The ever-renewing months and days sped by; the berries colored on the lower branches of the oleaster; and the wild chrysanthemum in the hedge put out brilliant blossoms as the Ninth Month arrived. On the ninth day, Samon rose earlier than usual, swept the mats of his grass hut,12 placed two or three sprigs of yellow and white chrysanthemums in a small vase, and emptied his purse to provide wine and food. His aged mother said, “I have heard that Izumo, the Land of Eight Clouds, lies far to the north of the mountains, more than one hundred ri from here, and so we cannot be sure that he will arrive today. It would not be too late if you made your preparations when you see that he has come.” Samon said, “Being a samurai of honor, Akana certainly will not break his vow. I am ashamed at what he would think if he should find me rushing to get ready only after I had seen him.” Buying fine wine and cooking some fish, he prepared them in the kitchen.
On this day, the sky was clear and cloudless in every direction, and many groups of travelers appeared, talking as they went: “So-and-so enjoys good weather today as he enters the capital, an omen that our merchandise will fetch a good profit,” said one as he passed. A samurai in his fifties said to his companion, a man in his twenties and wearing the same attire: “The weather is so good, the sea so calm. If we had hired a boat at Akashi and set out at dawn,13 we would now be approaching the harbor at Ushimado Straits. You youngsters waste money with your timidity.” The other soothed him, saying, “I should think anyone would hesitate to cross here. Our lord had a terrible time, according to his attendants, crossing from Azukijima to Murozu on his way up to the capital. Do not be angry. I shall treat you to some soba noodles when we reach Uogahashi.” They moved on out of sight. A packhorse man said angrily, “Are you dead, you nag? Open your eyes.” Pushing the packsaddle back into place, he drove the horse on. Noon passed, too, but the one awaited had not come. As the sun sank in the west, the travelers’ steps quickened in their search for lodging. Samon saw them, but his gaze was fixed on the distance, and he felt something like intoxication.
Samon’s aged mother called to him: “Although the man’s heart be not fickle like autumn, is it only today that the hue of the chrysanthemum is rich and warm?14 If he is sincere about returning here, what reason have you to reproach him, even though the gentle rains of early winter fall? Come inside, lie down, and wait again tomorrow.” Unable to disobey, Samon reassured his mother and asked her to retire first, and then just in case, he stepped out through the door and looked again. The Milky Way shone faintly; the solitary moon cast its light on him alone; a watchdog’s bark reached him clearly from the distance; and the waves on the shore seemed to crash at his very feet. As the moon set behind the hills and its light faded from the sky, he thought it time to go inside and was about to shut the door behind him when he glimpsed a figure in the shadows, moving toward him with the wind. Doubting his eyes, he looked again. It was Akana Sōemon.
Samon’s heart leapt with joy. “I have been waiting for you since early this morning. How delighted I am that you have kept your pledge! Here, please come in,” he said, but Akana merely nodded and did not speak. Samon led him to the south window and seated him there. “Since you were so late, my brother, Mother grew weary of waiting. ‘He will come tomorrow,’ she said, and went into her bedroom. I shall go to waken her.” Akana stopped him with a shake of the head. Still he said nothing. Samon said, “You have traveled day and night; your heart must be weary and your legs tired. Please have a cup of saké and rest.” He warmed the saké, arranged some dishes of food, and served them; but Akana covered his face with his sleeve, as if to avoid a foul smell. Samon said, “This is simple, homemade fare, inadequate to welcome you properly, but I prepared it with all my heart. Please do not refuse it.” Akana still did not reply. Heaving a long sigh, he paused, then finally spoke. “My brother, what reason could I have to decline your heartfelt hospitality? I lack the words to deceive you, and so I shall tell the truth. You must not be startled. I am not a man of this world. A filthy ghost has taken this form briefly to appear before you.”
Samon was astounded. “What makes you say this monstrous thing, my brother? I am certain that I have not been dreaming.” Akana said, “Parting with you, I returned to my native place. Most of the people there had submitted to Tsunehisa’s authority; no one remembered En’ya’s kindness. I called on my cousin, Akana Tanji, at Tomita Castle. He explained the advantages and disadvantages and arranged for me to have an audience with Tsunehisa. Tentatively accepting my cousin’s advice, I observed Tsunehisa’s conduct closely and found that even though he is a man of great courage who trains his troops well, he is jealous and suspicious in his dealings with men of learning and as a consequence confides in no one and has no retainers willing to give their lives for him. I saw no point in lingering there, and so explaining my chrysanthemum vow with you, asked for leave to go. But Tsunehisa looked displeased and ordered Tanji not to let me out of the castle. This state of affairs continued until today. Imagining how you would regard me if I broke my pledge, I pondered my options but found no way to escape. As the ancients said, although a man cannot travel a thousand ri in one day, a spirit can easily do so. Recalling this, I fell on my sword and tonight rode the dark wind from afar to arrive in time for our chrysanthemum tryst. Please understand my feelings and take pity on me.” As he finished speaking, his eyes seemed to fill with tears. “Now we part forever. Please serve our mother faithfully.” With this, he rose from his seat and faded from sight.
In a panic, Samon tried to stop him, but blinded by the dark wind, he could not tell where Akana had gone. Falling to his knees and then on his face, he began to wail loudly. His mother, startled from sleep, came to look and found Samon lying on the floor among the saké flasks and plates of fish that he had arranged by the seat of honor. Hurrying to help him rise, she asked, “What is wrong?” But he only sobbed quietly, saying nothing. His mother spoke again: “If you resent your brother Akana now for breaking his pledge, you will have nothing to say if he comes tomorrow. Are you such a child that you can be so foolish?” Thus she admonished and encouraged him. Finally Samon replied: “My brother came tonight to fulfill our chrysanthemum pledge. When I welcomed him with saké and food, he refused them again and again and said, ‘For this and that reason, I was about to break our pledge, and so I fell on my sword and came these one hundred ri as a ghost.’ Then he vanished. As a result, I have roused you from your sleep. Please forgive me,” he said and began to weep, the tears streaming down his face, whereupon his mother said, “I have heard that a man in prison dreams that he has been pardoned, and a thirsty man drinks water in his dreams. You must be like them. Calm yourself.” But Samon shook his head. “Truly, it was nothing like an empty dream. My brother was here.” Again he cried out in grief and threw himself down, weeping. His mother no longer doubted him, and together they passed the night raising their voices in lamentation.
The next day, Samon bowed in supplication to his mother and said, “Since childhood I have devoted myself to the writing brush and ink, but I have neither made a name for myself in public service nor been able to discharge my filial duty to my family; I have merely dwelt here uselessly between heaven and earth.15 My brother Akana gave his life for loyalty. Today I shall set out for Izumo, where I intend at least to bury his remains and fulfill his trust. Please take good care of yourself and give me leave to be away for a time.” His mother said, “Go, my son, but come back soon and comfort me in my old age. Do not stay there so long that you make today our final day of parting.” Samon said, “Our lives are like foam on the water—we cannot know whether they might fade away, morning or evening, but I shall come back soon.” Brushing away his tears, he left the house, went to beg the Sayos to look after his mother, and started down the road to Izumo. Even though he was hungry, he did not think of food; even though he was cold, he forgot about clothing; and when he dozed off, he lamented all night in his dreams. After ten days he reached Tomita Castle.
He went directly to Akana Tanj
i’s house and sent in his name, whereupon Tanji came to greet him and led him inside. Questioning Samon closely, he said, “Unless you heard of Sōemon’s death from some winged creature, how could you know? It does not seem possible.” Samon said, “A samurai does not concern himself with the vicissitudes of rank and fortune; he values only loyalty. Valuing his pledge, my brother Sōemon came one hundred ri as a ghost. I, in return, have traveled day and night to come down here. I should like to ask you, sir, about something I learned in my studies. Please answer clearly. In ancient times, when Gongshu Zuo of Wei lay ill in bed, the king of Wei himself came and, holding Zuo’s hand, said, ‘If the unavoidable should happen, whom shall I appoint to protect the country? Give me your guidance.’ Zuo replied warmly, saying, ‘Even though Shang Yang is young, he has rare ability. If your highness does not employ him, do not let him cross the border, even if you must kill him. If you allow him to go to another country, calamity will surely result.’ Then Zuo secretly summoned Shang Yang and told him, ‘I recommended you, but the king appeared not to accept my advice, and so I told him to kill you if he does not employ you. This is putting the lord first and the retainer after. You must go quickly to another country and escape harm,’ he said.16 How would you compare this case, sir, with that of you and Sōemon?” Tanji hung his head and said nothing. Samon moved closer. “My brother Sōemon was a loyal retainer for remembering En’ya’s former kindness and not serving Amako. You, sir, having abandoned En’ya, your former master, and submitted to Amako, lack the righteousness of a samurai. My brother, cherishing his chrysanthemum pledge, gave up his life and traveled one hundred ri: this is the ultimate sincerity. You, sir, seeking favor with Amako, have tormented your own kin and caused his unnatural death: this is not the sincerity of a friend. Tsunehisa forced him to stay here, but if you had remembered your longstanding friendship, you would secretly have shown the utter sincerity of Zuo with Shang Yang. Instead you were driven by wealth and fame—this differs from the way of a samurai house and must be the way of the House of Amako as well. No wonder my brother had no wish to linger here. Now I, valuing loyalty, have come. Leave behind you a name stained by unrighteousness!” He had not finished speaking when he drew his sword and struck in one motion; Tanji fell with a single blow. Before the retainers could raise an alarm, Samon escaped without a trace. It is said that Amako Tsunehisa heard the story and, moved by the warmth of the brother’s loyalty, chose not to pursue Samon. Truly, one must not form bonds of friendship with a shallow man.
The Reed-Choked House 17
In the province of Shimōsa, Katsushika District, in the village of Mama, lived a man named Katsushirō.18 Since his grandfather’s time his family had lived here in comfort, holding many paddies and fields; but being by nature indifferent to details, Katsushirō came to dislike farming as he grew up, finding it irksome, so that finally the family grew poor. Mortified to see that he had lost favor with many of his relatives, he considered various schemes to revive the family fortunes. In those days a man named Sōji of Sasabe came down from the capital every year to stock up on dyed silk from Ashikaga.19 Having distant relatives in the village, he often came to visit and had been on familiar terms with Katsushirō for some time. Katsushirō pleaded that he, too, wanted to become a merchant and go up to the capital. Sasabe agreed immediately: “Let me see, when will the next trip be?” he said. Delighted that he could now rely on Sasabe, Katsushirō sold his remaining paddies, used the gold to buy a large supply of plain silk, and prepared for his journey to the capital.
Katsushirō’s wife, Miyagi, was a woman of arresting beauty, intelligence, and steady disposition. Dismayed to hear that he had bought merchandise and was going to the capital, she used every argument she could think of to dissuade him; but she was helpless against his obstinacy, now worse than ever, and so despite her misgivings about how she would fare in the future,20 she busied herself with his preparations. As they talked together that night about the painful separation to come, she said, “With no one to depend on, my woman’s heart will know the extremities of sadness, wandering as if lost in the fields and mountains.21 Please do not forget me, morning or night, and come back soon. If only I live long enough, I tell myself,22 but in this life we cannot depend on the morrow, and so take pity on me in your stalwart heart.” He replied, “How could I linger in a strange land, riding on a floating log?23 I shall return this autumn, when the arrowroot leaf turns over in the wind.24 Be confident and wait for me.” Thus he reassured her; the night sky brightened with dawn; and leaving the East Country where the roosters crow, he hurried toward the capital.25
In the summer of 1455, the shōgun’s deputy in Kamakura, Lord Ashikaga Shigeuji, had a falling out with the family of Uesugi, his own deputy, and so when troops burned his palace to the ground, he took refuge with an ally in Shimōsa. From that moment, the lands east of the Hakone Barrier were thrown into chaos, and each man did just as he pleased. The aged fled to the mountains and hid; the young were conscripted; women and children, hearing the rumors—“They will burn this place today! The enemy will attack tomorrow!”—fled weeping, now east, now west. Katsushirō’s wife Miyagi, too, wanted to escape, but relying on her husband’s words—“Wait for me this fall”—she lived on, anxiously counting the days. Autumn came, but there was no word, not even in the wind. Sad and resentful that the heart of man proved to be as unreliable as this world itself, she composed in her despondency: No one will report my misery, I fear—Oh decorated cock of Meeting Hill, tell him autumn too has passed.26 Yet she had no way to communicate with him since many provinces separated them. Men’s hearts grew more villainous in the turbulence of the world. Passersby, noting Miyagi’s beauty, tried to seduce her with comforting words, but firmly guarding her chastity she would treat them distantly, close the door, and refuse to meet them. Her maidservant departed; her meager savings melted away; and that year, too, came to a close. The new year brought no peace. What is more, in the autumn of the old year the shōgun had commissioned Tō no Tsuneyori, governor of Shimotsuke and lord of Gujō, Mino Province, who went down to the domain of Shimōsa, made plans with his kinsman Chiba no Sanetane, and attacked. Shigeuji’s forces defended their position resolutely, however, and so there was no end in sight. Bandits threw up strongholds here and there, set fires, and pillaged. No haven remained in the Eight Provinces; the losses were appalling.
Katsushirō accompanied Sasabe to Kyoto and sold all his silk. Because it was an age when the capital delighted in luxury, he made a good profit. As he prepared to return to the East Country, word spread that Uesugi troops had toppled the shōgun’s deputy and then had pursued and attacked him. Katsushirō’s home village would be the battlefield of Zhuo Lu, bristling with shields and halberds.27 But even rumors close at hand are frequently untrue; Katsushiro’s home was in a distant land beyond myriad layers of white clouds.28 Anxiously he left the capital at the start of the Eighth Month. Crossing the pass at Misaka in Kiso, he found that robbers had blocked the road, and to them he lost all his baggage. Furthermore, he heard reports that new barrier stations had been established here and there to the east, where even travelers were not allowed to pass. In that case, there would be no way to send any message at all. His house had surely been leveled by the fires of battle. His wife would no longer be alive. His village would have become a den of ogres, he told himself, and so he turned back toward the capital. When he entered the province of Ōmi, however, he suddenly felt unwell and came down with a fever. In a place called Musa lived a wealthy man named Kodama Yoshibei. Because this was the birthplace of Sasabe’s wife, Katsushirō pleaded for help. Kodama did not turn him away but summoned a physician and devoted himself to Katsushirō’s care. Feeling well again at last, Katsushirō thanked Kodama deeply for his great kindness. He was still unsteady on his feet, however, and so he found himself still there when they greeted the New Year. Presently he made new friends in the town, where he was admired for his unaffected honesty, and formed close ties with Kodama and many others. The
reafter, he would call on Sasabe in the capital, then return to stay with Kodama in Ōmi. Seven years passed like a dream.
In 1461 the struggle between the Hatakeyama brothers in the province of Kawachi showed no sign of ending, and the turmoil approached the capital. Moreover, corpses piled up in the streets as an epidemic swept through the city in the spring. Thinking that a cosmic epoch must be coming to an end, the people lamented the impermanence of all things.29 Katsushirō pondered his situation: “Reduced to this pointless existence, how long should I drag out my life, and for what, lingering in this distant land, depending on the generosity of people with whom I have no ties of blood? It is my own faithless heart that has let me pass long years and months in a field overgrown with the grass of forgetfulness, unmindful even of the fate of her I left at home.30 Even if she is no longer of this world and has gone to the land of the dead, I would seek out her remains and construct a burial mound.” Thus he related his thoughts to those around him and, during a break in the rains of the Fifth Month, said farewell. Traveling for more than ten days, he arrived at his village.
Early Modern Japanese Literature: An Anthology, 1600–1900 Page 82