Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yamamoto Shūgorō

1 Once more a scream-like voice rang out, then came the sound of the woman shouting.

That woman again. Mizawa Ihei lay still, barely opening his eyes as if trying not to be noticed and looked at his wife. Otayo continued sewing. She was taking apart an old lined garment she had mended and converting it into a summer kimono. In the light filtering through brown-sooted paper doors, her sunken cheeks where thinness showed starkly, sharp shoulders, and fingers clutching a needle appeared pitiful as a haggard crone. Yet her neatly bound abundant hair and vividly red lips alone still retained a maidenly freshness. Perhaps because she had borne no children - yet her affluent upbringing before marriage, having endured seven years of hardship, seemed to have barely persisted there alone.

Outside, rain fell. The rainy season should have ended, yet fifteen days of continuous downpour showed no sign of ceasing today. Though this mist-like rain made no audible sound, the unending drip-drip through day and night only deepened the gloom weighing upon them.

“There’s a thief here! A thief!” The woman’s shameless shouting grew louder. “Someone stole my rice while I was washing up! I’d even marked my pot proper!”

Ihei tightly closed his eyes. It was nothing out of the ordinary.

In cheap inns like this one on the outskirts of post towns, such disturbances often occurred. Most of the guests were desperately poor people—candy peddlers, festival vendors, shabby traveling performers—so when rain confined them even briefly, they would lack even food, and it wasn’t uncommon for some to resort to taking others’ belongings. But to call them thieves was too harsh—to call them thieves...

Mizawa Ihei felt as though the accusations were directed at himself, his chest beginning to pound with a mix of shame and guilt.

The woman's shouts only grew louder, but no other voices could be heard. Though not visible from this three-mat room, there should be about ten lodgers in that room with the hearth. Among them were two couples with children; even the younger child who would fuss and cry all day long now seemed to be holding its breath.

The woman, a thirty-something engaged in shady work, had always been on bad terms with her fellow lodgers. There was no one who would engage with her; everyone was avoiding her. Of course, it wasn’t out of contempt. People consumed with mere survival had neither the habit of looking down on others for their occupations nor the leisure to do so. They avoided the woman because her manner was too rough, her prickly demeanor stung those around her, and she would hurl venomous remarks without mercy. In other words, they held her in contempt, but she seemed unaware of this, constantly displaying open hostility toward them.

Though they had been confined by rain for half a month and everyone was now on the brink of starvation—perhaps because of such work—she alone (though meagerly) never neglected cooking. This seemed to greatly satisfy her habitual hostility and self-esteem.

“That’s going too far...” Ihei muttered this, then unable to endure the woman’s increasingly loud and ceaselessly vitriolic shouts any longer, rose to his feet. “That’s too cruel. Even if it were true, I don’t think it’s right to say things that wound people’s hearts like that.” While murmuring as if to himself, he surreptitiously observed his wife’s expression. He was tall in stature, with broad shoulders and a thick chest that formed a well-toned physique. His plump, round face appeared remarkably gentle, while his downturned eyes and small lips retained a boyish cleanliness reminiscent of privileged upbringing.

"Yes, that may be so, but..."

Otayo said without looking toward her husband, smoothing the sewn section with her nail. "I do wish everyone would show a bit more kindness. She acts that way because she feels excluded and lonely, you see." "That may be true, but she ought to make more effort herself."

Ihei twitched. The woman had finally named someone. "Aren’t you going to say something? Hey, you Sekkyōbushi old man over there!"

The woman’s voice stabbed like a blade. “Playing dumb won’t work—I ain’t blind! Knew from the start you stole it, same as last time!” Ihei sprang upright. “Don’t!” Otayo tried restraining him, but he slid open the shōji screen and exited. The space resembled a farmhouse hearth room, one side forming an earthen passageway stretching from shopfront to rear. Tatami mats lay in an L-shape—six-mat and eight-mat areas connected—with a large hearth carved between them and the raised wooden flooring. What distinguished it from true farmhouses were the low ceiling beams and how most guests eschewed private rooms to sleep crowded together here; cooking pots borrowed from the innkeeper sat beside the hearth, utensils for communal use lining the walls.

The woman was by the hearth. With one hand thrust into her kimono and a knee raised, her pallid, sickly thin face contorted as she glared about with blazing eyes and shouted in a voice that could split stone—the other lodgers all kept their distance, some hunched over clutching their knees, others lying prostrate or tightly holding their children, every one of them suppressing their breath. It felt like stray dogs patiently waiting out a passing storm.

"Excuse me, but you must stop this at once." Ihei went before the woman and spoke gently to soothe her.

“I don’t believe there are any bad people here. Everyone is good at heart, and you must know that yourself.”

“Just leave me be!” The woman turned away. “This ain’t none of your concern, you samurai. Sure, I make my living in lowly ways, but I ain’t spineless enough to stay quiet when my things get stolen.” “That’s absolutely right, of course it is. But since I will make amends for it, please let that settle the matter.” “There’s no call for you samurai to fret over this. I ain’t saying I begrudge the stuff.”

"That’s absolutely right, of course it is, but humans do make mistakes, and here we are sharing the same roof. So please, just this once, let me go take care of it right away."

After saying just that, Ihei stood up hurriedly. “An oath is an oath, but this is this.”

Holding an oil-paper umbrella boldly inscribed with the inn’s name, he no sooner stepped outside than muttered these words to himself, his lips curling into a smile as if tickled by some private amusement. “Now that such a thing has happened before my very eyes, I can’t simply protect my own conscience—well no, that would instead be an act contrary to conscience.” He suddenly made a serious face. “No—since I’m not doing anything, you couldn’t call this an action. Though neither could you call it non-action.”

Muttering unintelligible words to himself, he walked toward the castle town with hurried, lively steps.

II

It was about four hours later that he returned to the inn. He must have drunk sake, for his face was bright red; but what proved more surprising was that five or six youths and apprentices followed behind him carrying various supplies. The rice merchant brought straw bales of rice; the greengrocer a basket of vegetables; the fishmonger fish on two platters; the sake merchant a five-shō cask of sake along with miso and soy sauce; and following behind the confectioner came massive amounts of firewood and charcoal.

“Oh my, what in the world have you done?”

The innkeeper’s wife came out and stared wide-eyed. The young men and apprentices lined up the carried items along the raised edge and earthen floor. “I thought we should lift our spirits a bit, you see.” Ihei narrowed his eyes with a smile and addressed his dumbfounded fellow lodgers. "My apologies to everyone, but please lend me your hands. Let us all share a meal to dispel the ill fortune of this long rain. Though it’s meager and rather embarrassing, I ask that we divide the tasks—I myself will at least cook the rice. Shall we proceed with these humble dishes?"

Among the fellow lodgers arose a sigh-like sound, indiscernible whether of joy or suffering. Immediately, no one moved; but when Ihei produced some sweets and Gen-san (the barrel hoop mender)’s child leapt up from its mother’s lap, four or five people rose together. The inn suddenly surged with lively activity. It was as though something burst forth in a torrent. The innkeeper couple and the middle-aged maid joined in, fish and vegetables were spread out, and fires were lit in both the hearth and the cooking stove. Energetic shouts and laughter erupted without pause, and the women squealed for no particular reason while slapping each other’s backs.

“Please take a seat, Master.” Everyone said to Ihei. “We’ll handle things here—it’s not proper to have you do such work after your generosity.” They pleaded that they would call him when preparations were complete, but Ihei remained unpersuaded. Casting frequent glances toward the small room where his wife stayed, he kept bustling about with awkward movements. The sekkyōbushi old man, though slightly palsied, bustled more zealously than anyone else as if bearing particular responsibility.

By the time preparations were finally complete, eight lamps had been lit in the eight-mat area of the room where twilight had deepened (through the innkeeper’s kindness), and paper lanterns were brought out to three locations. “Come now, all you men please sit down with the Master—we’ll handle carrying everything else.”

The women urged them on with these words. “And don’t you let our sake-warmer tend to her duty—she’ll drink it all before it’s properly heated!” Then a woman standing nearby retorted, “In that case, your sake pot never gets time to warm properly, does it?” and shrieked with laughter as they traded jibes.

Ihei sat down alongside the innkeeper couple. The men also took their respective seats. In the large pot set over the hearth stood seven or eight sake-warming bottles, and when the meal trays were brought in, the inn’s maid distributed them to everyone’s trays. And the lively banquet began. “How’s this now! With all these dishes lined up proper-like and holdin’ your sake cup steady as can be—ain’t this finer than a lord’s feast? Feel like you’ve gone and become the shogun himself!”

“Don’t get too cocky there—you’ll tip over backwards if you aren’t careful.” Ihei watched them with downcast eyes, looking genuinely pleased as he gulped his drink. Having long been starved, they all grew swiftly drunk; a worn shamisen was brought out, songs began, and some even started dancing. “Just like a dream...” Mirror Polisher Buhei said reflectively, “If I’d known there was joy like this—even just once a year, no, once every three years—I could’ve borne all my everyday hardships...”

And then, amidst the boisterous clamor, a lone sigh could be heard. Ihei briefly closed his eyes, then, as if stung by something, knit his brows tightly and took a drink of sake.

At this very moment, that woman returned. She usually returned well past midnight, but now—whether she had failed to find customers or not—she entered the earthen floor with her pale, sharp-featured face, only to stand dumbstruck at the sight before her, her hands frozen mid-motion as they had been about to wipe her rain-dampened hair. The first to notice this was Gen-san’s wife. Since her children often received sweets from the woman, she had been friendly with her; but now, being drunk, she seemed to have forgotten the day’s earlier incident. “Oh! Oroku-san! You’re back! It’s all thanks to Mr. Mizawa’s kindness here—come up quickly now!”

Just as she started to say this, the sekkyōbushi old man leapt up and shouted.

“Hey, you’re back, Yotaka Ama! Get up here! I’ll give your rice back, so come over here!” Though his tongue faltered somewhat from partial paralysis, his voice rang out remarkably loud, his eyes blazed fiercely, and his entire body trembled.

Everyone fell silent. The song and shamisen music stopped abruptly, and all turned toward the woman as one. “How dare you call me a thief!” The old man continued in a death-rattled voice, “Who the hell d’you think you are? Get over here! Ah kept this untouched—not a grain eaten! Serves you right! Take it back!” “Please wait—don’t speak so harshly. Let us—” Ihei rose to placate the old man. “People err—that one suffers too. All humans bear sorrow within each other. Let us forgive and make peace.”

He said something incoherent and called out to the woman in the dirt-floored area. “You too, please—it’s nothing at all. Do come over here and sit down. Though there’s little to offer, do share a pleasant drink with everyone. We’re all in this together.” “Do come now.”

The innkeeper’s wife added her encouragement. “Since Master insists so, do come here and partake in the feast.”

Everyone followed suit and urged her. It was not merely the sake's influence—these people were incapable of monopolizing joy or pleasure for themselves. Gen the hoop mender's wife stood up, went over, took the woman's hand, and brought her back. She sat with an aloof expression and—as if drinking purely out of obligation—silently leaned back to take her sake cup.

“Now let’s get lively again!” Ihei declared in a loud voice, “Let’s all join together so that even heaven will be astonished into putting away this rain! Come on, everyone...”

And as the commotion began anew, Ihei—as if he had finally mustered his courage—picked up the tray before him, stood, and entered the three-mat room where his wife waited. Otayo was facing a small desk with uneven legs, writing in her handmade diary. Through their long years of wandering, she had maintained this diary without fail, as if it were her sole pleasure. Seeing his wife’s figure—having drawn the dim lantern light closer and now facing her desk in a kneeling seiza posture—Ihei set down the tray, sat down, neatly straightened his knees, and bowed.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Otayo turned around quietly. Her lips bore a smile, but her eyes were clearly filled with anger. “You had a gambling match, didn’t you?” “To be honest—I did have a gambling match.” Ihei bowed once more. “I simply couldn’t bear it—hearing such things made me too sorrowful to feign ignorance. With everyone suffering and the rain never ceasing—when I imagined their plight, I found myself unable to remain still.”

“You promised you would never engage in gambling matches again.” “Yes, of course—but this wasn’t for my own stomach’s sake! I mean—yes, I did drink a bit myself—perhaps somewhat more than a bit—but everyone was so overjoyed...”

And then he bowed once more.

“This is how it stands—please forgive me. I’ll never do it again. So please... as proof of your forgiveness, take just one bite—a single mouthful will suffice.” Otayo rose, laying aside her brush with a smile tinged by sorrow.

III

The next morning while it was still dark, Ihei borrowed an old straw raincoat and hat, took a fishing rod and fish basket, and left the inn. About three blocks toward the castle town lay the Mamba River, known in the area as a fishing spot for sweetfish. He too, having been shown by the innkeeper, had gone out two or three times and caught five or six small ones; but that morning, it seemed his purpose was not fishing but rather to escape from the inn.

He was crushed; with a dejected face, he occasionally shook his head as if he couldn’t bear it and let out a sigh.

After crossing the bridge and immediately turning left, he walked about two blocks along the embankment until reaching a spot on the bank where shrubs grew thickly. It was a place he had visited before; there he paused briefly before staggering onward again, descending the embankment and entering the pine forest.

"Ah... It’s been seven years now... Ah..." In the forest, the young pine leaves were fragrant. Large raindrops pattered onto his hat.

"I may not mind, but it's about what Otayo must be feeling—how I used smooth words to break my vow and hold gambling matches... Ah. When pressed, wasn't it really myself wanting to drink? Yes—didn't I go out licking my chops, all eager and cheerful? Brr."

Ihei ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut. The Mizawa family had served under Matsudaira Ikinokami and held a hereditary stipend of 250 koku. His father was called Hyōgonosuke, and he—the only son—had been terribly weak in body since childhood, which led to his being sent to Sōkanji, a Zen temple. He was deeply cherished by the head priest named Genwa, and even after reaching adulthood, their bond never waned.

Just as his body was weak, his disposition too was timid—a withdrawn, hesitant child who did nothing but cry—but thanks to the priest’s skillful education, by fourteen or fifteen he had completely transformed: his body grew healthy, and his temperament became bright and proactive. “Within stone lies fire; strike it not, and none emerges.”

This was Genwa's favorite saying, but Ihei had cherished these words like a protective talisman. Whether in scholarship or martial arts, whenever he encountered difficulties, he would meditate on this intently. Within stone lies fire; strike it not, and none emerges. How does one strike? Come now—how to strike so that the fire within the stone may be kindled? Come now... This was how he would contemplate and devise solutions. And then—though not in all matters—in most cases, a path to breakthrough would open.

His scholarship extended to Zhu Xi, Wang Yangming, and even Laozi, while in martial arts he mastered everything from swordsmanship to spear, naginata, archery, jujutsu, staff fighting, horsemanship, and swimming—all reaching unparalleled levels of proficiency. Did Ihei rise rapidly through the ranks? No—it was precisely the opposite. Because of this, he had to leave his lord’s household and become a ronin.

There appeared to be two reasons. One was that his skill had grown extraordinary; the other lay in his temperament. To summarize—whether in swordsmanship or jujutsu—he fought with utter effortlessness yet remained peerlessly strong. By his early twenties, even masters of those arts would no longer face him—not because he employed any particularly unusual techniques, but because matches ended with such startling simplicity that one could scarcely credit their conclusion. The single strike that draws forth fire from stone. That is to say, when he discovered this "single point," the outcome would be decided. Yet precisely because it was all so artless and transparently clear-cut, his opponents found themselves unable to retreat with dignity; spectators grew disenchanted; and he himself was left flushed with awkwardness.

When his father Hyōgonosuke died, he succeeded to the family headship at twenty-four. At the same time, he took a bride from the Kurematsu clan within the same household—this being Otayo—but when his mother soon followed his father in death, he abruptly began to feel ill at ease. ...Though he had grown considerably proactive through Genwa Oshō's influence, his core nature remained unchanged; as his martial skills strengthened, his disposition became inversely more gentle, humble, and mild.

Not growing arrogant in victory may have been a virtue, but Ihei would become flustered and apologetic each time he won. His genuine contrition and embarrassment left opponents all the more unable to retreat with dignity. Those around him felt vaguely unsettled too, until he himself began to feel as though he'd committed some transgression. These incidents piled up, the atmosphere growing increasingly strained (though the domain's martial arts instructors had also schemed against him somewhat), until at last he voluntarily sought dismissal and resigned from service.

With all this knowledge I possessed—wouldn’t it be more prudent for both parties if I simply went to some unknown land and sought new employment?

He discussed it with Otayo and, having obtained her consent, set out on their journey. But it did not go well. Opportunities had existed, but when it came time to participate in skill-testing matches, things would become strangely awkward. He would effortlessly defeat the martial arts instructors of that domain or those reputed to be invincible, as was his custom. The excessive anticlimax would leave the gathering deflated, emotions somehow becoming strained, resulting in his skill being praised yet the employment offer never materializing.

"This can't be how it is—with all this ability, where did I go wrong?"

He reflected, deliberated, and agonized. There had been two or three occasions when matters went well, but each time some new obstacle would emerge. It would be situations like him pitying opponents who might lose their positions if defeated by him, or being implored by them (indeed, there had been instances where they desperately entreated, "Please withdraw your application for employment—if I lose my post now, my wife and children will be left destitute"), whereupon he would grow contrite and flustered, ultimately withdrawing of his own accord with apologies.

When he left his lord’s household, he had carried a considerable amount of travel funds; but by the third year, these too ran out, forcing him to resort to gambling matches at town dojos. This proved utterly successful. If opponents would only agree to face him, he would win without fail—at times earning vast sums of money. However, his wife soon noticed, tearfully admonished him, and made him swear never to do it again.

Needless to say, they were immediately plunged into dire straits. "I can take up some piecework, so please wait patiently for better times." Otayo began to suggest. She had been born into a 950-koku quasi-elder councilor family and grown up in comfort and freedom. The unaccustomed hardships of their wandering journey had weakened her body and left her utterly emaciated. Ihei felt choked just seeing her condition. He felt such pity for her that it made him want to writhe in agony—whenever he heard her mention piecework, he would tremble and refuse. Out of the question—he would apologize for that alone, and instead he himself would devise some petty trade.

Even though it was called petty trade, it wasn’t anything settled. He would make simple toys himself—Yajirobei dolls, jumping rabbits, bamboo dragonflies, paper popguns, flutes—or depending on the season and location, catch creatures like small crucian carp, crabs, and frogs to sell primarily to young children. The inns they stayed at gradually declined in quality, and before they knew it, they had grown accustomed to cheap lodging houses. Since he had always liked children, such petty trade was never unpleasant to him; the lodgers at the cheap inn—though there were exceptions—were simple and warm-hearted people, and sharing the common hardship of impoverished circumstances allowed them all to interact with remarkable ease.

"It's become part of me now—don't you find this pitiful, utterly pitiful, Iheiuji?"

He puckered his face and sighed. When he came to his senses, he found himself standing motionless in a pine forest, raindrops beating incessantly against his hat. "I really must get serious soon—by any measure, isn't Otayo pitiful? When you consider what feelings Otayo must be harboring—that's how it is, don't you agree, Ihei?"

He suddenly turned to the side because voices had begun rising from that direction. Looking over, he saw four or five samurai gathered in the meadow just beyond the pine grove talking about something. If someone were to see me standing here blankly like this, wearing a straw raincoat and holding a fishing rod, it'd be embarrassing. He tried to hurry away but turned back again. Just as he thought he heard ominous voices, the samurai drew their swords with metallic glints.

Ah, this won't do.

Mizawa Ihei was astonished. When he realized five men were surrounding a single youth, he involuntarily cast aside his fishing gear and dashed out from the pine grove toward them.

"Stop! Please stop!" He waved his hand while shouting.

IV

In the drizzle, they all had faces twisted with rage, were wildly agitated, and verged on utter frenzy.

“Please stop this! Wait!”

Ihei ran up to them and positioned himself as if to restrain both sides with his hands. “If someone gets hurt, it will be dangerous—please stop this dangerous waving of blades. Please, everyone!” “Step back, you wretch! Shut your mouth!” One of the surrounding men barked, “Keep interfering and I’ll cut you down first!” “That may be so, but regardless—” “Still running your mouth, you wretch?”

“Oh, this is dangerous! Such violence! Ah—” One of the frenzied men (likely as a threat) raised his sword and charged forward. Ihei, not knowing how to dodge, grabbed his opponent’s dominant arm and pushed his way into their midst while pleading, “Please—I don’t know what this is about, but stop this. It’s pointless. Please.” The samurai whose dominant arm had been seized flailed wildly, but try as he might, he couldn’t break free from Ihei’s grip. Seeing this, the four companions became enraged,

“Take out this wretch first!” With this shout, they too flashed their swords and charged forward. Ihei, flustered, dodged sideways. “Please stop! Such— Ah, that’s dangerous! At least don’t do that! In any case here— Ah!” Waving his hands, bowing, and pleading all the while, he darted left and right—leaping over slashes, dodging thrusts, circling behind attackers—moving with such dizzying vigor that within moments he had seized all five men’s swords. Bundling them in both arms and raising the cluster high above his head, he kept begging “Please forgive me! I apologize for my rudeness! Here, as you can see! Please, just for now—” as he scrambled away.

A short while before this, three samurai had ridden up on horseback along the road opposite the pine grove and were observing the scene. Watching this spectacle of five men chasing the fleeing Ihei while shouting demands like “Return our swords!” “You insolent cur!” and “Halt, wretch!”, the three samurai finally dismounted, with two from their group now approaching the commotion. “Calm yourselves; this is unsightly.”

A stout samurai of about forty-five or forty-six halted them with a weighty, resonant voice that carried clearly through the air. “Duels are forbidden by law; withdraw!” “It’s the Honorable Elder Statesman!”

Another one barked. “Calm yourselves; the Honorable Elder Statesman is present!”

Evidently a man of considerable authority, at this single command they all jolted to their senses and obediently ceased fighting. The middle-aged samurai referred to as the Honorable Elder Statesman glared fiercely at the men, then immediately approached Ihei. "I don't know who you are, but you have kindly stopped this. I am Aoyama Shūzen of this domain, and I offer my deepest thanks." "Oh, no—it was nothing at all."

Of course he had lowered the swords he’d been holding aloft, but as usual, he shrank back in embarrassment and flushed red. “On the contrary, it is I who have behaved improperly and thoroughly angered everyone present.” “Those hot-blooded fools must have presented quite the spectacle—if you’ll forgive my plain speaking.” “Ah, I am Mizawa Ihei—a ronin—who had gone fishing at yonder river, but seeing the perilous situation here, I acted without thinking... in this regrettable manner.”

“Are you staying in this area?” “At a place called Oiwake no Matsubaya—oh no, it’s nothing worth mentioning! Please pay me no mind—you mustn’t trouble yourself over someone like me. I merely did what little I could.”

He placed the swords there and retreated while bowing.

“Please don’t concern yourself—my wife is waiting, and I’ve left the borrowed fishing rods lying about—I must take my leave.”

And he hurriedly left that place. Both the fishing rod and fish basket remained where they had been. Since he no longer felt like fishing, he picked them up and set off for home with a disappointed heart. "Engaging in duels... what dangerous behavior."

As he walked, he muttered to himself.

"Even though some must have parents, siblings, wives, and children... It must be about clinging to trivial stubbornness or samurai honor... But what a failure that was—holding up five swords over my head with both hands, apologizing while scrambling about... Even I find it shameful. And since someone witnessed that... Ugh."

Ihei hunched his shoulders and groaned. He returned to the inn, but there was nothing to do. He had already made more than enough toys for peddling, and even if he were to make more, he worried about having the money to buy materials (what with the inn fees). It was the day after heavy drinking, and though he felt a persistent urge to drink again, there was nothing to be done; he ate a combined breakfast and lunch before going back to sleep.

In his sleep, he had a wonderful dream. A certain feudal lord had come with a great retinue and was insisting he absolutely must take Ihei into his service. "That would only lead to more awkwardness." he declined. The feudal lord absolutely would not yield and said he would grant a stipend of one thousand koku. A thousand koku—now that changed everything.

His heart pounded as he thought the time had finally come, filling him with a dreamlike sense of happiness. At that moment, he was awakened by his wife. “There is a guest.”

On about the third time, he opened his eyes. He felt no small disappointment thinking it had indeed been just a dream, but upon hearing the guest was a samurai from the domain, this time he was fully awake. "A samurai, you say? Well then, I'll come right out—just need to wash my face quick."

Ihei rushed out to the back.

The guest was one of the men who had ridden their horses into that grassland—the same man who had shouted, “It’s the Honorable Elder Statesman!” during the commotion. He appeared to be thirty-four or thirty-five years old and went by the name Ushio Dairoku; apparently discomfited by this cheap inn, he delivered his message while standing in the dirt-floored entrance. In short, he said they wished for Ihei to come to Aoyama Shūzen’s residence both to offer a cup of sake in gratitude for that morning’s incident and because there were matters they wished to discuss. Ihei felt a thrill of excitement. _This might be that prophetic dream coming true._

One could not dismiss such omens. If agreeable, [he] would accompany him—as a palanquin had been made to wait—so [Ihei] had them wait while he prepared. “May I ask what business this concerns? Where did you make this person’s acquaintance?” Otayo asked worriedly. Not wanting to disappoint her, he said he would explain everything upon his return. Donning aged yet proper crested formal attire with hakama trousers and wearing his long and short swords for the first time in ages, he departed together with Ushio Dairoku under the fellow lodgers’ suspicious and envious gazes.

5

At the Aoyama residence, he was treated to food and drink. There were no other guests—just Shūzen and him alone, with a young house retainer named Hayashi serving. Though called an Elder Statesman, his exact rank remained unclear; the estate was remarkably vast, and even the trees and stones visible in the inner garden from the guest room appeared more elaborately arranged than usual.

Shūzen did not mention the morning’s events and, after expressing his gratitude, immediately began praising Ihei’s martial prowess. “To be frank, I observed from the roadside—though those men were quite skilled in their own right—I was astonished to see them handled like mere children. If I may ask without offense—what school do you belong to?” “Ah, I studied the Ono school and practiced drawing the sword, but of course I’m still inexperienced.” “Set aside your unnecessary modesty—given that you remain a ronin despite possessing such skill, I imagine there must be some reason behind it. If it’s not too much trouble, would you share it?”

“Well, there’s nothing worth mentioning—it’s practically a laughingstock, really.”

Ihei recounted the general circumstances of his life. By custom, he did not refer to his former lord’s family by name. Though mere hints should not have sufficed for comprehension, Ihei’s deferential manner of speaking seemed to compensate for the vagueness of his account—through this combination, Shūzen appeared to grasp both why he had become a ronin and why subsequent appointments had eluded him. “Such things do happen. Hmm… A disposition that someone like myself finds refined may prove a hindrance in other circumstances—whether you call it fate’s design, the whims of fortune, or simply one’s lot in life.” Shūzen nodded thoughtfully. “Then aside from swordsmanship, you are also masterful in archery, horsemanship, spearmanship, jujutsu, and such disciplines.”

“Proficient? Nothing of the sort—as I’ve humbly stated before, I remain woefully inadequate in my practice.” “No, I quite understand—to speak plainly, this hasty summons stems from a matter I myself wish to propose.”

In short, he wanted him to demonstrate his skills once more here—in fact, he had three men prepared to spar with him for that very purpose, he said. By that time, Ihei had already drunk a fair amount. Though it seemed Shūzen had deliberately plied him with drink, Ihei—who actually preferred being slightly intoxicated—naturally agreed with cheerful readiness. "If it pleases you, we may begin at once." “Then I must ask your forbearance,”

When Shūzen called out, Ushio Dairoku appeared. He had apparently been waiting in the adjoining room. Having been instructed to verify their readiness, he went to check but promptly returned to report that all preparations were complete.

They were led to the training hall. It was a structure attached to the main house, located two turns down the main building’s corridor—small yet properly constructed with what appeared to be a waiting room. [...] As Ihei followed Shūzen inside, three men emerged from the waiting area in perfect synchronization with their entrance. But for some reason, one of the three men started upon seeing Ihei’s figure; after muttering something to his companions, he turned straight back toward the waiting room.

Ihei paid no particular heed and went to a corner where he wrung out the crotch of his hakama trousers before taking a bokuto from those Dairoku had brought without careful selection. He wore neither headband nor sash. On their side too, one man had prepared himself and now held a slightly longer bokuto while whispering something to Shūzen. He was a small-statured youth of twenty-seven or twenty-eight, his tanned and rugged face making his white teeth stand out starkly.

Eventually, through Shūzen’s introduction, the two faced each other. The young man was called Harada Jūbei, and when he saw Ihei’s stance, he smirked with amusement. His relaxed, poorly timed stance seemed to strike him as comical. Unaware of this, Ihei narrowed his eyes into a smile and even added a casual bow, causing the young Harada to nearly burst into laughter. Of course, he did not burst into laughter. He had barely managed to restrain himself, but now seemed greatly relieved—actively raising spirited shouts and repeatedly demonstrating his fervent fighting spirit.

Ihei’s stance was utterly formless. There was no way to pin it down. With his rugged shoulders slightly hunched forward and bokuto thrust ahead, he gazed at his opponent through downcast eyes that held an almost tender quality. One might think he was about to begin a glaring match. The young Harada let out a piercing shout and struck with his entire body’s momentum. His compact frame resembled a stone hurled through air. Yet Ihei simply balanced on the tips of his toenails and smoothly raised his bokuto overhead. Harada hurtled past, skull cracking against the dojo’s wooden wall. He rebounded unaided, crumpled to the floor, then immediately pushed himself up on one elbow. After a brief contemplative pause, he barked, “I yield!”

“I’m terribly sorry.” Ihei bowed apologetically. “My deepest apologies.”

Next was a man named Nabeyama Matagorō, thirty-six or thirty-seven years old, who likely served as the instructor. His calm eyes held an extraordinary gleam; his demeanor was composed, revealing flawless composure. "My technique may be somewhat forceful." "Please keep that in mind," Nabeyama continued in a calm voice. "Ah, well, I'll do what I can."

Mizawa Ihei bowed casually and assumed the same stance as before, gazing at his opponent with unchanged gentleness. Nabeyama sharply drew back his left foot into a half-body stance, lowering his bokuto's tip until it nearly grazed the floor—assuming what might be termed a ground-scraping Seigan stance—and steadily locked eyes with Ihei. This time matters took longer. Both kept silent and utterly motionless. While Ihei maintained his clumsy posture, Nabeyama's entire body gradually filled with vital energy, his gaze acquiring an increasingly lethal intensity. As considerable time elapsed in this manner, the tip of Nabeyama's bokuto began imperceptibly rising—with glacial slowness—until unnoticed by any present moment, his stance had transitioned to a slightly lowered Seigan position.

The moment seemed ripe. The tension had reached its peak, and sparks truly seemed ready to fly. At that moment, Ihei’s bokuto moved and lightly tapped his opponent’s bokuto. Though he had tapped it with an almost jesting lightness, his opponent’s bokuto fell tip downward, embedding itself into the floorboards with a sharp crack. “Oh—this is inexcusable—” Mizawa Ihei clutched his head in dismay, “—What a dreadful blunder—to damage your esteemed dojo—this is truly—most unforgivable—”

And pulling out the embedded bokuto, he sheepishly stroked the hole-pierced floorboard. Nabeyama Matagorō remained standing in a daze.

Six

Ihei returned to the inn after dusk.

In exceptionally high spirits, his face flushed red from drink and beaming with a smile, he handed his wife a large box of confectionery, saying it was a gift he’d received. "I thought you’d be waiting with dinner ready, but they pressed me so insistently that I ended up staying late, you see." Even while changing clothes, he kept talking animatedly.

“I really thought I’d be back much sooner—just another moment or two—but they treated me to quite a feast, and then there were matters to discuss too.”

Otayo, who had been putting away the discarded garments, discovered a paper-wrapped bundle in the sleeve of his kimono and cast a suspicious look at her husband. From its weight and texture, she had realized it was money. “Ah, I had forgotten—completely forgotten about it. That’s from Mr. Aoyama—he said to use it for the preparations needed for you to enter service.” “When you say ‘you’...” Otayo asked anxiously in return, “—And though you mentioned someone just now, I haven’t the slightest clue what any of this means.”

“Yes, yes—exactly! I am a bit drunk, you see. Ah, sorry—could I trouble you for a glass of water?”

Ihei began to speak while drinking water. This time, his tone grew more subdued, and his language became markedly calmer. For a long time now, talk of "official post" had become taboo between the couple. Due to their repeated failures, they had come to avoid nurturing hope and strove to steer clear of the subject whenever possible. At first, overwhelmed by joy and emboldened by drink, he had grown boisterous, but upon seeing his wife’s expression, he finally regained his composure and recounted the day’s events in a carefully abridged, nonchalant manner.

“So you had matches with those three gentlemen?” "No, it was two. One apparently had some sudden trouble—he did come to the dojo, but... Well, perhaps they made him wait until the next match instead. It’s been decided to hold it formally at the castle now."

Otayo merely nodded with a cautious, resigned expression—it seemed she wanted to say, “Please don’t raise your hopes too much.” Ihei continued in his matter-of-fact tone, “It doesn’t matter either way, but since they went through the trouble of offering it, we might as well use the preparation funds to purchase something profitable—no no, that’s absurd—just a jest.” Having said this, he pressed on with renewed vigor: “But regardless, this Aoyama appears to be a man of true caliber—I disclosed everything about my past circumstances, you understand—and his manner of comprehending it differed entirely from others’, yes, leagues beyond ordinary folk. Moreover—whether by fortune or not—they’re apparently seeking an instructor for His Lordship’s education, desiring first-rate practitioners of archery, spearmanship, horsemanship and such. They say the lord himself possesses tremendous enthusiasm for martial arts. Not that this means I’m overjoyed about it, no—but... well... somehow I sense that this time—yes, this time might finally come to fruition.”

“Then will you not partake of supper?” Otayo nonchalantly changed the subject. She must not get swept up in her husband’s emotions; she mustn’t trust mere words. The way she was restraining herself struck Mizawa Ihei as truly pitiful. The next day, the rain still fell, but he went to the castle town and purchased ready-made formal attire, paper tissue pouches, folding fans, tabi socks, footwear, and such. With a considerable amount of money left over, he bought a hairpin for his wife.

――It had been so long since I bought anything for Otayo.

He felt somewhat better, but upon stepping out onto the road and starting to walk, he tightly furrowed his brows with that familiar expression—as if he’d been stung by something. What nonsense. Far from it being the first time in ages—this was actually the very first time he had ever bought something for his wife. For eight and a half years of marriage, all the things she had brought from her parents’ home had been sold. When they left the Matsudaira family’s service, they still had some small belongings, but during their wanderings, those too were all sold off. Moreover, not a single thing had he ever bought for her himself. He slumped dejectedly and let out a sigh. Then suddenly raising his face in a manner as if picking a fight—“But this time it’s a true dream, you see.” He muttered this while glaring at the heavens—“There were omens right before the messenger came—every condition is met now. By any measure, it’s high time—high time the season arrived.”

Ihei energetically started walking through the rain.

Then on the fifth day, the rain suddenly stopped. Until midnight the previous night there had been no hint of cessation—just endless steady rainfall—yet when morning broke, it cleared completely, and now sunlight glittered in a sky so blue it seemed one might fall through it. "It's stopped! The rain's stopped! The skies have cleared!" Each of the fellow lodgers looked up and shouted these words. It was the simple yet truly jubilant cry of those regaining their means to live. Then a messenger from Shūzen came to Ihei's quarters too. The message instructed him to prepare for attending the castle.

"This is a splendid omen, isn't it?" Ihei began with a smile, but seeing his wife's resigned expression, he hurriedly amended, "Well—for my part—but everyone's been confined over twenty days by this rain, you see. Now they're rescued. Yes, just look at their jubilation—why, it makes even us feel gladdened, doesn't it?" "I shall prepare for our departure as well." "Yes, quite." He glanced at his wife. "Though today won't serve—my return may come late."

“Please put on your tabi socks first.” Otayo once again nonchalantly changed the subject.

7

Ihei returned late in the afternoon, as the sun began to sink.

The outcome must have been excellent, for he was desperately trying to suppress the rising joy—yet no matter how he pressed it down, it kept surging up, leaving him with an unsteady, sullen expression that seemed to say he didn't know what to do with himself. "Because I stopped by Mr. Aoyama's place on my way back."

He said this and placed a large package there. “They insisted on a celebratory drink—though of course I declined today—but it would have been rude not to stop by. This is a gift from his lordship.”

Two packages wrapped in paper stamped with family crests—Otayo appeared startled for a moment, but quickly regained her composure and quietly accepted them, tucking them away in a corner.

“Let me have a drink today.” Ihei said while taking off his kamishimo.

“As you wish.”

Otayo's response alone was bright. Generally speaking, such cheap inns did not have baths. He went to the public bathhouse at an inn about ten blocks to the west and then settled before his modest sake setting.

Otayo served drinks while speaking in an uncharacteristically voluble manner with heartfelt earnestness—about how certain fellow lodgers had already departed, how others would leave tomorrow, the messages left by those who had gone, and how they had all wept together.

“Though I’ve become close with many who stay at inns like this, they’ve all been such gentle, good souls—even when their own lives were wanting, always fretting over others, weeping true tears at others’ misfortunes, sharing what little they had without a second thought... So different from folk in the wider world—all of them tenderhearted to the point of sorrow, warm through and through.” “Those in want must lean on each other—makes living nigh impossible if you cling to your own wants, I reckon.”

“The storytelling old man said this: ‘Though I can no longer appear before you, wherever I go, I shall pray for the prosperity of you two.’” Otayo quietly lowered her eyes. “Then he wiped his tears and said, ‘I’ll never forget what happened these past days until I die. Such gratitude and joy—I’d never experienced anything like it since being born. That this world holds goodness—only now in my later years have I come to know this.’ My chest grew tight...”

“Let’s stop this. To me, seeing you like this, Otayo, is even sadder—more painful.”

Ihei's face became deflated, then he abruptly spoke up as if buoyant.

“However, I suppose you could say this too is ending—but actually today, my stipend amount has been nearly finalized.” “Once before too—” “No, today was different. I demonstrated swordsmanship, extended a five-sun archery target to twenty-eight ken, and rode a wild black Kiso-bred stallion none had ever mounted—but that’s beside the point.” The domain lord was Nagai Shinano no Kami Akiaki, a man in his early twenties who had recently inherited his position. Though young, he burned with passion for martial arts and stood as a newly risen reformer determined to overhaul domain governance. Having witnessed Ihei’s prowess, he insisted he join their service—not by displacing his predecessor, but through newly approved expansion of their martial retinue.

“Not that I consider it absolutely certain, of course—but still, this time, going so far as to doubt seems...” “That is certainly the case.” Otayo nodded evasively. “Shall I serve you seconds? Would you care to dine?”

“Yes, yes, let’s have our meal.” Having fully tested his skills for the first time in ages, his entire body brimmed with invigorating fatigue and satisfaction. Moreover, his hope for employment was ninety percent certain. Given past precedents, his wife refused to believe it and seemed to avoid broaching the subject as much as possible. Yet for Ihei, this very reluctance struck him as pitiful, and he found himself wishing—without making any definitive claims—to somehow put her mind at ease, if only a little.

The next day, three of their fellow lodgers departed. Mr. Gen's wife, the hoop mender's spouse, shook the child on her back as she said, "We'll likely never have the honor of seeing you again—do please take good care of yourselves both. I pray you'll achieve great success—truly, thank you ever so much for all your kindness and help." With these words, she wiped her tears with her sleeve. "So everyone keeps declaring we'll never meet again," Otayo remarked. "They've always stated it so resolutely before—why don't they ever say they'd like to meet again someday?" she later added.

Ihei said “Who knows” and averted his eyes in a fluster.

For those people there was only today; they did not know their own tomorrows. While they could believe in being together now, the hope of meeting again was something they could not hold. This was not limited to those wandering travelers - all humans... It was because such a damp, melancholic thought had arisen.

When evening came, five new guests arrived. Among them was a monkey handler, who after dinner made his monkey perform tricks and himself sang rare rustic folk songs from various provinces. The fellow lodgers were greatly delighted, but when the monkey handler, seizing the right moment, said, “If you’ll all spare a few coins, I’ll have the monkey perform an amorous dance next,” they all left without hesitation, returning to their places.

The next morning. Shortly after finishing their meal, Otayo began packing their belongings. “It is a fine day today.” While wrapping something, she murmured as if to herself, “Even on days with just a few clouds, they say that pass often gets rain—so if we’re to cross it, a day like today would be best.”

8

“Yes, today has truly cleared up beautifully.”

Mizawa Ihei looked up at the sky beyond the low eaves as though diverting the conversation, shook his leg restlessly, looked up again, then stood up. “Are you going out?” “No—just...” He stepped outside the inn and gazed toward the castle town with unsettled eyes. Clearly agitated, he began striding in that direction before catching himself and heaving a short sigh. From behind came an abrupt rat-a-tat-tat of drumbeats. Startled by the sudden noise, he leapt sideways.

“Good morning! May today bring perfect harmony and great fortune!”

It was the monkey handler. The monkey handler—with his somewhat warped and shriveled physique and an unnaturally jovial demeanor—gave that greeting, perched the monkey on his back, and beat his drum as he hurried off toward the castle town. “The weather leaves nothing to complain about...” Having returned to the small room, Ihei spoke after a while: “At any rate, it’s only been two days. They’ll likely send some word. I don’t think we can simply depart without notice.”

“That may be so, but I shall at least make the preparations.” “That may be so, but in any case we’ll be leaving this place…” Ihei started and raised his head like a mantis with exaggerated motion. The clatter of horse hooves ceased before the inn. Otayo too must have heard it—she seemed momentarily startled but quickly recovered herself and resumed wrapping their belongings. Ihei stood to adjust his collar and spoke in his most composed tone: “They’ve come, it seems.” With these words he went out.

Just as Ushio Dairoku was entering the earthen-floored entrance. Mizawa Ihei stifled the pounding in his chest, put on as much calm as he could muster, and with a gentle smile went to welcome him at the raised threshold.

“No, I must beg my leave here.” Ushio Dairoku surveyed the squalid interior with evident distaste, his tone growing markedly more formal than during their previous encounter. “Lord Shūzen conveys his assessment: ‘A martial artist of singular rarity—your peerless skill and elevated principles compel us to seek your service as retainer irrespective of stipend rank.’ Furthermore, His Lordship himself has shown particular enthusiasm in this matter.” “No indeed—such praise exceeds my worth, I could never...”

“Given these circumstances, we had nearly finalized your appointment to the retainer position when an unexpected complication arose.” Ihei held his breath, felt as if the ground were beginning to shake, and gripped his knees tightly.

“Though we speak of a complication, it does not lie on our part—the responsibility originates from you.” Dairoku continued coldly, “—That you engaged in gambling matches—at a certain dojo in the castle town where you wagered gold coins in combat, won and took those coins... I trust you recall this.” Ihei barely managed to nod. And he recalled how once at the Aoyama family’s dojo, one of the three opponents had fled the moment he saw him.

“I do remember—I do remember, but—” Ihei faltered, “—You see, there was... there was a truly pitiable person among the guests staying at this inn...” “Regardless of circumstances,” came the cold reply, “for a samurai to engage in gambling matches constitutes the utmost disgrace. As someone has formally denounced this matter, we must regrettably withdraw our offer. Please consider this arrangement as never having existed.”

Ushio Dairoku placed a paper-wrapped packet atop a white fan and set it before Ihei as he stated, “Lord Shūzen conveys that modest though this may be, you are to accept it as a contribution to your travel expenses.” “No, this is too much—I couldn’t possibly.” Ihei waved his hand with a face on the verge of tears. “Please—there’s no need for such concern—I’ve already received so much from you. Truly, this is...” “No, we gratefully accept this.”

While saying this, Otayo came and sat down beside her husband. Ihei was thrown into disarray, but Dairoku too seemed startled, bowing vaguely as if to say something. However, Otayo did not allow that opening. Though somewhat agitated, she spoke clearly in a steady tone: "My husband was wrong to hold those gambling matches—I too had long wished he would stop such things. But I’ve come to understand for the first time that this was a mistake. I believe my husband knew full well how dishonorable gambling matches were. Yet knowing this, there are times when one cannot help but act—when one simply must proceed regardless. I’ve finally understood—through my husband’s gambling matches, how overjoyed people became, how truly saved they felt."

“Stop that now—you’re being rude.” “Yes, I will stop. And I shall convey this to you alone.” Otayo turned back to face him, her voice trembling as she declared—“From now on, conduct gambling matches whenever you please, and bring joy to all those around you—the poor, the helpless, those trapped in misery.”

Her words dissolved into sobs. Ushio Dairoku looked disconcerted, awkwardly stepped back, offered a vague bow, and slipped out.

Though the timing was awkwardly premature, resolved to make a clean break of it, the couple soon departed from the inn. Though rice remained from that night's feast along with funds provided by Shūzen—both of which they divided equally and entrusted to the innkeeper while requesting he assist future guests enduring prolonged rains or hardships... As husband and wife were fastening their straw sandals, Oroku—that woman from before—approached. Her sickly thin face with its sharp features contorted into what might pass for an obliging smile as she produced three aged medicine packets: “Madam, please take these,” she said—“they’re good when sandals chafe your feet—tobacco ash mixed with saliva into a paste works wonders... Wanted to give finer parting gifts I did—but well... Mere trifles really.”

“No, I’m truly happy—thank you.” Otayo expressed her gratitude in a familiar tone and, with genuine delight, tucked it into her kimono. They were seen off by the inn people to the outskirts of Oiwake, then turned right and headed toward the mountain pass.

Mizawa Ihei seemed unable to shake off his dejection; Otayo made no attempt to comfort him.

To possess such exceptional skills yet be unable to use that power to advance—what a peculiar twist of fate it was, what a preposterous world this was. While thinking this, she found herself unexpectedly smiling. But I find our current circumstances perfectly acceptable—not elbowing others aside nor seizing their positions, moving among those who are poor yet genuine of heart, bringing joy and hope to all whenever opportunity allows—even as you are now remains truly admirable.

With these words she wanted to say yet kept unspoken, occasionally stealing glances at her husband's face, Otayo walked on with light steps. Mizawa Ihei too seemed to be gradually regaining his composure—he had grown accustomed to disappointment and become skilled at shifting his emotions through habit. Yet out of consideration for his wife’s feelings, he couldn’t suddenly brighten his mood—or so it appeared. But the time came when even that restraint was forgotten. When they emerged onto the mountain pass, as if a curtain had been torn away, the neighboring province’s mountains and fields suddenly spread open beneath their eyes while a refreshing wind came blowing up. His face lit up brightly as he cried out, “Ah! Ah!”

“Ah! This is—this is magnificent! Look there! What a breathtaking view!” “My, how truly beautiful it is.” “Doesn’t this make your whole body surge with vigor, eh?” He broke his round face into a beaming smile, eyes brimming with boyish vitality. He already began envisioning new life and fresh hope within that panorama.

“Please cheer up—let’s regain our spirits.”

He said earnestly to his wife, “What you see over there is the castle town of 105,000 koku—a place renowned for its prosperity. After all, it’s 105,000 koku! I think we can say ‘This time for sure,’ so let’s cheer up and press on.” “I am quite well, I assure you.” Otayo laughed brightly, straining her neck as she looked up at her husband while skillfully imitating his speech patterns. “I suppose you could say that.”