Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Upon his assignment to the upper residence in Edo, Akinari Matashirō found himself considerably troubled for the time being.

People would approach him without any real purpose.
When he was in the duty room, others would come to peek.
Whether arriving at or leaving the palace, passersby would whisper to their companions as they brushed past,

“That’s him, that’s him! That’s the Centipede Difference!”

they would murmur.
Then those companions would respond,

“That’s him? Huh… So that’s him? That sort of man?”

Such remarks could be heard.

Moreover, he was an official at the Audit Bureau, yet he found himself frequently summoned by personnel from entirely unrelated offices—magistrates, superintendents, directors, and such. They had no actual business with him—they would simply orbit about him with that casually peculiar gaze, neither properly looking nor ignoring,

“How fares your home province? No doubt it teems with diversions—I should like to visit someday myself. What say you?”

They would ask utterly pointless questions, spout off some self-important opinions, and then wrap things up with a "Well, see you again"—that was how it always ended.

The Audit Bureau belonged to the Senior Officials Department and served both as an auditor of political affairs and an advisory body to the feudal lord.
Matashirō was the chief of the records section, but for the time being found himself troubled by his five subordinates.
They didn’t seem particularly perverse individuals, but they had no shortage of underling mentality.
When Matashirō gave an order, they would skillfully feign ignorance.

“Hmm... Which one was that... Hmm, what did you say again?”
They would ask back in this manner—repeatedly questioning while exchanging glances with each other, tilting their heads in puzzlement, asking yet again—until finally grasping the matter,

“Ah, I see. So that’s how it is. Now I understand.”

Then they would make faces as if to say Oh, is that all?

The General Affairs Department held gatherings of senior retainers every five days—routine tea-party-like assemblies where they engaged in idle chatter for about two hours before dispersing, unless there were fiscal transitions or critical matters pending. On these occasions, section chiefs designated as archivists from each Audit Bureau division attended to participate.

……They merely observed these sessions, typically listening to their superiors’ trivial conversations. Even here, Matashirō found himself needing considerable forbearance.

Many of the senior retainers were a bunch of seasoned men aged forty to sixty, all quite brazen. To a greater or lesser extent, they all seemed interested in Matashirō and would strike up conversations of absolutely no benefit.

"I know all about you—hmm, so you're Matashirō? They say you're quite the character, but don't get cocky now. Arrogance ruins everything for a man. But anyway... uh... come visit sometime."

"You'd best put your back into it—ha ha ha! Home province and Edo ain't the same, see? Edo's... well, can't lump it all together, but mark my words—it's a cut above your backwater! Proof over talk, I say! Edo's the shogun's very seat—ha ha ha!"

And in the end, they’d inevitably say, “Come visit sometime.” Among those like Nakajima Nakazaemon, Kurashige Rokurōbei, Umenaga Sensuke, and Koide Kurazōsuke, old Kurashige—who’d spout things like “such-and-such, ha ha ha”—and old Umenaga—who kept slipping “hmm” into conversations—were particularly troublesome presences.

The aforementioned matters pertained to work-related affairs, but as time passed, he grew accustomed to them, and the others' curiosity waned. However, at his lodgings, there existed another—indeed, an even more perplexing presence—and from Matashirō’s position, he had no choice but to concede defeat to a considerable extent. This was because he still lacked his own residence and was lodging at the house of Sakuzaemon Goshō, a finance magistrate. He was supposed to move into an official residence as soon as one became available, but with no vacancies seeming likely and being a twenty-six-year-old bachelor, it appeared he would remain at the Goshō household for the time being. To be fair, it was a teahouse-like annex separate from the main house where meals were brought to him and all daily needs attended to, so in that regard, it proved rather convenient.

The Goshō household had a son named Sadajirō and a daughter named Mitsue, who was sixteen.
Sadajirō was scholarly and only exchanged greetings when their paths crossed, while Sakuzaemon was so consumed by accounting that he had no time to speak with his family; neither had much to do with him. …But the housewife Sujo and Mitsue—especially Mitsue—for whenever Matashirō was home, this young lady would stick by his side and never leave.
Changing clothes when departing for work and returning, serving meals—all of these she handled for him.
After dinner, she would come saying something like “Excuse me for intruding”—at first with her mother in tow—and unless he told her to leave, she would keep talking until eleven or even twelve without returning home. To this, Matashirō had to honestly throw in the towel.

“I know all about you—so many things! When I heard you’d be staying with us, I literally jumped for joy! Well… no—when I heard Lord Akinari Matashirō himself would be here, oh my goodness, I truly did leap up in delight!”

That was how it had been from the very beginning.

II

Mitsue was not tall—probably around five shaku. But she didn’t look particularly small. While her hips were well-developed and shapely, her hands and feet tapered to delicate points, her head was small, and the facial features on that small head clustered tightly at its center. To speak ill of her, one might call her features quirky; to praise her, they brimmed with charm—especially her eyes and lips, so lovely they seemed to pull one in.

“Do stand up for a moment—just for a moment! I won’t do a thing, I promise. Come now, please stand up.”
Making him stand, she pressed herself flush against his side and looked up with rounded eyes. “Oh my, what a difference! Lord Akinari is so magnificently tall, while I’m such a shrimp—how utterly embarrassing!”

In short, it was a height comparison, and Matashirō had no choice but to endure it. It wasn’t just height comparisons—she would press her foot against his to compare sizes or match her palm against his to measure their hands. She repeated this countless times, each instance making her eyes widen in circles as she exclaimed, "My, how astonishing!" and lit up her face.

Just what standards could there possibly be for educational policies regarding daughters in Edo?

Matashirō had often thought as much.

"I know all about the Senbonmatsu incident," Mitsue declared one evening while serving dinner. She shrugged her shoulders, stifled a giggle, and fixed him with mischievous eyes. "You went three months after it happened, didn't you? When thirty men each from the Horse Guards and Retainer Corps dueled... And there you went three whole months later—oh hohoho!"

As she laughed into her kimono sleeve, Matashirō stopped chewing his food with a look of dismay.

“Even when something angers you, they say you endure it right then—patiently holding it in—and then once the other party has forgotten about it, your patience snaps and you go to confront them angrily. Oh my yes, I’ve heard all about it.”

“No—that’s not it. When I go at that time, it isn’t out of anger.”

“Oh my, I’ve heard all about it.”

“It’s a misunderstanding. That’s not how it is.”

“Well then—at that time,” Mitsue leaned forward with sparkling eyes, “if you’re not going there angry, what could you possibly be doing?”

“That’s... well... not something I can easily explain. But... some tea, please.”

Matashirō barely managed to evade her probing.
Yet Mitsue—naturally more curious than most—persisted undeterred. Whether he tried to physically withdraw or steer the conversation elsewhere, she clung relentlessly, addressing him with ever-renewed charm as she repeated her questions.

“Oh hoho, excuse my intrusion—I hear you have this nickname ‘Centipede Difference,’ but what origin story does that come from?”

“U-uh, I—that’s…”

“Might you have confused a centipede with a silverfish?”

At this moment, he looked at the girl’s face.

“You seem to be... remarkably well-informed about various matters, but... uh... from where exactly... how do you come to know such things?”

“Oh my, of course I heard it from Mr. Akai! And from Mr. Ishige and Mr. Sougi too… They’re all your dear friends, aren’t they? They came by so often during their shifts and spoke ever so much about Lord Akinari! Why, there’s hardly a soul in this mansion who doesn’t know about you by now—but none know you better than I! I inquired about absolutely everything—I didn’t let those three off until they’d repeated the same stories five times over!”

Matashirō found himself at a loss for words of greeting.
Kihee Akai, Ken’nosuke Ishige, and Bunzō Sōgi—all three were ostensibly close friends.
They had been posted to Edo three years prior and returned to their home provinces just as Matashirō was transferred there.
They knew Matashirō well; if they were to talk about him—and especially since Kihee Akai possessed what might be called a masterful talent for making stories entertaining—there was no use struggling now.

...I see... Hmm... So it was Akai... Now I get it... Hmm... Now I really get it.

He came to a realization and groaned.
For the first time since his appointment, Matashirō understood why the people around him had shown such interest in him, and why others would call out to him and ask trivial questions despite having no relation or business with him.

"Regarding this 'Centipede Difference' matter—it's a misrepresentation. To summarize, the stories about me... uh... generally seem to be transmitted in such erroneous ways, which is somewhat troublesome."

“Oh my, that was a mistake—no, wait—it was an error! Oh goodness!”
Mitsue rolled her eyes adorably, “Then where exactly does the ‘Centipede Difference’ differ? What difference is it truly supposed to be?”

“Uh—well—it’s not ‘centipede’... ‘centipede’... Probably someone mixed up the characters in a letter or something. It’s not ‘centipede’—it’s supposed to be ‘hundred-legs difference.’”

“Oh my, what a predicament! Hohoho! So you had some sort of footrace incident, did you?”

“No—rather, it’s not about a footrace. Uh… but this—I’ll explain another time.”

Matashirō wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

He would explain someday.
In his heart of hearts, he had tried to dodge the matter, but she was not one to be evaded by such tactics.
She was kneeling so close that if he let his guard down, she might even tickle underarms.
In such matters, by nature, men are no match for women.
And so, Matashirō eventually had to speak about his upbringing until Mitsue was satisfied.

His father was named Akinari Matazaemon, a member of the council and superintendent of the customs office.
Matashirō was the only son born when his father was forty years old.
Matazaemon was a man of exceptional impatience who bore the nickname "Hasty."
This epithet derived from shortening "hasty fellow"—indeed, he was so impatient that even his nickname underwent abbreviation—and this very trait led him to commit numerous blunders and accumulate endless regrets.

This won’t do—absolutely won’t do.

When Matashirō was born, Matazaemon gazed at the sleeping infant’s face and thought.

At least my son—I'll raise him to be a composed man.

He sought out an exceptionally patient—or rather, almost sluggish—wet nurse and assigned her, then upon the boy turning five, promptly entrusted him to Taikyoji Temple, a Zen monastery.
That said, he had no intention of making him a monk—he had instead entrusted the boy's upbringing to Sekkai, the temple's head priest.

Monk Sekkai was then about sixty-seven years old, unbelievably obese, and perpetually reeking of alcohol.
In his youth, he had crossed over to China and trained for twenty years at Unmon Mountain in Shaozhou, Guangdong; it was said that in his discipline, he stood as such an accomplished master that people could scarcely credit it.
Likely owing to this background, through common eyes he appeared an utter idler—year after year accomplishing nothing at all. When parishioners came seeking sermons, he would answer while reclining with his elbow propped on a pillow.

“Humans live ’til they die—ain’t nothin’ to fret over at all.”

And then he’d simply let out an alcohol-laden belch.
Even when invited due to misfortune, he would never go.

“Once ya croak, that’s all folks—ain’t no sense me taggin’ along. Just haul over a fat donation—I’ll sweet-talk Buddha for ya proper-like.”

He never performed his duties, and even when there were memorial services, he wouldn’t recite sutras himself.

“Sutras ain’t nothin’ difficult—I’ll get around to learnin’ how to read ’em proper someday.”

This being his usual conduct, the parishioners could only marvel at how his authentic training showed through, their faith growing ever more fervent as a result.
Matashirō had been entrusted to this monk, and Monk Sekkai seemed to fully grasp the intent behind Matazaemon’s request; furthermore, he appeared to have taken a liking to Matashirō, devoting himself to the boy’s education with considerable dedication.

“No need to rush, no rushin’ at all… Fuss and flail all ya want—till spring comes, flowers ain’t gonna bloom. Just settle down.”

Then he expounded his philosophy.

“If the whole world’s threefold...”

He said this while reclining on his elbow.

“Heaven, earth, and humanity—that’s threefold. Fire, water, and air—these three gather to make the three-thousandfold world. To eat rice ya need a tray, bowl, and chopsticks. The sky’s got sun, moon, and stars, ya know? Humans got birthin’, weddin’, and buryin’. Man and woman become husband ’n’ wife to squeeze out kids. There’s makers, sellers, and buyers. A face has eyes, nose, and mouth… Ears—well now—ears’re different. They’re just kinda there ’cause they’re there. I mean, havin’ ’em ain’t bad… That’s how it all stacks up.”

As for the theory that all of life was "Threefold"—this was drilled into Matashirō until it came out his ears.

“Ain’t nothin’ in this world worth a man blowin’ his top over—not one damn thing. Anger wears out kidneys, see? Every fit o’ rage takes an hour off your life—I’ll bear witness! Hotheaded folks all die young, mark my words.”

During the pause, he drank cold sake straight from the flask’s spout.
Of course, he remained lying down—belched—switched his pillow-arm—which meant rolling over—then turned his enormous back toward Matashirō and continued with a yawn.

“No matter what happens, you ain’t gonna get angry. Say someone up ’n’ slugs ya for no good reason—just outta nowhere—even then you don’t blow your top. Go home ’n’ sit on it for three days—got that? Three days… If your belly’s still boilin’ after that, wait thirty days. Thirty days pass ’n’ it still ain’t cooled? Try three months. Then three years if ya gotta. If after all that you still can’t swallow it… then go on over—mosey on down to that slugger’s place—ask ’em straight up: ‘Why’d ya go ’n’ slug me back then? I wanna hear what scheme ya had cookin’.’ I’ll be your witness—guarantee that’ll settle things right proper.”

Three

He taught that one must endure all things—not rush, not fuss, not thrash about.
Three days, thirty days, three months, three years.
There, once again, the "threefold"-linked precept for worldly conduct was hammered into the very marrow of his bones.

Whether it was the effect of Monk Sekkai’s upbringing methods or whether Matashirō himself had such a disposition, he eventually gained the fixed reputation of “Centipede Difference.”
People often say things like “a step too late” or “just missed the mark,” but in his case, it was always a “Centipede Difference”—meaning, in the end, he never quite measured up and fell short of what was needed.

When he was twelve years old, Kihee Akai pinched his nose.
This happened before the eyes of his playmates, leaving him thoroughly embarrassed and steeped in humiliation.
But he adhered to Monk Sekkai's teachings.
After enduring three years and still finding it unacceptable, he went to question Kihee.

"Why did you pinch my nose?"

"Your nose... I..."
Kihee's eyes bulged. "What the hell are you talking about?"

“I came here because I don’t understand what it’s about.”

Matashirō was of course serious.
Kihee listened to his explanation and was astonished when told it concerned an incident from three years prior when they had all been playing on bamboo stilts; then hearing he had endured until today but found the feeling utterly unbearable—compelling him to come seek clarification—he was astonished once more.
Kihee groaned… He didn’t clearly remember pinching the nose but was still irritated by Matashirō’s indecisive attitude—he might have done something like that. But to endure it repeatedly then come asking about it today after three years… Kihee groaned again, overcome with emotion, then bowed his head before Matashirō and spoke.

“I got no grudge or nothin’—don’t even remember it—but I likely did pinch your nose for real. Forgive me—I was a rash fool. I’ll mend my ways from now on, and become a friend you don’t have to be ashamed of.”

With Sōki Bunzō and Ishigatani Kensunosuke too, there had been nearly identical sequences of events.
And so, including Akai, he formed a sworn bond of friendship with these three.
Next came the Senbonmatsu affair. When Matashirō turned nineteen, a quarrel broke out between the young horse guards and their retinue group, which escalated boisterously until it finally developed into an organized mass duel between both factions.

“Tomorrow morning at five, gather at Senbonmatsu in Kamejima.”

Matashirō received this summons.
Though he generally understood both the reasons and course of events, he nevertheless began careful deliberation.
At that time his father had already died, leaving him alone with his mother—though this wasn’t why he acted as he did—he was implementing Monk Sekkai’s teachings. But given the matter’s gravity, he had less time to spare than in other cases, and by the third month resolved to proceed.
After meticulously preparing himself, he went to Kihee Akai’s residence. Akai welcomed him cheerfully,

“Hey, long time no see. What brings you here?”

he said nonchalantly.

“Okay, I’ve made up my mind—I’ll do it too.”

“‘I’ll do it too’… Do what?”

“What do you mean ‘do what’? …Obviously the Senbonmatsu matter—the business with the horse guards’ attendants and that whole affair. Don’t you know about it?”

“Well… let’s not get into that.”

Kihee said this and proceeded to sit down on the engawa himself.

Matashirō heard.
The aforementioned group duel had been settled three months prior.
Both sides had three or four injured each when leaders from each faction galloped in on horseback to halt the confrontation. All ringleaders received fifty days’ confinement while others were punished with thirty.
As Kihee Akai was one of the ringleaders, his confinement had only just been lifted recently.

How profoundly perplexed Matashirō was at that moment could be known by none but himself.
When he finished listening to Kihee Akai’s account, he remained silent for a while, lost in thought.

“So, that’s how it is… Hmm… In other words, it’s all already settled, then.”

“Well, guess it’s all settled then.”

“So, in other words, there’s no need—uh—to go to Senbonmatsu anymore.”

“Well, guess that’s about right.”

Matashirō slowly rose from the engawa.
But leaving just like that felt awkward; Kihee might feel uncomfortable.
When he looked around, there were a great many yuzu fruits—so large they were known as "Akai’s Yuzu"—growing there.
The tree was so enormous that its branches were high; with a relieved smile, Matashirō pointed in that direction and asked.

“When harvesting those yuzu, do you use a three-pronged pole, or perhaps set up a ladder…”

But Kihee was no longer there.
After waiting for a while, Matashirō made a vague gesture of farewell and left the Akai residence.
And when he stepped outside the gate, he sighed deeply there.

“Everyone’s in such a hurry.”

It took Matashirō approximately one year to recount his personal story up to this point.
Of course, this entire period had been sustained by Mitsue’s encouragement, but when the story reached this point, Mitsue—as was often her way—set her eyes sparkling, moved by emotion, and edged her knees closer with considerable passion.

“I simply adore these stories of yours—they make my chest feel all warm right here. What happened next?”

“Well, I was surprised.”
Wiping his forehead with the back of his hand, he said, “You see—while I was deliberating, they had already carried out their group duel, been stopped by the supervisors, punished, had their ringleaders ordered into fifty days’ confinement, and even completed that confinement… That’s how it was. All these events had transpired and concluded during my careful consideration. In short, I couldn’t help but be astonished.”

“I do believe Mr. Akai and the others must have been even more astonished—that’s surely where that ‘Centipede Difference’ business came from, isn’t it?”

“So, even they had to say that much—uh—I suppose their pride just wouldn’t settle otherwise.”

There were plenty of similar examples.
However, there was no time to recount them.
He continued growing at his unhurried pace.
"Threefold."
This stopgap philosophy of life indeed had one virtue—so long as he adhered to its teachings, conflicts and quarrels never arose in his case.
This much could be proven true, yet it wasn't without its disadvantages.
The problem lay in how his friends and those around him—presumably equally talented—kept rapidly climbing the social ladder, while Matashirō alone remained perpetually among the ordinary retainer group, with no one willing to promote him.
Their status was that of a hereditary council family with considerable pedigree—a stipend exceeding four hundred koku, and a grandfather who had served as Commissioner of Finance... His father Matazaemon had ended up as chief tax collector due to being a "Sekachibo," yet he maintained his composure.
Though there were relatives in high positions who should have naturally offered support, not a single one extended their hand.

Maybe everyone had forgotten about me.

Matashirō thought this.
His mother too seemed concerned about this point and urged him to show his face more often to relatives and authorities.
He nodded at his mother’s counsel as perfectly sound and strove to make appearances in every favorable quarter he could, but when all was tallied, knowing Miss O-Kane of the Matsui family was the sole harvest worth calling such.

“Oh, wait just a moment—wait!”

When this story was told, Mitsue flushed slightly.
It generally resembled the behavior of a young wife discovering a letter bearing a woman’s name in her husband’s pocket.

“That ‘Machi Kane’ person—who is she? She’s a woman, right? What’s she like? Young of course? She must be pretty without doubt—is she a relative? A cousin? What exactly is your relationship with her?”

“Well, it’s not ‘Machi Kane’—to be precise, her name is Matsui O-Kane. But regarding her… hmm, let’s save that story for next time.”

In any case, after making appearances in various quarters, he realized that people hadn’t forgotten him—rather, precisely because he was the “Centipede Difference,” no one had the courage to take responsibility and recommend him.

He didn’t keep up; he wasn’t useful.

He had such a reputation, yet in fact possessed numerous achievements.
To put it plainly, this stemmed from his “Threefold” stopgap philosophy of life—and here Matashirō found himself unable to avoid harboring a certain degree of misgiving.
Thus he visited Monk Sekkai of Taikyō-ji to sound him out on the matter.
...The monk had already reached eighty-eight years of age yet grew ever more robust—drinking two shō of sake daily, never missing his winter meals of boar and venison or summer fare of carp and eel—still sprawling across the abbot’s quarters with his arm for a pillow as he exhaled liquor-scented breaths.

“After all I taught ya, if yer still comin’ to me spoutin’ such nonsense, that ain’t no good.”
The monk belched mid-sentence: “That’s ’cause yer thrashin’ ’bout in their hustle-bustle world! Let ’em clamber up them ladders—good riddance! Why fuss? Theirs is theirs, yours is yours… Every soul’s got its road—ministers here, litter-bearers there. Evening glories on cherry boughs? Aye, vines’ll cling anywhere. But peach blooms on plum wood? That’ll never be.”

“Well then, if that’s the case… may I continue as I have been?”

“I’ll be yer witness—that’s just fine by me.”
Then the monk looked his way, studying his face curiously before saying, “Well now—jus’ hold out ’til thirty, whether it’s takin’ a wife or gettin’ promoted… Yer face shows it plain—ain’t no quarrel here ’bout that, so if ya do…”

Four

It was nearing the second year by the time the recounting of his personal story had roughly concluded.

“Please tell it all again from the very beginning.”

Mitsue pleaded just like that.
She had apparently previously made Akai, Ishigai, Futagi, and the others each recount Matashirō’s story five times.
This seemed to be an inborn disposition carried from her mother’s womb—...a sort of irresistible force—so Matashirō had no choice but to supplementally recount his personal story once more.

This time he took more time than before.
That was because he wanted to complete his Edo assignment before addressing the matter of O-Kane Matsui.
...His duties remained neither commendable nor objectionable—utterly ordinary.
The subordinates refrained from malice, though this seemed less from goodwill than vanished motivation.
The senior retainers neither summoned him nor spoke to him; no one invited him to social gatherings anymore.
Though he considered sightseeing at famous spots, he lacked enthusiasm for solitary excursions and found no companions to join him.
Thus followed the natural progression of Miss Mitsue’s captivation... Her interest in him—nay, her very conduct—grew increasingly intimate, at times taking on a markedly alluring quality.

“I want to know everything about you—absolutely everything, not a single speck left out, every last thing there is to know!” The moment she said this, she looked up at him with a trance-like gaze and spoke in a voice that seemed entranced through her entire being, “We’ve become perfectly united in body and soul now, haven’t we?”

Such expressions were, if anything, not exactly calm.
As Matashirō, he strove to accept them from as innocent an angle as possible, yet even so found himself thoroughly overwhelmed.

But just a little more patience.

He restrained himself thus.
The term of his Edo assignment was about to expire—just a little more endurance.
Until then, there was no need to make waves—she remained merely a girl of uncertain disposition after all—or so he had reasoned. Yet to his astonishment, he found himself appointed provisional officer for affairs attending the twenty-nine-year-old feudal lord.
This made for an odd personnel decision.
By their domain's bureaucratic regulations, Audit Bureau officials should advance toward commissioner posts, while an affairs officer position fell completely outside that hierarchy... For him, this proved deeply disappointing. Suspecting possible mistaken identity, he made inquiries with the relevant senior official when the appointment notice arrived.

“Hmm, I’m a bit concerned about that point myself,”
Umenaga Sensuke, the elder, made a face that suggested it didn’t sit right with him. “But in any case, this is His Lordship’s will—hmm, since it’s His Lordship’s will, well… you’ll just have to accept it for now. If it turns out to be a mistake… well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I do suspect it’s probably His Lordship’s miscalculation… but there’s nothing to be done about it.”

It was a feeble reassurance, suggesting that Elder Umenaga himself didn’t particularly care either way.

I was astonished—absolutely astonished—to have to start over anew after finally reaching the position of Audit Bureau librarian.

There, Matashirō once again resentfully thought of Monk Sekkai, harboring apprehensions about the Threefold-linked philosophy of life, and merely muttered to himself something like this:

—Perhaps he was just a meddlesome monk after all.

However, the only one who held a different opinion was Miss Mitsue of the Goshō household.
She became so excited with joy that—declaring it a token of affection from her mother and herself—she prepared a ceremonial whole fish platter with sake to celebrate him.

“At long last, your time for advancement has come! As an affairs officer serving directly at His Lordship’s side—why, you’re certain to catch his eye immediately and be entrusted with vital duties!”

“You don’t understand anything about it.”
He began to say this but, thinking explanations futile, sighed and continued: “—But regardless of that… I had thought I might return home this autumn though.”

“Oh, why ever would that be?”

“Why? Because… my term of service expires this autumn.”

“Oh! So if that’s the case, you’ll be returning home then.”

“But… that… why would that be?”

“Why ever do you ask ‘why’?”

Mitsue’s cheeks reddened, her lovely eyes opened wide as she gazed earnestly straight at him.
Matashirō was at a loss.
Exchanges of this implicitly suggestive nature had always been challenging for him; he tried to casually shift the topic, but Mitsue’s feminine sensitivity allowed her to strike first.

“Because if you truly intended to return home as planned, you should have already spoken to my father or mother about that matter by now.”

“That matter… when you say that, you mean… it’s…”

“Of course it’s that matter! Oh, how vexing—you know perfectly well!”

Having said this, Miss Mitsue’s cheeks turned somewhat red.
Matashirō vaguely understood what she was hinting at and thought that this was, relatively speaking, a rather serious matter.
But he immediately realized that such evasive maneuvering constituted an insult to the other party and, mustering tremendous courage, countered.

“If I’m mistaken—well—I beg your forgiveness, but… that is to say… the matter you mentioned just now… in short… would it be something like a marriage proposal…?”

“Not ‘something like’—it **is** a marriage proposal.”
Miss Mitsue answered clearly without hesitation, “—Father doesn’t know, but Mother has been waiting for quite some time now. Since I’ve already told her the general idea myself, it must have been about a year ago.”

“Wait—please—just a moment.”
Matashirō said, flustered and bewildered, “I—truly—cannot quite recall when or how that... came about. But... well... to state it plainly, I have someone I promised to back in my hometown.”

“Oh my… Oh my!” Mitsue rolled her eyes—though not with her usual charm—and said, “You made a promise? You did? In your hometown… My goodness, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“Yes, this is the first time I’m speaking about it as well.”
“But you couldn’t possibly—no, really—” Mitsue straightened her posture. “No—then I shall inquire. What manner of person is this with whom you made a promise? By what name are they called?”

“As for what kind of person she is—well, it’s a bit difficult to explain—but simply put, she’s the daughter of a senior official, and her name is O-Kane Matsui.”

“Oh my, what am I to do… Oh my… With someone like Machikane-sama or whatever they’re called?”

“Do you know her?”

“If I had known, I wouldn’t be saying such things here—I would have gone straight to inform you! But that… when did you make that promise? How old might she be now?”

“W-well, that is… when I made the promise… it was… exactly seven years ago now…”

“Oh my! You mean a full seven years?!”

“I was twenty-two, and that person—well... one year older than me, twenty-three at the time.”

“So that person would now be exactly…”

Miss Mitsue’s face took on an indescribable softness, and her eyes were once again enveloped in a lovely hue.
And this time, with an elegant, composed expression—or rather, a gaze tinged with pity—she listened to his explanation.

As previously recorded, with his mother’s encouragement and his own surge of motivation, when he busily paid visits to influential relatives and authorities across various circles, he met O-Kane—the second daughter of the household—at the residence of a senior official named Matsui Kakubei.
The Matsui family was blessed with many children—five sons and four daughters—but Miss O-Kane confessed to him that she alone among them combined both beauty and talent.
...Through some unknown progression of their conversation, Miss O-Kane soon pressed him with a marriage proposal.
Unlike Mitsue’s manner—filled with implications and veiled suggestions—this was, so to speak, a direct knee-to-knee confrontation.

"So in any case, I consulted with my mother."

Matashirō said this and extricated himself from the situation.
Because at that time, Monk Sekkai had told him, "Wait until thirty for everything."
It was said that both marriage and career advancement should be endured until thirty, as his physiognomy revealed [...] After allowing an appropriate interval to pass, he visited Miss O-Kane, explained the circumstances, and proposed she wait until he turned thirty.
Miss O-Kane agreed without the slightest hesitation and, with rather proactive determination, smiled coquettishly in full glamor, sidled up to him, and grasped his hand.

“I shall place my faith in you—though I make it a rule never to trust men—but I shall believe in Lord Akinari. You are different from all others in some way… Yes, I shall wait.”

After listening fully, Mitsue nodded gently and smiled as if comforting a younger brother. “And have you been keeping faith with that person all this time since then?”

“Vows? No—I’ve never made any vows… But why do you ask?”

“No, it’s nothing at all.”
Mitsue gazed at him with gentle eyes. “Since next year brings the alternate-attendance leave, you will be accompanying the lord back to your hometown. When that time comes, do visit that person. Though I can well imagine her circumstances… I do believe you should see with your own eyes what has become of her.”

“Yes, that—that I will certainly visit.”
Matashirō nodded quite clearly. “There are others who have business with me as well.”

V

“Besides… there are still others I’ve promised, you know.”

“No—that’s not it at all. It’s entirely different—that is… Well, in short… three years ago… various matters… But I’ll explain this later.”

“As you prefer.”
Mitsue said this with an alluring smile, “And let me tell you... No matter what becomes of Machikanesama, please do not forget that I am here in Edo.”

“Ah, that... uh... Understood.”

“Most certainly you will.”

She made as if to initiate some gesture but stopped herself, settling instead on a glare.
Perhaps she had tried to take the same course of action as Miss O-Kane of the Matsui family.
Matashirō, dazzled, averted his eyes toward the garden and said.

“It seems summer will soon be here.”

From then until March of the following year, Mitsue’s manner of caring for him became even more elaborately crafted than before. During certain periods, her care was motherly in its thoroughness—reaching even where there was no itch to scratch. But at other times, she would act curtly, teasingly, with perfect composure, putting on airs.

“Oh? Is that so? Then I suppose it must be.”

She said things like that while looking straight ahead—that was her way of it.
Then, as if some new mechanism were at work, she would suddenly grow overly familiar, staring intently at him from the corners of her eyes.

“When Lord Akinari first arrived, Mitsue was sixteen… Three years since then… Now I’m eighteen… Eighteen—I’ve become a perfect old woman.”

From sixteen, exactly three years had passed—so the total being eighteen didn’t quite add up.
However, seeing no need to press the matter, Matashirō at that moment adopted a thoughtful expression and replied, “How time flies,”

What an innocent girl she was, he thought.

In the third month of the following year, accompanying Lord Settsu-no-kami Harusada, Akinari Matashirō returned to his homeland for the first time in nearly five years.
The welcoming scenes from his three close friends and relatives and acquaintances were omitted.
That many of his close friends and acquaintances had been promoted; that Akai, Ishitani, and Sōmoku had all married—with Ishitani having a son and Sōmoku Bunzō fathering twin daughters; and that Monk Sekkai of Taikyōji Temple had achieved a peaceful death the previous winter—learning of these various unexpected changes was a gain.

“So… The monk from Taikyōji Temple died?”

Matashirō felt slightly disappointed.
As for him, this time he wanted to voice his complaints with some degree of firmness.

"Such a peaceful death must be unprecedented in history."
Kihee Akai recounted this to him: “After all, he was already ninety years old—never missed his daily two sho and five go of sake. Same as ever—doing nothing—no sutra readings either. Lying sprawled in the abbot’s quarters propped on his elbow—drinking all day long—nobody even knew when he fell ill—or maybe he never did get sick at all… Then one day he called for the temple servant—when the man went in there he was same as always—elbow propped up sprawled out like this—looked at the servant let out a burp and boozy breath—”

“Oh, it’s you, Yahei. Didja come?”

The monk is said to have spoken thus.

“I’m done with it all—ain’t no point keepin’ on like this no more... Completely fed up, so I’ll be takin’ my leave now—*burp*—tell the parishioners... though they’ll hear soon enough anyway... Everyone—ehehehn—dandaougyaa... Y’all got that?”

And then, the temple servant—startled—asked if perhaps he was ill and whether he should call a doctor or if there was somewhere causing him pain. At this, the monk looked at him with puzzled eyes, then closed them blissfully and let out a sigh so contented it seemed almost pleasurable.

"In this world, there exists no pleasure worth dying for… Yet the fools of this fleeting world live and toil… Ah, how splendid this feels."

“And then he drew his last breath, they say.”

Matashirō remained silent for a while. Then he countered with a question: what profound meaning could lie in those strange last rites and the words "ehehehn" that he’d told the parishioners to convey?

“Well now, there’s all sorts of theories about that part.” Kihee also seemed unsure. “Some say it’s Sanskrit, others claim it’s mountain dialect from Dewa Province meaning ‘How do you fare today?’... That monk always mixed dialects from different regions, so the latter theory’s probably right. Most folks lean toward that interpretation.”

In any case, it seemed irrelevant to Matashirō; he sullenly harbored a secret resentment toward Monk Sekkai, who had achieved such a peaceful death all by himself, seemingly content.

“There’s this matter about finding you a bride, you know.”

The mother persistently brought up that matter.
He had his own considerations and asked her to wait a little longer regarding that discussion. Once he had settled himself, he turned to the longstanding issue that formed the purpose of his return... He first took out his notebook and examined how, nearly five years prior, he had suffered unjust insults from five individuals.
When he listed these to the left,

1. Kaneno Samanosuke: Third Son of the Castle Deputy Senior Retainer

A certain year, a certain month, a certain day.
In front of encircling spectators, he suddenly demanded of me, “Align my sandals!” When I stated my unwillingness, he berated me with “Don’t act high and mighty!” and further ridiculed me by saying, “Go wash your face with miso soup!”

2. Ōmurata Dennai — Spear Unit Captain

A certain year, a certain month, a certain day.
On returning from the castle—emboldened by drink—he proposed to his companions: “Let’s bet on what sound that Centipede Difference’s head will make.” Disregarding my distress, he struck my forehead with his right fist and collected winnings from his companions.

3. Karakawa Unzō: Elder Tobei-dono’s Eldest Son

A certain year, a certain month, a certain day.
In an audience chamber within the castle, despite the presence of administrative officers and others, he declared, "When incompetence reaches Akinari's level, it borders on stipend theft," and heartily laughed together with those present.

4. Kariga Yuheiji: Matchlock Ashigaru Unit Captain

A certain year, a certain month, a certain day.
Outside the main gate, he made a locust perch on my head and told his men, "Look here—even when treated like this, this man doesn't get angry." Then he shoved the locust into my collar, turned back to his subordinates, and declared, "This isn't patience—it's spinelessness. You lot must never become like this. Understood?"
Having said this, he made me into a living example for their instruction.

5. Otsuhara Heigo: Stable Master’s Second Son

A certain year, a certain month, a certain night.
At the banquet celebrating Lord Kano Neisai’s new residence, Heigo seized the grilled sea bream from my meal tray, declaring, "Such extravagance ill befits the Centipede Difference," then replaced it with burdock root and sneered, "This suits you far better."

The above was as recorded.

There were more than ten other cases besides these; however, the five listed above were those he simply couldn't stomach despite enduring them for over three years.
Moreover, Monk Sekkai was no longer here; the monk had departed this world with an "ehehehn".
Matashirō was now free.

“I’ll start with Kaneno, uh…”

With a crawling irritation deep within, he muttered like this.

Kaneno was still serving as castle deputy senior retainer, but upon visiting, it turned out Samanosuke had already branched off from the main family and was living in Okeyamachi.
He went there to investigate, but as the name suggested, it was a cluttered section of the craftsmen's district—in short, a shantytown-like area—and Samanosuke's residence stood at the end of a twisted row house among the backstreet shops.
...Matashirō felt a moment of hesitation, but when he resolutely asked to be shown in, a witch-like woman appeared,

“What’s your business? If you’re here collecting debts, we ain’t got a copper. Scram already—tch, what miserable timing.”

She barked abruptly.
Matashirō marshaled his self-restraint there, stated his full name and position, and at last secured the woman’s grudging permission to enter the house.

Samanosuke was sleeping. He lay emaciated like a withered tree, his face bluish-black, wrapped in a thin futon with cotton stuffing spilling out, gasping laboriously with "haa-haa" breaths. When he saw Matashirō, he bared his yellow teeth and spoke in a terribly hoarse voice.

“Ah, you… Akinari? You came for me… Ah, I’m sorry… My dearest friend—a friend from the bottom of my heart—I could cry… So happy… This is it.”

Samanosuke clasped his skeletal hands together in prayer. The single-room house was a mountain of rags and junk, within which three young children were hitting, scratching, crying, and screaming. A rancid, indescribably unpleasant smell filled the air, while beyond the crumbling wall, a drunken man was shouting incomprehensible nonsense in a hoarse voice.

“One should look after others—after all, I did my utmost for you alone.”
Samanosuke continued: “—Anyway, could you lend me some money? One ryō—no, three ryō would do. Cough, cough—no really, we did such reckless things back then, ah... Truly delightful times. For your sake I squandered fortunes, cough-cough... If not three ryō, two would work—even one bu... The rest can wait. Anyway I still consider you my only true friend... Truly, I haven’t forgotten what you said—ugh—‘I’ll come running if you’re ever in trouble, after all I owe Kaneno’... So touching—you’re making me cry... Even one bu now would help—the rest whenever, sooner the better... I haven’t yet lost faith in a friend’s compassion.”

Matashirō wrapped up a paltry sum and left it behind, exiting the house with a nausea-inducing disgust.

6.

On his way back, he stopped by Akai’s house and heard about Samanosuke from Kihee.
...According to this account, Samanosuke had once been adopted into the household of a provisions officer named Hayashi Kazuemon and fathered a child, but was disowned due to his debauchery.
Next into Koshida Hisanae’s household, and thirdly into Mutsuide Shuhei’s—each time he was adopted only to be disowned.
During that period, he became involved with a woman from a gambling den in Kawabata—and when it emerged they even had a child together—his father too disowned him.

“As for the child that woman bore—who even knows if it’s really his? They say he’s been bedridden with some nasty disease for about half a year now—won’t last much longer… You got business with that guy?”

“Well…it’s not like I have any business with him or anything…”

Matashirō returned home with an unpleasant feeling.
He had gone there prepared to duel if needed, yet found himself draped in baseless gratitude, called a close friend, and ended up leaving behind even a paltry sum.

“I can’t charge into this half-cocked.”

There was nothing unreasonable about him thinking so.
At any rate, he never wanted to suffer another bitter experience like that visit to Samanosuke.
Accordingly, he conducted preliminary investigations on the remaining four.
He considered this prudent on his part—for Otsuhara Heigo, second son of the Stable Master, had reportedly died after being bedridden for half a year when his stomach burst from overeating.
Furthermore, Ōmura Den’nai had embezzled public funds through gambling, been demoted to ashigaru, and taken to visiting former colleagues while drunk,

—"Hey, let's bet—tomorrow rain or clear weather?"

He would say such things, and when his bets were refused, would weep and lament his poverty. Bawling his eyes out, he'd claim his wife had suddenly fallen ill or his children were starving—spouting all manner of made-up stories—and invariably wheedle some money out of them before leaving.

"This one's dangerous too—I'll eliminate these two as well."

Matashirō crossed off Heigo and Den’nai from his notebook.

Fourth was Kariwa Yuheiji—being someone who instructed others, he remained in good health and had been promoted from arquebusier foot soldier group leader to overseer.
Fifth was Karakawa Unzō, who had remarkably advanced to become an 800-koku Construction Magistrate, taken a wife celebrated for her beauty, and now enjoyed a peaceful life of domestic comfort.

"I won't need caution here."

And Matashirō visited Kariwa.

Kariwa’s house stood within the samurai row houses, befitting his position as overseer, and boasted stables, tenement dwellings, and three earthen storehouses—a rather imposing structure altogether.
…Yuheiji was at home and promptly sat facing Matashirō in the guest room.
His complexion had grown darker than before, eyes bulging glaringly, with a thick beard now covering his upper lip and chin—sitting there puffed up like some self-important estate owner.

“As I’m pressed for time, let’s dispense with formalities—state your business concisely. Be brief.”
Yuheiji checked the sun’s position and continued, “—I must presently dine with the magistrate, and tomorrow I’m summoned by three senior councilors—an inconvenience truly, a dreadful waste of hours—but such are obligations… To the point—what brings you here? As established—my schedule permits no leisure.”

“The matter’s simple—just remember what happened five years ago.”
“Five years ago… What about it?”

Matashirō calmly related the Ōtemon Gate incident.
It seemed Kariwa immediately recalled that lecture using locusts... Yet he remained arrogantly seated, glaring this way while twisting the end of his mustache with a fingertip.

“Hmm… So… What about it?”

“It’s been five years since then,”
In a low voice, Matashirō said, “—I cannot forget the humiliation from that time. Therefore, after gathering all who were present then, I want you to offer a formal apology to me there.”

Kariwa Yuheiji arched his back even more defiantly.

“I refuse… What then?”

“Just set the date and time.”

“A duel?!”

Yuheiji glared with eyes like a rabid dog’s. Then, twisting his mustache and beard, he burst out laughing, shouted “This is amusing!”, and shook his entire body with mirth.

“You dare challenge me? Me—Kariwa Yuheiji? Wahaha! A blind man who fears no snakes? You’re poking bushes to find vipers! Blowing on fur seeking wounds! A summer bug flying into flames? A mantis raising its axe against a dragon chariot? Oh ho! Oh ho! This is so absurd my navel’s boiling tea!”

After roughly mocking him in this manner, they set the day as the day after tomorrow, the time at five in the morning, and the location as the riverbank by the waterwheel mill.
When Matashirō stood up, from behind him came vigorous mockery delivered with evident relish in the following manner.

“If you value your life, give up now—shame can be endured, but the dead don’t come back to life! Fools regret later—better safe than sorry! This is absurdly hilarious! As the sages say…”

After that came something about "great wisdom resembling great folly" along with other proverbs, but Matashirō had already left too quickly to hear them.
That night after visiting Kariwa, he called on Karakawa Unzō.
He'd considered waiting until tomorrow, but feared his mounting official duties might prevent him from getting away.

Ever since being appointed provisional duty officer, he remained constantly busy. His role resembled that of a deputy secretary to the Chamberlain, yet somehow he came to be used as the Chamberlain’s proxy, frequently being made to handle meetings with the feudal lord. The Chamberlain at that time was Yahashi Hayato—a formidable drinker who never let a drink leave his side whether at home or the office. He was always drinking, his face ruddy, then sitting down to doze off. At the office, he would sit properly at his desk, posture straight, and sleep with his eyes wide open. He would often fall asleep like that even before the feudal lord.

—How were such-and-such matters handled?

“Ah, as Your Lordship commands.”

“—Then how were those matters handled?”

“Ah, precisely as Your Lordship commands.”

After such exchanges occurred, it was not uncommon for the feudal lord to take notice and say something like, “Take Hayato away and let him sleep.” Though this didn’t seem to be the sole reason, Hayato’s duties had gradually come to be entrusted to Matashirō, and after his return home, this tendency grew even stronger. The official exit time was set at four o’clock, but at least every three days without fail, they could not leave the castle until six or seven.

The day after tomorrow, there was to be a duel with Kariwa; tomorrow he might have unforeseen duties at the castle. With these thoughts weighing on him, he set out that very night.

“Oh Akinari! You’ve come! Please, come in!”

Karakawa himself came rushing out to the entrance.
Pale-skinned and chubby, with a genial smile spread across his entire face, he bowed so low one might expect him to start rubbing his hands in supplication, laughing effusively all by himself.

“I’d planned to visit you first since returning from Edo! Come—this way! Perfect here! Make yourself at home—relax! Unbend those knees! No formalities needed! Ah, you came! *I* should’ve paid *you* respects first! When I heard Lord Akinari had returned—oh, the joy! With your mettle—five years in Edo’s very crucible—of *course* you’ve become extraordinary! They say ‘three days unseen makes a new man,’ but you’re exceptional! Already Chamberlain! Such meteoric rise—leaping five ranks, ten ranks at once! *This* is how men should ascend! Why, even when mocked as ‘Centipede Difference,’ you stood unfazed—knew your worth! Let fools prattle! But *I* saw it—you’re cut from different cloth! We’re not your peers! Destined for greatness! Let the blind stare—I swear this truth! Told Ōmori myself—ask him! Remember the very day! Now—Chamberlain! A thousand-koku man! Proves even *I* have some eye for talent, eh?”

Between every word, he laughed with apparent delight, rang a bell to hurry the tea service, and though his guest hadn’t touched his cup, he alone busily sipped from his own—no sooner had he stood up than he returned to sit down, all the while chattering and laughing without pause—leaving his guest almost no chance to interject.

“Wait a moment, will you? I came here today because I have something to discuss.”

“Ah, later later—we can talk about all that afterward.” Unzō waved his hands and scooted his knees forward insistently. “First things first—we must raise a celebratory toast! It’s been ages! I’ll resent you if you hold back—relax! Unbend those knees! Feel as if you’re in your own home! I’m so delighted—*I* should’ve gone to greet *you*, yet here you are! And now Chamberlain! Who else could achieve this? But then—that’s Akinari for you!”

“Wait a moment—no, wait. I won’t accept any celebratory toast.”

Since this was getting nowhere, Matashirō interrupted in a rather stern tone.
Karakawa was startled, his eyes widening as he looked this way.

“You won’t accept a celebratory toast—”

“First, let me make this clear—I am absolutely not the Chamberlain, merely a provisional officer in charge of duties. Second, I’ll state my business here. It might be troublesome, but could you try recalling something from five years ago?”

“What on earth… Five years ago, what on earth…”

“In the Tsumenoma room of the castle—with the supervisor and about ten others present—that’s where you all humiliated me.”

A reckless statement—"Incompetence like Akinari’s borders on embezzling stipends." Unzō seemed to remember; he turned pale starting from his forehead. "Oh? Did something like that happen?" He tried to laugh it off, but his face only stiffened and twisted grotesquely. "I have endured that for five years," Matashirō said in a calm voice. "But I can no longer bear it—I simply cannot forget it." "I get it, I really do. But I don’t think I ever uttered such insults—after all, I knew the man in question."

“Stop dodging the issue—I’ve had enough.”

He said this in a slightly raised voice—an unprecedented occurrence that left Unzō speechless.

“So today I’ve come with two conditions. The first is to gather everyone from that incident in the castle and have you apologize before them all.”

“But that’s—that’s too much! For someone of my standing as Construction Magistrate—that’s tantamount to suicide! That’s cruel!”

“Then here’s the next condition,” he said calmly. “The day after tomorrow won’t work, but could you decide on another day, time, and place?”

“But why would you—why set such terms?”

“It’s a duel—you know that, don’t you?”

Karakawa looked at him with bulging eyes, his face contorting further as his lips turned white and began trembling. He gulped audibly before speaking in a choked voice.

“No way, no way… Ha ha… You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“If you’re talking about me, I’m serious.”

Unzō suddenly sprang to his feet.
Because it was so abrupt, Matashirō instinctively reached toward his sword.
But far quicker than that, Unzō had darted from the corridor into the garden like a swallow.

So here in this garden then. Very well.

Matashirō took his sword and stepped out into the corridor.
However, Karakawa Unzō was prostrating himself in the garden.
He placed both hands on the ground, pressed his pale forehead into the earth, bowed rapidly while offering rapid-fire apologies in a pleading voice.

“Here, look at me—forgive me! I have a wife—she loves me—I don’t want to die! If you’re angry, stomp on this head! Kick it! Tear out my guts! I’m not worth three coppers’ worth—pity my wife! I’ve got money—I’ll pay any amount—forgive me! Spare me! Be my lifelong savior! Please—please—…”

7

Then, at five o'clock in the early morning after a day had passed.

At the Yodoigawa Riverbank, Matashirō was waiting for Kariga.

It was already April, and the season was late spring.
The riverbank was covered with sprouting grass, and reed shoots stood stiffly upright.
The place was commonly called the "waterwheel site," but there was no waterwheel—if there had ever been one, it must have been long ago.
It was nearly a ri from the castle town, and the opposite bank of the Yodoigawa River was already part of the neighboring domain.

"He might be quite something."
Matashirō muttered while watching the river waves, "If he weren't confident, he couldn't have spoken so boldly... He must have dueled before—perhaps... But I'm not so fragile that I'll lose here."

He suddenly knit his brows.
He recalled Kariga's features—the well-built frame, the thick beard, those glaring eyes—and that bold mockery.
It was intimidating as it was, filled with raw power, and felt like pure fighting spirit incarnate.

"That's right—I'm not so fragile that I'll lose... Even I wouldn't... But what's going on? It's about time he should be here."

Matashirō looked back toward the embankment.
Then, growing somewhat tired from standing, he searched for a dry spot on the riverbank and sat down there.

After waiting until he heard the eight o'clock bell—likely from Genkūji Temple—he gave up and left the riverbank.
Kariga never came after all. But as for Matashirō, thinking that perhaps some urgent matter had arisen or someone in the house had fallen ill, he stopped by Kariga’s place in Nijō Town on his way back.
It was there that he first learned: Yuheiji had sold off all his household belongings and fled with his wife and children late last night.

“We know nothing about it, sir,”
the seemingly simple-minded servant said. “When morning came, neither the master nor anyone else was here, sir. As you can see with the house—about an hour ago, junk dealers and antique dealers came by. They’d already appraised everything yesterday and paid for all the goods, sir—so they carried off every last thing. As for what’ll become of my wages—where should I go to make my plea? If you could just advise me on that point, sir.”

Matashirō silently left Kariga’s gate.

—I can’t believe it.

Those grandiose boasts of his, that heroic laughter that seemed to embody sheer courage itself.
A man of his caliber fleeing in fear of a duel—selling off all his household belongings, sneaking away even from his servants' eyes, and absconding into the night with his wife and children.

"No—no, I can’t believe it."
As he walked down the road alone, Matashirō shook his head. "There must be some reason behind this—something."

But he had no choice but to believe.
The news that Yuheiji Kariga had fled spread instantly throughout the domain, and baseless stories about its cause began circulating one after another.

Matashirō secretly let out a sigh.

What in the world...

He would sigh and wear a gloomy look.
However, upon reflection, this meant that the five-year pending issue had been neatly resolved.
There was no reason at all to feel gloomy.

Having finally steeled his resolve, he went to visit Miss O-Kane at the Matsui residence in Honjo Town. ... The elder Matsui Kakubei had passed away some time ago, and now his eldest son, Kakubei, had inherited the household and was serving in a minor senior post.

“Ah, how good of you to come! Please, this way.” Kakubei himself came to the entrance to greet him, personally guided him to the parlor, ordered tea and sweets, and kept up a steady stream of chatter until they were seated facing each other. “This promotion of yours is truly splendid—though of course it was only a matter of time. Perhaps a tad overdue? As they say, ‘Great talent matures late.’ We’ve been whispering about it here too. Though I must admit, Chamberlain never crossed our minds! Truly, our lord’s discernment lives up to his reputation as a restorer of fortunes—we retainers can only bow in admiration.”

There as well, the term "Chamberlain" came up again.
Even if Karakawa’s flattery could be dismissed as mere lip service, Kakubei—though a junior member—held a senior post and had no reason to offer compliments.
If that were the case... Matashirō realized this and, seizing a gap in the other’s loquacity, posed a counterquestion.

“It seems you mentioned that I’ve been promoted to Chamberlain, but I remain unaware of any such matter. Could you explain what this means?”

“Ah, perhaps you’re still unaware.”
Kakubei nodded with an air of satisfaction. “Our lord first voiced his intention some seven days prior. Then we senior retainers convened in council and approved it as suitable. The formal appointment should be issued within four or five days—and I might add, the reception among senior retainers has been most favorable…”

Matashirō did not particularly feel displeased by this.
Yet business remained business.
Having once more waited for a pause in Kakubei’s ceaseless chatter, he finally seized the moment to disclose his visit’s purpose.

“Ah, she’s here—she’s at home. My sister remains unmarried.”
Having his story interrupted, Kakubei made a peculiar expression. “If you have business with her, I’ll have her summoned.”

“Well, actually...”
Matashirō looked down. “—You see—I’d like... um... to have a private discussion with her. Just the two of us. About... um... a matter of some importance.”

“Oh certainly—of course! A private discussion is excellent—I’ll have her summoned immediately.”
As he said this, Kakubei stood up. “—She’s a difficult woman—though that’s putting it harshly. She’s a pitiful soul—still unmarried, you see—and well… No matter—I’ll have her come here at once.”

After Kakubei left, Matashirō sat dejectedly with his head bowed. "Still unmarried—" he murmured. For nearly ten years since then, O-Kane had kept her promise—had remained unmarried for him. She had kept that promise made back then—kept it for this Matashirō’s sake.

"—Rejecting Mitsue’s proposal back then was the right thing to do."

Matashirō muttered reverently and softly in this manner.

In his heart, he had been truly devout at that moment.
Toward O-Kane's sincerity, toward her unchanging vow, toward her single-minded devotion—he had felt a heartfelt desire to bow his head.
……The paragon of devotion soon appeared.
The considerable time required suggested she had done her makeup and changed clothes.
She wore a gorgeous kimono in eye-catching hues—whether patterns or designs one might call them—with thick white powder applied and lips painted red.
When she sat down there, an intense fragrance abruptly spread through the air until it filled the entire space, making Matashirō nearly sneeze.

“Welcome, Lord Akinari! How wonderful of you to come! You did remember me after all—thank you! I’m simply overjoyed!” She said this with a coquettish, lingering gaze, boldly staring at him while striking a pose where she gently smoothed her hair with one hand, then stared intently again: “I thought you’d forgotten all about me! On my side, I’ve been hearing constant rumors—it’s been utterly heartbreaking! You couldn’t possibly fathom how tragic my circumstances have been!”

“No—that’s precisely why I’ve come. I haven’t forgotten at all—I’m not the sort of man who breaks promises.”

“That’s right—you did make that promise, after all.”

At this moment, she used her other hand to gently stroke the opposite side of her hair. While stroking it, she glanced sideways at him. It was an elegant pose, yet at the same time rather alluring, with a kind of suffocating sensuality that caused Matashirō to involuntarily blush.

“Just like back then, you’re still so handsome now—not handsome in some ordinary way, but your whole being rather than just your face or figure. Watching you like this makes the depths of my chest tingle, my blood grow hot—makes me want you to ravage every inch of me, feel things too shameful to put into words. You must’ve made countless ladies weep in Edo—I know it! Confess this instant!”

“No—I would never—” Matashirō grew increasingly flustered and red, his tongue stiffening. “Please—such things—I beg you—I... to fulfill that promise... To be clear—under our agreement at that time—it was certainly—”

“Oh yes, there was the promise, wasn’t there?”

“I asked you at that time to please wait until I turned thirty.”

“Until you turned thirty…”

“Yes, and with this year, I have turned thirty.”

A cry of “My!” escaped from between the young lady’s thickly rouged lips. It was a voice filled with surprise, joy, and a kind of admiration. She gazed at him with wide-open eyes, continued gazing for quite some time, then seeming to comprehend everything for the first time, suddenly made her eyes sparkle, squirmed slightly as if kneading her own body, and took one large, deep breath.

“After all—ah, after all it was you! I believed in you alone—you alone could be trusted! Though men as a whole are selfish, willful cowards—you alone, Lord Akinari—you alone could be believed! That’s what I thought! How joyous—after all, you are Lord Matashirō! I simply can’t...”

She squirmed and covered her face with both sleeves like a young girl.
It was a coquettish, alluring gesture—when... from the hallway crawled in a single, still very small infant.

“Bububu, aah-uh, baabaa.”

While uttering these incomprehensible sounds, the infant crawled over in a highly distinctive manner—a crawling style so unique that those versed in such matters could likely divine its future at a glance. The infant glanced toward Matashirō and made a face as if displeased with something,

“Daa, puu, daa-daa”

Having vented its anger in this way, the infant crawled up onto Miss O-Kane’s lap.
Of course, Miss O-Kane had kept talking all this while—covering her face with sleeves, twisting her body, speaking—but when the infant reached her lap,

"My, what an incorrigible child you are!"

As she said this, she picked it up, placed a hand on the collar of her gorgeous vividly-patterned kimono, deftly pulled it open to expose a splendidly ample breast, let the infant latch onto the large birch-colored nipple, all while continuing to cast seductive sidelong glances his way.

“I’ve always thought so—that Lord Matashirō was someone trustworthy—why, I’ve even seen it two or three times in my dreams! Truly! Though what kind of dreams they were is too embarrassing to say—three times, no, about five times I saw them! Ah! That hurts—don’t suck so hard! Tsk—put out this hand here—yes, it’s all true, I tell you!” The young lady smiled bewitchingly there, “I believed—though one can’t trust men as a whole—that you alone could be trusted. You’ll keep your promise without fail—you do believe me, don’t you?”

Matashirō swallowed saliva and averted his eyes.
His head swam, his tongue stiffened even more than before, and his throat grew itchy.

……Just then, another child—a severely obese male toddler who had only just begun walking—came crawling in.

“Mama! Wanna nurse! Wanna nurse!”

The toddler toddled unsteadily toward the young lady and grabbed her shoulder with his sticky hands.

Eight

It was difficult to accurately capture Matashirō’s state of mind at that time.
Even he himself could only vaguely surmise—much later, after considerable years had passed—that it had likely resembled a form of terror.

For these intruders were not limited to that alone: after the plump toddler came a skinny, red-haired girl of about three, followed by two boys—around four and five years old—arriving while tearing at each other’s hair, and to his further astonishment, a boy who was the spitting image of the second arrival—severely overweight—also appeared with the same unsteady toddling gait.
Even their nasal whines of “Wanna nurse” were identical, making Matashirō briefly suspect they might be the same person.

The aforementioned six children surrounded Miss O-Kane—grabbing at her, colliding against her body, hitting each other, pulling hair, scratching faces, crying, screaming, whining nasally, stomping around in chaotic runs, starting wrestling matches and shouting... No—enough already, that’s quite sufficient. Matashirō muttered under his breath (though he doubted she could hear over the commotion) something about needing to act after due consideration, then slipped away from his seat while ignoring Miss O-Kane’s attempts to detain him.

It was later learned that after that incident, the young lady had married three times—all three ending in divorce—before returning home each time.
The first marriage produced two boys; the second, a girl and a male twin; and the third resulted in that nursing infant—born no more than a hundred days after the divorce, it was said.

——Six children, three divorces.

For Matashirō, it was an indescribable feeling.
Thick white powder and lipstick makeup; a garishly colored kimono ensemble; the overpowering scent of perfume.
The figure of her gently stroking hair, squirming her body, covering her face with both sleeves, and casting coquettish sidelong glances like a young girl.

"I believed in you—believed in you alone—believed, believed, believed…."

In the depths of Matashirō’s ears, those words continued to echo for a long time.
Believed, believed, believed….
That resembled the sound of a certain type of cicada that sings in late summer.

"I must send an express courier to the Goshō household."
He told himself: "I must act quickly—this one thing I mustn't delay. She likely wouldn't do such things, but if upon returning to Edo she's already remarried or even borne twins—ugh, I couldn't possibly keep up with that. At once—at the very least a marriage proposal—one express courier..."

While recalling Mitsue’s kind, heartfelt, meticulous care that attended to even the most trivial needs, Matashirō first wrote letters proposing marriage to Mitsue and her father, then mustered the courage of a lifetime to pen a letter of refusal to Miss O-Kane.
He utterly lacked the courage to meet her again and refuse her in person.

“——Has been appointed Chamberlain.”

On the day this appointment was officially announced, Matashirō visited Butsuji Temple for the first time since returning home.

Monk Sekkai’s grave was found immediately.
In a section where the graves of successive head priests were lined up, surrounded by trees with young leaves, the large egg-shaped stupa-style tombstone still looked new.
...Matashirō went and stood before it, bowed, then smiled slightly and said.

“It’s been a while, Monk. How are things down there in your grave?”
He gently waved one hand. “Now that I can say it—truthfully speaking, there was a time I actually thought you were a meddlesome monk... But five years after that, when I returned and experienced various realities firsthand, I was astonished—truly astonished.”

Matashirō recalled the tenements of Okamachi Alley, Dennai who had been demoted to foot soldier, and Heigo who supposedly died of a ruptured stomach.
Yūheiji Kariha, who fled at midnight with a boisterous laugh; Unzō, who prostrated himself in the garden.
The vicissitudes and fortunes of these people's lives... and all of this occurred within five years.
During this time, Matashirō came through it all with his threefold Centipede Difference approach, enduring people’s ridicule all the while.
And just as they were crushed by life, fell into ruin, died, or fled in disgrace—midway through squandering their lives—Matashirō was instead promoted to Chamberlain and was preparing to marry.
His life was indeed just about to begin.

“Ain’t no need to rush—ain’t no need at all.”

To Matashirō, it seemed he could hear Monk Sekkai’s voice.
Resting on his elbow, lying sprawled out while letting out boozy burps, the monk would say leisurely:

“No matter how much you flail about—if spring ain’t come yet, flowers ain’t gonna bloom—that’s what it means. Just gotta stay calm.”

That’s right—there had been no need to rush at all. If you settled down slowly and steadily, diligently doing what needed to be done, then corresponding rewards would surely come your way someday.

“People rush around too much—flail about over distant matters, Monk—and end up missing what truly matters... Only now do I feel I’ve come to understand what you meant. If back then I had... with that Miss O-Kane... ugh, well...”

Suddenly, the lively scene from that parlor at the Matsui residence flashed through Matashirō’s mind. He shuddered, then waved one hand. “No—absurd, utterly absurd! After all, even in this matter, I believe waiting with threefold-linked patience was... ugh... the right course.”