Kanpei. What do you say? A pouch of the same pattern as the dress you wear?
Ichimonjiya. Yes.
Kanpei. Of the same pattern?
Ichimonjiya. Is not that certain proof?
Recitative. Upon hearing this, Kanpei is amazed. After looking around him, he stealthily takes out the pouch from his sleeve; as he gazes at it, he sees it is of silk and cotton and does not differ a jot in pattern from the man’s dress. Great Heavens! Was it then his father that he killed with his gun last night? He feels a far greater pang than if his own heart had been pierced by a bullet. Ignorant of his feelings, his wife asks him.
Okaru. Come, my husband, do not look so restless; but decide for us whether I am to go or not.
Kanpei. Oh, yes. Since he speaks so convincingly, I fear you must go.
Okaru. What, without seeing father?
Kanpei. Yes. I saw your father for a moment this morning; I do not know when he will come home.
Okaru. Did you then see father? Why did you not say so before, instead of making mother and me anxious about him?