Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yamamoto Shūgorō

I

The girl was about to step out of the bath bucket.

“What do you think, Master? Quite a figure, isn’t she?”

The proprietress whispered in a hoarse voice.

“What do you think, Master? A body that beautiful—you won’t find one in a thousand. In this line of work, I’ve seen plenty of women’s bodies, but that’s what they call true ‘smooth as rice cakes’ or ‘satin-smooth’ skin. Such flawless texture, such perfect fleshiness… Well, take a good look. If this doesn’t please you, you’ll incur divine punishment.”

With that said, Okami left.
This was a dim, lantern-lit four-and-a-half-mat room, with a two-inch square hole cut into part of the wall and covered by two layers of black gauze.
The other side had a horizontal black-sanded surface only there, so unless someone lit a lamp on this side, it remained undetectable.
Wazuke pressed his face against the gauze in a posture that seemed to meld with it, staring intently into the bath area.

The girl’s name was Okei, and she was seventeen years old.
With her petite, compact frame, her figure appeared unrecognizably fuller compared to when clothed in a kimono.
The fullness of her chest and the rich contours of her hips held a roundedness that spoke of maturity far beyond her years.
Her skin, warmed by the bathwater, had turned a pale peach hue, wrapped in what seemed like a hazy luminescence.

A fine body.
Among all he had seen before, she undoubtedly stood out.

He had already met seven such girls at this Obana-ya.
Since the conditions he offered were favorable, they must have selected quite carefully—among them, there were about three that seemed almost worthy.
However, he was in no hurry.
He intended not to settle until he found someone who met all his preferences—someone he could truly be satisfied with.
The eighth was Okei—today being their second meeting—but when they first met four or five days prior, she had generally pleased him, leading to today’s arrangement to inspect her physique.

While washing herself from neck to chest and abdomen to thighs with a rice bran bag, Okei would occasionally rise to draw more water, presenting various angles and postures—front, back, left, right—to the observer.
Perhaps Okami had instructed her, or perhaps she acted with complete innocence—regardless, every detail of the body’s taut lines, curves, fullness, and lush swellings could be observed in their entirety: stretching, rising, softly narrowing.
And indeed, it was beautiful.
When she stood or crouched, rather ungraceful lines would appear, yet they carried not the slightest hint of lewdness or indecency.
It seemed to stem neither from being seventeen years old nor from inexperience with men, but from some entirely different reason—one might say a purity at the core, an innate modesty born with her.
It seemed to stem from a simple and beautiful nature—one that would never be tainted.

It might be true—there’s not even one in a thousand. She’s undeniably different from other women; she possesses something they lack.

While thinking this, Wazuke became ensnared in fantasies of taming and awakening her; he unconsciously let out a deep sigh but soon left the spot with lingering reluctance.
...he stopped by the proprietress’s room, told her to bring sake as they had matters to discuss privately, and then waited in the same small sitting room upstairs where they had met before.

Okei soon came up.

“Come over here and sit down.”

When she finished preparing the meal tray, Wazuke said this and beckoned her to his side.
Without any feigned hesitation yet showing a hint of shyness, Okei obediently came and sat down.

“I am determined to arrange matters for you—but what do you say? Will you tend to me?”

“Yes.”
“Though unworthy as I am, I humbly ask if this meets your approval.”

Okei answered in a voice surprisingly resolute.

“As for the preparation fee and allowance, I’ll keep to what I stated earlier. If other financial needs arise, I’ll do everything I can—but”—he paused—“if you agree to come, there’s one thing I must make clear.”

Wazuke said this without touching the sake.

“You must cut all ties with your family. I’ll send the monthly provisions without fail—should anything happen to your mother, that’s different—but otherwise, I won’t allow any coming and going.”

“Yes, I have heard that from the proprietress here.”

“In short, I wish to withdraw from the world—once settled, I will share my circumstances in time—but I want complete separation from society and human connections. I mean to sever all troublesome dealings, scheming born of greed, every last noisy entanglement…to pass my remaining years in quiet solitude, undisturbed by anyone.”

Okei kept her face down and nodded quietly.

“Regarding the location of the house we’ll be living in together this time—I haven’t informed even my own relatives, and I intend not to inform your family either. If even one person finds out, it’ll spread from one to another, and naturally people will start coming and going. I’m making this clear as well—is that acceptable?”

Wazuke’s manner of speaking took on a coercive edge.
Okei obediently nodded to this as well, then raised her eyes and asked.

“If something happens to Mother… will you ensure I find out immediately?”

“Of course I will do that—and once settled, I’ll occasionally send someone to check on her too. But you must never reveal the location. I must state this condition clearly. If you agree to that, I’ll take care of matters.”

“Yes, I humbly ask this of you.”

“Then pour me a cup.”

Wazuke took the cup.
It was a rather affected gesture, as if implying that his delayed drinking until now held some ceremonial significance.

“You’ll have one with this cup too—it’s a formality, after all.”
He handed Okei the cup, poured the sake himself, and said, “—And once you’ve drunk that, go call the proprietress and the landlord. We’ll settle matters and hand over what needs to be handed over. The palanquin to fetch you will likely be sent within four or five days.”

Okei drank it all in one gulp and then tried to stand up to call the proprietress.
Then, as if she had tripped, she staggered and dropped to one knee.
Wazuke quickly reached out to support her,

“The numbness must have worn off. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Having said that, he tried to help her up.

“I’m sorry, but no—I’m all right now.”

Okei gently pulled away from Wazuke’s hand and exited with sliding steps.
Wazuke watched her retreating figure, his right hand clenching tightly as if confirming the moistly soft, damply cold sensation of the girl’s hand he had just grasped, while a greedy smile played about his lips.

Two

After leaving Obana-ya, Okei and Manbei walked to Hamaguri-chō almost without speaking a word.
Manbei, his spine beginning to bend, walked hunched forward as if carrying a heavy load, his gait appearing terribly burdensome, and repeatedly let out deep sighs from his throat.

“Well… um… I’ve certainly taken custody of it.”

It was only when parting that Manbei spoke these words for the first time.
He seemed unable to look this way.

Okei silently smiled but entered the tenement alleyway as she was. …When she returned home, Dr. Ryōan was there.
It seemed that her mother, Otami, had suffered another seizure—the neighbor Omura had tended to her—but the usual medicine seemed to have begun taking effect, as her mother now appeared to be drifting into a doze.

“I’ve finally managed to arrange the money.”

While seeing the doctor out, Okei said in a low voice:

“I’ll clear the overdue payments as well, and I will never cause you any bother from now on—please, I ask of you.”

The doctor nodded while looking straight ahead.
He seemed about to say something but remained silent, took his medicine case, and left.

“The tea’s ready, Okei-chan.”

Omura called out in a whisper, as if to avoid disturbing the patient.
Okei looked at her mother’s condition—her lips were slightly parted, emitting soft, peaceful breaths.
Okei quietly came to sit beside the neighboring woman.

“Thank you for everything, Auntie.”

“It might’ve gotten lukewarm.”
“After serving Dr. Ryōan…”

Pouring tea soundlessly for her and then for herself, Omura peered at her.

“How did it go, the talk?”

“Yes, I’ve settled everything completely.”

“What about the person—does he seem decent?”

“I’m not sure.”
Okei took the teacup and averted her eyes. “—But he was a calm person. Slightly plump, sturdy-looking.”

“What kind of business does he run?”

“I don’t know—he says he has shops in Osaka and here, and it seems quite large—but even the proprietress of Obana-ya doesn’t seem to know where those shops are or what exactly he trades in.”

“Okei-chan, you say that, but if he turns out to be someone who’s done bad things, wouldn’t that be awful?”

“It can’t be helped. I need the money.”
Okei smiled.

“Even if he’s a thief or a convict… But it’s all right, Auntie—it seems certain he isn’t that sort of person.”

Omura sighed.
Then, using the edge of the hand towel draped around her collar, she pressed it wordlessly to her mouth, let her shoulders slump once more, and sighed again.

“If you hadn’t been born a woman—then you wouldn’t have to feel such sorrow now. But being a woman means you can at least do this much, Okei-chan. If you were a man your age, you couldn’t even buy your mother one proper dose of medicine.”

“That’s probably not the case.”

“But look at Mr. Uzukichi—he’s twenty-one and a full-fledged craftsman, yet when his younger brother Take had that terrible injury, he still couldn’t afford to keep seeing the doctor, didn’t he? If they’d kept treating Take until he fully recovered back then, he might not have died… When you think of that, Otami is fortunate. You’re still young, you’re pretty, and the time will surely come when even this becomes a laughing matter. Life isn’t all bad while you’re alive—don’t mope, be your usual self and endure this, Okei-chan.”

“It’s all right, Auntie. I’m not moping around at all—there’s no other way but this. If I kept thinking about feeling ashamed or sad or miserable, I couldn’t survive even a single day.”

Okei said this, looked at Omura with sparkling eyes, and laughed brightly.

“Rather than that, Auntie—there’s something I need to ask of you.”

“Don’t talk like we’re strangers—not that I’m one to put on airs, but really, why so stiff?”

“It’s about after I’m gone.”

Okei gave a summary of the agreement with Wazuke.

“So that’s why—the landlord has agreed to handle things like collecting the monthly items from Obana-ya and dealing with that person’s troublesome matters—but I still want to ask you, Auntie, to look after Mother.”

“Isn’t that obvious? I’ve known since this matter first came up.”

“That’s not it—it’s not like I’m asking for anything new now, but rather, the difference is that I won’t be here anymore.”
“Leaving aside daytime, I can’t have you taking care of her until midnight—that’s why I thought of something.”

Omura had a sister named Matsuno.
She lived in Honjo Yokoami and sometimes came to visit, whom Okei knew well, but she must have been around fifty by now.
Her husband had been a boatman for fishing vessels, but last winter he went out to sea with their nineteen-year-old son Heikichi and encountered a sudden gust—both perished. ……Since then she had been making a living through sewing and similar work, but Okei suggested having that woman come to her house.

“Oh, I see… That’s one way to handle it. But Okei-chan, you know how much of a dawdler that person can be.”

“But you’ll be right next door to help, isn’t that right?”
Okei smiled knowingly. “Also—and I’ll say this clearly, so don’t get angry—it’s about the money. When I said I wanted someone to look after Mother, they agreed to give an extra one monme each month. So I’d like Auntie in Yokomami to put up with this arrangement…”

“Alright, I’ll take it.”

Omura’s eyes suddenly moistened.

“Okei-chan, I don’t intend to take a single monme from you, but I understand refusing would leave you unsettled—and truth be told, it’ll help my sister too.”

“I’m so relieved—I was on edge thinking you might scold me.”

“If it weren’t for times like these, I wouldn’t let you off with just a scolding!” Omura also laughed. “—Well then, I’ll notify Yokoami right away.”

Having said this, Omura soon left.

III

Mother did not wake until the evening meal.
When everything was ready, she woke her up and had her eat; after administering the herbal decoction and emergency dose—which took effect with startling speed—she immediately fell asleep again.

There’s medicine like this that works so well—why on earth does it require paying an exorbitant amount of money to obtain it?

Okei thought this while looking at her mother’s sleeping face.

Three years had passed since Otami fell ill.
She had always seemed frail, but since giving birth to Okei appeared to have lost her vitality—it was said she had never stayed healthy for a hundred consecutive days.
Even from when Okei could remember, tasks like cooking and laundry were mostly handled by her father Shichizō.
Even when Otami’s physical condition improved temporarily, he never let her do the laundry.
…Shichizō had worked as a craftsman at a gardening shop called Uehiba in Yamamoto-chō—this was after moving to their current tenement—arranged through Genji who lived in the same alley.
Genji had been a craftsman at Uehiba since his apprenticeship days and was said to do excellent work, but with five children besides his eldest son Uzukichi and being an inveterate drinker himself, his family remained trapped in dire poverty.
Thus from age eleven or twelve, Uzukichi had no choice but to help at Uehiba alongside his father to support their household.

“Illness ain’t something you can do anything about—humans can’t beat sickness.”

Okei still vividly remembered Genji’s figure—how he would come home drunk almost every night and invariably say such things.

“My drinkin’s a sickness—this one thing I just can’t control myself, eh Shichizō? You’re sufferin’ ’cause of Otami’s illness, but Otami makin’ you suffer like this—that’s even harder on her, ain’t it? That’s what they call marital love… Me too—this drink makes my wife and kids suffer. I know it. That Uzukichi brat ain’t worth pityin’. It pains me to say it, but there’s no helpin’ it—this drink’s somethin’ I can’t quit. Love between husband and wife, parent and child—none of that matters, y’know. You can’t beat sickness.”

From Genji’s drunken ramblings like this, Okei heard many other things as well—that her father Shichizō had once worked at a pawnshop near Kyōbashi; that Otami had been the shop’s adopted daughter; that they had fallen in love but could no longer conceal their affair when the time came for her to take a husband as per the shop’s plans; that they were ultimately disowned and expelled with nothing but the clothes on their backs… Though Genji had recounted these fragments in a half-jesting manner, they remained in Okei’s memory as a strong impression.

It was unclear how much of Genji’s stories were factual; her father and mother had never spoken of such things.
It was not something she could bring herself to interrogate them about either, but whenever she saw her father cooking and doing laundry without a resentful expression, or her mother ordering meals from bed toward such a husband, it seemed to confirm the relationship between a pawnshop’s adopted daughter and a shop employee—and Okei would often feel a sorrowful, aching emotion.

After Genji died four years ago, Uzukichi began commuting to Uehiba with Shichizō.
Uzukichi—four years older than Okei and only seventeen at the time—could not support his mother and five younger siblings through his labor alone. They sent one sister out as a nursemaid and dispatched their twelve-year-old brother to apprentice at a cloth merchant in Nihonbashi Ishimachi. Even with their mother taking in piecework, they barely scraped by.

Poor thing—Uzukichi didn’t bring a lunch again today.

Such remarks from her father were hardly unusual, nor was it rare for Okei to witness him discreetly delivering small coins or rice—five or ten times over at minimum. ……Now this burden had shifted to Okei herself. Shichizō—who neither drank nor smoked and had worked without respite or indulgence—had contracted a bowel disease during the previous winter and died abruptly. From that day forth, everything rested upon her shoulders.

Her mother had already been bedridden for over three years, but it was only when she began caring for her herself that she fully grasped both the nature of the illness and what made the medicine so prohibitively expensive.
What had apparently begun as a simple gynecological condition worsened into violent cramping attacks requiring emergency doses—an imported medication banned under official decree, rendering its acquisition nearly impossible from the very first step.
……Okei had learned this truth thirty days prior.
Over six desperate months, she had borrowed from landlord Manbei and sold off possessions down to what should have been worthless.

Father was fortunate.

Mother often said such things as if talking to herself.

“Father never suffered a long illness—died so quickly… If only I could’ve taken his place instead. To still be alive like this, making you endure such hardship and pain… They say it’s the weight of my karma, but truly—how I envy Father.”

Uzukichi also provided great support amid his own hardships.
He was of a taciturn nature and always wore a perpetually sullen expression; the help he could offer was limited, but for Okei, he was a great emotional support and someone she could rely on.
And so their feelings rapidly grew closer.

“Let’s endure this, Okei-chan. Things’ll get better in time—just a bit longer. I know it’s hard, but we’ll manage somehow.”

Uzukichi said this to encourage her.
Yet he himself had been struck by misfortune.
His youngest brother Takeji, nine years old, had suffered a terrible injury that New Year.
While climbing a tree to play, the boy fell—splitting his forehead and breaking his right thighbone.
They’d taken him straight to a doctor and bone-setter, and though he seemed healed at first, forty days later the fractured thigh began festering. Before they knew it, gangrene set in, and he died.

"It was that bone-setter’s fault," they said.

The neighbors voiced this aloud, yet everyone understood the treatment itself had been insufficient.
The poor could never receive proper care from doctors.
They all knew too well—once illness struck, it meant ruin.
...When Okei heard the doctor explain her mother’s condition and the medicine’s nature, she resolved herself then and there.
Payments owed to the doctor had accumulated, debts had mounted—there was nothing left to sell.

“It would be better for Mr. Uzukichi’s sake too if I did this.”

If things stayed as they were, Uzukichi watching her would suffer—with this thought, she steeled herself.
Then through a neighbor’s acquaintance connected to such matters, she set out for a place called Obana-ya.

“Get well soon, Mother.”

Okei faced her mother’s sleeping countenance and whispered into the air.

“I’ll be gone, but you won’t have to fret over medicine costs anymore—you’ll eat proper meals too. I’ll beg that man to let us live together if possible, and even if not, once you’re cured we can be together… So rest well and get better quickly, Mother.”

Otami lay thin yet swollen-faced with pallid skin，teeth peeking through parted lips as she slept deeply with peaceful expression.

Having finished cleaning after supper and laid out her mother’s half-mended undergarment，Okei received Uzukichi’s visit—his arrival furtive as if avoiding notice.
Uncharacteristically，the youth’s eyes shone bright while jaw muscles stood taut beneath rigid cheeks.

“Come meet me briefly—I wait at Ōshimachō quay.”

He said this and left without waiting for a reply.
Okei’s heart raced.
He had undoubtedly heard.

What should I do?

She couldn’t bring herself to stand right away.
But eventually she mustered her courage; the mother would be asleep while the medication was effective.

Okei brightened the lamp and slipped quietly out of the house.

The Ōshimachō quay was on the southern outskirts of Fukagawa, facing the sea, where an expanse of wasteland stretched out.
Uzukichi had been waiting at the edge of that wasteland, but upon seeing Okei arrive, he wordlessly began walking through the grass toward the sea.
The sky must have been cloudy; not a star was visible, and though it was still early in the evening, the surroundings were disagreeably dark.

“Are you angry, Mr. Uzukichi?”

Okei was the first to speak.

“You heard something, didn’t you?”

“I heard.”
Uzukichi stopped walking. “My mother heard it from Mrs. Omura—so it’s true?”

“There’s no other way but this—nothing else can be done.”

“Have you already taken the money?”

Okei paused briefly before replying.

“The palanquin will come to fetch me within four or five days.”

Uzukichi suddenly pulled Okei close.
He fiercely embraced her with both hands and pressed his cheeks hard against Okei’s.
Okei’s head went numb, and unbeknownst to herself, she started crying as she held Uzukichi.

“I don’t want to let go—don’t want to send you anywhere. I wanted us to be together… I thought I could be with Okei-chan.”

“I’m happy, Mr. Uzukichi… I thought the same… I wanted to become your bride too.”

“Then… if that’s really true—”

Having said this, Uzukichi grabbed Okei’s shoulders and, as if pushing her away, peered into her face.

“Okei-chan, run away with me.”

“If we run away, what then?”

“We’ll live together—I have work! Even without work, I’ll do anything! We’ve both endured enough already—we’ve had enough! We deserve to live how we want! Let’s run away, Okei-chan—go somewhere far and live just us two!”

“Wait—Mr. Uzukichi—please calm down.”

Okei looked up at him and spoke in a calm, measured tone.

“I’ve thought that too—just running away somewhere with you, Mr. Uzukichi… But then I realized—our hardship comes from poverty. Even your uncle and my father worked so hard, but if someone drinks or falls ill, we can’t eat or dress properly anymore.”

“That’s why we have to run away! If we stay like this, we’ll end up just like them—our whole lives will be ruined!”

“No—it’s no different even if we run away, Mr. Uzukichi. We can escape our parents and siblings or the Hamaguri-cho tenement, but you can’t escape poverty itself… Father and Mother didn’t come to Hamaguri-cho because they wanted poverty—they must have believed they’d find happiness together. Even among those tenement dwellers, there must be people who fled here thinking things would work out in Edo—but it’s all the same outcome in the end. Luck may play its part, but simply running from this place will never bring us happiness.”

“That’s fine—if it’s with Okei-chan, I’d endure any hardship.”

“And then we’d make our children suffer miserable, painful lives just like ours—wouldn’t we, Mr. Uzukichi?… No—I don’t want that. I won’t let my own children endure such things. You couldn’t bear it either—you know you couldn’t.”

Uzukichi silently hung his head.
Okei gently grasped his hand and said in a tone that seemed to suppress her anger.

“Don’t run away—running means losing. Listen, they say the world’s a battle, Mr. Uzukichi… I’ve taken fifty ryō as an advance payment and promised monthly support for the house too. Once I’m there, I’ll tighten my belt as much as I can—save every coin possible… And when I’ve saved what feels like enough, I’ll explain everything and ask for my release. It might sound like bravado, but I’ll save what I must—I swear I will.”

As if declaring her anger, Okei said this.
But afterward her heart faltered, her voice trembling wretchedly.

"You must grow stronger too—don’t turn reckless or give up. Patiently—even inch by inch—find some way out of poverty…… Then take a good wife and be happy."

"Me? Take a wife?"
Uzukichi rasped out hoarsely,

"Then… won’t you tell me to wait, Okei-chan?"

“But Mr. Uzukichi, I won’t have a beautiful body anymore.”

“What does that matter? If that’s wrong, half the sin’s mine—if I’d had any grit, I wouldn’t have let you suffer like this. I’d never take any bride but you.”

“Mr. Uzukichi.”

Okei pressed his hand—the one she’d been clutching—against her chest and gasped out a cry as she pressed closer.
Uzukichi shook off her grip and crushed her shoulders in his embrace as he said:

“I’ll wait, Okei-chan.”

Okei writhed.

“That won’t do—I can’t let this go, Mr. Uzukichi.”

“Don’t cry—you can’t cry now, Okei-chan.”
Uzukichi said through clenched teeth, “Crying’s for later—for when that day comes… when we can finally be together proper-like. Till then, let’s hold back tears. I’ll toughen up… work my hardest… wait however many years it takes. Alright, Okei-chan?”

“If you say such things…”

Okei shook her head while choking back a sob.

“Even if I try not to cry… I end up crying anyway—the voice just comes out so naturally like this.”

A voice choked by sobs mingled with laughter. Uzukichi leaned over Okei’s face in a posture that seemed to engulf her, and a voice stuck in his throat could be heard.…… At the water’s edge, waves crashed incessantly, while across the darkness, the lights of Tsukudajima flickered and twinkled.

4

They left Obana-ya by palanquin, alighted after crossing Eitai Bridge, boarded a street palanquin near Suitengu Shrine—only to alight from that one too at Kyōbashi Hatchōbori. After changing palanquins as many as five times in this manner, they went straight west from Meguro along the Ōyama Highway and entered a wayside teahouse called Kakinokizaka for a short rest.

“You must have been rather surprised at how far it is.”

After exiting the teahouse and beginning to walk this time, Wazuke turned around and said this.
Okei wore a lonesome smile and gently shook her head.

“Have you ever come to this area before?”

“No, this is my first time.”

“Downtown folk do tend to be homebodies after all.”

Wazuke laughed in a good-humored tone.

They turned left onto the Ōyama Highway, climbed the hill, and proceeded about two hundred meters through the pine forest.
The surroundings had completely transformed into rural scenery; no matter where one looked, there were only woods, grasslands, and fields, with farmhouses rarely visible.
……They had changed palanquins as many as five times—doubtless to prevent the bearers from tracking their route—and moreover, the land was far too remote to qualify as a place of seclusion.

—If he were the kind of person to do something bad.

Though Omura’s words had steeled her resolve when she set out, Okei found herself increasingly unable to suppress her growing anxiety.

After proceeding about two hundred meters, they turned right and descended a slope.
The house stood in what resembled a small valley, enclosed by two hills.
The property spanned roughly a thousand tsubo in area, opening southwestward as it was surrounded by tall hedges and featured a black-painted plank fence only along its front side; though not particularly large, it had double doors for its gate.

“Do you know what that river is called?”

At the gate, Wazuke said this.
The land sloped downward in steps to the west from there; beyond the pine forest spread a grassland, where a gentle river could be seen flowing.

“That is the Tamagawa River. You must at least know the name.”

“Yes, I believe I’ve heard of it before, but…”

“The ayu fishing season approaches, and those caught here are famed for their flavor.”

Though she nearly confessed her dislike for river fish, Okei simply nodded with practiced composure.

Upon passing through the gate, an elderly couple greeted them.
Their names were Gohei and Tomi, though they instructed to be called “old man” and “old woman.”
Having apparently been briefed beforehand, they addressed Okei as “Mistress,” with Tomi leading the way into the residence…… A single-story structure of modest size but elaborate design, accompanied by a storehouse.
Five rooms comprised the dwelling, with Okei’s sitting area fully appointed—two clothing chests, a vanity mirror, an elongated hearth, and a compact writing desk stood ready.

“Later, open the chest—obi fabrics and bolts of cloth for summer and winter are stored inside.”
“I’ll return today and come back in five or six days, so have them make some clothes for the time being during that interval.”

Wazuke had Okei sit down in front of the long hibachi, sat down facing her himself, and spoke in a thoroughly satisfied tone.

“Is there really a tailor in a place like this?”

“You think you’ve come to some remote mountain area, don’t you?” Wazuke laughed teasingly—“Once you settle in, go down and see for yourself—there’s not just a tailor but even a restaurant. But mind you don’t go wandering about when I’m not here.”

“I don’t like going outside.”

When Tomi brought tea, Wazuke ordered that they have a meal. From the way he mentioned going to Suzuhan—it might be a restaurant. Wazuke finished drinking his tea, then took Okei around the house to show her the interior.

“This is the bedroom, this is my room. Once things settle down, I plan to build a tea room over there… You’ll be learning tea ceremony and flower arrangement from now on. I’ll also call in a tutor for reading and writing.”

When they opened the storehouse, chests, cabinets, and boxes—packed with who-knew-what—were tightly packed inside.
Wazuke called Okei to the front of the household chest.

“Inside this are money and documents. This is the key. I’ll leave it in your care, so keep it safe. And then…”

He handed over three keys and pointed to the innermost chest.

“The money in this one is a lump sum—I’ll entrust you with the household chest, but don’t touch this one. […] I’ll show you later, but those chests and boxes hold many valuable items—things I spent ten years collecting. If you take good care of them, someday all of this will be yours.”

Wazuke’s voice carried a peculiar depth of emotion. His swarthy, robust face flushed red, his eyes glittering with restless intensity.

That’s right—this is mine. Everything here belongs to me.

He nearly cried out the words.

The meal brought before them included miso-glazed yamame trout, carp sashimi, sweet-simmered vegetables, carp stew, and rolled omelet. Okei lifted her chopsticks but recoiled at the river fish’s pungent odor, managing only to eat the simmered vegetables and omelet.

“It’s troublesome that you can’t eat river fish since coming here. Well, you’ll have to grow accustomed in time. If you can’t even eat ayu, why—the Tamagawa itself would weep.”

Having said this, Wazuke proceeded to eat everything Okei had left behind.

“Where is the shop located?”

When Wazuke stood up saying he would return, Okei asked while seeing him off.
Wazuke paid no attention whatsoever.

“You don’t need to know such things—once I come next time, there’ll be no more coming and going… See me to the gate.”

Having said this, he stepped out through the main entrance.

He showed Okei around the garden.
There was a considerable expanse of lawn with a pine grove.
At the rear lay a small field; Gohei, thinking it wasteful otherwise, was said to grow vegetables there.

“This side ain’t visible neither, so keepin’ it open’d be plain wasteful,”
the old man said as he walked alongside her. “This wee patch here grows enough for Master ’n Mistress—’sides, these old hands stay idle otherwise.”

Okei had been observing Gohei and Tomi’s character since her arrival. From their speech, the elderly couple seemed to be locals; their honest, guileless nature gave her a reassuring sense that they could be relied upon when needed.

“Then I’ll come within five or six days—if all goes well, I’ll be here in two or three. Now then…” Wazuke said at the gate.

And he went down the slope to the west.

Five

For the next three full days, Wazuke rushed about making final arrangements.
He fully established the procedures and completed all preparations.

That day, after visiting about three clients, he returned to the Ginza shop at dusk.
When told Master Gihē had gone to a neighborhood meeting, Wazuke began closing the day’s accounts at his desk but stopped midway and summoned his clerk Masukichi.

“This headache won’t let up—doesn’t seem like a cold… I’m in no state to continue. Finish closing these accounts for me.”

“Yes, certainly.”

“Ever since the doctor warned me, whenever my head aches, it immediately weighs on my nerves—such an unpleasant state.”

Wazuke had been told by the doctor—that he had a predisposition to apoplexy.
He presented this as fact and, using the pretext of sea fishing to rest his head, occasionally took days off from the shop.
Going fishing wasn’t entirely a lie, but his true purpose was to secure time that must remain unknown to all.
By now, there was no one in either household or shop unaware of his “predisposition to apoplexy.”

“I may take tomorrow off. When Master returns, tell him so, and then…” Wazuke rubbed his forehead with one hand. “Since Mr. Shimaya is to repay on the tenth, be sure to inform Master of that as well.”

“Understood. Will that be all?”

After saying that was all, Wazuke casually glanced around the shop.
It had been nearly thirty-two years since he was twelve.
Miserable, dark, murky days—looking back, they seemed like months and years smothered in humiliation and sorrow.
However, that too would end today—he would likely never see this shop again.

"This is goodbye. In two or three days there'll be quite an uproar—my parting gift. Since it's a bit of a showpiece," he sneered inwardly before summoning a palanquin and leaving the shop.

After returning home to Shinzenza, Wazuke retired early under pretense of illness.
Yet sleep eluded him—whether from finality sharpening his mind or restless nerves—until irritation surged at ten o'clock bells clanging through night air.
He rose abruptly and barked sake orders at his wife.

“But sake… is that all right?”
His wife O-Sachi, still holding her needle, looked at him. “The doctor told you to stop drinking… Perhaps some herbal decoction instead?”

“Shut up and just bring it.”

O-Sachi reluctantly stood up and left.
Wazuke watched her retreating figure with eyes filled with hatred.
Her stocky frame with its thick torso and corpulent body, her dull wits, sluggish movements, vulgar way of speaking—all of it was loathsome, unbearably ugly.

Thirteen years I’d lived with this woman.

He clicked his tongue.

But that too would end tonight.

In the adjacent room lay two beds where eleven-year-old Kazuichi and eight-year-old Osaki slept. He showed no emotion upon seeing his children’s sleeping forms, casting a frigid glance before immediately turning away.

You lot can do as you like—I’ve made my own way, never leaned on anyone… Worked to survive by myself since becoming an orphan at seven. You should do the same.

A sarcastic, mocking expression surfaced on his face.
……O-Sachi brought a tray bearing a heated sake flask and cup; he remained seated on the bedding and began drinking alone with a look of distaste.

That’s right—those were truly harsh times.

After becoming an orphan at seven, he moved between three relatives’ households, and at twelve entered service as an apprentice at a money exchanger in Ginza.
At his relatives’ homes, he was treated as a nuisance and driven to work; his apprenticeship days were filled with endless fatigue and humiliation.—I’ll make them pay for this someday—just wait until I show them all.
He had thought of this whether asleep or awake; the other apprentice boys did not even recognize their humiliation as such—driven like cattle yet laughing and fooling around unperturbed.
Amidst them all, Wazuke alone was secretly honing his blade in his heart… The shop was called “Kinsei,” dealing in gold and silver bullion and money exchange while also engaging in high-interest loans.
He was patient; he never rushed.
For those secretly watching, he worked more diligently than anyone and guarded the shop’s profits with integrity.
This intensified his vengeful resolve but also served to earn him the trust of those around him.

He stingily accumulated money while slyly embezzling.
At twenty-one he became a clerk and eventually rose to shop manager.
When told he could establish his own shop he refused; when urged to take a wife he refused.
At thirty he became general manager and was entrusted with financial operations.
But this required paying the price of taking O-Sachi as his bride——for O-Sachi was Master Gihyoe’s niece, still unwed at twenty-five, her uncle and aunt having grown desperate.
Wazuke knew full well what effect would follow from proactively taking her as his wife.

Wazuke owned a house in Shinzenza, commuted to the shop, and personally visited clients.
He steadily generated profits and expanded his clientele.
But during that time, no one knew he had been secretly lining his pockets under the guise of “Kinsei.”
He was too honest and diligent to be doubted—the reliability of his work, his steadfast character.
Needless to say, the master and those at the shop—everyone connected to him—believed him.

But soon they’ll know—soon—just what kind of man I was.

He had always mocked them like this in his heart.
His ingratiating smiles, hand-wringing, flattery, cringing posture, servile bowing.
Each one of these strengthened his vow of revenge and added tenacity to his resolve... Ten years ago, at thirty-four, he had bought a plot of land in Chōfu Village, Ebara District.
From then until today, he carried things out meticulously, cunningly, and with utmost caution.
A house was built and a storehouse erected; calligraphies, antiques, tea utensils—all necessary tools were gathered, and inside the storehouse over eight thousand ryō in silver coins accumulated.
His target was ten thousand ryō; he had come within a breath of it. Yet at that very moment he suddenly began sensing a dangerous premonition.
There should be no reason for that; there should be no chance—not even one in ten thousand—of being caught off guard; he had never committed such a blunder.
Nevertheless that premonition remained quite strong.
That’s right—what is full must wane.
Having thought this Wazuke resolutely resolved to cut things off.

“Did you say something?”

O-Sachi called out from across the room.
Wazuke was so startled he nearly leaped up.
He seemed to have lost himself in recollection, even letting out a cry of “Ah!”

“Is something wrong?”

At his wife’s sluggish, insensitive tone, he was provoked to fierce anger.
But he suppressed it and coldly pointed to the heated sake flask.

“Heat another one. Make it hot.”

O-Sachi lumbered to her feet.

Thirteen years—I’d spent thirteen years living with a woman like this.

He cast a contemptuous glance at his wife as the thought surfaced.
His mind instantly conjured Okei’s form—that beautiful, obedient girl with skin like fresh dew; a body of indescribable loveliness he’d never before encountered, overflowing with youth and vitality.

But O-Sachi—you’ve no right to call yourself unhappy. Had I not taken you in, you’d have died an old maid never knowing a man’s touch. You became a wife—bore two children—… And with the uncle from Kinsei handling matters afterward, I’ve every right to claim my due from you.

In the kitchen, his wife was heating sake with clattering sounds.
Wazuke looked around the dimly lit house with satisfaction—his gaze cold and derisive.

Six

“I’ll go rest my head—the sillago might be out by now.”

He said this, took his fishing gear, and left the house while it was still dimly lit. In Kanegasaki, the boat rental called “Umekawa” was where he usually went. He retrieved the bundle he had left in storage, borrowed a boat, went down the river, and out to sea. Wazuke was quite skilled at handling the oar. Once he was out at sea, he rowed westward without ever looking back.

“The day has finally come—it was a dreamlike wish, but now that dream will finally be mine.”

While muttering this alone, he felt an impulse to cry out—for the fulfillment of his dream and the completion of his vengeance upon the world.

The sun rose over Shinagawa Bay.
The sunlight burned hot on the sea, sweat beginning to pour out instantly.
Wazuke removed his kimono, then stripped himself bare to the waist.
Whether from the fierce sunlight or his ceaseless rowing, his head started aching, his vision blurring at intervals.

Just a little more—once the pines came into view, everything would be finished.

As he neared Samezu, a distant row of pine trees appeared.
This must be Suzugamori—his headache now pulsed in timed waves, pounding intensely.
Though drenched in sweat, he couldn’t discern whether it ran hot or cold.
A leaden mood pressed down on him, nausea churning in his chest.

“I’ll take a break. And I might as well change clothes.”

Wazuke raised the oar and rested.

The weather being fine, quite a number of fishing boats were out.
But they were all far away.
The calm early summer sea bore not a single ripple, smooth as a whetstone in pale yellow, with the white clouds of the sky clearly reflected upon it.
...He opened the fishing gear, took out the suicide note, and placed it on the boat bottom, using the bait box to weigh it down.
The suicide note bore an apologetic message: “I have embezzled store funds and hereby atone through death.” … Next, he opened the bundle he had brought from Umekawa, laying out a fine-striped silk undergarment, a plain dark brown arrowroot-woven sash, an inrō case, a tobacco pouch, a deerskin paper holder, a tinder pouch, chrysanthemum-patterned paper, white tabi socks, setta sandals, and a master’s hood.

While keeping an eye on the distant fishing boats, he cautiously changed his clothes.
Due to the tide, the boat was naturally carried southwestward.
He discarded each item of clothing he had worn from home over the side of the boat into the sea.
Then he stood up and began using the oar; there was no longer any need to hurry. He rowed slowly and quietly.

Approximately four hours after departing Kanegasaki, Wazuke brought the boat to a coast near the mouth of the Rokugō River.
There, young reeds stretched out in all directions, and once the boat was brought in, it became invisible from both land and sea.
He carefully checked the high-tide line—since it was now the peak of the ebb tide, the tide would likely come in again by evening; when high tide returned, the boat would float and be carried out to sea by the river’s current. After roughly estimating this, he disembarked.

“Go as far as you can—at least stay hidden until tomorrow… Well then, farewell. I’m counting on you.”

Wazuke said this to the boat, then crossed ankle-deep water and went ashore. He wiped his wet feet and put on the tabi socks. At that moment, his chest grew queasy again, and a dizzying wave of vertigo swept over him. After remaining still for a while until it subsided, he put on his setta sandals and stood up. […] Picking his way through wetlands and puddles, he started walking toward the highway. The Tōkaidō Highway thoroughfare was visible. Among the rows of pine trees, horses and people were coming and going sporadically; the sound of carts could also be heard.

Okei must be waiting. Tonight I’ll have her draw a bath and get some dishes from Suzuhana…

Suddenly, Wazuke’s vision darkened; the ground tilted, and a thunderous roar erupted deep within his ears.
He tried to grab onto something, flailing both hands as he fell forward into the young reeds.

Wazuke woke from sleep.

“Well, ain’t nothin’ we can do but leave ’im be—no doubt it’s a stroke.”

Right beside him, a voice said.

“I must be dreaming,” he thought.

Wazuke found the situation absurd.
“These fools actually believe I’ve had a stroke—but who are they?”

“We’ve picked up one hell of a thing here,” someone said.
A different voice chimed in: “There’s ’bout two ryō in this paper case, but no name tag or address note—can’t tell who the bastard is at all.”

“Looks like some retired big-shot from a fancy shop though,” remarked another.

“Still don’t explain why he’d be thirty ken deep in Rokugō reeds near the river mouth,” countered the first. “What kinda fool goes stompin’ through marshland like that? Makes no damn sense.”

Wazuke gasped.
He had collapsed in the reeds along the Rokugō River.
For the first time, he understood what these words meant.

This was no dream.

Terror coursed through his entire body.
He tried to sit up, but his body had become like stone—heavy and numb—unable to even turn toward the voices.

A stroke... Impossible...

He tried to laugh.
But instantly, he remembered the voice that had spoken moments before.

"It's definitely a stroke—"
His breath caught, and before he knew it, a scream tore from him.
A scream—no, not quite—merely a wretched, pitiful moan.

“He’s started groaning again. What a disgusting voice this guy’s got.”

Having said this, someone peered in. He was a heavily bearded man of thirty-five or thirty-six. He had thick eyebrows, thick lips, and a swarthy complexion—but his eyes alone gave him the appearance of a decent man.

“His eyes are open, Doc. Damn, he’s drenched with tears and drool.”

“Don’t you move.”

Another face came into view. He was a man in his mid-fifties, his hair tied back in a traditional topknot, and terribly emaciated. Undoubtedly a doctor, he took Wazuke’s wrist and spoke while checking his pulse.

“You’ve collapsed from a stroke—the most severe kind that numbs your entire body. You mustn’t move a muscle. If you strain yourself, you’ll stay like this forever. This isn’t a threat—you need to lie still and quiet.”

“Can’t he even talk, Doc?”

“You mustn’t speak in that tone—he can hear you.”

And the two men went off in another direction, but their voices could still be heard quite clearly.

“So there’s no hope he’ll recover?”

“It’s no good—it’d be better for him to die quick,… that’d be best… Even if he lives, he’ll just stay bedridden like this. Well,… no doubt about this diagnosis.”

“But that’s… Then what the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Since there’s two ryō here, I’ll consider this fate and look after him. If the money runs out and we still can’t find anyone to take him in, well, we’ll just put him in the village relief hut then.”

“Either way, we’ll get no thanks for this. This bastard’s really landed us in one hell of a mess.”

Wazuke moaned.
He thought of the house in Chōfu Village, the valuables in the storehouse, and Okei.
The tranquil land overlooking the Tamagawa River—that was his. The storehouse crammed full of art and antiques, over eight thousand ryō in gold—those too were his.
He had meticulously planned it all—relentlessly and cunningly—built over ten years through tireless effort and layer upon layer of caution.
And that Okei…that naked body he had seen in the bathhouse.
From every angle—side, front, back—he had seen it all: that alluring young body standing or crouching, every curve and smoothness and fullness laid bare.
That too was his—and all of these were waiting for him, almost within reach…Had it been half a day—no, two hours earlier—he could have reached there. Even if he’d collapsed there, he could have been at ease.

No—I can’t die here—I won’t die here! Okei… That estate—all of it’s mine—mine!

VII

Over two years had passed.

The house in Chōfu Village was now completely different in atmosphere.
Otami had been taken in and lay there bedridden, while Uzukichi and his younger sister Naho had also arrived.
…Okei’s mother had been brought over six months after Okei herself came here, but Uzukichi and Naho had moved in mere days before.
His mother had died last summer, and one brother had been apprenticed to a Honjo pawnshop.

All this followed Gohei and his wife’s counsel.
The master who’d vowed to return within five or six days never reappeared—no messengers came, no letters arrived.

—What on earth had happened?

Of course Okei knew nothing—nor did Gohei and the others—about their master.
The locations of the shops supposedly in Edo and Osaka, their actual businesses… all they knew was the name written on the deed at the time of purchasing the land—and even that was just “Kiemon,” with the address listed here.

“Well, he’ll come around eventually,”

they waited as instructed, but half a year passed without any word or news.
So Gohei proposed that Okei take in her mother.

“We can’t just leave a sick person unattended—and besides, there’s been no word from him for half a year. I doubt Master would get angry.”

If he got angry, they would apologize.
Since they urged her like this, though she felt uneasy, Okei decided to do so.
When her mother was brought over at that time, it was Uzukichi who had done so; having seen each other’s faces for the first time in half a year, they found themselves unable to speak, but Gohei’s wife seemed to sense something from their demeanor. When Uzukichi was leaving, she pulled vegetables from the field for him to take and told him to visit again if he had time. ……After that, he began coming occasionally—about once a month—but even when he visited, he hardly spoke with Okei. During this period, her feelings of waiting for the master gradually faded.

Perhaps he was someone who had done something wrong, and once they found out, he was thrown into prison or the like.

Okei was plagued by such anxieties and consulted Uzukichi.
He went to Obana-ya to confirm, but there too they knew nothing of his identity or whereabouts… A year passed, and finally two years passed by.

“You should invite Mr. Uzukichi too.”

When the second full summer came, Gohei and his wife began pressing this suggestion insistently.

“Since there’s so much vacant land around here, he should come start a gardening business. I’ll take care of securing the land and such.”

Okei felt her resolve waver.
The money wasn’t hers, but there it was—and since what they were buying was land, the money wouldn’t just be wasted.
Thinking her justification would hold, she had Uzukichi move here with his sister in a manner that bordered on coaxing him into compliance.

Now—Okei and Uzukichi were sitting in the pine grove on the hill behind the house.

“How strange… It’s like a dream—no, I’ve never even heard of anything like this.”

“I’m not worried anymore.”

Okei glanced at the flow of the Tamagawa River and spoke in a confident voice tinged with emotion.

“He won’t come back—he’ll never come back, I feel it—never… Even if you ask me why, I can’t explain it. I can’t put it into words myself. But I’m certain he’ll never return—not ever.”

“If that’s how it is, it feels even more like a dream—but it doesn’t need to be some grand one. If I can rent land here and live by your side, Okei-chan, that alone would be enough for me.”

“Hey—it’s okay to cry now, Mr. Uzukichi.”

Without heeding Uzukichi’s words, Okei said this while looking up into his eyes and edging closer.

“But crying—why bring that up all of a sudden?”

“Didn’t you say once at the riverbank in Oshimacho—that when we could finally be together, I should cry as much as I want?”

“Well, but that… that’s for when we can finally… become husband and wife properly.”

“Last night…”
Okei leaned softly against Uzukichi’s chest and whispered sweetly, “Last night… I overheard the old man and woman saying… that come October, they’ll have us be together… Mr. Uzukichi.”

Okei clung tightly with both hands.

“It was those two who took in my mother and called you here—even if we say no, they’ll surely have us be together… Mr. Uzukichi, we’ve endured so well, haven’t we?”

And she burst into violent tears.
Uzukichi wrapped his arm around her back and pressed his cheek against hers in silence.
Okei sobbed and whispered intermittently into his ear.
“We’ve finally made it… I’m happy… so happy, Mr. Uzukichi.”

They no longer needed to fear anything.
For Wazuke had died a full fifty days earlier in a relief hut in Rokugōzai, his identity still unknown.