Pathway to Japanese Literature

Fourth-Day Iris

I

It was a cold morning in late February.

For six or seven days prior, spring had fully arrived, and there were even rumors that cherry blossoms had begun blooming here and there; yet that morning, the temperature dropped as if gone mad, so much so that even inside the house, one’s breath froze white.
A little past five in the early morning—as Chise sat facing the mirror in the living room, the house retainer Iwama Yūsaku came and announced, “There’s a visitor.”
Of course, it was bright outside, but it was not yet time for visitors to arrive.

“It’s Mr. Fukamatsu—Mr. Fukamatsu Banroku of Uradonochō,” Yūsaku said. “He appears to be in a great hurry. He says a serious matter has occurred and wishes to see you immediately—at the entrance.”

The words “serious matter” pierced Chise’s ears.
Her husband, Goda Chikaranosuke, was still asleep.

“I will come.”

Chise replied thus and, quickly wiping her fingers with paper, started to rise—but suddenly peered at the mirror’s surface as if startled.
For at that moment, a person’s face appeared there.
It was not her own; it resembled a pale, gaunt old woman’s face.

――She had experienced this once before.

Of course, only her own face was reflected in the peered-at mirror—Chise stood up while feeling a sense of foreboding.

Fukamatsu Banroku stood trembling in the entrance.
He was a close attendant with a seventy-five koku stipend, twenty-five years old—three years younger than her husband—but the two were as close as brothers. Banroku was terribly agitated.
Because it was bright outside, his face was hard to make out clearly, but the fists he was clenching were trembling, and his voice sounded completely different from usual.

“Since today is my day off, I was still resting, but...”

“Then please relay this message,” Banroku said. “We’ve finally clashed with the foot soldiers’ faction.
“The location is Kōzakibasho, and the time is six o’clock.”

Chise’s throat tightened sharply.
Banroku added that he would now go to Tsuchida and Karasawa, but with the appointed hour approaching, he said to wake him immediately; no sooner had he gone out through the gate than the sound of him galloping away on horseback—likely having tied it there beforehand—could be heard.
Until the clattering hoofbeats had faded completely, Chise remained frozen in place.

This was dreadful—a dreadful turn had come.

She stood up unsteadily.

"They’re relying on my husband," she whispered. "He knows full well they’re counting on him—I must wake him and tell him immediately."

She went down the hallway to the bedroom door but suddenly stopped there. The image of dozens upon dozens of people locked in fierce combat suddenly flashed before her eyes. Blades glinting with flashes of light, ear-splitting screams, and figures collapsing drenched in blood—amidst that crowd was her husband; Goda Chikaranosuke’s pale, contorted face turned back toward her. No—that wasn’t her husband. It was the gaunt, wrinkled face of an old woman—the same old woman’s face that had just appeared in the mirror (or so she thought). Chise, overwhelmed by terror, was assaulted by nausea; as if trying to flee from that nausea, she did not go to the bedroom but returned to her own living room.

That old woman’s face was an omen—indeed, something like that had happened before.

Chise sat and looked at the mirror.
Her own face—pale and parched, twisted in fear—was reflected.
Her lips trembled so violently they appeared drained of blood.
She bit those lips and then moistened them with her tongue.

“No, that’s not it,” Chise said to her reflection in the mirror while shaking her head. “It’s absolutely not that. I too am a samurai’s wife—it isn’t my husband’s danger I fear. I’m not such a feeble woman either. Only… I feel it would be wrong to wake him now. There seems to be something crucial I must consider.”

The news that Fukamatsu Banroku had brought was a grave matter.

He said, “We’ve finally clashed with the foot soldiers’ faction.” That meant the mounted guards and foot soldiers’ faction were to duel. Between these factions, there had been a deep-seated grudge for years, and it had long been said a clash would prove unavoidable. Chise had been married into the Goda household for just over a year, yet she’d already heard these rumors while still living with her birth family, the Egi. On one hand, some had claimed, “Such a thing likely won’t happen.” In fact, her own brother Egi Jūzaburō had been among those voices.

When rumors spread this pervasively, they become a neutralizing agent—the very event they describe grows less likely to occur.

Brother had said that.
But finally, it became a fact.
Her husband, Goda Chikaranosuke, was a master of the Kumae-ryū swordsmanship and was serving as the instructor at the domain's Seimeikan dojo.
If it came to a duel with the foot soldiers’ faction, he would inevitably become both the central figure and vanguard of the mounted guards.
If that were the case—if dozens upon dozens from both sides were to clash blades, and if he were to become their central figure and vanguard—...Chise shuddered.

“No—that isn’t what I fear,” she muttered while trembling, “The thought of my husband being wounded—or perhaps killed in combat—is terrifying, but that’s not all. There’s something more crucial—something far more dreadful—that must be feared. I feel certain of it… For example… For instance—for instance, that this clash… is a private duel.”

Chise closed the mirror’s lid as if startled.

“A private duel—yes, that’s what it was.”

Her eyes took on an intense light.
Her complexion had not yet recovered, but it was no longer stiff, and the fear seemed to have left her.

"I must not let my husband go," Chise murmured. "A private duel deviates from the samurai's path. Sending him to such a place is unbefitting of a warrior's wife. I cannot make my husband stray from the Way."

Chise stood up and headed toward the entrance.
And she said to Iwama Yusaku, “Keep quiet about Fukamatsu Banroku’s visit.”
While saying this, Chise felt a sense of courage and composure, as if she had truly become the mistress of this household for the first time.

I protected my husband from violating the ban.

Such self-awareness seemed to give her strength and confidence.
Chise’s face brightened.

Shortly after the clock struck six, Chikaranosuke awoke.
When Chise had prepared the washbasin and was waiting, a thick bodily odor became perceptible from her husband’s body as he emerged still in his nightclothes.

“Your makeup is too heavy,” Chikaranosuke said. “You should fix it to be lighter.”

“Yes,” said Chise, handing her husband the bundle of toothbrushes and salt dish.
At that moment his body emitted a strong odor again, and Chise flushed crimson.
That thick, stifling body odor lingering rawly on her skin had evoked the memory of that dawn.
While blushing, Chise looked up at her husband with feigned nonchalance.

Two

Goda Chikaranosuke stood five shaku nine sun tall—a muscular man with a taut and splendid physique. His limbs and chest were thickly covered in hair, and his beard was remarkably thick. If he went a single day without applying the razor, the upper parts of both cheeks would darken.

Chise could not take her eyes off her husband. While he washed his face and used a razor, she remained by his side, watching him.

—This is my husband.

Chise repeated those words in her heart. I am this person's wife—this person is my husband—my husband alone—mine alone—... She repeated this fervently. Of course, that wasn't all—the matter of Kōzakibasho remained constantly on her mind. She feared another summons might come and flinched at every sound. She was more anxious about how the duel was progressing, and while feeling relieved that she hadn't sent her husband there, she simultaneously felt a pang of guilt as if she'd done something wrong. Amidst these unstable, irritating thoughts, she found herself fiercely drawn to Chikaranosuke and struggled to suppress a sudden sensual impulse that made her want to shudder.

Chikaranosuke silently used the razor.
He then washed his face, changed his clothes, and headed to the dining area.

He was a man of few words.
After marrying Chise, he had changed somewhat, but even so, he remained a man of few words.
Chise liked that aspect of him.
He was strict with himself, both mentally and physically, always pure and upright as if scrubbed clean, maintaining a dignified presence.
Chise liked his dignified presence.
She loved how he kept his spine straight, moved with precision, spoke only when necessary, remained emotionally steady, and always stayed true to himself.

Chise fell in love with him and married him.

The Goda household was a 220-koku mounted guards family. Her family, the Egis, held a stipend of 190 koku, and her elder brother Jūzaburō served as a warehouse official. Though Jūzaburō was four years older than he, they had grown close after meeting at the academy and for a time would invite each other over.

"Goda is a man of substance—to possess such dignified bearing at his young age. That's what they call the aura of an ancient warrior."

Chise had heard Jūzaburō say this countless times. Each time, she felt a joy akin to being praised herself, along with a deepening and strengthening of her longing for him. She realized those feelings were love when she was fifteen, and Chise bravely confessed them to her brother. At that time, Chikaranosuke had not been in the castle town. He had gone to a place called Takanae in Hyūga Province to train in swordsmanship. There existed a rare swordsmanship style called the Kumae-ryū there, and having heard it was an ancient school, he had gone to train.

Upon hearing Chise’s confession, Jūzaburō said laughing, “You should speak to Mother or Shizu about such matters.” Her brother had a wife named Shizu and a two-year-old son called Ikusaburō. Yet Chise couldn’t bring herself to confide in either her mother or sister-in-law. She believed her brother would understand and stand by her.

“But that’s something worth considering.”

When he realized Chise was serious, Jūzaburō became earnest and said:

“Your temperament doesn’t suit Goda. Even if you marry him, I don’t believe you’ll find happiness.”

“My wish isn’t for happiness—it’s to become his wife.”

Chise answered thus.

How I managed to say such a thing, she now thought. It must have been her youth, her competitive spirit, and the fact that her opponent had been her brother that allowed her to say it—at that time, she had won. Now, murmuring those words in her heart, she gazed enraptured at her husband’s profile.

Chikaranosuke drank his tea and stood up, then went into the living room and spread out a straw mat. After he confirmed this, Chise too sat down at the breakfast tray. However, when she took up her chopsticks with the servant Okoto attending to her, her chest grew heavy, a nausea seemed to well up, and no matter what, the food would not pass through her throat.

The time had already passed—if a second summons were coming, it should have arrived long ago. It was alright now.

She tried to convince herself like this, but finally gave up and had the meal cleared.

Chikaranosuke was making a transverse flute. That was his sole pastime. Starting from searching for bamboo himself, he did everything up to the finishing touches. It seemed he found pleasure in walking around searching for bamboo—ones with branches still attached, ones wrapped in cherry bark, ones left in their natural state, ones lacquered, and so on—and had already made about twelve flutes. Of these, five had been given away at people’s earnest requests, leaving only seven remaining in the house now.

He was now carving the mouthpiece while thinking of something else entirely in his head. A boar hunt was to be held ten days later—the first in seven years—a grand undertaking mobilizing the entire domain. This was because the domain’s financial strain had led to the samurais’ stipend rice being requisitioned for a long time. Therefore, hunting events and such had been postponed, but when Lord Kanemoto Tadatatsu returned to the domain in November of the third year of Kanpō (1743), he lifted this requisition, restored all samurais’ stipend rice to its original amount, and issued edicts for frugality and martial valor. This boar hunt was conducted under the stated purposes of "frugality" and "martial valor," possessing the scale and content of true combat.

Chikaranosuke was apprehensive about that day.

He had been appointed to command the drawn-sword unit among the mounted guards and had already completed the preliminary drills, but during those drills he sensed a dangerous tension within the mounted guards that risked erupting on the day of the boar hunt.
The problem lay in their long-standing feud with the foot soldiers’ faction—there had already been frequent minor clashes up to that point.
The origin of the conflict was ancient, and while various theories existed about its cause, none could now be verified with certainty.
It was, so to speak, a nebulous—yet deep-seated and intense—antipathy.
If the cause had been clear, there would have been a way to resolve it, but this feud—resembling irreconcilable personal relationships born from differences in character—proved a troublesome matter to handle.

Since this had been common knowledge for so long, perhaps no major clash would occur.

There were those who spoke thus, but when it was officially announced that a "boar hunt"—the first in seven years—would be held, and as the preliminary drills began, whispers of "at the hunting grounds, at the hunting grounds—" kept reaching their ears.
There was one motive behind this.
In early October of last year, Hagata Yomohachi of the mounted guards and Araki Oriba of the foot soldiers’ faction had a quarrel, and Yomohachi was soundly defeated.
At that time, in Okazaki besides the domain’s official training hall, there was a man named Tsūji Tadanaka who taught Ittō-ryū swordsmanship, and many members of the foot soldiers’ faction studied under his school—but Araki was counted among the most skilled even within that same tradition.
As many of the mounted guards were disciples of the "Seimeikan," this naturally led to opposition between the two factions, and even then, a disturbance nearly erupted.

“At the hunting grounds, at the hunting grounds.”

These whispers could be said to mark the bursting of a dam—the long-smoldering tensions between factions, with Yomohachi’s incident as their catalyst, had finally overflowed.
On the day the preliminary drills concluded, Chikaranosuke gathered the most volatile members and issued his warning.

“The hunting grounds are equivalent to a battlefield. Should personal vendettas erupt before our lord’s very steed, it will constitute a breach of military law. No matter how unbearable the provocation, you must absolutely refrain from causing incidents at the hunting grounds.”

They consented.
Chikaranosuke demanded an oath, and they swore it.

III

The reason they had sworn not to cause incidents at the hunting grounds was not out of deference to Chikaranosuke’s warning, but because they believed he was precisely the sort of man who would stand with them against the foot soldiers’ faction when the moment came.

“I’ll have them change our post.”
Chikaranosuke muttered, pausing his hands, “There’s danger of provocation from the foot soldiers—tempers are too frayed for safety. Yes—changing posts would be wiser.”

A little past ten o'clock, Yabe Rokuzaemon came to visit.
Yabe was the 250-koku Mountain Affairs Magistrate, and Rokuzaemon was Chikaranosuke's uncle.
Rokuzaemon entered as if stomping down the hallway, out of breath and sweating.

“Thank goodness, thank goodness! You’re still here.”

This uncle in his fifties, coughing excitedly and nearly grasping Chikaranosuke’s hand, repeated, “I’d nearly given up, thinking you’d already left—thank goodness, thank goodness!” the moment he entered the guest room.

“Get me a glass of water—hurry up!”

As she went to fetch water, Chise too murmured “Thank goodness, thank goodness” in her heart.
She thought they must have figured out the matter at Kozakibasho—there would be no more attempts to lure out her husband now.

“What has happened? What is the matter?”

“What’s the matter, you ask?” After finishing the water, Rokuzaemon said, “So you know nothing—hmm, figures. If he’d known, he’d have gone out for sure. Another cup.” He handed the empty tenmoku cup to Chise and continued. “I rushed here straight after hearing the news—I don’t know how things stand at Ōzu—but the mounted guards and foot soldiers’ faction finally clashed. A huge uproar broke out.”

Chikaranosuke gasped and opened his mouth.

He had been worried about that very matter up until this moment.
On the day of the hunt, he had planned to have their post changed to one far from the foot soldiers’ faction to avoid the risk of conflict.
That it had already occurred—and from his uncle’s tone, it didn’t seem to involve just a few people—what should he do?
Chikaranosuke restrained himself and looked at his uncle with calm eyes.
Chise returned.

“When did that happen?”

“It seems it happened early this morning. Thank you.”
Rokuzaemon said as he accepted the tenmoku cup from Chise, “I don’t know the details. Someone reported it to the inspector general—about an hour ago, they say—but…”

“Is it still ongoing?”

“No—” Rokuzaemon drank the water, gulping noisily with apparent satisfaction, then continued: “There was someone who made an urgent report about Kozakibasho. The inspector general mobilized his men, and Lord Kōkai himself came out from Ninomaru—by all accounts, they’ve suppressed it now.”

Goda Chikaranosuke started to stand.
Among them were not a few disciples he taught and those with whom he was close.
He thought he must go no matter what, but at that moment, a messenger came galloping from the castle with an official notice.

"There were those who engaged in conflict in the town, but it has already subsided."
"All personnel not on duty or without summons are to remain quietly at their residences."

This notice bore the joint signatures of Castle Magistrate Mizuno Jibuemon and the senior councilors.

Immediately after the messenger left, Chise’s brother Egi Jūzaburō and Taguchi Tōemon arrived, followed by Urahara Hikoma.
Taguchi was the administrator of the Seimeikan, and Urahara—a middle councilor with a 520-koku stipend—had been the matchmaker for Chise and Chikaranosuke.
They all rejoiced that Chikaranosuke had not participated in the duel and offered their congratulations.
Egi Jūzaburō had rushed to Ōzu; upon hearing of the commotion, he had instinctively thought, “Goda must be involved in this too.”
He had been certain Chikaranosuke would be there and had even prepared to join the fray himself if needed, but by the time he arrived, the inspector general’s men had already blocked the entrance to the sandbar, making it impossible to get inside.

“Though I assumed relatives would intervene, I stayed watching at Suzunokuchi until it was all over,” said Jūzaburō. “The duel seems to have started around six o’clock—the foot soldiers’ faction had over thirty men, the mounted guards twenty-six or twenty-seven. The inspector general’s forces were dispatched around eight, but casualties on both sides are said to total nearly forty.”

“Were they taken from there into the castle?” asked Yabe Rokuzaemon.

“That’s not the case.”
Jūzaburō shook his head. “The deceased were sent to their homes, but the injured were taken to the construction shed within the Sugō Enclosure. The rest were divided among four households—Lord Suzuki, Lord Kōkai, Dairin Temple, and Lord Mizuno Shōzen.”

Chikaranosuke listened in silence.

—Who from the mounted guards had been there?

He had wanted to ask Jūzaburō.
Since Jūzaburō had watched until everything concluded, he should know every name present.
“Was Fukamatsu there? Karasawa? Inoue Jūzō? Ikegami? Hagata?—”
He’d nearly asked countless times, but believing answers would come eventually, he held his tongue.

“Since this disturbance occurred just before the boar hunt, they likely won’t escape severe punishment.”
Urahara Hikoma said, “If only they had waited until after the hunt. I’m at a loss with these impatient fellows.”

“A fight between men is just how it goes.”
Jūzaburō said, “This has been smoldering for ages. When the time comes to clash, there’s no weighing advantages or disadvantages—they cast aside duty and affection to confront each other. That’s exactly what makes them true Mikawa samurai, I’d say.”

Hikoma’s face tightened at the vehement tone.
To Chikaranosuke too, that intensity felt unnatural.
He even suspected they might be condemning him for missing the duel.
When he mentioned the circulated notice from the senior councilors, the three visitors soon departed.
Chise had hoped her brother would stay—she wanted to confess her morning’s actions and seek his counsel—but Jūzaburō left with the others without giving her an opening to speak.

After seeing off the guests, Chikaranosuke returned to the living room and immediately muttered to himself—in a low voice thick with resentment—stomping on the edge of the unrolled straw mat as he spoke.

“What the hell? Why didn’t they notify me? What happened to Fukamatsu?”

Chise heard that muttering.
That voice was filled with anger and suspicion.
The resentment of being excluded alone and the uncertainty about why he had been excluded now rang clearly even in Chise's ears.

At that moment, nausea overwhelmed her for a third time.

The next day, Chikaranosuke went to the castle and learned the details there.
Hagata Yomohachi and Araki Oriba had met again.
Yomohachi was with Inoue Jūzō, while Oriba had three companions with him; both sides were drunk.
The fight was initially meant to involve those six, but Inoue Jūzō—who had returned home once—spoke to Fukamatsu Iori, who lived nearby, saying, “They’ve got four men—lend us a hand.”
Iori went with Jūzō to Yomohachi’s house, where they began drinking.

IV

On Araki Oriba’s side as well, companions had gathered in the same manner, and it seemed they too had drunk sake and roused their spirits.
At Hagata's house, they summoned Ikegami Anzaemon and called Suehiro Tadanoshin.
This was past eleven o'clock at night, and soon a messenger came from Araki Oriba.

—Tomorrow morning at six o’clock, await at Kōzakibasho.

That was the message conveyed.
Even so, their side still intended to face them with five men against their four.
However, after four o'clock in the morning, it became clear that the foot soldiers’ faction had gathered over thirty men, so our side immediately divided tasks and began assembling their own forces.
It was said that this mobilization had been initiated by Fukamatsu Iori informing his main family’s Fukamatsu Banroku, and was finalized through Banroku’s insistence.
The mounted guards numbered twenty-seven, the foot soldiers’ faction thirty-one; among them was the Ittō-ryū instructor Tsūji Tadanaka.

Casualties were greater among the mounted guards.

Karasawa Tatsu no Suke: Instant death.

Tsuchida Kyūdayū: Instant death.

Murano Daisaku: Died after severe injuries

Sakashima Ihee: Died after severe injuries

In addition to Fukamatsu Iori, there were three others with serious injuries and Hagata Yomohachi along with fourteen others with minor injuries.

The foot soldiers’ faction had no instant deaths, with two deaths following severe injuries, five seriously injured, and seventeen with minor injuries.
This disparity arose because Tsūji Tadanaka was among the foot soldiers’ faction; it appeared that all four deaths starting with Karasawa had fallen to Tadanaka’s blade.

The deceased from both sides were retrieved by their families.
The remaining mounted guards members were sent to the two households of Suzuki Yaichiemon and Haigō Genzaemon.
The members of the foot soldiers’ faction were each entrusted to three households: Daibutsuji Temple, Takagai Matasaburō, and Mizuno Shōzen.
Of course, all meetings were strictly prohibited; their families were placed under house confinement.
An edict was issued ordering the entire domain to exercise caution in their words and actions.
With an especially strict clause stating that “there shall be no discussion of the Ōshu incident in either public or private contexts,” this was communicated by the town magistrate to the townspeople of the castle town as well.

Why didn’t Fukamatsu notify me? Is there some reason?

Chikaranosuke could not dispel his doubts.
It seemed even those around him found his absence unexpected; over the next two or three days, he was frequently asked similar questions.

“You’re unharmed, then,” they all said with looks of surprise. “That’s good—I was certain you’d be involved too. That’s truly fortunate.”

The disciples of the Seimeikan also reacted in the same way.
There too his absence was met with surprise and his safety celebrated.
Then soon after Tsūji Tadanaka was exiled—though why he escaped punishment would later become clear—Chikaranosuke’s reputation improved still further. When those responsible were summoned before the senior councilors, even his non-participation came to be spoken of as “devout obedience.”

But Goda Chikaranosuke listened in silence to what people were saying with a gloomy, impassive expression.

The boar hunt proceeded as scheduled. This was likely because a report had been submitted to the shogunate, but another significant reason became clear after its conclusion. It was officially declared that five days following the hunt, the duel at Kōzakibasho had been reframed as a hunting ground incident—an unforeseen event during the mounted guards' game competition that resulted in casualties.

"The occurrence of such disgraceful conduct stemmed from habitual lack of training," stated the edict. "Those directly involved shall be placed in five households pending further judgment, while their supervisors face ten days' confinement and group leaders fifteen days."

These measures were officially announced.

It was said this stemmed from Lord Kagemori Tadatatsu’s will and that special consideration had been extended to mitigate penalties.
Thus they came to understand both why Tsūji Tadanaka had been exiled without punishment and the intent behind the ban on discussing “the Ōshu incident.” Yet on the day after this announcement, Chikaranosuke heard something unforeseen within the castle.
Though he served as instructor at the Seimeikan, his status belonged to the mounted guards—thus unless off-duty, he was required to present himself daily at the administrative office.
At that time, Senior Councilor Suzuki Daigaku had been overseeing administration; but with his confinement ordered, fellow Senior Councilor Haigō Genzaemon now acted as substitute.

That day, Chikaranosuke, who had appeared at the administrative office, heard that Fukamatsu and eleven others had been entrusted to the Haigō household; after offering his greetings, he inquired about their condition and requested to meet with them once.

“There is something I must inquire about,” said Chikaranosuke. “I humbly request your special consideration in this matter.”

“Meetings are strictly prohibited—that cannot be permitted,” said Haigō Genzaemon. “If it is absolutely necessary… depending on the nature of the matter, I could convey it on their behalf.”

Goda Chikaranosuke hesitated.
It was not a matter to be heard through an intermediary; it was something he needed to confirm directly by meeting them in person.
But he could no longer endure being tormented by doubts any further.
And so, he resolved and requested, “Then please have Fukamatsu Banroku ask him this.”

Haigō Genzaemon looked perplexed.

“Are you asking why he didn’t notify me that morning?”

“Please do so.”

“I can’t quite grasp it myself,” said Haigō Genzaemon, “but according to what I’ve heard, he did go to inform you.”

“No—he never came.”

“Fukamatsu Banroku insists he went!”

“No—he did not come,” said Chikaranosuke. “I knew nothing until Lord Yabe Rokuzaemon told me.”

“However, Fukamatsu insists he notified you.”

Suddenly, the face of his wife floated into Chikaranosuke’s mind.

—Surely not…

He tried to dismiss it, but Genzaemon’s tone was too unequivocal—he couldn’t believe Fukamatsu would lie about such a thing. Chikaranosuke panicked and bowed while stammering uncharacteristically.

“I deeply apologize,” he said. “This must be some misunderstanding.” His voice tightened as he added: “Please disregard my earlier request entirely—and if possible… I beg you to keep this matter confidential.”

Haigō Genzaemon nodded curtly.

That night, before entering his bedchamber, Goda Chikaranosuke summoned his wife and questioned her about the matter. The retainers never entered his thoughts; strangely, he felt it must have been *his wife*. Indeed, Chise confirmed it was so.

“So Fukamatsu did come to notify me.”

“Yes, he did come.”

Chise showed no guilt. Rather, as if she had been anticipating the arrival of this moment, she looked directly into her husband's eyes.

"Why didn't you relay it?"
Chikaranosuke was strenuously suppressing his emotions. "Tell me—why did you keep it from me?"

"I believed it was not to be conveyed."

Five

Goda Chikaranosuke glared into his wife's eyes.
Chise lowered her eyes as if dazzled.

“Why?” said Chikaranosuke.

Chise hesitated in her reply.
Yet this wasn’t hesitation born of guilt—her conscience held no stain.

“I had long heard of the discord with the Foot Soldiers’ Faction,” said Chise. “So when I received the notice from Mr. Fukamatsu, I thought—this must not be conveyed to my husband. Were I to inform you, you would surely go to Ōshu. That would mean a private duel, and private duels are banned by law. Therefore, no matter what reproach I might later face, I resolved to remain silent.”

Chikaranosuke raised one knee.
Chise hunched her shoulders, bracing to be struck.
In the motion of raising one knee, there was a force that seemed ready to strike suddenly.
—Goda Chikaranosuke pushed away the tray holding tea utensils.
His hand was trembling.

“I understand,” he said. “Enough.”

Chise timidly raised her eyes.

“You can sleep now,” said Chikaranosuke.

“Was I wrong?” said Chise. “As a samurai’s wife, I believed it was my duty to act thus—but if I erred, please do reprimand me.”

“Enough. Go to sleep.”

Chikaranosuke stood up after saying that.

As Chise picked up the tea utensils and withdrew, he went down into the garden. His entire body was like a solid mass of rage; his wife’s self-satisfied face seemed to poison, humiliate, and defile him. “Woman!” muttered Goda Chikaranosuke, spitting. He regretted not striking his wife and slammed his still-tingling right fist into his left palm with all his might. “Woman!” he muttered. In the dim garden, just ahead, the blossoms of a young peach tree came hazily into view. That was the tree Chise loved. Nearby stood a Kogome cherry, a Yusura plum, and indeed a young double-flowered cherry tree. Those too were ones Chise had transplanted from her family home or received from elsewhere and planted. —Chikaranosuke drew his short sword and approached the peach tree.

The next morning—Chise looked at the garden and cried out.
The hour was still early enough that a thin mist lingered in the garden, yet her beloved peach, yusura plum, and double-flowered cherry trees had been ruthlessly stripped of their branches and felled at the roots.
When she saw the scattered flowering branches and spilled peach blossoms upon the damp black soil, Chise rushed out barefoot to the spot. "Who did this?" she cried while trying to pick up a peach branch that still retained a few lingering blooms.
But she stopped her outstretched hand midway, gasped and stood up, then crouched down again and picked up the branch.

“It was him. It was him,” Chise said. Tears poured from her eyes. “How cruel. This is too much.”

Chise impulsively stood up, stepped up onto the veranda of her husband’s living room (her feet still dirty), and opened the shoji of that room.
There was no sign of her husband there.
She opened the bedroom sliding door without hesitation.
Her husband was not there either.
Thus, Chise grew even more agitated and immediately returned to the living room.
Then, she came face to face with her husband entering from the corridor.
Chikaranosuke seemed to have gone to wash his hands; still in his nightclothes, he sullenly looked at his wife’s face.
Chise showed him the peach blossom branch she held.

“This is what you did.”

Chise’s voice was strained.

“That’s right,” said Chikaranosuke.

“Why? Why?” said Chise.
“Why would you?” said Chise.
“Was what I conveyed last night not to your liking? Is that the case?”

Chikaranosuke remained silent.

"So it's true then," said Chise. "Then why won't you scold me? If what I did was wrong, then scold me as you please. Strike me or kick me to your heart's content. But to do such a thing to the flowers—how cruel! What have the flowers done to deserve this?"
Tears streamed fiercely from her eyes again. "The flowers have done nothing wrong. This is too cruel."

Then she collapsed into a sitting position there, still clutching the flowering branch, covered her face with a sleeve, and burst into loud sobs.
Goda Chikaranosuke suddenly stared at his wife with wide eyes, as if startled.
She was like a child.
he thought.

—The fourth-day iris.

—he muttered in his heart.

When Chikaranosuke agreed to the marriage proposal with Chise, Egi Jūzaburō had said: “Within my sister’s temperament lies a part that will never fully mature.”
“I called it ‘the fourth-day iris,’ but I think that quality is both a flaw and a virtue.”
“Since it’s a brother’s perspective, it may not be entirely accurate—but I’d ask you to recognize that aspect,” said Jūzaburō.

While there was such a thing as a sixth-day iris, hearing of a fourth-day iris had been entirely new to Chikaranosuke—and he still remembered it now.

“I was wrong,” said Chikaranosuke. “I apologize—forgive me.”

Chise’s crying grew a bit quieter.

“But—” Chikaranosuke continued, “this changes nothing to say it now, yet I’ll say it regardless. You claimed you stayed silent to prevent me from breaking the Ban. Indeed—private duels are strictly forbidden. That is the way a samurai bearing responsibility must follow. But as a man—there exists another path for men. In some cases, that path holds greater weight than the samurai’s code.”

Chise stopped crying.
Having stopped crying, she listened intently to her husband’s words while still sobbing.

“That morning, the men who went to Ōzu believed I would come,” said Goda Chikaranosuke. “Not a single one doubted I might stay away—over there was Tsūji Tadanaka, slashing through them unchecked. Even as our comrades fell one after another under that swordsman’s blade of superior skill, they all kept thinking—‘Goda will come soon. If only Goda comes…’”

Chise began to tremble.
Her entire body shook violently, so her sobbing voice sounded like something tumbling in her throat.

“Think hard about how everyone felt at that time,” said Goda Chikaranosuke. “Put yourself in the place of parents, siblings, and wives whose loved ones were cut down or wounded. Imagine your own husband being slain—then think again. I was wrong to cut your precious flowers. Forgive me.”

And then Goda Chikaranosuke entered the bedroom.

—I must help him change.

Thinking this, Chise could not stand up; she remained sitting with her face still covered, trembling.
From the peach blossom branch she held, petals spilled onto her lap.

Six

It was midnight.
It was raining.

Chise quietly slid open the fusuma and entered her husband’s bedroom.
In the faint light of the dimmed ariake lamp, she saw her husband’s face lying supine.
He lay perfectly still on his back, breathing quietly, but when Chise closed the fusuma, his breathing ceased. As she crept closer on her knees, he opened his eyes while still facing upward.
Chise drew near enough to reach the bedding and waited for her husband’s eyes to turn toward her.

The sound of rain striking the eaves reverberated in a way that agitated her nerves.
The air in the bedroom was warm, permeated with the scent of her husband’s healthy body.
The scent of her husband, absent for over ten days, and the sound of the pouring rain that drowned out all other noises stimulated Chise’s nerves and enveloped her in an intensely sensual emotion so overwhelming it stole her breath.

“You,” said Chise.

Chikaranosuke remained silent.

“I wish to offer my apologies.”
“I know.”
“I wish to offer my apologies and beg your forgiveness.”
“That’s already over with,” said Chikaranosuke.

“But you’re still angry.”

Chikaranosuke did not answer.

“Tell me—you’re angry with me, aren’t you?”

“Let’s not speak of that.”

“You said you’d forgive me—come on, say you’ll forgive me.”

“I’ve forgiven you.”

It was an emotionless, cold voice.
Chise became flushed, flung off the coverlet, suddenly burrowed into the futon, and clung to her husband’s body.
Goda Chikaranosuke did not move a muscle.
Chise, panting heavily, pressed her skin against his with frenzied movements, entwined her limbs around him, then reached out her hand.
Chikaranosuke sharply pulled back his body.
And still with Chise clinging to him, he stood up on the bedding and adjusted the front of his sleepwear.
Chise clung to her husband’s body with both hands and, half-pulled up into an unnatural posture, burst into tears.

“Go to bed,” Chikaranosuke said.

“You are—”
“Won’t you please forgive Chise?” she pleaded through tears.

“That is already over with.”

“What should I do?”
Chise collapsed in tears.
Falling onto the bedding while weeping, she moaned, “What should I do? Please tell me—what am I supposed to do?”

“Go to bed,” said Goda Chikaranosuke. “If you stay like that, you’ll catch a cold.”

Eventually, Chise got up and, weeping with a moan, returned to her own bedroom.

When May came, the families of all those involved in the Ōzu incident were released from confinement. While the individuals remained in custody at five households under visitation bans with no further developments, as the families' confinement had been lifted, Goda Chikaranosuke made rounds to visit each house one by one. However, at each and every house, he was met with blatant hostility and overt contempt.

First, he visited the bereaved families of the deceased.
At Tatsunosuke Karasawa’s house, his younger brother Kikujirō came out and stood in the entranceway, looking down from above.

“How very courteous of you,” said Kikujirō.

“You didn’t show up for the duel but came to offer condolences?”

Chikaranosuke lowered his head and left.

At Murano Daisaku’s house, at Tsuchida, and at Sakajima Ihee’s house as well—it was all the same.
Even if the words differed, the meaning they expressed remained unchanged.
Even so, Chikaranosuke visited all twenty-seven households, but at the residence of his closest associate Fukamatsu Banroku, Banroku’s father Chūzaemon came out and said, “We don’t want your condolences.”
The old man trembled his bony fist and started to say something more, but he retreated inside while coughing painfully.

“Everyone already knows.”
“They have every right to be angry—that I didn’t come to Ōzu despite being notified,” Goda Chikaranosuke said to himself.

The attitudes of the household members gradually began to change.
At first, that hadn’t been the case.
When Taguchi Fujiemon and Urahara Hikoma came, they acknowledged that Chikaranosuke had known nothing, and most people recognized that had he known, he would not have gone.
However, the fact that he “had been informed” was something Hagō Genzaemon already knew from Fukamatsu, and it was only natural that this would become clear to the family members and then gradually spread throughout the entire household.
Chikaranosuke had begun to clearly perceive it.
It was closing in from afar at an imperceptible speed—gradually tightening around him, as though to isolate him entirely.

Did Chise not know?
She of course knew—she could tell just by observing her husband’s demeanor, and she had heard it directly herself.

People are not as they appear; you cannot know someone's true nature until they're tested.

Such remarks were frequently exchanged within Chise's hearing.
Whether by design or chance, she kept hearing those words.
Her anguish came from two sources.
That these words must have reached her husband's ears, and that the responsibility lay not with him but herself... Though naturally prone to summer weight loss, when autumn winds rose, Chise had become so thin she was nearly unrecognizable.

In early October, Tadatatsu Kenmotsu departed for Edo to fulfill his sankin-kotai obligation.
Just before his departure, a decision was handed down regarding the Kōzakibasho incident (officially recorded as a hunting ground occurrence).
Given the course of events up to that point, the expectation that they would face severe charges had vanished.
Due to the location being changed to a hunting ground and the private duel aspect being disregarded, it was thought that fairly lenient measures would be taken.
However, in reality, it was more lenient than had been anticipated—all were released from custody and instead ordered to undergo 150 days of house confinement.
This was announced by Mizuno Jibuemon, the castle deputy, after both sides were summoned together to the castle (though Fukamatsu Iori, whose injuries had not fully healed, and two members of the foot soldiers’ faction were unable to attend).

It was highly unusual for the castle deputy to deliver such a pronouncement, and as it had been made particularly by his lordship’s decree, sake cups were granted to both sides,

“The private duel is an outrageous act; however, given the longstanding resolve of both sides born of necessity, and your manly resolve at heart in casting aside even bonds of affection and duty is commendable—therefore, we shall pardon you this once. Henceforth, strictly exercise restraint and serve your lord in harmonious cooperation.”

Such was the decree that had been issued.

With this, public opinion within the entire household had completely reversed. While they condemned the private duel, they praised “their resolute manliness.” Not only the individuals themselves, but even their families now held their heads high. This could not have failed to affect Chikaranosuke; Goda Chikaranosuke was looked upon with scornful eyes by the people of the entire domain and had to listen to voices of criticism and ridicule.

What he found most unbearable was that during training sessions at the Seimeikan, the disciples rejected his instruction.
When Goda Chikaranosuke tried to correct their techniques, they would either stop practicing or shake their heads with manufactured politeness.

“There’s no need for that,” they said in unison. “We’ve already requested assistance from the deputy instructor.”

Seven

But Goda Chikaranosuke did not lose heart. He appeared more dignified than ever before and showed no signs of being crushed by any condemning glances or mocking voices.

Thus the year turned, and on a certain day in mid-March—to celebrate the lifting of their house confinement, the fifty-two from both sides gathered at Dairinji Temple to hold a celebratory banquet.
To this gathering came various magistrates and group leaders as well, and with congratulatory gifts arriving from all quarters, it became a truly grand celebration.

On the same day, Goda Chikaranosuke was off duty and at home.

After breakfast, he spread out a goza mat in the living room and began flute-making, which he had long abandoned.
It was the first time since that day a year ago that he had done such a thing, and he continued even into the afternoon, using a round chisel and small knife with a cheerful expression.

About an hour after he finished dinner, Egi Jūzaburō came to visit.

“Did you meet Mr. Taguchi today?”

Jūzaburō sat down and immediately fixed Chikaranosuke with a piercing gaze.
Chikaranosuke answered, "I met him."

“So,” Jūzaburō said, “what will you do?”

“What do you mean, ‘what will I do’?”

“Weren’t you told to resign from Seimeikan?”

“No,” said Chikaranosuke. “I was told it would be better if I resigned.”

“It’s the same thing—what will you do?”

“Of course I refused.”

“So you refuse to step down?”

Chise was about to enter with tea.

“I don’t need tea,” Jūzaburō said. “Close that and go over there.”

Chise looked at her husband, then closed the sliding door and left.

“You still refuse to quit?” Jūzaburō looked at Chikaranosuke. “Even with public criticism this loud and no trainees accepting instruction at Seimeikan, you’ll still cling to your instructor’s seat?”

“The Seimeikan instructor position was entrusted to me by his lordship,” Chikaranosuke answered. “Unless dismissed by his lordship or without proper cause, I consider fulfilling this duty my obligation.”

“Understood,” Jūzaburō said. “I’ve heard enough. I’ll take Chise back with me—grant the divorce.”

Chikaranosuke looked at him suspiciously, then smiled with his lips in a manner that seemed to say "I see."

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“This isn’t about foolishness,” Jūzaburō said. “I believed in you—no matter what others said, I believed Goda Chikaranosuke wasn’t a man to act cowardly. But I’ve heard the truth now, directly from Fukamatsu Banroku himself! That morning, Fukamatsu himself came here to deliver the notice—he clearly stated six o’clock at Kōzakibasho!”

"That's correct," Goda Chikaranosuke nodded.

“And Goda Chikaranosuke did not go,” Jūzaburō said. “While everyone was staking their lives in fierce sword combat, Goda Chikaranosuke alone remained at home. While others suffered wounds or fell in battle, Goda Chikaranosuke alone stayed idly at home. I have my honor to uphold—I cannot let society see me keeping my sister wedded to such a man. You will divorce Chise effective today.”

Sliding open the door, “Wait, please!” Chise called out as she slipped into the room.

"You must not come here," said Goda Chikaranosuke.

"Stay back!" Jūzaburō shouted. "This isn't your concern. Move away!"

Chise came and sat down before her brother.
Her face was pale and rigid, only her eyes burning with fierce light.
She stared at him with those eyes and spoke in a voice trembling wretchedly.

"Brother, please apologize! You don't understand—you must apologize to my husband immediately!"

“What are you telling me to apologize for?”

“Don’t speak of it, Chise,” said Goda Chikaranosuke. “If you mention that, I won’t forgive you.”

“Yes, I no longer seek your forgiveness. I shall return to my family home as you insist, Brother,” Chise said. “But before I go, allow me to speak the truth. That morning, it was I who received Mr. Fukamatsu’s message. My husband knew nothing of it. I heard it and kept it from him without relaying it.”

“You heard it?”
Jūzaburō nearly shouted, “And you didn’t relay it?”

“Not only did I fail to relay it,” she said, “but I even instructed those at the entrance to keep silent about Mr. Fukamatsu’s visit.”

Egi Jūzaburō exhaled sharply—"Hah"—looked at Goda Chikaranosuke, then immediately turned back toward Chise.

“Why? Explain yourself!” he shouted. “Depending on your answer, I won’t let this stand!”

“I will tell you. I will tell you everything.”
Chise looked at Chikaranosuke. “My husband, I will speak truthfully. At that time, I told you private duels were prohibited by the ban. As a samurai’s wife, I did not wish my husband to violate the ban—that is why I remained silent.”

“Chise said that,” said Chikaranosuke. “Mr. Egi, that was the reason she remained silent.”

“No—please wait, that isn’t true,” Chise said. “I told you that then, but the real reason was selfishness. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you—of you going to that dangerous place. My heart was filled with nothing but that fear.”
A sob caught in Chise’s throat, but she continued: “You were everything to me—I wanted to stay by your side forever. Nothing could replace you. As long as you were safe and well, nothing else mattered. I was so consumed by that thought… I kept silent without realizing it was selfishness.”

“That’s fine, Chise. That was right.”

“No—I was wrong. I’ve gradually come to understand just how terribly I erred.”
Chise cried aloud, “Hearing those awful rumors and seeing you endure in silence made me realize how wrong my actions were—how irreparable the damage I caused.”
“—I kept thinking constantly about when you would give me that divorce.”

Chise placed both hands on the floor and lowered her head.

Then Jūzaburō stood up, roughly grabbed his sister’s arm, and said in a trembling voice.

“Stand up, Chise—I’ll come apologize to Goda properly later. Stand up and get ready.”

“Let go of her, Egi,” said Chikaranosuke. “That is my wife.”

It was a resolute, penetrating voice. Jūzaburō remained still, gripping his sister’s arm. Tears from Chise’s eyes trickled down onto the tatami mats with enough force to make a sound.

“Chise’s silence was correct,” said Chikaranosuke. “You couldn’t comprehend it, Egi—and I myself didn’t understand it either. But today I realized—when I heard our former comrades had reconciled and held a banquet at Dairinji—it was then I first truly grasped that Chise’s silence had been right. Think about it, Egi—what do you suppose would have happened had Chise relayed that message back then?” Chikaranosuke’s voice lowered. “Of course I would have rushed to Ōzu. Boastful as it may sound, my Kumaeryū isn’t inferior to Tadanaka’s. Had I and Tadanaka both been there—had everyone fought desperately—the casualties wouldn’t have been so meager. Can’t you imagine it would never have ended with such paltry losses, Egi?”

Jūzaburō’s hand released his sister’s arm and hung down along his thigh as though it had gone numb.

“It’s precisely because matters were resolved at that level that lenient measures were granted and today’s banquet could be held—all because Chise kept silent.”

“But,” Jūzaburō said, still looking away, “Goda’s disgrace will not disappear.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” said Chikaranosuke. “I’ve grown considerably since the bad reputation began. Until now, I had only been praised—you yourself told me I had the dignity of an old samurai, Egi—and I had been complacent without realizing it myself. But it was only after people began speaking ill of me that I first became aware of that ‘complacent’ self. That alone is growth, and I’ll keep growing from here on out. As long as this bad reputation lasts, I’ll prove how much I can grow.”

Jūzaburō raised his hand and wiped his eyes.
Still looking away into the distance, he did not turn toward Chikaranosuke.

“May I return home?” Jūzaburō said.

“You may,” said Chikaranosuke. “But withdraw that divorce talk.”

“I’ll come to apologize tomorrow.”

Jūzaburō finally left without looking back.

Late that night—Chikaranosuke entered Chise’s bedroom.
Chise was asleep.
Having been liberated from long-standing mental anguish, her sleeping face showed complete peace.
Chikaranosuke placed his hand on the quilt’s collar.
Then Chise opened her eyes.
When she awoke from deep sleep and realized her husband was there, she immediately sat up.

“Stay like that.”

“No—over there.”
Chise clung to him with both hands.
The sleeve of her nightgown slipped, leaving her arm completely bare.
With that bare arm entwined around her husband, she whispered rapturously, “I prefer over there—the bedroom that smells of you, don’t you see?”

“Like this?” said Chikaranosuke.

“Ah,” Chise said, “you.”

Chikaranosuke carried his wife back to his own bedroom and closed the sliding door between them.