Pathway to Japanese Literature

The beginning of autumn

Even with eyes closed in the bath, he could sense the world's pulse—
Jirokichi hadn't endured two months feigning illness at Arima's hot spring resort only to blunder carelessly into public notice now. The moment he stepped from these healing waters into society's glare, footprints would trail him like shadows.

The unlined summer kimono clinging to his skin and autumn's first winds—whispering of amorous escapades—prodded him from boredom's cocoon.

And so it was on a crisp autumn morning, seventy days since his arrival, that this inexplicable craving for danger drove him from Tsuchiya Inn. Osen—the bathhouse attendant who'd grown inseparable during his treatment—shouldered his bundle and trailed him as far as Zatōdani valley.

“This is far enough. Osen-san—let’s meet again next year.”

When Jirokichi said,

“No—to Mukogawa.”

Osen kept clutching the bundle as though unwilling to relinquish it, treading the path where firefly grass bloomed.

“I appreciate your kindness, but that’d only make parting harder.”
“If they get suspicious back at the inn, that’d be trouble. Best head back here.”

“So travelers never keep in touch.”

“Either way, I can’t spend my whole life stuck in Arima.”

“Please take me to Edo too.”

“Y-you’re kidding, right?”

“I mean it!
You know, Jirokichi-san?”

The passersby vanished.
The woman abruptly stepped back and seized Jirokichi’s lined kimono sleeve as if to tear it off.

“...You know, Jirokichi-san?”

“Cut it out.”

Embracing the face she brought to his chest with rough urgency,

“How pathetic—what kinda fool cries over this?”

“I want to go.”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere—as long as I’m with Jirokichi-san.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”
“……Look, if people pass by, it’ll cause talk. Go back quickly.”

“No!
...Suddenly I didn’t want to go back anymore.
Take me with you—anywhere.”

“Stop talkin’ nonsense.”

“But if I just don’t become a burden to you, then it’s fine, ain’t it?”

“That ain’t how this’ll go.”

he said with a sigh.

As if lightly regretting what had been done out of a mischievous heart to distract from boredom—like any common hot spring attendant and guest might.

First of all, it depended on the woman herself.
Even through infatuated eyes, he couldn’t discern in her features a worth substantial enough to warrant such lingering vexation.

“It means I’m not going back.”

Snatching the bundle away, Jirokichi started walking ahead.

The woman silently followed until Mukogawa River came into view.
He clicked his tongue—
“Osen, ya really ain’t goin’ back?”

“…………”

“You’re still clingin’ ’cause ya don’t know my true roots.”
“Truth is, I’m a wanted man who skipped outta Edo.”
“Ain’t sayin’ I did wrong—but keepin’ mum ’bout whatever went down between us’d serve ya better.”

“I’ve known that from the start.”

The woman didn’t even show surprise.

“Huh? You knew?”

“After all, who knows how many times officials and wanted posters have come around even to Arima.”

“Hmm…”

“Each time, even I was thoroughly interrogated by the master of Tsuchiya.”
“Once, I was even summoned to the police box and beaten.”

“So you knew all along—that I’m a thief?”

“Oh.
“I’m in love.”
“...with the Rat Boy Thief who ravaged Edo.”

“Shh...”

The man’s finger suddenly jabbed the talkative woman’s upper arm.
In a straggling line, travelers who had disembarked from the ferry came up from the riverbank.
Jirokichi pressed his body against Osen’s as he quickened his pace,

“Get on—the one that just docked! That ferry!”

Colored hair cord

Snap, snap went the sound.
Inside, it seemed they were playing shogi.

“Hah, this’s the place.”

Jirokichi stopped and stroked his chin where his beard had grown out.

It was the riverside of Taizaemon Bridge.

Across Dōtonbori River, glimpses could be caught of theater teahouses’ private paulownia chests, crimson zabuton cushions, and elongated hibachi braziers. The autumn sun blazed down, brightly illuminating the earthen-floored entrance’s paper screen where a large samurai topknot (yakko-mage) was depicted alongside the painted characters for “Jiraiya Barber.”

“Pardon me.”

The door clattered open as he stood rooted in place.

“Can you take me straightaway?”

“Please be seated.”

The apprentice cleared the waiting area,

“Will you be needing a pate shave?”

“Nah, leave that as is.
Just the beard.”

“Just one person ahead of you, if you’d be so kind as to wait. Well, please have a smoke while you wait.”

The apprentice barber placed the tobacco tray there, set a whetstone at the washbasin, and began scrubbing vigorously to sharpen the razor.
Because the second floor was flimsy, the house shook like an earthquake.

Jirokichi took a sharp drag from his brass tobacco pipe and surveyed the interior of the shop.
When it came to barbershops, Edo and Kamigata were much the same.
In one corner, a group gathered around a shogi board.
The walls were plastered as thickly as a public toilet’s with playbills from three theaters and posters for amateur jōruri performances. In front of these stood oil-stained paulownia comb boxes and side-lock basins, and now Master Nikichi was styling a customer’s hair.

He was a sharp-featured man of twenty-seven or eight with a stern cast to his face. From his chest to his upper arms, the blurred shading of tattoos could be seen like a toad’s skin. It was he who went by the name Master of the Jiraiya Barber Shop—the Jiraiya tattooed on his back having become his nickname.

“Not resembling each other in the least,” he thought. “Even if they’re half-siblings, you’d think there’d be some resemblance between brother and sister...”

Jirokichi's eyes gazed through the haze of tobacco smoke.
From Osen—the hot spring attendant—he had often heard during his stay in Arima that her brother Nikichi ran a barbershop at Taizaemon Bridge. But his visit there today wasn't merely to shave his overgrown beard.
The true purpose was to settle a certain matter she had implored him about, though with other customers present, holding such a conversation would prove difficult.

Well, he thought as he settled in to have his beard shaved—the other customers would likely leave in the meantime—when...

“I apologize for the wait.”

And Nikichi’s eyes glanced back at Jirokichi for the first time.

“Is it my turn already?
“There’s another customer before me, isn’t there? Please go ahead.”

“Nah, Master.”

Nikichi flashed a glimpse of his silver-capped tooth and,
“As you can see, they’re completely absorbed...”

and gestured with his chin toward the shogi players, letting slip a wry smile.

“I see. Well then,”

Though the customer headed to the combing area, this later arrangement actually worked better for Jirokichi.

Nikichi had already changed the water in the side-lock basin and was taking a razor from the apprentice when—

“Master, you’re from Edo.”

“That obvious?”

“Painfully so.”

“Edo guys are rough around the edges.”

“Why, it’s that crisp diction of yours.” Nikichi flashed his silver tooth. “Kamigata women would eat that up. …So? Sightseeing?”

“Well, that’s about the size of it.”
“I settled in Arima for a spell after Kompira—no exception to the rule—a lord ascending to the capital now reduced to a beggar on the descent.”

“If that’s what being a beggar means, I wouldn’t mind trying it myself once in a blue moon.”
“In Arima—where did you stay?”

With that, Nikichi began scrutinizing Jirokichi’s face anew, his gaze drifting down from the ceiling.

At this opening, Jirokichi nearly let slip words that might hint at Osen’s situation, but thought better of it with others present.

The reason was that this matter—far more detrimental to his counterpart’s reputation than his own—wasn’t something to be discussed openly. According to Osen’s account, she and Nikichi were half-siblings, and this brother of hers seemed to be quite the yakuza type who had made a name for himself. Now, it wasn’t uncommon for him to frequently hit her up for small change—she who worked as a hot spring attendant—but this time, claiming some substantial need, he’d gone and borrowed about a hundred ryō from a brothel called Futabaya in Moriguchi, using Osen’s body as collateral. Consequently, when word came from Tsuchiya demanding she immediately take leave and return home, Osen had been weeping since four or five days before Jirokichi’s departure.

A whim begetting another whim, Jirokichi—who had brought this woman all the way to Osaka despite having hardly given her much thought at the time—found his interest cool when later confronted with feelings from her that went beyond mere infatuation. Yet he was also someone who could not bring himself to cast her aside entirely.

Alright.
I'll tell you.

He had come under the pretext of tending to his overgrown beard while discreetly assessing the situation, but even if there had been no other customers present to allow an immediate discussion of the matter at hand, he judged that this man Nikichi wasn’t someone he could simply pinch between thumb and forefinger and swallow whole.
He sensed this petty villain would leave irritating little bones stuck between his teeth and tongue—a nuisance he couldn’t simply swallow.

“Good day. Master, do you still require the hair cords?”

Just then, a young woman’s voice rang out.
The outside sunlight reflected onto Jirokichi’s upturned face.
Nikichi stopped the razor and,

“Ah, Okino-san.
“I’ve been waiting for you.
“Come in and shut that behind you.”

“Thank you ever so kindly for your continued patronage.”

“You’ve grown rather skilled at flattery.”

“No, I remain quite unaccustomed to this trade.”

“Set down your load and sit there.
“Unpracticed work always attracts notice,” Nikichi said, dismissing his conversation with Jirokichi as if it were nothing— “I need more hair cords since we’ve run out, and there’s another matter besides. Wait here till this gentleman’s done.”

“Yes. Please take your time.”

With that, Okino set down her hair cord box and gently blotted the sweat at her temples—damp from walking in the sun—with chrysanthemum-patterned paper.

While surrendering his face to Nikichi’s care, Jirokichi’s gaze slid toward the corners of his eyes and streamed in Okino’s direction. What he saw was extraordinary—a girl of nineteen or twenty, not merely beautiful in features but possessing an elegant bearing, lustrous hair, exquisite lips, and captivating eyes.

Her back’s curve and the fullness of her figure aligned perfectly with the ideal Jirokichi had long carried in his mind. She couldn’t begin to compare with Osen, he thought.

Where’s this girl from?
While listening to the pleasant sound of the razor blade passing through his beard roots, he began thinking such things.

A cotton obi at her age—how pitiful.
Her plain kimono, cheap comb, and utter disregard for appearances left no doubt—she was poor.
And while it was clear she made her living selling hair cords to barbershops, she didn’t strike him as fundamentally back-alley bred.

What a waste.

And so Jirokichi mused.
At the same time，Arima’s caprice now seemed all the more foolish，and the fact that he’d been persuaded by Osen to come here in his precarious state began to stir a faint regret.
“I stopped…”
In his gut，Jirokichi thought.
“Thank you for your patience.”

With that, Nikichi flicked off the shaved hair from his razor with his fingers,

"Matsu, the washing water,"

he commanded the apprentice.

But the moment Jirokichi stood up stroking his smoothly shaven face, his sharp senses jolted backward.

The secret curtain partitioning the shop's front and back areas shifted as his eyes darted toward it.
Beneath that curtain flashed the hem of a finely tea-striped kimono and lacquered sword scabbards' metal fittings before vanishing instantly.

“Whoa there, apprentice.
Ain’t need no wash water—headin’ straight to the baths anyway.”

Tossing down his barber fee, Jirokichi—though aware he was overreacting—swiftly slid open the earthen-framed door and bolted into the street.

Evening crows.

Two or three times, he ran while looking back over his shoulder.
It seemed to him that every voice in the street was pointing and shouting “Rat Boy Thief, Rat Boy Thief!”

He deliberately entered the crowds of Dōtonbori and emerged through narrow alleyways to Senjihara. And then, for the first time, he grabbed the checkered cloth and wiped the sweat from under his arms while,

“Ah, that scared me.”

he muttered.

Tooth powder vendors, used clothing stores, and all sorts of open-air stalls lined the streets.

Jirokichi, his eyes still unsettled while paying attention even to such things, spread his hand towel on the grass and hugged his knees.

"Hmm…"

"If they come—" he parted the collar of his short sword and had devised escape routes down to the smallest detail—but when he surveyed his surroundings now, not a single pair of eyes gleamed his way.
Neither informant-types nor bounty hunter-like figures passed through.

This is downright hilarious.

Jirokichi sneered at himself.

"Two months forgetting my trade, stewing in hot springs like a warmed sake jug—maybe that's why I've gone soft... But can't blame myself for panicking.
Any man with scars on his shins who spots a tea-striped samurai wearing navy tabi socks in a barber's back room would naturally think magistrate's office."

However, he too came to realize this was entirely a misunderstanding.
As Jirokichi recognized his hasty assumption had been absurd, he began wondering who that samurai might be.
For a live-in dependent, the sword was too fine and the kimono too austere.
It seemed strange for a barbershop customer to be in the back room.

And more than anything, that hair-cord seller girl called Okino lingered in his vision.
He linked Okino with the tea-striped samurai and the Jiraiya tattoo in his thoughts.
He couldn't shake the sensation that something connected them.

He couldn't quite shake the feeling.
He found himself wanting to at least know where Okino lived.
This too might have been one of his characteristic whims, but among those he'd shown to the women he'd encountered thus far, it was undoubtedly the most persistent.

“Sorry.”

He entered another barbershop.
The barber stared at Jirokichi’s freshly shaven blue beard stubble and made a puzzled face.

“Is there something you require?”

“I’m from Edo.”

“Ah, I see.”

With that, the barber began wrapping a few coins in tissue paper.

“Wait a moment. I’m not some wandering craftsman. The truth is, I came looking for an acquaintance—heard his daughter works as a hair-cord seller making rounds to barbershops. You wouldn’t happen to know where she lives, would you?”

“Huh, what’s her name?”

“She’s a young woman named Okino-san.”

“If it’s Okino-san you’re asking about, she lives in the Ohaguro Tenements behind Tennōji—a commendable girl. I heard her father was a rōnin.”

“Yes yes, that’s exactly it.”
“Ah, thank you kindly.”

Decisively, as if his fixations had cleared, Jirokichi started back to his lodgings.
The inn was Suzuki-ya in Kita Kyūtarō-chō; along with Osen, they had stayed in its back second-floor room for over ten days.

Below the back second floor lay Higashi-bori. Beyond Shianbashi Bridge across the river stood the Nishi Magistrate’s Office. While bantering with the woman, Jirokichi would often watch crows roosting on the magistrate’s roof from his vantage point.

“Oh, you’re back.”

Osen had gotten out of the bath and was secretly applying heavy makeup.
The meal tray had also arrived.
The long charcoal brazier had been neatly arranged, and she had fully assumed the airs of a dutiful wife.

“Was Brother there?”

“He was there.”

“What about the matter?”

“Called it off,” he said, sitting cross-legged. “Nikichi was there, but I reconsidered and didn’t bring up your business.”
“Ah well, just leave it be.”

“It’s no good, I tell you.”
“Once Brother gets an idea like this, he’ll force it through no matter what.”
“Until this gets settled, I’m too scared to even step outside.”

“You idiot! Even me—Jirokichi—with wanted posters circulating through all three capitals and every backwater castle town to boot—here I am swaggerin’ around in broad daylight like this. …Hell, it’s a piddlin’ matter.”

Osen grew slightly gloomy.

Jirokichi could not bring himself to reach for the cup on the meal tray.
Leaning against the window’s armrest, as if feeling no responsibility to console the woman’s melancholy, he gazed at the traffic on Shianbashi Bridge.

Osen suddenly drew close to the man’s knee in a hysterical manner,

“Jirokichi-san.”

“Cut it out. Quit your damn blubbering.”

“But... but... you’re turning colder toward me with each passing day.”

“Huh? When’ve I ever been warm to you? I’ve stayed true to myself from the start.”

“No, you’ve changed. These days you won’t even toss me kind words like healing herbs like before…”

“Hey now, aren’t you just dreaming all by yourself? It’s not like I went and kidnapped you or anything. If you’re not happy here, you can get out anytime you damn well please.”

“That mouth of yours—I, I just can’t stand it!”
“What… the hell you sayin’.”

Jirokichi dismissed her abruptly, deliberately using words as sharp as an awl,

“You’re suffering from a fever sickness. A wanted man who’s constantly dodging dangerous winds and walking the underbelly of society ain’t got time to be pestered about every little lovey-dovey thing—when I’m sick of it, we’ll just part ways.”

At the window frame, resting his cheek in his hand, he lowered his gaze to the waters of Higashi-bori.
On the black roof of the Nishi Magistrate’s Office, the evening crows were cawing once more today.

The crows' cawing bodes ill...

At that moment, the sliding door opened.

“You must find each day tedious.”

“Ah, the clerk,” he said, straightening his knees slightly— “Here about the bill, I take it.”

He preemptively addressed.

“Ah. I must humbly apologize for our repeated inquiries, but we respectfully request you settle your account at the front desk at your earliest convenience.”

“Ah, sure thing. But today’s no good. Went to see an acquaintance’s place—damned if they weren’t out.”

“Then we must insist you settle without fail tomorrow.”

“Quit your damn pestering.”

Observing the guest's complexion keenly,

“Would you care for sake tonight?”

“Oh, the meal tray’s here already.”
“Don’t need sake.”
“I’m sick of the inn’s grub—might go scavenge something decent outside for once.”

As soon as the clerk returned, Jirokichi straightened his single-layered unlined kimono and sharply tightened his obi with a snap.

“Osen, I’m heading out. The food’s probably crap, but eat it alone.”

“Where are you going?”

Anxiety lingered in her eyes.

“Where the hell d’you think a rogue’s headed, you fool?”

Thud, thud, thud—he descended the ladder and left.

River waves.

"--It's autumn."
"For Jirokichi to be dried up of money—that's an autumn wind rare in recent years."

Jirokichi laughed bitterly at his empty pockets as he wandered aimlessly through the evening streets.

If he didn't scrape together funds by tonight, his destitution risked being exposed by the inn.
But no matter how desperate things got, Edo's Rat refused to let people say he'd stooped to petty jobs in Kansai.

Whimsical with women and ostentatious in his work—that was Jirokichi.
The reason he preferred breaking into daimyo mansions lay in their storehouses' ready cash and the prospect of glimpsing aristocratic decadence in their bedchambers.
His selection of samurai and hatamoto residences stemmed from those classes' comparatively disordered lifestyles compared to merchant families—their privileged status making them paradoxically more careless.

Strangely, public sentiment began siding not with the robbed but with the thieving Rat, praising him as some ideological bandit rebelling against the samurai class until Jirokichi developed absolute faith in his profession.
When he scattered leftover coins from women and gambling through slums, the epithet "righteous thief" would instantly adhere to the Rat's name like an imperial court rank…

But ever since he had been driven to ruin and resorted to fleeing to Kansai, even his flamboyant ill fortune hadn’t yielded such spectacular results. Wanted posters may have been circulating, but they didn’t stir the same commotion as his jobs in Edo had. The Rat’s popularity, naturally, was nonexistent.

It was precisely because of this lack of notoriety that he could stroll leisurely through the evening town with his hands in his pockets, yet even this felt lonely to Jirokichi.

The rhythmic clip-clop of his distinctive sandals echoed as he walked—before he knew it—through a residential quarter illuminated only by street lanterns.

Suddenly, a signboard reading "Senshindō Academy" caught his eye.

"Senshindō."

It was a name he had heard before.

"Ah, that's it," he realized. "This must be the residence of the renowned Ōshio Chūsai. Which means..." He surveyed the surroundings. "This area appears to be Yoriki-machi."

As he walked, Jirokichi watched from the shadows as three palanquins bearing lanterns marked "Shinmachi" pulled up to a mansion of similar stature, depositing shadowy figures through its side entrance.

In one of the palanquins, a woman—likely a maid or geisha who had been sent along—did not enter the gate but instead watched until the figures had gone inside, then turned back and departed along with the empty palanquin.

“Alright—that mansion’s the mark.”

Jirokichi muttered.
--Houses where the master had returned exhausted from the pleasure quarters were unmatched opportunities for him.
There were almost no failures when he broke into such mansions.

He folded his sandals and tucked them between his haramaki and obi.
Then, with a soft thud, he leapt onto the wall's crest--after that came utter silence.

Inside lay his plan to wait patiently until deep night brought slumber.

There was a pond; there stood a hillock. The garden held many pine trees—a rather neat yet spacious garden it was. For all the mansion’s breadth, it seemed starved of feminine presence. From kitchen to bathhouse to sitting rooms, they all carried that scent of austerity. Having plotted his late-hour strategy, Jirokichi crouched beneath the veranda of a lit tatami room in what resembled an inner study hall.

"That's... a voice I've heard before."

He sensed it immediately—that too was a vivid memory.

The man inside the tatami room was saying.

“Master—excuse me—Master Shigematsu.”
“You can’t just doze off here, sir.”
“We’re not in Shinmachi anymore, sir.”
“As the night grows late, Nikichi will take his leave, Master.”

“Huh... you’re leaving?”

He was drunk.
His speech was terribly slurred.

“Nikichi.”

“Yes, Master.”

“You’re not to leave.”
“I won’t allow it!”

“But, Master.”

“I said it’s not allowed! What did you do with the woman? Bring her here. The woman—”

“The maid has already returned after escorting her to your gate.”

“She’s not some common strumpet. What have you done with Okino?”

“This is quite troublesome.”

“What’s this ‘trouble’? Wasn’t it you who accepted this responsibility?—Bring her here.”

“But given that she’s an amateur after all, even if you speak so impatiently—”

“Imbecile!”

He seemed to sit up straight.
The large-framed samurai—evidently so—caused dust from the floor to fall onto Jirokichi’s topknot.

“What did I say this afternoon? Did I not state that matters would be settled by tonight? A hundred gold pieces for the girl, twenty for your fee—you did receive the money without issue, did you not?”

“Now, Master, you can’t stand on principle like this. I did indeed deliver the money to Okino’s house this evening, but she’s so inexperienced—too ashamed to go to the teahouse…… You ought to show a little consideration for a woman’s feelings.”

“That’s why I’m telling you to bring her here.”

“In any case，it’s already quite late.”
“Moreover，her father has been bedridden with a long illness—please allow another four or five days and wait for an opportune moment.”
“I’ll stake my skills on making sure she doesn’t refuse.”

“You’re certain?”

“It’s just…”
“When it comes to you, Master, you jump to the worst conclusions.”

“Very well. Then I’m setting a three-day deadline.”

“This is harsh. In return, Master, I must ask that you grant that person one favor.”

“What do you mean by ‘that person’?”

“You can’t go forgetting about that now—I must insist.”

“Hrm. The town official position?”

“Yes, Master. With your arrangement, if I could receive temporary jitte authority, I believe I’d be able to serve you fully from here on out.”

“Do you want that jitte so badly?”

“Because it would give me sway in the neighborhood.”

“I’ll arrange it. But deal with Okino quickly.”

“It seems you’ve taken quite a liking to her.”

“Enough!”

“Just ‘enough’?”

“Shut up. Get out.”

“Finally got my dismissal.”
“Then I’ll try visiting Okino-san’s house again tomorrow evening. Depending on her response, I’ll come to inform you accordingly.”

It was Nikichi of the Jiraiya Barber Shop.
After saying this, when he left, soon after, a servant entered the bedroom and closed the wooden shutters.

Then, after waiting about an hour, Jirokichi set to work. Where he had passed through, there were no footprints. Like a carpenter adjusting fixtures, he effortlessly removed the door and, even afterward, properly closed it behind him before leaving.

It was too late to return to the inn, yet too early to walk around killing time. Jirokichi strolled along Tenmagashi riverbank, pressing the heavy gold wrapped in a hand towel against his stomach with one hand tucked in his kimono, walking while peering into the river.

“Hey there... hey there... Mister”

From beneath bridges and behind stone embankments came occasional alluring squeaks like mice. Pale hands beckoned.

They were prostitutes called “boat girls.”
Jirokichi hid beneath the straw covering of one such vessel. Having purchased a woman without interest or enthusiasm, he lay swaying with the river’s rhythm, sketching Okino’s face in his mind.

Alleyway darkness.

At the same hour of dusk as the day before, Jirokichi once again left the dinner tray with Osen at the Suzukiya inn and went out.

This morning, Osen had been in low spirits all day after finding a powder-like substance on the collar of her indigo-dusted lined kimono.
The more the man treated her lightly, the more the woman grew anxious, persistent, and ultimately exhausted by her delusions.

“This is what I am.”

As he was leaving, Jirokichi said.

“No matter how long you stick around, it ain’t gonna be any fun—I left a hundred ryo in the hibachi’s drawer. Give that to Brother. Whether you go back to Arima or sort yourself out, do whatever you damn please.”

When he stepped outside, he immediately called for a street palanquin.

“Take me to somewhere lively.”

In Hōzenji Yokochō, after drinking his fill, Jirokichi was completely in a good mood—

He threaded through Dōtonbori's crowds.

Then, he wandered all the way to Tennōji.
After hearing about the Beni-nagaya and peering into that alley, his drunkenness had subsided slightly.

As he stepped along the dark, narrow planks over the ditch, a thicket appeared at the dead end.
Alongside the thicket stood another row house.

Here we are.

Peering stealthily through the corner’s bamboo-lattice window, he saw a patient’s sickbed in the back.
Beside the sooty lamp sat the girl he had seen at the Jiraiya Barber Shop—dejected at the bedside, biting her sleeve with head bowed.

“Ah...
“He’s coming whether you want him to.”

What Jirokichi saw was a guest sitting with his back turned.
It must have been Nikichi from the barbershop—the same one whose voice he had heard the previous night.

“What do you say, Okino-san? I know I’ve been nagging, but I ain’t suggesting anything bad. Why don’t you try working at the mansion for four or five days?”

Nikichi kept pressing his case with relentless eloquence.
Jirokichi knew all too well what that conversation was about.

Okino lowered her voice as if mindful of the patient,

“Master, if it’s about that matter again, no matter how many times I’m asked, my answer remains the same.”

“So you refuse after all?”

“No matter how distinguished the master may be as a samurai lord, my father would never consent to something like serving as a concubine, and I would rather die than—”

“Wait a moment.”
“But accordin’ to rumors I’ve caught wind of, you’ve got some hefty money troubles plannin’ to debut as a geisha through *Koubai* in Shinmachi, ain’t that right?”
“Which d’you reckon’s better—turnin’ geisha or gettin’ looked after by Magistrate Shigematsu Sajibē-sama? Even a fool could see which’s the sweeter deal.”

“Well… who told you such things?”

“Now if I’m gonna be helpin’ you out, ’course I’d dig into everythin’—your background, your private affairs.”
“Didn’t you promise to borrow a hundred ryo from *Koubai*?”

“Master, I still haven’t let the patient hear about this…”

As Okino clasped her hands as if in prayer to suppress her voice, Nikichi forced her fingers to grip a five-ryo sealed payment,

“It’s from the Master, you hear?”

“Oh, I can’t accept something like this.”

“You’re not keepin’ it? Even though I went to the trouble of givin’ you this preparation money.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t accept this.”

“Anyway, I’ll leave it here.”

And with that, Nikichi had already put on his geta.

"Oh, Master."

With that, Okino hurriedly came outside holding the money.
She clattered across the ditch planks and chased after him all the way to the main street.

“Naive play.”

After watching from the shadows, Jirokichi immediately fixed his gaze through the bamboo window, peering intently into the house.

The patient lay flat as dried codfish in a coma.
No decoction medicine could be seen by the pillow.
Only chill air and bare walls remained; not even a single grain of rice seemed present in the kitchen.

From the tie-dyed hand towel, he rolled out two hundred-ryō packages, slid his hand through the bamboo window’s gap, and placed them beneath the low partition wall.
And Jirokichi emerged from the alley.

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry.”

It was dark.

Moreover, Okino was flustered...

With a thud—the momentum of colliding into Jirokichi’s chest—she dropped the sealed money she held onto the ditch planks.
Jirokichi picked it up and,

“This must be it.”

and handed it to her.

“Thank you very much.”

“You’ve got a patient to care for and are plagued by unwanted favors—you’ve really got it rough, haven’t you?”

“What?”

she stared intently,

“Who might you be?”

“I know you a little.”

“Who might you be? I can’t seem to recall…”

“The other day, at Jiraiya-doko,”

“Ah—that time when—”

“I might be meddling where I shouldn’t, but don’t go wasting that money.”

“Oh, I tried chasing after him to return it, but he was already gone.”

“I’ll return that money to that bastard for you.”
“Don’t know what you need the cash for, but becoming a geisha—that’s an ill-advised scheme. You oughta rethink it.”

“How kind of you.”

And with that, Okino was already tearing up.

One could see how starved she was for warmth.
Jirokichi wanted to give her more, much more tender words, but somehow, just as when he spoke to Osen or prostitutes, the words wouldn’t come smoothly.

"Why do you need so much money?"
"It's a bit excessive for medicine costs for a patient, though."
"There are... certain circumstances."

“Given that you’d leave that gravely ill patient behind and resolve to become a geisha, I can imagine how desperate things must be.”

“The truth is, there’s money we must repay each year—eighty gold coins to the lord my father served before becoming a ronin.”

“Money for some former master? Once he’s a ronin, that shouldn’t matter anymore.”

“This debt can’t be ignored.”
“Because of my father’s mistake, that hatamoto lord had to borrow over a thousand ryo from his chief retainers and colleagues to fill the shogunate’s ledger temporarily.”

“So, you were in Edo?”

“In Tangocho, he served as steward to a hatamoto named Lord Wakisaka Sanai.”

“So that master squandered the shogunate’s treasury funds on amusement?”

“No—Lord Wakisaka was serving as construction magistrate when rebuilding Eitai Bridge. Keeping the public funds meant for craftsmen’s wages in his estate storehouse overnight was the mistake.”
“Somehow they found out—that very night, the thief called Rat Boy Thief broke in and stole everything.”

“Huh…”

Jirokichi grew cold.

“Rat Boy Thief?”

“They say he’s an incredible thief—even though my father kept watch all night, when he stole over a thousand ryō, he didn’t make a sound.”

“Hmm…”

“I’ve been venting such pointless complaints.”

“But even repaying eighty ryo a year would take over a decade. What do you plan to do from here on out?”

“When my father was healthy, he went to Dōjima and engaged in rice trading, but he became obsessed with market speculation and lost both his capital and children. Now that he’s gravely ill, from here on out, I intend to become a geisha and work as hard as I possibly can.”

“D-don’t even joke about that!”

He was amazed at Okino’s naivety, but couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

“By the time you earn a thousand ryo as a geisha, you’ll be an old woman.—Well, just go home and think it over. And like I said before, I’ll return this money myself first.”

“But through someone else’s hands…”

“You doubtin’ me?”

“That is not the case, but…”

“Then don’tcha worry—just leave it to me.”
“I may look like this, but—” he began, but Jirokichi felt awkward and couldn’t utter anything proper.

It was cold.
A strange chill ran down his spine.

Cutting diagonally across the street and looking back from the other side, he saw the pale face still standing at the alley corner.

Half-siblings.

As she tried to close the window shutters, two bundles of gold brushed against Okino’s toes.
Startled, her lips lost their color.
It was two hundred ryo.
Who?
Her heart pounded.

“Ah—it must have been that man from earlier…”
She instinctively offered silent thanks in her heart.
Somehow, even his brusque words had carried compassion.
For a moment she considered waking her father in her excitement, but seeing the patient’s sleeping face, she stayed quiet—placing the bundles on the shelf before lying down to rest.

She could not sleep for a long time.
The figure of the man she had glimpsed in the alley's shadows and the two bundles of gold kept her eyes stubbornly open, rendering sleep impossible.
Eventually, her mind wearied from endless deliberation, she sank into slumber.

—It was already dawn.

As if touched by a cold hand, she suddenly opened her eyes—and there, in her bleary vision, loomed a large human shadow.
With a twisted hand towel covering his cheeks, he crawled along beneath the wall.

“Oh?”

In her frenzy, the moment she flung off the futon, the man suddenly stood up and tried to bolt out the back door.
But in that momentum, he stumbled over the patient’s pillow, so her resolute father, forgetting his own ailing body,

“Who’s there?!”

grabbed one of the intruder’s legs.

No sooner had a blue wire-like light flashed from the thief’s hands than a sickening splat—a sound unlike any Okino had heard in her life—pierced her ears.

“Ah! …Father!”

By the time she threw herself over him and clung in desperate frenzy, the father had already stopped breathing.
Lukewarm liquid—tingling like insect legs and squirming with vile vitality—gushed from unseen wounds, flooding hands, knees, and futon until consciousness threatened to slip away.

“Blood!”

As she collapsed with the corpse, she screamed at the top of her lungs for the first time.

“Please come!”
“Neighbors!”
“Father has been killed.”
“Father... Father!”

In the blood, Okino lay collapsed, weeping.

And when dawn broke, the two bundles of gold were gone.

× × ×

“Does gold breed?”
“The gold spawned offspring.”

Having entrusted the shop to Shimogari no Matsu, Nikichi went up to the second floor alone.

Lay prone on his stomach with a hundred-ryo bundle placed on each palm, like a cat toying with a ball,

“How strange—the gold spawned offspring.”

he muttered.

“Well I’ll be damned—one bundle of gold turned into two by midnight. Can’t even find words, it’s so damn unbelievable.”

Tore open the bundle’s edge with his teeth to glimpse the golden yellow of koban coins, gauged their quantity by hand, tilted his head in puzzlement alone, succumbed to illusion, and grew intoxicated by this bizarre fortune.

With a creak came footsteps on the ladder, so he hurriedly hid the gold behind the framed panel in the transom.

“Who’s there?!”

He said with strange sharpness.

In a voice barely above a whisper—

“Me.”

“Me? …Ah.”
“Aren’t you Osen, you bastard?”

“Brother.”

Osen sat down there, looking awkward, her shoulders slumped weakly.

“……Hello…”

“What’s wrong, Osen? You’ve become so emaciated I barely recognize you. Seems there was quite an uproar at Tsuchiya too. I was worried.”

“Has anything come from Arima?”

“’Course there was.”
“After you saw him off, they say he just ran off with some traveler, didn’t he?”
“You had some shameless affair and got yourself dumped by him, didn’t you?”

“Brother, that’s not the only reason I ran away.”
“You’re not one to talk.”
“What do you take my body for, huh?”

“Hmm, the Moriguchi matter—selling you off. …Actually, about that—managed to arrange funds elsewhere. Should hold for now.”

“Even if it holds for now, I can’t keep having you rely on my body every time money gets tight. Today I’ll give you the hundred ryo you need—so please sever our sibling bond here and now.”

“What? You brought a hundred ryo?”

“Yes.
“The severance gold.”

With that, Osen took it out from between her obi,

“Cut? Or not?”

“You damn fool! If that’s what you want, I’ll cut this worthless sibling bond right here!”

“Then I’ll give it to you, so this is the end of it.”

She tossed it down, averting her tear-filled eyes as she turned to descend the ladder steps when—

“Hey! Osen, wait a second.”

“What?”

“You—where’d you get this gold?”

Nikichi’s palms cradled the hundred-ryo bundle like an explosive firework primed to detonate if dropped, his eyes—scrutinizing as if examining a flea’s face—locked on the seal marks and paper abrasions.

“Where the hell did you get this gold?!”
“Well, sit down there for a moment.”
“You ain’t gettin’ this back till I ask.”

Osen sat back down,

“I received it.”
“In this world… not everyone’s a devil who’d devour their own sister’s body.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“It’s obviously from a customer.”

“So you mean it’s that guy you ran off with?”

“That’s right.”

“Strange…” Nikichi crossed his arms, glaring sharply at Osen. “You ain’t by chance fed that man some line and sent him to spy on my place before, have you?”

“There might have been.”

“Damn it!”

Nikichi suddenly lunged at the document cabinet, clattered the drawers open, and spread out the four-folded wanted poster there.

“Osen, your man’s this guy, ain’t he?”

“……”

Osen’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to the wanted posters of criminals.
In her chest, that man’s voice—his coldness, his strength—and all manner of emotions pulsed and reverberated.

“This is it!”
“Alright, got it.”

As he read his sister’s expression,

“You ain’t leavin’. House arrest.”

“I don’t recall being detained by you who’s already severed ties.”

“Damn fool!”

Suddenly brushing his hip as he started to stand,

“This guy’s gone off the deep end, damn it.
Who the hell falls for a thief?”

“That’s none of your concern!”

“I ain’t lettin’ you down these stairs.”

“I’m leaving. Do as you please.”

“Matsu!”

he shouted downstairs.

“Give me a hand! Hurry up and get over here! Tie this degenerate up tight and keep her bound in the closet!”

自暴駕

“Close the second-floor shutters.
“Don’t you go feelin’ sorry for her.”

After instructing Matsu the apprentice, Nikichi left as if he had urgent business.

Before long, his figure disappeared into the alleyways behind Tennōji Temple.
The tenement residents stood at the gate of Okino’s house, silently surveying the suspicious comings and goings and neighbors’ whispers without uttering a word,

“Oh! Did something happen here?” A resident leaned in.
In the back，seven or eight tenement residents were gathered，replacing tatami mats and arranging Buddhist ritual implements.

“Oh, Master of the Jiraiya Barber Shop?”
“What about Okino-san?”
“She is here.”
“What on earth happened?”

Stealthily making his way inside,

"So, did the honorable patient's condition take a turn during night?"

"Well... if that were all..." replied the tenement residents gloomily... bowing their heads...

"How dreadful—a thief broke into this house and cut him down."

“What? Her father was…?”

“Yes.”

“I-Is that true?”

“Poor Okino, how awful for her.”
“Wh-what an ill-fated girl she is!”

Solemnly, they all sobbed.
Nikichi also clenched his fists on his knees, blinking rapidly,

“I see…” He let out a deep breath. “So that means… last night, after I left, right?”

“It was nearly dawn, they said.”

“What a bastard.
“To slaughter a sick man… That bastard’s lower than vermin—no amount of hatred’s enough for scum like that.”
“…Ah, but when I think about it—that seed was one I planted myself.”
“Well now, though I say this before all of you, I’ve been so impressed by Okino-san’s noble character that I received—and gave—a large sum from a certain samurai.”
“Because I delivered that last night, maybe that thief bastard set his sights on it.”

“We in the tenement mean to help however we can, but no matter how much we poor folk scrape together—it’s just paupers aiding paupers. We haven’t even enough for the temple’s donation.”

“Don’t fret over that.”

He undid his purse strings at once—

“I’ve got one ryō here and some smaller coins besides—this’ll settle everything proper.”

“Ah, Master…”

Okino, who had been prostrated in tears before the coffin, hurriedly pushed it away,

“Please… no more of your concern.”

“Okino-san, what a terrible thing that was.”
“I understand what’s in your heart,” he said, his voice trembling slightly as he lowered it,

“But you mustn’t lose heart.”
“Though my assistance may prove inadequate, I shall make myself available for consultation whenever needed hereafter.”

“Truly a compassionate master,”

the tenement residents chimed in unison as if harmonizing—

“We earnestly entreat your continued benevolence.”

“What of the official inspection?”

“Yes—it concluded just moments ago.”

“Was any evidence of the thief discovered?”

“They said there was only a single hand towel dropped outside the window.”

“Huh? A hand towel—” He instinctively started to reach toward his breast pocket but pressed his hand down on his knee instead.

“What kind of hand towel?”

“A polka-dotted one.”

As if relieved,

“That alone won’t amount to much of a clue.”
“It might just be that this was also the Rat Boy Thief’s doing.”

“The Rat Boy Thief—”

“He’s the notorious thief who wreaked havoc in Edo, and they say he’s been operating around Kamigata lately.”
“Wanted posters should have been posted at various bridge approaches these past two or three days.”

“Ah, now that you mention it, there are all sorts of rumors.”

“In any case, as this will require your consultation going forward, I humbly ask all of you to handle every matter regarding this situation. As it happens, today I have official business for the town magistrate that requires me to visit Magistrate Shigematsu Sajibē’s residence, so I must hurry on.”

With that, he changed into his geta—

“Since I’ll be meeting him anyway, I’ll make sure to ask Master Shigematsu myself to have the culprit apprehended as soon as possible.”

As he exited the alley, Nikichi hurried off in a fluster.
He hailed a palanquin and rushed straight to Yoriki Town to visit Shigematsu Sajibē.

“Master, an unexpected matter has come up.”

Shigematsu Sajibē, with a gloomy face, looked out at the garden from his armrest.

“What? What sort of unexpected matter?”

“Okino’s father was killed because—”

“Killed?—But he was supposed to be bedridden.”

“He was cut down during a break-in.”
“Last night’s act of forcing a hundred ryō on them ended up backfiring.”
“But isn’t this exactly when kindness should prove its worth?”

“Are you demanding another hundred ryō?”

“Well you see, it was stolen.”

“No.”

he snapped,

“Unless the moon changes its course or they start paying rice stipends again, even I don’t have a single copper.”

With a deeply sullen expression, Nikichi fell silent,

“Huh…”

he bowed his head.

“I must shamefully admit—the truth is, I too encountered thieves, and the strongbox funds were completely stolen.”

“What? Even to your residence?”

“Hmm.”
“It was the night you escorted me back.”

“Master, it wasn’t me.”

“Who said it was you?”
“In any case, I’m utterly perplexed.”

“That must have been quite a misfortune for you. Do you have any leads on the culprit?”

“I don’t know. It seems they wiped it down with a rag.”

“Well then, what should we do about Okino?”

“What do you mean?”

“At this point, you’re weighing whether to give the money again or not.”

“Devise a way to get Okino without paying.”
“By next month, circumstances might resolve themselves.”

“Then forcing her into Shinmachi remains our only option.”
“—Hmm, that’s the only way. Once she becomes a geisha there, what follows depends not on her will but on money and who controls the purse strings.”

“Make it happen! Do something!”

“Even if we leave things as they are, that’s how they’ll end up. But once we’ve dealt with the aftermath, let’s try changing our approach.”

“You’re surprisingly useless.”

“My deepest apologies.”
“You seem rather out of sorts today.”

“Let’s have a drink.”

Again, they headed to Shinmachi.
With the reckless Yanhachi driving, the palanquin raced.

The Thirteenth Night’s Moon

From the beach teahouses of Tenpozan, many moon-viewing boats set out.
Loaded with sake and courtesans, they floated out to the channel markers near the river’s mouth.

It was the night of the thirteenth.
On the water’s surface, it had grown chilly enough that even one’s breath seemed to turn white.

There were two moon-viewing boats that had left the beach teahouse.
With Magistrate Shigematsu Sajibē and Nikichi of the Jiraiya Barbershop as their guests, several attendants and Shinmachi courtesans—their moon hairpins glinting—were aboard.

Before long, as if by prearranged scheme, one boat—carrying only a single courtesan, Nikichi, and Sajibē—began drifting away from Suehiro Bridge toward the open sea.

“Ah, Boatman—please turn back.
Toward the other boat.”

The courtesan—perhaps afraid of the water—trembled as she strained toward the receding companion boat.
—She was a lonely new courtesan who had come from Kōbai that autumn.

“Okino-san, no need to be scared,” Nikichi said. “We’ll stay at Sumiyoshi no Akebono tonight while moon-viewing. Kōbai House already agreed to this—no cause for worry.”

Okino understood she’d been trapped. She slumped against the gunwale where hands had gripped earlier, pressing her forehead to the wood as her shoulders quivered with silent sobs.

“Took a damn lot of work to get you here tonight,” Nikichi pressed. “You’re in the water trade now anyway. Quit acting special and fall in line. Here—take the cup. Cheer up and pour Master a drink already. Gotta do this much at least—or this Nikichi loses face.”

“…………”

“Hey, you!”

“…………”

“Okino…”
“Tch.”

Nikichi started to lose his temper but endured it silently,

“You’re stubborn.
“You could at least have a drink.”
“Come on, snap out of it. At least take the cup.”

The moment Okino shrugged her shoulder away, the cup clinked against the boat’s edge, leaped, and sank into the water’s depths.

“This is it…”

With that, he turned a cold glare toward Sajibē,

“Master, you’ve found your vigor.”

Sajibē kept gulping down sake, but received Nikichi’s cold glare with bitter resentment,

“Boatman.”

He called toward the stern.

“Aye.”

“Would you mind docking near that shore over there and keeping away from land for a while?”

The boatman worked the oar silently and steadily, with the ends of the hand towel covering his cheeks fluttering in the wind as he did so.

“Are you ordering me to go ashore?”

he pressed.

“Yes. There’s a delicate matter to discuss.”

“I refuse!”

“What?!”

“The hell with this!”

“You! How dare a lowly boatman like you defy a customer’s orders?”
“Dock the boat!”

“You’re having a laugh.”

The bean-twisted hand towel spread its wings and flew over the waves.

It was Jirokichi.

“Now, Okino-san.”
“You’ll fall—it’s dangerous.”
“Get to the stern and cling to my legs.”

“Gah!”

Nikichi recoiled with a start—

“You’re the Rat Boy Thief.”

“Hmph.”

With that, Jirokichi showed a smile unbefitting a thief,

“So you actually know that? Take a good look at your own mug, brother.”

Instantly, Shigematsu Sajibē took off his haori jacket and leaped from the boat into the water.
and began swimming toward the shore.

“Damn it.”

Jirokichi tsked and,

“No time to waste. Hey, Jiraiya!”

As if he’d known exactly where it was placed, he raised the short sword faster than one could draw it—

“I’ll take your life!”

With a whoosh, he sliced through the wind and brought it down.

With a crack, a sound like stone splitting rang out at Nikichi’s kneecap. The second strike came toward the shoulder. Nikichi, landing on his backside, slashed at the moonlight with his dagger.

“H-he’s a murderer!”

The scream streaked from the moonlit Anji River toward the sea.

“Tch! She let out such a pathetic girly scream.”
“There’s nothing more pitiful than a stingy thief who cuts down a sick man and runs away.”
“At least try to be reborn emulating someone like me next time!”

After striking him five or six times with the sword, Nikichi’s body collapsed face-down on the boat’s bottom like fish guts, all sound and voice extinguished.

The white moon, the river waves, and Okino’s silver hairpin trembled faintly—that was all there was.

With a splash, he washed his hands over the gunwale,

“Damn, they’re already here.”

With that, Jirokichi tightened his obi.

The boat checkpoint was nearby, so their arrival came surprisingly quickly.
Through the desolate reeds, the pursuers' lights began urgently circling toward the shore.

"No time to dawdle," he said, kicking the corpse overboard and seizing the oar.

"Okino-san, where should I take you?"

"Um..."

Suddenly, blindly, she clung to Jirokichi's hem.

"Anywhere."

"Huh?"

With leaping exhilaration and satisfaction, Jirokichi inadvertently blurted out.

“You mean it?”

—But he quickly reconsidered.

“Damn it, damn it.
“I’m a man of whims.
“There’s no telling when I might get bored again.
“Even when I’m covering my eyes to the execution ground’s sky in my final moments, it’d be sad not to have a single beautiful memory in my whole life.
“I’ll keep just the thirteenth night in memory and part ways with you like this.”

“…………”

Okino could not say anything.
Like a flower in ice, she remained frozen.

“Stay safe.”

It was the thirteenth night—the moon of latter hours—and Jirokichi thought he’d never seen such a moon since the day he was born.

“I’ll keep breathin’ a while longer yet.”
“Right—my trade ain’t about gold. It’s ’bout buyin’ myself more days. And ’fore those days run out, I’ll damn well return a thousand ryō to Wakisaka Sanai’s storehouse.”
“An offerin’ for your old man. —Well, ’bye now.”

“Ah—wait!”

Okino collapsed weeping as spray hit her face.
Jirokichi’s shadow vanished beneath the water’s surface, leaving only a ripple’s shadow bending toward the northern bank.

Another thief broke in.

Moreover, on the very evening Nikichi became driftwood in the Anji River, it was into that Nikichi’s house that the thief had broken in.

Downstairs, Matsu the apprentice was still playing shogi with the regulars.
—From the clothesline pole, he opened the carelessly unsecured door and strolled into the second floor as casually as if announcing his arrival.

It was, of course, Jirokichi.
Aimijin’s sleeves and hem were thoroughly soaked.
While rummaging through the chest of drawers and surrounding areas—making clattering noises all the while—he discovered three untouched money bundles hidden behind the transom frame’s backing and pressed a hand over his mouth to suppress his amusement.

“Wearing his clothes feels damn creepy,” he thought while rummaging through drawers with dry clicks, “but they’ll do for now. There’s gotta be something good here.”

While coughing, he put his hand on the closet and opened it four or five inches—and in that instant, he was terrified.

“Ah, Jirokichi-san!”

“Shh!”

He pressed his hand over Osen’s mouth as if trying to strangle her,

“You’re here in a place like this?”

“Did you come to rescue me?
I’m overjoyed!
Oh, I’m so happy!”

Osen wept with joy.
Rubbing her face against his knee, she wriggled her bound body out from the closet.

“Come on, quickly! Take me and let’s escape!”

“Wait, I didn’t come here to save you.
I came to settle this house’s accounts.”

Such words did not reach Osen’s ears.

“I don’t care how—just untie these ropes and get me out of here.”
“I have no one else in this world to rely on but you.”
“Right, Jirokichi-san?”

“Haven’t you learned your lesson with me yet?”

“I’ll endure any hardship.”

“Hmm, you’ve got some good points after all.”
“Abandoning that anytime—I wouldn’t feel too bad about it.”
“I’ll definitely abandon you again.”

“Don’t abandon me, I beg you—don’t abandon me…”

Even as she said this, Osen shook off the ropes Jirokichi had untied and scrambled from the clothesline to the roof, heedless of danger—but crimson arrest lanterns already choked the rear exit enough to stain everything red.

“Ah, Jirokichi-san!”

With that, she dashed through the tatami room and tried opening the front window, but Jirokichi’s form was nowhere to be seen there either. Taizaemon Bridge too, even the river’s midst—all were nothing but lights and shadows of lightly equipped constables.