Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

In late June newspapers, such an article was discovered.
This year, the heat was intense, and an epidemic was spreading.
To prevent this, someone suggested that each household cook and eat red rice.
This practice came to be widely adopted, and there were not a few households that suddenly began cooking red rice to ward off epidemics.
Even today in the heart of Tokyo, one feels something rather strange when considering how such unscientific, charm-like rituals could become popular—but even the so-called civilized nations of Europe and America have their superstitions.
No matter how far scientific thought may advance, perhaps human superstition can never be eradicated.

In connection with that, I recalled an old story from the late Edo period that I had once been told by elderly people.

It was in July of the first year of Ansei.
This year had a leap month, meaning July continued for two months.
It may have been suggested thereafter—or so one might think—but from June through July, a rumor spread throughout Edo.
This year’s lingering summer heat was prolonged, and the intercalary July’s heat proved exceptionally intense.
To ward off the heat, one should make kinako-coated botamochi on the twenty-ninth day of July and eat them.
However, they must not distribute them to other households; it was strictly limited to having all household members, relatives, and servants consume every last one.
By doing so, it was said that one would never suffer from heatstroke.

Of course, even in that era, not everyone believed it—prudent individuals dismissed it with a laugh and paid no heed—but such rumors were more widespread and widely believed than they are today. Moreover, with the day fixed as the twenty-ninth, households across Edo all made botamochi at once—so rice shops ran out of glutinous rice, and flour shops sold out of kinako entirely. Those who couldn’t make them at home went to buy from botamochi shops, so those establishments flourished as well.

“This is troubling.
“What am I to do?”

For a woman, she furrowed her strained brows and let out a low sigh, a fan clutched in one hand—this was Enzuya Kiyomoto, the Kiyomoto-style shamisen teacher who maintained a votive lantern at Kinryuzan Hill in Asakusa. Enzuya was twenty-seven that year, but as a female household typical of her profession and living solely with a young maid named Okuma, she found herself on the twenty-ninth morning with no way to prepare the botamochi. Unfortunately, no botamochi shops stood nearby.

Had she known this would happen, she should have ordered from a botamochi shop three blocks away yesterday—but having dismissed the possibility of a sellout as unthinkable, she now bitterly regretted her miscalculation. Being a teacher of performing arts, she rose later than most townsfolk. When Okuma finished her morning chores and went to purchase botamochi, the shop proved unexpectedly crowded and had already sold out. Upon Okuma’s empty-handed return, Enzuya scowled. Under such circumstances, by natural human instinct, it began to feel imperative to eat botamochi. Amidst others competing so fiercely to consume them, one feared what calamity might befall those who alone abstained.

“Isn’t there another shop somewhere that’s still selling them?”

Kinryuzan’s botamochi were famous, but they had resigned themselves from the start that this place was ultimately hopeless. Moreover, they ultimately decided that even if they were to go to Kinryuzan now and were turned away there, they should then head toward Hirokoji and search there.

“I feel terrible making you go out in this heat, but please hurry there and back. If they sell out again, we’ll be in trouble…” Enzuya implored pleadingly.

“Yes.”
“I will be on my way.”

Okuma left immediately.
By now it was already past five and a half (9 a.m.), and in Shōten’s Forest, the cicadas’ cries sounded sweltering.
The honest young maid dashed out from the house in Kawaramachi at Kinryuzan’s foot without even holding a parasol, hurrying along Hanakawado Street toward Asakusa Kannon Hall when she encountered a young man shielding his forehead from the sun with a fan.
The man called out to Okuma with a laugh.

“Rushing like this in the heat…”
“Errand girl, are you?”

“To buy botamochi…” Okuma replied with a polite nod.

“Ah, I see,” the man laughed again. “I ate some at home too. I might still have kinako stuck at the corner of my mouth.”

While wiping around his mouth with the back of his hand, the man was still smirking.

Near the Serpent-Bone Tenements in Tahara-machi stood a small restaurant called Chidori.
He was that only son, Chōnosuke, who by rights should have been sitting at the accounting desk left vacant by his late father. But taking advantage of his mother’s leniency, he began frequenting jōruri recitation and dance training halls even before his childhood kimono hems were let down—a life of indulgence that ultimately led him to ascend the stages of rakugo theaters.
He had become a disciple of the rakugoka Enshō and received the art name Chisei.
Thanks to his family home running a substantial restaurant and his considerable financial means, Chisei, Chōnosuke had quickly escaped the hardships of apprenticeship and, though his art remained unpolished, was somehow managing to make his way as one of the storytellers.

Chisei was twenty-three that year, his looks neither particularly striking nor plain for a man. His polished face shone with an unpleasantly glossy sheen, eyebrows shaved into thin lines—his entire being exuded the affected flamboyance of a performer advertising his trade. Yet being not without means, he wore a silk gauze summer robe and Hakata obi; it was not merely his face that gleamed, but his entire attire.

“It’s already too late.”
“Those who made them at home are exceptions, but everyone trying to buy from shops has gotten up at the crack of dawn and rushed over.”
“Even if you go now, it won’t be in time.”
“Too bad, Okuma-chan—it’s Yuranosuke who arrived late.”

“I suppose so,” Okuma nodded earnestly.
“Actually, I went to Imado and was turned away.”

“I thought so.”
“By now they’re sold out everywhere, I tell you.”
“Same autumn dusk all over—can’t be helped.”

“Still, I should go check just in case.”

As Okuma tried to part ways, Chisei called her back again.

“Wait now, young miss—hold on a moment. It’s not like we’re settling some grand matter with Chōbei here, but watching you dash about sweating for nothing like Idaten seems cruel.”
“Here lies a plan.”
“Now listen well,” he whispered theatrically into Okuma’s ear.

That said, it wasn’t some great secret—there was no need to go searching through every confectionery and mochi shop from here on out. Just go to my house and ask.
Since there should still be leftovers, he said she was to explain the situation and bring back portions for both her Master and herself.

As mentioned earlier, Chisei’s household was a small restaurant with six or seven members including his mother Okan along with cooks and maids, so they had prepared a considerable amount of botamochi today. Since Chisei had eaten the first portion and left immediately, if she went quickly, she could surely receive some share. "Hurry, hurry," Chisei instructed theatrically once more.

“Thank you very much.”
“Well then, let’s do that.”

Okuma ran off happily. It’s unclear where Chisei had originally intended to go, but as if suddenly struck by an idea, he smiled and turned his steps toward the foot of Kinryuzan Hill. He came to a stop in front of Enzuya’s house and called out in a familiar manner.

“Master, are you home?”

Since it wasn’t a large house, the voice was immediately heard in the back, and Enzuya opened the reed door at the entrance.

“Oh, Chisei-san.”

“Am I disturbing you?”

“No, please do come in.”

Being old acquaintances, Chisei went straight through and began making small talk.
In his gut, he calculated that while they were engrossed in conversation, Okuma would return and say these botamochi came from his house—Enzuya would undoubtedly be pleased.
His own standing would naturally improve.
Though not exactly scheming to curry favor, he had specifically come here hoping to hear at least one word of thanks from his master’s lips.
He deliberately kept quiet about having met Okuma along the way.

Before long, Okuma returned, so Enzuya asked as if she couldn’t wait.

“Is it still warm?”

“Since everywhere was sold out, I went to Chisei-san’s house and got them.”

“Chisei-san’s house… You went to Chidori and received them? Oh my, how very kind of you.”

Enzuya repeated her thanks.

Because things had fallen perfectly into place as he’d intended, Chisei was inwardly pleased with himself.

二

After Chisei talked for another half hour or so and left, Kinsuke Nakata-ya—the master of the Nakata-ya pawnshop in Imado—arrived just as they passed each other.
Kinsuke had come out to the Kuramae area on business on the eve of the month’s end and took the opportunity to stop by Enzuya’s house.
Though she was ostensibly single, the fact that Enzuya was under the care of such a patron wasn’t particularly unusual for that time.

Kinsuke was shown to the six-tatami room on the second floor. Since he had brought his month-end allowance that day, Enzuya welcomed him with particular warmth. He ordered Okuma to bring out those botamochi.

“Ah, you have botamochi here too,” Kinsuke laughed. “They made me eat some at home today.”

“Oh, do have one of these,” Enzuya urged. “There’s certainly no poison in them.”

Pressed by the woman, Kinsuke ate one of the botamochi. Enzuya also partook. Claiming month-end busyness, Kinsuke soon took his leave without lingering. The incident had now been set in motion.

Kinsuke then completed two or three business errands and returned to his Imado shop around seven bells (4 p.m.) that day, but his chest grew tight on the way, and he collapsed as he stumbled into his house.
The household members were startled and in an uproar; when they immediately sent for a nearby doctor, he examined him and diagnosed him with heatstroke-induced cholera.
To ward off such afflictions, they had eaten kinako botamochi that day, yet people lamented that its efficacy had failed.
The doctor administered various treatments, but Kinsuke finally drew his last breath just before dawn on the last day of the month.

The doctor who had initially diagnosed it as cholera later began to say it didn’t seem to be ordinary heatstroke.
It was suggested that it might be some kind of food poisoning.
Since his whereabouts on the 29th were known, the Nakata-ya household dispatched messengers to inquire at each location, but due to the intense lingering summer heat, everywhere served nothing but tea.
However, it remained unclear where he had eaten lunch.
Enzuya herself had kept the matter secret, so even her family hadn’t known.

On the morning of the second day of Intercalary July at five bells (8 a.m.), Kinsuke’s funeral was held at Koume’s family temple. Among the mourners was someone who knew of Enzuya’s relationship with the deceased, and they joked about how the master of Nakata-ya would be in trouble now that he was dead—why didn’t she take over as his successor?—when suddenly their remarks reached the town magistrates’ ears. As they gradually investigated further, not only did Enzuya’s involvement become clear, but they also discovered that Kinsuke had visited Kinryūzan-shita that day. Moreover, it was said that Enzuya had also been bedridden with heatstroke since that evening. However, Enzuya’s illness was not particularly severe, and it was said she would be able to get up in two or three days.

The maid Okuma was also investigated.
When it was observed that Kinsuke and Enzuya had fallen ill simultaneously, suspicion arose that there might be something amiss with those botamochi.
Okuma too had eaten the leftovers but showed no ill effects.
In any case, since those botamochi were said to have come from Chidori in Tawaramachi, Okan—wife of Chidori—along with all household members were interrogated one after another.
As it was understood that day's botamochi were not to be distributed elsewhere, when Okuma came requesting them, Okan initially meant to refuse; but upon hearing she had come under Chisei-san's instructions, she reluctantly let her take about eleven of the rice cakes.
This brought unexpected inquiries down upon them, causing great trouble for Chidori's establishment.
Of course, those at Chidori's shop had come to no harm whatsoever.

The one who was particularly shocked was Chisei Chōnosuke; driven by fear that he too might become entangled [in the scandal], he had gone into hiding somewhere since July 2nd.

On the dark evening of July 6th, Okan of Chidori quietly visited the Master of Kinryūzan-shita. Okan was forty-three and had been said to look younger than her years, but due to this incident and the ordeal of her only son’s disappearance that followed, she looked noticeably older in just four or five days.

Okuma had gone to the neighborhood bathhouse and was out.
Enzuya had gotten up since yesterday, but her hair was still combed back into a bun, and her complexion remained pale.
As they were acquainted, Okan was immediately shown in, but tonight’s meeting was not a pleasant one for either party.
Okan was the first to speak.

“This time, we’ve both been put through unexpected trouble.”
“So, getting straight to the point—has my son Chōnosuke come here since then?”

“No,” Enzuya answered apathetically. “He hasn’t shown up once since the 29th.”
“Has he really not come?”
“He hasn’t shown up.” “Even Chisei-san can’t recklessly show his face here at this house, I suppose,” Enzuya said sarcastically.
“I see,” Okan said, lowering her voice even further. “The world spreads such outrageous rumors...” “They say that Chōnosuke of our house conspired with you to poison Master Nakata-ya...”

“Well,” Enzuya gazed at Okan’s face as if exasperated.

“I never imagined such a thing could happen.”

“Of course it is,” Enzuya snapped, her pale face growing even paler. “Why would I conspire with Chisei-san… Ask Okuma and see for yourself. Though I never asked him, Chisei-san was the one who suggested getting ohagi from your house… I don’t know what tricks Chisei-san might’ve played, but I know nothing at all. If there was poison in that ohagi that killed Master Nakata-ya and made me this sick… then Chisei-san’s the murderer.”

“That may be so, but society says…”
“What exactly does society say?”
“As I told you earlier—that you conspired with him…”
“Why would I conspire? Conspire to do wh-what exactly?”

Enzuya started to speak but—as if struck by a thought—lashed out again.

“How absurd! So then, I’d steal the Master’s attention to conspire with Chisei-san… Well, how preposterous! You should give this foolishness a rest. Since I’m an entertainer myself, I do have some dealings with Chisei-san—but what humiliation could drive me to conspire with a mere opening act from the storytelling house…? So you’ve also taken those rumors to heart and come here to confront me about something.”

“It’s not as though I came here to confront you...” Okan’s voice edged sharper. “I thought he might come here...”

“He won’t come. He’s no obligation to come.” Enzuya’s pale fingers tightened on her lap. “Whether poison was added or not—because we ate those botamochi, we suffered such misfortune... In short, isn’t Chisei-san our enemy?”

“If you say that, I can’t refute it… but even someone like Chōnosuke is my only son.” Okan’s voice suddenly grew thick.
“If there’s absolutely a reason he must hide…”
“Well, wherever he may be hiding for now, money is needed above all else. Thinking it would somehow cover immediate expenses, I’ve brought ten ryō here, but…”

Enzuya listened in silence.
Okuma had still not returned.

“Hey, Master. You… do you truly not know where Chōnosuke is hiding?” Okan asked again.

Enzuya remained silent as before.
The only sound was the wind chimes at the eaves facing the small garden ringing in the night breeze, and their silence persisted for some time.

III

Intercalary July had tormented Edo with intense lingering heat as someone predicted, but whether due to the efficacy of the botamochi eaten on the 29th, the city saw no significant surge in illnesses—thankfully so—and by August, the weather turned distinctly cooler. In the glint of red dragonflies darting across the thoroughfare, the hue of the day had taken on an autumnal quality. Chased by one new rumor after another, the quick-to-forget people of Edo had come to regard their sweating efforts of making or buying botamochi at the end of the month before last as if it were a distant past, and no one spoke of that rumor anymore.

It was the night of August 21st.

Near Tsūgenji Temple in Koame, the corpse of a woman was discovered.
The woman was Okan Chidori of Chidori, strangled with a hand towel.
It remained unclear why Okan had come to such a desolate place in the dead of night, or who had killed her.

According to accounts from Chidori restaurant, Okan had grown distraught over her son Chōnosuke’s disappearance and had recently taken to making nightly visits to Asakusa Kannon.
Kannon Hall was a stone’s throw away, yet there were times when she would return having stayed past a full hour.
It was said that she herself had gone to consult a fortune-teller or visited the venerable priest of her family temple for advice.
However, that Tsūgenji Temple was not Okan’s family temple.
The item wrapped around Okan’s neck was a common bottle-patterned hand towel—nothing that could serve as a clue.

With the heir’s whereabouts unknown and the mistress having met a sudden death, the servants of Chidori were left utterly bewildered.
Okan’s brother Kohee, who ran an inn in Senju engaged in the same business, rushed over and took charge of all arrangements.
Of course, with help from the neighborhood as well, they held a funeral befitting the establishment at the ninth hour (noon) on the 24th day.
When the funeral was about to begin, Chisei (Chōnosuke) returned with a pale face, appearing listless.

“Ah, the son returns just in time.”

The people were delighted and immediately tried to appoint him as chief mourner, but that was not permitted.
Among the crowd of mourners gathering at the shopfront, one of the constables’ underlings had infiltrated from the start, and Chisei was immediately taken away.
It was unlikely to be patricide, but since the Nakata-ya incident in Imado remained unresolved, there were rumors that it might be connected to that case.

Chisei, who had been taken to the guard post, was by nature a cowardly man; intimidated by the constables’ men, he confessed everything truthfully. The constables immediately headed for Kinryūzan Hill, but Enzuya Kiyomoto had already vanished without a trace, leaving only Okuma—the young maid—listlessly keeping watch over the empty house.
According to Okuma’s testimony, Enzuya had also said she was going to Chidori’s funeral, prepared herself, and left—never to return.
It was surmised that she had likely heard rumors of Chōnosuke’s arrest while en route to Tawaramachi, and thus fled somewhere without going to Chidori or returning home.

It was the night of the third day after that.
When Shōkichi—son of Shōsaku, the ferryman at Hashiba—returned home around the hour of four (10 PM) after visiting the neighborhood, he heard voices by the riverside some distance from the ferry hut.
Though darkness hid their faces, he immediately discerned they belonged to a man and woman. Driven by youthful curiosity, Shōkichi muffled his footsteps and crept closer.
He hid beneath a willow's shadow and watched as the man spoke in a low, forceful voice.

“So you’re absolutely refusing to go back?”

“I’m not going back.”
“As if I’d ever go back!” the woman spat out.

“Then what’re you gonna do?”

“I’ll die.”

“Die...” the man sneered.
“Don’t scare me with your clichéd lines.”
“If you’re going to die, I’ll do a lovers’ suicide with ya.”

“Not a chance,” she spat. “Who’d ever… with the likes of you? I’ll die alone—don’t you dare interfere.”

“Quit your whinin’ and get back already,” he growled. “Let’s both think this through proper-like, yeah?”

“Hmph—‘proper talk’?” Her laugh cut through the dark. “Three days back I meant to jump right here, till some centipede of a man caught me...”

“If that centipede hadn’t stopped you, you’d’ve ended up in the gutter by now, wouldn’t ya?”

“That’s what I’m saying.
I was resolutely about to end it all in the gutter when some meddlesome fool interfered...” the woman raged.
“Lured by your talk of ‘having a good proposition,’ I was dragged into the depths of a filthy tenement like a garbage dump. For three days, my body was your plaything—stripped bare until I had nothing but an old yukata…”
“And in the end, you’re trying to sell me off to some post town prostitute—I know your schemes without even hearing them.”
“Since I’ve already resolved to die, you’d think I wouldn’t care what happens—but I won’t create a sin that would let a man like you suck me dry to the bone.”

“What? I ain’t done no sin...”
“For a woman who’s gone and killed folks, to say you ain’t done no sin—I’m downright amazed.”
“Think before you speak.”

“Aren’t you the one who’s the murderer?”

As her voice rose sharply, the man spoke warily in the darkness.

“I saved you.”

“If you saved me, that’s enough.”
“Must you keep dangling that favor over me forever?”
“If you’ve got grievances, take them to Chidori.”

“Damn fool!”
“You think I’d let you swan into Chidori and get dragged to the guardhouse with that idiot son of yours?”

Having eavesdropped on the heated exchange from earlier, Shōkichi realized who the man was.
The man was a loner named Torashichi who lived in a back-alley tenement nearby; while ostensibly a tile worker by trade, he neglected his business and was a notorious rogue who roamed idly.
Though he couldn’t tell who the woman was, the incident seemed to involve murder, so Shōkichi was shocked.
Particularly, the name “Chidori” caught his attention.

Since he could no longer turn a deaf ear to this, he hurried back to report to his father, Shōsaku.

Their house was near the ferry landing, and Shōsaku had been enjoying a cup of nightcap, but upon hearing this, he furrowed his brows.

“That’s terrible!”
“In any case, I’ll go and see the situation for myself.”

Having Shōkichi guide him, Shōsaku slipped away to the riverside, but the two dark shadows were nowhere to be found. In the darkness, only the sound of water lapping against the bank reached their ears. Since the woman had declared she would die, it remained wholly uncertain whether she had thrown herself into the river after Shōkichi left or if the man had dragged her away.

“Dad, what should we do?”

“Hmm,” Shōsaku pondered.
If it were any other place, that would be one thing—but if they pretended not to know about something happening near the ferry landing, there was no guarantee they wouldn’t face some sort of trouble later.
It would be prudent to file a report just in case.

The father and son duly reported the matter to the guard post.
Moreover, since both the man and woman had already gone off somewhere, there was no means to conduct an investigation, so the guard post simply left the matter as it was.

Four

Unlike today, the back-alley tenements around Hashiba at that time were cramped. Torashichi’s residence was situated deep within the back alley’s innermost reaches, consisting solely of a single four-and-a-half tatami mat room with a token kitchen. The town magistrates’ agents made their way there around noon the following day.

Upon hearing the report from Shōsaku and his son, the guard post left the matter as it was that night. However, since it appeared to be related to the murder of Chidori’s wife, they naturally couldn’t dismiss it. Come morning, they filed a report with the town officials and informed the magistrates. Thus it was decided that Torashichi should be investigated, and when the town magistrates’ agents immediately set out to apprehend him, Torashichi’s house had its storm shutters tightly closed.
Men like this were no different from thieves—neither late risers nor daytime nappers were uncommon among them—so when the agents forced open the storm shutters and barged in, Torashichi lay sprawled atop his wafer-thin futon, mouth agape.
He wasn’t sleeping—his neck was being strangled.

That the woman who had been struggling with Torashichi in the riverside darkness was likely Enzuya Kiyomoto was something readers had likely already surmised.
The police could not have failed to reach that conclusion.
Enzuya had undoubtedly been brought back there once and—seizing the moment when Torashichi lay drunk and asleep—strangled him before fleeing.
In the corner of the four-and-a-half tatami room, sake bottles and tea bowls lay scattered.

The neighboring house stood vacant, while beyond that lived a solitary man who commuted daily to Yoshiwara; thus none in the vicinity had known what transpired at Torashichi’s residence these past few days.
Moreover, circumstances aligned precisely with what Shōkichi had overheard—that Torashichi had threatened Enzuya only to be killed by her hand stood evident.
The police proceeded next to Kinryūzan Hill, yet Enzuya’s figure remained nowhere to be found.

Whether the death of the master of Nakata-ya was truly due to botamochi poisoning remained an elusive question. However, it was an undeniable fact that this incident had pulled the strings leading to the unnatural deaths of Okan, wife of Chidori, and the rogue Torashichi.
The botamochi of the 29th day had produced frightening consequences.

The testimony of Chōnosuke, known as Chisei, was as follows.

“After the master of Nakata-ya died from eating the botamochi from my shop, and Master Enzuya fell ill—and when I heard the investigation was growing complicated—I suddenly became terrified and fled my home.”
“When I went to consult Master Enshō, he told me hiding there was unwise.”
“If I truly had no knowledge of wrongdoing, I ought to stay at home for the time being and truthfully answer any inquiries—so he advised me. With that resolve, I turned back, but my anxiety proved unbearable, so I fled again midway.”
“Now that I reflect upon it, it was all due to my grave misjudgment—and thus my mother came to be killed.”

“No matter how I think about it, I was a fool. I should have stayed at home as Master advised, but once I went into hiding, I felt even more suspicion would fall on me—so from July through August, for about fifty days, I drifted from place to place. First, I ventured as far as Odawara, but since there was a checkpoint in Hakone, I changed direction toward Atami and hid at this hot spring resort for about half a month. Then I turned back to Enoshima, Kamakura… When I relate it like this, it may sound like some sightseeing tour, but it was simply that I had nowhere else to go.”

Then I ventured out from Sagami Road toward Hachioji, where I had a distant relative. I lied that I had come for beriberi treatment and stayed under their care for a while, but as my disguise began to fray, I could no longer remain there either...
“Well, it was half like being driven out—I received some travel funds and returned to Edo.”

I returned to my hometown of Asakusa on the evening of August 16th. Though I should have gone straight home, feeling too apprehensive to cross that threshold, I decided to first inquire about how things had unfolded since my absence. When I secretly visited Master Enzuya’s house at the foot of Kinryūzan Hill, she welcomed me back with apparent delight—“How good of you to return!”—and immediately took me upstairs to let me stay.

After four or five days of imposing on her hospitality, Enzuya said, “I too feel uneasy having lost Master Nakata-ya to death.”

“She pleaded with me to support her from now on...”

“Well, we ended up in a sort of married state, but Enzuya wouldn’t let me return home.”

What I came to realize was that Enzuya had deceived my mother and swindled her out of around thirty ryō...
Enzuya had said such things to my mother.
“I have absolutely no recollection of poisoning the master of Nakata-ya, but the truth is that Mr. Chisei and I had been deeply involved with each other for some time.”
“Separate from the Nakata-ya incident, Mr. Chisei has gotten involved in something unsavory and must lay low for the time being.”
“The hideout is known, but I cannot let you meet him right away.”
“Since Mr. Chisei also seems to be short on pocket money, I’ll deliver the money myself.”
“With these words she first received ten ryō in gold from my mother—then over fifty days withdrew three or five ryō four or five times…”
“That was something Enzuya herself said with her own mouth—it cannot be a lie.”

“I knew about it and thought it was a terrible thing to do, but having become practically husband and wife with Enzuya, I couldn’t very well turn around and blame her now. On the evening of August 21st, Enzuya left home saying she was going to Nihonbashi and did not return even after four o’clock. As I was worrying about what had happened, she finally returned past nine (twelve o’clock). Since I did not go out, I did not hear the rumors, but my mother was killed that night in Koume. The first time I learned of that was around noon on the 23rd, and the following day was when the funeral was to be held by Chidori.” Enzuya told me, “This is no time to hide. Return quickly and take your place as the funeral’s chief mourner,” so I resolved to go back—and was immediately taken into custody. “Everything was due to my negligence, and I deeply apologize.”

As could be inferred from these circumstances, Chisei proved to be a man utterly devoid of backbone and discipline—first trembling before a crime he had no recollection of committing, then being manipulated by the woman and made to dance like a soulless puppet.

The outline of the incident became clear.
The secrets beyond that could only await Enzuya's confession.
Moreover, Enzuya's whereabouts became unknown thereafter.
Had she managed to slip through the town magistrates' watchful eyes and escaped to some distant place? Or had she done as she herself had said—submerged herself in the Sumida River, her corpse washed out to sea?
It remained as an eternal mystery.

When one imagines based on the surrounding circumstances, Enzuya likely harbored initial resentment toward Chisei's mother but, upon hearing she had brought ten ryō in gold, abruptly conceived malice and devised a scheme to extort it.
That much was nearly evident, but as for why she had killed Chisei's mother, no clear answer had been provided.

At first, Chisei’s mother too had been deceived into withdrawing three or five ryō at Enzuya’s direction, but later grew suspicious and began demanding to see her child at all costs—there were those who interpreted that this clash had likely given rise to Enzuya’s murderous intent.
However, since Enzuya had been hiding Chisei in her own house around August 21st, there should have been no reason they couldn’t have arranged a meeting.
Some conjecture she intended to kill the mother so Chisei would inherit the family headship, allowing her to install herself as proprietress of Chidori.
While this interpretation seems somewhat plausible, killing one’s own mother still struck people as excessively cruel.

Next was the matter of Enzuya and Torashichi's connection.
Near the temple in Koume, as Enzuya and Okan were embroiled in some quarrel, Torashichi happened upon them by chance. He aided Enzuya and strangled Okan to death, then apparently used this deed as grounds to repeatedly blackmail her.
Given that he would have faced execution or public display had he lived, meeting his end at a woman's hands might have counted as relatively merciful fortune.

Chisei, through his own misconduct, had caused his mother to be killed; though he should have been sentenced to severe punishment, he was ordered into exile through special mercy.

Many in Edo had eaten the botamochi on July 29th, but those who produced such tragedy were limited to the characters in this story.