Pathway to Japanese Literature

A Day When Even the Larks Do Not Sing

I

As though roaring from its depths rose the boatman’s loud voice—

“—They’re stoppin’ the boats!”
“By the sixth hour, they’re closin’ off both river routes and land routes, I tell ya!”
From boat to boat, they exchanged shouts before pulling up alongside each other.

The post station of Matsudo in Shimousa Province.

The snow had finally stopped falling—but

the heavy snow from yesterday had spread even to this region.
It was the March Peach Festival.
The larks had fallen silent as if dead, and the rapeseed flowers and green wheat lay buried beneath the snow.
The natural disaster of this day in Man'en 1 was not limited to Edo alone.

Gonju of the soy sauce boat was,

“O-Matsu, how long you gonna keep dawdlin’ around? Ain’t that fire caught yet?”
“Still ain’t caught?”

While grimacing at the smoke, he was securing the mooring rope to the shore.

Gonju's daughter was still a young girl of fifteen or sixteen.

"But Father, the firewood's soaked! No matter how much I try burning it, it just won't catch!"

Bringing her face close to the smoldering brazier, her eyes red and irritated, she called out from the stern.

Then from the neighboring dried sardine boat, their companion Hachi began removing the matting,

“Gonju, you fixin’ to make dinner?” he called out, poking his head into view.

“That’s right—we’re ’bout to start.”
“Since my wife died, O-Matsu here’s still just a kid—we ain’t had a decent meal since then.”

“Now don't go sayin’ that—poor Little Matsu here works her heart out for fifteen,”
“Hey, Little Matsu.”

Hachi was changing his clothes.
And while going up to the shore,
“I’m headin’ into town for a drink. How ’bout it, Gonju—don’tcha wanna join me?” he invited.

“Well…?”
“……”

Gonju gave a vague reply.
Since theirs was a boat household with just father and daughter, it seemed he couldn’t bear to leave his fifteen-year-old girl alone.

Hachi, from the shore,

“Hey, Little Matsu. On my way back, I’ll buy you a hairpin. Since you’re a good girl, when the rice is cooked, eat by yourself and go to bed early, all right?”

“Sure, fine.”

O-Matsu looked up at the shore and laughed. Being a boatman’s daughter, she had hair as red as a river imp’s and a dark complexion, but with large, bright eyes—a girl who somehow possessed the qualities that often led people to tease her, saying that if polished, she could soon become a geisha in Itako.

II

Not only in this region but throughout all provinces, from today onward, there was a complete ban on musical instruments by government decree.

In Shichikencho’s pleasure quarter, the houses stood hushed in the snow’s pale glow, row upon row with doors tightly shut.
The silhouettes of stray dogs seemed strangely conspicuous tonight.
Of course, they weren’t open for business; even the leaking of lamplight was done hesitantly, and not so much as the scratch of a pen could be heard.

“Quit it.”

“I said it’s fine!”

“You might be fine on your own, but I can’t go—O-Matsu-bō’s feelin’ lonesome.”

“What’re ya talkin’ about? Cut it out. Your wife up and died on ya—but you ain't exactly been livin' like some lonesome monk neither.”

“But...”

“Ah, just come on already!”

It was Hachi and Gonju who came back utterly drunk from somewhere.
Like puppies, they staggered forward with their necks entwined.
Then, lured by a squeaky voice beckoning through the narrow gap of the large door left slightly ajar, they went swaying up the stairs just like that.

And then, after being shown to separate rooms, Gonju too had apparently fallen into a deep sleep.

“……Huh?”

Then, at some noise, he awoke. Lifting his head from the futon—as if suddenly remembering O-Matsu—he hurriedly began changing his clothes when

“Hush!”

said his courtesan. The courtesan pressed her ear against the sliding door, holding her breath as she focused intently on the loud voice coming from the back room.

“Ah. They’re from the magistrate’s office.”

She muttered this while writhing in the darkness.

III

“Insolent scoundrel!”

Standing imposingly on the front ladder, the three officials bellowed.

They must have been constables from the magistrate’s office. However, they wore none of their usual flowing long haori coats. Their riding hakama were tucked up, and they’d even strapped on gaiters with bureaucratic severity. Splatters of snow-mud clung to their weary faces and backs—marks of having rushed about since morning—rendering them unrecognizable from their ordinary selves.

Glaring down at the apprentice courtesans prostrating themselves in apology and the cowering hired hands, the three officials—

“Silence! Silence!”

They refused to listen.

"Do you take us for blind, deaf puppets? There was most certainly someone on this second floor bellowing songs at full volume."

"But he was merely a customer, Your Honors!"

As the first two officials finished their interrogation, a third constable stepped forward:

"What meaning do you impute to the edict prohibiting musical performances? Do you imagine mere songs lie beyond its jurisdiction? To permit customers upstairs for carousing on this day of all days—when our great Elder Lord Ii has been struck down by rebel samurai while attending to his duties—defies all reason! Those who ascend will keep ascending, and those who enable will keep enabling. Such incorrigible degenerates cannot be indulged. Produce the brothel keeper and this patron at once!"

Finally, even the brothel owner had come and appeared to be apologizing, but—

“This cannot be resolved with mere apologies. Today of all days marks when Lord Ii Kamon-no-kami, Great Elder of the realm, was struck down by ronin scum while proceeding to Edo Castle! With the entire nation—from the shogunate down to every subject—weighing what calamities may follow, making the realm’s anguish their own... What madness is this, singing in a brothel?! Moreover, to secretly admit customers and greedily chase profits at such an hour makes the brothel owner’s impropriety unforgivable. We shall conduct a full inquiry with the owner hereafter—but first, bring out that customer!”

they bellowed.

The brothel owner turned pale,

(……Who on earth…)

When someone whispered to an attendant, another staff member murmured "(It's Hacchan.)" in a low voice. Boatman Hachi - his face now completely sober - was dragged out by attendants and brought forward. "...You there?" demanded the officials, though seeing Hachi's thoroughly unremarkable appearance left them visibly deflated.

Then, another constable entered the large earthen floor at the base of the front ladder,

“Ikeda. Are you there?”

“Ikeda! Are you there?” called up from below.

“Oh? What is it?”

When the constable called Ikeda answered toward the bottom of the ladder,

“We’ve received a report that a ronin was at the soba shop by Fukada Bridge just now—drank one gou of sake, ate noodles, then left toward Gibōshu. Come immediately!”

Upon hearing this, the constables suddenly stirred into a commotion and, leaving Hachi in the brothel owner’s custody,

“I see.—Then that suspicious man we caught a glimpse of at dusk must be the one!”

They all descended the ladder steps at once, then jostled each other as they rushed outside.

IV

Later, even if his companion Hachi were to resent him for his unfaithfulness or whatever might come of it, he couldn't bear the thought of getting dragged into trouble.

Gonju searched alone for the back entrance and fled back in a frenzy.

Even the river was now in the depths of midnight.

Countless boats jammed at the boat mooring clogged the river and lay sleeping.
Gonju hid himself inside his soy sauce-smelling denma boat, immediately pulled up the plank that had been laid to shore, and under the straw covering, let out a sigh of relief as he regained his composure.

“O-Matsu.”
“……O-Matsu.”
“……Have you already gone to sleep?”

Even while feeling ashamed before his child, he click-clicked the light in the box lantern and casually pulled out his own futon from the corner.

The moment he did,

“Wh—?!”

Gonju shouted.

Startled, he jumped back—and in that motion struck his head hard against the boat covering's ceiling. Because the space was narrow, his foot caught on O-Matsu's sleeping face, and O-Matsu too started up in surprise.

And then, as Gonju stood shocked, O-Matsu flinched and her face paled—

"I'm scared—"

she screamed—and clinging to her father's body, collapsed face-down.

In the corner of the boat covering crouched a motionless figure. A young samurai—he must have been hiding there since before Gonju entered, whether having fled too late or waiting for a light to be lit, holding his breath all this time while crouched there.

“Huh…?”

In his overwhelming shock, Gonju’s eyes went vacant, and like a mute, he simply stared at the samurai for a time.

His mud-caked gaiters, straw sandals, and hakama tied at the thighs were torn, with what appeared to be bloodstains scattered here and there. He was barely twenty-three or four years old. He had round, lively eyes brimming with innocence, his features still bearing traces of boyish charm, yet mud splattered across his face and disheveled hair clung to it, creating an altogether spectral appearance. His body remained rigid in a defensive stance, pressed motionless against the corner like a falcon folding its wings.

“Wh-who... are you?”
“...are you?”

Gonju forced out through his parched voice.

“Y-you barged into my boat without askin’? With those... those muddy feet.”
“...This here’s a proper livin’ space under the coverin’, I’ll have you know!”

Then, contrary to his disheveled appearance—the samurai placed both hands on the floor and,

"I beg your forgiveness."

Meekly, he immediately apologized,

“I fully understood this was inexcusable conduct,” he continued gravely, “but in my dire circumstances, I found no moment to consider propriety before hiding within your boat.”
“Moreover—though this is truly an unreasonable request—might I beg you to continue sheltering this humble one and allow me passage aboard your vessel as far as the Hitachi shores of Lake Kasumigaura or the vicinity of Kashima?”

He reiterated.

Gonju felt somewhat relieved and composed himself,

“Well, since this here’s an empty boat returning to Choshi either way, I wouldn’t say no to giving you passage—but there’s checkpoint barriers along the river here in Sekiyado.”
“Do you possess a pass to get through that river checkpoint?”

“As you can see, I do possess a pass, but even so, this is not something I can possibly show to others.”

“Huh.
“Why’s that?”

“The truth is, this morning at Edo’s Sakurada Gate, I too was among the seventeen ronin who joined and fought to take the head of Chief Minister Ii Kamon-no-kami.”

“Gah! Then... you’re from Mito—”

“This humble one is called Kaigo Sajinosuke.
“We successfully struck down the Chief Minister and scattered from the site, but already the shogunate officials’ reach extends everywhere we flee—though I managed to escape here at last… My options are now exhausted.”
“Whether you choose to turn me in or not now rests entirely upon your discretion—”

Gonju's shock now dwarfed his initial astonishment.
His teeth chattered, his body quaked, and of course he could neither refuse nor consent—couldn't muster any response at all.

V

The Chief Minister had been assassinated.

The attackers were seventeen Mito ronin—some had committed seppuku on the spot, others turned themselves in, while still others fled into hiding—so it was said.

Though Edo itself seemed engulfed in upheaval—even hearing such rumors along the way—to Gonju with his rootless existence, it had felt no more real than an earthquake on land.
To a lowly widowed boatman like him, the measure of his evening sake and the price of morning rice resonated far more tangibly through his life than the death of a nation’s chief minister.

But now, it was no longer someone else’s affair.
The death of the Chief Minister had abruptly surged forth like a muddy wave, reaching even them—father and daughter—beneath their boat covering.
If he refused this samurai’s request, this samurai would surely not let them go unscathed; yet if he granted the plea, they would undoubtedly be discovered at the checkpoint—

(What should I do?)

And so, Gonju found himself utterly at a loss, simply staring blankly in terror.

Then O-Matsu,

“Father.”
“Where’d you put that medicine?”
“The day before yesterday, you’d scraped yourself during unloading—that shell-based medicine I bought in Fukagawa.”

She said abruptly from beside him while rummaging through nearby drawers.

And then immediately,

“Found it!”

With that, she moved closer to Sajinosuke’s side,

“Sir, let me put this medicine on your wounds.
You’ve got blood flowing behind your ears and on your hands too.”

“Thank you.”

The tension that had gripped him suddenly softened at the girl’s kindness, and Sajinosuke slumped as if deflated when he spoke.

O-Matsu scooped some medicine onto her fingertip and peered into Sajinosuke’s collar without hesitation.
Though merely a graze, the blackened blood—dried by cold winds—had stiffened like paste down to his undergarment.

“O-Matsu, hold on.”

When he saw that, Gonju too cast aside his wavering thoughts and finally spoke out.

“You can’t just slap ointment on like that outta nowhere.
First you gotta wash the wound with sake or shochu.”

From the boat’s washing area, Gonju brought shochu and tore rags into strips.
Then in a low, trembling voice:

“O-Matsu, I’ll keep watch ashore. Tend his wounds quick and douse that lamp ’fore they spot us.”

he said.

Through a gap in the reed covering, Gonju glared at the shore.
Black figures occasionally passed along the snow-lit bank.
Every one of them looked like officials to him.
There was still no sign of Hachi returning to the neighboring dried sardine boat.

Iris

I

When night dawned—

The backed-up debris gave way like a broken dam, and boats surged toward the river checkpoint’s barrier.

“Quiet!”

“Silence!”

“No matter how much you hurry, we cannot let you pass until the proper inspection is completed.”
“Wait your turn.”

The river checkpoint had stationed more officials than usual, and constables from Edo mingled among them holding plain spears.
It was a severity akin to wartime.

“Clear!”

To boats that passed inspection, they issued permits stamped with the official seal of Sekiyado River authorities,

“Next!”
“Next—!”

Swiftly dividing up, the officials boarded.

“Show me your boat registration permit.”

As soon as two or three of them came to Gonju’s boat, they said authoritatively.

“Right away.”

Gonju’s face stiffened.

Looking at the ship registry on the boat registration permit,

“A soy sauce boat, eh?”

“Right… That’s correct.”

“Remove the reed covering.”

As they spoke, the officials stomped around the boat, lifting planks and peeling back reed coverings themselves, their eyes casting harsh glares—

“Girl.—What’s that barrel?”

Then, someone who had spotted O-Matsu noticed the four-to barrel she was leaning against and questioned it.

“Huh? … What’s that s’posed to mean…”

O-Matsu was leaning against the barrel, peeling vegetable skins in a coarse bamboo basket.

“—Step aside.”

“This barrel here?”

“An empty barrel?”

“It’s got miso in it.”

“A miso barrel.—You’re just a father and child household of two, aren’t you? Why would you need enough miso to fill such a large barrel?”

“Hohohoho. This ain’t the miso we eat, y’know. See, some fancy Edo customer ordered miso pickles around New Year’s, so we hauled this barrel all the way there—but turns out they’d up and moved to Kanda or some such place! Had no choice but to drag it back home, y’see.”

“Hrm, miso pickles?”

As he spoke, the constable suddenly yanked back his unadorned spear and tried to thrust it through the barrel’s side.

“Hey! What’re ya doin’?”

O-Matsu jumped up in surprise.
Taro roots rolled out from the wicker basket on her lap.

“If you wanna check inside, I’ll open the lid and show ya—just hold on a sec. If you go pokin’ holes in the barrel with your spear, ain’t the miso gonna spoil?”

O-Matsu hurriedly opened the barrel.
And thrust her hand deep into the miso, pulling out eggplants, daikon radishes, and the like,
“Want me to pull out more?”
she said with a grin.
The officials also laughed.
“Clear!”
A slip of paper marked as inspected fluttered down at her feet—

II

When the snow melted, the Tone River turned red and muddy, its waters swelled, and for days the waves raged violently.

“Father, seems blood ain’t somethin’ that comes out easy no matter how much ya wash it, huh?”

Having taken shelter from the wind in the deep inlet near Dejima by Itako, moored among the Manchurian wild rice, the soy sauce boat had lain anchored here for four days.

O-Matsu was now taking down dried laundry and folding it.
They were Sajinosuke's undergarments, kosode robe, and hakama trousers.

A cuckoo cried shrilly overhead.
Having borrowed Gonju's fishing coat, Sajinosuke sat curled up beneath the reed awning.

"Miss O-Matsu, I must trouble you again."

When he spoke,

"Mr. Kaigo, if you keep thankin' me so much, I'll run clean outta replies!"

In the cramped boat, after four days of living together, O-Matsu had already grown accustomed to him and began treating him as a friend.

Gonju had gone ashore in the afternoon but soon returned with sake.

And to Sajinosuke,

“Sir, it seems movement in this area has become considerably easier now,” he reported.

That night, Kaigo Sajinosuke had resolved to disembark from here to Tamatsukuri on the Hitachi shore,

“I see. That is most kind.”

he said with heartfelt sincerity.

When evening came, beneath the dim glow of a fish-shaped lantern, the father and daughter prepared sake.
Though modest in scale, this gathering held the bittersweet air of a farewell.
Gonju kept him company with sake, and O-Matsu mended the torn seam of the laundered hakama trousers.
Kaigo Sajinosuke could no longer hold back his tears.

Recalling poems sung by wandering Chinese poets, he sank into sentimental reverie.

“Mr. Kaigo, I ain’t much good with a needle, so this stitching’s real rough.”

O-Matsu chewed the thread with her incisors and presented the mended hakama trousers.

After preparing himself and expressing his profound gratitude, just as he was about to disembark onto the shore, O-Matsu—who until then had been laughing innocently—suddenly had her eyes well up,

“Goodbye.”

With those words, she hid beneath the dark reed covering.

Kaigo Sajinosuke retraced his steps and,

“—O-Matsu.”

he called.

Receiving no reply, he returned to Gonju’s side,

"I have no coin to spare, nor proper gift to show gratitude... But take this menuki from my sword—iron base with iris inlay carving, unmarked by any smith yet worn long through service. Keep it as remembrance."

“No, I couldn’t possibly.”

Gonju pushed it back, but—

“It’s merely a trifling token.”

With those final words, Sajinosuke ran off toward the vast plain along the Hitachi shore, where a desolate, dark wind whispered.

III

—I’m alive!

To thus become aware of my own existence—when I think of it, I cannot help but find it strange.

When I conspired with my comrades and set out from Mito toward Edo, I never imagined I would traverse this path alive again.

(What has become of Lord Seki? And Lord Kaneko, Koibuchi Kanato, Lord Sano Takenosuke, and the others?)

The ghastly faces of my comrades from that day at Sakurada—they appeared before my eyes.

Even as he walked through the darkness, Kaigo Sajinosuke’s eyes could not stop seeing the white flickering lights—the phantom of that day’s blizzard.
It was the phantom of blades from when his comrades and the Ii family’s retainers had slashed chaotically at each other—

—We succeeded.

His young heart felt ready to burst—swollen with ambition for glory, patriotic fervor, and the satisfaction of having given his all.

With this single act, the shogunate’s policies would completely change, and the nation would brighten.
The morale of those upholding Sonnō Jōi grew ever more resolute; even if they temporarily bore the disgrace of desertion, their sincere loyalty would surely reach their feudal lord—within his heart, there was nothing to feel ashamed of when reflecting on his actions.

However, as he approached Mito, the households of his comrades left behind in the castle town came to mind, and his heart grew dark.

Wives left behind by their husbands to guard lonely homes—innocent children crying at night, longing for their fathers—elderly parents outliving their children—

—Ah… If even this fails to better the world…

He turned eyes still clouded with grief and indignation toward a blue star and muttered—considering not their blood spilled at Sakurada but the great sacrifices made there.

After many nights of travel, he gazed from Kasama Pass's summit at distant lights of the beloved castle town.

Yet he remained barred from setting foot within those walls.

Facing the castle's direction, he pressed his forehead to earth in reverence before departing that place.

At every place he went, rumors from the streets reached his ears.—Through these, he learned that of the seventeen who had acted alongside him, nearly all had either taken their own lives or been captured immediately after the incident; now, beneath the stars, only two or three others besides himself still drew breath.

Caterpillar Cherry Blossom

I

"Since this house shares blood ties with him—and even without that, the world watches us with suspicion—" said Kumenosuke.

"You must marry into another family someday. These visits could harm your marriage prospects... For both our sakes, stop coming here."

Though his words carried severity, Kumenosuke's concern held warmth beneath. Whenever he saw O-Naka's face, he would counsel her with earnest care.

O-Naka did nothing but weep.

And yet, no matter how many times she was scolded, she couldn't stay away from this house.

This house was the priestly residence of Mishima Shrine, nestled against the mountains in Karasuyama town.
Kumenosuke served as its shrine priest and was Kaigo Sajinosuke's blood brother.

"Aunt, though it's but a trifle, please give this to the children."

Tonight as well, since evening, O-Naka had come to talk.
Perhaps fearing that showing herself to the master would earn another reprimand, she would bring sweets and simmered dishes to mingle among Kumenosuke’s wife and children, joining in their play.

O-Naka was the second daughter of the town’s cotton wholesaler.
Kumenosuke’s wife was well aware that she had long held feelings for the master’s younger brother, Sajinosuke.

Precisely because she understood such feelings from her own maiden days, for O-Kaya, the wife,

“Miss O-Naka, should my husband’s younger brother Sajinosuke-sama come here by any chance, we will certainly let you meet him. Until then, as my husband says, it would be best if you did not visit here too often.”

That was all she could say.

“Yes…”

O-Naka immediately teared up,

“Aunt, what should I do?”

“What do you mean by ‘what should I do’?”

“There’s… there’s been talk of arranging my marriage.”

“That sounds splendid.—Even if he were to return alive, Sajinosuke is a wanted man by the shogunate.”

“But I simply cannot accept this, you must understand.”

“Who might it be? The prospective groom—”

“They propose Sen’emon the silk broker.”

“Oh? That man?”

A cough echoed from the inner study—

“O-Kaya, O-Kaya.”

“Yes, sir.”

She entered her husband’s study.
And then, when she returned, she lowered her voice.

“Miss O-Naka, the master has heard your voice and is becoming rather displeased again.”

“I’m sorry.
I’ll take my leave now.”

“Please don’t take offense.
Even my husband is thinking of your future.”

“I understand, Aunt.”

“When I mentioned the marriage proposal with Mr. Sen’emon just now, he said that man would be a reliable one to entrust your life to.
In Karasuyama town, he's reputed to be reliable and the most trustworthy person, and since he has business acumen, it's a good marriage proposal.
He told me to encourage you as well, but this is one matter where…”

“...I won’t be visiting for a while now. Goodbye, Aunt.”

“Do take the lantern with you.”

“I know this path well.”

O-Naka, lost in thought and even mindful of the sound her departing footsteps might make, slipped quietly out through the back door of the priest’s residence.

At the back gate, she passed a man covered in rice bran shouldering a sack of rice. He was the young man from the rice dealer’s shop.

“Good evening—”

“Good evening.”

The rice dealer entered the kitchen, and O-Naka walked outside, silently staring at the darkness underfoot.

II

The stone steps of the shrine, enveloped by rows of cherry trees, were pitch dark.

Step by step, O-Naka descended, lost in thought, her feet heavy as she went.

(...No matter what I do, I cannot be with him.)

While aware of her own foolishness, she found herself unable to relinquish that foolish obsession.

Then, from behind,

“Miss, it’s dangerous not to carry a lantern.
“I shall escort you to town.”

Just then, the young man from the rice dealer’s shop who had been there earlier, having emptied his sack of rice, caught up to her.

“Thank you. There aren’t any stars visible tonight.”
“It’s nearly May darkness season.”
“At the Honorable Priest’s household—have they been getting rice from your shop since before?”
“Well now, we’ve had their custom for many years, but—Miss...” said the grain shop worker in a hushed voice,
“Has there been someone staying at that house lately—a guest or such?”
“Why d’you ask?”
“Well... um, their rice needs have been different of late.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve been seeing you around that house more than before.”

“Exactly—for four or five years now, their rice needs were fixed at one to per set number of days. But lately it’s been disappearing faster. Whenever we think there should still be some left, they send us reminders.”

“Huh?”

O-Naka suddenly stopped in her tracks.
At her feet, two or three caterpillars emitting an eerie glow were squirming.
In the lantern light, her complexion appeared to flicker, having changed to resemble the fresh green leaves of newly leafed cherry trees, and she looked as though she wasn’t even breathing.

“That’s strange...”

The young man from the rice dealer's shop added this, but then glanced at O-Naka's face,

"No, it's not that we mind at all—in fact, we're grateful you're taking more from us. Heh heh heh heh heh."

he said, masking it with a laugh.

As they neared the town, the grain shop worker hurried off ahead with a quick farewell.
O-Naka abruptly began spilling tears,

“How cruel!” she muttered. “That’s it—Mr. Sajinosuke must be hiding deep within the shrine family’s residence. Rumors circulated that he had fled from Sakurada as well... He must think that if he meets me, it will become known to the world, or that I might even inform on him.” Until now, she had listened to Kumenosuke and his wife’s words with goodwill, but now that she realized this truth, they all came to feel like needles rejecting her. “...How absurd—why haven’t I... until now?”

O-Naka turned toward the dark sky swept by night wind and stood frozen in frustration.

III

It was rumored in Karasuyama that Sen'emon had taken raw silk from spring cocoons to Yokohama and must have returned with a vast amount of money pocketed.

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

When Sen'emon saw the faces of the townspeople trying to leech off him, he spat out his words.

“Well now, during the autumn cocoon season ’twas all good.
“But you don’t find loaches under the same willow twice, as they say.”
"The hundred-kanme load I hauled all the way there—this time around, it wasn’t even worth two bundles three coins. Not a single damn foreigner would put a price on it.—Why’s that?”
“Plain as day—Lord Ii Kamon-no-kami done got himself killed, ain’t he?”
“The Lord Chief Minister who’d been pushing his grand policy of opening ports and letting trade boom—his head done flew off.”
“Raw silk’s crashed straight through the floor.”
“Even them foreign residences in Kanagawa that’d just started taking root are done got all jittery, thinkin’ they’ll up and sail home any minute now. Ain’t no deals gettin’ struck for even a single copper.”

Indeed, those who heard this possessed only enough understanding to be impressed by it.

However, Sen'emon's countenance bore no such gloom.
He had gold coins.
He had foreign dollars as well and showed them off to teahouse girls.

Today as well, while indulging in daytime revelry at the town's restaurant,

"Mr. Wataya of the cotton shop has come to visit, saying he wishes to see you."

Magnanimously receiving the maid's message,

"Oh, they're here?"
"Go on and show 'em through."

When he went to check, Denbei of Kawanishiya, the cotton wholesaler, was waiting there with daughter O-Naka.

“Mr. Sen’emon. It may be uncouth of me to come calling on you in such a place, but regarding that marriage proposal we discussed some time ago—today my daughter wished to give her formal response, so I’ve brought her along.”

When Denbei said with apparent difficulty, O-Naka placed her hands on the tatami, intending to say something, but instead broke into sobs and prostrated herself.

“Well now,”

Sen’emon scoffed nonchalantly,

“As for that response—well, I’ve already received a harsh elbow-block from Miss O-Naka and had given up on the matter...”

“Please forgive me.”

Through her sobs, O-Naka said:
"It was my mistake."
"I realized my thoughtlessness, but when I told Father, he said a parent couldn’t possibly retract it himself."
"He said if I wished to apologize, I must do so myself."

"Hmm... So you’ve changed your mind?"

"That is correct."

"Well then, I’ll reconsider too."
"But if you keep cherishing that priest’s younger brother in your heart forever, this husband won’t stand for it."

“I... will show you proof that I harbor no such feelings.”

“Proof.”
“Interesting. Let’s see how you’ll show me.”

“If you would retract the marriage proposal—and though this is a selfish request—if you would deign to save my father from his predicament as per our initial agreement...”

“Fine.”

Sen'emon clapped his hands.

Then, summoning his clerk and whispering instructions, the clerk immediately brought gold coins.
It was not a small sum.

“Then right here and now, I’ll present five hundred gold coins as a betrothal gift to your father.”

The hardship faced by Denbei of the cotton shop was known throughout the town.
The financial situation was even more dire than people knew.
When he saw the money that would save them through his daughter’s body there, Denbei hung his head in shame.

IV

“Madam.”
“I must apologize for my transgression.”
“Please forgive me.”

The young man from the rice shop, who had come empty-handed without any rice, was apologizing to O-Kaya with a face on the verge of tears.

“What’s the matter? I don’t understand any of this.”

“The truth is—the other evening when I happened to walk home with Miss O-Naka of the cotton shop—I let slip some careless words.”

“What…”

“Well... it’s... rather difficult to say, but lately at the priest’s esteemed household—could you perhaps have a long-term guest staying? The rice provisions have increased compared to before.”

O-Kaya’s face momentarily paled, but she immediately forced a chuckle and,

“Ah, recently we had one of my husband’s poetry friends stay with us for a while during his pilgrimage.”

“I too assumed it was probably something like that and just let it slip casually, but Miss O-Naka must have taken it some way, because she went and reported it to the magistrate’s office.”

“Wha...? ...Is that true?”

“I caught wind of it and was utterly shocked myself, so I rushed here to inform you as a token of apology.”

“I see. If the officials come to investigate, society’s suspicions will be cleared—this would actually prove advantageous for our household. But rest assured, I shall properly convey your considerate gesture to my husband.”

When the young man from the rice shop left, O-Kaya hurriedly came to her husband’s room and whispered in his ear.

Kumenosuke sighed,

“Ah, this is why one cannot let down their guard around women.
“But you mustn’t let Sajinosuke hear about this.”

Having fully briefed her—immediately,

“Keep watch outside.”

“Y-yes.”

When O-Kaya got up and left, Kumenosuke went into the back eight-tatami room.

In the priest’s house was a room called the "kamiza"—found in any such household—that was normally kept off-limits.
Sajinosuke had already been hidden there for over two months now.
“Run—they’ve found your trail.”

Startled by his brother’s abrupt words, he had nevertheless been prepared for this eventuality since long before,
“No—if they find out, I’ll turn myself in.”

he said.

“Don’t be absurd.
“You’re a man who considers himself a patriot, aren’t you?
“There are still many things you must do for the country.
“Live as long as you can live, and die after exhausting all you can give for the country.”

“But all the other comrades have either committed seppuku or surrendered themselves.
“For this humble one alone to survive weighs heavily on my heart.”

“That’s not true.
“If you are alive by betraying those people, that’s a different matter—you too must fulfill your duty, for our pact has already ended.
“From now on, if you as an individual find a path worth living for and continue devoting yourself to national affairs even a little more, you will splendidly uphold the way of the samurai… Now, someone has kindly informed us, so the constables may arrive at any moment.
“In any case, climb the back mountain of this shrine for now and hide in the valley or wherever.
“Once the embers have cooled, you should flee to a distant province.”

Tears of sincerity glistened in his blood brother's eyes. But when faced with leaving this place, Sajinosuke suddenly recalled O-Naka's visage in his heart. (I beg you—just let me meet her once in secret.)

He had once pleaded with his sister-in-law as well, but had remained unable to meet her. But faced with his brother's present words and those eyes glistening with sincere emotion, he of course could not bring himself to utter such a thing.

Mountain and Town

1

“They say the mountain priest has gone a bit mad lately.”

“Why?”

“Sometimes he goes sneakin’ up the back mountain, then around Ōtahara or Jagagai Pond, all by his lonesome, shoutin’ at the top of his lungs—that’s what they’re sayin’.”

“What’s he shoutin’ about?”

“They say sometimes he’ll belt out Chinese poems—you know, that poetry chantin’ thing—and other times he’ll wander ’round croonin’ lullabies.”
“Mountain woodcutters spotted him doin’ that two or three times in them parts.”

“Poor soul.”

“The other day, I heard the magistrate’s office brought constables and did a brutal house search."
“Apparently at that time, he had a terrible fight with the officials—so maybe that’s what drove him mad, ain’t that right?”

Summer was approaching——

Among the people of Karasuyama Town and the mulberry pickers, such rumors often circulated.

Guards had been stationed in front of the priest’s residence ever since that incident, but when June arrived, those guards were gone.

Kumenosuke, the master, went up into the mountains again today.

Today, he carried a gourd and had a large lunch box tied to his waist.

When he passed through Hinazawa, the woodcutters who were sawing timber in the stream—

“Look, there he goes again,” they whispered and laughed.

“Hah—”

Kumenosuke swept aside the branches with his walking staff. And then, peering into the mountain stream,

"You men! You men! A tengu just fell down there!"
"I struck it down! Tie it up for now—I’ll take it back with me."

he roared.

“Hahaha!”

At this, the ravine woodcutters clutched their stomachs and roared with laughter.

The sword severs mountain peaks,

A murderous aura spreads.

Rust-stained iron blossoms,

Resurrection flowers grow——

The voice of poetic recitation was already atop the peak.

Even when encountering charcoal burners, woodcutters, or strangers, Kumenosuke immediately acted the fool.
Because it was the mountains, everyone would get scared and run away.

“Hey you, stop!”

And there were those who, being chased, felt their courage shrivel.

In the Ōtahara fields area, people rarely passed through.
The daytime moon hung dimly over the grass flowers.

"Delicious."

While standing and drinking from his gourd of sake, he wandered deeper and deeper into the mountains, as if forgetting the approach of dusk.

And then, occasionally bursting into sudden loud recitations of poetry as he went,

“Brother!”

Then someone called out from the tree shade—no, it had been a response to that poetic recitation.

After glancing around, the brothers embraced each other. Kumenosuke’s act of feigning madness—wandering about reciting poems and songs—was a strategy to inform his younger brother hiding in the mountains of his arrival and summon him.

“You have endured much hardship,” Sajinosuke said.

He could not look at his brother without tears.

“And yet there was still some food remaining from what you brought me before.”

“No—today I brought sake in the gourd.”

“I must apologize for you even bringing sake.”

“I thought we’d drink to our parting.”
The older brother said gravely.

“The investigations in both towns and highways appear to have significantly died down.
“I think now is the time for you to slip away to another province.
“I also brought some travel funds.
“I’ve brought underclothes and gaiters wrapped up.
“Tonight, descend the mountain and flee along the highway.”

“So we won’t meet again, will we.”

“If the world should change once more...”

“That world too seems neither to change nor progress as we had envisioned.”

“Don’t overestimate your own strength.
From now on, take good care of yourself……
Well then, where shall we drink?”

“If we’re to share this sake, let us drink somewhere under vast open skies. Having hidden in these damp valleys, I’ve had my fill of dark places.”

“Very well.”

Coming out to the mountainside, the brothers sat down on the mountain grass.
Below them, a single light flickered into view.

“Ah, I can see the house.”

Sajinosuke involuntarily stretched upward, picturing in his mind the family gathering of his sister-in-law and small nephews and nieces beneath that light.

II

"I've gotten drunk—Brother."

Sajinosuke stretched out his arm and gazed at the stars like a child.

"It’s good… Yes, being alive truly is good. …The dead are tedious."
"The dead no longer have the power to move the world."
"But I, who am alive, still do."

"Brother... From here on out, take utmost care to protect yourself—don’t do anything reckless. Just as you muttered now."
"Think of the coming decades as the rest of your life and treasure them."

“I shall cherish it.”

Bowing deeply from the heart—suddenly, he widened his eyes at the countless lights visible in the vast dark depths beyond.

"What could that be, Brother?"

"Those are Karasuyama Town's lights."

"I know that much, but around which crossroads would it be—there's an intense cluster of what look like lantern lights moving..."

"Hmm... Indeed."

"It's the arresting officers!"

As he jerked up in alarm, Kumenosuke pressed down on his brother's arm and spoke calmly.

"No..."
"Sit."

"I didn't rise out of fear for myself—if they might raid our home in my absence and Sister and the children suffer rough handling by the magistrate's men..."

"There's no danger—you misunderstand.
That pompous lantern procession is a wedding."

“Ah... Oh, it’s a town wedding?”

“Since you’ll be parting ways with both the people and mountains-and-rivers of this country after tonight anyway, I meant to keep silent if you remained unaware—but now that you’ve noticed, I shall speak plainly.”
“Those lights there—they’re the extravagant glow from Miss O-Naka being taken as bride by silk broker Sen’emon.”

“...”

Sajinosuke listened to his brother’s words in a daze.
When he learned that the one who had informed on him was O-Naka, whom he had trusted most, he began to feel as though he could no longer believe in the world.

A Dullard in the Age of Enlightenment

I

“Hey, Hataoka Junsa.”

“Yes.”

“‘Yes’ won’t cut it, you. Do you think there exists an officer stationed at a police outpost charged with the vital duty of protecting the people who would sit in a sunny spot picking fleas off a dog? The First-Class Patrolman is searching over there, isn’t he?”

“Is that so, sir?”

From behind the janitor’s room, Hataoka Junsa lumbered to his feet and moved away. Among the off-duty policemen, there were also some napping elsewhere. He too was part of that off-duty group but offered no excuse.

The sound of cicadas enveloped the low Western-style building.
The clock at the Yuki Police Outpost in Ibaraki Prefecture pointed exactly to half past one.

It was midsummer in the ninth year of Meiji.

“Were you calling for me, sir?”

When Patrolman Hataoka stood up, First-Class Patrolman Ishida, who had been flipping through some documents,

“You were stationed at the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department until last year, isn’t that right?”

asked.

“That is correct.”

“If you were in Tokyo, you should know a bit about Yokohama’s geography.”

“I have not worked in Yokohama, but I have often made business trips there.”

“I see. To be frank, within the station, we’re full of people unfamiliar with both Tokyo and Yokohama. There’s a matter I’d like you to handle by making a business trip to Yokohama.”
“Can you depart immediately?”

“Yes, sir. As I have no wife or children to consider, if it is your command, I can depart even now.”

“Then go with this man.”
“The travel expenses have already been issued from accounting, and you should get all the details about the case from this man—”

He was immediately handed the official orders.

Behind First-Class Patrolman Ishida, by the window, a man resembling a Toyama pharmaceutical salesman—wearing a twin-striped unlined garment and white shirt—sat waiting.

"This is who I am,"

he said while presenting his business card.

Mito Police Outpost Detective: Tanabe Kenzaburō
was written.

Patrolman Hataoka also hurriedly searched through his pockets with a nostalgic air.

"Mito?"

he asked while looking at Tanabe Kenzaburō's face.

"That's correct—so you're also from honorable Mito—"

“No—that’s incorrect. This humble one is of the samurai class from Tokyo Prefecture—” While refuting this, he hurriedly presented a business card that read “Hataoka Gōzō”.

II

Black woolen uniforms were issued, and until the nights along the coast road began to feel slightly chilly in the autumn breeze, Patrolman Hataoka and Detective Tanabe Kenzaburō remained in Yokohama on their assignment.

Holding an oak stick, Patrolman Hataoka walked aimlessly through the foreign settlement and along the coast road every day and night.

It was all so utterly aimless—.

This was because only Detective Tanabe had directly seen and knew the face of the criminal they had been ordered to apprehend, and there was no one at the Yokohama police outpost who did either.

He was a gangster from a peasant family in Ibaraki Prefecture who had also spent some time in Oarai. Having infiltrated this open port, he had been actively conducting fraudulent gambling schemes between Japanese and foreign residents, but perhaps due to his clever disguises when moving about, the authorities were completely unable to apprehend the ringleader himself—which was precisely why Detective Tanabe had been summoned. However, even Detective Tanabe, who knew the man’s face, was still unable to track him down.

—height of [X] shaku [X] sun; muscular yet fatty build; tabi socks costing [X] mon; slightly dark complexion with pockmarks; right eyebrow somewhat sparse...—they had been given such an elaborate physiognomy report,

“If you find him, immediately report to the temporary office at Yamate Police Outpost.”

Having been instructed thus by Detective Tanabe, even Patrolman Hataoka—who walked these routes daily—began to feel he no longer understood what purpose had brought him here.

Yet Hataoka never grew tired of it.
The reason he never grew tired was that from the very beginning, he held not the slightest ambition, competitive spirit, or any such excitement.

When detectives from other prefectures arrived on assignment, the patrolmen and detectives at Yamate Outpost abruptly changed their expressions and threw themselves into the task with fervor. Naturally, Detective Tanabe Kenzaburō too—feeling as though challenged—encouraged his sole ally Patrolman Hataoka:

“Should we two apprehend the criminal ourselves through our own efforts, I’ll see to it the outpost grants you a fitting commendation.”

He pressed him thus.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh.”

Though his replies were undoubtedly obedient, not a trace of enthusiasm or excitement could be seen welling up on Patrolman Hataoka’s face.

“What a useless fool they’ve saddled me with.”

Tanabe resented the Yūki Police Outpost’s personnel selection.

“Every outpost has its dullards, but I’ve never seen one like that.”
“No matter what I try to discuss with him, he just gives vague half-responses, and even when we drink together, it’s exactly like that.”
“He hasn’t told a single story from the past.”
“Just how old is he this year anyway?”

At times, he would grow impatient and shout at him, but even during such moments,

“Uh-huh… You’re absolutely right… Uh-huh, I’ll be more careful.”

That was the most emotion he could muster.

III

Raw Silk Inspection Offices, banks, art dealers, trading houses—through this brick-built town that could not have been seen even ten years earlier, horses pulling covered wagons loaded with sugar and American flour galloped beneath cracking whips, kicking up yellow dust.

“Look out! Watch where you’re going, the hell you’re supposed to be a cop!”

Being yelled at by the sugar wagon's horse driver, Patrolman Hataoka hurriedly dodged sideways.

He always seemed to be walking while lost in thought.

At a street stall, an old man grilling daifuku mochi was staring intently at his face,

“Ah! You there—”

the old man came chasing after him and suddenly said—

“Sir—might you be the second son of Lord Kaigo of Mito?”

“You—!
What’d you say?”

“That’s right!
That's right! — Sir, have you forgotten me?
I was the proprietor of a soba shop near Lord Mito’s estate in Koishikawa, sir.”

“...What the hell are you talking about, you—?”

“At the estate lords’ manor, I always received kind patronage, so even now I still remember each of those masters from time to time.”
“Why sir—though you were still young then—you must have visited four or five times with Lords Hasuda and Seki and others.”
"...But then soon after came that Sakurada Gate incident, wasn't it? When I bought those printed bulletins, there I saw names of familiar masters like Lord Sano Takenosuke who always joked around, or good-natured Lord Kurosawa Chūzaburō—several of them! I enshrined that bulletin on my family altar to honor them... And among those seventeen names listed, I could've sworn yours was there too—Kaigo Sajinosuke's name in all its glory. Yet how come you've remained unharmed till today..."

“Hey! You—what the hell are you saying? What are you—”

Patrolman Hataoka wore an expression as stiff as the stick he held,

“I have no idea what you’re talking about...”

“Is that so…?
“Is that so?”

“You’ve got the wrong person.”

“But...? ...How strange.”
“The more I look, the more you resemble him, but…”

“How about giving me one daifuku mochi instead of all that?”

“Right away!
“Please have a seat over here.”

The old man poured brown tea and,
“Sir, I’m an Edo man myself.”
“If I’ve said something wrong, I’d rather die than spill a word... You really are Lord Kaigo Sajinosuke, aren’t you?”

“No, no.”

After placing the money, he immediately began walking in silence while brushing off the daifuku mochi powder.

After walking about twenty paces, Patrolman Hataoka turned around and muttered:

It’s terrifying.
It seems there are still people who remember my face.

IV

Even to himself, the name Kaigo Sajinosuke now felt like that of a stranger.
To have that suddenly happen today—

(The master was from Sakurada)

Never before had there been a case where he had been so bluntly identified.

Because in society's collective memory, all seventeen ronin of Sakurada Gate were already considered dead.

Moreover, after leaving Karasuyama, Sajinosuke had hidden in Echigo and later participated in Hitachi Province's port town conflicts, scarcely spending even a single day in places where people might remember him.

After the Meiji Restoration, having changed his name to Hataoka Gōzō and been appointed as a patrolman in the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department, he had never once told anyone about being one of the ronin who had participated in the Sakurada Incident.

However, there were those convinced that one or two remnants of Sakurada still lived somewhere.
They were the samurai of Hikone.

After the Restoration—when they saw the flourishing open-port trade that had supposedly been the Chief Minister's ideal, among the Ii clan's former retainers there had already begun a movement to erect a statue honoring him as a pioneer of national openness who deserved posthumous vindication for his tarnished reputation.

Given that among those who bore marrow-deep hatred for Mito it was known survivors of the Sakurada Incident still existed, it stood to reason—Patrolman Hataoka, formerly Kaigo Sajinosuke, could not escape being constantly threatened by certain individuals from behind.

He even felt his life was in danger.
There had also been times when suspicious officers and soldiers had pursued him and pointed their blades at him.
However, Patrolman Hataoka’s lack of emotion, his expressionlessness, and even his seemingly obstinate disposition did not stem from such fears; rather, it could be said that the dazzling transformations of society he witnessed daily had rendered him mute with skepticism.

He saw it in Tokyo as well.

Even here in Yokohama, he saw it.

Observing the carriages of high-ranking officials adorned with gold braid rumbling through the imperial capital, and the countless upstarts riding the golden age of open ports as they raised their lavish cups in towering buildings—was this truly why the Restoration had shed so much precious blood throughout the long years of Bakumatsu?
Was the Sakurada Incident even carried out?
Is this the ideal society that the many patriots who now lie as white bones underground had sought?

Patrolman Hataoka found himself unable to comprehend.

The more he tried to understand, the more his mind seemed to deteriorate.
No—he was becoming unable to go on living.

It was unclear whether he had forged his current disposition through something like spiritual discipline.
Absent-mindedness was bliss.
Having become the dullest of the dull, he prayed that even the slightest sting would not awaken his eyes to the truth.
Being a patrolman was precisely the sort of duty meant for someone like him.

6:00 PM.

In accordance with regulations, he returned to the duty room at Yamate Outpost.

And then, when he absentmindedly opened his desk drawer, there lay a hastily scribbled note on ruled paper—

Foreign Settlement Building No. 14

Red Western-style mansion

Cookhouse back gate

Urgent surveillance required until late at night.

Contact will be made from the rear.
(Tanabe)

Tanabe’s order pierced his eyes.

Phantom Lantern

I

That blue streetlamp, located one block inland from the coast, upon closer inspection, was occasionally shuddering at the sound of the waves.

The Western-style mansion that had received the order stood at the intersection. About forty yards from the back gate where light from what seemed to be the cookhouse shone, Patrolman Hataoka stood.

From ships in the harbor came an hourly bell toll.

"It's already eleven o'clock," he thought.

For approximately five hours, Patrolman Hataoka saw no one entering or exiting the gate he was watching.
However, he felt neither confusion nor disappointment.
Where he held no expectations toward his objective, there was neither room for confusion nor cause for disappointment.

"He’d be getting some sort of contact from Detective Tanabe soon."

He was waiting for that alone.

However, his legs were not made of wood.

Even the usually unflappable Patrolman Hataoka must have started wandering aimlessly through that short distance when he remembered the numbness in his legs.

—And then.

As if a scrap of half-width cloth were flying through the air, a woman in a white apron came running from the distance.
Just as fog rolled in from the sea, shrouding the street in haze so thick that the streetlamps' lights appeared doubled.

"Is she coming here?"

Patrolman Hataoka had immediately identified the woman's shadow as that of a maid from the Western-style mansion.

“Ah! You’re the officer, aren’t you?”

As soon as she drew near, the woman rushed to Patrolman Hataoka’s side and clung to his arm.
And she tried to say something, but her shoulders alone rippled like waves,

“S-something terrible has happened! ……P-please come quickly. Right away!”

Her voice was half a sob.

“What’s happened?”

“M-Master… sir has been killed.” “My master… with a pistol… with a pistol…”

“Was there a murder?”

“So come quickly! If you don’t hurry, the criminal will either escape or die!”

“This is troublesome... I'm supposed to stay put here.”

“What do you mean? Even though I’m reporting a murder, you can’t come, Officer?”

“I’m from another prefecture. And I have duties.”

“Even if you say that, it’s impossible! Please come! Please come!”

The woman pulled on his arm.

Encouraged by her frantic expression, Patrolman Hataoka steeled his resolve.
He started running after the woman.

The woman crossed Yato Bridge.

It was a Western-style mansion situated halfway up the hillside.

“Please catch him! The criminal must still be there—you saw a shadow against the curtain, didn’t you? But he has a pistol, so just be careful about that.”

Pointing at the third-floor window, the woman spoke as if in a trance. The light shining through blue curtains looked—perhaps trick of the mind—like some demonic lantern.

Pointing at the third-floor window, the woman spoke absently.
The light filtering through the blue curtain appeared, perhaps trick of the mind, like some spectral lantern’s glow.

II

Patrolman Hataoka, while looking up at the window, questioned the flustered hired woman a few times.

“Your master’s the culprit, isn’t he.”

“Yes… yes… that’s right.”

“He’s not a foreigner, is he?”

“He is Japanese.”

“What’s his business?”

“As I am a lady, I have no occupation.”

“But what about that husband of yours?”

“I have no husband.
As I’m his concubine—the one killed was my master.”

“Ah, so this is a concubine’s residence.”

“Master is a raw silk broker residing on Benten-dori Avenue.”
“As for the main residence, I sent the old servant to inform them, so the wife may come with him.”
“Why did such a tragedy occur—do you not know?”

“Because Master said he would cut ties.”

“Just because he said he’d cut ties doesn’t mean it would come to something like this.”

“I don’t know the full details, but I heard Master redeemed the mistress here from being a courtesan at Kamikaze-ro and kept her in this place. That alone would be one thing—but then Master started bringing foreign business associates here, claiming she was his niece, and forcing her to perform the same services she did at the brothel. And they say he took considerable money from those foreigners.”

“In the end, he probably told her to cut ties and get out, like discarding a pair of worn-out clogs.”

“The criminal—what’s the name?”
“There’s a nameplate right there.”
“Ah, I see... So it’s Kijima Matsuko.”

As someone held up a horn lantern to examine it, from behind came the crunch of rickshaw wheels grinding through gravel.

“Ah! The Madam from the main residence!”

When she saw the woman alight from the rickshaw, the maid pressed her apron to her face and burst into tears—as though she herself were the criminal—

“I’m so sorry.
...Master... ended up like that.”

she shrilled through her weeping.

The woman who had descended wore her hair in an evening coiffure, her sickly pale skin making her appear fragile at first glance.

"There was nothing to be done... My husband too had reasons for meeting such a fate."

Perhaps she had long been prepared for this moment—her eyes held no tears. There was none of the panic one might expect from a wife rushing to her husband's violent death.

"Have the police arrived yet?..."

"No, they've already come."

The maid pointed at Hataoka Junsa's shadow.
Realizing this, Madam stepped forward.
And courteously,

“I have caused you such trouble—truly, truly, I am most deeply sorry.”

she said.

“…………”

Hataoka Junsa gave no answer.
From the moment he caught a glimpse of Madam stepping down from the rickshaw’s footboard, Hataoka Junsa had been standing there rigidly, petrified for some reason.
And in response to Madam’s greeting, he even turned his face away sideways.

Madam reiterated—

“I am Nakako, wife of Kimura Sen’emon of the raw silk trade.”

As she spoke, she casually looked up at the policeman’s face from his chest—the moment she did, her eyes flew open as if startled,

“Ah, you!”

She shrieked and staggered forward.

“Madam!”

The maid, startled, supported her from behind.
Her face resembled a corpse's, the color having drained even from her lips.

III

"What has happened here?"

Hataoka Junsa said coldly.
That said, there was not the slightest hint of cold disdain or vengeance in his manner.
It was nothing more than him being his usual self.

“Perhaps you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“I am Police Officer Hataoka Gōzō.”
“Well then, I’ll go up to apprehend the criminal on the third floor.”

He pushed open the door and stomped into the house.

The moment his back vanished behind the door—prompted by the old servant’s report—a squad of policemen from Yamate Station came rushing over and noisily surrounded the building.

“Careful now! They say he’s got a pistol.”

“Has someone already gone up to the third floor?”

“Officer Hataoka arrived first—he must’ve gone up.”

“Keep watching for now.”

“The back door—check the back door!”

They were all noise and no action.

Then the second-floor window opened.
The sudden voices around the house made Hataoka—who’d climbed that far—lean out from the stairway window to look down.

When the policemen below looked up at him,

“Hey, Hataoka. Be careful! They say the suspect’s got a pistol—a pistol!”

Hataoka nodded.

“Is the culprit here?”

“It seems he’s here.”

“Is it acceptable if I proceed alone?”

“The staircase being narrow, even should many come up, it would prove useless.”
“If he grows violent beyond control, I shall give a signal.”

When he answered, Hataoka Junsa immediately pulled his head back in.

Silver Lamp

I

—A full ten minutes had passed.

To the policemen standing outside, it felt like an extraordinarily long time.

The policemen had expected that Officer Hataoka, who had gone up to the third floor, would now shout something, let out a scream, or at worst that a pistol would resound with a roar—but those ten minutes passed without a single sound.

Not even the shadow of the curtain cast by the lamplight swayed.

“What’s going on?”

“Call out to him.”

Someone spoke up, and one of them finally shouted upward.

“Hataoka! Hataoka-kun—”
“Hataoka-kun—”

Then, though distant from the window leaking lamplight, from one window on the third floor—

“Hey!”

With that, Officer Hataoka stuck his face out and responded.

“Ah!... That’s it—you’re at the wrong room!”

“Because the lock is firmly fastened from the inside, I am currently struggling to open it.”

“Then let’s all smash it down and force our way in!”

“No—” Waving his hand, he said, “When I looked through the keyhole, the woman had a frenzied glare in her eyes and was gripping the pistol tightly.”
“Since she’s in a frenzied state, underestimating her could lead to injuries.”
“Well, keep observing a while longer.”

“Alright.”

“Alright,” said a man from below.
Then another man added,
“Don-san’s the perfect man for the job.”
As soon as he said that, amidst the tension, snickers trickled through.
When they looked up a second time, Officer Hataoka’s face had vanished from the window.
The policemen stood like dark statues, swallowing hard as they waited for fresh turmoil in the third-floor lamplight and counted each second-hand tick against their ribs.

II

Officer Hataoka withdrew his face from the dark window inward, then moved with quiet footsteps and gently pushed open a room’s door.

…………

It opened.

The lock had not been fastened to keep him out, but was something he himself had firmly bolted from the inside after concealing his body there.

On the floor, a pistol lay coldly gleaming.
He could see a single corpse fattened like a pig lying face down beneath the bed.
What appeared to be blood had not spilled in any great quantity.
It might have blended into the carpet’s pattern.
“………”

Hataoka Junsa stood silently by the wall.

The criminal sitting on the bed held a slender woman's cigarette between her crimson lips, narrowing her eyes against the smoke while making her enchantingly beautiful face appear all the more bewitching through its frown.

In silk nightwear resembling a long-sleeved kimono, fastened with a Japanese obi.
—This was precisely the same posture as those paintings of Western concubines often seen in the shop windows along Benten Street catering to foreigners.

…………

…………

The silence between these two had been continuing since before Officer Hataoka had once stepped out here, shown his face at the window to those outside, and exchanged words.
So, more than ten minutes had already passed since he had knocked there.

“Mr. Kaigo, are you still here?”

The woman said while looking at the cigarette ash.

Officer Hataoka nodded.

“There’s no need to hurry.”
“Take your time smoking.”

“Once they bind me with ropes, I won’t be able to smoke my favorite tobacco anymore...”
“Though if we speak of desires—there’s no end to them.”

With a deep sigh, the woman murmured as if talking to herself—

“I’d thought until today there was no one as wretched as me, but tonight—this very moment—I’ve come to feel I might have tasted one drop of happiness. ...Never once in my wildest dreams did I imagine meeting Mr. Kaigo again, much less being bound by those very hands—perhaps even a woman like me performed some good deed in a previous life to earn this much merit.”

…………

"I'm so stunned I can't wrap my head around it—it all feels like a dream. That the officer coming to arrest me was Mr. Kaigo—ah, I could die content now!"

Crushing the finished cigarette in the bedside ashtray,

"But Mr. Kaigo... did you know it was me before even entering here?"

"I remembered the moment I saw the nameplate."

"But since then..." She counted on her fingers—"Fourteen, fifteen years... And me here—dressed like some dancing girl but already pushing thirty and turning into a granny."
"...How could you recognize me just from that nameplate?"

“The events of that time are not something I could ever forget. —The name O-Matsu.”
"And then there was Kijima Village written on the boat registration plate—Kijima Village, O-Matsu-chan. I engraved these two together in my heart... What’s even harder to forget are those four days we spent moored among the makomo reeds in Itako—how you washed the blood from my hakama and mended its tears."

“…………”

As she listened intently, O-Matsu let trails of tears glisten on her cheeks, yet smiled as though taking pleasure in those sweet tears,

“...Then, Mr. Kaigo... do you remember this?”

and indicated with her finger the obi clasp she wore.

The iris-inlaid sword ornament had been repurposed into an obi clasp while preserving its original form.

"You kept it... all this time? Even until today..."

Across the cheeks, eyes, brows, and muscles of Officer Hataoka—who had spent over a dozen years like a wooden puppet, having lost all capacity for emotion—ran tremors of intense emotion like sparks of fire.

“Yes… this one thing, even after being parted from Father by death, I kept securely.”
“Even after becoming an orphan—sold into service at a teahouse, trying life as a gambler’s wife, sinking to become Kamikaze-ro’s courtesan—this alone I kept upon my person.”
“It must have been destined that we would meet in a place like this after all.”

Three

All truth had died away.

The friends from whom he had been parted by death in years past—and though he too was no longer of this world—his true brother Kumenosuke.
Beyond these, there could be no such thing as seeking truth in society.

Officer Hataoka—who had coldly and stubbornly convinced himself of this—suddenly reddened his eyelids as if embers buried for over a dozen years were being raked up, his facial muscles twitching violently like those of a man about to burst into tears.

He stood rigidly by the wall without moving from his position—enduring it all.

Why—had that pure boatman's young girl changed so completely? Had she even committed such a terrible murder?

There must be feelings too complex to fully express, circumstances too tangled to simply explain. I want to know. I want to hear her out. Officer Hataoka grew agitated amid blood surging like a tempest.

"Ah... That must be the policemen downstairs. They're saying something again. Mr. Kaigo, I mustn't cause you any more trouble—let's end our conversation here. No matter how much we talk, it'll never come to an end."

Stepping away from the bed—O-Matsu spoke cheerfully like this, but her face twisted into a strange convulsion that couldn't be told whether she was crying or laughing.

"Still... still... another two or three minutes would be fine."

Officer Hataoka said,

"You mustn’t."

O-Matsu shook her head.

"If you’re thinking of trying to save me, you’re making a terrible mistake."
"In the past and this esteemed Meiji era, the value of human life differs... But I’ve grown worn out with living."
"Being worked to the bone by such swine—"

Glaring at the round corpse beneath the bed—she suddenly pricked up her ears again.

“Mr. Kaigo, they’re shouting downstairs.”
“It’s too late.”
“...Can’t you hear the footsteps rushing up the stairs?”

“It’s alright.
The door is locked.”

“Quit with the meaningless formalities.
I’m no longer the woman who’d take joy in such courtesies.”

She stretched her white arm toward the silver lamp on the ceiling—and while staring intently at his face,
“Goodbye…”
The instant she spoke, the light went out.

Simultaneously, the deafening report of a pistol rang out as though splitting the floorboards.
The door was being violently pounded by a great number of officers.

With the momentum of the door coming off, countless feet cascaded in.
In the darkness of the pitch-black room, the people momentarily froze in their tracks as if stepping toward a deep swamp, but someone came rushing in holding a candle.
The lamp was lit.

Beneath the silver lamp’s white light, O-Matsu’s corpse—clutching the pistol—lay beautifully in death, as though she had reverted to the young girl she once was.

“…………”

Officer Hataoka’s figure—still in his former position with his back against the wall, arms crossed in bitter resignation—was laid bare by the lamplight’s glow, yet not a soul turned to acknowledge his presence.

As soon as the shadows of his numerous colleagues swiftly surrounded O-Matsu’s corpse and concealed it within a pitch-black circle, Officer Hataoka left the room in desolate silence.

About ten minutes later, he returned to the wayside of the Foreign Settlement’s Residence No. 14 and stood on watch as before, in silence.