Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yamamoto Shugoro

I

Because Kira’s revelation was so abrupt and utterly unexpected, Kihira Takao could not immediately accept it as real.

“I did hesitate whether to tell you or not,” he said in a deliberately matter-of-fact tone, “but this isn’t like other matters.”

“Apparently it began around when the plum blossoms started blooming—they say they were meeting every seven days or so, but you never noticed anything suspicious, did you?”

“I didn’t notice at all.”

“But she was going out about every seven days.”

“I had heard she was going for vow prayers—I believe she mentioned Taishō Temple’s Kannon or something.”

“That didn’t strike you as unnatural?”

After saying this, Kira suddenly shook his head and muttered as if to himself.

“That’s so like Kihira.”

That was the sigh he often let out toward Takao.
Toward Takao’s timidity, toward his goodness.
Whether moved or reproaching, he expressed his feelings through such sighs.
Takao asked hesitantly, keeping his eyes downcast.

“So, you saw the other party too?”

“I saw him. The third son of Mori Sōemon. You know him—Mori Sannosuke.”

“So you mean… he was supposed to have gone to Edo?”

“He didn’t go to Edo—I saw him with my own eyes, so there’s no mistake about that.”

At that, Kira fell silent for a moment.
He had known from the start how much his words would wound Takao, how much suffering they would cause.
Yet in this matter, he must not handle things carelessly or seek compromises.
However cruel it might be, he had to cut open the wound’s very center and thoroughly scrape out the decayed parts—in this case, becoming merciless was an act of friendship toward him.
Thinking this, Kira adopted a businesslike tone.

“The people at Itamitei still know nothing. No one else has likely noticed either. You should settle this matter now. In such a small area, if things continue like this, someone will inevitably take notice. Dispose of it before that happens.... If there’s anything I can do to help, just say the word.”

After leaving Kira’s house and walking for a while, Takao felt an unpleasant discomfort in his body. It was as if he had developed a fever—his head felt foggy, and his legs below the knees were terribly heavy.

—Kira saw it with his own eyes.

Within his foggy head, that voice was constantly heard. As if some other person apart from himself were muttering, in an aloof tone, the same voice kept reaching his ears over and over.

—Kira had verified it himself.

—He had to settle this somehow.

—But what should he do?

Consciousness remained numb and utterly still.
As if he had become a complete imbecile, he could not concentrate to think about anything; his thoughts crumbled into fragments from the very edges, leaving nothing but aimless shards that kept spinning around ceaselessly.

How was he supposed to look at his wife’s face when he returned home?
Would he be able to remain calm?

He was concerned about that.
But his mind was calmer than he had expected, and he ate dinner as usual with Daisuke.
There was no visible change in his wife’s demeanor.
In fact, she even seemed bright and lively……Daisuke had started eating on his own about half a month prior, but since he still couldn’t handle the spoon properly, his face would get covered in rice grains, with more ending up spilled than making it into his mouth.
Since clumsily intervening would make him angry, she skillfully assisted him without drawing notice—but the sight of his wife wiping grains from his face and gathering spilled food seemed filled with a young mother’s satisfaction and joy.

—I’ll talk before going to bed.

Takao thought.
It felt like he could say it plainly, but when the moment came, he couldn't bring himself to speak.
He spread out the documents brought from the magistrate's office across his desk and took up his brush, only to lean against the desk and pass time in a daze.

He himself hadn't noticed—his torment had already begun in that instant.
Like some sluggish poison seeping through veins to gradually corrupt tissue, it spread inexorably bit by bit with each passing hour, eroding and wounding him deep within.
...Within three days he'd grown gaunt, his complexion sallow, his meals diminished, eyes clouded as though from nights without sleep.

“Are you perhaps unwell?”

Oichi asked worriedly.

“Me…?”

Takao turned toward the wife.
It was the morning of the fifth day since hearing from Kira, and he had just finished preparing to leave for the castle.
When he turned to look at the wife, a sharp pain arose somewhere in his chest.

Oichi was looking up at him with beautiful blue-tinged eyes.
Though her petite frame stood just under five feet tall, her well-proportioned figure gave her posture a slender, graceful appearance.
Fine-textured skin always glowed with a vivid flush of blood, and together with lips—smooth as if moistened and tinged a pale plum-blossom pink—she possessed an innocent, pliant charm as fragrantly alluring as a girl in the bloom of youth.

―These beautiful eyes without a speck of impurity... this soft skin without a trace of cloudiness.

Takao was overcome by indescribably intense emotion; with a half-uttered retort of "Me?" frozen on his lips, he turned his face away. The feeling that surged up at that moment was something he had never experienced before in his life—impossible to describe as either anguish, sorrow, or loneliness, utterly indistinguishable to himself yet fiercely intense. When he stepped out to the entranceway, Oichi came to see him off with Daisuke in her arms. Perhaps failing to grasp Takao’s state of mind, she spoke while kneeling on the step-board and gazing up at him.

“I would like to visit Taishō Temple today—would that be acceptable?”

“No, not today.”

Takao answered while looking away.

“I’ll return early today. There’s something I need to discuss, so I want you to stay here and not go out anywhere.”

Oichi’s “Yes” was as faint as a voice about to vanish.
Takao left through the entrance with stiffened shoulders, not looking toward his wife.
From behind, Daisuke’s halting voice followed after him.

“Dada, yoyo, yoyo.”

Two

His wife’s mention of Taishō Temple seemed to reflexively trigger his resolve.
Upon entering the castle, he immediately filed notice at the administration office and departed without taking his midday meal.……Though resolved, his heart remained clogged with heaviness, and the stabbing chest pain showed no sign of lessening.
On his return journey, he halted repeatedly; gazing at the white-parched, dust-choked road surface, he would suddenly shake his head unconsciously or heave sighs like a man lost in thought.

Oichi was at home.

"I don't need a meal. Once you finish with Daisuke, come to the living room."

Takao said this as he changed clothes.
He couldn’t bring himself to look at his wife’s face.
Even hearing her reply seemed unbearable.

He entered the living room, sat down facing the desk, and gazed out through the open window.
He told himself he needed to remain composed.

……It was a side garden facing northeast, where aside from five or six mountain birches planted by his deceased father, brambles from the sleeve fence stretching their branches and thickets of arrow bamboo had spread unchecked due to lack of care.
The mountain birches were trees of cold regions, said to never take root in such a place, yet from when they were planted they had grown to more than double their size, their young branches now adorned with fresh clusters of soft-looking paired leaves that glittered in the spring midday sun.

“—Oichi… Oichi”

Takao softly murmured her name to himself, then leaned his elbows on the desk and closed his eyes.

She was the only daughter of a poor foot soldier who carried firearms.
Her father was named Kōsuke and seems to have been a very good-natured man.
His wife had long been suffering from a stomach illness, and they were in dire poverty when Kōsuke suffered a stroke.
Because her mother had been bedridden for a long time, Oichi had taken on cooking and laundry from around the age of eight or nine, while also helping with household finances by doing errands for neighbors and babysitting.
Her father had collapsed in the autumn when she was thirteen, but even then, she skillfully mended clothes with a needle and was often asked by others to assist with tasks like unpicking seams or reweaving fabric.
Even while caring for her parents—a situation one would imagine to be immensely trying—she never showed the slightest hint of such hardship to others.
With a bright expression and cheerful demeanor, she was utterly sincere.
Though small in stature, her figure was quite elegant, and as she was considerate, she was beloved by everyone.

Shortly after Kōsuke collapsed, the people around began bringing marriage proposals to Oichi.
Oichi was still thirteen, but as the only daughter, it was customary to at least formally take in a son-in-law and submit an inheritance notice.
That such proposals would arise was only natural, but the thirteen-year-old Oichi firmly refused this alone.

"I will spend my life caring for both my parents."

It seemed to have been her resolve not to alter their lives as a family of three—even superficially.
Her father Kōsuke also appeared to agree with this, for he gave no proper response to even quite favorable marriage proposals.

“Even if we speak of the Hisao family name,” he seemed to say through his slurred speech, “they’re ultimately just minor foot soldiers of known low status. Taking some questionable man as a son-in-law and making Oichi suffer would be too pitiful.”

Kōsuke rejected every proposal in this manner.
At that time, society was in what might be called a decadent period—the gap between rich and poor grew extreme, and social customs became thoroughly corrupted.
Though many poor people starved, the wealthy indulged in luxury before their very eyes without shame.
Even among samurai families, taking in dowry-bearing brides or grooms from wealthy townspeople became not so uncommon an occurrence.
……Moral standards between men and women grew disordered, with various unpleasant rumors abounding.
The reason Kōsuke refused to consider any son-in-law proposals was that, judging from this social climate, he likely distrusted those who would come to fulfill such roles.

In the spring when Oichi was fifteen, Kōsuke died, and a mere three months later, her mother followed as if chasing after him.
From slightly before that time, Oichi had begun frequently visiting the Kihira household to do sewing and unraveling work.
Takao had been unaware of this, but his mother Iyo had taken an extraordinary liking to her and apparently shown special favor.
His father Yūnojō had undoubtedly consented as well, for immediately after Oichi became an orphan, they entrusted her to her mother’s family home in Aono. There she was educated until she turned eighteen, with the Aono family serving as her provisional guardians, before being welcomed into the Kihira household as Takao’s bride.

For about two years after coming to Kihira, Oichi had a sad and unsettled appearance.
He wondered if she was dissatisfied with this marriage.
His mother seemed to worry about various things, but Takao was almost indifferent.

About a year and a half later, his father Yūnojō passed away, and in the summer of the following year, his mother also died of severe dysentery.
At that time, Oichi’s grief manifested in an abnormal manner.
Takao grieved so deeply—his eyes widening as if seeing anew—at how profoundly she had cherished his mother.
……Looking back later, perhaps Oichi’s pregnancy at the time had also influenced her behavior.
And as if taking that circumstance as an opportunity, Oichi began directing her heart toward Takao for the first time.
Her disposition gradually brightened, and her management of household affairs became brisk.

After giving birth to Daisuke, Oichi grew even more beautiful with time.
It felt like a hard nut’s shell had cracked open to reveal fresh fruit within.
Her skin gained luster from accumulating soft fat, taking on a moist and supple elasticity.
Eyes now filled with confidence and calm occasionally moved with startlingly alluring grace.
In his wife’s figure—overflowing with youthful vitality, fresh and dewy—Takao felt he had discovered feminine beauty for the first time.

“You… Oichi, you… in places I don’t know…”

Takao kept his eyes closed, murmured softly like this, and gasped as if unable to bear the anguish.

He heard the wife coming down the hallway.

The footsteps were not the wife’s usual ones.
They sounded weak and hesitant, almost as if she were walking on tiptoes.
Takao remained silent until the wife sat down.
Then he opened his eyes, looked up at the Gakuwa birch branches, and gazed at the faintly hazy blue of the sky.

“I have something to ask you.”

He said while remaining turned away from his wife.

“I find this difficult to ask, and I imagine it must be difficult for you to answer as well—but regardless, I want you to respond honestly.”

Oichi said “Yes.”
Her voice was low and hoarse, yet it carried a resolute ring to it.
Takao, with the feeling of lashing at himself as he was on the verge of breaking, resolutely turned back toward his wife.

But at that moment, Daisuke came clattering down the hallway.

"Dada! Mama! Chibame! The chibame’s nest is falling! The chibame’s nest!"

With his clumsy tongue still shouting, he came running in, grabbed his mother’s shoulder, looked at his father with an excitedly reddened face, and gasped for breath as he spoke.

"It’s true, Dada! No, wait—the chibame’s nest is about to fall! Hurry! Right, Mama?"

“There, there. I understand.”
Takao smiled at the child and nodded. “Father has business now, so go ahead with Mother. I’ll come right after.”

Oichi shot to her feet.
As if a captive had been released, she scooped up Daisuke and hurried out of the room.

Takao turned back toward the window and let out a sigh while flinging one hand onto the desk.
Strangely enough, he himself felt as if he had been saved; it might have been indecision and lingering attachment—it was merely prolonging time—but he felt relieved and thought he would wait a little longer.
All human beings have their own pasts; one cannot judge responsibility based solely on present facts; relationships between men and women are particularly delicate; he would wait a little longer to see how things developed—this was what he concluded.

Oichi returned shortly.
While holding Daisuke, she said hesitantly from the hallway:
“The swallows have built a nest inside the side entrance. Should we remove it?”

“It’s fine as it is.”
Takao said this while turning to look at the child. “Ah, so ‘ochi’ refers to the nest? What you’re saying is hard to follow, Daisuke.”

“That chibame is mine, Dada.”

“Yeah, it’s Daisuke’s. And from now on they’ll come every year forever.”

“It’s mine! It’s mine!”

“Yeah, it’s Daisuke’s swallow, it is.”

Hearing her husband’s lighthearted tone, Oichi burst into laughter, pressed her cheek fiercely against Daisuke’s, and left while laughing until she choked.

三

Of course, that did not resolve the matter; the wound in his chest ached ceaselessly, assaulted at intervals by sharp pangs of pain.
His sleep at night was shallow; he would unconsciously sigh or let out groans.
There were times when he would lose himself in violent fantasies of accusing his wife, and other times when he wanted to abandon everything and flee to the mountains.

These were experiences he had encountered for the first time in his life, and the intensity and depth of their anguish were beyond comparison.

But I will grow accustomed to this pain.

That was what he thought. People could generally adapt to unfavorable conditions; when it came to endurance, he was confident. If he alone had to suffer—if that meant no one else would be hurt—he believed he could endure it without fail.

The remaining issue was Oichi’s feelings.

The other party was said to be Mori Sannosuke. How had they become acquainted? How far had their involvement gone? And what did Oichi truly think of him? That much had to be clarified no matter what. ……But wait—wouldn’t it be better not to give them a chance to meet, leave things as they were, and wait for time to resolve it?

From the day the swallows built their nest at the side entrance, Takao had been tormented in this way, spending days of painful distress.

But exactly four days later, an unexpected event suddenly occurred.

On that day after leaving the castle grounds, he was invited by the office administrator.
Shouman Bunnoshin—this administrator—was forty-three years old and had welcomed his first son in the fourteenth year of his marriage.

“It’s like capturing an enemy general’s head!”

He proclaimed this joyfully to anyone within earshot.
Takao had been invited to celebrate the birth, but with three veteran officials also attending, the banquet lasted unexpectedly long.
As Kihira Takao left after his superiors, it was nearly ten when he exited Shouman’s gate.
The Shouman residence stood in Sanjōmaru; returning from there to his home in Shimokitamaru offered two routes—Ōte-dōri or cutting through Matoba-ato’s edge. Though a back road, the Matoba-ato path was quicker.
Having dismissed his servant earlier, Takao carried the lantern himself as he embarked on this shortcut home.

Matoba-ato was about twenty thousand tsubo in area and was now used as a storage ground for stones and lumber.
Around it stood old chinquapin trees, oaks, and Japanese oaks, their trunks pressed together like a fence and branches interlacing; beyond them spread a wild grassland.
……That place marked the western outer perimeter of the samurai district.
The road was also about six ken wide, allowing one to make a half-circuit around Matoba-ato.

It was a night of crystalline moonlight.
The trees lining one side cast knife-sharp shadows halfway across the road.
The radiance proved so intense that Takao stopped to extinguish his lantern.
At that instant—sensing something unnatural at his back—he whirled around with a choked cry, hurling the lantern aside as he flung himself sideways.

A barefoot pursuer’s masked form and the swordflash arcing toward his crown filled Takao’s vision as he turned.

“What are you doing? Wait!”

Leaping sideways to one side of the road and turning his face toward the moon, he shouted.

“Don’t mistake your target—I am Kihira Takao.”

The man stood in the shade of the trees.
About two ken to the left, the discarded lantern burned.
He couldn’t identify his assailant, but the mask and stark whiteness of barefoot tabi socks seemed to radiate murderous intent.

“So this isn’t mistaken identity.”

“――――”

“State your name! Who are you?”

Takao sensed danger and drew his sword.
At that moment, the opponent came slashing in like a hurled stone.
Without uttering a sound—holding his breath, moving with reckless abandon—he slashed wildly, slashed again, slashed once more.

Ah, so that's it.

As he leaped into the stand of trees, Takao found himself crying out those words in his heart.
That's right—there's no one else who would spy on me besides that man. It's him.
When he realized this, Takao was suddenly seized by intense anger.

"I see. It's Mori Sannosuke."

When he shouted that, the opponent's body seemed to shudder.
Takao, spurred into combativeness by his own voice, swiftly leaped out into the moonlit roadway.

"Coward! If you want Oichi that badly, then try it! I won't let myself be cut down so easily!"

The opponent let out a groan.
It seemed he thought himself cornered; still not uttering a sound, he charged in as though frenzied.

—I’ll cut him down.

Takao thought so.
But in the next instant, the opponent lurched forward violently and collapsed.
A sound like bone striking something rang out somewhere, and the sword flew from his hand.
He seemed about to spring up immediately, but for some reason, he instead collapsed to the ground with a thud, curling his legs in pain and gasping.

When he saw that pitiful figure, Takao’s anger cooled as if doused with water.

Escape! Now I can get away!

Takao started running with his sword still in hand.

四

There was no one who did not know of Kihira Takao’s timidity.
From early childhood, he and Kira Setsutarou had been closer than anyone else and trusted each other deeply, but even Kira would often grow exasperated at his timidity.
Lately, Kira seemed to have given up; even when such things occurred, he would only force a bitter smile and say, “Still so like Kihira.” But in the past, he had often grown angry and voiced his opinions.

When he returned home from Matoba-ato, he had already completely calmed down.
Rather, it was a bleakly desolate feeling that follows abnormal excitement.
But when he changed clothes and heard Oichi—who was folding his discarded garments—let out a low "ah," he casually turned around; the instant he saw the hakama in her hands, anger surged within him once more.

The lower part of the hakama’s waistband was torn horizontally for about a foot.
Takao took the garment somewhat roughly and spread it out.
The kimono too was torn in that area.

What a bastard.

Takao felt his breath constrict from the intensity of his anger.
Oichi was trembling too.
She must have grasped the situation.
With her hands on the spread-out hakama, she kept trembling with her head bowed.

“I was ambushed in the dark. You should know who did it, Oichi.” He sat down as he said this, “—Didn’t you know about tonight’s affair?”

Oichi kept her head bowed and shook it.

“Speak truthfully—didn’t you hear from Mori that he’d strike when returning from Shouman?”

Takao’s voice grew fierce. As if felled by that voice, Oichi let out a moan and pitched forward. When she collapsed facedown, one arm swung limply outward and lay motionless.

“—Oichi… Oichi…”

He edged closer and called out.
His wife’s face was drained of color and stiffened, her teeth clenched tight.
She had fainted.
…Takao drew water into a bowl, lifted his wife up, and poured it between her tightly clenched teeth into her mouth.

Having regained her breath, Oichi finally managed to sit up—though she appeared unable to sit properly—planting both hands on the tatami while her upper body swayed unsteadily, half of it trembling.

“You must tell me tonight—how did you come to know him? What relationship have the two of you developed? Speak honestly.”

Oichi was breathing harshly.
But after enduring suffering intense enough to make her faint, she must have resolved herself; in a low, hoarse, hollow voice, she began to speak haltingly.

“—I gave him candy from Matsuba-ya… and then manju from the Komeya’s…”

He wondered what she would start saying, but those were Oichi’s first words of confession.

“—He was the third son…and his mother was different from his siblings’…He was raised separately from them…living alone in the same tenement as the male servants…He would always sit by himself…looking so lonely and sorrowful…gazing out the window…”

The fact that Mori Sannosuke was Aouemon’s illegitimate child was something Oichi heard from a maidservant of the Mori household.
At that time, when Oichi was thirteen years old—due to circumstances previously described—she would often go to the Mori household on errands, and it was during these visits that she came to learn of Sannosuke’s unfortunate circumstances.
……Oichi could not bear how pitiful he was.
He received no pocket money and, in the single room of the tenement assigned to him, would copy documents or gaze vacantly out the window.

“I understood all too well how lonely and sorrowful he must have felt—because I too had lived a life of poverty and hardship… I understood his misfortune as if it were my own.”

Those who have not experienced misfortune cannot know its true taste.
Oichi saw her own wretchedness reflected in him and could not help but offer comfort.
And then one day, Oichi spent her meager money to buy candy from Matsuba-ya and gave it to him.

“The first time I offered him something, he said he didn’t need it and turned away as if angry… He thought I was mocking him… He was nineteen then, and I was thirteen.”

He refused until the third time.
The third time, Oichi returned home weeping; on the fourth occasion, Sannosuke finally accepted her gift.

"This is all backward... But I'll take it. Thank you."

He spoke with a smile that trembled at the edges.
Having perhaps understood her feelings at last, he thereafter always received whatever Oichi brought him with evident gladness.
Given her own straitened circumstances, she could not do this often.
Yet Oichi squeezed every drop from her meager ingenuity, dedicating herself wholly to comforting him.
She even brought him manju from the rice shop renowned throughout the castle town several times to bring him joy.

“It was delicious, I tell you. I’d heard about it, but this was my first time trying it. It really lives up to its reputation. Thank you.”

The sight of Sannosuke’s delighted face when he first tasted those sweet rice cakes had remained etched in Oichi’s memory……After being taken to Aono through Takao’s mother’s mediation, Oichi could no longer visit Sannosuke. She became consumed by adapting to her new life, and with time’s passage, she naturally let the memories fade. And so Oichi became the bride of the Kihira household.

In late January of that year, Oichi visited Taishō Temple for Daisuke’s ritual to ward off evil spirits. On her return journey, Sannosuke called out to stop her, and compelled by his insistence, she entered a riverside restaurant called Itamitei in Ashigawa.

Sannosuke had become terribly thin and pale-faced, coughing incessantly.
He had been restless from the beginning, but after sitting down, he took on a resolute expression and uttered something wholly unexpected.

“I am now a fugitive.”

He began by saying this.
At the end of the previous year, his marriage arrangement had been settled; the other party was someone from the Edo residence, said to be a foot soldier with about five koku and three-person stipends.
That in itself was acceptable, but the way the matter was concluded had been rough and dismissive—even the lower servants were whispering behind his back, saying things like "getting rid of a nuisance."
Then when New Year came, they gave him a small sum of money and ordered him—practically in nothing but the clothes on his back—to go visit a certain individual at the Edo residence.

Sannosuke did not go to Edo.
He pretended to depart but instead hid within the castle town.
Having endured a life of hardship until twenty-seven, he felt anger for the first time then.
That anger turned directly into longing for Oichi.
He wanted to meet her and pour out his misfortunes.
Oichi would surely understand—she would console him warmly as she once had, becoming his confidant for the days ahead.
……Harboring these thoughts, he secretly awaited an opportunity until their fated meeting.……Oichi listened to his story through tears and urged him once more to go to Edo.

“This can’t go on like this. Please meet me again.”

Sannosuke pleaded; Oichi couldn’t refuse.

They set a date and met again—then he made her promise yet another day.

“You were the only one who ever showed me kindness. I knew exactly what kind of money bought those sweets you brought me—do you have any idea how happy that made me? But even more than the sweets… it was your thoughtfulness in bringing them that truly brought me joy.”

“In this vast world, I have no father or mother… no siblings or friends… You’re all I have… You’re my one and only person.”

His words only grew more intense with each meeting.

“I cannot live without you—I don’t even want to live without you. Please come to me. Mr. Kihira has status and wealth—he even has such a lovely child. To him, you aren’t everything. But to me, you are everything. If I must part from you, I would choose death. Please come to me. You should understand this feeling—please don’t make me any more wretched than this.”

Oichi could not bring herself to push him away.
Her current fulfilling life seemed to her like a sin against him.

“I understand all too well how pitiful he must be—I too have endured hardships since childhood. The world’s coldness, people’s heartlessness… days of hardship and suffering, indescribable poverty… Oichi grew up amidst such circumstances. There is no one but me who can comfort him and be his support—no one else at all.”

Oichi said this, bit her sleeve fiercely, and burst into tears while stifling her voice.
Takao closed his eyes.
The anger vanished, but in its place came a sadness more unbearable than rage—a despair so profound it soaked through his entire being, constricting his breath.

“I see… Yes, now I understand completely.”

Takao finally spoke.
Things he wanted to say surged up his throat. He wanted to scream at the top of his voice—to shout, to roar, to spew out everything lodged in his chest.
However, he could not do it.
Desperately restraining himself, he continued quietly in as calm a voice as possible.

“I too have things I want to say… But even unspoken, you must already know them…… So here, let us speak only of what matters most.”

He frowned, stammered slightly, yet still calmly continued his words.

“Just as I have suffered, you too—and Mori as well—must have suffered…… I don’t believe I alone bore this pain. All three of us have wounded one another, Oichi…… Let us find a way to make use of this suffering. What matters now, I think, is this—we must not let this anguish go to waste. How do we overcome it? How do we emerge without wounding each other further? If possible, how do we find happiness?…… Let us ponder this deeply. Don’t you agree, Oichi?”

“Please do as you think best.”
Oichi said between sobs, her voice breaking into fragments, “I no longer have any strength left to think. I shall do exactly as you command. Please… proceed however you wish.”

V

A few days later, Oichi set out for the Monkey Valley hot spring resort.
He submitted a notification stating it was for convalescence of a weakened body and assigned an old retainer named Matsusuke as her attendant.

Since having an attendant made secrecy impossible, he explained the circumstances in outline to Matsusuke.
Then, at first, Matsusuke refused outright, saying he absolutely did not want to serve as her attendant.
He was a stubborn and inflexible old man who had served the Kihira family for over thirty years since his father’s time—poor at socializing but honest, always wearing a sullen expression.

“I must decline to take part in such infidelity. I cannot undertake this duty.”

The strong expression "assisting in infidelity" was so characteristic of him. Takao bowed his head to him. Given the complexity of the circumstances and to avoid arousing suspicion among those around them, there was no choice but to have Matsusuke—who had served the Kihira family the longest and was trusted by relatives and close friends—serve as her attendant. If this secret were to leak, there was no telling what would become of the Kihira house—that was what he said when making the request.

“They say living long brings many shames. I never dreamed I would be tasked with such a role.”

Matsusuke shed tears of frustration.

Sarugaya was a hot spring resort nestled in the mountains within a neighboring domain's territory—located about ten ri northeast of the castle town—and renowned for its five distinct types of hot springs; it attracted guests from considerable distances seeking convalescence. However, since it was in another domain, samurai from this domain who went there were exceedingly rare. The constant coming and going of miscellaneous guests; the low risk of being spotted by someone from the household. In those respects, Takao chose that place.

About three days after Oichi had departed, Takao went to Kira to report the matter.

“I hear you sent her off to a hot spring to convalesce.”

Setsutarou said cheerfully.
Likely intending to console him, he immediately had sake prepared and listened to Takao’s account while exchanging cups.
At first he had been in good spirits, but as he listened, Kira’s expression grew stern until finally he glared at Takao as if angered.

“So Mori went to Monkey Valley with her?”

“He needs Oichi now.”

“Then are you saying you don’t need her?”

“No one is to blame for what has happened.”

Takao lowered his eyes and said in a low voice.

“It was just an unfortunate coincidence—no one is to blame, and I don’t want to make anyone unhappy. That’s all I’ve concluded.”

Kira turned away.
He looked thoroughly dissatisfied and, still turned away, asked how he intended to resolve it.

“I will have the two of them stay in Sarugaya for one year.”
Takao answered thus: “During that time, they’ll likely find some means to live. Even if they don’t, once a year has passed, I’ll file a report stating Oichi has died of illness…… They’ll begin their life together, and I… if possible… intend to start a new life myself.”

“I can’t stomach this sort of talk.”

Kira snapped back.

“Going that far isn’t mere timidity or virtue—it’s downright immoral, an insult to humanity. If Mori’s any kind of man, he won’t endure such charity.”

“Do you have another way, Kira?”

“With Mori—duel him or drive him out; with your wife—cleanly forgive her or divorce her. That’s what mutual respect demands.”

“I can only do what I myself can do.”

Takao said as if speaking to himself.

“I would rather suffer myself than watch others suffer. If this insults humanity, then I’ll gladly take on that responsibility.”

Days passed.
Once a month Matsusuke would come from Sarugaya—ostensibly to report on convalescence progress—when he would ask whether anything had changed with them and receive living expenses from Takao’s household… Yet as there appeared no changes with them, Matsusuke said nothing and Takao did not raise the subject either.
Matsusuke would come to stay one night before returning with his customary sullen expression.

From the day Oichi left, Daisuke abruptly stopped calling Mother.
In Aono—the hometown of Oichi’s late mother—though unaware of true circumstances they had sent a distant relative to assist out of concern for Takao’s difficulties… Her name was Katsue; twenty-six years old and once married though returned after marital estrangement.
Yet she possessed an unclouded disposition of radiant openness—so lively that never a day passed without her laughter resounding somewhere about the house.

“Daisuke, come climb onto Auntie’s back. Let’s play horsey! Look, we’re running now!”

Getting on all fours, she let Daisuke climb onto her back and clattered about noisily.
From the moment she arrived behaving this way, Daisuke too quickly grew attached.

Six

Time passed, but Takao’s heartache did not ease in the slightest.

He only came to feel more strongly and more deeply just how vital Oichi had been to him.
There might be jealousy—indeed, the very thought of Mori and Oichi together brought a suffocating anguish, as if his breath had been stolen and his chest crushed.
It was a physical torment far more direct than anything psychological.
But more than that—the fact of how essential Oichi had been, the realization dawning only after she left him, and how he himself had neglected her despite that essentialness—these thoughts never left his mind, tormenting him like an irredeemable sin.

"I should have loved her more, should have shown more love and devotion."

He would sometimes mutter to himself like that.

"If I had done so, even if she met that man, her feelings might not have been swayed so deeply...... Had I filled Oichi’s heart with my love and devotion...... The fault was mine—I was blind and a fool."

Often he would rise at midnight—now wandering through the dark garden, now sitting on a bench—and pass long hours motionless, thinking of nothing at all.

A rainless, hot summer passed by.

One afternoon.
When he peeked into Daisuke’s room, Daisuke was taking an afternoon nap with Katsue.
Katsue turned her upper body toward Daisuke while lying on her back from the waist down.
The hem was disheveled, and thighs entangled with light-blue fabric lay exposed.
They were ample thighs—robustly mature and tautly firm—yet their skin color was startlingly dark.

Takao immediately averted his eyes and left.
What he had seen did not tempt him in the slightest, yet the impression inflicted fresh pain.
Katsue’s somewhat uncouth thighs roused memories of Oichi’s entirely different form.

―Oichi’s skin had been more beautiful.

White, smooth, moist and soft, with a clinging elasticity.
Yet he had never seen it with his eyes.
As sensation alone it lingered in his memory—but... Oichi had been his wife, always at his side.
At any moment he could hear her voice; her form had stayed within arm’s reach.

―Yes, Oichi had stood that near—these hands had held her, this skin had met hers.

But had he truly embraced her? Had he truly touched her skin to skin? …No—he had not truly seen Oichi, nor embraced her, nor touched her skin. When the wind sweeps through a forest, brushing against the surfaces of tree trunks and branches—so too had he merely grazed the surface of her. "That’s right—I don’t know Oichi. Even after four years as husband and wife, I haven’t come to know her in the slightest."

Takao did not eat dinner that day.

One day, when Daisuke was not present, Katsue said.

“It’s so strange—Daisuke never speaks of Mother at all. When asked where she is, he makes an unpleasant face and steers the conversation elsewhere… They say children parted from parents young don’t yearn for them, but could it be that Mother’s illness has taken a turn for the worse?”

It went without saying that there was no malice. Even having failed in marriage herself—being of a frank and decisive nature that did not dwell on such setbacks—she had likely spoken her mind as she felt it, but to Takao, her words pierced his heart like a blade. He barely suppressed the urge to scream and, remaining standing there, pleaded:

“Please do not speak of Mother—if possible, help him forget her…… For it may come to pass that they are parted by death, I beg of you.”

Takao tried to avoid looking at Daisuke as much as possible.
From the day Oichi left, Daisuke had abruptly stopped uttering his mother’s name.
He knew this, but considering Daisuke’s tender age and the many people around him, he thought the boy was likely just distracted.
Since it seemed better that he did not pine for his mother, Takao had not paid particular attention to it.
That only made him all the more overwhelmed by Katsue’s words—how Daisuke would change the subject or make an unpleasant face when asked about his mother.
Was it that he had sensed why his mother left? Had he instinctively realized she hadn’t gone for convalescence but would never return?

Children who part from their parents early do not yearn for them.

He had also heard the saying, but he had never actually considered applying it to his own child. Yet Katsue’s eye had discerned it—whether consciously or instinctively—that Daisuke, at such a tender age, avoided any mention of his mother precisely because he knew he could no longer see her. When this thought struck him, Takao found himself unable to look at Daisuke; whenever the sight of the boy playing alone caught his eye, his chest would tighten sharply, forcing him to turn his face away. And always he would turn to Katsue—

“Please watch over Daisuke—you needn’t mind anything else. Just care for Daisuke alone—please stay by his side as much as you can.”

He repeated this plea until it grew almost tiresome.
In truth, he likely hadn’t needed to insist so—Katsue already stayed constantly at Daisuke’s side.
Unlike Oichi, she seemed to cradle him through the night—giving him piggyback rides to mimic horseback play, amusing herself like a child as she led games of tag and hide-and-seek in the garden sand.
She often appeared to take him to places like Ashigawa River and Kameoka Hill too,

“Daisuke’s gotten so big—can swim now, can’t he?”

she would suddenly come to Takao and say things like that.

When he left for the castle, she would see him off at the entrance,

“Dada, Goo-bye-yo-yo-choo.”

he would say—in spring, it had been “Goo-bye-yo-yo-yo.”
Goody-yoo.
This was the established greeting in the household, but his tongue must have been gradually becoming more nimble.
Even when he heard Katsue talking at the side entrance,

“That chibame is Auntie’s chibame, right?”

he had started to speak quite clearly, saying things like that.

“That’s Daisuke’s, Daisuke’s chibame, it fally down, fally down.”

“Oh my, the swallow’s falling down, Daisuke!”

“Yeah, fally down, really! Fally down and go ‘Head owie owie’ and bumped here!”

One day, such a conversation was overheard.

"Daisuke, that over there is the swallow's Mother."

It must have been a careless remark—her voice abruptly cut off. Then Daisuke spoke as if angry.

“Chibame, Kaa-kan, not here.”

As autumn approached, Takao increasingly found himself softly murmuring Ieyasu’s words.

A person’s life is like bearing a heavy burden while traveling a long road—one must not hurry.

In his youth, he had uncritically memorized them, but now, speaking them aloud, he could feel profound solace.
Mori Sannosuke too was shouldering a heavy, painful burden; Oichi too. Even little Daisuke already bore a burden in his heart.

“One must not hurry…”

As he listened to the midnight rain, he closed his eyes tightly and murmured.

“Everyone bears a heavy burden—though differences exist in circumstances and character, all humans each carry some burden…… To live is precisely that—and the road is long……”

We must help and support one another along the way—through mutual toil and assistance, we must lighten each other’s burdens as much as possible, sharing suffering and sorrow.
To lighten one’s own burden would only make others’ heavier.
The road is long; living is hard—one must not drown in one’s own suffering and sorrow.
Takao had come to think this way, and from the pain of losing Oichi, he seemed able to recover—albeit very gradually—little by little.

Shortly after September began, he was invited to dinner by Kira Setsutarou.

An abruptly autumn-like wind swept through the evening, and in Kira’s garden, even the prized white bush clovers had passed their peak, their silver grass plumes now standing uniformly.
Besides Takao, there was a fellow guest named Miyata Shingo, and an unfamiliar young woman served alongside Kira’s wife.
Miyata was said to be a colleague at Kira’s office, and the unfamiliar young woman was introduced as his sister, named Yukino, twenty years old.

So he called me here to show me this young woman.

Takao immediately realized that.
Yukino had a comfortably proportioned figure of about five shaku two sun (approximately five feet two inches), with a composed demeanor and a fluent way of speaking.
When urged by Kira’s wife, she obediently accepted the sake cup, and when Kira or her brother spoke to her, she responded very naturally and calmly without any shyness.

“Why don’t we have you demonstrate your skills now?”

When the alcohol had taken effect slightly, Kira said this, and his wife brought in a koto along with a servant.

“Ms. Yukino has real skill in teaching the koto.”

Kira said this to Takao.
Then Yukino turned a gentle smile toward Kira’s wife and said, “There are all sorts of instructors, aren’t there? Mine is the type who says, ‘You mustn’t play it like this’… Both Father and Brother say so once they’ve sobered up.”
“That’s exactly right—you’ll understand once you hear it.”

Miyata Shingo said to Takao.

“At home, she comes with sobriety and certification.”

Takao remained silent, giving a bitter smile.

He had not the slightest intention of accepting any marriage proposals yet.
Therefore, to avoid hurting the young woman’s feelings, he made every effort to divert himself from the atmosphere of the gathering. …Yukino played an ancient piece called “Old Pine,” which was exceedingly elegant.

Seven

Almost simultaneously with her koto performance ending, a messenger arrived from Takao’s home. Since it seemed to be an urgent matter, he apologized for leaving early and returned home to find Daisuke had suddenly fallen ill, with a doctor having come.

Daisuke developed a severe fever since evening, began having convulsions, and suffered persistent vomiting and diarrhea.

“Please understand there is a ninety percent chance he cannot be saved.”

The doctor said this and stayed through the night until morning.
Even by the next day, Daisuke remained in a coma. The vomiting attacks—now with nothing left to expel—and watery diarrhea showed no signs of stopping, and even to Takao’s eyes, there seemed to be no hope.

He hadn’t slept a wink, but as there was unavoidable work at his office, he went to his official duties early and returned by noon to find Matsusuke had come back from Monkey Valley.
It was a bit earlier than usual, but he came due to some business.
……He must have realized Daisuke was beyond hope—his face pale, eyes swollen from weeping.
And when Takao had finished his lunch, he lowered his voice and,

“Please allow this old man to summon Mistress Oichi to nurse him.”

he said.
Takao looked at him in surprise.
Matsusuke’s bloodshot eyes were filled with a desperate, earnest intensity.
Takao shook his head.

“No—don’t say that again.”

He then immediately headed toward the sickroom.

Daisuke’s flesh had wasted away to a shocking degree, his skin taking on a deathly pallor. With half-open eyes, he gasped faintly while constantly shaking his head from side to side.
Since Katsue hadn’t slept since last night either, he told her to go rest, saying he would take over, and sat alone at the child’s bedside.

“Chibame, Papa… Chibame’s Ochi…”

Daisuke had been repeating the same delirious words since last night.

“It hurts, it hurts—Daisuke’s Chibame, you know? Here it hurts, really… Hey, Papa, Chibame won’t go anywhere, right?… Chibame can’t go away—Daisuke’s Chibame can’t go away… No, no…”

Takao clenched his teeth.

Bearing a heavy burden along a long road...

He closed his eyes. Don't die, Daisuke, he screamed in his heart. Live, live, keep fighting, don't die, cling to rocks and live, it must hurt but endure—as he pleaded like this in desperate prayer, a choked sob sounded from behind.

"I beg of you, Master—this old man's lifelong request."

It was Matsusuke’s voice.
Takao kept his back turned in that direction and said in a voice like a whisper.

“If you had heard him, you would understand… Daisuke doesn’t call for his mother even in delirium—not once has he mentioned her since the day she left… With his small, childish heart, he’s been trying to forget her… It’s better this way… To summon her back now would make all four of us—Daisuke included—suffer anew.”

“That is precisely why I implore you—a lifelong entreaty.”
Matsusuke spoke while kowtowing, “—And this matter of beseeching you to recall Mistress Oichi is something this old man must someday plead.”

Takao quietly turned around.
He didn’t quite grasp the meaning of Matsusuke’s words.

“You mean to call her back?”

“Surely you have not forgotten what this old man declared when first entrusted with accompanying them… I stated that as a mere servant, I could not abet infidelity—words spoken in ignorance, from the single-minded resolve of a fool who knew nothing, uttered without forethought or consideration.”

“What do you mean you knew nothing?”

“It’s entirely different—there is no infidelity on Mistress Oichi’s part. This old man has accompanied her for over two hundred days, witnessing everything with these eyes—Mistress Oichi has absolutely no infidelity whatsoever.”

“Matsusuke—what are you saying?”

“Please listen, Master. Please listen to what I have to say.”

Matsusuke began to speak haltingly.
Clutching his knee with one hand and wiping tears with the other... Takao didn’t want to hear it—he even tried to rebuke him—but when Matsusuke began by stating that Mori Sannosuke was critically ill with little time left, he found himself unwittingly drawn into the account.

Mori Sannosuke had been suffering from a lung disease for several years.
Even he himself hadn’t realized it until that night when he attempted a surprise attack on Takao and became disoriented—it was then he suddenly coughed up blood.
After Takao left, he remained unable to move for half an hour before crawling back to his lodgings.
...Oichi had arrived at Monkey Valley about seven days after him, but upon her arrival, he immediately coughed up blood again and from then on remained bedridden.

Oichi slept and lived in a room always separated from Sannosuke.
When she was in Sannosuke’s room, she always kept the shoji open.
In the guestbook, they had of course registered under a false name as siblings, and had come without arousing the slightest suspicion from the inn staff... Until their ties with Kihira were formally severed, this was only natural—Matsusuke had thought so.
If there had been even the slightest improper behavior between them before that, he had even been prepared to mercilessly berate them to their faces.
However, their demeanor remained unchanged, and even in Matsusuke’s eyes, it began to appear refreshingly pure.
They hardly spoke; even when in the same room, Oichi would sew or prepare medicine while Sannosuke lay silent and still.
When they occasionally exchanged brief conversations, the topic was always memories from when they were small.

“And just the other night, after Mistress had withdrawn to her room, Mr. Mori summoned me and, weeping, spoke as follows.”

Matsusuke said in a groaning voice.
Sannosuke had spoken of his relationship with Oichi; it was the same as what Takao had heard from Oichi herself, and he had also revealed that he was an illegitimate child.
...he had been set to go to Edo as an adopted son, and thinking he wanted to see her just once before leaving, they met—but once was not enough, and as their meetings multiplied to twice, three times, the circumstances grew such that he could no longer part from her; this too he recounted without concealment.

When I came to Monkey Valley through Takao’s arrangement and found myself alone with Oichi, I realized immediately—my feelings were not love. I revered her as a mother or sister. To me, who had never known affection, Oichi became the first and only person in this world to show me kindness… For the first time in my life, I understood tenderness and the warm joy of the heart. And so I thought I would pay any sacrifice to take her for myself—yet when we were finally alone as I had wished, I could not even touch Oichi’s hand.

This is what Sannosuke had said—so it was told.

“To me, Mistress Oichi was a mother and a sister. Her feelings were not romantic—merely the affection of a mother sheltering her child or a sister protecting her brother… Since coming here over two hundred days ago, under Mistress Oichi’s thorough care, I have lived my first truly human days—peaceful, heartwarming days that made me feel my birth had been worthwhile… Mr. Mori said this through his tears: ‘As the doctor says, I likely will not survive this year. Mistress Oichi is innocent. She had pitied my wretchedness since long ago—so deeply that she could not refuse my unreasonable pleas. Not a speck of impure intent existed in her. Her innocence could be sworn before gods and buddhas… I beg you—once I die, let her return to the Kihira household. Do not let her suffer…’ That is all… Mr. Mori buried his face in his pillow, weeping, and bowed his head to this old man as he made this request.”

Takao listened sincerely, moved.
Sannosuke’s obsession had been so intense that he had attempted a surprise attack; yet when permitted, it turned out not to be love.
Given that his behavior had been extreme enough to be called abnormal, the confession that this was not romantic love but rather affection akin to that for a mother or sister sincerely moved Takao, making him feel it could be accepted without the slightest doubt.

“I’m poor with words—I cannot express myself properly. But Master knows Mistress’s true nature better than anyone… This old man has witnessed her innocence with his own eyes—Master.”
Matsusuke looked up with a sodden face. “—Should anything befall the young master, there will be no undoing it. Even a single day or night matters now—I implore you, please recall Mistress Oichi. Please allow Mistress to tend to him. This is a lifelong entreaty.”

Takao remained silent for some time before finally answering in a low yet resolute voice.

“We suffered—I, Oichi, Mori—we all suffered together. Thinking not to let that suffering go to waste, I tried taking such measures—That hasn’t concluded yet. I believe in their innocence, but until this matter is clearly settled, I cannot permit Oichi to return.”

Then, even lower, he said as if muttering.

“When that time comes, I will go to fetch her. If he survives, I’ll bring Daisuke along… But even if you return to Monkey Valley, never speak of his illness—I strictly ordered this.”

Four or five days later, Kira came.
The proposal was indeed about whether he would take Yukino as his wife, but Takao refused outright.
At that time, Daisuke had also barely passed the crisis, with the doctor stating he would likely survive now, and Takao had finally let out a breath of relief.

“The reason the young master came down with such an illness is his mother’s absence; no matter what, the person you entrusted just isn’t adequate.”
Kira said with great enthusiasm, “You should take her for the child’s sake too. Miyata says even just a formal promise would suffice.”

“Oichi might return.”
“The convalescence seems to have been good for her illness,” Takao answered. “I’ll explain the details in due time… I think she will probably return. That’s the situation.”

Kira sullenly clamped his mouth shut, glared at him, and left without touching on that subject again.

Then, seven or eight days later, one morning.
Because Daisuke was being terribly fussy about something, Takao hurriedly finished preparing for his castle duties and went to check.
Katsue was desperately trying to calm him down, but he was pouting, kicking his legs wildly, and pleading for something.

“He insists on seeing the swallows—he won’t listen at all—even though he shouldn’t be getting up yet.”

“There there, that much should be all right.”

Seeing how vigorously he was thrashing about, Takao felt compelled into action, flipping off the bedding and reaching out for Daisuke.

“If it’s just to the entrance, then come on—I’ll carry you. Oh, you’ve gotten heavy. Daisuke, you’ve gotten heavy again!”

“Me heavy. Haha, heavy!”

Katsue wrapped a thin night robe around his back.

“Heavy, heavy! ’Cause I got my energy back, heavy heavy! Let’s go say good morning to the swallows! The swallows will say ‘Good morning, Daisuke’ too—‘Good morning!’”

“The swallows are no longer here.”
From behind, Katsue said, “They’ve been gone for two or three days now—they’ve already returned south.”

Takao was startled—the swallows that Daisuke had even mentioned in his delirium had left.

“What happened, Papa? What happened to chibame?”

“Well… about the swallows—”

Perplexed, Takao went out to the side entrance.
There was a nest on the crossbeam, but it lay utterly still—just one look made clear that those who had dwelled there were gone.
Daisuke pouted, cried out that the swallows were gone, and writhed in his father’s arms.

“Swallows, Daisuke—listen carefully—when it gets cold, they return to a warm land. That distant land over there.”
Takao said while pressing his cheek to his son’s.

“And when spring comes and it warms up here again, they’ll come back to your home. When you turn four, the swallows will surely return.”

“Chibame, come ’gain, ’gain.”

“Ah, they’ll definitely come back.”

A warmth like hot water overflowed in Takao’s chest; on the verge of tears, he whispered to Daisuke.

“When it warms up, the swallows will return, and your mother will come back too… Just endure a little longer. Once we get through winter and spring arrives… Because you were so brave.”