GOHEI: I’ll definitely be in your service five years, even ten or twenty years, until we encounter your enemy. He has very likely fled to the northern regions, but on the chance he hasn’t, we would need to head back to Edo again and even on to Kyoto and Osaka. I’ll be with you throughout, even if we go as far as the hinterlands of Shikoku and Kyushu.
OKUNI: But we’ve had such bad luck at this, so many years have passed and we haven’t come across the enemy. If every day we keep on climbing mountains and crossing plains, before we know it, we’ll get old and our hair will be white. You and I . . . when you think about it, what an odd karma!
GOHEI: You’re right. If times had not changed, Madame, a person the likes of me would never be together with someone of your status. But it’s happened. Forgive me for saying so, but it is indeed some kind of odd karma.
OKUNI: I left home to get my enemy and, on the way, became ill for a long time. And even though I’ve exhausted your kindness in unexpectedly calling on you to nurse me back to health—how badly I feel about all this!
GOHEI: Whether it’s the enemy or nursing you back to health, it’s all part of serving you, as far as I’m concerned. However, your complete recovery so quickly from such an illness—it’s just got to be divine protection of the spirits and Buddha. If by some chance we had encountered the enemy—that coward Ikeda—while you still were weak, there’s no telling what he might have done. I’ve really been worried about that.
Faint shakuhachi music gradually is heard in the distance. Okuni listens intently.
OKUNI: Listen, Gohei, do you hear that shakuhachi music?
GOHEI: I do. It must be that mendicant priest.
OKUNI: That sound, it’s most certainly that mendicant priest. During my illness in Utsunomiya, that’s what I heard under my window, those very notes.
GOHEI: That priest is going leisurely from one village to another, just as we are. It’s as though he’s following us. A strange guy.
OKUNI: He was on the Nakasendō Road in Kumagaya with us. Sometimes he was behind us, and then sometimes he was ahead of us. Didn’t we arrive in Utsunomiya on the same day?
GOHEI: You’re right. And while you were sick, for exactly those two months in Utsunomiya, we could always hear his shakuhachi music under your window—no matter how rainy or windy the weather.
OKUNI: I wondered at the time whether by some remote chance that might not be my enemy Tomonojō.
GOHEI: I thought so, too, Madame, but didn’t you see the mendicant’s face?
OKUNI: Recently, when I tossed some money out the window, he looked up at my face from under the tilted brim of his braided straw hat.
GOHEI: I saw his face then, too, but wouldn’t say that he really looked like Ikeda Tomonojō.
OKUNI: Perhaps not, but if we were to see him again, I’d like to get another look at that face.
GOHEI: A suspicious-looking man. But no way he could be Ikeda Tomonojō. Someone labeled as an enemy and judged as a coward by the whole clan could hardly be expected to get so close to us.
OKUNI: I wonder. You say that, but a man who would in a cowardly fashion ambush my husband and then make advances on me—such a man could still be following me.
GOHEI: If he’s willing to risk his life for you, then maybe. But as long as I have the honor of serving you, how could that pitiful wretch do such a thing? Not a chance that mendicant priest is him. Although Ikeda-sama is not a good swordsman, he’s a nice-looking person, with a feminine complexion and gracefulness, but the priest had a rustic appearance, dark complexion, and protruding cheekbones.
OKUNI: Still, Tomonojō is the kind of person who may be secretly hiding until he gets an opportunity to strike suddenly. It’s best not to let your guard down.
GOHEI: In any case, you may rest assured that I will forever be vigilant, so have no fear. The quarry has no reputation with a sword. As soon as I find him, I won’t let him live. It’s been our bad luck not to meet him yet. He’s got protection from above.
OKUNI: Next month it will be exactly four years since my husband died. The more I think about it, the more despicable that cur Tomonojō becomes. Oh, how I’d like to get my wish and do him in!
GOHEI: Your time will come soon, Madame, no need to get so worked up about it. Look, it’s starting to get dark.
OKUNI: Maybe it’s because I know we’re quite close to the northern region, but last night the cold wind went right through me. And today how lonely I feel!
GOHEI: No one ever comes this way, so when it gets dark, it gets even lonelier. How are you feeling? Have your feet recovered yet?
OKUNI: The tiredness is gone, for the most part, but (rubbing her toes) this blister on my big toe has burst and really hurts.
GOHEI: Which one? Where? Let me just have a look.
He kneels at Okuni’s feet, undoes her straw sandals, and removes her tabi. The shakuhachi music briefly ceases, then begins again.
GOHEI: Hey, this must really hurt. The skin has peeled away and it’s all red. What can we do about this? If you hang on just a minute, I’ll put some tissue paper there so your sandal strap doesn’t rub it.
He pulls out some tissue paper, tears it into thin strips, and wraps it around the wound.
GOHEI: There, that should be much more comfortable.
OKUNI: Yes, that’s much better. I haven’t worn sandals in such a long time that I was bound to get a blister.
GOHEI: In a couple of days you’ll be used to them again. OK, now raise your foot a little.
While speaking, he replaces her tabi and ties her sandal.
OKUNI: Gohei, that mendicant priest is right behind us.
GOHEI (pricks up his ears as he finishes tying her sandal): I don’t get it. What can he be doing, walking around out here at night in this lonely place, playing his flute like that?
OKUNI: When he gets here, will you be sure to take a close look at his face?
GOHEI: Very good. It’s fortunate that we can watch for him right here, and this time we can try to get a good look at his face.
OKUNI: As I said a while ago, you mustn’t let your guard down.
GOHEI: Madame, you, too, please, if you can keep your face from being seen. . . . (puts on his traveling hat and looks upstage) OK, it looks like he’s just about here.
The flute music comes closer. Okuni drapes a small towel around her head. Gohei loiters about, smoking, his head bent down. From upstage the mendicant priest appears. He wears a wide-brimmed hat (typical of mendicant priests) and walks downstage playing the shakuhachi, past Okuni and Gohei.
OKUNI: Excuse me, Reverend Priest . . . Reverend Priest!
On the second call, the priest stops playing and silently stops walking. He stands there without looking around, the shakuhachi still in his mouth.
GOHEI: Reverend Priest! Excuse me, but may I ask you something?
The priest silently lowers the shakuhachi from his mouth and turns toward Okuni and Gohei.
GOHEI: We were wondering whether Your Reverence might be the one who was there on the Nakasendō Road from Kumagaya. Sometimes you were behind us and sometimes ahead of us. Weren’t you the one who was with us as far as Utsunomiya?
PRIEST (in a small, distracted voice): Indeed, I was with you.
GOHEI: So it’s as we thought. Well, I don’t actually have anything in particular to ask you, but meeting so often like this is such an odd karma that though it was rude of us, we accosted you. Where is Your Reverence headed from here?
PRIEST: Nowhere in particular . . .
GOHEI: Well, since you’re on this road, you must be going somewhere in the northern region?
PRIEST: . . .
GOHEI: If so, it’s good to have traveling companions, so why not come together with us as far as the next village?
PRIEST: . . .
GOHEI: Reverend Priest, is something the matter?
PRIEST: Sir, you did say you had no particular business with me, a lowly person, but if I may say so, it’s better not to hide what you mean.
You really want to take a look at this, my humble face.
GOHEI: . . . (He and Okuni, dumbfounded, look up in unison at the priest.)
PRIEST: If you want to take a look, then I would like to let you.
As he speaks, he calmly removes his wide-brimmed priest’s hat. He is a very handsome man, with fair skin, the front part of his head shaved.
GOHEI: Uh . . .
OKUNI: You are Ikeda Tomonojō.
PRIEST: Yes, I am Ikeda Tomonojō. Miss Okuni, it has been a long time.
Okuni tears the towel from her head, and Gohei removes his traveling hat.
OKUNI: Meeting you here was surely preordained by my departed husband. You can’t escape! Prepare yourself!
GOHEI: For four years I have accompanied my master’s noble wife, looking to slay his enemy. Now we’ve got you. Ikeda Tomonojō, stand and face me like a man!
TOMONOJŌ: Oh! Don’t get in such a state. Everyone knows I’ve always been cowardly. I’m not good with a sword and am weak. If you want to kill me, you can do it any time. . . . With you, Madame Okuni, and you, Gohei, Master Iori had a reliable wife and retainer. Master Iori is much happier than I, who live wretchedly on, my shame exposed.
While speaking, Tomonojō squats down at the base of a pine tree. Okuni and Gohei surround him on either side.
GOHEI: What the hell are you talking about, sir? You say he was happy? Because my master had great skill at swordsmanship, he met his regrettable end only by your cowardly cunning. And you say he’s happier than you? How absurd!
OKUNI: Oh, Tomonojō, if it’s so hard to live in shame, why didn’t you, then, with good grace, give yourself up? You may have been born into the house of the chief retainer, but what a despicable figure you have become!
TOMONOJŌ: I well know how despicable I’ve become. Yet life is so precious.
GOHEI: Ikeda Tomonojō, weren’t you once a low-ranking samurai? How can you say life is so precious?
TOMONOJŌ: Go ahead, laugh at my cowardice if you want. No matter how much I may be laughed at, I’ll still consider life precious.
OKUNI: If you consider life so precious, why have you now crossed our path? Does it mean you are prepared to die, now that there is no escape?
TOMONOJŌ: No, no, I’m not prepared to die. I came here so that I could see your face once again, even if just a glimpse.
OKUNI: What? What are you saying?
TOMONOJŌ (smiling sadly): Oh, Madame Okuni, please don’t be like that with me. I must confess—ever since you and Gohei set out from Hiroshima, for nearly four years until now I have accompanied you day and night, like a shadow. No matter how much a coward a man may be, when you are in love, you forget your life is in danger.
GOHEI: You followed us for four years? No way! We only recently saw you in Kumagaya.
TOMONOJŌ: You are right, but I’m not telling you a lie. I’ll never forget when you set out for Hiroshima—it was on December 10 more than four years ago. You took the Chūgoku road to Osaka, then went to Kyoto, and at the end of that year you traveled the Tōkaidō road to Edo. Isn’t that right, Madame Okuni? Now already four years have gone by since I’ve been following you.
OKUNI: But why? How do you explain your intentions?
TOMONOJŌ: My intentions? I myself don’t know. As you know, I have been hopelessly in love with you. That’s why I killed Master Iori, my rival in love, attacking him cunningly in the dark. I know that you will, of course, call me a coward.
GOHEI: You are nothing more than a coward!
TOMONOJŌ: Just let me explain. That night, I killed Master Iori and escaped from Hiroshima under cover of darkness. Once I had gotten far enough away, I reflected on things and realized that from then on my lot was uncertain, that no matter what, I would be a pariah aimlessly wandering about. What I wanted at the very least was to get a brief look at your face, Madame Okuni. I knew you would follow me out of vengeance, that you would look far and wide for me in every nook and corner throughout Japan. I would secretly follow you, waiting for the moment to see you again, so I could fulfill my desire. What I did was disguise myself, then I sneaked back into town and hid until the day you started out.
OKUNI: The more I listen to this, the more disgusting you become.
TOMONOJŌ: Even though you hate me so much, won’t you feel some pity for me, who will never stop thinking of you? I mean, in Utsunomiya recently, while you were dozing during your lingering illness, the one who came, in rain or wind, to play the shakuhachi under your window—that person was none other than I, Tomonojō.
GOHEI: But that mendicant priest, it couldn’t have been you.
TOMONOJŌ: I covered my face with black dye and deceived you. Don’t you remember, Madame Okuni, that time just recently when you stuck your head out the window and tossed me some money? That was the first time in the four years since leaving our hometown that I saw your face! My longcherished desire, at last, it was fulfilled . . . but . . .
GOHEI: The more I listen to this, the more obsessed you sound. So now that you’ve fulfilled that desire of yours, you’ve probably got no more lingering regrets. All right, then, hey, get up and fight like a man!
TOMONOJŌ: No, no, go easy. I have no desire to fight. You’ve been outstanding at martial skills for many years, even praised for them. And you surely know how good you are. For the likes of me to cross swords with someone like you—I just don’t have the skills. As I already said, I’m a person lacking in self-respect, not to be treated on the same level as a samurai. It’s no contest; I’d lose. That’s obvious. So to fight would be useless.
GOHEI: You’ve come to this and still you hold life precious?
OKUNI: Are you trying to get out of a fight with a quibble?
TOMONOJŌ: If I can with a quibble here, a quibble there, yes, absolutely. Laugh at me as timid and cowardly, if you will—I’m telling the truth. You may think that bringing this up now is like water over the dam, but your husband, Master Iori, and Gohei right here are fortunate—men who know the way of the samurai and are outstanding in swordsmanship. I am very envious of them.
OKUNI: If you are envious of them, why not be more manly yourself ?
TOMONOJŌ: I’d like to be, but I was born with this womanly spirit, and although I tried somehow to get past it on my own strength, it didn’t happen. Because I was born into a samurai family, I wanted to be a splendid samurai who was not inferior to your husband. I wanted to excel in swordsmanship, be endowed with courage, be known as a respectable warrior. In that case, Madame Okuni, maybe you wouldn’t despise me. Maybe I might have been able to have you as my dear wife, and I might have been able to lead a happy life. All these difficulties are because of what I was born with. I mean, in short, it’s because I’m just unlucky.
OKUNI: The unlucky one is my dead husband, Master Iori. Weren’t you once sent back home because you were arrogantly parading about, wearing the hat of your daimyō ministerial family? Or was it because you heaped insults on me by falling in love with a married woman? Now you’re saying all these things, but who would believe you? The stain on your ill-begotten life—you put it there. That’s why people dislike you.
TOMONOJŌ: Indeed, people dislike me all the more. I’m a thoughtless lowlife unworthy of being a samurai—lazy, a liar, weak like a girl, not in any way useful. Not just you, everybody despises me. If I may say so, I didn’t know I had a bad character. I’ve been like this from birth. Just as you were born with lovely features, my heart was, at the same time, born ugly. Now, isn’t that right? And yet, nevertheless, you attack me, diminished as I am. What’s the point?
OKUNI: If you were so aware of your ugly character, why were you jealous of my husband’s love for me?
TOMONOJŌ: What else could I be but jealous? If Master Iori was a man, well, so am I. What’s more, weren’t you and I promised to each other? But you could see no future in me, so you gave me the cold shoulder, and even your father cut me off. Not only that, everyone applauded you for cutting me off, for properly admonishing the
good-for-nothing Tomonojō, and for Master Iori’s forsaking me. Not a single person took pity on me. That made me, weak as I was, think inexpressibly lonely thoughts. I killed Master Iori because I could not bear that loneliness.
GOHEI: Did you actually think, sir, you would gain anything by killing the master?
TOMONOJŌ: No, the reason Madame Okuni abandoned me was not because of Master Iori but because I am a terrible person. I’m well aware of that. So I hated Master Iori. No matter how you look at it, he was an outstanding samurai while I was born to bad luck. And yet no one tried to take the least bit of pity on me. Everyone supported Master Iori. It was from feelings of anger over love and to defy all those people that I killed him. You can say it was cowardly to kill him with cunning in the dark, but for a weakling to kill an outstanding samurai, what other means was there? For a weakling like me, I couldn’t be anything but a coward.
GOHEI: Listening to your endless ranting is getting us nowhere. We’re just wasting time. Face it, Ikeda-sama, you’re in a spot you can’t escape from, so prepare yourself! Stand and fight and we’ll tell people back home that Tomonojō, contrary to expectation, put up a glorious fight and met a brave end.
OKUNI: Listen, Tomonojō, as terrible a person as you are, to that same extent you have loved. No longer do I hate you. Please be reasonable and prepare to die and I will hold a Buddhist prayer service for you. Tomonojō, this is my fervent plea.
TOMONOJŌ: When you speak to me like that, it makes me both happy and sad. My tears flow. It’s been seven years since you have spoken to me with such gentle words. If you want to kill me, go ahead and do it, because even if I live, what use would I be? I simply could not live with you face-to-face like this, in this uncharted area forever. Oh, how I envy Gohei! If I could wander about in these far lands as your retainer and attendant, as Gohei does, for even five or ten years. Gohei, look, you understand a warrior’s sympathy. If you could only give me some.
GOHEI: Precisely because I understand it, I’ve been urging you to prepare to die.
The Columbia Anthology of Modern Japanese Literature: From Restoration to Occupation, 1868-1945: vol. 1 (Modern Asian Literature Series) Page 95
