Chapter XXIV

The intermediary Nurude persuades the Estatesman;

The deceiver Hikiroku goes fishing at Kaniwa

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Hikami Kyūroku’s fancy had been caught by the Estatesman Hikiroku’s daughter Hamaji. Kyūroku could not extinguish the flames of desire that arose from his ardent love for her. Sleeping and waking, she was always in his mind, and soon his manner recklessly revealed his innermost thought— “if only there were a suitable go-between.”

His subordinate, Nurude Gobaiji, whose goal was power and profit and who stinted at no flattery in their pursuit, checked to see that no one was about, and then said to Kyūroku: “When a man has something on his mind it shows in his face, and when it shows in his face then another man may know it. I have already guessed Your Honor’s intentions from your expression of late. Surely they have to do with Hikiroku’s daughter, that girl Hamaji. Were she the daughter of nobility or a great minister, then would she be beyond your reach—but she is the daughter of an estatesman under Your Honor’s rule. How can it be a matter worth exercising yourself over? If you would have her to wife, I shall serve as go-between. I have but to give Hikiroku a word from Your Honor and he will gladly accept. What think you, sir?”

Kyūroku grinned at these whispered words. “Things are indeed as you perceive them to be, milord. And yet, Hamaji is Hikiroku’s only child. Furthermore, I hear he has already betrothed her to someone. He cannot easily accept me. This is what I have been thinking about, but I can come up with no solution—I did not think to be suspected by you, sir.”

Gobaiji inched forward on his knees. “Your Honor is too considerate. Hikiroku is an estatesman under your rule: it is entirely at Your Honor’s discretion whether he advances or is deposed. What if she has been betrothed? Let them alter that immediately, that she might make this marriage with you. If Hikiroku delays—if he chooses to be confused—he invites his own destruction. Once I have explained to him how he stands to gain or lose by this, he will go along with us, without fail. Rest easy in your heart, sir,” he said with haughty insistence. Kyūroku’s joy was unalloyed, and the very next day he sent seven or eight servants to Hikiroku’s residence privily, bearing all manner of presents, with Nurude Gobaiji as his go-between.

Thus it was that Gobaiji arrived at Hikiroku’s residence and sat down face-to-face with him, whereupon he told the Estatesman of Hikami Kyūroku’s fervent desire for matrimony with Hamaji, expounding on his theme with earnest advice. Hikiroku quickly responded by saying, “I must first discuss this with my wife, but in any case I am at your service.” With that he withdrew.

He finally returned a little over an hour later to address himself to Gobaiji, saying, “I have made it clear to Hamaji’s mother that you wish to act as a go-between, and for whom. Indeed, as her parents our cup of happiness, as well as hers, brims over to learn that His Eminence Lord Hikami, to whom we owe so much, so keenly desires Hamaji to wife that he dignifies us by sending a go-between. In spite of that, however, there is a difficulty. It is one Inuzuka Shino, a nephew of my wife Kamezasa’s whom we have raised, for such-and-such a reason, since he was very small. We have contracted with him to marry him to Hamaji and adopt him as heir, yielding unto him my office and stipend; many witnessed the agreement. It was never our wish to have Shino as a son-in-law, nor is it Hamaji’s wish. The villagers were so insistent that we could not avoid it. Therefore let us first distance Shino from us, and then we shall be at your service to accept your offer.”

Hardly had he spoken when Gobaiji gave a scornful laugh. “You speak gibberish! Even granting that things are as you say they are, upon hearing all this it seems to me you are trying to appeal to both sides. If you are not lying about your desire to be bound to the Hikami clan by matrimony, then give me a definite answer now: it will not then be too late for you to separate yourself from that prospective son-in-law of yours. Unworthy I may be, but I am an official at the castle. In my capacity as go-between for the Lieutenant, I can hardly convey to him such nonsense as an answer. It is up to you to remove this confusion. Darkling punishments come swiftly. Who knows what might happen should you fail to make a decision now?”

Hearing this threat, Hikiroku abruptly grew pale, and could make no answer for the chattering of his teeth. Finally he returned to his senses and, with a sigh greater than he had intended it to be, said, “There is reason in what you argue, Lord Nurude. Incompetent and idiotic though I am, how can I refuse such a match for my irreplaceable daughter? I simply thought I should mention that such an obstacle presents itself, and that it may not be such an easy matter to rid ourselves of it discreetly. And yet to do so is worth the pains it costs us, not only for the sake of my child and her parents, but, in the long view, for Lord Hikami’s sake as well. I pray you, milord, let this matter of the marriage be kept secret until then. I would never disregard your words, milord.”

At this Gobaiji softened his expression. “I understand what you mean to say. Your speedy acquiescence helps me, too, to retain face. Now, as sudden as it may appear, the Lieutenant, aware that this is an auspicious day, has sent me with various items to present to you as a dowry.” So saying, he handed Hikiroku an inventory of said items. Nurude’s junior retainers were standing outside, and at their master’s signal—he cleared his throat—they began carrying in the gifts, arranging them one by one on the veranda in such profusion as to make the space feel small.

Hikiroku’s heart leapt within him as he surveyed the dowry—he could not refuse it—he wrote out a receipt and handed it to Gobaiji. He then summoned a servant to bring a cup to celebrate with, but Gobaiji hurriedly restrained him, saying, “If we indulge in a celebratory drink now, before we have removed that obstruction from our path, it will immediately be known throughout your household, and our plans will be more difficult to carry out. Then, too, Lord Hikami is no doubt on tenterhooks awaiting me. I shall enjoy your hospitality some other time. For now, I will depart.” He arose.

“I see,” replied Hikiroku, unwilling to detain him. He touched his forehead reverently to the floor, and then, saying, “Your Lordship’s hasty departure pains me no end: I shall indeed hold my hospitality in reserve for a future visit from you,” he led the way to the wooden-floored entry hall, all the while bowing as low as his namesake the toad, elbows wide, looking up at his guest.¹ They each the other complimented with “a thousand autumns and ten thousand years,” and then the father of the bride, who stayed, and his go-between, who left, did separate like the bones of a spreading fan on which the sudden sun of th’approaching dog days did shine, while those retainers whose job it was to lug the chest praised the blowing breeze and hastened on their way after their master.

Having seen his guest off, Hikiroku went back inside, where he found Kamezasa, who had been eavesdropping the whole time. Now she heaved aside the paper door and set about counting the various presents, nodding over each. She smiled and said, “What a splendid dowry.”

Hikiroku raised his hands—“Your voice is too loud! People will hear. Suffer neither Hamaji nor Shino to know of this. Cover these things with a large bath-cloth, and do it quickly, will you not? And you, stand guard over them a little while. I shall carry them into our plastered-clay storehouse and hide them in the long chest. My, my!” he said, excitedly.

While Kamezasa busied herself fetching several large cloths and covering the dowry with them, Hikiroku tucked up the hems of his trousers and rolled up his sleeves. They would not show their daughter the tokens of her betrothal; they alone in the auspicious breeze would sway like the whips of the willow-barrel, scarlet-lacquered, filled with sake; her mother alone would rejoice in the kelp (whose native name means “to spread” like blessings should²), in the dried squid, and in that greater treasure, the bonito stock, although the value of these things was small. What especially drew their attention was the silver, brighter than any ornamented white-maned ramie—and there were twenty pieces of it, bare. Besides this there were five bolts of silk, and what, from the exposed end, might have been twill or might have been brocade—there was no time to unwrap it and see. If only they had a platform of pale wood to display it all on, they thought wistfully—lacking one, they could not let it sit here. Trip after trip did Hikiroku make into the storehouse, both arms full each time, and though these things were theirs the couple felt like thieves—they worried that they would be seen—each time he asked, “Has no one come?” and she made answer, that “No one has come”—like parrots, or cappers of verse. Then, finally, amidst much bending of backs and wearying of feet, the dowry they had hidden well away.

It was a long summer’s day, and the servants had dropped off to sleep here and there, while Hamaji was alone in her closet, pressing her newly washed garments. Shino had left earlier to worship at his family cloister, and had not yet returned. Gakuzō, and Gakuzō alone, must be around somewhere, they thought; when Hikiroku, having finished moving and hiding the items, looked for him, he found him sitting in the room next to the guest parlor, the collar of his singlet open wide as he plucked at fleas.

Thus it was that when evening came the master and his wife lay in their bedchamber whispering about the engagement and discussing plans for ridding themselves of Shino. Kamezasa, lying on her stomach with her arms resting on her pillow, said, “I am not a god, so could not know that such a happy thing awaited. My thoughts had proceeded in a different track: I heard that Aboshi Samojirō held a position of favor and influence in the Overseer’s house, and that he received a bountiful stipend. Because of thus-and-such a circumstance he has become masterless, but with thus-and-such in prospect, he is to be recalled to Kamakura before very long: so he himself says. I came to know, from the way he looked at Hamaji, of his passion for her, and hoped that, as he is a finer man than is commonly seen in these parts, Hamaji must finally come to forget her feelings for Shino and desire a connection with Samojirō, to which end I extended somewhat of compassion toward him—not to teach him any mischief, but with the thought that, when he is reinstated, there should be profit in it for us, proportionately. It was a course of action whose ultimate outcome could not, of course, be relied upon, but even so it seemed to me that there could be nothing better than this as a weir to dam up the way between Hamaji and Shino, as our eyes could not always be upon them, that her affections might be transferred like a tracing from its original, that Aboshi, like a trawler in a bay, might tie his net to Hamaji as to a she-pine on the shore.³ But my hopes were misgiven: now is he, too, become an obstacle. A fine specimen of a man he may be, but he is after all but a starving, masterless samurai, and whether he be recalled to service or not, he could hardly be said to equal His Lordship the Lieutenant, whose puissance rivals that of the lord of the castle. I have done a thing regrettable.”

As she clucked in frustration, Hikiroku sat up and folded his arms. “It seems to me, upon thorough consideration, that Hamaji is not like other girls today. She is what is commonly called honest to the point of simplicity. Having in her mind taken Shino as her husband, she will not fail to be true to him. Judging by her character, I cannot imagine that any amount of tugging at her sleeve by Samojirō could cause her aspirations to shift. Nevertheless, you have doubtless seen or heard more than I. Have you noticed any signs that Hamaji has formed a connection with Aboshi?” he asked under his breath.

Kamezasa shook her head. “Nay, Aboshi’s feelings are directed toward her, but Hamaji seems not to think of him at all. She does not forget her connection to Shino. Last autumn, when Nukasuke was in his final decline, I happened to glimpse Hamaji leaving Shino’s room in haste. Ever since then I have been on my guard, the daggers of my eyes unsheathed, to keep her from approaching so near him again, but it may be that they have already given themselves to each other. In any case, it is only Shino who stands in the way.”

Hikiroku sighed. “Oh, how I regret betrothing Hamaji to Shino—I did it against my will, only to escape the peasants’ importunacy. How truly do we call the mouth the gate that lets in suffering. Let our gate’s cypress grow fifty feet this year, or e’en a hundred, yet it cannot match the tow’ring urgency of the Lieutenant’s demands, which we cannot forestall. So what shall we do? We must lose Shino, and speedily, and make circumstances easier for us hereafter. There must be some way of doing it,” he said, furrowing his brow and bowing his head.

Time passed; the cries of the mosquitos clinging to the netting mingled with the calls of distant temple bells—three times, four, six, seven—until all within the house were quiet, and the midnight had arrived.

After a time Hikiroku raised his head and beamed. “Kamezasa, have you no ideas yet? I have conceived a marvelous plan,” he said.

Kamezasa sat up. “What is this marvelous plan of yours?” she asked, turning her ear to him.

He pulled her closer and spoke. “Shino is, I have been thinking, quite a sensible youth. No plan can be effective against him without some pain in the implementation of it. The former Overseer, the Minister of the Court Nariuji, is of the lineage of Bansaku and Shino’s masters: our plan may take this into account. Now, then, the Minister of the Court Ashikaga Nariuji is the son of Mochiuji and the younger brother of Shun’ō and An’ō who were struck down long ago after the fall of Yūki Castle: Nariuji, in the spring of the fourth year of Hōtoku,⁴ when he was still called Eijūō, was given a special dispensation by the Shogun in Kyoto, that he might return to Kamakura and become the sixth Overseer. And yet there was no love lost between him and his chief ministers the Overseers regent, Lords Ōgigayatsu Mochitomo and Yamanouchi Akifusa; indeed, lord and retainers assailed each other for years, until at last, on the thirteenth day of the sixth month of the fourth year of Kyōtoku [also called the first year of kōshō],⁵ Nariuji went to the province of Shimōsa, his palace at Kamakura having been burned, and moved into a house that he had caused to be prepared for him at a place called Kumaura in the district of Sashima in Koga. He pronounced it the Koga Palace. Then in the fourth year of Bunmei,⁶ Lord Yamanouchi Akisada sacked the Koga castle, and the Minister of the Court Nariuji, ruined, was driven to take refuge in Chiba in that same province, where he depended on Chiba Yasutane, Lord of Mutsu. This year [bunmei 10],⁷ however, councils have been held reconciling him to the two Overseers, and he has been reinstalled in the castle at Koga, a fact it has been impossible to conceal from general report.

“I propose to use these circumstances to deceive Shino in thus-and-such a way, to lure him out to the Kaniwa River. Do you go in secret, during the day tomorrow, to where Samojirō lives, and recruit him to do so-and-so. If this plan succeeds, that precious sword Rainmaker shall come into our possession. This plan will be one that involves some pain, and will not be easy to implement, but how else are we to outwit such a formidable adversary? Once we have that precious sword in our hands, we can instruct Gakuzō to do thus-and-such, in order to do away with Shino on the road. If all goes according to my plan, then I make no doubt Samojirō will have something to say once we have given Hamaji to the Lieutenant to wife, but it will be a simple matter, should he be so mad as to challenge authority by seeking to hinder us, to appeal to Lord Hikami to have him arrested. The only difficult thing is Shino. You must not let him know.”

Thus did he lay before her his thoughts. Kamezasa, having heard them, exclaimed, saying: “Truly, it will be a dangerous feat, precarious as a cloud, but you have been an accomplished swimmer from your youth. Now that you are older, you may not be what you once were, but if you bribe the boatman for his aid, surely nothing can go wrong. It will be my part to enlist Aboshi. Speak not of it again, for I understand you; with this everything will finally fall into place. With the Lieutenant for a son-in-law your puissance will rival that of the lord of the castle, to say nothing of your sway in the villages. What a pleasing prospect!” She pressed her palm to her mouth to prevent her joyful laughter from spilling o’er.

By the time they finished their conversation, each in turn taking the other’s ear, the summer night was well on toward dawn: both Hikiroku and Kamezasa were so fatigued by their lusts that they made pillows of their forearms and dozed, without ever meaning to sleep.

Thus it was that the following day, late in the hour of the sheep,⁸ she lied and said that she was “going to visit the village Acalanatha Hall.” Instead she went out the rear gate, alone and recklessly, and sneaked to Aboshi Samojirō’s residence. She stood outside and peered in: his calligraphy pupils had already gone, and his singing students had not yet arrived. The master was leaning on a pillar meant for that purpose, playing his flute made from a single segment of bamboo. Seizing the moment, Kamezasa entered.

Samojirō saw her and immediately stopped playing. “This is a rare privilege! What wind can have blown you here today? Come, come,” he said, spreading for her straw cushions on which designs of flowers were woven. He pressed her to take the seat of honor.

Kamezasa beamed as she spoke. “Nay, I have things I would discuss with you that may not be entrusted to messengers. I came here today alone and in secret that I might have the benefit of your wisdom. Take a care for those beyond these walls.”

Aboshi took her meaning and lowered the blinds in the receiving room. He offered her a seat farther toward the interior of the dwelling, and then leaned close, presenting his ear to her.

Kamezasa lowered her voice and spoke. “As difficult as this is for me to say, I have been aware that Hamaji and you have formed a romantic connection, as young people will do—’tis hardly unheard of. And I have begun to think of you as a prospective son-in-law, so long as you do not abandon her. But what are we to do? Hamaji and Shino have been affianced to one another since infancy, with the villagers as go-betweens, as a result of thus-and-such a circumstance: a word that, once given, cannot be gainsaid. His Lordship the Estatesman, too, loves you, and if only Shino were gone would make you his son-in-law, and his heir. Shino is his wife’s nephew, but he is also the son of Bansaku, against whom the Estatesman bore such-and-such a grudge: there is nothing in it for my husband. Often he has spoken to me of his wish to distance himself from Shino, that he might make you his son-in-law, and now his words shall not have been in vain, for he has planned thus-and-such a plan, by which Shino should leave for other parts.

“Now, in that regard, Shino possesses, and has since childhood, a sword that His Lordship the Estatesman gave him as a present, a treasure he had kept secret, a peerless famous blade that he would now like back: but he can hardly seek it openly and expect its return. And so he plans to do such-and-such. Will you be part of this plan, by taking His Lordship the Estatesman’s everyday sword and stealthily exchanging it for the one Shino has? Needless to say we have already measured the length of this blade in preparation, so that there will be no difficulty in fitting it into the other’s scabbard. Accomplishing this will bring the greatest happiness to us—and to you, too, think you not?”

Quite cunningly had she prepared her speech, mingling lies with truths. Samojirō listened intently and with an abashed expression on his face; he pressed a hand to his forehead, raised his head as if in thought, looked all around.

“You must think me quite a man, to open to me so easily this secret. I understand you. Be that as it may, and while I admit to a certain fascination with your daughter, my love for her is as one-sided as an abalone shell.⁹ She treats me with harshness. Your spectacles must be clouded over if you can call that a romantic connection between us. Given that, even though I break my bones in your service, even though I succeed in substituting one longsword for the other, she may still harden herself against me. And what recourse will her dear father and mother have then? What say you to this?” He pressed his point.

Kamezasa tittered in response. “How like a dullard you speak—unlike the neat one you are. Once Shino is no longer around, what further cause for scruple will Hamaji have? Whether or not she yields to you then will be entirely up to you. We her parents will know nothing about it. Often enough do girls run off with men of whom their parents do not approve. Indeed, once parents have settled on a son-in-law, the warmth—or lack of same—between him and their daughter is entirely a matter of his hand on the rudder. All the world says only this about the young. Even my eye can see the connection between you and Hamaji—’tis reflected in the gaze of every jealous onlooker as in a pond—you are as the undulating duckweed in Sugata Pond, that may be parted for a moment by the pole of a passing boat, only to be reunited in the end¹⁰—is this not so? Would you press the point further?” She laughed.

Samojirō scratched his head. “There is reason in what you say, when you say it so. Leave the future to the future: the present exigency is that sword. It will be no easy matter, but I shall serve you if it means my life.”

Kamezasa’s joy grew by leaps and bounds. Again they brought their foreheads together to discuss secret signs for the day in question, the eventual success of the affair, this matter and that, whispering and nodding over everything while the time slipped by unnoticed. Then Kamezasa bade him a hurried goodbye and ran out.

When at length she had returned home, she told everything to Hikiroku in secret. Hikiroku, too, was deeply pleased, and did not stint in praise of Kamezasa’s nimble tongue. “Now it will be easy to encompass Shino in our plan. How entertaining, how very entertaining!” He wore a satisfied smile.

Evening came, and Hikiroku and Kamezasa summoned Shino to a room where they could be alone. There they spoke to him, saying, “I have been receiving frequent reminders of late, from somebody or other in the village, desiring that I should marry Your Lordship to Hamaji. With the fall of the house of Toshima, last year was an unquiet one in the world, and I postponed the wedding, without necessarily intending to. Now, this year, I hear that the Minister of the Court Nariuji, of the Koga Palace, has arranged an accord with the houses of the two Overseers, and has returned from Chiba to his castle in Kumaura. Your grandfather Master Shōsaku was a close retainer of Nariuji’s elder brethren, the Princes Shun’ō and An’ō: that is why Bansaku was besieged, along with his father, at Yūki. The master of Koga Palace is in the lineage of a lord to you, milord, but with discord between him and the Yamanouchi and Ōgigayatsu houses severe enough to drive him from Kamakura, and even to prevent him from remaining at Koga, so that he was forced into dependency on the Chiba—and with Lord Ōishi, master of our castle, having reported to Kamakura to serve under the two Overseers—I found it passing hard to breathe a word about the Lord of Koga, and so never said what I thought. This year, though, with that accord in force and the world a considerably more tranquil place, our road has become rather wider. Is not this, then, the time to revive the house of Ōtsuka? And so I shall tell you what has been in my mind these last few years.

“And what is that, you ask? Only that there can be no more effective means for you to raise yourself up than that precious sword Rainmaker. Take it to Koga, explain how it came to you, petition him regarding your ancestor’s loyal death, and present to him that treasure: I make no doubt he will summon you unto him. If you settle in Koga I shall, before very long, send Hamaji to you. If, however, you do not remain there, then on your return I shall announce you to the world as our adopted son-in-law, and yield to you my office and stipend. Nor will Lord Ōishi, I think, allow you to languish as village headman; surely he will place you at the head of his administrators, or even make you Lieutenant. Your virtue, milord, will reflect well on me, too, and raise my own standing forthwith.”

Kamezasa, beside him, added her voice, advising him with all the appearance of sincerity. “We have no son of our own, my husband and I. We have only your strength to rely on. You should be able to judge by this whether or not our intentions are evil, as you no doubt suspect. You will be traveling in the sixth or Waterless Month, a hard thing to endure, but the Koga frontier is not at all far. Make haste to do good, the proverb says. Would that you might take your decision soon to do this.”

Shino had been informed by Gakuzō, who had spied it all through a crack in the doors, of how Nurude Gobaiji, acting as a go-between for Hikami Kyūroku, had given them a dowry in token of his master’s betrothal to Hamaji; Shino knew what had passed that day. Now, with his aunt and her husband recommending to him so strenuously that he take the famed Rainmaker, on which their hearts had been secretly set these many years, to the Koga Palace to present it there, Shino saw clearly what lurked beneath their words: that “their underlying purpose in sending me away is that they might marry Hamaji to Kyūroku.”

He grinned. “It is a source of great joy unto me, as unworthy as I am, that you lavish on me such compassion. My father, too, bade me offer the precious Rainmaker to His Lordship of Koga, as a memento of the two princes, should the opportunity arise. I had thought, if you had not spoken of it, to speak of it to you, and to defer to your instructions: how happy it is that you have said these things to me now. For every inch of good a foot of mischief: so says the proverb, and so I shall depart on the morrow.”

The master and his wife were uncommonly pleased by these eager words. “We share the joy that lends such haste to your words. But tomorrow? We cannot fit you for your journey by then. Let us consult the calendar for an auspicious day—the day after tomorrow—fix that as the day of your departure, we pray you. We shall send with you as a follower either Sesuke or Gakuzō, one of the two. Now, then, what a happy occasion!”

They seemed to feel that the conference had gone well, so Shino gave them his thanks, saying how “abashed he was with gratitude.” Finally he retreated to his own room, from which he could see Gakuzō watering the grasses and trees in the garden. A perfect opportunity, thought Shino, beckoning Gakuzō closer. Standing on the veranda, Shino told Gakuzō in a hurried whisper everything Hikiroku and Kamezasa had just now said to him, and what he thought about it.

Gakuzō nodded as he listened, then said, “Truly, it is just as you suspect. They would cause you to depart for Shimōsa that they might more easily effect that marriage. But ’tis milady Hamaji who will suffer thereby. She cleaves unto you with a temper of heart not to be found in maidens in this day and age. For you to know this, and yet abandon her with no more than a morning’s consideration, is to risk the unsure ties of love, and the hatred that will come after they are loosed. What will you do?”

Shino sighed. “I cannot help but think of that—a man is not made of wood or stone—and yet a woman’s nature partakes of the element of water—they are quick to come in to one, and quick to move on. Once I am no longer here, she will follow her parents’ wishes. Shall a man among men err in his life’s course for the love of a girl? ’Tis time that cannot be regained. I must simply cast her aside.”

“’Tis true,” answered Gakuzō. At length he walked away, to rake the corners of the garden, while his companion went inside the house.

Meanwhile Kamezasa prepared for Shino’s leaving, readying his gaiters and his sedge hat’s chinstrap. Hamaji, though held back by her heart, cut her cloth to her parental pattern, and sewed a singlet of Nitayama cotton (its sleeves made perfectly to dry her tears) with thousands of tiny cerulean stripes, in hue as deep as e’er her love for Shino ran; she wondered longingly how long she might be left discarded like a scrap of thread that ne’ertheless did bind their boundless fates, and might she have him backstitch, and so sew she did—she finished one, and then another—while unendurable yearning filled her breast and, with no place to go, spilled o’er in sighs.

By the time the next day came, the greater part of Shino’s travel accoutrements had been prepared. Kamezasa went to Shino’s room and said: “This journey proceeds from no whim, but from the vow of your heart: it is your maiden voyage, too. Charms and harms are out of our hands. You depart on the morrow, and therefore, as many claims as you may have on your time, I would have you visit your parents’ grave, and also pray to Sarasvati at the River Taki.”

Shino heard her out, and then said: “My family cloister I visited this morning. I did indeed make a vow to Sarasvati at the River Taki when I was very small, that my mother’s illness might be healed. I have not forgotten it, and yet I rarely go to pray there. I shall do as you say.”

Kamezasa turned her gaze toward the outside. “Unless you hurry you will not be back before dark. Quickly, quickly now,” she urged him. Shino changed his attire and, wearing at his sides his accustomed pair of blades, hurriedly left the house.

Indeed, Shino ran as hard as he could, so that he arrived at the Sarasvati Hall to pray at the hour of the monkey.¹¹ He did his ablutions beneath the waterfall, purifying himself, and then spent a while offering silent prayers before the deity. Finally he set out for home.

As he walked he happened to meet Hikiroku coming toward him across a rice paddy a little farther down the road, accompanied by Aboshi Samojirō and his man Sesuke, carrying a fishing net. Hikiroku hailed Shino from a dozen or so yards away: “Shino! I had heard you were gone to the River Taki to pray, as you had made a heartfelt vow there—and yet now I meet you here!”

Shino hurriedly took off his hat and approached. “Are you going night fishing? Where are you bound?”

Hikiroku laughed and said, “Quite so! You leave us tomorrow, milord. I sought all around for something to go with the sake with which we shall drink to your journey, but all the fishmongers’ cupboards were bare, they said. Therefore, on the spur of the moment, I decided to cast a net myself, to see if I might not be able to catch something for tomorrow—I left home in haste—I called on Mister Aboshi and tempted him to come along. You, milord, must have finished what you needed to do. Why not come with us now?”

Samojirō bowed by way of seconding this invitation, and they both pressed Shino to accompany them. This, then, was the nefarious plan Hikiroku had been devising. This was why Kamezasa had suggested to Shino that he go to the River Takino, that he leave the house—a short time afterward Hikiroku, with Sesuke carrying a fishing net, had left their dwelling, and Samojirō, on signal, had joined them at the gate, all so as to make it appear as if they had met Shino by chance in the paddy. Any plan less elaborate risked arousing Shino’s suspicions, thought Hikiroku, and thus had he crafted this subtle and deep-rooted scheme.

Shino was no fisherman at heart, but in the exigency of the moment, with his aunt’s husband speaking to him of a farewell toast, for which purpose he was personally to cast his net (Shino not knowing his real intentions), Shino could not refuse to accompany them; he allowed himself to be dragged, reluctantly, along to the banks of the Kaniwa River.

Hikiroku had already arranged with a household he knew for the loan of a boat, and had hired a helmsman by the name of Dotarō. When they were about to board, Hikiroku slapped his knee, saying, “I forgot something!” Hastily he called Sesuke to him and said, “I was in such a hurry when we left home that I forgot the drinking flask and food basket. You run back alone and bring our provisions. Hurry, man, hurry.”

Sesuke caught his urgency, and barely paused to say “I shall” before running off down the road that led to the house. Having thus dispatched Sesuke according to plan, Hikiroku then boarded the boat, together with Shino and Samojirō. Dotarō placed his hand on the scull and began to propel the boat toward the middle of the river.

Meanwhile, Hikiroku stripped down to his underrobe, tied a short grass skirt around his waist, and put on his sedge hat. He then took his place standing at the bow, trailing his net through the water. Samojirō turned to the boat’s tiny hearth and began breaking freshly plucked brushwood and building up the fire in order to make some tea. Though past his prime now, Hikiroku had always been fond of the taking of life, and now each cast of his net brought in a catch of river crucians and mullet fry, which he heaved up to leave flopping on the deck, too many to pick up—an exciting sight.

The sun began to set, and the moon—it was the seventeenth day of the month—had not yet risen. After the boat had been floating in darkness for a time, Hikiroku, having planned this all along, made a great show of being carried away by the excitement of his fishing, and on one determined cast he twisted his body so that he fell into the water along with his net. Everyone rose in a flurry of astonishment, crying “Oh, no!” and tossing loose planks from the deck into the water. But the surface was so dark that they could not see where to throw them. Shino, unsurprisingly, could not endure seeing his aunt’s husband drown: he nimbly stripped off his clothes and dived into the water, cleaving the waves. The helmsman Dotarō plunged in after him.

Hikiroku had always been a strong swimmer since his younger days; now he dived to the bottom of the river and stayed there a while, patiently untangling the cord of the net from his right hand and letting it float away. Then, when Shino jumped into the water, he quickly bobbed to the surface and pretended to be floundering. Shino tried to save him—he took Hikiroku’s arm in his—Hikiroku grasped Shino’s arm tightly and would not let go, but sought to drag him down to the depths. Dotarō came to help, pretending to be saving Hikiroku while actually trying to give Shino a watery death.

Now Shino had applied himself since childhood not only to swimming, but to fording on foot and on horseback, and even to swimming horses, while in strength he was the equal of Yoshihide or Chikahira.¹² He kicked at Dotarō, who was clinging to his arms and legs, striking him so hard that the latter shot through the water for a dozen yards. Then, grasping Hikiroku firmly under the arms, Shino lifted his head above the water and looked around. The boat had drifted too far downstream to be approachable now, so he swam toward the opposite shore one-handed, supporting Hikiroku with the other. Hikiroku was helpless in Shino’s powerful embrace, like a fish in a cormorant’s beak—it was all he could do to keep from swallowing water as he meekly allowed himself to be lifted out.

Dotarō caught up with them and together he and Shino held Hikiroku upside down until he had coughed up the water he had swallowed. Then they helped Hikiroku into a nearby hut where he could warm himself by a straw fire while they cared for him. While he recovered, Dotarō ran along the bank downriver in hopes of catching his boat as it drifted away.

During the time all this was happening, Samojirō, as he had been instructed to do, took advantage of the boat being carried downriver by the current. As it drifted he stealthily removed the peg from the hilt of Shino’s sidearm sword, and then the peg from the hilt of Hikiroku’s. He drew both, switched the blades, and was about to replace them in their sheaths when a suspicious thing happened. Mist suddenly began to rise from the middle of Shino’s blade, dampening his sleeves and knees so thoroughly as to chill him, though it was summer. This was a rare and famous sword, and such was Samojirō’s astonishment that every hair on his body stood up.

“I have heard it said that the Minister of the Court Mochiuji, former Overseer in Kamakura, had a great treasure of a sword called Rainmaker, so named because when drawn, a mist of water suddenly appeared, and when wielded with an intent to kill, water spurted from the tip, like a cloudburst washing a tree limb. This sword of Shino’s resembles that Rainmaker. This means that Hikiroku was lying when he said this spirit-sword was originally a treasure of his own that he had reason to give to Shino. This must be Rainmaker, that precious blade, entrusted to Shino’s father Bansaku by the princes Shun’ō and Yasuō when they were besieged at Yūki. If I present this to my old master, Lord Ōgigayatsu, it will be the means for me to be reinstated; or I can sell it—it must be worth a thousand in gold. Hikiroku would never be able to recognize this blade. Am I, having once gained entrance to this mountain full of treasure, to yield it to another?”

He nodded as he said these things to himself, and then hurriedly removed the peg from his own sword and compared the blade to Hikiroku’s. In both length and curvature they were alike. “What luck!” Secretly rejoicing, he quickly slipped his blade into Hikiroku’s scabbard, then took Shino’s blade and slipped it into his own scabbard, and finally slipped Hikiroku’s blade into the sheath of Shino’s sidearm sword. All three blades were the same length, and each fit perfectly.

Just then Dotarō came along, chasing the drifting boat. He parted the summer grasses on the bank and called, “Ahoy there!” Samojirō looked back at him, and then began working the scull uncertainly. Somehow he managed to bring the boat close enough for Dotarō to leap into it, which he did in a flash. Dotarō then propelled the boat back to its original position and tied it up. Samojirō climbed ashore and went to inquire after Hikiroku’s safety.

Now, Inuzuka Shino had wit and sense beyond most men’s. He never at any moment let down his guard, and yet his suspicions now went no farther than to surmise that “Hikiroku’s plunge was part of a plan to drown me—he must have secretly discussed it with Dotarō the helmsman—that is why he acted so.” He never imagined that Samojirō, still in the boat, would switch his famous blade Rainmaker for another. He met the boat as it arrived, took from it his clothes and put them on, then picked up his two swords and slung them from his waist. So expeditiously had the affair been carried out, and in such darkness, that he would not have noticed it even if he had drawn his sword. Alas, how lamentable, that a treasure protected for years by father and son should fall into another’s hands through an instant of carelessness! Fate chooses its time.

Author’s note: The village of Kaniwa is located a little more than a mile north of the present village of Ōji, in the Toshima district. There was a river there, and it was called the Kaniwa River, but only because that was the name of the area: in its upper reaches it descends from Toda to Senju, and then enters the Sumida River, thence to pass into the sea. West of Kaniwa, on the riverward edge of the village of Toshima, are the remains of the manor of Toshima Nobumori, which is quite gone today—only a few traces linger. I have studied maps from the Chōroku and Chōkyō eras,¹³ and while they list several villages on the southern shore of this river—such as Ogu, Toshima, Kajiwara-Horinouchi, Jūjō [one source makes this senjō], Inatsuki, and Shimura—there is no village of Kaniwa. It is my opinion that Kaniwa is a corruption of Kajiwara, and that the characters with which it is now written are not grounded in antiquity. Thus the old name for Kaniwa must have been Kajiwara-Horinouchi. All this is, of course, an unprofitable discourse: I record it here because I had a half-sheet of mulberry paper left to fill.

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

1. The first element in the name Hikiroku means “toad.”

2. The common term for kelp was and is konbu, while the ancient name was hirome, which is (as the narration notes) homophonous with a term meaning “to spread.”

3. “She-pine,” or mematsu, is a poetic name for the akamatsu or red pine. The name Aboshi is written with characters that mean “net dry,” suggesting the wordplay in this passage.

4. 1452.

5. 1455; the era name was changed in the seventh month.

6. 1472.

7. 1478.

8. Midafternoon.

9. An expression for unrequited love found in Man’yōshū #2798. The conceit is that a complete abalone shell resembles half of a bivalve’s hinged shell; an abalone appears to be incomplete.

10. A pond that formerly existed in the Yamato region; it survived as an epithet in waka poetry due to the associations of its name. Sugata can mean “handsome” or “comely.”

11. Late afternoon.

12. Asaina Yoshihide and Izumi Chikahira, early thirteenth-century warriors of legendary physical prowess.

13. Chōroku: 1457–60; Chōkyō: 1487–89.