Pathway to Japanese Literature

S-widow speaks. I am seventy-eight years old this year, born in Kaei 3, the Year of the Dog, so the Bunkyū 3 of which I am about to speak was when I was fourteen years old. People often say those in olden days were precocious, but even so, at fourteen I was still a mere child, and thus could not possibly understand everything. As this tale incorporates matters I later heard from my mother and others, I ask that you kindly listen with that understanding.

As the stories of old folks tend to have lengthy preambles, you young ones may find this tedious, but first, in order to proceed with my tale, I must relate a few matters concerning my own family and relatives. At that time, I lived in Yotsuya's Ishikiri Alley. It was near the Tenman Shrine. My father had passed away five years earlier, and my mother and I were living in a modest house in the alley. Though we had no significant property to speak of, we owned shares in a barbershop that yielded about three bu each month; furthermore, my uncle sent Mother an allowance of one bu every month from his side, making a combined small ryō each month—in those days, this was enough for two women to live without hardship. My brother, at nineteen, had gone into service at a large draper’s called Hoteiya in Kyōbashi, and Mother was looking forward to the completion of his term of service.

Uncle was my father’s younger brother, five years older than my mother, and I had heard he was then forty-one—the year before his calamitous age. His name was Genzō, and as he operated a sword shop called Aizuya in Denma-chō along Yotsuya-dōri—which was near our home—he consequently served as a sort of guardian for our household. Uncle’s wife—that is to say, my aunt—was called Oman, and this couple had two daughters named Osada and Oyuu, the elder being eighteen and the younger sixteen years of age.

With that, both family registries had been duly checked, and now we come to the main narrative. As I mentioned earlier, in Bunkyū 3 [1863], the Fourteenth Shogun departed for Kyoto on February 13 of that year and returned to his castle on June 16. Due to His Lordship’s absence during this period, all festivals were required to be conducted modestly. Even in June—the traditional festival month—the Sannō Shrine in Kōjimachi postponed its celebrations while the Hikawa Shrine in Akasaka merely paraded its mikoshi palanquin without floats or dance stages. The Tenman Shrine near my home held its festival only after the 20th. Thus our parish neighborhoods limited themselves to hanging eaves lanterns at most, with no other festivities whatsoever. To us youngsters, this seemed terribly dreary, but such were the times and nothing could be done about it.

I believe it was the twenty-sixth day of that June. At that time, I was attending sewing lessons with an instructor in the neighborhood and would return home around noon. Just as I was entering the alley leading to my house, I saw a man and woman standing two or three houses away from our home—the man was pointing at my house and appeared to be whispering something to the woman. Thinking this strange, I looked closer and realized the man was Uncle from Aizuya, while the woman—stylishly dressed and perhaps twenty-two or twenty-three—didn’t seem respectable at all. Growing increasingly curious about why Uncle had brought such a woman here and was pointing at my house while talking, I gradually drew nearer. But when Uncle noticed my footsteps, he suddenly turned toward me, then went off wordlessly with the woman in the other direction.

“Uncle was standing in front of our house just now.”

When I returned home and told that story, Mother also made a strange look.

“I see... “Uncle being with that woman...” “He didn’t stop by the house.”

“So you don’t know?”

“I didn’t know anything about it.”

The conversation ended there, but at that moment, I noticed Mother had not only made a strange face but was gradually transforming into one that darkened into an ominous expression. But Mother said nothing, and I did not press her further.

Since the end of the sixth month by the lunar calendar was already within midsummer, all lessons everywhere ended by noon, so I too passed half the day reading chapbooks borrowed from the neighboring house. When evening came, I sprinkled water around the front, then went to the nearby public bath and returned to find dusk had already settled. In the dimming light, boys were chasing bats through the side streets, flinging mud-caked straw sandals about. Whether accidental or mischievous, those straw sandals would occasionally come flying toward my face too, so I took to walking along the edge of the main road and circled around through the mouth of the alley to the back entrance. Even though the front was already dark, inside the house it seemed no lamps had yet been lit, and all around me could be heard the frequent droning of bush mosquitoes.

Oh，I wonder if Mother isn’t here.

While thinking this, as I was about to step up into the kitchen from the entryway, I heard women's voices coming from the six-mat side room facing the narrow garden. That was unmistakably Aunt from Aizuya's voice—she seemed to be crying—and I instinctively froze in place. If Aunt was here speaking, Mother must have been home too. Seeing them so absorbed in conversation they'd forgotten to light the lamp, whispering in the gathering darkness, even my young self hesitated to intrude recklessly upon what was clearly no ordinary matter. Crouching by the stove to peer into the inner room—though in our cramped house, "inner room" meant barely an arm's length away—their hushed voices carried clearly through the thin walls. Aunt appeared to be murmuring something between stifled sobs. Mother kept sighing heavily. The more I tried to make sense of it all, the more an inexplicable sadness welled up within me. Eventually their conversation seemed to wind down, and Aunt spoke up abruptly as if remembering something.

“I wonder if Maa-chan hasn’t come back yet.” "Maa-chan" was my nickname—my given name being Ose. Taking that as my cue, as I was debating whether to reveal myself or not, Aunt began preparing to leave.

“Oh my, it’s already become completely dark without me noticing...” “I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my visit.”

“You really didn’t even light a lamp…” Mother too seemed to be seeing her out to the entrance.

In the meantime, I went into the tearoom and lit the lamp. Aunt opened the lattice door and went out. Mother turned back and came in, seeming slightly surprised that I had returned without her noticing.

“You were listening to Aunt’s conversation, weren’t you?” “Even though I could hear voices, I couldn’t make out what they were saying.” I answered honestly, but Mother still seemed suspicious. Then, perhaps thinking that trying to hide things when someone had overheard even a little would only worsen matters, she began speaking in a hushed voice. “You seem to have caught fragments of it—Aunt’s household is facing troubles of their own.”

I had largely surmised from Aunt's weeping, but remained entirely ignorant of the incident's particulars. When I silently watched Mother's face, she resumed speaking in hushed tones.

“I’d heard whispers about that myself, but it seems Uncle has taken up some unsavory pursuit lately.” “He’s been neglecting his business completely, roaming about day and night.” “At a time when society’s in such turmoil that every sword shop is dizzy with work, for him to leave everything to his clerks while the master himself idles from dawn till dusk—it’s beyond preposterous, don’t you think?” “When a man spends his days carousing like that, he’s bound to be up to no good—and they say Uncle’s been squandering money terribly too, leaving Aunt beside herself with worry.”

“Where does he go off to…?” I asked.

“It seems he’s been going toward Shinjuku.”

Mother seemed to recall something suddenly and questioned me thoroughly about the woman from earlier that day. That woman was probably a geisha from Shinjuku or something of the sort—Mother appeared to be guessing that Uncle had gotten himself entangled with her. I too mostly assumed that must be the case. Leaving his business neglected, spending money while idling about every day—what would become of Uncle's household? When I thought about such things, I felt increasingly forlorn and sorrowful.

“Fūta’s still so young,” Mother muttered as if to herself and sighed again. Fūta was my older brother’s name—as I mentioned before, he was still nineteen and serving as an apprentice. In all matters, our sole reliance had been Uncle from Aizuya—with him reduced to such a state, we were utterly disheartened. It was only natural for Mother to sigh. I found myself on the verge of tears.

“And another thing,” Mother whispered again. “Uncle has grown strangely rough-tempered lately, scolding everyone in the household without reason...” “Whenever Aunt tries to say anything, he just shouts her down from the start...” “He acts completely unhinged now...” “Aunt’s worried sick about what might happen if this keeps worsening.”

"Oh," I had just said, and I became all the more despondent. To the wider world’s eyes, whether a single sword shop called Aizuya were to collapse or survive, whether its master lived or died, would of course be a matter of no consequence—but for us at that moment, it was truly a calamity.

“The mosquitoes are out, aren’t they.” Mother said as if noticing. I had not failed to notice them for some time now, but having become absorbed in the conversation, I had inadvertently let them be. Unlike today, back then in Yamanote, once the sun set swarms of mosquitoes would gather, haphazardly flying into one’s nose and mouth.

Urged by Mother, I hurriedly brought out the earthenware pig to the veranda and set about burning mosquito coils as usual, but the smoke seemed to sting my eyes especially keenly tonight.

Two The daughters of Aizuya—Osada and Oyuu—were my fellow students who attended the same sewing instructor as I. Being both cousins and classmates, we naturally got along well, but when I thought about how Uncle being in such a state would trouble not only us but Osada and Oyuu too, I grew truly sorrowful. In such moments, there is no way to describe one's feelings except as sad or pitiful. I can only beg your understanding.

The next day, when I went to my lesson, the sisters Osada and Oyuu were there as usual. When I looked carefully—perhaps it was my imagination—both sisters wore faces that seemed somehow shadowed, as if they had been tearful. Though I wanted to ask more about last night’s events, with five or six other classmates sitting there, I couldn’t bring myself to say anything improper. When the lesson ended and we were walking partway home together, Osada asked me as we went.

"Your mother came to your place last night, didn’t she?" "Yes, she did come." "What did she talk about…?" It would have been better to tell the truth, but I somehow couldn’t bring myself to say it. Since Aunt had come while I was away at the bath, I evasively pretended not to know what they had discussed. Osada silently nodded, but her careworn face was all too clear to me. When we reached the corner of the side street and parted ways there, after I had walked two or three ken, Osada turned back and came chasing after me. Then, bringing her mouth close to my ear, she said in a low voice charged with intensity.

“Please be good to Oyuu.”

No sooner had she said this than she turned back and hurried away. I couldn’t fathom why. That Osada had gone out of her way to say such a thing specifically today—I found it rather odd myself. Now, “Oyuu-chan” referred to her younger sister Oyuu, who was three years younger than my brother. Though I only vaguely knew about the arrangement being made between both sets of parents for these cousins to eventually marry one another, I understood why she had asked me to get along well with Oyuu. Yet why she had suddenly brought this up now—as if just remembering—in the middle of the street with such abruptness was beyond my comprehension at my tender age. Still, without giving it deeper thought, I simply returned home. Of course, I did not tell Mother about this either.

I remember that day being terribly hot. As Mother was saying we might get an evening shower with this stifling humidity, it was indeed seven-and-a-half—around five o'clock in the afternoon. Around that time, the sky began to darken. From the west came the sound of distant thunder. I too disliked thunder, but Mother detested it even more—once the thunder god began roaring, her face would turn ashen and she would become like someone gravely ill. The sky darkened, thunder rumbled, Mother's complexion grew steadily paler. Since I had long been aware of this, I hung the mosquito net. I prepared the incense sticks. Then I went out to the back vacant lot to put away the dried fish. Before long, large raindrops began to fall. Lightning flashed. While I hurriedly slid out the storm shutters, Mother had already retreated into the mosquito net.

Oh, if I go into such detail about these matters, it will become too lengthy. In any case, for over half an hour thereafter, the rain, thunder, and lightning flashes continued unabated—until even I ended up crawling into Mother’s mosquito net. When lightning struck the large ginkgo tree in the middle of the side street, I was so startled I nearly lost consciousness.

The evening shower had finally passed, and as the faint light of evening began to filter through, both Mother and I regained our spirits as though brought back to life. As we took down the mosquito net and opened the storm shutters, it was the same at every house—the sounds of storm shutters being opened, people talking, footsteps passing along the street—all combining to make the world as lively as if night had broken into day.

“That Lord Thunder must have descended somewhere nearby with one strike,” Mother said.

“I suppose so.”

As we were discussing such things, outside grew increasingly noisy with the sound of many people running past. Then came voices exclaiming things like "a woman" or "a young woman." Wondering what had happened, I went outside and saw a crowd gathered around the ginkgo tree midway down the side street. Though I assumed lightning had struck there, I couldn't comprehend this talk about a young woman. Driven by morbid curiosity at whether someone had been struck by lightning, I ran to look—and there indeed lay a young woman collapsed on the ground.

Whether the woman had rushed under the ginkgo tree seeking shelter from the rain or had merely been passing beneath it—in any case, it seemed the lightning that struck the tree also struck her dead.

Seeing for the first time in my life someone struck dead by lightning, I involuntarily shuddered—but what startled me further was the sight of a rather large blue snake lying stretched out dead near the right arm of the collapsed woman. According to the people gathered there, the snake had likely been living in the hollow of the ginkgo tree—though of course it had nothing to do with the woman—but there she lay, a young woman with disheveled hair collapsed on the ground. The sight of that long snake lying dead near her arm made me shudder again.

I should have just run away home then and there, but as I mentioned earlier, driven by that morbid curiosity, I peered in trembling with fear—and recognized the woman’s face. A woman around twenty-two or twenty-three years old—a stylish woman who had been standing in front of my house with Uncle around noon yesterday—though her kimono was different today, it was undoubtedly her. Suddenly my entire body turned cold, and my hands and feet seemed to stiffen. I didn’t know who she was or where she came from, but the fact that this woman—who had come here yesterday with Uncle—had returned today only to be struck dead by lightning filled me with a strange mixture of wonder and terror, a kind of indescribable eeriness that suggested some karmic connection at work. If I say this, you may all surely laugh, but I was truly terrified at that time.

A large crowd had gathered around the corpse, but they were merely clamoring noisily—no one seemed to know who the woman was or where she had come from. People had also come from the neighborhood guardhouse and were saying they should request an official inquest.

If we notified Uncle, he would likely be able to identify her, I thought—but unsure whether it was wise to make any careless remark, I hurried home and told Mother about it. Mother too furrowed her brow in thought, but warned that getting involved would bring trouble, and strictly forbade me from saying anything. Yet it seemed something still weighed on her mind, for Mother rose to her feet once more, deep in thought.

“You didn’t mistake her for someone else, did you? That was definitely the woman from yesterday, wasn’t it?” “Yes, it was definitely the woman from yesterday,” I replied with conviction. “Then I should go to Aizuya and have a quiet word with Uncle.” Mother resolved herself and went out.

Before long, the day ended and it was the usual hour for burning mosquito repellent, but tonight again I sat in a daze, doing nothing but think about that woman.

Since she had been struck by lightning and died, I thought it unlikely to cause Uncle any particular trouble—but even so, merely knowing someone acquainted with Uncle had met such an unnatural end left me feeling deeply unsettled. Why had that woman come to this side street during the evening downpour? Could she have been heading to my house? If that were true, might my family be summoned to the neighborhood guardhouse for questioning? As these anxious thoughts multiplied, plunging me into an increasingly ominous state of mind, Mother came hurrying back.

“Maa-chan.”

The voice calling me sounded different from usual, and startled, I turned around to find Mother breathing heavily as she began to speak in a hushed tone. "They say Aizuya's Saa-chan has gone off somewhere."

“Oh, Saa-chan...” “Why….”

I was startled too.

III

This was Mother's account. Aizuya's elder sister Osada had returned from her lessons with her younger sister around noon today, eaten her lunch, then gone out saying she was going to buy thread at the neighborhood thread shop—and had not come back. When the household grew suspicious and sent someone to inquire at the thread shop, they said Osada hadn't come to shop there even once since morning. Growing increasingly suspicious, they went around visiting two or three of her sister Oyuu’s friends’ houses, but Osada still hadn’t shown up anywhere, they said.

Uncle had left home first thing in the morning as usual, leaving Aunt alone to worry incessantly until the evening shower began pouring down and thunder started rumbling—causing Mother’s and my sister’s anxiety to grow ever greater. When the evening shower finally subsided, Aunt apparently planned to come to our house after finishing her evening meal to discuss the matter. But when Mother went there to inquire instead—as if their timing had aligned perfectly—Aunt immediately launched into explaining the situation. Mother had been about to set out intending to broach the subject herself when Aunt approached from the opposite direction and initiated the conversation instead, leaving Mother somewhat flustered.

Though Mother had been startled by Osada's disappearance, since we too had things we needed to discuss, when she began speaking of that woman, Aunt listened with a look of bewilderment. She apparently said she had no inkling whatsoever about that woman... After all, given how Uncle had been conducting himself lately, even Aunt couldn't begin to guess what sort of acquaintances he might have made or where.

On one side, Aizuya's daughter had run away from home; on the other, a woman who seemed involved with Uncle had been struck by lightning. Whether these two incidents were entirely separate or connected by some thread of fate remained utterly unclear. Both Aunt and Mother could only sigh in a dreamlike state of bewilderment. Yet while the woman's matter might be set aside for now, the daughter's disappearance—though likely a runaway case—could not be left unaddressed. Thus they ordered the shop workers to divide tasks and pursue every possible lead.

You may think it strange to make such a commotion over someone being gone only half a day, but in those days, daughters from respectable families never went far without informing anyone. Even when going somewhere nearby, they would always tell someone before leaving, so when their whereabouts remained unknown for even half a day, it naturally caused an uproar. All the more so with an eighteen-year-old girl—people would normally assume it couldn’t be an ordinary matter, wondering if she’d eloped with someone or been abducted. Aunt’s worry was only natural.

Realizing there would be no end to sitting face-to-face with Aunt and sighing, Mother said she would return again later and came back home for the time being. After finishing that account, Mother asked me: "I wonder if Saa-chan was getting close with some young man somewhere. Don’t you know?" "That’s not... I don't know." "Are you sure you don’t know?"

Even after being pressed repeatedly, I truly did not know. As for Osada being on familiar terms with another young man—I had never witnessed such a thing even once, nor had I heard any rumors of the sort. During that evening shower earlier—where was Osada and what was she doing? Thinking of that, I again grew unreasonably sad.

Mother whispered something like this again.

“On my way back just now, I heard they’d taken the corpse to the neighborhood guardhouse, but the official inspection still hadn’t been completed.” “I wonder where she was from.”

“That isn’t clear, but… You must never say anything careless. No matter who asks you, keep quiet. You mustn’t say anything about having seen Uncle walking with someone,” Mother repeated her warning. If I were to say something careless and have it lead to serious implications—like being summoned repeatedly to the magistrate’s sand-covered court—it would be disastrous, so Mother strictly forbade me from speaking. I may be repeating myself, but truly, at that time, I was filled with a feeling both frightening and sorrowful—utterly indescribable.

After eight PM, Mother went out to Aizuya again, but Osada’s whereabouts remained unknown. Uncle too had not returned. And so, since there was nothing we could do, Mother and I went to bed late that night, our hearts heavy with worry. Although it had become considerably cooler after the evening shower, neither of us could find peaceful sleep.

After enduring a sleepless night, the next day dawned clear and grew hot from morning. The ginkgo tree struck by lightning had half its large branch broken off, yet cicadas flew to its trunk and noisily chirped from morning onward as if knowing nothing of last night’s events. When I went out to draw water from the back well, neighborhood girls and wives had gathered in twos and threes, buzzing with talk of last night’s woman. Among them, the carpenter’s wife—who knew the subsequent developments best—told everyone all about it.

“That woman was the daughter of a wastrel named Yoidoshi and had been a geisha in Shinjuku until last year, they say.” “She’d come under the care of a pawnbroker called Ōmiya and had apparently quit her trade to idle about at home now.” “Her father was a notorious rake who’d been quite the figure about town, but he’d gone feeble these past five or six years—nowadays he can barely shuffle around the neighborhood in straw sandals with a cane, so folks call him Yoidoshi.” “Still, with her daughter having landed a good patron, he was living in comfortable retirement of sorts—but with his meal ticket suddenly ending up like this, the old man must be crushed.” “Some say it serves him right after all the hearts he broke in his youth, but still—to end up infirm and lose the daughter who supported him? Pitiful business.” “The daughter’s name?” “O-haru, though when she walked the geisha path they called her Koharu.” “If Koharu didn’t throw herself in some lover’s suicide pact but took a rat snake to hell instead—now isn’t that just tragic?”

The carpenter’s wife spoke laughing as if it were someone else’s affair, but I strained my ears desperately trying not to miss a single word.

“Since it’s just people’s rumors, I can’t say anything for certain,” the carpenter’s wife added. “They say that O-haru woman had a secret lover, and it seems she was on her way to meet him yesterday when that happened.”

“Then, does that man live around here?” asked the plasterer’s daughter next door. “Most likely, yes. Thinking it would be troublesome if he carelessly showed himself, he’s probably keeping quiet and staying hidden—but if he does something so heartless, a woman’s resentment will be terrifying, won’t it? If a woman’s feelings were to possess him along with that snake, most men would be done for, I suppose,” the carpenter’s wife laughed again.

After entering the house, when I quietly told Mother about it, Mother fell into deep thought.

“Even so，Uncle couldn’t possibly be that man involved.” “I should think not.”

“Since it’s a man’s affair, I can’t say for certain, but Uncle is forty-one—there’s an age difference like parent and child,” Mother maintained a tone of steadfast disbelief.

Whether Uncle was involved with that woman or not, the fact remained that he knew her, so it was thought that once he returned home, more details would likely come to light. Mother went out to Aizuya again this morning, but there was still no word from Uncle or Osada. Taking Mother’s place, I too went to Aizuya under the pretense of paying a visit, where Aunt sat blankly like someone drained of spirit, having not slept a wink the previous night due to various troubles. There was no way to describe it as pitiable or anything else. Younger sister Oyuu had taken the day off from her lessons and was at home today. While I believe most of you have already noticed, yesterday when Osada parted from me, she said, "Please get along well with Oyuu." After returning home, she soon went off somewhere, so it was thought to be a premeditated disappearance.

The reason I hadn’t told Mother about it was this—if I were to bring it up carelessly after Osada’s disappearance, I feared Mother would scold me—“If such a thing happened, why didn’t you tell me sooner?”—so I had kept silent last night and even this morning. But now that I had come to Aizuya and seen Aunt and the shop workers’ careworn faces, I felt I could no longer remain silent.

Even so, finding it difficult to broach the subject with Aunt, when I called Oyuu out front as I was leaving and whispered the matter to her, she unexpectedly wore a calm expression.

“I know. “Sister’s hiding somewhere with Fūta.”

I was surprised again. Brother Fūta was in service. That he would lure Uncle’s daughter away and be hiding somewhere— There was no way such a thing could be true. As I stared at her face in astonishment, wondering why Oyuu would say such a thing, her eyes gradually grew moist.

“Sis, this is too much.”

As I mentioned before, Osada being the eldest daughter had to take a husband into the family. I was dimly aware there was a private arrangement for her younger sister Oyuu to marry my brother Fūta. If her older sister had snatched away her intended and disappeared somewhere with him, it was only natural Oyuu would resent her. But could Osada truly be that sort of person? Could my brother? Since I couldn't bring myself to believe it true, I pressed for details through every means I could think of, but Oyuu didn't seem to possess any concrete evidence either. Still she insisted it must be so, lamenting through tears with bitter frustration.

Whether it was a lie or the truth, I couldn't afford to hesitate under these circumstances. I hurried home and reported it to Mother, whereupon her face turned pale. If that were indeed true, it wouldn’t just mean trouble for Osada—my brother would likely ruin his position at the shop as well. Mother immediately began preparing to go verify the facts at the Kyōbashi shop, but in her haste to change clothes, her chronic illness suddenly flared up.

Mother's chronic illness was colic. Already weakened by the recent heat, she had been beset by various worries since yesterday; having slept poorly last night on top of that, and now being told this outrageous news, her chronic colic had suddenly tightened its grip. Since it was a chronic illness, I was accustomed to it, but even so, I couldn't leave her be when it flared up. I called the neighborhood acupuncturist and had him apply the usual needles, which brought her to a stable condition. But with Mother's constitution being what it was, once her colic struck, she couldn't rise for half a day.

"What wretched timing." Mother tried frantically to get up despite her condition, but since venturing out in the midday sun risked another collapse along the way, I persuaded her to rest until shadows began forming across the room. Only after seven-thirty had passed did I finally let her go out. Still uneasy, I suggested hiring a palanquin, but Mother insisted she was fine now and set out on foot. Looking after the house alone was nothing new for me, but today I felt unbearably lonely.

After night had fully fallen, Aizuya’s aunt came inquiring with an ashen face—neither Uncle nor Osada’s whereabouts were yet known. When they drew an oracle slip at Oiwa Inari Shrine, it had reportedly come out as ‘misfortune.’ “Where has Mother gone…?”

I found myself somewhat troubled by how to respond. Since I couldn't honestly say she'd gone to Kyōbashi regarding Brother's situation, I told an offhand lie—that there was a good fortune-teller in Shiba she'd gone to consult. That wasn't my own cleverness either. If anyone from Aizuya came asking, I'd been instructed by Mother to say exactly that first thing. Even so, perhaps that saying holds true—what you don't know can't hurt you. Aunt heaved a wretched sigh.

“I’m sorry for making everyone worry so.”

Aunt also said she was going to visit a fortune-teller in Ichigaya and left. Tonight was another hot evening. Though neighbors seemed to be cooling themselves on benches brought out to their doorways, with lively laughter drifting from every direction, I felt so downcast I could have cried, and didn’t even try to step outside the gate. It was clear that going all the way to Kyōbashi on foot would take time, but I found myself waiting impatiently for Mother’s return. At that moment, an errand boy named Rikichi from Aizuya came to visit.

“Has the mistress come here?”

“She stopped by earlier, but she left saying she’s going to see the fortune-teller in Ichigaya now,” I answered truthfully. “And do you have some business with the mistress?” “Yes,” Rikichi said while giving it some thought. “Actually, Oyuu...”

“Oyuu... why would she...?” I felt a jolt of alarm. “When the mistress went out, she left right after her and still hasn’t come back.”

Had Oyuu run away from home too? I was beyond surprise—left utterly dumbfounded.

IV

In this situation, Aizuya must have been in an uproar, but after Rikichi left, I reconsidered—it wasn’t yet certain whether Oyuu had truly run away from home. Even so, I couldn’t shake off this unease, and as I waited all the more intently for Mother’s return, well past eight in the evening, Mother came home mopping sweat from her brow. Still, she spoke with a look of relief, laughing while she did.

“What on earth did Oyuu say to cause such a commotion? Brother Fūta is properly working at the Kyōbashi shop.”

I too felt relieved. "After that I inquired about all sorts of things, but that child truly knows nothing at all. Oyuu's already sixteen—she must've gotten jealous and spouted such nonsense..." Mother laughed mockingly again. "Whether she's causing a commotion or whatever, I don't care. It's just as well that was a lie. If it had been true, that would've been truly disastrous."

Mother seemed relieved, having forgotten both the heat and her fatigue as if they were nothing, now in foolishly high spirits. Though I felt cruel to startle her anew, I could not remain silent in the end. When I recounted Aunt’s visit and Oyuu’s apparent disappearance in every particular, Mother merely uttered “Oh my,” her hard-won smile abruptly clouding over once more.

“This is troublesome.” “Well, let’s go and see.”

Dragging her exhausted legs, Mother immediately set out for Aizuya.

From yesterday through today, a woman from Shinjuku was struck by lightning. The sisters—daughters of Aizuya—ran away from home. It was unclear what had become of Uncle. How astonishing that one thing after another kept happening in such rapid succession; could I possibly be caught in some nightmare? I prayed that if this were a dream, it would end quickly.

After some time had passed, Mother returned home, and it was reported that Oyuu still hadn’t come back—it seemed she had indeed run away.

“But Aunt… why…?” “Aunt did return from Ichigaya, but…” “She’s grown increasingly absent-minded—it’s truly heartbreaking.” “Now I’m worried Aunt might lose her mind altogether.”

If Aunt were to go mad on top of all this, Aizuya would be plunged into darkness. Mother too appeared to have grown somewhat resigned, and sighing, she began to say such things.

“Ah, there’s no use fretting over it now. This must be some karmic fate.” There was truly nothing to do but resign ourselves to this karmic fate. Yet having to resign ourselves in such a way felt profoundly sorrowful. Since we were supposed to be notified immediately if Oyuu returned, I waited all day wondering if every footstep outside might bring news—but no word came from Aizuya. Mother and I went to bed worried, but having slept poorly the previous night too, I—being so young—fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow, without even realizing it.

The next morning, I learned that Mother had again struggled to fall asleep the previous night.

After finishing breakfast, I went to Aizuya. Today too brought scorching heat from morning onward, and I went out holding my parasol. When I emerged onto Demmachō's main street and glanced around, I saw a large crowd gathered in front of Aizuya. Without quite knowing why, I froze, then hurried toward the shopfront. There, a palanquin had been set down, and a man sat by the entrance with a cane placed beside him. While peering through the crowd and wondering if his features and demeanor matched those of Yoidoshi from Shinjuku—the man I'd heard about yesterday—the man appeared to be over fifty years old. He was shouting in a somewhat slurred, tongue-tied manner.

"What're you gonna do about me? At my age like this, with this broken body—my main earner's been killed! Can't keep livin' from tomorrow on!" There was no mistaking him—this was Yoi-Yoi from Shinjuku. With his slurred tongue, he kept bellowing these complaints on loop, leaving all the shop workers flustered. Soon enough, someone must've gone for help. The neighborhood fire chief came and spent ages sweet-talking him, slipped some coins to the palanquin carriers too, then practically stuffed that raving mess into the litter before finally shooing them off. The chief lingered out front chatting with staff while I slipped inside to see Auntie—only to find her face looked ten years older than yesterday.

“Maachan, I’m so sorry to have worried even you,” she said. “Uncle hasn’t come back, Osada’s whereabouts remain unknown, and on top of that, that man comes here shouting—I just don’t know what to do anymore.” “Where is that person from?” I asked. “That’s apparently Yoidoshi from Shinjuku,” she replied. “With his slurred speech—‘Yoi-Yoi’ as they call him—it was hard to follow, but he claims our uncle dragged out his daughter O-haru, and because of that she was struck by lightning and died in Ishikiriyokochō. So he came here to complain, but I know nothing about it! What can anyone do when the thunder god himself is involved?”

“Hmm, I suppose so.” “Even if Uncle did drag her out,” she began sharply, “being struck by lightning was just ill fortune! It’s our own wickedness that brought this punishment upon us!” Aunt snapped scornfully. “Who can tell whether Uncle dragged out his daughter or they dragged him out?” Her vehemence was so intense that I became frightened. Indeed—just as Mother had said—the thought that Aunt might truly be losing her mind made me feel so uneasy I hurried home as if fleeing.

About three days passed after that. During that time, Mother had been visiting Aizuya two or three times each day, but neither Uncle nor Osada and her sister showed any sign of appearing. In today’s terms one might call it hysteria—Aunt had become half-mad, lashing out at everyone in the household.

"If things go on like this, Aizuya will collapse," Mother said, shedding tears.

On the afternoon of July 3rd, Uncle’s body was discovered. Uncle had collapsed and died in the grasslands stretching from Sendagaya. His skull had been smashed open with a large hewn stone. ...Even now, when I think about it, I shudder. When that news arrived, about ten people—including Aizuya’s shop staff, regular craftsmen, and the neighborhood’s monthly duty officers—went together to retrieve Uncle’s corpse. When she heard that, Mother burst into loud sobs. I also cried.

V

"Oh dear, my story has grown quite long—you must be terribly bored by now. As for what follows, since I did not witness these events firsthand but learned of them afterward, I shall endeavor to relate them as concisely as possible. That Uncle’s head had been smashed open with a stone was not only evident from the wound itself but also from the discovery nearby of a large, blood-soaked hewn stone—they immediately identified this as the murder weapon, or so they say. Why Uncle had been wandering in such a place, and why he had been killed—no one could fathom. Yet even in those times, detectives proved remarkably thorough, for the officials who came to inspect the scene discovered a small candle stub and an inrō-style container lying in the grass nearby. This became the crucial clue, and four or five days later, they apprehended Uncle’s killer."

As I did not see the item myself, I cannot provide detailed information, but they say this inrō-like object was slightly narrower than a real inrō and more akin to a cylinder in shape. It was decorated with makie lacquerwork and is said to have been quite an extravagant piece. To laypeople, it was rather difficult to discern what that was, but the officials, true to their profession, knew it was a container for spiders. Some of you may already be aware, but during the Bunka and Bunsei eras of Edo, it seems pitting spiders against each other in battles became quite fashionable. In certain regions of China, it’s said that pitting katydids against each other was quite popular, and Japan’s spider battles likely originated from such practices. I don't know who started it, but for a time, it became quite popular. It had completely died out following the Tenpō Reforms, but by the end of the Edo period, it gradually began to regain popularity. In essence, it was no different from cockfighting—a form of gambling—though cockfighting was primarily pursued by the lower classes, while spider battles were said to have found favor among more refined circles. Therefore, it stands to reason that there were even luxurious items among the tubes used to hold spiders. It was only after his death that it became known Uncle from Aizuya had also taken up this vice before anyone realized.

Uncle, being obsessive by nature and fundamentally inclined toward gambling competitions, gradually became deeply involved until he was nearly consumed by them. In the Yotsuya area, they had been holding their matches daily in the back rooms of teahouses and restaurant teahouses near Shinjuku’s brothel district, but as such places drew unwanted attention, they ended up renting Yoidoshi’s parlor instead. As I mentioned before, O-haru—Yoidoshi’s daughter—was under the care of Ōmiya, a pawnbroker owner. It seems that Ōmiya, also being part of this gambling circle, had decided to rent Yoidoshi’s parlor due to their association. As for O-haru, being a former geisha turned rogue herself, it seems she had joined the men and was participating in the matches alongside them. Yoidoshi, her father—despite being hemiplegic—still participated in the matches. In any era, it’s the same—if one becomes engrossed in such things, it will never end well.

I cannot say I fully understand such matters, but spiders are said to be vicious creatures that devour their own kind. Since they compete by exploiting this nature, unlike games such as Go, Shogi, or flower matching, what matters is not so much one’s own skill as the strength or weakness of the spiders. Therefore, it is said that spiders used in these battles commanded quite high prices. Among these, it was said that burrowing spiders were considered superior. As you are aware, burrowing spiders dwell underground and carry numerous offspring within their sacs.

As these were gambling competitions, one naturally experienced both wins and losses, but Uncle had been suffering a streak of bad luck lately, his losses piling up relentlessly. In gambling, it being in the nature of things that defeats breed greater obsession, Uncle grew increasingly feverish, draining the household funds until his resources gradually dwindled. He secretly incurred debts from various lenders without Aunt’s knowledge. On top of this, he had accumulated thirty to forty ryō in debt with O-haru and her father. The debt to O-haru being of the gambling sort—the kind that couldn’t be openly acknowledged—yet unless managed discreetly, maintaining continued access to her household would prove impossible. With July’s Bon festival fast approaching, even O-haru began demanding repayment. Therefore, as a temporary reprieve, Uncle declared he owned a rental property in Ishikiriyokochō that he would surrender should repayment fail before Bon—taking O-haru there as collateral. Desperate though it was, Uncle proved truly despicable for bringing O-haru before my house and claiming, “This here’s my property”—or so I later learned.

O-haru was temporarily convinced by this, but when she returned home and told her father, Yoidoshi—being the man he was—didn’t fall for such an obvious trick. Showing someone else’s house and claiming it’s his rental property is an old trick that’s been around for ages—you can’t let your guard down. He told her to go check the house again to confirm whether it truly was Aizuya’s rental property, so O-haru, convinced by his reasoning, set out again the following afternoon only to be caught in that ill-timed evening downpour… What happened afterward remains unclear, as the dead tell no tales, but she had entered my alleyway and was taking shelter from the rain under a large ginkgo tree when, unfortunately, lightning seems to have struck. Considering the circumstances before and after, there was no other conclusion to be drawn. That was why Yoidoshi, his paralyzed body loaded into a palanquin, came storming into Aizuya.

Having set aside O-haru’s matter for now, the tale now turns to Uncle and his two daughters—but truly, becoming consumed by gambling competitions is a dreadful thing, for Uncle had become so utterly obsessed that he seemed to have forgotten even the affection between parent and child. Of course, there must have been the dire circumstances of being hounded by debts from various quarters as Bon approached, but Uncle seemed to have thought that here, he absolutely had to win—that he must win. To achieve that—as I mentioned before—he absolutely had to obtain a strong spider. There were about ten companions who came to Yoidoshi’s place for matches, and among them, the spiders owned by the master of Sagamiya—a tobacco shop in Ōgidō—were exceptionally strong. Uncle frequently envied them and pleaded, "Couldn’t you spare me just one?" But the master of Sagamiya—a man named Zenbei—adamantly refused, stating, "These are all precious spiders; I can’t just hand them out willy-nilly." Uncle, now in a frenzy, declared he’d do anything in return if they would just give him one. Even so, Zenbei refused to comply easily; after tormenting him relentlessly, he finally declared, "If you give me your daughter, I’ll hand one over." It was an utterly outrageous proposal, but my half-mad uncle—hmm—ended up consenting to it.

However, since this was different from other matters, he couldn’t bring himself to confess it to Aunt. If he were to tell her, her refusal was a foregone conclusion. Far from mere refusal, there was no telling what commotion might erupt. Thereupon, Uncle stealthily positioned himself near his own house and waited for his elder daughter to emerge; when Osada came out to buy thread, he said, “Come with me for a moment,” and led her away. Osada, trusting her parent’s words, followed without suspicion—whereupon Uncle took his daughter into Sagamiya at Ōgidō, tricking her into ascending to the second floor under false pretenses. At this point, Osada—now seventeen or eighteen—grew uneasy and demanded to return home immediately. Uncle then laid bare the situation: “If I win this match, I’ll come back for you without fail,” he urged, “so endure staying here awhile.” But Osada refused through tears. It was only natural she refused. Uncle flew into a rage, declaring there were those who would sell themselves for their parents’ sake. “If you still refuse after all my pleading,” he threatened—though half in bluster—drawing a small dagger from his robe and brandishing it before her eyes until Osada trembled violently. At that moment Zenbei appeared upstairs; fearing her cries might reach the neighbors, he gagged Osada and confined her inside a closet. This Zenbei—said to be Uncle’s age—was a man who cloaked himself as an upright merchant while being half thug at heart, likely well-versed in such abductions.

Thus, having first received a large spider from him, Uncle immediately set out for a match that very night—he won once but lost the second time.

It was the night O-haru had been struck by lightning, and at Yoidoshi’s house, they had begun to worry as their daughter was late returning home. Master Ōmiya was also concerned. Due to such circumstances, the match ended earlier than usual, but Uncle still did not return home, instead collapsing drunk at some brothel. When a person reaches this state, there’s no helping them. Disappointed that the spider he had been given proved weaker than expected, Uncle went to confront Sagamiya, but Zenbei refused to engage. "Since these were contests between living creatures," came his reply, "if opponents bring stronger spiders than ours, we can’t win—and even with my spiders, victory isn’t guaranteed." Even as Uncle kept protesting, Zenbei finally said, "Then I’ll tell you where I catch mine—go catch them yourself." Yet Zenbei added tantalizingly, "But since it’s a secret spot, I can’t just disclose it freely."

By this point, most people would have come to their senses, but Uncle—utterly consumed by his frenzy—once again carelessly fell for it... It has become too repugnant to continue this tale. Uncle—regarding his own daughters as mere objects—promised that if they would disclose the secret location, he would hand over his younger daughter. And then—using the same method by which he had taken away her older sister—he lured out her younger sister Oyuu. However—this time—he waited for Oyuu on her way to the neighborhood bathhouse—her older sister was with Fūta—my brother—who was working at Hoteiya— "—they're hiding at Sagamiya in Ōgidō—so I'm going to apprehend them now." Even so—since there were two opponents—letting them escape would cause trouble. "I'll hold down Fūta—you grab your sister"—he said—thereby cleverly luring Oyuu away. This was presumably a method that exploited young Oyuu’s jealousy to lure her away without resistance. By the time Oyuu was taken into Zenbei’s house—Osada was no longer on the second floor there.

Having thus taken both daughters for himself, Zenbei led Uncle out of the house. Zenbei said to do it tomorrow, but Uncle would not agree. Even when told that it shouldn’t be done in the dark and to do it in daylight, Uncle would not listen. And so it was decided they would prepare candles and go together—or so Zenbei himself claims, though whether it was a lie or the truth remains unclear. In any case, they made their way along the dark night road toward Sendagaya, searched through a wide grassland—where Zenbei informed him that many strong burrowing spiders dwelled within this soil—and so Uncle, relying on the faint candlelight, began illuminating the area when Zenbei picked up a large cut stone lying at his feet... According to Zenbei’s later testimony, he hadn’t taken Uncle out with the intention of killing him from the start—it was only upon suddenly noticing a large stone at his feet that he conceived such a plan—but what was the truth of it? In any case, even if he caught the spiders from here, there was no telling whether he’d actually win. With all that pestering about this and that—demanding his daughters back and making a fuss—it must have become too much trouble, leading him to resolve that it’d be better to simply kill Uncle in secret. At that moment, the candle fell and went out, so Zenbei remained unaware that Uncle’s inrō-style container had fallen. Had this inrō-style container not been found, the authorities likely would never have noticed the spider connection, and the investigation might have dragged on considerably—but having fixed their attention on the gambling circles involved with spiders around Yotsuya Shinjuku, they managed to uncover the culprits with unexpected swiftness, bringing matters to a close.

Now, as for how they determined it was Zenbei’s doing—Yoidoshi’s barging into Aizuya came to the detectives’ attention, and upon interrogating Yoidoshi, they discovered that Uncle had received spiders from Zenbei. Then, when they summoned Zenbei for questioning, he initially feigned ignorance, but a search of his house revealed Oyuu confined in the second-floor closet. With all this coming to light, he could no longer conceal it and ultimately confessed. Osada had been handed over to a human trafficker named Sangorō—who doubled as a judicial officer and was said to arrange prostitutes for rural brothels. —She had been transferred to Sangorō’s custody, with plans to send her to Hachiōji in the near future; it had been perilously close.

This brings us to the conclusion of this tale.—Is there still something unresolved that you wish to ask about? Ah, I see. On my way back from lessons, Osada said to me, "Please get along well with Oyuu." When I later asked Osada about that—it turned out to be nothing of consequence. That day at the sewing instructor's house, I had mistakenly used Oyuu's scissors, which led to us exchanging sharp words. It was a baseless matter that ended there and then, but Osada, being older and naturally reserved, had apparently grown concerned about the minor friction between her sister and me—hence why she made a point of saying such a thing as we parted. Young and scatterbrained as I was, I had long forgotten about the scissors incident and could only puzzle over why Osada had spoken those words. Misunderstandings must take root from such trifling seeds as these. I cannot fathom why Oyuu suspected her own sister regarding my brother, but it seems this sprang from her innate nature—she was a woman of jealous temperament through and through. As proof of this, even after marrying my brother, her jealousy remained so pronounced that he too found himself quite at wit's end in dealing with her.

Osada took a husband but died young due to poor postpartum recovery. My brother and his wife are also no longer in this world. I alone remain, but as those sad and terrifying memories remain vividly etched in my mind to this day, I have sternly instructed my children and grandchildren that while other indulgences may be tolerated, gambling competitions are something I shall never permit.

This may be a digression, but concerning these spiders, there remains more to tell.

O-haru's husband, the master of the pawnbroker Ōmiya, also seemed to go mad. It happened one day—likely because the lid of the inrō-style container used to hold spiders had come loose—that a spider crawled out onto the tatami mats, where one of the maids accidentally stepped on and killed it. Oh no, disaster! The master flew into a rage like a blazing fire—they say he harshly scolded the maid before striking and kicking her—and whether out of resentment or a sense of guilt over this treatment, the maid threw herself into the well behind the house and died. At this point, even the master must have finally felt remorse, for afterward he seemed to lose his mind entirely—raving day and night about how the maid’s figure appeared before his eyes—until ultimately, it’s said he too threw himself into that same well.

From Aizuya to Zenbei, O-haru to Ōmiya—it was said that society at the time universally attributed each of their unnatural deaths to none other than the spider’s curse. Whether it truly was the spider’s vengeance remains uncertain, but that everyone dreamed of spiders must indeed be fact. Truly, it was a terrifying dream.