Pathway to Japanese Literature

Thinking 'Let it not be in vain,' people must have parted.

"What of Naniwa's shore—so hard to dwell?" Tales of Yamato

Even when lying down, the thing she spoke of was always just one—going up to Kyoto, serving at court, and rebuilding herself.
Taking out her pale silk robe with twill patterns to stroke and refold, then spreading it out again to gaze upon—these were the gestures through which Seiken reminisced about those brief days of future court service, her hopes remaining unfulfilled.
The silk robe still retained its fragrance, though its color was already beginning to fade.

Even Lord Umanokami—now disparaged by society as the Reed Seller of Unabara—when faced with Seiken's innocent yet piercing hope, found he could no longer love her except by sending her to Kyoto.
During Lord Umanokami's rare good moods, on nights when they went to bed still lacking sufficient food, when Seiken would lift her moon-like face and speak in a soft voice—"I shan't mention it if this displeases you, but if it does not displease you, I wish to speak my mind"—he had already mostly understood what she meant to say.
Lord Umanokami, who had to listen intently and commit it to memory someday, precisely for that reason never imagined he would encounter a woman like Seiken after she had left.
Yet keeping Seiken in this hole-like dwelling overgrown with weeds and filled with spiderwebs, her brows darkened by soot, was not his true intention.
The heart that wished to see Seiken become more beautiful and the heart so deeply attached to her being as to permit even court service—Lord Umanokami always found himself struck in the end by that hidden thing which sensed danger in her womanhood, leaving him unable to avoid hesitation.
In such a cherished moment, whose wisdom could he possibly turn to?

Lord Umanokami no longer had the money to thatch roofs with reeds.
In the rice storage bin, crickets chirped, and as Seiken sorted through withered leaves of greens with uneven stalks, she stained the mud between her nails.
She was a straightforward woman who didn’t mind even that.
But the hope of ascending to Kyoto alone she did not discard, clinging to it as if she had tucked a sacred vow between her breasts.
Lord Umanokami took on menial positions and refused no task in rebuilding his livelihood.
For even when he caught small fish and carried them back, it would not sustain his livelihood.
During the harsh winter winds, the north side roof eaves had begun to crumble, and through holes in the wall, bulbils' vines clung with last year’s withered leaves, rustling like parched pea pods.
In any case, he had to part with Seiken and earn his keep day after day, coins jingling in his perpetually bowed head.
Seiken said:
“I will surely send some money with each correspondence.”
“At your lordship’s earliest convenience, please send me even a single red plum-colored robe.”
“No—before that I should select even a pale delicate layered robe and inform you,” spoke presumptuous Seiken, as if she had already obtained both assent and permission to ascend to Kyoto.
“The evenings of Kyoto—walking together in abundance is not merely a dream.”
“Even if my duties as a lady-in-waiting keep me busy, I can still vividly envision the tales we would share on those rare days when I return home on leave.”
“In contrast, enduring Naniwa’s harshness here in Tsu province—even searching for today’s and tomorrow’s millet takes such an interminably long time.”
“Splinters on my fingers and dirt on my hands are one thing—what I dread is the dulling of my heart as a young woman.”
“Even if my face remains passable now, should my heart grow duller still, it will cloud over and become unsightly.”
“I must make sure to inform your lordship of that.”
“What wears away a woman’s beauty is the soil and dust of Naniwa here in Tsu province.”

Lord Umanokami had nothing more to say and nodded.
If their current livelihood continued, Seiken would end up a mud-stained country woman, her waka talent buried in Naniwa’s overgrowth.
When Lord Umanokami read the poems Seiken composed, her pale face always seemed to glow.
To that extent did Lord Umanokami love Seiken’s poems as though they were flowers adorning her body.

“Then go. In three years I will get back on my feet and come for you.”

“No, I shall come to meet you myself.”

Having become strikingly beautiful and determined to shed every trace of Tsu province’s mud from herself, Seiken declared this before swiftly beginning to prepare her traveling attire.
Lord Umanokami too set out for a nearby town to secretly convert his silver and gold swords into coin for their journey’s expenses.

During those brief hours keeping watch, Seiken repeatedly strained her ears and ventured out to the roadside edge.

The fields and paddies that had suddenly taken on spring's aspect appeared like layered robes mixed with sprouting verdant hues. Even during this brief absence she felt such restless anticipation—how could she possibly ascend to Kyoto alone? Her plan was misguided—hadn't Lord Umanokami even sold his swords to fund the journey? Seiken clung to a pillar, resolved not to depart, writhing as if to bury herself in Naniwa's soil until tears clouded her vision.

Night arrived bearing even the sound of wind, but Lord Umanokami returned late from town. Having exchanged several gold pieces for travel funds, he instructed her to depart on the seventh day and said the traveler's robe would arrive tomorrow—yet Seiken wept through her words: "I don't wish to part. I don't want court service if it means my resolve was flawed. I don't want Kyoto's ascent. I only desire to remain by your side." Though Lord Umanokami tried to dissuade her with varied arguments, that night Seiken only deepened her unshakable resolve.

“If this fleeting world pierces my very being, I cannot go anywhere—anywhere at all.”
“Leaving your noble self alone here—ah, I cannot go anywhere—anywhere at all.”

“I shall endure however I must, but for a woman as young as you to remain like this is beyond pitiable—go ascend to Kyoto and serve well at court.”
“If you find yourself in good circumstances, come visit me. If I too become like others, I will surely seek you out.”

Lord Umanokami spent three days straight persuading Seiken until at last she became the woman who held her original hope once more.
For three more days they walked gazing at the shallow spring fields, and for three nights they cherished their parting so deeply they even resented the wind seeping through the sliding doors.
The leftover gold was used in that manner over seven days to grill fish and warm sake.

After seven days had passed, Seiken departed.
Clad in a traveler’s robe and wearing an ichimegasa hat, she carried even the slender walking stick Lord Umanokami had prepared.
Seiken’s face—sharp-featured and beautiful, cheeks faintly flushed from the morning chill—appeared vividly alive.

“Then I shall take my leave.”

Thus they parted.

At Yodo’s river mouth, Seiken boarded the boat, gazing to the right at Ikoma Mountain and Otokoyama, and peering to the left toward Tennōzan.
At the foot of Otokoyama near Hashimoto, the boat entered the Katsura River.
Gazing ahead at Ōsaka Pass and Hiei Mountain while looking left toward Atago and Kurama, Seiken revived within her heart Kyoto’s beautiful scenery from years past.

The boat was rocked by river waves as passengers who all seemed like people of Nishi no Kyō began speaking of how flute-playing had recently become fashionable in Kyoto, discussing matters of poetic arts and how merchandise prices had risen.

“Which route will you take across?”

Seeing Seiken’s sorrowful face that seemed burdened with purpose, her fellow travelers concluded she was someone ascending to Kyoto.

“I have come to inquire about something.”

With that, she offered no further details.
The man, having divined by observing Seiken’s face,

“Your hand…”

he mused deeply while gazing at her open palm.
“In the capital, there awaits one who longs for your presence.”
“Your elegant talent will make that person ascend to greatness.”

“What could that possibly mean? Though I am not here seeking anyone…”

“Your hope of serving at court is already within sight.”

The man who performed uncanny divinations spoke with such accuracy that he unsettled Seiken’s heart.
Seiken did not answer.
“I beg your forgiveness for speaking so boldly.”
“I am merely a man who observes people’s fates of my own volition,” he said again.
“It may seem rude of me to say this, but you have just parted from someone with whom you share a past, have you not?”
“There is no mistake in that…”

Finally, Seiken could no longer refrain from responding.

“Will I be able to meet him again?”
“Will I still be able to meet him even after three years have passed?”

“…………”

The fortune-teller seemed to withhold any definitive response.
His face revealed a warmth of sorrow unlike anything this man had ever displayed before, and Seiken—startled by that grief—arrested her gaze.

“Then pray tell me how I might sustain myself in Kyoto.”

Seiken did not wish to hear of Umanokami from this man’s lips.
She feared that listening would invoke a pity she couldn’t restrain.
“In Kyoto, your happiness awaits.”
“Only then will you be able to live as an exceptional woman and be granted what is due.”
“There is absolutely no mistake in your chosen livelihood in Kyoto.”
“Unbeknownst to yourself, you have already groped your way toward the direction you must go.”

“How do you discern that?”

Seiken found herself increasingly drawn to the unyielding force of this man’s words—words that struck true and never retreated.
Never before in her life had she encountered a man who wielded words with such unyielding force.
“It is—what should I call it—something like my intuition.”

The man declared in an enthusiastic voice that contrasted with his earlier manner. “You are an exceptional composer of songs. Moreover, your very skin shall come to radiate brilliance.”

Seiken flushed and instinctively raised a hand to cover her face. He had likely discerned how her skin would acquire luminous beauty through refinement. Adjusting her sandalwood-imbued robes as if parting them, she felt ashamed at his words. Already—even without such pronouncements—the scent of Naniwa’s soil had long vanished from the resolute arch of her brows and the depths of her eyes.

Thus, the time to part with the fortune-teller drew near.

“Let us promise that there will come a time when we meet again.”

Having said that, the man stood up.

“I offer my thanks for telling me so many things.”

After disembarking from the boat near Tanbaguchi and entering the town of Nishi no Miyako, Seiken marveled at the merchants’ calls, the resplendent robes of passersby, and the refined elegance permeating every sound.
At last—had she truly come to this place she had longed for? Seiken gazed about with eyes brimming with anticipation.
From within a walled estate garden, an eccentric man clad in exquisite layered robes—bearing no resemblance to a beggar—played a slender flute while staring fixedly at Seiken’s face.
The man’s countenance was powdered white.
At the alley’s turning, plum blossoms already burst from their branches in a garden where the main house stood visible.
Though in Naniwa the buds remained tightly closed, she found herself dwelling on the capital’s warmth that day.

That night, under the inn’s lamplight, she realized she had forgotten to think about something important since earlier.
She tried to recall it but could not.

The man who had been playing the flute had a face with almost feminine features.
When she recalled this realization about his features beyond mere appearance,
she became aware that five fingertips were pressed against precisely spaced holes on a flute beyond
the inn’s rear garden.
As though countless images were unfurling within her ears,
Seiken nostalgically pictured Kyoto’s streets she had only just arrived in.

“Though I resolved never to forget even for an instant,” she thought with dismay,
“until now I had not once recalled Lord Umanokami.”
Seiken found this version of herself strange.
She had even begun fretting—what if she were overwhelmed by urges to turn back midway through her journey?
And yet,
even after disembarking from the boat,
I had not once recalled Umanokami.

Alone, how shall I endure this desolation?

The reeds before me answer even to the slightest breeze.

When autumn came again, Seiken was in service at the flute-playing noble’s residence, but upon calm reflection, no word had come from the province of Tsu, and she herself was occupied with menial tasks, leaving her no opportunity to inquire.
This morning, seeing the gentle breeze pass through the reeds and pampas grass, she recalled autumn’s approach in the province of Tsu and found herself unable to leave their banks.
There had been kindness from her flute-playing master, but Seiken had rejected it not just once or twice.
Seiken had considered that it would be better to speak of having replaced another person, but she couldn’t bring herself to state it so clearly.
The flute-playing noble had come to rely on Seiken not only for maintaining his flute but even for his flute bag.
Especially, the melody of Seiken's songs possessed an exceptional gentleness that matched the flute-playing noble’s tones.
The flute-playing noble had long sought after encountering a person who created such songs in this life.
Nowhere had he ever before encountered a person whose melody resonated with his own heart.

Seiken went out to the reed-screened veranda at the sound of the flute, placed her hands on her knees, and listened intently. The flute player seemed to be playing solely with Seiken’s heart in mind, as though he wanted no one else to hear. Strangely, Seiken found that the melody of the poem—“Alone, how shall I endure this desolation? The reeds before me answer even to the slightest breeze.”—had manifested in the flute’s tones, and she wondered whether that person had composed such a melody.

Especially,

"Alone, how shall I endure this desolation?..."—the quiet moment when the flute began to play firmly captured Seiken’s heart.
The sound of the wind blowing through the province of Tsu gently swayed the reed plume heads, evoking a distant memory that seemed to pass far beyond reach.
Something elusive manifested as the essence of all things and became visible.

“If it causes you such sorrow, I shall play a different melody.”

The flute-playing noble released the flute from his lips for Seiken, who was weeping piteously.

“No, I wish to listen to this melody forever.”

The moonlight visited like a friend to the flute-playing noble; the flute’s piercing clarity resonated so far into the distance that it halted passersby in their tracks.
If this sound were to reach even the province of Tsu, she thought, Umanokami’s whereabouts might be discerned.

“If there is no reason to withhold details, then tell me what manner of person that is.”

The flute-playing noble finally said this and waited for Seiken’s response.

“He is merely a man.”
“He cannot even maintain a livelihood.”

The flute-playing master fixed his eyes on Seiken’s white neck as she polished the flute’s luster, gazing intently at this woman of refined grace.
Indeed, Seiken had changed from the woman once seen in Naniwa’s rural hamlet—pure in countenance with dignity overflowing from her brow, no longer resembling her former self who had washed greens.

“I believe in the promise that we would meet again after three years have passed.”

“If we were to send someone to inquire, that person’s whereabouts would become clear.”

The flute-playing noble was not one to harbor jealousy over such matters; he had repeatedly instructed Seiken to inquire after Lord Umanokami’s whereabouts.
However, Seiken could not bring herself to do so out of reserve and could only answer thus.

“Surely there will be word before long, so please do not trouble yourself over it.”

Autumn passed many times over.
No word came from the province of Tsu, and whenever she asked those she met, they said they had never seen anyone resembling Lord Umanokami, leaving her no means to seek him out.
The flute-playing noble sent retainers to Naniwa to inquire, but they too returned fruitlessly.
“We neither hear nor see any trace of such a person—there is simply no means to inquire.”
“According to a certain lowly peddler’s account, there was someone closely resembling him who had served in a subordinate position for over a year, but having resigned unsuccessfully, his whereabouts cannot be known.”
“Another person reported having observed someone resembling Lord Umanokami standing by the roadside engaged in selling a curious array of goods, but he disappeared around the time summer departed, they said.”
The retainers said there was ultimately no way to inquire further.
Seiken’s face turned pale, her heart sank, and recalling the words “selling a curious array of goods,” she flushed crimson all alone.
That couldn’t be—he wasn’t the sort to sink to peddling—yet Seiken shrank in shame at the very thought.

“Even were you to go to the province of Tsu, meeting that person would prove difficult; relying solely on hearsay leaves one unsettled.”
The flute-playing noble said this and urged the despondent Seiken onward.
Seiken did not know how to express her heart with joy.

“I shall go and make thorough inquiries.”
“If I might have your permission.”

“Go and inquire without reservation; make thorough preparation for your travel funds.”

Seiken departed on her journey on the sixth day.
In the village of Naniwa in the province of Tsu, summer had passed, and already the autumn wind swept chillily over the white sandy ground.
When she came to the house where she had lived on the outskirts of town, from within a splendid main house structure came the sound of someone playing the sho, and she found herself unable to visit.
The people of the nearby houses too could not see Seiken's face behind the front curtain of the woven-pattern carriage.

“When did the person called Usuhara no Usuotoko leave this place?”

“Usuhara no Usuotoko disappeared right after the woman left.”
“There were those who claimed to have seen him, or so we heard.”

Seiken felt something incongruous even in the scenery of fields and farmlands she had once gazed upon—something that did not suit her changed self.
Moreover, the trees in the new building’s garden—the ilex and pine trees alike—all remained just as they had been in the past.

Seiken, remembering, visited the farmer’s house in the southern rice fields.
It was a single hidden house where she had often purchased wild vegetables before; with this memory, the woven-pattern carriage’s curtain was lifted to reveal an encounter with a farmer’s wife.

“Lady Seiken, you have become so splendid.”

“Won’t you tell me how Usuotoko has been getting by?”

“Lord Usuotoko had engaged in fishing and selling those fish for a long time, but we have not caught sight of him at all for over a year now.”

Even here, they did not know his whereabouts.

“Proceed slowly through the town streets; when the road bends, turn as it does.”
Seiken instructed her subordinates accordingly, gazed through the carriage curtain at the towns, and by the time they emerged from south to east and reached the northern shore, the sun was already setting.
However, Seiken drove the woven-pattern carriage from town to town and did not stop.
To the subordinates who kept insisting, “The sun is setting, so we must secure lodging,” she replied, “Just a little longer, just a little longer,” and gazed through the carriage curtain at the towns she remembered fondly from days past.
The houses of clothing merchants, leather traders, fish shops displaying their wares, and particularly the incense vendors Umanokami had often visited—there was familiarity in all the faces of the men sitting at these establishments.
Hyōe, who liked birds, was grinding dried shrimp with one shoulder bared to prepare feed for tomorrow morning.

When they reached Nishi no Ura, a single beggar man emerged from an alleyway—clothes frayed to near-nakedness, bearing an impossible load of reeds—and called out in a low voice to the towns steeped in dusk.

“Reeds for sale! Reeds!”

Seiken intuitively knew that familiar voice had pierced through the very core of her mind.
That voice carried a memory impossible to forget.

“Stop the carriage.”

The carriage was stopped.
In the still-bright evening light, there was no mistaking him—Seiken had seen Usuhara no Usuotoko.
Cheeks hollowed and eyes dimmed—that this could be Lord Umanokami was utterly beyond belief.

“Have them buy the reeds and quickly call out to stop that reed seller!”

Seiken’s voice carried a sharp edge in its urgency, yet by that moment the reed seller had already turned into an alley and was about to enter another.

“Reeds! Buy reeds!”

The called reed seller halted.
And squinted at the woven-pattern carriage.
It was unmistakably Lord Umanokami’s gaze.
What a dreadful transformation this was.
Seiken felt an icy chill course through her entire being and trembled.

“Let me see the reeds.”
“Please come a bit closer.”

The man arranged the reeds and showed them.
Bundles of reeds—beautifully uniform in length like blue braided cords—lay loosened before her.

“Have you been selling reeds long? Do they sustain you now?”

Seiken knew Lord Umanokami no longer bore his former visage.

“I sell reeds when autumn comes, but winter finds me peddling other wares.”

Lord Umanokami still appeared oblivious.
Seiken offered a substantial sum, but Lord Umanokami protested it was too much.

“Can you truly maintain the heart for this trade forever?”

The man tilted his ear curiously toward the voice from behind the curtain and spoke in a low voice.

“It is only through having nothing else to do that I engage in this trade.”
“You may laugh at me to your heart’s content.”

“No, I would never think to laugh.
“Not a single reed as splendid as these could be found in Kyoto.”

“Have you come from Kyoto?”

“I came from Kyoto seeking someone, but with that person nowhere to be found, dusk has now fallen.”

“Are you saying you’re searching for someone…”

Lord Umanokami tried to look again at the woman’s face inside the curtain, but his frustration lingered—the curtain’s damask-like weave blurred her features into obscurity.

“Depending on where this person might be and what name they bear, I may yet know them.”

“It is someone who was once called Lord Umanokami.”

When the man’s face transformed at these words, he glimpsed through a gap in the front curtain Seiken’s face—moon-pale and radiant.
At that moment, Seiken too met his gaze in wretched recognition.
But Lord Umanokami fled without uttering a word, abandoning his disordered reed bundle.
Seiken came within a breath of leaping from the carriage to pursue him.

“How I’ve missed you, Lord Umanokami—how I’ve yearned through all this time for the chance to meet you again.”

Seiken gazed at the retreating figure fleeing into hiding.
Her heart held a coldness somewhere within, yet it felt as though she were perched upon the suffering of others.
She understood the impulse to flee and hide, yet her own heart could not resist the urge to pursue him once more.

“Search for the reed seller.”
“Please be sure to find him.”

Seiken’s voice trembled almost prayerfully, and she stepped down from the carriage, unable to remain still.
White with sand, the thoroughfare lay beneath twilight layered deep indigo—even Seiken’s own face now appeared indistinguishable to the townspeople.
Seiken took a single reed in hand and, gazing enraptured at its straight, beautiful growth, whispered once more: “Lord Umanokami, what cursed timing we always choose—that we must meet only on such days as these.”
“When meeting brings sorrow, and not meeting brings sorrow from absence—if this be our fate, what path remains for us to take in life?”
“I wish to learn from someone who could teach me that—where in this world does such a person exist?”
While Seiken was in such emotional turmoil, the subordinates hurried over and spoke apologetically.
“We searched everywhere but could not find him.”
“We examined every town but could not find him.”

“Do not forget that this is not only my command but also the orders of the Lord of Kyoto.”
“Quickly search for him.”

Seiken’s voice carried a desperate strictness as she responded to the subordinates with unprecedented harshness.
What purpose had brought me here?
Why had I come here to disturb Kyoto’s tranquility? Moreover, was I not now beginning to unravel the threads that would once again disturb Lord Umanokami’s heart?
When had I become possessed of such overbearing arrogance—seeking to behold his ruined form though I need not look, pursuing his hidden self though I need not search?
Seiken stood repeatedly wavering on the verge of countermanding her subordinates’ search for the reed seller.
The subordinates hurried over and reported.

“We have found the reed-selling man, but he refuses to accompany us.”

Seiken’s face took on an almost dazzled look.

Lord Umanokami of Usuobito crouched behind a cold hearth teeming with darting insects in an abandoned house on a backstreet where no one lived, sitting hidden there. No matter how they tried to persuade him, he refused to emerge.

"If you insist," he said, "then give me paper and an inkstone."

That was all he would say in the end. The attendants prepared an inkstone on wrapping paper and carried it over to place before Lord Umanokami. He calmly ground ink into the stone, softened the brush tip, and began writing with ponderous strokes—only to reconsider and rewrite it anew. The subordinates watched this beggar man wield such exquisite brushwork and received the wrapping paper with ceremonious gravity, now convinced their mistress's former acquaintance must have been a noble courtier.

“We are deeply honored.”

Lord Umanokami reviewed it once more.

Even when I think 'Alas, it was better without you'—

All the more desolate grows Naniwa’s shore.

Having sealed this,

“Present it to the carriage,” Lord Umanokami said sorrowfully, crouching down behind the hearth once more.
The surroundings grew so dark with bat-wing-colored night layered thick that people became indistinguishable from one another.

Seiken unfolded the wrapping paper and gazed at Lord Umanokami’s characters after so long, yet felt deeply heartened that even now the brushstrokes’ vigor, their refinement, and even their scent remained just as they had been in the past.

She read aloud, "'Even when I think it would have been better without you...'" then repeated "'It would have been better without you...'" Had that been true—had it not been so—then perhaps my heart would not have been in such turmoil. Seiken could no longer hold back her tears.
She was glad she had come to Naniwa’s shore.
"We did meet," she thought, and now felt the joy of having finally met him.

“Please guide me there.”

The abandoned house to which the subordinates had brought her lay completely in ruins, every element as desolate as the home they once inhabited. In the usual spot behind the hearth where firewood and straw were stacked, behind doors, in the shadows of old timbers—nowhere remained any sign of Lord Umanokami. If only they had met here, they could have shared memories of past and present. Yet the sorrow of his departure without knowing her heart resonated painfully within her, and Seiken gazed yearningly into the darkness for what felt an eternity. She realized for the first time that darkness could hold such beauty. "Lord Umanokami," she continued calling softly. But there came no answer—that person had already fled far beyond sight.

The next day, just as she had four years prior, she boarded a boat from the mouth of the Yodo River—yet strangely, there was someone who performed a reverent bow to Seiken.
It was that familiar man with the sorrowful brow who told fortunes by choice.
He seemed to hesitate about addressing Seiken’s attendants after seeing them.
Seiken felt something resembling a karmic bond in encountering this man again today, but whether the difference in status had naturally taken root within her, she remained silent, gazing at the distant Ikoma mountains.

After some time, the man came to greet Seiken once more and spoke while keeping his hands pressed together respectfully.

“How did you find autumn in Naniwa?”
“It appears you have returned alone, my lady.”

“I am deeply grateful for your gracious words at that time.”
“You’ve changed so much.”

Seiken finally offered her greetings, but today the fortune-teller’s complexion was particularly radiant.
Seiken could see it as nothing other than her fortune being reflected in his complexion.

“However well you sought answers.”
“The depths of your heart shall be engraved where none may forget.”
“Naniwa’s affairs belong to Naniwa—may your ladyship find lasting happiness.”

Seiken showed a weakened gaze that seemed to plead for guidance once more.

“I shall never leave Kyoto again—but is that truly for the best? The one matter I wish to ask you is precisely this.”

“Only then may it be said your ladyship has understood her proper place. Surely this was also the wish of the one from whom you parted.”

Having said this, he returned once more to his original seat.
The fortune-teller’s forehead remained radiant.

The boat moved along the shore thick with reeds and silver grass, brushing close, and Seiken touched a single reed with her white hand, whispering over and over in her heart in that familiar low voice—Lord Umanokami, now we must part—her tone sorrowful as she went on.