Mother. Oh, you have done up your hair, daughter! And it is well done. Everywhere in the country they are now busy harvesting barley; and just now, near the bamboo jungle, I heard young men sing the barley-pounders’ song, “Come out, old man, come with your dame.” That made me very anxious as my old man is late coming home, and I went to the end of the village; but not a shadow of him could I espy.
Okaru. Yes, mother,
I wonder what makes him so late. I will just run and see.
Mother. No, it is not well for a young woman to walk alone. You, especially, never liked from your childhood to walk about in the country; and though we sent you for service to Lord Enya’s, you apparently could not live away from the lonely country and came back to us. While you are with Kanpei, you never show any sign of discontent.
Okaru. Oh, mother, that is but natural. When I live with one I love, I would put up willingly with poverty, to say nothing of country life. When the Feast of Lanterns comes, I mean to do as the song says, “Come out, old man, come with your dame,” and go with Kanpei to see the dance. You, too, did that sort of thing when you were young.
Recitative. It is a light-tongued hussy, and her spirits, too, appear restless.
Mother. Cheerfully as you may talk, in your heart........
Okaru. No, no. I am quite composed. I have been long prepared to go to service in Gion-machi for our lord’s sake; but for my aged father to take so much trouble.........
Mother. Do not say that. Low as his position is, your brother, too, was a servant of Lord Enya; and it is not like taking trouble on another person’s account.