Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

After visiting their mother's sickbed and proceeding to his elder brother's room, he found his brother conversing with a doctor while lying in bed.
The doctor soon departed, and his brother reclined.

"What troubles you?"

"Merely a stomach ailment."
Hyogo furrowed his brow. "-After four or five sleepless nights compounded by disagreeable matters, last evening's excessive sake consumption proved ill-advised. At dawn I vomited something resembling blood."

Though naturally slender, observing him now revealed hollowed cheeks, sunken eyes, and a complexion alarmingly devoid of healthy coloration.
His parched lips required constant licking, while his tongue exhibited an equally unhealthy hue.

“It’s unusual for you to overindulge in sake, isn’t it? What on earth happened?”

Hyogo took out a sealed letter from under his pillow and silently handed it to his brother.
The opened letter bore Hyogo’s name as recipient, with his younger sister Nyoshou’s name written on the reverse.

“Has something happened to Nyoshou?”

“Read it.”

Matasaburo opened it.
It was considerably long, and the contents were utterly unexpected.
He read it through twice.

Regarding this recent marriage proposal, I have caused you all such worry, but I simply cannot go through with becoming a bride—not due to any dissatisfaction with Mr. Nishimori, but because there exists a reason rooted in my own circumstances that makes marriage impossible.
At age five I became an orphan, and after being taken into the Kasaishi household, I was cherished by both my honorable parents and elder brothers as though I were their true flesh and blood. When I consider that debt of gratitude and social obligation, it becomes unbearable—the marriage proposals can no longer be refused, yet I cannot possibly wed anyone either—and finding myself at an impasse regarding my circumstances, I resolved to die.
Mother on her sickbed and you, my elder brothers, must surely be furious; to Mr. Nishimori too I bring inexcusable trouble. Yet having no other recourse, I can only beg your forgiveness—please think me a foolish girl and grant me pardon.
I pray that Mother may recover her health as soon as possible and that the honorable family’s happiness and prosperity will endure.

—It was, in other words, a suicide note.

“When did this happen?”

Matasaburo looked at his elder brother.
Then he read what was written on the back of the sealed letter: Komatsucho Hiiragiya.
“It says Komatsucho here.”
“Ayame is coming—we can’t have her overhearing this.”

Hyogo said.
Matasaburo rolled up the letter.
Hyogo's daughter-in-law Ayame entered with tea.
She had been married for five years but was now pregnant for the first time, having just held the obi celebration.
She appeared robustly healthy and well-nourished, her skin glowing with a lustrous complexion, her eyes brimming with calm contentment.
……She amiably inquired after Miura’s well-being and spoke with an air of apology.

“With all your pressing duties, I must apologize for making such an abrupt request.”

“There’s something I need to ask of you now.”
Hyogo cut him off. “I just showed you the letter. You should go over there now.”

After pouring tea and offering the sweets bowl, Ayame left.
Matasaburo waited for his elder brother to speak.

“Eight days ago, she went to Awazu with five members of the Crimson Plum Society.”
Hyogo said, “With the wedding approaching and her likely being unable to leave once she goes to the Nishimori household—and since Mother insisted she absolutely must make this trip—I allowed her to depart.”

In the temple district of the castle town stood a girls' school operated by Madam Kotachi Baien, which instructed daughters of domain retainers in academic studies and various arts.
The Crimson Plum Society consisted of this school's students, forming volunteer groups twice yearly in spring and autumn to journey to Awazu.
Though Awazu ranked among celebrated hot spring resorts, its strict itinerary—four days' travel roundtrip with three days' lodging—emphasized practical application of school lessons over leisurely pursuits.

Nyoshou had departed on that trip, but yesterday evening one of the girls who had gone with her returned from Awazu and came to report that Nyoshou’s return would be delayed. The explanation given was that she had apparently developed stomach pains at an inn in Komatsu—the establishment called Hiiragiya being the Crimson Plum Society’s regular lodging—and that once she recovered, someone from the inn would escort her back.

“And then she left this letter here, saying she’d received it from Nyoshou.”

“She would never write such a letter as some idle prank—but were there truly any indications she might resort to suicide?”

“There likely weren’t any. Had there been, someone would have noticed. Though...” Hyogo frowned; his stomach seemed unsettled, but he continued: “However, it seems she was deeply troubled over Kibe’s situation—to the point she couldn’t eat properly.”

“Because she was fond of Kibe.”

“For a while after he deserted, she became like a semi-invalid... But one can’t imagine her dying over that. The truth must be that there’s some reason she can’t marry—though I don’t understand what it could be.”

"Anyway, we should go to Komatsu."

“That’s why I asked you to come, but does this arrangement suit you, Miura?”

“What do I care about damn convenience? When I took Matsueda as my bride, I welcomed her mother into my household too! Let’s borrow horses from Inami right now and ride hard!”

“Wait—there’s another matter we need to discuss.”

Hyogo glanced toward the shoji screen，then lowered his voice and spoke.
"In the event that Nyoshou had died，we were to present it as a sudden illness and make the necessary arrangements.
To ensure that no one else besides the two of us learned the truth，and so forth."

“Understood．Then I’ll be going．”

Matasaburo declared in a spirited voice.
His expression stayed cheerful until he rose, but upon entering the corridor, he abruptly knit his brows and clamped his lip between teeth with such force it seemed he meant to draw blood.

“Wait, Nyoshou.”
He muttered, “—Wait till I get there, don’t you die.”

II

He continued riding and arrived in Komatsu as noon approached.
When he visited the inn called Hiiragiya, Nyoshou was already gone.

“After you all had departed for about a quarter-hour, she said that since she had recovered, she would catch up if she went by palanquin—then suddenly left.”

The inn staff said this. They had tried to provide her with an attendant, but she refused—insisting she would go by palanquin—and left alone, they explained. Matasaburo immediately went to the palanquin shop; there, they transported him to Teraai's inn and let him off at its outskirts. Thus what happened afterward remained unknown.

The lunch hour had passed, but with no appetite and restless urgency, he headed straight back to Teraai.
This small post town near the Tedorigawa River thrived despite its modest size—abundant pottery production in the area and its position where the road branched toward upstream Tsuru-go saw to that.
Matasaburo left his horse at the post station, arranged for fodder, then made inquiries at the front desk before questioning palanquin bearers and grooms.

She was twenty-one but looked younger. She stood approximately five shaku and one sun tall, with a round face and fair complexion, bearing a rather large mole beneath her left eye. A sole daughter of samurai upbringing.

He went around inquiring at the five inns and highway teahouses along the road, repeating this description.
Every time he described her facial features and age, Matasaburo's chest tightened and tears nearly spilled.
Half a year had passed since he married into the Miura household, and he hadn't seen Nyoshou in some time—yet as he recalled her round face with its plump white cheeks and tear-stain mole beneath the eye, not only did her physical form rise vividly before him, but also that slightly nasal voice of hers, her coaxing manner of speech, and expressions that had always retained something childlike, until he found himself overwhelmed by unbearable pity.

After finishing a late lunch, he once more rode by horse to the town of Tsuru-go, then turned back, crossed the river, and made his way to the vicinity of Matsue. However, he could obtain no information beyond vague accounts that someone resembling her had been spotted. Though it was a main thoroughfare with heavy traffic—where a girl traveling alone would be rare—anyone who had seen her would surely remember.

Was it hopeless now? ... No—it was too soon to give up. Reconsidering that circumstances might differ, she could be at some inn, utterly lost.

Repeating this self-interrogation, Matasaburo returned to Teraai's inn.
Though certain he'd come that far, he felt he hadn't truly crossed the Tedorigawa River.
The sun hung low when he arrived.
At Notoya Inn with its stable, he slipped off his straw sandals.

―Tomorrow I'll try searching the seaside.

After finishing dinner, as he sipped tea and thought this—perhaps because exhaustion had left his emotions fragile—tears overflowed and could not be stopped.

The northwest wind that had begun blowing in the afternoon still raged fiercely, while out at sea waves crashed incessantly. Matasaburo slid open the window's paper shoji screen, then unlatched the wooden storm shutters beyond. A frigid gust surged inward, bearing with it the whispering rush of wind through pine needles. Though the inn's rear faced sand dunes and pine groves that blocked any view—and even without these obstructions the sea lay over twenty chō distant—the roar of breakers rose so powerfully it drowned out the pine winds, sounding as though surf pounded just beyond arm's reach.

"Where are you, Nyoshou?"
He turned toward the unseen ocean and murmured, "-Are you still breathing somewhere, or have the tides already claimed you?"

Pine needles torn loose by the wind came scattering down.
The sky was beautifully clear, and countless stars twinkled like living creatures.

For a long time, he leaned against the window, listening to the sound of the waves, letting his tears dry unchecked.

Before going to sleep, he wrote letters to his elder brother and Miura’s wife.

It was a brief message stating that Nyoshou’s condition had worsened and she appeared critically ill, so he would stay for several days and send updates later.
In the one addressed to his elder brother, he left ample margins (so that part alone could be discarded) and appended—the facts of his exhaustive search, what appeared to be despair, and that for now, even if she had committed suicide, fortunately no one knew of it—and so on.

The next morning, before breakfast, Matasaburo requested the letters and had straw sandals bought.
And as soon as he finished breakfast, declaring he would walk toward the sea, he left the inn wearing only his wakizashi over his everyday clothes.

The beach there was famously known as "Kaga no Maiko," unusually possessing a wide sandy shoreline along the northern coast typically lined with rugged rocks, where pine forests stretched along the dunes. Though the wind had weakened, September marked when seas grew fierce—dark indigo swells rose high offshore while white wave crests churned endlessly, the shoreline glistening snow-white under ceaselessly shattering foam. The sandy beach curved gently until gradually giving way to stone-studded shores where waves grew wilder still from nearby currents, crashing against jagged rocks that sent violent sprays skyward. There along that stretch, fishermen's children gathered drifting seaweed with hooked poles.

Matasaburo walked along in an utterly dejected state of mind, calling out to those children and the people he encountered, asking whether there had been any drowning victims in the vicinity.

III

Matasaburo returned to Kanazawa on the fifth day, set out again immediately, and four days later came back bearing a bundle containing a comb and hairpin along with a small urn of cremated remains.

Samurai households had various strict protocols that often prevented suicides from being openly acknowledged. Nyoshou's death needed to be presented as an illness—not only to protect the Kasaishi family name but also out of deference to her fiancé.

As Hyogo remained under medical supervision, Matasaburo stayed occupied acting as substitute chief mourner until the twenty-one-day memorial service. On the night following the service's conclusion, he finally had a composed conversation with his brother.

Though Hyogo still spent most days bedridden and had only recently progressed to watery gruel meals, his stomach showed signs of recovery—his complexion had significantly improved and vitality returned to his eyes. Matasaburo chose his words carefully to avoid alarming him, yet Hyogo's face drained of color at the initial disclosure.

“The urn doesn’t contain her cremated remains?”

“I had meant to keep silent,” he said, “but thinking that too would be irresponsible—I must tell you now—the truth is, the body never surfaced.”

“Then even whether she’s dead or not—”

"No—there were personal effects at the seaside."
Matasaburo hurriedly continued, "—Near the Tedorigawa river mouth. In a pine grove about one step back from the tideline—she'd neatly removed her tied straw sandals, placed that comb and hairpin wrapped in paper atop them, all weighted down with a stone."

“Did you find it?”

“When the children found them and made a commotion, I paid some coins to retrieve them, immediately checked out of Notoya, and changed lodgings to Matsuto.”

“Then—in that urn—”

“I put in small stones from where the belongings were found, sand from the tideline, and then burned the tied straw sandals and added their ashes.”

Having said that, Matasaburo suddenly fell silent as if at a loss for words, looked down, and remained quiet for a while. When he had burned the sandals alone, a wave of pity for Nyoshou welled up in his chest, and he nearly let tears spill. When he asked the people of the beach, they explained that due to the Tedorigawa River’s strong currents pushing out to sea, drowning victims were often carried all the way to Echizen. Given the nature of the circumstance, under those conditions there was neither means nor time to search for the corpse. He had no choice but to resort to such measures, but the sorrow he felt when placing those items into the urn was beyond description.

“Then it would be best to proceed with the burial as soon as possible.”

Hyogo said.
Then he let out a sigh,

“After falling asleep, I thought about various things—the fate of our family, the span of a human life… The House of Kasaishi has known peace until now. Neither you nor I knew real hardship—we grew up without sorrow or suffering except when Father passed away. But starting about a year ago… since Mother fell ill, we’ve been plagued by Kibe’s troubles. Just when that seemed resolved—Nyoshou… and then my stomach gave out. They say misfortunes come in threes—who knows what disaster will strike next—but I can’t shake the feeling that such a fate has now befallen the House of Kasaishi.”

Uncharacteristically for Hyogo, he began speaking sentimentally. While dismissing it as a sign of frailty, Matasaburo couldn't deny harboring the same premonition in his heart.

That’s right—things had been far too smooth until now; there had never been such a peaceful and uneventful life. Perhaps the time had finally come for it all to begin crumbling.

A human life, it seemed, could not pass without unforeseen calamities, grief, and hardship.
They had seen and heard such examples to the point of weariness, but imagining that they themselves now faced similar circumstances was truly unbearable.

"I feel I may have shown insufficient sympathy toward Kibe as well."
Hyogo finally said, "I’m beginning to understand—little by little—how much he must have suffered. Nyoshou’s situation was no different, but failing to perceive the depth of her feelings—all of that stems from my own failings. To only comprehend another’s pain after being struck by misfortune oneself—it’s unbearable."

Those words lingered strongly in Matasaburo’s mind.

From the Crimson Plum Society, Ms. Baien came three times.
The four who had accompanied Nyoshou naturally came often, and the other students also visited frequently, gathering before the memorial altar to share memories and weep.
It seemed she had been quite beloved—they each recounted examples of her being a compassionate and deeply affectionate individual, appearing utterly unable to accept their loss, though naturally not a single soul doubted the account of her death from illness.
Although her fiancé Nishimori Younosuke had reached an understanding and everything seemed resolved peacefully, Matasaburo found himself unable to detach from this incident even as days passed, haunted by a mood that mingled sorrow with unease.

But had Nyoshou truly died solely because she couldn't marry? Was there not some deeper reason concealed beneath?

Such doubts gradually grew stronger, until they began to intertwine with Ugoki Kibe.

Their circumstances were similar, and Nyoshou had shown him profound affection.

Nyoshou's affection was naturally not what could be called romantic love.
Had it been love, she would have openly spoken of concealment before anyone and displayed it through her demeanor.

Kibe was the son of Ugoki Iheiji, a Kasaishi family retainer. What Nyoshou and he shared was that he too was not Iheiji's biological child—having been adopted at age three and orphaned by twelve. The Ugoki family had served the Kasaishi for three generations, and as Kibe was a gentle and quick-witted youth, he was taken into the Kasaishi household and raised in the same manner as Nyoshou and Matasaburo. By "the same manner," it meant being treated as family in all respects—no distinction was made in their daily routines, academic studies, or martial arts training.

Hyogo was eighteen years old at the time, Matasaburo and Kibe were the same age, and Nyoshou was four years younger than them both at eight. When Kibe was taken in, Nyoshou immediately grew attached to him. Despite being younger, she acted the elder sister, posed as his protector, and always became his spokesperson. At that time he was still called Kiichi, and there was scarcely a day when Nyoshou didn’t speak his name.

“Lord Kiichi’s tabi have split.”

“Lord Kiichi’s paper has gone missing.”

“Lord Kiichi seems to have caught a cold.”

That was how it went.

Matasaburo was deeply dissatisfied. He was fond of Nyoshou from the beginning, doting on her so excessively that he often made her cry—behavior for which he was frequently reprimanded by his elder brother and mother. He was told that one couldn’t tell whether his doting stemmed from affection or hatred, but Nyoshou must have understood his true feelings—for no matter how much he made her cry, Matasaburo was unreserved with her compared to anyone else, begging for things or acting spoiled.

Even after Kibe joined them, there remained no change in that regard.
To Matasaburo, she stayed more intimate than anyone else, freely acting spoiled or clinging to him.
With Kibe however, things stood entirely different—though he couldn't voice complaints, his dissatisfaction persisted endlessly, and at times he vented pent-up frustrations on Kibe.
Once he struck him,

“You’re just a servant—don’t get cocky,” he had once said.
Kibe never resisted—even when insulted or struck, he would silently bow his head—but on that occasion, their father became furious.
“What kind of man just takes a beating in silence? Don’t hold back—hit him back!” their father barked harshly.
Matasaburo too, for having said “You’re just a servant,” received an unprecedented scolding and one painfully memorable fist blow from their father.
Such a thing had happened only once before or since...

IV

In the year Matasaburo turned twenty-one, his elder brother Hyogo married.
And taking that opportunity, Kibe left home; through their father’s efforts, he began working in the construction office and was granted a government residence to become independent.

From that time onward, Matasaburo had almost no interaction with him.
The following year when their father died, he once came to help overnight.
When Kibe later married, Matasaburo attended the ceremony in his brother’s stead.
Four years later, Kibe’s wife grew frail after bearing a son and devoted herself to recuperation, but ultimately passed away this January... This occurred just after Matasaburo’s marriage arrangements had been finalized and he had entered the Miura family as a son-in-law. Though unaware of the detailed circumstances and having no desire to learn them, he was startled when Kibe suddenly visited to request a loan of fifteen ryo.

Don’t be absurd—I’ve only just married into this family! How could I possibly have that kind of spare money? If anything, I’m the one who needs it here!

Kibe went to Kasaishi.
I later heard Hyogo had managed to arrange some funds for him.
Then after several days, he went to borrow again.
When they pressed him for reasons, it emerged he’d used public money during his wife’s long illness and funeral—funds he couldn’t repay—and had apparently wept.
Since Hyogo was a meticulous man,

"It would be wrong to sweep such matters under the rug. Since he had already used public funds, he could not escape responsibility for that crime. First, we must clarify his accountability; only then could we discuss assistance."

This is what he reportedly said.
Then, after some thirty days had passed, Kibe fled with his two-year-old child.
It appeared he had sold off his meager household goods, leaving behind a letter alongside what little money remained.
Addressed to Hyogo, it pleaded: "By the bonds forged through our ancestors' generations, I beg you - make up the shortfall and settle matters with the offices. This debt of gratitude I shall carry beyond death."
Such was the letter's substance.

Hyogo became furious and attempted to report it immediately.
However, his ailing mother and Nyoshou interceded, and since the Kasaishi family bore responsibility regarding Kibe, he ultimately had to handle the aftermath.

It was the evening of Tanabata when Matasaburo visited Kasaishi after a long absence and drank sake with his brother at their mother’s bedside. When the topic of Kibe came up, Matasaburo remarked in an offhand tone that he hadn’t known the man was such a disreputable sort. Then Nyoshou, who had been serving them, suddenly retorted in a vehement tone.

“You’re absolutely right, Elder Brother Miura—instead of dithering over such a trivial misdeed, he should have just committed seppuku! What does he intend to do once he’s run away with his young child in tow? Does he mean to become a beggar in the end?”

“You got terribly angry there... That’s enough now.”

Matasaburo stopped her.
Nyoshou’s eyes brimmed with tears, her lips quivering as though she might burst into sobs at any moment.

“You should worry about your own situation rather than Kibe’s—just how long do you plan to remain unmarried? You’re already twenty-one.”

He steered the conversation away in that manner.

In hindsight, he had come to imagine that Nyoshou’s anger stemmed not from reproaching Kibe, but from profound pity.
The reason Matasaburo had brought up the matter of marriage at that time was that he had heard from an acquaintance on the Miura side about a proposal involving Nishimori Younosuke and that Nyoshou remained as reluctant as ever.

Nyoshou had always possessed a likable nature, and from the age of fifteen or sixteen onward, she frequently received marriage proposals.
Her features were average, but her softly rounded face held charm, and her bright, guileless nature seemed to endear her to others.
Though moles beneath the eyes were said to lend a forlorn look, Nyoshou’s instead appeared to soften her expression.
...Initially, Mother had refused the marriage proposals—since they had finally been blessed with a daughter, she wanted to keep her by their side a while longer. Such was her reasoning.
Even a child not borne of her own womb—a mother would still find her daughter precious.
Nyoshou, for her part,

“I will become Dear Brother Matasaburo’s bride.”

She would say such things with perfect nonchalance. Then when Mother’s stance began shifting, it became Nyoshou who shook her head this time—insisting she would remain by her mother’s side forever—persisting in refusal through all subsequent proposals.

"That's right—Kibe was certainly one of the causes as well."

Upon carefully reconsidering everything, Matasaburo muttered to himself alone.

"Their circumstances were so alike—she had loved him so dearly, sheltering him like an elder sister—yet it all ended in wretched misfortune. In their hearts, they must have endured sorrow and anguish far surpassing even their own suffering."

Nyoshou’s despairing view of life—Matasaburo felt he understood it with painful clarity. And in such moments he thought: had Mother been her true parent, had his elder brother and he been blood kin—perhaps she wouldn’t have sunk into such solitary despair, perhaps death might have been avoided. With these thoughts, his pity and sorrow only deepened.

“Into that rough, cold-hued sea… With what feelings must she have submerged herself?”

He closed his eyes and conjured the beach called Kagano Maiko.
Then came the pine wind’s whisper and waves’ roar echoing through his skull—tears spilled forth beyond containing.

5

Hyogo made a full recovery after about thirty days and began attending to his duties from mid-October.

Could it be that misfortune had come to visit the Kasaishi household?

These fears had not yet abated, but by year’s end their mother began holding her recovery celebration, and in late January, daughter-in-law Ayame gave birth to a girl. Though Mother would reportedly remain under the doctor’s care for some time yet, the two-year-long dark shadow that had shrouded the family at last lifted, enveloping them in a warm, blessed mood as though a tender spring breeze had swept through.

In November of that year, Matasaburo's wife also gave birth to a boy in Miura.

In Kasaishi, their mother had fully recovered her health, and Hyogo, soon after the new year began, was promoted from storehouse officer to inner chamber elder with an increase of approximately fifty koku.
Matasaburo, who had been without an official post until then, was also ordered that autumn to take up regular duties and given a position as public scribe.

Thus uneventfully passed the days and months.
They might even be called fortunate days; those anxious sorrowful memories gradually faded until now they were scarcely recalled.
Nearly five years—since Nyoshou's incident—at March's beginning in the fourth full year came utterly unexpected news that overturned all those happy years they had known until then.

It was an unseasonably warm evening with a southerly wind blowing when an urgent summons arrived from Kasaishi demanding immediate attendance.
Having just finished dinner, Matasaburo set out as he was.
Hyogo was in the living room, as though he couldn’t wait for him to sit down,

“I hear Nyoshou is alive.”

Hyogo said.
It was a sharp, pointed tone, as though accusing them of some crime.
Matasaburo was startled and stared at his brother’s face for a time.

“What do you mean?”

“Nyoshou is alive in Suruga Province’s capital. And it appears she’s with Ugoki Kibe.”

“No way… That Nyoshou?”

“The part about Kibe is my conjecture, but there’s no mistake regarding Nyoshou—because Ms. Baien went and saw her.”

“Ms. Kotachi is the one who…? How in the world…”

That year coincided with the celebratory rites for Lord Maeda.
Ms. Baien traveled from Tōtōmi through Suruga to Sagami provinces to create a volume of Tōkai travel poems for presentation at those rites.
In Suruga Province's capital, she caught a cold and remained bedridden at an inn for about ten days, during which time she reportedly saw Nyoshou.
Nyoshou made her rounds to inns every three days to arrange flowers.
This appeared to be one of her means of livelihood, and Ms. Baien glimpsed her twice during these circuits.
Though she never came to Ms. Baien's room, on the second occasion—since this was someone who should have been dead—the scholar examined her carefully and confirmed it was unmistakably Nyoshou.
Assuming special circumstances made direct address unwise, Ms. Baien discreetly inquired about her situation with an inn maid.
They said her name was Oson, wife of a ronin called Yuki Ippei who had come to the area three years prior.
There were two children.
The husband taught reading and writing at home due to poor health while the wife attended tea ceremony lessons, made floral rounds at inns, and took sewing commissions—thus sustaining their family of four through combined efforts.

“That may be so, but I simply cannot bring myself to believe it’s true.”

“Earlier, Ms. Baien came herself to tell me—‘It might just be an uncanny resemblance to someone else, and I’ll certainly never breathe a word of it to anyone, but regardless, as a precaution...’ That was her kindness toward us. Moreover, the ronin’s name Yuki Ippei sounds quite similar to Ugoki Kibe—they say aliases often bear some resemblance—but I can’t help but feel it’s Kibe.”

“If this turns out to be true, we cannot let it be.”

Though he found it utterly unbelievable, Matasaburo looked at his brother as he spoke.
Hyogo’s cheek twitched repeatedly.

“Once again I must ask this of you—can you arrange your duties?”

“The distance makes the required days problematic—but since His Lordship isn’t in residence, I believe I could secure leave by pressing matters somewhat.”

“I will also submit a request—though what reason to state…”

“I will handle that matter, but should we go and confirm it is indeed the two of them—what would you do?”

“You understand already—Kibe and Nyoshou have violated national law. They’ll likely take their own lives together, but should they show any reluctance to act accordingly, we’ll have no choice but to cut them down.”

“—Nyoshou too?”

“She was supposed to have died once.”
Hyogo’s voice trembled with anger. “—If this were to become known to the world, not only would the Kasaishi family name be ruined—your very life would not remain unscathed.”

Kibe had used public funds to flee.
If apprehended, he could not avoid ritual suicide.
Nyoshou's death had been confirmed by Matasaburo, who had even retrieved her cremated remains for burial—were this to come to light, it would constitute a crime on Matasaburo's part.

“Putting aside the debt of gratitude we owe our parents—even though she was raised alongside us as siblings in the same household—she cannot be permitted to continue living while causing such trouble. There’s no justification for allowing such a thing. We must either make her commit seppuku or cut her down—one or the other. Do you understand, Matasaburo?”

Matasaburo silently nodded.

VI

Having obtained official permission, two days later Matasaburo departed Kanazawa.

It was a fine season for travel, but his mind was restless, so the scenery along the way hardly registered with him. Switching between palanquin and horse, he entered Ina via the Shinano Road, then descended along the Tenryū River—also making use of boat services—toward Tōtōmi. At a place called Futamata, he parted from the river and made his way through to Kakegawa on the Tōkaidō, but after seven days of relentless travel, even he had wearied; with Fuchū still over ten ri ahead, he allowed himself a day’s rest at an inn in Kakegawa.

—Let it be a case of mistaken identity.

He thought this with a prayer-like feeling.
On the other hand, the anger at having been betrayed grew steadily stronger.
It was a fierce anger that seemed to prove the depth of his affection for Nyoshou.

If she truly was with Kibe—yes, if that proved true—

They couldn't be allowed to live—at the very least, Kibe had to be struck down.
Matasaburo's resolve gradually hardened.
Though his desperate wish for mistaken identity still lingered within him...

He arrived in Fuchū around two o'clock in the afternoon on the sixteenth.
He stayed at an inn called Koshikiya in Ryōgaemachi.
Since it was a secondary lodging, he assumed she would undoubtedly come to arrange flowers there, but upon inquiring just to be certain, he learned today was indeed her scheduled day and she would be coming around shortly.

“Do you know Ms. Oson?”

“I don’t exactly know her, but I once saw her arrange flowers beautifully.”

“Many people often say that. If you’d like, I’ll have her come here to arrange them.”

“Well...”

He had meant to ask for her address and visit directly.
But considering the possibility of mistaken identity, he requested they send her instead.

With few guests apparent, the inn lay quiet.
Soaking in the newly rebuilt spacious bath, he heard rain begin to fall.
Though falling softly, through the high open window he saw paulownia branches with swelling purple buds grow swiftly damp.

When he left the bath and returned to the second-floor sitting room, a maid soon brought tea.
From behind her came a woman carrying flower arrangement tools, who then modestly pressed her hands to the floor in the corner.
“She goes by Ms. Oson; please extend your kind patronage.”
The maid said this, offered tea, then spread out a mat there and arranged the water basin and water containers before leaving.

The woman was Nyoshou.
He recognized both the modest striped kimono—apparently mended multiple times—and the worn thick obi.
However, her face had changed; the once plump rounded cheeks had thinned, and the hairline had receded.
The skin had lost its luster and was sunburned; around the corners of the eyes and sides of the nose, wrinkles had formed prominently.
And that tear-stained mole had grown shockingly large, appearing as though something foreign clung to the face.

--To have been reduced to this state.

Matasaburo's frame trembled.

--Kibe, that wretch--to have brought Nyoshou to such a condition.

A fresh anger surged upward with terrible force.
Just as he meant to speak, Nyoshou--still arranging her tools--turned her gaze toward him for the first time.
Matasaburo held silent.
Nyoshou's eyes flew wide; her lips parted.
No sound emerged; her body appeared frozen.
Her angular shoulders began shuddering violently; her face turned the hue of sun-baked clay.

“I told myself it couldn’t be true...”
Matasaburo said, “It was true after all—you’re alive, Nyoshou. And you’re truly with Kibe?”

Nyoshou closed her eyes.
At the same time, her body swayed unsteadily; she barely caught herself with both hands—but it seemed too weak to support itself.

“You understand why I’ve come.”

Nyoshou faintly nodded.

“Ms. Kotachi spotted you and told us—she said she wouldn’t speak of it further, but such things never remain hidden forever... Elder Brother Kasaishi and I believed your suicide note. I went to Komatsu, found your hairpin and sandals at Teraai Beach... thought you’d died, fashioned an urn of remains to bring home. We reported you’d succumbed to illness during your travels—naturally everyone including society accepts this. Should it become known here that you live—that you dwell with Kibe—you grasp what would become of the Kasaishi name and myself without my needing to elaborate.”

“—I died once.”

Nyoshou said.
Her voice was thin and hoarse, so faint it could barely be heard.
She kept her hands planted on the floor and head bowed... yet her words came clear.

"—When I removed my sandals at that beach and wrapped my hair implements—in that moment, I died. The one before you now is not Nyoshou."

“And was that your wish? To become so emaciated, to take on such a wretched form—was that truly preferable to remaining Nyoshou?”

“I had to stay by him—ever since I was little, it’s always been that way, always… Though I’m sure Elder Brother Hyogo of Kasaishi and you could never understand.”

“What part of it wouldn’t we understand?”

“Everything about it.”

Finally, Nyoshou raised herself up.
With her fingers interlaced on her lap, tightly clasped as if wringing them out, her face remained downcast as she continued quietly.

"The Kasaishi household was warm and peaceful—sorrow and misfortune cast not even a shadow there. You and Elder Brother Hyogo likely never once experienced hardship or suffering. He was born to retainers and orphaned. Though through your parents’ kindness, he was raised as one of the family, being a retainer’s child and an orphan remained unchanged."

“Are you saying we made distinctions?”

“No, not at all—… Your parents and all of you truly treated us well; there was never any discrimination whatsoever—… But whenever he was scolded or praised, his face would clearly show the memory of his deceased parents.”

“A real father would scold him like this; a real mother would praise him like this.”
“He can never meet those parents again; no matter what he does, he can never touch their sleeves again.”
“…those emotions would manifest with heartbreaking clarity—whenever I saw them, my chest would ache as if splitting apart.”
“And I would always rack my childish wits over how to distract him from that sorrow, how best to offer comfort.”
Nyoshou said.

“Neither Elder Brother Hyogo nor you could ever come to understand these feelings. Those blessed with a wealthy, warm home and kind, splendid parents—living happily—could never comprehend the pain of wounds or the depth of misfortune borne by the sorrowful and broken.”

Nyoshou explained that Kibe had been timid and too kind-hearted for his own good. When he gained independence and established his own household by taking a wife, he believed he had finally grasped happiness. But his wife's health deteriorated after childbirth until she fell gravely ill. The happiness he thought he'd secured began crumbling away in his hands. He panicked—utterly, wretchedly panicked. To cure his wife's illness and restore his family's well-being, he resolved to pay any price demanded of him.

To Hyogo and Matasaburo, he would only appear timid and weak-willed; even if explained, they surely could not understand.
In the end, he lost his wife and was left with only the fact that he had misappropriated office funds.
He frantically tried to secure funds but ultimately couldn’t manage even that amount.
And Hyogo ordered him to come forward and take clear responsibility.

“Did that bastard really blabber all that?”

Matasaburo, unable to contain himself, said.
But Nyoshou continued, letting it go unheard.

“What was natural for Elder Brother Hyogo, he could not do. To leave behind a child who had just begun to walk and confess his crimes—he could not do that. And I could not bring myself to ask him to do so.”

“Were you meeting with Kibe?”

“I left school early every day to go help with the household chores—because how else could he have managed alone with a child?”

“You knew about his absconding too, didn’t you?”

“He tried to commit seppuku—I came upon him in that dangerous moment and stopped it. Then I pleaded through tears that the three of us begin a new life together.”

Kibe was so worn out that he lacked the strength to do so.
However, he finally resolved himself and temporarily hid in Fukui.
That was in April; Nyoshou had him take the pocket money she’d saved and funds from selling belongings.
Then, in September, they joined the Crimson Plum Society’s trip. However, since taking Sankin Road would risk being noticed by household members, they detoured far through Omi Road to reach Tokaido.

“After settling here for three years, our second son Jiro was born. Though we live in poverty, the four of us as parent and child are content… Ugoki Kibe and Nyoshou no longer exist in this world. I beg of you—please leave us undisturbed. If our presence here displeases you, we will go somewhere farther still—a place never seen by members of the household… I implore you, Dear Brother Matasaburo.”

Nyoshou planted both hands and bowed the head.
And she broke into violent sobs.

Seven

“I cannot give a reply here and now.”

After some time, Matasaburo said.

"Elder Brother said they should either commit suicide or be cut down... I think this too—I understand your desire to protect Kibe, but he must not accept that protection. He shouldn't have the right to reduce you to this wretched state and burden you with endless hardships stretching who knows how long into the future. That much I cannot forgive."

"So you still cannot understand after all."
Nyoshou shook her head while crying. "We had no choice but to do this—and even now, you still cannot understand that we are happy, Dear Brother Matasaburo."

“Let’s go tomorrow and deliver our answer. If he retains even a shred of male pride, tell him not to resort to cowardly ploys this time.”

Nyoshou stopped crying and, while wiping tears, held her breath. Her shoulders drooped, and her face became mask-like and expressionless. Exhausted and despairing, she appeared unable to think of anything. That remained vividly etched in Matasaburo’s eyes.

――Poor Nyoshou.

After lying down that night, Matasaburo muttered this and wiped his tears countless times.
His anger toward Kibe only continued to intensify.
It nearly escalated to hatred.

“He’s a terrible bastard.”

He said while clenching his fist under the futon.

“What a terrible bastard!”

The rain still hadn't stopped come morning.

Though there was little chance of him fleeing, he left the inn before breakfast as a precaution.
Last night, Nyoshou had returned without arranging any flowers, her face tear-streaked, so the inn staff must have grown suspicious; when borrowing an umbrella, the maid had glared at him with unmistakable hostility.

The residence was west of Sengen Shrine, in a place called Inomiya, it was said.
Circling Sunpu Castle’s outer moat and passing behind samurai residences, soon the hazy green of Shizuhata Mountain came into view ahead.
...Compared to Kanazawa, the town itself was smaller, and the houses were lower and narrower.
And after walking about ten blocks, the rows of houses grew sparse, revealing to the left broad expanses of wasteland, fields, and the flow of the Abe River.

Matasaburo abruptly stopped.

On the right side of the road stood a solitary house, with kerria flowers blooming along its fence.
He was drawn by their vivid color.
He found himself drawing closer without realizing it.
The kerria was within a four-paned bamboo lattice fence, yet its branches extended beyond the enclosure.
As someone had—"These should be placed in a hat"—remarked, the supplely bending branches, drenched by the rain, appeared all the heavier.
The young pale green leaves, and the large-petaled single-layer flowers as well, were drenched by the rain, bending heavily just the same.

He stood as if in a daze.

―That one only comes to understand others' suffering when misfortune befalls oneself―this truth was unbearable.

Those words echoed deep within his ears.
That was something his brother had once said—he didn’t know through what association, but it rang as clear and real as reality itself.

He was still looking at the kerria flowers.
Among the intertwining branches, two particular ones extended in an entangled form.
Heavily drenched and bent, they nestled together, cradling the flowers.
He was looking at those two branches—they were unlike the others, they resembled Nyoshou and Kibe.

When misfortune befell me...

Matasaburo suddenly raised his face.

A person came out into the garden—perhaps there were vegetables over there—a woman holding an umbrella and carrying a bamboo basket.

“This is truly difficult to ask,” Matasaburo called out, “but might I take some of these kerria flowers? What do you think?”

The woman looked toward him.
She appeared quite young, almost girlish, but had plucked eyebrows and wore a wig.
The woman smiled amiably and replied.

“Yes, please take as much as you like.”

Then immediately,

“Oh, your clothes will get wet—let me cut them for you. Please wait just a moment.”

The woman returned home and brought flower scissors and paper. And opening the brushwood door, she came out this way, rolled up one sleeve tightly, reached her hand into the fence, and skillfully cut the flower branches.

――Those two branches would suffice, but―

He tried to say this but remained silent and watched.

The woman’s arm was softly fleshed and white, pulsing with healthy young blood.
As the scissors made their soothing sound, several falling petals clung to that white, smooth skin.

――What should I tell Elder Brother?

Matasaburo had been thinking this with a feeling akin to liberation, a refreshing clarity.