Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Shigetsugu had gone out to Kawagoe for work, so he did not learn about the fire until the following evening. He had heard a little about it that same evening. Since Lord Kawagoe (Matsudaira Naoharu) was in residence at his castle, there had probably been an urgent report from his Edo estate—it was said that the fire had grown quite large. People raised in Edo were accustomed to fires, and since it was still early September, they didn’t pay it any particular mind. “September fires ain’t no big deal,” Shokichi said, “though there ain’t gonna be no big ones while I’m away anyway.”

Among the three who had accompanied him, twenty-year-old Shokichi was called a fire maniac. He too was a homegrown apprentice of Daidome who'd loved fires since age thirteen or fourteen—the moment he heard that fire bell clanging, off he'd dash. Though Daidome's shop stood in Kanda's Iwai-chō district, distance meant nothing to him; there was that time he raced clear past Senju Ōhashi Bridge and didn't come dragging back till near nine next morning. "If there's fires," he'd say, "carpenters eat—fires are a builder's guardian gods."

He had even been hit by Master Tomezo for saying such things.

The following afternoon, just as they had finished eating their lunch, the eighteen-year-old Kuro came rushing in. His real name was Kurōsuke, and though he wasn’t particularly dark-skinned, he had been called Kuro from the start. He had apparently come by relay palanquin and delivered Sukejirō’s message: “We need the Young Master to return immediately.” “How can I return in the middle of work?” Shigetsugu said. “What’s this about anyway?” Kuro spoke evasively.

Shigetsugu had come as his father Tomezo's representative. For the construction of a restaurant called "Naminote" in this area, Daidome had undertaken all aspects. Plasterers, roofers, and joiners had been called from Edo, and they were employing about fourteen or fifteen local craftsmen and day laborers as well. Of the three who had accompanied Shigetsugu, Dairoku had turned thirty-one and occupied a guardian-like role, but Shigetsugu couldn’t possibly dump all this work on Dairoku and return. Just as he was about to demand what this was all about, Shigetsugu suddenly remembered yesterday’s fire.

“Hey,” Shigetsugu said, “did our place burn down or something?”

Kuro nodded vaguely. "Did our place burn down?" Shigetsugu raised his voice. "Are Father and Mother safe?"

Kuro silently hung his head. Shigetsugu turned pale and looked at Dairoku. Dairoku stood up and came over. “Kuro,” Dairoku said, “what’s wrong? The master and his wife are safe, aren’t they?”

Then Kuro burst into tears.

Shigetsugu tried to lunge forward, and Dairoku barely managed to grab and hold him back. Kuro covered his face with his arms and began wailing like a child. Kuro’s sobs, echoing through the quiet construction site on an autumn midday, seemed to lay bare the gravity of the situation. Everyone was so overwhelmed that none could move immediately.

“Shokichi, I’m counting on you with the Young Master,” Dairoku said calmly. “Kuro, come here.” Dairoku led Kuro aside.

Shigetsugu sat down on the lumber in front of the wooden hut. His angular, robust face had lost its vigor as if in a daze, his eyes vacant as they gazed blankly at the white dry ground. The old man’s dead, Shigetsugu thought to himself. His father Tomezo had collapsed that April and had been alternating between bedridden states and brief periods of being up. Three doctors had said it was a very mild stroke and that he would surely make a full recovery by winter. Seeing the fire must have brought on the second attack.

He had known that intense physical exertion or mental strain could easily trigger a second attack. It must have been the second attack. His mother must have been so shocked, he thought. Though emotionally fragile, his strong-willed mother had been utterly shaken when her husband collapsed in April, and since then, she had become withdrawn and easily startled, as though she were a different person. When Shigetsugu had come to Kawagoe for work, the image of her looking utterly forlorn, fretting over what might happen while he was away, remained etched in his mind.

I have to go back. He should return for his mother’s sake too, Shigetsugu thought as Dairoku returned. “Young Master, I’ll go to Edo and come back,” Dairoku said. “No—it’s better if I go. You should stay here.”

“What do you mean?” “I don’t know the full details,” Dairoku said, looking Shigetsugu squarely in the eye, “but since it’s you, I’ll say it straight—the Master and his wife... they didn’t make it.” Shigetsugu stared blankly at Dairoku, then asked in a voice that seemed to have lost its tongue, “Mother too?” “There’s no way to put this,” Dairoku said, lowering his eyes. “That being the case, I think it’s best if this humble one handles matters there.” “I think the Young Master should leave that for later—”

Shigetsugu remained silent. Dairoku waited for a while, but Shigetsugu remained motionless. Dairoku called out, "Young Master."

Shigetsugu remained silent. "Young Master," Dairoku said, "you’ve got to pull yourself together—I’m at my wit’s end here." Then Shigetsugu suddenly raised his head and roared, "Shut up! You’re the one who needs to get a grip! If Father and Mother are dead, any slip-up in settling affairs will drag Daidome’s name through the mud. Don’t forget that—make damn sure you handle it right!"

“Right,” Dairoku said, bowing his head. Shigetsugu stood up and barked toward the craftsmen, “Let’s get to work!”

Dairoku went to Edo with Kuro and returned on the fifth day to report the details to Shigetsugu.

The fire broke out at 10 AM on September 7th. It originated from the Peony Tenements before Yushima Tenjin Shrine's back gate and, driven by a northwest wind, spread from Mikumi-cho to Kanda Myojin. Around that time, the wind strengthened ferociously. The flames swept through Kanda in one breath all the way to Nihonbashi while spreading eastward from Horie-cho and Koami-cho through both theater districts of Fukiya-cho to Bakuro-cho and Hamacho. There they leapt gaps—flying embers igniting Kumai-cho and Aikawa-cho in Fukagawa, burning even the first torii gate of Hachiman Shrine—until the entire area around Nakacho lay reduced to ashes. Being out of season, the fire had apparently grown massive; the number of casualties also seemed considerable. Having said that, Dairoku paused. He must have been uncertain how to broach what came next; Shigetsugu immediately discerned this.

“I’ll ask the questions—answer only what’s asked,” Shigetsugu said. “Did they die in the fire?” Dairoku answered, “Yes.” “Together?” Shigetsugu asked. “Or separately?” “They were together—the mistress was holding the Master as if embracing him.” “Enough,” Shigetsugu said, turning his face away. “Don’t ever speak of Father and Mother to me again.”

Dairoku nodded and said they had arranged to hold the funeral once Shigetsugu returned.

II

Dairoku then went to check on the situation in Edo three times and returned.

In the neighborhood, the Fukudaya pawnshop and money exchange had survived the flames. Kyūbee, master of Fukudaya, served in the goningumi neighborhood association; in both wealth and public esteem, he ranked among Kanda’s most prominent figures. The eldest son Toshikichi was twenty-three—the same age as Shigetsugu—with a seventeen-year-old sister named Oyū below him. Both had been childhood friends with Shigetsugu, their close relationship enduring to this day. The shop occupied a corner lot with three clay-walled storehouses, a canal embankment fronting it, and across the northern road lay a samurai residential compound. Perhaps the topography proved fortunate—only Fukudaya and a section of the neighboring town’s samurai compound remained unburned.

“Due to safety concerns across all this burned-out land,” Dairoku said, “the folks from out back are still staying with relatives in Mejiro—but they’ve already reopened the shop.” “Good,” Shigetsugu said. Daidome too had erected a hut on their scorched grounds.

In the fire, Tomezo and his wife died alongside two apprentices named Kurata and Ginji, but Kuro had gone to help at Sukejiro’s house and survived. Sukejiro commuted to manage Daidome’s accounts and was forty-five years old with three children by his wife Orok. The house stood in Okachimachi, Shitaya, where Kuro had apparently stayed to repair the kitchen entrance. ―Two regular craftsmen also perished in the flames, but others rushed over immediately and after consulting Washichi of Kiba began rebuilding Daidome.

Washichi’s predecessor was a man named Izumiya Shichibee, who had twice been saved from near bankruptcy at his Kiba lumber shop by the deceased Tomezo and remained deeply indebted for it throughout his life. The current Shichibee was his son and, likely motivated to carry on his father’s wishes, had come himself to declare, “I’ve arranged for lumber—I can supply as much as needed,” leading to the immediate decision to build a temporary shelter. On his third return, Dairoku reported that there were three construction orders and that Sukejirō had taken command, already assigning craftsmen and allocating lumber. Then he reported that in addition to Kuro, three apprentice craftsmen displaced by the fire were staying at the temporary shelter due to work commitments, and that they had hired a woman to look after them. Shigetsugu merely listened with noncommittal grunts, but Dairoku—scratching his head slightly—hesitated at that point.

“What is it?” Shigetsugu asked suspiciously. “Do you know a girl named Oritsu?” Dairoku said. “She lives in the back tenement of the charcoal shop—the mother used to come help at our place.” “I know,” Shigetsugu said. “The one we hired is that girl.”

Shigetsugu looked at Dairoku. “Wasn’t she supposed to be in service at some teahouse?” “She was at Amakawa in Namiki-cho,” Dairoku answered. “But turns out her mother perished in that fire too—left her completely lost.” “Oiku burned up too—” Shigetsugu gazed into the distance with hollow eyes. “Damn shame.” “So now she’s got no heart for teahouse work,” Dairoku continued, “says she wants to live decent-like where she was born—that she’ll cook and wash for everybody here.”

“Understood. If it’s Oritsu, then it should be fine.” “I thought the same myself, but...” Shigetsugu looked at Dairoku again. “—What aren’t you saying?” “Ain’t holdin’ nothin’ back,” Dairoku said, scratching his head once more. “Truth is, when I went this time—that girl’s been gatherin’ kids to care for ’em. Ones who lost family in the fire.” “So?” Shigetsugu pressed impatiently.

“So basically, one or two would be manageable, but there are twelve or thirteen now.” “No good,” Shigetsugu said, shaking his head. “That’s impossible. Drive them out.” Dairoku looked perplexed and said that wouldn’t do—the girl was making logical arguments and absolutely refused to comply. “She’s always been a meddlesome one,” Shigetsugu said. “Fine, leave it be. I’ll settle it when I get back.”

The construction work for Hatsune was completed at the beginning of October.

During this time, two men—Daii of Takanawa and Kenroku from Asakusa Abe River Town—came all the way to Kawagoe to offer their condolences. Ikichi of Daii had been a sworn brother to the late Tomezo, and since childhood, Shigetsugu had called him "Uncle Takanawa." Kenroku was a man who had emerged from Daidome, the most senior among the apprentice lineage, already nearing sixty. Both expressed condolences for Tomezo and his wife’s deaths and praised Shigetsugu for not abandoning the worksite. Then they proposed consulting about funeral arrangements and Daidome’s reconstruction. Shigetsugu had always been poor with words—anything he said came out as blunt as snapping a dry branch. Staying true to form even now, he thanked them for their condolences but flatly refused their offer to advise on reconstruction matters.

“I have no intention of holding a funeral anytime soon,” Shigetsugu said. “There’s no money for it—if there were any, I’d allocate it to work first.” “That’s precisely why I came to discuss this—if it’s about funds, I’ll take care of it no matter what.”

“No, I won’t hold a funeral for now,” Shigetsugu said stubbornly, shaking his head. “And when it comes to rebuilding Daidome, I mean to do it through my own skill. Just leave me to handle things my way.” Knowing Shigetsugu’s obstinate nature, the two men said they’d discuss it again in Edo later before taking their leave. Dairoku had listened to this exchange anxiously, but the moment they left, he erupted: “That was no way to speak to them!”

“It depends on who you’re dealing with. Takanawa and Abekawa-cho are practically family! For them to come all the way out to this backwater Kawagoe, saying they want to support you going forward—that’s not something to brush off lightly. And yet you—” “Shut up,” Shigetsugu cut him off. “I’ve got my own plans. Let me make this clear—from now on, keep your damn mouth shut about anything that ain’t work-related.” Dairoku silently lowered his head. “Got it?” Shigetsugu said.

“Understood,” Dairoku answered.

Once the construction work was fully completed, Shigetsugu returned to Edo with everyone.

The day ended in Itabashi, and as they descended from Hongōdai to Sotokanda, darkness had already fallen too thickly for any view; but from Yushima downward stretched an expanse of pitch-black terrain dotted only sparsely with lights—a scene of utter desolation. By the time they crossed Izumi Bridge and reached Iwai-cho, wherever their eyes turned lay nothing but fire-scorched ruins; even the houses sporadically erected along main thoroughfares stood as temporary shelters or structures of similarly crude make.

Daidome’s shop stood in its original location, but they had built it shifted toward the edge near Second Block, avoiding the ground reserved for proper construction. A crude temporary shelter fashioned from nailed planks stretched lengthwise, its entrance oriented toward Sakuma-cho; a paper lantern bearing "Daidome" cast bright light over the surrounding fire-scarred ruins. As the welcoming crowd at the entrance—forewarned by Matsuzō—competed in their greetings, Shigetsugu muttered softly under his breath.

“Father… Mother… I’ve returned now.”

III

The next morning, Shigetsugu was awakened by the children’s clamor. The long,narrow hut was divided into three sections. The eastern end served as Shigetsugu’s room, the western end as Oritsu’s quarters with a kitchen attached. The central area belonged to the craftsmen—a space of about twelve tatami mats where they’d held a drinking party the previous night, though no children had been visible then. Oritsu had merely carried drinks and dishes without ever settling into a seat, leaving no natural chance for conversation. Having thus forgotten entirely about the children, he jerked upright when their noise roused him, slamming open the shoji screen to roar, “Shut your traps!”

It was a plank-floored area, with thin mats spread out and bedding laid out for sleeping. The lattice-windowed shoji were bright; in one corner lay Kuro alone, his futon pulled over his head, while in the broad central space, over a dozen children were roughhousing atop bedding they’d thrown into disarray. At the loud shout and the sight of Shigetsugu, the children stopped their tussling and fell completely silent. “This isn’t a playground—keep it down!” Shigetsugu shouted again.

At that moment, Oritsu slid open the shoji screen across the way and appeared, wiping her hands on her apron. With a hand towel on her head and a work sash draped over her shoulders, she nodded to Shigetsugu before scolding the children. Shigetsugu looked at them. One appeared about thirteen years old, the youngest perhaps five; when he counted, there were twelve.

“I need to talk to you—come here,” Shigetsugu said to Oritsu, then turned toward Kuro and barked, “How long you gonna sleep, Kuro? Get up!”

Shokichi and Matsuzō were nowhere to be seen. They must have gone out carousing after last night’s drinking party. He thought Kurata and Ginji were missing too, but then remembered they’d burned to death—his chest tightened at the realization, and he looked away.

“I’m preparing breakfast right now,” Oritsu said, “but would after the meal be all right?”

Oritsu said, “Wouldn’t after breakfast be better?”

Shigetsugu nodded and closed the shoji screen. As he was changing clothes, Oritsu came in and, while folding the bedding, said that preparations had been made at the well. Shigetsugu went out to the back. What had once been an inner well now stood exposed to the outside because the house had burned down. The well curb was new, and the sink was new. He repositioned the filled water bucket, and as he used the bundled toothbrush, he thought this was where the kitchen’s earthen floor had been. Hurriedly shaking his head, he averted his eyes.

“Hey,” Shigetsugu told himself sharply, “don’t think about this again.” At the edge of the scorched ruins, Fukudaya stood visible. Though pine branches in its garden and sections of its black-painted fence bore char marks, both the two-story residence and three storehouses remained wholly intact. “Miraculous they survived,” Shigetsugu muttered under his breath. “I’ll catch up soon enough.” His room held a makeshift Buddhist altar where two urns wrapped in bleached cotton enshrined remains. Cheap but complete—candle stands, gong, incense holders, flower vases—all ritual implements were present. Yet Shigetsugu had cleared them all away. Oritsu arrived bearing offerings just then and eyed the bare altar suspiciously. “But these were brought by Genshin-ji’s head priest...”

“That was brought by the head priest of Genshin-ji, but...” Shigetsugu said, “Return them all.” Then he took the ritual offerings Oritsu was holding, placed them on the altar himself, and said, “From tomorrow on, I’ll handle this. Don’t touch the altar.” “I’ll bring your meal tray right away, Young Master.” Oritsu said, “It’s chaotic over there, so please have your meal here.” Shigetsugu sullenly nodded.

The children must have been told something by Oritsu; they were keeping quiet. When Shigetsugu was nearly finished with his meal, Shokichi and Matsuzō seemed to return; he heard them whispering with Kuro, then the three came to the other side of the shoji screen and offered their morning greetings. After sipping his tea, Shigetsugu immediately stood up and went outside.

After surveying the neighborhood, he crossed the moat and proceeded to Shirokane-cho, Honcho, and as far as Ishibashi before returning and stopping by Fukudaya. The shop was still closed; when he peered into the residential quarters, Toshikichi, the son, was sweeping the garden. “I just made a round of the area,” Shigetsugu said. “Every place I knew has been wiped out.”

“Did you go to Masuya at Ishibashi Bridge?” “Even the storehouse had burned down.” “Ōnoya was destroyed, Shin’ishimachi was destroyed,” Toshikichi said. “All my friends’ places burned down—only ours remained. It’s like I did something wrong... I can’t bear this shame.” And it seemed all his burned-out friends had evacuated, leaving only these two behind. He added that the others would not return.

“Are the aunts still in Mejiro?” Shigetsugu asked. “With everything being this dangerous around here,” came the reply. “Yeah.” Shigetsugu nodded, then hesitated before continuing. “Came to tell you—from now on, I’m starting fresh. Until Daidome’s fully rebuilt, I’m cutting all ties.” “That’s madness. Connections matter most when you’re down.”

“I want our dealings to be on equal terms,” Shigetsugu said. “Might be stubborn of me, but that’s just my nature. Can’t help it. I’m askin’ you.”

Toshikichi fell silent.

“Thanks for not mentioning my old man and my mother—” Shigetsugu said. He promptly left. Returning, he found children playing in the vacant lot behind the hut. They froze when they saw him. All play ceased. Their bodies stiffened as they stared fixedly at him. Fear and anxiety showed plainly on every face. Shigetsugu stopped to look at them. The older children averted their eyes and edged backward. As his gaze lingered, a boy of about five pulled a smaller girl close beside him. Forcing a smile that verged on tears,

He called out, “Master Carpenter Uncle.”

“Master Carpenter Uncle, this child is called A-chan.” The way he pulled the girl close looked almost defensive against some action from Shigetsugu, and that miserable forced smile—more pitiful than a tearful face—was nearly unbearable to look at directly.

He averted his eyes and moved around toward the entrance, where Oritsu was sweeping the front. "Welcome back," she said.

“Come here for a second.”

With that, Shigetsugu entered the house.

IV

In Shigetsugu’s room, Oritsu spoke.

“After a major fire,” Oritsu explained, “orphans get left behind—sometimes many, sometimes few.” “Those with relatives or country connections get taken there,” she continued, “while others get rounded up at relief shelters before being sent back to their old neighborhoods.” “Most times that settles things,” she said flatly, “but kids facing bad conditions or hating being charity cases end up street rats.” “The ones here now? Same story.” Her broom paused mid-sweep. “For those we could trace addresses—I went knocking on every damn door myself.” Her knuckles whitened around the broom handle. “Kids swore they’d die before going back.” A bitter laugh escaped her lips. “And half those neighborhoods? ‘Keep your brats!’ they told me.”

While listening to her explanation, Shigetsugu observed Oritsu’s demeanor.

She was eighteen. Her father Heiraku had been a plasterer’s day laborer, but when Oritsu was seven, he fell from a ladder at a worksite, injured his spine, and remained bedridden for eight full years before dying. During that time, her mother Oiku did everything she could to earn a living. It was said she had even taken on day labor, and after Heiraku’s death, she too became completely weakened. Shigetsugu’s mother heard about this and hired her to help with kitchen work—but just before that, Oritsu had been working at a teahouse. Medical expenses had piled up until ordinary side jobs couldn’t cover them anymore—so she became a live-in worker at Amakawa, a sizable restaurant-teahouse in Asakusa Namiki-cho. Shigetsugu had known Oritsu since long before. As a child she’d been small and thin-framed with sallow skin and large eyes. Fiercely competitive beyond what was common for girls her age, she often wrestled with boys—and usually won. Even when she lost, she never cried—just clenched her teeth while tears streamed down her face.

—The hellion from behind the charcoal shop. That's what the neighborhood boys used to tease her as. However, she often protected weaker children and those from poor families and looked after them, so the neighborhood parents spoke well of her.

――She’s become quite womanly.

Shigetsugu thought. At eighteen years old, Oritsu now appeared about two years older than her age. Her petite frame, sallow complexion, and large eyes remained unchanged from childhood, yet her whole form now revealed soft curves and luster, while an effortless grace in her movements and a vivid sensuality about her eyes could be perceived. "Oh," Oritsu suddenly said. "Haven't you been listening?" Shigetsugu averted his gaze as he replied, "I heard."

“I get why you’re saying this, but it’s impossible,” he continued bluntly. “I’m stripped bare as it is, and just rebuilding Daidome has me stretched thin. You’ve never raised kids yourself—there’s no way you can handle raising that many.” “But they don’t require that much effort! We’ve managed this far, haven’t we?” “Up until now, maybe,” Shigetsugu cut in, “but from here on out, the numbers’ll grow. Even just lookin’ after me and the craftsmen—you ain’t gonna manage alone.”

“Then what should we do?” “Dunno—tell the town bigwigs ’bout it. They’ll sort it,” Shigetsugu snapped sullenly. “That’s the authorities’ damn job. Why d’ya think we’re coughin’ up steep taxes?”

Oritsu bit her lip. “I understand,” Oritsu eventually said. “Then I’ll do that, but will you wait until the matter is settled?”

“Okay,” Shigetsugu nodded. Oritsu stood up, tried to say something, but closed her mouth.

“What?” Shigetsugu asked.

“It’s nothing.” Oritsu shook her head and turned away as she left.

For the next four or five days, Shigetsugu was occupied with establishing work procedures. He visited Washichi in Kiba with Dairoku and made the rounds of the construction sites. One was a sake wholesaler below Kanda Myojin Shrine, another was a kimono fabric store in Iwatsuki-cho, and the third was a restaurant-teahouse called Uoman in Nihonbashi Yoshikawa-cho—these were handled by Minohachi and Fujizō. Both were Daidome’s top craftsmen, and the carpenters they employed had long been under Daidome’s influence.—However, plasterers, roofers, joiners—with so much work after a major fire—wouldn’t budge unless you hammered them with silver. He knew that even what came in from the Kawagoe job and deposits from contracted projects would soon run dry.

“What should we do?” Sukejirō from the accounts office asked twice. “I’d like to make arrangements now—shouldn’t we go to Takanawa?” “Takanawa’s out, and so’s Abekawachō,” Shigetsugu said, shaking his head. “I’ll handle it myself.” Dairoku, standing nearby, asked, “Handle it how?” “Just watch—you won’t get dragged into this.”

One day, that Ikichi from Takanawa arrived together with Kenroku from Abekawa-cho. Just before dinner, when Shigetsugu returned from the bath, he found Dairoku and Sukejirō dealing with the two visitors. While greeting the two visitors, Shigetsugu said to Dairoku and Sukejirō, who were about to stand up, “You two stay,” and the two sat back down. “Since I’m the senior member here, I’ll speak first,” Ikichi from Takanawa cut in. “We do have matters about work to discuss, but let’s set those aside for now. First, we need to talk about holding a funeral for the deceased.”

“That was settled in Kawagoe,” Shigetsugu cut in. “I hate belaboring things, but I’ll say it again—no funeral for now. Quit badgering me about this.” “That don’t wash,” Ikichi said. “I know your stubborn hide—you’ve likely got some scheme tucked away—but the world’s got its own rules. Even if you tell people to butt out, they can’t just up and vanish! You ain’t squaring your debts to society like this.”

And he tried to explain about Daidome’s relationship with their group and the dealings between fellow master carpenters. But Shigetsugu cut him off again: “I don’t want to hear that.” “Since I’m the one making this request,” Shigetsugu said, “you and Abekawa-cho needn’t agonize over social obligations. If anyone in town dares gossip behind my back, tell them plainly—I couldn’t care less about playing the good boy.”

Kenroku restrained Ikichi. Ikichi's complexion changed. Sukejirō and Dairoku, startled, began to admonish Shigetsugu, but he instead turned to them and declared: "Remember what I just said—we ain't relyin' on nobody. We'll rebuild Daidome with these hands of ours. Just us alone. Got that?"

Five Dairoku and Sukejirō looked at a loss and silently bowed their heads. "If that’s how it is, we’ll withdraw," Kenroku said. "But Mr. Shigetsugu—the thirty-fifth-day memorial’s coming up soon. You’ll at least hold the service, won’t you? You’ll let us know when you do?" "No—I ain’t holdin’ any memorial service either." "No service either?" Ikichi said. "Then what about"—he jerked his chin toward the altar—"the remains? What’ll you do with ’em?"

“They’ll stay right here,” Shigetsugu answered. “Entrustin’ ’em to a temple’d just bleed money—sutra fees and whatnot. The priest at Genshinji keeps a mistress and guzzles booze with meat every night. Most monks’re like that these days. Havin’ some drunkard chant sutras won’t comfort the dead one bit. I ain’t payin’ for his whore’s allowance and liquor. The remains stay put for now.”

Ikichi stood up without saying a word.

Dairoku and Sukejirō escorted the two visitors outside. They had likely gone to offer apologies—Shigetsugu called Oritsu and said, “Fix dinner.” Oritsu looked like she had been crying—the edges of her eyes and tip of her nose were red. Dairoku and Sukejirō returned but neither spoke—they simply exchanged greetings and went back to their respective homes.

The very next day, Shigetsugu went out to Washichi in Kiba. When he had returned from Kawagoe and visited earlier, he had requested the money. Dairoku probably didn’t notice, but he had put up the over-300-tsubo plot he owned in Iwaicho as collateral. Washichi refused both collateral and a written pledge yet agreed to secure the funds without fail. When he went there, the promised money had been prepared, and Shigetsugu received it by mortgaging the property in exchange for the deed. Washichi said he couldn’t accept such collateral, but Shigetsugu insisted he wouldn’t borrow the money otherwise until finally Washichi relented.

After returning to Iwaicho, Shigetsugu handed the money to Sukejirō and was waiting for Dairoku when Fukudaya Kyūbee and Kansuke, the neighborhood head, arrived escorting a townsman constable named Nakajima Ichizō.—Kyūbee first expressed condolences for their loss, introduced the constable, then came straight to the point. In short, they asserted that keeping so many orphans was unlawful. There were established procedures for disaster orphans; it was improper for an individual to gather and support such numbers privately. They must either return them to their original neighborhoods or hand them over to the authorities. They argued that maintaining this situation would offend official sensibilities and burden the neighborhood. At that moment, Oritsu rushed forward and said, “I’ll explain this.” However, Shigetsugu pushed Oritsu aside.

“I understand what you’ve stated,” Shigetsugu said to Kyūbee. “I had intended to do the same, but now you mention it’s causing trouble for the neighborhood—what exactly do you mean by that?” “To put it bluntly, the children are too ill-behaved,” Kyūbee said. “I’ve seen it myself many times—the ones here are troublemakers. They hit children who’ve done nothing wrong, destroy others’ fences, throw stones into houses, steal from shopfronts. Complaints about such things never stop.”

“That’s not true—no, that’s wrong!” Oritsu retorted, “I’m not saying every child here’s perfect, but if those neighborhood brats would just quit teasing them, they’d never do such bad things.” “The neighborhood kids are teasing them?”

“I make those children play in the vacant lot out back and try to keep them from going elsewhere, but the neighborhood children come over calling them stray dogs, parentless brats, thieves—hurling insults and throwing things without letup.” “So—” Constable Nakajima pressed, “you’re saying this neighborhood’s at fault here?” “I’m from this neighborhood,” Oritsu answered. “I was born here and raised here. People have changed plenty since the fire, but everyone who’s lived here from the old days knows me. So I’ve not a speck of desire to speak ill of this place. Besides—children seeing outsiders and itching to tease or bully them—that’s no different anywhere, right? I’m not saying our neighborhood kids are bad. It’s just—” She faltered briefly before pressing on, “The children under my care—wherever they were sent before, they got treated like nuisances or worked like slaves—things they couldn’t stomach. Everywhere they went—taunted as parentless brats, thieves, stray dogs—bullied without mercy. I lost my mother in the fire too—no parents, no siblings, no kin. That’s why I know exactly how those children feel. What they crave more than anything is human kindness—that’s their only lifeline. So why’d they go doing things to make people hate them?”

Everyone fell silent for a moment. "I get what you're saying," Kyūbee said, "but these incidents happen because you're keeping the children here. You should just follow the authorities' instructions." "I have a question for you, sir," Shigetsugu interjected, cutting off Kyūbee as he addressed Nakajima Ichizō. "Is raising those children here actually prohibited?"

“There’s no legal prohibition,” Nakajima answered. “But there’s no precedent either. To care for over ten children, you’d need both sufficient capability and adequate conditions in place.”

“What do you mean by ‘conditions’?”

“Whether there’s adequate space for them to live, whether you can sufficiently provide food and clothing without shortages, and whether you can properly discipline them.” “We’re carpenters,” Shigetsugu said. “If space gets tight, we’ll build extensions. We can’t live like the rich, but we’ll manage what’s ordinary by society’s standards.” Oritsu glanced at Shigetsugu, her cheeks flushing red. “I’ll look after them.” “Impossible,” Nakajima said, shaking his head. “You’ve got to feed and clothe over a dozen children—plus discipline them—and you’ve still got your own work here.”

"But we’ve managed this far."

“It’s impossible. There’s no way you can keep this up forever. It’s impossible.”

Then a girl came in from outside and said, “I’ll help.” Everyone looked that way, and Kyūbee’s eyes widened. “Oyū, what are you saying?”

It was Fukudaya Kyūbee’s daughter—Toshikichi’s younger sister, Oyū. Though a year younger than Oritsu, she had a headstrong temperament and refined elegance unbefitting her merchant family upbringing, making her a girl who’d stood out in the neighborhood since long before.

Six “I’m free all day long, so I’ll come here during daylight hours,” Oyū pressed on without heeding her father. “If that still isn’t enough, I’ve got maids to spare. Though it might sound like bragging, I can at least teach reading and writing.”

Neighborhood head Kansuke, who had been standing off to the side, looked as if he might give a gruff acknowledgment. “No,” Shigetsugu shook his head. “No need for you to do that, Oyū. If we’re short on hands, I’ll hire someone myself.” “Do you think I’m trying to make you owe me?” Oyū looked up at Shigetsugu. “I’m doing this to atone.” “Oyū,” Kyūbee said.

“Our house was the only one left unburned in this neighborhood—just the fence got scorched a bit, but the whole building stayed standing and everyone was safe. Plus Father serves as a town official. Properly speaking, taking in those children should’ve fallen to us from the start.” Oritsu’s eyes narrowed sharply. Shigetsugu began to speak, but Constable Nakajima cut in first with a “Fukudaya,” fixing his gaze on Kyūbee. “Once that girl gets an idea lodged, there’s no prying it loose,” Kyūbee said. “If this arrangement suits, I suppose letting my daughter assist might be permissible.”

“I’ll tentatively consult with the department in charge,” Nakajima said. “In any case, make sure the household registry is properly organized. If approved, I’ll try to arrange for an allowance.”

“Oyū-san,” Kansuke spoke up for the first time, “that was commendable.” And everyone left, leaving only Oyū behind. Oritsu whirled around and hurried off toward the kitchen, while Oyū offered her condolences to Shigetsugu. Unwilling to hear that, Shigetsugu deflected by asking, “When did you get back here?” At that moment, Oritsu came back and reported that five children had run away.

“They ran away?” Shigetsugu turned around. “They heard what was being discussed just now, didn’t they?” Oritsu stammered out. “They must’ve caught part of it and thought they’d be dragged back—the five of them ran off a short while ago.”

Shigetsugu rushed to the back. Oritsu followed, and Oyū came up as well. When they went to check, eight children were huddled close together outside the kitchen door, standing with fearful expressions. The child who had once called out to Shigetsugu was holding the girl named Acchan close in the same way as before. "Is it true five ran away?" Shigetsugu asked. "Aren’t they just hiding somewhere?" Then the oldest child, about eleven or twelve years old, answered, "They ran away."

“Jippei and Tada told everyone to run away. They’d both stolen things before, so they got scared,” the child said. “—I tried to stop them, but three ended up going along.” Shigetsugu nodded and said, “You can all stay here—the officials have permitted it, and we’ll get along from now on. This is Oyū-san—she’ll help look after everyone.”

“Hello,” Oyū smiled, “you can all call me Sis.” “Sis,” little Acchan immediately called out, flushing red as she hid her face. The corners of Oritsu’s eyes lifted again, her lips tightening into a thin line.

Because Dairoku had come, Shigetsugu went out to inspect the construction site. He asked Oritsu and Oyū to prepare the household registry, but he was troubled by Oritsu’s angry face lingering in his mind all day.

That night—after dinner—Shigetsugu spoke with the children for the first time. While looking at the household registry Oyū had prepared, he called each child by name one by one, avoiding any mention of the fire, and talked about how they would manage to get by from now on. His speech was clumsy and bluntly delivered, but his feelings managed to get through to the children. Kikuji, 11 years old, Shirakabe-chō Roku, 9 years old, Aioi-chō

Jūkichi، 9 years old، Same Town Daiji District

Mata, 8 years old, Toshima-chō

Ume, 8 years old, Sakuma-chō Denji, 7 years old, Ryūkan-chō Ichi, 6 years old, Oshoro-san's rear Atsu, 4 years old, Same location The household registry was written as above, and Oritsu said she had tentatively confirmed the addresses. Among the five who had run away were those who had falsified their addresses or refused to state them clearly, but those who remained were being truthful. Shigetsugu didn’t understand what "Oshoro-san’s rear" referred to. Oritsu didn’t grasp it either—Ichi only remembered that much, and though Acchan seemed to be from the same neighborhood, she would only say “same place.” But piecing together their vague memories gave them the impression it lay across the Ōkawa River, Oritsu explained.

“Then I should take them there once,” Shigetsugu said. “That way they might remember something, and perhaps there are survivors.” Oritsu shook her head vehemently and silenced him with a meaningful glance. Shigetsugu floundered into silence, then stood up and said, “Let’s go to bed for tonight.” Shigetsugu began playing shogi with Kuro in his room. Shokichi and Matsuzō had gone out to play after dinner, and Kuro, having been left behind, was sulking heavily. Kuro clearly had no motivation to play shogi and kept making foolish moves, so Shigetsugu flung down a piece and barked, “Go to bed!” Shortly after Kuro left, Oritsu brought tea and sweets and talked about Ichi and Acchan. The two were afraid of their own home situation—they wouldn’t say why, but even asking about their original homes made them look frightened. Shigetsugu frowned and grunted lowly, “Unh.”

“The other children don’t want to talk about their old neighborhoods either.” “It seems they’ve been through quite a lot, and recalling it must be unpleasant for them—so please don’t bring up such topics,” Oritsu said.

Shigetsugu nodded. Oritsu brewed tea, removed the lid of the sweet jar and offered them while starting to say, “And then—” before falling silent. Shigetsugu sipped his tea while looking at Oritsu.

“What?” Shigetsugu asked.

“I wanted to say thank you,” Oritsu said, looking down. “When I heard you’d let the children stay, I was so happy.”

“I get it,” Shigetsugu cut her off brusquely. “Don’t you have something else to talk about?”

Oritsu raised her eyes and looked at Shigetsugu.

“That all?” Shigetsugu said.

7 Oritsu asked in return, “Are you talking about Oyū-san?” Seeing that Shigetsugu remained silent, she shook her head decisively. “Setting aside other matters,” Oritsu said, “I’m illiterate and don’t know much about etiquette, so I want Oyū-san to handle that.” “That’s true,” Shigetsugu pressed.

“It’s true.”

“Then that’s fine,” Shigetsugu nodded. “—If it doesn’t work out, say so.” From the moment they’d met, This one’s trouble, he’d thought. Oyū had carried herself casually enough, but resentment and jealousy lay plain on Oritsu’s face. Their stubbornness matched blow for blow, but the gulf in upbringing and learning left Oritsu nursing an inferiority complex—no wonder it stoked her bitterness. Especially after thirty-odd days of fumbling through childcare, just when the children were warming to her. She probably feared Oyū would snatch them away any moment. Not that it’ll last, he’d figured—yet days passed without incident. Shigetsugu kept daytime hours at worksites save two monthly rest days, leaving no chance to cross paths with Oyū. But through Oritsu’s nightly reports, he pieced together each day’s events. Her accounts revolved around Oyū—always praising, always marveling.

“I want Oyū-san to teach me characters,” Oritsu said one night. “I mean to start with the children tomorrow.”

Shigetsugu looked at Oritsu incredulously. "That education is crucial for people—I’ve come to truly believe that." Oritsu met Shigetsugu’s gaze and said, "You know about Chīsakobe, don’t you, Young Master?" "What’s that?" "Chīsakobe—you know about that, right?"

Shigetsugu silently shook his head. “Lies!” Oritsu said. “Come on, there was someone who gathered a bunch of children from other families during the time of some emperor from way back when, right?” “What about it?” “That’s Chīsakobe—you do know about that, right?” “Why’s that Chīsakobe?” “The Emperor ordered, ‘Bring me silkworms,’ but since it’s the Emperor, he omitted the honorific and just said ‘ko.’ He wanted silkworms—‘kaiko’—so when he said ‘Gather ko,’ that person went and rounded up a whole bunch of other folks’ kids. Then the Emperor laughed and gave him the name ‘Sugaru of Chīsakobe.’ That’s how it went, right?” Oritsu said. “That’s why Oyū-san says this house is like Chīsakobe too—that we might as well call it the Chīsako Room. When someone can pull out stories from ancient times just like that—well, I realized you really do need education after all.”

“Knowing kana’s fine,” Shigetsugu said, “but they don’t need book learning.” “Oh? Are reading and writing different from academic learning?”

“Someone’s cryin’,” Shigetsugu said. “Ain’t that Atsubou?”

Oritsu tilted her head and said, “That’s so like Atsubou,” as she stood up.

In mid-November, they expanded Daidome. The need arose from two additional live-in carpenters joining their workforce, but even without that, having the craftsmen share space with the children would have been inconvenient for both groups. They slightly enlarged both Oritsu’s kitchen and the 4.5-mat room, converted the children’s quarters to twelve mats, built two six-mat rooms for the carpenters, and expanded Shigetsugu’s room at the far end to eight mats. These additions formed a single row with a narrow engawa veranda running along the southern side. Dairoku and Sukejirō proposed, “Why not rebuild properly?” but Shigetsugu dismissed them. As if awaiting this expansion’s completion, two children who’d been lured away by Jippei—Tomi and Kōji—returned. Nine-year-old Tomi and eight-year-old Kōji appeared like street urchins, their bodies caked in filth and crawling with lice. After nightfall, Oritsu discovered them lingering in a vacant lot; when she called out in surprise, they threw themselves at her weeping, “We’re sorry!”

“I just lashed out without thinking,” Oritsu said to Shigetsugu. “I smacked their butts—whap-whap—and… I don’t know, it was this mix of being happy and frustrated. Before I knew it, I just snapped.”

Shigetsugu nodded.

“My bad,” Oritsu said softly while looking at Shigetsugu. “We’ve got more troublemakers now.” “Good thing we expanded,” Shigetsugu said. “For now, be careful with their food—if you suddenly stuff starving people full, it’ll wreck their bodies, they say.” “Yeah.” Oritsu nodded. “Both of them have limbs like bamboo stakes, their bellies all swollen like frogs.” “Bamboo stakes, huh?”

Oritsu immediately noticed and laughed sheepishly, “Oh! Maybe burnt-out stakes?” “Gotta ask,” Shigetsugu said, eyeing her. “You an’ Miss Oyū gettin’ along?” She smiled. “I’m halfway through learnin’ the iroha already. Why’d you ask?”

“The other day at dinner—couldn’t catch it clear—but one of ’em was mouthin’ off at you. Somethin’ like ‘Who needs Oritsu when we got Miss Oyū here.’ That’s what I heard.” “Shigekichi, right?” Oritsu said flatly, “Kids just blurt stuff like that out quick, don’t they? Happens constant—but they ain’t meanin’ it from their guts.”

“That’s good,” Shigetsugu nodded. “Long as you get that.”

Oritsu started to rise but settled back down, lowering her voice to say, “Hey.”

“There’s something troubling me.” Shigetsugu waited silently for her to continue. “I don’t want to say this...” “Oyū-san?”

Oritsu shook her head vehemently and said, “It’s about Kikuji.” Shigetsugu looked at Oritsu with a puzzled expression. She turned red and explained that the boy named Kikuji had been making lewd gestures. When she did laundry, he would stare from across the way, and when she hung the wash, he’d look at places like under her arms. Sometimes early in the morning while she was changing clothes, he’d suddenly slide open the shoji screen with a “Good morning”—in any case, he was always watching her from somewhere, his gaze lacking any childlike innocence and instead resembling the lecherous stare of an adult—or so she explained.

“Kikuji’s the biggest kid, huh?” Shigetsugu asked. “How old is he again?”

“He says he’s eleven, but I think he’s really twelve or thirteen.”

Eight. “He says twelve or thirteen.”

“When you hear his story, it makes sense—he knew about the Ox-year fire and talked about escaping with his mom then. That fire was five years back, right? He once let it slip he was eight at the time.” “Hmm,” Shigetsugu sighed. “What kinda life was his family livin’?” “All I’ve heard’s his mom had been sick for years. He won’t say another word about anything else.”

“If that’s true,” Shigetsugu fell silent there, thought for a short while, then raised his eyes and continued, “If he’s twelve or thirteen, you’re the one who’s gotta be careful.” Oritsu looked at him with puzzled eyes.

“I—I’ve got shameful memories too,” Shigetsugu stammered, “Can’t make sense of it myself—why I’d feel that way. Get all flustered and ashamed of my own damn self. Women’s bodies just… catch my eye strange-like. Don’t mean a thing by it, but when I run into some married woman doing laundry all sloppy-like, or a girl bathing behind nothing but wooden planks, or some woman stripped down to her underclothes washing her hair—same as that Kikuji kid—I can’t help staring. Later I think I’m some filthy bastard, feel so ashamed I wanna die. But in the moment… can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I—” Oritsu averted her even redder face and said, “I don’t do laundry in some sloppy getup like that.” “It’s not about you—I’m talkin’ ’bout the kids,” Shigetsugu said. “Kids hit that age. Some might not notice it themselves, but most gotta remember goin’ through it. Thing is—they ain’t got no dirty thoughts in ’em. It just happens natural-like, no control over it. The dirty-minded ones are the adults—projectin’ their own filth onto how kids look at things.”

“So you’re saying I’m the indecent one?” Oritsu’s eyes widened sharply. “I said I’m talkin’ ’bout the kids!” Shigetsugu cut in roughly. “Ain’t about you goin’ on ’bout yourself—they’re at that tricky age where we gotta watch out for ’em. Don’t you get it?” Oritsu flinched back. The combination of his shouted “Don’t you get it?” and Shigetsugu’s flushed face made her seem to brace for a physical blow. Shigetsugu, startled in turn by Oritsu’s defensive movement, averted his face with a gruff, “Enough.”

“Ah! That startled me!” Oritsu said, “That’s a scary voice—I thought you were gonna hit me.” “Quit your yappin’.”

“When I was little, I got hit, you know.” “Don’t talk nonsense—no matter how rotten I get, I ain’t hittin’ no girl.” “I was hit when I was seven—I still remember it clear as day.” Oritsu said teasingly, “Right in front of the tofu shop in the side street—you suddenly went smack and slapped my cheek, didn’t you?” “If you were seven, then I’d have been twelve—hittin’ a girl at that age—” At that point, Shigetsugu trailed off.

“Right?” Oritsu laughed with her eyes. “You remembered, didn’t you?”

He remembered. Whenever he spotted her, Oritsu would tease him—though he’d forgotten what she’d said—but being mocked time and again led him to once grab and strike her. That's right—back then she had shed tears, Shigetsugu thought. Without resisting, she looked this way with her large eyes, tears streaming down from them. “That was,” Shigetsugu said awkwardly, “that was your fault—you kept mocking me every time you saw my face.”

“I remember,” Oritsu said. “I had feelings for you—for the Young Master. So I must’ve started saying mean things to get your attention. That’s why I never teased you again after that, right?”

“Kids’re tricky creatures,” Shigetsugu said. “Suppose so,” Oritsu replied. “I’ll keep an eye on Kikuji too.”

On the fifteenth day's holiday of that month, Shigetsugu took the children on an outing to Dōkanyama. Oritsu and Oyū prepared rice balls, nori rolls, and tiered lunch boxes filled with side dishes. With the one-way distance being nearly six kilometers, Kuro accompanied them too—when younger children like Atchan, Ichi, and Den grew tired along the way, Shigetsugu and Kuro carried them on their backs. Kuro sulked throughout both legs of the journey, being at that age where he wanted to play with his senior apprentices.—It was then that Shigetsugu first properly observed how Oyū interacted with the children. Their attitude toward Oyū differed completely from how they treated Oritsu. They seemed to regard Oyū's elegant appearance, beauty, and intelligence with a mixture of reverence and yearning that bordered on intimidation. Though they might talk back to Oritsu, they obeyed Oyū without question—when she scolded them for mischief, they stopped immediately. They keenly read Oyū's expressions to gauge when they could act spoiled or playful, or when they should suddenly quiet down. Though Oyū rarely reprimanded them outright, even her silence carried an edge that made the children mind their manners. Yet among them all, only Kikuji refused to leave Oritsu's side. Even when the others crowded around Oyū making noise, he lingered near Oritsu trying to make himself useful. When Oritsu irritably shooed him away, he would retreat from her immediate vicinity—but never let his gaze leave her.

If mishandled, this could lead to trouble, Shigetsugu thought. Kikuji seemed to be earnestly devoted—as long as that affection wasn’t rejected and guided properly, there’d be no issue at all. But if Oritsu were to feel he was being "disgusting" and take a rejecting attitude, Kikuji might wound himself—or in some cases even turn self-destructive. It was complicated and precarious, Shigetsugu thought.

When leaving, Shigetsugu suggested to Oyū that she take a palanquin. However, Oyū smiled and declined, walking back to Kanda together with them.

That night, one of the construction sites burned down in a fire.

Nine What burned down was Uoman in Nihonbashi Yoshikawacho—the restaurant whose construction had been nearly completed was now completely reduced to ashes. This was a significant blow for Daidome. Not only because it was a restaurant but also due to both the clientele and owner Manbei’s preferences, high-quality materials had been used throughout—from the woodwork down to every last detail. It had been completely reduced to ashes. If it had been completed and handed over, that would have been one thing—but since it was still in their hands, Daidome had to bear the damages. As for payments to roofers, plasterers, joiners, and others—it was Daidome that had to pay them all.

The overseer there was Fujizō, and while inspecting the burned ruins alongside Shigetsugu and the others, he had worked himself into a panic, muttering, “What do we do?” “It’s fortunate it was a spreading fire,” Shigetsugu said. “If it’d been our own fault, we’d have had our hands bound behind our backs.”

And then he visited Uoman. This was the temporary shelter across the street, which had fortunately remained unburned, but Shigetsugu met with Manbei and declared they would immediately commence reconstruction. Dairoku and Sukejirō, standing beside Fujizō, looked at Shigetsugu with startled expressions, while Manbei—also seeming taken aback—began to say it might be unreasonable, but Shigetsugu declared plainly that they would manage it. “However, I must ask one thing,” Shigetsugu continued. “To be honest, we’ve been stretched to our limits until now and haven’t had the capacity to properly inspect materials. Let’s agree that once Daidome recovers, we’ll redo the construction properly—so even if there are aspects you’re not satisfied with this time, please turn a blind eye.”

“Of course that’s acceptable on my part,” Manbei said, still sounding unconvinced, “but isn’t this truly impossible?”

Shigetsugu did not answer that and said, “Please.” On the way home, Dairoku and the others were whispering among themselves, but upon returning, the three of them cut straight to saying, “We need to talk.” Shigetsugu didn’t need to hear—he told them not to say anything unnecessary. However, the three men took turns insisting that reconstruction was impossible. Our side had been hit by the fire, and Uoman was well aware of those circumstances. In this situation, it would be better to return the deposit and apologize. They said that was the proper course.

“Would Father have done the same?” Shigetsugu challenged them. “But,” Dairoku countered, “this isn’t the Master’s time anymore. The Master’s gone, and you’ve cut ties with Takanawa, Abekawacho—even our fellow carpenters. With only Washichi from Kiba to help, you think we can work miracles like in the Master’s day?” “I ain’t talkin’ miracles,” Shigetsugu fired back. “Just askin’—in this fix, would Father have crawled on his knees apologizin’? You reckon he would?”

“That may be, but the situation here’s completely different.” “Then why’d you take on those jobs?” Shigetsugu said. “After getting burned out in the fire and Father dying too—taking three big contracts from the start was impossible. If you’d told me, I’d have refused. We could’ve had Takanawa or Abekawacho take ’em instead, settled ourselves first. But—you lot back home took ’em on hellbent on rebuilding Daidome. I knew that drive, so even though it seemed impossible, I kept my mouth shut.”

The three men bowed their heads. "When we take a contract to build a house," Shigetsugu said, "the master carpenter's job is to construct it as promised and deliver it to the client. Just because we're in a tight spot now doesn't mean we apologize halfway through—Father never did that once! I'm still wet behind the ears, but I'm his son, damn you! You think I'd back down from this?!" Then immediately shifting tone with "I'll say this while I'm at it," he explained that cutting ties with Takanawa, Abekawacho, fellow carpenters, and neighborhood obligations wasn't just stubbornness—it was to avoid becoming everyone's burden. "If we'd kept clinging to Daidome's old connections from its heyday, they'd have felt obliged to help us." "That wouldn't be light on them either, and for us it'd become a millstone round our necks forever." "Recovering through others' charity—Father wouldn't have approved, and we'd die of shame." "That's why we cut those ties—remember that," Shigetsugu said.

The three exchanged glances. Their faces now bore a refreshed complexion, as if freshly washed with cold water, and Fujizō was even smiling.

“I have one more impertinent question,” Dairoku said. “What about the funding?”

“Don’t fret over that.” “Is there anything this humble one can do?”

“Focus on the work,” Shigetsugu said. “I’ll handle the money.” Then he told Sukejirō to investigate the families of Ginji and Kurata—the two craftsmen who had died together in the fire—as he wanted to hold their seventy-fifth-day memorial. That day after dinner, Shigetsugu visited Fukudaya. He wrapped up Daidome’s signboard that had been temporarily placed beneath the eaves and entered through the shop entrance to request an audience with Master Kyūbee. Isuke, the head clerk stationed at the shopfront, informed him they were currently dining in the back and suggested he proceed directly there. But Shigetsugu replied, “Tonight I’m a customer,” and entered the small adjoining room—reserved for those wishing to avoid encountering other patrons—where he waited. The apprentice must have relayed his arrival, for soon Oyū appeared bearing tea.

“Welcome. Why are you insisting on being in a place like this?”

“I have business with the master.” “Calling him ‘master’ like that—how unpleasant you are!” Oyū glared. “What’s gotten into you? Why are you acting so formal?” Shigetsugu looked at Oyū with a sullen expression. Oyū nodded with a smile playing on her lips. “Fine,” she said, standing up. “You’re quite stubborn, aren’t you?” Shigetsugu said nothing. After Oyū left and some time had passed, Kyūbee came carrying his teacup, sat down there, and said, “I hear the construction site in Yoshikawachō burned down.”

“I’ve come about that matter to ask a favor.” With that declaration, Shigetsugu straightened into formal seiza posture.

Ten

He spoke in his usual brusque manner yet concealed nothing. Then he unwrapped the bundle, produced the Daidome signboard, and stated he wished to borrow five hundred ryō using it as collateral. Kyūbee listened silently, continuing to sip his tea slowly even after Shigetsugu finished speaking as if weighing every word, contemplating at length. “Let me ask one thing,” Kyūbee said after a while. “I understand about Takanawa and Abekawacho—but what possessed you to come to me?”

“This is a pawnshop,” Shigetsugu said. “I’m borrowing money with this as collateral—you’re lending money with this as collateral. Though naturally this depends on you agreeing to lend it. Since this is a business transaction, I believe clear boundaries can be drawn.” He spoke as though he had absolute faith that Daidome’s signboard could serve as collateral for five hundred ryō anywhere. “Very well,” Kyūbee said. “I’ll arrange the loan. But Mr. Shigetsugu—this money comes with interest.”

“Of course that’s my intention.” Kyūbee stood up and left.

The next morning, when Sukejirō appeared, Shigetsugu handed him five hundred ryō, and the two allocated the necessary expenses. As soon as Dairoku arrived, he instructed him to make arrangements for Yoshikawacho, then took two hundred ryō himself and set out for "Washichi" in Kiba. Three days later, they began reconstruction work in Yoshikawacho. For over ten days thereafter, Shigetsugu went to the construction site carrying his lunchbox. Whenever he saw they were short-handed, he would take up chisels and planes himself, or lend his shoulder to moving lumber. He also held memorial services for Kurata and Ginji during this period. Though it was merely a perfunctory seventy-fifth-day memorial, they invited the parents of both, served sake with vegetarian cuisine, and presented two ryō each as offerings for sutra readings. Shigetsugu apologized for having caused their sons to perish alongside his own parents, while they in turn expressed repeated gratitude for holding memorial services for their children despite the master’s funeral remaining unsettled.

That night, when Oritsu came to lay out the bedding, she was behaving in an unusually curt manner, her face appearing pale and rigid. Suspicious, Shigetsugu asked what was wrong. “What do you mean?” Oritsu retorted in an exaggeratedly formal tone, “Have I done something wrong?”

Shigetsugu flew into a rage, stood up, and suddenly slapped Oritsu. A sharp crack rang out against Oritsu’s cheek, and Shigetsugu said, "If there’s nothing wrong, quit making that face!" Oritsu put her hand to her slapped cheek and stared at Shigetsugu with her mouth agape. When he saw those wide-staring eyes, Shigetsugu suddenly made a startled face as if he himself had been struck, muttering "My bad" as he turned aside.

“I’m sorry,” he said clumsily. “I was on edge—with everything piling up like this. Forgive me.” “You don’t need to apologize to me,” Oritsu said trembling. “If you want to apologize, then apologize to the spirits.”

Shigetsugu slowly looked at Oritsu. “To the spirits—what am I supposed to do?” “It was me who made you—the Master Carpenter—angry. I don’t mind being hit since it’s only natural, but—” Oritsu covered her face with her apron and sat down as she said, “Why do you hold memorial services for Kurata and Ginji but leave the Master and Mistress like that?” Shigetsugu said, “Don’t speak of that,” and sat down beside the laid-out bedding.

“I will speak!” Oritsu lowered her apron onto her knees and said, “You keep the altar shut tight saying not to touch it—no incense, no water offerings, not even holding memorials on their death anniversaries. How can this be? Inside that altar are your own parents’ bones! If you won’t hold a funeral or entrust them to a temple, shouldn’t you at least make food offerings? Light oil lamps? Burn incense? That much is common decency! Yet you do memorials for Kurata and Ginji while neglecting even this—how cruel! How cruel to your own father and mother!”

Oritsu covered her face with her apron again, shoulders trembling as she choked back tears. Shigetsugu hung his head and listened to her muffled weeping for some time. "I meant to keep this quiet," Shigetsugu finally said in a low voice, "but I'll tell you. The reason I keep that altar shut tight is 'cause I can't stand treating my old man and ma like they're dead buddhas."

Oritsu’s sobs stopped. “This might sound like childish nonsense, but I just can’t believe the old man and my mother are dead. Those two urns over there prove they’re gone—I know they’re not alive. But I don’t want them to become buddhas. Until I rebuild Daidome, I need them to stay exactly as they were—my father and mother—watching me from that altar. The world’ll call this disrespectful, say I’m neglecting their spirits. Let them talk. Until that day comes, I won’t treat them as dead—not ever.”

Oritsu choked up, desperately holding back her tears as she falteringly said, “I’m sorry.” “I’m sorry for saying unnecessary things—I didn’t know anything about it.” “As long as you understand,” Shigetsugu cut in, “but never speak of this to anyone.” “Yes.” Oritsu nodded, wiping her eyes with her apron as she said, “—But if that’s how it is, there was no need to badmouth the priest, was there?”

“My sharp tongue’s inborn,” Shigetsugu said, looking at Oritsu. “Hitting you was wrong—forgive me.”

Oritsu smiled at him with eyes swollen from crying, then said, “—That’s the second time now.”

When December arrived, first the reconstruction of the sake wholesaler in Myoujin-shita was completed, then the work in Iwatsuki-cho finished. Likely because word had spread beforehand about Uoman’s reconstruction project, construction requests poured in one after another, but Shigetsugu only accepted two projects: the Five Buildings of Seven Tenements and the paper wholesaler in Kojimacho. Though Dairoku and others opposed the tenement work in nearby Matsueda-cho as being outside Daidome’s usual projects, Shigetsugu dismissed them, saying, "It’s the people living in tenements who suffer without homes."

As soon as the Myōjin-shita and Iwatsuki-cho projects were completed, Shigetsugu took two hundred ryō and went to Fukudaya, instructing them to apply it toward the borrowed deposit. Kyūbee did not accept it. “There’s no need to rush,” Kyūbee said. “If you intend to repay, bring all five hundred ryō at once.” Shigetsugu thought for a moment, then had them bring out the wrapped signboard he had deposited as collateral. He placed the two hundred ryō inside it and said, “Please keep this as it is,” handing it over. “But—” Kyūbee asked suspiciously, “won’t you still need money for the time being?”

“If I let my guard down, it’ll be trouble,” Shigetsugu said. “I intend to keep tightening my resolve.” Then, looking embarrassed, Shigetsugu stood up.

Eleven Daidome seemed to have neither year-end nor New Year celebrations, taking breaks only on New Year's Eve and the first three days of January. Though they gathered all available hands for the Yoshikawa-cho construction project, it remained unfinished by year's end. For this reason, Shigetsugu only rested on New Year's Day itself, then from January 2nd onward traveled daily to the worksite with Shokichi and Matsuzō in tow. Dairoku and Sukejirō likely remained unaware, but they helped however they could with plastering and joinery work. "Once this job's finished, I'll give you a proper break," Shigetsugu told the two men. "I know it's New Year's time—just hang on a little longer."

Kuro’s father was apparently ill, so he had returned to his home in Honjo since the 28th of December. His father’s illness was just an excuse—he apparently had no intention of returning to Daidome. Having never been treated as a full-fledged member, he had likely decided to start his own independent workshop. Shigetsugu simply said, “Idiot,” and left it at that.

On the 20th, the construction work for Uoman was completed. Shigetsugu had been invited by Manbei to a celebratory gathering but sent Dairoku in his stead and gave Shokichi and Matsuzō seven days off. Then he suggested to Oritsu, “Why don’t you go see a play or something?” but she dismissed him, retorting, “You’re the one who should go out for a breather.” “Bein’ chased by work and cooped up at home’ll wear you down,” she said. “Go clear your head somewhere.”

“You’re talkin’ like some old granny,” Shigetsugu said. “I’ll have a lazy New Year at home.”

“That’s exactly how an old person acts,” Oritsu said, though her face showed she was pleased by it. Shigetsugu did as he had said—he stayed shut in at home for two full days. With the bedding laid out in the room, he would lie down immediately after meals, reading gōkan books or sleeping.

On the evening of the second day, as he was dozing off, loud voices at the doorway startled him awake. Children’s cries mingled with a man’s hoarse bellow shouting “Thief!” Shigetsugu rose, tightened his workman’s sash, and went out. In the earthen entranceway stood three men—Shigeichi, held fast by one of them, wept while Oritsu kept bowing in apology. One man was Yaotoku from Nichōme, another Heisuke the neighborhood watchman, and the third a merchant-looking stranger with an unfamiliar face.

Shigetsugu went over there and asked what had happened. Oritsu answered that Shigeichi had stolen oranges from Yaotoku’s shopfront. “I’m the witness here,” the merchant-like man said. “I happened to be passing by and saw this child stealing oranges, so I caught him myself.”

Shigetsugu apologized. Tokujirō the greengrocer was a year older than Shigetsugu. He had married two years prior and already had a daughter, but when they were boys they had often played together and even fought. Though their trades differed and they didn’t socialize intimately, they still exchanged brief standing chats whenever they met. —But now Shigetsugu apologized with deliberate formality. "Our discipline has been lacking. We will of course pay for the oranges and take better care going forward." As he continued apologizing in this manner, Tokujirō cut him off.

“There’s no point in you apologizing, Master Carpenter,” Tokujirō said. “He ain’t your kid to begin with, and this ain’t just once or twice neither. These brats’re rotten through ’n’ through—that’s why I decided to hand ’em over to the watch.”

Shigetsugu turned to Heisuke and said, “Release the child.” Heisuke, who had been holding Shigeichi, looked at Tokujirō with a troubled expression. Shigetsugu repeated, “Release him.” When Heisuke let go, he told Oritsu, “Take him over there.” Shigeichi left toward the back with Oritsu, sobbing, leaving two oranges on the doorstep. “Someone just said ‘thief’,” Shigetsugu said, looking between the three men. “—Who was it?”

Heisuke muttered something indistinct under his breath. Assuming he was the one who had said it, Shigetsugu ignored him and looked at Tokujirō. “Hey, Tokusan,” Shigetsugu said haltingly, “you called these brats rotten just now, but kids’re all the same. When I was little, I swiped coins from Ma’s hibachi drawer. Stole picture books from that ehon shop in front of the embankment too. Big or small, we all did our share. You must’ve done it two-three times yourself—or you forgettin’? Want me to jog your memory? C’mon—you never did nothin’ like that?”

Tokujirō retorted indignantly, “That’s a different matter entirely!” “You’re right—it’s different,” Shigetsugu nodded. “We had parents and homes, so no one ever called us thieves. These kids had their homes burned, lost parents and siblings, and ended up under the care of a stranger like me. That’s the difference, but they’re still kids. Every child goes through this phase once. I’m no good with words, so I can’t explain it proper.” Shigetsugu flushed red with frustration. “Even if they ain’t in need, kids get this urge to snatch things—just a phase every child goes through. Ain’t a soul who don’t remember doin’ it two or three times themselves. Not sayin’ it’s right, mind—but callin’ ’em thieves or draggin’ ’em to the watch? That’s too damn heartless, don’t you think?”

The three men said nothing.

“If y’all still can’t swallow this after what I’ve said, then take me instead,” Shigetsugu declared. “The discipline failure’s my burden. Hand me over to the watchhouse or wherever you damn want—but these children stay put. No matter who comes knockin’, these kids ain’t goin’ nowhere.” “Fine by me,” Tokujirō said. “If that’s where y’stand. Was only tryin’ to do right by the brats myself.” “Long as we’re square,” Shigetsugu said evenly, “my apologies for stirrin’ up dust over nothin’. I’ll send the orange money straight off—let that settle it.”

"My apologies," Shigetsugu repeated, and the three men left. Heisuke the watchman, looking awkward, mumbled something under his breath and dashed out with one hand pressed to his head, while the merchant-like middle-aged man averted his eyes and left as if fleeing.

After seeing them off, Shigetsugu opened the shoji of the children’s room. Oritsu stood right there, and in the darkened far corner, the children huddled together. “I’m sorry,” Oritsu whispered while looking into his eyes. “It was my fault.”

Shigetsugu went toward the children. The children huddled close together, looking up at Shigetsugu with fearful eyes. Akchan was held by Ichi by the shoulder, Shigeichi’s face was pale and contorted, and all the others too looked up at Shigetsugu with stiff expressions, holding their breath.

12

Shigetsugu went to Shigeichi's side and forced a gentle smile. "Shigekō," he said. "Had enough of that?" Shigeichi trembled and burst into tears with a choked "I'm sorry." Shigetsugu laid his hand on the boy's shoulder, giving two light taps. "Quit your blubbering. You're supposed to be a man," Shigetsugu growled. "If you know it was wrong, don't do it again. Same goes for all of you—got it?" The children nodded as one body. Shigeichi's weeping turned violent—great heaving sobs that shook his frame. Oritsu rushed over and pulled him into her arms as he screamed through tears, "I won't! Never again!" This set off Akchan in Ichi's grip, who began wailing her own apology until Shigetsugu could only stare helplessly at Oritsu over the cacophony.

“Please go.” “I’ll bring the meal right away,” Oritsu said, avoiding his gaze.

Shigetsugu went out into the corridor.

When she brought the evening meal tray, Oritsu announced, “I paid for the oranges.” Since Tokujirō wouldn’t accept it and they had just run out, she had bought two boxes of oranges instead. “Since Shigeichi took two, there should be some change coming back,” Oritsu said. “Enough about that,” Shigetsugu said brusquely. “And make sure you tell the kids never to mention today’s matter again.”

And he picked up the chopsticks, but as if something had suddenly occurred to him, he looked at Oritsu.

“What were ya tryin’ to say back then?”

“Back then...” “When we first talked ’bout the kids—when I said I couldn’t take ’em in—you started sayin’ somethin’, glared at me like you wanted to spit it out, then clammed up an’ walked off. You forgettin’ already?” “I’m shocked,” Oritsu’s eyes went wide. “You got quite the memory there.” “What were you tryin’ to say?” “Who knows what it was?” Oritsu shook her head. “Don’t recall. But why’s that stickin’ in your craw?”

“Weren’t you trying to say this?” Shigetsugu said. “That it’s better I’m not one of those children—right?” “No way—that’s going too far!” Oritsu averted her eyes as she spoke. “I wouldn’t say something like that.” “That’s why you walked off without saying it.” “That can’t be true.” Oritsu looked at him with dazzled eyes. “—But why bring up such old business now?”

“Ain’t that old,” Shigetsugu said. With a look that said it wasn’t something old—that those words still clung to his ears—Shigetsugu began eating his meal.

For the next five or six days, Oritsu spent her time in heartfelt joy. She had been reminded by Shigetsugu, but at that time she had tried to say it. The exact words probably differed—since she hadn’t voiced them, she couldn’t know for certain—but his stubbornness had infuriated her enough to make her want to say something along those lines.

That's right—I did want to say something like that, Oritsu thought. But he remembered so well—it was strange how he retained things she hadn't even said in such detail. He even remembered hitting her when she was little, and there was that time he'd worried after hearing Shigeichi say something nasty to her. That's right—there had been that time he'd said, "If things don't work out with Oyū-san, tell me so." There were too many other instances to count each one, but he paid close attention to her. Though his words were blunt and brusque, traces of gentle consideration could be sensed throughout.

He might actually like me more than Oyū-chan. No sooner had this thought surfaced than Oritsu shook her head. Affection came in many forms—this was no time for foolish thoughts. Shigetsugu's bride could only be Oyū. In upbringing, education, or refinement—Oyū alone was fit to be Daidome's mistress. Even if I turned myself inside out, I could never measure up. I mustn't entertain such thoughts even in pretense, Oritsu rebuked herself.

One night—after slipping into bed—Oritsu found herself dwelling on the same thoughts, caught between consoling melancholy and sorrowful ache as she indulged in resolute imaginings: When Oyū comes as the bride, I'll leave this house behind. But hearing a faint noise in the corridor, she stiffened and held her breath. The time must have been nearing eleven o'clock. With everyone fast asleep, footsteps were being carefully muffled—yet Oritsu could clearly discern someone approaching down the corridor toward her.

Thirteen Again. It had to be that child again. Oritsu strained her ears.

Since Shigetsugu had once cautioned her about something, she hadn’t told him anything, but such incidents had occurred occasionally for some time now. After Oritsu entered her bedding, someone would stealthily creep along the corridor and peer inside from beyond the shoji screen. They would soon retreat on tiptoed feet again—but hearing the sound of a shoji closing in the children’s room, she had deduced it must be one of them; if so, most likely Kikuji.

How repulsive. Oritsu muttered to herself as she pictured Kikuji—who had recently grown noticeably taller—and his mannerisms.

The footsteps stopped outside the shoji screen. As usual, he was likely listening for her breathing. Oritsu too held her breath, perfectly still. Then came a faint click from the shoji screen, followed by the sound of it being opened—slowly, ever so slowly. Oritsu shuddered with goosebumps. Her limbs instinctively shrank inward, her breath catching in her throat.

He opened the shoji screen—what was he going to do?

Oritsu squeezed her eyes shut. Not so much from anxiety as sheer terror, her entire body stiffened, then began trembling while still rigid. At that moment came a whisper. In a hoarse, low voice—yet made sharp by tension—it reached Oritsu’s ears with perfect clarity. "Mother," the voice whispered, "—goodnight."

Then, with utmost quietness, the shoji screen slid shut, and the sound of stealthy footsteps slowly retreated down the corridor. Oritsu no longer tried to listen for the sound of footsteps or the shoji screen in the children’s room. She opened her eyes wide and, keeping her gaze fixed on a spot in the dimly lit oil lamp room, remained utterly still for a considerable time. Before long, tears overflowed from her wide-open eyes, and sobs rose up in her throat. Oritsu rose while sobbing, took the workman’s coat hanging by the oil lamp, threw it over her nightclothes, and stepped out into the corridor. Oritsu tiptoed down the corridor and entered Shigetsugu’s room. And then, sitting there, she covered her face with both hands and sobbed.

Shigetsugu was awake. He had woken when Oritsu entered and, suspiciously watching her movements, kept quietly observing. But hearing Oritsu cry out, he called from where he lay without rising, "What's this?"

“I—” Oritsu whispered, “I’ll take tomorrow off.” Shigetsugu sat up abruptly. “What’s this?” “It’s a mistake for me to raise children—I’m an uneducated fool, and besides—” “And... I’m a wretched woman with a base heart,” Oritsu said, her voice choked. “Wait,” Shigetsugu cut in, “you come here in the dead of night and suddenly say such things—it makes no sense. What’s this all about?”

Oritsu recounted what had just happened. Hindered by sobs, her words fragmented and faltering, she recounted what had happened with honesty, and said she had come to realize—just as Shigetsugu had once told her—that 'the indecent one was herself.' “That child was always clinging to me,” Oritsu sobbed again, “always wanting to do something for me or staring at me because he wanted to think of me as his mother. But I only saw it as something indecent—how pathetic that I didn’t realize until now. There’s no way I can raise children like this.”

“Wait,” Shigetsugu said. “Just listen to what I have to say.” He stood up, came before Oritsu, and sat down. “Don’t keep blaming yourself like this. You’re still a young woman. Whether you have indecent thoughts or not, trying to protect yourself even in trivial matters—isn’t that natural for a young woman? I think it’s perfectly natural,” Shigetsugu said. “So—though it’s strange to bring this up now—if you were to take a husband and become a parent to children, wouldn’t those misunderstandings stop? Wouldn’t you get along better with the children?”

Oritsu looked at Shigetsugu. "This might be a strange time to bring this up," Shigetsugu repeated the same words, speaking with terrible awkwardness. "No—since this subject's come up, I'll say it. I don't know what you're thinking, but I want you to manage this household with me."

Oritsu opened her mouth as if to say “Ah.” She made no sound but gaped at Shigetsugu in astonishment. “Don’t want to?” Shigetsugu snapped like an angry man rebuffing absurdity, “Better for the children too—I want you with me. Been wrestling since gods know when about when to say this—you hate the idea?” Oritsu’s face twisted. Tears pooling in her eyes as she stared up at him: “But Master Carpenter—you’ve got interest tacked on you, haven’t you?”

“Interest?” Shigetsugu demanded. “What do you mean by ‘interest’?” “I’m sorry—it just slipped out,” Oritsu said haltingly. “That’s how I heard it; everyone knows it, and you, Master Carpenter, must have intended that too.” “No—” Shigetsugu shook his head and cut her off. “Spell it out clear—what’s this ‘interest’ business?” Oritsu answered: “Oyū-san.” “Oyū—” Shigetsugu stared at Oritsu with baffled eyes.

Oritsu said, “In this neighborhood, people had long assumed you and Oyū would become husband and wife.” “I thought so too,” she continued, “but in December I heard our regular rice merchant talking about it.” “When you borrowed money for Uoman’s reconstruction, Fukudaya Kyūbee said this loan would come with interest.” “It wasn’t about monetary interest,” she explained, “but rather about sending Oyū as a bride—meaning ‘Oyū would come with’ the loan. I heard things would proceed that way around autumn.”

Shigetsugu stared intently at Oritsu’s eyes with an expression as if pain had struck somewhere in his body. Oritsu must have felt she’d made some clumsy remark. In a tone that seemed to shrink back, she said, “Was it wrong of me to say such things?” “What fools they are,” Shigetsugu shook his head quietly. “It’s true I borrowed money from Fukudaya. True they warned me interest would apply. But interest is what we pay on borrowed cash. Lending money and then attaching your daughter as interest? What idiotic nonsense is that?”

“But maybe Mr. Fukudaya was making a pun—” she started, but seeing Shigetsugu’s expression, Oritsu quickly pressed her lips together. “Listen close,” Shigetsugu said slowly, “I put up our signboard as collateral when I borrowed money. Fukudaya’s a pawnshop—when you pay back, you add cash interest. Could anything be more straightforward? And sure, if people went around calling Oyū-san a cripple or idiot, that’d be different—but she ain’t! So why’d Fukudaya go through such complicated maneuvers? Makes no sense, right?”

“But Master Carpenter, you like her, don’t you?” “I like her,” Shigetsugu nodded. “But she likes you too, Master Carpenter.” “Hey, listen up,” Shigetsugu said again. “I like Oyū-san, but wanting her as my wife and liking her are two different things. Or rather—ugh, this is such a pain.” He stood up impatiently, went over to the bedding, and lay down on his back. “Just go to bed already,” he said.

Oritsu remained silent, sitting with her head hung. After some time had passed, she whispered in a low, soft voice. “I can read kana perfectly now, you know. And write it too.” Shigetsugu said nothing. Oritsu remained seated a while longer; eventually she stood up quietly and went to the temporary Buddhist altar, pressing her hands together in prayer as she bowed her head. Shigetsugu watched through half-open eyes as Oritsu bowed toward the altar and whispered something under her breath. He heard only the words “I beg of you.” Then Oritsu slipped out with silent footsteps.