That night I drew up a pillow and lay down to sleep, exhausted after having traversed the most difficult stretches of road in all the north country - places with names like "Children Forget Parents," "Parents Forget Children," "Dogs Go Back," and "Horses Sent Back." The voices of young women drifted in from the adjoining room in front - two of them, it appeared, talking to an elderly man, whose voice was also audible. As I listened, I realized that they were prostitutes from Niigata in Echigo, bound on a pilgrimage to the Grand Shrines of Ise. The old man was to be sent home to Niigata in the morning, after having escorted them as far as this barrier, and they seemed to be writing letters and giving him inconsequential messages to take back. Adrift on "the shore where white breakers roll in." These "fisherman's daughters" had fallen low indeed, exchanging fleeting vows with every passerby. How wretched the karma that had doomed them to such an existence! I fell asleep with their voices in my ears.

The next morning, the same two girls spoke to us as we were about to leave. "We're feeling terribly nervous and discouraged about going off on this hard trip over strange roads. Won't you let us join your party, even if we only stay close enough to catch a glimpse of you now and then? You wear the robes of mercy: please let us share the Buddha's compassion and form a bond with the Way," they said, weeping.

"I sympathize with you, but we'll be making frequent stops. Just follow others going to the same place; I'm sure the gods will see you there safely." We walked off without waiting for an answer, but it was some time before I could stop feeling sorry for them.

 hitotsuya ni        Ladies of pleasure
  yujo mo netari       sleeping in the same hostel:
    hagi to tsuki         bush clover and moon.

I recited those lines to Sora, who wrote them down.

After crossing the "forty-eight channels" of the Kurobe River and innumerable other streams, we reached the coast at Nago. Even though the season was not spring, it seemed a shame to miss the wisteria at Tako in early autumn. We asked someone how to get there, but the answer frightened us off. "Tako is five leagues along the beach from here, in the hollow of those mountains. The only houses are a few ramshackle thatched huts belonging to fishermen; you probably wouldn't find anyone to put you up for the night." Thus we went on into Kaga Province.

 wase no ka ya         Scent of ripening ears:
  wakeiru migi ga       to the right as I push through,
    arisoumi           surf crashing onto rocks.