Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Konno Kazuko-sama.

I write this memoir for you to read.
In these turbulent times, being a fugitive without fixed abode, it may never reach your hands.
Nor do I know if I can complete it, but should it arrive before you, I entreat you from outset to read with calm heart.

Where I now dwell lies in mountains one ri from castle town - Utagawa River flows near enough to see.
Ten days since that Western Mountains misfortune - since that irreparable act - I wandered seeking hideouts one after another.
Three days now sheltered by this household - yet soon must depart again.
Locations and names I'll not write plain.
For such might bring trouble unforeseen.
But write I shall so you may infer their shape.

The season had fully taken on summer’s aspect.
When I went out walking early this morning and found rhododendron buds swelling crimson in the mountain woods, I stood gazing at them for some time while feeling a piercing heat rise deep within my chest.
Since I had lost my hearing—perhaps because my thoughts had turned inward—it may sound childish to say so, but when I saw those crimson-swelling rhododendron buds, I truly felt as though fire had ignited in my breast.
Exactly five years ago now, I was walking behind your mansion in Kamimachi while conversing with Suginaga Mikisaburō.
As you know well enough already, he and I had been close friends since childhood; one might say we’d hardly spent a moment apart from our earliest days of awareness.
Though we were born in the same year—he entering this world some six months before me—he always treated me as an elder brother.
When we were alone together—and even among others.
And he made this plain through both word and deed.
Looking back now on our three years together at Ikueikan Academy—for this habit seems to have begun around that time—I suppose it was simply his nature that made such deference feel so natural that I unwittingly grew accustomed to accepting it.
Even in our current troubles stemming from that secret imperial decree of Kinoe-i year—because Suginaga consistently supported my views—our comrades’ actions remained aligned without a single defection.
This could only be attributed to his amiable character and exceptional leadership.
When we walked behind that Kamimachi mansion together—I and he had just turned nineteen.
We were strolling while discussing Priest Hōryū.
As you’re aware—the priest had been invited through earnest petitions from senior officials like Igeta and Nishigori—a man of rare talent versed not only in sutras but Confucian learning and statecraft besides—yet his grasp of current affairs contained inexplicable flaws.
To cite one critical instance—not long ago certain young samurai from our faction misconstrued Anti-Foreigner Ideology and plotted assaults on foreign merchant houses at Yokohama Port.
Though fortunately discovered beforehand and quelled without incident—at that very time Priest Hōryū had been inciting them while drafting his “Slay-the-Barbarians” manifesto.
I mean to elaborate on these circumstances later—but what I told Suginaga then was that we’d do well to remove Priest Hōryū from domain affairs.

The two had forgotten where they were walking when they came to the back of the Konno residence and Suginaga suddenly stopped to call out to you.
It was a lattice fence entwined with morning glories where you stood beyond its barrier.
You wore an unlined kimono dyed with floral patterns on white fabric fastened by a red-and-blue striped obi - straw sandals on bare feet with freshly washed hair flowing down your back.
Beside us stood a young rhododendron tree just beginning to bloom; while pretending to observe its flowers I stole glances at you conversing with Suginaga and felt an indescribable stirring deep within my heart.
You were fourteen then - tall for your age yet unmistakably still a girl - evident in your speech mannerisms and expressive gestures as you talked with him.
She's dark-skinned I caught myself thinking.
When you laughed and wrinkles formed along your nose bridge I imagined you pug-faced yet mused how you'd grow into a lanky woman someday.
This was likely my rebellion against those first heart-flutters ever felt since birth.
Even while cataloging these imagined flaws I knew instinctively I'd never forget this person throughout my life.

When we parted from you and started walking, he looked suspiciously at my silence and asked why I had pretended not to know.

“Because I don’t know,” I answered.

“It’s Konno Kazuko,” he said. “You’ve met her two or three times at my house, haven’t you?”

“I don’t recall,” I said, shaking my head.

I truly had no memory of it.

From then until the autumn of the fifth year, when I came to meet you at Myōjin Falls, I had somehow come to forget about you. This was partly due to having lost all mental respite amid these intensely turbulent and fraught times, but to speak openly, it was likely because I had heard of the engagement existing between Suginaga and you. Even when I met you at Myōjin Falls, my heart remained utterly unperturbed, and I could discuss matters like my ruined hearing with complete composure.

That has now changed beyond recognition. This morning, in the mountain woods where I went walking, while gazing at rhododendron buds beginning to bloom, I vividly recalled your figure from six years ago. Not the you I met at the waterfall, but you from six years past—when you were still just a girl. And I felt the stirring that had lain hidden in my heart's depths rekindle like burning pain, yet came to realize anew that all had been lost beyond recovery.

I killed Suginaga Mikisaburō.
My only friend—the friend from boyhood days who was been closer to me than anyone, in whom I had placed deeper trust than even blood brothers—I killed with these hands.
The reason I write this memoir is because I want you to know how such a thing came to pass.
There is not the slightest excuse or distortion here; I will write what actually happened exactly as it occurred, so please keep that in mind as you read.

Part Two

“Osue...” Jihei whispered, “Wake up, Osue.”

Shaken awake, Osue opened her eyes.
The lamp that was always lit had gone out, leaving the house pitch-dark, and she couldn't see her father's figure who should have been by her bedside.

"Don't make a sound," Jihei said.

"What's wrong?"
Osue whispered back, "What's wrong, Father?"

“There seems to be someone outside.”

Osue suddenly woke up and tried to retie the nightgown sash, but her hands trembled and wouldn’t obey.

“Is someone really here?”
Osue asked, “Have they come to search for Lord Tanigawa?”

“I don’t know,” Jihei answered, “but if they’re coming at this hour of the night, there can be no other reason.”

“What should I do?”

“Calm down,” Jihei said. “There may be no time to change. Hide behind the hearth as you are. If someone comes, I’ll handle them. Find an opening to go inform the hermitage. Understood?”

“Then what do we do?”

“While we keep them occupied here, guide Lord Tanigawa to safety! Have you forgotten?”

As Osue tried to answer, Jihei’s hand gropingly pressed her shoulder.
Osue fell silent and heard voices outside the door.

“Calm down,” Jihei whispered. “Wait behind the hearth—don’t panic.”
Osue felt her breath catch.

“Hey, wake up in there!” a man called outside the front door. “It’s Shigehachi from Sakashita. Officials from the castle town are here for an inspection—open up!”

After hiding behind the hearth, Osue realized why her father had told her to conceal herself there. The intruders seemed positioned not only at the front but also around the back. At the rear washing area came the sound of something toppling over, followed by a sharp “Shh” meant to silence someone.

Jihei lit the lantern flame before descending to the dirt-floored entryway and sliding open the door. There entered a samurai led by Shigehachi holding aloft his paper lantern. As the village’s acting headman, Shigehachi swept his gaze across the room before crossing through the earthen-floored space to unbar the rear entrance. He waved his lantern while shouting instructions that reached Osue’s ears as muffled fragments.

“Nothing’s changed out here,” a voice answered from outside. “No one’s come out.”

And immediately after Shigehachi, a young woman and a man who appeared to be a manservant entered.
The back door had been left open.

"What's going on, Headman?" Jihei said. "What's this inspection about? Have bandits taken refuge here?"

"Your wife and daughter don't seem to be here," Shigehachi asked. "Where are the two of them?"

"My wife went to the village—Osue went with her. Are you questioning them?"

"The man we seek is a samurai," said the young samurai standing behind Shigehachi for the first time. "One called Tanigawa Kazue. You must know him."

"If you mean Lord Tanigawa, the former chief retainer, I know him."
Jihei answered calmly, "From when I served as a manservant in my youth."

"That Tanigawa must be here," the young samurai said. "We’ve had informers come forward and evidence confirmed. Don’t conceal it—tell us where Tanigawa is."

“Mr. Jihei,” Shigehachi said, “you’d do better not to hide things so clumsily. There’s a heap of northern clam shells discarded behind your house, and we know you’ve been cooking rice every day. That’s not the kind of luxury you’d indulge in yourself—someone of real importance must be staying here.”

“We did have a guest,” Jihei answered. “My wife’s mother came about ten days ago and left today. My wife and Osue went to see her off to Ubasawa.”

Osue, having heard that much, slipped out through the back door.
They gathered before Jihei, thrusting their lanterns forward as the interrogation grew heated, voices rising in turn.
Osue crawled from behind the hearth across the dirt-floored entryway to the doorway, exited outside, and then stood up.
Inside the house, Osue heard her father say, "Please search the house," and she started running into the darkness.
Circling around the pond at the washing area, she moved from the side of the persimmon field to behind the now-unused stable, climbed a plateau about one level higher, and approached the entrance of the enclosed hut.
From spring through autumn, they raised silkworms there, and after that, it was used for drying sweet persimmons, but this year, since they weren’t raising silkworms, it stood empty.
Osue slid open the hidden door and climbed the stairs with her mud-covered feet.

Tanigawa Kazue was asleep.
The dimmed lamp faintly illuminated the small desk within the mosquito net and his sleeping form lying on his back beneath a thin quilt.
Osue slipped through the mosquito netting, edged closer on her knees, and shook him awake.
Kazue opened his eyes at once and sat up upon seeing Osue.

“Samurai have come. You must flee!”

Having said this, Osue abruptly covered her mouth with her hand and repeated a deliberate gesture twice to convey silent urgency.
When she demonstrated the motion a second time, he rose while declaring “Understood.”

“Was it a large group that came?”

“No,” Osue shook her head, held up two fingers, then after a moment’s thought pointed at herself. She had meant to indicate one girl, but Kazue didn’t understand. He changed clothes quickly while giving her a suspicious look. “What happened to you?”

“No,” Osue waved her hand, then held up three fingers this time.

“Three people?” Kazue asked.

Osue nodded. Kazue said while putting on his hakama, telling her to gather the items on the desk. Osue did as she was told, tidying and wrapping the writings, brushes, and other items before placing them into the travel bag that lay beside her. And seeing Kazue take his sword, she exited the mosquito net, descended the stairs, and quietly surveyed the situation outside.

Only the sound of insects could be heard as the windless summer night air, laden with dew, lay still and heavy in its slumber.

Barefoot, one couldn't walk mountain paths.

Osue realized this, searched the dark dirt-floored entryway, and found straw sandals.
Kazue's straw sandals hung on a nail in the plank wall.
The lamp upstairs went out as Kazue descended. When Osue tried to put the sandals on him, he took them himself and swiftly fastened the ties.

“Is everything alright outside?”

“Everything’s fine.” Osue took Kazue’s hand and pressed it against her face to convey a nod through touch. “Let’s hurry. I’ll guide you.”

Osue pulled his hand to convey what she meant.
Kazue stood up with the travel bag fastened to his back and stepped out through the doorway.
Suddenly, lanterns appeared to the left and right.
They had executed their plan well—Shigehachi must have known about the enclosed hut, but rather than storming inside, luring them outside was safer.
Were they waiting for Jihei to come with a message? Or perhaps they knew that Osue had slipped out.

Seeing lanterns suddenly appear from the pitch darkness, Osue let out a scream, and Kazue took a step back.
To the left were Shigehachi and a young samurai; to the right were that girl and a man who appeared to be a servant.
The lanterns were held by Shigehachi and the servant.

“So it’s Yoshikawa.”
Kazue looked at the young samurai and said, then looked at the girl and exclaimed in surprise—“Konno... Ms. Kazuko?”

The samurai called Yoshikawa took out a folded paper from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and held it up to the lantern light. On a sheet made by pasting together two pieces of Mino paper, large characters were written, and Yoshikawa gestured for him to read them. Kazue looked toward the girl, then took two steps forward to read the text on the paper.

—He had ambushed Suginaga Mikisaburō.
Though Lady Konno Kazuko had yet to hold their wedding ceremony, she had long been engaged to Suginaga and was now resolved to exact vengeance upon his killer as her betrothed’s enemy.
I, Yoshikawa Jūbei, have come as Lady Konno’s attendant, but should circumstances require it, I am prepared to lend my sword in assistance.

The text roughly conveyed this meaning.
Having finished reading, Kazue turned and looked at Konno Kazuko.
Kazuko removed her dust-repelling cloak and handed it to the servant.
Beneath it lay white ritual garments—arm guards strapped to her forearms, gaiters binding her calves, straw sandals on her feet—with a tasuki sash crossed over her chest.

“Wait, Ms. Konno,” Kazue called out. “This is a mistake. It’s true that I killed Suginaga, but there are circumstances—I’m currently—”

Kazuko slowly drew her short sword from its scabbard.
Illuminated by the lantern’s flame, the blade emitted a cold light, and Kazuko handed the scabbard to her servant.

“I am now writing down those circumstances,” Kazue persisted. “When finished, I’ll let you read them. If you still deem me your enemy afterward, strike me down honorably.”

“Yoshikawa,” Tanigawa turned toward the samurai, “You ought to know everything about Suginaga and me. You can surely imagine there’s more to this.”

“Wasting words on deaf ears serves no purpose,” Yoshikawa retorted. “With our clan in such disarray, neither explanations nor justifications hold value. We must judge by established facts. For Suginaga’s memory, I’ll stand with Ms. Konno. Draw your blade.”

With that, Yoshikawa also drew his sword.

“Is it no use? Won’t you listen to what I have to say?”
Kazue looked at Yoshikawa, then at Kazuko. “Is there truly no other way? No other way at all?”

Konno Kazuko stepped forward.

“Father!” Osue shrieked.

“Don’t move,” Yoshikawa said, pointing his sword at Osue.

At that moment, Kazue launched a surprise attack on Yoshikawa.
Kazuko stepped forward, and Yoshikawa leaped back.
Kazue appeared to retreat toward the hut’s doorway but then circled around to the back of the hut, rubbing his back against the plank wall as he moved.

“I’ll handle this side,” Yoshikawa shouted, “block that passage, Ms. Konno!”

Shouting, Yoshikawa circled to the opposite side of the hut while Kazuko pursued Kazue.
Shigehachi and the servant ran off raising their lanterns as Osue climbed into the pine grove on the hill behind the hut instead of heading toward the house.

Three

Lady Konno Kazuko.

Twelve days had passed since that night, and at last my mind found some semblance of calm. Those events had taken me entirely by surprise—mortifying beyond measure, leaving me choking on bitter frustration. Yoshikawa Jūbei had been Suginaga’s comrade, our ally in arms. While your misunderstanding might have been inevitable, his willful blindness to the circumstances cut deeper than any blade. In that moment, I even wished someone would cut Jūbei down alongside me.

But no longer. By the time I reached this refuge, I’d heard the rumors taking root—that I’d harbored secret affections for you, that jealousy drove me to ambush Suginaga in darkness. Absurd fabrications, yet how readily people swallow tales of romantic obsession! You and Jūbei must have swallowed them whole, cementing your conviction of my guilt. Knowing this, how could I condemn either of you? This realization finally stilled the storm within me.

I am now in the mountains.
Jihei’s daughter Osue remains with me and attends to my daily needs, so I want for nothing.
I urge Osue to return home, yet she steadfastly refuses to leave.
She claims that even should she go back, she cannot know what has become of Father.
This too weighs heaviest on my mind—Jihei sheltered me purely from old obligations, and no blame whatsoever should fall upon him.
Should punishment befall Jihei or his family, I earnestly entreat you to intercede—knowing you would act thus, I make this solemn request of you now.

In continuing this memoir, I will omit the disputes within our clan surrounding the Secret Imperial Decree.
The root of these recent events lies there, but to summarize fundamentally—it concerns pro-imperial versus pro-shogunate allegiances—I believe you already grasp the essential circumstances.

From inception, Suginaga and I had been advancing toward Restoration of Imperial Rule and national opening.
Thus we assembled over twenty comrades including Yoshikawa Jūbei, Azusa Hisaya, and Tanogami Yasunosuke among others—coordinating with Kansai allies while dividing covert operations meant to unify our domain’s stance.—Why resort to covert methods? Because Sendai Domain never slackened its vigilant watch—applying relentless pressure upon senior officials—while demanding equal wariness toward pro-shogunate elements incited by Priest Hōryū.
At this pivotal moment—through freak misfortune—I lost my hearing and became severed from my comrades.
You likely recall—two Februaries past—our artillery test firing upon Isobe’s sands.
Until then our domain possessed only hoop-reinforced cannons—until acquiring cast-iron artillery through a Hitachi lord’s benefaction.
This resulted from our comrades’ tireless efforts—both acquisition and test firing conducted under utmost secrecy.
Certain senior officials knew naturally—yet feigned ignorance through non-involvement—another manifestation of Sendai surveillance fears—standing testament to our domain’s agonized vacillation between rival powers.

That day, before going to Isobe, I had this conversation with Suginaga.

"Why haven't you gone through with the wedding?" I asked. "Hasn't it been nearly three years since your engagement?"

He pursed his lips as if whistling.
It was a habit from his boyhood whenever he hesitated to speak—when he did this, his face took on a remarkably boyish expression.

"My parents say the same thing," he answered, "but I can't bring myself to feel that way now."

“Is there some problem?”

“It’s not exactly a problem.” After saying this, he fell silent for a moment, then continued while averting his eyes from mine: “—In times like these… I don’t want to rush into marriage and make Kazuko taste misfortune.”

I silently stared back at Suginaga.

“There’s something I’ve been considering for a while now,” he said slowly. “I think I might as well go up to the capital.”

“What will you do in the capital?”

“The Restoration of Imperial Rule must be accompanied by opening the country. This is what Tanigawa has long argued, and I think he’s right. But most who now advocate loyalty to the Emperor cling to the anti-foreigner issue as if it were a central pillar.”

Since the Shimoda Treaty was concluded, we had already established trade relations with many Western countries.
In reality, our nation had already opened itself, and this stood as a pact between sovereign states.
Nevertheless, the fact that anti-foreigner ideology formed such a strong axis within the Restoration movement remained dangerous.
Should violence like the assassinations of Ii Grand Councilor and Andō Senior Councilor ride this momentum to implement foreign expulsion, it would not only destroy our nation’s credibility but might invite catastrophic consequences—jeopardizing Japan’s very survival through retaliation by allied Western powers.

The most critical matter lay in reports that a royal expedition to expel foreigners had been deliberated at the Imperial Court—if proven true, this would lead to grave consequences.

“I must verify its truth myself,” Suginaga said. “With each new report, the information shifts until one can no longer distinguish reality from fabrication. Don’t you agree?”

“Let me return to our earlier discussion,” I said. “You’re the only son, Suginaga. If you insist on going to the capital, you should hold the wedding sooner rather than later. Should misfortune befall you, your family line would perish.”

“Because I’m considering what might happen, I can’t bring myself to hold the wedding. I don’t want to steal Kazuko’s entire life for the sake of the family name.”

“Have the wedding,” I said. “I can’t agree with going to the capital.”

“Why?”
Suginaga narrowed his eyes.

“Anti-foreigner ideology serves as one means to unify public sentiment—this has been stated repeatedly before. The very concept of expelling foreigners clarifies Japan’s existence as a nation opposing them, along with that of all Japanese people. From this would emerge a shared national consciousness unlike anything previously known—indeed, one could say it has already emerged. Therefore, should the Restoration of Imperial Rule be achieved, this anti-foreigner ideology must be retracted. As Suginaga says, our nation might otherwise perish. I cannot believe anyone would lack such basic foresight.”

For us, the immediate problem was to unify the domain's stance toward the Restoration of Imperial Rule.
We discussed such matters.
Regardless of the conversation's content, the reason I recorded it here so meticulously is because this was my final discussion with Suginaga—the last time I heard his voice.
We then departed for Isobe.

IV

The location was about ten chō north of Isobe, at the base of a sand dune, and those gathered numbered eleven people.
You are aware of myself, Suginaga, Yoshikawa, Azusa, Tanogami, and the others.
The names of the other six are unnecessary; as per the reasons stated earlier, I will omit them here as well.
The cannon was a Mortier firing 1-kanme shells, hastily mounted on an improvised gun carriage.
There were two gunners.
One filled the gunpowder and inserted the cannonball, while the other took position as the shooter.

We stood about five ken away, prepared to cover our ears with both hands as per the manual's instructions, and watched.
To my right was Azusa Hisaya, to my left Suginaga, and next Yoshikawa, it seemed.
It was a slightly windy day; along the extended shore, surging waves foamed white where they met the sand, while several fishing boats dotted the distant offshore waters.

"Is this truly safe?" someone behind me said. "It won't hit those boats out there, will it?"

Then I heard perhaps two people laugh.
Their laughter laid bare the truth—not born from amusement at the jest, but rather a visceral release of pent-up tension.

The gunner transferred the match cord to the touchhole and dropped the hammer.
I will not provide detailed explanations—the Mortier cannon fires through those two steps.
We covered our ears with both hands.
But the cannon did not fire. The two gunners inspected the touchhole and hammer in a fluster, then suddenly—after exchanging some words—covered their ears and came fleeing toward us.

I saw smoke rising from the cannon's touchhole and glimpsed the gunners' faces twisted gray with panic as they ran.
It was a misfire, I thought. If this continued, the barrel would burst.

I could not lose that cannon.

Even as this thought formed, I was already running.
The hardships endured to obtain it and the near-impossibility of ever acquiring another must have compelled me thus.

“Stop, Tanigawa!” I heard Suginaga shout. “It’s dangerous—go back! Go back!”

I must have intended to extinguish the fire in the touchhole. Not that I clearly thought so—it was simply the desperate conviction that I must not lose that cannon. Staring at the wisp of smoke rising from the touchhole, I ran with all my might, only to catch my foot in the sand and fall when just one step away.

At that moment, the barrel burst.
Where the mistake occurred remains unknown, as the cannon itself was shattered.
As I fell, I felt as if my entire body had been struck by a large plank and nearly lost consciousness.
If I hadn't fallen, I would have been killed instantly by the fragments. Fortunately, my body remained unharmed, but I lost all hearing in both ears.

It is unpleasant to talk about myself. However, the reason I committed the mistake of cutting down Suginaga lay in the state of my mind over these past two years and more, so you must come to know it without fail. By summer’s end, I had come to realize my hearing was completely gone. Until then, I had thought it temporary—while seeing doctors, I kept saying carefree things about finally getting proper rest after so long. During that time, whenever comrades gathered for meetings, I would attend without fail. Though I could still speak, with my hearing useless, every agenda item had to be written down for me character by character. This meant reading through them before stating my opinion—a process both cumbersome and wasteful of time—so eventually it came to pass that only the conclusions reached during those meetings would be read.

“It won’t be for too long,” I used to say.
“I’ll be stuck in the deaf man’s seat for a while.”

Of course, this was no time to be making such carefree remarks.
Ever since the Secret Imperial Decree was issued, there had been constant exchanges of information between the court-appointed officials and our comrades at the domainal headquarters, along with repeated emergency councils regarding these matters.
The surveillance by the Ou Alliance grew increasingly strict, and when comrades gathered, we had to change locations and times each instance, sometimes splitting into three groups to meet and later having only representatives discuss the outcomes.
It was during such critical times that I had to remain in the “deaf man’s seat.”
How intensely frustrating and unbearable my feelings were—others likely could not begin to fathom it.
Even so, those days when I still held hope of recovery were bearable.
I had been consoling myself that it would only require a little more endurance, but when the doctor declared it incurable in late June, I was seized by despair so profound I thought I might go mad.

For the entire month of July, I remained secluded at home—refusing to meet Suginaga when he came to visit, spending my days without any interaction with my family.
Though it pains me to recount this, it took over thirty days for my feelings to somewhat settle.

“This means I’m withdrawing from the comrades,” I told myself. “There’s nothing to be done now—I’ll make a clean break.”

I visited Suginaga and announced my withdrawal from the comrades.
Not only would I become a hindrance to everyone, but I might also misjudge critical decisions in urgent moments and bring ruin to our cause.
“It is regrettable,” I said, “but I will withdraw here.”
Suginaga seemed disappointed too and remained looking downward for some time, but perhaps he already knew my hearing was beyond cure—he offered no attempt to dissuade me, instead writing out: “When at an impasse in days to come, I shall visit again to seek your counsel.”

I persuaded my father, relinquished the family headship to my younger brother Kakujirō, and moved into the long-vacant hermitage.
I did not want my parents, younger brother, or younger sister to see my face.
I had meals brought by a servant and began living completely alone.
Since my body had no impairments, I never skipped my early morning cold baths and practiced paired sword drills twice daily—morning and evening—until I was utterly exhausted.
The rest I filled with reading and calligraphy, adhering strictly to my daily routine regardless of rain or shine so as to leave no time for unnecessary thoughts.
It was after winter came that I noticed I could sense sounds behind me.
Even when there was no sound, I could detect someone approaching with uncanny sensitivity.
It must be what you might call the self-preservation instinct inherent in human beings—to exaggerate, I could even sense butterflies fluttering near.

“It’s strange how perception works behind me,” I said with a bitter smile to myself. “When some part becomes disabled, the body’s functions shift to compensate.”

This body itself began preparing to become crippled.
Bitter smiles were impossible—in that moment, I was crushed by despair more profound and violent than when the doctor had pronounced my condition incurable.

Suginaga visited roughly once every ten days, never shirking from laborious written conversations that typically lasted half an hour or an hour.
Within our faction, since Suginaga and I had formed its core regardless of other factors, his responsibilities grew immensely heavy—merely reconciling differing opinions among comrades appeared to demand tremendous effort.
Thus the year turned, and last autumn I met you unexpectedly.

V

Lady Konno Kazuko.

I had just returned from walking in the mountains.
It was my first outing since moving here, and Osue—ever worried—had accompanied me throughout.
Some thirty days must have passed since I first began this memoir.
The rhododendrons that had barely formed buds when I resided in Wada Village now bloomed riotously here,
while cicadas clamored ceaselessly through the woods from dawn.
Of course,
this wasn't heard through my ears—
the forest's reverberations pulsed against the back of my skull.

“Osue,” I turned back and asked, “are the cicadas singing now?”

Osue smiled and nodded, raised her hand to point at the surrounding trees encircling us, then suddenly—as if startled—pinched her own ear in a gesture asking, "Can you hear?"

"No," I shook my head. "I don't hear them—only sense them."

"There, you see," I said, tapping the back of my head.
I saw Osue hurriedly turn her face away and press her eyes with her apron.

As I continue writing this memoir now, I've realized how rhododendrons perpetually haunt me—a revelation that fills me with emptiness tinged with sorrow.
Though the flowers blooming each year remain unchanged—this line from an ancient verse surfaced in my mind—comparing your figure standing beneath Kamimachi estate's rhododendrons six years past with your present state, I could only sigh at fate's cruel whimsy.

It was from the beginning of last summer that I began frequenting Myōjin Falls.
My mother had heard about it somewhere and recommended it, saying it was spiritually efficacious.
Things like standing under waterfalls—their effects can only be hoped for by those with devout faith—but as I harbored no such feelings and was rather even resentful toward the gods and Buddhas at the time, I let my mother’s words flow in one ear and out the other.
Yet somewhere deep within my heart, I suppose the desire to recover still lingered.

When late April arrived and I saw how the fresh leaves glittered under strong sunlight or watched summer grasses sway in the wind, I thought even just a distraction would suffice, and for the first time, I set out for Myōjin Falls.

I had visited that place two or three times as a boy.
When I stood behind Awazu Myojin, the waterfall cascading through the valley would come into view below me, and since the autumn foliage grew beautiful each year, many visitors used to come from the castle town.
Now such people seemed rare, and the waterfall's flow had diminished far more than in former days.

Even when standing under the waterfall, as you know, it was so narrow that it felt no more than being doused with a bucket’s worth of water.
Yet in that narrow valley devoid of human presence, I found such joy in spending time alone at my leisure—it seemed to soothe my spirit—that I never missed visiting unless rain prevented it. All the while, as the domain’s political situation continued its complex transformations with the impending necessity to decide between pro-imperial or pro-shogunate alignment, Suginaga appeared troubled by the task of calming our restive comrades.

The day I met you—the evening before, Suginaga had come and stated that to unify the domain’s opinion, there was someone who absolutely had to be removed, naming Masakabe Tsuna.
Masakabe was chamberlain to the late lord, possessed Sendai Domain’s formidable backing, and stood among our elder statesmen as the most obstinate advocate of the pro-shogunate cause.
Though I well understood Suginaga’s resolve in this decision, I opposed it.
Just as with the Tengu Party’s turmoil in Mito Domain, assassinating one man risked plunging our entire house into bloodshed begetting bloodshed.
“Even were there truly no alternative means,” I strictly dissuaded him, “this remains not yet the hour.” After this exchange, on that day beneath the waterfall, my mind churned as ever—wondering whether Suginaga had relented; whether our comrades might still act rashly even if he had; whether dissenters would attempt some reckless deed.

I must have left the waterfall earlier than usual. After putting on my kimono and hakama and securing my swords, I suddenly felt a sense of foreboding.
Likely because I had dwelled on the same problem endlessly, my mind had inclined toward ominous thoughts.
Though I denied it to myself, an uneasy conviction that something had occurred seized me, and before realizing it, I had quickened my pace.
Then, just as I reached the area below Myōjin Shrine, I sensed something attacking from behind.
Though knowing no one should be present, perhaps due to my mental state, I unconsciously drew my sword—slashing backward in one fluid motion—before leaping three great strides away and whirling around.

There had been a faint resistance against my sword. Keeping it at guard as I turned around, I saw a woman's folding fan—cleanly sliced in two—fluttering down to the ground.
No human figures were visible anywhere. When I noticed this and looked up at the cliff above, you had been peering down at me.

“I apologize,” I said. “I shall come to you now.”

I sheathed my sword and picked up the fan.
It had a background faintly shaded with ink where evening faces were painted, split into two at the one-third mark, connected only by the rivet.
Had my proud skill served as proof of cowardice? I thought to myself with a bitter smile.
Then I went to where you were, apologized for the outrage I had committed due to my deafness, stated my name, and presented the severed fan.
You laughed and shook your head, and after receiving the fan, looked at your maid’s face as though wanting to say something.
That is why I handed you the writing set and notebook.

“Since losing my hearing, I’ve always carried this with me,” I said. “If you would be so kind, please write in it.”

You nodded politely, wrote that it was your fault for dropping the fan and that you should be the one to apologize, then returned the notebook.
I read it, saw the signature reading “Konno Kazuko,” realized for the first time that it was you, and involuntarily cried out.

“Well now, what an unexpected honor to meet you here,” I said in a buoyant tone. “You may not be aware, but I know who you are.”

Then you took the notebook again and wrote that you had heard about me from Suginaga and knew me well, then inquired about my hearing condition. I remember explaining how I had lost my auditory sense—that it would likely never recover, that I had relinquished the family headship to my younger brother, and that I was contemplating work manageable despite deafness.—You had undergone such transformation in appearance, having grown strikingly beautiful.

Her complexion was fair, her stature not tall—if anything rather petite—and the habit of wrinkling her nose bridge seemed to have vanished.

“What is Suginaga thinking?” I said before we parted. “You should tell him yourself to hold the ceremony sooner.”

You let a smile touch your lips but wrote nothing in return, handing back the writing kit and notebook, so I took my leave and departed.

Six

The time I met you at the waterfall was August. In December came Emperor Kōmei's passing; with the new year arrived news of His Majesty's ascension; by February events like the Chōshū expedition's dissolution took clear form—the shogunate's waning power and swelling momentum for Imperial Restoration now unmistakably revealing the inevitable time had come.

Whenever Suginaga shared these developments, I cursed my ears anew. Though the hour for action approached, I remained but a sidelined observer—one who had fallen behind. What sins had I committed in past lives? I wondered, berating myself afresh for that reckless charge at Isobe Beach—all futility—finding my body racked by regret beyond redemption.

Was it late March when Suginaga visited to inform me that seven of our comrades had been captured by domain officials? In Tanoue Yasunosuke's faction, the meeting had been conducted with the usual strict secrecy. It remained unclear how that place had been discovered; the seven seemed confined within the castle, he said.

"This is unmistakably Masakabe's doing," Suginaga declared. "The situation's deterioration leaves no doubt he's acted—Sendai's troops crowd our borders now. Continue like this and we'll be crushed."

The characters he wrote here flowed with unusual swiftness, vividly conveying the gravity of the situation.

"We must eliminate Masakabe after all," he continued. "We should have done it back then—this time we must see it through."

I considered this carefully.

"Masakabe has Sendai's might behind him," I pressed. "Even if there's no alternative, have you weighed how Sendai would react? Whether the Ōu Alliance would stay silent? What's your forecast on that point?"

“I don’t know,” Suginaga answered, “but there are rumors that an imperial decree to overthrow the shogunate will be issued soon, and the cohesion of the Ōu Alliance seems to be beginning to waver. I don’t think Sendai would take direct action over losing someone like Masakabe.”

“Is that certain?”

“In such circumstances as these, there’s likely nothing that can be said for certain. Regardless, I believe we must first act decisively here.”

I stood up and went out to the veranda.

—What should I do.

In my heart, I asked myself.

Between the main house and the hermitage stood a podocarpus hedge, its branches uniformly stretching forth with pale yellow young leaves full of vitality. While vaguely thinking that summer would come again, I steeled my resolve and returned to my former seat.

"I'll do it," I said. "Cutting down Masakabe is my role."

"No," I raised my hand to stop Suginaga as he moved to write, "if we eliminate Masakabe, we must publicly claim responsibility. By declaring it personal vengeance and surrendering ourselves, the blame would fall solely on one man—Sendai couldn't intervene then. I'm crippled for other duties in this state, but this task I'll execute without fail. This is my burden."

Suginaga pursed his lips into a round shape as if whistling and continued thinking while looking toward the garden.
Habits truly are hard to break, I thought—as I did, feeling the tension in my mood begin to ease.

“There’s no need to think—it’s already decided,” I said. “When you return, tell everyone that. However, tracking Masakabe’s movements alone exceeds my capacity—have them divide tasks and inform me when favorable opportunities arise.”

“Everyone likely has their own opinions,” Suginaga said. “We’ll consult them and return.”

While escorting Suginaga out, I told him about meeting you at Myojin Falls.
Until that moment, we had strangely lacked opportunity to speak of it.
He appeared to have learned of it from you himself, nodding with a gloomy smile.
It was unmistakably a gloomy smile.

“You should hold the wedding soon,” I said. “That person must be turning twenty—what’s he dawdling for?”

Suginaga looked at my face, seemed about to say something, but then appeared to reconsider and left just like that.

Then came the evening of the third day.
When I returned from bathing in the main house’s bath, Azusa Hisaya came to visit.
My younger sister was setting out the meal, but I sent her away, shoved aside the meal tray, and prepared for written communication. Azusa showed me his message: “Please finish your meal first.”
So I turned to the meal tray, but from Azusa’s expression, I intuited this concerned Masakabe.
While I ate, Azusa kept busy writing something; after I cleared the meal tray, made tea for us both, and sat down, he handed me what he had written.
It concerned Masakabe Tsuna, just as I had thought.

“The unanimous agreement was reached to leave Masakabe in your hands,” it read. “He will hold a secret meeting with Sendai Domain representatives at Kumagawa Villa in the Western Mountains beginning this evening at six o’clock. This may seem too sudden given the short notice, but since he will attend without attendants and go alone, it presents an ideal opportunity should you choose to act—though the decision rests entirely with you.”

I looked at Azusa after finishing reading. “Has Mr. Kumagawa defected?”

Kumagawa Hyogo was one of the elderly retainers we had believed we could rely on, so this struck me as somewhat suspicious.

“That is not the case,” Azusa wrote. “The villa in the Western Mountains has long been vacant, with no one there but servants. Masakabe must have spied on it. Since it’s Kumagawa Villa, we likely aren’t monitoring it—I believe that’s his calculation.”

“Is that everyone’s opinion?”

“Mr. Suginaga said so as well,” Azusa continued. “What will you do? I’m on lookout duty and must head to the Western Mountains now.”

I nodded. “I’ll do it.”

Then Azusa said, “Let’s coordinate our plans,” and drew a map of the villa’s vicinity.
As you know, the Western Mountains lie nearly southwest of the castle town—a quiet area containing retreats and villas for high-ranking officials.
Between it and the town stretched fields and groves, with a single straight road offering clear visibility.
Azusa marked a point on that road and stated this would be the ideal ambush site.
“From there you can see Kumagawa Villa’s gate,” he explained, “making signals convenient and interference unlikely.”

“Very well,” I nodded. “Now, how will you give the signal?”

“I will signal with a lantern,” said Azusa. “I will now go to the Western Mountains to confirm whether Masakabe indeed arrives. If he comes, I will keep watch until his return. Once I confirm his departure, I will draw three circles with the lantern.”

“Three circles, then.”

“If it’s someone else, I won’t show the lantern. If I swing it in three circles, that means it’s Masakabe—”
And then Azusa added, “If possible, I intend to assist as well.”

“There’s no need for that—I can handle it alone,” I shook my head. “Just make sure there are no mistakes in the lookout.”

Azusa set down the brush and bowed quietly.

Seven

Was it past ten o'clock at night? I stood at the appointed location when I saw the lantern light slowly trace three circles in the darkness.

The spot lay at a bend where the road from the Western Mountains crossed an earthen bridge over a narrow stream before curving north toward the castle town. Two or three pines stood sentinel by the roadside alongside thickets of shrubs.
I had arrived around eight to find Azusa already waiting. He nodded toward the villa's direction when I approached. "Has Masakabe come?" I asked. In response, he nodded firmly again and swung an unlit lantern three times in broad arcs.

“Understood,” I said. “I’ll handle the rest—go.”

Azusa bowed politely and left.

After that, for about two hours, aside from two groups of young farmers passing by, there was no sign of anyone else.
There was no moon; though starry skies stretched above, clouds veiled them, leaving the surroundings nearly pitch-black.
Even after my eyes adjusted, the parched road only appeared faintly white and dimly visible.
A slight wind stirred, carrying what seemed like flute notes from some indeterminate direction.
In the village below, they had likely already begun rehearsing for the festival; as I stared across the dark expanse before me, the flute's melody truly seemed to reach my ears through the void.

The lantern’s light appeared near Kumagawa Villa and, just as arranged, slowly drew three large circles.
I took a deep breath, raised my right hand before my eyes, flexed my fingers open and closed into a fist, then looked up at the sky.
After seeing the lantern signal, I finally felt my mind settle; a pleasant vigor suffused my entire body.

“Hey，don’t rush，” I muttered．“The first strike is what matters．”

I took the sword cord and slung it across my shoulder as a tasuki，wiped the sweat from my brow，and tightened the crotch panel of my hakama．
I performed these tasks as meticulously and deliberately as possible and then concealed myself behind a thicket of shrubs．
The distance to the villa was likely five or six chō．Before long，a lantern appeared on the far side of the road，swaying faintly as it approached．

“Is there an attendant with him？”

I thought perhaps an attendant was carrying the lantern, but once the figure became visible, I realized it was alone.
I removed my straw sandals to go barefoot in tabi socks, drew my sword to execute two or three practice swings, regulated my breathing, and waited.
Masakabe approached briskly, crossed the dirt bridge, and passed directly before me.

After letting him pass by about two ken, I stepped onto the road and quickly closed in from behind as I shouted.

“Lord Masakabe, pardon me.”

Then as he turned around, I struck the base of his neck with a single blade; with a returning second strike, I fully slashed through his torso.
The opponent dropped the lantern, shouted something while waving one hand, staggered forward, and sank to their knees with a thud.

“This is for the sake of the entire domain,” I said. “I ask you to brace yourself.”

The opponent kept shouting something, waved his hand, then used that same hand to tear off his hood.
At that moment, the lantern on the road flared up, revealing the face beneath the removed hood.
Yes—it was Suginaga Mikisaburō.

“Suginaga—”
I threw down my sword and rushed over, clutching his shoulders. “Why are *you* here? What’s happening? It was supposed to be Masakabe Tsuna!”

Suginaga was saying something.
When I struck him down, he must have shouted that it was a case of mistaken identity—“It’s me, Suginaga!”—as he cried out.
For I saw him cry out.
Of course he must have recognized me—that’s precisely why he couldn’t draw his sword and must have desperately shouted, “It’s me, Suginaga!”

“I coordinated with Azusa,” I said while trembling. “The signal was arranged based on Masakabe’s secret meeting—how did things end up like this?”

Suginaga was saying something.
But I could not hear him. I grabbed his shoulders and shouted toward the sky.

“I stake my seven lives—if gods or Buddhas exist—just one word! Let me hear what Suginaga says!”

Yet cruelly ironic was my blade’s precision—it had struck deep into his vitals without error, and Suginaga breathed his last then and there.
I clutched his corpse, weeping apologies.
Through these hands—these hands alone—I had killed my only friend since boyhood, the comrade I’d trusted above all others.
If only these ears hadn’t failed me—this anguish I believe you might comprehend—I lost all self-possession and kept weeping, cradling his lifeless form.

But it was not long. When I suddenly noticed and turned around, I saw five or six lanterns rushing toward me from the direction of the Western Mountains. Azusa Hisaya should have been alone, but judging by the number of lanterns, there seemed to be a considerable group of people. Thinking I must not be captured there, I bid farewell to Suginaga's corpse, picked up my sword, searched for my straw sandals, and fled that place while weeping.

What kind of mishap could have caused this?

While running through the darkness, I thought.
There was no need to think—if I considered everything from the beginning, it should have been immediately clear that this was Azusa Hisaya’s betrayal.
But in my frenzied state, I couldn't even comprehend such an obvious truth, thinking only that "I cannot return home" and "I must not die until I kill Masakabe Tsuna."

I will not recount where or how I fled, but by the time I found refuge at Jihei’s place in Wada Village, I had finally realized it was betrayal.

He was also the one who sold out Tagami and the seven others.

That left no room for doubt either.
Faced with Azusa Hisaya's unmasked true nature, I could only sigh as I contemplated anew the complexity of the times and the varied ways people's hearts existed within those turbulent currents.

You likely assume I would exact revenge upon Azusa.
I too once believed so.
No betrayal could be more shameless—no matter how heartless one might be, none could commit such cruelty—for Suginaga's sake too, I could not let him live.
Yet after moving to Jihei's dwelling, I reconsidered this conviction.

――The method was indeed exceedingly cruel, but Azusa did not act out of personal gain—he merely took the most effective means available from his position. Just as we act according to our convictions, he too acted in accordance with his own. If one is to hate, it should not be Azusa himself but the “pro-shogunate” ideology that drove him. Azusa matters not; the foremost priority lies in steering the domain’s prevailing sentiment toward the Restoration of Imperial Rule. I thought that must have been Suginaga’s true wish as well.――With this, my memoir concludes. I have recorded here everything that happened, to the best of my ability, exactly as they occurred. When these pages reach your hands—if fortune allows—even after you have read them through, I cannot help but wish—though it may seem weak-willed—to ascertain whether you still consider me Suginaga’s killer.

VIII

When they came, Osue was cooking a simmered dish.
She stir-fried greens in oil, tore and added dried river fish, seasoned it with water, a small amount of sugar, and soy sauce, then put a lid on the pot and checked the firewood.
At that moment, two samurai entered through the open kitchen entrance and flanked Osue on both sides.

“Don’t make a sound,” one of the samurai said. “Stay silent and do exactly as I tell you.”

Osue looked at that samurai.

“This has nothing to do with you,” said the young samurai. “Pretend nothing happened and keep cooking the stew. Understood? Don’t make a fuss.”

Osue opened her mouth and tried to say something, but no words came out.
One of the samurai moved from the earthen floor toward the front entrance, and three more entered through it.
They went up into the room and seemed to be searching for something until one descended back to the earthen floor holding a sword.

“He’s definitely here,” one of them said. “This sword confirms it.”

“He went out unarmed, didn’t he?”

“Taking a leisurely mountain stroll, is he?” one of the others said. “How refined.”

Another one went to the entrance and shouted something while waving his hand.
Then a voice answered back, and soon five young samurai entered, filling the narrow earthen floor.

“Since she’s preparing breakfast, he’ll probably return soon—what should we do?”

“If we take his sword, we’ll have control. Shall we do it here?”

“No—better to be cautious. Two of you stay inside and don’t let that girl move. The rest of you hide outside and wait for his return.”

“Azusa’s being careful, huh?”

“With Tanigawa Kazue, you can’t be too cautious even if you try.”
“Azusa’s cautious through and through.”
While exchanging these words, they left two men beside Osue while eight others went outside.
The remaining two withdrew to a corner of the dirt-floored area, where one drew his sword and brandished it before Osue.

“Make a sound and this is what happens,” the young samurai said. “Keep doing things as usual. Even when Tanigawa returns, don’t act strangely.”

At that moment, a shout rang out outside.

“It’s Tanigawa!” one of them said. “We’ve got him!”
And the two men rushed out.

In front of this house lay a narrow vacant lot of about thirty tsubo.
One side was a low reddish-brown earthen cliff, the other a thicket. It seemed no one had lived there for a long time—through the overgrown summer grass ran a single trodden path leading from the cliff to the clearing.
Tanigawa Kazue stood at the center of that vacant lot, surrounded by them.

It appeared to have caught him utterly unprepared—Kazue placed his left hand at his waist, noticed his sword was missing, then raised his right hand while scanning those around him.

“Wait,” Tanigawa Kazue said. “I’m unarmed—and even if I weren’t, with this many of you here, there’s no escaping. I won’t put up a fight. Just hear me out.”

“There’s no need for that!” shouted the samurai called Azusa. “Right and wrong are clear—cut him down!”

“Azusa Hisaya,” Tanigawa extended his hand and pointed straight at his opponent, “you just said something now. My ears can’t hear, but I can guess what you said. ‘Don’t let him speak—cut him down as he stands.’ That’s what you told them, isn’t it? Isn’t that right, Azusa?”

“Are you planning to let this bastard speak?!” Azusa shouted, drawing his sword. “I’ll do it myself!”

Kazue spread both hands and called out to one of them.

“Yoshikawa Jūbei—are you going to let them cut me down like this? Will you gain anything by cutting me down as I stand?”

“This bastard!” Azusa Hisaya shouted.

“Wait,” Yoshikawa Jūbei restrained them with a hand gesture. “There’s no risk of him escaping now. Let’s at least hear him out.”

“What’s the point?” Azusa shouted.

“Yoshikawa, all of you—listen,” Kazue said. “You mean to kill me over my killing of Suginaga, don’t you? It’s true—I did kill Suginaga. But how did you learn that I killed him?”

Azusa Hisaya made to step forward.
Yoshikawa Jūbei shouted, “Stop him!”, and two men restrained Azusa from both sides.

“The fact that I killed Suginaga was known by only one person,” Kazue continued. “That man set a trap for me, exploited my deafness to make me kill Suginaga, guided Masakabe Tsuna—and made me slaughter my irreplaceable friend. That man is Azusa Hisaya.”

“Are you really going to listen to this bastard’s drivel?” Azusa Hisaya shouted. “Is this why we came here—to hear these absurd lies?”

“Speak! Speak!” Tanigawa Kazue pointed straight at Azusa again. “Do you think I didn’t hate you—me, who fell into your trap and killed my closest friend? Azusa Hisaya, I wanted to cut you down. I wanted to slice your body into pieces—but I reconsidered. You didn’t set that trap for personal gain. You did it for your pro-shogunate convictions. That’s why I thought the fault didn’t lie with Azusa Hisaya himself.”

Tanigawa Kazue looked around at them there. “I won’t belabor this further. I leave the judgment to all of you. Compare Hisaya’s eyes with mine. Listen to what Hisaya says in response to my words. If you believe he speaks truth, then cut me down. If you can trust what I say, lend me a sword—I will cut down Azusa here. Now—let Azusa Hisaya speak.”

Everyone looked at Yoshikawa Jūbei.

“Azusa—” Jūbei said, “do you have anything to say?”

Azusa Hisaya regripped his sword.

“Good,” Yoshikawa Jūbei nodded. “Return Mr. Tanigawa’s sword.”

One of them ran into the house and returned with Kazue’s sword.
Kazue stared at Jūbei’s face, sheathed the received sword at his waist, and then quietly drew it.

—Leaving Azusa Hisaya behind, the other nine retreated far to the rear, while at the house’s entrance, Osue watched with a frightened expression.