Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

While Hiramatsu Shōshirō was handling official business, a young attendant from the senior officials' room came and said, "Mr. Hiramatsu, Lord Tawara is summoning you."
Shōshirō kept examining the ledger with feigned ignorance, while the young samurai stepped closer and repeated his message.

“Are you calling me? What?” Shōshirō turned around. “When you said ‘Hiramatsu’... Oh right!” He smiled wryly in realization. “So Hiramatsu means me. Understood. Tell him I’ll come immediately.”

Shōshirō set down his brush at a natural pause in his work and went to Tawara Gonnōemon’s room.
Tawara, being the chief senior retainer, had been dictating something to a clerk named Matsuyama, but upon seeing Shōshirō enter, he stopped dictation, dismissed the clerk, and gestured for Shōshirō to sit down.
Shōshirō sat down.

“You once said you had no lingering attachments in Edo,” Tawara asked.

"Yes, I did say that."

“It was when the marriage proposal with the Kashima family began. Do you remember?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Knowing your past conduct, I pressed to confirm—‘If there happens to be any woman in Edo you’re still entangled with, you’d better confess now.’ That’s right, isn’t it?”

Shōshirō nodded.
The faintest shadow of restless unease flickered across his face but vanished instantly. He nodded firmly this time and declared with conviction, “You are entirely correct—there can be no discrepancy whatsoever.”

Tawara Gonnōemon twisted his mouth to one side, causing his heavily wrinkled face to contort in that direction until he looked as if he were making a face.

“Then I’ll ask—what relation is this girl currently staying at your house to you?”

“At my house?”
Shōshirō swallowed his saliva. “There is no such girl at my house.”

“I’m asking because she’s there.”

"That must be some kind of mistake."
His tone faltered slightly there. "As you know, I have been confined within this castle for three days due to the financial audit. Therefore, while I don't know what happened during my absence, before leaving home three days ago—"

"There's a girl in your house."
Tawara declared in a hushed voice, "Moreover, Lady Tomoe of the Kashima family witnessed her."

Shōshirō opened his mouth. “—Lady Tomoe did?”

“Lady Tomoe went to visit you yesterday, thinking you were off duty.”
Tawara twisted his mouth to one side again. “She brought handcrafted peonies and, upon hearing you were stationed at the castle, had Yoshizuka the steward fetch a vase. She arranged them in your parlor before leaving. At that time, noticing an unfamiliar girl there, she demanded to know who she was. Yoshizuka Jūrō became terribly flustered and couldn’t answer immediately. Eventually, he stammered out that the girl had come to visit the master but wouldn’t say where she was from or give her name—and of course, he’d never seen her face before.”

A sound clicked in Shōshirō's throat, and panic flashed through his eyes.

"That must be some kind of mistake," he said anxiously. "I have no recollection of such a woman either. Once I leave the castle, I’ll immediately—"

Tawara Gonnōemon cut him off: “The Kashima family has lodged a formal protest. If that woman has lingering ties to you, consider the marriage proposal canceled.”

"That is not the case—it must be a mistake. As soon as my duties permit me to leave the castle, I will thoroughly investigate who could have done such a thing and why, then report to you immediately."

“That is all,” said Tawara.

The audit of the financial settlements took until the following day.
To Shōshirō, the passage of that full day and a half felt both frustratingly drawn-out and all too brief.
The desire to swiftly confirm the facts and the urge to delay facing them assailed him from opposing sides.

Indeed, I am not a model human.

"If I may speak modestly," Shōshirō thought, "I might belong to the category known as a libertine." But I am no libertine at heart. After making mistakes, I at least had enough conscience to swear to myself that I would never do such things again. Others might not believe it, but when parting with women, I was never cruel or cowardly. When ending relationships, I always fulfilled my obligations and parted cleanly.

Was that truly the case? Had there never been a single instance where it wasn't? Was that really true?

Shōshirō pondered, then with eyes that lacked conviction, muttered inwardly: There wasn't.
Then what was this woman who had come visiting and now stayed at his house?
Who was she? What reason brought her? What was she to him?
The voice of Tawara Gonnōemon pressing such questions seemed to echo deafeningly in his ears.

“Mr. Hiramatsu,” a young samurai from the finance office approached and said, “have you finished with these ledgers yet?”

“Hir— Oh, right, yeah,” said Shōshirō, shaking his head as if waking up, “That’s not done yet. Wait a little longer.”

The young samurai named Nogami from the finance office said in a hushed voice, “Is there something worrying you?”

Shōshirō forced a smile.

“If that’s the case, then very well,” Nogami said. “Lord Murata has asked me to inform you that we will be waiting at Umemoi in Ishigakimachi once you leave the castle.”

When the financial settlements concluded, holding an appreciation banquet was an annual tradition.
Nearly three years had passed since Shōshirō became audit officer, and last year too, there was a banquet at Umemoi in Ishigakimachi where he displayed his Edo-acquired erudition to great acclaim.
This year, the Finance Magistrate had been replaced by an elderly man named Murata Rokuhee.
Having heard he was notoriously stubborn and that today was no day for such things, Shōshirō flatly refused.

“You’re saying ‘It’s no good’?” Nogami pressed. “Why is that?”

“What do you mean ‘why’?” Shōshirō’s voice rose involuntarily. “Must I give a reason?”

Nogami Heima opened his mouth, muttered something that sounded like an excuse, and hurried away.

The head of the audit officers was Second-Ranked Senior Retainer Sawada Takayuki; ten officials were assigned to conduct the audit, and Hiramatsu Shōshirō was their supervisor.
By the time everything concluded at 5:00 PM, after reporting to Sawada, Shōshirō returned straight to the house by the canal.

II

As Tawara Gonnōemon had said, the girl was indeed in the house.
Shōshirō first heard the details from Yoshizuka Jūrō, the household steward, before meeting the girl.

“It was three mornings ago,” Yoshizuka began, “when Uchimura from the entranceway came to report that a young woman had called wishing to see the Master. I was quite startled.”

The three household samurai, footmen, and maidservants were natives of this castle town, but Yoshizuka Jūrō and his wife Mura had accompanied him from Edo. Shōshirō’s father was Iwai Kageyu, who served as chamberlain to Lord Shinano-no-kami. Yoshizuka had been in service to the Iwai family since the previous generation, and when Shōshirō was sent to the province, his father selected and dispatched him along. Therefore, since he was well acquainted with Shōshirō’s conduct in Edo, his surprise upon hearing that a woman had come calling might not have been unreasonable.

“When I went out to greet her,” Yoshizuka continued, “she was someone I didn’t recognize at all, so I informed her: ‘The master will not return from the castle for two or three days due to his duties.’ ‘If you have a message, I will convey it,’ I said. ‘Might I ask which household you represent?’ But she merely stood there silently without responding.”

The girl’s hairstyle and attire followed samurai conventions, but upon closer inspection, her kimono was caked with mud and torn in several places; her hair lay disheveled, dried dirt clung to her face and limbs, and straw sandals covered her feet.

“I repeatedly asked whether she had some reason for coming or where she resided,” Yoshizuka continued, “but she only kept saying she wished to meet Hiramatsu Shōshirō-sama. Then she staggered and collapsed right there.”

“In the entranceway?”

“In the entranceway,” said Yoshizuka.

Having no other choice, he carried her to the sitting room and had his wife Mura tend to her.
She seemed to have collapsed from hunger and exhaustion. They waited for her to regain consciousness, let her bathe, dressed her in Mura’s kimono, and when asked if she wanted food, her silent nod revealed a heartrending degree of hunger.
After having her eat, they would let her rest a while. Once her fatigue subsided, the situation would become clear.
Since Mura had said this, Yoshizuka entrusted the girl to his wife.

“The girl obediently followed Mura’s instructions,” Yoshizuka continued. “After lying down following her meal, she slept soundly for over four hours. When she awoke, we had her wash her face and sit before the dressing table, but she made no attempt to do anything herself. So my wife fixed her hair while asking various questions.”

But the girl had no memories other than "meeting Shōshirō."
She didn’t know where her home was, nor even her own name.
Of course, she didn’t understand her purpose in meeting Shōshirō either.

“This is strange—something reeks here,” Shōshirō said. “There’s rot somewhere in this. Some scheme lies beneath it all.”

Yoshizuka Jūrō remained silent.

“That—” Shōshirō pressed, “when Lady Tomoe of Kashima came, you said she saw the girl. Where was she?”

“She appeared to be walking in the garden,” Yoshizuka answered. “Under the circumstances I previously described, expulsion proved impossible. I judged matters might clarify upon your return.”

Shōshirō raised his hand to interrupt. “That’s fine—I don’t mind that. But if we’re careless with her, this could lead to serious trouble.”

“In any case,” Yoshizuka said, “wouldn’t it be best to meet her?”

“Very well—I’ll meet her.”
After a moment’s consideration, Shōshirō nodded. “Have her wait in the guest room.”

When the steward came to report he had guided the girl there, about a quarter-hour later, Shōshirō went to the guest room.
Before entering, he peered through a slightly opened sliding door from the adjacent room and confirmed it was a face he didn’t recognize at all.

—Either someone’s prank or a trap.

He thought this—Am I someone who’d fall for such tricks?—and entered the guest room with forced bravado.
The girl appeared to be about seventeen or eighteen years old.
Her face was softly rounded with a double-chin indentation, eyes and mouth both small, her nose slightly upturned.
Her frame seemed petite, with round, small shoulders.
She had likely borrowed Mura’s belongings—wearing a modest mouse-gray kimono with fine patterns, a dark obi tied around her waist, her hair adorned with a maki-e comb and flat silver hairpin.
While Shōshirō observed all this, the girl sat motionless with eyes downcast.

“I am Hiramatsu Shōshirō,” he declared in a bureaucratic tone. “What brings you here?”

The girl lifted her gaze to meet his.
He returned the stare unflinchingly.
Her small eyes grew unfocused, tiny lips trembling as she softly bowed her head, hands clenched tightly in her lap.

“I do not know you,” Shōshirō stated. “Do you know me?”

The girl maintained her bowed posture, slowly shaking her head with barely perceptible motion.

“I do not know you, and you do not know me,” he said without mercy. “How could you have come here?”

III

The girl kept her head bowed as she answered in a whisper that she herself didn’t understand it either.
Shōshirō stared at the girl.
Putting on an act wouldn’t work—he wasn’t some naive Shō-sama who’d fall for such child’s tricks; they’d come to the wrong house, he mocked inwardly.
He had thought she would probably start crying, but the girl didn’t.

“What could this mean?” the girl said in a measured tone. “Apart from the name Hiramatsu Shōshirō-sama, I remember nothing at all—not where I came from, nor what my own name might be, nor how I came to be here. It feels as though I’m possessed by some spirit or living in a dream.”

“Then there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I have an appointment to visit someone,” Shōshirō said coldly. “I must take my leave now.”

And he stood up.

Household Steward Yoshizuka asked how it had gone.
Shōshirō answered that he didn’t know.
There must be some scheme behind this, but he couldn’t discern its mechanism.
“In any case, it’s better not to get involved—have her leave this house immediately. I’ll go see Tawara,” Shōshirō said.
And with that, he left the house, visited the Tawara residence in Takezaka, and met Gonnōemon.

“It is exactly as I reported.”
Shōshirō declared proudly, “She’s a girl I don’t know, and the girl doesn’t know me either. We’re complete strangers.”

“Well, that’s fine then—” Tawara began, then looked at him suspiciously. “—You’re saying the girl doesn’t know you either?”

“Yes, the person herself stated so.”

“That makes no sense—what business would a girl you don’t know have coming to see someone she doesn’t know?”

“That too remains unclear.”

Shōshirō explained the circumstances.
As the story’s logic was inconsistent, Tawara Gonnōemon remained unconvinced.
Thereupon Shōshirō said he thought it might be someone’s prank or a trap—he had been born as the third son of Iwai Kageyu and remained a dependent until twenty-five.
This led to the restoration of the Hiramatsu family, which had fallen into ruin, with him being selected as its head.
The Hiramatsu were a prestigious clan in the domain, their former stipend exceeding nine hundred koku, their family status being that of the senior councilor class.
The restored stipend stood at half that amount—450 koku—with their rank referred to as "third seat," positioned just below the senior councilors, where they would directly assume any vacancy among them.

“Moreover, since I’ve entered into a marriage arrangement with the Castle Keeper’s daughter,” he said, “there can’t only be those who wish me well. Perhaps someone aware of rumors from my Edo days seeks to sabotage it through mischief.”

“Don’t be absurd!” Tawara cut in. “A samurai would never resort to such vulgar schemes. You ought to feel shame for harboring these suspicions.”

So they all shield each other here in the home provinces? Shōshirō thought bitterly.

“Yes, then I shall feel ashamed of myself,” he said. “And as I’ve ordered the girl to leave immediately, please keep this in mind.”

“I’ll remember,” Tawara nodded.

Tawara Gonnōemon had long been on close terms with his father, Chamberlain Kageyu.
Because of this, when he came from Edo, he assumed a supervisory position at his father’s request.
That Kashima Daigaku, the Castle Deputy Chief Elder, had proposed sending his daughter over also seemed due to Gonnōemon’s efforts; moreover, he was so fond of Tomoe—this daughter of Kashima—that he would have wanted her as his wife even if she had been an ashigaru’s daughter. For this, Shōshirō had felt deeply indebted to Senior Retainer Tawara, but this incident had cooled that ardor slightly.
His attitude when summoning him to the castle had also been cold, and today he went so far as to say to his face, “Be ashamed of yourself.”
For him, it was as if cold water had been thrown over his forced smile, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of irritation.

“Isn’t that tone of yours practically declaring everyone from the home province are saints?”
Once outside, Shōshirō muttered bitterly, “If this isn’t someone’s harassment, how else could it happen? In Edo they’d have devised something sharper by now. Heh—country bumpkins can’t even time their schemes right.”

Shōshirō spat, then realized he was hungry.
"All right, I'll go to Umenoī," he thought.
The appreciation banquet was likely just reaching its peak; he considered crashing it to drink recklessly. With this resolve, he hastened toward Ishigaki-chō.
Shōshirō drank vigorously, sang boisterously, and danced wildly.
In a combative mood as if confronting foes among the crowd, he raised hell until collapsing from intoxication; two finance clerks supposedly carried him home, though he retained scarcely any memory himself.

The next morning, when he opened his eyes, it was raining.
Since he was off-duty for three days for recuperation, thinking to take advantage of nobody coming to wake him, he considered sleeping more—but as he drank water to ease his hangover thirst, he suddenly lifted his face and stared fixedly at nothing in particular.
"So that's it," he eventually muttered.
That's right—if I'd done that then, it would've worked. If I'd done that, I could've figured out the trick.
Then he sprang up vigorously and went to the steward's room still wearing his sleeping garments.

Yoshizuka Jūrō was drinking tea.

“What happened to that girl?” Shōshirō abruptly asked. “Did you make her leave?”

Yoshizuka set down his teacup and faltered, “Well, you see... Since she was repairing the kimono’s torn hem and such, she hasn’t yet...”

“Good—that’s good,” he said. “This works better. I’ve thought of something—have her leave by evening. I’ll uncover whose handiwork this is.”

To Yoshizuka Jūrō, who wore a suspicious expression, he whispered something and returned to his bedroom to lie down.
Shōshirō woke up a little before noon, ate a meal, and went back into the bedroom.
This was partly because of the fatigue accumulated over five days, and partly because he wanted to thoroughly consider what he was about to do.
The problem being simple enough, he eventually fell asleep, and it was past three o'clock when Yoshizuka woke him.
The rain was pouring down, and Yoshizuka wore a gloomy face.
“The girl truly seems to have nowhere to go—expelling her weighs on my conscience,” he said.
“If you would permit it, we—my wife and I—would like to take care of her for a while,” he also said.

“No good—that’s exactly what they’re watching for,” he shook his head. “If we do that, Tawara will get suspicious and ruin the engagement with Ms. Kashima. Just do as I say.”

Yoshizuka looked at Shōshirō as if to say, “You’re not a man to be relied upon,” then stated that both the straw raincoat and bamboo hat were prepared.

Not long after, Shōshirō stood at a crossroads about a block from his house, wearing a straw raincoat and bamboo hat, his shins exposed from his tucked-up hakama, straw sandals on his feet.
It wasn’t cold, being late March.
With only a single short sword thrust downward into his scabbard to keep it concealed beneath his straw raincoat, he kept watch on his house with a sideways glance—and soon, the girl emerged outside the gate.

“It’s good rain,” he muttered. “In this downpour, the charade won’t last much longer. Now, begin.”

Likely through the Yoshizukas’ arrangements, the girl wore a raincoat over gaiters and straw sandals, a small bundle tied diagonally across her back as she held an oil-paper umbrella.
When exiting through the gate, she briefly glanced left and right before immediately walking in his direction.
Shōshirō stepped into the crossroads to let her pass unnoticed, then trailed behind at a distance of about ten ken.

The girl turned left at Ōtesuji, passed through the castle town, and walked along the ridge path toward the main highway.
She showed no sign of hurrying, nor did she ever come to a stop.
She neither looked around nor glanced back.
With the same gait, as if guided by something unseen, she continued walking straight.
She crossed the bridge over the Ikura River, passed through Shimada Shinden, and dusk began to settle over the area.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”
Shōshirō muttered under his breath, “Still keeping up the act? Or are your accomplices over there?”

Due to the heavy rain since morning, there were almost no people on the road.
Occasionally they would pass farmers leading horses, but the girl kept walking along the rain-drenched path that grew increasingly dark, as if none of it registered.
Shōshirō tilted his head.
Did she realize I was following her? No—that didn't seem right.
If she had, her demeanor would have given at least some hint—so did that mean she truly perceived nothing?
He worked a finger beneath the hat string pressing into his high cheekbone and scratched.

"Wait," he told himself. "Let's observe a bit longer."

IV

About one and a half ri from the castle town, just before emerging onto the main highway, the girl entered a Kannon hall by the roadside.
There were only five or six gaunt pines and three stone monuments of some sort erected there, making it a small hall without even a caretaker, but even so, if one stepped up onto the veranda, it could provide shelter from the rain.
Shōshirō passed by while watching the girl enter beneath the roof and close her umbrella. After proceeding about two blocks, he turned back and—taking care not to be noticed—circled around from the side to the rear of the hall, concealing himself beneath its eaves.

“Damn, it’s really coming down.”

He muttered with a shiver, “When’s this gonna let up? Turned into a real shitstorm.”

He’d initially welcomed the rain, but with no progress made—as dusk deepened and chill seeped in, now drenched through to his marrow from this endless downpour—the resolve he’d mustered was starting to fracture.
What was she doing? —He stole forward, footsteps muffled.
Then he pulled off his bamboo hat and peered around the hall’s corner.
The girl sat on the veranda, elbows digging into knees, face buried in hands.
Looking closer—her frame quivered in tiny tremors. A faint “Mother” escaped.
Must’ve been crying—that voice clogged with tears sounded pitifully frail, ringing with despair.

—Is this also an act?

Could she possibly maintain this pretense to such extremes?
As he pressed himself with these questions, Shōshirō felt a sharp pain lance through his gut.

“Mother,” came the girl’s choked sob—“…Mother.”

Shōshirō put on his bamboo hat and tightened the cord.
At that moment, a man’s voice came from the direction of the road, and in the thickening dusk rain, two men stopped and stood looking this way.
Shōshirō quickly stepped back, and the two men approached from the road.

——An accomplice.

As he wondered if she had accomplices and kept watching, he heard the men’s voices addressing the girl. Both seemed drunk; from their manner of speech, he thought they might be horse handlers or palanquin bearers.

“What’s wrong, missy?” one of them said. “What’re you doing here all by yourself? Dressed for travel, spacing out in a place like this—you waiting for someone or what?”

“Huh? What’d you say?” the other man said. “You gotta speak up if ya want me to hear ya! What’s the matter with ya?”

After a moment's pause came their voices: "Did ya run away from home or somethin'?" "Ain't safe for a girl alone," and "We'll take ya to a decent inn." Though he couldn't make out the girl's responses, she seemed to have yielded to their pressure—Shōshirō moved toward them. The men wore raincoats draped over their heads; one gripped the girl's hand while the other spread open an umbrella.

"Hey! That's my companion!" he shouted. "Who're you bastards?"

The men looked as if they would jump.

“You tryin’ to give us a heart attack? Don’t go sneakin’ up like that!” stammered the man holding the umbrella. “Who’re you supposed to be anyway?”

“I’m that girl’s companion.”

“Don’t fuck with me!” roared the man gripping the girl’s hand. “If she’s your companion, why’d ya leave her stranded? Sneakin’ up now all high-and-mighty—you plannin’ to kidnap this girl or somethin’?”

“Damn right—ain’t no lie to that,” said the umbrella-holding man. “Miss—ya know this man here?”

The girl kept her face turned to the side and gently shook her head.

“It’s me,” Shōshirō called out. “Hiramatsu Shōshirō. Have you forgotten?”

“Cut the crap! The girl already said she don’t know you!” interrupted the man holding the umbrella. “We’re from Kago Toku in Honjuku—I’m Genji, this here’s Rokuzō. Folks around these parts know our names. Try any funny business and you’ll regret it!”

“So, you’re from Kago Toku,” said Shōshirō as he removed his bamboo hat. “Then you must remember this face. I’m Hiramatsu Shōshirō from the canal banks in the castle town.”

The two men fell silent. Though the twilight offered only faint light, Shōshirō’s face was discernible. Rokuzō, one of the men, first released the girl’s hand he had been gripping and muttered, “It’s the Master.”

“Hey Genji, we messed up!” Rokuzō said in a flustered voice, waving his hand. “That’s Master Hiramatsu from the canal banks—this here’s one hell of a mistake!”

“You know him?”

“He’s our regular patron’s Master!” Rokuzō waved his hand again and bowed to Shōshirō. “I sincerely apologize—we didn’t recognize you with your different attire. Had we known, we’d never have said such impertinent things. Hey, Genji! You better apologize quick too!”

“Ah, as long as you understand,” Shōshirō nodded. “It’d be a crime to make men of your standing along the highway apologize.”

“Please, I beg you, please!”
Rokuzō bowed while touching his head. “You see how it is—please forgive us!”

“But why,” Genji continued suspiciously, “why would this companion of yours say she doesn’t know you, Master?”

“That I don’t know myself,” Shōshirō said. “There’s a rather complicated situation with this girl—it’s not something I can explain in a word—but I can at least prove I’m not kidnapping her.”

And he approached the girl.

"Why do you say you don't know me?" he said to her. "Have you forgotten that I am Hiramatsu Shōshirō?"

The girl remained bowed and did not answer.

“Do you truly not know me—”

“I,” the girl said in a low voice, “—heard that if I remained, I would bring trouble upon Master Hiramatsu.”

Her voice came haltingly—a low, thin sound.
It must have been Yoshizuka who told her—that her presence would create an obstacle to the marriage proposal with the Kashima family. No doubt he had invoked fate itself in his explanation.
Shōshirō tilted his face upward and took a deep breath.

“That talk is for later,” he said in a voice suppressing his emotions. “Come home with me. I’m begging you—please come back.”

The girl did not answer.

“You should do as the Master says,” Rokuzō said to the girl. “What with this rain and all—keep wandering around like this and you’ll land yourself in real trouble.”

Five

Seven days later, Shōshirō was summoned to Tawara Gonnōemon’s residence.
Takezaka—the town name where the Tawara residence stood—hardly qualified as a slope despite its designation, but this gentle incline of red soil became a treacherous mire with even slight rainfall.
The road had been thoroughly churned by that earlier downpour, leaving him sweat-drenched and mud-splattered up to his back by the time he reached the Tawara estate.

Tawara Gonnōemon’s discussion was, as expected, about that girl.
Shōshirō explained the circumstances in detail and, since the steward couple also wished it, answered that he had entrusted her to their care.
Tawara, who had been listening in sullen silence, gazed out at the garden through the corridor and said expressionlessly:

“Is that your excuse?”

“I,” he said, “am stating the facts.”

“The rumors have spread far and wide—I hear they’re even being discussed in Honjuku. How exactly do you intend to explain this to the Kashima family?”

“This concerns my private affairs and bears no relation to the Kashima family,” he said. “Therefore, I see no need to offer explanations or apologies. That girl knows neither her home nor destination—she doesn’t even remember her own name.”

“I’ve already heard that.”

“In that twilight wayside shrine where she was trapped by rain,” he pressed urgently, “had you seen her there—with nowhere to stay that night, weeping in despair as she called for her mother—even you couldn’t have turned a blind eye.”

“Complaints have come from the Kashima family.”
Tawara looked toward the garden again. “If the girl truly has no ties or connections, there’s no need to sabotage an important marriage proposal over such a person. I shall intervene once more—have her leave the house at once.”

Shōshirō raised his head. “I cannot cast her out.”

“Do you dare stand by such a declaration?”

“I cannot. Though I know not why—she came relying on me alone, as she has no other refuge.”

Tawara Gonnōemon paused for a moment, then said, “—Then I shall call off the engagement with the Kashima family.”

“It cannot be helped,” he said. “If you cannot understand these circumstances, then I can only yield to your will.”

“Understood. That’s all.”

Shōshirō left the Tawara residence.

He did not believe himself to be in the right.
From society's perspective, he thought, keeping a girl of unknown origins in one's home while engaged might indeed deserve condemnation.
Yet in this case, the circumstances differed.
If they refused to understand these special circumstances and clung only to public opinion and saving face, then shouldn't they be the ones criticized? Shōshirō thought.

“What’s the point of marrying the castellan’s daughter?” he muttered vehemently. “To have people say I advanced through my wife’s connections—wouldn’t that be the wretched outcome? I’d sooner die than endure that.”

As if trying to erase the vivid impression of Tomoe's beautiful, intelligent figure that lingered in his mind, Shōshirō frowned and shook his head vehemently.

Yoshizuka's wife Mura gave the girl the temporary name Fusa.
It was the name of her own daughter whom she had sent to Edo as a bride—a girl of remarkably good temperament who had remained happy ever since her marriage—and she had given it in hopes that this girl might follow in her namesake's fortunate path.
The Yoshizuka couple had a son named Kihē who was married with one grandchild, but as he served as a page in Edo, they lived here as just the two of them—so caring for the girl seemed to be their pleasure.
Above all, Mura, Yoshizuka's wife, took pity on the girl—tending to her daily needs while patiently attempting various methods to somehow awaken her memories.
They apparently had several doctors examine her and even took her to Gongen Falls in Sasayama to undergo waterfall meditation, but no matter what they tried, no effect manifested.

“They speak of things like kamikakushi—being spirited away by gods—or being snatched by tengu,” Yoshizuka said on one occasion. “There’s a story from mere years past—an Edo man found himself in Kanazawa of Kaga overnight. They say he knew nothing of it himself, only realizing when he came to his senses in Kanazawa’s castle town that the date confirmed it was still the morning after his departure.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “I can’t vouch for its truth, but I’ve heard that tale.”

“There are countless other accounts—Osaka folk finding themselves in Nagasaki unknowingly, or someone thought present in the parlor vanishing without trace for decades. I believe that girl may have met with such calamity.”

“I can’t believe such things could exist in reality, but—couldn’t we find some clue through her speech patterns or dialect?”

“Her speech does seem to be Edo dialect,” Yoshizuka said, tilting his head, “but among samurai families, they inevitably pick up some regional accent from their domains, which then blends with Edo speech. I believe this makes determining her specific dialect quite difficult.”

“Then I can only wait for the time to come.”

“Or perhaps,” Yoshizuka said tentatively, as if probing his master’s feelings, “she may end up never remembering anything at all.”

Shōshirō said nothing.

Until autumn came, Shōshirō encountered Tomoe three times on the road.
Though resolved to be decisive, he still harbored enough lingering attachment that when offering silent greetings, he could feel his own face reddening.
Each time, Tomoe appeared in full ceremonial dress—exceptionally beautiful with an attendant and maid in attendance—yet she utterly disregarded his salutations, walking past without so much as glancing at him as she might at some roadside stranger.
The shame and humiliation flushed him crimson from neck to brow, until sweat broke across his skin.

"This should do." On the third occasion, he nodded to himself. "Yeah, this is enough. This makes everything clean and final."

From around that time, Fusa began taking charge of his personal affairs.
For Shōshirō too, young Fusa was preferable to Mura—who was like a mother—and Fusa came with remarkable speed to understand his temperament and preferences.
When he later reflected, it seemed the Yoshizuka couple had trained her that way, but Fusa's attitude in serving him bordered on devotion. As he wondered—Am I truly someone she relies on so much?—the feeling of her poignant vulnerability grew steadily stronger within him.

“Lady Fusa appears to have been exceptionally well-bred,” Yoshizuka said. “Her disposition is steady, her movements elegant, and her calligraphy so splendid it’s nearly without equal.”

VI

It was then that Shōshirō first noticed—not only the Yoshizuka couple, but all the household members had begun attaching honorifics to Fusa’s name at some point.

“If only her background were clear,” Yoshizuka continued further, “she could be married into any great family without ever being an embarrassment. Hers is truly a commendable character.”

What the Household Steward was trying to say—Shōshirō had already discerned it.

“In other words,” he said, “you’re telling me to marry Fusa?”

“How would that be?” Yoshizuka said thoughtfully. “Your esteemed house is a prestigious lineage, and Lady Fusa’s background remains unclear. Even if you were to intend such a thing, I fear the senior retainers would not grant their approval.”

“Senior retainers—” His eyes flashed—an unmistakable display of hostility and defiance. He snorted derisively. “Call us a prestigious family all you like—the Hiramatsu were a disbanded house, and I’m just an adopted son. Our status isn’t such that they should interfere in bride selection!”

In this way, Shōshirō's feelings—born of defiance toward Tawara Gonnōemon and Tomoe—seemed to begin stirring.
Of course, had he not loved Fusa, matters would never have taken such a course.
There was no telling when she might recall her past, nor could one predict how circumstances might change then.
Taking as one's wife someone in such an unstable position was a gamble.
But Shōshirō confronted Tawara Gonnōemon boldly—and head-on.

――Don’t you dare get flustered.

With this resolve burning within him, he confronted the situation head-on. In a challenging tone, he laid out his demands: that they had given the girl the name Fusa; that he intended to take Fusa as his lawful wife; and accordingly, that he wanted her formally adopted into the Tawara family. He had braced himself for immediate shouting and outright rejection from the start, yet Tawara neither raised his voice nor betrayed any shock that might have made him lose his footing. The senior retainer remained silent throughout the entire explanation and stayed quiet for some time after it ended. Though his face revealed clear bewilderment, not the faintest trace of anger could be seen.

“This is somewhat complicated.”
After a pause, Tawara spoke calmly: “The Kashima matter remains unresolved since the broken engagement, and with His Lordship returning this December—Lord Kageyu will be in attendance—perhaps we should defer discussion until then.”

Shōshirō felt a faint thrill of excitement.

"That would be acceptable," he said—"What is your opinion on the matter?"

“My opinion,” Tawara said, glaring fiercely at him, “are you saying you’ll reconsider based on that?”

Shōshirō was at a loss for words.
Tawara Gonnōemon’s attitude had defied expectations, appearing almost favorable—this unexpected warmth made him so elated that he inadvertently misspoke. What a spineless fool, he clicked his tongue at himself, that was pure sycophancy.

“I misspoke.”
He bowed his head resolutely. “I will wait until Father arrives as you say. Please forget what I just proposed.”

He left the Tawara residence in good spirits.

On December 10th, the domain lord returned to the domain, and his father Kageyu, who served as Chamberlain, accompanied him as part of the retinue.
Following discussions with Tawara and his father, the proposal to marry Fusa was formally approved, and on February 8th of the following year, the wedding ceremony was held.
Fusa became the adopted daughter of the Tawara family, with Senior Retainer Sawabashi Hachirōbee serving as matchmaker.
It was the second day after the wedding when Kageyu summoned Shōshirō and angrily declared, "There’s no one who defies their parents as much as you!"
Upon closer inquiry, it turned out that the marriage proposal with the Kashima family had been orchestrated through his father’s efforts, with Tawara merely acting as an intermediary.

“Becoming kin with the Kashima family would have done immeasurable good for your future,” his father said. “You likely considered relying on a wife’s connections for advancement disgraceful—but with such naive thinking, reestablishing the Hiramatsu clan as a prestigious house will prove impossible.”

Shōshirō remained silent.
It wasn’t my fault things had turned out this way—I had wanted to take Tomoe as my wife—I tried to say this much. But given how pointless explanations would be now and considering both my love for Fusa and our existing marriage vows, I resigned myself to silently enduring his lecture.

“I only consented to your marriage with Fusa because Tawara strongly recommended it,” Kageyu said. “Keep that in mind and conduct yourself properly from now on so you don’t become a laughingstock in the clan.”

Shōshirō silently bowed.

Life with Fusa proceeded smoothly.
Kageyu had been lodging within the castle grounds, initially visiting about once every ten days and only rarely staying overnight. But what began as once every ten days became once every seven days, and by summer his visits increased in frequency to every five days, then three days—the instances of him staying over multiplying steadily. Though never voiced aloud, he seemed thoroughly taken with Fusa; whenever he came, he wouldn’t let her leave his side. After evening meals when he started drinking, he would have her pour his sake while talking animatedly in high spirits—so much so that he frequently forgot to retire for the night.

“Father, it’s already past four and a half,” Shōshirō said impatiently. “You should stop here for tonight—you have an early morning ahead.”

“Don’t mind me,” Kageyu waved his hand dismissively. “Go to bed if you want. I’ll borrow Fusa a while longer for another drink.”

Fusa possessed no particular talent for hospitality.
Her slightly tall frame—with its faint eyebrows resembling misty brushstrokes and a softly tapered chin—radiated calm composure. Her movements and speech could best be described as leisurely.
Yoshizuka Jūrō’s praise of her “elegance” likely referred to these qualities.
As time passed, her unhurried gestures and manner of speaking began soothing observers’ moods into tranquil harmony.
First the Yoshizuka couple, then the retainers and servants, and eventually even Kageyu found themselves drawn to her—doubtless captivated by these very traits.
Watching his father converse endlessly with Fusa over drinks—visibly enjoying himself—Shōshirō felt an unexpected pride, as though performing some unlooked-for act of filial devotion.

In late October, Lord Shinanokami Kagenori departed for Edo to fulfill his sankin-kotai duties, with Kageyu accompanying him as part of the retinue; however, on the day before their departure, he visited Fusa, expressing gratitude with “You’ve been most kind” and presenting her with a substantial farewell gift, then summoned Shōshirō and instructed him to “Take good care of Fusa.”

“A wife like this is wasted on the likes of you,” Kageyu said. “—Show me my grandchild’s face when I come next time.”

Seven

Kageyu already had one grandchild.
It was Yukijirō's child—his eldest son living in Edo—a boy named Tsurunosuke who had already turned three.
Therefore, Shōshirō thought, the words "Show me my grandchild's face when I come next time" demonstrated the depth of affection toward Fusa.

In November, Kashima Tomoe married.
Her partner was the eldest son of the Treasury Magistrate, named Watanabe Kikuma.
Shortly after his marriage, he was promoted to junior chamberlain with an Edo assignment, and the couple left the castle town together.
It was only after this that Tawara Gonnōemon invited Shōshirō and Fusa to his residence and also began visiting the Hiramatsu household.

“I felt responsible for breaking off the engagement,” Tawara said with a wry smile. “That’s why I thought it best we keep our distance until Lady Tomoe was married.”

This occurred when the two had been invited to Tawara’s residence. Seeing Gonnōemon’s demeanor—as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders—Shōshirō recalled what his father had once said and, finding it perplexing, decided to inquire.

“Father said you were the one who recommended Fusa—is that true?”

“What of it?”

“I was—” he stammered slightly, “I thought you were angry.”

Gonnōemon smiled ambiguously. “If you’d driven out a girl like Fusa, that’s when I would’ve truly been angry.”

“But you shouldn’t have known Fusa yet.”

“Oh well, drink,” Tawara said.

Since there were parts he couldn’t accept, after returning home he inquired with Yoshizuka Jūrō.
What he discovered was that while Shōshirō had been away attending to his duties at the castle, Tawara had visited and met Fusa, taking an immediate liking to her upon their first meeting.
From his manner of speaking at the time, he had apparently let slip that he had been opposed to the marriage proposal with Tomoe from the start, declaring that becoming the son-in-law of the castle’s senior retainer was a foolish endeavor.
Shōshirō groaned upon hearing that.

“So that anger back then was just for appearances?” he said. “What a nasty old man.”

Though he’d called him a nasty old man, confirming that Fusa was still well-liked here as well left Shōshirō considerably pleased, and whenever Tawara visited afterward, he made sure to welcome him as hospitably as possible.

As soon as the new year began, Yoshizuka's wife announced Fusa's pregnancy.
He thought he had succeeded.
Now Father will be pleased again—he was thinking this when, for the first time, an ominous shadow fell across their hitherto happy life.
In the latter half of January, one midnight, the sliding door to their bedroom opened and he awoke to find Fusa entering in her nightclothes.
Since his wife had never before come to him of her own accord, he called out, "Is something wrong?"
Fusa seemed not to hear his voice; moving silently to the door's latch, she stopped before it.

“Fusa,” he said again, “what’s wrong?”

Fusa stood motionless, then murmured softly to herself.

“From the bedroom... coming out here... and here becomes a corridor...”
Fusa swayed one hand gently, tilting her head as if trying to recall something. “—There was a cedar door here in the corridor, and then—”

Shōshirō shuddered.
As if a cold hand had suddenly stroked his spine, he distinctly felt his skin break into goosebumps, and before he knew it, he stood up and moved toward his wife.
Fusa recalled her past—he intuited this.
That "past" might take Fusa away from him—he must not let her recall it.
With that thought, he placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder and spoke in a soft whisper.

“Fusa, wake up,” he said. “You’re dreaming.”

Fusa slowly turned around.
That face was not like Fusa’s usual one.
Flat like the surface of a wall, expressionless, her eyes tinged with a cold, distant hue as though gazing upon a complete stranger.
Shōshirō shuddered again, every hair on his body standing on end.

“Fusa.”
He grabbed his wife’s shoulders and shook them. “Wake up, Fusa. It’s me.”

Then Fusa’s face relaxed, and he realized the tension had left her entire body.
She leaned supplely against her husband’s chest and let out a sigh as if in utter relief.

“What was wrong with me?”

“You’ve gotten so cold.”
He said while stroking his wife’s back, “You’ll catch a cold. Stay here and sleep with me.”

“Did I do something...?”

“It’s nothing.”
He lay down with his wife in his bedding and, holding her tight, said, “You didn’t do anything. You were just dreaming.”

Fusa nodded in her husband’s arms and soon fell asleep breathing quietly.

It was due to a disturbance in her body.
Her system must have become disordered from the pregnancy.
Shōshirō thought this, yet couldn’t forget that night’s events.
Fusa had undoubtedly recalled her past.
The sight of her tilting her head while murmuring “From the bedroom out here... there was a cedar door in this corridor...” unmistakably showed she remembered her former home’s layout.
That transformed face and those cold eyes seeing a stranger—in that moment, his wife had been within her past.
No matter how he denied it, the fact he’d sensed remained immovable.

“Someday something like this will happen again,” he murmured. “Next time, she might remember everything from her past much more clearly.”

Whether at home or attending to his duties at the castle, that thought never left his mind for some time, and there were several nights he awoke at midnight to quietly peek into his wife’s sleeping quarters.
When this continued for about thirty days, he finally steeled his resolve.

“It’s fine,” he told himself. “No matter what past she’s remembered, I’ve already married her, and she’s even pregnant. No matter how bad the conditions, who could possibly tear down this life?”

Shōshirō thought with resolute determination that no matter what adversary might appear, he would never retreat.

After that, nothing happened.
Fusa’s physical condition progressed smoothly; though she grew slightly thin during summer, by autumn she had fully recovered her health and gave birth to a baby girl in mid-October.
The infant was robust, and there were no complications with the mother’s body.
Fusa said shyly, “You must be disappointed it’s a girl.”
Shōshirō shook his head and replied, “Since there’s already a male grandchild in Edo, Father might actually be happier it’s a girl.” He had intended to keep the birth unannounced until his father could visit, but when Lord Shinanokami Kageyu was appointed magistrate of temples and shrines—rendering his father unable to come—he delayed for about two weeks before notifying him of the birth by letter.

Eight

They named their child Yuka after Shōshirō’s mother.

"What a lovely name."
Fusa, looking delighted, rubbed her cheek against the infant in her childbed. “Dear Yuka, my sweet, beautiful Yuka—please grow up strong and healthy.”

Shōshirō sat by the pillow, gazing at the scene with eyes that seemed to brim with tears.

The days passed peacefully.
Fusa’s recovery progressed smoothly, and she produced milk in abundance. Then in March of the following year, Yuka contracted measles, but that too passed without incident.
From his father in Edo came insistent demands to "Send news of Yuka’s condition," while his mother repeatedly sent letters addressed to Fsa detailing child-rearing methods.
Tawara Gonnōemon also visited frequently—likely because he still hadn’t been blessed with a grandchild—holding the child with unsteady hands and wandering around the garden tirelessly.

On the night of August 15th, Shōshirō viewed the moon with his wife and Yuka—the three of them together.
They spread a felt carpet over the garden lawn and placed a tray of sake and delicacies before the moon-viewing decorations.
With paper lanterns flanking them and mosquito-repelling incense lit, Shōshirō and Fusa sat relaxed in their yukata.
Yuka, who had begun forming broken words, found the outdoor meal so novel that she merrily darted between her mother’s and father’s laps while clamoring to eat the decorative rice dumplings, at times throwing tantrums and crying.
When Shōshirō tried to calm her by saying, “These are for roasting and eating tomorrow,” Yuka pouted and retorted with something like, “Taatama haa atara tochiriro da.”

“What does ‘atara tochiriro’ mean?” he asked his wife.

“Well, what could it be?”
Fusa smiled softly. “Lord Tawara must have taught her something, but I’m afraid I don’t know.”

Old people seemed to enjoy making children say mispronounced words; he thought it was troublesome but kept it to himself.

The Hiramatsu family's garden was quite spacious, facing a hill with a pine grove at its front where climbing to the top provided a clear view of the castle. The roughly hundred-tsubo lawn had plantings of pruned round hinoki trees here and there; to the right stood a plum grove, beyond which lay a wooden plank fence.—The moon emerged from the left edge of the pine grove. With clouds filling the sky, it soon became hidden after rising—yet the bluish-white clouds casting vivid reflections upon the black pine forest formed their own distinct vista. Shortly after the moon rose, Yuka began to doze off, so Fusa took her away to put her to sleep.

Shōshirō had been drinking alone when the chirping insects in the lawn fell silent. Turning at the sound, he found Fusa returning.
In her right hand she carried a sake flask, approaching with her usual leisurely gait—but upon drawing near, she abruptly stopped.
At that moment the moon slipped free from the clouds, illuminating Fusa’s face with sudden clarity—Shōshirō nearly dropped the cup in his hand.

—That face from that night.

Fusa’s face had altered and stiffened; her wide-open eyes stared fixedly at a single spot in the garden as though searching for something.
Shōshirō remained silent and watched his wife’s demeanor.
Blood throbbed thunderously in his ears—he couldn’t breathe unless he opened his mouth.
Fusa began to walk.
Toward the plum grove she moved, gathering each step as if picking them up—Shōshirō too rose to his feet and followed barefoot behind her.
After walking some twenty steps, Fusa stopped again.

“This is the bamboo grass path,” Fusa murmured, “and beyond this, there’s a gate—”

“Come on, remember what comes next,” Shōshirō whispered urgently. “Come on—what lies beyond that gate?”

Fusa stood motionless with mouth tightly shut.

“Fusa—”
He gently placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder and whispered in a low voice, “Think carefully now—is that your own home? Is this your family’s garden? Where does one go when passing through the gate?”

Fusa swayed unsteadily and dropped the sake flask she was holding.
Shōshirō supported his wife with both hands.
Then Fusa looked at her husband with a startled expression and straightened her posture.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Her usual face, her usual eyes had returned.

“You were trying to remember the past just now,” he said. “Close your eyes while I tell you this.”

“No.”
Fusa shook her head. “I am perfectly happy as I am. I have no wish to recall the past.”

“But the time will come when you remember,” he said gently. “You may not recall, but this happened once before—and surely it will happen again someday. If that’s so, wouldn’t it be better to face it sooner? Come now, close your eyes.”

Fusa closed her eyes.

“Right now, you—” he whispered in a hushed voice, very slowly, “walked along the bamboo grass path... came through the garden... This is the bamboo grass path. And there’s a gate ahead.”

Fusa kept her eyes closed and quietly held her breath.

“You came through the bamboo grass path to the gate,” he continued quietly. “Now go through that gate. Come on—what’s outside?”

Shōshirō held his breath and waited.
Fusa stood silently but eventually shook her head.

“I don’t understand anything.”
With her eyes open, Fusa said, “Were those words you just spoke what I said?”

“You said it.”

Fusa shook her head again. “I cannot recall anything at all—I don’t even remember saying such things.”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

“No.”

“Then that’s fine,” he said, patting his wife’s shoulder. “Let’s look at the moon a little longer together—the sake flask is over there.” Half in disappointment and half in relief, Shōshirō returned to the carpet.

Shōshirō spent some time further straining his nerves by secretly watching his wife, but with nothing particularly changing, the year came to an end.

IX

The following March—as the annual financial settlements commenced—Shōshirō was confined inside the castle for the final five days to conduct audits.
It was on the third day—just before noon—that Yoshizuka, the household steward, came to see him.
While confined inside the castle, private comings and goings were prohibited—but it had apparently been permitted as an “urgent matter.”
Wondering if Yuka had fallen ill, he went to check—and there stood Yoshizuka Jūrō outside Nishinoguchi, his face ashen.

—It’s about Fusa.

That’s what Shōshirō thought.
The steward’s rigidly pale face gave him the sense that something had happened to the wife.
Yoshizuka averted his eyes and said, “That’s correct.”

“What’s wrong—is she ill?”

“We cannot find her,” Yoshizuka said. “It happened yesterday evening—she was in the garden with Young Mistress Yuka, and then she seems to have gone out somewhere. We searched thoroughly, but her whereabouts remain unknown.”

“It’s finally come,” he thought.
The realization that his long-dreaded premonition had materialized rose foremost in his mind.

“Wait here,” he said.

Shōshirō went to the senior retainers’ chamber and met Tawara Gonnōemon.
Tawara appeared profoundly shaken.
At first he seemed unable to speak, but eventually rasped out, “I’ll handle the arrangements,” refusing Shōshirō permission to leave the castle grounds.
He relayed this decision to Yoshizuka before returning to his office and immersing himself in work.
The audit tasks—though monotonous in their endless cross-checking of ledgers and inspection records—left no mental space for distraction; more crucially, Shōshirō found himself clinging to this bureaucratic drudgery as a bulwark against contemplating his wife’s disappearance.

If the wife were found,there would be word.

He had been thinking this, but the audit concluded without any word from Tawara. Following the usual custom, he had been invited to an appreciation banquet in Ishigaki Town, but Shōshirō declined and went straight home.

Fusa’s whereabouts were still unknown. Yuka—who had initially been anxious—remained in good spirits, seemingly unperturbed by her mother’s absence; she had played cheerfully with the servants and Yoshizuka’s retinue before falling into a peaceful sleep, according to their accounts. Upon further inquiry, it emerged that on that evening Fusa had been playing with Yuka in the garden when Yoshizuka’s men heard the child crying. Rushing outside, they found Yuka alone in tears. When asked about her mother’s location, she pointed toward the plum grove and said, “Over there.” They combed through the grove but found no trace of Fusa. As they expanded their search through the house and surrounding grounds, daylight faded into dusk—yet with no sign of her, Yoshizuka took charge of scouring the main highway while the household retainers patrolled the mountain road, methodically dividing their efforts between both routes. At the mountain checkpoint bordering their domain, guards reported no sightings of any woman matching Fusa’s description passing through. Along the main highway, they inspected every horse trader, palanquin broker, and inn from Shimoshuku to Motoshuku without success. The relentless flow of travelers and pack animals along that thoroughfare rendered any definitive conclusion impossible.

Yoshizuka had requested officials to arrange a search along ten ri of the highway in both directions, but ultimately, Fusa’s figure was nowhere to be found, it was said.
Yoshizuka explained that while Tawara Gonnōemon had apparently extended the search even further—Fusa carried no money, and with a woman’s pace being unlikely to outpace such swift arrangements—there was now, after three days had passed, scarcely any hope left of finding her.

"There was one matter I failed to mention," Yoshizuka said after finishing his account, "regarding when Madam first came here."

Shōshirō gazed at the steward’s face.

“She hadn’t actually come to visit you,” Yoshizuka continued. “The truth is—when I returned from an errand, she was standing vacantly at the gate and asked, ‘Whose residence is this?’ I answered that it belonged to Hiramatsu Shōshirō-sama and asked in return, ‘Who are you here to see?’ After thinking for a moment—perhaps because the name she’d just heard lingered in her mind—Madam replied, ‘I’m here to see Hiramatsu Shōshirō-sama.’”

When she had lost all memory, the first name she heard must have left a deep impression, leading her to convince herself it belonged to the person she sought.
Shōshirō turned his face away.
“That’s enough—I understand,” he said.

Had she truly remembered the person she was seeking and gone to them? He thought so, but immediately shook his head. Even after being husband and wife for nearly four years—even having a three-year-old child—it was impossible that she would suddenly disappear without leaving a note just because she remembered something. Such a heartless act was impossible for Fusa to commit, he told himself.

“Where is Yuka?”

“I believe she is at my residence.”

“Leave me,” he said.

When Yoshizuka left, Shōshirō stood up.
He had risen to his feet but remained motionless as if entranced, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes.

“She vanished just as she appeared… Fusa,” he whispered. “Where are you now? What are you doing there?”

In the rain-lashed twilight, the image of Fusa—perched helplessly on the Kannon Hall’s veranda—drifted faintly across his mind’s eye.
His face contorted sharply as a sob surged into his throat.
He choked back tears.
Stepping onto the veranda and slipping into garden clogs, he began walking while stifling his weeping.

Shōshirō stopped at the edge of the lawn, wiped his face with a kaishi paper, and gazed toward the plum grove.

Along the bamboo grass path—there was a gate there, and...

Yuka said her mother had gone that way.
Fusa must have passed through that gate—he felt he could see both the gate, now absent from reality, and his wife standing there.
But Fusa would return, he thought.
This time there was a husband and a child called Yuka—she couldn't possibly forget that.
Someday she would surely remember and return—through this gate.
Shōshirō gently extended one hand.

“Everyone’s waiting for you—come back, Fusa,” he whispered to his absent wife. “I’ll wait until you return.”

From behind, the bright voice of Yuka singing a children's song could be heard.