1-3 (2)

by Mizukami Kyouka · 2026-03-31

"Another person is coming here to sleep. He's from the same country as you, Wakasa, and he's a traveling lacquerware merchant. No, this man is young, but he's a truly solid and good man.

I began my story when I crossed the mountains of Hida. There was a man I met at a teahouse at the foot of the mountain, a traveling medicine seller from Toyama, and he was somehow an irritating, twisted, unpleasant middle-aged man.

That day, early in the morning when we were about to cross the pass, we left the first inn around three o'clock. We walked about six ri while it was cool and arrived at that teahouse, but it had been clear and scorching hot since morning.

I was so thirsty from walking in a hurry. I immediately wanted to drink tea, but I was told that the water hadn't boiled yet.

At this time of year, on a mountain path where people rarely pass, there was no way smoke would rise even though morning glories were blooming. There was a cold-looking stream in front of the bench, so when I tried to draw water with a bucket, I suddenly realized something.

The truth was that a terrible disease was rampant due to the heat, and the villages I had passed through earlier were covered in lime.

"Excuse me, is this well water?" I asked the teahouse woman, but I felt awkward and fidgeted.

"No, it's river water," she replied, and I thought it was strange.

"It seems there's a considerable epidemic in the mountains, but isn't this water flowing from the direction of the crossroads?" I asked, and the woman casually replied, "No, it's not."

Relieved, I spoke to her. "The peddler on the right, who has been resting here for a while, is a seller of Mankintan. This man is a subordinate of Mankintan, wearing a thin kimono with a thousand threads, an Ogura obi, and recently, he has a watch tucked in, with gaiters and leggings. Of course, he wears straw sandals, has a Chigusa cotton furoshiki tied around his neck, and a small, folded tung oil raincoat attached to the bundle with a Sanada cord. It's also typical for him to carry a Kobenkei cotton umbrella. Even at a glance, they all look like sensible people."

When he stays overnight, he changes into a large yukata, loosens his obi, and sips shochu little by little, while trying to put his feet on the plump knees of the innkeeper's woman.

"Look, it's Hokaibo," she said, looking down from the skylight.

"It sounds strange to say, but it's decided that women in this world can't do it, and even if you become a bald monk, you still want to live, don't you? It's mysterious, something you can't fight against. Sister, look, isn't it better while there's still lingering attachment?" They looked at each other and laughed.

I felt embarrassed and hesitated to drink the river water I had scooped into my hands.

He tapped his pipe with a pop and said, "What, don't be shy, drink as much as you want. If your life is in danger, I'll use medicine, that's why I'm here, isn't that right, sister? Hey, but you can't do it for free. Shinho Mankintan, three hundred per packet. Buy it if you want it. I haven't committed a sin that would require paying a monk yet, so what do you think?" He patted the tea shop woman's back.

I immediately left the spot.

No, knees and women's backs, an old monk's behavior is appalling, but since it's a story, please bear with me there."