Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Today as well, seven heads were apparently hanged at Sennichimae…

Yesterday, ten were hanged.
…

How many will be hanged tomorrow, I wonder.
…

Such rumors had spread throughout the city, leaving the towns quiet like dying embers.

Arao Tajima-no-kami, the Nishi-machi Town Magistrate, smirked as he crossed his arms in a room of the magistrate’s residence encircled by high earthen walls.

“Behold this arm of mine.”

Though his arms were slender, they held such confidence as if steel tendons of European steel ran through them.
The palms at the ends of those narrow hands clapped sharply.

“Are you summoning me?”

The maidservant—wearing a yagasuri-patterned lined kimono with a red obi bearing the vertical arrow design on her back—supported her hand against the adjoining room’s frame and declared in crisp, mellifluous Edo dialect.

“Has Genchiku not arrived yet?”

Tajima-no-kami likewise inquired in a firm, clear tone.

“He has not yet arrived.”

The maidservant, still bracing her hand, lifted her dusky oval face to reply.
Neither cheeks nor collar bore any trace of powder.

“He’s late, I say.”
“If Genchiku appears, bring him here at once.”

Tajima-no-kami—a master who rarely smiled and had been in particularly ill humor that day—allowed his stern expression to soften into a faint grin. The maidservant Ki looked up at him with evident curiosity, then bowed respectfully and replied, "As you wish," before beginning to withdraw.
Just as the red of the vertical arrow pattern was about to disappear from the broad tatami corridor into the shadow of the black-lattice high-waist screen,

“Ah—wait, wait,” Tajima-no-kami called out.

“Do you have orders?” Ki turned around and knelt.
Tajima-no-kami was staring fixedly at Ki’s face, but

“Do you wish to return to Edo?”

The gentle words emerged from the crown of his head—topped by an immense topknot so lengthy it seemed nearly a shaku—as if sprouting from that towering mass of hair.

“Yes.”

Ki's reply was exceedingly simple.

“Do you want to return?”

“Yes.”

“You want to return, don’t you. In this land where lukewarm, bloated-looking people are constantly calculating with their fingertips and eyes, thinking only of base things, a truly human-like person cannot possibly exist. A land inhabited solely by cunning, shameless people with poor enunciation and not a single redeeming quality. If I were to name their redeeming trait, it would be their consummate miserliness—even if blue phlegm were spat upon their heads, they’d still clap their hands in glee so long as coins were pressed into them. If I were to tally the mettle of this land’s people from my side with an abacus, it would amount to adding thieves to beggars and splitting them in two, I say.”

Tajima-no-kami said, the usual vein on his forehead twitching repeatedly. Ki gave no reply, but the lord’s gratifyingly scathing words—which harshly condemned the detestably lukewarm, inarticulate people of this land—flowed pleasantly into her ears, leaving her chest feeling refreshingly clear.

“Ah, enough. Go on, go on… Edo must already be holding the Sannō Festival, I say. It must be lively again.”

Tajima-no-kami spoke nostalgically and gazed at the eastern sky faintly visible beyond the artificial hill.
Ki too felt such yearning for the eastern sky that her body shuddered.

II

After some time had passed, when Ki reappeared on the wide veranda, she had the physician Nakada Genchiku accompanying her behind the vertical arrow character.

“Genchiku, have you arrived?”

With an air of having waited impatiently, Tajima-no-kami leaned forward from his sitting cushion.

“Since I have come, I am here.”

Genchiku said without so much as a faint smile.

“There you go again, Genchiku. That joke is stale,” Tajima-no-kami said with a smile.

“Old or new, this old fool detests uttering such wordplay.”
“The wordplay games that Edoites so love to engage in—I detest them.”
“In general, Edo’s people have a frivolous disposition, and their language too is base.”
“They mindlessly prefix an ‘o-’ to vulgar words and scheme to make them appear refined.”
“Calling miso soup ‘omiso-tsuke,’ baths ‘obuu,’ and pickles ‘oshinko.’”
“…”

“That’s enough, Genchiku. I’ve had my fill of your Edo-bashing. Now, Ki,” Tajima-no-kami said, thoroughly enjoying his habit of bluntly stating his mind to Genchiku. Exactly five months had passed since he had newly arrived from Edo to take up his post as town magistrate here. Amidst all that he saw and heard—each thing more vexing than the last—the town physician Nakada Genchiku stood out as a remarkably fine specimen of a man: one whose integrity remained untainted by the city’s corruption, a fact Tajima-no-kami found himself admiring.

“Lord Genchiku laughs at me for pronouncing ‘hi’ as ‘shi,’ yet he himself replaces ‘shi’ with ‘hi,’ turning ‘shitsurei’ into ‘hitsurei’ and ‘shichiya’ into ‘hichiya.’” “Hohohoho,” Ki laughed with evident delight, completely forgetting her lord’s presence.

“Lady Ki, are you acquainted with pawnshops?” Genchiku’s wit, like wielding an enemy’s own blade against them, seized upon Ki’s words and flushed her face crimson.

“Have the cook prepare a meal for Genchiku. I shall share a drink as well.” With that, Tajima-no-kami dismissed Ki.

“My lord, your frequent generosity leaves me deeply obliged. For three days I was confined without respite within the castle walls. When at last I returned home, urgent summons from the townsfolk’s sickbeds rained like arrows—yet somehow I slipped through them to come here.”

"That was indeed a trying ordeal. How fares Lord Notonokami's illness?" Tajima-no-kami asked with composed solemnity.

"As for Lord Castellan's condition, I would say there has been no significant change thus far. Consumption is an illness difficult to cure," said Genchiku, furrowing his brows.

"Since the time of the former castellan Lord Yamashiro-no-kami, this castle has seen nothing but misfortune due to Ōshio's curse, I say."

“With merely planting willows and cherries along the banks of the Nekomagawa River, Ōshio’s restless spirit shall find no peace.”
“However, since Your Lordship assumed your official duties, the city’s morals have improved to the point of being unrecognizable.”
“Genchiku, I detest flattery and such, but to be honest, there has never been a magistrate as exceptional as Your Lordship since ancient times,” said Genchiku, smoothly stroking his freshly shaven head.

“I take no pleasure in your praise, I tell you.”
“Genchiku, why don’t you tell me something more amusing instead?” Tajima-no-kami’s face bore an unmistakable lack of enthusiasm.

“Stories that would please Your Lordship are few and far between, I must say.”
“Shall I relate another tale of a pilgrimage to Tada-in Temple?”

“Ah, that one.”
“That story never grows stale, no matter how many times I hear it,” Tajima-no-kami began, then abruptly noticed two razor cuts on Genchiku’s freshly shaven head. “Genchiku, your head has suffered quite a beating.”
“What happened?” he asked, craning his neck to peer closer.

“No—” Genchiku pressed his head and replied, “I was cut by His Lordship’s attendants within the castle.”
“Whenever confined to the castle, it becomes something of a trial…” Though known among fellow physicians for his strictness and obstinacy, even Genchiku had absorbed the general demeanor of doctors, acquiring a faintly frivolous air.

“Do Lord Notonokami’s attendants cut your head?” Tajima-no-kami asked suspiciously.

“That is correct.”
“They use this old fool’s head as practice material for shaving His Lordship’s forelocks, so they instructed me to move it as much as possible—though I must say, it’s rather perilous.”
“Since it was quite dangerous, I couldn’t move it as I wished—but even so, it seems I’ve acquired quite a few cuts. Though I haven’t looked in a mirror—is the blood seeping through?” Genchiku unabashedly thrust his round head before Tajima-no-kami for inspection.
Though separated by about three tatami mats, Tajima-no-kami’s sharp eyes had completely counted all the razor cuts on Genchiku’s head,

“The cuts are three in number - large and small... Daimyo are like children.”
“I had heard they fidget endlessly when having their forelocks shaved, but using a physician’s shaven pate as practice material for attendants training with razors—now that’s amusing.”
“Should wounds be inflicted on a daimyo’s head, there may be no life left in him,” Tajima-no-kami said. As the words “no life” left his lips, a subtle shift passed across his features.

Three

Genchiku set aside time from his busy rounds of patient visits and kept Tajima-no-kami company until sunset.
Sake and food were served, and even Genchiku—who was not one for drink—found his cheeks faintly flushed after being compelled to partake in a couple of cups.
Tajima-no-kami, who had measured out about one gou of sake, uncharacteristically replaced the decanter two or three times yet showed no sign of intoxication whatsoever.
The more he drank, the paler his complexion grew—amidst the flickering light of the candlestand, it imparted an eerie sensation to Genchiku.

Genchiku noticed that today the magistrate’s official residence felt even quieter and more desolate than usual.
As night deepened, the silence grew so profound that he might as well have been sitting in the study hall of an ancient temple midstream.
Whenever his favored Genchiku visited, Tajima-no-kami would typically engage him in face-to-face conversation—their shadows cast upon the shoji screen showing nothing but the magistrate’s massive samurai topknot (crudely nicknamed “the golden hammer” in vulgar gossip) and his unyielding skull. Though his preferred attendant Ki alone handled the serving duties as always, tonight’s desolation felt excessive, as if they’d wandered into one of those nights for recounting a hundred ghost tales.

“Genchiku, when was our first meeting, I wonder?” Tajima-no-kami said, thrusting his empty cup before Genchiku while receiving the sake decanter’s spout.
Even his favored Ki had been dismissed from her seat, and as he found himself preoccupied with the likelihood of some complicated discussion arising, Genchiku forced his restless posture into composure and turned his thoughts to the various patients that had arisen among the prominent merchants he frequented—Tennōjiya, Komeya, Chigusaya and the like.

“It was during the early days of your official duties.”
“From the Lord Okabe incident, something trivial caught your interest, my lord.”
“...” said Genchiku, shaking his round head repeatedly.
Given that Tajima-no-kami, with his excellent memory, couldn’t possibly have forgotten something from less than half a year prior, Genchiku inwardly nodded, sensing some purpose behind this inquiry.

“Ah... So that was how it was.”
“Through the matter of Lord Minonokami, hearing of your integrity left me profoundly impressed.”
“Truly, you stand as a rare paragon of virtue in this land overrun by base, avaricious wretches.”
“I normally disdain praising men to their faces, but tonight you must permit me this exception.” With that, Tajima-no-kami raised his cup once more.

“In a world of blackness,”
“Even mouse-gray appears white...” declared Genchiku triumphantly.

“Yet Lord Minonokami’s demise too was unforeseen,”
“For a daimyo to perish suddenly within his palanquin while departing Edo for an audience—this stands as calamity among calamities.” As death entered their discourse,Tajima-no-kami’s voice acquired metallic weight tinged with sepulchral resonance.

“At that hour,”
“Even this withered physician grew suspicious.”
“When samurai from Kishiwada came cloaked in night’s mantle,”
“Bearing word their lord suffered sudden malady requiring my diagnosis—”
“Though I offered immediate attendance,”
“They demurred—‘Tomorrow suffices.We shall send escort’—uttering contradictions before vanishing like morning frost.”
“Come next day’s late Snake hour,”
“Properly attired retainers arrived—”
“Yet Lord Minonokami had already crossed beyond at yesterday’s Boar watch.”
Genchiku’s whisper coiled through candlelit shadows like smoke from funeral incense.

“I had long heard that in this land, those who fell ill could not have their cases forwarded to the Edo authorities without your diagnosis certificate.”
“I had kept my eye on that from the start when assuming my post here—that you were exploiting that privilege to pocket illicit bribes.”
“Yet in Lord Minonokami’s affair—where you held in your palm, so to speak, whether a fifty-three-thousand-koku household would stand or fall—I had been privately watching, thinking any pretext could be contrived. But when I heard you, in your integrity, accepted only a modest fee and wrote the diagnosis certificate, I was truly impressed.” Tajima-no-kami still wore the air of one continuing to marvel.

“From the perspective of medical ethics,” said Genchiku with a self-satisfied expression, “to falsify a diagnosis certificate declaring the dead as living—thereby deceiving the authorities—would constitute a grave offense indeed. But well, I believed this would serve to save an entire fifty-three-thousand-koku household.”

“Were all officials of the realm as upright as you,” Tajima-no-kami said, appearing overcome with emotion, “there would be nothing left to censure...”

“I had known such trifling matters might please you, my lord, but for this old fool to recount that affair fully in his own words—this day marks the first instance.”

“This night too marks the first I have praised this deed to your face.”
“In all matters, we find ourselves aligned.”

“This old fool still recalls with keen satisfaction how you, my lord, plucked the courage from those assistant magistrates at Moriguchi.”

Because their conversation flowed so smoothly, the two continued talking, unmindful of the deepening night.

Four

When Arao Tajima-no-kami, Town Magistrate of Nishi-machi, was due to arrive from Edo to assume his post, thirty assistant magistrates brought off-duty constables and went to welcome him at Moriguchi, following precedent.
It was mid-December, and along the Yodo River embankment, the winter-withered grass resembled sheep’s wool, with circular burn marks appearing black here and there.

The children who had playfully set fire to the dry grass were frightened by the distant sight of numerous samurai. In their panic to extinguish the flames, they flailed at them with green pine branches and rolled atop the burning grass, making a great commotion.
On the blue water, a thirty-koku boat floated leisurely, its entire length from bow to stern bathed in the faint sunlight of a clear winter sky.

When Tajima-no-kami, who had come down from Fushimi via the Kyoto Kaido road in a palanquin, stopped at Moriguchi and quietly appeared before the assembled assistant magistrates there to welcome him, he wore a Mooka cotton kimono bearing his family crest with Hakama trousers.
At the sight of his shabby appearance—like some provincial samurai from who-knows-where—the habutae-clad assistant magistrates gasped in astonishment.

Among the assistant magistrates, those from the theft division and rural posts—whose substantial incomes were an open secret—stood out all the more through their conspicuously splendid attire.
Habutae silk under-kimono and jacket paired with tea-brown hakama—that alone might not have been remarkable enough—but the slender daisho they wore, whose mountings alone had cost upwards of four hundred ryo, completed the spectacle.
The thick gold inlaid in their sword fittings blazed brilliantly under the winter sun.
Anxious under Tajima-no-kami's scrutiny, one rural assistant magistrate retreated like a cat with a paper bag over its head, using his fan to conceal the gaudy ascending and descending dragons wrought in gold on his short sword's decorative fittings.

“It was most laborious for you to come all this way to welcome me.”
“As this is a new appointment, I ask that all matters be handled properly.”
“Yet now that I have become magistrate, I regard each of you assistant magistrates and constables as being like my own children.”
“As my children, I cherish them—but should they err, I will scold them or cast them out.”
“Depending on circumstance, I may even kill them.”
“You are all aware: by edict from above, castle keepers’ assistants and constables are entrusted to the Castle Keeper during service—but for the Town Magistrate, it has been decreed that assistants and constables be assigned during service.”
“The castle assistants are the Castle Keeper’s charge—the Town Magistrate receives assistants and constables.”
“In short—from today onward—each of you belongs to this Tajima.”
“As possessions, whether I let you live or kill you lies solely at Tajima’s discretion.”
“Keep this well in mind and work properly.”
“Should even a fingernail’s worth of corruption exist—this Tajima will never stay silent.”

Standing on the dry grass of the embankment, Tajima-no-kami delivered a loud greeting that doubled as an admonitory speech for his new post.
Among the many assistant magistrates and constables, there was scarcely a single soul who could endure listening without their ears burning.

“I had long heard that the assistant magistrates here were all extravagant, but never imagined it would reach such heights.”
“Thanks to you all, this Tajima feels he’s become the headliner of some kabuki troupe.” When he uttered this scathing remark, cold sweat soaked through the freshly tailored underrobes of every assistant magistrate down to their midriffs.

Thus, Tajima-no-kami entered the magistrate’s residence as though charging into enemy territory.

The Tenma assistant magistrates then suddenly set about ordering cotton garments and altering their sword fittings, creating a frantic commotion—yet Tajima-no-kami’s eyes glared piercingly over them all the while, and they could do nothing but shrink back from the blinding intensity.

Tajima-no-kami first intimidated the assistant magistrates into submission, then turned his attention to the townhouses. There, all manner of corruption had festered so intolerably that it oozed a thick, pus-like stench in every direction. Among them all, only Nakada Genchiku—the town physician residing in Uchiandoji-cho—gained such fierce favor that Tajima-no-kami's heart would not stir unless he saw Genchiku's round head.

The primary reason Tajima-no-kami came to hold Genchiku in high regard was that he recognized the purity of heart in how Genchiku had drafted—without demanding anything in return—the diagnosis certificate most crucial to attesting to Lord Minonokami’s sudden death.
Then, shortly after Tajima-no-kami assumed his post, when an unnatural death occurred in a certain location, circumstances dictated that an inquest could not proceed unless three parties were present: Tajima-no-kami’s subordinate assistant magistrates, an official from the Konoe Kampaku family due to territorial jurisdiction, and someone from another daikan’s administrative branch. Thus, the corpse lay wrapped in straw matting for nearly ten days.
As a result, the entire block kept their doors shut even in daylight against the terrible stench—like the putrid hearts of men from that age—scattered by the wind.

Finally, when the three groups of officials had assembled and the inquest was about to commence, Nakada Genchiku was dispatched as the attending physician.
True to his profession, Genchiku showed no sign of being affected by the corpse’s stench as he meticulously examined the decaying flesh beneath the straw matting.

“Haven’t you had enough already?”

The Kyoto samurai of the Konoe family covered his expressionless face with an elegant fan while pinching his nose with one hand, his nasal voice carrying from three ken away.

“That’s enough now,” said an assistant magistrate under Tajima-no-kami.

“What dreadful maggots,” came from beside the samurai of a certain house who had edged closest—though even he remained a ken and a half from the corpse.

“Come closer.”
“Is this how you conduct an inquest?” Genchiku demanded as he repeatedly flipped the rotting corpse from side to side.
The skin had split open, flesh putrefied into a thick ooze resembling pus.
Entrails like salted bonito viscera spilled from the gaping flank wound where they’d been stirred about.
Each movement Genchiku forced upon the corpse intensified the stench until it clawed at every nose present.

“I can’t bear this!” The Kyoto samurai retreated another one or two ken.

“Come closer! If you don’t conduct a proper inquest, I won’t write Genchiku’s autopsy report!” Genchiku shouted loudly.
That voice was so loud it reached even the ears of the crowd watching from afar who pinched their noses.

The three samurai, having no choice, glanced left and right as they gradually approached the corpse. Though Genchiku was but a town physician, he had long secured qualifications from the Sagano Imperial Court through connections—possessing an official document stamped with the imperial seal that dispatched him there for medical training. Thus, while he ordinarily wore only a single sword, he held the rank that permitted him to carry two, achieving a status where he need not defer to assistant magistrates or Kyoto samurai.

“It’s as if looking at the world today—both high and low, completely rotted through.”
“They say those who stink don’t notice their own odor—but compared to this corpse, the entire world today reeks far worse.”
“The extent of this corpse’s decay is as nothing when measured against how the world today is rotting.”

Genchiku remarked sarcastically and jostled the corpse even more violently.
The three samurai cried, “Agh!” and fled once more.—

When Tajima-no-kami heard this story from his assistant magistrates, he grew even fonder of Genchiku.

There is yet another anecdote in which Genchiku pleased Tajima-no-kami.

5

That spring, when Tada-in Temple in Settsu Province held its sacred exhibition, Genchiku—after confirming there were no urgent medical cases—had been wanting to make a day pilgrimage there.
However, as fortune would have it for Genchiku, Chief Priest Eido of Tada-in Temple fell ill. Since this occurred during the sacred exhibition and required his swift recovery, an envoy came to Genchiku requesting a visit.
In August of the previous year, while returning to Tada-in from Nanto Saidaiji Temple, Chief Priest Eido had suffered from a hernia and undergone Genchiku’s examination. Though their interaction had been brief, Genchiku and Chief Priest Eido were acquainted.
After promptly making preparations—having his manservant shoulder the medicine chest and sending the temple envoy ahead—Genchiku set out leisurely from Kitano along Nose Kaido toward Ikeda.

He thought about taking a palanquin, but that seemed too bothersome. A peaceful spring day—listening to larks singing over wheat fields as he walked with traveler’s gaiters for the first time in ages might be rather enjoyable. After all, a six-*ri* country path shouldn’t give even a long-robed man blisters. With that thought, Genchiku donned straw sandals for the first time in nearly twenty years.

As he left Kitano behind, amidst the green wheat fields, the yellow of rapeseed flowers and the red of milk vetch blossoms divided the wild plain into three hues—their beauty defied description.
Genchiku, who had always traveled solely by palanquin through man-made cities, wondered if this was what it meant to be truly human when he drank deeply of the divine countryside's essence.
Rather than enduring a palanquin's confines, how much more joyous was walking along country paths where light dust swirled, making for Satsuki Mountain's foothills veiled in ink-wash haze.

To the left, the Rokko mountain range glistened in the spring light, their reddish bald patches here and there not particularly obscured by haze.
After crossing Mikuni and two rivers at Jūsō, he paid homage at Hattori Tenjin Shrine, rested at the teahouse before the torii gate, then set out again at a leisurely pace.

Genchiku’s medicine chest was quite heavy.
This was something he had received as thanks from the young townspeople who carried the portable shrine during Tamatsukuri Inari’s festival—those whom Genchiku treated when they suffered severe injuries.
While receiving a medicine chest as medical payment was unconventional, Genchiku—skilled in external treatments beyond his main practice—had gone so far as to suture about ten stitches on their injuries and even lick bloody silk threads tangled in his own mouth during the arduous healing process.When their gratitude amounted to merely five ryō—a paltry sum even by the standard rate of one ryō per sun of sutures—even the normally dispassionate Genchiku grew indignant and thrust back those five ryō.
The other party, deeply apologetic, deliberated extensively and ultimately purchased the medicine chest made redundant by a renowned acupuncturist’s death,presenting it as treatment compensation.This chest bore exquisite carvings with thick silver fittings.

When each tree of Satsuki Mountain became distinguishable one by one, the town of Ikeda came into view below a long slope. From here, it was just one ri to Tada-in Temple, and the bustle of the sacred exhibition had enlivened even this small town. Since departing at 6:30 in the morning—due to being an old man’s legs—by the time he arrived in Ikeda, it was already 8 o’clock. After taking a late midday meal, he proceeded at a leisurely pace along a path too narrow for horses, following the river deeper into the mountains. The rear of Satsuki Mountain, which had been visible ahead until now, would henceforth be left behind as they moved onward. As they proceeded along the mountain stream where beautiful shallows formed, weighted with jade-like pebbles and animal skins bleached white soaking in its waters, there lay another mountain deep within the range. The pass called Kureyama was low, yet crossing it left the old man panting heavily. From the summit of the pass, the drumbeats of Tada-in Temple’s sacred exhibition could be heard, and beyond the row of pine trees, the large banners revealed only their white upper sections. Descending the pass, a stone marker for “Tada Shrine Road” stood at the edge of a wheat field, and turning there, the road was again washed at the base of its stone cliffs by the beautiful waters of a mountain stream. Following the river, the road curved again. A small earthen bridge spanned the spot where a stream flowed into the mountain river. The mountain river had no bridge, and its waters—where sweetfish likely dwelled—flowed shallowly and gently, about the same width as Kyoto’s Kamogawa River. Ahead, the pine tree avenue before Tada-in Temple’s horse grounds came into view, their branches layered densely as they stretched deep into the distance. At the entrance to the pine tree avenue, with the river at its back, stood the Prohibition of Killing Monument. The pine tree-lined road was indeed wide, and the pines were quite thick and aged.

Men and women of all ages on pilgrimage moved in droves along the pine tree-lined road as if weaving through it, with bags of candy and paper flags held in both children’s and adults’ hands.
Amidst the drumbeats, the shrill sound of a flute also began to draw gradually nearer.

When the row of pine trees ended, there was a gently sloping stone-paved path, and from there, teahouses lined both sides.
Short brown curtains dyed with the names of Kyoto courtesans like "Kimiisamu" and "Hideka" hung from the eaves, while women in red aprons—scarlet felt camp stools behind them—called out in high-pitched voices.

“Please have a seat. Please come in. Rest here if you like.”

“Blades aren’t permitted within the temple grounds.”
“We’ll hold onto yours for you.”

The woman with teeth blackened from ohaguro (a traditional teeth-blackening practice), seeing Genchiku’s short sword, extended her pale hand as she spoke, her red work sash still tied about her shoulders.
“What ridiculous formalities,” Genchiku thought as he began surrendering his blade—but the man sent from Tada-in to greet him waved dismissively. “No need for that.”

“Oh, so you’re a guest of the temple, are you? Sonzaemon, you’ve worked hard there,” the teahouse woman flashed a charming smile.

Entering through the East Gate and proceeding through the throng of stalls and pilgrims to reach the Yatsudo Gate—its curtains emblazoned with hollyhock crests exuding authority—they encountered a tall samurai forcing his way through the crowd from the opposite direction. Though they had never exchanged words, Genchiku knew this was a certain Tenma assistant magistrate whose face he remembered. This Tenma assistant magistrate was a man of imposing stature only in appearance—one who had mastered the art of extracting bribes from townspeople. It was thought that this Tenma assistant magistrate—resentful of being restricted to cotton robes at his post under the new magistrate’s watchful eye—had come here in his imposing black habutae silk and tea-brown hakama to intimidate locals, but Tada-in Temple stood as the Tokugawa family’s second-most sacred mausoleum after Nikko, enshrining Minamoto clan ancestors. Though its vermilion-sealed lands yielded but five hundred koku, its authority surpassed even daimyo, leaving the Tenma assistant magistrate powerless to assert himself.

The Tenma assistant magistrate—who had come pushing through the crowd while resentfully bearing his disarmed state after having his golden daishō swords confiscated at the teahouse before the gate—upon seeing Genchiku wearing a short sword, exited toward the South Gate with an indignant look, shoving people aside even more violently.

“You fool!” Genchiku muttered to himself, turning to look back at the assistant magistrate’s retreating figure.

Even though it was called Takao-san Hokke Zanmai-ji Tada-in, the main hall and worship hall were shrine-style structures divided into two sections.
Genchiku ascended to the main hall, paid respects to the armed wooden statue of Lord Mitsunaka in his mounted posture displayed during the sacred exhibition, then proceeded to the bettō residence to examine Chief Priest Eido’s aged body.
The illness was indeed a severe case of hernia.
Promptly preparing the medicine and instructing local doctors in its administration, that night Genchiku was guided to quarters called Tatchu no Ume no Bō, where he received a vegetarian banquet’s hospitality. Staying overnight with his manservant, he was to return the following morning.
Even with just five hundred koku, the bettō was the lord of this land and was addressed as His Lordship.
Under him was a magistrate who administered the governance of the three villages in the domain.

That night, a certain Tenma assistant magistrate stayed at an inn before the gate, got heavily drunk and caused a disturbance, slashing through the shoji screens with his drawn sword. However, since Tada-in Temple's warrior monks knew no swordsmanship, they couldn't go to subdue him—a story Genchiku heard the next morning that left him bitterly frustrated.

The next day, through the bettō’s kindness, Genchiku placed his medicine chest into a two-sectioned box bearing the hollyhock crest and had a placard reading “Tada-in Temple Official Use” placed on the front lid of the box. And they had the manservant don a happi coat adorned with a diamond-shaped patch bearing a ‘多’ character seal. In one side of the two-sectioned box was placed the medicine chest, while the other contained souvenirs. Although it was a bit heavy, reasoning that walking like this would command respect and ensure safety along the way, the manservant set out walking with vigor. Indeed, the hollyhock crest and wooden placard marked “Tada-in Temple Official Use” made all those they encountered yield the path. To something possessing such authority that even a daimyo procession could pass through every five minutes had Genchiku’s medicine chest now attained.

Having eaten their midday meal in Okamachi, when they approached the ferry crossing from Mikuni to Jūsan, it was already around seven o'clock. Because the ferry was crowded, Genchiku moved to the side of the road and waited. "The next ferry will likely be empty," Genchiku said to his manservant as he smoked his tobacco. "Since we won't make it back by day's end anyway, let's take our time." Just then came running a certain Tenma assistant magistrate—the same imposing-but-empty figure they had seen yesterday at Tada-in Temple—shouting "Hey! Wait! Wait!" at a ferry already packed with passengers and nearly two ken (about 3.6 meters) from shore.

Summoned by the samurai, the boatman reluctantly rowed the ferry back.
The ferry overflowed with passengers—merchant peddlers, farmers returning from fields, townswomen cradling infants, young girls leading little brothers by hand. Resentful expressions at having their already-departed vessel recalled for some imposing samurai's convenience filled every corner of the boat.

The Tenma assistant magistrate had succeeded in recalling the ferry, but finding scarcely enough space to even set one foot aboard, he clicked his tongue irritably and stood rigidly at the water's edge—until finally raising his voice in a tiger-like roar and—

“Board! Board!”
“Peasants and townspeople shall not share this boat!” he declared imperiously.

When told so, the weak ones had no choice but to obey the strong one’s command.
Those with indignant faces, those sniffling back tears, and those trembling in fear all disembarked from the ferry in a jumbled procession, jostling one another as they returned to shore.
The cry of an infant held by a mother carried a particularly pitiful resonance on the river wind.

The Tenma Yoriki boarded the emptied ferry, shoulders squared.
The setting sun sinking behind Mount Rokko made the hilt ornaments of his two swords glitter brilliantly.

The boatman resentfully stared at the samurai’s retreating figure while rowing out.

When the boat had moved about one and a half ken from the shore, Genchiku urged his manservant to shoulder the two-sectioned box and hurriedly rushed to the bank,

“Wait! Wait!”
“Stop that boat!” he shouted at the top of his voice.

When they came bearing a wooden placard with “Tada-in Temple Official Use” written in jet-black ink, the boatman had no choice but to turn the ferry back again.
The Tenma Yoriki, his face swelling with anger—and swelling all the more when struck by the sight of the five characters “Tada-in Temple Official Use”—could not help but step from the boat to the shore in his setta sandals without so much as a grunt.
...and he had no choice but to bow his head to the hollyhock-crested two-sectioned box and move aside.

Genchiku triumphantly placed the two-sectioned box marked “Tada-in Temple Official Use” in the center of the ferry and knelt with his manservant in positions guarding it.
As the boatman took up the pole and tried to depart, Genchiku stopped him with a shout of “Ah! Wait! Wait!”

“All may board together—everyone aboard!” came the command directed at the crowd of peasants and townspeople who had been forced off by Tenma Yoriki.
Even as they approached with apparent eagerness—only to be shoved aside—the assistant magistrate became first to step into the boat with his setta sandals.
At that instant came Genchiku’s rebuke in an uncharacteristically thunderous voice.

“A samurai shall not share this boat!”

The Tenma Yoriki staggered as though struck in the chest by a thick pole, glaring resentfully at Genchiku’s shaved head, but the five characters “Tada-in Temple Official Use” pressed down on him like an exorcism charm, freezing him in place.
Startled by Genchiku’s booming voice, even the crowd of peasants and townspeople began backing away—a movement Genchiku observed with calm benevolence.

“Peasants, board! Townspeople, board! Ride together,” he beckoned.
As the Tenma Yoriki menacingly disembarked—brushing past them in a manner screaming “Serves you right!”—the peasants and townspeople came surging onto the ferry in a boisterous wave.

Until the ferry laden with passengers reached the opposite shore, the Tenma assistant magistrate's large red face—seething with frustration where he stood rigidly—appeared even redder in the western sun's glare from the distant bank.

This assistant magistrate was soon ordered into confinement by Tajima-no-kami and ultimately committed seppuku.
Among the charges against him was also the matter of having shown disrespect toward Tada-in Temple's official placard.

VI

From the very start of his new appointment, Tajima-no-kami had intended to enforce the Great Cleansing Laws upon this rotten great city.
He had long been reading books and had come to consider that executions—crucifixion, public display of severed heads, beheading—were by no means punishments.
He was one who believed that punishment must be founded upon the offender’s own repentance.
If they are killed, they can neither regret nor reform.
Therefore, he came to think that the death penalty was not a punishment.

However, once he assumed the weighty office of town magistrate and gained the power of life and death over multitudes within his slender palms, his ideology abruptly shifted—constructing an argument that the death penalty must be fully employed, and he began methodically putting this into practice.

Though the death penalty should ideally be abolished, he reasoned that as long as it remained preserved, it must be utilized as extensively as possible.
He concluded that to enact with near perfection both the legitimate defense of a warped society and the Great Cleansing Laws of a rotten world, there was no alternative but to make liberal use of executions.

He thought that if even those who smoked tobacco in public thoroughfares or tried to push through crowded areas were immediately arrested and beheaded, fires would be halved and society's morals would swiftly improve.

However, even Tajima-no-kami could not bring himself to apply the death penalty for every such trifling matter. Yet where pickpockets were concerned—previously spared execution unless caught three times or more—he began beheading them from their second offense, or even their first in some cases, and displayed their heads on pikes.
Even those who were not thieves of ten ryō or more did not keep their heads attached.
The death penalty was carried out day after day.
During his monthly duty rotations, there was not a day when the blades of his executioners—men who would have been called Asaemon in Edo—remained unbloodied.

“Today seven heads were displayed at Sen-nichi Mae.”

“Yesterday ten were displayed.”

“How many will be displayed tomorrow?…”

Such words rose to people’s lips like greetings exchanged upon meeting, or like remarks about the weather—even reaching children’s mouths—and as they did, the entire city abruptly stilled, falling utterly silent.

Tajima-no-kami smiled faintly and thought that neither a hundred religions nor a thousand moral codes could match a single death penalty—nothing else could produce such abundant effects.

The assistant magistrates and constables under his command trembled in fear, while the people all walked through the streets in a cowed manner, not even daring to make a sound.

When the rumor spread that even those who smoked tobacco in the dirt-floored area of a theater and burned someone else’s sleeve would be beheaded, everyone turned pale.
Of course, it remained merely a rumor, but since then, for the time being, those who smoked tobacco while watching plays had almost entirely vanished.

Even just rumors—the death penalty had immediate effectiveness, Tajima-no-kami thought as he smiled.

VII

Tajima-no-kami, having forgotten the late hour as he drank with his favored companion Genchiku, kept rising to visit the privy—no matter how much he imbibed, the liquor refused to intoxicate him. Yet each time he returned to the sitting room, Genchiku watched with growing concern as the pallor of his face deepened.
The hour was already deep into the latter part of the Boar.

“Genchiku, the tale of your pilgrimage to Tada-in Temple is quite fascinating.”
“Tell it again for me,” said Tajima-no-kami, raising his cup.

“No matter how many times I recount it, it remains the same story,” said Genchiku, who was beginning to find it somewhat tiresome to humor this fastidious lord. However, it was not as if he had any house calls to make at this hour. Imagining messengers rushing to his home from all directions as if on fire, he hunched his shoulders apprehensively.

“Genchiku.”
“Tonight, I have something of particular importance I wish to discuss with you.”
“I wish to borrow your shrewd wisdom, I say.”
“…Well, have a drink.”
“Here, take the cup,” said Tajima-no-kami, thrusting out the sake cup he held.

“I am grateful for your kindness, but I am unaccustomed to such courtesies, and truth be told, hunger has come upon me.” Genchiku pressed a hand against his rumbling stomach through his jittoku robe.

“Ha ha ha!”
“Hungry, are you?”
“I had completely forgotten.”
“I’ll have a meal brought presently, but until then, at least accept this one cup,” insisted Tajima-no-kami, pressing the sake cup upon Genchiku.

“What manner of discussion could you possibly have with this old fool?” said Genchiku, setting his cup aside and studying Tajima-no-kami’s countenance.

“Genchiku, return the cup,” said Tajima-no-kami, extending his slender hand.

“My deepest apologies,” said Genchiku as he washed the cup in the cup-washing water, took out a sheet of kaishi paper, carefully wiped it dry, and presented it to Tajima-no-kami.
Having received it and had it filled to the brim, Tajima-no-kami drained it in one gulp,

“Genchiku.”
“When a man comes to find sake bitter, he’s done for, I say.”
“No matter how much you drink, it won’t grow palatable, I tell you.”

“Your Lordship’s sake is bitter indeed.”
“It speaks well of you to recognize bitterness where it lies… Though impertinent, might I suggest you now set aside your cup?”
…”

“Having exchanged cups with you, I may properly cease.”

Tajima-no-kami gazed despondently at the ceiling.

“And what matter would you discuss with this old fool?” said Genchiku in prompting tones.

“To put it plainly—I wish to borrow your wisdom, I say.”
“…”

“Though this old fool lacks any proper wisdom—what manner of discussion might this be?” said Genchiku, once again studying Tajima-no-kami’s countenance.

“Genchiku… Is there no way to return to Edo within three days’ journey?”

Tajima-no-kami declared resolutely, with an air of finality.

“Haah…” Genchiku exhaled a sigh.

“Is there no way?” said Lord Tajima-no-kami, forcing a strained smile.

“Not unless we borrow the legs of Skanda himself…”
“…Even the fastest palanquin would require four days.”
Genchiku could no longer lift his face.
Tajima-no-kami drew himself up rigidly,

“Today, an official missive arrived from the honorable senior councilors in Edo.”
“‘One day’s preparation and three days’ journey—such is the imperial decree commanding my return to the capital,’” he declared solemnly.

“I am deeply obliged,” said Genchiku, prostrating himself upon the tatami mats.
From aged eyes, tears spilled freely.

“Genchiku, this was no ordinary cup—Tajima-no-kami’s life ends tonight. I leave the handling of my corpse to you.”

“As you command.”

Genchiku raised his tear-streaked face and looked at Tajima-no-kami.
The magistrate and the physician gazed into each other’s eyes for a time.

“Genchiku.”
“...I’ve killed quite a lot, I say.”
…”

On Tajima-no-kami’s deeply somber face, there was a fearsome smile.

Long ago, it is said there was a man named Arao Tajima-no-kami who served as Osaka Town Magistrate.
Around the same time, it is said there was also a physician named Yasuda Genchiku.
However, Town Magistrate Arao Tajima-no-kami and physician Nakada Genchiku in this story have no relation whatsoever to those individuals.