Pathway to Japanese Literature

Friend

I

As soon as I alighted at Umeda Station, I did exactly as my mother had instructed and promptly hired a rickshaw to hasten to Okada's house.
Okada was a man distantly related through my mother's side.
I remained ignorant of his precise familial connection to her, recalling him only as a remote relative.

There existed a reason for calling on him immediately upon arriving in Osaka.
One week prior to my journey here, I had arranged with a friend to rendezvous within ten days in the Osaka region, climb Mount Kōya together, and if time permitted, proceed from Ise to Nagoya. As neither of us possessed a designated meeting place, I ultimately furnished my friend with Okada's full name and address.

“Then as soon as I arrive in Osaka, if I call there, I’ll know right away whether you’re in or not,” my friend emphasized when we parted.
I was quite uncertain whether Okada even had a telephone, so I had requested that if there was no phone, he send a telegram or post right away.
My friend had planned to take the Kōshū Line to Suwa, then turn back and pass through Kiso before arriving in Osaka.
I had planned to come straight to Kyoto via the Tōkaidō, stay there for four or five days while taking care of errands, and then set foot in Osaka.

Having spent the scheduled days in Kyoto, I had to visit Okada’s house immediately upon leaving the station to hear news of my friend as soon as possible.
However, this was merely for my own convenience—so to speak, my personal circumstances—and was entirely separate from my mother’s instructions mentioned earlier.
The reason my mother had directed me to visit Okada first upon arriving there—insisting as she packed an unwieldy large canister of sweets into my suitcase, declaring it a “gift”—stemmed not only from her old-fashioned sense of duty but also from another, more practical matter she had kept unspoken.

I was someone who didn’t even know how my mother and Okada had branched off from the same trunk in their lineage—what kind of branches they had become to be related to each other.
As for the matter entrusted by Mother, I had neither great expectations nor much interest.
However, my curiosity about meeting Okada—a man with a calm, square-jawed face; one who, no matter how much he might wish for a beard, wouldn’t easily grow one; and whose head was beginning to thin—had been somewhat piqued after all this time.
Okada had occasionally gone to the capital on business up until now.
However, I always seemed to miss him, and we were never able to meet.
Therefore, I had been deprived of the opportunity to see his square face, strongly tinged with alcohol.
I counted on my fingers while in the rickshaw.
Though it felt like Okada had left just the other day, it had already been five or six years.
I imagined that the head he had been so concerned about must now be growing precariously thin, picturing the thinning patches where his scalp showed through.

Okada’s hair had thinned as imagined, but his residence was a refreshingly new build, more so than expected.

“It’s all this Kamigata style—building these unnecessarily high walls everywhere—it’s so gloomy it’s unbearable. But there is a second floor. Go on up and take a look,” he said.

Since I was most concerned about my friend’s situation above all else, I asked whether there had been any notification from him.

Okada made a puzzled face and answered, “No.”

II

I followed Okada upstairs to see the second floor. The view was quite good as he had boasted, but since the sun reflected unsparingly off the windows of the tatami room without a veranda, the heat was far from ordinary. The hanging scroll in the tokonoma was also warped backward.

“It’s not because the sun’s shining on it,” Okada said. “Because it’s hung all year round, the paste’s condition causes it to become like that,” he earnestly explained.

“Ah, the classic plum and nightingale,” I found myself wanting to say. He had received this scroll from his father in preparation for setting up his household and had proudly brought it to his room to show it off. At that time, I had said, “Okada, this Kōchun is a fake. That’s why your old man gave it to you,” half in jest, angering him.

The two of them looked at the hanging scroll and laughed like children as they reminisced about those days.
Okada seemed inclined to keep talking forever from his perch on the windowsill.
I too stripped down to a shirt and trousers and sprawled out while humoring him.
Thus I endured his lectures about Tenmachaya's prospects, future development, and streetcar conveniences.
Though I listened with dutiful yeses to these uninteresting topics, I couldn't help thinking how idiotic it was to take a rickshaw somewhere already served by streetcars.

The two of them descended the stairs once more.

Before long, his wife returned.
His wife was called Okan-san—a woman not particularly beautiful but fair-skinned and smooth-complexioned, strikingly attractive from a distance.
She was the daughter of a subordinate official in a ministry where her father worked, and in those days, she would often come and go through the kitchen entrance, bringing requested sewing work.
At that time, Okada was also a live-in student at our household, staying in a student room near the kitchen entrance where he studied, took naps, and sometimes even ate roasted sweet potatoes.
It was in this manner that they came to know each other.
However, I do not know what path they took from becoming acquainted to establishing their marriage.
Though Okada was a man related to my mother’s distant relatives, because he was treated like a live-in student in our household, the maids would speak bluntly and dismissively to him—things they hesitated to say even to me or my brother.
Phrases like "Mr. Okada and Okan-san send their regards" were things I also occasionally overheard.
But since Okada didn’t seem to mind at all, I had assumed it was probably just idle gossip.
Then Okada graduated from Higher Commercial School and went off alone to an insurance company in Osaka.
The position, it seems, had been mediated by my father.

About a year later, he returned to Tokyo just as nonchalantly as before.
And then, this time, he took Okan-san’s hand and went down to Osaka.
This too, it seems, had been arranged through my father and mother’s mediation.
At that time, I was away from home with plans to climb Mount Fuji and walk the Kōshū Road, but when I later heard of this matter, I was somewhat taken aback.
Calculating the timing, I realized Okada had come to Tokyo to meet his new wife just as my train was departing Gotemba.

Okan-san made a somewhat self-conscious face as she passed through the entrance toward the kitchen area holding a folded Western umbrella and small bundle under her arm in front of the lattice.
Her face was glistening with sweat and had turned red from walking through midday heat.

When Okada called out in his loud, brash voice—“Hey, the guest’s here!”—Okan-san gently responded from the back rooms, “I’m home.”
I was suddenly reminded of a nostalgic memory—that the owner of that voice had once sewn Kurume kasuri and flannel undergarments for me to wear.

III

Okan-san’s demeanor was clear and composed, showing no trace of having been raised in a vulgar household.
With remarks like “I had thought you might arrive two or three days ago and have been eagerly awaiting your arrival,” her eyes brimming with charm, she appeared not only more refined than my own sister but also somewhat more distinguished in bearing.
As I spoke with Okan-san for a while, I began to feel that in that case, Okada should have gone out of his way to come all the way to Tokyo and bring her along.

Five or six years ago, when this young wife was still in her maidenly prime, I had already known her voice and features, but having never shared more than passing words with her, I found myself unable to respond with familiarity now that we met formally as Mrs. Okada.
Thus I intermittently used stiff language as though addressing an unknown woman of my own class.
Okada—whether amused or pleased—would occasionally look at his own face and laugh.
That alone would have been tolerable, but at times he would glance at Okan-san’s face and laugh.
Yet Okan-san remained composed.
When Okan-san rose to attend to some matter in the back rooms, Okada deliberately lowered his voice and, prodding his own knee, said: “Why stand on ceremony with her?
You’ve known each other since forever, haven’t you?” he added in a sarcastic tone.

“She’s become quite the fine wife.”
“Then I should’ve married her myself.”

“Don’t go saying such things,” said Okada, laughing even louder.
Then, becoming slightly more serious, he asked, “But didn’t you tell your mother bad things about her?”

“What?”

“It’s pitiable for Okada too—you dragging such a thing all the way down to Osaka.”
“If you’d waited a bit longer, I would’ve found you a proper one.”

“That’s ancient history.”

Though I had answered in this way, I felt somewhat awkward.
And was slightly flustered.
And then I finally understood why Okada had been giving those strange looks and occasionally glancing toward his wife earlier.

“At that time, I was properly scolded by Mother,” I said.
“‘What could a mere lodger like you possibly understand? Since Father and I arranged matters for Mr. Okada in their best interest, keep your mouth shut and just watch quietly.’
I really took a beating.”

I recounted the episode with some exaggeration, making my scolding sound almost like a justification.
Okada laughed harder still.

Even so, when Okan-san reappeared in the parlor, I couldn’t help feeling somewhat awkward. The mischievous Okada deliberately told his wife, “Mr. Jirō has gone out of his way to praise you quite highly. You ought to properly express your gratitude.” Okan-san replied to her husband, “It’s because you speak too ill of me,” and smiled at me with her eyes.

Before dinner, wearing yukata, I took a walk over the hill with Okada.
The sparsely built houses and the fences surrounding them reminded me of the suburbs beyond Tokyo’s Yamanote area.
I suddenly began to worry about the whereabouts of the friend I had arranged to meet in Osaka.
I abruptly turned to Okada and asked, “You don’t have a telephone at your place, do you?”
“Does this shack look like it’s got a telephone?” replied Okada, his face showing nothing but a buoyantly good-humored tone.

IV

It was an evening in summer when the day lingered long.
The top of the hill where the two were walking appeared particularly bright.
However, as the color of the distant standing trees—enveloped by the sky—gradually darkened, the color of the sky changed in tandem without delay.
I looked at Okada’s face in the lingering light.

“You seem much more cheerful than when you were in Tokyo. Your complexion looks excellent too. Splendid.”

Okada gave an evasive reply—“Well, thanks to you”—yet his voice carried a note of genuine cheer.

When Okada suggested, “Dinner’s ready—shall we head back?” and we started homeward, I suddenly remarked, “You and Okan-san seem remarkably close.”
Though I meant it sincerely, Okada appeared to take it as mockery; he merely laughed without answering.
Yet he didn’t deny it either.

After a while, he suddenly lost his previous cheerful tone.
Then, as though confiding some secret, he lowered his voice.
Still staring at his feet as though muttering to himself, he said, “It’s been nearly five or six years since I got together with her, but… well, we just can’t seem to have children. I don’t know why.”
“That’s what worries me…” he said.

I did not answer.
I had long thought that there wasn’t a single person in the world who took a wife solely to have children.
However, whether one comes to want children after taking a wife—when it came to that point, even I couldn’t determine.

“Do you start wanting children once you get married?” I asked.

“Well, I still don’t know whether children are lovable or not, but unless a wife bears children, she somehow feels... not fully qualified as an adult...”

Okada simply wanted a child to make his wife ordinary in society’s eyes.
I had wanted to tell him: This world is so agonizing—people want to marry but fear having children, so they keep postponing it.
“And it’s lonely with just the two of us,” Okada added.

“Because it’s just the two of you, you must get along well.”
“Does having children diminish the love between a married couple?”

Okada and I discussed matters beyond our own experiences as if we understood them thoroughly.

At the house, dishes such as sashimi and clear soup were neatly arranged on the dining table awaiting us.
Okan-san applied light makeup and poured drinks for both of us.
Occasionally she would take up a fan and cool me with it.
Whenever the breeze struck my profile, I faintly detected the scent of Okan-san’s face powder.
And that scent seemed to me a more humanly pleasant fragrance than the aromas of beer or horseradish.

“Does Okada always do his evening drinking like this?” I asked Okan-san.
Okan-san smiled and replied, “He tends to keep going once he starts—it’s rather troublesome,” deliberately glancing toward her husband.
“I don’t drink enough to keep going like that,” her husband retorted, grabbing the nearby fan and vigorously fanning his chest area.
I suddenly remembered again the friend I was supposed to meet here.

“Mrs., has any mail or telegram arrived for me from a man called Misa?”
“Right after we went out for that walk.”

“It’s not coming.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“My wife knows how to handle such things properly.”
“Hey, Okan.”
“What does it matter if one or two Misas come or not?”
“Jirō-san—do you really dislike my house so much?”
“First of all, you’ve got an obligation to settle that business, haven’t you?”

With these words, Okada glug-glug poured beer into his own glass.
He was already quite drunk.

V

That night, I finally stayed at Okada's house.
In the six-tatami mat room on the second floor where they had put me to sleep alone, unable to bear the stifling heat inside the mosquito net, I stealthily slid open the storm shutters as quietly as possible so the couple wouldn’t notice.
Because my pillow lay by the window, I could see the sky even through the mosquito net.
When I experimentally poked just my head out from under the red hem and looked up, the stars glittered brightly.
Even as I did this, I did not forget the Okada couple’s past and present circumstances below.
If they could become so close after marrying, I couldn’t help feeling envious of how happy they must be.
I was also concerned that there was no word from Misa.
But I considered that being a guest in this happy home and dawdling around for four or five days while waiting for news of him wasn’t so bad.
The thing that mattered least was Okada’s so-called “that matter.”

The next day, when I awoke, Okada’s voice came from the cramped garden beneath the window.

“Hey Okan, the variegated ones have finally started blooming.”
“Come take a look.”

I looked at the clock and lay down on my stomach. I struck a match to light a Shikishima cigarette while bracing myself for Okan-san’s reply. However, I could not hear Okan-san’s voice at all. Okada said, “Hey”—then repeated “Hey Okan” two or three more times. “You’re such a restless one,” came the response, clear as if held in my hand. “This is no time for morning glories—the kitchen’s swamped.” Okan-san seemed to have come out from the kitchen and was standing on the engawa of the sitting room.

“Still, they’re beautiful.”
“When they bloom.”
“And the goldfish—why…?”

“The goldfish are swimming, but…”
“This seems rather difficult.”

I was puffing on a cigarette and listening, thinking Okan-san might say something sentimental about the fate of the dying goldfish. However long I waited, Okan-san said nothing. Okada’s voice was also inaudible. I discarded the cigarette and stood up. And then I went down the fairly steep stairs step by step, making noise.

After the three of us finished our meal, Okada regretted not having time to give a leisurely tour, as he had to go to work. I said that I hadn’t expected such a thing at all before coming here and gazed at him sitting there in his white high-collared shirt.

“Okan, if you’ve got time, you should show Mr. Jirō around,” Okada said with a suddenly inspired look.
Unlike her usual self, Okan-san did not respond at all this time—neither to her husband nor to me.
I immediately said, “Don’t worry about it.
I’ll go with you in the direction of your company and stroll around there,” I said as I stood up.
Okan-san took her Western-style umbrella in the entryway and handed it to me.
Then she simply said, “Please hurry.”

I was put on the tram twice and let off twice. Then I wandered aimlessly around the stone building of Okada’s company where he worked. Whether it was the same stream or another one, water splashed into my eyes two or three times. When I could no longer bear the heat, I casually made my way back to Okada’s house.

I went up to the second floor—having come to think of this six-mat room as my own since last night—and was resting when footsteps sounded on the steep staircase below. Okan-san came upstairs. Startled, I stuffed away the undergarment I’d taken off. Her hair, which had been tied at her temples yesterday, had somehow been transformed into a large marumage—the traditional married woman’s hairstyle. A pink decorative hair cloth peeked out from within the coiled knot.

VI

Okan-san placed a bottle of Hiranosui and a Western-style cup on a black tray before me and asked, “Would you care for some?”
I replied “Thank you” and reached to draw the tray closer.
“No, let me,” Okan-san said, swiftly lifting the bottle.
I fell silent then, my gaze fixed on Okan-san’s pale hands.
On her finger glinted a ring I hadn’t noticed the evening before.

When I picked up the Western-style cup and moistened my throat, Okan-san took out a postcard from her obi.

“Right after you left earlier—” she began, then smirked.
I recognized the characters “Misa” on its surface.

“It’s finally arrived. The long-awaited...”

I smiled and immediately turned it over.

“May be delayed by a day or two.”

The postcard bore only these few words, written large.

“It’s practically like a telegram.”

“So that’s why you were laughing?”

“That’s not exactly the reason, but somehow it’s just too…”

Okan-san fell silent at that point.
I wanted to make Okan-san laugh more.

“Too… what happened?”

“Because it seemed too wasteful.”

Okan-san’s father was an extremely meticulous man; even when sending letters to Okan-san, instead of simply writing a postcard to convey his business, he would fill it with characters as small as a fly’s head lined up in fifteen rows—a story Okan-san recounted with amusement.
I had completely forgotten about Misa and, focusing solely on Okan-san before me, asked her all manner of questions.

“Mrs. Okan, don’t you want children?”
“When you’re left alone like this, it must get boring, don’t you think?”

“That isn’t quite so,” she replied. “Having been born into a large family and raised through considerable hardship myself, I’ve come to believe there’s nothing more willful toward their parents than children.”

“But one or two would be manageable,” I pressed. “Okada himself said it becomes unbearably lonely without them.”

Okan-san did not answer and gazed out the window. Even when she turned her face back, she didn’t look at me, but kept her gaze on the Hiranosui bottle sitting on the tatami. I hadn’t noticed anything. So I asked again, “Mrs. Okan, why can’t you have children?” Then Okan-san suddenly turned red in the face. I regretted that my careless remark had caused such an unpleasant outcome. But there was nothing I could do about it. At that time, I was only conscious of feeling sorry for Okan-san; it never even crossed my mind to try to understand the meaning behind her blushing.

I had to somehow save this young wife who appeared both ill at ease and awkward. To achieve that, it was absolutely necessary to change the topic. I finally brought up Okada’s so-called "aforementioned matter," which I had not placed much importance on until then. Okan-san immediately regained her composure. However, perhaps intending to place the greater share of responsibility on her husband, she never spoke at length. I didn’t press her with probing questions either.

VII

It was that evening when “the aforementioned matter” was formally brought up by Okada himself.
I preferred the dew-laden veranda and was seated there.
Okada had been sitting facing Mrs. Okan in the tatami room until then, but no sooner had the discussion begun than he immediately stood up and came out to the veranda.

“It’s no good trying to talk from so far away,” he said as he placed a patterned cushion in front of himself.
Mrs. Okan alone still did not move from her original seat.

“Jirō-san, you saw the photo, right? The one I sent the other day.”

The person in the photo was a young man who worked at the same company as Okada.
When this photo arrived, the household members took turns looking at it and offered various criticisms—this was something Okada did not know.

“Yes, I took a quick look.”

“What’s the verdict?”

“There were some who said he has a bit of a protruding forehead.”

Okan-san burst out laughing.
I too was amused.
The reason being, in truth, I was the one who had started calling the man in the photo "protruding forehead."

“It must’ve been Oshige-san who said such mean things.”
“Once she gets talking, there’s hardly anyone who can keep up with her, you know.”

Okada regarded his sister Oshige as a woman with a remarkably sharp tongue.
This perception had solidified after she told him, “Your face looks like a shogi piece.”

“I don’t care what Oshige-san says—what matters is how the main party feels.”

When leaving Tokyo, I had confirmed with my mother that she’d already sent Okada a reply stating Otei naturally had no objections.
Thus, I answered that she’d responded exactly as my mother had stated.
The Okada couple then detailed Sano’s qualities to me—the prospective groom’s character, conduct, future prospects, and other such matters.
Finally, they cited examples of his eager desire for this marriage arrangement to be finalized.

Otei-san was a woman without any particular distinguishing features, whether in terms of looks or education.
She was known only as her family’s burden.

“Since the other party seems alarmingly enthusiastic, once you get there, observe the situation carefully.”

This was what my mother had asked of me.
I couldn’t summon much interest in Otei-san’s fate, yet I did think that being so eagerly sought after might seem advantageous for her while also carrying risks.
And so I, who had been silently listening to the Okadas until now, let slip—

“Why on earth would he take such a liking to Otei-san when they’ve never even met?”

“Because Mr. Sano is that sort of dependable man, he naturally intends to marry someone enduring.”

Okan-san turned toward Okada and offered this justification of Sano’s stance.
Okada promptly replied, “Exactly.”
He appeared to be considering nothing beyond that.
In any case, having arranged with Okada to meet this Sano tomorrow, I returned upstairs to the six-tatami room.
Laying my head on the pillow, I felt a faint unease when contemplating whether my own marriage matters might progress with such simplicity.

VIII

The next day, Okada left work at noon and returned home.
No sooner had he thrown off his Western clothes than he went to the kitchen area, took a cold bath, and said, "Let’s go."

Okan-san had opened the chest of drawers without anyone noticing and taken out Okada’s clothes.
I hadn’t paid much attention to what Okada was wearing, but I must have been unconsciously observing how Mrs. Okan helped him into his clothes and adjusted his obi sash, for when she asked, “Jirō-san, are you ready?” I startled and stood up.

“You’re coming too today,” Okada said to Mrs. Okan.
“But…” Mrs. Okan held the sheer summer haori in both hands and looked up at her husband’s face.
Halfway up the ladder steps, I said, “Please come along, Mrs. Okan.”

When I put on my Western clothes and went downstairs, I saw that Mrs. Okan had already changed both her kimono and obi.

“You’re quick.”

“Yes, a quick change.”

“That outfit isn’t very showy, huh,” Okada said.

“This is enough for going to such a place,” Mrs. Okan replied.

The three of them braved the heat and descended Oka Hill.
And then they immediately boarded a train from the station.
I occasionally glanced at Okada and Okan-san sitting side by side across from me.
In the meantime, I recalled Misa’s peculiar postcard.
I even tried to think about where he had sent that from.
The matter of this man named Sano, whom I was about to go meet, also flitted through my mind now and then.
Yet each time, the word “busybody” inevitably surfaced alongside it.

Okada suddenly leaned forward and asked, “How about it?”
I simply answered, “That’s fine.”
Okada straightened his upper body back to its original posture and said something to Mrs. Okan.
His face bore an air of satisfaction.
Then Mrs. Okan leaned forward and said, “If it suits your fancy, why don’t you come to Osaka too?”
I inadvertently answered, “Thank you.”
The meaning behind Okada’s abrupt “How about it?” finally became clear to me at this moment.

The three of them got off at Hamadera.
Being unfamiliar with the area, I walked between the large pine trees and sand, thinking it was indeed a fine place.
However, Okada did not repeat “How about it?” here.
Mrs. Okan also walked briskly with the parasol still open.

“I wonder if he’s already here?”

“Hmm.”
“Depending on circumstances, he may have already come and be waiting.”

I followed behind the two of them, listening to this conversation, and found myself standing before the entrance of an extraordinarily large restaurant.
I was first and foremost astonished by its sheer size, but when I was led upstairs, I was further taken aback by the considerable length of the journey through it.
The three of them descended the stairs and passed through a narrow corridor.

“It’s a tunnel.”

When Mrs. Okan told me this, I thought she was joking and that it wasn’t actually underground.
So I simply laughed and passed through the dimly lit space.

In the tatami room, Sano sat alone by the threshold with one knee of his Western-style trousers raised, blowing cigarette smoke as he gazed out to sea. Hearing our footsteps, he immediately turned toward us. At that moment, his gold-rimmed glasses glinted under his brow. When we entered the room, it was indeed I who first exchanged glances with him.

IX

Sano’s forehead protruded even more prominently than it had appeared in the photograph.
However, perhaps because his hair had been cut short for summer, this made his already broad forehead appear even more pronounced.
When exchanging first-meeting greetings, he said, "I look forward to your kind consideration," and bowed his head politely.
This ordinary greeting, given the circumstances, struck me as somewhat peculiar.
A heavy constraint suddenly tightened where my chest had until now borne little sense of responsibility.

The four of them gathered around the meal and talked.
Mrs. Okan seemed to be on quite familiar terms with Sano, sometimes even teasing him from across the table.

“Mr. Sano, I hear your photograph is causing quite a stir in Tokyo.”

“How exactly is it ‘causing a stir’? —I suppose it must be making waves in a good way.”

“Of course it is.”
“If you doubt my word, why not ask the gentleman sitting beside you? You’ll see soon enough.”

Sano laughed and immediately looked my way.
I felt compelled to say something to avoid awkwardness.
I put on a serious face and said, “It seems photography is more advanced in Osaka than in Tokyo.”
“This isn’t some jōruri play,” Okada retorted.

Okada was a distant relative on my mother’s side, but perhaps because he had long been a lodger at our house, he had since long ago maintained a habit of speaking to me and my brother in a somewhat deferential manner.
This had been especially pronounced during our meetings over the past couple of days after such a long separation.
However, when Sano alone joined us anew like this—whether out of concern for appearances in front of his friend or some such reason—his manner of speaking to me suddenly became equal.
At times he became downright high-handed.

Across from the zashiki where the four of us were seated stood a tall two-story structure—part of the same building yet with a differently aligned roof ridge. When I looked up into the spacious hall with its shoji screens removed, there were many young men wearing stiff obi sashes, one of whom had draped a hand towel over his shoulder and was performing something like a dance. While they speculated among themselves—"Must be some shop employees' gathering"—a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old apprentice appeared at the handrail and spat something foul onto the eaves without hesitation. Then another apprentice of similar age emerged blowing cigarette smoke and started shouting in thick Osaka dialect: "Hey man, pull yourself together! I'm right here with you—nothing to be scared of!" The four of us, who had been watching the railing with sour expressions, finally burst into laughter.

“They’re both drunk. Acting all high and mighty for apprentices,” said Okada.

“Just like you,” Mrs. Okan remarked.

“Which one?” Sano asked.

“Both,” she replied.
“The spitting and the ranting.”

Okada wore a rather cheerful expression.
I remained silent.
Sano laughed loudly by himself.

The four of them left the place around four o'clock while the sun was still high and set off on their return.
When they parted ways along the route, Sano removed his hat and greeted them with “I’ll see you again before long.”

The three of them exited the platform.

"What do you think, Jirō-san?" Okada immediately looked my way.

“He seems suitable.”

I knew no other words with which to answer.
Yet having given this response, I felt unbearably irresponsible.
At the same time, I thought how this compelled irresponsibility must be what all people entangled in marriage experience.

X

I waited for news of Misa and ended up imposing on Okada for another two or three days.
To tell the truth, they did not permit me to go elsewhere and take lodgings.
During that time, I walked around Osaka alone as much as possible.
Perhaps due to the narrow streets, the movement of people struck my eyes more vividly than in Tokyo; the rows of houses appeared more orderly and pleasing compared to Tokyo’s haphazard sprawl; several rivers flowed with abundant, quiet water; and each day brought one or two novel sights to capture my interest.

I met Sano again the following evening at Hamadera after we had shared a meal there.
This time he came visiting Okada dressed in a yukata.
I talked with him for a little over two hours on that occasion too.
Yet this was merely a small-scale reenactment of the previous day's gathering at Okada's house, leaving no particularly memorable new impressions.
To tell the truth, beyond recognizing him as an ordinary person, I understood nothing about him.
But given my obligations to Mother and Okada, I couldn't very well remain in blissful ignorance.
Within these past two or three days, I finally wrote a report to Mother in Tokyo stating that I had concluded my meetings with Sano.

I had no choice but to write, "Mr. Sano closely resembles that photograph."
"He drinks alcohol but doesn't flush when he does," I wrote.
"Instead of performing Noh chants like his father, I hear he's studying jōruri," I wrote.
Finally describing the Okada couple's apparently harmonious state, I wrote: "With such an amiable pair as Mr. and Mrs. Okada handling the arrangements, there can hardly be any mistake."
In conclusion I added: "To put it simply, Mr. Sano appears no different from most married men."
"Since Otei-san possesses adequate qualifications to become an ordinary wife, wouldn't it be acceptable if she gives consent?" I wrote.

When I sealed this letter, I felt as though my duty was finally fulfilled.
Yet when I considered that Otei-san’s fate might be permanently decided by this single letter, I felt somewhat ashamed of my own hastiness.
So I took this letter still in its envelope to Okada’s place.
Okada glanced through it and answered, “That’s fine.”
Mrs. Okan didn’t so much as touch the rolled letter.
I sat before the two of them and compared both sides.

“Is this acceptable?”
“Once we send this off, the household matter will be settled.”
“Though that would leave Mr.Sano somewhat bound.”

“That’s fine.”
“That is precisely what we most hope for,” Okada declared bluntly.
Mrs. Okan repeated the same meaning in feminine phrasing.
Having been told this so casually by both of them, I felt less reassured than unsettled.

“What’s got you so concerned?” said Okada with a smile, exhaling cigarette smoke.
“Wasn’t it you who’s been most indifferent about this affair?”

“Not indifferent—but it’s all too hasty. Feels rather irresponsible toward both parties.”

“It’s anything but hasty, not when you’ve taken such pains to write that lengthy letter.”
“With your mother thus satisfied—our side was settled from the start.”
“Could there be a more auspicious occasion than this, dear?”

Okan-san said this and looked toward Okada.
Okada made a face that stopped just short of acknowledging it as such.
I grew tired of arguing and affixed a three-sen stamp to the letter right before their eyes.

XI

I wanted to leave Osaka immediately after sending off this letter.
Okada had said there was no need for me to stay until my mother’s reply arrived.

"But do take your time."

This remained his oft-repeated phrase.
I understood perfectly well the couple’s kindness.
Yet I could equally imagine the nuisance I must have been.
For people like them, hosting an indolent guest such as myself inevitably brought some constraint to both parties.
Having written only that telegram-like postcard, I now grew resentful toward Misa’s continued silence.
Should no word arrive by tomorrow, I resolved to attempt Mount Kōya alone.

“Then tomorrow, let’s invite Mr. Sano and go to Takarazuka or something,” proposed Okada.
I found it burdensome that Okada was adjusting his schedule for my sake.
To put it more sarcastically, I felt it would be inconsiderate to Okan-san to go off to such a hot spring resort and indulge in eating and drinking.
At first glance, Okan-san seemed like a woman fond of ostentation, but this impression stemmed more from her fair complexion and refined demeanor; in terms of disposition, she was far more reserved than the average Tokyoite.
It seemed she was so thrifty that she might even impose some restraint on the pocket money her husband took when going out.

“Those who don’t drink alcohol have a lifelong advantage, don’t they?”

Having realized that I did not partake in drinking, Okan-san even once let slip such a remark with evident envy.
Even so, when Okada turned red-faced and shouted in an uncouth voice, “Jirō-san, shall we wrestle for old times’ sake?” Okan-san would habitually frown while still maintaining a happy look in her eyes. From this, I inferred that she didn’t dislike her husband’s drunkenness itself—rather, she disliked the expense of alcohol.

I declined the trip to Takarazuka despite their kind invitation. And in my mind, I firmly decided that tomorrow morning while Okada was away, I would take the train alone and go check on the situation. Okada said, “I see. It would’ve been nice if it were Bunraku, but unfortunately they’re taking a break because of the heat,” he said regretfully.

The next morning, I left the house with Okada. He suddenly brought up Otei-san’s marriage issue, which I had nearly forgotten, while we were on the train.

“I don’t consider you a relative.”
“I regard myself as a dependent raised by your father and mother as their house pupil.”
“Both my current position and Okan—all were made possible thanks to your parents.”
“So I’ve always thought I must do something to repay the favor.”
“Otei-san’s situation was also ultimately motivated by that, you know.”
“There’s absolutely no ulterior motive on my part, I assure you.”

Otei-san was a burden on the household, so his main intention was to arrange for her to be married off somewhere as soon as possible.
As a member of the family, I was in a position where I ought to express gratitude for Okada’s kindness.

“Your household wants to get Otei-san off your hands quickly, don’t you?”

My father and mother were indeed like that.
Yet at that moment, in my eyes, Otei-san and Sano—two people with no connection whatsoever—appeared both together and apart.

"Do you think it will work out?"

"Of course it'll go through, won't it?
Just look at Okan and me—you can see how it goes.
We haven't had a single major fight since getting married—not once!"

“You two are special, but…”

“Oh come now—any married couple anywhere’s much the same at heart.”

With that, Okada and I brought this conversation to a close.

XII

Indeed, even by the afternoon of the following day, no word had come from Misa.
For someone as short-tempered as myself, waiting around for such a slacker felt infuriating; I resolved that from now on, I would set out alone, no matter what.

“Well, wouldn’t it be all right for you to stay another day or two?” Okan-san said with a charming smile.
As I began climbing the stairs to pack my yukata and three-shaku belt into my suitcase, Okan-san called up from below in a rush, “You really must stay!”
Even so, evidently still unsatisfied, when I had finished arranging my suitcase, she appeared at the stairway entrance and said, “Oh my, have you already prepared your luggage?”
“Then I’ll make some tea, so please take your time,” she said before heading downstairs.

I sat cross-legged and spread out the travel guide. Then in my mind, I turned over various scheduling considerations. When those arrangements refused to work out, I lay on my back and tried sleeping awhile. Then came imagined pleasures of walking with Misa—his figure when descending Mount Fuji’s Subashiri route surfaced vividly: slipping, falling, then trudging onward with the large Kinmeisui-filled glass bottle that had hung at his waist now broken and fastened to his belt. Just as these images floated before me, Okan-san’s footsteps sounded again on the ladder-like stairs, making me abruptly sit upright.

Okan-san stood there and said, “Well, that’s good,” with what seemed like a sigh of relief, then immediately sat down in front of me. She handed me the letter that had just arrived from Misa. I immediately opened the envelope.

“Has it finally come?”

I momentarily lost the courage to answer Okan-san. Three days earlier, Misa had arrived in Osaka, slept for about two days, and finally been admitted to the hospital. I pointed to the hospital’s name and asked Okan-san about its location. Though she understood the area well, she didn’t recognize the hospital’s name. I resolved to leave Okada’s house carrying my suitcase.

“What an awful turn of events,” Okan-san repeated, her voice laden with sympathy. Despite my refusals, the maid carried my suitcase and followed me to the station. I tried again and again to send her back along the way, but no matter what I said, she would not leave. Her words were comprehensible enough, but for someone like me—unfamiliar with this region—they proved impossible to retain. When we parted, I gave her one yen in gratitude for her assistance thus far; she said, “Goodbye, and keep well.”

When I got off the train and boarded a rickshaw, it crossed the tracks and raced straight down a narrow street.
The rickshaw was moving so recklessly that it nearly collided several times with bicycles and other rickshaws coming from the opposite direction.
I was let off in front of the hospital with bated breath.

Carrying my suitcase, I climbed to the third floor and walked around peeking into various rooms in search of Misa.
Misa was lying in an eight-tatami room at the end of the corridor, an ice bag resting on his chest.

"What happened?" I asked as soon as I entered the room.
He said nothing, forcing a pained smile.
"You've overeaten again, have you not?" I said reproachfully, then sat cross-legged by the pillow and took off my jacket.

“There’s a futon there,” Misa said, looking up and pointing to the corner of the room.
I looked at the state of his eyes and the condition of his cheeks and wondered just how severe an illness this was.
“Do you have a nurse with you?”

“Yeah,”
“She just went out somewhere.”

XIII

Misa had always been a man with poor digestion. He would often vomit or have diarrhea. His friends all blamed it on his lack of self-care. He himself would excuse it by saying it couldn’t be helped, as it stemmed from his constitution inherited from his mother. He would flip through books on digestive disorders and use terms like “atony,” “ptosis,” and “tonus.” When someone like me occasionally offered him admonishments, he would make a face as if to say, “What does an amateur know?”

“Do you know whether alcohol gets absorbed in the stomach or intestines?” he would ask with affected seriousness.
Yet without fail, whenever he fell ill, he would summon me.
Though thinking “I told you so,” I invariably went to visit him.
His ailments typically healed within two or three days at best, or one to two weeks at worst.
This led him to take his conditions lightly.
Being an outsider, I dismissed them even more readily.

But in this case, I was first taken aback by his hospitalization. On top of that, I was startled again by the ice bag on his stomach. Until then, I had believed that ice bags were only meant to be placed on the head or over the heart. I stared at the ice bag throbbing rhythmically and felt a sense of disgust. The longer I sat by his pillow, the fewer cheerful words came to me.

Misa ordered the nurse to bring ice candy. While I was starting on that cup, he declared he would eat the remaining one. I thought it probably wasn’t good for him to be consuming such things aside from his medicine and regular meals, so I tried to stop him. Then Misa got angry.

“How robust a stomach do you think one needs to digest a single cup of ice candy?” he began earnestly, his face dead serious.
The truth was, I knew nothing at all.
The nurse said it was probably fine but went to ask the medical office just to be safe.
And returned with permission stating that a small amount would be permissible.

When I went to the restroom, I discreetly called the nurse so Misa wouldn’t notice and asked what exactly his illness was called.
The nurse answered that it was probably a stomach issue.
When I pressed further, she calmly stated that she had just been dispatched from the nurses’ association this morning and still knew nothing.
When I reluctantly went downstairs and asked a medical staff member, the man still didn’t know Misa’s name.
But he flipped through the documents listing the patient’s diagnosis and prescriptions and only told me that the stomach was slightly eroded.

I went back to Misa’s side.
Keeping the ice bag on his stomach, he said, “Look out that window.”
There were two windows at the front and one on the side—all Western-style and higher than usual—but since the patient lay on a Japanese futon spread beneath him, all that met his eyes was an intensely colored sky and telegraph wires running diagonally across part of his view.

I leaned my hands against the window and looked down outside.
Then, before anything else, the distant smoke rising from a tall chimney caught my eye.
The smoke crawled over large buildings as if to envelop the entire city.
“You can see the river, can’t you?” Misa said.

A large river was faintly visible to the left.

“You can see the mountains too, can’t you?” Misa said again.

The mountains had been visible straight ahead since earlier.

That was Kuragari Pass, he said—explaining how it had likely been covered with large trees long ago but had transformed into the bright pass we saw today—and that before long, a train would run straight through beneath those mountains to Nara. Misa recounted all this with vigor, things he had just heard from someone.
Thinking there was nothing major to worry about, I left the hospital.

XIV

Since I had nowhere else to go, I asked for the name of the inn where Misa had been staying and took a rickshaw there. The nurse had said it was quite nearby, but to me, who was there for the first time, it seemed like a considerable distance.

The inn had neither an entrance nor anything else. Nor was there any maid who came out to greet guests with a “Please come in.” I was shown to a room on the second floor where Misa had stayed. Just beyond the railing was a large river. When viewed from the room, the water flowed with a deceptively cool appearance, but whether due to the opposite bank’s configuration, not a breath of wind entered. Even the glittering lights lit on the opposite bank at night added nothing more than a slight touch of interest to the eye and failed entirely to evoke any sense of refreshing coolness.

I first learned about Misa when I asked the maid.
I had remembered him staying here for two days before being hospitalized on the third, but in reality, he had arrived a day earlier in the afternoon, tossed his bag inside, gone out, and only returned for the first time past ten that evening.
The maid informed me that when he had arrived, there had been five or six companions, but upon returning, only one remained.
I wondered anxiously about who those five or six companions had been.
However, I couldn't even begin to imagine.

“Was he drunk?” I asked the maid.
Even the maid didn’t know about that.
But she answered that since he had vomited after a little while, he must have been drunk.

I had someone hang the mosquito net that night and went to bed early. Then there was a hole in the mosquito net, letting two or three mosquitoes inside. As I waved a fan to drive them away while trying to sleep, voices from the next room caught my attention. The guest appeared to be drinking sake with the maid—there was talk of him being a police inspector or something along those lines. I felt some curiosity about those two characters for “police inspector,” so I resolved to listen to his story. Just then, the maid assigned to my room came upstairs to inform me of a telephone call from the hospital. Startled, I sat upright.

The person on the phone was Misa’s nurse. Worried that his condition might have suddenly taken a turn, I asked what the matter was, only to find it was merely a message from the patient: “Come as early as possible tomorrow—I’m bored out of my mind.” I concluded that his illness was indeed not that serious. “What, that’s all? It’s better not to pass on such selfish requests,” I chided—but feeling sorry for the nurse afterward—added, “But I’ll still go if you’re asking me to come,” before returning to my room.

The maid had sewn up the hole in the mosquito net with needle and thread at some unnoticed moment.
However, since the mosquitoes that had already gotten in remained, no sooner had I lain down than there was occasionally a small buzzing sound near my forehead or the tip of my nose.
Even so, I dozed off.
Then I awoke to voices coming from the room on the right.
As I listened, they were indeed a man's and a woman's voices.
I had assumed there were no guests on this side, so I was somewhat startled.
However, as the woman repeated phrases like "Then I'll have you let me go home now" two or three times, I surmised that the neighboring guest had likely returned from a teahouse escorted by her and fell back asleep.

Then once again awakened by the sound of the maid closing the shutters, when I finally sat up—it being still that hour when a thin white mist could be seen over the river’s surface—the actual time I had slept amounted to no more than a few hours.

XV

Misa’s ice bag remained on his stomach that day as well.

“Are you still cooling it with ice?”

I asked with a look of mild surprise.
To Misa, my tone must have sounded uncharacteristically unsympathetic.

“It’s not some sniffles,” he retorted.

Turning to the nurse, I offered a curt “Thank you for last night.”
The nurse was a pallid, swollen-faced woman.
Her features so resembled those of painted zato blind minstrels that the ordinary white uniform hung awkwardly on her frame.
Without prompting, she volunteered that she came from Okayama and had ruined her right eye through some toxic infection in childhood.
True enough, one milky cataract completely clouded her eye.

“Nurse, if you’re too kind to a patient like this, you never know what he’ll say. You’d better keep it in check.”

I said something deliberately flippant and blunt, half in jest, making the nurse smile bitterly.
Then Misa suddenly said, “Hey—the ice!” and lifted the ice bag.

When the sound of ice being broken came from down the hall, Misa called out “Hey—” to me again.

“You probably don’t understand, but if I push through this illness, it’ll definitely turn into an ulcer.”
“Because that’s dangerous, I’m keeping still like this with the ice bag on.”
"I didn’t check into here because a doctor recommended it, nor did someone at the inn arrange it for me."
“It was simply that I myself recognized the necessity and entered on my own.”
“It’s not some drunken whim.”

I couldn’t place much trust in Misa’s medical knowledge. But confronted with such earnestness, I no longer had the courage to argue back. Moreover, I had no idea what his so-called ulcer actually was.

I stood up and went to the window.
Then I gazed out at Kuragari Pass—its parched earth revealed through harsh reflected light.
A sudden impulse came over me to visit Nara or some such place.

“In that condition, you won’t be keeping your promise anytime soon.”
“This recuperation is precisely how I mean to keep it.”

Misa was an incredibly stubborn man.
If I humored his obstinacy, I’d be stuck stewing in this sweltering city until his health improved enough for travel.

“But that ice bag of yours shows no sign of coming off anytime soon, does it?”

“That’s why it’ll heal quickly.”

As I exchanged such conversations with him, I came to clearly see not only his stubbornness but also his selfish tendencies. At the same time, my own selfishness in wanting to abandon the patient as soon as possible also became painfully clear to me.

“When you arrived in Osaka, I hear you had plenty of companions, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, drinking with that crowd was a mistake.”

Among the names he had listed, there were two or three I recognized. Misa had ridden the train with them from Nagoya; though they were all people bound for places like Shimonoseki, Moji, or Fukuoka, they had apparently gotten off in Osaka under the pretext of it having been so long since they last met, and shared a meal with him there.

In any case, I decided that after staying another two or three days to monitor the patient’s condition, I would determine a course of action.

XVI

During that time, I spent my days and nights mostly at the hospital, like Misa’s attendant.
The lonely man indeed seemed to be waiting for me every day.
And yet whenever we met face to face, he never once uttered a word of thanks.
Even when I went out of my way to buy flowers and bring them to him, he would just sulk and puff up in anger.
I would read books by the bedside, keep company with the nurse, and when the time came, make the patient take medicine.
Since it was a room where the morning sun shone strongly, I was also made to help move the bed to a shaded area with the nurse.

In the course of doing this, I came to know the hospital director who made his rounds every morning.
The director usually wore a black morning coat, accompanied by one doctor and one nurse each.
He was a dark-complexioned man with a straight nose and imposing presence, whose speech and demeanor carried a dignity matching his striking appearance.
When Misa met with the director, he would ask the same kinds of questions as we did—people who had no medical knowledge whatsoever.
“Would I still not be able to travel easily?”
“Is it dangerous if it becomes an ulcer?”
Whenever he asked things like, “Now that I think about it, was it actually wise to have resolutely hospitalized myself like this?” the director would give only a curt reply like, “Well yes, I suppose so.”
I found it absurdly funny that he—who usually belittled others with incomprehensible jargon—would shrink so in front of the director.

His condition was an odd thing that seemed neither mild nor severe.
Informing his family was something he himself absolutely refused to allow.
When I asked the director, he said there likely wasn't much cause for concern if nausea didn't set in, though one would expect his appetite to improve somewhat by now—then lapsed into a puzzled silence.
I wavered between staying and leaving.

When I first saw his meal tray, it held raw tofu, nori, and bonito broth.
He wasn't permitted to touch his chopsticks beyond those items.
This made me think recovery would be a drawn-out process.
Yet there was something peculiarly pitiful about how he sat sipping watery gruel before that tray.
Whenever I slipped out to a nearby Western restaurant for my own meals and returned, he'd invariably ask, "Was it good?"
Seeing his face like that only made me feel sorrier for him.

“That’s the house that brought the ice confectionery we quarreled over the other day.”

Misa said this and laughed.
I felt like staying by his side until he recovered a bit more of his health.

However, when I returned to the inn, inside the stifling mosquito net, I often found myself wanting to quickly escape to a cool countryside.

The neighboring guest who had talked with a woman that previous evening and disturbed someone’s sleep was still staying there.
And then, just when I was about to go to sleep, he would always return reeking of alcohol.
At times he would drink at the inn and shout to call a geisha.
The maid tried various ways to fob him off, but in the end advised him to stop: “That woman only puts on such charm when she’s right in front of you—behind your back she does nothing but badmouth you.”
Then the guest retorted, “As long as she flatters me to my face, that’s good enough for me. What she says behind my back doesn’t matter—I can’t hear it anyway.”
On another occasion, when this geisha tried to bring up some serious matter, it was now the guest’s turn to brush it aside—she scolded him for reducing her words to frivolous claptrap.

Being disturbed in peaceful sleep by such things, I truly felt inconvenienced.

XVII

On that morning when I couldn’t sleep well through it all, I crossed the bridge toward the hospital with a mind resigned to being done with nursing.
The patient was still sleeping soundly.

When I looked down from the third-floor window, the narrow alley made the road before the gate appear slender and neat.
The opposite side stretched with imposing high fences, where through one small gate emerged a man who seemed to be the proprietor, methodically wetting the street with a watering can.
Within the fence, summer mandarin leaves of deep green grew so thickly they concealed the roof tiles.

In the hospital, the janitor tied a cleaning rag to the end of a T-shaped stick and pushed it vigorously along the corridor as he walked.
Since he didn’t rinse the rag, the areas he had carefully wiped ended up streaked with white stains instead.
The ambulatory patients all went out to the washroom to wash their faces.
The swishing sound of nurses dusting surfaces echoed here and there.
I borrowed a pillow and slipped into the vacant room next to Misa’s to compensate for last night’s sleep deprivation.

Since this room too faced the direction where the morning sun shone strongly, I would wake up immediately after dozing off.
The sweat and oil that surfaced all over my forehead and the bridge of my nose were also unpleasant.
At that moment, I was summoned to the telephone by Okada.
This was the third time Okada had called the hospital.
He routinely asked, “How is the patient doing?”
“I will certainly come to see you within two or three days,” I said.
“If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate,” he said.
He would invariably add a word or two about Okan at the end—“Okan also sends her regards,” or “My wife says you really must come visit,” or “We’ve been so busy ourselves that we’ve neglected to stay in touch.”

That day too, Okada’s conversation followed the usual pattern.
But at the very end, he hinted at something peculiar: “Within a week from now… Though I can’t state it definitively, at any rate before long, something that might give you a slight surprise may occur.”
I couldn’t fathom his meaning at all, so I asked him several times what sort of matter this was about, but Okada only laughed and said, “You’ll understand soon enough.” In the end, I abandoned trying to get an explanation and returned to Misa’s room.

“Is it that man again?” Misa said.

I was preoccupied with Okada’s recent phone call and couldn’t bring myself to broach leaving Osaka immediately.
Then unexpectedly Misa spoke up: “You must be sick of Osaka by now.”
“There’s no need to stay here on my account—if you want to go somewhere else, don’t hold back,” he said.
He went on explaining that even when discharged from hospital eventually, he must avoid reckless mountain climbing temporarily anyway.

“In that case I'll do what suits me.”

I gave this response and remained silent for some time. The nurse left the room without a word. I listened to the sound of her sandals fading away. Then, in a small voice, I asked Misa, “Do you have money?” He still hadn’t told his family about his illness. Moreover, I worried that if I—his only acquaintance—were to leave his side, he’d be left wanting more materially than spiritually. “Do you think you can manage?” Misa asked.

“No particular reason,” I answered.

“What about that man?” Misa said.

“Okada?” I pondered for a moment.

Misa suddenly burst out laughing.

“Things will work out when push comes to shove—even without you having to manage anything. The money’s there after all,” he said.

XVIII

The matter of money ended up resolving itself.
When I imagined the thought of going to borrow money from Okada, I was truly disgusted.
Even if I thought it was for the sake of a sick friend, I had no desire to proceed at all.
Instead, I dawdled, unable to decide whether to leave this place or not.

When Okada’s call came and greatly stirred my curiosity, I considered going out of my way to meet him and get to the truth, but after a night passed, even that felt like too much trouble, and I ended up letting it be.

I kept coming and going through the hospital gate.
When I reached the entrance around nine in the morning, there were times when both the corridor and waiting room were packed with outpatients.
At such moments, I would put on an exaggerated look of surprise—as if marveling that so many sick people could exist in the world—give them all a once-over, then set my foot on the ladder-like steps.
It was precisely in this instant that I chanced upon that woman.
I called her “that woman” because Misa kept repeating “that woman, that woman,” so I followed his lead.

That woman was curled up in the dim corner of the corridor bench, revealing only her profile in silhouette. Beside her stood a tall middle-aged woman with freshly washed hair bound up by a comb. My glance first fell upon this attendant's retreating figure. For some reason I lingered there watching. Then the older woman began moving away, revealing that woman emerging from her shadow. At that moment she sat perfectly still, coiled like an icon of endurance. Yet her complexion showed no trace of suffering, nor did her expression betray any anguish. When I first saw that profile, I wondered if this could truly be a patient's face. What unsettled me was how her back curved until chest nearly met stomach, suggesting some terrible presence coiled within that distorted frame. Climbing the stairs, I imagined both her stoic patience and the illness festering beneath that beautiful countenance.

Misa had been told by the nurse about a hospital assistant referred to as Mr.A.
This Mr.A was a young man who often played the shakuhachi flute when free in the evenings.
A bachelor who stayed overnight at the hospital，his room lay in a winding corner of the third floor—the same one as Misa’s.
Until recently，Mr.A had walked about noisily slapping his slippers，but having vanished these past two or three days，Misa and I whispered about whether something had befallen him.

The nurse laughed and said that Mr. A looked funny when he occasionally limped to the toilet.
She also said she had seen the hospital nurse occasionally entering Mr. A’s room carrying gauze and a metal basin.
Misa wore an unamiable face that was neither interested nor uninterested in such talk and simply responded with “Hmm” or “Uh-huh.”

He asked me again how long I intended to stay in Osaka.
After having abandoned his travels, he would often say this whenever he saw my face.
To me, that sounded both overly reserved and pressingly urgent, which I found all the more unpleasant.

“If I want to leave for my own convenience, I can go anytime.”

“Please do.”

I stood and looked straight down from the window.
“That woman” never emerged beyond the gate, no matter how long I watched.

“What are you doing deliberately coming out into the sun?” Misa asked.

“I’m watching,” I answered.

“What are you watching?” Misa asked back.

XIX

Even so，I endured and did not readily leave the window.
On the drying rack visible just across the way，beside five or six bonsai pots of pine and pomegranate，a young woman with her hair in a traditional Shimada hairstyle was diligently threading laundry onto the end of a pole.
I would glance in that direction，then look down again.
But the person being waited for showed no sign of emerging，no matter how much time passed.
I finally couldn’t endure the heat any longer and came to sit by Misa’s bedside again.
He looked at my face and said，“You’re such a stubborn man—the more others kindly tell you to stop，the more you deliberately expose your face to the sun．Your face is bright red.”
I always thought that Misa was the stubborn one.
So I said，“Sticking my head out the window wasn’t meaningless stubbornness like yours.”
“I had a proper reason for deliberately sticking my head out，” I explained with a touch of dignity.
Instead，I ended up making “that woman” sound worse than she was.

After some time had passed, Misa asked with a laugh, “Were you really watching something earlier?”
By then, my feelings had already changed.
I found it pleasant to mention “that woman.”
Since it was stubborn Misa I was dealing with, I thought he’d surely call me a fool or dismiss it as trivial if he heard—but even that didn’t bother me.
If that were the case, I considered answering that I’d actually developed a special interest in “that woman” for some reason—even harboring the ulterior motive of making him a bit anxious.

However, Misa listened to each word I spoke with an attitude completely contrary to my expectations, appearing as if genuinely impressed.
I too got carried away and kept talking for three times longer than what should have taken just a minute or two.
When my words finally trailed off at the very end, Misa asked, "Surely she's not an amateur?"
Though I had described "that woman" in detail, I ultimately never used the word "geisha."

"If she's a geisha, she might be someone I know."

I was surprised. However, I was certain it must be a joke. But his eyes told the opposite. Yet the corners of his mouth were smiling. He repeatedly asked me about the shape of her eyes, the line of her nose, and so on. When I was climbing the staircase, I had caught only a glimpse of her profile, so I couldn’t answer in such detail. To me, only the pitiable posture of her back bent and folded over appeared vividly before my eyes.

“It must be that one. I’ll have the nurse tell me her name before long.”

Misa gave a faint smile as he said this.
But there was still no sign of him humoring me.
Feeling somewhat drawn in, I tried to ask about his relationship with "that woman."

“I’ll tell you soon—once it’s confirmed to be that case.”

Just then，the hospital nurse came to inform us，“Rounds are starting，”so our conversation about “that woman” came to an end there.
To avoid the commotion of rounds，I would leave my seat when the time came and go out to the corridor or the elevated area with the water storage tank，but that day，I took the hat within reach and descended the ladder stairs all the way down.
Feeling that “that woman” might still be somewhere，I stood at the entrance and looked around in all directions.
However，there were no patients in either the corridor or the waiting room.

XX

At lamplighting time, when the evening sky had stilled the wind into silence, I once again hurried up the winding stairs to Misa’s room.
He appeared to have finished his meal and was sitting cross-legged on the futon, spread out.

“I can even go to the bathroom alone now.
I’m even eating proper food.”

This was his proud boast at that time.

All three windows had been left open.
Since the room was on the third floor with nothing to block the view ahead, the sky appeared close.
The twinkling stars within it began to shine unabashedly brighter.
Misa said while using a fan, “Aren’t there any bats flying around?”
The nurse’s white uniform moved to the window, and the upper part of her torso leaned slightly outside the window frame.
I was more concerned about “that woman” than about any bats.
“Hey, did you figure it out?” I asked.

“It was that woman after all.”

Misa said this while giving me a meaningful glance.
“I see,” I answered.
Perhaps because his tone had become too heightened, Misa abruptly fanned his face with the uchiwa.
Then, abruptly switching his grip on the handle to the front, he pointed diagonally across from the room where we were.

“She went into that room.
After you left.”

Misa’s room was at the end of the corridor, facing the thoroughfare.
The woman’s room was at the corner of the same corridor, designed to take light from the inner courtyard.
Because of the heat, both entrances had been left open and the shoji screens removed, so from where I stood, the room entrance indicated by the uchiwa handle appeared diagonally at about a forty-five-degree angle.
However, there was only the triangular edge of the bedding slightly protruding like a pattern in a painting.

I stared at the edge of the futon and said nothing for some time.

“The ulcer is severe.”
“She vomits blood,” Misa informed me again in a small voice.
I recalled having explained to him that he was hospitalized because overexertion risked developing an ulcer.
The term “ulcer” had left no particular impression on me then, but now it carried an oddly terrifying resonance.
As if death itself lurked behind that ulcer.

After a while, faint retching sounds came from the woman’s room.

“There she goes retching,” Misa frowned.
Soon, a nurse appeared at the doorway.
Holding a small metal basin in her hand and slipping into her sandals, she left while glancing our way.

“Will she recover, I wonder?”

In my eyes vividly appeared the face of the beautiful young woman who had been sitting still that morning, her chin pressed to her chest.

“Hard to say.”
“If she’s retching like that,” Misa answered.
When I saw his expression, he seemed gripped not so much by pity as by a certain air of concern.

“Do you really know that woman?” I asked Misa.

“I really do know,” Misa answered seriously.

“But this isn’t your first time coming to Osaka, is it?” I reproached him.

“I came this time and learned it this time,” he excused.
“The name of this hospital was actually something I heard from that woman.”
“Ever since I came here, I’ve been worried she might show up.”
“But until I heard what you said this morning, I never would have thought it possible.”
“I do bear responsibility for that woman’s illness, so…”

Twenty-One

Upon arriving in Osaka, Misa immediately went drinking with friends at some teahouse, and there he met “that woman.”

By that time, Misa was already experiencing stomach discomfort due to the heat.
The five or six friends who had pressured him treated getting him drunk as their hospitality under the pretext that it had been a long time since they last met.
Misa, as a compliant person who followed fate, kept refilling his cup without limit.
Even so, he was constantly aware of an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
At times he made a strange face and swallowed hard as if in pain.
The woman sitting right in front of him asked in Osaka dialect if she should give him some medicine.
He placed five or six pills or something on his palm and tossed them into his mouth.
Then the woman who had received them likewise arranged small particles on her white palm and put them into her mouth.

Misa had been noticing the woman’s listless movements for some time now，so he asked，＂Are you unwell somewhere？＂
The woman showed a lonely smile and replied，＂Perhaps because of the heat… my appetite isn’t improving at all—it’s troubling me．＂
＂Especially this past week—I can’t stand rice and have just been swallowing ice． But even then，no sooner do I swallow some than I want to eat again… It’s simply impossible to manage．＂

Misa earnestly advised the woman that since her stomach was likely the issue, she ought to go have it examined by a specialist somewhere.
The woman, having heard from others that it must indeed be a stomach ailment, wanted to consult a good doctor herself but trailed off hesitantly, saying that given the nature of her profession…
It was then that he first heard from her the name of this hospital and its director.

“Maybe I should try checking into such a place too.”
“I’m feeling a bit off.”

Misa said this in a tone hovering between jest and sincerity, drawing a furrowed brow from the woman that held no trace of delight.

"Well then, let's drink our fill before dealing with anything else," said Misa as he drained his cup in one gulp and thrust it before her.
The woman meekly poured more sake.

“You drink too.”
“Even if you can’t eat food, you can still drink sake.”

He pulled the woman close and indiscriminately poured her drinks.
She meekly accepted them.
Yet eventually she begged him to stop.
Still, she remained seated without leaving her place.

“Drink sake to kill off that stomach worm, and you’ll be able to eat straight away.”
“You must drink.”

Misa, having drunk himself into self-destructive abandon, even resorted to rough language to force the woman to drink.
And yet, within his own stomach, a painful mass on the verge of explosion writhed and churned.

＊ ＊ ＊ ＊

I shuddered upon hearing Misa’s story up to this point. What necessity was there for him to treat his own body so cruelly? Even if I deserved my own fate, why did he have to torment that woman’s frail body so pointlessly?

“I didn’t know. They don’t know my body, and I don’t know that woman’s body either. Those around us don’t know our bodies either. Not only that—I didn’t understand my own body, and that woman didn’t understand hers either. Moreover, I couldn’t stand how detestable my own stomach was. So I tried to overwhelm it once and for all with alcohol’s power. That woman might be the same way.”

Misa said this with a despondent look.

Twenty-Two

"That woman" was lying in a position where her face couldn’t be seen from the hallway even if someone passed by her room.
The nurse told me that if I moved close to the pillar by the entrance and peered in, I could see her, but I didn’t have the courage to actually do it.

The attending nurses, perhaps because of the heat, mostly leaned against that pillar and looked outside. Moreover, as nurses, they were particularly attractive, so Misa would sometimes make disgruntled faces and say things like they were looking down on people. His nurse, for different reasons, did not speak well of this beautiful nurse. She would investigate various things—like neglecting her duties to patients, being unkind, or having a man in Kyoto whose letters she was obsessed with—and report them to Misa and me. She even reported instances of negligence, such as inserting a patient’s bedpan and then forgetting to remove it before falling asleep.

Indeed, the fact that this beautiful nurse, despite her superior looks, did not take her duties seriously was clearly evident to our eyes.

“We really ought to get that changed. That poor woman,” Misa would sometimes say with a bitter expression.
Even so, when that nurse leaned against the entrance pillar and began to doze off, he would sometimes stare fixedly at her profile from his room.

The condition of “that woman” often leaked from this nurse’s lips—milk, broth, any light liquid at all, her deranged stomach would absolutely not accept.
She wouldn’t even take the crucial medicine—couldn’t stand it.
If they forced her to drink it, she immediately vomited it back.

“Does she vomit blood?”

Misa would always retort like this to the nurse.
Every time I heard those words, I felt an unpleasant jolt.

"That woman" had a constant stream of visitors.
But unlike the other rooms, there was no lively conversation to be heard at all.
I was lying in Misa’s room and saw countless figures with traditional topknots and upswept buns coming and going from “that woman’s” room.
Some wore kimonos with patterns so vivid they could startle one awake, but most were dressed in plain, almost unassuming clothing, slipping in and out stealthily.
Some at the entrance used the interjection “Ara-neehan” (a regional term for “older sister”), but that was merely a single instance.
They too would place their Western umbrellas at the end of the hallway and, upon entering the room, suddenly fall silent as if vanished.

“Did you go visit that woman?” I asked Misa.

“Nah,” he answered.
“But I’m worrying about her more than just visiting her.”

“So they still don’t know about you being here.”

“They shouldn’t know, as long as the nurses don’t say anything. When that woman was admitted, I saw her face and thought with a start, but since she didn’t look my way, she probably didn’t notice.”

Misa told how there was a regular customer of “that woman” on the hospital’s second floor who had written a dodoitsu verse—“For your stomach, for my bowels, together we suffer for sake’s sake”—on a scrap of paper and delivered it to her, then specially came visiting in hakama and haori when she was discharged, making a face that said what an idiot he was.

“They need to keep her quiet and free from stimulation. In the room too, they should enter quietly and leave quietly—that’s only natural,” he said.

“It’s quite quiet, isn’t it?” I said.

“Because the patient hates talking.”
“It’s a bad sign,” he said again.

Twenty-Three

Misa knew about "that woman" in more detail than I had anticipated.
And every time I went to the hospital, I brought up that matter as the foremost issue.
He spoke about the internal condition of “that woman,” which he had gleaned during my absences, as though confiding private matters concerning a woman connected to him.
And he seemed to take pride in imparting that knowledge to me.

According to his account, “that woman” had been an apprentice at a certain geisha house, treated with great care as a prized trainee.
The frail person in question, considering this their sole satisfaction, had applied themselves diligently to their work.
Even when slightly unwell, she never acted lazily by taking time off.
Even on the rare occasions when she couldn’t endure it and took to bed, she kept repeating that she wanted to get back to the banquet rooms soon, wanted to get back…

“The one who’s coming to that woman’s room now is the maid who’s been at that geisha house forever.”
“Her title says ‘maid,’ but she’s been there so long she practically runs the place—doesn’t act like any maid I’ve seen.”
“Might as well be her aunt or something.”
“That woman actually listens when this maid tells her what to do—makes her take the medicine she hates, stops her from getting all stubborn.”

Misa attributed all sources of these inside stories to his nurse and explained everything as if he had heard them from her. However, I couldn’t help noticing some dubious aspects in this account. When Misa went to the bathroom, I stopped the nurse and asked, “Misa says these things, but when I’m not here, does he go to that woman’s room to talk or something?” With a solemn face, she flatly denied my suspicion using phrases like “No such thing.” She then explained that even if visitors came to see her, there was no way they could discuss personal matters. Finally, she recounted distressing examples of how “that woman’s” illness was steadily worsening into critical condition.

Since that woman couldn't stop retching, leaving no means to administer nutrition from above, yesterday they finally attempted a nutrient enema. However, the outcome proved unfavorable. Even a simple liquid blended from small amounts of milk and eggs appeared too heavy a burden for intestines weakened to their limit, and as anticipated, it failed to be absorbed.

The nurse made a face that seemed to ask who could possibly sit listening to life stories in such a gravely ill patient’s room after telling me all this.
I too thought what she said was true.
So I put Misa out of my mind and silently contrasted in my heart a fashionable geisha adorned in splendid robes with a pitiful young woman ravaged by terrible illness.

"That woman," owing to her beauty and performance arts, had become an apprentice at a certain geisha house where she was valued by its members.
Even now that she could no longer trade in those qualities, would they still hold her in the same regard?
If their consideration were to turn increasingly shallow as her illness progressed, how desolate must that woman feel while fighting this malignant disease?
After all, someone destined to become a geisha apprentice would inevitably have parents without social distinction.
Without financial means, no amount of concern could make any difference.

I also thought such things. When Misa returned from the bathroom, I asked him, "Do you know if that woman has real parents?"

Twenty-Four

Misa said he had seen "that woman’s" real mother just once.

“And even that was just a glimpse of her back,” he made a point to add.

That mother, just as I had imagined, did not appear to be someone of comfortable social standing.
She seemed to emerge dressed neatly only after considerable effort.
Even when she did visit occasionally, they said she would arrive furtively as if feeling out of place, then slip back down the stairs unnoticed when no one was watching.

“Even a parent can show such restraint when it comes to that, huh,” Misa said.

All of "that woman's" visitors were women.
Moreover, young women made up the majority.
Unlike ordinary young ladies and married women, they were all beautiful people whose lives depended on their allure, so this mother mingling among them appeared all the more faded and plain.
I imagined the aged, seemingly impoverished figure of this mother from behind and felt a pang of pity well up within me.

“From the perspective of parental affection, if a daughter contracts such a grave illness, any mother would surely want to stay by her side day and night.”
“When another’s maid holds such sway that the true parent gets treated like a stranger, it’s hardly a comforting sight.”

“Even parents can’t help it.”
“To begin with—no time to stay by her side. And even with time, no money for expenses.”

I felt a pang of pity. I thought that even though a woman engaged in such a frivolous trade might ordinarily lead an enviably glamorous life, when illness struck, her grief might become all the more bitter compared to ordinary people.

“You’d think she’d have a patron looking after her.”

It appeared Misa’s attention had been lacking on this very point, for when I voiced this suspicion, he remained silent without any reply. Even the nurse who supplied all the latest information about that woman proved useless when it came to this.

"That woman’s" frail body somehow endured even through the sweltering heat of that season. Misa and I discussed it as though witnessing a miracle. Yet despite our morbid curiosity, neither of us ever dared peek into her room from behind a pillar—our understanding of how emaciated she’d become remained nothing but a futile imagined picture. Even when news arrived that the nutrient enema had failed, only visions of a gorgeously adorned geisha flashed through Misa’s mind. In my own mind, I could only picture "that woman’s" face as it had been before her hospitalization—still flushed with vitality. And so we both kept saying she must be beyond saving now. Yet in truth, neither of us had actually believed she would die.

At the same time, all sorts of patients came and went from the hospital.
One evening, a woman on the second floor—about the same age as "that woman"—was carried down on a stretcher.
Upon inquiring, I learned that despite her critical condition where death might come any day now, the mother caring for her was taking her back to the countryside.
The mother had apparently told Misa’s nurse they’d spent over twenty yen on ice alone, hinting at their dire straits and insisting discharge was their only option.

I looked down from the third-floor window at the palanquin returning to the countryside.
The palanquin was too dark to see, but the light of the prepared lantern soon began to move.
Because the window was high and the street narrow, the light appeared to creep secretly along the valley floor.
When it turned the dark corner ahead and suddenly vanished, Misa turned to me and said, “If only she can hold on until they get home...”

Twenty-Five

When I considered that some patients were forced into such sorrowful discharges, there was also a carefree man who carried a child on his back every day and wandered through corridors, observation decks, and other patients’ rooms.

“It’s as if he treats this hospital like an amusement park.”

“First of all, which one’s actually the patient here?”

We found it both amusing and perplexing.
When we asked the nurse, she explained the man carrying the child was his uncle, while the one being carried was his nephew.
They said this nephew had been reduced to skin and bones upon admission but had plumped up considerably through his uncle’s devoted care.
The uncle reportedly ran a secondhand shop.
In any case, he seemed to be someone without financial worries.

Next to Misa’s room was another peculiar patient. Carrying a handbag and such, he walked around nonchalantly like an ordinary person. At times, he even left the hospital entirely. When he returned, he would strip completely naked and eat the hospital food with relish. And then he would nonchalantly say things like how he’d just gone to Kobe yesterday and come back.

There was also a couple who, having come all the way from Gifu to Kyoto to visit Honganji Temple, took the opportunity to enter this hospital and remained there without leaving. In the couple’s room, a scroll of Amida Buddha with a radiant halo hung on the alcove wall. There were times when the two of them sat facing each other and played Go in a carefree manner. Even so, when he asked his wife, she explained with great import that she had brought him here because when she ate these spring pancakes, she had vomited about a cup and a half of blood into a sake cup.

The nurse attending to “that woman” still often leaned against the entrance pillar, hugging her knees with both hands.
The nurse on our side, preening over her looks, commented that she was deliberately positioning herself where that woman could see her.
I would sometimes defend her by saying, “Surely not.”
However, the relationship between “that woman” and her beautiful nurse appeared largely unchanged in its degree of coldness, both initially and at that time.
I explained that when two attractive people gather together, they likely unconsciously envy one another.
Misa insisted that wasn’t the case—Osaka nurses were too proud to even consider someone like a geisha beneath their notice from the start, and that was undoubtedly the reason for their coldness.
Even as he made this assertion, he showed no sign of resenting the nurse.
I didn’t have any particularly unpleasant feelings toward this woman either.
Misa’s unattractive attendant used words that struck us as oddly phrased—something like “Ain’t beauty a virtue?”—and made the two of us laugh.

Surrounded by such circumstances, Misa seemed to grow more interested in "that woman" by the day as his body recovered.
The reason I reluctantly resorted to using the peculiar compound word "interest" here was that his attitude was neither love nor pure kindness, and no more suitable term than these two characters for "interest" readily came to mind.

When I first saw "that woman" in the anteroom, my interest had been just as sharp as Misa’s.
But the moment he began telling me about her, our positions as speaker and listener had already been fixed.
From then on, whenever talk of her arose, he would always assume a senior’s attitude toward me.
For a time, I too found myself drawn in by him, feeling as though my initial interest was gradually being honed.
However, positioned as an outsider, I couldn’t sustain that heightened interest for long.

Twenty-Six

When my interest grew stronger, his became stronger still.
As mine began to wane, his only intensified.
Though brusque by nature, he harbored twice the tenderness of ordinary men in his heart’s depths—
and possessed a habit of flaring up passionately at any provocation.

I found it strange that he—now recovered enough to roam the hospital corridors—never ventured into her room.
Shyness was no trait of his.
For one of his temperament, offering condolences to that woman he’d met but once should have been trivial.
“If she troubles you so,” I pressed, “why not simply go comfort her?”
“Well... truthfully I wish to,” he stalled.
This uncharacteristic hesitation baffled me.
Baffled me—yet secretly I hoped he’d never go.

One time, from "that woman’s" nurse—though before long, I and this beautiful nurse had started talking. Though it was nothing more than exchanging seasonal greetings when she leaned against that familiar pillar and looked up at my face passing by—nevertheless, from this beautiful nurse I borrowed something like a novelty divination book called *Unseisōmi* or some such fortune-telling almanac, and played with it in Misa’s room.

This involved having several round, flat pieces like Go stones painted red on one side and black on the other, which one would arrange on the tatami mat with eyes closed before later counting how many were red and how many were black.
Then, by moving one number horizontally and another vertically, and looking up where they intersected in the book, one would receive a phrase akin to crossroads fortune-telling.

When I closed my eyes and placed the stones one by one on the tatami mat, the nurse counted how many were red and how many were black as she recited the divination phrases.
Then, as it read, "Should this romance come to fruition, you shall suffer great disgrace," she burst out laughing while reciting it.
Misa also laughed.

“Hey, you’d better be careful,” I said.
Misa had been saying since before then that the way I bowed to “that woman’s” nurse was strange and had constantly teased me about it.

“You’re the one who should watch out,” I shot back at him.
Then Misa asked with a serious face, “Why?”
In this situation, saying anything more to this stubborn man would only complicate things further—so I kept quiet.

In truth, I found it suspicious that Misa showed no signs of visiting that woman's room, yet considering his excitable nature, I worried that while things had been manageable until now, he might change unpredictably at any moment.
He had already regained enough strength to go down to the washroom and wash his face every morning.
"Why don't you just get discharged already?"

I made this suggestion.
And if there appeared any hesitation about discharge due to financial reasons, I even resolved to consult Okada myself to spare him the trouble and time of arranging funds from home.
Misa gave no response to what I said.
Instead, he asked, "When do you plan to leave Osaka anyway?"

Twenty-Seven

Two days prior, I had received an unexpected visit from Okan-san of Tenkachaya. As a result, I finally understood the meaning of the words Okada had spoken to me over the telephone that day. Thus I found myself already bound at this time by his prophecy that he would show me something astonishing within a week. Misa’s illness, the beautiful nurse’s face, the young geisha whose voice and form remained unseen—the narrow life she led upon her futon during their brief overlap—it wasn’t merely these things that kept me lingering in Osaka. To borrow the language favored by poets, I was staying at a stifling inn while awaiting the fulfillment of a certain prophecy.

“Given my circumstances, I have to wait here a while longer,” I calmly answered Misa.
Then Misa made a somewhat disappointed face.

“So I guess we can’t very well go to the coast together for convalescence.”

Misa was a strange man.
While I would fuss over him, he would always rebuff me; yet the moment I tried to pull away, he would suddenly seize my sleeve and refuse to let go—his moods swung so violently they were impossible to ignore.
My relationship with him had always followed this pattern of ebb and flow, continuing up to the present day.

“So were you actually intending for us to go to the coast together after all?” I pressed him.

“Not exactly,” he answered, his eyes taking on a distant look as though envisioning the far-off coast.
In his eyes at that moment, there was neither “that woman” nor her nurse—only a friend like me.

That day, I parted pleasantly with Misa and returned to my inn.
However, on my way back, I also thought about the unpleasantness that had preceded our pleasant parting.
I advised him to leave the hospital; he asked me how long I would remain in Osaka.
The exchange of words that had surfaced was nothing more than this.
Yet both Misa and I had tasted a strange bitterness in that exchange.

Though my interest in "that woman" had waned, I still couldn't bring myself to let Misa grow close to her. Misa too, despite having no real intentions toward that beautiful nurse, couldn't remain indifferent seeing me gradually approach her alone. There existed an unconscious rivalry between us. There existed the innate human selfishness and jealousy we were born with. There existed an interest devoid of any core that could develop into neither harmony nor conflict. In essence, there was a clash of primal instincts there. And so neither of us could voice it outright.

I felt ashamed of my own cowardice as I walked.
At the same time, I resented Misa’s cowardice.
But given that we were despicable humans, I was aware that no matter how many years we associated from then on, we could never rid ourselves of this cowardice.
At that moment, I felt utterly forlorn.
And I felt sad.

The next day, when I went to the hospital and saw Misa’s face, I immediately declared, "I won’t urge you to be discharged anymore." I said this with my hands planted before me, feeling as though I were apologizing for my wrongs. Then Misa replied, “Well, I can’t keep dawdling like this either. Following your advice, I’ve decided to finally leave.” He explained that he had obtained discharge permission from the director that morning and announced, “Since too much movement seems harmful, I’ll go straight to Tokyo by sleeper car.” I was startled by this suddenness.

Twenty-Eight

“Why on earth have you suddenly decided to be discharged after all?”

I couldn’t help but ask this.
Misa stared fixedly at my face before answering my question.
I felt as though my own heart was being read through my own face.

“There’s no particular reason, but I thought it would be better to leave now...”

Misa said nothing more after that.
I too had no choice but to remain silent.
We sat facing each other more somberly than usual.
With the nurse already gone, the room felt especially lonely.
He—who had been sitting cross-legged on the futon until now—suddenly collapsed backward to lie flat.
Then he rolled his eyes upward to gaze out the window.
Outside blazed a vividly blue sky as always, the sun’s scorching heat flooding every inch of space.

“Hey, you,” he said after a while.
“That man you’re always talking about, right?”
“Doesn’t that man have any money?”

Of course, I had no way of knowing about Okada's financial circumstances.
When I thought of Okan-san the tightwad, even uttering the word "money" became distasteful.
But when it came to Misa's discharge, I had already steeled myself yesterday not to shrink from that much trouble.

“Since he’s frugal, he must have some put aside.”

“Just get me a loan—any amount will do.”

I assumed he needed money for the hospital fees upon discharge.
I pressed him about the exact shortfall.
The reality proved surprising.

“I’ve roughly enough for settling here and traveling back to Tokyo.”
“If that were all, I wouldn’t need to bother you.”

Though no scion of wealth, being an only son granted him more financial flexibility than us.
What’s more, money entrusted by his mother and relatives for Kyoto purchases—funds left untouched after diverting to Osaka with a new travel companion—still remained.

“So you’re just saying you want to take it along as a precaution, then?”

“No—” he said abruptly.

“Then what are you going to do?” I demanded.

“No matter what, it’s my own doing.”
“Just borrow it for me—that’s all I need.”

I felt angry again.
He was treating me as if I were a complete stranger.
I remained silent in indignation.

“Don’t get angry,” he said.
“I’m not hiding anything. I just didn’t want to make it seem like I was deliberately boasting about something that has nothing to do with you, so I thought it best not to tell you.”

I still remained silent.
He lay there looking up at my face.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he began.

“I still haven’t gone to see that woman.”
“She probably isn’t waiting around for that anyway, and I don’t have any obligation that absolutely requires me to go visit her.”
“But somehow, I just can’t shake this awareness that I’m the one who put her illness in danger.”
“So whichever of us was discharged first, I kept thinking I wanted to meet her just before that.”
“Not a visit—it’s to apologize.”
“If I just apologize once for having done something awful, that’ll be enough.”
“But I couldn’t just apologize outright, so that’s why I asked you.”
“But if it’s inconvenient for you, I suppose I could manage without insisting on it.”
“If I were to send a telegram home—”

Twenty-Nine

I needed to formally approach Okada given the circumstances. Having made Misa wait—who said he would send a telegram home—I casually exited through the hospital gate. The company where Okada worked was in the opposite direction from Misa’s room, so it couldn’t be seen from his window, but distance-wise it wasn’t far at all. Even so, it was so hot that as I walked, sweat poured out enough to soak through my back.

As soon as he saw my face, he exclaimed like someone meeting an old acquaintance, “Well, look who it is!” Then he launched into those same greetings he’d been repeating over the phone all this time.

These days Okada and I do use somewhat more formal language with each other, but back then ours had been a relationship without pretense. I remembered having occasionally lent him money during that period too. To steel myself, I deliberately summoned those memories.

Oblivious to my purpose, he remained standing and boomed, “So Jirō-san! What about my prediction?” “Don’t you think I might just manage to astonish you within a week?”

I steeled myself and first broached the crucial matter.
He listened with a look of surprise, but once he’d heard me out, he readily agreed, saying, “Alright then, if it’s just that much, I’ll take care of it.”

He naturally did not have the necessary money in that hidden pouch.
“Would tomorrow be all right?” he asked.
I steeled myself again and pressed, “If possible, I need it by today.”
He appeared slightly perplexed.

“Well, it can’t be helped—though it’s an imposition—I’ll write a letter, so could you please take it to my house and give it to Okan?”

I had wanted to avoid direct dealings with Okan-san regarding this matter as much as possible, but given the circumstances, I had no choice. So I put Okada’s letter in my pocket and went to Tenmachaya.
Okan-san rushed out to the entranceway the moment she heard my voice and exclaimed in surprise, “You came all this way in this dreadful heat!”
She repeated “Please, come in” two or three times, but I remained standing and declined with “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” then handed her Okada’s letter.
Okan-san dropped to her knees at the entrance and opened the envelope.

“I’m terribly obliged you went to such trouble.”
“Then I’ll come along right away,” she said and hurried into the back.
In the back, there was the sound of the cabinet’s rings clinking.

I rode together with Okan-san to the tram terminal and parted ways there.
“Well then, later,” said Okan-san as she opened her Western-style umbrella.
I once again hurried the rickshaw and returned to the hospital.
After washing my face, wiping down my body, and talking with Misa for a while, I was summoned to the hospital entrance by Okan-san exactly as I had anticipated.
Okan-san pulled out the bankbook from her obi and placed the bills that had been tucked there onto her own hand.

“Then please take a moment to verify this.”

I formally counted it and said, “Confirmed—I’ve caused you quite unexpected trouble.
Thank you for coming out in this heat.”
Indeed, Okan-san must have rushed over—the sides of her forehead were damp with fine beads of sweat.

“Why don’t you come up and cool off for a bit?”

“No, I’m in a hurry today, so I must take my leave now.
Please give my regards to the patient.
But it’s all worked out well, hasn’t it—being discharged so soon.
At one point, even those at home were quite worried and often inquired after your condition over the phone.”

While saying such pleasantries, Okan-san opened that cream-colored Western-style umbrella again and left.

Thirty

I was slightly hurried.
Clutching the bills, I came up to the third floor as if racing up the stairs.
Misa seemed less composed than usual.
He abruptly stubbed out his freshly lit cigarette in the ashtray and took the money from my hand without a word of thanks.
I cautioned him about the amount I'd handed over and asked, "Understood?"
Still he only grunted "Uh-huh."

He stared fixedly toward that woman's room.
Given the hour, no visitors' sandals lay discarded at the corridor's end.
The perpetually hushed room felt especially desolate.
The same beautiful nurse still leaned against the corner pillar, reading what might have been a midwifery textbook.

"I wonder if that woman is asleep."

While he had found the perfect opportunity to enter that woman's room, he now seemed afraid of disturbing her sleep instead.

She might be asleep, I thought.

After a moment, Misa said in a low voice, "Shall we have that nurse check on her availability?"
Since he hadn't yet spoken to this nurse, I had to take on that role.

The nurse looked at me with an expression of surprise mingled with amusement. However, quickly recognizing my serious demeanor, she went into the room. No sooner had she entered than she reappeared within two minutes, laughing. She brought word that the patient was in a good enough condition to receive visitors now. Misa stood up silently.

He didn't look at my face or the nurse's face either, remaining motionless for a moment before slipping into "that woman's" room and vanishing from sight. I returned to my seat and vacantly watched his retreating figure. Even after he had disappeared, I kept staring at the same empty patch of sky. The nurse was the cold one. She let a faint scornful smile play across her lips as she glanced at me, then leaned back against the pillar as before and silently reopened the midwifery book on her lap.

The room remained just as quiet after Misa entered as it had been before he did. No voices could be heard, of course. The nurse would occasionally glance up and look toward the back of the room. But without giving any signal to me, she immediately lowered her eyes back to the page.

I had experienced evenings on this third floor where I heard what seemed like the coolness of insect sounds, but never once had the clamor of cicadas reached my ears during the day. The hospital room where I sat completely alone, bathed in clear sunlight at that moment, was quieter than the depths of midnight. Because of this dead-like silence, my nerves were all the more frayed, and I found myself unable to wait for Misa to emerge from "that woman’s" room.

Before long, Misa lumbered out.
When he crossed the room’s threshold, the only words that reached my ears were his smiling greeting to the nurse: “Sorry for the intrusion. You’re quite the studious one.”

He deliberately clattered his geta noisily, and as soon as he entered his own room, he said, “It’s finally done.”
I asked, “How was it?”

“It’s finally done.”
“Now we can leave.”

Misa merely repeated the same words and said nothing else.
I too could not ask anything further.
In any case, thinking it would be more convenient to expedite the discharge procedures, I began tidying up the scattered items around.
Misa wasn’t sitting idly by either.

Thirty-One

The two hired a rickshaw and left the hospital.
As Misa's rickshaw puller at the front raced ahead too energetically with raised shafts, I tried to stop him by shouting loudly.
Misa turned around and waved.
Since it sounded like he was saying "It's fine, it's fine," I let it be and didn't intervene further.

When we arrived at the inn, he placed both hands on the railing along the riverbank and gazed intently at the broad current flowing below.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” I asked from behind.
He did not turn around.
But he answered, “No.”
“Until I came here and saw this river, I had completely forgotten about that room.”

Having said that, he remained facing the current.
I left him as he was and sat cross-legged on the hemp zabuton.
Still finding the wait interminable, I soon took out a Shikishima pack from my sleeve and began smoking.
By the time the cigarette had burned down to about a third, Misa finally left the railing and came to sit before me.

“It feels like just yesterday we were at the hospital, but when I actually think about it, quite some time has passed,” he said, counting days on his fingers.

“The sight of that third floor won’t leave my eyes anytime soon,” I thought while looking at his face.

“I went through an experience I never could have imagined.”
“This must be some kind of fate too,” Misa said, meeting my gaze.

He clapped his hands, called the maid, and reserved sleeper berths on tonight’s express train.
Then he took out his watch and, after finishing his meal, checked how much time they had to spare.
Unaccustomed to the cramped space, the two of them soon plopped down and lay flat.

“Is that woman likely to recover?”

“Well…
“Depending on how things go, she might recover…”

When the maid came up the steep stairs with a bowl of water sweets she had prepared, the conversation about “that woman” came to an end.
I ate the water sweets while lying down.
During that time, he did nothing but watch the area around my mouth and said nothing.
Finally, in a thoroughly sickly manner, he said, “I want some too.”
Having been watching his sullen demeanor since earlier, I urged him, “Who cares? Eat up.”
“Eat, eat!” I urged.
Fortunately, Misa had forgotten about that day when I tried to stop him from eating the ice sweets.
He merely gave a bitter smile and turned away.

“No matter how much you crave it, knowing full well it’s bad for you—if they force you to eat it anyway and you end up like her, that’d spell real trouble.”

He had apparently been thinking about "that woman" since earlier. He could only be thought to still be thinking about "that woman" even now.

“Did that woman remember you?”

“She remembers. After all, when we met recently, I was the one who forced her to drink.”

“Did she resent you?”

Until now, Misa had been facing away and speaking curtly, but at that moment he suddenly turned back and looked straight at me. Noticing this change, I immediately put on a serious face. However, when he entered that woman’s room, he ultimately said nothing about what conversation took place between them.

“That woman might die depending on how things go.”
“If she dies, we’ll never meet again.”
“Even if she recovers somehow, there’d still be no chance to meet.”
“How strange.”
“Calling it ‘the comings and goings of human life’ sounds pretentious.”
“But from where I stand, that’s exactly what this feels like.”
“When she learned I was returning to Tokyo tonight, she laughed and wished me well.”
“I’ll probably dream of that lonely smile on the train tonight.”

Thirty-Two

Misa simply said this.
And even before dreaming of it, he already seemed to have her forlorn smiling face floating before his eyes.
I was well aware that Misa had a sentimental streak, but given how superficial their relationship had been, it struck me as odd that he should be so affected by that woman.
I thought to ask Misa in detail what he and "that woman" had discussed when they parted, so I dropped a hint, but it proved fruitless.
Moreover, his attitude made it seem as though he begrudged sharing something precious—as if giving half away would leave him with only half—so I felt increasingly peculiar.

“Shall we get going? The night express gets crowded,” I finally found myself urging Misa.

“It’s still early,” Misa said, showing his watch.
Indeed, there were still about two hours left until the train’s departure.
Having resolved not to inquire about “that woman” anymore, I began making perfunctory small talk with him while lying down, carefully avoiding any mention of the hospital’s name.
At that time, he gave an ordinary response.
But there was something about him not quite getting into the swing of things, so he somehow looked displeased.
Even so, he did not move from his seat.
And then he fell silent and did nothing but watch the river flow.

“You’re still thinking about it,” I deliberately shouted in a loud voice.
Misa looked at me in surprise.
He would typically never let such a moment pass without fixing me with a *You vulgarian* glare—that insulting glance he always used—but this time showed no trace of it.

“Yeah, thinking,” he said lightly.
“I was wavering between telling you or keeping it to myself,” he added.

At that moment, I heard a strange story from him. And because that story bore no direct connection to "that woman," I was all the more struck by surprise.

Five or six years ago, his father had arranged the marriage of a certain acquaintance's daughter to another acquaintance's household. Unfortunately, due to some persistent circumstances, the young woman had to leave her husband's household within a year or less of marriage. However, there were further complications that made it impossible for her to be immediately taken back to her own family. Thus, out of obligation as matchmaker, Misa's father ended up temporarily taking custody of her—Misa kept referring to this once-married woman as "young lady" repeatedly.

“The young woman had likely worried herself into showing signs of mental disturbance.”
“Whether that began before coming to our house or after remains unclear, but our household only noticed it some time following her arrival.”
“There was no question she’d been mentally unwell from the start—though at a glance, you’d never have guessed.”
“She simply sat there in silence, sunk in gloom.”
“But then that young woman...”

Misa hesitated slightly after reaching this point in his story.

“Even though the young woman started saying strange things, whenever I went out, she would always see me off to the entrance.”
“No matter how much I tried to sneak out, she would surely come to see me off.”
“And without fail, she would say, ‘Please come back soon.’”
“If I replied, ‘I’ll come back quickly, so please wait here quietly,’ she would nod understandingly.”
“If I remained silent, she would repeat over and over, ‘Please come back soon, okay? Please come back soon.’”
“I felt terribly awkward around my family.”
“But I also found this young woman unbearably pitiable.”
“So even when I went out, I tried to return as soon as possible.”
“When I returned home, I would go to her side and, remaining standing, always say just one word: ‘I’m back.’”

Misa came there and looked at his watch again.
“There’s still time,” he said.

Thirty-Three

At that moment, I feared the story about that young woman would be cut short right there.

Fortunately, there was still plenty of time, so before I could say anything, he continued speaking again.

“Once my family clearly acknowledged that the young woman had a mental disorder, things were still manageable, but before they realized it—as I just mentioned—I too was greatly troubled by her overt behavior.”

“My father and mother grimaced.”

“The kitchen staff snickered behind our backs.”

“I had no choice—when she saw me off to the entrance, I thought of scolding her harshly. I glanced back two or three times, but the moment our eyes met, far from getting angry, she looked so pitiful I couldn’t bring myself to utter a single unkind word.”

“That young woman was a pale beauty.”

“And she had black eyebrows with large, dark eyes.”

“Those large, dark eyes were always dreamily moist, as though gazing at some distant vision, while exuding a helpless sort of pity.”
“When I turned around intending to get angry, the young woman remained kneeling in the entranceway and fixed those large, dark eyes on me as though pleading her own loneliness.”
“Each time, I felt as though she was clinging to my sleeve through those eyes—‘Even if I go on living like this, I’m unbearably lonely all alone—please help me.’”
“Those large, dark eyes were pleading to me like that.”

"I felt like asking Misa, 'Did she fall for you?'"

“Well, you see—since she’s a patient, no one can tell whether it’s love or illness,” Misa replied.

“Isn’t that what they call erotomania?” I asked Misa again.

Misa made a displeased face.

“People with erotomania cling to anyone, don’t they? The young woman only ever came out to see me off to the entrance and said, ‘Please come back soon,’ so it’s different.”

“I see.”

My response at this time was utterly devoid of any warmth.

“I don’t care if it’s an illness or anything else—I want that young woman to think of me.”
“At least I want to interpret it that way on my part,” Misa said while staring at me.
The muscles of his face were rather tense.
“However, the reality seems to have been quite different. Whether the husband she ended up with was a libertine or a socialite, I don’t know, but apparently he would frequently leave home and return late at night from the very start of their marriage, tormenting the young woman’s heart without mercy.”
“Yet that young woman endured without uttering a single word of her suffering to her husband.”
“Because those matters preyed on her mind, even after the divorce, she ended up telling me—through her illness—the things she had wanted to say to her husband.”
“But I don’t want to believe that.”
“Even if forced, I want to believe it isn’t so.”

“Had you grown so fond of that young woman?” I asked Misa again.

“I came to like her more and more as her illness worsened—the worse it became.”

“And then? —That young woman—”

“She died.”
“After she entered—”

I remained silent.

“On the evening you suggested discharge, I counted out her third memorial—just that alone made me want to return,” Misa explained his reason for leaving.
I stayed quiet.

“Ah! I forgot the most important thing!” Misa exclaimed.
I reflexively asked back, “What?”

“That woman’s face—it actually bears a striking resemblance to that young woman’s.”

A smile suggesting “You understand now, don’t you?” appeared at the corner of Misa’s mouth.
The two of us promptly urged our rickshaw toward Umeda Station.
The station was already crowded with passengers awaiting the express train.
We crossed over the bridge and waited together for the upbound train.
The train began rumbling forward before even ten minutes had passed.

“Let’s meet again.”

I firmly grasped Misa’s hand for the sake of “that woman” and for “that young woman.”
His figure vanished into the darkness along with the sound of the train.

Brother

1

I had to go to the same station again the next day after seeing Misa off to meet my mother and elder brother and his wife.

From my perspective, this event was something I could hardly have imagined, but it was none other than Okada who had contrived it from the start and managed to bring it to fruition.
He had always been fond of employing such schemes and taking pride in their success.
It was he who had specifically summoned me to the telephone and declared that he would surely surprise me before long.
Not long after that, when Okan-san came to the inn and explained the circumstances, I was genuinely taken aback.

“Why are they coming?” I asked.

Before I left Tokyo, when I heard that some outlying land my mother owned was to have part of its frontage purchased—amounting to several tsubo—for a new tram line installation, I had suggested to her, “Why not use that money to take everyone on a trip this summer?” only to have her laugh and say, “There goes Jirō’s old refrain.”
Mother had long said she wanted to see Kyoto and Osaka if given the chance, but perhaps it was only after that money became available—coupled with Okada’s invitation—that such an elaborate plan took shape.
Still, why on earth had Okada gone out of his way to invite them?

“I suppose he had no grand scheme in mind,” she said. “He probably just wanted to show his gratitude by inviting you around, given how you looked after him before. And then there’s that other matter too.”

Okan-san’s “that other matter” meant the marriage affair. However much Otei might be Mother’s favorite, I couldn’t imagine her coming all the way to Osaka Sangai solely for that purpose.

By then, my purse was already growing light. To make matters worse, I’d later borrowed a sum from Okada for Misa’s sake. Setting aside any deeper implications, Mother and my brother’s family arriving when they did proved most convenient for covering this financial shortfall. No doubt Okada had knowingly obliged me by readily providing what I needed.

I went to the station together with the Okada couple.
While we three waited for the train, Okada said, “Well? You were surprised, weren’t you, Jirō?”
Having heard similar remarks from him countless times before, I gave no response.
Okan-san turned to Okada and said, “You’ve been boasting on your own again lately, haven’t you?
“Even Jirō-san must be tired of hearing it by now.”
As she said this, she glanced at me and added apologetically, “Well, dear...”
In Okan-san’s amiable charm, I detected an exotic sort of coquetry that threw off the tone of my reply.
Okan-san, feigning ignorance, addressed Okada:—

“It’s been so long since you last saw Madam—she must have changed quite a bit.”

“When I met her before, she was still the same old Auntie.”

Okada called my mother “Auntie,” while Okan-san referred to her as “Madam”—the discrepancy struck me as peculiar.

“When you’re always by someone’s side, you can’t tell whether they’ve changed or not,” I replied with a laugh as the train arrived.

Okada claimed he had specially reserved an inn for the three of them and promptly directed the rickshaw southward.
Riding in the open rickshaw, I found myself surprised yet again by his knack for astonishing people.
Come to think of it, his sudden trip to Tokyo—taking Okan-san away as if snatching her—had undoubtedly been one of those astonishing exploits of his that left me dumbfounded.

II

Mother’s inn wasn’t particularly large, but its layout was far more refined than the place where I was staying.
In the room were an electric fan, a Chinese-style desk, and an electric lamp specially installed beside that desk.
My elder brother had already written the message of their arrival in Osaka on a telegram form that was right there and handed it to the maid.
Okada had somehow prepared three or four picture postcards, which he now pulled from his sleeve. Addressing each one—“This one for Uncle,” “This one for Oshige-san,” “This one for Otei-san”—he wrote out the names meticulously before distributing them around with a “Here you go—one each for everyone!”

I wrote “Congratulations” on Otei-san’s picture postcard. Then Mother wrote “Take care of your illness” after it, which surprised me.

“Is Otei-san ill?”

“The truth is, since there was that matter, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity and even had her prepare to come along this time, but unfortunately her stomach took a turn.”
“What a regrettable thing I’ve done.”

"But it’s nothing serious."
"She’s almost able to eat rice porridge now," my sister-in-law chimed in from beside us.
The sister-in-law remained holding the picture postcard addressed to Father while lost in thought.
"Since you’re a man of refined tastes, Uncle, you must be good at composing poems," Okada pressed, to which he retorted: "What makes you think I can compose such things?"
Okada had carefully written to Oshige—"How regrettable I cannot hear your sharp tongue"—in such painstaking formality that my elder brother chuckled, "Looks like those shogi pieces are still haunting you, huh?"

After finishing the picture postcards and engaging in some small talk, Okada and Okan-san said they would come again and left without heeding Mother’s and Elder Brother’s attempts to stop them.

“Okan-san has truly become like a proper wife.”

“When I think back to when she used to bring sewing items to our house, she seems completely different now.”

Behind Mother's and Elder Brother's exchanged assessments of Okan-san lay a faint melancholy at how much she herself had aged.

“Otei-san will recover soon too, Mother,” I interjected from the side.

“Really,” Mother replied.
Mother seemed to be thinking in her heart about Oshige’s unresolved matter.
My elder brother looked at me and asked, “Since Misa was ill, I hear you didn’t go anywhere?”
I said, “Yes. I got caught up in an unforeseen situation and ended up not going anywhere at all.”
It had become customary for my elder brother and me to exchange words with this degree of distance.
This was due to both a slight age difference and our father’s old-fashioned ways, as he had raised the eldest son by bestowing upon him the highest authority.
Mother would occasionally address me with the honorific “Jirō-san,” but I believed this was nothing more than an overflow from how she treated my elder brother Ichirō-san.

Everyone was so absorbed in conversation that they forgot to change into their yukata. My elder brother stood up and, draping the stiffly starched garment over his shoulders, prompted me with “How about it?” The sister-in-law handed me the yukata and asked, “Where exactly is your room?” Mother—who had stepped out to the handrail and was gazing wearily at the high plastered wall before her eyes—remarked, “It’s a nice room, but rather gloomy.” She then turned to me: “Jirō, is your room like this too?” I went to her side and looked down. Below lay a narrow garden resembling stretched canvas, where sparse bamboo grew and a rusted iron lantern sat atop a stone. Both stones and bamboo glistened moist from freshly sprinkled water.

“It’s small but well-crafted. But in return, there’s no river like at my place, Mother.”

“Oh? Where is there a river?” Mother said, and right after, Elder Brother and Sister-in-law also began asking to switch to a room where they could see the river.

I explained the direction and layout of my inn to them. And so, after making arrangements to return temporarily to pack my luggage and then come back there, I left the inn.

III

That evening, I settled the inn's payment and joined my mother and elder brother.
The three of them appeared to have had their dinner slightly delayed; they were using toothpicks while their meal trays remained untouched.
I attempted to take them out for a walk.
Mother said she was tired and refused.
Elder brother seemed reluctant.
Only my sister-in-law appeared eager to go.

"Let's call it a night," Mother said, stopping me.

My elder brother spoke while reclining.
He talked as though intimately familiar with Osaka.
Yet upon closer listening, his knowledge consisted solely of place names like Tennōji, Nakanoshima, and Sennichimae - when pressed for actual geography, it dissolved into something as vague and scattered as a dream.

That said, he did seem to actually remember fragmented scenes like “the stones in Osaka Castle’s stone walls were truly enormous” and “when I climbed up Tennōji’s pagoda and looked down, it made me dizzy.” Among these, what resonated most strikingly with me was his description of the nighttime scene at that inn where he had once stayed.

“When I stepped out to the railing at the corner of a narrow street, there stood a willow in view.”
“Though the houses were crammed tightly together, it remained quiet—the long bridge visible from my window held all the charm of an ink painting.”
“Even the sound of carts crossing over it rang with a peculiar cheerfulness.”
“Though mind you—the inn itself proved disagreeable and squalid beyond measure...”

“Where in Osaka was that exactly?” my sister-in-law asked, but my elder brother had no idea.
He replied that he didn’t even know the direction.
This was my elder brother’s defining trait.
He had a peculiar habit of remembering specific aspects of events with astonishing clarity while completely forgetting the names of places and dates.
And so he remained unperturbed.

“It’s no fun if we don’t even know where it is,” my sister-in-law said again.
Elder Brother and Sister-in-law often clashed in such matters.
When Elder Brother was in a good mood, that would suffice, but it was not uncommon for even a slight matter to complicate things.
Mother, well-versed in such matters, said, “It doesn’t matter where, but that wasn’t all there was supposed to be.
“Please continue the story,” she said.
“Mother, this is really too trivial a matter even for you right now,” Elder Brother prefaced, and then addressed me: “Jirō, what I found interesting when I stayed in that second-floor room was…”
I naturally took on the responsibility of listening to my elder brother’s story alone.

“What happened?”

“When night fell and I awoke from a brief sleep, there was a bright moon shining on bluish willows.”
“As I lay there watching, suddenly a ‘Yah!’ shout came from below.”
“The place was unexpectedly silent, so the shout must’ve sounded especially loud. I jumped up and went to the railing to look down.”
“There under the willow across the way, three naked men were taking turns competing to lift huge pickling stones.”
“That ‘Yah!’ was the sound they made when heaving it up with both hands.”
“All three were so absorbed in their task that—maybe from sheer focus—none of them spoke a word.”
“Watching those silent naked figures move in the moonlight gave me this strange, uncanny feeling.”
“Then one of them started whirling something like a long carrying pole round and round…”

“It has a certain Water Margin-like air to it, doesn’t it?”

“From that very moment it was already something ethereal,” he said. “Looking back now, it seems just like a dream.”

Elder Brother was fond of recalling such things. And that was a nuance Mother and Sister-in-law couldn't grasp—one only Father and I could understand.

"The only thing I found interesting in Osaka back then was just that scene, but when I bring up such associations now, it doesn't feel particularly Osakan at all."

I recalled the narrow, beautiful street visible from the third floor of the hospital where Misa had been staying.
And I imagined that the stick-wielders and strongmen my elder brother had seen might have been among the young men of that neighborhood.

The Okada couple came to visit again that evening as promised.

IV

Okada had specially prepared an extremely thorough sightseeing itinerary of sorts at home and brought it to show Mother and Elder Brother.
That proved too detailed by half, making both Mother and Elder Brother exclaim, “This is...!” in surprise.

“Well now, how many days can you stay? The way I structure the program depends entirely on that.”
“Here, unlike Tokyo, once you go just a little beyond the city limits, there’s no end of places worth seeing.”

Okada’s words carried a touch of resentment, yet simultaneously revealed a self-satisfied tone.

“It’s as if you’re proudly showing off Osaka.”
“When I listen to your stories from the side—”

Okan-san said with a laugh while admonishing her serious husband.

“No, it’s not boasting.”
“It’s not a boast, but…”

Chastened, Okada grew even more earnest.
Finding this slightly comical, everyone burst into laughter.

“Mr. Okada has turned completely Osaka-style within five or six years,” Mother teased.

“And yet you’ve managed not to forget your Tokyo speech,” Elder Brother added, beginning to mock him again.
Okada looked at Elder Brother’s face and said, “I can’t keep up with you—you start this the moment we meet after so long.”
“Tokyo people truly have sharp tongues,” he declared.

"And after all, he’s Otei’s elder brother, Mr. Okada," I interjected this time.

“Okan, help me out a bit,” Okada finally said.
While taking the program that had been placed before Mother earlier and putting it into his sleeve, he deliberately put on an angry air, saying, “Ridiculous! Going through all this trouble just to be teased.”

When the jokes had subsided, just as I had anticipated, the talk about Sano was brought up by Mother.
Mother expressed her gratitude to Okada with uncharacteristically meticulous words like “This time as well, for all your various efforts,” while Okada responded with a stiffly formal speech about how “truly inadequate” his arrangements had been; to me, both seemed overly dramatic.
Then, since it was a convenient opportunity, Okada began arranging the meeting again, insisting they should meet the man in person.
Elder Brother, too, seemed to feel socially obliged to involve himself in the discussion, and while puffing on his tobacco, he engaged with the two of them.

I felt like showing this scene to Otei-san lying ill in bed and asking whether she'd feel grateful or consider it meddlesome—I wanted to hear her true thoughts. Simultaneously, I found myself associating it with the unfortunate marriage of that beautiful "young lady" with mental illness whom Misa had left lingering in my mind when we parted.

Though Sister-in-law and Okan-san shared little familiarity, their status as young women had kept them conversing privately since earlier. Yet perhaps from mutual guardedness, their rhythms never aligned. Sister-in-law possessed a taciturn disposition. Okan-san carried natural charm. For every ten remarks Okan-san made, Sister-in-law managed but one. When topics dwindled, Okan-san invariably replenished them.

Then came the subject of children. Suddenly Sister-in-law grew animated. She launched into an earnest account of her young daughter's daily routines. Okan-san listened with feigned interest to this tedious narration, though her indifference showed through. Only once did she speak with apparent sincerity: "However do you manage staying home alone?"

"Otei-san has grown quite accustomed to her," Sister-in-law replied.

V

The duration of Mother and Elder Brother and his wife’s stay turned out to be unexpectedly short.
They had apparently come with the plan of spending two or three days in the city and two or three days outside it, totaling less than a week before returning to Tokyo.

“Surely staying a bit longer would be fine?”
“After you’ve gone to the trouble of coming all this way.”
“Even if you did come again, that wouldn’t be easy—it’s such a hassle.”

Though Okada said this, he of course didn’t have the leisure to take days off work during Mother’s stay and spend every day solely showing them around.
Mother too seemed concerned about the Tokyo household.
If I were to say, the very combination of Mother with Elder Brother and Sister-in-law was already a strange grouping.
Naturally there should have been two or three natural plans—Father and Mother coming together; just Elder Brother and Sister-in-law going off on a summer retreat; or if Otei’s marriage issue was the purpose, waiting until her illness healed and having either Mother or Father bring her here to settle matters quickly.
Why it had manifested in such a strange form was something I couldn’t grasp from the start.
Mother seemed to have kept it tucked away in her heart as well.
Nor was it just Mother—there were signs that Elder Brother and Sister-in-law had noticed it too.

The meeting with Sano concluded as mere formality.
Mother and Elder Brother both offered formal thanks to Okada.
Even after Okada's departure, neither ventured any criticism of Sano.
One might interpret matters had progressed beyond critique's relevance.
The marriage arrangement was settled to await Sano's year-end Tokyo visit for ceremonial formalities.
I remarked to Elder Brother, "How droll - this affair advances with such propitious momentum while remaining utterly unknown to its principal."

“The person in question certainly knows,” said Elder Brother.

“She’s absolutely delighted,” Mother assured us.

I didn’t say a word.
“Though when it comes to such matters, I suppose Japanese women lack the courage to push things forward on their own,” I said.
Elder Brother remained silent.
Sister-in-law looked at me with a strange expression.

“It’s not just women. Men would be troubled too if things get recklessly pushed forward on their own,” Mother cautioned me.

“Then Elder Brother said, ‘Might as well let things proceed that way then.’”
Perhaps because his tone was a bit too sarcastic, Mother made a somewhat displeased face.
Sister-in-law also made a strange face.
But neither of them said anything.

After a little while, Mother finally began to speak.

"But if even just Otei could be settled, Mother would feel greatly relieved."
"The rest are all burdensome matters, you see."

“This is all Father’s doing,” Elder Brother replied.
At that moment, a faint shadow of irony flickered across Elder Brother’s lips—a detail Mother failed to notice.

“This is entirely thanks to Father’s influence—the same as what Okada is doing now,” Mother said, looking quite satisfied.

Pitiable Mother believed Father still maintained the same social influence he had wielded in the past.
Elder Brother, being who he was, had seen through how Father—now withdrawn from society as before—could no longer exert even half that former influence.

Sharing Elder Brother's view, I couldn't shake the feeling our entire family was colluding to deceive Sano.
Yet from another angle, the notion that Sano deserved this deception had lodged itself in some corner of my mind from the very beginning.

In any case, the meeting concluded satisfactorily.
Elder Brother insisted on leaving Osaka soon, saying that the heat was affecting his brain.
I was naturally in agreement.

VI

Indeed, Osaka was intensely hot during that period. Above all, our inn was sweltering. Because the garden was narrow and the walls high, there was no room for sunlight to enter, but in exchange, there were also few gaps for wind to pass through. At times, there was a suffocating discomfort in the damp tea room, as if we were being roasted by bonfires from all sides. There was even an occasion when I was scolded by Mother for doing such a foolish thing as running the electric fan all night long—she said what if I caught a cold—as it buzzed noisily.

I had agreed with Elder Brother’s opinion that we should leave Osaka and thought that Arima would be cool and good for his head. I was not yet familiar with this famous hot spring. It was said that cart drivers would attach a rope to the shaft of their carts and fasten the other end to dogs to help pull them up slopes. Because it was so hot, the dogs would often try to drink from the stream’s clear water, which would make the drivers angry—they’d beat them mercilessly with bamboo sticks until the poor creatures whimpered in pain while straining to pull the carts. This was the story I had once heard and now recounted.

“I’d hate to ride in such a cart—it’s so pitiful,” Mother said with a frown.

“Why don’t they let them drink water?”
“Is it because the cart would get delayed?” Elder Brother asked.

"I answered, 'They say if they drink water along the way, they'll get too exhausted to be useful.'"

"Huh? Why?" Sister-in-law asked curiously this time, but I couldn't answer that either.

The Arima trip likely wasn't because of the dogs, but it ultimately came to nothing.
Then quite unexpectedly, Elder Brother proposed sightseeing at Wakaura.
This was a famous place I'd long wanted to see.
Mother, who'd been familiar with the name since her childhood, immediately agreed.
Sister-in-law alone appeared indifferent to wherever they went.

Elder Brother was a scholar.
He was also a man of discernment.
Moreover, he was a kind man born with a poet's pure temperament.
However, being the eldest son, he possessed a touch of selfishness.
From my perspective, he seemed considerably more indulged in his upbringing than the average eldest son.
It wasn't just me—even toward Mother and Sister-in-law, he could be excessively amiable when in good spirits, but once that stubborn streak emerged, he would maintain a sullen expression for days and deliberately withhold speech.
Yet in public, he transformed into an entirely different person—a paragon of affable companionship who rarely broke his gentlemanly demeanor even amidst ordinary troubles.
Therefore, all his friends firmly believed him to be a gentle soul of good character.
Each time Father and Mother heard such praise, they wore expressions of genuine surprise.
But still, they couldn't help showing traces of pleasure—he remained their child after all.
If such acclaim reached my ears during conflicts with Elder Brother, I would seethe with unreasonable anger.
I even felt compelled to visit each acquaintance's residence and rectify their misconceptions.

The reason Mother quickly agreed to the Wakaura trip, I thought, was that she truly understood Elder Brother’s temperament through long experience. Having spent years fostering her child’s willfulness, Mother now found herself compelled to kneel before that very will in all matters without exception.

When I visited the restroom, I found Sister-in-law standing absently by the stone washbasin and asked, “How have you been lately? Is Elder Brother in good spirits or bad?”
“Much as ever,” she replied simply.
Still, she managed to form a single dimple on her desolate cheek—a cheek whose very complexion seemed steeped in loneliness, bearing at its center that solitary dimple of melancholy.

VII

I wanted to settle my debt to Okada before departing.
While I thought informing him would suffice even after returning to Tokyo, I felt repaying someone like him promptly would leave me with a clearer conscience.
So when no one was around, I asked Mother for help.

Mother cherished Elder Brother and had of course loved him deeply.
Yet whether due to his status as firstborn or difficult temperament, she seemed restrained.
Even when correcting minor matters, she took care from the outset to avoid offense.
By contrast, Mother treated me like a child.
“Jirō, since when does such a rule exist?” she once rebuked me outright.
Yet she also doted on me more than Elder Brother.
I often received pocket money secretly from her.
Father’s clothes would frequently be altered for me without notice.
This manner of Mother’s greatly displeased Elder Brother.
Trivial matters often soured his mood.
A gloomy air would then fill our bright home.
Mother would frown and whisper to me, “Ichirō’s ‘illness’ has flared up again.”
There was a time when I—delighted at being Mother’s confidant—would airily say things like, “It’s just his nature; let him be.”
But after realizing Elder Brother’s temperament stemmed not from mere stubbornness but from an abhorrence of underhanded dealings large or small, I grew ashamed of such flippant remarks.
Still, since seeking his formal approval often proved impossible, I found myself seizing chances to be held alone in Mother’s embrace.

Mother looked surprised when she heard how I had borrowed money from Okada for Misa's sake.

“There’s no reason to spend money on such a woman—not even Mr. Misa would.”
“It’s absurd,” she said.

“But Misa has social obligations in this matter,” I countered.

“Obligations obligations—I can’t make sense of a word you’re saying.”
“If you pity him, isn’t visiting empty-handed enough?”
“If that shames you, just take a box of sweets—that’s more than sufficient.”

I stayed silent for a time.

“Even if Mr. Misa had such a social obligation, you know—”
“There’s no social obligation requiring you to borrow from someone like Okada on his behalf, is there?”

“Very well then,” I answered.
And with that, I stood up to go downstairs.
Elder Brother was taking a bath.
Sister-in-law had borrowed a small lower room and was styling her hair.
In the parlor, there was no one besides Mother.

“Wait a moment,” Mother called out to stop me.
“I’m not saying I won’t give you anything.”

In Mother’s words lingered a desolation that seemed to ask—when even Elder Brother alone was more than enough—what need was there for me to go and torment this old woman as well?
I sat back down where Mother had told me to but couldn’t bring myself to look up out of guilt.
And in this awkward manner, I childishly received from Mother the necessary amount of gold coins.
When Mother lowered her voice a notch and said in her usual manner, “Don’t tell Elder Brother,” I was suddenly struck by an indescribable unpleasantness.

VIII

We were supposed to set out for Wakayama the following morning.
Since we would have to return here once anyway, I thought it would be fine to repay Okada then; but impatient as I was, I already found it bothersome to keep the wallet in my pocket untouched.
I imagined Okada would come to the inn that evening as usual for conversation.
Therefore, I resolved within myself to quietly repay him during that opportunity.

Elder Brother came up from the bath.
Without fastening his obi and with his yukata casually draped over his shoulders, he went all the way to the railing and hung the wet hand towel there.

“Sorry for the wait.”

“Mother, how about it?” I urged her.

“Oh, do come in—starting with you,” said Mother, gazing at Elder Brother’s neck and chest. “You’ve developed such a healthy complexion.”
“And you seem to have filled out a bit too,” she praised.
Elder Brother had always been naturally lean.
At home, they all blamed it on his nerves and kept insisting he needed to put on a bit more weight.
Of them all, Mother worried the most.
He himself abhorred his own thinness as though it were some form of punishment.
Yet despite all that, he didn’t put on an ounce of weight.

As I listened to Mother’s words, I felt pity for her state of mind—this forced cheer she had to offer her child as one form of solace. While possessing a physique far sturdier than Elder Brother’s, I bade Mother, "I’ll go ahead then," and went downstairs.

When he peeked briefly into the small parlor next to the bathhouse, his sister-in-law had just finished arranging her topknot and was smoothing her sideburns and nape knot with a pair of mirrors.

“Are you finished already?”

“Yes.”
“Where are you off to?”

“I was thinking of going to take a bath. Would it be all right if I excuse myself and go ahead?”

“Please go ahead.”

As I stepped into the bath, I wondered why my sister-in-law had chosen to style her hair in such an elaborate marumage topknot today of all days. I called out loudly from the bathtub, “Sis! Sis!”
A reply of “What is it?” came from the corridor exit.

“Thank you for your trouble, especially in this heat,” I said.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? Is that bulbous hairstyle to Elder Brother’s liking?”

“I don’t know.”

The clear sound of my sister-in-law’s sandals climbing the ladder-like stairs along the corridor reached my ears.

In front of the corridor lay a courtyard where a Japanese aralia bush could be seen.
I was gazing out at the dark garden before me while having my back scrubbed by the inn clerk.
Then, from the direction of the entrance, along the veranda, came the sound of lively footsteps again.

And then Okada, wearing a white, high-collared Western-style suit, passed in front of me.
I instinctively called out, “Hey, you! You there!”

“Oh! The bath was so dark just now—I didn’t notice you at all,” Okada said, taking a step back and peering into the bath as he greeted him.

“I have something to tell you,” I said abruptly.

“A talk? What is it?”

“Oh, come on in.”

Okada made a face that said he wasn’t joking.

“Won’t Okan come?”

When I answered “No,” he next asked, “What about everyone else?”
When I replied again, “They’re all here,” he asked curiously, “So you didn’t go anywhere today?”

“We went out and have already returned.”

“Actually,I'm just on my way back from the company now.”
“It's really hot—isn't it? Anyway,I'll come by shortly.”
“Excuse me.”

Okada left these words hanging and finally went up to the second floor without hearing about my business.
After some time, I got out of the bath.

Nine

Okada drank heavily that night.
He had been determined to make arrangements to visit Wakanoura together, but with his colleague absent due to illness—making things fall short of expectations—he kept apologizing profusely to Mother and Elder Brother while lamenting how deeply regrettable it all was.

“Since tonight will be our farewell, please stay a while longer,” Mother urged.

Unfortunately, none of my family members had much fondness for drink, and not one could keep him company.
Thus they all begged pardon and finished their meal before Okada.
Okada—as if to say we were being self-centered too—kept himself to a solitary place setting and continued sipping from his cup.

He was by nature a cheerful man.
What’s more, he possessed the endearing habit of growing even more jovial when drinking.
Then regardless of whether anyone listened or not, he would prattle on about whatever pleased him, occasionally erupting in solitary guffaws.

He cited statistics about how Osaka’s wealth had grown over the past twenty years and how it would multiply tenfold in the next decade, looking thoroughly satisfied.

“How does your own wealth compare to Osaka’s?” Elder Brother said sarcastically. Okada placed a hand on his thinning hair and laughed heartily.

“Though it sounds presumptuous to put it this way—my current position, such as it is, owes everything to Uncle and Aunt.”
“No matter how much I drink and ramble on like this, I’ll never forget that debt.”

Okada said such things and expressed his gratitude to the mother beside him and the father far away. He was a man who had a habit of repeating the same phrases when drunk, but particularly, this gratitude escaped his lips several times, each time in a slightly different form. In the end, he grew insistent about wanting Father to try something called manna katsuo from Nada-ichi.

I recalled an incident from when he had been a live-in student: one New Year’s Eve, he had come back after drinking freely somewhere, prostrated himself before Father while placing a red crab leg about three sun long in front of him, and declared, “I humbly present this delicacy from the northern seas.” Father had snapped, “What’s this? Some vermilion-lacquered paperweight? I don’t need that—take it away quickly!”

Okada kept on drinking and showed no sign of leaving.
At first, his animated chatter had livened things up, but gradually everyone grew tired of it.
The sister-in-law pressed a fan to her face to conceal a yawn.
I finally had to take him outside.
Under the pretense of a stroll, I walked five or six blocks with him.
Then I pulled out that money from my pocket and returned it.
Despite his drunken state, he accepted it with unexpected steadiness.
"You didn't need to return it now."
"But Okan will appreciate this."
"Thank you," he said, slipping it into his jacket's inner pocket.

The street was quiet.
Without thinking, I looked up at the sky.
The starlight hung unexpectedly murky overhead.
I found myself worrying about tomorrow's weather.
Then Okada blurted out abruptly, "Mr. Ichirō was rather difficult back then, wasn't he?"
The memory surfaced anew - that time long ago when Elder Brother and I had been playing shogi, how he'd suddenly hurled a piece at my forehead after I'd made some careless remark.

"He's been self-willed since those days, you know."
"But hasn't his mood improved considerably lately?" he added.
I offered a vague response that settled nothing.

“Admittedly, it’s been quite some time since he got a wife.”
“But his wife must find it rather trying as well.”
“With that…”

Even so, I gave no response.
When we came to a certain corner and parted ways, I simply said, “Please give my regards to Okan-san,” and turned back the way I had come.

Ten

The next morning, we boarded the train and ate lunch in its narrow dining car.
“It’s amusing that all the waitstaff are women.”
“And there are some real beauties among them, wearing white aprons.”
“You should definitely have lunch here and see for yourself,” Okada advised me, so I made sure to observe the women carrying plates and pouring cider.
However, none of them had looks particularly worth remarking on.

Mother and my sister-in-law gazed curiously out the window and admired the rustic scenery together.
In truth, the view outside the window was a welcome change for us who had only just left Osaka.
Particularly when the train ran near the coast, the green of the pines and the blue of the sea reflected refreshing azure hues to eyes wearied by smoke.
The way roof tiles appeared and disappeared through tree shadows was also unusual compared to what we knew from Tokyo.

“That’s strange, isn’t it?
“I thought it might be a temple, but it doesn’t seem to be.”
“Jirō, is that still a farmhouse after all?” Mother deliberately pointed out, indicating the relatively large roof to me.

I sat next to my elder brother in the train.
Elder Brother was deep in thought.
I wondered to myself if that business had started again.
I hesitated over whether to try to cheer him up with some conversation or to stay silent and pretend not to notice.
Whether Elder Brother was irritated by something or pondering some lofty problem, he always looked the same way, so I could never tell the difference.

Finally I resolved to try starting a conversation myself.
This was because Mother, sitting across from us, had glanced furtively at Elder Brother’s face once or twice between her exchanges with my sister-in-law.
“Brother, there’s an interesting story,” I said, looking at him.

“What?” Elder Brother said.
Elder Brother’s tone was as brusque as I had expected.
However, that was before he had steeled himself.

“It’s a story I just heard from Misa the other day…”

I thought to tell about that young woman with mental illness who had been married then divorced before being taken into Misa’s household—how she would always plead for him to come back soon whenever he went out—and paused there.

Then Elder Brother suddenly brightened and said, “If it’s that story, I already know it.”
“When that woman died, Misa kissed her cold forehead—that’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?” he continued.

I was surprised.

"Is there such a thing? Misa didn't say a word about the kiss though. Are you saying Misa kissed her in front of everyone?"

“I don’t know about that.”
“Did he do it in front of everyone?”
“Or did he do it when there was no one else around?”

“But I don’t think Misa would have been alone by that young woman’s corpse.”
“If he kissed her when no one was around,”

“That’s why I told you I don’t know!”

I fell silent and sank into thought.

“Brother, how on earth do you know about that story?”

“I heard it from H.”

H was Elder Brother’s colleague and the man who had introduced Misa. Since H was Misa’s guarantor, their relationship must have been somewhat close, but why he had picked up such a delicate story and passed it on to Elder Brother was something even he himself didn’t know.

“Brother, why didn’t you say anything about that story until today?” I finally asked him.
Elder Brother made a bitter face and answered, “There was no need to.”
I was thinking of pressing him further depending on his reaction when the train arrived.

Eleven

As soon as we left the station, there was a train waiting right there. Elder Brother and I, still holding our handbags, hurriedly helped the women aboard. The train didn't start moving for quite some time, even though the four of us had all boarded at once.

"What a quiet train," I said mockingly.

"With this, it seems even our luggage could be loaded on," Mother said, glancing back toward the station.

Just then, two or three men—student-types carrying books and merchant-types using fans—came up to the carriage one after another and began sitting down haphazardly, so the driver finally started moving the handle.

We wound through a narrow town lined with desolate earthen walls that seemed to form the city's outer perimeter, passed two or three stops, then saw a moat beneath high stone embankments.
In the moat, lotus leaves floated green across the entire surface.
Amidst those blue leaves, scattered crimson blooms made our restless eyes flicker.

“Oh, so this is the old castle from long ago,” Mother remarked admiringly.
Since Mother’s aunt had apparently served in the inner quarters of the Kishū family long ago, her emotions must have been even deeper.
I, too, suddenly recalled the feudal-era term “Lord Kishū, Lord Kishū” that I had occasionally heard when I was a child.

After passing through Wakayama City and traveling a short distance along a rural road, the train soon arrived at Wakanoura.

The shrewd Okada had prudently reserved rooms at a first-class inn in the area well in advance, but unfortunately, with summer guests crowding in and the fine-view parlors reportedly occupied, we immediately ordered rickshaws and turned the corner along the waterfront.
And thus we entered a room on the upper floor of a tall three-story building that faced directly out to the sea.

It was a spacious room open to the south and west, but its construction resembled nothing more than a well-appointed Tokyo boarding house—in terms of dignity, it couldn’t begin to compare with Osaka inns.
The second floor—occasionally used for grand performances—was a vast, uninterrupted hall. Standing at its center like in a temple hall and gazing at the cheap tatami mats rippling like waves, one couldn’t help but feel a certain bleak impression.

Elder Brother stood silently examining the six-panel folding screen serving as a temporary partition in the great hall. He possessed a particular appreciation for such objects, cultivated through our father's tutelage. The screen displayed bamboo stalks with curiously limp leaves rendered in skillful brushwork. Without warning, he turned and called, "Hey Jirō."

At that moment we both held hand towels, preparing to visit the bath downstairs. I remained standing about two tatami mats behind him, observing his contemplation of the painted bamboo. I felt certain he would offer some critique of the screen's artwork.

“What is it?” I answered.

“It’s about that matter concerning Misa we discussed earlier in the train. What do you think?”

Elder Brother’s question was actually unexpected to me. When he had been asked in the train why he had not told me about that matter until now, he had already made a bitter face and answered that there was no need.

“Are you talking about that kiss story?” I asked back.

“No, it’s not the kiss.”
“It’s about how that woman would always say ‘Please come back soon’ while yearning after Misa as he left.”

“To me, both are interesting, but the kiss somehow feels more purely and beautiful.”

At this time, we were about halfway down the second-floor ladder stairs.
Elder Brother came to an abrupt halt halfway down.

“That’s just poetic talk.”
“If one were to speak from the perspective of poetic observation, both would be equally interesting.”
“But that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“It’s a matter of practical reality.”

Twelve

I couldn't fully grasp Elder Brother's meaning.
Silently, I descended to the foot of the ladder stairs.
Elder Brother reluctantly followed behind me.
Stopping at the bathhouse entrance, I turned to ask Elder Brother.

“When you say it’s a practical matter, what exactly does that entail? I don’t quite understand it.”

Elder Brother explained impatiently.

“In other words—do you think that woman truly felt about him as Misa imagined, or did she start babbling those things because her mental illness made her blurt out what she’d kept bottled up toward her former husband? That’s what I’m asking.”

I too had considered this issue when I first heard the story. However, I resigned myself to being someone who could never determine which was which, and left it there. So I had no particular opinion to offer in response to Elder Brother’s question.

“I don’t understand.”

“Is that so?”

While saying this, Elder Brother still made no move to enter the bath and remained standing.
I too found myself hesitating to undress.
The bath was smaller than I’d imagined and somewhat worn-out.
I peered into the dimly lit bathing area before turning back to Elder Brother.

“Do you have some definite opinion about it, Brother?”

“I can’t escape the conviction that woman held genuine feelings for Misa.”

“Why is that?”

“Because that’s how I interpret it.”

The two of them entered the bath without concluding their discussion.
When they emerged and swapped places with the group of women, the western sun flooded the room, and the sea glowed like molten iron.
They avoided the sunlight and stepped into the adjoining room.
As they sat facing each other there, Elder Brother revived their earlier debate.

“I can’t help thinking this way...”

“Yes,” I said meekly, simply listening.

“In ordinary circumstances, there must be many things people want to say but cannot due to social appearances or obligations.”

“There are plenty of those.”

“But when it becomes mental illness—though phrasing it this way might suggest I’m lumping all mental illnesses together, and doctors might laugh at me—still, once someone becomes mentally ill, wouldn’t they feel tremendously unburdened?”

“There must be patients of that type.”

“But look—if that woman truly was that sort of mental patient, then all her societal responsibilities would undoubtedly vanish from her mind.”
“If they vanished completely, then anything that came to mind could be expressed bluntly without restraint.”
“In that case, wouldn’t the words she spoke to Misa be something far more sincere and pure than the half-hearted pleasantries we usually exchange?”

I was deeply impressed by Elder Brother’s interpretation.
“That’s fascinating,” I blurted out, involuntarily clapping my hands.
Then, to my surprise, Elder Brother looked displeased.

“This isn’t some trivial matter to debate whether it’s interesting or not. Jirō, do you truly believe my interpretation holds water?” he pressed.

“I suppose so.”

I found myself hesitating despite my words.

“Ah—unless you drive a woman mad, you’ll never grasp her true nature, will you?”

Elder Brother let out a pained sigh as he spoke.

Thirteen

Under the inn flowed a fairly large canal.
He couldn’t quite tell how it connected to the sea, but in the evening, a couple of fishing boats rowed in from somewhere and passed leisurely in front of the inn.

We walked one or two chō along the canal to the right, then turned left and began crossing the rice field path.
Looking ahead saw fields ending at a gentle slope upward; along its embankment crest stretched long rows of pine trees on both sides.
To our ears came thunderous crashes of waves breaking against rocks.
From above on the third floor came clear views of shattered waves transforming into white smoke hurled skyward.

We finally reached the top of the embankment.
The waves would typically crash against the thickly constructed stone wall just beyond the embankment, shattering into fine particles before rising skyward with a seething glow; but occasionally, there were larger ones that would surge over the collapsed wall and cascade inward in a rush.

We remained transfixed by the spectacle for some time before finally setting off again to the roar of crashing waves. As we walked side by side along the canal, Mother and I made idle conversation about how this might be what they called Kataonami. Elder Brother and his wife had moved slightly ahead of us—both clad in yukata robes, he leaning on a slender Western cane while she wore a narrow hemp obi patterned with what might have been palace motifs. They maintained a lead of some twenty ken, walking parallel yet separated by six feet of empty space. Mother kept glancing their way with eyes that both registered and denied this distance—her anxious gaze betraying thoughts wholly occupied by the couple ahead. Feigning obliviousness to avoid difficult conversation, I deliberately slowed my pace and filled the air with cheerful banter meant to amuse her. True to form, Mother eventually remarked, “Jirō, if only I could live as carefree as you do—the world would hold no troubles for me then.”

Finally, she seemed unable to hold back any longer and said, “Jirō, look at that.”

“What is it?” I asked in return.

“That’s why it’s so troubling,” Mother said.
At that moment, Mother’s eyes were fixed on the retreating figures ahead.
I couldn’t help but outwardly acknowledge her meaning.

“Did she do something again to upset Elder Brother?”

“Well, given it’s her, I can’t say for certain.”
“But once married—listen—no matter how cold he acts, she’s still a woman.”
“If Naoshi doesn’t try to improve his mood from her side, it’ll be a problem, don’t you think?”
“Look at them—they might as well be strangers walking the same path.”
“Even Ichirō wouldn’t have told Naoshi not to approach him, would he?”

Mother, remaining silent as she walked behind the couple walking apart, seemed determined to lay all blame solely on Sister-in-Law.
To this, I myself had some agreement.
And this shared feeling was a natural thing that would surely arise in the hearts of those who had long observed Elder Brother and his wife’s relationship from the sidelines.

“Elder Brother is just lost in thought again. That’s why Sister-in-Law is keeping her distance and deliberately staying quiet, don’t you think?”

I tried to placate Mother with these deliberately superficial words of comfort.

Fourteen

“Even if he is thinking about something—”
“If Naoshi remains that indifferent, he can’t even manage half a conversation.”
“It looks as though they’re deliberately walking apart.”

From Mother’s perspective—she who harbored such sympathy for Elder Brother—Sister-in-Law’s retreating figure must have appeared thoroughly cold.
But I offered no response.
As we walked, I began considering my sister-in-law’s character in broader terms.
I couldn’t say Mother’s criticism missed the mark entirely.
Yet I wondered whether her excessive attachment to her own flesh and blood might be making her judge the woman’s flaws too harshly.

The woman I perceived was by no means warm-hearted. Yet if warmth was given to her, she could become warm. Though lacking any innate amiability from birth, she was someone from whom considerable charm could be drawn through careful handling. I had at times detected in her after marriage a coldness that bordered on infuriating. But I believed she couldn't possibly harbor such irremediable unkindness or cruelty.

Unfortunately, Elder Brother possessed in full measure this very temperament I had described in Sister-in-Law. Thus this couple—cast from the same mold—had likely been seeking from each other since the beginning what neither could provide, their responses still failing to harmonize even now. That Sister-in-Law only appeared cheerful when Elder Brother was in good spirits could naturally be attributed to his impressionable nature and ability to project warmth onto a woman. When he wasn't, just as Mother criticized Sister-in-Law for excessive coldness, Sister-in-Law might well have been privately leveling the same criticism at him.

As I walked side by side with Mother, I thought deeply about the two ahead of us.
But I couldn't bring myself to explain such complicated reasoning to her.
Then Mother said, “It’s really strange.”

“Naoshi isn’t a charming person by nature, but she’s always been this way with Father and me.”
“Jirō, wouldn’t you say it’s the same with you?”

This was exactly as Mother had said.
I was by nature impatient and often raised my voice or shouted, but not only had I strangely never quarreled with my sister-in-law—depending on the situation, I had even spoken more openly with her than with Elder Brother.

“It’s the same for me as well.
Now that you mention it, it does seem a bit odd.”

“So you see, I can’t help but feel that Oju is deliberately putting on such airs specifically toward Ichirō.”

“Surely not.”

To confess, I had not considered this issue as minutely as Mother had.
Therefore, there had been no room for such suspicion.
Even if there had been [such suspicion], the cause itself would have remained unclear.

“But isn’t Elder Brother the most important person in the household to Sister-in-Law?”
“So you see.”
“She says Mother doesn’t understand the reason.”

Having come all the way to such a scenic place, I couldn’t help feeling foolish endlessly discussing Sister-in-Law behind her back with Mother.

“When there’s a chance, I’ll try asking Sister-in-Law properly about her true feelings. There’s nothing to worry about that much,” I declared firmly, then dashed up onto the breakwater from the tea stall protruding all the way to the opposite stone wall.

Then, raising my voice as loud as I could, I called out, “Hey! Hey!”

The elder brother and his wife turned around in surprise.

At that moment, the wave crashing against the stone embankment drenched me like a soaked rat with its foaming spray and currents washing over my legs.

While being scolded by Mother, I returned to the inn with the three of them, dripping wet.
The booming sound of the waves reverberated in my ears the entire way back.

Fifteen

That night, I slept inside a pristine white mosquito net with Mother. Since it was made much thinner than regular hemp, when the wind came, the sight of it playing with the beautiful lace looked refreshingly cool.

“This is a nice mosquito net. Why don’t we buy one like this for our house?” I suggested to Mother.

“It may look nice enough, but it’s not that expensive. In fact, the white hemp one we have at home is actually superior. But this one’s lighter, and with no seams, it just looks more delicate.”

Mother, being someone who valued traditional things, praised the hemp mosquito net at home—the one made in Iwakuni or some such place.

"For one thing, ours keeps you from catching cold in your sleep—isn't that advantage enough?" she said.

After the maid came and shut the sliding doors tight, the mosquito net ceased its swaying entirely.

"It's become unbearably stuffy all of a sudden," I remarked with a sigh.

Mother's reply of "I suppose it has" carried such composure that she might have been utterly unbothered by the heat.
Still, the faint swish of her fan persisted.

Mother then abruptly fell silent.
I closed my eyes as well.
In the adjacent room, separated by a single sliding door, Elder Brother and his wife were sleeping.
This had been silent since earlier.
When my conversation partner was gone and this room suddenly fell quiet, I strained my ears toward Elder Brother’s room, which now seemed wrapped in an even deeper stillness.

I kept my eyes closed and remained still. However long I lay there, sleep would not come. In the end, I began to feel this sweltering torment—as if cursed by the stillness—with acute intensity. So I quietly sat up on the futon to avoid disturbing Mother’s sleep. Then, intending to go out to the veranda after lifting the hem of the mosquito net, I began to slide the door open as quietly as possible. Then Mother, whom I had thought was sound asleep until now, suddenly asked, “Where are you off to, Jirō?”

“It’s too stifling to sleep, so I think I’ll go out to the veranda to cool down a bit.”

“I see.”

Mother’s voice was clear and composed.
From her tone, I realized she had been awake all along without sleeping a wink.

“Mother, haven’t you gone to bed yet?”

“Perhaps it’s because the bedding is different—everything feels unfamiliar somehow.”

I merely wrapped the three-foot sash around the waist of the rented yukata before slipping the Shikishima tobacco-pouch and matches into my robe and stepping onto the veranda. Two chairs with white covers stood there. I drew one near and sat down.

“Don’t clatter about—you’ll disturb your brother.”

Heeding Mother’s warning, I silently blew tobacco smoke while gazing at the dreamlike vista before me. The night had naturally blurred the scenery. With no moon, darkness clung excessively thick. Gradually, only the daytime-observed pine embankment stood out blackly, stretching left and right like an elongated band. Beneath it, ceaselessly swaying white foam from shattered waves appeared comparatively vivid against the night.

"You should come inside now.
You mustn’t catch a cold."

Mother cautioned from behind the sliding door.
Leaning back in the chair, I tried to suggest Mother come see the night view, but she didn’t respond.
I obediently crawled back into the mosquito net and lay my head on the pillow.

During my comings and goings from the mosquito net, my elder brother and his wife’s room remained as silent as a deep forest.
Even after I had returned to bed, the same silence persisted unchanging.
Only the sound of waves breaking against the breakwater—crash after crash—echoed endlessly.

Sixteen

When I got up in the morning and looked around at the breakfast table, all four of us wore faces of insufficient sleep.
And all four seemed to be deliberately making their conversation gloomy as they spread their clouded expressions of sleeplessness over the meal.
I too felt oddly constrained.

"I think last night’s sea bream casserole didn’t agree with me," I said, making a displeased face as I rose from my seat.
I came to the handrail and gazed at the neighboring sign that read "The Orient's Number One Elevator."
Unlike ordinary elevators that connect a building’s lower floors to its upper levels, this contraption was designed to transport eccentric souls from ground level all the way up to the summit of a rocky hill.
It was indeed an unrefined contraption, out of place with its surroundings, but the novelty of it—something not even found in Asakusa yet—had captured my attention since the day before.

Indeed, early-rising customers had already begun boarding sporadically, two or three at a time.
Elder Brother, who had finished his meal early, came up behind me before I knew it and, while using a toothpick, was gazing at the iron box going up and down just as I was.
“Jirō, why don’t we try riding that elevator this morning?” Elder Brother said abruptly.

I thought this was rather childish coming from Elder Brother and glanced back over my shoulder.

"Doesn't that look somewhat interesting?" Elder Brother's words carried an uncharacteristic note of childishness.
I didn't mind riding the elevator itself, but whether it could actually take us to any proper destination seemed doubtful.

"Where exactly does this go?"

"Anywhere's fine. Let's go."

I fully intended to bring Mother and my sister-in-law along too, and called out loudly, "Come on now!"
Then Elder Brother abruptly stopped me.

“Let’s go just the two of us. Just the two of us,” he said.

Just then, Mother and my sister-in-law appeared and asked, “Where are you going?”

“Well, we’re just going to try riding that elevator.”
“With Jirō.”
“Because it’s dangerous for women, Mother and Oju should probably stay behind.”
“We’ll go ahead and try riding it first.”

Mother watched the iron box ascending into the empty sky with an uneasy look on her face.

“Oju, what will you do?”

When Mother asked this, my sister-in-law responded with her usual lonely smile and said, “I don’t mind either way.”
It could be interpreted as docile, yet depending on how one heard it, could equally be taken as cold or brusque.
I felt sorry for Elder Brother regarding this and considered it a loss for my sister-in-law.

After leaving the inn in their yukata, they immediately boarded the elevator.
The box was about six feet square; once five or six people entered, the door was closed, and it was immediately raised.
Elder Brother and I looked outside through iron bars that didn’t even let us stick our faces out.
This filled us with an intensely stifling sensation.

“Looks like a prison,” Elder Brother murmured in a low voice.

“I suppose so,” I answered.

“Humans are no different.”

Elder Brother had a habit of occasionally making such philosophical remarks.
"I simply replied, 'I suppose so.'"
Yet I could only grasp the barest outline of Elder Brother’s meaning.

The prison-like box’s ascent ended at the summit of a small stone hill.
Here and there, stunted pines clawed at the rocks with patches of green, their scattered defiance of the monotony seeming to delight summer’s watchful eye.
On a narrow stretch of level ground stood a temporary tea stall where a solitary monkey was chained.
Elder Brother and I fed the creature sweet potatoes, poked at it through the bars, and wasted a full ten minutes at that roadside stand.

“Isn’t there somewhere just the two of us can talk?”

Having said this, Elder Brother looked around in all directions.
His eyes truly seemed to be searching for a quiet place where just the two of them could talk.

Seventeen

From that elevated vantage point, I could see clearly in all directions.
Particularly striking was the famous Kimiidera Temple visible through dense groves in the distance.
At the mountain's base, calm waters resembling an inlet painted a marshland scene—nothing like a seashore—in complex hues of color.
Someone nearby told me about the Kudarimatsu pine mentioned in jōruri ballads.
True enough, the pine stretched its branches backward along the cliff face as if clinging for dear life.

Elder Brother asked the tea stall woman if there was any quiet spot nearby for conversation, but whether she misunderstood or simply couldn't articulate it clearly, her responses made no sense whatsoever.
She kept repeating those dialectal endings—"noshi" this and "noshi" that—like some broken refrain.

Finally, Elder Brother said, “Then maybe we should go to that Honored Gongen.”

“The Honored Gongen is one of the famous spots, so that should be fine.”

The two of them immediately descended the mountain.
They walked along the hot sandy road without taking a rickshaw or carrying an umbrella, wearing only straw hats.
That day, riding the elevator with Elder Brother and going to Gongen somehow made me feel uneasy.
Even on ordinary days, facing my elder brother wasn't entirely comfortable, but the unease I felt that day was particularly unusual.
From the moment Elder Brother said to me, "Hey Jirō—let's go just the two of us—just us alone," I felt this strange sensation.

The two had oily sweat oozing steadily from their foreheads.
On top of that, I had actually been a bit unsettled by the ceramic pot-steamed sea bream I'd eaten the previous evening.
As the steadily rising sun began mercilessly beating down on my throbbing head, I had no choice but to keep walking in silence.
Elder Brother also kept walking in silence.
The sound of the crude clogs borrowed from the inn crunching into the sand grated on my ears.

“Jirō, is something wrong?”

Elder Brother’s voice startled me as if it had burst forth completely out of nowhere.

“I’m feeling a bit off.”

The two of them began walking in silence once more.

When we finally arrived at the base of Gongen, I looked up at the narrow, steep stone steps and felt so daunted by their height that I couldn’t muster the courage to climb them easily.
Elder Brother slipped on the straw sandals laid out below and climbed about ten steps alone, but when he noticed that I wasn’t following behind, he called sharply, "Hey, aren’t you coming?"
I too had no choice but to borrow a pair of sandals from the old woman and began painstakingly climbing the stone steps.
Even so, from about halfway up, I had to place both hands on my knees with each step, entrusting my body’s weight to them.
Looking up at Elder Brother from below, he was standing at the corner of the summit’s temple gate, looking thoroughly impatient.

“Aren’t you just like a drunkard, staggering diagonally up the steps like that?”

In a mood where I didn’t care how I was judged, I immediately threw my hat on the ground and stripped off my shirt.
Since I had no fan, I kept wiping around my chest with the handkerchief I held.
Perhaps because I felt unsettled inside, anticipating that Ichirō would surely call out “Hey, Jirō!” from behind, I vigorously waved my sweat-soaked handkerchief.
And then I said repeatedly, “Hot! Hot!”

Elder Brother eventually came over beside him and sat down on a stone that was there.
Behind the stone, bamboo grass grew thickly across the slope, obscuring the edge of the stone wall all the way down to its distant base.
Amidst them, large camellias stood out here and there, their trunks revealing a whitish hue.

“It really is quiet here.
Here we should be able to talk at leisure,” Elder Brother said, surveying the surroundings.

Eighteen

"Jirō, there's something I need to discuss with you," Elder Brother said.

"What is it?"

Elder Brother hesitated, his lips remaining sealed.
Finding the prospect of hearing it distasteful, I didn't press him.

"It's cool here," I remarked.

"Ah, cool indeed," Elder Brother agreed.

Indeed, perhaps because it was far from any shade, it was a high place where a cool breeze flowed.
After moving the handkerchief for three or four minutes, I suddenly put on my shirt.
Behind the temple gate stood a small, desolate worship hall.
The building appeared quite old, with the paint on the lion heads carved into its eaves half peeled away.
I stood up, passed through the temple gate, and headed toward the worship hall.

“Brother, it’s still cooler over here.
“Please come over here.”

Elder Brother did not respond.
Taking that as my cue, I strolled left and right across the front of the worship hall.
Then I looked up at the tall evergreen trees blocking the hot sun.
Just then, Elder Brother approached me with a displeased look.

“Hey, didn’t I say I had something to talk about?”

I had no choice but to sit down on the worship hall steps.
Elder Brother also sat down beside me.

“What is it?”

“Actually, it’s about Oju,” Elder Brother said, appearing to have finally forced out words from a place of profound difficulty.
The moment I heard “Oju,” a chill ran through me.
The relationship between Elder Brother and his wife was largely as Mother had described to me, and I had mostly come to understand it myself.
As I had promised Mother, I had intended to wait for the right moment to thoroughly question my sister-in-law about her true feelings and then use that knowledge to proactively approach Elder Brother.
I had been secretly anxious that if Elder Brother were to act before I could carry this out, it would create complications.
To speak truthfully, when Elder Brother had said to me that morning, “Jirō, let’s go together—just the two of us,” I had already grown disgusted with myself, dreading that this very matter might arise.

“Has something happened with Sister-in-law?” I reluctantly asked my brother.

“Isn’t Oju in love with you?”

Elder Brother’s words were abrupt.
Moreover, they were beneath the dignity Elder Brother usually maintained.

“Why?”

“It’s difficult if you demand reasons.”
“And it’d be even more troublesome if you took offense at my rudeness.”
“This isn’t about finding letters or witnessing kisses—there’s no concrete evidence.”
“Truthfully, as a husband, I shouldn’t be voicing such vulgar questions to others.”
“But since it’s you, I’m discarding propriety to endure asking this distasteful thing.”
“So tell me.”

"But she's my sister-in-law we're talking about."
"A married woman—and my current sister-in-law at that."

I answered like this.
And there was nothing else I could say but to answer like this.

“From the perspective of superficial formality, anyone would have to answer that way.”
“Since you’re an ordinary person, it’s only natural you’d answer that way.”
“If I hear that response, I have no choice but to feel ashamed.”
“But Jirō, you’ve fortunately inherited your honorable father’s honesty.”
“Moreover, I’m asking because I truly believe that the principle of concealing nothing is the highest ideal these days.”
“I already know the formal answer without even asking, but what I want to hear is what lies in the very depths of your heart.”
“So please tell me what’s truly in your heart.”

“How could I possibly have such feelings buried in the innermost depths of my heart?”

“How could I possibly harbor such feelings in my innermost depths?”

When I answered this, I was gazing at the temple gate’s roof instead of looking at my elder brother’s face.
Elder Brother’s words did not reach my ears for some time.
Then they began to ring out in a shrill tone, as though suppressing agitation.

“Hey Jirō, why on earth are you making such a frivolous remark?
Aren’t you and I brothers?”

I looked at Elder Brother’s face in surprise.
Elder Brother’s face, perhaps because it was seen in the shadow of the evergreen trees, had taken on a slightly bluish tinge.

“Of course we are brothers.”
“I am your true brother.”
“That’s why I meant to answer truthfully.”
“What I just said is neither an insincere remark nor anything of the sort.”
“I say it that way because it truly comes from the depths.”

Just as Elder Brother's nerves were keenly sensitive, I was prone to getting heated in my impatience.
Had it been my usual self, I might not have given such a reply.
At that moment, Elder Brother fired off a terse remark.

“Surely.”

“Yes, definitely.”

“But your face is red, isn’t it?”

In truth, my face might have been red at that time.
In contrast to Elder Brother’s pale complexion, I felt an intense heat flushing my cheeks without realizing it.
Moreover, I had no idea how to respond.

Then, for some reason, Elder Brother suddenly rose from the stairs.
Then, while crossing his arms, he began pacing left and right in front of his seat.
I watched his figure with anxious eyes.
He kept his eyes fixed on the ground from the very beginning.
He crossed in front of me two or three times, but never once raised his eyes to look at me.
On the third time, he suddenly came to a stop right in front of me.

“Jirō.”
“Yes.”
“I was your elder brother, wasn’t I?”
"That was truly a childish thing to say."

Elder Brother’s eyes were brimming with tears.

"Why?"

“Even so, I believe I’ve studied more than you. I had always thought myself to possess greater insight than ordinary people too. Yet I ended up blurting out such a childish thing. I’m truly ashamed. Please don’t look down on your Elder Brother.”

"Why?"

I repeated this simple question once again.

“Don’t ask ‘Why?’ so solemnly. Ah, I’m such a fool.”

Having said this, Elder Brother extended his hand.
I immediately grasped that hand.
Elder Brother's hand was cold.
My hand was also cold.

“To doubt your words simply because your face turned slightly red—that’s truly inexcusable toward your character.”
“Please forgive me.”

I was well aware that Elder Brother’s temperament, akin to a woman’s, changed like weather that knows no constancy between clouds and clear skies.
However, as one of his distinguishing traits that carried a certain insight, to me it sometimes appeared like an innocent child’s simplicity, or other times like a poet luminous as polished jade.
While I respected him, I couldn’t help but think of him as a man who invited being looked down upon.
I kept hold of his hand and said, “Elder Brother, there’s something wrong with your head today."
“Let’s put an end to these trivial matters and make our way back soon, shall we?” I said.

Twenty

Elder Brother suddenly released my hand.
But he absolutely did not try to move from there.
He stood exactly as before and looked down at me without saying a word.

“Do you understand others’ hearts?” he suddenly asked.

This time, it was I who had to look up at Elder Brother without saying anything.

“Does Elder Brother not understand my heart?” I said after a slight pause.
My response contained a tenacity that outdid Elder Brother’s words.

“I understand your heart perfectly,” Elder Brother answered immediately.

“Then isn’t that good enough?” I said.

“No—not your heart. I’m talking about a woman’s heart.”

In Elder Brother’s words, the latter phrase had a sharpness as if set aflame. That sharpness conveyed an uncanny resonance to my ears.

He suddenly cut me off as I began to say, “Whether it’s a woman’s heart or a man’s heart—”

“You’re a fortunate man. You probably haven’t yet had the need to study such things.”

“Well, I’m not a scholar like you, so…”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Elder Brother shouted scoldingly.

“I’m not talking about roundabout studies like book research or psychological explanations. I’m asking if you’ve ever faced a situation where you had to study the heart of the person who should be closest to you right before your eyes—so urgently that you couldn’t sit still or stand still.”

The meaning behind Elder Brother’s words about “the person who should be closest” became immediately clear to me.

“Elder Brother, isn’t this overthinking the result of your studies? It would be better if you became a bit more foolish.”

“They’re deliberately steering me to dwell on it.”
“Turning my own practiced mind against me.”
“They absolutely refuse to let me play the fool.”

Even here, I was nearly at a loss for words of comfort. When I considered how my Elder Brother—whose intellect might far surpass mine—was agonizing over this strange problem with far greater intensity than I ever could, I felt profoundly sorry for him. That Elder Brother was more neurotic than I was something both he and I knew well. Yet having never been confronted by him in such hysterical fashion before, I found myself truly at a loss.

"Do you know someone called Meredith?" Elder Brother asked.

“I’ve only heard the name.”

“Have you ever read that man’s collection of letters?”

“I haven’t even seen the cover, let alone read it.”

“I see.”

He said this and sat down beside me again.
It was only then that I noticed the Shikishima tobacco pouch and matches in my pocket.
I took it out, first lit it myself, and handed it to Elder Brother.
Elder Brother smoked it mechanically.

“In one of that man’s letters, he writes something like this:
‘When I see people satisfied with a woman’s appearance, I envy them.
When I see those satisfied with a woman’s physical form, I envy them.
I can never be satisfied unless I seize a woman’s spirit—or soul, or what’s called her spirit.
That’s precisely why I can never have any love affairs.’”

“So this Meredith fellow lived his whole life as a bachelor, did he?”

“I don’t know about that.”
“Why does that even matter?”
“But Jirō, it’s certain I’ve married a woman whose spirit, soul—what you might call her very spirit—I’ve failed to seize.”

Twenty-One

On Elder Brother’s face, an expression of anguish lay bare.
I, who had never forgotten my respect for him across countless matters, found myself gripped by an anxiety verging on dread deep within my chest.

“Elder Brother,” I said with studied calm.

“What?”

The moment I heard this response, I stood up.
Then, deliberately crossing in front of where Elder Brother sat—in the same manner he had done earlier, but with an entirely different intent—I paced two or three times from right to left.
Elder Brother seemed utterly indifferent to me.
He had his fingers of both hands thrust deep into his slightly overgrown hair like the teeth of a comb and was looking downward.
He possessed remarkably lustrous hair.
Each time I crossed in front of him, my eyes were drawn to his jet-black hair and the slender, delicate fingers visible through it.
Those fingers had always appeared to my eyes as gentle yet bony representatives of his nervousness.

When I called out "Elder Brother" again, he finally raised his head heavily.

“Elder Brother, what I’m about to say may be terribly disrespectful.
“No matter how much one studies or researches them, I don’t think you can ever truly understand another’s heart.
“You’re a far greater scholar than I, so you must have realized this already—but even between parent and child or siblings, hearts only feel connected through sentiment. In reality, just as our bodies remain separate, so too do our hearts stay apart. There’s simply nothing to be done about it.”

“Other people’s hearts can be studied from the outside.”
“But you can’t become that heart and see through its eyes.”
“I’d like to think even I grasp that much.”

Elder Brother spat out listlessly.
I immediately followed behind him.

“Wouldn’t religion be what transcends that?
I’m just a fool so there’s no helping it, but Elder Brother, you’re the sort who thoroughly considers everything...”

“Who could approach religious faith through mere thinking?
Religion isn’t something to think about—it’s something to believe in.”

Elder Brother declared this with evident irritation. Having said that, he continued, “Ah, I just can’t believe it—I just can’t believe it. I just think and think and think—that’s all I do. Jirō, please make it so I can believe,” he said.

Elder Brother’s words were those of a person who had received an excellent education. Yet his demeanor was almost that of an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old child. It pained me to see my Elder Brother reduced to such a state before me. At that moment, he resembled nothing so much as a loach writhing frantically in dry sand.

In every regard, Elder Brother had always surpassed me—yet this marked the first instance he had ever displayed such an attitude toward me. I felt sorrow at this realization while simultaneously dreading where this path might lead him; should he continue thus, I feared it would not be long before his mind began manifesting signs of disturbance. This thought suddenly filled me with terror.

“Elder Brother, I’ve actually been thinking about this matter for some time now…”

“No, I have no intention of hearing your thoughts. The reason I brought you here today is because I have a small request to ask of you. Please listen.”

“What is it?”

The situation seemed to be growing increasingly complicated. But Elder Brother did not readily reveal what this request was. Just then, three or four men and women who appeared to be sightseers like ourselves emerged at the base of the stone steps. They each changed from their geta into zori and began climbing the high stone steps toward us. No sooner had Elder Brother caught sight of those figures than he abruptly stood up. “Jirō, let’s go home,” he said as he started down the stone steps. I immediately followed after him.

22

Elder Brother and I turned back to the original road.
When we had come in the morning there had already been something off with our stomachs and heads; on our return—perhaps because it was now midday—it was even more painful.
Unfortunately, as both of us had forgotten our watches, we couldn’t quite tell what time it was.

“What time do you think it is now?” Elder Brother asked.

“Hmm,” I said, looking up at the blazing sun.
“It probably isn’t noon yet.”

We had intended to retrace our steps along the original road in reverse, but through some error, we emerged onto a strangely fishy-smelling beach.
There, fishermen's houses intermingled with general stores, forming a poor town.
There also came into view a steamship company waiting room with an old flag erected on its roof.

“Doesn’t the path seem different somehow?”

Elder Brother kept walking with his head down, absorbed in thought. Shells lay scattered across the ground beneath them. The crunch underfoot occasionally broke the monotony of their walk with a rustic cadence. Elder Brother paused briefly to survey their surroundings.

“Didn’t we come through here before?”

“No, we didn’t pass this way.”

“I see.”

They resumed walking. Elder Brother maintained his downward gaze. I grew concerned that our misstep might delay our return to the inn.

“What a cramped place.”
“No matter where we took a wrong turn, getting back would be the same in the end.”

Elder Brother said this and walked off briskly.
I watched his way of walking from behind and recalled the old saying about trusting one’s feet.
And in this situation, being five or six ken behind him was what I found most welcome of all.

On our way back, I had been steeling myself in secret, certain Elder Brother would finally bring up that request of his.
Yet contrary to expectations, he kept his words to a minimum and resolved to walk briskly ahead.
This proved somewhat eerie yet also greatly relieving.

At the inn, Mother and Sister-in-law hung their formal kimonos—whether striped gauze or Akashi silk—over the railing and sat facing each other still in their yukata.
When Mother saw us, she looked surprised and said, “Oh, where have you been?”

“Didn’t you go anywhere?”

While looking at the clothes drying on the railing, when I asked this, Sister-in-law replied, "Yes, we went."

“Where?”

“Take a guess.”

At that moment, I felt inexcusably apologetic toward Elder Brother for being addressed so casually by Sister-in-law in his presence.
Not only that, but I also felt an unconfessable anguish, convinced that in Elder Brother’s eyes she must be intentionally showing affection solely toward me.

Sister-in-law remained utterly composed.
I couldn't determine whether this composure arose from coldness, stemmed from indifference, or constituted a complete disregard for common sense.

The place they had visited was Kimiidera.
Mother explained to Elder Brother that by going out before Tamatsushima Myōjin and taking the streetcar from there, one would immediately arrive before the temple.

“They were high stone steps.”
“Just looking up at them makes your mother dizzy.”
“I thought there was no way I could climb them—I didn’t know what to do—but then Oju took my hand and pulled me up until we finally managed to complete the visit. Though afterward, the kimono was completely drenched with sweat…”

Elder Brother occasionally replied with absentminded “I see, I see”s.

23

That day passed without incident.
In the evening, the four of them played cards.
Everyone held four cards each, and as they passed one card face-down to the next person in turn while discarding matched pairs, somewhere the ace of spades would inevitably remain.
It was an extremely simple game, popular in places like hot spring resorts, where whoever ended up holding it would lose.

Mother and I often ended up holding the spades, made strange faces, and were immediately found out.
Elder Brother also occasionally gave a wry smile.
The most indifferent was Sister-in-law.
Whether she held the spades or not, she carried herself as though it had absolutely no bearing on us.
This was less a manner and more her very nature.
Even so, I found myself secretly impressed that Elder Brother had managed to calm his agitated nerves so thoroughly after our earlier discussion.

That night，I couldn’t sleep.
I had slept even less than during last evening.
Amid waves booming *dondon-dondon*，I strained my ears toward my brother’s room where he lay with his wife.
Yet their room remained as silent as it had been through yesterday’s darkness.
Fearing Mother’s reproach，I dared not step onto moonlit verandas this time.

In the morning, I guided Mother and Sister-in-law to that Orient's First Elevator.
Then, just like the day before, I fed sweet potatoes to the monkeys atop the mountain.
This time, with an inn maid who knew the monkeys well accompanying us, things grew much livelier than yesterday as we held them and made them chatter.
Mother sat on a camp stool at the tea stall and kept asking what this bald brown mountain called Shinwakaura or something might be.
Sister-in-law kept fussing, "Don't they have binoculars? Don't they have binoculars?"

"Sister-in-law, this isn't Atago-sama in Shiba," I told her.

"But there's no harm in having at least some binoculars, is there?" Sister-in-law kept pressing her case.

When evening came, I was finally dragged by Elder Brother to Kimiidera.
We'd ostensibly decided to go just the two of us since the women had already made their pilgrimage there yesterday—but in truth, he'd lured me out to hear his request.

We climbed straight up the high stone steps that Mother had feared just from looking at them.
At the top was a flat area halfway up the mountain where a bench had been placed in a spot with a good view.
The main hall, with a five-storied pagoda standing nearby, held a deeper solitude than ordinary Buddhist temples.
The white cords hanging down from the eaves appeared truly serene.

We sat down side by side on a bench where nothing obstructed the view.

“It’s a nice view.”

Beneath our eyes, the distant sea shone like the silvery belly of a sardine.
As the lingering sun cast its light across the scene, the dazzling glare felt as though it were staining our cheeks crimson.
The irregular forms of what appeared to be marsh water spread out closer than the sea, their flat surfaces like mirrors.

Elder Brother remained silent, propping his Western-style cane beneath his chin, but eventually turned toward me with an air of resolution.

“Jirō, the truth is, I have a request to make.”

“Yes, I came all this way specifically to hear it, so please take your time explaining. I’ll do anything within my power.”

“Jirō, the truth is, it’s a bit of an awkward thing to bring up...”

“Even if it’s something awkward to say, since it’s me, it should be fine.”

“Yeah, I’m telling you this because I trust you. But don’t be shocked.”

When my brother said this to me, I was startled even before hearing his words. Then I feared what demand might come from his mouth. My brother’s moods were as changeable as I’d noted before. But once he began saying something, he stubbornly had to see it through.

24

“Jirō, don’t be shocked,” Elder Brother repeated.
He then looked at me as though mocking my visible astonishment.
I compared my brother as he stood before me now with how he had been at Gongensha Shrine—they might as well have been two different people.
To my eyes, he appeared to be confronting me with nothing less than irrevocable resolve.

“Jirō, I trust you.
Your words have already proven your innocence.
There can be no mistake in that.”

"There is none."

"Then I'll speak plainly—the truth is, I want you to test Oju's chastity for me."

When I heard the words "test her chastity," I was truly shocked.
Despite having been warned twice by Elder Brother himself not to be shocked, I was extremely shocked.
I stood utterly dumbstruck in a daze.

"Why are you making such a face now?" Elder Brother said.

I couldn't help feeling wretched at my own face reflected in Elder Brother's eyes.
It felt as though we brothers had completely switched places from our previous meeting.
And so I suddenly regained my composure.

“Testing Sister-in-law’s chastity—you should drop such an idea.”

“Why?”
“Why? Because it’s utterly absurd!”
“What’s so absurd about it?”
“It may be absurd, but isn’t it unnecessary?”
“Because it’s necessary, I’m asking you.”
I remained silent for a while.

The temple grounds stretched wide and empty, with no worshippers in sight, making the surroundings unexpectedly still. As I scanned the area, finally catching sight of our two lonely figures in a corner, an eerie unease crept over me.

"When you say 'test,' how exactly would that work?"

"All I need is for you and Oju to go to Wakayama together and stay overnight."

"Ridiculous," I shot back curtly.
This time, Elder Brother fell silent.
I had been silent from the beginning.
The sunset's light upon the sea grew steadily dimmer, its lingering warmth staining the distant horizon a pale red.

“Do you find it disagreeable?” Elder Brother asked.

“Yes, if it were any other matter—but that alone I must decline,” I declared flatly.

“Then I won’t ask.”
“But in return, I’ll spend my whole life doubting you.”

“That’s a problem.”

“If it’s a problem for you, then do exactly as I’m asking.”

I simply kept my head bowed.
Had this been my usual Elder Brother, he would already have lashed out by now.
Keeping my head bowed, I waited rigidly—expecting at any moment either Elder Brother’s fist to come flying at my hat or his open hand to strike my cheek with a smack—bracing myself for the explosion of his temper.
And using the opportunity of the reaction that often follows such outbursts, I attempted to calm Elder Brother’s mind.
I had thoroughly grasped his temperament—prone to this backlash with twice the intensity of others.

I waited quite patiently for Elder Brother's iron fist to come flying.
But my expectations proved utterly futile.
Elder Brother remained as still as a corpse.
In the end, I found myself stealing furtive fox-like glances at his face.
He looked deathly pale.
Yet there was not the slightest indication he might act on impulse.

25

After a short while, Elder Brother spoke in an agitated tone.

“Jirō, I trust you.”
“But I doubt Oju.”
“And unfortunately for you, you’re the one involved with this person I doubt.”
“Though when I say ‘unfortunate,’ that’s from your perspective—for me, it might well be a blessing.”
“As I’ve plainly stated, it means I can believe anything you tell me and confide anything in you—that’s my good fortune.”
“That’s why I’m asking this of you.”
“You can’t claim there’s no logic whatsoever in what I propose.”

At that moment, I began to suspect there might be some deeper meaning concealed within Elder Brother’s words. Was he deliberately raising this unreasonable proposition because he believed in his heart that some physical relationship existed between me and Sister-in-law? I called out, “Brother.” To Elder Brother’s ears at least, I believed I had delivered my words in a powerful voice.

“Brother, unlike other matters, this is a major ethical issue...”

“Of course it is.”

I was unexpectedly struck by how cold Elder Brother’s answer felt beyond its words.
At the same time, my earlier suspicion deepened further.

“Brother, no matter how brotherly our bond, I couldn’t bring myself to do something so cruel.”

“No—it’s she who’s been cruel to me.”

I did not even try to ask Elder Brother why Sister-in-law was being cruel.

“I’ll look into that matter properly another time, but I must decline your current request.”
“I have my own honor to consider.”
“Even for your sake, Elder Brother, I can’t sacrifice my honor.”

“Honor?”

“It’s naturally about honor.”
“Being asked to test others—even other matters would be disagreeable enough.”
“Especially something like that... I’m not a detective…”

“Jirō, I’m not asking you to instigate some lowly act toward her.
“I’m simply asking you, as my sister-in-law and younger brother, to go to the same place and stay at the same inn.
“It’s not dishonorable or anything, is it?”

“Brother, you’re doubting me, aren’t you?”
“You’re making such an unreasonable demand because—”

“No—it’s because I trust you that I’m asking.”

“You say you trust me with your mouth, but in your gut, you’re doubting me.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

Elder Brother and I repeated this conversation many times over. And each time we repeated it, both of us grew increasingly heated. Then, from some trivial remark, as if the fever had suddenly broken, we both calmed down.

During one particularly intense moment, I even reached the point of concluding that Elder Brother was a true mental patient. However, after that fit had passed like the wind, he once again seemed like an ordinary human being. Finally, I said this:

"To be honest, I've had some thoughts about this matter myself lately—if the opportunity arose, I intended to thoroughly sound out Sister-in-law's true feelings. If that's all you're asking for, I'll take that on. Since I'll be returning to Tokyo soon."

“Then do that tomorrow. If you go to Wakayama together at noon tomorrow and return by day’s end, there shouldn’t be any problem.”

For some reason, I disliked that.
I wanted to return to Tokyo and address the matter at a more opportune time, but having already refused one part, I found myself unable to reject the other now, and in the end resolved to at least accept the sightseeing trip to Wakayama.

26

The next morning showed patchy clouds in the sky from the moment we awoke.
Moreover，the wind blew fiercely，and waves crashing against that familiar breakwater sounded terrifyingly loud.
When I leaned on the railing and looked out，dense white smoke shrouded every inch of shore.
That morning，the four of us felt no desire to go down to coast.

When afternoon arrived, the sky grew somewhat calmer.
From between the layers of clouds, even the sun's rays cast intermittent light.
Even so, four or five fishing boats rowed into the canal before the pavilion earlier than usual.

"It feels eerie, isn't it?
It somehow looks like there might be a storm."

Mother looked up at the unusual sky and, while saying this, returned once more to the sitting room.
Elder Brother immediately stood up and went out to the railing again.

"Nah, it's perfectly fine.
It's certainly nothing major.
Mother, I'll take responsibility for it, so why don't we go out?
The rickshaws have already been arranged."

Mother looked at my face without saying anything.

“I don’t mind going myself, but if we’re going, shouldn’t we all go together?”

I found that approach far easier.
If possible, I wanted to accompany Mother and cancel the trip to Wakayama.

"Well then, why don't we all go take a look at that newly cleared mountain path together?" I said as I started to rise.
Then Elder Brother's piercing eyes immediately fell upon me.
I once again reflected that under these circumstances, there was likely no other path than to fulfill the promise.

"Oh right, come to think of it, I had that arrangement with Sister-in-law."

I found myself compelled to offer Elder Brother a vague, evasive greeting.
Then Mother pulled a bitter face this time.

“Let’s call off Wakayama.”

I compared Mother’s face with Elder Brother’s and hesitated over what to do. Sister-in-law remained as coldly composed as ever. While I vacillated between Mother and Elder Brother, she hardly spoke a word.

When Elder Brother said, “You were supposed to have Jirō take you to Wakayama,” Sister-in-law merely replied, “Yes.” When Mother urged, “Let’s call it off today,” Sister-in-law again answered only, “Yes.” When I turned to ask, “Sister-in-law, what shall we do?” she responded once more with, “Whatever you think best.”

I went downstairs for an errand.
Then Mother came down after me again.
Her manner seemed somehow restless.

"Do you truly intend to go to Wakayama alone with Okan?"

"Yes, but Elder Brother has consented to it."

"No matter how much he consents, I'll be troubled by it, so call it off."

A look of anxiety showed somewhere on Mother's face.
I found it difficult to determine whether the source of that anxiety lay with my elder brother or with my sister-in-law and myself.

"Why is that?" I asked.

"What do you mean why? You and Okan going together is not allowed."

"Are you saying this would displease Elder Brother?"

I asked this bluntly.

"It's not just that it would displease Elder Brother..."

"Then are you saying it would be improper for Sister-in-law and me?"

My question had grown even more blunt.
Mother stood silent and motionless.
In her expression, I glimpsed an unusual shadow of suspicion.

27

I became instantly daunted upon seeing Mother’s expression—one I had always believed reflected absolute trust and love for me.

“Then I’ll cancel it.”
“It wasn’t my idea originally to invite Sister-in-law out.”
“I’m only going because Elder Brother told us both to go together.”
“If you disapprove, Mother, I’ll call it off anytime.”
“In exchange, please negotiate with Elder Brother yourself so I won’t have to go.”
“Because I made a promise to him.”

I answered like this and stood before Mother, looking rather ill at ease.
The truth was, I couldn’t muster the courage to leave Mother’s presence.
Mother appeared somewhat at a loss.
“Then I’ll speak to Elder Brother myself. But in return, you wait here—if we both go up to the third floor, it might complicate things again.”

As I watched Mother’s retreating figure, I thought that on a day when things had become so tangled up like this, I simply couldn’t muster the will to take Sister-in-law to Wakayama—even if I went, I wouldn’t be able to accomplish the crucial task anyway—and how I wished things would just change according to Mother’s wishes.
With this unsettled feeling in my chest, I aimlessly paced back and forth across the spacious tatami room.

Before long, Elder Brother came down from the third floor. When I caught a fleeting glimpse of his face, I immediately realized there was no avoiding going.

“Jirō, having you break our promise now would put me in a bind. Aren’t you a man yourself?”

My elder brother sometimes called me “you.” Whenever this “you” came from his lips, I would take care to avoid future trouble.

“No, I’m going. I’m going—but Mother says I mustn’t.”

While I was saying this, Mother came down from the third floor again with a worried look.
She immediately approached my side,

“Jirō, though I said what I did earlier, after properly hearing from Ichirō, it seems there was some promise made at Kimiidera Temple after all. It’s regrettable, but there’s nothing to be done.
You must keep that promise as agreed,” she said.

“Yes.”

I answered this way and resolved to say nothing more afterward.

Before long, Mother and Elder Brother boarded the rickshaw waiting below and departed to the right from in front of the building with the clattering of iron-rimmed wheels.

"Well then, shall we get going?" When I turned to Sister-in-law with this suggestion, I truly didn't feel at ease.

"Do you have the courage to go out?" she asked.

"And you?" I asked in return.

"I do."

"If you have it, then so do I."

I stood up and began changing clothes.

As Sister-in-law helped me into my jacket, she said half-teasingly, "You seem rather lacking in courage today."
I had absolutely no courage.

The two walked to where the train departed.
Unfortunately, having taken a shortcut, Sister-in-law’s thin geta and white tabi socks sank into the sand with every step.

"Is the walking difficult?"

“Yes,” she replied, still holding her umbrella as she turned to look back at her own footsteps.
I wondered where and how I would accomplish today’s mission as I buried my red shoes in the sand.
Perhaps because I was walking while thinking, I felt that our conversation wasn’t flowing smoothly at all.

“You’re being unusually quiet today, aren’t you?” Sister-in-law finally remarked.

28

I sat down on the train next to Sister-in-law. However, with the weight of our crucial task looming before me, I found myself utterly unable to maintain cheerful conversation.

"Why are you being so quiet?" she asked. Since leaving the inn, this was already the second time I had received such a question from her. Reading between the lines, it carried an unspoken suggestion that we ought to make our exchange more lively.

"Have you ever spoken like this to Elder Brother?"

My face had grown somewhat earnest. Sister-in-law glanced at it briefly before turning to gaze out the window. "What lovely scenery," she remarked. Though the landscape passing by the train wasn't unpleasant, it was evident she'd deliberately shifted her attention there. I purposefully addressed Sister-in-law and repeated my earlier question.

"Why do you ask such trivial things?" she said, with an air that made it seem hardly worth a glance.

The train started moving again.

I persisted in asking the same question again before we reached the next stop.

"What a pest you are," she finally said. "What's the point of asking such things? We're husband and wife—I must have said things like that at least that much. What of it?"

"I'm not doing anything. I'm just saying you should keep using those affectionate words with Elder Brother too."

A faint flush rose to her pale cheeks. Perhaps because it was so slight, it looked as if a light had been kindled deep within her cheeks, making the skin glow faintly from within. But I didn't dwell on what that might mean.

When they arrived at Wakayama, the two got off the train. Only after getting off did I realize this was my first time coming to Wakayama. In truth, since I had brought Sister-in-law here under the pretext of sightseeing, I felt obliged to formally visit some places for appearances' sake.

"Oh, you still don't know Wakayama? And yet you brought me along? How carefree of you."

Sister-in-law looked around apprehensively. I too felt somewhat awkward.

"Shall we take a rickshaw and have the driver take us somewhere suitable? Or would you rather stroll leisurely toward the castle?"

“I suppose.”

Sister-in-law gazed at the distant sky and did not turn her eyes toward me nearby.
The sky here was overcast, just as at the seaside.
Irregular clouds of varying density lay thickly over our heads, creating a muggier heat than direct sunlight would have.
Moreover, part of the sky had darkened enough that one couldn’t tell when a sudden downpour might strike.
The edges of that blackened circle shone as if haloed, tracing a fearsome swath of sky over Wakanoura where we’d just been.
Sister-in-law now appeared to be studying that ominous patch with knitted brows.

“Do you think it will rain?”

I had been certain from the start that it would rain.
And so I concluded it would be wisest to hire a rickshaw and simply dash through whatever sights we could.
I immediately summoned a rickshaw and ordered the driver to take us around as quickly as possible to see whatever there was to see.
The driver raced recklessly onward, as though both comprehending and failing to grasp my instructions.
We passed through narrow towns, emerged by that moat where lotuses bloomed, then returned to narrow towns again - nowhere particularly noteworthy.
Finally realizing this endless rushing would prevent our crucial conversation, I instructed the driver from my seat to find somewhere we could sit and talk at leisure.

Twenty-Nine

The rickshaw driver, catching my meaning, broke into a run.
Just as I began thinking his vigor seemed oddly excessive compared to before, our two carriages veered down a narrow side lane and suddenly passed through a large gate.
By the time I frantically tried to stop him, the shafts were already drawn up to the entrance.
We found ourselves powerless to refuse.
To make matters worse, a young maid in formal attire appeared to guide us inside, leaving us no choice but to ascend.

“We weren’t supposed to come to a place like this,” I said, inadvertently making what sounded like an excuse.

“Why not? It’s quite a splendid teahouse, isn’t it?”
“It’s perfectly fine,” Sister-in-law replied.
From her manner of response, it seemed she had anticipated coming to some restaurant-like establishment like this from the very beginning.

Indeed, just as Sister-in-law had remarked, the room was impeccably clean and solidly built.

“This is actually nicer than the cheap eateries around Tokyo,” I said, inspecting the pillar ends and floor scrolls.
Sister-in-law moved to the railing and gazed into the courtyard.
Beneath the gnarled base of an old plum tree, orchids grew thickly, their leaves casting deep indigo shadows.
The plum’s trunk bore patches of stiff, stringy moss clinging to its bark.

A maid arrived with cotton yukata to show us to the baths.
I resented the time bathing would consume.
My anxiety grew that daylight might fade entirely.
If possible, I resolved to conclude our business posthaste and return along sunlit paths to the shore as agreed.

“What should we do about the bath, Sister-in-law?” I asked.

Sister-in-law had been instructed by my elder brother beforehand to return while it was still light out, so she was well aware of that point.
She took out a watch from her obi and looked at it.

“It’s still early, Jirō-san. It’s perfectly fine to take a bath.”

She entirely blamed the weather for how late it seemed.
Indeed, with murky clouds layered thickly and blanketing the sky, it was undeniable that the world appeared darker than the time on the clock would suggest.
I feared the rain that seemed about to fall at any moment.
I thought that if it was going to rain, it would actually be easier to return after it came down hard for a while.

“Well then, shall we freshen up a bit?”

The two finally entered the bath.
When they emerged, a meal tray was brought in.
By the hour, it was too early for dinner.
I wanted to refuse the sake.
Nor was I in any condition to drink.
I resigned myself to sipping the clear soup and poking at the sashimi.
Finding the maid intrusive, I told her we’d call if needed and sent her away.

I deliberated whether to broach the matter formally with Sister-in-law or steer the conversation there casually when occasion allowed.
Once I began weighing options, both approaches seemed equally viable and equally ill-advised.
I sat absently gazing at the garden, soup bowl clutched in hand.

“What are you thinking about?” Sister-in-law asked.

“Oh, just wondering if it might not rain,” I replied casually.

“Right? Are you that scared of the weather? It doesn’t suit you either.”

“I’m not scared, but if it turns into a downpour, that would be troublesome.”

As I spoke these words, rain began falling in scattered drops. Perhaps some unusually early banquet was being prepared, for in the second-floor hall visible across the way, I could see two or three figures in crested haori jackets. From that direction came the sound of geishas tuning their shamisens.

The restlessness that had gripped my mind when leaving the inn now threatened to overwhelm what little composure remained. Deep within myself, I feared I wouldn’t be able to muster the solemnity needed for serious conversation today. Why had I chosen this particular day to take on such an absurd responsibility? The regret burned through me.

Thirty

Sister-in-law had no reason to notice such a thing.
Seeing me fret over the rain, she instead pressed me with a puzzled look.

“Why are you so concerned about the rain? If it falls, things will cool off afterward—wouldn’t that be better?”

“But not knowing when it’ll let up is what troubles me.”

“It won’t trouble anyone. However binding your promise was—if heaven wills this weather—there’s simply no help for it.”

"But I have a responsibility to Brother."

"Then let's go back right away."

Having said this, Sister-in-law immediately stood up. There was a kind of resolve apparent in her demeanor. Perhaps the guests had all gathered in the hall across the way, for the sound of shamisens began to ring out clearly through the rain. The electric lights were already shining. I, half-urged by Sister-in-law’s resolve, began to rise to my feet, but upon reflection, realized I hadn’t yet uttered a single word about the matter I’d come to discuss. Just as returning late would have been inexcusable to Mother and Brother, so too did I find it inexcusable to my own conscience that I hadn’t yet broached the crucial matter with Sister-in-law.

“Sister-in-law, this rain doesn’t look like it’ll let up easily.
“Besides, I came here because I have a little matter to discuss with you.”

I looked up at the sky for a moment before turning back to Sister-in-law.
Of course, I hadn’t begun preparing to leave either; she too remained standing without making any move to depart.
She had risen—indeed stood up—but seemed poised to adjust her subsequent attitude based on my demeanor without a moment’s hesitation.
I stuck my head out under the eaves again and peered upward.
The room’s position—facing across the courtyard toward a large two-story hall—limited the sky’s usual expansive view.
Consequently, I couldn’t clearly discern the clouds’ movements or rainfall patterns.
Yet undeniably, the storm’s fury now lashed at the garden trees with even greater violence than before.
More than the rain or sky itself, what first repelled me was this wind.

“You’re such a strange one, aren’t you? If you say you’re leaving and start getting ready, you just end up sitting back down.”

“It’s not like we’re making any real preparations anyway. We’ve just stood up, that’s all.”

When I said this, Sister-in-law smiled gently. Then, deliberately, she looked over her sleeves and the hem of her kimono with a gaze that seemed both comprehending and unexpectedly surprised. With a faint smile still lingering, she settled back down in front of me—me who had been watching her every move.

“What’s this about having business to discuss? A mere consort like me could never grasp such complicated matters. We’d do better to listen to the shamisen from the banquet hall over there.”

The rain made a sound less of resonating beneath the eaves than of being borne by the wind and dashed against random places. Meanwhile, the shamisen's notes, like some capricious thing, occasionally swept past their ears.

"If you have something to say, please do tell me quickly," she urged.

“Even if you press me, it’s not something I can just say outright.”

When she actually pressed me, I didn’t know how to broach the subject.
Then she smirked slyly.

“And just how old are you?”

“You mustn’t tease me so much.
It’s really a serious matter.”

“So hurry up and say it already.”

I had finally grown sick of speaking in this formal, advisory manner.
And now that I came before her, I couldn’t help feeling that she was somehow looking down on me as inferior.
And yet, I couldn’t help but feel a certain familiarity there.

Thirty-One

“Sister, how old are you again?” I finally asked an irrelevant question.

“I’m still young, you know.”
“I consider myself much younger than you.”

I had no intention from the start of comparing her age with my own.

"How many years has it been since you came to Brother's place?" I asked.

Sister-in-law simply replied with composure, "Let me see."

"I've forgotten all that stuff.
Why, I've even forgotten my own age."

Sister-in-law's feigned ignorance resonated so characteristically of her.
And then I considered that this unnaturalness—which to me seemed almost coquettish—might cause considerable displeasure to my earnest Brother.

"Sister-in-law, you're even indifferent to your own age."

I somehow ended up saying this sarcastically. However, the moment I spoke, I became acutely aware of my own fickleness and was suddenly struck with a dreadful sense of guilt toward Brother.

"I don’t care how indifferent you are to your own age, but please be a little more careful and kind to Brother."

"Do I really seem that unkind to Brother? Even so, I’m doing everything I can for Brother. It’s not just Brother. You’re no different yourself. Don’t you think, Jirō-san?"

When I looked into Sister-in-law's eyes intending to plead that she could treat me as unkindly as she wished so long as she showed just a little more kindness to Brother, I suddenly became aware of my own naivety. Having come before Sister-in-law and sat facing her like this, I even thought that I could never act sincerely for Brother's sake from the depths of my heart. I was not at all at a loss for words. Any language I tried to wield for Brother's sake became available. Yet the heart that wielded those words was not for Brother's sake—it easily produced the same result as using them for my own. I was by no means the sort of person who should have taken on such a role. I belatedly regretted it.

“You’ve suddenly gone quiet, haven’t you,” Sister-in-law said at that moment.
As if she had struck my most vulnerable spot.
“Because you won’t seriously listen to what I’ve been earnestly asking you for Brother’s sake.”

I suppressed my embarrassment and deliberately said this.
Then Sister-in-law laughed in a strangely forlorn manner.

“But that’s impossible, Jirō-san.
I’m a fool and oblivious, so everyone might think me cold-hearted—but I truly believe I’m doing everything I can for Brother. I really am a hopeless fool.
Especially lately, I’ve become nothing but an empty shell of a soul.”

“Don’t let yourself get so discouraged—why not try being a bit more proactive?”

“What do you mean by ‘proactive’?
Are you using flattery?
I detest flattery.
Brother detests it too.”

“No one would be pleased by mere flattery, but if you could just make a bit more effort, Brother would surely find happiness, and you yourself would be content as well...”

“There’s no need for that—” Sister-in-law began, her words trailing off as tears began to fall. “You needn’t ask.”

“A hollow shell of a soul like mine surely can’t be to Brother’s liking.”
“But I am satisfied with this.”
“This is more than enough.”
“I believe I’ve never once complained to anyone about Brother until now.”
“You should have noticed something like that just by watching me all this time—”

Sister-in-law's words, spoken through tears, reached me only in broken fragments.
Yet those fragmented phrases struck my mind with razor-sharp force.

Thirty-Two

I had once been taught by a certain experienced elder that there are hardly any diamonds among women’s tears—most are merely cut glass.
At that time, I had listened with admiration, thinking to myself that indeed it must be so.
However, that was merely intellectual knowledge on the level of words.
As an inexperienced youth, I found Sister-in-law’s tears before my eyes somehow unbearably pitiable.
In any other circumstance, I would have wanted to take her hand and weep with her.

“Everyone understands how difficult Brother’s temperament is.”
“Your endurance can’t have been ordinary either.”
“But Brother is a noble man—so innocent it borders on excess, so honest it verges on naivety.”
“He is a man worthy of reverence…”

“There’s no need for you to ask such things, Jirō-san. I, as his wife, am well aware of Brother’s temperament.”
“I am his wife.”

Sister-in-law said this and sobbed again.
I felt increasingly sorry for her.
When I looked, the small handkerchief she had been using to wipe her eyes was crumpled and soaked.
Though dry myself, I desperately wanted to reach out and stroke her eyes and cheeks.
Yet some inexplicable force gripped my hand tightly, rendering it immobile.

“To be honest—do you like Brother or dislike him?”

After saying this, I realized these words had naturally come from my mouth in place of reaching out to wipe Sister-in-law’s cheeks.

Sister-in-law looked as if peering at her own face from between the handkerchief and her tears.

“Jirō-san,”

“Yes.”

This simple answer was drawn from my mouth as effortlessly and unconsciously as iron filings to a magnet.

“Why on earth are you asking such a thing?”
“As if whether I like or dislike Brother even matters.”
“Do you think there’s another man I care for besides Brother?”

“That’s absolutely not the case.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying all along. The reason I seem coldhearted is entirely because I’m a hopeless fool.”

“It’s troubling when you go out of your way to play the hopeless fool. Not a single person in the household speaks ill of you like that—I assure you.”

“They don’t have to say it—I’m a hopeless fool.”
“I know that perfectly well myself.”
“But even someone like me gets praised for being kind by others sometimes, you know.”
“I’m not such a fool to be looked down on like that.”

I once had Sister-in-law sew dragonflies and flowers onto a large cushion with various colored threads, and there was a time when I thanked her for her kindness in return.

“Oh—that’s still there? It’s beautiful,” she said.

“Yes.
“I’ve kept it safe,” I answered.
I had no choice but to answer this way because it was the truth.
Having answered this way, I had no choice but to recognize from the reverse side the fact that she had been kind to me.

When I suddenly pricked up my ears, I realized the shamisen that had been playing on the second floor across the way had already fallen silent. The drunken voices of what seemed to be lingering patrons occasionally drifted on the wind. Thinking it must have grown quite late, I began searching for my pocket watch when the maid leaned out from the veranda along the stepping-stone path.

Through this maid, we learned that Wakanoura was now engulfed in a storm. We learned that telephone lines had been severed and communication was impossible. We also learned that roadside pine trees had fallen and trains were no longer running.

33

At that moment, I suddenly remembered Mother and Brother.
I recalled them with the sudden intensity of a fire singeing one’s eyebrows.
The image of their lodging, being tossed about by raging winds and swirling waves, vividly rose before my mind’s eye.

“Sister-in-law, this has turned into quite a situation,” I said, turning to look at her.
Sister-in-law did not seem particularly surprised.
Perhaps it was my imagination, but her normally pale cheeks seemed even paler than usual.
Traces from her earlier tears still lingered on parts of her pale cheeks and the rims of her eyes.
Sister-in-law, probably disliking having the maid notice it, turned her face toward an unnatural direction unfamiliar with the electric light and deliberately did not look toward the entrance.

“Is it truly impossible to return to Wakanoura?” she said.

This question, coming from an unexpected direction, left me momentarily uncertain whether it was addressed to me or directed at the maid.

“Even by rickshaw, it’s no good, right?” I relayed a similar question to the maid.

The maid avoided repeating the word “impossible,” but after thoroughly explaining the dangers and making sure we understood, she insisted we stay in Wakayama for the night.
Her expression appeared deadly serious, as if she were targeting our mutual interests with her words.
The more I trusted the maid’s account, the more Mother’s situation weighed on my mind.

Between the breakwater and Mother’s inn lay a distance of some five or six chō.
I reasoned that if waves merely crested the embankment slightly, there should be little cause to fear them reaching the third-floor guest room.
Yet if a tsunami were to come surging in all at once...

"Hey—has a tsunami ever completely swept away the inns around here?"

In my genuine anxiety, I put this question to the maid.
She flatly denied any such occurrence.
However, she did inform us that two or three times before, waves had overtopped the breakwater and crashed down behind it, leaving the interior filled like a lake.

“Even so, houses submerged in water must be terrible,” I asked again.

The maid answered that at worst, the house might spin around in the water a bit, but there was practically no need to worry about it being carried all the way out to sea.
This carefree answer made me laugh in spite of myself amidst the worry.

“If it spins around, that’s more than enough trouble.
If it gets swept out to sea on top of that, now that’d be a proper disaster, wouldn’t it?”

The maid said nothing and simply laughed.
Sister-in-law also began to look directly at the electric light from where she had been sitting in the shadows.

“Sister-in-law, what should we do?”

“What should we do? As someone like me, I don’t know what would be proper.”
“If you say we should return, then no matter what dangers there are, I will go with you.”

“Going isn’t the issue—but this is difficult.”
“Then since there’s no alternative tonight, shall we stay here?”

“If you decide to stay, I have no choice but to stay too.”
“A woman alone couldn’t possibly make it back to Wakanoura in this darkness.”

The maid looked between us two with a gaze that practically declared she’d been misunderstanding until now.

“Hey, the telephone really isn’t working at all, is it?” I asked again just to be sure.

“It isn’t connecting.”

I lacked even the courage to go to the telephone and try directly myself.

“Well, we’ll just have to stay then,” I said, turning to Sister-in-law.

“Yes.”

Her reply was, as usual, brief and composed.

“In town, rickshaws do operate, right?” I turned to the maid again.

34

The two now had to go to the inn that had been arranged through the restaurant.
When we finished preparing and descended to the entrance, the electric light shining there and the rickshaw puller’s lantern—piercing through the rain’s clamor and the wind’s howl—seemed like instruments illuminating the frenzied terror within the darkness.
Sister-in-law first concealed her vivid, eye-catching figure within the black hood.
I too then wedged my body into the cramped depths of the tung-oiled interior.

Enveloped within the hood, I scarcely had chance to witness the street’s ferocity.
My mind remained ceaselessly gripped by visions of a tsunami—a phenomenon I had never experienced.
If not for this spiteful weather, I bitterly reflected, I would not have been forced to enact what I had so resolutely refused before my brother.
My mind held no capacity for calm imagination or contemplation.
It simply spun without coherence—a chaotic whirlwind like some burning building’s heart.

Before long, the rickshaw's shafts came to rest alongside the entrance of what appeared to be an inn. I had some vague sense of passing through the noren curtain into the dirt-floored entryway, though couldn't recall it distinctly. The entry stretched surprisingly deep relative to its width. With no front desk visible nor manager present—only a single maid attending us—the scene felt desolately quiet for early evening.

We stood motionless in silence there. For reasons unclear even to myself, I found no desire to speak to Sister-in-law. She maintained her composure, standing with the tip of her silk umbrella thrust diagonally into the earthen floor.

Guided by the maid, the room to which the two of them were shown was an old-fashioned tatami room facing a veranda, its eaves hung with reed screens resembling noble-style bamboo blinds.
The pillars shone black with age.
The ceiling too was entirely blackened with soot.
Sister-in-law hung her usual umbrella on the clothes rack in the next room and said, "Here, since that side has a tall building and this side seems to have a sturdy plastered wall, you can’t hear the wind much, but when we rode in the rickshaw earlier, it was terrible.
"The way it whistled over the hood was unsettling enough.
"You could feel the wind's weight pressing down on the rickshaw hood as we rode, couldn’t you?
"I thought we might overturn at any moment," she said.

I was somewhat agitated, so I hadn't been able to properly notice such things.
Yet I lacked the courage to answer that straightforwardly.

"Well, it was quite a wind," I evaded.

"If it's this bad here, Wakanoura must be dreadful," Sister-in-law remarked, mentioning Wakanoura for the first time.

My chest began throbbing again.
"Sister-in-law, is this phone out too?" I said, not waiting for an answer before heading to the telephone near the bath.
There, flipping through the register while persistently ringing the call bell, I tried connecting to the inn in Wakanoura where Mother and Brother were staying.
Strangely, I thought I heard a few words from the other end - feeling relieved even as I tried asking about the storm's severity - when the connection failed completely again.
After that, no matter how many times I called "Hello?" or rang the bell, there was utterly no response worth calling or ringing for, so I finally relented and returned to our room.
Sister-in-law sat sipping tea on the futon but turned upon hearing my footsteps and asked, "What about the phone? Did it connect?"
I explained everything that had just transpired with the telephone.

“I pretty much thought that would be the case.”
“It’s completely hopeless tonight.”
“No matter how many times you try calling, the wind’s blown and cut the phone lines.”
“Can’t you tell from that sound?”

The wind, having twisted into two strands from somewhere, suddenly clashed together with a strange groaning sound, then seemed to soar high into the distant void.

35

As the two listened intently to the wind, the maid came to guide them to the bath.
Then she asked if they would have dinner.
I couldn't bring myself to feel any desire for dinner or anything else.

"What should we do?" I asked Sister-in-law.

“Let’s see,” she replied. “It doesn’t matter either way... But since we’ve gone to the trouble of staying here, we might as well at least take a look at the meal.”

No sooner had the maid acknowledged her instructions and left than every electric light in the house clicked off.
The room, already gloomy with its blackened pillars and soot-stained ceiling, now plunged into utter darkness.
I felt that if I were to sniff my sister-in-law sitting right before my nose, she might sniff me back in turn.

"Aren't you frightened, Sister-in-law?"

"It's frightening," came her voice from precisely the spot I had envisioned.
Yet her tone contained nothing truly fearful.
Nor was there any youthful affectation of feigned terror.

The two of them sat in the darkness. Without moving or saying a word, they sat in silence. Perhaps because their eyes could discern no colors, the storm outside now assailed their ears more intensely than before. The rain, scattered by the wind, did not convey such terrifying sounds, but the wind blew indiscriminately through roofs, fences, and utility poles, making them scream. Our room resembled an above-ground pit, surrounded on all sides by sturdy buildings and thick plastered walls, making even the small inner courtyard before the veranda appear relatively safe; yet the dreadful sound emanating from every direction was an inexplicable threat arising with the darkness—one against which humans could offer no resistance.

“Sister-in-law，it’s just a little longer，so please bear with it．The maid should be coming with a light soon．”

Having said this, I subconsciously expected Sister-in-law's voice to reach my ears from its usual direction. Yet she gave no response at all. The lacquer-like darkness seemed potent enough to smother even a woman's faint voice, which struck me as rather eerie. Gradually, I started to feel uneasy about the presence of my sister-in-law who ought to have been sitting right beside me.

“Sister-in-law.”

Sister-in-law remained silent.
Before the electric lights had gone out, I had mentally sketched Sister-in-law’s figure sitting across from me at what seemed an appropriate distance.
Using that mental image as my guide, I called out again, “Sister-in-law.”

“What?”

Her reply somehow resembled the buzz of a fly.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here, you.”
“I am human, after all.”
“If you doubt me, come touch me with your hand.”

I felt compelled to grope through the darkness toward her.
But I lacked the nerve.
Soon came the rustling sound of a woman’s sash from where she sat.

“Sister-in-law, are you doing something?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“What are you doing?” I asked again.

“The maid brought a yukata earlier, so I thought I’d change clothes and am now undoing my sash,” Sister-in-law replied.

While listening to the sash’s rustling in the darkness, I heard the maid light an old-fashioned candle and bring it along the veranda.
She placed it on the desk beside the alcove in the main room.
The flickering candle flame made everything within its reach—the black pillars, sooty ceiling, and all—seethe in an uneasy half-light that left my heart desolate and restless.
The scroll hanging in the alcove and the flower arrangement before it stood out unnervingly under the candle’s influence.
I took my hand towel and went to bathe again.
The bath was lit by a dubious lantern.

36

I used a small bucket barely discernible in the desolate light to rinse my back.
Before leaving, I tried ringing the phone again just to be sure, but since there was still no sign of getting through, I gave up.

No sooner had Sister-in-law taken my place in the bath than she came right back out.
“It’s so dark and creepy in here.”
“And the buckets and bathtub are so old I can’t bring myself to wash properly.”

At that moment, I was forced to fill out the guest register by the light of a candle, with the deferential maid seated before me.

“Sister-in-law, how should I fill out the guest register?”

“Whatever.”
“Just handle it properly.”

Sister-in-law said this and began taking out a comb and what looked like chintz folding paper from a small bag.
She turned her back, took over a candle, and busied herself facing the mirror stand.
Having no choice, I wrote down the Tokyo address and Sister-in-law’s name, deliberately adding “Ichirō’s wife” beside it.
In the same spirit, I specifically noted myself as “Ichirō’s younger brother” on my side.

Before dinner arrived, the electric light that had earlier dimmed suddenly flared bright again.
At that moment, someone in the kitchen let out a triumphant cheer.
Despite the maid’s excuse about storm delays leaving no fish, our meal trays overflowed abundantly.

“It’s like we’ve come back to life,” Sister-in-law said.

Then the electric light went out again abruptly.
I suddenly froze my chopsticks where they were when the light went out and didn’t move them for some time.

“Oh dear.”

The maid called out her colleague’s name in a loud voice while searching for a light.
In the instant the electric light flickered back on, I noticed Sister-in-law had applied a light layer of makeup without my noticing.
Now that the electric light had gone out, I couldn’t help feeling her face alone remained exactly as it was amidst the pitch darkness.

“Sister-in-law, when did you put on makeup?”

“Oh really! Bringing that up now it’s gone completely dark! When did you see that?”

The maid laughed in the darkness. And I commended my own perceptiveness.

“To bring face powder at a time like this—how meticulous of you, Sister-in-law,” I said to her again in the dark.

“I didn’t bring any face powder. It was cream I brought, you know,” she explained once more in the darkness.

In the darkness, and moreover before the maid, I found such joking more amusing than usual.
Just then, her colleague came in with about two more lit candles.

The room swayed as if caught in a vortex under the light of the bare candle. Sister-in-law and I both frowned and stared at the tip of the burning flame. And I tasted what could only be called a restlessly lonely feeling.

Before long, we went to bed.
When I stood in the bathroom, I peered up through the window as though gazing at the sky.
The storm that had somewhat abated until now seemed to intensify with the late hour—the pitch-black sky churned within its own blackness, seeming never to rest even for an instant.
I imagined black lightning bolts clashing in that terrible sky, each ceaselessly emitting countless needle-like projections to sustain the darkness amidst a great roar, and I quailed before that very image.

Outside the mosquito net, when the maid spread out the futon instead of the candle, she left behind an andon lantern.
The lantern itself was old-fashioned and gloomy—indeed, blowing it out to sink into darkness would have felt preferable to the creepiness illuminated by its feeble light.
I struck a match and began smoking a cigarette in the dimness.

37

I hadn't slept at all since earlier. I got up to relieve myself, and even in the brief time it took to smoke a cigarette, I thought about various things. They came all at once in such a disorderly, unfocused manner that I couldn't grasp what the main issue was. I even occasionally forgot the fact that I was striking matches and smoking cigarettes. Moreover, when I noticed this and placed the cigarette tip between my lips again, the smoke's lack of taste felt especially striking.

In my head, the black sky I had just witnessed—its true nature incomprehensible—churned violently with uniform motion. Then the third-floor inn housing Mother and Elder Brother was battered by wave after wave, beginning to spin round and round. Before I could process this, my thoughts turned to Sister-in-law sleeping in this very room. Though this was a natural disaster, I found myself agonizing over how to justify our staying here together. After offering explanations, I pondered how to regain Elder Brother's favor. Simultaneously, an unexpected joy surged within me—the thrill of having shared this rare adventure today with Sister-in-law. When this joy emerged, I forgot everything: the wind, rain, storm surge, Mother, Elder Brother. Then abruptly, that joy mutated into something akin to terror—or rather, a harbinger of terror. It felt like a symptom of anxiety lurking somewhere unseen. At that moment, the raging storm outside seemed not only to uproot trees, topple fences, and tear off roof tiles, but also to portend my own annihilation as I sat smoking flavorless cigarettes under the dim glow of an andon lantern.

While I churned these thoughts in my mind, Sister-in-law—who had lain still as a corpse within the mosquito net—suddenly turned over. She released a yawn drawn out enough for me to hear.

"Aren't you asleep yet, Sister-in-law?" I asked through veils of tobacco smoke.

"How could anyone sleep through this downpour?"

"That wind noise clings to my ears—I can't shake it either. They say the lights went out because one or two utility poles got knocked down around here."

"Yes, that’s what the maid said earlier."

"What about Mother and Elder Brother?"

“I’ve been thinking about nothing but that since earlier.”
“But surely the waves won’t come in, will they?”
“Even if they did come in, they’d only reach those suspicious straw huts near the embankment pines.”
“Being swept away...”
“If a real tsunami were to come and sweep away that entire area, I’d truly think it a waste.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because I want to see such a terrifying sight, that’s why.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” I said, intending to cut Sister-in-law’s words short.
Then Sister-in-law answered seriously.

“Oh, it’s true, Jirō-san. If I were to die, I’d hate doing something like hanging myself or stabbing my throat—such crude knife-work. Being swept away in a flood or struck by lightning—I want a death that’s violent and swift, that’s all.”

I heard such romantic notions for the first time from Sister-in-law, who didn’t particularly care for novels or such things. And within my heart, I judged this must have stemmed entirely from nervous excitement.

“That sounds like the kind of death you’d read about in a book.”

“I don’t know if it’s in books or plays, but I’m serious about this. If you think I’m lying, let’s go to Wakaura right now—waves or tsunami, I don’t care—we’ll jump in together and show you!”

“You’re quite worked up tonight,” I said soothingly.

“You’ve no idea how much calmer I am than you. Most men are spineless when it comes down to it,” she answered from under the covers.

38

I realized for the first time then that I still hadn't studied the nature of women. Sister-in-law was a woman who couldn't be moved no matter where or how you pushed. When I pressed forward actively, there was no resistance at all, like pushing through a noren curtain. When I helplessly pulled back, she suddenly displayed a strong force in unexpected places. Within that strength lay terrifying elements that seemed impossible to approach. Or there were moments when, thinking I could handle this and should advance, yet still hesitating to proceed, it would suddenly vanish. Throughout our conversation, I felt myself being toyed with by her. Strangely, though this sensation of being manipulated should have been unpleasant for me, I found myself unable to help feeling pleased instead.

She finally voiced a terrifying resolution.
She spoke of wanting to be swept away by a tsunami, wanting to die struck by lightning—in short, she desired an end more heroic than an ordinary death.
Though I had always held a position of far superior physical strength—especially since we two had come to Wakayama—there remained an uncanny quality about Sister-in-law that I couldn’t quite place.
And this uncanniness was strangely accompanied by an almost comfortable familiarity.

Despite Sister-in-law having little familiarity with poetry or novels, I wanted to probe what could have stirred her to speak of wishing to be swept away by a tsunami and die.

“Sister-in-law, this is the first time tonight you’ve brought up the matter of dying.”

“Well, I might have voiced it for the first time tonight. But as for dying—there’s not been a single day when I could forget about dying in my heart. So if you think I’m lying, take me to Wakaura. I’ll definitely jump into the waves and die to show you!”

In the dim light of the lantern, amidst the sounds of the raging storm, hearing these words truly terrified me.
She had always been a composed woman.
She had almost no hysterical or provincial traits.
But her taciturn cheeks were always pale.
And with a certain rhythm, a strong, inexplicable light appeared in her eyes.

“Sister-in-law is really acting strange tonight.”
“Is there something that’s got you so agitated?”

I could not see her tears.
Nor could I hear her crying.
But sensing it might happen at any moment, by the dim light of the lantern, I peered into the mosquito net.
She had neatly spread a white linen coverlet with a border over two layered red futons, pulling it up to her chest.
When I peered at her figure in the dim light, she shifted her pillow and looked toward me.

“You keep going on about me being agitated, but you have no idea how much calmer I am than you.”
“I’m always prepared, you know.”

I had no words to answer.
Silently, I lit the second Shikishima cigarette in the dim lamplight.
I watched only the billowing smoke streaming from my nose and mouth.
In the meantime, I turned my unsettling gaze and occasionally peered into the mosquito net.
Sister-in-law’s figure was as still as death.
I wondered if she might have already fallen asleep.
Then, suddenly, from the face that had turned upward came the voice, “Jirō-san.”

“What is it?” I answered.

“What are you doing there?”

"I'm smoking. Can't sleep."

"You should rest soon. It's harmful if you can't sleep."

“Yeah.”

I lifted the hem of the mosquito net and entered my bed.

39

The next day, the sky had completely changed from yesterday's, and from the break of dawn, I was able to gaze up at its beauty.
"The weather has turned nice, hasn't it," I said to Sister-in-law.

“It really is,” she also replied.

We hadn't slept well enough to feel like we'd awoken from a dream.
The sky was dyed such a deep blue that leaving our beds felt like breaking free from a sorcerous enchantment.

As I faced the breakfast tray, noticing the bright light filtering through the eaves, I suddenly became aware of this shift in my mood.
Consequently, while sitting across from my sister-in-law, I felt her appearance differed completely from how she'd looked the previous evening.
When I observed her this morning, there was no trace of that romantic light in her eyes.
Only her sleep-deprived eye sockets—suddenly illuminated by the crisp morning light—revealed a kind of weariness in their resistance, a languid exhaustion as if even this opposition required tremendous effort.
The pallor of her cheeks remained unchanged as ever.

We finished breakfast as quickly as possible and left the inn. Trusting the inn staff’s warning that trains likely still weren’t running, we hired a rickshaw. The moment the rickshaw driver saw us emerge from the earthen-floored entrance, he seemed to immediately assume we were a married couple. No sooner had we boarded than he raised his shaft pole forward. I stopped him with a hurried “From behind! From behind!” The driver nodded knowingly and motioned, “The lady should go first.” As my sister-in-law’s rickshaw brushed past mine, she flashed her characteristic one-sided dimple and said, “After you.” I muttered something like “Please go ahead,” though inwardly I chafed at his use of “lady.” Without so much as a glance back, she overtook me and unfurled her parasol embroidered with amber motifs. Her retreating figure appeared utterly composed. Whether addressed as “madam” or not, she maintained complete detachment, sitting with perfect poise in her rickshaw.

While gazing at my sister-in-law’s retreating figure, I found myself pondering her true nature.
Though I had always believed I held some firm grasp of her character in ordinary times, when I seriously tried to hear the truth directly from her lips, everything became as incomprehensible as if I had wandered into Yawata’s Yabushirazu—that legendary maze where all bearings are lost.

Might it not be that all women, when men try to observe them, end up like my sister-in-law—beings whose true nature remains unknowable?
Being inexperienced, I even considered this.
I also considered that this very unknowability might be the distinctive trait unique to her alone, rarely found in other women.
In any case, before I could grasp my sister-in-law’s true nature at all, the sky had cleared to a deep, vivid blue.
With a feeling like flat beer in my heart, I kept my eyes fixed on her retreating figure ahead.

Suddenly I realized I still had to report about Sister-in-law to Elder Brother when we returned to the inn. I didn't know what exactly to report. Though there were many things I ought to say, I couldn't summon the courage to lay them all out before him one by one. Even if I did lay them out, they would ultimately reduce to that simple fact of her true nature remaining unknowable. Could it be that Elder Brother himself had become like this after struggling just as I had to grasp that nature? The thought struck me that were I to meet the same fate as him, I might suffer even more than he had—and for the first time, I felt true dread.

When the rickshaw arrived at the inn, neither Mother’s shadow nor Elder Brother’s figure was visible on the third-floor veranda.

40

My elder brother lay on his back in a third-floor room distant from sunlight, his characteristically lustrous black head resting on the pillow. Yet he wasn't asleep. Rather, he lay rigid with bloodshot eyes stretched wide, fixedly staring at the ceiling. Upon hearing our footsteps, he abruptly directed those crimson-veined eyes toward me and my sister-in-law. I hadn't been so estranged from my brother as to be wholly unprepared for that gaze. But standing beside my sister-in-law at the room's entrance, confronted by those reddened sharp eyes that seemed to confess he hadn't slept a wink last night, I found myself startled nonetheless. As always in such situations, I sought Mother as mediating presence. Yet Mother proved absent from both sitting room and veranda - indeed from anywhere.

While I was searching for her, my sister-in-law sat down by my brother’s bedside and greeted him.

“I’m back.”

Elder brother did not respond at all.
My sister-in-law remained seated there without moving.
I was compelled by necessity to speak.

"I heard there was a terrible storm here last evening."

"Yeah, it was an incredibly fierce wind."

“The waves crossed over that stone embankment and flowed down from the row of pine trees.”

This was the sister-in-law’s remark.
Elder brother gazed at her face for a while.
Then he slowly replied.

“Well, not exactly.
There should have been no damage to the house.”

“Well then,
we could have forced our way back after all?”

Sister-in-law said this and glanced at me.
I turned toward Elder brother rather than her.

“No—there was absolutely no way we could have returned.
The trains weren’t running at all.”

“Perhaps so.
From yesterday evening onward, those waves looked dangerously high.”

“Didn’t the house shake at all during the night?”

This too had been a question posed to Sister-in-law’s elder brother. This time Elder Brother answered immediately.

“It shook.”
“It shook so much that Mother went downstairs saying it was dangerous.”

I finally felt relieved when—despite elder brother’s sinister eyes—I confirmed his words and movements lacked murderous intensity compared to their look. He had a temper five times more volatile than my impatience. Yet through some innate faculty, he could sometimes skillfully suppress that rage.

Before long, Mother returned from visiting Myōjin Shrine.
She showed an expression as though she finally felt relieved upon seeing my face.

“It’s good you came back early.—Well, last evening’s terror—it defies all description, Jirō.”
“Every time these pillars creaked, the room would sway left and right.”
“And then those waves… Even now, just hearing them in my mind makes me shudder…”

Mother had been utterly terrified by last evening’s storm.
She particularly detested the sound of waves battering the breakwater—a noise that now arose from mere association.

“No more Waka Bay for me. No more sea for me. I don’t need desires or gains—I just want to go back to Tokyo quickly.”

Mother said this and furrowed her brows.
Elder Brother gathered wrinkles on his fleshless cheeks and gave a wry smile.

“Where did Jirō and the others stay last night?” he asked.

I provided the name of the inn in Wakayama and answered.

“Was it a good inn?”

“Somehow or other, it was just dark and gloomy.”
“Right, sis?”

At that moment, elder brother turned darting eyes toward sister-in-law.

Sister-in-law simply looked at my face and said, “It’s like a house where ghosts might appear, isn’t it?”

At dusk that day, I met my sister-in-law at the foot of the stairs.
At that moment, I asked her, “How about it—do you think Elder Brother is angry?”
“It’s hard to say what’s truly on his mind,” my sister-in-law replied with a lonely smile and went upstairs.

41

Taking Mother’s fright at the storm and her saying they should leave early as a cue, everyone decided to cut their stay short here and return as soon as possible.

“Even the most famous place is good for a day or two, but staying longer becomes tedious,” Elder Brother agreed with Mother.

Mother called me to a secluded corner and asked, “Jirō, what do you plan to do?”
I wondered whether Elder Brother had confessed everything to Mother during my absence.
Yet judging from his usual behavior, he didn’t seem the type to act so rashly.

“Is Elder Brother upset because we didn’t return last night?”

When I posed this question, Mother was silent for a moment.

"Last night, you see—with the waves and wind as you know—there was no time to have such a conversation, but..."

Mother simply wouldn't say anything beyond that.

"Mother, you seem to suspect something about the relationship between me and my sister-in-law..." I began, when Mother—who had been staring intently into my eyes until then—suddenly waved her hand and cut me off.

"How could there be such a thing? Especially from your own mother."

Mother’s words were indeed unambiguous.
Her facial expression and gaze were sharp and alert.
But I couldn’t discern what she was really thinking.
As a child of my own parents, ever since I remembered being told things with a straight face—knowing they were lies even as I faced my real father and mother—I had resigned myself to the fact that no one in this world continues to speak the genuine truth.

“I’ve arranged to explain everything to Elder Brother myself.”
“Since that arrangement has been made, Mother, there’s no need for you to worry.”
“Please rest assured.”

“Then you’d better settle it as soon as possible, Jirō.”

We had decided to return to Tokyo on the next evening’s express train. In truth, there were still many places around Osaka worth visiting while sightseeing, but Mother showed no inclination, Elder Brother took no interest, and they even begrudged the time required for a stopover in Osaka—their insistence was on going straight through to Tokyo via sleeper car.

We positively had to depart from Wakayama for Osaka by the next morning’s train. I sent a telegram to Okada’s residence at Mother’s behest.

“There’s no need to send one to Mr. Sano either,” I said while looking at Mother and Elder Brother’s faces.

“There’s no need,” answered Elder Brother.

“If we just send one to Okada, even if we neglect Mr. Sano, he’ll certainly come to see us off.”

As I held the telegram form, I recalled Sano’s bulging forehead and gold-rimmed glasses—features that had persistently insisted on marrying Otei-san at all costs.

“Then let’s leave out Mr. Prominent Forehead.”

I said this and made everyone laugh.
Just as I had been noticing Mr. Sano's prominent forehead for some time, the others too seemed to have observed this distinctive feature in him.

"His forehead really does stick out more than in the photographs," my sister-in-law remarked with perfect seriousness.

While using jokes to distract myself, I wondered how I might find an opportunity to report about Sister-in-Law to Elder Brother.
Thus I occasionally stole glances at Elder Brother’s demeanor while ensuring he remained unaware.
Yet contrary to my expectations，he appeared wholly indifferent to it all.

42

I was summoned by my elder brother to another room some time after that had been settled.
At that moment, elder brother—maintaining his usual demeanor (or rather, feigning it, as sister-in-law would have commented)—said calmly: “Jirō, there’s something I need to discuss. Come to the other room.”
I obediently answered “Yes” and stood up.
Yet as I rose, I found myself glancing at sister-in-law’s face.
At the time I thought nothing of it, but this simple gesture would later echo through my conscience as an act of unforgivable presumption.
When our eyes met, sister-in-law smiled her customary smile—the one that revealed only a single dimple.
Had any observer seen our exchanged glances then, might they not have detected some glimmer of complicit triumph?
Still standing, I turned toward Mother folding yukata in the adjoining room and froze.
Her gaze could only have been watching us—silently, intently—all this while.
Feeling Mother’s arrow of suspicion pierce my chest, I entered the room where elder brother waited.

At that time it was precisely the Bon festival by the old lunar calendar—perhaps due to what they call rough Bon waves—so not only were there naturally few overnight guests, but even day-trippers appeared less frequently than usual.
The spacious three-story building consequently had more vacant rooms than occupied ones.
If one wished to borrow a room briefly, they could be freely used at any time.

Elder Brother had evidently instructed the maid beforehand—the room contained two hemp futons laid out facing each other with an elegant tobacco set between them, even supplemented by a fan.
I sat down before Elder Brother.
But not knowing how to properly broach the subject, I simply remained silent.
Elder Brother too found it difficult to speak.
Yet judging that his nature would surely compel him to take initiative in such situations, I deliberately kept puffing on my rolled tobacco.

Looking back now as I dissect my psychological state at that time, I must confess that while I wasn’t exactly provoking Elder Brother, I was indeed somewhat trying to make him impatient. Still, why I could be so bold toward Elder Brother is something I cannot fathom, even to myself. Likely, without my realizing it, my sister-in-law’s demeanor had transferred itself to me. I now wish to deeply repent for this attitude that can neither be retrieved nor atoned for.

When I kept blowing tobacco smoke in silence, my elder brother indeed called out, "Jirō."

“Did you understand Oju’s nature?”

“I don’t know.”

My elder brother’s question was so harsh that I ended up answering curtly.
Only later did I realize how formulaic my response had been—I regretted it deeply, but the moment had passed.

After that exchange, my brother neither spoke nor acknowledged me further.
The silence between us became excruciating for me.
Looking back now, I’m certain it tormented him even more.

“Jirō, as your elder brother, I never expected to receive such a cold response as ‘I don’t know.’”

Brother said this.
His voice was low and trembling.
He seemed to be barely suppressing a voice that should have risen, balancing considerations for Mother’s sake, the inn’s reputation, his own pride, and the issue at hand.

“Do you think you can just dismiss this with a single cold remark? You’re not a child anymore.”

“No, that’s absolutely not the case.”

At that moment when I gave this reply, I was truly a pure-hearted younger brother.

43

“If that’s not your intention, then you should explain more clearly to show it’s not your intention, shouldn’t you?”

My elder brother was staring at the fan’s design with a bitter grimace. Taking advantage of him not looking at my face, I secretly observed his demeanor. To say this myself feels terribly rude—as though I’m looking down on my elder brother—but somewhere in his demeanor, or rather somewhere in his attitude, there even appeared a hint of childishness lacking in maturity. As I am now, I believe I hold a perspective that pays due respect to this pure single-mindedness. However, for my past self with an undeveloped character, a mindset focused on self-interest—that it was wise to act by exploiting others’ vulnerabilities—had become entangled even in such matters.

I watched my elder brother’s demeanor for a while.
And then came the thought that he would be easy to handle.
He was throwing a tantrum.
He was seething with impatience.
He was deliberately trying to suppress it.
He was wound so tight he had no composure left.
Yet his tension felt light and elastic, like a rubber balloon.
If one waited just a bit longer, he would either burst from his own pressure or surely fly off somewhere by his own force.
——I observed thus.

It was at this moment that I finally realized that Oju's incompatibility with my elder brother was fundamentally rooted here.
I also thought that her approach must be the most skillful way to exist as a sister-in-law.
Until then, I had only ever faced my elder brother directly—restrained, reserved, at times even intimidated.
Yet my experience of spending a full day and night with Sister-in-Law had unexpectedly led me to view this bitter elder brother through a more lenient lens from behind, and now this perspective manifested clearly before me.
I had no memory of Sister-in-Law ever instructing me to see Elder Brother this way.
But standing before him now, I had never felt so resolute in composure.
I maintained relative calmness and gazed back at the area around Elder Brother's forehead where his eyes remained fixed on the fan.

Then Elder Brother suddenly raised his head.

“Jirō, won’t you say something?” he thrust into my eardrums with urgent words.
By that voice, I snapped back to my usual self.

“I was just about to say it now.”
“But precisely because the matter is complicated，I’m at a loss about where to begin.”
“Since you’re different when it comes to other matters，Brother，you need to be a bit more open and listen carefully.”
“If you scold me so sternly like a courtroom judge，even what was just about to come out will recoil and retreat in dismay.”

When I said this, Elder Brother—true to being a man of discernment—responded, “Ah, I see. My mistake.
“You’re the one who brought it up hastily, and with me being short-tempered, things naturally get twisted.
Jirō, then when will you speak about it properly?
If it’s about listening carefully, I’m prepared to do so even now—”

“Well, please wait until we return to Tokyo.
Even if we do return to Tokyo, since it’s tomorrow night’s express train, it’s practically upon us.
Furthermore, once we’re there, I’d like to calmly present my thoughts as well.”

“That’s acceptable.”

Elder brother answered calmly.
As if I had dispelled all his previous tantrums through my own trustworthiness.

“Well then, I’ll leave it to you,” I said as I began to rise. Though Elder Brother nodded with an “Ah,” just as I was stepping over the threshold, he called me back again: “Hey, Jirō.”

“I’ll hear the full details later in Tokyo—just give me the gist in a word now.”

“Regarding Sister-in-law…”

“Of course.”

“Regarding Sister-in-law’s character, there is absolutely no room for doubt.”

When I said this, Elder Brother's expression abruptly changed.
But he said nothing.
With that, I left my seat.

44

At that moment, I had anticipated that depending on the circumstances, I might either receive a punch from Elder Brother or be subjected to a torrent of scathing criticism from him afterward.
Since I had abandoned him after his face contorted and left my seat, I must have despised him far more than usual.
Moreover, I was fully prepared with the resolve to defend my sister-in-law by resorting to physical force if necessary.
This was perhaps more accurately attributed to newfound sympathy for Sister-in-Law having arisen than to her innocence.
To put it another way, I had begun to despise Elder Brother to that extent.
When I rose from my seat, even a degree of animosity toward him arose.

When I returned to the room, Mother was no longer folding the yukata. However, her hands were busily occupied with tidying up the small luggage. Even so, her mind seemed not on her task, for upon hearing my footsteps, she immediately turned toward me.

“Elder Brother…”
“He should be here soon.”

“Has it been settled already?”

“Whether it’s settled or not—it wasn’t such a big deal from the start.”

To put Mother’s mind at ease, I deliberately said this in a dismissive manner.
Mother began taking small items in and out of the trunk again.
This time, ashamed before her, I never dared to look at the face of my sister-in-law assisting beside me.
Even so, a shadow of a cold smile passed over her young, forlorn lips as if grazing my eyes.

“Are you starting to pack now? That’s a bit too early,” I cautioned, deliberately mocking my elderly mother.

“Because when it comes to leaving, it’s better to have things prepared as early as possible.”

“Indeed.”

Sister-in-law’s reply came like an echo responding to a voice, preempting what I was about to say.

“Then I’ll tie it with rope. Since it’s a man’s job.”

Contrary to Elder Brother, I had a knack for rough work like that done by rickshaw pullers and artisans.
I was especially skilled at tying up luggage.
As I began to cross the rope in an X-shape, Sister-in-law immediately stood up and headed toward the room where Elder Brother was.
I found myself watching her retreating figure.

“How was Elder Brother Jirō’s mood?” Mother asked me in a deliberately hushed voice.
“There’s nothing particular—oh come on—there’s nothing for you to worry about—it’s fine,” I said with deliberate roughness pressing down on the trunk lid with my right foot until it creaked shut.

“Actually, there’s something I want to discuss with you too. Once we’re back in Tokyo, we’ll talk properly then.”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to listen properly then.”

While I answered offhandedly like this, somewhere in my mind I vaguely grasped what Mother meant by her so-called “talk.”

After some time had passed, Elder Brother and Sister-in-law emerged from the separate room.
Even as I maintained a calm facade while speaking with Mother, I felt somewhat uneasy about their discussion and its outcome.
Mother finally showed signs of relief upon seeing them approach side by side.
I too held some semblance of that feeling within me.

Through my efforts to tie up the trunk, sweat poured from my face, back, and so on.
I rolled up my sleeves and wiped away the sweat mercilessly with my yukata sleeve.

“Hey, he looks hot.”
“You should fan him a bit.”

My elder brother said this and looked at my sister-in-law.
My sister-in-law stood quietly and fanned me.

“There’s no need. It’ll be over soon.”

As I kept refusing like this, the packing for tomorrow was soon completed.

After returning,

I

I had returned from Wakayama wondering what would become of my elder brother and his wife's relationship.
My prediction had indeed not been wrong.
After the natural storm passed, I fully recognized signs of a different whirlwind brewing in my elder brother's mind and withdrew from his presence.
Yet those signs calmed to near-harmlessness during the ten or fifteen minutes Sister-in-law spent talking with him.

I was inwardly startled by this transformation.
My admiration grew for Sister-in-law's skill in mollifying that brother of mine—as prickly as a hedgehog—in such short order.
I felt content simply seeing Mother's face finally relaxed and shining with relief.

Elder Brother’s mood remained unchanged even when we left Wakaura. The same was true inside the train. Even after arriving in Osaka, his mood had remained unchanged. He even caught the Okada couple, who had come to see us off, and made jests.

“Mr. Okada, do you have any message for Oju?”

Okada made a puzzled face and asked back, “Only to Oju-san?”

“Right—to your arch-nemesis Oju.”

When Elder Brother answered like this, Okada finally laughed as though he had just caught on. Okan-san, who had unraveled the mystery with the same understanding, also began to laugh. Just as Mother had predicted, Sano, who had come to see us off, finally found his chance to laugh and heartily opened his mouth, startling those around him.

I had not yet asked Sister-in-law how she had managed to improve Elder Brother’s mood. After that, I never had the chance to ask. But it was precisely because she possessed such uncanny skill that I thought she could always keep that brother of mine in check. And I suspected she deliberately revealed or concealed those abilities—not merely according to time and circumstance, but entirely at her own whims.

The train was as crowded as ever.
We managed to secure four berths with partitions after considerable effort.
Since the four formed a single compartment, it was extremely convenient.
Being men of superior physical strength, Elder Brother and I took the upper berths, leaving the lower ones to the two women.
Beneath me, Sister-in-law lay.
In the darkness, amidst the rumble of the moving train, I found myself utterly unable to forget Sister-in-law lying beneath me.
Thinking of her was pleasant.
At the same time, it was unpleasant.
I also felt as though my body were being entwined by a soft green snake.

Elder Brother was sleeping on the other side, separated by a valley. It seemed less that his body was asleep than that his mind was truly dormant. And I felt as though that limp green snake lay coiled diagonally around his slumbering psyche from head to toe. In my imagination, that green snake would sometimes grow hot or cold. Then its coils would loosen and tighten. Elder Brother’s complexion shifted each time the snake’s temperature changed and each time its constricting strength altered.

On my berth, I could not stop associating this green snake with Sister-in-law—half in imagination, half in dream. I still remember how this sleep, akin to a poem, was abruptly shattered by the station attendant’s cries of “Nagoya! Nagoya!” At that moment, the train’s rumble ceased abruptly as a sudden downpour began drumming against the windows. I felt dampness on the soles of my tabi socks and sat up to find the window near my feet covered with dust-proof gauze. I hurriedly closed the window. Wondering about the others’ windows, I called out but received no answer. Since only Sister-in-law mentioned rain seemed to be leaking in, I had no choice but to jump down from my berth and close her window again.

II

“It seems like rain,” Sister-in-law said.

“Yes.”

I pulled aside the thick, rain-soaked window curtain that had been half-blown against the frame by the wind. The moment I did, I heard Mother turn over in her sleep.

“Jirō, where are we?”

“Nagoya.”

Through the gauze-covered window where rain seeped in, I gazed at the nearly empty station platform shrouded in downpour. The distant voice calling “Nagoya! Nagoya!” still echoed faintly. Then suddenly, the clack-clack of footsteps resounded through the night air like something springing to life alone.

“Jirō, while you’re at it, could you close the window near my feet too?”

“Is Mother’s window also not closed? When I called out earlier, she seemed to be sleeping soundly, so…”

I finished attending to Sister-in-law and immediately went to Mother’s side.
Pushing aside the thick window curtain and groping around to check, I found—to my surprise—that the glass door was securely closed.

“Mother, rain isn’t getting in over here at all.
“It’s perfectly fine—see, like this.”

As I said this, I knocked ton-ton on the glass near Mother’s feet with my hand to demonstrate.

“Oh? It’s not coming in?”

“How could it possibly get in?”

Mother smiled.

“I hadn’t the slightest idea when the rain started.”

Mother spoke amiably yet apologetically. “Jirō, you’ve had quite the trouble. Get some rest now. It must be quite late by now,” she said.

The clock showed past twelve.
I quietly climbed back up to the upper berth.
The train compartment returned to its former stillness.
Sister-in-law stopped speaking after Mother began to talk.
After I had climbed into my berth, Mother fell silent again.
Only Elder Brother, from beginning to end, did not utter a single word.
He was sleeping soundly like a saint.
This manner of sleep still remains one of my uncertainties.

He had fallen into a mild state of neurasthenia, as he himself often declared. At times he suffered from insomnia, which he frankly complained about to various family members. Yet never once had he mentioned being troubled by sleepiness.

Even when everyone else rose to marvel at Mount Fuji emerging through rain-scattered clouds that streamed past the train, he slept soundly—utterly indifferent to what came before or after.

After the dining car opened and most passengers had finished breakfast, I took Mother through the narrow corridor toward the rear to sate our hunger from the night before. As we left, Mother turned to Sister-in-law: "It's time to wake Ichirō and bring him along. We'll wait over there."

Sister-in-law smiled her habitual lonely smile. "Yes," she replied, "I'll join you shortly."

We left the attendant who was about to begin cleaning the compartment and entered the dining car.
The dining car was still quite crowded.
Those coming and going kept the narrow aisle in constant commotion.
While I was offering Mother tea and fruit, the figures of Elder Brother and Sister-in-law finally appeared at the entrance.
Unfortunately, the tables were not vacant enough for their seats to be found near ours.
They took seats facing each other at the entrance.
And then, like an ordinary married couple, they talked while laughing and looked out the window.
Mother, who had been sipping tea with me as her companion, occasionally glanced at them with a satisfied look.

Thus, we returned to Tokyo.

III

To reiterate, we returned to Tokyo in this manner.

The Tokyo house remained unchanged from its usual state.
Otei-san worked without incident, her sleeves tied back with a tasuki sash.
It was on the morning of our second day back that I saw her from behind doing laundry with a hand towel wrapped around her head and was reminded of how Otei-san had settled into her role after some time had passed.

Yoshie was the only child born to my elder brother and his wife.
During our absence, Oju had taken charge of everything.
Though Yoshie had originally been close to Mother and Sister-in-law, she proved such an undemanding child that even Oju alone could manage her care without difficulty.
I wondered whether this stemmed from her inheriting Sister-in-law's temperament or simply Oju's amiable nature.

“Oju, you’re really managing to take care of that Yoshie, aren’t you? After all, you really are a woman,” Father had said, whereupon Oju made a sullen face and deliberately complained to Mother: “Father is quite something”—this story I heard on the train.

A day or two after returning, I asked her: “Oju, I hear you’re angry because Father said you really are a woman after all.” She answered “I was angry,” and while changing the water in Father’s study vase, was draining it with a dry cloth.

“Are you still angry?”

“I’ve already forgotten.—What’s this pretty flower called?”

“Oju, when he said ‘you’re such a woman,’ that was a compliment. He meant you’re a kind, womanly girl. Who’d get angry over that?”

“I don’t care either way.”

Oju swayed her hips—hidden beneath her obi—from side to side as she carried the vase toward Father’s study. To me, it looked like she was expressing her anger through her hips, which I found rather comical.

As soon as we returned, Yoshie was immediately transferred from Oju’s care to Mother and Sister-in-law.
The two of them took turns holding her and putting her down as if competing over her.
What had always puzzled me was the fact before my eyes that Yoshie, so innocent, had managed to become so accustomed to this outwardly composed Sister-in-law.
The girl with dark eyes, abundant hair, and cheeks paler than most—inherited from her mother—followed her unapproachable mother’s footsteps as if by miracle.
Sister-in-law proudly displayed this as Japan’s greatest pride to everyone in the household.
In particular, toward her own husband, her displays went beyond mere showing off and could rather be taken as a cruel retaliation.
As a bookish man unable to distance himself from contemplation, Elder Brother was mostly confined to his study; however much he cherished this girl in his heart, the degree of intimacy returned as recompense for that affection remained exceedingly faint.
It was no wonder that the emotional Elder Brother found this unsatisfying.
Even when it showed in his expression at the dining table, such occasions were rare for Elder Brother by nature.
When that happened, Oju would not accept it more than anyone else.

“Yoshie-san is such a mama’s girl. Why don’t you go to your father’s side?” she asked with feigned innocence.

“But…” Yoshie said.

“But what’s wrong?” Oju pressed again.

“But I’m scared,” Yoshie answered deliberately in a small voice.
That sounded even more irritating to Oju.

“What?
“Scared?”
“Who are you scared of?”

Such exchanges were often repeated and sometimes lasted five or even ten minutes.
In such situations, Sister-in-law never so much as twitched a muscle in her expression.
She always showed a smile on her pale cheeks and responded in an utterly ordinary manner.
In the end, Father and Mother, to mediate between both parties, had Elder Brother give them fruits and have them receive sweets, then said, “There, that settles it.
There were even times when they finally managed to gloss over things by saying, ‘Now you’ve received some treats from Father.’”
Oju nevertheless showed everyone her cheeks, still swollen as though her anger had not subsided.
Elder Brother would habitually withdraw alone to his study in silence.

IV

That year, Father had learned for the first time from someone how to cultivate morning glories and was constantly admiring their altered flowers and leaves.
Though called 'altered,' they were merely ordinary ones that had become shriveled and lost their distinctive features, so no one in the entire household paid them any heed.
They could only marvel at Father's enthusiasm, his early rising, the numerous pots lined up, the beautiful sand, and finally, the strangely contorted shapes of the flowers and leaves.

Father would arrange them on the veranda and never missed explaining them to whoever he managed to collar.

“Indeed, how fascinating!” Even my honest elder brother had been compelled to offer such flattery, appearing genuinely impressed.

Father had always exclusively occupied two rooms in the back that were set apart from us.
On that veranda with bamboo blinds, morning glories were perpetually arranged.
Therefore, we would be deliberately summoned there with calls of “Hey Ichirō” or “Hey Oju.”
I offered compliments that would please Father far more than my brother had and withdrew.
“Honestly, having to praise those morning glories like that—it’s truly unbearable,”
I muttered disparagingly where Father couldn’t hear.

Father was fond of lecturing and explaining things.
Moreover, having ample free time, he would ring the summoning bell indiscriminately to call anyone over and engage them in various conversations.
Whenever Oju was summoned, she would often say, “Brother, today I’m begging you—please go in my place.”
To that Oju, Father particularly loved talking about things that were hard to understand.

When we returned from Osaka, the morning glories were still blooming.
However, Father’s interest had already moved away from them.

“What happened? Those special varieties—”
When I asked about them, Father answered with a bitter smile, “Truthfully, the morning glories aren’t thriving either. I’ll stop growing them from next year.”
I concluded that the peculiar flowers and leaves he’d proudly shown us must have failed expert appraisal, and laughed loudly in the tearoom.
Then, as usual, Oju and Otei-san rushed to defend Father.

“That’s not how it is. They were just too much work, so Father finally lost patience with them, you know. But even so, they say only Father could’ve managed that much—everyone was praising him.”

Mother and Sister-in-law looked at my face and burst into laughter as though mocking my ignorance.
Then even little Yoshie, who was nearby, laughed in the same meaningful way as Sister-in-law.

While we spent our days occupied with such trivial matters, the relationship between Elder Brother and Sister-in-law naturally faded from our hearts.
I felt that, as per our prior agreement, the need to go before Elder Brother and explain about Sister-in-law had disappeared.
The complicated incident that Mother had said she would discuss at length after returning to Tokyo also seemed unlikely to come easily from her lips.
In the end, Elder Brother—who had so eagerly sought knowledge about Sister-in-law—gradually began to grow distant.
In return, he had also grown less talkative toward our parents and me than before.
Even during the hottest days, he would usually shut himself away in his study and work intently on something.
I occasionally asked my sister-in-law, "Is Elder Brother studying?"
"Yes, I suppose he’s probably preparing next year’s lectures or something," she answered.
I thought indeed and hoped that if this busyness continued for long, it might completely divert his mind in that direction.
Sister-in-law was moving about as usual, like lonely autumn grass.
And at times she laughed, showing a single dimple.

V

In time, summer too gradually came to an end.
The starlight seen each evening grew deeper night after night.
The leaves of the phoenix tree swaying in the morning and evening winds made one’s eyes shiver with coolness, as though it touched the skin.
I was occasionally able to feel a cheerful mood as if reborn upon entering autumn.
My elder brother, more poetic than I, had once gazed at the clear autumn sky and exclaimed, “Ah, a sky that gives life meaning!” while looking up joyfully with his pale head.

“Elder Brother—the season that makes life worth living has finally come, hasn’t it?” I stood on the veranda of his study and turned to look at him.
He lay there on the rattan chair.

“I still can’t get into the true feel of autumn.”
“A little more time must pass,” he replied, picking up the thick book lying facedown on his knees.
It was evening before dinner.
I left the study just as I was and started heading downstairs.
Then my elder brother suddenly called out to stop me.

“Is Yoshie downstairs?”

“She should be there.”
“I believe I saw her in the backyard earlier.”

I opened the north-facing window and looked down. Below was a swing that the gardener had specially crafted for her. Yet Yoshie, who had been there moments earlier, was nowhere to be seen. “Now where could she have gone?” I muttered to myself—when her sharp laughter rang out from the bathhouse.

“She’s in the bath.”

“With Oju? Or Mother?”

Amid Yoshie’s laughter, I unmistakably heard my sister-in-law’s voice—bearing a depth too profound for any woman.

“It’s Sister-in-law,” I answered.

“She seems rather cheerful today.”

I instinctively looked at my elder brother’s face as he spoke.
But he had hidden himself up to his forehead with the large book in his hands, making it impossible to see his expression when he uttered those words.
Still, I understood his meaning perfectly from his tone.
After a moment’s hesitation, I said, “You don’t know how to comfort children.”
My brother’s face remained concealed behind the book.
The instant he lowered it, he retorted, “It’s not just children I can’t handle.”
I silently kept my gaze fixed on his face.

“It’s not just that I can’t manage my own children.”
“Even my own father and mother lack such managerial skills.”
“Worse still—I still can’t discern how to properly handle even my own wife.”
“Having devoted myself to scholarship until this age, I never found leisure to acquire those skills.”
“Jirō—it appears a certain technique is absolutely indispensable for bringing happiness to one’s life.”

"But if you can just give splendid lectures, that alone would more than make up for everything—so it's fine."

Having said this, I prepared to withdraw depending on how things unfolded.
However, Elder Brother showed no intention of stopping.

"I wasn't born solely to prepare lectures."
"But because I must prepare lectures and read books, I've become unable to satisfy even essential human feelings in a properly human way."
"Otherwise, I've become unable to have them satisfy me anymore."

I detected a bitter resentment beneath my elder brother's words that seemed to curse his very circumstances.
I knew I had to respond somehow.
Yet I couldn't grasp what answer would suffice.
The real danger lay in letting this conversation revive that whole Sister-in-law incident again.
Though it felt cowardly, I intentionally diverted the flow elsewhere.

"It's because you overthink everything that you end up convincing yourself of these things."
"Why don't we use this fine weather instead? Let's go on an outing somewhere this Sunday."

Elder Brother faintly said “Mm” and listlessly showed his consent.

Six

On Elder Brother’s face, the desolate loneliness flowed across his broad forehead and filled his gaunt cheeks.

“Jirō, I’ve always loved nature—but that’s only because I can’t harmonize with people, so I suppose I end up transferring my heart to nature out of necessity.”

I pitied Elder Brother.
“That’s not true,” I flatly refuted.
But this failed to satisfy him.
I quickly added:

“It’s simply a tendency in our family bloodline.”
“Father obviously has it—as you know, even I do—and what’s more, Oju has developed this strange fondness for flowers and trees. These days, she sometimes gazes at landscape paintings with such a deeply moved expression.”

I did my best to console Elder Brother, talking about all sorts of things.

At that moment, Otei-san came up from downstairs to announce dinner.
I said to her, “Otei-san, you seem so happy lately—you’ve been smiling an awful lot.”
As soon as I had returned from Osaka, Otei-san had withdrawn into a corner of the hot servants’ room and seldom showed her face.
When it came to light that this had all started from the five-character message of “Congratulations” I had written to Otei-san on one of those group picture postcards we’d sent from Osaka, the whole household burst into laughter.
Perhaps because of that, even while living under the same roof, Otei-san oddly avoided me.
Therefore, whenever we met face to face, I felt particularly compelled to say something.

“Otei-san, what’s making you so happy?” I asked half in jest, pressing the point.
Otei-san kept her hands planted on the floor, her ears flushing crimson.
Elder Brother looked down at her from his rattan chair. “Otei-san, when a woman still blushes at marriage talk, that’s her bloom of womanhood.”
“But once you marry, you’ll find it’s neither joyous enough to blush over nor shameful enough to hide.”
“Worse yet—when two become one through marriage, their human dignity often rots faster than when they were single.”
“Some even meet with horrors.”
“Caution’s your best ally,” he concluded.

Otei-san seemed not to have understood Elder Brother’s meaning at all.
Not knowing how to respond, she wore a bewildered expression while tears pooled in her eyes.
Elder Brother saw this and said, “Otei-san, how thoughtless of me to speak out of turn.”
“That was just a joke.”
“I ended up saying things meant for someone thick-skinned like Jirō to someone as delicate as you.”
“A complete mistake.”
“Please forgive me.”
“Will there be something special for dinner tonight?”
“Jirō, let’s go eat then,” he said.

As soon as Otei-san saw Elder Brother rise from the rattan chair, she immediately straightened up and clattered down the stairs a step ahead of him. I compared shoulders with Elder Brother and began to exit the room. At that moment, Elder Brother turned to me and said, “Jirō, that matter from before remains unresolved.” “I’ve been so preoccupied with books and lectures that though I kept meaning to hear you out, I ended up neglecting it—my apologies.” “I intend to listen properly when time allows, so please tell me,” he said. I wanted to feign ignorance by asking, “What matter from before do you mean?” But lacking the composure to muster such courage then, I first offered only a socially appropriate response.

“When this much time passes, it’s like flat beer—I can’t bring myself to discuss it properly anymore.”
“Still, since you went through the trouble of making that promise, I won’t refuse if you insist on hearing it.”
“But now that you’ve reached what you call life’s purposeful autumn, shouldn’t we prioritize an outing over such trivial matters?”

“Mm, an outing would be agreeable, but…”

The two of them entered the lower room where the dining table was set while exchanging such talk.
And there they found Sister-in-law keeping Yoshie close by her side.

Seven

At the dining table, Father and Mother happened to bring up Otei-san’s marriage matter again.
Mother mentioned she had previously bought white crepe silk from the weaving shop and was thinking of having it dyed with the family crest.
Otei-san had been sitting behind everyone serving meals at the time, but she suddenly placed the black-lacquered tray on the rice container and rose from her seat.

I burst out laughing at her retreating figure.
Elder Brother, conversely, made a bitter face.

“Jirō, this won’t do—you’re being too reckless with your teasing. You must use words infused with a bit more delicacy when speaking to a girl like that.”

“Jirō is just like the temple loiterers,” Father said in a tone that mingled amusement with reproach.
Only Mother wore a puzzled expression.

“Well, it’s Jirō’s doing.
Because whenever he sees Otei-san’s face, he says all sorts of things like ‘Congratulations’ or ‘Something happy must have happened,’ she ends up getting embarrassed.
Since he’d just made her face turn red upstairs again, she immediately ran away.
Otei-san is completely different from Oju by nature, so we here must be mindful of that and handle her with care…”

After hearing Elder Brother’s explanation, Mother gave a bitter smile for the first time, as though saying I see.
Sister-in-law—who had already finished her meal—deliberately looked at my face with a peculiar glance.
To me, that appeared like some sort of signal.
I indeed had quite the inclination of a temple loiterer as my father had remarked, but at this time, out of deference to my father and mother, I felt not the slightest urge to return my sister-in-law’s signal.

Sister-in-law stood up smoothly in silence; at the room’s exit, she turned back slightly and beckoned Yoshie.
Yoshie also immediately stood up.
“Oh, are you leaving without having any sweets today?” Oju asked.

Yoshie remained standing there, seeming to deliberate what to do.
Sister-in-law said gently, “Oh, Yoshie, aren’t you coming?” and stepped out into the hallway.
Yoshie, who had been hesitating until now, no sooner had Sister-in-law disappeared from sight than she suddenly seemed to make up her mind and hurriedly chased after her.

Oju watched her retreating figure as if resentfully.
Father and Mother maintained stern expressions as they stared into their own plates.
Oju looked at Elder Brother resentfully.
But Elder Brother was vacantly gazing into the distance.
Still, a faint '八' shape had formed between his brows.

“Elder Brother, give me that pudding. Come on, it’s fine, right?” Oju said to her brother-in-law.
Elder Brother wordlessly slid the plate toward Oju.
Oju also wordlessly poked at it with her spoon, but from my perspective, it only seemed she was eating something she didn’t want out of spite.

It was some time after that when Elder Brother rose from his seat and entered the study.
I pricked up my ears and listened to the sound of his house shoes quietly ascending the stairs.
Soon, from above came the sound of the study door closing with a thud, and afterward, everything fell silent.

After returning to Tokyo, I frequently witnessed such scenes.
Father too seemed to have noticed.
But it was Mother who appeared most concerned.
Having discerned Sister-in-law's attitude, she revealed through her complexion, expression,and mannerisms a desire to quickly resolve Oju—who showed no mercy—and prevent conflict between the young women.
Next came her wish to marry off [Otei] promptly and remove me—this nuisance—from between Elder Brother and his wife.
Yet the complicated world refused to turn as smoothly as Mother hoped.
I remained idle as ever.
Oju increasingly treated Sister-in-law like an enemy.
Strangely enough，she loved Yoshie.
But this affection was limited to times when Sister-in-law was absent.
Yoshie too only clung to Oju when Sister-in-law wasn't present.
Scholarly wrinkles gradually deepened on Elder Brother's forehead.
He sank ever deeper into his books and contemplations.

VIII

For this reason, the marriage of Otei-san—whom Mother had looked upon most lightly—was the first to be settled, an outcome that ran entirely counter to her intentions.
Yet as bringing closure to Otei-san’s fate—something that needed resolving sooner or later—remained Father and Mother’s duty after all, they could do nothing but welcome Okada’s goodwill and would never have harbored ill will toward it.
Her marriage had become a household concern precisely for that reason.
Oju would often corner Otei-san about this matter and refuse to let go.
Otei-san, without ever showing a blush in front of Oju, apparently consulted her on various issues and discussed even her own future with her.

One day, when I had returned from outside and just gotten out of the bath, Oju asked in her usual inconsiderate manner, “Elder Brother, what kind of person is this Mr. Sano anyway?”
This was already the second or third time she had asked this question since I had returned from Osaka.

“What’s with this sudden question out of the blue?
“You really are too rash, you know.”

Easily angered Oju silently looked at my face.
I was sitting cross-legged while writing a postcard to Misa, but upon seeing this state of affairs, I paused my brush.

“Oju’s angry again.—Mr. Sano, as I told you before, is that man with gold-rimmed glasses and a bulging forehead.”
“That should suffice, shouldn’t it?”
“No matter how many times you ask, you’ll get the same answer.”

“A bulging forehead and glasses show up perfectly well in photographs.”
“I already know without you telling me anything, Elder Brother.”
“He does have eyes after all.”

She still maintained her guarded tone.
I quietly set down the postcard and brush on the desk.

“What exactly are you trying to ask?”

“What on earth had you been investigating about Mr. Sano?”
“—about Mr. Sano?”

Oju was the type who, once engaged in debate, regarded me as her peer—whether through habit, familiarity, fierce temperament, or childishness.

“About Mr. Sano…?” I asked.

“It concerns Mr. Sano’s true nature.”

I had always dismissed Oju as foolish, yet faced with this earnest inquiry, I found no substantial response within me.
I calmly began puffing on my rolled cigarette.
Oju wore an expression of bitter frustration.

"But isn't that excessive, when Otei-san is so worried?"

"But since Okada guarantees it's reliable, isn't that good enough?"

"Elder Brother, how much do you actually trust Mr. Okada?"
"Mr. Okada is merely a shogi piece, isn't he?"

“Whether his face is a shogi piece or whatever…”

“It’s not his face. His heart is fickle.”

I grew weary of dealing with Oju through both the tedium and her temper.

“Oju, instead of fussing over Otei-san’s affairs like this, you’d show far more sense by scheming to marry yourself off quickly.”
“You’ve no idea how much more relieved Father and Mother would feel seeing you settled than about Otei-san’s marriage.”
“Otei-san’s matters don’t matter one bit. You’d do better to secure your own position swiftly and make some effort at filial piety.”

Oju indeed burst into tears.
Every time I quarreled with Oju, it felt unsatisfying unless she cried, as though there was no tangible response.
I nonchalantly blew tobacco smoke.

“Then you should hurry up and get married yourself to become independent.”
“That would be far more filial than if I were to get married—you wouldn’t know how much.”
“You’re always taking sister-in-law’s side…”

“You oppose sister-in-law too much.”

“It’s only natural.”
“I am Elder Brother’s younger sister after all.”

Nine

After writing a postcard to Misa, I considered applying the razor to my freshly bathed cheek.
Seizing my growing irritation with Oju’s complaints as an opportunity, I requested: “Oju, I hate to trouble you, but could you fetch some hot water from the bath in a rinsing bowl?”
Oju appeared far too preoccupied for such trivialities.
She sat rigidly inflated, as though contemplating life’s weightiest matters tenfold more profound.
Disregarding Oju, I clapped for the maid and obtained the required hot water.
Then I propped up my travel mirror on the desk, lined up the ivory-handled razor, and deliberately bloated my scalded cheeks into a comical puff.

As I theatrically swung the shaving brush about, coating my entire face in stark white lather, Oju—who had been sitting nearby observing this display—suddenly let out a tragic cry and burst into tears.
I had always known that given Oju’s temperament, things would come to this sooner or later; I had been expecting this outburst all along.
So I filled my cheeks with even more air and began smoothly scraping off the white soap with the razor blade, putting on an air of satisfaction.
Oju, watching this, grew increasingly noisy—whether out of sheer irritation or something else entirely.
Finally, she sharply called out, “Elder Brother!” at me.
Though I had indeed been mocking Oju, this piercing address caught me somewhat off guard.

“What?”

“Why do you have to treat me like such a fool? Even so, I am your sister. No matter how much you favor Sister-in-law, she’s fundamentally an outsider by blood, isn’t she?”

I set down the razor and turned my soap-covered cheek toward Oju.

“Oju, you’ve got it backwards. That you’re my sister and Sister-in-law married into this family—I knew that without you telling me.”

“Then stop telling me unnecessary things about hurrying to marry! Why don’t you hurry and marry someone like Sister-in-law yourself—someone you’re so fond of?”

I wanted to slap Oju on the head with my open hand once.
But I was afraid of causing a commotion throughout the house and couldn’t easily bring myself to do it.

“Then why don’t you hurry up and find a scholar like elder brother to marry?”

Oju, upon hearing these words, immediately showed a ferocious intensity that seemed on the verge of lunging at me. In the intervals between her tears, she declared that her marriage had been delayed compared to Otei’s, which was why she was being mocked so cruelly, and then denounced me as a barbarian devoid of sympathy for her own brother. I was, from the start, as much of a scold as she could handle in an exchange. But in the end, I finally lost patience and fell silent. Even so, she did not leave my side. And not only did she go on and on about the facts themselves, but she also prattled endlessly and unrestrainedly about the outrageous imaginings those facts had spawned. Among these, the theme she was most adept at was her spiteful insistence on linking me and sister-in-law together in every possible way and making insinuations. I found that most detestable of all. At that moment, I thought to myself that I wanted to marry any homely woman if need be—so long as I wed before Oju—and leave this prattling woman who kept chirping on about marital relations and the nature of love between men and women behind, abandoned all alone. I then earnestly considered that doing so would indeed align with Mother’s concerns and likely suit my brother and his wife as well.

I still remember Oju’s sullen face, drenched as if beaten by rain.
Oju, it seems, simply cannot forget her own strange face—one that looked as though she had thrust it into a basin of dissolved soap.

Ten

Oju clearly disliked sister-in-law.
This was accepted by everyone as being due to her strong sympathy for her academically isolated brother.

“What would you do if even Mother were gone? How truly pitiable you are.”

She, who knew nothing of concealing anything, had once said this to me. This was of course from a time long before I had whitened my cheeks and quarreled with her. At that time, I did not engage with her.

“Would someone as clear-headed as Elder Brother ever need the likes of *you* to worry about family matters? Just keep quiet and watch,” I said in a lecturing tone. “Since both Father and Mother were here.”

I had already observed from that time that due to personalities being as incompatible as fire and water, Oju and sister-in-law would find it difficult to live together harmoniously.

“Mother, you need to settle Oju’s matter quickly too,” I even interjected with unsolicited advice.
At that moment, Mother didn’t ask why or anything else, but with eyes that seemed to fully grasp my meaning, said: “Even without you telling us, your father and I have been worrying ourselves sick over Oju.”
“It’s not just Oju either.”
“You’ve no idea how much trouble everyone’s been taking behind the scenes to find you a bride.”
“But these things are all a matter of fate…” she added, gazing despondently at her own face.
Without understanding Mother’s meaning at all, I merely replied “Haa” like a child and retreated.

Oju, though prone to taking everything head-on, possessed an honest and guileless virtue that made her loved more by Father than by Mother.
She was of course doted on by Elder Brother.
When Otei-san’s marriage proposal came up, Father’s opinion had been: “We should first settle Oju’s matter—that’s the proper order.”
Elder Brother too had somewhat agreed with this.
However, Mother argued that letting such a rare opportunity slip by for Otei-san—who had been specifically proposed to by name—would result in mutual loss, and since this was the most reasonable stance practically, Elder Brother, being logically astute, quickly conceded.
Father, who had yielded somewhat to Elder Brother’s viewpoint, also accepted the matter without incident.

However, this silence seemed to cause Oju intense displeasure. Yet even seeing how willingly she involved herself in every aspect of Otei-san's marriage arrangements, it was an undeniable fact that she bore no resentment toward Otei-san for being given precedence.

She simply found being near her sister-in-law unbearable. No matter that this was a home with both parents present, no matter how earnestly she could play the childlike role to her heart's content, being subjected to her cold sister-in-law's scornful gaze remained more painful than anything else.

At such times, when her nerves were frayed by these feelings, she suddenly entered her sister-in-law’s room to borrow a women’s magazine or something.
And there, she saw the bridal garments that her sister-in-law had been sewing for Otei-san.

“Oju-san, this is Otei-san’s,” she said.
“It’s nice, isn’t it? You should hurry up and go marry someone like Sano-san too,” Sister-in-law added as she turned the garment she was sewing inside out to show her.
That attitude sounded like a showy taunt to Oju.
It could also be interpreted as an enigmatic message telling her to quickly decide on a marriage prospect and be prepared to sew even such humble garments.
It could also be interpreted as a sarcastic jab: “How long do you plan to exploit your position as a sister-in-law to torment someone?”
In the end, being told to go marry someone like Sano-san was what grated on her nerves the most.

She went to Father’s room in tears to plead her case.
Father, likely thinking it too troublesome, took Oju to Mitsukoshi the next day without questioning Sister-in-law at all.

Eleven

Two or three days later, two guests came to Father’s house.
Father had always been sociable by nature, and due to professional obligations, he had frequented a wide variety of places.
Even now that he had retired from public service—whether out of inertia or lingering influence—his comings and goings among acquaintances never ceased.
However, among those who regularly visited, there were no particularly famous or influential figures.
The guests that day consisted of one member of the House of Peers and one auditor from a company.

Father seemed to be on good terms with these two through Noh chanting, and whenever they came, he would sing Noh chants and enjoy himself. Oju, having practiced the drum for a short time under Father’s orders, was often summoned before guests on such occasions to play. I still have not forgotten that haughty face.

“Oju, your drumming is good, but your face is quite unpleasant. I’m not saying this to be mean, but when you get married, don’t you dare play the drum at first. Even if your husband turns out to be a Noh fanatic, putting on such a prim face like that will only make him dislike you,” I once went out of my way to berate her. Then Otei-san, who had been listening nearby, widened her eyes and said, “My, what a terrible thing to say. How awful!”—making me wonder if I had gone too far. However, the intense Oju seemed not to mind my words at all, unlike her usual self. “Elder Brother, even so, my face is still quite presentable. When it comes to drumming, that’s another story entirely. There’s nothing more unpleasant than having guests for my Noh chanting,” she went out of her way to explain to me. I had been paying attention only to Oju’s face and had not noticed until then that her drumming was so poor.

That day too, about an hour and a half after the guests arrived, the Noh chanting began as scheduled.
I thought Oju would be summoned again soon and, half-teasingly, headed toward the tea room.
Oju was earnestly wiping the banquet tray.

“Aren’t you going to tap away today?” I asked pointedly. Oju looked up at me standing there with an oddly feigned clueless expression.

"But the meal trays are being served right now. I said I was too busy and refused."

Thinking Mother might scold me for joking too much amid the kitchen and tea room commotion, I retreated back to my room.

After taking an evening stroll post-dinner, Mother intercepted me before I could enter my room.

"Jirō, you returned at just the right moment. Go listen to Father's Noh chanting in the back."

Since I was accustomed to hearing Father’s Noh chanting, listening to one chant didn’t strike me as particularly bothersome.

“What will he perform?” I asked Mother.
Mother, who detested Noh chanting as much as I adored it, replied, “I don’t really know.”
“Hurry along now.”
“Everyone’s waiting,” she added.

Having absorbed these instructions, I turned toward the inner rooms.
There in the shadowed veranda stood Oju.
I instinctively blurted out, “Hey—”
She abruptly waved her hand and pressed it over my mouth like a signal.

"Why are you standing alone in such a dark place?" I whispered into her ear.
She immediately replied, “Just because.”
However, seeing that I wasn’t satisfied with her answer and remained standing there, she said, “They’ve been urging me over and over to come out since earlier.”
“So I told Mother I couldn’t and made it seem like I’m not feeling well.”
"Why are you being so reserved today of all days?"

“Because I’ve gotten completely sick of playing that damned drum—it’s just too ridiculous.”
“And what they want me to do next is so difficult—I can’t possibly manage it.”

“I must say, even a woman of your sort has some grasp of modesty—impressive.” With that retort, I went into the back rooms.

Twelve

In the back, the two usual guests were seated before the alcove.
Both were men of refined appearance, their slightly balding heads harmonizing well with the Tanyu triptych hanging behind them.

Both of them remained in hakama trousers, having taken off their haori jackets and left them off. Of the three, only Father was not wearing hakama trousers; yet even he had refrained from putting on his haori jacket.

Since I was acquainted with them, I greeted the guests seated directly across and, while doing so, bowed with “Please allow me the honor of listening…” The guest put on an act of being flustered and, with an “Oh, truly, not at all…”, made a show of scratching his head. When Father asked me about Oju again, I replied, “She says she’s had a slight headache since earlier and regrets not being able to come out to greet you.” Father, while looking at the guests, said, “Oju feeling unwell is like an ogre catching a chill,” then turned to me and asked again, “Earlier, Tsuna made it sound like her stomach hurt, but it’s actually a headache?” I thought, *Damn*, but replied, “It’s probably both.” “Because gastrointestinal heat can also cause headaches.” “However, it doesn’t seem to be an illness worth worrying about.” “It should heal soon,” I answered. The guest droned on with sympathy for Oju to an irritating degree, then said, “Well, this is regrettable, but shall we begin?”

In the audience seating area, since my brother and his wife were sitting properly side by side in front of me, facing sideways, I somewhat awkwardly took a seat next to my sister-in-law.
“What are they performing?” I asked as I sat down. My sister-in-law, who had neither training nor interest in this art, replied, “Something called *Kagekiyo*,” and said nothing more.

A ruddy-faced, well-built man among the guests was assigned the lead role, while his neighbor—a House of Peers member—took the supporting part; Father, as the host role, ended up taking on two minor characters called “daughter” and “man.”
Having some discernment for Noh chanting, I had worried from the start about what kind of Kagekiyo they would perform.
My elder brother wore a thoroughly perplexed expression—as though trying to fathom his own thoughts—while listening like one in a dream to the fading living voice of a previous century.
To my sister-in-law’s ears, even the crucial “Matsukado” passage seemed to resound unpleasantly—less like human speech than bestial howling.
I had long held an interest in this Noh chant called *Kagekiyo*.
A peculiar emotion both valiant and pitiful would sometimes well up within me—born from blind Kagekiyo’s forceful diction and the daughter’s resolve to journey all the way to Hyūga in search of her father—transforming into tears that made my eyes glisten on one or two occasions.

However, that was when accomplished Noh performers seriously took on their respective roles; toward this Kagekiyo, pieced together through the halting, sesame-seed style of chanting we were now being subjected to, almost no sympathy arose.

Before long, both Kagekiyo’s battle tale and the main chant had reached their conclusion without incident.
I didn’t know how to evaluate their performance, so I felt somewhat uneasy.
Sister-in-law, unlike her usual reticence, said, “That was quite spirited.”
I also responded, “Indeed.”
Then my elder brother, whom I had assumed would likely not utter a word, suddenly addressed the ruddy-faced guest: “There were phrases like ‘Indeed, I too am of the Taira clan, as the tale goes’ and ‘For the first time,’ but that particular line—‘Indeed, I too am of the Taira clan’—was most fascinating.”

My elder brother was by nature an honest man—one who considered not lying, as taught through his education, to be a fundamental aspect of his moral integrity—so there could be no doubt about the sincerity of this critique.
However, his commentary unfortunately concerned not the skill of the Noh chanting itself, but rather the literary merits of the text, which garnered little reaction from its recipient.

Father, long accustomed to such social niceties, first offered gracious praise—“Oh, that section was particularly fascinating to hear”—before segueing, “Actually, this reminds me of an exceedingly curious tale.”
“They rather informally reworked those very verses into something where Kagekiyo becomes a woman—far more evocative than the original chant.”
“And it’s rooted in fact,” he added.

Thirteen

Father, being the socialite he was, had stored away many such curious tales in his mind. And when guests were present, he would deftly deploy them during toasts and banter as occasion demanded. Even to me—who had lived at Father’s side for years—this Onna-Kagekiyo anecdote was entirely unfamiliar. I found myself leaning forward instinctively, eyes fixed on Father’s face.

“This happened quite recently—a true story—though its roots stretch far back,” he began. “Now don’t fret—I shan’t start from the Genpei wars! Let’s say…twenty-five or twenty-six years ago? Back when I was what you’d call a lowly office drudge…”

With this preface, Father made everyone laugh before proceeding to the main topic.
It resembled a romantic escapade involving not so much his friend as a man who was rather his junior.
Though he discreetly omitted the name.
I generally remembered both the names and faces of those who frequented our house, yet no matter how much I pondered, I could conjure no image of the man connected to this anecdote.
Inwardly, I suspected Father likely still associated with this man in public circles.

In any case, the incident occurred when the man was around twenty years old. At the time, Father gave a rather ambiguous explanation—that he had just entered high school or was in his second year—but whichever it was, it didn’t concern us in the least.

“That person is a good man.”
“There are all sorts of good people, but he’s a good man, all in all.”
“Even now he’s like that, so when he was around twenty, he must have been quite the charming young master.”

After brusquely describing the man in this manner, Father simply narrated the circumstances that had led him and the family servant into such a relationship.

"Now, he was a proper young master through and through—they say he'd had absolutely no experience with refined matters like romantic affairs."
"He himself had apparently considered it an utterly impossible miracle that someone like him could be admired by a woman."
"But then that miracle came crashing down from heaven—so of course he was utterly flabbergasted, you see."

The guest who had been addressed maintained a serious expression and accepted this with an “I see,” but I found it unbearably amusing. On my desolate-looking elder brother’s cheek, dimples from a smile floated.

“What makes it all the more curious is how passive the man was compared to the woman’s boldness,” Father continued. “When I asked him what moment made him realize her feelings existed—”

He adopted a solemn face. “He gave various answers, but what I still remember most vividly—perhaps because I found it most amusing—was when he was eating a tile-shaped rice cracker or such. The woman approached and no sooner said ‘Let me have some too’ than she snatched the half-eaten remainder from his hand and popped it into her mouth.”

Father's storytelling naturally prioritized humor while submerging the serious core of the matter into the background, so that we three—along with the listening guests—merely laughed until it felt as though nothing substantial remained afterward.
Moreover, the guests laughed skillfully, as though they had honed their technique in laughter somewhere.
Among the entire gathering, the only one who remained relatively serious was my older brother.

“So how did that turn out?”
“Did they end up getting married?” he asked in a tone devoid of humor.

“No—that’s precisely what I’m about to explain. As I mentioned earlier, the part where *Kagekiyo*’s essence emerges is just ahead. What I’ve told you so far is merely the prologue,” Father answered with evident pride.

14

According to Father’s account, the relationship between the man and the woman had been as fleeting as a summer night’s dream—ephemeral.
Yet when they formed their pledge, the man had declared he would make the woman his future wife.
Father took care to explain this was neither a condition proposed by the woman nor anything of the sort—it had been merely an impassioned utterance that spilled forth spontaneously from the man’s lips, swept up in the heat of the moment; sincere yet difficult to fulfill.

“You see, they were both the same age. Moreover, one was a student still gnawing at his parents’ shins with his future stretching endlessly ahead, and the other was a poor maidservant planning to scrape by through menial work—so no matter how ironclad a promise they made, there was no telling what complications might arise during the long years required to fulfill it.” “And then, it seems the woman asked,” “‘When you graduate from school, you’ll be twenty-five or twenty-six.’ ‘Then I’ll have aged just as much.’ ‘Even so, are you still willing?’ she said.”

Father abruptly stopped his story at that point and began packing tobacco into the silver kiseru that lay beneath his knees.
When he expelled a pale blue puff of smoke from his nostrils all at once, I blurted out impatiently: "What did that man answer?"

Tapping ash from his pipe bowl, Father said: "I knew you'd ask something eventually."
"Interesting story eh?"
"The world truly contains all manner of people," he remarked while looking directly at me.
I merely responded with a noncommittal: "Hmm."

“To tell the truth, I actually asked that man,”
“What did you say in reply?”
“Then the young master—you see—said this:
‘I knew my own age and hers.
But when I’d graduate and how old she’d be then—I couldn’t bring myself to think that far ahead.
Let alone that if I turned fifty, she’d be fifty too—such a distant future never once crossed my mind.’”

“How innocent,” Ichirō said, his tone almost admiring.
The guests, who had been silent until now, suddenly voiced their agreement with him, saying things like, “Utterly innocent indeed,” and “Ah, when you’re young, you do become so single-mindedly earnest.”

“However, within a week or less of this, he began to regret it—though the woman remained unperturbed, he himself became utterly apologetic."
“Typical of a young master—utterly spineless, I tell you.”
"But being an honest sort, he finally worked up the nerve to formally propose breaking off the marriage to her—and with a mortified expression, apologized by saying something like ‘Forgive me’ or whatnot, they say."
“In that case, even though they’re the same age, she’s a woman after all—hearing a childish phrase like ‘Forgive me’ might make her seem endearing, but it could also come off as utterly absurd.”

Father laughed loudly.
The guests laughed in echo.
Elder Brother alone wore a strange expression, as though he couldn't decide whether he found it amusing or bitter.
In his mind, all such stories seemed to manifest as solemn matters of life.
From his perspective on life, even Father's manner of storytelling might have sounded frivolous.

According to Father's account, though the woman soon took her leave and departed without ever reappearing, the man thereafter became absorbed in thought for two or three months—his soul clinging motionless to one spot like a barnacle.
Even when the woman visited under pretext of being in the neighborhood, he barely spoke a word, whether from propriety before others or some other reason.
Moreover, during that encounter at lunchtime when she served him as before, he spoke as sparingly as if meeting a stranger for the first time.

The woman too never crossed the threshold of the man's house again.
The man, as though he had completely forgotten the woman’s existence, graduated from school, started a family, and passed over twenty years without any contact with her until quite recently.

15

“If it had ended there, it would’ve remained merely an anecdote.”
“But fate is a terrible thing…” Father continued his tale.

I wondered what Father would say next and found myself unable to look away from his face.
The gist of Father’s story went roughly like this.

Some twenty-odd years after the man had nearly forgotten the woman, they met suddenly through fate’s machinations.
Their encounter occurred in central Tokyo.
To be precise, it was said to have happened on a chilly evening when events like the Meijinkai or Bionkai were being held at the Yūrakuza.

At that time, the man was sitting with his wife and daughter in reserved seats—though he didn’t know which row on the orchestra floor.
No sooner had they entered than five minutes passed when the aforementioned woman came in, guided by another young woman.
They too seemed to have reserved seats by telephone or such means, for they were led to the spot next to the man’s seat marked with an “Engaged” paper tag and sat down quietly.
The two found themselves sitting side by side in this strange place, their proximity just as peculiar as the setting itself.
What struck him as even more peculiar was how the woman had become blind, her face now lacking any expression from before, completely unaware of who else might be present as she listened solely to the music from the stage—a reality he could scarcely have imagined.

The man was initially startled upon seeing the face of the woman sitting beside him, as though his memories of the past twenty years had been suddenly upended. Next, realizing that the face which had once stared at him with dark eyes was now gone from the woman's features, he was struck by a sense of dismay and desolation.

The man had sat nearly motionless in his seat until past ten o'clock, barely registering whatever unfolded on stage.
He could only imagine in various ways the dark threads of fate spun from his parting with the woman up to this very day.
The woman neither saw nor recognized the man from her past now seated beside her, having no moment to even register his presence; she merely revealed in the furrow of her thick brows the faintest trace of laboring to recall youthful days through the decaying strains of bygone music.

They met suddenly and parted just as abruptly.
The man would often recall the woman even after their parting.
What troubled him most was her blindness.
So he resolved to ascertain where she now lived.

“Being both foolishly honest and earnest, the man finally succeeded.”
“I did hear how he managed it, but it’s so tedious I’ve forgotten.”
“Apparently, the next time he went to the Yūrakuza Theater, he got hold of an usher and, after some doing, went through quite a number of complicated steps.”

“Where had that woman been?” I felt compelled to ask.

“That’s a secret.”
“Names and locations are not to be disclosed at all.”
“It’s a promise, you see.”
“That’s all well and good, but then he asks me to visit where that blind woman resides.”
“I can’t fathom his true intention—it amounts to something like a courtesy call.”
“Being an educated man, he presented all manner of pedantic rationalizations...”
“In essence, he seeks to bridge past and present for peace of mind.”
“Moreover, how she became blind seemed to torment him—though he has no intention of renewing ties now, what with his wife and child to consider.”
“To make matters worse, when parting from her long ago, he’d spouted unnecessary words.”
“‘I mean to continue my studies,’ he said, ‘so I shan’t marry before thirty-five or thirty-six.’”
“‘Thus I had no choice but to annul our prior arrangement.’”
“Yet that fellow married straight after graduating—his conscience must trouble him sorely.”
“And so it fell to me to go.”

“Oh, how ridiculous,” said Sister-in-law.

“It did seem absurd, but I went through with it in the end,” answered Father.
The guests and I burst into laughter tinged with curiosity.

16

Father had an unseen streak of levity about him. Some called him a straightforward sort like Oju; others described him as a man you could relax around.

“The old man really built up his position with that, huh.”
“The truth is, that’s just how the world works.”
“Even if one engages in proper scholarship or earnestly organizes their thoughts, society doesn’t value them in the slightest.”
“They’ll just despise you.”

Elder brother had once confided to me privately such a muddle of feelings—whether complaint, sarcasm, irony, or fact—that defied categorization.
In terms of disposition, I resembled Father more than Elder brother.
Moreover, being young at the time, I hadn’t understood his meaning as clearly as I did now.

After all, I interpreted that Father’s willingness to accept the visit when asked by that man likely stemmed from the inherent eccentricity he was born with.

Father eventually visited the blind woman’s house.
When he was about to go, the man said it was a token gift—wrapping a hundred-yen bill in paper adorned with a ceremonial cord and adding a large box of sweets—then handed it to Father.
Father received it and had the rickshaw hurry to the woman’s house.

The woman’s house was narrow yet neatly kept and comfortably arranged.
In the veranda corner sat a Mikage stone water basin with a round carved hollow, while a still-fresh Mitsukoshi hand towel swayed on its rack.
The small household remained utterly silent without a sound.

Father said that when he first met the blind woman in this small, sunlit yet tea-toned sitting room, he had been at a loss for what to say.

“It sounds absurd for a man like me to admit being tongue-tied—such a ridiculous embarrassment—but I was truly flustered then.”
“After all, she was blind.”

Father deliberately said this to amuse everyone.

He finally revealed the man’s name on the spot and, taking out the gift items, placed them before the woman.
The woman, due to her poor eyesight, ran her hands over the box of sweets to feel its shape before saying politely, “How very kind of you…” But the moment she picked up the paper-wrapped package lying atop it, her expression changed slightly as she pressed, “And this?”
Father, being his usual self, let out a booming laugh and said, “That too is part of the gift. Please accept them together.”
Still holding the ceremonial cord’s knot, she asked in return, “Might this be money?”

“No, it’s a trifling amount—but as it’s Mr. ○○’s token of goodwill, please accept it.”

When Father said this, the woman dropped the paper package onto the tatami with a thud.
With her closed eyes fixed firmly on Father, she said, “I am now a widow, but until recently, I had a husband of standing.
“The children are still in good health even now.”
“Even if there had been any relationship between us, I cannot accept money from others—it would be disrespectful to my late husband’s spirit, who ensured I could live comfortably—so I must return this,” she declared decisively, shedding tears.

“I was truly at a loss here,” Father said, looking around at everyone’s faces, but for once, no one laughed.
I thought to myself that even Father—capable as he was—must have been overwhelmed then.

“Though flustered at the time, I found myself thinking—ah, if Kagekiyo were a woman, this must be how she’d behave.”
“I was genuinely impressed.”
“As for why Kagekiyo came to mind...”
“It wasn’t merely their shared blindness.”
“That woman’s very bearing...”

Father was thinking.
The red-faced guest seated diagonally across from Father said, “It must be because their spirits are truly alike,” as though solving some profound riddle.

“Precisely—their spirits,” Father readily agreed.
Thinking Father’s story had reached its conclusion, I remarked in an evaluative tone, “That certainly was an intriguing tale.”
Then Father said, “There’s more to it yet.
The latter part is even more compelling.
Especially for a young man like Jirō to hear,” he added.

17

Father, taken aback by the woman’s unexpected insight and having his story interrupted, reluctantly attempted to rise from his seat.
Then, for the first time, the woman’s face took on a feminine expression as she clung to Father to stop him.
And then she asked when, on what day, and where ○○ had seen her.
Father related the matter of that Yurakuza to the blind woman without concealing anything.

“He was apparently sitting right next to you.”
“You likely had no idea, but ○○ had noticed from the very beginning.”
“But in front of his wife and daughter, he likely couldn’t bring himself to speak up.”
“He said he just went home accordingly.”

At that moment, Father saw tears flowing from the blind woman’s tear ducts for the first time.

“If I may ask, was it long ago that your eyes became afflicted?” he asked.

“It must have been about six years since I entered this disabled state.”
“It happened within a year of my husband’s passing.”
“Unlike those born blind, I found it extremely difficult to adjust at first.”

Father could offer no consolation.
Her husband had apparently been some manner of contractor who, while spending lavishly during his lifetime, left behind substantial assets.
Father explained that thanks to this inheritance, she could maintain respectable independence even now with her afflicted eyes.

She had a son and daughter worthy of pride.
Though her son had not received higher education, he apparently earned sufficient income at a trading company near Ginza to live independently.
As for the daughter, she seemed to have been raised in the manner of the working-class districts, made to devote herself exclusively to practicing songs and shamisen.
Through it all, they appeared to share nothing with ○○ beyond a single memory seared into the distant past.

When Father spoke about the Yurakuza, the woman moistened both her eyes and said, “Truly, there is nothing as pitiable as being blind.” This struck Father’s heart deeply, it seems.

“Mr. ○○, what is he doing now?” the woman asked Father with a gaze that seemed to envision something in midair.
After fully recounting ○○’s career since graduating from school, Father said, “He’s become quite distinguished now.”
“He’s nothing like an old relic such as myself,” he added.

The woman, paying no heed to Father’s response, inquired softly, “I presume he has married a most admirable wife by now?”

“Yes, he already has four children.”

“How old is the eldest one?”

“Well, let’s see… she must be around twelve or thirteen by now.”
“She’s a lovely girl, you know.”

The woman remained silent and began counting something on her fingers.
Father, who had been watching her fingers, suddenly became frightened.
And having said something unnecessary in his mind, he thought it was already beyond retrieval.

The woman paused for a moment, then simply said, “That will do nicely,” and laughed forlornly.
However, Father said that her manner of laughing gave him a stranger sensation than if she had cried or gotten angry.

Father clearly told her ○○’s address and said, “When you have a little free time, why not take your daughter along and drop by for a visit? It’s a rather nice house, you know. He also said you can usually meet him in the evenings.”
Then the woman’s brows darkened at once. “People like us could never possibly visit such a splendid residence,” she said, then fell silent for a while in thought. But suddenly, as though unable to contain herself, she spoke in a grave voice: “We will not visit. Even if the other party were to tell us to come, we must politely decline here. But there is just one humble request I must make in my lifetime. Since I believe this chance to meet you like this will never come again, I wish to make my one request heard and then part ways in good spirits.”

18

Father, being a man with less fortitude than his years would suggest, apparently worried a great deal when addressed thus by the woman, fearing what dreadful words she might string together.

"Fortunately, since the other person's eyes couldn't see, I managed to avoid having my own flustered state noticed," he pointedly added.

At that moment, the woman was said to have spoken thus.

“As you can see,” she said moistening both eyes that could no longer weep properly through damaged tear ducts,“ever since my eyes were afflicted,I’ve been unable to perceive any color whatsoever.I can no longer worship even the sun itself.When I need to step outside briefly,I must burden my daughter to manage simple errands.When I consider how few people remain capable of walking freely alone even in old age,I’m tormented wondering what karmic sin condemned me to this affliction.Yet I wouldn’t find these eyes’ destruction particularly painful.What truly agonizes me is that though both eyes stay wide open,I cannot fathom others’ true intentions.”

“Indeed,” Father answered.
“Quite right,” he added.
Yet the meaning behind her words never reached him.
He explicitly stated he’d had no such experience himself.
Hearing Father’s evasive response, the woman pressed: “Don’t you agree?”

“Well, such cases certainly exist,” said Father.

“If you merely say ‘such cases exist,’ then wouldn’t that render your efforts in vain—coming all the way here after being specially asked by Mr. ○○?” the woman said.
Father became increasingly cornered.

At that moment, I happened to catch sight of my elder brother’s face.
Comparing the nervously tense look in his eyes with her lips that seemed to betray a faint sneer, I suddenly became aware of the peculiar tension that had been festering between them all this time.
The stench of a certain loathsome air—the fact that I too was being dragged into that entanglement—mercilessly assailed my nostrils.
I began to feel uneasy—why would Father tell such a story, of all things, even as he called it mere diversion?
But everything was already too late.
Father, feigning ignorance, continued steering the conversation as he pleased.

“Even so, I didn’t understand,” Father said calmly to the woman. “Having come all this way at ○○’s request, it would surely displease both you and ○○ himself if I were to return without hearing the essential matter. Please—won’t you fully open your heart to me? Otherwise, it would be difficult for me to explain things to ○○ when I go back.”

At that moment, her face showed a resolute expression for the first time. “Then I shall speak,” she began. “Since you have taken the trouble to come here as Mr. ○○’s proxy, you must be someone deeply connected to him.” With this preface, she laid bare her innermost thoughts to Father.

What the woman most wanted to know was this: when ○○ had made a marriage promise only to decide to break it off before even a week had passed, was it because he had been forced to refuse under pressure from circumstances around him, or had he found some newly dislikable trait after making the promise—and she wished to hear the unvarnished truth of which it was.

The woman could no longer bear leaving buried this secret that had lain in the depths of ○○’s heart for over twenty years.
For her, losing the two eyes that all people under heaven possess and being treated by others as less than whole was far less painful than being unable to securely hold in her hands the heart of the person she had once pledged herself to.

“Father, what response did you give?” Ichirō suddenly asked at that moment.
His face seemed to show not so much ordinary interest as an abnormal sympathy.

“Well, I had no choice, so I told her, ‘Don’t worry—I’ll vouch for him.’”
“I answered that there wasn’t a trace of frivolity in him,” Father said to his brother, his offhand reply coming out almost boastfully.

19

“Was she satisfied with that?” my brother asked.
From my perspective, my brother’s question carried an unassailable force.
It resonated within me like a kind of psychic force.

Whether Father noticed or not, he answered calmly in this manner.

“At first, she seemed unable to be satisfied.
‘Of course, what I said didn’t have such deep roots to begin with.’
‘To tell the truth, as I mentioned earlier to you all, the man was just like a spoiled brat—utterly lacking in any sense of responsibility—so he couldn’t possibly have made a proper proposal.’
‘But that he regretted not having stopped after getting involved with the woman—it’s probably not far from the truth.’”

Ichirō was looking at Father with a bitter expression.
Father, as if pondering what it meant, stroked his long cheeks twice with both hands.

“I feel somewhat hesitant to bring up such a story in this gathering,” my brother said.
I listened while wondering what kind of argument would emerge from his mouth, thinking that depending on how things progressed, I might try to redirect its trajectory in a direction that wouldn’t trouble those present.
Then he continued:

“Men devote more intense love than women until satisfying their carnal desires, but once matters are consummated, their affection gradually declines—whereas women grow increasingly attached to the man after forming such relations.”
“I believe this holds true whether viewed through evolutionary theory or societal realities.”
“So don’t you think that man ended up refusing marriage after losing interest in the woman later on, governed by this principle?”

"What a strange story," she said. "As a mere woman, I don't understand such convoluted reasoning—this is my first time hearing such a thing. How fascinating the world can be."

When my sister-in-law spoke these words, I noticed an unpleasant expression flash across my elder brother's face—one he'd never want guests to witness—and quickly sought to divert attention with some remark. But Father spoke first.

"From an academic perspective, there might be various interpretations," he said, "but putting it plainly—even if we assume he'd grown tired of her, first and foremost, the man was caught off guard." He paused, then added: "And being timid, imprudent yet honest—even without strong aversion, he might still find refusal difficult."

Having said that, Father remained composed.

A guest who had placed a Noh chant book in front of the bedding turned to Father at that moment and said:

“However, women are tenacious creatures after all. To think she kept it folded up in her heart for over twenty years. Truly, you performed a good deed. If you had reassured her like that, you can’t imagine how happy it would have made that blind woman.”

Another guest continued: “That’s where the tact lies in all negotiations, you see. If only all matters were handled that way—who knows how advantageous it would be for both parties.”

When another guest followed up with these remarks, Father scratched his head and said, “Oh, not at all—truthfully, as I mentioned earlier, at first even that much wasn’t enough to dispel her suspicions, so I was rather at a loss. I added some polish here and there, even made up a few lies, but in the end I managed to convince her. It was quite a hassle,” he said with a touch of pride.

Eventually, the guest wrapped the Noh chant book in a wrapping cloth and passed through the dew-dampened gate to leave.
Amidst everyone else making idle chatter afterward, only my elder brother entered his study alone with a stern expression.
I listened, as usual, to each heavy clack of his geta echoing coldly through the hall, then turned my ear to the resounding thud of the door as it shut firmly.

20

Two or three weeks passed in that manner.
In time, autumn gradually deepened.
Each time he peered into the garden, the deep hue of the cockscomb appeared before his eyes.

His elder brother left for school by rickshaw.
When he returned from school, he would usually enter his study and do something.
Even family members rarely had opportunities to meet face-to-face.
When there was a need, they would go up to the second floor themselves and make a point of opening the door—this had become customary.
His elder brother was always directing his eyes at large books.
Otherwise, he was writing small characters with a fountain pen.
What caught our eyes most was when he sat blankly propping his cheek on the Western-style desk.

He seemed deeply engrossed in thought.
As he was both a scholar and thinker, sitting silently thinking might have seemed natural—yet those who opened the door and saw his state would say they felt a chill and hurry out once their business was done.
Even Mother, who shared the closest bond with him, did not appear to find visits to the study particularly welcome.

“Jirō, are all scholars such eccentric creatures?”

When I heard this question, I felt as if not being a scholar was a strange sort of happiness.
So I just gave a sheepish laugh.

Then Mother said with a serious face, “Jirō, if you leave, the house will grow lonelier than ever—so do arrange to find yourself a good bride and move out soon.”
To me, it was clear that behind Mother’s words lay the implication that if even I were to establish a new household and become independent, my elder brother’s mood might improve somewhat.
I even doubted whether my elder brother was still entertaining such peculiar notions.
However, I was already of an age when one ought to start a family, and my current position provided an income that could—with some effort—sustain at least a modest household; thus, such thoughts had occasionally crossed even my typically indifferent mind.

“Mother, there’s really no need for me to move out,” I said. “If you tell me to leave even starting tomorrow, I will. But when it comes to a bride—unlike some stray pup that’ll take anything so long as it’s scooped off the roadside—that sort of haphazard approach doesn’t suit me.” Just as Mother began to reply, “Well, naturally—” I deliberately interrupted her.

“Speaking before you, Mother—this concerns Elder Brother and Sister-in-law. There are various complicated circumstances involved, and since I’ve known Sister-in-law for some time now, I regret causing you worry—but to speak plainly, the fault lies with Elder Brother begrudging any time spent outside his studies, leaving everything to others while maintaining that aloof nobleman’s air without lifting a finger himself. No matter how precious his research hours or how vital his university lectures—isn’t she his wife, bound to live out her days in the same place enduring the same existence? Were we to hear Elder Brother’s thoughts, no doubt he’d offer some scholar-appropriate rationale—but those of us beneath scholars could never manage such pretensions.”

As I was spouting such nonsensical logic, a tear-like glimmer gradually pooled in Mother’s eyes without my noticing, so I stopped in surprise.

Whether it was due to thick-skinned audacity or a sheer lack of reserve, I—unlike the rest of the household, who treated my elder brother’s study door with such cautious deference, as though revering it yet keeping their distance—knocked and spoke there far more frequently than others.
The immediate sensation upon entering inside even affected me somewhat.
However, after about ten minutes had passed, he became as cheerful as if he were a completely different person.
I even went so far as to deliberately visit his study with an attitude that seemed designed to satisfy my own vanity—placing weight on my skill in thus overturning my elder brother’s bitter mood.
To confess, even when I was suddenly seized by my elder brother and nearly driven to a fatal predicament, it was precisely during one of these moments of confidence.

21

At that time, I cannot now recall exactly what I had been talking about.
I seem to remember hearing from my elder brother about the history of billiards and being shown a copperplate-engraved billiard table from Louis XIV’s era.

When entering his room, the safest approach was to use such topics as a pretext and dutifully listen to his newly acquired knowledge.
Though truth be told, I was rather talkative myself, often brandishing terms like “Renaissance” and “Gothic” with an air of expertise—albeit in different realms than his.
Typically, we would leave the study after nothing more than these detached conversations, but on this occasion, by some chance, my brother’s favored theories on heredity and evolution surfaced following the copperplate discussion.
I likely had nothing to contribute and thus remained silent, simply listening—or so it seemed.
“Jirō,” my brother suddenly declared, “you truly are Father’s son.”
I made a face that stopped just short of asking “So what?” and replied, “I suppose I am.”

“I’m only telling you this because it’s you, but doesn’t Father have a certain kind of flightiness about him?”

I had long understood that if Elder Brother were to evaluate Father, he would indeed be exactly as described.
But I didn’t know how to respond to my elder brother in this situation.

“That likely isn’t about heredity or disposition as you say.”
“If current Japanese society weren’t structured that way, it wouldn’t let people pass through—so isn’t it unavoidable?”
“In this world there are still insufferable scatterbrains far worse than Father. You might not grasp this, Elder Brother, spending your days so nobly holed up in your study and school.”
“You might not understand because you pass your time so loftily shut away in your study and school—”

“Well, I know that too.”
“You’re right.”
“Current Japanese society—though perhaps the West is no different—is built so only those who glide skillfully across surfaces can exist. There’s nothing to be done.”

Having said this, Elder Brother buried his head in silence for a while.
Then he raised his languid eyes.

"But Jirō, Father’s case—it’s unfortunate, but it’s simply the nature he was born with."
"No matter what society he lives in, Father would find it difficult to exist in any way other than that, wouldn’t he?"

I lowered my face to stare at my knees, witnessing before my eyes how Elder Brother—who through his scholarship had become too lofty and impractical—was not only treated as an eccentric by the entire household but grew increasingly distant even from his own parents day by day.

“Jirō, you’re cut from the same cloth as Father.”
“You don’t have the slightest bit of sincerity in your character,” Elder Brother said.

I possessed the same savage disposition as Elder Brother—a temper that flared up unexpectedly—yet upon hearing his words in this instance, not a shred of anger sprouted within me.

“That’s too harsh.
“At any rate, I can’t stand lumping Father in with the superficial people of the world.
“Elder Brother, you hole yourself up alone in your study all the time—that’s why you keep making such warped observations.”

“Then I’ll give you an example.”

Elder Brother’s eyes suddenly flashed.
I instinctively shut my mouth.

“The other day when we had the Noh recital guest, Father told that story about the blind woman, didn’t he? There he went acting as some grand emissary for that man—what was his name—while glossing over how she’d been tormented for over twenty years without ever understanding why. I wept inside for her that day. Not out of sympathy—she was a stranger to me—but at Father’s shallowness. It struck me as utterly pitiful.…”

“If you interpret things through such feminine sensibilities, of course everything will appear shallow…”

“That very statement proves you’ve inherited Father’s flaws.”
“I entrusted you with Oju’s affair and waited endlessly for your report.”
“Yet you persist in cloaking your words with evasion and vagueness…”

22

“It’s rather pitiful to be called vague like that.”
“There was neither opportunity nor need to speak of it anyway.”

“Opportunities arise daily.”
“The need lies with me even if not with you—that’s why I made this special request.”

At that moment, I found myself thoroughly cornered.
The truth was, ever since that incident, appearing alone before Elder Brother to discuss Oju in earnest had been excruciating.
I attempted to forcibly divert the conversation’s trajectory.

“Elder Brother already does not trust Father.”
“Since I’m also Father’s child, you don’t trust me either—but that completely contradicts what you said at Wakaura.”

“What?” Elder Brother retorted with a touch of anger.

“What do you mean ‘what’? At that time, didn’t you say—”
“You’ve inherited Father’s honest blood, so you can be trusted—that’s why I confided in you and asked this.”

When I said this, it was now Elder Brother who showed signs of being cornered.
Thinking this was my moment, I deliberately put more force than usual into my words as I spoke:

“Since I made that promise, I’ve no objection to telling you here and now everything that happened with Sister-in-law at that time.”
“Naturally, I considered it too trivial a matter to bring up unless an opportunity arose—and even if I did speak of it, it’d be settled with a single sentence. As long as you weren’t concerned about it, I saw no need to mention anything and kept quiet until today.”
“But if you’re going to hound me like some petty official ordered to file a report—fine. I’ll tell you exactly what I witnessed this instant.”
“Though I’ll warn you upfront—no bizarre illusions like the ones you’re anticipating will emerge from my account.”
“They’re phantoms that’ve always existed solely in your head—they don’t objectively exist anywhere.”

When Elder Brother heard my words, unlike his usual self, he didn’t move a single muscle in his face.
He simply sat with his elbows planted on the Western-style desk, utterly motionless.
Since he kept his eyes downcast throughout, I couldn’t discern his expression at all.
Elder Brother appeared rational on the surface yet harbored this tendency to capriciously abandon that very rationality.
I merely observed his slightly paling complexion and concluded this must be the effect of my forceful words having struck him.

I took out a cigarette from the tobacco case there and struck a match.
And then I gazed equally at the blue smoke rising from my nose and Elder Brother’s face.

“Jirō,” Elder Brother finally said.
His voice held neither force nor strain.

“What is it?” I answered.
My voice carried a haughty edge.

“I won’t ever ask you anything more about Oju.”

“Is that so? That way would be better for Elder Brother, Sister-in-law, and Father as well. Please strive to become a virtuous husband. Then Sister-in-law will be a virtuous wife as well,” I said, defending her while admonishing Elder Brother.

“You idiot!” Elder Brother suddenly shouted loudly.
The voice likely carried downstairs, but to me sitting right beside him, it drove an almost entirely unexpected shock straight into my heart.

“You may be Father’s child and better at worldly matters than I am, but you’re a man unfit for scholarly discourse.
Why would I want to hear about Oju from your mouth now?
You frivolous fool!”

My hips involuntarily lifted from the chair I’d been sitting on.
I walked straight toward the door.

“After hearing Father’s false confession, why the hell would I rely on your report?”

I closed the door with those harsh words at my back and stepped out onto the dark staircase.

23

For about a week after that, I did not meet my elder brother except during dinner.
I—who had even been considered by everyone as bearing the duty to enliven the dining table—suddenly fell silent, which made the table strangely lonely.
Even the chirping of crickets somewhere resounded in the ears of those seated like a symbol of the encroaching chill.

Within this desolate family gathering, Miss Otei served with a tray on her lap as though nothing existed in her world but the approaching date of her marriage drawing nearer each day.
The cheerful Father kept talking obliviously about his own peculiar stories.
Yet no response arose from anywhere as usual.
Even Father showed no sign of having anticipated this.

The only one who occasionally made everyone at the table burst into laughter at once was Yoshie.
Whenever the conversation lapsed and Mother naturally grew uneasy, she would fabricate some issue like “Yoshie, you…” to plaster over the moment, as was her habit.
Then that forcedness immediately grated on Elder Brother’s nerves.

Each time I left the dining table and returned to my room, I smoked a cigarette as though exhaling a sigh of relief.

"It’s so pointless."
"Even more tedious than dining with complete strangers."
"I wonder if all other families are such unpleasant things as well."

There were times when I thought like this and resolved to leave home as soon as possible.
On occasions when the atmosphere at the dining table grew too chilly, Otei would yearn for me and enter my room as though chasing after me.
She would burst into tears there without saying a word.
At times she would glare at me as though interrogating why I didn’t apologize to my brother sooner, her eyes filled with reproach.

I had grown increasingly sick of being at home.
Though by nature I’m hasty yet indecisive, this time I’d firmly resolved to take it easy for a while—whether by moving into a boarding house or renting a room.
I went to consult with Misa.
At that time I said to him, “It’s because you’re lingering so long in places like Osaka that things go wrong.”
He retorted, “It’s because you’ve been clinging around Ms. Oju and others for so long that things go wrong.”

Since returning from the Kansai region, I’d met with him countless times, but regarding my sister-in-law, I had never once mentioned her to him.
He too had kept his mouth completely shut and said nothing regarding his own sister-in-law.

For the first time, I heard my sister-in-law’s name pass his lips.
I heard his words laying bare the relationship between her and me—one that could be interpreted as either deep or shallow.
I fixed eyes filled with surprise and doubt on Misa.
Interpreting the anger in my gaze, he said, “Don’t be angry.”
Then he continued: “At least I’m safer—vain enough to imagine some madwoman, and a dead one at that, fell for me.”
“Though I suppose it’s rather unsettling instead.”
“But since no trouble will come of it—whether I love or am loved—it makes no difference at all,” he added.
I kept silent.
“Well?” he laughed, seizing my shoulder and giving it a jab.
I couldn’t tell at all whether he meant this seriously or as a joke.
Whether earnest or mocking, I felt no urge to explain or justify myself to him.

Even so, I had Misa recommend a couple of suitable lodgings and stopped by my room on my way back to look it over before leaving.
The moment I returned home—before anyone else—I called Otei and announced: “Just as you advised me about Elder Brother’s situation—I’ve finally decided to leave home.”
Otei knit her brow with an expression both startled and expectant before staring intently at my face.

24

Speaking as siblings, Otei and I had never been particularly close. That I told her first about my decision to leave stemmed less from affection than from having succumbed to a spiteful impulse. Yet no sooner had I spoken than tears began pooling in both of Otei's eyes.

"Please go quickly then," she said. "In return, I'll marry wherever they send me—the sooner the better."

I kept silent.

“Once you leave home—without ever coming back—you intend to immediately take a wife and become independent?” she asked again.

In front of her, I answered, “Of course.”
At that moment, Otei let the tears she had been holding back until now fall drop by drop onto her lap.

"Why are you crying so much?" I suddenly asked in a gentle voice.
In truth, I hadn't anticipated even a single tear from Otei's eyes regarding this matter.

"But I'm the only one being left behind..."

This was all I could clearly make out.
The rest was fragmented by her frantic sobbing and struck my eardrums in broken pieces.

I began smoking a cigarette as usual.
And then quietly waited for her to stop crying.
She soon wiped her eyes with her sleeve and stood up.
When I saw her retreating figure, I suddenly felt sorry for her.

“Otei, we may have done nothing but quarrel, but we probably won’t get many chances to bicker like this anymore.”
“Let’s make up.”
“Let’s shake hands.”

I stretched out my hand with these words.
Otei hesitated awkwardly instead.

I thought that from now on, I would gradually have to confess my decision to leave home to Father and Mother and seek their approval one by one. However, having to go to Elder Brother’s place last and repeat the same resolution was the only thing that troubled me.

It was indeed the following day that I confessed to Mother.
Mother seemed startled by my abrupt decision. “I’d thought if you were to leave, it would be after finding a wife...”
“Well, I suppose there’s no helping it,” she said, then looked at me with resignation.
I made to head straight for Father’s study.
Mother called out abruptly from behind.

“Jirō... Even if you leave home...”

Her words faltered there.
When I asked “What?” in return, I found myself rooted to the spot.

“Have you already spoken to your brother?” Mother suddenly brought up an unrelated matter.

“No,” I answered.

“It might actually be better for you to tell him directly yourself. If Father or Mother were to relay it for you, they might just end up hurting his feelings instead.”

“Yes, I think so too. I intend to leave everything in good order.”

With this declaration, I immediately entered Father’s study.
Father was writing a long letter.

“From Okada in Osaka came another inquiry about Otei’s marriage recently—I’d been meaning to write a reply but kept putting it off until today. So now I’m finally fulfilling that obligation.”
“Since we’re on the subject—the ‘kei’ character you write in your salutations is wrong.”
“If you’re going to use cursive, follow the proper form shown there.”

The edge of the long letter lay before my knees where I sat.
I examined the Kei character sideways but couldn't discern any error.
While Father worked his brush, I mentally evaluated the yellow chrysanthemums arranged on the tatami and the hanging scroll behind them.

Twenty-Five

Father was rolling up the long letter from the bottom while saying, “Do you need something? It’s not money again, is it.
“There’s no money,” he said, writing the address on the envelope.

After stating my decision very briefly, I appended a formal phrase like “I have been a burden all this time…” afterward.
“Hmm,” Father replied.
He pasted a stamp on the envelope’s corner and asked me, “Ring that bell for me.”
“I’ll have it sent,” I said, taking the letter.
“Write your boarding house address and give it to Mother,” he instructed.
Then he launched into various explanations about floor measurements.

I left Father’s room after hearing that much. With this, the only ones left to inform were now Elder Brother and Sister-in-law. Since the recent incident, I had hardly exchanged friendly words with Elder Brother. I did not have the courage to get angry at him. If I could have gotten angry, I should have already been enraged when I left his study after being scolded that day. I was not the kind of person to fear a small plaster statue might come flying at me from behind. But in that moment alone, I felt as though the wellspring of courage needed for anger had already dried up. I retreated powerlessly, like a ghost that slips into a room only to vanish again with a faint sigh. Even afterward, no courage emerged—not the courage to knock on his study door and apologize properly. Thus each day, I only saw his face bearing that bitter expression at the dinner table.

Lately, I had hardly spoken with Sister-in-Law either.
Rather than "lately," it might be more accurate to say "since returning from Osaka."
She was the sole owner of a small room where she kept her own chest of drawers and such.
However, the time she and Yoshie spent playing there alone didn’t amount to much even when added up over the course of a day.
She usually spent her days doing sewing and other tasks with Mother.

On the bright morning when I had revealed my future plans to Father and Mother, on the veranda connecting the toilet to the bathhouse, I abruptly came face to face with this Sister-in-Law.

“Jirō-san, I hear you’re moving to a boarding house.”
“Do you hate the house?” she suddenly asked.
She had adopted a manner of speech that seemed to have been passed down from Mother without her realizing it.
“Yes, I’ve decided to leave for a while,” I answered casually.

“That way you’ll avoid any trouble, I suppose.”

She thought I would say something and stared intently at my face.
However, I didn’t say anything.

“And then you should take a wife soon,” she said again.
I remained silent.

“The sooner you do it, the better. Shall I find you a mistress?” she asked again.

“Please do,” I said, opening my mouth for the first time.

Sister-in-law showed a faint smile at both ends of her thin lips—a smile that seemed to look down on me while also teasing—then deliberately made her footsteps loud as she left toward the parlor.

I remained silent and stared at the large copper basin propped in the corner of the hardened earthen floor between the bathhouse and toilet. This basin measured over two shaku (about sixty centimeters) across—so heavy and large that lifting it alone would have been difficult for me. Since childhood, whenever I saw this basin, I had imagined adults must use it for their ablutions, delighting privately in this notion. Now it sat desolately coated in dust.

Through the low glass door, begonias I'd remembered since childhood displayed their unchanging seasonal colors with melancholy persistence. Standing before them, I recalled how Elder Brother and I would knock jujubes from the tree by the entrance each early autumn to eat them. Though still young myself, discovering such an expanse of innocent past stretching behind me made comparisons between then and now surge unbidden through my chest.

And then I thought of the impending change—that I would now have to exchange unpleasant words with this Elder Brother, who had once been our ringleader of brats, and leave my home.

Twenty-Six

That day, when I returned from the office and asked Oju, “Elder Brother?” I received the reply, “Not yet.”

When I pressed further, asking, “Is today a day when he goes somewhere?” Oju replied, “I don’t know,” then said, “Shall I go to the study and check the schedule on the wall for you?”

I simply asked to be informed when Elder Brother returned and entered the room without seeing anyone. Changing out of my Western clothes seemed like too much trouble, so I lay down as I was, and before I knew it, I fell into a deep sleep. As I was being assailed by an anxiety-inducing dream—so complex and shifting it was impossible to explain to anyone—I was suddenly awakened by Oju.

“Elder Brother has returned.”

When her words reached my ears, I immediately stood up. Yet my consciousness remained foggy, still traversing the lingering dreamscape. From behind me, Oju advised, “At least go wash your face.” My muddled awareness didn’t feel compelled to muster even that much resolve.

I entered Elder Brother’s study unchanged. He too remained in his Western attire. Hearing the door’s sound, he abruptly turned his gaze toward the entrance. That look clearly harbored specific expectations. Whenever he returned from outings during that period, it had been customary for Sister-in-Law to appear with Yoshie in tow, bringing his everyday kimono. I recalled being present when Mother instructed her—“Do it this way”—to Sister-in-Law. Even through my haze, I understood from Elder Brother’s expression that he awaited not the garment, but rather Sister-in-Law and Yoshie themselves.

It was precisely because I was in a dazed, half-awake state that I nonchalantly slid open the door to his room; yet when he saw me standing at the threshold, he showed not a shadow of anger. However, he merely remained silent, keeping watch over my suit-clad figure, and showed no sign of suddenly speaking.

“Brother, I have something to discuss…”

With that, I finally broached the subject myself.

“Please come in.”

His tone remained composed.
To my ears, it carried no trace of preoccupation with recent events.
He deliberately positioned a chair before himself for me and gestured me to sit.

I deliberately did not sit down and, keeping my hand on the back of the chair, delivered a greeting nearly identical to what I had said to Father and Mother. Elder Brother listened quietly with the demeanor of a scholar worthy of respect. When I finished my brief explanation, he said in a manner neither joyful nor sorrowful, as though receiving an ordinary guest, “Well, have a seat there.”

He wore a black morning coat and was smoking a cigar with not a particularly pleasant aroma.

“If you want to leave, then leave.
You’re a full-fledged adult now too,” he said, blowing smoke for a while.
“But it would be troublesome if everyone thought I made you leave,” he added.
“That’s not the case.
I’m leaving purely due to my own circumstances,” I replied.

My sleep-fogged mind was gradually clearing.
Wanting to escape Elder Brother’s presence quickly made me turn toward the room’s entrance.

“Since Oju and Yoshie seem to be bathing now, no one will come up here. There’s no need to fidget so much—take your time talking. Why don’t you turn on the electric light as well?”

I stood up and brightened the room. Then I took one of the cigars Elder Brother was smoking and lit it.

“They’re eight sen each. Must be pretty lousy tobacco, don’t you think?” he said.

Twenty-Seven

“When do you plan to leave?” Elder Brother asked again.

“I’m thinking of leaving around this coming Saturday,” I answered.

“Are you going alone?” Elder Brother asked again.

When I received this strange question, I stared blankly at Elder Brother’s face for a while.
As long as I couldn’t discern whether he was deliberately uttering such rude sarcasm or whether something had gone awry in his mind, I couldn’t settle on what course to take.

His words had always assailed my ears with their habitual sarcasm.
Yet I understood this stemmed from his intellect operating more keenly than ours, containing no true malice.
Only this particular remark reverberated in my eardrums, throbbing there with lingering heat.

Elder Brother looked at my face and chuckled nervously.
I detected a flash of hysteria even in the shadow of that laugh.

“Of course you intend to go alone. There’s no need to take anyone with you.”

“Of course. I just want to be alone and breathe some fresh air.”

“I’d like to breathe some fresh air too. However, there isn’t a single place in all of vast Tokyo that lets me breathe fresh air.”

I half pitied this elder brother who chose to isolate himself. And thus, I half grieved his oversensitive nerves.

“Why don’t you take a trip or something? It might clear your mind a bit.”

When I said this, Elder Brother took out a watch from his waistcoat’s watch pocket.

"There's still some time before dinner," he said while settling back into his chair. Then he looked at me and added, "Hey Jirō—we won't get many chances to talk like this anymore. Let's stay here and talk until dinner's ready."

I answered "Yes," but didn't sit down at all. What's more, I had nothing to talk about. Then Elder Brother suddenly asked, "You know about Paolo and Francesca's love affair, don't you?" I felt like I'd both heard and not heard of it before, so I couldn't respond immediately.

According to Elder Brother’s explanation, Paolo was Francesca’s husband’s younger brother—a tragic tale where the two secretly yearned for each other behind the husband’s back, only to be discovered and killed by him, said to appear in Dante’s *Divine Comedy* and other works. Rather than sympathizing with this pitiful story, I found myself nursing an unpleasant suspicion about Elder Brother’s motives in deliberately recounting it. Through the haze of foul-smelling tobacco smoke, he kept his gaze fixed on me while spinning this ancient Italian tale from some distant past—whether thirteenth or fourteenth century, I couldn’t tell. All the while, I barely kept my discomfort in check. Yet when he finished the story, he suddenly threw me an unexpected question.

“Jirō, why does society forget the husband’s crucial name while remembering only Paolo and Francesca? Do you know why?”

“I had no choice but to answer, ‘It’s probably like Mikatsu Hanshichi.’” Elder Brother seemed momentarily startled by this unexpected reply but finally declared, “I interpret it thus.”

“I interpret it thus: Isn’t it because love—brewed by nature—proves more sacred than human-forged marital bonds? Thus over time, voices shedding narrow society’s stifling morals to extol nature’s grand laws alone endure to prick our ears. Of course, everyone then sided with morality. They denounced such relationships as immoral. Yet that was merely a passing shower—morality’s desperate bid to quell the incident’s moment. What inevitably remains is clear skies and blazing sun: Paolo and Francesca. Well? Don’t you agree?”

Twenty-Eight

Given both my seniority and disposition, under normal circumstances I would have readily agreed with my elder brother’s argument.
Yet in this situation—unable to grasp why he deliberately raised Paolo and Francesca as an issue, nor why he gave such a pompous explanation for their eternal endurance—my natural interest was wholly eclipsed by discomfort and unease.
I listened to his explanation, grating like food lodged between molars, and wondered what exactly he meant to achieve.

“Jirō, those who side with morality may be temporary victors, but they’re eternal losers. Those who follow nature may be temporary losers, but they’re eternal victors…”

I said nothing.

“Yet I can’t even become a temporary victor. An eternal loser through and through.”

Still I didn’t respond.

“Learning sumo techniques is useless without real strength. Even if you ignore formalities, true power guarantees victory. Winning’s only natural. The forty-eight techniques are mere human contrivances. Physical strength is nature’s gift…”

Elder Brother kept expounding this strained philosophy, as if treading on shadows.
And so an eerie mist had bound me completely as I sat before him.
For me, dispelling this hazy presence proved more arduous than chewing through thick hemp rope.

"Jirō," he said finally, "you mean to persist as a victor forever—in both present and future—don't you?"

I had a short temper, but by nature, I wasn't one to charge as blatantly as my elder brother. At this particular moment, I first had to determine whether he remained entirely sane or whether overexcitement had induced an abnormal mental state. Moreover, I felt with renewed sharpness how I was being unmistakably cast as the architect of Elder Brother's psychological condition.

I finally listened to Elder Brother’s words to the end without saying a single word.
And then I thought that if he harbored such suspicions, perhaps it would be better for him to just divorce my sister-in-law and clear his mind.

Just then, that sister-in-law came up the stairs as usual, carrying Elder Brother’s everyday clothes and leading Yoshie by the hand.

She appeared at the threshold of the door, seemingly fresh from the bath. A faint red flush—pleasantly so—had risen to her normally pale cheeks tinged with a bluish hue, while her fine-textured skin showed a softness that seemed to invite touch.

She looked at her own face.
But she didn’t say a single word to me.

“I’m terribly late.”
“You must have been terribly uncomfortable.”
“Unfortunately, I was in the bath, so I couldn’t bring your clothes sooner.”

While saying this, my sister-in-law greeted Elder Brother.
Then she turned to Yoshie standing beside her and instructed, “Now tell Father you’ve returned.”
Yoshie bowed her head and said, “I’m back,” exactly as her mother had directed.

In all my years, I had never witnessed my sister-in-law display such wifely charm toward Elder Brother.
Nor had I ever seen his mood—softened by this charm—so intensely focused in his eyes.
Elder Brother was a man of formidable pride before others.
But having grown up alongside him since childhood, I could clearly trace the shifting clouds in his mind.

I left Elder Brother’s room with the joy of unexpected relief concealed in my chest.
As I was leaving, my sister-in-law gave me a slight bow and silent nod, as though greeting some unfamiliar person beneath her.
It was also a rare occurrence for me to receive such a cold greeting from her.

Twenty-Nine

Two or three days later, I finally left home.
I left the house steeped in history where my father, mother, and brothers lived.
When I departed, I felt almost nothing.
Mother and Oju making gloomy faces as if reluctant to part with me was, if anything, irritating.
They seemed intent on deliberately obstructing my freedom of action.

Only my sister-in-law smiled through her loneliness.

“You’re leaving already?”
“Farewell.”
“And do come visit often.”

After seeing Mother’s and Oju’s clouded faces, I felt a certain pleasure when I heard this bit of kindness.

Even after moving to a boarding house, I continued commuting daily to the Yūrakuchō office as usual. The one who had arranged my position there was that Misa. The office owner was someone who had once served as Misa’s guarantor—the uncle of H, Elder Brother’s colleague. This man had spent many years abroad and was an eminent figure who had accumulated considerable experience even within Japan. He had a habit of thrusting his fingers into his salt-and-pepper hair and vigorously scratching off dandruff, so whenever a brazier happened to be placed between us, it would occasionally emit an odd stench from the fire—to the great discomfort of whoever sat across from him.

“What has your brother been researching lately?” Mr. B often asked me.
I had no choice but to give my usual vague answer: “It seems he’s holed up alone in his study doing whatever he does.”

One morning when the Chinese parasol tree had shed its leaves, Mr. B suddenly grabbed me and asked again, “How’s your brother been lately?”
Even I, thoroughly accustomed to his interrogations, found myself momentarily speechless at this ambush.

“And how is his health?” he asked again.

“His health isn’t in very good condition,” I answered.

“He needs to be careful. If he keeps studying so much—” he said.

I gazed intently at his face and recognized a certain seriousness in the light of his eyebrows and eyes.

Since leaving home, I had only returned once.
When I did so, I quietly called Mother to a secluded spot and asked about Elder Brother’s condition. “He seems a bit better lately,” she said. “He sometimes goes out back to put Yoshie on the swing and push her, you know…”

I felt somewhat relieved by that.
Since then, I had spent all my days up to that point without making any opportunity to meet anyone from the household.

As I was eating a single dish I had ordered during lunchtime, Mr. B—the office owner—suddenly asked again, “You did move to a boarding house, didn’t you?”
I simply answered “Yes.”

“Why? Isn’t the house more spacious and convenient?
Or is there some trouble?”

I hesitated and gave an extremely vague response.
The piece of bread I had just swallowed felt parched and crumbly in my throat, as if completely devoid of moisture.

"But living alone might prove more carefree."
"Than being amidst all that commotion."
"By the way, you're still unmarried, aren't you? Why not take a wife already?"

I could not give my usual carefree answer to Mr. B’s words either.
“You’re unusually dispirited today,” Mr. B remarked, then abruptly changed the subject and began some foolish chatter with the others that amounted to nothing.
I sat silently, staring at the tea stalk standing upright in the bowl before me as though it were some omen, half-hearing the laughter rising around me.
And then, in my heart, I worried unpleasantly—could it be that I myself had recently come down with nervous hypersensitivity?
I concluded that living alone in my boarding house had caused this disturbance in my mind, and resolved that upon returning, I would go talk to Misa for the first time in ages.

Thirty

That evening, having been shown up to Misa’s second floor, I felt envious seeing him sitting cross-legged with such ease.
His room, with its bright electric lights and warm brazier, appeared completely isolated from the early winter cold.
I had known for some time now, from his complexion and demeanor, that his chronic illness had been gradually improving as the autumn winds grew stronger.
But comparing myself now, I couldn’t believe he was so comfortably settled.
When I recalled the Osaka hospital where we had lived looking up fearfully at the high, sweltering sky, it seemed as though he from that time and I now had almost switched places.

He had recently lost his father and had naturally assumed the role of head of the household. Even when Mr. B requested through H-san to employ him, he—whether out of goodwill to subordinate himself or due to some extravagant preference—relinquished that hard-won position to me. I looked around his electrically lit room and spent some time discussing with him the tasteful etchings and watercolor paintings that covered every inch of the walls. Yet somehow, our artistic discussion faded away naturally before even ten minutes had passed.

Then Misa suddenly said to me, "By the way, about your brother—"
I was startled that here too it concerned my brother.
"What about him?"
"Well, there's nothing particularly wrong..."

He said this much and was just staring at my face.
I had to connect his words with Mr. B’s from this morning within myself.

“Don’t just give me half-baked answers—if you’re going to talk, tell me everything.”
“What on earth is wrong with Elder Brother?”
“This morning Mr. B asked me something similar too—it’s left me with a strange feeling.”

Misa continued to gaze earnestly at my agitated face before finally saying, “Then I’ll tell you.”

“I suspect Mr. B’s information and mine both originated from the same H-san.”
“H-san mentioned his details also came from students.”
“Apparently your brother’s lectures are always clear and innovative—the students find them quite engaging. But even within those coherent explanations, one or two points inevitably emerge that don’t align with what precedes or follows.”
“When students question those parts, your brother—being fundamentally honest—tries repeatedly to clarify them, but reportedly can’t make them comprehensible.”
“In the end, he’d press a hand to his forehead and mutter, ‘My mind hasn’t been working properly lately…’ then stand there vacantly staring out the window until the students themselves retreated, saying, ‘Let’s continue this next time.’ This apparently happened multiple times.”
“H-san advised me that when you next meet Nagano—my surname—you should observe him carefully.”
“He suggested it might be severe neurasthenia, but I’d completely forgotten about it until seeing your face now.”

“When was that?” I asked hurriedly.

“I think it was around when you moved to the boarding house, but I can’t recall exactly.”

“Is it still like that now?”

Misa, seeing my face strained with worry, said comfortingly, “No, no.”

“No, no—it seems that was truly temporary.”
“H-san mentioned to me just a few days ago that he’s been completely back to his usual self lately, so there’s no need to worry anymore.”
“But…”

I involuntarily recalled the meeting with my brother that I’d etched into my heart when leaving home.
Then it struck me—what if those suspicions I’d harbored then had been confirmed at the school?—and I felt profoundly uneasy, even terrified.

31

I made an effort to forget about my elder brother.
Then suddenly I began to recall the “young lady” with mental illness that Misa had told me about at the Osaka hospital.

“Did you make it in time for that young lady’s memorial service?” I asked.

“I made it in time.”
“I made it in time, but those parents of hers are such rude and detestable people,” he said with such force that he seemed ready to swing his fists.
I was startled and asked why.

That day, he visited the memorial site within the precincts of Tsukiji Honganji Temple on behalf of the Misa family. After lengthy sutra chanting in the dim main hall, he too burned a pinch of incense before the white mortuary tablet as one of the attendees. By his own account, there was scarcely anyone besides himself who had bowed before the spirit of that young, beautiful woman with such heartfelt sincerity.

“Even if they’re parents or relatives,” he said, “they carry on like it’s some quiet festival, completely unbothered. The only one who truly shed tears was me—an outsider.”

Listening to Misa’s indignant outburst, I found it slightly comical, but outwardly I simply nodded and said, “I see.”
“Well, if that were all, I wouldn’t be angry at all,” Misa said.
“But what really got under my skin was what came after.”

Following customary practice, he was invited to a restaurant near the temple after the memorial service concluded. During the meal, as the man who served as her father and the woman who served as her mother conversed with him, their remarks grew oddly persistent. To him—who bore no malice—their insinuations made no sense at first, but as time progressed, he gradually came to grasp their true intent.

“There’s a limit to foolishness!”
“To put it bluntly, I’m the cause of that young lady’s unhappiness.”
“So now they’re saying I drove her to madness too, huh?”
“And her ex-husband acts like he bears no responsibility at all—how outrageous is that?”

“Why would you think that way?”
“That can’t be true.”
“Isn’t this your misunderstanding?” I said.

“Misunderstanding?” he shouted.
I had no choice but to stay silent.
He relentlessly expounded on the parents’ stupidity.
He ceaselessly denounced the frivolity of the man who’d become her husband.
Finally, he said:

“If that’s how it is, why didn’t they tell me to do it from the start? They only cared about assets and social standing…”

“Did you ever actually propose to marry her?” I cut in.

“No,” he replied.

“It was only after she developed mental illness that her large, glistening eyes began constantly moving through my chest—after she started pleading with me to come back quickly.”

He said this, still seeming to paint that woman’s large, beautiful eyes before him. If she were still alive now, a fierce resolve appeared around his tightly pressed lips—to snatch her forever from her foolish parents or frivolous husband, no matter the hardship, and warm her in his own embrace.

My imagination, rather than lingering on the woman with those beautiful eyes, reverted to my brother—the one I had been trying to forget. And the more the terrifying madness that haunted her mind echoed in my ears, the more Elder Brother’s state weighed on me. In the train to Wakayama, Elder Brother had asserted that woman must surely be thinking of Misa. He had even explained it was because her mental illness had stripped away her inhibitions. Perhaps Elder Brother was thinking of making Sister-in-law contract such an illness himself—to force her true feelings out. The brother harboring such thoughts might, from another’s view, already be teetering on mental derangement from neurasthenia—it wouldn’t surprise me if he started rampaging through the house himself, uttering terrifying words.

I had no time to look at Misa's face.

32

I had previously promised Mother that the next time I visited Misa, I would discreetly probe whether he had any intention of taking Oju as his wife.
But that evening, I found myself utterly unable to summon the vigor for such a task.
He, oblivious to my inner state, instead persisted in urging me toward marriage.
My mind lacked the tranquil clarity required to respond with any genuine enthusiasm.
He mentioned he would introduce me to a suitable candidate when the opportunity arose.
I gave an evasive reply and departed his house.
Outside, winds crisscrossed violently through the streets.
Above, stars gathered their powdery luminescence like scattered grains, shining defiantly against the buffeting gale.
I pressed both hands against my desolate chest and returned to the boarding house.
Then crawled straight into the icy embrace of my futon.

Even after two or three days had passed, Elder Brother still weighed on my mind—his thoughts stubbornly refusing to harmonize with mine.
I finally made my way to Banchō.
Finding the prospect of facing Elder Brother directly distasteful, I never did go up to the second floor. With Mother and the others, under the guise of paying a long-overdue visit, I casually made the usual small talk.
The family gathering—Elder Brother conspicuously absent—instead left me with an oddly relaxed warmth.

As I was leaving, I called Mother into the next room and tried asking about Elder Brother's recent condition.
Mother said she was pleased that Elder Brother's nerves had calmed down considerably lately.
Though her words finally brought me some relief, there seemed something abnormal she hadn't noticed—something that instead became a source of unease.
Still, I couldn't muster the courage to meet Elder Brother and test him myself.
Nor could I bring myself to tell Mother about how Elder Brother's lectures had become abnormal temporarily, as I'd heard from Misa.

Though I had nothing to say, I stood vacantly in the shadow of the dark room's sliding door, seeming to shiver with cold.
Mother too remained motionless before me.
Moreover, she herself appeared to acknowledge the need to say something to me.

“Though when he caught a slight cold the other day, he did say some strange delirious things,” she said.

“What kind of things did he say?” I asked.

Mother did not answer that and instead dismissed my question, saying, “Oh, it’s just because of the fever—there’s no need to worry.”

“Was the fever really that high?” I asked, moving on to another matter.

“Well, his fever was only thirty-eight or thirty-eight point five degrees, so I thought that couldn’t be it—but when I asked the doctor, he said people with neurasthenia can have their minds affected even by a slight fever.”

I, who didn't even understand the basics of medicine, encountered this knowledge for the first time and involuntarily frowned. But because the room was dark, Mother couldn't see my face.

"But when we cooled his head with ice, thanks to that, the fever subsided quickly—I was relieved, but..."

I still wanted to know what delirious words Elder Brother had uttered when his fever hadn't broken, so I remained standing in the chilly shadow of the sliding door.

The next room was brightly illuminated by electric light.
Each time Father said something to tease Yoshie, everyone’s cheerful laughter rang out.
Then suddenly from within that laughter came Father’s voice calling, “Hey Jirō!”

“Hey Jirō—hitting up Mother for pocket money again, are you?
Otsuna, don’t you go getting taken in by Jirō’s smooth talk so easily now, you hear?” he boomed.

“That’s not it at all,” I shot back loudly.

“So what’s this? You’re sneaking around in such a dark place buttonholing Mother to talk.”
“Hey, hurry up and show your face out here in the light!”

When Father said this, those gathered in the bright room burst into laughter in unison.
Without hearing what I wanted from Mother, I obeyed Father’s command. “Yes,” I said, and appeared before everyone.

33

For a while after that, even when I saw Mr. B or went to visit Misa, Elder Brother’s matter never came up as a topic.
I felt somewhat relieved.
And so I tried as much as possible to forget about family matters.
However, being overcome by the tedium of the boarding house was more painful than anything, so I often barged into Misa’s place to kill time or dragged him out instead.

Misa tirelessly went on about that mentally ill girl he always talked about.
Every time I heard these bizarre amorous tales, I would inevitably associate them with Elder Brother and Sister-in-law, making myself uncomfortable.
So from time to time, I couldn’t help but show a look and words that seemed to say, “Not this again.”
Misa wasn’t one to back down either.

“If you told your own love stories too, wouldn’t that make us even?” he taunted.
I nearly came to blows with him right there on the street.

With this mentally ill girl clinging to him like a persistent shadow, I found no chance to broach the matter of Oshige that Mother had long entrusted me with.
Even someone as ill-disposed toward her as myself had to admit Oshige’s face ranked slightly above average by any measure—yet regrettably, her features bore no resemblance whatsoever to this prized young lady’s.

In contrast to my reserve, he calmly recommended potential brides to me.
"Why don't you go see her somewhere this time?" he had even suggested.
At first I'd only given vague replies, but eventually found myself seriously considering meeting that woman.
Then Misa kept postponing the meeting date again and again—"The opportunity hasn't come yet, just wait a bit longer"—until I grew disheartened and finally abandoned all fantasy of her.

On the contrary, Otei-san’s marriage was now on the verge of becoming a reality, looming close at hand.
Despite being of marriageable age, Otei-san remained the most guileless woman in the household.
She had no particular distinguishing features, but there was an odd charm in how her cheeks would flush crimson at anything said to her.

I returned to town late at night with Misa, and as I burrowed into the cold bedding at my boarding house, I occasionally found myself thinking of Otei-san.
And I imagined that she too, bundled up in such cold bedding, was now seeing warm dreams of the imminent future pressing in, her smiling face unnoticed by anyone half-hidden in her velvet collar.

Two or three days before her wedding, Okada and Sano emerged shivering from the ice-splitting steam train onto Shinbashi Station's platform.
When he saw my face coming to meet them, he shouted a boisterous greeting.
"You're as carefree as ever, Jirō-san," he said.
Okada struck me as a man blissfully unaware of his own leisurely disposition.

When I went to Banchō the next day, the entire house was in noisy uproar solely for Okada.
Perhaps because this differed from other matters, Elder Brother didn't make a bitter face but stayed silent amid the whirlpool of commotion.

“Jirō-san, moving to a boarding house now? How absurd! It’ll only make the house lonelier.”
“Hey, Oju-san,” he addressed his sister-in-law.
Even my sister-in-law made an odd face and stayed silent this time.
I too found myself at a loss for words.
Elder Brother instead displayed an air of cold indifference toward everything.
Okada, already drunk, moved his lips carefreely without fixating on anything.

“Though I must say Ichirō-san isn’t entirely blameless either.”
“You holed up in your study studying all day—how dreadfully dull!”
“With your level of learning, you wouldn’t lose face anywhere you go.”
“But it seems Jirō-san isn’t the only one at fault—Oju-san and Aunt too.”
“Even though Ichirō claims to hate everything but his study, when I drag him out like this, doesn’t he come right downstairs and chat amiably?”
“Isn’t that right, Ichirō-san?”

He said this and looked toward his elder brother.
Elder Brother remained silent and gave a bitter smile.

“Hey, Aunt.”

Mother kept silent.

“Hey, Oshige-san.”

He seemed intent on going around questioning each person until he received a response.
“Mr. Okada, that compulsion to chatter of yours never improves no matter how old you get, does it?”
“You’re being insufferably loud!” she said.
As everyone burst out laughing, I heaved a sigh of relief.

Thirty-Four

Yoshie called out, “Uncle, please come here for a moment,” extending her small hand from the next room to beckon me.
“What is it?” I stood up and went over, whereupon she dragged out a large Shingen bag from somewhere and said, “This is Otei-san’s. Shall I show you?” looking at me proudly.

She took out a square velvet-covered box from the Shingen bag.
I picked up the pearl ring inside and examined it with a “Hmm.”
“This one too,” said Yoshie, producing a maroon-colored item next—a plain gold ring without stones that I’d given her in thanks for helping with laundry and chores.
“And this,” she added, pulling out a brocade-patterned paper case.
Golden chrysanthemum motifs bloomed across its surface in intricate weaving.
Next came a long paulownia-wood box,
containing an obi clasp with ivy-leaf fittings wrought in gold, silver, and copper alloy.
Finally she presented a comb and hairpin. “Egg tortoiseshell.
Not real tortoiseshell,” she explained.
“They said real was too pricey.”
The term meant nothing to me.
Nor to Yoshie, naturally.
But with girlish authority she declared, “It’s the cheapest kind.
Cheaper than starched silk.
They glue it with egg white.”
“Where exactly do they glue it with egg white?” I asked.
“How should I know?” She dismissed me with a flip of her hand, dragging the Shingen bag into the next room.

I had Mother show me the kimono Otei-san would wear on the day.
It was a pale lavender-tinged navy crepe kimono with an ivy crest and a bamboo pattern at the hem.

"Isn't this too quiet-looking for her age?" I asked Mother.
"But you see, it would have become too expensive," Mother replied.
Then she added, "Even this cost twenty-five yen," surprising my ignorant self.
The fabric had been bought as three bolts of white cloth when a Kyoto weaver brought it last spring, and had apparently been left stored in a dresser drawer until recently.

Otei-san had not shown her face at the gathering even once since earlier.
I imagined she was likely feeling awkward and wanted to catch a glimpse of that very awkwardness here.

“Where is Otei-san?” I asked Mother.
Then Elder Brother said, “Ah, I forgot.
“Before I go, I have something to discuss with Otei-san,” he said.

Amid everyone making strange faces, a distinct shadow of a sneer flashed across my sister-in-law’s lips.
Elder Brother showed no intention of engaging with anyone and, saying “Excuse me for a moment” to Okada, went upstairs.
Shortly after the sound of those footsteps faded, Otei-san came to the threshold of the room where we were and offered a polite greeting to Okada.

She stood up and replied to Okada, who had bowed with a “Please come in,” saying, “I must go to the study now, so perhaps later.” Those present, seeing her face flush crimson as though heated with embarrassment—whether out of pity or something else—made no attempt to detain her.

The sound of my elder brother ascending to the second floor was not particularly loud, but because he always wore slippers, their rhythmic slap echoed clearly from below. Otei-san’s barefoot steps—perhaps owing to her modest feminine disposition—made no sound at all. Even the noise of doors opening and closing never reached my ears.

The two of them were talking about something there for approximately thirty minutes.

During that time, my sister-in-law spoke and laughed more cheerfully than her usual coldness would suggest. Yet I clearly perceived an unnatural effort beneath this facade—a forceful attempt to conceal her displeasure. Okada remained unperturbed.

When she finished meeting my elder brother and passed by our room, I caught her footsteps and abruptly stepped into the corridor under false pretenses. The woman I encountered still wore a face flushed with embarrassment. She lowered her eyes and slipped past me. In that moment, I felt certain I had glimpsed traces of tears lingering in her eyelids. What conversation she held with my brother when they faced each other in the study—this I still have never learned. Nor do I believe anyone else in this world could know its particulars save those two alone.

Thirty-Five

I had been ordered by my parents to attend Otei-san’s wedding as one of the relatives. That day, a drizzling rain fell, creating dreary weather ill-suited for a wedding ceremony. When I woke up earlier than usual and went to Banchō, Otei-san’s clothes lay scattered about in the eight-tatami-mat room.

On my way back from the bathroom, I peeked into the bath area entrance and caught a glimpse of Otei-san through the half-open glass door as she applied her makeup. Then I heard her voice say, “Oh, don’t come in here!” Yoshie appeared to be playing some prank half in jest. I too considered imitating Yoshie, but given the circumstances, I hesitated and returned to the tea room.

After a while, when I went out to the eight-tatami room again, everyone was changing into their formal attire.
Yoshie was proclaiming to everyone, “Otei-san even put white powder on her hands!”
To tell the truth, Otei-san’s hands and feet were more ruddy than her face.

“She’s become so pale.”
“It’s not good to deceive your husband like this,” Father jested.

“When tomorrow comes, the master will surely be surprised,” Mother laughed.
Otei-san looked down with a wry smile.
She had her hair done in the Shimada style for the first time.
This gave me an unexpectedly novel sensation.

“With this chignon and such heavy ornaments, it must be unbearable,” I remarked. Mother replied, “However heavy, it’s only once in a lifetime…” while adjusting how her black crested kimono met its white collar.
Otei-san’s obi was tightened by my sister-in-law, who circled behind her and pulled firmly.

Elder Brother was pacing back and forth along the wide veranda, puffing on his usual foul-smelling hand-rolled cigarette.
He displayed an indecisive attitude toward this marriage—as though he had no interest in it whatsoever, yet was applying his own brand of criticism internally—occasionally peeking into the room where we were gathered.
However, he would only pause briefly at the threshold and never actually step inside.
He did not even press, “Are you ready yet?”
He was wearing a frock coat and a silk hat.

When it was finally time to depart, Father selected the finest rickshaw and had Otei-san ride in it.
As the ceremony scheduled for eleven o'clock had been delayed, Okada came out to the ceremonial platform of the Grand Shrine and deliberately waited for us.
When our whole group noisily crowded into the waiting room at once, there sat the groom alone on a chair like some decorative object taken hostage.
While he eventually stood up to greet each person individually, I surveyed the Western-style desk, carpet, and plain wood coffered ceiling in the waiting area.
At the far end hung bamboo blinds behind which something seemed to lurk, though the profound darkness within made it impossible to discern anything.
Before them stood a pair of auspicious golden screens fully adorned with cranes and waves.

A man in hakama and haori came out and explained the order: first the bride and the matchmaker’s wife, then the groom and the matchmaker’s husband, followed by the relatives. However, since Okada—who was supposed to be the essential matchmaker—had not brought Okan-san with him, he consulted Father: “I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but perhaps we could have Ichirō-san and Oju-san take on this role just for today?”
Father answered plainly, “Fine.”
My sister-in-law said as usual, “As you wish.”
Elder Brother also said, “As you wish,” but then added, “Though for a couple like us to become matchmakers might bring ill fortune upon the newlyweds.”

“Bad? Not at all—it’s more honorable than me doing it.”
“Hey, Jirō-san,” Okada said in his usual light tone.
Elder Brother showed signs of wanting to state his reasons but, seeming to reconsider immediately, said, “Well then, I guess I’ll take on my first major role in life.”
When he said, “But I don’t know anything about it,” Father explained, “They’ll explain everything over there, so there’s no trouble.”
“We’ve arranged it so you two won’t have to do a thing,” Father explained.

Thirty-Six

At the arched bridge crossing, seizing the moment when those ahead paused for some obstruction, I stealthily tugged at the tail of Okada’s frock coat.

“You’re remarkably carefree, Okada-san,” I said.

“Why do you say that?”

He had assumed the role of matchmaker himself yet appeared utterly oblivious to his own negligence in failing to bring his wife. When I pressed him about this nonchalance, he scratched his head with a rueful smile and answered, “Truthfully, I meant to bring her along… but I supposed matters would sort themselves out somehow.”

At the entrance where one would descend the arched bridge and proceed inward, the bride sat before a full-length mirror washing her hands in a black-lacquered basin.
When I stood on tiptoes from behind and saw Otei-san’s figure—Ah, so this is why the procession was delayed—I nearly burst into laughter.
Even her hands, so painstakingly coated with white powder, were mercilessly returned to their original reddish-black hue by this single sacred ladle of water.

To the left and right of the main hall stood separate chambers.
To the right entered my elder brother accompanied by Mr. Sano.
To the left entered sister-in-law accompanied by Otei-san.
When I saw them emerge from both sides and take their seats, my brother and his wife sat facing each other with solemn expressions.
The bride and groom naturally assumed their positions opposite one another in respectful postures.

With the ceremonial dais before us, we—Father and Mother lined up behind along with the rest of us—gazed solemnly at this doubly significant couple, at the gorgeously lacquered drum, and at the bamboo blinds concealing unknowable contents within their depths.

As for what Elder Brother was thinking deep down, to an outside observer, there was nothing at all unusual about his demeanor.
My sister-in-law, for her part, showed no signs of pretense and carried herself with natural composure.

They were an old couple who, over the past several years, had experienced the socially significant role of husband and wife in their own fashion.
And the experiences they had undergone might have been something precious to them—difficult to relive—as part of life’s history.
But no matter how you looked at it, their experience didn’t seem to be anything sweet like honey.
I wonder if this old couple, bearing such bitter experience, intended to apportion their own unhappy fate onto the heads of this young man and woman, creating yet another ill-matched pair.

Elder Brother was a scholar and a man of deep emotions.
In that pale forehead of his, he might have been contemplating such matters.
Or perhaps he had pondered something even more profound.
Or perhaps he sat there cursing the very institution of marriage itself while simultaneously sensing both the farce and tragedy of being a matchmaker compelled to join the bride and groom's hands.

In any case, Elder Brother sat with solemn composure.
Sister-in-law, Mr. Sano, and Otei-san all maintained grave expressions.
Presently the ceremony commenced.
One shrine maiden withdrew midway due to a stomachache, her replacement stepping forward to fulfill the role.

Oju, who was sitting next to me, whispered, “It’s lonelier than when Elder Brother had his wedding, isn’t it?”
At that time, with shō flutes and taiko drums added, the figures of shrine maidens moving to and fro on either side looked as gracefully fluttering and splendid as butterflies.

“When you get married, I’ll make sure it’s as lively as that time was,” I said to Oju.
Oju was laughing.

When the ceremony ended and everyone returned to the waiting room, Otei-san—despite us standing—deliberately placed her hands on the carpet and politely expressed her gratitude for the burden she had been until now.
Her eyes were filled with tears that seemed lonely.

The newlyweds and Okada immediately departed for Osaka on the midday train.

I saw off Otei-san—who was supposed to stay in Hakone for two or three days—on the rainy platform, then parted from Father and Elder Brother and returned alone to my boarding house. Then, along the way, I pondered the marriage issue that should naturally come around to me as if it were an enigma of misfortune in life.

Thirty-Seven

After Otei-san had vanished as though whisked away, the house remained enveloped in its usual atmosphere. From what I observed, Otei-san seemed to be the most carefree person in the household. She left Tokyo on a rainy train with Sano without a trace of discontent, after ten years of enduring an ambiguous position in the household that had long cared for her—sweeping mornings and evenings, doing laundry—never certain whether she was a maid or mid-level servant. The inner workings of her mind, much like the daily tasks she had repeated and grown accustomed to, appeared to be clear and mechanical. Even during those occasions when the dinner table—which should have been a time for family togetherness—was momentarily shrouded in a heavy, gray atmosphere, Otei-san alone sat there amidst it all, unchanged from her usual self, calmly waiting with the serving tray resting on her lap. Shortly before the wedding day, when she was summoned to the study by her elder brother and came out, I do not know what the flush that colored her face and the tears brimming in her eyelids spoke for her future, but given her disposition, it did not seem she would bear any lasting effects from it.

With Otei-san’s departure, winter too departed.
Rather than saying they had departed, it might be more appropriate to say no major incident had occurred in the end.
Mottled snow, winds shaking withered branches, ice sealing the water basin—each in turn faithfully mirrored their annual visage before my eyes before vanishing away, only to vanish again.
While nature’s cold cycle repeated itself thus, the Banchō house remained still and unmoving.
The relationships between those within its walls also somehow managed to endure as they always had.

My position, of course, remained unchanged.
The only difference was that Oju would come half-jokingly from time to time to voice her complaints.
Every time she came, she asked, “I wonder how Otei-san is doing.”

“What do you mean ‘how is she doing?’—hasn’t she told you anything yourself?”

“She does come.”

When I inquired about Otei-san after her marriage, she possessed far more extensive knowledge than I did.

Every time she came, I never failed to ask about my elder brother.

"How's Elder Brother?"

"'How's Elder Brother?' You're the one at fault here. You keep leaving without seeing him whenever you visit the house."

"I'm not deliberately avoiding him. It's just that he's never there when I go—there's nothing I can do about it."

"Don't lie! Last time you came, you fled without even entering the study."

Oju turned bright red—all the more so because she was more honest than I.
In my heart, I had hoped to somehow restore my former closeness with Elder Brother after that incident, but in reality, quite the opposite occurred—I felt an inexplicable reluctance to approach him, so much so that even when opportunities arose to visit the house and greet him, I often returned without meeting him, just as Oju had said.

When cornered by Oju, I would laugh with a ha ha as if to express silent surrender, deliberately stroke my short mustache, or—as was my habit—light tobacco and blow veiling smoke into the air.

Just when I thought that, Oju suddenly said, “Elder Brother is quite the eccentric, isn’t he? Now that I think about it, I truly believe it’s no wonder you stormed out after that fight.” When Oju startled me with such an abrupt remark, deep down I felt as though I had gained an ally, and it made me happy. However, I lacked the childishness to openly agree with her opinion. Nor did I have the pretentiousness to scold her. But after she left, my earlier mindset suddenly flipped, and the effects of Elder Brother’s mental state on those around him began to trouble me incessantly. There were times when I felt twice as sorry for him as usual—seeing him gradually isolate himself from living beings and become dragged deeper into his books.

Thirty-Eight

Mother also came once or twice.
The first time she came, she was in a very good mood.
She asked with exaggerated seriousness about things even I couldn’t properly grasp—like where the law graduate in the neighboring room went each day or what work he did.
At that time, without mentioning anything about household affairs, she cautioned, “Be careful—colds are spreading everywhere these days. Your father has had a sore throat since two or three days back and has been using compresses,” then left.
After her departure, I didn’t even have a moment to think about my brother and his wife.
Having forgotten their very existence, I took a satisfying bath and ate an excellent dinner.

When my mother visited next, her demeanor had changed slightly compared to before.
After Osaka—and especially after I moved to the boarding house—she began deliberately avoiding any criticism of my sister-in-law in my presence.
I too, perhaps out of a sense of guilt in front of Mother, avoided mentioning my sister-in-law’s name unless absolutely necessary.
Yet my usually cautious mother suddenly turned to me and asked, “Jirō—just between us here—is Oju’s disposition good or bad?”
Realizing that something had indeed begun, I felt a chill.

After moving to the boarding house, I completely lacked the courage to irresponsibly let slip any imprudent words about my elder brother or sister-in-law, so Mother departed without obtaining a single satisfactory piece of information from me.
On my part too, I ultimately failed to grasp why she had suddenly confronted me with this eerie question and let Mother slip away without achieving any clarity.
Even when I asked, “Has something else worrying happened?” she would only answer, “No, there’s nothing particularly different…” and then do nothing more than shield her face.

After she left, I began obsessing over this question.
However, after synthesizing the surrounding circumstances and Mother’s attitude, I concluded that no new incident could possibly have occurred within our household.

Mother too had worried herself into finally losing grasp of Sister-in-Law’s nature.

Reaching this interpretation at last, I found myself gripped by a sensation like being caught in a nightmare.

Amid Oju’s visits and Mother’s visits, Sister-in-law alone never once warmed her hands over my room’s brazier.
I fully understood her deliberate restraint in not visiting me.
When I went to Banchō, she asked, “They say Jirō-san’s boarding house is quite superior.”
“I hear your room has a splendid floor and there’s a fine plum tree in the garden—isn’t that so?”
Yet she never said, “I’ll come see it sometime.”
Nor could I bring myself to say, “Do come visit.”
Though truth be told, that plum tree she mentioned seemed nothing but a meaningless thing—as if someone had yanked it from some field and planted it there unchanged.

In a way that was both different from and similar to Sister-in-law's absence, Elder Brother's face was never seen in my room. Father also did not come.

Misa visited from time to time.
I took advantage of an opportunity to discreetly probe whether he had any intention of marrying Oju.

“Yeah.”

“That young lady’s already of marriageable age, so I suppose the need to marry her off somewhere must be pressing in soon.”
“Go find her a good match quickly and make her happy.”

He merely said this and showed no sign of engaging.
I had given up at that point.

The winter that felt long yet was short passed before me—anticipating events that never came—as it monotonously repeated its ordained schedule of drizzles, thawing frosts, dry winds… and so departed.

Worldly Troubles

I

When the gloomy winter was swept away by the equinoctial winds, I gazed upon the bright world like someone emerging from a cold cellar. Somewhere in my heart lingered the sense that this radiant world remained as ordinary as the winter I’d just endured. Yet I hadn’t grown so old as to forget the pleasure of spring’s fragrance flowing into my veins with every breath.

On fine days I would open my room’s shoji screens to gaze at the passing street. Through the eaves I’d look up at the expanse of blue sky stretching beyond. And I longed to journey somewhere far away. Had I still been a student, I would have been preparing for spring break travels by now—but bound to office life, such freedom lay utterly beyond reach. Even on rare Sundays I’d spend the whole day at my boarding house with sleep-mussed hair, not venturing out for walks.

I found myself half welcoming spring while half cursing it.
When I returned to the boarding house and finished dinner, I would sit before the brazier, smoking tobacco while idly imagining my future.
Within the threads weaving that future, gaudy colors that fawned over me would typically flicker upward alongside the flames of freshly lit Sakura charcoal, yet at times they would transform entirely, losing their luster like ash no matter how far they stretched.
There were moments when some chance occurrence would suddenly wrench me back from these imaginary dreams to my present self.
And I pondered by what means fate might connect this current self of mine with my future self.

The incident where I was startled by the boarding house maid occurred one early evening when I sat still by the brazier, hands hovering over its warmth, wavering between reality and fantasy. Had I been so engrossed in my solitary musings that I failed to notice the maid’s footsteps approaching down the hallway? When she abruptly slid open the shoji screen, I looked up as though by chance and met her eyes.

“Bath time?”

I asked immediately. This was because I had assumed there could be no reason other than this for the maid to open my room’s sliding door at such an hour. Then the maid, still standing, answered “No” and fell silent. I detected a peculiar smile in her eyes—a strange glint within that smile that seemed to savor, with feminine voracity, the pleasure of having momentarily outmaneuvered its target. I said sharply to the maid, “What’s this? Standing there like that?” The maid promptly knelt at the threshold. Then she answered with slightly feigned seriousness, “There’s a visitor.”

“It’s Misa,” I said.
I had indeed anticipated Misa’s visit because of a certain matter.

“No, it’s a lady.”

“A woman?”

I furrowed my brows suspiciously at the maid.
The maid instead maintained her composure.

“Shall I show her in here?”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You say ‘I don’t know’—do you think there’s anyone who’d guide a guest to someone’s room without even asking their name?”

“But even when I asked, she wouldn’t tell me.”

The maid said this and once again smiled a spiteful smile in her eyes, just as she had before.
I abruptly released my hands from the brazier and stood up.
I went out to the entrance as if to shoo away the maid kneeling at the threshold.
And there in the corner of the earthen floor, I found my sister-in-law standing coldly, still wearing her coat.

II

That day was cloudy from morning. Moreover, a cold wind blew as if to sweep away all lingering fair weather at once. On my way back from the office, I walked with my overcoat collar upturned, worried throughout my journey that it might rain. The rain began pattering down around the time dinner was being served.

“You came out on such a cold night.”

My sister-in-law replied softly with just a “Yes.”
I flipped over the futon I’d been sitting on, straightened it before the three-foot-wide raised floor, and urged her, “Come over here.”
She slid off one coat sleeve as she protested, “I hate when you treat me like a guest.”
I let go of the buzzer I’d pressed to summon tea utensils and looked at her face.
Her cheeks, chilled by the wintry air outside, glared paler than usual into my eyes.
Even her habitual lonely dimple flickered with an unfamiliar desolation before vanishing.

“Just sit there for now.”

She sat on the futon as I told her.
Then she held her pale fingers over the brazier.
As her appearance suggested, she was an utterly ordinary woman down to her fingertips.
Among the attributes she’d been born with, what had first caught my attention were those delicately formed hands and feet.

“Jirō-san, you should warm your hands too.”

For some reason I hesitated, unable to extend mine.
Outside the window, rain whispered faintly.
The northwest wind that had raged since morning died abruptly with the rainfall, leaving an unexpected stillness.
Only the intermittent patter of drops striking the gutter echoed through the quiet.
My sister-in-law surveyed the room with her usual composure. “It truly is a pleasant space,” she remarked. “So tranquil.”

“It’s only because it’s nighttime that it looks presentable.”
“Come see it in the daytime—you’ll find it’s quite a messy room.”

I interacted with my sister-in-law for a while.
But to confess now—my inner turmoil was nothing as composed as the tone of our conversation suggested.
I had never once anticipated that my sister-in-law would come to this boarding house until that moment.
I had not even imagined it in my wildest thoughts.
When I spotted her figure in the earthen entranceway, I was startled.
And that surprise was more one of unease than of joy.

“Why did she come?”
“Why come all this way in the cold?”
“Why come at night after the lamps were lit?”

This was the doubt that struck me the moment I saw her.
In my heart—fixated on this doubt from the outset—there persisted a constant pressure within my usual demeanor as I faced her across the brazier.
It lent my words and tone an unpleasant artificiality.
I became acutely aware of this.
Then I realized this falseness was clearly reflected in her mind too.
Yet there was nothing to be done.
“It’s turned bitterly cold again,” I said to my sister-in-law.
“You’ve come out in quite the rain,” I added.
“Why visit at this hour?” I pressed.
Even as our exchange reached this point without shedding light on my heart, I stiffened—compelled to stand frozen before that mysterious smile reminiscent of the Gioconda.

“Jirō-san, you’ve gone all formal on me since we last met,” my sister-in-law observed.

“I haven’t,” I replied.

“No, you have,” she retorted.

III

I abruptly stood up and moved behind my sister-in-law.
She was sitting with her back to the three-foot-wide raised floor.
Because the room was narrow, the area around her obi was nearly brushing against the cedar pillar of the raised floor.
When I stepped into that narrow space, she bent her body forward awkwardly and asked, “What are you doing?”
I kept one foot lifted in midair as I took out a lacquered black tiered box from the back of the raised floor and placed it before her.

“How about one?”

While saying this and trying to remove the lid, she let out a faint wry smile.
Inside the tiered box, white sugar-sprinkled rice cakes were neatly arranged.
It was through these rice cakes that I first learned yesterday had been the middle day of the equinoctial week.
I looked at my sister-in-law’s face and asked earnestly, “Won’t you eat one?”
She burst out laughing.

“You’re quite something—those ohagi are what I had sent over from my house yesterday, aren’t they?”

I forced a wry smile and stuffed one into my mouth.
She poured tea into a cup for me.

Through these rice cakes, I finally confirmed she’d visited her parents’ home today to pay respects at the family grave and stopped here on her way back.

“I must apologize for my long absence—is everything all right there?”

“Yes, thank you… Not really.”

The woman of few words had simply given this brief reply, but then added, “Speaking of long absences—you’ve been quite absent from Banchō as well,” and deliberately looked at my face.

I had indeed been keeping my distance from Banchō.
At first, the affairs of the house weighed on me so much that I couldn’t settle unless I went there once or twice a week, but before long, I began cultivating the habit of quietly observing it from a distance, detached from the center.
And this awareness that at least no incidents had occurred during my detached observation made my neglect seem like the cause of this uneventfulness.

“Why don’t you come around as often as you used to?”

“It’s just that work has been a bit busy lately.”

“Oh?”
“Really?”
“That’s not true, is it?”

I could no longer endure being pressed like this by my sister-in-law.
Moreover, I couldn’t comprehend her psychology.
For no matter what others might do, I had firmly believed until now that my sister-in-law alone would not have the courage to press me on this point.
I thought about saying, “You’re being too bold.”
But having already been seen as timid by her, I ended up being cowardly.

“I’m truly busy. Actually, I’ve been thinking of doing some studying lately and have gradually started preparing for it, so I just haven’t felt like going out anywhere these days. Because I think it’d be pointless to keep dawdling around like this forever, I want to read some books while I can now, and then before long, try going abroad or something.”

The latter half of this answer was truly my own hope.
I wished to go far away—anywhere would do—just to go, to go.

“Foreign countries—you mean going abroad?” my sister-in-law asked.

“Well, yes.”

“That’s splendid.
Ask Father to arrange it for you quickly.
Shall I speak to him for you?”

Even while knowing it was futile, I had been turning over such thoughts as if they were fantasies, but when I heard her words, I suddenly shook my head and said, "Father won't do it." She remained silent for a while. Then in a languid tone she said, "Men have it so carefree."

"It's not carefree at all."

"But when you grow weary of things, can't you just fly off wherever you please?"

IV

I had stretched my hands out toward the brazier to warm them. Though crafted taller and sturdier than average, its dimensions matched an ordinary box brazier - when two people faced each other with hands extended over it, their faces inevitably drew uncomfortably close. My sister-in-law had complained of cold since first sitting down, remaining hunched forward from the chest up like someone round-shouldered. In this posture there was nothing objectionable beyond its essential femininity. Yet this very positioning forced me to lean back somewhat rigidly in my seat. Even so, I found myself gazing longer and closer at her Fuji-shaped forehead than ever before. The pallor of her cheeks burned against my vision like flame.

Under these relatively constrained circumstances, I was suddenly told by her the unpleasant fact that her relationship with my elder brother had only continued to worsen in one direction even after I left home.
She had maintained a policy of never speaking about my elder brother unless asked.
Even when I inquired myself, she would typically reply with phrases like "Same as always" or "It's really nothing worth worrying about," and simply smile.
By completely reversing this dynamic and actively hurling the truth of what most weighed on my conscience directly at me, I—coward that I was—suddenly stung as if splashed with sulfuric acid.

However, once I found an opening, I tried to question her in exhaustive detail.
But she, who detested verbal excess, refused to comply with my probing.
What she described amounted only to the lightning-like awkwardness lying between them as husband and wife.
And regarding the immediate causes of this discomfort, she ultimately never breathed a word.
When pressed about it, she would simply say, "I don't know why."
In truth, she might have genuinely lacked understanding.
Or perhaps she understood perfectly yet willfully remained silent.

“After all, I was born such a fool—there’s nothing to be done.”
“No matter how you struggle, there’s no path but what fate brings.”
“If I resign myself to that thought, then that’s all there is.”

She had been a woman born with a kind of religious faith—if it was fate, she would not fear it—that she alone carried from birth. Yet she also seemed to possess a nature that feared no other destiny.

“Men can fly off anywhere they please like Jirō-san here when they tire of things, but women can’t do that.”
“I’m like a potted plant set in place by my parents—once planted, I can’t move an inch unless someone comes to shift me.”
“I simply stay rooted.”
“There’s nothing to do but stay put until I wither away entirely.”

I felt the immeasurable strength of a woman, like electricity, beneath the surface of this seemingly pitiful complaint.
And when I thought of how this strength would act upon my elder brother, I couldn’t help but feel a chill.

“Brother is just in a bad mood, I suppose.”
“Is there anything else that’s changed about him?”

“Well…”
“That’s something I can’t really say.”
“After all, people can fall ill at any time with any disease.”

She soon took out a small lady’s watch from her obi and gazed at it.
Because the room was quiet, the sound of its lid being closed struck the ears with unexpected force.
It was as though the tip of a sharp needle had touched the surface of calm skin.

“Let’s go back now.—Jirō-san, I must have troubled you by making you listen to such unpleasant talk.”
“I’ve never done anything like this with anyone before—this kind of thing.”
“Even when I go to my own house today, I stay silent, you know.”

The lantern of the rickshaw puller waiting at the entrance bore her family crest.

V

That night, a quiet rain fell all night long.
In the sound of raindrops beating like pillow strikes, I kept conjuring visions of my sister-in-law.
Thick eyebrows and dark pupils—when these surfaced before my eyes, her pale forehead and cheeks reflected around them with the speed of iron filings drawn to a magnet.
Her phantom shattered repeatedly.
Each time it shattered, the same sequence immediately renewed itself.
I finally saw even the color of her lips with vivid clarity.
I saw the muscles at both corners of those lips quivering faintly, like ciphers of unspoken words.
Then I distinctly saw her cheeks rippling endlessly with subtle vortices that evaded naked-eye detection—wavering forms that seemed unsure whether to gather at her dimples or dissolve away.

I imagined her as vividly alive and as intensely as that.
And in the pattering sound of raindrops echoing around me, I began to be tormented by my feverish head as I thought of various aimless things.

As long as her relationship with my brother kept worsening, no matter where my body might fly off to, my mind could never find peace.
I had pressed her for more concrete details about this point, but she—unlike most women who would use fragmented facts as material for their grievances—paid almost no heed to my request, as if ignoring it entirely.
In the end, it was as though I had received her visit solely to be made anxious.

Her words were all shadow-dark. Yet they cast a brief flash of lightning into my chest. Intertwining these shadows and bolts, I wondered if my brother—after his temper had worsened all this time—might have done something unprecedentedly violent to my sister-in-law. When seen alongside characters for "torture" or "abuse," the character for "beating" carried an abhorrently cruel resonance. Being a modern woman, she might interpret his actions entirely through this lens. When I asked about my brother's health, she coldly dismissed it: "People can fall ill with anything at any time." She must have understood my question stemmed from concern for his mental state. Thus her answer—colder than usual—could be heard as vengeful echoes: the crack of a whip against her own beautiful flesh reverberating through her husband's future.—I felt afraid.

I thought that I must go to Banchō tomorrow and quietly hear about their recent circumstances from Mother.
However, my sister-in-law had already made it clear.
She had made it clear that no one yet knew of the changes in their marital relationship, and that she had not told anyone about them.
From those shadow-like, lightning-like words, the truth was faintly branded—in all the world, there was only my chest.

Why had my sister-in-law, who was usually so reticent, chosen to speak of it only to me?
She had always been composed.
Tonight too, she had been composed as usual.
She did not seem to have gone out of her way to visit me simply because she had no outlet for her extreme agitation.
To begin with, the very word “complaint” was ill-suited to her demeanor.
In terms of the outcome, as I had said earlier, it was rather I who was made anxious by her.

She looked at her own face reflected in the brazier and asked, “Why are you being so formal?” When I answered, “I’m not being particularly formal,” she laughed and said, “But you’re all stiff!” At that moment, her demeanor was so playfully intimate that it seemed she might poke my cheek with her slender index finger from across the brazier. She called out “Jirō-san” again and said, “You must have been startled.” She spoke of having come on that sudden rainy night to surprise me as though it were some mischievous prank.…

My imagination and memories spun ceaselessly on and on until late into the night, to the rhythm of pattering raindrops dripping down.

VI

For the next three or four days, my mind was ceaselessly haunted by the phantom of my sister-in-law.
Even when standing at my office desk drawing crucial diagrams, I knew no means to dispel this curse.
One day there was even added the vexing feeling of having to rely on others' hands to carry out my work.
While maintaining this detached feeling from myself, I even began to wonder why those around me didn't find it suspicious that I was only managing the surface in a normal manner.
I had long since ceased to be recognized as a cheerful man in the office.
Lately I couldn't even speak properly.
And so I thought that the changes which had occurred over these three or four days had likely gone unnoticed by others as well.
And so I alone felt the loneliness of a person utterly cut off from self and surroundings.

During this time, I perceived my sister-in-law in various ways.—She had already transcended something that even men could not from the very day she came as a bride. Or perhaps from the very beginning, there had been no walls or barriers for her to transcend. She had been a free woman, unbound from the very beginning. Her actions up to now had been nothing but the manifestation of an unaffected nature unconstrained by anything.

At times, she appeared to my eyes as a so-called steadfast person who folded everything into her heart and did not readily expose herself. From that perspective, she had far surpassed the realm of ordinary steadfast people. That composure, that dignity, that reticence—no matter who judged her, she was undoubtedly too steadfast. She was also astonishingly brazen.

In one moment, she stood before me like the very incarnation of patience.
And within that patience lay a nobility bearing no trace of suffering.
She smiled rather than furrow her brows.
She sat upright with composure instead of collapsing in tears.
As though awaiting the rot of her own legs beneath the seat where she sat.
In short, her patience had surpassed the very concept of patience, becoming something nearly intrinsic to her nature.

My sister-in-law appeared to me in so many different guises. At my office desk, over lunch tables, inside commuter trains, around the brazier in my boarding house—she transformed herself endlessly across these spaces. I endured private agonies without confiding them to anyone. Repeatedly, it occurred to me that visiting Banchō to assess the situation properly remained the logical course. Yet my cowardly self couldn’t muster the resolve. Knowing full well what horrors lay before me, I kept my eyes tightly shut.

Then, on the afternoon of the fifth day—a Saturday—I was suddenly summoned by Father to the telephone at my office.

“Is that you, Jirō?”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s all right if I come by tomorrow morning for a bit, isn’t it?”

“Oh.”

“Is there any problem?”

“No, not particularly…”

“Then wait for me there. That’s fine, right? Goodbye.”

Father hung up after that.
I was considerably flustered.
Having failed to even ascertain what the matter was about in my haste, I regretted it after stepping away from the phone.
It immediately struck me as strange—if there were business to discuss, he ought to have summoned me instead.
The unprecedented event of Father coming to me made me feel this must relate somehow to my sister-in-law’s recent visit, and my unease deepened further.

When I returned to the boarding house, a picture postcard from Okada in Osaka was lying on the desk.
It was a memento of the couple inviting Sano and Otei-san to spend a pleasant half-day in the suburbs.
I sat facing the desk and stared at that picture postcard for a long time.

VII

Even I—who had developed an unapologetic habit of sleeping late on Sundays—rose comparatively early that next morning.
After finishing breakfast and reading the newspaper, it felt as insipid as those papers one hastily skims while waiting for a train—utterly devoid of anything worth seeing.
I promptly discarded it.
Yet within five or six minutes, I picked it up again.
Smoking tobacco, meticulously wiping condensation from my glasses, performing these various motions—I waited for Father’s arrival.

Father did not come readily.
I was well aware of Father’s early rising habits.
I had grown well accustomed to his impatience since childhood.
Restless, I thought of calling myself to ask what was going on with Father.

Having grown overly familiar with Mother, I had always been reserved around Father.
But when I truly got down to it, my gentle mother was more frightening than my strict father.
When scolded or reprimanded by Father, though I felt apologetic, I often thought to myself that a man is still a man.
But this time was different from usual.
Even though it was Father, I couldn’t so easily dismiss the matter.
I tried to make the call but ultimately couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Father finally arrived around ten o'clock. He was dressed in formal haori and hakama that seemed a bit too proper, but his expression was unexpectedly calm. Having grown up under his care since childhood, I had honed the ability to discern whether something was amiss simply by reading his expression.

"I thought you would come much sooner and have been waiting since earlier."

"You were probably waiting in bed. No matter how early I came, I wouldn't have been surprised, but I deliberately left late because I felt sorry for you."

Father brought the tea I had poured to his lips as if sampling it, then scrutinized the room with a sweeping gaze.
The room held only a desk, bookcase, and brazier.

“Nice room.”

Father was a man who often made such affable remarks even to family.
The socially polished phrases he’d cultivated over decades had infiltrated even his unrestrained domestic sphere.
So threadbare were his courtesies that they registered no more than a perfunctory “Good morning” to me.

He peered into the three-foot tokonoma and began examining the hanging scroll displayed there.

“Just right.”

That scroll was a small hansetsu I had borrowed from Father specifically to decorate this alcove. True to his words when he’d tossed it at me with “Take this if you want,” it remained an oddity that struck me as neither particularly good nor bad. I watched it with a wry smile.

A single line slanted diagonally across the surface in pale ink. Above it ran an inscription: “This staff moves not alone—touch it, and it stirs.” In short, it was an unremarkable thing that defied categorization as either painting or calligraphy.

“You may laugh,” he said. “But this has a sober elegance to it.” “It’ll make a proper tea ceremony scroll.”

“Who was the writer again?”

“I don’t know exactly, but likely someone from Daitoku-ji or such...”

“Ah yes.”

Father showed no sign of concluding his lecture on the scroll. He droned on about Daitoku-ji this and Ōbaku that—matters of zero interest to me—until finally vexing me with, “Do you grasp the meaning of this stick?”

VIII

That day, I was taken by Father to see the Hyōkeikan in Ueno.
I had accompanied him to such places countless times before, but never could I have imagined he would specially come to my boarding house to invite me for that purpose.
Even as I left the boarding house gate with Father and made our way toward Ueno, I kept expecting the real reason to emerge from his lips at any moment.
Yet I found myself utterly unable to muster the courage to broach the subject myself.
Before him, the very names of my elder brother and sister-in-law became forbidden words, my vocal cords cinched tight as though bound.

At the Hyōkeikan, he stood before Rikyū’s letter and haltingly attempted to read the illegible characters, muttering fragments like “such-and-such did thus... kane.” When viewing Wang Xizhi’s calligraphy from the imperial collection, he nodded approvingly with a “Hmm, I see.” Since the work struck me as utterly tedious too, I remarked, “It’s something that could greatly fortify one’s resolve,” to which he countered, “Why?”

We entered the second-floor hall to find about ten of Ōkyo’s paintings displayed in a row. Remarkably sequential, they formed a continuous panorama—save for three cranes perched on a crag at the far right and one mid-flight at the left edge, every span between them drowned in waves stretching two or three ken across.

“They peeled off what was pasted on karakami paper and made it into a hanging scroll.”

On each scroll, Father pointed out to me the traces of remaining opening/closing railings and white marks where handles had detached.
I stood at the hall’s center and finally understood—through Father’s guidance—the reverence owed to those Japanese of old who had painted this grand work.

When we descended from upstairs, Father lectured about jade and Goryeo ceramics.
I was told the name Kakiemon too.
The most tedious was Nonkou’s tea bowl.
The weary pair finally left Hyōkeikan.
Keeping to their right a bluish-black pine that loomed like a shelter before the museum, they trudged along a tidy path.
Still regarding the crucial matter, Father never spoke a word.

“The flowers will bloom soon.”

“They’ll bloom soon.”

The two of them trudged up to the front of Tōshōgū Shrine once again.

“Shall we have lunch at Seiyōken?”

The clock already showed half past one.
Since childhood, whenever Father took me out, I’d developed the habit of eating out somewhere each time, and even after becoming an adult, I’d never thought to separate the act of accompanying him from being treated to meals.
But that day, for some reason, I wanted to part from Father quickly.

The entrance to Seiyōken—which we hadn’t noticed earlier on our way—now had ropes crisscrossing overhead, densely hung with five-colored flags, grandly welcoming guests in silk top hats.

“There’s something going on today. It’s probably reserved for a private event.”

“I see.”

Father stopped and gazed at the colors of the flags flickering among the trees, then remarked as if suddenly remembering, "Today was the twenty-third, wasn’t it?"
That day was the twenty-third.
And so it was the day of the wedding reception for an acquaintance of my brother named K.

"I had completely forgotten. About a week ago, an invitation had arrived—addressed to Ichirō and Oju."
"An invitation had arrived about a week ago—"
“Addressed to both Ichirō and Oju.”

“I wonder if Mr. K still hadn’t gotten married?”

“That’s right.
“I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it’s his second marriage.”

The two of them descended the hill and finally entered the Western-style restaurant on its left side.

“Here you can see the street clearly. By chance, Ichirō might pass by wearing a silk hat.”

“Is Sister-in-law coming along too?”

“Well...
“How about it?”

We took seats near the second-floor window and looked down at the spacious Mitsuhashi-dōri Avenue beyond a low vase adorned with flowers.

Nine

During the meal, Father talked cheerfully.
However, no serious discussion that resembled actual business came up until he had drunk his coffee.
When they stepped outside, he made a face as if noticing something for the first time and gazed at the large white building across the way.

“Oh! The Exhibition Hall has been repurposed into a functioning establishment without us noticing.”
“I hadn’t known at all.”
“When could this have changed?”

The area around the signboard with gold lettering on the front of the white Western-style building was cheaply adorned with countless fluttering flags. Due to my profession, I regarded this crude structure standing so pretentiously at Tokyo’s center with a disheartened gaze.

“It’s truly astonishing how quickly the world changes,” Father said. “When I think that, even someone like me could die at any time.”

Being a fine Sunday and the height of the hour, the streets now teemed with people. Amidst the vibrant colors, lively figures, and carefree footsteps crowding about us, Father’s words felt jarringly out of place.

At the point where the way to Banchō and my boarding house diverged, I tried to part from Father.

“Do you have something to do?”

“Well, a little…”

“Ah, never mind that. Just come along home.”

I hesitated with my hand on the brim of my hat.

“Just come on.
It’s your own house, isn’t it?
You should visit once in a while.”

I followed behind Father with an awkward look on my face.
Father immediately turned around.

“At home, everyone’s been wondering why you haven’t come around lately.
They’re saying, ‘What’s up with Jirō?’
They say restraint becomes neglectful when overdone, but your lack of restraint has turned into neglect—which is even worse.”

“That’s not exactly the case, but…”

“Anyway, just come.”
“Save your excuses for when we get home and try explaining them to Mother.”
“Since my only role is to drag you there.”

Father strode ahead.
I smiled wryly at my own attitude—which inwardly felt like that of a minor under the age of majority—and silently matched Father’s pace.

That day stood in stark contrast to recent days, as the sun—now shifted southward—cast upon us a warm light that might be called the first dawn of youth. Both Father, wrapped in a heavy cloak with an otter-fur collar, and I, wearing a somewhat thick overcoat, were beginning to feel steamed by the warmth from our earlier exertion. That spring half-day found me being dragged about various places due to Father’s influence—an unusual occurrence indeed. With this aged father, instances of walking shoulder to shoulder like this had grown nearly nonexistent of late. With this aged father, how many more times I might walk thus in the future—that too remained unknown.

I felt a faint gladness amid dull unease, accompanied by a kind of fleetingness inherent in that very gladness. Then surrendering myself as much as possible to this sudden wave of sentimentality that had struck my chest, I let my feet carry me forward.

“Mother was surprised,” he said. “Even though we had someone bring you ohagi rice cakes during Higan, you didn’t send a reply or return the tiered box. You could at least come for a little while. It’s not like some reason preventing you from coming suddenly arose.”

I did not respond at all.

“Today I thought I’d bring you along after all this time and have everyone meet you.”
“You haven’t seen Ichirō lately, have you?”

“Yes, actually, when I moved into the boarding house, I merely greeted him.”

“See?”
“However, today Ichirō happens to be out, you see.”
“It was my fault for forgetting about the unveiling event in Ueno, but—”

I was accompanied by Father and finally passed through the gate of Banchō.

10

When I entered the sitting room, Mother looked at my face and merely said, “Well, this is a rarity.” Though I had been practically dragged there by authority, I had felt grateful for Father’s affection along the way. I had been quietly anticipating the moment of meeting Mother after returning home. That this expectation was shattered by a single remark came unexpectedly. Father had shown kindness to his wayward son entirely on his own initiative, without consulting anyone in the household. Oju looked at me with eyes reserved for runaway pets. “Look—the stray’s returned,” she said. Sister-in-law simply offered her usual terse greeting: “Welcome.” She appeared to have completely forgotten her solitary visit that previous evening. I too avoided mentioning it before others out of discretion. Father remained comparatively cheerful. With measured humor and exaggeration, he proudly recounted to Mother and Oju how he had lured me out that day. His choice of “luring” struck me as both excessive and absurd.

“Since it’s spring now, everyone ought to cheer up a bit.”
“When we stay silent like this lately, it feels just like a haunted house—nothing but gloom.”
“Even Kiribatake has grand houses going up these days—isn’t that the season for it?”

Kiribatake was the name of a corner plot right next to their house. The site had remained vacant due to an old superstition that living there invited curses, until someone finally purchased it recently and began major construction work. Father spoke animatedly to those around him, as though afraid his own house might become another Kiribatake. Ordinarily, he would use the two-room suite in the back—where even Mother or Elder Brother would be summoned for matters—but today he broke routine by not entering the living room at all. He simply shed his hakama and haori, then sat right there talking to us at length.

Even my own home, long accustomed to living in, now that I had come to see it like this after so long, held an air as though I were remembering some long-forgotten item.
When I had left, it was still cold.
The sitting room’s glass doors were usually double-locked then, a cruel frost tearing moss from the garden’s ground blanketing everything.
Now all those outer partitions were completely stored away inside their door pockets.
The inner ones too had been opened wide to both sides.
The interior had been opened up to the vast sky as much as possible.
Trees, moss, stones—all leapt directly from the natural surroundings into view.
Everything differed in aspect compared to when I had left.
Everything differed too from my boarding house.

I sat amidst these mementos of the past and talked with my parents, younger sister, and sister-in-law for the first time in a long while.
Among the family, the only one not present was my elder brother.
The name of that elder brother had not once come up in anyone’s conversation since earlier.
I heard that on that day he had been invited to Mr. K’s unveiling event.
I did not know whether he had accepted that invitation, gone out to Ueno, or was indeed away from home.
I looked at my sister-in-law sitting before me and confirmed only that she had not attended the event.

I was troubled that my elder brother’s name did not come up in the conversation. At the same time, I was hesitant for his name to come up. When I looked at everyone’s faces with such feelings, there did not seem to be a single innocent face among them.

After a while, I said to Oju, “Oju, show me your room for a bit. Since you were bragging about how clean it’s become, I thought I’d take a look.” She answered, “Of course! There’s good reason for me to boast, so go take a look.”

I stood up to peek into my room—the one I had lived in day in and day out until moving to the boarding house, the most familiar room in all the house.
Oju indeed followed behind me.

11

Her room wasn't as spotless as she had boasted, but compared to when I had lived there in my messy ways long ago, there was now a faintly alluring fragrance lingering about it.
I sat cross-legged on the gaudily patterned zabuton cushion spread before the desk and looked around while murmuring "I see."

On the desk sat a Japanese-made Majolica plate.
An artificial rose stood inserted in a Secession-style single-stem vase.
A wall hanging embroidered with a large white lily had been hung to one side.

“Isn’t this stylish?”
“It *is* stylish!”

In Oju’s composed face showed a look of satisfaction.

I teased her for a while there.
After five or six minutes, I asked her casually, “How’s Elder Brother been lately?”
She suddenly lowered her voice and answered, “That’s strange.”
Her disposition was entirely opposite to her sister-in-law’s—a great advantage in such situations.
Once I found an opening through her chatter, there was no need for further prompting.
She knew nothing of concealment and spilled every thought within her.
Even I—who’d been listening silently—found it increasingly irritating by the end.

“In other words, you’re saying Elder Brother doesn’t talk much with the family members?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Then it’s the same as when I left home, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

I was disappointed.
Thinking this over, I flicked my tobacco ash unceremoniously into the Majolica plate.
Oju grimaced.

“That’s a pen tray. It’s not an ashtray.”

Realizing Oju—who lacked my sister-in-law’s sharpness—had nothing useful to tell me, I was about to return to the sitting room where my parents waited when she suddenly shared a peculiar story.

According to her story, my elder brother had apparently been seriously researching telepathy or something of the sort lately.
He would make Oju stand outside his study, pinch his own arm, and then ask her, “Oju, I just pinched myself here—didn’t your arm hurt there too?” Or he would drink tea alone in his room and ask, “Oju, isn’t your throat making a gurgling sound like when you’re drinking something right now?”

“Before I heard the explanation, I was sure he’d gone mad and was shocked.”
“Elder Brother later told me it was an experiment conducted by some French person, you know.”
“And then he says it’s because your sensitivity is dull that you don’t get affected.”
“I was so glad.”

“Why?”

“Because catching something like that would be worse than catching cholera, I tell you!”

“Do you hate it that much?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”
“But it’s creepy—no matter how academic it is, he shouldn’t do such things.”

Even as I found it amusing, I somehow felt a creeping sense of unease.
When I returned to the sitting room, my sister-in-law was no longer there.
Father and Mother were sitting facing each other, discussing something in hushed voices.
Their demeanor did not appear like that of the lively person—myself—who had just enlivened the entire house alone.
“Oh, we didn’t intend to raise him this way,” I heard.
“That would be a problem,” I also heard someone say.

12

In that sitting room, I heard general updates about my elder brother from my father and mother.
The facts they presented did nothing but corroborate what I had already known through Oju, adding nothing new; yet their demeanor and words made it seem as though they were deeply troubled by my elder brother’s very existence—a sight painful to witness.
They—especially Mother—said it was unbearable how the atmosphere throughout the house had grown oppressive solely because of Elder Brother.
Their conviction that they had loved their child more than ordinary parents only deepened the bitterness of their complaints.
They seemed to imply there was no reason for being made this uncomfortable by their own flesh and blood.
Thus, while I sat before them, they spoke of nothing but Elder Brother and refrained from criticizing anyone else.
Even Mother, who had always shown discontent with Sister-in-law’s conduct toward Elder Brother, did not utter a single reproachful word about her this time.

Their complaints were also filled with abundant worries born of sympathy.
They had no small concern for Elder Brother’s health.
Nor could they remain indifferent to his mental state, which was somewhat governed by his health.
In short, Elder Brother’s future was a terrifying X to them.

"What are we to do?"

This was the phrase that had to be repeated during their consultations.
To tell the truth, these were words that the two of them should vaguely mull over in their hearts even when apart from each other.

“He’s an eccentric—there have been such episodes before—but being an eccentric, he’d always recovered right away. It’s strange this time though.”

Even to them, who had thoroughly understood how to appease Elder Brother’s moods since childhood, his recent behavior was perplexing. His gloomy mood had persisted without respite from around the time I moved into the boarding house until today. And it continued steadily worsening, heading straight down a path of deterioration.

“I’m truly at my wit’s end,”
“It makes me angry, but I also feel sorry for him.”

Mother looked at me imploringly.

After consulting with Father and Mother, I resolved to suggest that Elder Brother take a trip. Since they insisted their own methods were ineffective, I proposed having Mr.H—the one closest to him—handle the matter, which gained their approval. Yet I absolutely had to be the one to make this request myself.

There was still a week until spring break.
However, school lectures were nearing their scheduled end.
If we were to make the request, acting quickly would be essential.

"Well, either I'll visit Misa within two or three days and have him relay the matter, or if circumstances require, I'll approach them directly myself—let's settle on one option."

Not being particularly close with Mr. H myself, I absolutely needed to go through Misa as an intermediary. Misa had been Mr. H’s guarantor during his school days. Even after graduating, he was practically treated like family, constantly in and out of their house.

On my way out, when I thought to say goodbye and peeked into my sister-in-law’s room, I found her sitting with Yoshie before her, putting a beautiful kimono on a naked doll.

“Yoshie’s gotten so big,” I remarked.

I stood by Yoshie’s head and rested my hand on it. The girl hadn’t seen her uncle in some time; she gave a shy smile, curving her lips awkwardly. By the time I left through the gate, it was nearly five o’clock, yet Elder Brother still hadn’t returned from Ueno. Father urged me to stay for dinner since it had been so long, but I couldn’t bring myself to settle in for that.

13

The next day, on my way back from the office, I went to visit Misa.
Since he had just stepped out for a haircut, I unceremoniously went inside and decided to wait for him.

“It’s become remarkably warm these past few days.”
“The flowers will likely start blooming soon.”

His mother, who had come out to the parlor while waiting for her son’s return, addressed me in her usual polite manner.

His room was, as usual, so crammed with paintings and sketches that it seemed ready to burst.
Among them were some pinned directly to the wall without frames, left completely bare.

“I can’t quite say what it is, but since he’s fond of them, he just pins them up all over the place,” his mother said apologetically.
I noticed an oil painting placed alongside a round jar atop the side bookshelf.

It depicted a woman’s head.
The woman had large black eyes.
And the softly moist, hazy quality of those black eyes suffused the entire canvas with a dreamlike fragrance.
I gazed fixedly at it.
His mother gave a wry smile and looked at me.

“He painted that one on a whim the other day.”

Misa was a skilled painter.
Though my profession had given me some familiarity with paints, when it came to natural artistic talent, I could never rival him.
As I looked at this painting, I found myself thinking of the delicate Ophelia.

“It’s interesting,” she said.

“Since he used a photograph as a base, the mood didn’t come out well—he said it would’ve been better if he’d painted her from life while she was still alive.”
“She was an unfortunate soul who passed away two or three years ago.”
“Despite all the trouble we went through arranging her marriage, it ended in estrangement, you know.”

The model for the oil painting was what they called Misa’s returned daughter.
His mother had already spoken at length about her before I could ask anything.
Yet she never once mentioned the relationship between the woman and Misa.
Nor did she touch upon the woman’s mental illness.
I found myself with no desire to hear about such matters either.
Instead, I took care to steer our conversation away from that subject.

The topic shifted immediately from her to talk of Misa’s marriage prospects.
His mother appeared pleased.

“He’s given us so much worry, but this time it’s finally been decided…”

In the letter I had received from Misa some time back, he had written that he needed to discuss a personal matter with me and would definitely visit soon—it was through this conversation that I finally grasped his meaning.
To his mother, I offered the customary congratulations, but inwardly, I wanted above all to verify whether his bride-to-be truly possessed those large black eyes, glistening with moisture as if about to spill over, just like the woman portrayed in that oil painting.

Misa did not return as soon as I had expected.
His mother said he had probably gone to the bathhouse on his way back and asked if she should go fetch him for me, but I declined.
However, my conversation with her had pitifully little substance.

My sister Oju, whom I had suggested to Misa as a potential match, was still dawdling without having decided where to go.
I was in the same situation as Oju.
Despite having settled into their roles, my elder brother and sister-in-law were at odds with each other.
When I contrasted these matters, I simply couldn’t muster any cheerfulness.

14

Before long, Misa returned.
Lately his physical condition seemed improved—after getting a haircut and bathing, his complexion had an especially healthy glow.
Health and happiness: his face as he sat cross-legged before me unmistakably spoke of both.
His manner of speech matched this cheerfulness.
The unpleasant matter I’d brought felt too jarring to raise abruptly against his buoyant mood.

“Is something wrong?”

When his mother left us facing each other, he asked this.
Reluctantly, I found myself explaining my brother’s recent circumstances.
I had to request that he ask Mr. H to persuade my elder brother to take a trip.

“It pains me to just sit silently watching Father and Mother worry.”

Until hearing these final words, he had sat with arms crossed, gazing at his knees with affected thoughtfulness.

“Then why don’t we go together? It’d work better than me going alone—we could discuss things properly.”

If Misa showed that much goodwill, there was no better arrangement for me.
He said he'd change his kimono and promptly stood up, but soon peered from behind the sliding door to add, "You—Mother insists on feeding you since it's been ages. She's preparing dinner now."
I wasn't in any state to calmly accept this hospitality.
Yet refusing would still leave me needing to eat somewhere.
I gave an evasive reply and planted my restless backside back onto its cushion.
My eyes kept drifting upward to the woman's portrait atop the bookshelf.

“I must apologize for keeping you when we have nothing proper to offer.”
“It’s just what was on hand.”

Misa’s mother reappeared in the sitting room while having the servant bring in the meal tray.
At the edge of the tray sat an old-looking Kutani ware cup.

Even so, Misa and I left earlier than I had expected.
After getting off the streetcar and walking five or six blocks, when we were shown into Mr. H’s parlor and I checked the clock, it was still only eight o’clock.

Mr. H, still wearing his meisen kimono with a white crepe heko obi wrapped around and around, sat cross-legged on the chair and said to Misa, “You’ve brought quite a rare guest with you.”
He had a round face and a round, close-cropped head, and was as corpulent as a Chinese man.
His manner of speaking was as dull as that of a Chinese man struggling with unfamiliar Japanese.
Every time he opened his mouth, his fleshy cheeks would shift, making him appear to be grinning constantly.

His nature was as magnanimous as his demeanor suggested.
He had perched both feet on a rather unsteady chair to sit cross-legged—a posture that looked awkward from the side—yet remained perfectly composed.
This appearance and temperament, nearly polar opposites of my elder brother’s, had paradoxically become the very force binding them together.
Before this man who never opposed anything, even Elder Brother must have found no urge to resist.
I had never once heard Elder Brother speak ill of Mr. H.

“Is Elder Brother still studying as usual? Ah, he shouldn’t study so much.”

He said this unhurriedly and gazed at the tobacco smoke he had exhaled.

15

Before long, Misa broached the matter.
I immediately followed that and explained the main points.
Mr. H tilted his head.

“That’s a bit strange—it doesn’t seem like that should be the case.”

His doubt did not seem feigned in the slightest.
He had met Elder Brother at K’s wedding reception at Seiyōken the day before.
When leaving there, they had exited together.
Because their conversation continued without pause, the two of them walked along carefree side by side.
In the end, Elder Brother said he was tired.
Mr. H took Elder Brother to his house.

“Elder Brother just had dinner there, you see. He didn’t seem the least bit different from usual.”

Elder Brother, who had been spoiled since childhood, was habitually difficult at home yet remained perfectly composed in public.
However, that was the Elder Brother of the past.
To explain him now with just the word “selfishness” was far too simplistic.
I had no choice but to try to find out, to the extent possible without overstepping, what kind of conversation Elder Brother had directed toward Mr. H and Oju at that time.

“He didn’t say a word about family matters.”

This was also not a lie.
Mr. H, who had a good memory, clearly remembered the topics discussed at that time and recounted them in the most unadorned manner.

At that time, Elder Brother had apparently spoken at length about death.
He had apparently taken an interest in the topic of posthumous research popular in England and America and investigated that area extensively.
However, it seemed he had said none of them satisfied him.
He had apparently read Maeterlinck’s essays too, but it seemed he sighed they were as tedious as ordinary spiritualism.

Mr. H’s account concerning Elder Brother was entirely limited to aspects like academics and research.
Mr. H seemed to regard that as a matter of course, as Elder Brother’s true calling.
Yet as I listened, I simply couldn’t separate this Elder Brother from the Elder Brother at home in my mind.
Rather, I could only understand it as the Elder Brother at home having given rise to this scholarly Elder Brother.

“That’s certainly unsettling.”
“Whether this relates to your family or not—I can’t determine that—but it’s clear he’s mentally unmoored and weakened by ideological disquiet.”

Mr. H finally said this.
He furthermore acknowledged Elder Brother’s neurasthenia.
However, that was not something Elder Brother had been hiding at all.
It was said that every time Elder Brother met Mr. H, he would complain about it almost like a set phrase.

“Therefore, a trip now would be most excellent.”
“In that case, I’ll try suggesting it once.”
“But if I tell him to go, will he readily agree?”
“Since he’s quite a stubborn person, it might prove difficult depending on circumstances.”

Mr. H’s words lacked confidence.

“I think he would heed your words readily.”

“That won’t work.”

Mr. H was smiling bitterly.

By the time we stepped outside, it was nearly ten o'clock.
Even so, scattered figures could be seen here and there in the quiet residential district.
As if they were all out for a leisurely stroll, the sound of their footwear resounded peacefully as they went.
In the sky, the starlight was dull.
It was a dullness like fluttering sleepy eyes.
I felt enveloped in an opaque something.
And so, along the dimly lit street, Misa and I walked side by side on our way back.

Sixteen

I waited anxiously for news from Mr. H.
Even a week after reports of cherry blossoms began enlivening the Tokyo area newspapers, there was still no word from Mr. H.
I was disappointed.
I had grown tired of calling Banchō to exchange inquiries.
I remained still, in a mood where whatever happened was fine.
Then Misa came.

“It seems things aren’t going well at all.”

The fact was indeed just as I had imagined.
Elder Brother had flatly refused Mr. H’s invitation.
Mr. H had no choice but to call Misa and request that he convey the result to me.

“So you came all this way just for that?”

“Well, that’s about it.”

“Thanks for going through the trouble. I’m sorry.”

I had no desire to say anything more.

“Mr. H is that sort of person, so he’s feeling sorry as if it were his own responsibility. This time it was too sudden and didn’t go well, but he said he definitely intends to take him somewhere during the next summer vacation.”

I looked at Misa’s face—Misa, who had brought me this sort of consolation—and gave a bitter smile. To someone as unconcerned as Mr. H, spring break and summer break must seem like the same thing—but to those of us working within this situation, summer break felt like a distant future. Between that distant future and the present lurked a great anxiety.

“Well, it can’t be helped.”
“Originally we were the ones who selfishly devised this plan and tried to make Elder Brother move freely according to it—that’s why.”

I finally gave up.

Misa offered no criticism, propped his elbow on the corner of the desk, rested his chin on it, and gazed at his own face. After a while, he said, “That’s why I told you to just do as I say.”

The other day, on my way back from asking Mr. H about Elder Brother, he—who had remained silent until then—suddenly startled me in the middle of the street. He who hadn’t uttered a word about Elder Brother until that moment abruptly poked my shoulder and said, “Instead of fussing over making your brother travel or cheering him up, wouldn’t you be better off getting married sooner yourself?”
“That way’s more to your advantage,” he added.

That night was not the first time he had advised me to marry.
I had always answered him that I simply had no prospects.
He finally declared that he would arrange a match for me.
And for a time, that had nearly come to pass.

I offered him the same kind of greeting that night as well.
He had remembered it as something colder than usual.

"Alright, I'll do as you say—so will you really find me a match?"

“If you truly do as I say, I’ll truly find you a good one.”

He spoke as though he actually had someone in mind.
He must have heard it from the woman he was to marry in the near future.

He no longer spoke much about the young lady with large black eyes and mental illness.

“Your future wife must have that sort of face after all.”

“Well, who knows.”
“I’ll introduce you two eventually, so you’ll see then.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“It might be postponed until autumn due to their circumstances.”

He seemed cheerful.
He was casting the poems of his past into the life that was to come.

Seventeen

April had passed before I knew it.
The flowers bloomed and scattered gradually in their ordained sequence—Ueno first, then Mukōjima, finally Arakawa.
I had let slip this most cherished season of blossoms that brings others such joy.
Yet when months turned and fresh leaves cloaked the world, surveying my idly squandered spring left me profoundly wanting.
Still—that I could squander it at all felt blessing enough.

I did not set foot at home even once after that. Not a single person from home came to visit me either. I received calls once or twice from Mother and Oju, but they were merely about matters concerning clothes I was to wear. I did not see Misa at all. From Okada in Osaka came another picture postcard during the height of the flower season. It bore signatures from Otei-san and Okan-san, just as before.

I lived like some creature commuting daily to the office. Then at May’s end, Misa suddenly sent me a large invitation. Mistaking it for a wedding announcement, I tore open the envelope. To my surprise, it proved an invitation from Fujimichō’s Gagaku Practice Hall. “June Second Music Recital: You are cordially invited to attend from one o’clock in the afternoon on said date. This serves as formal notice.” I couldn’t fathom why Misa—who I’d never known to have connections in such circles—would send this. Half a day later came another letter from him. This one urged me emphatically to attend June Second. Given his insistence, he himself would undoubtedly be present. I resolved to go since the chance arose. Yet regarding gagaku itself, I held no particular expectations. What truly shifted my mood was a brief notice Misa had appended like an afterthought beneath the address.

“Mr. H is not a liar.”
“Mr. H has finally persuaded your brother.”
“Once they finish the school lectures this June, the two of them have apparently made a promise to travel somewhere.”

I rejoiced for Father, for Mother, and for Elder Brother himself.
If Elder Brother had come to feel inclined to promise Mr. H that he would travel, that alone would have been a major change for him.
He, who detested falsehoods, must have fully intended to carry it out.

I did not inquire with Father or Mother about the veracity of the matter.
I did not attempt to confirm the news even with Mr. H.
I merely wished to hear a few more precise details from Misa himself.
Since I felt this too could wait until our next meeting, the June 2nd he had so insistently urged me to attend was implicitly awaited.

June 2nd was unfortunately rainy.
Around eleven, the rain let up slightly, but given the season, it didn’t clear up completely.
People passing through the streets opened and closed their umbrellas.
The willows outside Mitsuke hung their long branches like smoke.
When I passed beneath them, I felt as though a pale powder or mildew had clung to my kimono and would never come off.

Inside the gate of the Gagaku Practice Hall, a great number of rickshaws were lined up. There were also a couple of carriages. However, not a single automobile was to be seen. I handed my hat to someone at the entrance. That person was wearing something like a uniform with gold buttons. Another person took me to the audience seats.

“Please have a seat around here.”

Having said that, he returned to the entrance.
The chairs were still only sparsely occupied.
I sat down in a seat in the back row, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Eighteen

While anticipating Misa's arrival, I scanned the room in all directions, but he was nowhere to be seen.
The viewing areas extended not only at the front but along both left and right sides.
I had been guided from the entrance—left, then right, past a golden screen—to the front seats.
Before me sat two or three women in formal crested kimonos.
Behind me were two officers in khaki uniforms.
Six or seven others sat scattered throughout.

Leaving one seat between myself and them, the pair next to me were talking about the curtain hanging at the front of the stage. On it were strange crests that seemed entirely unrelated to gagaku, dyed in several vertical rows.

"That is Oda Nobunaga's crest," one said. "They say Nobunaga presented that curtain when lamenting the imperial court's decline, and since then they've kept the tradition of using curtains with that mokko crest."

The curtain's top and bottom were edged with borders of purple cloth adorned with golden arabesque patterns.

When I looked in front of the curtain，a drum had been placed in the center.
The drum had been beautifully decorated with green，gold，and red.
And it had been set within a thin，round frame.
At the left end，a bell about the size of a fire iron had also been hung within a frame.
In addition，there were two kotos.
There were also two biwa.

In front of the musical instruments lay an area spread with a blue carpet for dancing. The structure, much like in Noh theater, stood completely separated from the three-sided audience seating. Through this open space of four or five feet, sunlight could stream in and wind pass through as intended.

While I observed this curious arrangement, the audience steadily gathered one by one. Among them was Marquis N, whose face I had only vaguely remembered from some past concert. He was telling the small, plump man with a shaven head beside him—something about his wife: "She can’t come today due to an education meeting." I later learned from Misa that this rotund figure was Duke K.

Misa arrived in a frock coat just five or six minutes before the gagaku performance was to begin. He hesitated at the entrance’s golden screen while surveying the audience seats, but the moment he spotted my face, he came right over and sat down beside me.

Around the same time, a tall young man entered the front seats with two women of marriageable age.
The man wore a frock coat.
The women were in formal kimonos with family crests.
Judging by their facial features, the man and one of the women looked so much alike that I immediately realized they were siblings.
They exchanged greetings with Misa over five or six rows of people.
The man’s face displayed as much amiability as he could muster.
The woman’s face flushed slightly.
Misa deliberately rose from his seat.
Since women typically occupied the front seats, they never came near us.

“That’s the woman who should become my wife,” Misa whispered to me.
In my mind, I compared the mentally ill young lady—the one with those large, dreamlike black eyes—to the fair-complexioned young woman who had just taken her seat two or three rows ahead.
She sat showing me only her black hair and the white nape of her neck.
Even that view was obstructed by people’s shadows.

“The other woman...” Misa began again under his breath.
Then he suddenly thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper and a fountain pen.
He immediately started writing on it.
Musicians had already appeared on the front stage.

Nineteen

They were wearing headgear too eccentric to be called either hats or hoods.
Being familiar with the Noh play *Fuji Taiko*, I surmised this must be what they call a *torikabuto*—a bird-shaped ceremonial headpiece.
From the neck down, their garments were equally divorced from modern times.
They wore what resembled robes woven from brocade.
These robes lacked any stiffening structure, clinging to their bodies in soft lines around the shoulders.
At the ends of their white sleeves, strips of red silk about three sun wide had been sewn on.
They all wore white hakama tied at the waist.
Then in perfect unison, they settled into cross-legged positions.

Misa crumpled the white paper he had begun writing on in his lap.
I looked at the crumpled mass of paper from the side.
He stared straight ahead without offering any explanation.
On the blue carpet, something holding a halberd appeared from behind the left curtain.
This figure too wore a sleeveless brocade garment like the wind and string musicians.

Misa never continued with “The other woman...” no matter how much time passed.
Those in the audience seats were all silent.
Even talking to one’s neighbor was considered improper.
I had no choice but to suppress my urge to press him further.
Misa also acted clueless and maintained his composure.
He, like me, was making his first appearance here and seemed somewhat stiff.

Before the solemn audience, the dance continued tirelessly according to the predetermined program, its monotonous yet refined movements of arms and legs progressing without pause.
Yet with each shift of theme, their costumes passed before us—alternately reflecting the elegant hues of antiquity into our eyes.
Some had cherry blossoms inserted into their crowns.
From beneath large gauze sleeves, flame-like five-colored crests showed through.
They also wore golden swords at their waists.
Some wore crimson kimonos with fastened sleeves, over which they draped Tang brocade vests down to around their knees, appearing like hunters wrapped in brocade.
Some wore haphazardly draped blue garments resembling straw raincoats, with hats of the same blue color hung at their waists—everything was like a dream.
It carried the scent of distant mementos left behind by our ancestors.
Everyone watched with reverent expressions.
Misa and I sat there as if bewitched by a fox.

When the gagaku performance reached an intermission, someone announced that tea would be served, so those nearby began rising from their seats and moving toward another room.
Just then, the woman’s brother—who had finalized arrangements with Misa earlier—arrived and spoke to him in a practiced tone.
He appeared well-connected in such circles, being acquainted with everyone who had received invitations that day.
Misa and I were told by this person the names of nobles, high-ranking officials, and prominent figures who had been present there up to that point.

In the other room were coffee and castella and chocolate and sandwiches.
Though there were no instances of rude behavior as seen at ordinary gatherings, it was still somewhat crowded enough that some women remained seated without rising.
Misa and his acquaintance arranged sweets and coffee on a tray and purposefully carried them over to where the two young ladies sat.
I stood on the threshold peeling silver foil from a chocolate while stealing furtive glances at their interactions from afar.

The woman who was to become Misa’s wife bowed politely and took only the coffee cup, but did not touch the sweets.
The so-called “other woman” would not even readily reach for that coffee cup.
Misa stood holding the tray, frozen in an attitude of being unable to either retreat or advance.
The woman’s face was filled with a more childishly pained expression than when I had seen it earlier.

Twenty

I had been paying particular attention to "the other woman" since earlier.
While Misa’s mannerisms and attitude had undoubtedly played a significant role in this focus, even considered independently she possessed sufficient beauty to naturally draw my gaze.
Throughout intervals in the gagaku performance I kept watching her back and that of the woman destined to become Misa’s wife.
They were seated at such an advantageously visible position relative to my own that I could observe them without either needing to deliberately turn their eyes toward me.

Having been gazing at their necks like this, I now stood in a relatively unobstructed position and began observing their facial features at an angle. When it occurred to me that an opportunity to face them directly might arise, I kept my cheeks stuffed with chocolate while remaining alert to covertly capture that moment. Yet neither that woman nor the object of Misa’s affections ever turned toward me. I could only make out two-thirds of their profiles from my distant vantage point at the side.

Before long, Misa returned carrying the tray back this way.
As he passed by me, he smiled and said, “How’s it going?”
I simply replied, “Thank you for your trouble.”
Then that tall elder brother came over from behind.

“How about coming over there for a smoke?”
“The smoking room’s right at the end.”

The conversation between Misa and me that had just begun to take shape fizzled out once more.
The two of us were guided by him into the smoking room.
The relatively narrow room, dominated by smoke and men, proved more bustling than I’d expected.

I spotted only one familiar face in the corner.
It was a large-eyed man bearing a surname common among performers.
He belonged to some association as a key member, skillfully wielding those prominent eyes of his onstage.
He’d been speaking to someone in that deep theatrical voice of his, but left the smoking room almost as we entered.

“I hear he finally became an actor.”

“Does it pay well?”

“Yeah, I suppose it pays well.”

“I saw something in the paper the other day about him putting on a play—is that him?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

After he left, the three men who had been in the center of the room were having such a conversation.
Misa’s acquaintance told us the names of those three men.
Two of them were Dukes, and one was a Count.
And all three of them were nobles descended from court nobles.
Judging from their conversation, all three of them seemed to possess almost no knowledge of or interest in the art of theater.

We returned to our original seats, listened to two or three pieces of European music, and finally left the gagaku hall around five o'clock.

When the surroundings had emptied of people, Misa finally began to speak about "the other woman."
His thought was exactly as I had inferred from the beginning.

“What do you think? Not to your liking?”

“She has a nice face.”

“Just her face?”

“As for the rest I don’t know, but she seems a bit old-fashioned, don’t you think? It seems she thinks that being reserved in everything counts as good manners.”

“It’s her family circumstances. But that kind never goes wrong.”

The two walked along the embankment.
The pine trees atop the embankment, soaked with rain, appeared bluish-black against the sky.

Twenty-One

I talked with Misa at length about women.
The woman he was to marry was the daughter of an official connected to the Ministry of the Imperial Household.
Her companion was a close friend of hers.
Misa had consulted with her and specifically invited that person for his own sake.
I had him supply me with all obtainable knowledge about her family, status, education, and such matters.

I had put the cart before the horse.
Until meeting Misa at the gagaku hall, I had kept folded within my heart—as that day’s foremost concern—the matter of Mr. H and my elder brother’s planned summer trip together.
When leaving the gagaku hall, it had dwindled to a mere afterthought.
Only when finally parting with him did I first stand at the corner of the intersection.

"I had meant to ask you properly about my brother’s situation when I met you today, but it seems things have finally turned out just as Mr. H said."

"Since Mr. H went so far as to call me over and tell me that much, there’s no mistake."
"It’ll be fine."

“Where are they going?”

“Dunno.—Anywhere’s fine, long as they just go.”

To Misa’s eyes watching from afar, his brother’s fate had never been much of an issue to begin with.

“Instead of that, let’s vigorously push ahead with the other matter, shall we?”

As I walked back alone to my boarding house, I couldn't help thinking about my elder brother and sister-in-law. Yet I may have dwelled more on the woman I met that day than on them. I hadn't exchanged a single word with her. In the end, I never heard her voice either. Misa had said he disliked leaving artificial traces beyond nature's arrangement of their meeting in that room where their eyes could meet, and so made no introductions. He later explained this to me afterward. His approach remained so simple and unobtrusive that neither she nor I could feel troubled or inconvenienced. Yet precisely because of that, it felt inadequate. I had wanted him to do just a bit more for me. "But I didn't understand your intentions," Misa had defended himself. Hearing this made me realize he was right—after all, I'd had no intention of pursuing the woman beyond that point.

For the next two or three days, I would occasionally see the woman's face in my mind.
Yet this did not spark any fervent longing to meet her again.
As the vivid hues of that day gradually faded, Banchō reemerged as the more pressing concern.
Having caught but a faint whiff of feminine presence from afar, I found myself growing all the more listless.
During my commute to the office, I would run my hand over my rough cheeks and sink into gloom, likening myself to a raccoon dog that had boarded the train without ceremony.

About a week had passed when Mother called me on the telephone.
She came to the phone and informed me that Mr. H had visited them yesterday.
As my sister-in-law had caught a cold, Mother had attended to the hospitality duties in her place, and told me that Mr. H had begun discussing plans for a trip he would take with my elder brother.
She thanked me in a pleased tone.
Father also sent his regards.
I replied, “It was well arranged.”

That evening, I thought deeply about many things.
While I had arranged Mr. H’s involvement believing this trip would benefit my brother, confessing my true feelings—what truly tormented me was how my brother perceived me.
How did he regard me?
To what degree did he resent me? To what extent did he doubt me?
That was what I most wished to ascertain.
Thus, my concern lay equally with both my brother as he existed now and the version of him that might emerge in the future.
Having long been severed from any path to meet him directly, I possessed scarcely any firsthand understanding of my brother’s present state.

Twenty-Two

I felt it necessary to meet with Mr. H before his departure. I also had an obligation to express gratitude for his goodwill in carrying out our requests here as arranged.

On my way back from the office, I once again stood at his entranceway and presented my business card. No sooner had the attendant gone inside than he brought his usual bulky, round physique before me.

"To be frank, I'm currently struggling with tomorrow's lecture," he said. "If it's not urgent, I would like to beg your pardon for today."

I, who had never given much thought to the lives of scholars, was suddenly reminded of my elder brother’s daily routine by Mr. H’s words.
Their shutting themselves away in their studies did not necessarily amount to a rebellion against family or society.
I asked Mr. H for a suitable day and decided to try again another time.

“I’m afraid I must ask you to do that,”
“After all, I plan to cut my lectures short as soon as possible and travel with your brother—that’s the idea.”

I had to bow politely before Mr. H.

I visited his house again two or three days later, on a clear evening during the rainy season. Complaining of the heat, his corpulent frame sat with yukata open down to the upper part of his stomach.

“Well, where shall we go?”
“We still haven’t decided whether to head for the mountains or the sea.”

As one would expect of Mr.H, he didn’t seem the least bit concerned about their destination.
I was also indifferent about that.
But….

“There’s a small request I have regarding that.”

I had already informed Mr.H about the general family circumstances when I visited with Misa the other day.
However, regarding the particular relationship existing between my elder brother and myself, I had not yet told him a single word.
Yet I had considered this was not something I should ever confess to Mr.H on my own initiative, no matter how much time passed.
Even Misa’s intimate knowledge amounted to little more than conjecture when it came to that matter.
Mr.H might have indirectly received this conjectural knowledge from Misa, but unless I explicitly broached the subject myself, there was simply no way to verify either its truthfulness or extent.

I couldn't stand not knowing how my elder brother viewed me now, what he thought of me. To know that, if I were to borrow Mr.H's help now, I would inevitably have to lay everything bare before him. The reason I visited Mr.H alone like this, without telling Misa anything and acting as if I were bypassing him, was precisely because I wanted to keep the true nature of the matter from others as much as possible. However, if the truth was something that would make even Misa hesitate out of conscience, then it should never have been mentioned before Mr.H at all.

I had no choice but to break down the special problem into general terms.

"I must apologize for the great trouble this may cause, but while traveling with my elder brother, could you possibly write and inform us in as much detail as possible about your observations—whether regarding his behavior, speech, thoughts, or emotions? If that aspect becomes clear, I believe it would be greatly beneficial in how we handle my brother at home."

"Well, I suppose."
"It’s not entirely impossible, but it does seem rather difficult."
"In the first place, there’s no time for that—you wanting to do such a thing."
"Even if there were time, there would be no need."
"Instead of that, why not come by for a leisurely talk after we return from our trip?"

Twenty-Three

What Mr.H said was entirely reasonable.
I looked down and remained silent for a while, but finally told a lie.

“To tell the truth, my father and mother are worried, and if possible, they would like to be informed of how things are progressing during the trip, at each stage of its course…”

I made a troubled face.
Mr.H laughed.

“You don’t need to worry so much.”
“It’ll be fine—I’ll take care of it.”

“But they’re elderly…”

“That’s a problem, then.”
“That’s precisely why I can’t stand old people.”
“Go home and tell them just that—that everything’s fine.”

“Isn’t there some suitable arrangement you could devise?”
“Something that wouldn’t inconvenience you yet still satisfy my parents.”

Mr. H was smirking again.

“Do you really think such a convenient solution exists, I wonder?”
“But since you’ve made this formal request, let’s proceed like this.”
“If anything report-worthy occurs during our travels, I’ll send a letter to you.”
“If no letter arrives, assume everything continues normally and remain unworried.”
“That arrangement should suffice.”

I could not ask anything more of Mr.H than this.

“That will suffice. However, regarding the meaning of ‘incidents’—if you would interpret this not in the common sense of unforeseen events, but apply it instead to those emotions or thoughts of my elder brother that you observe and deem unusual, might I ask you to do so?”

“This matter’s quite troublesome, isn’t it.”
“But ah well, fine—I’ll do it that way.”

“Furthermore, should matters concerning myself, Mother, or family affairs perhaps come up in my elder brother’s words, I would like you to hear them without reservation and report each instance.”

“Hmm, I’ll inform you as long as there’s no issue.”

“Even if complications arise, I need you to report them regardless.”
“Otherwise the household will face difficulties.”

Mr. H wordlessly began to smoke a cigarette.
I realized that, despite being a junior, I had spoken a bit too much.
A profound sense of restlessness flooded my mind.
Mr. H was looking toward the garden.
In that corner stood five or six large butterbur plants that the landlord had brought from Akita and planted there.
The early summer sky after the rain continued to cast its bright light upon the earth, so the thick butterbur stems stood out sleekly in blue amidst the dimness.

“A large toad comes out over there,” said Mr.H.

After engaging in small talk for a while, I decided to take my leave before it got dark.

“How did your marriage talks turn out? The other day Misa came by—he seemed quite proud of having found a good match for you.”

“Well, Misa does love to meddle.”

“But it seems he isn’t just meddling aimlessly. Why don’t you go ahead and marry her already? They say she’s not bad-looking. Don’t you like her?”

“It’s not that I dislike her.”

Mr. H laughed and said, “Ah, so you do fancy her after all?”
As I left through Mr. H’s gate, I thought I must settle that other matter soon too—I owed Misa that much.
Yet with my elder brother’s situation still unresolved, I found no mental capacity to spare for it.
I even indulged in imagining if only that woman might take a liking to me first.

Twenty-Four

I went to see Misa again.
But since I hadn't made up my mind before going to see him, I couldn't bring myself to take any concrete steps forward in practice.
My attitude remained utterly indecisive.
And then I merely rambled on aimlessly about that woman.

"What are you going to do?"

When asked this, I ultimately couldn't muster any coherent response.

"In my professional life I drift about like a masterless samurai, but as a family man, I consider myself steadily solidifying under fixed principles."
"But you're exactly the opposite."
"When it comes to becoming a household head or someone's husband, you deliberately blunt your willpower—yet handle career matters with swift resolution and perfect composure."

"I'm not particularly composed either."

I had received a letter from Okada in Osaka suggesting there was a suitable position there and inviting me to come, so I was considering whether I might leave my current office after all.

“Weren’t you just making a fuss about going abroad until very recently?”

Misa pressed Jirō about his contradictions.
To me, both going West and moving to Osaka seemed equally insignificant as changes at this point.

“You must approach every matter properly.”
“It’s ridiculous that I’m the only one seriously considering your marriage problem.”
“I’ll wash my hands of it.”

Misa seemed quite irritated.
I couldn’t help being irritated with myself again.

“What exactly is the situation on their side? You keep blaming me, but I don’t understand their intentions at all!”

“There’s no way you could understand. I haven’t told them anything yet!”

Misa was slightly worked up.
And his agitation was only natural.
He had not yet mentioned his own circumstances to either the woman’s father and brother or the woman herself.
Under circumstances that could in no way compromise their dignity, he had merely placed the woman and himself within each other’s field of vision.
His approach left no artificial traces whatsoever; it was merely making use of nature as it was—this was his great pride.

“As long as your thoughts remain unsettled, there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Then I’ll try considering it a little longer.”

Misa appeared agitated.
I too found myself thoroughly displeased.

It was less than a week after I went to see Misa that Mr. H and my elder brother left Tokyo together by train.
I didn’t know the time or date of their departure.
Having received no notice from either Misa or Mr. H, I first learned of it through a phone call from home.
When I picked up the receiver, my sister-in-law unexpectedly came on the line.

“Elder brother left this morning.”
“Father told me to inform you, so I took the liberty of calling.”

My sister-in-law’s words had taken on a slightly more formal tone.

“He’s with Mr. H, then?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he go?”

“They mentioned something about touring the Izu coast.”

“So by ship?”

“No, after all, from Shinbashi…”

Twenty-Five

That day, instead of returning to my boarding house, I went straight from the office to Banchō. Though I had been too fearful to approach until yesterday, upon hearing of my brother’s departure I immediately turned my steps there—my actions felt far too calculating. Yet I had no desire to conceal this. It seemed to me there was not a soul in the house who required concealment.

In the tearoom, my sister-in-law was examining a magazine’s frontispiece.

“I must apologize for this morning.”

“Goodness, you startled me! When I saw who it was—Jirō-san. Have you just returned from Kyōbashi?”

“Yes, it’s gotten quite hot, hasn’t it?”

I took out a handkerchief and wiped my face.
Then I took off my jacket and threw it down onto the tatami mats.
My sister-in-law fetched a fan for me.

“Where’s Father?”

“Father is out.”
“He said there’s something happening in Tsukiji today.”

“Seiyōken?”

“Probably not. I think it’s another teahouse.”

“Where’s Mother?”

“Mother is in the bath now.”

“Where’s Otei?”

“Miss Otei also…”

My sister-in-law finally started to smile.

"Is she in the bath?"

“No, she isn’t here.”

The maid came and asked whether to put strawberries or lemons into the ice.

“Is the household already using ice?”

“Yes, we’ve been using the refrigerator for two or three days now.”

Was it my imagination, or was my sister-in-law looking slightly more haggard than when I last saw her? Her cheeks seemed to have lost a bit of their fullness. Due to the evening light, whenever she moved her face, it flickered across my eyes. She was sitting with her left cheek facing the veranda.

“Even so, Brother really went ahead and decided to go on the trip.”
“I thought he might end up postponing again this time, but…”

“He wouldn’t put it off.”

My sister-in-law looked down at such moments.
Then she spoke in a calmer, more subdued voice than usual.

“Well, Brother is dutiful—since he promised Mr. H, he must have meant to follow through, but…”

“That’s not what I meant.”
“Not that meaning—I meant he wouldn’t postpone it.”

I stared blankly at her face.

“Then in what sense isn’t he delaying?”

“What do you mean ‘what sense’?—You understand perfectly well.”

I didn't understand.

"I don't understand."

"Brother has grown tired of me."

“Are you saying he went on this trip because he’s grown tired of you?”

“No—because he’d grown completely weary of me, that’s why he went on the trip.”
“In other words, he no longer considers a woman like me his wife.”

“So...”

“So he doesn’t care about someone like me at all.”
“That’s why he went on the trip.”

At this, my sister-in-law fell silent.
I too said nothing.

Just then, Mother came up from the bath.
“Oh, when did you get here?”
Mother made a displeased face when she saw the two of us sitting there.

26

"If we don’t wake Yoshie properly soon, she’ll stay up late again and cause trouble."

My sister-in-law stood up silently.

“When she wakes up, put her in the bath right away.”

“Yes.”

Her retreating figure disappeared around the corner of the corridor.

“Is Yoshie taking a nap? That’s why it’s so quiet, I thought.”

“Earlier she was sulking and crying about something until she finally dropped off to sleep.”
“But it’s already five—we really must wake her properly now…”

Mother wore an expression of discontent.

That day I unusually found myself seated at the household dining table, taking up my chopsticks for supper.
Though Father—having been summoned to a restaurant or teahouse in Tsukiji—naturally hadn’t returned, Oju came back precisely on schedule.

"Hey, why don't you come over here and sit down? Everyone was waiting for you to finish your bath."

Oju plopped down on the veranda and sat there, fanning her summer kimono at the chest to let in some breeze.

"Even if you rush me like that, it won't do any good. And here you are acting like some rare guest!"

Oju stiffened and deliberately turned her nose toward the yatsude plant. Mother looked at me with a laugh that said it had started again. I felt like teasing again.

"If you think I'm such a guest, don't turn that big backside of yours away—come over here and sit down properly."

“A fly.”

“Where on earth have you been wandering around alone in this heat?”

“It’s none of your business where. Calling it ‘wandering around’—first off, your very phrasing is vulgar.—Fine then—today I went to Mr. Sakata’s place and heard all about Elder Brother’s secrets.”

Oju referred to her elder brother as “Elder Brother,” while referring to me simply as “brother.” At first she called him “Chii-niisan,” but each time I heard that “Chii,” I felt an odd discomfort, so I made sure to have her drop just the “Chii.”

“Go ahead and tell everyone if you want.”

Oju turned her face, flushed from the bath, toward me in one swift motion.
I blinked twice in rapid succession.

"But you just clearly stated it was Elder Brother's secret."

"Yeah, a secret."

"If it's a secret, then obviously you shouldn't talk about it!"

"That's what makes it fun to talk about."

I was exasperated inside, thinking Oju's recklessness might lead her to blurt out anything.

“Oju, you don’t know what in logic is called a *contradiction in terms*, do you?”

“Fine then.”
“Using that haughty English like nobody else knows about it.”

“That’s enough from both of you now.”
“What’s this? It’s not even amusing. You’re not fifteen- or sixteen-year-old children anymore.”

Mother finally scolded the two of them.
I too took this as a good opportunity to immediately end the verbal spat.
Oju also threw her fan onto the veranda and quietly took her seat at the dining table.

Since the situation had shifted, no real secret ever managed to slip from Oju's lips during the meal. Neither Mother nor my sister-in-law showed any sign of paying attention to it. A man called Heiraku emerged from the back and sprinkled water across the garden. "It hasn't dried out that much yet—no need to go overboard," Mother said.

Twenty-Seven

That evening I left Banchō just as the lamps were lit, still early in the night.
Even so, after finishing my meal, I remained seated there for about an hour and a half, chattering away with everyone.

During that hour and a half, I was finally cornered into having that secret exposed by Oju.
However, since that was nothing more than the usual marriage matter—no secret at all to me—I actually felt relieved.

“Mother, Brother apparently went and had an arranged meeting behind our backs the other day.”

“Would I ever sneak around for some secret matchmaking?”

I cut off Oju’s words before Mother could say anything.

“I’ve heard it properly from a reliable source, so no matter how much you play innocent, it’s no use.”

When I heard the phrase “reliable source” come out of Oju’s mouth, I couldn’t help but let out a bitter smile.

“You’re such an idiot.”

“So what if I am?”

Oju started chattering away to Mother and Sister-in-law about the events of June 2nd.
The account was so detailed that I was a bit surprised.
A strong curiosity about where she had obtained that knowledge prompted me to ask a counter-question.
But Oju merely let slip a mean-spirited smile and absolutely refused to disclose her source.

“The reason Brother is keeping quiet from us is surely because there’s some explanation he finds too difficult to divulge.”
“Right? That’s how it is, isn’t it, Brother?”

Oju not only failed to satisfy her own curiosity but instead began tormenting me from her side.
"I said, 'Fine, whatever.'"
When Mother earnestly inquired about the whole matter, I answered simply and truthfully.

"That’s all there is to it.
Moreover, since they know nothing about it on their side, please keep that in mind.
If you go around spreading half-baked talk like Oju does—even if I wouldn’t care either way—it might cause trouble for them."

Mother began asking a barrage of detailed questions with an expression that suggested the other party couldn’t possibly be inconvenienced. But when it came to things like how much wealth they possessed, whether there were paupers among their relatives, or if they carried any bad hereditary diseases in their lineage, I found myself completely unable to answer. Not only that, but eventually even listening grew so tedious that I came to loathe it. I finally left Banchō as if fleeing.

While I was being subjected to various questions by Mother that night, Sister-in-law remained seated in the same spot the entire time, but regarding this matter, she hardly uttered a word. Mother too never directed any consultative words toward her. The attitudes of these two people well represented their temperaments. However, that did not seem to be merely a contrast arising solely from differences in temperament. Sister-in-law, whether to maintain her position as a complete outsider or for some other reason, seemed perpetually preoccupied with looking after Yoshie. Yoshie, who was in the habit of being put to bed as soon as night fell, had napped so excessively that she did not enter the mosquito net until I returned home that evening.

I returned to my boarding house and was unexpectedly struck by how stiflingly hot my room was. I deliberately turned off the electric light and sat in silence in the dark. Where will my brother who departed this morning stay tonight? What kind of conversation would Mr. H have with him tonight? The magnanimous face of Mr. H naturally floated before my eyes. Along with that, I could see the long-unseen smile carved into my emaciated elder brother’s cheek.

Twenty-Eight

From the very next day, letters from Mr. H were eagerly anticipated.
I began counting days on my fingers - one, two, three.
Yet there came no communication from Mr. H.
Not even a single picture postcard arrived.
I was disappointed.
There existed no frivolousness in Mr. H that would make him forget his obligations.
Yet he possessed such unflappable composure that he failed to fulfill them with the dutifulness we had anticipated.
As one belonging to the fervently self-restrained faction, I observed him from afar.

Then, on the evening of exactly the eleventh day since their departure, a weighty sealed letter finally came into my hands.
Mr. H had filled every inch of finely ruled foreign paper with fountain pen ink.
Judging by the number of pages alone, this couldn't have been work completed in two or three hours.
I began reading with the rigid posture of a doll lashed to its desk.
In my eyes burned a determination to miss not one dot or stroke of those tiny black characters.
My mind became nailed to the pages.
Yet like a sled gliding through snow, it moved effortlessly across them.
In truth, I remained wholly unaware of how much time passed between reading Mr. H's opening line and reaching his final period.

The letter was written as follows.

"When I invited Nagano on this journey, I did initially accept your request—but upon facing reality, I realized execution would prove nearly impossible. Even if feasible, there seemed no necessity to proceed—or rather, regardless of necessity, the act itself struck me as undesirable. These were my initial thoughts.
During our first two days traveling, all three circumstances—or some combination thereof—persisted so strongly that I became convinced our carefully made agreement must be voided.
By the third and fourth days, I found myself compelled to reconsider.
As days five and six accumulated, I not only continued deliberating but began feeling it might indeed prove necessary to send you this letter as promised.
Of course, my concept of 'necessity' may differ substantially from yours—a distinction that will become clear should you read this correspondence through to its conclusion.
Moreover, while the ethical discomfort I initially felt—this cannot be dispelled by mere passage of days—it remains equally true that mounting necessity has grown potent enough to suppress it.
I likely possessed no leisure for letter-writing.
—This particular impediment clung to me exactly as forewarned.
We share sleeping quarters; we take meals together; we stroll in tandem; we even bathe concurrently when bathhouse architecture permits.
Enumerating thus, you'll appreciate our sole moments of separate action occur during lavatory visits."

Of course, the two of us were not continuously talking from morning till night.
There were times when we each had books of our own choosing in hand, and times when we lay down in silence.
However, actually writing about him while feigning ignorance right in front of him and then quietly conveying that to someone else proved rather awkward for me.
Even I, who had come to recognize the necessity of writing, found myself at a loss with this.
No matter how much I tried to find opportunities to write, such chances simply could not arise.
Yet chance finally guided my hand and allowed me to perform this work I deemed necessary.
I began writing this letter without excessive reserve toward Elder brother.
And under these same conditions, I hope to complete it.

29

We arrived deep in this Benigatani Valley two or three days ago and threw our exhausted bodies down between the valleys. The place where we are staying is a small villa owned by my relative. Since the owner found it difficult to leave Tokyo before August, we ended up utilizing his earlier words—that it would be fine to make it available to you anytime before then—during our travels.

While the term "villa" sounds quite respectable, in reality it is rather unattractive and cramped—structurally speaking, it precisely resembles the forty or fifty yen lodgings of low-ranking officials found in Tokyo's outskirts. However, being in the countryside, the grounds of the estate do have some space. Something that might be a garden or vegetable plot—it's hard to tell which—extends from the eaves all the way to the hedge bordering the steep slope. The hedge was thick with coralberry fruits, and through the leaves, about a quarter of the neighboring thatched roof could be seen.

From under the same eaves, across the valley, the mountain opposite appeared close enough to touch.
The entire mountain formed part of a Count's villa grounds, where glimpses of yukata colors sometimes showed between trees, and women's voices occasionally echoed from the cliffs above.
Atop those cliffs stood a tall pine that seemed to pierce the sky.
We spent our days beneath those low eaves, gazing up at this pine each morning and evening as though performing some noble duty.

Of all the places we've stayed, your brother seems to favor this one most.
While there may be multiple reasons, I believe the primary cause lies in the calmness brought by pretending to be masters of this independent house - a pretense that comforts your brother, unaccustomed as he is to company.
Until now, your brother had slept poorly wherever we lodged, but since arriving here that first night, he's been resting well.
Even now, as I sweep this fountain pen across the page, he lies fast asleep and snoring soundly.

Another unexpected blessing I found since coming here was that we didn't have to spend all day idling in a single room like at a regular inn, sitting knee-to-knee with each other.
The house was, as I mentioned earlier, an exceedingly cramped one.
Compared to the Western-style mansion some wealthy man had built on the slope to the right beyond the gate, it amounted to nothing more than a matchbox.
Still, it stood as an independent detached house surrounded by hedges on all sides.
Though cramped, it contained about five rooms.
Elder Brother and I slept within a single mosquito net hung in one tatami room.
However, unlike at an inn, there was no need to rise at the same hour.
Even when one awoke, the other could remain asleep as long as desired.
I could leave Elder Brother undisturbed and turn to the lacquered paper desk set up in the adjoining room.
The same held true during daylight hours.
Should facing each other grow burdensome, either of us would discreetly withdraw to attend to personal matters for however long suited us.
Then at some fitting moment, we'd reappear and show our faces.

It is by availing myself of such circumstances that I am writing this letter.
And I consider myself fortunate for your sake that I was able to make unexpected use of this circumstance.
At the same time, I find it regrettable for my own sake that I have come to recognize the necessity of utilizing it.

What I am relating lacks chronological organization as a diary would. From a classificatory perspective, it may not be scientifically distinguishable. However, you must understand this as resulting from travel's destructive effects—trains, rickshaws, inns all disrupting regular work—combined with the inherent difficulty of calmly undertaking such documentation. That I can report even fragmentarily what follows already surprises me. This owes entirely to chance.

30

Neither of us were men with any particular penchant for travel. Therefore, the itinerary we planned was also appropriately ordinary given our experience. With the notion that simply touring nearby convenient spots like everyone else would achieve most of our objectives, we first vaguely aimed for areas around Sagami and Izu.

Even so, I was still better off than Elder brother. I was fairly well acquainted with the major locations and necessary transportation, but Elder brother had practically transcended geography and direction. Elder brother did not know whether Kōzu came before or after Odawara. Rather than not knowing, he probably didn’t care. When I consider how Elder brother could be so indifferent in one respect yet fail to maintain the same composure toward all aspects of human affairs, I cannot help feeling truly mystified. However, that is a secondary matter. Since digressions make it difficult to return, I shall endeavor to follow the main current and proceed without straying from the narrative.

We had initially settled on departing with Zushi as our base through prior discussion.
However, that morning in the rickshaw hurrying to Shinbashi, my mind abruptly shifted.
However ordinary our journey might be, proceeding directly to Zushi first seemed far too commonplace, sapping my enthusiasm.
I renewed discussions with your brother at the station.
I proposed reversing our route—first going from Numazu to Shuzenji, then crossing the mountains toward Ito.
Since your brother didn't even know whether Odawara preceded or followed Kōzu—and thus naturally raised no objections—we immediately purchased tickets to Numazu and boarded the Tōkaidō-line train without delay.

In the train, nothing particularly worth reporting occurred.
Even after arriving there, during the time we took baths, ate meals, and drank tea, there was nothing particularly noteworthy.
It was not until that evening that I had recalled how, regarding Elder brother, this might be something I needed to inform his family about for their reference.

It was too early to sleep.
I was already tired of conversation.
I was struck by a kind of listlessness that anyone experiences during travel.
When I suddenly noticed a heavy-looking Go board beside the alcove, I immediately carried it out to the center of the room.
Of course, I intended to play a game with Elder brother.
I do not know whether you are aware of this or not, but during my school days, I often played Go with Elder brother using this.
After that, both of us stopped playing abruptly, as if by mutual agreement, but in this situation, the Go board was indeed the perfect tool to make our idle time more enjoyable.

Elder brother gazed at the Go board for some time.
After doing so, he said, "Well, let's stop."
With the momentum of my conviction, I pushed back, "Why don't we do it instead of saying that?"
Even so, Elder brother said, "No, no—let's just stop."
When I looked at Elder brother's face, there was a strange expression between his eyes and eyebrows.
Since his expression did not show contempt or indifference—as if dismissing it with "What kind of Go is this?"—I felt a peculiar sensation.
However, since forcing him against his will was distasteful, I finally picked up the Go stones alone and began arranging them on the board, alternating between black and white.
Elder brother watched this for a short while.
As I continued silently placing the stones, Elder brother suddenly stood up and left for the corridor.
Assuming he had probably gone to the restroom or something of that sort, I paid no attention at all to Elder brother's behavior.

31

As expected, Elder brother returned without delay.
Then no sooner had he suddenly said "Let's do it" than he snatched the Go stones from my hand as if wrenching them away.
Without any particular concern, I replied, "Alright," and immediately began placing the stones.
Needless to say, our Go skills were amateurish, so we placed the stones quickly, and settling the match required no particular effort.
Since we could comfortably finish about two games within an hour, whether watching or facing the board, there was never any tedious feeling.
Yet Elder brother declared it painful to endure watching the swiftly progressing game until the end, and ultimately stopped midway.
I worried he might be feeling unwell, but Elder brother merely smiled.

Before going to bed, I heard from Elder brother for the first time an explanation of his psychological state at that time. Elder brother had disliked doing anything from the outset, including playing Go. At the same time, he apparently could not help doing something. This contradiction was already causing Elder brother pain. Elder brother had foreseen that if he started playing Go, he would surely be overcome by a feeling of being unable to continue playing it or anything else. Yet he could not help starting again. Thus he had no choice but to face the board. The moment he faced it, he grew intensely agitated. Eventually, the black and white stones scattered across the board seemed to him like monsters that deliberately connected, separated, and intersected with each other to torment his mind. Elder brother said he had nearly scattered the board in chaos to drive away these fiends. Having been completely unaware of all this, I thought I had done something wrong, though with some surprise.

“No—it’s not just Go,” Elder brother said, and forgave my mistake.
At that time, I heard from Elder brother about his usual state.
Elder brother’s demeanor remained calm even when he stopped the Go game midway.
Elder brother’s state of mind, which appears perfectly normal on the surface, may not be understood by you all.
At least for someone like me, this was a discovery.

Elder brother apparently cannot find peace in anything—whether reading books, pondering logic, eating meals, taking walks, or whatever he does at all times.
No matter what he does, he is pursued by the feeling that he cannot keep doing such things.

“There is nothing more agonizing than when your own actions fail to become your own purpose,” Elder Brother said.

“Even if it’s not a purpose, wouldn’t it suffice as an expedient?” I replied.

“That would be acceptable,” Elder Brother answered. “But expedients can only be established when there exists a purpose to begin with.”

What tormented Elder Brother was his conviction that no matter what he did, it served neither as purpose nor expedient. He was simply restless. Thus he could not remain still. He claimed he rose because lying calmly in bed became unbearable. Upon rising, he walked because standing idle proved intolerable. When walking, he ran because mere ambulation felt insufficient. Once running, he insisted he could never stop—no matter how far he went. Worse still, he believed he had to accelerate moment by moment. Imagining this extremity terrified him. It terrified him enough to break into cold sweats. He repeated that he was terrified—so terrified he could not endure it.

32

I was surprised when I heard Elder brother’s explanation.
However, for someone like me who had never experienced that kind of anxiety since birth, there was understanding but no accompanying sympathy.
I listened to Elder brother’s talk with the feeling of someone who doesn’t know headaches being described a splitting pain.
I thought for a while.
As I pondered, the concept of human fate dimly floated up before my eyes.
I thought I had found proper solace for Elder brother.

“The anxiety you speak of belongs to all humanity. Once you realize you’re not alone in suffering it, that should settle the matter.”
“In other words, since our fate lies in ceaselessly flowing and changing like this—”

My words were not just vague—they were something unpleasantly tepid.
They had to be buried along with a scornful glance from Elder brother’s sharp eyes.
Elder brother said this:

“Human anxiety comes from the development of science.”
“Science, which does not know how to stop advancing, has never allowed us to stop.”
“From walking to rickshaw, rickshaw to carriage, carriage to train, train to automobile, then to airship, then to airplane—no matter how far we go, it never lets us rest.”
“There’s no telling how far one can be dragged along.”
“It’s truly terrifying.”

“That’s terrifying,” I also said.

Elder brother laughed.

“When you say ‘terrifying,’ you mean it’s acceptable to use that word.”
“It’s not actually terrifying, is it?”
“In other words, it’s nothing more than an intellectual terror.”
“Mine is different.”
“Mine is the terror of the heart.”
“It’s a living terror with a pounding pulse.”

I guaranteed there was not a single trace of falsehood in Elder brother’s words.
Yet tasting Elder brother’s terror with my own tongue remained beyond me.

"If it's everyone's fate, then you don't need to be the only one so terrified," I said.

"Even if there's no need, the fact remains," Elder brother answered.
He also spoke of those dichotomies.

"It is terrifying because I must undergo, alone within my single lifetime, the fate all humanity should reach after centuries."
"I could manage if confined to a lifetime, but it's terrifying because I must still endure this fate even compressed into ten years—no, one year—or pared down further to one month or even one week."
"You may think this a lie, but no matter how you dissect my life into fragments—be they an hour or thirty minutes—each sliver inevitably undergoes the same fate. That's what terrifies."
"In short, I gather all humanity's anxiety into myself alone and endure the terror of having that anxiety distilled into fleeting instants."

“That’s no good.”
“You’ve got to relax more.”

“I know perfectly well myself how bad it is.”

I sat silently smoking a cigarette before Elder Brother.
In my heart, I earnestly wished to somehow rescue him from this pain.
I forgot all else.
Elder Brother—who until then had been silently watching my face—suddenly said, “You are greater than I am.”
At that moment when I felt Elder Brother was intellectually superior to me in every way, no sense of joy or gratitude arose toward this praise.
I remained silent smoking my cigarette.
Elder Brother gradually calmed.
Then we both got into the same mosquito net and went to sleep.

33

The next day, we stayed at the same place.
When we walked along the beach first thing in the morning, Elder brother gazed at the deep sea that seemed to be sleeping and said with delight, "It’s nice when the sea is this calm too."
Lately, it seemed Elder brother had been feeling nostalgic for anything that remained still.
In that sense, he preferred mountains over water.
Even if he found it pleasing, it seemed slightly different from the state of mind ordinary people had when enjoying nature.
That would become clear through Elder brother’s words given below.

“Growing a beard, wearing Western clothes, holding a cigar in my mouth—viewed from above, I might appear every bit the proper gentleman, yet in truth my heart roams like a homeless beggar from dawn till dusk.”
“I’m pursued by anxiety around the clock.”
“I remain so pathetically restless I can’t settle.”
“In the end, I believe there exists no one in this world more pitiable than myself—a man so deficient in self-cultivation.”
“At such moments, riding a train or whatnot, when I suddenly lift my gaze and look across, I sometimes come upon a face that seems utterly free from suffering.”
“The instant my eyes fix on that vacant face—untainted by sprouting wicked thoughts—a profound thrill of joy courses through my entire being.”
“My heart springs back to life like drought-withered rice stalks blessed with nourishing rain.”
“Simultaneously, that face—thinking nothing, perfectly composed—appears magnificently noble.”
“Even with downcast eyes or a flattened nose, however plain the features, it radiates profound nobility.”
“I feel driven to kneel before that face with near-religious piety and offer gratitude.”
“My stance toward nature follows precisely the same principle.”
“The old inclination to admire beauty merely for its loveliness—that feeling finds no space to arise within me now.”

Elder brother included me among the category of noble faces he had encountered by chance on the train.
I declined, saying it was something I could never have imagined.

Then, Elder brother said in a serious manner:

“Even you must have moments—once or twice a day—when you reveal your natural heart on your face, free from thoughts of gain or loss, good or evil.”
“When I say ‘noble,’ I’m referring to you in those moments.”
“It’s limited to those moments.”

Perhaps intending to provide concrete evidence for me—who still seemed unconvinced even after this explanation—Elder brother brought up an example from the night before we had gone to bed.
He confessed that during that conversation, he had ended up getting too carried away.
Yet he claimed that when he saw my face, the agitation in his mind gradually subsided.
Elder brother asserted that whether I agreed or not was irrelevant—he had simply received a calming influence from me then and, if only temporarily, been spared his agonizing anxiety.

At that time, I was as I had said before.
I was simply sitting there silently smoking.
At that moment, I forgot everything.
I earnestly wished to somehow rescue Elder brother from this anxiety by myself.
But I did not think my heart would reach Elder brother.
Nor did I have any intention of trying to make it reach.
So I remained silent without saying anything and kept smoking.
However, there may have been pure sincerity there.
Did Elder brother read that sincerity in my face?

I walked ploddingly along the sandy beach with Elder brother.
As I walked, I thought.
Wouldn’t Elder brother be someone who could finally find peace only by passing through the gate of religion sooner or later?
To put it more strongly—wouldn’t it be that Elder brother is now undergoing pain in order to become a religious figure?

34

“Have you given any thought to God lately?”

In the end, I posed this question to Elder brother.
The reason I specifically qualified it with "lately" here was that it stemmed from old recollections of my student days.
At that time, both of us were still inexperienced youths with unformed thoughts, but even so, I often discussed the existence of God with Elder brother, who was prone to deep contemplation.
Since it’s come up, I should mention that Elder brother’s mind was already slightly different from others’ since that time.
Elder brother would be walking aimlessly, and when he suddenly became aware of the fact that he was walking, it would become an insoluble problem he couldn’t help pondering.
If he intended to walk, he would undoubtedly walk—but from where did that intention to walk and the power to do so suddenly emerge? This became a great question for Elder brother.

From such things，the two of them often used words like God and First Cause.
Looking back now，they had used them without understanding.
However，as a result of habitually using them glibly，even God had eventually become trite.
And then both fell silent as if by mutual agreement.
How many years had passed since they fell silent?
I stood before the large vessel holding the deep color called the sea on a quiet summer morning，facing Elder brother，and once again spoke the word “God.”

However, Elder brother had completely forgotten that word.
There wasn’t even a hint of him recalling it.
In response to my question, only a faint bitter smile crossed those ironic lips.

I was not so timid as to be daunted by Elder brother’s attitude.
Nor were we on such distant terms that I would retreat without voicing my thoughts.
I took a step forward.

“If even looking at the face of some stranger—who knows what stock he comes from—can sometimes make you feel grateful, then wouldn’t you become hundreds of times happier if you could worship God’s perfect form without ever leaving His presence for even a moment?”

“What use is such meaningless lip-service logic?”
“Then bring God before me and show Him to me.”

Something fiercely intense trembled in Elder brother's tone and between his brows. Elder brother suddenly picked up a small stone at his feet and ran several meters toward the water's edge. He threw it into the distant sea. The sea quietly accepted the stone. Like someone angered by futile effort, Elder brother repeated the same motions two or three times. He ran recklessly through seaweed—kelp, wakame, nameless varieties—washed ashore on the beach. Then he returned again to where I stood watching.

“I prefer living humans to dead gods.”

Elder brother said this.
He exhaled in labored breaths.
I led Elder brother as we gradually made our way back toward the inn.

“Whether it’s a rickshaw puller, a street vendor, or a thief—the face that makes me feel grateful in that instant, isn’t that God?”
“Whether mountains, rivers, or seas—the nature I perceive as sublime in those moments, isn’t that precisely God?”
“What other God could exist beyond this?”

When Elder Brother posed this argument to me, I could only respond with “I see.”
Elder Brother made a dissatisfied face at that time.
However, later on, he would still show signs of being impressed with me.
To tell the truth, it was I who had been outdone by Elder Brother and left merely impressed.

35

We spent about two days in Numazu.
When we discussed extending our trip to Okitsu, Elder brother said he disliked it.
Though he had been compliant regarding all itinerary matters until then, I couldn’t fathom why he resolutely rejected my proposal at that particular moment.
When I later heard his explanation, he said he detested places associated with things like Miho no Matsubara or the Celestial Maiden’s Feathered Robe.
Elder brother was undoubtedly a man with a peculiar mind.

We finally turned back as far as Mishima.
There, we transferred to the Ōni-bound train and finally went to Shuzenji.
Elder brother seemed to have been quite fond of this hot spring from the very beginning.
However, as soon as we arrived at our crucial destination, Elder brother let out a disappointed “Oh dear.”
In truth, what Elder brother had favored was the name “Shuzenji,” not the actual place called Shuzenji.
Though a trivial matter, I will add this here as it also contributes somewhat to understanding Elder brother’s characteristics.

As you know, this hot spring town lay in a low area, as though it had plunged into the valley floor from a gap where mountains embraced each other.
Once someone entered there, blue walls pressed so close against their nose wherever they looked that they had no choice but to gaze upward.
If you walked looking down, the place was so cramped that even the ground’s color wouldn’t properly catch your eye.
Elder brother, who until then had claimed to prefer mountains over the sea, no sooner found himself surrounded by Shuzenji’s peaks than he abruptly began feeling stifled.
I immediately took Elder brother outside to look around.
What would have been a main street in any ordinary town was here entirely a riverbed, blue water flowing through it as it struck against rocks.
Thus even when we spoke of walking, there was naturally no space to walk as much as we wished.
I invited Elder brother toward the hot spring welling up between rocks mid-river.
The sight of men and women jumbled together soaking in one spot struck me as amusing.
The very uncleanliness became conversation fodder.
Elder brother and I ultimately lacked the courage to cast off our yukata and enter.
Yet standing atop a rock, we kept gazing curiously at the dark figures in the steaming water.
Elder brother appeared content.
As we stepped onto the precarious plank bridging rock and shore on our return, Elder brother uttered the phrase “good men and women.”
This seemed no casual descriptor—he truly appeared to mean it.

The next morning, clenching a toothpick as we soaked together in the indoor bath, Elder brother said, “Last night I couldn’t sleep again—it’s truly a problem.” I had thought that insomnia was most detrimental to Elder brother in his current condition, so I inevitably made it a topic of discussion.

“When you can’t sleep, you grow desperate trying to force yourself to sleep, don’t you?” I asked.

“Exactly—so then I become even less able to sleep,” Elder brother replied.

“You—does not sleeping mean you have some obligation to someone?” I pressed again.

Elder brother made a strange face.
Perched on the edge of the stone-lined bath basin, he gazed at his hands and stomach.
Elder brother, as you know, was not particularly overweight.

I said, “I also sometimes can’t sleep, but not being able to sleep can also be quite enjoyable.”

“Why?” Elder brother asked this time.
“At that moment,” I said to Elder brother, “I recalled an ancient verse: ‘The lamplight illuminates sleeplessness; the heart perceives a pure and exquisite fragrance.’”
Then Elder brother immediately looked at my face and smirked.

“Do you think a man like you could understand that kind of refinement?” he said, looking skeptical.

36

That day, I dragged Elder brother out again and this time went to the mountains.
Looking up to go to the mountains and looking down to enter the hot spring—there was practically nothing else to do there beyond that.

Elder brother walked skillfully along the narrow path, using his thin legs like a whip.
On the other hand, he seemed to tire twice as quickly as others.
When I, being fat, lumbered up from behind, Elder brother was sitting on a tree root, panting.
Elder brother wasn’t stopping to wait for anyone else.
He would lose his breath and collapse helplessly.

Elder brother would sometimes stop and gaze at the lilies blooming in the thicket.
On one occasion, he particularly pointed out a white petal and declared, “That is my possession.”
I had no idea what he meant by that, but feeling no particular urge to ask him again, we finally made our way to the summit.
When the two of us rested at a teahouse there, Elder brother pointed to the forests and valleys visible below our feet and said, “All those are my possessions as well.”
It was upon hearing this statement repeated twice that I first began to harbor doubts.
However, there was no way to dispel that doubt right then and there.
My question was met with nothing more than Elder brother’s lonely smile.

We lay on the benches at that teahouse for a while, sleeping as if dead. During that time, I didn’t know what Elder brother was thinking. I simply kept watching the white clouds flowing across the clear sky. My eyes glistened. Gradually, I began dreading the heat of our return journey. I urged Elder brother and we descended the mountain again. That was when—when Elder brother suddenly grabbed my shoulder from behind and asked, “Just how far do your heart and mine connect, and where do they part?” The moment I stopped, my left shoulder was jabbed forcefully two or three times. I felt the same disturbance in my heart as in my body. I had always regarded Elder brother as a thinker. Since embarking on this journey together, I’d even interpreted him as someone trying to enter religion yet unable to find its gateway—a person troubled by that very search. The reason for my inner turmoil was this uncertainty: had his question truly emerged from such a stance? By nature, I’m not one to dwell on things. Nor am I easily startled—an utterly dull man. Yet having received various requests from you before our departure, I found myself growing peculiarly sensitive toward Elder brother alone. I nearly strayed from my usual composed path.

“Keine Brücke führt von Mensch zu Mensch. (There is no bridge from person to person.)”

I inadvertently used the German proverb I remembered as my reply.
Of course, half of it was likely mixed with a deliberate strategy to avoid complicating the issue.
Then Elder brother said, “That’s right—the current you likely cannot answer otherwise.”
“Why?” I immediately shot back.

“Those who aren’t honest with themselves can never be honest with others.”

I couldn’t figure out where in myself to apply Elder brother’s words.

“You’ve become my guardian and are deliberately traveling with me, haven’t you? I appreciate your kindness. However, I think your words and actions arising from such motives are nothing but falsehoods masquerading as sincerity. As a friend, I can only distance myself from you.”

Elder brother made this assertion. And leaving me there, he dashed down the mountain path alone. At that moment, I also heard the German words “Einsamkeit, du meine Heimat Einsamkeit!” (O Loneliness, thou art my dwelling) burst forth from Elder brother’s lips.

37

I returned anxiously to the inn.
Elder brother lay in the center of the room with an ashen face.
Even when he saw me, he neither spoke nor moved.
I resolved to leave those who revere nature to their natural state.
I rested quietly by Elder brother's bedside.
Then, to wash away the unpleasant sweat, I took a towel and went to the bathhouse.
As I stood cleansing myself at the bath's edge, Elder brother entered behind me.
We exchanged words for the first time then.
I asked, “You must be tired.”
Elder brother replied, “I’m tired.”

From around the time we sat down for the midday meal, Elder brother's mood gradually began to recover. I finally brought up to him the theatrical incident that had occurred between us earlier on the mountain path. At first, Elder brother wore a bitter smile. But eventually he straightened his posture and grew serious. He insisted he could no longer endure this feeling of loneliness. It was then I first heard from his lips the painful confession that he felt uniformly lonely—not only when out in society, but even within his own household. Elder brother seemed to harbor suspicions toward everyone in his family even more intensely than his doubts about me, his close confidant. In his eyes, both Father and Mother were vessels of falsehood. His wife in particular seemed that way to him. Elder brother admitted he had laid hands on his wife's head recently.

“Even after I hit her once, she remains calm.”
“Even after hitting her twice, she remains calm.”
“I thought she’d resist the third time, but she still didn’t fight back.”
“The more I hit her, the more ladylike she becomes.”
“Because of that, I increasingly have no choice but to be treated as a ruffian.”
“To prove the corruption of my own character is the same as venting my anger on a lamb.”
“Isn’t she cruel—using her husband’s anger to flaunt her own superiority?”
“You see, women are far more cruel than men who resort to physical strength.”
“Why do I think that when I hit her, she didn’t fight back?”
“Even if she didn’t resist, why couldn’t she at least argue back once?”

Elder brother's face was filled with pain.
Strangely enough, while he spoke so vividly about his own unpleasant actions toward his wife, he said almost nothing concrete regarding what had driven him to commit them.
He simply stated that his surroundings were composed of falsehood.
Moreover, he did not attempt to construct that falsehood before my very eyes.
I wondered why he became so agitated over the character for "falsehood" with its hollow resonance.
He said I only knew the word from the dictionary, which was why I harbored such vague suspicions, and reprimanded me for being distant in reality.
From his perspective, I was indeed a distant person.
I did not press him to explain the substance of this falsehood.
Therefore, what complicated circumstances were entangled in his household remained utterly beyond my understanding.
It wasn't something I should inquire into willingly; moreover, since I thought you—as a household member—had no need to be informed even without hearing it, I let it rest.
For your reference, I should note this: though he spoke abstractly about our parents and wife at that time, regarding you, he did not so much as utter the name "Jirō."
Nor was anything said about his sister Oju-san.

38

It was on the evening after we left Shuzenji and arrived in Odawara that I spoke to Elder brother about Mallarmé.
Since you are in a different field, I thought it might not be impolite to add this note: Mallarmé is the name of a famous French poet.
Truth be told, even I knew nothing beyond his name.
So even if I called it a story, it was no critique of literary works.
Before leaving Tokyo, I had opened a foreign magazine I subscribed to and skimmed through it; finding an anecdote about this poet that struck me as interesting and memorable, I found myself wanting to bring it up to prompt Elder brother’s self-reflection.

This man Mallarmé also had many young admirers.
These admirers would often gather at his house to spend evenings listening to him talk, but no matter how many people crowded in, the place he was meant to sit remained always by the fireplace, and the seat he took was invariably a single rocking chair.
This had become an unspoken rule through long-established custom, one that no one ever breached.
However, one evening came a new guest.
The story holds it was indeed an Englishman named Simmons; this guest, entirely ignorant of the customs observed until then, likely assumed all seats and chairs held equal value, and thus quite naturally settled into the special chair intended for Mallarmé.
Mallarmé grew anxious.
His talk lacked its usual substance.
The gathering lost all vitality.

“What a stifling situation.”

After recounting Mallarmé’s story, I delivered this conclusive judgment in a single line.
Then turning to Elder brother, I said: “Your degree of constraint is more severe than Mallarmé’s.”

Elder brother was a perceptive man.
He was too sensitive aesthetically, ethically, and intellectually—in other words, he had ended up in a state as though born to torment himself.
Elder brother lacked the dullness of being indifferent to whether it was A or B.
He absolutely could not accept anything unless it was strictly either A or B.
Moreover, if it was A, then its form, degree, or hue had to perfectly fit the measure Elder brother envisioned; otherwise he would not consent.
Precisely because of this sensitivity, Elder brother advanced through life along a perilous line as thin as the wire he imagined.
Yet unless others too proceeded along this same precarious wire without faltering, he found it unbearable.
But it would be wrong to think this stemmed from mere selfishness.
To imagine a society interacting with Elder brother exactly as he anticipated would require something far more advanced than our current world.
Thus he detested a world lagging behind him aesthetically, intellectually, and even ethically.
This differed fundamentally from ordinary caprice.
It could not equate to Mallarmé’s constraint born from chair-related anxiety.

However, his suffering might have been even greater than that.
I found myself wishing desperately to rescue Elder brother from that torment.
Elder brother himself, unable to endure his anguish any longer, was thrashing about like a drowning man.
I could clearly see the struggle raging within him.
But what meaning could there be in life if I had to dull those eyes of his—eyes that had finally grown keen through innate talent and cultivated refinement—merely to grant him peace of mind?
Even if there were meaning in it, was that work humans could perform?

I knew it all too well. I knew that in Elder brother’s mind—exhausted from endless contemplation—the two characters for “religion,” written in blood and tears, were now leaping and screaming as a last resort.

39

“Either die, go mad, or embrace religion. My future holds only these three options.”

Elder brother indeed began to say this. At that moment, his face looked rather like that of someone descending into despair’s valley.

“Yet I can’t seem to enter religion’s embrace. Dying too appears shackled by lingering attachments. Well then—I must be mad. But leaving aside my future self—am I truly sane now? Perhaps I’ve already crossed over. I’m terrified beyond bearing.”

Elder brother stood up and went out to the veranda.
He leaned on the railing and gazed for a while at the sea visible from there.
After pacing back and forth in front of the room two or three times, he returned to his original spot.

“Mallarmé, who had his peace of mind disturbed over losing a mere chair, was fortunate.”
“I have already lost nearly everything.”
“Even this body, which barely remains as my own possession—these hands and feet, even—betrays me without hesitation.”

Elder brother’s words were not a careless description at all.
Elder brother, who had always excelled in the power of introspection, was now beginning to suffer under the oppression of this very power as a result of overthinking.
No matter what state his mind was in, Elder brother could not move forward unless he first looked back and examined it.
Therefore, the flow of Elder brother’s life was interrupted sporadically at each and every moment.
It was no different from being called to the telephone every minute during a meal, and must have been excruciating.
However, if the act of interrupting was Elder brother’s mind, then being interrupted was also Elder brother’s mind; therefore, he was ultimately dominated by two minds, and because these two minds tormented each other like a daughter-in-law and mother-in-law from morning till night, he could not obtain a moment’s peace.

Upon hearing Elder brother’s words, I finally came to understand the mind of Elder brother who had declared that the most noble faces belong to those who think nothing.
That Elder brother had reached this conclusion was entirely due to his having thought.
Yet precisely because he had thought, he could not cross into this realm.
Elder brother, wanting to become happy, had done nothing but study happiness.
Yet no matter how much he studied, happiness remained on the opposite shore.

I finally brought out the word "God" before Elder brother.
And then, quite unexpectedly, I was suddenly struck on the head by Elder brother.
However, this was the final act that occurred in Odawara.
Before I was struck on the head, there remained one more episode to recount—so I shall begin by informing you of that.
However, as I have mentioned before, since your field and mine are entirely different, what I put to paper may sometimes strike you as strangely pedantic or unnecessary remarks.
Therefore, when I include katakana or other such characters unrelated to you, I tend to hesitate even more; however, since I omit such characters unless absolutely necessary, please read with an open mind in that spirit.
If even the slightest suspicion of frivolity arises in your mind, then what I have painstakingly written for you risks becoming utterly useless throughout its entirety.

When I was still in school, I read the following story about Mohammed in some book. Mohammed was said to call the large mountain visible in the distance to his feet and show it. It is said that those who wished to see it were told to gather at a certain place on a specified month and day.

40

When the appointed day arrived and a great crowd had surrounded him, Mohammed called out in a loud voice as promised and commanded the mountain to come here. However, the mountain did not budge at all. Mohammed calmly issued the same command again. Yet the mountain remained perfectly still. Mohammed finally had to repeat the command three times. However, even after saying it three times, when he looked at the mountain showing no sign of moving, he said to the crowd: “As promised, I called the mountain to me. However, it seems the mountain does not wish to come. Since the mountain won’t come to me, I suppose there’s no other way but for me to go to it.” It is said he briskly walked off toward the mountain after saying this.

At the time I read this story, I was still young.
Thinking I had obtained excellent comic material, I carried it around everywhere.
Then among them there appeared a senior.
While everyone laughed, that senior alone said, “Ah, what an excellent story.
“That is where the true meaning of religion lies.”
“That encapsulates it,” he said.
Though I didn’t understand, I listened to those words.
When I repeated the same story to Elder brother in Odawara—how many years later was that?—though the story was the same, it was no longer for the sake of humor.

“Why don’t you walk toward the mountain?”

Even though I said this to Elder Brother, he remained silent.
Fearing that my point hadn’t gotten through to Elder Brother, I added.

“You’re the type who calls mountains to come.”
“The type who rages when they don’t obey.”
“The type who stamps his feet in bitter frustration.”
“The type who dwells on criticizing mountains instead.”
“Why not walk toward the mountain yourself?”

“What if the mountain had an obligation to come here?” Elder brother countered.

“Obligation or not—if we need it here, we must go ourselves,” I replied.

“Where no obligation exists, necessity cannot arise,” he insisted.

“Then go for happiness’s sake. If you don’t want to go out of necessity,” I answered again.

At this, Elder brother fell silent once again.
The meaning of what I was saying was perfectly clear to him.
Yet Elder brother—who could not live without making the lofty standards he had cultivated over the years, those distinctions between right and wrong, good and evil, beauty and ugliness, the very axis of his existence—could not bring himself to cast them aside and seek happiness.
Rather than discarding them, he clung tighter still while desperately grasping for fulfillment.
And yet he had fully comprehended that very contradiction.

“If you don’t think of yourself as the linchpin of your life and cleanly cast that aside, you’ll find it much easier,” I said again to Elder brother.

“Then what will you use as the linchpin to live on?” asked Elder brother.

“God,” I answered.

“What is God?” Elder brother asked again.

I must here make a small confession.
To you reading this account of my debates with Elder brother, I may appear quite the religionist—I may seem to be strenuously trying to lead him down the path of faith—but in truth, I am nothing but an ordinary man with no connection to Jesus or Mohammed.
I do not feel any particular need for religion—I am but a natural savage who grew up without such concerns.
The conversation kept veering in that direction entirely because I was dealing with Elder brother—an intensely tormented soul.

41

The reason I had been overcome by Elder brother lay entirely there.
In truth, though I knew nothing of such a thing as god, I had let the word 'god' escape my lips.
When Elder brother countered with questions, it might have been better had I vaguely replied that it meant something like heaven or fate.
But given how matters had unfolded, I no longer had the leisure for such explanations.
I believe our exchange at that time proceeded roughly as follows.

“Since things in the world don’t always go the way you want, you have to acknowledge there’s another will at work besides your own.”

“I do acknowledge it.”

“And that will is far greater than yours, isn’t it?”

“Maybe it’s great—after all, I’m the one losing. But most of them are more immoral, ugly, and false than mine. I shouldn’t lose to them, yet I do. That’s why it infuriates me.”

“You’re talking about competition between weak humans like us.”
“Mine isn’t that—it points to something much bigger.”

“Where does something so ambiguous even exist?”

“If there isn’t one, then it simply means I can’t save you.”

“Then let’s temporarily assume there is…”

“You leave everything to it, see?
‘I humbly entrust this matter to your care,’ you say.
When you ride a rickshaw, can’t you sleep peacefully in the carriage, trusting the puller to keep you from falling?”

“I don’t know any god as reliable as a rickshaw puller.
You’re no different, are you?
What you’re spouting is just a sermon concocted for my benefit—not some scripture you actually live by, is it?”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“Then you’ve completely cast yourself aside, haven’t you?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

“Whether I live or die, you’re just sitting there complacent, trusting God will handle things as He pleases—is that it?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

When Elder brother pressed me like this, I began feeling increasingly cornered.
But caught in the momentum of our exchange, there was nothing I could do.
Then Elder brother suddenly raised his hand and slapped me sharply across the face.

As you well know, I have rather dull nerves.
Because of this, I had rarely quarreled with others up to that day, nor had I ever knowingly provoked anyone's anger.
Though this was likely due to my own dullness, I have no memory of ever being struck by my parents even as a child.
This naturally continued into adulthood.
When a hand struck my face for the first time in my life, I instinctively stiffened.

"What are you doing?!"

"There, you see?!"

I couldn't comprehend this "There, you see?!".

“That’s too rough!” I said.

“There, you see?
“You don’t trust God at all, do you?
“You’re angry after all!
“You lose your composure over a trivial matter!
“Your calm gets completely overturned!”

I gave no answer.
Nor could I offer any response.
Then Elder brother abruptly rose from his seat.
All that lingered in my ears was the clattering sound of his footsteps racing down the staircase.

Forty-two

I called the maid and inquired about what had become of the accompanying guest.

“He has just gone out through the front.”
“Most likely to the shore.”

Because the maid’s reply matched what I had imagined, I saved myself from further worry and stretched out right there.
Then Elder brother’s summer hat hanging on the edge of the clothes rack immediately caught my eye.
Elder brother had rushed out without even wearing a hat despite the heat.
To someone like you, who worries over Elder brother’s every move, my appearance at that moment—lying sprawled on my back—might have seemed somewhat too carefree.
This was undoubtedly due to my dull nerves.
However, since there appear to be additional points worth mentioning beyond mere dullness, I shall briefly touch upon them.

I believed in Elder Brother's mind.
I respected his comprehension that was keener than my own.
Elder Brother would sometimes abruptly say things ordinary people couldn't grasp.
To unfamiliar ears or those of poorly educated men, this might ring like a cracked bell's dissonant toll - yet to me who understood him well, it felt more precious than conventional discourse.
I had always recognized this as Elder Brother's distinguishing trait.
That was why I'd asserted so emphatically to you there was no cause for concern.
Thus we embarked on our journey together.
The Elder Brother who traveled with me remained exactly as I've described him thus far, yet through this excursion I found myself compelled to gradually amend my prior conceptions about him.

I still had not the slightest doubt that Elder Brother's mind was more clearly ordered than my own. Yet as a human being now, he seemed somehow disordered compared to his former self. When I considered the cause of this disorder, I realized it stemmed from the very workings of that clearly ordered mind of his. From my perspective, I wished to respect an ordered intellect while harboring doubts about a disordered heart, but from Elder Brother's viewpoint, an ordered mind was precisely a disordered heart. This left me adrift. His mind remained sound, yet his spirit might have gone slightly awry. He was trustworthy and untrustworthy all at once. Were I to phrase it thus, would you accept this as satisfactory reporting? With no other way to express it, I found myself utterly confounded.

I left Elder brother clattering down the ladder steps as he was and plopped down.
I was that much at ease.
Since he had gone out without even wearing a hat, I thought he was certain to return soon.
However, Elder brother did not return as easily as expected.
Then I too could no longer remain lying spread-eagled.
I finally stood up with clear anxiety.

When I reached the shore, the sun had already been hidden by clouds. A strangely lukewarm wind blew briny through the scene—the thickly overcast sky and shore below bathed in identical gray, appearing listless. Within that grayness as a single point of contrast, I clearly discerned Elder brother’s figure crouching pale at the distant water’s edge. I walked silently toward that direction. When I called out from behind, Elder brother immediately stood up and said, “I must apologize for earlier.”

Elder brother had apparently wandered aimlessly and endlessly about the area until finally, in his exhausted state, he squatted down right where he had become fatigued.

“Let’s go to the mountains.”
“I’ve grown sick of this place.”
“Let’s go to the mountains.”

Elder brother seemed ready to leave for the mountains at any moment.

Forty-three

That evening, we finally ended up going to the mountains.
Even if you called them "mountains," Hakone was the only place reachable straight from Odawara.
I had dragged my least conventional Elder brother into this vulgar hot spring town.
Elder brother had insisted from the beginning it would surely be clamorous.
Still, he claimed he could tolerate it for two or three days since they were mountains.

“What a waste to go to a hot spring resort just to endure it.”

This too was a self-deprecating remark that had come from Elder brother’s lips at that time.
Sure enough, from the very evening of our arrival, Elder brother had to endure the noisy guest in the neighboring room.
It remained unclear whether this guest hailed from Tokyo or Yokohama, but judging by his manner of speech, he seemed to belong to that class of people—merchants, contractors, brokers.
At times he would emit loud, discordant shouts.
He carried on with boorish disregard for others.
Even someone like me, not usually troubled by such matters, found it thoroughly trying.
Thanks to this commotion, both Elder brother and I ended up going to sleep that night without engaging in any weighty conversation.
It essentially meant the man next door had made enough racket to shatter our contemplations.

“The next morning, when I asked Elder brother, ‘Were you able to sleep last night?’ he shook his head and said, ‘Far from sleeping...’”
“‘You’re truly enviable,’ Elder brother replied.”
“It seems I had made Elder brother, who couldn’t fall asleep no matter what, listen to my vigorous snoring all night long.”

That day, a light rain had been falling since dawn.
By around ten o'clock, it had changed to a heavy downpour.
By a little past noon, even some signs of a storm had begun to appear.
Then Elder brother suddenly stood up and tucked up his hem.
He said we would now walk through the mountains.
Struck by the ferocious rain, he insisted on moving recklessly along the valley cliffs without mercy.
Though I thought it an immense ordeal, since agreeing with Elder brother would spare us the trouble rather than attempting to dissuade him, I ended up saying “Very well” and tucked up my hem.

Elder brother immediately charged into a wind so fierce it stole his breath. Amidst an indescribable roar—whether from water or sky—he bounded forward like a rubber ball springing from the ground. With a voice loud enough to burst blood vessels, he roared. The force was impossible to tell how many times more violent than last night’s guest in the neighboring room. Even his voice sounded far more beastly than that man’s. No sooner had that primal scream left his mouth than the wind snatched it away. The rain chased and shattered it completely. Elder brother fell silent after some time. Yet he kept walking around. He kept walking until his breath gave out and he could no longer continue.

We returned to the inn like drenched rats—had it been one hour since we left, or was it already nearing two? I was chilled to the marrow. Elder brother’s lips had turned pale. When we finally warmed ourselves in the bath, he kept repeating, “Exhilarating!” “Since nature bears no malice, being overwhelmed by it feels liberating.” I merely muttered, “What an ordeal,” stretching my legs contentedly in the hot water.

Contrary to expectations, the neighboring room lay hushed and still that evening.
When I asked the maid, I learned that last night's guest who had troubled Elder brother had already departed unnoticed.
That very evening was when I first heard Elder brother's unexpected religious views.
I found myself slightly taken aback.

Forty-four

Since you too are a modern youth, you likely can't muster much sympathy for an antiquated term like 'religion.' I myself would prefer to avoid discussing anything overly complex if possible. Yet to comprehend Elder brother, I must inevitably address this matter. You may find it tedious or startling, but omitting this would render Elder brother himself inscrutable—so I beg your patience to read this section without skipping ahead. With perseverance, you'll grasp it clearly enough. Please read it thoroughly, digest Elder brother's essence, then convey it to your household in terms our elders might accept. I genuinely pity those aged relatives enduring excessive worry over Elder brother's state. Yet as matters stand, you alone can transmit his unvarnished truth to his family—thus I implore you to soberly attend these unfamiliar phrases. I don't write these complexities from tipsy caprice. They're inseparable from Elder brother's living being—sever them, and the flesh-and-blood man himself would vanish.

Elder brother dislikes establishing any authority—be it god, Buddha, or anything else—outside of himself.
(I am using the term "establishing" exactly as Elder brother employed it.)
Now, if you were to ask whether he asserts the self like Nietzsche, that is not the case either.

“God is the self,” Elder brother said.
If people who didn’t know him had overheard him delivering such a forceful pronouncement in that tone from another room, they might have found it a bit strange.
He spoke with such vehemence that it was no wonder he was thought odd.

“Then isn’t that the same as claiming that you yourself are absolute?” I retorted.
Elder brother did not move.
“I am absolute,” he said.

The more we repeated these exchanges, the more Elder brother’s tone grew increasingly strange.
It wasn’t just his tone; what he said too gradually strayed beyond the ordinary.
Had it been anyone but me engaging with him, Elder brother would surely have been cast aside as a pure madman long before reaching his conclusion.
Yet I had never held Elder brother in such low regard that I would abandon him so readily.
In the end, I had pressed Elder brother to his very limits.

Elder brother’s “absolute” was not empty numbers on paper calculated from a philosopher’s mind. It was a clear psychological entity that one could enter into that state and personally experience for oneself.

Elder brother said that a person who had attained pure mental calm should naturally enter this state without even seeking it. He claimed that once one entered this boundary, heaven and earth—all existence—would utterly vanish, leaving only oneself to exist. He described the self in that moment as something indeterminate—neither existing nor not existing—something that seemed both great and minute, utterly indescribable. Namely, he called it the Absolute.

He further explained that when someone experiencing this Absolute suddenly heard a handbell’s sound, that very sound became none other than themselves. To put it differently, he asserted that the Absolute equated to the Relative; thus there was no need to place things outside oneself or create others to suffer over, nor did any anxiety arise about being made to suffer.

“Unless the fundamental principle becomes identical whether one lives or dies, one can never attain peace of mind.”
“As for the geniuses who declare that all must transcend modernity—regardless of them, I believe I must transcend life and death at all costs.”

Elder brother declared this with a force as if he were clenching his teeth.

Forty-five

I must confess that even in this instance, my mind couldn't match Elder brother's. As a human being, I hadn't yet considered whether one could truly attain the state Elder brother described. When I heard his words progressing with such clear logic toward their natural conclusion, I thought to myself, *So that's how it is*. Yet I also wondered if perhaps it wasn't quite so straightforward. After all, I was merely someone unqualified to pass judgment on such matters. I sat silently before his impassioned speech. Then Elder brother's demeanor shifted. There had been several previous occasions where my silence had dulled the sharp edge of his intensity. All those instances had occurred purely by chance. Of course, had anyone tried employing deliberate silence as a tactic against someone as perceptive as Elder brother, they'd have been immediately seen through - so perhaps my natural obtuseness occasionally served me well.

“You mustn’t dismiss me as some mere rhetorician,” Elder brother said abruptly, thrusting his hands toward me.
I found myself unable to respond.

“To your steadfast eyes, I must seem nothing but a frivolous chatterbox.”
“Yet even so—I’m striving to act upon these words I speak.”
“Morning and night, I’ve been consumed by the thought that I must put them into practice.”
“I’ve become so fixated that I can’t go on living unless I do.”

I remained at a loss for a response.

“Do you think my ideas are mistaken?” Elder brother asked.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

“Do you think I’m not thorough?” asked Elder brother again.

“It seems fundamental,” I answered again.

“But how can this research-oriented I transform into an action-oriented I?”
“Please tell me,” Elder brother pleaded.

“Do I possess such power?” I, having never imagined such a thing, refused.

“No, you do have it.
“You were born to act.
“That’s why you’re content.
“That’s why you can remain so composed,” Elder brother repeated.

Elder brother seemed earnest.
At that moment, I turned to him with disconcerted eyes.

“Your wisdom far exceeds mine.
“I cannot possibly save you.
“My power might reach someone less acute than myself.
“But against someone as discerning as you, it’s utterly futile.
“In essence, you were born a lean, lanky man while I grew stout and squat.
“If you tried to emulate me and grow plump, you’d have no choice but to shorten your stature.”

Elder brother’s tears streamed from his eyes.

"I clearly acknowledge the state of the Absolute."
"Yet the more my worldview clarifies, the farther the Absolute retreats from me."
"In essence, I was someone who spreads maps to survey geography."
"And still I desperately strain to share the experiences of those practical souls trekking through mountains with fastened gaiters."
"I am careless."
"I am contradiction itself."
"Yet knowing myself careless and contradictory, I struggle on regardless."
"I am a fool."
"As a human being, you tower far above me."

Elder brother thrust his hands before me once more.
And then he lowered his head as though offering an apology.
Tears fell drop after drop from Elder brother’s eyes.
I was overwhelmed.

46

When we left Hakone, Elder brother said, “I’ll never set foot in a place like this again.”
Among all the places we had passed through up to that point, there was not a single one that had pleased Elder brother.
He must be the sort of man who grows instantly weary no matter where he goes or whom he accompanies.
And no wonder.
For Elder brother already found his own body and mind displeasing.
He would declare that his very flesh and consciousness were like treacherous rogues conspiring against him.
That this was no half-formed fancy but an earnest conviction became clear to me through these days of shared lodgings.
I trust that you too, receiving this unembellished account from me, will arrive at full comprehension of the matter.

You might find it remarkable that I could travel so well with such an Elder brother.
When I considered it myself, it seemed almost strange.
Once I had folded Elder brother into my mind as described above, even someone as slow-witted as I would make for a poor companion.
But in fact, even as I lived face-to-face with Elder brother like this, I did not feel such great pain.
I thought it must be at least much easier than imagining it from the sidelines.
And if asked why that was, I would have found myself at a loss to answer.
Have you not had the same experience with the same Elder brother?
If you have not had the same experience, then I—an outsider—must have been born with a nature closer to Elder brother than you, who shares his blood. By "closer," I do not mean simply being on good terms.
It was my understanding that we were meant to mutually share certain harmonizing traits and move forward together.

Since embarking on this journey, I constantly said and did things that would irritate Elder brother.
There was even a time when I was struck on the head.
Even so, standing before all members of your household, I believe I can clearly state that I have not yet been given up on by Elder brother.
At the same time, I firmly believe without doubt that I still sincerely respect and love this Elder brother who has such weaknesses.

Elder brother was such an upright man that he would bow his head and shed tears before a mediocre person like myself. He was a man who possessed the courage to dare such acts. He was a person endowed with the discernment to judge that daring such acts was only natural. Elder brother’s intellect was too acute—so much so that at the slightest provocation, it tried to rush ahead, leaving himself behind. The source of his suffering lay in this inability of his mind’s other faculties to advance in step with his intellect. Speaking in terms of personality, there was a gap within him. Speaking in terms of success, destruction lurked within it. While grieving this disharmony on his behalf, I laid all causes at the feet of his overactive intellect’s transgressions, yet still could not lose my respect for that very intellect. If we persisted in interpreting him merely as a difficult, selfish man, the opportunity to truly approach him might never have come, no matter how much time passed. Therefore, any opportunity to alleviate his suffering even slightly had to be regarded as having departed forever.

We left Hakone as I previously mentioned and immediately entered this small villa in Benigaya Valley. I had intended to stay in Kōzu for a while beforehand and had secretly made plans to go alone, but ultimately never managed to mention this to Elder brother. He likely would have protested again in Kōzu too, saying "I'll never set foot in a place like this again." Moreover, after hearing me describe this villa, Elder brother had become insistent on settling here.

47

For Elder brother in his current state—prone to being easily stimulated by any stimuli yet unable to endure any—this hermitage-like villa may have been most suitable. From the quiet tatami room, Elder brother looked up at the tall pine tree on the cliff across the valley and said, “This is nice,” then settled there.

“That pine tree is also your possession.”

In a consoling tone, I deliberately mimicked Elder brother’s way of speaking. This was because I remembered his words from Shuzenji—phrases like “That lily is my possession” or “That mountain and valley are my possession”—which I had completely failed to comprehend at the time.

At the villa there was an old caretaker, but he went back to his own home as we arrived.
Still, without fail he would come once each morning and evening to clean and fetch water for us.
With just two men, we naturally couldn't cook.
We asked the caretaker to arrange three daily meals delivered from a nearby inn.
Since there was electric lighting at night, we didn't need to bother with lamps.
For this reason, from morning rising until nighttime bedding, our essential tasks amounted to little more than laying out futons and hanging mosquito nets.

“It’s more carefree and peaceful than cooking for ourselves,” Elder brother said.
In truth, among the mountains and seas we had passed through until then, that place was undoubtedly the quietest.
When sitting silently face-to-face with Elder brother, there were times when even the sound of the wind could not be heard.
What I found somewhat noisy was the creaking sound of the neighboring well pulley hidden among the rustling coral tree leaves, but Elder brother remained surprisingly indifferent to it.
Elder brother seemed to be gradually calming down.
I thought that if I had brought Elder brother there sooner, it would have been better.

In front of the garden lay a small field where eggplants and corn were growing.
We had discussed picking these eggplants to eat, but since making pickles would be too troublesome, we ultimately gave up.
The corn kernels had not yet filled out enough to be edible.
By the well at the kitchen entrance, tomato plants stood.
In the mornings when washing our faces, we would eat them.

Elder brother would sometimes step down onto this ambiguous ground—neither clearly garden nor field—during sweltering noons and crouch motionless.
At times he would sniff at canna flowers.
Canna flowers have no fragrance.
Other times he would gaze at withered evening primrose petals.
On the day we arrived, he went to stand by the pampas grass marking the boundary with our wealthy neighbor's villa to the left and remained there endlessly.
I watched this from the sitting room until, seeing no movement from him even after considerable time, I finally slipped on the zori sandals at the veranda edge and went purposefully to investigate.
The boundary between our dwelling and the neighbor's consisted of an earthen embankment about six feet high, now seasonally blanketed in pampas grass.
Noticing my approach, Elder brother turned and pointed toward the pampas roots below.

At the roots of the pampas grass, crabs were crawling.
They were small crabs.
They were no larger than a thumbnail.
There was not just one.
As we watched for a while, one became two, and two became three.
In the end, they became so numerous they swarmed like flies, appearing here and there.

“There are some crossing over the pampas grass leaves.”

Elder brother stood motionless, having made this observation.
I left Elder brother there and returned to my original seat.

I was exceedingly pleased to see Elder brother so absorbed in such trivial matters that he almost lost himself.
This alone made me feel that bringing Elder brother on this trip had been truly worthwhile.
That evening, I explained what I meant to Elder brother.

48

“Didn’t you just claim possession of that crab?”

When I suddenly addressed Elder brother like this, he let out a rare hearty laugh that seemed genuinely cheerful.
Since Shuzenji, I had occasionally employed the term “possession” in this peculiar sense, so to Elder brother—who interpreted it purely as comical—it must have struck him as absurd.
Being laughed at was infinitely better than being reprimanded, though in truth my approach had been far more earnest.

"You must have owned it absolutely," I immediately corrected myself.
This time, Elder brother did not laugh either.
But still he gave no answer.
As expected, it fell to me to break the silence.

“You keep going on about ‘the absolute, the absolute’ and had those complicated arguments recently, but why force yourself through such troublesome strain? Isn’t there no need to go forcing your way into the absolute?”
“If you just keep gazing at those crabs like that, you shouldn’t feel any pain at all.”
“First you have to become conscious of the absolute, then seize that precise moment when it transforms into the relative, and find some unity between the two—that must be quite a hassle.”
“First of all, whether that’s even something humans can do—that itself isn’t even clear.”

Elder brother still did not try to interrupt me. He seemed considerably calmer than usual. I took a step forward.

“Wouldn’t it be more convenient to go the opposite way instead?”

“What do you mean by ‘opposite’?”

In Elder brother’s eyes as he asked this in return, sincerity shone brightly.

“In other words, by becoming absorbed in gazing at the crabs, you forget yourself. If the self and object align perfectly, wouldn’t it become exactly as you say?”

“Is that so?”

Elder brother gave a listless reply.

“‘Is that so?’ But you’re actually putting it into practice right now, aren’t you?”

“I see.”

Elder brother’s response remained vacant in tone.

It was at this moment that I suddenly realized I had been saying unnecessary things all along. To tell the truth, I knew nothing of the Absolute. I had never considered it. I had no memory of even imagining it. I only knew how to use such words through my education. However, as a person, I was calmer than Elder brother. Since stating that I was calmer might sound like claiming superiority over him—which would be rather embarrassing—I should rephrase it as having been in a more ordinary state of mind compared to his. Therefore, as a friend, my task of appealing to Elder brother was simply to pull him back to an ordinary position like mine. However, phrasing it differently meant reducing something extraordinary to mere ordinariness—an absurd notion. If there were no complaint of pain from Elder brother's side, why would someone like me initiate such a dialogue with him? Elder brother was honest. If something didn't sit right with him, he would press on relentlessly. If pressed relentlessly, I became unable to understand. If it ended there, it would be manageable—but exchanging these critical discourses risked reverting Elder brother, who had just begun moving toward practical action, back to his original research-oriented attitude. I was concerned about that above all else. I wanted to give Elder brother something—be it all the world's artworks, towering mountains and great rivers, or beautiful women; anything at all—that could completely seize his mind, leaving no room for even a sprout of research-oriented attitude to take hold. And I wanted him subjected to its full control without a moment's respite for about a year. Elder brother's so-called 'owning things'—didn't that ultimately mean being owned by them? Therefore, I thought that being absolutely owned by things was precisely what it meant to absolutely own things. My brother, who didn't believe in God, would finally find peace in this world only upon reaching that point.

49

The evening before last, the two of us took a walk along the beach. From where we were to the seaside was about three *chō*. Passing through a narrow path, we would first emerge onto the main road, then cross it again before catching sight of the sea’s color. It was still some time before moonrise. The waves moved with unexpected darkness. Until our eyes adjusted, the boundary between water and rocky shore remained indistinct. Elder brother strode relentlessly through this obscurity. My feet were occasionally struck by tepid water—surplus waves breaking toward shore spread flat like sheets of pounded rice cake, surging farther inland than one would expect. From behind, I asked Elder brother, “Aren’t your geta getting wet?” He replied as if issuing a command: “Tuck up your hem.” Elder brother had apparently resolved to dirty his feet beforehand, having already tucked up his kimono’s hem. The darkness around us was so profound that I couldn’t discern this from two or three *ken* away. Yet being a resort area, we inevitably encountered people—it must have been the season for it. Every pair we met consisted without exception of a man and woman. They moved through the darkness as if by prior arrangement, silent until suddenly materializing before us. When they slipped past, lifting my eyes to observe them revealed nothing but young couples each time. I came across several such pairs.

It was during that time that I heard from Elder brother about someone called Otei-san.
Since Otei-san had recently married into a family in Osaka, Elder brother must have associated her bridal image with the young couples we encountered that evening.

Elder brother claimed Otei-san was the most virtuous person in our household, utterly devoid of desire.
He kept saying people like her were born into happiness, his voice tinged with envy.
He insisted he wanted to become like that myself.
Having never met Otei-san, I could offer no real opinion and simply murmured vague assents.
Then Elder brother stopped on the sand and declared, “Otei-san’s what made you into a woman.”
I stopped too.

A single faint light came into view in an elevated area across the way. When viewed during the day, a red building could be glimpsed through the trees in that direction, so this light was likely being lit by the owner of that red Western-style building. In the thick darkness of night, it shone alone and detached like a star. My face was turned toward that light. Elder brother stood facing the incoming waves head-on.

At that moment, the sound of a piano suddenly rang out above their heads.
This place was a structure with stone walls neatly built up about six feet high from the sandy beach—likely to allow direct access from the garden to the shore—with a staircase carved diagonally from the edge of the stonework up to the garden's edge.
I climbed those stone steps.

In the garden, electric light leaking from the house fell in a straight line.
The ground illuminated by that faint light was entirely lawn.
Flowers seemed to be blooming here and there, but as the garden was both dark and expansive, I couldn't discern them clearly.
The sound of the piano seemed to come from a brightly lit room in the Western-style building visible ahead.

"This must be a Westerner's villa."

"Probably."

Elder brother and I sat down side by side at the top of the stone steps.
The faint piano notes - now audible, now not - would occasionally brush past our ears.
Both of us remained silent.
The tip of Elder brother's cigarette glowed red intermittently.

50

Thinking Elder brother might continue talking about Otei-san, I waited in the darkness, subtly anticipating his voice. But he, like someone entranced by his cigarette, merely made the tip of his rolled tobacco glow intermittently while stubbornly refusing to speak.
When he tossed it down the stone steps and turned toward me, the conversation had already shifted away from Otei-san.
I felt slightly surprised.
Elder brother's topic now centered not only on matters unrelated to Otei-san, but also bore no connection to the piano's notes, the expansive lawn, the beautiful villa, or even our summer retreats and travels—it concerned entirely an ancient monk from the past who shared no ties with our present surroundings.

The monk’s name was, if I recall correctly, Xiangyan or something like that.
He was said to have been born with exceptional intelligence and keen insight—the kind of person who, as they say, could answer ten questions when asked one, and a hundred when asked ten.
However, Elder brother recounted that this very intelligence had hindered his path to enlightenment, keeping him from entering the Way no matter how long he tried.
Even I, who know nothing of enlightenment, understood this meaning perfectly well.
For Elder brother—who had been tormented by his own intellect—this truth must have cut all the more deeply.
He had even emphasized with particular care: "It was truly an excess of knowledge and interpretation that brought about this affliction."

This monk had practiced Zen under a priest called Hyakujō Zenji for several years but ultimately lost his teacher before gaining anything of substance.
So he went to a man named Isan.
Isan reportedly scolded him harshly: “A man who parades intellectual interpretations like yours and preens over them will never attain enlightenment.”
It’s said Isan then demanded: “Manifest yourself as you were before your father and mother were born.”
The monk returned to his quarters and exhaustively reviewed all the book knowledge he’d accumulated over years—only to sigh: “Ah! A painted rice cake still can’t fill an empty stomach.”
Therefore, he burned every last book he’d collected.

“I’ve given up.
From now on, I will live on nothing but gruel.”

Having said this, from then on he never gave Zen another thought.
He cast aside both good and evil, cast aside the form preceding even his parents' birth, and utterly abandoned everything.
After that, he chose a secluded spot and resolved to build a small hermitage.
He cleared the grass there.
He dug up the stumps there.
To level the ground, he removed the stones there.
Then one of the stones struck the bamboo thicket and rang out sharply.
It is said that upon hearing this clear, resonant sound, he suddenly attained enlightenment.
And rejoicing, he declared that with that single strike he had lost all acquired knowledge.

“I want to become Xiangyan somehow,” Elder brother said.
The meaning of Elder brother’s words should have been clear to you as well.
He wanted to unload all his burdens and find relief.
Elder brother had no god to entrust his burdens to.
That was why he said he wanted to throw them into a garbage dump or somewhere.
Elder brother greatly resembled this monk called Xiangyan in terms of intelligence.
That must have been why he envied Xiangyan all the more.

My elder brother’s story had nothing to do with Westerners’ villas or fashionable Western instruments.
Why my elder brother began speaking of such things while sitting on the dark stone steps, smelling the brine-soaked air, I could not comprehend.
By the time he finished speaking, the piano’s notes had vanished.
Whether from the sea’s proximity or night dew settling, our yukata grew damp with moisture.
I urged my elder brother along as we retraced our path.
When we reached the thoroughfare, I stopped at my regular sweetshop and bought manju.
We ate them wordlessly through our dark return.
The child entrusted with watching the old man’s house slept soundly despite mosquito bites.
I gave them leftover manju and sent them home straightaway.

51

During yesterday morning’s meal, owing to where the rice tub was placed, when I took Elder brother’s bowl and served him his first helping of rice, Elder brother once again pressed Otei-san’s name upon my ears.
Back when Otei-san hadn’t yet married, she apparently served Elder brother constantly like this, just as I was doing now.
Having been compared to Otei-san the previous night regarding temperament and now likened to her again this morning over my serving manner, I found myself driven to pose a question to Elder brother.

“Do you think you could become happy living together with that Otei-san person like this?”

Elder brother silently brought his chopsticks to his mouth.
I inferred from Elder brother’s attitude that he probably found replying disagreeable, so I did not press him any further.
Then, Elder brother’s answer suddenly came out after he swallowed two or three mouthfuls of rice.

“I said that Otei-san was a person born happy.”
“But I can’t say I could become happy for Otei-san’s sake.”

Elder brother’s words appeared to maintain truly logical consistency from start to finish and seemed perfectly straightforward.
But in the dark depths, contradictions were already drifting.
Elder brother had explicitly told me he felt so happy upon seeing a natural face unbound by anything that it made him want to express gratitude.
Wasn’t that the same as saying that since I was born happy, I should also be able to make others happy?
I looked at Elder brother’s face and smirked.
Elder brother was not a man to let things rest at that.
He immediately pounced.

“No, that’s truly how it is. You mustn’t doubt me. What I said is precisely what I said, and what I didn’t say is exactly what I didn’t say—that’s just how it is.”

I did not want to oppose Elder brother.
Yet I found it strange that he, with his brilliant mind, could so calmly toy with the verbal sophistry he had always scorned in daily life.
Thus I laid bare before him the contradictions I perceived.

Elder brother again wordlessly stuffed about two mouthfuls of rice into his mouth.
Elder brother’s bowl had become empty by then, but the rice tub remained by my side, still out of his reach.
With the intention of serving him again, I reached out toward Elder brother’s nose.
However, this time Elder brother did not respond.
“Bring it over here,” he says.

I pushed the rice tub over to him.
Elder brother took the rice paddle himself and heaped up the rice in a towering mound.
Then, leaving that bowl on the tray without picking up his chopsticks, he asked me.

"Do you think a woman before marriage and after marriage are the same woman?"

At this point, I could no longer readily respond.
It must have been because I didn't usually think about such things.
This time, it was my turn to stuff two or three mouthfuls of rice into my mouth in quick succession and wait for Elder brother’s explanation.

“Otei-san before marriage and Otei-san after marriage are completely different.
“The current Otei-san has already been corrupted for her husband’s sake.”

“Just what kind of person did she marry into?” I asked in the middle.

“No matter what household she marries into, once a woman marries, she becomes a hindrance to her husband.
“I don’t know to what extent I’ve already harmed my wife.
“Isn’t it too much to demand happiness from the wife I’ve already harmed?
“Happiness isn’t something you can demand from women who’ve married and had their natural innocence impaired.”

Elder brother, no sooner had he said this than he grabbed his bowl and voraciously devoured the heaped mound of rice.

52

I believe I have herein written as detailed an account as possible of Elder brother from when I set out on this journey up to today.
It feels as though I left Tokyo just yesterday, but counting on my fingers, it has already been over ten days.
To you and the elders who have been awaiting my correspondence, these ten days may have felt somewhat too long.
I am well aware of that.

However, due to the circumstances I mentioned at the beginning of this letter, I had almost no opportunity to take up my pen until settling in here, and thus was unavoidably delayed.
In return, there was not a single day within the past ten days that Elder brother went unmentioned in this letter.
I meticulously recorded each day's account of Elder brother in its entirety within this single document.
This serves as both my explanation and apology.
At the same time, it stands as my pride.
I concluded this letter with the confidence that I had fulfilled my duty beyond what I initially anticipated.

The time I spent was an effort not measured by the clock's hands, so I cannot present it numerically, but it was indeed quite an undertaking.
I wrote such a long letter for the first time in my life.
I could not write it all at once, nor could I write it in a single day.
Whenever I found time, I would sit at my desk and continue writing where I had left off.
But that was nothing.
If the Elder brother I observed and the Elder brother I understood came alive within this letter, I would not hesitate to expend several times more trouble and labor than I already had.

I wrote this letter for your dear Elder brother, who is also my beloved.
And I wrote this letter for you who likewise hold dear Elder brother.
Finally, I wrote this letter also for the compassionate elderly—your and Elder brother’s Father and Mother.
The Elder brother I saw likely differed from the Elder brother you all saw.
The Elder brother I understood was also not the Elder brother you all understood.
If this letter proves worthy of the effort expended, please understand that its value lies precisely in that difference.
Please consider this for your reference—that it resides in receiving varied reflections from observing the same person through different angles.

You may desire particularly clear knowledge about Elder brother's future, but being no prophet, I lack qualification to comment on what lies ahead. When clouds hang gloomily over the sky, rain may come or pass by untouched. The undeniable truth remains that sunlight stays hidden while clouds linger aloft. You all appear to cast some blame upon poor Elder brother, claiming he discomforts those nearby, yet one who lacks personal happiness cannot possibly bestow it upon others. To demand why the cloud-veiled sun withholds warm light—is this demand itself not unreasonable? During my time here with him, I strive to dispel these clouds shrouding Elder brother to my utmost ability. Before seeking warm radiance from Elder brother, you ought first scatter the clouds enveloping his mind. Should this prove impossible, sorrow may yet visit you, his family. For Elder brother himself too, this would likely culminate in grief. Such prospects bring sorrow even to one such as myself.

I wrote about Elder brother over the past ten days.
The problem lies in how Elder brother of these past ten days will fare in the next ten days, and no one can answer that question.
Even if I were to take responsibility for Elder brother over the next ten days, who could possibly take responsibility for him over the next month, or the next half-year?
I merely faithfully wrote about Elder brother over the past ten days.
Because I, not being sharp-witted, wrote this in a rush without time to review it, there are surely contradictions within.
In the words and deeds of my sharp-witted Elder brother, there may be unnoticed contradictions.
But I assert.
Elder brother is sincere.
Elder brother is certainly not trying to deceive me.
I, too, am faithful.
I have not the slightest intention to deceive you.

When I began writing this letter, Elder brother was sound asleep.
Even now, as I finish writing this letter, he remains deep in slumber.
I found myself strangely contemplating this coincidence—that I had started writing while Elder brother slept and now completed it while he still slept.
Some part of me felt that if Elder brother were never to wake from this sleep, he might finally find peace.
Yet another part whispered that should he never awaken, it would bring immeasurable sorrow.