Today, tired from crossing the most dangerous places in the north country, Oyashirazu, Koshirazu, Inumodori and Komagaeshi, I pulled my pillow close and lay down, and from the front room, one room away, I heard the voices of what seemed two young women. An old man's voice joined in, and from their talk they were courtesans from a place called Niigata in Echigo. They were going on pilgrimage to Ise; the man had escorted them as far as this barrier, and as he was to go home tomorrow, they were writing letters and giving him small messages to carry.
I heard them say, "Drifting along the beaches where the white waves break, fallen low like fishermen's children, making fickle vows and suffering our retribution day after day: how bad our karma from past lives must be," and fell asleep. The next morning, as we set out, they said to us, "Not knowing the road ahead, we are so uneasy and sad. Let us follow you, even at a distance. Out of the compassion of your priestly robes, share with us the great mercy of the Buddha and let us form a bond with him," and they wept.
I felt sorry for them, but said, "We often stop here and there. Just follow the way others go. With the gods' protection, you will surely arrive safely," and left them; yet my pity did not fade for some time.
"Hitotsuya ni / yujo mo netari / hagi to tsuki" (Under one roof, courtesans too were sleeping: bush clover and moon.)
When I told Sora, he wrote it down.
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Ichiburi was a post station on the border of Echigo and Etchu, with a barrier. Oyashirazu and Koshirazu before it, where cliffs fall straight to the sea and travelers had to dash from rock to rock in the gaps between waves, were the worst stretch of the Hokurikudo.
This story of the courtesans is not in Sora's travel diary, so some say it is a fiction Basho invented. Basho, a man of religion, and courtesans sunk in the floating world; the pure moon and the delicate bush clover. His feeling for the people met only once on the road is drawn with poignant tenderness.