Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yamamoto Shūgorō

Young People (1)

Sato Masanosuke beckoned, "Over here. It's okay—there's only Grandfather."

"But this feels wrong," Abe Yukio whispered anxiously, "cutting through the garden like this. If someone sees us, it'll be disastrous."

“If we go through this pine grove, there’s a back gate. Beyond the gate where chestnut trees grow thick—we could talk there without anyone finding us.”

“No—I won’t.”
Yukio shook her head. “Being alone together in such a place to talk—I’m frightened, so I refuse.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Whatever,” Yukio said, stepping aside. “You seem different today.”

“You might say I’m different—but even unspoken, I truly am unsettled. All for you, Ms. Abe Yukio.”

“I detest that manner of speaking—I must leave now—people will think this improper.”

“Please,” Sato Masanosuke bowed formally, “I won’t use force to detain you.”

“You’re putting on an act of being angry.”
“I’m telling you to come in.”
“You’re pretending to be angry.”
“I’m just saying ‘Please come in.’ You’re worried about everyone, aren’t you?”
“Hey… Later,” Yukio whispered, “tell me where that chestnut grove is.”
“You’ll understand if you come along.”
“I’ve already said it’s impossible now—Ms. Hatakena Sanae is waiting.”
“Is Brother Uzume coming with you?”

“Don’t be absurd,” Yukio said abruptly, covering her mouth with a hand, then whispered quickly, “Someone came out to the veranda—that’s Grandfather over there.”

“That’s not it,” Sato Masanosuke straightened up and looked at the main house across the wide garden. “That’s not Grandfather—it’s someone I don’t know.”

“Let’s go—if we’re found, it’ll be troublesome.”

Host and Guest (1)

Kajimoto Kosen stood on the wide veranda, gazing at the pine grove at the western edge of the garden, the blue surface of the lake spreading beyond it, and the distant mountain range across the lake, while repeatedly expanding his chest and taking deep breaths.

“It’s nice—just as it was in the old days,” Kajimoto said. “The pine grove has grown taller, or rather—the path down to the lake used to be closer to this side, I think.”

“The path was moved about ten years ago,” Sato Matazaemon said from inside the room. “The gap in the pine grove—just wide enough for the path—made the mountains beyond too visible. When I was young, I thought it was a fine view, but as I aged, it grew tiresome.”

“The path used to be closer to this side.”
Kajimoto murmured dreamily, as if to himself, “We’d strip naked there and dash straight down that path to go swimming—yes.” Then he counted silently in his mind. “Exactly fifty years now.”

“It hasn’t been fifty years yet.”

“No—it does make fifty years. I resolved to become a painter and left home—that was in the spring when I was twenty. A full fifty years now.”

Sato Matazaemon chuckled in his throat, “I couldn’t match Kajimoto’s stubbornness—but was leaving home truly just to become a painter?”

“But I did become a painter in the end.”

Kajimoto kept gazing toward the lake and remained silent for a moment before suddenly turning back with a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Are you talking about Higakiya’s daughter?”

“You hadn’t forgotten,” Sato Matazaemon replied with a smile. “I always suspected it might be so. Though no one else seemed to notice, I alone believed that was the case.”

“Yes—that sharp intuition of yours,” Kajimoto said, nodding to himself. “I’ve marveled at it since our youth. Sato possessed an insight none could match. And that wasn’t the only reason you became this domain’s youngest castle deputy elder in its history… There was another crucial factor—hmm.”

Beyond the pine grove, cheers erupted from the youths, followed by vibrant singing voices that filled the air.

"What's all the commotion?" asked Kajimoto.

“Can’t you tell?”

“I think I hear young women’s voices too.”

“You should know,” Sato Matazaemon replied with a calm smile. “The youths and young women have sat together semi-publicly here—just once a year.”

Kajimoto pursed his lips.
Then a faint smile slowly spread across his face. “Ah—mushroom hunting?”

Sato Matazaemon nodded.
Kajimoto was looking toward the lake and thus could not see Matazaemon's nod.
The two of them listened for a while to the youths' buoyant singing.

“However, you probably don’t know this,” Kajimoto said. “It was said that only cowards waited for mushroom hunting—those who got all worked up being with girls during such events were looked down upon. The quick-witted fellows wouldn’t even glance at mushroom hunting.”

“It was you who led them all back then, wasn’t it?”

“I—what are you saying?”

“That—” Matazaemon said,“is why they say you were their ringleader in those matters.”

Kajimoto made a face as though about to ask, "Did you know even that?" but refrained from voicing it.
The youths’ singing ceased—likely someone had started rowing a boat—as the sound of oars came two or three times.

"Our youth also began here," Kajimoto said in a low voice. "Not in our own mansions nor the castle—it was when we gathered here that we first felt truly youthful, lived our youth freely, and from this place set out into adult lives. Standing here now like this, looking at the wide garden, the pine grove, the lake water, and the mountain range across the shore—to me, that truth seems to rise clearly before my eyes."

“We were just house-sitting here—that’s why we could do whatever we wanted.”

“If Sato’s temperament remains as it was in the old days, the youths today probably wouldn’t hold back either.”

“It does seem so. They all freely cut through the pine grove in the garden, and the more brazen ones even bring sake and boxed meals to hold small drinking parties.”

“At such times,”
Kajimoto said as he entered the sitting room, “I should make you some tea.”

“I’d at least close that shoji screen for you.”

“You haven’t changed a bit with age.”
Kajimoto sat in his seat. “It wasn’t just sharp intuition—you had the consideration not to let others know what you perceived. This isn’t as easy as saying it. Kawano, Watanuki, Sawahashi—even counting myself, four of us were saved from danger by that consideration.”

“Don’t speak nonsense.”

“We’re both old now—this might be our last chance to speak like this. Before our final days arrive, better to say what needs saying. And you, Sato—surely you’re past feeling embarrassed by such things now.”

“No—it’s not about embarrassment.”
Matazaemon transferred water from the iron kettle to the cooling pot, adjusting temperatures between vessels as if mourning some faded romance. “I don’t need others to tell me—just thinking about it brings cold sweat. My own repulsiveness, sly mediocrity, vulgar ordinariness—all come rushing back.”

“Why exaggerate so?”

“Far from exaggeration—to state it plainly, I was an insufferable wretch of a commoner.”

Sato Matazaemon poured the water of adjusted temperature into the teapot, slowly turned the teapot three times, placed it on the tray, took tea from the caddy to add it in, then gently closed the lid. During this interval, Kajimoto spoke.

"Isn't Sato Matazaemon an unparalleled chief retainer in our domain's history—a figure who'll remain recorded in our annals?"

"A commoner," Matazaemon repeated. "To speak truthfully—I extended every possible help to friends who'd stumbled over bureaucratic mistakes, women's matters, or money troubles—or were about to stumble. I even relinquished the woman I wanted as my lifelong wife and the girl who set my heart racing—all for friends' sake. Deep down, I thought this would gain me something—not fame nor gold, but something substantial as a human being."

While pouring tea into two bowls, Sato Matazaemon fell silent.
He passed one of the tea bowls to Kajimoto, took the other for himself, and sipped it with apparent care—yet his movements were mechanical, as if he were unaware of his own actions.

“Yet I gained nothing,” Sato Matazaemon said. “I became castle deputy elder alternating with Murano—not because my talent was recognized. Though they say I achieved governance results during my tenure, this too was due to having exceptional colleagues and subordinates who actually did the work—they’re the ones who accomplished it all. Even if they called me an unparalleled castle deputy elder in domain history out of mockery, that at least would feel human. But in my case, not even mockery colors such praise.”

Sato Matazaemon continued speaking.
He continued speaking in a manner reminiscent of a fisherman returned from offshore muttering that all the fish he’d caught were unsellable.
Kajimoto had been silently listening while sipping his tea but upon noticing a slight pause in Matazaemon’s words spoke in a gentle tone.

“This may be an unusual thing for me to say to you, Sato, but perhaps we should stop there.” He started to voice criticism but stopped himself and smiled wryly. “Your marriage was late—forty-seven, if I recall correctly.”

“Forty-six.”

“I received a notification in Edo,” Kajimoto said with a wry smile, “but does that mean the delay in your marriage was because of that girl?”

“That girl—”

“The girl you gave up for your friends.”

“Ah.”
Sato Matazaemon skillfully concealed his fluster—so skillfully that none but Kajimoto would have noticed.
"That’s merely a metaphor—a man as bland as I am could never have been involved in such scandalous affairs."
“The one who became Shono’s wife?”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“So she became Nihara Munehye’s wife.”
Kajimoto said in a deliberately spiteful tone, “I know you better than anyone, Sato. There were no other girls resembling that besides those two. Wait—” He bit his lip, set down the tea bowl he was holding, and peered searchingly at Matazaemon. “I see—the girl who went to Nihara.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

Kajimoto laughed.
It was a laugh conveying not pity but exasperation toward Matazaemon's unyielding nature—his refusal to lower his guard even in old age.

"Samurai service truly is tedious," Kajimoto said once his laughter subsided. "I'm grateful I became a painter. Were I to have an old lover I wished to meet, I'd simply send a letter inviting her—none of this needless reserve."

“That’s a fine idea,” Matazaemon said. “Higakiya’s daughter remains quite well—she has two grandchildren, and luckily she’s been widowed these seven or eight years now. Why not send a letter and meet her?”

“Truly worthy of being called an old friend,” Kajimoto parried.

“I’ll gratefully accept that praise.”

The elderly woman Iyo slid open the fusuma screen and said.

“Mr. Watanuki has arrived.”

Young People (2)

Aikawa Chusaku called out while catching up, “Calm down, Watanuki.”

“Getting so riled up won’t solve anything—you’ll just wreck the whole plan.”

“What do you mean ‘destroy everything’?” Watanuki Togo stopped and turned around. “Nothing was ever properly consolidated from the start—I finally realized that today! They were all just matching tones with empty words! They weren’t serious about tackling this—just aligning their lips to smooth things over!”

“Don’t say that,” Aikawa soothed,

“I can’t say I don’t understand your feelings—it’s true there are those among them who are all talk. They’re just afraid that if they don’t align themselves with the momentum of domain reforms, they’ll be left behind by the times and mocked by their younger comrades—to tell you the truth, I think seven or eight out of ten are exactly that sort.”

“Ninety-nine percent of them are like that.”

“Just hear me out,” Aikawa continued in the same placating tone. “It’s true most are hollow opportunists, but when momentum builds and the critical moment arrives, even such men are better than none. Why not think of them not as dead trees merely filling the mountain, but as firewood that’ll fuel a great blaze?”

“This isn’t such a time—it’s absolutely not an age for complacency!”
Watanuki stammered as he rushed his words, licked his lips, and spoke each syllable slowly: “Listen—today, in this villa, the elder statesmen are holding a secret meeting. The host Sato Matazaemon, former Edo elder Shono Shigetayu, also former chamberlain Uzawa Tatewaki—and perhaps even Murano Tonomo, the current castle deputy, might attend.”
“But,” Aikawa countered, “why would they hold a secret meeting?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions—they must’ve detected us.”

Aikawa thought for a moment, then asked again, “Is that true?”

“I heard it from my grandfather,” said Watanuki.

“Of course he didn’t mention the reason for their secret meeting—but he did casually let me know that certain individuals would be gathering at Sato’s villa.”

“So Old Man Watanuki knows about us.”

“I think so—I do think so.”
Watanuki spoke as if confirming his own resolve: “When people grow old, they become raccoon dogs—they rarely say things that might get their tails caught. But watching my grandfather’s behavior, I’m certain he’s detected our plans, and seems convinced they’re for the domain’s sake.”

Aikawa groaned in a low voice and kicked the withered pine needles on the ground with the tip of his sandal.
From behind, far across the lake, came the sound of oars striking water and the shouts of young people, carrying over the surface.

“I’ll act today,” Watanuki said in a hushed voice. “Even if just one of the elder statesmen gathering at this villa—I’ll cut them down with my own hands.”

“We’ve taken pains all this time precisely to avoid such sacrifices!”

“Haven’t I been the one showing restraint?”

“It’s not just Watanuki—I’ve endured the same way.”

“Then what about those—” Watanuki waved a hand toward the lakeside, “—what do you think of those frivolous fellows? Is that how people entrusted with grave affairs like domain reforms should behave?”

“Today’s the annual mushroom hunt.”

“Whether it’s mushroom hunting or cherry blossom viewing,” he vehemently shook his head, “those undertaking major affairs should seriously discuss what needs discussing. I’m not condemning them for flirting with girls or scheming secret meetings—such personal matters mean nothing to me. What I can’t stomach is their ambiguous true intentions—their insincerity toward the critical task at hand.”

“In matters like these, isn’t that usually how things are?”

“Probably.”
Watanuki steadied his breathing and said while gazing at the sky, “I too believed this until now—that we mustn’t act rashly, that no single person could achieve this alone, that we should first unite our comrades’ strength and build momentum across the entire domain. But after speaking with them today, I’ve realized nothing can be accomplished through such leisurely methods.”

Watanuki tightened his lips and, while returning his gaze—which had been fixed on the sky—to Aikawa, spoke in a hushed voice that was almost a shout.

“There’s no such thing as a perfect method—that way of thinking belongs to old men, only good for smothering flames that ought to blaze. Listen—to sum up our purpose, it’s about smashing tradition. Trying to do that through common sense is wrong—a fundamental mistake in thinking.”

“Hey, take a look,” Aikawa said, raising his hand. “On that veranda—isn’t that Old Man Watanuki standing there?”

Watanuki advanced to the edge of the pine grove and narrowed his eyes to look ahead.

“Grandfather,” he muttered under his breath. “He came to observe.”
“What do you mean ‘he came to observe’—exactly what?”

“Whether I act or not—” Watanuki said, “what I must do now is ignite the flames of decisive reform. If I can strike down even one elder statesman here today, the smoldering embers will burst into flame—I’ll gladly become the kindling!”

“Hey, wait!” Aikawa called out while chasing after Watanuki. “You can’t do this alone. If you’re determined to go through with it, I’ll join you—but first we need to make proper arrangements. If we act, it has to be without a single misstep.”

Host and Guests (2)

“What you say never changes,” Kajimoto said to Watanuki Gihee standing on the wide veranda. “Though considering this villa itself serves as a monument to our collective youth, it’s only natural every view here stirs nostalgia.”

“There are bitter memories too,” Watanuki said. “In that pine grove—even now—lie recollections that pierce the heart.”

“Wasn’t it the lakeside boat house?”

“In that pine grove,” Watanuki replied as he turned back toward him, “—even what you call a boat house.”

“The showdown with Shono started from that boat house incident, didn’t it?”

“You’ve got the wrong man.”

“It was Niihara Munenobu,” said Matazaemon. “The one who dueled Shono was Niihara.”

“But Niihara—” Kajimoto began before laughing and shaking his head. “Right—it’s coming back now. It wasn’t so simple back then—no, looking back now, it was perfectly simple. But in those days we all had hot blood to burn—every trifle felt earthshaking, and we’d gladly stake our lives on love itself.”

“That too,” said Sato with a stifled laugh, “he wasn’t satisfied with just one lover—had to claim every pretty girl he came across as his own.”

“He was like a young gamecock—with his comb raised and feathers puffed up. Now that I think of it, he truly was the very image of a young gamecock.”
Kajimoto looked up with eyes that seemed to sketch the gamecock’s form in midair. “Though this Sato alone was different.”

Sliding open the fusuma door, the elderly maid Iyo announced, “Mr. Shono has arrived.”

“Ah—!” Shono entered, looked at Kajimoto and Watanuki, started to say something but broke into a cough. “Well,” he managed between coughs, “this is a rare sight. That’s Kajimoto over there, isn’t it? Kajimoto Genjirou, right?”

“His art name is Kosen,” said Matazaemon. “Have you forgotten he became a painter?”

“Ah,” Shono tilted his head, “Was that so? Having been stationed in Edo all this time, my memories of the home province have grown faint.”

After greeting Watanuki Gihee, he sat in the seat indicated by Matazaemon.
Watanuki came over and sat down as well, then asked Matazaemon if there was some particular reason behind today’s unusual gathering.
"It’s Shono’s homecoming celebration," answered Matazaemon.

Taking advantage of Shono’s resignation from his position as Edo elder and return home， he decided to gather comrades from those days for an evening meal and even summoned Kajimoto from Kyoto.
“Well， well，” said Shono， bowing once more to Kajimoto.

“It must have been quite a journey coming all the way from Kyoto,” said Shono. “Have you been residing there all this time?”

“It’s been nearly twenty years now,” said Kajimoto, suddenly adopting a casual tone. “Let’s drop the ‘Mr.’ and ‘sir’—with old comrades gathered like this, why don’t we just speak plainly today?”

“It’s become a habit of mine,” said Shono with a wry smile, fan in hand, “—this undisciplined nature kept me serving too long. Ah yes, Sato here became castle deputy early but resigned cleanly when the time came.”

“It wasn’t all that clean,” Kajimoto remarked.

While replenishing the tea, Sato Matazaemon said, “I myself kept dragging on in service until sixty-eight.”

“Who else is coming?” Kajimoto asked.

“Two people,” Matazaemon answered. “One is Niihara Munenobu, and the other goes by Heisaku—though I suppose you’d have to meet him to know for certain.”

“Heisaku—what’s his family name?”

“Just Heisaku—he runs a small restaurant in Nagahama now,” said Matazaemon. “Of course, he was originally one of our retainers—well, you’ll understand when you meet him.”

“Is that all?”

“The three—Murano Gensai, Ishima Tanomo, and Kuriki Yohachi—have died,” said Watanuki.

“Kuriki, huh—” said Shono. “With that sturdy frame of his—I believe he did serve as a spearmanship instructor once. So he’s gone too?”

“There was someone called Uzawa, right?” said Kajimoto.

“It was supposed to be Uzawa Kosuke.”

“Tatewaki,” answered Watanuki, “he served in close attendance for many years. But now he’s bedridden with illness—hasn’t moved for about half a year now.”

“My liver hasn’t been in good condition either,” said Shono, pressing his right abdomen. “I was told by a doctor in Edo that I was fine, but ever since starting the journey here, this area began feeling heavy and uncomfortable again—I’ve sent a letter to Edo to have my medicine delivered.”

“A liver in old age can be fatal,” said Kajimoto. “Even I get strange sensations around here when I drink a bit too much—what symptoms do you experience?”

Shono Shigetayu began to explain, and everyone listened with solemn expressions.
The conversation shifted from livers to hearts, expanding to encompass various illnesses—their symptoms and warning signs—as well as dietary habits, sleep, the types of medications and their administration, and even reaching the question of whether to abstain from women.

“Enough—let’s stop here.”
Kajimoto spoke as if suddenly realizing something. “Old men always end up talking this way when they gather. Let’s forget about age and illness just for today.”
“True enough,” said Shono, “but understanding how to preserve one’s health to fulfill heaven’s given lifespan remains essential knowledge. You’re carrying excess weight, Kajimoto—you ought to care for yourself according to your years. They say nothing’s worse than growing fat past sixty.”
“I was even heavier before sixty,” Kajimoto retorted. “It hindered my painting back then. Compared to those days, I’ve shed a third of that bulk. Sato’s the one who hasn’t changed since old times—neither gaining nor losing weight, his speech patterns still exactly as they were.”

Their conversation returned to health matters until the elderly maid Iyo slid open the fusuma door and said, "Master, a moment if you please."

"What is it?" Matazaemon responded, turning back toward Watanuki and Shono while offering them tea.

"The florist has arrived."

"Ah." Sato Matazaemon nodded. To the other three men he said, "Heisaku," then nodded again to the elderly maid. "Today he's a guest. Show him in here."

The elderly maid closed the fusuma and left.

“The florist?” Watanuki asked Matazaemon.

“The Nagahama florist?”

“Yes, that teahouse by the lakeside.”

“If it’s that place—I’ve been there two or three times. The owner’s a skinny little man with a mole about this big on his right temple—” He bit his lower lip and stared fixedly into space before abruptly turning back to Matazaemon. “Yoneura Heishiro?”

Sato Matazaemon nodded with a smile.

"Heishiro? Yoneura Heishiro? That ruffian?"—words like these were exchanged in tones of surprise.

"That's Heishiro? How unexpected," said Watanuki. "He actually came to greet us at the florist, but he didn't say a thing, and we didn't notice at all. Did you know about this beforehand, Sato?"

“Ah—about five years ago now,” answered Matazaemon. “He deserted around twenty-four or twenty-five, trained as a cook in Edo, ran a shop there—but I suppose age makes one long for home. In Edo, his only son died, the shop apparently didn’t thrive, his son’s wife left him, and he returned here with his granddaughter.”

“But if he deserted, returning to this land wouldn’t go smoothly.”

“No—the matter’s been settled,” Matazaemon answered Shono. “Yoneura is now under the care of Heishiro’s nephew, and as long as he doesn’t claim the Yoneura name, things have calmed down. It seems they also helped him open his shop in Nagahama.”

“That ruffian,” said Kajimoto, “—returned to his hometown to run a small restaurant with his granddaughter?”

“Even calling her a granddaughter, she’s already about thirty,” said Watanuki, nodding to himself. “She’s got elegance and charm, and the food they serve is quite stylish too.”

“He said he’d steal away all the castle town’s customers soon enough,” Sato Matazaemon said. “I hear they’re planning an expansion—the new room will be built extending out over the water.”

Sliding open the fusuma door, the elderly maid said, “The florist proprietor sends his apologies.”

“He sends his apologies?”
Matazaemon said, “Does he mean he dislikes coming here?”

“No,” answered Elderly Maid Iyo. “He states that as their statuses now differ, he would prefer to refrain from joining everyone’s honorable company. Instead, he will present a meal prepared with his utmost skill.”

“He’s still as stubborn as ever, I see.”

“But he’s an old comrade,” said Watanuki. “We’re retired men now—no need for such formality. If it pains him, let him come just to exchange greetings.”

“Well, fine then,” said Matazaemon. “There’s no need to summon those who don’t wish to come. Let him do as he pleases.” He nodded to the elderly maid. “Then tell him to prepare something delicious.”

The elderly maid closed the fusuma and left.

The Young People (III)

“Going over there won’t help,” said Sato Masanosuke. “Why are you running away?”

“Let go. Someone will see,” said Hatakena Sanae, pressing her sleeve. “I’m not running away, but you do such frightening things.”

“What do you mean by ‘frightening things’?”
Masanosuke said without releasing the sleeve he had grabbed, “If you liked me, Ms. Sanae, those things wouldn’t scare you one bit. You know that—everyone does that.”

“Are you doing it with Ms. Abe as well?”
“There you go again.”
“You’re doing it with Ms. Abe Yukio as well, aren’t you?”
“What does that have to do with anything?” He shook his head in exasperation. “That girl is soon to become your brother’s wife. Just thinking about such things is absurd.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Sanae glared sharply—yet the expression somehow took on an enticing look that seemed to provoke him. “It’s not just Ms. Abe. There are two or three others too. Everyone speaks ill of Mr. Murano Tomoshiro, but none can match your slyness. I know all about it.”

“That’s a misunderstanding—you’re misunderstanding me,” Masanosuke said irritably. “But even if such a thing had happened, what does that have to do with you? I like you—you should well know that I’m crazy about you, and you must like me too.”

“Do I?”
Sanae gave a knowing laugh and glanced at him sideways. “You’re so certain I like you, aren’t you?”

“Who knows?—this time I’ll say it here. I don’t believe in anything. To be honest, I’m too busy living—no time to believe or doubt anything each time something happens.”

“Well, you certainly looked busy in the chestnut grove too.”

“Do you think that would rattle me?”
“What’s visible is merely form,” he retorted calmly. “If you saw anything in the chestnut grove, you only saw the surface—you didn’t see into human hearts. Obsessing over such things is absurd.”

“Then what are we doing here like this right now?”

Masanosuke waved a hand.

"As you can see," he said, "what you want me to answer is something you already know full well. Now, come here."

"You're terrible."

“Even though you want it yourself.”

“I don’t know.”

“Such trivial female vanity.”
Masanosuke swung his right arm wide. “You want to fully enjoy living, yet you shackle yourself with concern for others’ opinions, fear of society’s judgment, talk of morality and propriety—what good does any of that do? You’re alive right now. You’re young and living in this moment. That youth and beauty will fade before you know it.”

“People—” Sanae replied, groping for words, “people—youth and beauty aren’t everything.”

Masanosuke shifted his tone. “Of course, there’s living like Madam Masago of Kounan. You know her, don’t you? That Madam Masago.”

“I received instruction in waka poetry from her.”

“They say she was the castle town’s greatest beauty,” Masanosuke continued. “Her family were middle councilors but reportedly wealthier than even castle deputy elders’ households—likely still are. Status secure, finances untroubled, beauty unmatched in the clan. Marriage proposals poured in—even secret love letters. Yet she rejected them all. ‘I won’t be wife to someone swayed by lineage, wealth, or looks,’ she declared, refusing every suitor. The old men praised her for it—called her a paragon of feminine virtue. Pathetic.”

He kicked at the dried pine needles scattered on the ground.
Then he broke off a single stalk of bamboo grass from the pine grove's undergrowth, stripped away its branches and leaves to fashion it into a whip, and swung it with all his might.
Each time it sliced through the air, it produced a whistling sound like a flute, and Sanae flinched, quietly stepping a couple of paces aside.

“The Madam is accomplished—they say she can handle everything from scholarly pursuits to koto, drums, flutes, tea ceremony, flower arrangement, sewing, and even cooking,” he said in a tone dripping with contempt. “Yet none of it serves any real purpose. She teaches these skills to the daughters and women of the household now, but since our family is wealthy, she doesn’t charge tuition fees. Even any gratitude payments she receives wouldn’t cover cosmetics. She’s fifty-six or seven—though traces remain of the beauty she once had—but no one sends her love letters anymore, no one gazes at her in admiration anymore. A model of feminine virtue? What a cheap compliment as compensation for lost youth and beauty. Damn it all—you’re young and beautiful right now. What matters most for you is to fully savor that youth and beauty. Can’t you grasp something so simple?”

“That’s the part of you I like.”
Sanae deflected coyly, “When you get so earnest like that, you’re just like a spoiled child—adorable. My, what are you doing?”

“I’ll devour you from the head down.”
Masanosuke grabbed Sanae’s wrist and roughly pulled her toward himself. “I’ll devour you from this cute head down to your hands and feet.”

“I’ll scream.”

“If you can,” said Masanosuke, tossing aside the bamboo whip before lifting her with both hands. “Go on then—scream if you can. Go on.”

As Sanae tried to scream, he covered her lips with his own.
The girl resisted ever so slightly, but after letting out a faint, spoiled whimper, she fell still in his arms.
He left into the depths of the pine grove as he was.

Host and Guests (Part 3)

“Unfortunately, I can’t manage bird,” said Shono. “Both of my back teeth have gone bad, you see. I can still chew fish somehow, but bird is beyond me. Even pickled vegetables usually need to be finely chopped.”

“You should get dentures,” Kajimoto said after swallowing what he’d been chewing. “My back teeth on both sides are dentures too. There’s a good doctor in Osaka—even daimyo go there for treatment. A half-month stay would suffice, and the cost isn’t exorbitant. I could put in a word for you if you’d like.”

“They said the same in Edo too, but at my age now…”

“You shouldn’t talk about being old,” Watanuki interjected from the side. “We’ve been shackled by public duties all this time—now that we’ve finally retired, isn’t it time to enjoy our remaining years? If my wife were to die, I’d take a young concubine right away.”

“Ah.”

Matazaemon slowly shook his head and muttered in a voice barely audible, "Watanuki again..."

"Watanuki, you see," Kajimoto continued after Matazaemon's words, "to think he'd say 'if only she'd die' about the wife you dueled Shono to win—the sheer audacity."

"Did I duel you?" Shono asked Kajimoto with a suspicious look.

"It's Kajimoto's mistake," Watanuki corrected. "The one who dueled Shono was Niihara—after that boathouse incident." He grinned at Shono. "Then you ended up dueling Niihara Munebee, didn't you?"

Shono quietly lowered his hand, still holding chopsticks, onto his lap and fell silent for a while with a gaze that seemed to look somewhere far away.—The elderly woman Iyo brought bowls of sake and appetizers, cleared their dining trays, replaced them with what she had brought, and then looked at Matazaemon as if asking what to do with the untouched plate before Shono.
Matazaemon nodded as if to say it was fine to remove them, and the elderly woman left with the cleared items.

“Hmm,” Shono said during the pause. “That did happen. I’d completely forgotten, but yes—it certainly did.”

“Sato intervened, and fortunately it ended without injuries,” said Watanuki. “But back then, we all secretly resented him for meddling. Both Shono and Niihara seemed ready to go all out, and we were rather looking forward to seeing how the match would turn out.”

“Try this sake,” Matazaemon said. “I had it sent directly from a Nada brewer. It should pair well with vinegared dishes or grilled fish.”

The four men ate the appetizers and sipped the sake.

“That’s not true,” Matazaemon said. “No—regarding the duel just mentioned, Watanuki is mistaken as well. At that time, neither Niihara nor Shono intended to fight seriously. Both were waiting for someone to intervene. I realized this and stepped in to stop them.”

“That’s so Sato,” Kajimoto nodded. “Utterly characteristic of him. He was always playing those kinds of roles—helping people behind the scenes, soothing troubled hearts, mediating quarrels.”

“You’re right,” said Shono. “The reason our group endured so long may well be because Sato was there with Kajimoto. Even back then, Sato alone had an old soul.”

Then Shono began coughing again. After coughing violently for quite some time, he took out a folded paper handkerchief and wiped his eyes and the area around his mouth.

“They say summer colds linger,” Shono said feebly. “The one I caught right after receiving permission to resign in Edo still hasn’t cleared up—my weakened liver probably isn’t helping.”

"You should get dentures. They say bad teeth are the root of all ailments."

The elderly woman Iyo slid open the fusuma and said, "Master," whereupon Matazaemon turned around with a vaguely bewildered expression. There appeared to be some matter he wished to keep from the guests; Matazaemon bowed to the three men and rose to leave.

“It’s Madam Nihara.”
The elderly woman waited for Matazaemon to approach before whispering, “I’ve escorted her to the inner guest room.”

“Just his wife?”

“Yes,” the elderly woman murmured even softer. “She told us Lord Niihara has passed away.”

Matazaemon held his breath, then slowly exhaled through pursed lips as if containing his shock.

Midway along the central corridor, a left turn led to a women's guest room on the right.
Although it had hardly been used since the wife died eight years ago, the veranda with deep eaves offered a view of part of the lake from the side garden.—Niihara Kozue had moved away from the sitting mat and was gazing intently at the lake.
Before her knees lay tea and sweets, but there was no sign she had touched them.
When Sato Matazaemon quietly entered and sat down, Kozue turned around to greet him.

She looked far more youthful than one would expect of a woman in her mid-sixties.
Her petite frame was slender, but her skin showed not a trace of sagging, stretched lustrously smooth; her hair remained abundantly black; the faint blue shadow where eyebrows had been shaved and the slightly sunken, doe-like eyes beneath them—all combined to give an impression more coquettish than one might expect.

“It was so sudden.”
Matazaemon listened to her account and offered his condolences. “When I met him just four or five days ago and discussed today’s gathering, he didn’t seem any different at all.”

“Yes, Niihara had also been looking forward to today. Until after breakfast, there was nothing unusual about him, but...”
Kozue pressed a folded piece of finely cut silk cloth gently to her nose and said, “A little before noon, he had some tea. When he suddenly stood up and went out to the veranda... he collapsed there, vomiting a terrible amount of blood.”

After vomiting a large amount of blood, he clutched his chest and suffered for a while.
They immediately sent for a doctor, but by the time the physician arrived, he was already dead.
When she finished speaking, Kozue pressed the cloth scrap to her mouth, hunched her shoulders, and sobbed.

“After sending for the doctor, Niihara told me to come apologize to you.”

"Why?"

"I too beg forgiveness," Kozue said through sobs, "--Niihara seemed to have long regretted taking me from you, and I too have suffered from the depth of my sin."

"That's not true." Matazaemon attempted a smile. "That's an overreaction on your part. Niihara made a proper marriage proposal, and the parents of both families approved the wedding."

“No.” Kozue shook her head. “Before that, Niihara consulted you.”

“Because we were friends.”

“Because we understood your feelings,” Kozue said, “we foresaw that if we consulted you first, you would step aside. Just as Niihara anticipated, you said nothing of your own feelings and even arranged the marriage for Niihara’s sake.”

“That remains an overreaction on your part,” Sato Matazaemon said with strained composure. “If I had truly wanted you, no matter how much a friend consulted me about it, I would not have stepped back. Certainly, I did like you—among the several young women around us, you would have been the one I took as my wife. But that wasn’t just me—anyone who knew you would have thought the same. Niihara loved you strongly enough to push aside all such contenders. If I yielded, it simply means my love wasn’t as strong as his.”

Kozue's sobs grew slightly louder.

“There, there,” Matazaemon said. “Niihara has nothing to regret, and you have no reason to blame yourself. If anything did happen, it was all long ago.”

Had Kozue not heard anything? Waiting for her sobs to subside, she spoke in a pleading voice.

"Both Niihara and I came to feel we had wronged you soon after marrying. Even after bearing children and grandchildren, we as a couple could never truly harmonize because of this. Niihara didn't just blame himself—he blamed me too for refusing him and not going to you instead. Now here—"

Kozue wiped her eyes and stared intently near Matazaemon. "If humans have souls, then the soul of the deceased Niihara must be here. Speaking as though his soul were present—Niihara blamed me not for failing to become your wife, but for never fully becoming his wife in heart, even after marrying him and bearing children."

“Your mind is unsettled by misfortune,” Matazaemon interjected softly. “Saying such things stems from an unsettled state of mind. Please stop now—I don’t wish to hear any more.”

Kozue stared into Matazaemon’s eyes.
In those tear-filled eyes, there was a strong light that could be mistaken for anger.
“Once in a lifetime,” Kozue said in a near-whisper, then corrected herself: “Just once in a lifetime—can’t you acknowledge what truly happened as it was?”

“As one grows older, a person’s way of thinking changes in various ways.”

“You haven’t changed,” Kozue said. “You remain exactly as you always were—helping others, compensating for their failures, hiding your own sorrows to comfort and encourage them, all without letting anyone notice. Yet you don’t understand how heavy that burden of guilt weighs on those who feel indebted to you. In our case too, you dismiss it as an overreaction. If you say that, perhaps you think our feelings would be eased—that must be what you’re thinking.”

Sato Matazaemon quietly turned his head and looked toward the lake.

“Though Niihara and I maintained an outwardly peaceful life,” Kozue said while pressing the cloth to her nose again, “our hearts could never escape the pain of old wounds. When he thought he wouldn’t survive, Niihara told me to come apologize to you—yet you refused to accept it. You wouldn’t even sincerely receive Niihara’s feelings as he faced death. If this is what you call noble restraint, I can only pity you. Compared to you—who smothered yourself to live that way—Niihara, bearing his burdens of guilt and wounds while enduring their weight and pain, was far more human and found greater meaning in living.”

Sato Matazaemon silently gazed toward the lake.

"I’ve finally come to understand," Kozue said in a low yet resolute tone, "that while blaming ourselves for your sake, we were truly in love with each other. When Niihara blamed me, he wanted to verify whether I truly belonged to him. And when I blamed myself, it was because loving Niihara in truth made me feel I had wronged you."

"Why would that not be so?" Sato Matazaemon said while keeping his gaze fixed on the lake. "--You and Niihara were unmistakably a happy couple."

Kozue stared at Matazaemon's profile with piercing eyes.

"I'll say it once more," Kozue said. "You truly are a pitiable person."

Sato Matazaemon silently nodded in acknowledgment.
Kozue wiped around her eyes, pressed her nose, then rose to bid farewell.
Sato Matazaemon accompanied her to the inner entrance and stood there seeing them off until Kozue—alongside the maid who had been waiting for her—departed along the stone-paved path toward the gate.

When he returned to the main hall, the three were already sipping their tea, and only Matazaemon’s meal tray remained set out.
Matazaemon called Iyo, had the meal tray cleared, and had tea prepared for himself.

“That’s precisely what I can’t comprehend,” Kajimoto spoke eloquently. “Back then, we burned with ambition. Though our goals differed, we vowed to rise in station, make our names, and achieve work that would leave our mark in history’s annals. We swore that oath here countless times—surely you remember, Shono.”

He looked at Shono, at Watanuki, and at Matazaemon.
Their faces were flushed with pleasant intoxication, and in their eyes appeared a quiet fervor, as if chasing distant memories.
Shono nodded, Watanuki nodded, and Matazaemon smiled gently.

“Uzawa Kosuke—” Kajimoto continued, “or perhaps Tatewaki? He and the late Kuriki Yohachi were especially brimming with ambition. They saw everyone around them as trivial, incompetent fools and found everything from politics onward utterly disagreeable. Ah yes, now that I recall—Kuriki Yohachi once grew so enraged by the domain government’s corruption that he even proposed executing the senior councilors.”

“Certainly because of that,” Watanuki said, “if I recall correctly, he was ordered to be confined for twenty or thirty days.”

“I heard in Edo,” Shono said cheerfully, “that besides Kuriki, four or five others must’ve been ordered into confinement too. The youngsters there were all in an uproar, wondering what fresh commotion was starting.”

“That too was due to an excess of youthful blood,” Kajimoto said. “Reasons came second—we simply couldn’t help charging ahead recklessly. Yet despite all that wandering, stumbling, and repeated failures, we all grew with strange smoothness. Even if not exactly as we first intended, I’d say we nearly achieved our aims.”

“I only reached head of the rotating assembly,” Watanuki said, “but Sato became our domain’s youngest-ever castle deputy elder, Shono served as Edo elder, and Uzawa as chamberlain.”

“And Kajimoto,” Shono said, “if my recollection isn’t mistaken, should be known throughout the land as a Tosa-school painter.”

Sato Matazaemon quietly looked at Shono.
It seemed he had thought that while he had only recalled Kajimoto Genjiro earlier, he had now realized it through the artistic pseudonym Kosen.

“Let’s dispense with modesty now,” Kajimoto said. “I am indeed recognized within the Tosa school—the screens I painted are housed in the households of the Kii family, as well as those of Kaga, Echizen, and Tosa. Kyoto’s temples hold numerous fusuma paintings of mine. Presently, I’ve been commissioned by Nara’s Hōrin-ji Temple to create wall paintings for their Golden Hall and am currently working on the preliminary sketches.”

“In other words,” Kajimoto continued, “even limiting this to myself alone—the things we desired with our youthful blood surging have nearly all become ours. Yet despite that, in actual feeling, I don’t feel I’ve grasped anything at all. Those glorious things we yearned for in our youth—the heart-pounding thrill of honor and fame—now seem far more distant than they were then, having retreated beyond reach. Don’t you feel this way?”

“When you paint and such, you end up thinking strange things,” Watanuki said with a wry smile. “But now that you mention it, I suppose I do feel that way too.”

“Or perhaps,” Shono said, “could it be said that such brilliance never existed from the start?”

“No—think back and you’ll recall,” Kajimoto narrowed his eyes softly, “—we swore oaths there too, in this mansion’s grand courtyard. Yes—gathering around bonfires in that courtyard, drinking sake as flames crackled, vowing we’d seize control of the domain someday. Wasn’t it you, Shono, and the late Murano who pledged to purge incompetent senior councilors and rebuild our domain’s governance from the ground up? Ishima Tanomo and his group immersed themselves in fantastical plans for farmlands, roads, and industrial reforms. Though I aspired to be a painter, we all shared our ambitions and swore we’d achieve our goals without fail—didn’t our eyes then see future brilliance? Didn’t we believe thrilling fame and honor awaited where we’d arrive?”

Kajimoto fell silent there.

Shono gazed at the tea bowl he held, Watanuki looked toward the garden, and Matazaemon stared up at the ceiling.

Outside the veranda, two old men had brought a large square table and placed four ceramic stools around its four sides.
The table was crafted from sturdy walnut wood, devoid of any ornamentation, yet its simple form remained unaltered—whether due to the patina of age or meticulous polishing—radiating an ineffable beauty and solemnity.

“That’s right,” Shono said in a low voice. “—We had a brilliant future.”

“What about you, Watanuki?”

“There’s no need for concern,” Watanuki replied, pointing toward that spot in the garden as he said, “The bonfire was over there. I can almost see everyone’s excited faces—eyes bloodshot from their intense fervor.”

There, they fell silent again.

Beyond the pine grove—likely by the lakeside—the voices of young men singing could be heard, their bursts of cheering and laughter reaching them intermittently.
Yet these sounds likely did not reach the ears of the old men, for they seemed to be savoring the sweetness and bitterness of reminiscence, each chewing on their own memories in their own way.

“Now then—how about now?” Kajimoto said in a hoarse voice, then coughed and restated: “Now that we’ve nearly all obtained what we aimed for—has anyone among us ever once bathed in that glorious thrill of fame and honor? What about you, Shono? Sato? Watanuki?”

Watanuki started to say something but fell silent, and Shono, with a gaze that seemed to peer into his own heart, did not attempt to speak.

“This may sound somewhat presumptuous of me,” Kajimoto sighed and continued, “but we all exerted our full efforts toward our goals. Sato’s position as castle deputy elder was indeed a hereditary role for a single generation—yet had he been incompetent, even that succession would never have occurred. Rather than a privilege, it became a great burden for him. Not only did he endure that burden, he achieved merits worthy of inscription in domain history. Sato attributed this to his colleagues’ and subordinates’ efforts—but precisely in enabling those colleagues and subordinates to work fully lies the true skill of a castle deputy elder. Thus, while each of us strove with all our might to fulfill our purposes step by step, the closer we approached those purposes, the more distant grew the brilliance of fame and proud honors—until we came to feel, as Shono said, that such things had never existed from the start.”

Watanuki gave a throaty laugh. “Far from honor,” he said without irony, “everything I’ve done until now seems utterly meaningless—nothing but emptiness.”

“Kajimoto stands apart,” Shono said. “—His paintings will be cherished by daimyo lords, temples, and connoisseurs, enduring for a thousand years yet.”

“To speak plainly,” Kajimoto said with grave sincerity, “were it possible, I’d wish to burn every last painting I’ve ever made before dying.”

They fell silent again.
Amidst this, Sato Matazaemon quietly stood up and stepped out onto the veranda.
In the garden, two old men were preparing the table, and in the pine grove, he could see the evening mist beginning to rise.

“Listen to that,” Kajimoto said, tilting his head. “The youths who came mushroom hunting are singing.”

Watanuki and Shono listened intently.

“Yeah, it brings back memories.”
Watanuki nodded slowly—twice, then three times—and said, “It’s like hearing our own voices from back then.”

Shono remained silent and closed his eyes.

The Young People (IV)

Murano Tomoshiro and Hatakena Uzume came through the pine grove, and Murano stopped and picked up one of a woman's shoes from the undergrowth.

“Isn’t this Ms. Sanae’s?”

Murano showed it to Hatakena.

"It's my sister's," Hatakena said as he took it. "It must be further in."

The two attempted to head deeper into the pine grove.
Then, from that direction, Sato Masanosuke came out carrying Hatakena Sanae on his back.

"What’s with that look?" Hatakena shouted. "Sanae, you’re being disgraceful!"

“I lost the footwear, you see,” said Masanosuke.

Hatakena threw the footwear he was holding toward the two.
Sanae turned pale, slid down from Masanosuke’s back, and put on the footwear.

“Shame on you, Sato!” Hatakena shouted. “You call yourself a samurai?!”

“Now, now—don’t get so angry.”
Masanosuke calmly said, “Today’s the once-a-year mushroom hunt, and I had something to discuss with Ms. Sanae.”

“What about Ms. Abe Yukio?”

“Now, now—don’t shout like that.”

Hatakena said “This guy,” grabbed Masanosuke’s collar—then barked “Come here,” roughly shoving him toward the open garden.
Masanosuke remained calm and allowed himself to be handled.

“Brother!” Sanae called out while chasing after him. “Brother, please—don’t do anything violent.”

“Shut up!” Hatakena bellowed as they exited the pine grove, releasing the collar he had gripped. “This is no woman’s affair! Stay silent and keep out of this!”

“Now, now—calm yourself,” Masanosuke said. “Getting angry without hearing the reason serves no purpose. I’ll explain everything.”

“No lies will save you.”
Hatakena shouted back as if stoking his own fury: “Ms. Abe Yukio returned to her seat weeping! She refused to answer when asked what happened! One of the girls nearby told me you were with her in that chestnut grove on the hill—what did you do to Ms. Yukio?!”

“That person is your fiancée, isn’t she?”
Masanosuke replied with a smile playing on his lips, “If you’re engaged, you should trust her. I’m friends with Hatakena, and today’s the annual mushroom hunt—even if acquaintances walk together chatting a bit, there’s no reason to change your expression and get so angry over it, is there?”

“Ms. Yukio is my fiancée—is taking her out not something worth getting angry over?”

“I don’t believe so,” Masanosuke replied. “She may be engaged to you, but she isn’t yet your wife. It’s premature for jealousy.”

“Jealousy?!”
Hatakena’s face flushed crimson. “Can’t you tell samurai propriety from petty envy?!”

Meanwhile, young samurai kept streaming up from the lakeside, forming a watchful circle around the scene.
Here, Sanae persistently cried “Brother!” while Murano Tomoshiro held her back.

“Don’t drag etiquette into your petty jealousy,” Masanosuke said. “What I discussed with Ms. Yukio isn’t what you’re suspecting, Hatakena. If we don’t stop here, there’ll be no way to back down later.”

“It’s not just about Ms. Yukio,” Hatakena shouted vehemently, “you’ve even seduced my sister!”

“Brother!” Sanae called out.

“There was a shoe left in the undergrowth—what did you do to my sister deep in the pine grove? If you can explain yourself, then try.”

“He wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Can’t you even explain yourself?”

“It’s not that I can’t—there’s just no need to.”

“Draw!” Hatakena shouted as he leapt back and gripped his sword hilt.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll cut you down,” Hatakena said as he drew his sword. “Just draw, Sato.”

“You’re going to cut me down?”
Masanosuke’s eyes glinted mischievously. “With those skills?”

“Don’t let anyone interfere!” Hatakena shouted.

Masanosuke drew his sword with a supple motion and simultaneously removed the straw sandals he had been wearing.
At that moment, Abe Yukio arrived with three girls and let out a scream the instant she saw the two figures poised with drawn swords.

“Please wait, Mr. Hatakena,” Yukio called out in a trembling voice, “you’re misunderstanding.”

“Brother!” Sanae shouted while still restrained by Murano.
“Please don’t do this—if anything were to happen to Mr. Sato, I couldn’t go on living.”

“I’ll explain,” Yukio continued calling out, “We were discussing our wedding arrangements with Mr. Sato.”

“I—” Sanae shouted, “have made a marriage promise with Mr. Sato!”

Hatakena’s sword drooped limply.

“What’s wrong?” Masanosuke said with a smile. “Aren’t you going to cut me down?”

“You’re despicable, you.”

“You won’t even listen to your friend’s words, yet you’ll believe what women say in an instant,” Masanosuke said, still holding his sword at the ready. “The two of them might be lying to save me, you know.”

“You’re a hateful bastard,” Hatakena said, waving his hand. “Just sheathe your sword already.”

When Masanosuke lowered his sword, the young samurai who had been keeping their distance let out a roar of cheers and surged toward the two.

Host and Guests (4)

Watanuki circled around the table, stroking its flat surface and thick legs.
The other three stood to the side, watching Watanuki’s movements.

“This was bestowed upon us by Lord Jōkan’in,” Watanuki said. “Back then, we weren’t allowed to use it. I always thought I’d like to have a proper meal at this table someday.”

“I haven’t seen this gangway lantern before,” Kajimoto said. “Has it been here all along?”

“Indeed, these were bestowed by Lord Jōkan’in,” answered Sato Matazaemon. “I heard from my grandfather that both this table and gangway lantern—apparently this is something hung on a ship’s gangway—were presented to Lord Jōkan’in by a Dutch ship’s captain and later received by my grandfather.”

“That lord must have been quite fond of Western things,” Shono said. “The main residence in Edo still stores several sets of glassware bowls and cups, nautical charts annotated in Dutch, sleeve pistols, and even old wine.”

“Did you try drinking it?” asked Kajimoto.

“No,” Shono said, shaking his head. “It’s our rule not to handle Lord Jōkan’in’s heirlooms.”

“Let’s serve that,” said Sato Matazaemon. “It was apparently received along with this gangway lantern and table, but there’s a sealed bottle stored in the rear cellar.”

“However many decades have passed,” Watanuki said. “Can that old stuff still be drunk?”

“They say the older it gets, the better it tastes—provided it’s stored properly,” answered Matazaemon. “My grandfather had a stone-lined cellar built behind this residence, designed to ward off dampness and maintain a steady temperature. I actually sampled a sip myself in preparation for today’s gathering—to my palate, it was remarkably fine.”

“Wasn’t it sour?” Kajimoto asked eagerly. “I’ve been made to drink it several times in Kyoto and Osaka myself, but the acidity was too strong for my taste.”

The old servant and the elderly woman Iyo of this house brought sake jugs, glassware cups, and bowls of sweet dishes, and arranged them on the table.

“I didn’t detect any sourness,” said Matazaemon. “It had what I’d call a well-matured astringent taste—though let’s have each of you judge for yourselves.”

“Let’s call Heishiro,” Watanuki said. “I want to thank him for the meal earlier too—since we were comrades. If needed, I can go fetch him myself.”

“While we appreciate your kindness,” said the elderly woman Iyo, “the master of the flower shop has already returned home just now.”

“Heishiro has left,” said Matazaemon, looking at Iyo’s face.

“Yes,” Iyo answered after lighting the gangway lantern, “He said he would cordially invite all of you once he has become a bit more presentable. Until then, he asks that you kindly refrain from concerning yourselves with him.”

“That rowdy one,” Watanuki said, “is still as stubborn as ever.”

“Now then, take your seats,” said Sato Matazaemon.

They sat down facing the table.
By the lakeside, the young men's singing voices rose high, blurring the pine grove as mist slowly flowed into the garden.

"Look—it's fog," Kajimoto said, taking a deep breath, "fog coming from the lake. Now everything from those days has come together."

“Alas, this mist is no good for me now,” Shono said while rubbing both his shoulders. “The doctor has warned me—is there something I can put over my shoulders?”

“Iyo,” said Sato Matazaemon, turning around, “please bring the blanket from the storage room.”

Iyo adjusted the position of the gangway lantern and left.
Though dusk was settling in, it wasn’t yet dark enough to require the light of the gangway lantern.
Sato Matazaemon took the wine jug and carefully poured the reddish-black wine into four glass cups—as if handling something precious. On the four faces appeared expressions of satisfaction and joyful anticipation, and Kajimoto rubbed his hands together.
They quietly picked up their cups, but since the elderly woman Iyo had brought a blanket, they waited until Shono wrapped it around his shoulders.

"Is there anything else you require?"
The elderly woman asked as she was about to leave.

Sato Matazaemon nodded with an "Mmm."

“Well then,” said the elderly woman, “as the mist is coming in, I will close the entrance. Would that be acceptable?”

“The entrance,” said Sato Matazaemon. “Haven’t the swallows returned yet?”

“The swallows are no longer here,” Iyo answered. “They must have already returned south. Not a single one has remained since the day before yesterday.”

Sato Matazaemon nodded, and the elderly woman Iyo left.

“What happened to the swallows?” asked Kajimoto.

“They built their nests inside the entrance,” answered Sato Matazaemon. “It must have been seven or eight years now—they came every year to build them. But I hadn’t realized they’d left.”

As if answering his words, vigorous cheers came ringing from the lakeside direction.

"When the time comes," Shono said, "the swallows will take their leave too."

"But when next year comes," Watanuki said, "they'll return again."

"The young ones bring their young along, you know," Kajimoto said.

Sato Matazaemon raised his cup and said slowly, “Growing old... does it mean turning to bone?”

The four laughed without making a sound and each brought their cups to their lips.
The hues of dusk grew slightly deeper, and within the mist enveloping the four, the light of the gangway lantern began to brighten hazily.

The Young Ones (5)

“Ridiculous,” said Watanuki Togo. “What did I expect? Just senile old men’s nostalgic drivel.”

“That’s why I told you to calm down,” said Aikawa Chusaku. “There’s no way those retired elders would hold secret meetings about political matters.”

“I thought they’d be men of backbone,” Watanuki spat disgustedly onto the ground, “but gathering to revel in nostalgia while the domain’s politics fester—what pitiful old fossils, retired or not.”

“Enough now,” Aikawa placated. “If we let those elders interfere, it’ll only complicate matters further. Let them enjoy what remains of their years.”

“Old fossils,” Watanuki said, “they’re already half in their coffins anyway. Ridiculous—let’s go.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” said Aikawa. “Keep things calm at tonight’s Taisho-ji gathering, alright?”

“That’s not the issue,” Watanuki said as he started walking. “Whether we do it calmly or roughly—when planning something crucial, how can we afford to pick and choose methods?”

“Don’t say that,” Aikawa said as they walked away together. “You’ve got no patience, Watanuki—endurance is crucial when planning something important. Rushing like this will ruin everything.”

They walked away as they talked.

And then, soon after their voices could no longer be heard, Sato Masanosuke and Hatakena Sanae emerged through the pine grove facing the lake.

“You’re such a bad one,” Sanae whispered. “To keep such a calm face even after all that—I’m simply appalled!”

“Then what should I have done?” Masanosuke said. “Panic, press my hands to the ground and beg forgiveness?”

“You mustn’t do such a thing.”

“No one’s watching anyway.”

“You’re such a bad one,” Sanae said in a sweetly affected voice, “No, you mustn’t. No, absolutely not.”

“What’s so wrong about it? Here.”

“I said no!”

Sanae laughed throatily, “If you do such a thing, I’ll end up telling Brother Uzume the truth.”

“Come on, let’s hurry,” said Masanosuke. “If everyone catches up, it’ll be a hassle. We’ll run.”

“Wait,” Sanae said, “but it’s so dark I can’t see my feet anymore. Hey, take my hand.”

The two walked away along the pine grove.