There is so much I wanted you to know, but can never tell you now.

My husband bought me for a sack of rice when I was fifteen. My parents and brothers were starving, and they believed that a man with such wealth would surely take care of their daughter. In truth, he bought me for his and his brother's pleasure, I became their dog, their latrine.

Eventually I grew big with child – with you, my dear one. Before then I could stand their brutality and ugliness, but somehow you changed me. Inside I felt fierce and strong, and one day, when he and his brother approached me, smelling of sojou from the continent, I couldn't bear it any longer. I was cooking by the fire when they came. I stood up with the pot in one hand, the cleaver in the other. That is how they died, and that is how we came to live on this island.

I was nursing you as the magistrate's men rowed us to the island. You were swaddled in a hemp sleeve from a monk who took pity on us - my clothes were ragged, you were naked. I suppose we looked pretty pathetic. But I had you.

You don't know, but on that wretched island you were the only thing that kept me alive some days. If I were alone, I could have easily taken a knife to myself or leapt off a high cliff. But looking into your big eyes, eyes that saw the truth, I could never leave you.

My heart ached that you were surrounded in a world of wickedness, surrounded by people who would happily bring you pain. But because of you I felt fierce and strong. Because of you, I was able to drive away most of these people.

That is, I could drive away everyone except the magistrate himself. All of the women lived in fear of him, as he was often worse than the other men on the island. We dared not fight him off as we would the others, and he was so very cruel. He is the reason I can no longer be with you.

I refused him and evaded him several times. I tattooed my face, hoping that would keep him away, but he didn't care. Finally he threatened one day that if I didn't give him what he wanted, he would take it from you. When I thought of your beautiful eyes that saw the truth, I felt a tiger's spirit enter me, and with a mighty wind the magistrate was – gone.

That is why I will die today. I never asked the ancestors to protect us, as clearly we've been discarded. But today I will pray to the ancestors to make you strong, so strong. Then, you will not need their protection, or anyone else's. You can stand, alone and tall, in your own power.

I can't meet your eyes, because if I look at your face and see those big, sad eyes, I will never be able to die this way. If I saw your face, I would cry, beg and plead for my life, so that I could be with you a little longer. But for you, I cannot. I will walk as if these ropes around my wrists didn't hurt. I will walk through this street as if I were the shogun's wife, and when the new chief of police stands before me, with his underlings pointing their guns at me….

And this is the last memory Mugen had of his mother:

"Do you have any last words before we deliver you from this earth?" The shooters brought their rifles up to their shoulders, and their eyes down to the sights. She leveled a gaze so cold onto the police chief that he had to suppress a shiver.

"I leave this world happily today," she said icily, "knowing that I will also leave behind the cowards like you who run it, who defend such waste as the magistrate." She allowed herself a laugh as sound of bullets rang out.