The Lives of the Eight Dogs of the Satomi of Southern Fusa

Volume III, Book V

Assembled by the Master of the Crooked Pavilion in the Eastern Capital

Chapter XXIX

Twin beads switch with one another, and Gakuzō recognizes his like;

Two enemies meet one another, and a righteous servant repays their hatefulness

As Hamaji took all this in, her moans of lamentation did increase, as if reflected in a clear mirror in which she could not recognize her sire and matriarch, absent now, though Dōsetsu supplied their names in speech of such sadness that the leaves of his words were begemmed with dew, a jeweled thread that tethered her, caused her to forget, if for but a little while, her pain and suffering, fulfilling one of her wishes, if only one: she thought again upon her husband then, and of how her karma, in the end, would lead to tragedy, and this would be reward for the ill her true mother worked, and thus his corpse must lie exposed upon the moors, among the scattered thatch, as if the vows of lovers ever could thus scattered be. The windows of enlightenment for her were opened then by karma’s logic, but the bright moon shining in her breast beclouded sailed into and shattered on the mountain peaks of worldly suffering and fell, e’en as her tears, e’en as a waterfall, in a thousand strands like those that tied her to her brother now in bonds of blood, to whom she was as yet too shy to show her face, too wretched yet, too sorrowful: her breath came weakly now, fraying more the thread by which she clung to life—the end had come, she thought, and yet she wished to leave some final word—she finally raised her head—and, struggling painfully to catch her breath, said:

“You, then, are my true and elder brother? Your vict’ry o’er my very enemy, your unexpected ministrations, come at the extremity of need—we meet to part—and indeed, the shame is all that I can bear. How many months, how many years, have I for my home yearned? And now I hear of it sad tidings of my honored father’s death in battle—cold comfort that at least I know his name! How tow’ring the debt of gratitude I owe my parents for my life: I always felt my human birth should be wasted if I lived my life without knowing my true parents: how I missed them, how I mourned for them, oh, how I pressed my palms togeth’r in prayer to buddhas and to gods for them, but all for naught, and I confess this angered me sometimes. But now to have this wish of mine be granted while I yet draw breath, if only for a little while longer: is it Buddha’s charity? the darkling help of gods?

“It is my karma that my body be thus spent in joyfulness and painful grief. I thought my kith and kin were hard of heart toward me: now I know in fact it was charity that I did not deserve for Father in his ire to abandon me and never cause me to be visited, because my mother had transgressed against yours, my dear brother, and on your account. My confusion now has cleared, but clouds again close in: my tears must fall like rain: and though I, like the bagworm in its straw raincoat, cry for father, yet I know I am the daughter of a demon,¹ and I shall suffer, after death, a shame like hers. I could no longer subject myself, while in the world, to my adoptive parents’ greed and wickedness, and so I caused them some little pain, and now the fate that bound my lover to me has tragically been severed: I by him who was my enemy was taken, and once we have both alike merged with the dirt of this mountain meadow, then the world will sing of us as if we had died of passion in each other’s arms.

“But this is not the only obstacle upon my road to that darkling land, my sole misgiving. My husband is Inuzuka Shino Moritaka—a mere youth, I say—grandson to Master Ōtsuka Shōsaku, close and hereditary retainer of the Minister of the Court and former Overseer Mochiuji, and only son of His Eminence Inuzuka Bansaku Kazumori. He is the nephew of my adoptive mother, but his character is quite correct—he is a warrior of proper lineage, not unacquainted with the literary and martial arts—notwithstanding which he became an orphan at a young age, so that he was committed to the care of his aunt and her husband, who usurped the paddies and fields that belonged to him, and kept him in a deprived state—and yet he hated no one, but consigned himself to time and fate. A precious sword was passed down through his house. This was that Rainmaker. The night before he was to depart for His Lordship’s at Koga, taking with him that precious sword in hopes that he might fulfill both his father’s final instructions and his own long-held desires, his aunt and her husband, in their deviousness, colluded with Samojirō here on a false fishing trip to Kaniwa, during which his sword was purloined and switched for another, but Samojirō was not without cunning of his own, and he appropriated the sword for himself, strapping it to his own waist. Once he arrives in Koga, my husband, ignorant of all this, will be unable to explain his effrontery in not having Rainmaker.

“I wanted to take back that treasure, that sword, but in vain—I am wounded, deeply and fatally—I am like foam on flowing water that shall run downhill, never to return—I disappear, and I do not mourn that, but only mourn the name of my good husband. My only wish is that you help him now. Go to Koga straightaway and ask if he be safe, and give to him his precious sword: do this, and he will bear you boundless gratitude. When I think of my birth mother, ’tis hard for me to ask these things of you, although you are my brother, and yet where else can I turn? Accomplish, then, I pray you, this that will occupy my heart when I am gone. Great shall be your charity, compassion, virtue! Oh, this alone is all I ask, I beg, of you! Hear my pleas, I pray you, my brother, my lord!”

Her voice grew hoarse delivering these words, weak like insects on a frosty night, for every phrase she spoke was followed by a spurt of blood that she could not repress.

Dōsetsu heard her out, then sighed and said: “Shall I, too, spurn tenaciously my younger sister, because of what passed between our mothers? Your dying request, motivated by thoughts of your husband, is something I should not refuse—but it is an affair of your house, a private thing where I am concerned, and I may not pursue a private matter before avenging my lord and sire. For months have I schemed for a way to visit my anger on their enemy, Ōgigayatsu Sadamasa, but no hope have I had of him; and now, mysteriously, this treasure, this blade comes into my hand. I will take it and with it draw close to my enemy, and once I have accomplished my design, if life yet remains to me then I will inquire after the welfare of your husband, this Inuzuka Shino, and if I find him safe, I shall return Rainmaker to him. But my fate cannot be relied upon: therefore I cannot undertake with any certainty to do this. If I die at my enemy’s hand, then this longsword will be claimed by him. If I am to forget myself for the sake of my lord and sire, how then can I spare a thought for my sister’s husband? Rectitude, chastity, constancy, and righteousness: these are the Way for women. Loyalty, fidelity, filiality, and righteousness: these are the Way for boys, and a courageous warrior’s firmest intent.”

As he thus assailed her with reason and argument, Hamaji began to lose hope. “Then no matter what I say … ?”

“I cannot undertake this charge, unless it be after I have killed my enemy.” His answer was as firm as his heart was hard.

Suddenly a seizure gripped her chest; she gave a final anguished cry and breathed her last.

Dōsetsu blinked rapidly. “She was a sister the likes of whose constancy and chastity are seldom found, and only a willful warrior could have resisted what she said in her extremity. At least let me put away her corpse now, that she might be spared torment in that darkling province. Now, then,” he said, hoisting her in his arms and lowering her into the crematory pit.

He threw in what remained of the brushwood kindling; the night wind stirred the sleeping coals, and once again a blaze leapt forth. The rising smoke conjured images of evenings on the moors at Toribe,² and his laments were stronger than before. He watched a while, then pressed his hands together in a prayer: “That which is visible is as froth, impermanent; Amitabha has means expedient; concentrate on intoning His name; know instant enlightenment; Amitabha Buddha, Amitabha Buddha.”

Having thus prayed for her repose, he somberly rose to his feet, and then stood as if lost. He could not leave, but sighed repeatedly and muttered to himself, “When a priest ends his life by building a fire and burning himself in it, they call it self-immolation. In our realm, the priest Chōmyō of Mount Togakushi immolated himself on the moors of Toribe, while Ōshō of Mount Nachi in the province of Ki also accomplished his own end by self-immolation: so it is recorded in the Book of the Sakyas of the Genkō Era, in the twentieth volume, ‘On Acts of Endurance.’³ I used self-immolation recklessly to deceive the foolish folk, to further the great good I would do. Now the karmic consequences of that have manifested themselves before my eyes, as I am become the cremator of my younger sister’s body. Oh, in what village shall I die? In what meadow shall my bones be buried? Nothing is assured in this world in which we huddle: whether we go soon or late, in the end we are but smoke rising from the peaks of the Beimang Mountains.⁴ How vain it all is!”

Then he raised his eyes to the heavens. “The hour has grown late while I uselessly moan. I must cross this hill quickly.” With that, he hitched the famous blade to his waist, so that it rode horizontally, and began to stride away.

Gakuzō, peering at the scene from behind, had overheard every word of Hamaji’s and Dōsetsu’s dialogue. Moved by the fiery display of rectitude, chastity, and righteous valor, he could only sigh, but he thought to himself, “If I burst upon them now, I may be of some comfort to the virgin in her final hour, but her brother will suspect me, and crimp our conversation. Far better for me to hide and listen.” And so he had not emerged, but continued to hang on their words.

Now, however, seeing that the sword Rainmaker, once purloined by Samojirō, had fallen into Dōsetsu’s hands, and that the latter meant to use it as a means of approaching his enemy, and had therefore refused Hamaji’s dying words, Gakuzō was flabbergasted. He said to himself, “Master Sadamasa is a great enemy. Dōsetsu can expend his last breath in the cause, and still ’twill be no easy thing to visit his hatred upon Sadamasa. If he is killed, the sword will be lost. And even if he does strike down his enemy and subsequently chooses not to go back on his agreement, but returns that precious sword to Mister Inuzuka—even if that day comes, it will come too late to stave off imminent danger. It would be profitless, like refusing water to a crucian trapped in a wheel-rut, then coming back to the market days later looking for dried fish. Oh, but I have misgivings about Mister Inuzuka’s safety. Should I announce my name and purpose, beg openly for the sword? He refused his own sister: why then would he give it to me? No: I shall engage him, defeat him, and take it back.”

Thus decided, he clenched his arms and peered unblinking at his mark, who, having already committed Hamaji to the pyre, now tied the longsword Rainmaker to his hip and made as if to depart.

“Halt, villain!” cried Gakuzō, darting in a flash out of the shade of the trees. He grabbed his opponent’s scabbard by the butt and thereby dragged him backward two or three paces.

Astonished, Dōsetsu whirled around, whipping the scabbard about so as to shake off Gakuzō’s grip and draw the blade himself—but Gakuzō held the sword horizontal, and as the two grappled it became apparent that neither was superior and neither inferior in either skill or power—it was a bout between braves without an inch to separate them—each fastened his grip on the sword and pulled, grunting and stomping, kicking up gravel and tramping down weeds—they were two tigers fighting in the mountains, two raptors quarreling over meat, and no telling when it would end—and somehow the long cords of the amulet pouch that Gakuzō always wore next to his skin became entangled with the cords of Dōsetsu’s longsword, thoroughly intertwined, and then in the course of their mutual challenge the cords snapped, so that the pouch now hung from Dōsetsu’s waist.

Gakuzō reached for it, and in doing so he inadvertently loosened his grip, so that Dōsetsu shook himself suddenly free, drew the longsword, and raised it to strike. “I accept!” cried Gakuzō, drawing his own blade. With a clang and a crash the two swords met—the air rang with their blows, the clearing was lit by lightning-like sparks—now one had the upper hand, now the other. As each well-tempered stroke fell it was brushed aside, jumped over—one pulled back and the other lunged forward, one pressed on and the other gave way—which was superior, which inferior? Could one choose between Fan Kuai breaking down Hong Gate and Guan Yu crossing five barriers?⁵

The heavens were filled with the moon’s shadowless light, the earth was filled with the glow of the crematory pyre: in spite of the midnight hour all was bright, and still they confronted each other, neither losing his will or his footing, neither making a move to leave; Dōsetsu’s belligerent sword swipes Gakuzō received and deflected, only the tip of the blade occasionally grazing his arm and producing a flow of blood that Gakuzō never minded—instead he returned blow for blow, and in the sharp gale of blades, the tip of his sword penetrated deep beneath the shoulder padding of Dōsetsu’s torso armor, slicing open the lump on his shoulder—black blood spurted, and there must have been something inside the lump, for an object now flew out like a grasshopper and bounced off Gakuzō’s chest—he would not let it get away, but caught it firmly in his left hand, even as with his right he wielded his sword, weaving with it a tight web of steel with which Dōsetsu must needs reckon. Dōsetsu received the blows, blunted them, and then raised his voice to say:

“Ho, there! Wait a moment! I would speak to you. You are exceedingly accomplished at the martial arts. I have a great desire for vengeance. Why should I vie to the death with one who is only a minor enemy? Step back a while!”

Hardly had he finished when Gakuzō with flashing eyes replied, “I see you know my strength! If you value your life, give me that treasure-blade Rainmaker and leave this place immediately. Who do you think it is who says this to you? I am Inuzuka Shino’s sole friend to the death, Inukawa Sōsuke Yoshitō. Your name I heard—you are Inuyama Michimatsu, an initiate of unshaven head, Dōsetsu Tadatomo—now return to me that sword!”

He spoke in wrath, but Dōsetsu scoffed at him drily, saying, “Shall I yield this longsword to you before accomplishing my great desire, when I would not to my sister?”

“Then shall I not take it from you? Hand it over, quickly!” With these words he once again pulled Dōsetsu near, swung him around—Dōsetsu danced and lunged and chopped with his sword—Gakuzō deflected with his left hand, countered with his right—then Dōsetsu seized an opening and leapt into the firepit—with a sudden puff of smoke he disappeared.

Where he had gone there was no knowing. Gakuzō could not pursue, and with a groan he lowered himself to the ground to peer about, then raised his gaze to the sky and said, “He must have utilized the Fire Escape technique to get away—what a pity. But what is this I have in my hand, that flew out of Dōsetsu’s wound? How peculiar.”

He held it up to what remained of the firelight and studied it. “How mysterious! ’Tis a bead, in luster and form no different from the pair that Inuzuka Shino and I have kept secret, ours reading ‘filial piety’ and ‘righteousness’—this one says ‘loyalty.’ Now, now, this is a weird thing.”

In his astonishment he turned his gaze to it again and again, reflecting, until all at once a realization struck him, and he grinned. “Upon consideration, it seems this Inuyama Dōsetsu is fated to be part of our league, in the end. Is it not prodigiously strange, subtle and marvelous, that the amulet pouch in which I had secreted my bead became entangled with the sword at his waist, and that the bead that came from within his flesh came unexpectedly into my hand? Such a lot of uncanniness! Judging by this, I think the time must come when both my bead and that precious sword return.

“Be that as it may, I still have the most severe misgivings about the outcome of Mister Inuzuka’s endeavors in Koga; and yet, even as these things seem to have been karmically connected, so, too, must he find darkling help from the gods where he is. For no matter how much my thoughts are with him, it is forty miles from here to Koga: I cannot inform him instantly. I shall hurry back to Ōtsuka. Some course of action will present itself, I trow. I had thought to make false wounds upon my body, but now I have scrapes enough. Is this, too, a blessing from mysterious spirits?”

Having answered his own questions, he wrapped his wounds in cloth, and then once again gazed mournfully at the firepit. “Even so, Lady Hamaji, your stalwart heart, your constancy and righteousness, move me deeply, even painfully. Daily I concealed from you my true feelings—but now you are dead, surely your spirit must linger. Should I be reunited with Mister Inuzuka, I shall tell him all about your steadfastness at the end, that you might make firm your vows to be reborn as man and wife on the same lotus blossom in some future world. Receive these words of mine as an offering, and go toward that chamber where you will be free of all attachments. Hail Amitabha Buddha.”

Having thus prayed, he started to withdraw, but as he did so he tripped over Samojirō’s corpse. He peered at it, then nodded to himself, drew his blade, and lopped off Samojirō’s head. He hacked a place for it on a hackberry tree that stood nearby, then whittled away at its trunk; after this he took his writing brush from the quiver where he kept it and, busily wetting it with ink, wrote, This is the evildoer Aboshi Samojirō. He stole a sword that a certain person had kept secret, abducted the maiden Hamaji, and here, enraged that she would not yield to him, he assassinated her, for which Heaven has punished him accordingly. To this he added the year, month, day, and hour.

With that, he stowed his brush quiver on his hip. “Writing this should prevent it being bruited about erroneously that theirs was a death of lovers: my only offering to a constant woman,” he said to himself.

Now with quickened pace he cut across and down the slope to the Koishi River, where the Komagomi temple bells tolled nine for the levels nine of the pure and holy land of Buddha, where e’en the warrior in his prime who never genuflects unto him sees rewards and reincarnation manifest before his eyes: such sights and sounds he knew as he continued onward, westward, like the Waters of Paradise, o’er hill and dale toward the wave-cut paddy-paths of the Hell of Crimson Lotuses, the Village of Ōtsuka.⁶

We leave him to rejoin Hikiroku and Kamezasa, who had sent all their people out to “find and stop Hamaji and Samojirō,” even dispatching Dotarō, who had visited them at an opportune moment. Having thus arranged for the pursuit of the pair, Hikiroku and Kamezasa said to themselves that “there is an eighty or ninety percent chance they will bring her back—are they back yet?”

And so they stood and watched, or sat and watched, but though they waited no word came back to them. The couple’s breasts were roiled like the strand upon which waves beat ceaselessly, their hearts distracted as if buffeted by gales that seemingly would like to scatter e’en the blossoms from a coiffure ornament. Against this wind regrets could never stand, and yet not to regret would be in vain, a gesture empty as the summer-ready parlor stood, open to the breeze that stirred the flames on candles down whose sides, in steady drip, rolled waxen tears, but even seeing these, they found themselves dispirited too much to cry—“An hour tonight, oh let it last, for once, a thousand years” their only prayer, as every human sound that passed without caused them to start and ask “if they have brought Hamaji home?” In vain they hoped and stepped outside to look, or else they wondered if “Hikami comes,” and could not bear to peek between the doors, such chill did clutch their spines; they did not notice though the soup in the kitchen degenerated into mere water, or when the grilling fish had been reduced to charcoal: their minds were elsewhere. They did not eat, but felt no hunger; they were nearly jumping up and down, not for joy but for anxiety; they wore their hempen robes reversed, their trousers twisted in the back, and never knew.

While they were thus occupied, the nineteenth-night moon climbed high in the sky: the hour of the boar arrived at Hikiroku’s, and with it the Lieutenant Hikami Kyūroku, accompanied by the go-between Nurude Gobaiji. They wore matched sets of hempen formal robes, but as the wedding was to be secret, they had drastically reduced their escort: a single servant went before, carrying a lantern, while two junior vassals and two sandal bearers followed after. They stopped at the gate and hailed the inhabitants; the master and his wife were flustered unto helplessness.

Kamezasa, having misgivings about their readiness to drink with the guests, hurried to the kitchen, where she roused the women, who had been standing around in a stupor. She ordered them quickly to stoke the fire and stir the coals. The furor that ensued requires no description.

Meanwhile, Hikiroku, answering them with a “Hail, hail,” replenished the candles in the study and, picking up a broom with trembling hands, gave the room a sweep. Then he burst into the entry hall, where the ceremonial dais was, and welcomed them, saying, “I am abashed with gratitude for your visit, which came so much quicker than I had looked for. Please, come with me.”

He led them into the study, where Kyūroku and Gobaiji bowed and they all settled themselves in the seats for master and guests. Congratulatory phrases were offered, as well as felicitations on continued health despite the heat, but when the greetings had come to an end, there was no one to offer the guests tea. Their gazes on him, Hikiroku clapped his hands loudly and called, “Bring cups this instant!”

His repeated urgings met with replies, but the tea was slow in coming. A full hour it seemed they waited until Kamezasa herself appeared to place before them a shoal-shaped cup tray,⁷ from which she reverently proffered them cups while two girls set down raised-edged trays and began serving hot soup from a beaked kettle. Kamezasa drew herself back and offered her sincerest gratitude to Kyūroku and his companion. The way she spoke, and indeed her complexion, were both unusual, highly irregular—she had slathered white on her wrinkled visage, and to this she had added, in the vicinity of her nose, a dotted line of soot from the kettle. Unaware of this, she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes to toady most loquaciously; discomforted, Kyūroku and Gobaiji pretended not to see, and stifled their laughter. Hikiroku, turning to look at his wife’s face, also elected to say nothing, although he thought it wretched; he urged her to “go away, go away,” but Kamezasa would not listen. Reverting to her normal expression, she chattered away.

In this way the exchange of pleasantries between guest and master came to an end. Each removed the lid from his bowl to find that the soup was miso, while the meat within it was catfish in round slices, accompanied by young burdock in slivers. The repast was rustic, but so savory and delectary that, if taken in time, it would itself have been cause for celebration. Such were Kyūroku’s thoughts as he picked up his chopsticks, followed a moment later by Gobaiji. But when the latter had sipped the soup and picked up a piece of the fish, oh how pitiless! It was no catfish, but a blackened and soot-stained scrubbing brush that had been placed within his bowl. “What is this?” he said, dragging it with his chopsticks to the edge of his tray.

Hikiroku and Kamezasa were in a tizzy of astonishment. “This is wrong—no dish to set before Your Honor! Our incompetent servants have outdone themselves this time. Our mortification is inexpressible—please forgive us.” Thus apologizing, they replaced the tray and quickly disposed of the scrubbing-brush, blaming everything on the kitchen-folk, blackening them with their own shame—but Kamezasa herself had prepared the bowls, so she had no one to scold, and a pall fell over the entire company.

But the host’s duty to yield drink to his guest never ends, and as Kyūroku at last seemed likely to accept another cup, Kamezasa stayed close beside him, making the girls pour for him; Kyūroku seemed to topple under their solicitousness, but drank less than half of what was given him before choking, collapsing, and flinging the cup from his hand. He was overcome by a mighty coughing, and gave every evidence of great suffering.

“How now?” asked Kamezasa, approaching him from behind and rubbing his back. Hikiroku offered hot water, and while Gobaiji joined in nursing him, Kyūroku wiped tears from his eyes and spoke.

“Whether it be part of your ceremonial, or in some other way connected with the ancient traditions of your house, I know not, but I think it unfeeling of you to serve me scalding vinegar to drink.”

He was enraged, and Hikiroku and Kamezasa were stupid with fear. They pulled the beaked pot closer and sniffed it: indeed, it was filled with vinegar. Ashamed at this doubled and trebled evidence of their maladroitness, they cursed the womenservants, but Kamezasa had personally prepared this, too—there was no one she could blame—and now the couple ground their foreheads, clammy with sweat, into the floor mats, and all their speech was apologies.

Even Gobaiji was discomfited by the sight, and made a special effort to mend the situation. “’Tis a late hour for a banquet: the kitchen must be a horror of confusion, and this is bound to bring mistakes. There can be no better entertainment than to learn that the new bride’s illness has slackened, and that she is unscathed. As for this second bit of hastiness, sake and vinegar are not dissimilar—even in color they are the same. Surely it is better than my scrubbing-brush? Is there anything at all in this to concern Your Eminence, to disturb your magnanimity? Let us pass around this cup and then repair to the nuptial seat, as is proper.”

This coaxing went some way toward calming Kyūroku’s wrath, and he again picked up his cup.

Rejoicing, the couple caused the pot to be exchanged for a new one, and for a variety of relishes to be furnished with the sake that they now proffered. Through all of this the summer night, in all its brevity, drew on until the midnight hour arrived, and still they had not produced Hamaji. This greatly irritated Gobaiji, who uttered frequent reminders of his master’s purpose, to the ever-growing consternation of the couple.

Finally they begged Nurude to come to their side and Hikiroku said to him, “Every last thing is now in order for the nuptials, except that Hamaji has been suffering from an oppilation in her chest since early evening, and we are utterly at a loss as to what to do about it. We sent men running to find a physician and beg him to come to her, but ’tis night. Not only has no physician arrived, but none of the men we have sent out one after another like planks in a bridge have yet returned. We are sick at heart. But it is only an oppilation, and will surely go away before too many days have passed. Wait a little longer, we pray you.”

Hikiroku’s whisper was delivered with every indication of sincerity, but Gobaiji would have none of it. “There is no call for that. This wedding was agreed to with full knowledge that the new bride was ill. What reason can there now be for postponing it until tomorrow? If there is no lie in what you say to me, then pray, show me to her bedroom. I shall diagnose her condition. How asinine!”

His voice naturally rose as he raged, and Kamezasa beside him was pained, disturbed, and so, bereft of means to escape the gathering, she tugged at her husband’s sleeve and said, “We cannot hide it any longer. Tell them—lay it out in the open, and then apologize. It is our best course.”

Hikiroku groaned. He patted his armpits, which were soaked in cold sweat, then composed himself to speak. “Master Nurude, Your Eminence, I beg you, resume your former seat, and I shall dispel all your doubts.”

Gobaiji was seized with terrible misgivings, but he did as he was asked. He went back and sat down.

Now Hikiroku twisted his body into another bow and spoke: “How can I dissemble with Your Lordships, in all your wisdom, sitting above me like this? Hamaji absconded earlier this evening.”

His two listeners would not let him finish, but raised their voices in astonishment and anger. “Absconded, you say? And you think that settles the matter? You sent her into flight—did you not?—that you might marry her to Inuzuka Shino, or whatever you call him. Or did he lead her away? Now, bring her back immediately! Or will you refuse to hear such a command, now that you have pled her absence? Bring her back! Return her!” As one they advanced on their knees, then got to their feet.

Nevertheless Hikiroku braced himself thoroughly. He raised his head, which until that moment he had kept lowered, and said, “Indeed, sirs, though you have not heard it all, the affair does justify the exorbitance of Your Honors’ anger—but please, deign to listen carefully to all I have to say. As for Shino, we have already spoken to you of that matter, and indeed to rid ourselves of him we, as husband and wife, racked our brains and broke our backs, all in secret, until we had hatched a plan to send him far away. How could he have led her astray? No, our only suspicions—and they are not unreasonable—fall upon a drifter in the vicinity, Aboshi Samojirō. We have only just heard that he suddenly sold off all his property and absconded. He must have enticed Hamaji out. When we learned of this we lost no time in rousting out our men and sending them off in pursuit, but they have not yet returned. However, we have also procured the services of a man named Dotarō of Dota, who understands the situation, and since we have pursuers covering every path and byway, someone is sure to bring her back by morning. If I lie, then you may remove this white head from my shoulders: I shall not begrudge it you. But may it please you, Your Honors, to stretch a point and wait a while yet.”

He and Kamezasa both used every phrase they could dredge up from their brains—they told the truth, in an earnest and conciliating manner— but Kyūroku’s and Gobaiji’s vulpine suspicion was not appeased, and in their wrath they spoke sharply. “This is fishy. You have rigged up an explanation, but it is a tissue of lies. Why should we listen to it? You say Samoji led Hamaji away, yet you have no proper evidence. Be her lover who he may, any parents who, having once accepted a dowry for her, let their daughter run away share her guilt, and let us interpret this to mean it shall not go well for them. From the beginning you were greedy for gifts. How skillfully you deceived us! Will you deny it? To serve boiled water is service indeed, but at what banquet is boiled vinegar drunk? Would you have us bite into a scrubbing brush, and call it entertainment? Is there another village headman who would toy with those who have authority over him as you have done with this gross dereliction? Nor is this all: the other day you lied and said Hamaji was bedridden with a cold, while tonight you say she has an oppilation. You have hemmed yourself in with hogwash! If you will not produce Hamaji, then see what we have for you!”

From right and left they came, loosening their swords in their sheaths and loosing a stream of abuse, the force of which caused Hikiroku and Kamezasa to blanch even paler than before. Their spirits all but fled their bodies, and the only thing they could say, through chattering teeth, was, “Quite reasonably spoken, sirs! You are right, truly.” The girls on hand to pour were so scared they could stay no longer.

Eventually Hikiroku quieted his breast enough that he was able to reach behind him for the sword he wore at his side. He placed it before Kyūroku and Gobaiji and said, “My two princes, if you would have your doubts dispelled, look at this blade. This is the sword Rainmaker, that the former Overseer Mochiuji, Minister of the Court, bequeathed to his lordship Shun’ō. Shino’s father Inuzuka Bansaku, when he was besieged at Yūki, stole it and made his escape, and in the end he gave it to his son. I knew of this, and so the other day I formulated thus-and-such a stratagem and lured Shino to Kaniwa, where I switched blades with him. I had thought to present it to the House of the Overseers, but let it be a surety now, and think of it as a gift that shall be yours as groom when Hamaji returns. Let it testify to Hikiroku’s sincerity.”

He spoke fervently, and held out the sword for them to see. Kyūroku’s expression softened somewhat. “Have you any proper proof that this blade is Rainmaker?”

Hikiroku smiled. “Perhaps the Lieutenant does not know. The marvel of Rainmaker is that when it is unsheathed, it immediately emits droplets of moisture from its tip, and when it is wielded with intent to kill, this water scatters in every direction, just like a burst of rain. I have already tested it. What doubt can there be?”

Kyūroku nodded. “Indeed, I have heard something or other to that effect. Let me have a look,” he said, picking it up. Kamezasa trimmed the wick of a candle and held it close; Gobaiji pulled another candlestand to him and shuffled forward on his knees, saying, “A chance to see a famous sword I have only heard of—I count myself lucky! Quickly, quickly.”

Kyūroku responded to these urgings by whipping the blade out of its scabbard and holding it up to the flames. Everyone’s gaze was glued to the sword, but stare as they might, no moisture appeared.

“What is this?” Kyūroku said. He examined it this way and that, but saw not a drop of water. Finally he grew annoyed, and began swinging the blade about mightily—it struck a pillar behind him, so that the tip of the sword bent a little.

Gobaiji observed this at once, and scoffed. “Heavens, what a magnificent sword! It emits no moisture at all—as if it were forged in fire, of all things!”

Kyūroku’s enraged countenance grew yet redder, and he fixed Hikiroku with a glare and cursed him. “What gall! You blackguard! Who would mistake such a strip of lead as this for Rainmaker? Decrepit old fool, you have mocked me one too many times. On your guard!”

Kamezasa was thrown into a tizzy. She squeaked, “Say what you will, sir, I saw water spilling from it just the other night. What can the matter be?”

Kyūroku would not hear her out, but thrust the blade into the floor mat and then proceeded to push it away from him, bending it. When it was as curved as the handle of a kettle he pulled it out again and said, “Will you yet quarrel?”

Then he and Gobaiji—who were drunk, and prone to act as drunken people do—brandished the swords they wore so proudly at their hips and pressed forward. “Oh my,” cried Kamezasa, going limp and helpless.

Hikiroku was simply dumbfounded—he tried to apologize, but had no words. “Now who can have foiled my ingenuity and left me with this fake? Was it Shino, or that cursed Samoji? It must be one or the other,” he thought, but it was too late to explain away his own failure by blaming another, and so, filled with trepidation and shame, he quickly got to his feet and tried to flee.

But Kyūroku’s rage grew ever greater, lending him the courage that comes from the blood. “Stop, thief!” he called, and as he drew his blade it flashed like lightning. He struck once and slashed Hikiroku’s back so that he fell to the floor, face up.

Kyūroku went to strike again—the blade glittered again—but beneath it was Kamezasa, who had tumbled and rolled until she lay before him, clinging to his shins with all the might an old woman could muster.

Gobaiji, seeing this, leapt into the fray. “Out of the way!” he cried, grasping Kamezasa’s bound hair in his left hand and trying to pull her off of Kyūroku—when she would not release her grip, but called for help, he said, “Then I shall cut off your breath at the roots,” and he drew his blade—snicker-snack, he pierced her shoulder to a depth of four or five inches.

Kamezasa could not endure such a deep wound for even a moment. “Ah!” she cried, as Kyūroku kicked her away. She fell backward.

Meanwhile Hikiroku had been throwing kettles, dishes, and pots. Now he stepped on the bent blade and straightened it out. He defended himself with it for a while, but his wounds were such that soon it was difficult for him to move.

“Take this!” cried Kyūroku and Gobaiji, pummeling the couple in their weakness like the falling upon them of a curse. The couple’s voices were hoarse with pain; Kamezasa writhed in the tide of blood like a turtle dragging its tail through the mud; Hikiroku crawled on all fours, lost, seeking an escape, like a toad chased by a snake; seven times they tumbled, eight times they fell, but still they clung to life; still they struggled to escape.

Just then Sesuke returned, having failed to overtake Hamaji and Samojirō. He was alone, the first to come back, and as he came in through the back gate he looked into the kitchen, then tried the room next to it, but found nobody except the four or five members of Kyūroku’s escort who had become intoxicated on celebratory sake and now napped in the attendants’ antechamber. Well might the place be deserted, for the women had all fled in terror after hearing the clash of blades, but how was Sesuke to know this?

He made his way along the porch, thinking to report back to his master, and then opened the sliding doors to the study. Gobaiji’s blade flashed in his face, and before Sesuke could give a shout, his right temple had been sliced open. He stumbled backward, fell, and then hid himself beneath the porch, enduring his pain in silence.

Kyūroku, meanwhile, continued to give vent to his rage, dealing Hikiroku several wounds, tormenting Hikiroku as the fancy struck him, while Gobaiji slashed at Kamezasa’s shoulder again, stabbed her in the thigh, and gave her more than her full quota of suffering. Both alike were cut down and each was given the finishing stroke.

At this point Gakuzō, having redoubled his pace since leaving Marutsuka, arrived at his master’s house and saw that the double folding gate had not been barred, though it was the middle of the night. “I do not understand,” he thought, pressing on. Inside, there was no sign of anybody, until he heard a sound as of something falling in the study, and someone groaning. Astonished and suspicious, he quickly slipped off his sandals and ran to see what the matter was.

He discovered the master and his wife, cut down by foes that Gakuzō had, these past few days, come to recognize as the Lieutenant Hikami Kyūroku and his subordinate Nurude Gobaiji. Each had climbed onto the chest of his victim to pull out his blade and wipe it off, and now as they went to flee Gakuzō cried “Aha!” and blocked their way. “Whither would you run, sirs? A lowly servant of his I may have been, but how can I let you leave, when my lord wants avenging?”

They interrupted him, fixing him with a stare and raising their voices. “You take your life in your hands, fool. We have executed the village headman for behavior insulting to the Lieutenant: as his servant you should be afraid of being held jointly responsible, but you go bawling about vengeance. Odd! Well, you will keep him company,” they scoffed.

Haughtily they slashed at Gakuzō with their blades, but he dodged so that their blows fell on each other—then he deployed his fists—he clutched both men’s sword arms so that they could not move them. Then, looking from one to the other, he laughed them to scorn.

“If the Estatesman has transgressed, then ascertain his guilt in a court of inquiry. It is not inspection season: your midnight visit was for the purpose of drinking. Even the lowest of servants is subject to the five eternal verities.⁸ What law tells me to let my master be killed and to whimper while his enemies go free? Let us have it out and see which of us is the man. He who says this to you is Gakuzō, a menial on a level with the children of the Estatesman’s servants: I may be an unworthy adversary, but meet me anyway!”

As he said thus he thrust them away with matchless daring and strength of thew—both men were bowled over, and their arms where he clutched them had lost their pulses—they felt altogether crushed, but both thought to themselves that “even if I run, he would not let me get away,” and so from either side they again attacked, without even a cry. But Gakuzō ducked and flitted beneath their blades, drew the sword he wore at his own waist, and gave battle to them both.

His need for it now differed as good does from evil, but it so happened that the blade Gakuzō now gripped was that given him by Kamezasa the night before with a charge to use it to kill Shino. It was a fine sword that had seen Ōtsuka Shōsaku Mitsumori through his many battles. Its master now was by nature a champion such as is rarely found in the world, and now he marshaled all his self-taught skill at the martial arts, and in accordance with their principles he gave his adversaries such a bitter struggle, exhausting every secret technique at his disposal, that they could not last ten exchanges with him.

Kyūroku tried to flee, and Gakuzō cut him down with a blow that sliced him straight down from his shoulder along his nine vital points, like splitting a tube of bamboo, and on the upswing Gakuzō poked Gobaiji smack in the brow. “Ah!” screamed Gobaiji; he tried to run away, but Gakuzō had no intention of letting him.

Just then, however, Kyūroku and Gobaiji’s escort, having been awakened in surprise by the second round of sword clashes, came running in from the garden. A look told them that Hikami had already been cut down, and now they saw Nurude, already bearing many wounds, trying to flee to the outside—he tripped on a stepping stone and tumbled to the ground some distance away—clearly he could not escape unassisted, so two of the young retainers were forced to draw their swords as one and step between Gakuzō and Gobaiji. Meanwhile Gobaiji’s two or three other servants picked him up—one on his shoulder, another holding an arm, another his legs—and ran off toward his residence.

But Gakuzō was like a raging tiger starting a flock of sheep: in the blink of an eye he had cut down the two young retainers so that they fell to either side. He resumed his pursuit, but just as he reached the heavy-linteled gate, his path crossed that of the menservants of the house, all returning together, having failed to overtake Hamaji and Samojirō.

When they saw Gakuzō trailing his bloody sword, these men were astonished, and raised a considerable commotion. They were carrying six-foot poles, and immediately they held them horizontally, lining themselves up so as to fence Gakuzō in. They would not let him proceed, and in fact forbade him to move. Some asked what had happened, others cursed him and said, “Drop your blade and let us tie you up,” but none did anything but gabble at the top of their lungs—not one took a step forward.

Gakuzō could not understand why he was being restrained by the menservants, and he turned his wrath on them, but they were after all on his side, and so there was little he could do. Gobaiji was escaping, but “I should be hard pressed to catch him now even if I kept up the pursuit,” thought Gakuzō, and so he wiped his bloody sword and put it away, and then turned to the gathered men and told them all about the violent deaths of their master and his wife, and how he had avenged them upon their killer Hikami Kyūroku. Gakuzō led the men to the study, where they were all struck dumb with amazement, and none could think of what to do, what was right and what was wrong, since fear of being held jointly responsible for the killing of the Lieutenant had sunk them all into a fugue.

Then Gakuzō spoke again, saying, “I, too, do not quite know what has happened here, as I myself only returned from Shimōsa late this evening. My arrival coincided with the cutting down of the master and his wife, and you can see the rest. Since Gobaiji made good his escape, with dawn will come troops from the castle, to inspect. If it comes to it we shall bring suit in a court of inquiry, where I shall simply give every detail of this act of vengeance. What happened this evening is no concern of yours. For better or worse, it will all be upon Gakuzō’s head, so you must not lose yours. I am aware that the women panicked in their terror and disappeared. Find them and gather them back here, I pray you. If even one is missing, suspicion will descend upon her. It is of the utmost importance that you understand this.”

As Gakuzō elucidated matters, his gathered listeners were overawed by his good judgment. They came to consider him quite reliable.

When he had finished composing this section, the Author was so reckless as to praise himself, saying, I have indeed rewarded good for good and evil for evil. Kamezasa lacked filial piety, and furthermore she was licentious, to add to which Hikiroku was exceedingly unrighteous and mercilessly cruel: the gods were angered at them, and people hated them. It was a case of wickedness and greed joined together as husband and wife. Therefore they had no child to inherit their household, and no friend otherwise to aid them. Because in their great avarice they were never satisfied, for all their grasping, their torments never ceased for even a day. Finally their evil fates were sealed: having brought pain to so many hearts, their own plotting plotted against them, and in the end they were subjected to uncommon shame and were slaughtered by Kyūroku and his companion. And yet, happily, there was Gakuzō. Alone, he had the courage of righteousness to plow wickedness under and pluck up evil. Oh, how righteous was Gakuzō! Though he served in the house of a corrupt official, yet he was as pure as a lotus in the mud. How well he compensated for his master’s wrongs by scheming for Shino’s good. His master lacked benevolence, but he was his master, and Gakuzō never spoke hatefully to him on behalf of his mother left dead in the snow, he never forgot his own debt of gratitude for the sustenance that kept him tethered to this dew-like life. Now in avenging them he has used the sword entrusted to him by Kamezasa and left to her by her father Shōsaku, and in doing so he has followed to its end the way of the servant, even unto not refusing to wear the fetters of blame. Ah, how wise is Gakuzō! Well might he be counted among the loyal.

1. Section 41 (“Mushi wa…”) of Makura no sōshi discusses the sadness of the bagworm. According to the author, the bagworm is the child of a demon that abandoned it, leaving it a rough cloak and a promise to return in autumn, which is why in autumn the bagworm makes a cry that sounds like “father, father” (chichi yo, chichi yo).

2. Toribeno was the part of eastern Kyoto where, historically, crematories were located, and was thus remembered in poetry.

3.Genkō shakusho, completed circa 1322, by Kokan Shiren.

4. Beimang was a royal burial ground near Luoyang.

5. Two legendary heroes, one from the beginning of the Han dynasty and one from the end. Fan Kuai was a general in the service of Liu Bang, eventual founder of the Han. At the famous Hongmen feast, where a trap had been set for Liu Bang, Fan Kuai burst through a gate to save his master. Guan Yu was a general in the service of Liu Bei, eventual founder of the Han successor state Shu Han. In Sanguo yanyi, when Guan Yu learns that Liu Bei is being held captive, he crosses five fortified mountain passes to reach him.

6. The wordplay in this passage links together a number of Buddhist landmarks in Koishikawa. Denzūin, a prominent temple, which was founded near a well called the Waters of Paradise. The nearby Hondenji contained an icon of Acalanatha (J. Fudō) known as the Namikiri or “wave-cutting” Fudō because of a legend that it had once quelled stormy seas. The Hell of Crimson Lotuses is one of the Eight Cold Hells of Buddhist cosmology.

7. A stand of an irregular shape meant to suggest an island or beach promontory.

8. That is, the virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and fidelity, and the necessity to display them.