Today we passed the most perilous places in all the North. The precarious path led us over boulders at the foot of a sheer cliff against which huge waves break. It was every man for himself, as the names of the worst spots implied: "Oblivious of Parent, Oblivious of Child," "Dogs Turn Back," and "Send Back Your Horse."

We were exhausted and went to bed early, but in a nearby room I heard voices I judged to be those of two young women. The voice of an old man mingled with theirs. I gathered they were ladies of pleasure from the port town of Niigata, in Echigo, on a long pilgrimage to the Grand Shrine at Ise. The man had come with them as far as this barrier, and they were writing letters for him to take back to Niigata the next day and giving him sentimental messages to deliver. As I listened, I wove into their whispers an echo of a poem by a courtesan of long ago.

Where the white waves foam
As they break upon the shore,
We are sea wrack evermore,
Like fisherfolk without a home.
Make fickle love each night
Is our karma and our fate.
To have fallen to this state:
What a sorry, sorry plight!

I fell asleep listening to their chatter, and the next morning, as we were about to set off, one of the young women approached us.

"We do not know the way," she said, "We are helpless and afraid. May we follow you at a discreet distance?" There were tears in her eyes as she went on. "Extend to us, we beg you, your priestly mercy and compassion so we too may feel the blessing of the Buddha."

"I fear we stop too often along the road," I replied. "But there will be others to follow, who are going your way. May God protect you." For a long time after we left them, my heart overflowed with pity, and I could not get them out of my mind.

'Neath the selfsame roof
I slept with a courtesan, like moon
With bush clover, forsooth.

I told Sora my poem and he wrote it down.

Nago-no-Ura

We forded "the Forty-Eight Streams" at the delta of the Kurobe River and countless other streams and rivers too. Finally we came to Nago Beach.

The Manyoshu poet's "Waving wisterias" of Tako were not far from there. Although it was no longer spring, we thought it might be worth seeing how the vines looked in early autumn, so we asked someone how to get there.

"'Tis about twelve miles along the beach from here," the man said, "in the lee of yonder hill. But there be but few houses there, and only fisherman's shacks at that. You'll find no one to give you a night's lodging."

He discouraged us so much that we went straight on to Kaga Province.

Through fragrant fields
Of early rice we went, beside
The wild Ariso Sea.