Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

“Honorable Uncle, good morning.”

Makiya Kanbei, who had been tending to his prized bonsai, turned around when addressed.

“What a fine day it is, isn’t it?”

With a smooth, ingratiating smile, his nephew Naojirou came this way.
Kanbei glared piercingly through his glasses and,

"Ahem."

he coughed with an authoritative harrumph.
It was meant to convey that he wouldn’t be taken in by such flattery; however, the other party showed no sign of picking up on this,

"My, what a surprise! That branch is already blooming—as expected from such excellent care. This winter sweet always flowers half a month early. Even Old Senuma—who claims no one surpasses him in garden trees—has admitted defeat with this one."
"Why, it’s truly magnificent!"

“Ahem, ahem.”

Senuma Shōemon was the domain’s junior inspector and Kanbei’s bonsai rival—Kanbei, nearly getting lured into discussing their rivalry, hastily covered it with a dry cough.
Naojirou changed his approach.

“My, my! The pots have multiplied considerably since I last observed them. What might that one be?”

“——”

“Both the leaf hue and branch arrangement are truly refined—but now… Could this be a hibiscus?”

Kanbei finally could bear it no longer and,
“You... such nonsense—”

He turned back and said, “Just think—would a hibiscus put out leaves on the tenth day of New Year?”

“So is it ornamental kale?”

“You... this—”

He grabbed his glasses, let out an alarmingly thick snort, then roared as if spitting out the words.

“It’s a stone orchid! A stone orchid, I tell you! Take a good look at this—the stems and leaves are completely different from hibiscus or ornamental kale! They’re nothing alike—this is absurd!”

“What about this one?”

Naojirou remained unfazed.

“—Don’t know.”

“Hmm, what could this be? —Let me see... Ah, I’ve got it! This is your prized shimpaku juniper. I’ve guessed right this time, haven’t I?”

“So what?”

“Well then, it seems even I might know a thing or two about plants after all—ha ha ha! —Speaking of which, now that we’re on shimpaku junipers, Old Senuma was terribly bitter about it, Honorable Uncle.”

“What...?”

“Unfortunately, I can’t match Makiya. I too have labored over shimpaku junipers, but I simply can’t get flowers as splendid as his to bloom,”

“You damn fool!”

Kanbei bellowed, “No matter how anyone tries, can a shimpaku juniper ever bloom?”

“Th-that’s strange…”

“You’re the one who’s far stranger.”
“You there—turn and face me!”

Kanbei put on his glasses and stared at his nephew’s face as if to bore holes through it, but—
“You’re planning to extort something again, aren’t you?”

Seizing the moment when he said this,

“Honorable Uncle, please save her!” With a spirited shout he pressed on: “This person’s circumstances are truly pitiable! Born without ever knowing her parents’ faces—covered in back alley dust—she’s tasted every bitterness this world offers! Now she sinks into the mire! Please!”

“No good, no good! I won’t allow it!”

Kanbei cut him off with a roar, “I knew something was off with all that buttering up earlier—and here it is!”
“I won’t allow it!”
“I won’t be fooled by you anymore! No matter the reason, I won’t give you a single penny—get that through your head!”

“I am not asking for gold coins.”

“……?”

“I would like you to take them into your residence.”

Kanbei gave his nephew a sidelong glance.
He had been manipulated by this tactic many times before; even if told money wasn’t needed, he couldn’t afford to be complacent.

“You say to take them into the residence... but—who exactly is this person?”

“Save the investigation for later—what matters now above all is whether you grant approval, Honorable Uncle. If you turn them away here, they’ll sink into the mire’s depths and spend their entire life tormented in hell.”
“Please save them, Honorable Uncle! Whether to let one person live or die rests entirely in your hands! This isn’t about needing money or providing special care—simply take them into this residence and look after them for the time being. I swear they won’t cause you any trouble.”

2

“But—”

Kanbei said in a reluctant tone, “Even if I were to take her in, where would I have her live?”

“My detached room is available.”

“That room is being used as my tea room, isn’t it?”

“Not at all—I’ve already had it cleared out. The tools have been moved to the tea room.”

“That’s exactly the kind of person you are.”

Kanbei clicked his tongue. “You’ve had this all planned out from the start to manipulate me.”

“Will you grant your approval?”

“What choice do I have? If I refuse, you make it sound like I’d be the one shoving that man into the mire’s depths—Ahem. But before taking her in, bring her here once. I’ll see her first...”

“She has already arrived.”

“…………”

“Lady Otake, this way.”

When he turned and called out, a woman emerged modestly from behind the courtyard hedge—her polished wheat-colored skin, almond-shaped doe eyes, jet-black hair styled in samurai fashion, a radiantly beautiful woman in her early twenties.
Indeed, Kanbei was astonished.

“Hey, Naojirou!”

“Lady Otake, please pay your respects.”

Naojirou pressed on without waiting. “This is the Honorable Uncle I spoke of.
His official duty is Chief Retainer managing the Fukuyama Domain’s 152,000 koku, but having endured service in Edo since his youth, he has thoroughly tasted both bitter and sweet. This time as well, he has graciously agreed to take you in and provide care—be sure to express your gratitude properly.”

“I am deeply honored.”

In a richly resonant voice, the woman spoke while bowing her head, “I, this unworthy one, shall presume on your mercy and accept your gracious care. I humbly beg your kindness...”

“Mhmm.”

Kanbei flustered and turned aside, but—
“Naojirou, come here for a moment.”

Having said this, he left toward the artificial hill.
Naojirou smiled gently at the woman and, with a reassuring glance that said not to worry, followed after his uncle.—Kanbei thrust his pruning shears toward his approaching nephew’s face and,

“You rascal!”

“You scoundrel!” he bellowed. “You’ve tricked me again! What is that—isn’t that a woman, this—”

“I never claimed not to be a woman.”

“You phrased it to make me think she wasn’t a woman without even saying so—what a nuisance! To begin with, bringing some unknown woman into my household when you’re not even married yet—”

“I am fully aware.”

Naojirou said while edging away, “She is a geisha called Kobue of Shinmachi.”

“Wh-wha-what—a geisha?”

“She may be a geisha, but her lineage is of samurai stock. She need not feel ashamed wherever she goes.”

“You bastard—!”

Suddenly, Kanbei lunged to grab him.
Naojirou nimbly dodged and circled around to the far side of the blossoming old plum tree; Kanbei chased after him in frustration.

“Wait right there!”

“Please, I beg of you, Honorable Uncle.”

Naojirou swiftly dodged while pleading, “She’s a woman with a tragic past! Having her at the residence will bring no disgrace upon the Makiya household—please, I beg you to look after her.”

Kanbei, his portly frame flushed and panting, desperately gave chase—but there was no matching the young Naojirou’s speed. After circling the artificial hill three times round, he grew short of breath, his vision swimming, and landed on the lawn with a soft thud.

“Ah, careful!”

Naojirou rushed over. “Are you injured? Have you hurt yourself anywhere?”

“Sh-shut up!”

“Shall I bring some water?”

“Let go! D-Do I... need water or anything?!”

Kanbei heaved breaths through his shoulders as he spat, “After all this—after making me suffer bitter humiliation time and again—now you demand I take in a geisha!... To think you’d order me, Chief Retainer of Fukuyama’s 152,000 koku, to shelter a geisha—how far... how far will you go to freeze my blood?! What absurdity will you drag out next?!”

“Actually, that concerns precisely this matter.”

“Wh-what—?”

“I have been commanded to accompany our lord on his official sankin journey to Edo."
“Therefore, during my one-year official duty there, I shall entrust Otake to your care. I humbly beseech you to thoroughly assess her character during this period. Upon my return to the domain, should you grant your approval, I earnestly desire to take her as my wife.”

“Hmmph—!”

Kanbei suddenly snatched off his glasses; then, grabbing his head with both hands, he crouched down there.

III

Makiya Kanbei was chief retainer under Abe Ise-no-kami—lord of Bitchū Fukuyama Domain—with a stipend of 700 koku; due to his obstinate nature, those within his household—

"Lord Ganbee of Makiya"

had nicknamed him 'Lord Ganbee of Makiya,' but he also possessed a truly reasonable side that made him particularly popular among the younger retainers.

Several years prior, having been predeceased by his wife Onobu and left without children, he had taken in Naojirou—the second son of his younger brother Makiya Denbei who served as caretaker at the Edo residence—and raised him under close supervision with the intention of eventually having him succeed as heir.

Now, this Naojirou was no ordinary youth—a fair-complexioned handsome man who excelled at martial arts and distinguished himself in scholarship, but above all possessed a mind sharp enough to see through any scheme. Yet Kanbei, who sternly governed Fukuyama's 150,000-koku domain, always found himself spectacularly thrown by this nephew's maneuvers.

This time he wouldn’t be fooled!

He would think this each time, yet it never worked.

And then—just when he had thought there had been no painful incidents for some time—he found himself caught once more in the grand trap of “taking in Otake.”
Moreover... he was being asked to take a woman who had once been a geisha as his bride.

"What a thick-faced bastard!"

This time alone, Kanbei stood utterly dumbfounded.
Yet dumbfounded as he was, he never once uttered "I forbid it"—for there existed a reason. That reason shall be disclosed in due course.

On the 28th day of the New Year, Naojirou departed for Edo in attendance upon his lord Ise-no-kami.—At the moment of departure, Naojirou spoke but a single word:

“Honorable Uncle, I leave her in your care!”

Was all he said.
Kanbei—

“Very well—I’ll take her in. But mark this: should she commit even a single misstep while under my care, I’ll cut her down without hesitation. You had better understand that clearly.”

he said.

In Kanbei’s estimation, he had assumed that Naojirou—being young—was merely being led astray by the geisha’s sweet talk and caught up in a temporary infatuation.
The geisha had also set her sights on Naojirou being the Makiya family heir; no doubt her scheme was to somehow become the wife of the 700-koku chief retainer—therefore, Kanbei had concluded that by taking advantage of Naojirou’s one-year official duty in Edo, she could make all necessary arrangements during that time.

Otake resided in the tea room-style detached quarters of Naojirou’s residence at the western corner of the estate—a space whose front garden boasted an elegant Shijō-school arrangement of springs and stones. Separate from the central garden’s tea pavilion, Kanbei had designated this spot for his solitary tea rituals.

Two or three days after Naojirou’s departure found Kanbei fussing over his bonsai when Otake quietly emerged from those detached rooms,

“If I may be so bold, I humbly offer my assistance.”

“If I may be so bold, I humbly offer my assistance,” she said.
He saw her briskly roll up her sleeves and carry a water bucket—remaining silent while wondering what she intended to do—as she began carefully washing each bonsai pot one by one.

“Have you done such things before?”

“No—”

She shook her head modestly with a smile—an innocence about her that made it impossible to believe she had ever been a geisha.
Kanbei remained sullen,

“If you’re doing things you don’t want to do just to flatter me, cut it out! I detest hollow flattery.”

“Um, this pot here with the Shimpaku juniper planted in it—would that be what is referred to as white porcelain?”

Unperturbed by Kanbei’s raised voice, Otake quietly looked up and inquired.—Kanbei, still sullenly facing away,

“If you lump together white porcelain and celadon so carelessly, I can’t possibly respond. This is what’s called ‘Raozhou White’ among white porcelains—a rare treasure among Tang imports.”

“Raozhou White… Thank you for teaching me that.”

“Look at this one—it’s said to be a Ko-Bizen piece by Ryōshin. Compare them and you should see the difference—well?”

“Allow me to examine it.”

Otake received the maple bonsai pot from Kanbei’s hands and examined it closely.

“Even among white porcelains, the Raozhou piece possesses a more profoundly clear hue,” she observed.

“That’s what they call ‘Secret-White’ porcelain,” Kanbei replied.

“The densely textured surface and substantial heft to the touch also seem superior in Raozhou pieces,” she added humbly.

The sight of her ceaselessly caressing the pots’ surfaces with fingers as pale and slender as whitefish suggested this was no shallow flattery—before he knew it, Kanbei had been thoroughly drawn into her earnest appraisal.

“Come here—I’ll show you Satsuma celadon.”

“I humbly request your guidance.”

For a little over an hour after that, Kanbei enthusiastically accompanied Otake around every corner of the garden.

Four

“I’m too softhearted for my own good.”

That night, Kanbei was filled with regret.

"That woman put on such a convincing act of understanding pottery that I carelessly fell for it."
"With this approach, I’ll never grasp her true nature—from now on, I’ll proceed with utmost caution to avoid being deceived again."

He secretly made a firm resolution.

The next day, when Kanbei returned from the castle and descended into the garden, Otake approached from the small courtyard and—

“Welcome back, you must be weary.”

“...Hn.”

“I humbly offer this coarse tea—please do come in.”

With a bashful smile—she spoke; Kanbei followed silently behind her, lips pursed in displeasure.

The room held not a speck of dust—upon its impeccably tidy floor, vibrant reds and yellows of Japanese spindlewood burst forth from an antique rusted iron pot—a masterful display of skill.

“I humbly offer this meager fare.”

She prepares and serves the tea—upon looking, there are pickles arranged on the tray.

“This is pickles.”

“Yes…”

Kanbei said bitterly,

“Townsfolk may not know any better, but we samurai households don’t serve pickles with tea! Should others see this, it would shame Makiya—you ought to have at least that much sense!”

“I failed to notice such matters. I shall take greater care henceforth, so please grant me your pardon.”

“Given your efforts, you needn’t remove them today.”

While saying this, he picked up his chopsticks. The moment he put a piece in his mouth, Kanbei was astonished—it was extraordinarily delicious. Even during his wife’s lifetime, he had never once encountered pickles he found tasty—and particularly in recent years, he had held no interest whatsoever in pickled vegetables. Yet this single morsel utterly amazed his palate.

“Did you make this?”

“Yes, it was but a simple imitation…”

Kanbei changed the tea while forcing a stern, deliberate cough,

“But to change the subject—how exactly do you regard Naojirou?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Naojirou asked me to let him marry you.”

A flush of red spread across Otake’s cheeks.

“You may have realized this, but samurai households are strict in all matters of protocol. Recently, there are some who take brides from merchant families—though even that remains exceedingly rare—let alone someone like you, who once worked as a geisha. A formal marriage would be quite difficult to arrange. However… Not that it’s utterly impossible with divine intervention—but Naojirou is to succeed me. Should anything taint the lineage, I could never face our ancestors.”

“Do you mean to suggest the lineage would be tainted?”

“Given your former profession, it’s hard to believe your body has remained pure until now—that’s what I’m saying.”

“I am pure.”

Otake quietly raised her eyes. “From fourteen when I began serving in teahouses through six years—there were two or three unavoidable perilous occasions—yet I have kept this body immaculately preserved throughout. I beg you to believe me.”

“But there’s no evidence of this.”

Otake pursed her lips tightly, but—

“With all due respect,”

Placing her hands on her knees, she said, “Does Your Lordship harbor ambitions to poison our liege and seize the domain?”

“Wh-what are you saying?”

Kanbei was stunned by the sudden accusation. “Jokes have their limits! To claim that this Makiya Kanbei harbors treacherous intent—wh-where exactly do you suggest this lies?”

“Then—do you possess evidence to declare yourself free of treacherous intent?”

Otake replied in an unapologetic tone, “A woman’s chastity follows the same principle. Though I have no proof to show you of my purity, I find it grievous that suspicion falls upon me solely for having engaged in base work.”

“Enough already.”

Kanbei stared in surprise. “You’ve got quite the lawyerly tongue for such a pretty face. Well—truth will out soon enough. I’ll take you at your word until then... Hmph. Didn’t mean to linger.”

Setting down the tea bowl and rising—when he noticed, he found he had somehow finished every last pickle in the small dish.
Kanbei curtly,

“I’ll have you prepare pickles with the tea next time as well.”

With that abrupt remark, he left, looking somewhat sheepish.

He had intended to test her resolve but instead found himself countered with a single thrust—it was an utter defeat.
Even so, the sharpness of wit she displayed in that moment—responding flawlessly without a single opening—was something unbefitting a woman of geisha upbringing. Was it an innate perceptiveness from birth or a shrewd cunning honed through experience? First, he resolved to determine that.

Kanbei nodded to himself.

Five

It was a rainy afternoon.

From Otake’s room came the plucked notes of a shamisen accompanied by the subdued tones of an Ichikotsu-style song, lingering faintly in the air—curiously enough, it was the relaxed Kanbei who had been making her sing while drinking alone from his cup all this time.

Forced by Kanbei to take a few sips, Otake’s eyelids flushed faintly, her figure now exuding an indefinable coquettishness.

“Come now, have another drink.”

“I cannot have any more.”

Otake set down the shamisen. “My cheeks have grown so warm—allow me to pour for you instead.”

“Don’t refuse—drink. I’ve finally gotten pleasantly drunk for the first time in ages. Enough singing—come over here.”

“Yes.”

Obediently drawing her knees closer, Kanbei turned his drunken gaze toward her,

"Back when you were a geisha, they called you Kobue—right?"

"Yes, I kept my real name Otake as it was."

"Since you're this beautiful even when dressed so austerely in samurai fashion, you must have been truly resplendent back then.
Well... Turn more this way."

Blushing yet smiling without the slightest hesitation, Otake turned her face toward him.
Kanbei abruptly reached out and grasped the woman's supple wrist,

"No need for reserve. Come closer."

As he said this, he pulled her closer.
He expected resistance, but she—appearing almost pleased—drew her knees nearer, a warm skin fragrance rising to brush his nostrils. Suddenly Kanbei—

“Otake!”

—snapped sharply, “In this secluded chamber with none to see—sharing drink though I’m Naojirou’s uncle—to have you not just permit my grasping your hand but eagerly press closer... Is this how a woman who’s kept herself pure comports herself?”

Startled, Otake tried to pull back her wrist, but Kanbei forcefully shoved it away.
"You’ve shown your true colors after a few drinks—no excuses will save you now! What say you?!"
“————”

Otake placed both hands before her and remained motionless for a time with face downcast, but eventually raised her head quietly,

“I most humbly beg your pardon—”

“Since Your Lordship planned this trial from the beginning,” she said in a breath-constricted voice, “no words of mine now could possibly move you—yet permit me but one utterance.”

"I require no excuses."

“—If you would only deign to listen.”

Otake continued with her face downcast, “I believe Lord Naojirou may have informed you, but from the moment I was born, I never knew my parents’ faces. I was raised by a man called Matsuzou… who once served in a samurai residence.”
"My father served as a mounted guard for the Echizen family—though I don’t know the precise circumstances—but he was forced to commit seppuku after incurring his lord’s displeasure, and my mother took her own life alongside him. This I know only through Matsuzou’s accounts. Even after circumstances led me to descend into that base world, never—not for a single day nor half a moment—did I cease to think of my departed parents."

Otake, as if suppressing something rising within her, remained silent for a moment—

“I am a samurai’s daughter; I must not tarnish my father’s name—through every desperate moment, this alone I never forgot. Though I endured countless hardships for it, I have kept my virtue untainted.”

“On the day you took me in—when I met you in the garden… I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt as though you were my father, and that you would say, ‘You’ve kept yourself pure all this time—I’ll praise you for that…’ The thought made me choke back tears of joy before I knew it.”

…………

“Though I knew it imposed upon you when I interrupted your bonsai care, or when I begged your presence for coarse tea with homemade tidbits—it was all—though impertinent of me—because I secretly considered you my father. If only I could cling to your knee and, even just once... indulge myself before you as my Father.”

“That made me forget all restraint—without even recognizing the jest in your actions—I felt as though my true father had taken my hand—such overwhelming delight made me lose all sense of time and place—before I knew it—before I knew it……”

At those words, Otake finally could bear it no longer and suddenly collapsed there in tears.—Kanbei, who had at some point straightened his posture, sniffled and then hurriedly cleared his throat in an odd manner—

“Don’t cry. What fool would shed tears?”

He said in a conciliatory tone, “Don’t take a drunken joke seriously—it’s enough now, so stop crying. And if it’s not too much trouble, bring out those pickles again. Let me have another cup to clear the taste of the side dishes—I’ve sobered up completely.”

“Y-yes—”

As Kanbei gazed at Otake’s trembling shoulders—she who knelt sobbing with hands pressed to the floor—a softly sweet and warm affection, one he had never once felt since becoming aware of such things, swelled powerfully, powerfully within his chest.

—Once again, I’ve lost.

Kanbei muttered cheerfully to himself.

VI

“What?!”

Otake whirled around in astonishment.
At the moment when she had dimmed the light of the ariake andon and was about to change into her sleeping garments, the small side window was pulled open from outside, and a man suddenly leapt into the room.

“Who’s there? Who is it?!”

“Don’t make a sound. Stay quiet.”

The man lowered the hem he had tucked up and removed the cloth from his face,

“It’s me. Did I scare you?”

As he said this, he plopped down heavily.

"Oh! Mr. Dengiku!"

"So ya didn’t forget me after all, heh... I searched damn hard for ya, I tell ya."

A dark-complexioned man with a scar above his eyebrow and a vulgar gaze—in Fukuyama Castle Town, even among ruffian circles, the name "Scar Dengiku" was one that rang familiar. From the time Otake became a geisha, he had persistently followed her around and made advances.

“For three years I worked till my nails peeled for ya—made my world so small my buddies laughed at me—and in the end ya just vanished.”
“Heh!”
“What a joke—like a koi tryin’ to climb a waterfall!”

The man planted his knee forward. “But listen here, Kobue—I can’t just shut up an’ slink away in front o’ my buddies. Now I tracked ya down, ya gotta be my wife even if it’s just three damn days! You’d be better off as a proper wife to a rogue like me than some stiff samurai household’s kept woman—quit glarin’ like that an’ get over here.”

“Go home!!”

Otake swiftly stepped back and shouted.

“Whether you break your back or skin your fingers working for me—that was your own doing, none of my concern. Leave now and I’ll let it pass—otherwise, I’ll call for help.”

“Don’t go makin’ this interestin’ by callin’ someone!”

Dengiku sneered, “I wanna see the mug o’ the bastard who stole the woman I risked my life lovin’! Go on—call someone! I’ll declare right to his face—‘This here’s my woman!’ C’mon—call ’em!”

Shouting, he lunged to grab her; Otake narrowly dodged,

“Wh-what?!”

It occurred.
The instant—

“You’re disgraceful!”

While shouting, Kanbei—who had unexpectedly pushed open the veranda’s rain shutters—appeared gripping a large sword in his left hand.
Otake stood frozen in astonishment, unable to utter a word.

“Who the hell are you?”

Kanbei stepped in boldly.
Dengiku brazenly adjusted his sitting posture,
“I am Kobue’s husband.”
“What husband—?”
“If ‘husband’ don’t sit right with ya, let’s say ‘lover’ then—we’ve been livin’ as man and wife these three years now.”

“Lies! They’re lies!”

“This is merely someone who persistently followed me around despite my objections when I was working as a geisha. There exists no relationship whatsoever!”

“This ain’t no joke—you think spoutin’ that crap now’s gonna fly? In fact, sir—this ain’t the first night I’ve snuck into her bedroom. Truth is, through Kobue’s own arrangements, I’ve been comin’ to meet her every three days without fail!”

“How dare you spout such hollow lies!”

“You’re the brazen one here, ain’t ya? Well—guess you’ve grown sick of stickin’ with a broke bastard like me, so I figured I’d switch sides over here.”
“Shut up! Shut up!”

Kanbei bellowed, cutting him off.

“Otake, I believe you—but this matter won’t be settled by faith alone. You are soon to be wed to Naojirou.”
“Even if your accuser is gutter trash, merely claiming innocence won’t suffice for a samurai’s bride… Compose yourself and determine how you will proceed.”

“—Yes.”

Otake gazed steadily into Kanbei’s eyes.

Kanbei's heart ached fiercely. Since that day they drank together, he had come to feel as if he had gained a true daughter—in his old age, each day, seeing Otake had become his greatest pleasure. Yet if this accusation of impropriety by a rogue, even if false, left the truth unclear, she could not be taken as a bride into the household of a chief retainer.

“Well?!”

Though he had spoken harshly to Dengiku’s face, Kanbei’s heart burned with tenderness.

“I shall explain.”

Otake quietly answered, “I had long sworn never to speak of this matter, no matter what might occur—but as this concerns a woman’s most important matter in life, I shall bear the shame and speak.”

Dengiku held his breath, wondering what she would say.

Seven

“The proof that I have committed no impropriety lies in this: though Lord Naojirou and I have been acquainted for nearly half a year and even made marriage vows, we have yet to share a bed even once—that is—”

Otake broke off her words.
Both Kanbei and Dengiku listened intently, determined not to miss a word.

"The reason is—there lies a tumor beneath my right breast. Since childhood, I exhausted every physician and medicine within reach, yet none could cure it. Even coarse undergarments brushing against it stab me with pain, and it emits a stench I myself cannot endure—because of this, I have never once shared a bed with Lord Naojirou... much less with someone like this..."

“Hehehe... What’s all this? I thought it was somethin’ serious—”

Dengiku sneered scornfully,

“What’s this? Just some tumor? If that’s all ya got, no need to repeat yerself! We’re lovers who’d die for each other—what’s a stinkin’ tumor matter?”
“Sir—she’s makin’ it out like some big secret, but I’ve been tendin’ to that tumor of hers all this time—from applyin’ ointments to packin’ dressings and wrappin’ bandages.”

“That’s a lie! There’s no way you could have treated it when you shouldn’t even know about the tumor’s existence!”

“But I actually did take care of the damn thing, didn’t I?”

“No, it’s a lie! This secret hasn’t even been shown to Lord Naojirou—no matter what you say, it’s undeniably false!”

“Stubborn wench—after makin’ me clean up that stinkin’ pus, lyin’ now’s downright cruel! Why, I can see the damn thing right through your robes!”

Otake turned firmly toward Kanbei,

“Honorable Uncle—did you distinctly hear this man’s words just now?”

“And what do you intend to do about it?”

“—I beg your pardon.”

No sooner had she bowed slightly than she slipped her right hand into her sleeve and—with startling suddenness—smoothly shed one side of her kimono.
The blood-hued red silk lining fell away, revealing soft skin that might have been mistaken for snow.
From throat to chest flowed alluring curves culminating in firm, voluptuous breasts bearing nipples like plum buds—skin lustrous as damask silk, unmarred by even a mote of dust, blazing dazzlingly beneath the glow of the lingering-dawn lantern.

“Please behold this body I have dedicated to my lifelong husband—cherished so meticulously that not once have I permitted even a mosquito’s bite. There should be no tumor, nor even a pinprick’s wound. Honorable Uncle—are you now satisfied?”

“I’ve seen enough, you wretch—”

Kanbei shouted and grabbed his great sword at the same moment Dengiku leapt up like a locust.

“Halt!”

Kanbei shouted and stepped out; Dengiku darted—now!
He tripped but, carried by the momentum of his stumble, tumbled into the garden on his own. Kanbei stepped out onto the veranda and,

“You luck-addled fool—don’t wait for tomorrow, get out by tonight! If I lay eyes on you again, I’ll cut you down on sight—this imbecile!” he bellowed into the darkness—no, what a shock! Even the rogue Dengiku, terrified out of his wits, fled beyond the estate like a slung stone.

“Bravo! That was quick thinking.”

Kanbei returned to his seat in high spirits. “I was on edge wondering how this would turn out, but the way she maneuvered that retreat was masterful—truth be told, it nearly moved me to tears!”

“I am deeply ashamed.”

Having adjusted her collar, Otake—her ears dyed crimson with shame—set her hands there,

“Exposing my skin like an unseemly woman—I have no excuse to offer. I beg you to kindly forget this...”

“Naturally! Under ordinary circumstances this would be unthinkable—but when a woman must defend her virtue, a samurai hazards his very life! That scoundrel vanished like smoke in his panic—he’ll trouble us no more. A masterful stroke indeed!”

Kanbei narrowed his eyes in effusive praise.
Otake drew herself smaller still, awash in rising shame.

“I hereby consent to your taking Otake as your wife.”

Kanbei wrote a letter to his nephew in Edo: “I shall secure your parents’ consent before your return to the domain, and have planned the ceremony for next February.
“As for Otake—though you may have taken her in merely out of youthful passion—she is a woman without equal as your wife who will succeed the Chief Retainer position, a fact I have long since discerned—”

I must demonstrate my discernment, or my authority would carry no weight.

“Furthermore, you may fancy yourself the sole possessor of an exquisite wife, but that is merely a fool’s self-delusion.
I shall now disclose—(do not be startled)—that my late wife, your aunt Oshin, was none other than Yanagibashi’s renowned courtesan, whom I took as bride in my youth during my Edo posting, so smitten was I.
*Ahem*—have.”

Kanbei ran a hand smoothly over his forehead as if declaring “Well?”, then proceeded to seal the letter.

“However—with two generations of uncle and nephew taking geisha wives—we must draw the line here. Your child must never ever be allowed to follow suit…”

In the garden before them where dawn was breaking, a bush warbler began to sing.