Pathway to Japanese Literature

One

Shortly before the rainy season began, Hondō Noboru started wearing the physician’s medical coat of his own accord. The pale gray-dyed cotton sleeves and hakama trousers resembling workman’s garb were stiffly starched to rigidity, and when first worn, he felt conspicuously watched to the point of considerable discomfort. Shindeyo Sadamasa and Mori Handayu remained silent, feigning ignorance even of the fact that he had begun wearing the medical coat. Though the other physicians said nothing, whenever they saw him they were observed casting sarcastic glances or allowing faint smiles to play upon their lips—Amidst this atmosphere, there was but one person who rejoiced for his sake and voiced that sentiment honestly. That was Oyuki—a girl working in the kitchen. Upon seeing Noboru wearing the medical coat, Oyuki clasped her hands together with a soft gasp, her smile spilling across her entire face like overflowing water.

“You’ve finally put on the medical coat—how wonderful!” Oyuki said. “Now I’ve won my bet at last.”

“So it’s your win, you say?” Noboru asked suspiciously, “Had you been making a bet with someone?”

“Why, yes,” Oyuki flustered slightly while skillfully masking it with a smile. “If you must call it a bet, then yes—but truly, I’d been wishing all along that you might come to feel that way, Dr. Hondō.” “What exactly do you mean by ‘that feeling’?” “It’s your resolve to stay at this clinic.” Oyuki declared bravely, “It must seem strange coming from someone like me, but this place needs good doctors. If you’re truly a doctor worthy of the name, you’d naturally want to work here—don’t you agree?”

At that moment, Hondō noticed.

―It was an imitation of Mori Handayu’s speech.

The fact that Oyuki was in love with Handayu was something he had heard from Tsugawa Genzo and also from Osugi, who attended to the madwoman Oyumi. Handayu seemed indifferent, but Oyuki was utterly devoted. "Mr. Mori’s rigidity was admirable, but when you consider Oyuki’s feelings, it becomes unbearable," Osugi had said. Hondō himself had occasionally seen them talking together. She would sometimes stop Handayu as he passed by for brief exchanges, but there had been one time when he spotted her weeping by the herb garden fence.

It must have been a late spring twilight. Handayu stood like a pole, arms crossed and gazing at the sky, while beside him Oyuki wept with her sleeve pressed to her face. Though he was some distance away and quickly averted his gaze before departing, in that faintly hazed, half-lit glow, the figures of the two possessed an unreal poignancy—as though watching shadow puppets. ——Indeed, this was an imitation of Handayu’s words.

With that thought, Noboru said to Oyuki in a casual tone.

“Is that Mori’s opinion?”

Oyuki nodded unabashedly and smiled. “Yes, Dr. Mori says the same.” “I have my own opinions,” Noboru said. With that, he suddenly scowled and adopted a confrontational tone: “Mori’s deceiving himself! Anyone’s true desire is to rise in the world—gaining fame and fortune is humanity’s most fundamental and legitimate desire! Red Beard’s fine—he’s already renowned as a great physician! Daimyos and wealthy patrons welcome him with lavish courtesies! Working at this charity clinic without even establishing his own practice only enhances his reputation! But we’re not like that—we’re just nameless trainees! If we stay here forever, we’ll die unknown! I refuse that fate!”

“You’re exhausted, Dr. Hondō,” Oyuki implored, “Speaking such unkind words only proves how worn out you are. Go rest now.”

Noboru let his hands hang down and then walked away.

He felt ashamed. Not only was he ashamed of having said such things to someone like Oyuki, but he also felt a contradiction between what he was doing and the words he had just spoken. What he had just told Oyuki was neither exaggeration nor stubbornness—merely an honest articulation of what he had always thought—yet on the other hand, he found himself profoundly drawn to both the work at this clinic and to Shindeyo Sadamasa. There was reason he had come to willingly don that medical coat he once detested. Yet had there been no change in his thinking, he would never have come to feel that way. The reason—if it could even be called one—was nothing out of the ordinary, simply because it had been the words of a single patient.

In Nakadomezaka below Dentsū-in Temple lay a district called "Mujina Tenements," known for housing people in dire poverty. Noboru began accompanying Sadamasa on frequent treatment visits there until he came to oversee a patient named Sahachi the wheelwright. The man appeared forty-five or six—a frame of sturdy bones and robust build—yet was unmistakably stricken with tuberculosis. Despite his vigorous exterior, severe emaciation and exhaustion marked him.

——Please do urge him to commit wholeheartedly to his recuperation. Superintendent Jihei had pleaded those words countless times, and Shindeyo too had repeatedly issued strict orders for bed rest. Sahachi meekly complied. When fever or violent cough gripped him, he would take time off work to rest; yet whenever his condition showed the slightest improvement, he would immediately rise and return to labor. Caught and reprimanded for this, he would laugh with exaggerated sheepishness, scratch his head while bowing repeatedly, and offer apologetic excuses.

“—Just let me finish this, and I’ll go right to bed once it’s done. Really, I will.” When he was young, Sahachi had once married, but they separated after barely half a year, and he had lived alone ever since—so it was said. He had heard from Jihei the superintendent that while Sahachi was quite skilled and earned well, he was unusually selfless—spending everything he made on others and never properly furnishing his own home with household items.

One day, Sahachi looked quizzically at Noboru and asked, “Why don’t you wear the clinic’s medical coat?” “Because it’s not government-regulated,” Noboru answered. “It was something Shindeyo decided unilaterally; it’s not an officially established regulation.” “So whether I wear it or not is my own business,” he said.

Two

Sahachi muttered as if to himself while turning his eyes away from Noboru. “That medical coat does good for people.” He said. “When folks see that coat, they know right off you’re from the clinic. We poor souls might shy from going there proper-like, but catch sight of one of you passing by—why, there’s plenty would beg a moment’s doctoring. For my sort, that coat’s worth more’n gold.”

That medical coat held another meaning. Practical for movement and maintaining cleanliness—if soiled by patients’ filth, it could be quickly replaced. By rule, even when unstained, it was changed daily in summer and every other day in winter. Shindeyo had likely started using it for such practical considerations, but upon hearing Sahachi’s words, Noboru privately recognized there was significance in that aspect too.

"What a fine attitude I have."

While returning to his room after parting with Oyuki, he shook his head as if mocking himself. "The most fundamental and legitimate desire inherent to humanity," he muttered, twisting his lips. "And here I am wearing this splendid medical coat."

When Noboru reached the front of Shindeyo’s room, a groan—closer to a roar—of Shindeyo’s voice came from beyond the shoji screen. More a roar than a groan, it was a single short outburst, but Noboru felt as though he’d been doused with cold water and hurried past. Then, as he turned the corridor, Mori Handayu slid open his room’s shoji screen and gestured him inside.

“Do you need something?”

“I have something to discuss,” Handayu said. “It’s still before breakfast.” “Same here. Come in.” Noboru reluctantly entered Mori’s room. “Where were you?”

“Nowhere,” Noboru shrugged, “Just took a walk before breakfast. What’s it to you?” “I—” Handayu began to bark, but restraining himself, continued quietly: “Dr. Shindeyo’s in a towering rage. I meant to warn you—brace yourself for it.”

Noboru remained silent. “Earlier there was a summons from the magistrate,” Handayu said in a lowered voice. “Dr. Shindeyo went to the duty office—they ordered me to accompany him too. Magistrate Matsumoto Sanaemon summoned us, with Director Ogawa the overseer present. They commanded us to cease outpatient treatments and reduce expenses by one-third.” Outpatient treatments had in fact been discontinued long ago, Handayu explained. They expanded the clinic and increased inpatient numbers while officially ceasing to permit outpatient treatments. Yet this proved impossible. Even after raising inpatients from over seventy to one hundred fifty, those seeking outpatient care still numbered no fewer than three hundred fifty annually—sometimes exceeding seven hundred. As most were too poor for town physicians, they couldn’t refuse treatment when implored. Gradually increasing by ones and twos, the numbers eventually reverted to their former state.

“After Dr. Shindeyo became chief physician,” said Handayu, “they soon tacitly permitted us to carry out treatments semi-openly. Yet now they’ve abruptly ordered another discontinuance—and demand to cut the clinic’s entire budget by one-third.” “That is—” Noboru retorted, “is there some reason behind it?” “The reason given is apparently that His Lordship’s household has had an auspicious event, resulting in increased expenditures.”

“An auspicious event?” “Apparently, His Lordship’s favored concubine bore a daughter, so the shogunate household was greatly delighted—they’re planning various commemorative celebrations. The magistrate didn’t state it outright but kept hinting between the lines. That’s why Dr. Shindeyo lost his temper.” If there truly were cause for celebration in His Lordship’s house, shouldn’t they pardon criminals and distribute alms of rice and coin as tradition dictated? That was what Shindeyo had wanted to retort. The root of his anger lay precisely there—but voicing such thoughts would have meant slandering his superiors, a position he couldn’t afford to take.

“Dr. Shindeyo said, ‘I acknowledge the budget cuts,’” Mori continued, “‘but I cannot cease outpatient treatments.’” Handayu paused briefly, then continued in a voice hushed yet roaring in intensity: “They are impoverished and ill. To stop charitable treatments would be to send them straight to their deaths. I cannot accept this. I beg you to reconsider—” With those words, he stood and walked out.”

As they spoke, the board announcing breakfast rang out. Though they heard the sound, neither man made any move to stand, and even after Handayu finished speaking, they sat motionless in silence for some time. "What about Director Ogawa?" Noboru finally asked, lifting his eyes. "Where does he stand in this?" "He likely stands nowhere," Handayu replied. "As clinic director, he should be leading these negotiations himself. Yet he merely sat through the entire meeting without uttering a word—I doubt he'll take any position at all."

Then Handayu stood up. “Let’s eat,” he said, looking at Noboru. “Be careful not to anger Dr. Shindeyo.” Noboru remained silent, appearing unsure of himself. Shindeyo remained in a foul mood throughout the morning. Of course he displayed no overt signs of anger—no rough outbursts—yet his ill-humored agitation was evident in every gesture. From examining inpatients to completing the medical records, Handayu and Noboru remained with Shindeyo the entire time, but whenever something arose, the two exchanged wary glances.

This isn’t half bad. Noboru murmured inwardly. He felt astonished that Mori Handayu had suddenly become both familiar and likable to him—and more surprisingly, that this shift carried no trace of artificiality. At least he’s more human than Tsugawa. Remembering how Tsugawa Genzō had sneered “country bumpkin,” he forgot his own past contempt and instead began sensing something worth learning from Mori.

When the medical records were completed, Shindeyo looked at Noboru while making preparations to go out. “How is Sahachi’s condition in Mujina Tenement?” “There doesn’t seem to be any particular change.” “There’s somewhere I need to go first—come with me.”

Handayu and Noboru went out into the corridor. Handayu, about to enter the dispensary, turned back to Noboru and said. “Watch out.”

Noboru smiled and nodded.

III

The place Shindeyo went to was Matsudaira Ikinokami’s residence. It stood about two blocks past Ushigome Gomon Gate near where the Jōbikeshi fire brigade was stationed—but throughout their entire journey there，Shindeyo never ceased muttering to himself. "Do they have any right?" he seethed under his breath．"And if so，who granted it?" He shook just one wrist violently．"In wartime I could understand，but now we live under heaven’s peace with perfect order! The shogunate’s authority grips this land unshaken，while all four castes cower lest they disobey its slightest command! They can commit any outrage，any cruelty，so long as they stamp it with Edo’s seal—and mark my words，they’re doing exactly that!"

“I won’t be deceived,” Shindeyo curled his lower lip. “I may be a senile fool, but I haven’t closed my eyes to this method of mocking humanity! I’m neither senile enough nor foolish enough to bow my head silently to a political system that ridicules and belittles people!”

The muttering ceased for just a brief moment. Shindeyo slowed his long strides while vigorously rubbing his beard with one hand. “To lawlessness, lawlessness,” Shindeyo muttered. “To cruelty, cruelty—we must make those who impose despair and suffering upon the powerless taste what despair and suffering truly are. Don’t you agree?”

For a long time, that stream of hate-filled muttering continued. Shindeyo’s heart appeared to seethe darkly with rage and loathing. He cursed the shogunate councilors, and finally cursed his own powerlessness against such authority. However, when they passed through Ushigome Gomon Gate, Shindeyo weakly shook his head and made a motion with only his right wrist as if wiping something away.

“No, that’s not right,” Shindeyo muttered wearily. “I can’t do such things. I’m still just a senile old fool after all. Let us believe they too are human beings—their crime lies in occupying positions of authority without true capability, and in not knowing what they must know.” Here Shindeyo pursed his mouth into a downward-curving line. “They are poorer than the poorest, more foolish and ignorant than the most ignorant among us—they themselves are the pitiable wretches.”

Takezo, who had been carrying the medicine chest and accompanying Noboru, stammered from behind, "Lord Iki’s residence." Shindeyo stopped abruptly as if startled, looked at his left hand, then glared at Takezo. Takezo looked at Noboru with a troubled expression, and Noboru walked toward the guardhouse.

Shindeyo and Noboru entered from the side entrance. They were received with tea and sweets, where a chief retainer named Kawamoto Yugi came out to greet them. Shindeyo did not touch his tea. The moment formalities ended, he announced in a clipped tone, "I shall collect the medical fees today. Have them prepared." At "fifty ryō," Yugi jerked his chin upward sharply as if struck between the eyes. "Ten ryō of that in small coins," Shindeyo stated impassively. "Now show me last month's records."

“And will you examine him?” “After I review the dietary plan.”

Yugi hurried out. “Lord Iki may have a stipend of thirty-two thousand koku,” Shindeyo said—though whether he was addressing Noboru or muttering to himself remained unclear, his tone carrying a scoffing edge—“but his long tenure as Master of Ceremonies leaves him comfortably well-off. What’s fifty ryō or a hundred ryō to him? It’s not as if he earned it himself—hardly a pinch or an itch.” And once more he muttered disgustedly under his breath, “What’s fifty ryō or a hundred ryō?”

Before long, a steward named Iwabashi Hayato arrived and presented a document written on a scroll. It was a five-day meal plan—undoubtedly intended for Lord Ikinokami’s table. Shindeyo took up his writing brush and ink case, methodically striking out the listed dishes one by one before adding several new items. “For one hundred days, serve him exactly according to these instructions,” said Shindeyo as he returned the scroll to Hayato. “Poultry and eggs are strictly prohibited. Do not exceed these specified amounts for seafood or seasoning. As I firmly stated previously regarding the rice—well-polished grains will only shorten your life. You must strictly maintain the ratio of seven parts barley to three parts rice.” And without waiting for Hayato’s response, he said, “Let me take your pulse.”

Noboru was made to attend Lord Ikinokami’s examination. Lord Ikinokami was said to be forty-five years old but sat with laborious effort, his walrus-like obesity reminiscent of illustrations Noboru had seen. The abdomen swayed ponderously with each movement, its unbelievable mass matched by triple folds of flesh beneath the jaw that hung directly to his chest without visible neck. His perfectly round face bore cheeks swollen near bursting, eyes reduced to slits—Shindeyo merely watched from the lower step without moving. He made no attempt to take a pulse. Keeping silent vigil with pitying eyes, he observed as Lord Ikinokami gradually lost composure—loosening his collar like a suffocating man, wiping his mouth with a folded paper from his sleeve—all accompanied by throaty wheezes.

“I have now reviewed the dietary plan,” Shindeyo said at length. “As I have previously stated, His Lordship does not suffer from illness, but finds himself in a condition far more undesirable than any disease. Were there a specific ailment, we could treat it. However, His Lordship’s body—through excessive consumption of rich foods—has accumulated fat throughout the internal organs, weakening them and utterly disrupting the balance between absorption and excretion.”

For about a quarter of an hour, Shindeyo mercilessly rebuked Lord Ikinokami in a tone that brooked no argument. Even Noboru, listening, realized midway that this was intimidation rather than medical counsel, but still found himself astonished by the severity of the dietary restrictions. He had heard about the regimen during the reception—seven parts barley to three parts rice, with poultry and eggs forbidden—but hearing it reiterated before Lord Ikinokami revealed how its quantity and quality fell below even what paupers consumed. On Lord Ikinokami’s face—swollen like a white leather wineskin—there lingered scarcely any trace of expression beyond those narrow eyes that now held a child’s fearful tremor and something akin to sorrow.

“When poor people fall ill, it’s mostly due to the poor quality of their diet.” After returning to the reception room, Shindeyo said to Noboru, “When wealthy men and daimyō fall ill, it’s almost always from overindulging in delicacies. Nothing in this world is more contemptible than ruining oneself through gluttony. The sight of that makes me sick to my stomach.” He then made a face as if to spit. When steward Iwabashi Hayato brought the money, Shindeyo announced he would prepare the medicine and had the medicine chest fetched. And when the steward had left, he took two ryō from the ten ryō in small coins, wrapped them in paper, and told Noboru to take this to Mujina Tenement.

“I’ll stop by Kōkakudō first, then have another place to visit,” said Shindeyo. “When it comes to cost reductions, we must first take measures with the medicine. Persuading Kōkakudō’s proprietor will be quite a task—but never mind that. You go ahead to Mujina Tenement and deliver this to Jihei.” Noboru put the paper-wrapped package into his sleeve and stood up.

Four

Just before reaching Nakatomisaka Tenement, the sky became completely overcast with thunder rumbling, and the moment he entered the superintendent’s residence, a fierce evening downpour began. Jihei had been making straw sandals, but upon seeing Noboru, he stood up as if tossing them aside and said that he had sent for someone from the clinic.

“Sahachi coughed up blood,” Jihei said as he held out an umbrella. “Did you meet the messenger?” “No, I was making rounds elsewhere,” Noboru said as he handed the paper-wrapped package to Jihei. “Dr. Shindeyo asked me to bring this.” Jihei set the umbrella down and, remaining silent, reverently received it with both hands before putting it away inside the Buddhist altar. Then, sharing an umbrella, they entered the alley and made their way to Sahachi’s house while stepping on planks over the ditches. The area lay in a sudden dip of land, so that whenever heavy rains fell, water would immediately overflow. Because the drainage to the large ditch connecting to Koishikawa moat was poor—even then, within a short time, the planks over the ditches had begun to float, and the tenement wives were vigorously clearing debris from the drainage outlets in the downpour.

Sahachi’s residence stood apart from the tenement. Originally, that area too had been part of the tenement, but about seven years earlier a landslide had destroyed it, leaving only a single house at the edge remaining. Because there was a large amount of collapsed earth, the landlord had abandoned plans to rebuild; however, Sahachi made modifications himself, separated the single remaining house, and made it habitable, it was said. Over the seven years, much of the collapsed earth had been washed away by water, and now that it had become nearly flat vacant land, the landlord had apparently regained the will to rebuild the tenement—old timber had been brought there, and land leveling had already begun, it was said.

At Sahachi’s residence was Jihei’s wife, Okoto. “He’s sleeping soundly.” After greeting Noboru, Okoto whispered to her husband, “He sometimes says strange things, but it must be delirium from the fever. His suffering seems to have subsided.” “The Doctor made his rounds elsewhere,” Jihei said while sitting down. “When the messenger returns, tell him the Doctor came by. If he took that umbrella with him, make sure to deliver one immediately.”

The moment Okoto stepped out, a thunderclap that seemed to split the sky roared directly overhead, and her scream was heard. With the entire house shuddering as if from an earthquake, Jihei leapt out to the doorway and peered down the alley. It seemed nothing had happened. Muttering “What a child,” he returned and sat down.

Noboru gazed at the patient.

“About an hour ago,” Jihei began, “I had my wife bring over some porridge. Well, he’d been lying down since yesterday afternoon, so when she came with the porridge she’d prepared, she found him collapsed right there in the workshop.” Attached to the six-tatami and two-tatami residence was a wooden-floored workshop spanning about three tsubo. Sahachi had likely built it himself—a rough-hewn hut with plank walls and no ceiling, where materials and tools for making cart spokes lay scattered around a single thin mat spread on the wooden floor.—When Okoto arrived, Sahachi lay collapsed there moaning, blood spreading across the floorboards. Upon receiving Okoto’s message, Jihei rushed over, and when they laid him in bed, he vomited blood again.

“He vomited enough to fill half the metal wash basin,” Jihei whispered. “Holding him up, I nearly vomited myself. I was certain he’d die right then.”

Sahachi suddenly opened his eyes. “Onaka,” Sahachi said, looking around. “Why did you come here?”

It was a quiet, clear voice.

“She’s his wife from whom he parted ways,” Jihei whispered to Noboru. “Seventeen or eighteen years back... Her name was Onaka.”

Sahachi’s eyes fixed on a single point. "You needn’t come," Sahachi declared once more in a lucid voice. "I’ll join you soon—very soon now. Ah yes—I won’t make you wait any longer." He smiled, nodding tenderly as though addressing someone present, then shut his eyes again. Jihei studied Noboru’s face.

“It’s delirium,” Noboru said.

“Dying patients often talk like this in their delirium,” Jihei whispered. “But I don’t want to let him die now—no matter what it takes, I want to make him strong again. This Sahachi… he was a man like a god or Buddha reborn.”

"I only learned of it myself four or five days ago, but..." Jihei crossed his arms and spoke in a hushed voice.

I had heard before how Sahachi selflessly spent everything he earned for those in the tenement. He wore scarcely any proper clothes, drank no alcohol nor smoked tobacco, ate only what he could barely force down, and devoted every saved morsel to neighboring families in need. This truth had long remained hidden. In places like this Mujina Tenement where the destitute congregate, long-term residents prove rare—within three years, the faces change completely. That Sahachi's deeds stayed unknown owed both to his own sealed lips and the steady departure of those he'd aided. Five years earlier, when Sahachi fell ill and collapsed, it first reached Jihei's ears.

"I told him then to take it easy," Jihei said. "'You think there's any fool who helps others till he's sick in bed? Learn some moderation!' I yelled at him." Sahachi apparently apologized, saying he was sorry. What had struck him down was tuberculosis, but refusing to see a doctor, he simply lay abed for ten days before getting up to work again. He promised Jihei he'd be more careful about causing trouble—that he'd start thinking of himself—but kept none of that promise. When his condition showed no improvement, Jihei forced him to undergo examination by Sadamasa, who ordered strict bed rest.

“But here’s the thing,” Jihei said, uncrossing his arms and planting both hands on his knees, “just four or five days back I found out he’s still giving stuff away—all those nourishing things we got through money from Dr. Shindeyo. I had my wife deliver them proper each day with his medicine, figuring if we gave just a day’s worth at a time, he’d use them right. But when I checked—” His voice caught. “He’d been passing it all out! Rice, fish, fowl, eggs... Even the medicine—even that, Doctor!” Jihei’s hushed voice quivered with rage, “What else could I say? I was so furious I thought my head’d burst—marched right over here to give him a piece of my mind.”

Noboru was gazing at the patient’s face. What could possibly be the reason?

While gazing at Sahachi's emaciated, skeletal face, Noboru muttered those words inwardly. Sahachi's actions defied all reason. Merely having a deeply compassionate disposition wasn't enough to make one devote themselves to others to that extent. Jihei had said Sahachi was "like a god or Buddha reborn," but Noboru couldn't see him that way. He had begun to sense there must be some more realistic—or rather, more human—reason behind it all.

Sahachi let out a deep sigh and opened his eyes again. A smile formed on his bloodless white lips as he nodded toward someone. "You're beautiful... yeah." Sahachi said once more in a clear voice, "You're beautiful. Those dimples of yours are indescribable. Onaka, come over here."

And suddenly, terror appeared on Sahachi’s face. His emaciated cheeks stiffened, his eyes flew wide open, his pale dried lips trembled, and his teeth became exposed.

“That child—” Sahachi groaned in a hoarse voice, “No—not that child! Don’t show me this child! Send that one over there—over there!”

Sahachi tightly closed his eyes and gasped.

At that moment, from the direction of the vacant lot behind them came a piercing shriek and the frenzied barking of a dog. By now, the thunder had passed and the rain had ceased. From within the screams in the vacant lot behind them, the words "A skeleton!" came through clearly. Jihei quietly stood up.

5

Hondō Noboru remained by Sahachi’s side until twilight.

Superintendent Jihei, having heard the commotion in the rear, went out saying he would take a look—and had not returned for nearly an hour. The patient seemed completely calm, sleeping soundly with his mouth half-open, and as Noboru had grown terribly hungry, he quietly stood up to leave. Just then, Jihei returned. "I'm terribly sorry," said Jihei as he came up wiping his forehead with a hand towel, "The laborers working on leveling the back lot unearthed something unpleasant."

“I’m leaving,” Noboru whispered. “The patient is sleeping soundly, and there seems to be no risk of sudden changes. When he wakes up, give him his medicine and some thick rice gruel.” “Would you care for dinner?” said Jihei. “It’s nothing fancy, but my wife is preparing it now. Please join us if you’d like.”

Noboru expressed his thanks and declined, then left the tenement.

When Noboru returned to the clinic, it was just as the dining hall’s mealtime had ended. Only Mori Handayu remained, and he sat down beside him. The wooden-floored and wood-paneled dining hall stood deserted and completely cleared away, with only two oil lamps remaining, leaving the surroundings quiet and dim. The server on duty was a middle-aged woman named Ohatsu; she had warmed the soup, but the grilled fish and simmered greens were cold.

Handayu finished his tea and stood up from his seat. "Could you come to my room later? Or I could come to you instead—there's something I need to discuss." "I'm exhausted today. Is it urgent?" "A Miss Amano came while you were away." Noboru looked at Handayu as if his legs had been swept out from under him, chopsticks frozen mid-motion. "A Miss Amano Masao."

Handayu left the dining hall with those words. "He’s left his food again, hasn’t he?" Ohatsu came to clear Handayu’s tray and said, “I wonder if he just doesn’t like it unless it’s Oyuki doing the serving. Not once has Dr. Mori ever finished his meal properly during my shift.”

Noboru ate in silence.

It wasn't the server's fault—Handayu's appetite had been waning since early spring. When Oyuki was on duty, he would force himself to eat under the weight of her pleading look; but when others served him or when the side dishes displeased him, it often appeared positively painful for him to even lift his chopsticks. There's an illness—the lack of appetite comes from that illness.

That too, Noboru had long suspected, was likely tuberculosis. Whether he himself remained unaware, or—like many patients—was turning his eyes away from the truth despite knowing it, Noboru couldn’t clearly determine which. Sadamasa loved Handayu; he always took him along for treatments and entrusted everything to him when leaving for outside visits. It seemed he viewed him as his own successor, but he said nothing about his health. There was no way it could escape Sadamasa’s notice that Handayu’s body was being consumed. While there are physicians who neglect their own health, and even cases where those closest to them escape notice, such a thing was unthinkable for someone of Sadamasa’s caliber.

He probably knew.

And then, "That's right," Noboru thought.

At some point, Sadamasa had spoken words to this effect regarding vitality and medical practice. Some individuals overcome illness, while others succumb and fall. Doctors can recognize symptoms and disease progression; they may even lend some aid to those with strong vitality. But beyond that, they have no power. He had said that even should medical science advance further and bring changes, it would still never surpass the vitality inherent in individuals.

“There’s nothing more wretched than medical practice,” he had said. Noboru sipped his tea and muttered, “The longer a doctor practices, the more he understands how powerless medical practice truly is.” That was how he’d put it.

While muttering this, Noboru suddenly looked up. In his mind, he had been thinking about several things at once—about Sahachi, about Handayu, and about Masao having come to visit while he was away. The matter of Masao now rose sharply to the surface of his awareness, and he found himself engulfed in a stifling gloom. After leaving the dining hall, Noboru went straight to his room. Before long, Handayu came and called out from beyond the shōji screen. Noboru answered in a listless voice, “Come in.”

“It’s a bit stuffy in here,” Handayu said. “Let’s open this up.”

After opening the window’s shōji screen, he sat down. "I’m completely exhausted today."

“Avoiding is pointless,” Handayu said. “Wouldn’t it be better to confront the facts head-on and clear your mind?” “If it’s about Chigusa, I don’t need to hear it.” “Then why won’t you see Miss Masao?” “I’m the one refusing the meeting.” “She came here once and waited over an hour,” he said. “She told me she knew you were there but you stubbornly refused to see her.” Handayu gave a light cough and continued, “Today I received her when she came. She insisted there was something urgent she must discuss—something needing your attention, Mr. Hondō. She seemed so distressed I escorted her to my room.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Noboru said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear about Chigusa—it turns my stomach.” “Then all the more reason to purge it properly. There are other matters at stake.” Noboru looked at Handayu with suspicion. “They say Mr. Amano is arranging to extract you from here and have you appointed as an omezume physician.” Noboru’s lips pressed into a taut line.

Handayu began to speak.

Amano Genpaku held the title of Hōin and served as an official physician to the shogunate—this had been mentioned before. Amano Genpaku and Noboru’s father, Hondo Ryoan, had been close friends since ancient times, their families visiting each other frequently. Amano had a son named Yujiro and two daughters. Noboru was Hondō’s only child, yet Genpaku inexplicably favored him over his own son Yujiro—he would smile whenever he saw Noboru’s face and repeatedly declare, “You’ll become someone of consequence.”

Regrettably, Yujiro was no good—he seemed intent on becoming some kind of entertainer, that hopeless fellow.

He clicked his tongue but added remarks like, "Seems I bear some responsibility too—he's a child conceived during my days of heavy drinking." Thus when Noboru was nineteen and Chigusa fourteen, their engagement was arranged, and he was soon to depart for Nagasaki to study. By that time, Chigusa had turned eighteen. Her features and build carried an unhurried grace, her speech flowing with remarkable ease. Yet the rhythm of her words—each phrase slowly delivered with measured pauses—felt labored, as if her tongue itself bore weight. At times this lent her a girlish air; at others, it left an intensely mature impression.

“The person called Chigusa reportedly said she wanted to get married before you departed for Nagasaki,” Handayu had said. “Mr. Amano also wished for it, but you refused.” “How could I possibly get married before departing for study abroad? The engagement had already lasted four years, and my studies were meant to last three.”

“The other party was eighteen,” Handayu interjected calmly. “When a woman herself desires wedding rites, there must have been sufficient reason. For Hondō, study abroad took precedence—but for a woman turning eighteen...” Noboru shook his head violently. “Enough,” he said roughly. “Just hearing about that woman who eloped with a student defiles my ears.” “In other words,” Handayu retorted with a touch of sarcasm, “in other words, that means you still harbor lingering attachments, does it?”

Noboru's lips tightened into a straight line once more. “Listen without anger,” Handayu said. “If you truly have no lingering attachment, you ought to forgive them now. That couple remains estranged from the Amano family, and I hear their child is about to be born—Mr. Amano’s first grandchild. Chigusa seeks her mother’s aid. If you release your wrath and mediate with Mr. Amano, parent and child could be reconciled. Can you not find it in yourself to do this?”

“Did Masao come here to ask for that?” “There’s another matter—a plan to remove you from here,” Handayu said. “It wasn’t Mr. Amano who arranged your admission, but your father. The agreement was to keep you until your feelings regarding Chigusa had settled—to prevent any misjudgments about her.” “But Amano Genpaku has opposed this from the start,” Handayu continued. “He argues that keeping you long at this clinic would harm your prospects. As promised earlier, he says he’ll secure you a position as a physician granted audience with the shogun and insists on having you transferred out at once.”

“He also said that if Hondō were to come around to that feeling, there was something he wished to discuss in person.” Handayu smiled gently at this point. “She’s turning seventeen soon—isn’t Miss Masao an attentive, lovely and clever young lady? She seemed quite beside herself worrying about you.”

Six

That night, Noboru could not sleep. It was not sleeplessness born of excitement but something closer to quiet reflection and remorse. In his mind, Chigusa’s image revived itself as a childhood companion for the first time, seeming to plead for his forgiveness.—Even when appearing terribly mature, Chigusa could never voice her thoughts. Nor could she express them through gesture—such was the impression she gave. Noboru had carelessly overlooked this. Chigusa was a late bloomer by nature, easygoing and still untouched by womanly feelings. He had thought marriage lay far in the future.

“Because I had grown accustomed to seeing her since childhood, my eyes had grown dull,” he murmured under the covers. “If I had noticed that back then—if I had realized—we would have married before I left for Nagasaki, and everything would have been completely different.” Because he had thought her a late-blooming, easygoing girl who likely harbored no romantic feelings whatsoever, the sting of betrayal cut all the deeper. “It seems I was fixated only on my own affairs.” He murmured again after a while: “I thought Father had been coaxed into sending me here by Mr. Amano—Father had always deferred to him and had completely entrusted my future to him as well. I hated Chigusa, hated Father, hated Mr. Amano, and even came to hate this clinic.”

Noboru grimaced and shook his head from side to side on the pillow. "Chigusa was wounded by her own mistakes. Mr. Amano too, Father too—each wounded in their own way. Yet among them, I alone thought myself superior, believing I alone had suffered grievous harm. How self-absorbed I was." He grimaced more deeply.

"How self-important I was—just think about how I’ve conducted myself since coming here. Hey, aren’t you ashamed?"

Noboru curled up under the covers.

The following morning, shortly after Noboru—who had overslept—finished his belated breakfast, someone came from the Mujina Tenements to fetch him. Sahachi’s condition had taken a turn for the worse—they wanted him to come immediately. Shindeyo immediately told him to go, handed over a packet of powdered medicine, and said that if he seemed to be suffering terribly, he should have him take this. “If it isn’t needed, bring it back and return it to me,” Shindeyo said. “This isn’t medicine we use regularly—take care not to forget.”

Noboru prepared himself and set out.

When Noboru reached the side of Dentsū-in Temple, a middle-aged woman who had run out from an alleyway caught sight of him and called out. When she asked if he was a doctor from the clinic and he replied that he was, she gasped between labored breaths, begging him to examine her child whose illness had worsened. The child had been sick for half a year, she pleaded, but with their unpaid medical fees piling up, no doctor would come—now the child looked near death. It was all thanks to this medical coat.

That medical coat signified its wearer belonged to the clinic staff. With doctors refusing visits due to unpaid fees, the woman had rushed from her home and called out upon recognizing that very coat. So Red Beard's a good man after all, Noboru thought. "Please go to the clinic," he told the woman. "I'm en route to a critical case myself—you should make haste there instead. It's just up the hill."

The woman expressed her gratitude and hurried up the slope. At Sahachi’s house were Jihei and two women—likely neighbors from the tenement—caring for the patient. The younger woman was heating water over a brazier while the old woman persistently wiped the worn tatami mats. They said he had coughed up a little blood at dawn and just now vomited a great quantity. The metal basin hadn’t been in time—half had spilled onto the tatami, they explained—and the old woman kept wringing a rag in hot water before meticulously cleaning between the mat’s woven reeds.

“They said he ate a little thin rice gruel and about half an egg yolk last night,” Jihei murmured. “The old woman meant to stay overnight—even brought bedding—but the patient wouldn’t allow it. When she came back before dawn this morning, she found he’d cleaned the soiled things himself.”

Noboru slipped closer to Sahachi’s bedside.

Sahachi appeared to be asleep, though his eyes were slightly open and his mouth hung slackly agape as if his lower jaw had come unhinged. His complexion had turned a livid black, utterly devoid of vitality; his cheeks were hollowed as though carved away, the skin sagging in folds toward his jaw. "He won’t last much longer, will he?" "Seems that way." Noboru moved away from the bedside. "It’s beyond human help now." "Why take such a good man?" Jihei sighed heavily. "With all the worthless wretches swarming this world—to have someone this decent snatched away... Makes you want to curse every god and Buddha there is."

The young woman brought Noboru tea. "It seems quiet out back today." Noboru asked without touching the tea, "Has the land leveling been completed?" "No, there's an investigation by the town officials," he replied. "We can't start work until that's finished."

“Did something happen?”

Jihei grimaced, then spoke in a hushed voice. "While leveling the landslide site out back, they found a corpse wrapped in a futon. It had rotted completely down to nearly bare bones, but likely preserved by the futon's sturdy cotton wadding—the body remained intact from head to toe. They could tell right away it was a young woman from scraps of kimono fabric and the thick hair still clinging to the skull. Since that landslide seven years back shifted the earth around, we can't pin down exactly where it was originally buried." "It must've been above where they tore down those tenements," Jihei continued. "Judging by how it was left, no question someone killed her and buried her there. Town officials should be coming today to investigate."

“If it’s reduced to bones, it must be an extremely old corpse.” “We showed it to the gravedigger at Zennōji Temple. He said it must’ve been buried about fifteen years ago.”

“How did you know she was killed and buried?” "There’s no sign of anything resembling a coffin," Jihei said. "If someone had died naturally, you wouldn’t bury them wrapped in a futon—that’s simply not done. But if it’s been fifteen years as the gravedigger claims, there’s little left to investigate now."

A voice sounded at the entrance, and a stocky man of about fifty shuffled in unsteadily. He had a stout build, wore a striped long work coat carelessly with one side hanging down, and had on a wrinkled plain sash. From his cheeks down to his jaw stretched a pure white, unkempt beard, while his bald head glistened a glossy red as if smeared with oil. He must have been terribly drunk; staggering constantly, he peered this way with bloodshot eyes.

“Don’t come in here!” Jihei waved his hand. “The patient’s in bad shape—you can’t be here. Go home, go home!” “The town officials are here now, y’know,” the man said. “They’re sayin’ to call the superintendent. You’re still the superintendent here, ain’tcha?”

Seven "Don't meddle with your mouth," Jihei snapped before turning to Noboru. "You heard how things stand—I'll go see to this matter." Noboru nodded.

As Jihei went out with the man, the old woman who had been helping also left through the back door, saying she would come back after checking on her house. Then before long, the man who had left with Jihei returned alone, staggering back with an ingratiating smile, and plopped down heavily onto the entrance step.

“That won’t do, Mr. Hei.” The young wife emerged from the kitchen and said, “Haven’t you just been scolded by the superintendent? Please go home—you’re disturbing the patient.” “You’re the doctor from the clinic, aren’t you?” The man said to Noboru, “Name’s Heikichi. Dr. Shindeyo and me go way back. Sahachi and I are the oldest tenants in this Mujina Tenement, see? Now that Sahachi’s gravely ill, they won’t even let me see him—and that O-Matsu over there, who just blew in yesterday, has the nerve to tell me I’m disturbin’ the patient and should scram!”

“You wouldn’t talk like that if you weren’t drunk,” the young wife said. “When you’re drunk, Mr. Hei, you lose all sense of decency—even the superintendent told you so.” “Shut it! Shut it!” Heikichi shook his head to cut her off. “Started drinkin’ when I was nine—forty years without a sober day! Can’t vouch for when I’m dry, but drunk? Never once stepped outta line. Don’t believe me—go ask Red Beard himself!”

Heikichi grinned crookedly there. “—Y’know what Red Beard told me once? When I drank myself sick spewing weird stuff and collapsed? The doc made this scary face and said, ‘If you’ve got money to drink yourself into sickness, spare a thought for your wife and kids!’ No joke! Yeah, see—the doc looks at me from the outside, so he can say that crap. I told him straight: ‘Try crawling inside a fella like me’s head just once!’... Rich folks or educated types—they can tell what’s right or wrong, what’s gainful or useless. But that’s for people with coin or time or learning. We ain’t got such fancy tricks up our sleeves! Ain’t that right? People like me—we work day ’n’ night but still can’t get a decent meal! Every damn day: ‘How’ll I eat today?’ ‘Scraped by today—what ’bout tomorrow?’ ‘The wife’s in trouble.’ ‘Kid’s comin’.’ ‘Rent’s piled up—they’re kickin’ us out.’ ‘Where ’n’ how we gonna manage?’—Decades on end livin’ like this! Yeah, from the outside we just look like drunken bums, but inside? That’s what’s really goin’ on! No lie—just think ’bout the wife ’n’ kids for a second, and you gotta drink to bear it!”

Sahachi let out a groan and said something. Noboru sidled closer and peered down. "I have something to tell you," he whispered hoarsely.

“Please have O-Matsu and Mr.Heihachi leave as well.”

Noboru nodded and informed the two of them of the matter.

Heikichi did not stand up. O-Matsu said she had errands at home and left immediately, but Heikichi grumbled complaints and eventually plopped down right there.

“Please leave him as he is,” Sahachi said. “He’ll likely fall asleep that way.—I’m sorry, but might I have a cup of water?”

Noboru adjusted Heikichi’s sleeping position, then took the patient’s teacup and attempted to pour hot water from the iron kettle resting on the brazier. But Sahachi said he wanted water. “Wouldn’t it be all right for me to drink anything now?” Sahachi smiled weakly. “Please, I beg of you.”

Noboru went to the kitchen, drew water, and brought it back for him. "I was happy you started wearing that medical coat." Sahachi took a sip of water and said, "That way dozens more poor people will likely be saved."

Noboru recalled what had happened on his way there and answered inwardly: You were right. “Please don’t dismiss what Heikichi said as mere drunken rambling,” Sahachi continued. “Most poor folks think that way. When every day’s spent scrambling just to eat, you can’t keep living without getting drunk now and then.”

“I can’t say I don’t see where they’re coming from—but then there are people like you, Sahachi-san.” “Me?”

Sahachi said vacantly, took the teacup, and skillfully took another sip while lying down. "I know what they say about me in this tenement." Sahachi set down the teacup and said, "I heard everything Superintendent Jihei told Dr. Shindeyo and you—it's absurd, preposterous. They praise me because they don't know the truth. If they knew what I truly am—the inhuman creature I am—they wouldn't even spit in my direction."

“So that’s what this is about?” “Yes,” Sahachi nodded. “Until now I’ve told no one, always fearing people might notice. But I don’t have long left—today at most, or perhaps through tomorrow. No, please don’t speak—you may think this foolish talk, but since yesterday... the ones coming to take me have arrived.”

Noboru remained silent. Sahachi’s tone was casual, yet his words carried such chilling earnestness that Noboru felt a peculiar pressure. "What I want you to hear about is my wife," Sahachi began calmly. "Her name was Onaka, three years my junior. We became husband and wife a year after we met." "It may sound like lovesick rambling, but you won’t understand unless I tell this part—unpleasant as it might be, I want you to bear with me." With that preface, Sahachi began his account.

He had originally lived in Shitaya’s Kanesugi district. He lived in his master’s household as a wheelwright crafting spokes for carts—his parents having died early were said to be from somewhere in Oshu—and became an orphan at fifteen, growing up relying on his master and wife as both parents and guardians. Onaka was a maid at a silk fabric store called Kōtoku in the neighboring town, twenty-one when they met. The first time they spoke was on an early spring morning when Sahachi was returning from Shin-Yoshiwara.—Having gone out with friends the previous evening, he visited a brothel in Kyo-machi late at night; while his companions resolved to stay on, he alone left early out of consideration for his master’s feelings. Outside, the sky was just beginning to pale with dawn. As he reached Daionji Temple’s front approach, rain began pattering down. He hitched up his kimono hem and hurried along the road at a half-run.

Eight He dismissed it as a spring shower, but upon reaching Kanesugi Street, the rain intensified into a downpour. Sahachi resigned himself to soaking through. He draped a hand towel over his head—now drenched from crown downward—and plodded forward through the deluge when a young maid called out, offering him an oil-paper umbrella marked with her shop’s insignia.

"I'm already soaked through anyway."

“But it’s bad for your health.”

After that exchange, he borrowed the umbrella and returned home. That was Onaka. After returning the umbrella, Sahachi found himself unable to forget Onaka. When she hurried through the rain to lend him the umbrella with a "But it's bad for your health," he had already found himself captivated by her eyes and voice. After that, he would insistently call her out, and they met several times in the rice fields of Iriya. Though his persistence was unreasonable, Onaka did not refuse. Eventually, days off became available, and the two met at Tennōji Temple in Yanaka, where Sahachi confessed his feelings.

“I’m happy.”

Onaka said with an ashen face. The simple words "I'm happy" gave Sahachi a fresh, invigorating emotion, as though he were watching a morning glory bloom. "I’m glad... but I can’t." With her ashen face unchanged, Onaka gently shook her head. She had seven younger siblings and was sending money home because her father was ill. Moreover, when she entered into service as a maid, she had borrowed against her wages under a ten-year contract, and the amount she sent home was greater than that of other servants. This was partly due to her father having once worked at Kōtoku store, and later—after leaving the shop—venturing into peddling silk fabrics while still procuring his goods from Kōtoku, but ultimately, Onaka explained that her body wasn’t her own to command.

“How much time remains on your contract?” “There’s only a year left on my contract, but since the money I’ve been sending home has become a debt, I can’t leave even when my term is up.” “Then just pay back the money you borrowed.” “There’s such a thing as duty.” “There’s no duty that should chain a person’s entire life—won’t you leave this to me?” Onaka shook her head. “Even if I were to leave the shop,” she had reasoned, “with my sickly father and so many younger siblings, being together would only burden you.” “Let’s do at least that much,” Sahachi said. “I have no parents or siblings. Your parents are my parents, your siblings are my siblings.” “I can at least support your parents and siblings,” Sahachi said.

Sahachi then worked as hard as he could. Once a month, he met Onaka in the rice fields of Iriya. Onaka’s home was in Asakusa Sanya, and once a month when she received leave to visit her father, they would arrange to meet on that day and he would accompany her along the rice field paths near Sanya. Though Sahachi was a man who could drink well, he gave up alcohol and abandoned all social activities. Around that time when Shinnaibushi ballads—a style of narrative music—were popular among his friends, Sahachi himself had been attending lessons for about half a year, but he quit even that and threw himself entirely into earning money.

Perhaps his earnest feelings had reached her, for Onaka eventually resolved herself and promised they would be together once her term ended. Sahachi said he wanted to meet her family, but Onaka would not consent—she stubbornly refused even to let him approach their neighborhood, obstinate to an almost mulish degree. “I just can’t bear it now—please wait until we can be together.”

The reason was too wretched and shameful to explain—and Sahachi could not bring himself to press her further. Yet it would later be learned that there existed another, far more profound and inescapable reason.

A year later, the two became husband and wife. Sahachi told his master everything, and his master went to Kōtoku on his behalf. At Kōtoku, they initially resisted, but his master repaid the debt in full and stated that he would act as her parent substitute, finally making them consent. The two set up a home in Yamazaki-cho, Shitaya, and Sahachi commuted to work at his master’s shop. About a year passed in this peaceful, happy manner.—Sahachi loved Onaka dearly. After they became husband and wife, she grew even dearer to him than before, a cherished presence beyond words.

“And then came the fire in the Year of the Fire Horse,” Sahachi continued quietly. “—it was a midday fire in late February that burned from Shitaya all the way to Asakusabashi. When I rushed over from my shop in Kanesugi, our neighborhood was already a sea of flames, impossible to approach.” Sahachi sipped water again at that point.

He searched for Onaka with near-mad desperation. At that time, Kanesugi's shop had also burned from flying embers, though he hadn't even known that. Since it was daytime and she was a young woman traveling light, he couldn't imagine she might have perished in the flames. Believing she must have escaped somewhere, he searched relentlessly through gathering after gathering of displaced people. The next day, since Sanya hadn't burned, he went there—only to be told, "Onaka hasn't come." Though he'd been sending monthly support until then, Sahachi had visited that house only twice before—so vehemently did Onaka oppose it—and their family's demeanor had been glacial.

“It was as though they’d had a daughter stolen from them.” Sahachi heaved a deep sigh with those words. Kanesugi’s shop burned down, and the master and his wife moved to the countryside in Ebara. Sahachi stayed at a friend’s house and spent about half a month searching through the burned ruins and relief shelters until he finally resigned himself to Onaka’s death; his spirits abruptly plummeted, and he took to bed right there at his friend’s home.

“It was in July of that year that I moved to this tenement slum,” Sahachi said with eyes that seemed to chase some distant memory. “Through my friends’ help, I attached a workshop to the end of the row house—handling orders myself, delivering finished goods myself, settling most meals at eateries. Somehow I managed to live untroubled.” He had been persistently urged to take a wife but always deflected such talk with vague replies, continuing his solitary life. Two years passed, and in the summer when he was twenty-eight, Sahachi encountered Onaka in Asakusa Temple’s precincts. On the Forty-Six Thousand Days festival day, the grounds swarmed with worshippers—amidst the crowd beside Nenbutsu Hall, they met face-to-face, recognized each other, and stood frozen.

Onaka was carrying an infant on her back. Though she had grown slightly plump with her hairstyle altered—making her appearance quite changed—Sahachi recognized her as Onaka at first glance, and she too immediately acknowledged that it was him. "It's been a while," Sahachi said.

"It's been a while," Onaka replied. Pushed along by the crowded throng, the two of them walked toward Okuyama.

Nine

After circling the temple grounds once and exiting through the Zuishin Gate, Sahachi found a soba shop, entered it with Onaka, and went up to the second floor. There were no customers on the second floor; Onaka put down the infant and let it suckle.

“It’s your child, then.”

“Yes, his name is Taikichi.” “Is he about a year old now?” “He’s nine months old.”

Sahachi felt as though his chest were being gouged out.

“It felt like a chisel had been thrust into me and twisted ever deeper.” Sahachi furrowed his brows slightly. “It wasn’t hatred or resentment—just this unbearable, heartrending pity... Strange as it sounds, there was my wife before me, having borne another man’s child and nursing it at her breast. By rights I should’ve scolded her mercilessly or beaten her half to death. Yet all I felt was pity—such crushing pity—that if I could have, I would’ve held her close and wept with her.”

Noboru took out a handkerchief and gently wiped the sweat from Sahachi’s forehead. That was when they parted ways. Sahachi asked nothing，and Onaka said nothing. The soba arrived，but neither of them touched their chopsticks．Eventually，they stood up，and Sahachi helped strap the infant to her back． “You’re living happily now，aren’t you?” Sahachi asked． “Yes，” Onaka murmured under her breath．

"I suppose we won't meet again." Onaka did not answer, continuing to rock the child on her back. After parting ways outside the soba shop, as Sahachi stood watching her go, Onaka turned back at the corner and bowed toward him. "For five or six days after that, I couldn't work at all," Sahachi said. "I drank liquor I hadn't touched in years—drinking until drunk, then sleeping; drinking until drunk, then sleeping—that's how it went." He shook his head gently. "It felt like half my very being had been taken by Onaka—like I was suffering right alongside that woman somehow. No matter how I tried, not a shred of hatred or resentment ever surfaced in me. When I picture her retreating back from our parting—that moment she turned and bowed... nothing but pity upon pity would rise up until I could hardly breathe from the anguish of it."

And then one evening, Onaka came to visit the Mujina Tenement.

Sahachi lay drunk. Onaka had not brought the infant with her. Entering the house, she closed the entrance storm shutters with her own hands, stepped inside, and quietly sat down beside Sahachi. Sahachi immediately realized it was Onaka. At the sound of the shutters closing, he thought it must be Onaka, and realizing this wasn’t the least bit unexpected, found himself rather astonished.

“I went to ask Mr. Risuke of Kurumazaka,” Onaka whispered. “Ah… Risuke took care of me in many ways.” “I heard that story too. I’m sorry… Please forgive me.” Sahachi summoned every ounce of strength to stifle the groan threatening to escape. He sat up quietly and drew the oil lamp nearer. With night having fallen and the front shutters closed, the room lay dark as midnight.

“Please don’t light the lamp.”

Onaka began to cry with those words. “Won’t you forgive me?” “I don’t know,” Sahachi groaned. “Even I don’t understand that part myself. But I think... I was glad you stayed alive.” “Will you listen to my reason?” “If it wouldn’t be too painful for you.” Onaka fell silent. Perhaps to suppress her sobs, after a while she quietly wiped her nose, then spoke in a flattened tone that crushed her emotions.

There had been a man she was promised to. He was the son of her father’s friend in Yamaya—one who had run away from his parents’ home, lived in the same neighborhood, and worked odd jobs for carpenters. Though the same age as Onaka, from around sixteen or seventeen he’d declared, “I’m going to become part of this family,” and began contributing his earnings to her household. When he turned twenty, he stated outright that he wanted Onaka, and her parents gladly consented.

“I learned of that just before hearing it from you.”

Her feelings were not yet clear. She didn’t dislike the man, and she felt grateful for what he had done for her family. However, the reality of becoming that man’s wife felt as distant as if it were someone else’s affair. It was then that she met Sahachi. Onaka was powerfully drawn to Sahachi. While thinking she had to clearly state the facts and refuse, she found herself powerless and, half in a daze, was dragged along by Sahachi.

"But there was nothing I could do."

Onaka began to cry again as she said this, stifling her voice as she sobbed for a long time. At last, Onaka made up her mind. I’ll be with Sahachi. The debt remains a debt—there must be some way to repay it later. Having made up her mind, she spoke to the master of Ettoku and to her parents in Yamaya. She had steeled herself with such terrifying resolve that not a single tear fell.... When Sahachi’s master went to speak with him, the reason Ettoku’s proprietor had hesitated became clear; likewise, when Sahachi visited her family in Yamaya, their coldness too had stemmed from this very cause. And so the two became united. The year they spent together was so blissful and fulfilling that Onaka wouldn’t have regretted trading her entire life for it.

In that one year with you, I felt my being born into this world had meaning. It couldn't be right to be this happy—if things stayed like this, punishment would surely come. I often thought that when alone. During the fire, what flashed through Onaka's mind was this conviction: that punishment would surely strike. "What nonsense—" she thought while fleeing the flames, trying to deny her own foolish notion, yet the more she denied it, the more powerfully that conviction took hold.

I'd already experienced a lifetime's worth of happiness—this fire was the proof.

This fire was proof that we needed to draw a line. Those words came to be heard clearly in her mind, as if someone were whispering them. Sahachi would think I had burned to death—that would settle everything. The time had come to end it all. While thinking in that way, when she suddenly came to her senses, she found herself standing before her parents’ house in Yamaya.

From then on, I felt as though I were no longer my true self, but had become a different person altogether.

The real me is with Sahachi; the one here is a different person from who I truly am, Onaka thought. In truth, from then on it was as though she had become hollow—she married that man as her parents dictated and set up a household in Honjo.

Ten Two years passed—a child named Taikichi was born—and just when her life with that man seemed to have settled into some semblance of stability, Onaka encountered Sahachi at Sensō-ji Temple. They said Onaka felt as though she had awoken. She had been asleep for so long—in that moment it was like blinking awake abruptly. With a sensation akin to someone spirited away finally returning home, everything since the fire came to feel unreal.

Even now it's like this—I know I'm the one speaking here right now, but I simply can't conceive there being another me with a husband and child.

With those words, Onaka twisted her body in agony. “That’s why I came back to you—you understand, don’t you? You—I’ve come back.” “Do you truly mean that?” “Hold me.”

“Won’t you end up wanting to go back there again?” “Please—hold me.” Sahachi gently drew Onaka close. She adjusted something with one hand, then threw both arms around him and clung with all her strength, letting out a short, sharp scream as she did so. “Don’t let go.” Onaka kept clinging as she spoke.

“Don’t let go of me.”

And then Onaka breathed her last. “I stabbed once below her left breast with a dagger,” said Sahachi. “There was no need to call a doctor—a single thrust meant instant death. ...Now you understand, don’t you? She pleaded not to be released. I didn’t want to let go either. Once, I even picked up that dagger again, but it felt like Onaka was telling me I mustn’t die—so I gave up on dying. And... that’s how it was.”

Sahachi coughed. Exhausted, he bent his body double, clutched the pillow with both hands, and hacked so violently it seemed he might breathe his last at any moment. Noboru edged closer, stroking the bony protrusion of his back, waiting for the fit to subside before gently offering him water. “That’s right.” After a pause, Sahachi spoke in a voice frayed to whispers: “What they dug up behind here yesterday was Onaka. Before the landslide came—that was my workshop. I buried Onaka beneath it and lived alongside her all this time.”

What he had done for the neighbors was an act of remembrance for Onaka. There was no reason for him to be thanked or praised.

He did not know what had become of Onaka’s husband and child, but he had caused them sorrow and had effectively killed Onaka. He thought that the day would surely come when this truth would be exposed; until then, he wanted to be of some use to people as a memorial to Onaka and to atone for his sins.

“When I said ‘the one to take me had come,’ this is what I meant,” Sahachi said. “Yesterday, when I heard people making noise out back, I thought—ah yes—Onaka had come to take me. Now we could truly be together. Now I could finally find peace at last.”

Heikichi, who had been sprawled on the raised wooden threshold, suddenly let out a groan and shouted in a ridiculous, shrill voice, "Bring water!" “That hardass superintendent! Miserly hag O-Ume!” he bellowed. “Sahachi you dumb bastard! Red Beard’s ugly mug! You’re all gaping morons! Heh—this world’s just two gō and five shō anyway. Put on airs all you want—we’re scraping bottom here! Ain’t nothing to do but guzzle booze till you’re plastered—Hey! You deaf? Bring water!”

“Dr. Hondō,” Sahachi said, “please go to the superintendent and tell him—those bones are Onaka’s, that I buried them—it’ll save unnecessary trouble.”