Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Yamamoto Shugoro

I. Even a Lazy Man Has His Reasons

In the back-alley tenement called Yanpachi Nagaya at Edo’s Kyobashi Sumiyagashi, there lived a cooper named Yaroku.
Yaroku was a lazy man.
It wasn’t just ordinary laziness—nor was it merely enough to make others look foolish.
He was a far worse idler.

“That guy’s hopeless—Yaroku is.”

Old Man Hirasaku, the landlord, sighed and affixed his definitive label as follows.

“That’s what they call a hopeless case.”

To this, there was not a single person who objected.
Not only that, but the label "hopeless case" became Yaroku’s own.

Yaroku’s father was named Yahachi, and he was known as a hard worker.
Like his son, he was a cooper by trade—one who disliked alcohol, tobacco, gambling, and carousing—and worked nonstop except when eating or sleeping.
When Yahachi died at forty-six, Yaroku was twenty-one.
Through his diligent father’s training, he had considerable skill as a cooper; he inherited all his parents’ customers; and with his mother being healthy, his life remained fairly comfortable.

He took a wife at twenty-four.
Then his mother died.
It was truly abrupt—while the three of them were eating dinner, she suddenly threw down her bowl and chopsticks and fell backward.
It looked like she was fooling around, but he laid out bedding and put her to sleep regardless.
She slept snoring until midnight, then woke up and said, “Ants are marching in the hollow of the altar.”
she began to say things like.
Since she asked him to chase them away, he looked carefully, but there were no ants.

“They must be there—look properly, won’t you?”

The mother pleaded like a fussing child.

“Look, look! They’re marching from the hollow of the altar up to my head—see? Crawling in droves into my hair! Oh no, chase them away! Now they’re forming a line all the way to my forehead!”

And before long, she let out a low groan.
It was a groan that sounded contented, as if she were feeling quite at ease.
That was the signal of death.

Yaroku was never what one would call diligent from the start.
But when his mother died, he first revealed his true nature.
When he worked, he showed solid skill, but gradually stopped taking on work.
That said, he didn’t indulge in any particular vices either.
Unlike his father, he drank sake and smoked tobacco.
He didn’t shy away from womanizing either.
But even without them, he got by.

“You look gloomy. Should I go buy some sake?”

When his wife said this, he yawned.

“Yeah, sake? Guess so.”
Then he scratched himself listlessly somewhere and said, “Well, maybe I’ll go along with that sort of thing.”

If someone bought sake, heated it, and served it to him, he would drink however much was served.
If someone prepared a meal without a word, he would eat it without a word.
He would never say things like “Pour another” or “Let’s stop here.”
Tobacco was no different, and carousing followed suit.

“What about work? If you don’t work, I’m in trouble! Iseya-san keeps hounding me, and I have no way to respond—just what are you planning to do?”

“Ain’t nothin’ to do.”
Yaroku yawned. “Ain’t nothin’ to do… and nothin’ I wanna do either.”

If he didn’t work, customers would dwindle.
Naturally, there was no income.
Through marital affection, the wife took on sewing jobs and other piecework, managing to scrape by for about two years.
But affection wasn’t infinite—the wife grew weary.
And so she consulted Old Man Hirasaku, the landlord.

“That’s right—no use forcing it… No use at all, I suppose,” said the landlord, showing the prudence befitting his years. “But I’ll speak my piece once.”
“If that don’t work, there’s nothin’ to be done. Best see how things shake out first.”

Old Man Hirasaku went to admonish him.
Yet Yaroku lay sprawled in careless disarray and spouted philosophical musings.

“Work this, work that—what’s the damn use? My old man worked till he grudged sleep itself—you praised him yourself, Landlord! Earned like a work demon, he did. And where’d that land him? Still pinchin’ coppers year-round—no drinkin’, no smokin’, no notion of fun. Slaved till he dropped dead at forty-six… Same goes for you, Landlord. Bust your hump or laze about—since we’re stuck poor either way—frettin’ over it’s just wastin’ sweat.”

Then he listlessly let out a big yawn.

“This’s just fine for me,” he drawled. “This here’s paradise. Quit your naggin’.”

The outcome was clear-cut.

Okane, his wife, returned to her parents' home, and he was left behind.
As she departed, Okane wept,

“I’ll be waiting at my parents’ home for the day you start feeling like everyone else. It’s not that I’m leaving because I hate you—I’ll be waiting. So please, make it so I can come back soon.”

After pleading her case like this, she broke into another bout of tears.

Part Two: The Ghosts Have Their Reasons

Two years had passed since being left behind by his wife. Between occasional deliveries of rice and miso from the landlord’s house and selling off whatever belongings he could get his hands on from one end to another,Yaroku had managed to live quite comfortably.

“Okane-san’s waiting at her parents’ place—don’t you feel even a speck of pity?”
Old Man Hirasaku would seize every chance to lecture him. “Got those skilled hands of yours—never seen a layabout like you! Still sleepwalkin’ through life?”

Yaroku looked bewildered.
“Oh—it’s you, Landlord.”
Then he stretched his limbs and let out a big yawn,

“Ahh-aah… Hah… What do you want?”

Naturally, Old Man Hirasaku also ended up leaving in silence.

The sixth month of summer.
By the modern calendar, this would be July—a light drizzle had begun in the early evening and continued unabated past midnight.
The temperature had dropped enough to leave a faint chill on the skin.
Yaroku—who lay sprawled out without hanging a mosquito net or laying bedding—suddenly opened his eyes.
……The mosquito-repelling coil’s fire had gone out.
But for him, being bitten by mosquitoes felt more restful than relighting it.

“Still comin’ down—this stubborn rain. Don’t you ever get tired?”
He scratched his neck and shins vigorously,

“Ain’t this shiverin’ weird? And somehow it’s a damn gloomy night—dawn’s still a ways off, huh?”

He had been muttering to himself when something rather eerie occurred. In front of Yaroku—who lay sprawled out—the peeling, patchy section of wall began to glow faintly. A bluish-white haze brightened ever so slightly within that dim light. And from within that thin luminescence came:

“Hooow… hhaaateful… yooou… aaare…”

A trembling, pitiful voice reached his ears. Still lying prone, Yaroku gazed toward the source; next door lived a street performer named Tetsuzo whose wife often let out strange moans at night, seemingly tormented by nightmares. Okan was thirty-eight now—a gaunt, sallow-faced woman—but he assumed this was just another of her episodes. ……Then came the voice again, clearer than before yet still dripping with that same wretched sorrow.

“Hooow… hhaaateful… yooou… aaare…”

And what was even eerier, the glow on the wall gradually intensified, until at last the hazy figure of a woman came into view.

"What the... A weird one's shown up. Am I dreamin'?"

"Aaah... how hateful... silenced by hatred... you aaare..."

As she said this, the woman's figure gradually became distinct. She wore something resembling a nightgown fastened with a thin sash, her hair disheveled, both hands dangling limply in front of her. Leaning forward as if about to collapse, she stared fixedly in this direction with eyes that burned like embers.

“Quit makin’ that weird voice. Dressin’ up like some ghost—what’re you s’posed to be?”

“You still don’t get it after watchin’ me?”
The other party seemed genuinely offended now. “This ain’t no costume—I’m a real ghost.”

“Huh—so you’re real? Then whose ghost are you? Okane’s?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

She seemed increasingly annoyed. “I don’t know any ‘Okane’ person. I’m Someshi—a Tsukiji geisha, you know?”

“I don’t recall owing anyone in Tsukiji.”

“I’m not here to collect debts—how absurd! Didn’t I tell you I’m a ghost?”

“I know that already.”

Yaroku yawned there, wiped tears with a fist, and stared unblinkingly at the other person.

“If that’s how it is, then why’d a Tsukiji geisha ghost come hauntin’ my place? What’s your damn grudge here?”

“I have my own circumstances too, you know.”

“Sure, everyone’s got circumstances—but you’re a ghost, ain’t ya? Showin’ up just ’cause it suits you—ain’t that takin’ liberties?”

“You don’t know my circumstances, so you spout such cold words! Men are all alike—every last one of you heartless, unfeeling brutes!”

“Getting worked up won’t fix nothin’, you ragin’ at me… So what—some guy tricked you or somethin’?”

“Tricked? That’s beside the point!”

Someshi sank down as she continued, “It burns—burns so bad! All men truly are faithless, worthless philanderers—damn them all! What should I do about it?”

“Well then, you—what’s this? If you’re that resentful, why don’t you go haunt that guy’s place in disguise? Kill him or whatever.”

“I did!”

Someshi writhed in anguish. “Even without being told, I did that much! I didn’t just kill that man—I slaughtered his entire family and clan!”

“If that’s how it is, then ain’t that good enough? There shouldn’t be any complaints left then.”

“I’ve got no complaints—none at all—but there’s no one left for me to slaughter. I’m a grudge-bound ghost who can’t attain Buddhahood; I’m just drifting through the void with nowhere left to go.”

III. Midnight Banquet with Sake and Grilled Eel

“Huh. So that’s how it works, eh? Didn’t know there was no place for ya to go. Can’t say I was aware of that.”

“You’ve never died—that’s why you can spout such carefree drivel! Dying doesn’t mean everyone moves on! If they’re lucky enough to get into hell, fine—but plenty can’t attain salvation and just wander aimlessly!”

“Ain’t no need for scarin’ me—let’s knock off the weird talk, yeah?”

“Oh, it’s true—I’m not lying!”

Someshi sat sideways and, while brushing back her disheveled hair, said:

“Worst of all are those who die consumed by hatred for others—what’s called ‘hatred’ in Buddhist terms. No memorial services from even the most renowned monks can save them. They can’t reach paradise, nor even hell—forced to wander aimlessly for all eternity, tormented by their own grudges.”

“That’s one hell of a setup—havin’ to struggle even after dyin’? Damn, that’s shockin’. Guess I gotta start thinkin’ ’bout this too.”

Yaroku sat up, vigorously scratched his neck and shins, then tried to press the point as he looked at her. He averted his eyes once before looking back at her in surprise.

“What’s wrong? What are you staring at like that?”

“Huh… Hmm… This one’s quite something.”

He continued staring at her. “Well now—how about that. You’re quite the looker, ain’t ya?”

“Oh my, please stop that, you!”

“Nah, it ain’t like that. I’ve messed around in Tsukiji five or six times myself, but I’ve never laid eyes on a dame as sharp as you. If you weren’t a ghost, you’d be downright outta this world.”

“My, you do have a way with words, don’t you?”

Someshi’s ghost writhed her upper body, glared at him sidelong, then alluringly feigned a strike with her sleeve.

“Don’t flatter me—I hate that.”

“Then will you make me your wife?”

“If you weren’t a ghost…”

“What’s wrong with me being a ghost? I can’t work daytime, but at night I’ll cook and do laundry. If it’s something a proper wife handles, I’ll manage most of it for you.”

“Sounds like a sweet deal, but no way.”

“If you doubt me, why not test it tonight? I’ll get the sake ready and make some appetizers too.”

Yaroku scratched his head.
He looked at Someshi, scratched his head again, muttered something like “Guess testing’s the way,” then suddenly slumped and shook his head,

“That’d be great—but bad timing. No rice left, no miso either, no damn sake. Hell, my upfront cash’s bone-dry.”

“You’re really down on your luck, aren’t you?”

Someshi’s ghost said this,

“Fine, I’ll handle things for tonight.”

“Handle things? How’s that s’posed to work?”

“Well for someone who might become my husband—I’ve got to show you what I can really do, haven’t I? Just wait right there.”
The ghost woman rose fluidly,

“I’ll bring something right now, so don’t you go falling asleep—stay awake, you hear?”

And just as she seemed to head toward the entrance step, she slipped out through a gap in the shoji like smoke.
Yaroku wore a vacant look, muttering something under his breath, but soon spat onto his eyebrows.
"If this ain’t a dream, then it’s gotta be a fox or raccoon dog… But there ain’t no foxes or raccoon dogs in the middle of Kyōbashi… So maybe it *is* a dream after all."

While muttering to himself, a woman’s voice sounded outside the front door.

“Hey there—sorry to bother you, but open up, will you? I’ve got something for you.”

Yaroku responded, spat another generous glob of saliva onto his eyebrows, then stood up to go open the door.
Someshi’s ghost carried a lidded food pail and, while muttering things like “Ugh, this is heavy,” came up into the house.
Yaroku checked from behind to confirm she had no tail, then sat back down in his original spot regardless.

“It’s gone cold, but there’s no helping that. Since it was a last-minute rush job, just bear with it—tomorrow night I’ll treat you to something much better.”

Someshi’s ghost opened the lidded food pail to show him.
A splendid plate of grilled eel and three warmed sake decanters—from cups to chopsticks, everything was there.

“Well damn—this ain’t Ōkushi-style grilled eel? Haven’t had this in ages! Just lookin’ at it’s got my stomach roarin’. Oops—I’ll set out the tray.”

“Just sit down—that’s a wife’s job. A man shouldn’t get involved.”

The ghost woman took out a butterfly-legged tray from the corner, deftly arranged the lidded pail’s contents upon it, then sat facing him—sake decanter in hand—and smiled sweetly as she...

“Here you go—sorry it’s cold.”

“Well, this ain’t right, but guess I’ll take it then.”

“No need to hold back—make me your wife and I’ll do this much every night for you.”

“If that’s true, couldn’t ask for better—let’s give it a go with you.”

“Oh my, thank you kindly. I’ll have this.”

“That’s my resolve, see.”

“You say such sweet things! So you’ll make me your wife then?”

“That’s the plan with this poured cup.”

“You’d better mean it—I’m fine with that.”

She once again fixed her gaze diagonally at him and, with those lustrous lingering eyes still trained his way, brought the cup to her lips.
She truly was a Tsukiji geisha through and through.
Her graceful movements, the sensual allure around her eyes, her way of speaking—smooth yet calculated—all bore the mark of professional refinement, far surpassing anything someone like Okane could ever match.
Yaroku, seemingly growing flustered, awkwardly shifted his seating position.

“Of course I’m serious here, but this ‘here’ business feels damn awkward. I’m Yaroku—from now on, call me that.”

“Oh my! What wife would call her husband by his name? If we’re to be husband and wife, I’ll call you ‘you’—so you’ll let me, won’t you?”

“Hee hee hee… Don’t know why I’m gettin’ all tingly.” Lowering the corners of his eyes in a slovenly laugh, he said, “So then, what should I call you?”

“You could just say ‘you,’ but my real name’s Osome. I want you to call me Osome.”

“But I can’t just drop the honorifics like that, can I?”

“Since I’m asking you to, it’s fine, isn’t it? Come on, call me~”

“Okay… then… O-Osome…san.”

“Don’t you dare add ‘san,’ and say it firmer—call me Osome. Come on, try saying it.”

“In that case, uh… Osome!”

“Ah, how wonderful! You~ Say it again!”

Pressing and pushing each other, they began drinking with grilled eel as their snack.
Could ghosts even get drunk? Osome’s pale face flushed crimson at some point, her eyes growing moist, her movements becoming increasingly coquettish.

“You~ I’m drunk~ It’s okay if I’m drunk, right? You’ll forgive me~ It’s our married couple’s pledge cup after all, isn’t that so~”

“You bet! Go ahead and get good and drunk—if you do, I’ll look after you.”

“Oh how wonderful! In that case, I’ll come right by your side.”

She stood up and came over, leaned limply against Yaroku, pushed with her shoulder, and spoke in a nasal voice.

“Hey, you~ I’ll warn you now—I’m terrible jealous. If you ever cheat on me, I’ll kill you dead. Got that, you?”

“Quit your scarin’ me—it’s fine, I ain’t gonna cheat or nothin’.”

“This isn’t some empty threat—like I told you before, I killed that faithless wretch and his whole damned family. Now I’m stuck here adrift with no one left to slaughter. So if you ever cheat on me, then I’ll—”

“Alright already! I ain’t gonna step out on you or nothin’, so quit with the murder talk.” He clearly wanted to shift topics. “But you—where’d this eel and sake even come from?”

“I brought it from Tagawa in Sanjūgembori.”

“You brought it? Is that really okay?”

“It’s fine—at a place like Tagawa’s shop, a couple of leftover grilled eels and some cooled sake bottles are nothing. Besides, everyone was asleep, so getting these out was more trouble than you’d think.”

“You can come and go through the gaps, can’t you?”

“I can slip through even a needle’s eye, but lidded pails and such are no good. After all, these things aren’t ghosts.”

“I see, that’s the reasoning behind it.”

“Oh my, you’re already done?”
The ghost woman Someshi set down the sake bottle. “I ended up drinking all by myself, didn’t I? Should I go fetch some more?”

“I’ve had enough… I ain’t that tough.”

“Then we’ll save it for tomorrow night… Heh, you~ I’m sooo wasted~ Come ooon, lay out the futon~”

And the night ended.

The night had ended, but Yaroku woke up in the afternoon.
This was a rare occurrence.
Uncharacteristically for a lazy person, he was an early riser.
If he got up early in the morning, he could laze around all day—that was his firm belief.
This must be the first time in his life he’d overslept this much—Yaroku got up and blankly looked around the room.
As it was a tenement full of gaps, the outside light streamed in with excessive brightness.

“Oh! There’s eel, sake—even the lidded pail!”

Yaroku noticed those things right there.

“So… it wasn’t a dream after all.”

He shook his head and abruptly called toward the kitchen door, “You there? Hey… Osome.”

Of course, there was no reply.
The voices of children playing noisily on the road reached his ears.
Yaroku scratched himself vigorously all over, then muttered under his breath.

"Oh right... Ghosts can't show up in daylight."

Four: This Charming Wife Only at Night

There was evidence of the nuptial cup exchange they’d performed as a couple.
The memory of their passionate vows—lasting until dawn—remained vivid.
They also promised to meet again that evening.

But was it real? Would she really come?
No—she probably wouldn’t come. The whole deal was too sweet to be true.
Most likely a one-time thing.
If that were the case, what a damn shame—but then again, maybe she might still show up. Wasn’t there some trick to make her come?

Two years of solitary living had begun to wear thin.
Even his skin had grown achingly lonely.

Then came this stroke of luck.
Moreover, here was this chic Tsukiji geisha mistress—not only did she never pester him to earn more, but she even brought sake and snacks herself. Ghost or not, letting such a catch slip through his fingers was unthinkable—especially considering that delicate tenderness in the bedchamber.

“I can’t let this one get away.”
Yaroku showed rare fervor. “Ain’t there some trick… some way to keep the ghost sweet… Hmm, hmm… Nah—that won’t fly, that won’t.”

He thought.
He reconsidered.
Then he finally came up with an idea and opened the long-unopened Buddhist altar.
Inside were his parents’ mortuary tablets, along with a full set of Buddhist ritual implements—modest yet complete—and a simplified illustrated Heart Sutra, all covered in dust.
Dusting it off was too much trouble; he lit the remaining small candles.
He lit a fragment of incense.

“After all, sutras are the best offering for the dead. With this, she ought to be pleased.”

You might not be aware.
Blind sutras are akin to rebus pictures, with all the sutra passages depicted through illustrations.
“Hannya Haramita” is rendered through these pictorial explanations—though without seeing an example you might not understand—so even people who couldn’t read kana could recite it.
Yaroku sat before the Buddhist altar and, recalling his late mother’s way of reading, began haltingly reciting this blind sutra.

For a lazy man like him, this counted as remarkable earnestness—but that very fact became the problem, an utterly no-good situation. Though he meant to recite sutras, the words spilling from his mouth were entirely different; phrases emerged that had neither relation nor connection to any Buddhist scripture.

“When spending nights with you, dearest, one hand just gets in the way.”

This is how it turned out.
Yaroku was startled, rubbed his eyes, coughed, and resumed.

“Meeting you so rarely makes me clumsy… *Ahem*… strange… *Ahem*… Just hold me tight all night—ah, this is getting out of hand!”

No matter what, it ended up like this.
No matter how many times he tried again, it was no use, so finally, Yaroku gave up in disgust, tossed the sutra aside, and sprawled out.

“Ridiculous! Do whatever the hell you want!”

In his frustration, he seemed to have fallen asleep just like that.
How long had he slept? At the clatter of dishes by his pillow, he jerked his eyes open.
There sat a ghostly woman,

“My, you slept soundly. Finally awake?”

With these words, she smiled sweetly.

"You… you actually came?"

"What a horrible thing to say! I’m not your wife—I’ve been right here with you all along."

"But you—I couldn’t see you at all."

"I told you this from the beginning—ghosts only appear at night, not during the day. You yourself just said so earlier! Oh yes, now that I think of it—you did something quite significant today."

“Something remarkable—you mean me?”

“It wasn’t me!”
Someshi sat up straight. “You opened the Buddhist altar and tried to recite the Heart Sutra, didn’t you?”

“Well, my bad—if you heard that, I can’t even face you.”
Yaroku scratched his head, at a loss. “I meant to read it proper.”
“I remember hearin’ my mother recite it, an’ I’d been made to read it before—no reason I shouldn’t’ve been able to. But damn it all, no matter how I tried, it kept turnin’ into some Myōchikurin-style ditty lyrics. So damn embarrassin’—give me a break!”

“No, that’s not it—I did that.”

“You did what?”

“I interfered so you couldn’t read it. Because if you read something like the Heart Sutra, I’d attain Buddhahood, wouldn’t I? Once I attain Buddhahood, I’d have to go off to where I belong, and then I couldn’t see you anymore.”

“Huh—so reading sutras makes *you* attain Buddhahood?”
Yaroku made a strange face. “But you—with that ‘shinnyuu’ or ‘shinbee’ or whatever—you said even the greatest monks’ offerings couldn’t save you.”

“Oh honestly—with your ‘shinnyuu’ this and ‘shinbee’ that.”
“Shin’i—it’s the Buddhist term for wrath, you know. And while renowned monks and spiritual teachers can’t help me, being memorialized by someone like you—family—*that* could bring me salvation.”

“Dangerous, that is.”
He gave a slight start. “That—can’t afford to slip up here. If you attain Buddhahood now, it’d be a disaster.”

“Still, it’s a good thing *you* didn’t strike the ritual bell—if you had, the Buddha would’ve emerged. Then I couldn’t have interfered with the sutra recitation. I was really sweating bullets!”

“Oh! So that’s how it works! Had no damn clue—when you came bustin’ out with that ‘whoa-whoa’ business, near scared me stiff.”

“Do be more careful from now on, alright? Up you get—off to the baths. I’ll set things straight here while you’re gone… Hand towel.”

After sweating at the public bath and returning home refreshed, the meal was laid out ready.
Vinegared horse mackerel with smashed cucumbers, squid sashimi alongside shredded halfbeak, and on the charcoal brazier, a clam hotpot sent up a savory miso aroma.

“Well now—this here’s one hell of a feast! Can’t have you splurgin’ like this on my account.”

“I haven’t been splurging at all—I brought all this from Kandaya.”

“Huh—Kandaya… the one in Second Block?”

“That’s right—I brought what they’d just finished preparing in the kitchen. There’s plenty of sake too, so tonight you’d better get good and drunk.”
Someshi the ghost woman glared sideways at him with those piercing eyes of hers. “No matter what you do, you fold too quickly. It’s over too soon and boring. Tonight you’ll get drunk—if you’re drunk, your stamina lasts longer.”

“Don’t you worry about that—last night I was holdin’ back, seein’ as it’d been two years and all. Not to brag or nothin’, but you’d be wasted away to a limp ghost in under ten days… Ah hell, you’re already a ghost! So how’s that gonna work out?”

“Don’t mind me—no matter how hard I push myself, it never wears on my body. What *you* need to worry about is yourself!”

“Me? I’m tough as iron sandals—hah! Damn, Kandaya doesn’t mess around. This here’s the real undiluted stuff. C’mon, pour another.”

“Would a humble thing like me get struck by lightning for serving my master?”

“If lightning comes, I’ll take half the hit.”

“You’ve got such killer lines. You’ve used that mouth to deceive countless women, haven’t you? If you ever try anything like that again—”

“Whoa, let’s stop right there—if possession-killing talk comes out, the drunk’ll wear off, and that ain’t no good. Damn it all.” He kept slapping his thighs and arms. “Tonight’s got some damn vicious mosquitoes again—but you ain’t gettin’ bitten at all, huh?”

“Don’t be ridiculous—a ghost can’t get bitten by mosquitoes! If that were possible, we couldn’t appear under willow trees on summer nights.”

“Well, yeah—if ghosts got bitten by mosquitoes and went scratchin’ their thighs raw like that, their death glares wouldn’t work worth a damn. Guess that’s how the world keeps itself straight after all.”

The two of them drank themselves into a pleasant stupor and slept.

When dawn broke, the ghost woman’s figure vanished.
When day darkened around nine o’clock, she appeared.
Every night she brought food and drink from somewhere, chattering freely as they ate and drank—until dawn began whitening the world outside—her body feeling no strain while his “golden straw sandals” proved their mettle.
This continued day after day.

“Tomorrow night—Hashizen’s tempura? And Chōjūan’s odamaki wouldn’t be half bad either.”

Any dish from any shop materialized on demand, and being obligation-free meant he could speak his mind.
Topping it all off, Someshi the ghost woman stayed chic and sharp with never a nag about work.

"If this is a dream... don't let me wake from it."

Even in the Pure Land it couldn't be better than this, Yaroku thought, grinning contentedly to himself.

None of the neighbors noticed, but once the wife next door, Okan-san, asked with a worried look:

“Mr. Yaroku, you’ve been moaning terribly every night lately—is something wrong with your health?”

“Oh really? *You’re* having nightmares?”
He answered with a sly grin, “Then it must’ve been *your* nightmares every night that got passed on to me, Okan-san—no doubt about it.”

Okan turned red, exclaimed things like “Oh my!”, and ran away—but after that, she too stopped saying anything.
The landlord still delivered rice and miso; he sometimes left small change too, but whenever he came, he never failed to lecture.

“Still haven’t straightened out? What’re you gonna do? Don’t you feel sorry for the poor soul waitin’ on you?”

Until now, he’d only ever offered humble apologies like “So sorry ’bout this,” but ever since Someshi the ghost woman showed up, his nerve had grown, and one day he finally snapped back at the landlord.

“I’m doin’ things my way—this is just who I am, so leave me the hell alone! I don’t know who this ‘waitin’’ person is or where they’re from, but someone who walked out on their own ain’t worth pity or a damn gourd. Quit spoutin’ this nonsense already!”

“W-w-what did you say?!”

Old Man Hirasaku flew into a rage.

“What do you mean ‘nonsense’? What ‘damn gourd’? How dare you speak to your landlord like that! No matter how hopeless you are, this won’t stand! Okane didn’t leave ’cause she was selfish—she left in tears for your sake! To make you a decent person! When she left, don’t you dare forget what she said through her sobs: ‘I’ll come back the moment you turn serious. Please make it so I can return soon.’ Don’t you remember her cryin’ those words?”

V. The Unprecedented Business

“And that’s not all! Not one day’s passed since Okane-san went back to her folks’ place that she hasn’t fretted over your worthless hide!”

Tears suddenly welled up in the angry landlord’s eyes.
Wiping them with the back of his hand, Old Man Hirasaku continued in a faltering voice.

"You’re a hopeless good-for-nothing spoutin’ such nonsense, but for two years now—from rice and miso to pocket money—you’ve managed to scrape by, hardships and all. Who the hell d’you think is responsible for that?"

“Well… when you put it like that… I’m well aware of your kindness, Landlord.”

“Serves you right! Those blind eyes of yours—*I* brought [the provisions] here, but the real mastermind’s Okane-san! Mending clothes, washing laundry—working day and night at any job she could get… Every penny she earned went to supporting you! ‘Landlord—please don’t tell him it’s from me,’ she begged. ‘If he finds out and slips back into his carefree ways, my return will only get delayed… Please keep this secret…’ Damn it—tears spilled out even from *me*! Old women were bawlin’ with snot runnin’ down their faces… A marriage bond may last two lifetimes, but once severed, you’re strangers! A wretch like you deserves to rot in a ditch—yet Okane-san’s gone this far… *this far*… slaving in the shadows out of wifely devotion! She still sees you as her husband! And what do *you* do? Spout this nonsense?!”

The Landlord’s anger seemed to have reached its peak.

“A bastard who don’t know human kindness ain’t worth lookin’ at—sorry for Okane-san, but I’m washin’ my hands of you! No more rice, miso, or pocket money! And I ain’t takin’ rent from Okane-san neither—mark my words, let even one month’s rent go unpaid, and I’ll kick you out! This time I ain’t budgin’, so you better damn well brace yourself!”

Fuming with rage, he stormed off.

Yaroku, for once, found himself at a loss for words.
He felt a pang of guilt, but recalling Someshi the ghost woman and their nightly pleasures, he soon snorted through his nose and laughed.

“Heh, what’s all this grand talk? Thinkin’ you’re the Landlord or somethin’? Heh, ‘Yes, sirree’ my ass.”

And then he yawned and flopped down onto his back.

That night.

Someshi the ghost woman must have overheard everything. Appearing as usual, she suddenly grabbed Yaroku by the collar and began berating him with ferocious intensity: “You lying sack of shit!”, “Worthless scum!”, “Shameless fraud!”, “Bumbling fool!”, “Pumpkin bastard!”

“You said you kicked out your former wife and cut ties—and yet this pumpkin bastard—”

“The bond’s been cut—that ain’t no lie—and I don’t give a damn!”

Yaroku desperately pleaded his case. With the threat of her killing him looming, he sweat through his clothes as he explained and justified himself. Someshi-san, who’d also overheard the landlord’s final jab, seemed convinced at last. She sank down where she stood and heaved a long, relieved sigh.

“If that’s how it is, I’ll trust you just this once. But… now that Landlord-san’s said all that, we need to think of something.”

“Think of somethin’? Like what?”

“I can bring food, but I can’t rightly take money. You don’t mean to make me a thief, do you? Then we’ll need some treasure for rent and such.”

Even as a ghost, a woman remained a woman.
Yaroku made a displeased face.
He thought he was being told to earn money yet again, but Someshi, being a Tsukiji geisha through and through, refrained from making tactless remarks.

“Right, I’ve got a brilliant idea, you.”

“Let me make this clear—I ain’t workin’.”

“You just sit there—now listen up, here’s the plan.”
Someshi declared with a determined look, “To put it simply, it’s a ghost rental business.”

“Rent out ghosts?”

“There are so many people in this world nursing deadly grudges—grudges over money, love, all sorts of things. They’d rather become vengeful spirits than let it go—make their enemies *feel* the depth of their resentment! Don’t you think tons of folks are thinking exactly that? We’ll rent ghosts to those people. The clients send the ghosts in their stead to exact as much vengeance as they please. This way, they don’t have to die themselves *and* get to watch the other party suffer. Isn’t that two birds with one stone?”

“Hmm, that might just work.”
Yaroku grew enthusiastic. “That’s got potential alright—but you’re the one doing that part?”

“I’ll handle it too, but that’s not enough. If customers come pouring in, they’ll have all sorts of demands.”
“So I’ll bring five or six more ghosts along.”

“You say that, but are there really that many ghosts to go around?”

“Didn’t I tell you before? There’s hordes of souls stuck wandering ’cause they can’t move on. If we spread the word, five or ten’ll come flocking in no time.”

VI. No Easy Trades in This World

The matter was trivial enough.
Whether it would blossom into a proper business remained uncertain, but at least seemed worth attempting.
Thereupon Yaroku straightened his posture, and the two began deliberating the minutiae of their enterprise.
After weighing various factors—how to draw customers, what fee to charge for dispatching spirits—they reached the conclusion that this could grow into something substantial.

“This’ll work—this’ll really charm ’em! The original ghost rental shop—we’ll clean up proper!”

Yaroku rejoiced as he said this.

That night, after a pre-celebration feast, Someshi immediately set about recruiting ghosts, carefully vetting and hiring six individuals—men and women.
The group consisted of two men, an old man and an old woman, and two young women.
With this lineup, they could likely handle most requests—though Someshi said she had gone to great pains with the selection... Ghosts were plentiful enough, but when running a business, you couldn’t just take anyone.
First and foremost, they needed candidates who were honest, docile yet fearsome-looking, and with presentable features—these were the essential qualifications.

“Because think about it—if they’re not honest, they might collude with clients or cause trouble on assignments, and hotheads would start forming unions and demanding pay raises before you know it.”
Someshi explained.

“Appearance matters too! If we send them to exact vengeance with faces like Okame or Hyottoko masks, the targets won’t be scared—they’ll burst out laughing!”

It was truly thorough.
Another recruitment challenge arose when infamous figures like Oiwa-san of Yotsuya Kaidan, Taira no Tomomori-san from *Funabenkei* fame, Yui Shōsetsu-san, and Okiku-san of Dish Mansion came demanding to be hired, stubbornly insisting on employment.

“Huh, so those guys are still wandering around?”

“Oiwa-san’s *ridiculously* tenacious—might come crashin’ in here any day now.”

“J-j-joke? This ain’t no joke! If Oiwa-san comes ’round here, we’re done for! Turn ’er down flat—just hearin’ her name makes my liver shrivel up!”

Seeing Yaroku quaking, Someshi laughed—then her eyes took on a look like she’d just recalled something.

“Let me lay this plain—you keep your guard up ’round that young lass we took on this time.”

“What’s up with that girl?”

“There’s a reason, you know. That girl was a *hopeless* philanderer in her past life. She’s not much to look at now, but her body and nature were just *born* that way—by her early twenties, she’d deceived over thirty men. Ended up killed by them over their grudges, she did. Even now, if she spots a male ghost, she’ll sweet-talk him—and she’s *damn* good at it, all sultry-like. So watch yourself—don’t get caught in her web. If you stir up my jealousy… well, you know what’ll happen.”

“What, that’s all? Then there’s no need to fret. I’ve already got my hands full with you alone—philandering’s the last thing on my mind.”

He said this and furrowed his brows.

Here we would normally introduce the six ghosts, but as we must hasten the story onward, we beg your indulgence as we proceed directly to business affairs.

...And thus was the Ghost Rental Shop stealthily established.
The four younger members—excluding the elderly pair—fanned out across all directions to seek clients.
Their task: to find those seething with lethal grudges—people cursing through tears, wishing to transform into bestial forms and slaughter their foes—then whisper upon discovery: “Come to Sumiyagashi.”

“Please come to Yaroku’s house in Yanpachi Tenement—we’ll settle your grudge for a most reasonable price.”

When they repeated this suggestive pitch multiple times, the targets—already distraught by their grudges and mentally unbalanced—seemed to sway unsteadily under its influence. On their fifth day of operation, a client arrived. [...] Though the ensuing exchange was quite entertaining, we must hasten our tale and note only this: the grudge concerned love, with the other party being someone’s wife.

On the sixth and seventh days, customers gradually multiplied.
By the tenth day, seven had come, with signs of further growth.

"We hit the jackpot! Look Someshi—you're already pulling in nearly three ryō!"

"That's pocket change! Just wait till I stack thousand-ryō chests!"

"We might manage that at this rate—but y'know what? I've been thinkin'... damn, there's a helluva lot of grudge-holders out there."
Yaroku spoke with conviction. "Some make sense when you hear 'em, but plenty are just backwards—selfish bastards cursing others when they're the wrongdoers! Makes even a layabout like me furious... Who knows what anyone's really scheming? Gotta skin 'em to see their true hearts. Never figured humans could be this slippery."

“Don’t go spouting enlightened nonsense—isn’t this *exactly* why we’re raking it in? To make serious money, you’ve gotta exploit human frailty. Let’s focus on business.”

VII. The Poor Suffer in All Three Realms

But not everything went smoothly.

One night, one of the middle-aged male ghosts encountered an unexpected mishap at his assignment location, developing a large lump on his forehead before returning home in a furious rage.
When they heard the circumstances, it went like this.

The case they’d been commissioned for involved a love affair—a timid husband, driven out of his own home after his wife brought her lover in, had requested that she be made to understand the depth of his resentment.

“I went to that house.”

The responsible ghost reported as follows.
Upon arriving, he found the wife and the man in question in the bedroom, engrossed in playful antics—tickling and pinching each other while shrieking with laughter.
When the appointed hour of Ushimitsu arrived, the man finally calmed down from exhaustion.
But the wife still seemed unsatisfied with her teasing. “Hmm, boring,” “Hey, wake up,” “You’ve gotten weak, haven’t you?” “If you don’t get up, I’ll tickle you!” she kept pestering him with these provocations.
Seeing no end to her antics, the assigned ghost grinned slyly, dimmed the lantern’s flame with a flicker, and materialized before the wife in proper form.
At that, the wife spitefully shot a sharp glare and suddenly demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

“I’d gotten all steamed up.”
The assigned ghost continued, “You didn’t have to go and say somethin’ like ‘Who the hell’re *you*?’ to a ghost outta nowhere—made me all steamed up! But since this is business, I held it in and said, ‘I’m your husband’s ghost.’ Then she starts starin’ at me real nasty-like and goes, ‘If you’re *my* husband, you’d have a birthmark on your backside. Pull down your pants and show me if it’s there or not!’”

“What a bold hussy! Then what happened?”

“No matter what you say—I mean, come on, I’m a ghost here! If I’d done some shady scheming in my past life, that’d be one thing, but…”
“Maybe there ain’t no fault in showin’ my backside—but listen here! I was a proper paper collector back in my day, straight-up honest work! Now I’m stuck bein’ a ghost, and you want me to hike up my loincloth to check for birthmarks? For *business*? …Hohoho!”

“No need to cry here! If she’s such a brazen hussy, you should’ve just slapped her across the face!”

"I thought so myself, but couldn't go through with it—turns out she was one helluva rough-tempered woman. She started yellin' rapid-fire—so fast I could barely catch it all. But what I *did* catch made my face burn red—just pure humiliating mockery, y'know? I'm only sayin' this 'cause we're here, but... shame upon shame piled up, and I started gettin' plain scared."

"You're the damn ghost here—no way *you* should be the one turnin' yellow!"

“My whole body got goosebumps like this,” he said, “so I figured I’d start over another night—said I’d take my leave for tonight and tried to get outta there. But then she *jumped* up—faster’n you can blink! Ran to the kitchen, grabbed a wooden clapper, and *whacked* me right here—look at this lump, will ya? Said ‘Try comin’ back again and I’ll bite your damn head off!’ Hohoho…” The ghost wiped his eyes with a fist. “In my past life, I was an honest paper collector. This world’s made for honest folks and weaklings to suffer—sweating buckets, breaking my back till my shoulders went crooked, still couldn’t eat proper. Couldn’t even buy my wife in tatters a summer kimono. When my kids begged for treats other brats were eating, all I could do was smack ’em to shut ’em up. Meanwhile, we bow and scrape to bastards who laugh while doin’ evil, tremblin’ at whatever crooked laws they pass. ‘Don’t worry,’ I thought, ‘the Heavenly Deity’s watchin’—He won’t abandon us. Even if there’s no reward in this life, Buddha’ll make things right in the next.’ …That’s what I told myself while I endured. But no—goddamn *no*! It’s all the same either way!”

The former paper collector grew somewhat agitated, yet continued in a deferential tone as if pleading.

“This world runs on money, the next world runs on money! No matter how vile the things someone did in this life, if they pay enough to the temples, they’ll strut right into salvation—Paradise? Anywhere they damn well please! But us paupers can’t even afford a proper funeral—can’t even scrape together decent alms. That’s why monks look down on us from the get-go… Might as well say it now—when I died, the monk who came for my last rites? You know what he said?”

――Yankono sēfū mon ikka mon nika.

“Katsu!” he goes.
“To everyone there, it was gibberish—they all looked reverent as could be. But *I* understood, seein’ as I’m a soul now. Yanko’s ‘Sēfū’ chant tonight? That was just alms—meanin’ tonight’s offering was a *mon* or two… Hohoho! These are my last rites, you! You think *this* can bring salvation?”

“If that’s true, there was one hell of a terrible monk.”

“If monks are like this, then Buddha’s their ringleader—you gotta see what kinda treatment we’re gettin’… Honest folks, the weak, decent people—it’s all the same in this world and the next.”
“Neither Heaven nor Buddha lifts a finger for us—it’s always us paupers doin’ the sufferin’.”

At this point, the former paper collector burst out shouting.

“I’m tellin’ ya—people gotta live for *this* life! Even if you grit your teeth countin’ on the next world, there ain’t nothin’ sweet waitin’ there neither! Everythin’s gotta get settled while you’re breathin’!”
“Can’t be makin’ known scoundrels into your masters! Can’t blink at cruel governance! Just bein’ straight ain’t enough—weaklings gotta toughen up! Even us dirt-poor gotta guard our wives’ an’ kids’ happiness! Gotta do it while we’re drawin’ air—*while we’re drawin’ air*, damn it all!”
Then he stroked the lump on his forehead, “Here’s your livin’ proof—even as a spook, a man like me’s stuck like this. Get an eyeful of this monster lump! Had my fill—hohoho, *more’n* enough!”

The old man and old woman ghosts were always sleeping.
The old man had chronic hernia pain, and the old woman suffered from asthma; they’d complain that it was too cold tonight, too humid tonight, or that they were catching a chill—so even when clients came calling, they hardly budged.
One of the young female ghosts was honest and worked the hardest, but after about half a month,

"My family has performed memorial services for me, so I’ll now attain Buddhahood. I must take my leave."

With these words, she vanished.

It happened immediately afterward—the other male ghost (not the former paper collector) returned from his assignment hoarse-voiced and staggering unsteadily.
His voice had been completely spent, rendering his words nearly incomprehensible; he kept shaking his hands and head in vigorous gestures that clearly meant "I'm through with this."

“What the hell happened? What’s going on here?”

“Wheeze… wheeze… wheeze…”

It was precisely like a kiseru pipe clogged with resin. According to what Yaroku heard by pressing his ear to the ghost’s mouth, the target client was a portly fifty-year-old man who lay fast asleep, snoring loudly—no matter how much he tried with “How hateful!”, the man wouldn’t wake up, offering absolutely no reaction.

“It’s that snoring.”
The assigned ghost wheezed out his report: “The snoring was outrageously loud—my ears were throbbing! So I started shouting back at the top of my lungs. This wasn’t some half-hearted intimidation—no mercy here! We spent the whole night just screaming at each other. By the time I realized it, dawn had broken… and my voice ended up like this.”
“With this voice—wheeze… wheeze… wheeze…—I’ve had enough. I’m tendering my resignation.”

He too vanished without another word.

There were two or three other setbacks, but business kept booming more than ever. With staff shortages growing dire, even Miss Someshi had to take field assignments.
And so it came to pass on exactly the seventeenth day since opening—unusually enough—that both the old man and old woman went out, along with the former paper collector, that flirtatious girl ghost, and Someshi herself, leaving Yaroku alone keeping watch.

"So it's all about what you do while alive... Makes sense now."

He sprawled out alone for the first time in ages, muttering this through a yawn.
……No Heavenly Deity watching over us. No Buddha in the afterlife either. Nothing good waiting beyond. Gotta find your purpose while you're still breathing.
The former paper collector's words kept rattling oddly through Yaroku's skull.

“Once I’m dead, it’s over. Maybe everything really has to be settled while I’m alive.”

“What’s got you so impressed anyway—you?”

Suddenly speaking up, the flirtatious girl ghost appeared.
Chubby, with a ghostly blue complexion, one eye slightly squinted, a small pouty mouth, and an aura of sensuality radiating from her entire body.

"What's wrong? You finished already?"

“Oh c’mon, never mind that. More importantly—hey there, you~”

“Hey—quit making those weird noises! And don’t come so damn close—go on, get further over there!”

“C’mon now, what’s the matter with you~?”
The flirtatious girl clung to Yaroku. “You’re scared of Miss Someshi, aren’t you? I know it! You spineless coward—what kind of man lets himself get henpecked by that old hag so bad he can’t even cheat? Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“Ugh, let go—please! Th-this hand!” Yaroku struggled against her grip. “I’m beggin’ ya—if she comes back and finds us...”

“So you’ll get killed? Big deal! If you do die, just dump that woman and marry me instead!”

“Don’t talk like it’s somebody else’s problem! I ain’t ready to kick the bucket yet! For fuck’s sake, cut it out!”

“If we’re safe here, *she* won’t be back till dawn—c’mon now, don’t be such a cold fish! Wrap those arms around me tight! Dunno what *she’s* packin’, but mine’s a one-of-a-kind special order! Now quit wrigglin’—like this, see? C’mon~”

“Heh heh, quit it—hee hee, that tickles—heh heh heh, hold on—”

Just as they were writhing and entangled—right before their eyes—Someshi materialized in a ghastly spectacle.

“Ah—Someshi! Y-you…”

Yaroku shouted in astonishment.
The flirtatious girl ghost, clearly quite startled, flashed a single blue light and—
“Missy, I’ve had my taste of you,” she said with a taunting air, and vanished.

VIII. The Heart Sutra Settles into Its Origin

“You finally did it, didn’t you?”
Miss Someshi said in a calm yet bone-chilling voice, peering into Yaroku’s face like this.

“I saw it—with these very eyes. I saw everything clearly.”

“N-n-no! Th-that’s wrong! Absoluuutely wrong! That’s all—all nonsense! Lies!”

“Oh? Calling me an old hag? Keeping you under my thumb? That once I’ve killed you, you’ll marry that girl? Yooou—”

“Th-th-that… that thing! She’s—”

“Thaaat thing—thaaat thing clung to youuu… tangled its limbs around you… saaaying—”

Then Someshi stretched upward like a demon—hair bristling, teeth bared—and laughed with bottomless malice.

“Aahh, how delightful! Now I’ve obtained a proper grudge target—a victim to slaughter! Delightful, simply delightful! From this night forth, for nine hundred ninety-nine nights, I’ll appear daily at your bedside… make you taste the agonies of fire and ash… never truly… settling this grudge… never laying it to reeeest… Ahhh, how hateful this is!”

“Help me! Look at me like this!”

Yaroku prostrated himself and shouted while kowtowing.

“I don’t wanna die! Help me! Don’t kill me! Have mercy! Murderer!”

“Yaroku! What’s wrong? Yaroku! Snap out of it!”

His back was thumped hard.
Yaroku screamed, leapt up, cracked his head against someone’s skull with a thud—sparks bursting from his eyes—then had his back pounded mercilessly again.

“Sleeping this late—what’re you moaning about? Quit fooling around! Wake up! What’s wrong with you, Yaroku?”

“Haah... haah...”

Yaroku blankly turned around.
Old Man Hirasaku was there; the door was open, and outside, the bright summer sun flooded in abundantly.
“Ah! Landlord! It’s the Landlord!”
As he said this, he suddenly leapt up, opened the family altar, muttered something like a prayer under his breath, lit a scrap candle with trembling hands, set up a chipped incense stick, and chimed the bell—but seeing how rushed, flustered, and suspicious these actions were, Old Man Hirasaku must have thought he’d gone mad, for he started to rise and flee.
Yaroku lunged at him,

“Landlord, I’m begging you—please recite the sutra for me! Just once—the Heart Sutra! Think of saving me, I beg you!”

“If you want me to read it, I will—but why’n hell this sudden change?”

“My eyes’ve opened.”
Yaroku burst into tears. “Both eyes’ve opened proper-like, sir! I’ll work from now on—honest labor!”

“You—you mean that for real? Or you still dream-talkin’?”

“If I don’t get serious I’ll be slaughtered—no, I *mean* it—I’ll work these arms to the bone, bring Okane back home, earn coin straight and true! So please—hurry with the sutra!”

“If that’s your true heart talkin’, then congrats—but why’n hell you need me readin’ sutras for *that*?”

“That’s for Someshi… No, well—it’s to show my old man and old lady I’m straight now, so they can pass on peaceful-like.”

“Well said—that’s genuine goods.”
The landlord smacked his thigh with a sharp clap.

“Wantin’ your late folks to see you ain’t no jokin’ matter, Yaroku—you actually cottoned to that. I’m damn glad.”

“I’m the one who’s way happier.”

“With this, both Yahachi and Mother will find peace.”
“Let’s tell Okane-san right away—just imagine how overjoyed she’ll be… She’ll come running here in tears for sure—crying all the way.”
Old Man Hirasaku rubbed his eyes. “Listen well, Yaroku—don’t you slack off again now, hear? Take good care of Okane-san. Got it? I’ll read it for you—read it proper, I will. My once-in-a-lifetime performance—gonna chant it so grand it’ll echo across the ten billion lands!”

Old Man Hirasaku went to sit before the Buddhist altar, rang the bell once more, and then quietly began to chant the Heart Sutra.

With this—please attain Buddhahood—Someshi.
Yaroku clasped his hands together and repeated these words inwardly as he prayed.

"The wastepaper collector, the old man, the old woman—even the philandering girl—please attain Buddhahood. Sudden enlightenment, Namu Amida Butsu."

The ghost rental business—an unprecedented and remarkably profitable venture—thus met its unfortunate demise shortly after its founding.
In this world, what is precious is a woman’s sincerity, and what is fearsome is a woman’s jealousy.
To this day, this business has ceased to be conducted, but is there no one with the ambition to start it?