Pathway to Japanese Literature

Imperial Hawk

I

His eyes felt leaden; through the paper sliding door on a winter day, the shrike’s cry suggested noon was near.

Benma lay prone on his bed, resting his sleep-deprived head—still wrapped in a membrane of sleeplessness—on his propped hand as he let out an unfinished yawn.

The pockmarks covering his face rippled.

Taking his pipe, he lit it with a snap and drew deeply. When his gaze fell on the sword at his bedside—the one he had applied maintenance powder to the previous night—his body instinctively stiffened.

"That guy mustn't have slept either."

Benma mocked himself even as Oetsu's eyes and Kakusaburou's face—vestiges of his dawn dream—began projecting faintly across the surface of his brain.

When he felt a dull numbness in the back of his head and eyelids, Benma pressed his fist against them,

"In this state—"

With a violent jerk, he tensed his muscles and sprang upright.

When he went out back and was gargling at the well,

“Young Master, everyone is eagerly awaiting your awakening in the inner chambers.”

said the maid.

In a corner of the garden, an old man companion burning fallen leaves turned to look from within the smoke with a troubled air.

“Who exactly is ‘everyone’?”

“Lord Uncle from Yumicho.”

“And then?”

“Lord Cousin from Komagome, and still others—the relatives have gathered.”

“What are they here for? Relatives don’t gather all together for nothing, do they?”

“Please have your meal.”

“The meal.—Not this morning.”

II

“Go train—for two or three years.”

Suddenly, his father Shingorozaemon confronted him with the relatives’ collective decision and issued this decree to Benma.

“I who spoiled and raised you am more at fault than anyone.”
“But you’re still twenty-four—it’s not too late even now.”
“Cousin Koheita will handle all your duties.”
“It begins today. Leave at once.”

Benma’s pockmarked face twitched as his unusually thick lips formed a scowl.

“Where?”

“Fool.”

“What do you mean, calling me a fool?”

“Don’t you understand? Even your uncles and aunts have gathered here for your sake—no—for the family’s honor—to show their concern.”

“I don’t understand!” Benma pulled the tobacco tray before his father toward his own knees.

“—When you wake up, you’re abruptly told to come here; when you come here, you’re suddenly ordered to leave for training.—There’s no way you could understand.”

Shingorozaemon pressed his teeth against his lip.

“This is how it is! There’s no managing him!”

he said, throwing up his hands to the old man next to him.
The uncle from Yumicho—who served as a steward to a hatamoto—had hands stiffened by the cold; for some time now, he had neither warmed them at the brazier nor unbent his rigid knees, instead glaring fixedly at Benma, yet...

“Now—what nonsense are you spouting? Keep quiet, go to another province for about three years, and serve in another domain’s falconry hut. It’ll be a remedy for life.”

“In order to serve in the Nakasato Falconry Group, it has been stated that Benma remains unseasoned.”

“No—when it comes to handling imperial hawks, Kisaragi Benma is competent. But you know nothing of the world. While your father remains present in this state, things are acceptable, but if you were to succeed the Kisaragi family, the future consequences would be a concern. This training isn’t just about learning how to feed and handle imperial hawks. If that’s the case, then there’s no reason you can’t stay right here in the Nakasato Falconry Group, entrusted with the shogunate’s hawks, and become an accomplished falconer in your own right.”

“Am I—this Benma—truly that unworldly?”

“You’ve amounted to nothing.”

“Hah!”

“You look displeased. … If you’re so discontent, I’ll spell it out.”

“Then say it.”

“You—” The old man from Yumicho’s voice rose.

“Spit it out!”

“I’ll give you plenty!”

“So I’m sweet on the Group Leader’s daughter?”

“Is that proper conduct?”

“Sending love letters—don’t you think that’s beneath a s-samurai?!”

“I don’t recall—Uncle—you being anything but Shin Buddhist.”

“What? What does my sect matter?”

“Even the Venerable Shinran did such things.”

“Y-You half-wit!”

III

Nakasato Falconry Group Leader Hakuou Abe had in recent years been unable to accompany them even on falconry expeditions.
Due to his stroke, even when speaking to others, strange wrinkles would constantly traverse his face diagonally.

“Ah…… By then—”

His face still convulsed violently under some overwhelming emotion.

The guests were Kisaragi Shingoroza, a subordinate of the group, and an old man from Yumicho said to be his relative.

He was profusely apologizing.
He kept repeating that there was absolutely no excuse.

The relatives had arranged—given Benma’s disgraceful conduct toward the daughter of the esteemed main house, who was rumored to be nearly betrothed—to send him abroad for two or three years of training after a formal inquiry. This was Shingorozaemon’s apology as Benma’s father: a plea balancing his stipend’s importance, his own standing, and his son’s fate, stopping short of abandoning both swords entirely.

“My deepest apologies, my deepest apologies… No—well, honorable sirs, there was no need to go so far. It would have sufficed.”
“But perhaps thinking my stroke has left me powerless, your son Benma grows bolder by the day—lately, he’s taken to throwing pebbles at my daughter’s room from beyond the wall and whistling provocatively.”
“Not only that—it seems he’s even pressuring my daughter to break off her already settled engagement with Kakusaburou.”

“Please… Say no more of that matter.”
“The more I hear, the more I feel compelled as a parent to slit my belly.”

“That stands to reason… I shall say no more.”
“The measures—Hakuou is satisfied.”

He clapped his hands and headed to the back,

“Daughter—the tea has gone cold.”

IV

If one looked at Hakuou’s household—though their stipend may have been ample—it seemed clear that unless they welcomed a son-in-law and saw grandchildren soon, his old age would grow desolate. And Shingorozaemon, thinking Benma’s conduct might be delaying this outcome, felt increasingly remorseful.

“These are meager sweets, but please partake.”

He had been in a daze but, coming to his senses,

“Please, there’s no need for such attentiveness.”

Shingorozaemon suddenly looked at Oetsu—he had watched her since her infancy in the wet nurse’s arms—but today her mature beauty as a woman struck him with peculiar intensity.

Oetsu set the last teacup before her father and whispered something in a voice too low for the guests to hear.

“Hmm… Fubuki… Yes, yes.”
“The Komaba Imperial Hawk will be arriving soon—I had Kakusaburou hand-feed it, but with this body of mine, I can’t go check its condition. You should go retrieve it.”
“Take companions with you… Companions.”

“No, it’s quite nearby…” she immediately turned to greet the guests and went off somewhere.

“Shingoroza, we too shall take our leave.”

“Well…”

Hakuou tried to stop them, but the two could not stay comfortably.
They went outside and exchanged relieved glances.

In the bright thawing frost of the path, the rear obi of Oetsu, who had left the estate a step ahead, was visible.—The uncle from Yumicho was walking while staring intently, but brought his face closer and,

“Shingoroza.… That girl—she isn’t pregnant, is she?”

“Surely not!”

“No—”

He gave a confident shake of his head.

“Well… To my eyes, she does appear so.”

“Why?”

“Even her way of walking…”

“It’s the thawing frost’s doing.”
“Did you see Hakuou’s stern eyes? They’re like the Imperial Hawk’s—how could his daughter do such things under their gaze…?”

Staggering under the black soil clinging to the soles of his sandals, Shingoroza persisted stubbornly.

V

“Is she out?…”
“Where might she have gone?”

“Without giving any notice.”

said the servant of the Kobashi household.

Oetsu had come to treat this house almost as a second home.
The same was true when Kakusaburou came to his own estate.

“Without a word?”
“…”
“In that case, you will surely return.”

She circled around to the garden, settled herself on the edge of Kakusaburou’s room, and gazed wistfully at the sunlight that would illuminate their days as husband and wife.

In the Falconry Group—or rather, among all the men she had ever known—he stood superior to any other.
Even long after being married, if it were him, I don’t think I would ever taste regret.

Even by the discerning eye of her father Hakuou, Kakusaburou had been declared nothing less than a genius in handling the Imperial Hawk. The shogunate held him in high regard, and when it came to field expeditions, it was always he who achieved distinguished service. Even among his superiors, there was no one who didn’t praise Kakusaburou—and above all else, he showed kindness to her.

Compared to Benma, there was no comparison. Why had I yielded, even momentarily, to Benma’s coercion? To those insistent black pockmarks.

Oetsu regretted that alone.

“Young Mistress, please come up.”

The maid offered a mat into the room.

“Thank you… But it’s warm here.”

“What is this? The Young Master left instructions to deliver this when you arrived, Lady Oetsu.”

“Ah… This is the key to the Imperial Hawk’s cage.”

“You must be planning to return late tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes…”

How did he know that I would come today to retrieve the shogunate’s Fubuki?

Oetsu took the key and entered the Imperial Hawk’s chamber.
Fubuki—the hawk her father had raised from a chick—perched on its roost as if awaiting a clear day for an imperial field hunt, crimson tassels on its legs, its amber eyes glinting fiercely in the sunlight filtering through the latticed window.

When she looked, she noticed a tied letter attached to its leg.
Oetsu was pleased by Kakusaburou’s thorough consideration.

But—her face turned deathly pale after she opened it.
There was no doubt it was something Kakusaburou had written anticipating her visit, but this was no ordinary cheerful note—it was so grim it might as well have been a testament.

VI

The characters were not disordered; they remained clear and rational, much like Kakusaburou’s usual demeanor and countenance.

According to the letter—

Last night, Benma Kisaragi delivered a challenge letter into my hands.
At the kaya grass field behind the Shogun’s Medicinal Garden—he even specified the location.

Since Benma has always prided himself on his swordsmanship, it seems he intends to settle even matters of love through brute force.
It would serve as a fitting lesson—I immediately had him carry back my acceptance.

That’s all well and good—but in that text, he has written an intolerable slander.
That refers to your pregnancy.
When that woman whispered of it to me before, I believed I had kept my composure completely.
The things I did—your seemingly joyful face.

However, Benma,

“The woman already pregnant with my child,”

he had written insistently within the letter.
I was conflicted.
But—what was I to do now?
Having been presented with a challenge letter, Kobashi Kakusaburou was not softhearted enough to hand over the woman to his enemy.

We’ll settle that matter between us later—in any case, there’s no time—

And there, the ink had grown faint and run out.

(No... That's not true!
...Not a child of Benma's...)

In her chest, now crumbling into tears, Oetsu cried out—yet in some corner of her heart, a terrifying memory that dragged her into dark suspicion bared its claws and tore at her.

(...That... that was just once... a mistake made even while I was unaware.)
...coerced by the strong-armed Benma and lost consciousness helplessly in the midst of it.
...No, I don't know!
...It’s something I don’t know about.
(The only one I know is you—)

Frantically, she pushed open the door to the Imperial Hawk’s chamber. As light rushed in, Fubuki suddenly beat his wings with a great flapping sound and landed on her shoulder. Oetsu grabbed the crimson tassel dangling from Fubuki’s leg to its chest and ran out through the garden gate. Through wet lashes, the winter fields and woods of Nakasato appeared blurred into rainbow colors.

VII

In knowledge, reason, work—in any matter—Kakusaburou far surpassed Benma, but when it came to martial prowess, he was no match.

Oetsu ran through the withered field, through the wetland still frosted with pillars of ice, gasping for breath as she raced to the field behind the Shogun’s Medicinal Garden.

—I might not make it in time.
If he were to stand before Benma，there would be no time to exchange even a few blows.
That person had been killed.
(...Let me die by his side.)
Even if I said nothing，he would surely forgive me for that.
My vindication would stand by that.)

Oetsu saw three or four young samurai from the vicinity running down through the sparse woods on a low hill as if chasing dogs into the distance.

Yet though these images entered her eyes, they did not reach her heart.
As she climbed the hill, a wide expanse of kaya grass undulating along the terrain spread before her eyes.
There on that withered field stood a man holding a bloodied sword.

At his feet lay a crimson-soaked figure facedown in the dirt.
The duel had already been decided.
And the one who stood there with eyes wide and vacant as though intoxicated by blood was not Benma—it was Kakusaburou Kobashi.

When she saw the figure of the person who hadn’t thought to live on, Oetsu could not tell whether she felt glad or sad.
A wailing, pleading cry spread through the withered field.

“It’s not… th-that’s… not true.”
“Th-that’s too much!”

That was all Oetsu could say.

Kakusaburou, his usual cold beauty honed to an even keener edge today, let Oetsu weep until she had no tears left.
Then he said:

“There’s nothing to be done!”
“…”
“The infant doesn’t bear a family crest.”

—With his usual gentle words,

“I’ll decide to believe you.”
“But even after I succeed Abe Hakuou and take the position of Commander of the Imperial Falconry Unit—no matter what promotions I achieve from now on—you have no right to comment on my actions. Mark my words—I’m making this clear for our future together.”

Even being doubted to such an extent—was there any point in becoming his wife? Did she have any strength left to live as a woman?

She found Kakusaburou, who did not blame her, somehow unreliable. If only he had struck me down again and again—she thought. No—had Kakusaburou been slain as she had anticipated on her way here, she could have shown a woman’s heart before Benma’s eyes and splendidly exacted revenge; yet instead, she found herself even grieving over that very possibility.

“You fool.”

When he awoke from the blood and regained his composure, Kakusaburou muttered while mockingly pitying Benma’s corpse and wiping the blood from his sword with the hem of his prostrate clothing.

“Do you think I’m so infatuated with a woman like this? Though to be fair—with Benma’s looks, he probably never had a woman fall for him even once since the day he was born.”

Oetsu’s tears had ceased.
It felt like a flame had been doused with water.
She gazed fixedly at Kakusaburou’s face for the first time, but his usual wise cultivation remained coldly composed.
He was the same person as ever.

“Shall we go?”

he said.

But Oetsu could not move.
Rather than following that person, her eyes were captured by the bloodied corpse.
The corpse’s back bore two large wounds from behind, each about the length of a sword strike.
Were these the victorious wounds inflicted by Kakusaburou’s hand?

Oetsu suddenly recalled—the figures of three or four young samurai she had passed in the woods on her way here now.

——An ambush?

(And he even relied on seconds…)

Oetsu shuddered.
The mass of flesh being nurtured within her bloodstream—though it had yet to bring about any noticeable change in her body—seemed to let out a scream somewhere.
As if feeling the same pain as the human being who had been slashed to pieces and lay dying there, it was thrashing about.

“You idiot.”

Kakusaburou turned around—

“What are you crying for?”
“The matter’s already settled—it’s not like the world knows…”
“Hurry up.”

Until today, Kakusaburou had never shown Oetsu even a glimpse of this facet of his character. As he said this and began to walk, he bared frost-white teeth from between cold lips and smiled thinly.

“Ah… That’s right.”

Abruptly, as if remembering something, Kakusaburou took two or three steps back again,

“Oetsu….”
“Hey… Oetsu… Aren’t you going to answer…?”

“…Yes.”

“Did you close the Imperial Hawk’s room?”

八

“Imperial Hawk?”
“Imperial Hawk…”

When told this, Oetsu looked over her shoulders—her back—.

The crimson tassel still hung at her collar, but where had the hawk’s figure departed?
When I fled the mansion, I remember it was still perched on my shoulder—or was it?
……

“What are you looking at?—I’m asking if you closed the Imperial Hawk’s cage door.”

“No…”

“What? You didn’t close it?”

“Fubuki was on my shoulder.”

“Did you take it with you?”

“……”

“The shogunate’s Imperial Hawk.
“That Fubuki—the one that will soon serve in the shogunal hunt.
“—Where did you put it?”

“……I will go search.”
“It must still be around here.”

Stepping on her hem, stumbling, Oetsu began to rise—

“Can a woman even call a hawk? Idiot!”

He clicked his tongue, yet his years of training gave him full confidence—even if it fled, spotting its form would let him summon it back from the sky to his fist. This click was Kakusaburou stripped bare, no longer bothering to mask his true self before her.

“Right. The sun’s setting—that stroke-addled father of yours must be craning his neck from the veranda, fretting over his precious daughter. Hurry back to him. Not that it matters… Shogunal duties remain a blessing.”
“Your family’s status as Chief Falconer is why a prime son-in-law like me will soon join your household.”
“But call me ‘son-in-law’ too loudly or treat me poorly, and I’ll walk away.”

Beneath the sparse woods, it was already dim.

Looking at the bark of the trees that resembled rows of bleached bones, Oetsu felt as though she were wandering through the Eight Cold Hells.

“Right—I’ll take him over here.—Oetsu, give me the letter tied to Fubuki’s leg.”

“……”

Silently taking the wrinkled one from between her obi, she handed it to Kakusaburou.

“The other one too.”

“This was all there was.”

“Is this all?—There should’ve been another insolent challenge letter from that bastard Benma, twisted into a paper cord and tied there too.—Since he brazenly wrote that you’re pregnant with his child, I deliberately tied it together with this one to show you.”

“……I didn’t see it.”

“If you didn’t see it, then what became of it?”

“……”

Oetsu covered her eyes.
Now that he mentioned it, she vaguely recalled something like that still being tied to Fubuki’s leg…

“What have you done?!”

Kakusaburou raised his voice, his eyes terrifying in a way Oetsu had never before witnessed, and cursed.

“Surely you didn’t leave it still tied to Fubuki? Did you find Benma’s handwriting so defiling that you threw it away?”

“N-no…”

“Hand it over—it’s evidence for later.”

“I… I didn’t notice.”
“It might still be on Fubuki’s leg.”

“Unbelievable! How utterly clueless can you be? If someone else sees that—do you want us to become laughingstocks? To drag our names through the mud? Even if Hakuou—that stroke-ridden fool—begs for a son-in-law to save his precious Chief Falconer lineage, I won’t inherit a damned thing if this gets out!”

“……”

“I thought we could deal with Fubuki by morning, but if another falconer catches him first, it’s over. We’re already braced for decades of ruin—and now this nuisance rears its head from the start. You—help search over there. Check the treetops—”

However, Kakusaburou remained composed.
Perhaps surveying trees where hawks might perch, he stood atop a small hill—face scorched by evening clouds, standing motionless for some time—

From there stretched a vast evening sky.
Kakusaburou stuffed the index and middle fingers of his right hand into his mouth.
And blew through the falconer’s field whistle.

Above his head—he thought he heard the wind answer with a swish.
However, even when he looked up, the hawk’s figure could not be seen.

Countless times, he repeated the finger whistle—then Oetsu screamed.

“There it is! There it is! On that treetop!”

It was the treetop of a tall oak tree. With shoulders squared, a black shape perched there. Kakusaburou, calm and composed, approached with measured steps. And he shook his fist as if to show it.

But the hawk’s eyes did not so much as glance toward his fist. From the oak tree, it stared fixedly—with sharp eyes—at something on the ground. There, polished by the winter wind and under a cold blue crescent moon already sharp in the sky, lay Benma’s corpse, still soaked in vivid blood.

Nine

He remained looking up.
He forgot even the ache in his neck.

“Tch…”

Clicking his tongue, Kakusaburou threw an object from his pocket into the air.
He even tossed up the medicine case and blew a finger whistle.

But the hawk’s eyes remained as coldly intelligent as when he eyed women from good families.
Under the evening moon, amber eyes shone like stars.

“...What’s wrong with you?!”
“Unlike usual…”

With a look of vexation distorting his face, Kakusaburou picked up a pebble and hurled it toward the treetop.—With a sudden, tremendous flapping of wings, it soared away over the withered field in a languid arc.

“Got you—”

Kakusaburou broke into a run.

Positioning himself in the very center of the withered field where nothing obstructed, he blew the finger whistle once more. For as long as his breath lasted. And he showed his fist, exaggerating his usual kindness as an owner to the point of coyness.

But the hawk did not descend to his fist.

“This shouldn’t be happening—”

When it came to handling hawks, even within the Imperial Falconry Group, I was known as Nakazato’s Kobashi. Since boyhood, I had been accustomed to handling hawks on my fist.

“This—this can’t be happening—.”
“Moreover, Fubuki—the one I’d been handling on my fist until this morning…”

I had absolute confidence.
It was precisely because of this confidence that Kakusaburou Kobashi spent his breath on finger whistles until his lungs and heart were utterly exhausted.
In the end, his voice grew so hoarse it seemed he might cough up blood, and his entire body was utterly exhausted.

“This can’t be happening.”
“Damn you, damn you!”

The hawk knew no fatigue.
Even as the sky’s blue deepened into darkness to form evening, it still circled lingeringly—over the seemingly delicious pool of blood.

“Fubuki!
“…Fubuki…”

Finally, Kakusaburou cried out with his voice.
Clearly, that blue face had lost the confidence of an owner who had spent over a decade handling hawks.

“F-F-Fubuki…”

Kakusaburou tripped over something soft and warm, ending up on his knees and hands atop it.

“Huh?… Y-you idiot… Hey… Hey… Oetsu!”

Oetsu had already stabbed herself to death with the blade Benma had carried.—With a voice trembling beyond what was usual even for Kakusaburou and eyes bordering on madness, he tried to lift her body, but her waxen fingers clung rigidly to Benma and would not let go.

—A demon-like laugh echoed near the crescent moon.
The black object flew off somewhere, as if seeking elsewhere to sate its ravenous hunger.

(Shōwa 11, February)