Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“You know the saying—‘Flowers until their prime,’ don’t you?”

“…………”

“Beautiful things get forgotten once they’ve passed their prime—people can’t stay young forever—you’re already eighteen—being called Fujimura Komachi won’t last more than half a year or a year—isn’t settling your affairs while you’re still valued what you ought to do?”

“I’m aware of that, but…”

O-Tami was pouring drinks for the guest when her eyes abruptly took on a contemplative look.

“Even if I were to settle my affairs, I must consider what lies ahead.”

“Are you questioning the reliability of my patronage?”

“It’s not about doubting you specifically—you’ve permitted me more indulgences than anyone, and understand my disposition better than most—so accepting patronage would mean turning to none but you.”
“Yet I’ve known countless souls in such positions, and few ever bring their plans to fruition.”

“But this situation differs from those.”

Kiemon set down his cup and took tobacco.

“My proposal sets carnal matters aside entirely. I’ll advance the funds to purchase Tagawaya upfront—you could repay me through yearly installments from the earnings. For me, simply having a home where I can voice my thoughts freely and relax with limbs outstretched—that alone would bring satisfaction.”

“I understand that perfectly well, but in that case, what if...”

O-Tami fixedly watched the guest’s eyes.

“If I were to have someone I care for, would you still say it doesn’t matter?”

“Even if there’s someone who cares about you—”

“If there were such a person, and if they were to meet me occasionally—no matter how much you might try to act indifferent—you wouldn’t just say ‘Oh, I see’ and let it go, would you?”

The guest calmly met O-Tami’s gaze.
That gaze seemed to carry some implicit meaning; O-Tami involuntarily lowered her eyes.

“When I say you should settle your affairs, this is what I mean: Matters of mutual affection are for when the flowers haven’t yet scattered. If it were a bond meant to last, that would be one thing—but otherwise, you’ll either face a sorrowful parting or become someone people scorn behind their backs. I don’t want that for you; that’s why I’m making this proposal. You’re not ignorant of how the world works. Think it over carefully, let me know your decision once you’ve resolved yourself, and I’ll return within two or three days.”

O-Tami could say nothing and kept her eyes lowered. Perhaps he knew—the thought had struck her abruptly. If that were true, then perhaps he had consulted with Lord Kaji’s parents beforehand to propose this arrangement—all to sever the bond between Lord Han and herself… As this thought took hold, it began to feel like irrefutable truth, and O-Tami felt a bitter sneer rise quietly within her.

I was born to weep anyway.

O-Tami saw the guest out and remained tidying up before leaning against the small window to mutter self-deprecatingly:

If flowers are only meant to bloom until their prime, then I'll just live as I please until they scatter—that's what I decided from the start—so no matter what happens, there's nothing to regret.

Born to weep anyway.

Those words tinged with desperate abandon were by no means idle ones.
From her earliest childhood, the very dawn of her memories had already been drenched in sorrowful sobs.
It was the doma of a large, spacious house—pillars thick enough to require both arms to encircle, thresholds gleaming tortoiseshell-brown, and heavy-looking cedar doors that loomed with terrifying solidity in the dim, stagnant air.
Her brother Taichi was being led by the hand while O-Tami rode on Mother's back; Mother placed her hands on the threshold and pleaded through endless bows.
In the counting room lattice across the way sat three people who merely flicked abacuses and flipped through ledgers, none paying any attention to them.
Mother would say something in a sing-song tone while continuing to bow endlessly—eventually making even five-year-old Taichi bow and plead alongside her.

...that was Yamagoe, a shipping agency in Toba Port, and it was several years later that she learned her mother had gone there to borrow money for rice.
Until her father—who had worked as a sailor aboard Yamagoe’s ships—died in a shipwreck off Kumano Nada, none could say how many times the three of them—mother and children—had gone to that shop to make the same plea.
O-Tami too, along with her mother and brother, bowed and made their entreaty to the shopkeepers in a sing-song tone.
Even her childish heart felt wretched with shame, until at last she began crying helplessly through it all.

After her father died, her mother came to this Futami relying on a guide.
At an inn called Fujiya on the beach of Futamiura, there was an opening for what amounted to maid service; Taichi, O-Tami, and their mother were assigned a shed more wretched than a storage room and began their new life there.
Of course, life there was also hard.
Even with her mother’s earnings, they couldn’t afford enough rice for three, and both nine-year-old Taichi and eight-year-old O-Tami ran errands, did childcare, fetched water, and helped clean.
The inn’s mistress was known for her strict management, with fixed payments determined by the number of tasks completed for errands and childcare alike. Sometimes, solely to increase their tally of jobs, they would stay up late into the night waiting for potential assignments while being exposed to the cold winds blowing in from the sea.

II

Her brother Taichi died at twelve, and her mother passed away in the year O-Tami turned thirteen.
Taichi died from food poisoning after eating a customer’s leftovers; unable to receive medical care despite suffering violent vomiting and diarrhea, he wasted away to skin and bones in barely five days.
Mother had been suffering from beriberi since before then, her face pale and swollen as she breathed with her shoulders and dragged her feet while walking.
After Taichi’s death, she grew noticeably weaker—even carrying a single bundle of firewood seemed painful—but fearing detection by the inn staff, she strained to appear healthy until she collapsed.
When her mother fell and became unable to move, the inn’s mistress demanded that O-Tami enter indentured service.
The sister of Fujiya’s owner ran a small teahouse called Fujimura on the outskirts of the inn district and needed a maid—“Go there,” she said. “Not that your paltry work will ever suffice, but I’ll make up the difference and tend to your mother. If that displeases you, take your mother and get out wherever you like.”

The inn’s mistress clearly stated this.
O-Tami wanted to stay by her mother’s side—she wanted to nurse her herself and, more than anything, loathed being separated—but if she were driven out from there, she would have no choice but to carry her mother and become beggars. O-Tami, who had just turned thirteen, nevertheless forced a smile for her mother’s sake, reassuring her that since Fujimura was nearby, she could visit every day, and thus entered indentured service at Fujimura.

……At that time, the mistress of Fujiya had taken five ryō from Fujimura by binding O-Tami to a five-year term of indentured service.
Her mother died about ninety days later, but they had of course not called a doctor, scarcely administered any medicine, and the funeral arrangements were so shoddy they hardly deserved the name—yet even that became an additional debt of around three ryō written into the contract.

It was when O-Tami turned fifteen and began serving guests in the parlors that she came to understand the full extent of her situation.
From earliest childhood she had regarded the world as a terrifying place where no one could be trusted; thus even upon learning this, she felt no fresh resentment toward Fujiya now.
Rather than dwelling on that injustice, she now recognized she had been born with beauty, saw how customers favored her, and observed the household beginning to treat her with newfound regard—an inexpressible confidence welled up within her, and she found herself powerfully drawn toward the shifting tides of daybreak and twilight.

……The following three years and more were a life as if dawn had finally broken. She came to be called Fujimura Komachi, drew many customers, and found almost comical success in her thriving business. Among her regular patrons, she even developed affections—with a quiet young man named Nidayu, son of an oshi from Yamada in Ise, she had ventured perilously close to crossing boundaries—but then she recalled bowing at Yamagoe's shop as a child and her mother lying cold in that storage-shed corner, overwhelmed by an indescribable feeling that made her sever ties decisively soon after.

The only one I can trust is myself—if I put faith in the world or others, I’ll surely end up weeping. What use are likes or dislikes? Earn, earn!

In that way she had been urging herself on—it was from this spring, when she turned eighteen, that she became able to repay the debt of some eight ryō and have two or three kimonos made.
It was then that Kaji Han-no-suke appeared.
……At first, he came under the introduction of Shimaya Kiemon, who was known by the name “Shimaki.”
“Shimaki” was a wealthy man who ran a shipping agency in Toba and also served as financial steward for the Inagaki clan.
Kiemon had already retired, but since he handled the domain’s affairs himself, he often came to Fujimura accompanied by executives.
Han-no-suke’s father was named Kaji Ryōzaemon and had served as the Inagaki family’s port magistrate, so it seemed they had brought Han-no-suke along due to that connection.

From the very beginning, O-Tami was drawn to him—though he was by no means handsome. When he laughed, his eyes narrowed into thin lines like pulled threads; his stature stood unimpressively average; his voice carried a slight nasal tone; his drunken singing strayed off-key; altogether, his appearance offered no particular merits.
Yet his overall character was so utterly natural, devoid of any pretense or affectation, that facing him made her feel gently enveloped by a vast, warm presence—a sensation of being softly swaddled in warmth… O-Tami found herself utterly gripped by this sensation and, as if crumbling, tumbled into his embrace.

“It’s not like we can ever be together anyway.”

At first, he said this.

“Let’s keep things simple between us.”

Agreeing with a simple “Yes, let’s do that,” barely half a month later during their fifth meeting, it was O-Tami herself who actively formed a profound bond.

“It’s fine even if we can’t be together—I just love you, and have no wish beyond meeting like this.”

“Even if we became husband and wife, wouldn’t living together for three or five years with smoldering resentment be worse than meeting joyfully while our affection lasts and parting cleanly when it fades? Isn’t that the truly human way to live?”

“Let’s make that promise—we’ll meet while we still care, when we grow tired we’ll say so without hiding it, and part without lingering regrets… We must.”

Thus, from summer to early autumn, their secret meetings continued.

III

Two days had passed since Kiemon’s visit.
He would likely come tomorrow or thereabouts to hear her answer, but O-Tami’s feelings remained unsettled.
The proposal from Kiemon to take her under his care had first emerged in early summer—a teahouse called Tagawaya, operating in this same Futamiura, was up for sale.
The condition was that he would buy it and install O-Tami as its mistress.
There was a man named Han-no-suke, still only eighteen years old, who had no need to rely on such an elderly patron—but now O-Tami had begun to waver, for her body had already been in an irregular state for three months.
If this was not a mistake—and if Han-no-suke could be spared trouble—then until she gave birth, she would have to rely on someone’s care. For that purpose, Kiemon—who had doted on her and indulged her whims since she had entered service at thirteen—was easier to ask than anyone else.

He would take care of everything without even asking about the circumstances.

She had thought this.
He had said romantic affairs were secondary, and she knew this was no lie—so depending on circumstances, he might even tacitly permit her relationship with Han-no-suke. She had even indulged in such selfish imaginings.
So she had casually hinted at it the previous night, but unexpectedly, Kiemon did not consent.
In exchange for his patronage, she was told to completely sever such ties. …It seemed he knew the other party was Han-no-suke.
It also seemed he was resorting to such measures to drive a wedge between them.
All her selfish fantasies had shattered, and she had collided with a reality of two stark choices.
Take her own safety or Han-no-suke?

“I was born to weep anyway,”

O-Tami murmured this over and over.

“If I thought about my mother dying in that storage-like hut—whatever misfortune I might face couldn’t be worse than that—might as well go all the way and see where it leads.”

After such hardened resolve, however, the small life within her pricked at her conscience like a thorn’s stab, tempting her to waver toward accepting Kiemon’s patronage.

In the afternoon, quite unexpectedly, Han-no-suke arrived with four or five companions—it being the first time he had brought others along—and was already rather drunk.
O-Tami could not speak intimately to him and could only silently convey her heart through her eyes. But when he stood to wash his hands, she followed him to the corridor and clung to him—his breath reeking of that foul stench peculiar to heavy drunkenness.

“It’s been seven days today—what have you done?”

“I’ve been appointed as a storehouse officer now, and because of that, I’ve had no time at all.”

He said this with a pale face, yet still laughing.

“Those guys are new colleagues from the office. There’s one who’s terrifyingly good at holding his liquor, so go easy on them.”

“You’ll be staying for a while, won’t you?”

“After I send everyone home.”

Saying she had something to discuss, O-Tami clutched Han-no-suke’s hand to her chest and gazed into his eyes with an overflowing intensity. ……The atmosphere in the room was disjointed. Among them was one—likely the man reputed for his alcohol tolerance—a black-skinned, square-shouldered young man speaking in a curt tone, who kept berating Han-no-suke relentlessly.
Though she couldn’t quite grasp the content, it was all stiff debates where words like “humanity,” “order,” “morality,” and “dignity” were thrown about recklessly.
And far from sending them home, it was Han-no-suke who ended up being seized, and soon he was led away to change seats.

At the moment of parting,

“I’ll come back right away.”

He had said this, yet even as dusk deepened he did not return. With the teahouse bustling that night, both front and rear rooms filled completely.
In that case, she resigned herself to thinking his absence preferable... Though the darkening sky had been clear and star-studded, a drizzle began near nightfall, turning to heavy rain past nine o’clock. The crowded patrons departed early, leaving only two groups by ten.
O-Tami attended pilgrims bound for Ise Shrine—a trio of middle-aged Edo merchants who appeared prosperous.
Their jokes fell flat here, leaving her discomfited, though the tranquil tatami room eased her spirits.
...A little past ten perhaps—Ofuku, the maid who had brought sake,

“A guest has arrived!”
said Ofuku and signaled with her eyes.
“The guest is in the annex.”

O-Tami grasped the meaning, bowed politely, and rose from her seat.
When she went to the annex, Han-no-suke was there.
His face was as pale as a whitewashed wall—lifeless and rigid, only his eyes bearing a large, glaring light; it was an expression she had never seen before. And he was drenched from head to toe in rain.

“Why are you so drenched?”

“I killed someone.”

"Ah!" O-Tami let out a cry.
Suddenly, her vision grew dim; unable to stand, she reached toward the man and collapsed into a seated position.

Four

After dressing him in spare clothes and requesting that the wet items be dried in the kitchen, O-Tami offered heated sake and inquired about the details.
……The opponent was that heavy drinker named Morita Hisama. After leaving Fujimura, they drank at about two establishments, and intending to return to Toba, crossed the Isuzu River. On the ferry, they quarreled; upon reaching the opposite bank’s grassland, they engaged in a duel—and he cut down Hisama.

“That’s all there is to it—there were three witnesses, and it was a properly conducted duel, so I feel no shame or regret. But I was at fault for starting the quarrel, and that torments me beyond endurance.”

“But wasn’t he the one trying to corner Lord Han?”

“No—Morita was the one speaking truth. After I cut him down, wandering aimlessly in the rain, I realized it all—how wretchedly base I’d been… Even after becoming intimate with you, I coolly agreed we’d meet while it pleased us and part cleanly once bored. I even claimed *that* was how humans ought to live.”

At that, Han-no-suke violently shook his head and gulped the sake in his cup as if it were poison.

“……Morita said this: ‘Such thinking insults humanity itself. That among hundreds of thousands of people, a single man and woman unite—this is already sacred and solemn. To meet while it pleases you and part once bored may seem free, but press further—it drags humans down to beasts! …Have you no shame reducing yourself to vermin?’ These words became the cause of our duel, O-Tami.”

“But that… that isn’t solely Lord Han’s fault. I too gladly made that promise—and there’s the matter of our differing statuses—”

“No—it’s not just that. My entire way of living until today had been built entirely on deception, selfishness, and recklessness—and that rot had taken root even in our relationship. As I walked drenched in the rain through the darkness… I came to understand deeply—how solemn a bond it is when one man and one woman unite among hundreds of thousands of humans. Don’t you understand this, O-Tami?”

“…………”

O-Tami remained silent, looking down.

“Raise your face, O-Tami. I have something to discuss.”

Han-no-suke abruptly stretched out his hand and pressed O-Tami’s shoulder.

“I will go to Edo now and become a proper human being—I’m resolved to endure any hardship to achieve this. Of course, it will be difficult, and I don’t know how many years it will take to fulfill my hopes. So I can’t ask you to wait for me… but if… if I return as a truly human man, and if you’re still alone by then—I want you to become my wife.”

“You’re not telling me to wait, are you?”

O-Tami considered for a short while, then said this and softly looked up at the man.

“So it’s not a promise, then?”

“It’s not a promise—I might never return, or rather, it could take my whole life. So I can’t ask you to wait now. But since this moment feels right… O-Tami, I truly loved you. Loved you from the depths of my heart. Though I made that callous vow, my feelings held no lie. This confession is all I can offer as a parting gift.”

O-Tami simply couldn’t keep pace with Han-no-suke’s emotions as they surged upward with relentless force.
Having long dwelled in that world where affections waxed and waned, where bonds formed and broke amid simple joys and sorrows she had both witnessed and tasted herself, she found herself unaccustomed to notions of “insulting humanity” or “solemn bonds,” let alone being told “I truly loved you” at such a juncture.
To her, it seemed the man had abruptly severed himself from her existence and become a denizen of another realm—and within the sorrow of recognizing that *the time for weeping had at last arrived*, she could only hold her breath.

“Men are just like children.”

After sending Han-no-suke off, in the cold bedding of the late night’s depths, O-Tami muttered this alone.

“Now he’s off to Edo to become a proper human being—who knows how many years that’ll take—or if he’ll even return as one—yet he says if he ever does come back, I should become his wife… Does he think a woman in my circumstances could wait all that time without faltering? How does he imagine I’d survive?”

In the sorrow of knowing they would never meet again, O-Tami laughed through her tears at the man’s simplicity.
For O-Tami, who had been hounded by each day’s survival and had known in her bones the daily struggle for food, clothing, and shelter, there existed no perspective beyond that.

“But now I won’t have to waver anymore—I’ll earn enjoyably while I can, then rely on Mr. Shimaki’s patronage once I’m done. Once the child is born, I’ll send them away somewhere, free myself from burdens, and sell off Tagawaya properly.”

Pulling up the collar of the bedding and using it to wipe her tears, O-Tami spoke as if urging herself on.

“And that’s done with loving and being loved,” she told herself. “O-Tami dear—from now on you’ll become a heartless woman who earns her keep. You have to stay strong.”

Five

West beyond Hiyoriyama from Toba Castle Town in Shima Province lay the quiet village of Nishizawa nestled in a sheltered hollow.
Though only a short distance from Toba separated by a single mountain crossing meant it retained rural character where overlapping hills framed Mount Asama’s exceptional vista drawing castle town visitors during spring and autumn excursions.
Within that village stood Shimaki retirement residence enduring through generations.
A modest structure barely twenty tsubo including its kitchen with garden roughly arranged—five whitish stones scattered amidst pines encircling the house forming a grove.
Long shuttered save occasional cleaners until last winter when an elderly samurai couple arrived settling there nearly a year now.

Though called elderly, the husband was in his mid-fifties and the wife around fifty—people of quiet disposition who kept no servants, received almost no visitors, and lived quietly and modestly. ……The villagers had no way of knowing this pair was Ryōzaemon Kajii and his wife Hama.

Han-no-suke cut down Morita Hisama and disappeared without a trace.
Fortunately, Hisama survived, but Ryōzaemon took responsibility and resigned from his post.
Though it was said matters wouldn’t come to that, his son’s disappearance became a matter of honor, leaving him no choice but to resign.
He meticulously organized his savings and household belongings, cleanly relinquished everything, and departed the castle town. The integrity of this settlement reached the domain lord’s ears, resulting in two special decrees: “a lifetime fifteen-koku stipend” and “permanent residence within the domain.” Though he accepted these provisions, even they weighed heavily on him.
……Unable to find housing, they borrowed Shimaya Kiemon’s retirement residence as suggested, but even this felt like leveraging his former position, causing him considerable distress until he settled in.

They had seen summer pass and autumn arrive, yet they still struggled to grow accustomed to the idle rhythm of their days.
They created a vegetable garden at the edge of the yard; aside from growing vegetables together and occasionally trimming the pine branches before the veranda when inspiration struck, they had no real work to speak of, and their spirits remained listless.

“If it was going to be like this, I should have at least learned Go or shogi.”

Ryōzaemon would often mutter this as if overwhelmed by his thoughts.

"I never realized having no work could be so exhausting—my shoulders keep getting stiff with no relief."

"If you were to take mountain walks daily as part of your routine."

"I've already seen everything around here, and I'm simply not cut out for refined pursuits. I haven't a shred of talent for appreciating natural scenery."

"What if you opened the book trunks?"

At some point, unable to bear watching any longer, Hama said.

“Since the nights will grow longer from now on, if you were to engage in some reading, it might serve as a bit of mental respite.”

Ryōzaemon did not respond.
Noticing the stern coldness of his profile silently gazing into the distance, Hama drew breath and thought, *Ah, I shouldn’t have said that*.
Among all they had surrendered, only three trunks of books had been brought to this house—these were Han-no-suke’s possessions. He had been a studious child since youth; hailed as a prodigy at the domain school, he had even been appointed assistant instructor at seventeen.
Ryōzaemon held no interest in such matters, and Hama had never understood them to begin with—but at twenty-two, his ideas were declared akin to Laozi’s heresy, banishing him from his teaching post.
The turn in circumstances came later, yet his collected books and writings remained packed in trunks they brought along...... Ever since that incident, they had been instructed: “Never speak of Han-no-suke.”
The mention of opening those book trunks must have stirred memories of their son in Ryōzaemon—realizing she had touched a raw nerve, Hama quietly withdrew from her husband’s side.

November had arrived, but unusually warm days persisted, and not until after mid-month did they see frost for the first time.
It was that night.

Having drunk a small amount of alcohol after a long interval, Ryōzaemon retired early to bed in the evening, while Hama sat alone drawing a lamp closer as she worked on her needlework.
Then around nine o'clock—when her husband called out and she went to see—he asked whether someone had come to the front.

“I’ve been hearing a baby’s cry for a while now,”

“I hadn’t noticed, but I’ll go check.”

While thinking there was likely no one who would come at this hour, she transferred a flame to the hand lantern and went out.
There was no sign of anyone at the gate, but somewhere a baby’s fussy crying could be heard. Hama went outside and, holding up the hand lantern, looked around.
By the entrance stood a woven bamboo sleeve fence; beneath this fence lay a baby swaddled in a thickly padded cotton kimono and a rather bulky bundle.
……Hama,

“Is anyone there?”

she called out.

Perhaps the sky was overcast—not a single star could be seen—and it was a windless, still night.
She called out once more and listened intently, but there came no answering voice nor any sign of people; Hama picked up the baby and, leaving the hand lantern at the entrance for the time being, went into the room.

Six

“Surely this isn’t an abandoned child?”

“Surely no one would come all the way here to abandon a child, but what could have happened?”

“Is there not some letter in the bundle?”

Ryōzaemon too rose and began untying the bundle as he spoke.
Inside were only two or three changes of clothes, swaddling cloths, and an umbilical cord record—nothing resembling a letter could be found.
In town perhaps—but coming all the way to this mountain village to abandon a child was unthinkable; they must have left it there out of necessity and become delayed in returning. So they waited while discussing this possibility, but as night deepened there was no sign of anyone. Soothing the baby who cried for milk, the couple passed the night nearly without sleep.

“Here, let me take a turn.”

At dawn, Ryōzaemon took the infant into his arms.

“...Come morning, we’ll report this to the village headman—this must be an abandoned child.”

“Were there not any households in this village with nursing infants?”

“Even if there are none in the village, there should be some in the castle town.”

“No.”

Hama said in an offhand tone.

“If there’s a nursing mother in the village and we can arrange for a wet nurse… I thought I might try raising him.”

“Don’t you say such foolish things. In our circumstances, what good would raising a child now do? Especially one of unknown lineage…”

While saying this, he suddenly looked toward his wife—for in the retreating figure of her walking toward the kitchen, he sensed a certain lonely air.
……He looked at the face of the infant he held—the child was asleep, with abundant black hair, tightly drawn lips, clearly defined eyebrows, and refined features—and the damp warmth of the baby’s body temperature transmitted through his hands awakened a distant memory.

He had held Han-no-suke like this before.

In his heart， he murmured:

“It had been over twenty years since then—and if only Han-no-suke hadn’t done such a thing， he might have been holding a grandchild of this age by now…… Hama must have thought the same.”

His wife had likely thought the same way; since that time， no matter what happened， they had never spoken of Han-no-suke and showed no outward signs of concern for each other—yet not a single day had passed without them remembering.
Han-no-suke’s dismissal from his position as assistant instructor at the academy had been due to slander from those who envied his talent; for one engaged in scholarship and Confucian studies， it was natural to debate both elders and youths—to close one’s eyes to all but Zhu Xi could only be called negligence even for a court scholar. Had Han-no-suke lectured students on Laozi， it would have been different， but when he was ultimately stripped of his post under vague accusations of “harboring heterodox tendencies，” as parents， they could not help but feel profound pity.
After that， his personality changed—he began drinking alcohol and frequenting teahouses， until finally he made that mistake with Morita—but when they considered the causes behind this gradual collapse of his spirit， they could not bring themselves to hate him alone.
Lately， they had even come to secretly pray that he was living safely somewhere and would strongly regain his footing.

"That’s right—Han-no-suke might be living somewhere now, sustained by someone’s kindness."

Ryōzaemon quietly stood by the fire bucket, gathering the padded cotton kimono around the infant’s head as if protecting him from the frigid morning cold.

"If you have that intention, let us try raising the child," he said—at those words, a certain emotion welled up in Hama’s eyes.
She too had sensed in her husband the same feelings that Ryōzaemon harbored.
After breakfast, Ryōzaemon went himself to the village headman’s house, reported the abandoned child’s discovery, and inquired if there were any households with nursing infants.

“Are you going to raise the child?”

The village headman tilted his head with a concerned look but answered that fortunately there was a nursing mother with milk for about half a year, so he would bring her along afterward… The old man promptly returned with a young farmer’s wife, and as she watched the child’s face gulping noisily at her breast, the young wife cursed the infant’s parents with tears in her eyes.

During this time, Ryōzaemon and the village headman opened the umbilical cord record together and confirmed that the child had been born on a certain day in June of Hōreki 4 (1754), under the name Matsutarō. The absence of a family name or parents’ names suggested circumstances at birth that had made keeping him impossible. Thinking it better to sever ties with this unfortunate past by changing the name, Ryōzaemon decided to call him Kotarō from then on.

The farmer’s wife came diligently for four or five days.
During this time, Ryōzaemon sent a messenger to Shimaya in the castle town, wrote outlining the circumstances, and requested arrangements for a suitable wet nurse.
On the fifth day, Kiemon arrived with a woman still girlishly young, but while laughing, he offered his opinion: “This seems quite a capricious undertaking.”

“Such matters often end poorly; would it not be better to desist?”

"I do think so—but the child being abandoned at our gate must signify some fateful bond."

Ryōzaemon suddenly spoke these words in a solemn tone.

"And after all, an old couple staring at each other in a mountain dwelling makes for tedious living."

"Is he meant as a substitute for your grandchild?"

Kiemon deliberately pulled a stern face.

"If matters proceed well, it would be ideal."

Seven

The woman Kiemon brought was named Ume.
She was from Matsusaka in Ise Province—a woman who had once married and borne a child but, not getting along with her in-laws, was divorced after leaving behind a five-month-old infant. Born into a small merchant family at nineteen years of age and orphaned young, she had endured a difficult upbringing—likely because of this, though her appearance was younger than her years and she seemed maiden-like in demeanor, her conduct and speech were thoroughly worldly, so brisk that she even appeared somewhat dignified.

“Let me tell you first.”

Hama first said this.

“When nursing, please maintain a pure and upright heart, and ensure your posture is proper. For the feelings and mindset of the one nursing are transmitted to the child along with the milk. As Kotarō is a samurai’s child, I ask that you never forget to uphold this.”

Ume lowered her eyes and nodded. She didn’t really understand, Hama realized, thinking she would have to teach her herself for the time being.
Indeed, Ume had many shortcomings—when sleeping, she would simply bundle up the kimono she had taken off; if in a slight hurry, she would walk about with an obi hastily tied; though told to refrain from makeup as it might affect the milk, she would forget and promptly apply rouge and powder; she rarely changed undergarments; she wore tabi socks until the soles turned black; whenever the child cried or fussed, she would nurse him regardless of the hour; she would try to sleep while still letting him suckle. To list them all, these were nothing but conspicuous habits—and one could indeed nod in understanding why things had gone poorly with her marital family.
However, there was one thing alone to which she devoted herself wholeheartedly—the care of the infant.
She was attentive to needs one couldn’t quite pinpoint—when restless nights from colic persisted, or when he fell ill with a chill, she would stay awake for nights on end, keeping him strapped to her back without a hint of resentment. It was this quality that drew Hama’s heart to her.
As long as she was at least good enough with caring for Kotarō—then she could patiently teach her everything else over time. That was what she had come to think.

Just as Hama's efforts were no trivial matter, for Ume too, this required endurance. At nineteen years old, she had entered an entirely different life—and given that this was a strictly disciplined samurai household with exacting etiquette, there were differences not only in minor customs but even in mental preparedness that had to be changed. As these adjustments permeated countless trivial daily matters, whenever she found them troublesome, she became utterly paralyzed—indeed, such thoughts occurred to her frequently. *I could never manage this. If this doesn't work out, I'll just leave,* she thought. There had been not merely three or five occasions when she had felt such resignation. In a different sense than Hama's perseverance, the reason Ume endured ultimately lay in Kotarō's existence. It wouldn't be long—at most until August when his birthday arrived and he would be weaned. With this thought, she strove to avoid opposing the household members as much as possible and to comply with what she was taught.

“Would you like to practice calligraphy?”

One day in February after the New Year had begun, Hama said in a manner suggesting she had thought of something.

“Learning to read and write is never a waste—if you like, I could give you some guidance.”

By that time, as Ume’s heart had gradually begun to lean toward Hama, she earnestly asked to be taught properly.
This became the catalyst for stepping into a new life.
Adjusting her posture and grinding the ink, opening the model copybook, laying out the paper, steadying her breath before quietly dipping the brush into the inkstone—the pleasant scent of ink rose, calming her mind beyond words… Though her shoulders stiffened with tension at first, as she began learning five or seven kana characters at a time, the refreshingly serene feeling after practicing calligraphy and the profound satisfaction of having accomplished something worthwhile became Ume’s first great joy.

"When nursing, maintain a pure and upright heart—that instruction refers to this state of mind."
Ume suddenly realized this one day.

“This calm feeling with proper posture when first lowering the brush onto paper… If I nurse with such true feelings, I wouldn’t feel ashamed before my child.”

Once her eyes were opened, things that had previously defied comprehension became rapidly clear; matters once dismissed as bothersome everyday routines gradually transformed into obligations she could no longer avoid. By the time the first cicadas began singing, even Ryōzaemon—

“It’s as if she’s become a completely different person.”

Ryōzaemon began to remark.

It goes without saying that Hama was pleased.
Kiemon, who occasionally visited,

“What tremendous devotion.”

voiced admiration for Hama’s efforts.
One day, after such a conversation, Hama brought up the matter of her promise with Ume to Kiemon.
It was a request to have the deadline until his birth extended a bit longer.

“Kotarō has grown accustomed as you see, and it would be a great help if she could stay at least until he can walk.”

“Indeed it is.”

Kiemon appeared to be considering something, but soon spoke.

“Then before that, allow me to confide a matter.”

Eight

When asked if they could extend the agreed-upon deadline, Ume gladly consented.

"Is the retired master of Shimaya aware of this?"

"I have spoken to Master Kiemon."

“Then I am grateful for your continued kindness.”

As she said this, Ume made a gesture of shrinking her shoulders for no discernible reason... The promise until his birth was one she had firmly resolved for herself, just as with the Kajii family—she must not go beyond that. If she came to love the child, she would lose her way; she must leave before deep affection could take root. That had been her determination.

Yet the love she feared had already bound her to Kotarō with irrevocable intensity—not only that, through Kotarō, that love had now become connected to the Kajii couple as well.

“This wasn’t what I had intended.”

Each time Ume realized this, she shuddered.

“I can’t face Lord Han like this—I must think of something.”

That Ume was O-Tami went without saying; everything until now had been done through consultation with Kiemon. Initially she had intended to send the child away after birth, but with Han-no-suke being the father and the Kajii family existing, it was only proper to first try following that thread of connection—if no bond existed then there would be no choice, and so under such reasoning she had abandoned him at their gate. Even after becoming a wet nurse, she had meant it to be an association lasting only until weaning, after which she would free herself and start over as soon as possible... Yet as days passed into months, O-Tami's way of thinking gradually began changing.

“When nursing，I must do so with a pure and upright heart.”

After truly grasping Hama’s words, her eyes opened to realization after realization.

Let us love while we care; when weariness comes, let us part without lingering.
She understood—though not precisely as intended—that such thinking demeaned human dignity.

That among tens of thousands, one man and woman unite—this stood as solemn and sacred in its very nature.
Those words too she comprehended with sorrow’s piercing clarity.

Two human beings uniting and loving each other with one heart was no game.
Every time she saw Kotarō growing up, that feeling tightened around O-Tami’s chest.
The fragments of discipline instilled by Hama now supported and strengthened that resolve even more powerfully—the thought that had once been I must become free quickly now,

“What would become of me if I left this house?”

Her resolve transformed into anxiety and fear—when she thought of herself leaving this house and returning to her former life, O-Tami felt a chilling disgust.

“Though I can’t face Lord Han—”

O-Tami thought this while clinging desperately to Hama’s request,

until he could stand and walk

She came to stay at the Kajii household.

In June he celebrated his birthday, and in autumn Kotarō began to walk.
However, even when winter came and the year ended, there was no word from the family about the promised deadline.
Not only that, but when the new year began, Ryōzaemon proposed teaching him reading and began giving regular daily lessons.
He continued practicing calligraphy with the Thousand Character Classic and also received sewing instruction at night.
After recovering lightly from measles, Kotarō grew plump and sturdy, his eyebrows and mouth beginning to resemble Han-no-suke’s to a startling degree——though she worried what would happen if the couple noticed, O-Tami felt such trembling joy that in unwatched moments she would unconsciously clutch him tightly and shower him with kisses until he squirmed.

Thus time passed.
Three years became four.
The exchanged promise remained unchanged, with neither side attempting to broach it, and before she knew it, O-Tami was living through each day with the same sentiments as the Kajii family.
...Kotarō contracted smallpox at six years old.
At that time, to prevent him from scratching his itches, O-Tami nursed him for seven days and nights without a moment’s sleep—thanks to which he escaped scarring—but she collapsed from overexertion, developed complications, and spent over three months alternating between bedrest and brief activity.

In the New Year of Hōreki 11 (1761), Kotarō celebrated his hakamagi ceremony.
The day after that celebration, an elderly retainer named Matano Kōdayū came visiting from the castle town.
Matano had formerly served as Magistrate of the Storehouse and had been quite close to Ryōzaemon, but out of deference to the latter’s strict adherence to seclusion, he had refrained from visiting.
He now held the position of Elder Councilor, and his hair had become noticeably white.

“I have brought some rather extraordinary news.”

When the formal greetings after their long separation concluded, Matano Kōdayū began to speak while looking into their eyes.

"You likely cannot imagine this—we have discovered Lord Han’s whereabouts."

Nine

Frowning as if feeling a sharp pain yet facing Ryōzaemon’s disbelieving expression, Matano Kōdayū spoke with a faint smile in his eyes.

“It occurred last November. When His Lordship attended the Gyokōmon Daily Lectures at Shōheikō Academy, it was Lord Han-no-suke who ascended the lectern. Those attending His Lordship noticed and reported it. After the lecture, inquiries with the officials confirmed his identity. His Lordship then met with the Head of the Academy. Upon investigation, it was learned that seven years earlier he had entered the tutelage of an instructor named Horoi Sakichirō, and while attending the academy thereafter, his talents were recognized—leading to his promotion as assistant instructor. Naturally, he had concealed his background, making his position as a common scholar most unusual.”

“His Lordship expressed complete satisfaction, disregarding past transgressions, and has ordered him newly retained as a Confucian scholar-official—they say he already receives retainer’s treatment at the Edo residence.”

“However, given that such a thing happened—”

Ryōzaemon said bitterly.

“Setting aside His Lordship’s intentions, I cannot imagine Han-no-suke would ever presume to accept such an honor.”

“The young man must have his own considerations. His Lordship’s return is in ten days—Han-no-suke will likely accompany him. When that time comes, I hope you won’t be stubborn and will welcome him with praise. Your warm reception would be the greatest reward for Han-no-suke, I think.”

In the neighboring room, O-Tami had been listening to the conversation up to this point while stiffening her body. Unable to remain seated any longer, she stepped out into the corridor with a suffocating feeling.
Lord Han-no-suke was returning—that fact alone filled her head until she didn’t know what to do and everything seemed to vanish from sight.

“Nanny, where are you going?”

Kotarō shouted.

“Take me too…me too…”

As she was about to leave through the gate, Kotarō came chasing after her.
However, O-Tami,

“I’ll be back soon.”

With those final words, she walked on half-unconsciously, striding briskly away.
...Not knowing where she was going or how she had traced her path, when she came to her senses, she found herself in the plum grove of Hiyoriyama.
It was a place she often visited with the child to look at the sea.
Beyond the southeast-facing slope, past groves of plum and pine, the azure sea of Toba Bay and its beautiful islands came into view—Ah, this was the usual spot. The moment she realized it, the sadness of never being able to come here with Kotarō again welled up inside her, and O-Tami instinctively covered her face with both hands as she began to weep.

“Why are you crying?”

Suddenly a voice came from behind.
When she turned around, startled enough to jump, Hama stood there with Kotarō.

“...Han-no-suke is returning—you should be allowed to rejoice. That you are O-Tami, that Kotarō is Han-no-suke’s child—we had known all these things for a very long time.”

“But Honorable Retired One, I would never—”

“Do not speak of that. We have heard everything about your feelings from Master Kiemon.”

“Let us forget what has passed—Han-no-suke’s return, the new days beginning with Kotarō at their heart—you need only think of these things.”

“I cannot do it.”

O-Tami said through her tears, “I am not qualified to become a bride of the Kajii family. I have no intention of doing so—nor could I ever presume to face Lord Han-no-suke.”

“Let me say it again,” Hama responded. “We must forget what has passed. The difference between who you were seven years ago and who you are now—we have witnessed this transformation day after day at your side. Surely you understand why Master went so far as to take up reading lessons himself.”

Hama said this and promptly pointed to a plum branch beside her.

“Look—the buds on this plum tree are beginning to swell again. As though it has forgotten last year’s fallen blossoms, each branch brims with such freshness as if blooming for the first time, its buds swelling vibrantly. You need only think of being Han-no-suke’s first bud when he returns. For a woman, no duty matters more than marital love.”

O-Tami gazed at the plum branch.
Kotarō sidled up quietly.
And then,

“Nanny.”

As he called out softly while clinging to O-Tami’s hand, she pulled the child close and bowed her head heavily yet modestly.

“Raise your head, O-Tami… You’ve endured so much.”

“Mother.”

O-Tami said this and raised her eyes, but as though something within her collapsed, she leaned against Hama’s chest while crying.