As I touched the stones again, I was startled by seeing two white shadows before me; but a kindly voice, asking if the water was cold, set me at ease. It was the voice of my old landlord, Otokichi the fishseller, who had come to look for me, accompanied by his wife.
“Only pleasantly cool,” I made answer, as I threw on my robe to go home with them.
“Ah,” said the wife, “it is not good to go out there on the night of the Bon!”
“I did not go far,” I replied;—“I only wanted to look at the lanterns.”
“Even a Kappa gets drowned sometimes,”[[1]] protested Otokichi. “There was a man of this village who swam home a distance of seven ri, in bad weather, after his boat had been broken. But he was drowned afterwards.”
[1] This is a common proverb:—Kappa mo oboré-shini. The Kappa is a water-goblin, haunting rivers especially.
Seven ri means a trifle less than eighteen miles. I asked if any of the young men now in the settlement could do as much.
“Probably some might,” the old man replied. “There are many strong swimmers. All swim here,—even the little children. But when fisher-folk swim like that, it is only to save their lives.”
“Or to make love,” the wife added,—“like the Hashima girl.”
“Who?” queried I.