Hokusai and the Ghost
An original translation. Part 3 of 5
Hokusai and the Ghost
北斎と幽霊
III
But to Hokusai those words rang false. “Surely even a child knows to stand on tiptoe when reaching for something.” He could not believe otherwise. And so he remained silent. It was this stubborn silence that drove Yūsen to fury and brought down the sentence of expulsion.
“That too is long past,” Hokusai murmured, and still he lingered. But the cold bit into him and passersby were beginning to stare. He steeled himself and walked on.
He had gone no more than three blocks when a palanquin he recognized came toward him.
“Ah, that is the Kanō household’s conveyance. He must be returning now from the castle. Let me step aside and watch from the shadows.”
Hokusai hurried to conceal himself behind the board fence of a merchant’s house, and from there he watched the street.
Today was the year’s first snowfall. Though light, it had not stopped, and by now the road was faintly white. Across that snow came the palanquin, its bearers’ feet muffled.
Now it was passing before him.
And then, dripping from the bottom of the palanquin, something fell onto the snow. Before Hokusai’s watching eyes, the white turned crimson.
“Ah!”
Faster than his cry, Hokusai leaped to the front of the palanquin.
“You there! Stop the palanquin! Stop!”
He shoved back the carrying pole.
“Who dares!”
Two samurai walking beside the palanquin, disciples of the Kanō house, seized their sword hilts and sprang forward.
“What nonsense! Fools! Do you not see that the master is in danger? Set it down! Set it down! Open the door!”
The ferocity of Hokusai’s voice overwhelmed them. The palanquin was lowered. He tore off the towel wrapped around his head, dropped to his knees in the snow, and wrenched open the door. The stench of blood struck his nostrils.
“Master…”
He spoke in a choked whisper, thrusting his face into the palanquin.
Yūsen sat slumped forward, his head hanging. Blood splashed from his lap across the entire interior. His labored breathing shook his shoulders; he had clearly just disemboweled himself.
“How bitter!”
Yūsen raised his head. On his lower lip, five clear tooth marks stood out—the trace of clenched teeth. His disordered hair fell across his forehead. His face was bluer than indigo.
“Who—who are you?”
“It is Nakajima, master. It is Tetsuzō…”
“How bitter this is! Damn you, Bungo!”
“Be strong, master! Be strong!”
“My own honor, my family’s reputation—I have redeemed them with my belly! In any age, in any era, the master’s devotion goes unrecognized!”
“You are right, master. You are right!”
“Where am I? Where am I?”
“In the street, near your residence. Let me call for medicine, for a physician…”
“How bitter!”
Yūsen groaned again.
“Move on!”
As he spoke, his head fell back.
Hokusai started in alarm and closed the palanquin door. Then he spoke calmly:
“Master Kanō Hōgen has fallen ill. Carry the palanquin slowly.”
If it were known as a violent death, there would be trouble afterward. He made it appear an illness.
Waving away the few bystanders who had gathered, he walked ahead at a steady pace.
In that moment, even his figure did not appear wretched.
That night, Yūsen died.
When this news reached him, Lord Bungo-no-kami’s shock was painful to behold. He grew despondent and neglected his duties.
Hokusai, by contrast, felt his spirit suddenly tighten.
“My master was a great man after all. He neither submitted to force nor feared authority; he declared his convictions boldly and sacrificed his life without a second thought. Only a man of true greatness can do such a thing. Compared to that, what is poverty? Ogyū Sorai gnawed on parched beans while discussing the ancients. If I live on tofu lees, I can survive if I choose to. I will not go back to Katsushika. I will stay in Edo and take up my brush again.”
He summoned a fierce resolve.