Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

O-Taka sometimes felt ashamed of herself. This was especially true when she faced the mirror. “Oh, how dreadful… how simply dreadful!” She muttered such things to herself, blushed alone, and with a strangely enticed feeling, scrutinized her own face reflected in the mirror. Generally speaking, it was an unpleasant term, but a gloss had come over her. Her skin was translucent to the point of seeming diaphanous, soft and dewy like flower petals, with a texture that clung to the fingers when touched.

In one sense, she wanted to avert her eyes. It had been over half a year since becoming a wife, and during that time the changes manifesting in her body made even herself conscious of them—often setting her cheeks ablaze. How dreadful. To think this was to confront the raw reality itself. The weight of full breasts, the taut tension around her waist, thighs stretched painfully tight. Yet her torso remained slender and firm, limbs tapering delicately toward their extremities. This contrast between glossy fullness and taut slenderness—so different from her maiden days—made her cheeks burn with the urge to look away, yet in truth her heart raced with an enticed fascination that kept her gazing endlessly.

“How strange… a woman’s body… why is that? I truly find it dreadful.”

While declaring her dislike, yet on the other hand, she never tired of gazing at it no matter how long she looked. “What are you doing? Standing around like that again—put some clothes on! You’ll catch a cold.” Scolded by her father, she jolted upright—yet with a composure so deliberate it felt affected even to herself—and slowly slipped her hands into her kimono sleeves. Though this was a common occurrence, it too was genuinely mortifying. Likely because her mother had died early, her father had often been the one to fret over such matters, telling her to go to the hairdresser or chiding her for sloppy application of white face powder.

“People are quick to say a motherless daughter turns frumpy—so either don’t wear white powder at all, or if you do, apply it properly like a young lady should.” “Today’s fine as it is—the powder won’t stick properly anyway… And with this dreary weather… Really… Who cares about powder either way.” “That isn’t acceptable. A woman’s grooming could be called society’s very ornament—even in sour-stinking backstreet tenements, when a well-turned-out woman passes by, she becomes a feast for the eyes… For that moment, those festering alleys seem to blossom… Like spring flowers opening, she becomes one of the world’s adornments. If you’ll wear cosmetics, do so with that awareness. Yours stays self-centered—that attitude must be mended.”

This kind of exchange had occurred several times.

How dreadful—all this talk about being society’s ornament or delighting people’s eyes… Just hearing it makes my stomach churn. O-Taka was truthfully thinking this. That changed after she married Tokizo. What her father had said seemed true—when she did her hair and makeup, she would suddenly notice Tokizo’s eyes observing the style of her hairstyle and the effect of her cosmetics. Tokizo was taciturn and never said anything, but when her hairstyle and makeup pleased him, he would give a look that seemed to say “Oh!”

How vivid—it was as if his eyes were waking up. She could tell he was saying as much. Compared to a smooth-talker’s thousand honeyed words, her husband’s gaze held far deeper meaning and brought her incomparable joy. Moreover, when she went out shopping with Otami, there was a thrill in having people turn their heads to look at her. ...In her maiden days, she had thought people were drawn to her elegant appearance, but even if it wasn’t unpleasant, she couldn’t feel truly happy about it. But now, the act of delighting someone’s eyes came to delight her in return, to some degree. Such things may have been why her makeup naturally became more elaborate.

How spirited she’d become.

It felt as though her father was thinking exactly that.

For spirited O-Taka, it was mortifying—mortifying in so many ways—yet try as she might, she found herself facing the mirror more often and for longer stretches each time. This was something even she could no longer control. It’s just like spring coming and flowers blooming—what’s wrong with that? And so she steeled her resolve. "What are you going to do Father? If you’re going night fishing I’ll prepare a bento."

“Isn’t Tokizo off tomorrow?” “No! We’re going chrysanthemum viewing at Rokkenbori tomorrow—you mustn’t invite him fishing!” “You’re completely monopolizing him.” “What’s wrong with that? We’re husband and wife—it’s not like he’s *your* spouse… But I’ll treat you to something delicious tonight instead. Your favorite thing—you’ll let me, won’t you?”

II

Spanning Honjo Rokkenbori and Morishita stood a large nursery called Uedatsu. At that time, chrysanthemums were generally known as Somei varieties, but several years prior Uedatsu had begun striving to create and exhibit flower beds possessing a certain dignified style. There were few artificially cultivated varieties like large blooms, unusual blossoms, or cascading forms—even the most common types appeared grown with deliberate nonchalance. Those lacking discernment in such matters felt somewhat disappointed. There were even those who brashly declared it "shoddy work!" Yet the literati and refined guests—alongside those favoring slightly unconventional aesthetics—in other words, people of true discernment—found themselves deeply impressed.

Ah, such rustic elegance—so skillfully captured. Truly an ineffable charm of the wild.

“Chrysanthemums should be cultivated this way as the proper path—Ran-giku, this is natural. Somei’s methods are heretical; those practices cripple the flowers. As for me, with these, I can drink.” You don’t drink chrysanthemums. The idea was to serve sake with chrysanthemums as an accompaniment. Therefore, at Uedatsu’s nursery, they established teahouses at what seemed to be key points throughout the flower beds. Before long, they built four or five small private rooms as well, where there were modest female attendants and where elaborate dishes could be served. ……O-Taka and Tokizo rented one of the teahouse’s rooms together, opening the lacquerware lunchboxes they had brought and ordering dishes from the establishment as well, spending half a day gazing at chrysanthemums.

“Lately I’ve been so terrified of dying—don’t you think the same?” “—Is your body unwell?” “No, that’s not it—if I die, I’ll have to be separated from you, won’t I? I won’t see your face or hear your voice anymore. When I think that, I get so scared—so scared—it feels like a hard stone lodges right here in my chest.” “But someday… That’s one thing we can’t avoid.”

“That’s why I think this way—since we’ll die someday, I want us to live as a couple with not even a paper’s thickness between us while we’re alive, while we’re still here like this—more perfectly than any couple before us ever could…… I’ll do everything I possibly can for you, okay?”

O-Taka pressed down hard on her husband’s knee with one hand from above and looked up at him with a steady gaze.

“My body and soul are yours to command—I’d do anything for you, okay? So you must never change—keep cherishing me forever, never get tempted by others or cheat on me in secret. You’ll promise?” “It seems I lack such inclinations—and besides, they wouldn’t go along with it anyway.” “No, no—you’ve got that way with women. When I look at you, I just want to take care of you—it’s not just your manly charm but your whole character. Even Otami looks at you differently, you know.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Tokizo frowned and turned his face away. “Oh, it’s true! Even when you were in Makimachi, I know the neighborhood girls made a fuss over you—and that Utazawa teacher too…… No, I couldn’t bear it if anything like that happened again—I’d just die, okay? Promise me.” “What’s gotten into you today?”

Tokizo looked at O-Taka suspiciously this time. “You keep saying such strange things—are you sure you’re not feeling unwell somewhere?” “I’m not unwell at all, and I’m not saying anything strange either! It only sounds that way because you don’t understand my feelings. That’s right—when it comes to me… you never spare me a single thought.” “You keep spouting nonsense—I can’t make sense of any of it.”

Before he could finish saying this, O-Taka pressed her face into her sleeve and collapsed in tears onto Tokizo’s lap. Of course it wasn’t sadness—overwhelmed by an unbearably aching and frustrating emotion, she had no choice but to cry, unable to contain herself any other way.

That day, approximately six months into their marriage, marked a distinct turning point in O-Taka’s heart. It was the realization that her husband was absolutely irreplaceable to her—that if his heart were to stray to another woman, she would truly die. ……No married woman would fail to feel this way; it was a universal sentiment. Yet in O-Taka’s case, it bordered on extremity.

Those raised in the downtown districts were generally precocious, but O-Taka was remarkably late-blooming; until March of that year when she turned twenty and took Tokizo as her husband, she had scarcely any memory of being interested in men. The family had been bag merchants for three generations, and in Uneme-cho, “Tamura” was reputed as a first-class establishment. From Tamura, seven had branched out and opened their own shops; these branch households maintained close ties like relatives, and these people had been proposing marriage arrangements to O-Taka from an early stage. The official reasoning was that since O-Taka was an only daughter, they would need to take in a son-in-law regardless—and that unless the “main branch” was stabilized, the branch households couldn’t rest easy. ……Behind this lurked what seemed to be a kind of competition among relatives and branch households over the “main branch,” but setting that aside, what O-Taka vaguely sensed was the issue concerning her father, Ihei.

O-Taka’s mother, named Ine, had died when O-Taka was nine years old. She had been a daughter of the household, and Ihei—raised within the shop—had become their son-in-law. Ine had been far more refined than O-Taka. A picture book shop called *Nanigashi* had once approached her with a proposal to create a single-sheet portrait, which was naturally declined—though her beauty warranted such offers, her health was frail, and doctors’ visits never ceased. ……From these circumstances, Ihei—known for his mild temperament and inability to drink alcohol or smoke—was chosen.……True to expectations, he proved an exemplary husband. After bearing O-Taka, Ine spent half of each year bedridden. This house near Ōkawa in Odawara-cho had been built for her convalescence; yet Ihei remained so steadfastly devoted to his wife that he never strayed beyond commuting between their Odawara-cho home and the shop.

After his wife’s death, talk of remarriage naturally arose from various quarters. Yet Ihei merely deflected such suggestions with gentle composure, steadfastly refusing to take another wife. ...The urgency those around O-Taka felt about securing her a son-in-law carried an unspoken intent—to retire Ihei afterward and install him in a fitting retirement.

“Come on, Father—why won’t you take a wife? Please, take a wife!”

Twelve- or thirteen-year-old O-Taka often said such things. Some time later, when she began attending Tokiwazu music and needlework lessons, the gossip she heard there often revolved around romantic affairs between men and women, and she came to learn of the prevailing notion that men were inherently unfaithful and untrustworthy—now she found herself tormented by distrust and suspicion toward her father.…… Around that time, Ihei had taken up fishing as a hobby, occasionally going out for night fishing and returning in the morning. At such times, O-Taka would torment herself with wild guesses—that her father must be keeping a lover elsewhere and staying overnight with that woman—until her chest constricted as if halved, seized by a suffocating anguish like breathlessness.

“Hey—did you really go fishing? You didn’t stay somewhere else, did you? Tell me—did you really go fishing?”

She would pester him like this until finally accompanying him on several occasions. Ihei moved with O-Taka to the house in Odawara-cho around that time and began a life where father and daughter lived face-to-face, employing an elderly cook and a housemaid—a form where wife and daughter had swapped places. Apart from commuting between the shop and Odawara-cho, he still never turned into side streets, finding satisfaction in night fishing around Kanbashi Bridge.

Kanbashi Bridge was a structure spanning from Odawara-cho to Tsukiji Akashi-cho, located at the confluence where the Kyōbashi-bori and Miatari-bori canals flowed into the Ōkawa River. A windswept scene perfectly befitting its nickname of "Cold Bridge," with large rocks strewn along the shore. ……Ihei fished there. In cold seasons, he would layer padded cotton garments under an old woolen coat, don a tattered hood, and sit hunched on the crumbled stone wall, dangling his fishing line. O-Taka would often go to watch such a sight.

Because it was close to home, on sleepless nights she would bring hot tea, huddle close to her father, and spend long hours gazing at the dark waters of the Ōkawa River. "When her health was good, Mother used to bring tea and bento here too."

Ihei sometimes told such stories. "There was a maid named Otori who came from Meguro—I’d have her bring things here… You’d crouch right there where you are now, watching me fish endlessly… Otori, at an age when she was often sleepy, became such a bother—she’d doze off constantly… Then Mother would laugh and reluctantly head back… I can still hear that laughter in my ears."

O-Taka, too, seemed to visualize that scene. The quiet love between her sickly mother and gentle, earnest father—a mutual devotion they poured into each other like the soft sunlight of early winter, a transparently warm affection—gradually became clear to O-Taka.

The fact that Father never remarried—that he never took lovers elsewhere or strayed—was because he couldn’t forget Mother. They had loved each other so deeply. O-Taka thought this. In society, it stood as established belief that men were unfaithful and wicked; she herself had witnessed and heard such truths. Men like Father were likely rare; if so, then men were truly loathsome creatures—she would never marry, no matter what circumstances arose. ……Thus had she even come to hold this single conviction. Her physical development too seemed delayed, yet she felt nothing but complete aversion toward men other than her father.

The intense attachment to her husband that had arisen around six months into their marriage was—to put it bluntly—a reaction, but also stemmed from her body and mind, delayed in their development, suddenly springing vibrantly to life. In any case, the time had come for O-Taka herself to experience how love between a man and woman could be searingly joyful yet at the same time so achingly, sorrowfully painful.

Three

One year passed, then two. In May of Tokizo’s second full year there, her father Ihei suddenly vomited blood and collapsed. The doctor diagnosed a stomach ulcer, and he remained bedridden until September. Throughout this period, the maid Otami monopolized Ihei’s care. Preparing meals consumed both labor and time, and since he was confined to bed—requiring tasks like applying warm stones, cooling his stomach, brewing medicine, and tending to his bedpan—nursing him demanded tremendous effort and dedication. O-Taka was not merely an onlooker; she made earnest efforts to care for him. But Otami rushed ahead to handle every task, and the patient himself insisted on being attended to by Otami.

“Let Otami handle that. You must have your own matters to attend to over there—just go tend to those.” He spoke thus and endeavored to keep O-Taka’s hands away from his care as much as possible.

“This is strange... something’s off. I can’t believe it’s true, but... what’s going on?” “There’s nothing strange about it—you have your own duties to attend to me, and Otami can devote herself entirely to my care… For bedridden patients, changing caregivers is said to be the most unpleasant thing.” “That may be so, but…”

While discussing such matters with her husband, O-Taka found something nagging at her mind. Last year, there had been a marriage proposal for Otami—an exceptionally good match unlikely to come again—but Otami had refused it. ...Otami had a home in Minami-Senju and had been in service since she was fifteen. She was a year younger than O-Taka—clever, not unattractive in appearance, the so-called round-faced type: plump, petite in build, and an amiable girl.……There had been several marriage proposals for her before this as well, but she had always shaken her head, saying she was still too young.

“I want to stay by your side my whole life—getting married isn’t for me.” She had insisted this way. Yet last year she turned twenty—an age where her refusal made no sense at all. O-Taka once joked to her husband, “Because she likes you.” Since Tokizo married into the household, Otami’s manner had taken on an inexplicable coquettishness—blushing suddenly when spoken to by him, gazing with dewy eyes. …Once during chrysanthemum-viewing at Rokkenbori, O-Taka had accidentally mentioned this, only for him to turn away in displeasure. …Observing things since her father’s illness began, she felt certain something unnatural lingered there—a sensation that unsettled her deeply.

“It’s fine. Your father prefers it this way, and Otami isn’t doing this against her will. There’s no need to fret.” “Am I just the jealous type?” “You don’t seem like the type to let things go easily.” “How hateful—this is all your fault.” “That again? You never tire of it.” “But it’s true! Before I married you, I never even dreamed of feeling this way—these feelings… I truly hate them myself.”

The accusation “This is your fault” was not without grounds. Tokizo was the second son of Matsuba-ya—a household in Nihonbashi Makichō that also ran a bag merchant business—whose good looks and artisan-like demeanor had caused quite a stir among the local girls. She had also heard he had been deeply involved with a young female Utazawa music instructor during his training days. Of course, it seemed everything had been neatly resolved before their marriage—but once they began living together, O-Taka came to clearly understand that such facts must have existed.

Even after coming to Tamura, Tokizo preferred working over sitting in the shop. He left the shop to the manager Tagoshi and shut himself in the workshop all day. He had no amiability, spoke little, and always wore a sullen expression—yet there was an inexplicably strong charm about him. ...Whether it was someone wanting to take full charge of caring for him, someone wanting to torment him mercilessly, or someone wanting to be treated coldly and reduced to tears—each according to their disposition—in any case, watching him made one want to engage with him somehow; in short, it stirred a feeling of being unable to leave him alone.

This was what they called the type that women fall for—the most dangerous kind there was. O-Taka felt this truth pierce her to the core.

Two full years had passed since their marriage without a single suspicious incident ever occurring. Her husband's sincerity appeared certain—leaving no room for jealousy whatsoever. Yet even while feeling this security, she couldn't rid herself of the conviction that such peace was impossible—before she knew it, she'd be uttering words that vexed her husband and filled even herself with disgust. "It's all your fault." For O-Taka, there remained no other ground to stand upon but this accusation.

IV

Ihei passed away in late September.

It happened shortly before that—one night when she suddenly awoke to find the ever-lit Ariake lamp extinguished. Thinking the oil might have run dry, she tried returning to sleep but found herself inexplicably alert and wakeful. After some time she rose quietly, moving with soundless care toward the washroom. ...Then from beyond the corridor came the smooth whisper of a sliding door opening, followed by someone’s low murmur. Assuming Father must have spoken to Otami, she stepped into the corridor just as footsteps drew near. Though high lattice windows lined the space, midnight’s depth rendered everything pitch black and indistinct. O-Taka cautiously,

“Who’s there? Otami?” she called out, thinking she shouldn’t collide with them. The other party seemed not to have noticed her presence and appeared startled. “It’s me… What’s wrong?” Tokizo answered in an oddly strained voice. “It’s you. It was too dark to tell.” “What’s wrong? Why are you there… What are you doing?” “Don’t be silly—there’s nothing I’d be doing at this hour.”

O-Taka laughed softly while, “Be careful—the lamp’s gone out.”

With these words, she passed by her husband. On another occasion, when her former Tokiwazu teacher fell ill, she went with four or five fellow students to pay a visit. Since Otami couldn’t be spared from her duties, she went out alone bearing get-well gifts, but as they were to have dinner together on the return trip, she stopped by the shop in Umenokōchō just to be safe. “We’ll likely go to Hanakawa in Nihonbashi. Since Obun-chan and Yon-chan can hold their liquor, we might run late… But if we finish early, I’ll drop by Makichō on my way back.”

She explained this to her husband.

The teacher’s house was in Kobiki-cho 3-chome. He was a cheerful man of fifty-six or seven who had merely strained a muscle in his back—a minor ailment not serious enough to be called an illness.

The gathered friends were all married—lively individuals who had grown up in downtown Tokyo and still lived there—so they decided to scrap plans for Hanakawa entirely and hold their lively gathering right there instead. They swiftly divided tasks, made necessary preparations, and officially kicked off their boisterous banquet. Leading the festivities was Obun-chan. She had been O-Taka’s childhood friend and neighbor; her family ran a large tabi shop called Sano Shō, she had taken a husband two years before O-Taka did, and already had three children.

“Don’t let your husband run wild—handle him like an unruly horse. Clamp the bit tight and keep the reins short. I don’t let mine get a single word in edgewise.” She was that kind of boisterous woman. The maid Otami had also been placed through Obun-chan’s connections. …With everyone being young householders of twenty-two or three—each convinced they knew the ways of the world—the gathering grew spectacularly lively once the sake began flowing. Though O-Taka could hold her liquor reasonably well, whether from the overly provocative conversation or having drunk slightly more than usual, she soon felt unwell. Calculating she couldn’t possibly keep pace, she deftly made her excuses and slipped out alone.

The hour was still early.

When she stepped outside and felt the wind against her face, there was nothing particularly amiss. She considered going to Makichō, but found even that too tiresome, returning home without stopping by the shop. ...Now—the house being originally built in dormitory fashion—it had a sizable garden encircled by a shibi fence embedded with barnacle shells and a small gate woven with bush clover. As she passed through this gate, there in the shadow of the sleeve fence stood Tokizo and Otami conversing in hushed tones.

Her heart leaped at that moment. Otami seemed to be crying; her husband stood with arms crossed, head hung low, speaking in a hushed voice. It lasted but an instant—O-Taka’s legs nearly froze beneath her—but before she could react, her husband turned toward her. …Probably having noticed the sound of the gate opening, he turned this way with a composed gaze— “Just come inside.” he made such a gesture. Relieved by his composed gaze and utterly unflustered demeanor, O-Taka silently entered the house, but even as she changed her clothes, her heart continued to pound.

“Father scolded me. You’re better off pretending you don’t know.” Tokizo came in afterward and said this. After Ihei passed away, Otami’s demeanor had changed in some indefinable way. She always wore a gloomy expression; though it had never happened before, she would break dishes and bowls, lie silently in bed for four or five days complaining of stomach troubles, and in the middle of the night, attempt to vomit in the kitchen while making unpleasant sounds.

And so, at the end of October, Otami suddenly asked for leave, claiming her body was out of sorts, and returned to her parents’ home in a manner that brushed off any attempts to stop her. “What on earth happened? She’d been here seven years, living alongside the rest of the household… What could have upset her to make her leave like that?” “Must’ve been sudden talk of marriage.”

Tokizo had said this. “She wasn’t someone who’d stay here till she died—she’d leave someday anyway. Now that my illness has stabilized, what’s the harm?”

Ihei, too, had only said this. O-Taka felt somewhat resentful, but unable to leave matters unresolved, she purchased the items she had long budgeted for—regardless of whether Otami would marry or not—wrapped an appropriate sum of money, and sent them to what was called her parents’ home in Minami-Senju.

About half a month later, the matter of hiring a new housemaid came up, but since there was no need until a child was born, O-Taka decided to manage on her own.

“Still, it’s weird—am I really a body that can’t have a baby?”

“There’s no need to hurry over something like children.” “But it’s mortifying—every time I meet my friends, they never fail to tease me… About us being too affectionate or you fetching me too eagerly. Tell me—does such a thing truly exist? That being too close could… Oh goodness, what strange things I’m saying—I must be losing my senses.”

“If you’re getting all worked up by yourself and blushing alone, there’s no one to mind you.” “What’s wrong with that? Since Otami left, I’ve finally come to feel things deeply—like we’re truly facing each other as husband and wife for the first time. If only we could have a baby soon, it’d be perfect… Maybe I should try visiting a shrine or something.”

On the twentieth day of the first month after the New Year began, there was a grand recital by the Tokiwazu master. As was the annual custom, it was held at a rental hall called Hanshō in Sanjūgenbori. On the day, all the old disciples would gather to liven things up; there, they could meet people they rarely saw and hear various news, so the veterans regarded it as a sort of reunion. Here as well—not merely for economic reasons but driven by her inherently meddlesome nature—Obun took charge, and no sooner had the grand recital ended than she dragged the master along to...

“Come on—now for the celebration at the Master’s place!” she declared with gusto. From the disciples’ homes came numerous celebratory tiered boxes and lacquered trays. They further procured food and drink from a neighborhood caterer—this being no mere reenactment of last year’s sickbed visit—and launched into a splendid, large-scale banquet. ...Though the mingling of men tempered the women’s boisterousness, this very restraint lent the air a vague allure, with even matronly women adopting coquettish airs and tittering affectedly.

“O-Taka-san, a moment.”

Shortly after the cups began circulating， Obun came and sat down， looking this way with a faint smile． “What’s wrong—your husband’s been quiet lately．”

Obun was deliberately speaking in that manner; after her vigorous efforts, she’d had some sake and seemed tipsy—the peeling white powder on her cheeks glowed apricot-red. “Even if you say ‘these days,’ at home it’s just the same as always—nothing of note.” “That’s exactly why you’re failing—saying things like that! You’re the one who’s gone sweet on your husband, see? Listen—whether you’re married or not, between a man and a woman, *the one who falls in love loses*. You’ve got to make *him* fall for *you* instead! Sure, Mr. Tokizo’s a fine man—even I’d be tempted to stray a bit—but that’s all the more reason not to show weakness! But you’re leaving yourself wide open—head over heels—that’s how you end up in this mess! Honestly! If it were some courtesan from Yoshiwara or Yanagibashi with a reputation—fine! But losing your husband to a *housemaid*? That’s a woman’s shame!”

O-Taka was stunned. Wondering if Obun was truly that drunk, she laughed despite herself while studying her face. Obun—perhaps taking this as encouragement—continued speaking with vehement intensity. "And then there's you, O-Taka-san—they say you went and bought her kimonos and a small chest afterward, even gave her money! Next thing you'll be taking in her brat when it's born and raising it yourself, won't you? If it were me, I'd tear that Otami to shreds! Get a grip, O-Taka-san!"

“Otami… What about Otami…?” “What’s the point hiding it from *me*? *I’m* the one who looked after Otami! I felt so guilty toward you, O-Taka-san—that’s why I got even angrier and went all the way to Minami-Senju to confront her… ‘I’ll never see the young master again,’ she said. ‘Once I’ve had the baby, I’ll move back to the countryside.’ …She put on such a pious face crying, but who knows what she’s *really* thinking? Haven’t I always told you? You’ve got to clamp the bit tight in your husband’s mouth and keep the reins pulled taut… You’re too soft on him…”

O-Taka was no longer listening. Her body swayed unsteadily with the sensation of imminent collapse, until at last assaulted by violent nausea, she rose from her seat.

Five

For five days and five nights, O-Taka wrestled with her doubts.

Obun’s account had been delivered with such blunt precision that there was no room left to doubt whether it was a misunderstanding. Whether summarized or not, her husband and Otami had entered into that kind of relationship, and Otami had returned to her parents’ home because she was pregnant. She had stated those bare facts clearly as such. She had gone all the way to the house in Minami-Senju, raged at length there, and made Otami weep an apology. Among them—the words *"I will never see the young master again"*—were particularly cutting. It was a statement that undeniably proved the relationship between the two of them.

Could it be true…? No—there’s no way. He wouldn’t—he *couldn’t*—do such a thing with Otami.

The more she dwelled on it, the more suspicious memories came flooding back to O-Taka—the night when the ariake lamp’s dim glow had gone out; Otami weeping alone with her husband in the shadow of the sleeve fence; then Otami’s coquettish manner after his arrival, her intent gazes lingering upon him.

And then, finally unable to endure any longer, on the sixth night, O-Taka asked her husband about the matter. At that moment, she felt her life or death hinged on this instant. “Please tell me the truth—I’ll listen calmly… You know I won’t make a scene or anything, so please—just tell me the truth.”

Tokizo silently looked at his own knees. His forehead seemed to pale slightly; then after a brief moment, he murmured. “I’m sorry… Please forgive me.” “It’s fine—enough with the apologies. That’s enough of that.” O-Taka hurriedly interrupted with a laugh. Even she herself found it strange how bright her laughter was—it even carried a buoyant tone. “If I can just know the truth, that’s enough—…when is Otami due to give birth?”

“—I think it was this May…” “Yes, May… I had to hear that… Because I can’t just pretend not to know, can I? When it comes to childbirth, there’s so much… And there are things I must do too… But I’m glad I know now. I had no idea at all—how utterly foolish and empty-headed I’ve been.” “O-Taka… I was wrong.”

Tokizo raised his face and looked at O-Taka. His clear, beautiful eyes were filled with tears. "A demon possessed me... It was a mistake... I was truly wrong... Please forgive me." "It's fine, really. Everyone makes mistakes—even I do... Oh, isn't Father calling for me?"

O-Taka rose to her feet in a fluster. In the end, she managed not to cry in front of her husband. She couldn’t even bring herself to resent him. And then, for two or three days after that, her mood remained bright; she laughed as usual and chatted away cheerfully. ……But one night, when her husband reached for her bedding, in that instant, O-Taka was seized by violent nausea. She went to the kitchen and tried to vomit—but this time, she was assailed by an excruciating anguish and despair as if her chest were being torn to shreds. Letting out a moan, she collapsed right there.

“O-Taka! What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” When called back to her senses this way, she found herself being lifted up by her husband. O-Taka shook her head and tried to smile. “It’s nothing—” she tried to say, but when she felt the warmth of her husband’s hands on her shoulders, her entire body shuddered as if she’d touched a snake. Letting out a cry, she slipped free from his grasp. “—O-Taka, what on earth is wrong?” “Go… Go away… It’s nothing… I’m fine… Just go.”

The floorboard clattered from the trembling of her entire body. Tokizo stared fixedly toward her in the darkness but eventually left the kitchen without a word.

And then O-Taka’s suffering began. The suffering was physical: first came nausea, followed by a sensation as if her chest were being pressed in a vise or torn apart. Her vision suddenly turned pitch black, her breath caught, and she was seized by a sensation as if she might go mad then and there. “Ah… It’s awful… Too awful.”

Muttering while gasping for breath, writhing in agony, she would go somewhere no one could see her and weep.

"What’s the big deal? Things like this happen all the time. I’m fine, aren’t I?" She tried to say such things through her tears, yet even as she spoke them, she writhed and thrashed about, driven by an impulse to scream. That day, a southerly wind had blown since morning, making it unpleasantly warm. Even after the wind subsided, the temperature stayed high, creating a balmy air that seemed poised to coax flowers into bloom. The father, who had been looking pallid lately due to recurring stomach trouble, seemed in good spirits that evening and spoke about fishing during dinner—something he hadn’t done in quite some time.

“On nights like this, conger eels bite… but since I’ve only been fishing at sea lately, I think I’ll try my hand at crucian carp this year. Back in Machi町, I was quite the master at that, you know.” “The old man’s all talk—he doesn’t go fishing; he goes drinking.” “No, they say the true essence of fishing lies in cooking and drinking your catch right there—but since I can’t drink, it’s no good for me…”

O-Taka listened to their conversation while recalling the nighttime riverbank at Kanbashi Bridge.

After her father had gone to bed and her husband had gone to bed, O-Taka—who had been undoing stitches at her sewing for a while—suddenly felt as though someone were calling to her. Pushing aside the things on her lap, she stood up and slipped out through the back door without making a sound.

……It must have been around eleven o'clock. The neighborhood had closed their doors and gone to bed, but here and there lights leaked out from houses where cheerful voices could still be heard. She made her way straight to the riverbank and stood at the collapsed stone wall of Kanbashi Bridge where her father always sat. Upstream toward Tsukudajima, fires burning on boats appeared as hazy blurs, scattered here and there in clusters of five or six. It must have been a whitebait net; from that direction, voices drifted intermittently across the water's surface. "—Mother"

O-Taka called softly. The father was casting his fishing line there; the mother had the maid bring tea and a boxed meal, came to his side, and crouched down. "You didn’t have to come—if you catch cold, it’ll be trouble." "But I was so lonely… I couldn’t sleep, so I came to see you. Why don’t we have some tea?" "My apologies—this was just what I wanted. Since you’re here, why don’t you take a little sip of this?"

“Oh, it’s all right. If I do that, you’ll get cold.”

She felt she could vividly hear this conversation between her father and mother being exchanged there in reality. The calm, unadulterated warmth of her father and mother’s love—their mutual devotion, their unwavering sincerity toward one another—…it remained exactly as it was there at that stone on the bank of Kanbashi Bridge. Their love still lived there now, upon that stone… To O-Taka, it seemed she could see it before her very eyes.

“Mother… I’m suffering… Living is so painful… Please… Mother… What should I do…?” O-Taka peered into the dark water and said. “Even though it’s this painful… I can’t bring myself to hate him. I do hate him, yet I can’t leave him. I long for him even more than before—but when he comes near me, I feel so repulsed that goosebumps rise… When I’m alone, the anguish becomes unbearable—like I could die from it… Tell me… What should I do…? Mother… Please… What should I do…?”

From the waves lapping against the shore, Mother’s face rose up smoothly and beckoned as she spoke. “Come… O-Taka… Over here… Come to Mother’s side…”

O-Taka shuddered, every hair on her body standing on end. Because it had been heard all too clearly. And even as she thought to step back, when her legs staggered forward instead, her shoulders were violently seized by a powerful force. “Don’t do anything foolish, O-Taka.” Having been shouted thus in her ear, she startled, writhed her body, and shook off that hand. “What do you mean? What’s so foolish about it?” O-Taka said, running her hand through her hair. “Because it’s stiflingly hot and my head hurts—I just came to catch some river breeze, that’s all.”

“—O-Taka…”

Tokizo gasped heavily, gulped down saliva, waved one hand in a strange manner, then said in a hoarse voice. “Go home immediately. Father’s taken a turn for the worse. I’ll go fetch the doctor now.” “—Father… What’s happened?” “He vomited blood again—more than before. Go home right away, cool his stomach with a wet towel. I’ll call for the doctor.”

“—Father…”

Even as she said this, O-Taka had already started running. Her husband seemed to shout something. But O-Taka ran in a half-daze, falling twice before reaching home and badly scraping one knee.... Father lay on his back. He had pulled the bedding up to below his chest and removed his head from the pillow. His face was ghastly pale, cheeks sunken, mouth hanging open and soiled as he took rapid, shallow breaths. There must have been no time to wipe it; that area was still soiled. O-Taka approached the bedside with movements as composed as she could manage.

“Father… You must be in pain… The doctor’s been called from our house—he’ll be here soon. Just hold on a little longer, okay?” “I’m all right. I’m not suffering anymore.”

Ihei turned only his eyes toward her.

“But first, O-Taka—I have something to tell you. Come closer to me.”

VI

"But you mustn't talk now! You need to stay quiet until the doctor comes." "No, listen to me—if I don't speak now, there'll be no chance left... I—O-Taka... I've wronged you... wronged Tokizo too... Listen well—I'll speak plainly—O-Taka... The child Otami carries is mine... Not Tokizo's... Otami is bearing Ihei's child." With an "Ah—," O-Taka caught her breath.

“Tokizo shielded me. He took my parental disgrace upon himself. It seems he instructed Otami too… made me promise never to tell you… That’s why I kept silent. But now… I feel I mustn’t continue this way. I couldn’t die without confessing… O-Taka… Do you understand?” “—Father”

O-Taka suddenly grasped her father’s hand and began to cry, pressing her cheek to it. “I’m happy… Father… I’m happy… I’m happy…” And then she cried unreservedly in a voice that was almost like laughter. Ihei closed his eyes and nodded gently as he spoke. “I knew well how you were suffering… It must have been so hard… You must have felt utterly lost… But now that you understand the circumstances—now that you know it was my mistake—that pain should disappear.”

Still crying, O-Taka nodded against her father’s hand dampened by her own tears. “Humans are frail creatures—even when cautious, they’ll make shocking mistakes given the slightest opening… This isn’t limited to certain people—everyone carries such weakness… Remember this clearly, understand?… Though it may never come to pass, in time… even Tokizo might wander… Should that happen, bear with him. For errors between husband and wife—you must endure one another’s faults, labor together, support each other through life… That is the essence of marriage.”

Even as she strained to clearly grasp her father’s words, O-Taka’s mind was already filled with happiness and joy, and she continued crying as if her very body were melting away. “It’s a promise—keep this matter locked in your heart alone… Since everyone intends it that way, you mustn’t tell Tokizo either—understand?” Ihei fell silent after pressing this point.

Then after only a brief interval, the doctor arrived. But there was no time to begin treatment—another massive hemorrhage occurred—he fell into a coma—and not long after they sent someone to summon a Dutch-style doctor from Nihonbashi—Ihei finally breathed his last while still unconscious.

Until the twenty-first-day memorial service had passed, O-Taka’s body and mind did not feel like her own. Tokizo, concerned, protected her by telling her to just sit still and not do anything, and in truth, she hadn’t actually done any work either. Yet she felt constantly driven, fidgeting restlessly and unable to sleep soundly at night.

“That’s not true. Last night you were snoring away in your sleep—you probably didn’t even notice I woke up twice.” Her husband laughed and said this, but she couldn’t believe it herself—she had clearly not slept a wink all night, and by daytime she was exhausted and unbearably sleepy.

On the twenty-first day, after holding the memorial service at the temple, they hosted guests at “Kikuya” in Kinrokucho. There were around thirty people in total, but since the household staff were handling all the arrangements, O-Taka only needed to sit and offer greetings. After the reception ended, they stopped by the shop once, and by the time they returned to Odawara-cho, it had grown completely dark, with the house aglow with bright lights.

When they had sent the caretaker home and were finally alone, letting out a sigh of relief as they looked at each other, O-Taka smiled softly at her husband with eyes filled with affection. “It was so hard on you… You must be exhausted, having you do everything by yourself… I’m truly sorry… Forgive me.”

"They were your parents—I don’t need your thanks." "I think Father was happy. He had no regrets left, and with all you did for him—things even a birth child couldn’t have done—I believe he truly passed away in peace." "Don’t be ridiculous." Having said this as if angry, Tokizo suddenly averted his eyes to the side. The strain of over twenty days must have taken its toll—his cheeks were slightly sunken and his complexion pallid. He lowered the eyes he had averted to the side and muttered in a low, choked voice.

“I’ve done nothing but cause worry—I thought I’d finally start trying to be a filial son-in-law… But now that he’s gone… I can’t accept it… I just can’t resign myself to this.” “No, that’s not true—I know everything now. Father thanks you, and I… I can’t express how happy I am, so happy that… I don’t know how to thank you either.”

O-Taka gently pressed her eyes with the sleeve of her underrobe. Tokizo looked at her suspiciously, then spoke as if touching an open wound. “ ‘Everyone knows,’ you say… What exactly do they know?” “About whose child Otami is bearing—Father told me everything that night after you went to fetch the doctor. How you clothed yourself in his shame, made it seem like your own mistake, even instructed Otami to keep silent… I was such a fool—I never realized and resented you for it… It was so painful, so sorrowful… Living itself felt unbearable… That’s why I was happy… so happy… so very happy… I thought I could die content at any moment.”

“—Father said that? Father said… that the child Otami bears… is his own?” “You must forgive me.” O-Taka clung to her husband’s chest and, trembling, pressed her cheek against it. “I only thought about myself. “I only thought about being loved and never tried to put myself in your place… Father said that… humans are weak creatures, and that husband and wife must forgive each other, toil together, and support one another… I finally feel like I’ve become an adult… Even if Otami’s situation had been your mistake, this time I can believe half of it is my responsibility… Listen… I’ll become a good wife from now on, so please forgive me… Forgive everything up till now.”

Then, as O-Taka sobbed sweetly, Tokizo silently held her tight and pressed his cheek to hers. Her cheeks, drenched in tears and burning like fire—Tokizo closed his eyes and gently rocked his wife’s body in his arms as if soothing a child. “When Otami gives birth, let’s take the child into our home and raise them… It’s unfair to you, but let’s say it’s your child… They say that adopting a child can lead to having one of your own, so maybe I’ll have a baby too.”

“What if Otami refuses?” “Otami’s about to be wed—if we explain properly, she’ll let go… hee hee.” O-Taka stifled a laugh through her tears. “O-Bun will sulk—it’s happening exactly like she predicted… You’ll end up taking that baby in too, won’t you?… Since we can’t tell her the truth, she’ll turn crimson with rage when she finds out.”

That night was the first in a long time—and the first since they had come together—that only one bedding was laid out. ……Though the Peach Festival neared, it was an unseasonably cold night—a lingering spring chill perhaps—where the watchman’s clappers pierced clearly through the distant darkness.

Long past midnight, Tokizo quietly got up, moved stealthily to avoid making noise, went before the household altar, sat there properly, and bowed his head.

“Thank you, Father.” He whispered in a low voice.

“—This will be the last time. I swear I’ll never do such things again—please watch over me… I will make O-Taka happy.”

He covered his eyes with his arm. A choked sob escaped his throat. In the far distance, the watchman’s clappers pierced clearly through the night.