Page:Eminent Authors of Contemporary Japan, volume 2.pdf/29

Rh *Tomo.—But will you not give me a little of your pity, for though you say that you hate me so strongly, I love you even still more. Why, the other day while you were lying so ill at Utsunomiya, it was I played the shakuhachi under the window of your sick room. I even went there on rainy and windy days. I wished that you might hear, through the throbbing of the notes that I played, all that was in my heart.
 * Okuni.—But, that komuso-priest was not you, I think …
 * Tomo.—Indeed it was I, madam. I smeared my face with “sumi” paint that it might appear black, so that you would not dream who I was. Okuni, do you remember that one day you put your head through the window, and threw me a gift of money. Oh, dear lady, it was then that I was able to see your face for the first time in four whole years. But even then, I felt that it was not sufficient, and that I must see you again.
 * Gohei.—You are an obstinate criminal! But now, since your wish is again fulfilled, perhaps, you have nothing more to hope for. Enough! I wish to hear no more. Rise and fight with me now as a manly samurai should!
 * Tomo.—No, no, I say! I do not want to cross swords with you. You have always been admired as a most skilled fencer, even from the time when you were only a lackey, and you yourself know your great skill. I have no skill to fight with such a