Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Ikaruga Tale

Part I

In front of the South Gate of the Yumedono at Horyuji Temple, about three inns were clustered together.
At one of these—an inn called Daikokuya—the rickshaw man lowered the shafts.
The one who hurriedly rushed out from the back was a girl of seventeen or eighteen.
Fair-skinned, with features surprisingly refined for a country girl.
Deftly taking my luggage from the rickshaw man, she took the lead.
She led me through corridors and up three-step staircases, through more corridors and up more three-step staircases, until we reached a second-floor room at the very back.
The sight of her small frame from behind, weighed down by heavy-looking luggage, tugged at my heart.

She placed the luggage beside the alcove and slid open the southern shoji wide.
A splendid view like one where the entire Yamato region spread out before one’s eyes.
I leaned against the shoji just as I was and gazed out.

From directly below this room, rapeseed flowers continued to bloom.
And it was not just rapeseed flowers—pear trellises stood adjacent to them.
Those pear trees too were now in full bloom.
The yellow rapeseed flowers formed the base fabric of a textile, while the white pear blossoms appeared as if they had been raised into high embroidery.
The pear blossoms in particular were not densely clustered.
The way the rapeseed flowers showed through those coarse gaps stood out as strikingly beautiful.
Here and there, wheat fields also dotted the landscape.
Occasionally there were paddies cultivated with rush plants.
The pear blossoms continued into the distant horizon as raised embroidery, unconcerned with these elements.
At a place half a ri away, a slightly elevated rail embankment could be seen.
On the other side of that embankment as well, the same textile appeared to be woven.

Horyuji Temple was a temple steeped in nostalgia.
The inn at Horyuji was an inn steeped in nostalgia.
Yet he had never imagined its view would prove so splendid.
This became his unexpected prize.

The girl was pouring tea into a Kutani-style teacup on a large Kasuga-style tray. Her profile, slightly tilted downward, held a quiet sadness. I couldn't reconcile this with the spirited girl who had briskly taken my luggage at the front entrance earlier. The red undergarment's collar showed stains. The cotton kimono too bore signs of wear. Together they rendered her melancholy profile all the more fragile.

Yet this lasted only moments. When she finished pouring, placed the cup on its saucer, and set it before me, she had already transformed back into that vibrant girl from before.

“Sir, are you from Tokyo?”
“Is that so?”
“Did you stay in Nara last night?”
“Here in this room, ’tis turned into such a fine season, hasn’t it?”

while she folded my discarded haori,

“Are you here on pilgrimage, or for an official survey?”
“Ah, is that so?”
“Two or three days ago too, someone from a place called Kokugakuin came by.”

She folded the haori into fours, placed the cord on top, and put it into the storage box.

I drank down the tea, its comfort soothing my parched throat.
Since departing Tokyo and traveling through Kyoto and Nara, I had never before felt my heart settle so completely as it did here.
I drew up my knees and gazed out at the view once more.
In the paddy field cultivated with rush plants directly below, a single farmer took mud and put it into a winnowing basket.
When the winnowing basket filled with soil, he carried it off somewhere.
Before long he returned again to fill the winnowing basket with soil.
I couldn’t tell what he was doing, but in this vast expanse of scenery, the only moving figure that caught my eye was that solitary farmer.

The girl stepped onto the veranda, extended both hands beyond the handrail to brush the dust off my tabi socks, then put them into the storage box.

“What a splendid view.”

No sooner had I spoken than she picked up the thread,

“In these parts, they grow rapeseed and pears in abundance.”
“Oh, they grow lots of rush plants too.”
“As for rush plants—well, first they dry them thoroughly, then beat them, then soak them in water again, and after that, they poke them out with something like a long awl.”
“After that, they also use them for tatami surfaces.”
“They take the rush from the long ones, and the short ones are usually used for tatami surfaces.”

“But don’t they use igusa for tatami surfaces?”
“But do rush plants also get used for tatami surfaces?”

“Oh, sir! What they call rush plants—that’s igusa, I tell you.”
She laughed.
I took out a telegram form from the leather bag.
The girl took down the inkstone box from the shelf and removed its lid.
“Oh!”
With that, she took up the inkstone box again, lightly blew the dust off the inkstone, added hot water from the kettle, and began grinding the ink. The ink scraped gratingly, producing an unpleasant sound.
Having finished composing the telegram and handing it to the girl,

“Downstairs is quite a crowd of guests. A banquet?” I asked.
The girl folded the telegram in two and placed it on her lap.
“Oh no. They’re all from Tokyo. They’re members of the Daishikō group returning from a pilgrimage to Koyasan, I hear. They’re staying here tonight and heading to Hase tomorrow, ’tis said. They’ll be making quite a racket tonight, I reckon.”

The girl made to stand up.
The telegram wasn’t urgent enough to require immediate haste.

“Is Hase far?”

With that, I deliberately detained the girl to observe.

“Hase, you mean?”

The girl too sat down once,

“Hase is—well, you see that mountain over there—look, on the left side of the mountains, there’s a place where the trees are thick...”

She reached up as if to—

“That there’s Mount Miwa.”
“Hase lies on t’other side of that mountain.”
“Haven’t you been to Hase yet, sir?”

“No, I don’t know it at all.”
So that was Mount Miwa.
No wonder the trees grew so thickly there.
“And Yoshino—”

“Yoshino, you mean?”

The girl placed the telegram on the tatami and drew up her knee.
The double-flowered cherry tree extending its branches over the handrail was blocking the girl’s view.
I stood up and stepped out onto the veranda.
The girl also drew close to me and leaned against the handrail.

“Look, there’s a tall mountain over there, with mist hanging over it.”
“Oh, it’s beyond that thicket over there.”
“That there’s Tōbu Peak, and beyond that Tōbu Peak lies Yoshino.”

The girl thrust out a white hand toward the cherry tree branches,

“You know that tall mountain over there, don’t you?”

“Is that it? That’s Mount Kongō, isn’t it.”
“I know that one—it was visible even from Nara.”

The girl edged leftward along the handrail,

“Sir, come take a quick look.
“Look, there’s a farmhouse over there, see?”
“That’s right—the spot right below where the crows are flying now.”
“That’s right—to the left of that farmhouse, there’s a dense pine grove, see?”
“That’s not quite it, see?”
“That’s just beyond the railway, see?”
“Beyond that—no, much further ahead—you see? At the base of that Tōbu Peak over there, there’s a faint pine grove, see?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s it—that there’s His Majesty Emperor Jimmu’s Mount Unebi, ’tis.”

The girl’s face grew increasingly animated.
Having finished explaining Mount Unebi，he was still searching for something.
It seemed he intended to show me every landmark he knew within view.

“You know an awfully lot, don’t you.
How do you know all that so well?
Has everyone been to see them?”

“Oh, everyone’s been there.”

As she said this and looked at me, her eyes burned with an unusual intensity.

“So, who did you go with—your father?”

“No.”

“With a customer?”

“No.”
“You don’t gotta go askin’ ’bout such things, y’know.”

The girl laughed lightly and,

“When I went too, ’twas right when the rapeseed flowers were at their peak.”
“That’s right—’twas indeed around mid-April.”

With dreamlike eyes, she looked briefly at my face,

“Sir, if you’re headin’ out, why not take someone along? Hohoho—you’d not be wantin’ the likes o’ me taggin’ after ya now, would ya?”

“Well, it’s not that I mind, but this is complicated.”

“Why’s that?”

“Just because.”

“Why’s that?”

“Isn’t this complicated?”

“So gloomy! Why’s that now? Won’t you just come out with it?”

“If some upstanding person were to spot us, wouldn’t that be trouble?”

“Your...”

“Your...”

“Hohoho, you’re bein’ such a fool, you are. If there were such a thing, see… Not that it’s entirely impossible, mind you. Hohoho… Forgive me, sir. …Oh! I’d forgotten about the telegram. I’ll let you know right away when the bath’s ready.”

With an odd gait, she trotted over, scooped up the telegram from the tatami as if plucking it, and slid out of the room—but just as she closed the sliding door,

“Sorry for makin’ a ruckus in th’ main room.”
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.”

She offered a quiet apology and smiled faintly.

“O-michi-san.”
〳〵”

A voice called from below.

“Comin’!”

Her reply was heard settling calmly.

After O-michi-san had left, the atmosphere suddenly grew lonely.
He set about writing the remaining portion of the report he had compiled yesterday in Nara.
At times, O-michi-san’s voice could be heard mingling with the laughter of many guests in the lower room, but as the guest quarters were in a separate building, it was impossible to make out clearly.

The bell of the Hall of Dreams rang.
When he looked at the clock, it was already six o'clock.

At last came word that the bath was ready.
It was not O-michi-san but rather Okami-san—a woman of thirty-four or thirty-five who appeared to be the mistress of the house.
Nor was it O-michi-san who came to serve dinner; again it was this Okami-san.

From Okami-san’s account, O-michi-san was not a daughter of this house but rather a girl from the home just behind it; though she normally wove at her own home using a loom machine, she would come to help whenever things grew busy—or so went the story.

“Why now—’round these parts—once girls shed their bashful skins like persimmons peelin’, they all head southward.”
“South meanin’ Shimoichi way—Kamiichi—Yoshino direction.”
“O-michi went off same as others—but with her old pa left lone ’n aged-like—she came back ’fore half-year passed.”
“Eh? What’s that you say?”
“That’s youth for you—ain’t it?”
“But mark me—O-michi ain’t one for such doin’s.”
“Hohoho...”

And Okami-san looked at people’s faces with a peculiar gaze and laughed.

Middle

The next morning he went to Horyuji Temple, and in the afternoon he went to Hokiji Temple.
With this, his official duty for this assignment reached a temporary pause.
The head priest of Hokiji Temple was absent, and the elderly apprentice monk had also stepped out briefly, so a lanky boy of fifteen or sixteen—who had been puffing on charcoal until the brazier was covered in ash—brought over lukewarm tea and played host.
The investigation proved extremely straightforward and concluded immediately.

Since the tower’s restoration had been completed and he hadn’t yet seen it, he went out to the garden to take a look.
The apprentice monk, wearing a waistcloth, followed along after him.
On the white garden, both my shadow and the apprentice monk’s shadow were cast distinctly.
It was a bright and pleasant spring day.
Although the three-story pagoda was less visually impressive than Horyuji Temple’s pagoda, its undeniable Suiko-style features—such as the frog-leg struts and harp-shaped ornaments—were nevertheless intriguing.
I suddenly wanted to climb this pagoda.

“Young apprentice, I would like to climb the tower…”

“You wanna climb up there? I’ll get it sorted for ya.”

With that casual agreement, he went off to fetch the key.
Touching his head, then his waist, he ambled toward the storehouse while amusing himself by watching his own shadow.

When he stood directly beneath it and looked up, even the three-story pagoda appeared impressively tall. At the railing of the third level, sparrows were swarming and flying about. When he read the sign, it stated that as a specially protected structure, over a year had been spent on its repairs. Additionally, the sign noted there had been a grant of twenty-some thousand yen from the Ministry of Home Affairs. This place was originally Prince Shōtoku’s study and an official temple established by Empress Suiko—likely quite magnificent in its day—but now, among structures from that time, only this pagoda remained, with the rest being shabby temple halls. It could not even be compared to Horyuji Temple.

The young apprentice monk leisurely brought the key and suddenly thrust it into the tower door.
With a thud, the large door creaked open.
A cold wind blew from inside the tower.
The enshrined Buddha statue was an ancient figure with missing hands and feet, thought to be a sculpture from the Suiko period.
The young apprentice monk was already climbing the ladder.

This ladder was about nine feet high, narrow in width, and steeply inclined, swaying slightly with each step taken.
Though I am by nature timid, I now had no choice but to follow the young apprentice monk and climb.
There was a clattering sound of a door being opened.
As dust came falling down, causing me to grimace, I looked up and saw a small hole—about two shaku square—opening in the ceiling.
The young apprentice monk now had half his body thrust into the hole, his two legs dangling in midair.
As I watched in surprise, he performed a gymnastic flourish and nimbly leapt upward.
I timidly climbed up and reached the hole, then finally thrust my head in and looked upward—and was startled.
I had thought the tower’s interior structure would have first and second floors like an ordinary house, each with their own ceilings—yet there was only a ceiling at the first floor level. When I looked up, above this was nothing but a completely hollow shaft reaching to the summit, where a massive central pillar stood so high it seemed to touch the heavens.
The young apprentice monk had already climbed the second short ladder and was now crossing the beam from right to left with a gymnastic flourish, waving both arms.

I kept my head thrust into the hole,

“Young apprentice, let’s call it a day.”
I said.
The young apprentice looked disgruntled,
“You’ve come all this way—go on up, sir.”

and stood on the crossbeam, looking down below.
Somehow, at this moment, the young apprentice monk seemed to wield boundless authority, leaving me no choice but to continue upward.
The young apprentice monk had just ascended through this hole with a gymnastic-like maneuver, but even that was already immensely difficult for me.
I tried to grab hold of the log lying diagonally above my head.
The log was large, and only my fingertips could catch hold.
With all my strength concentrated in my fingertips, I placed my left hand on the log and pressed my right arm flat against the ceiling above, covering my crested haori in dust and ruining it.
Finally, I climbed up into the attic.

After that, I managed to climb the second ladder without difficulty, but upon reaching the crossbeam where the young apprentice monk had been waving his arms as he crossed, I found myself at a loss.
Without something to hold onto, my legs trembled so much I thought I might fall.
There was a large beam running parallel to my head.
I raised both hands forcefully and gripped this beam.
I had to watch my feet and had to watch my hands, glancing upward and downward as I inched across step by step—when suddenly, a rumbling sound like an earthquake roared.
Wondering what it was, I stopped and looked—it was the sound of a gust of wind striking the tower.
Wondering if it would shake, I looked at the central pillar—the massive structure, larger than a ship’s mast, stood solemnly.
Finally reassured, I managed to cross the beam—only to find myself at a dead end, utterly unsure of what to do next.
There was no ladder, nor any other connecting wood.
Suddenly gripped by fear, I no longer had the courage to even glance at the young apprentice monk.

“Young apprentice, what should I do now?”

The young apprentice monk’s voice came from an unexpected direction.

“Straddle the beam above and climb up.”

He said this as if it were an extremely simple matter.
If it were truly that easy, I wouldn’t have called for him in the first place—but this was a dire predicament that made me want to weep.
With no other choice, I clung to the beam above with both hands and finally managed to crawl up.
I desperately shook free my haori sleeve from whatever had caught it.
After catching my breath and looking up, I saw that the top remained dauntingly far.
When I looked down, I found the bottom already alarmingly distant.
Having resolved that both descending and ascending now equally risked my life, I steeled myself to climb without hesitation.

The young apprentice monk paused to look back, then resumed climbing step by step.
I too, resolved not to be outdone, climbed on.

“Shall we settle here at the railing, sir, or would you prefer to go out to the dew platform?”

And the young apprentice monk called down from above.
I had indeed heard before that one could thrust their head out from the dew platform up to the nine-ring ornament.
The young apprentice monk seemed intent on going even there.
By the time I reached that point, I would surely have lost all strength in my limbs and fallen midway.

“The railing will suffice.”

“Oh, right.”
“If ya go out t’dew platform, Uneri’d be easier seen from there, wouldn’t’ve?”

Uneri could be seen even from the second floor of the inn.
This was no time for such things, I thought.
The young apprentice monk kept anxiously glancing about as if unsure what to do next when—apparently having given up on reaching the dew platform—he opened a small window leading to the railing.

The young apprentice monk crawled through the window like someone wriggling between the pillars of the Great Buddha Hall.
I too finally reached that window and crawled out, steeling myself with the resolve that slipping now would mean certain death.
Outside lay a narrow third-level corridor; gripping the railing as I stood there, something clammy stuck to my hands.
Looking down, I saw it was sparrow droppings.
The entire area had turned stark white.
This must be where those sparrows had been flying earlier, I realized.
Standing beside the young apprentice and clutching the railing, I peered downward.

Beneath my feet spread the second-story roof. Standing there looking down wasn’t as terrifying as I had imagined. I followed the young apprentice monk east along the corridor to look. The rapeseed fields I’d seen from the inn’s second floor stretched all the way to this tower’s base. Pear trellises dotted the landscape here and there. A radiant spring sun bathed everything in light. The shadow of the tower we were climbing now fell across about one tan of rapeseed flowers near its base.

“They’re at it again,”
“Cryin’ together again.”

The young apprentice muttered to himself.
Looking closer, within the shadow of that tower stood a monk and a girl leaning close together as they talked.
The woman was leaning against the monk’s shoulder and crying.
The upper halves of the two were hidden among the rapeseed flowers.

“Do you know that monk?”

“That there? He’s my senior disciple Ryozen.”
“He’s learned, serves the head priest well, and is a quiet man—but spineless as they come. That O-michi woman’s got ten times his backbone, I tell ya.”
“That O-michi, y’see—she’s filial to her parents, weaves like nobody’s business, and’s got a steady head on her shoulders. Seems back when Ryozen was at Okadera Temple, they fell for each other drinkin’ tea-house sake in places like Shimoichi and Kamiichi. Then Ryozen moved here, O-michi went back home, and even now they’re carryin’ on—cryin’ one minute, laughin’ the next.”
“Ha ha ha ha”

And the Apprentice Monk laughed carelessly.
O-michi had not been at the inn since morning; he found it unexpected to see her here now.
That her lover was a monk struck him as even more surprising.

We were silently looking down from the top of the tower.

The two people seemed to be talking about something, but not a single word reached us.
The two people had no way of realizing that someone was atop the tower watching them, and Ryozen, drawing O-michi closer as he moved his shaven head while speaking.
O-michi, who had been plucking rapeseed flowers and tucking them into her hair while listening, suddenly shook her head and pressed her face into the bundle as she wept.

“Ryozen’s a fool, I tell ya.
“Look at that idiot’s face, I tell ya.”
“O-michi happened to meet me at some point along the way, I tell ya, and she said such things.”
“I know that for Ryozen-san to become a great monk, it’d be best if I stepped aside myself—but I just can’t bring myself to cut ties from my side, I tell ya.”
“If Ryozen-san wants to be the one to cast me aside, that’s his business, I tell ya.”
“Even if I burn with love to death, I’ll keep thinking of him unrequitedly and endure it to the end.”
“She said things like this, I tell ya.”
“I like O-michi, I tell ya.”
“If I were Ryozen, I’d quit bein’ a monk and become O-michi’s husband already, I tell ya.”
“Ryozen’s a spineless man, I tell ya.”
“Ha ha ha ha”

And the young apprentice said something witty in a heavy tone.
The pagoda’s shadow shifted before our eyes.
O-michi had, before anyone noticed, moved beyond the pagoda’s shadow and now stood amidst the sweltering rapeseed flowers, bathed in the full light of the spring sun.
The face wet with tears shone more beautifully than the dew on rapeseed flowers.
As we began to crawl back through the Buddha’s hollow passage to descend the tower, Ryozen had only just left half his body within the pagoda’s shadow, while the other half now shared the spring sunlight bathing O-michi.
The monk named Ryozen was also a beautiful monk.

Down

That night, after having a drink or two with my evening sake and still covered in a blanket, I leaned against my desk and began to doze off.
When I suddenly opened my eyes and looked around, it was slightly cold.
When I looked at the clock, it was past eight.
It seemed I had dozed off for about two hours.
Compared to yesterday, today the spacious inn stood deserted.
The guests appeared to consist of myself alone.

It was a quiet night.
When he listened carefully, loom reed sounds could be heard from two directions.

From one side came crisp clattering reed sounds.
From the other came deep thudding noises.
These two sounds tightened the hushed loneliness of night into deeper desolation.
At first he thought those reed sounds distant, but listening carefully found them surprisingly near.
I shook off lingering dreams with cold teapot tea and focused intently on those two sounds.

Frog voices too could be heard.
When I first noticed them they were faint rustlings barely identifiable as frog calls; perhaps competing with reed clatter amidst many rustling noises one large frog suddenly boomed.
A voice so loud one doubted it could belong to any frog.
They'd cried in rush plant fields by day too but none had been this thunderous.
Perhaps night amplified their voices.
When one large frog began croaking another large one answered elsewhere.
Another joined.
Finally seven or eight booming voices shattered night's hard-won solitude.
Still they remained frog calls.
When those sudden loud cries erupted among rustlings they seemed clamorous at first but persisting grew familiar leaving lonely rustlings lonelier still.
Whether driven by spirit or not reed clatter too seemed heightening competing with frog voices.
The clattering grew clearer sharper.
The thudding grew heavier deeper.

Okami-san came to lay out the futon.

“Sir, you’ve got that blanket on, but are you still cold?”

“I feel cold because I dozed off a bit.”
“And tonight’s unusually quiet, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t O-michi coming?”

“She won’t be coming tonight, I tell ya.”
“There—can’t you hear that reed clattering now? That’s O-michi’s work, I tell ya.”

“So that’s O-michi?”

And I once again strained my ears to the sound of the loom reed.
The same clear sound and deep sound as before could be heard.

“They’re working in two places, aren’t they?”
“And their sounds are different, aren’t they?”
“And which one is O-michi-san’s?”

“There, that high-pitched, sharply clear one—that’s O-michi-san’s, I tell ya.”

“Why are they so different?”
“Is it because the looms are different?”

“The looms are the same, I tell ya, but the reeds are different.”
“Those who care about havin’ a pleasant sound take extra care in choosin’ their reeds, I tell ya.”

I strained my ears once more. This time, I focused solely on the clear sound. The persistent clatter would occasionally cease abruptly—whether she was reconnecting a snapped thread or her hands had stilled in contemplation. Okami-san layered two futons and spread a top cover over them while...

“Back in the war days, y’know, they paid seventy sen per loom—thin cloth was better, seein’ as it went for bandages.”
“They’d even give rewards to quick weavers back then.”
“The looms were proper good in those times—not like nowadays.”
“Well now, you see—one loom’s work brings twenty-five sen these days, and since ten bolts make a loom’s worth, even speediest hands need two full days.”

Okami-san chattered on about things no one had even asked.
Suddenly, intermingled with the sound of the reed, a song could be heard.

“The painful breath of hardships endured leaks out from the blowpipe.”

“Is that O-michi-san?”

When I asked,

“That’s right, I tell ya.
“That’s quite the voice she’s got, I tell ya.”

Okami-san said.
I found myself imagining O-michi-san’s state of mind as she sang that song, more than the quality of her voice.

“You see, with her reed sounding so fine and her singing being so skilled, I tell ya, it makes a world of difference in how worn out she gets.”

“When I hear her singing songs like that, it’s clear O-michi-san has her share of troubles.”

“Oh Sir, that’s just a local ditty everyone’s singing these days! We weavers—soon as we spy a man passing by—we’ll start crooning mocking tunes quick as anything! If not that, it’s all lovelorn ballads about crushes and heartbreaks!”

Suddenly came voices—a man and woman.

“Where you off to?”

“Pilgrimage to Koyasan.”

“Ha! Koyasan pilgrimage? Sneaking off this late—that’s just plain shady!”

“Has your father already gone to sleep?”

“Heh—he’s gone to bed.”

When I asked what “a pilgrimage to Koyasan” meant,

“Around here, y’know—when someone’s off to the red-light district, we don’t put it plain. We joke about it as ‘going on pilgrimage to Koyasan,’ I tell ya.”

Okami-san laughed.

Upon listening carefully, the woman’s voice was O-michi-san’s. The man’s voice was unidentifiable. It was likely someone from the row of tenements.

The sound of the reed grew even louder, and again a song could be heard. Both the song and its rhythm were buoyant.

“By the pillow where one slept till crows cried, a crescent comb lies fallen.”

Okami-san laid out the futon, tidied around the desk, smoothed the ashes in the brazier, and now only needed to dim the lamp’s flame,

“Good night.
Don’t get so lost in O-michi-san’s singing that you catch yourself a cold now, I tell ya.”

With that, she withdrew.

The alcohol wore off, leaving me wide awake.
To abandon the reed sound and sleep like this felt somehow wasteful.
I picked up the report draft I had left unfinished during daylight.
Before I knew it, my brush had stopped moving as I recalled O-michi-san’s chatter from yesterday and today’s view from the pagoda, all while straining to hear the loom’s rhythm.
Again came a song.

“Grease stains dappled like fawn spots—proof of household toil steeped deep.”

Though the melody kept its usual buoyancy, I felt the deepening night seep into my bones.
This won’t do, I thought, forcing myself back to the draft.

Finally, after some time had passed without the sound of the reed reaching my ears, I finished the draft.
Today marked the conclusion of the investigation, and tonight saw the completion of my report.
I suddenly felt utterly exhausted.

I turned down the fire, changed into nightclothes, and stretched my legs into the futon.
The reed's sound still lingered.
I had forgotten—the deeper-pitched one still persisted too.

Feeling reluctant to sleep, I drifted between wakefulness and slumber. When the twelve o’clock chime ringing below suddenly reached my ears and I listened carefully, the deeper-pitched loom had already fallen silent, but the reed of O-michi-san still resonated with crystalline clarity.