多襄丸の白状

It was I who killed that man. But I did not kill the woman. Then where did she go? That, I do not know either. Well, please wait. No matter how much you torture me, I cannot tell you what I do not know. Besides, now that it has come to this, I have no intention of hiding anything like a coward.

I met that husband and wife a little past noon yesterday. Just then a gust of wind blew, and the hanging veil of her hat was lifted, so I caught a fleeting glimpse of the woman's face. Fleetingly—by the moment I thought I had seen it, it was already hidden again, but perhaps because of that too, to me that woman's face looked like the face of a female bodhisattva. In that instant, I made up my mind: even if I had to kill the man, I would take the woman.

What, killing the man—that is not such a great matter as you might think. If you are to take the woman, the man must surely be killed. It is only that when I kill, I use the sword at my side, whereas you do not use the sword; you kill with power, you kill with money, and sometimes you kill with nothing but coaxing words. True, no blood is spilled, the man goes on living splendidly—but even so, you have killed him. If you consider the depth of the sin, it is unclear whether you are the worse, or I. (A sardonic smile)

However, if I could take the woman without killing the man, there would be no particular complaint. Nay, at that moment my heart was set on taking the woman without killing the man if at all possible. But on that highway at Yamashina, such a thing was impossible. So I devised a way to lead that couple into the mountains.

This too was no trouble. Falling in with the couple on the road, I told them: in the hills over there is an old mound; when I opened it, many mirrors and swords came out; I have buried such things in the thicket on the shaded side of the mountain, so that no one would know; if there be any who want them, I would sell any at a cheap price. The man was gradually moved by my tale. Then—what do you think? Is not desire a fearful thing? Within half an hour, that couple had turned their horses onto the mountain path with me.

When we came before the thicket, I said the treasure is buried within; come and see. The man, thirsting for gain, could have no objection. But the woman would not even dismount; she said she would wait. And seeing how dense the thicket was, it was no unreasonable thing to say. In truth, this too fell neatly into my trap, so leaving the woman alone, I entered the thicket with the man.

For a while the thicket was only bamboo. But some hundred yards in, there was a somewhat open grove of cedars—no place could have been more convenient for accomplishing my work. Pushing through the brush, I told a plausible lie: the treasure is buried beneath the cedars. When I said this, the man pressed eagerly toward where the sparse cedars showed through. As the bamboo thinned, several cedars stood in a row—and no sooner had we come there than I suddenly threw him down and pinned him. The man, wearing a sword, seemed to have considerable strength, but taken unawares he was helpless. In an instant he was bound to the root of a cedar. Rope? I always wore it at my waist, thankful to thieving, for one never knows when one must scale a wall. Of course, to keep him from crying out, I stuffed his cheeks with fallen bamboo leaves, and there was no further trouble.

Having disposed of the man, I went to the woman and said the man had suddenly taken ill; would she come and see. That this too hit the mark goes without saying. The woman, her sedge hat still removed, was led by my hand as she entered the depths of the thicket. But when she came and saw the man bound to the cedar root—at a single glance she drew a small knife from her bosom, I know not when she had taken it out. I have never before seen a woman of such fierce spirit. Had I been careless even then, I would have been run through the side in an instant. Nay, even dodging, amid her reckless slashing I might well have been wounded. But I am Tajomaru; somehow without even drawing my sword, I struck the knife from her hand. However spirited the woman, without a weapon she could do nothing. And so, as I had wished, without taking the man's life, I obtained the woman.

Without taking the man's life—yes. Beyond that, I had no intention of killing the man. Yet when I would have fled the thicket, leaving the weeping woman behind, she suddenly clung to my arm like a madwoman. And listening to her broken cries, she said: either you die or my husband dies—one of you must die; to show shame before two men is worse than death. Nay, gasping she said further, whichever survives, she would follow him. At that moment I was fiercely moved to kill the man. (Gloomy excitement)

Telling you this, you will surely see me as more cruel than yourselves. But that is because you did not see that woman's face. Especially because you did not see, in that single instant, her burning eyes. When my eyes met hers, even if struck dead by thunder, I thought I would make this woman my wife. Make her my wife—the only thought in my mind was this one thing. This was not, as you might think, base lust. Had there been no wish beyond lust at that time, I would have kicked the woman down and surely fled. The man too would then not have stained my sword with his blood. But in the dim thicket, the moment I looked steady at the woman's face, I resolved that unless I killed the man, I would not leave this place.

Yet even in killing the man, I wished for no cowardly killing. I loosed the man's bonds and told him to cross swords. (The rope left fallen at the cedar root was what I forgot to take then.) The man, his face convulsed, drew his heavy sword. Then without a word, in rage he sprang at me.—How that duel went needs no telling. My sword pierced his breast at the twenty-third stroke. At the twenty-third stroke—please do not forget that. Even now I am proud of this alone. For only that man in all the world crossed twenty strokes with me. (A cheerful smile)

The moment the man fell, sword bloodied, I turned to the woman. And then—what? The woman was nowhere to be found! I searched the cedar grove for which way she had fled. But on the fallen bamboo leaves, no trace remained. Straining my ears, I heard only the man's throat, the sound of his dying breath.

Perhaps the woman, as soon as I began to fight, slipped through the thicket to call for help.—Thinking this, and my own life now at stake, I took sword and bow and quiver and at once returned to the mountain road. There the woman's horse still stood quietly eating grass. What came after need not be told; it is but needless talk. Only, before entering the capital, I had already parted with the sword.—This is all my confession. Since I expect sooner or later a head hung from the oak branch, please mete out the full punishment. (A defiant air)

“Stories of the world, in your language.”