Pathway to Japanese Literature

The Thief and the Young Lord

I

The sound first came from the direction of the veranda.
The veranda boards creaked loudly; Narunobu instinctively reached for the sword at his bedside. But as his fingers touched the scabbard, he felt the futility of it and withdrew his hand.

Enough already; do whatever you want. I'm sick of it.

While thinking this, he lay on his back and folded his hands over his stomach.
From the gap in the high window cut into the right wall, moonlight streamed in like three pale strips of thin cloth being drawn.
What had been near the futon's hem until moments ago had now grown much shorter, merely staining the middle of the torn tatami mat—it must already be around three o'clock, he thought.

The sound moved from the veranda into the inner chamber.
The footsteps were extremely cautious.
Because there were many missing floorboards, they creaked loudly here and there, but each time the sounds stopped abruptly, followed by a prolonged hush as if someone were holding their breath.
Perhaps from being too cautious—he must have tripped on a torn edge of a tatami mat—a violent stomping sound echoed as he staggered and stepped through something.

He stepped into the hearth.

Narunobu finally smirked at this thought.
He could almost see the flustered face of his intruder.
When he let out a bitter laugh—*They sent a bungling fool...*—he heard muttering from over there.

“Ow, shit—scraped my damn leg! What kinda house is this?! Creakin’ and groanin’ everywhere, even got pits like traps—hell, it’s stripped bare! Can’t tell where anythin’s at! Goddamn haunted house...”

He was probably tying up the scraped wound.
There was the sound of tearing a hand towel or something.
Perhaps having concluded there was no one present this time, he kept grumbling complaints to himself while noisily rummaging around the area for a while.
Then, soon after opening the sliding door, he entered this sleeping quarters.

He was a stocky, small-built man. He wore a short workman’s coat-like garment and loose trousers, was barefoot, and had a cloth wrapped around his face. He was clearly no samurai—nor was he anything like an assassin.

In that case, this might actually be what they call a thief.

When he thought that, it struck him as absurd, and Narunobu began to chuckle quietly.
The man seemed startled.
He turned this way, narrowed his eyes, peered at the futon spread out there, and saw a person sleeping inside it.
Then he suddenly let out a bizarre shriek and leaped back.

“Wh-who’re you? What the—”

The man shouted this while crouching warily and peering over here.
Narunobu remained silent, lying on his back without moving a muscle—the man must have wavered, torn between fleeing or acting, until finally resolving himself. Slowly regripping the kitchen knife in one hand, he thrust it forward and barked a threat.

“Oi! Wake up! Gimme the money! Get movin’, you bastard!”

“――――”

“Hand over the money—nice an’ quiet! Start spoutin’ any nonsense an’ I ain’t messin’ around—this blade’s goin’ right through your gut!”

Narunobu still remained silent.
The man intently observed the situation and cautiously took a step forward.

“Cheeky bastard—playin’ possum, eh? Or schemin’ some trick? Heh! Listen up—I got thirty men waitin’ outside! One sharp blow on this whistle, an’ those reckless bastards’ll come crashin’ in with machetes drawn! Struggle an’ you’re dead!”

“That’s amusing. Go ahead and blow it.”

“What the... wha... what’re you sayin’, you bastard?”

“I’m telling you—blow that whistle.”

When Narunobu said this with a mocking laugh, the man stammered incoherently, then brandished his kitchen knife and roared with all his might.

“Quit messin’ around, you damn pest—stop yappin’ nonsense! Don’t you laugh at me, goddamn bastard—! Hey! Just hand over the money—anythin’!”

“I’m afraid there’s no money.”

“You think I’m some amateur?! A mansion this big ain’t got no money? Hah! ‘No money,’ my ass! Quit screwin’ with me! Get up! I came here with a solid lead—keep yappin’ and I’ll tear this place apart!”

“That’s a fine idea—no need to hold back, go ahead and try it right now.”

Narunobu added this further.

“If you do find anything in your search, make sure to share a bit with me.”

“Quit spoutin’ bullshit—damn nuisance! Don’t mock me, bastard! Just you wait—move an inch and you’re dead!”

Having made this threat and acknowledged that Narunobu remained motionless, he finally began ransacking the house.
However, nothing went smoothly.
The sliding doors collapsed instantly, and the cupboard panel dropped the moment he opened it.
With a clatter, something toppled over, and just as he yelped “Shit—that hurts!”, his foot must have broken through another weak spot—the violent crack of a snapping board reverberated through the air.

“Damn nuisance—goddamn it! What kinda house is this?! What a shitty dump!”

The moment he said this, the man fell through somewhere with a splintering crash and thudded down.

II

It almost sounded like he was calling for help.
But perhaps that wasn’t the case—abusive shouts like “Hey!” and “Quit your damn nonsense!” rose unmistakably from beneath the floor.
After rustling around for a while—he must have crawled back up soon enough—he started grumbling complaints again.

“What kinda godforsaken dump’ve I ended up in?! Creakin’ and groanin’ everywhere, stripped bare—not a single decent fixture left! Ugh—*ptooey*! Goddamn—somethin’ just flew into my mouth!”

But still unwilling to give up, he headed toward the storage room and started rummaging through something. Then came a tremendous crash—as if a massive stone had dropped from the ceiling—reverberating with a splintering groan. The man screamed, leaped back, and must have smacked his head against a pillar—a dull thud echoed out, followed by an even louder shriek.

“Hey! Enough already—quit it!”
Narunobu burst out laughing as he called, “There’s truly nothing here. Searching’s pointless—just give up.”

“Good grief—what a disaster! This damn house! Unbelievable!”
While muttering such complaints, the man came back over.

“Hey! You really ain’t got nothin’ here?”

“You’re right—it’s stripped bare. Didn’t I tell you that from the start?”

“It ain’t funny! Oww, that hurts!”

While gingerly touching various parts of his body, the man came over beside the bedding and sat down.
He had rolled up the leggings on his right leg and tied a strip of cloth around it.
It must have been where he’d scraped himself earlier.—The man looked around and sighed.
At that moment, a strange growling and gurgling sound came from his stomach.

“I’m starvin’—ain’t you got nothin’ to eat?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
“Leftovers from dinner’ll do—just gimme somethin’ to eat.”

“There aren’t any.”

The man clicked his tongue and stood up. He headed toward the kitchen, clattering things around in frustration while muttering, “This damn place’s too big—can’t tell where anythin’ is,” “If there’s supposed to be a stove here,” and “Tsk—this one’s empty too.” After grumbling to himself, he returned dejectedly to the bedding area.

“The rice chest looks empty too—you ain’t got no rice either?”
“I don’t lie.”

“So how the hell’re you survivin’?”
“As you can see.”
“But you’re eating meals, aren’t you?”

“Today makes three days since I’ve had anything to eat.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be done.”

The man sighed and gazed this way.
Then his stomach growled again, so he stood up while stifling a yawn, seemed to consider something, then muttered once more, “Ain’t nothin’ to be done,” and headed out somewhere from the veranda.

Narunobu seemed to have fallen asleep soon after. When someone shook him awake, he opened his eyes to find the shoji screens faintly bright and the man from before standing right beside him.

“Ain’t ya gonna wake up and wash your face? The food’s ready, I tell ya.”

“The meal… How did you manage this?”

“Never mind how. Just get up already.”

The man headed back toward the kitchen.

He appeared to be thirty-four or thirty-five years old, with a dark-complexioned, earnest-looking face. What stood out most were his sturdy, hunched shoulders—characteristic of someone who had done manual labor—and his thick legs that curved outward.

That too was amusing.
With a bitter smile, Narunobu got up and, though staggering slightly, went out from the washstand corridor toward the well.

While the front of the estate opened downward from the main gate toward a village dotted with fields and paddies, the rear retained its garden spanning over two thousand tsubo—one side descending into Kurotani’s deep ravine while further beyond it naturally continued into Onizuka Mountain.
There used to be a fence around that area too, but it had rotted and collapsed long ago, leaving no boundary between the estate and the mountain now.
As a result, deer and wild boars—even bears at times—would lumber in, and foxes and raccoon dogs seemed to have made permanent nests here.
For over twenty years without inhabitants—and of course without any maintenance—every tree had grown as it pleased, stretching its branches and leaves until they intertwined and overlapped. Thicket-choking vines, wisteria, and kudzu tangled wildly among them, making it impossible to distinguish pines from plum trees.
Of course, as far as the eye could see was a thicket of summer grass, with only the barest patches of ground visible here and there.
There was a well in that very spot—right outside the kitchen entrance—and four or five ken ahead of it ran a narrow stream fed by mountain water, its icy flow cold enough to numb one’s fingers even in summer as it cut across the estate grounds.

When he returned after washing his face, the bedding had been put away. Approaching the veranda, he found the man preparing a meal—the savory aroma of miso soup wafted from a large pot, while steam rose from an uncovered kettle of rice.

“Did ya wash your face? Then sit down here.”

The man said this and pointed to the other side of the meal tray.

III

After sitting down and taking up his chopsticks, Narunobu hesitated at that point.
It might seem trivial, but the thought had occurred to him—even when parched, one must not drink from stolen waters.

"What's wrong? Ain't you eatin'?"

"Well... it's not that I won't eat."

"Well then quit dawdlin' an' eat already! There ain't no call for standin' on ceremony between folks starvin' together—no human can go three days without eatin', I tell ya!"

He said this, but Narunobu still made no move to eat.
"What's wrong?" he asked, peering at him quizzically.
Then he suddenly squared his shoulders,

“So you think I went and stole this rice an’ miso, huh? Ain’t no damn joke—that’s crazy talk! You’re way off base here!”

He pursed his lips in genuine anger.

“I paid my own damn money to buy this rice an’ miso proper! If ya think I’m lyin’, go ask ’em yourself—that farmhouse down below with the pomegranate flowers bloomin’. Bought it straight from the plump wife there, round as a millstone she was!”

“No—please forgive me. I was wrong. Then I’ll accept your hospitality.”

Relieved, Narunobu picked up the bowl.

When he finished, the man cleared the meal tray, went out through the kitchen entrance, and seemed to wash the dishes in the stream across the way.

Narunobu went to the well-ventilated small study and lay down, vacantly gazing out at the garden trees.
Before long, the man came.
Wiping his hands while looking around, he started to say "Well then," but then looked toward Narunobu uncertainly, stroking his unkempt beard that had grown along his jaw and scratching the hollow of his temple.

“Well then, I’ll be off. You still plannin’ to stay holed up here forever?”
“—Well… I suppose so.”
“So then, what’re ya gonna do about food ‘n’ such? You got any plan?”
“—Nothing at all.”

“Even if ya say there’s nothin’, you’ll end up starvin’ to death like that, I tell ya!”

“—Well… I suppose so.”

The man stroked his chin again and scratched the hollow of his temple.
He looked this way, shrugged his shoulders, muttered something vague, and once made as if to leave indecisively.
But he immediately turned back and,

“Ain’t no choice. This ain’t no joke.”

With these words, he took a furoshiki bundle the size of a baby’s head from his waist and thudded it down in front of Narunobu.

“Ain’t no way I can just up an’ leave ya here to starve—ended up in this damn place, what a ridiculous mess… But hell, ain’t no choice. I’ll figure somethin’ out, so just eat this an’ wait.”

“Then what will you do?”

“What’s there to do? Ain’t nothin’ we can do about it—gotta try somethin’ rather than just sittin’ around. Ah, whatever—just stay put here an’ wait.”

The man left for somewhere with a face like he was angry.

He’s not from around here.

Narunobu thought this. Needless to say about this vicinity—even the townspeople of the castle town knew that the mansion on Onizuka Mountain was an abandoned ruin, that approaching it was forbidden, and that violating this prohibition would be punished. Occasionally there were those who disguised themselves as farmers, hunters, or woodcutters and loitered around—they were watchers from the Takizawa faction, and among them were men tasked with ending Narunobu’s life.

Until he was confined here three years ago, Narunobu had resided at the middle residence in Kyōbashi Kobikichō, Edo. He had been born as the second son of Ōi no Kami Naritoyo and was raised entirely at that middle residence together with his birth mother—Naritoyo’s concubine.

Ōi no Kami had once served as Osaka Castle’s deputy for nearly five years, during which period he remained absent from Edo. During other times, he seldom left his successive high offices—whether as Magistrate of Temples and Shrines, Junior Elder, Magistrate of Finance, or Senior Councillor—and even his returns to the domain for alternate attendance proved exceedingly rare. Likely owing to this constant busyness, Narunobu had met his father only a countable few times before reaching twenty years of age. At the upper residence in Marunouchi resided three sisters alongside the eldest son Narutake. Though Narunobu would visit his elder brother on appointed days to exchange formal greetings and converse, regarding his sisters he had never laid eyes on their faces—knowing them solely by name.

When Narunobu was fifteen, another family sought to adopt him; it nearly came to fruition, but his father Naritoyo absolutely refused to consent. Even though there were two or three such proposals afterward, all were reportedly declined.
This became the unexpected cause of conflict; however, from Narunobu’s perspective, he remembered being deeply moved, believing that his father’s refusal to let him go stemmed from love.
But when he turned twenty-one, his father Ōi no Kami suffered a stroke, and a fierce dispute over succession erupted between his brother Narutake and himself.

IV

As noted before, Ōi no Kami was constantly occupied with official duties, so the domain’s politics had largely been entrusted to senior retainers. Their leader was Edo’s chief senior retainer, Takizawa Zushonosuke—a man who excelled in both appearance and talent, once highly praised as a renowned administrator. Takizawa Zushonosuke had held that position for nearly fifteen years—a testament to his ability and popularity—but on the other hand, there were also many who harbored resentment toward him and dissatisfaction with his policies. According to those inclined to read between the lines, it was said that Ōi no Kami himself had already come to dislike Takizawa Zushonosuke. …The core of the anti-Takizawa faction was Kajita Jūemon, but considering he had been Ōi no Kami’s chamberlain, this might unexpectedly have been the truth.

The Takizawa faction stubbornly maintained Hyōbu Narutake’s right to succeed as family head.
This position was undeniably legitimate.
As eldest son, Narutake had already been granted an audience with the shogun at age eight.
Yet after contracting a severe brain illness at thirteen, while his physique remained strong his mental faculties deteriorated—he would display odd behaviors or slurred speech at times, which formed the crux of contention.

The Kajita faction attempted to install Narunobu.

Immediately after Narutake fell ill, Ōi no Kami had intended to entrust the family succession to Narunobu.
The reason Ōi no Kami had persistently refused the many offers of adoption was precisely this.

They insisted on this, while on the other hand, they apparently spread among the shogunate’s senior councillors that Narutake was an imbecile.
…Ōi no Kami had suffered a stroke and was bedridden.
Due to full-body paralysis, it seems he could no longer even speak.

Narunobu did not know the specific details of what followed. He had no desire to learn more, but one night in early February three years prior, a man named Samejima Heima—who always attended him—came and urgently reported with a changed complexion: that Kajita Jūemon had suddenly been placed under confinement; that all prominent members of his faction had been dismissed from their posts with approximately three exiled; and that repercussions might extend to the Young Lord himself, so he must exercise utmost caution.

There was no room for caution—or the lack thereof.

The following morning, Narunobu was surrounded by unfamiliar samurai and transferred to the lower residence in Honjo.
And after a month had passed, a messenger came from the upper residence and delivered the following pronouncement in Ōi no Kami’s name.

“You conspired with treacherous retainers to plot surpassing your elder brother Narutake and installing yourself as family successor—this fact constitutes a grave transgression of our house laws that we can by no means permit. Therefore, we hereby order your prolonged seclusion within the domain.”

Narunobu said he wanted to see his father, but they paid him no heed; without even allowing him time to bid farewell to his birth mother at the middle residence, he was immediately sent off to the domain. This mansion on Onizuka Mountain was said to have been the previous lord’s villa. After the Matsudaira family was transferred here, Narunobu’s grandfather Ōi no Kami Narimitsu had used it as a retirement residence for a time. However, this too lasted only briefly; as it was too dilapidated and inconveniently located five ri from the castle, they soon abandoned it. After that, they stationed no guards and left it to crumble into ruin... but upon arriving in the domain, Narunobu was immediately confined there.

At first, there were five samurai and several servants accompanying him.
Gradually, the samurai dwindled one by one, the servants departed, and from this spring onward, only Narunobu remained behind.
However, rice alone had somehow continued to be delivered, but even that gradually became less frequent until finally, the rice stopped coming altogether.
From the castle, officials would occasionally come to check on him; strange individuals constantly loitered around the mansion, and there had even been those who sneaked in three times to assassinate Narunobu.
Just recently, from the shadow of the front gatehouse, there had been an instance where someone shot an arrow at him as he stood on the wide veranda.

To the officials who came from the castle to check on him, he had repeatedly tried to complain about wanting attendants, the food not arriving, and the assassins.
The officials answered that they were carrying out all directives from Edo as instructed but that due to your excessively rough conduct, all the attendants had fled; the food should have been properly delivered, they said. Regarding the matter of assassins, they then stated as follows:
“We find it hard to believe such a thing exists, but if it were true, they would likely be operatives of the Kajita faction attempting to shorten your life and bury the secret plot regarding the succession issue.”

Narunobu thought all was lost.

Starvation or assassination—his destiny was now decided.

Struggling was futile.
Having resolved himself in this way, with a feeling of abandoning everything, he lay down intending to starve to death there once the last grain of rice had disappeared.

It was into this state that a thief intruded.
He was likely from another province and knew nothing of the circumstances, but it was bitterly ironic that he had chosen to break into such a place of all places. The thief had boasted as if thinking me some amateur—and no doubt that was exactly what I was.
His character didn’t seem like a villain’s; he even used his own money to buy rice and miso, cooked meals, and fed me.

“While my retainers are trying to shorten my life, a thief feeds me rice—what a strange world this is.”

Narunobu muttered this and opened the package the man had left.
Inside were three large rice balls coated with miso.

V

After dusk had fallen, the man returned.

“Hey, made it back!”
The man shouted from the veranda, “I’m late! You must be starving—I’ll get food ready right now.”

As he watched the man’s retreating figure circle around to the back, Narunobu was suddenly struck by an emotion that warmed his chest—an inexplicable, moist warmth that suffused his heart.
He sat at the desk for the first time in ages, resting both elbows on it as he listened to the sounds from the kitchen with something like nostalgia.

The meal tray held miso soup and rice, along with a bowl full of pickled plums.

“Did you buy all of these too?”

“Cut it out, don’t go sayin’ such nasty stuff.”
The man narrowed his eyes into triangles and pursed his lips. “Ain’t no way a thief can keep feedin’ someone like you all on his own.”

“Hah… So that’s how it is.”

“If I were on my own, well, maybe I could scrape by as a thief. But now that I’ve got you to look after, I gotta work honest—ain’t no other way.”

“Hah… That’s unfortunate.”

“Quit with the gloomy talk—ain’t like I’m some pitiful case. Hell, I ain’t even done much thievin’ lately anyhow. Let’s eat—though there might not be enough rice to go ‘round.”

At night, they laid out the bedding and slept.
Evidently exhausted, the man fell asleep the moment he lay down.
He would let out thunderous snores, flail his limbs noisily, roll right out of the bedding—a manner of sleeping utterly devoid of decorum.
Narunobu, as was his habit, burned mosquito-repellent incense and read by the lamplight until past midnight.

The next morning too, the man went out somewhere, but when leaving, he informed Narunobu where lunch was and said he’d try to buy some dried fish today.

“Anyhow, it’s a pain not knowin’ your name—I’m Denkurō, though Denku’ll do. What’s yours?”

“—Me? My name is… Nobu.”

“Just Nobu? Ain’t very samurai-like, is it? Don’t ya got some fancy ‘nobu’ name or somethin’?”

“No—that’s fine. Nobu is enough.”

“Just Nobu? Like Satō Tadanobu or somethin’?”

He left while cracking some botched pun about "the role in plays where you carry a passing anchor or somethin’."

Denkurō did as he had said and returned that day with a dried fish called chime.
It might well have been the first fish since his confinement there. Time and again, Narunobu caught himself on the verge of saying "Delicious," only to clamp his mouth shut. And so three days passed, then four.
Denkurō was said to be working on the Ōzuma River embankment construction.
That was all well and good, but what had become of the ever-vigilant watchers? Why were they leaving things be despite someone like Denkurō coming and going? This struck Narunobu as suspicious.

“Have you ever been reprimanded by anyone for coming and going into this mansion?”

When he once tried asking this,

“Ain’t no way I’d pull such a boneheaded move.”

Denkurō laughed with a look of suspicion.

“Even the local farmers don’t know we’re here—let alone the construction site folks—I’ve thought that part through myself.”

He left at dawn and returned after dark.
Since he took mountain paths following the Kurotani valley stream both coming and going, he said he still hadn’t encountered anyone along the way.
The surveillance up until now had not been lax enough to be deceived by such means.
If that were the case—perhaps the surveillance had grown lax.
Now that he thought of it—the patrols from the castle hadn’t come around for some time either.

Narunobu was thinking along these lines.

An exceedingly strange kind of communal life continued on in this manner.
Though his manner of speech was on equal terms, in all other matters he resembled a servant attending to his master.
He labored to earn money, cooked to feed Narunobu, and even did the laundry—Even Narunobu, who had been raised being served by retainers, sometimes felt apologetic and wondered why Denkurō would go to such lengths for him.

“You’re one strange person.”
Denkurō, for his part, said such things: “I ain’t never felt like this since the day I was born, but lookin’ at you makes me feel… weirdly happy, kinda glad—how do I put it? Like maybe the world ain’t such a bad place after all… Funny how I’m feelin’ this way.”

“—Wasn’t that how it was before?”

“That’s exactly why I ended up turnin’ thief! Every damn memory I got’s enough to make my guts boil—nothin’ but misery piled on misery.”

Six

Denkurō very rarely spoke about his own past, and even then, only in bits and pieces.

Due to their differing life circumstances and his avoidance of specifics, only the broad strokes became clear. Yet taken as a whole, his past proved so wretchedly ill-fated that even hearing it cast a pall over the listener.—He had been born in Edo’s downtown district to a modest dried goods shop.
His father was a quiet and good-natured man, but when he drank, he would transform completely—taking whatever money they had and disappearing for five or even six days at a time.
In the end, he drank their shop into ruin, and when the three of them moved into a tenement, the father soon met a sudden death.
Though called a sudden death, it was in fact a drunken fall into the river that killed him.

“So from age seven, I was out selling clams.”

His mother took in a new husband, and he was sent off as an apprentice to a seafood wholesaler in Nihonbashi.
The stepfather was also an exceptional drinker; the mother seemed to have endured great hardship—perhaps because of this, she died after about three years.

“So at thirteen, I became an orphan—well, technically orphaned, but that damn stepfather was still kickin’ around. This bastard turned into my personal curse.”

The man called Shinzō came to the shop within three days of his wife’s death. He would summon Denkurō and demand pocket money; always heavily drunk, he would shout loudly or sometimes turn violent. He was said to be some kind of craftsman but apparently hadn’t worked in a long time. Perhaps he had taken to gambling—his unsightly demeanor and repulsive countenance spoke volumes. The wholesaler master must have found it a nuisance to have such a man frequently showing up. Taking advantage of Shinzō’s constant complaints about “not keepin’ work in a place with wages this low,” Denkurō was neatly dismissed from the shop within less than two years.

Denkurō scavenged for barrels.
He also worked as a babysitter.
He apprenticed at stonemason’s, plasterer’s, cartwright’s, and rice dealer’s—various shops.
But this wasn’t to learn a trade. Under the terms of his indentured servitude, his foster father would first demand a sum of money upfront, and after a short while, Denkurō would run away from there.
In other words, the goal was to collect advance payments—though there were times when he found a workplace so favorable that he didn’t want to flee, times when he even thought of settling down in that household.
As with the Nihonbashi wholesaler case, his foster father would show up drunk nearly every day, ranting about increasing advance payments or how the wages were too low—sleeping at the shopfront or causing disturbances—which usually led to Denkurō being dismissed from the place.

When he took a wife at twenty-five, Denkurō was working as a plasterer’s assistant in Honjo.
His wife appeared to be a woman from taverns or similar establishments—one his foster father had brought to settle with him—but from then on, that single tenement room became like a gambling den.
Strange people constantly came and went, with dice clattering and flower cards slapping through the night.
His wife ignored Denkurō entirely, gambling and drinking riotously with those companions—it bore no resemblance to a marital bond.

“That woman didn’t even last a hundred days—soon ran off somewhere with one of those companions. Turned out that was her real husband all along.”

His foster father squeezed him dry.
The man fell ill with a stomach ailment and died, but even after taking to his sickbed, he continued berating him as an “unfilial wretch” until drawing his final breath—a condemnation that lasted over half a year.—Denkurō had turned thirty. For the first time, the moment had come when he could live entirely as he pleased.
He had thought as much, but with no particular trade to speak of and his youth long gone, he had no choice but to drift from one odd job to another.

At thirty-one, he took a second wife. She was a strong-willed woman of twenty-three who had apparently been married once before; diligent in her work but prone to nagging and complaints, terribly stingy, and one who lied without composure.

“Back then I was hauling carts when the boss took a shine to me—must’ve thought I was reliable—let me run a ledger near Kosekiba. Ended up managing twelve carts and three pullers, renting ’em out too. Then there was this Yoshigorō guy among the pullers—been there longer than me… Real bastard. Didn’t even last three months before he swiped the ledger money and vanished. Bad enough, but he’d promised to sell all twelve carts and ran off with that cash too—damn near floored me.”

Of course, he had severed ties with that boss. On one hand, he had grown weary of his wife’s stinginess, lies, and constant nagging; she would rant endlessly about whatever came to mind, even skimping on their meals—reducing three bowls of rice to two—all while hoarding secret savings for herself. Once the Kosekiba ledger office collapsed, he immediately fled Edo, unable to bear the sight of her face or the sound of her voice any longer.

Seven

“Wandered all over hell’s half-acre ’fore comin’ here—never found a place to settle. World’s a cutthroat mess, people suspicious and heartless as they come. Me? Got tripped up at every turn, shoved into pits—nothin’ but rotten luck. Even I finally hit my limit, went half-crazy… Damn it all, figured if they’re playin’ dirty, I’ll play dirtier—but a fool’s got no tricks. Ended up a thief in this monster mansion… Heh. Worked out slicker’n grease, didn’t it?”

His account came in abrupt fragments, sometimes jumbling the chronology, other times repeating the same episodes over and over.
Moreover, there were many aspects of Denkurō’s life that Narunobu could not comprehend—the scavenging for barrels, selling clams, or the daily grind of a day laborer’s existence remained almost entirely beyond his understanding.—Yet Narunobu found these stories enjoyable—or perhaps “enjoyable” was not quite the word, for their factual content was often wretched and pitiable enough to draw involuntary sighs from him.
However, within those tales lay a vibrant life unknown to Narunobu, where the raw visage of humanity could be perceived.

Waking in the dead of night to Denkurō’s sleeping breaths beside him, Narunobu imagined with quiet intensity the man who had been Denkurō’s true father—the one who drunkenly stumbled into a river to his death. He conjured the hushed scene of a frost-laden morning town where that father’s son had walked selling clams at seven years old.

—If I had lived such a life...

Narunobu swapped their places in his mind.
In that exchange, he felt more human—as if existence itself held meaning.

The man who stole money from the Kosekiba ledger office and fled.
A stingy, lying, and nagging wife.
The foster father who tormented him, exploited him to the fullest, and until his dying breath berated him as an "unfilial wretch."
A wife in name only—who gambled, drank, and caroused while secretly maintaining another man as her true husband—such was Denkurō’s first woman.
They were all cunning and despicable in their own ways—yet even as they tormented Denkurō, deceived him, hated him, pilfered and stole from him, they themselves likely lived scarcely better lives.
……Even now, somewhere in the forgotten corners of society, were they not still driven by their own harsh lives, occasionally heaving deep sighs?

They were all pitiable, wretched souls—truly good people at heart.
At the very least, they were more human than the people surrounding me.

Over twenty-odd days of living together, Narunobu grew genuinely fond of Denkurō. His body carried the scent of lived experience; through him flowed humanity’s unvarnished breath—all its virtues and ugliness, baseness and purity rolled into one.

“Hey Nobu-san, you wanna eat some loach soup?”

“...Don’t really know it...but suppose I will.”

“You’ll eat what you don’t even know? Heh! Clueless ’bout every damn thing, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah… Well, something like that.”
“Either your family’s dirt poor, or you’re some kinda young master, huh?”

In this manner, he ended up eating various things he had never tasted before.
Unlike the samurai lifestyle he knew, there was a crude and vulgar-seeming manner to it all, yet every act brimmed with sincerity and genuine feeling.—The pleasure of pouring hot broth over freshly cooked rice and devouring it; tea-soaked rice eaten in shirtsleeves; chilled tofu perfumed with green shiso; even rice balls sprinkled with salt on their fox-colored, charred bottoms from the pot—all were delicious in their lack of refinement and ceremony.
He felt this was real food.

“There’s somethin’ funny goin’ on, Nobu-san.”

One night, while having dinner, Denkurō said this.

"The world's a big place—just when you think I'm some fool, there's bastards out there twice as thick."

"—Such people do exist, I suppose."

"You talk 'bout thieves—but you're the thief here!"

"That's absurd... Surely not—"

"Seems that way—dressed like farmers, skulkin' round the front walls an' deep in the back garden. Think I don't notice 'em watchin'? Saw one peekin' when I was cookin' rice earlier—over by that busted stable in the shadows."

Narunobu lowered his face.
He didn’t want his changing expression to be seen.
Denkurō, completely unaware, said with an amused grin.

“Might come creepin’ round tonight, they might. Then it’ll be my turn to watch—heh. Stumble headfirst, step through rotten floorboards, thrash around noisily all alone till they’re caked in dust and drenched in sweat… Leave ’em with nothin’ but empty hands in the end—heh. Bastards’ll get such a scare they’ll turn into damn fools.”

But that night, nothing happened.

Eight

“What’s that bastard doin’? How long’s he gonna keep dawdlin’? Still can’t decide to come in or what?”

Denkurō clicked his tongue in frustration.

“Why don’t they just get it over with an’ come in? We ain’t gonna lay a finger on ’em—just wanna watch an’ have a good laugh. Got every door wide open waitin’. Must be some prize cowards.”

No matter how much he complained, there was still no sign of any thieves entering.
——Then one day, about seven days after Denkurō had first mentioned this matter, on a muggy overcast afternoon as Narunobu lay reading a book in the small study, a voice called out from the front garden: “Young Lord—Young Lord—”
Narunobu turned only his head toward the voice and answered listlessly, “Who is it?”

“It is Heima—Samejima Heima.”

Narunobu listlessly threw the book.
Samejima Heima... Ah, the man who had been at the Edo middle residence—he thought, but couldn’t bring himself to rise.

“What—do you have business with me?”

“As I am pressed for time, I shall state only the essentials: His Lordship has passed away. Are you aware of this?”

“I don’t know—this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

While hearing that he had passed away on the tenth day of May, Narunobu closed his eyes and softly murmured "Father" under his breath.
Heima went on to explain that Kajita Jūemon had assumed the position of chief retainer, Takizawa Zushonosuke had been placed on standby—in other words, the political situation had begun to shift dramatically.
However, Narunobu had long since lost interest in such matters—who might win or lose, how the seats of power might shift—it held no connection to him whatsoever.

So Father had passed away… Had his final moments been peaceful? Had Mother at the middle residence managed to bid him farewell?

Heima continued.
This mountain villa had been protected by our own comrades from the very beginning.
Though the Takizawa family’s surveillance had already loosened, they could not afford to lower their guard until the situation was decisively settled.
He added that since there were concerns they might resort to drastic measures, they would continue protecting him discreetly from the shadows for now, and asked that the Young Lord endure it with that understanding.

Amid all this, there was one unexpected development.
The fact that all three assassins who had appeared and even the one who had suddenly shot an arrow were members of the Kajita faction left even Narunobu astonished.

“It was truly unavoidable—a desperate measure we had no choice but to take.”

Heima said through clenched teeth.

“The Takizawa faction had long been contriving means to end Your Lordship’s life, so we turned their own stratagem against them. Fortunately, they proved unable to discern this ruse—apparently believing they could attain their ends without dirtying their hands. Under such circumstances, this was an unavoidable last resort born of dire necessity. I implore you to grant us boundless forgiveness for our impertinence.”

Narunobu kept lying prone until the very end.
Then, as Heima made to depart,

“Tell them all—don’t interfere with me anymore, understand? Leave me be.”

The revelation that the assassins had been his allies displeased Narunobu more than anything.
Was this not mockery? At that moment, he meant every word.
He had genuinely believed he might be assassinated.
The habit of keeping his sword by the pillow and his inability to sleep soundly at night—both had taken root in him since then.

Should any assassins come now, they would likely be agents of the Kajita faction.

He recalled an official who had come inspecting from the castle sneering those words. They had been outmaneuvered, but for Narunobu, being the one tricked felt far more shameful.

"I hate this. This world is utterly detestable."

Narunobu muttered this and shook his head violently from side to side, as if trying to shake off everything.

"Denku... should we go somewhere?"

Narunobu said that night.

“Ain’t bad at all. Long as you’re here with me, I’ll take on any hardship anywhere.”

“What—I’ll do something too.”

“Well, folks who laze ’round eatin’ without workin’ ain’t got no excuse before heaven—but there’s no rush. Once your body’s stronger an’ that feelin’ comes up proper, then we’ll talk.”

“I’m physically strong, I tell you.”

“You might think that ’bout yourself, but it ain’t so—your body’s ailin’. Might not be what you’d call sick, but...”

Denkurō looked at him with a dead-serious face.

“That’s right—whether it’s your body or what’s inside your heart, I can’t tell—but somethin’s real damaged somewhere. Me, I’ve got a pretty sharp sense ’bout these things.”

“Hmm… Do I really look that way?”

“No need to worry, Nobu-san. I’m here with ya—not like some grand ship’s captain or nothin’, but I’ll do what I can. Anyway, for now, you just take it easy.”

Nine

Narunobu was serious.
He would flee with Denkurō from here—anywhere would do—work with his own hands, and live a modest human life.
There must have been people everywhere who deceived Denkurō—exploited him—pilfered from him—insulted and humiliated him.
Yet even that seemed preferable—far more human than being made a puppet in power struggles—something worth living for.

“Let’s leave—Denkurō and I—work with my own hands and live.”

In contrast to Narunobu’s resolve, Denkurō showed no signs of moving.
The foreman of the levee construction laborers had taken quite a liking to him, and by that time had already promoted him to sub-foreman.
It seemed the foreman spoke in a manner suggesting he could entrust Denkurō with managing an entire worksite on his own before long.

“I hate to admit it myself, but seems I’ve got that kinda thing about me.”

Denkurō looked bashful.

“I hate it—hate this kinda thing—but… back in Furushiba too, seems I’ve got this strange knack for bein’ trusted. Ain’t like I’m tryin’ to butter nobody up or nothin’.”

However, being trusted didn’t feel bad, and he felt obliged to live up to that trust.
Denkurō seemed to have that intention.

“This place is a broken-down haunted ruin like you see—no worries ’bout anyone botherin’ us, quiet and peaceful, perfect for us stayin’ like this. Anyway, let’s stick around a bit longer.”

As they went on speaking in this manner, about ten days passed.

The day was clear, with a refreshing, moderately strong west wind reminiscent of autumn that had been rustling the branches of trees since morning.
About half an hour after Denkurō had gone out, the sound of hooves approached from afar and came to a halt at the front gate.
There seemed to be five or six riders. Narunobu’s heart leapt, and he pulled his sword closer as he looked in that direction.
As Heima had said, perhaps the Takizawa faction had come to take drastic measures.

I won't let them cut me down without mercy anymore.

As he thought this, five samurai came around the garden plantings. Among them was one wearing a lacquered sedge hat; only this man removed his hat there, handed his sword to an attendant, and advanced toward him. The other four remained kneeling in place, but Samejima Heima’s face could be seen among them.

The one who came over was a man called Kusumoto Kyūzaemon. Narunobu had often met him at the Edo upper residence—a man of middle elder rank who had presumably long been in charge of the mounted guards. He was forty-three or forty-four—Narunobu seemed to recall hearing he was a master of the Yagyū school—but now appeared emaciated, his sideburns gone white on both sides, his sun-weathered, sharp-featured face bearing only deep-set eyes that held a fierce gleam.

“Have you perhaps forgotten me? I am Kusumoto Kyūzaemon.”

Kneeling on one knee at the edge of the veranda, he spoke these words. Still bowing his head, he apologized for having caused Narunobu such prolonged hardship, stated that they had come to escort him to the castle, explained that the detailed circumstances would be disclosed once they arrived, and—as they had brought his horse—urged him to make ready to depart immediately.

“Don’t interfere with me—I already told Heima as much.”

Narunobu sat formally and quietly answered thus.

“I won’t go to the castle. I refuse.”

“I arrived here from Edo five days prior. While in Edo, I was broadly aware of Your Lordship’s grievous daily circumstances in this place—yet upon arriving and hearing the detailed account of these past three years, I confess my very bones seemed near shattered, my spirit all but extinguished by the weight of it.”

“Did you hear I was starving?”

Narunobu spoke with a faint smile.

“Did you also hear I’ve been fed by a thief?”

“With all due respect, I am fully aware of everything—your daily life with that person, how that lifestyle met with your approval, and even your intention to abandon your status and withdraw from society. All of this I am aware of.”

This came as an utter shock to Narunobu.
He briefly considered Heima as the source—but even Heima couldn’t have known such details. The scheme to flee and vanish among commoners should have been known only to Denkurō.
Denkurō—? As this realization struck, Narunobu sharply raised his eyes.

“—Was it you people who stopped Denkurō from leaving?”

“The locals handled it quietly—gave him better pay, put him in charge of things, made sure he’d stay here proper-like for good.”

“So you figure that’ll make me come back to the castle?”

Narunobu said in a cold, yet resolute tone.

“I refuse—stop interfering with me! I won’t be your puppet anymore! I’ve learned how to live like a human being—I will live like a human being!”

“I came prepared for those very words.”

Kusumoto Kyūzaemon said this and quietly looked up.

Ten

“As Your Lordship intends—should you become a commoner and live entirely according to your will—you could spend your days in peace without a single care. But would that suffice? Do you truly deem it acceptable to live freely and comfortably alone while disregarding all else that may befall others?”

Kusumoto Kyūzaemon's eyes glittered.

“You have just now declared us your puppets—but in this matter of succession, three men have taken their own lives. Lord Kajita and his comrades among them—all cast aside their lives, shattered their very souls in their exertions. The long trials Your Lordship has endured to this day are beyond words—yet we too have acted with resolve to meet death. When Lord Takizawa’s faction forced Lord Hyōbu’s succession… they exploited his affliction as opportunity—with all due respect—to seize power and impose their tyranny.”

His voice grew increasingly fierce, its tone steadily stronger.

“The Takizawa faction’s arbitrary rule has long been intolerable—indeed, we understand how profoundly it grieved the late lord’s heart. After Lord Hyōbu’s affliction took hold, he resolved to reinstate Your Lordship as heir apparent—thereby restructuring high offices and renewing governance through this measure. It was precisely for this cause that Lord Kajita and we comrades have labored with bone-crushing resolve—for your house’s sake, for rebuilding governance, and ultimately for the seventy-five thousand koku of subjects under your domain… At last this day has come—a day all have toiled toward at the cost of their very lives. Your Lordship—would you cast aside these souls to dwell in solitary ease?”

Unconsciously, Narunobu had lowered his eyes.
Kusumoto Kyūzaemon softened his voice, let out a quiet breath, and continued. “People bear responsibilities regardless of status—commoners theirs, samurai theirs, lords theirs. Only when each fulfills their duty does the world move forward.”
“To become a lord who marshals your domain’s retainers and maintains your subjects’ welfare through wise governance proves more trying than living as a commoner.”
“Yet both the late lord and his predecessor before him shouldered those burdensome duties… Before indulging in thoughts of carefree comfort, you must weigh your own obligations.”
“Not merely we comrades—the entire domain awaits you.”
“All stand ready with outstretched hands.”
Having said this, Kusumoto Kyūzaemon gazed steadily at him with tear-moistened eyes.

“Please return, Young Lord. I beg of you.”

With eyes still lowered, Narunobu remained silent for some time.
Compared to earlier—his cheeks hollowed now, a certain resolve visible about his brows—he quietly raised his face and spoke with the faintest nod.

“Very well—I will return to the castle.”

Perhaps having heard this, the four men who had been crouching beside the garden shrubbery all at once pressed their hands against the grass and let out choked sobs, as though unable to contain themselves.

“Denkurō is someone I consider a benefactor. I ask you to take special care of his future.”

“We shall certainly carry out Your Lordship’s wishes.”

“I’ll return alone tomorrow—I want to spend one last night with him. Have them withdraw for today.”

Narunobu remained seated there long after they had left.
Then he went out to the garden and wandered through the ruined mansion grounds.
His features grew taut, and his eyes surveying the surroundings revealed a resolute will.

“Denku… I’m going back.”

He muttered softly under his breath, then cast a sorrowful gaze toward the clear, windswept sky.

When Denkurō returned, Narunobu was preparing soup at the hearth.
Covered in ash from head to toe—likely from being engulfed in smoke—he had blackened around his eyes.
Denkurō was startled, rushed over, and snatched the bamboo bellows from his hand.

“What’re you doin’?! You ain’t gotta be messin’ with this stuff! This ain’t no joke—gonna bring bad weather on us!”

“Today I’ll handle it—I’ve got my reasons.”

“Even if you’ve got your reasons, you ain’t cut out for this! I’ll take over—go wait over there.”

“No—it’s already done.”

Narunobu removed the pot lid and added the chopped daikon that had been placed in the colander.

“The rice is cooked and the fish is grilled.”

“This is a real shocker—ain’t no joke! All this nice weather we’ve been havin’ is sure to go to waste now.”

“Well, wash your feet—then let’s eat.”

Eleven

When he faced the meal, Denkurō was surprised once again.

“You—this here, how’d you make somethin’ proper like this?!”

“What do you mean by a ‘proper thing’?”

“The rice is perfect, the fish grilled just right—hell, even the parsley’s crisp! This is a real shocker! I take my hat off to you!”

Narunobu laughed and said nothing.

“You samurai sure talk big ’bout scary stuff—all high ’n’ mighty actin’ stiff—but when it comes down to it, you can pull off somethin’ like this! Guess that fancy trainin’ really pays off, huh?”

“Don’t praise me so much—it was just luck.”

“No need to be so modest—but hey, earlier you said there was some reason behind this. What’s that about?”

“Yeah… but let’s save that talk for after we eat.”

“Don’tcha go makin’ me wait like this—you’re gettin’ me all worried!”

He had meant to speak while they ate.
But when he took up his chopsticks, the words wouldn't come—so he delayed awhile. Even after finishing the meal, clearing away, and settling at their customary hearthside spot, that choked feeling in his chest kept him silent.

“What’s wrong? What’s this ‘reason’ you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, it’s nothing serious.”

“Even if it ain’t a big deal, I can’t settle down without hearin’ the story. So spit it out already.”

Narunobu choked on the mosquito coil smoke, coughing and turning aside as he laughed. “There’s actually no reason at all—it was just a spur-of-the-moment remark back then,” he said.

“This ain’t no joke—for real? You mean there’s really no reason at all?”

“At least once… I wanted to cook a meal and have Denkurō eat it—because you’ve taken care of me for so long.”

“Nah, cut it out—ain’t wanna hear none of that standoffish talk. Mind if I stretch out here?”

Denkurō lay down and stretched his limbs with a groan.
He always did this—rambling about his day’s work until his words slurred and yawns overtook him, then dozing off right where he lay.
Though Narunobu usually woke him at midnight when the chill set in and guided him to bed, that night he roused him much earlier—around ten o’clock.

“Go to bed—you’ll catch a cold.”

Denkurō moved as if sleepwalking, crawling to the bedding before collapsing into slumber with limbs flung wide. Narunobu watched his sleeping form for a brief while, but when the wind rustled through trees in the rear garden, he stood abruptly as though shaken awake.—Now—if I don’t go now, my resolve will crumble.

The more time passed, the stronger his reluctance grew.
He had intended to stay until morning, but.
Deciding that acting quickly was the surest course, he left everything as it was, stood up, and swiftly prepared to depart.
He put on his hakama and took up his sword, silenced the creaking veranda, and felt out his sandals in the entryway.
And just as he stepped out into the front garden, Denkurō’s voice called out from behind.

“You’re really leavin’, Nobu-san?”

Narunobu stopped in his tracks, his body stiffening.

“Leaving me behind—you’re really goin’?”

“Denkurō… forgive me.” Narunobu hung his head and muffled his voice as he spoke, “You can live well in this land—I want to live too—I want to live as a samurai now. Just like you should live as yourself, I need to live as myself… I’m sorry for all the burden I’ve been—truly sorry—but let me go.”

“So the evening meal was for this reason.”
Clutching the veranda pillar, Denkurō said, “I wanted to stay with ya, Nobu-san—thought we could live together our whole lives. Since startin’ to live with ya, I finally found my purpose—the world started lookin’ brighter. Just when I’d finally begun feelin’ human-like… now you’re leavin’. Nobu-san’s gonna disappear… Ain’t ya got no pity for Denkuro? Not even a bit?”

Narunobu looked up at the night sky, shook his head violently from side to side, and declared with resolute force.

“Let’s meet again, Denkuro. Every person has their own path—I’ll walk mine. Stay well. Farewell.”

Narunobu resolutely strode off with large, vigorous steps.

“So ya really are leavin’ after all, Nobu-san.”
Denkurō’s voice chased after him from behind: “I ain’t gonna stop ya no more—just… go on an’ make somethin’ grand of yourself…… I’ll be prayin’ for ya—don’t go gettin’ sick—if ya can… someday… come see me… Nobu-san… I’ll be waitin’.”

Clenching his teeth as if to block out the world, Narunobu strode resolutely out the gate.
Then someone was there, crouching.

“I shall attend upon you.”

It was Samejima Heima. Narunobu nodded and continued down the path.

The west wind still blew fiercely, and the night sky was studded with stars.

“Nobu-san… are you really leaving? Nobu-san…”
Denkurō’s sorrowful voice lingered in Narunobu’s ears.