wolf packs come ravaging the fields, so we can’t get a decent night’s sleep. Even when we take aim with our rifles like this”—he mimicked aiming—“once we spot their shapes under that hazy moonlit sky, our whole bodies start trembling something fierce—can’t keep a steady sight at all.” Katou Kankichi, the mandarin orange grove watchman, closed his eyes and hurriedly downed his cup while acting out the terrifying scene with hand gestures.

“That’s splendid!”

I roared. And I pointed at the longsword hanging on the wall. “With just this single blade, I could handle any number of wolves—five or ten of them. I’d make them swallow volleys strung like prayer beads and capture every last one alive!” My heart had truly begun burning with blood aflame at such storybook visions. As long as they believed so thoroughly in our capabilities—I thought while accepting a drink from Meiko, biting my lip and fixing my gaze on the mountains through the side window—wolves would likely prove easier prey than that Taijuu or Gorou. The quiet mountains silently reared their wings beneath the pale night sky.

“Now then, Masters—let’s set aside such dangerous talk. While you’re in such fine spirits, won’t you favor us with one of your usual poems?” “Why, just seeing the Masters’ intense gaze would likely sober us right up from our drunkenness.”

“Mei-chan, if we were to subdue the wolves and return…”

I draped my arm around the girl's shoulder and made my eyes glisten intensely.

“Please, I beg you, call off this wolf hunt—I understand full well Master’s strength, but should you venture there now and suffer some injury... why, I’d simply die of worry awaiting your return.” Meiko lowered her eyelids in feigned sorrow and clung to my chest. “Ah well—if it’s an act that would sadden Mei-chan, I do possess the profound restraint to abstain from any such undertaking." "—What a wretched shame!"

Never having received such words from a beautiful maiden in all my experiences, when Meiko unexpectedly spoke thus and leaned against my breast, my very blood seemed to freeze within me, seized by tremors of delight so violent that my teeth chattered uncontrollably. From an unforeseen topic had come an unforeseen result—my soul found itself sweetly intoxicated by this turn of events. Just as Taijuu and Gorou had declared, she too was now acknowledged as one who placed faith in our warrior's bearing and harbored profound goodwill.

“Well then, I suppose I’ve no choice but to recite a poem. When anyone hears my voice, they forget all worldly cares and get lured into a dreamlike state of drifting down a peaceful spring stream—or so Katou Kankichi and Gorou claim. But with that effect, their drunkenness would double, making the journey home perilous indeed.” When even my boasting reached such heights, it became the very pinnacle of complacency—I muttered while slowly rubbing my chest. “That’s right! If we’re subjected to that voice singing any longer, our drunkenness would increase a hundredfold. Request granted, request granted! Just keep it brief—we’d like to make our exit too before long.”

And there was thunderous applause.

“Master will sing—and these two Masters,”

As Meiko began to speak—Ginhara and Tsurumaki, who had apparently been rubbing their arms since earlier— “Let’s perform the sword dance inherited from Munich’s forests!” They squared their shoulders and stood up, then took swords from the wall and cocked their hats at a slant. I, swelling with world-conquering pride, gradually rose to my feet and adopted a stance with what Taijuu called his “stone-like fist” positioned diagonally near my lower abdomen, then boomed forth a voice like thunder. “… … …”

Enraptured by my own voice, my grand self-intoxicated pose gradually reached its crescendo as the poem— “...Steeds neigh as daylight fades—” “Clashing swords—autumn’s chill arrives—” When reaching such climactic moments—more violently than even Tsurumaki and Ginhara’s grand sword dance performed with utterly improvised choreography as they whirled about—I truly snapped open a horselike maw, strained my throat in an undignified whinny while envisioning sword-clashing dreams, then unwittingly raised my arm to slash at empty air—my fist’s tip colliding disgustingly with demon-faced Taijuu’s countenance—all in a frenzied state.

“Under moonless dark—wild geese soar high The Xiongnu retreat to distant lands— If light cavalry would give chase— Heavy snow—bows and swords abound” As I sang thus, when my movements grazed Kankichi’s nose or thrust toward Gorou’s chest, the crowd each time let out exaggerated shrieks, enshrining us ever more deeply within that invincible castle atop a distant mountain. Truly, these ferocious sword dance spectacles directly embodied our bearing in Tatsumaki Village—a bearing so formidable it could strike down soaring birds and stem cascading torrents. Day after day, night after night, we remained unchallenged wherever we turned, sheathing our halberds in wakeful composure as we freely exuded the commanding air of generals. We drove our carriage daily to the market, and each night gathered obedient Xiongnu to draw blades from four-to barrels and stage grand sword dances through the long hours.—For whenever word reached us of brawls breaking out and we rushed to intervene—

“Oh ho! If the Great Master of Tatsumaki-ryū graces us with his presence, we’d be sorely shamed.” The fiendish-looking men would scratch their heads and retreat, and upon receiving word that Taijuu’s gang was assaulting a tenant farmer’s house to seize their lives, we would race straight there in our carriage returning from the market, “Well, well! Is this the gracious arrival of Munich-style knights-errant—how grateful we are!” As both victims and perpetrators uniformly bowed their heads in prostration, we immediately nodded in our best knight-errant fashion and—

“Here, take this—” we opened the money pouch’s mouth and showered golden pieces like hail upon their heads. And we grabbed the perpetrators by the scruffs of their necks, “Shall we show these devils a taste of our prowess?!” Whenever we said such things, those devils would turn pale and scramble about in panic. And just as our fingertips reached their collars—some red demon shrieking to flip high through air, others blue demons uttering death-throe groans while clutching at empty space—

“Help! Help!” The sheer delight of watching them flee screaming for dear life held for us a splendor that seemed otherworldly—a mirth no treasure could ever equal. And we, revered as magnanimous great swordsmen, withdrew to Meiko’s tavern.

“If such a Great Master remains in our village, Tatsumaki Village will soon see all turmoil cease and a peerless utopia emerge!” “The boastful demons have arrived!” “How grateful! How grateful!” In the swirling vortex of prostrating kowtows, we dazedly dimmed our eyes, ceaselessly drew blades from great barrels, opened the doors of the watermill shed time and again, and demonstrated generosity as expansive as the open sky.

Above all else, the confidence that we were strong allowed us to frolic ever more freely atop clouds of delight. For us who were blessed with such renown, such ingenious wisdom, such magnanimity, and such peerless skill, gold and silver treasures were mere dust! Once the harvest season ended and the watermill passed into others' hands, let us make camp in the mountain hollows of Yagara Peak and realize Robin Hood’s dream—let’s raid Otonashi’s liquor storehouse, overturn Taijuu’s vaults! All their treasures shall be ours by right—We dove headlong into a dream of security vaster than the sea,

“A solitary figure becomes a light boat—as the setting sun touches western peaks; Ever following sail-shadows as they depart—far reaching to meet the expanse of the vast sky’s momentum—” While singing thus, I strode as if to claim dominion over the thoroughfare, shoulders cleaving through the wind, “Not even hibiscus can rival the beauty’s adornment— Water palace—winds arrive bearing pearls and jade’s fragrance—” Singing such lines, I pillowed my head upon Meiko’s knees.

III

Before long, the harvest season ended, Fubukigawa River’s waters froze solid, and work at the watermill shed entered winter closure—so tavern banquets that had occurred every three days stretched to five, then seven, then ten days apart. With this came all manner of ill repute concerning us—for instance, seeing as those bastards claimed they’d give Meiko a necklace and fox-fur stole yet still hadn’t delivered, perhaps mistaking them for tengu was an error—could they actually be withered-grass-hued foxes? Or that they’d put up a durian as collateral to fund their drinking expenses! Or that ever since learning the mandarin groves had been re-registered under Taijuu’s name, they’d begun training as burglars—what a perilous affair! ——We heard these rumors from every quarter and doubled over laughing.

“If we turned into burglars, that’d be like arming demons with iron rods! Just imagining those bastards trembling—isn’t that exhilarating!” “We’ve been pretending not to notice, but quite a few folks have managed to slip past our drunken eyes and show their true greedy colors.” “You lot are the ones committing theft.” “They’re utterly terrified we’ll deploy our plundering formation when push comes to shove—that’s why they’ve started spreading all these rumors.” “My arm’s itching for action!”

Gathered around the hearth, we discussed such matters while roasting our proud muscle knots over the blazing flames.

“Hey, look—a crescent moon hangs over Yagara Peak, and the winter wind sounds like wolves howling.” “It’s like a painting—first, with the composure of Zen masters subduing poisonous dragons, shall we launch a wolf extermination? There we could begin restoring our reputation.” “But they say the story about there being wolves is a lie.” “Apparently, those bastards only pretended to fear wolves to keep us in good spirits.”

“Lucky us.” “No matter how strong we are, we’d be no match for wolves.” “But here’s the thing—I’ve got a scheme.” Tsurumaki leaned forward with a triumphant ‘aha!’ pose. “Otonashi keeps that guard dog—a Great Dane more fearsome than any wolf, right?” “That bastard unleashes it to scare debt collectors and drags it along when harassing tenant farmers. But if we kill that beast first, then spread word we exterminated wolves on Yagara Peak—those fiends ravaging fields and attacking folk—people’ll be floored by our brilliant cunning!”

“That bastard’s scheme of flattering his way into our banquets and guzzling liquor was all about mentally tallying empty barrels to inflate the bill, so they say.” “To what depths of humiliation is that beast oblivious?” “Still, that bastard really drank his fill—gulped down mandarin mountains, swallowed waterwheels—until he finally made all this his own, didn’t he?” “Kankichi and Gorou were sent as underlings to collect seals and such, but seeing how hard they’re working for it, I almost feel sorry for them.” “This time, during the sword dance, let’s make a point of smashing those bastards’ skulls, shall we?” “After all, it’s downright laughable how those bastards quake at our skills yet can’t lay a finger on us!”

While Tsurumaki and Ginhara slowly donned heroic grins and boasted with fervor by my side, I stood rigidly with arms crossed, gazing at the mountains where winter winds roared. And,

“I’m certain wolves dwell in those mountains.”

I growled. Given that we possessed such effortless skill in manipulating Otonashi’s underlings, I now burned with fierce resolve—right before my eyes—to surely vanquish real wolves and quell this rising indignation. Then we—but are wolves even edible? Their meat must be tough—would fret over such matters through those cold nights when we could no longer drink freely, talking idly until dawn,

“Master—it’s your humble servant! Please open up! Taijuu’s gotten drunk and keeps saying such vile things—I fled here…” Meiko tumbled in clutching the hem of her Rococo skirt now faded gray. “Magnificent!” “Tonight we’ll slaughter those wretches without mercy—plunder their sake casks! We cinched our matching serpent-hide sashes tighter still; why must this very day see our concubine beg sanctuary and demand accompaniment when we march?!” Her pitiful efforts to bar our path only inflamed our vigor—we surged onto blizzard-scoured streets like hounds unleashed at last—— ——We thrust wrathful shoulders beneath Yagara Peak’s slanted half-moon glare—too trite it seemed now to crush those curs outright! First we’d croon verses from afar till their souls drowsed sweetly… then administer final rites——

“As a parting gift for the villains we’ll send to the guillotine…” Thereupon, we gathered our resonant voices, “Whose house’s jade flute now hurls voices into the dark? Scattered, they enter the spring breeze to fill the capital...” With such fervor it might summon even a wolf’s dreams, we chorused. Then we discovered before our very eyes—amidst laughter eerily akin to a horse’s whinny—the faces of Taijuu, that cruel creature neither horse nor demon nor ox, along with Gorou, Kankichi, and other monstrosities, lined up in a row.

“You damn fools, quit your barking! Daring to assault our noble ears with your off-key, salt-cured voices—you clattering insect vermin who don’t know your station!” “We were so sick of it we played sleeping—can’t believe you didn’t twig that guzzling their donkey-piss was part of the scheme! Some ‘Swordsman of the Three Kingdoms’ you are!” “Mei-kou’ll soon be my kept woman.” “If it rankles so, why not open those money sacks through the usual channels to settle her old man’s debt?”

“Once they’ve spent it all, it’ll be ours.” “If you want another look at our grasshopper bows, you’d best haul that treasure-laden carriage here again.”

When the round of insults had circulated, Taijuu reverted to his usual self, “Poetry is our specialty—to forge bonds among men, gold is required—” In a voice far more resonant than ours, he made the moonlight tremble, and then Kankichi followed,

“If gold be not abundant, bonds cannot deepen—that’s how it is!”

With that, he thrust a magnificently hateful face right before my nose, and next, Red Demon Gorosuke— “Even should they consent and we grant temporary reprieve,”

“Finally—this being the very heart of our stately procession...or some such drivel!” As they concluded their jeers, the whole gang turned their gaping mouths—flapping open and shut in mockery—toward the moon, “Scree! Scree! Skreee…” thoroughly ridiculing us in unison with their jay-like shrieks. ——Having gone so long without a chance to showcase our skills, I reasoned they must have come to relieve our boredom with their usual brawl— “Finish ’em off!”

[He] signaled with his eyes. Simultaneously I flipped my body like a soaring bird, attempted what must have been his weak point—the recoiling stance—slid beneath his arm to seize his collar, then with my right leg hooked like a sickle, gave a "Hah!" and kicked upward into his lower abdomen... Unlike usual, I felt an instantaneous "failure" as if I'd kicked a massive boulder, my leg remaining bent and going terribly numb. This was—! The moment I realized this—the moon in the sky seeming indistinguishable from its reflection in the marsh, my entire body spinning like a top caught in a frenzy—yet I remained convinced that I had him spectacularly in my grasp. And before long, as if lulled to sleep by a lukewarm wind—but we had properly driven them off! I muttered... And yet truly their voices were glimmering and resplendent, so fascinatingly intricate to the ear that before I knew it, I found myself drowsily lured into a dreamlike state—but just what had happened here? The moment I realized this and tried gingerly to rise, I discovered my own form stretched out like a turtle hatchling in the lukewarm melted mud of a Chinese milk vetch field—under skies that had been overcast for two or three days now, as if spring were stealthily drawing near.

“We were taken down without even lifting a hand!” “There was no way we could lose—yet bewitched by their accursed poetry alone, we found ourselves neatly tripped up... Still, what waste—such voices on bandit throats.” Amidst groans from my side emerged Tsurumaki and Ginhara—mud effigies with heads intact—who cried “Yaaah!” while clumsily hauling me upright. The poem’s lingering verses still echoed distantly as we kappa-like figures raised our heads from the ridge path. There retreated the Vice Gang along the moonlit embankment with Meiko in their midst, silhouettes dancing like foxtrot steps made light through hazy radiance. Meiko too seemed dissolved into their valor now, her voice blending with their poetic cadence.

When we had swung our arms and manipulated them in times past, did we truly witness them tumbling head over heels—genuinely knocking themselves unconscious against pillars or clutching at empty air when struck in the flanks? Setting aside all else, we had believed our remembered skill made us peerless warriors—but could even that have been mere theater performed by those scoundrels to deceive their wealthy patron’s eyes? While Ginhara and Tsurumaki trembled and marveled at the absurdity, I stubbornly shook my head and insisted it was Hazumi’s defeat.

And though each insisted on their own interpretation without yielding, their forms—every last one having plunged headfirst into the mudfield—were indistinguishable mud statues; when they staggered forth they became merely three mud frogs, their clay-stiffened faces working in muffled motions as their grumbling voices became indistinguishable from the croaking emanating from the surrounding paddies.

IV

Our appearances being so utterly wretched, our theories about the departure date varied—some arguing night would be preferable, others insisting rainy days more suitable, or no—at least choosing a magnificently clear morning—and so on. In the end, we—utterly worn out—soon found ourselves on a splendid morning when peach buds were about to bloom——

“My throat’s parched!”

And so, rubbing the lives we'd sustained on nothing but Jerusalem artichokes, we climbed the hill with our canes. When I finally managed to look back from the mountain pass, there at the bridge's edge I discovered Meiko gazing vacantly in my direction—as if attempting to bid farewell while hiding from others. The previous night I had stealthily visited her window, but driven back by reviling voices from the tavern's throng of customers—unable to even set foot near the establishment—I now stood atop the hill against blue skies, arms spread wide. With every ounce of gestural vigor, I traced through empty air my vow: that upon returning I would bear fox-fur stoles and peacock-feathered dresses, gold coins heaped in such sacks as these—that I would stop Taijuu's breath itself! No matter how Taijuu might pluck at my sleeve, I must never utter "Hmm"—this meaning I inscribed across the heavens. Then, as if swallowing clouds whole, I gave a grand nod—thumped my chest—and cast a fiery kiss like a rainbow to reassure her.

So absorbed had I become in those gestures that sweat cascading from my brow dazzled my eyes; flustered, I swiped my knuckles horizontally across my eyelids and strained my vision anew, only to find Meiko’s figure nowhere to be seen—now merely peach blossoms blooming here and there like scattered wisps of smoke. It was a truly tranquil village scene. I believed that Meiko, having comprehended everything, must have vanished unable to bear the sorrow of parting, and I too immersed myself in thoughts of farewell as beautiful and sorrowful as a flower.

From the station in the distant rice paddies ahead came a steam whistle's mournful wail. "My guts churn with shame—ah, how I crave a bento!" Someone mimicked the whistle's cry in mocking tones. Yet to believe so absolutely in Meiko felt blissful—so I mused—until remembering how Taijuu's gang's voices outshone mine by leagues in any listener's ear. A wave of confidence-starved sorrow surged up, threatening tears that prickled behind my eyes, until in flustered defense—I sang.

"Water that naturally diverges carries nothing as it streams..." Then Tsurumaki, as if to console my disastrous state, layered over it: "Here in Iga and Ise Provinces, the government troops' horse-rafts were smashed—six hundred horsemen swept away—"

And so we continued our long-cherished beloved passages. Ginhara, who had been leading the way, continued reciting without even turning around. “Yellow-green, scarlet-laced, crimson-laced—the rise and fall of varied armors swayed like Kannabi Mountain’s maple leaves, summoned by tempests at the peak…” “Autumn dusk at Tatsuta River—was that how it continued, Gin-chan!”

Tsurumaki had been summoned. “Autumn dusk at Tatsuta River—snared upon the weir’s edge, no different from currents that cannot resist their flow… there.”

“Ginhara—did I forget what comes next?” Clutching my cane, I pressed for an answer. “Within that scene, three warriors clad in scarlet-laced armor—swept along by the weir’s current, rising and sinking as they swayed—were beheld by a certain governor, who thus composed a poem.”

——We sang in unison. “The Ise warriors all donned crimson-laced armor and came to dwell at Uji’s weir—ah!”

“Having thus finished our recitation—‘they slashed their bellies and met their end,’ or so it goes...” As I listened to Ginhara’s voice and looked back over the village once more, the peach blossoms now blazed in full splendor beneath the sun, creating a spectacle as though warriors in motley armor truly rose and sank before my eyes. “Enough—that’s ill-omened drivel!”

Tsurumaki chased after Ginhara and, upon reaching the hilltop, proclaimed theatrically: “What a view! What a view!—” Before I knew it, I wedged myself between them, wrapping both arms around their shoulders like wings as I inexplicably covered their mouths. There I hung suspended between the two, my legs dangling midair as we began descending. Yet still they persisted—“A spring vista worth a thousand gold per glance? That’s chump change!”—trying to harmonize their voices. But compared to Taijuu’s gang’s magnificent singing we’d heard that evening, the gulf between us only grew more glaringly apparent. When I grasped how that beautiful girl had been observing our crowning performances all along with full awareness of their artifice—when I remembered how she’d maintained that solemn face as if enthralled by our poetry—cold sweat cascaded through my entire body like springwater.

V

And that thought persisted unchanged—autumn came round again—yet still no plan for vengeance ever surfaced in my mind. “I simply adore men who are strong, wealthy, and skilled at singing!” In our prosperous days, she would frequently say this and stare intently at my face—I who fancied myself strong, wealthy, and a virtuoso singer. Ah—was this my shameless self-delusion? Was I in truth weak, impoverished, and possessed of a once-in-an-era briny voice?—Such resigned thoughts could not help arising. Yet now, her longing may well rest upon Taijuu.

Each time this thought came, I would leap up as though unable to hesitate another moment—from that spring through to this autumn, day after day, countless times I jumped like the frog observed by Ono no Tōfū—yet no brilliant scheme ever brushed against my fingertips like willow branches.

In stark contrast to those vibrant autumn memories, my mansion in the capital's outskirts these days stood desolate beyond measure—so utterly forlorn that not even diary entries could be written. Despite their visits yielding scant food and dwindling drink supplies—and with my vengeful resolve failing to ignite no matter how long they waited—the impatient Tsurumaki and Ginhara grew bored enough to venture out for a stroll. When they withdrew, I finally sat at my desk thinking I couldn’t go on like this and took up my pen—but the pen resembled a sword, Meiko’s smile faintly perceived—and not a single thought of writing arose. The two observed from below the window my large face that seemed to suffer, rejoice, and grieve all at once, and my figure that appeared anguished as I alternated between gazing up at mountains and lowering eyes to pen tip,

“What a view! What a view!” Was I being mocked?