Pathway to Japanese Literature

1

Oishi was taken into the Suzuki household in the eleventh month of Shōhō 3. Two family retainers had accompanied her from Edo bearing a letter from Father; Heijirō was eleven years old at the time but thought she was a rather dark-skinned, unsightly child when he first saw her. "Lady Oishi is the child of Lord Father's old friend."

At that moment, Mother said this and introduced her to him,

“Both her parents have passed away, leaving her in pitiable circumstances with no one to rely on. From now on, please think of her as your younger sister and take care of her.” When Mother said this, Oishi followed by neatly aligning both hands, “I humbly beg your kindness.” As she spoke these words, she looked up at him. Her gaze and manner of greeting carried a maturity unbefitting her five years. Being an only child, Heijirō had often wished for a brother or sister—but this frail figure before him, smaller than average with sallow skin and reddish hair, struck even a boy’s eyes as thoroughly unappealing and devoid of charm. Though he now had something like a sister, he thought this was nothing to boast of; with that reflection, he gave a slight nod and remained silent.

Oishi was a spirited child—her features might not have been particularly graceful, but she possessed bright, limpid eyes that fixed unwaveringly on whomever she addressed or listened to. This gaze seemed born of a determination to convey her thoughts precisely and absorb others' words fully, yet when those clear, unblemished pupils widened to stare without blinking, the intensity grew discomfiting, compelling observers to avert their eyes first. Her posture remained impeccably controlled, devoid of any orphan’s melancholy shadow; what she wished to say or do, she pursued without hesitation—a character endowed with clarity so refreshing it bordered on radiant straightforwardness. Of course, at Heijirō’s age, such nuances lay beyond his perception, and he had no inherent interest in them to begin with—yet gradually, his initial impression of her as an unsightly child began to fade, until within about a year, something akin to faint affection had even taken root. The Suzuki residence stood in a place called Uemibabanaka no Koji, its garden spanning five terraces rich with hills, groves, and spring-fed ponds left in their natural state—a landscape whose untamed variety made it perfect for boisterous play. Boys of similar age would often gather there to run wild. They too at first paid Oishi no heed, but as they came to understand her nature through repeated encounters, they naturally grew fond of her and increasingly sought to include her in their games. Among them was Matsui Rokuyo—a boy who befriended Oishi more closely than any other. Coming from the same venerable lineage of retainers and living nearby, he stood as Heijirō’s closest companion. Having a sister just a year younger than Oishi made him adept at handling girls; he seemed to know exactly what pleased them. Occasionally he brought her beautiful gifts—a patchwork incense box here, doll accessories there, shell-matching game pieces or a small face-powder jar—yet even this well-meaning Rokuyo would sometimes sigh and murmur under his breath: “Still though...she’s rather dark-skinned.” Consequently, the other boys—following their age’s cruel custom—took to calling her “Lady Kuro” or “Karasumaru” behind her back. At first Heijirō paid such talk no mind until one day pity stirred within him; resolving that if nicknames were inevitable, he might at least propose something less crude. “Since she’s dark,” he declared authoritatively, “Sumimaru would be more fitting.” The name “Sumimaru” carried an agreeable cadence—listen without prejudice and one might even detect an antique elegance in its syllables. Thus all the boys adopted this new appellation.

Sōbei, her father who had served as an elder councilor in Edo, returned to Okazaki in Keian 4, six years later. He had now attained senior councilor status while also serving as investigative magistrate. With Father’s return after his long absence, the household’s daily rhythms inevitably changed—yet even amidst this shift, Oishi’s presence began to stand out more prominently. This was because Sōbei kept entrusting Oishi with tasks for every occasion. Until then, she had typically remained still by her mother’s side, but now her figure diligently bustling about could be seen everywhere within the estate. She often came to Heijirō’s room as well. “Lord Father summons you” or “The meal is ready”—nearly all such minor errands became Oishi’s duty. Since they had begun living together, a sense of closeness had gradually emerged, and he even came to feel an affection akin to that for a true younger sister—but as even this was not particularly profound, once Heijirō underwent his coming-of-age ceremony that year, he grew indifferent toward Oishi once more.

It was the year Oishi turned thirteen.

It was early spring when she suddenly entered Heijirō’s room and sat down. When he asked if she needed something, she uncharacteristically fidgeted before saying, “Might I borrow the paperweight?” “Don’t you have one, Oishi?” “I do possess one, but...” Having begun to speak, she lowered her eyes as if dazzled. “You already own one yet desire it?” When he posed this question, Oishi nodded with resolute determination, “I wish to borrow that paperweight which always rests upon the document box.”

she said.

2

Heijirō looked at the top of the document box. It was an item he had received from his deceased grandfather—a piece of jade measuring seven bu in width and over five sun in length, its surface adorned with peony leaves and flowers carved in high relief. Though not of sufficient quality to be fashioned into gemstones, its beauty lay in the streaks of deep jade-like green that flowed like rivulets across its surface. He cherished its smooth coldness to the touch and its satisfyingly balanced weight, making it one of his most treasured possessions. Oishi must have known this—she stared up at him with anxious eyes, her demeanor so desperately earnest that Heijirō could only offer a wry smile. Then,

“Don’t you go losing it,” he said and handed it to her.

Shortly after Father returned, Oishi began attending lessons under a Japanese scholar named Muneyoshi Noriyasu, and by that time she had already started composing poems. Of course, they were still mere imitations—just verses where the syllable counts aligned—and even those pieces Mother occasionally showed him with comments like "She composes rather well," left no particular impression on Heijirō. And then, probably placing that paperweight there, he imagined her reading poetry collections with an air of refinement and smiled wryly. In the course of being shown her poems time and again, there came a time when he found one about bush clover bearing the name Sumimaru. When he asked, Mother—

"That is that child’s artistic pseudonym, I hear." Mother said and laughed. “She said it was because of her dark complexion—I remarked how amusingly masculine it sounded, but Master found it intriguing, so they settled on that.”

“…………”

Heijirō suddenly felt a faint pang in his chest. Upon seeing the characters, he immediately recalled—it was the nickname he had once devised for Oishi. Understanding this would invite reprimand, he had never uttered it beyond his circle of friends. Yet Oishi must have overheard and committed it to memory—what turmoil must she have endured? Now nineteen years old, he could only imagine with pity how her heart had received this cruelty. Nothing wounds a woman more deeply than disparagement of her looks—though still a child then, being both orphan and keenly sensitive by nature, she likely found such whispered malice unbearable—a truly despicable act. Heijirō burned with shame at this realization—and from that moment onward, his manner toward Oishi softened markedly.

Traveling painters and calligraphers would frequently come to stay at the Suzuki residence—as Sōbei took pleasure in such arrangements—where rooms had been prepared for these guests, with meals separately provided, and during their stays they were treated with considerable hospitality. Since they traveled itinerantly, most of these painters and calligraphers were not particularly remarkable—yet among them, though exceedingly rare, there were those who created extraordinary works. For Sōbei, this was an unparalleled source of delight... Among these individuals was a certain blind koto master known as Master Kengyō. He appeared to be over sixty, with a crane-like slender frame, and snow-white thick eyebrows hung down as if concealing his sightless eyes, imparting a striking dignity to his overall appearance. What circumstances might have shaped his past? None in the household knew besides Sōbei. Master Kengyō stayed for over four years, during which time he taught Oishi the koto. At first he seemed reluctant, but before long—apparently having recognized her potential—he grew increasingly devoted, his teaching methods strict, and at times one could even hear rather fierce reprimands. Heijirō had no interest in the koto whatsoever, so he simply dismissed the practice sessions as background noise. But one day when sharing a meal with Father and Master Kengyō, he was startled to hear the blind master repeatedly praising Oishi’s innate talent.

“For one who studies music, distinguishing tones comes easily—but grasping what lies before and after each sound proves far more arduous. Yet Lady Oishi seizes this effortlessly. The resonance connecting every note she plays, from its inception to decay, holds exceptional quality. One might rightly call hers an exceptionally blessed talent.” “Then could she establish herself in that path?” Father asked that. “No, that would likely prove difficult.”

Master Kengyō quietly shook his head. "For teaching others, greater simplicity would be preferable. One might say Lady Oishi's koto is too refined—to put it plainly, ordinary ears cannot keep pace." He also mentioned that those possessing such exceptional sensitivities were prone to misfortune unless they exercised great caution.

The sorrowful expression that had surfaced on Father’s face at that moment proved unforgettable. Though the reason remained unclear—as if Master Kengyō’s words had confirmed some foreboding Father already harbored—he furrowed his brows, shut his eyes, and sank into silent contemplation for what seemed an eternity. What could have grieved Father so deeply lay entirely beyond Heijirō’s comprehension—a mystery that would demand decades more before yielding its truth.

3

In the spring when Heijirō turned twenty-three, Matsui Rokuyo hosted a cherry blossom viewing banquet attended by about five of their closest acquaintances. Matsui maintained a retreat by the Ōhiragawa River in addition to his residence within the castle compound. The gathering took place at this riverside retreat, where a spacious garden stretching to the water's edge held thirty to forty young cherry trees. Though only a quarter in bloom, the blossoms just beginning to unfurl on every branch shone with a brilliance more vivid than full bloom...... They spread a woolen carpet beneath riverside boughs and enjoyed an intimate banquet, reflecting flowering sprigs in their wine cups as they drank. Unlike their rowdier days of youth, they had each assumed official posts—some even married by now—so conversations naturally turned to political matters. As men of that station were wont to do, no small number of sensitive topics surfaced. Then Higuchi Tōkurō, lowering his voice abruptly,

"I’ve heard Lord Uemonnosuke belongs to the Mito lineage. Have any of you heard this?" he uttered something utterly unexpected.

Uemonnosuke referred to Tadaharu, heir of the Mizuno clan’s feudal lordship. He was the second son of Tadayoshi, having become heir due to the premature death of his elder brother Sukenosuke—two years prior at age fifteen he had come to this Okazaki, where their entire group had been granted ceremonial cups. “That’s absurd.” Matsui Rokuyo laughed.

“I think so too, but”

Tōkurō continued in a hushed voice, “This rumor holds considerable truth. None are unaware of His Lordship’s devotion to Lord Mitsukuni of Mito—so fervent that he entreated the lord even before the child’s birth for a pledge to adopt the infant. They say when the boy was born, they welcomed him into the estate still swaddled in birth robes—what commoners call a ‘birth-chamber child,’ taken straight from the delivery room. As proof, Lord Uemonnosuke’s short sword is said to bear scattered hollyhock crests.”

Tōkurō’s father had once served among Tadayoshi’s closest retainers, and with the account being so well-constructed, even Rokuyo refrained from laughter this time. “There lies another secret entwined with that matter.” Tōkurō continued, his gaze sweeping across their silent faces. “Over ten years past now—a man called Koide Kojūrō took his own life through ritual suicide at the Edo estate. That caused such commotion even here in Okazaki—you must remember it.”

They all remembered that incident. Koide Kojūrō was a rōnin who had distinguished himself in the Shimabara Rebellion and was discovered by Tadayoshi, who then employed him with great trust. He was known for his unwavering dedication to service—would bluntly voice admonishments that even long-serving retainers dared not utter—and his dealings within the household were renowned for their peerless integrity. It was precisely twelve years prior, in Shōhō 2, that he incurred Tadayoshi’s wrath and received the extraordinary punishment of lifelong house arrest—but on the very day the command was issued, he committed ritual suicide and died.

"At the time, despite the severity of his punishment, the reason remained unclear, but—"

Tōkurō continued his account. “In truth, he directly remonstrated about Lord Uemonnosuke’s matter. At that time, Lord Sukenosuke was still alive—Kojūrō repeatedly advised that Lord Uemonnosuke be disinherited to preserve the clan’s bloodline and Lord Sukenosuke reinstated as heir. But His Lordship rebuked him with great fury—‘You speak nonsense!’—and ultimately decreed that severe punishment.” “Won’t you cease now…”

Heijirō cut in with those words, “If His Lordship declared it to be baseless talk, then it must be true. Unless those who hear such rumors suppress them, they will grow embellished and leave unforeseen calamities in their wake. Let us speak of other matters.” “I was just going to say that.”

Rokuyo raised his hand.

“Everyone, look over there—truth be told, that’s today’s real treat.” As if relieved by his words, they all turned toward where he pointed. Beyond the spacious garden, a seating area draped with kosode-patterned curtains had been arranged, and now into this space came about ten beautifully adorned maidens, like scattered blossoms of every hue. They too must have gathered for the cherry blossom banquet; upon closer inspection, two kotos stood before a resplendent Momoyama-style screen. The maidens at first eagerly yielded to one another, but once seating arrangements were settled, they soon began taking turns playing. Beneath the cherry blossoms’ shade—the draped kosode-patterned curtains, the resplendent screen, the maidens in their dazzling attire—from this splendid array of colors arose the tones of koto music, all so exquisitely beautiful that those who beheld it were rather overcome with melancholy. Even Mitsuji Ichinosuke—a young man always quick with a cutting remark—seemed at last to find no opening for his barbs, letting out only a deep groan before falling silent. After a short while, he stood up and declared, “I’ll choose my bride from among them,” then quietly made his way along the tree shadows. Heijirō had been intently watching the figure of one among the maidens all this while. It was Oishi. When she first appeared, he had thought she looked vaguely familiar. And when he soon realized it was indeed her, his eyes widened involuntarily. He was genuinely astonished at how much she had grown.

4

The Oishi that existed in Heijirō’s memory had been a dark-skinned child with reddish-brown hair and a small, thin frame—an unattractive girl. Yet the Oishi he now beheld stood far beyond "unattractive," emerging as the most strikingly beautiful among the ten or so maidens. Her beauty derived neither from coiffed hair nor fine robes, nor even facial features—it seemed rather to emanate from her entire being, an inner radiance that overflowed rather than relying on external comeliness. Ah, she’s seventeen now... With a sudden awareness of the years passed, Heijirō narrowed his eyes and continued gazing at her form. The koto players each likely performed pieces they had mastered, and as all the maidens appeared quite accomplished, even to Heijirō’s untrained ears, many performances carried a solemn resonance. When about half the performers had taken their turns, there appeared a girl who flawlessly executed an intricate piece. Her playing resonated more powerfully than any prior performance—the beauty of its tones and brilliance of modulations had an intoxicating effect.

“That’s my younger sister Sode.”

Rokuyo whispered to Heijirō, "We went through all that preparation today intending to hear Lady Oishi’s koto, but she likely means to have her own performance properly heard too—perhaps even intends to outplay the others." “I’ve got cloth ears myself, but doesn’t Lady Sode’s koto stand in a class of its own? Oishi shouldn’t even be a consideration.”

“No, that’s not it.”

Rokuyo said while holding his sake cup, “The Master Kengyō who used to serve at our main house once visited us—Sode had her technique adjusted by him then. At that time, he commented on Lady Oishi’s skills—I didn’t hear it myself, but they say he praised her lavishly. Ever since, our household has been wanting to hear Lady Oishi play properly someday and have Sode compete against her. Behind that kosode-patterned curtain over there—my mother must have come to listen too.”

That Oishi’s koto had gained such renown—even Heijirō could no longer remain indifferent. After witnessing Sode’s masterful performance, he straightened his posture slightly and waited for Oishi’s turn, wondering just how much skill she would display.

When Sode finished playing, a wave of admiring voices arose—so loud they reached even their distant seats. A lively commotion continued for some time, and it soon seemed to be Oishi’s turn. But Oishi made no move to rise. Those around her pressed her insistently, and Rokuyo’s sister approached her side to plead. Yet Oishi merely smiled gently and shook her head, refusing to rise no matter what. At that moment, Mitsuji Ichinosuke returned.

“Lady Oishi won’t perform.”

He said this while seated in his place, “She lacks such skill—too ashamed to do anything but repeat that excuse. But is it true?” “I suppose that’s how it is.” Rokuyo nodded with a smile, “If Master Kengyō’s assessment was accurate, she wouldn’t perform at such an event. Sode had been far too optimistic in her expectations.” “I wouldn’t say that’s necessarily true.”

Heijirō interposed. “Her claim of lacking skill likely comes from genuine sincerity on her part; moreover, being unaccustomed to such social interactions must also make her feel ashamed—after all, she’s Sumimaru.” “Ah, Sumimaru.” Someone from the side spoke up, and everyone recalled those days and laughed warmly. It was from that time onward that Heijirō came to see Oishi in a new light. When he began viewing her differently, he would frequently discover—in the peripheries of things he had unknowingly overlooked until then—manifestations of Oishi’s true character that left him astonished. In places people failed to notice, in corners unseen by the eye—in all realms hidden beneath the surface rather than exposed to it—her meticulous and diligent care found full expression. Taking over the maid’s duties to clean the bathhouse, tending the hearth fire, making firewood together with the manservant—even Mother had long remained unaware of these activities. She was particularly adept at cooking, often crafting dishes from humble ingredients that could be mistaken for luxurious fare; on one occasion, she made dumplings as tea sweets—crisp and light on the palate with a rustic, uncommon flavor—that even Heijirō helped himself to seconds. Later, he learned they were barnyard millet dumplings—moreover, the millet had been collected from what peasants had uprooted and discarded in the fields, which she herself had dried, pounded, and milled into flour to make them.

“I’m often astonished by that child’s doings.”

In such words from Mother, there was always a tone of admiration warmly imbued.

The complexion he had thought dark had transformed into a fine-grained wheat color, taking on a lustrous, healthy roundness. Her hair had lost its reddish tinge, and her stature had grown rather taller than average. As he observed her with increasing attention, each of these transformations made Heijirō’s eyes widen ever further, captivating his heart beyond words. After pondering it many times—and having come to believe this course of action was both most natural and desirable—he broached the matter to his mother for discussion,

“If she were to become the Suzuki bride, I believe she would bring no shame to our family. What do you think?”

“Well…”

Mother had likely never imagined such a thing; at first, she seemed quite hesitant. However, upon being told this and reconsidering, she now became more enthusiastic about it than even Heijirō himself. "In any case, please make your appeal to Father." Having said that, he entrusted everything to his mother with relief.

V

It is said Father too had initially shown reluctance. "There remains another marriage proposal, but…" Thus, the matter was temporarily postponed. And when Father too consented that it would be acceptable, Mother spoke to Oishi about it for the first time. Then Oishi, without even considering it, firmly shook her head and refused. “I intend to make my living through the koto. I have resolved never to marry anyone in this lifetime.”

When asked for her reason, she answered thus: "But your koto playing remains unsuited for teaching others—did not Master Kengyō himself remark upon this some time past?" Mother spoke with startled disbelief, "Even were that not so, a woman living alone faces countless hardships—youth may sustain you, but they say solitude grows unbearable with advancing years." She then marshaled every reasoned argument and urged careful reconsideration, yet Oishi persisted in shaking her head with a stubbornness alien to her customary docility.

“I must beg your pardon regarding this matter. Moreover, I had intended to soon request your leave to visit Master Kengyō in Kyoto.” Increasingly unexpected as these words were, Mother remained dumbfounded for some time. “Is this because you have some prior arrangement with Master Kengyō?” “Yes, upon your departure from here, I took the liberty of making a request.” “So Master Kengyō deigned to summon you?”

“Yes…” Oishi bit her lip tightly and looked down. “I thought it unthinkable.” As Mother recounted the entire sequence of events, she glared like someone who had been betrayed. “I won’t speak of the care provided until today—there was never such an intention from the start. But were there any human feeling, such a refusal would be unthinkable. Were that all, it might be acceptable, but to have secretly made such arrangements with Master Kengyō behind our backs is beyond the pale.”

“There’s no sense in getting so upset. Let’s wait a little longer and see how things develop.”

While calming his mother, Heijirō considered trying to speak directly himself once. However, before that opportunity could arrive, Father suddenly collapsed—having fallen ill at the castle, he was brought home by palanquin but remained unconscious, passing away after three days of illness. Even amidst grief, Heijirō realized that someone had done something irreparable. It was that Oishi’s background had ended up never being discovered. At the time of her initial adoption, he had merely stated “She is the orphan of an old acquaintance”—he had never told even Mother whose child she was or from where she came. Heijirō had tried asking about it indirectly two or three times, but he had merely said, “I will speak of it in due course,” and ultimately the opportunity never arose. But perhaps something might be found among Father’s belongings. He had clung to that faint hope, but between being swept up in funeral preparations and handling affairs like family succession and assuming Father’s official duties, he found no opportunity. Moreover, scarcely had the mourning period ended when Oishi finally left the Suzuki household to depart for the capital. ……It must have been Oishi who requested it—Master Shōhaku, her national studies teacher, came and persuaded Mother and Heijirō,

“She has expressed her desire to continue scholarly studies alongside the koto. Fortunately, there resides in the capital a scholar named Kitamura Kigin, with whom I have maintained cordial correspondence for some time. Should I make the request on her behalf, he would likely provide assistance. Given Lady Oishi’s aptitude for national studies, depending on circumstances, she may well establish herself in this field.” In the plain-spoken manner characteristic of an elderly scholar, he entreated them: “Please grant her wish.” Heijirō thought matters had already passed the point of return. Mother too had no choice but to resign herself. Yet how bitterly she must have regretted it,

“I’m sick of thinking about that child anymore—let her do as she pleases.” She repeated these harsh words over and over, yet her face clearly showed a look of sorrowful dejection. Undoubtedly, this was more sorrowful, painful, and regrettable than had her own flesh-and-blood daughter rejected her.

Even so, as the day of her departure for Kyoto finally drew near,

“Because she’s a child with no family.” Saying this, she prepared summer and winter clothing, purchased and arranged meticulously prepared tools, and when the time came for departure, even did her hair herself. “Once you’ve settled somewhere, please send me word.” At their parting, Mother wept as she said this, “The world is harsher than you imagine—you never know when or what kind of sorrows you may encounter.” “Since you are as much a daughter of Suzuki as any, when such times come, swallow your pride and return home; I shall always be waiting here with open arms.”

Oishi did not cry; she merely kept her slightly ashen face bowed, offering faint "Yes, yes" in response.

To Heijirō, she already appeared as one whose heart was no longer present here; and he felt resentment on his mother's behalf, finding himself unable to muster the will to exchange words.

……And thus Oishi left for Kyoto—with unbelievable ease, as if a traveler rising from an inn after but a single night’s stay; unencumbered, she departed the Suzuki household.

VI

Heijirō required considerable time to forget Oishi. Only after her disappearance did he realize how indispensable she had been, how profoundly necessary she was to him. Having gone so far as to propose marriage, his feelings were naturally more than mere simple affection. Yet he had never imagined she would leave behind emotions so deeply rooted and intense. From her days as an awkward child through her beginnings in poetry composition, from that first moment she caught his eye at Matsui’s garden banquet to her figure grown familiar through countless dawns and dusks—the myriad heartfelt gestures in unnoticed corners of daily life, even the taste of millet dumplings—all now surfaced in memories more vivid and immediate than their original occurrences. How could someone burrow so deeply into another’s heart yet depart without lingering attachment? In unbearable helplessness—memories stirred by every object and incident—Heijirō even let slip such feeble sighs. Come to think of it, he’d never learned her origins—realizing this one day, he meticulously examined his father’s belongings. Yet nothing served as a clue. Discovering a diary from his father’s youth, he painstakingly deciphered its eye-straining script but found no mention of Oishi. He drifted through days in vacant bewilderment, chasing after vanished traces like one pursuing the memory of a departed bird.

He married in the spring of his twenty-seventh year. Since Mother was lonely and urged him to marry, and as there was no particular reason to refuse, he wed the sister of Matsui Rokuyo, with whom there had been discussions during his father’s lifetime. Some time after the wedding celebrations had concluded, when Rokuyo came to visit and they drank together,

“Do you remember that flower-viewing event from some time ago?” he said with a laugh, “To tell you the truth, that was arranged so you could meet Sode. Didn’t you realize that?” “Hmm…” Heijirō recalled the resplendent scene from that time—and within it suddenly caught a glimpse of Oishi’s visage—but there was no longer any heartrending sorrow, and that visage had already faded into a hazy, ephemeral impression. He let out a deep sigh and poured sake into Rokuyo’s cup.

A warm, quiet married life—though unremarkable—had begun. The following year, their eldest son was born, and a year later, their eldest daughter came into the world. Sode had a bright and straightforward disposition, leaning more toward enjoying lively affairs. Her figure was plump, her face always lit with smiling eyes, and she constantly radiated vibrant energy around her. However, after conceiving her third child, her health began to decline; in the autumn of her sixth year since marrying—still carrying the July child within her—she passed away as if in a dream. ……For Heijirō, this was no small suffering—he was crushed, his heart darkened. “It seems I am ill-fated in marriage,” he said to his mother—a lament that surely included Oishi as well—and at that moment, Mother surmised he would likely never remarry again.

Time carries away all things; no sorrow, however profound, no pain, however intense, remains unhealed by its passage.

In a different sense from Oishi’s case, the death of his wife had been a devastating blow, but fortunately his mother remained robust and took charge of raising their two children; meanwhile, his ceaseless duties eventually restored Heijirō’s footing. ……After that, there was little left to tell; just as his mother had surmised, he never remarried. There were quite a few who urged him to remarry, but he always declined with a smile. He had his stipend increased on multiple occasions and suffered from stomach trouble that left him bedridden for about half a year—if one were to record such events, these would be the extent of what there is to note.

No—he encountered an unexpected calamity just once: when at thirty-two years old he had been appointed chief attendant to Lord Uemon-no-suke Tadaharu, heir to the feudal lord, he faced false accusations from those envious of his promotion and underwent a formal inquiry before assembled senior retainers. Though the matter—groundless rumors about his personal conduct—was swiftly resolved, the cunningly fabricated slander left even him, who had no recollection of any wrongdoing, momentarily startled. Yet from then on, he came to be entrusted with greater responsibilities and was counted among Lord Uemon-no-suke’s most indispensable vassals.

In this way, Heijirō turned fifty. Tadayoshi had already passed away, and Tadaharu had been appointed to Junior Fifth Rank as Uemon-no-Taifu. He had become a karo five years prior and was considered a central figure in domain administration, but that autumn, while returning from official duties in Kyoto, he encountered an entirely unexpected person in an unforeseen place……When he arrived at Chiryū Station—now just three ri from Okazaki—he recalled the nearby famous site known as the "Yatsuhashi Historic Ruins." He had long wanted to visit at least once, and fortunately, his duties concluded early, leaving ample time for his return to the castle. Thus, he dismissed his attendants from that point onward and set out alone to tour the area.

Entering the eastern stretch of the coastal highway and following a narrow path overgrown with grass—said to have once been part of the Kamakura Road—he came upon a moss-covered marker stone at the edge of a pine grove in a place called Ushida Village. Following that guidepost and turning left, when he crossed the hill where pampas grass was beginning to head out, beyond the ripened rice fields flowed the Gūsaigawa River. ……The place called Yatsuhashi—so named because eight bridges spanned the river’s diverging streams—now evoked a passage from *Tales of Ise*: “sitting beneath the trees along that shore, he recited…” As these words surfaced in memory, Heijirō’s heart seemed filled with nostalgic reverie. After circling a small pond in the hollow of the hill—said to be the former site where rabbit-ear irises once grew—and viewing landmarks like the Narihira Mound, he grew somewhat weary. Spotting a solitary, weathered residence nearby, he decided to visit its gate to request a brief rest. Within the brushwood fence, an ancient pine spread its branches magnificently, while the not-so-spacious garden was entirely overgrown with bush clover and pampas grass. Sitting in the shade of a tree by that shore’s edge—comparing himself to the passage that says “sitting beneath the trees along that shore, he recited”—he opened the lattice door and stepped into the garden. There on the veranda was someone who turned toward him: a middle-aged woman with bobbed hair.

“I am one who has come to view the remains of Yatsuhashi. Though abrupt, might I trouble you to allow me a brief rest?”

When he made this request, the woman rose gracefully to her feet. "Please do take a seat," she promptly arranged seating there, "I must apologize for the disorder, but please do not hesitate to make yourself comfortable…" As Heijirō entered, he thought the woman’s figure seemed somehow familiar, but upon reaching the veranda’s edge, he halted in astonishment. And in a voice that rose without his realizing,

"Could it be Lady Oishi?!" he shouted. The woman widened her eyes and looked toward him, but— "Ah."

She let out a quavering voice and sank to her knees as if crumbling away.

Seven

The waning light of dusk cast a melancholy glow upon the paper-paned doors. Over twenty-five years had now unfolded between Heijirō and Oishi since their parting, and the matter-of-fact voices of those who had entered middle age had already continued for nearly an hour.

“If it’s been twenty years since coming here, then you haven’t stayed long in Kyoto after all.”

“Yes…” “What connection brought you to settle here?” “It was through Master榁’s kindness.” “And ever since then, you’ve remained unmarried and worked as a koto instructor, I take it?” “No, I’ve never taught the koto even once.” Having said that, Oishi smiled,

“I have been teaching the children around here reading and writing.” “Was that the wish you had when leaving home?”

At those words, Oishi lowered her eyes. Heijirō was gazing intently at her brow. Then, suddenly adopting a solemn tone, he called out to her as Lady Oishi.

“……I am fifty years old, and you have passed forty. I believe we have reached an age where we might speak truthfully to one another. Lady Oishi—why did you leave that day?” “………” “Was refusing what I so deeply desired and Mother earnestly wished for merely to hide away in such a place and become a temple schoolteacher? Lady Oishi—I wish to hear the truth. You will tell me, will you not?” An evening breeze must have risen—through the old pine in the garden came intermittent soughing sounds. Oishi remained silent and bowed her head for a long time, as though straining to hear the sound, then finally spoke in a voice that seemed to withdraw inward.

“……Oishi was a daughter who could never become your wife; no matter what, she could not have become your wife.” “What is the reason for that?” “I am the daughter of one who incurred Lord Tesshō-in’s [Tadayoshi] wrath and died after being sentenced to grave punishment.”

“Such a thing...” “I will speak truthfully—Oishi was the daughter of Koide Kojūrō.” The name Koide strongly shocked Heijirō, and he vividly recalled the secret affairs of the domain once discussed in the Matsui family garden and the cause of Kojūrō’s death he had heard then. “……My father overheard that Lord Uemon no Tayū was of noble lineage. With his uncompromising disposition, he repeatedly humbly offered remonstrances to our lord. The rumors were likely baseless—when he spoke improperly about matters of bloodline, he incurred severe wrath and was commanded to lifelong house arrest as grave punishment. At that time, my father rejoiced: ‘If the purity of the lord’s lineage is proven, my own fate matters not. Thus may I repay even one ten-thousandth part of the grace shown in elevating this rōnin.’ Having said this, he committed seppuku to atone for his disrespect.”

“……”

“As a samurai’s death,Oishiconsidersitutterlywithoutshame—yeta grave crimeremainsa gravecrime.Weresheto becomeyourwifeandherlineagediscovered，itcouldimperilyourfamily’shonor.Nomatterwhatmightcome,sheresolvedshecouldneverbeyourbride.”

Oishi cut off her words there and gently pressed the corners of her eyes with the fingers of one hand. This confession struck Heijirō’s heart with great force. He stared wide-eyed at Oishi’s face, but soon shook his head and spoke these words reproachfully:

“I did not know whose child you were or your circumstances—Mother herself had never heard of it either. Father said nothing and died leaving no evidence behind—there was no risk of anyone ever discovering your lineage.” “That may be so.” Oishi nodded softly, “It might have remained unknown as you say—but I had to consider even the slightest chance. If it stayed hidden, all would be well—but what if it were discovered? Even if others remained unaware, I myself knew full well.”

That’s right—he could not deny that. Heijirō recalled the calamity he had faced at thirty-two. He recalled the time when, due to someone’s slanderous accusations, he had faced interrogation by the elder retainers—if at that time he had taken Oishi as his wife. And if Oishi’s lineage had been discovered—contemplating this, he found no words to refute it, quietly lowered his head, and closed his eyes. “Then—if those circumstances had not existed—would you have become my wife?”

“I came to know of my circumstances at thirteen years of age—it was then I first read my father’s final testament. With my childish mind, I repeatedly admonished myself: ‘You must not dare love Lord Heijirō.’ When I reflect upon it now, it was truly such a childish thing.” Having spoken thus far, Oishi rose and brought from the inner room an object wrapped in purple silk cloth. “Do you remember this?”

As she said this and unwrapped it, he saw that it was the jade paperweight he had once been entreated to lend her. Oishi met Heijirō’s fervent gaze with a soft smile. “Instead of declaring my affection, I wished to receive this cherished item of yours as a lifelong keepsake.” “Then…”

Heijirō said in a parched voice. “Oishi... You endured such hardship.” “Yes, I endured it through all these years.”

What an unwavering heart she possessed! Fearing that even the slightest misfortune might befall her beloved’s future—this single apprehension led Oishi to cast aside her own happiness. Now that years had tempered her and passion no longer burned as in youth, she could plainly state, "I suffered a great deal." Yet how must she have felt in those days—untouched by worldly storms, when pure love was the very breath of life—as she relinquished her own joy? Though unaware of it themselves, men are ever sustained by such women’s hearts. Heijirō murmured inwardly with a bowed head.

“It seems to have grown quite dark.”

At length, Oishi turned toward the window.

“If it would please you, might you care to stay? After all this time, I would offer my humble cooking, and I should like to speak of those days when I was called Sumimaru.”

“Ah, such things did happen indeed.” Heijirō said in a voice that seemed choked with emotion.

"That was so long ago." The sliding doors of the veranda and windows had already taken on the deep hues of dusk, and wind rustled ceaselessly through the old pine tree in the garden.