Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

A peasant-like man with a dingy hand towel draped over his head had been pacing back and forth along Kappa Riverbank in Shibakanasugi for some time now.
The day had grown completely dark, and the riverside town facing Kanasugawa River was bustling with people out enjoying the cool air, but no one paid any attention to the man.
Before long, from the rather large tavern called Nadaku with eaves lanterns bearing its name, a craftsman-like man emerged, and upon recognizing him, the peasant-like man quickly approached.
The two started walking side by side, and the peasant-like man asked something.
One of them shook his head.
The two continued whispering, but at the town gate they turned back, and this time the peasant-like man parted the rope curtain of Nadaku and went inside.

II

“You’re flappin’ your gums too much.”

"This is just another way to get women under your thumb."
The younger man said, “No joke, Brother – you did plenty of talking last night yourself, didn’t you?”

“Tch, last night? Don’t give me that.” The older man wiped his nose with the back of his right hand. “What exactly did I blabber about last night?”

“That you were born around here... that you were the second son of some big shop... that your two-story house had three whole storehouses out front... that you’ve been a troublemaker since you were little – tormenting not just the neighbors but even your dear little sister till she cried...”

The older man laughed and shook his head. “That’s nonsense.”

“You were dead serious.”

“That’s nonsense—I was drunk,” the older man said after sipping his sake. “I was born in Udagawa-cho. My family ran a small sake wholesaler. We had two old storehouses—one was half-collapsed even back then. They say everything burned clean in the Year of the Rat fire.”

“So your family...”

“The sake’s here.”

A young woman brought two heated sake flasks on a tray. The older man ordered food while the younger one mixed the sake. He transferred roughly twenty percent of the sake from the new flask into an empty one, then topped it off with weak bancha tea from an earthenware teapot placed nearby – meaning he drank the sake after mixing in roughly twenty percent bancha tea.

“You do strange things,” the older man said. “Does that taste good?”

“You wouldn’t know about this, Brother Matsu – though we’ve only known each other three days,” said the younger man. “Old Man Banta taught me this trick – drink it like this and you’ll never get apoplexy. The tea neutralizes the liquor’s poison, see? That old coot stayed healthy till eighty, never went a day without his cheap sake. Died of stomach trouble in the end, not a stroke in sight.”

“So you’re planning to live all the way to apoplexy age?”

“A hundred if I can make it,” the younger man shot back. “I mean to live and enjoy every moment I’m given. For those who know how to live joyfully, this world’s paradise itself.”

“You make people cry while keeping paradise all to yourself?”

“You don’t get it, Brother – making ’em cry’s part of the fun with women,” said the younger man. “Me? I’ve had about fifteen so far. Enjoy ’em good and proper, then toss ’em aside. Funny thing – never promised marriage to a single one. Told ’em straight out from the start: ain’t gonna be no husband.”

The spacious earthen-floored area of this tavern held three six-person dining tables facing each other, three four-person ones, and along both side walls, two larger tables that could seat seven or eight people each.
Now that the busy hour had passed its peak, besides these two, there were a trio and a pair of customers, along with a peasant-like man seated at another dining table.
The man had been there over half an hour now, leaving the small appetizer dish untouched before him as he carefully sipped his flask of sake like a cat lapping at milk, occasionally stealing furtive glances toward the one called Brother Matsu.
The trio and the pair of customers, both groups thoroughly intoxicated, talked and laughed in loud voices, sometimes even breaking into song, so the two men here found their conversation frequently interrupted.

“The reason I turned out like this is because of women too,” the younger man was saying. “Men grow up gradual-like from babies – five years old means five years’ worth, ten means ten. But women ain’t like that. When those bitches start walkin’ around proper, they’re already full-grown women through ’n’ through.”

“Men are men from the moment they’re born.”

“That ain’t how it works.”
The younger man stared into his cup as if hunting for just-right words there. “Sexual awakening... nah, that ain’t it,” he said after cocking his head sideways. “Here’s how it goes – men don’t got ’em, but women got these precocious sprouts, see? Little girls start puttin’ on airs when they’re knee-high – tossin’ coy looks, actin’ all high-and-mighty proper-like. Once they turn saucy, they’re full-blown women through ’n’ through. All the flirtin’, the petty meanness, even makin’ plays at men – same as grown dames.”

“Ugh, you’re a real piece of work.”

“Don’t you know about this, Brother Matsu?”

“The name’s Bunji,” the older man said. “Don’t know what you misheard, but remember it’s Bunji.”

“That’s strange,” the younger man said. “When I first introduced myself as Masa, Brother, didn’t you confirm it?”

“Bunji,” he cut in abruptly. “Cabinetmaker by trade. Name’s Bunji. Got it?”

“Got it,” Masa nodded.

“So,” Bunji prompted, “what is it I don’t know about?”

“What was it again... Ah—”
Masa took a sip, propped one elbow on the dining table, and looked up at Bunji askance. “When you were little, Brother—did any girls ever come onto you?”

“Nah,” Bunji answered, “I’ve roughed up girls and made ’em cry before, but don’t recall any little misses ever coming onto me.”

“I’ve had it happen plenty – first time was when I was four.”
He said with a reminiscent tone, “She was a girl from our neighborhood—six or seven years old, maybe. We went to play in Zojoji Temple’s grounds. In a bamboo thicket, I got pinned on my back. I still remember clear as day—the dried bamboo leaves rustling under me, that pungent green scent in the air.”

Bunji listened without emotion.

"That girl did that sort of thing to me many times, but on what must have been the umpteenth time—in an alley by the town’s brush shop, as I was pinned against a charcoal bale like this—my mother caught us."

Masa supported his cheek with an elbow-propped hand and chuckled. "My mother gave me hell for it, see? Didn't know a thing myself—just went along with whatever that girl wanted. But after Ma's scolding, I realized how shameful it was. How bad it'd be if folks found out."

“Four or five years old?”

“That was the summer I turned four.”

“You’re a real piece of work.”
Bunji grimaced.

“Me?”
Masa sat up straight. “I didn’t know anything at all.”

“Push her away,” Bunji said. “Even at four you’re a man—if someone does that to you, strike them down or shove them off.”

“That ain’t how it works. I didn’t understand a thing, but she was acting all grown-up.”
Masa licked his lips. “—Started goin’ bad myself, conning girls—that’s when I realized it. Even at six or seven years old, when they say or do those things, it’s just like grown women. Swear it’s true, Brother.”

The young woman brought a plate of appetizers and set it down, stacked the empty plates and small bowls, moved them aside, took their sake order, and left.

“There was this one time—with that brush shop’s daughter I just mentioned—must’ve been about eight. She says, ‘Come on, I’ll show you something good.’”
Masa took another sip and continued, “Right—there was this vacant lot behind Jiko-in Temple, with bamboo thickets about three feet tall growing in the corner. She led me into one, and next thing I knew, the girl sat down and—wham!—flung her legs wide open to either side like this.”

“Sounds like a story I’ve heard before.”

“Well now,” Masa pressed on, “that’s neither here nor there—maybe it’s common enough—but what I’m saying is about that girl’s eyes. She’d fling herself open like this”—he demonstrated with his hands—“then stare straight into my face. Wasn’t just showing off—she wanted to see what look I’d make watching her, see? Years later, I met plenty of women who liked putting on that same show. Their eyes—Brother, I swear they looked just like that eight-year-old girl’s. True as I’m sitting here.”

"So you're saying," Bunji said, "women become women from childhood?"

"I've tested that truth with this very flesh."

"So it's true then?" Bunji slowly shook his head. "You're one twisted bastard."

The trio of customers called for their check, and just then a group of four entered.
The four were already heavily drunk, and after the trio left, the tavern actually grew rowdier.
The pair of customers started arguing once, but it didn’t turn into a fight; consoling and placating each other, they continued drinking amicably.

“Sweet-talkin’s bullshit—heh heh,” Masa was saying. “Only fools bother courtin’ women proper. Do it clumsy-like and they get suspicious. Wanna claim a woman? Go straight for the body. Grab her sudden-like, suck her mouth. She says ‘No’? Do it again. Twice, three times—then she’ll shut right up.”

“Like tricking a child?”

“But not every woman’s like that. There’s ones who’d stay cold as stone even if Tanosuke hugged ’em buck naked. No eye for spotting those? You’ll botch it every time.”

“You never botch it, do you.”

“I don’t lay hands on those types.”

“Not getting tripped up by sentiment, are you?”

“Just tell ’em straight from the start you ain’t gonna marry ’em,” Masa said with a knowing chuckle, leaning closer to Bunji. “That’s the fun part, Brother—once you’ve got a woman hooked, that’s when it really starts.” He chuckled again. “One woman absolutely wouldn’t let me kiss her—said she wanted to keep her mouth pure for when she married. Another wouldn’t let me touch her breasts—wanted to keep them clean for when she married.”

“What’s next—the belly button?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not a lie,” Masa said, pursing his lips. “There were several women who wouldn’t let me touch their mouths or breasts—probably some last comfort to themselves before marrying. But not a single one refused the main event. No—this here’s the genuine article.”

“Either way, if that’s true, you’re one sinful bastard,” Bunji said. “You use women like that—have your fun, then sell ’em off when you’re done?”

“That’s women’s doing too—ever since girls started coming onto me at four or five, by fourteen or fifteen I’d ended up with no interest in anything else.”
Masa smiled a smile devoid of any emotion on his lips. “No matter how smitten I am with a woman—once I’ve had my way with her, that’s it. Right away I want the next one, and to get her I’ll sell off the current one. When you think about it, it’s downright pathetic. Truth is, there’s times even I can’t stand myself.”

“You said you’d bag another one tonight—that smooth line did the trick?”

“There’s times I feel downright wretched—don’t it ever hit you like that, Brother?”

“Ain’t no night for wallowing.”

“Might be fate’s hand at work.”

“Presuming on kindness, are we?” Bunji said.

“I need to sell some land and take a breather for a while,” Masa continued with a distant gaze. “The girl’s twenty-six—has two younger sisters who’ve both married off. That Omura, the eldest? Supposedly the fairest of them all. Guess fate’s fickle—she’s stayed on the shelf till today.”

“Perfect for hooking her, eh?”

“I told ya I need some breathing room,” Masa continued. “That girl’s supposed to bring a hundred ryō. Her family runs a prominent shop—when marrying off a twenty-six-year-old daughter, even at a minimum they’d spend two or three hundred ryō. This settles it for a hundred, and she’ll get her first taste of a man.”

“You want me to say thanks?”

“I’ve got distant relatives in Kisarazu.”
Masa shook the sake bottle, pouring the last drops into his cup as he said, “Head there and live easy for six months or a year—that’s what I’d like to do, Brother.”

“You toss around ‘hundred ryō’ like it’s nothing, but even a prominent shop wouldn’t leave that kind of fortune lying around where some daughter could snatch it up.”

“That’s their line of work—they handle money through pawnbroking and currency exchange. Five hundred ryō’d be right there within reach whenever needed.”

“Pawnbroking and currency exchange?”

“In Kanesuihonchō, it’s the biggest shop front around.”

When Bunji was about to say something, the peasant-like man who had been drinking alone across the room came over and called out to Masa.

“You’re doing well for yourself, Masa,” the man said. “How’d you come into so much?”

“Izumiya Oyabun? Didn’t notice at all,” Masa said ingratiatingly. “Won’t you join me?”

“Calling it off?”
The man glanced at Bunji from the corner of his eye. “Your sake stinks of women—putting it fancy, briny with their tears.” He jerked his chin toward Bunji. “Company you’ve got there—friend?”

“Yes, a cabinetmaker.”

“My name’s Bunji,” Bunji said. “Residence at Kyobashi Shirauo Riverbank’s Kichizo Shop, age twenty-nine. Got more questions? Ask away—I’ll answer whatever I can.”

“Don’t get so worked up, ‘Master’,” the man said sarcastically. “Anger spoils fine sake.”

“Brother,” Masa said, making a placating hand gesture while bowing his head toward Bunji. “Please.”

Bunji turned away.

“That’s right—better that way,” the man said. “Killing some nobody here won’t earn three coppers, Masa—don’t cross me.”

“Not a chance, Boss.”

“Shut it—I haven’t sunk so low that I’d let trash like you call me ‘Boss’. Call me that again and I won’t let it slide.”

“Shut it,” Bunji jerked his chin at Masa. “Keep that police baton tucked away and you’ll rule the damn world.” And said to the man, “You’re not involved here, Izumiya Oyabun.”

“Thanks a lot,” the man sneered.

The man returned to his original spot, settled the bill, and went straight outside.
The girl brought sake, and Masa, mixing tea into it again, asked Bunji what on earth had just happened.

"He came at us so aggressively," Masa said, "even though we hadn't said a damn thing first. Who knows what got into him to pick a fight like that? Had me sweating bullets, I tell ya."

“Can’t stand damn constables.”
Bunji spat onto the dirt floor. “Ain’t a soul alive who don’t hate constables.”

"Did something happen?"

"This dried fish is terrible."
Bunji stabbed at the fish with his chopsticks. "This is kusaya—" he began, then severed the words as if with a blade, snapping his lips shut.

Masa simultaneously started to say, “This is kusaya—”, but when Bunji suddenly clamped his mouth shut, he too stopped speaking and looked at him.
Then, noticing Masa’s suspicious gaze, Bunji forced a vague, almost bashful smile.

“Cut it out,” Bunji said. “Ain’t like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just felt sick realizing the kusaya after that damned police baton.”

“So you’ve got ties to police batons and kusaya?” Masa said—perhaps having made the connection himself—baring his sturdy yellow teeth in a laugh. “—Right, kusaya’s made by exiles on Miyakejima or somewhere, ain’t that what they say?”

“I’m a bad bastard.”
Bunji drank two more cups. “Must’ve been born this way—I was an uncontrollable brute who kept making everyone around me cry. The more I liked someone, the cuter they were, the worse I’d torment ’em. Don’t know what drove me—stealing coins from my favorite little sister’s pouch, breaking toys she cherished. Then when our parents scolded me, I’d run off home, crawl into some storage shed or woodshed to sleep, not coming back for two or three days. Did that kinda stuff more times than I could count.”

"And yet," he continued, pouring himself another drink, "sleeping in those storage sheds made me happier than being wrapped in thick cotton quilts at home—my father was kind, my mother gentle, my brothers and sisters all good people too. But I alone had this nature I couldn’t control—couldn’t even control myself."

"I get it," Masa nodded solemnly, carefully savoring the sake in his cup. "No wonder you can’t stand constables."

“I ran away from home at fourteen,” Bunji said. “Since then I’ve hated constables and police batons down to my bones. Sure, there’s folks who do wrong—but most are just weaklings or got no other choice. They end up gnawing their own ribs with regret afterward. You know that feeling yourself.”

Masa kept silent, watching his cup.

“Madmen’re different,” Bunji pressed on. “But those with clear heads who still sin—they’re pitiful. Every time they stray, they punish themselves worse than any baton beating or rope binding ever could. I wanted to be born right too—take a proper wife, build a home, come back from work to wash off sweat at the bathhouse, share supper with my woman. That’s what being human’s about. A drink earned that way would taste sweeter than ten-ryō sake at some high-class teahouse. But I couldn’t do it—never could live that way at all.”

The four customers with companions had started singing and clattering their dishes some time ago, so the serving girl went to stop them by asking them to quit.
One man suddenly stood up, but his companions calmed him down and made him stop banging the dishes.
However, they kept taking turns singing in louder voices.
Then a pair of customers with companions and a trio with companions entered, while the arguing pair who had been there earlier left.

“It might be strange to say this,” Masa said quietly, “but Brother, why don’t you come try Kisarazu with us?”

“Why?”

“There’s cabinetmaking work in Kisarazu too—even if we leave Edo for six months or a year, country living’d be a good change of pace.”

“Is that how my story sounded to you?”

“The girl’s coming tonight at ten with a hundred ryō. The Kisarazu-bound ship from Shibaura already has two fares paid. Just cover your share, Brother, and we’re set for Kisarazu.”

“You giving up on the girl?”

“Why’d I?”

“Ain’t touchin’ no kidnapping racket,” Bunji said. “Though mark this—that hundred ryō tale stinks worse than low tide, and the girl comin’? Don’t buy it.”

“Swear it’s true—genuine article!”

“The moneylender in Hon-Kinshi would be Tokugin,” Bunji said. “Can’t see the daughter of such a wealthy house falling for this transparent scheme. More likely you’re the one getting played here.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to test it out,” Masa said in a sullen tone. “There’s a temple called Tenpukuji up ahead, right?”

“I know Tenpukuji Temple.”

“There’s a large hinoki cypress in those temple grounds—that’s where we’re supposed to meet at ten o’clock.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Ain’t no mistake, I’m tellin’ ya!”

“You’re wrong.”
Bunji gulped down two cups in succession. “That tree ain’t no hinoki cypress—it’s called an asunarou.”

“What? Talk about trees?” Masa said before looking at Bunji. “Asunarou—weird name, ain’t it? Never heard that before.”

“When it’s small, they call it hiba—looks like hinoki cypress but ain’t one. When it grows big they call it asunarou—means ‘tomorrow I’ll become hinoki,’ see? But no matter how big it gets—still asunarou. Never turns into proper cypress.”

Masa lowered his eyes and meaninglessly poked at the earthenware teapot of tea with his finger.

“We’re just like that,” Masa muttered.

Bunji looked at him. "What'd you say?"

"Brother, you just said it yourself—wantin' a proper life," Masa said in a hollow voice. "Ain't sayin' I don't feel the same way. But no matter what, it just won't take. Like that asunarou tree—in this world, seems we ain't meant to live proper lives."

Bunji laughed, then cut it sharp, leaning in close to Masa.

"If you figured that much, quit chasing Tokugin's daughter," Bunji said. "You're still green—straighten up now and you won't sink deeper."

“If I could’ve done that, I’d have done it ages ago.”

“Let’s go to Kisarazu together,” Bunji said with fervor. “We’re fellow outcasts—we can lean on each other. Head to the countryside, earn honest wages, cleanse these filthy bodies clean.”

“Brother, I never figured you’d say something like that.”
Masa made a bitter face. “It’s a shame, but that’s not happening. The girl’s already head over heels—she’s ready to endure any hardship with me. Besides, there’s that hundred ryō attached. Handling such a fortune would be my first time since the day I was born.”

At that moment, three men entered the tavern.
One appeared around forty with unmistakably constable-like bearing, another resembled the peasant from earlier, and the third wore artisan-style clothing. The moment they entered, the man who was clearly a constable roared, “Everyone quiet down!”
At the unnaturally sharp tone of that voice, everyone—beginning with the four rowdy companions—stopped talking and turned around.
Then, the constable-like man drew a police baton from his breast pocket and brandished it.

“This is official business,” the man said. “Everyone stay put—don’t move a muscle.”

Masa looked at Bunji.
Bunji stood up with a smooth motion.

III

“You bastard!” shouted the constable, directing his police baton at Bunji. “I said don’t move! Don’t you move!”

Without so much as turning around, Bunji vanished toward the kitchen area with a light, smooth motion—as if his body were floating through air. Though executed with perfect fluidity, it was only when his figure disappeared beyond the rope curtain dividing kitchen and dining area that one grasped how swift and precise the movement had truly been.

The constable-like man blew his whistle sharply, and the other two men gave chase after Bunji.
In the kitchen area, the voices of two men shouting could be heard, and the tavern customers stiffened, remaining turned toward their respective meal tables, holding their breaths in silence.
The constable-like man came to Masa’s side, pressed his shoulder down with the police baton, said “Don’t move,” and entered the kitchen area.

“Mr. Kin, you’ll be fine,” one of the young women said to a customer from the pair who had arrived later. “You’re trembling, aren’t you? It’s all right to keep drinking.”

“Am I trembling?”

“You’re trembling,” another young woman said, shrugging her small shoulders and giggling behind her hand. “See? You can’t even hold your sake cup.”

One of the customer’s companions laughed and said, “The trembling’s Mr. Kin’s chronic condition—alcohol poisoning. It’ll settle once he’s properly drunk, right?”

“Shut your trap!” said the man called Mr. Kin. “I ain’t trembling at all.”

Masa, still leaning against the meal table, quietly looked at his own hands.
There was no blood on his face, but his fingers were trembling violently.
When he spread his fingers, the middle and ring fingers of his right hand trembled so violently they nearly touched each other.

The kitchen area had fallen silent.
From the rear, a police whistle sounded about three times, but the third was quite distant, and after that was heard no more.
When the customers sighed in relief, the proprietor peeked out from behind the partitioned rope curtain and bowed. “I apologize for the disturbance,” he said.

“Please go ahead and drink—there shouldn’t be any more disturbances now.”

“What happened to that man?” asked one of the three customers with companions. “Did they catch him?”

“Hard to say,” answered the proprietor. “He was a nimble one—slipped right past me out the back door. Went like smoke drifting away.”

“I wonder if we can go home now,” said one of the customers from across the room.

“I’m sorry, but please wait here,” the proprietor said. “He said no one’s to be moved, so kindly stay put a little longer.”

And, bowing once more, the proprietor returned to the kitchen area.

"What a damn mess," said one of the customers. "Ain't no tellin' what kinda shit people'll get dragged into. Got my wife's kin comin' tonight—gotta rake in some cash or I'm done for."

"Here we go again," said one of his companions. "Open your trap and it's 'the wife' this, 'the wife' that. Why you gotta obsess over her?"

"'Obsess'? That's puttin' it mild," another cut in. "Dumbass here's still moon-eyed over his woman—ten damn years hitched! Makes me sick."

Masa poured himself a drink and drank it.

——What do I do.

Terror and confusion were laid bare across his face.
He wore a look as if driven to the edge of a cliff, panicked at having nowhere to flee.

The surrounding customers gradually regained their cheerfulness. As the shop filled with the lively clatter of utensils interwoven with voices talking and laughing, the shrill voices of young women taking orders began cutting through the din.
Nothing seemed to reach Masa's ears; he remained holding an empty cup, sighed repeatedly, stared at his hands time and again, and constantly adjusted his collar as if feeling a chill.

How much time had passed? When a hand came down on his shoulder, Masa nearly leapt into the air and spun around with a strangled cry.
The peasant-like constable he called Izumiya Oyabun arrived and sat beside him—on the opposite side where Bunji had been sitting.

"What's the plan, Boss?"
Masa stammered, "I-I don't know anything at all."

"I ain't gonna eat you alive—calm the hell down."
The constable turned to beckon a young woman, ordered water, then pulled out a hand towel from his breast pocket to wipe his sweat. "Masa," he said, "what's your connection to that man?"

Masa opened his mouth but seemed unable to speak immediately; closing his opened mouth and swallowing spit, he shook his head vigorously from side to side.

"There’s no connection at all,” Masa finally answered. “I just drank with him because he invited me—that’s all."

“You’re the lowest kind of scoundrel—the filthiest ditch rat among scoundrels,” said the constable. He drank water from the cup the young woman brought, then thunked it down on the meal table. “Women who get fooled by trash like you ain’t much better themselves. But a full-grown man with all his limbs intact, making his living preying on weak women and making ’em cry? Just hearing about it makes my liver seethe.”

Masa hung his head low in silence.
The other customers became quiet again, exchanging glances and whispering among themselves.

“The law won’t let me haul you in—damn shame,” the constable continued. “Your crimes’d weigh heavier than home invasion robbery if I had my way. Given half a chance, I’d tear you limb from limb or saw you into pieces myself. Mark my words—I’ll do it with these hands someday. Masa, you listening?”

“Huh? Oh—yes.”
Masa raised his face as if startled, hurriedly nodding repeatedly. “I’m listenin’—yes, I’m payin’ proper attention right here.”

“Hey, you lot.”
The constable said to the customers, “This ain’t no sideshow. You came to drink and eat, right? Then get back to your sake and snacks. No call to mind us over here.”

The customers turned their faces away and, as if suddenly remembering, picked up their sake bottles and cups.
Thereupon the young woman came carrying a tray laden with small dishes of sake and appetizers, arranging them before the constable.

“From the counter,” the young woman said. “Please help yourself.”

“Bring me another cup of water,” the constable said. “A larger one this time.”

The young woman left.

“Masa—” the constable said, “what jobs did you do with Shikou no Heiji?”

Masa looked at the man with an unconvinced expression. “Shikou no Heiji, you say?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen such a person.”

“Quit playing dumb!”
The constable’s upper lip curled back, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “I saw with my own eyes that you’ve been with him since yesterday.”

“But I—” Masa’s eyes widened. “You mean… that Bunji just now?”

“He’s Shikou no Heiji.”

“But he’s... he’s a cabinetmaker from Kyōbashi Shirauo Riverbank.”

The young woman brought a large teacup, placed it in front of the constable, and left.
The constable shoved aside the dishes of sake and appetizers laid out before him and gulped down the water in two throaty swallows.

“He’s got hanafuda’s Four Lights tattooed on his left arm—that’s why they call him Shikou no Heiji—but he’s a wanted man who’s killed two people.”

“He killed two people.”

“One in Fujisawa-shuku, the other in Kawasaki—both were constables carrying police batons.”
The constable reached out with one hand and grabbed Masa’s collar. “Now spit it out—what jobs did you do with Heiji?”

“I don’t know—I don’t know nothin’ at all!”

“Shall I haul you off to the station?”

“I—I met ’im three days ago at Masuya in Shinagawa, honest! First time at Masuya—he was the one who invited me to drink—an’ we’ve just been drinkin’ buddies since then! Ain’t lyin’, that’s the whole truth of our association!”

“Where’d he stay?”
The constable twisted up the collar he’d grabbed. “Bastard—try foolin’ me an’ you’re dead.”

“First was Manji Sagami in Shinagawa,” Masa said in a choked voice, “last night at a cheap inn called Matsubaya in Takanawa.”

“What were you planning to do tonight?”

“Nothing,” Masa shook his head. “We ain’t discussed nothin’ yet—hadn’t had time to make plans.”

“Was Heiji’s luggage at Matsubaya?”

“I don’t know. He’s been empty-handed all along.”
“You’re not lying to me now, are you?”

When Masa nodded, the constable released his grip on the collar and drank water from the teacup.
He glanced sideways at the other customers, and Masa adjusted his collar while trembling.

“What did Heiji spill?”
The constable turned back to Masa and said, “Tell me everything Heiji blabbered about—what they’re doing now and what they plan to do next.”

“He didn’t say anything that significant,” Masa said while rubbing his neck and tilting his head as if trying to recall. “What I heard was that he was born in Udagawa—his family ran a sake wholesaler. Apparently went astray around twelve or thirteen, then wandered all over from Kansai to Echigo way for years working as a cabinetmaker. Said he came back wanting to see his family’s faces—that sort of thing.”

“Did he say he met his parents and siblings?”

Masa shook his head. “He said the house in Udagawa-cho burned down completely in the Year of the Rat Fire, and his parents’ whereabouts became unknown.”

“What was the shop called?”

“Hmm, what did he say it was called?”
After thinking for a moment, Masa answered, “Seems I didn’t catch that one. Yeah, he didn’t mention the shop name.”

“As for the tenement at Shirauo Riverbank...”

“I only heard such things—now that I think of it, they might have been lies.”

“That’s everything?”

“That concludes my full report.”

“If you hide anything and get caught later, I’ll have you bound,” the constable said. “Heiji’s a murderer with priors—if there’s even a shred of connection between you two, I’ll make you shoulder every last one of his crimes clean.”

“Yes, please do.”
Masa answered feebly, “If I’ve committed any crime, I’ll gladly accept being bound anytime.”

The constable tightened his lips, glaring fiercely at Masa with a look that seemed ready to spit, but finally clicked his tongue and stood up.

“One more thing,” the constable said through clenched teeth, “if you meet Heiji or learn his whereabouts, you report it. Understand? You will report it.”

“Understood,” Masa answered solemnly. “If such a thing occurs, I will certainly report it. I will certainly do so.”

The constable left.

In the meantime, three accompanied customers entered, and one group settled their bill and left.
They began speaking in loud voices, but didn’t look toward Masa, and one could sense they were deliberately avoiding any mention of what had just transpired.

“What a jerk,” one of the young women said as she approached Masa. “Acting all high and mighty like some boss—I can’t stand that guy. Don’t let it bother you, Masa-san.”

“It’s nothing,” Masa said with a thin smile. “That constable gets hated on, so he’s gotta act tough sometimes. Just bow and scrape and he’s happy—guy’s a pushover.”

“Drink this.”
The young woman took the heated sake flask placed before the constable and offered it toward Masa. “The landlady told me to take this away since it was in the way. Even though he usually drinks it like it’s nothing special, tonight he didn’t touch a drop—how strange. Let me pour for you.”

“What hour is it now, I wonder.”
Masa asked while accepting a pour, “Has it reached five bells yet?”

“The bell at Tenpukuji Temple just struck five,” said the young woman with coquettish eyes. “Should I swap this out for a warm one?”

Masa gently touched her hand. “You’ve started noticing things like that now? Your elegance has shot right up—it’s got me all worked up.”

“Liar.”
She slapped his hand. “You’re always like that—a country girl like me might actually believe you.”

“Hatsu-chan!” called one of the young women from across the room. “You’re needed over here!”

“It’s heating,” shrugged the young woman called Hatsu as she stepped back from Masa, whispering, “I’ll bring a warm one.”

Masa nodded and raised the cup to his lips.

"It's like fishing for sharks during the equinox," he muttered to himself. "Since they're biting from the other side, no need to fuss. I thought I was done for when Bunji got away, but with this, that account's settled clean—what a lucky omen."

IV

A comb-shaped moon hung in the sky.
The main hall of Tenpukuji Temple stood like a shadow theater cutout, and though no wind blew, the nearby sea filled the air with a heavy briny odor.
The vacant lot behind the temple sprouted patchy autumn grasses, the insects' shrilling rising to deafening heights.—At the lot's approximate center stood an asunarou tree measuring over two shaku in diameter, beside which lay an overturned small boat.
The boat was aged and thoroughly desiccated, one bottom plank having come loose, through whose gap grass blades thrust upward.

Masa entered the vacant lot and placed the furoshiki-wrapped bundle he carried in one hand at the edge of the small boat's bottom. With his other hand, he pressed down on the plank.
The wood gave way instantly, splitting apart with a brittle crack.

“So that’s how it is,” he clicked his tongue. “Already served its purpose.”

Masa looked up at the moon, yawned, and slapped a mosquito on his nape.

“When push comes to shove,” Masa muttered to himself, “can’t help feelin’ kinda hollow… Never stepped foot outside Shiba since birth—Kisarazu… On clear days you can just make it out from Shibaura across th’ bay—they say it’s barely a stone’s throw… But settlin’ there proper-like—guess that’s what’s got me feelin’ lonesome.”

Around Masa, the insect sounds abruptly ceased, and from behind the asunarou tree, someone emerged.

“Whoa!” Masa leaped back. “Whoa! Scared me stiff! Don’t pull that crap! Who’s there?”

The man who emerged waved his hand with a “Shh” and removed his indigo-dyed cheek covering.
Through the dim moonlight, he recognized Bunji.

“Oh! Brother!” Masa staggered back a step like he’d seen a ghost. “The hell you doin’ here?”

“Keep your voice down,” Bunji said. “Didn’t you say earlier you were meetin’ Tokugin’s daughter here?”

“I did say that, but—”

“I did say if you’re doubtful you should come see—just settle down, we’ve still got plenty of time.”

Bunji moved aside the furoshiki-wrapped bundle at the edge of the overturned small boat and perched lightly there.

“It’s gonna snap right off, Brother.”

“This part’s fine—that one’s gotten brittle, see? Ain’t you gonna sit?”

“But Brother,” Masa said as he sidled up next to Bunji, “now Brother—ain’t it dangerous dawdlin’ around a place like this?”

“Don’t worry,” Bunji said, “I ain’t some fool who’d get caught by a rookie constable. Or maybe you’re worried about me being here?”

“That ain’t it at all—ain’t nothin’ bad about it,” Masa hesitated slightly, “—Truth is, I was pressed by that constable.”

“Did he go back?”

Masa nodded. “To be honest, I’ve heard all about you, Brother,” he said, raising one hand and waving it dismissively as he hurried on. “I don’t know nothin’! Ain’t my business! I just heard stuff, that’s all!”

“Don’t get flustered,” Bunji interrupted. “More importantly—how exactly did that bastard press you?”

“Said if I meet Brother or learn your whereabouts, I better report it pronto. Otherwise he’ll get involved and string me up himself.”

Bunji chuckled low in his throat. “Perfect then—here I am plain as day. Why not go snitch right now?”

“Quit foolin’ around.” Masa slapped his shin, scratching vigorously as he rose. “However you slice it, Brother—I ain’t rotten enough to sell you out.”

“Three-day drinking debt loyalty, eh? Didn’t know you had such ironclad principles,” he said before suddenly shaking his head. “Nah—or rather, I almost felt touched there, but you’ve got another reason for not crossing me. Hey Masa—cut the crap.”

“Hopeless,” Masa sighed. “Over there they tell me not to play dumb, and here you’re barking ‘no tricks’—what kinda weakling d’you take me for, trying to fool Brother?”

“Tokugin’s daughter—she went by Ohiro before, didn’t she.”

“It’s Omura,” Masa said. “What’s with Omura—”

“You’re meetin’ here tonight to skip off to Kisarazu by boat together, ain’t ya?” Bunji said, slapping a mosquito on his cheek. “Then you can’t go snitchin’ to the constable—that’d sink your Kisarazu plans. How’s that? Nailed it, didn’t I?”

“Huh,” Masa said after a beat. “Never crossed my mind. So... that’s how the dice roll?”

“Well, whatever.”
Bunji swatted at the mosquitoes with his hand towel in annoyance, then said slowly, “Let’s set that aside—I’ve got something to discuss.” He continued, “This here’s just a discussion—you gonna listen?”

“Is this about going to Kisarazu together?”

“Just the two of us—you and me.”
Bunji casually stood up and continued while pacing back and forth, “I’m a tainted man myself, but you’ve committed plenty of sins too—making women hand over their money, beat them senseless, then sell them off. Once you’ve disposed of this Omura girl the same way, you’ll just move on to the next one. Keep piling up crimes like that forever, and nothing good’ll come of it. With all those women’s grudges alone, you’ll never die peacefully on your tatami mat.”

“I already heard that talk earlier,” Masa retorted sullenly. “Let me make this clear, Brother—I was born a stubborn cuss who never listened to anybody’s advice. The more people try to lecture me, the more I dig my heels in. So do me a favor and just leave me the hell alone.”

“I suppose so… Yes, I do think so,” Bunji said slowly again. “Even if what we do differs, there’s something similar in our natures. Probably figured it was like that—but I still wanted to try discussing it, at least.”

“Other things I’ll let slide, but spare me that one—that’s a discussion I ain’t having. Let’s drop this talk right now.”

“Alright, I get it. What can you do with talk like that.”
Bunji approached Masa with casual steps while reaching into his pocket. “Just knowing how you feel’s enough—nothin’ left to discuss now.”

Bunji's hand darted toward Masa's chest.

“What the—” Masa exclaimed in shock. “You suddenly shoving someone like that?”

While pressing his chest with one hand, Masa let out a “Ugh” and held his breath as he finished speaking.
Bunji’s right hand lunged again at Masa’s torso. Masa groaned “Ugh” through clenched teeth as he staggered forward.
With a heavy thud, one knee buckled and struck the ground. He tried to right himself but pitched forward instead, legs crumpling beneath him.

“What grudge—” Masa said through clenched teeth, “what did I do?”
“Forgive me, Masa—I had to do this.”

“Tell me why.”

“Just once in my life… I wanted to do something good.”
Bunji crouched down and wiped the dagger’s blade against grass leaves. “I ain’t claimin’ this makes up for past sins—don’t fool myself some half-assed act could wipe ’em clean. But my luck’s run dry—no strugglin’ll change things now. If this life’s gotta end anyway… just once… wanted to help somebody.”

“This…” Masa gasped out, “…how’s this… helpin’ anyone?”

“I wanted to save that girl.”

“Can’t hear...”

“Besides—ain’t it better for you to quit this world here than keep piling up sins?” Bunji said. “You ’n’ me—we can’t turn proper human without dyin’ first. We’ve done enough selfish deeds in this world. Let’s leave it together—right, Masa? You get it.”

“Can’t hear,” Masa writhed, “I can’t... hear proper.”

“You can’t go it alone.”
Bunji went to Masa’s side and crouched down, bringing his mouth close to the other’s ear as he said, “—Masa, I’ll be right behind you soon.”

Masa's hands lunged at Bunji's abdomen.
When Bunji dropped to his knees，Masa's hand flashed again—and at that same moment，Bunji drove his blade into Masa's chest.
Masa gurgled in his throat and fell onto his back，but immediately twisted his upper body sideways—both hands，still gripping the dagger，slid quietly across the grass as they stretched out.—Just then，the temple began striking four（ten o'clock）.
The bell tower stood behind the main hall，yet its high-pitched toll reverberated as though shaking the entire open space.
Bunji rolled up the hand towel and tucked it into his pocket；once he had stanched bleeding by pressing over his kimono，he rose quietly.

“He did this,” he muttered. “Never thought he’d pull this… Got me good, that slick bastard.”

At that moment from beside the temple came a single lantern light half-concealed by a sleeve, drawing nearer.
Bunji shook his head and narrowed his eyes. When he recognized both the lantern's flame and the girl's face illuminated within its glow, he gasped sharply and thrust his right hand forward.

“Don’t come here, Ohiro!” he shouted. “Stay back! Go straight home!”

The girl halted momentarily but then hurried toward him.

“Who are you?” the girl asked. “You’re not Masa-san, are you?”

“Don’t come here! Go home right now!”

“What happened to him? Where’s Masa-san?” she pressed urgently. “You met him, didn’t you? Why hasn’t he come? Did something go wrong?”

“You’ve been tricked,” Bunji said, turning his face away. His words faltered from pain, and before continuing, he drew a deep breath. “—That bastard fooled you into taking out a hundred ryō and talked about fleeing to Kisarazu together.”

“This is my money. I was supposed to bring it when I married. My own money.”

“Ah—”

Bunji shook his head. “He won’t make you his wife. He’ll play around while the money lasts, then sell you off once it’s gone.”

“Who are you?”

“Who I am don’t matter—none of that’s important. You’re going home.”
Bunji ground his teeth and threw his head back to stare at the sky, keeping his posture rigid as he growled, “Don’t tangle yourself with that human garbage! Give up on him and get outta here—now!”

“Ah—”
The girl raised her lantern to look at Bunji, opened her mouth, then sharply cried out, “Aren’t you my brother?”

“No.”
Bunji shook his head while turning his face away. “I ain’t that sort of person.”

“You just called me Ohiro,” the girl said. “How do you know that name? I changed it to Omura at fourteen because I was frail. You’re Brother—Brother Bunji who ran away when I was twelve in spring. Aren’t you?”

Bunji staggered, grabbing the trunk of an asunarou tree with one hand to barely steady himself.

“No—I ain’t that sort of person.”
“Show me your face—let me see it properly, please.”

The girl brought the lantern closer.
And suddenly, covering her nose with one hand, she cried out in a trembling voice, “It’s blood!” as she leaped aside and stumbled over something, nearly falling.
The small bundle she had been holding fell, and she nearly dropped the lantern, but it was then that she first caught sight of the corpse lying there.

“Don’t touch,” Bunji said. “You’ll defile yourself—and soil your kimono.”

The girl was looking down at the corpse.
She mouthed "Masa-san," but her tongue seized up, the words barely forming.
Her whole body shook as if shaken by invisible hands, knees buckling beneath her.
Gasping open-mouthed, she quietly reached toward the corpse's face—then tore her throat in a scream, reeling backward as though slashing through bonds.

"He's dead. That person is dead."
Trembling, she turned to face Bunji. "—You killed him, didn't you?"

“He’s a scoundrel.”

“Why? Why did you kill that person?”

“I’m going with him.”
Bunji tightened the hand pressed against his chest. “Both me and him—we’re people who can’t live proper in this world.”

“I loved this person.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“I knew. Everyone knew,” the girl declared in a parched, clear voice. “What wrongs this person committed, what people say about him—I knew it all perfectly well. But I loved this person. I believed I could make him into a proper human being. Even if not that, I thought I’d endure any hardship for his sake, bear any sorrow for him. And you killed that, Brother.”

“No,” Bunji shook his head. “I ain’t your brother.”

“You’ve always been awful,” the girl continued undeterred. “Since we were little—nothing but unmanageable antics that made our whole family live in shame. And that’s not all! You stole my allowance, tormented me till I cried, smashed countless dolls I treasured—you haven’t forgotten, have you?”

There, the girl began to cry, but her words grew colder and harsher.

“I loved this person,” the girl shouted, “the first man I ever loved! Until I turned twenty-six, I couldn’t stand even looking at men—but this one made me feel longing for the first time in my life—and you killed that, Brother!”

“Just like you destroyed my cherished dolls long ago, Brother, you’ve gone and killed this person too—isn’t this too cruel?”

“You’ve got the wrong person—I ain’t your brother.”

“That’s right—as if you could ever be my brother!” the girl said. “You’re just a villain—just a killer! The cruelest of all—a bloodless, tearless killer!”

Bunji moved away from the asunarou tree and, staggering as if favoring his strength-drained legs, slowly began to walk.

“Someone help!” the girl screamed with ear-splitting intensity. “A murderer—someone please come! There’s a murderer!”

“I ain’t your brother,” Bunji muttered deliriously as he walked. “Ain’t that sort of person... Wrong man altogether.”

The wound seemed to have stopped hurting.
But the bleeding showed no signs of stopping, and each footprint left in his wake was stained with blood.

“It was Kisarazu, wasn’t it?” he muttered again. “Didn’t I say the boat fare’s already paid?—Wait for me, Masa—let’s go together.”

The girl was still screaming when, from the direction Bunji had gone, several lantern lights could be seen rushing toward them.

Five

The sky was beginning to lighten.
Shibahama—where not even the sound of waves could be heard—was enveloped in thick, milky fog; except for the occasional sound of waves breaking, neither the sea nor the shore could be discerned.

After five fishermen returning from night fishing had beached their boat, one of them found something on the sand and called his four companions.
They gathered around something, and one of them called out in a loud voice to fishermen from another boat.
Because the fog was thick, their movements were only visible like shadow puppets; however, their numbers gradually increased, and excited voices discussing something could be heard.
Before long, two middle-aged fishermen came hurrying over.

“It’s a gang fight,” one of them said. “They must’ve brawled somewhere nearby and fled here to die.”

“Hey, watch out,” his companion said, pointing at the ground. “That spot’s soiled—look, this one too. Don’t step there.”

The first fisherman moved aside and said cautiously as he walked, “Hope there ain’t no trouble at the station.”

The two men walked away through the fog.