Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Soga Jubei abruptly struck Kobayashi Hansaburo.

At that moment, Hansaburo was drinking sake when he heard Jubei’s voice requesting entry at the entrance. With no one present to answer, no one came out. Jubei called out three times in a loud voice, then opened the folding door beside the entrance and stepped into the garden.

He’s back from Tsugaru.

Hansaburo sat cross-legged, continuing to drink as he thought this. Jubei, having entered the garden, stood on the veranda and glared toward him. After his long journey, the man’s well-fleshed, angular face bore a deep sunburn, anger burning in those large eyes.

“Oh,” Hansaburo called out. “You’ve come back?”

Then Jubei stepped up from the shoe-removal area onto the veranda and entered the tatami room, holding his sword in his right hand.
From the long strides with which he approached, Hansaburo recognized that he was far angrier than he had realized.
Jubei stood before the tray and looked down at Hansaburo from above.

“This is what it’s come to?” Jubei said. “It’s been like this all along?”

Then, switching his sword to his left hand, he raised his right and struck Hansaburo.
It was a slap; a sharp crack rang out, and Hansaburo’s face jerked to the side.

“What’s the point of doing that?” Hansaburo said while shielding the cup he was holding. “You’ll just spill the sake.”

Jubei’s rough breathing could be heard.
The slap was quite powerful, but Hansaburo felt no pain at all.
Jubei’s rough breathing seemed to directly convey the magnitude of his anger, but even this failed to stir the slightest emotion in Hansaburo.

Jubei sat down and placed his sword.
Hansaburo took a sip from his cup and offered it, but Jubei didn’t even glance at it as he spoke.

“What do you plan to do?”

Hansaburo did not answer.

“I returned yesterday. Akita, Saegusa, and Abe came over, and the three of us had dinner together,” Jubei said. “I heard the whole story then, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe it right away.”

“I must have made my feelings clear.”

“That was two years ago,” Jubei retorted. “Two years ago—back when *that incident* happened—you heard me then. Last year, before I was appointed provincial inspector and left for Tsugaru, we spoke alone. I said, ‘Enough—settle things here and now. This disgrace has gone too far.’ At that time, Kobayashi said you agreed—‘I think so too.’ I remember you saying, ‘I think so too.’”

“Even now, it’s the same,” Hansaburo said in a voice like wind crossing a high sky. “I’ve never once thought this was disgraceful.”

That was his answer.
It was neither out of despair nor self-mockery; he had honestly expressed his feelings.

Jubei told Kobayashi to consider his family’s status.
That was only natural to say, for until his grandfather’s generation, the Kobayashi family had been nothing more than minor retainers with just over a hundred koku.
It was his father Hanbee’s generation that elevated it to a shogunal retainer position yielding over 220 koku.
His father drank no alcohol and smoked no tobacco, living his entire life through diligence and frugality.
When his mother passed away from illness nine years prior, his father was still forty-two years old, so there were quite a few remarriage proposals.
However, his father shook his head.

Hansaburo was already seventeen, so in four or five years he would have to take a wife. If I were to take a new wife now, the household would become complicated, and there wouldn't be enough financial leeway.

Father Hanbee had said so. And then, about a year later, he arranged the engagement between Kanamori Misuzu and Hansaburo. Kanamori Shuzan was an eight hundred koku shogunal retainer—that is to say, his father's superior—and Misuzu was thirteen years old at the time. This marriage alliance was meant to secure the Kobayashi family's future, and it was his father's lifelong dedication to diligence and frugality that had elevated their status to such heights. Jubei had been referring to that.

Soga Jubei was a two hundred and fifty koku tsukaiban inspector, and last June he had been appointed provincial inspector to Tsugaru.
A provincial inspector was an auditor dispatched by the shogunate to the domains of tozama daimyo, with a standard complement of two or three officials serving rotating terms of six months to one year.
Before his departure, Jubei visited Hansaburo and spent over two hours admonishing him, telling him to get himself properly together by the time he returned.
However, when he came back, far from recovering, matters had deteriorated even further.
Hansaburo neglected his official duties entirely, spending his days drinking and carousing until the household finances grew desperate - even the stewards, retainers, and lowliest servants had all abandoned the estate.
The debts had done nothing but accumulate until now even his friends had given up.
Jubei had heard about this - heard from their mutual friends Akita Gen'emon, Saegusa Koichiro, and Abe Ukyo - and had stormed over in a rage.

“The hardships your father endured to build this up will all be for nothing at this rate,” Jubei snapped back. “Is that incident truly so significant?”

“Father died three years ago.”

“I don’t need to hear that.”

“Father hoped to elevate the Kobayashi family name, achieved that hope—nearly achieved it, secured future prospects—and died satisfied. Even if I ruin the Kobayashi house, that has nothing to do with my dead father.”

“Is that incident truly so significant?”

Hansaburo poured himself the last of the sake and drank. Beside him stood two 1.8-liter flasks, while five heated sake vessels lined the tray and its surroundings. Plates of fish reduced to bones, bowls of candied stew, emptied soup bowls and hassun dishes—the scattered remnants of drinking and eating lay in desolate disarray. Hansaburo drank alone under Jubei’s piercing glare.

“That depends on the person,” Hansaburo said slowly. “What might seem trivial to countless others could shape a single person’s entire existence.”

“Even over one woman?”

“Even over being lightly mocked,” Hansaburo continued in a low voice. “Fujii Matagoro cut down Numata Naiki after mere ridicule, then fell on his sword and erased his family line.”
“We called him a fool back then—all of us did.”
“But I don’t think so now. For Fujii—for Fujii alone—it held that much worth.”

“Are you saying I should think the same way in this case?”

Hansaburo slowly shook his head. “There’s no need to get angry at me or hit me,” he said. “How about sharing a drink instead?”

Jubei stood up without a word.

Two

Hansaburo was lying down.

“November,” he muttered. “A hundred and fifty days had passed since then... Hmm, I talked too much back then—still had some wit left. Why didn’t I just let Jubei say his piece? Whether he said it or not would’ve been the same either way. What a foolish story.”

He chuckled quietly.
Then a morbid hunger arose in his stomach, and he was assailed by unbearable thirst.

“Jubei was angry back then, wasn’t he?”
He muttered as if to disguise his hunger and thirst.
“I’d never seen that guy give such a look before—he hit me with full force too. But he himself has no regrets—after storming in here and saying his piece like that. Yeah—he fulfilled his duty as a friend. It’s fine—it’ll all be over soon anyway—wouldn’t take much longer.”

Hansaburo spread out a thin night quilt, lain down directly on the old tatami mats, and was using a pillow.

The ten-mat room facing the garden was in ruins. The tatami mats hadn’t been replaced, nor had the shoji screens or sliding fusuma doors been re-papered. Not only had no cleaning been done for nearly a year, but used items and things taken out lay strewn about as they were. The tatami room reeked of mildew and dust, and moreover was filled with the stench of spoiled matter; thus, despite it being November, there was no choice but to leave the garden-facing shoji screens open. The garden was quite spacious. Originally, there had been a small pond, a small artificial hill, a young cedar grove, and planted areas. All of these were things his father had painstakingly tended himself, but now, with no maintenance at all, they were unsightly. Needless to say, the cedar grove stood untamed; the plantings had all stretched their branches in whatever direction they pleased; the pond had dried up and accumulated debris; and the artificial hill had partially collapsed from last year’s frost and snow, exposing its red clay flesh like a scar with peeled skin. The area that had once been lawn was now overrun with weeds, which had grown two or three feet tall and uniformly turned brown and withered.

"Eightfold mugwort..." Hansaburo muttered listlessly—"A veritable Gate of Mugwort."

He quietly narrowed his eyes.

The tall withered grass covering the entire garden stirred, and something seemed to be moving within its shadow.
He had been gazing at it absently with no particular thought when the moving figure abruptly stood up, turned this way, and bowed.
Hansaburo kept gazing blankly through narrowed eyes.

“The weeds are so overgrown,” the figure said. “Just looking at them makes me feel all prickly inside, so I’m just pulling some out now.”

The voice belonged to a woman.
Hansaburo realized it was a woman and focused his gaze while still lying down.

She wore a dark cotton padded kimono with a faded obi.
She stood not very tall.
Her hair was tightly bound up, her face black like chestnut bark.
She’s a terribly dark-skinned woman, Hansaburo thought.
She gave the impression of someone who had just arrived from the countryside, yet her voice remained clear as her dark face turned toward him with an unreserved smile.

“Who are you?” Hansaburo asked.

It seemed she hadn’t heard him.
Or perhaps she had heard but chose not to answer; smiling more brightly, she waved her hand toward the withered grass.

“It’ll be clean in two days,” she said. “This much is nothing—if I do it myself, it’s no trouble at all.”

And then she began pulling up the dead grass again.

What manner of person has come here—what does she intend?
Hansaburo wanted to ask that—but finding it too troublesome and lacking the energy, he closed his eyes again.
Indeed, he found everything bothersome and lacked even the energy to sit up.
If his memory served him right, he hadn’t eaten for six days now.
He had been lying there day and night, only drinking water occasionally.

Would a corpse that starved to death be clean, or would it be grotesque?

Hansaburo dwelled on such thoughts.
Since it would be reduced to just skin and bones, it likely wouldn't be repulsive.
He wondered how many days it might require.
Ten days? Half a month? Surely not thirty.
Thirty days stretched too long—it couldn't possibly take that.
As these musings circled through his mind, Hansaburo slipped into sleep.
Then came his awakening by that unfamiliar woman.

“Master,” called a voice, “it’s already noon, so let’s prepare the meal.”

Hansaburo was dreaming.
He had been dreaming of food and, as if being forcibly pulled out from within that dream, slowly opened his eyes.
Then right there, that unfamiliar woman was kneeling with a dark smile, looking this way.

“Let’s have the midday meal,” she said.
It was a pure, beautiful voice, like that of a young girl.
“Where is the rice or anything else kept?”

Hansaburo licked his lips, then after testing his voice once, deliberately said, “There’s no such thing here.”

“Is there no rice?”

Hansaburo nodded.

“Well then,”
she asked, “are you ordering from a caterer?”

Hansaburo shook his head side to side.
A startled expression surfaced on the unfamiliar woman’s dark face, followed by a drawn-out sigh of “Huh...”

“I just inspected the kitchen,” she said. “The pots are rusted through, the rice chest dried out and split open—everything’s caked in dust and trash like an abandoned manor. Don’t you keep any retainers or maidservants?”

Hansaburo nodded.

“Well then, rice—how will you have your meal? If you’re not getting it from a caterer, I—I mean, I can go buy rice or something and prepare a tray for you.”

“I don’t need it,” Hansaburo said. “I don’t need anything. Just leave me be.”

And he closed his eyes—then suddenly realized and tried to ask, *Just who are you?*—but the woman was no longer there. He raised his head and looked around the tatami room, then rolled over and closed his eyes upon confirming the woman was nowhere to be seen. This time he fell into a dreamless sleep, but before long was roused once more by the woman’s voice.

“Please wake up, Master,” she said near his ear. “Rice—the meal is ready, so please wake up, Master.”

Hansaburo opened his eyes, “What—you’re still here?”

“The meal is ready,” she said with a smile.
In her dark face, her clean white teeth showed. “Though it’s only salt-cured fish and leafy vegetable broth, please get up and eat, Master.”

The sweet aroma of freshly cooked rice and the greasy smell of grilled fish grabbed him and, with irresistible force, constricted him.
He rose up without a moment to think, with a feeling as if assaulted by dizziness.

Three

Hansaburo ate just a single bowlful and set down the rice bowl and chopsticks.
Since he had fasted for six days, he thought it best to stop now.

“You should eat more,” the woman said. “Does it not suit your taste?”

“No—it was delicious,” he said. “I’ll have the rest tonight. Once you’ve cleared this away, you should eat.”

But Hansaburo suddenly raised his eyes and looked at her suspiciously. “This might be a strange question,” he said, “but where did this rice and fish come from?”

“Yes,” she answered cheerfully. “I borrowed the rice from the rice shop, the fish from Uogin, and the soy sauce, miso, sugar, salt, and sake from Iga-ya.”
“I also borrowed various vegetables from Yaohisa-san, so for this evening’s meal, I will serve simmered dishes and pickled side dishes.”

Hansaburo remained silent, then timidly asked, “Is that true?”

“Yes,” she nodded.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “Every shop has debts piled up—I haven’t been able to get credit from any of them for over half a year now.”

“That’s how it goes,” she said with a smile. “Everywhere they said the same thing—that there was already a mountain of debt piled up. The rice shop owner turned red with anger.”

Hansaburo asked probing, “So—how did you borrow it?”

“I told them.”
She averted her eyes slightly. “That’s what I told them—that I’m Adako, newly come to Master Kobayashi’s residence. Well—I intended to work here in this household.”

“What do you mean, you’ll—”

“I beg of you.”
The woman who called herself Adako pressed her hands to the floor and bowed. “I have nowhere else to go. I’ll do anything—please let me stay in this residence.”

“It’s no use,” he said. “Not only can I not pay wages—I can’t even feed you. I couldn’t even feed myself anymore—I’d been drinking nothing but water for six days.”

“I don’t need a single coin for wages—I’ll handle the food,” Adako said, raising her eyes. “Since it’s my first day today, I only borrowed a little. But even so, if it’s just you and me, Master, we can manage for fifty or sixty days.”

“Fifty days?!”

“Yes,” Adako nodded. “One *to* of polished rice, plus another bale in straw sacks. Soy sauce—one barrel; salt—five *shō*; miso—since it’s winter and the flavor won’t spoil, one barrel of that too; sake—I wasn’t sure how much you drink, so just one *shō* for now, but I’ll get more if you want. From Uogin: two salt-cured salmon and ten dried fish pieces—they said the dried fish will last ten days if aired properly. And from Yaohisa: besides greens, one barrel each of pickled vegetables and takuan.”

Hansaburo raised his hand to interrupt. “Wait—hold on. Did you really borrow all that?”

“Yes,” Adako nodded.

“And the rice shop and Iga-ya actually lent that much?”

“Yes,” Adako answered. “While you were lying there—while you were asleep—they all brought everything over. I was scrubbing rust off the pots and kettles and cleaning the kitchen that whole time.”

Hansaburo looked toward the garden, then at Adako, and turned his gaze back to the garden.

“Could you let me stay?” Adako said. “I’ll pound the rice from the bales—there’s a mortar in the storage shed—pounding won’t trouble me at all. Mending clothes or washing or cleaning—I’ll do anything.”

Hansaburo stayed silent awhile before finally saying, “If you insist on staying this much—fine. But I won’t lift a finger for you.”

“Will you let me stay?”

“It won’t last long.”

“Oh, I thought,” Adako said with a beaming smile, “How wonderful! Now I can finally breathe easy. I’ll work with all my might, so please do entrust things to me.”

Hansaburo averted his eyes and said, “Go and have your meal.”

He remained seated, gazing toward the garden for a long time.
Beyond the fence lay Matsudaira Sagaminokami’s middle residence, where five large hackberry trees stood in a row. On their bare branches, sparrows gathered—taking flight in sudden bursts only to alight on different branches—and each time they did so, the last remaining withered leaves would flutter down.

“That’s it,” he muttered at last. “This is Jubei’s doing. Soga Jubei must have sent her—there’s no other way this could have happened.”

A twisted smile formed on his lips.

"You think that's all there is to it?" he said challengingly. "Go on then—try your best. Let's see who endures longer."

Adako worked diligently.

In just five days, the house became clean, and they could take baths again.
She took good care of Hansaburo—shaving his pate daily, tying his hair, and making him shave his beard.
She prepared the bath daily and even trimmed his fingernails.
When he lay down, she would wake him and tell him to take a short walk outside, saying it was bad for the body.
She carried out all these tasks deftly and utterly naturally.
Even in caring for Hansaburo, there was never any hint of pushiness—if he said he didn’t want something, she never forced it on him.
The taste of the food was inconsistent—sometimes too salty, sometimes too sweet—but after about twenty days had passed, whether she had grown accustomed or come to understand Hansaburo’s preferences, such unevenness was no longer felt.

Adako was skilled at needlework as well.
She took out his clothes that had been stuffed away soiled, untangled them one after another, washed and stretched them out, then skillfully tailored them anew.
She turned unlined garments into lined ones, converted lined robes into padded winter wear, and expertly patched or replaced frayed sections where the fabric had grown brittle.
When she saw that Hansaburo was bored, she would bring such mending work to his side and talk while moving her needle.
He listened with indifference, but the strange accent in her speech and the absurdity of her stories would occasionally make him burst out laughing.

“Adako uses strange words,” he said at one point. “What does ‘That’s how it be, eh?’ mean?”

“Oh, how embarrassing!”
Adako hid her face with both hands but immediately straightened up and answered, “That is to say, it’s exactly as you surmise.”

“You seem to use all sorts of other phrases too—where’s this dialect from?”

“Yes,” Adako answered, “Tsugaru.”

Hansaburo quietly averted his eyes.

IV

Just as I thought, Hansaburo said inwardly.
Jubei had gone to Tsugaru as provincial inspector; he must have brought her along then and made her enter here.

The rice shop and sake shop—Jubei had paid them; Adako must have received money from Jubei and used it to make the payments.

Hansaburo surmised as much.
Otherwise, with that much debt piled up, the merchants would have no reason to lend.
Now he understood—he had seen the truth of it, he thought.
Caught in this ironic determination to see how long Jubei would hold out, he found himself strangely free of resentment toward Adako and felt no urge to make things difficult for her.

One night in mid-December—Adako sat by his side, sewing and talking.
This was Hansaburo’s six-mat sitting room. He leaned on his desk with his elbow, occasionally warming his hands over the charcoal brazier as he listened to her speak.
The rain that had begun at dusk had been quietly striking the eaves until just moments before.
The sound had ceased at some point, and outside had fallen completely silent.

“Deep in that garden lived a pair of weasels,” Adako continued. “They’d dwelled there over thirty years, just the two of them together all that time, so they say.”

“Any garden?” he asked.

“The Karanaisaka Mansion.”

“Karanaisaka—” He looked at Adako. “Haven’t heard that name. Where is it?”

“Oh, you hadn’t heard?” Adako shot a look. “It’s Hirosaki in Tsugaru. The lord of Hirosaki’s villa stands in Karanaisaka—a place so beautiful words can’t describe it. They say they named it Karanaisaka because even in Tang China there’d be nothing like it.”

“I see,” he nodded. “But even without that villa’s garden, Edo has weasels too.”

“A married pair of weasels?”

“Can’t say for certain,” he replied, “but if they bear young, there must be mates.”

“Yet those weasels lived thirty years and more as husband and wife in harmony.”

“Hmph.”
He held his hands over the charcoal brazier. “How would you know such a thing?”

“It’s because the lord and my father kept watch over them,” Adako said, pausing her needle. “They observed them from childhood—over thirty years passed like that—and then both husband and wife weasels grew completely old, so they say.”

“Weasels grow old too, huh?”

“That they do.”
Adako continued, “They’d grown completely old, you see—the male weasel’s head went bald, and the female’s hair turned white, so they say.”

Hansaburo looked at Adako. “Was your father at that mansion?”

“Yes,” she answered, “we’d been tending the gardens since my grandfather’s time.”

“So he was a samurai?”

“Oh no—not a samurai. He cared for the trees.”

Hansaburo abruptly raised his eyes. "Earlier you mentioned something about what became of the weasels when they aged."
"Oh, you hadn't been listening after all."
"What became of them when they aged?"

“So you see,” Adako said, “the male weasel’s head goes bald, and the female weasel’s hair turns white.”

“I see,” he said.

Hansaburo sat perfectly still, then stood up, entered the bedroom, and slid the fusuma shut with a backhand.

“Are you going to retire for the night?” Adako asked.
There was no reply—only a strange laugh that came rippling through.
It began as muffled clucking, like a hen summoning her chicks, but climbed higher until it burst forth from his throat in ragged torrents.
Startled, Adako rose and approached. “What’s wrong?” she called out while sliding open the fusuma.
There sat Hansaburo cross-legged on the spread futon, clutching his belly as he laughed.

“What’s wrong?” Adako asked in a hurt tone. “Did I use some strange words?”

“Go on, get out of here,” he said, waving his hand while laughing. “It’s nothing—no need to worry. Go on and close that up.”

Adako did as she was told.
When the bedroom fell silent and Adako took up her sewing, from beyond came a sudden eruption of laughter-filled shouts.

“Bald-headed weasel!” came his laughter-filled shout. “The female’s hair turned white—ah!”

And he laughed and laughed, until finally he was laughing with pained groans.

“What a peculiar Master,” muttered Adako while moving her needle, then smiled softly. “But I’ve heard him laugh for the first time—he’d only ever worn that difficult face before. If he starts laughing like that now, things will take a turn.”

With this, things might change a bit.
Adako seemed to have expected as much, but there was no change in Hansaburo’s condition.
Every morning, Adako would wake him and make him wash his face.
After meals, she would shave his forelock, retie his topknot, and make him change clothes.
Whether in the morning or afternoon, she would take him out for a walk once a day.
In the evening, she would prepare a bath and have him enter, wash his back, and pour him sake with dinner if he desired.
Even when he drank, two flasks of warmed sake were the limit—a fact that struck Adako as peculiar.

“Why don’t you drink more?” she had once asked. “The people at Iga-ya said you used to drink quite a lot every day.”

Hansaburo shook his head vaguely, “I don’t really like it.”

That was his only reply.

Thus the same sort of days passed by, and the year came to an end.
In the New Year came a messenger from Abe Ukyo with a summons saying friends were gathering and he should come, but Hansaburo refused even to meet the envoy, having Adako turn them away.
This occurred on the fifth day. When afternoon brought snowfall, Hansaburo opened the shoji screens of the ten-mat tatami room and drank slowly—a rare occurrence—gazing at the snow while Adako poured his sake.

"Why won’t you go to your friends’ place?" Adako said, watching his expression. "They made such effort to invite you, and drinking alone can’t be much fun."

Hansaburo said while still looking at the garden, “That is Jubei’s doing—Soga Jubei. You must know of him.”

“Do you mean me?”

“There’s no need to hide—it’s Soga Jubei of Dote Sanbancho. You know him, don’t you?”

“I don’t know such a person,” Adako said, her voice low and slightly trembling. “But there are things I do know.”

“What do you know?”
“It’s about Lord Kanamori.”

“I heard it from Jubei.”

“I don’t know such a person,” Adako said, her voice damp and trembling more intensely. “I heard it from Mr. Iga-ya—I don’t know the name, but Miss Kanamori was betrothed for over five years, yet she ran off with someone else instead of you. That’s why you ended up like this, they say.”

“Stop that talk.”

“Let me say this just once,” Adako said. “I feel so bitter—that shameless young lady married the one she loved and is still living well, yet you’re in this state. If things go on like this, your whole life will be ruined. How can it be right that she caused you such suffering yet remains happy?”

“Adako,” Hansaburo said, still gazing at the garden, “do you wish that girl to be unhappy?”

“I’m just bitter.”

“It’s good that Misuzu is happy,” he said in a calm voice. “The engagement between me and her was decided by our parents. Later, she found someone she loved and eloped when ordinary means couldn’t fulfill her hopes—this isn’t mere caprice. Kanamori is an eight-hundred-koku hatamoto. To stake the family’s honor, a parent’s wrath, and society’s judgment—Misuzu risked all of it. That requires courage.”

Adako covered her face with her hands.

“Mr. Kanamori came here,” he continued slowly, “spoke the facts, and prostrated himself in apology. ‘I find her dear,’ Mr. Kanamori confessed openly. ‘Under normal circumstances, I ought to discipline her, but I cannot bring myself to do so. Though it may be improper, I beg your forbearance. In return, I shall make any recompense you require,’ he said.”

Five

Behind him came Adako’s muffled weeping sounds, and Hansaburo gazed at the snow in the garden.

“What could I possibly do?” he whispered. “Could I rage at Old Man Kanamori’s impeccably sincere apology? Was there anything left to say—I simply returned a formal bow and answered that no special consideration was needed, that he should kindly put it from his mind.”

He tried to pour more sake, but the sake had already run out.
Hansaburo produced the empty flask and said, “Bring more.”
Adako took it, stood up to leave, and soon returned.
Hansaburo gestured with his hand to indicate he would pour his own sake, and Adako withdrew to sit beside the fire bucket.

“When I was a boy, I had this experience,” he said after pouring himself a drink. “—I must’ve been nine or ten. It happened by the moat at Hanzo Gate. I was alone—I don’t remember how I got there or left, but I was alone by that moat. Late summer, I think. The wind was blowing—I felt it come from ahead, pass through me, then move on. Suddenly it struck me: this wind that just touched me can never be touched again. No matter what you do, once wind has blown past you, you can never encounter that same wind again. When I realized this, I was overwhelmed—a suffocating pressure crushing my chest, a pitch-black terror like being alone at the bottom of a deep well.”

Hansaburo quietly drank one cup. “I loved Misuzu. We met only a handful of times each year—could count on one hand the times we spoke alone. Yet I loved her, believing I would one day make her my wife—a prospect I cherished wholeheartedly.”

Continuing to speak in an unemotional tone, Hansaburo recalled what had transpired between Misuzu and himself.
That had occurred in Misuzu’s room, just once.
Misuzu removed every stitch of clothing she wore, stood completely naked, and showed her body to him.
He stood dumbfounded like a fool.
From when she first began removing her kimono until she stood fully bare before him, he remained bewildered—utterly clueless about her intentions.
Though barely over fifteen and always appearing childlike in demeanor, her naked form revealed astonishing womanliness—nearly full maturity.
Misuzu’s head was small, limbs slender and supple, torso elegantly tapered.
Yet her chest’s fullness and the robust flesh from hips to thighs displayed such thickness and rounded weight they seemed to belong to another being entirely—a heavy tension inhabiting those regions alone.

“I’m not beautiful—”

Misuzu said while gauging his expression.
“You’re beautiful,” he answered.
He felt not the slightest lewd desire or immoral sentiment.

He was so overwhelmed and astonished that there was no room left in him to feel such emotions.

“I’ve cherished it for your sake—look closely, please. I’ve kept it clean and cherished it for you.”

She boldly displayed her own body.
She faced forward, turned to the back, turned sideways, and then assumed various unrestrained poses.
Yes, he remembered well. Misuzu, while doing so, was constantly gauging his expression.
As if trying to probe the reactions appearing on his face, while also exciting herself with that anticipation.
That’s right—then she approached, spreading both hands as she spoke in a coquettish voice.

“Hold me.”

He did nothing—he couldn’t do it.
Not only was he overwhelmed and dazzled, but he also didn’t know what to do in such a situation.
Misuzu was far more proactive than he.
While gazing at him with sparkling eyes that seemed to fully savor what would happen next, she tried to guide him into doing what she desired.
Of course it was nothing significant—merely a slightly precocious act born of girlish curiosity—but even then, he panicked like a fool, clumsily retreating.

Misuzu released him, moved away from him, and watched him with a suspicious, probing gaze.
Then, she slowly put on each discarded garment in turn.

That was all there was to it.
Misuzu, just over fifteen years old, had likely wanted to proudly display the beauty of her body to him—her fiancé.
Driven by a momentary surge of excitement, she had felt a spark of curiosity.
It undoubtedly held no deeper meaning, but for Hansaburo, it was an extraordinary event that left an indelible, intense impression deep within his heart.

“Because I loved that girl,” he continued, “I’m glad she’s happy—this is my true feeling. But at the same time, when I think she’s left me and I can never make her my wife in this world—I’m seized by this crushing sense of futility, exactly like when I stood by the moat as a boy, buffeted by the late summer wind.”

“Everything is futile,” he sneered. “No doubt I look like some sniveling fourteen-year-old girl or a sixty-year-old codger whining about life. But there’s no helping it—this feeling that everything in this world is meaningless? Even I can’t control it.”

Adako wiped her tears.
Her soot-darkened face became mottled, white halo-like patches appearing around her eyes.
Adako looked at her hand, and upon noticing her fingers were dirty, stood up as if startled, then turned her face away and retreated to the back rooms.

Hansaburo remained unaware of this sake cup still in hand as he gazed at the ceaselessly falling snow.

Five or six days later Adako announced she wished to study needlework.
When Hansaburo remarked “But aren’t you already skilled at sewing?” she explained hers was merely provincial stitching and she desired to learn Edo-style tailoring methods.
Hansaburo studied her face as if about to speak then nodded with reconsidering finality before granting “Do as you please.”

"The one employing you is Soga."

Hansaburo had tried to say that.

"I’m not the master here—Jubei’s probably the one paying your wages anyway. Ask Jubei."

But he said nothing aloud.

Adako began attending needlework practice.
After finishing breakfast, she would go out, return home to prepare lunch, then go back to practice until before dinner.
She didn’t neglect her household duties either, and at night she sewed until around twelve o’clock.
At first, Hansaburo remained indifferent, but gradually found himself drawn by her enthusiasm, until one night he suddenly inquired.

“You’re really putting in effort, aren’t you?”

“They say no matter how skilled you get at needlework, you can never say it’s enough,” answered Adako. “And as for me—well, being this plain-looking, if I don’t at least become decent with a needle, nobody’ll take me for a bride.”

Six

Hansaburo stared fixedly at Adako.

“When you marry, will you go back to Tsugaru?”

“No, I won’t return to Tsugaru.”

“So you don’t like the countryside.”

“Tsugaru is a wonderful place,” Adako said while moving her needle. “The mountains, fields, and rivers are all beautiful—nowhere else has such beauty. But I have no home to return to.”

Hansaburo asked after a short pause.
“Don’t you have parents or siblings?”

“I do,” Adako answered in a low voice. “I have both parents and two younger brothers. But with my current father being a stepfather, having me around makes the household unable to function smoothly.”

“So you came to Edo?”

“My brothers are boys, so there’s no need to worry—the older is seventeen and the younger fifteen,” Adako said. “And they’re not the problem at all. The household couldn’t function smoothly because of me alone.”

Hansaburo asked casually, “You didn’t get along with your stepfather, did you?”
“If you put it that way, it’s the most peaceful arrangement.”
Adako’s hand stopped moving.
When Hansaburo looked, her lips trembled, and her eyes were brimming with tears.

"I'll say it too," Adako blurted out impulsively. "The uncle—my stepfather—was my late father's younger brother, seven years younger than mother. He was gentle and kind—we all liked him, me and my brothers too. He did his gardening work well—truly a quiet, good man he was. But mother being seven years older and strong-willed by nature..."

Tears spilled from Adako’s eyes, and her voice quivered pitifully.
To Hansaburo, it appeared as if intense emotions—such as hatred and grief—were locked in struggle within her heart, neither of which could be suppressed.

“No, I can’t say any more than this,” Adako shook her head. “I shouldn’t have stayed at home. If I weren’t there, Mother could find peace, and I’m sure everything in the household would be going smoothly now.”

A mother with a husband seven years her junior, and a daughter of marriageable age living in the same household.
And the daughter had to run away from home.
It seemed to Hansaburo that he roughly understood the circumstances.
That mother was probably more of a woman than a parent.
And the daughter too, with a woman’s sensitivity, had realized this fact.

“That’s remarkable,” he said. “To have resolved to leave like that—you’re truly remarkable, Adako.”

Adako wiped her eyes with both hands while laughing through tears.
At that moment, Hansaburo’s expression changed abruptly—his mouth falling half-open as he stared at her face with a quizzical look.

“To think such things could happen even between parent and child by blood,” she said, still wiping her eyes. “It was so pitiful—I felt terribly sad. But I’m not sad anymore. I’ve completely adjusted to life here now.”

“Hey,” he said. “What’s with your eyes? The area around them—”

Adako yelped—a strange voice escaping her—and covered her face with both hands. “I’ve smudged it!” she cried, scrambling deeper into the house.
Hansaburo couldn’t comprehend it, puzzling over what “smudged” meant.
Adako’s eyes had been rimmed with black blotches. He wondered if she’d overturned a pot or gotten soot on herself.

February arrived, and on a day near the end of that month, a voice called out in the kitchen.
Adako went to her needlework practice, and Hansaburo was lying down in the living room.

“I’ve brought the rice—is the master out?” came a bellow from the kitchen. “Ain’t the master here?”

Hansaburo shouted back without rising from his reclined position, "You got business with me?"

"Ichibei from the rice shop here. I'd like a word if you please," came the response.

"Adako's not here," he barked. "Leave the rice and go."

"Need to discuss matters with you directly, Master," Ichibei hollered back. "Either you come out here or I'll come in there myself."

What impudence, Hansaburo thought.
Ichibei owned the rice shop—they'd crossed paths several times before.
Of course this was after his father's death, after he'd exhausted loans from rice brokers and subsequent dealings; though considerable debts had piled up at Ichibei's shop too, still—he remained a direct shogunal retainer while the other was merely a merchant.
Allowing such discourtesy was unthinkable—he kept silent.

Then a sound came from the kitchen, soon followed by the footsteps of someone approaching.
Hansaburo remained lying still, and the footsteps stopped on the other side of the sliding door.
“Excuse me. Is Master here?”

Hansaburo remained silent.
There was the sound of the sliding door being opened quietly, and Hansaburo remained still.
Then the sliding door closed, and from beyond it came the sound of a voice.
Ichibei had not entered this side.
He slid open the door, saw Hansaburo lying there, and immediately closed it again.

"If we were face-to-face, I probably couldn’t say this," declared Ichibei. "So I’ll say it here while you stay as you are. I hear Iga-ya and Yaohisa have long-standing dealings with you, but I’ve only had your patronage for a few years. That’s why I’ll speak plainly—the rice I brought today is the last. Consider this my final delivery from here on out."

“Tell that to Adako.”

“I came because I needed to tell you,” came Ichibei’s confrontational voice. “You’re a proper hatamoto—a man, a samurai, a direct retainer of the shogun. From what I see, your frame looks sturdy enough too. Forgive my bluntness, but here you lie—a man standing above the four classes—guzzling and devouring what belongs to us weak merchants, even forcing your servant to take paid work!”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “You say you’re bringing it gratis, but Soga’s meant to be paying. I know that!”

“Mr. Soga, you say?”

“It’s Soga Jubei of Dote Sanbancho,” he said without getting up. “Soga’s the one who sent Adako here too. It’s because Soga’s making the payments that you lot bring the rice and miso. If that weren’t the case, why would you merchants who’d stopped keeping accounts suddenly start delivering goods again?”

Ichibei fell silent.
Hansaburo slowly turned over while thinking serves you right.

“If you don’t want to bring it, then don’t,” he feigned a yawn. “Take today’s rice back with you—that should settle your complaints.”

The other side of the sliding door was quiet.
Hansaburo raised his head from where it had been propped on his elbow.
There was no sign of anyone beyond the sliding door—he had just begun to think the man had left when a nose-blowing sound reached him, followed by a cough.

“I’ll bring the rice,” Ichibei said in a hoarse voice.

“What’s two people’s rice expenses? It’s a trifling amount! I’ll keep bringing rice alright—but can’t let misunderstandings linger now. No—or rather—seems Master’s got some misunderstanding going on—so let me lay out how things’ve been handled till now.”

Seven

Hansaburo leaned on the desk in the living room with one elbow, kept one hand on the extinguished brazier while occasionally muttering something under his breath, tilting his head for no reason only to suddenly shake it again.
It must have been over four hours since Ichibei left; sunlight streaming through paper window screens had grown faint and slanted.
Ichibei’s account had startled him.

They had decided to lend for Adako’s sake independently of Soga Jubei, it was said.
On the first day, Adako went to the rice shop and began by cleaning around the store.
She gathered empty straw rice bags, diligently dusted them off to cleanly collect the remaining rice—over two gō of rice reportedly came from twelve bags.
Then she neatly stacked the straw bags, separated ropes from stacking mats and bundled them accordingly, swept up the straw scraps, and gathered the rice grains that had spilled onto the ground.
There were a full five gō of such rice grains alone, and only after handing them over to Ichibei did she first say, “Kobayashi requests that you lend us rice.”

Ichibei had watched her actions and, sensing this wasn’t mere flattery but stemmed from some unavoidable reason, asked her why.
It was then that Adako told her story.
It was the same story Hansaburo had heard—with the addition that she had served in five previous households.
All five times she had experienced such unpleasantness that she ran away.
Because of that, she explained how she couldn’t rely on employment agencies anymore, and this time—since it was a samurai household, poor though it was with no footmen or male servants—the master didn’t seem like a bad person, and she thought she could manage at this residence.
“I have nowhere else to go. Since I’ll work and repay the cost without fail, please lend us rice,” Adako said.
Her Tsugaru dialect seemed to accentuate her sincerity, and Ichibei had readily agreed, he said.

Adako did the same at Iga-ya and Fish Gin.
She tidied around the shops, stripped away matting that could be removed from empty barrels, gathered ropes and matting into separate piles, cleaned out storage sheds, restacked empty barrels, sifted through salt sacks, and washed sake flasks.
At Fish Gin too she followed this routine—from among the stinking, filthy fish heads and offal set aside for disposal, she picked out parts usable for fish stew scraps, arranged them on a plate to demonstrate—and Master Ginta was said to have been astonished.

Adako had never peddled her sincerity—it was all so she could remain in the Kobayashi household, laboring tirelessly toward that end.
Even after settling into the Kobayashi household, she continued making rounds to three shops alternately, cleaning and tidying just as she had on that first day.
Her movements were brisk; she noticed things others overlooked and never cut corners.—Hansaburo remained completely unaware—but Adako had apparently continued this without rest throughout December.
When the New Year came and the Seven Herbs festival had passed, she came to inform them she could no longer make cleaning rounds as she would begin sewing practice. Ichibei and the others had apparently intended this from the start—having often said she needn't come for cleaning anymore—and agreed this course was best.

It was there that Ichibei shifted the tone of the conversation.
Adako was not going for sewing lessons, he said, but rather commuting to a large tailor shop in Ichigaya-Tamachi as a needleworker.
She earned wages as a needleworker and did paid sewing at home.
And she had been putting her earnings into the rice shop, Fish Gin, and Iga-ya as repayments—albeit in small amounts.

“Master’s been watching that paid sewing—he must’ve seen with his own eyes her working those needles till midnight every night,” declared Ichibei.
“If you doubt the needlework part too, go ahead and check—it’s right next to Tamachi’s fire brigade residence, a big tailor shop you can’t miss. Go ask them yourself,” declared Ichibei.

Ichibei discussed with Iga-ya and Fish Gin.
If things continue like this, Oiso-san will suffer. Let’s stop lending altogether and have the three of us take responsibility for her.
Since their discussion had reached this conclusion, Ichibei came as their representative to speak.
However, upon hearing the master’s words, he seemed convinced there was someone named Soga behind it all—that the payments were coming from him.
If he truly believed that, then the situation would be different—I reconsidered.
I’ll keep bringing rice from now on, and I’ll explain the situation to Iga-ya and Fish Gin too.
Probably neither would object—they’d likely keep bringing goods as they had been.

“—But that isn’t for your sake, Master,” Ichibei stated clearly.
“It’s absolutely not for your sake—we bring these things for Oiso-san alone. Keep that firmly in mind.”

From beyond the sliding door, Ichibei said just that much and left immediately after finishing.
Hansaburo lay motionless on his side, listening to the sounds of Ichibei departing. Eventually, he rose, stood to wash his face, and upon returning immediately leaned against the desk and sank into thought.

Eight

When Adako returned, Hansaburo was not there.
She lit the bathwater and prepared the evening meal.
Humming a Tsugaru-dialect song in a small voice, she checked the bath’s firebox before darting to inspect the simmering stew.
Just as the meal preparations neared completion, Hansaburo came home.
Without any change in demeanor, he bathed and ate his meal.
Adako briskly tidied up, took her bath, then laid out her sewing as always.

This was Hansaburo’s living room, but declaring it wasteful to maintain a separate fire, Adako had brought her sewing there from the beginning.
Reflecting now, she must have felt uncertain herself while meaning to distract him from his boredom.
That night too, when she began moving her needle, she started speaking in a gentle voice about her homeland.
Hansaburo sat before the desk, stroking the rim of the hibachi with one hand as he listened silently for nearly an hour; then at a pause in her story, he quietly lifted his gaze and spoke.

“I went to Soga’s place earlier.”

The hand holding Adako’s needle stopped moving.

“You must know about Soga Jubei.”

Adako’s head gradually lowered.

“You claimed ignorance until now—but you do know him.”

“Yes,” Adako murmured.

“Speak honestly,” he said. “What ties you to Jubei?”

She answered in a whisper, “Wadaba—I mean, I became Adako of this residence.”

“Your real name isn’t Adako either, is it?”

“My name is Iso,” she said, “Adako means nursemaid or servant girl in our country’s tongue.”

Hansaburo fell silent for a moment before saying, “—Then it was wrong to call you Adako.”

“Tarnish it? No—there’s nothing wrong about that.” She shook her head. “Please keep calling me Adako.”

“I’ll ask about Jubei.”

“It was around early December—after Master had gone out for his walk—when Mr. Soga came calling. I spoke with him on the veranda about many things. He absolutely refused to enter the tatami room, so our conversation stayed there on the veranda.”

“That’s when you heard about Kanamori.”

“Yes,” Adako nodded softly. “I said I heard it from Iga-ya, but the truth is I learned it from Mr. Soga then. I told him everything about myself, and he tried to leave money behind.”

“I hear you didn't accept it.”

“Because I thought money wouldn’t be useful.”

Hansaburo looked at Adako suspiciously. “Why wouldn’t money be useful?”

“If there’s money, you’ll just end up spending it, and only the habit of spending will remain,” Adako said. “I thought that unless Master resolved to return to your duties, money would only get in the way.”

“I’ve decided to return to service. Today I asked Jubei—there’s an open position in the gift-bearing duty, so I think I’ll be able to start within four or five days.”

Adako looked up in surprise. “Did I do something unnecessary?”

“Don’t worry about that.” He shook his head. “Instead, I want to hear how you came to Edo and entered my house.”

“Is it all right if I keep sewing? I can’t talk properly unless I’m doing something with my hands.”

He nodded.
Adako began to speak slowly while moving her needle again.

She had already spoken about the circumstances before leaving home. Although she had no plan and nowhere to turn, she fortunately met an old merchant who had come to buy lumber and was returning to Sendai; accompanied by him, she made her way to Sendai. The old man, hearing that Adako wished to go to Edo, introduced her to an acquaintance who was a seafood merchant, and she departed from Ishinomaki to Edo on their ship, coming to serve at that seafood merchant’s shop near Edobashi. However, after staying about ninety days, as the young workers lewdly teased her and one of the clerks even sneaked into her bedroom, she reported this to the manager’s wife and was granted leave. At that time, through the manager’s wife’s referral, she found lodging at an employment agency and took positions in four households over about a year, but couldn’t stay long at any of them. Three were shops and one was a restaurant, but everywhere she went, the young workers would subject her to unpleasant things. At one shop, the master—a man in his fifties who had grandchildren—tried to impose his will by force. So she fled from there, which meant she could no longer rely on employment agencies, but she thought that with samurai households, such indecent things probably wouldn’t happen, and if she explained her situation well, they might hire her even without an agency’s referral. Thinking this, she wandered through the Kōjimachi area.

That day, she slept beneath the floorboards of Hirakawa Tenjin's shrine hall.
That night, too desolate to sleep properly, she lay thinking that wandering about like this would never lead her to a household willing to take her in.
She even considered returning to the employment agency to apologize and beg them to find her another position.

“But that’s where my luck turned out good, you see. The next morning, just to be sure, I thought I’d try one more time—and while making my rounds, I came across this residence.”

“Why—” he asked, “why did you fix on this house?”

“I... heard something,” Adako answered reluctantly. “In front of me, an apprentice from some shop was walking with another young apprentice—probably showing him which households to run errands for. When they came to this residence, he told him, ‘This one’s no good.’”

“They must have said some wonderful things.”

“I heard all sorts of things, and since there were no servants and the master was all alone here, I decided this had to be the place.”

Hansaburo silently nodded.
He nodded gently with a serious face and quietly looked at Adako.

“That’s everything,” Adako said.

Hansaburo watched her, then said with a smile, “Go wash your face. The area around your eyes is patchy again.”

Adako let out a yelp and covered her face with both hands.

“A deterrent against men, huh?” he said with a knowing smile. “What were you smearing on it?”

“It’s hearth soot.”

“Did you not trust me either?”

“That’s not true at all,” Adako declared emphatically. “After I thought of it at the third restaurant, it became a habit—I couldn’t feel at ease unless I did this.”

“But that’s enough now—go wash up.”

“Yes,” Adako began to stand but hesitated, looking at him with concern. “Well, if you don’t feel inclined to return to service, you needn’t force yourself. I’ll manage somehow.”

“That’s enough,” he said with a smile, waving his hand. “Go wash your face.”

Nine

He had been able to return to his duties thanks to Jubei’s efforts. His main family head, Soga Iyo-no-kami Masanori, was the chief of the palace guards with a stipend of 6,500 koku, and there also seemed to be Kanamori Shuzan’s recommendation; however, shortly after entering March, he was promoted to the palace guards and then began serving in the gift-bearing duty.

But until he could take up his post, he had to receive assistance from Jubei and others—Akita, Abe, and Saegusa. As for the clothing required for attending the castle, the gifts for his superiors and senior colleagues, and even the necessity of two attendants to accompany him—though the house steward was another matter—there was no other way but to have his four friends cover all these considerable expenses.
The four men had readily handled it all.

They said things like, "It's a small price to pay for Hansaburo's recovery," and on the day of his first official duty, starting in the evening, they came to Kobayashi's residence and hosted a celebratory banquet.

The sake and food were their own contributions, and when they took up their cups, first of all, everyone thanked Adako.
It was said that Hansaburo had recovered thanks to Adako.
Adako tried to flee in embarrassment, but everyone forced her to stay and made her hold a sake cup.
At that moment, Jubei noticed.
Though they had only met once before, he was astonished to see Adako’s face—now free of hearth soot—had become unrecognizably clean and even beautiful, and with a look of suspicion, he pressed Hansaburo for an explanation.

Hansaburo explained the reason, but as he spoke, he suddenly began to laugh. Once he started laughing, he couldn’t stop, until finally, overwhelmed by the strain, he braced his hands on the tatami and gasped for breath.

“Ah, don’t worry—it’s nothing,” he said to the four men while still looking down. “I don’t know if it has anything to do with hearth soot, but I happened to recall that story about the married weasels.”

“What’s this about ‘married weasels’?” It was Abe Ukyo who asked.

“That,” he said cautiously while still looking down, “is Adako’s story—about weasels living together as a couple for over thirty years at the Tsugaru feudal lord’s villa. Well, uh, since both had grown too old, the male weasel...”

Hansaburo turned bright red and, choking on his words, managed to say, “I can’t go on.”

“I can’t—I just can’t,” he said while standing. “Ask Adako.”

And then, he was seized by another laughing fit and fled to his private room while laughing.

Hansaburo lay on his back in the living room, waiting for the laughter to subside, and nodded in agreement to himself.
The fact that she had blackened her face with hearth soot had led him to associate it with the story of the female weasel’s hair turning white.
As he thought this was likely the case, he heard the four men burst out laughing from the ten-mat room.
First Akita Gen’emon, then Saegusa Koichiro—even Abe Ukyo and Jubei joined in. Just when their mirth seemed to fade, it surged up anew.

“Hey, cut it out!” Saegusa bellowed.
“Don’t say another word, Abe—I’ll hit you!”

And the laughter split—one burst heading toward the veranda, another toward the entrance—separating into scattered peals. When one would subside only for another to erupt, and once that quieted, next came all three locations roaring with mirth in unison.

“That’s right,” Hansaburo whispered to himself with closed eyes. “Even if I close my eyes and block my ears, the fact remains—over there, four are laughing. Jubei is there. Koichiro is there. Ukyo is there. Gen’emon is there. And Adako is there. They exist in reality—they who worried for me, worked tirelessly, and aided me. They will surely worry and help again when needed. Hey, Hansaburo—even so, is everything futile?”

He smiled, his eyes still closed.

That day, from the thicket of withered grass in the garden, Adako had smiled toward him.

That was the beginning of it all—he had been waiting to perish, and Adako had been struggling to find her place. Both had met under the worst possible circumstances, and then Adako’s will to live prevailed.

“You’re the one who prevailed, Adako,” he whispered. “Not me. If I am to prevail, it will be from now on.”

The sliding door quietly opened, and Adako peered in.

“Master,” Adako called out in confusion, “please come here—I don’t know what to do. Why are the guests laughing so uproariously over such a thing?”

“Come in,” he said sitting up, “I have something to tell you.”

“But the guests…”

“It’s fine,” he said, extending a hand. “That laughter won’t stop easily—I was the same way at first.”

Adako suppressed a laugh. "You fled to the private room."

"Let them keep laughing," he said while keeping one hand extended.

"Come here and sit down—there's something I need to discuss with just us two."

Adako turned red, softly closed the sliding door, and sidled closer while lowering her eyes.
From across the way, the four men's strained voices—collapsing into laughter—rang out even louder once more.