Chapter XXXIV

At Cape Shiori, Fusahachi vents his spleen;

Near a haystack, Inuta averts a crisis

Having seen Genpachi off as far as the back gate, Bungobei now turned and entered the inn, but the one who had departed occupied his mind with misgivings; and now, faced with Shino’s illness, he could not but think that “I am sore beset on ev’ry side.” His heart within his breast was restless, and he kept his body busy making plain rice gruel in a little pot, boiling it, although the day had grown so boiling hot already with no wind to break the heat, and so he thought perhaps a cold-remedy might yet be better than plain hot water, and thus he brought some out of his stores, with a medicine-pot, and made an infusion, carefully measuring the water in a teacup, a cup and a half a day did he spend standing up for this and sitting down for that, but when he offered the medicine and gruel, Shino had no mind to eat. He would not place his hand upon the chopsticks, nor swallow the medicine. Then Shino grew suspicious as to why Genpachi had not visited his bedside for so long. “Whither has he gone?” he then inquired.

Bungobei could not dissemble now. He reported what had happened, and Shino, hearing it, sighed and said, “But he is wounded, too. Both of us should be concealing ourselves from view. How reckless of him to venture so far. What will he do if something should befall him? And to make an old man labor in such heat, when metal will boil as easily as water—I do what I would not yet cannot help but do, and heavily it weighs upon me.”

Indeed, his solitary worries seemed to pierce his breast, and Bungobei could not bear to watch it. He attended now close to Shino’s pillow, now stepping back; the old man’s hands unaided cared for him, but could not compass round the summer sun; yet finally it began to sink; ’twas late in the hour of the sheep.¹

Bungobei mopped up beads of sweat with a piece of linden-cloth that was never dry. He thought a little breeze might do some good, and so he withdrew to the outside of the house and bared his shoulders. He wiped his back so strenuously with his towel that he might as well have worn it, then he rubbed his chest, before passing his arms again through his sleeves, and all the while he was preoccupied. “Ah, Kobungo, I grow tired waiting for you. What can you be doing all this while? I wish you long life and a temper to match,” he muttered, walking toward the gate to look out.

Just then he heard loud footfalls approaching. He wondered if it might be—but he looked, and it was not; rather, it was a messenger from the Estatesman, of the type he thought they called a foot-servant. He stopped before the inn and bawled, “Is the master of the Konaya in? His Lordship the Estatesman requires him immediately. Let him come at once!”

“Bad timing,” thought Bungobei, but he returned the man’s gaze unperturbed and said, “A talkative fellow, are you not? So you have a summons from the Estatesman—you well know none of my serving-girls are here, since I let them all have home leave, as is the custom. My son went to the beach last night to adjudicate a quarrel and has not yet returned. I have no one to watch the inn for me if I leave. Pray, tell him I must be late.”

Hardly had he spoken when the messenger glared at him and said, “Such a lax attitude will not do. It is no concern of mine whether you have anyone to watch the inn. I was told to bring you, and if you were not at home, to find out where you had gone. Now come with me.” And he peremptorily sat his bottom down upon the threshold.

A great uneasiness filled Bungobei’s breast, and he thought, “If the Estatesman is summoning me, might it not be about this? Or that?” He considered and then replied, “Well, then, I suppose it cannot be postponed. Wait a moment, and I will go with you.” So saying, he stood up and went inside, hurriedly opening and closing the sliding doors as he went, to allow the man no glimpse within.

Going to the room where Shino lay, he whispered to him that lo, thus-and-such had happened. “The Estatesman’s house is only a mile or so from here. If I go quickly and come back right away, I can be here before the sun has gone down, and Kobungo is sure to return in the meantime. Medicine and hot water are here on the banked coals next to your pillow. I am afraid I must ask you to be alone here for a time, restricting as it may be for you.”

Shino propped up his pillow and listened with knitted brow. “There is no inconvenience to speak of. If the village head has summoned you, may it not be on my account? Oh, how long shall I covet my life, which illness makes so unreliable? Happy it is that Genpachi is not here now. Were he to come to hardship from his connection to me, he would have no recourse but to slit his belly and die. Take my head and absolve yourself of the crime of collaborating with me—I pray you, take it!”

Bungobei would not hear of it, but busied himself allaying Shino’s fears. “Say not such abhorrent things! ’Tis no rare thing, living in a village, to be summoned by the Estatesman. As an innkeeper, I have my guest-register inspected two or three times in a month. This must be something of the sort, unless it is a stray splash from the quarrel at the beach. Now, rest easy and recuperate, and stop imagining things.”

With that, he stepped out of the room and picked up a hand-redyed silk jacket, which he carried, still folded, in his left hand, while with his right he picked up a pair of bamboo-sheath sandals; these he tossed down from the veranda. “Let us go, then,” he said, climbing down into them. The foot-servant rubbed his eyes sleepily, yawned and stretched, kneaded his arms, and then stepped outside ahead of Bungobei. The latter next lowered the three screens at the front of the inn, pulling sliding doors up to their edges to cover what the screens did not, and then allowed himself to be led in a hurry to the home of the Estatesman.

Meanwhile, Inuta Kobungo had gone in the night to the saltmakers’ beach, where he made inquiries until he ascertained the nature of the quarrel; finally he dispatched a man to Yamabayashi Fusahachi in Ichikawa to discuss the matter of an accord, but the man returned and said, “Fusahachi is not at home. I could not find out where he has gone.”

Kobungo therefore sought to mollify both sides for a while until the next day came, when he again dispatched a man to Ichikawa; Fusahachi never came, though, and so Kobungo was forced to leave the settlement of the dispute for another day. He had the wounded Ichikawa men loaded onto stretchers and sent them back in the company of several men from his own village; by the time this was done, it was past seven,² and the day of the twenty-second had been wasted.

“My father is waiting—and how fare our guests?” Never once had these thoughts left Kobungo’s head, and so when he had at last finished arranging matters he said farewell to the villagers and pursued his way home, a road that led him past Cape Shiori, a flat area lined with pine trees. It was here that a man suddenly appeared behind him and called to him: “Inuta, wait!”

Kobungo turned to face the man who hailed him: it was none other than Yamabayashi Fusahachi. He wore a robe of hempen crepe from Koshi through which could be seen the burning scarlet of the forward trailing end of his silk-crepe loincloth; a long sword with silver fittings hung low by his rump, and he had taken a black gauze single-layer jacket, folded it narrowly, and wrapped it around his sash; to ward off the sun, or so it seemed, he had wrapped a sun-bleached hand towel around his head, knotting the ends over his forehead; on his feet he wore clogs of paulownia wood with crimson thongs. It could not be told by his appearance whether he was good or evil, but his complexion was pale, and the impression he gave was of a character not at all rusticated; and he looked like Inuzuka Shino, just as Bungobei had described.

Seeing him, Kobungo smiled and said: “I see it is my Ichikawa pal! I wondered who in this world it might be. There was a little trouble following the washing of the god-bier: some of your village-men and some of mine were hurt a bit. I have spent all day and all last night sending men to summon you, enough to make a bridge ’twixt here and there, but never did you show your face. And so I broke my back for both of us, sir, and finally got things somewhat under control.”

Hardly had he spoken when the other laughed him to scorn. “Your labors have worn you out! And yet when I inquired along the way, I heard our enemies’ injuries were slight. Three of the men from Ichikawa bore heavy wounds. Why then could you not apply an equal reasoning to both parties when you separated them? You and I, milord, can keep a lid on matters such as this, as one would cover a pot of sardines; you and I have ways to keep the smell from spreading. But your judgment was one-sided. People everywhere will say that Fusahachi, fearing his wife’s elder brother, pretended not to know, yet knew full well, just what he was being forced to accept. Now you have placed upon my back a burden, in my village, that I can neither shoulder nor evade. If I die, ’tis with a stained name; if I live, I bear the insult. I never shall regain my standing if the seeds of trouble that you have resown are not allowed to flower. Consider this when you greet me,” he roared.

Kobungo was not in the slightest perturbed. “Fusahachi, your thinking is warped. If I had parted the sides with prejudice, establishing one over the other, then might you say my judgment was one-sided. I waited for you all night and all day and you never came. And yet I sent them off in such a way as to preserve your standing: there is your flower!”

Fusahachi heard him not, but started rolling up his sleeves. “Is that your excuse, then? I know full well the cause and history—you never need rehearse them o’er to me—why people mock me, treat me as if I were not a man, only the wreck of a gallant, whom anyone may do with as they please. ’Tis all because of that gala wrestling match at Yawata the other day, when I so prettily lost to you, milord, and vowed to ne’er again set foot inside the ring. Here is the result,” he said, doffing his towel and brusquely rubbing his newly shaven pate.

“Until this day my forelocks I always cherished, despite my parents’ pleas to cut them off, but look at me now, a blue-headed boy. Were I a warrior, this would be the same as throwing down my bow and arrows, finding Buddha, becoming an initiate. This trouble is a curse brought upon me by my weakness in that wrestling match, and my timidity ever since that day—I have no support even in my native village—I am crushed—’tis enough to make the Buddha quit the cloth! My marriage was arranged. If my wife leaves, then I no longer have to call you brother. Prepare to be taught black from white,” he said, accosting Kobungo.

But Kobungo would not fight. “You let yourself get very carried away. What if you shaved your forelocks off, then? The tonsure is a manly enough look. Form and essence are two sides of the same coin. To take out your resentment from the wrestling with a fistfight—what a childish thing to do! I am busy today. If you have something to say I will hear it tomorrow. Sleep on it tonight,” he said, trying to mollify Fusahachi so that he might depart.

But Fusahachi took firm hold of his sleeve. “Never try to slip out putting on airs. I shall not let you get away like that. I will have a proper greeting from you!” In his wrath Fusahachi kicked his robe up in the back, caught the edge, and hitched up his hem.

Kobungo was at a loss, and he considered what to do. “What manner of greeting can I give you that will restore your face?” he asked, snatching his sleeve from the other man’s grip.

“This will restore it,” said Fusahachi, twisting away and starting to draw his glittering blade.

But Kobungo held his elbow so he could no more than half draw it, then stared the other in the face and said, “You are confused with drink—something has sent you mad—you are not listening. If you kill a man you kill yourself. Think of your parents’ sorrow; think of your child, will you not?”

Thus chidden, Fusahachi pushed away the hand that held his elbow, drew himself up, kicked aside his clogs, and said: “Kobungo quails before the blade? I do not like you treating me as a drunk. When did you ever offer Fusahachi a drink, to make him drunk? I have thought of my parents’ sorrow, thought of my child: I have readied myself, as if my life depended on it. Now let us settle this score, once and for all.”

His voice was strained, as if it were being wrung out of his throat like beads of sweat from a cloth, glinting like his sword did as he went again to draw it, drawing close—Kobungo could not bear it any longer, and laid his hand upon his sword to draw it, but then he saw upon the edge of its guard his father’s charity staying his hand, the strip of paper that he had tied there. Kobungo withdrew his anger with his hand and said, “Fusahachi, say whatever you will. Kobungo has but one parent, and but one life; he will not risk it on such an enemy.”

Fusahachi was dumbfounded, until he suddenly cackled and replied, “You flash that lengthy sword around but when the time for it arrives you cannot draw it. Of course you cannot—your hand is stayed by little strips of paper. Well, if you are so afraid of the blade, let us test our luck with our fists, pummel each other until they are crushed. Come on, then, have at me!”

Fusahachi bared both shoulders, stamped his feet, and took up a stance facing Kobungo, but Kobungo remained standing as he was, gazing wistfully upon the paper string that bound his fingers. He folded his arms and lowered his head, avoiding the other’s gaze. Fusahachi looked around, then gave a great guffaw. “Why, Kobungo, will you not face me? Do you fear a fistfight, too, when your life is on the line? ’Tis not like a wrestling match. Big and manly you may be, but ’tis no more than the leaves of the bitter orange, or the silver melon: pretty, but unfit to eat. Were I to hit such a coward as if he were a man, ’twould dirty my fists. Chew on this instead.”

He let fly with a leg, kicking Kobungo in the shins so that he sat heavily on his rump; then Fusahachi trod, with dirty foot, on Kobungo’s shoulders.

Kobungo, with one knee to the ground, lifted an arm and caught the other’s foot in a firm grip, then turned his crimsoned countenance upon him, a glare as unendurable as all the anger that Kobungo must endure if he were not to turn his back upon the homely counsel that his father gave him, if he were not to make himself unworthy of all the trust his friends had placed in him, if he were not to break last night’s oath in shredding strips of twisted-paper twine, as he was determined he should not. His thoughts raced, but could not outrun tears of anguished rage directed both at self and other, tears he would not show—he passed them off as beads of sweat that flew when he shook his head, his hair coming loose and tangled as he averted his face, and stayed as he was.

All this time someone was hiding in the shade of the trees, watching what transpired. It was, in fact, Kantoku, the practitioner of austerities from Kamakura. Now he presented himself, a smile covering his face, and walked with a swagger up to the pair; he snapped open his fan and fanned Fusahachi up and down and side to side; he stroked Fusahachi’s back and said: “Ah, how happy, how pleasant! This is indeed the way to cleanse yourself of the shame of that wrestling match and leave yourself pure as snow. Wondrous it is, wondrous!” he said, flaring his nostrils.

Fusahachi received this praise with pride, saying, “I never should have lost at Yawata, but I suddenly suffered a cramp in my calf, and my unexpected injury was this one’s glory. Come, sir, you must have frustrations, too: take them out on him before you go. Step on him a little.” With that Fusahachi removed his leg from Kobungo’s back and lowered it to the ground, yielding to the other.

Kantoku tremulously peered at Kobungo, then took two or three steps backward, shaking his head and saying, “No, no, there is no need of that. One bite of that would burn my mouth. A cornered enemy is the most dangerous. You, milord, have done enough—you have hurt him more than a hundred kicks from me ever could. No more honor for Inuta. He will drag his tail forevermore. Let us leave this matter be and repair to that sake merchant’s to quaff a cup. Come along, now.”

To this invitation Fusahachi responded by adjusting his collar and gathering his clogs, which he had kicked aside. He then stepped up to Kobungo’s side again and fixed him with a glare. “Inuta, this is not over yet. I still have somewhat to say to you. I shall visit you tonight and say it. If you want revenge, then sharpen your knives and wait for me. Do not fail to be at home,” he cautioned him, with every evidence of hatred in his voice. Then, turning his eyes toward Kantoku, who had gone before, he strode off boldly with him toward the marketplace and the sake merchant.

After a time Kobungo raised his head and gazed with folded arms toward the heavens, then lowered his gaze again; he thought and thought but no rest could he find, nothing to banish the thoughts that stained his heart like sweat his hempen robe so deeply, deeply wretched he thought himself, as finally he got to his feet and brushed the sand from his hems, straightened his collar, and said to himself:

“Well, now, it seems all this lawless and unbecoming behavior of Fusahachi’s these past days has its roots in the wrestling at Yawata; this is why he forgets parents and self. That contests are the beginning of disputation is well known, but so, too, is it human nature to love a good name, to angle for renown. ’Tis all my fault for taking upon myself another’s dispute, thus earning my sister’s husband’s contempt, right or wrong. No matter how crazed he has become, it will not be difficult for me to knock him over again; what I cannot face down are my father’s commands, and though my sister know it not, yet still her brother’s charity shall bring safety and happiness for both of us, shall never be for my own good alone. And this is that which nobody else knows. Well might they laugh, well might they make light of me. Even I, who never lose at wrestling, can hardly hope to defeat a lawless ass.”

He sighed and ran his hands through his tousled hair, then hurried again along his former path. Hardly had he gone three hundred yards, however, when out from behind a haystack dashed eight or nine men-at-arms, catchpolls, in groups. They surrounded Kobungo, crying, “You will not escape! We shall not let you!”

Kobungo, taken by surprise, was astonished, but he shielded himself behind a nearby crape myrtle covered with scarlet blossoms. “No crime have I committed! No guilt bear I! In your recklessness you take me for another: take me and you err. Do not, I pray you.”

As he made haste his arguments to array, a voice addressed him loudly, calling, “Ho, Kobungo! Do not dispute or fight!” Then a single warrior, dressed for the field, emerged from the shadows. The Estatesman of these lands, Chitomo Dannai, went before him, and troops escorting Bungobei, bound, came after.

Kobungo stared at them, his astonishment renewed at his father’s fetters. “What can this be?” was all he could say, and without meaning to he dropped to his knees.

“Indeed,” said the warrior, standing close and facing him. “Ho, Kobungo, do you not know me? I am a member of the household of His Lordship at Koga, and he has made me head of his warriors: I am Niiori Hodayū Atsumitsu. Yesterday, due to certain circumstances, a villain named Inuzuka Shino caused a commotion in the palace. He grappled with the man-at-arms sent to capture him, Inukai Kenpachi, and tumbled from the roof-ridge of the Flowing Fragrance Pavilion into a boat that was tethered on the riverbed. He fled in it, and his tracks are hidden. Therefore I was given a stern command to arrest him. I hurried over the roads all last night, searching the water and examining the land. Not long ago I arrived at this cove, where I meant to rest myself after my long journey. I was conversing with the Estatesman, Dannai, about making private inquiries after Shino when the boat in question was found floating in the offing in Kana Cove. With some effort it was recovered, but while we had the boat, we had not the man. I thought Shino may have forced Kenpachi under the water and left him there, while he made his escape by land. If so, he may yet be hiding in this cove.

“I made my suspicions known to Dannai, and commenced a secret probe of every marketplace, village, and hamlet, which revealed that the inn of your father, Bungobei of the Konaya, was the only one to have guests yesterevening: two travelers stayed there. One of them departed this morning. The other stayed on. We have heard detailed reports that say both are warriors. Therefore I summoned the master of the inn, Bungobei, to the Estatesman’s house, where I interrogated him sternly concerning the travelers, their countenances and frames and the nature of their sojourns, and his replies were nonsensical in the extreme. To which I add my own suspicions that the traveler currently staying at his inn is correctly named Inuzuka Shino.

“For lying about it, Bungobei shares his guilt, and so we bound him tightly and placed him in the charge of some soldiers; then, with Dannai as my guide, I set out to visit the Konaya myself, that I might search the premises. But then Dannai saw you from afar and told me ‘that yonder is one called Kobungo, that is Bungobei’s firstborn.’ I knew right away I could not let you pass, and so I ordered troops to obstruct your way, to stop you, and thus we find ourselves. If you would deliver your father from his bonds then go on ahead and capture that traveler for us. If you object you submit yourself to being tied with ropes after the model of your father. Speak quickly now: conceal nothing. What manner of man is this traveler?”

When Hodayū had done expounding his point, mingling threats with cajolery, Dannai stepped forward and said, “Kobungo, you must already be aware. The master of this territory, Lord Chiba, is an ally of the one who resides at Koga Palace; we cannot be lenient in this matter without his orders. It will be difficult for you to evade accusation. But in his wisdom His Lordship at the palace has decreed that ‘we are not to disturb the districts roundabout, but we are to search stealthily, stealthily, until we capture Shino.’ Therefore even if you gave shelter to that villain, knowing he was a villain, a swift petition on your part may deliver you from accusations: we will even give you a reward. Now, I am told that Shino is distinguished by his skill at the martial arts, and unequaled for courage and strength. If you either capture him by trickery, or take him unawares, then kill him and present to us his head, we will not only loosen your father’s bonds, but we will entrust you to the gratitude of the palace. ’Tis a question of your reputation, your loyalty to the lord of this province. Your name is known through the countryside for your prowess in hand-to-hand fighting and wrestling, is it not? At a time like this you should marshal your skills and strength for the benefit of the country. Make up your mind to undertake this. ’Tis of great import indeed.” In matters of advantage to one’s name his was a skillful tongue, but one could hear beneath his words the workings of the heart that let him be the catchpoll’s tip and tail.

Everything Kobungo saw and heard told him that now was the moment when his father’s suffering, and whether or not the friend to whom he was bound would sink or float, live or die, depended on him. What could he say? He felt as if a great rock had rolled over upon him and was pressing down upon his heart. But he never let this show in his expression as he raised his head and said, “I accept, sirs, everything that you have said to me. However, after yesterday’s Gion Festival I went to the beach for amusement. I have not been home last night or today. I was on my way there just now when you surprised me with these recriminations and astonished me with these bonds in which you have placed my father. Therefore whether this traveler be warrior or farmer is something I have neither seen nor heard. Be that as it may, if you will release my father from his bonds, sir, I will serve you as your guide. I will go before you—I should like nothing better—but should this affair prove false, should there be no traveler who stayed with us last night, what will you do about the report that shall be bruited about, that our house was searched? Thin plank doors, low eaves, and a thatch roof are yet a castle and its grounds to the humble in station, and to have every corner of a house that hides poverty searched, on the vaguest of evidence, is an unparalleled shame, is it not? Insignificant I may be, but I am a man, with a name for gallantry that I value: no lamentation could suffice. Furthermore, even if this villain is lodged there, his martial artistry, his bravery, and his strength may raise a blade gale that would be sharp indeed. No matter how many you send for him, you cannot guarantee he will not escape. Of the thirty-six stratagems, deceit is the best for this case. Send your forces away and leave it to me, who will do anything for his father: I will return home alone, and if that traveler is still there, I shall capture him by trickery. And if that fails, I shall press drink upon him until he is passed out drunk, then take his sleeping head and present it to you. What think you of this counsel?”

His extemporizations, the eloquence of a talented man seeking to escape his circumstances, took Hodayū in utterly. “Indeed, indeed,” he nodded. “Your opinion, I am persuaded, has reason to it. Shino has courage the likes of which are not to be found among ten thousand others. Should he cut up my men so that once again I fail to take him, the error will be mine, for not having let sleeping dogs lie. Truly it will be hard to escape blame. Therefore let us leave it to you for a time. Do well,” he said.

Then he turned to Dannai. “Bring the likeness.” Taking it in hand, he spread it open with a rustle of paper and said, “Kobungo, this is a likeness of the villain in question, Inuzuka Shino. Be he warrior or farmer, you are to compare the traveler’s age and appearance to this sketch and, should he resemble it in the slightest, capture him by trickery. Should you be mistaken in thought or sight—should he be the wrong man—you will not be blamed. Let more local men-at-arms be mustered, that the egresses from the marketplace and the boat-landing on the river might be strictly guarded. Let there be no delay on account of this. Tonight is all I give you. When dawn breaks, tell me yea or nay. Do you understand?”

So saying, he handed the likeness to a member of his company, from whom Kobungo received it; Kobungo looked at it, then rolled it up and thrust it into his bosom. Straightening his collar, he said, “Since I do you this service at the risk of my life, I pray you release my father from his bonds now and entrust him to me.”

Hardly had he spoken, however, when Hodayū raised both his head and his voice and said, “Nay, that can never be. The law states that neither a parent to his child nor a child to his parent shall be yielded. And you—perhaps you are badgers from the same hole. I will not be taken in. Either you capture the villain Shino or you show me his head: until you have performed one of these two meritorious acts, Bungobei is my hostage. It is up to you now to save your father or condemn him. To ask such a thing now!”

Under this scolding, Kobungo abruptly lost hope. He hung his head and sighed, and had nothing more to say.

At this time the Estatesman Dannai turned to Hodayū and said, “Dusk has come swiftly. The villain may flee under cover of darkness. It is imperative that we fortify the egresses, and allow Kobungo to return now.”

Hodayū looked behind him. “Indeed, the sun has almost sunk into the sea. Kobungo, you are free for a while. If there is no lie in what you have told me, then you may perform what merit you can and report back to the Estatesman. Now go, quickly.” With these urgings he, along with the rest of the party, stood to lead Bungobei back to Dannai’s dwelling.

Kobungo merely muttered in reply, nor could he stand to watch his father leave, who seemed to have more to say than did his son; he looked back several times, and though the sky was not yet dark, a blackness gripped his heart and made him lose his way,³ though he was led like a sheep to the slaughter, aping his captors’ steps, heart fluttering like a bird⁴ in parting-grief while evening crows proclaimed somebody’s fate and their rest, their nest, was torn apart, laments filling the forest, pleas unspoken but the almighty gods knew their hearts, could see what son would for his father’s sake conceal, and father for his son’s, while one his road undeviating walked, away, the other bound to return, but lingering in thought, watching age receding, tripping, chased, until ’twas barred from him by paddy-ridges, groves thick like Wu bamboo⁵—would there were one to serve as a crutch!—he watched him disappear.

In sorrow Kobungo beat his breast and lamented. “Righteousness: that one word alone weighs heavy on me, makes it hard, when it should be easy, to loose the bonds that hold my father—and he nearing sixty! Endure these hardships yet a little while, I pray you, for how can I fail to save you, come what may? Ah, for any idea that would keep my father safe and secure, and those two besides.”

He folded his arms and pondered, as the vesper bells resounded in his heart more deeply than normal; he gazed up at the heavens and berated himself. “How like a woman I am, lost in useless thoughts. I have misgivings about home, too: how can I hesitate here?” And so he hurried along the road to his home, from which he felt as separated now as one of a warrior’s scabbards from the other, like the one in which his sidearm lay, longer than the hiked-up hem of his robe.

But as he went, he kept a sharp eye on his surroundings, thinking, “They may have set a spy to follow me.” But for this, no wherewithal of heart did he retain. And though the evening breeze was cool he was panting and perspiring as he reached his home. As he approached under the eaves he saw that the front of the inn was for the most part covered with lowered blinds. It appeared deserted, and dark inside. Only one of the sliding doors was out of the door case; he opened it and stepped inside.

“First, a light,” he muttered to himself; he headed for the kitchen, where after much searching he found the tinder box. He worried, however, that the sound of him striking a light would be audible outside, and so he laboriously transferred the flame from one lamp to another and then another. One lamp he set in front of the inn, and another he took with him to the little parlor.

Genpachi was not there; Shino lay there alone and ill. Kobungo was astonished. “What is this?” he asked. Finally Shino managed to sit up and tell him, in a thin voice much interrupted by gasps for breath, of how that morning his cuts had swollen and begun to pain him awfully, causing him suffering hardly to be born, and of how Genpachi had gone in secret to Shiba Cove in Musashi in search of medicine, which Shino had learned later, and of how Bungobei had earlier been summoned to the Estatesman’s house.

Another layer of sorrow was thus added to that which Kobungo already bore—his bitterness of heart knew no bounds—but as this was no time to tell of his father’s fate, much less Fusahachi, he comforted Shino as if nothing were amiss—he busied himself building up the fire, reheating the gruel and offering it to Shino. Shino, perhaps due to a slight abatement of his pain, had just managed to pick up his chopsticks when someone lifted up one of the blinds at the front of the inn and entered, calling, “Is no one in? Is no one in?”

Who was it? Find out in the next book, where it shall be explained.

End of Book II of Volume IV of the Lives of the Eight Dogs of the Satomi

1. Midafternoon.

2. Late afternoon.

3. Japanese poetry frequently speaks of a parent’s worry for a child as a darkness in the heart.

4. The sheep, monkey, and cock are, consecutively, the hours of early afternoon, late afternoon, and sunset.

5. An epithet for hachiku, henon bamboo, which grows to great height and girth.