Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yamamoto Shugoro

Chapter 1

In the evening, a drizzly rain hung like mist. Sabu was crossing Ryogoku Bridge from west to east, weeping as he went. He wore a twin-striped kimono with a narrow Ogurawa stiff obi and a faded black work apron, drenched from head to toe. His face, sodden with rain and tears, bore black smudges around the eyes and cheeks where he'd rubbed them with the back of his hand. He had a stocky build, a round face, and a pointed head—As Sabu finished crossing the bridge, Eiji came chasing after him from behind. Eiji had a lean, agile frame. Thick eyebrows on his oblong face and small lips drawn tight gave him an air of shrewd intelligence and fierce determination.

As soon as Eiji caught up, he stood blocking Sabu's path. Sabu kept his face down and tried to slip past Eiji, but Eiji grabbed Sabu by the shoulder.

“Cut it out, Sabu,” Eiji said. “Just come back.” Sabu wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and sobbed.

“We’re going back,” Eiji said. “You deaf?” “No,” Sabu said, “I’m goin’ back to Kasai. The mistress told me to get out—this makes three times now.”

“Move,” said Eiji, jerking his chin toward the left. “People are watching.”

The two boys turned left at the base of the bridge. The misty rain continued to haze the air almost soundlessly. "I really didn't know," Sabu said, his voice trembling. "Last night when I was putting the flour bags in the storage closet, the Mistress told me to leave one out for the kitchen. So I left just one there. But then that bag was left out in the open, and even though she returned it after using it and told me to put it away properly, she's saying I forgot to store it."

“It’s just a habit—nothing but a habit!” “The flour got damp,” he said, his voice breaking, “and she called me a bumbling apprentice.” Sabu stopped and cried while rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “I never got it back—I swear I don’t remember any of that. I really didn’t know.” “It’s just a habit, I’m telling you! The mistress doesn’t think anything of it.” “No good—I’m no good. A real fool, a slowpoke... I knew it myself. Can’t keep going like this. Had enough.” Sabu choked out, “I—I think... maybe it’d be better to go back to Kasai and take up farming.”

Along the broad riverside street—samurai residences to the right, the Ōkawa River to the left—a little further on would bring them to Yokotsuna. Two seedy-looking middle-aged men—indistinguishable whether laborers or roustabouts—walked past under umbrellas riddled with holes, exchanging rapid words as they went. To Eiji, their bare shins protruding beneath work coats looked bitterly cold. As he began walking again, Sabu recounted the three years since coming to Hokodo workshop in Kobune-cho—the ceaseless scoldings, mockery, and slaps he’d endured without respite. His voice carried not the force of protest, but the feeble monotony of an infant’s endless wail. At intervals, the Ōkawa’s waters struck the stone embankment as if suddenly remembering, releasing low murmuring sounds.

“Apprenticeship’s hard no matter where ya go—the mistress’s sharp tongue’s just a habit,” Eiji stammered. “And you—women are just... carts.”

Eiji touched Sabu’s arm, and the two stopped to move aside toward the river. A man pulling an empty cart came up from behind and overtook them. “Learning a proper trade’s tough, sure,” Eiji went on. “But think—even if ya went back to Kasai, you ain’t gonna be smilin’ from dawn till dusk there neither. Or you think farmin’s some kind of paradise?” “If it were my home in Kasai,” Sabu said, “there’s no way I’d ever be told to get out.”

“You really think that’s true?” Sabu did not respond. Eiji hadn’t expected a response either. Sabu considered his family home in Kasai. A hunchbacked, asthmatic grandfather; a timid father; a strong-willed mother quicker with her hands than any man; a loud-mouthed sister-in-law who quarreled with mother from dawn onward; three younger siblings; a drunkard elder brother; and five nieces and nephews. A dimly lit, soot-covered house—old, cramped, and leaning to one side—and about five tan of barren fields. Sabu was at a loss and, while sobbing, started walking again.

“You’ve got a hometown.” “You’ve got someplace to go back to, even if it’s nothing special,” Eiji said as they walked together. “But me—no parents, no siblings, no kin. This past spring, I did something that’d get me kicked outta the shop. Either get thrown out or quit myself—one or the other. Did a real stupid thing.” Sabu slowly turned around and looked at Eiji’s face. It wasn’t out of curiosity—his eyes held a look of bewilderment. In a sullen tone that bordered on anger, Eiji confessed that he had stolen money from the cashbox several times since last year and that Mistress Oyuu had discovered it.

“There’s an eel grill stall that sets up by the moat near Ryogoku Bridge,” Eiji continued. “Whenever I catch a whiff of that grilled eel, I just can’t hold myself back.”

Whenever he passed by and caught that smell, his stomach wouldn’t settle until he’d eaten some. His mind wouldn’t calm down, and nothing would hold his attention. It became like an illness—at times even his limbs would start trembling. It was during these spells that he snatched coins from the shop’s cashbox—maybe twelve or thirteen times since last autumn—but driven purely by hunger, he never considered his actions wrong. Then in February came Mistress Oyuu’s summons to her room.

“The mistress didn’t scold me,” Eiji said, his face twisted as if chewing mud, “—‘I saw what you did at the cashbox on August fifth last year and yesterday. No more of that. If you want something, come tell me and I’ll give it to you,’ she said—and that was all.”

Had Oyuu only seen it twice? Or had she known everything all along and deliberately pretended not to know? Either way, Eiji felt so mortified he thought he could no longer stay at the shop. He had never considered himself a thief, but the sight of his own hand snatching coins from the cashbox looked so wretched and shameful that he couldn't bear to remain there any longer.

“But if I run away from the shop, where would I go?” Eiji continued. “When I was eight—summer fire in Daikokumachi—my parents and little sister burned to death. Only me survived ’cause I’d gone fishing to Shirauo Riverbank. No other kin anywhere. My old man said he came from Ise, but damned if I remember where in Ise. Even if I did, nowhere to go begging help. Back then—hell—I wasn’t even sad about having no family left.”

“I didn’t know—I really didn’t know,” Sabu murmured, his voice catching. “So you put up with it then, Eij-chan?” “Never took another coin.”

The two had reached the Yokotsuna riverbank when Sabu stopped, stared at the ground, and scraped the earth back and forth with the tips of his straw sandals, now soaked and heavy. “I’ve been thinkin’,” he said haltingly, “—when I was little, Ma walloped me once. My little brother’d done some mischief, but she thought it was me. I cried and swore it wasn’t my doing. Then when she found out it was him, Ma just says all calm-like, ‘So you’re tellin’ me you never once did nothin’ worth a wallopin’ before this?’”

“Women’re all like that,” Eiji said. “They’ll pinch you with the same hand that just stroked you, then stroke you with the hand that pinched—and forget both quicker’n a heartbeat. You settled some now, Sabu? We oughta head back from here.” Sabu gave an indecisive “Umm...”

“Thanks,” Sabu said in a barely audible voice. “Sorry, Eij-chan.” “Next time, don’t go runnin’ off without a word,” said Eiji. “From now on, come to me ’bout anything—I’ll back you up.”

Sabu slowly nodded.

The two turned back. When they returned to Ryogoku Bridge, a girl of twelve or thirteen came chasing after them from behind, panting heavily as she called out.

“Take this umbrella,” the girl said, thrusting the oil-paper umbrella toward them. “I’m supposed to bring it to my sister’s place—you’re headed the wrong way—but go on, take it anyway.”

Eiji looked at the girl. The umbrella she held herself was full of holes. Her attire was an old Ome-striped lined kimono patched at the sleeves, her obi frayed at the edges. The adult-sized geta she wore had become so short that their stretched thongs left her mud-splattered toes exposed, mottled like a viper’s skin.

“We don’t need it,” Eiji said. “We’re headin’ back to Kobune-cho—get goin’ already.” “Oh, how perfect!” the girl laughed cheerfully. “I’m headed to Horie-cho—my sister works at a place called Sumiyoshi there. So I can walk you home!”

“Shut up,” Eiji said. “I told you we don’t need no damn umbrella.” “But you’re both soaking wet! Here, take this.” “Sabu,” Eiji said. “Let’s run.”

The two started running through the light rain. "You idiots!" the girl shouted. "Fine then! Stay soaked, you cowards!"

Eiji and Sabu were both fifteen years old at the time. They both soon forgot about the girl.

Part One of Two

On February 15th of the year they turned twenty.

For the first time in their lives, they went out together to drink alcohol. This wasn’t their first time drinking alcohol—even before this, on celebratory occasions when alcohol was served at the shop, they had sipped two or three cups’ worth. But they had never gone out drinking with their own money before. Part of it was terrifying, but it was also because Master Yohbei had forbidden it. ‘If you drink before your body hardens, your bones will soften—don’t touch a drop until you’re twenty,’ was his constant refrain.

Hokodo was renowned for its scroll mounting and scripture mounting, esteemed for both its prestige and reliability. Their clientele included long-standing patrons from the previous master’s era and five or six renowned calligraphers and painters of the current generation. They limited themselves exclusively to established antique shops, samurai families, and major merchant houses, rejecting all low-paying commissions as a matter of principle. Consequently, the eight craftsmen received rigorous training—all raised from childhood within the workshop. They were thoroughly schooled not only in reading and writing but also in flower arrangement and tea ceremony, while from their earliest years they learned to evaluate paintings and calligraphy through direct handling of actual works.—The current roster comprised Wasuke, head craftsman at twenty-nine; next Taichi at twenty-seven; followed by Shigehachi, Goro, Eiji, and Sabu at twenty; with Denroku aged seventeen and Hanji fifteen beneath them. Thirteen others had left the shop—some still working as itinerant artisans, others running independent establishments—and when Hokodo faced overwhelming workloads or special orders arose, suitable individuals from these thirteen would be summoned to assist.

Given the shop’s customs, the craftsmen’s daily lives followed strict regulations—aside from the 15th and 1st of each month, nighttime excursions were forbidden. Those aged twenty and above received one serving of sake with their evening meal, but not a drop beyond that was permitted. This went without saying, yet not all adhered faithfully to this lifestyle. Work concluded rigidly at five o'clock each evening—no matter how much remained unfinished, they would cease at the hour, tidy up, visit the public bath, dine, then retire by nine as prescribed. The time before bed could be spent reading, practicing calligraphy, or playing Go and Shogi—but there were inevitably some who slipped out to drink or visit women. Master Yohbei knew of these activities and generally turned a blind eye, but when repeated absences began affecting work quality, he would finally issue warnings—and if conduct still didn't improve, dismiss them outright. Every five years saw about two such craftsmen expelled—men whose very association with Hokodo became strictly unmentionable.

Eiji and Sabu were thrilled. “Turnin’ twenty feels... strange,” Sabu said in his drawn-out manner. “I mean, stranger’n when I shaved my forelock at sixteen.”

“Yeah,” Eiji said. The two wore handwoven thousand-striped cotton lined kimonos with twin-striped haori jackets, fastened their Ogurawa stiff obi sashes, and had on hemp-lined straw sandals. It was just dusk, and they walked east along the bustling Kobune-cho street without any particular destination. At any rate, they seemed to be thinking of heading over to Ryogoku Hirokoji. “You’ve got it good, Eij-chan,” Sabu said. “You’re already workin’ on screens—if it’s fusuma underlining, you’re top-notch. But me? I’m still stuck mixin’ paste.”

“That’s still work, y’know.”

“I mean,” he said, “when I’m kneading those bags in the water... sometimes I just can’t take it anymore. Twenty years old and still stuck like this.” “That’s still work, Sabu,” Eiji said. “For scroll mounters ’n scripture guys, how good the paste turns out decides the whole job’s finish—y’know that, don’t you?” “I s’pose that’s true...” “If you get it, then quit your whinin’,” Eiji said. “Become Japan’s best paste mixer, ’n you’ll still be a damn fine craftsman. Aim to be number one in paste-makin’, you hear?”

“Well, I s’pose that’s true, but...”

But if I'm to be a Hokodo craftsman, I want to learn scroll mounting too—screens and mansion fusuma and such. Though Sabu wanted to say that, he couldn’t bring himself to voice it.

“Hey,” Eiji said, stopping in his tracks.

Between Horie-cho and Shinzaimoku-cho ran a canal. Along its bank stood five or six small eateries spaced at intervals, and at the farthest one, a woman hung a half-curtain from the eaves—navy cloth with "Sumiyoshi" starkly dyed in white kana. Her small frame was slender; her upper arms exposed by the work sash looked lean, and the white calves glimpsed beneath the yellow Hachijō silk kimono with its tucked-up hem appeared both delicate and supple. "What is it, Eij-chan?"

“Sumiyoshi,” Eiji muttered under his breath. “Seems like I’ve heard that name before.” “It’s a Ryogoku restaurant—Sumiyoshi. Ain’t that one of our regulars?” “Nope, ain’t Ryogoku. Heard it somewhere else before.” The woman who had finished hanging the curtain stepped around the mound of salt at her feet and went inside. Eiji narrowed his eyes as if trying to dredge up a memory, but when nothing came to mind no matter how hard he thought, he clicked his tongue softly. “Ah, whatever,” he said. “Let’s go in,” and nudged Sabu toward the place.

When they entered the shop, a man in his forties was hanging a lit octagonal lantern from the ceiling beam. In an earthen-floored space measuring about three by five ken, two meal tables stood on either side with built-in benches flanking them left and right, while round rush mats woven from cattail reeds lay spaced roughly two shaku apart. The layout appeared designed to let patrons drink comfortably without crowding, even when busy. To the right stood a kitchen area framed by bamboo latticework, and at the far end hung another curtain—this one dyed pale bluish-green with navy characters spelling "Sumiyoshi".

“Was I too early?” Upon entering the shop, Eiji asked the man hanging the octagonal lantern, “Haven’t you opened yet?” “Welcome,” the man answered heartily. “Please come in.”

Then, turning toward the back, he bellowed loudly, "Customers here!" Eiji pushed Sabu’s shoulder, selected one of the meal tables, and sat down at its far end. Immediately, two women emerged while smoothing their hair and took their orders with polite smiles. They weren’t the woman who had hung the curtain earlier—one appeared eighteen or nineteen, the other twenty-two or twenty-three, both slightly plump and exuding a heavy scent of face powder and perfumed hair oil. Eiji ordered two bottles of sake with vinegared vegetables and stewed fish, flushing red as he spoke.

"I know you," said the older woman to Sabu. "You're the apprentice at Hokodo in Kobune-cho, aren't you?"

Sabu looked at Eiji with bewilderment. One of the women went to place the order, and the older woman sat down. "Nah, that ain't it," Sabu said, then hurriedly corrected himself, "I mean—it's true! Today we were allowed by Master 'n Mistress to come. This here's Eij-chan, 'n I'm Sabu—both of us turnin' exactly twenty this year." "Cut it out," Eiji said. "Quit blabbering nonsense." "Oh, don't be like that," the woman said. "Sabu-chan and Eij-chan, right? I'm Okame—and that's my real name, not some made-up one. Nice to meet you both."

Sabu burst into laughter, and Eiji glared. "We wanna drink alone," Eiji said to the woman. "Don't need pourin'—can't you just leave us be?" "Then why don't you move to the back?" Okame said without any sign of taking offense. "This place'll be packed soon—you won't get to chat leisurely here. It's cramped back there, but quieter. How 'bout that?" "Yeah," Eiji said as he reached into his pocket. "We ain't got much on us."

The woman laughed, said they didn’t need to worry about that, made them stand up, and guided them to the back. Beyond the curtain were three small tatami rooms, each about four-and-a-half mats in size. To the right was the neighboring fence, with bamboo planted to screen it—their sparse leaves all shriveled brown, likely meant to root them firmly—and the moss on stones placed here and there had also dried to a crisp. “This’ll do,” the woman said, ushering them into the four-and-a-half-mat room at the end. “I’ll fetch the andon lamp now.”

Though a small tatami room, there was a hanging scroll in the half-ken alcove; a two-fold small screen stood to conceal the sliding door to the neighboring room, and within the square paulownia brazier, a fire burned. Since she herself had declared it her real name, it must have been true; soon Okame brought an andon lamp with its flame lit, followed by another person carrying two butterfly-legged trays. "Is this really okay?" "What if the bill's not enough?" Sabu whispered apprehensively.

“Shut it,” Eiji said, masking the pounding in his chest. “They know Hokodo’s name. Even if they didn’t, they wouldn’t demand our damn heads. Quit makin’ such a fuss.” Soon Okame returned with their ordered sake and dishes, arranging them across both trays. “Just clap if you need anything,” she said before withdrawing.

“Let’s do this just us,” Eiji said. “Too much damn hassle with cup passin’. We’ll pour our own drinks. Got it?” “Alright, but…” Sabu kept his eyes glued to the tray as he spoke. “Somehow… feels kinda scary-like.”

“What’s so scary?” said the third woman as she slid open the shoji, poking just her face through with a beaming smile. “Oh my! I thought it was Master from the riverbank! My mistake.” She was the woman who had hung the curtain at the front. With a sharply defined slender face, when she smiled, her double canine teeth peeked out from between her lips. Eiji abruptly turned away with cold indifference.

一の三

“It’s not gloomy,” the woman said。 “There’s no one else here。” “It’s fine,” Eiji said。 still turned away。 “Don't need any pourin'。” “It's like a wake in here，”the Woman said。 “Or are you scheming something so bad you can't let anyone hear？”

Eiji turned around and snapped, “Shut it.” The woman began to smile faintly but stiffened her expression when meeting Eiji’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” she said softly and closed the shoji. When she laughed, her double canines showed again—their image lingering in Eiji’s vision.

On March 1st, Eiji could not take a day off. At Watabun—a grand exchange merchant house in Nihonbashi Honcho—he went out with his senior apprentice Taichi for paper matching and preliminary inspection to replace the fusuma in their guest rooms. Watabun had long been a prized client of Hokodo, where fusuma were replaced annually. Since age thirteen, Eiji had accompanied Taichi and Shigehachi on these junior errands each year, growing familiar with both family members and servants. Master Tokubei—corpulent and large-framed—always reeked of alcohol; he rarely appeared at the shop, absorbed instead in tinkering with antiques and composing haikai poetry.

His wife was named Omiyo; she had a slender, petite build and a delicate, finely featured face, giving her the air more of a side-street tavern mistress than the matron of a grand merchant house. They had no sons but two daughters named Okimi and Osono, two years apart in age; both were renowned for their beauty, though the elder sister took after their father in her ample build and leisurely disposition. The younger sister had a slender build and narrow face, spoke with precocious wit, and moved with quick agility.

Watabun was a corner establishment with two storehouses fronting it. Separated by a central courtyard from the two-story shop stood a single-story residence. The residence had a gate on its side, and the front was the main entrance. Following the thick earthen fireproof wall to the right, there was a roofed well with a pulley bucket, and on the left side before it stood the service entrance. It was not a kitchen but rather a place where family members, private guests, various merchants, and craftsmen came and went; being a household with many visitors, a single apprentice doubling as a shoe attendant was in the six-tatami entryway, beating a hemp bag filled with small gold pieces and koban coins against a wooden board. It was a monotonous and mindless motion—lifting the bag only to drop it onto the board—but by repeating this, minuscule amounts of gold would adhere to the hemp sack. After a set period, burning the bag would allow them to collect the accumulated gold dust, or so it was said. They probably didn’t do it at the shop to avoid being caught by officials, but since exchange merchants everywhere supposedly did such things, when Eiji heard this, he had felt intense contempt, thinking how miserly they were for such a prominent establishment.

Carrying the sample paper bundle, when Taichi and he were ushered into the tatami room, Osue, the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old maid, brought tea and sweets. Eiji had not come to this house the year before last or last year, but until three years ago, he had come every year and was close with the two daughters as well as being well acquainted with Osue. “It’s been a while, Eiji-san,” Osue said after greeting Taichi before turning toward him. “My goodness—you’ve grown so much! At first glance I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“Come on,” Taichi said with a laugh. “Poor guy’s turned twenty already.”

“I’m sorry.” Osue flushed red. “I meant to say you’d grown into someone splendid, but my tongue slipped.” Eiji also turned red, but he didn’t look toward Osue.

“How old are you now, Osue-chan?”

“I’m sixteen,” Osue answered Taichi. “But since I’m so small, they say I don’t look a day over twelve or thirteen. I get teased a lot—it’s embarrassing.”

A person stood in the corridor and peered in. The elder daughter of the house was there when her younger sister happened to pass by; peeking out just her head from behind her sister, she exclaimed, "Oh! It’s Eiji-chan!" The elder sister didn’t move from her spot, but the younger sister Osono came bounding into the tatami room, plopped down in front of Eiji, and fixed her large eyes intently on him. Osue bowed politely and left the room, while Eiji caught a glimpse of her retreating figure from the corner of his eye.

“Oh my! Eij-chan, is that you?” Osono exclaimed, her face alight. “You’ve grown so much—I’m shocked!” Taichi gave a thin-lipped laugh. “Just heard that myself not a minute ago.” “Eij-chan,” Osono pressed on, ignoring Taichi and drilling her gaze into Eiji’s eyes, “you do know who I am?” “It’s Osono-san,” Eiji replied. “Haven’t been gone years—just two since I last came here.”

“I’ve grown up too, right?”

“Hey there,” Eiji called out to Okimi in the corridor. “It’s been a while.”

Okimi nodded calmly and said slowly, “Welcome.”

一の四 Just then, Master Tokubei entered, and Taichi spread out the paper samples. Tokubei’s breath still reeked of alcohol as always.

“Come here for a second, Eij-chan,” Osono said. “There’s something I want to show you.” “Sono-chan,” Okimi said from the corridor. “Hey, Papa, it’s okay, right?” Osono said to her father in a nasal whine. “There’s something I want to show Eij-chan. Can I have him come over there?” Her sister admonished her again with “Sono-chan, really...,” while Tokubei waved his hand dismissively and said, “Enough—do as you please.” Eiji looked at Taichi with a pleading gaze, but Taichi, without even a smile, jerked his chin in a gesture that said, “Go on.”

“Come on, Eij-chan,” Osono said, taking his hand. “Hey, hurry up.”

"It’s just like back then," Eiji thought. Whenever he came here for work with his senior apprentices, he would invariably get roped into playing with these sisters. Since replacing the fusuma was done every December, they would end up with trivial pastimes like karuta cards, hane-tsuki battledore, beanbag juggling, and marbles; he even found it humiliating to play games with young girls. However, since this involved an important client and his senior apprentices told him to comply, he could not refuse; while reluctantly going along with it, he ended up becoming the best at every game they played, which made the competitive Osono grow frustrated and often burst into tears.

The room he was led to was the sisters' bedroom, with two chests apiece, a display shelf holding dolls and such, a koto, a shamisen, a tea utensil storage chest containing tea ceremony tools, a vermilion-lacquered clothes rack—all of it overflowing with the vibrant colors befitting young ladies' quarters and the scent of incense. "I turned sixteen, you know," Osono said, kneeling before her chest of drawers. "So I had another Yuzen-dyed furisode kimono made—don't you think it's pretty?"

Then she opened one of the drawers, took out the item from within, and cradling it with both hands as though it were precious, handed it to Eiji. “Open it up and see,” Osono said. “It’s called the Thousand Grasses of the Four Seasons pattern—I had it dyed at Tamaruya in Kyoto.” “Mine has a hem pattern,” said Okimi from beside them, “I’ll show you mine too.” “Later!” Osono snapped. “Sis, you’re always copying me! Stop getting in the way!”

Eiji unfolded the kimono and said it was pretty.

Though being daughters of such an affluent family should have rendered Kyō-dyed Yuzen fabrics utterly commonplace to them, their very act of summoning someone specifically to display these garments laid bare the sisters’ unpretentious nature—that open-hearted quality so characteristic of Shitamachi-raised girls. Having been accused by her younger sister, Okimi showed no sign of irritation as she methodically opened her own chest of drawers. She likely meant to present this hem-patterned piece, but Osono forestalled her by declaring she would instead show her obi. Yet the instant she pulled open the lower drawer, she shrieked, sprang up, and flung both arms around Eiji.

“It’s scary!” Osono shrieked, clinging to Eiji. “A mouse! There’s a mouse here!” Okimi stepped back in surprise too as Eiji tried to free himself from Osono’s grip. But her clinging strength proved surprisingly strong—he couldn’t shake her off right away. “Gotta let go,” Eiji said. “Can’t chase no mouse like this.” “No! It’s terrifying!” Osono tightened her grip further. “I can’t breathe!”

“I need to chase the mouse away.” Eiji finally freed himself and pushed Osono away. “Now, Okimi-san, please step aside.”

Then he peered into the drawer but saw no sign of mice. He reached inside, lifting each stacked obi one after another and probing all the way to the bottom, yet found neither mice nor even a single insect. Eiji put the drawer back as it was, stood up, and glared at Osono. Okimi clutched her chest with both hands, looking up at Eiji with a frightened expression. "It's true, I'm not lying," Osono said, averting her eyes from Eiji's intense gaze. "When I tried to take the obi, it was crouching right there and tried to bite me!"

Just as Eiji was about to say something, his name was called from the corridor. When he turned around, Osue stood there. “Taichi-san is calling for you,” Osue said without looking his way. “He says to come because he needs to take measurements.”

Eiji nodded to that, then pointed at the drawer packed tightly with obi to Osono. He was likely demonstrating that there was no room whatsoever for even the smallest mouse to crouch there. Osono shrugged her shoulders lightly and said. “But it was there, really! Crouching like this, trying to bite me, baring its teeth like this!” Osono demonstrated such a pose, but Eiji left without saying a word.

一の五

Having finished his task, Eiji exited through the back door first. Carrying a bundle that held sample papers and a measurement notebook, he saw Osue when he stepped out through the lattice door. She had been standing by the well and ran over as if she'd been waiting, smiling while staring into Eiji's eyes. Her staring eyes held a desperate, resolute gleam, and her smile twisted as though stifling a sob.

“Please forgive me for earlier,” Osue said without meeting his eyes. “What’re you talkin’ about?” Eiji shot back. “What I said—about you growin’ up,” she insisted, gaze steady now. “What I meant was... you’ve become someone proper.” “Eh, forget it.” He shifted the bundle in his arms. “Ain’t mad or nothin’.” “Truly?” Her whisper trembled as tears spilled over. “I’m... glad.” “Tch.” He looked away, voice rough. “Ain’t worth frettin’ over.”

“I was thirteen when I first met you, Eiji-san, but I remember thinking you were a scary person with such a quick temper.” Eiji blushed as if about to say something, then snapped in a mock-angry tone: “I remembered you too!” Osue whispered “Thank you,” whirled around, and hurried off at a trot. Eiji did not look that way. His face remained red, and as he took deep breaths, his chest heaved so visibly it seemed about to burst through his clothes.

“Eiji,” a voice called. “Hey.”

Taichi was peeking out from behind the lattice door. Eiji went over there awkwardly, as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. “Go back first,” Taichi said. “I’ve gotta keep the master company drinking—sick of it, but what can I do? Tell the workshop master that.” In the six-jo area of Kamihata, the apprentice was still laboriously beating a hemp sack against a board. Eiji nodded to Taichi and left from there. Grown up, huh?

As he walked, Eiji muttered with a smile, “You’ve grown up too, but—your build and face haven’t changed a bit from back then. You’re exactly the same as when you were thirteen.” Girls turn into young women in both face and body once they hit thirteen—how strange it was, Eiji thought, smiling again.

When he returned to Kobune-cho—since it was a holiday and the shop was closed—Eiji entered through the side gate. There in the narrow vacant lot at the back, Sabu was preparing paste. With his kimono hem tucked up and a work sash tied around his waist, he sat on a small stool facing a bucket the size of a five-shō barrel, both hands plunged inside as he worked the mixture. He kneaded wheat flour thoroughly with water, put it into a bag and worked it to extract a white liquid. After letting this settle, he transferred it into jars and stored them by burying the jars halfway in shaded soil. For scroll mounting and the backing of folding screens, only paste made in this way was used; moreover, letting it mature in jars took two to three years.

“Sabu, what’s wrong?” Eiji called out as he approached, “Ain’t today supposed to be our day off? What’re you doing here? ’Specially coming out to this back lot of all places—huh?” Sabu gave no answer and did not turn around. Eiji noticed that his profile was wet. “What’s wrong?” Eiji lowered his voice. “Did something happen?” “It’s nothing.” Sabu shook his head. “It’s really nothing.” “Aren’t you crying?”

“Ain’t cryin’,” Sabu said, rubbing his eyes with his arm. “Flour got in ’em when I was kneadin’.”

Eiji continued to stare at Sabu’s profile, but Sabu did not attempt to turn around.

“I thought we’d go somewhere together, so I hurried back,” Eiji said. “But if you’ve gone and started on that, then it’s no good.” Once he began kneading out the paste, he couldn’t let go until it was transferred into the jars. Eiji wanted to go out for a drink with Sabu and talk about Osue. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say himself, but he felt he wouldn’t be able to settle down unless he talked about it. “Why don’t you just go?” Sabu said while kneading the bag with his flour-whitened hands, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Don’t talk nonsense—you think I’d go off alone? If you’re gonna work, then I’ll work too,” Eiji said. “I brought back the fusuma measurements from Watabun, so I can start aligning the paper. Instead of staying here, why don’t you come into the workshop?” “I’m fine right here.” Sabu said in a choked voice, “Just leave me be.”

And suddenly, he thrust both hands into the bucket, hunched forward, and began to choke back sobs. "What on earth's wrong with you, Sabu?" Eiji pressed closer as he demanded. "Can't you even tell me?"

“Leave me alone,” Sabu sobbed, turning his face away. “There’s really nothin’ wrong. I’m beggin’ you—just let me be.” “You really sure that’s okay?”

Sabu nodded vigorously. The way his stocky frame hunched forward and how he nodded with his round head seemed so guileless and childlike that Eiji thought to himself what a pitiful fellow he was.

Part Two, Chapter One

It was two months later, on April 15th, that the two went to Sumiyoshi in Horie-cho. Since they had gone out after dinner, the shop already had its lights on, and five or six customers had arrived. The woman named Okame whom they had met before saw Eiji and Sabu but must have forgotten them; she said “Welcome” yet remained where she was, attending to other customers. Eiji hesitated for a moment. The customers were all middle-aged and seemed to be regulars of the shop; being out of place themselves, they couldn’t figure out where to sit. Then, from behind the curtain at the back of the earthen-floored area emerged the same young woman who had peeked into the small parlor before; spotting Eiji and Sabu, she widened her eyes in surprise, clapped her hands sharply, and came dashing over.

“Welcome,” the woman said. “I knew you two! You’d prefer the same parlor as last time, right? This way.” With that, she spun around and disappeared back behind the curtain. Eiji exchanged a glance with Sabu and followed after the woman. The woman entered the familiar small parlor, arranging the cushions, bringing out the tobacco tray, and setting up a small screen. “Quit dashing about so much,” Eiji said as he entered the parlor, “Ain’t you makin’ my head spin?”

“Everyone tells me that,” the woman shrugged, “Sake and side dishes—what’ll you have for the sides?” “We ate already. Just gimme two-three light bites that won’t sit heavy.” “You look just like back then,” the woman peered at Eiji, then Sabu. “Separately I might’ve missed it, but together—ah! No, wait—truth is, after you left last time, it hit me. ‘Those must’ve been them,’ I thought.”

“Quit yappin’,” Eiji scowled, “Hurry up an’ get our order through already.” “Quit yappin’,” the woman said, thrusting her face close to Eiji’s. “Don’tcha remember me?” “I know we look alike.”

“Look alike? Not me.” Eiji recalled the words he had once thought—that Osono resembled a mouse about to bite—and nearly laughed. “Oh my, how heartless,” the woman said, and went off to place their order. “The side dishes will be right out,” said the woman as she returned with only the sake. She placed a tray between them, took up the warmed sake flask, and while pouring for Sabu, looked at Eiji. “Still don’t remember me?”

Eiji held his sake cup and said, “Quit yappin’,” whereupon the woman clapped her hands sharply again. “That’s it! That ‘Quit yappin’!’” the woman exclaimed breathlessly, “Back at Ryogoku Bridge—you said that to me, didn’t you? ‘Quit yappin’!’”

“Ah,” Sabu said in a drawn-out tone, nodding while still holding his cup. “—The umbrella.” “The umbrella,” the woman said. “Five years ago,” Sabu said. “That’s right—it was raining, and you were holding an umbrella full of holes.” “That’s exactly right.” “What’s this about?” Eiji asked. “You know, five years back when I—” Sabu started, then trailed off. “You know how we walked all the way from Higashi-Ryogoku to Yokoami? Soaking through in the rain?”

Eiji turned toward the woman standing there with eyes as if he had just woken from sleep. “Ah, right,” he said. “There was this kid back then who kept pestering us to take an umbrella—that was you?”

“My name is Onobu.” The woman flashed her double canines in a quick smile and bowed. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.” “I’m Eiji, and this here’s Sabu,” he said. “Back then you were such a shrimp I couldn’t place you—look at you now, all grown up.” Eiji smirked with spite that felt peculiarly his own. “Those double fangs of yours—I remember ’em.” “Oh my, how cruel!” Onobu pressed a hand over her mouth as she glared at Eiji, then poured sake for Sabu. “They say these double teeth’ll fall out, you know. I’m eighteen now—they’ll be gone by twenty.”

“Eighteen, huh?—Still a shrimp for your age.”

“They’re real pretty,” Sabu said in a conciliatory tone. “Really pretty.” “I’ll go get the side dishes,” Onobu said. When Onobu left, Sabu tried to pour sake for Eiji. Eiji refused it and took a sip himself.

“I still can’t get it out of my head,” Eiji said in a low voice, looking away, “—what exactly happened on the first of last month?”

Sabu started, averted his eyes as if against a glare, and hung his head. “Can’t you just tell me already?” “I’m sorry about that time,” Sabu muttered under his breath. “I’m sorry for making you worry—and so I’ve been thinkin’...” “Cut that out.” Eiji cut in, “Every time you start thinkin’, you just backtrack. Spit out what matters.” “Yeah,” Sabu nodded, took a sip of sake, then said, “That day, Mitsuko-chan came.”

Part II

Mitsuko was the daughter of Hokodo workshop, nineteen years old this year. Last spring, she had married into Sawamura, a comb shop in Nihonbashi Hikawacho. Yohbei and his wife had two children. Their younger son Yoshijiro was now fifteen years old, but due to his frail constitution, he had been entrusted to a farming family in Tamagawa-zai. The farming family called Heizaemon was a substantial landowner related by marriage to Oyuu, and they visited each other once a month. Mitsuko was not particularly good-looking and had been strongly opinionated since her time living at home—she would find fault with the craftsmen and tattle to her parents about things that never even happened. Both Yohbei and his wife knew her disposition well and generally dismissed Mitsuko’s complaints. But this only fueled her stubbornness—even after marrying out, she remained full of grievances and would often return to her parents’ home to take out her frustrations on everyone.

“As soon as she came back, she saw me and said, ‘Just because it’s a day off doesn’t mean you should be lazing around.’” Sabu gave a bitter smile. “—We’re eating other people’s rice while they let us learn a trade. If you feel even a speck of gratitude, shouldn’t there be work to do even on days off? Not a single grain comes free—that’s what she said.” “Stop right there,” Eiji cut in. “Don’tcha know Mitsuko-chan’s temper by now? She likely scrapped with someone over in Hikawacho again and took it out on ya. Don’t let it gnaw at you.”

“That might be fine for you,” he said, “but I’m a born bungler—still just a guy who can only handle paste prep. When they say not a single grain of rice comes free...” “Don’t talk nonsense! We ain’t eatin’ free meals here!” Eiji snapped. “Sure, they’re lettin’ us learn a trade—but we ain’t lazin’ around neither! Since we were knee-high, we’ve been worked raw with cracked hands and feet, sweat pourin’ off us! Hokodo only keeps goin’ ’cause us craftsmen are here! Get a grip, Sabu aniki!”

Onobu brought the side dishes, asked to pour their drinks, stepped up into the tatami room, and sat between the two while removing her sash. “I just remembered,” Eiji said, looking at Onobu. “—Didn’t you say back then that your sister was here?” “Yes, I was just about to bring my sister her umbrella.” “Is she still here?” “She’s dead,” Onobu said, shaking her head. “Don’t ask about my sister—she had such a pitiful death. If I talk about it, I’ll start crying. Here, have another.”

“You’re from Honjo, right?” Sabu asked. “Yes, Koizumicho.” Onobu poured sake for Eiji, then for Sabu. “Don’t make me talk about my family either—it’s such a wretched life, not something to share with others. Honestly, there’s hardly a day I don’t think about just running away and becoming a beggar or something.” “Cut it out with that talk,” Eiji said. “You were the one who said not to ask about it.”

“Right.” Onobu shrugged her small shoulders. “I’m sorry. Here, let me pour you another.” “Your double canines are cute.” Sabu took a sip of sake and, squinting as if against glare, gazed at Onobu’s mouth. “You should keep those double canines instead of pulling them out.” “I’m not pulling them out—they fall out naturally.” “Why’s that?” “Oh, you don’t know?” Onobu widened her eyes. “Double canines are teeth that grow out of order—extra ones, they say. So naturally they get pushed out and fall off someday.”

“If they don’t come out, you’ll get a hole in your lip. Drink up, Sabu.”

“Did I say something wrong?” Onobu asked, looking at Eiji’s face. “It’s fine—there’s nothing like that,” Sabu said with a good-natured smile. “Eij-chan was just worried I might take it to heart. I’m used to it, so no matter what anyone says, I don’t mind. If my lip were going to get a hole, then it’s better for the double canines to come out.” “I don’t understand any of this—it feels like you’re making fun of me.”

“My bad—let’s talk about somethin’ else,” Eiji said, holding out his cup to Onobu. “Won’t you have one too?” “I’m strong, you know.” “Sure thing—bring another cup.”

“I’ll bring it right now.” Onobu returned the offered cup and stood up．“But it’s still early，so don’t you go overboard，okay？” “Our pockets can’t keep up，” Eiji called out to Onobu’s retreating back．“Even what we eat ourselves costs money．”

After stepping down into the dirt-floored area, Onobu turned back and, while staring intently at Eiji’s face, said, “Thank you. I’ll take you up on that.”

Part III

In May, Wasuke left Hokodo, opened his own shop called Kougado in Asakusa’s Higashinakacho district, and took along Hanji, a fifteen-year-old apprentice. Before that, two apprentices named Umehachi and Sada had entered the workshop, and since business remained slow until autumn, they had assigned Hanji to him.

On their days off, Eiji and Sabu frequented Sumiyoshi. It seemed Sabu had come to care for Onobu—he kept devising excuses to bring her gifts—but lacking the courage to present them himself, he’d made it routine to ask Eiji as intermediary. When autumn’s chill first touched the air on October fifteenth, they again went drinking at Sumiyoshi after supper. That night too he’d bought an embroidered half-collar for Onobu and entrusted it to Eiji’s care. Yet upon entering their usual small parlor at Sumiyoshi, Eiji thrust the package back at Sabu.

“That’s enough,” Eiji said with deliberate coldness. “You’re not some seventeen- or eighteen-year-old kid anymore—do it yourself from now on.” “You know how it is.” Sabu looked at him with a pleading gaze. “I can’t do it.” “Onobu knows,” Eiji said. “I didn’t tell her—she figured it out herself. She looked me right in the face and said you’re not the kind to do something like this. What a damn farce.”

“When was that?” “The last time, after you got up to wash your hands.” Sabu placed the package beside him and hung his head low in embarrassment. Before long, Onobu arrived, took their order, and then returned first with just the sake. They began drinking as they always did, but Sabu had become utterly despondent; though they poured cup after cup more than usual, he showed no signs of drunkenness, and not a shred of cheer lifted his spirits. Before long, the two left Sumiyoshi.

“Why didn’t you hand it over?” Walking along the dark canal bank toward Kobune-cho, Eiji said, “Onobu saw that package.”

Sabu suddenly stopped at the corner of the canal.

“I must’ve gone and gotten drunk.” Sabu staggered a bit but plopped down right there. “I... I had somethin’ to tell ya tonight, Eij-chan.”

“What’re ya doin’ sittin’ here by the canal? You’ll catch cold.” “Brother Wasuke got his own shop,” Sabu mumbled, his words faltering. “Eij-chan…you’ll have yours soon too. But me…I can’t.” “Save that talk for when we get back.”

“I was thinkin’...” Sabu’s voice came out pitifully frail. “If there ain’t no hope ahead anyway, maybe it’s better to switch trades while I still can.” “Quit spoutin’ nonsense. Ain’t nobody better at paste prep than you. You’ve heard Master sayin’ that yourself a hundred times, ain’tcha?” After hanging his head briefly, Sabu muttered, “You told me once—if I became Japan’s best at paste prep, I’d be a proper craftsman. And you’re right—weren’t just empty words neither. But makin’ paste alone won’t get me no shop. At best, I’ll waste my whole life bein’ Hokodo’s kept mule till I croak.”

“So that’s what this is about.” As if searching for an answer, Eiji asked in return. Then, perhaps finding none forthcoming, he nodded to himself and said quietly, “—Humans can’t predict what’ll happen even a moment ahead. Let alone five years or ten years down the line—not even gods or buddhas could know that. But since you’re sayin’ this, I’ll tell ya my thoughts too. If things keep goin’ smooth-like and I end up ownin’ my own shop someday—I’m plannin’ to work together with you.”

Sabu slowly looked up at Eiji’s face, and Eiji squatted down beside him.

“Don’t know what kinda shop we’ll have,” Eiji said in a hushed voice thick with emotion, “but we’ll live together—me doin’ scroll mounting or sutra scribing with that paste you prepare, showin’ real craftsmanship. We’ll both get wives someday, have kids too—but even after that, we ain’t splittin’ up.” He leaned closer, the night air clinging to his words. “—We’ll keep workin’ together forever, build up the best damn shop in Edo that even Hokodo can’t beat. That’s what I’m plannin’. What d’you think? You hate workin’ with me?”

Sabu thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No—I’m grateful you think that way, but I’d only be a burden on you.”

Part IV “There you go again—that’s your worst habit, Sabu,” Eiji said. “How’d you be a burden if we’re runnin’ the shop together? You make paste that shames everyone else’s. I’ll work with that paste—with both of us joinin’ forces, there ain’t no burden or bullshit about it!” “I was thinkin’...” Sabu stammered.

“Quit it already.” “Even so,” Sabu persisted stubbornly, “I keep thinkin’… It’s the same with Onobu—’cause I’m such a spineless coward, I’ve gone and caused you nothin’ but trouble.” “Did I ever say you were a burden?” “You never say anything—you never say a damn thing—and that just makes me hate my own spinelessness even more,” Sabu said, peering at Eiji through the darkness. “Remember, Eij-chan? That winter when we were fifteen—when I ran away from the shop? You chased after me through the rain. Followed me all the way to Yokoami Riverbank and dragged me back.”

“You were soaked through too that day,” Eiji countered. “I’ll never forget it,” Sabu murmured, squinting through the darkness. “But the whole time they were hauling me back, I kept thinkin’ one thing—if I stay like this, I’ll end up nothin’ but dead weight round your neck, Eij-chan. Always draggin’ you down with my troubles.” Eiji drew a long breath that fogged in the night air before speaking. “Let me lay it plain—you ain’t no burden, Sabu. You’re the pillar keeps me standin’ straight. Don’t take this wrong now, but when folks call you slowpoke or spacey behind your back? I watch you stick to your work like moss on river stones—quiet-like, but grip-tight. Every time I seen that, I’d tell myself—there goes true craftsman grit right there.”

“Enough already!” barked a voice from behind them. “Don’t know what you’re discussin’, but we’re sick of waitin’. How ’bout you two stand up already?” Eiji and Sabu turned around. Behind them stood three men—hard to make out in the darkness, but clearly yakuza-like. Sabu hurriedly tried to stand up, but Eiji restrained him. “Wait,” Eiji said calmly while remaining squatting, “we’re in the middle of an important talk. If you’ve got business, leave it for later.”

“That won’t do,” the next man said in an unnervingly calm voice. “We’re done waitin’—run clean outta patience. On your feet, kid.” “Eij-chan,” Sabu said. “Don’t mind them,” Eiji said. “Right now—more’n that—what I said.”

One of the men stepped forward and grabbed Sabu’s kimono collar. As if he had been waiting for this, Eiji stood up, turned around, and lunged at one of the men behind him. With his right knee, he drove a fierce strike into the man’s lower abdomen. Without so much as glancing at him as he groaned and doubled over, Eiji slammed into the next one. When the man hit the ground, Eiji straddled him, choking his neck with his left hand while pressing two fingers of his right hand against both eyelids.

“I’ll gouge your eyes out!” Eiji shouted. “You two over there—watch close! Struggle and I’ll poke both this guy’s eyes out!” The man Eiji had pinned down stopped moving. The one who’d taken a knee to the gut still groaned doubled over, while the man who’d grabbed Sabu stood frozen in shock. Their striped kimonos and stiff obis must’ve made them look like easy marks—just shop apprentices. But Eiji’s unexpected speed and brawler’s moves left them gaping. The man who’d let go of Sabu stood rigid, mouth hanging open as he flapped his right hand uselessly.

“Hey, quit it already, Ani—just a joke,” the man said. “We only wanted to settle things proper-like.” “Don’t move,” Eiji warned while gradually increasing pressure with his fingers against the eyelids. “Struggle and I’ll drive these fingers straight through.” “Stop him, Katsu Ani!” screamed the man beneath Eiji. “He’s gonna crush my eyes!” “What’s your business?” Eiji demanded. “Spit it out clear—what ‘things’ need settling?”

“It’s about Onobu,” answered the frozen man, still waving his right hand in an ingratiating tone. “Onobu from Sumiyoshi. You know who I’m talkin’ about.” “What’s happened to Onobu?” Sabu retorted while standing. “I’m Onobu’s brother,” the man said. “She’s had a marriage arrangement since last year. But ever since we started comin’ around, she suddenly up and says she don’t wanna anymore.”

In the meantime, Eiji had spotted a stick lying nearby. The man kept talking, and Eiji swiftly released the pinned opponent, sprang up, snatched the stick from the ground, and gripped it in his right hand. It must have fallen from a firewood bundle—an oak branch roughly two inches thick and three feet long.

“What’re you gonna do?” The man who’d been talking took in Eiji’s stance and thrust his right hand forward, stammering, “I ain’t gonna rough nobody up no more! Just wanna have ya hear me out—just explainin’ our side here!” “Keep talkin’,” Eiji said. “But I’m warnin’ ya—try any funny business and I’ll bash one’s skull in. We’re honest craftsmen here. Ain’t no crime killin’ a yakuza or two in a fight they started. Now—all three of ya—line up over there.”

The man who had been doubled over and the one who had been pinned down stood up and reluctantly moved to the side of the man who had claimed to be Onobu’s brother.

Part Two, Chapter Five Even after returning to the shop and going to bed, Sabu said his heart was still pounding. There lay the sleeping quarters for five in a ten-mat room adjacent to the workshop: Eiji and Sabu along with Denroku—who was seventeen—Ukichi—who had joined in March—and Sada. Tashi, Shichishichi, and Goro were each given their own 4.5-tatami rooms, but these five had everything combined—clothing, daily necessities, bedding, and belongings—all stored in a three-ken closet with partitions. The opposite side of the closet was a wall; one side had a plank door leading to the workshop while the east side featured a window—such was the layout of the room where Eiji and Sabu had arranged their bedding side by side by that window.

The three apprentices were already asleep, and Denroku’s notorious snoring filled the ten-mat room with raucous noise. “Who could those three be?” Sabu said. “Is that man who claimed to be Onobu’s brother really her brother?”

“Bullshit—obvious lies.” “But she had a marriage arrangement since last year.” “That’s bullshit,” Eiji cut in. “We been goin’ twice a month—you always bring her some little somethin’—plus we been straight with each other from day one, no secrets. If there was any truth to that crap, Onobu woulda told us by now.” Sabu thought before asking, “Then who are they?”

"I don't know," Eiji shook his head on the pillow. "Probably some local yakuza tailin' Onobu. Won't know till we ask her."

“How pitiful,” Sabu whispered. “If such guys keep pestering her, what’ll become of Onobu?” Eiji didn’t answer. Denroku’s snoring swelled louder still, and Sabu too fell silent. “Humans can’t see even an inch ahead,” Eiji said after a while. “We got no money or strength—ain’t even proper craftsmen yet. Sabu—I get how you feel—but what matters now’s ourselves. These next two-three years’ll decide our whole lives. Harsh as it sounds—forget Onobu. Ain’t just askin’ you—I’ll forget women too.”

Sabu held his breath, turned over, and looked at Eiji. “Forget?” Sabu asked. “Do you have someone too, Eij-chan?” “Didn’t I tell ya?” “You don’t seem to remember, huh?” “It’s been since way back.” “You know about the Watabun branch at the Honcho money exchange shop, right?” Eiji said, stroking his chest under the futon.

“Ah, I’ve been there once too.” “There’s a maid there named Osue,” Eiji whispered. “Dark-skinned, petite—told me I’d grown up so much.” “This is off-topic, but—” Sabu said, “—isn’t it supposed to be that Watabun’s giving one of their daughters to you as a bride, Eij-chan?” “Cut the crap!” Eiji said that, then suddenly turned toward Sabu. “What’d you just say?”

“I heard Tashi Ani talking about it.” Sabu faltered awkwardly, “I don’t know nothin’ about it, but at Watabun—they’re supposed to give one of their daughters to Eij-chan—” “Cut it out!” Eiji shook his head on the pillow. “What’d I do with some flighty brat like that? Besides—I’m just a half-baked craftsman and she’s a rich man’s daughter. Ain’t no joke—take someone like that and you’re stuck with a lifelong millstone round your neck.” “Then,” Sabu drawled in a sluggish tone, probing as he asked, “that… the one called Osue-chan—is she already—”

“That ain’t it—that ain’t how it is.” Eiji recoiled from Sabu’s words as he spat, “She don’t know a damn thing—just my own fool notion. Liked her since forever—figured maybe we’d end up together someday. Still do. But after tonight—done with all that.” “Life’s fulla twists,” Sabu murmured after a beat.

Eiji said nothing. Denroku’s snoring grew quieter, and the apprentice Sada muttered something in his sleep. Around the time it seemed everyone had fallen asleep, Eiji’s whisper-like voice could be heard.

“If only we could live...” And he sighed. “—While we’re still alive...”

Part Three, Chapter One

“This year marks twenty-three years for His Lordship,” Sabu read from the scrap paper. “Twenty-three this year—that’d make us the same age as him, eh?” Eiji adjusted his work sash, spreading paste across the dish while rubbing his forehead with the back of his left hand. “Quit readin’,” he said without looking at Sabu. “You’ll wrinkle it beyond use.” “I’ve properly applied the trowel.” “That’s why I’m tellin’ you to quit! Still actin’ like a damn kid.” Eiji spoke distractedly, “Quit makin’ extra work for me.”

Sabu quietly set the scrap paper down.

The two were now twenty-three and had come to Watabun alone for the first time to replace the fusuma screens. Two guest rooms’ eight fusuma screens. That day was the fifth, and they began applying the underpaper. The sturdy Honma fusuma screens—with their crimson-lacquered borders and Yoshino cedar framework—demanded such focus that merely facing each other with brushes in hand made their spirits taut, suffusing their entire beings with that pleasant exhilaration unique to truly engaging in one’s craft.

Osue, the maid, came, peeked in quietly, and asked if they would like some tea. Sabu looked at Eiji’s face, and just as Eiji was about to answer, Watabun’s younger daughter Osono came running in, pushed Osue aside as she entered the tatami room, and sat down beside Eiji. "I was just practicing," said Osono, placing her hand on Eiji’s knee, "you heard me, right, Eij-chan?"

“Yes,” Eiji said, turning to Osue. “Why don’t we have some tea?” Osue said “Yes,” while Osono, shaking Eiji’s knee with her hand, pleaded for an answer about whether he had heard her singing. Osue averted her eyes and left, while Eiji quietly pushed Osono’s hand away.

“What’re you practicing now?” “Oh please! It’s nagauta!” Osono tapped Eiji’s knee with her hand. “Didn’t you come help with the full restoration last time? Hmm, Sabu-chan?” “Yeah,” Sabu said, moving his hand to the back of his head, “wasn’t that at Izumi-ro in Yanokura?” “Eij-chan didn’t come?” “I went,” Eiji said, meticulously wiping each finger of his left hand one by one with a hand towel, “same Dojoji piece as two years back—amazes me how they never tire of it.”

“How hateful! Who says I don’t get tired of it?” “The teacher does.” Osono glared at him with wide eyes and snapped, “You’re impossible!” Eiji stood up and said, “I’ll go wash my hands,” as he stepped out into the hallway.

“That was just lip service.” Sabu interjected as if mediating, stammering, “Well, he really was impressed.” “Lies! Who’d ever be impressed? I’m sick of my own self!” Osono widened her eyes in surprise. “Oh! It’s true—just like Eij-chan said!” And she burst into laughter, pressing a hand to her chest as she said, “Honestly, how does Master never get bored?” then hunched over and laughed. Sabu flushed his round face as if he’d made some mistake, shifting the paste dish aside and restacking the scrap papers.

“Aah,” said Osono as her laughter subsided, “I just can’t stop laughing.”

Osue brought tea and sweets, and right after, Eiji returned. After pouring the tea and lifting the lid from the sweets bowl, Osue hurried out without looking at anyone. "That person's got marriage talks happening now," Osono said as she took a sweet, waving a hand toward Sabu. "Pour me some tea too—that cup's fine." Sabu placed one of the teas Osue had poured onto a tray and offered it, while Eiji asked with feigned casualness, "Who is this 'person'?"

“Osue, obviously!” Osono ate a sweet and sipped her tea. “She’s nineteen—the same age as me—isn’t she? Plenty old enough to marry, but she just won’t say yes! What’ll she do if she gets left on the shelf, I wonder?” “What about you? If we’re the same age, you’re in the same boat, Osono-san.” “No, no—it’s impossible for us.” Osono interrupted Eiji’s words: “They say my sister and I were born under an unlucky star for marriage—she’s already twenty-one without a single proper proposal to her name! Go on, have a sweet.”

Sabu hurriedly took a sweet, and Eiji sipped his tea. “Born under an unlucky star for marriage, eh?” Eiji said. “Carefree bunch, aren’t they.” “But it’s true, I tell you!” Osono shrugged her slender shoulders side to side and, staring at Eiji from the corners of her eyes, said, “Eij-chan—what if you married me?”

3-2 The day after they finished applying the underpaper was supposed to be their fifteenth-day break, but being December, they were scheduled to keep working. Yet as they finished breakfast and prepared to leave, Master Yohbei came, called Eiji aside, and said: "I'm sending Goro to Watabun with Sabu. You can take a break." "Why?" Eiji asked in confusion, his voice tightening. "Is there something wrong with me going?"

“I’ll put Sabu with Goro. You take some rest,” Yohbei said. “He says I’m to rest,” Eiji reported. “The work procedures are all settled—nothing needs doing by you now,” Yohbei stated coldly. “No days left anyway. Count it as next year’s work—rest through year-end.” “Is there a reason? Did I blunder somewhere?” Yohbei looked away. “Don’t ask what I ain’t telling. Sabu—go follow Goro.”

Sabu silently nodded, and Yohbei left. Sabu adjusted his work bundle while peering at Eiji’s face. Eiji's face turned pale, and even his tightly pressed lips lacked color.

“What’s wrong?” Sabu whispered in a hushed voice. “There wasn’t any problem until yesterday.” With a vacant expression, Eiji said, “Just go already,” then put away his own tool bag into the closet and changed from his work clothes into everyday wear. At Hokodo Workshop, job assignments were strictly set—once removed from one’s duties, you’d be left with nothing to do. Of course, apprentices never had any free time, but for someone like Eiji—twenty-three years old with three senior craftsmen above him—this awkward position left him at a loss for where to place himself at times like these.

He dismissed the apprentice Umehisa and went out. Yohbei said, "Don’t ask about what I don’t tell you." In other words, it must mean the reason couldn’t be told—yet replacing a craftsman mid-task was unheard of without an extraordinary cause—and as he wondered why that reason remained unspoken though of course he couldn’t begin to guess, wandering aimlessly through the streets, his mind grew utterly tangled until he even felt a reckless urge to go drink himself senseless.

"Why won't he just tell me straight?" Eiji muttered as he trudged toward Okawabata, his Edo dialect roughened by frustration. "Raised me from a whelp near ten years back, an' now ya turn colder than a fishmonger's slab?" The morning streets offered no solace - every tavern shutter remained fastened tight. Along Ryogoku Hirokoji's back alleys and riverside tea stalls clustered taverns catering to dredgers and cutpurses, but their unmarked entrances eluded Eiji's distracted gaze. He wandered past their thresholds unknowing, feet carrying him halfway across the bridge in a fog. From the eastern approach came a woman clutching a cloth-wrapped parcel. Her steps faltered mid-span when she spotted him, eyes widening like winter plums before she scurried forward, geta clattering against damp planks.

“Isn’t that Eiji-san? What are you doing here right now?”

Eiji jerked back as if suddenly startled, leaning his body aside to look at the person. When he realized it was Onobu from “Sumiyoshi” in Horie-cho, warmth spread through his chest—a mix of happiness and nostalgia like meeting an old friend in foreign lands. “You’re one to talk,” he said with uncharacteristic friendliness. “What’re you doin’ out this early mornin’?” “Headin’ to the shop—been home three days. Where you off to, Eiji-san?”

“Aimless.” Eiji began walking back with Onobu and said, “—I wanna get a drink somewhere.” “Why don’t you come by the shop? Master and Mistress wouldn’t say no to Eiji-san being there—I’ll make sure of it.”

“It’d be awkward around folks I know.” “What’s awkward about that? This sorta thing happens all the time.” Onobu made up her mind—no fancy snacks demanded in return—and picked up her pace.

Arriving at Sumiyoshi and entering from the rear, Eiji was ushered into his usual small room. The aftermath of last night’s customers had only been roughly tidied up, with paper scraps and chopsticks scattered in the corners, four or five zabuton cushions pressed against the walls, and the air stagnant with the heavy stench of liquor. The women were likely still asleep; the shuttered house lay dim and hushed, and Onobu’s voice conversing with the master and mistress drifted through like some distant mountain exchange—muffled and indistinct in its low tones.

"I shouldn't have come," Eiji muttered through chattering teeth. "Shoulda gone to consult Brother at Kouwa-dou or straight to Watabun to ask why—either would've been better'n this." "Damn right," he told himself again, clenching numb fingers. "First gotta figure what I even did wrong. Drownin' in cheap booze ain't fixin' shit."

Onobu brought over the remaining embers and charcoal there on a fire shovel.

III

On the tray were three or four small dishes of snacks, with three heated sake decanters lined up. Eiji's face had already turned red, and the area around Onobu's eyes had flushed. "Oh come on—there's got to be some reason." Onobu shook her head without setting down her cup. "When I saw you crossing that bridge earlier, Eiji-san, you looked ready to throw yourself in the river." "Don't talk nonsense." Eiji blinked as if against bright light. "I just wanted a drink."

“With that face of yours, I bet you were!”

Onobu sipped her sake, then poured some for Eiji. “You’re one to talk,” he said, staring into his cup of sake. “You were back home three days straight—somethin’ happen there?” “Let’s not talk about that,” said Onobu, noticing Eiji’s gaze. “Got somethin’ in your eye?”

Eiji poured his cup’s sake into the cup-washing bowl, immediately refilled it himself while muttering, “Nothin’—just dust,” then stared into the cup again before taking a sip. “That time headin’ back from here,” Eiji said, “we got mixed up with three yakuza-lookin’ bastards, yeah?” “Three years back,” Onobu replied, counting on her fingers. “I’m sorry ’bout lyin’ he was my brother. That was Roku the Trafficker—scum who tried sellin’ me off.”

“You didn’t say that last time,” he shot back. After clashing with three yakuza-like men and recounting the incident to Onobu, she’d deftly spun a fabricated tale to divert his questions. From her evasive tone, he’d sensed she was hiding the truth but let it slide without pressing further. “I didn’t say it,” she deflected, “because even if I’d tried, it wasn’t something I could speak about.” “So you can talk about it now?” “Eiji-san,” Onobu peered at his face like probing a wound, “what’s gotten into you today? You usually act like I don’t exist, but now you’re all concerned—don’t go making me hopeful now.”

“Don’t take it that way—I didn’t mean it like that.” “No, don’t you apologize—even if you’re lying, I’d be happier than anything if you’d just spare me a little thought, Eiji-san.” Suddenly, Onobu covered her face with her sleeve. She looked ready to burst into tears, making Eiji panic. “Bring more sake,” he barked roughly. “We’re all out here.”

Onobu stood in silence, averted her face, and stepped down into the dirt-floored area. When she returned shortly with two heated sake decanters, Onobu’s face looked as freshly cleansed as if she’d washed it, her cordial smile revealing the double canines peeking from the corners of her lips.

“I’m sorry.” Onobu placed the sake decanter on the tray, shifted the empty one toward the platter, and said as she sat down, “Lately I turn into such a weepy drunk after just a little—must be my age.” “How old even are you?” “Practically a granny—twenty-one.” “Callin’ yourself a granny? Got some nerve.” As he said this, he poured himself a drink, served Onobu too, then Eiji quietly changed his tone: “Meant to tell ya—you know Sabu’s sweet on you, right?”

“Yes, I know.” Onobu nodded solemnly before laughing without mirth. “Someone likes someone, this someone likes another someone—it’s like that children’s finger game.” “Quit jokin’ an’ listen proper.” “Can’t treat it serious without makin’ waves—truth be told since it’s you askin’, Eiji-san—but try as I might, Sabu-chan just don’t stir my heart. As a regular? Glad for his company any day. But love-wise? Nay. My apologies—beggin’ your understandin’.”

“He’s a good guy though—dead serious about being in love with you.” “And another thing, Eiji-san,” Onobu lowered her eyes and hushed her voice. “With this awful family of mine—I’m not fit to be anybody’s wife.” “Didn’t you say once you wanted to run away from home?” “Our parents were good-for-nothings who kept having kids—all the brothers turned out layabouts. There’s my older sister, me, and a seventeen-year-old sister below us. Us three girls—we’re the only ones who ever lifted a finger, and we’ll be slaving away till we die.”

"Why'd your sister die?" Onobu fell silent for a moment, then spoke still keeping her eyes downcast. "A lovers’ suicide."

“Shin— What did you say?” “She committed lovers’ suicide with the person she loved.” “Even though she had someone she loved, they tried to sell her off,” Onobu said, shaking her head. “My sister wasn’t as strong-willed as me, and he was just gentle but narrow-minded. If they’d resolved to die properly, they could’ve managed it somehow—but instead, they hanged themselves in Koume’s Shomonji Temple cemetery.” Eiji said, “Drink,” and poured sake for Onobu, who sipped it as if licking.

3-4

Eiji left Sumiyoshi and headed to Wasuke’s shop in Asakusa. Wasuke had been the head craftsman at Hokodo but three years ago in May opened a shop called Kougado in Higashi-Nakacho and was running it successfully as a scroll mounter.

"What terrible parents some people have." As he walked, he muttered, "I’ve heard stories about such things, but do parents like that really exist?" After her sister died, they next pressed Onobu to sell herself. Their poverty was dire, but there was no need to sell their daughter. If they all worked even a little each day, they wouldn’t have to worry about putting food on the table. But starting with their parents, none had any intention of working—they seemed bent on living easy and eating well—so they were desperate to get their hands on quick money. —Onobu refused without yielding an inch. "With five little brothers and sisters still depending on me—that money would vanish in no time, and who’d look after those five?" she’d insisted. "I’d rather die than sell myself to protect their futures." In the end, her parents had been the ones to back down. Yet as if they’d been impatiently waiting for her younger sister Shino to turn seventeen, this time they set their sights on Shino and began pressing the same demand. Four or five days ago, when Shino came weeping to her for help, Onobu had gone to negotiate overnight and spent three days persuading her parents, it was said.

"If you do anything strange to Shino-chan, I'll kill you—either Dad or Mom—that's what I told them."

In their circumstances, it was not uncommon for parents to be more fearsome than strangers. "Therefore, to protect oneself, one must adopt an exceptionally bold stance," Onobu had said. And because she was burdened with such parents and siblings, she couldn’t become anyone’s bride—not just Sabu-chan’s—and that she intended to work for her younger brothers and sisters her whole life, Onobu had added.

“A woman having to think that far… Such circumstances actually exist in this world,” Eiji muttered, scolding himself. “You’re still wet behind the ears.”

Until he reached Higashi-Nakacho, he kept thinking the same thoughts over and over, many times furrowing his brows and clicking his tongue. Kougado had a three-bay frontage, two of which were plank-floored workspaces. In the back were three six-tatami rooms. Hanji, the apprentice brought from Kobunecho, had turned eighteen, and there were two other apprentices besides him. Wasuke had married last spring, and this summer, with the arrival of twin girls, he was troubled by the cramped house.

“Welcome,” said Hanji from the shop, brightening when he saw Eiji. “A messenger came from Kobunecho earlier.” “Is the Master in?” After asking this, Eiji averted his eyes. “From Kobunecho, you said.” “A letter arrived with Sada. The Master’s having breakfast now—he was up all night working, you see.” Hanji started to say but then grimaced, “Boss, this ain’t good—you reek of booze.”

Eiji put his hand to his mouth. Wasuke not only abstained completely from drinking but harbored a pathological aversion to alcohol itself. It was now the 15th of the month, nearing noon—but if the smell were noticed, he’d likely get scolded off rather than discuss anything—and realizing this, Eiji flushed red.

“Right, I’d forgotten all about that,” he said, lightly waving his hand. “I came here to talk about something, but if the smell’s that strong...”

“Yes,” Hanji shook his head with an air of maturity. “That won’t do.” “I’ll come back properly later,” Eiji said. “Keep it under wraps.” Just as he turned to leave, the sliding door across the way opened, and Wasuke emerged picking his teeth with a toothpick, calling Eiji to halt. Eiji pivoted mid-stride across the threshold, offering a curt bow as he said, “I’ll return later.”

“Just come in,” said Wasuke. “Can’t help the cramped space—I heard about the booze.” Eiji scratched his head.

“I’ll skip the lecture on drinking today,” Wasuke continued. “There’s something I need to discuss. Just come inside.” When Eiji entered, Wasuke guided him to the six-tatami room on the right. Then he called out to the neighboring room to bring tea, and the two sat facing each other. That room was the kitchen—the voice of Wasuke’s wife answering and the clatter of bowls and chopsticks could be heard, suggesting someone was still eating there. “A messenger came from Kobunecho earlier.” Still using his toothpick and producing a high-pitched sound as he cleaned his teeth, Wasuke said, “You’ll be helping out here for now. Your luggage’ll be delivered later, apparently.”

“Wait,” Eiji interrupted, “wait a minute—I don’t understand what this means. What do you mean by me helping out at this shop?” “I’d requested it from Kobunecho.”

Eiji shook his head. His face turned pale, his eyes glittering sharply. “That’s a lie! It ain’t true! Brother—you’re hidin’ somethin’!” The wife brought tea, greeted Eiji, and offered it to him. Eiji gave a brusque bow, his eyes never leaving Wasuke’s expression. When she left, Wasuke took his own large teacup, sipped his tea, and shot back: “What’m I hidin’?”

“It’s Watabun of Honcho,” Eiji said. “The letter from Kobunecho had that written in it, right? That’s right, isn’t it?”

Wasuke quietly sipped his tea.

3-5 Wasuke said while keeping his face averted, "Don't make me talk about that."

“I’m twenty-three,” Eiji said, “and this job at Watabun-san’s is my first major assignment. Since I was an apprentice, I’ve accompanied the senior craftsmen—I know the true nature of everyone at the shop, and they should know mine too.”

He faltered. There were countless things he wanted to say; they rose up to his throat, but he restrained himself and earnestly suppressed his emotions. “Until yesterday, everything was fine—I thought my work was going well.” Eiji continued in a low, forceful voice, “Brother, you know that job—repapering the sliding doors in two guest rooms. It wasn’t particularly difficult work, nothing requiring special skill. But since it was my first major assignment, I took every possible care. Yet this morning, out of nowhere, the Master pulled me off the job—said ‘You don’t need to come anymore.’”

“Well, have some tea,” said Wasuke. “I felt like I’d been slapped straight across the face,” Eiji pressed on, ignoring him. “I asked the Master desperately—what was the reason, what mistake had I made? He wouldn’t answer. Just said, ‘Take the rest of the year off,’ and ‘Don’t pry into what I haven’t told you.’ That was it.” “Have some tea and calm yourself,” Wasuke said quietly. “It’s gone cold now, but take a sip.”

Eiji took a sip of tea. That made his throat hot and made him realize how parched he was, so he downed the rest in one gulp. “You were quite popular at the Honcho shop,” said Wasuke. “The two young misses in particular doted on you—ever since they were little, you played karuta, beanbag juggling, marbles, battledore with them and such. The master and mistress seemed pleased about it too. So you figured there was mutual understanding between you all.”

“But isn’t that exactly how it was?” “People’s feelings ain’t ever fixed,” said Wasuke. “There’s times you get beat down and still laugh, times a little ribbing makes you wanna kill. To that Honcho shop, you’re just some hired hand—and them being moneyed folk, if trouble brews, they’ll ditch even their pet craftsman without a second glance.”

“If something happens,” said Eiji, licking his lips, “did something like that actually happen?” “Can’t you think of anything yourself?” “So there really was something after all.” Wasuke stared into Eiji’s eyes. Eiji tried to ask again, but Wasuke cut him off and said, “Then I’ll just say it.” “You know the layout of the Honcho shop well,” Wasuke said. “I don’t know if I know it that well.” Eiji thought for a moment. “Since I used to play with O-Kimi-san and O-Sono-san, I don’t think I’d get lost.”

“Do you know where the master’s private parlor is?”

“It’s the room next to the guest room, one room over.” “There’s a small storage chest there,” Wasuke said. “One of its drawers held pieces of old gold brocade. When the master took one out to show a guest, a single piece of antique gold-foil white-ground brocade was missing.”

Wasuke watched Eiji’s face closely at that point. However, there was not the slightest change in Eiji’s expression—only a doubtful glint visible in his eyes. “Since it was an extremely valuable piece, they began searching,” Wasuke continued. “The master and mistress searched alone—just the two of them—so others wouldn’t find out. To put it plainly, when they checked your and Sabu’s tool bags in the guest room just to be thorough, it turned up in your bag.”

Eiji laughed, “This ain’t no joke—you can’t be messing with me like this, Brother.”

“It was found,” Wasuke said. “The master was the one who found it.” “The bag was apparently yours. Surely a man of the master of Watabun’s standing wouldn’t tell such a lie.”

Eiji fell silent. He tightened his mouth that had just been laughing, stared at Wasuke’s face as if probing it, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out little by little. “So you’re saying I stole that piece and put it in my bag?” “The master from Kobunecho was summoned last night and heard everything. He said he won’t let it leak elsewhere, but he’s cutting off all dealings with you.” Eiji started to say something, but Wasuke raised a hand to stop him and continued, “—The master went back to Kobunecho and thought it over. He discussed it with his wife—they couldn’t believe you’d do such a thing, figured it must be some mistake. But while they were talking, something from seven or eight years ago came up.”

“Seven or eight years ago...?” “Try to remember,” said Wasuke in a low voice. “—I’d completely forgotten about it too, but reading the master’s letter brought it back.” Eiji had a bewildered expression for a while, but then suddenly—as if slapped—he opened his eyes wide and gaped. He pressed his right fist into his knee with all his strength, the knuckles whitening as blood drained from them, trembling so violently they seemed ready to shake apart.

“The accounts office—” Eiji said with a tongue as heavy as lead, “—the money box?”

Wasuke stared fixedly at Eiji without saying a word. His gaze held a mixture of warning against deception and silent inquiry into the truth. Blood rushed to Eiji’s cheeks only to drain away moments later, leaving his face pale; his cheeks twitched spasmodically as his lips trembled. “Th-that thing from back then,” he stammered, licking his lips, “you’re digging that up now?”

Wasuke said nothing. “It’s true—I did steal coins from the money box,” Eiji continued. “The smell of grilled eel from the stall by Wako Bridge was simply too much to resist. But after the mistress caught me and scolded me, I never did anything like that again—and she clearly promised she wouldn’t tell a soul about it.” “The mistress found out later,” said Wasuke, staring at Eiji again. “—You remember I was managing the accounts back then, don’t you?”

Eiji considered this and shook his head. “I was in charge of the accounts back then,” said Wasuke. “I was the first to catch you pilferin’ from the cash box. Maybe I should’ve scolded you myself right then—but I couldn’t do it. When I secretly went to consult the Master, *I* ended up gettin’ chewed out instead.” Eiji’s eyes stopped moving, and Wasuke continued in a tone of confession.

“When no one’s watching and money’s within reach, anyone’s liable to snatch it up on impulse—that’s human nature for you. The one who leaves an opening for theft is worse than the thief himself. You’re more at fault here than Eiji,” said the Master. I didn’t say a word. The Master was right—I was the one who’d left that opening, so I was at fault. That’s why I never said anything to you about it. Besides the Master and his wife, not a soul’s known about this till today.”

“So, no—” Eiji shook his head and, staring fixedly at a single point with unblinking eyes, retorted: “So you’re saying this gold brocade matter’s being handled the same way as the money box incident—that’s what you’re getting at, ain’t it?” “You know that house’s layout inside out and were workin’ right next door in the guest room—if there’d been anyone among the young mistresses or shop workers holdin’ a grudge ’gainst you, that’d be different. But I can’t picture a single soul like that existing. The master himself vouched for that much. Or you got someone in mind?”

Eiji shook his head, then drooped it as if his neck had snapped. “I can’t believe you’d do such a thing,” Wasuke said. “But the pieces fit too damn well. Right now, there’s nothing we can do—and no proof it wasn’t you either.” “On top of that, there’s the money box incident too, huh?” “Don’t you go talkin’ like some self-destructive fool.” After speaking in a harsh tone, Wasuke softened his voice. “While you’re alive, you can rack up debts and favors with the world without even knowin’ it. Think of this as you doin’ the world one favor now. Keep your mouth shut here and help out with our work for a while.”

Eiji muttered vacantly, “Parents are more terrifying than the world.” Wasuke looked at Eiji suspiciously.

“Brother,” Eiji said, raising his eyes, “you told me my luggage would arrive here.” “It should arrive by today.” “Sorry to ask, but lend me some money. I’ve got over twenty ryo deposited in Kobunecho—no—” Eiji cut off any chance for Wasuke to object, saying, “Don’t say nothin’—don’t say nothin’ right now—just lend it to me, please, I’m beggin’ you.” And then he pressed both hands down and lowered his head.

4-1

"You’re such an innocent," a woman’s voice echoed in his ears. The tepid, clinging sensation of skin remained vivid across patches of his chest and thighs. It felt like trails of mucus left by a crawling slug had seeped into his flesh—no matter how he wiped or scrubbed, they refused to fade. Eiji grimaced and spat twice, thrice.

“Act like a man! What’s wrong with you? Are you sick?” “That’s right, I’m sick, so don’t come near.” “Hmph, actin’ all high an’ mighty, you. What’s with that? You ain’t no young lord—strut ’round here all ya want, even the street rats won’t laugh at yer airs.” “I ain’t puttin’ on no airs. Shut the hell up!” “You’re such a handsome man, ain’tcha? I’ve gone an’ fallen for ya! C’mon, look over here!” “Knock it off! I wanna sleep.” “Oh come on, this ain’t no inn! Don’t be so heartless—c’mon, it’s fine! Let’s have some fun with me!” “Shut up! I’m a thief, damn it—let me go!”

Lips as hot as fire—truly like flames—sucked at his ear, sucked at his cheek. "Ahh—" Eiji let out a groan and violently shook his head from side to side.

In the pitch-dark path, he couldn’t tell where he was. To his right, there must have been a moat or river, as he could occasionally hear the sound of waves lapping against the bank, and though not particularly strong, a wind was blowing.

“They mentioned Monzennakacho, so this must be around Kiba,” he muttered. “Dark... pitch black. No matter which way I turn, I can’t see a damn thing. This ain’t no place where humans live.”

The sky held clouds, and stars twinkled between them. By the faint starlight that barely existed, Eiji spotted lumber piled up on the left side of the road and went over there, cautiously sitting down. The lumber was slightly unstable, but Eiji adjusted his footing to balance himself, settled into a seated position, and let out a sigh. "I can't make heads or tails of what's happening—nothing makes any sense at all." He propped his elbows on his knees, supporting his chin with his hand as he shook his head. “What on earth happened? —Ancient foil white-ground gold brocade. I ain’t never seen that before. That thing was in my tool bag. In my tool bag.”

And then, suddenly, he began to cry. He shook his head slowly while still supporting his chin, and tears spilled from both eyes. A sob welled up in his throat, and he heard his own sniveling voice. It didn’t sound like it was coming from his own throat—more like the whimper of a rain-soaked stray dog whimpering in distress as it struggled to find shelter from the rain.

“It ain’t Sabu,” he muttered through sobs, “I’ve lived with Sabu like brothers—he’d have no reason to do somethin’ like that. He’s been relyin’ on me—if I’m gone, he’ll be lost. No way around it—it’s gotta be them from that house.”

"What’s with all the sniveling?" a woman’s voice echoed deep in his ears. "The world’s all greed and money anyway—let’s blow it all! Blow it! Strut around high and mighty, but when you croak, you’ll be no better than beggars or outcasts. Turn to bones, and daimyos ain’t no different from stray dogs. C’mon now, quit your whimpering and let’s live it up!" "I’ve fallen for you—proper fallen," another woman’s voice cut in. "It’s true—never felt this way before. Won’t you make me your wife?"

“C’mon, won’t you make me your wife, heh?” Eiji wiped the wetness around his eyes and cheeks with his hand and spat again. “They all say the same damn thing—‘Won’t you take me as your bride?’ Someone else said that too, didn’t they?”

Eiji’s body suddenly stiffened, his eyes fixed on a single point on the dark ground and stopped moving.

"Don’t be too rough now," came another woman’s voice. "I’m new to this—don’t know a thing. Be gentle with me, won’t you? Show me how it’s done." "Oh, there’s nothing here," the woman’s voice went on. "What’s wrong? It’s awkward being treated so careful-like—just do what you want with me." "Family? Hmph—as if." "We ain’t doin’ this for nobody else—we do what we please. You think I’d be in this trade if I didn’t like it? All that ‘for my family’ talk? Lies, every bit. Hey—come closer." That sensation returned—like fresh-pounded mochi clinging to skin, hot and sticky, refusing to let go. Eiji shook his head hard, stood up, swayed a moment, then started walking.

“Take me as your bride,” he muttered as he walked, “—Who was it that said, ‘Won’t you take me as your bride?’” Eiji came to a stop and gazed upward at some point in the sky. The wind fluttered the hem of his kimono, and disheveled strands of hair lashed against his cheeks.

“Osono,” he muttered. “—She’s the daughter of Honcho’s biggest merchant house. Even if it’s a lie, a scandal like that’d ruin their name. We’ve known each other since we were thirteen or fourteen. Right—they said I was born too low to ever be a match. ‘Take me as your bride,’ she begged. Her folks must’ve thought it risky—me comin’ around all the time, somethin’ might happen. That’s what they figured, ain’t it?” That’s it, ain’t it? So to stop me from showin’ up, they cooked up that whole scheme. He thought this and reckoned it was closest to the truth.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this.” He clenched his fist tightly. “Ain’t no other path—can’t keep livin’ branded as a thief. Can’t breathe like this. I’ll damn well prove it for sure.”

4-2

“Let me see the master,” Eiji said, sitting down at the front of Watabun’s shop. “Tell him Eiji from Hokodo’s here—got somethin’ to ask him. Pass it along.” It was still early in the morning; the shop had just opened, there were no customers yet, and three apprentices were cleaning. Eiji had been drinking for five days straight and was still heavily intoxicated, so he seemed to believe that those inside the lattice-fronted accounts office were not apprentices but clerks or the manager.

“Mr. Eiji, you understand,” said one of the apprentices. “How many times must I tell you? The master is still asleep.” “What’s this, brat? This ain’t your damn show to butt into!” Eiji belched, then grimaced at the alcoholic stench of his own breath. “You lot—all you gotta do is bang hemp sacks full o’ coins ’gainst boards all day like fools! I’m here t’see the master—the owner o’ Watabun! Tell Tokubei t’get his ass out here!”

And then he collapsed sideways there. "Don't do anything stupid—keep it calm," he told himself. "I mustn't shout or use words that belittle others." "I'll come at them from below. Rich folks hate having their sore spots poked—I'll use that to make them drop their guard." "Lies and truth show in the eyes," Eiji muttered. "You can trick the mouth but not the eyes. The eyes are what matter." "Oh, you're back again," came a woman's voice. "No way—you're so gloomy! Like someone ready to hang himself any minute. Hey, let's liven things up! Live it up a little, okay?" "He's drunk," someone said. "Coming here drunk to complain—what a pathetic fool. Take him somewhere to sober up." "Well? What'll it be? You ain't the only customer here. Hurry up and decide—you're making a scene." "Ah," he groaned.

“Ma,” Eiji said, “I can’t stand the pain, Ma.”

He sobbed. Once again, to himself, it sounded like a stray dog whimpering from hunger.

“Look out for the puddle here.” “Let go of me.” Eiji tried to wrench his left arm free. “Let go of my hand.” “Just a bit farther—you’ll collapse if I don’t hold you up, Eij-chan.” “Sabu? What’re you doing here?” “We’re headin’ to Horie-cho,” Sabu said, adjusting his grip. “No other way ’bout it. Or maybe the Asakusa shop instead?” “Quit yappin’ nonsense—I’m goin’ to Watabun to have it out with ’em.”

“You can’t stay this drunk—let’s sober you up first.” Sabu adjusted the position of Eiji’s arm draped over his shoulder. “Just lean on me more—I’m fine.” “How’d you know it was me?” “When I came to the Honcho shop for work, Eij-chan was passed out drunk,” Sabu answered. “—We tried lettin’ you sleep in the maids’ room, but you were yellin’ so loud we had no choice but to take you outside.”

“I see… I don’t really get it.” Eiji shook his head fiercely. “Dreams an’ reality’re all jumbled—can’t remember where I did what. What day’s today?” “It’s the twenty-first,” Sabu said. “Ain’t you been sayin’ you left th’ Asakusa shop on th’ fifteenth an’ ain’t been back since?” “Need water.” “Once we turn that corner, it’s Sumiyoshi. Just hang on a bit longer.” “Can’t… Can’t walk no more.”

Eiji’s knees gave way, and he slid down to sit there in a heap. Sabu, unable to keep supporting him, staggered and nearly collapsed on top of Eiji. At the corner of Horie-cho, where foot traffic was quite heavy, Sabu grew flustered at feeling watched, and as he said, “Wait here a moment,” he dashed off toward the Sumiyoshi tavern.

A woman’s voice was heard saying, “I’ve given up.” This was the fate I was born with—doomed to carry hardship my whole life. All I could do was pray that next time I’d be reborn into a slightly better household. They say Sado’s whatever-you-call-it is hell on earth, but I’ve lived in hell since the day I was born. “Damn right,” Eiji said. “This whole world’s hell. Go rot in it!”

“Here’s water,” the woman said. “Drink without choking.”

Eiji drank water from the teacup and immediately drank another cupful. “Onobu-san, huh?” Eiji muttered, shaking his head as he looked up. “This is Sumiyoshi?” “You should lie down for a bit—come on.” Onobu folded a cushion in half, used it as a pillow to make Eiji lie down, and said, “I’ll get something to cover you now, so if you can sleep, go ahead and rest.”

“Where’s Sabu?” “He’s not skipping work—he went to the shop in Honcho and said he’ll come back once he’s done.” “I’ve got business in Honcho too.” Eiji tried to get up, and Onobu pressed him back down. “Don’t touch me,” Eiji said. “My body ain’t what it used to be—defiled like mud. I’m already a ruined man.”

Part Three of Four

After confirming that Eiji showed no sign of getting up, Onobu left the small private room, fetched a coverlet, and upon returning, gently draped it over him. “Onobu-san?” Eiji lay with his eyes open. “I’m sorry for causing you trouble.” “I hate seeing you like this, Eiji-san.”

“Yeah—even I’ve come to hate myself. Give me a break.” “What’s wrong with you? You got drunk on the fifteenth, left saying you’d return, then vanished like dead leaves blown off by a dry wind—not a word! And now Sabu-chan has to carry you here? Where’s your discipline? Pull yourself together!” “Scold me harder.” Eiji kept his eyes shut as he spoke. “Say whatever you want—I ain’t lookin’ for praise.”

“Go to sleep. Once you’ve slept it off, I’ll hear you out.” “How could I sleep like this? Quit it, Onobu-san—my body’s truly covered in filth. You shouldn’t come near me.” “What do you mean, ‘covered in filth’? It’s just a little dirt on your kimono—I’ve brushed it off properly.” “It’s not that kind of dirt.” I slept with women—women I didn’t even love or remember their faces. He tried to say it, but his tongue wouldn’t move.

“Forget such things.” “—This is the first time I’ve told anyone this,” Onobu said as if she had indeed heard his confession, “but when I was eleven, a neighborhood brute named Roku forced his mouth on mine. Back then, I thought my whole body had been defiled—that I’d never be clean again. I cried so much I even considered killing myself. But after five days passed, then ten, my feelings gradually settled. I realized my body wasn’t tainted at all—how could I let something like that stain me forever?”

“To think he did that to a mere eleven-year-old child...” “That Roku guy—remember how I told you before? He started running wild around fifteen or sixteen, and ended up sinking so low he became a flesh peddler.”

The man had claimed, 'I'm Onobu's brother.' Eiji remembered that rogue from before. "So that was the yakuza from back then?" "He's gone missing now—apparently did something dishonorable among his gang and had to flee Edo. They say if he carelessly comes back, he'll end up left dead in the wilds." Onobu smiled soothingly as she said this, "There now—has your heart settled a bit?" "I'll try to sleep," Eiji said.

Onobu left to fetch water, and Eiji closed his eyes. Though he thought he wouldn’t sleep, he seemed to have drifted off regardless. He only vaguely remembered Onobu returning to place water by his pillow before voices roused him to find the room growing dim. He must have thrown off his coverlet while sleeping—his right shoulder and arm had gone completely cold.

“Let’s let him sleep a bit longer,” Onobu had said. “It seems he hasn’t slept properly in days.” “Then I’ll head over to the shop,” Sabu’s voice was heard saying. “There’s something I need to tell the senior apprentices.” “I’d like to wait,” a woman’s thin voice said, “but would it be all right if I stayed here?”

“Yes, that’s fine—customers will be arriving soon, and I’ll be tied up. It’d help if you looked after Eiji-san,” Onobu said. “But what about your shop?” “Yes, that’s quite all right—I made arrangements before coming here.” It’s Osue, Eiji thought. That was unmistakably Osue’s voice—why had she come to a place like this? While thinking this, he raised his upper body and drank the water from the pitcher prepared by his pillow without pouring it into a cup, taking it directly from the spout. The ice-cold water slid pleasantly down his throat, but it seemed to sting all the way up to his nose, sending three or four sneezes in quick succession.

Onobu slid open the shoji screen, peered inside, and realized he had woken up. Eiji straightened up and shivered as he pulled the coverlet over his shoulders.

“You’ve caught a cold, haven’t you? Sneezing like that.” “Seems like someone’s here.” “Yes,” Onobu said, turning around. “Someone from the Honcho shop is here. You there—come this way.”

When Onobu stepped back, Osue showed her face and bowed politely. Her face was like porcelain—white, cold, and expressionless. "I'll go get a lantern now," Onobu said before leaving. "Go home," Eiji said. "This isn't a place for someone like you to come." Osue began to cry.

Four-Four Standing in the narrow earthen-floored area, covering her face with her sleeve and stifling her voice, Osue wept. "I’ve become worthless," Eiji said roughly. "Ashamed to let you see my face—just go home already."

“I can’t go back.” Amid stifled sobs, Osue said, “I’ve taken leave from the Honcho shop.” Eiji couldn’t immediately grasp her words. “—Took leave? Why?” “Eiji-san being alone...” She stammered as she corrected herself, “I-I thought I couldn’t leave you alone.” “You don’t understand.” “I know.”

Onobu brought a lit lantern. “Don’t just stand there—come inside. I’ll bring the brazier right away.” Onobu urged Osue onward, saying, “Come on now, I said get inside! You’ll catch cold standing around out there.”

Osue, watching Eiji’s expression, softly entered the small tatami room and sat down in the corner. Onobu was about to go fetch the fire and asked if he wanted to drink sake, but Eiji silently shook his head. “Is what you know about...the gold brocade?” Osue nodded quietly. “That’s not what I meant,” Eiji said, pulling his coverlet closer around himself. “The gold brocade fragment being in my tool bag was either a mistake—and if it wasn’t a mistake, then someone had some reason to pin the crime on me. Either way, it’ll come out sooner or later.”

Osue nodded again.

“When I say I’ve become a hopeless person, it’s not about that—it’s not that at all.” With eyes still moist after wiping away tears, Osue looked softly at Eiji. While Onobu brought embers on a fire shovel, transferred them to the brazier, and added charcoal, Eiji remained silent, looking down. Some time ago, customers had begun arriving at the shop, and with maids coming and going through the earthen-floored area and noises drifting in from the kitchen, the house grew lively and bustling.

“If you need anything, please call me,” Onobu said. “I’ll try not to let customers come over here, so don’t hesitate.”

Eiji said thank you, and Onobu left. Eiji sneezed again and searched inside his kimono with one hand. Osue quickly noticed and took paper from her sleeve to hand to Eiji. He took several sheets of folded paper, wiped his eyes, and then blew his nose. “What a joke,” he said self-deprecatingly, “catching a cold at a time like this.” “You need to rest. Let’s go to my house,” Osue said. “My family runs a brush shop in Kanasugi, Shitaya—it’s small, but there’s enough space for you to lie down.”

“I wish I could do that,” he said, “but I’m beyond saving now.” “What do you mean you’re no good?” Osue said with forceful insistence. “You’re still the same Eiji-san. Others might think differently, but to me, you’re still the same Eiji-san.” “That ain’t how it is.” Eiji abruptly turned away. His former self was beyond recovery. His former self had been pure in both heart and body. But since the gold brocade incident, he could no longer trust people sincerely, and by sleeping with women he didn’t even know, he had soiled his body. Humans are such fragile things, Eiji thought. Because of a single scrap of cloth, both his heart and body had changed so completely. "I ain’t the same person I used to be," Eiji told himself inwardly.

“No matter what sweet words you use to comfort me,” he said, still turned away, “once broken can’t be mended. I’m grateful for your care, but just leave me be.” “You’re torturing yourself,” Osue pressed on fiercely, “and that’s when you’re most at risk. You’re teetering right there—no, listen! It might sound forward of me, but when I saw you collapsed in Watabun’s maids’ quarters, I knew right then—this is your most perilous moment, Eiji-san. Someone must stay by you, or disaster will strike. That’s why I took leave from the shop.”

“No use.” Eiji shook his head. “I ain’t worth that. You’d be better off apologizin’ an’ goin’ back to Watabun.” “I can’t leave you, Eiji-san,” Osue said, shifting closer on her knees. “It’s shameful for a woman to say this, but I’d made up my mind long ago—no matter what hardships come—to have you take me as your wife. Then when Sabu-san asked how you felt about me... I was so happy.”

Osue once again covered her face with her sleeve and sobbed.

“That Sabu,” Eiji muttered. “—That Sabu.” “Hey,” Osue said in a trembling, fractured voice, “let’s go to my house. You’re a proper craftsman now—even without the Hokodo name, you can manage splendidly through your own skill. Please listen to me. I mean every word.”

Osue clasped her hands together in supplication. When Eiji hurriedly waved his hand to tell her to stop, a low cough echoed from the earthen-floored area, followed by Sabu’s voice saying, “Sorry.” Osue wiped her eyes while straightening her posture, and Eiji crossed his arms. “Can I come in?” “No need for that,” Eiji answered. “Get in here.” Sabu slid open the shoji door and entered, carefully avoiding looking at the two.

“How’re you feelin’?” Sabu sat down beside the brazier. “I thought about comin’ sooner, but it got late. I’m sorry.” Eiji stared at Sabu’s face. “You shouldn’t have come. You weren’t supposed to come here.” “Ain’t nothin’ like that.” Sabu blinked as if dazzled and stammered: “I wanna drink some sake... Is that okay?” “Before that,” Eiji said, keeping his eyes fixed on the expression that had appeared on Sabu’s face, “I gotta ask.” Without taking his eyes off Sabu’s face, he added: “You got told somethin’ by the master, didn’t ya.”

“Anyway, I just wanna have a drink,” Sabu said. Having said that, he hurriedly added, “It’s awful cold outside—I’m chilled clean through to the bone.” “Can’t say it ’less you’re drunk, huh?”

“Please,” Sabu said as he stood up, “I ain’t had my meal yet either.”

And he went down to the earthen-floored area, placed an order himself, and upon returning, sat back down restlessly in his original spot. Osue looked at Eiji and asked, “May I stay here?” Before Eiji could answer, Sabu said, “I want you to stay.” “There’s somethin’ I wanna talk over with you too, Osue-chan,” Sabu said to her. “Things’ve gotten tangled up after all.”

Eiji sneezed and wiped his nose. Sabu shot Osue an inquiring look; she responded to his gaze with a slight nod. Eiji noticed this but kept silent and turned his face away. The two seemed to be worrying about him while secretly coordinating something. As this realization sank in, a leaden gloom weighed on Eiji's spirits, making him feel more wretched than ever. When another sneeze threatened to erupt, he grabbed paper, pressed it to his nose, and rubbed his nostrils with two fingers.

Of all the times for this to happen—he clicked his tongue inwardly. To sneeze at the crucial moment—wasn't this a complete farce?

The tray of food and drink was brought not by Onobu but by two young women named Ohatsu and Otake. The shop was packed with customers talking and laughing—likely getting drunk—and already, voices babbling drunkenly could be heard along with the clatter of dishes. “I’ll take a big one,” Sabu said, removing the lid from his soup bowl. “How ’bout you have one too, Eij-chan?” Eiji shook his head. “It’d be better if you drank a little,” Sabu said with concern, then had Osue pour for him and downed three cups in quick succession.

“Cut it out—you can’t hold your liquor,” Eiji said. “Drink like that and you’ll get sick drunk, I’m telling you.” “No matter how bad you get drunk,” Sabu said as he took his fourth cup, “the liquor’ll wear off eventually. But once your name’s stained, no small scrubbin’ll clean it—ain’t that right, Eij-chan?” Eiji stayed silent until Sabu had drained his fourth cup, then asked, “You talkin’ about me?”

“I’ve been thinkin’,” Sabu said while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “—you’re already a skilled craftsman through and through. Even without leanin’ on the master or the shop’s name, you could stand proud on your own two feet. No need to mind anybody else’s opinions. Ain’t that right, Eij-chan?” “So,” Eiji shot back, keeping his eyes locked on Sabu, “—you’re tellin’ me I oughta be thrown out like temple alms money?” “Ain’t sayin’ that at all—just speakin’ my mind.”

Eiji cut Sabu off. “Don’t you think nothin’ of it—I remember exactly what I did. I barged drunk into Hokodo’s prized client since the founder’s days—that Honcho shopfront so grand nobody rivals it. You think the master could shut his eyes after hearin’ that? To square things with Watabun, they gotta throw me out for good. Sabu—give it to me straight. I’m gettin’ kicked outta the shop, ain’t I?”

Four-Five

Sabu tried earnestly to smooth things over skillfully. But embellishing his words or using veiled expressions remained utterly impossible for him. Master Yohbei had immediately gone to Watabun to apologize and promised to expel Eiji from the shop. Then it became clear he had summoned Wazuke from Asakusa and ordered that he not be placed at the Higashi-Nakacho shop either. "I knew it—I'd braced myself for something like this."

“Brother Wazuke from Asakusa tried his best to mediate,” Sabu said haltingly, as though it were his own failure. “—It’s too cruel to punish him that harshly now. They oughta think a bit more about what’s best for him.” “Enough already,” Eiji shook his head and took the lid off his soup bowl on the tray. “If it’s been decided that clear, there’s nothin’ more to say. I’ll drink too.”

Sabu called out, “Eij-chan,” and Osue poured the sake as if she’d been waiting. “The Master’s an upright man.” Eiji stared at the poured sake and said, “He don’t do nothin’ that’d have folks pointin’ fingers behind his back, but in return, he won’t stand even a speck of crookedness from those he raised up himself. That’s why Hokodo’s foundation don’t budge an inch—ain’t that right? Fine job. Real fine job.”

Eiji took a deep gulp of sake. “Don’t go thinkin’ I’m sayin’ this outta despair,” he continued. “Now that I’ve cut ties with Hokodo, whatever I do won’t trouble the Master no more. And the Master—nor anyone else at the shop—got any right left to tell me what to do or not do. Ain’t that right, Sabu?” “Well, maybe so,” Sabu said, looking anxiously at Eiji’s face. “Even if you don’t decide like that right now, there’s still the option of havin’ the senior apprentices in the shop put in a word for you.”

“Not a chance!” Eiji snapped as if chopping through something, “I don’t care how grand Hokodo is or how precious its name—after seein’ how they handled this, I’ve had enough! Even if they come beggin’ me to return, I’ll never set foot in that shop again! Not a chance in hell!” Osue, with a pale and strained face, silently poured sake for Eiji, then poured for Sabu. Eiji gulped down his second cup in one breath and had the third one poured, but Sabu didn’t touch his sake and watched Eiji with anxious eyes.

“Sabu, I’ve got a favor to ask you.” “Sure thing, ask me anythin’.” “Go to Higashi-Nakacho and bring my belongings,” Eiji said. “The money I’d left at Kobunecho has probably been delivered by now, but if it hasn’t, collect it from there and bring that here too.”

“If that’s all, it’s no trouble,” Sabu said, looking at Osue. “—But ’fore bringin’ it here, we oughta settle on a proper place first.” “My place’d be best,” Osue hurriedly said. “You need to save every copper startin’ right now, Eiji-san. Stayin’ at mine’d keep your purse tight and give you a foothold to start workin’ again.” Eiji shook his head firm. “That’ll be once I’ve scrubbed myself clean.”

Osue tried to say something, but Eiji raised his hand to stop her. “First, I need to clear the name of a thief,” he said. “Second, the taint on my body. As Sabu knows, I never touched vices till twenty-three—sure, I drank sake, but never stepped foot in the pleasure quarters. And that was ’cause of you, Osue-chan. I wanted to make you my wife someday and keep my body pure till then.”

Osue hung her head low, holding the sake flask in her left hand, and pressed the fingers of her right hand against the corners of both eyes. "I ain't forgotten that," Eiji continued, "but when they pinned some false charge I had no memory of on me—got me kicked outta the shop I'd sweated ten years for—and wouldn't hear a single word in my defense... I snapped. For the first time ever born, I couldn't trust neither the world nor folks in it. So I drank myself rotten with nothin' left to lose, then went sleepin' with any woman that crossed my path."

He had no memory of where he had slept with how many women, nor of what their faces or appearances had been like. The fact that he had slept with someone he didn’t remember at all made him feel all the more defiled. Until this feeling of defilement faded, he didn’t want to go near Osue. “If you’ve truly taken leave from Watabun,” Eiji said to Osue, “go back to your home in Kanesugi. Once I’ve sorted out a way to manage on my own, I’ll come to you properly with a proposal. Though I’ll warn you—I don’t know when that’ll be. Six months? Two years? Right now, I can’t even guess. So I can’t ask you to wait for me. Understand, Osue-chan?”

Osue nodded while staring intently at Eiji with her eyes wide open. “That settles it,” Eiji said after taking a gulp of sake. “Sabu, if you don’t mind, head to Asakusa now. Osue-chan, you should go back to Kanesugi. I know this is selfish of me, but I need you both to leave me alone for now.” Sabu sipped the cold sake from the lid of the bowl he was holding, Osue set down the sake flask, and said, “My home is at the Yaroku store in the back of Kanesugi Third District. My father’s name is Heizo.”

“I’ll say it again—you don’t gotta wait for me, Osue-chan,” Eiji said while turning away, “—when you live in this world, you never know what might come.”

Five-One

The stepping stones leading to the entrance were covered in ice that showed no sign of melting despite the light rain that had begun falling over an hour earlier. Eiji closed his umbrella, propped it in the umbrella stand, and slid open the lattice door to enter. In the six-tatami entryway, the usual apprentice sat beating a hemp bag against a board. The apprentice’s hands were swollen purple from frostbite, blood oozing from several fingers. When Eiji requested to be announced, the apprentice stood up and left. Soon a clerk named Shokichi appeared.

“I apologize for causing such a disturbance the other day,” Eiji said after greeting him properly. “I will absolutely not cause any trouble today. Please relay that I wish to have a brief audience with the master—I won’t take much of his time.” Eiji thought it would be acceptable to kneel in the dirt-floored entryway. The clerk left, and the apprentice resumed beating the hemp bag. To use a single apprentice like this in an unheated entryway just to scrape meager gold dust from the realm’s currency—wasn’t such a grand establishment ashamed of itself? Eiji wondered.

If enduring hardships was part of mastering one's trade, that might be acceptable—but this was outright criminal, a violation of forbidden practices. Merchants truly were despicable creatures. He spat in his mind.

The clerk returned, told him to come up, and ushered him into the eight-tatami room next door. And replacing the clerk, manager Ginbee appeared and, remaining on his feet, demanded to know his business. Eiji said he wanted to meet the master. “I am the manager of this shop,” Ginbee said, scratching his teeth with a toothpick. “Everything concerning the shop is entrusted to me. If you have business, I’ll hear it.” Eiji planted both hands against the floor. “The matter I wish to discuss concerns the gold brocade fragment from before. There’s something I absolutely must ask the master directly.”

“That matter’s already been settled, hasn’t it?” “It’s not settled for me.” “That matter’s settled,” Ginbee said, sucking his teeth with a loud slurp. “Given your long service here and that you’ve still got a future ahead, the master saw fit not to make it public. As a scroll mounter yourself, you must know that piece was a famed fragment worth a hundred ryō. What do you think would’ve happened if the master hadn’t settled this privately?”

“Do even you, Manager, think I did it?” “The brocade was found in your tool bag, and it was the master who discovered it. What other conclusion could there possibly be?” “That’s why I need to meet the master.” “Why that fragment ended up in my tool bag—I have absolutely no memory of it,” Eiji said patiently. “Even a child could see that if I’d truly done it, I wouldn’t have left it in my tool bag so brazenly. I’d have hidden it somewhere no one would find it. Isn’t that right?”

“We are merchants, not investigating magistrates. How thieves dispose of stolen goods varies by person. Either way, there’s no denying that fragment was in your tool bag.” “No matter what happens, I swear by the gods it wasn’t me! There must be some reason behind this—that’s why I absolutely must ask the master directly! If I’m branded a thief, I’ll never be able to face society again!”

“Is that so?” Ginbee remained standing, looking down at Eiji, and snapped the toothpick in his right hand in two. “I’d thought this could be settled through me,” he said, “but if you’ll persist in your stubbornness, there’s no help for it. Wait here.”

And the manager left.

He had grown too close to the two daughters, and rumors had spread that he intended to marry one of them. Sabu had indeed heard this from a senior apprentice named Tashi. Though unclear where the rumor originated, it must have reached Watabun’s household. To distance him from them, someone had devised such a scheme—whether Master Tokubei, his wife, or another at the shop—Eiji had deduced this and still clung to that belief now. He had committed a shameful error in his apprentice days. Though caught and forgiven by Hokodo’s master’s wife—who he thought alone knew—even senior apprentice Wazuke and the master himself had been aware. Yet those who had known and pardoned him then refused to comprehend him now. If anything, his past transgression made them all the more certain this too was his doing.

“I can’t let this end here,” Eiji muttered to himself. “No matter what it takes, I have to uncover the truth.”

Soon, the sound of approaching footsteps grew near, and three men slid open the sliding door and appeared. They were neither the manager nor shop employees—all three wore I-gumi’s emblem-patterned work coats over belly bands and plain dark blue work pants. Two were twenty-five or twenty-six, one around forty, and on the collars of their work coats was the character for "Head" dyed in bold. They must be Ward Bosses, Eiji thought. “You’re the one,” the Ward Boss said, “—the bastard who came to pick a fight with this shop?”

“Don’t be ridiculous—a grudge?!” Eiji stuttered in shock, “I-I just wanted an audience with the master—” “On your feet, brat,” the ward boss jerked his chin upward. “No squabblin’ here. Got somethin’ to say? Say it outside.” The manager had summoned these men. Though it might’ve been the master’s doing, when Eiji realized they’d resorted to such cowardly methods, his body trembled with rage. “No,” he said, reining in his anger. “I won’t move from this spot till I meet the master. This decides a man’s whole life—you wouldn’t know about that.”

“Make him stand up,” the ward boss ordered the young men. “He’s causing trouble for the shop—drag him out.” Eiji sat cross-legged and crossed his arms. He had steeled his resolve that not even a crowbar could move him, but the two young men quietly closed in from either side. “Behave yourself,” they warned as each grabbed one of his arms and hauled him upright. He tried to shake them off, but their combined strength overpowered him, and they dragged him all the way to the entrance. The apprentice who had been beating the hemp sack jumped back in alarm, and Eiji flushed crimson with rage.

“Is this how you treat people in this household?” Eiji shouted. “First you brand an innocent man a thief, and now you manhandle me like some extortionist?!” “You bastard!” snarled one of the young men as he struck Eiji across the cheek. “Shut your trap!” The other assailant hit him too, yanking Eiji down into the earthen-floored entryway before sweeping his legs out from under him. Still barefoot themselves, they dragged him through the latticed doorway like a rice sack being hauled across stone pavement and out beyond the gate. Unnoticed, the drizzle had turned to snow that now whitened the frozen road’s slick surface. After dumping Eiji onto this icy stretch, the two youths took turns straddling him and pummeling his head and face without restraint. The first blow had struck his ear—from that moment, his right side went deaf—while blood from his split lip mingled with nosebleed to coat his face in crimson sludge.

“Damn you! Damn you!” Eiji screamed with all his might, “I’ll kill you bastards!” He resolved to die fighting. Even if it meant his own end, he would take at least one of them down—with this vow, he thrashed his limbs wildly. But the young fire brigade men handled him like seasoned professionals, flipping him onto his stomach and grinding his face against the snow-crusted road. “Take him to the guardhouse,” barked the Ward Boss. “Quit making a public spectacle.”

“Bastard, quit squirming!” one of the young men snarled, slamming his fist into Eiji’s flank with full force. “Keep thrashin’ and we’ll cripple you for good!”

Eiji, struck in the flank, had his breath knocked out of him; curling his body into a ball, he submitted to their handling. The guardhouse was located at the corner of Honcho facing the outer moat. When the three men brought Eiji in, a police informant and his subordinate were present. The ward boss, seemingly acquainted with them, quickly explained the circumstances, handed Eiji over, and left with his men. It was later discovered that the police informant had been Ootaya Sukejirou from Nihonbashi Yumicho, and his subordinate a man named Shimazou.

Eiji collapsed onto the wooden floor and lay there groaning from the pain throughout his body, particularly in his flank. Needless to say, more unbearable than any such physical pain was the wound to his heart. He cursed the people of Watabun and cursed the three ward bosses. He could think of nothing but anger, and his bitterness left him assaulted by nausea time and again. "Hey, young one," the old guardhouse attendant shook Eiji's shoulder. "Get up now. Get up and wipe your face. There."

The old guardhouse attendant placed a towel wrung out in hot water into Eiji’s hand. “Your head and kimono are soaked and covered in mud. If you can get up, come over by the fire here—the bonfire will dry you off quick enough.” “I’ll set it on fire.” Eiji kept the towel clenched tightly in his fist and muttered without attempting to rise, “I’ll burn Watabun’s estate to ashes and beat those three firemen to death.” “Don’t spout such dangerous talk,” the police informant said, rising from the earthen floor where a fire burned and stepping toward him. “Hey, brat—if you keep spewing crazy nonsense, this won’t end pretty for you.”

“What’ll you do if I don’t let it end here?” Eiji raised his upper body. “You want a taste of this?”

He spat at the man's face.

5-2 Eiji lay sprawled in the corner of the guardhouse's earthen-floored entryway, his hands bound behind his back. He had no idea who the man was, but the police informant—spat upon—raged, struck Eiji mercilessly with his jitte, then ordered his subordinates to bind him. They kicked him, doused him with bucket water, and knocked him sprawling. Eiji was half-conscious, but this seemed less due to physical pain than to extreme mental agitation. The blood and mud covering half his face had already begun drying, leaving the bloodless portions as pale as plaster and horrifyingly ghastly in appearance. His half-open eyes were vacant, seeing nothing. Each time he took a shallow, short breath, a few strands of his disheveled hair—freed from their binding cord—swayed faintly in a fixed rhythm.

“You’re Sukejirou from Yumicho, aren’t you?” Eiji dimly heard a man’s voice say. “You always overstep—what’s this about?” A samurai, Eiji thought hazily. His speech patterns—must be a magistrate officer or constable. When pressed for details, Sukejirou launched into some tedious explanation. The words came in a hoarse whisper too low and fast for Eiji to catch—not that he cared to listen anyway. To hell with it all. Let them do their worst. He kept repeating these vague imprecations through his wavering consciousness.

“At any rate, untie the ropes and let him warm himself by the fire,” the samurai’s voice commanded. “Leave him like this and he’ll freeze to death.” Eiji was lifted up. The ropes were untied, and he was carried by two men to the fireside, but it took considerable time before he could feel the fire’s warmth. This too would later be learned: those who had been reprimanding the police informant were three men—Aoki Kounoshin, the town magistrate officer; Yasui Tomoemon, the constable; and Okamura Jibee, a subordinate—who had stopped here during their patrol.

Okamura, the subordinate, soaked a hand towel in hot water, wiped Eiji’s face and limbs, and applied ointment to his split lips and wounds. Only when his wounds were touched did Eiji’s face contort in pain, but at all other times it remained expressionless like a dementia patient’s; he looked at no one’s face and answered nothing he was asked. Eiji had no idea what story Police Informant Sukejirou had heard from the Honcho Ward Boss or how he had relayed it to Aoki Kounoshin. But judging from Aoki’s manner of interrogation, it seemed they had concluded that Eiji—having given neither his address, name, nor occupation—had attempted extortion at Watabun in Honcho.

“At first glance, you do not appear to be such a person,” said Aoki. “I am Aoki Kounoshin, a town magistrate officer. There seem to be certain circumstances behind this—do you have anything to say?”

Eiji did not answer. Aoki waited. “I’ll set that shop on fire,” Eiji growled in a hoarse voice, muttering to himself. “I’ll kill those three firemen laborers. And then the two police informants after that.”

A muttering from between swollen lips—though unclear—must have reached Aoki’s ears, for he narrowed his eyes and looked at Eiji. Aoki Kounoshin was twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with a slender build and tall stature. His narrow, sun-darkened face had strikingly well-defined features. It was a face that truly seemed to embody self-restraint and strength of will.

“If you have a residence and someone to vouch for you, I’ll let you go as you are,” Aoki said patiently. “Where is this residence?”

Eiji did not answer. "If you stay silent, nothing can be ascertained. If you persist in refusing to respond, I'll have no choice but to drag you to the magistrate's office."

But Eiji did not answer. "It seems the police informants handled you roughly—no wonder you're angry," Aoki continued calmly, his tone still composed. "Listen well. When investigating suspicious individuals as part of our duty, we cannot treat them like honored guests. Though there may be some differences in approach, sooner or later we must resort to harsh measures. The more stubbornly you resist, the more you'll be suspected of additional crimes, until inevitably you face formal interrogation. Consider this carefully, then tell us everything in detail."

As steam began rising from Eiji’s kimono and warmth spread through his body, every muscle and joint began throbbing as if inflamed. Damn those Watabun bastards—those firemen laborers and police informants—I’ll slaughter every last one of them. Even if it took thirty years or fifty, he’d slaughter them all—Eiji swore this oath through the pain coursing through his entire frame. “Very well,” Aoki finally said with a sigh. “We shall take you to the magistrate’s office for examination.”

And he ordered the old guardhouse attendant to call for a palanquin.

Eiji was placed in a palanquin, taken to the Kitamachi Magistrate’s Office, and put into a temporary cell. Imprisonment required the town magistrate’s approval, but Aoki had discussed it with a magistrate officer named Matazaemon stationed at the office and had him placed in an available temporary cell. Matazaemon’s surname was also Aoki; he was forty-five years old, belonged to Kounoshin’s clan, and was one of the senior magistrate officers at the northern magistrate’s office. Eiji remained indifferent to these matters. Of course, he knew nothing about prison cells—he did not even realize this was the Kitamachi Magistrate’s Office. He shut himself away tightly within himself, resolved to let nothing from outside penetrate. The whole world is my enemy—I must never forget this. The wealthy wield their money, officials their power—they can make criminals of the innocent. For someone like me, without money or influence, there was no opposing them. This is the truth, he thought. Then the anger surged up again.

Eiji looked around. Three sides were wooden walls; the side facing the corridor had prison bars. The surging anger made him dizzy, and the sturdy prison bars seemed to recede and draw near.

“Damn.”

Eiji let out a shout that seemed to split the air and suddenly stood up. “Get me out of here!” He violently threw his body against the prison bars. He felt a sharp pain in his flesh and bones, but like a madman, he slammed himself against them twice, three times, and shook the bars with all his might. “Let me out!” he kept shouting. “I’ll kill every last one of you bastards!”

5-3 Eiji was sent to the vagrant workhouse on Ishikawajima after seven days in the temporary cell. Matazaemon conducted the investigation himself and treated him with various kindnesses. Aoki Kounoshin, the town magistrate officer, mentioned casually—as if making ordinary conversation—that those who had gone with him to the Honcho guardhouse were Yasui Tomoemon, a constable; Okamura Jibee, a subordinate; and himself, all belonging to his clan, and that all three sympathized with Eiji. He then calmly repeated questions about the source of the mistake. Eiji maintained his silence even toward Matazaemon. When he had thrashed about in the temporary cell, he had ripped off the nail of his right big toe, which had been treated and wrapped in bleached cotton cloth. That finger ached, and there was a dull pain in various parts of his body—his shoulders, the bones of his waist—so he winced whenever he moved, but otherwise, as if turned to stone, he kept his gaze fixed on an indeterminate point straight ahead, his face rigid as he maintained his silence.

During this time, Kounoshin had apparently investigated Watabun. However, Watabun only stated that “he had merely barged in and caused a disturbance,” and appeared to say nothing about Eiji’s background or circumstances. This was clearly evident throughout Matazaemon’s interrogation, and though Eiji sneered inwardly, he did not let even a hint of it show on his face.

After Matazaemon, an investigating magistrate named Ishikawa something took charge of the investigation for three days. The interrogation methods were quite severe and merciless, yet there was no hitting or shouting. And on the seventh day, Matazaemon took over again.

“It seems there may be extenuating circumstances,” Matazaemon stated in a bureaucratic tone, “but given the pressing nature of the authorities’ official duties, we lack the capacity to devote ourselves entirely to your case. Our investigation thus far reveals no evidence of additional crimes, so under normal circumstances we would release you outright. However, since you have declared neither residence nor guarantor, nor stated whether you have employment, you must be processed as a vagrant. We have therefore decided to send you to the Ishikawajima labor camp. You would do well to accept this decision.”

Even so, Eiji did not speak. The group sent to Ishikawajima consisted of Eiji and four others, all clad in everyday clothes and straw sandals, with Eiji and another young man tied together by a waist rope. Only the two of them were apparently viewed as likely to cause trouble. From the magistrate’s office came a magistrate officer, two constables, and three subordinates to provide escort. The young man tied to Eiji with a rope constantly sniffed nervously and twisted his neck from side to side. “I’m Kinta,” As soon as the group emerged into the town, the young man whispered to Eiji, “Got nabbed over some lousy gambling—what a sorry state I’m in, getting shipped off to the island.”

“Shut your mouth!” one of the subordinates shouted. “No talking allowed!”

The young man twisted his neck and stuck out his tongue. It was an absurdly long, sickly pale tongue. Eiji ignored him. He had no memory of what kind of men the other four were, nor did he look at which streets they took. Among the passersby, there were men and women who, realizing criminals were being transported, stopped to watch with looks of disgust and curiosity; however, most either did not notice or, if they did, hurriedly averted their eyes.

"They must find the sight of me bound with a waist rope terrifying—hmph," Eiji thought. Probably they see me as some heinous criminal—a robber or murderer. Fine then. Just wait. I'll become exactly the man you all imagine me to be. He hated everything that met his eyes and raged against it all. When he saw the rows of houses basking in their tranquil lives, it filled him with loathing; when he spotted men and women among the passersby who looked contented and happy, he mocked them inwardly and showered them with curses.—But when they reached Echizenbori, just once, something gripped Eiji's heart with fierce intensity. Against the storehouse of a merchant house facing the moat, two girls of seven or eight had spread a straw mat on sunlit ground and sat playing beanbags.

“Beanbag toss, beanbag toss,” sang one of the girls, her voice carrying through the air. “Toss it down, sweep it clean!”

Eiji stopped and looked that way. Both looked about the same age, their hair tied in rounded buns, wearing brightly colored kimonos with work aprons over them.

“One, one, one,” chanted one child as she skillfully juggled the beanbags— “Sweep them down, sweep them clean!” It was just like back then—the Watabun daughters, Okimi and Osono, would invite me, and I’d play beanbags with them in just that way. As he thought this, a scalding emotion like boiling water welled up in his chest for no reason, and Eiji’s eyes blurred with tears.

“What’re you dawdlin’ for?” the subordinate prodded Eiji. “Get movin’ already!”

Eiji started walking. “Big sleeves, big sleeves, big sleeves,” came a girl’s voice from behind, “—sweep down the big sleeves and clean them all away!”

Eiji slowly shook his head from left to right.

5-4

“This vagrant workhouse is not a prison,” declared the workhouse constable. “I will repeat the earlier pronouncement for you: Though vagrants and those without fixed abode ought to be sent to Sado Island, by the authorities’ special benevolence, you have been assigned here as supplementary laborers.” This vagrant workhouse differed from other prisons in that it did not consider its inmates to be criminals. In accordance with regulations, they were made to wear persimmon-colored garments dyed with polka dots, but their hair remained unshorn, and women with husbands were permitted to wear hairpins. Those with skills applied themselves to their work, while those without could acquire a trade of their choosing.

For those tasks, wages would be paid, and that would become the capital for honest work once they reentered society—Eiji hadn’t heard a word of what the workhouse constable had said. The figures of two small girls playing beanbags at Echizenbori would not leave his eyes, and their voices lingered deep in his ears. Ohidari, ohidari, dari-dari daruma eyes! Eiji bit his lip and closed his eyes. He could see himself as a young apprentice in Watabun’s inner parlor, playing with Okimi, Osono, and their little friends.

“Hey,” Kinta, the young man sitting next to him, prodded him with his elbow. “Get up.” The constable’s speech ended, and the five people who had been sitting on the rough mat stood up and put on their straw sandals. The four subordinate constables stationed on either side of them told them to come here, led them to a spacious courtyard, and introduced them to the other subordinate constables who had been waiting there. These included the craftsmen’s group, oyster ash handlers, fieldwork group, oil pressers, pounding mill workers, and watchpost attendants; there were also overseers, doctors, teachers, and others, but they were told these would be introduced later.

When the introductions were completed, a man of about fifty came forward. He had a bull-like build, with shoulders lumped like protrusions of flesh; his ruddy complexion—not from sea winds or sunburn, but seemingly innate—bore absurdly large eyes and mouth, and his voice grated like the sound of setting a saw’s teeth.

“I’m Matsuda Gonzo, overseer of this labor camp,” the man barked. “The laborers here call me Red Demon behind my back—couldn’t give a rat’s ass about that. You lot can call me that too if you want—won’t make me angry. But mark my words: That Okayan Yasubei, the magistrate’s officer who just spoke to you over there, made this place sound like paradise. If you swallow that horseshit, you’re in for a world of hurt. They say Sado Island’s gold mines are hell on earth? Same goes for Ishikawajima here—depending on how you act, this place’ll make Sado look like a picnic. Don’t you forget it.”

And then he glared resentfully at the five men, spat on the ground, and strode off with large steps. Next came a man of about forty-four or forty-five. This was an effeminate man who seemed younger than his years, his kimono collar fastened so tightly it appeared to choke him, speaking in a cloying voice as if caressing his words.

“I am Kojima Ryojiro, an overseer here,” the man said with a smile. “An overseer is something like a caretaker for you all. As Mr. Okayan mentioned earlier, this workhouse isn’t a place to torment you. For those with skills, we’ll encourage their work; for those without—” “Same damn prayers as always,” Kinta whispered to Eiji. “He’s a silver smuggler—worse than the Red Demon.”

“Therefore,” Kojima continued, “those with skills will be assigned work in their trades. Those without skills who wish to learn a trade may state their desired occupation. The rest will be assigned laborer tasks as needed—river dredging, fieldwork, construction work, rice warehouse loading, and so forth. Understood? Now, those with skills or desired occupations—step forward.” Of the five, the three middle-aged men were carpenters, plasterers, and tabi makers. Kinta had no established skills and did not express any desire to learn a trade. Eiji did not answer. The overseer named Kojima persistently questioned him in a slow, drawn-out tone, as if he had a mouthful of saliva, but from beginning to end, Eiji did not utter a single word.

“You don’t even say your own name, do you?” Kojima frowned at the register he held. “If you don’t behave properly here, you’ll regret it.” “Then Kinta and you are assigned to the mokko room,” he said—a place meant for those who could only do river dredging or laborer work. "To hell with it all—do whatever you want. Every last one of ’em’s my enemy now," Eiji thought. 5-5

The mokko room had twenty-three laborers. With Kinta and Eiji added, their number rose to twenty-five, and Denpachi, Kurata, and Saiji served as the three foremen. Denpachi was fifty-five or fifty-six, Kurata forty-seven or forty-eight, and Saiji probably twenty-eight or twenty-nine; all three were former laborers by trade and seemed to take pride in having been inmates together at Denmacho Prison.

The foremen called Eiji "Bushu." This likely meant he hailed from Bushu Province. There was no avoiding giving one's name once in the hands of town magistrates. The two Aoki magistrate officers must have had their reasons for granting him special treatment. This arrangement had apparently been notified to the workhouse officials and even whispered among the mokko room foremen. Though they spoke ill of him and made all sorts of pointed remarks, they never resorted to violence or forced extra work on him—even when Eiji stubbornly resisted, they simply disengaged.

For the first fifty-odd days, they were put to work on embankment construction along the southern edge of the workhouse. Ishikawajima was roughly triangular in shape, with the residence of Ishikawa Ōsumi-no-kami to the east and Tsukudajima to the west, each separated by a moat, the north facing Ōkawaguchi and the south opening out to the sea. In the direction of Ōkawaguchi, the townhouses of Funamatsu-chō, Jūken-chō, Akashi-chō, and others were spread out flatly across the wide river. —On the northern side facing this direction were a boat landing and a gate, and on either side of the gate stood the inmates’ tenements. Tenements were also on the eastern side, where a bathhouse had been established. Upon entering the gate, directly ahead stood the administrative office and the residences of the officials, while beyond the roughly triangular courtyard, a solitary guard post had been erected. It was situated at the center of the grounds, in the most optimal position for monitoring the laborers’ movements.

The southern end where embankment work was being conducted was the narrowest part of this island, stretching only about ninety meters from one end to the other. The sea was shallow with a gentle slope; even during ordinary low tides, the seabed would be exposed for two or three hundred meters, and during the new moon and around the full moon, the water would recede over a kilometer and a half.—While the other three sides of the island were fortified with stone walls, its southern end lay directly exposed to the ocean’s waves, making it vulnerable to destruction by storms roughly once every three years, or so it was said. To ensure such damage wouldn’t recur, they dug over ten feet into the water’s edge, drove cedar log pilings deep into the ground, and proceeded with sturdy construction starting from the foundation.

Four or five days after entering the mokko room, Eiji found himself unable to ignore one of his fellow laborers. The man appeared to be twenty-eight or twenty-nine, with a patchy beard and sharp cheekbones—his face perpetually fixed in an ingratiating smile as he addressed others with fawning deference. Though his sunken eyes ceaselessly roved their surroundings, they never settled directly on anyone's face. Somewhere I've seen that face before, Eiji muttered inwardly. That's definitely someone I recognize!

He soon learned the man’s name was Jirokichi, but he couldn’t recall where they had met. Soon he grew close to a man named Yohei and forgot all about Jirokichi. “My name is Yohei,” the man said, initiating the conversation. “You’ve been here over half a month now yet haven’t spoken to anyone. You must have your reasons, but staying silent like this poisons the body.”

It was during a break at the construction site. Eiji leaned against the piled stone materials and gazed at the calm sea of early spring. Yohei had approached and spoken to him there, but Eiji neither responded nor turned to look. “This is the first time I’ve spoken of this,” Yohei said as if muttering to himself, “but eight years ago, I tried to kill my wife. Back then, I ran a small fabric shop in Shiba-Kanasugi—modest but thriving enough. I’d worked my way up from an apprentice and married the owner’s daughter, you see.”

Eiji listened in silence. The words about having tried to kill his wife had involuntarily drawn his interest. It was no rare thing—a strong-willed wife from a propertied family and a timid husband who had risen from apprentice. For over ten years he worked tirelessly and fathered three children, yet he was never once treated like a proper husband—from morning till night, he was barked at dismissively and driven like a beast of burden. Even the children called him “Papa’s good-for-nothing,” and his meals were served on the kitchen’s wooden floor, just as they had been when he was an apprentice.

“It wasn’t just my wife who was at fault—you see, we were people who should never have become husband and wife, yet we ended up together by mistake. Now that I think about it, she must have felt terribly trapped too. Yes.” Yohei let out a long sigh and said, “—But back then, I never thought of such things. For any person, their thoughts revolve around themselves. They say you can endure another’s pain for three years, but you can’t bear your own for even a moment. Well, one day, I finally reached my limit.”

But at that moment, the break period arrived, and Yohei’s story was interrupted.

The next day brought rain, halting construction work, and half the laborers from the mokko room were sent out to repair the bamboo fence. Along the shore of this island ran a bamboo fence nine feet high, its deteriorated sections being replaced. The one who came to issue the orders was overseer Matsuda Gonzo, who glared at the laborers while bellowing in a loud, hoarse voice. True to his nickname “Red Demon,” Eiji thought, *This guy’s more softhearted than he looks*, as he lay flat on his back right before Matsuda’s eyes, clasped his hands behind his head, and let out an exaggerated yawn.

“Hey, you there, brat!” Matsuda stabbed the air with his stubby, thick finger pointing at Eiji. His face turned red and his eyes bulged nearly out of their sockets, but when he realized it was Eiji, he abruptly swung his finger toward the other laborers and bellowed even louder: “Hey! You stray mutts! Get movin’ already! Keep dawdlin’ and I’ll snap every bone in your hands!”

Eiji snorted derisively. The summoned laborers numbered thirteen. Young Saiji served as foreman, with Yohei counted among them. Rain persisted for three days straight, as did repairs on the bamboo fence. On the second day Eiji joined the work crew while Yohei was conversely excluded; though reunited on the third day, they found no opportunity to speak.—Observing carefully now, Yohei revealed himself as a shriveled little man who might have been around forty years old yet bore the wrinkled face and desiccated limbs of one approaching sixty. His voice stayed low and gentle, his speech deliberate and guarded; even when laughing he trailed others by half a breath, perpetually conducting himself to escape notice.

When the rain cleared and they returned to embankment work, Yohei approached Eiji again during the afternoon break. “Must be bothersome—a young man like you having to listen to an old fool’s rambling,” Yohei said. Eiji gave a slight shake of his head. His eyes remained fixed on the sea—still choppy and silt-clouded from the recent downpour—never turning toward the man beside him. “Eight years back it was—third day of the ninth month in Kanoe-Tatsu’s year, yes,” Yohei began. “That June they’d minted new silver coins, sent currency rates lurching wilder than drunkards at festival time. My shop took a considerable hit. Then came three flawed bolts in my latest order—cheap Isesaki tsumugi stripes they were. One meant for women’s wear had dye splotches and came up short by half a shaku.”

As usual, his wife began cursing him. “You’re a jinx! You’ll ruin this shop soon enough!” she railed, then shoved him in front of their watching children. He had been standing at the edge of the shop’s raised floor when the force of his tumble down to the earthen floor made his head strike the threshold, cutting his temple by about an inch. “When I saw the blood on my hand, frustration seemed to cloud my vision, and I tried to lunge at my wife—but one’s nature can’t be helped. I brushed the dust from my kimono and set about tending to my own wound.”

His whole body trembled with frustration, and the overflowing tears would not stop. That night, as he reflected on everything from his days as an apprentice to the ten years since becoming a son-in-law, he resolved there was no worth in living like this—he might as well kill his wife and himself. Then he quietly rose and retrieved a travel sword from the storage room. It had belonged to his deceased father-in-law, and since it hadn’t been unsheathed in years, rust coated the blade. Clutching the bare sword, he returned to the bedroom and shook his wife awake. When she opened her eyes and saw the unsheathed blade, she screamed, leapt up, and fled through the kitchen door to the rear garden, knocking over sliding doors and paper screens in her panic.

“The speed of her!” Yohei chuckled under his breath. “—Like a cat gone mad with its tail aflame, I tell you. Yes, I gave chase, but that wife of mine kept hollering ‘Murderer! Murderer!’ as she battered through the alley gate, dashed into the main street, and kept screeching ‘Help! Murderer!’ till her voice near tore her throat raw.” Neighbors came pouring out, and with Yohei brandishing that bare blade, bedlam broke loose. Some grabbed six-foot staves and laundry poles, others sprinted for the guardhouse, while his wife—sheltered by the crowd—kept up her murderous wails.

“Since I had a sword, they dragged me straight to the guardhouse,” Yohei continued. “My wife kept listing off things that never even happened, insisting she wanted a divorce because if she left me be, I’d surely kill her and the children. I was still in a rage, so I shot back that whether we divorced or not, I’d definitely kill you—and well—that’s how I ended up being sent to this workhouse. Yes.”

"What a terrible woman," Eiji muttered inwardly. As he recalled being dragged to the guardhouse himself, anger welled up, twisting his face. “Since coming here, I’ve come to understand many things,” Yohei said with a sigh. “To my wife, I must’ve truly seemed like a jinx, and to the children, I was just a useless old man. People see and think about things differently based on their nature. I only ever pitied myself—never considered how my wife and children felt. Now I realize it was my fault all along. Yes.”

Eiji grew frustrated—that was why even his wife looked down on him—and felt like shouting. He was truly about to shout when the foreman’s voice called out, “Begin!”—and contrary to what he felt in his heart, Eiji turned to Yohei and said in a low voice, “I’m Eiji.”

“Good to meet you,” Yohei said. “I’ll be in your care.”

Part 6-1

One night in late February, Jirokichi started making a commotion in the mokko room. His money had disappeared from his bundle, he claimed. The room had partitioned storage spaces for each occupant, and they were permitted to keep personal belongings themselves. Money earned since arriving on the island was held by the authorities—only a ledger was provided, with monthly totals calculated—but funds brought initially or sent by acquaintances could be kept on one's person. This exemplified how the workhouse differed from prison: those deemed well-behaved could wear everyday clothes, go out, and meet visitors. Consequently, most inmates seemed to possess at least some money.

“Search properly,” one of the laborers said. “I ain’t never heard of money gettin’ stolen on this island before—not once.” “But it’s not here, so there’s nothin’ I can do!” Jirokichi said, still rummaging through his bundle. “I swear I put it in my wallet and tucked it between these clothes.” As he listened to this exchange, Eiji thought, Oh? He’d thought the face looked familiar, but now Jirokichi’s voice struck a chord too. He turned around, recognizing that obsequious yet cunning tone—one he was certain he’d heard before.

“Hey! Your storage space is right next to mine,” said the laborer from earlier. “You’re not trying to pin this on me, are you?” “That’s ridiculous!” Jirokichi shook his head vehemently as if rejecting the absurdity. “Suspectin’ you? I ain’t got a speck o’ that intention! I just put my money here—wallet an’ all—right where it shoulda been.” “Hey, Jirobei,” said one of the other laborers who had been lying down, still prone as he spoke. “—What’s that about to fall outta your pocket there?”

"Huh?" Jirokichi said, looking down at his chest, found the wallet about to fall out, and opened his mouth in surprise.

“Well now…” he scratched his head, “This here’s a colossal blunder. Come to think of it, when I opened my bundle earlier, I’d completely forgotten I’d slipped this into my pocket. Mortifying—what a laughingstock I’ve made of myself just now.” “What’s so goddamn funny? Quit your bullshit!” the first man barked sharply. “Coming here spouting baseless suspicions—that’s the real joke! You think you can pull this shit and walk away, bastard?”

“Wait a second,” Jirokichi thrust one hand forward while backing away, his voice oozing false deference. “I ain’t never suspected you for nothin’—no way! I was just sayin’ what a damn fool I am—that’s all!”

Having heard that far, Eiji stood up. And as he walked toward Jirokichi, he called out, “Brother Katsu.” Jirokichi turned around, and the laborers who had been nearby also looked toward the two as if something were amiss. “Among your companions, you were called Brother Katsu, if I recall,” Eiji said. “I’ve got something to discuss. Step outside.” “What? Why?” Jirokichi squinted his eyes and stuttered badly, “I’m Jirokichi—don’t know any Brother Katsu.”

“Step outside and you’ll see.” “You’ve got the wrong guy.”

"I said get out!" Eiji raised his fist and punched Jirokichi in the face. "You might've forgotten, but I remember—Six the Procurer. Don't wanna step outside? Should I spill your dirty deeds right here?" "I-I..." Jirokichi's tongue seemed frozen—the words wouldn't follow. He scanned the surrounding men like a drowning man clutching at straws. "Help me, brothers—this man—"

He started to say something, but when he saw nothing but scorn and hatred on every face around him, he suddenly leapt down to the dirt floor, threw open the sliding door, and bolted outside. Eiji immediately gave chase, with nearly all the laborers in the room following close behind.

A mad cat with its tail on fire. While chasing after Jirokichi, he recalled Yohei’s words, but rather than finding humor in the situation, he was only infuriated by the man’s cowardice and spinelessness. The courtyard was dark, and the shoji screens of the guardhouse across the way were dimly lit by the light cast upon them. Jirokichi had likely intended to rush there, but midway, he ended up being caught by Matsuda Gonzo. “Help me!” Jirokichi’s tearful plea could be heard. “They’re going to lynch me! Please, hide me somewhere!”

Eiji ran up to them. Only when he had come that far did Eiji realize that the one holding Jirokichi was the Red Demon; he stopped and clenched both hands into fists. "So I hear you're planning to lynch this man," Matsuda said in his gravelly voice. "-Quite a crowd you've gathered. Does it really take this many of you to deal with one worthless bastard?" "Please hand over that man," Eiji said. "It's just me involved-the others are only here to watch."

“You’re that Bushu brute,” Matsuda growled. “What grudge you got against this bastard?” “Ain’t your concern.” Eiji’s voice dropped low and hard. “Hand him over.”

And he lunged at Jirokichi.

Six, Part Two Jirokichi tried to circle around behind Matsuda Gonzo, but Matsuda used the hand that was holding him to shove him toward Eiji instead. "No violence!" Matsuda bellowed in his gravelly voice. "No violent acts! Fighting and brawling are prohibited! People must endure—those without patience lose out! Hey! You there, Bushu! Get a grip!" Eiji struck Jirokichi’s head from both sides—with both fists clenched with all his strength, hitting from the right and then from the left. Each time, Jirokichi’s body staggered left and right, but suddenly he let out a strange scream and lunged forward. Eiji hooked his leg around Jirokichi’s and flung him down, pinned him by straddling his body, then pummeled his face from both sides.

“Help me!” Jirokichi cried out in a tearful voice. “They’re going to kill me!” Matsuda approached and tapped Eiji’s shoulder. “That’s enough. If the magistrate finds out, it’ll mean trouble. Stop here.” Eiji stopped punching and remained pinning Jirokichi down while breathing harshly, but soon rose to his feet and retreated toward the pitch-dark courtyard beyond, as though fleeing from the people gathered there. He went south past the front of the tenements, passed by the sick ward and women’s ward, continued to the water’s edge where shore protection work was underway, and sat down on the withered grass there. He kept his eyes closed until his breathing subsided. A mere five or six feet away, the waves lapping against the shore whispered softly, and a faint breeze carried the briny scent of the tide.

He shouldn’t have done it. He opened his closed eyes and muttered with a sigh. What was the point of doing that? For a spineless bug like him—spitting would’ve sufficed.

In the dark sea beyond, lights from night-fishing boats shimmered on the water's surface. He'd initially counted three or four, but as he kept watching, dozens became visible—some distant pinpricks, others closer flares, a few motionless while most drifted with the currents. "Onobu-san," Eiji murmured to the boat lights, "I beat that Six bastard for you. Your sister must've been a damn fool to die over some spineless coward."

Onobu-san did not lose. She had not lost to Six or his ilk; it was said she'd even intimidated her parents. "When you're poor like us, sometimes your own parents are more terrifying than strangers," Onobu had said. That might be true—he knew nothing about his own parents, but for ten long years he'd revered and trusted Yohbei as his master. Watabun, who'd even been close with those in the inner quarters. They'd actually treated him—it was her own parents and shiftless brothers who drove Onobu's sister to that lovers' suicide. Sabu had a family home in Kasai with grandparents and siblings, yet no place there for him to live. "What does this mean? What in the world does this mean?" Eiji asked inwardly, addressing no one.

“What’s wrong?” came a voice as someone approached from behind. “Having regrets?” Red Demon, huh, Eiji thought, but he didn’t respond. “Why’d you beat that shitty bastard?” Matsuda asked, remaining standing to his right. “Got some grudge in Shaba?” “Ain’t your business.” “Heard that line before!” Matsuda barked back, then exhaled heavily before continuing more evenly: “—The men say you’ve been calling him ‘Procurer Six.’ What’s that about?”

Eiji remained silent. Matsuda stomped his foot heavily and spat out some garbled words. "I let you have at that bastard," said Matsuda Gonzo. "That ass-kissing piece of shit's so goddamn worthless—just lookin' at his mug makes me wanna retch. That's why I let you pound him." "Plus I like ya. Heard you got some bigwig watchin' your back, but I ain't the type to piss myself over that crap. I let your little rebellions slide 'cause I fancy ya myself. Hell, even tonight—if I'd wanted, I could've had you strung up proper. Get me, Bushu?" Matsuda said as he plopped down right there.

“Tell me about that bastard—seems he’s got other crimes in Shaba,” Matsuda said. “You tell me what you know, I’ll dig out his true colors. How ’bout it, Bushu? Let’s hear your story.”

Eiji remained silent, then soon stood up and began walking toward the tenements. Matsuda also immediately stood up and caught up, grabbing Eiji’s shoulder from behind.

Six, Part Three “Wait, you bastard.” Matsuda bellowed this, then with the hand gripping his shoulder, spun Eiji’s body around to face him and slapped him across the cheek with his open palm. “Don’t you dare look down on me!” Eiji let his strength go and stared at Matsuda’s face, his hands hanging limp. Matsuda raised his hand to strike again, but—perhaps thinking something of Eiji’s demeanor—slowly lowered the raised hand and shoved the shoulder he had been gripping. “You’re a bastard who gets under my skin,” Matsuda said through gritted teeth. “Here I went out of my way to— What’s the damn point—” He stomped his feet and shouted, “Just get the hell out of here!”

Eiji returned to the tenements.

The laborers in the mokko room all came to regard Eiji with deference. Jirokichi’s Six, fearing catching Eiji’s eye, would try to stay as far away from him as possible not only when in the room but even if their workspaces overlapped, and he always appeared to be hunching his shoulders. Among them all, only the young foreman Saiji was not like this. He showed open hostility toward Eiji, and even in assigning tasks or during work, he treated only Eiji with particular harshness. His gaze and demeanor blatantly conveyed the message: "Come on, what do you say? Still not gonna give in?"

In response to these changes around him, Eiji showed no reaction. He never looked at Procurer Six again, spoke to no one, and shut himself away tightly within himself. No matter what malicious things Saiji did, he never resisted—but it was clear to everyone that this was not submission but utter disregard. That must have further irritated Saiji and driven him to anger, for one day when the shore protection work was nearing completion, he lost patience and challenged Eiji. It happened when Eiji was carrying a stone for the stone wall—a roughly eighteen-kilogram granite rock with a chipped corner. As he walked with the stone shouldered on a quilted cloth and steadied with both hands, Saiji came up from behind and shoved him in the back with both palms. Eiji lurched forward and fell down as if trying to catch the stone slipping from his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with you, bastard?” Saiji bellowed. “Can’t even carry a puny rock properly? Slack off again and I’ll make you regret it!”

Eiji turned to look up at Saiji, then slowly rose to his feet. His movements were sluggish, like someone rousing from sleep—but as he stood and made to brush the mud from his hands, he suddenly drew back his right elbow and drove his fist into Saiji’s face with all his might. The blow landed square on the bridge of Saiji’s nose. As he reeled, Eiji crouched low and slammed his forehead into the man’s chest. Saiji collapsed onto his back, clutching his nose with one hand while shouting incoherently, his body arching like a bent bow as he tried to rise. Eiji stomped on his face and kicked him when he tried to twist away. There was no restraint—no mercy. With his straw-sandaled feet, he ground down on Saiji’s face and chest, kicking him up only to crush him again.

“Stop it already, brother.” Kinta grabbed Eiji from behind in a bear hug and pulled him away. “Please stop—you’ll kill the foreman!” Saiji arched his blood- and mud-smeared face backward and lay stretched out on his back on the ground, gasping with his mouth agape as if he had lost consciousness.

“Let go,” Eiji said to Kinta. “It’s embarrassing—release me.” From the opposite direction, Kojima Ryojiro, the watchman, came running with a six-foot staff. Seeing this, the laborers who had been watching the commotion quickly scattered away, and Eiji picked up the padded cloth that had fallen to the ground and slung it over his shoulder, then hoisted the tumbled stone back up. “What is the meaning of this?” Kojima, who had rushed over, said in a sickly-sweet voice, “Who did this violent act? Who caused such trouble? Who was it?”

The laborers were each engaged in their work, and none responded to Kojima’s summons. Noticing the two other foremen, Denkichi and Kurata, at the edge of the construction site, Kojima went over to investigate the circumstances. With an air of knowing nothing, the two came over here with Kojima, and the three of them carried Saiji away. “You’re strong, brother,” said one of the laborers in his thirties to Eiji. “If you’re gonna do somethin’, gotta go all out like you did. First time in ages my chest’s felt this clear.”

Eiji didn’t even look at the man and continued carrying stones in silence, as though he hadn’t heard a thing. The laborers stole furtive glances at Eiji with looks mingled with admiration and fear, but only a man named Yohei wore a sorrowful expression, occasionally looking at Eiji and shaking his head. It looked as though he were pitifully saying, "If only he hadn’t done such a thing."

Six, Part Four

Saiji spent over ten days in the sick ward. During that time, March arrived, and a middle-aged man named Kyushichi was appointed as foreman in place of Saiji.

Eiji received no reprimand. Naturally, the laborers did so, and even Saiji seemed to have concealed the facts. At that time, there were laborers nearby—someone might have seen that he himself had thrown the first punch. He likely kept silent because speaking up would have put him at a disadvantage, but in reality the officials seemed to know, as Ritsumatsu Hakuō, the Shingaku teacher, touched on the matter during his lecture.

At this labor camp, there was a Shingaku lecture once every ten days. The venue was the government office’s hall, where female detainees also attended alongside the men. The lectures weren’t complicated—they resembled life lessons using old tales and anecdotes—but the laborers universally despised them, never attending unless pressured each time. When even a handful of women appeared among the crowd, some men would eagerly come to listen, though on such occasions they’d let the lectures wash over them while staring fixedly at the women, until eventually the teachers began prohibiting female attendance altogether.

On the night of March 5th’s lecture, Eiji was specifically summoned to attend by Okayasu Kihee, superintendent of the government office clerks. It happened to be his every-other-day bathing day, and in his drained post-bath state, he felt reluctant to go, but having been specifically summoned and never having attended before, he had no choice but to go listen.—The hall was about thirty tatami mats in size, located on the south side of the government office, with an entrance from the veranda facing the inner courtyard. There were about fourteen or fifteen men besides Eiji, and likely a similar number of women. The two groups sat divided to the left and right of the hall, with the teacher’s seat positioned in the center.

Ritsumatsu Hakuō was a corpulent old man of about sixty years. His large bald head and round face—seemingly ready to burst—glistened with an oily brown sheen, while his thick lips shone an ominous deep red. Having imagined a Shingaku teacher would be someone gaunt and austere, Eiji found his expectations thoroughly upended and darkly amusing—this guy was quite the character, he thought. In one corner of the hall sat Kojima Ryojiro the watchman, two government office clerks, and among them, the face of Okayasu Kihei could be seen.

Teacher Ritsumatsu’s lecture was tedious. He alone grew animated, moved by his own words as he spoke—nodding with forced emphasis at phrases like "Yes! This! This is humanity’s true path!"—and violently slapped his knee with a folding fan. He endlessly rambled about what the Classic of Filial Piety says, what Shingaku teachings preach, what some Tang dynasty nobody had done—stories he’d clearly neither read nor heard properly—and bizarre songs, all while repeating that these were truly how humans ought to live. Eiji was fighting back yawns when Hakuō suddenly raised his voice and roared, "A general called Kimura from the Toyotomi clan let a tea servant smack his head and endured it!"—making him jolt upright.

"A general of considerable stature had his head struck by a tea servant!" Hakuō glared around at the seated audience with wide, intimidating eyes. "—But Kimura Shigenari remained silent. He did nothing—didn’t even make a pained expression. This is what distinguishes true character. Whether the tea servant remained a mere tea servant is beside the point here—Shigenari became a general and standard-bearer in the Osaka Campaign. Though he fell in battle against our Tokugawa forces, he achieved such renown that his name lives on in history."

“I don’t expect everyone here to become someone like Shigenari,” Hakuō continued, “—but I hear there’s one among you who, after being subjected to a mere prank, nearly beat the other man to death.” Eiji quickly glanced toward the magistrates’ officers’ seats. However, no one was looking this way, and Okayasu Kihee had his face tilted upward, his eyes closed. “I wish to ask that man,” Hakuō continued, glaring around at his audience, “—what might have happened had he simply laughed off the prank? Even if provoked twice or thrice, had he kept deflecting it with laughter, the other would’ve lost steam and surely apologized in the end. Yet that man nearly killed him—he couldn’t help himself, I suppose. But tell me—what follows now? Vendettas were outlawed across the realm because a child whose parent was slain would resent the killer; if that child then slew the killer, the slain killer’s child would target them in turn. This endless cycle makes society itself unsustainable.”

“But resentment cannot be suppressed by laws alone,” Hakuō continued fervently, stroking his forehead with his right hand. “—The man who was nearly beaten to death may feel no remorse for his own mischief and instead harbor hatred, seeking revenge against his assailant.” Here, the teacher lowered his tone in an attempt to infuse his voice with sincerity. “—When a fire breaks out, you tear down the house in its path to stop the flames. In other words, you prevent a great fire by sacrificing one home.”

Having heard that much, Eiji stood up. Feeling the weight of everyone’s gazes on his back, he silently left the hall and returned to the laborers’ quarters. The teacher’s lecture had undoubtedly been directed at him; Okayasu Kihee had likely summoned him for that very reason. They were so damn preachy—how ridiculous, Eiji thought. If what I did was wrong... There’s no need... I'm not some... I am none other than Eiji the scroll mounter—a man branded a thief...

“You ever been through something like that yourself? I should’ve asked him that.” Eiji lay on his side with his arm as a pillow, muttering under his breath: “When I stood up earlier, I thought about punching that bald fraud’s head clean off—and if the bastard got angry, I’d tell him to practice some patience this and patience that. Hah! Not that it’s Yohei’s way of talking, but when it’s someone else’s pain, you can put up with it for three years straight—so don’t go spouting off lectures about pain you’ve never felt!”

As he muttered this, Eiji felt the back of his eyes grow hot and tears begin to overflow. Shutting out everyone and convinced that the whole world and every person in it was his enemy, he suddenly pitied himself—this self barricading within a hard shell. The other laborers had already gotten into their beds, some among them snoring. As he listened to those snores, Eiji was overcome by a suffocating loneliness—as though he alone had been left behind in this vast world—and while desperately stifling his sobs, crawled into his futon still fully clothed.

Saiji, who had emerged from the sick ward, kept his face wrapped in bleached cotton cloth from the mouth up, glaring incessantly at Eiji through the eyeholes left in the fabric. His eyes held the look of someone poised to pounce at the slightest opening. "You can kill a man with just one needle," Saiji told one of the laborers. "There's a pressure point right above the crown of your head—stab there and he'll drop dead. No wound left behind, so nobody'd ever know."

"I’ve crippled five men out in the world—if I set my mind to it, I can take on three at once in a fight," he boasted. He went on with other intimidating boasts, but Eiji neither looked his way nor gave any sign of having heard. “You need to be careful,” Yohei whispered on one occasion. “—That Saiji was stripped of his foreman position, so his grudge isn’t some petty thing. Best keep your distance, Eiji-san.”

Though he had let it slip, Yohei hastily explained that he would never reveal the name "Eiji-san."

The shore protection work was completed, and the cleanup afterward took about seven days. On the evening of the fifteenth, as he returned to his room and was washing his hands and feet, Kojima Ryojiro came to summon him, saying, "Come here for a moment." Eiji wiped his hands and followed after Kojima. As they rounded the government office building, there was a guardhouse beside the gate facing Ōkawaguchi. When they reached the front of it, Kojima stopped and waved toward the guardhouse.

“There’s someone who’s come saying they want to see you,” said Kojima. “It’s past visiting hours, but special permission was granted. Go on and meet them.” He spoke in a viscous, reluctant tone. Eiji entered the guardhouse still clutching the hand towel. The earthen-floored area bent at a right angle, with a wooden section spanning about six tatami mats beyond which lay a room visible through paper screens. At the edge of this wooden platform where an elderly guard was lighting an oil lamp, Sabu sat with a wrapped bundle beside him. The dimness of the earthen floor and Eiji’s complete lack of expectation made recognition impossible at first glance.

“Eij-chan,” Sabu called out in a low, trembling voice. “Ah, thank goodness… I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”

Eiji started and opened his eyes wide. Sabu stared at Eiji with a pleading expression, and as if the remaining words had caught in his throat, he hurriedly wiped his plump cheeks. And just as he swallowed and was about to call out again, Eiji whirled around and strode outside. “Eij-chan, what’s wrong?” Sabu chased after him, crying out, “It’s me! Sabu! Eij-chan!”

“I don’t know any such person!” Eiji shouted back as he strode away. “I ain’t got nobody in this world I know! The name Eij-chan ain’t mine no more! Get lost!”

"Eij-chan," came Sabu's sorrowful voice from behind. Eiji pursed his lips tightly and walked toward the tenements with a hard expression, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

6-5

As soon as he returned to the laborers' quarters, Kojima Ryojiro came chasing after him. Kojima was holding a cloth-wrapped bundle and said, "This is a delivery for you from that man earlier." Eiji looked at the bundle with cold eyes but stubbornly refused it, insisting that person was someone he didn't know and there was no reason to accept such a thing.

“I see,” said Kojima. Kojima nodded but continued staring at Eiji with probing eyes and said, “But just to be thorough—that Sabu was worried about whether your cold had gotten better.”

Eiji’s expression froze. His eyebrows, eyes, and mouth became as still as a mask; then he abruptly turned his face away. “Even so, you still claim he’s a stranger?”

“I don’t know,” Eiji answered in a hoarse voice. “I’ve never seen him either.” “In that case, shall we have the office dispose of this delivery?”

“Do as you please,” Eiji replied.

That night after lying down to sleep, Eiji muttered "Idiot" over and over. The bedding was regulated at five futon covers per three people sleeping together, but since there were more covers than needed, the three foremen, Eiji, Jirōkichi the procurer, and about two others each slept alone. Has your cold gotten better—he says, Eiji muttered in a whisper beneath his futon cover pulled over his head—he hasn’t changed a bit. Just because I had a cold back then—nearly a hundred days had passed—and he’s still asking if I’ve recovered.

"What a fool," he muttered as he gripped his futon cover, desperately holding back the sobs rising in his throat.—Catching a cold at the worst possible time, he’d been tormented by sneezes and a runny nose. For the first time in his life, he had suffered cruelty, and when he was in such a state of grief and rage that he felt there was no place for him in the world, sneezes had come upon him, and his nose had run. It was like Niki Danjo in a play sneezing during a sword fight—Eiji thought this and tried to laugh, but then the parlor of Watabun rose before his eyes. The image of himself sneezing in that unheated parlor, then the boss and his underlings forcing their way in—and being dragged out onto the snow-covered road, where they savagely beat him, stomping and kicking. Next came the guardhouse—these memories rose vividly in his mind, and he felt every blood vessel in his body swelling with rage.

“Damn it.” Eiji clutched the futon cover with both hands as he ground his teeth. “Just wait and see what I’ll do—you’ll all see what I’ll do soon enough.”

A few days later, seventeen of the laborers from the workhouse began being sent out to work beyond the island. Those permitted outside work were strictly limited to those deemed well-behaved and unlikely to flee. Eiji wasn't selected and remained behind to do other tasks, which let him observe and experience various crafts within the compound. Burning oyster shells into lime proved arduous enough, but oil pressing stood as the most grueling labor—even men of exceptional stamina reportedly couldn't endure it long. Other trades included carving, bamboo hat weaving, palanquin crafting, papermaking, cord braiding, sandal plaiting, ropework, rice pounding, carpentry, plastering, farming, and charcoal briquette molding. The remaining workhouse inmates assisted these operations—unloading materials from boats, loading finished goods, filling gaps where extra hands were needed.—Eiji did as he was ordered but never took any initiative himself. Five workers occupied the room producing cheap karakami paper, perpetually swamped with orders, yet Eiji alone refused to touch this work. Though commanded by foremen and even assigned guard duty nearby, he'd only shake his head and keep his distance. That particular task filled him with despairing rage—that was why.

“Brother, y’know what?” Kinta said one time. “Saiji’s been transferred to Denmacho.” As they loaded straw sacks filled with oyster-shell lime from the kiln yard onto the ship, both became coated in ash from head to toe. “When was that?” “Three days back,” Kinta said. “Looks like Brother didn’t know ’bout it.”

“Why was he transferred?” “Seems like he was doin’ shady business and got found out for hidin’ stuff,” Kinta said with a knowing air. “Don’t know details proper-like, but heard he pulled some big job first, then did a small-time crime to cover his tracks and sneak into the workhouse. That’s the gist I got.”

“Don’t go on about such stories,” Eiji said. “But that Saiji bastard held a grudge against Brother,” Kinta said. “He always looked like he’d go for your throat given half a chance.” “So what?” Eiji hoisted a straw sack onto his shoulder. “I’ve been waiting for that!” Kinta’s jaw went slack.

7-1

How pitiful, Eiji thought. He had intended to face Saiji again—back then he had taken the initiative, but this time Saiji would be on guard; they could settle things on equal terms. Protecting, toiling—there was deceit in comfort and encouragement. If something happened on our side, all those hypocritical pretenses would vanish like smoke, yesterday’s smiling faces suddenly transforming into demon masks. Just because a scrap of gold brocade was found in the tool bag—a ten-year bond between hearts snapped like a kite string. Compared to that, Saiji’s resolve to make me his enemy held no deception or lies—his determination to defeat me by watching for an opening was sincere. When humans become earnestly absorbed in their thoughts, whether for good or ill, it’s genuine and admirable. This time I could face him as an equal—clash with him in earnest.

And yet now, they said his hidden past crimes had come to light.

Was there really such a thing? Just like I'd been caught, maybe he too had fallen into a trap laid by those bastards of the world. If that were true, I shouldn't have done such a terrible thing, Eiji thought.

From then on, he finally began to carefully observe the people and events around him. Saiji’s situation served as the catalyst for him to realize that everyone in this workhouse had been cast out by society. The ones here were his own comrades; while the people of the world were the enemy, those in this workhouse had been tormented by society just like him—deceived and swindled.

Yohei was driven by his wife and children to become a laborer at the workhouse. The others too must have each had their own dark and horrifying experiences. “Except for that Procurer Six bastard,” he muttered, “he’s human scum. Onobu said he fled Edo after doing his comrades dirty, but truth is, he changed his name and snuck into a place like this. Exactly the kinda thing human scum’d pull.”

Jirōkichi no Roku had been lying low ever since then. He too was never assigned to outside work, but no matter the situation, he kept his distance from Eiji, staying far away as if to avoid letting the two ends of a stick meet.—There had been a man who called out, “That felt satisfying,” when Eiji had taken down Saiji some time before. Even after that, whenever there was an opportunity, he would try to approach; Eiji never responded, but the man would often speak to him regardless. His name was Mankichi, twenty-seven years old, said to have been a member of the Ni-gumi fire brigade. He loved to fight, and in his free time would roam the Ryogoku Hirokoji area looking for brawls to pick. He would walk around.

Because of this, he had been strictly forbidden from fighting by his boss, but in September two years prior, unable to endure it any longer, he got into a spectacular fight and injured three opponents, which enraged his boss and led to his expulsion, resulting in him being sent to this workhouse. Mankichi had a habit of evaluating all things in terms of their monetary worth. “When ya took down Saiji,” Mankichi said, “Brother’s speed was worth a gold coin, no doubt.”

With remarks like "Today's weather's worth thirteen mon" or "That Jirōkichi bastard ain't worth a single copper," and declarations such as "I'd pay one bu to hear that story," Mankichi would appraise everything in monetary terms—and at times, Eiji found himself laughing despite himself.

“Just quit callin’ me ‘Brother’,” Eiji said one time. “You’re older than me.” “Brotherhood ain’t ’bout age,” Mankichi answered. “In Ni-gumi fire brigade, there was this Brother Dai-san carryin’ the standard—three years younger’n me, he was. But he was Brother through ’n’ through. When he stood at the firebreak holdin’ that banner mid-blaze—straight up—that sight was worth a thousand ryo.”

Then, as if suddenly noticing something, he said, “You spoke to me for the first time, Brother.” Indeed, from then on, Eiji gradually began to speak with others. He had never been much of a talker to begin with, and he remained as curt as ever with those he disliked, but gradually, one by one, the number of people exchanging greetings with him grew.—No one was more pleased by this than Yohei. He was assigned to the outside work detail and went out from the island every day, but he would sometimes buy sweets and began talking with two or three like-minded men while sipping tea.

7-2

One night.

Yohei brewed tea, opened a bag of cheap sweets, summoned two others besides Eiji, and began making small talk.—The workhouse laborers were given monthly wages ranging from 400 mon to 1 kanmon, and if there were necessary expenses, half of that could be used freely. The remaining half was held in custody by the authorities and handed over when leaving the island—as previously noted—and this arrangement allowed those here, like Yohei, to at least enjoy simple pleasures such as tea and sweets.

The two who had joined the tea gathering were Goichi and Isuke—middle-aged men likely around thirty-four or five. Goichi was from the farmers' quarters, Isuke from the carvers'. "I've been in this workhouse over five years now," Goichi said. "Don't aim to ever go back to society. Figure I'll live out my days here, turn to bones in this very place." "Wasn't like I chose it on purpose," Yohei said, drawing out the conversation. "Get burned by fire, you'll fear it—but can't live without fire neither."

“Well, if you liken it to fire, I suppose that’s true,” Goichi slowly nodded. “Even the dimmest fool’ll learn to handle flames eventually, but they can’t outsmart society’s tricks or cunning folk. They get worked like oxen till their spines snap—only to lose their homes and fields in the end.” “Ain’t nothin’ special ’bout it,” Isuke muttered like he was talkin’ to himself. “If we all told our tales, there’d be no end. Society’s rigged that way—nothin’ special at all.”

“But you see,” Yohei said, “that’s not how it feels to those living through it. You can’t know burn pain till you’re burned—and that pain differs for everyone. Why, some lose their nerve just seeing the sun rise.” Eiji felt his heart shrivel. There was no need to hear Goichi and Isuke’s specific sufferings; at ages that should’ve been their prime as men, they’d already given up on society and their futures. Was it these very mechanisms that crushed them which drove society? That famed magistrate—what was his name?—had preached “hate sin, not sinners.” But when Yohei tried killing his wife, where did guilt truly lie? With Yohei who swung the blade? Or the wife who drove him to it? They called this workhouse no prison, treated inmates differently than criminals—yet all here had earned society’s exile. He’d been falsely accused over gold brocade, assaulted when seeking truth, finally dumped here. Where did guilt reside here? Some poor metalworker melts small coins for materials—caught, he’s punished for destroying currency. Watabun used apprentices to shave gold coins openly. Money-changers did it everywhere—why wasn’t that a crime? The metalworker acted from poverty; Watabun from greed. “Which one’s truly guilty?” Eiji challenged inwardly, addressing empty air.

“My father died early, so I started working the fields at eleven,” Goichi recounted. “Besides my mother, there were twin brothers and a baby sister. I worked myself raw—cleared seven tan of wasteland choked with bamboo grass, channeled water to make rice paddies. The landlord promised no tenant fees for ten years if I made those fields productive.” But seven years back, the landlord came demanding payment. It was a promissory note for debts supposedly owed by my dead father—on top of tenant fees for those seven tan of new fields. Those fees had been tallied up from the year I first broke ground, and that twenty-five ryo note dated seventeen years past.

“My dead father was illiterate,” Goichi murmured, “so even if there’s a promissory note, it’s just a thumbprint—no way to tell if he really pressed it himself. And that promise of no tenant fees for ten years on the new fields? Just words—no proof. I asked everyone for help, even paid a legal advisor in the end, but realized there was nothin’ to be done.” The five tan of rice fields originally owned by Goichi’s family and the seven tan of newly cultivated fields produced the highest quality rice in the vicinity. It was due to the meticulous care of his deceased father and Goichi’s efforts that this came to be, but the landlord had grown covetous of those fields.

“My father never said a word till he died, so I don’t know if that twenty-five ryo debt was real or fake—but I know about the fields firsthand,” Goichi continued in a tone devoid of emotion. “From age eleven—a full eighteen years—twelve since we cleared the new fields—I worked till my spine nearly snapped, me and my ma and two brothers. Never even took a wife. Then one day the landlord’s agent comes with village officials—takes our fields, house, everything as collateral for that debt—orders us out on the spot. No arguments permitted. You think you can imagine what went through my head then?”

Eiji hung his head low. He clenched his teeth to avoid being noticed by the three men, tightened both hands into fists, and pressed them against his knees as if twisting them into his flesh. When he heard how Goichi had grown desperate enough to try burning down the landlord's mansion and been caught, he stood without a word and went outside.

"A full eighteen years."

He walked southward muttering, “A full eighteen years, damn it.” Eiji didn’t know how backbreaking it was to clear wasteland choked with bamboo thickets. To clear that wilderness, channel water, and forge rice paddies yielding better grain than anywhere. To labor eighteen full years without taking a wife, only to lose everything—inherited fields, hard-won new lands, even his home. All for an ancient promissory note of dubious authenticity and a verbal promise never put to paper. Could such cruelty exist? Could neighbors watch silently as this atrocity unfolded? That village must have had people who knew Goichi’s eighteen years of struggle. Yet had none lifted a hand to help? Eiji groaned.

Stars twinkled in the sky, but the surroundings were dark, with only the paper doors of the guard post tinged with lamplight. Past the tenements lay the women’s quarters—a building enclosed by a bamboo palisade where men’s entry was forbidden—but as Eiji walked by, he saw a dark figure slip out through its gate and hurry southward toward the seashore. “Ah, that’s…” Eiji muttered, stopping in his tracks. “So that’s Otoyo.”

7-3

Sabu visited without fail every fifth day. He must have come after finishing work; even though the island had a strict curfew, Sabu’s visits were permitted. Once Red Oni had said, “You’ve got a favorite backing you,” and Eiji had also sensed from other things that he was being given special treatment. However, he did not meet Sabu. The guard Komishima did not press the matter; instead, he simply brought the care package and left it in silence. Inside were sweets, grilled eel and boxed sushi, underwear and loincloths, but Eiji distributed them all without hesitation to those around him.

The first time he saw the box of grilled eel, Eiji grimaced and muttered, "What an idiot." He must have remembered how he often ate grilled eel standing at the food stalls by Wakoku Bridge in the past. That must remind him of the cashbox in the accounts office—not that Sabu would ever realize it. Eiji, of course, did not touch the grilled eel either.

One night in late April, just before bedtime, Mankichi came to Eiji’s quarters and whispered that they should go outside. Eiji nodded and stood up. After stepping outside together, he asked, “What is it?” “You know about Matsuzo and Otoyo?” “I don’t know the details,” Eiji answered, “but I’ve heard about it. Did something happen to them?” “There’s someone peeping,” Mankichi said. “It’s filthy even to talk about, but...”

Otoyo of the women’s quarters and Matsuzo, a hair-cord maker, had become involved before anyone knew it, with the woman beginning to look after the man. Matsuzo’s conduct was exemplary; designated as an outside errand runner, he could freely enter the city and would be released from the island at any time if he secured a guarantor. In the workhouse, proximity between men and women was strictly forbidden—yet no matter how severe the prohibition, there were always those who secretly shared affections. When such pairs existed, those around them pretended not to notice, making it customary to shield them from the officials’ gaze. Eiji had vaguely heard about Matsuzo and Otoyo, and one night he had even seen Otoyo slip out from the women’s quarters.

“Ever since spring came,” Mankichi said, “those two meet up some nights down by the southern shore. I heard it from Matsuzo himself—envy’s one thing, but there’s a bastard who goes spyin’ on ’em.” “Spyin’ how?” “On their meetups.” Mankichi spat before adding, “You know that oil presser Kobu, Brother?”

Eiji did not know. “The oil pressers got bodies like sumo wrestlers—all ridiculously strong,” Mankichi continued. “There’s this bastard among ’em with a nickname ‘Kobu,’ got a lump right here on his neck. He’s a damn strong brute too—ain’t never lost a fight even when takin’ on four or five guys at once.”

Matsuzo was thirty-one, and Otoyo was thirty, it was said. Once they began meeting at night to avoid prying eyes, they couldn’t go three days without seeing each other. If they could, they would have met every single night. However, Matsuzo had complained to Mankichi about Kobu spying on their meetings—a problem only recently discovered. "Peeping on folks' private affairs—it's downright filthy even to mention, right, Brother?" Mankichi snorted angrily. "I wanna pound that bastard into dust, but damn—alone I ain't got a chance in hell. We'd get flattened for sure."

“Same routine tonight?” Eiji asked. “Dunno. Dunno, but I kinda wanna go check.” Eiji started walking without a word. Mankichi, walking alongside him, whispered about bringing a stick or something. Eiji shook his head to stop him and said, “I’ll go alone. You wait here.” Of course, Mankichi wouldn’t back down. Since he’d been the one to bring it up, he shrugged his shoulders and tensed up.

It was the seaside where they had done shore protection work, with ten or so fields and a vacant lot overgrown with weeds. Once when Eiji had come to see the sea at night during construction, there had been no bamboo palisade, but now a nine-foot-high palisade ran along the shore. When the two made their way through the fields and entered the vacant lot, Mankichi tugged Eiji’s sleeve and hissed, “Shh.”

7-4 When Eiji stopped, Mankichi hunched his body and peered ahead. The sky looked as though it might rain—a starless dark night—but far out at sea, a light that seemed to belong to a fishing boat flickered a pale orange. “What’s wrong?” Eiji whispered. “Are they here?” Mankichi went “Shh” again and began walking stealthily, but after five or six steps he stopped and quietly pointed ahead. In the vacant lot where weeds had begun to grow thick, the figure of a person sitting appeared as a black stain in the darkness.

“It’s him,” Mankichi whispered into Eiji’s ear. “That’s Kobu.”

Perhaps having detected their presence, the dark figure stirred and called out, “Otoyo?” Eiji silently approached. Mankichi tried to stop him but was too late; he simply watched the situation unfold. “Otoyo?” the man across called out again. “That’s not her,” Eiji answered. “I’m from the Mokko room.” The man remained seated, turning only his head to look up at Eiji. Eiji crossed his arms and stood to the man’s right, gazing out at the sea.

“The tide’s coming in,” Eiji muttered. “So, the Mokko room,” the man asked. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t mind it.” “I’m askin’ your name.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Eiji said. “I just came to see the sea.”

The man fell silent and looked up at Eiji without a word. The sound of waves striking the stone wall before them conveyed the rising tide's swelling waters, while from far across the sea came the creak of sculling oars. "I'm supposed to meet someone here," the man said after a pause. "You being there's in the way."

Eiji muttered under his breath, "It’s a quiet evening." The man shifted. Eiji thought he would lunge if this was Kobu, but the man only moved slightly and made no attempt to rise. Eiji was growing discouraged. According to Mankichi’s account, Kobu was an uncontrollable ruffian who, jealous of Matsuzō and Otoyo’s relationship, would come to spy on their meetings and interfere. If that were true, he would try to drive me out of here. However, he didn’t move, and his tone wasn’t rough—rather, he sounded perplexed.

As Eiji found the situation odd and was about to address the man, hurried footsteps approached, and a woman’s voice called out, “Sei-san? Where are you?” The man turned around and answered, “Here,” peered through the darkness, and looked up at Eiji. The woman who had hurried over stopped when she saw Eiji there and, while catching her breath, asked the man, “Who’s this?” “He said he’s from the Mokko room,” the man answered. “Came to see the sea, that’s what he said.”

“This might sound strange,” Eiji said as he unfolded his arms from their crossed position, “—forgive me if I’m overstepping—are you the oil presser they call Kobu?” “What if I am?” “And,” Eiji gestured toward the woman with a wave of his hand, “is this one here Otoyo?”

The man stood up. While seated, his proportions hadn’t been apparent, but seeing him now standing revealed a figure far larger than Mankichi had described—over six feet tall with shoulders thick as a bull’s and muscles bulging. “What’re you really?” the man said. “Told me you just came to see the sea earlier, but that ain’t all there is to it.” “My mistake. Was my fault.” Eiji stepped back as he spoke, “Seems I heard wrong. Won’t get in your way—I’m headin’ out now, so lay off.”

And then he slowly began to walk.

As they made their way back through the fields, Mankichi—who had been hiding somewhere—emerged and fell into step beside him. “Did you hear that?” Eiji said. “Yeah, I heard,” Mankichi said, tilting his head in puzzlement. “Doesn’t make any sense.”

“You were deceived.” “That can’t be right,” Mankichi said. “Matsuzō ain’t that kinda man.” “What’d you make of what we just saw?” “That’s why I can’t figure it out.” Mankichi tilted his head and said, “What I told ya earlier ain’t just from Matsuzō—I heard it from that Otoyo woman too. We can’t do nothin’ about it ourselves. Ain’t there some way we can keep Kobu from gettin’ close?”

Eiji turned and looked at Mankichi. “Was that the woman who was there just now?” “I’ve told you this plenty of times before.” Recalling Kobu’s massive frame and bewildered tone, Eiji said to Mankichi, “You’re a decent guy.”

7-5

The circumstances soon became clear. “You were right, Brother,” Mankichi said while scratching his head. “I got tricked into being caught over two shu.” Mankichi seemed to have made thorough inquiries. In reality, it was an exceedingly simple matter: Otoyo was an amorous woman who would yield herself to any man who approached her. Kobu no Sei-san and Matsuzō had been acquainted since before, and it was said that Matsuzō had been going to spy on Kobu and Otoyo meeting. Then Matsuzō started making advances, and Otoyo grew enamored with him. Kobu was a lawless brute who resorted to violence at the drop of a hat, yet when it came to Otoyo, he became utterly powerless—doing nothing but showering her with money and goods while lacking even the energy to grow angry or jealous over her other men.

“I thought Otoyo was some kinda man-eater,” Mankichi said, “but strange thing is—she ain’t like that at all. She’s warmhearted to everybody and never does ’em dirty. Kobu’s an oil presser—pulls in the most coin at this workhouse—so he’s always showerin’ her with money an’ goods real earnest-like. But that don’t mean squat! She treats folks who ain’t given her a single worn copper exactly same as him.”

At present, Matsuzō was the most infatuated. He had earnestly resolved that once he was released back into the outside world at any time, he would take Otoyo as his wife. Therefore, it was said he had tricked Mankichi in an attempt to sever Kobu’s relationship with her. “What on earth is up with that woman?” “That’s what’s strange about it.” Mankichi spoke in a tone of utter bewilderment. “I just can’t make sense of it—I’ve talked to that woman plenty of times with Matsuzō, and every time she seemed head over heels for him. Ain’t no lie—that’s truly how it looked.”

When we inquired with the men who had been involved with Otoyo, it seemed that way with every one of them. Many of the men who left her reportedly said that she was so earnest in her affections that, as they spent time together, their true feelings would surface. “It’s a story you can find anywhere—not even funny anymore. Just stop already,” Eiji said. “I’m sorry for dragging you into such foolish business.” Mankichi bowed his head before continuing. “But listen, Brother—while I was askin’ around this time, I heard the authorities’ve got your whole background figured out. Name, age, everything.”

Eiji narrowed his eyes and looked at Mankichi.

“Seems Jirōkichi spilled the beans,” Mankichi continued. “Back when you took him down, you called him Procurer Six, right? That reached the ears of the magistrate’s officers—they wrung him dry. A bastard not worth a single copper coin couldn’t hold out for long. Under the deal that they wouldn’t dig up your past crimes, he blabbed everything he knew.”

“So that’s why, Sabu,” Eiji muttered. “Did you say something?”

“It’s nothing,” Eiji shook his head. He started to say something but, as if reconsidering, shook his head again. “—It’s nothing.”

Procurer Six must've talked about Horie's Sumiyoshi tavern. Even if he didn't mention starting fights with me and Sabu, he'd sure as hell blabbered about us drinking there regular-like. Trace that thread and Onobu'd pop up, with Hokodo workshop getting dragged into the light before you could blink. But why dig through my dirt that deep? They'd only pinned down who I was 'cause Sabu came sniffing around. Yet they ain't said squat to my face, ain't changed how they handle me one bit. What the hell's this game mean? Eiji wondered.

“So it’s this Aoki fellow,” he muttered. “Whether from the town patrol or stationed at the magistrate’s office—either way, it must’ve been that magistrate officer named Aoki who did it.”

What’s your scheme—trying to placate me like that? You think such trifles could crush my rage? This ain’t no joke—the toenail I ripped off has grown back, but the wounds tearing my heart apart still bleed fresh. Using Sabu to try coaxing me with tears—you think wounds like mine heal from that? Eiji sneered inwardly.

The rain that had started falling at the end of April continued until mid-May. The seventeen men from the mokko room who had been going out to work outside the island were said to be engaged in land reclamation at Fukagawa’s seaside, but during the prolonged rain, they couldn’t carry out the reclamation and remained cooped up in their room, lazing about. Sabu, who had been coming without fail every five days, stopped showing up after May began. Not that Sabu had been showing up to meet him—he’d only been coming to deliver packages—but now that those deliveries had stopped, Eiji found himself growing concerned. Those around them who had always been sharing in the sweets and boxed sushi seemed to have noticed as well, and several asked questions like, "Seems the visitor ain’t comin’—somethin’ happen?" Eiji could only answer that he didn’t know, of course, and grew irritated with himself for being concerned about Sabu.

When the rain stopped, the weather suddenly turned hot, and besides bathing every other day, they were permitted to perform daily ablutions. The outdoor work of the seventeen men also resumed, while those remaining in the mokko room continued to be driven by miscellaneous chores within the workhouse.

In early June, Kobu the oil presser started rampaging, causing a great commotion. Eiji was unloading straw bundles for ropes and mats from a boat with five companions when he noticed the sound of people shouting and officials running around near the ash-burning area, and casually headed over to investigate. Then Red Demon Matsuda Gonzo came waving his hand from the opposite direction and bellowed. “Don’t come here!” Matsuda shouted. “Go back, go back—you’ll get hurt!”

Kinta, who had followed Eiji, called out, “What’s the commotion, Overseer?” “Kobu Seishichi’s gone berserk!” Matsuda roared back. “He’s already taken down three men, but that bastard’s got a sledgehammer—there’s nothing we can do! We’ve got no choice but to wait till he tires himself out!”

Eiji started walking as he listened.

“Cut it out!” Matsuda ignored Eiji, waving his hand at Kinta and barked, “That bastard Kobu’s gone mad—can’t tell friend from foe anymore! Don’t get close!” Eiji walked slowly. On this side of the ash-burning area’s building stood the oil press building, surrounded by a fairly large open space where laborers and officials had formed a sparse human fence.—Kobu stood before the oil shed. He had stripped to his waist, gripping a sledgehammer in his right hand, his eyes blazing with bloodshot intensity. His bare shoulders had bull-like musculature, and the lump at the base of his left neck appeared as nothing more than a healthy swelling of flesh. From his arms to his chest was thickly covered in coarse black hair, and his hands looked twice the size of a normal man’s.

“It’s dangerous!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Stop, you brute!” Eiji pushed through the human fence and stepped forward. “Stop! Come back!” two or three men barked. Eiji advanced toward Kobu with measured steps—neither rushing nor hesitating. “You this time?” Kobu growled, tightening his grip on the sledgehammer. “Wanna end up a cripple too?” “Wait—it’s me,” Eiji replied calmly. “The mokko room guy you met that night by the southern shore.”

Kobu narrowed his eyes and glared at Eiji. “I don’t know the reason,” Eiji said, spreading out his hands to show he meant no harm, “—but surely doing this much should satisfy you. They’re all trembling in their boots—why don’t we call it quits?” “The guy from the mokko room, you said,” Kobu muttered while thinking for a moment, then jerked his chin back sharply. “So why’d you come stickin’ your nose in here?” “I remember it too.”

Kobu narrowed his eyes again. “So it was you,” he said. “The one who took down Saiji.”

“Well that’s just grand,” Eiji said. “Doing that won’t do any good—you’ll only end up hating yourself later.” “No good! Get lost! I’m bustin’ outta this island!” “Bustin’ out’s a death sentence,” Eiji replied with a wry smile. “And how you plannin’ to escape in broad daylight?” “I’ll smash anyone who gets in my way!” “You’d take on everyone here?” Eiji swept his hand in a wide arc. “That’s impossible from the start. Let’s calm down and talk—what set this off anyway?”

“Otoyo was stolen from me.” Kobu slammed his sledgehammer into the ground with a thud. “Even when that bastard Matsuzō was leavin’, I begged the overseer—begged ’im over an’ over, bowin’ my head—not to let Otoyo go! But that shithead Matsuzō stole ’er away! An’ neither the overseer nor nobody else lifted a finger to stop ’er from leavin’!” Kobu’s face twisted, tears spilling from his eyes. Eiji quietly sidled up and took the sledgehammer from his hand.

“I’m breakin’ outta this island and bashin’ that bastard Matsuzō’s skull in!” Kobu seemed unaware his sledgehammer had been taken, voice trembling on tears’ edge as he said, “Otoyo made a marriage promise with me! With her gone, there ain’t no point in livin’! Don’t care if I get caught ’n’ executed—I’ll break out ’n’ kill that bastard Matsuzō!” “I get it, I really do.” With that, Eiji placed a hand on Kobu’s shoulder. “But you can’t break out here ’n’ now—know that as well as I do, Sei-san. You’ll get yourself killed tryin’ to take down Matsuzō.”

“Ain’t scared of dyin’!” “You’re just gonna leave Otoyo to Matsuzō?”

Kobu hung his head. "If you die here, Sei-san, that bastard Matsuzō will be sitting pretty," Eiji said. Eiji earnestly stroked Kobu's shoulder. "I'm Sei-san's ally. If you'll have me, I'll help with any problem you've got. I promise—so hold on here for now."

Kobu’s Seishichi slowly turned his head and gazed at the three fallen figures.

“I’ve got the magistrate’s backing,” Eiji pressed on. “We’ll work something out with those three. Listen, Sei-san—if you’re taking punishment, I’ll take it too. A man’s promise to another man. Get that through your head, Sei-san.” Seishichi nodded without raising his face. Eiji turned and flashed the officials an all-clear signal with his hands.

8-1

“I’m thirty-one this year,” Seishichi said heavily. “Didn’t know a damn thing ’bout women till I met Otoyo in my second year here. Might sound laughable, but I been scared of ’em since I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Even lookin’ at some tiny girl’s face too long—felt like her mouth might split clean to her ears any second. —I tell you this before?” “Seems I’ve heard it,” Eiji replied vaguely. “The time you went into that rock bath with your mother.”

He was born in some part of Kōzuke Province as the third son of a poor peasant family. When he was five or six, his mother took him to a hot spring cure deep in a mountain stream near their village. There, along the river were several rocky hollows where hot springs bubbled up from their depths, forming a roofless open-air bath. As Seishichi was being held by his mother and soaking in the bath, an unknown woman entered afterward. From his position looking up from below, the moment he saw the woman step into the rock bath with one leg, he instinctively clung to his mother’s neck and screamed, "It’s a monster!" The impression from that time must have been intense, for even long after he grew up, whenever he stared at a woman’s face, it would seem as though her mouth might suddenly split open to her ears, a red tongue flicking out. Eiji had heard the story countless times—how even his mother’s mouth would split open in dreams.

“Strange thing was, I wasn’t scared of Otoyo at all,” Seishichi continued. “Maybe ’cause we first talked at night—down by the southern seaside it was, moonlit night too. This was before they started the shore work, so waves kept crashin’ through gaps in the broken stone wall, makin’ all these sand hollows. Yeah, you’d step into one of those dips and vanish from sight.” Eiji chased away mosquitoes, the clinking of his handcuffs accompanying his movements. The place was an empty room in a tenement house facing the Ōkawa River, where the two had already been confined together for over ten days. After that commotion, Eiji met with Okayasu Kihee, the chief inspector stationed at the magistrate’s office, explained the circumstances in detail, and pleaded for lenient treatment for Seishichi. In Seishichi’s violent outburst, two subordinate officials had their hand and leg bones broken, while an oil presser laborer who tried to intervene suffered a split skull. According to the doctor’s diagnosis, one subordinate with a broken leg bone might become lame, but the other two injuries weren’t serious. Since Seishichi had long been known as an uncontrollable brute, the authorities pushed hard—he nearly got sent to the oubliette. There, Eiji planted his feet and demanded they send him to the oubliette too if Seishichi went. He’d sworn on his honor as a man to share any punishment—trusting that vow, Seishichi had thrown down his sledgehammer. A man had believed in another man; betraying that was unthinkable. Regarding Otoyo’s situation that sparked the incident, Overseer Matsuda Gonzo faced scrutiny and laborers underwent questioning. True enough, Seishichi had begged the overseer about Otoyo. But from the overseer’s view, Matsuzō could establish a household now that he was back in society, while Seishichi still had time left before leaving the island. Once it became clear they couldn’t refuse if Otoyo wanted to go, Eiji’s stance prevailed—Seishichi got thirty days’ confinement in handcuffs. Before Eiji received matching punishment came endless bureaucratic wrangling—so much it grew tiresome—with inquiries reportedly sent from Workhouse Magistrate to Town Magistrate. Though wholly unprecedented, this too happened through Eiji’s stubborn insistence.

In this way, over ten days, the two spent their time confined together—but upon living and sleeping side by side, they came to realize that Seishichi was not the uncontrollable ruffian he was reputed to be, but rather an exceedingly gentle and timid person, foolishly kind to the core. He ran away from his hometown at fifteen, working as a construction laborer and day laborer, and made his way to Edo at twenty-two. Here too, he had neither the wit nor the skill to do anything beyond construction labor or day labor. He was always mocked by others, exploited, and cast aside once a job was done. And then four years ago, after getting into a fight with three men and injuring them, he was beaten by a crowd of laborers and handed over to the officials.

He had no guarantor and could not speak of his hometown, so he was treated as a vagrant and confined to the workhouse for a term of five years. "It was only after coming here that I could finally live like a human being," said Seishichi. Oil pressing was grueling labor, but through the endurance of his peasant upbringing and his exceptional physical strength, he had become unmatched by anyone. Now there was no one who mocked him; if anything, he was rather feared. Seishichi even said he wanted to spend his whole life there.

“Women’re wondrous things—ain’t nothin’ finer in this world than a woman,” Seishichi went on. “—First time I laid hands on Otoyo’s body, she was so soft-like I near feared she’d melt clean away if I gripped too firm.” This telling too was repetition, yet however often Seishichi recounted it, he never wearied of the tale nor seemed to lose its first-blush wonder. “An’ that voice o’ hers—can’t rightly put words to it. Every time that voice comes ringin’, feels like my head’s set to spinnin’ clean off.”

Footsteps sounded from outside, and the shutters were opened. Then, the wind blew in with the evening light, and the briny scent seeped refreshingly into the room’s stifling air.

The one who entered was not the usual subordinate officials but Okayasu Kihee, the chief inspector.

“Convict, someone’s come who wants to see you,” Okayasu said. “I’ll have your handcuffs removed—come out.”

8-2 The chief inspector had come himself—likely to leave no room for refusal. Perceiving this, Eiji did not respond. When Okayasu Kihee turned around, the regular subordinate entered and removed Eiji’s handcuffs.

“These mosquitoes are dreadful,” Okayasu said to the subordinate. “Burn some mosquito coils for them.” The subordinate looked puzzled. There was no precedent for doing such things for those in confinement. Okayasu repeated, “Burn some coils,” then nodded to Eiji and went out. Eiji followed after him, alternately rubbing his left and right wrists as he went. Where the handcuffs had chafed, a heat rash had formed. In the central courtyard, laborers who had finished work were there, looking toward Eiji with sympathy; among them were some who gave silent nods.

He had thought it was the guardhouse, but where he was taken turned out to be a small tatami room belonging to the government building. Stepping up from the veranda and entering the middle corridor to the left, he immediately found Osue sitting there on the right side. She wore a finely patterned unlined kimono dyed with small leaves and a plain brown obi, her hair tied back without oil and so deeply tanned by the sun in such a short time that her face seemed transformed—yet Eiji immediately recognized her as Osue.

“Don’t be stubborn today,” Okayasu said. “A woman has come all the way to the workhouse to see you. Think carefully on that, understand?” “Speak at your leisure until I come to call you,” said Okayasu before leaving.

The small tatami room had a window facing east and walls on both sides. Though the paper-paned sliding doors and windows facing the inner corridor stood open, little wind entered, leaving the space stiflingly hot. A round fan lay ready there, but Osue made no move to take it up. She kept a cloth-wrapped bundle at her side and sat with impeccable posture. “It’s been some time.” Osue kept her face lowered as she inclined her head slightly. “Have you been well?”

“You shouldn’t come to a place like this,” Eiji said in a low voice. “I’m not the man you knew anymore. Don’t come again.” “A letter came from Sabu-chan—that’s how I finally learned where you were,” Osue continued speaking while listening to his words. “In early May, Sabu-chan developed beriberi and went home to Kasai to recuperate. Just when we thought he’d recovered, he fell ill with stomach troubles. It seems he won’t be able to go out for some time yet.”

So since he couldn’t come to Eiji’s place either, he had written asking to have these specific items gathered and delivered. Osue kept talking as she opened the bundle and laid out undergarments, loincloths, and boxes of fruit confections. Then, for the first time, she raised her face and stared at Eiji as she cried in a whispered voice, “That’s going too far, Eiji-san!”

“Why,” Osue stammered, “—why didn’t you tell me you were here? Why didn’t you say a single word?” “I am a man caught in the defiled ropes of the authorities.” “It wasn’t your doing.” Eiji’s face tightened. “What did you say?” “Sabu-chan has written everything.” Osue licked her dry lips in agitation and spoke hurriedly, as if frustrated her tongue wouldn’t move properly: “—Ever since you vanished, Sabu-chan searched for you in every spare moment between work. I did as you told me—went back to Kanasugi. Yes, your belongings and money are all being kept safe at Kanasugi.”

Sabu, not wanting to worry her, had not informed Osue that Eiji had gone missing. On his days off and after work, Sabu tirelessly searched every possible lead, but Watabun must have taken thorough measures, for Eiji’s whereabouts could not be found anywhere—as if he had vanished into thin air. “He came to my house too,” Osue continued. “He must have come to see if there was any news on my end, but he didn’t show the slightest hint of that. Instead, he told me you had gone to Kamigata for a breather, making it sound like the absolute truth to put my mind at ease.”

As New Year and February passed in this manner, on March 2nd—the eve of the Doll Festival—an invitation came from Watabun, and Sabu went to their Honcho shop accompanying his master Yohbei. Sabu too was treated to white sake and sushi while waiting on his master, but during this time, one of the apprentices let slip that Eiji had come on that snowy evening at year’s end, been kicked and stomped by the neighborhood boss, and then handed over to the guardhouse—this was how they learned of it. After that, he went to question the guard, but the man evaded answering and stubbornly refused to state the facts. Having no other choice, Sabu went to Hatchōbori and sought assistance from the town patrol officer.

“Then Officer Aoki—he knew about you, Eiji-san. He’d been searching for your whereabouts himself too. And he told me—that you were here, that you’d grown completely stubborn and wouldn’t speak to anyone, that if you were released from the island you might cause some terrible mistake.” Why things had turned out that way was something even the inspector didn’t understand. So Sabu visited Kōwadō in Asakusa. At first, Wazuke had refused to engage with him at all, but perhaps worn down by Sabu’s persistence, he finally recounted the circumstances surrounding the gold brocade fragment.

“There’s no reason Eiji-san would ever do such a thing,” Osue said. “Even if ice were to catch fire, there’s no way Eiji-san would do such a thing—Sabu-chan wrote that emphatically.” “The fragment was in my tool bag,” Eiji said with a sneer. “I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but a man of Watabun’s standing wouldn’t lie about such a thing. Who’d believe Sabu no matter how much he rants?”

“I don’t care about that,” Osue said firmly. “Sabu-chan believes in you, and I believe in you too. Let those who want to think otherwise do as they please.” “You don’t know.”

Osue stared at Eiji’s face with her large eyes, blinking. He had kept it locked away in his chest and told no one about that incident. He knew it would be futile to speak of it—that even if he did, nothing could be undone. But now, the moment those large eyes met his, he was seized by an irresistible urge to spill everything. "You’ve no idea what it’s like," Eiji said, "to be branded a thief for something you didn’t do. I spent ten years at Hokodo—from when I was thirteen. Slept under the same roof, ate from the same pot, thought they knew me down to my soul. But the master wouldn’t even hear my excuses. No explanation—just stripped me of my work and tried to send me packing to the Asakusa shop without a word."

He told her how he had gone to Asakusa and heard the details from Wazuke; how he then got drunk and went to Honcho, collapsing in a stupor at Watabun’s shop; how when he returned there again, Watabun summoned the I-gumi boss and two youths who dragged him outside, beat him mercilessly in the snow, and handed him over to the guardhouse; how even there, he had been nearly beaten to death by an informant who happened to be present. “Please, Eiji-san, stop.” Osue turned pale and, trembling, tried to stop him. “I don’t want to hear such terrible things—please stop.”

Eiji glared up at the ceiling and bit his lower lip hard with his teeth. His hands on his knees had become fists, clenched so tightly that the knuckles were drained of blood and appeared whitish. "Why they pinned the thief’s crime on me, who plotted it—there’s one thing I can guess," Eiji continued. "No proof mind you, but I was close with the inner circle at Watabun—like childhood friends with the two daughters. There was even talk that me and one of ’em might marry someday. Ain’t no joke—I never had a speck of such feeling. Truth is—I’d already set my heart clear on another. Someone I’d decided would be my wife."

Osue lowered her eyes, but her pale face stiffened, and the trembling of her body did not stop. "However, Watabun doesn't know my true feelings, and those strange rumors spreading would be a nuisance for them. It wouldn't be strange if they decided to take measures to keep me from approaching the shop," Eiji said. "Of course, this is just conjecture—there's not a shred of evidence. But what else could there be? Who else would plant an old gold brocade fragment in my tool bag and force an innocent man to shoulder the blame? What other circumstances could demand such a thing? I've thought it through ever since, but there's no one who fits, no situation I can imagine that would require it. The reason I went to Watabun a second time was to make that point clear."

“Even now?” Osue asked in a stumbling, faltering tone, “Eiji-san, do you still intend to get to the bottom of it?” Eiji slowly shook his head. “No use. If I push clumsily now, I’ll end up branded a real thief. They’re Watabun’s master—I’m just some petty craftsman dismissed by my own boss. That’s why even when the magistrate kindly asked for my side at the office, I couldn’t say a damn thing. And now there’s no way left to uncover the truth. But mark my words—I’ll collect what’s owed.”

Osue looked at Eiji fearfully. "Once I'm out of here," Eiji whispered, "I'll make Watabun, the I-gumi boss and his lackeys, that informant Ota-ya and his stooge Shimazō—I'll make 'em all experience something they'll never forget for the rest of their lives. Swear on my neck—I'll do it." Osue covered her face with both hands, suppressing her voice as she sobbed, and asked in broken spurts: “—Then what becomes of me, Eiji-san?”

八の三 “Give up on me,” Eiji said, turning his face away. “I’ve liked you since the first time I saw you. And I’d decided in my heart—if I were ever to take a wife, it’d be you.” "I heard it from Sabu-chan," Osue muttered under her breath. "That’s why I had you keep my money and belongings—back then, I still intended to be with you and run a small scroll mounter’s workshop together." Eiji twisted his brows and mouth sharply as if suppressing nausea. “—But it’s over now. All accounts are settled. What I’ll do when I leave this island is exactly what I just said. I ain’t the Eiji you knew before. I’m no longer tied to you or Sabu.”

“Don’t decide that, Eiji-san.” Sobbing, Osue shook her head. “Don’t decide things like that.” “Can you make a dead bird sing?” “You’re not a bird, and you’re not dead,” Osue retorted. “I may not understand the bitter regrets you’ve endured—having no memory of them myself—but you don’t know how Sabu-chan felt searching everywhere for you after you disappeared, or how I felt reading his letters. It’s precisely by trying to understand each other there that friends and spouses exist, isn’t it?”

“As long as you’re living safe,” Eiji said, standing up. “—I’ve said my piece. Don’t come here anymore, and tell Sabu not to come either. Understand?” “I don’t know anything about Sabu-chan.” Osue wiped her tears and declared firmly, “I’ll do as I please.” Eiji left without glancing at the items spread there, silently stepping out into the corridor.

When the thirty-day confinement ended, July arrived. In the communal room, they pooled their own money to buy sake for celebrating Eiji. They had asked the overseer to turn a blind eye—Matsuda Gonzo the Red Ogre cursed them out as usual, then contributed some coins himself.

“I owe you one.” Matsuda called Eiji aside and said, “If you hadn’t stopped Kobu back then, who knows how far that crazy bastard would’ve escalated things. The bastard had it out for me over Otoyo—probably wanted to settle scores with me too. That it all calmed down after that mess was thanks to you. Late as it is, I’m giving you my thanks.” “Forget it,” Eiji said with a smile. “I didn’t do it for your sake.”

“Like hell I don’t know.” Matsuda must have taken offense—his face suddenly flushed and swelled up. “I’m lettin’ tonight’s sake slide outta gratitude. Laborers havin’ a drinkin’ party—breaks every rule since this island’s founding. If the bosses catch wind, they might ship me off to Hachijō for good. I’m a goddamn fool through ’n’ through, I tell ya.” “Don’t fret—we won’t drink enough to stagger,” Eiji said earnestly. “Why not join us yourself as lookout, Mr. Matsuda?”

Matsuda’s swollen face went slack all at once into disarray. "Don’t be absurd! As if an overseer could do such a thing!" he said, then left looking sheepish. Denshichi, the oldest of the group leaders, took charge as caretaker, and the outside errand runner procured birds and fish. With vegetables and rice requisitioned from the workhouse kitchen, they swiftly prepared meals for twenty-five people. One portion was for Kobu’s Seishichi, who was summoned when everything was ready. At the sight of a plate piled with sweet-simmered fowl and vegetables, grilled fish with pickled greens, miso soup, and white rice, a murmur of awe swept through the group. The workhouse meals—though ample—were barley rice gruel. Excepting special occasions like New Year’s zōni with salted salmon, red rice for festivals, midsummer loach soup, or Tanabata somen noodles, daily fare remained wretchedly plain. Thus even this modest feast stirred cheers. Once all had settled, caretaker Denshichi issued stern warnings before sake appeared, with Eiji and Seishichi first raising their cups.

“Thank you,” Seishichi whispered quietly to Eiji. “It’s all thanks to you. And I’m sorry for causing trouble for thirty days—please forgive me.” “We’re all in the same boat,” Eiji answered. “Let’s keep getting along from now on.” There were only two proper sake cups; the rest made do with regular mugs. Yohei, who couldn’t drink, along with two others, circulated among them, carefully portioning out servings as they poured. “Weird stuff, this,” Mankichi said, tilting his head as he sipped his sake. “Sippin’ it like medicine like this—gives ya a ticklish feelin’ right in the gut.”

“How much would that be worth in coin?” asked the man sitting next to him. Mankichi, caught up in the moment, started to answer reflexively, then suddenly caught himself and snapped, “Shut yer trap!” So everyone burst into laughter. “If we could do this even once a month,” one man said in a voice thick with conviction, “I think I could spend my whole life in this workhouse and be content.” “Damn straight,” Mankichi said. “This island’s way more peaceful than that ruthless society out there that yanks tongues from live horses.”

“I didn’t know that,” another man promptly said. “Does society really go around yanking tongues from live horses?”

At that, everyone burst into laughter again.

八の四

A peaceful hour or so passed, during which five men came to Eiji to exchange sake cups. "It's just my habit not to exchange drinks or share cups," Eiji declined, but none of the five seemed offended. They continued sipping their sake carefully as they spoke earnestly about supporting each other from now on. Nihee appeared thirty-four or thirty-five, Takeshi around thirty, while Sanpei, Kichizō, and Tomisaburō all looked to be about the same age as Eiji.

“You’ve become quite the well-liked one, haven’t you?” When it was time to sleep, Yohei came and whispered, “I’ve been here eight years now, but this is the first time I’ve seen everyone’s spirits align so well. Though I can’t drink a drop myself, seeing everyone drinking so merrily... it made me so glad I felt drunk just watching.” Eiji stayed silent awhile before asking in a tone that seemed to plumb the other’s true thoughts: “Mr. Yohei—you still mean to spend your whole life on this island?”

“That’s my intention,” Yohei answered. “I seem to be the sort who finds it hard to live in society.” And then he added: “Earlier someone said society’s so cutthroat they’d yank eyes from live horses—but there’s none of that on this island. No tripping people when they’re off guard, no outsmarting them or pulling scams. There’s nothing to gain from such things here—don’t you agree?”

Of course, there were unpleasant things here too. “There are twisted folks and spiteful bastards here too, and work you don’t want to do,” Yohei said. “But you can’t outdo others to make a profit or climb higher here—just do your share of what you’re told. No fear of being made to swallow boiling water like in society.”

“The reason I say such things,” he said with a feeble laugh, “is probably because I’m an incompetent old man—already half-dead.” “Old man or not—aren’t you still in your working prime?” “I’m forty-one,” Yohei answered. “But ever since that night I tried to kill my wife—the one I told you about—I feel like I aged twenty, thirty years in one go. No—it’s not just a feeling. My whole body’s turned into an old man’s. You might not believe it, but it’s true.”

And Yohei left for his own bed.

After lying down, Eiji thought. Among the people in this workhouse, there were not a few who said they never wanted to return to society and wished to spend their entire lives on this island. For those who were timid, lacking exceptional talent, and merely kind, life in the wider society must have been harsh. But that alone could not explain it—they had not only endured life’s hardships but had also been treated cruelly by society in various ways and pushed around relentlessly. Just as Jirōkichi the Procurer chose this island as his hideout when he feared his comrades’ vengeance—not the wider society—so too must this place have been a safe refuge for them. What pitiful people they are, Eiji thought.

“What a cruel world,” he muttered under his breath. “But I’m different—I’ll have my revenge. I’ll pay them back double for every ounce of pain I’ve been forced to swallow.”

At some point, the wind had begun to blow; the shutters rattled noisily, and a lukewarm wind swept in through the wooden walls. Eiji listened to it all as he fell asleep, enveloped in a drunkenness he hadn’t felt in a long time. "I’ll do as I please," Osue said. Osue’s face was deathly pale, her hair disheveled from a snapped hair tie. Her eyes glared at Eiji like blue flames burning. "What are you planning to do?" Eiji asked. Then Osue’s mouth suddenly stretched wide, splitting at both ends up to her ears. Inside the gaping maw glowed bright red, a snake-like tongue flickering out. Eiji’s breath seized in terror as he struggled to escape. Even while thrashing, he kept insisting, "This is a mistake." "This is Kobu’s Seishichi’s dream—it’s not me! Seishichi’s the one dreaming this!" Eiji repeated desperately.

“Brother!” someone shouted. “Wake up, Brother—the great storm’s hit, I tell ya!” When Eiji opened his eyes, the room was pitch-dark, the commotion of rising men and the wind’s ferocious roar assailing his ears. “It’ll collapse any second!” someone yelled through the darkness. “We need support beams—now!” Buffeted by gales, the entire building groaned as wooden walls warped with creaking protests. Eiji dressed and tightened his obi while shouting for calm. But his voice vanished beneath the plank roof tearing away, wind howling through gaping holes to churn violently through the room.

“That liquor!” someone shouted. “The Red Demon might’ve turned a blind eye, but the Sun Goddess didn’t—this storm’s our punishment for drinking!” “Get outside!” Eiji shouted. “Once the roof’s torn off, it won’t hold! Everyone—get outside now!”

八の五 The man who had rushed outside first shouted, “Water!” The sound was torn away by the wind and couldn’t be heard clearly, but those who went out next all began shouting frantically, "Water! Water!" Hearing this, several people hesitated to go out and were lingering in the doorway when the tenement building heaved violently upward. The sounds of wood splitting erupted one after another, and from one end, it crumbled away almost disappointingly easily. Eiji had intended to be the last one out and was standing at the doorway with those several men when he heard the sound of wood splitting. "This thing’s gonna collapse—get out!" he shouted, pushing two or three of them aside as he leaped outside. It was a perilous instant—the eaves of the collapsing building grazed his back. Outside, the water was over their ankles. Each time a gust hit, white spray would shoot up from the surface, visible even through the darkness. The people from the other tenement rooms had also come out, and though there were voices shouting something, they were completely drowned out by the howling wind. The government office and watchtower were pitch-dark and invisible, and the water was rapidly rising, already reaching halfway up their shins.

“Help me!” someone shouted. “There’s someone trapped inside the collapsed building!”

Eiji turned around. “Is that true? Who is it?” “Don’t know who,” the man said. “But there was a guy behind me who got left behind. Listen—can’t you hear the voice?”

Although the wind was from the south, the tenement collapsed toward the southwest—that is, toward the front. Just as the force pushing against it slackened, what had been leaning northeast lurched forward—or so it seemed—but when they pressed their ears closer, they heard voices shouting from beneath the collapsed roof. “Lend me a hand!” Eiji shouted. “Someone’s being crushed—hurry!” Several people came running up.

“Hey, stay with me!” Eiji screamed toward the collapsed structure. “We’re getting you out now—hold on!” Guided by the muffled cries, he grabbed every board and beam within reach and hurled them aside. Several men joined Eiji in clearing debris, astonished by how heavy and numerous the planks felt—though when standing, the building had seemed no sturdier than a slapdash shed nailed together yesterday.

“Hey, gather around!” came the Red Demon’s voice. “We’re moving the sick to the government office!”

Eiji clung to a thick square pillar—likely one framing the doorway. Mankichi hauled over a log, declaring he'd use it as a lever. Finding nothing to prop it on, he jammed one end beneath the pillar and heaved against the other with his shoulder. Somewhere another building must have collapsed; splintering wood, dull earth tremors, and distant screams pierced the air. "No good," Mankichi growled. "This pillar won't budge a hair!"

“We can’t do nothin’ unless we move this thing,” Eiji shot back. “Give it one more push—come on!” The square pillar was unexpectedly heavy, and with broken planks and beams piled on top of it, there was no sign of it budging easily. About two men came running over and, together with Mankichi, lifted the log. “Everyone, gather around!” came Matsuda Gonzo’s booming shout. “Over here—in front of the government office!” The gale carried spray that pounded painfully against everyone’s faces and hands.

“This ain’t rain—it’s seawater!” someone bellowed. “Look at this—salty as hell!” The square pillar shifted, and the three men working the log lever nearly lost their footing. Eiji pushed aside the square pillar and, while clearing away the plank fragments beneath it, called out, “You alright? Where are you?”

“Here! Hurry up!” came a reply from beneath the plank fragments. “Please hurry—I’m drowning!”

When they realized this, the water had already risen to their knees. "Hurry up!" Mankichi bellowed, and the four frantically cleared away the plank fragments and broken crossbeams. Matsuda Gonzo the Red Demon came splashing through the water and bellowed, "What the hell are you bastards doing?! Can't you hear the order to gather?!" He must have been shouting nonstop for some time—his voice had grown completely hoarse, sounding like a wheezing Derorenzaemon with a head cold.

“Someone’s being crushed!” Eiji shouted back. “Lend a hand!”

“Of all times to get yourself crushed,” Matsuda spat venomously. “What kind of dimwitted pumpkin-headed blockhead are you? Who is it?” While cursing, he stepped forward to help—and somehow they managed to rescue the man. It was Kinta, crouched on all fours beneath the interlocked pillars, half of his face twisted sideways to avoid the water yet still submerged. “That was close,” Mankichi said as he helped him up. “Wasn’t that just a breath away? Must feel like you found ten ryō right there.”

“I’m sorry—thank you all,” Kinta said, pressing down his soaked hair as he bowed repeatedly. “I thought I was done for.” “Hurry up!” Mankichi urged. Matsuda waved his hand. “Quit dawdlin’! Gather in front of the government office!” As they began walking together, Eiji felt fear for the first time. This is bad, he thought.

This island was originally a sandbar; sediment discharged from the Ōkawa River accumulated to form the sandbar, which was then built up with additional earth to become an island. The water had already risen up to their knees; if the wind kept blowing any longer, the entire island might end up underwater. When Eiji thought this, someone shouted, “When’s high tide?” “The seventh hour of dawn—around four in the morning!” came a shouted reply. “But what time is it now?”

Someone answered that it must be eight (around 6 AM), but no other voices could be heard.

In front of the government office, the water was shallow, reaching only up to the ankles or not even that; there people were swarming, and on the veranda, the figures of officials and the workhouse magistrate could be seen. The oil-paper-covered box lanterns were sheltered from the wind, so while the figures of the officials could be seen, their light did not reach the inner courtyard.

“Is everyone here?” Oka安喜兵衛 called down from the veranda. “Where are the women?”

The reply that they were all present came from the edge of the throng.

“The men are all accounted for!” Matsuda Gonzo bellowed. “Shall I tally them?”

“If everyone’s accounted for, that’ll do,” Oka said. “The magistrate’s got words for you now—settle down and listen proper.”

The workhouse magistrate was a gaunt, tall man of fifty-two or fifty-three; his status was higher than appearances might suggest, holding the rank of a subordinate magistrate under the Edo town magistrate. “I am Narushima Jiemon,” declared the workhouse magistrate in a resonant voice. “With this tempest and high tide imminent within moments, remaining here makes your survival uncertain. Therefore, by my sole authority, I shall temporarily release you all. However, since this release lacks approval from the town magistrate, you must return within seven days. Should even one person flee and fail to return, I will commit seppuku to take responsibility. Understood?”

He concluded his address by declaring three boats waited on the Ōkawa side—the sick and women were to depart first in orderly fashion. A murmur neither fully shock nor terror rose from the laborers’ ranks before dissolving into panicked retreat. Voices urging calm and order went unheeded as they surged toward the gate in disarray. Eiji found himself shoved and elbowed past building corners until he reached the landing dock’s approach along Ōkawa-facing palisades. There the human tide halted abruptly where beyond the guardhouse someone screamed without cease.

There, the government office building formed a wall, the wind somewhat weaker, and the guardhouse’s tall pole-mounted lanterns cast light while fluttering. Eiji roughly shoved through the crowd and headed that way. The one screaming was Kobu’s Seishichi; he had stripped down to his double-layered undergarment and was brandishing the same sledgehammer as before overhead.

“Get back, you bastards! Back!” roared Kobu. “Women and the sick can go—but able-bodied men stay! We’ve lived on this island! We owe it a great debt, and we’ll keep living here! Any bastard who flees this island we’re so indebted to—I’ll beat you to death! Go on—try getting past me!” “That’s right—we’re staying!” Eiji shouted at the top of his voice from within the crowd. “Even if you leave here, who knows what hell awaits if they brand you prison breakers!”

The words “prison break from the island” rang sharply in the laborers’ ears. Eiji kept shouting that they’d be branded as escapees from the island labor camp, and his words spread from mouth to mouth among them. “What nonsense is this about a prison break?” one man called out. “Didn’t Your Honor himself say we’re being temporarily released?” “Can you make them believe that?!” Eiji pointed at the man and shouted. “This release wasn’t approved by the town magistrate—it’s just His Honor’s own decision! There’s no proof it’s an emergency release! With this storm, guards must be swarming the opposite shore! If you all march over there in a pack, they’ll take one look at these polka-dotted work uniforms and brand us as prison breakers from the island! Don’t you get it?!”

“Then what’re we supposed to do?!” another man shot back. “If we stay here, we’ll just drown! If we’re gonna die anyway—” “We ain’t gonna die for sure!” roared Kobu’s Seishichi. “Your Honor and the officials are stayin’ too—you all saw with your own eyes how the ground ’round the office is higher! If we all work together, there ain’t no way we can’t protect this island!” “Even so, let those who want to flee flee,” Eiji said. “But don’t break the order—the sick and women go first.”

Hachi no Roku The intimidation from Seishichi, wielding his sledgehammer, and Eiji’s skillful verbal threats quelled the chaotic uproar, and following the sick and women, evacuees boarded three barges, which then rowed out onto the Ōkawa River without incident, leaving over seventy laborers behind.

The wind seemed to grow even stronger, the water level continued to rise unabated, and white-capped waves could be seen breaking across the courtyard square. Seishichi had them bring out all the hemp ropes, mats, and straw ropes they could find, summoned the carpenters and plasterers, and headed to the oil-pressing room.

“The oil-pressing hut is sturdy,” said Seishichi, wading through chest-deep water. “That won’t collapse in the wind—but the jars of pressed oil will get washed away.”

Eiji set to work on the government office building. There, constables and lower-ranking officers were working in full force—nailing bars to the storm shutters, securing corridor pillars with ropes, propping them up with cedar logs, while others dug drainage ditches around the building to divert the water. Eiji joined the ditch-digging and took a hoe from one of them, saying, "I’ll take over." “Hey,” said the man as he handed over the hoe. “Hey, Bushū—you went and did it, huh?”

That was Matsuda Gonzo, the Red Demon. “That was a clever way to call it a prison break from the island,” said Matsuda. “Thanks to that bastard Kobu and you—if not for that, there would’ve been deaths. You deserve a reward.” “Mine wasn’t a threat,” Eiji retorted while using the hoe. “I only said it because I truly thought so.” “So you really thought that?” “With this great storm, the people on the opposite shore are already on edge. If a bunch of us in polka-dotted work uniforms suddenly come pouring out of the boats—there’s been no official notice about this,” Eiji said. “Put yourself in their shoes—what would you think, Matsuda-san?”

Matsuda fell silent for a moment, then went off somewhere and returned with a hoe, joining Eiji to dig the ditch side by side. "You must’ve," Matsuda said, "been through some real shit." "It ain’t just me. Everyone in this workhouse—we’ve all been put through some real shit by society." "Big-mouthed bastard." Matsuda stopped working and glared at Eiji. "You always gotta put people down—you hate me that much?"

Eiji looked at Matsuda in surprise. “Me putting down Mr. Matsuda? That’s no joke—I’ve liked you from the start.” “Hmph.” Matsuda swung his hoe down with all his strength. “Flattery ain’t gonna buy you no palanquin ride!”

The surging water formed waves that overflowed the dug ditches to wash over the government office’s front courtyard, and the government office building creaked ominously. Roof tiles were blown off with a clatter, and the wind continued to roar at the eaves and canopies. The sky was pitch black, but due to the gale-force winds, clouds raced northward at an abnormal speed, and through gaps in those clouds, the occasional twinkle of stars could be glimpsed.

“Stop digging already,” came Oka Yasubei’s voice. “It’s no longer any use—everyone out.”

“The water won’t rise any higher,” Matsuda said to Eiji. “High tide’s already passed—let’s get out.” “I’ll go check on Kobu.” “What’s wrong with Kobu?” “He went to the oil-pressing room to keep the oil jars from washing away.” “Quit it! That area’s taking the waves full force—what good’ll you going do? The bastard’s fine.” “Just to be sure,” Eiji shouted, “I’ll go take a look.” “Stop, Bushū!” Matsuda bellowed. Eiji plunged his hoe into the ground to test its stability and began wading through the water. It resembled raging waves more than standing water—after moving just a short distance through chest-high surges that crashed against him relentlessly, the spray from breaking waves battered his face like flung grit. To make matters worse, the water endlessly surged and receded, threatening to sweep his feet away if he lowered his guard for even an instant. Gripping the hoe like a staff, Eiji fought against the water’s force as he pressed desperately forward.

The oil-pressing room building stood less than twenty ken from the government office, yet reaching it seemed to take half a koku. When he arrived, he found the building standing sturdily in the water, and through the sound of the wind came voices of many people singing inside. The door was closed shut, and the entire hut had been lashed with ropes and thick cables.

“Hey! Everyone okay?” Eiji banged on the sliding door with all his might and yelled, “Is everyone safe?”

The singing inside stopped, and someone called out from above Eiji. When he looked up, there was a small window there, and someone was sticking their head out. "It's Bushū from the Mokko Room!" Eiji shouted, looking up. "You okay, Sei-san?"

The head at the small window disappeared, and Seishichi stuck his head out instead. Though he couldn't see his face in the darkness, Eiji recognized Seishichi's voice. "I'm all right," Seishichi said. "What're ya doin' comin' out here again?" "Came to check on things." "Can't hear ya!" Seishichi shouted. "Lowerin' a rope now—hold on tight!" The wind whipped the thrown rope away three times before Eiji finally caught it. Hands pulled him upward until he tumbled through the window into a shelf-like mezzanine, where a roar of cheers burst from the shadows.

“Watch your head,” Seishichi said. “This here’s where they stack the rapeseed bags—barely nine shaku across, with the ceiling right above your skull. Just park yourself here for now.” Voices called out from both sides—things like “You made it, Bushū!” and “How’s it lookin’ out there?”—though he couldn’t tell who was speaking. Everyone’s tone brimmed with nervous energy. When he asked about the oil jars, they said they’d all been lashed together with ropes, and Seishichi added that the hut would hold.

“Is there anyone here from the Mokko Room?” “Over here, Brother!” Kinta’s voice answered Eiji’s question. “Kushichi kogashira and Mr. Yohei are with me too.” “One last push!” Eiji bellowed. “Everyone, hang in there!”

With a roar, another cheer erupted. A sudden gust assaulted the hut, making the entire structure tremble as pillars and beams groaned. Then someone began to sing, and four or five others who knew the song joined in loudly together. Eiji couldn’t tell what song it was, nor could he make out the lyrics well, but strangely, the backs of his eyes grew hot and tears began to overflow. "Just to see you..." came the fragmented lyrics of the song, "Even these hands cutting horse grass...you never come...only your shadow."

Eiji quietly wiped his eyes. A gust of wind shook the hut again, and somewhere there came a violent sound, as if boards were splitting.

Nine: Part One

The sea still churned murky with a muddy hue, but the air had cleared completely, and far in the distance, the mountains of Bōshū appeared faintly blue.

“I’ve thought a lot about it,” Osue said, adjusting her hold on the furoshiki bundle. “At first, I told myself I’d keep coming every five days without fail—even if you refused to see me, Eiji-san. Like Sabu-chan did, I’d gather whatever I thought you needed and just deliver it. But after returning home and thinking it through… I started to understand how you must feel—not wanting to see anyone, not wanting anyone’s pity.”

For the sake of a single scrap of cloth—being mercilessly tormented from all sides and having his life utterly ruined—under such circumstances, hating others and resenting the world was only natural. Now he was filled with that hatred—whenever he saw those living safe and peaceful lives, it only stirred his loathing. Until Eiji-san’s feelings settled down, she might be better off not approaching him. “That’s what I thought,” Osue said in a frail voice, “—but there were times I couldn’t bear it anymore. When I imagined you here at the workhouse doing laborers’ work, Eiji-san, my chest felt like it was tearing apart right here. I’d get so restless I couldn’t stay still—I’d rush out in a frenzy and often made it all the way to Teppōzu Riverbank.”

But when I came to the riverbank and saw Ishikawajima, I suddenly grew terrified and my legs froze. If I went, it would only stir up Eiji-san’s anger toward the world and people he resented—I mustn’t go—I should endure a little longer. With that self-admonishment, she turned back and left the place, trying to calm herself as she went.

“During this great storm, my first thought was of this place,” Osue paused briefly before continuing. “—It was past midnight. The wind kept growing fiercer, and Papa said he was worried about the rising tide—that if this gale didn’t let up by the time the tide peaked, Fukagawa’s waterfront would be underwater. —And if Fukagawa flooded, this island would fare even worse! If not for the town gates barring the way, I would’ve dashed straight here myself.”

"Why did Procurer Six do such a thing?" Eiji wondered. Procurer Six had boarded an evacuation ship, but when disembarking, he jumped into the sea trying to save an old ropemaker who fell overboard. Thus he drowned together with the old man.—All evacuated laborers had returned by the fifth day, with six or seven witnesses confirming the incident, though Six’s corpse had been found earlier. The ship had reached Nakasu, but Procurer Six’s body was swept away by the ebb tide and caught on a stake along Tsukuda Island’s shore. His polka-dotted work clothes allowed immediate identification, prompting notification to the workhouse. The old man’s corpse likely drifted much farther—no discovery reports had arrived yet—but Six’s attempted rescue stirred astonishment and admiration throughout the workhouse.—Given those gale winds and raging waves, even expert swimmers couldn’t have saved a drowning man. Perhaps Six jumped precisely because he couldn’t swim—but Eiji couldn’t fathom what drove such a man—a procurer who’d done vile deeds and drained life from countless women—to attempt this.

"Was there really nothing wrong?" Osue persisted. "Even though there were buildings that were destroyed or washed away, you weren't injured, Eiji-san?" "Huh? Oh, me?" Eiji kept his gaze fixed on the ocean and answered absently, "I'm just as you see me. Disappointed?"

“Eiji-san,” Osue said. “Humans are strange creatures.” “Truly strange creatures,” Eiji muttered as if to himself. “Can’t make heads or tails of ’em.” “What do you mean by that?” “It’s none of your business,” Eiji said, looking at Osue with empty eyes. “You should head back already—I’m in the middle of cleanup work here. Busy.”

Osue took a few letters from her sleeve, placed them atop the bundle, and handed them to Eiji. “These are Sabu-chan’s letters,” Osue said, turning her face away. “I came all the way to the riverbank over there, but I always ended up taking them back home—so they piled up to four of them. Please forgive me.” And Osue hurried away from Eiji as if fleeing.

Nine: Part Two

None of Sabu’s four letters had dates, and the handwriting remained as clumsy as ever.

At Hokodo, apprentices were made to practice writing from their earliest days as shop boys, and even after becoming full-fledged craftsmen, it remained the shop’s custom for them to do calligraphy whenever they had spare time. Thus, even those who were rather unskilled could produce characters that looked reasonably presentable—though still clumsy—by around twenty years of age, but Sabu alone never improved, still only able to write in a childlike scrawl. He must have been conscious of it himself, for all four letters began with apologies for his poor penmanship.

“What an idiot,” Eiji clicked his tongue. “Instead of apologizing for his poor handwriting, he should’ve put dates on these! Can’t tell which one’s first or last.” The contents were all much the same—expressing concern for Eiji while updating him about Sabu’s circumstances. Life in Kasai was peaceful, his illness progressing well. He went out to the fields with his older and younger brothers and weeded the rice paddies too. Fireflies swarmed around the paddies and rivers, so thick at night you’d struggle to find footing when walking out. His mother and sister-in-law treated him kindly, letting him recuperate without worries—though he’d struggled when his bowels troubled him, just as they say beriberi heals when you walk on country soil, he thought he’d fully recover by September. His sister-in-law had given birth to her seventh child, making the house even more cramped, so he now slept in the storage shed—these details were listed without any particular order.

“Being driven hard again, huh,” Eiji muttered. “Says he can take it easy recuperating, but getting worked in the fields and rice paddies, sleeping in a storage shed at night—that hopeless fool never changes.” Sabu had likely written that way to avoid worrying him, but lacked the literary skill to make such claims believable. The more carefree Sabu tried to sound in his writing, the more his painful daily struggles became apparent. Eiji finished reading the fourth letter and was about to roll it back up when he suddenly uttered “Oh” and stared at the characters. Though he’d initially thought them as clumsy as a child’s scrawl, upon closer inspection he noticed an unassuming charm in their rounded forms—clumsy yet somehow artless in their softness.

“Huh.”

Eiji spread out the other three letters and looked at them. "How strange—these characters look familiar. I’ve seen this handwriting somewhere before." The characters resembled those on a horizontal tea ceremony scroll that Master Yohbei or one of the senior apprentices had mounted. Eiji remembered thinking it must have been written by some monk—why would anyone make a hanging scroll from such crudely written characters? Later he had realized it wasn’t poor penmanship but rather possessed a distinctive style unique to its creator; now examining Sabu’s letters, he detected a similar charm shared with that monk’s calligraphy.

“Ridiculous,” Eiji muttered as he tidied up the letters. “Even if that’s true, it’s got nothing to do with who I am now.”

July was autumn—of course, only on the calendar—but the heat proved fiercer than midsummer’s peak. The great storm and towering waves had spared only the government office and oil storage room, smashing all three laborers’ barracks, women’s quarters, infirmary, other small structures, and bamboo fences while washing them away. Even the newly built stone wall from the south shore protection work lay two-thirds collapsed. There began simultaneous cleanup and construction of temporary huts, with every laborer set to these tasks. The women took on laundry duties, cooking, and tea distribution—so that even in daylight hours across the island, lighthearted banter and bursts of laughter could be heard everywhere.

When Matsuda Gonzo passed by such a place, he yelled in a voice like striking a metal basin. “You good-for-nothing bastards!” If it was male laborers, Red Demon would shout like this: “If you bastards get too cocky swaggering around, I’ll have you lugging stones!” “You lazy-ass wenches!” “If it’s the women,” Red Demon would say, “keep getting all hot and bothered by men’s stench and flapping your gums, and I’ll toss you into the Ōkawa River to scrub your asses clean!” “Go ahead and try,” retorted one of the women. “I’m sure you’d do a splendid job of it, Matsuda-san. We’d be much obliged.”

Matsuda’s face turned a dark crimson, but he never yelled back. Knowing he couldn’t win in a war of words, he pretended not to hear and walked away.

Among the men too, there were occasionally those who acted confrontational toward Matsuda—not out of hatred or resentment, but from fondness and affection. The sole exception was Kojima Ryojiro, the most amiable and soft-spoken guard, who was disliked by nearly all laborers. Yet between the other officials and workhouse inmates, an astonishing harmony prevailed—none of the expected antagonism between authorities and convicts, but rather an intimacy akin to that between landlord and tenant flowing through their interactions.

“So you’ve finally noticed it too,” Yohei answered Eiji’s question. “There’s indeed such an atmosphere here. Yes—this all stems from Hasegawa Heizō’s philosophy, the man who established this workhouse. The rule passed down through generations of officials states a workhouse isn’t a prison, and laborers mustn’t be treated as criminals.” “So that’s been maintained all the way till today?”

“There were indeed cruel officials among them,” Yohei said sorrowfully, shaking his head. “When you count from magistrates down to deputy constables, thirty-four or thirty-five people in total. Yes… The government grants this place six hundred bales of rice and over four hundred ryō in gold annually. I’ve heard several officials embezzled that rice and gold, or skimmed portions from laborers’ wages. Not that the authorities were unaware—they simply couldn’t stop it until caught. Such things happen everywhere, but seeing humans succumb to greed… I find it profoundly sad.”

Eiji remained still, holding his breath as if trying to fully absorb what he had heard. "So, uh—" Eiji asked, "is it true the government provides that money and rice?" "That’s precisely what makes this workhouse special." In Edo proper, vagrants and petty thieves were endless—people displaced from the countryside by disasters, poverty, or their own natures. Yohei explained this was the workhouse’s founding principle: gather those released from prison with neither trade nor family, teach them skills, let them save wages, and when ready, return them to Edo as citizens capable of ordinary lives.

“A small allowance is deducted,” Yohei continued, “but we sleep, eat, and work here—if you fall ill, medicine gets provided free of charge, and wages earned stay your own. Such a system can’t function unless proper government funds and rice come from above. What’s more, to keep the authorities’ intentions from going astray, they’ve got to pick officials truly fit for the job.”

Therefore, the officials did not force anything upon the laborers or impose unreasonable demands. Under such conditions, we couldn’t keep acting selfishly and arbitrarily anymore; naturally, we began willingly doing what we ought to do, and before long, without any coercion, each person’s assigned role became settled. “Though it seems you never noticed,” Yohei said with a self-satisfied smile, “think back to the old barracks before they were destroyed. Rough-hewn timber and crude construction, yet always kept clean, weren’t they? Before being sent here, I was in the Minamimachi Magistrate’s temporary jail—right inside their compound, but incomparably filthier than this place, with coarse, wretched food. I don’t know about Denmacho, but hearing people talk of main prisons gives you some idea. Not long ago—wasn’t it when we held that drinking celebration for your release from confinement?—several people declared they’d live out their days on this island. You remember that, surely?”

Eiji did not respond and remained still. There were countless people who, while being at the bottom of society and tossed about by its schemes, managed to scrape by each day as it came. When such people came here, wouldn’t they have said they never wanted to return to the outside world again? Sabu was part of that same group. It was precisely because they were part of society that they got called fools and slowpokes, forced to toil under others’ commands. But here, they weren’t subjected to mockery; all they had to do was complete their assigned work from 8 AM to 4 PM. Only a few chores were required; bedding, baths, even doctors were free, and whatever you earned became your own. That's right—this place would be perfect for Sabu, Eiji thought.

"This is a place to fatten us for slaughter." After finding himself alone, Eiji muttered, "I'll have none of it."

Osue had been coming every five days. Using his work duties as an excuse, Eiji had avoided meeting her altogether, but when she came on August 11th—likely having learned that the first day of every month was a day off—he was summoned by Okayashi Kihee again and met her. However, when he went to the small tatami room as before, it wasn’t Osue but Onobu of Sumiyoshi who waited there. “What’s this?” Eiji said, remaining on his feet. “Have even you come to shame me?”

Onobu replied with an unflinching expression, “I knew you’d say that—that’s why I waited until today to come.” “There’s nothin’ to talk about.” Onobu gently tapped the tatami and said, “You could at least sit down. I have something to discuss about Sabu-chan.” Eiji sat down with a look of reluctance.

“Here.” Onobu extended a paper-wrapped package. “It’s nothing special, but consider it a little gift from me.”

9-3 Eiji involuntarily smiled. Her speech was as crisp as ever, and the way she clearly stated "my gift" while presenting it herself was so characteristic of Onobu. "Did something happen to Sabu?" "So you really hadn't been told." Onobu wiped her forehead with a folded hand towel and said, "That person was dismissed from Kobunecho."

Eiji looked skeptical. “But he went back to Kasai because he was sick, didn’t he?” “He was dismissed at the end of June—with just a single letter at that.” “Who told you that?” “Directly from Sabu-chan,” Onobu declared with an air of personal involvement. “He received such a letter and went straight to Kobunecho—then stopped by Sumiyoshi on his way back.” “But I heard he had beriberi and stomach troubles on top of that.”

“Yes, he looked terrible.” Onobu frowned. “His face and hands were all skin and bones—just skin stretched over bone—but his legs were swollen up like melons. He shuffled along with a cane like an old man picking through trash. It broke my heart to see.” After suffering ten straight days of violent diarrhea—days spent mostly bedridden—he’d dragged himself out anyway. He went to Kobunecho but couldn’t meet the master. His senior apprentice Goro came out instead. “Work’s dried up so we’re cutting staff,” Goro told him. “Your sickness isn’t improving and there’s no future here anyway. Best you leave now.” With that perfunctory explanation, he handed over Sabu’s withheld wages plus one extra ryō.

“At that very moment, the master’s wife was talking to someone in the next room,” Onobu said with a harsh glare. “She kept chatting and laughing loudly all the while, yet never once showed her face or even addressed him until the end.” Eiji shook his head quietly. “There’s got to be more to this. They say work’s slowed down, but summer always brings a slowdown every year. And Sabu’s sick—no way they’d dismiss a sick man over that. There’s definitely something else going on.”

“I thought the same thing, so I asked around about it, but Sabu-chan says he can’t think of any reason why.” “That guy’s just too damn slow.” “That’s what I thought, Eiji-san.” Onobu glared at Eiji angrily. “The reason Sabu-chan said he can’t think of anything is because he’s completely dense—that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?” Eiji narrowed his eyes and stared intently at Onobu’s face. “You’ve never known hardship, Eiji-san,” Onobu said in a quiet tone. “I heard about the gold brocade fragment and all the terrible things that happened to you afterward. When you got drunk at Sumiyoshi, I told you I hated you—when I heard the reason why, I immediately remembered that. Even if I hadn’t known back then, what a cruel thing I said! I really came to hate myself for it.”

“I wanted to rush here right away—not because I regretted what I’d said. Sabu-chan had heard the full story from Magistrate Aoki, and by March we’d learned about the gold brocade too. When Sabu-chan confided that to me, I couldn’t sit still thinking about how you must be feeling. But Sabu-chan stopped me—he kept it secret from Osue-san too—saying over and over, ‘Eiji-san’s too worked up to want a meeting. If you go see him now, you’ll only stir his anger more. Best to wait a bit longer and see how things settle.’”

“Until he went back to Kasai because of his illness, Sabu-chan’s head was filled with nothing but you,” Onobu said, lowering her voice. “He put himself in your shoes—stopped me when I tried to visit you, kept everything hidden from Osue-san to spare her worry. And yet!” She leaned forward. “Here you sit cross-legged, coolly calling Sabu a hopelessly dense fool. After all you’ve been through, Eiji-san, you haven’t changed one bit—still the same clever, manly front, untouched by hardship.”

“I ain’t done nothin’ worth praisin’,” Eiji shot back. “But callin’ Sabu a blockhead wasn’t no badmouthin’.” “Course I know that! With how tight you an’ Sabu-chan are—like two peas in a pod—you’d never say it mean-like.” “Then what’s got your knickers in a twist?”

9-4 Onobu stared directly at Eiji’s face once more. "Why Sabu-chan was dismissed from Kobunecho—I thought Eiji-san would realize it right away." “What about you, Nobukō?” “I’m too much of a fool to manage it,” said Onobu, her face twisting as if on the verge of tears. “But from the way Sabu-chan told his story, I could piece together most of it. And if I can, surely you’ve realized it too—Eiji-san.”

Eiji kept staring at a fixed point on the wall as he pondered, muttered “No way” under his breath, then turned to Onobu in surprise.

“No way... That can’t be,” he said.

Onobu nodded slowly. “That’s right—that’s the real reason.”

“But Sabu must’ve been careful—he must’ve taken care not to get noticed by anyone.” “If he went out every five days, no matter how cautious he was, people would’ve spotted him eventually,” said Onobu. “—Even without that, they’d been on edge about you in Kobunecho. How could they miss Sabu-chan—so green at this—sneaking out every fifth day?”

Eiji fell silent, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. That's right—Sabu had been dismissed because he'd been visiting me at the workhouse. He must have tried to avoid suspicion, but Sabu wasn't skilled enough for that sort of thing. If they discovered he'd been bringing me supplies, Hokodo naturally couldn't let that continue. For Master Yohbei, preserving the "Hokodo" name mattered above all else. Eiji clenched his teeth. The tension in his jaw muscles became visible.

“Do you understand why I’ve come to say all this, Eiji-san?” Onobu said. “—You can’t forgive what was done to you, can you? Once you’re out of here, you intend to take your revenge as fully as you please—that’s your plan, isn’t it?”

Eiji said nothing. "I understand that feeling perfectly, but isn't that too self-centered? Look—it'd be fine if you could take revenge cleanly, but your opponents aren't just sitting around waiting for it. They have money and power—after all, you were sent here despite being innocent! Of course, they say nothing's stronger than human resolve, so maybe you could succeed if you tried. If it goes well, your heart might find peace—your heart alone." Onobu's eyes sparkled as she continued: "—But what happens then to Sabu-chan? What do you think becomes of Osue-san?"

Eiji remained with his arms crossed, and for quite some time did not move a muscle. “Once something begins,” Eiji started to say, then gave a loud cough, unfolded his arms, and while stroking his knee with one hand, continued, “—ending it ain’t no easy task.” “You don’t have to engage with something that’ll never end. I’m not saying you need to stop right now, but instead of something as trivial as revenge, please think about the people who are working hard and worrying for you, Eiji-san.”

Eiji stood up and went to the window, gazing outside for some time. The northern view offered a glimpse of the Ōkawa river if one stretched upward. In the clear August sky floated several blindingly white clouds, against which what first appeared to be flecks of debris resolved into a swarm of red dragonflies. “Procurer Six is dead,” Eiji said, keeping his back turned to Onobu. “During the great storm before last—tried saving an old man who fell from a boat and drowned himself.”

“Procurer Six, they say?” “He went by Jirōkichi here,” he said, turning back around. “I heard his gang was after him, but he didn’t flee Edo—he snuck into this workhouse instead.” “And—they say he saved someone.” “Tried savin’ ’em and drowned—didn’t see it myself, but plenty did. That bastard Six did that.”

Onobu looked at Eiji for a few moments, then asked, “How did you know it was Six?” “I realized it from the way he spoke, and then—” he started to say but shook his head. “People—you never can predict what they’ll do sometimes.” “True—even so, had he left this place, he’d likely have made people weep again,” Onobu said with a sigh. “But I can’t believe it’s true. That man was a backstabber to the core—the kind who’d trip someone trying to hang themselves. He couldn’t have changed from what he always was.”

“Now he’s in an unmarked grave at Kozukappara,” Eiji said, turning his gaze out the window again. “—Even after all the underhanded deeds that earned him names like ‘sneak,’ in the end, it brought him no good.” Onobu remained silent, looking down at her own knees. Clever. Acting all manly. Never known real hardship. The words Onobu had thrown at him became deeply carved into Eiji’s mind. Self-centered—so eaten up by resentment that he’d seek revenge, obsessing over nothing else—never sparing a thought for those laboring on his behalf. Hmph. That Nobukō—she didn’t realize she was the one who’d never tasted true suffering. If she’d just endure a quarter of what was done to me—then she’d understand this feeling—how a man can’t help but strike back. He tried rebuffing the thought like that, yet still those words—clever, acting all manly, never known hardship—refused to leave his skull.

“Yeah, bullshit.”

Eiji muttered as he carried planks for building the temporary hut, “Even if His Excellency the Shogun himself tried to talk me out of it—once I say I’ll do it, I’ll damn well do it. Just watch.”

9-5

“Goddamn it,” Eiji cursed himself. “What does Nobukō know about being self-centered? The blood’s still gushing in my chest—who could understand this pain? To hell with her bullshit!”

The cleanup after the storm took the entire month of August. Due to the high waves, the island's soil had been washed away over a considerable area, so they had to bring in earth and gravel from outside. Even after building the temporary huts where the laborers lived, constructing the ash-burning site, and repairing the government office buildings, the work of adding soil and shaping the land continued; moreover, rebuilding the collapsed stone wall on the southern beach would likely take even more time.

On the September 1st holiday, Eiji and Kobu's Seishichi were summoned to the government office, where each received a reward of one kanmon. They were praised for two deeds: having restrained the laborers who had fallen into complete disarray on the stormy night and safely evacuated them, then giving seventy-odd men the impetus to willingly remain to protect the island. Eiji declined. He said that was Seishichi's achievement and that he had merely imitated him afterward.

"The magistrate was watching," said Narushima Jiemon with a gentle smile. "The initial merit rightly belongs to Seishichi—his raised mallet halted that disintegrating mob. But it was precisely your subsequent persuasion that made things succeed. With only Seishichi's mallet, we couldn't have suppressed men quaking in fear of death. Force inevitably begets force—casualties would have occurred before evacuation."

The magistrate said that it was Seishichi’s strength and Eiji’s wisdom—these two things—that had quelled the disturbance. “I must contradict you,” Eiji said, raising his face, “but that is how Your Honor has perceived it—it is not my own view. I merely imitated Seishichi’s actions, so I must decline to accept any reward.” “Stubborn words.” The magistrate smiled patiently and gently. “But as a magistrate, I cannot retract what has been given. What would you have me do?”

Eiji did not answer. “The matter of the reward has been approved by the town magistrate,” said Narushima. “We cannot retract it now. Do you have any alternative suggestions?” Eiji paused for a moment, then answered that if it was a reward, he wanted it given to all seventy-odd people who had stayed and worked on the island. “I see,” The magistrate nodded after a while. “Very well—there should be no issue. Then we shall give one kanmon to Seishichi and the remaining one kanmon to the seventy-odd people.”

And the magistrate stood up and left for the inner quarters. Along with the attending constables, Eiji and Seishichi also stood up, but OkaYasu Kihee called out to stop Eiji.

“I have something to tell you,” said OkaYasu, “come over here.” Seishichi went out to the veranda, and the other constables left toward the government office.

OkaYasu turned down the corridor, entered that familiar small room, and sat down facing Eiji. He—as if recalling something—stood up from where he had been sitting, opened the north-facing window, returned to his original spot, and sat there in silence for a while. “Right now, this—” OkaYasu said, gesturing toward the window, “—the wind carries the scent of flowers. Can you smell it?” Eiji sniffed the air three times, then silently shook his head side to side.

“This September wind I’m breathing now—” OkaYasu Kihee continued, “—this crisp, cool taste is most pleasing to me. Each season’s wind carries distinct scents, flavors, and textures against the skin, but I favor autumn’s chill clarity most of all. When savoring this breeze—especially now that it’s imbued with osmanthus blossoms—one feels the joy of being alive.”

Eiji watched OkaYasu’s face with doubtful eyes. Why had he called him over just to talk about things like the scent of wind or its texture against skin—what was his aim? Eiji wondered. "What about you?" After letting out two quiet breaths between them... "Have you ever felt autumn in how wind touches your skin," OkaYasu asked softly... "...or savored flower scents carried on its currents?"

Eiji did not answer. "You're still young," said OkaYasu Kihee, a smile playing on his lips. "—You probably want to say you don't care about such old-fashioned things. But this isn't about age—it's about whether one has the capacity for such feelings at all. Go on, take a good sniff—what you're smelling now is osmanthus blossoms." “Was your business just this?” “Is that not allowed?” “I have no use for the wind or the scent of flowers. If there’s no other business, I’ll return to my room.”

Since it was a reward ceremony, OkaYasu wore linen ceremonial attire and held a folding fan. He half-opened the fan, snapped it shut with a sharp click, and turned his gaze toward the window with an expression that suggested he hadn’t heard Eiji’s words. "Even if you have no interest," OkaYasu said slowly, "the autumn wind sends forth its seasonal fragrance—crisp and refreshing. Yet this same wind, once enraged, becomes a tempest—blowing away houses, churning waves, even causing injuries and deaths. The July storm devastated this island. Now you all have rebuilt it nearly to its former state through your efforts. But suppose humans were to rampage like that storm—what then? There are no laws to punish the wind, but for humans there are laws."

“Who is it for?” Eiji sharply retorted, “Is it for the strong? Or for the weak?”

“For the sake of society as a whole, perhaps.” “You don’t understand.” “I’ve wanted to tell you this—I know everything about you.” OkaYasu spoke softly. “Your anger is justified. Watabun’s methods were wrong, the informant was mishandled, and Hokodo should have shown more consideration—all true beyond doubt. But let us now contemplate fortune and misfortune.”

A few years back, three men from Tsugaru Province went to Ezo Island to pan for gold dust. After enduring immense hardships, they managed to extract a massive two kanmon of gold dust. When they noticed however, their food was beginning to run out. Though it was September in a land where winter comes early, they now had to decide—whether to withdraw as they were or exchange the gold dust for money to prepare for wintering. But there was still abundant gold dust there, making withdrawal too regrettable. So they decided to winter there. To buy necessary tools and provisions, one man loaded the gold dust onto a horse and set out. The village's name remained unknown, but the round trip was said to take about ten days. The remaining two kept panning for gold while waiting. Five days passed, then seven—ten days went by, then twelve—but the departed man never returned. With their food dwindling, the two men stretched their meager rice by adding wild plants to make porridge. Before long, they concluded the man had fled with the gold and tried pursuing him—but over half a month had passed and their weakened bodies from poor rations made this impossible. If he wasn't returning, they needed winter preparations and food stores. They found a riverside cave and gathered every edible thing possible—birds, fish, roots, nuts.

The two men had no idea what winter in that land was like. And they continued panning for gold dust until the snow came, and when the snow arrived and work became impossible, they holed up inside that cave. The severity of the cold exceeded their imagination, and the fire and food meant to endure it rapidly diminished. The two men cursed the companion who had fled, and for having sent that companion out alone, they blamed and resented each other. Often, outside the cave, they would hear the growls of beasts and sounds of movement. They couldn't tell whether it was a bear or wolf, but in any case, the two men resigned themselves to their inevitable demise.

Just as they had resigned themselves to dying like this, three local villagers came searching for them and handed over sufficient tools and provisions for wintering. According to the villagers' account, their companion had obtained those supplies, loaded them onto a horse, and was on his way back when attacked by a bear. After entrusting the villagers with delivering the goods to this valley, he had died shortly thereafter. The gold dust had amounted to two kanmon. Since this was work done to evade the Matsumae domain's notice, they likely couldn't exchange it at official prices. Moreover, in that remote land at the country's edge where goods carried exorbitant prices, even half the gold dust taken would have sufficed for those supplies. What became of the remainder? The two men never once considered such matters. Saved at last—merely knowing they needn't fear death anymore—they clung to each other and wept.

“Things like fortune and misfortune sound like complaints—words I’ve heard to the point of weariness. But there is such a thing as fortune and misfortune.” OkaYasu sighed briefly. “The story I just told has spread widely enough—you may have heard it before—but in these three men’s experiences, fortune and misfortune manifest in multiple forms. The indigenous people of Ezo Island have long been tormented by unscrupulous Japanese merchants, becoming terribly cunning and violent—or so it’s said. Yet those two men were fortunate enough to encounter villagers who were kind and sincere—rarities even among their own people.”

“Even if you don’t notice,” OkaYasu said with a measured breath, “this crisp wind carries the scent of osmanthus. Calm your mind and breathe—then even you might smell those blossoms. Calm your mind and reflect well on your fortunes and misfortunes. And don’t forget there’s a girl named Sabu—and Osue.”

Part 10-1

The southern embankment repairs were nearing completion.

As late September arrived, days of clear weather continued, and when descending to the tidal flats, Mount Fuji could sometimes be seen clearly. Mankichi priced that view at 1,000 ryō and 2 bu. “What’s this ‘two bu’ about?” asked the man nearby. “A thousand ryō’s the going rate—I just added two bu to that,” Mankichi declared with a show of bravado. After the July storm, a harmonious and intimate atmosphere unlike anything before seemed to have emerged within the workhouse. In contrast, Eiji grew even more taciturn. He ignored anyone who spoke to him—snapping at them if they grew insistent or turning his back to walk away. And he always sought to remain alone whenever possible.

Osue visited three times a month—on the 1st, 11th, and 21st, her days off—but Eiji refused to see her. After that, perhaps OkaYasu had given up as well; he no longer tried to force a meeting and instead simply delivered the care packages to the room. Eiji would give them to the others in the room, never touching them himself nor even trying to see what was inside.—On his days off, it became his routine to go to the southern seaside as was his custom, sitting or lying on the grass near the shore, spending nearly the entire day there.

"Sabu...you fool," he muttered through twisted lips. "I never asked you to go meddlin' in my business—yet you kept fussin' round till they kicked you outta that shop you'd slaved at for ten years straight. Bet you finally get how I feel now—huh?" "Get lost—quit botherin' me," he'd sometimes growl low in his throat. "Leave me be. I've been dead since last year's end—no sweet talkin'll change that. Just toss me aside already."

He sneered, "Hah—gold panners? Pathetic," shrugging his shoulders. "So some poor sod gets killed by a bear after honestly trading his gold dust—that’s misfortune? And his buddies cursed him thinking they’d been swindled? Yeah, sure as shit that’s misfortune. But what’s that got to do with me? This ain’t some wilderness accident—my situation’s human cruelty through and through. Moneyed men using their wealth, informers hiding behind magistrates’ authority—they made innocent men into criminals and beat us half to death. That bear was just a beast doing what beasts do. But those bastards? They’re still strutting through Edo like they own it. Until I make them taste their own medicine, I’ll die clutching this grudge in my teeth."

Tears spilled from Eiji's eyes. He pursed his lips to suppress a sob, and while gazing out to sea, gently shook his head from side to side. Across the utterly clear blue sea, scores of ships with large sails glided in formation from Bōshū toward Shinagawa. He had somehow come to know—without ever being told by anyone—that these were fishing boats from around Kisarazu: they would drag their nets to catch fish as they made their way to Shibahama, unload their catch there, then fish again on their return to Bōshū.

"What happened during the July storm?" Eiji narrowed his eyes as he gazed at the magnificent fleet of white sails and muttered, "There must've been ships that went out fishing—ones that couldn't escape and sank when the storm hit. What must those men with wives and kids have felt when they knew they were done for? How must their women and children have wailed when their men drowned? They probably cursed the sea and hated this damn fishing life—yet look at them still out there casting nets like nothing happened."

When spending time at the southern seaside, Eiji would mutter to himself incessantly—the majority of which concerned Sabu and Osue, and derision toward the officials who tried to placate him.

October arrived, and the shore protection work neared completion within another day or two. As a result, most laborers from the basket crew quarters were reassigned to reclamation projects, leaving only seven workers—including foreman Denshichi—at the southern beach site. That day began with fierce winds churning the sea violently; they had to wait for low tide to drive the piles. Even when the tide fully receded—it being outside spring tide season—the tidal flat stretched barely fifty ken from shore before surging back within moments.

“Only five piles left,” said Foreman Denshichi. “If things go well, we’ll finish them off today.”

Along the outside of the stone wall, they drove cedar log piles into place. This was meant to protect the stone wall from rough waves—fifty-seven piles had been driven in so far. Outside the wall lay straightforward work: dig five or six shaku through sand until hitting earthen bedrock, bore a hole there, fit a tapered cedar log into it, then drive it down with an inverted mallet. Eiji was assigned to dig holes in the bedrock. The inverted mallet had its hammering head at the top with three handles below; three men would grip those handles, position the head atop a cedar log, and pound downward. Since this required coordinated effort and synchronized shouts from three workers, Eiji had chosen the solitary task of hole-digging.

While digging the fourth of those five remaining holes, suddenly, the stone wall collapsed and crushed Eiji beneath it. Over a sand hole dug five or six shaku deep, collapsed stones filled the cavity in irregular shapes along with sand, and Eiji was struck hard on his spine, his breath cut off. “Emergency—get over here!” came someone’s shout. “Someone’s buried under the collapsed wall!”

Part 10-2

The blow to his spine must have been severe—Eiji writhed, suffocating from his breath being cut off. In reality, he only tried to writhe; his hands and feet could not move. He was crushed by sand and stones with almost no gaps.

“Bushu!” came Denshichi’s shouting voice. “The one buried’s Bushu! Hey!”

Denshichi called out to Eiji. "Bushu! You alright? Answer me!" came Denshichi's panicked shout. Eiji couldn't respond. His breathing had finally steadied, but with half his face buried in sand, any attempt to speak risked flooding his mouth with grit—more than that, he feared what sound might do. Stones weighing five to seven kan each pressed down from shoulders to legs. No pain yet reached him through the numbness, leaving him clueless about his injuries' extent. To make noise now might snap bones or rupture organs—the thought froze his throat.

“Everyone, come here! All of you!” came the foreman’s panicked shout. “First remove the stones—those stones there! Stop! Don’t do it like that! If you’re not careful, the rest will collapse!”

For some reason, the sand gradually shifted and swelled, increasingly threatening to bury his face even deeper. Eiji tried to move the other parts of his body as little as possible and carefully twisted his face sideways. —The tide. The tide’s coming in.

Eiji realized this and held his breath. It must have been over an hour since they started working; then, before long, the tide would come rushing in. If the tide reached the shore, and if by then he still hadn’t been dug out—the thought made Eiji want to scream. “Please work quietly,” Yohei’s voice pleaded. “We can’t risk the sand collapsing. How about digging from both sides instead?” “No good!” the foreman snapped back. “If you dig out the sand, more stones’ll come crashing down. Removing the stones comes first. Someone go alert the authorities!”

"Someone's already gone," a voice answered.

Foreman Denshichi was an old man. He was fifty-five or fifty-six years old, but being emaciated and wrinkled, he looked like a man of seventy. Denshichi couldn’t possibly lend his strength, and of the remaining five men, even Yohei likely lacked the power to be of use. If only Kobu Seishichi were here at a time like this, Eiji thought. As he raised his eyes, a portion of the dull, overcast sky appeared elongated like a strip of fusuma paper through gaps in the piled stones, while a strong wind faintly howled through those crevices.

With everyone's desperate shouts, one of the stones was removed—and then, perhaps because the balance that had held until then shifted, the other stones lurched unsteadily and slid down onto Eiji.

“Be careful!” Yohei cried out in a tearful voice. “If you remove them recklessly, you’ll make more stones collapse! Let’s use a lever!” “Bushu,” Denshichi called hoarsely through the gaps between stones, “Answer me! Are you alright? Still alive?” “Ah—” Eiji answered cautiously, “I’m fine. Take it slow.” “Won’t be long now,” Denshichi urged. “Hang on.” Eiji nearly mentioned the rising tide but bit back the words. He felt dampness begin soaking through the instep of his right foot pinned beneath stone. At first he thought it blood, but then seawater crept upward from his toes to engulf the entire top of his foot. The tide wasn’t just advancing over the sand—it seeped upward through the very ground beneath him.

"It’s no good," Eiji whispered to himself. "I’ll drown before they dig me out. If they remove the stones, others will collapse. Either way, it’s over." Yohei said they should use a lever. That lever—likely the cedar log meant for pilings—was quietly inserted through a gap between stones. It struck Eiji’s thigh, then slid down toward his shin.

“That’s my leg there!” Eiji shouted as cautiously as he could manage. “Move it further back! If you keep going like that, my leg’ll snap!”

“Look at that—the tide!” Yohei’s tearful voice pleaded. “The tide’s coming in! Hurry—I beg you all—hurry!” Eiji felt his entire body freeze. The water that had soaked up to his insteps now rose to his shins, while the lever’s cedar log extending over them threatened to become permanently lodged. “My leg’ll snap!” Eiji shouted. “Move the log aside!” “We’ll start with these stones,” came the foreman’s voice. “Hold that lever steady!”

A strong force was applied to the cedar log, and Eiji felt the bone in his shin creak sickeningly.

“My leg’s going to break!” he shouted. He tried to say “Move the log aside!” but sand filled his mouth, stifling his voice as he coughed violently. The wind whistling through gaps between stones carried the sound of approaching waves. “Help me, Sabu,” Eiji blurted out involuntarily, “—I’m done for.” A crushing weight bore down on the lever log. The instant Eiji heard his shinbone snap, he lost consciousness.

10-3

If I had remained unconscious then—or better yet, if I had died—how much better it would have been.

Afterward, Eiji thought this many times. Once unconscious, he had regained his senses from the searing pain of saltwater soaking into his broken shin. Then began the true terror and suffering. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been unconscious, but when he came to, he still lay pinned beneath the stones—with the added horror of the rising tide’s waves now reaching him. Water seeped in from above and below, relentlessly eroding the sand. Some stones must have been removed, yet the weight pressing down from above remained unchanged, leaving his body completely immobilized from back to waist. Perhaps because the pressure allowed only a third of his normal breath, the agony—so intense he wanted to claw at his chest—darkened his vision.

It was not something that could be called pain. Eiji cursed himself for still being unable to die, and shouted "Sabu, help me!" twice more. The scream never became a voice, but in the crimson void where nothing was visible, Sabu’s panicked face flickered faintly in and out of sight. Sandy water had already begun to submerge his face. His senses had gone numb from terror, so even as sandy water began pouring into his half-open mouth, he couldn’t comprehend what it meant.

"Please forgive me—it was my fault," he pleaded in terror. Everything was my mistake. I beg you—everyone—please forgive me.

Yohei’s wailing voice could be heard from afar. The shouts of the other men could also be heard, but only Yohei’s hysterical weeping seemed to go on forever. In the meantime, the stones were removed one after another. The oil room workers rushed over, and Kobu’s Seishichi put his formidable strength to use. “Hang in there, Bushu!” Seishichi kept shouting. “Don’t lose heart! It’s almost over! Stay strong!”

Eiji lost consciousness again, though apparently only briefly. He was made to vomit water and coughed violently; when he came to, he found himself lying on his back, the harsh gasps from his own mouth grating on his ears. “Careful, careful,” a voice said right beside him. “Don’t move him—the leg bone’s broken.” It’s a doctor, Eiji thought. Other than someone called Dr. Santetsu, he didn’t properly know any physicians’ full names. The man was middle-aged and thin—Eiji remembered those sharp eyes—and apparently hadn’t been among those evacuating patients during the storm. Now that he thought of it, he’d heard both this doctor and the ethics teacher worked nearly without pay. So it’s finally my turn to be looked after, Eiji thought.

“Aside from this fracture, there don’t appear to be any major injuries,” said the doctor. “Though there are considerable bruises. I don’t believe there are other broken bones, but I can’t say for certain without a thorough examination later.” “Thank goodness, that’s a relief,” came Okayasu Kihee’s voice. “The stones must have supported each other. When I heard the news and rushed over, I thought it was already too late.”

“Bushu, are you all right?” Seishichi called out, peering in. “Later, later!” the doctor hastily interjected. “Don’t say anything now—don’t let him speak! All of you should return to your quarters!” “There are those who will carry him.”

"Bring a plank! Rig ropes like a sling! Lay a futon underneath!" the doctor barked instructions. Grit rasped in Eiji's mouth like sandpaper. He gingerly turned his head sideways and spat—once, twice, three times. Each motion sent jagged pain radiating through his limbs. Yet the agony's source eluded him, and the grit clung stubbornly to his teeth. The shattered shin demanded immediate incision; delay would doom the bone to misalignment. "Send for Dr. Nakajima at Yamashirokishi—now!" ordered the physician, and Okayasu Kihee snapped commands at his underling.

"I won't forget this, everyone," Eiji vowed inwardly. I was stubborn and standoffish, never caring about anyone else, never letting anyone get close. Even though I'd only ever thought of myself, everyone—even people who normally didn't get along—came together and worked desperately to save me.

"I swear I'll never forget everyone's voices as long as I live," Eiji vowed silently. As if I were their own brother or child—everyone strained themselves to the limit. Yohei-san had wept for me, and Okayasu-san too—this stubborn, contrary version of myself must have been utterly detestable to them all along—yet still they came rushing to help. Oh right—and Sabu too.

10-4 Eiji had no idea how the treatment had been performed. He later heard that the pain during both the incision and bone-setting had been bearable due to an anesthetic prepared by a certain surgeon, though his shin had likely been fully numbed.—While Dr. Nakajima, the summoned surgeon, administered treatment, Eiji struggled to distinguish dreams from reality. Sabu’s face and others he knew flickered before him—faces overlapping two or three at a time, angry shouts in rapid speech whose meaning he couldn’t grasp echoing in his ears.

Strangely enough, only when Sabu's face became visible did everything before his eyes turn crimson and quiver. From within that crimson hue, Sabu called out, "I'm here, Eij-chan! Right here!" With timid eyes and an apologetic smile playing at his lips, Sabu stared at him with deep concern. The rawness of it overwhelmed Eiji so completely that he shook his head. "I'm fine," he couldn't help saying. "Don't fuss over me. Wipe that pitiful look off your face." During the treatment, Eiji vomited three times—an indescribably foul mass of mud, sand, and putrid water whose stench clung to his tongue long after.

At his bedside, Yohei was always present. Kobu’s Seishichi also came peeking in frequently. It seemed he was skipping work to come; he would get scolded by Dr. Santetsu and sent back, only to come peeking again soon after. At night, six or seven men would typically gather and keep talking and laughing until Yohei hurried them along.

The doctor was named Takimoto Naomichi and ran a practice in Kyobashi Umenocho, from where he reportedly commuted daily. No one knew why he was called Santetsu, but even when addressed as such, Takimoto never corrected them nor bothered to reaffirm his real name. The surgeon from Yamashirokishi was Nakajima Tan’an—a man versed in Southern Barbarian-style and Dutch-style medicine who ranked among the top five surgeons of his era.—Nakajima came three times in total; after instructing Takimoto on subsequent care, he declared matters settled and departed, never to return.

“You may end up with a slight limp,” Nakajima Tan’an said during his final visit. “After that, we’ll have to rely on your youth. Let’s say fifty days without using that leg.” “And walking with a slight limp can be quite dashing, you know,” he added with a laugh. For two days they gave him only hot water; from the third day came kudzu gruel followed by thick gruel—but on the fifth day, when they served him half-gruel, Eiji vomited again. The moment he put a mouthful of half-gruel in his mouth, the stench of dead fish and shellfish mingled with rotten garbage and steamed seaweed—all blended with seawater’s briny smell—assaulted him so violently that he vomited not just what he’d swallowed but everything in his stomach. Later, when his chest had settled and he thought it through, he realized there had been no actual stench—it must have been the terror of being crushed beneath those stones resurfacing. The water that had flowed into his mouth tasted of salt and something indefinable. But there was no smell of rotting fish or shellfish, nor of dried seaweed. Those were odors he’d known during high tides when tidal flats formed in the sea. Dr. Santetsu said the stones’ pressure had likely strained his internal organs, but that it should subside soon.

“I get how Aniki must’ve felt,” Kinta said one night at Eiji’s bedside. “Yeah, outta all of us here, I’m probably the only one who really knows what was goin’ through his head back then.”

As usual, five or six people had gathered, but aside from Yohei, everyone else had been assigned work that day and hadn't been at the collapsed stone wall site. "You're always puttin' on airs like you know every last five-mon detail," Mankichi retorted. "Even if you'd been there, nobody but the man himself could know what bein' buried alive feels like." "I was buried alive," Kinta said. "Durin' that great storm—got pinned under a fallen tenement while the tide kept risin'. Came within a hair's breadth of drownin', you brothers. Yeah, you were there too. Before they dug me out, I'd already given up—just kept recitin' sutras like my soul depended on it."

“You know sutras?” Mankichi interjected from the side. “What’re you talkin’ about? I’m a true Edokko, damn it!” Kinta fired back vigorously. “Even if I talk big, I don’t know a damn thing ’bout how many sheets the Lotus Sutra’s got or nothin’!” “What a damn strange way to brag.” A man named Tomisaburō said, “Those’re Buddhist invocations and Lotus Sutra chants—they’re completely different from actual sutras.” “Well ain’t that somethin’! You mean Buddhist prayers an’ Nichiren chants ain’t actual sutras?” “That’s right!” “Then if they ain’t sutras, why do folks chant ’em at temple visits an’ Nichiren ceremonies an’ such?” “That ain’t what you said before!” Their trivial debate about how exactly they differed dragged on endlessly until finally everyone burst out laughing.

“Tried to say somethin’ clever there,” Mankichi said to Kinta, “but you just wasted a five-mon coin’s worth of wit tonight, didn’t ya?” Eiji couldn’t understand—what did it all mean?—and kept turning it over in his mind. Ever since being rescued from beneath the stones, they had gathered indiscriminately at his bedside. If they wanted to talk freely, doing so in their own quarters would’ve been more comfortable. Here, Yohei would scold them at the slightest noise and drive them out within moments. Having seemingly obtained official permission, Yohei now stayed by Eiji’s side full-time, devotedly warding off anything that might impede his recovery.

"I've done nothing for these people," Eiji kept thinking. Yet here they were worrying over me, toiling and comforting me—not out of whimsy or obligation, but like true brothers and sisters. Eiji couldn't reconcile himself to this at first. Both how their collective demeanor had shifted since before the storm, and the feelings they'd shown him since his misfortune. It resembled emerging from a cramped tunnel into unfamiliar vastness—this bewildering new landscape stretching before him. Then one day, he recalled what Oka Yasubei had said.

Even if you hadn't noticed and held no interest, this wind carried autumn's crisp savor, while osmanthus blossoms perfumed the air.

To Eiji, though faintly, the meaning of those words seemed to dawn on him. Perhaps I'd never truly seen these people until now. Just as he'd never bothered to notice if osmanthus perfumed the wind, he realized the workhouse inmates might have carried this essence within them all along. When these thoughts surfaced, his chest seemed to expand—breathing grew easier—and the vast new landscape stretching before his eyes gradually sharpened into focus, bringing an unexpected calm.

About twenty days had passed since his injury when Oka Yasubei came to visit. Eiji sat up straight and expressed his gratitude. His leg—wrapped in bleached cotton bandages over the splint—still couldn’t support sitting upright, but for the past three days he had managed to sit up straight during meals. "You must know a girl named Osue’s been visiting all this time," Oka continued. "—Given how care packages arrived regular as clockwork on set days, I can’t imagine you’d be unaware."

Eiji looked down and answered, “Yes.” “To tell the truth, I too kept silent about your injury,” Oka said. “—I thought it would be cruel to worry the girl. But when I heard your condition was improving the other day, I told her the general details.” Eiji raised his eyes and looked at Oka.

“So today,” Oka continued calmly, meeting Eiji’s gaze, “instead of Osue, that Sabu fellow has come. He’s waiting at the front now. You’ll see him, I trust?”

Eiji looked down again.

“Yes, I’ll see him,” he answered while bowing, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

With that, Oka stood up and left. Yohei folded the quilt, propped it against Eiji’s back, and straightened his disheveled nightclothes. Sabu entered clutching a bundle, bowing left and right excessively as he mumbled something between gratitude and apology. “Please come up,” Yohei said, waving his hand, “No need for formalities—just come right in.”

Then, as if remembering something, the old man brought two semi-folding screens from across the room and arranged them around Eiji’s sickbed. There were three patients, and though they were spaced quite far apart and likely wouldn’t be looking this way, Yohei undoubtedly believed he was being considerate. Sabu, still apologetic for even this, hunched his shoulders and shuffled closer. Shuffling closer, he placed the bundle beside him, timidly looked up at Eiji as if beholding something terrifying, and attempted a smile.

“Eij-chan,” Sabu stammered, “It must’ve been... so hard for you.”

At the same time, Sabu's face twisted sloppily, and from his small, round eyes, large tears streamed down one after another.

10-5 Still as careless as ever, Eiji thought. But the moment he thought this, words spilled from his lips unbidden.

“You came,” Eiji heard his own mouth say unbidden. “Sorry for all the worry I’ve caused. I’m fine now.” “Thank goodness, thank goodness.” Sabu wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and smiled weakly. “When Osue told me ’bout it, I near lost my nerve—figured even if I came, you wouldn’t see me.” As if dodging earnestness, Eiji cut in sharply: “I’m fine—what ’bout you? That sickness cleared up yet?”

“Ah, don’t need to worry ’bout me. Onobu-chan told me ’bout some good medicine—was for the runs, see? Once that cleared up, the beriberi settled down too.” “You goin’ to Sumiyoshi?” Sabu flushed and looked down. “Well...” he said awkwardly, “If I don’t go even three days, I just can’t keep still.” “She’s still in Kasai, ain’t she?”

"Well... it's not like that." Sabu hemmed, "—There's somethin' I oughta tell ya 'bout that... but reckon you'd best hear it from Osue herself." "Why?" Eiji retorted sharply. Sabu, likely at a loss for words, unwrapped the bundle and arranged six tiered lunchboxes there. While pushing two of them toward Eiji, he stammered out an explanation—that Onobu had made these specially for him, and though they might not be fancy, they held nourishing things to build up his strength.

"She said to give these four here to the people in the room—that’s what it was about." “Did you come from Sumiyoshi again today?” “Osue-chan is here with me too.” Eiji nodded as if restraining himself, then asked quietly, “Is Osue here with you now, or do you mean you went to Sumiyoshi together?” Sabu fell silent as if perplexed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his right hand. He seemed to have let slip whatever he meant to say, yet also appeared unable to find the words he should speak. Then, as if he'd found an escape route, he stood up with the four tiered lunchboxes, went outside the small screen partition, and handed them to Yohei while making a lengthy greeting.

Eiji remained leaning against the futon, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. What was he holding back? Something must have happened—but what exactly? he thought. Even after Sabu returned and timidly sat down, Eiji remained with his eyes closed. “Well,” Sabu said, “—how’s your leg doing, Eij-chan?” “They say I’ll be lame.” “No way,” Sabu gasped. “No way something like... becoming lame could happen!”

“They say it’s just for show,” Eiji said before restraining himself, opening his eyes to smile. “—Not that it’s decided yet. The doctor’s prognosis says I might end up lame.” Sabu kept his mouth hanging open, silently watching Eiji’s face without saying a word. “No need to be shocked—I got to keep my life,” Eiji said. “Besides, this is desk work. Even if I end up a bit lame, it won’t cause any problems for work.”

Sabu suddenly lowered his head and pressed his right hand against his eye; then, stifling his voice, he let out a sob. “That’s awful,” Sabu said through sobs. “That’s just too cruel.” “I told you—I got to keep my life in exchange.”

“Even so—for Eij-chan to become lame... How could something like that be allowed?” “Cut it out—people can hear you,” Eiji stopped him in a low voice. “At least I survived—it hasn’t been definitively decided I’ll be lame. Forget about that for now and tell me your situation—are you still in Kasai or not? Which is it?” “That story... you should hear it from Osue-chan herself. I’m no good with words.”

"You’re such a frustrating guy." "That ain’t it, y’know." With a sob still rattling in his throat, Sabu wiped his eyes and said, "--Ain’t nothin’ to it really. Just thought if I went blabberin’ careless-like, I might put you outta sorts, Eij-chan."

Eiji remained silent, waiting for the next words.

“Kasai left at the end of September,” Sabu said, wiping his brow. “What with my sister-in-law havin’ another baby, y’know.” “I read ’bout that in the letters.” “Oh, right...” Sabu hunched his shoulders apologetically. “So—couldn’t go back to Kobunecho, see? Anyhow, I talked it over with Osue-chan. An’ well... since there was that time when Eij-chan came outta there, after talkin’ through all sorts of things, we ended up decidin’ to rent a place together.”

Sabu peered at Eiji’s face, but since he didn’t seem inclined to say anything, Sabu continued haltingly. “So then—near Osue-chan’s place—there was this empty house in the back tenement. Rent was cheap too, so we rented it.” “So it’s Shitaya Kanasugi then.” Sabu nodded. “We settled there for now, but see, we figured it’d cause trouble when you get out—so even if it’s just some back alley, we thought we should at least find a place that ain’t a back tenement.”

“Stop draggin’ me into every damn thing,” Eiji said. “I’ve racked up a big debt to this workhouse. Ain’t gettin’ out over some trifle—so quit worryin’ ’bout me.” Sabu’s round eyes widened, his mouth hangin’ open as he stared at Eiji. “But Eij-chan,” Sabu gulped before sayin’, “ya promised once—back when we were together—no, wait, when ya said you’d open your own shop, you’d hire me for paste prep work. Didn’tcha?”

“That was back when I was at Shaba,” Eiji said, turning away. “—What I am now is a workhouse laborer.”

11-1

“Hey, you’re awake,” said Seishichi as he entered. “They lettin’ you walk already?” “Not yet,” said Yohei. “No need to rush him—man’s antsy enough without your pushin’.” “But he got moved here yesterday! Outta sick ward means done with doctors!” Eiji sat with his right leg stretched out, eating rice. His beard had grown scraggly, and his face looked pasty from lack of sun—flesh gone slack—but after thirty days of treatment his body had likely mended. Around his eyes and mouth flickered traces of youthful vigor.

“We mustn’t forget the crucial point,” Yohei said. “This isn’t an illness—your leg bone was broken. Though you’re out of the doctor’s care now, the real challenge begins here. You need to endure and gradually get accustomed, bit by bit, before starting walking practice.” “Hmm... Maybe it was a bit too soon after all.” “What do you mean?” “Back when I was in the countryside, I had a chi—” Seishichi began, then hastily corrected himself, “—there was this man named Sakusa who couldn’t use one leg. Whether he’d been kicked by a horse or somethin’, ended up with a bum leg anyway. He’d walk ’round leanin’ on a crutch. Rememberin’ that, I tried makin’ one like this.”

Seishichi lifted it up to show. It was a T-shaped crutch with a horizontal crossbar at the top, exquisitely polished. “No, no! Don’t show him that thing—it’s too soon!” Yohei protested, waving his hand, while Eiji set down his bowl and chopsticks.

“My apologies, Mr. Sei,” Eiji said, turning to face him. “Thank you. Let me have a look.” Seishichi glanced at Yohei’s expression while Eiji, shuffling forward on his seat, moved toward the edge of the raised floor. “Might be a bit long,” Seishichi said as he handed over the crutch. “If it’s too long, you can cut it down. Press that part under your armpit.” “Don’t try standing!” Yohei warned. “I’ve seen one like this before too.” Eiji sat at the edge of the raised floor and slowly lowered both legs to the earthen floor below. He adjusted his grip on the crutch, pressing the crossbar beneath his armpit. “Seems good. Sturdy. What wood is this?”

“It’s cherry wood,” Seishichi answered. “I tried out different types, but if it bent too much, that’d be a problem, and if it was too heavy, that’d be trouble too. So I consulted Mr. Iosuke from the carving room—figured he’d know about all sorts of wood. Then he said cherry would work best.” “Don’t go making everyone worry.” “You might not need it right away,” Seishichi said, waving a hand absently, “but even so, figured you might want it at first.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Yohei reached out. “I’ll hold onto it until you need to use it.”

Eiji handed the crutch to Yohei. "Well then," Seishichi stepped back, "I'm in the middle of my work."

Eiji thanked him again, and Seishichi departed. While watching Yohei carry off the T-shaped crutch and stow it away in his closet, Eiji drew a quiet, long breath and carefully let it out. As if fearing Yohei might notice his breathing—though nearly twenty days had passed since returning from the sick ward to his room, Yohei still remained constantly by his side caring for him. Though his absence from work had been approved by the authorities, his wages would stop entirely. When Eiji once brought this up, Yohei had laughed and replied that with eight years' worth of provisions saved from his time under official custody, such concerns were utterly needless. They handled everything from laundering his underclothes and tabi socks to assisting with changing. As for loincloths—since care packages provided a surplus—he stubbornly kept discarding them, but from washing his face to managing meals, bedding, and even carrying him to the privy and back, the care given was so thorough it would have been exceptional even from a true father.

“Are you done with your meal?” Yohei said. “Shall I make tea if you’d like?” “Thank you—I’ve rinsed with hot water.” Folded bedding lay pressed against the closet. Eiji dragged himself back from the raised floor’s edge and leaned his weight against the bedding. “Yohei-san,” he called out, “I want to start practicing penmanship. Could you procure an inkstone and brushes?” “Of course—they keep ledgers at the guardhouse. I’ll go inquire.” Yohei, who had been clearing the meal tray, spoke these words while gazing gently at Eiji. “I’m glad you’ve come to this frame of mind.”

Eiji averted his gaze. “Today is December—what day is it now?” “It’s the tenth. Tomorrow’s a rest day.” “Then that makes fifty-five or fifty-six days already.” “You mustn’t dwell on counting days,” Yohei said in a soothing voice. “Doctors always give optimistic estimates—even for an illness needing a year’s recovery, they’ll never say more than six months to keep patients’ spirits up. Anyway, don’t go thinking about durations. Healing a broken bone’s like grafting a tree—you can’t expect it done in thirty or fifty days.”

Eiji nodded and said, “That’s why I think I’ll start calligraphy practice.” “I see, I see. Then I can rest easy.” A look of genuine relief appeared on Yohei’s face.

Outside was cloudy, with a wind blowing that wasn’t particularly strong. As this building was a temporary hut, gaps existed in both the floor and plank walls, letting wind whistle through them. There were two hearths—when laborers were present, they would light both—but now only one fire burned, and no matter how much charcoal they added, the room never warmed. Yohei kept urging, “Move closer to the hearth,” yet Eiji refused to budge from before the closet. The firewood and charcoal provided by the authorities fell short, so the laborers pooled their coins to buy more. Not only could Eiji not contribute even those coins—he was someone being cared for by everyone. Considering his working comrades made moving toward the hearth unthinkable—or so Yohei seemed to assume. But that wasn’t truly why—Eiji was desperately trying to verify for himself the changes occurring within. He knew full well how cold drafts seeped through gaps, how his body trembled from chill, how relief lay near the fire—yet now he felt unwilling to settle himself in such snug comfort.

“I need to fully savor just how cold this wind blowing through the gaps is.” He crossed his arms and muttered, “Since I’ve just eaten, it’s not too cold yet—but soon my body will start shivering. I need to savor exactly how that shivering begins and what it feels like when it does.”

Until this year, his twenty-fourth, he had never consciously savored the chill of drafts through gaps or the trembling of his body—this marked the first time. Even if the sensation itself held no meaning, the resolve to experience it without evasion felt profoundly significant. "Hmph—have I started taking after Mr. Oka?" After pondering awhile, he gave a bitter smile but quickly shook his head. "No—that's not it. This didn't come from imitating Mr. Oka. This was born within my own heart. This matters."

After finishing cleaning up and returning,Yohei suggested,"Why don't you put on a padded jacket or something?"but Eiji replied that it wasn't necessary.Yohei did not press further and soon went outside.

"No, better not dwell on that." After a while, Eiji shook off the thought that had come to mind. "Enough about Watabun—I'll put that matter out of my head for the time being." But there was one thing. He had to at least acknowledge that the notion of his entire life being thrown into disarray by a single scrap of brocade was mistaken. Because a human life must not be thrown into disarray by something like a single scrap of brocade, he told himself.

“It’s strange,” Eiji muttered again,“but during July’s storm—even while thinking ‘This won’t kill me’—I clearly felt myself alive then. And when I lay pinned beneath collapsed stone walls drinking saltwater mixed with sand and wished for death from sheer agony... even then I felt my living existence with vivid clarity.” Now don’t rush—before moving from one thing to the next—thoroughly think through each first.

"One clear piece of evidence that my feelings have begun to change is this." He closed his eyes and slowly muttered each word as though carving them into something: "A human life must not be thrown into disarray by something like a single scrap of brocade—this is the first principle." He repeated those words in his mind. Eiji could now divide his past into two parts. One was his peaceful and fortunate self up until last November. The other was himself after the Watabun incident—a self wounded in both body and soul. These two selves were entirely different, and when looking back through the experiences since becoming a labor camp worker up to this day, the self from that peaceful, privileged life now appeared truly small, shallow, and complacent.

"Now now, don't rush yourself." Eiji kept his eyes closed and, smiling faintly, said to himself, "Even the me of now hasn't truly shed a skin yet."

Yohei came in carrying an inkstone box.

11-2

“I’m sorry for not comin’ sooner,” Sabu said as he set the bundle aside. “Been worried sick, but couldn’t get away on account of some business.” “Quit your apologizin’—you ain’t been slackin’. You’re here proper now, ain’tcha?” Eiji cut in. “And bringin’ that junk again—told ya plain last time to knock it off.” “Ain’t nothin’ worth fussin’ over. Just tokens from my roommates an’ some bleached cloth Osue cut up.”

“I’ll tell you straight up—I ain’t answerin’ questions ’bout this leg.” Sabu narrowed his small round eyes. “It ain’t healin’ right, is it?” “I told you not to ask about that.”

“But—” Sabu began, but seeing Eiji’s expression, he nodded. “Got it. Won’t mention it again.” “You goin’ to Sumiyoshi?”

“Ah, only now ’n then. But t’other day Onobu-chan said she wanted to come see you here again, y’know.” “You put her up to it again, didn’t ya?”

"That ain’t it—I wouldn’t go puttin’ ideas in her head! Onobu-chan was a bit drunk, see? Might’ve been the liquor talkin’, but she kept sayin’ two, three times she wants to come see ya soon." "She's tryin’ to provoke you, that’s what." “Provoke me how?” "Since things ain’t gettin’ settled, she’s usin’ me as a wedge to force your hand—that’s her little game." Sabu pursed his lips in a bitter, teary-eyed smile and shook his head faintly.

“I’m glad you’d say that, Eij-chan,” Sabu said, “—but things’re different now. Onobu-chan’s gone and told me every last thing she feels.”

Eiji fell silent. "Oh, I almost forgot," Sabu said abruptly, as if suddenly remembering. "Onobu-chan's double canine teeth came out." "Why're you changin' the subject?" "Did ya forget? 'Bout her tooth right here—" "I know. Double canines're bound t'come out eventually." "She said they'd last till she turned twenty, but I was shocked it turned out true—it happened right in October when she was nineteen."

Eiji stared fixedly at Sabu's face.

“Sabu,” Eiji said in a firm tone, “can’t ya ever talk serious?” “Serious? What’m I—”

“What did Onobu say? What’s this about her talking ’bout her feelings?” Sabu slumped weakly, hunched his shoulders, and let out a deep sigh. A sorrowful, helpless figure. Why am I like this? Eiji thought. When we’re apart, I think I should be kinder—work harder for him—but face-to-face, I get impatient and end up speaking rough. What a wretched man I am, he thought, yet couldn’t soften his attitude.

“I... I’ve been thinkin’,” Sabu murmured with his head still bowed, “thinkin’ sometimes that I was wrong to fall for her. From the start, I ain’t the sort who should be lovin’ women. A clumsy oaf like me fallin’ for Onobu-chan—it’s all just a laughable joke.” “Speak plain—did Onobu laugh at you?” Sabu shook his head side to side. “She wasn’t laughin’—she was cryin’.”

Eiji fell silent again.

“Onobu-chan said she’s liked you from way back, Eij-chan.” “She was drunk, wasn’t she? That one can hold her liquor well enough, but when she’s soused her mouth runs wild—spouting things she doesn’t mean or saying the opposite of what’s in her heart. You think anyone takes a drunk Onobu-san’s words seriously?”

Sabu slowly shook his head from side to side. “Onobu-san knows full well I plan to be with Osue—you get that too, don’t you?” “Onobu-chan said the same thing,” Sabu murmured lowly. “But she says it’s okay like this—that even if they can’t marry, she’ll keep loving you her whole life.” Eiji barked a laugh. “Spoutin’ childish drivel—that’s drunkard’s ramblings! Lifelong love? This ain’t some kusa-zōshi tale—you think real people can keep that up?”

“For someone like me…” Sabu raised his face and smiled weakly. “—I don’t plan to ever forget her.”

Then suddenly changing his tone and pointing behind Eiji’s back, Sabu asked if they’d begun calligraphy practice. “About five or six days back,” Eiji answered. “When I wrote out characters, everyone was shocked stiff. Then they said they wanted to learn too—now I’m teaching kana to ’bout five of ’em.”

“That’s good,” Sabu said. Because Eiji had come to feel that way, Sabu appeared deeply relieved. “Eij-chan,” Sabu continued, “no matter where you go, you’re made to stand above others.” “Want to see?” Eiji said, scooting back to take a scroll from the small desk behind him. He handed it to Sabu. “Take a look at this.” Sabu unrolled the scroll, then looked up at Eiji suspiciously. “—This here’s my letter, ain’t it?”

“It’s my model,” Eiji said. “I’m usin’ those characters as models to practice my writin’.” “This ain’t no joke—that’s downright outrageous!” “If y’think I’m lyin’, look at the desk—there’s a pile o’ practice sheets where I used this as my guide.” “But that’s—usin’ my clumsy scrawl like this—” Sabu faltered and stammered, “That’s a crime, Eij-chan.”

11-3 “That’s not it—these characters aren’t clumsy,” Eiji declared forcefully. “—I thought so too at first. Until just recently, I kept thinking what terrible handwriting this was. But when I calmed down and looked closely, I realized they’re not clumsy at all—they’re characters true to their proper form.”

"When practicing calligraphy, don't aim to write beautifully," the master of Hokodo had repeatedly admonished. If you try to write beautiful characters, it becomes a lie—characters are things that reveal a person’s true nature. No matter how beautifully one writes characters, if they don’t reveal the writer’s true nature, they aren’t true characters. Skill didn’t matter—what mattered was writing without pretense, with raw honesty—the master had always taught this. "You remember, don't you, Sabu?" Eiji retrieved the letter from Sabu and spread it across his knees. “It’s hard to say this with you right here, but these characters walk the true path. If we’re just talkin’ ’bout calligraphy—you stand above me, I tell ya.”

Sabu turned red, took out a folded hand towel from his pocket, wiped his forehead, and then his neck.

“I’m drenched in sweat.” “Shouldn’t have said somethin’ so highfalutin.” As he rolled up the letter, Eiji said, “Seems every soul’s got talents they don’t even know ’bout themselves. Been nigh a year since I washed up here—seen all manner of folks and happenings in that time. This workhouse ain’t like proper towns—crammed with vagrants and jailbirds, society’s castoffs. But bunkin’ with ’em day in, day out... you start seein’. Even the dimwits, the dawdlers, them wild brutes you can’t rein in—they all got somethin’ worthwhile. Some do work so fine nobody could copy it. Long as they ain’t born villains or madmen, every last one’s got somethin’ they’re meant for. Ain’t no truth to master builders bein’ grand ’n carpenters worthless neither. Hell, some fishmonger wavin’ his shop banner might handle a blade better’n Yaomatsu’s head chef. That’s what this year’s taught me, Sabu—quit grovelin’ in the dirt ’n take a good hard look at what you’re made of.”

With clumsy hands, Sabu unwrapped the package, placed the bundle of cut bleached cotton undergarments nearby, and holding three tiered lunchboxes, looked around the room. At that moment, Yohei was coming over from the hearth after preparing tea. “You must be tired from always visiting,” Yohei said. “It’s just weak tea, but please have some.”

Sabu expressed his gratitude to Eiji and presented three tiered lunchboxes. There, another tedious exchange of thanks began, and Eiji turned away. What an infuriating guy, Eiji clicked his tongue mentally. He probably wasn’t even listening to a word I said—preaching to a stone, just wears my mouth out. As Yohei took the tiered lunchboxes and headed toward the hearth, Sabu—folding the wrapping cloth—mentioned that Osue had gone into service again.

“The house in Shitaya Kanesugi’s small,” Sabu continued, “but her old man runs a brush shop—they ain’t hard up. When she went into service at Watabun before, that was for learnin’ manners, but this time’s different. She’s savin’ her wages—even just a little—for when you get out.” “That again?” Eiji scowled openly. “I’m someone who don’t know when I’ll leave this place—told you that already, didn’t I? Tell her straight to quit frettin’ over me—I’m beggin’ you, Sabu.”

Sabu nodded vaguely, “Okay, I’ll tell her that—though it probably won’t make any difference.” Eiji pretended not to hear. “Can I call you Eiji-san?”

After Sabu left, Yohei came to his side and spoke. “Mr. Oka made me promise not to talk about it.” “Call me whatever—names’re just code words anyhow.” “This might upset you,” Yohei said in an uncharacteristically firm tone, “but can’t you be a bit kinder to Sabu?” Eiji stared at Yohei’s face. “Kindness—what do you mean by that?”

“You should understand that yourself. That person comes visiting so often despite having no time to spare. I don’t know what your connection is, but this isn’t something done on a whim. Clever as you are, Eiji-san, you must know my words aren’t foolish. But no matter how wise one becomes, a person can’t see their own back.” Then Yohei went away.

11-4

The final phrase of Yohei’s words stuck firmly in Eiji’s mind. Don’t be stupid—whether you’re wise or not, anyone can see their own back if they use a mirror. He mentally retorted like this, yet understood Yohei hadn’t meant it that way. Even if the meaning were the same, one couldn’t see their own back without a “mirror.” If that was the case, was Yohei suggesting that the very sharpness of mind that immediately conjured such thoughts made him grow impatient with Sabu’s words and actions, leading him to treat Sabu harshly?

"Oh, how ridiculous," Eiji berated himself. "Why you gotta dwell on every damn thing people say?" he cursed inwardly. "What's the use obsessin' over every little remark? Just be who you are already!" He steeled his resolve. This habit had to go.

The number of those wanting to learn calligraphy gradually increased. On days when rain or snow halted laborer work—and every evening after meals—nearly ten people now gathered at desks to practice. There were old desks from the government storeroom and others crafted by the carpenters in their quarters. They tasked outside errand runners with procuring inkstones, brushes, and ink, but paper’s expense led them to adopt a method called water writing (mizugaki). This involved filling a sheet with characters, coating it entirely in ink, letting it dry, then writing anew over the surface with water. Though the water-scribed characters vanished upon drying, the technique proved ideal for practicing brushwork—a single sheet could be reused extensively this way. Amidst this progress, guard captain Kojima Ryojiro arrived one day and declared their activities violated workhouse regulations.

“You mustn’t teach or study characters in laborers’ quarters without permission,” Kojima said deliberately without looking at Eiji. “If you’re earnest about learning calligraphy, you should formally petition the authorities. Mastering characters is no trivial matter—being instructed by someone of dubious background could lead to irreversible consequences later.” It was declared that literacy lessons would be prohibited unless official approval was obtained.

The phrase "someone of unknown background" was likely referring to Eiji. Eiji had continued calligraphy practice at Hokodo for ten years and was counted among the skilled within his peers. He favored Hirozawa and Ryōko, having studied both Chinese and Japanese styles through orthodox methods. "If Kojima had any discernment, he would've realized that much," Eiji thought, but immediately shook his head. No—the fact that it violated regulations might hold truth. If they required formal requests, then following procedure was proper—he reconsidered.

Since the others in the room also wanted to obtain permission, Eiji gathered several volumes of his handwritten model characters and had Yohei take them to the magistrate’s office. At that time, the lower-ranking officer had apparently said they would consider it, but the next day, Oka Yasubei himself came to their quarters. After everyone had gone out to work—leaving only Eiji and Yohei present—Oka Yasubei sent even Yohei away.

“To make matters worse, Master Hakuo teaches calligraphy,” Oka said without preamble. “When the authorities give you special treatment, there are those who’ve long held grudges—it seems they whispered in Hakuo’s ear. Before I knew it, a complaint had been filed with the magistrate.”

Master Hakuo referred to the moral philosophy teacher Tatsumatsu. Though he too lectured without pay, upon hearing that laborers were teaching characters while bypassing him, Master Hakuo seemed deeply wounded in his pride and had strongly petitioned Magistrate Narushima Jiemon. Learning characters required utmost care from the very beginning; it was not merely about memorization but cultivating proper resolve. Though one needn't have spotless windows and desks, they had to purify both mind and body, taking up the brush in pure thoughtless focus. He had argued that conducting such activities haphazardly in chaotic laborers' quarters—devoid of proper etiquette—would only cause harm.

"There is some truth to that," Oka continued. "The magistrate’s room would be quieter and better than this one—don’t you think?" "It depends on whether everyone will go," Eiji answered. "They can hold brushes comfortably here in this room, but if we have to go all the way to the magistrate’s office, I doubt they’ll keep it up." At that, Eiji burst out laughing. Oka looked at him suspiciously, then asked, “What’s so funny?” Eiji recalled a certain lecture Master Hakuo had once given, in which he had eloquently expounded on how patient Kimura Shigenari had been and how crucial patience was for humanity. That very person had gotten angry. Because Eiji was teaching calligraphy, the middle-aged moral philosophy teacher—his pride wounded—had even stormed in to complain to the magistrate. When he realized this, he couldn’t help bursting into laughter—though of course he said nothing of the sort to Oka.

“I’ll talk with everyone when they return,” said Eiji after stifling his laughter, “but with my leg like this, I can’t accompany you. I’ll keep teaching here as I have been.” “Don’t let something like this sour your spirits.” With those words, Oka Yasubei left.

11-5

When they heard that calligraphy would be taught at the magistrate’s office, all the laborers laughed it off.

“That fatso moral lecturer? Not a chance,” Sanpei said. “He’d try crammin’ sermons into his teachin’, I bet. Just lookin’ at that bloated old geezer’s body makes my gut churn. I’d sooner flip a burdock root than sit through that.” “What’s this burdock nonsense?” “Quit makin’ me explain the joke,” Sanpei scrubbed his nose with a fist, “You plannin’ to traipse up to the magistrate’s office for writin’ lessons or what?”

“If you’re the burdock tempura here, why should I be the only one marchin’ off?” “Tempura? The hell you say!” Sanpei wrinkled the bridge of his nose. “Don’t tell me you don’t get the wordplay with ‘burdock stir-fry’?” “Serves you right!” Kichizō clapped his hands. “You ended up explainin’ your own joke after all!” “Now, just wait a moment,” Yohei interjected soothingly, “I fully understand how you all feel. It’s certainly not worth goin’ all the way to the magistrate’s office. The whole point was bein’ able to casually learn a character or two without formalities—attendin’ some proper schoolhouse would indeed feel burdensome. That said, since Mr. Oka went through the trouble of arrangin’ this and it’s under the honorable magistrate’s directive, I think we should at least try attendin’ for a month or even half a month.”

“That might be all well and good for you, Mr. Yohei,” said Overseer Kurata, “but expecting us to traipse all the way to the magistrate’s office and practice calligraphy with some stuffy lectures attached—that’s asking the impossible.” “It’s like traveling all the way to India just for a bowl of tea over rice,” someone said. The monthly rest day on the first of each month was designated for moral philosophy lectures and calligraphy practice, and five or six people from the mokko room also began attending. Strangely enough, all of them were those who had never shared a desk with Eiji—in other words, people who had turned away from the companions studying calligraphy alongside him.

"I hadn’t noticed either, but human affairs are complicated indeed," said Yohei. "Those fellows were envious—when everyone gathered around Eiji-san for calligraphy practice, keeping their distance yet truly wanting to join in themselves." "I did a bad thing," Eiji said.

He had no recollection of inviting anyone. He had merely taught those who asked to be taught; he had originally intended to do it alone. He wanted to learn something from Sabu’s writing and, by doing so, hoped to distract himself from the frustration of his disabled body even for a moment. However, he had to consider the fact that over twenty people were living together in the same room. If about ten people were to arrange their desks around him, then it was only natural that he should have at least called out to ask how the others felt about it. He hadn’t realized—Eiji clicked his tongue at himself.

The twenty-sixth day approached evening with snow falling since morning, yet through that snow came Onobu. Work had been canceled due to the snow, leaving everyone in the mokko room. They normally would have met in the magistrate’s small reception room, but Eiji’s leg still lacked the strength to walk that far. There, Yohei spoke to everyone and had them gather in a corner before surrounding Eiji with half-screens as they had done previously. “Oh, you look well!” Onobu said while brushing snow from her umbrella at the entrance, “I’m sorry for visiting so late—everything’s been absolute chaos since November.”

Then, after greeting Yohei, she opened the package she had brought and, saying “It’s not much, but please each have a bite,” took out a bundle of cut mochi to pass around, then came toward Eiji with the remaining package. “You look completely well now!” “Quit repeating yourself—settle down.”

“You’ve put on weight.” “No more talk about legs.” “You have put on a little weight indeed.” Onobu narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing Eiji’s face and body from head to toe. “Your cheeks look completely different now! Ugh, if we don’t stop here, all that manliness you’ve built up will go to waste!” “Are you just here to chatter, or do you actually have some business?”

When Yohei brought tea, Onobu evaded Eiji’s question by exchanging pleasantries with Yohei and sipping her tea. “At Sumiyoshi, the proprietor passed away.”

"—Why?" Eiji looked at Onobu with eyes that seemed startled. "There’s no ‘why’ about it—it was some disease that rotted the bones and flesh from his legs up to his hips," Onobu said with a grimace. "They say if they’d caught it sooner, there might’ve been a cure. But that quack in town didn’t have a clue—just kept slapping on ointments until it was too late. By the time they handed him over to some big-shot surgeon, there was nothing to be done."

“What a godawful doctor that was.”

"Today makes eleven days since he passed away," Onobu said as she set down the tea bowl she had been holding. "They were just a childless couple with their hometown being far away, or so I heard," Onobu continued. "The mistress has completely lost her strength—she’s practically turned into an invalid herself. So I’ve been handling everything from prep work to cooking to managing the shop." Eiji waited a moment before asking, "But—what happened?"

“The mistress is asking me to become her adopted daughter.” Eiji asked, “Do you dislike it, Nobu-kō?” “It’s not that simple.” Onobu hesitated before continuing, “Sumiyoshi may be small, but we built our reputation on drinks and appetizers. The late proprietor was quite skilled as a chef too. If it’s left entirely to women now, our customers will surely dwindle.” “Quit wastin’ my time,” Eiji cut in. “Hearin’ this ain’t helpin’ me one damn bit. There’s somethin’ bigger you came to say, ain’t there?”

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Onobu glared. “I only come now and then to talk—the least you could do is listen proper! You’re the one who told me to calm down from the get-go—maybe practice what you preach!” “Alright, alright—chatter away to your heart’s content. That iron will of yours’s too much for me, Nobu-kō.”

Onobu suddenly sharpened her gaze. "What's that supposed to mean? You're not talking about Sabu-chan, are you?" "You're straying off track." "But since we've come this far," Onobu said with defiant resolve, "I'll lay it out plain—I told Sabu-chan straight: 'I just can't muster romantic feelings for you. As a customer, I'll always keep you company, but don't go expecting anything beyond that.'"

“There may be plenty of strong-willed women in this world,” Eiji said, “but when it comes to those who can speak so bluntly to a man’s face—especially one hopelessly in love with them—you’d be hard-pressed to find even two others.” “The reason I’ve managed to survive this long is precisely because of that,” Onobu replied, lifting her face. “If I hadn’t done so, I’d have ended up like my dead sister—either fallen into Jirōkichi the procurer’s clutches or been exploited by my parents. If a woman wants to live properly, she must first draw clear lines between things. Leave even the slightest ambiguity, and you never know when it’ll be the death of you. My sister’s living proof of that.”

“Impressive,” Eiji said. “This ain’t sarcasm—straight truth. You’ll do just fine, Nobu-kō.” “That’s the plan,” Onobu replied, eyes averted. “I’m no demon, y’know. Hurt like pressing a blade to my ribs when I told Sabu-chan those things.” “Better for him that way—kid won’t keep moonin’ forever.” Eiji nodded sharply before fixing her with a look. “—So spit out what you really came to say.”

Onobu intertwined and untangled her fingers on her lap, seeming unable to begin speaking immediately. “So it’s a marriage proposal,” Eiji said. Onobu nodded quietly. “Don’t you like the suitor?” “Yes,” Onobu answered in a whisper, “there’s a place called Tokiwa-ro over in Ryōgoku, you know.” “I’ve only heard of it.” There’s a chef there named Toku-san. He was thirty-five, seemed to have been an old acquaintance of Sumiyoshi’s late proprietor, and had often come to drink; they had now proposed making him Onobu’s husband to carry on Sumiyoshi.

"Thirty-five is way too old!" Onobu continued. "It’s cruel making me marry some old man—on top of that he’s got a drinking habit, quick to anger, and turns violent when mad. I’d die before becoming that man’s wife!" "If you’re so resolved in your guts, then there’s no problem, is there?" "But that’s why I can’t—that’s why I came for your wisdom, Eiji-san."

"Poor you," Eiji said with a bitter smile. "Thirty-five and already an old man?" "Take this seriously," Onobu said.

11/6 “I’m serious here,” Eiji said. “Calling a thirty-five-year-old an ‘old man’ just shows how much you hate the guy, Nobu-kō.”

“I already told you that.” “Then why’re you troubled? Just say ‘no’ clear-like you did when drawin’ the line with Sabu—ain’t that enough?” “If that were enough, I wouldn’t have come to consult you in the first place.” To make matters worse, the man had become utterly infatuated with Onobu, declaring when drunk that if this marriage arrangement didn’t come through, he would kill her and then himself. And he wasn’t just making empty threats—he seemed exactly the type who might actually carry them out. The mistress of Sumiyoshi had long placed absolute faith in his culinary skills and kept tearfully insisting there was no way to keep the shop running without bringing him on board.

“Just run away then.” “And that’s what you’d say, Eiji-san.” “Just run away,” Eiji said. “The mistress of Sumiyoshi ain’t that old either—she’s probably not much older than that chef.” Onobu shook her head. “The mistress is thirty-eight.” “She’s in her prime, ain’t she? They say you should search high and low for a bride three years your senior!” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Onobu burst out laughing, clapping a hand over her mouth before saying, “That’s one year older, I’ll have you know.”

Neither the mistress nor the man showed even a hint of such inclinations. Even if there were one chance in ten thousand of that happening, leaving Sumiyoshi before it did would make me no better than a whore. “It’s all thanks to Sumiyoshi that I managed to escape Jirōkichi the procurer and avoid being devoured by my parents,” Onobu said. “—You’d surely say any other establishment would’ve been the same—and maybe you’re right. Another shop might’ve been no different... but then again, it might’ve been completely otherwise. Don’t you think?”

“That Nobu-kō’s got some talent for spinning arguments,” Eiji said, adjusting his bad leg’s position. “But what I’m tryin’ to say ain’t about whether Sumiyoshi’s a good shop or not—it’s about your damn stubbornness bein’ the key here. You’ve survived this long not ’cause of the shop, but ’cause of that unyielding nature of yours, Nobu-kō. That’s what I’m gettin’ at.”

Onobu stared fixedly at Eiji’s face, then slowly shook her head. “You’re so naive about how the world works,” Onobu said with a heavy sigh. “No—that’s not it, that’s not it at all.” She paused briefly before continuing, “Even a dragon ascending to heaven can’t just use any cloud—there are clouds it can climb and clouds it can’t. A dragon may have the power to reach the heavens, but without a foothold cloud—what? What’s so funny?”

“Forget it.” Eiji stopped laughing and waved one hand. “Startled me—a naive kid suddenly turning into a dragon like that.” Onobu shrugged both shoulders and glared at Eiji while letting them slump, as if to say “How disappointing.” “Now I understand why you can’t grasp Sabu-chan’s hardships,” Onobu declared in a sighing tone. “You think my stubbornness alone could’ve carried me through any establishment—but that’s not how the world works, Eiji-san. Maybe the dragon analogy was overblown, but even with all your smarts and skill, you couldn’t have become a proper artisan anywhere just on those merits alone. You might claim now that you’d have made it without Hokodo, without Sabu-chan or Osue-chan—but you can’t erase that Hokodo existed, that Sabu-chan was there, that someone like Osue-chan existed.”

“So now Sabu’s the dragon ascending to heaven? Let’s set my own mess aside—if you won’t leave the shop and hate that man so much, even I’m fresh outta ideas, Nobu-kō.” “I suppose you’re right.” Onobu released a long sigh. “Talking it through like this made me realize—coming to you was pointless from the start. My apologies for burdening you with such trifles.” “Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for. If this damn leg weren’t crippled, I’d go have a word with that bastard myself.”

“Thank you. Just hearing you say that makes me happy,” Onobu said with a smile. “I’m sure things’ll work out somehow—I’ll do my best to hang on.” “You won’t lose, Nobu-kō,” Eiji said with an encouraging laugh. “But if anything does trouble you, come here.”

“Let me ask just once—what will become of that leg?” Eiji shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s a snowy path—be careful not to slip, you hear?”

Onobu stared fixedly into Eiji's eyes and nodded once, like a young girl.

12/1

Sabu's face was visible through the gap between the stones. His face was smeared and sodden with tears, twisted hideously by fear. "Don't die, Eij-chan," Sabu pleaded desperately, intertwining his fingers with all his might and pressing them against his mouth. "You’re my only hope, Eij-chan—hang in there—don’t die, Eij-chan—it’s almost over—stay strong—you can’t die—if you die on me, I’m done for—if you die, I’ll die too," Sabu pleaded through tears. I tried to say 'Stop crying—I'm fine,' but the crushing weight of the stones made my chest feel like it would collapse, and no sound would come out. "Don't give up, Bushū!" came Kobu Seishichi's voice as well. The faces of Yohei, Mankichi, and Kinta also came into view. Not only familiar faces but even strangers peered through the gaps between the stones, shouting with hoarse voices—"Hang in there!", "Don’t you die!", "We’ll get you out soon!" I’m fine—but my chest is getting crushed—someone get these stones off me—Eiji writhed from the sheer agony.

“Eiji-san.” Someone shook his shoulder. “Eiji-san, you’re having a nightmare. Come on, Eiji-san.”

Eiji awoke with a stifling anguish, as if he were surfacing from the depths of a deep muddy swamp. The room blazed with sunlight. He lay on his back under the futon, Yohei’s concerned face looming directly above him. “You awake? You all right?” “Yeah.” Eiji coughed out his reply. “Thanks for rousing me. Was having an awful dream.”

“The towel’s right here.” “Sorry.” Using the towel Yohei had brought him, Eiji wiped the sweat from his brow, then under his arms and across his chest. “Drenched,” he muttered. “Shall I get you another one?”

Eiji shook his head, folded the towel, and placed it beside the pillow. When he asked the time, it was said to be around two o'clock in the afternoon. That meant he had slept for nearly an hour, and Yohei said it was because he was tired. It was now the nineteenth day of the New Year, and he had begun practicing walking five or six days earlier; that day too, since morning, he had repeated the exercise countless times with brief rests in between. Using the T-shaped crutch made by Seishichi under his arm, he walked slowly through the dirt-floored room, picking up each step as if gathering them one by one. He had been practicing standing since dusk, but even after he began walking, at first he couldn’t find his center of gravity and would often sway unsteadily. Yohei stayed close by his side, repeating "Don’t rush, don’t rush" as if soothing a child, and at the slightest sign of danger, would immediately try to lend a hand. Though he found it irritating and bothersome, Eiji obediently let Yohei have his way.

“Today makes six days,” Yohei said. “Pushing yourself like this all at once might do more harm than good. You should rest for two or three days.” Eiji replied that he would do so and closed his eyes. The impression of the dream he’d just seen was seared into his head with an intense sense of reality. Sabu’s face and voice—pleading “Don’t die” through tears—remained so vividly lifelike that even after waking, it didn’t feel like a dream at all.

"That's right—it wasn't a dream. This was reality," Eiji thought. Even now at this very moment, Sabu must be worrying about me—it had been this way since long ago. Around me, Sabu's heart and eyes had never left my side for a single moment.

After that, his workhouse comrades too—ever since he had been pinned beneath the stones—had all worried about him and come together to comfort and support him. Seishichi had made a T-shaped crutch for me, and Yohei cared for me more than my own parents ever did. Moreover, not a single person acted out of self-interest—there wasn’t even anyone seeking thanks.—This is something tremendous, Eiji thought. Even when he had been rescued from beneath the stones and afterward, each time he recalled it, he had felt a profound astonishment, but the dream he had just seen now engraved that fact anew into his heart—clearly and without the slightest ambiguity.

"No, wait Sabu," he whispered under his breath. "I can't leave yet—what I've received from my comrades here is too great. I can't possibly leave without giving something back to them."

He considered the Master of Hokodo and Wazuke of Asakusa. And though he could never forgive the events of that December two years prior, he now felt profoundly how precious and invaluable were the new world he had come to know through them, and the experiences shared with so many people. “I can’t forgive the master of Watabun, the head of that neighborhood, or those two informants,” Eiji whispered. “I’ll make sure they understand—through means they’ll never forget in their lifetime. Just wait.”

However, he himself had noticed. The desire to take revenge on them had now greatly weakened. Was it from around the time he realized that a person’s entire life should not be swayed by a mere scrap of gold brocade? Even when he meticulously recalled every instance of humiliation and violence he had endured, he no longer felt the kind of blind rage that had once overwhelmed him.

"I'll make them regret this someday." Such vows had once been what sustained Eiji. He had even believed that without this obsession called revenge, he would surely die. Now that seemed to have been replaced by something else. What if I'd kept working at Hokodo, opened my own shop, married Osue, and lived a peaceful life? When he imagined this, it now struck him as nothing but a repellent void—compared to the four hundred days he'd spent here, such an existence felt utterly devoid of flavor, ordinary and tedious to the core, sheer boredom itself. Undoubtedly, something within Eiji had changed—or was changing still.

Two days later, on the twenty-first day of rest, eight homeless convicts were brought in, three of whom were assigned to the mokko room. Their escort was Matsuda Gonzo—the Red Ogre—who introduced the trio as Gīchi, Shōkichi, and Ryū before departing with an order to “get along.” Since it was a rest day, the whole group had gathered in the room. Denshichi, the foreman on annual duty, began making introductions. But a young man called Gīchi cut him off. “Ain’t no need for that,” he said, hiking up his hem to sit cross-legged while slapping his hairy shins and glaring around at them all. “Hmph! Every last one o’ you got faces like country bumpkins. From now on, I’ll be teachin’ y’all some manners—bit by bit.”

Then he added, “I’m Gīchi the gambler—remember that.” Gīchi was twenty-six or twenty-seven, Ryū was probably eighteen or nineteen, and the one called Shōkichi appeared to be around thirty. Though of average height, Gīchi had a muscular, nimble build and features handsome enough to be called beautiful—a contrast that made his sharp, menacing eyes and crisp retorts all the more intimidating. Whether through some connection at the gambling den or not, Ryū seemed to genuinely revere Gīchi, trailing after him while calling him “Brother” and throwing himself into assisting with even trivial tasks.

The man called Shōkichi also had his own peculiarities. He had a narrow face with sharp cheekbones and a small, emaciated build. He always wore a faint smile around his lips and spoke little in a low, calm voice, yet there was something about him—a lurking menace like a wolf eyeing its prey—that kept others from approaching him as well. Nevertheless, Shōkichi carried out his assigned work and never openly defied the daily regulations. While flickering with a sinister undercurrent of malice that made one wonder when his true nature might surface, he obeyed the foreman’s orders. However, Gīchi was the opposite—he didn’t show up for work and kept to his own schedule for sleeping and waking. Whenever he was up, he would invariably be handling hanafuda cards; come nightfall, he urged everyone to gamble.

He looked just like me, Eiji thought. When I first came to the workhouse, I must have been exactly like that. He had convinced himself that being falsely accused and subjected to cruel treatment granted him some special entitlement—that he could push through any act of rebellion or selfishness he desired. Gīchi too followed this pattern: believing his gambler nickname constituted a special privilege and flaunting it before everyone.

So I had been like that too.

They must have found it utterly irritating; every time he thought this, Eiji broke into a cold sweat. From the moment he arrived, Gīchi had apparently been secretly keeping an eye on Eiji. He didn’t show up for work, had his meals prepared for him, and whether he was lounging on his futon or practicing calligraphy—all of it had an arrogant air that grated on others.—Since Yohei had already started working again, Eiji had taken it upon himself to decline any assistance beyond meal preparation and laundry. But even this seemed to irritate Gīchi, and five or six days after arriving, he started demanding that I bring him meals too.

“Just ’cause you’re a cripple don’t make you any less of a workhouse laborer.” Gīchi put force into the word “cripple” as he said, “If one person can do it, then I oughta be able to do it too. Or you sayin’ you’re refusin’ me?” “I’ll do it,” Yohei answered. “That’s how it should be—ain’t that what comradeship’s about?” Gīchi said. “Oh, and while you’re at it, I’ll be countin’ on you to handle my laundry from now on.”

12-2

“Don’t get angry now—don’t you go getting angry,” Yohei whispered softly to Eiji. “Preparing meals and doing laundry are no trouble at all. That man’s just making unreasonable demands on purpose to pick a fight with you.” “Ah,” Eiji nodded. “I won’t get angry.” Because of me, I’ve made them shoulder troublesome matters again. I’m sorry, Eiji apologized inwardly. Ever since Hakuō began teaching calligraphy at the government office, five or six from here had started attending. According to rumors, people from other rooms also came to learn—at one point reportedly exceeding twenty. Even now there seemed to be those attending both moral philosophy lectures and calligraphy practice. But if limited to the mokko room alone, everyone had stopped going since the New Year. Before anyone noticed, the number of desks lined up around Eiji had increased.

“Hey, how ’bout a round?” Gīchi called out while deftly shuffling the hanafuda cards. “We can settle the wins and losses at the end of the month.” Then, onto a rush mat folded into four parts, he slapped down the hanafuda cards with a flourish. He must have been quite skilled, for his card shuffling was masterful, and the sound of them hitting the rush mat rang sharp. For Kinta—who had been sent here for petty gambling—this must have been an irresistible temptation; every time he heard that sound, his entire body seemed on the verge of lunging forward.

“Hey, ain’t there anyone who’ll play?” Gīchi goaded. “This ain’t no proper schoolhouse setup—workhouse laborers learnin’ letters? That’s some mad business!” Mankichi, who had been sharing a desk with Eiji, began to rise as if to retort. Eiji swiftly reached out, seized Mankichi’s arm, and pressed him back down with a hissed “Don’t.” Though it lasted mere moments, Gīchi caught the exchange. “You there—youngster,” he jerked his chin at Mankichi. “Yeah you—the lout sittin’ next to that cripple. Looked like you had somethin’ to say just now.”

“My leg went numb,” Eiji answered. “I just adjusted how I was sitting.” “I ain’t askin’ you—stay outta this!” Gīchi yelled as he stood and advanced toward Mankichi. “Hey bastard—you deaf or somethin’?”

Mankichi’s face turned pale as he looked up, and Yohei rushed over to him. “Now now, there’s no need to get so angry,” Yohei calmed Gīchi. “The guard post is right over there with officials stationed inside. If you raise your voice too loud, they’ll hear.” “Shut the hell up!” Gīchi bellowed as he shoved Yohei with all his might. “Keep your trap shut, old man!” At that moment, Matsuda Gonzo entered. When Eiji saw Yohei being shoved with full force and tumbling down to the earthen floor, he was seized by a blinding rage and reached toward the T-shaped crutch leaning against the door recess behind him. Rather than any thought of what to do next, his hand moved instinctively. When the sliding door opened and he noticed Red Oni entering, Eiji closed his eyes, leaned back against his futon, and let out a deep, long sigh.

“Fine evening. Things running smoothly?” Matsuda said, looking at Yohei on the earthen floor. “What’s wrong, Yohei? What’re you doing down there?” “Oh, just this dizzy spell I get.” “At night, my footing sometimes goes unsteady,” Yohei answered while brushing dirt from his kimono. “Now that’s not something you want others to hear,” Matsuda said, glaring exaggeratedly. “Makes it sound like we ain’t feedin’ you decent stuff at the workhouse. Did you get Dr. Santetsu to check you out?”

Dismissing it as nothing serious with a vague laugh, Yohei stepped up onto the wooden flooring, and Matsuda Gonzo turned his gaze toward those practicing calligraphy and Gīchi standing defiantly in their path. "Well, you're Gīchi, aren't you," Matsuda called out. "You plannin' to start calligraphy lessons too?" Gīchi spat "Eat shit" and slunk back to his usual spot. "Hey," Matsuda barked. "What'd you just say?" "Now what was it I said?" Gīchi settled cross-legged before the rush mat, scooping up hanafuda cards as he drawled, "Just mutterin' to myself—can't recall a word. Best not fret over it."

Matsuda’s face swelled livid red in an instant, true to his Red Oni nickname, his eyes glaring fiercely as if about to burst from their sockets. “You damn bastard,” Matsuda roared, “What hellhole do you think this is?”

Gīchi instantly retorted, “—Wasn’t it Ishikawajima Workhouse?” Matsuda Gonzo’s hands clenched into fists that trembled violently. Eiji’s chest filled with sorrow. It was exactly the same—I’d made Red Oni this angry before. When Matsuda had tried to approach him amicably, I’d coldly, mercilessly rebuffed him. Back then, Matsuda must have wanted to strike me—his whole body quaking with rage like now—yet he’d suppressed it with nothing but a “Get lost.” How detestable I must have been—what a wretched bastard I was, Eiji thought.

“If you know that,” Matsuda Gonzo said through clenched teeth, “then don’t you forget the workhouse rules. Hand over those hanafuda cards.” “What’re you gonna do?” Gīchi bared his teeth in a grin. “If you’re openin’ a gambling den, I’ll deal the cards.”

“Gambling’s strictly prohibited here. Not even a single hanafuda card’s allowed. Hand them over.” “I paid for these with my own coin, I’ll have you know.”

“Hand it over!” Matsuda shouted.

12-3 Gīchi grinned broadly. When Matsuda Gonzo shouted to hand over the hanafuda cards, his anger seemed to have reached its peak. Hearing this, Eiji felt as though he were the one being shouted at, and he froze in shame. Gīchi was mocking Matsuda. And through these actions, he was attempting to demonstrate himself to everyone. Just as I myself had been like that—though in reality it held no meaning whatsoever, only making a fool of myself instead. As Eiji was thinking this, Gīchi stood up with a mocking laugh, holding the gathered hanafuda cards, and handed them to Matsuda.

“It was just a joke, Mr. Matsuda,” Gīchi said. “Can’t we even crack one joke around here?” “Do I look like a fool to you?” Matsuda said through ragged breaths. “The superintendent stated this isn’t a prison—that’s certainly true—but underestimate the workhouse and you’ll regret it.” “Understood,” Gīchi said, turning to Ryū behind him. “Remember what the overseer just said—this place sounds scarier than Denmacho. Let’s behave ourselves, eh?”

“You still mad about that, Bro?” Ryū said with amusement. “Or maybe you’re just scared?” Matsuda strode out with large steps and roughly slid the door shut.

Matsuda Gonzo took the hanafuda cards. That was something everyone saw. However, the very next day, Gīchi was once again toying with hanafuda cards before the rush mat. At the workhouse, belongings were strictly inspected, and items like blades, hanafuda cards, and dice were of course confiscated. Nevertheless, Gīchi once again had hanafuda cards in his possession. Whether he had hidden them somewhere or had acquired them within the workhouse, no one could tell.

“You said you ended up here because of a fight,” Eiji told Mankichi one day. “The other day you nearly got into it again—don’t ever take the bait.” “But Brother, I don’t think I can keep holding back.” Eiji shook his head. “No good—that Ryū has a dagger.”

“No way!” Mankichi’s eyes widened. “A dagger? No way...” “He’s got one,” Eiji pressed. “Hides it from everyone else, but when he’s alone, he pulls it from his robe and wipes the blade down. Meant to scare me, no doubt. At his age—that’s when they’re most dangerous. Thinks killing someone’ll make his name shine. Give him half a reason, he’ll use it. Got that?” He leaned closer. “No matter what happens—don’t you ever take the bait.”

“I have a bad feeling something’s about to happen,” Mankichi said uneasily. “I just know it can’t end without something going wrong.” “So don’t go near them,” Eiji said.

Within half a month, people began succumbing to Gīchi’s temptations and taking up hanafuda cards. Kinta was the first to sit down before the rush mat, followed by Sanpei, Takeshi, and Tomisaburō, and then two or three others from different rooms began joining as well.

Eiji had harbored an innate aversion to gambling that bordered on terror since birth. The master of Hokodo also detested gambling, going so far as to forbid even using a lottery to decide who would run errands when apprentices bought nighttime tea sweets. He had always repeated that vices like drink and women might fade with time, but gambling never ceased—that no one who gambled could remain at Hokodo. Indeed, several had been driven from the workshop after becoming so consumed by gambling they resorted to dishonorable deeds.—Every time Eiji observed them clustered around Gīchi, breathlessly engrossed in each hanafuda card being scattered or flipped over, he felt he was seeing the very image of his senior apprentices who had ruined themselves.

Such a state of affairs couldn’t last forever—it wouldn’t be long before the authorities found out.

Eiji had been thinking that way, but soon realized how shallow his understanding had been. For Gīchi to act like this meant he must have laid thorough groundwork beforehand. Whenever Guard Captain Kojima Ryojiro appeared, the hanafuda cards would immediately get stashed away and gathered men scatter. After witnessing this three or five times over, they understood it served as a warning that inspectors were coming. "Things've gone rotten bad, Brother," Mankichi whispered to Eiji. "Heard from Kinta at today's worksite—that Gīchi bastard's greasing officials' palms with silver."

“Don’t say such things.” “Do you really think we can just leave things like this?” Mankichi whispered urgently, “You must’ve noticed—the folks in this mokko room’ve split into three groups: them learning letters from Brother, the crowd flocking round Gīchi, and weaklings like the foremen ’n’ Yohei-san who can’t do nothin’. Ain’t that right?” Eiji did not answer. “The gambling crew used to resent you and us,” Mankichi continued, “but now they downright hate us. It’s not just that we ain’t gamblin’—they can’t stand that we’re doin’ calligraphy too. You know even Kinta’s givin’ us the stink eye now, Brother?”

Eiji gave a faint nod but still said nothing. "Even when we go to the worksite, it’s not like before—everyone’s startin’ to slack off, I’m tellin’ ya." Mankichi took a deep breath and said, “—Only ’bout half are workin’ proper-like. The rest are just goin’ through the motions—some’ve given up completely. Worse yet, the real bad ones are sneakin’ in gamblin’ whenever they get the chance, Brother.”

This room was no different, Eiji murmured to himself. Just as Yohei had once said, though it housed only men living and sleeping here, the room had always been kept tidy and thoroughly cleaned. But now that was no longer true. Some still tidied their immediate surroundings and never skipped cleaning, but their numbers dwindled day by day. Occasionally it had come to pass that foreman Denshichi and Yohei would clean the entire room together.

“I can’t put up with this anymore,” Mankichi whispered, “I’m gonna take this straight to the magistrate sir.” Eiji slowly shook his head. “Best to give it up—it’s pointless.” “Straight to the magistrate sir.”

“The authorities have their own ways of doing things. And besides—” Eiji paused to collect his thoughts before continuing, “People are weak when it comes to desire. I don’t know how deep Gīchi’s got those officials under his thumb, but even if you take this to them, they’ll use every trick to cover it up—all to protect their own greed and reputations. The magistrate’s no exception—those officials are his subordinates. Their failures become his failures. It’s not as simple as you think.”

“Then what should we do? You’re telling me to just shut up and watch, Brother?” “Calm down,” Eiji whispered gently, “Last year’s great storm didn’t even last three days. There’s never been a fire that burned for a whole year—let it go.” Eiji suddenly averted his face in embarrassment. “Making me spout this old-man wisdom—you’re one hell of a bastard, you know that?”

One night in mid-February, as Eiji was out alone at the southern beach, Lump Seishichi came looking for him. For five or six days now, Eiji had been coming there every night to practice throwing logs. From the woodshed, he would bring out about five un-split logs, each roughly three feet long, and throw them at a stake standing on the beach. He would leave under the excuse of going to the restroom—Yohei likely remained unaware—but he continued this practice nightly, rain being the only exception.

There might be no need for this now—but there might come a time when it would be necessary.

Eiji would likely have to confront Gīchi, Ryū, Shōkichi, and the others with physical force someday. The night he had seen Matsuda Gonzo and Gīchi clash, he thought this inevitable and felt responsible to act. So what should he do when the moment came? Ryū had a dagger, and Gīchi seemed strong in a fight. It was unclear whether Shōkichi would back him up, but with one leg crippled and only a T-shaped crutch as a weapon—his body too slow to move swiftly—he had no choice but to hurl it. Of course, he had hidden three suitable round logs between his folded bedding, but he brought five to the beach and practiced throwing them at a stake from twelve or thirteen feet away.

“Is that you there, Eiji-san?”

When Seishichi called out to him like that, Eiji was so startled his heart nearly stopped. “Ah,” Eiji answered in a hoarse voice, “do you need something?”

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” Seishichi remarked as he approached. “What are you doing in a place like this?” “Been loafing around all day,” Eiji stammered in reply, “and my body’s so restless I can’t stand it—so I’m messing around like this.”

And he hurled the round log he held toward the stake. The sky was thinly overcast, with only a single patch of cloud faintly glowing where the moonlight seeped through. The stake, twelve or thirteen feet away, was not clearly visible even to Eiji's accustomed eyes. Nevertheless, the round log that flew off struck the stake with a high-pitched sound. “Damn impressive,” said Seishichi. “You aimin’ for that stake there?”

12-4 While answering affirmatively, Eiji walked thumping his T-shaped crutch and picked up the round logs that had fallen around the stake. Four were found immediately, but one seemed to have bounced far away, and he couldn’t find it no matter how hard he tried. “Still need that crutch, huh?” “I don’t know how much this has saved me—this thing’s been more helpful than anything.” With that, Eiji stroked his T-shaped crutch. “—You got some business with me or what?”

“Uh, well—” Seishichi fidgeted and said, “I’ve got somethin’ I wanna discuss… Bushū… But standin’ here talkin’ must be tirin’ you out.” “Nah, I’m used to it by now.” “Well, uh…” Seishichi feigned a cough and fidgeted with his earlobe. “Thing is… Otoyo came by today.” Eiji peered into the faintly pale night air and gazed steadily at Seishichi’s face. “You know about Otoyo, right?” “The handcuffs were tough,” said Eiji. “So, what happened?”

“She says she broke up with Matsuzo and now wants to be with me.” If he wished it，he could leave this workhouse．There was no issue on that front—the problem was what came after leaving．As he’d mentioned before，he could only work as a laborer or a porter；wherever he went，people looked down on him and exploited him．Even if he left for the outside world this time，Seishichi said in a serious tone，sounding thoroughly agonized，he didn’t think he could make a better living than before．And if people laughed at him again，he felt like he might make some irreparable mistake．

“To be honest, I want to be with Otoyo—you know that. I’m completely devoted to her, and I’d do anything to be with her,” Seishichi said with a heavy sigh. “But when I think about life after leaving this workhouse, I just don’t know what to do with myself.” Eiji remained silent for a moment before saying, “That’s a tough one.” “How serious she really is—that’s what matters most.” Even while in this workhouse, Otoyo was said to have been involved with several men. Though she’d promised Seishichi, she’d left here with Matsuzo the motoyui maker. Why had she broken up with Matsuzo? What reason could she have for coming all the way to the workhouse to declare she wanted to become Seishichi’s wife? Even that much alone felt to Eiji like something that didn’t quite add up.

“It’s complicated, that situation,” said Eiji, adjusting the crutch under his arm. “Just because things went that way before in the workhouse doesn’t mean they’ll turn out the same this time. You managed to keep your crew in line at the oil press room for years—it might actually work out better than you think. But maybe I’m sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. What really matters, I think, is how Otoyo herself feels.”

“I thought about that too, so I made sure to ask Otoyo how she truly felt,” Seishichi said emphatically. “She cried her eyes out—apologizing over and over, swearing that from now on she’d protect only me and be a proper wife. Her face was all streaked with tears.” Did she truly want to become Seishichi’s wife that desperately? Was she genuinely wishing for it from the bottom of her heart? Or was she trying to escape some kind of trouble by marrying him? For Eiji, that point remained utterly unconvincing.

“I know this sounds cold-hearted, but this matter’s beyond someone like me,” Eiji said apologetically. “What do you think—maybe Mr. Oka at the office could offer better counsel?” “Don’t need no fancy advice,” Seishichi shook his head. “Just wanna hear what you feel about it.”

“That’s why I keep tellin’ you it’s trouble.” “Just one word—‘Go ahead’ or ‘Quit it’—that’s all I need.” Seishichi pleaded in a clinging voice, “You’re young but you’ve suffered plenty—you ain’t the type to handle things with just cold logic. You oughta have a good sense of how this’ll go. Come on, Eiji-san—just one word. Tell me ‘do it’ or ‘quit it,’ won’t ya?”

Eiji looked up at the sky. Though it was called spring, it was still mid-February, and the night air was cold. Yet in the pale brightness of clouds pregnant with the moon, there was felt a subtle warmth that seemed to soothe and console the sorrows, laments, and hollow joys of the humans below. "No way—give me a break," Eiji finally answered, keeping his face turned away. "I’ve got nothin’ to say about it."

Seishichi stared at his own feet while thinking, as if carefully chewing over Eiji’s words, then let out a quiet sigh. “I shouldn’t have asked somethin’ unreasonable,” Seishichi murmured. “I’ll think it over proper-like. Well… see ya.”

"Ah, see you," Eiji answered, lowering his head deeply. You should stop this. Please give it up. While listening to Seishichi's departing footsteps, Eiji cried out in his heart. It won’t work out with that woman—you’re gonna have a terrible time again. "But that might be what humans are," Eiji told himself. Even if told to stop or urged to go ahead, it probably wouldn’t change Seishichi’s feelings. No matter what I say, Seishichi is certain to do as he pleases. Living in this world isn’t about calculating gains and losses. Life is short—it’s better to live the way you want. Do your best, Sei-san.

12-5

Eiji spread Sabu’s letter out on the small desk and practiced calligraphy while staring intently at it. On the opposite side of the room, five or six men surrounded Gīchi, gambling and drinking sake. Among them were Kinta, Tomisaburō, Nihee, and Isuke from the carving room. None of them wore the standard polka-dotted work uniforms, instead dressed in striped or solid-stripe everyday clothes as they sat cross-legged or with one knee raised, drinking chilled sake from cups while intently focusing on the hanafuda cards spread across the reed mat. Aside from Gīchi and Ryū, all were men who had claimed illness to skip work duties, while Ryū stood guard outside the doorway watching for patrols.

How much longer would this continue? Eiji wondered as he moved his brush. This was exactly like a proper gambling den. What were the officials doing? "Humans are weak against desire," Eiji had once told Mankichi.

Officials are human too—offer them money, and they’ll weaken. Especially for those working at places like the workhouse on meager stipends, overcoming that temptation might prove difficult. But it couldn’t be that every last one was corrupt—when a fire breaks out and smoke rises, someone must notice. What was Mr. Oka doing? This had gnawed at him for ages. Even if the Workhouse Magistrate had been bribed, Oka Yasubei’s hands couldn’t be tainted. That man alone could be trusted—probably he was waiting for some trigger, Eiji thought.

“Aniki,” Ryū said at the doorway, “someone’s comin’.”

“Who’s this ‘someone’?” “This one’s not in the ledger for sure.” Ryū waited a moment before saying, “Got it—it’s the usual Pumpkin.” And he chuckled. Eiji opened his mouth and let out a soft breath. _Pumpkin_ referred to Sabu—since they had settled there, on the two occasions when Sabu came to visit, he had heard Gīchi and Ryū call him that and laugh. _Don’t get angry over something like this,_ Eiji told himself as he set down his brush, took the T-shaped crutch from behind him, and began making his way toward the dirt-floored area. At that moment, Sabu—carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle—peeked in from the doorway. Due to Ryū’s bulky frame blocking the way, Sabu could not immediately enter inside.

“I’ll come over now,” Eiji called out. “Let’s talk outside.” “Take your time,” someone around Gīchi said, and two or three others snickered. As Eiji approached the doorway, Ryū reluctantly and slowly moved aside.

“Did something happen?” Sabu asked as they began walking together. Eiji shook his head. “I wanted to go outside. And I’ve got to get my leg used to moving.” “But those guys now—” “Don’t talk about them,” Eiji cut him off. “Let’s go toward the sea.” Sabu watched Eiji walking with his cane, eyes filled with heartrending pity. He quickly averted his face, but Eiji said, “That’s it.” That’s the look, he cried out in his heart. The Sabu he’d once seen in a dream—peering out from between stones—now wore that exact same expression. With those eyes, he’d been pleading: Don’t die, Eij-chan... I’m countin’ on nobody but you—

“Aren’t you going to Sumiyoshi anymore?” “I go sometimes,” Sabu answered. “After hearin’ how Onobu-chan feels—strange as it sounds—I’ve felt this odd sorta relief myself.”

“You ain’t foolin’ anyone but yourself.” “It ain’t no lie—it’s the truth,” Sabu said. “Course I still care for her—I’ll never forget Onobu-san my whole life. But it’s also true I’ve come to feel this… this sense of relief.”

“Fine then.” Eiji changed his tone. “Onobu-san came ’round the 26th at year’s end sayin’ she had some trouble. You know anythin’ about that?” “Trouble?” Sabu paused briefly before replying. “Didn’t notice nothin’... But when I stopped by day before yesterday, she said she’d forgot to mention rentin’ a place in Sakamoto 2-chome.”

“What? This Sakamoto 2-chome place you’re talkin’ about?” “Our place is an old duplex down the alley—used to belong to a cooper. Got a wooden-floored room we can use as a workshop.” “Look there,” Eiji jerked his chin toward the sea. “They’re already out clam-diggin’, I tell ya.” The two had reached the southern edge of the waterfront. Before them stretched a vast tidal flat—the tide having receded what looked like a full ri—with shellfish gatherers dotting the exposed seabed here and there. “Didn’t we go once too?” Sabu squinted against the glare, “—back in March when the spring tide came?”

“We went around from Kawasaki Daishi,” Eiji said, turning to Sabu. “—It’s fine if you want your own place, but don’t go countin’ on me.”

Twelve-Six

Sabu looked perplexed as he readjusted his hold on the bundle and stared at his feet. "I already told you before," Eiji pressed on, "At this workhouse, I've brought everyone trouble too heavy for words to carry. I can't step outta here till I've paid that debt back." Sabu hesitated briefly before saying, "I was just talkin' with Mr. Oka earlier."

Eiji stared at Sabu’s face.

“Mr. Oka,” Sabu continued in a drawn-out manner, “said you oughta leave this place. He’d been sworn to secrecy before, so he couldn’t say nothin’. But there’s this police officer from the Northern Town Magistrate named Mr. Aoki—he’s been worried ’bout you too, visitin’ here often, they say. Here, Mr. Oka writes ’bout your condition once a month and sends it to Mr. Aoki, but seems Mr. Aoki himself comes in person to verify it. And he’s sayin’ the same thing—that it’d be better to get you outta the workhouse already.”

“Hold on,” Eiji interrupted with a scowl, biting his lower lip and tilting his head, “—this makes no sense to me. If that story’s true, it sounds like I’m some daimyo’s secret bastard or somethin’.” “Everyone’s truly worried about you.” “Why?” Eiji challenged. “Why’re so many folks frettin’ over me? I ain’t the only one sent here from the Town Magistrate’s office. There’s plenty worse off than me—people needin’ real help. So why’s everyone pamperin’ just me? There must be a reason. Sabu—you hidin’ somethin’ from me?”

Sabu slowly shook his head. “There’s nothin’ left I’m hidin’,” Sabu said after a pause. “Don’t reckon there’s any reason behind it for nobody.” “You expect me to swallow that?” “I been ponderin’,” Sabu mumbled haltingly, “—maybe folks ain’t gotta have reasons for every blessed thing they do. We humans—ain’t there moments when we act without knowin’ why ourselves?”

“That’s not the same thing.” “Do you remember, Eij-chan?” Sabu heaved a deep sigh before saying, “Was it winter when I was fifteen? I’d run away from the shop, trying to get back to my folks in Kasai. There I was, soaked through in the rain crossing Ryogoku Bridge—and then you came chasing after me.” “Cut it out with that old story.” “When I stubbornly said I’d go back to the countryside, you followed me through the rain forever—wouldn’t leave my side till I finally said I’d return to the shop. Eij-chan—why’d you go that far for me? Why?”

“That’s ’cause you’re my friend.”

“There were other friends too—like Gorō Ani at the shop who doted on you something fierce, Kiyo-chan from the neighborhood sweets store, Masu-san the tatami maker—they all got along great with you. But me? I was the most useless lump of ’em all—a good-for-nothin’ apprentice. So why’d you go so far outta your way to worry ’bout someone like me? Why’d you do it, Eij-chan?”

“That’s ’cause,” Eiji stammered, “you’re my friend, and I’d heard ’bout your family’s situation in Kasai. Anyway—I didn’t want you leavin’.” Sabu asked in a probing tone, “Don’t you think Mr. Aoki and Mr. Oka worrying about you is the same kind of thing, Eij-chan?” Eiji thrust his T-shaped crutch into the ground and drew closer to the shoreline, squinting his eyes as he gazed at the people digging for clams.—The memory surged back with visceral clarity—how they had pulled him from beneath the collapsed stone wall, how everyone had poured their hearts into nursing him afterward.—So many people had worked themselves into a frenzy to save him, so many had gathered around to comfort and encourage him.

“This is the bond between people,” Eiji whispered under his breath. “The bond tying me to this workhouse—this bond isn’t something that can be easily broken.” “Mr. Oka’s been worried,” Sabu said, stepping closer. “—Says there’s a real troublemaker in your room now, Eij-chan. That man’s bound to stir up trouble soon, and you ain’t the type to just sit back and watch. So he wants to get you outta here before that happens.”

Eiji turned and looked at Sabu. “Did Mr. Oka really say that?” “Ah,” Sabu nodded. “I just heard it now.”

Mr. Oka indeed knew and was waiting for something. What was he waiting for? For them to start causing trouble? If that was it, then he should have acted right then—they were already openly running prohibited gambling rings, had bribed several officials because of it, and had turned the mokko room into complete chaos. They were already running wild—what more could he be waiting for? Eiji thought.

“I wouldn’t call it proper work,” Sabu had been saying, “—but since New Year’s, I’ve been startin’ to get odd jobs here and there. Fixin’ sliding doors in rental tenements, paperin’ screens... Then just the other day, through Mr. Hirazō—y’know, Osei-chan’s father from the brush shop—I got work from a mounting shop in Shitaya Okachi-chō. The owner’s name’s Shigesaburō.”

“That’s good to hear,” Eiji said distractedly. “That’ll work out fine.” “So I talked to the mounting shop owner—when I mentioned you’d been at Hokodo, he said there’s proper work waiting and really wants you to take it on.” “I still can’t leave this place—quit badgering me, Sabu.” “Maybe not,” Sabu said, rubbing his forehead with his free hand, “but Mr. Aoki and Mr. Oka are saying the same thing too. The work’s all lined up, and obligations here being what they are—won’t you at least think about leaving now?”

Eiji did not respond. “You might’ve forgotten,” Sabu persisted stubbornly—uncharacteristically so— “but I rely on you, Eij-chan. If you’re by my side, somehow I can manage work my own way—feel like I can do it proper. But when I’m all alone, I get so anxious and unsupported... end up messin’ everything up.” “Wait, Sabu.” “We ain’t kids anymore,” Eiji said. “We’ve both turned twenty-five now.”

“I know how old I am.” “Then quit bein’ so damn clingy! Twenty-five’s old enough to have a kid or two by now. You think you can get through this world with some naive idea that you’ll feel lost without me taggin’ along?” “I’m just—” Sabu stammered miserably, “I just—I just want you outta this place, Eij-chan. If what I said came off like oversteppin’, forget it. You can shove me aside—just please, I’m beggin’ you, get yourself outta here.”

“I refuse,” Eiji said. “No matter what anyone says—ain’t leavin’.”

Sabu set down the bundle he was holding, opened his round eyes wide, and glared at Eiji.

“Even after begging this much, you still won’t listen?”

“I hate being pestered,” Eiji answered. Then Sabu grabbed Eiji’s collar with both hands, hah—letting out a sharp breath—and said, “Eij-chan.” “I’m just a useless, stupid good-for-nothing,” Sabu cried in a trembling voice, “From your eyes, Eij-chan, the things I say and do must seem so naive and tedious—but even so! Just once in your life—couldn’t you listen to my request? Even the greatest of men must heed someone’s words once in their lifetime!”

Eiji looked at Sabu’s hand gripping the collar of his own kimono. The short, stubby fingers—gnarled and roughened from paste preparation—trembled faintly as they clutched the collar.

“Alright,” Eiji said after a while. “I’ll think about it.” Sabu released his grip. “Sorry—went and acted rough there.” “Quit apologizing—seems like I’m the one who oughta be making amends,” Eiji said, twisting his lips. “Won’t say it proper ’cause it’d sound cheesy, but listen—you’ve been stuck with my sorry ass for ages. This ain’t something you settle with ‘sorry’ or ‘thanks.’ Might take my whole damn life to pay back—if I ever can. And here too—same deal. They saved a life I thought was as good as dead.”

Eiji’s words broke off unnaturally; he kept his face averted from Sabu as he took a moment to steady his breathing. “I’ll consider it,” Eiji continued in a low voice after a while. “Won’t ask for long—wait another half a month or thirty days for me. By this time next month, I’ll handle it somehow. I’m sure I can manage it. Just bear with me until then—wait for me.” Sabu silently picked up the bundle he had placed below with a deflated gesture.

Thirteen, Part One

Like a weathered cliff crumbling naturally, or a fissure at the cliff's edge abruptly beginning to spread, the air in the mokko room grew visibly jagged and ominous. The crowd gathering around Gīchi swelled to nearly thirty men by March, fluctuating in number but never dipping below fifteen. The gambling matches always carried lethal intensity, with two or three imposing men stripped down to belly bands and loincloths. Denpachi the Elder, the gang foreman, muttered once, "This place has turned into a proper gambling hell."

Eiji didn't understand the specifics, but he could roughly grasp the meaning of the words. And now, in addition to Kojima Ryojiro, two officials were assigned to guard this room.

One night, as Eiji was practicing log-throwing at the shore, Mankichi followed after him and called out. He seemed to have been watching Eiji’s actions for some time; after approaching quietly, he asked, “Is that your plan?” “Who’s there?” Eiji challenged in a low voice. “It’s me.” Mankichi stepped around to face Eiji. “Brother, I had somethin’ to tell ya—I was gonna wait till you came outta the latrine, but then you headed this way, so I figured I’d follow along.”

“Then get going already—I’m getting my body used to this.” “Huh, is that so?” said Mankichi, abruptly changing the subject. “Heard Kobu from the oil press room’s gone and left—ain’t that right?”

“I don’t know—did he leave?” “I heard Isuke from the carving room chattering away in the gambling den,” said Mankichi. “Apparently that woman everyone was gossiping about came to summon Kobu about half a month back. They say Kobu agonized over it before finally consulting Isuke—and Isuke advised him to go with her.”

Ah, Eiji sighed inwardly. I'm a heartless person—when asked what to do, I should've just told him to stop. If he'd wavered for half a month, then Seishichi himself must've never fully trusted her. Back then, I'd thought nothing I said would matter. Even if I told him to quit, I figured I couldn't drag back those clinging feelings he had for her. But now, looking back, he realized that had been pure self-delusion—it wasn't truly done with Seishichi's good in mind.

I have no right to be using this T-shaped crutch.

Eiji stroked his crutch with one hand and looked up at the sky glittering with stars. "Isuke was having a grand old time mocking that story with everyone around him," Mankichi had been saying. "'Won't last fifty days,' he said. 'Before Kobu's saved-up coins run dry, that woman'll take up with half a dozen men.'"

“You just said ‘gambling den’—where exactly is this gambling den?” “I’m talkin’ about Kobu here.” “Go on, tell me—where exactly is this gambling den?” “Brother, you should be asking yourself that,” Mankichi retorted forcefully. “You keep patiently looking away—not even glancing their direction—but every one of them’s got their eyes glued on you day and night. Make the slightest move and several pairs of eyes snap your way. They’ve already seen right through you.”

“What nonsense are you spouting? Ridiculous.” Eiji turned his face away. “Have you lost your damn mind?” “Fine, have it your way—but listen, Brother, no matter what clever tricks you try, going it alone’s downright impossible.” Eiji coldly shot back, “When did Seishichi leave?” “Fine, play dumb if you want—but let me say one thing.” Mankichi lowered his voice there. “We ain’t gonna let Brother handle this alone. When the time comes, we’ll act too. I won’t name names, but there’s four others besides me—all got tools ready.”

“Shit.” Eiji involuntarily raised his voice but immediately hushed it. “That’s no good—I told you before they’ve got daggers! Those bastards wouldn’t think twice about killing someone. Even if four or five of you jumped ’em, you’d stand no damn chance.” “Then what’re you gonna do, Brother?” “There are officials in this workhouse.”

“They’ve got the bit in their teeth,” Mankichi said. “Don’t know how much grease they’ve been slipped, but the officials are even delivering them sake.” Eiji shook his head from side to side and let out a long, heavy breath—hoo—as if expelling the poisonous air that had pooled in his chest. “I’ve been thinking—I’ve been thinking this whole time,” Eiji finally said. “The authorities must know about what’s happening in the mokko room. It’s not like every last official’s been bought off. If they haven’t cracked down yet, there must be some reason behind it—there’s definitely a reason. So I’m begging you—don’t go doing anything rash. This isn’t something four or five of us can settle.”

Thirteen, Part Two I can’t endure this any longer. I can’t just stand by watching our mokko room fall into such disarray. "Who knows what the authorities are thinking?" Mankichi stubbornly refused to yield. "But the mokko room belongs to us—isn’t it only right we restore it ourselves through our own strength?" "Only four have sworn to act so far," Mankichi pressed on, "but if Brother leads, I reckon others’ll rally too. Everyone except those clustered around Gīchi—I bet they’d all rise up."

“I’ll think about it,” Eiji said again. “But if we’re really going to do this, we need a foolproof plan—this isn’t something that can be settled by brute force alone. Got it?” Mankichi pointed toward the post. “Should I go fetch that stick?” “I’ve got another one hidden in the room,” said Eiji, adjusting his crutch. “If they get suspicious, we’re done for—you head back first.”

“Don’t keep me waitin’ too long,” said Mankichi, walking backward as he began to leave. “—Heard Kobu left the day before yesterday.” Eiji went to the post, searched the ground to gather round firewood, and hid it behind a nearby stone material.

“What should I do?” he muttered. “I had no idea about any of this.” If I act, everyone else will too—I can’t drag them all into this. He thought about calling Gīchi outside, or perhaps trying to confront him one-on-one where no one else was around. “In that case there’s no chance of winning—with a leg like this, my only hope lies in taking them by surprise.” Eiji muttered those words and let out a deep sigh. “—I suppose there’s no choice but to talk to Mr. Oka after all. If Mr. Oka has his own circumstances and even the authorities can’t intervene, then we can reconsider then—but regardless, that comes first.”

He hadn’t wanted to talk to Oka Yasubei. The reason the authorities hadn’t taken action must lie in unavoidable circumstances. But now that matters had reached this state, with danger threatening even his roommates, he couldn’t act on his own judgment alone. Eiji resolved to at least attempt speaking with Oka Yasubei. Before leaving the spot, he turned to gaze at the sea. The wind had nearly died, and even the occasional waves lapping against the stone wall whispered softly. Beneath the starry sky, the dark sea flickered with night-fishing boats’ lights while the air carried the scent of warm tide.

Eiji returned to the room, opened the closed sliding door, and was entering the earthen floor while leaning on his crutch when Ryū sidled up to him and suddenly kicked the crutch away. Caught off guard, Eiji could only focus all his efforts on protecting his injured leg from further harm. He fell sideways and, keeping that position as he stared at Ryū, slowly pulled closer the crutch he hadn’t released from his hand even when falling. “I’ve been keeping my distance ’cause I figured you’re just a cripple,” Ryū said with a sneer. “What’s got your panties in such a twist? This ain’t your private damn room.”

The room fell silent. A tense silence spread like the sudden lull before a storm breaks, so deep it seemed no one dared breathe. But immediately, someone walked across the plank floor and threw three pieces of round firewood before Eiji. The firewood rolled with a dull thud, and one piece struck his shoulder. “What do you plan to do with this?” came Gīchi’s voice from the plank floor. “What’re you scheming with this trash?”

Eiji quietly rose to his feet, protecting his leg as he leaned on his T-shaped crutch to stand. “My bad,” Eiji said to Ryū. “Wasn’t paying attention. Cut me some slack.” Ryū bared his teeth but said nothing. Eiji turned around, crouching down to pick up one of the round firewood pieces, then gripped it in his right hand and showed it to Gīchi. “Like this, see? You grip this thing here to get your fingers used to it. The doctor recommended it.” “The doctor recommended it.”

“You hear that, Ryū?” Gīchi said without taking his eyes off Eiji, the words slipping from the corner of his mouth. “Says the doc recommended it. This bastard’s lookin’ down on us.” “If you think I’m lyin’, go ask the doctor yourself. They say grip-pin’ an’ releasin’ this builds finger strength—puts vigor in your whole body.” “Toss that stick away,” Gīchi sneered. “We see through your game. Why don’tcha put it down?”

“Sure thing, Brother,” Ryū said. “I’ll make him listen.”

“Wait.” Eiji leaned forward unsteadily. "I need this crutch." "But if you say to throw it away, I’ll throw it away," he said, watching Ryū approach from the corner of his eye as he placed the round firewood on the earthen floor. Then, straightening his hunched torso in one motion, he regripped the T-shaped crutch and lunged forward in long strides, bringing it down with all his might on the leg of Gīchi, who stood at the edge of the plank flooring. Gīchi—who had lowered his guard seeing the crippled man—no sooner caught sight of Eiji’s swift legs than took a full-force blow to his shin.

The crutch swung sideways and struck Gīchi’s shin with a thud. At the same moment, Gīchi let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed. Eiji quickly glanced toward Ryū. Ryū’s eyes flew open so wide they might pop out, his mouth hanging open as he stood frozen. Eiji saw the fallen Gīchi drawing a dagger from his robe. Regripping his crutch, he struck down with another full-force overhead blow. “Stop!” Gīchi screamed again, “I was wrong—spare me!”

Eiji struck blow after blow like a man possessed. The crutch struck his head and struck his chest. The dagger flew from Gīchi's hand as his head and face became smothered in blood. Only then did Ryū finally stir into motion.

13-3 Eiji's movements were tinged with madness, but his mind remained calm. His attack on Gīchi had been an impulsive act of anger—a strike governed more by instinctual fury than calculated judgment. But at the moment he delivered that first strike, his judgment kicked into motion—he must not let this opportunity slip; if he didn't finish this thoroughly here and now, he would only leave the roots of calamity behind. Don't think of this man as human—this bastard is a venomous snake. Treat him like the snake he is. Eiji kept repeating these commands inside his head.

Ryū had remained frozen in place, but when he saw Gīchi being mercilessly beaten, blood gushing from his head and face, he turned deathly pale and, trembling, drew the dagger from his robe and began sidling toward Eiji. The group that had been gambling, those who had been facing their study desks, and even the elderly—until that moment, none of them had so much as moved. They had been overwhelmed by the horrific scene before them, as though bound by invisible chains, but when Ryū began to move and the blade of his dagger glinted in his hand, Mankichi sprang up as if waking from a dream.

“Behind you, Brother!” Mankichi shouted. Eiji cast a glance at Ryū and, while shifting his grip on the T-shaped crutch he’d been using to beat Gīchi, shouted over his shoulder at Mankichi approaching from behind. “Stay out of this, Mankichi!” Eiji’s voice echoed through the room. “You—get to the magistrate’s office! No one else interfere! This is my fight!” Ryū directed the dagger’s blade upward, breathing so roughly it was audible as he edged closer step by step. Eiji swiftly took in that Gīchi lay motionless, and as Ryū lunged bodily toward him, he swung his T-shaped crutch from right to left. Ryū’s lunging dagger stabbed into Eiji’s left shoulder, but Ryū himself—struck hard in the neck by the crutch—was flung sideways and tumbled to the edge of the plank floor. Eiji rushed closer without giving him an opening, raised his crutch, and struck. The crutch struck his head, struck his chest, and struck his face from the side.

“Please! Help me!” Ryū remained fallen, clutching his head with both hands as he shouted, “Enough already! Someone help me! I’m gonna die here!” But Eiji did not relent. Ryū too was soon drenched in blood and stopped moving. Eiji stopped hitting and looked toward Gīchi. Gīchi lay face down, moaning with his face submerged in his own flowing blood. “Alright,” Eiji called out to the gambling group, “The magistrates will be here soon. Everyone from the other rooms should clear out now. If you don’t hurry, you’ll get dragged into this.”

From the group of fifteen or sixteen people, more than half stood up and, as if terrified, jumped down to the earthen floor, then fled barefoot through the doorway. “Yohei,” Eiji said, “has Mankichi gone to the magistrate’s office?”

“He went,” Yohei answered. At that moment, Kojima Ryojiro entered through the doorway. He appeared to have come running; panting heavily, he looked around the room, his gaze shifting from the prone forms of Gīchi and Ryū to Eiji. “I did it,” Eiji said. “I’ve just reported it to the magistrate’s office.”

Kojima’s face stiffened. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but instead silently drew his sword. Eiji quickly took up his T-shaped crutch and readied himself. "You should stop, Kojima-san," Eiji said quietly. "Even if you cut me down, there are plenty of other witnesses. Besides, cutting me down would take some effort." A conflicted expression crossed Kojima’s face. Then three men holding something like six-foot staffs advanced toward them.

“Don’t move—stay put!” Eiji shouted while glaring at Kojima. “This is my fight alone—sit your ass down!”

Kojima Ryojiro swept his gaze across the laborers’ faces in the room with eyes gripped by terror. “Sheathe your sword,” Eiji said. “I won’t breathe a word about you. The magistrate’s men will arrive soon—thrashing about won’t save you. Put that blade away and get out.” Still clutching his unsheathed sword, Kojima edged backward until he retreated through the doorway.

Yohei, together with two junior officers, examined Gīchi and Ryū’s wounds while telling someone to call Santetsu-sensei. “The teacher isn’t here at night,” two or three men replied. The moment Kojima Ryojiro left, the entire room seemed to revive itself, with everyone shuffling about restlessly and noisily debating. When Mankichi came rushing back and peered through the doorway, Eiji—overwhelmed by extreme fatigue and a hollow sensation as though something vital were draining from his body—slumped weakly onto the raised edge of the wooden floor.

“Mr. Oka’s coming!” Mankichi panted, pointing behind him toward the doorway with his thumb. “He’s almost here. You alright, Brother?”

Eiji nodded, closed his eyes, and lowered his head.

13-4

“Officials aren’t as secure as people imagine,” Oka said. “There’s the division between superiors and subordinates, labyrinthine regulations, jurisdictional boundaries—within these confines, people jockey for position. Some hunger for promotion; others will do anything to exploit their privileges. Bribes exchange hands, cuts get taken from laborers’ wages, shady dealings with suppliers—nearly every vile thing found in society exists here too.”

This was the room where Eiji and Seishichi had once been confined for thirty days after receiving handcuff punishment. The tenement housing this room stood along the Ōkawa River. From a small, high-placed window left open, the sounds of waves lapping against the stone embankment and oars dipping through the water surface drifted in at leisurely intervals. The workhouse was a world unto itself, and the officials another world unto themselves—so Oka Yasubei had often taught. In any world formed by the gathering of humans, there will always be a conflict between good and evil; it can neither be unified by good alone nor dominated by evil alone. Particularly regarding this workhouse's principle of "not being a prison," there existed many contradictions and ambiguities; those responsible for punishing regulation violators were often perplexed, while there was no end to those who shrewdly observed these weaknesses and skillfully violated the regulations. These matters did not surface openly, but someone like himself had discerned them long ago.

“I knew from the very beginning what Gīchi and his men were up to,” Oka Yasubei said. “This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened—there had been many instances before, and in most cases lower officials had been bribed.”

When I noticed what was happening in the storage room (mokko room), I realized Kojima Ryojiro and two other junior officers had already been ensnared by Gīchi's group. As superintendent, I maintain no direct contact with the laborers themselves. All decisions come through reports from lookouts, overseers, room stewards, and junior officers—to bypass these channels and meddle directly in the laborers' quarters lies beyond my authority. Should an incident become publicly known, that would warrant action—but reckless intervention beforehand risks causing an uproar throughout the entire workhouse. Their true aim in constantly bribing officials was to create leverage—should anything surface, the entire magistrate's office would face repercussions.

“Do you grasp these circumstances?” Oka asked. Eiji nodded, though his expression remained unconvinced. “To compound matters,” Oka continued, “Kojima shares distant kinship with the Workhouse Magistrate. Magistrate Narushima means well, but harbors distaste for the workhouse system and lacks acuity in assessing men’s character—thus swallowing Kojima’s words whole. This very reason bars me from approaching the laborers’ quarters.”

When Oka heard that Gīchi and his men were growing increasingly arrogant and had even started smuggling in alcohol, he could no longer remain silent. However, the arrangements made by Kojima Ryojiro and the other junior officers were so thorough that there seemed to be no opening to intervene. “Even after explaining these circumstances in detail,” said Oka, pausing to catch his breath before continuing, “you might find this exasperating—you might think me cowardly. If that’s what you think, then consider your own situation. Reflect on how we treated you when you were first sent here—you who refused to work, who acted rebelliously, who defied all rules. I mean precisely how we handled someone like you.”

Eiji chewed over those words, then quietly lowered his head. "In matters between people," Oka said with heartfelt emphasis, "there are cases that demand swift resolution and others requiring patient waiting for the opportune moment. In this instance, your impatience forced the cleanup of the mokko room—perhaps it wasn't yet time, or perhaps it was exactly the right time. Which it was remains unclear until more time passes, but regardless, we've certainly reached a conclusion for now."

That’s right—it seems matters have been settled, Eiji thought. He had involved no one else, handling everything alone from start to finish. Taken to the magistrate’s office by Oka and interrogated by constables under the magistrate’s supervision, he had maintained silence about Kojima Ryojiro and the junior officers, as well as the gambling itself. The constables had likely known the truth, but the magistrate himself had probably remained oblivious; when Eiji insisted it had been a mere fight, the magistrate grew furious at its brutality and declared he would be sent to the main prison. It appeared prior arrangements had been made—the constables emphasized there had been two opponents wielding prohibited blades against a lone, disabled man, vigorously defending Eiji. How had the magistrate received this? Narushima Jiemon showed no sign of heeding their arguments, dispatching a messenger to the Town Magistrate first thing the next morning. All disciplinary measures in the workhouse required the Town Magistrate’s approval. And so Eiji found himself confined once more to this room.

“It was wise that you didn’t mention Kojima or the junior officers’ names, nor speak of the gambling,” Oka continued. “—Had these matters come to light, Magistrate Narushima—who already opposes the workhouse system—might have made unpredictable recommendations to the Town Magistrate. Then this situation could have escalated to threaten the workhouse’s very existence.”

I want to secure this workhouse and nurture its growth. Even with its various defects, the current system holds great significance in protecting those predisposed by nature or circumstance to criminality from becoming actual criminals—equipping them with occupations and funds to reintegrate into society. And in Edo, this vast societal mechanism growing ever more complex through population growth and living conditions, it will likely assume an even more crucial role henceforth.

“It may seem like I burdened you alone with this matter,” Oka Yasubei said, “but I want you to know I had my own reasons.” “I understand now,” Eiji said after clearing his throat. “To be honest, I wondered why the authorities stayed silent and even resented you for waiting, Mr. Oka. But that’s not all—from the start, I’d determined I’d be the one to face the brunt.”

Oka Yasubei stared at Eiji’s face. “What do you mean by that?” “It wasn’t anything worth explaining,” Eiji mumbled before continuing clearly: “Just... somehow I felt I was the only one who could handle Gīchi and Ryū.” He paused. “Truth is—Mankichi from our room lit the fuse. ‘Can’t stand seeing our mokko room treated like this,’ he said. ‘About to snap.’ That’s what came spilling out of Mankichi.”

“Is Mankichi the man who used to be a scaffolder?” “Yes, he prides himself on fighting and truly looked ready to act. I managed to stop him by saying the opponent had a dagger, but I don’t know if Mankichi would keep himself restrained after that. So I decided to do it myself before he could.” “Never speak of that again,” Oka said, lowering his voice slightly. “—If it’s revealed you held a grudge against those two and had been watching for a chance from the start, your punishment won’t be light.”

“I don’t care whether they call my crime heavy or light,” Eiji said with a wry smile. “—But I never imagined things would turn out like that that night. The moment I stepped through the doorway, Ryū kicked my crutch away and sent me sprawling onto the dirt floor. I thought ‘Damn it,’ but wasn’t planning to act. Then when Gīchi came out to the edge of the raised floor and—when he made me his laughingstock—my vision went dark like a flare, and I just did it.”

"I don’t expect any leniency for my crimes," Eiji said, "but those were indeed the facts." "The disposition report was written exactly as you described," Oka nodded. "—And you truly didn’t know your leg had healed either, did you?" “It’s such a foolish story.” Eiji smiled wryly again. “—Thanks to that, I managed to strike first. Both of them were wide-eyed when they saw my leg.”

Oka Yasubei laughed without making a sound. "So," Eiji asked impatiently, "what kind of judgment am I going to receive?" "You know you can’t stay here." "I’m prepared for most outcomes." "Gīchi lost an eye and broke two ribs," Oka said. "Ryū’s left arm was broken and his left ear torn off. However, neither suffered life-threatening injuries, and since they brought prohibited weapons into the premises, they’ll likely be sent to Denmachō once their wounds heal."

“Am I going with them too?” Oka Yasubei shook his head. “You’re being remanded to the North Town Magistrate for reinvestigation. I can’t disclose anything beyond that.” “Understood.” Eiji deeply bowed his head and murmured, “—Looking back now, I think I went too far with those two. It was wrong.” “You’re mistaken.” Oka sharply cut him off. “The ones who should feel remorse aren’t those men—there must be others who ought to.”

Eiji fell silent. Oka Yasubei silently watched Eiji’s eyes without continuing, then nodded as if to say “You understand,” and quietly stood up. “This may be an unreasonable request,” Eiji asked, “but before I leave here, could I meet everyone from the room?” “I can’t decide that on my own authority.” “Please, I beg you—there’s a debt to everyone here that I can’t put into words. Let me at least say my thanks before we part. Please.”

“This is how it is,” said Eiji, placing both hands on the floor and lowering his head repeatedly. “I’ll make the request to the magistrate,” Oka said, “but permission will likely not be granted. You should expect nothing—you are a condemned man now.”

Thirteen-Five Eiji looked up at Oka with a start. He had never imagined hearing words like "You are a condemned man" from Oka's mouth. Oka Yasubei's expression had transformed completely. Though his eyes still held warmth, his entire countenance now appeared cold and severe—exactly the "officious look" the laborers derisively spoke of behind his back. Eiji had never seen such an expression on Oka before.

“We’ll have your belongings from the room moved here,” Oka said. “—I expect you’ll only be staying another two or three days. Rest well until then.” Eiji once again placed both hands on the floor and bowed his head. Then, on the night two days later, about two hours after finishing their evening meal, Yohei appeared without warning. Soon after, two subordinates brought in a modest spread of food and drink. “This is our humble token of gratitude—keep it confidential,” the subordinates murmured before leaving.

“It’s a good evening,” Yohei spoke in a low, sheepish voice, his eyes probing Eiji’s face. “Everyone’s worried—but you’ll pull through, won’t you?” “The town magistrate ordered a reinvestigation,” said Eiji, lifting the sake bottle. “Doesn’t look too bad though. Tell everyone not to fret. Here—have one.”

“I can’t drink alcohol.” “Never mind that. Take it as parting courtesy.” Saying “Just for show,” Yohei took the cup. On the tray lay vinegar-miso paste, sesame-dressed greens, and simmered small fish. “Just seeing you again means everything,” Eiji said. “I burdened everyone terribly, but what I owe you—that’s a debt I could never repay in a lifetime.” Yohei waved his hand. “What did I ever do? What you accomplished this time—that’s what truly helped us all.”

Yohei finished sipping his sake, placed the cup down, and poured some for Eiji. Eiji touched his lips to it briefly and, still holding the cup, looked at Yohei. “Talking about it won’t change anything, but when the time came for me to leave this place safely, I’d intended to take you with me and live together.” Yohei, still holding the sake bottle, looked back at Eiji as if startled. “Now that things have turned out this way, that plan’s gone to waste. But if by some chance I get out of jail early and you’re still here, I’ll come for you without fail.”

“Thank you... thank you.” Yohei bowed his head. “Just you saying that is more than enough.” “I’ve been alone since childhood—ever since the fire took my parents and siblings all at once. Siblings aside... even just one parent would’ve been enough.” Eiji clenched his teeth until they creaked. “—If only that hadn’t happened, I could’ve lived together with you.” “That warms my heart to hear, Eiji—but aren’t you mistaken about being alone?” said Yohei. “—Your workhouse comrades aside, you’ve got Sabu, Osue, and Onobu in your life, haven’t you?”

Eiji turned to look at Yohei. “Of course I know,” Yohei nodded. “I know all three of them. And wasn’t there a time when I told you to be kinder to Sabu?” “I remember.” Eiji said this, sipped his sake, and straightened his back to sit upright. “This is our farewell—let’s not talk about that.” “No person lives alone,” Yohei continued, half-listening to Eiji’s words. “The world has its wise and unwise people—yet even if all were wise, society wouldn’t function properly. In matters of profit and loss too, there must be losers for there to be winners. If you think you owe us a debt of gratitude, don’t limit it to just us—remember Sabu, Onobu, and Osue too. You were never truly alone, and you never will be from now on either.”

Eiji had been staring at the cup he held but suddenly furrowed his brows, took the sake bottle from Yohei, said, “Just one more,” and poured. Yohei reluctantly took the cup and, as if drinking poison, softly touched it to his lips. “This sermon-like talk doesn’t suit me, so I’ll stop now,” said Yohei, stroking his mouth with one hand. “—You’ll surely become a first-class artisan, Eiji-san—that’s the kind of person you are. Though mind you, it’s not just you. The world has many born with innate talent to excel. But even those gifted from birth can’t achieve anything alone. For one talented person to make use of their gift, dozens without talent must lend invisible support. Keep this well in mind, Eiji-san.”

“Guess this is why old folks get disliked—talking like this when they age,” Yohei said with a laugh.

"Sabu," Eiji cried out inwardly. Ah, Sabu... I wanted to see you again.

Fourteen-One

“Walk again for me,” Onobu said. “Don’t put on airs—I wasn’t watching before, so come on.” Eiji stopped trying to step up into the small tatami room and instead took two or three steps across the narrow earthen-floored entrance. “Why, you’re completely Heiza!” “What’s this ‘Heiza’?” “Don’t you know ‘Heizaemon the Unshaken’?” Sabu, who had already gone up to the small tatami room, laughed, and Osue too covered her mouth and laughed.

“Heiza my foot!” Eiji said. “Take a good look!”

He took two or three more steps to demonstrate. Upon closer inspection, his right leg did seem to drag slightly, but unless pointed out, it was barely noticeable. Onobu watched this display with entranced eyes and said, “Isn’t that chic?” “Walking with just a slight drag in one leg like that is rather chic.” “So that’s how you give compliments?” “It’s not a lie—it’s really true! Right, Osue? You think so too, don’t you?”

“I suppose...” Startled by the sudden address, Osue tilted her head slightly before saying, “—I don’t need any chicness—I just want you to heal properly.” “Oh please! You’re already playing the mistress,” Onobu said with a glare. “Don’t want other women seeing my man looking stylish, do you?” “Don’t be absurd—‘my man’ indeed!” “Don’t be absurd—‘my man’ indeed!” Onobu mimicked her tone, then glared again at Osue. “—Your cheeks are blazing red.”

That day was April 7th. Eiji, who had been released from the Northern Town Magistrate's temporary prison, was taken into custody by Sabu and Osue. Eiji had been in the temporary prison for seven days. He had been sent back from Ishikawajima on grounds of "re-investigation," but there was no actual investigation to speak of. After being confined in the temporary prison for five days, he was summoned by Officer Aoki Matazaemon and asked if he intended to return home.

The landlord Gensuke of Shitaya Sakamoto 2-chōme and Sabu came together and petitioned to take you into custody. They've secured housing and established prospects for work. As the magistrate's office, we too believe you should return home—what do you say?

Matazaemon said this. There was no need to question how Sabu had discovered Eiji was at this magistrate's office. While searching for Eiji's whereabouts, Sabu had met Aoki Kounoshin, a town patrol officer, and asked for his help. Matazaemon belonged to Kounoshin's clan and had apparently maintained constant communication with him regarding Eiji's case. Naturally, Sabu must have been immediately informed when Eiji was transferred from Ishikawajima to the town magistrate's office too.—Still, what about the reinvestigation into the workhouse incident? However vigorously Oka Yasubei might work behind the scenes, they couldn't possibly let the matter drop without official judgment—not when multiple witnesses had seen that assault occur right in their room. "My own feelings about this remain unsettled," Eiji thought, and pressed Matazaemon again. Matazaemon quietly shook his head and said, "Forget that business."

Over a hundred laborers from the workhouse had submitted a petition for your release; our investigation had also made it clear that there were no facts warranting your punishment.

"Now the only thing that matters for you," said Matazaemon, "is whether you can return home determined to forget all past events and become a serious artisan." Eiji asked them to wait a little, returned to the temporary prison, and spent a day thinking. He thought of Hokodo, he thought of Watabun, he thought of the informant. In the past, even that alone would have sent him into a blood-boiling rage. But now his heart no longer stirred so violently, and his anger was fading like a small ember sinking into the depths of memory. He repeatedly revisited the same memories, as if confirming their truth. And he realized that even his once fiercely sworn determination for revenge had almost faded away. "Is this certain?" he asked himself. Since it concerned human nature, this feeling couldn't be called absolute—but for now, it was certain. Because he believed things would likely settle this way, Eiji made his proposal to Aoki Matazaemon.

At the magistrate’s office, in addition to Eiji’s clothing they had kept in custody, they handed over the wages he had earned and saved at the workhouse. It amounted to five ryō and two bu plus some extra—more than Eiji had anticipated. He divided it into two parts and requested half be sent to the workhouse—having heard the tenement would soon be rebuilt, he wanted the sum added to the reconstruction costs. When Eiji said this, Matazaemon stared into his eyes for a moment before silently nodding.

The ones who came to pick him up were Sabu and Osue, but the landlord of Sakamoto-chō was nowhere to be seen. The returned kimono and obi were soiled, and since Osue had brought brand-new garments, he changed into completely fresh clothes from the skin out. It was then that Osue, while helping him change, suggested stopping by Sumiyoshi. “Today’s just a token,” Onobu said while preparing the meal for the three of them, “Next time we’ll have a proper celebration.”

The mistress had gone to the public bathhouse, so a young maid named Omatsu assisted Onobu. There were three maids, but they were all live-out and wouldn’t come until four o’clock. When the meal was ready, Onobu removed her work sash and apron and sat down before the three of them. “I’ll say this upfront,” Eiji declared. “I won’t thank you, so don’t any of you congratulate me. Truth is, there’s nothing worth celebrating about me yet. I’m asking you.”

And he bowed his head. Sabu and Osue's faces tensed slightly, and Onobu, as if to ease that tension, picked up the sake bottle and poured for Eiji. "Eiji-san's changed," Onobu said, looking at Osue. "Just now when I told him to walk again to show me—if it'd been the old Eiji-san, he'd have snapped 'Shut your mouth!' for certain. But now he didn't even make a sour face—just walked like I asked. The old Eiji-san couldn't have done that even standing on his head."

“Even I,” Eiji said, “can’t do some handstand-walking trick. More importantly, Onobu—what about that marriage proposal from before?” “We’ll discuss that next time.” “Can’t you at least tell me whether it’s been resolved or not?” “Right,” Onobu said, setting down the sake flask. From her sleeve, she produced a razor wrapped in crimson silk cloth. “This—I show them this.”

Osue sucked in her breath through her teeth.

“So that man,” Eiji asked, “Toku, was it? He still hasn’t given up, has he?”

"It's a battle of endurance—and I won't lose." As she spoke, Onobu unwrapped the bundled scrap of crimson silk and adjusted her grip on the razor in her right hand. "He can't do anything unless he's drunk. Once he gets drunk and starts pawing at me, I'll press this against his throat like this—'Go ahead, try something. If you lay a finger on me, I'll show you how to die properly.'" "Dangerous—put that away," Eiji said, gesturing at the blade. "You think you can keep this up indefinitely?"

Onobu wrapped the razor in the cloth and tucked it into her left sleeve as she said, “Even if I fled this house, I could never escape that man’s reach—just like my sisters couldn’t escape Jirōkichi the procurer. Running away would be the same as losing outright. And I won’t lose.” “You’re so strong,” Osue sighed. “Thanks.” Onobu smiled. “You have Eiji-san, so you’re all right. Osue, don’t become a woman like me.”

“Onobu, hold out your cup too,” Eiji said while holding the sake bottle. “I’ll pour you just one.”

Onobu suddenly straightened her posture and gently took the cup. Then, cradling in both hands the cup that Eiji had poured for her, she closed her eyes, murmured something under her breath, and drank quietly. The murmured words were heard by no one, but whether each of the three understood their meaning—for just a brief moment—all three seemed to hold their breath in perfect stillness. Osue had apparently not yet taken leave from her place of service, so after leaving Sumiyoshi, she returned to the estate said to be located below Surugadai, leaving only Eiji and Sabu to head toward Shitaya.

“I’m worried though,” Sabu said as soon as they started walking, “Onobu-chan... Will she be alright?” “Even if she isn’t alright, there’s nothing we can do about it.” “I’ve been thinkin’—ain’t there some way we can deal with that Toku fella?” “Once my business is settled, now you’re worrying about Onobu-san?” Eiji said this, then looked at Sabu with encouraging eyes. “You’ve had enough trouble over others. Onobu-san will handle things her own way. From now on, think more about yourself.”

Sabu nodded and said, “Yeah,” but his expression didn’t look like one of agreement. Since they were in the area, they stopped by the mounting shop in Kachimachi and met with the owner, Shigesaburō. He was a gaunt man in his fifties—perhaps nervous by nature—with his neck slightly bent to the left. As he spoke rapidly, he had a habit of constantly shaking his head. “So you’re Eiji, I hear. Good eyes. Those eyes are good—I like them,” Shigesaburō said hurriedly. “We’ve got work piled up but not enough hands—it’s a real problem. I’m counting on you to work hard.”

"I'll do my best too," Eiji said, bowing his head.

14-2

The house in Shitaya was a two-unit building in a back alley of Sakamoto 2-chome, with a middle-aged couple named Masuroku living next door. The layout consisted of two six-tatami rooms and an eight-tatami wooden-floored area. A privy was attached to the kitchen area. The well was right out back, and the kitchen had a built-in stove with everything from hand buckets to a water jar and pots and pans.—Sabu opened the closet door to show two new sets of futons, explaining that one set had been made by Osue. The two sets were wrapped in karakusa-patterned oilcloth, and in another spot lay another set of futons.

“This here’s mine,” Sabu said. “Didn’t lay a hand on yours and Osue’s stuff. When she comes, I’ll be stayin’ separate anyway.” “You said you’d be staying separate?” “With this layout, three people ain’t gonna work. I figured that’s why I made arrangements at the old tenement in Kanaisucho.” "Why did you do such a wasteful thing? This is sufficient as it is"—he tried to say that, but Eiji didn’t voice it. In the inner six-tatami room were lined up a long brazier, chests of drawers, a tea cabinet, clothes racks, a mirror stand, and other furnishings; in the wooden-floored area, work tools had been prepared.

“Did you do all this alone?” “Nah, the inner part’s what Osue an’ me put together ourselves.” “How’d you even get the money for this?” “Might get scolded for this,” Sabu said apologetically, “but there’s somethin’ I need ya to see.” Eiji sat beside the unlit long brazier, restlessly running his fingers along its edge and the cat board. Sabu pulled out a three-page document folded from hanshi paper from the chest’s small-item drawer, sat facing Eiji, and handed it over.

“With the money Eij-chan entrusted me with, I got all these things together. Sorry ’bout goin’ ahead without askin’, but I wrote down every price proper-like,” Sabu said. “Doubt there’s mistakes—but mind checkin’ just in case?” Eiji glanced over the three documents but naturally had no intention of verifying the totals; he took out a wallet from his pocket and pushed it toward Sabu along with the papers.

“It’s me who should be apologizing for havin’ you do everythin’. What’s in this wallet’s what I earned at Ishikawajima.” “It’s a paltry amount—downright embarrassin’—but take it for now. I’ll make up the difference later.” “Make up?” Sabu looked at him with suspicious eyes. “What’re ya on about?”

“Well, never mind,” Eiji said. “Let’s get something good for dinner—just the two of us.”

Without even needing to examine the written accounts, it was clear that Eiji's entrusted money alone couldn't possibly cover all this furniture and household items—there remained no doubt that Sabu's own funds had been added. During the period when Sabu had fallen ill with beriberi and returned home, the Kasai family had likely claimed considerable living expenses from him; on top of that, having procured all these domestic necessities, he must have completely emptied his purse. Eiji thought this through, but since such matters couldn't be settled with mere words of gratitude, he steered the conversation elsewhere.

After paying their respects to landlord Gensuke, the house of their neighbor Masuroku, and three households on the opposite side of the street, the two ate their evening meal. Sabu cooked the rice himself, while from Uokiku—a caterer on the main street—he procured soup, grilled dishes, sashimi, vinegared items, and two bottles of sake. True to their longstanding custom, they used separate decanters and cups, neither pouring drinks for one another nor passing cups back and forth.

“This is our shop.” After taking a sip from his first cup of sake, Eiji looked around the house. “We’re startin’ from this shop—Sabu, let’s give it our all.” “I’ll try not t’be a burden much as I can,” Sabu said, bowing his head. “Please count on me, Eij-chan.” Eiji nearly snapped “Don’t talk nonsense,” but checked himself. “We’re in this together—I’m countin’ on you too.”

“We’ve finally made it this far.” Sabu took a sip of sake and said, “Ever since you told me that day we’d open a shop together someday, Eij-chan—I’ve even dreamed about it—but I never thought it’d really happen. Right now I feel... happy but terrified all at once.” “I feel the same way. The world ain’t kind—even after goin’ to all this trouble to get our own shop, there’s no tellin’ if we’ll make it work. When I think about it, I get scared too.”

Sabu looked at Eiji with eyes wide, as if startled. “That’s impossible!” Sabu vehemently retorted, “With your skills alone, Eij-chan, there ain’t nowhere you’d go where you’d get pushed around! Talkin’ such weak-willed nonsense—that ain’t like you one bit!” “You’re the only one who thinks that,” Eiji said seriously. “I haven’t worked properly in nearly three years—truth is, I don’t even know when I’ll get back to my old skills. But right now—just havin’ you here with me is what keeps me goin’. Don’t you ever forget that, Sabu.”

“Ain’t my place to hear such words,” Sabu said, raising his eyes sharply. “I’m still just a thickheaded, slowpoke of a good-for-nothin’—but if I can be any use to ya, Eij-chan... I’ll do whatever it takes.”

14-3

“I got all worked up there.” Eiji forced a wry smile and picked up his chopsticks in an effort to lighten the mood, saying in a cheerful tone, “This is our first meal together—just the two of us. Let’s drop the heavy talk and keep things lively.” “How ’bout another bottle?” “Let’s stop here. Until work’s settled, even if I want a drink, I intend to go without—not even a single bottle if I can help it.” After saying that, he sheepishly rubbed the side of his forehead with his finger. “There I go gettin’ all worked up again—can’t help myself. Comin’ back into society’s left me all flustered, seems like.”

“You’ll settle in soon,” Sabu said worriedly. “It’ll just take two or three days.”

The next day, accompanied by Sabu, Eiji went to Kanazumi Third District and met Osue’s father. The brush shop was a small establishment with a single apprentice; Heizō, having lost his wife long ago, had been living alone. He bore no resemblance to Osue in either face or build—a man of few words and gentle demeanor who appeared well over fifty, yet stated his age as forty-five. “Yes, my only daughter,” Heizō said, puffing nonstop on his tobacco. “She’s my only child, but don’t you worry—I’ll manage on my own. When women come of age, they up and leave their parents quick as anything. Seems they can’t become proper women while still clinging to their folks.”

The year Osue turned thirteen, Heizō tried to call her in to scold her. At that time, his wife was still alive, and they had cherished their only daughter Osue and raised her with complete indulgence. But when she turned thirteen, he thought it time to begin disciplining her, and though he couldn’t remember what had prompted it, he called her in to reprimand her. Then Osue said "Yes" and came over. The voice and tone in which she said "Yes" were no longer those of the Osue from up until yesterday.

“It wasn’t the voice that used to beg things from me or her mother, or throw tantrums,” Heizō continued quietly. “How should I put it... In short, it was like hearing a girl’s voice transform into a woman’s. Right then I thought—our parent-child bond had already been severed.” When that time comes, daughters unknowingly become prepared to part from their parents. “I realized then that Osue was no longer ‘our daughter,’” he said before lapsing into heavy silence.

After concluding the wedding arrangements and leaving the brush shop, they had walked about a block when rain began falling from the clear sky. Looking up, they saw white and gray clouds layered against the blue expanse, while a mass of black storm clouds rapidly expanded from the southern horizon.

“Looks like an evening shower’s coming,” Eiji said, eyeing the rain clouds. “Should we hurry?” “Let’s stop by my place instead.” “—But your place...” “I’ve got my place set up,” Sabu said. “It’s in that alley there—watch your step on the gutter planks.” To the right lay rice fields, with Ueno’s hill and forest visible beyond them. Likely irrigation water flowed through a narrow stream spanned by a single-step bridge. They crossed it, turned left at the greengrocer’s corner, and entered the alley. The area must have escaped fires—the tenement houses crowding both sides with nearly touching eaves stood ancient, their gables and pillars warped, while filthy water overflowing from gutter planks filled the narrow lane with an unnatural stench.

What a dump, Eiji thought, grimacing involuntarily—just as the rain poured down in a deluge, and Sabu dashed into one of the tenement houses. “Osei-chan, are you there?” He called through the shoji screen while gesturing to Eiji, “Osei-chan, it’s me—Sabu.”

A response came, and the shoji slid open. Since Eiji would get wet under the eaves too, he had no choice but to enter the narrow dirt-floored entryway. The one who opened the shoji was a girl of about sixteen or seventeen; when she saw Sabu, her eyes widened in surprise. "My, what a surprise!" the girl said cheerfully. "You've come! —And is this your companion?" "Ah," Sabu laughed with a clumsily vague air, "Since the evening shower started, I thought we'd stop by my place to wait out the rain."

“The key?” she said, making to rise, but the girl remained kneeling as she looked at Sabu and Eiji. “If you’re waiting out the rain, you can stay here. His place must be all shut tight and moldy-smelling.” “But we shouldn’t trouble your father.” “There’s no need to mind Father—I’ll brew some tea now,” the girl said, smiling at Eiji too. “Please do sit down for a moment.” Eiji gave a silent nod of acknowledgment, and the girl stood and left.

“They’re people I knew when I was living here,” Sabu whispered. “Apparently he used to be a samurai. The father’s been bedridden for ages, and the daughter—Osei-chan—supports them by doing piecework.” “No wonder I thought there was something different about their bearing,” Eiji said. As he spoke, Eiji thought the girl’s cool eyes—which had widened in surprise when she saw Sabu—and the cheerful lilt in her voice as she addressed them seemed to lay bare her feelings toward him.

“She’s quite a looker,” Eiji whispered. “How old is she?” “Well...” Sabu counted on his fingers and said, “Exactly sixteen—still a child.”

Fourteen-Four The tea served under the claim of being "spent leaves" was indeed just that—weak—and had been brewed scalding enough to scald the tongue. Eiji and Sabu sat on the threshold step, and the girl—excusing herself with “I have things to attend to”—took up the sewing spread out before her. “And you,” the girl inquired, rubbing the needle against her hair as she looked evenly between Eiji and Sabu, “—aren’t you the one called Eiji-san?”

“That’s right,” Sabu answered. “How did you know?” “Just a lucky guess,” the girl said. “All Sabu-san ever talks about is Eiji-san—he’d even brag about him to my bedridden father. So I thought right away, ‘That must be him.’” “You’re exaggerating.” Sabu turned to Eiji with a bashful smile. “I didn’t brag that much about you—honest.”

“Sabu must have been indebted to you in many ways,” Eiji said to the girl. “I’d like to express my gratitude as well.”

“No, we parent and child are the ones indebted to you,” the girl said, stopping her needlework. “We would’ve been driven out of here if not for Sabu-san.” Sabu flusteredly stammered, “Th-that’s not true! Osei-chan always exaggerates!” then clapped a hand over his mouth when he realized his voice had grown too loud. Eiji asked how long her father had been ill, and the girl continued sewing as she explained. Her father was Naganuma Tokage, fifty-seven years old. Until his grandfather’s generation, they’d been low-ranking samurai with meager stipends living in a small Honjo estate. When Father inherited the household and Grandfather died, those in the Kobushin Group who’d gone ten years without postings were dismissed. This being an administrative decision by the authorities, they received fifty ryō coins and had to vacate their estate. After becoming a masterless samurai, Tokage married a former restaurant maid and eked out a living teaching reading—like a temple school. They moved countless times during those years. Though his wife bore three children, the first two died young—only the third child, Osei, grew strong. She’d been born somewhere in Fukagawa, then moved through Yanagihara in Kanda and briefly Nihonbashi. Her clearest memory was living in Tasuke-dana tenement on Onaridō in Shitaya at age five when Mother abandoned them. Tokage had hidden the fifty ryō received upon becoming ronin for emergencies, using it sparingly only when desperate. Living frugally left over thirty ryō remaining. His wife discovered this stash and took every coin when she fled. Ironically, no sooner had Tokage’s emergency fund been stolen than true emergency struck. That winter his joints suddenly began aching until he could no longer teach, reduced to bedridden groans. At first they survived through students’ parents’ charity and tenement neighbors’ kindness, but within a year were neatly evicted. With no options, Tokage swallowed his pride and begged shelter from the main Naganuma family—minor hatamoto with two hundred koku stipend in Kōjimachi.

Because the main family was large and their livelihood must have been difficult, Tokage and his daughter were put into what resembled a storage shed and treated like beggars. “Even so, it’s better than starving to death,” Tokage had said, but in the third year Osei tearfully pleaded with her father: “Let’s leave this place.” The main family’s youngest son—a fifteen-year-old boy—had begun harassing Osei. Judging with her nine-year-old wisdom that telling her father might cause trouble, she kept pleading without giving a reason. Thus they left the Kōjimachi residence, moving from Narihira in Honjo to Sanya in Asakusa, then to Shintorigoe, back to Honjo again, and finally to Kiyosumi-chō. During this period Tokage’s illness temporarily eased, and during their two years in Kiyosumi-chō he managed to operate a modest temple school.

“I’m told I take more after Mother than Father,” the girl said with a smile. “Father’s all gentleness, you see. My memories of Mother are hazy, but piecing together Father’s stories—she seems to have been strong-willed, spirited, and rather fond of flashy things.” It had been Osei who suggested to her father that they start the temple school in Honjo Kiyosumi-cho, and even when his illness relapsed after just two years or so, she never told him to quit. After leaving Kōjimachi, Osei did babysitting and errands wherever she went, and sometimes lined up boxes of cheap sweets in the narrow dirt-floored spaces of tenements. Meanwhile, whenever she encountered someone skilled at sewing, she would insistently ask them to teach her. In every neighborhood there were such people, and by age fifteen she had come to handle silk fabrics.

"I'm sorry for rambling on like this," the girl said with a bashful smile to the two of them. "After Father collapsed again, we moved here not long after. Since no one here knows us, they wouldn’t notice if I hid my age—when we came last March, I said I was eighteen. That way I could get better work and sewing fees too." And then she playfully hunched her shoulders.

Eiji asked again about her father’s illness. The girl answered in a matter-of-fact tone that when the pain comes, all you can do is apply warmth—there's supposedly no other treatment. It wasn’t that she lacked affection for her father—if that were the case, then so be it—but rather a tone of pragmatic resignation.

Eventually, the rain stopped, and the two expressed their thanks and went outside. Due to the remnants of the evening shower, puddles had formed on the road, and the gutters along both sides had become streams on the verge of overflowing. “You’re not worn out, are you?” Sabu asked Eiji. “She’s a capable girl.” Eiji said, dragging his leg so slightly it was almost unnoticeable, “That account of her life—no wasted words, efficient and sharp-witted.”

"I moved into that tenement in October and rented a place in Sakamoto-chō by December," Sabu said in his usual drawling tone, "so we really only spent eighty-five or six days together—but in that time I must've heard that life story of hers about ten times." "What did you do?" "The rent had piled up and they were being evicted." “I must’ve looked like a real pushover to her—or maybe she thought I had guts,” Sabu sheepishly ran a hand through his hair. “She showed up at my place with the landlord in tow—‘This man’ll pay,’ she said. ‘He’s my cousin.’”

Eiji gaped at Sabu. "That's right—this man here's my cousin," she said. Sabu gave a lax laugh. "I couldn't get a word out."

To Eiji, the scene of that moment seemed to materialize before his eyes. She was a capable and sharp-witted girl. But that wasn’t all—the moment she saw Sabu, who had moved in, she must have immediately thought, *This is someone I can rely on.* That was likely a woman’s instinctive intuition, entirely distinct from being sharp-witted. From the age of five, she had been tossed about by poverty and the world’s cruelty for over ten years, and now, for the first time, she had encountered someone she could truly rely on. The way her eyes had widened in surprise when she saw Sabu, and her manner of speaking afterward—all of that had revealed it. That girl had not only been cunning enough to have him pay her rent but must have instinctively sensed that he was someone she could entrust her entire life to. If that weren’t the case—if she hadn’t instinctively sensed that—then despite having experienced more than enough of men’s terrors at her main family’s household in Kōjimachi, there was no way she could have acted so recklessly only toward Sabu, Eiji thought.

“No matter how many times I hear it,” Sabu was saying, “that life story of hers is interesting. Not so much the story itself as how she tells it. Hmm—she’s still a kid after all, Eij-chan. Here she is talking all grown-up despite being just a babe. Can’t quite put my finger on why it’s so damn endearing. Honest truth.” “She’ll make someone a fine wife,” Eiji said before abruptly veering off—“Heard she’s sixteen, but looks decades older.”

“She’s had a hard life of it.” From Kanasugi to Sakamoto-chō was just a stone’s throw away. After the evening shower, the road was crowded with people coming and going—packhorses, palanquins, and the like. Among them moved a married pair of candy sellers: the woman beat a gong and drum while the man sang a risqué song, dancing their way through the bustling thoroughfare in lightning-like zigzags. The man was gaunt and in his mid-forties; the woman appeared nearly twice his bulk and five or six years his senior. Her face—with its receding hairline—had been painted chalk-white, large crimson circles daubed on both cheeks.

“Isn’t that Matsuzō?” Eiji thought it was Matsuzō the motoyui maker and stole a sidelong glance at the man’s face. Of course, it wasn’t Matsuzō, but they resembled each other so closely they could have been twins. “That’s one way to live,” Sabu said mournfully. “What must that feel like?” “Cart coming through!” Eiji called out.

When they returned to the house in Sakamoto-chō, the neighboring couple were quarreling. The husband, Masuroku, was a regular clerk at some kimono fabric store, and his wife was said to have been the former head maid of that same shop; ever since Sabu had moved in, they had apparently been quarreling nearly every day. They didn’t make any noise or shout or yell. Yet when one heard them hurling insults at each other in low, barbed voices, something more terrifying than a fistfight could be sensed.

“There are couples like that too, you know,” Eiji said to Sabu. “What do you think they feel like?”

14-5

On April 21st, Eiji and Osue were married. They had chosen a workhouse rest day, so four came from Ishikawajima: overseer Denpachi, Yohei, Mankichi, and Matsuda Gonzo the Red Demon. Their congratulatory gifts included charcoal tongs, a fire shovel, paired chopsticks, a box dining set, a bolt of bleached cotton, and three freshly laundered yukata laid out together. "This old yukata's my heartfelt offering," Matsuda declared with feigned gruffness. "You're likely thinkin' this rag ain't worth a damn—but if that's what's in your head, you're just a good-for-nothin' baldy with turnip brains!"

Eiji smiled to himself thinking *Same old Matsuda*, though Osue’s eyes held a frightened look. Matsuda beckoned her over with a curt gesture. "You likely ain’t heard this," Matsuda said, straightening up with mock solemnity, "but you don’t use fresh-cut cloth for a babe’s linens or nappies—gotta take cotton washed a hundred times till it’s soft. A newborn’s hide’s like fresh-pounded mochi, see? Handle it rough even once and it’ll tear clean through. What’s got you sniggering, Mankichi?"

“Nothin’ funny about it,” Mankichi said, struggling to hold back his laughter. “Givin’ a lecture on babies when they ain’t even had the weddin’ yet—look at ’er, Osue-san’s shrinkin’ away in embarrassment over here!” “Even if you say ‘not yet,’ you damn fool—you’ll be sleepin’ together startin’ tonight, won’t ya?” Matsuda hurriedly changed tack. “So, uh, well—we don’t know when we’ll get to come back ’round again, right? That’s why I figured I should say my piece now. If it was outta line, I’ll apologize.”

“Thank you, Matsuda-san,” Eiji said, bowing his head. “This is the finest gift of all. I won’t offer individual thanks to everyone here—I accept it with gratitude.”

Mankichi answered in a flustered manner, “Don’t mention it,” and everyone burst into laughter. The wife from next door, Masuroku’s wife, and the landlord’s wife had come to help and taken charge of preparing the meals and sake. Heizō of Kanasugi apparently disliked such affairs; without inviting the three or so relatives he had, he came alone at dusk. Sabu suggested to Eiji that they should at least invite two or three of his former senior apprentices, but Eiji firmly refused, insisting that Yohei-san would serve as his parental figure and Sabu as his relative, and he would not agree to having a matchmaker even just for formality.

“If we’d met through a matchmaker, that’d be one thing,” Eiji said. “But we came to know each other ourselves—decided to join together ourselves. A matchmaker just for the ceremony? I’ll have none of that farce.” “That may be so,” Sabu said with a sigh, “but there’s also society to think about. Don’t you think it’d be better to have someone to stand between if somethin’ comes up down the line?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Eiji pointed at Sabu and said, “For both me and Osue, having someone like you to consult with is more than enough.”

Sabu looked both bashful and deeply moved as he murmured "Eij-chan" under his breath—this had occurred yesterday. From morning onward today, Sabu had been rushing about alone both inside and outside the house. When the four from the workhouse arrived, he immediately began arranging meal trays and serving sake. Eiji had told him repeatedly, "You're the host today—leave the chores to others and sit still," but Sabu kept making excuses about being ill-suited for such formalities and having stiff shoulders, never settling down for a moment.

Heizō nevertheless appeared in formal crested kimono and hakama, having a sake shop attendant carry two square casks each holding one shō of sake. Osue wore a tsumugi-striped kimono with a stiff obi and her usual tabi-less attire, while Eiji was dressed in a cotton-striped kimono secured with a three-shaku belt. When Eiji introduced each workhouse man to Heizō as his personal benefactor, Heizō offered thanks and bowed courteously every time. Even upon hearing they were from the workhouse, he never once showed distaste; though his words were few, his greetings remained thoroughly proper throughout.

Though it was a wedding ceremony, it was a simple affair. The two sat side by side and, using the newly received portable dining set in place of a ceremonial tray, simply exchanged the three-times-three cups of sake. The cups were earthenware brought by Yohei, and the sake was served from a heated flask. When the sake cups were concluded, Osue stood to serve, and Eiji retreated to a lower position and sat down. “Thanks to you all, we were able to properly complete the formal sake exchange. We’re deeply grateful.” Eiji pressed his hands together and said, “As you can see, we stand here with nothing. Though you’ve honored us with celebration, we can offer no gifts in return. The three of us—Sabu, Osue, and I—will throw ourselves into our work barehanded. Osue knows this path won’t be easy, but I learned endurance in the workhouse. Even if it takes five years or ten—even if we must eat cold rice every day—we’ll persevere until we build a shop worthy of any ordinary folk.”

"Please keep watching over us," he concluded in an uncharacteristically forceful tone. "I'll give ya a celebratory performance," said Mankichi, his face flushed from drink. "You don't mind, do ya Matsuda-san? Takasagoya style!" Matsuda Gonzō’s eyes bulged. “What’s that? You can pull off that kinda trick?” “That trick’s a killer!”

“Go on and do it,” said Yohei. “That’ll wrap up tonight’s celebration proper.”

Mankichi began to sing.

14-6 Mankichi had a good voice, but it was unmistakably a kiyari work song voice, and his melodic phrasing followed the kiyari style exactly. Given his background as a scaffolder, this likely came naturally—but when he reached the line *"With the moon as our companion, we set sail,"* he suddenly burst into laughter himself, slapping his forehead two or three times while shaking with uncontrollable guffaws. "You makin' a mockery of it all!" Matsuda bellowed. "We were just about to wrap things up proper-like, and thanks to you, it's turned into some damn farce!"

“That’s not true at all, Matsuda-san,” Eiji said. “The heartfelt intentions of friends celebrating us—even if done clumsily—are far more precious than any formal performance. Thank you, Mankichi.” “Come now, Matsuda-san,” said Yohei, offering the sake flask. “Tonight’s special—why not shed those ceremonial robes and drink freely for once?” “Ceremonial robes?” Matsuda’s eyes bulged again. “Those robes of yours, Matsuda-san,” Seishichi said through a mouthful of food. “We all know you put on that rough act to hide your tender heart. No need to force yourself like that—we’ve seen through it long ago.”

“Don’t look down on people!” Matsuda roared. “You think you shitty bastards have any idea how I feel about you?” His face turned dark red. This was typically the prelude to his usual torrent of abuse, but now he did the opposite—lowering his eyes, staying silent, and continuing to drink hurriedly as if he were at a loss with himself. The workhouse had its curfew; though they’d received special permission to come today, when Yohei heard it had struck seven, he declared “Let’s wrap this up” and overturned the sake cups.

Eiji had something to say to Yohei. He wanted to say, "Leave the workhouse and come live with us here as parent and child"—but Eiji didn't voice it. The reason was that he thought it was something he should discuss by going to the workhouse himself and speaking with Yohei alone.

Before long, the four men stood up, and Heizō also rose to his feet. When Heizō stood up, everyone looked at him in surprise. Heizō had neither spoken nor laughed to such an extent that everyone had completely forgotten he had been there all along. Eiji, Osue, and Sabu saw everyone off to the main street. “Be happy, will ya?” At parting, Matsuda said, “You’re ‘Mistress Osue’ now, right? If this bastard here ever does you wrong, just come straight to my place—got it? Then I’ll beat some sense into the fool right quick.”

Matsuda Gonzō kept repeating “Please be happy” as he shed tears without restraint. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Mankichi said, “Even demons have tears—that sayin’ wasn’t a lie after all.” “What nonsense you’re spoutin’, you shitty bastard! A demon’s still a demon—but I ain’t just any demon! I’m the Red Demon!” Matsuda wiped away tears and snot with a sideways swipe of his hand as he leaned against Mankichi’s shoulder. “Ah, I’m drunk—gimme your shoulder, you pumpkin bastard.” By then, Heizō and Yohei were nowhere to be seen.

The three returned home, and as Osue began cleaning up with the neighbor's wife and the manager's wife, Eiji sat facing Sabu, gathered the remaining sake flasks, and began to drink. Neither of them were strong drinkers. Sabu seemed to have increased his intake, but he still didn't get drunk. "Let me say my thanks just once." Eiji pressed his hands on his knees and bowed his head. "Thank you, Sabu. Truly, thank you." Sabu waved a hand at his forehead but said nothing.

“Let’s team up, the two of us,” Eiji said, looking down. “We’ll do this right.”

Sabu seemed frustrated as he tried to say something but couldn’t find the right words, shaking his head and working his mouth wordlessly. “Well, I...” Sabu said, “I think I oughta be headin’ out soon.” “Don’t talk nonsense—you’re stayin’ over, ain’t ya? Drink up.” “Ugh...” said Sabu. “Then, just this last bottle.”

After seeing off the two wives who had come to assist, Osue wiped her hands and sat down beside Eiji.

“Osue-san, I’m real sorry,” Sabu said with a thick-tongued slur, bowing his head. “Meant to leave way sooner, but ended up lingerin’ too long. The way I’m goin’, reckon I’m just gonna end up bein’ a burden on you two.” “We’re drinkin’ through the night,” Eiji said to Osue. “You’re worn out—go on and get some sleep.” “But Eiji-san...” “It’s better with just the two of us,” Eiji said with a meaningful glance. “You’ve got tomorrow ahead of you—go to sleep already.”

Osue visually confirmed Eiji’s words with her eyes, then addressed Sabu and stood to leave. He’d declared they’d drink through the night, but Eiji had already grown sick of even smelling alcohol, while Sabu—who normally held his liquor well—now sat thoroughly drunk, his body swaying unsteadily and his speech slurred beyond coherence.

“Let’s turn in, Sabu,” Eiji finally said. “You look like you’re havin’ a hard time stayin’ awake.” As he said this and turned around, through the half-open sliding paper door, he caught sight of Osue changing clothes in the six-mat room next door. As she removed her kimono and slipped into her sleeping robe, the smooth curve of her small, pulled-tight shoulders and the narrowed bareness of her waist struck him with a startlingly fresh allure. “I’m such a hopeless fool,” “I’m such a hopeless fool,” Sabu said, rolling onto his side. “I’ll be half-baked my whole life.”

Fifteen: Part One

Eiji began by assisting Sabu with his work. At best, they handled middling-quality fusuma using tenement-grade decorative paper; occasionally they took on shoji replacements for main-street merchants or the residences of kept mistresses. He intended to start with such menial jobs to regain the skills he'd let grow rusty over nearly three years.

“This kind of work is fine,” Sabu said like a broken record. “It’s too good for someone like Eij-chan—I’ll take care of it myself.”

“I told you already,” Eiji always retorted irritably. “Quit worryin’.” Sabu had moved to the Kanasugi house, coming by at eight each morning and returning home after supper if there was no night work. There wasn’t enough work for overtime, nor much coming from the mounting shops in Otamachi either. Their troubles seemed to start when they’d refused that first gaudy large-format mounting job, claiming their skills were still too rusty for proper work. Word must’ve spread that Hokodo was putting on airs—even the work they’d been funneling Sabu’s way dried up.

“It’s fine—there’s no need to worry,” Sabu repeated. “Even in Kobune-cho, summers were slow. It’s been like this every year, hasn’t it? Once the cool breezes start blowing, things’ll get busy.” “I’m not worried at all.” Eiji laughed as he said this, “Things don’t just go smooth from the start—you’re such a born worrier.”

In that case, the workhouse was better. It could even be said it was far better—no worries about food, work was always available, wages were paid, and if you fell ill, you received free treatment. It’s only natural that many were reluctant to leave the workhouse, Eiji thought privately. ――He’d once observed their lives and thought them little better than livestock being kept alive without purpose. But now, having taken a wife and started a modest shop of their own, confronting each day’s suffocating struggle to survive, he felt he finally understood the true meaning of those words he’d heard in the workhouse.

――Here, dozens of people must compete for a single job, Eiji thought. In any trade, to claim work as one’s own required skills unmatched by any other—and even then, showing the slightest complacency meant others would snatch it away—like a pack of wolves fighting over a single kill. They took on any job that came their way regardless of low pay; when orders ran dry they made decorative paper for tenements to sell. Yet by August’s arrival even their meager savings had bottomed out.

“I know this makes me sound heartless,” Sabu muttered one day, “but I wish a big fire would break out somewhere—it’d give us some breathing room.”

“If there were a big fire,” Eiji said, “this house would burn down first. That’s how luck works—instead of thinking nonsense, focus on getting the paste right.” Osue managed well enough. From the beginning, there had been none of the rosy excitement typical of newlyweds. Whenever free from housework, she would immediately go to the workshop and diligently assist Eiji. Though her fingertips had stayed neatly slender since her time as an upper maid at that grand Nihonbashi-dōri merchant house—after her cotton-pattern apprenticeship—those hands soon grew rough, their knuckles increasingly pronounced. For over fifty days she’d kept her hair in a bridal style, but eventually resorted to a simple tied bun to save hairdressing costs and time; naturally, she stopped using rouge and powder altogether.

――Don’t turn housewifely too fast.

Eiji tried many times to say it, but seeing how busy his wife was from morning till night in her role as a wife, he couldn't bring himself to voice the words.

They had eaten their meals together at nine in the morning and six in the evening, but from around mid-August Osue began missing them, and before long Sabu stopped eating his evening meal as well. The reason given was that Osei was preparing food and waiting at the Kanasugi house. Osue would say she’d eat later by herself, seemingly tidying up perfunctorily in the cramped kitchen. Eiji never doubted this explanation, but Sabu was eating cheap topped rice at a stall in Kanasugi, while Osue stretched the leftover rice into porridge or gruel and made do with just raw miso or salt for side dishes. To put it plainly, their household finances had become so strained that they had to skimp on meals this way.

Eiji persisted at the workshop late every night to regain his mounting skills. Osue also stayed constantly by his side, burning mosquito repellent incense, fanning Eiji when he became sweaty with a round fan, or wringing out a hand towel in water and bringing it to him. “There’s a girl named Osei in Sabu’s tenement,” Eiji said to Osue one night. “She’s still sixteen, I hear, but seems to have fallen for him.” “So that’s the person who’s making dinner and waiting for him, then.”

Eiji nodded. “Sabu thinks she’s still a child and doesn’t seem to notice a thing, but that girl’s a proper adult—she’s been supporting her bedridden father since she was five. You ought to go see her yourself sometime.”

“Me?” “You know,” Eiji said with a smile, “—I think you’d make the perfect bride for Sabu.”

Fifteen: Part Two

When September arrived and some time had passed since changing into lined kimonos, Eiji noticed Osue remained in her unlined garment. It was of fine cotton stripes—not quite a summer yukata but what she'd worn through the hottest months. "It's not unlined—it's lined now," Osue said. She flipped up the hem to show him, "See? There's proper lining. I resewed it because I liked this pattern." "That scale-patterned lined one we had—I preferred that."

"I gave that to Obun-san next door." “The neighbor Obun-san?” “She’s his wife,” Osue said in a low voice. “Her husband Masuroku-san—the shop where he worked as a live-out clerk went under, and since then he’s been hawking silk fabrics door-to-door.” But their trade fared poorly—these days they barely scraped by through Obun’s piecework wages. Every possession they owned had been sold off or pawned, leaving them unable to sew even a single lined kimono. Having heard this story, Osue explained she’d given the scale-patterned garment to Obun.

“So, I was asked to do something... Would you get mad?”

“Hold down that end.” Eiji said while smoothing out the paste with his brush, “Press it tight—like that.”

Osue did as she was told, keeping both hands pressed on one end of the paper, and looked up at Eiji. “Will you be angry?” “What were you asked to do?” “It’s helping with sewing work,” Osue said in an offhand manner. “Obun-san says she can’t manage alone with all the orders now—if she refuses, she won’t get any more work, so she wants to finish what’s been requested.” “So you’re saying you want to help with that?”

"Is that all right?"

“It might seem heartless, but you should drop it,” Eiji said while using his brush, “—you’re already swamped with our work from morning till night, working nonstop without even a moment to doze off. I know that.” “Oh, come on! Do I really work that much? It’s almost too easy!” And for the first time, she let out a spoiled-sounding nasal voice. “Come on, it’s fine, isn’t it? I’ll take proper care of the house, I promise.”

"If what you said is true and you really want to do it," Eiji said while gazing at his hands, "just don't push yourself too hard—the lamp oil's running low." "Yes," Osue said as she stood up, "I'll tell Obun-san first thing tomorrow—she'll be so pleased!"

They had known nothing about their neighbors' domestic circumstances. They hadn't known which shop Masuroku had worked at, whether that shop had gone bankrupt, or whether he had truly been peddling silk fabrics afterward. That night was the first time they heard about it from Osue. The world was in such terrible depression that even the great wholesaler houses of Nihonbashi had not a few bankruptcies, and walking through town, one couldn't avoid seeing signs like "Store Closing - Fire Sale" or "For Sale" notices plastered on shuttered shopfronts—in this alley too, several narrow lanes branched off left and right, crammed with old tenement houses. Most residents were day laborers, and even children of seven or eight seemed compelled to work somehow to help their households. Once when Osue was washing clothes at the back wellside, an eight-year-old girl carrying a baby on her back came and wrung out her laundry. Thinking her just a helpful child, Osue thanked her and offered sweets wrapped in paper, but the girl refused them and instead held out her hand demanding payment. Afterward too, she often encountered similar situations and would sigh, realizing there were lives like this in the world.

When Osue said she wanted to help the neighbor’s wife with sewing work, Eiji immediately thought, “So we’ve finally reached that point.” On top of there being few custom orders, the roughly thirty fusuma sliding doors and decorative paper made for sale remained propped up in the corner of the workshop, gathering dust. The hope that cool breezes would rise had, now that the season had arrived, become nothing but utter darkness ahead.

No matter how desperate things got, once a man had to make his wife earn their keep, he was finished.

When he was at Hōkōdō, Master Hōbei had often said that. Eiji thought he was right. Indeed, around Kobunechō there were several households where the wives worked hard while the husbands idled about—though they seemed to manage well enough for a time, without fail they would eventually shut down their homes or flee under cover of night. I can’t let Osue take on paid work here—if I don’t break through with my own skills, my work will never be genuine. Eiji thought this, but seeing how they were struggling even to afford tomorrow’s rice, he clenched his teeth and held back from saying, "Stop."

Around that time, Sabu began going out to do odd jobs somewhere. He would only say—as if making excuses—that someone had asked him for help, avoiding any mention of where he went or what work he did. But after two or three days, he would come by and quietly hand Osue a few coins. It wasn’t clear whether it was coins or goods, but Eiji thought it was probably coins; however, he neither looked at them nor tried to verify.

“Front gate, back gate,” Eiji muttered. “If they pincer us from both sides, we’re done for. Can’t even breathe like this.” The two of them were trying to get through this crisis without letting Eiji notice. However, their consideration in trying not to be noticed felt like a greater burden to Eiji than the actual help they were providing.

One day in October, after going to the public bath, Eiji did not return home upon leaving the bathhouse; instead, he folded his wet hand towel and set off walking. With no particular destination in mind, he cut through the backstreets of Nihonbashi 2-chōme, winding his way until he emerged onto the rice field paths of Inaridani. Most were already harvested fields; expanses of black earth lined with stubble spread out on both sides of the narrow path, where black birds—likely crows—swooped down or took sudden flight.

“Calling the old man here would’ve been a joke,” he muttered as he walked. “—Talking about him being a father figure... If I’d actually brought him over, I’d have made even Yohei-san suffer for it.”

The sky, now that winter had arrived, was perfectly clear. When he entered Asakusa district with its many temples, the earthen walls and white plaster walls there—bathed in sunlight until they shone dazzlingly bright—only served to deepen the gloom of Eiji’s uncertain heart.

“I’ve gotta go back now,” he muttered. “Osue’ll be worryin’... Damn if I wanna though.”

The voices of two men talking as they approached from behind could be heard. "He’s a strange man, that Genzō," one of them was saying. "Whenever he thinks of doing something, he always remembers something else he must do first." "That man’s a busy one." "There’s an inkstone placed right in the middle of the room," the first man continued. "You see, he stood up to wash it but suddenly realized he had to chop firewood there instead, so he left the inkstone right there and went to split the wood. Once he finished that, he’d remember another task—Buddhist services, purification rites, all sorts of things. Parishioners visiting, being called to the main hall—you know how it is. Lately, every time he tries to wash that inkstone, without fail, some urgent matter pops into his head."

The accompanying man said, “I’ve never seen a man so busy.” “After a while, you see,” the first man continued, “having that inkstone sitting right in the middle of the room started looking perfectly natural. Once that happens, you can’t move it anymore—they just end up using a different inkstone and leaving that one where it is.” When Eiji saw the two men approach from behind and pass him, they both turned out to be middle-aged monks. Carefree bastards... They probably don’t know a damn thing about real hardship, Eiji muttered to himself. He remembered hearing a saying when he was young—that killing one ant was like killing a thousand monks. It meant monks weren’t real workers but just “grain eaters,” a bitter phrase born from poor folks’ anger—and right now, Eiji found himself thinking it rang perfectly true.

“Should I just disappear like this?” he muttered. “Go off into the mountains where no one will find me and die a miserable death?” “Look out!” someone shouted. “A horse!” Eiji leapt aside and looked—he had nearly collided with a packhorse loaded with cargo. Wrapped in the horse’s breath and its pungent animal stench, Eiji wiped his face and neck with the hand towel he carried. Anger welled up inside him. More than being yelled at by the horse driver, he grew furious at himself for being so absorbed in thought while walking that he’d almost crashed into the beast.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to be,” Eiji blurted out involuntarily. “Hey, Eiji-kun—this ain’t like you! Wallowing like some rotten woman, sighing all day—what’s gotten into you? Where’d the old Eiji-kun vanish to?”

At that moment, he was called out to from behind.

“Isn’t this Mr. Eiji? Where are you off to?”

When he turned around, a woman of twenty-four or twenty-five, carrying some sort of bundle, approached with a coquettish smile. He had seen her face somewhere before, but he couldn’t recall where.

“Long time no see.” The woman bowed and said, “Have you been faring well all this time?” “I’m sorry, but who are you again?” “Oh my, have you forgotten me?” the woman gazed seductively. “It’s Okame—from Sumiyoshi!”

Fifteen-Three

Eiji was drinking at Sumiyoshi. Not in his usual small private room but at a seat in the earthen-floored area. Before him lay grilled dried fish and sweet-simmered dishes, with Onobu sitting directly across and pouring his drinks. “So how’s Okame-chan doing now?” “Didn’t ask,” said Eiji, narrowing his eyes. “But from what I saw, she seemed to be doing alright—looked every bit the respectable wife now.” “If that’s true and things stay settled, it’d be like a gourd sprouting a colt—downright miraculous,” said Onobu, recounting how Okame had left this establishment and the circumstances involving her man. Eiji wasn’t listening. Having gone so long without drink, he already seemed tipsy by his second flask. The leaden lump that had clogged his chest now dissolved as if swept clean by wind, leaving space for something long forgotten—a tautness of purpose—to surge upward through his ribs.

“Just so you know,” he said. “I don’t have any money today.” “I already know that.”

“I ain’t got a single coin on me.” “Why’re you so hung up on that?” After pouring a drink, Onobu shot Eiji a mischievous look. “You didn’t come runnin’ out here after some lover’s spat, did ya?” “When I’m fixin’ to hang myself, you think I’d be squabblin’ with some woman?” “What’re you on about?”

“There’s no work.” Eiji startled himself at how smoothly the words came out: “Since opening the shop, we haven’t had a single proper job. I know times are hard all around, but this way we’re finished. I really could hang myself.” “Don’t exaggerate.” Onobu fixed her gaze on Eiji’s face. “It hasn’t even been half a year since you started your shop—why this desperate hurry?”

“Osue’s started taking on piecework, and Sabu’s gone off somewhere doing day labor.” Eiji took a sip of sake before speaking—not in a reckless tone, nor a despairing one, but rather with a confrontational edge. “Who knows where he goes or what he does, but anyway, he does day labor somewhere and quietly hands over his earnings to Osue. As for Osue, she says she’s helping the neighbors while working on sewing from morning till late at night whenever she has a spare moment.”

“Don’t be so gloomy,” Onobu said as she poured him a drink. “When a husband’s work goes south, isn’t it only natural for his wife to take in sewing work? Just look around—you could sweep up stories like that by the armful.” “Just listen.” Eiji took a sip of sake and fell silent briefly, as if ordering his thoughts. “I’d been completely focused on shaking the rust off these hands of mine. Sure, I handled some rough jobs Sabu brought in—but otherwise poured everything into honing my own technique.”

“You planned that from the start, didn’t you?” “My skills came back somehow. I think I can handle most jobs now.” “But there’s no work—that’s what you mean?” “It’s not just that.” Eiji sharply raised one eyebrow. “It’s not just hearsay—I’ve seen it myself, time and again with my own eyes. Once a man lets his wife earn their keep, that’s truly the end of him as a man.”

“That’s quite the high-and-mighty attitude.”

Eiji looked at Onobu in surprise. Onobu's voice had suddenly turned cold and taken on a sarcastic tone. "Your refusal to lose is fine, Eiji-san, but I detest that arrogance of yours," Onobu said, glaring at him. "When people marry, aren't they said to become one in body and spirit? This notion that a man's ruined if his wife earns money—it's just your conceited belief that men must provide for women! What's wrong with a wife working when her husband loses his job? Men and women are equally human—this world doesn't revolve around men alone!"

“You’re just changing the subject, Onobu-san.” “I’ll have a drink too,” Onobu said, standing up. Just then a customer entered. The young maid Omatsu greeted them with “Welcome back,” and guided them to a seat. Onobu returned carrying her own cup and a heated sake flask. When she saw the customer, her face brightened into a smile. “Why, welcome back!” she exclaimed, throwing a glance at Eiji as she went over. “Seems she’s angry,” Eiji muttered to himself, pouring another drink. “I know damn well this isn’t about men supporting women.”

But maybe that high-and-mighty part was right after all. Osue and Sabu were earning money just to get us three through this immediate crisis—that must be it. Thinking he was making his wife earn their keep might’ve been pure arrogance on his part. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he muttered. Eiji shook his head hard, trying to clear the sake fog from his mind. “I ain’t got no high-falutin’ notions—not a damn one! Truth is, I feel like I’ve let both Sabu and Osue down.”

When he was told “I’m sorry” and looked up, Onobu had arrived there with the customer from earlier. The customer appeared to be fifty-five or fifty-six years old, wearing a Yūki pongee lined kimono with a haori jacket, a navy-dyed Hakata obi fastened around his waist, and hemp-lined socks secured with white-tanned leather cords. “This is our customer Sanukiya-san,” Onobu introduced. “He says he’d like to join you here, and also has a matter to discuss.”

Her tone brooked no refusal. Eiji waved his hand as if swept along and answered, “Please.” “Sorry fer bein’ pushy,” said the customer in a thick rural accent as he sat down across from Eiji. “Name’s Sanukiya Ihei—I’d be obliged fer yer help.”

15-4 While staring blankly at five koban coins laid on paper, Eiji sipped water from his yunomi teacup. "Sanukiya Ihei... Is this real?" "Enoshima in Sagami Province," Onobu said. "It's not exactly close." "I wouldn't flinch if it were a hundred ri away—but this offer came so sudden-like, it still feels like a dream." "Sudden for you maybe, Eiji-san, but Sanukiya's been searching five days already."

That was the story.

Sanukiya was a restaurant in Enoshima, Sagami Province with twelve guest rooms. To replace all its fusuma sliding doors, he had come to Edo searching for a craftsman. Three rooms particularly required painted fusuma needing mounting expertise. The other rooms too had lavish specifications from framed works down to base paper. Eiji grew excited at this proper job demanding full effort—the first in ages—and detailed his approach. Ihei approved his proposals, requesting an inspection visit and leaving five ryō as deposit. He'd visited seven or eight mounting and paper artisans including Hokodo, but none met his wage terms. Every workshop estimated needing five-plus skilled hands for such work. This alone made seasonal work in Enoshima impossible—labor costs tripled his budget before materials. Hearing deadlines extended till New Year's, Eiji reckoned he and Sabu could manage it together. The pay mattered less than securing real work. Proper craft deserved doing regardless of request.

“I was drunk,” Eiji said. “Drunk enough that everything just slipped out so easily. But now that I think about it, it all feels like a dream.” “The money’s right there,” Onobu said. “You’re not going to say you don’t want it now, are you, Eiji-san?” “Did what I said really come across that way?”

“I completely forgot,” Onobu said, standing up. After retrieving her own cup and telling Omatsu to pour the sake, she sat down across from Eiji. “I meant to drink earlier so I could complain, but this time I’ll have some to toast your success.” “Is the mistress all right with this?” “She hasn’t been back since last night—we’ll talk about that later,” Onobu said, pouring herself a drink. “Sanukiya-san came five days ago. He’s been staying at an inn called Yoshidaya across the moat. If he’d told me about the job from the start, I would’ve passed it to you right away, Eiji-san. But he kept quiet, so I only found out today! Though if you hadn’t moaned about having no work, I might not have passed it along at all. Enoshima’s clear past Mount Hakone, after all.”

"Huh, beyond Mount Hakone, you say?" “Pour me a drink,” Onobu demanded, thrusting her cup forward—then immediately stuck out her tongue. “Oh, wait—no exchanging cups! No shared pours!” “I’ll pour—thanks to you landing me that job.” “That reminds me.”

Omatsu brought heated sake, and two regular maids appeared. The two greeted them with “Good morning,” but Onobu paid them no mind; she kept drinking in quick succession and vehemently confronted Eiji. “Eiji-san, earlier you were talking about how Sabu-chan does day labor and making your wife earn money, weren’t you?”

“Quit it—too early to get tangled up,” Eiji said. “This’s my third cup—not drunk talk, I mean it,” Onobu pressed. “Eiji-san—you’ve got skills that put you among Hokodo’s top craftsmen. Even without this job, you’ll make it as a first-rate artisan someday. When folks say ‘a man’s finished once his wife earns,’ they mean layabouts who mooch off their womenfolk. That ain’t you—you’d work if there was work! Why, even Hidari Jingorō’d have begged bowl in hand if jobs dried up!”

“Hidari Jingorō, huh? That’s news to me.” “Don’t try to dodge this—we’re getting to the main point now.” Onobu continued drinking on her own. “Eiji-san—you said earlier that you’re making Osue-san earn money, didn’t you? And I called that a grand conceit. Do you understand now, Eiji-san?” Eiji shook his head ambiguously. “Please don’t be angry—I’m being serious,” Onobu said. “That feeling of making Osue-san earn money—when your work starts thriving, it’ll become the idea that this time, you’re supporting everyone through your efforts.”

“Isn’t it only natural for a man to earn a living and support his wife and children?” Onobu shook her head quietly. “Absurd—you must be joking. The very notion that one person could sustain another reeks of arrogance. For you to stand firm as a craftsman, Eiji-san, requires scores of people laboring unseen in your shadow—didn’t Sabu-chan himself declare it? ‘I’m naught but a useless layabout,’ he’d say. Yet without the glue Sabu-chan brews, even your finest work would crumble to ruin, wouldn’t it?”

“The glue Sabu prepares is second to none—there shouldn’t have been anyone at Hokodo who could surpass him.”

“You’ve always said that before, Eiji-san.”

Two men who appeared to be regular patrons from the neighborhood entered. Onobu greeted them with "Welcome" and summoned the maids. She then glanced at Eiji, arranged the heated sake flask and small dishes on a tray, and rose to her feet. "Let's move over there," came Onobu's commanding whisper. Eiji stood and followed her to a private back room. The dimming evening light left the small chamber dark. Onobu instructed Omatsu to bring an andon lamp.

“We’re almost done, so listen carefully now.” Onobu hastily prepared the seating arrangements and sat down, immediately saying, “Since you yourself say it, Eiji-san, it must be true that Sabu-chan makes glue nobody can match. You use that glue in your work—whether it’s hanging scrolls or folding screens—and when the results are good, you get praised: ‘What fine work,’ ‘Such splendid skill.’ But does anyone ever praise the glue? Do you really think there’s even one person who’d say, ‘The glue used in this scroll was masterfully prepared’? Do you, Eiji-san?”

“It’s the same with Osue-san,” Onobu continued, shifting her tone. “Even when your shop prospers and she no longer needs to do piecework, that doesn’t mean Osue-san’s life will get any easier than it is now. Managing a household and ensuring her husband can do good work will bring far greater hardships than any piecework ever could. Don’t you think so, Eiji-san?” Eiji said nothing, took a teacup, and sipped water. Onobu poured herself two more drinks.

“I’ve been entertaining customers like this for years now, and I’ve come to realize something.” Onobu sighed deeply before continuing. “Those who get called ‘boss’ or ‘master’ out in the world—they’ve all got people like Sabu-chan behind them. A few good souls propping them up. That’s the truth of it, Eiji-san.” “I understand,” he said quietly. “I truly do.”

When he was in the workhouse, Yohei had told him something similar. "You're not alone—at least you've got Sabu-chan, Osue-san, and Onobu-san here. No matter what happens, nobody's ever truly alone"—that had been the gist of it. Even so, Onobu's words stung—that those esteemed and revered by society all had someone like Sabu supporting them in the shadows.

Omatsu brought an andon lamp with a lit flame and two heated sake flasks. "You understand now, don’t you?" Onobu poured herself another drink from the new flask. "Your eyes look like they’ve finally understood." Having said this, Onobu gazed at Eiji’s face—then suddenly spilled tears from her eyes. "Why didn’t you make me your wife?" She stared at him through tear-flooded eyes. "Even though I love you this much—though I’d have made you a proper wife—I’d have sold myself for your sake without hesitation, let alone done menial work!"

“The light blue curtain’s fallen—we’ve moved from the prologue to the domestic scene.” Eiji said in a tone suggesting he’d heard nothing, “I should head back before they worry at home—thanks.” “No—don’t go yet!” Onobu swiftly gripped Eiji’s hand. “I’m begging you—stay a little longer.” Eiji produced the money pouch from his breast pocket. “You haven’t forgotten this, have you?”

Upon seeing the pouch, Onobu’s excitement dissipated as though she’d tumbled off a cliff; languidly brushing back her stray hair, she gave a bashful smile. “I must’ve been drunk. Forgive me.” Onobu stuck out her tongue slightly and hunched her shoulders. “Osue-san must be worried. Best hurry home.” “You alright, Onobu-san?” “That’s not why.” Onobu tapped her front obi sash. “And another thing—though I needn’t say it—the mistress here pulled this off.”

Onobu held up her right thumb. “Who do you think I’m talking about?” Eiji read Onobu’s expression. “That chef Toku-san you mentioned before?” “I don’t need to carry a razor anymore—isn’t that strange?” Onobu hunched her shoulders. “If he were to become the mistress’s husband, I’d feel like my own man had been stolen away. Women are such odd creatures, aren’t we?”

Fifteen-Five Upon returning to Sakamoto 2-chōme, Eiji gave Osue no chance to speak and abruptly recounted what had transpired at Sumiyoshi. As he spoke, Eiji himself felt a bitter resentment, as though he were a defendant making his defense, but in an instant, Osue’s face brightened and came alive.

“That’s wonderful. Truly wonderful.” Osue said in a buoyant voice, “I’ll never forget Onobu-san’s kindness in my lifetime.” “If you say even a hint of that, Onobu-san will fly into a rage.” That’s right—that woman loves you, Osue thought inwardly, though of course she didn’t voice it. “So when are you heading out for the site visit?”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll leave before dawn tomorrow.” “Is Enoshima far away?”

“Since it’s my first time, I can’t say for sure, but it’s definitely closer than Hakone.”

As Osue cheerfully stood up to prepare dinner, Eiji asked her, “What happened with Sabu today?” “Now that you mention it,” Osue turned around and said, “I met that Osei-chan person. Just like you said—she’s pretty, reliable, and such a good person.” “Did she come here?” “It was me who went. Since you went to the bath and were taking so long to come back, I thought you might have gone to Sabu-chan’s place or something, so I went all the way to Kanasugi to check.”

Eiji squinted as if against a glare and averted his eyes while muttering, “Sorry about that.” “It’s just as you said.” Osue said as she headed to the kitchen, “She’d make the perfect wife for Sabu-chan.” They had only exchanged a brief conversation, but the girl named Osei being fond of Sabu was evident in her words and expressions. Since Sabu was the more easygoing one, Osei’s brisk and sharp-eyed disposition would likely prove useful. “I’ll find a good opportunity to get them together,” Osue said in a cheerful tone from the kitchen. “So was Sabu there?” Eiji asked. “No—he’s apparently gone out for work,” Osue replied. “If he doesn’t come by tonight, he’ll surely stop by tomorrow.”

“Is Sabu-chan going to Enoshima with you?” “I can handle the site inspection alone,” Eiji said. “But I need someone to buy materials while I’m away—the stockpiled items aren’t usable anymore. Even just the underpaper needs replacing. And if we don’t place the order soon, it might not arrive in time.” “We’ve gotten busy, haven’t we?” Osue came over and said while setting the meal, “It’s such a special evening, but there’s nothing here. Should we order a bottle for the first time in ages?”

“I’ve had enough sake,” Eiji waved his hand and said. “Let’s make do with what we have. Then we’ll prepare for tomorrow.”

Throughout the meal, Osue’s flushed face remained filled with a smile as she continued talking nonstop about trivial matters. Eiji started to say that it was too soon to celebrate—that they should wait until the job was finished—but realizing how deeply she must have been worrying to now be this overjoyed, he couldn’t bring himself to dampen her happiness. As soon as the meal ended, Eiji wrote out the supply list. Painted fusuma required several types of backing paper: depending on whether the artwork was on paper or silk, one had to use papers with properties suited to each surface—such as Usumino or Ganpi for the base lining applied directly, middle lining, and reinforcement lining. Since these were handmade, even Mino paper varied in texture density and thickness; uniformity in the paper’s weave was also a critical condition. Selecting these required nothing but long experience and intuition, and while Sabu seemed slightly unreliable for this task, since ordering them didn’t guarantee immediate availability, there had been no choice but to rely on him for the time being.

“When Sabu comes tomorrow,” Eiji showed Osue the completed order book and said, “tell him to take this to Yamatoya in Honrokuchō and place an order for them to prepare all these items within ten days.” “Yamatoya in Honrokuchō, correct?” “It’s Yamatoya Saburōbei—a paper shop in Honrokuchō Fourth District,” Eiji emphasized. “Sabu might call it Hambara, since we always used Hambara at Hōkodō. But I’m going with Yamatoya—don’t forget that.”

“Understood,” Osue nodded. “About these five ryō,” Eiji said, unwrapping the bundle and taking out the coins, “since I’ll be hiring a palanquin for the round trip to Enoshima, I’ll take two coins with me. I expect even one ryō would suffice, but it’s a hurried journey—better safe than sorry. Hand the remaining three coins to Sabu and tell him to put them as a deposit at Yamatoya. What I mean is—I’m sorry, but not a single coin of this money can go into your hands.”

“Shall I show you?” Osue smirked as she stood up, took a wallet from the chest of drawers’ small compartment, and shook its contents onto her lap. “Count it for me—there’s two bu and one shu plus a bit more. I’ll be just fine.” Eiji stared fixedly at Osue’s lap, then let out a long sigh while slackening his body, as though setting down a burden from his shoulders. “It’s still too early to sleep.” Eiji said in a voice like something caught in his throat, “—Let’s check the brushes too.”

Chapter Sixteen, Part One

Eiji returned on the evening of the third day after setting out on his journey. He looked every bit like someone who had made an urgent courier’s run—his exhaustion evident—yet his spirits remained high as he kept talking animatedly while unpacking his travel gear. “Osue, you’re comin’ too,” Eiji declared first thing. “—The view’s so damn fine it’ll make you feel like a fool just lookin’. Fuji’s right over here, see? A terrifying wide sea wrappin’ all around, pure white waves rushin’ up the shore nonstop—and the wind! You’d think someone cranked up a bellows special-like. It’s incredible.”

“Go take your bath now.” Osue said with a laugh, “You’re covered in dust.” “Baths at this hour are filthy with grime—we’ll just boil water here and wipe down,” Eiji said while tightening his obi. “More importantly, like I told you from the start, you’re comin’ along on this job too, Osue.” “A place like Enoshima... It’s so far away, I’m scared to go.” Osue tidied up the clothes Eiji had taken off and stood up. “I’ll start boiling water right now.”

“You must be tired. Why don’t you rest a bit?” Osue called from the kitchen. “The job’s genuine first-rate work—just like I figured,” Eiji said while half-listening to her words. “If this were Edo, I’d be famous overnight. Not that fame matters now. Landing proper top-tier work for my first job since going independent—that alone was lucky as hell.” “What’s more,” he continued, “when I gave the total estimate, Sanukiya’s master added fifty percent to it himself.” “Said he liked your calculations,” Eiji explained. “Told me to speak up if costs ran over. You won’t find clients like that nowadays, I tell ya.”

Then, suddenly aware he’d been talking too much, he abruptly clamped his mouth shut. He was about to ask “What about Sabu?” when the lattice door opened and Sabu’s voice rang out. Eiji said “Come in,” and upon seeing Sabu enter—wearing a solid-striped kimono layered with a cotton hakama of fine vertical pleats, his hair freshly retied—[...] “Sit.” “The Enoshima job’s settled,” Eiji said with studied casualness.

Then he took out a money belt from the chest and pushed it toward Sabu, who sat waiting. "The half-payment's thirty-five ryō," Eiji said. "Though since we took five ryō upfront as deposit, that leaves thirty still coming." "So," Sabu licked his lips, "so it's a seventy-ryō job?"

“Depending on how it turns out, it could increase by fifty percent—but let’s not count on that for now.” “Wow, that’s our Eij-chan for you,” Sabu stammered, “Me? I’m always stuck with whatever slapdash jobs come my way. But sure enough, whether you’ve got skill or not—that’s what sets folks apart.” “It’s thanks to you.” “It’s thanks to you and Osue,” Eiji said plainly. “I won’t say anything more now, but once the job’s done, I’ll properly thank you both.”

As if recoiling from the words themselves, Sabu waved his hands in a fluster and cut him off. “Don’t even think about it!” Without paying this any heed, Eiji changed the subject. “Did you place the paper order?” “Ah.” Sabu licked his lips again. “I delivered that order form and the deposit to Yamatoya.” “Will everything be ready soon?” “They said they’d get them ready.” Sabu looked hesitantly at Eiji and said, “So—is this job urgent?”

Something about Sabu’s tone seemed apprehensive, so Eiji—as though only now realizing it—fixed his gaze on Sabu’s face. “We agreed to have it ready by New Year’s—is there some hitch?” “Nothin’ major, but—” Sabu lowered his eyes timidly. “From Kasai—they sent word my mother’s sick. Might not last the day...” Eiji prompted him with an irritated look, “So?”

“So, you see—it’s about Mother, and Kasai’s not that far...” “You’re so damn aggravating!” Eiji’s tone turned harsh despite himself. “What’s this ‘Kasai’ nonsense? You forget what they did to you there?” “Don’t say that...” “I’ll skip the rest—just what happened when you fell sick and went home to recover says enough. They threw you—a wasted man with legs swollen double—into a storage shed and made you do grunt work! Strangers might do that, but your own flesh and blood? And Mother was among ’em, wasn’t she? Now she’s sick? Ha! You’ve got no right callin’ her ‘Mother’ now.”

“Oh, you’re back!” Osue said as she entered from the kitchen. “—The bath’s ready now.”

Chapter Sixteen, Part Two

"Tonight I'll buy some sake and get us something good to eat," Eiji said, heading to the kitchen. Since he said he’d handle it himself, Osue stayed behind and served Sabu tea.

“What’s wrong?” Osue asked in a whisper. “I heard loud voices earlier.” Sabu explained the situation and said he wanted to travel through the night to Kasai. “That’s really troubling.” “Eij-chan got angry for my sake,” Sabu said quietly. “Because of how they treated me, he’s hated Kasai since way back—said folks like that ain’t family even if they’re blood kin. And... truth be told, my own flesh and blood really are a rotten bunch.”

Osue nodded as if mindful of the kitchen behind her. "But here's what I think," Sabu continued in a lowered voice, "It was my own kin who treated me rough. I never did nothin' wrong myself." "My husband ain't angry with you," Osue said, flushing red—evidently embarrassed at having unintentionally said "my husband" for the first time—"Who'd ever think you're to blame?"

“That’s not it, that’s not it at all!” Sabu shook his head in frustration. “—How do I put this? I’m no good with words, so I can’t say it right—but the thing is, no matter how awful they treated me, to me, Mother’s still Mother. If I’d done something wrong myself, that’d be different—but since I didn’t, I don’t see the harm in goin’ to take her last water.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that at all.” Without fully understanding what she had heard, Osue said encouragingly, “He understands that much too.” Eiji emerged wiping behind his ear with a damp cloth and asked them to prepare sake. “Right away,” Osue replied, signaling Sabu with a meaningful glance as she stood, while Eiji sat down beside the long brazier. “When are you leaving?” Eiji asked.

Sabu adjusted his posture meaninglessly. "You're going to Kasai, aren't you?" "Will you permit it?" "You're a pitiful man," Eiji said. "--But I'll make this clear: once the materials are ready, we're leaving Edo immediately. I intend to bring Osue along too--she might be of some use. We can't afford to laze about." "Thank you--I'll remember this kindness, Eij-chan." Sabu bowed. "I'm just going and coming back. From how the message sounded, there's no telling if I'll even catch her final moments--and even if that's not the case, I'll return right away."

“I’ll ask about the paste just to be safe.”

“Now?” Sabu retorted, and Eiji nodded. The two men stood up and went to the workshop. Sabu lit a candle, opened the raised lid in a corner of the workshop, and pointed out five jars beneath the floorboards. They were slightly smaller than water jars, their lower halves buried in the soil. Three of the five had paper-sealed lids with their preparation dates written on them. Sabu pointed to them one by one from the end and explained, and Eiji nodded and said he understood. After returning the raised lid to its original position, Sabu extinguished the candle and looked at Eiji uneasily.

“Well…” Sabu asked timidly, “you’re not plannin’ to leave me behind, are ya?” “It’s up to you.” Eiji went to hang the damp handcloth he’d been holding in the kitchen, then returned and sat down. “This job might decide our whole lives,” he said. “There’s no goin’ back now.” “I know, it’s fine,” Sabu said apologetically. “Well, uh... actually, I need to head out now.”

“We’ll have a proper send-off—share a meal together, then take a palanquin. That should do it.”

“A palanquin?” Sabu’s eyes widened. “This is part of the job too—to get things done quick,” Eiji said as he pulled over his money belt and took out a single gold koban from it. “Consider this an advance on your share. Take it without hesitation.” Sabu started to say something. “Just take it already.” Without letting him say another word, Eiji tightened the cord of his money belt and said, “Given your stubborn nature, there’s no point arguin’—this money’s yours. It might seem heartless, but you can’t give a single coin to those folks in Kasai. Listen here, Sabu—dependin’ on how this job goes, you’ll end up with Osei-chan. If you go showin’ off generosity there now, she’ll be cryin’ her eyes out once you’ve set up house together.”

“Hold on.” Sabu stammered, “If you go sayin’ everythin’ all at once like this, I’m just gettin’ dizzy! What’re you talkin’ about with me and Osei-chan, Eij-chan?”

Eiji waved his hand as if brushing something aside. “Enough—we’ll talk about that after we get back.” “Even so, if Eij-chan’s plannin’ to pair me up with Osei-chan, that’s a mistake right there.” “You’ll say she’s still a child—enough. We’ll leave this talk for later.”

16-3

The next day, a fierce north wind raged, and the cold was biting, but shortly after breakfast, Eiji went to Yamatoya in Honrokuchō 4-chome to confirm the details of the paper he had ordered. The owner of Yamatoya said they would have the specified items ready within five days and that payment could be deferred if he continued his patronage in the future.

It seemed customary for paper shops to carry an air of authority. Regardless of whether their sources were near or far, stocking a large quantity of high-quality paper required not only substantial capital and discerning judgment but also—above all—the fact that paper itself was a precious commodity, which appeared to foster a disposition distinct from other trades. But Yamatoya was not like that. This was likely because all the ordered items were legitimate, top-quality products. Furthermore, it was possible that he had taken a liking both to how those orders had been placed and to Eiji’s character as observed during their meeting. In any case, the owner Saburōbei remained affable, told him not to worry about payment, and asked him to continue placing orders in the future.

“Oh,” Saburōbei asked upon seeing Eiji stand up, “did something happen to your leg?” “Yes, during last summer’s great storm,” Eiji answered while rubbing the sole of his foot, “I did something clumsy and twisted it, but there’s no problem at all now. Does it trouble your eyes?” Saburōbei shook his head. “My second son—well, he’s also got bad legs. So… please take good care of yourself.” Eiji silently bowed his head.

When he left the shop and stood on the dusty road whipped up by the strong wind, Eiji suddenly thought of stopping by Ishikawajima. It may have been because they’d asked about his leg, but he wanted to tell Oka Yasubei and Yohei about the good fortune of having secured this job. Encountering Yamatoya’s owner had even made him feel as if this good fortune had been officially validated. Ever since being sent to the workhouse, misfortunes had assailed him in relentless succession. Through bitter experience he’d learned that misfortune rarely comes alone—it often strikes in overlapping waves—and good fortune might follow the same pattern. If that’s how it worked, he thought, then we’ll seize this firmly and make it ours.

At a street corner, he hailed a palanquin, and at Funamatsu-chō’s riverbank boarded a ferry bound for the island. When he arrived on the island, he visited the guardhouse and requested a meeting with Oka Yasubei. “Well, if it isn’t Bushū!” The old guard at the gatehouse said in astonishment, “Well I’ll be damned! You actually came! How’re you gettin’ on? How’s that leg? Here—sit yourself down awhile.” In the meantime, the middle-aged guard went to relay the message and returned saying Oka would see him immediately. The old guard puffed on his tobacco stick, seemingly eager to recount tales from that stormy night, and kept insisting he stop by on his way back.

When Eiji went to the office, a subordinate official ushered him toward the reception area. Oka Yasubei appeared shortly thereafter, his black hakama wrinkled and undergarment collar protruding at the chest. In this disheveled state—as if fresh from a brawl and unlike any appearance Eiji had ever seen him make—Eiji stared wide-eyed, bewildered. Oka seemed to notice that gaze: brushing dust from his hakama and straightening his collar as he sat down, he muttered something about an uncontrollable troublemaker among newly arrived laborers by way of explanation, then abruptly fixed Eiji with an anxious stare.

“You,” Oka whispered in a probing tone, “have you run into some kind of trouble?” Eiji felt a blow to his chest. The moment he saw Eiji’s face, he had asked that question—no doubt because he was genuinely concerned about him. Feeling a burning heat behind his eyes, Eiji shook his head to deny it, then placed both hands on the floor and bowed. “Actually, I finally managed to secure some work,” Eiji said as he raised his head. “Not in Edo—it’s an on-site job commissioned from the countryside. But if this goes well, I think we’ll get a foothold to keep the shop running.”

“That’s good. That’s very good.” Oka Yasubei relaxed his tense expression with a relieved look. “That’s the best news I could hear. Ah yes—Matsuda told me about your wedding ceremony. Sounds like you’ve found yourself a fine wife.” Oka Yasubei’s attitude abruptly grew distracted then, and he seemed to lose all inclination to listen earnestly to Eiji’s account. Needless to say, his concern now lay with the newly arrived laborers. Had Eiji come seeking help with some trouble, he would have counseled him at any length. But Eiji was one who had left the workhouse—one who had reportedly found employment. Once he knew that much was settled, it sufficed—Eiji had already slipped from his grasp.

What now occupied Oka Yasubei’s mind was undoubtedly nothing but the matter of the new laborers—those described as uncontrollable ruffians. While thinking this, Eiji asked about Yohei and inquired after Seishichi the Lump. All the men from the Mokko Room had gone out for work off the island, so of course Yohei was with them, and everyone he knew was away. After that, Seishichi had completely vanished without a trace; even his whereabouts were unknown, it was said.

“You mentioned Otoyo, that woman,” Oka said, furrowing his brows. “They moved about three times together—the third time was to Kōbiki-chō 1-chōme—but from there, it’s said Seishichi vanished.” “How did you find that out?” “Those who leave here are monitored by the Town Magistrate’s officers for a year—of course, in a manner where neither the individuals themselves nor their neighbors notice.” “So…” Eiji lowered his voice. “Was I being watched too?”

Oka Yasubei smiled. “It seems you didn’t notice, but of course you were being monitored—to ensure you didn’t make any mistakes, even by chance.”

Eiji quietly, deeply bowed his head. “The woman named Otoyo still lives in a backstreet tenement in Kōbiki-chō 1-chōme,” Oka said. “They say her current man is a carter—five years younger than her.”

“It’s possible Seishichi has returned to the countryside,” Oka Yasubei said.

16-4 There's no way he'd go back to the countryside, Eiji thought. That man had been so deeply in love with Otoyo—it was unthinkable he'd leave her willingly. Even with surveillance in place after moving to Kōbiki-chō, they said he'd "disappeared"—didn't that mean something unnatural had occurred? The matter of the carter—five years Otoyo's junior, who'd taken up with her after Seishichi—weighed on his chest like a dark, ill-omened shadow.

“What’s happened to you, Sei-san?” In the palanquin returning to Sakamoto-chō, Eiji softly called out, “Where are you?”

“If he was safe somewhere,” Eiji murmured like a prayer, “he’d be better off returning to the workhouse—as long as he stayed on the Island, he could avoid being mistreated by others.”

Sabu showed no signs of returning. Paper arrived from Yamatoya, and Eiji devoted himself to cutting the sheets to match the measurements in the order book. The mere thought of Sabu made his blood boil, so he focused solely on slicing the paper to exact dimensions, allowing himself no other thoughts. After dinner each night, he drank to numb his mind. Osue never once spoke Sabu’s name either—perhaps sensing Eiji’s seething irritation—keeping her nerves perpetually taut as if brushing against thistle spines.

On the eighth night after Sabu had left, Eiji—who had been drinking sake after dinner—suddenly set his cup down with a loud clatter. “Osue,” he said, “are your preparations ready?” Osue nodded uneasily and replied, “Yes, they’re ready.” “Good. Then we’ll set out tomorrow,” Eiji said as he stood up. “Bring me a light—I need to check the glue.” His impatience lay bare for all to see, and Osue found herself unable to speak.

Eiji went to the workshop and opened a removable floorboard in the corner as if impervious to the wooden floor’s coldness. When Osue brought an oil lamp, he said, “Give me the glue bucket.” From a shelf built into one wall of the workshop, Osue took down a lidded shallow bucket and meticulously wiped its interior with a dry cloth scrap.—Eiji peeled off the paper seal from the first jar and removed its snug wooden lid. The scent of chilled earth from beneath the floorboards mingled with the aroma of aged glue, enveloping Eiji’s face. When he placed the jar lid face down on the wooden floor, something written on its underside caught his eye.

The date the glue had been prepared was written on the front. Wondering what had been written on this underside, Eiji pulled the lamp closer. It was unmistakably Sabu’s handwriting—as he read, Eiji’s face stiffened, and his drunkenness seemed to vanish instantly. “Osue,” he said in a hoarse voice, “bring me some sake—cold is fine.” “In here?” “In here,” he said in a feeble voice. “Two or three bottles—use a teacup.”

Osue started to say something but, finding Eiji’s demeanor too unsettling, went to fetch the sake without protest. Eiji sat cross-legged directly on the wooden floor beside the lamp and began drinking cold sake from a teacup while glaring at the overturned lid of the glue jar. Osue brought a tray bearing small dishes and said it was cold here, but he seemed not to hear her at all—offering no reply, not touching his chopsticks, he continued staring as though devouring the characters on the lid’s underside and drained two flasks of sake in an instant.

“If we’re to leave tomorrow,” Osue said soothingly, “you shouldn’t get so worked up like this.” “It was him,” Eiji said. “It was Sabu.” “What do you mean?” “The scrap of Momen’s brocade,” Eiji said with a grimace. “Read this.”

Eiji pointed at the underside of the glue jar’s lid. Osue peered in, read the characters written there, and then looked at Eiji with frightened eyes.

“You understand now, don’t you?” Eiji said. Osue shook her head. “It says this,” Eiji traced the characters with his fingertip as he read them aloud. “—It was my fault. That Eij-chan got sent to the Island over that brocade scrap—that’s my sin. Even if it takes my whole life, I’ve gotta atone for this sin.”

16-5

Eiji stiffened his posture and gazed at Osue’s face. He then took the third flask, poured it into the teacup, and drank it all in one gulp. “I’ve never been convinced.” Eiji continued, his glaring eyes fixed on the ceiling, “Sure, Sabu and I’ve known each other since we were apprentices. But for nearly three years after I got exiled to the Island—what he did for me wasn’t normal. However you look at it, it’s too much. Just finding my whereabouts during his work breaks alone must’ve been hell. I never gave my real name or even mentioned the ‘Ho’ in Hokodo—I was sent there as a complete vagrant. Tracking down someone like that across all Edo? You could say it’s beyond human effort. And that’s not all—after he found me, Sabu kept visiting me on the Island so often that Hokodo finally kicked him out.”

“Please wait a moment.” “You’re the one who should wait,” Eiji said, pouring sake into the teacup and taking a sip. “During work breaks—on every day off—he’d come visit even my cellmates, bringing gifts. For what? Eventually that reached Hokodo’s master’s ears, and he got kicked out of the shop. For what? Just because we’d been friends since we were apprentices? Because we were close?” “Yes, I think so.” With a pale, strained face, Osue nodded. “I’ve heard since my time at Momen’s—it wasn’t just that Sabu-chan had known you since childhood. He’d always relied on you for his entire life. ‘My whole life only has meaning because of Eij-chan here,’ he told me directly. ‘If there weren’t someone like Eij-chan, I’d have ended up a laborer or a beggar by now.’”

“Hmph.” Eiji sipped his sake and slowly shook his head with a sneer. “You want to ask if I remember, don’t you?” “What do you mean ‘remember’?” Eiji gently shook his head again—a motion as if trying to erase the scene of rain on Ryōgoku Bridge that had surfaced in his mind’s eye. “This is what I think,” Osue continued. “When that brocade scrap went missing, Sabu-chan was with you—working right beside you—and he didn’t know it had been put into your tool bag. He was right there and didn’t notice something so critical. He couldn’t prevent a disaster for the person he’d staked his whole life on, even though he was at your side—that’s his own sin. No matter what it takes, he has to atone for it. For Sabu-chan, thinking that way is only natural. Others might not, but Sabu-chan would surely feel this.”

Eiji stared fixedly at Osue’s face. “You’re trembling.” “Just because Sabu-chan did more for you than most would doesn’t mean you should suspect him like that. That’s not like you at all.” “Then how am I supposed to take this... this wording here?” Osue stiffened her face and looked down, then said, “I’ll go get some water,” and stood up. Eiji poured sake into the teacup and brought it to his lips, but frowned and stopped drinking, lowering the hand holding the teacup to his lap. At that moment, Osue returned and sat down.

“I have something to apologize for.” Osue kept her eyes fixed on her knees and said in a near-whisper, “—I’d resolved never to speak of this for as long as I lived, no matter what. But if you doubting Sabu-chan drives a wedge between you two... that’d be beyond fixing. So I’ll say it now.”

Eiji silently watched Osue.

“Forgive me. Please understand.” Osue pressed both hands against the wooden floorboards. “It was me—I was the one who put the brocade scrap in your tool bag.” “Hey, hey,” Eiji cut in, “if you’re trying to defend Sabu, you should drop these clumsy fabrications.”

“It’s not a made-up story—it’s the truth.” Osue placed both hands back on her knees and stared wide-eyed at Eiji. “I wanted to be your wife. To make you marry me—I’d have done anything for that.”

Eiji shook his head from side to side, steadied his gaze, and studied Osue’s expression. Then he suddenly stood up, exited the workshop, and shut the front door. The motion seemed like an attempt to swallow the meaning of Osue’s words—an effort to carve out mental space within himself.

“Let me hear it.” Returning to his spot and sitting down, Eiji said, “What does that mean?” “You were popular at Momen’s,” Osue said. “Both young ladies—Okimi and Osono—they got along with the shop owner’s daughters and regular artisans like siblings. There was even a rumor that one of them would wed you someday, Mr. Eiji.”

“Don’t call me ‘Eiji-san’.” “When I heard those rumors,” Osue continued, “whenever I heard them, my chest would tighten so much I couldn’t even eat.” “You should’ve known how I felt.” Osue nodded. “I knew—I knew how you felt, but I suppose women are narrow-minded creatures. The rumors that reached my ears seemed truer than the truth itself. ‘This can’t go on,’ I thought. ‘I’m just a middle-tier worker, while they’re Momen’s young ladies. I’ll never measure up like this. One day they’ll take you away from me. What should I do? What can I do?’ Tormented by those thoughts—racking my brain—for days on end I couldn’t even sleep at night.”

“I get it,” Eiji said. “If that’s the truth, then stop.” “No, please let me say this—just one more thing,” Osue said, wiping the corners of her eyes with her fingers. “To keep you from being taken by those young ladies, I had to stop you from going to Momen. That’s all I could think about. And then... even now I don’t know how I managed it... but knowing how much Master valued that brocade scrap... I just... acted on impulse.”

“That’s enough,” Eiji said. “I don’t need to hear the rest—I get it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t cry,” Eiji said, sliding closer on his knees and embracing Osue’s body with both hands. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Osue clung to Eiji’s chest and sobbed, “I wanted to be your wife—that’s all I could think about. I couldn’t think of anything else.” “That’s fine. That’s just fine,” Eiji said while tightening his embrace, “As proof that it’s right—look, haven’t we become husband and wife like this?”

“Will you forgive me?” Osue, choked with sobs, pressed her face against Eiji’s chest. “Don’t send me away—please, don’t send me away!” Her sobs intensified, and Osue began to cry aloud. Eiji kept holding her with his left arm, stroked her back with his right hand, and rubbed his cheek against hers. “You’re my wife,” he whispered. “Did you forget I told you from the start? In this whole world, you’re my only wife.”

Osue’s crying grew even louder, and he once more wrapped both arms tightly around her. “It may sound strange, but don’t laugh—just listen,” Eiji said quietly. “I’m glad they sent me to that island. Those three years in the workhouse taught me things—the bonds between people you’d never find in ordinary society, the duplicity in people’s hearts, the sheer pain of staying alive. These things burned themselves into me through lived experience—not from some textbook or hearsay. With this very flesh and blood, I learned them firsthand.”

Osue had stopped crying, but her hiccupping breaths still hadn’t subsided. "Nearly three years in the workhouse did me more good than ten in the outside world," Eiji continued. "This is my true feeling—don’t think I’m lying. Right now, I almost want to thank you." Osue suddenly clung to Eiji’s neck with both hands and cried out, “You!” Eiji kissed Osue’s lips, kissed her cheeks, kissed her ears, then, while holding her tightly with all his strength, kissed her soft neck.

At that moment, there was a knocking sound on the outer storm shutters.

“Eij-chan,” a voice called from outside, “you there? Eij-chan, I just got back.”

“It’s Sabu,” Eiji said. “Cut me some slack, Eij-chan,” came Sabu’s voice from outside the storm shutters. “My ma’s on her deathbed—could pass any minute now—so I kept puttin’ it off till today. My bad, Eij-chan—please forgive me. It’s me—open up, will ya? It’s Sabu!”