For Tatsu, having such an uncle is an embarrassment. Her skin is as pure as the snow on Mount Ontake, her face as delicately fresh and noble as a rhododendron blossom; but any prospective suitor who hears the name “Shichizō” loses his nerve and abandons the idea, more terrified than by a landslide or an avalanche. As a result, poor Tatsu is still a virgin, even past the age of twenty.
By day she works as a seamstress, doing piecework that gives her no chance to relax her stiff shoulders. At night she makes the rounds of the inns of the town, selling salted flowers and being treated rudely by guests, even those who may originally have been eta.16 On her way home, she takes a few of the copper coins so hard earned by her day’s labors and exchanges them for some saké. Then it’s: So sorry to have kept you waiting! or, So sorry to have inconvenienced you! as she now dances attendance on her uncle with a smiling face, attempting to mollify him.
This does not stop Shichizō from sometimes making outrageous demands. Just the other day, I hear, he declared she should become a prostitute in Ueda. What a rapacious man. Even the hawk, which is known to eat its prey live, will eventually release a bird it has used merely to warm its talons on a winter’s night.
Chapter 4: Thus the Cause
1: UNFORGETTABILITY AS THE BASIS OF FEELINGS
Shuun did not know what to make of the different lives that people led. The cold mountain wind whistling in the corners of the house sank into his body; his sense, that night, of the sorrows of this world produced a grief so sharp it pierced his breast. Sniffling as if the story had been about himself, he respectfully thanked the innkeeper and retired to his room.
No sooner had he entered than he noticed in the alcove the two boxes of salted flowers he had purchased. He changed and toppled onto his bedding. But when he had drawn the quilt up over his head, he saw before him, vividly, the figure of Tatsu. Poking his head out and opening his eyes, he saw the boxes of salted flowers. Closing his eyes, he saw her image. He was amazed. How could this be? He opened his eyes again—only to find once more the boxes of salted flowers. Oh. Seeing those boxes: that sows the seed of remembrance of her tale of woe. But tomorrow I will attempt to cross the Magome Pass, try to get as far as the Nakatsu River; if I don’t rest up, I’ll never make it. He blew out the lamp and tried to calm down.
Once again her beautiful form appeared. Come, this is absurd. Eyes wide open now, he stared up toward the ceiling. This time, there were no salted flowers in sight. But darkness weaves patterns of its own. Fragrance of plum blossom seeped out of the box, wafting gently, crossing to his pillow, ineffably arousing his psyche, from which seed there flowered in profusion the fullest blossoms of coquettish peach, seductive cherry, even mint and chrysanthemum: it was as if one could hear the buzzing of the bees come to savor the nectar.
Shutting his eyes firmly against the foolishness of an unbidden apparition that affected even his hearing, Shuun buried his head in his sleeved quilt. To no avail: a further outrage ensued. Appearing in an elegant, fantastical wreath of flowers, the charming Tatsu looked not merely noble but saintly, with a glowing halo like that of a white-robed Kannon, goddess of mercy. Mindful of his chosen way, Shuun was entranced by what he saw. Not even the masters of old ever carved such a figure!
Sound travels far on a cold winter’s night. Shuun heard the commotion of mice in the kitchen.
How maddening. I cannot sleep.
2: AFFECTION GROWING OUT OF SYMPATHY
Legs covered up in long lined drawers; head in a cap, cap deep in a hood; buttoned-up double-layer Inverness cape; towels tied tight about the neck and waist; deerskin hakama culottes and puttees; socks: two pairs; three or four hot peppers shoved in the toes of your woven straw boots (that’s against the frostbite); open-palmed leather gauntlets shielding your hands; snowshoes on your back for when they’re needed. Prepared, and then some—you think. Comes a blizzard like this one, it ain’t so easy. Almighty winds begin to roar, the mountains rumble. There’s snow on the ridges, snow on the treetops, snow in the valleys: when all that snow swirls up at once, it’s hard to see an inch ahead. In an instant, the road will be buried, your legs will be buried. The snow fills your nostrils; inhaling that powder’s more painful than drowning, by far. All the worse for some ignorant visitor, from the old capital, unprepared. If you value your life, why don’t you stay?
Plain talk from a plain man: simple kindness, approaching Confucian benevolence. Shuun was sufficiently alarmed, was in no particular hurry to continue his journey, and decided: In that case, if I could impose upon you one more day. . . . He sat himself down at the kotatsu and blew off his boredom in the shape of rings of tobacco smoke. Absentmindedly glancing around and about, he caught sight of an ornamental comb made of boxwood.
That salted-flower seller must have dropped it without realizing.
No sooner did Shuun pick it up than he was reminded afresh of the woman’s charms and of the innkeeper’s story of the previous night. His hatred of the uncle, his resentment of such a world, somehow made Tatsu seem all the dearer.
Were I a god or a buddha, I’d arrange for Shichizō to meet a sudden death. I’d reunite Tatsu with her long-lost father; and for her obedient behavior and virtuous conduct I’d have her awarded the Order of the Green Ribbon, the Order of the Crimson Ribbon, the Order of the Purple Ribbon, and every other medal the Department of the Imperial Household can bestow. I’d have a novelist write eloquently of such nobility of character. To depict her beauty adequately, I’d summon back to life painters the likes of Sukenobu and Chōshun. I’d make her the bride of the most magnificent magnate in all Japan. Her patched-up cottonwear I’d change for figured silk brocade. I want to treat her poor, dried-out hair with the purest oils of aloeswood and sandalwood and grace it with an ornament made from a piece of coral the size of a rice ball, attached to a gold stick as large as those metal chopsticks used to handle charcoal!
But alas! I have no such divine powers. I do have the three hundred ryō left in my wallet after I sold off all my household items, but that’s the capital for setting me up in my career. I’ve been so frugal in my journey, I haven’t even discarded a pair of straw sandals if one was still serviceable; I’d be hard-pressed to donate so much as a single tie-dyed silk hair ornament. And yet she is so admirable, so unforgettably commendable! What good means can there be to connect with such a virtuous woman? Ah! I’ve got it!
From his small wicker carrying case, Shuun whipped out a detail knife. On a small whetstone, he ground the tip to a sharp point. He then spent the entire rest of the day carving something or other onto the crest of the boxwood comb. He wrapped it in paper and awaited the look on Tatsu’s face when she next came by. The romantic naïf, innocent of love! His charming deed missed its mark. That evening, the blizzard continued unabated: how could a woman be expected to walk around in that?
When its flow is interrupted, water forms a pool: just so, since they could not meet, Shuun’s thoughts of her were pent up, and he missed her more and more.
Here am I, in this dimly lit room under a ceiling, at least, no matter how smoke stained, seated on tatami that’s still intact, albeit tanned with age. Last spring, perhaps, the thatched roof leaked: over there is a suspicious stain, like a waterfall, the rivulets tumbling down onto the head of Li Bo in that painting on the sliding door. But it’s well enough built: no chill insinuates itself through any cracks to give me gooseflesh; I’m generally comfortable. Even so, I know a loneliness, a sorrow unto itself.
But that poor lass: her cabin wouldn’t even have a ceiling. The underside of the roof must be coated black with the smoke of a brushwood fire and gleaming mysteriously. Strings of soot, brittle as touchwood, dangle like monkey-tail lichen hanging from the trees on lofty mountains. Beneath them, her soft black hair tied tight in back, she sits, graceful and mild, on tatami so battered its very guts are showing; but she is careless of her own lithe and slender body, of her beauty as ethereal as a fragrant dewdrop not yet fully formed.
As for tha
t heartless Shichizō, odds are he’s seated by the fire, loosely cross-legged, nostrils flaring, choleric—oh, I can just see his execrable face and his oversize quilted kimono of indigo plaid!—all warm and liquored up, not knowing when’s enough, wanting more, glaring balefully at some long-necked “white swan” flask lying prostrate in a corner of the fireplace. His impossible demands interrupt her busily sewing hands. And this limitless funnel, this bottomless boozer, has a razor-sharp tongue: he cuts her to the quick; and when she, lightly clad in the cold, tries to make reply, her lips tremble.
How can those thin walls, their very skeletons exposed, protect against the brutal body blows of the merciless wind outside? The straw matting, hung up as a covering, sags, useless; even thus her life passes without purpose. For the poor, living in such conditions, Fortune is seven-tenths frozen solid: you hold fast to the remaining three-tenths; you live for it. Alas! Alack!
Shuun’s lamentations did not distinguish between dream and reality. Meanwhile, snowflakes rustled against the storm windows. In the kotatsu, the fire had not yet died out; but the tips of Shuun’s toes were cold.
Chapter 5: Thus the Action
1: FORGETTING THE SELF, DISCOVERING THE HEART
It may not have been warm on one’s back, but as it ascended the mountains, the morning sun shot forth glittering rays, reflecting off snow-covered peaks in a scene whose beauty was nearly blinding. The dust of the carnivore West does not carry so far. How reassuring, indeed, the prospects afforded by this pure and unsullied road of Kiso. Here, the ancient moods of Japan still remain: small birds chirping near the eaves; even the humblest person would be pleased to find this place unchanged since the Age of the Gods, so spiritually freeing is it to see that yesterday’s storm has gone without a trace, and blue sky is showing through rifts in the clouds.
Shuun wiped away the previous night’s fantasy with dried plum and bitter tea, enjoying his breakfast more than usual. He set out, light of foot, his snow boots not touching any mud. It would be a pity not to make a present of this comb, after expending such effort on it, carving out my esteem. Since I know from the old innkeeper that she lives just down a turnoff from the main road, I’ll pass by and toss it in through a window.
As he approached, he made out by degrees the tall firs, as expected, rising behind a perimeter wall of impressive size. The wall enclosed a splendid residence, obviously the former home of the rich man of Suhara. Next to that estate stood a cabin practically blown askew by the recent winds. As Shuun approached, he tried to tell whether anyone was inside, but the place seemed hushed, deserted. Thinking this strange, he placed an ear against the cracked door and listened. He heard what sounded like the whisper of a murmur. Intrigued, he listened more intently. It was the voice of a woman softly sobbing.
That pervert Shichizō! Now what’s he done to her? Shuun searched around and about, found a spot where a large knot had come out of the wood, and peeked through. It was beyond description.
An ogre?—a devil?—whose handiwork was this, to so restrain and confine the woman Shuun revered as a latter-day Mallika?17 Cruel ropes bound her roughly to a splintered column behind her. A dirty hand towel rudely gagged her cinnabar lips. Unconscionable! The paper cord tying her hair up in back had been ripped asunder; her hair, beaded with tears like raindrops on a willow tree, drooped, long and reproachful, over her face. Her garments were disarrayed, exposing her breasts; her skin was like spring snow at dawn, the color evanescent.
The instant Shuun saw this, it wrenched his guts, convulsed his muscles. And precisely because he was a man of discriminating intellect, he kicked in a storm panel and leaped into the house. Frustrated that a human being had not four or five arms, he hustled, to the point of exasperation, to cast off the hand towel and to untie the ropes. He then pulled out the comb he had carved on and handed it to her, telling her to tidy up her disheveled hair. Without thinking, he pulled her miserable, frigid body close and massaged her with one hand. That column against your back. . . . Throughout all this, the woman in shock, speechless, her eyes fixed on this man’s face. Embarrassed by her stare, Shuun took a step away from her.
The instant he did that, he realized with a gasp that there was snow all over the tatami. My boots! Flustered, he dashed outside, ran madly for some twenty feet, slipped on the snow, tottered, almost fell to his knees. Hold it! What have I done! I’ve left my umbrella and hand luggage! He retraced his steps. Tatsu, who had come to the door, grabbed his sleeve; he could not shake her off. After all this, Shuun did not regret his deed as meddlesome, nor had he any fears; but he did find himself lingering, nonplussed by strange feelings he could not remember having had before in his entire life. He sat down on the stoop inside the vestibule, his gaze fixed on wood chips and other trash littering the dirt floor. Tatsu bowed gracefully and kept her head lowered.
You are the guest staying at the Kameya Inn. I am truly grateful that you were so moved by my plight as to rescue me like this. Yet I am resigned to my inescapable misfortune. I regret that until a little while ago, I was so foolish as not to relinquish hope. What I say now, said without explanation, will certainly make you despise me as irrational, and of that I am ashamed. It was your tender mercy that led you to untie my ropes; I have not even thanked you properly, and so it is truly painful for me to make such an unreasonable request, but I must ask you to tie me up as I was before.
Shuun was astonished by her unexpected words. What’s this, what’s this? Just appalling, that’s what! The circumstances, I’m sure, are quite involved, but what a dreadful request! Ask me to punch out the bastard who tied you up; I’ll flex the pea-sized muscles on my skinny arms. But for me to tie you up myself—you, the object of my ceaseless admiration these past two nights and one day; you, whom I have been worshiping as a praiseworthy bodhisattva—that would be harder than trying to sculpt red beadwood with a candy carver’s knife! If you take a look at the comb you left behind the night before last, you’ll understand. From the Kameya innkeeper I heard something about your situation: forgive me, but you are in such an awful predicament. Were I a god or a buddha, I’d want to do all sorts of things for you; but since I’m not, at least I got stiff shoulders spending all day carving this token. If you were to put that in your hair as an ornament, I’d consider it the honor of a lifetime. I gladly went out of my way to drop it off here—only to find you in such a state. I may have been overstepping my bounds, but I could not keep from removing that rope and towel. If that was wrong, I’ll apologize any way you please. But to tie you up as you were before would be heartbreaking—do you take me for an ogre, to make such a request? I’d sooner burn in the lowest circle of hell! I refuse!
The strong speech of a man pure of heart. As Tatsu listened, she looked at the comb she held in her hand. Such beautiful carving upon carving! The comb’s crest was a mere tenth of an inch thick, and barely two-tenths in height, nor was it particularly long. Yet on it, in relief, were carved a single-layered plum blossom, a many-layered cherry blossom, a peach blossom, even chrysanthemum and mint, and all in such surpassing detail that she could fairly smell them. How can this man achieve such craftsmanship? As she wondered, her eyes wandered, sneaking peeks at him.
He was not ill complexioned; nor was his mouth lasciviously lax. His eyebrows were impressive but not bushy; the eyes themselves were nowhere clouded. Beyond his features, there was nothing ignoble about him. Would any woman not be pleased when spoken to kindly by such a man?
2: HIS COMPASSION DEEP; HIS SPEECH DEMONSTRATING CONVICTION
You say you’ve given up on yourself; that you even regret not having given up earlier: but how could anyone in this world give up with a smile? Abandoning hope is usually a matter of clenched teeth. To resign yourself wholly to a misfortune you think inescapable—you hate the world too much; the words uttered by those beautiful lips may satisfy some kind of logic, but not human feelings. I do think they indicate the dire straits you’re in; it’s clear, for the most part, what’s on your mind, and it mov
es me. Oh, how furious I am with the workings of fate in the Three Worlds! What is this law of cause and effect—who dictated it? That such a spider should weave his web on such a flower—that Shichizō should have any karmic association with you! It’s enough to make me hate the almighty sun itself! As a counselor, your Shuun isn’t much; but when one’s back itches, even a “grandchild’s hand”18 can help. Ask anything of me, and I’ll break my head for you figuring out some way or other to do it—just so long as it’s not tying up that delicate body of yours. I don’t want to force a confidence, but parting from you in this state would be like making a Buddhist image without putting any soul into it; so if it’s all right for you to talk about it, I’ll listen and gladly devote such powers as I possess to fashioning some course of action.
When her own uncle had been making such disgraceful, unconscionable demands on her, the compassion of this complete stranger sent through Tatsu’s breast a thrill of happiness and sorrow. She was racked with sobs, then all of a sudden regained her composure.
You have shown me one kindness after another: I am grateful, but I cannot discuss my personal affairs. Not because I do not want to, but because I cannot. Please understand how difficult this is for me. I would not comply with my elder’s wishes, so I was disciplined; that is all. Were I to bewail my dark and shameful life in all its sordid detail, I am afraid that even such a sympathetic man as yourself would be defeated by my shallowness. Not that I in any way would dream of discounting your good intentions. Your gentle words are inscribed on my very bones; I shall not forget them, though I live seven lives. Today I learned the joy of having been born a woman, but that fleeting “first” is also a “last.” You are a traveler: meeting and parting both take place before the morning sun clears the treetops. Yet I should like at least to carry your luggage for you as far as Midono or Magome so that you could rest those weary shoulders—but that is not possible. And if my uncle returns as we speak here, there will be trouble: who knows what he will say! If this seems cold, it is for your own sake. I do not wish to cause you difficulties; so please, leave. Oh! would that you could stay for a thousand days, for ten thousand days, but . . . The rest of that sentence did not escape her lips; still, the pale crimson evident in her face was so endearing, how could any man in Shuun’s position have abandoned her?
The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series) Page 19