Pathway to Japanese Literature

Sea Strife on the Nineteenth Night

1
"Hmm… I’m sure I closed it before going to bed."

With that, Kunpei, the retainer servant, lifted his head from the pillow and strained his ears.

The wind seemed to have picked up.

Because the sea was near, the sea breeze rustled through the garden trees.
The garden gate door—which he had been certain was closed before retiring—now intermittently slammed with loud bangs: thud... thud...

Kunpei lit the handheld candle.
Shielding the flickering flame, he stepped into the garden, but his eyes widened when he saw the main house on the southern side where his masters resided.

"Ah! Lady Oichi's room is open?"

Muttering to himself, Kunpei approached the spot.
The rain shutters stood open by two feet. Peering quietly into the veranda's interior revealed only darkness, yet an air of disarray lingered within.

“Young Mistress! Young Mistress!”

He called out twice.

There came no reply.

Kunpei froze—the realization that his premonition had proven correct making his body shudder.

This room, which tomorrow would see her wedded off to Sogabe Hyōgo by the household, had spent the entire day in frenzied activity—packing abandoned belongings and making final preparations.

“Master! Master! The Young Mistress’s room is open.”
“And there’s no response from the Young Mistress.”

From outside the rain shutters, when he knocked on his master’s bedroom and reported this,

“What?! The daughter isn’t here?!”

Tanmaru Sōshichi and his wife seemed to have been roused abruptly, and suddenly, signs of panic could be heard within the house.

As for their daughter Oichi's conduct, it appeared Tanmaru Sōshichi and his wife had indeed nursed faint misgivings—

"So she's been seduced by that Genkishin wretch and absconded before tomorrow! Un-! Unruly scoundrel!"

Amidst the turmoil, Sōshichi's furious voice broke through—then,

"You're to blame! As mother, how could you remain ignorant?"

he roared at her mother in a dreadful voice.

A voice burst out, collapsing into sobs.
Oichi’s mother was weeping in regret.

As Sōshichi berated her through the sobs,

“Y-You fool! Do you think weeping will solve anything?
“Found the suicide note—it says she went to Kamigata.
“Until we went to sleep, there was no sign of anything amiss—yet that scoundrel was seen in this room’s lamplight. In short, making arrangements with all haste is essential.
“First, go inform Mr. Saiji.
“And to Okamura and Nosaka as well.
“Hurry! Hurry!”

2

They probably hadn't run that far yet. Moreover, since there would be no ships departing from the harbor at midnight, their path must have been directed toward crossing the mountains. Kunpei returned to his retainer servant's quarters and, while hurriedly preparing himself, thought so.

"Master—I'll go ahead and restrain the Young Mistress. Please follow immediately after."

As he called out from outside while leaving, Sōshichi showed his face at the window.

“Kunpei? Kunpei?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“You’ve been perceptive.”
“Go quickly—it’s not the shore.”
“The path seems to head toward the mountains.”

“I also think so.”

“We’ll make arrangements and follow right behind—”

Kunpei had already rushed outside.
The master’s panicked voice lingered in his ears, and his heart remained wounded without end.

The castle town of Nakatsu had already settled into sleep everywhere.
At Ogasawara Clan’s 80,000-koku castle too, only scattered pinpricks of light remained visible.

The road followed along the Yamakuni River's flow.
As it moved away from both town and village alike，the road began ascending.

Usa lay six ri ahead.
Kokura stretched fifteen and a half ri beyond.

It was when Kunpei came to the mountain pass's fork and was wiping relieved sweat.
From behind what should have been a closed and deserted mountain teahouse，two figures appeared—clinging together as they retreated into the distance.

"Huh?!"
...So it was Genkishin after all.

Kunpei bent low to avoid being noticed and gave chase.

The other was unmistakably his master’s daughter—Oichi.

“Wait!—Young Mistress! Mr. Genkishin!”

Suddenly rushing forward, Kunpei grabbed the sleeves of the man and woman.

3

The man and woman, startled, shook off his hands, but Kunpei circled ahead and blocked their path.

“What have you done? The Young Mistress has her share of blame, and Mr. Genkishin’s conduct is equally unbecoming of a samurai. Come now, please return.”

“…………”

The young man and woman, frozen in fear, trembled at Kunpei’s booming voice.

“If you return now while none yet know of this, the Young Mistress’s honor will remain unblemished, and Mr. Genkishin may yet emerge unscathed... Though I had faintly sensed your bond for some time, Young Mistress—your parents have already pledged you in marriage to a respectable husband through their own sworn word. And now, on this very night before your wedding tomorrow—if you indulge in such matters, what will become of your parents’ standing?”

Then, Fukami Genkishin, who had been silent until then—

“Now, Kunpei.”
“A mere retainer shouldn’t meddle in affairs beyond his station.”
“Now that we’ve fled the castle town, the love between a man and woman becomes a matter of life and death—here at this pass, we either conquer love or die.”

“Then, no matter what—”

“That’s obvious!”

“But surely, Young Mistress, you don’t intend to abandon your parents to hardship and leave the consequences to fate.”
“A man who’s silver-tongued and fair of face is bound to be fickle.—Take care you don’t live to regret this choice.”

“You! Who do those words refer to?—”

With that, Genkishin suddenly drew his sword and slashed at Kunpei's face.

Kunpei cried out as he clutched both hands to his face and staggered back five or six paces.

Though he nearly fell to his knees, the instant the blood drenched him, his samurai spirit surged forth—eyes snapping wide open—

“I won’t stand for this!”

With that, they crossed blades, and he fiercely counterattacked.

Genkishin evaded his sharp blade tip again and again, biding his time until Kunpei weakened, then struck with a relentless flurry of sword blows.

Oichi could no longer bring herself to face the servant who had carried her on his back and held her in his arms since her childhood.

“Please—please stop. Mr. Genkishin! Please stop. Ah—someone’s coming from over there. Let’s get out of here quickly—”

“What? The pursuers are here?”

Losing composure at her words, Genkishin started running after Oichi as she fled, still clutching the bloodied sword.

But two days later, the man and woman were caught by pursuers aboard a ferry bound from Moji to Akama no Seki.

However, only Oichi was retrieved, while Fukami Genkishin plunged into the sea at the strait’s mouth amid its scattering of islands, seizing a lapse in his hunters’ watchfulness.

Of course, this matter was kept strictly confidential only among the Tanmaru family’s inner circle, and Oichi’s wedding was postponed under the pretense of sudden illness.

The young retainer Kunpei had sustained severe injuries.
However, they managed to preserve his life, so summoning his brother-in-law—a low-ranking samurai from the same domain named Ogatake Shūzō—they transferred custody with solemn care.

After over half a year had passed, Oichi’s marriage was conducted with utmost modesty.—Sogabe Hyōgo of the same domain, with whom she had long been formally betrothed, became her husband from that day onward.

× ×

× ×

The years from Kyōhō 2 to 8 blinked by.

The mistake of her nineteenth year had become a dream from six years past; Oichi still retained the dewy freshness of a twenty-five-year-old bride, while her husband Sogabe Hyōgo was a taciturn samurai nearing forty. And day after day, in the castle town where nothing occurred beyond the quiet roar of the sea and the gentle sunlight, this household too, of course, appeared peaceful. The only thing that cast a shadow over their marital relationship was the absence of children—a void just profound enough to evoke loneliness.

The Wife of One Regret

I

Tanabata was approaching—it was the dusk of a certain summer day.

Oichi stood solitary in the garden surrendered to weeds, gazing up at the evening star.
Both outside and at the windows, a faint brightness still lingered.

“Oichi—”
“Where’s the hawk?”

From her husband’s study, Hyōgo’s voice came sharply toward her figure.

“…………”

Oichi’s eyes—which had been fixed on the stars—shifted from treetop to treetop, but she did not so much as glance toward her husband.

“...It isn’t here.”

With that cold reply, she fell silent.

Hyōgo raised eyes wearied from writing and roughly placed his brush on the brush stand.

His surroundings were buried in books.

Just as the garden weeds had been left to grow unchecked, so too was his personal space—cluttered and dusty like a bachelor’s quarters.

“Gone?….”
“Of course it is.”
“Standing there like that, staring at the garden trees—you won’t see it.”
“Go search outside.”

“…………”

She, however—did not move from where she stood.

Just now, when she entered the hawk cage in place of her husband to feed the hawk, she made a mistake and let it escape.

With hawk droppings and the smell of flying insects permeating the air, whenever she entered that space, she always felt stifled.
That was why she disliked hawks and was unkind to them.

As it was a tame hawk that should not have fled, yet upon seeing her presence, even the hawk would become enraged.
The root of the mistake lay there.

Her husband Hyōgo did not scold her for this, but—
(Go find it)
He had been repeating since earlier.
(If someone familiar whistles or raises a hand to call out, the hawk will descend to their fist—aren’t you the falconer’s wife?)
That’s what he meant to say.
But—she could not obey that command.
She kept watching the stars…
The one who wasn’t here—that distant person—rose in her memory.
And now, without reason, tears began falling—

“Are you still there?!”

Hyōgo’s voice grew fiercer.

“An old hawk—too aged for hunting now—but one I’ve fed and cared for these many years."
“And being too accustomed to humans, if it strays from this house, heartless brats will snare it or hunters shoot it dead.—Find it before full dark falls.”

“...It cannot be done.”

“What? Why can my order not be done?”

“To command a woman to hunt hawks—”

“Didn’t you let it escape?”

“Is it your intention to blame me for letting it escape and torment me?”

“Who would take pleasure in seeing his wife in distress? Aren’t you the falconer’s wife? After five or six years of watching my daily routines morning and night, you should know how to handle things by now. If you blow the hawk whistle I just gave you and walk around the estate—where the garden trees are plentiful—the hawk will surely hear it and come down.”

“Such a... such an undignified thing.”

“What is undignified?”

“If you were to search yourself, would that not suffice?”

“Having vowed to return ‘Hōyō Koji’—those falconry chronicles borrowed from another house—within ten days, I am now transcribing them with due diligence and cannot spare my hands... Ah! The lamp remains unlit.”

“I shall tend to the lamp myself—go search! Find the hawk!”

He drew the nearby lamp closer, but dust had settled even in the recesses of the oil dish beyond cleaning’s reach. When he passed flame from kindling stick to wick, crackling sparks leapt forth.

II

Before anyone noticed, Oichi had vanished from the garden.

Assuming she had gone outside to search for the hawk, Hyōgo hunched over his desk once more—then jerked upright at a noise from her chamber. Through the bush clover lattice door, he saw Oichi sitting before her mirror, applying evening makeup with practiced strokes.

“You’re still here?!”

As he roared this, he unconsciously grabbed an object from his desk and hurled it into her room.

It was a round inkstone used for grinding vermilion ink.
The inkstone that had burst through the bush clover lattice door struck the chest and leapt to the side where she sat.

“—I was just about to go.”

Oichi did not so much as glance his way, her hands moving the comb.
Hyōgo, his jaw clenched, detected in her voice a coldness and composure unlike any he had heard in days. He remained silent and kept watching.

Next, Oichi was opening the chest of drawers.
The sound of the drawer handles being opened and closed grew increasingly violent.

Oichi changed her kimono, tightened her obi, and began bundling some personal effects—Hyōgo,
(Here we go again)
And with that realization, he clicked his tongue.

“...I have something to discuss.”

With formality, she came before her husband and sat down.

“...What is it?”

“Please grant me leave.”

“...”

“You’re a man who finds hawks more dear than your wife.”

“...”

“This room too is filled with books on hawks.”
“The house overflows with molted feathers and hawk feed.”
“No matter where one turns, it reeks of hawks—the time you’re most pleased is when muttering to them during feeding, isn’t it?”
“You—who’ve never shown your wife a face half as tender as what you grant those hawks.”

“I am the domain’s falconer. Studying texts, keeping hawks—this is my calling. My duty.”
“—Is that not simply fulfilling one’s obligations?”

“Therefore, I shall take my leave from this household.”
“Please—I humbly request my leave.”

“It’s simple enough.…Even after you came here, this household’s lamp oil dish has remained clogged with dead insects and dust all along.”
“Whether you stay or go—it makes no difference.”

“V-very well then… In that case—”

“But wait.”

“Are you having second thoughts?”
“You call yourself a samurai?”

“Ha ha ha ha.—Well, think what you will.”
“How many times has that woman vowed to leave now?”

“Yes—today I shall finally depart.”
“Since entering this household as a bride, I’ve not known a single day’s happiness.”

“There’s no other way…”

“Wh-why would you say that?”

“And thereby—day by day atoning for your sin of unfilial piety toward your parents—isn’t that at least the path that woman should take?”

“......”

Oichi bit her slightly pale lips tightly and pressed closer,

“What on earth… what… what do you mean by that?”

“Examine your own conscience.”

“Both my father Sōshichi and my mother are living peacefully at home.”
“What—how have I been unfilial to my parents—”

“Enough!”

“No, no.”

“Shut up.”
“Is it not precisely because we as husband and wife have shown the world that all is well—no, that there’s not a ripple of discord—that Lord Sōshichi remains unharmed?”
“From that good man Lord Sōshichi down to all her family—precisely because I believed they would meet a pitiable fate by my will alone, I went through with that marriage without a word.”

“Th-that kind of… feigned sentiment—I detest it.”

“What are you saying? Who would harbor such feigned sentiment?—But there was a time I pleaded with your parents—when they clasped my hands in entreaty.”

“I don’t know. Even my engagement to you—Father arranged it without telling me.”

“No—now listen.”
“For a samurai, there is nothing more painful than pleading and having his hands clasped.”
“That woman always claims I harbor no love for her—but that’s mere spite speaking.”
“A woman I once took—ignorant though she was, I found her pitiable—especially when Lord Sōshichi wept and seized my hands in parental entreaty.”
“To this day, I’ve never once hated that woman.”
“A rice tub too has its quirks until accustomed to use.”
“Until I made you fully my wife, I meant to smooth those quirks away—to polish you to perfection.—I’ve striven thus, yet that great love remains beyond your grasp.”

“I see.—That’s right. After all, someone like me is considered no more than a rice tub to you.”

“You’ll come to understand.”
“The longer—the much longer—you live with me—”

“I can’t endure this any longer…”
“Just thinking of it makes my body tremble.”

“Misfortune tempts that woman.”
“For Lord Sōshichi’s sake as well as hers—am I not the sheltering boughs of a great tree? The escaped hawk is beyond recall, but I cannot turn a blind eye to one heading toward ruin.”

“By saying such things and once again dulling my spirit—like strangling me with silk floss—you are slowly, tormentingly taking your revenge, aren’t you?”

“—Revenge?”

“That’s right!”
“Your kindness isn’t truly kind at its core.”
“A thornbush concealing its needles.”
“Why don’t you speak what’s in your heart like a man, instead of refraining from striking or kicking me?”

“Ha ha ha ha—calm yourself now. You may even go search for the hawk.”
“Calm yourself thoroughly and reconsider once more.”

“No, I refuse, I refuse.”
“No matter what you say… I… I just can’t…”

The more her husband maintained his composed gaze, the more her eyes brimmed with tears.
Then, in a frenzy, she ran back to her parlor, gathered the bundled belongings she had prepared, and went out through the entrance.

The previous day, one of the comrades had returned home to Isahaya due to an urgent matter arising, and the old woman in the kitchen quarters was hard of hearing; even if she noticed anything, she likely assumed it had been going on for days.

Hyōgo turned back to his desk and took up his brush again.

Just then, though the sound of her footsteps suggested she had stepped through the gate—or perhaps not yet—

“What—?!”

Then came a single soul-rending scream from outside.

“……?”

Hyōgo set down the brush he had taken up and listened intently, but then suddenly furrowed his brows and stood up.

Unforgotten Grudge

I

The residences in this neighborhood were all small.

Consequently, narrow alleys twisted in many directions, and every house—exceedingly plain—was inhabited by seemingly impoverished samurai.

Now—there came clattering through the twilight a traveling rōnin who staggered through the gathering dark.
Like a bat colliding with an object, Oichi—the moment she emerged from the gate and came face-to-face with someone—crashed into the earthen wall there and fell with a thud.

“P-p-please help me!
“I beg of you!”
“Wh-where... where should I... I beg you to hide me!”

He grabbed the hem of her kimono and cried out.

On the red-soil earthen wall where its surface crumbled, evening face vines had spread entirely across it, and countless white flowers quivered in the faint night breeze. Around her and across the rōnin’s body, those fragile vines and white flowers fell, scattered into countless pieces.

“Ah…?”

As Oichi stepped back, the young rōnin tightened his grip on the kimono hem he clutched even more firmly,

“M-mercy… please… just for a little while… inside the gate…”

As he pleaded, he came crawling.

The young rōnin’s back had burst open with bright red flesh like the spine of a split fish.
In the dimness, a liquid indistinguishable from blood flowed thickly and blackly across his entire body, leaving bloody handprints where he had pressed against the ground.

It was then that she let out an involuntary scream and retreated inside the gate.
Outside, the mortally wounded man’s groans—"Uun... uun..."—grew eerily louder.

Having told her husband she was leaving and stepped over the threshold, yet with that eerie figure collapsed outside the gate, Oichi stood there frozen in hesitation.

Just then, the light of the hand-held candle illuminated,

“What’s…?”

Hyōgo’s voice came from behind.

There had been no change in his tone from before—none at all—but Oichi found it unbearable to seem hesitant,

“Yes… I’m… I’m about to go now.”

she replied.

Hyōgo gave a faint bitter smile, but at the groans outside the gate—

“Huh? …Who’s there?”

Hyōgo held a hand-held candle toward the wounded figure.

II

The young wounded rōnin—already on the verge of losing consciousness, having collapsed—convulsed his entire body at Hyōgo’s words and the hand-held candle’s light,

“By a samurai’s mercy!”
“P-please... grant me shelter...”

With the force of a scream, he squeezed out a faint voice and prostrated himself at Hyōgo’s feet with blood-soaked hands.

Hyōgo, upon seeing the rōnin’s face—paler than the evening face flowers—was aghast, but...

“A duel?”

he asked tersely.

“Y-yes.”
“The opponent… the opponent was five or six men.”
“Alone? You?”
“……”

When he nodded and began to collapse as he was, Hyōgo hurriedly reached out his hand.
And then, as soon as he lifted the wounded man’s body, he ran into the depths of the garden.
Oichi, seizing that moment with resolve never to face Hyōgo again—had just stepped out through the gate when, all at once, the clattering sound of approaching footsteps erupted alongside—

“Ah, this is the house!”

“There’s blood spilled here!”

As they shouted in unison, she saw the gleaming swords of samurai now blocking the gate and froze rigid with even greater terror this time.

“There!”

“There!” said one of the five men.
The blade of that man’s sword was vividly smeared with blood.

The others, too, were all carrying their drawn swords.
Every face had eyes narrowed, leather sashes donned, hakama ties fastened—none bore a semblance of ordinary composure.

Just like that, they tried to push their way into the gate in a clamorous rush.
Then, like a swift bird, Hyōgo came rushing back from the depths of the garden,
“Wait! Where do you think you’re going?”

and spread both arms wide to block the entire gateway.

“Huh?”—they seemed to realize for the first time upon seeing his figure—
“Is this Lord Sogabe’s residence?”

As if in realization, they all looked around at the evening face flowers on the earthen wall.

“I am Sogabe Hyōgo, whose ancestors have received stipends for generations and who resides here. Though small, though poor, a samurai’s house is a castle. By whose authority do you deign to set foot within this gate?”

“Just now, a wounded rōnin must have fled inside here—a detestable villain who cannot be left alive. Hand him over.”

As the man with the old scar on his cheek shouted, the other samurai too joined in—

“For years we have pursued him, and at last, learning he entered this Nakatsu castle town when the time came, we found him moments ago at Kasagake Pine Crossroads, struck him once with our blade, yet let him escape.”

“We ask that you hand over that villain.”

“Hand him over to us.”

“If this inconveniences you, we shall take it upon ourselves to make the arrest. Thus we beg your indulgence to briefly search your residence.”

Their chanted demands throbbed with bloodlust.

Hyōgo kept his hands outstretched as before,

"No—
"That cannot be permitted.
"I refuse," he said.
He answered in resolute words.

III

When met with Hyōgo’s outright rejection, the five men—already agitated to begin with—
“What! Why can’t it be done?”

They pressed closer.

"No matter what, once I've taken a man under a samurai's roof and granted him shelter, to hand him over now would violate bushido honor."

"That makes no sense," one retorted. "What possible connection could you have with that villain to protect him so?"

"Precisely because he's a stranger with no ties to me—that makes it imperative. I cannot surrender him to any of you."

"I don't understand!"

With that, the man with the large scar on his cheek turned to his comrades and let out a piercing scream.

“This Lord Sogabe Hyōgo—to say such a thing! He’s someone who could have struck him down together with us—that villain we both despise!”

“Surely you still know nothing—neither who we are nor who the rōnin that fled through this gate might be. Genkishin has changed, and your face too has been transformed by that great scar.”

“That’s right. Declare yourself! Declare yourself!—and give us a full account of the details.”

Centered around the man with the large scar on his face, the five samurai clamored, but soon—

“Ah, Lord Hyōgo.
“This man here—perhaps you failed to recognize him due to the great scar on his face—is one called Kunpei, who formerly served Lord Tanmaru as a young retainer.
“This humble one is my uncle Taizaemon.”

“This humble one is Ogatake Shuhei, Kunpei’s brother-in-law.”

“I am Nakane Kurahachi, a cousin.”

“Sawai Matahachi, a friend.”

After announcing themselves in turn,

“The dastard who fled inside is none other than Fukami Genkishin, who absconded from this honorable residence six years ago! For Kunpei, he is—needless to say—a man burdened with years of resentment. For his former masters of the Tanmaru household, and all the more for your lordship, is he not a beast that cannot be left unchecked? Yet you shelter him—your lordship’s judgment defies comprehension. Now, hand him over!”

Their demands had grown even more forceful than before.

Without needing to be told, Hyōgo had long known—and so throughout it all, he did not alter his expression in the slightest.
—and then, just a single word—

“No— That cannot be,” Hyōgo repeated. “No matter what you say, I absolutely cannot hand over a wounded man under a samurai’s pledge.”

Ogatake Shuhei, Kunpei’s brother-in-law, had been glaring at Hyōgo with blazing eyes since earlier. “Enough! Stop wasting words on this obstinate fool,” he snapped. “It’s useless to talk!”

With that, he cursed,

“To think we’d try preaching bushido to sensibilities like yours—you who keep one of those elopers as your wife yet do nothing—it’s utterly futile!”
“Then answer plainly—will you refuse to surrender him even at swordpoint?”
“Just say it outright!”

With that, he opened his stance and snapped while swiftly raising his blade.

Since Shuhei had done so, the others also quickly changed their stances.
Naturally, they had anticipated that their opponent might suddenly launch a surprise attack.

But Hyōgo did not so much as twitch an eyebrow.
He simply let a faint wry smile play at the corners of his lips,

“From the very start—even at the cost of crossing blades!”

he said.

“Damn you!”

The single slash Shuhei swung struck diagonally into the gate pillar.—Instantly, instead of Hyōgo’s shadow that had hidden within, the gate doors, pregnant with wind, slammed shut with a thunderous crash.

“Uncle, give me a boost.”

With that, Shuhei planted his foot on Taizaemon’s back and immediately attempted to leap over the wall into the compound.

“Now, now—wait, wait.”

Taizaemon twisted away from his back and, while restraining both him and the others,

“If we force our way in unreasonably, just as Hyōgo said, it’ll become our failing—and play right into that bastard’s hands.”
“It’s infuriating, but let us calm ourselves—”
“Now, look... Let’s keep our composure here.”

he whispered something.

The four men stamped their feet and glared at the gate,

“Tch!”

With that, they spat in disgust and then departed to parts unknown.

The Hawk Shed's Groan

I

At the sound of footsteps suggesting Kunpei and his friends along with the Ogatake family were departing, Sogabe Hyōgo, relieved, began to head inside but suddenly turned toward the darkened earth and called, "Oichi."

he called.

Oichi, hunkered down beside the gate as if to erase her very presence, lay flattened and prostrate.

“You’ll catch cold.”

That too had been his customary voice.

“…………”

Suddenly, Oichi began to sob.
Her shoulders heaved in waves as she sobbed violently.

“While you’re crying, the wounded will die.”
“Go quickly to the hawk shed and tend to them.”

Having thrown out those words, Hyōgo hid himself inside the house and once again sat down silently before his desk.

He sat down—but even he could not bring himself to take up the brush.

Beneath the earth, earthworms wailed as the night turned starry.
Even a sweltering summer night grew utterly chill, wiping away all restless agitation from human hearts.

"...Uuugh.
...Uuugh..."

From the hawk shed in the garden's corner came occasional thick groans of agony.
They seemed to writhe like six years of Oichi and Hyōgo's suffering convulsing as one.

Those sounds must have reached Oichi's ears too.
Left untended, the bleeding would never cease—it was evident life was being drained away moment by moment.

Then—clatter—a noise came from the rear.

Hyōgo immediately opened the window and,

“Who’s there?”

he challenged.

“Ah… You startled me.”
“I am Yoshimatsu, your servant.”
“The patient in Isahaya has recovered, so I have just returned.”

“Oh... Yoshimatsu?”

“I deeply apologize for neglecting my duties.”

“You’ve returned at an opportune moment.”
“Let’s not waste time—do you have any hemostatic agent on hand?”

“I do.”

“And pour shochu into the flask until it’s full, then take it along with the bleached cloth to the front of the hawk shed.—Just leave it outside, mind you. Don’t go inside.”

“Understood.”

Yoshimatsu, though wearing a doubtful expression, gathered the items he had been ordered to prepare and carried them to the back of the rear garden.

There stood a single hawk shed.

Though his master had told him not to enter, the door stood open and there seemed to be someone inside, so Yoshimatsu peered into the darkness.

The white face turned from beside the wounded man and let out a soft "ah."

Yoshimatsu also started in surprise,

“Ah! Madam—is that you?”

Yoshimatsu shouted.

Oichi waved her hand,

“Shh... Keep quiet.”

“Is there someone injured there?”

“I tore my underrobe and am treating him now.”

“I’ve brought bleached cloth, wound powder, and shochu here as instructed, but—”

“What? How did you—”

“By the Master’s orders...”

“...Ah.
”...I see.”

Oichi was hunched over with her head bowed rigidly when suddenly—as though a woman’s singular resolve had taken full hold—the tremor left her voice,

“Bring them here.”

“Y-yes… But Master said not to go inside, though...”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Then—”

“Then, when midnight comes—I’m sorry to ask—but could you quietly arrange for two palanquins to be brought to the back gate?”

“Understood.”

“Fill a bamboo tube with water and tie it to the palanquin, please. Then layer oilcloths and thin futons inside, will you?”

“Then, regarding the injured one—”

“I’m taking him to Beppu Hot Springs for treatment.”

“What about informing Master…?”

“Since you know everything already, there’s no need to speak of it.
“—since he will likely retire for the night soon.”

“...Indeed,” Yoshimatsu peered through the garden trees and—

“The light in the room has gone out without us noticing.”

“Then I’ll go arrange for a palanquin at once—it would be troublesome if there were none when the time comes.”

Yoshimatsu went out somewhere.

II

It was already past the ninth hour (midnight)―

A quiet midnight with no sound of the sea.

Only the horizon blazed fiercely like a band of moonlight.

“Madam… They’re ready.”

“The palanquin?”

“Yes.”

“What of Master…?”

“It would seem he remains asleep as he was.”

“...Then lend me your hand.”
“...We must carry him gently—very gently.”

“The wound appears quite deep.”

“But I thoroughly cleansed and bandaged it with bleached cloth. His complexion has improved significantly.”

Yoshimatsu casually lifted the wounded man and hoisted him onto his shoulder, but upon suddenly seeing the rōnin's face—

“Ah! This man—”

Yoshimatsu blurted out before he could stop himself.

Oichi turned her face away.

“You... recognize this man’s face too?”

“How could I not know? ...Madam!”
“What sort of person are you...”

“Say no more.”

“Won’t speak—won’t pursue you.”

Yoshimatsu bent his arm, wiping the tears from his face as he started trudging forward with the wounded man on his shoulder.

“Ah, Yoshimatsu.”
“Not the front gate.”
“The palanquins should be at the back gate, shouldn’t they?”

“Nuh-uh—” Yoshimatsu shook his head,

“Since evening, there’ve been suspicious figures standing like sentries at the back beach—I had them approach from the front instead.”

“Huh? Someone’s outside?”

“There’s no helping it.”
“If we’d stayed within these walls, Master wouldn’t let anyone lay a finger on you… Yet you’re the one choosing this path to hell.”

“’S enough!”
“…Because I’ve already steeled my resolve.”

Before the gate, two palanquins waited stealthily.
This too appeared to be Yoshimatsu’s considerate touch—black cloth had been wrapped around the lanterns.

The wounded man was gently laid inside one of the palanquins.
Yoshimatsu sniffled and stared at the ground, but
“Now, Madam, quickly…”

He urged, fearing prying eyes.

“Thank you—”

For the first time, she offered such heartfelt thanks even to a servant.
And then,

“That’s enough now—go inside.”

she said.

Even after Yoshimatsu had retreated inside and closed the gate, she continued to gaze at the roof, eaves, and trees of the house where she had lived for six years. And, careful not to catch the palanquin bearers’ notice, she gently snapped off a tendril of evening face flowers creeping along the gate’s earthen wall and tucked it into her sleeve.

“Palanquin bearers—please proceed. One carries a patient—take care not to jostle it.”

The palanquin, bearing the wounded man yet moving with a light bounce, broke into a run.

Oichi, from within the palanquin, looked back once more at the overgrown gate of her home.

Vine-Entwined Path

I

Heading south from Nakatsu’s castle town, the road had no sooner left the merchant district behind than they found themselves compelled toward the row of trees along the beach—whether they willed it or not.

“Stop—!”

A figure suddenly leaped out from the shadows of the trees to the side. Though his hoarse voice immediately revealed him as an old man, in his hands he gripped a spear, his hakama hitched high—he looked every bit a fierce demon.

“Oichi! Come out here! There’s no need to wait for outsiders—I, your own father Sōshichi, will execute judgment here and now.—Come out! Come out! After that, I’ll stab that adulterous lover of yours too—”

Behind Sōshichi, the five men from earlier stood lined up exactly as they were.

With his frost-white sideburns quivering, Sōshichi shouted, “You’ve disgraced our family name and smeared mud on your husband’s face.—You! Come out this instant!”

As he drew back his spear and was about to thrust it into the lowered palanquin, a swift figure flashed from the row of trees and leaped to his side, seizing the spear’s shaft.

“Old Master.”
“You of all people—what do you think you’re doing?”

“Ah—it’s you, Master Hyōgo!”

“If matters have come to making you do such things, this humble one need not endure prolonged hardship.”
“When these troubles first arose—were you blameless as a father? Was this husband lacking in his duties?”
“We would be remiss not to reflect on this.”

“No—I bear no fault.”
“What townsfolk cannot fathom—between samurai, no, for a samurai’s daughter—there exists no allowance for such considerations.”

“Samurai.—To this ‘samurai’ you invoked earlier, why then did you plead with me before wedding Oichi?!”
“Why clasp your hands before this humble one?”

“Huh?”

“For samurai, there exists the principle of honoring sworn oaths.”
“When you revealed your circumstances and begged me with tears to take your daughter—why do you not show that sorrow now?”
“‘Very well—I shall wed her.’ That solemn vow made then—I have yet to cast it from my heart.”

“………”

“No—this transcends mere rigid arguments of oaths and honor.”
“A flawed gem becomes difficult to discard once worn close.”
“All the more so for a woman swayed by fleeting passions—the more ignorant she remains, the more pitiable—yet until this day, I have strained every fiber not to betray the pledge I made to you.”

“Please, say no more—what wastefulness, what wastefulness.”
“Hearing that—this Sōshichi found himself at a complete loss how to apologize.”

“The apology must come from Hyōgo himself, as I have already stated.”
“Even this solemnly given promise has proven ineffective without your acceptance.”

“Wh-what… An apology from you—?”

“At this juncture, I implore your mercy.”
“Please dissolve both their sworn vows and resentments—allow this palanquin to take the path they desire.”
“Through that connection—I, who once stood as husband and samurai—this constitutes my sole parting gift to Oichi.”

“No—my sole judgment cannot allow it. Nor can I proceed without hearing the hearts of those five men present there.”

Sōshichi, driven by fatherly instincts, had nowhere left to point his spear.

Hyōgo courteously turned toward the five figures,

“I humbly request that you act accordingly.”

he said.

And again,

“Is Master Kunpei present among them?”

he asked.

II

“Yes, this humble one is present here.”

Kunpei took a step forward and said.

“Did you not inflict upon Genkishin a wound far deeper than the one you suffered—one that pierces the heart?”
“Moreover, to drive the blade home shows no samurai compassion.”
“Not only that—by doing so, you would force my former lord Sōshichi into the position where he must mete out judgment upon his own daughter.”

“……I understand.”
“Through your words, I have come to understand that true bushido—beyond petty stubbornness and male pride—is something grand and imbued with tender love.”
“—I will forget everything.”
“Please permit that palanquin to pass.”

“I am indebted.”

Hyōgo, intending to convey that to Sōshichi, had returned to the palanquin’s side—but when he suddenly noticed, from beneath where Oichi sat, countless streams of blood were racing across the ground.

“Damn it!”

Hyōgo rushed over and slashed up the palanquin’s curtain—but it was already too late.
Being self-willed—a woman not easily swayed in her resolve—the short blade she had thrust into her own throat had pierced so deeply that its tip emerged at her collar.

And upon her knees—where evening face flowers still clung—rested two or three white blooms not yet wilted.

“...Lord Hyōgo.
“My daughter was indeed a samurai’s daughter after all.
“I may have been wrong.
“No—I was wrong, I was wrong... Forgive me.”

Sōshichi—his hands gripping the earth—shook with suppressed sobs that trembled through his frail aged shoulder bones, unable to raise his face for what felt an eternity.

“That one—”

At his meaningful glance, Kunpei and the five retainers immediately surrounded the other palanquin and peered inside—but Genkishin had not committed seppuku.

—for his life had already ended on the way there.

(June 1938 [Shōwa 13])