Pathway to Japanese Literature

Wild camellia

When she entered the inner thicket and stood still, a young bush warbler that could only chirp feebly fled away from right beside her, as if it had flown out from her very sleeve.

(Oh? A white kitten?)

When she looked closer, it turned out to be spring snow that had fallen seven days prior—unexpectedly lingering in the shade, enough to fit in both palms.

Spring must have come to the town and its people by now.

Her husband’s figure—shut away inside the house—was exactly like that lump of snow there, unchanged—she thought.

To Sumie's ears, the sounds of the world came longingly.
The morning practice drums from the estate beyond the thicket, the distant beat of Kabukichō’s festival drums—
Edo’s rooftops blurred in a faint red midday haze as if whispering temptations to feminine modesty beneath a sky that remained endlessly azure.

“Madam, were you over there?”
“From the Kyoto dye shop at the front.”

At the voice from behind, Sumie turned to look,

"Oh, Mr. Hishiya! Wait a moment, please."

After breaking off a branch of wild camellia and adding it to the small basket holding the butterbur sprouts she'd gathered, she returned to her home's kitchen entrance, cradling it in her sleeve.

The Kyoto dye shop clerk followed Sumie inside, sat down on the wooden floor, and immediately began unwrapping the package.

“Oh, do have a look, madam.”
“That plain silk crepe has been transformed into such a delicate small pattern, you see.”
“And I’ve taken particular care with the tailoring as well, if I may say so.”

“It truly has become quite fashionable. And the hood?”
“What of the hood?”

“I did bring the hood as well, though I must say the color turned out rather more vivid than anticipated.”

“Oh, what a lovely shade.”

“It seems Madam’s taste, while refined, does favor a hint of boldness after all.”
“Oh, not at all—you honor me. Madam still prefers understated elegance, while the world grows ever more flamboyant.”
“Rikōcha browns and Kichiyaenji crimsons—these hues aren’t merely passing fancies for young maidens anymore, you see.”

“Now, lower your voice a bit.
If it reaches my husband’s ears, it will put him in a foul mood again.”

“Oh—your husband is home.”
“……My deepest apologies.”

As he hurriedly rose to his feet and presented the bill, Sumie—

“……Together.”

With that whispered refusal, she immediately slid shut the water house shoji there.

Saikyō Harunobu

Since becoming a rōnin, he had not earned even a single grain of rice.
Idleness, living in idleness—such days had now reached their fifth year—

“How have I managed to live through all this time?”

Even Hirata Sanzaburō found it strange to himself.

Moreover, both husband and wife still retained traces of their former dignity and had not yet grown weary of their grime-coated existence.

"But... this must be rock bottom."

Sanzaburō had begun considering this matter for some time now.
He remained sunk in idleness with arms folded, not having stepped outside even once in geta since that snowy day.

——It was that snowy day.

Since coming to Edo, rōnin companions he had befriended came bringing three or four friends,

“How about it—won’t you come along? You must join us! When we’ve been given this once-in-a-thousand-years chance to rise in the world—how could there be any reason to let such an opportunity slip away? Hey there, Madam—isn’t that right?”

Such was their enthusiastic urging.

When her husband’s friends said this, Sumie became even more eager than her husband,

“If that’s the case, then please do include my husband as well. My husband is rather reserved by nature and has already let slip numerous opportunities for employment up to this day——”

she insisted vehemently.

Since even his wife had gone so far as to insist,

(I’ll go—this time.)

And so Sanzaburō finally agreed to join them.

The departure was set for early February.
The day was fast approaching.

The group departing from Edo was estimated to number roughly ten members. The plan was for them to first train diligently for approximately two months at Chikurin-in Temple’s dojo in Kyoto, then after a period of restful preparation, stand ready for the archery competition at Sanjūsangen-dō in late April.

Among some of the rōnin companions,

(The time had come to rise in the world.)

When they spoke of this opportunity, they were rejoicing that while long-distance archery competitions had been conducted exclusively among the Three Houses and domain samurai over these past fifty or sixty years since the Kan'ei and Shōtoku eras, this time that hallowed venue was being granted to obscure archers throughout the realm, allowing skilled practitioners outside domain samurai to be discovered.

(The time had come)

Hirata Sanzaburō too felt this with crystalline clarity.
Nor was he naturally reserved by disposition, as his wife claimed.

No—within the man’s idleness lay pent-up frustrations surpassing even his wife’s.

But for now—to join that group and make the journey to Kyoto—forty or fifty ryō in gold was absolutely necessary.
Not only would gratuities be required for Sanjūsangen-dō's temple officials and those serving as accountants, but they also absolutely had to prepare twenty ryō for the membership fee.
As for other expenses—travel funds, personal preparations, lodging fees—with their current means, they could not manage even a single ryō.

"If you keep speaking that way, you'll never find a path to service in this lifetime."

Sumie said this, but when it came to procuring the funds—naturally, she herself had no viable plan.

She simply—through a woman's heart—particularly cherished such lofty aspirations and was inherently strong-willed—while simultaneously being compelled by a gambler's hope that here, in this place, her husband might restore honor before their homeland from which they had departed as rōnin.

“If you were to seriously try to procure funds, couldn’t it be managed somehow?”

As her husband sank deeper into despondency, she became determined to encourage him and dismissed it as nothing of consequence.

However, seven days had passed since that snowy day, yet no economic change had come to the idle rōnin household.

Not to mention forty or fifty ryō in gold, even their day-to-day provisions were now strained.
They had sold off everything they owned.
They had been exchanging their belongings for money to survive.
Even the butterbur shoots growing in the back thicket—they had grown sick of eating them this winter.

Lament of idle thighs

“They’re wild camellias, but arranged like this they look presentable enough.”
“Shall I place them on your desk perhaps?”

Tossing a single stem into a small bottle she had on hand, Sumie brought it over there, and—
“What…flowers?”
With a disinterested expression, her husband Sanzaburō merely released his folded arms and repositioned them on the edge of the brazier.
The flowers could not comfort his present state of mind.

“Why don’t you go take a short walk outside? The snow must have melted by now, and the roads should be dry. And today especially, you can truly feel that spring has arrived—why don’t you take a short walk?”

“—What for?”
“It might lift your spirits.”
“Do I really look that gloomy?”
“But…sitting around like this every day—”
“I’ve given up!
“I don’t feel resentful at all.”
“It is too soon to give up.”
“You’re still in your thirties, and I’ve only just turned twenty-six.”
“We still have our future ahead of us, don’t we?”

“It’s not about age.
It’s this long-distance archery competition.”

“But couldn’t you depart for the capital anytime if only the funds were arranged?”

“Anytime?”
“Nonsense.”
“The entire group departs the day after tomorrow.”
“If preparations aren’t completed by then—though it’s shameful—I’ll have no choice but to drop out.”

“So by the day after tomorrow...”

“Enough of your nonsense!”
“If the money could be arranged by the day after tomorrow, I wouldn’t be shut away here venting the lament of idle thighs.”

“Sitting here won’t make money appear.”

“Still going on about this?!”
“Then what—you think money will appear if I go walking outside?”

“If you were to devote yourself wholeheartedly, might some solution not present itself?”

“The world doesn’t work that way... Sumie.”

Sanzaburō shifted his knees,

“You—with such words—must be sneering at your husband here in your heart, watching me sit idle without any plan.”

“Please don’t interpret it so cynically.”

“No—to me, your words strike these ears like a bitter winter wind. How many days can even I keep rotting away like this? And missing this perfect opportunity...it pains me to tears, but when it comes to money, this rōnin existence leaves me helpless. Enough—don’t speak of this matter anymore. Don’t say another word.”

“But Lord Okita, Lord Fusahara, and Lord Yamaguchi—all rōnin bound for the capital—live in circumstances even more destitute than ours.”

“Fusahara has kin at the fish wholesalers in Koamichō, and Yamaguchi’s wife comes from a family of standing.”
“We husband and wife haven’t a single relation left here in Edo.”
“There are those from our former domain stationed here—but those wretches who know we were cast out from our homeland wouldn’t spare so much as a single ryō to aid us. Nor do I wish to grovel before them to hasten my prospects. Enough—I said to cease this, yet you persist!”

Sanzaburō flopped down onto his side, rested his face—clouded with worldly discontent—on his arm, and closed his eyes.

“Lord Hirata.—Are you there?”

At the voice from the entrance,

“Oh! Mr. Fusahara and Mr. Shōji—here together—”

With that, Sumie promptly went to greet them,

“You—the two companions who came to visit on that snowy day some time ago—”

After informing her husband and laying out the mats there, Sanzaburō sluggishly sat up,

“The other day, in front of all our comrades—caught up in some momentary optimism—I went and made that promise. What a mess… How on earth should I apologize for breaking it?...”

While he muttered, the two rōnin-guests settled themselves on the floor, exchanging the familiar, easygoing greetings characteristic of rōnin camaraderie.

And immediately, he turned toward Sumie in the kitchen area,

“Madam. I’ve brought a duck with me—how about preparing some sake and hotpot ingredients? Since tomorrow will be too hectic, we’ll just have to hold the gate celebration the day after tomorrow. ...What say you, Lord Hirata? It’s a fine duck, isn’t it? This one’s good enough to eat!”

Fusahara Hanzo, a rōnin in his forties, raised high the duck’s neck he’d brought tied with a rope and laughed.

A man who bore a striking resemblance

Even when stepping out briefly to run errands at places like greengrocers or liquor stores, she never neglected to maintain her immaculate grooming.
Rather, the more impoverished they grew, the more meticulously Sumie attended to her light makeup and collar.
She was young—her grace exquisite—and still unworldly; even in their reduced circumstances, the faint fragrance of the young wife she had been to a 500-koku samurai lingered about her.

“Then, have it delivered right away.”

At liquor stores or greengrocers, wherever she made such magnanimous requests,

“Right away! We’ll deliver it shortly.”

None of the shops made unpleasant faces.

Yet even last year’s year-end payments remained unsettled.

Sumie had always believed that such was simply the way of the world.
Eventually, her husband would secure a post.
The preparatory funds would be granted—so even if one had to pass through a pawnshop’s gates, their original dignity and decorum must not be abandoned.
She believed this.

And yet, this opportunity was too precious to lose.

Her husband, Hirata Sanzaburō, was originally from a lineage of archery retainers.
Sanzaburō’s biological older brother, Hirata Bungo, still serves as an archery instructor for the Hosokawa clan in their Kumamoto domain, with a stipend of 400 koku—a man without equal in Kyushu for his mastery of Hōki-ryū archery—yet Sanzaburō was said to have been skilled enough to surpass even this brother.

(How galling.—No matter what.)

Not only out of wifely partiality, but whenever she thought of her husband—possessed of such skill—being unable to participate in this year’s long-distance archery at the Thirty-Three Ken Hall, her eyelids would grow hazy with something hot, as if it were all her fault.

She even considered contacting her husband’s biological older brother in their home province or other relatives—but the number of days likely wouldn’t suffice, and even if there were time, those relatives would probably not accept a request for funds.

(The fate of the unfaithful ones—what a splendid sight!)

(Have no dealings whatsoever with those who have incurred the lord’s displeasure.
Associating with them would be to violate domain laws.)

The faces of acquaintances in the distant home province all seemed to leer with scornful grins in her resentful imagination.
No—it wasn’t mere resentment; they must truly think that way.

(Especially his—Ōmuta Kōhei)

When thoughts of Ōmuta Kōhei arose, even in the daytime bustle of the town, she would involuntarily glance over her shoulder, her eyes darting as if under someone's aim.

Had there been no Sanzaburō, she would naturally have become Kōhei’s wife.

The Ōmuta family had already submitted their marriage registration to the domain office and were awaiting the opportune moment, but in the meantime, her affections had become entangled with another.

In such cases—the domain’s laws naturally do not recognize marriages born of free love.
As rumors spread,

(The lord’s displeasure—
exile)

The strict decree fell upon Sanzaburō in exchange for love’s triumph.

(I wonder if Koubei has remained silent all this time and taken another wife back in the home province?)
……)

The frightening face of the man who had betrayed her seemed to constantly approach from behind, sending a chill through the roots of Sumie’s hair.

—Even now.

After leaving instructions at the liquor store and greengrocer, when she returned homeward, a samurai stood at the bend of the alleyway.

As if having waited for her form from afar, the man’s woven sedge hat stared directly at Sumie.
“Ah…?!”

Perhaps it was her imagination, but to Sumie, the silhouette beneath that woven sedge hat suddenly appeared identical to Ōmuta Kōhei—whose memory still stirred an unpleasant feeling in her chest.

In a panic, she turned into a different alleyway.
Her ankles trembled, and she lacked the courage to glance back.
After winding along the path, skirting the thicket, and returning to her home's kitchen—only then,

"Could there really be someone who looks so much like him...?"

She muttered, then scanned the thicket once more.

She gave up.

A small amount of duck meat remained on the plate.

It could no longer even be called sake.

The host and guests—all three—appeared sufficiently inebriated,

“There are still two days left—can’t you find some way to manage?”
“Yeah, hey there, Mr. Hirata.”

When Fusahara Hanzo spoke, his companion—a man named Shōji Hayata—also chimed in:

“Don’t you have any connections with moneylenders?”
“When they talk about collateral, they mean lending against your very neck!”
“If you don’t get that assertive, how do you expect to raise any funds?”
“In general, this couple here is a bit too reserved.”

he said, picking at his teeth with a toothpick.

Sanzaburō was making an effort to appear sober, but beneath his laughter there lurked the hollow echo of true intoxication.

“Ha ha ha ha!”
“Surely they wouldn’t lend money against a neck.”
“Though I must lose face before our company—you lot must properly apologize for breaching the agreement.”

“What a shame.”

With that, Fusahara Hanzo heaved a long sigh,

“Those who stand as tōshiya archers and declare their names each brim with confidence, but among our comrades, it’s all but settled that this time’s honor will fall to Hirata Sanzaburō—yet for you to abandon it over money is truly, truly regrettable.—Madam, madam.”

“Yes…”

Sumie brought a lantern there and sat among the guests.

“Shall I warm a little more sake for you?”

“Ah, we’ve had enough sake already… This is no time for drinking—the matter of funds takes precedence. I wonder if fifty ryō can’t somehow be managed…”

“I too have been straining my heart over this matter.”

“If by 'straining your heart' you mean sitting home pondering... Ha! You two are exactly like those imperial court dolls—poor as church mice yet putting on airs of noble composure. That’s your fatal flaw.” He barked a laugh that held no mirth. “To make money, you need thicker skin—march out into the world and trample both your delicate feelings and that precious pride underfoot.”

“That is what I have been urging upon my husband as well...”

“Given Mr. Hirata’s disposition, he likely cannot manage it.”
“In such circumstances, one must ultimately depend on a woman’s assistance.”

“……This shame stems from my own lack of resolve.”

“Were matters to proceed smoothly, this humble one would gladly withdraw to let Mr. Hirata stand at Sanjūsangen-dō—but truthfully speaking, I too have devised a precarious scheme... Tomorrow night I mean to secure funds through the mutual financing association’s bidding and depart with them in my pocket. Should the bidding go favorably... but if not...”

While muttering half to himself, Fusahara Hanzo looked at Sumie out of the corner of his eye,

“Madam, have you not joined something like a mutual financing association?”
“You know—those mutual financing associations where members make monthly contributions to collect pooled funds in case of certain needs?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’ve been rather remiss in such ordinary precautions…”

“Ah, you’re both young—it’s only natural. But that very youth is why I want to send him out into the world.”
“If he achieves a commendable score in the tōshiya at Sanjūsangen-dō, he might even secure reinstatement—and even if reinstatement eludes him, offers of employment from feudal lords will surely come…”

“Stop it. …Just stop it.”
“I want to abandon my swords and take up the abacus... For someone who can’t secure funds, there’s nothing more despicable than prattling on about money as if this paltry sum were some grand treasure.”
Sanzaburō, with that declaration, lay down as if he could no longer endure his intoxication, muttering an apology.

“Well then, perhaps we should take our leave... No—better not get involved.”
“...Rather than that, Madam—don’t catch a cold. Make sure to cover Lord Hirata properly.”

Fusahara Hanzo, while using his toes to search for the footwear in the dirt-floored entryway, gazed boldly at Sumie—who was leaning on her hands—before departing.

The Shadow-Casting Female Avenger

I deeply regret that I cannot see you off.
However, I will ensure the funds are delivered to your hands without fail by the time of your departure tomorrow morning; therefore, please proceed to the capital without worrying about household matters as they are.

In May, I shall spend my days solely awaiting the arrow-borne missive of auspicious tidings in the eastern sky.
The day when all details become clear shall soon arrive.

Sumie

My husband

Sumie

Dear Husband

Having dozed off before the guests had left last night, Sanzaburō awoke at dawn.

As he absentmindedly reached for the water jug by his pillow, there on the edge of the tray lay this farewell letter.

“Ah! So she means to pursue this single-mindedly—”
“Th-that’s absurd! What target could there be?!”

He sprang up and, without uttering a word, paced around the house.

The newly dyed komon kimono was missing.
The hood was missing too—she must have gone out after all.

“For a naive person who knows nothing of the world to go out into that very world and attempt to secure a large sum of money—such folly knows no bounds.
If money were such a simple matter, there would be no people who struggle.
—Sumie still doesn’t understand true poverty or money’s terror.—Fool! Damn fool!’”

Facing the wall, Sanzaburō cursed.

Like a child who, having played with shellfish and small fish along the shore, becomes carried away by excitement and ventures far out into the open sea—the anger born of love—transformed into unbearable anxiety churned in Sanzaburō’s breast.

"This ignorance knows no bounds."
"What does she think this city—where they say you can pluck the eyes from a living horse—is?"
"Ah, if only she would return quickly—empty-handed…"

Without even eating breakfast, he remained fixated on every footstep outside.

Even after noon passed, Sumie did not return.
Realizing he couldn’t leave this be, Sanzaburō discarded his swords and, still wearing his informal kimono, departed from the house’s roji alley.

The old woman at the corner tobacco shop, upon seeing his figure, greeted him from beside the yagen mortar. While purchasing one Mito pill, Sanzaburō asked in a casual tone.

“Last night I got dead drunk and overslept, so I didn’t notice my wife leaving—but you didn’t happen to see her this morning, did you?”

“Are you referring to Madam? Hmm… I did not see Madam, but since last evening, a certain person of concern had been standing at the alley entrance of your residence—so much so that I had been thinking of quietly informing you of this matter.”

“What?”
“At the alley’s corner.”
“So... was that person a woman or a man?”

“A samurai gentleman wearing a woven sedge hat visited us as well—purchased tobacco and asked various questions about your household’s circumstances, which I found uncanny. Just when I thought he had left for somewhere, there he was again last evening, standing there—wasn’t he?”

“Hmm?”
“…”
“Age?”

“He was about your age, slightly taller in stature, with faint pockmarks on his face—a rather provincial-looking samurai, if I may say.”

“Huh? A samurai about my age with faint pockmarks, you say?”
“And the crest on his sleeves?”

“I did not notice the family crest, but his dialect closely resembled your manner of speech.”

“Ah…,” he uttered as if stunned—yet nonchalantly,
“I see. Well, thank you.”

Sanzaburō walked about fifty meters in a daze.

(Ōmuta Kōhei.
—A samurai of the same age with faint pockmarks and a Kumamoto accent—it can only be that Kōhei!)

A storm of imaginings welled up within him.

This was the critical juncture.

"Could it be she's been secretly exchanging letters with that scoundrel all this time," he thought, "and fled back into her former man's clutches?"

He could harbor such suspicions,

"No—not her of all people—"

So he recalled the sincere-seeming words from this morning's farewell letter and tried to dismiss them by considering Sumie's usual character.

Yet either way, given that Ōmuta Kōhei—who he'd long believed wouldn't idly stand by sucking his thumb in silence—had come to Edo and tracked down their marital abode, this situation amounted to receiving a silent challenge.

(Avenger of Women!)

And he would call us by that name.
With his fearsome countenance, it was not hard to imagine him stalking not only my wife but myself as well.

“Could it be…?”
That’s it!
“Could it be that something has happened to my wife while she’s out—”

Anxiety quickened his steps of its own accord.
With eyes like those of a man pursued by something, those very eyes now wandered in search of his wife’s figure.

Fallen Lot

“Well now... This conversation is rather impossible.”
“In ordinary household service, they won’t arrange advances at all. As for positions that do allow advances—teahouses, bathhouse attendants, boat inns, and other entertainment trades—there are various types, but even those will lend you at most three or four ryō annually. For the fifty ryō you speak of, I’m afraid nowhere but the brothels would provide such a sum.”

The clerk from the employment agency called Tsuchiya said this while staring intently at Sumie’s profile and attire, then spoke again.

“Ah yes, there is a certain distinguished retired lord in Banchō—depending on circumstances, he might provide twenty or thirty ryō in preparation money.”
“How about it? Why not try putting on a show for such employment?”

“Is that place a mansion?”

“That is correct.”
“I am unable to disclose his name until our negotiations are concluded, but he is a certain retired hatamoto lord.”

“What kind of duties would I be performing?”

“Heh-heh-heh. Since they’re offering a hefty preparation fee of twenty ryō or thirty gold pieces, it goes without saying you understand what this entails.”
“In other words—if we were speaking of a daimyo’s household—it would be akin to a mistress’s station.”

“You mean… as a concubine?”

Sumie’s face paled, while the employment agency staff wore expressions of exasperation instead.

As if fleeing, she emerged from the shop’s curtained entrance into the street.

No matter which employment agency she went to, she was only met with the same kind of laughter.
She realized that what she possessed—aside from her chastity—held no value to anyone.

At the same time, Sumie learned the market price of chastity.
The world suddenly appeared to her as nothing but a face of darkness.
The day's experience of being priced in the marketplace left her feeling so wretched she wanted to weep.

"But... for my husband’s sake."

Suddenly tempted by such dark imaginings—thoughts that made her shudder—she found herself unable to cast aside her own—no—her husband’s honor to such an extent.

"That's right... I should plead with Mr. Fusahara."

Sumie recalled one of her husband’s friends who had visited last night bearing a duck. Among the many ronin companions, that man had seemed particularly sincere and kind. When leaving last night, he had let slip words that sounded like a hint.

(If only the money from tonight’s mutual financing association came through—)

By now, lights were lit across the town.
When she went to visit the second floor of the dyer's workshop where Fusahara Hanzo was renting a room,

“Mr. Fusahara just went to Sarashina at Eitaigashi.”
“Well, since the monthly mutual financing association always meets at the soba shop Sarashina, he’s likely there.”
said the dyer’s craftsman and his wife.

Sumie was single-mindedly determined.
There was no pretense left, no regard for reputation.

When she went to Sarashina Soba as directed, sure enough, many clogs and straw sandals lay discarded on the earthen floor, while two men—a doctor and a rōnin-like figure—ascended to the second floor, staring intently at her figure all the while.

When the young woman summoned him, Fusahara Hanzo descended the ladder stairs from there,

“Oh, look who it is.”

While feigning surprise, he thrust his feet into dirty sandals and came out to the riverbank.

Fusahara seemed slightly drunk; his face was flushed.
Squatting at the edge of the Ōkawa River, he silently toyed with pebbles—as if questioning what business had brought her there—until Sumie broke the silence.

“……Mr. Fusahara—I—tonight, driven to desperation, have come to make a lifelong request of you, but—”

Sumie suddenly appealed with a sob and pressed white fingertips into the ground.

“What on earth…”
“That there’s such a request for this Hanzo here…”

“You may well be angered at this shameless woman… but if you would… we as husband and wife shall forever be indebted to your kindness…”

“Ah, I see.”
“You’re asking to borrow the mutual financing association’s money outright, then?”

“You must surely think me a presumptuous wretch to make such a selfish request, but I wish to see my husband make his mark in the world.”
“If my husband were to learn of your kindness, he would surely stake his life to achieve the top score in Kyoto’s tōshiya archery competition without fail.”
“He was born into an archery lineage.”
“My husband’s elder brother serves as a 400-koku instructor for the Hosokawa clan. Should word of Kyoto’s tōshiya reach them, he would surely be pardoned from their displeasure—and with such standing, funds of fifty or even one hundred ryō could be managed without difficulty.”
“To such an extent that I shall never cause you any loss...”

“Now, wait a moment.”
“True enough—when I visited last night, I did vaguely mention being able to accommodate your request. But the fact remains that those funds aren’t yet in my possession. Now, just as the mutual financing association’s bidding is about to commence—if a bid should successfully fall to this humble one’s hand, then we might discuss matters further.”

“I humbly beg of you.”

“Then wait somewhere around here.”
“Everyone’s here now, so the bidding will be over soon.”

Just as she had always thought, Fusahara Hanzo was indeed a kind-hearted man. He was over forty and made his living among disreputable rōnin companions, yet even from his current words, she could discern his deep sense of friendship...

While thinking such things, she stood at the dark riverbank edge with a measure of relief. Drawing a hood from her sleeve to veil her face and attuning her ears to the river's murmur, she heard plovers' chilling cries traverse the spring night sky.

"Is it not done yet?"
"......"

Time and again, Sumie gazed up at Sarashina's second-floor light. Countless silhouettes flickered across its paper doors, while laughter-crumbled voices drifted down to the street below at intervals.

“......Please, may tonight’s bid fall to Mr. Fusahara.”

In her heart, she prayed with fierce intensity.

Dying Plovers

Before long, figures began trailing away from Sarashina's eaves in straggling groups of four or five.
The meeting must have adjourned.
What had become of the bid?
Her heart pounding, Sumie started wandering aimlessly downstream, deliberately keeping out of sight.

“Lady of Lord Hirata. Ms. Sumie.”

Swift footsteps approached.

It was Fusahara.
Seeing his expression, Sumie intuited something.

“Please accept this with my pleasure.
“The bid has been secured.”
“And here’s the money, as promised.”

He took out a heavy-looking purse containing several bundles of coins and showed it to Sumie. And he continued walking,

"At any rate, regarding our earlier discussion... We might draw suspicion if we linger by the roadside."
"Ah yes—an acquaintance of mine keeps a boat inn that doubles as a rendezvous teahouse on Konnyaku Island. Would you kindly come there?"

The dark path lined with riverbanks felt unexpectedly comforting to Sumie.

The house Fusahara had guided her to was a quiet establishment styled as a boat inn, where only a young maid and an old woman with clouded eyes were present in the shop.

“Here, no matter what you might say, there’s nothing to worry about. The only thing audible is the sound of oars from the back river...”

In a corner of the four-and-a-half-mat room, a red-framed lantern glowed like a dream. Having taken sake and appetizers, Fusahara began drinking. Then he offered a cup to Sumie as well, but Sumie merely set it down before her and sat there with her body rigid. “Then, perhaps some tea over rice?”

Fusahara nonchalantly turned it into a meal and had the maid clear away the dishes.
Then finally, Fusahara broached the subject and, taking fifty ryō from his purse in silence, placed it into her hand.

“...Oh! Then this money...”

Sumie choked back a sob.
The tightness in her chest that she had anxiously wondered how to resolve dissolved all at once, and without pretense, she propped herself up with both hands and spoke through grateful tears.

“Mr. Fusahara, I shall never forget this kindness, even in death.
“I will surely repay this debt...”

With a clatter, Fusahara threw down his pipe and laughed while looking at the edge of her collar.

“Ha ha ha! There’s no need for such gratitude.”
“This humble one is neither god nor Buddha worthy of your reverent prayers.”

"But... this is money you yourself bid for with the intention of traveling to Kyoto, your lordship."

"You do grasp the intent behind that, do you not?"

"Yes... I have perceived it."

"Though merely fifty ryō, this sum—even for this humble one—was meant to serve as a foothold for advancement, just as Lord Hirata desires. ……By yielding it to you, it becomes as if a man has sacrificed his life's ambitions to grant you the blossoms of his future."

“...Forgive me.”
“...When you put it that way... this money feels...”

“No no—when a samurai lends money and releases it from his hand,”
“Even if returned, I cannot take it back.”
“Please use it without reservation.”

“Though I speak of myself presumptuously—to have made such an impertinent request... I know not how to repay this profound debt of gratitude.”

“Ms. Sumie...” Fusahara drew nearer and abruptly seized her wrist.

“Since I’ve surrendered my future advancement to you, you’ll naturally grant this man’s wish in turn.”

“Wh-what...?”

Abruptly losing color, Sumie retreated,

“Coward!”

With that, Fusahara grasped her face with such masculine force it stole her breath.

“Did you think you could make a man sacrifice his future and simply walk away?”
“How shortsighted. …To speak truthfully—though it shames me—I, Hanzo, have long burned with unfulfilled desires for you, a married woman.”
“This humble one has abandoned his future and given you what was to be given—it’s only natural!”
“This humble one also demands to take what he seeks from you!”

“Stop!”
“Stop!”
“…Mr. Fusahara.”
“…Mr. Fusahara.”
“Stop!”
“…Wait, wait.”
“I—a married woman—to my husband... to my husband...”

× ×

× ×

At the dim entrance of the rendezvous teahouse, the elderly waitress and young maid, as though having forgotten the guest in the back, leaned against the account desk and dozed off.

『…………』

The river wind swayed the entrance curtain.—There, at the hem of the curtain, a pair of sandals could be seen standing quietly.

Appearing to be a samurai, he wore leather-soled split-toe socks.

“Pardon me...”

In a low voice, the samurai tried saying this from behind the curtain, but since both the young maid and elderly woman were dozing off contentedly, he silently opened the side gate himself and crept into the inner courtyard on stealthy feet.

× ×

× ×

“Sumie, the lamp has gone out.”
“Why don’t you light the lamp?”

It was Fusahara Hanzo’s voice.

In the darkness of the four-and-a-half tatami room, after the passage of a mere instant, Fusahara’s attitude—down to his manner of speech—had completely transformed from what it had been before.

“…………”

“What are you doing there, stroking the tatami? A comb? If it’s a comb you’re looking for, it’s fallen here.”

Fusahara had likely thrown it—the sound of the comb leapt across the pitch-dark tatami.

A white hand, as weary as a sick person’s—searched for the comb and smoothed disheveled hair. Sumie’s breathing was as disordered as her black tresses. The hushed rustle of garments being adjusted continued for some time. And before long, in the darkness, the two fell utterly silent.

“Why don’t you light the lamp? The lamp.”
“It’s already over and done with—no need to act ashamed now.”

“…………”

“Hey, Sumie.”

“I… I must go now.”

As Sumie spoke in a voice still trembling with shock, Fusahara Hanzo replied in a cold, dismissive tone,

“Leaving? …Fine, leave if you must. …But I’ll be taking back those fifty ryō I just gave you.”

“Guh... Th-that money—”

“That money may be a paltry sum, but when I’m only asking for its return, why are you stalling?”
“Hand it over—this way!”

“Then…!”
“Then… Mr. Fusahara, have you deceived me?”

“That much should be obvious.”
“If you’re dissatisfied, go complain wherever you want!”

“Oh! … Th-that’s too much! How… humiliating! …”

“This area’s known for Kochidori’s famous spots—the rendezvous teahouses are still early in the evening. Cry your fill.” [...] “Well then, I’ll take my leave ahead of you.”

From beneath the breast of her prostrate form, he snatched back the money he’d given earlier and stuffed it into his pocket. With a derisive snicker, Fusahara slipped out of the room.

The time when the samurai who had been standing at the entrance curtain just moments earlier entered the inner courtyard, and when Fusahara restlessly departed through the house's back exit, differed by scarcely enough for their paths to cross.

“Ah! Damn it!”

The samurai who had hurled his woven sedge hat into the courtyard’s darkness shouted as soon as his hand brushed across the four-and-a-half tatami room there.

Her choked sobs had ceased for eternity.—Her disheveled black hair clung thickly in the pool of blood where she lay facedown, her hand gripping the hilt of the hidden dagger with unyielding force.

Chasing after him,

Hirata Sanzaburō returned home in a daze.
(Could it be...?)

He had returned home imagining that—but his wife still had not come back home in that state.

Where he had walked all day, there had been almost no leads.

"Aah…"

Throwing his tired body down, Sanzaburō lay sprawled in the void.
And then—suddenly—he discovered something unexpected on the desk.
The day before yesterday—beside the wild camellia vase where she had cut a single bloom from the back thicket and arranged it—

“Ah! Money!”

Five sealed bundles.

It was unmistakably genuine gold.
The fifty ryō appeared to him like his wife’s crystallized blood.
Something hot overflowed ceaselessly from his eyes.

"Why?"

And so he tried to imagine his wife's anguish in every possible way.
However, rather than becoming lost in such thoughts, he immediately felt the weight of his own burden—that he must press forward resolutely toward his wife's hope.

By dawn, Hirata Sanzaburō had already donned his meticulous travel attire.
The other companions were also supposed to gather today beneath Yatsuyama in Shinagawa and depart together from there for Kyoto.

Having been slightly delayed, when Sanzaburō arrived at Yatsuyama, the others were nowhere to be seen.
However, as he hastened his steps, between Shinagawa-shuku and Ōi, he spotted the figures of a group of about ten companions beyond the row of trees.

“Hey—!”

As Sanzaburō raised his hand and hurried to catch up, the companions who had stopped—all of them—
“Oh! Lord Hirata, who said he couldn’t come, has arrived.”
They greeted him with looks of surprise.

Among them was Fusahara Hanzo.

Hanzo’s face paled slightly, and a flustered light flashed in the depths of his eyes, but as he watched Sanzaburō laughing heartily with the other companions, he gradually seemed to regain his composure,

“Well, you made it after all, Mr. Hirata.—We were just saying along the way how regrettable it was that you wouldn’t be joining us.”

he remarked,

“To think you suddenly secured the funds—how auspicious indeed. That must be thanks to your dear wife’s devoted support, no doubt. Ah, but Lord Hirata is a fortunate man—among us, he has the finest wife.”

He walked while incessantly chattering away about such unnecessary things.

It was when they had rested at the Ōi teahouse and approached the beachside row of trees.
From behind came persistent calls of Hirata Sanzaburō’s name.
Who? he wondered.
When he turned to look, the man seemed to be a fellow ronin, but with his woven sedge hat, it was impossible to tell who he was until he came right up close.

“Huh…?”

However, Sanzaburō seemed to have some inkling of what this might be. His body had stiffened beneath his strangely altered complexion. The man with the woven sedge hat came right before him and stood motionless.

“How unexpected.”

He undid the cord of his sedge hat.

He was a dark-complexioned man with faint pockmarks. Yet his build appeared far sturdier than Sanzaburō’s—imposing in stature.

Sanzaburō stared intently at the face of the man removing his sedge hat with a groan… but,

“Oh, Ōmuta Kōhei.”

He spoke deliberately coldly, but even his voice—rasping against his stiffened tongue—sounded leaden.

“Lord Sanzaburō, I’ve come chasing all this way because there’s something I wish to give you.—Will you accept it?”

“Hmm… What you’re giving me—is it the resentment from five years ago, or a blade?”

“This.”

What Kōhei produced was a handful of black hair and a hidden dagger.
On the rolled white paper, fresh blood had seeped out.

“Ah…?”
“This…”

“They belong to Lady Sumie.”

“You… So it was you!”

Sanzaburō’s hand rang against his sword hilt.
Kōhei forcefully thrust the arm aside,

“You naive fool.
Do not mistake your opponent.
The culprit is this man!”

As he spoke, Kōhei swiftly leapt sideways and cut down one of the companions who had formed a human wall and stood watching.

With a sickening splatter, the one who collapsed drenched in blood was Fusahara Hanzo.
Taken aback by their companion’s sudden killing, the others also,
“What are you doing, you bastard?!”

With their sword hilts aligned, they suddenly surrounded Ōmuta Kōhei from front and back.

Spring breeze along the row of trees.

“Wait! Halt!”
“I’ll explain the details later.”
“If I were the sort to flee and hide, Ōmuta Kōhei would not have come all this way from my home province.”
“In the depths of my heart, I came to the capital driven by the wish that my old friend Hirata Sanzaburō—having cast aside past grudges and hearing of his continued misfortunes—might seize this opportunity in the long-distance archery to clear our shared disgrace, and that he might return to his former domain.”

His words were so calm that one would hardly think he had just cut down a man. The rōnin companions' eyes glared at him hungrily. They still could not fully grasp the meaning of what that man had said.

“However, even if this humble one alone thought so, I could scarcely discern what Sanzaburō might be thinking—and while wandering about for two or three days in that uncertainty, an irreparable calamity took hold.”
“That is the demon called Fusahara Hanzo whom I cut down there.”
“To recount in detail here the deeds of that demon is more than I can endure.”
“…I wish to speak with my old friend Sanzaburō alone.”
“As there are matters to settle afterward, I kindly ask all of you to depart ahead, leaving only Hirata here.”
“I swear—I swear—Hirata Sanzaburō will have him catch up with all of you later.”

Since there were circumstances too painful to speak of, the group understood and set out ahead, leaving Sanzaburō behind.

To where the spring breeze ends—to where the row of trees ends—the figures of that group had already grown small.
Hirata Sanzaburō, who had been standing silent and rigid as a post, suddenly rushed forward and struck his old friend’s chest—

“Kōhei, I understand… Now I understand. Forgive me… Sumie would have been happy had she been held in your embrace after all.”
“Sumie and I knew only how to play at love and understood nothing of how to survive in this world.”
“It’s too late for apologies to make amends, but until your wrath abates—strike me, cut me, do as you will—then grant me forgiveness.”

Sanzaburō wept in manly sobs against the man's chest.

Ōmuta Kōhei embraced his head tightly in his strong arms and spoke as if scolding a younger brother.

"Fool! Fool! Who cries after doing good?"
"I won't mete out punishment—hasn't society already judged you?"
"Now then—let me hear a fine twang of the bowstring from Sanjūsangen-dō."
"And return where you belong—to your elder brother, your sister, that aged mother with her dwindling years."
"They're all waiting for you."
"Stand firm—what sort of thirty-year-old man wallows over barely drowning in society's shallows—"

Amidst mingled laughter, Kōhei patted his back several times as he continued to weep.

(March 1937)