his mother explained to him her proposal for a marriage with the lady from Kyoto, Zetarō was pleased. “Good, let’s waste no time. Tonight will do.” And he reached for a hand mirror to look at his face. “Nice looking fellow,” he said.
His mother prepared the wedding cup, offered them salted fish and passed around a wine bottle which had its neck broken off. She used floormats as screens to enclose the room which would serve as a nuptial chamber. Two wooden pillows were also provided, two thin sleeping mattresses, and one striped bedcover. Split pine logs burned in a brazier. It would be a gay evening.
But Osan was as sad as could be, and Mōemon terribly depressed. “This is the price I must pay for having spoken so impulsively. We are living on when we should have died in the waters of Lake Biwa. Heaven will not spare us now!” He drew his sword and would have killed himself had not Osan stopped and quieted him. “Why, you are much too short-tempered. There are still ways to get out of this. At dawn we shall depart from here—leave everything to me.”
That night while she was drinking the wedding cup with good grace and affability, Osan remarked to Zetarō, “Most people shun me. I was born in the year of the Fiery Horse.”[1]
“I wouldn’t care if you were a Fiery Cat or a Fiery Wolf. I even like blue lizards—eat ’em in fact. And you see I’m not dead yet. Twenty-eight years old, and I haven’t had one case of worms. Mister Mōemon should take after me! As for you: a soft creature brought up in the capital isn’t what I’d like for a wife, but I’ll tolerate you, since you’re my relative.” In this generous mood he lay down and snuggled his head comfortably in her lap.
Amidst all their unhappiness Osan and Mōemon found the brute somewhat amusing. Nevertheless, they could hardly wait until he went to bed, at last giving them a chance to slip away. Again they hid themselves in the depths of Tamba; then after many days had passed came out upon the road to Tango. One night they slept in a
- ↑ This year marked the coincidence of Fire with Fire on the old lunar calendar, the horse itself representing Fire. It was considered a dangerous year to be born in, and women born then were said to bully and frequently kill their husbands. Zetarō’s reply is in the nature of a crude joke, for there is no year of the Fiery Wolf.
