Pathway to Japanese Literature

Prologue: Act I – Kanamachi Tile-Maker’s House (Spring)

Act II – Summer Night Street (Reversal)

Act III – Winter Night Street

Finale: Act I – Yanagibashi Mizuguma Alley

Act II – Ohama's Parlor

Act III – Arakawa Embankment (Reversal)

Banba no Chūtarō Yotaka Otora Araikata Tōhachi

Mizuguma no Ohama Su mō no Kingorō Nimono-kata Shino-kichi

The Daughter Otose Tobata Yōsuke Deliveryman Magosuke

Kanamachi no Hanjirō Tsukihiza Kihachi Maid Ofumi

Hanjirō's mother Omura Miya no Shichigorō Little girl Oseu

Hanjirō's younger sister Onui – Head Chef Zenzaburō – Old Woman Begging for Coins

Geisha Miyoshi, Oyotsu, Uokuma, Uokita, Yohee the Bookkeeper; passing men and women; drunkard who loves singing; man fetching his mother; mother returning from vaudeville; ferry boatmen; gang boss; palanquin bearers; and others.

[Prologue]

Act I: Kanamachi Tile-Maker’s House (Spring)

Along the southern bank of the Edo River, in Kanamachi of Minami-Katsushika District, Musashi Province—the house of Sōbei the tile-maker.

Kaei Gannen, Spring.
From dusk’s approach into the depths of night—

To the right stands the main house (with a dirt-floored entrance and a sitting room featuring a veranda fitted with shoji screens).
A thatched-roof building of sturdy construction; from the center toward the left stretches the tile-making area, with several kilns.
Beyond that lay a low fence; outside was a thoroughfare lined with standing trees.

Onui (Sōbei’s younger sister.
(pretending to herd chickens pecking for feed into their coop while covertly keeping watch outside)

Children (Several, playing hide-and-seek, darting back and forth)

The traveling gamblers from Shimōsa—Tsukihiza Kihachi and Miya no Shichigorō—arrived at the thoroughfare and came to a halt.

Kihachi beckoned one of the children and asked something.

The child shook their head as if to say they didn't know.
The other children watched Kihachi and Shichigorō curiously, crowding around to observe them.

Shichigorō: "They don't know a damn thing."
"Like hell there is!"

Kihachi: "Shichi, there you go again with your old routine."
"This here's a whole different province from Shimōsa—just a river apart, I tell ya."
"We're on the road here."

Shichigorō: "But you—"
"They're brats from the same damn village! There's no way they don't know!"

The children scattered in panic—first one by one, then two by two, until they all fled together in a terrified rush.

“Look at that!” Kihachi barked. “They’re all scared shitless—ran off like rats!”

“So what if they ran?” Shichigorō growled. “The damn house we want’s right here.”

Onui began edging toward the main house.

“Hey! Missy!” Shichigorō barked.

Onui: “Yes.”
(Reluctantly stopped)

Kihachi: “So this here’s Kanamachi’s tile-maker’s place—and Mr. Sōbei’s around here, right? I’d like to meet Mr. Sōbei.”

Shichigorō: “Bring out that old man Sōbei here.”

Onui: “My brother has gone on a pilgrimage to the Ise Grand Shrine with members of his devotional group.”

Kihachi: “He’s out?”
“That right?”
“Who’s home then?”

Shichigorō: “Any other men here besides you?”

Onui: “The craftsmen have the day off, and our apprentices went on an errand to Gyōtoku.”

Kihachi: “We ain’t talkin’ about them.”

Shichigorō: “I’m askin’ if Hanji’s come back.”

Onui: “Brother Hanji isn’t here.”

Shichigorō: “Quit playin’ dumb!”

“Shichi,” said Kihachi.
“Don’t press so hard.”
“She’s a proper young lady.”
“Keep it civil.”

Shichigorō shot back: “But you—she’s brazenly claimin’ he ain’t here!”

Kihachi waved him off.
“Miss.”
“Wrote this letter here—hand it to Hanji when he comes.”

Onui clasped her hands tightly. “But he truly hasn’t returned at all.”

“Still lyin’ through her teeth,” muttered Shichigorō.

Kihachi peered down the alleyway. “Might not be here now, but he’ll come crawlin’ back soon enough.”
“Make sure he gets this.”
(When Onui refused to take the letter, he tossed it into the hedge) “Shichi.”
“Let’s move.”

Shichigorō (discontentedly): “Instead of that nonsense, wouldn’t barging in settle things quicker?”

Kihachi: “You damn fool! We’re men of repute ourselves—if we’re gonna do it, doing it proper-like shows class.”

Shichigorō: “That’s all well and good done proper-like, but I hate how much time it eats up.”

Kihachi: “Come on. What’s there to hurry for? We ain’t rats in a sack.”
(Exited with Shichigorō)

Onui (watched their retreating figures, then fearfully picked up the letter)

The young gambler Kanamachi no Hanjirō—having harmed someone and fled—had been at his family home since last night.

Hanjirō (cautiously showing his face from the main house): "Onui—Onui."

Onui: "Oh, Brother! You mustn't come out!"

Hanjirō: "Who was that just now? They didn't seem like locals—did that letter come for me?"

“A man I’d never seen before came and tossed this here before leaving.”

Hanjirō: “A dashing man past thirty?”
“Then it must be Banba no Ani—the sworn brother I spoke of last night.”
“Let me see it then.”

Onui: “They weren’t anyone like that.”
“Two real creeps, they were.”
(hands over the letter)

Hanjirō (startled by the left-sealed letter)

Onui: “Brother, what’s wrong?”

Hanjirō: “What?”
“Nothin’.”
(He left the letter unopened.)

“Hohoho.”
“You couldn’t read it, could you?”
“Is that why you made that face?”
“Shall I read it for you?”

“Nah, ain’t no need for that.”
“The gist’s pretty clear.”

“But it’s a letter left by some creep—show me, Brother.”
“Even if you’ve got it, you won’t understand what’s written.”

“Where’d Mother go?”

“She went to Lord Taishakuten.”
“Should be back any minute now.”
“Hand it over, Brother.”

“You ain’t someone worth showin’ this to.”

“But Brother, I told you to hand it over!”

Hanjirō: “What.”
“What do you think you’re doing?”

Onui (grabs the letter and tears it open)

Hanjirō: “You... idiot!”
“Who the hell would even look at this?!”

Onui: “Ah! Brother, th-this letter...”

Hanjirō couldn’t read them himself but understood through conjecture.
It was a summons letter sent by those bastards from Shimousa Iioka—his kin—coming to take his head.

Onui: “Brother! Brother!”
“So it’s true...”
“Wh-what am I going to do…?”

If this were some honest tile-maker’s life—yeah, he’d hide and run—but for a man who’d waded into yakuza filth? Gotta clash blades with those bastards or get called no true man.

“What?!”

“It says right here—‘Come to the Embankment for blood’—and you mean to go through with this?”

Hanjirō: “Yeah.”
“I’m goin’.”
(attempting to enter the main house to retrieve the long wakizashi)

“Wait, Brother!”

Hanjirō: “Don’t stop me.”
“Let go of me!”
“Hah! I told you to let go!”
(He entered.)

Onui: “Brother! Brother!”
(She followed him inside.
Immediately turned back and pressed the shoji screen from the outside.)

Hanjirō (though his figure wasn’t visible, tried to open the shoji screen from inside)

Onui (desperately pressed against it)

Hanjirō (exits outside from the earthen entrance).

Onui (clinging): “No no! You mustn’t!”
“Wait, Brother!”

Omura (mother of Hanjirō and Onui, returning from visiting Taishakuten): "Hanjirō, where do you think you're going?"

Hanjirō: "Oh... Mother?"

Onui: “Mom! Something terrible’s happened! Look at this!”
(She shows the letter.)

Omura (suppressing shock at the letter’s contents): “Hanjirō—haven’t you shamed us enough already?”

Hanjirō: “When you say it like that... I’ve got no face left to show.”

Omura: “This scolding comes late—but must I ask? After missing your father’s deathbed? Cutting all ties for years? Coming home just to stir fresh trouble in one night? You’ve spread bloodshed across provinces—wasn’t that sufficient? Must you drag slaughter back to your birthplace too?”

Hanjirō: "I'm sorry."
"But Mother—"
"This isn't some fight I'm choosing. When they come selling violence, a man's got no choice but to buy."

Omura: "Quiet!"
"What sort of man makes his own parents and sister weep?"
"Look at Brother Sōbee—kind to his family."
"Kind even to strangers. That's what makes a real man."
"You? All swagger and recklessness—slashing, stabbing, picking fights. Work? You live for gambling!"
"How dare you call yourself a man?"
"You're staying put this time—no more wandering."
"When Sōbee returns, we'll settle things properly. Reform you into decent folk and pack you off to your uncle in Hitachi."

“Look at that, Brother! That’s exactly why I’m trying to stop you!”

Hanjirō: “Since last night, I’ve thought long and hard—I did think about going straight... but being summoned like this...”

Omura: Are you still on about that?
"If you're hellbent on rushing into battle," she said through clenched teeth, "then cut down your own mother first!"
"Hanjirō! Get inside this house."

Hanjirō: Yeah.
(He made no move to enter.)

Omura: “I said go inside.”

Hanjirō (reluctantly enters the main house)

Omura put the letter into her pocket, whispered to Onui to keep watch outside, and entered the main house.

Onui herded the chickens into the coop.

The day gradually—from this point onward—grew dark.
A song drifted from somewhere: "In Matsudo, my beloved—eyes drawn to Shibamata, yearning for Koiwa, yet this is not Mama."

Banba no Chūtarō (over thirty), a wandering gambler, moved stealthily through the trees to avoid detection, positioned himself outside the fence, and surveyed the situation.

Onui finished putting the chickens into the coop and attempted to enter the main house.

Chūtarō: "Hey."

Onui glanced briefly, shocked as if thinking "Again?"

Chūtarō: "Did I startle you by being so sudden? Cut me some slack. You're Onui-san, ain't ya?"

Onui: "Huh?!"

Chūtarō entered inside the fence and positioned himself using the hearth as a shield to remain unseen from the street. "Didn't Brother mention anything 'bout a man named Chūtarō who came here to the gate with him last night?"

Onui: "No, if you mean Brother Hanji, he hasn't come home. He was disowned quite some time ago."

Chūtarō: Whoa.
"I know about that—most guys who turn yakuza get disowned if they’ve got parents."
"Miss Onui, won’t ya let me have a quick word with your brother? It’ll be over in just a couple words."

"No, Brother Hanjirō hasn’t come here."

Chūtarō: “That can’t be right. After all, I was the one who persuaded him to come here with me last night.”

Onui (flustered): “He isn’t here! He isn’t! Brother really isn’t here.”

Chūtarō: “It’s only natural to be suspicious—but even though it’s me here, not some stranger—though this is our first meeting, your doubt springs from concern for your brother.” That bastard Hanji... having a sister who shares such a bond of affection—enviable bastard.

Omura emerged from the main house. “And who might you be,” she demanded, “coming here on business for that disowned wretch Hanjirō?”

Chūtarō dipped his head. “You’d be Mother then.” His calloused fingers brushed the hilt of his wakizashi as he straightened. “Name’s Chūtarō—bound by blood oaths to your Hanji here.”

“You too?” Her laugh cracked like dried clay. “Chasing after that family-stripped bastard? He slinks nowhere near decent folk anymore.” She turned toward the coop where chickens clucked obliviously. “Take your yakuza business elsewhere.”

“If we keep this back-and-forth up, there ain’t no end to it—this is gettin’ troublesome.”
“Then I’ll settle it like this.”

“Are you tellin’ me to pass along a message?”
“Can’t deliver words to someone who ain’t here.”

“I see.”
Watching his mother and sister desperately insist he wasn’t here—seeing that outpouring of familial affection—for someone like me, who’d been separated from both parents by death or circumstance and never even knew their faces… it was spineless how envious I got of other people’s parents and siblings.

Omura: “If you can speak such words, why then have you come calling for Hanjirō? I could nearly say I bear you a grudge. Make no mistake—Hanjirō’s rotten nature bears responsibility—but I can’t help thinking, though I know it’s mere complaint, that had there been even one upright person among his companions, things might not have come to this pass. That’s why I resent his friends.”

Onui: “They say Brother Hanjirō went to Shimousa’s Iioka to kill some big boss, injured many people, and has been fleeing ever since—but all of this happened because those friends are rotten.”
(Glaring at Chūtarō with eyes of disgust)

Omura: “Not a single one among your friends lacks parents. Do you people never even dream of your parents?”

Chūtarō: “Come play with me—a parentless sparrow?” (He sighs.)

Onui: “Huh?”

Chūtarō: “This ain’t some haiku I can mold to my sorry self. Ever since I heard some fellow from Shinshū composed it, I’ve been convinced it was about me—about my own circumstances. Like a fool clingin’ to one thing, I ended up spoutin’ it. Even if I’ve got parents out there, I don’t know their faces or where they’d be—so I ain’t got a clue what real parents are like. But that’s exactly why I end up imaginin’ all sorts—maybe like this, maybe like that—dreams or delusions fit for someone like me. My apologies for the intrusion, Mother, Sister. As of this moment, Banba no Chūtarō’s cuttin’ ties with Mr. Hanjirō. Pardon me, then.”

“Oh—have you come to your senses?”

"A parentless child feels things twice as keenly—when I see strangers with their parents, it’s a mix of envy and jealousy."
“So long, then.”

Hanjirō (slides open the shoji screen and rushes out) Brother—Brother.

“Hanji... Go straight. Yeah. Yeah.”
(Exits)

Hanjirō: “Brother… So you’ve finally left.”

Onui: “Brother… Starting today, you’ll really go straight, won’t you?”

Hanjirō (thinking of Chūtarō): S-sorry…

Omura leaned against the fence as she watched Chūtarō depart. "Hanjirō—is that man truly parentless?"

"Huh?" Hanjirō blinked. "You mean Brother Chūtarō? They say he was separated from his mother when he was five."

Onui interjected, "Seems he doesn't have a father either?"

"His father died when he was twelve," Hanjirō added.

"So he's completely alone? No siblings?"

"None that he ever mentioned."

Omura sighed deeply. "How pitiful... That must feel unbearably lonely."

Hanjirō: “Can’t say if it’s spite or what, but Brother Chūtarō kept sayin’—seein’ folks with parents made him mad or sad by turns. Truth be told, me comin’ home this time… was all his doin’. He walked me right to this gate last night.”

Onui: “He said the same sorta thing.”

Omura: “But surely his mother’s out there somewhere.”

Hanjirō: “Nothin’ but Edo rumors to go on—no trail to follow. Hell, even the key name—Brother only half-remembers it. Search till your feet bleed—who knows if we’d ever learn?”

“With all that despair piled on top, no wonder he ended up a rough gambler.”

“Brother, come inside. If those men from earlier show up again, it’ll be trouble.”

“I had no idea this would happen, but I spoke with Seibei-san earlier. He said there’s a ship leaving at dawn tomorrow—go up the river and join the Mito Highway partway. He assured me everything was arranged. Hanjirō, what if you went to Seibei-san’s boat tonight?”

Onui: “If we do that, then no matter how many times those guys from earlier come, we’ll be safe. So Brother, please do it. Okay?”

Hanjirō (to Omura): “I will.”
(to Onui) Sorry ’bout makin’ you worry.

Onui: “At Uncle’s place in Naka Port, Brother, please go straight for real.”

Hanjirō: “Yeah.”
“I ain’t ever lookin’ back on the yakuza path again.”

Omura: “Come inside quick now. Got preparations to make, and I wanna do at least some little thing for your send-off.”

Hanjirō: “Mom... Sorry for puttin’ you through all this trouble.”

Omura, Hanji, and Onui entered the house.
Inside the shoji screen, the light of an andon lamp came on.

Kihachi and Shichigorō stealthily approached and slipped inside the fence.
From behind, Chūtarō was following them at a distance, lurking in the shadows.

Kihachi: “Shichi—no matter what happens, don’t make a sound.”

Shichigorō: “Yeah, I know.”

Kihachi (attempts to listen in on the conversation inside from outside the shoji screen)

Shichigorō (occasionally glances toward the street; each time, Chūtarō hides himself out of sight)

Kihachi (comes beside Shichigorō): “That bastard’s definitely here.”

Shichigorō: “I see.”
“Let’s storm in.”
(They begin preparations.)

Kihachi: “I don’t wanna have folks sayin’ I went blood-crazy hurtin’ some crone or girl. Let’s draw that bastard out here.”
(They begin preparations.)

Shichigorō: “Girl or granny—if we gotta cut ’em down as collateral, ain’t no helpin’ it, right?”

Kihachi: “When it comes down to it, I don’t give a damn who we cut down—but we’d better keep our rep clean as much as we can. Otherwise our climb up’ll get set back.”

Shichigorō: “Still hung up on playin’ strategist, huh?”

Kihachi: “Damn straight.
In this line of work, military strategy’s what matters.
You think you’ll ever land a boss’s seat without it?”

“All right, got the gear stashed here.”

Kihachi: “That spot’s perfect—we’ll cut down the bastard there and make a clean getaway. Shichi, let’s get started.”

Shichigorō: “Understood.”
(From outside the shoji screen) “Hanji of Kanamachi—come on out!”
Members of the Iioka faction had come calling.

Chūtarō (comes to the side of the hearth and hides)

Inside the shoji screen, there was the sound of Omura and her child trying to stop Hanjirō as he attempted to rush out.

Kihachi and Shichigorō split left and right, secured their footing, and lay in wait.

Hanjirō (opening the shoji screen while Omura and Onui clung to him): "Mom! Sis! Quit it and let me go!"
"Hey! Who the hell're you bastards?!"

Kihachi: "Kihachi Tsukihiza of the Iioka faction!"

Shichigorō: "Forgotten Miyano Shichigorō's voice?"
"Get out here!"

“You gentlemen—I beg you to stop provoking fights with my boy who’s set his mind on going straight.”

“I beg you—I beg you!”

“You call this a fight?” Kihachi sneered. “You’re joking. This ain’t no brawl—there’s proper reasoning behind this business.”

Shichigorō barked, “On last year’s twenty-third night, Shigezō Sasakawa got killed! When the Iioka boss tried settling scores by ambushing ’em comin’ back from Asahi Town—wasn’t it you, Hanji, and that Banba no Chūtarō bastard who cut into him?!”

“Both those shits fight like cornered badgers,” Kihachi added. “Boss only took a scratch, but Tomozō and Kinshirō bought it proper. Other three’re still breathin’, though.” He slapped his sword hilt. “We’re the ones who took up this revenge job. Hankō—get your worthless hide out here now!”

Shichigorō: "Keep dawdlin' and we'll storm in—cut down both the hag an' brat together!"

Hanjirō (to his mother and sister): "You heard 'em—those bastards ain't sheathin' their blades."
"It's kill or get killed—no other way."
"Hey!"
"You call yourselves men? Keep your hands off Ma an' Sis!"

Kihachi: "They stay whole long as you don't wanna see 'em shredded—now come get slaughtered proper!"

Hanjirō: "I'm goin'—ain't no half-measure man."
(Shook off his wailin' kinfolk and stepped forward)

Omura (with Onui, weeping, leaning on and embracing each other beneath the main house’s eaves, writhing in anguish).

“Kihachi! Shichigorō! Face me!”

“What was that?”
(Turning around) “Well! If it ain’t Chūta.”

“Elder brother?!”

Omura clutched Onui, their startled faces lighting with fragile hope.

“This here’s two-birds-with-one-stone luck—we’ve struck gold!”
“Two against two makes a proper duel. Let’s do this with spirit!”

“A duel? I’ll have none of that!”
“Come at me together—both of you!”

Shichigorō: "Insolent bastard!"
"You take the lead and finish him!"
(Shichigorō lunged at Chūtarō.)

Kihachi: "Bastard!"
(Lunged at Hanji)

Omura and her child fretted over Hanji.
Hanji was less skilled than Kihachi.

“There they come!” Chūtarō shouted.
After cutting down Shichigorō, he barked at Hanji: “Hand that bastard over to me!”

Kihachi—seeing the tide turning—retreated bodily through the fence into the street. “You bastards!” he spat. “We’ll meet again proper! Mark my fucking words!”

Hanjirō (exhausted, with the mother and child clinging to him from both sides).

Chūtarō: I ain't got no business seein' you again.
“There it comes!”
(Throws Shichigorō’s dropped long wakizashi)

Kihachi (crouching outside the fence): “Ugh!”
(He straightened up—a sword was stabbed into him.)
(He collapsed.)

Hanjirō: “Elder brother.”
“Wh-why did you come back here again?”

Chūtarō: “Those two dimwits thought nobody was around. From their loud blabbering, I pieced everything together right quick.”

Hanjirō: “Huh?”
“So you hadn’t even set out for Edo yet?”

Chūtarō—since things had seemed off earlier, he’d grown concerned thinking something might be amiss. With nighttime travel being troublesome, he’d decided to make the grove in the nearby forest his lodging for the night, intending to wait until dawn—when these guys showed up plotting.
So that’s why I came here.

“I apologize for earlier—I was agitated and spoke harshly, saying nothing but awful things.”

“When you put it like that... I’m at a loss how to respond,” said Chūtarō. “Hanji—staying here now will get you cornered. You got anywhere to run? If I were still who I was until just now, I’d tell you to strap on your straw sandals and hit the road with me again—but I ain’t saying that. Ma’am—you got some plan?”

“Yes,” replied Omura. “I’ll have him depart for his uncle’s place in Hitachi before tonight is over.”

“That arrangement settled?” asked Chūtarō.

Omura affirmed.

Chūtarō: “Hearing that puts my mind at ease.”
“Hanji—take care on your way, hear?”

Hanjirō: “Elder brother.”
“I’ll be all right going to my uncle’s place.”
“And you?”

“Me? Where’m I goin’? Edo, ’course.”

“Edo? You mean you’ve figured out where your mother is?”

“Ain’t certain, but I heard rumors,” said Chūtarō. “Hanji, don’t you worry. If there’s a mother I’ll meet for the first time, this heart of mine bound for Edo’s fired up. Ah, well—even if I run into the Iioka gang along the way, I’ll keep myself alive until I meet my parent. Even if I have to play dirty, I’ll cut down anyone who gets in my way.”

“The more I hear of this, the more heartbreaking it seems.”

Omura: “If your mother heard how you pine for her like this, she’d surely rejoice.”

Chūtarō: “Thank you kindly, Mother.”
When spoken to like that, Chūtarō—a parentless wretch—found himself growing teary-eyed without a shred of dignity left.
“Don’t you go laughin’ at me now.”

Omura: “Pardon me asking, Mr. Chūtarō.”
“What about your travel funds?”

Chūtarō: Money? I’ve still got plenty tucked away here.
“If it comes to it, I’ll dip into the hundred ryō I’ve got tucked against my skin.”

Hanjirō: “Huh?”
“Elder brother—you had that much money?”
“I didn’t know.”

Chūtarō: “It’d be best if the mother I’m meetin’ for the first time’s livin’ comfortable—but if she ain’t, well—that’s what this money I saved when luck struck at the gambling dens is for.”
“I’m headin’ out.”
“Hanji—I’ll come see that resolute look o’ yours livin’ honest someday.”
“But leavin’ these bastards as they are—can’t help but worry ’bout the trouble brewin’ later.”

Omura: “No—we’ll handle things here. You should go now, Mr. Chūtarō.”

Chūtarō: “Right.”
This bastard’s got just the thing.
(Taking Shichigorō’s writing set and unfolding paper) “Hanji—you were illiterate like me, weren’t ya?”
“Mother—if you know how t’write—take my hand ’n let me put down the words as I say ’em, won’t you?”

“It’s no trouble at all.”
“What should I write?”
(She took Chūtarō’s hand that held the brush)

“One.”
“The one who cut down these wretches is Chūtarō of Banba Village, Shibata District, Ōmi Province.”
(Repeating his words as he had her write them down, he gradually grew teary-eyed and began to shed tears.)

Onui: Mr. Chūtarō.
“What’s wrong?”

Hanjirō: “Elder brother... These tears don’t suit you.”
“Wh-what’s wrong?”

Onui gazed intently at Chūtarō.

Chūtarō: “Mother... Please give me a smile.”
Chūtarō—who had been separated from his mother at five years old—felt as though he was acting spoiled toward her even now.
In his longing born of remembrance, there were times when Chūtarō—even having reached this bearded adulthood—longed—longed for the mother whose face he never knew, like some starving child.

Onui (unable to hold back, sobs tearfully)

Chūtarō (holding the scrap of paper, draws the dagger from Shichigorō’s pocket and rises to pin it to the standing tree).

Hanjirō (exchanging looks of farewell with his mother and sister)

Act II: Summer Night Streets (Revisited)

The same Kaei Gannen [first year of the Kaei era] as the previous scene.

In Edo lay one particular street where twilight lingered beneath ancient trees on this summer evening.

Everything was black, save for a single lit street lantern.
An old woman sat on the ground, playing a shamisen and begging coins from passersby.
A lantern was placed nearby.

A drunken artisan-like man squatted and made the old woman play while he sang.

Banba no Chūtarō.
Having arrived in Edo and removed his straw sandals, he was watching from a slight distance in casual kimono attire.

Old Woman (plays the shamisen)

Drunken Man (singing in a moderate voice.
(His voice growing louder as he gets into rhythm; the song being part of a longer ballad) "You're a fool! Heh heh heh..."
"Alright—next up's a popular tune!"
"Ōtsu-e now, granny."
"C'mon now—play it out! Play it out!"
(Shaking his head and singing rapturously) "Here's the grand tally o' wives 'cross the land!"
"For Her Majesty—Mandokoro! For northern consorts—Midai-sama! Okusama! Goshoin! Gonaishitsu! For mistresses—Ouchikata! And that hag in Kaesawemon's house—(sits down) What fools y'are! Ahahaha!"
"Now then—dodoitsu! Dodoitsu!"
"Granny—do me right now—ready? Hah?"
"It's cold on boats—take this haori I'm wearin', granny."
"Heh heh heh..."
"Ahhh... finally feelin' proper."
"Heave-ho!"
(Begins departing)

The old woman withdrew the hand she had extended to receive coins with a sorrowful air.

Chūtarō grabbed the drunken artisan’s collar, glaring a wordless demand of “Ain’t ya gonna pay up?”

Gripped by fear, the Drunken Man reluctantly gave coins to the old woman, glanced back at Chūtarō, then scurried away like a cornered rat.

The old woman bowed her head haltingly in gratitude to Chūtarō.

“Granny, you don’t gotta bow so deep,” said Chūtarō.
“How old?”
“I’m askin’ your age.”

“Yes.”
“Turned sixty.”

“Don’t got kids?”

“I had children once,” the old woman said, “but circumstances forced me to send them away. Now I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead.” Her voice trembled as she added, “I lost my husband long ago. This shameful existence is how I barely scrape by each day.”

Chūtarō leaned forward, a flicker of hope crossing his weathered face. “What name did you give the child you sent away?”

The beggar’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Do you know my Kōtarō?”

“Kōtarō, you say?” Chūtarō repeated the name like a curse. He turned away, shoulders slumping. “Then it wasn’t her after all.”

Old Woman (in a tearful voice): "I see..."

Chūtarō (wondering if by chance): "Granny—when you were young—didn'tcha ever go out Ōmi way?"

Old Woman (with deepening disappointment): "No."
"This old woman never went past Kawasaki—Edo's been my whole world."

Chūtarō: "I see... Don't lose heart, Granny."
"Someday that boy of yours'll come claim you proper—mark my words."
"Next time I spot you I'll give more—but tonight..." (hands over coins) "...this'll have to do."

“This old woman is deeply grateful.”
“Oh my—this is a one-shu coin! Is it truly acceptable for me to receive such an amount?”
Chūtarō: “It’s fine—just keep it.”
He walked a short distance, then involuntarily came to a halt.

The old woman bowed her head several times and played the shamisen.

Chūtarō resumed his aimless search for his mother.

Act III: Winter Night Streets

A certain street in Edo.

A pitch-black winter night.

A street guard post comes half into view.

A merchant’s mother of medium build passed by, leaning on a cane and holding a lantern.
The son hurriedly caught up from behind.

“Mom! Mom! Hey, Mom!”

“Oh, oh—it’s you, Na-chan. Are you back already? You must have been cold.”

“That was quicker than expected, wasn’t it? How was it, Mom? Tonight’s magic show was interesting, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, it was wonderful. Tomorrow night I’ll keep watch over the house, so you and your wife go ahead and go.”

“Was it really that interesting? That’s wonderful, Mom. Shall I carry you on my back?”

“That’s kind of you, but having a young man do that would be unseemly. I’ll just plod along at my own pace.”

“It’s no trouble—it’s nighttime,” said the merchant. “Even if it weren’t dark—what sort of person would laugh at a child carrying their parent? You know the saying—‘when parents age, they follow their child.’ If you don’t listen to your son, you’ll get scolded, I tell you!”

Banba no Chūtarō passed by with his scarf pulled up over his cheeks, stopping to watch.

“Hohoho,” laughed the mother. “Well, since I’d hate to earn my son’s scolding, I suppose I’ll let you carry me after all.”

Merchant: "That’s more like it."
"C’mon, Mom."
"Heave-ho!"
"Mom’s light as a feather—it’s no trouble at all."
"Mom, if you’re cold, just press your face right here against my shoulder."

Chūtarō watched them walk away, unable to contain his envy. What a fortunate mother and son.
(Muttering under his breath) How enviable.

[Finale]

Act I: Yanagibashi Mizuguma Alley

In mid-autumn of Kaei 2-nen—the year following the previous act.
The side of the Mizuguma restaurant in Yanagibashi.

A black-painted plank fence (split boards, taller than average) stood with Mizuguma’s kitchen entrance to the right and a white-walled storehouse to the left; a willow tree planted somewhere made clear this scene’s distinction from the previous setting.

Otora (over fifty)—an old acquaintance of the Mizuguma proprietress, now destitute after being unable to continue working as a night hawk. Carrying a tattered oil-paper umbrella, she stood with her back to Mizuguma’s kitchen entrance, only the hem of her garments visible.

The geishas Sankichi and Oyotsu passed by under a shared umbrella on their way to worship.

Sankichi (mimicking a shamisen with her voice as she transitioned into something for Oyotsu)

Oyotsu (shaking her head and repeating the melody)

Sankichi (noticing and extending her hand beyond the umbrella): “Oh—it’s stopped.”
(Closed the umbrella.)

Oyotsu: “Oh my, the sun’s showing its face, isn’t it.”
(Continued repeating the song)

Sankichi tapped her umbrella with her fingers to keep rhythm, maintained her vocal shamisen imitation, and exited together with Oyotsu.

Uoya Kuma and Kita, each carrying their loads on balance poles, brushed past Sankichi and Oyotsu.

Uokita looked back from behind and snorted with a clenched fist: “Tch, couldn’t even notice Narihira-sama passing by.”

Uokuma stood ahead.
(Looking back at Uokita) “That Narihira act of yours isn’t in fashion these days.”
(He was about to say something when he caught sight of Kingorō the Blind and bowed his head with a displeased expression.)

Uokita noticed Kingorō, made a displeased face, bowed only his head, and hurried away with Kuma.

The ruffian—Kingorō the Blind—was slightly drunk. Zenzaburō, Mizuguma’s chef, watched him with a troubled expression.

Kingorō struck eight times: “Wait, Bote-furi.”

Zenzaburō cut him off: “Cut it out. You can’t go around interfering with innocent folks’ business.”

“Those irritating bastards,” Kingorō muttered before addressing him pointedly: “Zenkō.”

“Huh?” Zenzaburō replied, hiding his displeased expression.

“Is Madam really not here?”

Zenzaburō: “She ain’t here. You think I’d lie? But Mr. Kingorō—if you don’t quit this kinda talk, I’ll be in a real bind.”

Kingorō: “Don’t sweat it—once I’m Mizuguma’s son-in-law, I’ll toss you a fat bonus ’sides your wages.”

Zenzaburō: “That’s exactly the problem. First off—no matter how you slice it—d’you really think Madam’d agree to such nonsense?”

Kingorō: “Ain’t nothin’ strange ’bout me marryin’ into a widow’s household.”

Zenzaburō: "You ever think this through? Mr. Kingorō—you ain't even thirty yet by a couple years, while the house Madam's pushin' past fifty even if she looks ten or fifteen younger."

Kingorō: "Ain't about years."
"Me an' this house here—since when's romance got an age limit?"

Zenzaburō: "Let's shelve this talk for good. I'm done here today."
(Eager to break away)

Kingorō: "Hmph—I'll be back later, damn you."

Otora (the oil-paper umbrella had been moving before that—she was pushed away, let go of the umbrella, and collapsed).

Tōhachi, the dishwasher of Mizuguma, angrily emerged from inside.

“Tōhachi here—pushed you out ’cause you’re too damn persistent! Now scram!”

Zenzaburō asked Tōhachi, “What’s going on?”

Tōhachi reported to Zenzaburō, “She kept insisting on seeing Madam, so I told her she wasn’t home and chased her off.”

Otora crawled to her feet. “What the hell d’you think you’re doin’?”
“Tellin’ me to scram? Then make me!”

Tōhachi snapped, “Still yappin’ that crap? Don’tcha get Madam ain’t here? Even if she were, she’s got no business seein’ some beggar hag. Get lost.”

Zenzaburô: Tô-no-ji.
“Don’t bother with the likes of ’em—get inside already.”
(He heads inside.)

Kingorō: “Hey Tō!
Madam here?”

Tōhachi hid a scowl. “Ain’t home.”

Kingorō grunted.
“So she’s really gone.”
He stomped off angrily.

Otora: “Even if she ain’t over there, I got business right here.”

Kingorō: “The hell you yappin’ about?”
“Madam ain’t home.”
(shoving Otora down and leaving)

“See there? Since you won’t leave, you’ll get hurt.”

Banba no Chūtarō stood before an earthen-walled storehouse, clutching a new oil-paper umbrella and wearing fresh geta sandals. Having witnessed Kingorō’s actions, he glared at the man’s retreating back with righteous fury.

“You gonna hit me?” Otora spat. “Knock an old woman flat in the middle of the street, then play at being some brat half your age—still got the guts to swing?”

“Alright, I’ll knock ya down!”

Magosuke the deliveryman was peering out from the entranceway, watching.

Chūtarō (shielding Otora)

Tōhachi: Huh.
“You that old hag’s brat?”

Magosuke took out a carrying pole.

Chūtarō: “Why’re you bullying an old woman?”
“I don’t do nasty business.”
“Old woman—you hurt anywhere?”

Otora’s joints ached all over, leaving her in distress.

Magosuke: “Mr. Tō, that old woman’s a night hawk who’s always left unsold over in East Ryōgoku.”

Tōhachi: “Huh.”
“At her age, she’s a night hawk?”
“Huh.”

Chūtarō grew disgusted upon hearing “night hawk.”

Otora: “Oh... I’m a night hawk.”
“Seeing as you know that, seems you were one of my customers.”

Magosuke: “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I always go for Ofuku or Otake.”
(Uncomfortably retreated inside.)

Chūtarō (reconsidering, to Otora): How old are you?

Otora: “Age?”
“Mister—what’s askin’ my age s’posed t’do?”

Chūtarō: “Fifty-one? Or two ’r three?”

Otora: “Might ’bout hit th’mark.”
“Next y’gonna ask m’name?”
“S’how things usually go.”

Chūtarō glared sharply at Tōhachi.

Tōhachi retreated inside, creeped out.

Chūtarō: "Hold out your hand."
He gave coins to Otora.

Otora: "Mister, you—"

Chūtarō cut her off before she could say something bitter: "Hey—answer my question. It's payment for your words. Just a little."

Otora: "Oh... I see how it is.
"Then ask whatever you want. I'll talk about most things—long as I don't lose out."

Chūtarō: "You got any grown kids?"

Otora: "A child?"
Her face darkened as she looked down.

Chūtarō (unintentionally anxious at the possibility): Do you have... you—
(A shadow falls over his heart.)

Otora sobbed quietly.

Chūtarō made her remember and ended up making her cry.
Old woman—(bearing the anguish of wondering if this person were his mother)—how was that child doing now.

Otora: “If alive—thirty-one.”
“Dead.”

Chūtarō let out a relieved breath. "I see. Didn't mean to ask such an out-of-line thing. Forgive me—I'm apologizin' here." He started to leave.

Otora called out, "Mister—wait a moment. You're a kind soul. Despite them all—the guard bastard included—mocking me as some night hawk hag, you still went and asked me something like that. Feels like it's been years since someone treated me like a human being." She bowed her head. "Thank you, Mister. I won't forget this."

Chūtarō: Listening to such stories was poison to me.
(Starts to leave.)

“There’s some reason behind this,” said Otora. “Who’re you searching for? If I knew, I’d want to tell you.”

Whenever Chūtarō saw an aged woman leaning on others for support, he couldn’t help thinking she might be the one he’d been searching for—my—and yet since last year, nearly a full year had passed without any connection, and still he hadn’t met her.

“Who’re you talking about?”

“Someone around your age.”
“Your mother, I take it?”
“Might be.”
(Started to leave.)
“Back when I knew her, the mistress of this house would talk about the child she left behind every other day, crying all the while.”
“Yeah.”
(He turned back and approached Otora.)

“But that wasn’t ten or fifteen years ago—it’s a story from much longer ago.”

Chūtarō: This here’s definitely a restaurant-teahouse—the one they call Mizuguma, right?
“And where’s this place the mistress here left her child?”
“If you know, I wanna hear it, I tell ya.”

Otora: It’s an old memory, so my recollection’s hazy, but I’m pretty sure it was Gōshū. But you being an Edokko and all—Gōshū’d be a case of mistaken identity, wouldn’t it?

Chūtarō: I’ve been raised in Edo since I was thirteen, but my birthplace is some remote backcountry.
Had the mistress of this house really been thinking about her child so much?

Otora: "Like I told ya, that's ancient history—no tellin' how things stand nowdays."
"In my reckonin', she's done forgot 'bout her child—don't even remember 'im no more."

Chūtarō (with ironclad certainty): "Mothers ain't made that way."

Otora: "We was tighter'n bark on a tree back then—helpin' each other out, near sisters we were. But these past years? She turns her face quick as you meet on the road. Come beggin' at her door in hard times, she'll boot you out same as this."
"Humans're creatures what rot with time, I tell ya."

“I don’t know how it is for others,” Chūtarō retorted, “but mothers and children are different. Even if decades pass—she’s the birth parent, ain’t she? He’s her child. The blood fillin’ their bodies—it’s the same on both sides.” He shook his head violently. “That’s impossible!”

Otora leaned against the damp wall. “Then maybe you oughta just go see for yourself.”

“Huh?” Chūtarō’s hand froze on his wakizashi hilt. “No way.” Just hearin’ “Gōshū”—no matter how he sliced it—could he really go there?

Otora: “That’s how it goes.”
“I’ve been missing my boy lately.”
“Haven’t tended to him in years—maybe I’ll go pay my respects now.”

Chūtarō: “Visiting the grave?”
“Hold up.”
“Use this for incense and flowers.” (shoving coins into her hand) “Take it—no need for airs.”

Otora: “Th-this is koban!”

Chūtarō: “Don’t get twitchy over one ryō. I ain’t some cutpurse—what you see’s a proper yakuza.”
“This ain’t honest sweat-money—just fleeting coins that rolled my way from dice throws in some gambling pit.”
“If you’re set on straight living, granny, try peddling paste or such.”
“Might let your dead boy rest peaceful-like.”

Otora: “Yes.”

Chūtarō: “See ya.”
(He started to leave.)

Otora: “Yes.”
(She turned back, bowed her head, and left.)

Chūtarō saw Otora off, then turned toward Mizuguma.
(He debated: Should I meet her? No—better not. Thinking it still uncertain, he found himself walking closer.)

Tōhachi (opens the entrance/exit with Magosuke and peers out.
(Both hold no goodwill toward Chūtarō.)

Chūtarō (wondering if this might be his mother’s house) turned around and happened to notice the two men.

Tōhachi and the others clicked their tongues and retreated inside.

Chūtarō (taking their surveillance as confirmation) turned back with the intent to confront them.

Miyoshi (returning from a pilgrimage while talking to Oyotsu)

Chūtarō (noticed by the two geishas, his advance thwarted, starts to leave)

Act II: Ohama’s Living Room

Mizuguma Proprietress’s Room.

To the right was an inner garden, to the left a corridor; the room was bright and gaudy.

Proprietress Ohama (fifty-two years old though she looked younger) leaned against a long hibachi and smoked tobacco.

Ohama’s daughter Otose (eighteen or nineteen years old), having finished her makeup, was changing into a kimono.
The middle-aged maid Ofumi had the young maid Oseu (fourteen or fifteen years old) assist her in handling various tasks.

Ofumi (gazing adoringly): “Oh, how lovely.”
“How perfectly it suits her.”
“You know, Madam, isn’t that right?”

Ohama (looking delighted): “Hehehehe.”

Oseu (having forgotten about tidying up, was gazing in admiration).

Ofumi: “Honestly, if I were a man, I wouldn’t let you slip away.”

Otose: “Oh, you! If it were Ofumi, I’d be pitiful, wouldn’t I? Hey, Mom.”

Ohama: “Oh, you know how it is.”
“Hehehehe.”

Oseu: “It can’t be me.”

Otose: “For you, a greengrocer’s errand boy would be just right, Ofumi.”

Ofumi: “Right. Even that would be too good for me.”

Oseu—who had decided to check her reflection in the mirror—suddenly stiffened and turned toward the corridor. “There’s a fight!”

Ofumi snapped: “What nonsense are you spouting? Where’s this supposed fight? Stop frightening people.”

Ohama tilted her head slightly. “It seems Oseu’s ears don’t deceive after all. Someone’s quarreling somewhere.”

Otose looked up from adjusting her obi. “Where?”

Ofumi: “Oh, it was true after all. Isn’t that coming from the house?”

Oseu: “Shall I go check?”

Ohama: “Just ignore it. When you run a large household, internal disputes aren’t uncommon—you can’t go worrying about every little squabble. Rather than that, Otose. Hurry up and show your face. People say Mizuguma’s hospitality comes first from Otose and second from the dishes. Hurry up and show your face.”

Ofumi: “There’s still some left, Madam.”

Oseu: “I know. The mistress of the house must be ten or even fifteen years younger than her age.”

Ohama: “Hehehehe.”

Otose: “Today’s caretaker was from Tanshu-sama’s household, wasn’t it? Well then, Mom.”

Ohama: “Right. Ofumi, take care with that.”

Otose and Ofumi entered the back of the corridor.
Oseu remained behind, tidying up.

The sound of arguing voices could be heard.

Ohama: "How noisy. That shouting must be Tōhachi."

Oseu: “The chef’s voice is in there too.”

The sound of arguing voices mingled with the crash of breaking plates.

Ohama (losing her temper): “Oseu.”
“Go tell them that’s enough—I said knock it off!”
“Make those bastards fighting line up here right now, I said.”

Oseu: “Yes, ma’am.”
(Hurries off)

Zenzaburō (in his chef’s work clothes, emerges into the corridor, ignores Oseu, positions himself outside the room’s threshold): “Pardon the intrusion.”

Ohama: “Chef.”
“They’re at it again.”
“It’s so damn noisy.”

Zenzaburō: “Since he’s nobody worth mentioning, he started making that racket—but it’s almost settled now. And if you, Madam, were to take notice and come out yourself, that’d just stir up more trouble—so I came to stop you.”
(Started to leave)

Ohama: “What do you mean telling me not to show myself? Even if they begged, I wouldn’t budge. Isn’t that why you’re standing guard here?”
“It’s the cook and dishwasher clashing again, isn’t it?”

Zenzaburō: "This isn't between our own people today. The other party's some outsider bastard."

Ohama: "What do you mean?"

Zenzaburō: "A money collector. When they say they want to meet with Madam and ask something, don't they always come out with those nasty lines? He got under my skin, so I gave him a threatening glare—that's why we ended up shouting like that."

Ohama: "First some old woman I don't know comes asking to see me, and now it's a man?"

Zenzaburō: “I didn’t see him myself, but they say he was talking to that old woman who came earlier. Must be one of those night hawks posted outside the reed screens in Higashi-Ryōgoku, chirping ‘Come on now, take a look, take a look!’ I’ll get rid of him right away.”

With Oseu at the front, cook Kono Yoshi Kichi and dishwasher Tōhachi emerged.

Zenzaburō: “What’s this? You lot—”

Kono Yoshi Kichi: “Madam told Oseu-don to call everyone over, so we’ve had Benshū, Mago, Gon, and four of us keeping watch on that bastard.”

“Is that man truly so stubborn?” Ohama asked.

“He’s a damnably stubborn bastard like none other,” Tōhachi spat. “Came crawlin’ up sweet as honey at first, but once Chef here gave him what-for, he showed his true colors—wouldn’t budge even with a prybar.”

Zenzaburō crossed his arms. “Best not let scum like him grow bold—haul ’im to the guard post.”

“Silence.” Ohama’s voice cut through the kitchen clamor. “Oseu.”
“Bring him here.”

“Madam,” Zenzaburō began, “I did advise against this—”

“How can I run this place if I can’t handle some man? Drag him here. I’ll beat him down and send him packing.”

Oseu went to call him.

“Everyone, rest assured and withdraw. I’m the one bearing Mizuguma’s backbone—do you think I’d lose to some man?”

Zenzaburō: “That’s certainly true, but I’m worried.”

Ohama: “I’m fine. Just watch—that man’ll slink away with his tail between his legs.”

Zenzaburō (urging Kono Yoshi Kichi and the others to leave)

With Zenzaburō bringing up the rear, Kono Yoshi Kichi, Tōhachi, and the others began heading toward the kitchen.

Banba no Chūtarō was guided by Oseu and emerged.
Disregarding Zenzaburō and the others’ glaring eyes, he placed his hands outside the threshold.

Zenzaburō and the others left.

“If you’ve got business coming inside, say it—I’ll hear you out. But I hate long-winded matters; I’ll warn you now.”

“I humbly beg your pardon.”
(Crossed the threshold and sat down in a lower position.)

Oseu went out to the corridor and eavesdropped.

“Well? Aren’t you going to say something?” Ohama pressed. “You came here on business, didn’t you?”

“Well... I must speak, ma’am,” Chūtarō replied. He hesitated over how to broach the subject.

“What is it.”

“Madam—” Chūtarō began, his voice taut with resolve, “with a heart ready to be shattered, I must humbly ask something impertinent. By any chance... do you recall ever having a son around my age?” He bowed lower. “Though I’m fully aware of my rudeness, this is what I must ask.”

Ohama started and did not answer.

Chūtarō: “Ah—Madam does remember!” (involuntarily edging forward on his knees) “That shock on your face—the place is Banba, a mountain post station at Mashin Pass. One ri south of Samegai in Sakata District, Ōmi Province.”
“That’s where I’m from.”
(He waited for Ohama’s answer)

Ohama (Though she remembered, apprehension at Chūtarō's rough appearance prickling her senses, her calculations sharpening): “I do know Banba Post Station. What of it?”

“Huh?” Chūtarō’s voice tightened at her unexpected reply. “Do you know Okinagaya Tōbei—the inn that’s been run for six generations?”

“Ah,” Ohama countered, her words sharp as a paring knife, “you think I’d recall that? That matter was settled when I was young.”

“Mother.” The word tore from him before he could stop it.

“What sort of performance is this?” She drew back as if scalded. “Cease this charade at once.”

His shoulders slumped like wet laundry. “Forgive me—that was uncouth.”

“Who,” she demanded, each syllable frost-laden, “are you?”

“I am Chūtarō.”

Ohama stared intently. “What nonsense are you saying?
Chūtarō, you say?
I did have a son named Chūtarō from whom I was separated—but he’s long dead now.”

“No! That can’t be!
You mean it ain’t so? The bond was severed when I was five... Over twenty years gone by. Nearing thirty now.
All that time not knowing if we lived or died—does that let you pretend such a child never existed? Sever the bond though you may, blood still connects us.
That mother-child tie—cut it a thousand times, it stays unseen yet bound. Our lives can’t be torn apart. I’m Chūtarō of Okinagaya Inn at Banba Post Station in Ōmi—your son, Mother.”

“Wait, wait.”
“You know Banba’s affairs remarkably well—but no matter how much you spin these tales to me, it’s futile.”

“Huh?!”

“True enough—through my uncle’s arrangements in Kano of Mino, I wed into Okinagaya Inn at Banba and bore a son called Chūtarō.”

“That Chūtarō... is me—”

“Listen carefully.”
“When that child turned five, I left Okinagaya.”
(Tears pooled in her eyes)

“My father died of illness when I was twelve,” said Chūtarō, his rough voice straining with forced composure. “Didn’t hear it straight from him, but after I grew up—they told me how Father’s conduct hadn’t been proper when you left. Said the fault lay with him.”

Ohama’s fingers tightened around her obi sash. “There was a child—a dear child,” she began, her merchant-class diction fraying at the edges. “My true heart hadn’t wished to take those divorce papers. But circumstances twisted strange, and in the end...” A tremor entered her voice as she stared past him at the rain-streaked shoji. “For years after—beneath Edo’s skies—I’d gaze toward Ōmi Province wondering if it lay yonder. Spent my days weeping as I stared at clouds that might’ve hung over Banba.”

Even at five—old enough to understand—his heart raced trying desperately to recall his birth mother’s face yet found no memory of her features etched within him.
"What cursed blood runs through me," he cursed himself through years spent chasing cloud wisps without trail—until here stood Mother before him... while I... had crossed beyond thirty winters.

“Silence.”
“You’re different from the child I bore.”
“What nonsense are you spewing?”

“Wh-what? Th-that ain’t true.”
“Ain’t I Chūtarō?”

“Your name might be Chūtarō.”
“For all I know, your birthplace could’ve been Banba Post Station in Ōmi.”

“Then... I ain’t...”

“Don’t come near me, you brazen wretch.”
“My son Chūtarō died of fever at nine—that’s what I heard.”
“A parent counts their dead child’s years—had he lived, that boy’d be thirty-two now... no, thirty-one... I lay awake last night tallying it fresh.”
“No matter what you claim—I who birthed him see you’re not my flesh. Go home.”
“Best you scram now.”

“As for when death came for me at nine—I remember that clear as day myself,” said Chūtarō. “That talk of me dying’s wrong—Chūtarō’s right here breathing.”

Ohama cut through his words like a blade. “Don’t go sneaking into lives with those tricks.”

Chūtarō wormed his way in.
"So... you think I’m just here for money?"

Ohama: "If not that, then what?"

Oseu hurried quietly off to inform the chef and cashier’s counter.

Chūtarō: "No no no, that ain’t it.
"I didn’t come announcing myself for coin.
"Though this Chūtarō may cut a shabby figure, Chūtarō don’t lack for nothin’."
(Producing a money belt and placing a hundred ryō before her) "To a mother whose face I ain’t even known—figured if fate let us meet and she was livin’ comfortable, that’d be fine. But if by chance she was strugglin’ in poverty... I kept this hundred ryō untouched through it all—cradled it warm against my belly these long years as my offering."
"When I saw you’d become mistress of this grand establishment—a tea house with servants swarmin’ like ants—I’d been puttin’ my heart at ease. But just ’cause you’ve stacked your coins high, you eye everythin’ with suspicion—so much you’d doubt your own flesh and blood if they stood before you? That cuts deep, Mother. I’ll carry that grudge to my grave."

Ohama: “I’m the one who should be resentful! Here I’ve been living contentedly day after day, finding joy in my daughter—when suddenly some preposterous man bursts in declaring, ‘I’m Chūtarō, who was supposed to be dead!’ You came here to sow discord in this household.”

“Th-that’s heartless, Mother.”

“You dare call me ‘Mother’ again?”
“Ain’t no mistake—I’m your son, Mother.”

“I see through your scheme,” Ohama said. “You come claiming to be Chūtarō with designs on the Mizuguma inheritance meant for Otose—this whole charade is about seizing half!”

“What?!” Chūtarō choked out.

“After weathering both society’s propriety and its filth for decades,” she continued, “did you think I’d miss such a transparent ploy?”

Chūtarō (sobbed).

Ohama (stared fixedly at Chūtarō).

Chūtarō (wiped away his tears, his demeanor shifting resolutely): "Madam."
"I must confirm this once more."
"You have no memory of a man called Chūtarō from Banba Post Station in Ōmi Province—is that correct?"
"So you declare that the Chūtarō who is Madam's own flesh and blood isn't me—is that right?"

Ohama: "Yes—yes indeed. I did bear a son, but I was told he died long ago. In my heart too, I've believed him dead all these years—so even if that child were to return to life now, I could feel no joy in it."

Chūtarō: Could such a rift really form in both our hearts—after being separated for so many long years, living apart like strangers?
People often say "a child can’t know a parent’s heart," but for me, that proverb’s reversed—this child’s heart that yearns so much can’t reach the parent’s heart.

"Ohama: Mr. Chūtarō."

"Chūtarō: What is it?"

"Ohama: If I were to say I'm your mother—what would you do?"

"Chūtarō: And what would you do if you heard that? I know. Madam enjoys living peacefully now. I don't want to stir trouble in that peace and happiness—I understand, truly. An affair from nearly thirty years past... must be a forgotten dream by now."
(Resolving to leave) When it comes to parents and children—is this how it should be?
He treated the hundred ryō as worthless and pocketed it.

In the corridor, Chōbae Yobei the cashier, Itamae Zenzaburō the chef, and Araikata Tōhachi the dishwasher crept closer, weapons concealed.

Ohama: “If you truly understood that well, then stop forcing this parent-child narrative and leave already, won’t you?”

Chūtarō: The closer someone is, the more endearing they become—but put distance between you, and they grow distant. Is that human nature?

Ohama: Can any mother truly not think of her own child?
"But you see, it depends on the child—Mr. Chūtarō, if you're going to seek out your parent, why haven't you gone straight?"

Chūtarō: Madam.
“I refuse even your instructions.”
“It’s a bit much for a parent-abandoned brat to lecture someone who’s gone astray.”
"It’s too late for me to go straight now."
“I’ve sunk up to my shins in the mire of this yakuza life—even if I tried to wash it off, these wanderer’s habits won’t come clean anymore. What’s the use of going straight now?”
“Even if I endure and go straight—who’d rejoice over that? It’s just me here alone.”
“Ha... ha... ha... ha...”
"So be it."
With nowhere left to belong, I’ll revert to being a wanderer once more—roving beneath the boundless skies of the Sixty-Odd Provinces. Suppose it’s time to lace up these traveling sandals again.
(Hearing someone in the corridor brush against an object) Who’s there?!
(Opens the shoji)

Zenzaburō (shrinks back with Yobei, Tōhachi, and others)

Chūtarō: “This ain’t a story for you lot to hear.”
“Scram.”
“Aren’t you going?”
(Closes the shoji)

Zenzaburō whispered to Yobei, then called Tōhachi over. The three left together, still murmuring among themselves.

Chūtarō: "I’ve overstayed my welcome for far too long. Farewell then, Madam—Chūtarō won’t come visiting again. Not that I’m one to complain, but whoever said spouses last two lifetimes while parent-child bonds barely make it through one... that truth cuts right to the bone."

Ohama: “Mr. Chūtarō—wait.”

Chūtarō (ignoring her, exiting to the corridor): “Madam’s got a daughter, I hear—but wanting to meet her even once… ain’t that just another lament?”
Here I’d been weaving selfish dreams this way and that—pining after Mother and Sister—but our standing places lie worlds apart… What a fool I’ve been. That birth mother who left me in childhood—I squeezed my eyelids shut tight, laboring to erase memories that once shone vivid as painted scrolls.
“Madam, forgive this.”
(Closes the shoji)

“Ah…” (called out but reconsidered)

Otose came unknowingly from the depths of the corridor, Ofumi trailing behind her.

The sound of rain could be heard.

Chūtarō gazed at Otose. "You look just like her."
He glanced back nostalgically as he left.

Otose: “Who is that person?”
Ofumi shook her head.
Otose: “He doesn’t resemble Mom at all.”
Ofumi involuntarily slapped her knee. “You’re right.”
Ohama (lingering attachment surfacing) started toward the corridor.

“Ah, Mom! Who was that man just now?”

Ohama: “You saw him?”
(Heads toward the hibachi)

Otose (enters the sitting room): “Yes.”
“He looked a bit like you.”
“Hey, Ofumi.”

Ofumi (hesitating out of consideration for Ohama): “Yes.”

Ohama (tearing up)

Otose: “What’s wrong? You’re being so stubborn, Mom.”
(Could that man be my half-brother?) “Mom! Mom, listen!”

“Yes… yes…”

Otose: “That person... Isn’t he the one you spoke about before?”

Ohama wiped her tears.

Otose: “Brother Chūtarō from Gōshū? But they say Mr. Chūtarō died at nine—that couldn’t possibly be him...”

Ohama (sobbed)

Otose: “Ah—it was Brother after all! It was Brother Chūtarō!”

Ohama (sobs convulsively)

Otose: “Brother! It’s Brother! Mom—if it was Brother, why did you send him away? Why did you let him go?”

“I… I beg your forgiveness,” Ohama said. “I was heartless. From the moment you were born—not once parted from you—I cherished only you. Yet after thirty years apart… somehow no warmth stirs in me for Chūtarō.”

“No!”
“No!”
“Aren’t we both your children?”

“That’s why I’m begging your forgiveness,” she apologized.
“They called me mannish, and I believed it—but now I can’t fathom why anyone would call this mannish. I feel utterly wretched.”

Otose: “Ofumi, go call Brother right away, okay? Okay?”

Ofumi (having been crying along): “Eh.”
(left immediately in haste)

Ohama: “Your mother feels ashamed even before your heart.”
“When Chūtarō—who I’d thought had died long ago—came claiming his name, at first I took him for an impostor and kept my guard up. Then doubts arose that he’d set his sights on our family fortune. In the end—in the end—I convinced myself he’d hinder your future and drove him away. But Otose—I’m your mother, yet I’m Chūtarō’s mother too. Both should be equally dear… Why? Why do I cherish only you?”

Otose: “Why can’t we just give the family fortune to Brother? I’ve been cherished since I was a baby, but Brother—he never had that, did he?”

Ohama (broke down sobbing).

Ofumi (returned) "It was already too late."
"I had the attendants and delivery people rush over, but..."

Ohama (resolved): “I see. Very well.”
“This time we’ll find Chūtarō ourselves—no matter what it takes, we three must meet again as mother and children. Ofumi, have someone rush to the boss at once.”

Ofumi: “Yes.”
(Left in haste)

“I’ll direct everyone and make them search for Brother again,” said Otose.
(She leaves in haste)

Zenzaburō (came to the hallway): “Madam.”

Ohama: “Chef?”
“What.”

Zenzaburō: “My apologies.”
“It’s about that bastard from earlier.”

Ohama: “Ah—he was found?”

Zenzaburō: “Hah—you mean that bastard from earlier? He hasn’t been found yet, but rest easy—it’s been handled neatly. That no-good Blind Kingorō—useful for times like these—came sniffing around again. When he caught wind of this mess, he bolted out before we could stop him. Since we didn’t ask and he volunteered himself, Madam, just watch from the high ground—it’ll get sorted without loose ends. If we’re talking loose ends, it’s Kingorō’s doing—but he’ll have my boss step in and square it with five or ten ryō.”

Ohama turned pale. “Huh?! What are you planning to do? If you find Chūtarō—what exactly—”

Zenzaburō eyed her suspiciously. “He said he’d break an arm or leg of that impostor—make sure they never come spouting nighttime delusions again.”

“N-no! That’s… You mustn’t!”

Zenzaburō: “Huh?!”
“That’s trouble.”
“Kingorō’s bastard was with some vicious ronin—but that guy said he knows where he’s holed up.”

Ohama: "Ah, there's no telling what might happen."

Zenzaburō frowned.
"That ronin had been strong-arming Kingorō into taking responsibility for three ryō..."
He hoped they wouldn't talk.

“Get a palanquin ready—three ryō. I’m leaving right now.”
“You’re coming too.”

Zenzaburō: “Eh… eh.”
“I’ll go.”
(Leaves in haste)

Ohama (prepares to go out, securing all her cash on her person)

The rain began to fall heavily.

Otose (returned weakly): “Oh, what’s wrong?”

Ohama: “Otose... Chūtarō—”
(whispered)

Otose (was aghast).

Ohama: “Is the palanquin ready yet?”
“Chef—is the palanquin ready yet?”
(Exits into the hallway)

Otose (collapsed in tears)

Act III: Arakawa Embankment (Return)

As dawn approached over the previous scene’s night.
Near Toda Crossing along the Arakawa River’s embankment after the rain.

In the distance stood a levee—under it, here and there, trees.
Plumed eulalia grass tangled thickly across the ground.
However, the deep center ahead had a ferry landing path running left to right, and from the left side a bold diagonal trail cut inward—only there, the eulalia grass was absent.
To the left lay a puddle, and around it too, there was no eulalia grass.

A ferryman—a regular worker at Toda Crossing heading out to launch the first ferry—walked along the path shouldering his water pole.

A boatman's song could be heard from somewhere.
It wasn’t too far away.

Boatman's Song:
The Arakawa boatmen and my love's winding path—
Taking turns at the oar, leaving it to the wind.

A palanquin bearing a lantern hurries along the main path toward the ferry crossing.

The palanquin bearers are three.

Ohama rides in that palanquin, her heart as restless as the stormy sky.

The ferryman sees off the palanquin, enters the main path, and departs toward the ferry landing.

One more palanquin hurries along the main path in the same manner.

Otose rides in the palanquin, her heart racing across the river.

Zenzaburō carries a lantern and runs alongside Otose’s palanquin.

The boatman’s song can be heard a little closer than before.

Boatman's Song: Spring brings life to the world, plants and trees all around, but I'm just a grasshopper in a withered field.

The Feigned-Blind Kingorō, wearing lightweight attire that let him spring up instantly from sitting, skillfully concealed his clothing beneath a raincoat.

Kingorō stood midway along the diagonal path and rattled the tsuba of his long wakizashi.

Tobata Yōsuke—his face blotched red from drink’s poison, clad in hakama and clogs, bearing himself like one versed in martial arts—was a vulgar vagrant.

Tobata (emerges abruptly from the eulalia thicket, glances toward where the palanquin went, to Kingorō): “Hey.”
“Who the hell were those people just now?”

Kingorō (looking toward the palanquin): “What… I don’t know.”

Tobata: “Both palanquins—front and back—carried women passengers.”

Kingorō: “So that’s how it was. Should’ve come sooner to check if they were women—damned waste.”

Tobata: “That fellow Chūtarō—surely he won’t stray from the path along the way.”
“If he veers off even a little, those three ryō we worked so hard for will go up in smoke.”

Kingorō: “Quit your worrying.”
“He’ll be here any minute now.”

Tobata: “He’ll definitely come.”

Kingorō: “You’re really pressing this hard, aren’t ya?”

Tobata: “If it’s certain he’ll come—since we’ve already taken the promised three ryō as deposit—we’ll collect the remaining two ryō.”

Kingorō: “Fine by me. But you—just ’cause we took coin upfront don’t mean I’ll turn tail if steel gets drawn.”
(hands over the money)

Tobata: “Waste away or wither to nothing—I, Tobata Yōsuke, would never stoop to such tricks. More like—you sure you’re up to this?”

Kingorō: “I’m Feigned-Blind Kingorō, you know. Even someone like me’s cut down two or three men in my time.”

Tobata: “When it comes to body count, Tobata Yōsuke here doesn’t lag behind anyone. One or two grass gamblers—hardly worth breaking a sweat over.”

Kingorō: “Takin’ on such easy work for three ryō—you’re sharper than you look.”

Tobata: “You’re the clever one between us. You sniffed out Chūtarō’s secrets—leverage that over Mizuguma, use it to cozy up there permanent-like. Lust and greed handled in one stroke—hell, ‘Feigned-Blind’ suits you better than your gambling slang ‘shirime’ ever could.”

Kingorō: “Don’t make fun of me.”
(looked back along the path he had come from)

Tobata: “Oh—the morning star’s light had already begun to fade.”

“Ain’t wrong.”
“It’s already morning.”
“Oh—he’s here.”
“That’s him—no doubt about it.”

“Is that guy Chūtarō?”
“If that’s indeed him, give the signal.”
“This humble one will slice through him cleanly in one strike.”
“A job like this shouldn’t drag on.”

“Sure thing.”
“I’ll signal. Take him out smooth, and the booze money’s one ryō.”

“That’s mighty generous of you.”

Kingorō and Tobata hid in the eulalia thicket.

Banba no Chūtarō, in stylish traveler attire and holding a lantern, comes to the middle of the path.

The sky grew considerably brighter.

Chūtarō (blows out the lantern’s light)

Tobata approached Chūtarō from behind.

Kingorō crept closer from Chūtarō's flank.

Chūtarō sensed their presence through subtle cues, dodged Tobata's slashing strike, evaded Kingorō's incoming attack, and used a standing tree as a shield.

Kingorō lay in the eulalia thicket, watching for an opening.

“Who’s there?” Chūtarō demanded.
(No response.) “Who are you?”
(No response.) “One’s a street thug... other’s a ronin, I see.”
“You people—just who’re you?”
“What business d’you have ambushin’ me with blades at my nose?”

Kingorō—silent—kept watching for an opening to strike without effort.

Tobata advanced wordlessly—
—closing in for a single killing slash.

“Assassins from Shimōsa?” Chūtarō muttered. “Nah—can’t be.”
(Assessing them as common thieves) “You know who I am, don’tcha?”

Kingorō: “Know you? ’Course I do.”

Tobata: "Banba no Chūtarō—that scheming bastard."

Chūtarō: "Who are you people? Where are you from?"
"Did you come from Shimōsa?"
"Or perhaps Edo?"
(Neither answers) "No reply? None at all—none at all."
"I'll cut you down."

Tobata: (sneering) "Hmph!"
(lunges to strike)

Chūtarō (cuts down Tobata)

Kingorō (cunningly hides in the eulalia thicket, avoids his blade, watches for an opening, plots to stab him)

Chūtarō (searches for Kingorō, assumes he fled, begins washing his bloodied sword in a puddle)

Two empty palanquins, accompanied by Zenzaburō, returned in silence.
Tobata’s fallen form lay obscured by the eulalia thicket, invisible to the eye.

Ohama passed through with Otose. Knowing that Chūtarō’s footsteps had abruptly ceased beyond the Arakawa boundary, she silently turned back.

Otose sobbed quietly, unable to hold back.

Ohama heaved a sigh, unable to offer comfort through words.

“Mom.”

“Huh,” Ohama responded in a tearful voice.

“Is this what they mean by having no bond?”

“It’s because I—I was the one who was wrong.”

Chūtarō listened intently. More than affection, rebelliousness had grown stronger within him.

Otose couldn’t shake the feeling that Brother Chūtarō was here in this lonely place. Should she try calling? Brother Chūtarō—Brother Chūtarō.

Ohama (with forced vigor): "Chūta."
(She started to call out, but with no answer anywhere, visibly lost all strength.)

Otose: "There's no one here at all."
(trudging away)

Ohama (started walking despondently, and the two of them finally departed)

Chūtarō—watched the mother and child depart. Suddenly turning to walk the opposite way: "I hated this—hated this—hated this—who’d want to meet her anyway?" Resentment and defiance swelled within him—he found perverse satisfaction in his mother and sister’s grief, yet a lingering attachment tugged at his heart. If he pressed his eyelids together like this and stared hard into the darkness, the image of that mother from long ago—the one he’d never meet—came floating up. That sufficed. Walking: "If I ever want to meet her, I’ll just close my eyes." Walking, sworn never to meet mother and child again.

Kingorō killed Chūtarō, framed Tobata as the perpetrator, refused to abandon his plan to forcibly become Mizuguma’s son-in-law through strong-arm tactics, picked up Tobata’s sword, watched for an opening in Chūtarō’s guard, sneaked closer, aimed his blade—and prepared to strike.

Chūtarō realized: "Bastard."
He blocked Kingorō’s retreat path and stared intently.

Kingorō abandoned all pretense, his fighting spirit surging.

Chūtarō: "I remembered your face."
Switching from killing intent to reconsideration: "You—parents?"

Kingorō (slightly exasperated): What? Parents? Like I'd have any such thing.
Chūtarō: Children?

“Ain’t got none.”

Chūtarō (swiftly cuts [him] down, wipes the blood, sheathes his blade, walks along the diagonal path, starts to glance back toward where the mother and child departed—then stops himself).

The crimson morning light cast its glow—Chūtarō turned his back on that radiance and stepped onto the wanderer’s path.

A boatmen’s song drifted faintly from afar.

Boatmen’s song: Whether the sun sets or blazes, as the wind blows—eastward we go, westward we go.

Curtain.

Created in February of Showa 5 (1930)

*Eyelid Mother*, Final Act: Arakawa Embankment

Alternate Version (1)

Kingorō: “What?
Parents?
As if I’d have something like that”—

Chūtarō: “You bastard—spouting crap like that! Hey—got any kids?”

Kingorō: “Kids? As if I’d have something like that.”

“None, huh?” Chūtarō said. “So you got none.”
He swiftly cut [him] down, wiped the blood, sheathed [the blade], and started to glance back toward where the mother and child had departed.

The crimson morning light casts its glow.

Chūtarō turned his back on that light, stepped out, and halted.

A boatmen’s song was heard in the distance.

Boatmen’s song: Whether the sun sets or blazes, as the wind blows—eastward we go, westward we go.

Chūtarō (having once left, yet his scream rang out): Mother—!
(Rushing over) Mother—Mother—Mother.
(Gave chase to Ohama and her child.)

Curtain.

*Eyelid Mother*, Final Act: Arakawa Embankment

Alternate Version (2)

In Alternate Version (1)'s curtain fall: Chūtarō's desperate scream—"Mother—" as he rushed back, continued "Mother—" once, twice—and then—

Ohama and Otose heard the call and turned back to approach.

Chūtarō stared intently at his mother and sister's faces.

Ohama (in a hushed voice): “Chūtarō.”

Otose (in a low voice): “Brother.”

Chūtarō (approached mother and sister with a void in his heart).

Ohama and Otose (approaching Chūtarō)

Before that moment when both parties were to take each other's hands.

Curtain.

*Eyelid Mother*: Prologue and Finale Together

Alternate Version (3)

In June of Showa 26 [1951], during Shin Kokugeki's Meiji-za Theater run, they rewrote the script (102 pages) by setting the Prologue's tile-maker house scene on a festival day, giving significant roles to Tobata Yōsuke in both Mizuguma Alley and Arakawa Embankment scenes while adding several of his associates—but ultimately decided to discard this version due to a perceived loss of purity.