He sat, his head in hands, watching the flickering light in the altar stand. "Ha! 'A woman and a man of small comprehension: these are hard to govern.' Kōshi (Confucius) says it. This Chūdayu has played the fool to the Tono Sama's extravagances." The bell of Gekkeiji began to strike the hour of the watch. It came clear and mournful across the snow. "How like a woman's nature," says the native scribe. "One"—"One"—"Two"—"Two"—"Three"—"Three." ... Chūdayu went on, mechanically following the blows hammered into his brain. Then came the heart rending hopeless wail which chilled his very soul. The old woman in amazement and pain gave a howl as the hot wine ran over hands and fingers. Chūdayu on his feet stupidly gazed at the bottle rolling to the end of the room. "'Tis of no import," he muttered. "Now—to get hence. Close up all. To-night Chūdayu returns not."—"But Danna Sama! Condescend to consider! The Danna Sama is not himself. Truly he will be ill. Deign the honoured couch." The couch in that room! He shuddered all over. The old woman wrung and wiped her scalded fingers, and would persuade him to seek rest. She simpered in her blandishment. "Where could she possibly have gone, for baya saw no exit? Perhaps the lady comes again; and in the yashiki there is no greater beauty than O'Kiku Dono. Fortunate the Danna...." Truly she thought him gone mad. "Shut up!" roared Chūdayu. His eyes blazing under the heat of the quantity of his hot stimulant he thrust her, a heap huddled into a corner of the room. Trembling hands adjusted what garments he could lay eyes upon. Over all he threw a long wool cloak with hood and eyelets against the snow. Turning to the entrance he glowered at her, hand on his dagger—"More words of that vile jade, and baya joins her own beneath the stone. This Chūdayu goes to Nakachō, to a public woman. If that O'Baké comes again.... Ha! Ha!... Let her lie with Baya.... Why! She's not even rotten yet!" He left the old woman stupefied and quaking, himself to leap out into the storm and darkness.
Outside the gate he had a shock. In the shadow he ran into a woman standing by, who turned at his greeting. O'Kiku's face? With clenched fist he would have struck, but the vision faded. "Truly the baya is not wrong. Chūdayu is mad, or drunk." His knuckles had near encounter with the brazen crest fastened into the post. This brought him to himself. Rapid was his descent of Gomizaka. At its foot was a kago stand. "The Danna Sama from the Aoyama yashiki—he condescends the kago. One all closed? The Danna Sama will lie as snug as in a koshi (kwanoké = hearse)." Chūdayu took the joke badly. The fellow sprawled on the ground under the blow—"Is this a funeral procession? Truly the night itself is bad enough—without the joke."—"A scurvy knave," humbly explained the kago chief. "A country recruit, just to hand. Deign to pardon his impertinence." He edged the fellow off, called up another man—"The Danna stands not on the fare? Truly 'tis such a night as rarely has been seen. With wind and sleet the men can barely stand. But the Danna is in haste. Surely a woman is at the journey's end.... Not a palanquin but with mats." Chūdayu was neatly bundled into the litter. The mats were lowered at the sides and covered with oiled paper. "To Nakanochō; and at good round pace." He hardly heard the functionary's words. "Ah! How she hated this Chūdayu! How she glared into the Tono Sama's eyes as he dealt the blow into her pap!... A vicious jade; yet a beauty. Where could such beauty be encountered? May the kami (gods) grant Chūdayu the same good fortune this night!" More pleasing vision soothed him. He was filled with hot wine and fast grew dazed and sleepy. The gentle motion of the kago rocked him as in a cradle. Yet he could not get sleep. Her voice was in his ears; without, in talk with the kago men? He raised a corner of the mat. With surprise—"Heigh, kagoya! What place is this?" He was passing the moat on his right not left; the hill sloped down, not up toward Nakano (Shinjuku). "Danna Sama, it is Suidōbashi."—"Suidōbashi! And does one go to Nakanochō by Suidōbashi? Knaves! About with you, and to the right course as directed."
The men, after their kind, grumbled; but to themselves; and in a way their fare should hear. "Naruhodo! What a beast of a night is this! Mate, it is to Nakanochō; but Nakanochō whither? The Danna Sama is testy. He is not to be questioned. He might give a cut. Jubei is lucky. He has changed head for rear. A care there! A care there! What? Again around? What a night, and what a Danna to deal with!" The unconscious Chūdayu was borne onward. Again the vinous fumes passed off. To his amazement be saw the water on the left; but not what he sought. "Heigh! Heigh! Kago men, whither now? What place yonder?"—"Yanagibara, Danna Sama." Chūdayu's voice was big with wrath. "True kago men as guides! Does one go to Yanagibara to go to Nakanochō of Shinjuku."—"Oya! Oya! The Danna always tells us to go this way, that way. Nakanochō, Nakachō—is it Yoshiwara, or Fukagawa, or Naitō Shinjuku to which the Danna goes? 'Tis but the lady at the pole who has a clear head and forces us to go this way.... Danna, never mind the fare money. Condescend to alight. It is a hard night; too hard for such a baffling task.... Here is your pretty friend again!"
Chūdayu raised the mat and looked out. Vaguely outlined in the again whirling snowy darkness stood O'Kiku. With wild cry he sprang out, sword drawn. The kago men dropped the litter and took to their heels. Dazed Chūdayu looked around him. Ah! He was drunk with wine, and visions haunted him. Yanagibara? Let it be Yoshiwara then. Stalking through the Ōmon he made his way to the Nagatoya, a tea house at which he was known. "Oya! The honoured Danna Sama of the Banchō yashiki. In good season Aikawa Dono; the lady awaits the honoured buké-sama."—"A lady waiting? Fool! Who brings a woman to this market where he comes to purchase?" The bantō (clerk) of the tea house insisted. "Aikawa Sama, is it not fact? She is barely of twenty years; outstripping in beauty the greatest of the Go Tayu.... Her name? O'Kiku San...." In his amazement the man rose from his kneeling salutation, craned his neck to watch the flying figure of Chūdayu disappear. Perhaps the Danna had gone mad. Surely he was mad; and not one to come on foot on such a night and all the way from the Banchō. He sighed at loss of such an eager customer.
Chūdayu walked into the first tea house to hand when he had stopped for breath. A first visit, his tea money (chadai) was munificent. Such a customer deserved good treatment from the Izuzuya. Hence the attendant guided him to the Miuraya, where was bespoken the presence of the brilliant oiran O'Yodo. The hour was late. The oiran was detained. Chūdayu was sleepy and demanded his room. Hardly had he taken to his couch to await her presence than he was asleep. Leaving her other guest O'Yodo pushed open the shōji and entered. She deserved her reputation for beauty. A splendid girl, for she was not more than woman yet. A little tall for her sex; fair and with but little powder, an oval face, long trailing hair, and shapely hands and feet for all this business. Batan-batan the sound of the zōri (sandals). She dropped these on the outside. The stranger was asleep. Sitting beside him she gathered the folds of her crape night robe about her bare feet. With a deft touch she adjusted the knot of the pink sash which confined it; then turned attention to the long silver chased pipe and the face of the sleeping man. Some feeling was aroused she could not understand. There was much she did not yet understand in this bitter toil of hers.
Chūdayu began to speak; at first in halting and broken sentences; then in a continued flood—"Ah! Ha! That look of hate! Chūdayu acted most foully. 'Twas he who took the plate, to secure his safety and O'Kiku's death. Deign to pardon. It was not Chūdayu; 'twas the Tono Sama who dealt the fatal blow.... What? The suffering?... Ah! But the suffering of mind.... Now she begins—one—two—three—four—five—six—seven—eight—nine.... Kiya!" The shriek rang through the room, bringing O'Yodo to her feet. Crouched beside the andon was outlined vaguely the figure of her sister O'Kiku. "Nēsan! Here! And what...." At the words she turned to meet the wide open frighted gaze of Chūdayu. The matter of fact, gentle tones calmed him. "A first meeting with the honoured guest. Deign to pardon the awkwardness of Yodo." Chūdayu came out of his sleep reassured. He had dreamed; a frightful dream. She told him so, and pressed him curiously as to why he had called out. "The honoured samurai (buké-sama), who then favours Yodo?" He spoke, as being again himself—the military man, and no less a person than the chamberlain of Aoyama Shūzen Sama, hatamoto with a yashiki in the Banchō. "Perhaps then a serving maid called O'Kiku is known to the honoured sir." Again Chūdayu's doubts were raised at evident resemblance—to be reassured. "No kin: we knew each other well in early life. The father was a great criminal, and O'Kiku, it was heard, was condemned to be a slave for life. Entered in this business nothing has been seen of each other. She is well—in mind and body?" The question was timid, and Chūdayu did not notice the unnatural eagerness. "In Kiku's place mind and body are assured their lot; to undergo no change." Captivated by this beauty he was now eager for his good fortune. Reluctant and with misgiving she allowed him to draw her close.