of the house of Kasaku far away. O-Noto and Ichiro under the trees,
Ichirō with a lantern. Both have white towels tightly bound round their
heads; their robes are girded well up, and their sleeves caught back
with tasuki cords, to leave the arms free. Each carries a long sword._
It is the hour, as the Japanese most expressively say, "when the sound
of the river is loudest." There is no other sound but a long occasional
humming of wind in the needles of the pines; for it is late autumn, and
the frogs are silent. The two shadows do not speak, and the sound of
the river grows louder.
Suddenly there is the noise of a plash far off,--somebody crossing
the shallow stream; then an echo of wooden sandals,--irregular,
staggering,--the footsteps of a drunkard, coming nearer and nearer. The
drunkard lifts up his voice: it is Kasaku's voice. He sings,--
"_Suita okata ni suirarete_;
_Ya-ton-ton!_"[1]
--a song of love and wine.
Immediately the two shadows start toward the singer at a run,--a
noiseless flitting, for their feet are shod with waraji. Kasaku still
sings. Suddenly a loose stone turns under him; he wrenches his ankle,
and utters a growl of anger. Almost in the same instant a lantern is
held close to his face. Perhaps for thirty seconds it remains there. No
one speaks. The yellow light shows three strangely inexpressive masks
rather than visages. Kasaku sobers at once,--recognizing the faces,
remembering the incident of the bathhouse, and seeing the swords. But
he is not afraid, and presently bursts into a mocking laugh.
"Hé! hé! The Ichirō pair! And so you take me, too, for a baby? What are
you doing with such things in your hands? Let me show you how to use
them."
But Ichirō, who has dropped the lantern, suddenly delivers, with the
full swing of both hands, a sword-slash that nearly severs Kasaku's
right arm from the shoulder; and as the victim staggers, the sword of
the woman cleaves through his left shoulder. He falls with one fearful
cry, "_Hitogoroshi!_" which means "murder." But he does not cry again.
For ten whole minutes the swords are busy with him. The lantern, still
glowing, lights the ghastliness. Two belated pedestrians approach,
hear, see, drop their wooden sandals from their feet, and flee back
into the darkness without a word. Ichirō and O-Noto sit down by the
lantern to take breath, for the work was hard.
The son of Kasaku, a boy of fourteen, comes running to find his father.
He has heard the song, then the cry; but he has not yet learned fear.
The two suffer him to approach. As he nears O-Noto, the woman seizes
him, flings him down, twists his slender arms under her knees, and
clutches the sword. But Ichirō, still panting, cries, "No! no! Not the
boy! He did us no wrong!" O-Noto releases him. He is too stupefied to
move.
She slaps his face terribly, crying, "Go!" He runs,--not daring to
shriek.
Ichirō and O-Noto leave the chopped mass, walk to the house of Kasaku,
and call loudly. There is no reply;--only the pathetic, crouching
silence of women and children waiting death. But they are bidden not to
fear. Then Ichirō cries:--
"Honorable funeral prepare! Kasaku by my hand is now dead!"
"And by mine!" shrills O-Noto.
Then the footsteps recede.