Pathway to Japanese Literature

Noble Demise

I

Tonight again, with this assembly of faces, staying up until dawn was certain—as customary.

The night stayed warm enough that none needed to replenish the brazier's charcoal; cherry blossoms would likely fall by night's end. Beyond the latticework, since before closing the shutters, spring rain had pattered steadily—shito-shito—its drizzle persisting.

Click... clack.

Three straight-grained kaya boards stood orderly arranged.
The alcove-side space lay vacant save for a purple chirimen cushion.
Hand plunged into white Nachi stones,

“Well now...”

The one making a troubled face, bringing it close to the board as if nearsighted while groaning, was none other than the clerk of a nearby pawnshop called Yamaokaya.

While pawnshops are generally thought of as rigidly stingy misers among upstanding citizens, this particular establishment had thrived through rumors of dealing in stolen goods.
And Saisuke—the clerk there—had eyes that held a certain sharpness.
Yet his manner carried an odd likability, and at twenty-four or five, he remained the youngest among those gathered here.

*Click?*

“I see.”
“A brilliant move indeed.”

The opponent was Gen’an the Surgeon.

Though reputed to be skilled in surgery, he was a greasy fifty-year-old man—far too robust in physique for the benevolent art of medicine. He seemed to have many vices. He was always suffering under high-interest loans. He was a doctor who spent far more time at this Go club than making his rounds to patients’ homes.

II

“My turn to claim this one.”

Having apparently decided the game’s outcome, he snatched the stakes hidden beneath the board and stuffed them into his pocket.

“So… how fares your skirmish over there?”

The man who spoke these words while thrusting his face into the neighboring game was Denkurō Muraan, his temple marked by a dark sword scar.

This self-styled low-ranking samurai presented a gaunt, sharp-edged figure around thirty. Tall and lean-limbed, whenever he passed through unlicensed pleasure districts, the streetwalkers would—

(Mantis-san—)

they called him by the nickname "Mantis-san."

The one who had played against that Mantis, had now lost the money he’d wagered, and was gazing dejectedly at the board with its scattered stones—this lingering stare belonged to Shunsaku Kitagawa, the ukiyo-e artist. Shunsaku was timid, lacked fighting spirit, and was hopelessly bad at Go to boot. He really ought to quit, yet he claimed he couldn’t sleep unless he came here every night—and whenever he did come, he inevitably became the pigeon. (What cruel twist of fate.) Even as he muttered this self-reproach to himself, tonight again he showed no intention of leaving anytime soon.

As the night had grown late, those who would leave had already departed from this usually bustling Go club, leaving only these four in the parlor, oblivious to the passing hours.

The rest—the master of this Go club alone.

Since the late-night sushi had just been brought into the kitchen, someone—likely preparing tea—was making the clatter of ceramic ware in the tearoom.

“Mantis-san.”

A voice came from there,

“May I serve the sushi now?”

Denkurō clicked his tongue,

“Cut it out—don’t call me Mantis. I ain’t no villain.”

“Ohoho.”
“But if a beautiful woman calls you, you’d turn around, wouldn’t you?”

“Are you mocking me, Mistress?”

“Let’s stop there—you’re rather fearsome when angry. As for the sushi…”

“Since Yamaokaya and Gen’an’s match ain’t settled yet, keep that stuff on hold a bit longer.”

“It appears to be quite the grand battle.”

As she said this, the mistress of the Go club emerged from the tearoom.
Her hair was cut in a straight bob, but she appeared barely twenty-four or five years old.
She always wore a hifu coat—a formal outer garment—never allowing her attire to become disheveled.
From the age of sixteen, she had lived in opulence as the honored concubine of a certain northern daimyo, but after falling in love with one of his retainers and having their scandal become public, she abandoned the man who had committed seppuku and fled alone from Echigo to Edo—such was the history she carried.

True to her upbringing, she had mastered koto, tea ceremony, and flower arrangement—indeed all cultured pursuits—dabbled in painting too, but it was Go where her innate talent lay bare. During her time in the daimyo’s inner chambers, the head school had granted her the rare fourth dan rank for a woman.

(—Mistress Okaku)

Neighbors and errand runners all addressed her as “Mistress Okaku.” In Honjo’s backstreets, her noble-like attire and refined features stood like a crane among rubbish heaps, commanding peculiar reverence.

Mistress Okaku, taking this as her due, remained approachable among intimates but held her head high when out in public.

(That woman was once the honored concubine of a daimyo, so they say.)

(No wonder she has such grace.)

(Women like her don’t exist among common townswomen.)

(That's impressive.)

It was absurd how plainly that haughtiness showed.

When she hung out the Go instruction sign at her current residence, those who had long been eyeing her quickly gathered.

She lived quite luxuriously, but it seemed all those sweet-talking men ferried in her comforts like ants.
At first it had been solely instruction, but before long gambling Go became the main focus—that side’s earnings proving far from meager.
And even those coming to court Mistress Okaku were gradually winnowed down, until now only the most persistent remained, battling fiercely over stakes beyond the Go board.

Shunsaku Kitagawa, the ukiyo-e artist.

Saisuke, Clerk of Yamaokaya Pawnshop.

The low-ranking samurai Mantis.

And then Gen'an the Surgeon.

Thus, these four were a persistent lot who, even among that crowd, gathered nearly every night—and though they lost at Go, showed unyielding resolve in that other arena.

Messenger from the Netherworld

I

“Sushi from Ryōgoku? Whitebait sushi no less—how elegant!”

“Mistress—my apologies—could we have another pot of tea?”

Moving the zabuton cushions to the next room and gathering around the tea table, the four laughed in merry conversation.

On the surface, their interactions appeared to be nothing more than the camaraderie of Go companions, devoid of any visible tension—yet a closer look revealed something far more intricate in the eyes of the four men circling Mistress Okaku.

“Damn it, Mr. Yamaokaya—you’ve had seven or eight ryō snatched clean from you this month alone.”
“Let’s play another round.”

Gen’an the Surgeon promptly returned to sit before the board again after finishing his sushi.

Saisuke of Yamaokaya remained perfectly composed.

“That’s enough for tonight.”

“Why? Why?”

“Why not change opponents and play against Mr. Shunsaku? Truly, facing Dr. Gen’an feels like twisting an infant’s hand—there’s no contest in it.”

“D-don’t mock me. Come on—one more game!”

When Gen’an strained, everyone laughed. And then Mantis Denkurō:

“Well then, shall I give you a move’s instruction?”

“Hmph—how much you putting up?”

“I’ll put up this much.”

He placed two-bu silver coins beneath the board. Gen’an also began to take out his coins.

Then, Mistress Okaku—

“Hmm? …Could it be the wind?”

Shunsaku, with timid eyes,
“It’s not the wind.”
“Someone’s knocking on the door outside.”

“Who could it be at this hour?”
“I’ve already put the maid to bed…”

Muttering to herself, Mistress Okaku rose and went.
Gen’an and Denkurō had already begun click-clacking stones onto the board.

The sound of the door opening came.
A damp wind flowed in through the gap, reaching deep inside.
Mistress Okaku stood at the entrance for some time, whispering with a shadowy figure in the darkness, but soon returned to the parlor and—

“Mr. Yamaokaya…”

and called him with her eyes.

“Eh?”

“It seems someone has business with you. Go see.”

“Hmm… Now what could that be?…”

As Yamaokaya followed Mistress Okaku out of the room, both Gen’an—who’d been playing Go—and Mantis sharply turned their eyes in that direction.

Yamaokaya peered through the dark lattice door outside,

“Who is it?”

he said.

While being struck by the rain dripping from the eaves, a hooded man—wearing a red raincoat over his head—stood vacantly.

“You are Mr. Saisuke of Yamaokaya?”

“That’s right.”

“When I went to your shop just now, I was informed you were at this Go club, so I came here.”

“The rain’s blowin’ in.”
“What’s this business about anyway?”

“I’m terribly sorry, but this isn’t a matter I can discuss here—would you be so kind as to step outside with me?”

“Don’t talk nonsense—you think I’d go out in this downpour? This here’s a trustworthy place—ain’t no need for caution.”

“But, it’s just that…”

The man was indecisive. Even at first glance, his appearance gave no clue to his occupation. He was neither a member of a residential guild, nor a young retainer, nor did he appear to be an ordinary townsman.

Mistress Okaku was standing behind,

“Then why not talk upstairs? The second floor’s free.”

Then, in the rain, the man in the raincoat, who had been deep in thought,

“Ah. …If that could be arranged,”
he turned a relieved look toward Mistress Okaku.

Two

With a clack—placing a stone—Mantis turned sideways,

“Mistress, who was it that just went upstairs?”

“Just someone I don’t know.”

“But Yamaokaya’s with them, right?”

“They said they had some confidential matter to discuss, so I merely let them use the second floor.”

“A mistress?”

“It’s not the sort of affair worth getting jealous over.”
“Wondering where he might be from, I just checked the raincoat that man left behind—and wouldn’t you know it? There on the lining was the Tenma Office seal stamped in black.”
“Ohoho, seems he’s some Tenma Office jailer or the like.”

“The jailer… What could the jailer have come here for?”

This was muttered by Shunsaku Kitagawa.

In response to Gen'an's placed stone, Mantis immediately played a white stone and interjected into the conversation.

“Strange… A Tenma jailer coming to visit secretly this late at night…”

“After all, Yamaokaya’s said to secretly deal in stolen goods—it’s not like they’d have no connections at all with jail staff, right?”

“It’s common knowledge that town officials and jailers take their bribes—but still, since when do bottom-rung jailers come shaking down folks for petty cash?”

“That’s most likely how it is.”

Mistress Okaku cleaned up the sushi plates and dirty dishes in the kitchen and took a bath.

“――――”

Shunsaku peered listlessly from the side at Mantis and Gen’an’s game.
It was Shunsaku who, whenever he brought money, would lose it all there.
Each time he returned to a house without even a fire, he probably couldn’t bring himself to draw single-sheet color prints or illustrations for storybooks.
Though he wore a weary expression as he watched the Go game, his ears might have been imagining Mistress Okaku’s figure in the steam upon hearing the sound of a small bucket from the direction of the bathhouse.

On his way back from using the restroom, Shunsaku suddenly looked up at the ladder steps.
A faint light glimmered on the shoji screen above.

"It's strangely silent up there..."

Mistress Okaku's mention of confidential talk still echoed in his ears, rousing an involuntary curiosity.

Softening his footsteps, he climbed two steps—then three—and froze midway up the ladder.

Three

“So Oshō Tetsu really said that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When was he arrested?”

“He was taken down to Tenma Prison on the eighth of the following month.”

“So you’re the jailer assigned to that Oshō Tetsu, then.”

“Day and night shifts change every other day—there’s two others on duty with me—but I haven’t told them anything.”
“Oshō Tetsu only spoke to me about it.”

“Hmm… Did you bring proof?”

“I’ve brought the letter.”
“Impressive he could write this from prison.”
“Well now, I’ll quietly arrange things for him, see? …Tonight’s my night off—truth be told, I sneaked out to visit you.”
Rummaging through the wet kimono’s inner pocket, the jailer produced a letter.

Saisuke Yamaokaya drew the lamp closer and,

“Hmm…
“This is definitely Monk Tetsuun’s handwriting.”
“That fake monk’s piled up enough wicked deeds—it’s about time he paid his dues.”

“But he’s quite regretful about it.”
“After going through all the trouble of pulling off the job of a lifetime, he says ending up in the noose makes it all for nothing.”

“This letter only says to hear the details from the messenger’s own mouth. Earlier, your story came sudden and out of nowhere, so I listened half-doubting—but what exactly are you claiming happened with those 700 ryō in gold coins?”
“Mind going over that again—slower this time—so I can fully grasp it?”

“Hey, since I’m here as the messenger, I’ll explain as many times as needed.”
“The truth is, Oshō Tetsu confessed this and asked you because it seems his execution’s been decided as gokumon this time…”

“Hmm—well, even if it’s light, that’s about what I’d expect.”

“Once that happens, he’ll never return to this world again. Leaving those hard-earned seven hundred ryō down there would weigh on him even in death—and if someone’s going to take them anyway, he’d rather choke than let some stranger have them. So he asks that you retrieve them—if you’d use some to build a stone memorial for him, he’d be grateful. And if by some luck he gets exiled instead and lives to feel the outside wind again, he’d be glad for whatever help you could spare from the rest—that’s what he says.”

“I get it—so where exactly did he sink those seven hundred ryō?”
“They say it’s in the river about fifteen-six paces downstream from Eitai Bridge’s western bankpost. Now, there’s plenty of pilings around there—but he claims he chucked it past those.”

“Is the gold loose?”

“No, all seven hundred ryō are in sealed packages of gold. They’re placed in a rice cake net with its opening tied shut, so even if the river swells, there’s no concern of them drifting away and changing locations.”

“A rice cake net, huh? You put something valuable in there, I see.”

“He broke into the retired rice merchant’s house in Nakasu and stole all that gold, but since it was too heavy to carry, he found a rice cake net in the maid’s room, put the gold inside it, and was leisurely carrying it away when he was tailed by a six-shaku officer from Onna Bridge’s guard post. He must’ve still thought he could get away… It seems he threw the gold into the river from the bank and fled in a frantic dash. But when he reached Kuroe no Tsuji, he unfortunately ran into the town patrol. Caught between them front and back, even the formidable Oshō Tetsu ended up bound and captured.’”

“I wonder… he didn’t mention the gold during his trial, did he?”

“He must’ve stuck to his nonsense all the way through.”
“Even the authorities couldn’t figure it out in the end, and the rice merchant’s retired household has resigned to their loss.”

“So Monk Tetsuun is saying, ‘Retrieve that gold from the river for me’—that’s what this amounts to, huh?”
“So he’s handing it over to me, huh?”

“Well now, though it’s truly presumptuous of me to say… I’ve risked my neck coming here on this dangerous errand, so if you’d be so kind as to consider letting a portion of it be shared from Yamaokaya’s hands—as Monk Tetsu also requested.”

“I know that already.”
“But even if it’s not a lie, I can’t give you any reward until I’ve confirmed whether there’s really gold at the bottom of the river or not.”

“Of course, I’m not saying it has to be done right away.”
“At another time—I shall make my way to your shop again, even after dark, so—”

When it came to jailers, among the Tenma prison staff, they were notorious for their pitifully meager salaries.
He must have been leading a difficult life supporting a wife and children.
With truly shriveled—anxious eyes, he immediately stood and slid open the shoji once their secret talk concluded.

“Ah—”

With a startled gasp, Shunsaku Kitagawa hurriedly retreated downstairs from midway up the ladder steps, concealing his presence.

“Who’s there? The one who had the gall to eavesdrop—”

When Yamaokaya peered down from there, of course, no one remained.

At the foot of the ladder steps, the jailer,

“Well then, I must take my leave… Forgive the intrusion.”

With a hunched back like gnarled wood, he bowed in farewell.

“There’s some shady bastard here—don’t know who. Eavesdropping on people’s secret talks, huh… Can’t afford any slip-ups or letting our guard down.”

He took the tobacco case from under the lamp, snapped the lid shut with a pop, and was about to descend the ladder steps when—in the next dark room with closed sliding doors—

“Grooaan…”
“Ah, I slept well.”

Suddenly, someone let out an impolite yawn.

Four

Yamaokaya started, freezing in place.

It was as if tonight’s tale of the messenger were a divine gift from heaven.
He had been reveling in solitary delight, thinking that this must be what it meant to be riding a wave of good fortune.

However, there was already someone on the ladder steps who had been eavesdropping.
Even as he cursed himself for that oversight, there was yet another person sleeping on this second floor.

If he had known from the start that this was such a conversation, he would have taken sufficient care and not hesitated to go outside despite the rain—now, he was struck by regret.

“Dammit… The tobacco tray’s fire’s gone out on me. Hey—someone’s there, right? Lend me that lamp’s flame over here for a sec.”

Such a voice came from within the sliding doors.
When Saisuke slid them open, a man in a tanzen robe lay prone on the floor—lifting bleary eyes—

“Oh, Yamaokaya.”

He laughed through silver-capped teeth.

It was Yoshigorō—the wastrel they called Azami.—*What a scoundrel*, thought Saisuke with furrowed brows.

“If you need fire for your pipe—why not get up instead of demanding service?”

“Hmm… Morning already?”

“Don’t spout nonsense.”
“It’s midnight.”

“A midnight visitor? Just left now?”

“Azami.”

“Hm?…”

and inserted the pipe’s mouthpiece into the lamp’s wick,

“You’re making an awfully scary face there, aren’t you? What’s this?”

“You were listening to that conversation just now, weren’t you?”

“When you said that, I remembered—I thought it was a dream, but then that secret talk between those two here now—was that real?”

“More importantly—what’re you doin’ sleepin’ in a dump like this?”

“That’s none of your damn business.”
“I’m Mistress Okaku’s paramour here at the Go club, you see.”

“Hmm… Is that so?”

“Well, let’s just say I’m full of myself.”
“But hearing what was said earlier doesn’t mean I eavesdropped.”
“You came to my bedside yourself and started blathering away, so whatever happens from here ain’t my damn fault.”
“I’ll make that clear upfront.”

Azami’s Silver Teeth snickered while issuing a silent challenge.
Whether in terms of manly bearing or skill in villainy, Saisuke of Yamaokaya could not help but feel himself a step behind this man.

He had been intently trying to read [Yoshigorō’s] expression but yielded—

“Brother.
“It ain’t like I’m being so on edge.”
“The fact I blabbed those things at your bedside—well, that just shows you’ve got some luck too, eh?”
“Let’s ride the momentum on this job.”

Azami flashed a faint smile and simply shook his head.

“No way.”
“I’m turning that down.”

“The hell you say?”

“Yamaokaya—what’re you scheming, gripping your pipe like that? Go in on this seven hundred together, the take gets split down the middle.”
“Too damn wasteful—I’ll pass.”
“I’m hauling up that gold solo.”

“D-don’t give me that shit!”

“What’s got your balls in a twist?”
“Ain’t your fucking gold anyway…”

“Fine then!...”
“I’m Yamaokaya too.”
“Take it if you can!”

“If you’ll give me a tenth cut, I might even let you help out. But if not—you’ll end up empty-handed.”
“Ha ha ha! Well then, guess I’ll head downstairs and wash this mug of mine.”

Those downstairs must have found the rough voices from the second floor strange.
Gen’an and Mantis had stopped their game of Go and were staring up at the ceiling.

But when Azami and Yamaokaya came down there, they no longer wore any suspicious expressions.

“Hey, pulling another all-nighter?”

Azami grinned smugly, and Yamaokaya—

“Oh, has Mr. Shunsaku already left?”

He looked around and sat down.
That Shunsaku had been whispering about something with Mistress Okaku—who had just come up from the bath—in a corner of the kitchen, but soon quietly borrowed an umbrella and left.

Ripples and Fish Crests

I

“Could it be a lie…?”

Yamaokaya teetered at the skiff’s edge, peering into the river as though about to plunge in.

Having rowed the rented skiff alone downstream from Eitai Bridge, he maneuvered it back and forth across an area spanning about twenty ken.

“Hmm… He definitely said it was around here, but…”

The morning sky was too clear—clouds reflected on the water’s surface made it hard to see.
Yet the water remained transparent; fragments of white Seto ware, straw bales, umbrella ribs—all stood clearly visible.

"Maybe a bit more toward the middle..."

When he considered it, the riverbed sloped downward toward the center—after heavy rains had swelled the waters, anything submerged would naturally drift in that direction.

When he inserted the pole, he found it quite deep.
He became engrossed—thrusting it in and shifting the boat again and again.
The muddy soil at the bottom seethed upward, turning the water murky all over.
Yet with the swift current, it quickly cleared again.

...Ah! There it was.

He tossed the pole into the water.
The spot didn’t look particularly deep.
The water swirled in a vivid blue vortex.
When he shielded his eyes with both hands and peered down, he could even see through to the shadows of small fish.

The sealing paper had been washed away, leaving countless golden-yellow coins bare and polished by the water.

Hmm… I see. They’re packed in a net bag.

Yamaokaya’s face held an expression one could never tire of gazing upon.
He wanted to haul it up immediately—but with the boat office on the opposite bank, passersby along the riverbank prone to stopping, merchant boats and cargo vessels constantly passing through, he’d likely be spotted right away—

“It’s no good—not in daylight.”

Of course, having already considered that daytime retrieval was impossible, he scattered the white Go stones he had brought in his sleeve over the boat’s edge near where the gold lay submerged—a gritty shower marking the spot for night.

And then, putting on an innocent face as he rowed back beneath Eitai Bridge,

“Yamaokaya! Yamaokaya!”

Someone called down from the railing above.

He jolted, recalling Azami’s face.
But when he looked up, keeping one hand on the bridge, it wasn’t Yoshigorō—it was the unexpected figure of Gen’an the surgeon.

“Oh, Doc! Where you off to?”

“What are *you* doing here?”
“You seem quite dedicated though.”

“Since the weather’s so nice, I thought I’d try catching some minnows to clear my head.”

“Don’t lie—you’re not after minnows.”

“What?”

“I heard you.”

“W-who… who told you?”

“Fine.”

“Doc! Wait up—I need to talk to you!”

In a panic, he pulled the boat ashore and leapt onto land—but Gen'an's figure had already vanished from the bridge above.

II

It was a strange phenomenon.
Suddenly, the regulars began avoiding Mistress Okaku’s Go club.

However, though they still came regardless of morning or night, whenever they met face-to-face, no one played Go anymore.
Even in one- or two-minute gambling bouts, the excitement had vanished.

“Hmm…”

Denkurō “Mantis” Muraan pondered.

Being the only one still unaware of the truth, he found this situation profoundly suspicious.

_This feels off… Shunsaku’s been unusually restless. That Gen’an bastard clearly has some scheme brewing whenever he shows up… And Yamaokaya’s acting stranger than anyone – even that sharp-eyed Azami seems to be plotting something lately._

He kept sniffing at people’s expressions like a hound but couldn’t catch the scent.

Even when he questioned Mistress Okaku about it, she merely laughed.

Then, one evening.

“Mr. Denkurō, would you care to share a drink with me?”

Yamaokaya invited.

Just when one wondered where he was being dragged off to, he even summoned Fukagawa’s turret prostitutes—extravagant spending hard to reconcile with this man’s usual character.

“By the way,” he broached as they made their way back that night, “there’s something pressing I need to ask of you.”

And then, just as expected, on their way back that evening, he broached the subject with these words:

“If it goes well, I’ll give you a hundred ryo. You in?”

“An outrageous money-making scheme? What’s this about?”

“I need you to kill someone for me.”

“A person?”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“Wait—a hundred ryo for one person… Depends who the target is.”

“It’s Azami.”

“…Huh? Him?”

III

Because publishing houses sent relentless demands, the master carver-printer handling both woodblock carving and printing had come to ukiyo-e artist Shunsaku Kitagawa’s house again today, planting himself in the studio.

“This is quite a predicament.
“By early March, printing and binding should’ve been done and delivered to the publisher—but just ’cause your artwork ain’t finished, we can’t start carving! Got my craftsmen sittin’ idle here.”

“Sorry—I’ll draw today.”

“That ‘today’ of yours has been pushed back forty days now.”

“I’ll definitely finish by tonight.”

“Even if I'm intruding,I must ask youto let me stayandwait.I can'tgobackempty-handednow.”

“Don’t say such things—today—no, just tonight—please wait.
“Tonight—even if I have to stay up all night—I’ll definitely finish drawing it!”

“Is that true?”

“I promise.”

But once the carver-printer left, Shunsaku remained at his desk, blankly resting his cheek on his hand as he sank into thought for half a day.

(That's right.)

As if snapping back to himself, he took up his brush over ganpishi paper, but no matter how much he painted, he produced nothing but scraps.
And in the end, he began aimlessly sketching countless women’s faces.
All of the women’s faces resembled Mistress Okaku.

“……If I could get my hands on that seven hundred ryo of gold…”

When he set down his brush, such thoughts came to him.
For love's sake—it was money's allure.
Yet he lacked the confidence to claim it for himself; lacked the courage; lacked the wicked cleverness.

That night when he first heard of it, Shunsaku had immediately tried telling Mistress Okaku the secret in a corner of the kitchen annex—but she showed little excitement.
Only,

"If you were to obtain it, Shunsaku... I might consent to become your wife."
"I'd sell everything here in Edo—live quietly in Kyoto perhaps."
"So very tired of this Go club life—"

She only whispered such things.
Shunsaku walked along Eitai Riverbank night after night.
But he couldn't bring himself to enter the river.
It wasn't that he feared the water—the eyes and lights of society always lingered behind him.

“Ah… someone as timid as I—no matter what I do—I lack the strength to go on living.”
“My body is weak; my paintings don’t improve…”
“It’s like I’m living just to agonize.”

Staggering unsteadily, he made his way beneath the sliding window.
The evening star appeared pale white through the square, narrow opening.
Shunsaku clung to the sliding window’s rope and climbed onto the mud stove.

He looped the rope around his neck and kicked away his footing—the moment he thought he’d died—whether the horizontal bamboo above snapped or the old rope broke—Shunsaku found himself toppled over onto the kitchen bucket.
Because he was drenched by the bucket’s water, he apparently let out a loud cry involuntarily.

“Oh my, what has happened to you?”

The neighbor’s wife came running over and lifted him up.

IV

Grasping a dagger and holding the frayed end of his loosened obi in his left hand, Yoshigorō Azami fled like a startled hare into the corner of the lumberyard in Kiba.

Immediately, the one who came chasing after him was Mantis Denkurō.
It was a night with a blue moon in the sky, and this area was deserted from the start.

“Bastard! Come out!”

Mantis, wielding a long sword, peered under the lumber.

In the depths of the stacked lumber's sleepers lay Azami, frozen in place.

“Mantis, why’re you after me—
“…There’s no grudge or resentment between us.”

“But there’s a big one!”
“You’re after Mistress Okaku, aren’t you?”

“If it’s about Mistress Okaku, I’ll back off.”
“It’s not like I’m desperate for women or anything.”

“No—no matter what happens, I want your life.”
“Come out!”
“Won’t come out, huh…?”

When he thrust his sword and stirred the darkness,

“Wait, Mantis!”

“If you’ve got any last words, spit ’em out now.”

“You were asked by Yamaokaya to kill me, weren’t you?”

“What of it?”

“I figured it out. You’re a pushover. You don’t know a damn thing—you’re being deceived!”

Yoshigorō Azami, having hidden like a toad deep within the lumber, desperately argued his case from that position, laying bare Yamaokaya’s scheme to retrieve the seven hundred gold coins that Oshō Tetsu had sunk in the river.

“I don’t know what cut they promised you, but if it’s gold you want, I can get it for you. We could team up and split Oshō Tetsu’s gold. I’ll keep my hands off Okaku—just spare my life!”

Hearing this from Azami, Mantis finally made sense of recent events.
And he came to hate Yamaokaya for trying to manipulate him with a hundred gold coins.

“I see. So there’s no lie in what you just said.”

“If you doubt it’s a lie, we can go to Yamaokaya right now and sit down for a showdown.”

“This just got interesting.”
“Azami, you can come out safely now.”
“Truth is—Yamaokaya asked me to kill you and I started this fight, but I’ll quit now. Instead, remember I’ve got a stake in Oshō Tetsu’s gold.”
“A hundred or two hundred ain’t enough cut—I won’t take that!”

“Fine—as long as my life…”
“Ah, no joke—I nearly got grabbed by the damn death god there.”

“I want to hear more details about what you just said.”

“I’ll talk all you want—but not in this lonely place.”

“Even though I told you it’s safe—it’s not like I enjoy killing people.”
“Just one thing about those seven hundred coins—”

“Let’s head to Hamaguri Nabe-ya and talk over some drinks.”
“This damn nape just won’t stop quivering.”

“You’re all talk, you damn scoundrel.”

“Even though I look like this, I’m actually a bit of a coward.”

Brushing dirt from his kimono, he circled behind Mantis and suddenly clung to the man’s flank.

“Gah!”
“…”
“D-d-damn you!”

Mantis thrashed his entire body. Azami’s dagger remained deeply embedded in his flank, refusing to withdraw. Maddened, Mantis wrenched his own blood free. The blood glowed bluish under the moonlight, spattering across the sawdust in irregular blotches.

White Go stones

I

When he himself wasn't patrolling - having others stand guard on watch duty - Yamaokaya kept Eitai Riverbank under surveillance.

Nevertheless, he still seemed uneasy; he rented the second floor of a dango shop near Shiba Riverbank and would usually come there.

After that, he sent out boats numerous times, trying things like lowering hooked ropes and attaching grappling hooks to poles to probe the area, but unfortunately, the spot proved deeper than expected, and such easy methods seemed unlikely to retrieve anything.

Gen’an the surgeon persistently prowled this area. He had also been seen countless times standing on Eitai Bridge, lost in thought. On more than one occasion, Yamaokaya discovered him engaged in some activity from a small boat during the dim light of dawn, when both land and river saw little traffic.

When the early summer rains came, the river grew turbid nearly every day, and the water level rose steadily. For the time being, it was a turbid current beyond anyone’s reach.

Yamaokaya casually strolled up to Gen’an’s gate.

“Doctor, would you mind taking a look at me? I think my chronic condition is acting up again—my head feels so heavy.”

He said with a lifeless expression.

“The weather’s been foul... this rainy season.”

Gen’an immediately prepared a prescription.
He took out a Go board and challenged him, but Yamaokaya said that today even Go wasn’t progressing,

“How about it? On a day like this, why not head to Tatsumi for some lively fun to clear your head?”

he said, inviting him outside.

As though he didn’t welcome the idea, Gen’an busied himself with preparations.
then boiled the decoction himself and brought it over,

“You should drink this.”
“Your head should feel lighter right away.”

he urged.

Yamaokaya drank the decoction and waited, but as Gen'an showed no sign of appearing no matter how long he waited,

“Doctor, still not ready?”

He started to rise, lurched forward, planted both hands on the floor, and let his head droop forward as if his neck had snapped.
“G-g-g-g...” Black blood gushed from his lips.
He seemed to be trying to scream, digging his nails into the tatami mats as he writhed.

II

When told by **the old servant woman** that **Mistress Okaku** had gone to **the festival**, **Gen’an** waited on **the second floor**.
It was an evening that carried the scent of early summer’s young leaves.

“Old woman—lately neither Yamaokaya nor Mantis have shown their faces at all.”

“Truly, all the patrons have stopped coming altogether.”
“With business being so unviable like this, even I was finally let go.”

“Oh.”
“Closing here?”

“Ah... Mistress... You’ve returned.”

Passing by the old servant woman, Mistress Okaku came upstairs holding a hollyhock plant she had bought at the festival.

After that, sake was served, and Gen’an talked late into the night. Repeatedly that evening, Gen’an pressed her for an answer.
Depending on Mistress Okaku’s response, he intended to close the current Takabashi establishment, move to Osaka, and set up a household.
And he added that since a large sum would be coming in soon, they should use that as their opportunity.

“Why not stay the night…”

It was Mistress Okaku who said it.
Gen’an set down his sake cup and lay down.

But even when the next day came, and even the day after that, Gen’an did not leave this house.

Instead, Azami was glimpsed flickering about.
The old servant woman bid farewell with her bundle and retreated to her own home.—The following evening, Azami, with Mistress Okaku’s assistance, lifted the tatami mats and dug beneath the floor.
Gen’an’s blood-drenched corpse was buried beneath the soil, futon and all.
The candle’s white stains too became part of the secret hidden beneath the tatami mats.

At the small gate where the Go club had been, a rental sign was soon posted.—A few days later.
The moon shone with a clarity that hinted at summer.

The Ōkawa River lay hushed.
The water was crystal-clear.

A man and woman in traveling clothes stood on Eitai Bridge.

“You sure about this, Mr. Yoshi?”

When Mistress Okaku peered into the river and spoke, Azami replied in a confident voice.

“I was born along the Tenryū’s banks.”
“From where I grew up, this river’s no deeper than a garden pond.”
“When it comes to swimming—and I ain’t just flappin’ my lips—even those fancy instructors teaching here summers wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

“Oh? … It’s Shunsaku.”

“What’s that? Shunsaku… So he followed us here?”

“Hush!”

Mistress Okaku, pulling the man’s sleeve and feigning ignorance, leaned out over the bridge railing.

When she turned around lightly, sure enough, Shunsaku Kitagawa was approaching.
Shunsaku’s behavior too seemed hesitant about coming closer.
Even after crossing the bridge, he kept pacing restlessly along the riverbank edge.

Azami approached.
When suddenly called out to, Shunsaku recoiled in shock and nearly fled.
Lunging at him, Azami bound his hands.

“What’re you doing here?”
“Waste of breath for scum like you to get ideas.”

“I-I haven’t done anything...”
“N-no grand schemes here...”
“Just...”

“But…? …What?”

“I wanted to speak just one word to Mistress Okaku... so I followed you from the moment you left the flower shop tonight.”

“What? You tailed us? …Hahaha! Pathetic fool—you saw me and Okaku setting off together so cozy-like, and instead of getting mad, you just stood there suckin’ your thumb, watchin’ from behind?”

“I just wanted... to say one last thing to Mistress Okaku.”
“That’s why I was gonna give up.”

“Can’t even be bothered to draw steel on this guy. Mistress Okaku—while I’m hauling up the gold from the river, you better say somethin’ to him. Don’t wanna get haunted by no vengeful spirit.”

“I won’t…”
“I…”
“Consider it your penance.”

Azami tied Shunsaku’s body to the bridge railing and began to undo his own obi there.

First removing his leggings and straw sandals, he discarded all his garments. Then, now naked except for his belly band, he flipped his body like a fish and dove into the river.

Three

Beneath the large ripples, Azami’s figure remained submerged for a time.

Though he himself had boasted of being raised on the Tenryū River, his movements in the water were brilliant.

The moonlight reached to the very bottom of the depths.
The white Go stones scattered about were so sparse they could be counted.
Azami turned his body upside down countless times, reaching his hand toward the golden net bag lying there.

On what must have been his dozenth attempt, he finally grasped it.

“Seven hundred ryō”

In the water, his heart screamed.

But—when he firmly clutched it, this time, his body wouldn’t float as he intended. When the gold seemed to lift a few shaku from the riverbed’s muck, his body was dragged back down by the gold’s weight, bubbling as it sank into the depths.

Seven hundred ryō.

Azami could think of nothing else. The water, turned pitch-black and murky, enveloped him, but he clung to what he grasped with all his might.

Four

Dawn approached—

As half an hour passed, then an hour passed—still Azami did not resurface.

Finally, two full hours had passed.

“Did he die, I wonder?”

Mistress Okaku shuddered.
The blue-blue ripples on the water’s surface evoked a demonic abyss.

“Mistress Okaku—Mistress Okaku—I implore you, untie this rope.
“And though I’ve already given up… just remember this one thing: that a lowly town artist named Shunsaku once clung stubbornly to thoughts of you in some back-alley corner of Edo. …That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Mr.Shunsaku!”

Mistress Okaku untied his ropes and shouted while tugging at his wrists.

“Let’s live together—
—to another province.”

But at that moment—town officials and constables came thundering across Eitai Bridge and arrived here in an instant—they cornered Mistress Okaku as she tried to flee,

“Ofusa!”
“Your mask ain’t workin’ anymore!”

—and they bound her hands tightly behind her back.

Piecing together the clamorous words of those people revealed that even the name “Mistress Okaku” and her claim of being a daimyo’s concubine were lies—in truth, she was reportedly the secret child of a monk from Nikkōzan’s Nakanoin and the daughter of a local innkeeper. A born femme fatale, she had fled home to wander from Kamigata to Nagasaki and across the provinces, living a life of extravagant vice wherever she went—a woman already notorious.

Shunsaku ran back barefoot to his house in Honjo.
He had no color of life left in his face.

With the door firmly shut, he didn’t show his face outside for two full days.
However, the old man from Chōken came again that day to demand payment and knocked on the door from outside.

“Ah, they’re done.”

Shunsaku, his eyes those of someone who hadn’t slept for two nights, brought over a dozen draft drawings right there and handed them over.

“Huh? For real?”

Even the old man from Chōken widened his eyes in disbelief.

(March of Shōwa Year Eleven)