Pathway to Japanese Literature

1. Okamoto Gorota’s Memoir

On the eighth day of the third month of Kan'en 2 (1749), starting at five o'clock in the evening, I hosted a farewell banquet for Nagai Kazue at "Fukube" in Ishihama. Nagai was scheduled to depart for Edo on the fifteenth of this month as part of his alternate attendance retinue. Additionally, since the Nagai family was to have their former stipend restored and Kazue was expected to be promoted to Middle Elder position—with the Edo journey serving as precursor to these developments—I hosted this celebratory banquet in my capacity as master of ceremonies. Those who gathered were, besides myself, the following six men.

Kunda Hiroshin (Chief Retainer, 35 years old, 820 koku)

Toyomizu Kihee (Elder, 33 years old, 700 koku)

Shida Kenjirō (Captain of the Page Corps, 30 years old, 180 koku, Kazue’s brother-in-law)

Aoki Sōnosuke (Commander of the Foot Soldiers Group, 32 years old, 125 koku)

Kikuta Mataemon (Head Instructor of Seikikan, 50 years old, 85 koku)

Shimanaka Kyūichirō (Official Scribe, 32 years old, 80 koku)

Shida’s wife Naoe was the elder sister of Nagai’s wife.
Moreover, Mr. Kikuta was a sword instructor of the Ono school; we had all received instruction from him at least once, and Nagai had been his most cherished disciple.
The other five men (myself included) were childhood friends regardless of their status differences, and apart from Kunda being thirty-five, their ages were nearly the same.
Mr. Kikuta and Toyomizu Kihee were strong drinkers, but when Mr. Kikuta became intoxicated, he would inevitably bring up swordsmanship, boast about Nagai, and then reproach him for having left that path.
For over a decade, our domain had held annual New Year martial arts tournaments against neighboring Sakurai Domain and had maintained an unbroken winning streak—until two years ago, when Nagai left Seikikan. This year alone, Sakurai had already defeated us three times consecutively.

According to rumors,the family’s status was to be restored to its former standing,and Nagai was to be promoted to Middle Elder.Last night as well,M r.K ik uta said th at an d re proached Kazue.He h ad h eard th at[N ag ai]w ithd rew fr om Se ik ikan f or th at rea son,but su ch n on sense—if h e h ad con tinued h is sw ord sm ans hip tra ining,w ouldn’t h e h ave b een all th e m ore cap able o f fu lfilling h is d uties a s M id dle E lder?N ag ai n ever on ce op posed h im;w hile w earing h is u su al b right sm ile o n h is ro un d,f lesh y f ace,h e k ept M r.K ik uta’s cu p f illed w ith ou t p au se,c on tin u ou sly p ou ring d rinks.

“Yes, you’re absolutely right—entirely correct. Ah, the hot dish has arrived—please help yourself.”

That too must have been part of swordsmanship’s breathing techniques—Nagai had always possessed an open-hearted nature utterly devoid of shadows, but in situations like last night, this quality manifested with particular clarity. While treating his counterpart without condescension yet showing not a trace of obsequiousness, his skillful deflection of sharp remarks proved almost comical to witness.

Mr. Kikuta had collapsed cheerfully from drunkenness, and shortly after Shida left—once it was just us friends—we must have drunk for about an hour. As the alcohol took effect, Kunda proposed, “Let’s change venues.”

I had heard rumors he’d become acquainted with a woman in Nakajima Shinchi, so I assumed he likely meant to show us her.

After entrusting Mr. Kikuta to the maid and leaving Fukube, we descended the single-sided town along the Ikogai River and entered Yamakawa near Shōkōji Bridge. There, we called eight geisha—both male and female—and made merry noisily past eleven o’clock. I couldn’t tell which geisha was Kunda’s regular, but one named Komitsu, around twenty years old with her pale-blue patterned attire lovely and arts skillful, clung to Nagai, and I noticed he found her bothersome.

“Komitsu, you’re wasting your time,” Kunda Hiroshin said with a laugh.

“What do you mean by ‘wasting time’?”

“Your putting on airs for that man is like sweating buckets trying to make a dead tree laugh.”

“Oh my, is Lord Nagai really that proper?”

“He’s rigid,” said Toyomizu Kihee. “Not only rigid, but uncouth and unskilled—a boring man who’s only somewhat good at swordsmanship.”

“You’d better not get involved,” said Aoki Sōnosuke.
Nagai Kazue smiled and drank in silence.
In such moments, his good upbringing and honest nature were clearly evident.
The Nagai family had served as Middle Elders for generations with a stipend of over 820 koku, but approximately ten years prior—in Genbun 3 (1738), when Rokusaemon was fifty-eight—a tax revolt occurred. He was held responsible, stripped of his position as Middle Elder, and the family stipend was halved.
Lord Rokusaemon retired, and Kazue inherited the family headship at twenty-two years old, but he has remained without an official post to this day.
The Genbun incident must have been quite a blow, but no change was apparent in Kazue’s demeanor.
He had always been bright, straightforward, and well-liked by everyone.—In February of the year before last, his mother passed away from illness; likely due to the immense shock of this loss, Lord Rokusaemon suffered a stroke.
It was said to be a mild case, but he still remains in retirement quarters continuing his convalescence—to such an extent that it is said he is nearly incapable of recovery.
Nagai had been single until then, but due to those circumstances, a woman’s assistance became necessary, and on the recommendation of Lord Sakata, the castle deputy, he married.

His wife’s name was Sugie; she was seventeen years old at the time. Sugie’s natal family, the Yoshiharas, held a stipend rank of 115 koku, and her father, Lord Ichirobee, served as storehouse administrator. There were four siblings: Naoe, the elder sister who had married into the Shida family; next was Sugie; below them were a fifteen-year-old brother named Ichisaburō and a thirteen-year-old younger sister named Matsue. I did not know Sugie well; though they had been married for three years, Nagai rarely entertained guests due to his ailing father, so I had almost no opportunities to meet her. At Yamakawa too, that topic arose, and Shimanaka Kyūichirō voiced a complaint.

“Nagai still hasn’t properly introduced his wife to us, has he?”

Then Nagai answered without a trace of embarrassment.

“My wife’s been kept under wraps, you see.”

“You say that so nonchalantly, Lord Nagai,” Komitsu glared.
“You’d better remember that.”

Those words remained impressed upon me with a strange intensity.
I looked at Kunda and then at Komitsu.
If there was anyone here who could be considered Kunda’s regular, it could be none other than Komitsu.
It was because I thought that Kunda could not possibly remain unfazed while watching Komitsu cling to Nagai so persistently.
However, when I saw Kunda Hiroshin smiling calmly, I felt ashamed and averted my eyes.
The habits formed by duty are terrifying; unconsciously, I had tried to peer into my friend’s heart with the eyes of an Inspector General.
Once I realized this, I felt utterly overwhelmed, and to distract myself, I seemed to have drunk a considerable amount of sake.

I didn't even know what time I had returned home.
I didn't know how long I had slept. Even as my wife shook me awake and I heard her say, "There's an urgent message from Lord Nagai," I was so drowsy that I nearly shouted at her.

Two

The Nagai residence was at the corner of Kobe Kobashi, less than two blocks from the Okamoto family’s upper residence.

The time was before five o'clock; though cloudy, the surroundings remained dimly lit, and the wind cut bitterly cold.
The one who came to fetch me was Fujita Itayu—the Nagai family's house steward aged forty-six—who appeared thoroughly flustered and spoke not a single word beyond urging, "Please make haste."

Nagai Kazue wore a face like a mask.
To Okamoto Gorota, it seemed a countenance he had never before witnessed—as though belonging to someone entirely unknown.

“I’m sorry for the hour,” Nagai said in an emotionless voice. “Come this way.”

Nagai led Gorota to the bedroom.
It appeared to be his wife’s bedroom—the sliding doors painted with colorful flower-and-bird motifs, a silk-covered round lantern casting its light.
The room measured six tatami mats. A pillow screen stood as if to conceal the bedding, the scent of incense hanging so thickly it choked the air.
Nagai silently removed the screen and pointed at the bedding.

“Sugie has committed suicide.”

Gorota looked at Kazue, then looked at the bedding.
There lay Sugie, his wife, on her right side with legs drawn up.
She wore a white kimono bound at the shins by a pale yellow cord.
Gorota knelt on one knee and examined the corpse.
The dagger had been thrust up to its hilt beneath her left breast, both hands still gripping its handle tightly.
Having perfectly pierced her heart, death must have been instantaneous; blood had only slightly soiled the dagger’s vicinity and part of the bedding.

“It was the maid Tami who found her,” said Nagai. “When she didn’t wake up at the usual time, Tami came to rouse her and discovered it.”

“Why,” Gorota asked, “—what’s the reason?”

“I don’t know,” Nagai answered.

Gorota looked up at Kazue.

"I have no idea of the reason," Kazue said, "and there’s nothing resembling a suicide note."
Gorota returned his gaze to the corpse as Kazue continued speaking.
After sending someone to fetch Gorota, Kazue had conducted a thorough search.
It seemed she had resolved to die long beforehand—the chests and wicker trunks, dressers and small cabinets all neatly organized. Even in the bundle labeled for Tami there were only a few garments and hair accessories. From writing boxes and document cases to mirror chests and desk surroundings, everything had been put in order with startling tidiness. Apart from merchant ledgers and household memos, not a single letter remained.

“This wasn’t a matter of five or ten days,” Kazue said helplessly. “Tidying up her surroundings to this extent must have taken considerable time—yet through all of it, I didn’t notice a single thing.”

Gorota gazed at Sugie’s lifeless face.
She had a round face with slightly prominent cheekbones, drooping outer corners of the eyes, a somewhat low nose, and a receding chin—features that couldn’t be called elegant—yet there was a childlike cheerfulness about her.
Her height was approximately five shaku and one sun, with narrow shoulders and small fingertips—her whole frame delicate and compact. Nagai’s description of her as a “wife kept under wraps” seemed to fit perfectly.

“Have you silenced them?”

Gorota said this while slipping his hand beneath the bedding where the pillow lay.
He had seen what looked like the edge of a book there; when he felt around, he found a single volume.

“I’ve silenced them,” said Kazue. “Only Tami and Fujita Itayu know—I’ve strictly forbidden them from speaking.”

“It was good that you called me,” said Gorota. “Let’s have Yanagida Ryōan come quickly.”

“Yanagida—what’s the point of getting a doctor now?”

“Just send for him,” Gorota said as he read the title of the book he had just retrieved. “*Kokin Wakashū*, Volume Five, Autumn Poems, Part Two.”

“I never even once scolded her,” said Nagai as he stood up. “Why did she do this? What could have driven her to die? I have no idea at all.”

Nagai left.
Gorota flipped through the poetry anthology.
It was a butterfly-bound book, likely well-read—considerably worn, with annotations in pale ink from a fine brush here and there among the poems.
He thought there might be something inserted there, but as he spread each page left and right and examined them all the way to the end, ultimately nothing came out.

Nagai returned and said while noticing what Gorota was holding,“I’ve sent for Yanagida.”

“It’s the *Kokin Wakashū*,” said Gorota handing it to Nagai.“It was under the bedding—is this Sugie’s?”

“Well—”
Nagai flipped through the book.

“I checked just now but there seems to be nothing inside.”

“It’s probably Sugie’s,” Nagai said closing the anthology.“I heard she studied Japanese classics at Matsuzaki Masanari’s academy when she was young.Since coming here she seems to have attended poetry gatherings several times.”

“Did you check such books as well?”
“No, there were no books at all. This is the first time I’m seeing this.”

“That’s strange,” Gorota said. “If she studied at Matsuzaki Academy and attended poetry gatherings afterward, there ought to be five or ten books of that sort around here.”

Nagai’s eyes took on a faraway look, then he shook his head. “No—I’ve never seen any books. I searched thoroughly from earlier—there’s definitely nothing else.”

“In any case,” Gorota said after pondering briefly, “for one person alone to commit suicide isn’t ordinary. There must be some cause—but do you truly have no inkling at all?”

“The household’s life is simple,” said Kazue. “My father has secluded himself in retirement, there’s no mother-in-law, and aside from the servants, it’s just the two of us as a couple. I don’t think there were any circumstances that would necessitate her death—and if such a thing existed, I couldn’t possibly not know about it.”

“Just the two of us as a couple,” Gorota muttered. Suddenly raising his eyes, he asked, “How many years have you been married?”

“It was the year my mother died and my father collapsed—exactly three years,” Kazue said abruptly, his expression stiffening as he looked at Gorota. He nodded. “Yes. Sugie had been troubled about that too.”

Gorota silently watched Kazue’s face.

“Last October—it was October, I believe,” Nagai continued, “Sugie said she wanted to go to Moxibustion Temple. Moxibustion Temple refers to Hōzusan Jimeiji Temple, which my mother also visited. It’s well-known for its five-hundred-year tradition of moxibustion, and they say many come from distant provinces for treatment.”

“No need for the lecture—I know already.”

Nagai stiffened. “Lecturing? —Are you saying *I* was lecturing?”

Gorota looked back at Nagai in surprise.

Three

Kazue’s face once again took on the appearance of a stranger’s, his eyes revealing an intense anger he had never shown before.

“That wasn’t my intention,” Gorota said with an apologetic bow. “If I’ve offended you, I beg your pardon. So—did she go to Kyūji Temple?”

The moxibustion at Jimeiji Temple was said to be effective even for childless women, so Sugie went out and attended for a cycle of seven days each.
“From October onward, she continued attending moxibustion treatments without fail—seven days each month,” Kazue said.
As he spoke, his expression relaxed, all traces of anger vanished.

“This month makes about half a year,” Gorota asked. “So there was no effect?”
“I don’t think there was—I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”

“While continuing the moxibustion—” Kazue began, his eyes squinting as if dazzled, “I was told not to share the bedroom.”

“A full half year?”

“It’s nothing,” said Kazue. “I married at thirty—if necessary, I could manage a year or even two without issue.”

At that moment, Itayu arrived and announced that Yanagida Ryōan had come.
Gorota had Itayu wait and said to Nagai, “I’ll meet him.”

“This must be treated as death by illness,” said Gorota. “It’s fortunate I was Inspector General—Yanagida will comply too. Listen well: we’ll discuss details later, but remember firmly—it was illness.”

He nodded to Itayu and told Nagai to leave the room.

Nagai went to his study and ordered tea from the maid Tami.
Outside had grown completely bright. Through the open window, a thicket of female bamboo could be seen bathed in slanting morning sunlight, its leaves dyed orange.

“Is that so?” Nagai muttered while looking at his fingers, then averted his eyes as if startled.
He remembered his wife’s hand still clutching the dagger, stained with blood that had dried to a murky black.
Sugie had died leaning forward, half her body slipping from the futon.
Nagai had laid her corpse flat, but the sight of her hand he witnessed then remained seared in his memory.

"Is that so?" he muttered again. "No—it can't be. If she were to commit suicide for that reason, she should have said something to me at least once."

There existed a common belief that if after three years of marriage there was no child, the couple should separate.
Of course, it was merely a common belief, but among samurai families who valued lineage, it was considered significant; in such cases, even if they did not go as far as divorce, taking a concubine had become almost customary.
However, Nagai had never even considered the notion of “not bearing a child,” and he had not even noticed that three years had passed since marrying Sugie.

Tami prepared tea and came in, asking, “What would you like to do about the meal?”
Nagai noticed that Tami’s eyes were swollen from crying.

“Should I prepare a meal for the guest as well?” Tami asked.

“Sit down,” Nagai said. “Do you know anything about Sugie? Did you notice anything that might have driven her to take her own life?”

“No, I don’t know.”
Tami answered while pressing a hand to her eye, “Madam never showed any such signs. I noticed nothing at all.”
She raised her other hand too, covering her face with both palms as she stifled sobs. “Madam was so kind to me. I told her everything about myself—even the most trivial matters—and I believed I knew nearly everything about Madam too. But that it would come to this... I never imagined it, not once. I must have been a fool. When I think of it, I have no excuse.”

“That’s enough,” Nagai interrupted.

“I feel so wretched,” Tami said, and began to weep violently.

“That’s enough—don’t cry,” Nagai said. “It has been decided that Sugie’s death will be reported as a sudden illness. You must never let anyone know she committed suicide. Keep this secret firmly—do you understand?”

“Yes,” Tami nodded.

“I’ll inform you about the meal later. You can leave now; everything here is settled.”

After Tami left, Gorota and Yanagida Ryōan soon arrived. They had apparently cleaned the corpse together—Yanagida carried a small bundle while Gorota handed the dagger to Kazue, saying, “Since this is smeared with ointment, getting it sharpened would raise suspicions. You should put it away somewhere.” Yanagida, a young town doctor who had studied Dutch medicine, stated, “We’ll declare she vomited blood from heart failure and died suddenly.” He added, “The bundle contains bleached cotton used to wipe the corpse—we’ll say it cleaned up the blood.” Finally, he offered, “If agreeable, I’ll stay until the relatives assemble.”

Sugie’s death by illness went unquestioned, and the funeral was held on the second day.
From her family home came Yoshihara Ichirobei and his wife, her younger brother Ichisaburo, and younger sister Matsue; additionally, her older sister Naoe who had married into Shida arrived with her husband while he remained behind to assist with arrangements.
Many came to offer condolences; even from the feudal lord came members of his close attendants unofficially conveying sympathies.
His father Rokusaemon was ill and naturally did not appear before guests; nor did he display shock or sorrow commensurate with others’ concerns.

“You and I both have had poor luck with wives,” Rokusaemon said in a somber voice. “In most couples, it’s usually the wife who remains behind, but at my age, being the one left behind is a nuisance. When you remarry next, make sure to take a sturdy bride.”

After that, he said nothing more about Sugie.

The attendants for alternate attendance requested to be excused, but since "there was no need for that," Kazue departed for Edo with the retinue as scheduled on the fifteenth.
On the early morning of his departure day, Okamoto Gorota came to visit and said, “Forget this matter as soon as possible.”
“Whatever the reason may have been, the dead won’t return—it’s foolish to torment yourself over what can’t be undone.”
“Fortunately, you’re going to Edo—use this change of place as an opportunity to put those unpleasant matters out of your mind,” he repeated.

“Yeah,” Kazue answered with eyes that seemed to focus on nothing, staring fixedly off to the side. “—I’ll try to do that.”

IV. Okamoto Gorota’s Notes

On July 21st, three more letters arrived from the Edo residence concerning Nagai Kazue.
The senders were the three listed below.

Mazaki Jūdayū (Council Member and Mediator, 42 years old, 570 koku)

Kawamori Yukinosuke (Retainer Group Captain, 33 years old, over 80 koku)

Tanno Makoto (Stationed Retainer, 32 years old, over 430 koku)

Kawamori and Tanno had been raised within our domain and had long been acquainted with Nagai—and with us as well.
As soon as Nagai departed for Edo, I wrote letters entrusting his care to these two men.
By this month, Kawamori had sent seven detailed reports and Tanno five in response.
Mazaki Jūdayū—the one responsible for Nagai’s supervision—had sent his first letter now, yet all these missives carried unfavorable news, each indicating a gradual worsening of circumstances.

On that morning in March when the incident had occurred, I noticed that Kazue’s attitude and expression had changed. His facial expression and tone of speech were entirely different from what I had known over the past twenty years—cold and distant, like that of a complete stranger.

After such an event, it was only natural for someone to appear changed.

I had thought so myself, but all letters arriving from Edo reproduced Nagai’s demeanor from that time and conveyed how it gradually worsened.
Kawamori had written that Nagai became “quick-tempered” and would “pick fights” at the slightest provocation.
Contrarily, Tanno reported that Nagai grew intensely “suspicious” and “gloomy.”

Thinking to lift his spirits, they took him out to teahouse visits and such, but the more he drank, the more difficult he became, sinking further into gloomy silence. Then he began frequently uttering cynical remarks as if they were catchphrases—things like how nothing in this world could be trusted anymore, how even friendship was just superficial pretense.

They had written about such things as well.
As I read, I could roughly infer Kazue’s state of mind.
Though I told him it was foolish, having his wife die on him in such a way must not be something so easily forgotten.
If he could have understood the reason for her suicide, there might have been a path to escape from it, but since she died without revealing any reason or leaving any clue, there could be no salvation.
But Nagai Kazue is not so young anymore, I thought with a sigh.
He was already thirty-two years old; his family stipend would soon be restored, and he was expected to be appointed to the Middle Elder position.
If a little more time passed, he would surely recover—I had been thinking this until recently.

However, matters did not proceed so simply; instead, they began to become strangely complicated.
This was because the letters from Kawamori and Tanno—while conveying information about Nagai—also began to show that the two men themselves were gradually growing discordant.
Tanno was a Stationed Retainer with over 430 koku, while Kawamori was a Retainer Group Captain with just over 80 koku; there existed a considerable disparity in their statuses.
Even if they had been close friends since childhood, once years passed and they each started families, that alone made it rare for their old camaraderie to remain unchanged.
When differences in status and duties were added to this, their relationship would naturally become all the more strained.

――Nagai had made that clear.

The fact that Nagai Kazue had come between the two had, rather than binding them together through their old friendship, instead made their current distance clear—that was what I concluded.

Kawamori criticized Tanno, writing, “He is corrupting Nagai.” He frequently invited him to teahouse outings and made him indulge in alcohol and women. Unlike the home province, Edo was vast, so there was no need to worry about the household’s watchful eyes. As long as there was money, there was no shortage of ways to entertain oneself, and he knew how to make the most of it. Moreover, as a Stationed Retainer, he was well-connected to places like dining teahouses, so leading around Nagai—who was country-bred—and teaching him how to indulge in entertainment was an easy task. I advised Nagai about three times, but he wouldn’t listen, and by the third time, it turned into an argument… Nagai had just lost his wife, Okamoto had said initially. So I intended to do everything I could for him, but as long as Tanno was by his side—and as long as he couldn’t separate himself from Tanno—there was nothing I could do for him. I ask that you keep this firmly in mind.

Tanno Makoto had written in response: “Kawamori meddles too much.”
“What Nagai needs now is a shift in his mindset—to awaken hope and courage for the future.
I wrote before about taking him to teahouses, but he’s no nineteen- or twenty-year-old lad—a thirty-two-year-old man like Nagai Kazue won’t be corrupted by mere teahouse diversions.”
In fact, two geishas had become infatuated with Nagai.
At Yanagibashi they were both celebrated courtesans who sent love letters all the way to his estate in their ardor—yet Nagai paid them no mind whatsoever.
Though he drank more heavily now, intoxication only deepened his gloom; never did he grow boisterous with drink or venture out alone for amusement.
...Kawamori ceaselessly criticized this—berating me with “Are you trying to turn Nagai into a delinquent?” while apparently admonishing Nagai with “Stop keeping company with Tanno.”
Nagai remained silent about it all, but hearing this from others made me consider him a nuisance.
I had known of Nagai’s heartache through Okamoto’s letters, yet days passed without any easing of his sorrow.
Could losing a wife truly leave such profound wounds?
Kawamori made no effort to comprehend this—his meddling only aggravated Nagai and weighed heavier on his spirits.
...Among senior officials there was talk of appointing Nagai as Middle Elder, but given his current state I suspect this may prove difficult.
Above all else—Kawamori’s interference was insufferable.

Moreover, Mazaki Jūdayū had written as if to refute Tanno’s letter: “Nagai shows no intention of assuming the Middle Elder position.”
His daily conduct was also unfavorable.
The reason he had come to Edo was for the purpose of soon being appointed to the Middle Elder position, which also carried the meaning of an advance notice to the senior retainers.
Despite this, Nagai had made only one round of courtesy visits and had not stopped by anywhere since.
His social interactions were poor, and he seemed to frequently engage in fierce arguments.
There were even opinions suggesting it would be better to send him back to the home province under these circumstances.
After I speak to Kunda about this matter, I would like to hear your intentions.

Carrying Mazaki Jūdayū’s letter, I intended to go consult with Kunda.
Since March, I had investigated everything I could regarding the late Lady Sugie.
I had thought to send that information to Nagai but intended to do so after consulting with Kunda.

Five

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” said the geisha, peering in so close their faces nearly touched. “Are you in pain?”

“It’s hot,” Nagai furrowed his brows. “Unbearably hot. Move further away.”

“You’re giving a lap pillow, you know.”

“Just move away.”

“Ochiyo, fetch me a pillow,” the geisha said to the maid. “Ah, this will do. This should be fine, right, Lord Naa?”

The geisha laid the armrest aside, placed a folded paper from her kimono sleeve, and had Nagai rest his head on it.
That geisha was young, and her name was Komitsu.
Nagai raised his eyes to look at Osode—the older woman—and said, “What’s wrong?”
Osode quietly set down the cup she had been holding onto the tray.

“I was drawn to that person and lived with him for exactly eight years,” Osode continued her story. “I can’t say where it was, but his business was a cotton goods store—he employed about six servants, so it was quite a prosperous shop.”

“That’s not it,” Kazue interjected listlessly. “It’s about getting involved with a man or something.”

“A man, you say?”

“You got involved with a man and struggled to be with him, didn’t you?”

“What are we talking about, I wonder?”
Osode looked at Komitsu.

“It’s about Mr. Yone,” Komitsu said. “You started talking about him the other day but stopped, right? It must be about that time.”

“Did I mention that?”

“Isn’t this your treasured little love story?”

“I was drunk back then… wasn’t I?”
Osode picked up her cup, and Komitsu poured the sake.
Osode drank it and gazed out the window with a dreamy look. “Mr. Yone… How nostalgic.”

“Keep my deep feelings in mind,” Komitsu said with a chuckle.

Osode let the comment pass and began speaking earnestly.
Nagai had heard part of this before and remembered feeling somehow implicated.
After being drawn to the cotton goods store owner, Osode had soon encountered a man she had known since childhood.
That’s right—the other person had been her childhood friend.
It wasn’t about struggling to be together.
As he listened, Nagai recalled having resolved never to meet her again—and endured the pain.

After she died, I began to long for Sugie for the first time—while thinking she was hateful, truly hateful—I found myself unbearably longing for her, Kazue thought.
This feeling was similar to Osode’s sad story.

Osode told several more stories.
For eight years she lived as wife to a cotton wholesaler, but when her husband left on an overnight trip and she stayed behind at home, she erred with a young clerk.
It was an appallingly frank account.
Taking advantage of their master's absence, the shop workers had laid out food and drink and caroused until about ten at night.
Thinking her merely a woman they could trifle with—Osode grew angry and went downstairs.
At that moment in the corridor she passed this clerk and encountered the intense body odor emanating from his young frame.
He had been heading to wash his hands; Osode stood waiting in the hallway.
His musk didn't merely hang in the air—it made contact with every part of her body and seeped into her skin.
Her knees shook so violently they threatened to buckle; she told herself this trembling came from anger.
When he returned she called him upstairs.
Though fully intending to reprimand him upon ascending and sitting face-to-face she found herself speechless while her body's trembling worsened.
What followed remains unclear—Osode said she'd thought herself going mad.
"I lost all hearing; lost all sight."
Her hands feet and mouth moved independently of her will.
Later examination revealed bite marks lingering on the young clerk's neck and shoulders while his back bore multiple leech-like welts oozing blood.
Having been captivated at seventeen she naturally wasn't unacquainted with men—though having spent eight years with that cotton wholesaler this marked her first experience of such sensations.
Osode came to detest her husband.
"I'd deceived someone eight whole years"—with this realization she cleanly severed ties and returned to geisha work here at Yanagibashi Bridge they say.
"A woman becomes entirely different before and after tasting that near-madness," Osode declared.

In Yonekichi’s case, it was different.

“We only met three times,” Osode continued. “I was nineteen, Mr. Yone was twenty-two—right when he was about to take a bride. Even though we were childhood friends, it was just kid stuff back then—no feelings at all. But when we met again after five or six years… suddenly both of us burst into flames.”

“He had a fiancée lined up, and I had a husband—it was sheer torment.”

“To be honest,” Komitsu pressed with emphasis, “did you never sleep together, Sis?”

“Not only did we never sleep together—we didn’t even hold hands,” Osode said. “I felt guilty toward his fiancée and toward my husband, while Mr. Yone felt guilty toward my husband and his own bride-to-be. Since both of us were like that, whenever we met, all we experienced was pain and torment.”

“I don’t understand—someone like me,” Komitsu said to Osode while pouring her sake, “even though it’s not such an unusual thing, what made it so painful and tormenting?”

“It was because it was real.”

“When it’s real, it hurts.”

“When you fall in love for real, you start taking the people around you seriously too—that’s why. You’ll surely understand when your time comes.”

That’s it, Kazue thought.
While Sugie was alive, I had never paid her any particular attention.
Over those three years, there must have been various things—good days, bad days.
There must have been things she wanted to demand, to appeal, perhaps even to act spoiled at times—but I was indifferent to such matters.
I don’t recall ever paying attention—not even once—to what she was thinking.
I wasn’t serious.
I took a wife and felt at ease just knowing she was there; my feelings never progressed beyond that.
I never tried to form a genuine connection between people.
“Even when I made that mistake with the clerk, it meant nothing.”
“Even now, though I have a husband, I calmly have affairs whenever I want—and I’ve never felt even a shred of pain or torment over it. That’s because neither my husband nor the person I have an affair with means anything sincere to me.”

“Enough of this tedious talk!” Nagai said, sitting up straight. “I’ve had enough of serious talk—give me sake.”

“Ah, you startled me,” Osode said. “Did I say something to upset you?”

Six

“That’s not it—it’s a good story.”
While having Komitsu pour the sake，Kazue said，“Since it’s a good story，it’s better if it isn’t tedious.”

“I’m about to cry，”Kazue thought.
Why was I on the verge of tears? Had Osode’s story moved me so deeply? Or was it regret over having been cold to Sugie?
No—Osode’s story was nothing special.
I didn’t think I’d been cold enough toward Sugie to regret it.
That wasn’t it—I was at a loss.
I missed Sugie，I resented her—I’d ceased to feel like myself，everything around me felt suspect，I no longer knew what was real，and now I was just utterly adrift.
I was glad；the tears didn’t come.

Nagai turned his gaze toward Komitsu.
This woman wants to sleep with me; the little one does too.
The little one has better elegance than this—but Komitsu isn’t bad either.
Why don’t I sleep with them?

“I hate gentle men,” Komitsu had said. “Overly kind and gentle people make my skin crawl. I like men who stay silent and resolute—even if something displeases them, I want someone who’ll strike without a word rather than complain.”

“It’s all the same thing,” said Ochiyo the maid. “Whether they’re kind or cold—if one truly falls in love, those distinctions disappear, don’t they?”

“It seems so,” Osode said. “Though the act of a man and woman falling in love is the same, there’s not a single instance where they love in the same way. It’s strange how each one differs from the others.”

Kazue was gazing at his sake cup, then suddenly looked up. “That’s right—there was such a poem!”

“Ah, you startled me!” Osode said while shielding the cup she held with one hand. “You do this every now and then—how dreadful.”

There certainly had been such a poem, Kazue thought. He’d read it somewhere—one that meant something like autumn dew being all one color yet staining grasses and leaves in russet hues. He must have encountered it through reading or hearsay.

“What kind of poem was it?” Komitsu asked.
“Please recite it—I might know it.”
“Come on, let me hear it,” Komitsu pressed.

“I could let you hear it,” Kazue said, “but will you sleep with me?”

“Really?” Komitsu said. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s a lie,” Nagai said.
“Obviously, you’re awful.”
Komitsu clung to Nagai’s arm. “It’s sinful—you know.”

Kazue lay down again.

He returned to the estate within Kandabashi Gomon while it was still before ten o'clock.
The main gate closed at the set hour, but those sneaking out for nighttime escapades had bribed the gatekeepers (as was likely the case with most estates) and could pass through until just before midnight.
However, because the Masaki household where he was lodging wouldn’t allow that, when it got late, he had taken to staying at Tanno’s.
That night, as usual, he went around the garden and knocked on the rain shutters of the corridor outside Tanno’s living room.
Immediately, a response was heard, and Tanno Makoto opened the rain shutters.

“Hisamatsu?” Tanno asked.

“I’ll be staying over,” Nagai said.

Tanno closed the rain shutters. "The pretext of staying up all night playing Go has already been seen through by Masaki-san."

"If they hadn't noticed, they'd be blind."

"You've got a sharp tongue."

Tanno seemed to have been reviewing records.
A desk had been placed in the center of the living room, with ledgers and documents scattered on either side.
Kazue went to the window, laid his sword beside him, then stretched out using his arm as a pillow.
He settled down with an awkward motion reminiscent of formally adjusting his posture, then spoke.

“I’m returning to the domain.”

Tanno sat facing the desk, took the letter that was beside the inkstone, and pushed it toward Kazue.
“It’s a letter from Okamoto.”
“There was talk of sending me back to the domain, wasn’t there?” Kazue said. “Make the arrangements so I can return.”

“Read Okamoto’s letter.”

“He meddles too much.”

“You’ve become a disagreeable person.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kazue said. “Tanno isn’t someone to be admired that much either.”

Tanno stood up and left, then immediately returned and took up the brush at the desk.
Tears spilled from Kazue’s eyes as he lay using his arm for a pillow, and he turned over toward the window.

“Are you awake?”
Tanno said while moving his brush, “The bedchamber preparations should be ready soon. If you sleep there, you’ll catch cold.”

Kazue remained silent.

“I’ll tell you once you’re sober,” Tanno said, stopping his brush, “but your stipend will soon be restored, and you’re expected to be appointed as Middle Elder. Today, I was summoned by Masaki-san and informed—and even I was sternly cautioned to ensure you amend your conduct—are you listening?”

Kazue paused briefly and said, “I’m returning to the domain. As for becoming Middle Elder—someone like me in this state can’t manage such a position. I refuse.”

“Do you think such selfishness will prevail?”

“There’s no need for Tanno to worry about it.”

Tanno began moving his brush again.

What a pitiful state I'm in, Kazue thought.
The human heart is such a fragile thing.
Parent and child, husband and wife, siblings, friends.
I believed in these relationships.
I think human life cannot exist without believing in those bonds.
Let me say this—I believed in Sugie.
That's precisely why I never suspected anything or went out of my way to be cautious.
Isn't that so?
Even while living together, can you call that a marriage if you're constantly probing each other's feelings?
Hmph, don't get so carried away. Calm down, Nagai Kazue.
Osode said it, didn't she? That before and after experiencing that feeling of near madness, women become entirely different people.
Is that how it is? Are all women like that?
I don't understand.
I didn't even notice what Sugie was really like.
Osode was because of that.
Wait a minute—Osode must have lived as a married couple for eight years without knowing about that.
Having learned that, she must have left the cotton wholesaler and become a geisha again.
No—Kazue shook his head inwardly.
Not all women are like Osode. To consider that Sugie was like that would be an insult.
We had only been married for three years, and Sugie never had the kind of opportunity Osode had to learn about that.

Was there really nothing?
Could I declare with certainty that nothing existed?
I hadn't even known what Sugie had been thinking.
"Ah—" Kazue let slip a groan.

Tanno’s wife quietly brought tea, informed her husband that the bedroom was ready, and left as though muffling her footsteps.

“Why don’t you get up and have some tea?” Tanno called out. “The bedroom is ready.”

7

As soon as September arrived, Nagai Kazue returned to his domain.
He had obtained permission on the grounds that his ailing father’s condition had worsened, and though the senior retainers seemed to understand this was merely a pretext, his request to return home was readily approved.

Before departing Edo, Kazue was summoned by Toda Kurando, the Lord’s Chamberlain, and told: “Despite your numerous acts of excessive misconduct, you are being treated leniently by the lord’s gracious will. Do not forget this.”
Lord Harima no Kami Masanari was still twenty-four years old and had only served as family head for five years.
He was said to possess a wisdom rare even in modern times, but as Nagai had been without a post for ten years since being charged with a crime and only attended ceremonial occasions, Kazue had thus far been granted only two formal audiences with him.
No matter how wise he might be, why would he treat someone like me, whom he barely knew, with such special leniency? Kazue couldn’t bring himself to believe the Chamberlain’s words.

“When your wife passed away suddenly,” Toda said, “the lord should have sent a condolence envoy. Though unofficial, this was an exceptional gesture for someone not currently a senior retainer. Did you notice nothing at the time?”

Kazue could find no reply.
It was true—during Sugie’s funeral, members of the close attendants group had come unofficially as the lord’s envoys.
Yet Kazue had not considered this remarkable.
The Nagai house being one of established lineage, he had interpreted it merely as a courtesy befitting their station.

“The lord had been investigating the tax revolt incident even before assuming family headship,” Toda said. “It was a complex affair—Lord Nagai alone was held responsible, resulting in stipend reduction, dismissal from office, and confinement.”

This occurred during the time of the previous lord, Kawachi no Kami Masanori, when it was been decided to simultaneously develop seven hundred chōbu of new rice fields in Ōta Village and undertake renovation work on the main highway and bridges passing through the domain. Nagai Rokusaemon had been appointed as overseer, but he hired peasants for corvée labor, opened the village granary, and substituted their wages with rice. At that time, poor harvests had continued for several years, and even payment in coin proved insufficient to cover food expenses due to exorbitant rice prices. It seemed Rokusaemon had paid in rice for this reason—though the granary stored emergency reserves for famine preparedness—and while such reserves were common across domains, opening them required both consultation among senior retainers and the lord’s permission. His unilateral decision proved doubly unfortunate when another poor harvest struck the following year, forcing them to distribute granary rice. However, only one-third of the reserves remained, compelling the domain to borrow funds from the shogunate to purchase replacement rice. Though Rokusaemon had been deemed responsible, investigations by the current lord Harima no Kami later revealed that withholding rice payments at the time would have risked peasant uprisings.

“Corvée labor is a form of service from the domain’s people, where unpaid work is the principle,” Toda continued. “In Genbun 3 [1738], wages were paid in coin due to urgent construction needs—this was because successive poor harvests had left the peasants destitute. Rokusaemon’s decision to give rice instead of coin was a judgment most aligned with actual circumstances. The lord himself investigated this fact and ordered that the Nagai family be swiftly restored to its former standing.”

“I have nothing more to say,” declared Toda Kurando. “Now that you comprehend the lord’s intentions, I expect you to ponder thoroughly and amend your conduct so as not to shame the Middle Elder Position.”

Kazue wasn’t particularly moved even after hearing that account.
If placed in such a situation, anyone would do that much.
If one was directly involved with the domain’s people, they could not possibly fail to understand what was truly needed in reality—and having understood, would naturally adopt methods suited to actual circumstances.
He had merely thought this was nothing more than the minimum responsibility required of those involved in governance.
...Yet during his journey home, his perception of the young lord gradually began shifting.
Father had taken responsibility and acted according to his convictions.
He must have been fully aware—of course—of both the stipend reduction and dismissal from office.
But for a young Lord Harima no Kami to personally investigate these matters after ten years had passed and newly recognize Father’s merits—such things were hardly commonplace.

"That's right," Kazue told himself. What Father had done might pale in comparison to this matter's difficulty and nobility.

That a lord far younger than himself had possessed such passion could not help but deeply stir Kazue's heart. "That's right—I must regain my footing by now," he thought.

Yet when he returned to his domain and settled into his home, Kazue found himself dragged back into his wife's death once more. He acknowledged that he could never truly recover unless he uncovered why she had taken her own life. It might be absurd—but he needed this. Unless he severed this obsession binding him, he could never escape this state. This would be his foothold, he resolved.

After completing his homecoming formalities, Kazue shut himself away for over half a month, refusing all visitors. During this time, he spoke with his father three times at the retirement residence. Since falling ill, Rokusaemon seemed to loathe having his infirmity witnessed—he showed little desire to meet even his son, who consequently left him undisturbed as much as possible. Still wishing to convey Lord Harima's intentions, Kazue finally broached the matter during their third meeting.

Rokusaemon had listened with an expression suggesting "What's this about?", but the moment his son finished speaking, he abruptly voiced something entirely unrelated.

“I’m thinking of trying moxibustion at Jimei Temple—what do you think?”

Kazue said “Haa” and looked at his father’s face.

“They say it’s effective for this illness as well,” Rokusaemon said, “and since there’s temple lodging available at Hōzusan, I’d like to go there for a while to recuperate.”

“That sounds excellent,” Kazue replied. “Just being in the mountains might lift your spirits. If you wish, I will make the arrangements.”

“Very well, have it arranged,” Rokusaemon said.

Nagai Kazue sent a messenger to Jimei Temple to confirm the availability of its lodging quarters and gathered the necessities for his father’s stay. Thinking a woman’s assistance would better tend to daily needs, he summoned Tami back. After Nagai Kazue had departed for Edo, Tami—who had taken leave to return to her parents’ home ahead of her impending marriage—promptly came back upon agreeing to serve until year’s end.

On the night before he was to send off his father, a little past seven o'clock, Okamoto Gorota came to visit.
He had refused once, but upon Okamoto’s insistence, he reluctantly agreed to meet. Gorota abruptly said, “You spineless fool.”

8

Gorota’s eyes glinted with a light that could be taken for either anger or pity, and both hands on his hakama were clenched into tight fists, trembling as though he might lunge forward to strike at any moment.

“To debase yourself to that extent—do you feel no shame?”

Kazue couldn’t comprehend the reason.

“What do you mean?” Kazue retorted.
“Jimei Temple,” Gorota said.

“What about Jimei Temple?”

“I heard you recalled Tami and are going to Jimei Temple—is this a false rumor?”

“No—it’s exactly as you say.”

“Are you not satisfied with my letter?”

“It’s Father who’s going to Jimei Temple,” Kazue said. “He wants to stay there for a while and try moxibustion treatment, so I decided to send Tami with him. I’ll accompany them to see him off but plan to return right away—no, wait, what’s this about a letter?”

Gorota’s expression changed.
Clearly, he had misunderstood something and seemed to realize he had said what should never have been spoken.
Kazue took clear note of that.

“Was that the one addressed to Tanno?” Kazue said. “Did that letter mention Jimei Temple?”

“You didn’t read it?”

“It wasn’t a lecture after all,” Kazue said, lowering his voice. “What does this mean?”

“Forget it,” Gorota said. “No—that won’t do. It’s my fault for letting it slip. Asking you to forget isn’t enough.”

“What was written in the letter?”

Gorota bit his lip.
His lips turned white, and he gripped his hakama with both hands.

“Lady Sugie’s suicide should have been treated as a suicide,” Gorota began.
“Falsifying her death as a sudden illness was a mistake—it only served to complicate matters further.”
“Even if the Middle Elder appointment had been delayed, had I revealed the facts as they were, I could have spared you from falling into this state. I thought I must bear this responsibility.”
“So, I set out to investigate the cause of Lady Sugie’s suicide.”
“In the final letter I sent to Tanno, I had written the findings,” Gorota said.
Kazue listened in silence, and Gorota recounted what was written in the letter.

The first clue Gorota obtained was Yanagida Ryōan’s account.
Yanagida Ryōan had heard from Kawanochi Genzai, another town doctor, that Sugie had been pregnant.
Upon hearing she had been three months pregnant, he recalled—now that he thought of it—that her nipples had darkened when preparing the corpse, and told this to Gorota.
Kazue had stated that his wife was troubled by infertility, that they had been attending Jimei Temple in hopes of conceiving a child, and that as a result, they had not shared a bed for nearly half a year.
Gorota pieced together what had been said and concluded that the cause lay there.

“I went to Jimei Temple and investigated,” Gorota said in an almost cruel tone. “The temple keeps a ledger where they record the names of those who come for treatment, day by day. I checked through it, but Lady Sugie’s name was only recorded from October 17th to the 19th, and after that, it was never noted again.”

Kazue’s face hardened like a Noh mask. It was neither shock nor anger. With all strength drained from his body and a vacant look in his eyes, he gazed blankly up at the ceiling. Gorota laid out the facts bluntly, like a surgeon cutting open a tumor, and finally took out a poetry anthology from his pocket and placed it there.

“The man’s name is at the end of the volume,” Gorota said. “It’s the poetry anthology she placed under her pillow when she died. Thinking there must be something there, I borrowed it while Nagai was away and examined it thoroughly from cover to cover.”

Kazue gazed at the poetry anthology lying there with unfeeling eyes.
It was *Kokin Wakashū* Volume 5.

“Since I found nothing of note in the poems themselves, I simply put it back into the drawer,” Gorota continued. “Then—after the rainy season ended—when I happened to take it out again, I found that the humidity had caused the binding to peel away, and beneath the endpaper of the back cover was written the man’s name.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Kazue thought. That poem had been in this anthology—one that spoke of how the dew settling on autumn fields was all of a single hue, yet dyed the leaves and grass in shifting hues. “Komitsu had pleaded, ‘Sing for me,’” Kazue recalled.

“I didn’t write it in the letter, but the man’s name is there,” Gorota continued. “That man and Lady Sugie knew each other from Matsuzaki Academy—the anthology was his gift to her.”

“This is the unvarnished truth,” Gorota said, and as if steeling himself, he stared fixedly into Kazue’s eyes.

“This is everything I’ve uncovered,” Gorota said. “Whether you read the man’s name or discard it unread is your choice. How you handle this matter rests entirely on your judgment. But let me say one thing—the reason I’ve laid this all bare without concealment is because I believe in what kind of man you are. I don’t know what course you’ll take from here, but don’t forget this—I trust you.”

And Gorota left.

After seeing Okamoto out, Kazue returned to the main sitting room and sat alone for a long time with the poetry anthology before him.
Then, with a hesitant, terribly clumsy motion, he picked up the poetry anthology and opened the endpaper of the back cover.
Beneath the peeling endpaper, written in fine brushstrokes, was “Hosono Genzaburō.”
In a distinctly delicate, almost feminine hand, only the character “Gen” bore smudges of ink.

“Hosono Genzaburō,” Kazue murmured. “—Isn’t he Yozaemon’s son?”

Next to Sugie’s birthplace, the Yoshihara residence, stood the house of Hosono Yozaemon.
He had heard that he was a foot soldier commander with a stipend of about fifty *koku*, that he had a second son named Genzaburō who, due to his academic talent, served as an assistant instructor at Matsuzaki Academy.
However, he seemed to recall hearing that around last summer, the eldest son, Yohee, had died of illness, and Genzaburō had left the academy after succeeding as heir.

“So that’s it,” Kazue murmured. “That’s how it was.”

Suddenly, a burning heat surged around his heart, and his body began to tremble with rage.

I believe in Nagai.

In the depths of his ears, Okamoto’s voice echoed.
What was that? Kazue thought.
From the next day until he had sent his father off, he dueled with Hosono Genzaburō dozens of times in his mind and cut Genzaburō down.
He had intended to escort his father to Jimei Temple himself but instead sent the household retainer Itayu in his place, shut himself in the living room, and battled his own heart.
At twilight, Itayu returned and reported that his father had safely arrived at Hōzusan and that the temple quarters were well-appointed.

Kazue was barely listening. Nodding absently, he thought of the anger gripping him—how impossible it was to restrain, how utterly beyond control.
When night fell, Kazue faced his desk and wrote a letter of challenge to Hosono Genzaburō.
He wrote and tore it up, wrote and tore it up repeatedly, but when he heard the ten o’clock bell, the hand holding the brush stopped moving, and he propped both elbows on the desk and closed his eyes.

Because it was real—that’s why it hurt so much.

Osode’s words came back to him with no apparent connection.

“Even when I had an affair with the shop clerk, or when I strayed while still keeping my patron, I felt no guilt in my heart. But with Yonekichi, it wasn’t like that,” she had said. “We never even touched hands, yet it was so painful—so agonizing I couldn’t bear it. Because it was real.”

Behind his closed eyelids, Sugie’s form surfaced, and he thought he could see Hosono Genzaburō sitting across from her. He had never spoken to Genzaburō, but he had caught glimpses of his figure. He could not recall his face or build, but he could imagine the two of them—Sugie and him—stealing glances and meeting in secret.

“It was so painful, oh so truly agonizing.”

Osode’s words were recalled as if speaking for both Sugie and Hosono. Sugie had paid that price with her own life. Three months pregnant, her husband was leaving for Edo—she had to pay the price before he departed. And at the same time, she would bury the secret. That’s right, Kazue thought. Sugie had thus chosen to take her own life.

“Sugie… so that’s how it was,” Kazue murmured. “You had no other choice but to do that.”

Tears welled up from Kazue’s closed eyes, streamed down his cheeks, and fell onto the desk.
He took out a handkerchief, wiped his tears, and tore up the half-written letter of challenge.

Early the next morning, Kazue visited Genzaburō at the Hosono residence.
Genzaburō appeared to be twenty-five or twenty-six.
He was small-statured with an undeniably intelligent face, his eyes strikingly cool and clear.

“I am expected to be appointed Middle Elder in the near future,” Kazue said. “When that happens, I would like to ask you to serve as assistant magistrate. Will you accept?”

Genzaburō merely nodded silently.
Kazue unwrapped the cloth-wrapped bundle he had brought, took out the poetry anthology, and placed it before Genzaburō.

“It was Sugie’s dying wish,” Nagai said. “You’ll agree to this.”

The color drained from Genzaburō’s face as if wiped clean.
This will do.
What had happened was over; what mattered now was what would begin.
Watching Genzaburō press both hands down there, Kazue quietly stood up.