Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

S Widow narrates. I am now seventy-eight years old, having been born in the Dog Year of Kaei 3, which means I was fourteen years old during Bunkyū 3—the year of which I shall now speak. People often say that those in the past were precocious, but even at fourteen, I was still a young girl—it was not as though I understood everything.

This story also mixed in things I was later told by my mother and others, so please keep that in mind as you listen. As older people's stories tend to have lengthy prefaces—which younger listeners may find tedious—I must first explain a little about my family and relatives to properly order this account. At that time, I lived in Ishigiri Yokochō in Yotsuya. It was near Tennō Shrine. My father had passed away five years prior, and my mother and I were living a modest life in a backstreet house. We did not possess what one might call significant property, but we held shares in a barbershop license that yielded about three *bu* monthly. Additionally, Uncle sent Mother an allowance of one *bu* each month, bringing our total to a small *ryō*—in those days, this was enough for two women to live without hardship. My brother, aged nineteen, was sent into service at a large cloth merchant called Hoteiya in Kyōbashi, and Mother was looking forward to the end of his apprenticeship period.

Uncle was my father’s younger brother, five years older than my mother, and I had heard he was forty-one at the time—on the cusp of an unlucky year. His name was Genzō, and as he ran a sword shop called Aizuya in Demmachō along Yotsuya-dōri—which was near our home—he thereby became something of a guardian for our household. Uncle’s wife—in other words, my aunt—was named Oman, and between that couple were daughters named Osada and Oyū, the elder being eighteen and the younger sixteen.

With both family registers now settled—this being done first—we come at last to our principal text.

As I mentioned earlier, in Bunkyū 3 [1863], the fourteenth shogun made his honorable departure to Kyoto on February 13th of that year and returned to Edo Castle on June 16th. Due to what was called His Lordship’s absence, all festivals everywhere were decided to be conducted modestly—even in June, the month of festivals, Honorable Sannō in Kōjimachi postponed theirs; Honorable Hikawa in Akasaka had only their portable shrine cross through; floats and dance stages were omitted; and Tennō Shrine in my neighborhood held its festival after the 20th. For this reason, the parishioners’ districts settled for eave lanterns at most, with no other events whatsoever. To us youngsters, this felt terribly dreary, but such were the esteemed times—there was nothing to be done.

I believe it was June 26th. At that time, I attended sewing lessons at a nearby teacher’s house and would return home around noon. Just as I was entering the alley leading to my house—about two or three ken away from it—there stood a man and woman; the man pointed at my house while whispering something to the woman. When I thought something seemed amiss and looked closer, the man turned out to be Uncle from Aizuya, and the woman—stylishly dressed at around twenty-two or twenty-three—did not appear to be a respectable sort at all. As I grew increasingly curious about why Uncle had brought such a woman here and was pointing at my house while talking to her, I gradually approached them. But when Uncle noticed my footsteps, he suddenly turned toward me, then left wordlessly with the woman in the opposite direction.

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

When I returned home and told her about it, Mother also made a strange face. “Is that so… Uncle was with such a woman… He didn’t stop by the house.” “So you didn’t know, Mother?” “I didn’t know anything about it.” The conversation ended there, but at that moment—not only did Mother make a strange face—I noticed her expression gradually darkening into one clouded with something ominous. However, Mother said nothing, and I did not press the matter further.

By the end of the sixth month in the old calendar—already within the Dog Days—all lessons concluded by noon, so I spent half the day reading storybooks borrowed from the neighbor’s house. When evening came, I sprinkled water over the front yard and went to the neighborhood public bathhouse. Upon returning, the entrance had already grown dim, and boys were hurling mud-caked straw sandals while chasing bats through the alleyway. Whether by accident or mischief, those sandals would occasionally come flying toward my face too, so I kept to the edge of the street as much as possible and circled around to the back entrance via the mouth of the alleyway. Though even the front was dimly lit, inside the house no lamps seemed to have been lit yet, while all around me came the incessant buzzing of bush mosquitoes.

"Oh? I wonder if Mother isn't here." Thinking this while beginning to step up from the kitchen, I heard women's voices from the six-mat room facing the narrow garden. This was unmistakably Aunt from Aizuya's voice, and since she seemed to be crying somehow, I involuntarily stopped. If Aunt was speaking, Mother must certainly be home too. Seeing them so absorbed in conversation that they'd forgotten to light the lamp—whispering in darkness—even young as I was, I sensed this was no ordinary matter and hesitated to intrude. Then crouching by the hearth to observe the inner room—in such a narrow house that "inner" meant right before my nose—their voices came through clearly. Aunt appeared to be murmuring something through sobs. Mother too seemed to be sighing. However I considered it, this couldn't be ordinary—I somehow grew sad. As their talk seemed mostly concluded before long, Aunt spoke up as if suddenly remembering.

“Hasn’t Maa-chan returned yet?” Maa-chan was my name—I was called O-Masa. Taking that as my cue, I was deliberating whether to show myself when Aunt suddenly began to leave. “Oh my, it’s become completely dark without me noticing…” “I must apologize for the intrusion.”

“Truly, not even lighting a lamp…” Mother said as she saw her out to the entrance. In the meantime, I entered the tea room and lit the lamp. Aunt opened the lattice door and left. Mother turned back inside and seemed slightly startled to find I had returned home unnoticed. “Were you listening to Aunt’s conversation?” “I could hear their voices, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.”

I answered honestly, but Mother still seemed suspicious. Then, apparently thinking that half-hearted concealment after someone might have overheard would only worsen matters, she began speaking in a low voice. "You seem to have caught fragments of it, but Aunt's household has its own troubles." I had largely surmised this from Aunt's tearful voice, though I knew nothing concrete about the incident itself. As I silently studied Mother's face, she continued speaking quietly.

“I’d vaguely heard about that matter too, but it seems Uncle has started some illicit pastime lately.” “He’s been neglecting his business entirely and wandering out day and night to who knows where.” “These days, with all the commotion in society and sword shops everywhere swamped with business, he leaves everything to his clerks while the master himself goes idling about from morning till night—it’s utterly preposterous!” “If he’s out gallivanting like that, he’s bound to be up to no good—plus they say Uncle’s been spending money like water, and Aunt is terribly worried.”

“Where could he be gallivanting off to?” I asked. “Apparently he’s been going to Shinjuku.”

Mother, as though suddenly remembering, questioned me in detail about the woman from earlier that day. That woman was likely a geisha from Shinjuku or something of the sort—Mother seemed to speculate Uncle had become involved with her. I mostly assumed as much. Neglecting his business, gallivanting about every day and spending money—what would become of Uncle’s household? When I thought about such things, I felt increasingly uneasy and sorrowful.

“Fū-chan is still young too,” Mother muttered as if to herself and sighed again. Fū-chan was my older brother Fūtarō, who, as I mentioned before, remained nineteen and still in service. In all matters we had relied solely on Uncle from Aizuya—with that uncle reduced to such circumstances, we found ourselves utterly adrift. That Mother sighed was only natural. Tears began pricking at my eyes.

“And another thing...” Mother whispered again. “Uncle has become strangely short-tempered lately, scolding everyone in the household without reason…” “When Aunt says something, he starts yelling at her from the get-go…” “He’s been acting as if his mind has snapped…” “Aunt is also worried about what will ultimately happen if that escalates.” “Oh…” was all I could say, and I felt increasingly desolate.

From the perspective of the wider world, whether a single sword shop called Aizuya were to collapse or succeed, or whether its owner were to live or die, it would of course be a matter of no consequence—but for us then, it was truly a grave crisis. “The mosquitoes are out, aren’t they.” Mother remarked as if noticing. I had been aware of them since earlier, but being preoccupied with our conversation, I had let them be. Unlike today’s standards, the Yamanote area in those days became dreadful once night fell—swarms of mosquitoes would gather, flying recklessly into noses and mouths.

Urged by Mother, I hurriedly brought out the earthenware pig to the veranda and began mosquito smudging as usual, but the smoke seemed to sting my eyes particularly keenly tonight.

II The daughters of Aizuya—Osada and Oyū—were my practice companions who attended the same sewing instructor as I. Being cousins and fellow students, we naturally got along well under normal circumstances, but when I considered how Uncle's current state would distress not just us but also Saa-chan and Oyo-chan, I truly grew sorrowful. At such times, there was no way to describe my feelings except as mournful or wretched. I beg your kind understanding.

The next day when I went to my lesson，the Osada and Oyū sisters were there as usual．When I looked closely—perhaps it was my imagination—both sisters wore expressions that seemed shadowed，as if on the verge of tears．I wanted to ask more about last night’s events，but with five or six other fellow students present，I couldn’t broach such delicate matters．When our lesson ended and we were walking partway home together，Osada asked me while we walked．

“My mother went to your place last night, didn’t she.” “Yes, she came.” “What kind of talk did they have…” I probably should have told the truth, but somehow I missed my chance to speak up. Since Aunt had come while I was away at the bathhouse, I vaguely claimed not to know what they had discussed and brushed it off. Osada silently nodded, but the troubled look on her face was clear even to me. Before long, we reached the corner of the side street and parted ways there. When I had walked a short distance of 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 with some intensity.

“Please get along well with Oyo-chan.” No sooner had she said this than she turned back and hurried away. I couldn’t understand the reason at all. Today of all days, I found it odd why Osada had gone out of her way to say such a thing. “Oyo-chan” referred to her younger sister Oyū, who was three years younger than my brother. Though I only vaguely knew of it, there was an arrangement between both sets of parents for them to eventually marry—a union between cousins—so I understood why she had asked me to get along well with Oyo-chan. But why she had suddenly blurted this out in the middle of the thoroughfare now—my young mind couldn’t grasp her intent—yet without dwelling on it deeply, I simply returned home. Of course, I didn’t mention any of this to Mother either.

I remembered that day being intensely hot. As Mother kept saying how stifling it was and that we might get an evening downpour any moment, sure enough by seven and a half—five o'clock in the afternoon—the sky began to darken. Distant thunder rumbled from the west. Though I too disliked thunderstorms, Mother detested them utterly—once Lord Thunder started roaring, she'd turn ashen and become like an invalid. The gloom deepened, the thunder drew nearer, Mother's pallor worsened. Having long known this routine, I hung the mosquito net. I laid out incense sticks. Then hurried to the back lot to secure the dried fish. Fat raindrops soon pattered down. Lightning flickered. While I frantically slid the storm shutters closed, Mother had already barricaded herself inside the netting.

No—if I continue relating every detail like this, it will make the account too long. In any case, after that, for a little over half an hour, the rain, thunder, and lightning flashes continued until even I found myself 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 finally passed through, and as dim evening light began filtering in, both Mother and I regained our vigor as though brought back to life. While taking down the mosquito net and opening the storm shutters—as every household seemed to be doing—the sounds of shutters being opened, people’s voices, and footsteps along the street all blended together until the world grew lively as if night had broken into day.

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

As we were discussing this, the front grew increasingly noisy with the sound of many people running past. Then came voices shouting things like "A woman!" and "A young woman!" Wondering what had happened, I went out to investigate and found a large crowd gathered around the ginkgo tree midway down the side street. Though I assumed lightning had struck there, I couldn't discern anything about a young woman. Driven by morbid curiosity to see if someone had been struck by lightning, I ran toward the commotion—and there lay a young woman, just as I'd feared.

Whether she had run under the ginkgo tree intending to take shelter from the rain or whether she had simply happened to be passing beneath it—in either case，it seemed that when lightning struck that tree，she too had been struck down dead by its force.

Seeing for the first time in my life a person struck dead by lightning, I involuntarily shuddered—but what also startled me was that near the right arm of the fallen woman lay a rather large blue snake, stretched out dead. According to people around there, the snake had likely lived in the hollow of the ginkgo tree—of course this had nothing to do with the woman—but there she lay regardless, a young woman with disheveled hair collapsed on the ground. Since there was a long snake dead near her arm, I shuddered again.

I should have just run home then and there, but as I mentioned earlier, driven by morbid curiosity, I peered cautiously despite my fear—and recognized the woman’s face. A stylish woman of about twenty-two or twenty-three—the same woman who had stood in front of my house with Uncle around noon yesterday—though her kimono was different, there was no mistaking her. My entire body turned cold all at once, and my hands and feet seemed to freeze in place. I did not know who she was or where she came from, but the fact that this woman—who had come here with Uncle yesterday—had returned here again today only to be struck dead by lightning struck me as something inexplicable, terrifying, almost fate-bound, a kind of indescribable eeriness. If I say this, you all may surely laugh, but I was truly frightened at that time.

A crowd of people had gathered around the corpse, but they were merely clamoring—no one seemed to know who the woman was or where she came from. People from the local guardhouse also came and were mentioning something about requesting an official inspection. Though I thought informing Uncle would likely reveal her identity, I wasn’t sure whether it was wise to speak carelessly. I hurried home and told Mother about it. She frowned and pondered, but admonished me that we must never say anything, because getting involved would only cause trouble. Even so, something must have been troubling her, for Mother rose to her feet once more, deep in thought.

“You didn’t mistake her, did you? It was definitely yesterday’s woman.” “Yes, it was definitely the person from yesterday,” I responded in agreement. “Then perhaps I should go to Aizuya and whisper it to Uncle.”

Mother resolutely went out. Before long, day had darkened into evening and it was time for mosquito smudging again, but that night I sat dazed and motionless, thinking only of that woman. Since she had been struck by lightning and died, I thought it probably wouldn’t cause Uncle any particular trouble—but even so, just knowing someone acquainted with Uncle had met such an unnatural end left me deeply unsettled. Why had that woman come to this side street during the evening downpour? Could she have been on her way to visit our house? As I spiraled into these dreadful thoughts—wondering if our family might be summoned to the local guardhouse for questioning—Mother hurriedly returned.

“Maa-chan.” The voice calling me sounded unusual, so I turned around, startled, and there was Mother, catching her breath as she whispered urgently.

“Aizuya’s Saa-chan has gone off somewhere, they say.” “Oh, Saa-chan…” “Why would Saa-chan…” I was also surprised.

III

This was Mother’s account.

The elder sister Osada of Aizuya had returned from her lesson with her younger sister around noon that day, eaten her midday meal, and then gone out saying she was going to buy thread at the neighborhood thread shop—and still had not come back. When they grew suspicious and sent someone to inquire at the thread shop, they were told Osada had not come to make any purchases since that morning. Growing increasingly suspicious, they went around visiting two or three of Oyū’s friends’ houses, but Osada still had not shown up anywhere, they said.

As usual, Uncle had left home in the morning and not returned, leaving Aunt alone to worry incessantly until the evening shower began falling and thunder rumbled—all of which only heightened Mother’s and my sister’s growing unease. When the shower finally subsided, Aunt apparently meant to come to our house after eating her evening meal to discuss matters. But since we had gone to inquire ourselves—perfect timing, as it were—Aunt immediately began telling Mother about it. Mother had gone there intending to broach the subject first but found herself addressed instead from the other side—leaving her somewhat flustered, or so I was told.

They were shocked by Osada’s disappearance, but since we too had matters we needed to discuss, when Mother began speaking of that woman, Aunt listened with a look of bewilderment. She said she had no idea who that woman was... After all, given how Uncle had been lately, it seemed even Aunt could not guess what acquaintances he had made where.

On one side was Aizuya's daughter running away from home; on the other was a woman who seemed involved with Uncle being struck by lightning. Whether these two incidents were entirely separate or somehow connected remained utterly unclear, leaving both Aunt and Mother in a dreamlike state where they could do nothing but sigh. However, regardless of the circumstances surrounding the woman's death, they could not simply leave the daughter's disappearance as it was—though it was thought to be likely the case—and thus instructed the store employees to divide tasks among themselves and search for any leads.

You might find it odd that they made such a commotion over someone being gone just half a day, but in those times, daughters from proper households never went far without informing someone. Even when visiting nearby places, they always gave notice before leaving, so when someone's whereabouts remained unknown for even part of a day, it naturally caused an uproar. All the more so with an eighteen-year-old girl—people would normally assume she'd either eloped with someone or been abducted, rather than it being some trivial matter. Aunt's anxiety was perfectly understandable.

Since sitting face-to-face with Aunt and sighing endlessly would get them nowhere, Mother said she would come again and temporarily returned home. After telling me all this, Mother asked me: “Was Saa-chan getting along well with some young man somewhere? You don’t know anything about it?” “Such a thing… I don’t know.” “You truly don’t know?” No matter how many times I was pressed, I truly did not know. As for Osada being on familiar terms with some young man—I had never once witnessed such a thing, nor had I heard any rumors of the sort. Where could Osada have been during that evening shower, and what was she doing? When I thought of that, I became unreasonably sad again.

Mother whispered something like this again. “On my way back just now, I heard they took that corpse to the local guardhouse—they say the official inquest hasn’t been completed yet.” “I wonder where she’s from.” “That’s unclear… You mustn’t say anything careless. No matter who asks you—keep your mouth shut! And don’t you dare mention having walked around with Uncle,” Mother repeated urgently.

If someone said something careless and it led to some outrageous entanglement, resulting in repeated summons to the magistrate’s interrogation area—such a situation would be disastrous—Mother strictly enforced our silence. I may sound repetitive, but at that time I truly felt an indescribable mix of fear and sorrow. Past the hour of Five (around 8 PM), Mother went out to Aizuya again, but Osada’s whereabouts remained unknown. Uncle had not returned either. With nothing we could do, Mother and I went to bed late that night, weighed down by worry. Though considerably cooler after the evening shower, we both lay restless through the night.

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, but cicadas flew to its trunk and clamorously chirped from morning as if knowing nothing of last night’s events.

When I went out to draw water from the back well, two or three neighborhood girls and housewives had gathered, buzzing with talk about the woman from last night. Among them, the job worker’s wife—who knew the subsequent developments best—told everyone all about it. “That woman was the daughter of a wastrel called Yoidaru and had been a geisha in Shinjuku until last year, they say.” “She’d come under the care of the master at a pawnshop called Ōmiya and quit her trade to laze about at home.” “Her father was a wastrel who’d been quite notorious around town, but ever since his health failed five or six years back, these days he can barely shuffle about the neighborhood in straw sandals with a cane—which is why folks called him Yoidaru.” “Still, with his daughter snagging a good provider, he’d been living easy like a retired gentleman—but now that his cash box’s gone up in smoke like this, poor man must be crushed.” “Some say it serves him right after all the tears he wrung from folks in his youth, but losing his breadwinning daughter when he’s all feeble-like—that’s just pitiful.” “The daughter’s name?” “They called her Oharu, but when she walked the geisha path, she went by Koharu.” “For Koharu to drag a blue-striped snake to hell instead of making a love suicide with Jihē—now ain’t that a sorry twist?”

The job worker’s wife spoke while laughing, as if it were someone else’s affair, but I strained my ears desperately so as not to miss a single word. “Since these are just people’s rumors, I can’t say for certain,” the job worker’s wife added. “Apparently, that Oharu woman had a secret lover, and it seems that yesterday, while on her way to meet him, she ended up like that.”

“Then, is that man somewhere around here?” asked the plasterer’s daughter next door. “Most likely, yes. Thinking that carelessly showing up would cause trouble, he’s probably keeping quiet and staying hidden—but if he does something so heartless, a woman’s resentment would be terrifying indeed. If her bitter feelings take hold along with that snake, most men would be done for,” the job worker’s wife laughed again.

After entering the house, when I quietly told Mother, she was lost in thought. "Even so, surely Uncle couldn't be that man."

“Most likely so.” “Well, with men you never can tell, but Uncle is forty-one—there’s an age difference like between parent and child,” Mother said in a tone that utterly refused to believe it. Whether Uncle was that woman’s lover or not, the fact remained that he knew her; thus, people believed details would likely become clear once he returned home. Mother had gone out to Aizuya again this morning, but there was still no word from Uncle or Osada.

When I went to Aizuya in Mother’s place to offer sympathies, Aunt sat blankly as if drained of all energy—having not slept a wink last night due to her many troubles. I could find no words to express my pity. My younger sister Oyū had taken the day off from her lessons and was at home today. Though I imagine most have already noticed by now—when Osada parted from me yesterday—she said, “Please get along well with Oyo-chan.” After returning home, she soon went off somewhere; thus it is thought this was a premeditated disappearance.

The reason I did not disclose this to Mother was that if I were to blurt out such a thing after Osada had run away, I feared being scolded by her—"If this happened, why didn’t you tell me sooner?"—so of course I remained silent last night and even this morning. But now that I had come to Aizuya and saw the troubled faces of Aunt and the shop staff, I felt I could no longer keep quiet.

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

“I know. Sister is hiding somewhere with Fū-chan.” I was surprised again. Brother Fūtarō was in service at the time. He had lured Uncle’s daughter out and was hiding somewhere. There was no way such a thing could have happened. As I stared at her face in disbelief, wondering why Oyū would say such a thing, her eyes grew moist.

“Sis, this is too much.”

As I have mentioned before, Osada, being the eldest daughter, must take a husband. Now, I was also dimly aware there had been a private arrangement for my brother Fūtarō to marry Oyū, the younger daughter. If the older sister had taken the younger sister’s man and disappeared somewhere together, then it was no wonder Oyū resented her. However, is Osada truly that kind of person? Is brother that kind of person? Since I simply could not bring myself to believe it true, I investigated the matter thoroughly from various angles, but Oyū did not seem to possess any concrete evidence either. Even so, she must have been certain it was indeed the case, shedding tears of frustration.

Whether it was a lie or the truth, given how things had turned out, I couldn’t afford to dawdle, so I hurried home and reported this to Mother, whereupon her face turned pale. If that were indeed true—not only would it mean disaster for Osada, but Brother too would likely lose his position at the shop—Mother resolved to prepare immediately and go to verify the facts at the Kyōbashi shop. But as she hurriedly changed her kimono, her chronic ailment suddenly flared up.

Mother’s chronic ailment was spasms. Already weakened by the recent heat, she had been beset by various worries since yesterday, slept poorly last night, and now had been told something outrageous—thus her chronic spasms suddenly intensified. As this was a chronic condition, I was accustomed to it, but even so one could not simply leave it untreated; thus I called over the neighborhood acupuncturist and had him apply needles as usual, whereupon it settled into a tolerable state. However, due to Mother’s constitution, once her spasms took hold she would be unable to rise for half a day.

“What wretched timing.” Mother tried frantically to force herself up, but since venturing out in the midday sun only to collapse again would be disastrous, I calmed her down and kept her lying there until shadows formed, finally letting her depart once past seven-thirty. Since I was still worried, I suggested hiring a palanquin, but Mother insisted she was fine now and left on foot.

Staying home alone was nothing new to me, but today I felt unaccountably desolate. After night had fully fallen, the aunt from Aizuya came looking for us with a pale face—neither Uncle nor Osada’s whereabouts were yet known. It was said that when they drew a sacred lot at Oiwa Inari Shrine, it had come out as “misfortune.” “Where has Mother gone….” As for that reply, I found myself somewhat troubled. I couldn’t honestly say she had gone to Kyōbashi regarding Brother’s matter, so I told a half-hearted lie about there being a good fortune-teller in Shiba whom she’d gone to consult. That wasn’t my own idea either—if someone from Aizuya came by, Mother had instructed me to say exactly that. Even so, ignorance is bliss, as they say. Aunt sighed pitifully.

“I’m sorry for worrying everyone.” Aunt also said she was going to visit a fortune-teller in Ichigaya and left. Tonight was another sweltering evening. Though neighboring houses seemed to have brought their benches out front to cool off, with boisterous laughter echoing from all directions, I felt so despondent I could have cried, and didn’t even step out to the doorstep. Since she had gone all the way to Kyōbashi on foot, I knew it would take time, but I couldn’t help waiting anxiously for Mother to return. At that moment, an apprentice named Rikichi from Aizuya came to visit.

“Has Madam come here?” “She was here 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 Madam?”

“Yes,” said Rikichi after a brief pause. “Actually, Oyo-chan...” “Oyo-chan, why would she...?” My heart leapt. “When Madam left, she went out right after her and still hasn’t come back.” Could it be that Oyū had also run away from home? I was past surprise and found myself utterly dumbfounded.

IV Given these circumstances, the Aizuya household was likely in an uproar too, but after Rikichi left, I reassessed matters—it still wasn't clear whether Oyū had actually run away from home. Yet despite this reasoning, I remained unsettled and waited anxiously for Mother's return until well past eight in the evening, when she finally came back wiping sweat from her forehead. Nevertheless, she wore a relieved expression as she spoke through laughter.

“What on earth could Oyo-chan have been thinking, causing such a fuss?” “Fū-chan is properly working at the Kyōbashi shop.”

I too finally felt relieved. "After inquiring about various matters, that child knows absolutely nothing of it," Mother said, laughing mockingly again. "Oyo-chan being sixteen already—she must have burned with jealousy and spouted such trifling nonsense..." "I don't care if she causes a commotion or whatnot." "It being a lie made things well enough." "Had it been true, that would have been truly calamitous indeed."

Mother seemed relieved and, as if she had forgotten both the heat and fatigue, was in a foolishly good mood. Though I felt terrible to startle her again, I couldn’t keep silent in the end, so when I told her in detail about Aunt’s visit and how Oyū seemed to have run away from home, Mother merely said “Oh my,” and her hard-won smile abruptly clouded over again.

“This is a real problem...” “Well, in any case, let’s go see.” Dragging her exhausted legs, Mother immediately set out for Aizuya. From yesterday into today, a woman from Shinjuku had been struck by lightning. The sister-daughters of Aizuya had run away from home. It remained unclear what had become of Uncle. When I thought about how one thing after another kept happening in such rapid succession, I wondered if I might be caught in some dream. I kept praying that if this were a dream, it would end quickly. After some time, Mother returned—Oyū still hadn’t come back, and it seemed she had indeed run away from home.

“Aunt, why…?” “She did return from Ichigaya, but…” “She’s become completely dazed—I can’t bear how pitiful it is.” “Now I fear Aunt might truly have lost her mind this time.” “If Aunt were to lose her senses on top of all this, Aizuya would be plunged into darkness.” Mother, appearing somewhat resigned herself, let out a sigh and began speaking. “Ah, no matter how much we agonize, it’s futile. This must be some karmic fate.”

There was truly nothing to do but resign ourselves to some karmic fate. However, the fact that we must resign ourselves in such a manner was truly sorrowful. Since it was agreed we would be notified immediately if Oyū returned, we waited all day listening for footsteps outside that might bring news—yet no word came from Aizuya. Both Mother and I went to bed worried, but having slept poorly the previous night too, I—still young—fell into deep slumber the moment my head touched the pillow. When morning came, I learned Mother had again been unable to sleep well through the night.

After finishing breakfast, I went to Aizuya. The day was another scorcher from morning onward, so I went out carrying a parasol. When I emerged onto Demmachō’s main street and glanced over, a large crowd had gathered before Aizuya—startled without knowing why, I hurried to the shopfront where a palanquin stood deposited, a man sitting by the entrance with his cane propped beside him. As I peered through the crowd—wondering if this disheveled figure might be Shinjuku’s Yoidaru whom I’d heard about yesterday—the man appeared to be over fifty. He was shouting in a slurred, tangled manner.

“Well? What’re you gonna do about me?” “At my age, with this body of mine—having had my precious breadwinner killed—how’m I supposed to go on living from tomorrow?” There was no mistaking him—it was indeed Yoidaru. With his slurred speech, he kept repeating these things and shouting, so all the shop members seemed troubled. Before long, someone must have called for help. The neighborhood fire brigade chief arrived and managed to calm him down through various means, gave some monetary compensation to the palanquin bearers, then forcibly bundled the man who was making a drunken scene into the palanquin and finally succeeded in sending him away. The fire brigade chief remained sitting there, seemingly talking with the shop members, but when I went into the back to meet my aunt, her face appeared suddenly more haggard compared to yesterday.

“Maa-chan, I’m sorry to have worried even you.” “Uncle hasn’t come back, and Saa-chan’s whereabouts are unknown, and on top of that that wretch came yelling in here—I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Where is that man from?” “That man is called Shinjuku’s Yoidaru, they say. According to Yoidaru’s claims—though who can make sense of his rambling—Uncle dragged out his daughter Oharu, and because of that, she was struck by lightning in Ishikiriyokochō and died. So he came here to complain, but I know nothing about it! What could I possibly do when the opponent is the Thunder God?”

“That’s true…” “Even if Uncle did drag her out, being struck by lightning was just a misfortune, wasn’t it? It’s because their own circumstances were foul that punishment befell them,” Aunt snarled. “Was it Uncle who dragged out the daughter, or was it they who dragged out Uncle? How should I know?”

Her fury was so overwhelming that I became frightened. Indeed, just as Mother had warned, when I thought Aunt might truly lose her mind, an uncanny dread came over me and I rushed home as though fleeing.

Three days or so passed after that. During that time, Mother visited Aizuya two or three times each day, but neither Uncle nor Osada and her sister showed any sign of appearing. In today’s terms, you might call it hysteria—Aunt became half-mad and was lashing out at everyone in the house.

“If things continue 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 extending from Sendagaya. His crown had been smashed with a large hewn stone. ...When I think about that, I still shudder. When that notice arrived, about ten people—including those from Aizuya’s shop, regular workers, and the neighborhood’s monthly duty officer—went together to retrieve Uncle’s corpse. When she heard that, Mother began to cry out loud. I also cried.

Five

No, my story has grown quite long—you must be rather bored by now. As for what follows, since I did not witness these events firsthand but learned of them afterward, I shall endeavor to recount them as succinctly as possible. That Uncle’s head had been smashed with a stone was concluded not only from the wound itself but also because a large bloodstained hewn stone lay discarded nearby—immediately recognized as the weapon. Though no one could determine why Uncle had been wandering there or why he was murdered, it appears detectives of that era were remarkably thorough; officials inspecting the scene discovered a small burnt-out candle and what resembled an inrō case lying in the grass. Using these clues, within four or five days, they apprehended Uncle’s killer.

As I did not see the item myself, I cannot provide detailed information, but this inrō-like object was said to be slightly narrower than a real inrō case and more cylindrical in shape. It was decorated with maki-e lacquerwork and was said to be quite an extravagant piece. To amateurs, it was somewhat difficult to discern what that was, but the officials, true to their profession, knew it was a container for spiders. While some of you may already be aware, it is said that during the Bunka-Bunsei era of Edo, spider fighting became quite popular. In China, it is said that pitting katydids against each other became quite popular in certain regions, and Japan’s spider fighting 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 since the Tenpō Reforms, but by the Bakumatsu period began to resurface sporadically. In other words, it was just like cockfighting—undoubtedly a form of gambling—but whereas cockfighting was primarily conducted by those of lower standing, spider fighting had become more refined, so it was said. Therefore, it stands to reason that there were even luxurious items among the tubes used to hold spiders. It was only after Uncle from Aizuya’s death that it came to light he had taken up this spider gambling pastime without anyone noticing.

Uncle was obsessive by nature and fundamentally inclined to gambling, so he gradually became deeply involved until he was almost completely consumed by it. In Yotsuya, they had been using back rooms on second floors of teahouses near Shinjuku's brothels as venues for daily matches, but since such places risked attracting unwanted attention, they decided to rent Yoidaru's room instead. As I mentioned earlier, Yoidaru's daughter Oharu was under the care of the proprietor of a pawnshop called Ōmiya. It was said that since Ōmiya himself belonged to this gambling circle, they settled on renting Yoidaru's room. Oharu, being a former geisha and woman of loose morals, had apparently joined the men's group and participated in their gambling matches. Despite being partially paralyzed, Yoidaru too had been engaging in these wagers. In any era, it remains true—those who lose themselves in such pursuits will never come to any good end.

I cannot claim to fully understand such matters, but spiders are said to be extremely cruel creatures that attack their own kind. Since people exploit this nature to compete in matches, unlike go, shogi, or flower arrangement contests, what matters is not one’s own skill but the strength or weakness of the spiders. Therefore, the spiders used for these biting matches were said to command quite high prices. Among them, bag spiders were considered particularly prized. As you are well aware, bag spiders dwell within the earth and keep many offspring in their sacs.

Since gambling inherently involves both wins and losses, Uncle had recently been plagued by misfortune, suffering defeat after defeat. In gambling, the more one loses, the more heated one becomes—such is its nature—and Uncle grew increasingly obsessed with seizing household funds until his finances gradually tightened. He secretly borrowed money from various lenders behind Aunt’s back. Moreover, he had incurred an additional debt of thirty to forty ryō with Oharu and her father. As Oharu’s debt stemmed from gambling matches, it could not be openly contested; yet unless he settled this account, maintaining access to Oharu’s house would prove difficult. With July’s Bon festival approaching, Oharu’s side too began pressing for repayment. Thus as a temporary respite, Uncle declared he owned a house in Ishikiri Yokocho—claiming he would transfer it to her if repayment proved impossible by Bon—and took Oharu there under pretext of verification. Though a desperate ploy, Uncle showed himself truly despicable by bringing Oharu before my house and presenting it as his rental property—or so I was told.

Oharu was temporarily convinced by this explanation, but when she returned home and told her father Yoidaru, he—being Yoidaru—was not one to naively fall for such a ploy. Showing someone else’s house and claiming it’s your rental property is an age-old trick—you can’t let your guard down. Just to be certain, he told her to go check that house again and confirm whether it truly was Aizuya’s rental property or not. Oharu, thinking this made sense, set out again the following afternoon—only to be caught in that ill-timed evening downpour… The subsequent details remain unclear—dead men tell no tales—but it seems that after entering my alley and taking shelter from the rain under a large ginkgo tree, misfortune struck when lightning came crashing down. Considering the circumstances before and after, there was truly no other conclusion to be drawn. Yoidaru had his paralyzed body carried in a palanquin and came storming into Aizuya—this too was for that reason.

As for Oharu’s situation, we shall set that aside for now. We now turn to the fates of Uncle and his two daughters—truly, becoming consumed by gambling is a terrifying thing, for Uncle had become so obsessed that he seemed to have forgotten all parental affection. Of course, there must have been the difficult circumstance of being pressured by debts from various lenders as Bon approached, but Uncle appears to have become convinced that here, he absolutely had to win—that he must win. As I mentioned before, for this he absolutely needed to obtain a strong spider. There were about ten members who came to gamble at Yoidaru’s place, and among them, the spider owned by the proprietor of Sagamiya—a tobacco shop in Ōkido—was exceptionally strong. Uncle repeatedly expressed envy for it and pleaded, "Won’t you let me have one?" but the proprietor of Sagamiya—a man named Zenbei—adamantly refused, saying, "These are all precious spiders; I can’t just hand them out." Since Uncle was already frenzied, he declared he would offer any manner of reward if they would yield it to him. Even so, Zenbei would not readily agree and, after tormenting him relentlessly, declared that he would yield it if Uncle handed over his daughter. It was an utterly outrageous proposal, but my half-mad uncle—hmm—agreed to it.

However, since this was different from other matters, Uncle couldn’t bring himself to confide in Aunt. If he were to tell her, it was perfectly clear she would refuse. Far from refusing, there was no telling what kind of uproar would ensue. Thereupon, Uncle stealthily crept near his own house and waited for his eldest daughter to come out. When Osada emerged to buy thread, he said, “Come with me for just a moment,” and took her away. Osada, being her own parent’s child, accompanied him without any suspicion, whereupon Uncle took his daughter into Sagamiya at Ōkido, deceptively coaxed her, and forced her upstairs. When things reached this point, Osada, now seventeen or eighteen, found the situation strange and said she wanted to return home quickly. There, Uncle laid out all the circumstances, insisting that if he won the match he would surely come to retrieve her, so she should endure staying there for a while. But Osada wept and refused. It was only natural that she refused. Uncle became extremely angry, declaring that there were even those who would sell themselves for their parents. “If you still refuse even after I’ve pleaded this much, I’ll have no choice but to leave you here,” he said—though it was half a threat—as he pulled something like a small knife from his pocket and thrust it before his daughter’s eyes, causing Osada to tremble violently. Then Zenbei also came upstairs, and, saying that her crying would be bad if heard by the neighbors, he gagged Osada and confined her inside the closet. This Zenbei was said to be around the same age as Uncle—a man who outwardly presented himself as an upstanding merchant while being half a ruffian at heart—so it’s possible he was accustomed to abducting women.

Having first received a large spider in this manner, Uncle immediately went gambling that night—he won once but lost the second time. This occurred on the evening Oharu was struck by lightning, when Yoidaru’s household grew anxious over their daughter’s delayed return. The proprietor of Ōmiya too had grown concerned. For these reasons, the match concluded earlier than usual—yet still Uncle did not return home, instead drinking himself senseless at some brothel. When humans reach such a state, there truly is no remedy. Disappointed by the spider’s unexpected weakness, Uncle went to confront Sagamiya—but Zenbei refused to engage. “Since these matches pit living creatures against each other,” came his reply, “if your opponent brings a stronger insect than yours, defeat is inevitable—even my spiders don’t guarantee victory.” Still Uncle persisted in complaints until Zenbei relented: “Very well—I’ll disclose where I catch my spiders. Go gather them yourself.” Yet Zenbei tantalized him further: “But this location being secret, I cannot reveal it lightly.”

At this point, most would have come to their senses, but Uncle—consumed by rage—heedlessly fell for it again... I’ve grown sickened even by recounting this. Uncle, regarding his own daughter as if she were some mere object, ended up promising to hand over his younger daughter if they would disclose that secret location. And then, using the same method he had employed to take away her older sister, he lured out her younger sister, Oyū. However, this time they waited for Oyū on her way to the neighborhood bathhouse—claiming her sister was hiding at Sagamiya in Ōkido with Fū-chan, my brother who worked at Hoteiya. “Since they’re hiding together there—I’ll go catch them now,” Zenbei said. “Even so, there are two of them—we can’t let them escape.” “I’ll restrain Fū-chan—you catch the older sister,” he reportedly declared—and thus they deceptively took Oyū away. This was likely a ploy exploiting young Oyū’s jealousy to spirit her off without resistance. When Oyū was brought into Zenbei’s house, Osada was no longer on the second floor there.

Having thus taken both daughters for himself, Zenbei left the house with Uncle in tow. Zenbei said to do it tomorrow, but Uncle would not agree under any circumstances. Even when told that it couldn’t be done in the dark and must be done by daylight, Uncle refused to listen. So they prepared candles and went together—or so Zenbei himself later claimed, though whether this was true remained unclear. At any rate, they made their way along the dark night road toward Sendagaya, searching through wide grasslands where they were told strong burrowing spiders dwelled in the soil. As Uncle scanned the area by faint candlelight, Zenbei picked up a large cut stone lying at his feet…… According to Zenbei’s later testimony, he had not taken Uncle out intending murder from the start—rather, upon noticing the stone at his feet, he had conceived the idea spontaneously—or so he claimed. But who could say what truly happened? In any case, even had they captured spiders there, victory remained uncertain. With Uncle persistently demanding his daughters’ return and causing increasing trouble, Zenbei must have resolved it would be simpler to dispose of him secretly. When the candle then fell and extinguished itself, Zenbei remained unaware that Uncle’s inro had dropped. Had this inro not been found, officials might never have connected the case to spider gambling—but by tracing this clue through Yotsuya-Shinjuku’s gambling circles, they surprisingly brought matters to swift resolution.

Now, as for how Zenbei’s deed came to light—when Yoidaru’s storming into Aizuya reached the thief-takers’ ears, their investigation of Yoidaru revealed that Uncle had received spiders from Zenbei. Then, upon summoning and questioning Zenbei, he initially feigned ignorance, but a house search uncovered Oyū confined in the second-floor closet. With all this coming to light, he could no longer conceal it and finally confessed—or so it is said. Osada was handed over to a trafficker named Sangorō—also a broker who primarily arranged the sale of prostitutes to rural brothels. —intending to send her to Hachiōji shortly thereafter through his hands—it was a perilously close call.

This brings our story to its conclusion.—Is there something you still find unclear? Ah, I see. On our way back from lessons, Osada said to me, "Please get along well with Oyo-chan." When I later asked Osada about that, it turned out to be nothing significant. That day at the sewing teacher's place, I had mistakenly used Oyū's scissors, which led to us exchanging a few words. It was a baseless matter that ended without further ado, but Osada—being older and naturally quiet—had apparently worried about the slight disagreement between her younger sister and me, which was why she made a point of saying such a thing as we left. Being young and immature—a scatterbrain through and through—I had long forgotten about the scissors incident and had simply wondered why Osada had said that. Misunderstandings arise from such trivial matters, I suppose. I cannot quite grasp why Oyū suspected her own sister regarding my brother, but it seems that was simply her nature—she was a woman prone to jealousy. As evidence of this, even after marrying my brother later on, her jealousy remained so pronounced that he too seemed quite at a loss with her.

Osada took a husband but died young from poor recovery after childbirth. My brother and his wife too are no longer of this world. I alone survive, yet those sorrowful and dreadful memories remain etched vividly in my mind—thus I have sternly admonished my children and grandchildren that while other diversions may be permitted, gambling must never be allowed.

This may be a digression, but there is still more to tell about these spiders. Oharu’s husband—the proprietor of the Ōmiya pawnshop—also went mad like a lunatic. It happened one day—the lid of the spider container must have been loose, allowing a spider to crawl out onto the tatami mats, where one of the maids inadvertently stepped on it and killed it. Oh, disaster! The proprietor flew into a rage like wildfire and, after harshly scolding the maid, reportedly even hit and kicked her—whether out of resentment or a sense of guilt, she threw herself into the well in the back and died. At this point, even the proprietor must have finally felt remorse—for afterward he seemed to lose his mind, raving day and night that the maid’s figure appeared before his eyes, until finally, it is said, he too threw himself into the same well.

Be it Aizuya, Zenbei, Oharu, or Ōmiya—that all of them met unnatural deaths was surely the spider’s curse, or so it was widely rumored in society at the time. Whether it was the spider’s curse or not remains unclear, but it is a fact that everyone was having spider dreams. It was truly a terrifying dream.