Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

After inserting a probe, the doctor lowered Tsuda from the operating table.

"As I thought, the hole was connected all the way to the intestines."
"When I probed it last time, there was a protrusion of scar tissue along the path, so I assumed that marked the endpoint and made that statement. But today, to improve clearance, when I scraped it away thoroughly and examined the area, there's still more depth remaining."

“So does that mean it’s connected all the way to the intestines?”

"That's correct.
"What I initially thought was about half an inch turned out to measure nearly an inch."

On Tsuda's face, within a bitter smile, faint traces of disappointment surfaced. The doctor kept his hands clasped in front of his white, loose-fitting coat and tilted his head slightly. This posture conveyed both professional regret and factual inevitability - an unspoken admission that physicians cannot distort medical truths through falsehoods.

Tsuda silently readjusted his obi sash and turned toward the doctor once more while retrieving the hakama trousers draped over the chairback.

“If it’s connected all the way to the intestines, does that mean it won’t ever heal?”

“There’s no such thing.”

The doctor briskly and casually denied Tsuda’s words.
As if denying his very mood along with it.

“Just continuing to clean the hole as we have been until now won’t work.”
“In that case, the flesh simply won’t regenerate no matter how long we wait. We have no choice but to change our approach and perform a radical surgical procedure decisively this time.”

“When you say radical treatment…”

“It’s an incision.”
“We make an incision and join the hole with the intestines entirely.”
“Then both sides of the naturally divided surfaces will adhere, so it should heal properly in due course.”

Tsuda silently nodded in assent.
Beside him, on the Western-style desk placed beneath the south-facing window, sat a microscope.
Being acquainted with the doctor, when he had entered the examination room earlier, out of curiosity, he had been allowed to look through it.
At that moment, what appeared at the bottom of the 850x magnification lens was vividly colored, grape-like bacteria, as clear as if they had been photographed for an illustration.

Tsuda finished putting on his hakama trousers and, when he picked up the leather wallet placed on the Western-style desk, suddenly remembered the bacteria. Then this association abruptly filled his chest with unease. Having tucked his wallet into his breast pocket to leave the examination room, he was already about to exit when he hesitated again.

“If it were tubercular, then even if we performed that radical surgery you mentioned—cutting open all those narrow channels toward the intestines—it still wouldn’t heal, would it?”

“If it were tubercular, it would be hopeless. Since it keeps burrowing deeper from one spot to the next, treating just the opening won’t do any good.”

Tsuda involuntarily furrowed his brows.

“So mine isn’t tubercular?”

“No, it’s not tubercular.”

Tsuda, trying to ascertain how much truth there was in the other’s words, fixed his eyes on the doctor. The doctor did not move.

“How can you tell that? Can you really tell just through an examination?”

“Yes.”
“We know from what we saw during your examination.”

At that moment, the nurse stood at the room’s exit and called the name of the patient who had come after Tsuda. The patient who had been waiting immediately appeared behind him. Tsuda had to make a quick retreat.

“Then when will you perform that radical surgery?”

“Anytime at your convenience.”

Tsuda decided to set a date after properly considering his schedule and exited the room.

Part Two

When he boarded the train, his mood was gloomy. In the train car so packed that he couldn’t move, he hung onto the strap and thought only of himself. The agony of last year ascended vividly to the stage of his memory. The pitiful figure of himself laid out on the white bed came clearly into view. When he couldn’t break the chain and escape, he distinctly heard his own groans, like those of a dog. Then came the glint of cold blades, the sound of their metallic clashing, finally a terrifying compressive force that seemed to squeeze all air from both lungs at once, and the acute agony that could only arise from compressed air being unable to contract under compression—all these assaulted his memory.

He grew uncomfortable.
He abruptly shifted his attention and scanned his surroundings.
Those around him remained unperturbed, not even noticing his presence.
He resumed thinking.

"Why did I have to endure such suffering?"

Regarding the sudden pain that had erupted without any warning on his way back from flower viewing at Arakawa Embankment, he had been utterly blind. The cause lay beyond all imagination. It was less mysterious than terrifying.

There's no telling what kind of change this body might encounter at any moment.
On the contrary, what kind of change might even now be occurring within this very body?
And I remain completely unaware.
It's terrifying.

The mind that had labored this far could not stop there.
With a violent force as if being pushed from behind, it thrust him forward.
Suddenly he cried out in his heart.

"The mental world is the same."
"The mental world is no different."
"There's no telling when or how it will change."
"And I witnessed that very transformation myself."

He involuntarily tightened his lips and directed a gaze around him like that of someone whose self-respect had been wounded. However, the passengers in the train car, who remained utterly unaware of what was transpiring within his mind, paid no attention whatsoever to his gaze.

His mind was merely advancing forward along its own track, much like the train he was riding.
He recalled the story about Poincaré that he had heard from a friend two or three days prior.
The friend who had explained the meaning of "chance" to him said the following:

“So you see, what ordinary society calls ‘chance’—these so-called chance occurrences—according to Poincaré’s theory, people only use that term when causes become too complex to readily estimate.”
“For Napoleon to be born, a specific egg and a specific sperm needed to combine, and when you consider what conditions were required for that necessary combination to occur, it’s nearly impossible to imagine.”

He could not simply dismiss his friend’s words as mere fragments of newly acquired knowledge given to him. He applied them precisely to his own circumstances and contemplated. Then it seemed as though a dark, mysterious force was pushing him—who should have gone right—to the left, and pulling him—who should have advanced—backward. Moreover, he had no recollection of ever having his actions restrained by others until now. Everything he did was done through his own power, and everything he said was undoubtedly spoken through his own agency.

"Why did that woman go and marry there?"
"It must be because she decided to go herself that she went."
"But she was never supposed to have married there in the first place."
"And then why did I marry that woman?"
"That too must be because I decided to take her that our marriage came about."
"But I had never once thought of taking that woman."
"Coincidence?"
"Poincaré’s so-called pinnacle of complexity?"
"I just don't understand."

He got off the train and walked home while thinking.

Three

When he turned the corner and entered the narrow lane, Tsuda noticed his wife standing at his gate. His wife had been looking this way. But no sooner had Tsuda's shadow emerged from around the corner than she immediately turned to face forward. Then, placing her white slender hand against her forehead as if shielding it, she assumed the posture of someone looking up at something. She did not alter her demeanor until Tsuda had drawn near to her side.

“Hey, what are you looking at?”

When she heard Tsuda’s voice, his wife turned sharply toward him as if startled.

“Oh! You gave me such a fright—welcome home, dear.”

At the same time, his wife gathered every sparkle her eyes possessed and poured them all at once upon her husband. Then, bending slightly at the waist, she gave a light bow.

Tsuda, half attempting to respond to his wife’s coquetry and half hesitating, came to a stop.

“What are you doing standing there?”

“I was waiting for you.”
“Welcome back.”

“But you were looking at something so intently.”

“Oh yes.”
“That’s a sparrow.”
“The sparrows are building a nest under the eaves of the second floor on the house across the way, right?”

Tsuda glanced up at the roof of the house across the way. But there was no shadow of anything resembling a sparrow there. His wife immediately held out her hand before her husband.

"What's this?"

"The cane."

Tsuda handed his wife the cane he was holding, as if noticing it for the first time.
Having received it, she opened the lattice door of the entryway herself and let her husband enter first.
Then she followed her husband and stepped up from the shoe-removal area.

Having had her husband change his clothes, she brought out a soap case wrapped in a hand towel from the kitchen before Tsuda had properly settled himself before the brazier.

"Why don’t you go take a bath now while you can."
“Once you settle in there, you’ll get reluctant.”

Tsuda reluctantly reached out and took the hand towel.
However, he did not immediately try to stand up.

“Should I skip the bath today?”

“Why? — It’ll refresh you. Go take one.”
“I’ll have your meal ready as soon as you get back.”

Tsuda reluctantly stood up again.
When leaving the room, he glanced back slightly at his wife.

“Today on my way back, I stopped by Dr. Kobayashi’s and had it examined.”

“I see.
“So? What were the results of the examination?”
“It’s probably already healed, right?”

“But it hasn’t healed. It’s turned into a real problem now.”

With these words, Tsuda went out front, ignoring his wife’s questions as she tried to hear more.

The same topic resurfaced between the couple after dinner, in the early evening when Tsuda had not yet withdrawn to his room.

“Oh no, cutting into it… I’m terrified.”
“Leaving it alone like before won’t work anymore.”

“So according to the doctors, leaving things as they are must be dangerous then?”

“But I can’t stand it, you.”
“If they botch the incision...”

His wife slightly drew together her thick, well-shaped eyebrows and looked at her husband.
Tsuda laughed without responding.
Then his wife suddenly seemed to notice and asked.

"If you're going through with the surgery，it has to be on a Sunday again，right?"

His wife had made plans to attend the theater with her husband this coming Sunday, having been invited by relatives.

“We haven’t reserved seats yet, so it’s not a problem. Even if we turn them down—”

“But that would be rude, you.”
“It’s rude to refuse when they were so kind as to invite us like that.”

“It’s not rude at all.
If there are valid circumstances for refusing—”

“But I want to go!”

“If you want to go, then go.”

“So you should come too, won’t you?
You don’t dislike it, do you?”

Tsuda looked at his wife’s face and let out a bitter smile.

IV

His wife was a fair-skinned woman.
Because of this, her well-shaped eyebrows appeared particularly striking.
She would often move those eyebrows as if out of habit.
Unfortunately, her eyes were too narrow.
Moreover, her single eyelids lacked charm.
But within those single eyelids, the shining pupils were jet-black.
Therefore, they were remarkably expressive.
At times, her expression took on an almost imperious willfulness.
Tsuda found himself unconsciously drawn to the light emanating from those small eyes.
And then again, there were times when he would suddenly be repelled by that light for no apparent reason.

When he suddenly looked up at his wife, he momentarily sensed a mysterious force dwelling in her eyes.
It was a strange radiance that did not at all match the sweet words she had been speaking until now.
The mental process that had been about to formulate a response to her words was momentarily interrupted by this gaze.
Then she immediately showed her beautiful teeth and smiled.
At the same time, the expression in her eyes vanished without a trace.

“It’s a lie. I don’t need to go to the theater or anything.”
“That was just me being childish.”

Tsuda remained silent and continued to gaze at his wife for some time.

“Why are you making such a stern face and looking at me? — I’ll give up the theater, so go to Dr. Kobayashi this coming Sunday and have the surgery done.”
“That should be fine.”
“I’ll send Okamoto a postcard within the next two or three days—or if not, I’ll just go over and decline for us.”

“You can go if you want. After all, they went out of their way to invite us.”

“No, I’ll give it up too.”
“Theater isn’t as important as your health, you know.”

Tsuda still had to give his wife a detailed explanation about the surgery he was supposed to undergo.

"Even if you call it surgery, it isn't as simple as draining pus from a boil. They first administer laxatives to thoroughly clean out your intestines, then when they make the incision—since there's a risk of bleeding—they pack the wound with gauze, and you have to lie still in bed for five or six days. So even if we were to go this coming Sunday, it wouldn't be over in just a single day anyway. Whether Sunday gets pushed back to Monday or Tuesday, it won't make much difference; and conversely, even if we move Sunday up to tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, it'll still be the same thing. I guess you could call it a conveniently timed illness."

“It’s not exactly easy for you either, having to lie still for a whole week without being able to move.”

His wife twitched her eyebrows again.
Tsuda, with an air of complete indifference to this, leaned his right elbow on the edge of the long brazier placed between them while thinking about something, and gazed at the lid of the iron kettle hanging within.
Beneath the vermilion copper lid, the sound of boiling water grew louder.

“Then you’ll absolutely have to take about a week off work, won’t you?”

“So I’m thinking of meeting with Mr. Yoshikawa to explain the circumstances and then decide on a date.”
“It might seem like I could just take time off without a word, but that’s not really possible.”

“That’s something you should discuss yourself. After all, he’s been looking after you so well all this time.”

“If I tell Mr. Yoshikawa, he might say to be hospitalized starting tomorrow.”

Upon hearing the word “hospitalization,” his wife suddenly widened her narrow eyes.

“Hospitalization? You’re not actually going to be hospitalized, are you?”

“Well, hospitalization.”

“But didn’t Dr. Kobayashi say before that it’s not a hospital? He said it’s all outpatients anyway.”

“It’s not what you’d call a proper hospital, but since the clinic’s second floor happens to be vacant, they’ve arranged it so you can stay there.”

“Is it clean?”

Tsuda gave a wry smile.

“It might be a bit cleaner than our home.”

This time, his wife gave a wry smile.

V

Tsuda, who had made it a habit to spend an hour or two before bed facing his desk, soon stood up.

His wife remained leaning against the brazier in the same relaxed posture as before and looked up at her husband.

“Off to study again?”

His wife occasionally said this to her husband as he stood up. To Tsuda’s ears, whenever she spoke like this, there was always a certain dissatisfaction in her tone. At times, he proactively attempted to cater to it. At times, he conversely wanted to escape from it with aversion. In either case, in the depths of his heart lingered a vague awareness that looked down on her: “I can’t afford to just play around with a woman like you. I have my own matters to attend to.”

When he silently opened the sliding door between rooms and was about to go out into the next one, his wife called out to him again from behind.

“Then I’ll give up on the theater. I’ll handle declining with Okamoto myself.”

Tsuda turned around slightly.

“So you should come along if you want to go. I don’t know what will happen with things as they are now.”

His wife kept her gaze downward and did not look back at her husband.
She did not respond.

Tsuda left it at that and ascended to the second floor, stepping heavily on the steep stairs with a creak.

On his desk lay a relatively large Western book. As soon as he sat down, he opened it and began reading from the page marked by a folded corner. However, the consequences of having neglected it for three or four days had come back to haunt him - he could no longer properly grasp how the sections connected. To understand this, he would need to reread the previous part again, but feeling overwhelmed, he merely flipped through the pages instead, staring at the book's thickness as if burdened by it. Then of its own accord arose the sensation that the road ahead stretched endlessly long.

He recalled that it was three or four months after his marriage when he first acquired this book. When he came to realize it, over two months had already passed since then until today, yet the pages he had read still did not amount to even two-thirds of the whole. He had always berated before his wife the many people who enter society and immediately abandon books as if they were worthless fools. Having been made to hear this as her husband's stock phrase, his wife had come to acknowledge him as a true scholar to such an extent that a comparatively large amount of time was spent on the second floor. Along with the feeling that the road ahead was long, a sense of shame emerged from somewhere, maliciously taunting his pride.

However, the knowledge he was now striving to absorb from the book spread open before him was not something required for his daily duties. It was far too specialized and far too lofty. Even the knowledge he had gained from school lectures had rarely proven practically useful, and it could almost be said to have no relation whatsoever to his current line of work. He simply wanted to store it away as a form of self-confidence. He had also wanted to adorn himself with it as an ornament to attract others' attention. When the difficulty dimly came into view for him now, he asked his own conceit.

“I wonder if things can’t go more smoothly.”

He silently puffed on his cigarette.
Then, as if suddenly noticing something, he closed the book and stood up.
Then, stepping quickly over the stairs and making them creak, he went back down.

VI

“Hey, Oen.”

He called his wife’s name through the sliding door, then immediately opened it and stood at the entrance to the tea room.
Then before her, seated by the long brazier, the colors of the beautifully spread-out obi sash and kimono suddenly caught his eye.
When his eyes, peering from the dim entryway into the suddenly bright electric-lit room, saw them appearing more splendid than usual, he paused briefly to look back and forth between his wife’s face and the vibrant patterns.

“What are you doing taking that out at this hour?”

Oen kept the end of the round obi with its cypress fan pattern on her lap and gazed at Tsuda from afar.

“I just wanted to take it out and see.
“I’ve never even tied this obi once before, you know.”

“So this time you’re planning to go to the theater in that outfit, huh?”

There was a sarcastic mockery in Tsuda’s words.
Oen didn’t respond and looked downward.
Then, as always, she twitched her black eyebrows.
This peculiar mannerism of hers sometimes strangely intrigued Tsuda’s heart while at other times inexplicably unsettled his mood.
He silently went out to the veranda and opened the lavatory door.
Then he tried to go back up to the second floor.
This time, his wife called out to stop him.

“You—you—”

At the same time, she stood up.
And then, as if blocking his way, she asked.

“Do you need something?”

His current errand was of greater importance to him now than his wife’s obi sash or underkimono.

“Has a letter from Father not arrived yet?”

“No, if it comes, I’ll place it on your desk as usual.”

Tsuda had come downstairs specifically because the expected letter had not been on his desk.

“Shall I have someone check inside the mailbox?”

“If it had come, it’s registered mail—they wouldn’t just toss it into the mailbox.”

“Well, perhaps not, but just to be safe, I’ll go check.”

Oen slid open the entryway’s shoji screen and began stepping down into the shoe removal area.

“It’s no use. There’s no way the registered mail would be in there.”
“But even if it’s not registered mail, there might be regular post inside. Please wait a moment.”

Tsuda finally returned to the tea room and sat cross-legged on the zabuton cushion he had used earlier during dinner, which remained positioned as before in front of the brazier. And there he gazed at the brilliantly scattered colors of the deeply dyed patterns.

In Oen’s hand as she immediately returned from the entryway, there was indeed a single letter.

"There was one!
“It might be from your father, you know.”

As she said this, she held the white envelope up to the bright electric light.

“Ah, just as I thought—it’s from your father!”

“What? It’s not registered mail?”

The moment Tsuda received the letter, he tore it open and began to read.
Yet when he finished reading and rolled it back up to return to the envelope, his hands moved with mechanical precision.
He looked neither at his hands nor at Oen’s face.
Gazing absently at the coarse striped pattern of his wife’s formal crepe-silk attire, he muttered as if to himself.

“I’m in trouble.”

“What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing important.”

Tsuda, with his strong sense of pride, did not want to tell his wife of such recent marriage about what was written in the letter. But that was also something he had to tell his wife.

Seven

“He says he can’t send the usual remittance this month, so you’ll have to manage things on your end.”
“Old folks are such a pain, I tell you.”
“If that’s the case, he should have told us much earlier. But suddenly, right when we need the money, he comes saying this…”

“What on earth could be the reason?”

Tsuda took out the letter he had once rolled up and put away, spreading it open again on his lap.

“It seems two rental houses became vacant at the end of last month.
“What’s more, even from the closed units, the rent isn’t coming in, he says.
“On top of that, with garden upkeep and fence repairs, temporary expenses have piled up quite a bit—so he can’t send it this month, he says.”

He handed the opened letter just as it was to Oen, who sat on the other side of the brazier.
Oen once again received it without saying a word and made no move to read it.
Tsuda had feared this cold attitude of his wife from the very beginning.

“Even if the rent isn’t being paid properly, if he just meant to send it, he could manage somehow.
“How much could fixing a fence even cost?
“It’s not like he’s building a whole brick wall or anything.”

There was no falsehood in Tsuda’s words.
His father, if not exactly wealthy, was not in such financial straits that covering the monthly shortfall for his son and daughter-in-law’s livelihood would be beyond his means.
However, he was a modest person.
From Tsuda’s perspective, he was almost excessively modest in his frugality.
To his wife, who was far more fond of display than Tsuda himself, he appeared nearly a nonsensical miser.

“Father must surely think we’re indulging in unnecessary luxuries and splurging money recklessly.”
“He must think exactly that!”

“Yeah, didn’t he say something like that when we went to Kyoto the other day? Old folks remember every detail of how they managed their livelihoods when they were young, and expect today’s youth of the same age to do everything exactly as they did. Sure, Father’s thirty and my thirty might not differ in years, but our circumstances are completely different—that approach doesn’t work. There was a time he asked how much the meeting fee was when I was going to attend, and when I said five yen, he looked utterly horrified.”

Tsuda had always feared that Oen looked down on his father.
Yet he found himself uttering critical remarks about his own father in her presence.
These were precisely the words he had felt.
At the same time, by preempting Oen's criticism, they served as justification for both himself and his father.

"So what will we do this month?
We're already short as it is, and now with you being hospitalized a whole week for surgery, that side of things will cost considerably too, won't it?"

His wife, who had refrained from criticizing the old man out of deference to her husband, immediately shifted the conversation toward practical matters.
Tsuda's answer had not been prepared.
After a moment, he spoke in a low voice, as if muttering to himself.

“If Uncle Fujii has money, I’d go there, but…”

Oen stared at her husband’s face.

“There’s no way I can go ask Father again for you.”
“And while you’re at it, write about your illness too.”

“It’s not that I can’t write it, but if they start coming back with all sorts of excuses again, it’ll be a hassle.”
“If you get caught up with Father, that’s not going to get resolved anytime soon.”

"But if there’s no other prospect, we have no choice."

“I’m not saying I won’t write.
"I do intend to ensure our circumstances are properly conveyed to him, but it won’t be settled immediately.”

“I suppose so.”

At that moment, Tsuda looked earnestly at Oen.
Then he said in a resolute tone:

“How about you go ask Okamoto-san for a temporary loan?”

VIII

“No, I won’t.”

Oen refused immediately.
There was not the slightest hesitation in her words.
The tone that had surpassed all restraint and consideration struck Tsuda as far too abrupt.
He received a shock akin to that of a car moving at considerable speed being suddenly brought to a halt.
Before he could take offense at his wife’s lack of sympathy, he was first struck with astonishment.
And then he gazed at his wife’s face.

“I won’t.
Going to Okamoto and talking about such things—”

Oen repeated the same words to her husband once again.

"Is that so?
"In that case I won't force you.
"But..."

When Tsuda began to say this, Oen interrupted her husband’s cold yet composed words as if scooping them up and pushing them away.

“But it’s embarrassing for me, you know. Every time I go there, they keep telling me how fortunate I am to have married into a good family with no troubles or financial worries—and then to suddenly bring up something like borrowing money out of nowhere, they’re bound to give me strange looks, you know.”

It finally sank in for Tsuda that Oen's flat refusal of his request stemmed less from any lack of sympathy toward her husband than from being constrained by her pride regarding Okamoto.
The cold light that had dwelled in his eyes vanished.

"I can't have you going around boasting about our status as if it's so comfortable."
"It’s fine to be overestimated, but depending on the situation, that might end up causing trouble instead."

"I never boasted."
"It’s just that they decided that on their own."

Tsuda did not press further.
Oen also did not take the trouble to explain any further.
The two of them let their conversation lapse briefly before returning to practical matters.
But for Tsuda, who until now had not overly troubled himself about his own finances, no particular plan of action presented itself.
Tsuda merely said, "Your father would be in a fix too."

As if struck by a sudden thought, Oen shifted her gaze to her formal attire and obi sash, which she had neglected until now.
“What shall we do with this?”

She took the end of the thick obi sash with gold woven into it and held it up to the electric light so it would catch her husband’s eyes.
For Tsuda, the significance of this gesture proved difficult to comprehend.

“Do something about it? What exactly do you mean?”

“If we take this to the pawnshop, they’ll lend us money.”

Tsuda was astounded.
If his young wife—who had only recently entered his household—had been aware all along of such frugal resourcefulness, something he himself had never experienced, then this could only count as a discovery of startling consequence to him.

“Have you ever pawned your own kimono or anything like that before?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Oen laughed dismissively, her tone laced with scorn as she rejected Tsuda’s question.

“Even if we do pawn it, we won’t know how it’ll turn out.”

“Yes.
But that’s no big deal, right?
Once we take it in and get it settled.”

Except in extreme circumstances, Tsuda did not want to make his wife engage in such degrading behavior.
Oen explained.

“Time knows,” she said. “That maid used to carry cloth-wrapped bundles to the pawnshop all the time when she was at our house. And nowadays, they say if you just send a postcard, they’ll even come collect the items themselves!”

That his wife was willing to offer her precious kimono and obi sash for his sake brought Tsuda relief. Yet forcing her to do so only tormented him. He hesitated—not from pity toward her, but because it wounded his pride as a husband.

Let me think this through properly.

He ascended to the second floor once more without having offered any resolution to their financial predicament.

Nine

The next day, Tsuda went to his workplace as usual.
He unexpectedly encountered Yoshikawa on the staircase once that morning.
However, as he was descending while the other party was ascending, they merely exchanged polite bows in passing, and he said nothing.

Around the time when lunch was imminent, he quietly knocked on Yoshikawa’s office door and timidly pushed half his face through the opening.
At that moment, Yoshikawa was talking with a guest while blowing tobacco smoke.
The guest was, of course, someone he did not know.
When he opened the door halfway, the previously lively conversation between host and guest suddenly ceased.
Then both of them turned toward him.

“Do you need something?”

Addressed first by Yoshikawa, Tsuda came to a halt at the entrance to the room.

“Just…”

“Is this your own business?”

Tsuda was not someone who should have been frequenting this room for official matters in the first place.
With an awkward grimace, he replied.

“Yes.
Just…”

“Then leave it for later.”
“It’s rather inconvenient now.”

“Ah. I must apologize for acting without realizing how inconsiderate I was being.”

Tsuda closed the door soundlessly and returned to his desk.

In the afternoon, he stood before the same door twice or so.
Yet both times, Yoshikawa's figure remained nowhere to be seen there.

“Did he go out somewhere?”

Tsuda took the opportunity while going downstairs to ask the office boy in the entryway.
The well-featured boy stretched his hand toward the long-haired brown dog lying at the foot of the stone steps, whistling as though performing magic to beckon it up the steps.

“Yes, Mr. Yoshikawa has gone out earlier with the guest.”
“It’s possible he might not return back here today at all.”

This office boy, who spent his days doing nothing but monitoring people's comings and goings, was at least in this regard a more reliable prophet than Tsuda.
Leaving behind the brown dog—who knew who had brought it—and the office boy strenuously trying to befriend the creature, Tsuda returned once more to his own desk.
There he attended to his routine duties until closing time.

When the time came, he left the large building a step later than the others.
As he walked toward the stop as usual, he took out his watch from his hidden pocket and gazed at it, as if suddenly remembering.
This was less about knowing the precise time than deciding which direction to walk.
It amounted to consulting his watch pointlessly while debating whether to stop by Yoshikawa’s private residence on his way home.

He finally jumped aboard a train heading in the opposite direction from his home.
Thoroughly aware of Yoshikawa’s propensity for absence, he hadn’t truly believed he would necessarily meet him even if he went to his residence.
He was well aware that even if Yoshikawa happened to be there, should it prove inconvenient, he would simply be sent away without meeting him.
However, he found it necessary to occasionally pass through the gate of the Yoshikawa household.
It was also a matter of propriety.
It was also a matter of social obligation.
It was also a matter of self-interest.
In the end, it was also merely for vanity.

"Tsuda was a special acquaintance of Yoshikawa."

He sometimes wanted to shoulder this fact and display it. And then he wanted to stand before everyone still bearing that load. Moreover, he wanted to bear this fact without the slightest alteration to the dignified manner he prided himself on maintaining in his everyday demeanor. While pushing things as far back into the depths as possible, under the same psychological impulse that makes one want to show others precisely what one is hiding, he now stood at Yoshikawa’s entrance. And he himself persistently interpreted that he had come here specifically for business.

10

The imposing main entrance door was closed as usual.
Tsuda casually peered through the thick latticework set into the upper half like openwork carving.
Inside lay a large granite shoe-removal stone.
From the ceiling's center hung a bluish-black cast-iron lampshade.
He who had never once set foot there before deliberately passed it by and circled to the side entrance.
Then he requested guidance from the inner entrance adjacent to the servants' quarters.

“He hasn’t returned yet.”

The servant wearing kura hakama trousers who knelt before him gave a brief reply. The servant’s demeanor—seeming to take for granted that his visitor would promptly leave—unnerved Tsuda somewhat. Tsuda finally pressed further and asked.

“Is Madam at home?”

“Madam is here.”

In truth, Tsuda was on closer terms with Mrs. Yoshikawa than with Yoshikawa himself.
From the very beginning of his journey there, the intention to meet Mrs. Yoshikawa had been strongly at work in his mind.

“Then please inform Madam.”

He asked this new servant—who still didn’t recognize him—once more to announce him.
The servant went inside without showing displeasure.
Then when he came out again, in a slightly more formal tone he said, “Madam has agreed to see you, please come this way,” and guided him to the Western-style parlor.

No sooner had he taken a seat in the chair there than Mrs. Yoshikawa appeared immediately, before even the tea or tobacco tray had been brought in.

“Are you leaving already?”

He had to rise from his seated position once more.
“What will your wife do?”

Mrs. Yoshikawa gave a slight nod in response to Tsuda's greeting and took her seat before immediately asking this.
Tsuda responded with a faint wry smile.
He found himself at a loss for how to reply.

"It seems you've stopped coming around much since acquiring a wife."

There was no reserve whatsoever in Mrs.Yoshikawa's words.
She saw only a younger man before her.
And this younger man had long been someone beneath her notice.

“Still happy, aren’t you?”

Tsuda sat quietly, like someone enduring a wind that stirs up sand without moving.

"But it’s been quite a while since you married, hasn’t it?"

“Yes, it’s already been over half a year.”

“How time flies—I still feel like it was just the other day.
—So how have things been lately?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your married life.”

“There’s nothing particularly wrong.”

“So you’ve already left the happy phase behind.
Don’t lie to me.”

“Since there was never any happy phase to begin with, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“Then it must come now.
If there wasn’t one at the start, then now—that’s when the happy phase should emerge.”

“Thank you. Then I’ll wait in anticipation.”

“By the way—how old are you?”

“That’s enough.”

“It’s not enough.
I asked because I want to know—answer plainly and honestly.”

“Then I’ll tell you.
I’m thirty.”

“So next year makes another.”

“Following the natural order, I suppose that’s how it calculates.”

“And Oen?”

“She’s thirty.”

“Next year?”
“No, this year.”

Eleven

Mrs.Yoshikawa often teased Tsuda in this manner.
This was all the more true when she was in good spirits.
Tsuda also occasionally teased her back.
However, in Mrs.Yoshikawa’s demeanor as he observed it, there would often flicker something that could be determined as neither clearly jest nor earnest.
When encountering such situations, he, being of a tenacious disposition, would often become fixated mid-conversation.
And if circumstances permitted, he would go as far as digging into the very root of the conversation to ascertain the other party’s true intentions.
When reserve prevented him from pressing further, he would silently fix his gaze on the other’s countenance.
At such times, his eyes would inevitably be clouded by a faint suspicion.
That appeared cowardly.
It also appeared attentive.
It also appeared as though emitting a self-defensively haughty gleam of nerves.
Finally, it was tinged with a certain aura that could only be described as "prudent anxiety."
Every time Mrs.Yoshikawa met Tsuda, she would invariably drive him into that state once or twice.
Tsuda, while fully aware of this, found himself dragged back into that state before he knew it.

“Mrs., you’re quite wicked, aren’t you?”

“Why? Is asking both of your ages what makes me wicked?”

“It’s not exactly that, but you ask in this way that seems meaningful yet meaningless, and then deliberately leave things unsaid.”

“There’s nothing more to it.”
“The fundamental issue is you’re far too analytical.”
“While research may be necessary for academic pursuits, in social interactions it’s strictly forbidden.”
“If you’d just drop that habit, you could become a much more likable man though.”

Tsuda was slightly hurt.
But it was a pain that struck his chest, not one that resonated in his head.
His head looked coldly down upon her in the face of this blunt attack.
Mrs.Yoshikawa smiled.

“If you think I’m lying, go home and ask your wife.”
“Oen surely shares my opinion.”
“It’s not just Oen—there must be one more person, I’m certain.”

Tsuda's face suddenly stiffened.
The flesh of his lips twitched slightly.
He lowered his eyes to his knees and said nothing.

“You know who it is, don’t you?”

Mrs.Yoshikawa peered into his face as she asked.
He had known from the start who that person was.
Yet he had no intention of affirming her words.
When he raised his face again, he turned silent eyes toward Mrs.Yoshikawa.
What those eyes expressed without words, she could not comprehend.

“If I’ve offended you, do forgive me.”
“I didn’t mean it that way at all, you know.”

“No, I don’t mind in the slightest.”

“Truly?”

“I really don’t think anything of it.”

“There, now I can finally rest easy.”

Mrs.Yoshikawa immediately regained her original light tone.

“You still have something childlike about you when we talk like this.”
“So men may seem disadvantaged but ultimately gain the advantage after all.”
“You’re exactly as you’ve just stated, and since Oen is turning thirty this year, in terms of years there’s quite a difference—but in terms of demeanor, your wife actually seems more mature.”
“To say ‘mature’ might be rude, but… how should I put it? Well…”

Mrs. Yoshikawa seemed to be considering words to describe Oen's demeanor as she kept Tsuda before her.
Tsuda waited with some curiosity.

"Well, mature."
"She's truly a clever one—I've rarely encountered someone so astute."
"Do take good care of her."

From Mrs.Yoshikawa's tone, there wouldn't have been much difference had she said "Be careful" instead of "Take good care of her."

Twelve

At that moment, the electric lamp hanging above their heads flickered on.
The student servant who had earlier been dispatched quietly entered the room, soundlessly lowered the blinds, and wordlessly withdrew.
Tsuda—who from the outset had been observing the gas stove's hue gradually deepen—silently watched the servant's retreating back.
He felt it was high time to conclude their conversation and depart.
He drained his teacup to the dregs as though skimming off the lone lemon slice floating cold at its bottom.
Taking this as his cue, he broached the matter he had come to discuss with Mrs.Yoshikawa.
The affair was inherently straightforward.
Yet it wasn't the sort of thing to be settled by her mere assent or refusal.
As for where in the month to situate that week of freedom he desired—this too remained opaque to her.

“Any time should be fine, shouldn’t it?”
“As long as we can arrange it.”

She showed her kindness to Tsuda in an offhand tone.

“Of course I had arranged for the schedule to align, but…”

“Well, isn’t that fine? You can take time off starting tomorrow.”

“But not without having first inquired.”

“Then I’ll make sure to explain it properly when you get back. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”

Mrs.Yoshikawa readily agreed. It even appeared as though she rejoiced at having gained another task to work for others’ benefit. Tsuda was happy to see this cheerful and sympathetic Mrs.Yoshikawa before him. The awareness that his own attitude and behavior had been the driving force to make her act that way made him even happier.

In a certain sense, he liked being treated like a child by Mrs.Yoshikawa. It was because he could seize upon a particular intimacy that arose between them through this childlike treatment. And when he closely examined that intimacy, it proved to be a special kind that could only exist between a man and a woman. To put it metaphorically, it resembled the momentary thrill one feels when suddenly slapped on the back by a teahouse waitress.

At the same time, he possessed in abundance a self that Mrs.Yoshikawa could never treat as a child.
He did not neglect to deliberately conceal that self as he prepared to stand before Mrs.Yoshikawa.
Thus, while unreservedly accepting the light sensation of being playfully tormented by Mrs.Yoshikawa before him, he always leaned back against the thick, heavy wall he himself had built.

When he had finished his business and was about to rise from his chair, Mrs. Yoshikawa suddenly spoke.

“You mustn’t cry and groan like a child again—with that big body of yours.”

Tsuda involuntarily recalled last year’s agony.

“I was truly at my wit’s end back then. The sliding of the paper door would jolt the affected area—each time, my whole body would jerk up on the bed. But this time it’s all right.”

“Is that so? And who vouched for you? That doesn’t sound convincing at all. If you speak so boastfully, I’ll have to go verify it myself.”

“It’s no place for someone like you to visit. A cramped, dirty, peculiar room it is.”

“I don’t mind at all.”

He couldn’t quite grasp whether Mrs.Yoshikawa’s demeanor was serious or teasing.
Tsuda, who had been about to say that since the doctor specialized in a field unrelated to his own illness women should not approach such places too closely, stammered and hesitated slightly.
Mrs.Yoshikawa pressed her advantage, closing in.

“I’m coming—there’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s something difficult to discuss in front of Mrs.Oen.”

“Then I’ll come to visit again sometime.”

Mrs.Yoshikawa escorted Tsuda out of the parlor with a laugh as he stood up as if fleeing.

Thirteen

Once out on the street, Tsuda's feet gradually carried him away from the Yoshikawa residence.
However, his head could not leave the parlor he had just been in as quickly as his feet had.
He walked through the relatively quiet streets in the evening dusk, all the while catching intermittent glimpses of the brightly lit interior scene.

The coldly glimmering textured surface of the cloisonné vase; the hues of splendid patterns flowing across that vase's smooth exterior; the silver-filigreed round tray brought to the table; the sugar cube holder and milk pitcher of matching luster; the heavy-looking window drape with brown arabesque patterns floating against an indigo-black ground; the decorative album bearing gold foil at its three corners—the intense stimuli of these things now roiled chaotically within his eyes, which had already left beneath the bright electric lights and emerged into the dark outdoors.

He could not, of course, forget the phantom of the heroine sitting amidst these swirling colors.
As he walked, he recalled fragment by fragment the conversation he had exchanged with her earlier.
And when he came to certain parts, he savored them while chewing, as though he had put roasted beans in his mouth.

"That Mrs.Yoshikawa might still intend to talk to me about that incident."
"The truth is, I don't want to hear about that."
"But I also desperately want to hear it."

When he openly admitted these contradictory aspects to himself within his own heart, he immediately blushed on the dark street like someone who had exposed his own weakness.
To push through his blushing, he deliberately walked ahead.

"If that Mrs.Yoshikawa intends to say something to me about that incident, where exactly does her main intention lie?"

Present-day Tsuda was absolutely unable to provide a solution to this problem.

"Is she teasing me?"

I couldn't say for sure.

She was by nature a woman who took pleasure in teasing others.
And their relationship fully permitted her this liberty.
Moreover, her position had gradually made her complacent without her realizing it.
For the mere pleasure derived from making him anxious, she might have calmly crossed the bounds of restraint.

"If that wasn’t the case… then out of sympathy for me?
Is it because she shows too much favoritism toward me?"

I couldn’t say for sure about that either.
Up until now, she had indeed been kind to him and had also shown him favoritism.

He came to a wide street and boarded a train there.
Outside the window of the train running along the canal bank, there was nothing to see but black water, a black embankment, and black pine trees coiled atop it.

Having taken a seat in the corner of the train car, he gazed briefly through the window at the bleak autumn nightscape outside, then immediately had to turn his thoughts to other matters.
He had reached the point where he could no longer avoid dealing with the money matters he’d neglected since the previous evening, finding the whole affair increasingly troublesome.
He immediately recalled Mrs.Yoshikawa again.

"If only I had explained the situation earlier and brought it up myself, there wouldn’t have been any trouble."

When he thought this, he couldn’t help regretting having left his seat so promptly, believing he had been considerate.
But then, he had absolutely no courage to go see her again now solely for that purpose.

As he stepped down from the train and crossed the bridge, he saw a beggar crouching beneath the dark railing.
The beggar bowed his head before him like a shifting black shadow.
He wore a thin overcoat.
He had already seen the warm flames of the gas heater that seemed premature for the season.
Yet the chasm between himself and the beggar found almost no place in his present awareness.
He felt like a man driven into a corner.
That his father hadn't sent the usual monthly funds felt deeply inconvenient.

Fourteen

Tsuda walked to his house's front gate in the same mood.
As he reached for the lattice entrance door, the shoji slid open before the unopened lattice.
Then Oen's figure appeared before him before he knew it.
He gazed at her profile with its light makeup as if startled.

Since their marriage, his wife had often startled him this way.
Her actions sometimes produced unfortunate results by anticipating her husband's moves, while at other times demonstrating remarkable perceptiveness.
Amidst trivial daily matters, Tsuda would observe her mannerisms—which frequently exhibited this distinctive trait—like watching the glint of a Western saber before his eyes.
Alongside a sense of something small yet sharp, there arose an unsettling eeriness.

In that instant, Tsuda thought Oen had somehow anticipated his return.
But he didn't feel like asking why.
To ask why and then be evaded with laughter seemed like the husband's defeat.

He composed himself and went up from the entryway.
Then he immediately changed clothes.
In front of the brazier in the tea room sat a black-lacquered footed tray with a cloth draped over it, positioned as if awaiting his return.

“Did you go out somewhere again today?”

If Tsuda did not return home at the fixed time, Oen would invariably pose this question.
Naturally, Tsuda had to come up with some sort of response.
However, since it wasn’t necessarily just because of such errands that he was late, at times his answers would become strangely ambiguous.
In such instances, he would deliberately avoid looking at Oen’s face, lightly made up for her own sake.

“Shall I try to guess?”

“Yeah.”

Today’s Tsuda was completely unperturbed.

“It’s Mr. Yoshikawa, isn’t it?”

“You guessed right.”

“I can usually tell by your demeanor.”

“Is that right? Of course, since I told you last night after speaking with Mr. Yoshikawa that we’d set a date for my surgery, it’s only natural you’d guess right.”

“Even without that, I could’ve guessed.”

“Is that so? You’re quite something.”

Tsuda conveyed to Oen only the main points he had requested from Mrs. Yoshikawa.

“So when will you start the treatment?”

“Given that situation, well, it’s the sort of thing that could start anytime, but...”

In Tsuda’s mind was the pressing concern that before beginning treatment, he absolutely had to secure the necessary funds. The amount was not substantial by any means. Yet precisely because it wasn’t substantial, the very absence of any straightforward method to procure it made him all the more anxious.

He briefly considered his sister in Kanda but couldn’t bring himself to approach her. Under their post-marital arrangement where his father in Kyoto supplemented monthly deficits under the pretext of household expansion, there had been a condition to repay portions through Bon and year-end bonuses. Due to various circumstances—his failure to fulfill this condition that summer—his father had already taken offense. His sister, aware of this situation, generally sided with their father. He who had from the start deemed it improper to broach financial matters before her husband now became even more resolved through these circumstances. He concluded that if unavoidable, he would have no choice but to follow Oen’s advice and write his father again explaining the situation. It might be prudent, he reasoned, to slightly exaggerate his current illness. To add some polish to the facts without worrying his parents—such an adjustment seemed within anyone’s capacity without troubling their conscience.

“Oen, let’s write to Father again as you said last night.”

“Yes… but…”

Oen said “But…” and then looked at Tsuda.
Tsuda went up to the second floor without paying any heed and sat down at the desk.

Fifteen

He, who had grown accustomed to using Western-style letter paper, took out lavender-colored stationery and an envelope from the desk drawer and had just begun writing a few absentminded lines with his fountain pen when he suddenly noticed something.
His father had never much cared to receive from his own son those carelessly penned letters in the colloquial style written with Western pens or fountain pens.
He pictured his faraway father’s face before his eyes and, with a wry smile, set down his brush.
Even if he wrote the letter, the feeling that it would have no effect persisted.
He idly sketched his father's narrow face with a goatee on the leftover piece of thick, rough paper resembling charcoal paper, and pondered what to do.

At length, he resolved himself and stood up.
He slid open the fusuma door, stepped out to the top of the stairs, and called down to his wife.

“Oen, do you have Japanese rolled paper and letter envelopes at your place?”
“If you do, please lend me some for a bit.”

“Japanese?”

To the wife’s ears, this adjective sounded strangely comical.

“If you mean women’s stationery, I have some.”

Tsuda once again spread out the stylish patterned hanshi paper before himself and examined it.

“Will this do?”

“As long as you write the contents clearly enough inside, the paper itself hardly matters.”

“It won’t be that simple. You know how particular Father can be about these things.”

Tsuda maintained a serious expression and continued staring at the hanshi paper.
A shadow of a faint smile appeared at the corners of Oen’s mouth.

“Shall I have someone fetch proper stationery?”

“Yeah.”

Tsuda gave a perfunctory response.
Even if he had white rolled paper and plain envelopes, it didn’t necessarily mean his own hopes would succeed.

“Please wait. I’ll be quick.”

Oen immediately went downstairs.
Before long came the sound of the sliding door opening and the maid going out.
Tsuda did nothing but sit at his desk smoking until he obtained what he needed.

His mind refused to leave thoughts of his father.
This Tokyo-born-and-bred father would jump at any chance to disparage Kansai region, yet had eventually settled permanently in Kyoto.
When Tsuda—sympathizing with his mother who disliked the place—ventured mild objections, his father had shown him the land he purchased and house he built, demanding: “What exactly do you propose doing about this?”
Back when he had been younger still, Tsuda hadn’t even properly grasped his father’s meaning.
He’d thought matters could somehow be managed.
His father would periodically tell him: “This isn’t for anyone else—it’s all for you.”
“You may not appreciate its worth now,” he’d add, “but once I’m dead and gone—mark my words—you’ll understand.”
Now Tsuda conjured both these pronouncements and the manner of their delivery.
That bearing—overflowing with confidence as if singlehandedly securing his child’s future happiness—appeared before him like some unapproachable prophet.
He felt compelled to address this father conjured by imagination’s eye.

“Father, you have no idea how much easier it would be if I could come to properly appreciate your value little by little each month while you’re still alive, rather than understanding it all at once after you’re gone.”

It was approximately ten minutes later that he began composing, in stiff epistolary style, phrases likely to elicit money on rolled paper that would displease his father.
Feeling awkward, he finally finished writing it, and when he read it over again, he became thoroughly disgusted with the clumsiness of his handwriting.
Regardless of the wording, he also thought that with such handwriting, he had no qualification to succeed.
Finally, even if it were successful, he felt that the money would never arrive by the deadline he needed here.
After having the maid post it, he silently slipped into his futon and said to himself:
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

"I'll deal with that when the time comes."

16

The next afternoon, Tsuda was summoned and stood before Yoshikawa.

"I hear you came by the house yesterday."

"Yes, I stopped by your residence briefly and had the opportunity to meet with Mrs. Yoshikawa."

"I hear you're sick again."

"Yes, a little…"

"That’s a problem. You get sick so often."

"Actually, this is a continuation from before."

Yoshikawa made a slightly surprised face and spat out the toothpick he’d been using after his meal. Then he searched through his inner pocket and tried to take out his tobacco pouch. Tsuda immediately struck the match that was on the ashtray. Because he had rushed too much in trying to be helpful, the first match proved useless and went out immediately. He flusteredly struck a second match and carefully brought it to Yoshikawa’s nose.

“Well, if it’s an illness, there’s nothing to be done. You should take time off and rest properly.”

Having expressed his thanks, Tsuda attempted to leave the room.
Yoshikawa asked through the smoke.

“Did you inform Sasaki?”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with Mr. Sasaki and others, and have arranged for them to coordinate matters.”

Sasaki was his superior.

“If you’re going to take leave anyway, better do it sooner. You must recover quickly, get well soon, and then work hard.”

Yoshikawa’s words perfectly reflected his temperament.

“If it suits your convenience, have it start from tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

Having been told this, Tsuda couldn’t help but feel he would have to be hospitalized starting tomorrow.

When his body was halfway out the door, he was called back again from behind.

“Now then—how’s your father been lately?
“Is he still in good health?”

The pleasant aroma of a cigar suddenly assaulted Tsuda’s nose as he turned around.

“Oh, thank you. He’s quite well, thanks to you.”

“He’s probably amusing himself composing poetry or some such thing.”
“Must be nice living so carefree.”
“Last evening I met up with Okamoto at a certain place and we talked about your father.”
“Okamoto was envious too.”
“That man’s had some free time lately too, but he still can’t live like your father does, you see.”

Tsuda did not think for a moment that his father was envied by these people. If there had been someone to place them in his father’s circumstances, he thought, they would have smiled bitterly and begged to be left as they were for at least another ten years. That was, of course, merely Tsuda’s observation derived from his own character. At the same time, it had been derived from their characters as well.

“Since Father is already behind the times, there is no other way for him to live but like that.”

Tsuda had, before he knew it, returned to the room and was standing in his original position.

“Why, he’s not behind the times at all—it’s precisely because he’s ahead of them that he can live like that.”

Tsuda was at a loss for a response.
Compared to the other party’s eloquent tongue, his own inarticulateness became a burden.
At a loss for what to do with his hands, he stared at the wisp of cigar smoke slowly dissipating.

“You mustn’t cause your father any worry.
Because I know everything about you, if there’s any wrongdoing, I’ll be informing your father myself—got it?”

After listening to these words—ambiguous as to whether they were jest or admonition, as though directed at a child—with a bitter smile, Tsuda finally managed to escape from the room.

Chapter Seventeen

On his way home that day, Tsuda got off the train midway and, after walking a short distance from the tram stop along a bustling street, turned into a side alley. While looking left and right at pawnshop curtains, Go club signboards, and latticed doors that looked like they belonged to a construction boss's residence, he pushed open a frosted glass door halfway down the curved alley and stepped inside. When the electric bell attached to the upper part of the door let out a sharp ring, he was suddenly bathed in the collective gaze of four or five people emerging from a narrow room at the end of the entryway. The windowless room was not only narrow but actually dark. To him, having abruptly come in from outside, it gave the sensation of an underground cellar. He sat down looking cold at one end of the bench and looked back at the people who had just moments ago been staring at him with gleaming eyes from the darkness. Many of them were sitting encircling the large Seto-ware brazier placed in the center of the room. Of them, two kept their arms crossed; two kept one hand shading the brazier's edge; one much farther away kept their face pressed against scattered newspapers as if smothering into them; and the last kept their body slightly reclined in the opposite corner of the bench where he now sat, knees pressed together in Western-style trousers.

When the electric bell rang, they turned toward the doorway as if by prior agreement; after a glance, they fell silent again as if by prior agreement.
They all sat in silence, their attitudes suggesting they were each deep in thought about something.
Their demeanor could be taken not so much as paying no heed to Tsuda’s presence, but rather as avoiding attracting his attention.
Not only Tsuda, but they all seemed to deliberately avert their eyes to avoid the mutual pain of being noticed by one another.

This gloomy group of people were almost without exception all those who had similar pasts.
As they quietly waited their turn in the dim waiting room this way, the rather vividly colored fragments of their past would suddenly cast a dark shadow over them.
Having no courage to turn their eyes toward bright places, they remained shut in, standing frozen within that dark shadow.

Tsuda rested his arm on the armrest of the bench and placed his hand on his forehead. In this posture, as though offering a silent prayer to God, he thought about the two men he had unexpectedly encountered at this doctor's house since last winter. One of them was in fact none other than his brother-in-law. When he suddenly caught sight of his figure in this dark room, Tsuda was startled. Even the other party, who had been relatively indifferent to such matters, seemed momentarily at a loss for words in response to Tsuda's startled reaction.

The other one was a friend.
This was when Tsuda, assuming his friend had contracted the same type of illness as himself, had been casually called out to by the latter from across the room.
At that time, they left the doctor’s gate together and, while eating dinner, engaged in a difficult discussion on the problem of sex and love.

The matter with his brother-in-law had ended with nothing more than a momentary surprise and no significant repercussions, but between him and the friend who seemed unlikely to have any further contact after that, an unusual outcome had since arisen.

Tsuda, who had to link his friend's words from that time with his friend's current circumstances, opened his eyes wide like someone struck by sudden shock and removed his hand from his forehead.

Then a man around thirty wearing a navy serge suit emerged from the examination room and went straight to the pharmacy window.
Just as he took out his wallet from an inner pocket to make payment, the nurse appeared in the doorway.
Tsuda, being acquainted with her, called out to stop the nurse as she tried to call the next patient's name and turn back toward the examination room.

“Since waiting for my turn is such a bother, could you please ask the doctor?”
“Ask if I can come in tomorrow or the day after to have the surgery.”

The nurse who had gone inside immediately reappeared in her white uniform at the doorway of the dim room.

“The second floor is available right now, so please come whenever suits you best.”

Tsuda left the dark room as if fleeing.
As he hurriedly put on his shoes and pulled the large frosted-glass door inward, the waiting room—which had until then appeared pitch-dark—suddenly lit up.

Eighteen

Although Tsuda had returned home slightly earlier than the day before, the autumn days—which had recently grown abruptly shorter—were already waning, and the chilly remnants of daylight that had lingered until moments ago on the streets now seemed to vanish all at once from the earth.

Naturally, no lights were on in his second-floor room.
The entryway too was pitch-dark.
His eyes, which had just been gazing clearly at the eaves light of the corner rickshaw stand, felt slightly disappointed.
He clattered open the lattice door.
Still Oen did not appear.
When she had ambushed him around this time yesterday, leaving him deflated, he hadn't felt particularly good—but standing here now in this pitch-dark entryway with no one to greet him, somewhere in his chest lingered the sense that yesterday had still been more pleasant.
He called out while standing, "Oen! Oen!"
Then from the unexpected direction of the second floor came a response: "Yes."
Then came the sound of her footsteps descending the stairs.
At the same time, the maid came running out from the kitchen direction.

“What are you doing?”

There was a somewhat dissatisfied tone in Tsuda’s words.
Oen said nothing.
However, when he looked up at her face, he could not help but recognize her smile—the same as always—trying to draw him in through silence.
Her white teeth seized his gaze before anything else.

“Isn’t the second floor pitch dark?”

“Yes. I guess I was just spacing out thinking about something, so I didn’t notice you’d come back.”

“You were sleeping.”

“Don’t be silly!”

The maid let out a loud laugh, so their conversation ended there.

When going to the bathhouse, Oen said "Wait a moment" and stopped the husband who, having received the soap and hand towel from her hand as usual, was about to leave the brazier's side.
She turned around and took out a meisen padded robe layered with flannel from the bottom drawer of the stacked chest, placing it before the husband.

“Please try this on for me.”
"The padding might not be quite right yet, but..."

Tsuda made a face as if he'd been thrown into confusion and stared at the padded robe with its black habutae collar and coarse vertical stripes.
It was neither something he had purchased himself nor something he had specially ordered to be made.

“What’s the matter?”
“This...”

“I made it.”
“As a precaution for when you enter the hospital.”
“Because it would look improper to wear such odd clothes in that sort of place.”

“When did you make this?”

That he had told Oen he would need to leave home for about a week due to surgery had been just two or three days prior.
Moreover, from that day until now, he had never once seen his wife sitting before her sewing board with needle in hand.
He could not help being struck by wonder.
Oen gazed at her husband’s astonishment as though it were compensation for her labor.
Then she deliberately added no explanation whatsoever.

“Did you buy the fabric?”

“No, this is my old one.
I had intended to wear it this winter, so after starching and stretching it, I stored it away without having it tailored.”

Indeed, befitting a pattern meant for a young woman to wear, not only were the stripes coarse, but the color scheme was rather too gaudy if anything.
Tsuda gazed at his figure with sleeves donned—taking on the aspect of a servant-shaped kite—with some awkwardness before saying to Oen:

“I’ve finally decided to have them do it tomorrow or the day after.”

“I see. Then what about me?”

“You won’t have to do anything at all.”

“Can’t I come along with you? To the hospital?”

Oen appeared not to be troubled in the least by financial matters.

Nineteen

Tsuda awoke to the bright morning light much later than usual.
The house was as still and quiet as if it had just been tidied up.
Having passed through the sitting room and entranceway and opened the tea room’s sliding door, he saw his wife sitting neatly by the brazier there with a newspaper in hand.
The iron kettle was singing with a sound emblematic of a tranquil household.

“If you let your guard down and sleep, even if you don’t mean to oversleep, you end up doing so anyway.”

He said something that sounded like an excuse and gazed at the clock hanging above the calendar.
The clock's hands were already pointing to nearly ten o'clock.

When he returned to the tea room after washing his face, he casually approached the usual black-lacquered meal tray.
The meal tray had not so much awaited his seating as it had rather grown weary of waiting.
He was about to remove the cloth cover on the meal tray when he suddenly noticed something.

"Oh no."

He recalled the precautions he had once been told by the doctor to take the day before surgery.
However, he could not clearly recall them now.
He suddenly said to his wife.

“I’ll go ask.”
“Right now?”
Oen, startled, looked at her husband’s face.
“What? By phone?”
“That’s not it.”

He stood up like someone disrupting the quiet air of the tea room himself and immediately went out through the entryway. Then he hurried to the public telephone located about half a block to the right along the tram line street. From there, he rushed back and called his wife while standing in the entryway.

“Quickly get the wallet that’s upstairs.”
“Your pouch will do.”

“What do you need it for?”

Oen had no understanding whatsoever of her husband’s meaning.

“Just give me whatever you can find quickly.”

He stuffed the pouch he had received from Oen into his pocket and immediately headed back toward the main street.
Then he boarded the train.

It was about thirty or forty minutes later, just before noon, when he returned carrying a rather large paper package.

“There's barely anything left in that pouch, huh? I thought there was a bit more left.” While saying this, Tsuda threw down the package he had been holding under his arm onto the tatami mats in the tea room. “Wasn’t enough?” Oen directed at her husband a look that couldn’t help but pay attention to even the smallest details. “Well, it’s not exactly that it wasn’t enough…” “But I have no idea what you went to buy. I thought it might be a barbershop, but...”

Tsuda became aware that he hadn't had a haircut in over two months.
He recalled even the fresh sensation he had felt just yesterday morning - that when he went too long without cutting his hair, his slightly snug hat seemed to creak more each time he put it on.

“And since you were in such a hurry, I couldn’t go upstairs to get it.”

"The truth is, there isn't exactly that much in my wallet either, so whichever way you look at it, it doesn't make much of a difference."

He wasn’t in a position to keep bad-mouthing the pouch.

Oen quickly unwrapped the paper and took out a can of black tea, bread, and butter.

“Oh my, are you going to eat this?”
"If that's the case, you should have taken your time."

“How should I know what that guy would do? Who knows what I’d end up bringing back?”

Before long, fragrant toast and oolong tea billowing thick steam had been prepared by Oen’s hands.

After finishing an extremely simple Western-style meal that couldn’t quite be called breakfast or lunch, Tsuda muttered as if to himself.

“I meant to go visit Uncle Fujii this morning to inform him about my illness and make up for not having been in touch, but I ended up being too late.”

His meaning was that since there was no alternative, he would discharge this obligatory visit in the afternoon.

20

Fujii was Tsuda’s father’s younger brother.
Tsuda’s father, compelled to a bureaucratic life of pilgrim-like relocations—three years in Hiroshima, two in Nagasaki—had agonized over the educational inconveniences and disadvantages of dragging his son through each new post. Ultimately, he entrusted Tsuda early to this brother, leaving him fully responsible for the boy’s upbringing.
Thus, Tsuda might as well have been raised effortlessly by this uncle.
Consequently, their relationship surpassed ordinary uncle-nephew boundaries.
Setting aside differences in temperament and profession, they resembled parent and child more than uncle and nephew.
Had the phrase “second parent-child” existed, it would have most aptly described their bond.

Unlike Tsuda’s father, this uncle had never once left Tokyo.
Compared to his father, who had been constantly on the move throughout half his life, there was already an immense difference in this single aspect alone.
At the very least, there appeared to be an immense difference in Tsuda's eyes.

“A slow traveler through the journey of life.”

Among the words the uncle had once used to evaluate Tsuda’s father was such a phrase.
Having casually overheard this, Tsuda immediately convinced himself that his father was indeed such a person.
And he had not forgotten those words to this day.
However, the meaning of the phrase his uncle had used remained as unclear to him now as it had been when he was too young to grasp it.
Yet every time he saw his father’s face, he recalled it.
For him, that figure with a sparse beard resembling a fortune-teller’s beneath his father’s lean, narrow jaw and these words of his uncle meant almost the same thing.

His father had retired from government service about ten years prior, suddenly like someone grown utterly weary of being a pilgrim. He then turned to business. After spending his final eight years in Kobe, he undertook new construction on land he had purchased in Kyoto during that time and finally moved there two years ago. Without Tsuda’s knowledge, this quiet old capital had been designated as his father’s place of seclusion and transformed into the land where he would end his days. At that moment, the uncle said to Tsuda while wrinkling the tip of his nose.

“Still, Brother seems to have managed to save up a bit of money.”
“That drifting balloon had finally settled down entirely due to the weight of money—no doubt about it.”

However, he himself—never burdened by money’s weight—had not budged from the start.
He had always remained in Tokyo and remained perpetually poor.
He was a man who had never once received a salary.
To say he disliked salaries would miss the mark; it would be more accurate to say his willfulness left none willing to offer him one.
Though age had brought some change in his thinking, this man who opposed all rule-bound systems clung obstinately to his former ways.
This persistence stemmed from knowing full well that altering his principles now would bring only others’ contempt without yielding any advantage.

This uncle, who had never stood in the actual world nor grappled with concrete facts through work, was at once necessarily a naïve critic of life and simultaneously an extraordinarily keen observer.
And all of his sharp insights were born entirely from his naïveté.
In other words, it was thanks to his naïveté that he would make such startling statements and actions.

His knowledge was extensive but unsystematic.
Therefore, he wanted to have a say in many problems.
However, no matter how much time passed, he could not abandon the stance of a bystander.
It was not only his circumstances that compelled him to this, but also his very nature that held him there.
He possessed a certain kind of mind.
But he had no means.
Or even if he had the means, he made no attempt to use them.
He always wanted to keep his hands tucked in his sleeves.
Born both a diligent scholar and an indolent man by nature, he was ultimately nothing more than one fated to make his living through the printed word.

21

In a corner of an elevated area in the northwest of the city, Fujii had maintained this marginal existence—typical for someone of his sort—for the past six or seven years.
When houses of various sizes being added year after year across that plateau—which until recently had been practically suburban—seemed to him to be gradually leaching away the blue tones from his vista each year, he would pause his writing hand and often contemplate his elder brother's circumstances.
At times he felt inclined to borrow money from this brother and attempt constructing a house himself.
That money was something his brother seemed most unlikely to lend.
He himself was not disposed to seek loans when matters came to a head.
The man who had assessed his brother as "a slow traveler through life's journey" was in truth himself journeying through a materially precarious existence.
And as commonly observed in most people's cases, material insecurity amounted for him to nothing more than a certain degree of spiritual unease.

From Tsuda’s residence to his uncle’s place, there was the convenience of using the riverside tram for about half the distance. However, since it was a short route that wouldn’t take even an hour if walked in full, he found it preferable to avoid relying on clamorous public transportation when taking an occasional stroll.

Tsuda, who left his house a short while before one o'clock, strolled along the riverbank and approached the terminus.
The sky was high.
Sunlight filled every corner.
The color of the deep grove covering the high ground ahead appeared as if embossed and stood out vividly.

As he walked, he remembered the castor oil he had forgotten to buy that morning.
He, who had been ordered by the doctor to take it around four that afternoon, needed to stop by a pharmacy to obtain this laxative.
As usual, he turned right at the terminus without crossing the bridge and attempted to walk toward the bustling town in the opposite direction.
It appeared there was a new plan to extend the railway tracks, for a section of the thoroughfare along his path had been diagonally severed in the most inconsiderate manner.
He stood at the corner of a new road—uneven as if existing houses had been cruelly torn down and forcibly removed—and saw a clustered group of people in one corner.
The crowd, though sparse, was about three or five rows deep and had formed a semicircle around a man of roughly his own age standing at its center.

The slightly plump man wore a double-layered cotton haori over his kimono with a stiff obi fastened around his waist and cutting-board-soled geta on his feet, but he was not wearing a straw hat or cloth cap. Using a lone willow tree left behind him as a shield, he held a large bag lined with cotton flannel in both hands as he surveyed the spectators.

“Gentlemen, I will take an egg out of this bag.”
“I’ll definitely take it out from this empty bag and show you.”
“Don’t be surprised—the trick’s right here in my pocket!”

He said this with a brashness unbecoming of someone in his profession.
Then he clenched one hand at his chest and showed it, snapping that fist open toward the bag.
“There! I’ve thrown an egg into the bag!” he declared in a tone that dared them to cry deception.
Yet he had not deceived them.
When he put his hand into the bag, the egg was already inside.
He pinched it between thumb and forefinger, displayed it thoroughly to the semicircle of spectators, then set it on the ground.

With a look blending contempt and reluctant admiration, Tsuda tilted his head slightly.
Then he suddenly felt something jab at his waist from behind.
The light poke made him spin around reflexively.
There stood his uncle's son grinning like a proper mischief-maker.
The badge-adorned school cap, semi-Western hakama trousers, and backpack slung over shoulders told him plainly from which direction the boy had come.

“Just coming back from school?”

“Yeah.”

The child responded with neither a formal “Yes” nor an informal one.

22

“How’s your father?”

"I don't know."

"Still the same as ever?"

"How should I know?"

To Tsuda, who had completely forgotten his own psychological state from when he was about ten, this reply came as something of a surprise.
He gave a bitter smile but fell silent upon realizing this.
The child once again focused intently on the street performer.
The man—whose shabby attire suggested something thrown together overnight—now raised his voice to its fullest.

“Gentlemen, I’ll show you one more—keep your eyes peeled!”

He cinched the familiar bag tightly with one hand, deftly pantomimed throwing something inside again, then dramatically produced a second egg from its depths.
Still unsatisfied, he turned the bag inside out and unceremoniously displayed its grimy cotton flannel lining before the crowd.
Yet the third egg emerged just as smoothly through identical sleight of hand.
Finally, he arranged them meticulously on the ground as though handling rare artifacts.

“How about it, gentlemen? If I do it like this, I can produce as many as I want.”
“But just showing eggs like this would get dull, so this time I’ll produce one live chicken!”

Tsuda turned back to his uncle's child.
“Hey, Mako, let’s go already. Uncle is going to your house now.”

For Mako, the live chicken held greater importance than Tsuda.

“You go on ahead.”
“I’ll stay and watch more.”

“That’s a lie.”
“No matter how long you wait, a live chicken won’t come out.”

“Why? But he got all those eggs out!”
“The eggs came out, but a chicken won’t.”
“They tell lies like that to keep people from leaving forever.”

“Then what happens?”

What would happen next—Tsuda had no idea.
Growing annoyed, he tried to leave Mako behind and walk ahead.
Then Mako grabbed his sleeve.

“Uncle, buy me something!”

He who, whenever importuned at home with demands, would escape by repeating “next time, next time,” yet when that next time arrived would routinely forget to buy anything for them, replied in his customary manner: “Yeah, I’ll get you something.”

“Then a car, okay?”

“A car’s a bit too much.”

“What do you mean it’s too big?”
“Seven yen and fifty sen.”

Even seven yen and fifty sen was indeed too much for Tsuda.
He started walking without saying a word.

“But you said you’d buy me something both last time and the time before that!”
“Uncle, you’re way more of a liar than that egg man!”

“That guy can put out eggs, but he’ll never manage a chicken.”

“Why?”

“Why? He can’t.”

“That’s why you can’t buy me a car either!”

“Yeah… Well, that’s true. So I’ll buy you something else instead.”

“Then Kidd shoes!”

Thrown off guard, Tsuda walked several paces in silence before replying. He lowered his eyes to examine Shinji’s feet. The shoes—not particularly unsightly—had an odd color that was neither brown nor black.

“They were red before—Father dyed them at home.”

Tsuda laughed.
The fact that Fujii had dyed the child’s red shoes black struck him as somehow comical.
When he heard how the red shoes—crafted without knowing school regulations—had been dyed black to comply with those very rules, he again felt compelled to mockingly criticize his uncle’s desperate measure.
Then, with an expression like one suppressing a ticklish sensation, he stared intently at the current handiwork born from that desperate measure.

Twenty-Three

“Shinji, those are fine shoes you’ve got there.”
“But no one else wears shoes this color, you know!”

“The color doesn’t matter—you can’t go around wearing shoes Father dyed himself like that. You have to wear them with gratitude and take good care of them.”

“But everyone keeps saying they’re shaggy dog hide! Shaggy dog hide!”

When the words “Uncle Fujii” and “shaggy dog hide” were connected, the result took on a fresh comical effect. Yet that comicality, tinged with faint sorrow, passed through Tsuda’s heart.

“They’re not shaggy dog hide—Uncle will vouch for that.”
“It’s fine—they’re not shaggy dog hide. They’re proper—”

Tsuda found himself momentarily stuck on what splendid something-or-other to call them.
But Shinji wasn’t the type to let him get away with such vagueness.

“Splendid what?”

“Splendid—shoes.”

Tsuda felt that if his pocket allowed, he would like to buy Shinji the Kidd shoes he so desired.
It also seemed like it would serve as a small token of repayment toward his uncle.
He mentally calculated the contents of his own pocketbook.
However, he now had almost no room to manage such an expense.
He considered that if a remittance were to arrive from Kyoto, then perhaps—but before even knowing whether it would come or not, he felt a worldly reluctance to go through the hardship of demonstrating such sincerity.

“Shinji, if you want Kidd shoes that badly, next time you come over, have Aunt buy them for you.”
“Uncle’s poor—let me off with something cheaper today.”

He led Shinji by the hand—coaxing and appeasing—as they strolled along the wide thoroughfare.
The street near the terminus had been ceaselessly compacted over four or five years by countless footwear trampling it for streetcar access, resulting in a townscape now splendidly ordered as though reborn.
Here and there in show windows, goods that couldn’t simply be dismissed as shabby local wares were beautifully arrayed.
Shinji darted through the space to the opposite side—no sooner had he paused before a Korean confectioner’s stall than he rushed back to this side and stood motionless beneath a goldfish vendor’s eaves.
When he dashed off, the marbles in his hidden pouch must have clattered.

“I won this many today at school!”

He thrust his hand deep into his hidden pouch and showed the marbles heaped on his palm.
When the round glass marbles—light blue and purple—went scattering into the middle of the street, he chased after them in a fluster.
Then turning back, he called to Tsuda.

“Uncle, you help pick them up too!”

In the end, dragged by his whirlwind nephew into a toy store, Tsuda found himself compelled to buy a one-yen-fifty-sen air rifle there.

“It’s fine to shoot sparrows, but don’t go aiming at people recklessly.”

“With such a cheap rifle, you probably can’t even hit any sparrows.”

“That’s because you’re no good at it.”
“If you’re no good, then even the best rifle won’t hit anything.”

“Then will you shoot some sparrows with this, Uncle?”
“Then let’s go to your house now and—”

Fearing that his half-hearted remarks would immediately pressure him into action, Tsuda gave a noncommittal reply and steered the conversation elsewhere.
Shinji began arbitrarily listing off friends’ names like Toda, Shibuya, and Sakaguchi—people the other party didn’t even know—and started criticizing each one in turn.

“That Okamoto guy—he’s real cunning.
“He’s had three whole pairs of shoes bought for him!”

The conversation returned once more to shoes.
Tsuda compared in his mind the child of Okamoto—who had a close relationship with Oen—with Shinji, who now before him was commenting on that very child.

Twenty-Four

“Have you been going over to Okamoto’s place to play lately?”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t go there.”

“Another fight, huh?”

“Nuh-uh, I don’t get into fights.”

“Then why aren’t you going?”

“No matter what—”

Shinji’s words seemed to leave something unsaid.
Tsuda wanted to grasp that dangling thread.

“If you go there, they’ll give you all sorts of things.”

“Nuh-uh, they don’t give me that much.”

“Then they must treat you to something nice.”

“When I ate rice curry at Okamoto’s place the other day, it was really spicy.”

The spiciness of rice curry alone hardly seemed reason enough to avoid Okamoto’s.

“That’s no reason to stop going.”

“Nuh-uh.”
“But Father tells me not to, see.”
“But I want to go to Okamoto’s and play on the swing.”

Tsuda tilted his head slightly.
He wondered what reason Uncle had for not wanting to send the child to Okamoto’s.
Differences in temperament, differences in family customs, differences in lifestyle—all these things rose immediately in his mind.
The uncle who ceaselessly spread the bluster of print from his desk during silent intervals was in reality never as influential as his pen.
He was tacitly aware of that distance.
This awareness had made him somewhat stubborn.
It had rendered him somewhat exclusionary too.
In this man who ventured into a society valuing wealth and power yet feared others’ contempt, there seemed ever-present somewhere a vigilant wariness—that should those very forces of money and authority encroach even slightly upon his true calling, disaster would follow.

“Shinji, why didn’t you try asking Father?”
“Why can’t you go to Okamoto’s?”

“I did ask.”

“When you asked him, what did Father say?—He didn’t say anything, did he?”

“Nuh-uh! He did!”

“What did he say?”

Shinji looked slightly ashamed.
After a pause, he answered in a heavy tone that broke between each phrase.

“Well... when I go to Okamoto’s... I see all these things Issan has... and then when I come back home... I keep begging to buy them... so that’s why I can’t go.”

Tsuda finally understood.
The two households—differing somewhat in their degree of wealth—had been compelled to maintain disparities down to the very last of their children’s toys.

“So you’ve been pestering them for all these ridiculously expensive things—cars and Kidd shoes and whatnot. You saw all the things Issan has, didn’t you?”

Tsuda, half in jest, raised his hand to strike Shinji’s back. Shinji wore an expression akin to an adult whose ill-concealed truth had been laid bare. However, he did not utter a single excuse-making remark like an adult.

“That’s a lie! That’s a lie!”

He fled toward his house, shouldering the one-yen-and-fifty-sen air rifle Tsuda had bought him earlier. The marbles in his hidden pouch clattered like prayer beads being shaken vigorously. From inside his backpack came the clattering of what might have been a lunchbox or textbooks knocking together.

He stopped briefly at the corner with the black-painted fence, looked back at Tsuda like a weasel, then quickly hid his small figure in the alley. When Tsuda reached the end of that alley and passed through Fujii's gate at the dead end, a gunshot suddenly rang out a couple of yards ahead. Through the hedge on his right, he noticed with a wry smile Shinji's dark figure solemnly taking aim at him.

25

Hearing his uncle’s voice speaking with someone in the parlor, Tsuda peered through the lattice at a pair of guest shoes, then deliberately avoided opening the main entrance and circled around to the family room’s veranda.
Since the garden—which had likely once been a nursery—lacked both a security gate and bamboo fencing partitions, circling past the kitchen entrance of the newly built rental house recently added on the same grounds allowed him to walk straight to the veranda’s edge.
Passing two or three tea trees too low to serve as proper screens and ducking beneath the persimmon tree that would linger in his memory, Tsuda found his aunt there as usual.
When her profile reflected in the shoji’s glass panes caught his eye, Tsuda called out from outside.

“Aunt.”

The aunt promptly opened the shoji screen.

“What brings you here today?”

Without so much as thanking for the air rifle the child had received, she turned puzzled eyes toward Tsuda.
In the attitude of this aunt, who was already three or four years past forty, there was almost nothing resembling amiability.
Instead, depending on time and circumstance, a naturalness that transcended conventional reserve emerged.
In time, there was even a naturalness almost divorced from any sense of sexuality.
Tsuda always compared this aunt and Mrs. Yoshikawa in his mind.
And he was always astonished by that difference.
The same women—two women of not so different ages—how could they give such different impressions to others? That was his first question.

“Aunt, you’re still as lacking in charm as ever.”

“At my age, having any charm would be madness.”

Tsuda sat down on the veranda. His aunt did not tell him to come up and was applying a light heated iron to a piece of crimson silk on her lap. Then, from the next room came the woman called Okan-san carrying unpacked items; she bowed to Tsuda, so he immediately addressed her.

“Okan-san, hasn’t your marriage arrangement been settled yet? If not, shall I find you a good match?”

Okan-san laughed with bashful good humor, her face reddening slightly as she tried to bring a zabuton cushion to the veranda for him. Tsuda stopped her with his hand and entered the sitting room himself.

“Say, Aunt.”

“Yes.”

The aunt, who had given a perfunctory reply devoid of interest, slightly raised her head when Okan-san formally poured lukewarm bancha before Tsuda.

“Okan-san, you should ask Yushu-san properly.”
“This man is kind and doesn’t tell lies.”

Okan-san remained fidgeting without fleeing.
Tsuda felt compelled to respond.

“I’m not being polite—it’s the truth.”

The aunt showed no particular interest. Just then, the popping sounds of Shinji’s air rifle came from the back, so she immediately pricked up her ears.

“Okan-san, could you go check on that?”
“It’s dangerous to load scatter pellets and shoot them.”

Her face looked as though she were about to say he had bought something unnecessary.

“It’s fine. I’ve already given him strict instructions.”

“No, you mustn’t.
“He’ll surely shoot the neighbor’s chickens with that thing just for fun.”
“Just take away the pellets—it doesn’t matter.”

Okan-san seized this good opportunity to slip away from the family room.
The aunt silently took up the iron that had been inserted into the brazier once more.
As Tsuda absently watched the wrinkled, thin silk spread out smoothly across her lap, the intermittent voices from the guest room reached his ears.

“By the way, who’s the guest?”

The aunt looked up as if startled.

“I hadn’t noticed until now.”
“How odd. Your ears are quite something.”
“You can hear perfectly well from here, can’t you?”

26

Tsuda made an effort to identify the owner of the voice in the guest room while remaining seated.
Soon he lightly patted his knee.

“Ah, I get it. It’s Kobayashi, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

The aunt, without so much as a coquettish smile, calmly gave a simple answer.

“Oh, it’s Kobayashi? Strutting around in brand-new red boots and putting on such airs as a guest—I wondered who it could be. In that case, I should’ve just gone over there without holding back.”

The figure of him—far too trite for the imaginative eye—emerged in Tsuda’s mind. The unusual attire Kobayashi had worn when they met this summer naturally came to mind: a white crepe-collared underrobe topped with Satsuma-patterned cotton, thousand-stripe brown hakama trousers, and a sheer silk haori—an outfit one could only liken to an umbrella shop owner returning from a neighborhood funeral, still carrying emergency funeral rice in his pocket. Back then, he had made the excuse to Tsuda that his Western clothes had been stolen by a thief. Then he had asked to borrow about seven yen—all because a friend, sympathizing with his plight, had said he could give him his own pawned summer clothes if he managed to retrieve them.

Tsuda smiled and asked the aunt.

“What’s he doing parading into the sitting room today of all days, putting on such airs as a guest?”

“There’s something I need to discuss with Uncle.”
“It’s just that this isn’t the best place to discuss such things, you see.”

“Huh, even Kobayashi has serious business to discuss?”
“Is it about money, or if not that…”

Having started to say this, Tsuda suddenly caught sight of his aunt’s serious face and immediately withdrew the rest.
The aunt lowered her voice slightly.
Her lowered voice rather matched her composed demeanor.

“There’s also the matter of Okan-san’s marriage proposal.”
“If we say too much here, that child will feel awkward.”

The reason Kobayashi spoke in an uncharacteristically gentlemanly manner—so unlike his usual high-pitched tone that one listening from the family room might hardly recognize him—was entirely due to that matter.

“Has it been settled already?”

“Well, it seems to be progressing smoothly.”

A glimmer of expectation shone in the aunt’s eyes.
Tsuda, now speaking a touch dryly, immediately added.
“Then I don’t need to go through the trouble of mediating anymore, since it’s already settled?”

The aunt silently gazed at Tsuda.
Even if it didn’t quite reach frivolity, his jesting, hollow attitude seemed utterly detached from his aunt’s current state of mind.

“Yushu, when you took your wife, did you really do so with that kind of mindset?”

The aunt’s question was abrupt, and Tsuda could not even begin to grasp what she meant by it.

“That mindset you’re talking about—only you know about it, Auntie. Since I myself don’t have a clue, I can’t really give you an answer.”

“Even if I don’t get a response, Auntie here won’t be troubled, you know.”
“Try putting yourself in the position of having to settle a woman’s affairs.”
“It’s no trivial matter, you know.”

Four years ago, when Fujii had arranged for his eldest daughter's marriage, he had already incurred considerable debt due to lacking the means to prepare properly.
Just as that debt was finally settled, he now had to marry off his second daughter.
Thus if Okan-san's marriage proposal were to be settled here as well, it would undoubtedly become the third such expense.
Even with utmost frugality—given her status differed from their daughters'—this was certain to cast a burdensome shadow over their current livelihood.

Twenty-Seven

At a time like this, had Tsuda voluntarily shouldered even half of the expenses, it would surely have been a satisfying reward for the Fujii couple, who had looked after him all these years.
But at present, the extent of sympathy he could offer his uncle and aunt financially amounted only to buying Shinji those Kidd shoes he so desired.
Even that he had to forgo due to strained circumstances.
Moreover, he felt not the slightest inclination to request financial assistance from Kyoto to ease their burdens.
This stemmed from his conviction that even if he reported their situation, his father would not act—and even were his father to act, there was no uncle left to borrow from.
Thus bound by anticipation that all he needed was for his own remittance to arrive promptly, he showed little reaction to his aunt’s words.
Then his aunt said, “Yushu.”

“Yushu, then what exactly was your reasoning when you married your wife?”

“You can’t possibly think I married her as a joke.”
“Even I would feel pitiful to be interpreted as being composed entirely of such flighty aspects.”

“Of course that was serious.”
“Of course it wasn’t insincere—but even sincerity has its various grades, you know.”

Tsuda listened with curiosity to these words from his aunt that, depending on the listener, could even be taken as an insult.

“Then how do I appear in your eyes, Aunt? Please don’t hold back—tell me plainly.”

The aunt looked down and gave a faint smile while fidgeting with the undone sewing. Whether it was because she wasn’t looking at his face or something else, it suddenly gave him an eerie feeling. However, he had not the slightest intention of backing down from his aunt.

“You do have your moments of seriousness when pressed.”

“Well, since I’m a man—if I don’t have some solid qualities about me, even going to work every day won’t keep me employed. But—”

Having started to say this, the aunt abruptly changed tack and added.

“Well, let’s stop this. It’s not like saying anything now will change things.”

The aunt carefully folded the piece of scarlet silk she had earlier pressed with a heated iron and tucked it into dark-stained tatami paper. Then, looking at Tsuda’s face—which somehow seemed deflated yet still harbored a shadow of restless unease—she spoke up abruptly in a tone of realization.

“Yushu, you’re simply too extravagant.”

Ever since graduating from school, Tsuda had been constantly told this by his aunt. He himself had believed it without question. And he did not even consider that a particularly bad thing.

“Yes, I am a bit extravagant.”

“It’s not just clothes and food.”
“It’s that your mind is extravagantly scattered—that’s what’s so troubling, I tell you.”
“You’re like someone constantly looking around here and there as if searching for treats.”

“Then I’m not extravagant at all—I’m practically a beggar!”

“Though you’re not a beggar, you naturally appear as someone lacking seriousness.”
"When people settle into moderation, it makes for a very seemly sight—though I say so myself."

At that moment, the shadow of his aunt’s daughter—who was his cousin—suddenly grazed Tsuda’s chest.
Both daughters were already married.
The eldest daughter, whose marriage had been settled four years prior, had accompanied her husband to Taiwan and remained there ever since.
Around the time of his marriage, the second daughter—who had just recently married—was taken to Fukuoka immediately after the ceremony concluded.
That Fukuoka was also where their eldest son, Mayumi, had enrolled at a university starting this year.

From Tsuda’s perspective—who could have easily married either of these two cousins had he wished—neither had ever been suitable candidates to become his wife. So he pretended not to know and let it pass. Tsuda, having connected the attitude he had taken then with his aunt’s current remarks and considered them together, found nothing particularly urgent to address, so he watched his aunt’s movements with a nonchalant air. The aunt briskly stood up, opened the lid of the Chinese suitcase in the cupboard, and stored the folding paper she held inside it.

Twenty-Eight

In the four-and-a-half-mat room at the back, Shinji—who had been having Miss Okan review his schoolwork with him since earlier—suddenly began plowing through a French textbook that Miss Okan couldn’t comprehend at all.
Above Tsuda’s head—as he listened with his usual amusement to the absurd voice of a second-grade elementary student deliberately inserting long pauses between each syllable while reading aloud phrases like “Je suis poli” and “Tu es malade”—the pillar clock now bonged loudly.
He immediately took out the Richene he had in his sleeve and gazed at its thick, oily color as though it would be difficult to drink.
Then, in the parlor as well, the uncle’s voice sounded as though prompted by the clock.

“Let’s head over there.”

Uncle and Kobayashi entered the tearoom along the veranda.
After adjusting his posture slightly and greeting his uncle, Tsuda immediately turned toward Kobayashi.

“Mr. Kobayashi seems to be doing rather well.
You’ve had quite a fine suit made, haven’t you?”

Kobayashi wore a suit with a rough, homespun-like texture.
What differed from usual was how the creases of those trousers remained perfectly sharp, making them appear freshly tailored to every observer.
He settled himself before Tsuda while concealing his multicolored socks behind him.

“Heh heh—none of your jokes. You’re the prosperous one here.”

He had made his new suit by finding the price tag attached to a three-piece set displayed in a department store window and ordering it exactly at that listed price.

“At twenty-six yen for you, this must seem quite reasonable. Though how it looks through your extravagant eyes I can’t say—for someone like me, this suffices perfectly.”

Tsuda did not have the courage to speak ill again in front of the aunt. Silently accepting the bowl, he drank the Richene while knitting his brows into a deep frown. Everyone present watched his actions with a look of curiosity.

“What’s that?
“Don’t drink weird stuff.”
“Medicine, huh?”

The uncle, who until this day had never experienced what could properly be called an illness, possessed an ignorance of medicine that was truly exceptional.
He didn’t even know what purpose Richene served upon hearing its name.
When Tsuda used terms like surgery and hospitalization to explain his current situation before this uncle who remained virtually untouched by any diseases, the uncle showed not the slightest concern.

“So that’s why you went out of your way to come here and report that?”

The uncle wore a look that stopped just short of saying “You’ve had quite the ordeal,” and stroked his pepper-and-salt beard. That beard—which was less cultivated than simply allowed to grow—made parts of his face look as unkempt as a garden left without a landscaper.

“The young people these days are utterly hopeless.
“You catch nothing but trivial illnesses.”

The aunt looked at Tsuda’s face and grinned slyly.
Tsuda, who knew full well how his uncle had recently made a habit of declaring “young people these days” like some catchphrase, laughed in return.
When he remembered how this same uncle had once grandly lectured him—long ago—that confusion and illness shared common roots, that disease was a sin, it struck him as all the more ridiculous, for such pronouncements could just as well be taken as his uncle boasting of never falling ill himself.
With a faint smile, he turned his gaze toward Kobayashi.
Kobayashi immediately spoke up.
Yet what he said ran entirely counter to Tsuda’s expectations.

“Even among today’s youth, there are those who don’t fall ill. In fact, I haven’t slept at all lately. In my considered opinion, people without money don’t get sick—that’s what I think.”

Tsuda found it absurd.

“Don’t spout such nonsense.”

“No, I’m absolutely serious. In fact, the reason someone like you gets sick so often is precisely because you have the luxury to do so.”

This illogical conclusion, made all the more laughable by the speaker’s earnestness, provoked an involuntary chuckle from Tsuda. Then this time, the uncle agreed.

“That’s right—if you were to fall ill on top of this, there’d be no way to manage at all.”

In the dimly lit room, the uncle’s face appeared the most shadowed. Tsuda stood up and twisted the electric light switch.

Twenty-nine

The aunt, who had at some point gone out to the kitchen entrance and was clattering dishes and bowls with Okan and the maid, reappeared in the family dining room.

“It’s been a while, Yushu-san—you must stay for dinner.”

Tsuda attempted to refuse and take his leave, as he had his treatment scheduled for the following day.

“Since you’ve arrived when we were meant to dine with Kobayashi today, there may not be sufficient fare to spare—but do endure it with us.”

Tsuda, unaccustomed to being spoken to in this manner by his uncle, felt an odd sensation and settled back into his seat.

"Is there something happening today?"

“Well, Kobayashi is going to—”

The uncle stopped there and glanced toward Kobayashi.
Kobayashi grinned smugly.

“Did something happen to Mr. Kobayashi?”

“Oh you—it’s nothing.”
“Once things are settled, I’ll visit your house and explain properly.”

“But I’m entering the hospital starting tomorrow.”

“Never mind that, I’ll go to the hospital.”
“—to visit you while I’m at it.”

Kobayashi pressed further, asking about the hospital’s location and the doctor’s name as though these details were essential knowledge for himself.
When he learned the doctor shared his surname of Kobayashi, he began, “Ah, then that must be Mr. Hori’s—” but suddenly stopped speaking.
Hori was the family name of Tsuda’s brother-in-law.
Kobayashi knew full well that he had been visiting that neighborhood doctor due to a particular private ailment.

Tsuda felt a slight urge to hear his detailed explanation.
It seemed reminiscent of the marriage issue Aunt had mentioned earlier regarding Miss Okan.
Yet it also appeared not to be the case.
Though provoked by Kobayashi's suggestive manner into some curiosity, Tsuda still refrained from explicitly inviting him to visit the hospital.

When Tsuda declared this was surgical preparation and refused to touch the meat, fish dishes, or his usual favorite mushroom rice that his aunt had specially prepared, even she felt compelled out of pity to ask Miss Okan to fetch bread and milk he could actually consume.
While inwardly recoiling at the sticky local bread that clung stubbornly between his teeth, yet fearing accusations of extravagance, Tsuda meekly watched Miss Okan's retreating figure leave the tearoom.

After Miss Okan had left, the aunt said to the uncle in front of everyone.

“I do hope that girl’s current marriage arrangement comes together happily.”
“It’ll work out.”
The uncle replied with an unperturbed air.
“It seems perfectly suitable to me.”

Kobayashi's greeting was also casual.
The only ones keeping quiet were Tsuda and Shinji.

When Tsuda heard the man’s name, he felt a vague sense of having met him once or twice at his uncle’s house, but he retained almost no concrete memory.

“Does Miss Okan know this man?”

“She knows his face.
But they’ve never spoken.”

“So he hasn’t exchanged words with her either?”

“Naturally.”

“How does a marriage arrangement even materialize under such conditions?”

Having said this, Tsuda believed he possessed fully justified reasoning on his part.
To display this conviction to all present, he assumed an expression less of derision than of genuine perplexity.

“Then what exactly are you suggesting should be done? Are you saying everyone must do exactly as you did when you married?”

The uncle turned toward Tsuda in a slightly irritated tone. Tsuda had actually intended his remark for his aunt, so he felt somewhat sorry.

“That’s not what I meant. I had absolutely no intention of suggesting that Miss Okan’s marriage would be problematic under such circumstances. No matter what the circumstances may be, as long as the marriage is finalized, it’s naturally perfectly fine.”

Thirty

Even so, the atmosphere turned awkward.
The conversation that had been flowing pleasantly until now was suddenly dammed, as if by a barrier, leaving no one to take up Tsuda’s words and pass them along in turn.

Kobayashi pointed to the beer mug before him and, in a hushed tone meant to be secretive, asked Shinji sitting beside him:

“Shinji, shall I give you some beer?”
“Try drinking a little.”

“It’s bitter. I don’t want it.”

Shinji rebuffed him instantly.
Kobayashi—who had never intended to let him drink—seized the moment to emit a dry chuckle.
Perhaps sensing a kindred spirit, Shinji abruptly addressed Kobayashi.

“I have an air rifle that cost one yen and fifty sen.”
“Should I go get it and show you?”

When he immediately stood up and dashed into the four-and-a-half-mat room at the back, then brought out a new toy to the family parlor, Kobayashi found himself compelled by circumstance to become an admirer of the gleaming air rifle.
Both uncle and aunt felt obligated to add gracious words for their own delighted child.

“It’s truly something—this poor Grandpa being pestered for watches and fountain pens.”
“Still, since he’s lately given up on the horse business, things remain manageable enough.”

“Horses are surprisingly inexpensive, you know. If you go to Hokkaido, you can get a fine one for five or six yen apiece.”

“Don’t talk as if you’ve actually seen it.”

Thanks to the air rifle, everyone began speaking uniformly again.
Marriage once again became the topic of their conversation.
It was undoubtedly a continuation of the previous conversation that had been interrupted.
However, those who spoke of it were now being governed in their expressions by a mood that had gradually shifted from before.

“This particular matter is such a strange thing, you know.
After all, even complete strangers who come together aren’t necessarily doomed to be incompatible. And conversely, no matter how convinced a couple might be that they’re right for each other, there’s no guarantee they’ll remain harmonious till the end.”

When honestly summarizing the world as the aunt had seen it, there had been no other way for it to turn out like this.
Her attitude of attempting to safely situate Okan’s marriage within a corner of this grand reality was less defensive than explanatory.
And from Tsuda’s perspective, that explanation was both the most incomplete and the most unreliable.
The aunt, who had spoken in a manner casting doubt on Tsuda’s sincerity regarding marriage, was precisely the one who seemed to him to lack fundamental seriousness on this point.

“That’s the talk of someone in an easy position,” the aunt retorted defiantly to Tsuda.
“All this talk of courtship and engagements—how can the likes of us even speak of such luxuries?
If there’s someone willing to take her and someone willing to come forward, we must count ourselves grateful enough as it is.”

Tsuda had no desire to discuss Miss Okan’s situation before everyone.
Having neither deep connection nor interest in the matter, he found himself compelled by the need to dispel his aunt’s suspicions of his own insincerity through first exposing her lack of earnestness—and thus could not remain silent.
Tilting his head as though pondering deeply, he said:

"I don’t mean to nitpick about Okan’s situation, but is it truly acceptable to regard marriage so lightly? I can’t help feeling there’s something rather insincere about it."

"But if the one leaving resolves to go earnestly, and the one receiving resolves to accept earnestly, where could any insincerity possibly arise? Yushu."

"The question is whether one can become earnest in such a straightforward manner."

“Precisely because one can become earnest, someone like your aunt was able to enter the Fujii family as a bride and properly carry on like this, isn’t that so?”

“That may be true for you, Aunt, but today’s youth…”

“Whether now or in the past, do human beings really change? It all comes down to one’s own resolve.”

“If you put it that way, there’s no room for discussion at all.”

“Even if it doesn’t make for proper discussion, there’s no helping it since I’m superior to you in reality, Yushu. Compared to someone who fusses about endlessly even after marrying—after all that pickiness—you’ve no idea how much more sincere this approach is.”

The uncle, who had been poking at his meat since earlier, looked away from his plate like someone who had arrived at the moment when he must interject.

Thirty-One

“It’s become quite noisy.”
“Listening silently like this – one wouldn’t think this was an aunt and nephew conversing.”

The uncle who thus interjected himself between the two was neither an executor nor a judge.

“You both seem to be arguing with such hostility—did you have a fight or something?”

His question was nothing more than a caution in the guise of an inquiry.
Kobayashi, who had been rolling beads with Shinji, stole a glance this way.
Both the aunt and Tsuda fell silent at once.
The uncle finally had to speak in the role of mediator.

“Yushu, it might be hard for young people like you nowadays to understand, but your aunt isn’t lying.
When she came to me without even knowing me, she had already firmly resolved herself, you see.
Your aunt was truly serious from before she came, just as she was after she came.”

“I’m aware of that without needing to be told.”

“But about that aunt of yours—the reason she made such a firm resolution—”

The uncle, now growing properly drunk, grabbed his glass again and gulped down some beer like a man obliged to replenish moisture for his flushed face.

“To tell the truth, I’ve never spoken of this reason to anyone until today—shall I tell you?”

“Yes.”

Tsuda was half-serious.

“The truth is,”
“This aunt here actually had feelings for me all along.”
“In other words, she wanted to come to me from the very beginning.”
“So even before she arrived, she’d already fiercely steeled her resolve.—”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”
“Who would have feelings for an ugly man like you?”

Tsuda and Kobayashi both burst out laughing.
Bewildered and alone, Shinji turned toward his aunt.

“Mom, what does ‘having feelings’ mean?”

“Since Mom doesn’t know, why don’t you ask Dad?”

“Then, Dad, what exactly does ‘having feelings’ mean?”

The uncle smirked while carefully stroking the center of his bald head.
Perhaps it was his imagination, but the uncle’s bald head appeared slightly redder than usual to Tsuda’s eyes.

“Shinji, ‘having feelings’ means...”
“In other words... well, it’s about liking someone.”
“Hmph. Then isn’t that fine?”
“So no one’s saying it’s bad.”

“But isn’t everyone laughing?”

In the middle of this exchange, Okan returned, so Aunt immediately had Shinji’s bedding laid out and sent him off to the bedroom.
The uncle’s story, now fully in its stride, only grew more expansive.

“Why, even in the old days there were romantic entanglements.”
“No matter how fearsome a face Oasa made, there must have been some, you see.”
“Moreover, there are aspects that young people today could never comprehend—so it must seem peculiar.”
“In the past, women fell for men, but men never fell for women.—Right, Oasa?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Aunt sat down where Shinji had been standing and briskly began serving herself matsutake rice.

“Getting angry won’t change anything.”
“Because this contains both fact and philosophy.”
“Now I’ll expound that philosophy to you.”

“I’ve had quite enough of such complicated matters already.”

“Very well—I’ll explain it solely to you youths.”
“Yushu, Kobayashi—you’d both do well to listen carefully for future reference.”
“What exactly do you consider other girls to be?”

"I consider them women."

Tsuda replied half-mockingly and with deliberate intent.

“That’s right. You just think of them as women and don’t regard them as daughters. That’s where we differ fundamentally from you. We’ve never looked upon others’ daughters as mere women independent from their parents. So whenever we see any young lady, we’re convinced from the start that she comes firmly attached to parents—her rightful owners. That’s why wanting to fall in love becomes impossible as a matter of propriety. Why do you think that is? Because falling in love or loving each other essentially means claiming possession of the other person. Isn’t laying hands on something that already has ownership rights just theft? That’s why duty-bound men of old never fell in love. Though women certainly did fall for them. In fact, even Oasa over there eating mushroom rice actually fell for me. But on my part, I’ve no recollection of ever loving her.”

“Enough of this—just come and eat already.”

The aunt called back Okan, who had gone to put Shinji to bed, and instructed her to serve rice into everyone's bowls.
Tsuda had no choice but to chew the seasoned bread alone, squelchily.

32

The after-dinner conversation never gained momentum.
That said, it didn't settle into somberness either.
Like when the central pillar of a shared topic had snapped, they spoke in scattered fragments before realizing nobody tried gathering them back to the conversation's core.

The uncle planted both elbows on the dining table and released two consecutive post-drink yawns.
Aunt summoned the maid to clear leftovers to the kitchen.
In Tsuda's chest—where an oppressive atmosphere had been gradually accumulating—tonight's words from his uncle cast faint shadows at intervals, like clouds drifting across the moon's face.
Each time this happened, Tsuda pursued phrases that should have dissolved like beer foam to others, arbitrarily assigning them significance only to withdraw them again.
When he noticed this self-indulgence, disgust welled up within him.

At the same time, he couldn't help recalling the verbal exchange that had passed between himself and his aunt. Throughout that exchange, he had continually restrained himself, trying as much as possible not to let his inner feelings show outwardly. Here lay his pride, yet here too lurked a certain unpleasantness—a truth his own mood made clear to him.

Having viewed this long-awaited visit—which had consumed over half a day—solely through the lens of pleasure and displeasure, Tsuda now conjured upon memory's stage, as its vivid contrast, the lively Mrs. Yoshikawa and her immaculate parlor. Next came the face of Oen, who had recently taken to styling her hair in a traditional chignon, moving before his eyes.

He was about to rise from his seat when he glanced at Kobayashi.

“Are you still here?”

“Nah.”
“I’ll take my leave as well.”

Kobayashi immediately twisted the partially smoked Shikishima cigarette pack into the concealed pocket of his Western trousers.
Then, as they were about to leave, the uncle spoke up again, as if by chance.

“What does Oen want to do?
“While I keep thinking I should visit, what with being poor and having no time to spare, I’ve ended up neglecting to do so.”
“Please give her my regards.”
"When you're away, she must be bored and troubled, you know."
“What on earth does she do with her time?”

"What do you mean? It’s not like she does anything special."

Having answered in such a scattered manner, Tsuda—for some reason—suddenly added:

“No sooner does she say something carefree like wanting to stay in the hospital with me than she starts telling me to get a haircut or go to the baths—she’s even more nagging than Aunt.”

“That’s quite commendable.”
“There’s no one else who’d give such attention to someone as stylish as you.”

"What a blessed fortune."

“How’s the theater? Been going lately?”

“Yes, I go sometimes.”
“The other day, Okamoto invited me too, but unfortunately I had to deal with this illness matter.”

Tsuda glanced briefly at his aunt there.

“How about it, Aunt—shall I take you to the Teikoku Theater sometime soon? Once in a while, going to such places works like medicine—it’ll clear your mind right up.”

“Well, thank you.”
“But with Yushu’s invitation—”

“Do you dislike the idea?”

“It’s not that I dislike it—it’s more that I don’t know when you’ll actually do it.”

Tsuda, deliberately taking at face value his aunt’s reply—she who did not particularly care for theaters—scratched his head.

“If I lose your trust like that, then I’m done for.”

The aunt chuckled derisively.

“The theater doesn’t matter—but Yushu, what about Kyoto? And then—”

“Has there been any word from Kyoto to you here?”

Tsuda adopted a slightly serious expression and looked between his uncle and aunt’s faces.
But the two of them gave no answer.

“Actually, Father has told me he can’t send any money this month and that I should handle it myself over there—isn’t that rather harsh?”

The uncle merely laughed.

“Your father must be angry.”

“It’s all because Oshu keeps meddling with unnecessary comments again.”

Tsuda uttered his sister’s name with a hint of irritation.

“There’s no fault with Oshu. From the very start, you were clearly the one at fault.”

“That may be so—but what country has people who meticulously repay every penny sent by their father?”

“Then you shouldn’t have promised to repay every last penny from the beginning.”
“And besides…”

“I’ve already understood, Aunt.”

Tsuda stood up, his demeanor making it clear he was utterly outmatched. However, to inject some vigor into his hasty retreat following defeat, he pulled Kobayashi along as if urging him and made sure they headed out together.

**Thirty-three**

There was no wind outside.
The still air coldly touched the cheeks of the two as they walked briskly.
From the sky where stars glittered high, it almost seemed as though invisible, transparent dew was pattering down.
Tsuda brushed his coat’s shoulder himself.
Having clearly savored with his fingertips the chilly sensation seeping into the coat’s lining, he turned to look at Kobayashi.

“It’s warm during the day, but when night comes, it’s still cold, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. No matter how you put it, it’s already autumn.”
“Actually, I could really use an overcoat myself.”

Kobayashi wore nothing over his new three-piece suit.
The way he clomped about in his hefty American-style boots—their squared-off toes deliberately thickened—and ostentatiously swung his thick Western cane made his demeanor no different from that of a protester resisting frigid air.

"What became of that overcoat you took such pride in making during your school days?"

He suddenly posed an unexpected question to Tsuda.
Tsuda could not help but recall the time when he had flaunted that overcoat to him.

“Yeah, I still have it.”

“Are you still wearing it?”

“Even if I am poor, how long do you think I’d keep wearing my student-era overcoat as if it were some treasured possession?”

“Oh, then that’s just perfect.”
“Give me that.”

“If you want it, you can have it.”

Tsuda answered rather coldly.
The fact that a man who had even renewed his shoes and gaiters would covet someone else’s worn-out overcoat struck him as incongruous.
At the very least, it laid bare the irregular material contradictions embedded in that person’s existence.
After a while, Tsuda asked Kobayashi:

“Why didn’t you have an overcoat made along with that suit?”

“It’s troublesome if you equate me with yourself.”

“Then how did you come by that suit and shoes?”

“Your questioning’s rather brutal.”
“However low I may sink, I’ve not yet stooped to thieving—you needn’t worry.”

Tsuda shut his mouth at once.

They reached the top of a large slope.
Across a wide valley, a small hill visible on the opposite side lay black and long like the back of a monster.
The lamplights of the autumn night, dotted here and there, dripped a scant warmth.

“Hey, how about we grab a drink somewhere on the way back?”

Before responding，Tsuda first observed Kobayashi’s demeanor．To their right stood a high embankment，upon which a lush bamboo thicket spread out completely，covering the entire surface．Since there was no wind，the bamboo did not rustle，but the tips of the bamboo leaves—appearing as though asleep—sufficiently imparted to Tsuda a desolation befitting the season．

“This place is awfully gloomy，isn’t it? Since it’s the back of some daimyo family’s estate，they probably leave it like this indefinitely．They should just hurry up and clear it out already．”

With these words, Tsuda tried to evade the immediate exchange.
However, Kobayashi’s eyes had not registered the bamboo thicket at all.

“Hey, let’s go already—it’s been ages.”

“We just drank—and you want more already?”

“You say ‘just drank,’ but that measly amount doesn’t even count as proper drinking.”

“But you were the one who refused more, saying you’d had enough.”

“In front of Mr. Yoshikawa and his wife, I couldn’t get properly drunk—had to hold back. That’s why I said that.”
“If you don’t drink at all, fine—but being forced to drink just that much is worse than poison.”
“Unless you follow it up by getting properly soused then quitting, it’ll wreck your health.”

Kobayashi, who arbitrarily fabricated convenient rationalizations for his own benefit and tried to drag Tsuda into everything, was a somewhat troublesome companion for him.
He asked with half-mocking intent.
“So you’re paying?”
“Yeah, I’ll treat you.”

“So where exactly do you plan to go?”

“Anywhere’s fine. Even an oden shop would do, wouldn’t it?”

They descended the slope in silence.

34

According to their intended route, Tsuda was to turn right there, and Kobayashi was to continue straight ahead.
However, when Tsuda tried to make a clean break by reaching for his hat, Kobayashi peered into his face and said:

“I’ll go that way too.”

In the direction they were heading, a stretch of town convenient for eating and drinking continued for two or three blocks.
When Kobayashi noticed the glass door of a bar-like shop in the middle of that stretch, warmly lit from within, he immediately came to a halt.

“This looks good.
Let’s go in here.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Since there aren’t any high-class establishments around here that would suit your taste, why don’t we just settle for this place?”

“I'm sick.”

“Never mind that. I’ll take responsibility for your illness, so don’t worry.”

“Don’t joke around.”
“No.”
“I’ll make excuses to your wife, so it’ll be fine.”

Having grown weary of the situation, Tsuda attempted to briskly walk off while leaving Kobayashi behind at that spot.
Then Kobayashi, who drew up close to him, pressed further in a slightly more formal tone.
“Do you dislike drinking with me that much?”

Tsuda, who was in fact so averse, came to an immediate halt upon hearing these words. And thus, he outwardly revealed a decision that ran entirely counter to his own tendencies.

"Then I'll drink."

The two promptly pulled open the bright glass door and entered inside.
There were only five or six customers besides them, but as the shop wasn't very spacious, it appeared comparatively crowded.
Having chosen a corner where seats could be secured relatively easily and sat facing each other, the two cast somewhat curious glances around them while waiting for their placed order to arrive.

Among their fellow patrons judged by clothing, there was not a single person who appeared to hold any social standing. Some seemed fresh from the bathhouse, wet hand towels draped over striped short coats; others wore cotton garments with stiff sashes, showily threading imitation jade through their flat-woven haori cords—these counted as the better class present. Those of far worse appearance looked exactly like ragpickers. One man in a workman's apron and leggings mingled among them.

"How about it—plebeian perfection, wouldn't you say?"

Kobayashi said this while pouring sake into Tsuda’s sake cup.
His brand-new gaudy suit, which seemed to contradict his words, struck Tsuda as conspicuously out of place, yet Kobayashi himself appeared utterly oblivious to this.

“Unlike you, I can’t help but feel sympathy for the lower social strata.”

Kobayashi looked around at everyone with a face as though his own brothers were gathered there.

“Look.
They all have better faces than those in high society.”

Tsuda, lacking the courage to greet them, instead of surveying the group, stared fixedly at Kobayashi.
Kobayashi immediately conceded.

“At least they’re blissfully intoxicated.”

“Even high society gets blissfully intoxicated, you know.”

“But their way of being blissfully intoxicated differs.”

Tsuda defiantly did not inquire about the difference between the two.
Nevertheless, Kobayashi showed no sign of discouragement and kept refilling his cup again and again.

“You look down on these kinds of people, don’t you?”
“You’ve looked down on them from the start, dismissing them as unworthy of sympathy.”

No sooner had he said this than he called out to a young man across the way who looked like a milk delivery boy, not waiting for Tsuda’s reply.

“Hey you.”
“Right?”

The young man, abruptly called out to, stiffened his neck and glanced briefly toward them.
Then Kobayashi immediately thrust his cup in that direction.

"Here—have a drink."

The young man smirked.
Unfortunately, there was a distance of about six feet between him and Kobayashi.
Not feeling it necessary to stand and receive the cup, he remained motionless, merely smiling.
But even so, Kobayashi seemed satisfied.
Withdrawing the cup he had offered while bringing it to his own mouth, he spoke to Tsuda again.

“There, you see? Not a single arrogant soul like you find in high society.”

35

A small-statured man wearing an Inverness coat entered, passing a cropped-haired man in a short coat, and took a seat somewhat apart from the two.
Wearing a hunting cap with its brim pulled low over his eyes, he glanced around before slipping his hand into his coat.
He took out a thin notebook and stared at it fixedly, as though reading or lost in thought.
He made no move to remove his shabby workman's coat despite the passing time.
His hat too remained firmly planted on his head.
The notebook stayed open only briefly.
After carefully tucking it away, he began drinking while stealing sharp glances at the other patrons.
Between these observations, he would slide his hand from beneath the short coat's lapel to stroke the thin mustache beneath his nose.

The two who had been half-consciously observing this scene since earlier abruptly turned fully toward each other and exchanged looks when their gazes met his.
Kobayashi leaned slightly forward.

“Do you know what it is?”

Tsuda maintained his original posture without change.
He answered in a tone that suggested it was hardly worth replying to.

"How should I know?"

Kobayashi lowered his voice further.

"That guy's a detective."

Tsuda did not answer.
He, who had a greater alcohol tolerance than his companion, did not lose his usual composure as much as the other man.
Silently, he drained the sake cup before him.
Kobayashi immediately filled it to the brim.

"Look at that gaze."

Tsuda, smirking faintly, finally spoke.

“If you keep badmouthing high society so recklessly like this, you’ll quickly be mistaken for a socialist. Watch yourself.”

“Socialist?”

Kobayashi deliberately raised his voice and looked pointedly toward the man in the Inverness coat.

“Don’t make me laugh.
“Say what you will about my appearance—I’m a champion of good-hearted commoners.
“Compared to me, you lot putting on airs of refinement are far worse villains.
“Think carefully about which of us actually deserves police arrest.”

Since the man in the hunting cap remained silent and looked down, Kobayashi had no choice but to lash out at Tsuda.

“You may not intend to treat these construction workers and laborers as human beings from the very start, but—”

Kobayashi began saying this while glancing around, but unfortunately there were no workers or laborers anywhere in sight.
Even so, he kept talking without hesitation.

“You’ve no idea how much more of a truly human, noble essence they retain in its raw form compared to you or detectives.”
“Their human beauty’s merely been tainted by the grime of poverty.”
“Meaning they’re filthy because they can’t afford baths.”
“Don’t you dare scorn them!”

Kobayashi’s tone sounded less like a defense of the poor and more like self-justification.
However, as a cautious consideration took hold in his mind—that thoughtlessly engaging would compromise his dignity—Tsuda deliberately avoided debate.
Then Kobayashi pressed harder.

“You’re staying silent because you don’t believe me.”
“That skeptical look on your face proves it.”
“Then I’ll make it clear.”
“You’ve read Russian novels, haven’t you?”

Tsuda, who had not read a single Russian novel, still said nothing.

“Anyone who has read Russian novels—especially Dostoevsky’s novels—must know this. No matter how lowly a person may be, or how uneducated they are, everyone must know that there are times when the most pure and sincere emotions—so precious they bring tears to one’s eyes, and utterly unadorned—flow forth from their mouth like a spring. Do you think that’s a lie?”

“I haven’t read Dostoevsky, so I don’t know.”

“If you ask the teacher, he says that’s a lie.”
“He claims it’s merely a strategy—deliberately packaging noble sentiments in vulgar vessels to sentimentally provoke readers. Just an artistic technique that grew cheap through endless imitations after Dostoevsky’s success.”
“But I disagree.”
“Hearing such things from the teacher infuriates me.”
“The teacher doesn’t understand Dostoevsky.”
“No matter how old he grows, he’s only aged through books.”
“No matter how young he may be, I…”

Kobayashi’s words gradually grew more intense.
Finally, with a face that could no longer contain his emotions, he let his tears fall drop by drop onto the tablecloth.

Thirty-Six

Unfortunately, there was not enough intoxication circulating through Tsuda’s system to be drawn into the other’s state. His eyes, observing this excitement from beyond empathy’s enclosure, remained critically detached. He wondered whether it was alcohol or his uncle that made Kobayashi weep. He questioned whether it stemmed from Dostoevsky or Japan’s lower-class society. Whichever it might be, he knew full well it bore little connection to himself. He found it tiresome. He felt uneasy too. With visible irritation, he stared at the tear stains the sentimentalist had shed before him.

The man who had been recruited as a detective took out a thin notebook from his pocket again and began scribbling something in it with a pencil.
His behavior, as quiet as a cat yet as observant as one, gave Tsuda an uneasy feeling.
But Kobayashi’s drunkenness had already surged past such concerns.
Kobayashi paid no attention whatsoever to the detective.
He suddenly thrust the sleeve of his new suit right under Tsuda’s nose.

“If I wear dirty clothes, you’ll call me filthy and look down on me.”
“And if I occasionally wear a fine kimono, this time you’ll call me fancy and look down on me.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“How am I supposed to earn your respect?”
“I’m begging you, tell me.”
“I want you to respect me even like this.”

Tsuda pushed back his arm with a bitter smile.
Strangely, that arm offered no resistance.
As if the initial momentum had suddenly drained away, it meekly returned to its original position.
But his mouth was not as compliant as his arm.
He pulled back his hand and immediately opened his mouth.

"I know exactly what's inside you. You must be thinking it's a contradiction and laughing at me—how I sympathize so much with the lower class, yet despite being poor myself, went and made a new Western-style suit."

"No matter how poor you are, it's only natural to make at least one Western-style suit. If you don't make one, you'd have to walk around the streets stark naked. What's wrong with having made one? No one thinks anything of it."

"But that's not true. You think I'm just putting on airs. You're interpreting it as me being stylish. That's what's wrong."

“I see.”
“My bad.”

Having resigned himself to being unable to endure any longer, Tsuda finally saw the expediency of surrender and began adjusting his tone accordingly.
Then Kobayashi’s tone naturally began to change.

“Well, I’m also to blame.”
“I was wrong.”
“I have a sense of style too, you know.”
“I fully admit that.”
“Though I admit it, you probably don’t know why I had this Western-style suit made this time.”

Tsuda naturally had no way of knowing such a special reason. He also had no desire to know. But given how things had proceeded, he couldn’t very well not ask. Kobayashi, having spread both hands to either side, answered rather timidly while looking over his own clothing.

“Actually, I’ll be leaving the capital soon in this suit. I’m heading down to Korea, you know.”

Tsuda looked at the other man with a look of surprise for the first time. After taking the opportunity to point out and have him fix the crooked collar ornament that had been bothering him since earlier, he continued listening to the man’s story.

The man who had long edited his uncle’s magazine, proofread it, written his own manuscripts during that time, and taken them around to various places likely to pay him—appearing constantly busy all the while—had at last reached a point where he could no longer endure staying in Tokyo, and thus crossed over to Korea, where arrangements had nearly been finalized for him to be employed by a certain newspaper company there.

“If things are this tough, there’s no point in enduring Tokyo any longer.”
“I actually hate living in a place with no future.”

The man who declared that should this future venture to Korea all preparations would await him there immediately followed this by speaking as if retracting his earlier statements.

“In short, I might have been born a man destined to wander all my life through this world.”
“I simply can’t settle down no matter what I do.”
“Even if I wanted to settle down, the world won’t let me—that’s the cruelty of it.”
“What choice do I have but to become a fugitive?”

“It’s not only you who can’t settle down.”
“I myself can’t find any peace either.”

“Don’t talk nonsense. You can’t settle down because you’re too extravagant. Mine is painful because I’ll have to chase after bread until the day I die.”

“However, not being able to settle down is a common characteristic of modern people. You’re not the only one suffering.”

Kobayashi showed no sign of receiving any consolation from Tsuda’s words.

37

The maid who had been watching them since earlier suddenly approached and began clearing the table with exaggerated motions. As if taking this as a signal, the man in the Inverness coat rose smoothly to his feet. Having long since stopped drinking and done nothing but talk, the two men could no longer maintain their composure. Tsuda seized the moment to stand up immediately. Before rising from his chair, Kobayashi first retrieved the M.C.C. box placed between them. From it he drew another fresh gold-tipped cigarette and lit it. This opportunistic gesture—like claiming tolls on departure—grated ironically on Tsuda's eyes as he accepted the tobacco box and tucked it into his sleeve.

Though the hour was not particularly late, the streets on that autumn night had grown quiet with unexpected ease.
During the day, the streetcar had run in the distance with a faint, almost imperceptible sound.
Two black shadows, each acted upon by different moods, continued moving along the riverbank without separating.

“So when are you planning to go to Korea?”

“Depending on circumstances, it might be while you’re in the hospital.”

“Are you leaving in such a hurry?”

“Well, it’s not necessarily set in stone.
Until the editor-in-chief over there meets with us once more, things won’t become clear.”

“Is it the day you’ll depart, or the act of going itself?”

“Well, sort of…”

His reply was somewhat ambiguous.
When Tsuda didn’t press the matter and briskly started walking off, Kobayashi spoke up again.

“To tell the truth, I don’t really want to go.”

“Is Uncle Fujii insisting you go or something?”

“No, that’s not the case.”

“Then why not simply abandon the plan?”

Tsuda’s words, being logic anyone could grasp, pierced with cruelty through the heart of a man who seemed starved for sympathy.
After a few steps, Kobayashi abruptly turned to face Tsuda.

“Tsuda, I’m lonely.”

Tsuda did not respond.
The two walked on again in silence.
When the scant water flowing through the shallow riverbed vanished darkly beneath the dimly visible bridge piers, it faintly gurgled, trickling intermittently between the passing streetcars.

“I’m still going. I really have to go, after all.”

“Then go ahead.”

“Yeah, I’m going. Staying here and being ridiculed by everyone—I’d be far better off going to Korea or Taiwan instead.”

His tone was frayed with irritation.
Tsuda suddenly felt compelled to adopt a soothing tone.

"You shouldn't let yourself sink into such pessimism."
"As long as you're still young and physically sound, you could make a splendid success of yourself anywhere, couldn't you?"
"Let's hold a farewell gathering before you leave—to lift your spirits."

This time Kobayashi offered no proper reply.
Tsuda persisted with renewed determination.

“If you go, Okan-san will face difficulties when she marries.”

Kobayashi looked at Tsuda like someone abruptly recalling his sister—a matter that had until then been absent from his thoughts.

“Yeah, I pity her, but there’s no helping it.
In other words, she’ll have to accept it as her misfortune—having a good-for-nothing brother like me.”

“Even without you around, Uncle and Aunt would manage things somehow, wouldn’t they?”

“Well, there’s no alternative but to let matters proceed. Otherwise, we could have her decline this marriage and remain forever as a substitute maid at the master’s house—but either way comes down to much the same.
More than that, I still feel guilty toward the master.
If I do go, I’ll need to borrow travel funds from him.”

“Won’t they cover it there?”

“Doesn’t seem likely.”

“Perhaps we could make them pay for it.”

“Well...”

When about a minute of silence had been broken, he spoke again as if to himself.

"I'll borrow the travel expenses from the master, get the overcoat from you, leave my only sister behind in some pit—no trouble at all."

This was the final line to come from Kobayashi’s mouth that evening.
The two finally parted ways.
Tsuda briskly hurried toward home without looking back.

38

His gate was closed as usual.
He reached for the small door.
However, tonight that small door too would not open.
Thinking it might be due to the door’s poor fit, he tried two or three more times, but when he yanked it with all his strength and heard the heavy thud of the latch resisting from the other side, he finally gave up.

He tilted his head at this unexpected event and stood before the door for a while.
Since establishing his new household up to the present day, he had never once stayed out overnight, and even on the rare occasions when he returned home late at night, he had yet to encounter such an experience.

Today, he had been wanting to return home early since around the time the lamps were lit.
The dinner he had eaten at his uncle’s house—a meal in name only—had been consumed out of sheer necessity.
The little he had drunk of the reluctant sake had been merely out of obligation to Kobayashi.
Since evening, he had been out and about with Oen’s image lingering in his heart.
Having returned from the chilly outdoors, he was no different from someone drawn to the warm lights of home, making his way toward them.
At the same moment his body came to a halt like a horse colliding with an earthen wall, his expectations too had to be abruptly checked at the gate.
And whether it was Oen who had checked them or mere chance was by no means a trivial problem for him now.

He raised his hand and knocked twice on the unyielding small door.
A sound more akin to demanding "Why did you lock this?" rather than "Open up!" reverberated through the deepening darkness of the street.
Then, immediately from inside, a “Yes” came in reply.
The owner of that voice, which struck his eardrum almost as swiftly as an echo, was not the maid but Oen.
Suddenly falling silent, he listened intently on his side of the door.
He clearly heard the sound of twisting the switch of the entrance light, which they reserved for use only when needed.
The lattice door swung open immediately.
It was certain that the entrance door had not yet been closed.

“Who is it?”

When the footsteps that had come right up to the other side of the small door stopped, Oen first challenged to verify the visitor’s identity.
He grew even more impatient.

“Open up, it’s me.”

“Oh!” Oen exclaimed.

“It was you. Do forgive me.”

After rattling the latch open to let her husband inside, she had a face slightly paler than usual.
He immediately passed through from the entrance to the tearoom.

The tearoom was tidied as usual.
The iron kettle whistled according to routine.
Before the long brazier lay a thick merino cushion spread out like an expectant servant awaiting his return.
Across from where Oen had settled herself sat her cushion's companion - a woman's writing box.
Its mother-of-pearl lid adorned with abalone-shell plum blossoms lay cast aside, revealing a small inkstone gleaming wetly within pearlescent lacquer.
The brush's fine tip had bled ink across seven or eight inches of scroll paper - damning evidence of interrupted composition when its mistress sprang up in haste.

Oen, having locked the door and entered after her husband, plopped down there with her everyday haori thrown over her nightclothes.

"I'm terribly sorry."

Tsuda raised his eyes and looked at the wall clock.
The clock had just struck eleven o'clock.
Even allowing for exceptions, this was by no means the first time he had returned home around this hour since their marriage.

"What’s the idea of locking me out like that?"
"Did you think I wasn’t coming back?"

“No, I’ve been waiting all this time, wondering if you’d come back now, if you’d come back now. In the end, I got so unbearably lonely that I finally started writing a letter home.”

Oen’s parents were in Kyoto, just like Tsuda’s parents. Tsuda gazed at the half-written letter from a distance. However, he still couldn’t accept it.

“If you were waiting for me, why did you lock the gate? Is it because it’s dangerous?”

“No—I’d never do something like lock the gate.”

“But it was actually locked, wasn’t it?”

“Toki must have left it locked since last evening.”
“You horrid man.”

Having said this, Oen twitched her eyebrows as was her usual habit.
The explanation that she had forgotten to remove the latch of the small door—unused during daytime—in the morning was by no means unreasonable.

"What does Toki intend to do?"

"I already put her to bed earlier."

Tsuda, who saw no need to rouse the maid to investigate who was responsible, left the small door as it was and went to bed.

39

The next morning, Tsuda was startled by an unexpected sight before even washing his face—something he hadn't anticipated at all until going to bed the previous night.

He had left his bed around nine o'clock.
He tried to pass through the entranceway and exit from the tearoom to the kitchen area as usual.
There sat Oen, elegantly made-up and composed.
Tsuda was startled.
Seemingly satisfied with her husband's appearance—as though water had been splashed on his just-awakened face—she let slip a smile.

“Just waking up now?”

Tsuda blinked his eyes and gazed with a fresh look, as if beholding something rare, at the large round chignon tied with a red headband, the ostentatiously embroidered pattern on her half-collar, and then the white face at its center, made up after her morning toilette.

“What on earth is going on? First thing in the morning.”
“At this hour in the morning!”

Oen was unfazed.

“It’s nothing—after all, today’s the day you’re going to see the doctor, isn’t it?”

His hakama and haori, which he should have thrown off there late last night before sleeping, had been folded neatly and arranged properly on top of persimmon-tanned paper.

“Were you planning to come along too?”

“Yes, of course I’m planning to go. If I go, I’ll just be a bother.”

“There’s no reason you’d be a bother, but—”

Tsuda looked at his wife’s attire as though examining it anew.

“It’s just that your getup is a bit too extravagant.”

He immediately recalled the dimly lit waiting room scene he had seen the other day.
The group of patients sitting there and this dressed-up young madam were not of a nature to harmonize.

“But today is Sunday.”
“Even Sunday isn’t quite the same as theater outings or cherry blossom viewing.”
“But I just…”

In Tsuda’s view, Sundays only meant that patients would crowd in from morning even more.

“Somehow, going to see the respected doctor together as husband and wife with you dressed in such flashy clothes feels a bit—”

“Fed up?”

Oen’s Chinese-derived term suddenly tickled Tsuda.
He burst out laughing.
Oen, who had slightly moved her eyebrows, immediately used a sweetly submissive tone.

“But changing into a kimono now would take so much time and be such a hassle, you know.”
“I’ve already gone to the trouble of putting this on, so please put up with it just for today, okay?”

Tsuda was finally defeated.
While washing his face, he listened absentmindedly to Oen ordering two rickshaws from the maid, as though he himself were being hurried along.

His breakfast—not being a proper meal—took scarcely five minutes.
Without using a toothpick, he stood up and made to go upstairs immediately.

"I have to pack what I'm taking to the hospital."

No sooner had Tsuda spoken than Oen opened the cupboard behind her.

“I’ve prepared everything here—take a look, please.”

Tsuda, who had to humor his wife dressed in her formal visiting clothes, pulled out a somewhat heavy handbag and a small wrapped bundle from the cupboard with his own hands.
The bundle contained only that padded robe he had just tried on and a flat-woven nightwear cord, but from the handbag emerged a jumble of items—toothpicks, tooth powder, his usual lavender-colored stationery, matching envelopes, a fountain pen, small scissors, and tweezers.
When he took out the heaviest and bulkiest large Western-style book among them, he said to Oen.

“I’ll leave this here.”

“Yes, but since it was always on the desk with a bookmark in it, I thought you were reading it, so I put it in.”

Without a word, Tsuda heavily placed on the tatami the German economics book he still hadn’t managed to finish reading even after more than two months.

“It’s too heavy to read while lying down.”

Having said this, Tsuda, while knowing that this was a legitimate reason to leave behind this voluminous book, did not feel very good about it.

“Yes, since I don’t know which books you’ll need, please pick out the ones you like yourself.”

Tsuda brought down two or three light novels from the second floor and stuffed them into his handbag instead of the economics book.

Forty

As the weather was fine, the two of them folded back the hoods of their rickshaws, placed a handbag and a wrapped bundle on each of their vehicles, and left home.
When they turned the corner of the side street and went a block or two along the streetcar line, Oen’s rickshaw driver suddenly called out to Tsuda’s rickshaw driver.
The rickshaws, both front and rear, came to an immediate stop.

“Oh no! I forgot something!”

Tsuda, who had turned around in the rickshaw, silently watched his wife’s face.
It wasn’t just her husband who was captivated by the provocative words coming from the meticulously attired young woman’s lips.
The rickshaw pullers, still gripping the shafts, also turned curious gazes toward Oen.
Even passersby could not help but cast glances at the couple.

“What is it?
What did you forget?”

Oen seemed to ponder.

“Just wait here for me, please.”
“It won’t take long.”

She sent only her own rickshaw back.
Left behind in mental limbo, Tsuda silently watched her figure retreating.
Once the rickshaw that had disappeared into the alley reappeared, it came racing back to where he waited at a furious pace.
When it halted before his eyes, Oen in the rickshaw drew an iron chain about a shaku long from her obi and dangled it down.
At the chain’s end hung a ring threaded with five or six keys of varying sizes, and as Oen raised it high, their jangling reached Tsuda’s ears.

“I forgot this.”
“I left it lying on top of the dresser.”

In their household, where there was only a maid besides the couple, as a precaution when both went out together, they would lock up their valuables and one of them had to take just the key when leaving.

“You keep hold of this.”

After stuffing the jangling items back into her obi, Oen gave it a pat with her palm and smiled at Tsuda.

“It’s okay.”

The rickshaw started moving again.

Their arrival at the doctor’s was slightly later than the scheduled time.
However, it wasn’t so late that they missed the consultation hours before noon.
Finding it uncomfortable to sit together with his wife in the waiting room, Tsuda, upon entering the entrance, immediately went to the pharmacy counter.

“May I go up to the second floor right away?”

The student in the pharmacy called a trainee nurse from the back for him.
The nurse, who looked no older than sixteen or seventeen, smiled and bowed to Tsuda without any pretense, but when she noticed Oen standing beside him, she seemed daunted by the solemnity of her presence, her face betraying bewilderment at where this peacock might have come from.
Oen preemptively greeted her with “We’ll be in your care,” whereupon the nurse bowed her head as if only then remembering her manners.

“You, take this.”

Tsuda took the bag he had received from the rickshaw driver, handed it to the nurse, and turned toward the staircase leading upstairs.

“Oen, this way.”

Oen, who had been standing at the entrance to the waiting room peering into the room where patients were, immediately followed Tsuda up the staircase.

“What a gloomy room that is over there.”

The southeast-facing second floor was fortunately bright.
After sliding open the shoji and stepping out onto the engawa, she glanced back at Tsuda while looking at the Western-style laundry’s drying rack right before her nose.

“Unlike downstairs, it’s cheerful here, isn’t it? And it’s quite a nice room, isn’t it? Though the tatami mats are dirty.”

The second floor of this hospital—remodeled from what had likely been a contractor’s mistress residence—still retained an ineffably stylish vestige of bygone days.

“Though old, it might be better than our second floor at home.”

Tsuda, who had been gazing at the sunlit white laundry glistening with an autumnal mood, said this while surveying the ceiling and pillars that time had smoke-darkened.

Forty-One

At that moment, the nurse from earlier brewed tea in the teapot and brought it over.

“We are currently preparing, so please wait a little while.”

The two of them had no choice but to sit properly facing each other and drink their tea.

“Somehow I feel all restless and unsettled.”

“It must feel almost as though you’ve come to visit honorable guests.”

“Yes.”

Oen took out a woman’s watch from her obi and looked at it.
Tsuda was more concerned about the surgery he was about to undergo than about the time.

“I wonder how long it will take to be over.
Even without seeing it, just hearing the sound of those blades makes me feel rather strange.”

“I’m scared of seeing such things.”

Oen indeed moved her eyebrows fearfully.

“So you just stay here and wait. There’s no need for you to come all the way to the operating table and see such unsightly things.”

“But in situations like this, shouldn’t someone from the family be present?”

Tsuda looked at Oen’s earnest face and laughed.

“That’s for when you’re gravely ill—life or death situations. Who in their right mind would call in a witness for such a minor procedure?”

Tsuda was a man who disliked showing unsightly things to women. Particularly, he detested revealing his own unsightly parts. To put it more bluntly, he was a man who felt even greater distress than most at the sight of his own unsightliness.

“Then let’s stop,” said Oen, taking out her watch again.

“Will it be over by noon?”

“I think it will be over... Anyway, since things have come to this, does it really matter when?”

“That may be true, but...”

Oen did not say the rest.
Tsuda also did not ask.

The nurse appeared again at the top of the staircase.
“We’re ready for you now.”

Tsuda immediately stood up.
Oen also tried to stand up at the same time.

"But I told you to wait there."

"I'm not going to the examination room."
"I just need to borrow the telephone here."

"Do you have some business elsewhere?"

"It's not business exactly—I thought I should inform Ms. Oshu about your situation."

The house of Tsuda's sister was located in the same ward and not far away.
Tsuda, who had scarcely considered his sister regarding his current illness, restrained Oen as she attempted to rise.

“It’s fine—don’t notify her. Notifying someone like Oshu would be making too much of a fuss. Moreover, if that guy comes，it’ll be noisy and we can’t have that.”

Even though she was younger，this sister of different disposition was，in a sense，someone Tsuda found difficult to handle.

Oen answered while remaining in a half-risen position.

"But if people say something later, I'll be in trouble."

Unable to find any strong reason to stop her, Tsuda reluctantly said:

"You can call if you want, but there's no need to do it right this moment."
"She's nearby—she'll come immediately."
"Having her show up right after surgery when my nerves are raw, going on about 'your brother this' and 'your father that'—that'd be truly unbearable."

Oen laughed faintly as if wary of being overheard downstairs.
Yet her bared white teeth communicated simple amusement to her husband rather than pity.

“Then I won’t call Oshu.”

Having said this, Oen finally stood up together with Tsuda.

“Do you still have somewhere else to call?”

“Yes, I’m calling Okamoto.
“Since I promised to call by noon, it’s all right if I do make the call, isn’t it?”

The two of them descended the staircase one after the other and parted ways there.
When one stood before the telephone, the other sat down in the examination room chair.

Forty-Two

“You did take the Ricine, didn’t you?”

The doctor asked Tsuda while rustling his stiffly starched white surgical gown that had just been laundered.

“I did take it, but it didn’t seem as effective as expected.”

Yesterday Tsuda hadn’t even had time to worry about the Ricine’s efficacy.
The effect this laxative had on him—kept busy from one thing to another—proved nearly negligible psychologically and unexpectedly weak physiologically.

“Then let’s do another enema.”

The enema’s results remained insufficient.

Tsuda accordingly climbed onto the operating table and lay on his back.
When the cold waterproof cloth touched his skin directly, he involuntarily shivered.
Since light streamed in only from the direction opposite his head resting on the firm tied pillow, his eyes—like those of someone sleeping facing the light—found no rest.
He blinked repeatedly and looked up at the ceiling again and again.
Then the nurse passed by his side carrying a square shallow nickel-plated tray containing surgical instruments, causing white metallic light to flicker and shift.
Lying on his back, he could only perceive it as something brushing past his eyes.
The feeling that he had deliberately glimpsed something eerie he shouldn't have seen grew even stronger.
At that moment, the ringing of the telephone from the front suddenly reached his ears.
He suddenly remembered Oen, whom he had completely forgotten until now.
When her business with Okamoto was finally concluded, his treatment at last began.

“We’ll proceed with just cocaine. It shouldn’t be all that painful. If the injection isn’t effective, we intend to proceed by injecting medication deeper as we go. So we should probably be able to manage it that way.”

While disinfecting the area, the doctor spoke these words, which Tsuda listened to with a peculiar feeling that was both terrifying yet inconsequential.

The local anesthesia proceeded smoothly.
Staring fixedly at the ceiling, he was almost entirely unaware of the major event unfolding below his waist.
At times, he only felt as though someone in a distant place was applying pressure to a part of his body.
A dull resistance was felt there.

“How does it feel? It doesn’t hurt, does it?”

The doctor’s question had been asked with full confidence.
Tsuda answered while looking at the ceiling.

“It doesn’t hurt.
But I do have a heavy sensation.”

As for that heavy sensation, he had no appropriate words to express it.
The fantasy that unfeeling earth being dug by human hands might produce this sort of sensation abruptly surfaced in his mind.

“It’s such a strange sensation. Something I can’t explain.”

“Is that so? Can you bear it?”

The doctor’s tone—apparently concerned about cerebral anemia occurring mid-procedure—paradoxically unsettled him despite there being nothing wrong. He had no idea whether one would be given wine as a preventive measure in such cases, but he disliked receiving any special treatment.

“I’m all right.”

“Is that so? It’s almost over.”

While exchanging this dialogue with the patient, the doctor’s hands never stopped moving—his demeanor seemed to gleam with a dexterity born purely of experience. Yet the surgery did not conclude as quickly as his words had suggested.

From time to time came the sound of surgical instruments clanging against the tray.
The snip-snip of scissors cutting through meat, amplified to an extreme, assaulted his eardrums.
Each time, Tsuda would gaze with his mind’s eye at the red blood that had to be wiped away with gauze, its metallic tang vivid in his imagination.
His nerves, forced to remain perfectly still, had grown so tense that the very act of lying motionless became unbearable.
An itchy, insect-like sensation crept eerily through his blood vessels, unsettling his entire body.

He opened his eyes wide and looked up at the ceiling.
Above that ceiling was Oen, beautifully dressed.
What this Oen was thinking now, what she was doing - he had absolutely no idea.
He felt like shouting up from below to call out to her.
Then from the direction of his feet came the doctor's voice.

“It’s finally done.”

After having gauze carelessly packed into him and feeling that ticklish sensation, the doctor spoke again.

“The scar has proven unexpectedly firm, so there’s a risk of bleeding. Please remain completely still for the time being.”

With these final instructions, Tsuda was at last lowered from the operating table.

43

When leaving the examination room, the nurse who had followed behind asked him:

"How are you feeling? Are you experiencing any discomfort?"

"No—Do I look pale?"

Tsuda, who harbored some concern about himself, had to ask this in return.

The sensation from having his wound packed with as much gauze as possible felt more than twice as oppressive as others might imagine.
He could only shuffle along.
Even when climbing the stairs, he felt split flesh and gauze rubbing together with a gritty sensation.

Oen was standing at the top of the stairs.
When she saw Tsuda’s face, she immediately called out from above.

“Is it over? Why?”

Tsuda entered the room without giving a clear reply.
There, as he had expected, lay a futon wrapped in white sheets, spread out lengthwise in wait of his restful repose.
The moment he threw off his haori jacket, he lay down on top of it.
Intending to later put on him the mouse-colored flannel-lined meisen silk robe she had prepared, Oen lifted the collar with both hands—then, with a deflated wry smile, folded it sleeves and all and placed it at the foot of the bed.

“Does he not need to take the medicine?”

She turned toward the nurse standing nearby and asked.

“There is no need to take any internal medication.”
“As for the meal, we are preparing it now and will bring it over shortly.”

The nurse started to leave.
Tsuda, who had been lying in silence, suddenly spoke.

“Oen, if you want to eat something, you should ask the nurse.”

“I suppose so.”

Oen hesitated.

“What should I do?”

“But it’s already past noon.”

“Yes.
“Twelve-twenty.”
“Your surgery took exactly twenty-eight minutes, didn’t it?”

Oen opened the watch case and, gazing at it, announced the precise time.
While Tsuda lay on the operating table like a fish placed on a cutting board, enduring quietly, Oen had been measuring the duration of the surgery above the very ceiling he had been forced to stare at, as though locked in a staring contest with the clock.

Tsuda asked again.

“There’s no point in going home now anyway.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why don’t you have them bring you some Western food here?”

“Yeah.”

Oen’s replies never became forthcoming.
The nurse finally went downstairs.
Tsuda closed his eyes in the manner of someone exhausted avoiding the sting of light.
Then Oen, from above his head, called out, “You—you,” so he had to open his eyes again.

“Are you feeling unwell?”

“No.”

Having confirmed this, Oen pressed on immediately.

“They asked me to send their regards from the Okamotos.
They said they’ll come visit you properly soon.”

“I see.”

Tsuda gave this perfunctory reply and tried closing his eyes again.
But Oen wouldn’t allow it.

“At the Okamotos’ place—they insisted I join them at the theater today, but of course I can’t go.”

In Tsuda’s keenly analytical mind, every one of Oen’s actions since morning now flashed before him—her attire too formal for a hospital visit; her mentioning it being Sunday before they left; her restless phone calls to the Okamotos since arriving here—all of it seemed funneled into those two characters for “theater.”
Viewed through this lens, even her precise timing of the surgery’s duration couldn’t escape becoming grounds for suspicion.
Tsuda turned away silently.
His eyes fell upon the assortment of envelopes, stationery, scissors and books neatly arranged atop the alcove.
These were items he’d packed into his bag earlier and brought here.

“I asked the nurse for a small desk to put them on, but since she hasn’t brought it yet, I left them like that for the time being.”
“Why don’t you read a book or something?”

Oen immediately stood up and took the books down from the alcove.

Forty-Four

Tsuda did not touch the books.

“Didn’t you decline the Okamotos?”

When he turned over with a face more resentful than doubtful, the poorly built second-floor floor creaked heavily as if answering his intent.

“I did decline.”

“Even though you refused, are they insisting you must come?”

It was at this moment that Tsuda looked at Oen’s face for the first time. Yet there appeared nothing of what he had anticipated. Instead, she smiled.

“Even though I refused, they’re insisting I must come.”

“But…”

He was momentarily at an impasse.
His chest still held things he needed to say, yet his head refused to work as swiftly as he wished.

“But… There’s no way they’d insist you must come after you refused, is there?”

“That’s what I’m saying.
Mr. Okamoto is such an utterly clueless man, isn’t he?”

Tsuda fell silent.
He couldn’t figure out how to press her further.

“Are you still suspecting me of something?”
“I can’t stand being doubted like this by you!”

Her eyebrows twitched with evident distaste.

"I'm not doubting you, but something seems off."

"I see. Then tell me what's strange about it—I'll explain everything."

Unfortunately, Tsuda couldn't clearly articulate that strange point.

"You really are doubting me after all, aren't you?"

If Tsuda did not clearly state that he wasn’t suspicious, he felt it would somehow compromise the dignity of a husband. Yet being taken lightly by women was also no small source of pain for him. While the two selves within him vied with each other and clashed in his heart, to outside eyes he appeared relatively calm.

“Ah.”

Oen let out a faint sigh and quietly stood up.
After reopening the shoji she had just shut completely, she stepped out onto the south-facing veranda, placed her hands on the handrail, and gazed vacantly at the high, clear autumn sky.
The white shirts and sheets hung densely on the neighboring laundry rack swayed in the dry wind under the strong sunlight, just as they had when she last looked.

"What lovely weather."

When Oen murmured these words softly, as if to herself, Tsuda suddenly felt as though he were hearing the plea of a caged bird.
He grew somewhat sorry for keeping this fragile woman tethered to his side.
He tried to speak to Oen but found himself at a loss for an opening.
Oen remained leaning against the railing and did not immediately return to the room.

At that moment, the nurse came up from below carrying meals for two people.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

On Tsuda’s tray lay only two eggs, one gō of soup, and bread.
That bread too—a quarter-slice portion—had been measured out unnoticed.

Tsuda remained lying prone on the floor, munching as he worked his mouth, biding his moment before speaking to Oen.

“Are you going or not?”

Oen froze her hand on the meat spoon.

“It’s up to you.”
“If you tell me to go, I’ll go, and if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop.”

“How very obedient of you.”

“I’m always obedient. Mr. Okamoto said he’d check with you first—that if you gave permission he’d take me along, so he told me to ask whether your condition wasn’t too serious.”

“But you were the one who called Okamoto, weren’t you?”

“Yes, of course I did—it was a promise.”
“I refused once, but since I might be able to go depending on circumstances, he told me to call again by noon that day to let him know my availability.”

“Did that sort of reply come from Okamoto?”

“Yes.”

However, Oen had not shown that letter to Tsuda.

“In short—what about you? Do you want to go or not?”

Oen, having gauged Tsuda’s expression, answered immediately.

“I do want to go.”

“So you’ve finally admitted it.”
“Then go ahead.”

The two of them finished their lunch along with this conversation.

Forty-Five

After finally settling her postoperative husband into a state of rest and going downstairs alone, Oen found herself running quite late. To inform the rickshaw puller of her destination, she simply stated the theater's name and immediately boarded the vehicle. The rickshaw she had waiting at the gate was the newest among the four or five kept at the corner stand.

The rubber-wheeled vehicle that had exited the alley ran only along the streetcar avenue.
The rickshaw man’s vigorous running—seemingly accelerating toward the bustling district for no particular reason but sheer momentum—rubbed off on Oen.
As her body shook buoyantly and rapidly on the plush, thick seat, a soft yet brisk stirring arose in her heart.
It was the exhilaration of ruthlessly cutting through the bustling lives around her as she headed straight for her destination.

In the rickshaw, she had no time to think about household matters.
The image of Tsuda—left resting peacefully on the hospital’s second floor—gave her assurance that she could safely forget about him for at least today, so her husband’s affairs no longer troubled her in the slightest.
The immediate future moved along with her rickshaw.
She, who had never had much interest in the play itself to begin with, was less concerned about running late than she was about simply arriving there quickly.
In this way, traveling in the new rickshaw was itself a stimulus, and in the same sense, arriving there was an even greater stimulus.

The rickshaw stopped in front of the teahouse.
When Oen immediately replied “Okamoto” to the greeting maid, images of lanterns, noren curtains, and red-and-white artificial flowers flitted through her mind.
As she alighted from the rickshaw, Oen had no time to process the lingering shadows of colors and shapes that had flooded her vision all at once. She was immediately guided down the corridor and popped her face into a vast, sea-like auditorium—a space where patterns far more intricate and dense than those she had just seen spread out in every direction, woven layer upon layer.
That was the sensation Oen felt when, as the teahouse man opened the corridor door and said “This way,” she peered ahead through the gap into the distance.
For her, who frequented such places by choice, this sensation was hardly unfamiliar—and yet, for her, it remained a permanently new sensation.
Thus, it could also be said to be a permanently unfamiliar sensation.
She passed through darkness and awoke as though suddenly emerging into a bright sea.
And having placed herself in a corner of this atmosphere, she became part of the vast living pattern moving before her eyes—the awareness that every gesture and movement would henceforth be woven into its fabric rose clearly in her tense chest.

Okamoto was not visible at the seat.
Even when counting the wife and her two daughters, there were only three people, leaving ample space for Oen to sit.
Nevertheless, Tsugiko, the elder daughter, turned around and stretched her body diagonally as if concerned that Oen's seat might unfortunately fall in her shadow, then asked Oen:

"Can you see?
Would you like to switch seats with me here?"

"Thank you.
This spot will do perfectly."

Oen shook her head.

Yuriko, the fourteen-year-old younger daughter sitting directly in front of Oen—left-handed—held a small pair of ivory binoculars in her left hand while resting her elbow on the red-cloth-covered handrail and turning around.

“You were late, you know. I thought you were coming to our house.”

The young girl still lacked the tact to say anything to Oen about Tsuda’s illness while exchanging greetings.

“Did you have some business?”

“Yes.”

Oen merely gave a brief reply and looked toward the stage.
That was the direction where the sisters' mother had been gazing intently without looking away since earlier.
When she and Oen first met each other's gaze, they exchanged a silent bow, and until the clappers sounded, they never exchanged a single word.

Forty-Six

“You managed to come after all.”
“Tsugiko and I were just saying earlier that today might prove difficult.”

After the curtain fell, the wife—who had only now relaxed her posture—finally addressed Oen.

“You see? It wasn’t as I predicted—”

Tsugiko threw a triumphant glance at her mother before turning to Oen to elaborate.

“I made a bet with Mother.”
“About whether you’d come today.”
“When Mother said you might not make it, I insisted you’d surely come.”

“Right. You consulted your oracle sticks again?”

Tsugiko was the owner of a small oracle box measuring about two sun and five bu in length and six bu in width.
Inside that black-lacquered box—inscribed in gold seal script with the characters for “oracle sticks”—lay several hundred exquisitely crafted ivory slips, each flattened and numbered.
She would often say, “Shall I take a look for you?” while handling the narrow ivory cards with the delicate care one might show a toothpick case, then unfold the booklet of phrases sized to match the box.
To read characters as fine as a fly’s head inscribed there, she would retrieve the small magnifying glass—an accessory included from the start—from its sarasa bag lined with habutae silk, holding it over the text with ceremonial gravity.
This ornate gift—purchased by Oen during an outing with Tsuda to Asakusa’s Nakamise for nearly four yen, a princely sum for a toy—became for Tsugiko, who would turn twenty-one the following year, an innocent ornament that playfully tinged her maidenly fancies with mystery.
At times she would even take it straight from her desk in its protective case, tuck it into her obi, and venture out.

“Did you bring it again today?”

Oen felt half inclined to tease her with the question.
She shook her head with a wry smile.
Her mother spoke from beside her as if answering in her stead.

“Today’s prediction isn’t from the oracle sticks.
It’s a prediction even greater than the oracle sticks.”

“Oh?”

Oen, seeming to want to hear more, looked between the mother and daughter.

As her mother began, “Tsugiko is…,” the daughter quickly cut her off.

“Please stop, Mother!
You shouldn’t say such things here!”

Yuriko, the younger sister who had been silently listening to the three of them talk until now, began to giggle.

“I can tell you if you like.”

“Stop it, Yuriko. That’s such a mean thing to do. Fine then, I won’t help you practice the piano anymore.”

Her mother laughed quietly so as not to attract the attention of those nearby. Oen also found it amusing. Yet she still wanted an explanation.

“Go on and tell me! So what if Big Sister gets angry? I’m here with you, so it’s all right.”

Yuriko deliberately thrust her chin forward and looked at her sister.
Her demeanor, with nostrils slightly flared, ostentatiously displayed to her sister the triumph of one who held complete control over whether to speak or remain silent.

“Fine, Miss Yuriko.”
“Do whatever you like.”

As she said this and stood up, Tsugiko opened the rear door and immediately stepped out into the hallway.

“Big Sister got angry, didn’t she?”

“She’s not angry—she’s just embarrassed.”

“But there’s nothing to be embarrassed about! Even if I did say such a thing—”

“So please tell me.”

Having observed the childlike psychological state of Yuriko, who was about six years her junior, Oen attempted to skillfully exploit it. However, her sister’s abrupt action of rising from her seat had already disrupted that state, rendering Oen’s urging entirely ineffective. In the end, the mother had to shoulder all responsibility alone.

“It’s nothing at all. Tsugiko just said, ‘Mr.Yushu is such a kind, good person who does everything as Enko says, so he’s sure to come today,’ that’s all.”

“Right. Does Mr.Yushu appear that dependable to Miss Tsugiko? How thoughtful of her. I must express my thanks.”

“Then Yuriko said, ‘In that case, Big Sister should marry someone like Mr.Yushu,’ and since having that said before you was embarrassing, that’s why she left like that.”

“Oh…”

Oen uttered a faint interjection that sounded rather forlorn.

Forty-seven

The image of Tsuda as a self-serving man suddenly rose in Oen's mind.
The kindness she poured out morning and night—though she believed herself to be doing her utmost—and the persistent doubt that her husband's demanded sacrifices might know no bounds flashed vividly through her thoughts.
With the realization that the only person who could resolve these doubts now stood before her, she looked at Mrs. Okamoto.
To Oen, whose parents lived far away, this aunt was the sole relative she could depend on in all of Tokyo.

"Is a husband nothing more than a sponge existing solely to absorb his wife's affection?"

This was the question Oen had long wished to confront her aunt with and ask outright. Unfortunately, she had been born with a certain innate pride. This pride—which might be interpreted as either stubborn resolve or vanity depending on perspective—powerfully restrained her regarding this matter with her aunt. In one sense, Oen's obstinate pride stemmed from this conviction: when viewing a marital relationship akin to sumo wrestlers facing off daily on the dohyō from within that partnership, even if the wife might occasionally become her husband's adversary, once facing society she must support him unconditionally to the end; otherwise she would feel they were exposing the vulnerabilities of this neatly bound couple to public scrutiny—a shame too unbearable to countenance. Thus even when yearning to confide something or desperate to voice complaints, when facing her aunt—who from a married couple's perspective still belonged to that realm of "society," that domain of outsiders—sensitive Oen found it too mortifying to speak of anything.

Moreover, she had long been concerned that others might interpret her husband’s failure to reciprocate her kindness—exactly as she had anticipated—as stemming from her own inadequacy or lack of attentiveness. Among all rumors, she feared the accusation of stupidity like fire.

"There are young women in this world who can effortlessly wrap around their fingers men several times more difficult than Tsuda, yet here I am at twenty-three unable to shape my own husband as I wish—ultimately because I lack wisdom."

For Oen, who regarded wisdom and virtue as nearly one and the same, being told this by her aunt was the most painful thing of all.
To confess she lacked skill as a woman in dealing with men wounded her self-esteem as deeply as confessing that, though human, she was unfit for human purpose.
Even had the time and place not been this theater forbidding such intrusive conversation, Oen would have had no choice but to remain silent.
She looked meaningfully at her aunt's face, then immediately averted her eyes.

The curtain hanging across the entire stage fluttered, and through a slight tear in its seam, someone peered out at the audience.
Perhaps imagining that gaze was directed at her, Oen shifted her newly turned eyes elsewhere once more.
Below, people leaving their seats, returning to their seats, and walking through the aisles began stirring up a commotion all at once.
The seated majority too kept shifting between self-chosen postures in every direction—front and back, left and right—never resting for a moment.
Countless black heads appeared like a swirling vortex.
Their occasional gaudy costumes scattered the restless pleasure born from color movements in chaotic flickers.

Having turned her eyes away from the pit seating area, Oen finally began scrutinizing the opposite side beyond the divide. Just then, Yuriko, who had turned around, suddenly said:

“Mrs.Yoshikawa is over there, you know.
You can see her, right?”

Oen fixed her slightly startled eyes on the indicated spot and easily found someone who looked like Mrs.Yoshikawa.

“Yuriko, how sharp-eyed you are! When did you spot her?”

“I didn’t spot her at all.
I’ve known she was there since earlier.”

“Do Auntie and Tsugiko know too?”

“Yeah, everyone knows, you know.”

Oen, who had finally realized she alone remained unaware, was still peering toward that section from behind Yuriko’s shadow when—whether by design or chance—the binoculars in Mrs.Yoshikawa’s hands abruptly swung toward Oen’s seat.

“I can’t stand this!
Being watched like that…”

Oen shrank back as if to hide.
Yet the binoculars across the theater stubbornly remained fixed on her vicinity.

“Then fine.
“I’ll just have to run away.”

Oen immediately chased after Tsugiko and exited into the corridor.

Forty-eight

The external scenery visible from there bustled appropriately for the location.
Strangers endlessly came and went across the latticed plank flooring—constructed with a removable latch at the back for access.
Oen, standing at the corridor's edge with her body half-leaned against a pillar, took some time before spotting Tsugiko.
When she finally discerned her in front of the shops lining the opposite side, she immediately descended.
Then stepping lightly and briskly across the wooden planks, she crossed over to where her target stood.

“What are you buying?”

Oen’s face peered in from behind as she asked, nearly brushing against Tsugiko’s startled features when she turned around—their smiles meeting at close quarters.

“I’m in such a bind right now.”
“Issan told me to get him a souvenir, so I’ve been looking, but there’s nothing here that would actually please him.”

Having mistaken her approach by trying to select a boy’s toy, Tsugiko now stood surrounded by item after item laid before her—unable to commit to a purchase yet equally unable to walk away—truly at her limit.
Before hairpins decorated with actors’ crests, paper holders, and hand towels, she fidgeted helplessly before turning imploring eyes toward Oen.
Oen promptly intervened on her behalf.

“No good. That child won’t be satisfied unless it’s something like a pistol or wooden sword—things that look like they could kill someone. Such things wouldn’t be found in such a refined place, I tell you.”

The shopkeeper laughed.
Oen took the younger woman’s hand at that moment.

“In any case, you should ask Auntie first—I’m terribly sorry—we’ll come back another time.”

Having said this, she promptly started walking and practically dragged the pitiful-looking Tsugiko to the end of the corridor.
The two who had stopped there once again used a pillar as a shield and stood talking.

“What happened to Uncle? Why hasn’t he come today?”

“He’ll come any moment now.”

Oen was taken aback.
Even with just four people making it cramped enough already, that large man barging in would indeed be quite an event.

"If Uncle Fujii comes, a flimsy thing like me will get squashed flat."

“You should swap places with Yuriko.”

“Why?”

“It’s simply more convenient that way.”
“Because whether Yuriko stays or leaves makes no difference.”

“Right.
“Then if Yushu weren’t sick and came with me, what would you do?”

“When that time comes, we’ll figure something out then, I suppose.
“Either reserve another room, or if that’s not possible, join up with the Yoshikawas’ group.”

“Was there a prior arrangement with Mr. Yoshikawa as well?”

“Yes.”

Tsugiko did not say the rest.
Oen, who hadn't considered the Okamoto and Yoshikawa households to be particularly close, cast a suspicious glance at this arrangement but ultimately refrained from asking anything, finding ample room to view it—as often happens among those with leisure time—as merely an entertainment engagement.
Their conversation merely touched upon Mrs. Yoshikawa's binoculars.
Oen even went so far as to demonstrate with hand gestures.

“When she aims them straight at you like this, there’s just no competing.”

“That’s quite presumptuous.”
“But Father says that’s Western-style.”

“Oh, so they don’t mind in the West?”
“Then I suppose it’s perfectly fine for me to stare right back at Mrs.Yoshikawa like that too?”
“Shall I take a look for you?”

“Go ahead and look—she’ll surely be delighted.”
“They say you’re so high-collar, Enko-san.”

Beside the two laughing aloud, a young man who had come from somewhere stopped briefly.
The young gentleman—wearing an unpatterned haori jacket adorned with the Tomonui crest and serge andon hakama trousers—no sooner made eye contact with them than he demonstrated a polite attitude as though silently offering an “Excuse me” greeting to pass by, then descended to the plank flooring and went off in the opposite direction.
Tsugiko flushed.

“Let’s go inside now.”

She immediately urged Oen and went inside.

Forty-Nine

The scene within the theater was no different from when they had seen it earlier.
The sight of men and women walking through the dirt-floored area was observed as annoyingly as if they were crossing over people’s heads.
Even ostentatious activities aiming to attract as much attention as possible appeared everywhere.
And then they immediately vanished to make way for the next spectacle.
The small world within their view was nothing but turmoil; it was disorder; and it was always artifice.

Behind the relatively quiet stage, the sound of hammers used by stagehands resounded through the auditorium from time to time, as if to stir the audience's anticipation. During the intervals, the sound of wooden clappers being struck behind the curtain resounded like a night watchman’s clapper attempting to gather scattered attention into a single focus.

What was strange was the audience. They spent this long intermission with nothing to do—voicing no complaints, showing no signs of boredom—peacefully filling their empty selves with scattered stimuli, innocently carried along by the passage of time. They were calm. They seemed to be enjoying themselves. Intoxicated by each other’s exhalations, they would turn their eyes to gaze at someone’s face the moment they began to sober slightly. And there, they immediately found something entrancing. They could immediately assimilate to the other’s mood.

The two who had returned to their seats looked about cheerfully.
Then, as if by prior arrangement, they looked toward Mrs.Yoshikawa in question.
The woman’s binoculars were no longer trained on them.
Instead, the owner of the binoculars had also gone somewhere.

“Oh, she isn’t here.”

“That’s true.”

“Shall I look for her for you?”

Yuriko immediately brought the opera glasses she was holding up to her eyes.

“She’s not here, not here. She’s gone off somewhere.”
“Given how plump Mrs.Yoshikawa is—practically twice the size of a regular person—you’d think she’d be easy to spot, but she’s still nowhere to be seen.”

As she said this, Yuriko put down her ivory opera glasses.
For a young lady whose Tomonui-patterned back was so hidden by the highly positioned obi she wore, her words carried not the slightest formality; her elder sister, suppressing her amusement at the corners of her mouth, displayed a dignity befitting her seniority as she admonished her younger sister.

“Yuriko.”

The younger sister did not respond at all.
As usual, she slightly flared her nostrils with an expression that seemed to say “So what?” and deliberately looked at Tsugiko.

“I want to go home already.”
“I wish Father would hurry up and come.”

“If you want to go home, then go.”
“Even if Father doesn’t come, it’s fine.”

“But she is here.”

Yuriko still did not move.
Beside this mischievous attitude that would be difficult to maintain unless one were a child, Oen directed age-appropriate discretion toward Aunt.

“Shall I go and pay my respects to Mrs.Yoshikawa?”
“It wouldn’t do to act aloof.”

To tell the truth, she did not particularly like this Mrs.Yoshikawa. She felt the other party disliked her in return. Moreover, there was even a vague sense that this unpleasant dynamic had arisen between them precisely because Mrs.Yoshikawa had taken the initiative in disliking her first. Though she had given no cause for such aversion, she remained convinced that the dislike had originated unilaterally from the other side. When those binoculars had been pointed at her earlier, she had immediately recognized the need to go offer greetings—yet found herself unable to act on this obligation outright. Instead, she reframed her unease as a consultative question for her aunt while secretly hoping the older woman might accompany her to Mrs.Yoshikawa’s seat and thereby ease the interaction.

Her aunt replied immediately.

“Oh, you should go.
Go on and do that then.”

“But she isn’t here now.”

“Oh, she must have just stepped out into the corridor or something.”
“You’ll see when you go.”

“But—well, I’ll go then. Auntie, please come with me.”

“Auntie—”

“Isn’t she here?”

“It’s all right to go, but since we’re all supposed to be together for dinner soon anyway, I thought I’d beg your pardon and do it then.”

“Oh, there was such an arrangement? I hadn’t known at all. Who exactly will be dining together?”

“Everyone.”

“Me too?”

“Yes.”

Struck by this unexpected turn, Oen took a moment before replying.

“Then I’ll do it then too.”

Fifty

Okamoto arrived not long after that.
Peering through the door gap opened by the teahouse attendant, he beckoned Yuriko into the corridor with a summoning gesture.
After exchanging a few whispered words that wouldn't disturb others, Yuriko was promptly escorted out of the venue by the man as arranged.
He then entered in her place and sat down awkwardly behind them.
The obese man, for whom even slight positional adjustments seemed laborious in such cramped quarters, turned halfway around as if suddenly noticing something after settling into his seat.

“Oen, shall I take your place? This big frame of mine must be blocking your view.”

Oen felt as though a mountain hastily erected overnight had suddenly taken shape within her, yet refrained from moving out of consideration for those around her absorbed in the stage performance. Okamoto, unaccustomed to wearing woolen fabric against his skin, folded his hairy arms and—as if this too were part of social obligation—directed his gaze where everyone else looked. There beneath a willow tree loitered a strange pallid man. The dandy wore a coarse striped kimono draped carelessly about him, his Hakata obi deliberately tied low, setta clattering on bare feet with each step to grate against Okamoto’s ears. He surveyed the bridge by the willow and the white-walled storehouses beyond before turning his attention to the audience.

Yet every face in the crowd remained taut with tension. The entire theater held its breath as if this young man’s clattering promenade across the stage bore grave significance—not a single cough broke the silence. Having entered abruptly from outside, whether struggling to acclimate to this peculiar atmosphere or finding it absurd, Okamoto soon turned halfway around with an awkward air and whispered to Oen.

“How was it? Interesting? —And Mr.Yusho?—”

After firing three or four simple questions in quick succession and receiving terse replies from Oen each time, he finally asked further with a meaningful look in his eyes.

“How was he today?”
“Didn’t Mr.Yusho say something?”
“He must’ve grumbled about it.”
“While I’m lying here sick, you go off to the theater alone—how shameless,” or something like that.
“Huh?”
“I’m sure that’s what happened.”

"He didn't say anything so unconscionable."

"But he must have said something."
"There’s no doubt he called Okamoto an inconvenient fellow or something along those lines."
"The phone call sounded rather odd."

In that space where not even whispers could be heard from others around them, Oen felt awkward being the sole participant in this prolonged exchange and merely smiled.

“It’s fine. Uncle will explain later, so you needn’t worry about such things.”

“I’m not worrying at all.”

“Is that so? Still, you must feel somewhat uneasy. Upsetting your husband’s mood so soon after marriage...”

“It’s fine. I keep telling you I haven’t upset his mood at all.”

Oen furrowed her brows in irritation.
Okamoto, who had been teasing her in half-jest, grew somewhat serious.

“Truthfully, I didn’t call you here today just to show you the play—there was something I needed to discuss.”
“So while it may seem like I forced Yusho to come despite his illness, once I explain the reason to him afterward, it’ll be nothing at all.”
“Uncle will make sure to explain it properly.”

Oen’s eyes abruptly shifted away from the stage.

“What exactly is the reason?”

“It’s not a good place to talk right now.”
“I’ll explain everything later.”

Oen had no choice but to remain silent.
Okamoto added:

“I’m supposed to have dinner with Mr. Yoshikawa in the dining hall today. Did you know?”
“See? Mr. Yoshikawa must have come there too.”

Yoshikawa’s figure, which had gone unnoticed until now, immediately entered Oen’s field of vision.

“I came with Uncle from the club.”
“From the club.”

Their conversation came to a halt there.
Oen once again looked seriously toward the stage.
However, before even ten minutes had passed, her attention was once again disturbed by the teahouse man who quietly opened the door behind them.
The man whispered something to his aunt.
The aunt immediately leaned her face toward the uncle.

“You see, Mr. Yoshikawa has had a meal prepared, so please come to the dining hall during the next intermission.”

Uncle immediately had his reply conveyed.

“Understood.”

The man closed the door quietly again and left.
Oen, wondering what was about to begin, silently waited for the dinner time.

Fifty-One

It was about an hour later that she stood up from her seat to enter the deeply recessed dining hall in the corner of the second floor, following her uncle and aunt alongside Tsugiko.
She whispered a question to her cousin walking shoulder to shoulder with her, brushing close as they moved down the corridor.

“What on earth is about to happen now?”

"I don't know."

Tsugiko looked down as she answered.

"It's merely that we'll be having a meal."

"I suppose that's how it is."

The more she pressed for answers, the more evasive Tsugiko's responses grew, until Oen finally fell silent.
Perhaps Tsugiko felt constrained by her parents walking ahead.
Or perhaps she truly knew nothing.
Or maybe—even if she did know—she was deliberately answering curtly in hushed tones to avoid telling Oen.

The many people they encountered in the corridor—who tended to cast sharp, appraising glances their way—all directed their extra gazes more toward Tsugiko than Oen.
Suddenly, a comparison between Tsugiko and herself flashed in Oen’s mind.
Though her figure surpassed Tsugiko's, she who was inferior in attire and facial features viewed this cousin—who remained childishly bashful yet artlessly composed with seemingly no worldly cares, a maiden as pure as dew—with eyes tinged by faint jealousy.
Even if the contemptuous sense of pity there had not been entirely negated, a feeling of envy strong enough to make her wish to trade places with Tsugiko was markedly at work.
Oen thought.

"When I was a maiden, did I ever have such a time when I resembled a proper young lady?"

Whether fortunately or unfortunately, she could not recall that period. She who had lived without measuring herself against Tsugiko's standard, now standing shoulder to shoulder with her cousin on the brightly lit corridor under the lively electric lights, was struck by a melancholy she had never felt before. It was faint. Yet it was of a nature apt to turn to tears. And it made her want to tightly grasp the hand of this very person she had just regarded with jealous eyes. She spoke inwardly to Tsugiko.

"You are purer than I am.
You are so pure that I envy you.
But your purity is nothing more than a weapon that will be of no use to your future husband.
Even when I arrange things flawlessly, my husband never shows gratitude as I expect.
To keep your husband's love, you must lose that precious pure essence of yours.
Even after making such sacrifices and devoting yourself to him, he may still treat you harshly.
I envy you yet pity you at once.
The precious treasure that must soon be destroyed—you possess it so innocently, unaware of its nature.
Whether fortunate or not, I never fully possessed from the start this natural vessel untouched by artifice that you now hold—so one might say there's no great loss where nothing existed to lose. But you are different.
The moment you leave your parents' care, your innocent form will be tainted.
You deserve more pity than I do."

Their pace was slow.
When the Okamoto couple who had gone ahead were blocked by the crowd and disappeared from view, the aunt deliberately turned back.

“Hurry along now. What are you dawdling for? The Yoshikawas have already arrived ahead and are waiting.”

The aunt’s eyes remained fixed solely on Tsugiko.
Her words too had been directed specifically at her.
Yet to Oen’s ears, hearing the name Yoshikawa resonated like a wind scattering her previous mood entirely.
She immediately recalled Mrs. Yoshikawa—a woman she did not particularly care for, and who seemed to reciprocate the sentiment.
As the wife of an influential patron from whom her husband had long received considerable favor, she now had to muster every ounce of charm and courtesy before this woman.
Cloaking tension beneath calm composure, she feigned nonchalance and followed the others into the dining hall.

Fifty-Two

As her aunt had said, the Yoshikawas appeared to have reached their designated spot one step ahead; Mrs.Yoshikawa—who was Oen’s focal point—stood facing the entrance engaged in conversation with her uncle.
Before even registering her uncle’s broad retreating back, Oen’s eyes first caught the imposing figure of the lady protruding conspicuously on the far side.
Simultaneously, this woman—her plump cheeks brimming with mirth—swiftly turned her gaze toward Oen.
Yet this momentary spark of recognition flared and vanished instantly, leaving both women feigning mutual unawareness until formal greetings could be exchanged.

After casting a glance at Mrs.Yoshikawa, Oen could not help but notice the young gentleman standing beside her.
It was unmistakably the same silent man who had startled them earlier when, together with Tsugiko in the corridor, they had crudely criticized—half in jest—the lady’s opera glasses; she couldn’t help but feel a chill.

While simple greetings were exchanged among everyone, she who had been standing reservedly behind them all was finally introduced to this unknown person simply as Miyoshi-san when her turn came.
The introducer was Mrs.Yoshikawa; however, since the words she used were exactly the same whether addressing her uncle, her aunt, Tsugiko, or even Oen herself—with no variation whatsoever between them—Oen ultimately never learned who this Miyoshi was.

When taking their seats, Mrs. Yoshikawa sat next to her uncle.
On the other side, Miyoshi was seated.
The aunt's seat was at the corner of the dining table.
Tsugiko’s seat was in front of Miyoshi.
Forced to sit down on the remaining single chair, Oen hesitated slightly.
Next to her was Yoshikawa.
And in front was Mrs. Yoshikawa.

“Why don’t you take a seat?”

Yoshikawa looked up at Oen from the side as if urging her.

“Well, go ahead,” said Mrs. Yoshikawa casually, looking straight at her.

“Don’t stand on ceremony—take your seat.”
“Everyone else is already seated.”

Oen reluctantly settled into the chair facing Mrs. Yoshikawa.
Though she had meant to seize the initiative, having hers taken instead left an awkward residue somewhere in her chest.
The determination surfaced at once—that she must now maneuver matters so her manner would be read as genuine restraint born of propriety.
That resolve grew firmer still when she looked across the tablecloth and saw Tsugiko’s guileless bearing—so utterly opposed to her own.

Tsugiko was quieter than usual again.
Without properly speaking a word and keeping her eyes cast downward, something almost resembling pain could be perceived in her attitude.
After casting a pitying glance at her, Oen shifted her characteristically charming eyes toward Mrs.Yoshikawa seated directly before her.
Mrs.Yoshikawa, thoroughly accustomed to socializing, was not one to remain silent either.

Fragments of pleasant conversation were exchanged between them two or three times.
Yet the topic, having no room left to develop further, came to an abrupt stop there.
While Oen—who had thought to make Tsuda, their mutual connection, the subject of conversation—was hesitating over whether to bring it up herself, Mrs.Yoshikawa had already moved on without her and turned toward Miyoshi in the distance.

“Mr. Miyoshi, don’t just sit there silent—why don’t you share some amusing story over there for Miss Tsugiko to hear?”

Miyoshi, who had just broken off his conversation with the aunt, turned toward Mrs.Yoshikawa and said quietly.

“Certainly, I’ll do whatever you wish.”

“Well then, do whatever you like now. Don’t just stay silent.”

This imperious remark made everyone laugh.

“Why don’t you tell us again about how you fled Germany?”

Yoshikawa immediately put his wife’s command into concrete terms.

“As for the story of fleeing Germany, having repeated it countless times, lately I’ve become more trite than anyone else.”

“Even someone as composed as you must have panicked a bit.”

“If it were just a little panic, that’d be fine—but I was nearly out of my mind.
“Though I can’t quite grasp it myself.”

“But you didn’t think you’d be killed, did you?”

“Indeed.”

As Miyoshi pondered momentarily, Yoshikawa interjected from beside him.

“He probably never imagined being killed. Especially someone like this.”

“Why? Because humans are shameless?”

“Not exactly that, but he’s a man who clings dearly to life.”

Tsugiko giggled quietly with her face still lowered.
The only thing Oen grasped was that he was someone who had left Germany around wartime.

Fifty-Three

The conversation about overseas travels centered on Miyoshi grew animated for a time.
Silently observing Mrs.Yoshikawa's skillful technique of inserting clever cues at intervals to draw out the conversation's thread, Oen discerned how the lady was making efforts to present this unfamiliar young gentleman before the four of them.
He—less mild-mannered than simply reticent—was, without realizing it himself, being swayed by the smooth talk of the lady who had taken a liking to him, and was presenting himself before everyone in the most favorable light.

She was given almost no opportunity to interject even a single word during this conversation. Having naturally been placed in the position of a silent listener, only her critical faculties remained highly active. As she observed step by step how Mrs.Yoshikawa's technique—brimming with bluntness and audacity—progressed successfully without the slightest trace of artifice, she could not help but acknowledge the vast distance between her own innate nature and the lady's. Yet she felt this was not a vertical distance but a horizontal one. To claim this posed nothing to fear would be utterly false. Alongside the commanding attitude stemming from Mrs.Yoshikawa's confident position, there lingered somewhere in Oen's heart a sense of danger—that these techniques might sometimes carry terrifying destructive power.

“Was it just her imagination?”

As Oen was thinking this, the lady in question suddenly shifted her attention toward her.

“Miss Enko must be appalled—it’s because I’ve been talking so much.”

Oen, taken by surprise, recoiled.
Her social acumen—which had never once failed her in navigating interactions before Tsuda—now found itself at a loss for how to function.
A hollow, faint smile filled the momentary void.
However, it was nothing more than a feigned amiability that served no purpose.

"No, I've been listening with great interest," Oen added belatedly—already aware herself that the timing had passed. A bitter sense of having bungled it again rose to the tip of her tongue. Her determination to regain the lady's favor today withered away at once. Mrs.Yoshikawa shifted her tone with cruel swiftness and turned to Okamoto.

"Mr.Okamoto, it's been quite some time since you returned from abroad, hasn't it?"

"Yes."
"After all, it was an era ago now."

"What exactly do you mean by 'an era ago'?"

"Well, in the year..."

Whether through natural inclination or mere chance, Uncle assumed an air of gravitas.

“The time of the Franco-Prussian War?”

“Don’t make fun of me. I’ll have you know I once guided your husband around London.”

“Then you weren’t part of the group that was besieged in Paris?”

“Don’t be absurd!”

Having brought Miyoshi's tales of foreign travels to a close after a spell, Mrs.Yoshikawa immediately steered the conversation toward another closely related topic.
Naturally, Yoshikawa had no choice but to engage with Okamoto.

“After all, it was when automobiles were still new—whenever one passed by, everyone would turn to look.”

“Yeah, back in the days when those lumbering buses still dominated the roads.”

Though those lumbering buses held no nostalgic value for others who lacked memories of using such transportation, they nevertheless seemed to evoke a faint wistfulness in the two men as they reminisced about those times.

Having compared Tsugiko and Miyoshi, Okamoto said to Yoshikawa with a wry smile.

“We’ve both gotten old, haven’t we? In everyday life, we don’t notice it at all, still thinking we’re young or something, frolicking about constantly—but sitting here next to my daughter like this makes me reflect a bit, you know.”

“Then you should just always sit beside that child, shouldn’t you?”

The aunt immediately turned toward Uncle.
Uncle also immediately responded.

“Absolutely.
‘When I returned from abroad, this child was still—’ he began, then paused to think. ‘How old was she again?’ he asked.
The aunt remained silent with an expression that all but said she had no obligation to respond to such a nonchalant person, so Yoshikawa interjected from the side.

“Now the time when you’ll be called ‘Grandpa, Grandpa’ is already pressing in upon you.”
“You can’t afford to be complacent.”

Tsugiko flushed and looked down.
Mrs. Yoshikawa immediately looked toward her husband.

"But Mr.Okamoto has a living timepiece to track his years, so he's still quite all right. As for you—with no instrument of self-reflection whatsoever—you're utterly beyond your own grasp."

"Well then again, you're the one who remains forever young, aren't you?"

Everyone burst out laughing.

Fifty-Four

The other guests—fewer in number than their party and therefore relatively quiet—kept glancing occasionally at Oen's group, who carried on with their carefree chatter as though wholly indifferent to the stage.
Even when the time came for those who had eaten light meals to save time—forgoing even coffee—to begin making their exit, new dishes kept arriving one after another before Oen.
They couldn't very well abandon their napkins mid-meal.
Nor did they show any inclination toward such discourteous behavior.
Maintaining a leisurely composure more suited to theatergoers there for amusement than for the play itself, they took their time without the slightest hurry.

“Has it started already?”

Uncle asked the white-uniformed waiter after surveying the suddenly quieted dining hall.
Boi set a warm plate before him and responded courteously.

“It has just begun.”

“No—even if it’s begun.”
“At times like these, the mouth takes precedence over the eyes.”

Uncle immediately began assailing the skin-on chicken thigh.
Yoshikawa across the way likewise appeared utterly unconcerned with whatever transpired onstage.
He promptly followed Uncle’s example and exchanged food-related pleasantries having no connection to the play.

“You still eat so heartily.—Mrs., have you heard about when this Okamoto ate even more than he does now, grew even fatter, and rode upon a Westerner’s shoulders?”

The aunt did not know. Yoshikawa posed the same question to Tsugiko. Tsugiko also didn't know.

"That must be why—since it's hardly a story worth boasting about—he's surely kept it hidden."

"What?"

Uncle finally looked up from his plate and stared at her with puzzlement. Then Mrs.Yoshikawa interjected from the side.

"He must have been too heavy and crushed that foreigner, didn't he?"

"If that were something to brag about—but there I was in a London crowd, perched on some giant's shoulders while people gawked at me with those strange looks."
"To see the procession, you understand."

Uncle still did not laugh.

"What nonsense are you fabricating now? When on earth did that happen?"

"At the time of Edward VII's coronation. You were standing in front of Mansion House trying to see the procession, but unlike in Japan, the people there were so much taller than you that in desperation, you asked the landlord of the boarding house you stayed at together to give you a shoulder ride—isn't that what you said?"

"Don't talk nonsense. That's the wrong person. I know exactly who rode on shoulders, but it wasn't me—it was that monkey."

Uncle’s explanation was delivered with complete seriousness.
When the word “monkey” suddenly emerged from those earnest lips, everyone burst into laughter all at once.

“Ah yes, that monkey would be perfectly suited to it.”
“No matter how tall the English might be, it never did add up with you.”
“Come to think of it, that monkey’s rather diminutive in stature.”

Whether he had known the truth all along while feigning ignorance or had been genuinely unaware from the start, Yoshikawa finally adopted phrasing that seemed to satisfy his understanding—yet persisted in repeating that “monkey” epithet like a lingering echo of comedy that enlivened the gathering.
Mrs. Yoshikawa assumed an attitude both inquisitive and mildly reproving.

“Calling someone a monkey—who on earth are you referring to?”

“Oh, just someone you don’t know.”

“There’s no need for you to worry, Mrs.. Even if a monkey were present at this table, we are the sort of people who can call him Monkey-Monkey outright. In return, over there they call me Piggy-Piggy—so it’s all the same.”

During this exchange of trivial conversation, Oen ultimately failed to secure her proper place as a member of the social gathering. The opportunity to present herself to Mrs.Yoshikawa never arrived, no matter how much time passed. Mrs.Yoshikawa had not acknowledged her existence—or rather, had been actively avoiding her—speaking exclusively to Tsugiko, who sat separated by one seat beside her. Even if only for a minute, even the faintest traces of her efforts to position this cousin as everyone’s focal point stood vividly apparent. Each time Tsugiko—incapable of leveraging this attention—instead displayed an openly inconvenienced expression that contradicted gratitude, ripples of envy surged through Oen’s heart, compelling her to compare herself with Tsugiko anew.

"If I were in that cousin’s position—"

Throughout the dinner, she found herself thinking this repeatedly.
And each time, from that thought onward, she would secretly pity Tsugiko’s awkwardness in society.
In the end, as always, contempt welled up within her—what a truly pathetic woman.

Fifty-Five

They left their seats when nearly an inch of white ash had accumulated on the after-dinner cigars the men had begun to smoke.
At that moment, someone's remark of "I wonder what time it is now"—acting as a trigger—coincidentally altered Oen's position.
Seizing the instant before rising, Mrs.Yoshikawa suddenly spoke to Oen.

“Enko-san.
“And how is Mr.Tsuda?”

Having said this abruptly without waiting for Oen’s response,Mrs.Yoshikawa immediately added herself:

“Though I kept meaning to ask since earlier,I ended up just talking about myself—”

Oen inwardly dismissed this explanation as falsehood.
This suspicion stemmed not from the other’s current phrasing or manner,but rather—as she herself would have phrased it—from somewhat deeper grounds.
When entering the dining room to greet Mrs.Yoshikawa,Oen clearly recalled her own chosen words.
They were words used more for her husband’s sake than her own.
The instant she saw Mrs.Yoshikawa,Oen bowed respectfully and said,“I must apologize for Tsuda’s repeated impositions.”
Yet at that moment,Mrs.Yoshikawa uttered not one word regarding Tsuda.
Though being the last person with whom greetings had been exchanged—and thus having ample opportunity—Mrs.Yoshikawa instead promptly turned away.
Moreover she behaved as though having entirely forgotten Tsuda’s visit mere days prior.

Oen did not interpret Mrs.Yoshikawa's behavior as stemming solely from personal dislike.
Not only was she disliked, she reasoned, but there must be some additional cause.
Otherwise, she thought, even someone of Mrs.Yoshikawa's standing would never have displayed such a manner—specifically avoiding Tsuda's name—to his own wife.
She knew full well that her husband enjoyed this Mrs.Yoshikawa's favor.
But why would merely favoring her husband make that woman hesitate to raise him as a conversational topic before his wife?
Oen could not comprehend it.
That during the dinner she had ultimately failed to establish herself—through Tsuda, their sole apparent common ground—as a woman worthy of being liked by others before Mrs.Yoshikawa, was partly because this matter had lodged like a blockage in her heart.
When Mrs.Yoshikawa finally broached the subject just as they were preparing to rise, Oen found herself unable to dismiss her suspicions of the lady's explanation as mere falsehood.
She began to wonder whether there might not exist something beyond unavoidable social formalities in Mrs.Yoshikawa's belated offer to visit her husband during his illness.

“Thank you.”
“Thanks to you.”

“Has he already had the surgery?”

“Yes, today.”

“Today?”
“And yet you managed to come to a place like this.”

“It’s not a serious illness.”

“But he’s resting now?”

“He is resting.”

Mrs.Yoshikawa looked as though questioning whether this was acceptable.
At least, her silent demeanor appeared that way to Oen.
The Mrs.Yoshikawa who acted so boldly toward others seemed to present herself as an entirely different person when facing Oen alone.

“Has he been admitted to the hospital?”

“It’s not quite what you’d call a proper hospital, but since the doctor’s second floor happened to be available, we’ve arranged for him to stay there for five or six days.”

Mrs. Yoshikawa asked for the doctor’s name and address.
Though she hadn’t stated whether she intended to visit him, Oen now suspected Mrs.Yoshikawa had deliberately broached Tsuda’s situation precisely for this purpose—and for the first time, felt she had somewhat grasped the woman’s underlying meaning.

Unlike his wife, Yoshikawa—who seemed not to have kept Tsuda in mind from the start—spoke up now for the first time.

“When questioned, he claims he’s let this illness drag on since last year.”
“At his age, constantly falling ill does no good.”
“Since there’s no need to limit his rest to five or six days, tell him to recuperate properly until fully recovered.”

Oen expressed her thanks.

The seven people who had left the dining room split into two groups again in the corridor.

Fifty-Six

For Oen, who spent the remaining time with her aunt’s family, no further disturbances came after that.
Yet the image of Tsuda in his nightclothes—wearing a padded robe and lying down—suddenly surfaced in her mind as she intently watched the stage.
That image had closed the book he had been reading and seemed to gaze at her from afar as she sat there.
But at the very moment she happily tried to meet his eyes, it conveyed through its look: “No—don’t misunderstand. I was just peeking at what you were doing. I’ve no business with someone like you.”
Deceived, Oen felt it was utterly foolish.
At the same time, Tsuda’s figure vanished like a ghost.
The second time, it was Oen who declared: “I won’t consider someone like you anymore.”

When Tsuda’s figure surfaced in her mind for the third time, she nearly clicked her tongue in irritation.

Before entering the dining room, she had never once kept her husband in mind; so according to Oen, these uncontrollable workings of her mind were nothing but new experiences that had arisen after dinner. She silently compared her former and current selves. And so, as the one responsible for this sudden change, she found herself repeating Mrs.Yoshikawa’s name within her heart. The thought occurred to her that had she not shared the dinner table with Mrs.Yoshikawa that evening, such a strange phenomenon would never have arisen within her. Yet if asked precisely which aspects of Mrs.Yoshikawa had served as the fermenting agents brewing this bitter wine, or how they had infiltrated her mind, she could not have given a clear answer. She possessed only vague materials. Still, she had reached a relatively clear conclusion. As she harbored no doubts about the sufficiency of these materials, she saw no reason to question the conclusion’s adequacy. She remained firmly convinced that all root causes lay with Mrs.Yoshikawa.

When the play ended and they withdrew to the teahouse, Oen feared she might encounter Mrs.Yoshikawa there again.
But she also felt like meeting her to probe a bit deeper.
Amidst the bustling rush to depart, though she had resigned herself from the start that no such opportunity would arise in such circumstances, that curiosity nonetheless kept poking its head out from beneath her desire to avoid meeting.

Fortunately, the teahouse was different.
Nowhere could the Yoshikawas be seen.
While fastening a heavy-looking double-layered wrap with fur on the collar, Okamoto glanced back at Oen slipping her arms into her coat.

“Why don’t you come stay at our house tonight?”

“Oh, thank you...”

Having given a noncommittal response that neither confirmed nor denied she would stay over, Oen smiled as she looked at her aunt.
Her aunt then looked at her uncle with an expression that seemed to say, “I’m appalled by how carefree you can be.”
Whether he failed to notice this or was simply indifferent even if he had noticed, he repeated the same thing again in a more serious tone than before.

“If you’re staying over, then stay properly.”
“No need for formalities.”

“Even if I did stay over—you realize at our house there’s only the maid alone waiting for this child’s return?”
“It’s simply impossible.”

“Ah, I see. That makes sense.”
“A single maid hardly makes for proper security.”

Her uncle, who had adopted an air of saying, “Well then, perhaps it’s best to drop the matter,” had of course been indifferent from the start and had merely brought it up as a passing consideration.

“Even someone like me hasn’t stayed over a single night since marrying Tsuda.”

“Oh—is that so? That’s truly the pinnacle of commendable uprightness.”

“Oh, how dreadful! Even Yushu hasn’t stayed out overnight a single time!”

“No—that’s quite all right. The two of you as a married couple being so proper—”

“Nothing could bring me greater delight.”

Tsugiko, who had added in a small voice the actor’s line she had just heard, turned slightly red after saying this, as if surprised by her own boldness.
Her uncle deliberately raised his voice.

“What was that?”

Tsugiko, feeling awkward, pretended not to hear and walked quickly toward the entrance.
Everyone followed after her and went out to the front.

When getting into the carriage, her uncle said to Oen.

“If you can’t stay at your place, then don’t—but instead come over sometime soon, within the next two or three days. There’s something I need to ask you.”

“Since I also have something I need to ask you, Uncle, I’ll definitely come by today as thanks.”
“If it works out, I might even come by tomorrow—would that suit you?”

“All right.”

The four-person carriage started off at this English signal.

57

Okamoto’s residence, lying in nearly the same direction as Tsuda’s house though somewhat farther away, allowed Oen’s rubber-wheeled rickshaw—following behind the other three—to travel together with them as far as the familiar corner where the alley turned.
When parting there, she called out from beneath the hood to those ahead.
Yet before she could discern whether her voice had reached them, her rickshaw had already crossed the tram thoroughfare.

In the stillness of the alleyway, a sudden loneliness struck her heart.
With a faint yet unmoored feeling—as if something that had been circling within the group had unwittingly lost its rhythm and been cast out alone beyond the circle—she ascended her house’s entrance steps.

The maid did not come out despite hearing the lattice door.
In the tearoom, only the electric light shone brightly; even the iron kettle failed to produce its usual comforting sound.
Surveying the unchanged room with eyes different from those of that morning,
a faint chill began to enfold her fragile mood.
When that moment passed and mere loneliness began tipping into unease—as she moved to cast her revelry-weary body before the long brazier—she suddenly turned toward the kitchen entrance and called the maid’s name: “O-toki! O-toki!”
Simultaneously, she opened the door to the maid’s room adjoining the kitchen.

In the center of the two-mat room, O-toki had spread out her sewing and lain face down on it when she suddenly lifted her head.
The moment she saw Oen, she abruptly stood up and replied "Yes" in a clear voice.
At the same time, because she had lowered the lampshade for her sewing work, her loosely tied hair bun struck it, causing the bulb to swing wildly in an unexpected direction, which only flustered her further.

Oen did not laugh.
She did not feel like scolding her.
Not even a comparison between herself and others—what she would do in such a situation—crossed her mind.
To her now, even the drowsy O-toki being there was a comfort.

“Go close the entrance and get to bed. The latch for sneaking in—I’ve already locked it.”

Having sent the maid to bed first, Oen sat down again before the brazier without changing clothes.
She mechanically stirred the ashes and added fresh charcoal to the dying embers.
She then boiled water as if it were an indispensable requirement for a household.
Yet to the sound of the iron kettle boiling late into the night—to her chest as she sat alone with ears pricked—a sense of loneliness pressed in from nowhere, welling up even more intensely than when she had first returned.
Compared to the loneliness she usually felt when growing weary of waiting for her perpetually late husband to return home, this was of an entirely different magnitude—so much so that Oen found herself gazing longingly in her mind’s eye at the figure of her husband lying in the hospital.

"It's because you aren't here after all."

She spoke these words to the image of her husband she had conjured in her mind.
Then she resolved that tomorrow, before anything else, she must first visit the hospital.
Yet in the next instant, Oen's chest was no longer pressed tightly against her husband's.
Something had come between them.
The more she tried to draw closer from her side, the more this obstruction jabbed at her chest.
Moreover, her husband remained utterly composed.
Even she, grown half-stubborn, found herself wanting to say "Very well then!" and turn her back on him.

Having reached this point, her imagination had to shift abruptly to Mrs. Yoshikawa. As she had thought at the theater earlier, she felt strongly that had she not met that Mrs. Yoshikawa tonight, she might have avoided feeling so displeased toward her beloved husband.

In the end, she wanted to unburden her heart to someone somewhere. Thinking to continue writing the letter to her parents that she had begun drafting the previous night, she took up her brush—yet no matter how long she sat there, she found herself unable to commit anything beyond assurances of their harmonious married life to the scroll paper. That was the message she had always wanted to convey to her parents. But tonight, those words alone felt woefully insufficient. Exhausted from trying to organize her thoughts, she finally threw down her brush. Leaving even her kimono discarded there, she finally climbed into bed. The lingering theater scenes that had filled her vision for so long now fragmented into vivid streaks of color, flickering through her agitated mind until she lay there like one tormented, unable to fall asleep no matter how long she waited.

58

She heard one o'clock from her pillow.
She heard two o'clock as well.
Then she awoke to morning light of an uncertain hour.
The light streaming through gaps in the wooden shutters made clear she had overslept even more than usual.

She saw by that light the clothes from the previous evening scattered by her pillow. The overcoat, undergarments, and nagajuban lay piled together—slipped off and left as they were—collapsed upon the tatami mats, so that there remained only a disorderly mass of colors there: inside-out and upside-down, all chaotically intermingled at once. From beneath that mass of colors protruded the narrow folded edge of a gold-threaded hinoki fan-patterned obi extending to within her reach.

She gazed at this chaotic state with somewhat exasperated eyes. When she thought this was her own conduct—she who had long strived to cultivate meticulousness as one of a woman’s virtues—she even felt a somewhat sordid emotion. Since marrying Tsuda, she had never once shown such disarray to her husband, and upon seeing that he was not now sleeping in the same room as her, she let out a sigh of relief.

The disarray extended beyond just the state of her clothes.
Had her husband not been hospitalized and remained home as usual, she thought, no matter how late she stayed up, she would never have permitted herself to sleep this late with such abandon. Failing to spring up the moment she awoke, she found herself unable to avoid condemning this indolent version of herself.

Yet still she lingered in bed.
Whether seeking to atone for last night's unsuccessful outcome or simply seizing the opportunity presented by O-toki's footsteps—already audible in the kitchen since before dawn—she remained cocooned in bedding whose warmth clung to her skin.

The pang of self-reproach she'd felt upon opening her eyes gradually subsided.
She began to think that even as a woman, doing this once or twice a year couldn’t be so terrible.
Her joints relaxed their tension.
In an uncharacteristically carefree mood, she relished this newfound freedom—her first taste of such liberty since marrying.
When it struck her that this too owed itself to her husband’s absence, she nearly felt inclined to bless her present solitary state.
Yet what astonished her most was how this constriction—something she’d coexisted with daily yet never truly acknowledged—now weighed upon her as an unexpectedly heavy burden.
This spontaneous awakening, however, proved fleeting.
By the time she rose from bed—those newly liberated eyes now mocking last night’s fretful self—an altogether different disposition had taken hold.

As a housewife, she neatly completed her usual obligations though belatedly.
Since Tsuda wasn’t there, she took advantage of the steps she could save and folded her own clothes without troubling the maid.
After making light preparations and going straight out, she entered the new public telephone booth about half a block down the street without any detours.

She made separate telephone calls to three people there.
Of those three people, the first to be chosen was none other than Tsuda.
However, news of him—lying supine and unable to come to the telephone himself—could only be heard indirectly through an intermediary’s words.
Her expectation that there should be no particular abnormality was not wrong.
After hearing a nurse’s voice assure her, “Everything is proceeding normally; there’s been no change,” she had them ask whether it would be acceptable not to visit him today—to gauge how much Tsuda might be waiting for her.
Then Tsuda asked why through the nurse’s renewed inquiry.
Unable to hear her husband’s voice or see his face, Oen tilted her head at the telephone receiver, struggling to decide.
In such situations, he was not the sort of man to explicitly ask her to come.
Yet he was precisely the sort who would grow displeased if she did not go.
But if she went, would he be pleased? Not exactly.
He would let Oen fumble her kindness, then assume an aloof expression as if that were a woman’s duty.
Having suddenly thought this, she inadvertently revealed over the telephone a certain emotion toward her husband—one she believed she had absorbed from Mrs.Yoshikawa the previous evening.

“Please tell him I have to go to the Okamotos today, so I won’t be coming there.”

After hanging up on the hospital, she immediately called the Okamotos to inquire whether it would be acceptable to visit now.
Then to Tsuda's sister, whom she had contacted last, she simply relayed a brief update about his condition before returning home.

59

Having O-toki serve her as she sat down to a midday meal serving as breakfast was, for Oen, her first such experience since marrying.
The change arising from Tsuda’s absence instilled in her a renewed queenly feeling, while the freedom she had grasped greedily against daily habits now imprisoned her all the more.
Despite her body’s slow movements, her restless mind compelled her to speak to O-toki.

“It feels so strange without the master here.”
“Oh, how very lonesome it must be for you.”

Oen still had not said enough.

"This is the first time I've overslept like this."

"Yes, but since you're always up so early, having breakfast and lunch together just this once should be perfectly all right."

"Just because the master isn't here, don't go thinking everything's immediately like that."

"Who would that be?"

"You are..."

"That's absurd!"

O-toki's exaggeratedly loud voice appealed to Oen's sensibilities far more than an inept conversationalist ever could.
She fell silent at once.

About thirty minutes later, when Oen, having put on the formal geta that O-toki had neatly arranged in the shoe cupboard, went out again, she looked back at O-toki, who had come to see her off at the entrance.

“Make sure you’re careful. If you doze off like last evening, it’ll leave us vulnerable.”

“Will you be returning late again tonight?”

Oen hadn’t considered her return time at all.

“I don’t intend to stay that late.”

Somewhere in her heart bloomed a desire to savor this rare freedom from her husband’s presence by lingering at the Okamotos’.

“I’ll come back as soon as I possibly can.”

With this parting remark, she stepped into the street and turned unhesitatingly toward her appointed destination.

The Okamotos’ residence was located in roughly the same direction as Fujii’s house, so she was able to take the usual riverside tram part of the way. Oen got off at a stop one or two stations before the terminus, crossed the small wooden bridge that spanned there, and walked a short distance along the street on the other side. This was the very street where Tsuda and Kobayashi had walked a few nights earlier—having come out of a bar, their differing circumstances and personalities giving rise to tangled emotions—as they discussed matters like going to Korea and Miss Okan. Having never been told about this by Tsuda, she had no need to imagine their circumstances. After mindlessly heading in the opposite direction from them, she came to the long, narrow slope she necessarily had to climb to reach her uncle’s house. Then, by chance, Tsugiko called out to her from the opposite direction.

“About yesterday...”

“Where are you going?”

“Lessons.”

This cousin, who had graduated from girls’ school the previous year, spent her free time dabbling in various pursuits. Knowing that person’s habit of trying her hand at everything—piano, tea ceremony, flower arrangement, watercolor painting, cooking—Oen couldn’t help wanting to laugh when she heard the word “lessons.”

“What kind of lessons?”
“Toe dance?”

They were on such intimate terms that they could exchange this kind of backstage banter. However, from Oen’s perspective, this banter—which might not have been without some sarcasm toward the other’s circumstances, so much more comfortable than her own—seemed to convey no satirical resonance whatsoever to the person in question.

“No way!”

She simply said this and laughed cheerfully. And so, even the sharp-witted Oen could not help but acknowledge that her laughter was innocence itself. However, she ultimately did not tell Oen where she was going or what kind of lessons she was taking.

“I won’t tell you because you’ll just tease me.”

“Have you started something new again?”

“Since I’m so greedy anyway, who knows what I’ll take up next.”

That Tsugiko had earned the nickname “Greedy” for her many pursuits was an open secret in her household.
This unflattering moniker—first given by her younger sister and swiftly spreading through the family—had lately come to be used with casual defiance by the girl herself.

“Do wait now. I’ll be back shortly.”
“I’ll be back shortly.”

As Oen glanced back at Tsugiko’s retreating figure descending the slope with light, brisk steps, that familiar amalgam of respect and contempt—kneaded together in her breast—stirred once more.

Sixty

When Oen arrived at the Okamoto residence, she once again chanced upon her uncle standing before the entrance.
Without wearing a haori jacket, his heko obi sash dangling loosely with hands clasped behind his back where it was knotted, he had been talking intently with a gardener working a hoe nearby—but the moment he saw Oen, he immediately called out to her from across the way.

“You’re here. I’m just tidying up the garden.”

Next to the gardener lay a large akebia vine, still coiled up and dumped on the ground.

“We’re trying to train that one over the gate at the garden entrance right now. Should look rather nice, don’t you think?”

Oen compared the adze-finished pillars and log lintel supporting the thatched gate positioned midway along the woven bamboo fence.

“Oh. Did you pull out the one that was by the latticed fence and bring it here?”

“Yeah. In exchange for that, I had an ornamental-edged latticed fence constructed over there.”

Lately, having found himself with free time and having built a residence according to his own design, this uncle’s architectural vocabulary had suddenly multiplied. To that latticed fence—something she couldn’t possibly comprehend just from hearing the term—Oen had no choice but to respond with a simple “Oh.”

“It must be good exercise after meals.”
“I’m starving.”
“This is no joke—Uncle hasn’t even had lunch yet.”

The uncle, who had pulled Oen along and gone out of his way to lead her from the garden into the sitting room, called out loudly to his aunt, "Sumi! Sumi!"

"I'm starving—hurry up with the meal!"

"That's why you should've eaten earlier with everyone."

"Yet the world doesn't cater to one's convenience like that, you understand?"
"Do you not comprehend there's a proper sequence to things?"

The aunt maintained her composure toward her husband reaping his own consequences, while the uncle's manner remained characteristically unchanged.
Oen, feeling as though breathing in the air of her hometown after so long, found herself mentally comparing this elderly pair before her eyes with themselves—married less than a year, standing at the very threshold of their new life together.
Was it inevitable they too would become like this if they simply endured the years? Or might their differing natures force their positions toward each other to shift endlessly, no matter how long they coexisted? For young Oen, this formed a quandary no wisdom or imagination could unravel.
Oen felt no satisfaction with Tsuda as he was now.
Yet she couldn't envision her future self becoming as drained of vitality as this aunt.
If this indeed lay as her inevitable fate—she who strove to preserve her present radiance forever—then someday she must suffer this cruel blow.
To the young woman, it appeared nothing less than a dreadful existence—to linger in this world as a woman after having shed every feminine quality.

The uncle, who could never have dreamed that such distant thoughts were welling up in this young wife's heart, sat cross-legged before the meal tray set before him and looked at her.

"Hey, what're you spacing out for? You're completely lost in thought there."

Oen answered immediately.

“It’s been a while—let me serve you for a change.”

Unfortunately, the rice tub wasn’t there, so when she started to rise from her seat, her aunt stopped her.

“Even if you want to serve, it’s toast, so you can’t.”

The maid brought golden-brown toasted bread on a plate.

“Oen, your uncle’s become a pitiful sight. Born in Japan yet unable to eat rice—how tragic is that?”

The uncle with diabetes had been strictly prohibited by his primary physician from consuming starchy substances beyond the established amount.

“So here I am, eating nothing but tofu.”

On Uncle’s meal tray lay an amount of white tofu—still raw—that no single person could possibly finish alone.

When Oen saw her uncle’s swollen, corpulent face deliberately twisted into a pitiful expression, far from feeling sympathy for him, she rather found herself wanting to laugh.

“A little fasting might do you good. Living as fat as you are, Uncle—it must be agony for anyone.”

Uncle glanced at Aunt.

“Oen was always sharp-tongued, but she seems to have become even more adept since getting married.”

Sixty-One

Having grown up under his care from a young age, Oen understood this uncle’s peculiarities—manifesting from various angles—better than anyone else.

For him—a nervous man mismatched with his corpulent frame—there existed a habit of sometimes entering his room and remaining silent for half a day without uttering a word, yet conversely, an affected mannerism where upon seeing another face he couldn’t endure even a moment without chattering about something. This arose more from interpersonal consideration—a desire not to make others uncomfortable—than from excess energy needing outlet, or else from avoiding the awkwardness of sitting idle before guests. Thus in his non-business conversations lay an engaging focal point born of habitual mindset.

This social skill—which seemed to contribute greatly to his success and proved extremely advantageous—often radiated even brighter brilliance through his heaven-bestowed humor. This had somehow transferred itself to Oen’s tongue during her childhood by his side.

By now, engaging in light banter with him when in good spirits—making him her verbal sparring partner—had become second nature requiring no effort. Yet after marrying Tsuda, she immediately altered this attitude.

Still, the biting remarks she’d initially restrained out of prudence failed to emerge even after two months—three months passed and still they didn’t come. She ultimately became a different person from her Okamoto-era self when facing her husband.

She felt dissatisfied.

Simultaneously she couldn’t shake the sense of deceiving him.

When occasionally visiting and seeing her unchanged uncle, something there reminded her of past freedoms.

She gazed nostalgically at his jovial face—cross-legged before raw tofu like a relic of bygone days.

"But my sharp tongue is your doing, isn't it? I don't recall learning that from Tsuda!"

"Hmph, that ain't how it is."

The uncle, who had deliberately used Edo dialect, glanced at his wife—the aunt who abhorred such language as though it should never enter their home. Knowing full well that scolding him would only fuel his mischief, Aunt feigned ignorance and refused to engage. Like someone whose arrow had missed its mark, Uncle turned back to Oen.

“Is Yushu-san really such a strict person?”

Oen did not respond and merely smirked.

“Hah! Look at you laughin’—so you really are happy after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“What’cha mean ‘what’? Quit playin’ dumb—I know you get it. But really now—is Yushu-san such a strict man?”

“I’m not sure I really understand. Why ask me so solemnly all of a sudden?”

“I have my own considerations here—depending on your response.”

“Oh, how terrifying! Then I’ll just say it!”
“Yushu is exactly as you imagine—a strict man.”
“So what?”

“Really?”

“Yes.
You’re being quite stubborn too, Uncle.”

“Well then, I’ll state my conclusion plainly. If Mr. Yushu is truly as strict as you claim—” “Then he’s completely unsuited for someone as skilled at cutting remarks as you.”

As he spoke, Uncle jerked his chin in a nod toward Aunt, who sat there silently.

“Now this aunt here—she might’ve been tailor-made for him.”

A lonely feeling, like a wind from afar, suddenly brushed Oen’s chest.
She was startled to find herself caught in a sorrowful mood.

“Uncle, you always seem so carefree—how nice for you.”

For Oen’s heart to have been too vulnerable to simply laugh off her uncle’s jest—a teasing remark half in mockery, premised on the assumption that she and Tsuda were an overly affectionate couple—as mere nonsense born of casual amusement.
Yet she, intent on concealing those vulnerabilities and presenting herself before others as a wife with a husband who lacked nothing, had no freedom to reveal anything she truly felt in front of Uncle.
Just as tears were about to well up in her eyes, she masked them with a blink.

“No matter how perfectly things are arranged, once you’ve aged this much, there’s no helping it. Don’t you agree, Oen?”

When Aunt—who looked younger than her years wherever she went—turned her moist, glossy eyes toward Oen as she spoke, Oen said nothing.
But she did not forget to seize the first opportunity to conceal her own emotions.
She simply laughed with feigned amusement.

62

Oen, who in her heart preferred her uncle by marriage over her blood-related aunt, always maintained the belief—as its due reward—that she too was specially cherished by this uncle.
Endowed with a flexibility born of youth, she—who deftly grasped his disposition that blended wit with innate nervous intensity, and executed her dual-facing conduct precisely to his expectations without deviation—could please her uncle and satisfy herself with nearly painless ease.
She, convinced that Uncle kept his appreciative gaze fixed on her comportment, even found herself at times wondering why Aunt’s bones—so devoid of adaptability—remained so unyielding.

Having cultivated all her understanding of handling men exclusively through her uncle's tutelage, she had believed that wherever she married, directly applying those methods to her husband would inevitably succeed.
When she first joined lives with Tsuda and sensed an unfamiliar dynamic at play, she observed this unprecedented experience in her life with a gaze of dawning comprehension.
Her efforts frequently confronted situations demanding either molding her new husband into someone resembling her uncle or reshaping her already-formed self to accommodate this new husband.
Her love resided with Tsuda.
Yet her sympathies flowed more readily toward men patterned after her uncle.
At such moments, she often caught herself thinking how Uncle would have delighted in this.
Then instinct compelled her to divulge every detail to him.
Too obstinate to disobey this impulse yet equally unable to confess what she'd endured until now, she remained suspended between compulsions.

Having thus deceived her uncle and aunt, Oen remained confident they were being fooled for her sake without a single concern.
At the same time, her sensitive nature made her keenly aware that her uncle too harbored a secret about Tsuda—one he longed to confide but could not—roughly equivalent to her own.
If Oen were to articulate her uncle’s innermost thoughts laid bare before her, she would declare he had never approved of Tsuda as her precious husband.
That this stemmed from a temperamental divide between the two men was an assumption not difficult to imagine, even without direct comparison.
At the very least, Oen had recognized this soon after marrying.
Yet she still possessed further evidence.
This uncle—seemingly rough yet meticulous in one aspect, outwardly indifferent yet keenly perceptive, his words cold yet his heart kind—had seemingly harbored an intuitive dislike for Tsuda from their very first meeting.
When behind his question “Do you like that sort of man?” she detected the echoing implication—“Then you must have disliked someone like me”—Oen caught her breath.
Yet by the time she countered with “And your opinion, Uncle?” he had already moved past that ambiguous threshold.

“Come along. If you’re willing to go yourself, there’s no need to hold back on anyone’s account,” he said kindly.

Oen still had one more piece of material left.
Through her aunt’s words, she had been able to hear her uncle’s more explicit criticism of Tsuda—criticism he had never voiced directly to her.

“Doesn’t that man have the sort of face that makes it seem like every woman in Japan must fall for him?”

Strangely, this remark held no surprise for Oen.
She held the conviction that she could love Tsuda with all her might.
At the same time, she felt both the expectation and reassurance that Tsuda could love her just as fully.
The notion that Uncle had begun his usual sarcastic remarks came first to her mind, so she laughed aloud.
Interpreting these jabs privately as springing from jealousy, she grew smug.
Aunt chimed in supportively: “I’ve already forgotten the vanity of my youth,”…

Sitting before her uncle, Oen could not help but recall such a past behind her. Then, as the wife of “strict” Tsuda, she even began to feel that within her uncle’s trivial jests about whether she was suited to him or not, there might lurk some serious meaning.

“Didn’t I tell you?”
“If there are none, then it’s fortunate.”
“But if by any chance something does come up—or even if nothing does now—should anything pop up later, you mustn’t hesitate to lay it all out.”

Oen even detected such words of affection in her uncle’s eyes.

63

Having disguised her sentimental mood with laughter, she promptly broached the topic she had brought up before her uncle and aunt to escape that pain.

“What exactly was the meaning of yesterday’s matter?”

She had to ask Uncle for an explanation as promised.
Then the uncle who was supposed to give a reply instead countered with a question.

“What do you think?”

Uncle, who had particularly emphasized the word “you,” fixed her with a gaze that seemed to read even her innermost thoughts.

“I don’t know.”
“Even if you ask such a thing out of the blue…”
“Say, Aunt.”

The aunt smirked.

“Uncle’s meaning here—well, a scatterbrain like me can’t grasp it, but Oen will surely understand. He says that one’s more quick-witted than you.”

Oen could do nothing but force a wry smile.
In her mind, there was of course a vague conjecture.
But her education was not so careless as to make her act clever and divulge it without being compelled.

"There’s no way even I could understand."

"Well, take a guess."
"You should have a rough idea."

Having discerned her uncle's clear intent to make her speak first, she finally voiced her conjecture after two or three exchanges of verbal sparring.

“It’s not an arranged meeting.”

“Why? — Does it look that way to you?”

Before Oen could nod in agreement to her conjecture, the counterquestions from her uncle continued one after another.
Finally, he burst into loud laughter.

“Got it, got it! As expected, you’re more clever than Osumi.”

Over such a trivial matter, Osumi and Oen mocked and coldly criticized the carefree uncle for casually ranking them against each other.

“You know, Aunt, even you would have a rough idea about something like that.”

“Even if you were honored with such praise, I doubt you’d find it particularly gratifying.”

“Well, I’m not the least bit thankful for that.”

In Oen’s mind, Mrs. Yoshikawa’s mediation—which had skillfully orchestrated the gathering—was once again vividly depicted.

“I just had a feeling it was something like that.”
“That Mrs. Yoshikawa has been going to great lengths, constantly trying to highlight Ms. Tsugiko and that Mr. Miyoshi.”

“But when it comes to Tsugiko, there are countless things that just don’t shine.”
“If you try to highlight her, she only retreats further—like a cat in a paper bag.”
“Compared to that, someone like you, Oen, is undeniably better off.”
“At least you’re suited to the times.”

“It’s because I’m being so brazen, isn’t it?”
“I can’t tell whether I’m being praised or criticized here.”
“When I see someone as quiet as Ms. Tsugiko, I can’t help but wish I could be like that.”

Having given this response, Oen looked upon last evening’s gathering—where she had not been given the opportunity to demonstrate what her uncle called her “modern suitability,” and which from her perspective had rather ended ineffectually—with eyes full of displeasure and dissatisfaction.

“Why was I even needed at that gathering?”

“Aren’t you Ms. Tsugiko’s cousin?”

If kinship alone were the sole reason, many others besides Oen should have attended from their side.
Moreover, only the prospective groom himself had appeared on the other side—with none present to represent his family except the Yoshikawa couple who made the introduction.

“Doesn’t this feel rather odd?”
“So even if Tsuda hadn’t fallen ill, we relatives would’ve been duty-bound to attend regardless—is that how it works?”

“That’s a separate matter.”
“There’s another meaning to it.”

Within Uncle’s objectives lay goodwill: to use last evening’s opportunity to have Tsuda and Oen approach the Yoshikawa couple even once more.
When she heard this stated plainly from her uncle’s lips, Oen felt his temperament—exactly as she had always perceived it—was manifest here. While implicitly appreciating his kindness, she resented why he hadn’t steered things to let her grow closer to Mrs. Yoshikawa.
He had indeed seated them at the same table to bring them closer, but as for the peculiar psychological effect that the result might worsen things compared to before they couldn’t get close—her uncle seemed utterly unaware of it.
No matter how thorough she was, men would still be men—Oen felt compelled to criticize.
However, afterward arose a sigh-laden sense of forgiveness: since those involved didn’t know the subtle relationship between Mrs. Yoshikawa and herself, no matter who intervened, ultimately nothing could be done, so it couldn’t be helped.

64

Oen left that issue there and tried to address the remaining points that still didn’t sit right with her.

“So that was the implication.
“I suppose I should be grateful to you, Uncle.
“But there’s still something else, isn’t there?”

“There may be another reason, but even if there isn’t, simply that alone would be reason enough to have called you there.”

“Well, there is one.”

Oen had to answer like this. However, she thought the way he had pressed the invitation was rather too forceful considering the circumstances. Uncle had indeed been concealing an ulterior motive all along.

“The truth is, I wanted you to evaluate the prospective groom,” he said. “You’ve got a sharp eye for judging people—that’s why I’m asking your opinion. What do you think of him as Tsugiko’s future husband?”

Judging from her uncle’s usual manner, Oen found herself momentarily uncertain how much of this consultation was sincere.

“Well, what an important duty I’ve been entrusted with.”
“What an immense honor.”

As she said this with a laugh and glanced at her aunt sitting beside her, Oen found her aunt’s demeanor unexpectedly composed and quickly adjusted her tone.

“For someone like me to assess someone—how presumptuous.”
“Besides, just sitting together like that for an hour—nobody could possibly understand anything.”
“You’d need to be clairvoyant.”

“But you do have a touch of clairvoyance about you.”
“That’s why everyone wants your opinion.”

“I hate being coldly judged like that.”

Oen deliberately pretended not to engage with her uncle.
Yet deep within, she savored a peculiar pleasure of self-flattery.
This was nothing but pride born from her perception that others truly viewed her this way.
But it was also something destined to be shattered by the glaring reality that plunged her into despair.
She found herself compelled to recall her husband as a counterexample on its reverse side.
The confidence she’d held before marriage—believing she could discern his nature better than any clairvoyant—had since their wedding become stained with traces of misjudgments and errors, like dark spots marring a bright sun.
Finally beginning to bow before the daunting truth—that her intuition about her husband might require correction through long years of experience—she was no longer young enough to be easily goaded into reckless compliance by her uncle’s provocations.

“People can’t actually understand others unless they observe their social interactions, Uncle.”

“That much anyone knows without learning from you.”

“Exactly! That’s why—”
“There’s no way I can say anything after just one meeting!”

“That’s men’s talk.”
“Women will speak up after a single glance, won’t they?”
“And you ladies always find clever things to say.”
“Just try saying something—it’s only for your uncle’s reference.”
“I won’t hold you responsible, so don’t fret.”

"But it's impossible! Like some kind of prophet," Oen protested. "Don't you agree, Aunt?"

Aunt neither supported Oen as usual nor sided with Uncle. While refraining from pressuring her niece to prophesy, she equally avoided demanding her husband's forceful insistence. When it concerned material to critique the prospective husband of their beloved eldest daughter being married off for the first time—no matter how trivial—she seemed to deem it worthy of attention. Oen had no choice but to offer a few noncommittal remarks.

“He seems quite impressive, doesn’t he? And yet, despite his youth, he appears remarkably calm and composed...”

After waiting for her to continue, Uncle—since Oen said nothing—asked again as if prompting.

“Is that all?”

“But I was made to sit next to him with one house in between—I hardly got a proper look at his face!”

“It might have been a mistake to seat a prophet there. Isn’t there something more? Not just such ordinary observations—something that showcases your unique insight. A single remark that hits right on the mark…”

“It’s difficult, isn’t it?—After all, once isn’t enough.”

“But what if you had to say something based on just one meeting?”
“You could say something, couldn’t you?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t?”
“Then your intuition has stopped being useful lately?”

“Yes—ever since I married, my intuition’s been gradually worn down.”
“These days it’s not intuition—just a blunted sense.”

Sixty-five

While Oen was engaged in this drawn-out verbal sparring at the surface level, another train of thought flowed ceaselessly in parallel through her mind.

She had never doubted that her uncle recognized her and Tsuda as exemplars of marital harmony.
Yet she knew full well that this uncle—who had disliked Tsuda from their very first meeting—would never revise his opinion of him.
Therefore, she had always believed he must be watching her and Tsuda's apparently affectionate relationship with perpetually puzzled eyes.
To rephrase it, behind the question of how a woman like Oen could possibly love Tsuda, her uncle had persistently maintained confidence in his own prescience.
The conviction that it was not he who had misjudged people, but rather Oen herself, seemed to have settled in the lower strata of his heart—awaiting its moment to sway outward.

"Yet why was Uncle so insistently trying to hear her own evaluation of Miyoshi?"

Oen could not comprehend.
For her—who now seemed implicitly targeted by her uncle as someone who had misjudged her own husband—to disregard that awareness and readily comply with his demand was something she lacked the courage to do.
With no alternative, she finally fell silent.
Yet to Uncle, who had grown accustomed over years to her unreserved nature, this silence appeared nothing short of a near-miraculous phenomenon. He turned from Oen toward Aunt.

“This child seems to have changed a bit since getting married,” said Uncle. “Grown quite timid. Must be her husband’s influence, I suppose. Strange business, isn’t it?”

“It’s because you tease her too much,” Aunt countered. “When you badger someone—‘Speak up! Speak up!’—of course anyone would be flustered.”

Aunt’s attitude leaned more toward protecting Oen than reprimanding Uncle.
However, her heart was too filled with her own reflections for her to take joy in that.

“But first of all, this isn’t about Ms. Tsugiko’s problem.”
“I think it’s entirely up to Ms. Tsugiko’s own decision—it’s not as if someone like me should be meddling where I don’t belong.”

Oen could not help but recall the time when she had chosen her own husband.
She who had found Tsuda immediately loved him.
She who loved him immediately confided her desire to marry him to her guardians.
And with that approval, she immediately married him.
From beginning to end, she had always been her own protagonist.
She had also been the one responsible.
She had never once disregarded her own judgment and sought to rely on others’ opinions.

“What on earth does Ms. Tsugiko have to say about this?”

“She doesn’t say anything.”
“She’s even more timid than you, you know.”

“If the person in question is like that, then there’s nothing to be done, don’t you think?”

“Yeah—with that kind of timidity, there’s really nothing to be done.”

“It’s not timidity—she’s just meek, I tell you.”

“Either way, it can’t be helped—she isn’t saying anything.”
“Or perhaps she can’t say anything at all—there’s no grounds for it.”

The deep question lying in Oen's heart was whether anything resembling a marital relationship could truly take root between two people bound together so haphazardly. "Even my own marriage turned out this way"—the thought flashed through her mind. Unable to see the situation through the perspective that "my own marriage wasn't much different after all," she could only stare fixedly straight ahead. What she felt was less absurdity than dread. She even found herself thinking what an easygoing person he was.

“Uncle,” she called out, widening her narrow eyes at him in exasperation.

“It’s no good.
She’s had no intention of saying anything from the very start.
Originally, that’s why we had you be present—to tell you the truth.”

“But what good would it do for me to be there?”

“Anyway, Tsugiko insisted that we do it that way.
In other words, she thinks you’re far more clever than she is.
And even if she herself doesn’t understand something, she’s convinced you’ll explain it all to her afterward.”

"If you had told me that from the start, I would have gone along with it willingly."

"But then she says she objects to that."
"She absolutely insists you keep quiet about it."

"Why is that?"

Oen turned slightly toward her aunt.
"It’s because she’s embarrassed," answered Aunt, but Uncle cut her off.

"No—it’s not merely embarrassment."
"If there’s a preconceived notion, you can’t give fair criticism—that’s her main point."
"In other words, she probably wants to have you share your first impression gained impartially."

Oen understood for the first time the meaning being forced upon her by Uncle.

66

From Oen’s perspective, Tsugiko occupied a special position. In terms of considering their interests, she fell short of Aunt. When it came to compatibility with her, she was far more distant than even Uncle. Instead, she possessed advantageous connections arising from similarity in age, alongside affinity rooted in blood ties and attraction stemming from being of the opposite sex.

When facing the various issues that commonly stir young women’s hearts and widening her eyes—brimming with interest—she naturally had to draw closer to Tsugiko than to her uncle or aunt. In such situations, by nature, she was always Tsugiko’s superior. Judging by experience, she was unquestionably Tsugiko’s senior. At the very least, she knew full well that Tsugiko regarded her as being a step above.

This little admirer had a habit of taking everything Oen said at face value.
From Oen's own perspective, during their long time living together under one roof, out of her vainglorious desire to demonstrate her superiority, she had unwittingly shaped this pliable cousin into such a state.

“A woman must discern a man at a glance.”

She had once said this and startled the innocent Tsugiko.
She faced Tsugiko as one who possessed within herself the keen discernment sufficient to accomplish precisely that.
And when Tsugiko’s astonishment transformed from envy into admiration—nearing the brink of worship—the mutual romantic affair that had arisen between Tsuda and her, which should have actualized her confidence, blazed up before Tsugiko like a mystical flame.
Her words had finally become nothing less than eternal truth to Tsugiko.
She who carried herself with confidence before society at large had to be especially confident when facing Tsugiko.

The Tsuda that Oen perceived was immediately transmitted to Tsugiko.
Having no opportunities for daily contact herself, Tsugiko supplemented all unknown aspects extending beyond her own eyes and ears with indirect knowledge from Oen, effortlessly constructing an idealized image of Tsuda.

Now that over half a year had passed since their marriage, Oen's conception of Tsuda had shifted.
Yet Tsugiko's view of him remained utterly unchanged.
She persisted in believing Oen unconditionally.
Oen was not one to recant her former declarations now.
As one of those rare blessed souls who had attained celestial happiness through prophetic insight, she paraded herself before Tsugiko.

Oen, compelled to bring forth this relationship carried over from the past onto memory's stage and position herself before this incident, found it more unpleasant than painful. For it seemed everyone had ganged up to indirectly pressure her into confessing the weaknesses she had been papering over until now. This "I"—because the other party appeared to be acting even more maliciously than this self.

"As for my own faults," she thought, "it's enough that I alone suffer for them."

Within her, she had habitually stored up such excuses for herself.
Yet these were things she could not hurl at her uncle and aunt and Tsugiko, who knew nothing of the matter.
If she were to hurl them anywhere, she had no choice but to direct her reproach toward heaven—the very heaven that had unwittingly incited those three to inadvertently strike at her.

Having had the meal tray cleared away and begun gulping down the freshly brewed tea his wife had brought, Uncle had no reason to suspect that such tangled coils of resentment were writhing within Oen’s heart.
While surveying the newly created flat garden, he exchanged a few words with Aunt about the arrangement of trees and stones he had designed, his expression refreshed.

“Next year I plan to plant a maple tree right beside that pine over there. Somehow from this vantage point, that spot alone looks like there’s a gaping hole—it’s rather odd.”

Oen absentmindedly looked in the direction her uncle was pointing.
The soil along the wall bordering the neighboring property had been deliberately piled high, and there, where a small moso bamboo thicket grew densely, the roots around it were sparsely spaced just as Uncle had said.
She, who had been wanting to change the subject since earlier and waiting for an opportunity in the shadows, quickly seized her chance.

“True. If we don’t fill in that spot, it’ll look like someone went out of their way to make a thicket there—how odd.”

The conversation flowed into another channel, just as she had expected.
However, when it returned once more to its original path, it now had to traverse a steeper incline than before.

67

It was when Uncle, having been summoned by the gardener who regularly tended to their property and had been working with a hoe at the front entrance, excused himself for a moment before returning to the sitting room from the garden entrance.

The conversation between Aunt and Oen—which had begun with talk of Yuriko and Issan still not having returned from school—was once again inadvertently veering toward Tsugiko.

“Yokubariya-san ought to be back by now—what on earth could she be doing?”

Aunt deliberately used the nickname Yokubariya-san that Yuriko had coined for Tsugiko.
Oen immediately conjured up an image of Yokubariya-san.
Within the small world permitted to her, she remained utterly willful, yet the moment she stepped beyond it, she would suddenly stiffen like a perfect model of discretion. She resembled a little bird that chirped merrily within the cage of her home—a space carefully partitioned by parental supervision—only to become utterly bewildered about how to fly or sing when someone opened the door and let her outside.

“What lesson did she go to today?”

After saying “Guess,” Aunt immediately satisfied Oen’s curiosity by bringing it from halfway up the slope. However, when she heard that the subject of these lessons was a foreign language Tsugiko had recently taken up with such fervor, she found herself astonished anew at her cousin’s voraciousness. She even wondered what on earth Tsugiko intended to achieve by dabbling in so many different things.

“Even so, when it comes to language studies alone, there’s a slightly special significance.”

Having said this, Aunt explained Tsugiko's meaning to Oen while defending her position. Since this was indirectly yet still related to the current marriage issue, Oen had to put on a commendable expression before Aunt and nod in agreement.

A woman's resolve to anticipate what her husband might favor or what would prove advantageous to know regarding his profession—and to learn such things before marriage—was undoubtedly an act of consideration toward her future spouse. Even if simply meant to please a man, it remained an advantageous strategy. But for Tsugiko, there still remained far more essential training—both as a human being and as a wife—that she had yet to undertake.

The training that had taken shape in Oen's mind did not, unfortunately, improve women. Yet it sharpened them acutely. It was undoubtedly abrasive. But it honed them with shrewd precision. She had learned those fundamentals from Aunt. Thanks to Uncle, she had refined them over time. The two of them seemed to gaze upon her—this woman they had cultivated through such methods—with eyes brimming with satisfaction.

"How could those same eyes ever find satisfaction in that Tsugiko?"

Her uncle and aunt, who had never shown even a hint of dissatisfaction toward their cousin, remained incomprehensible to Oen on this point.
If forced to interpret, one could only say they distinguished between niece and daughter in their gazes.
When such thoughts assailed her, Oen would suddenly feel bitter resentment.
These thoughts would grip her chest like sudden spasms at times.
Yet through her uncle’s open demeanor that concealed no hidden motives, and her aunt’s kindness that never lacked fairness, such feelings were always snuffed out before they could flare up.
Pressing her sleeve—invisible to others—against her face to hide her inner blush, she continued gazing at them with that same mystified look, as though their true feelings were an unsolvable riddle she’d been scrutinizing all along.

“But Ms. Tsugiko is fortunate, isn’t she? She’s not a worrier like me.”

“That girl worries far more than you do. It’s just that at home, there’s nothing to fret over—that’s why she can stay so composed.”

“But even someone like me—I think I was more anxious back when you and Aunt were caring for me.”

“That’s between you and Tsugiko…”

Oen couldn’t grasp what her aunt had meant to say when she trailed off. Before probing further into words that might imply differences in temperament, status, or circumstance, she froze—struck by a sudden palpitation as though she had collided with something previously unnoticed.

“Wasn’t I brought to yesterday’s matchmaking meeting as the less comely one to tacitly emphasize my cousin’s charms?”

When this notion—like flint striking steel—flashed through Oen’s mind, her own will pressed upon her with twice its usual force.
She finally suppressed herself.
Not a flicker of emotion crossed her face.

“Ms. Tsugiko is the lucky one—being liked by everyone.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”
“But this is just people being overly trusting.”
“Even an idiot like that…”

Uncle stepped onto the veranda just as Aunt started to say something—the two actions nearly simultaneous. He came back into the parlor with a booming voice, demanding, “What’s happened to Tsugiko?”

68

Then, a certain emotion that she had been suppressing until now surged back up in Oen’s chest.
That face—relentlessly good-humored, relentlessly vigorous, and relentlessly plump with optimism—instantly jolted Oen in that moment.

“Uncle, you’re really quite mean, aren’t you.”

She found herself blurting this out abruptly.
The tone Oen used—employing this habitual phrase they had exchanged hundreds of times until today—sounded unlike her usual self.
Her expression too held something peculiar.
Yet Uncle, who remained utterly oblivious to the tidal shifts that had been churning within Oen since earlier, now displayed an innocence wholly at odds with his customary astuteness.

“Am I really that mean?”

In his usual manner of deliberate obtuseness, he calmly packed shredded tobacco into the bowl of his pipe.

“You heard something from Auntie again while I was away, didn’t you.”

Oen remained silent.
Aunt immediately answered.

“She says she already knows full well how mean you are without having to hear it from me now.”

“Ah, I see. Oen is the intuitive type after all. That might be true. After all, you’re a woman who can tell at a glance how much money this man has on him—whether he’s tucked it into his loincloth or stuffed it into his money belt under his navel—so I can never let my guard down around you!”

Uncle’s jest never produced the result he had anticipated.
Oen looked down and moved her eyebrows and eyelashes together.
Tears had unknowingly pooled at the tips of those lashes.
The miscalculated harsh words from Uncle came to an abrupt stop.
A strange pressure pressed down on all three of them at once.

“Oen, is something wrong?”

Having said this, Uncle tapped the ashtray with his pipe to fill the silent void.
Aunt also had to somehow patch up the situation.

“What’s this? How childish. Does one cry over such trifles? It was just the usual jest.”

Aunt’s reproof did not sound like merely a courteous gesture made for Uncle’s benefit.
Given their recognition of her position—one rooted in thorough understanding of their relationship—it was impartial by any measure.
Oen knew this perfectly well.
Yet the more she found her aunt’s admonishment justified, the more she felt compelled to weep.
Her lips quivered.
Unrestrained tears spilled forth in relentless succession.
With them, the levee she had maintained over her speech finally ruptured.
At last she gave voice through her sobs.

“There’s no need to go so far as to torment me like this…”

Uncle looked perplexed.

“I’m not tormenting you—I’m praising you! Look—before you went to Yushu-san’s place, you had those words critiquing him, didn’t you? Everyone’s secretly impressed by that. So…”

“I don’t need to hear any more of that—I’ve had quite enough already! So it’s my fault for going to the theater.……”

A brief silence lingered.

“What a terrible mess this has turned into. Was my way of teasing that bad?”

“No.
It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

“Don’t speak so sarcastically.
I’m asking because I don’t understand what exactly is wrong.”

“That’s precisely why I’m saying it’s all my fault—aren’t I?”

“But you won’t explain the reason.”

“There is no reason.”

“No reason at all—you’re just sad?”

Oen began crying again.
Aunt made a bitter face.

“What’s gotten into you?
She’s not some spoiled brat.
Back when she lived with us, no matter how much you teased her, she never once wept like this.
This is what happens when young brides get pampered by their husbands—they turn into this. Troublesome, these modern girls.”

Oen bit her lip and fell silent.
Uncle, who had convinced himself that he alone was the cause of everything, instead showed a look of pity.

“No matter how much you scold her, it’s no use.”
“I was too harsh in my criticism.—Right, Oen?”
“There’s no doubt that’s exactly how it is.”
“There, there—since Uncle made you cry, I’ll give you something nice later.”

Oen, finally having recovered from her outburst, thought about how to handle herself being treated like a child by Uncle and bring a calm transformation to this awkward situation.

Sixty-Nine

Just then, Tsugiko, who knew nothing of what had happened, returned from her language lesson and suddenly appeared.

“I’m home.”

The three people, who had been troubled by losing the keystone of their reconciliation, rejoiced as if they had suddenly found it. And almost simultaneously, they returned her greeting.

“Welcome back.”

“You’re late, aren’t you? I’ve been waiting for you since earlier.”

“What an extraordinary wait this has been! ‘What could have happened to Tsugiko? What could have happened?’ we kept wondering.”

The nervous Uncle’s manner, bearing the intent to recover from his earlier blunder, grew even more jovial than usual.

“They say there’s something they absolutely must discuss when meeting you, Tsugiko.”

Even while saying these unnecessary things and casting shadows opposite to his true purpose over Oen, he appeared all the more pleased with himself.

However, when the maid pushed her hand past the sliding door and came to inform them that the bath was ready, he suddenly stood up as if struck by an idea.

“I can’t be taking a bath now.
Because there’s still some business left in the garden.
If you all want to go in first, then go ahead.”

He descended into the garden once more, accompanied by his favorite gardener, to spend the remaining autumn days on the soil.

But once he had turned his back toward the zashiki, he looked back again.

“Oen, go take a bath and have dinner or something.”

After saying this and walking a few steps, he turned back again.
Oen watched his characteristically quick-witted yet neglectful manner with admiration.

“Since Oen’s here, should I invite Fujii over for dinner?”

Though their professions differed, Fujii—who had known Uncle since their school days—had now become far closer to him through his connection with Tsuda than he had been before.
While interpreting this too as stemming from goodwill toward her, Oen still could not bring herself to feel particularly happy.
Compared to the distance between the Fujii family and Tsuda, she stood far more removed from them than they did from each other.

Uncle’s face as he said, “But will he come?” precisely mirrored what was in Oen’s heart.

“Lately everyone’s been calling me retired, but when it comes to that man’s retirement philosophy—it’s been fixed since ancient times, far beyond anything I could ever hope to match.”
“Hey Oen—if we tell Uncle Fujii to come eat with us, do you think he’ll actually come?”

“Well how should I know about that?”

Aunt expressed herself indirectly.

“He likely won’t be coming.”

“Yeah, he probably won’t come so readily.”
“Well, I’ll drop it then.”
“But let’s try calling anyway.”

Oen laughed.

“Even if you try calling, there’s no telephone there.”

“Then there’s nothing for it.”
“We’ll send a messenger.”

Whether he found writing a letter too troublesome or considered it a waste of time, Uncle walked briskly toward the garden entrance with those words.
“Well then, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go ahead and take my bath,” Aunt said as she stood up.

Knowing Uncle’s fastidiousness, everyone else hesitated, yet she alone remained unperturbed; in such circumstances, Aunt’s attitude of carrying out Uncle’s words resolutely without looking back was something enviable to Oen.
And yet it was also repellent.
It was something unladylike and unpleasant, while also being something manly and admirable.
The feeling that if she could be like that, how admirable it would be, and the feeling that no matter how old she grew, she would never want to act like that clashed within her heart as always.

As she absently watched her aunt’s retreating figure, Tsugiko, who had remained alone, suddenly invited her.

“Won’t you come to my room?”

The two left the parlor—cluttered with a brazier and tea utensils—just as it was and went outside.

70

Tsugiko's sitting room was none other than Oen's sitting room before she went to Tsuda.
The essence from those days when they had sat side by side at their desks still lingered on the walls and ceiling.
The wooden doll neatly placed on the small shelf inlaid in the glass-paned door remained just as it had been.
The basket-shaped pincushion embroidered with a rose remained just as it had been.
The blue-and-white porcelain single-flower vase with arabesque patterns that they had bought together at Mitsukoshi remained just as it had been.

Having looked around in all directions, Oen caught the scent of her maidenhood everywhere—the time she had lived there with her cousin.
When that scent filled with sweet fantasies found its object in Tsuda and was finally realized, it was she who had danced for joy before her own emotions, which had suddenly transformed into a vivid flame.
Even if invisible, she had reasoned that because there was gas present, the flame had ignited suddenly.
It was she who had asserted there was no need to posit any distinction between fantasy and reality.
Looking back, more than half a year had already passed since that time.
It began to seem her fantasies would ultimately remain just fantasies.
No matter how far they went, they seemed like things that would never be realized.
Or perhaps they had materialized into something exceedingly unpleasant.
A faint sigh dwelled within Oen’s heart.

“Wasn’t what had once been like a faint dream now gradually moving away from her once-certain self?”

With this contemplative gaze, she looked at her cousin sitting before her.
This maiden’s fate—which would likely have to tread the same path she herself had walked, or perhaps collide with a future even more divergent from expectations than her own—would be permanently settled by today or tomorrow, the moment the die of approval or rejection in Uncle’s hands rolled across the tatami.

Oen smiled.

“Tsugiko, shall I draw a fortune slip for you today?”

“Why?”

“It’s nothing.”
“Just because.”

“But doing it just because is boring. We need to decide on something.”
“We need to decide on something.”

“Right.”
“Then let’s decide.”
“What should we choose?”

“What would be good—that’s something I don’t know.”
“You have to be the one to decide.”

Tsugiko did not readily bring up the marriage issue.
Having it carelessly raised by Oen was also painful.
Yet her wish to have it touched upon indirectly somewhere was clear to see.
Oen wanted to make her cousin happy.
However, she disliked taking on responsibilities that might later trouble her.

"Then I'll draw it, so decide for yourself, okay?"
"There's something you most want to know right now, isn't there?"
"Let's go with that—you decide however you like."
"It's fine."

Oen tried to take the couple’s gift sitting atop Tsugiko’s desk as usual.
Then Tsugiko abruptly grabbed her hand.

“No!”

Oen didn’t pull her hand back.

“What’s wrong with it?”
“Just let me borrow it for a second.”
“I’ll pick one that’ll make you happy.”

Oen, who had no particular attachment to the fortune slips, suddenly felt like playing around with Tsugiko like this.
It was an excellent medium for reminding her of her maiden-like self from before her marriage.
The strength in her arms, employed to exploit vulnerabilities through physical force, made her vigorously lively in a masculine way.
Having shaken off Tsugiko's restraining hand, she had already forgotten her initial purpose.
She merely wanted to snatch the fortune slip box from Tsugiko’s desk.
Or perhaps even before that could be articulated, she simply wanted to quarrel with Tsugiko.
The two fought.
Simultaneously unleashing exaggerated cries arising from feminine instinct, they infused their playful battle with spirited energy.
They finally overturned the cherished single-flower vase displayed before the inkstone box.
The vase tumbled from its rosewood stand, spilling water indiscriminately across the tatami as it fell.
Both withdrew their hands.
In shared silence, they gazed at the lovely vase suddenly flung from its proper place.
Then meeting each other’s eyes anew, as if overcome by irrepressible impulse, they burst into simultaneous laughter.

Seventy-One

The chance occurrence made Oen even more childlike.
In front of Tsuda, a freedom she had never felt before was revived in an instant.
She completely forgot her present self.

“Tsugiko, quickly go get a rag.”

“No way.
You’re the one who spilled it, so you go get it yourself.”

The two deliberately pretended to defer to each other.
They deliberately pretended to argue.

“Then janken it is!” declared Oen, clenching her delicate hand and thrusting it energetically before Tsugiko.
Tsugiko immediately responded.
The jeweled fingers glinted and flickered between them.
The two laughed each time.

“You’re sly!”

“You’re the sly one!”

By the time Oen finally lost, the spilled water had already been neatly absorbed into the desk cover and the grooves of the tatami mats.
She calmly took out a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed down on the wet spot from above.

“I don’t need any rag.”
“If I leave it like this, that’s enough.”
“The water’s already soaked in anyway.”

She righted the toppled vase back into its original position and carefully inserted the almost crushed flower into it.
Having done that, she composed herself as though she had completely forgotten all the previous commotion.
This too seemed irresistibly funny, and Tsugiko kept laughing all by herself.

When the fit subsided, Tsugiko took out the case of fortune slips she had hidden in her obi and slipped it into the drawer of the nearby bookcase. Moreover, she snapped the lock shut and deliberately looked at Oen.

However, this senseless, playful amusement that seemed like it could go on endlessly for Tsugiko could not hold Oen’s attention for long. For a time, she had lost herself completely, but she came back to her senses sooner than her cousin.

“It must be nice to always be so carefree, Tsugiko.”

She said this and looked back at Tsugiko.
Her innocuous words did not register with Tsugiko.

“So you’re not carefree then?”

In her tone that seemed ready to say “Even I’m carefree,” there mingled a longstanding resentment at being treated by everyone as a sheltered young lady ignorant of worldly matters.

“Where exactly do you and I differ?”

They differed in age.
They differed in disposition.
Yet regarding where precisely they diverged in terms of considerate restraint—this was a question Tsugiko had never before contemplated.

“Well then Enko, what worries do you have?”
“Tell me a little about it.”

“I have nothing to worry about.”

“See?”
“You aren’t carefree either.”

“Carefree is carefree.”
“But it’s different from your kind of carefreeness.”

“Why is that?”

Oen could not bring herself to explain.
Nor did she feel like explaining.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

“But there are three differences between Enko-san and me, you know.”

Tsugiko had completely failed to consider the difference between before and after marriage.

“It’s not just age.”
“It’s about changes in circumstances.”
“Like when a daughter becomes someone’s wife, or a wife loses her husband and becomes a widow.”

Tsugiko looked at Oen with a slightly puzzled expression.

“Enko-san, which was more carefree—when you were at your family home, or after going to Yushu-san’s place?”

“Well…”

Oen faltered.
Tsugiko did not give her the opportunity to formulate a reply.

“Aren’t you more carefree now?”
“There, see?”

Oen had no choice but to answer.

“It doesn’t work like that.”
“But in this case…”

“But isn’t Mr. Tsuda the one you yourself chose?”

“Yes, that’s why I’m happy.”

“But even if you’re happy, you’re not carefree?”

“Some things are still carefree.”

“Well, being carefree is one thing, but you still have worries, don’t you?”

“Oh, I can’t keep up when you press me like this, Tsugiko.”

“I don’t mean to press you, but since I don’t understand, it just ends up that way.”

Seventy-Two

The conversation, growing increasingly intense, had unwittingly slipped into the matter of Tsugiko's marriage.
For Oen, who had wanted to avoid this topic at all costs, the natural progression of their discussion now made it impossible to evade out of social obligation.
Setting aside the sort of prophecies an inexperienced maiden might expect, as an older woman with greater familiarity in matters between men and women, she felt compelled by a sense of duty to offer substantial guidance.
She trod carefully along this delicate path, expressing herself through circumspect phrasing that avoided direct confrontation.

“That won’t do. When it was Tsuda’s matter—since it was my own—I understood it well. But with other things, it’s entirely different—I don’t understand them at all.”

“You say you won’t hold back so much, but doesn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“It’s not about holding back.”

“Then are you being cold?”

Oen paused before answering.

“Tsugiko, you must understand this.
“A woman’s eyes only truly awaken when they meet what’s closest to their own circumstances.
“In those moments alone can eyes achieve in a second what would take over ten years otherwise.
“And such moments—no one experiences more than a handful in their entire life.
“In fact, one might go through life without ever encountering them.
“So eyes like mine... they’re practically blind.
“At least under ordinary circumstances.”

“But Enko-san, don’t you actually possess such perceptive eyes?”
“Then why didn’t you apply them to my situation?”

“It’s not that I didn’t use them—I couldn’t use them.”

“But doesn’t the proverb say ‘the bystander sees eight moves ahead’?”
“Since you’re right here beside me, you ought to perceive things more objectively than I can.”

“So Tsugiko, you intend to determine your entire destiny through some outsider’s vantage point?”

“Not determine exactly, but shouldn’t it inform my decision?”
“Particularly when it’s you—the Enko-san I trust—providing that perspective.”

Oen remained silent again for some time.
Then she began speaking in a manner slightly altered from before.

“Tsugiko, I just told you now, didn’t I? That I’m happy.”

“Yes.”

“You know why I’m happy, don’t you?”

Oen paused there.
And before Tsugiko could say anything, she immediately continued.

"My being happy doesn’t mean anything else."
“It’s simply because I was able to choose my own husband with my own eyes.”
“It’s because I didn’t marry through an onlooker’s perspective. You understand?”

Tsugiko made an apprehensive face.

“So someone like me has no hope of ever becoming happy, then?”

Oen had to say something. However, she couldn't speak right away. At last, a sudden tone—as if from abrupt excitement—involuntarily burst from her lips.

“There is, there is!
“You simply love them and make them love you.
“If you just do that, there’s every prospect for happiness!”

As Oen spoke these words, only Tsuda—her partner—moved vividly through her mind.
While addressing Tsugiko, she scarcely recalled even a shadow of Miyoshi.
Fortunately, Tsugiko—interpreting this solely as pertaining to herself—remained unmoved by Oen’s fervent tone.

“Who?” she said, looking at Oen with slight exasperation.
“The one we met last evening?”

“It doesn’t matter who.
“Simply love the person you’ve convinced yourself is right.
“And be sure to make that person love you in return.”

The ineffectual disposition that Oen normally kept concealed gradually began to reveal its sharp edges.
The gentle Tsugiko retreated a little further back each time.
When she finally realized the growing distance between them that made closeness impossible, she even let out a faint sigh.
Then Oen abruptly raised her voice again.

“You’re doubting what I’m saying.
It’s true.
I haven’t told any lies.
It’s true.
I really am happy!
You understand now, don’t you?”

Having said this and absolutely compelled Tsugiko’s agreement, she afterward added again, as if muttering to herself.

“That’s how it is for anyone.
“Even if that person isn’t happy now, through their own resolve alone, they can become happy in the future.
“They can certainly become so.
“They will become so—I’ll show you!
“Right, Tsugiko? Isn’t that so?”

Tsugiko, unaware of what lay in Oen's heart, had no choice but to vaguely apply this prophecy to her own situation and ponder it. Yet however much she pondered, she could scarcely grasp its meaning.

73

At that moment, the owner of the busy footsteps that could be heard along the corridor flung open the entrance to the room.
And Yuriko, having returned from school, entered briskly without hesitation.
She removed the bag that hung heavily from her shoulder and, while placing it on her own desk, greeted her sister with a single “I’m home.”

The place where her desk stood was precisely in the right-hand corner where Oen had been sitting earlier.
The moment Oen left for Tsuda's place, Yuriko—who could enter immediately afterward—rejoiced at her cousin's absence as being supremely advantageous for herself.
Knowing this, Oen deliberately spoke up.

"Miss Yuriko, I've come to impose again."
"I do hope that's acceptable?"

Yuriko didn't even offer a perfunctory "Welcome."
She had propped her right foot on the desk corner and was stroking the tip of her black tabi sock's big toe—now threatening to develop a hole—but answered as she lowered her foot back onto the tatami.

“Fine, come if you want—unless you’ve been kicked out.”

“My, how awful!” Oen said with a laugh. After a brief pause, she addressed Yuriko again.

“Yuriko, if I were to be kicked out by Tsuda, you’d feel at least a little sorry for me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, I suppose I could feel sorry for you then.”

“Then you’ll let me stay in this room again when that happens.”

“I suppose.”

Yuriko seemed to consider this for a moment.

“Fine, I’ll let you stay.”
“If it’s after Sister gets married.”

“No—before Miss Tsugiko gets married.”

“Before you get kicked out?”
“Well, that’s a bit… You’ll just have to endure and try not to get kicked out too much. I’ve got my own plans too.”

Having said this, Yuriko laughed in unison with the two older women.
Then, without even removing her hakama, she came to sit by the hearth, took the wooden tray brought by the maid, and immediately began eating the rice cakes inside.

“Having your afternoon snack this late? This plate makes me remember things, you know.”

Oen recalled the time when she had been around Yuriko’s age. When she returned from school, the scene from those days—when they would eagerly reach for the wooden trays placed before each of them—came vividly to mind. Tsugiko, who had been smiling as she watched her younger sister eat with relish, also seemed to recall the same past.

“Nobuko, you still have your afternoon snack even now?”

“Sometimes I eat them, sometimes I don’t. It’s a hassle to go out of my way to buy them, and even if there happens to be something at home, it’s just not as delicious as it used to be anymore.”

“It’s probably because you don’t get enough exercise.”

While the two were talking, Yuriko neatly emptied the wooden tray. Then, in a manner as mismatched as grafting bamboo onto a tree, she barged between them.

“It’s true—Sister’s going to get married soon, you know.”

“So where is she going?”

“I don’t know where, but she’s going regardless.”

“Then to what sort of person’s household?”

“I don’t know what it’s called, but she’s going.”

Oen patiently asked her third question.

“What kind of person is he?”

Yuriko answered nonchalantly.

“He’s probably someone like Mr. Yushu.”
“Because Sister loves Mr. Yushu so much.”
“He does everything you say, and she says he’s such a wonderful person, you know.”

Tsugiko, her face flushing faintly, suddenly lunged toward her younger sister.
Yuriko let out a startled cry and immediately leapt back.

“Oh no! Oh no!”

Having stopped at the entrance to say this, she left Oen and Tsugiko there and fled the room alone.

Seventy-Four

Oen received a reminder about the meal from the maid and, the second time, left her seat together with Tsugiko—this occurred not long after that.

The family members gathered in the bright room, their faces cheerful.
Even Issan, who had earlier sulked over something and crawled under the veranda refusing to come out for some time, was now chatting cheerfully with his uncle.

When Yuriko came specially to inform her, “Issan is like a dog,” Oen heard from this younger cousin how he had opened his mouth wide and bitten into the rice cake held out above his nose.

Oen smiled as she listened to what was called the dog-like boy's chatter.

"Father, when a comet appears, does something bad happen?"

"Yeah, people in the old days thought that. But now that scholarship has advanced, there's not a single person left who thinks such things anymore."

"In the West..."

It seemed Uncle didn't know whether the same superstition had existed in the West in ancient times.

"The West? The West never had any such things in the past."

“But they say a comet appeared before Caesar died, don’t they?”

“Hmm, before Caesar was killed, you mean?” he said, seeming to have no choice but to evade the question. “That was the Roman era, you see. It’s a different matter from the ordinary West.”

Issan fell silent, satisfied with that explanation.
However, he immediately posed a second question.
Even more peculiar than before, that question was splendidly structured in the form of a syllogism.
Since digging a well brings forth water, there must be water beneath the ground; since there is water beneath the ground, the ground must collapse.
Yet why doesn’t the ground collapse?
This was the gist of his argument.
Uncle’s response to this was again utterly muddled, so all the onlookers found it amusing.

“Well, you won’t fall through.”

“But if there’s water underneath, shouldn’t it collapse?”

“It doesn’t work that simply.”

When the women burst out laughing in unison, Issan immediately leapt to his third question.

“Father, I wish this house were a battleship.”
“Father?”

“Father here would rather have a regular house than a battleship.”

“But if it’s a house, it’ll collapse during an earthquake, won’t it?”

“Ah! So if it were a battleship, even endless earthquakes couldn’t destroy it?”
He truly hadn’t considered this angle.
“Hmm... I suppose that’s right.”

Oen smiled as she gazed at her uncle’s face, which showed genuine admiration.
The uncle, who had earlier mentioned inviting Fujii to dinner, seemed to no longer have it in mind.
Aunt also maintained her composure as though she had forgotten.
Oen felt like asking Issan.

“Issan, you’re in the same grade as Shinji Fujii, aren’t you?”

“Ah,” said Issan, immediately satisfying Oen’s curiosity about Shinji.
His story was filled with observations, criticisms, and facts that could only have come from a child.
For a time, the dining table was enlivened by his efforts.

Among the anecdotes about Shinji that made everyone laugh was one like the following.

One day on their way home from school, he and Issan peered into a large, deep hole.
Over the hole that had been deeply excavated for civil engineering work and formed in the middle of the road lay a single cedar log.
“If you cross that log, I’ll give you a hundred yen,” Issan told Shinji.
Then reckless Shinji—shouldering his backpack while still wearing those shoes rumored to be made from a large dog’s hide—began crossing the slick log with almost no flat surface width, its surface treacherously smooth, all while asking, “You’ll really give it to me?”
At first Issan watched him, certain he’d fall any moment. But when he saw his opponent drawing nearer with each perilous step—slowly yet steadily closing in—fear suddenly gripped him.
Leaving his friend stranded directly above that gaping hole, he bolted away.
Shinji remained wholly focused on his footing throughout the crossing, completely unaware of Issan’s whereabouts until he reached the end.
Having finally completed his dare and lifting his eyes expecting to claim his promised hundred yen—he found only empty air where his challenger should have been; no trace of Issan remained anywhere.

“Issan seems a bit too clever,” commented Uncle.

“Mr. Fujii hasn’t been coming around much lately, has he?” said Aunt.

75

Apart from the children sharing a school grade, the recent association between Okamoto and Fujii that arose through Oen's mediation held certain distinctive qualities.
They—who faced future ceremonial occasions requiring their unavoidable presence—found they could not help but recognize, even in ordinary times, the practicality of maintaining contact from both sides as circumstances permitted.
Moreover, the Okamotos, positioned as representatives of women's interests, stood obligated to acknowledge this necessity more keenly than Fujii did.
Furthermore, Okamoto’s uncle possessed the kind of social deftness typical of conventionally successful men.
He also had an innate broad-minded optimism.
Being high-strung, he feared misinterpretation—
particularly the misconception of arrogance that those free from financial cares might invite from relatively poorer classes.
To restore health damaged by years of overwork and study, he had recently retreated to quieter surroundings where time stretched abundantly before him.
Filling this temporal void each day with handicrafts that suited his tastes, he gradually developed a will to approach and observe people and things he had previously passed by with indifference—those utterly unrelated to himself.

With these causes intertwined, Uncle would occasionally visit Fujii's residence on his own initiative.
Fujii, who seemed exclusionary by nature, made no dutiful effort to return Uncle's visits, yet showed no signs of resenting him either.
They conversed pleasantly enough.
Though unable to speak with complete openness, simply exchanging glimpses into their respective worlds held some interest.
Their worlds proved strangely mismatched.
What appeared thoroughly clumsy from one perspective seemed utterly noble when viewed from another; what one side had to interpret as vulgar, the other persistently tried to frame in practical terms—and within these contrasts, unexpected discoveries kept emerging.

“So you’d call them critics, those kinds of people.”
“But that way, they can’t accomplish any real work.”

Oen didn’t fully grasp what “critics” meant.
Since they weren’t practically useful, she assumed they just spouted pretentious words to hoodwink others.
“People who can’t work and merely quibble with logic—what purpose do such people serve in society?”
“Isn’t it perfectly natural they’re troubled without gaining proper material rewards?”
Unable to press further, she asked with a smile.

“Have you been to see Mr. Fujii lately?”

“Yeah, just the other day too, I dropped by on my way back from a walk. When you’re worn out, it’s a conveniently located house to rest at, you see—that place.”

“Did you have any interesting stories or something?”

“That man is still thinking up strange ideas, isn’t he? The other day, he was going on about how men pull women, and women pull men in turn.”

“Oh, how dreadful!”

“He’s ridiculous—acting like that at his age!”

As Oen and Aunt alternated in uttering exasperated remarks, Tsugiko alone looked away.

“Well, there’s something peculiar about it. I must say, the General has really done his research—impressive. According to the General, it’s like this: In any household, boys naturally yearn for their mothers while girls conversely yearn for their fathers—it’s only natural, he says. Now that you mention it, that does seem true.”

Oen, who had preferred her uncle by marriage over her biological aunt, grew slightly more serious.

“So what happened?”

“So that’s how it is,” he said. “Men and women must constantly pull against each other; otherwise they can’t become complete human beings. In other words, there’s some deficiency within oneself that you just can’t fulfill on your own.”

Oen’s interest suddenly began to wane. What Uncle was saying amounted to nothing more than a fact she had long known.

“Haven’t people always spoken of yin-yang harmony?”

“Yet isn’t it fascinating that while Yin-Yang harmony is inevitable, its opposite—Yin-Yang discord—is equally inevitable?”

“Why?”

“Listen here. Men and women pull against each other precisely because they differ. As I just said.”

“Right.”

“So those differences mean they’re not part of oneself, yes? They’re entirely separate entities.”

“Right.”

“See there. If they’re separate from oneself, there’s no way they can ever be together, is there? No matter how much time passes, there’s no other way but to stay apart forever, don’t you see?”

The Uncle laughed dryly, like someone who had conquered Oen.
Oen did not concede.

“But that’s just logic.”

“Of course it’s logic.”
“It’s logic that holds up splendidly no matter where you take it.”

“No good—that kind of logic.”
“There’s something off about it.”
“It’s exactly the kind of far-fetched logic Uncle Fujii would wield.”

Oen was unable to refute Uncle.
But she couldn’t bring herself to believe what Uncle said.
And no matter what, she found believing it utterly detestable.

76

The uncle continued saying all sorts of things half in jest.

Just as a man attains peace by obtaining a woman, a woman too attains peace by obtaining a man.
However, that truth was limited to virtuous unmarried men and women before marriage.
The moment a marital relationship is established, truth suddenly switches sides and confronts us with facts diametrically opposed to everything that came before.
In other words, men cannot attain peace unless they separate from women.
Women, too, cannot attain peace and will deteriorate unless they separate from men.
The pulling force that had existed until now suddenly transformed into repulsion.
And thus, just as the age-old adage goes—men must remain among men, women inevitably among women—one feels compelled to acknowledge this truth for all eternity.
In other words, humans achieve yin-yang harmony simply to realize the inevitable principle of yin-yang discord....

Oen couldn’t quite discern how much of Uncle’s words were borrowed from Fujii and how much were his own ideas, nor could she tell where his seriousness ended and his jesting began.
Uncle, who knew nothing of wielding a brush, was a man frightfully skilled with words.
He was the sort who, given a simple core idea, could endlessly drape it in layers of homemade garments.
Aphorisms of the sort people call “wise sayings” streamed ceaselessly from his lips.
The more Oen opposed him, the more his words gathered momentum and spilled forth without end.
Oen finally had to concede and bring it to a close.

“You’re really relentless, Uncle.”

“There’s no way you can keep up with him verbally—just stop. If we say anything here, he’ll only dig his heels in deeper.”

“Yes—he deliberately provokes yin-yang discord, doesn’t he?”

While Oen and her aunt exchanged these criticisms, the Uncle watched them with a smile. Waiting for a lull in their conversation, he slowly delivered his pronouncement:

“Have you finally surrendered? If you’ve surrendered, then surrendered you shall be. I won’t press my victory over the defeated—after all,” he added with mock solemnity, “men possess the virtue of pitying the weak. Even one who looks like me.”

He stood up wearing a triumphant expression.
When he slid open the shoji and stepped out of the room, his self-important footsteps headed toward the study and gradually faded away.
When he returned after a while, he held four or five small, thin volumes in one hand.

“Hey, Oen—I’ve brought something good.”
“If you’re going to the hospital tomorrow or so, take this over to Yushu-san’s place.”

“What’s this?”

Oen immediately took the books and looked at their covers.
The English titles troubled her eyes, unaccustomed as they were to foreign languages.
She read through them piecemeal.
*Book of Jokes.*
*English Wit and Humor...*

“Huh...”

“They’re all comical stuff—things like witty wordplay and riddles. Just right for reading while lying down—won’t make your shoulders stiff.”

“I see—these are just your kind of books.”

“Even meant for uncles like me—harmless at this level! However strict Mr. Yushu might be—he won’t rage over trifles.”

“Rage? As if…”

“Never mind—all for Yin-Yang Harmony! Just take them along.”

After thanking him and settling the books on her lap—the uncle produced another slip from his hand.

“This is compensation for making you cry earlier. As promised, take this along while you’re at it.”

Before Oen took the slip of paper from her uncle’s hand, she already knew what it was.
The uncle deliberately twirled it ostentatiously.

“Oen, this is the most potent remedy when yin-yang discord strikes.”
“A miraculous cure that mends most cases with a single dose.”

Oen looked up at the standing uncle and protested feebly.

“It’s not Yin-Yang discord at all.”
“Ours is true harmony.”

“If it’s harmony, then all the better.”
“Taken during harmony, it makes your spirit ever sounder.”
“Then your body grows stronger still.”
“An infallible remedy—no matter how things turn.”

Having taken the check from her uncle’s hand and staring fixedly at it, Oen’s eyes filled with tears.

77

Oen refused the rickshaw her uncle had ordered for her.
However, she found it difficult to refuse his kind offer to escort her to the tram stop himself.
The two finally set off together down the long slope toward the riverside.

“Exercise is best for Uncle’s illness.—Anyway, walking’s my own business.”

Being overweight and short of breath, he would struggle comically when climbing slopes, yet said something as though he had completely forgotten about returning home.

The two talked about last night's late hours as they walked.
Oen mentioned how O-toki had been slumped over dozing.
Since this maid—formerly of Uncle's household—had been placed with the newlyweds through his mediation, he felt some responsibility toward her.

"Aunt knows her well—she's a decent sort."
"I practically guaranteed she'd be perfect for house-sitting."
"But dozing off alone—that's careless of her."
"Though given her tender years..."
"She'd naturally be sleepy at that hour."

Even though she was young, Oen—who knew full well that had it been herself, she would never have dozed off so soundly in such circumstances—simply listened to her uncle’s concern with a smile.
Were she to explain it herself, this early return of hers stemmed from her resolve not to repeat yesterday’s outcome of having stayed out so late.

She hurriedly boarded the train that had arrived there.
Then from inside the train, she said “Goodbye” to her uncle.
“Goodbye, and give my regards to Mr. Yushu,” said Uncle.
No sooner had they barely exchanged farewells than a kind of noise and commotion immediately began to overwhelm her.

Inside the train car, Oen did not think of anything coherent.
The faces and figures of those involved since yesterday, flitting in and out before her eyes, merely spun as swiftly as the train she rode.
Yet within those dazzling phantoms, she sensed something unifying them at their core.
Or perhaps it was that very something at the root which sent these fragmentary visions whirling before her eyes.
She needed to grasp that elusive essence.
But her efforts met no easy success.
Noticing the dango, she stepped off the train before discerning the skewer that threaded them together.

As the sound of the entrance lattice opening rang out, O-toki came running from the kitchen just as expected, said "Welcome home," and pressed her deferential forehead to the tatami. Oen felt the maid's resolute demeanor—so different from yesterday's—as if it were her own doing.

"I was early today, wasn't I?"

The maid didn't seem to think it particularly early. Seeing Oen's self-satisfied expression, O-toki answered with a reluctant "Mm," prompting Oen to relent again.

“I thought about coming back even earlier, but it’s just that the days are so short.”

When she had O-toki fold the clothes she had taken off, Oen asked her:

“There wasn’t any business while I was away, right?”

“No,” replied O-toki.
Oen, just to be thorough, rephrased her question once more.
“No one came by, right?”
Then O-toki suddenly replied in a bright tone, as if remembering something she had forgotten.
“Oh, he came by—the one called Mr. Kobayashi.”

The name Kobayashi was not unfamiliar to Oen as her husband’s acquaintance.
She remembered speaking with him two or three times.
However, she did not particularly like him.
She had also come to fully understand that her husband held him in rather low regard.

"What did he come here for?"

Even such a careless remark nearly slipped from her lips, yet she managed to ask O-toki in a normal tone.

“Did he have some business here?”

“Yes, he came to take that overcoat.”

To Oen, who had been told nothing by her husband, these words made no sense at all.

“Overcoat?”
“Whose overcoat?”

Meticulous Oen posed various questions to O-toki, trying to ascertain Kobayashi’s meaning.
But it was an utterly futile effort.
The more Oen asked and the more O-toki answered, the deeper into a labyrinth the two of them wandered.
In the end, having noticed that Kobayashi was more peculiar than themselves, they laughed out loud.
The English word “nonsense” that Tsuda occasionally used revived in Oen’s memory.
“Kobayashi and nonsense.”
When she made this connection, Oen found it unbearably funny.
Surrendering herself unreservedly to the absurdity surging up like a seizure, she temporarily forgot the worrisome task she had carried home from the train.

78

That evening, Oen wrote a letter to her parents in Kyoto.
In the mind of the woman who had resolved that she absolutely must finish today the letter she had started and abandoned both the day before yesterday and yesterday, it was by no means only thoughts of her parents that were at work.

She could not settle herself.
To escape her anxiety, she needed to focus her attention on a single point.
There was also an earnest hope to resolve the doubts she had been harboring since earlier.
In short, she thought that if she wrote a letter to Kyoto, she might be able to organize her own restless feelings.

She took up her brush and, as always, began with the usual seasonal greetings. After mechanically writing through the apologies for her long silence, she paused to think for a while. Since she was writing something to Kyoto, she absolutely had to address the news about herself and Tsuda. That was the kind of information all parents would want to hear from their newlywed daughter. It was also the kind of information every daughter had to inform her parents at her parental home about. Oen, who had always believed there was scarcely any need to send letters home if one set such matters aside, now had to consider—brush still in hand—exactly where and how her current relationship with Tsuda stood connected. She was not compelled to report that matter exactly as it was to her parents. However, as a wife who had married a man, she acutely felt the need to ascertain it. She pondered intently. The brush stopped there and did not move again. Forgetting even about the motionless brush, she had to think. Moreover, the more she tried to understand, the less she could grasp anything definite.

Until she began writing the letter, she had been tormented by a restless, scattered anxiety.
Now that she had begun writing the letter, she finally settled in one place.
And then she began to be tormented by the anxiety that had settled there again.
Through comparing before and after, she discovered that all the images flickering before her eyes in the train earlier were converging toward this single point - and thus finally reached the root of the anxiety tormenting her.
But she still could not understand the true nature of that root.
Inevitably, she had to postpone the problem to the future.

“If I can’t resolve it today, there’s no choice but to resolve it tomorrow. If I can’t resolve it tomorrow, there’s no choice but to resolve it the day after. If I can’t resolve it the day after tomorrow...”

This was her logic.
It was also her hope.
It was her final resolution.
And she had already declared that resolution publicly before Tsugiko.

“It doesn’t matter who—by loving the person I’ve convinced myself is right for me to the very end, I won’t rest until I make them love me to the very end.”

She renewed her resolve to come this far.
She commanded her own will to settle now that she had come this far.

Her mood had lightened a little.
She moved the brush again.
She wrote without reserve about Tsuda and her own current situation in a way that would please her parents as much as possible.
The semblance of their blissful life together was depicted one after another.
She found it delightful how the tip of her brush, filled with inspiration, glided smoothly and pleasantly across the paper.
The long letter was completed in one breath.
She had no idea how much time that single breath had taken.

Finally laying down her brush, she read through what she had written once more from the beginning.
The same mood that had governed her hand now governed her eyes, so she found no need for corrections or revisions anywhere.
Characters she would normally struggle with and consult Genkai over when using them didn't trouble her in the slightest even left as they were.
After merely touching up two or three places where discrepancies in wording had rendered the meaning unclear, she rolled up the letter.
And in her heart, she declared this to the parents who would receive it.

“Everything written in this letter is true from start to finish. There is not a single word of lies, false reassurances, or exaggerations. If anyone should doubt this, I will hate them, despise them, spit upon them. Because I know the truth better than they ever could. Here I write truths that go beyond surface facts—truths only I comprehend at present, yet truths that must become clear to all in time. I am absolutely not deceiving you. Should anyone claim I crafted this letter deceptively to placate you, they would be a seeing blind person. They are the true liar. Please trust me—the one sending this letter—for God Himself has already placed His trust in me.”

Oen placed the sealed letter by her pillow and went to sleep.

Seventy-nine

She recalled when she had first met Tsuda in Kyoto.
Oen, who had returned home after a long absence to see her parents, was asked by her father two or three days after arriving to run an errand.
Carrying a sealed letter and a volume of Chinese books, she had to go to Tsuda's residence five or six blocks away.
It was then that she first heard from him how her father—troubled by mild neuralgia and idling between bed and rising—would occasionally borrow books from Tsuda's father to ease the tedium of his convalescence.
Her task was to return old volumes and borrow new ones.
She stood at Tsuda's entrance and requested admission.
A large folding screen stood in the entryway.
As she stared in surprise at the peculiar characters dancing across its white paper surface, the figure who emerged from behind the screen to receive her proved neither maid nor student—but Yushu, who like herself had recently come to this Kyoto household.

The two had never met before.
Oen had only known Yushu through rumors.
The talk of him having recently returned home was something she had only just heard from her father that morning.
This too stemmed from her father taking it into his head to borrow new books and writing a letter for that purpose.
It was all merely incidental.

When Yushu received the Chinese volume in its case from Oen, he inexplicably stared at the imposing characters of the title—*Ming Shi Bie Cai*—for an extended time.
Oen found herself compelled to watch him gaze so intently.
As he abruptly looked up, her rapt observation up to that moment was laid bare.
Yet from Oen’s perspective—forced to stand there awaiting his response—this too had been an unavoidable reaction.
Yushu lifted his face and said, “My father happens to be out at present.”
Oen made to leave immediately.
But Yushu called her back again and unceremoniously opened the letter addressed to his father right before her eyes.
This casual audacity seized Oen’s attention once more.
His conduct was improper.
Yet it carried decisiveness.
She couldn’t bring herself to label him with terms like “uncouth” or “brusque.”

After glancing at the letter, Yushu left Oen waiting at the entrance and went into the interior to search for the required books.
Unfortunately, the Chinese classics his father wished to borrow were nowhere within his sight.
After about ten minutes, he reappeared and apologized for having detained her pointlessly.
He explained that since the specified book couldn't be located immediately, he would have it delivered from their side once his father returned.
Oen refused this as discourteous.
She promised to come retrieve them herself the following day instead and returned home.

Then that afternoon, Yushu specially brought over the desired books from his home.
By chance, Oen happened to be the one who answered the door.
The two exchanged glances again.
This time they immediately recognized each other fully.
The books Yushu carried in his hand were about three times the quantity Oen had returned that morning.
He had wrapped them in a chintz furoshiki and presented it to Oen as if dangling a birdcage.

He accepted the invitation and went up to the tatami room to talk with Oen’s father.
From Oen’s perspective, he had exchanged small talk—the sort that would have been unbearable for any young person—with her father of a different disposition, without showing the slightest sign of annoyance.
He knew nothing about the books he had brought.
He still knew nothing about the books Oen had returned.
He flatly refused, saying he couldn’t read at all the books filled with dense square characters crowded with strokes.
Even so, using the four-character title "Wu Meicun's Poetry"—the very book we had gone to borrow—as a reference, he searched all over the bookshelves.
Her father warmly thanked him for his kindness...

In Oen's eyes, he flickered at that moment.
The him of that time was not a different person from the him of now.
But neither was he the same as he was now.
Put simply, it was that the same person had changed.
He who had initially seemed indifferent gradually changed as if being drawn to her side.
Once drawn in, wasn't he now changing so as to distance himself from her?
Her doubt had nearly become her reality.
To wipe away that doubt, she had to overturn that fact.

Eighty

A strong will permeated every part of Oen’s body. When she awoke that morning, cowardice felt utterly foreign to her. As if she had forgotten her own sluggish awakening from the previous day, she immediately sprang up. Kicking off the bedding, the moment she left the bed, she felt the strength in her own arms. Along with the morning cold’s stimulus, her tightened muscles contracted all at once.

She slid open the storm shutters with her own hands. The morning outside still looked much earlier than usual. Compared to yesterday, the fact that she had risen even earlier today than during Tsuda’s presence somehow pleased her. Making up for yesterday’s laziness of oversleeping—that too became one source of satisfaction.

After putting away the bedding and sweeping out the tatami room herself, she turned to the dressing table.
She undid her hair, which had been tied up for four days.
She combed through the oily areas two or three times, then forcibly tied up the hair—now set and unmanageable—into a bundle at her temple.
Only after completing this did she finally rouse the maid.

After working with the maid until the meal was ready, when she sat down at the tray, the maid said to her, "You were up very early today."
O-toki, who knew nothing of this, seemed astonished by her early rising.
She also seemed to think that having gotten up later than her mistress was something she needed to apologize for.

“Today I must go visit Mr. Tsuda at the hospital.”

“Are you going so early today?”

“Yes. Since I didn’t go yesterday, I should leave a bit earlier today.”

Oen's manner of speech was more courteous and orderly than usual.
There was a composure in it.
Yet there was a resolve that betrayed that composure.
The decisiveness that ought to accompany such resolve still seemed distant.
The inner rhythm of her mind naturally revealed itself in her bearing.

Still, she made no move to depart immediately.
With O-toki—who had removed her work sash and now held a tray—she spent some time discussing the Okamotos and similar matters.
This family they'd once been beholden to remained a subject of such fascination even for O-toki that the two often found themselves repeating the same observations whenever they spoke of them.
This occurred particularly when Tsuda was absent.
For when Tsuda was present, there were occasions where he alone would end up feeling excluded like some foreign object.
After chancing upon this unpleasant sensation once or twice, Oen had grown cautious; moreover, she had another reason to avoid being perceived by her husband as a woman who took pride in vaunting her affluent relatives, and so she had long since schooled O-toki in this regard.

“Has the young mistress not yet been settled anywhere?”

“There does seem to be some talk like that, but it’s still unclear how things will turn out.”

“It would be splendid if she were to find a good match soon.”

“It will probably be soon.”
“Uncle is so impatient.”
“And unlike me, Tsugiko has such good looks.”

O-toki tried to say something.
Oen found the maid’s flattery painful and quickly cut in herself.

“A woman will always suffer if she isn’t pretty.
No matter how clever or considerate she is, men will scorn her if her face is plain.”

“That isn’t true at all.”

When O-toki defended her so vehemently, Oen felt even more driven to insist.

“It’s true.
Men are all like that.”

“But that’s only temporary. When you age, it won’t matter anymore.”

Oen did not answer.
However, her confidence was not so fragile.

“Truly, someone as plain as me would have to be reborn to make any difference.”

O-toki looked at Oen with a dumbfounded expression.

“If Madam is plain, then what am I supposed to call myself?”

O-toki’s words were both flattery and truth.
Oen, who understood the balance of both, stood up satisfied.

As she was changing into her kimono to go out, footsteps approached from outside, and the entrance bell rang.
When O-toki went to answer the door, she heard a voice say, "I need to see the mistress for a moment."
Oen tilted her head, trying to discern who owned that voice.

Eighty-One

O-toki rushed into the family room giggling into her sleeve but wouldn't reveal the visitor's name.
She writhed before Oen, desperately stifling her amusement.
Even forcing out the name "Kobayashi" proved laborious.

Oen stood perplexed about handling this sudden caller.
Midway through tightening her thick obi sash, she couldn't go greet him at once.
Yet leaving him indefinitely waiting at the entrance felt equally improper.
She froze before the full-length mirror, brows knitted in consternation.
With no alternative, she instructed he be told she couldn't linger - being on her way out - then ushered him into the tatami room.
But finding his face not wholly unfamiliar, she couldn't dismiss him after merely hearing his errand.
Moreover, Kobayashi seemed heaven-sent to surpass all others in lacking discretion or restraint.
Though fully aware of Oen's pressing schedule, he appeared convinced he might stay indefinitely provided she didn't scowl.

He knew Tsuda’s illness thoroughly.
He spoke of having secured a position and going to Korea this time.
According to him, this position was an important one promising future prospects.
He also recounted being trailed by a detective.
Declaring it an incident from the evening he returned from Fujii’s with Tsuda, he gazed with evident amusement at Oen’s astonished face.
He appeared to take pride in being shadowed by a detective.
He even offered an explanation that he was likely being marked as a socialist.

His remarks contained elements that would shock a timid woman.
Oen, who had heard nothing from Tsuda, found herself drawn in despite her apprehension and ended up disregarding her precious time.
However, if she were to meekly keep listening to everything he said, there would be no end to it.
In the end, she had no choice but to press him and prod him to state his business quickly.
He finally stated his business with a somewhat awkward look.
That was none other than the matter of the coat that had made Oen and O-toki laugh mercilessly the previous evening.

“Because I made a promise to get it from Mr. Tsuda.”

His intention was to try on that coat once before departing for Korea and, if it didn’t fit his frame too poorly, to have it altered now while there was still time.

Oen thought about immediately retrieving the needed item from the bottom of the chest of drawers and giving it to him.
However, she had not yet heard anything from Tsuda.

“I don’t suppose he’ll ever wear it again anyway,” she said hesitantly, well aware of her husband’s unexpectedly fastidious nature when it came to such matters.
The matter came down to just an old coat, but if she were ever accused of negligence over it someday, she knew she couldn’t bear it.

“It’s fine—he definitely said he’d give it to me.”
“I’m not lying here.”

Not handing it over would mean branding Kobayashi a liar.

“No matter how drunk I got, my mind was clear.”
“I’m not the type to forget something I was promised.”

Oen finally made up her mind.

“Then please wait for a moment. I’ll just call the hospital to check.”

“You’re really meticulous,” said Kobayashi with a laugh.
However, the displeased expression that Oen had secretly feared was nowhere to be found on his face.

“It’s just as a precaution.
Because I’d be in trouble if I were told something about it later.”

Even so, Oen couldn’t help adding such an apologetic remark as a precaution to avoid offending Kobayashi.

While O-toki rushed to the telephone to fetch Tsuda’s reply, the two remained seated facing each other.
And so they bridged the time waiting for her return with conversation.
However, that conversation, with a sudden flash, made Oen's heart leap, completely unexpectedly.

82

“Mr. Tsuda seems to have become quite subdued lately.
“It must be entirely Mrs. Tsuda’s influence.”

The moment O-toki left, Kobayashi abruptly brought up such a matter.
Oen thought it best to give a non-committal reply, given who she was dealing with.

“Is that so? I myself don’t feel I’ve exerted any influence whatsoever.”

“Nonsense! It’s as though he’s been reborn entirely anew.”

Kobayashi’s exaggerated manner made Oen want to retort with cold criticism. Yet her pride forbade such indulgence, leaving her deliberately silent. Kobayashi was not one to heed such social niceties anyway. His conversational threads, heedless of order or coherence, instead of meandering unpredictably, sometimes charged forward in such blunt linearity that it verged on rudeness.

“After all, no man can match a wife’s power.
“For a bachelor like me, it’s nearly impossible to imagine—but I suppose there must be something there.”

Oen finally could no longer restrain herself.
She burst out laughing.

“There is,” she said. “There are so many mysterious things between husband and wife that someone like Mr. Kobayashi could never begin to imagine.”

“If such things exist, I’d like you to teach me one.”

“What good would it do for a bachelor like you to learn them?”

“It would be instructive.”

A shrewd gleam appeared in Oen’s narrow eyes.

“Wouldn’t it be quicker for you to take a wife yourself instead?”

Kobayashi made a show of scratching his head.

“Even if I wanted to take one, there’s none who’d have me.”

“Why?”

“If there’s no one willing to come to me, then naturally I can’t take a wife—isn’t that how it goes?”

“Japan is a country with a surplus of women, you know.”
“Brides of any kind are just lying around everywhere here, aren’t they?”

After saying this, Oen thought she might have gone a bit too far.
However, he remained unperturbed.
His nerves, thoroughly accustomed to harsher and more intense words from daily life, were completely numb.

“No matter how many women there are to spare, none will come to someone who’s about to elope.”

The word “elopement” suddenly reminded Oen of the journey scenes performed in kabuki plays where lovers flee together. Having briefly visualized these alluring figures symbolizing passionate romance in her mind, she looked at Kobayashi—now sitting before her merely to receive an unrelated worn-out coat—and smiled.

“If you’re going to elope, you might as well take someone with you.”

“With whom?”

“That’s already decided. You don’t have anyone else to accompany you besides your wife now, do you?”

“Huh.”

Kobayashi fell silent after saying this. His attitude was entirely contrary to Oen’s expectations, startling her slightly. Yet contrary to expectations, it became even more absurd. Still, Kobayashi remained serious. After a pause, in a tone as if talking to himself, he began saying something peculiar.

“If I had a woman of substance who’d accompany me all the way to Samgye in Korea for an elopement, I might not have turned out such a strange person. To tell the truth, it’s not just that I don’t have a wife. There’s nothing at all. I have neither parents nor friends. In other words, there’s no world. To put it more broadly, you could say there’s no humanity either.”

Oen felt as though she were meeting someone for the first time in her life.
Having never heard such words from anyone before, she found grasping even their surface meaning difficult.
When it came to how she should handle him, she was utterly at a loss.
Then Kobayashi’s manner grew even more emotional.

“Mrs. Tsuda, I have only one sister.”
“To me—who has nothing else in this world—that sister appears extraordinarily precious.”
“I can’t begin to fathom how much more precious she is to me than to an ordinary person.”
“Yet I must leave her behind.”
“My sister wants to cling to me wherever I go.”
“But I cannot possibly take her with me.”
“Because it’s safer for two people to be apart than together.”
“Because there’s less danger of being killed by others that way.”

Oen felt slightly uneasy.
O-toki—whom she wished would hurry back—still had not returned.
Having no choice, she attempted to change the subject and escape this pressure.
She succeeded immediately.
However, this very success plunged her into an unforeseen predicament.

83

The dialogue at that time, which had followed a particular course, began first with Oen’s words.

“But I wonder if what you’re saying is really true.”

Kobayashi indeed immediately abandoned his previously grave demeanor.
And then, just as Oen had anticipated, he asked a question in return.

“What do you mean? Are you referring to what I just said?”

“No, it isn’t that.”

Oen skillfully lured him into a rhetorical trap.

“You said it earlier yourself.”
“‘...that lately Tsuda has changed quite a bit.’”

Kobayashi had to return to his original point.

“Yes, I said it. Because that’s true—that’s why I said it.”

“Has Tsuda really changed that much?”

“Yes, he has changed.”

Oen looked at Kobayashi with an unconvinced expression.
Kobayashi looked back at Oen as though clutching some evidence.
While they faced each other, a faint smile lingered at the corners of Kobayashi's mouth.
Yet it vanished without ever blooming into full laughter.
Oen made clear she wouldn't be trifled with by someone like Kobayashi.

“Mrs. Tsuda, shouldn’t you yourself have noticed by now?”

This time, Kobayashi pressed Oen from his side with these words.
Oen had indeed noticed that point.
Yet the change she perceived in her husband was something entirely different.
It carried a tendency diametrically opposed to what Kobayashi was thinking—or at least voicing.
The transformation she sensed in Tsuda since their union, vague though it was, seemed to her like a gradual brightening—a delicate shift creeping along a staircase of hues so subtle they verged on indistinguishable.
It possessed a nature no keen observer peering from outside could ever discern.
And this was her secret.
The change in her heart—now slowly beginning to acknowledge either the merest hint of her beloved pulling away, or the sorrowful truth that he had been distant all along.
How could someone like Kobayashi ever grasp this?

“I haven’t noticed anything at all. With him being like that, could there really be any changes?”

Kobayashi let out a loud laugh.

“Mrs.Tsuda, you’re quite skilled at feigning ignorance—I can’t possibly match that.”

“Isn’t it you who’s feigning ignorance here?”

“Well, fine, let’s leave it at that.—But you do possess such an artful technique, Mrs.Tsuda.”
Finally he grasped it.
“So that’s why Mr.Tsuda has been transforming this way—I did think it rather mystifying.”

Oen deliberately ignored him. However, she didn’t put on an irritated expression either. She adopted an attitude that could be called composedly charming. Kobayashi took another step forward.

“Even Mr. Fujii and everyone are surprised.”

“About what?”

When Oen heard the word “Fujii,” her narrow eyes immediately darted toward him. Even while knowing she was being drawn out, she nevertheless found herself compelled to ask in return like this.

“It’s about your skillful technique.
“It’s about your uncanny skill in manipulating Mr. Tsuda into submission and making him compliant.”

Kobayashi's words were too blatant.
However, this blunt man seemed to deliberately display it before Oen with half-charming affect.
Oen answered tersely.

"Is that so.
Do I really possess that much power?
I wouldn't know about myself, but if Uncle and Aunt Fujii say so, then it must probably be true."

"It's absolutely true.
Even if I saw it myself, even if anyone saw it—it's true, so there's nothing to be done about it, is there?"

“Thank you.”

Oen expressed her gratitude in a tone laced with contempt.
The bitter edge underlying that thanks appeared to take Kobayashi entirely by surprise.
He immediately adopted a placating tone.

“Mrs. Tsuda, since you never knew Mr. Tsuda before your marriage, you remain unaware of the influence you’ve exerted over your own husband—”

“I’ve known Tsuda since before our wedding.”

“But you don’t know about what came before that time, do you?”

“That’s only natural.”
“But I know all about that time before.”

In this manner, the conversation finally delved into Tsuda’s past.

Eighty-Four

For Oen, venturing into her husband's unknown domain held immense interest.
She eagerly tried to listen to Kobayashi's account.
Yet when she attempted to hear more, Kobayashi never spoke coherently.
Even when he did speak, he deliberately omitted crucial points.
He would briefly mention scenes like their late-night encounter with a police cordon, but when it came to where they had been spending those hours beforehand, he intentionally blurred details and refused to elaborate.
When questioned further, he merely grinned with suggestive meaning.
Oen even began suspecting he might be deliberately stoking her anxiety.

Oen had always looked down on Kobayashi.
Behind this contempt—formed half by her husband’s assessment and half by her own intuition—there still lay a significant factor she had yet to declare to others.
It was simply that Kobayashi was poor.
It was nothing other than the fact that he held no social standing.
Editing an unsellable magazine—such a thing could never register in her eyes as a legitimate profession.
The Kobayashi she saw always wore the face of a rootless wanderer drifting through society.
He would spill rootless-sounding complaints and wander around aimlessly just to annoy people.

However, a certain degree of eeriness always accompanied this kind of contempt.
For women unaccustomed to such a class—moreover, young women lacking experience—this eerie feeling had to be all the more pronounced.
At the very least, Oen seated before Kobayashi felt this.
She couldn't claim she had never met anyone as poor as him before.
Yet all those who frequented the Okamotos' residence knew their place.
Understanding that social status had its hierarchies, everyone dared act only within permitted bounds.
She had never before encountered someone as insolent as Kobayashi.
She had never met anyone like him—those who approached with brazen familiarity; those who made grand pronouncements despite lacking wealth or status; those who so recklessly maligned high society as he did.

Oen suddenly realized.

"The man I'm dealing with now isn't the simple fool I always took him for—might he not instead be some shrewd operator beyond my handling?"

When the eerie aspect lurking beneath her contempt rose strongly to the surface, Oen's attitude abruptly stiffened.
Then Kobayashi—whether as proof he'd witnessed it or through utter indifference—burst into an "Ahaha!" laugh.

"Mrs. Tsuda, there's still plenty left.
The things you want to know."

“Is that so?”
“I think that’s quite enough for today.”
“If we hear everything all at once now, there’ll be nothing left to look forward to later.”

“Well then, I suppose we’ll wrap things up here for today. If I make you, Mrs. Tsuda, worry too much and you end up having a hysteric fit, then later Mr. Tsuda will just resent me again, blaming me for it.”

Oen turned around.
Behind her was a wall.
Even so, toward the direction near the family dining area, she made an effort to check on O-toki's whereabouts.
Yet the kitchen entrance remained as quiet as before.
O-toki, who should have returned long ago, still had not come back.

"What could have happened?"

“She’ll be back any moment now.
No need to worry—there’s no chance of her getting lost.”

Kobayashi made no move to leave.
With no alternative, Oen attempted to rise under the pretext of brewing fresh tea.
Kobayashi blocked even this.

“Mrs. Tsuda, if you’ve time to spare, I could go on at length about our earlier conversation to help pass it.”
“Whether I chatter the hours away or sit here mute as a stump, it’s all one to a layabout like me—no need for polite restraint on my account.”
“Tell me now—for all his airs, doesn’t your Mr. Tsuda still keep whole reservoirs of secrets dammed up from you?”

“There might be some.”

“Ah, but don’t let that cool manner fool you—the man’s depths run anything but shallow.”

Oen was startled.
Unable to deny the validity of Kobayashi’s criticism within herself, she felt all the more wounded precisely because it rang true.
What an ill-mannered man, she thought as she looked at Kobayashi, not knowing his place.
Kobayashi calmly repeated his earlier remark.

“Mrs. Tsuda, there are still plenty of things you don’t know.”
“Is it so terrible if there are?”
“No—in fact, there are still plenty of things you want to know.”
“I don’t mind if there are.”
“Then, how about rephrasing it to say there are still plenty of things you must know? Even so, do you not mind?”
“I don’t mind.”

85

A whirlpool of sarcasm surged across Kobayashi’s face.
A look of triumph was vividly apparent on his face—one that declared victory would be his whether he advanced or retreated.
He seemed intent on eternally prolonging that moment of triumph, even showing a demeanor as though he wanted to gaze at it himself forever.

What a despicable man!

Oen thought to herself.
And for some time, she stared fixedly at him in a battle of wills.

Then Kobayashi began to speak again.

“Mrs. Tsuda, there’s something I absolutely must have you hear as evidence of Mr. Tsuda’s changes, but since you seem too frightened, I’ll put that aside for later and instead tell you a bit about the opposite—that is, some aspects where Mr. Tsuda hasn’t changed at all—for your reference.”
“This is something that, whether you like it or not, I must absolutely have you listen to from my side.”
“Well then—will you listen?”

Oen coldly replied, “Do as you please.”
Kobayashi said “Much obliged” and laughed.

“I have been despised by Mr. Tsuda since long ago.
Even now, I am despised by Mr. Tsuda.
As I’ve been saying since earlier, Mr. Tsuda has changed greatly.
However, Mr. Tsuda’s contempt for me remains exactly the same now as it was in the past.
It hasn’t changed in the slightest.
It seems even your astute influence as Mrs. Tsuda can do nothing about this.
Though from your perspective, that must seem only natural.”

Kobayashi cut off his words there and gazed intently at Oen’s slightly pained smiling face.
He then resumed.

“No—it doesn’t mean I want him to change in that regard.”
“I have absolutely no intention of seeking your assistance in that regard, so rest assured.”
“To tell the truth, I’m not someone who’s only despised by Mr. Tsuda.”
“I’m someone despised by everyone.”
“I’m even despised by worthless women.”
“To put it bluntly, the whole world has banded together to despise me.”

Kobayashi’s eyes were fixed.
Oen couldn’t do a thing.

“Well...”

“That is a fact. In reality, aren’t you yourself acknowledging it in your heart, Mrs. Tsuda?”

“How could there be such nonsense?”

“Of course you’d have to say that with your words.”

“You’re quite the resentful one, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I may be resentful.”
“Whether I resent it or not, facts are facts.”
“However, that doesn’t matter at all.”
“Since I was born incompetent to begin with, there’s no helping how much I’m despised.”
“I can’t very well resent anyone for it.”
“But do you understand the feelings of someone who has been constantly treated that way by society?”

Kobayashi continued gazing at Oen's face, waiting for her response.
Oen had nothing to say.
What did the feelings of someone who couldn't possibly inspire sympathy have to do with me?
I had my own problem that needed considering.
She couldn't even muster the effort to stretch imagination's wings for Kobayashi's sake.
Seeing this state, Kobayashi began again: "Mrs. Tsuda—"

“Mrs. Tsuda, I live to be disliked by others.”
“I go out of my way to say and do things people dislike.”
“I have to do that, or else I can’t stand the agony.”
“I can’t go on living.”
“I can’t make people acknowledge my existence.”
“I am incompetent.”
“No matter how much people despise me, I can’t even get proper revenge.”
“Since there’s no help for it, I think I’ll at least try to make people dislike me.”
“That is my aspiration.”

Before Oen, the psychological state of someone who might as well have been born in another world was laid bare.
She wanted to be loved by all, and she wanted to maneuver everyone into loving her; particularly toward her husband, she absolutely had to do so—this was her resolve.
And that this applied without exception to everyone in the world, without the slightest contradiction—this she had believed completely from the very beginning.

“You seem rather surprised, don’t you?
“Mrs. Tsuda, you’ve never met such a person before, have you?”
“In this world, there are all sorts of people, you know.”

Kobayashi wore a somewhat satisfied expression.

“Mrs. Tsuda, you’ve been finding me disagreeable since earlier. You’ve been thinking, ‘He should just leave already—he should just leave.’ But for some reason, since the maid hasn’t returned, you’ve had no choice but to keep me company. I understand that perfectly well. But Mrs. Tsuda, you only think of me as a disagreeable person—you don’t know the reason why I’ve become such a disagreeable man. That’s why I went ahead and explained that part for you. I doubt I was born such a disagreeable person—though I can’t say for certain.”

Kobayashi laughed loudly again.

Eighty-Six

Oen's mind grew disordered and shifted before this strange man.
First, understanding did not arise.
Second, sympathy did not emerge.
Third, his sincerity came under suspicion.
Resistance, awe, contempt, distrust, absurdity, disgust, curiosity—these jumbled elements clashing within her breast could never coalesce into a single point.
Thus, they merely made her anxious.
At last she asked.

“So you’re declaring that you came here specifically to make me dislike you?”

“No—that’s not the purpose. The purpose was to come get the coat.”

“So while coming to get the coat, are you saying you’re trying to make me dislike you?”

“No—it’s not exactly like that. I’m simply being natural here. I believe I use far less artifice than you do, Mrs. Tsuda.”

“Regardless of that, why don’t you just give a clear answer to my question?”

“That’s why I say I’m being natural,” Kobayashi continued. “It’s simply that, as a natural result, Mrs. Tsuda comes to dislike me.”

“So that’s your real purpose, isn’t it?” Oen pressed.

“That’s not the purpose.” His tone shifted imperceptibly. “However—it might be my true desire.”

“Where’s the difference between purpose and true desire?”

“Is there no difference?”

From Oen’s narrow eyes shot a glare of hatred.
A spirit that declared, "Don’t think I’m just a woman and look down on me" dwelled vividly behind her pupils.

“You shouldn’t get angry,” said Kobayashi. “I was merely explaining to you, Mrs. Tsuda, that I’m not striking back out of some petty personal motive. I specifically said that so you would interpret it as unavoidable—since Heaven has commanded me to become such a person who makes others dislike me, there’s nothing to be done about it. I want you to acknowledge that I have not the slightest bad purpose in me. I want you to know that I myself have been without purpose from the very beginning. However, Heaven might have a purpose. And that purpose might be what’s moving me. And being moved by that might also be my true desire.”

Kobayashi’s way of developing his argument was slightly too convoluted.
Oen’s mind was not honed enough to exploit the gaps in his logic. Nor did she possess the structured intellectual capacity to discern whether it was acceptable to accept it unconditionally or not.
And yet, she was fully equipped with the wit to grasp the main points of the arguments he directed at her.
She immediately succinctly summarized Kobayashi’s main point.

“So you’re saying that while you can make people dislike you as much as you want, you’ll never take responsibility for it?”

“Yes, that’s it. That is my main point.”

“That’s such cowardly—”

“It’s not cowardly. There’s no cowardice where there’s no responsibility.”

“There certainly is! First of all, what wrong have I ever done to you? Well, I’ll get to that later—go on and say it.”

“Mrs. Tsuda, I’m someone society treats as an outcast.”

“What does that have to do with me or Tsuda?”

Kobayashi laughed as if to say he had been waiting for this moment.

“From your perspective, there probably isn’t any.
But from my perspective, there’s more than enough.”

“Why?”

Kobayashi suddenly stopped answering.
With an expression that seemed to assign the meaning as homework for her to ponder, he silently began puffing on his cigarette.
Oen felt increasingly displeased.
She wanted to tell him it was time he left.
At the same time, she wanted to fully grasp Kobayashi’s meaning.
Having discerned this, Kobayashi’s attitude of deliberate nonchalance galled her anew.
Just then, O-toki—whom she had been anxiously awaiting—finally returned, forcing Oen’s pent-up emotions to dissipate before they could crystallize into any coherent form of expression.

Eighty-Seven

O-toki sat down on the veranda and slid open the shoji screen from the outside.

“I’m back.”
“I’m terribly sorry for being late.”
“Since I took the train all the way to the hospital.”

Oen looked at O-toki with a slightly annoyed expression.

“So you didn’t call?”

“No, I did make the call.”

“So even when you called, it didn’t go through?”

As their exchange continued, Oen gradually came to grasp the significance of O-toki’s trip to the hospital.—The initial call had failed to connect; even when it finally went through, it could not serve its purpose.
She tried to have the nurse called to relay her business, but even that did not go as O-toki had hoped.
A student intern or pharmacy staff member was constantly dealing with her and saying things, but none of it ever got to the point.
The first language was unclear.
Moreover, even the parts that were audible and clear were full of inconsistencies.
In short, since the man apparently did not relay O-toki’s business to Tsuda, she finally gave up and left the telephone booth.
However, disliking the idea of returning home without fulfilling her duty, she immediately boarded a train and headed for the hospital.

"I did consider returning once to ask for instructions first, but it would have taken too much time, and I was also vaguely aware that the guest was waiting here like this."

What O-toki had said was perfectly reasonable.
Oen had to thank her.
Yet when she considered how this very thoughtfulness had forced her to endure Kobayashi’s unpleasantness, even the conscientious maid became an object of resentment.

She stood up and entered the sitting room.
She opened the bottommost drawer of the stacked chest of drawers with gleaming copper fittings that had been positioned there.
Then she took out the coat in question from its depths and placed it before Kobayashi.

“This is the one, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Kobayashi, immediately taking the coat in hand and turning it over with the appraising eyes of a secondhand clothes dealer.

“It’s much dirtier than I expected.”

Oen, who had wanted to say “That’s more than enough for you,” stared at the coat without responding.
The coat had changed color slightly, just as Kobayashi had said.
Turning back the collar to compare the area that hadn’t been exposed to sunlight with the rest made the difference strikingly apparent.

“Well since I’m getting it free I can’t complain about quality now can I?”

“If it doesn’t suit your taste, please don’t hesitate to say so.”

“Are you telling me to leave it here?”

“Yes.”

Kobayashi still did not release the coat.
Oen felt a thrill of satisfaction.

“Mrs., would it be all right if I tried it on here?”

“Yes, yes.”

Oen deliberately gave the opposite response.
Kobayashi writhed as he forced his hands through the constricting sleeves, while Oen remained seated and watched him with a sardonic gaze.

“How does it look?”

As he spoke these words, Kobayashi turned his back toward Oen.
Unsightly creases from the folded tatami imprint came into her view.
Where she ought to have advised him about ironing, she once again did the contrary.

“It looks just right.”

She felt dissatisfied that, with no one beside her, she couldn’t share a knowing glance and laugh at the perfectly crafted comical figure before her.

Then Kobayashi spun around again and, still wearing the coat, plopped down cross-legged in front of Oen.

“Mrs., no matter how ridiculous the clothes people wear or how others mock them, staying alive is still preferable.”

“Is that so?”

Oen suddenly pressed her lips together.

“A lady like you, Mrs., who’s never known hardship—you wouldn’t understand that meaning yet.”

“Is that so? If I have to go on living just to be laughed at by people, I think I’d rather die.”

Kobayashi did not answer at all.
However, he suddenly said,
“Thank you.
Thanks to you, I’ll make it through this winter.”

He stood up.
Oen also stood up.
However, when the two tried to exit the tatami room onto the veranda one after the other, Kobayashi suddenly turned back.

“Mrs., if that’s how you think, you’d better be careful not to get laughed at by others.”

Eighty-eight

Their faces drew within less than a shaku of each other.
Just as Oen moved to step forward, Kobayashi turned around—forcing them both to halt abruptly.
They froze.
Then faced each other.
Or rather, stared into each other's eyes.

At that instant, Kobayashi's bushy eyebrows loomed larger, dominating Oen's vision.
The dark pupils beneath remained fixed unblinkingly upon her.
What meaning they held could only be grasped through her own effort to decipher them.
Oen broke the silence.

“That’s unnecessary. I don’t need to take advice from you.”

“It’s not that there’s no need for you to receive advice—you’re saying you have no intention of heeding any advice, aren’t you? Undoubtedly, you’re a splendid noblewoman through and through. However—”

“That’s enough. Please leave at once.”

Kobayashi did not respond.
The debate erupted at close quarters.

“But what I’m talking about is Mr. Tsuda.”

“What exactly are you saying about Tsuda? I may be a lady, but are you claiming Tsuda isn’t a gentleman?”

“I haven’t the slightest notion what constitutes a gentleman. To begin with, I don’t recognize the existence of such social strata in this world.”

“Whether you recognize it matters not—that’s your prerogative. But what are you insinuating about Tsuda?”

“Do you wish to hear it?”

A sharp bolt of lightning burst forth straight from Oen's narrow eyes.

“Tsuda is my husband.”

“That’s right—that’s precisely why you want to hear it.”

Oen clenched her teeth.

“Leave now.”

“Fine—I’m going this instant.”

Kobayashi turned around immediately after saying this and tried to head toward the entrance, moving about two steps away from Oen along the veranda. Unable to bear the sight of his retreating back any longer, Oen called out to stop him again.

“Wait.”

“What is it?”

Kobayashi lumbered to a stop. With both hands thrust forward in an old overcoat whose sleeves hung too long, he looked around as though admiring his own cartoonish figure, then smirked at Oen. Her voice grew even sharper.

“Why are you leaving without saying anything?”

“I believe I already expressed my thanks earlier.”

“This isn’t about the coat.”

Kobayashi deliberately assumed an air of feigned ignorance.
He even put on a show of pondering with a theatrical “Hmm...”
Oen pressed him further.

“You have an obligation to explain yourself to me.”

“Explain what?”

“About Tsuda.
Tsuda is my husband.
When you insinuate something that casts doubt on my husband’s character in front of his wife, don’t you have an obligation to explain yourself properly?”

“Otherwise, it would simply be a matter of retracting it.”
“I’m not the type to feel much about obligations or responsibilities, so explaining things to your satisfaction might be difficult—but at the same time, as a man who doesn’t consider shame shameful, retracting something once said is no big deal.”
“Then I shall retract my improper remarks about Mr. Tsuda.”
“Thus I shall apologize to you.”
“That should do it.”

Oen remained silent and did not answer.
Kobayashi straightened his posture before her.

“Here, I formally declare:
Mr. Tsuda is a person endowed with splendid character.
A gentleman.
(If such a special class exists in society)”

Oen remained looking downward and did not speak.

Kobayashi continued speaking.

“Earlier, I gave Madam the advice that you should take care not to be laughed at by others.”
“Madam said there was no need to heed advice from someone like me.”
“Therefore, I had to refrain from speaking further.”
“Come to think of it, this too was my indiscretion.”
“I retract that as well.”
“If there are any other things that offended Madam, I retract them all.”
“They were all my indiscretions.”

Kobayashi put on his shoes, neatly arranged in the entryway, after saying this.
Then, as he was finally stepping out through the lattice door, he turned around once more and said, "Goodbye, Mrs. Oen."
After returning a faint silent bow, Oen remained standing there vacantly for what felt like an eternity.

Then, suddenly rushing up the ladder-like stairs to the second floor, she had no sooner sat down before Tsuda’s desk than she threw herself upon it and burst into tears.

89

Fortunately, since O-toki did not come up from below, Oen was able to achieve her immediate purpose without restraint.
She was able to cry to her heart's content without having her face seen by others.
When she had cried herself out to her satisfaction, the tears dried up naturally.

After rolling the wet handkerchief into her sleeve, she suddenly opened the desk drawer.
There were two drawers.
However, as she methodically examined them, her eyes found nothing particularly new.
That was only natural.
When Tsuda had been admitted to the hospital, she had already searched there two or three days prior to prepare his necessary luggage.
She looked at the remaining envelopes, rulers, and receipts for fees, then carefully arranged each one again.
The pamphlet-like advertising booklet with lithographed illustrations of various Panama and straw hats reminded her of that early summer evening when the two of them had gone shopping in Ginza.
This sample booklet—which Tsuda had received from the shop they stopped at to buy summer hats—was saturated with associations that clung like the lingering scent of the past: vermilion azaleas blooming in Hibiya Park, tall willows along one side of the boulevard leading to Kasumigaseki casting thick, dusky shadows, and other such images.
Oen kept it open and sank into deep thought for a while.
Then, as if suddenly struck by a thought, she shut the desk drawer with a clatter.

Next to the desk was a bookcase also constructed in a style with many straight lines.
It also had two drawers.
Having abandoned the desk, Oen immediately turned toward the bookcase.
However, when she tried to open them and placed her hands on the handles, both drawers slid out smoothly without any resistance, so Oen felt disappointed even before inspecting their contents.
Where there was no resistance, there could be no new discovery.
She idly shuffled through something resembling a well-worn notebook.
Reading through each and every one of them was a tremendous task.
Even if she read them, she couldn’t imagine that what she wanted to know would be hidden within those writings.
She was well aware of her husband's cautious nature.
To leave secrets without locks scattered about was far too careless for someone of his meticulous nature.

Oen opened the cupboard and looked around as if searching for something locked away.
But there was nothing inside.
On top lay only dreary knickknacks haphazardly stacked.
The lower section was filled with long storage chests.

Returning once more to the desk, Oen pulled out letters addressed to Tsuda from the letter holder atop it and began inspecting each one.
She thought there couldn’t possibly be anything suspicious left in such an obvious place.
Yet those very letters that had first caught her eye—the ones she hadn’t dared touch—now seemed imbued with a quality demanding final inspection, lingering there persistently to draw her attention.
In the end, under the pretext of thoroughness, she found herself compelled to examine them.

Envelopes were turned over one after another.
Their contents were unfolded one after another.
Some were quartered, some halved; all remaining ones were silently read by Oen.
Afterward, she restored them to their original order and positions.

Suddenly, flames of suspicion blazed up in her chest.
The figure of Tsuda splashing oil on a bundle of old letters and burning them completely away in the front yard appeared vividly before her eyes.
At that moment, Tsuda—looking alarmed—was pressing down on paper fragments transformed into flickering flames dancing upward with a bamboo stick.
It had happened when early autumn's cold winds first began biting at the skin.
A Sunday morning.
A scene occurring less than five minutes after they'd finished breakfast facing each other.
No sooner had Tsuda put down his chopsticks than he came downstairs clutching a thin-twine-bound package; circling from the back entrance to the yard, he'd already set it ablaze.
When Oen stepped onto the engawa, the thick outer wrapping had charred enough to reveal glimpses of letters inside.
"Why burn them?" Oen asked Tsuda.
"They were bulky—troublesome to dispose of," he answered.
When she pressed—"Why not just discard them? We could've used the paper for tying our hair"—Tsuda remained silent.
He kept jabbing recklessly at letters emerging from beneath with his bamboo stick.
Each thrust sent thick smoke—unable to fully ignite—swirling around the stick's tip.
The eddies hid both green bamboo's base and the letters being suppressed.
Tsuda turned his smoke-choked face away from Oen......

Until O-toki came up to call her for lunch, Oen had remained sitting as motionless as a fixed doll, continuing to think of such things.

Ninety

Before she knew it, noon had passed.
Oen once again faced her solitary meal served by O-toki.
This was none other than the daily routine they repeated during Tsuda's absence when he went to his office.
Yet today's Oen wasn't her usual self.
Her bearing remained rigid.
Yet beneath this, her thoughts churned without focus.
Even the formal kimono she'd changed into earlier when preparing to go out now served as an added layer amplifying this uncharacteristically ceremonious mood.

Had matters concerning her present self not slipped from O-toki's lips, Oen might have finished her meal without uttering a single word.
Even that meal—to tell the truth—she had no appetite for, but fearing O-toki's suspicion, she had merely gone through the motions of sitting down to the tray.

O-toki too had been deliberately refraining from conversation as if exercising some reserve. However, when Oen set down her chopsticks after just one bowl, she finally asked, "Have you finished your meal?" Yet even after receiving only a "No" in reply, she did not immediately clear the tray and retreat to the kitchen.

"I'm terribly sorry."

She apologized for having gone to the hospital on her own initiative.

For her part, Oen also had something she wanted to ask her.

“He was making quite a loud noise earlier, wasn’t he? Did it reach as far as the maid’s quarters?”

“No.”

Oen cast suspicious eyes on O-toki.
O-toki immediately spoke as if to avoid them.

“That guest was quite—”

However, Oen gave no answer.
Since she was simply waiting quietly for the continuation, O-toki had to take up the thread herself.
Their conversation proceeded from this starting point.

“The master was quite startled.”
“He said he was an utter scoundrel.”
“He didn’t say a word about us coming to pick it up or anything like that—yet without any notice he started negotiating directly with you and whatnot—and all while knowing full well that the master was in the hospital!”

Oen let out a faint scornful laugh.
However, she did not add her own criticism.

"Did he say anything else?"

"He said to hand over just the coat and return it quickly. Then he asked if you were speaking with Mrs. Yoshikawa, so when I told him you were, he made a very displeased face."

“Is that so? Is that all?”

“No, he asked what you were talking about.”

“And what did you answer?”

“Since there was nothing particular to answer, I told him I didn’t know about that.”

“Then what?”

“Then he made an even more displeased face. ‘It’s wrong to just let her barge into the tatami room like that—’”

“Did he say that? But if she’s an old friend, there’s nothing to be done about it, is there?”

“That’s why I told him so too. Besides, Madam was in the middle of changing clothes at that moment, so she couldn’t very well go straight to the entrance—there was nothing else to be done about it.”

“I see.”
“Then what happened?”

“Then he said with a sneer, ‘Given that you used to serve the Okamotos, I suppose it’s only natural you’d defend Madam so passionately no matter what—how admirable.’”

Oen gave a bitter smile.

“That’s too bad for you.
Is that all?”

“No, there’s more.
Mr. Kobayashi was asking whether he hadn’t been drinking alcohol.
I didn’t notice anything particular, but since it’s not even New Year’s, I thought there’s no way someone would come visiting another house first thing in the morning while drunk, so—”

“Did you say Mr. Kobayashi wasn’t drunk?”

“Yes.”

Oen made a look that suggested there was still more to come.
O-toki indeed did not end the conversation there.

“Madam, the master said I must tell you this properly when he returns.”

“What?”

“That Kobayashi fellow is someone whose words make no sense—he’s especially dangerous when he drinks.”
“So no matter what that man says, you mustn’t engage with him.”
“‘Just assume everything he spouts is nonsense—you can’t go wrong,’ he said.”

“I see.”

Oen no longer felt like saying anything.

O-toki guffawed all by herself.

"Mrs. Hori was also laughing nearby."

Oen learned for the first time that Tsuda’s sister had come to visit him at the hospital that morning.

Ninety-One

That sister, one year older than Oen, was already the mother of two children.
The eldest son had already been born four years prior.
The mere fact of being a mother was sufficient to awaken her self-awareness.
Her mind was that of a mother at all times since four years prior.
There was not a single day when she was not a mother.

Her husband was a man of pleasure.
And he possessed the magnanimous temperament typical of pleasure-seekers.
In exchange for roaming freely himself, he neither frowned upon his wife nor doted on her excessively.
This constituted his manner toward Oshu.
He prided himself on this conduct.
He believed such refinement could only be attained through years of dedicated study in the art of indulgence.
If he maintained anything resembling a solemn philosophy of life, it amounted to approaching all matters with lukewarm detachment.
To let things pass with a smile.
To cling to nothing.
To traverse the world with careless ease, slovenly indifference, dispassionate calm, magnanimous tolerance, and virtuous simplicity.
This he called his cultivated mastery.
Being financially unencumbered, he had sustained this lifestyle effortlessly.
Wherever he went, he perceived no deficiency.
These apparent successes rendered him increasingly sanguine.
Confident of universal approbation, he naturally assumed Oshu's fondness as given.
Nor was this assumption mistaken.
In truth, she bore him no particular dislike.

Oshu, who had been married for her looks, only came to understand her husband’s true nature after settling into the Hori household.
She was finally able to comprehend his demeanor, as though his being had been cleansed by the wine of debauchery.
Even her suspicion—why would a man of so little attachment have seriously insisted on needing to marry her in the first place?—was quickly buried in ambiguity.
Not being as tenacious as Oen, she—before even grasping its meaning—had already shifted her wifely interest away from her husband and was compelled to turn her first radiant maternal gaze upon her newborn child.

Oshu’s differences from Oen were not limited to this alone.
Oen’s new household consisted solely of the couple, with both their families living far away in Kyoto; in contrast, Hori had his mother.
His younger brother and younger sister were also living with them.
They even had troublesome relatives living with them.
Naturally, she could not afford to think only of her husband.
Above all with her husband’s mother, she had to endure worries that others were unaware of.

As one would expect of someone who had been married for her looks, Oshu appeared youthful no matter how much time passed when viewed from the outside.
Even when compared to Oen, who was one year her junior, she still appeared youthful.
It was hard to believe she was the mother of a four-year-old.
However, having spent the past four or five years under family circumstances different from Oen’s, she had also developed an understanding in certain areas that differed from Oen’s.
She, who might not necessarily be seen as younger than Oen, was in a certain sense indeed more aged than her.
Rather than her speech and demeanor being aged, it was her heart that had aged.
In other words, she had become steeped in domestic life early on.

Oshu, who had to view her brother and his wife through these domestically seasoned eyes, always harbored dissatisfaction toward them. This dissatisfaction would invariably drive her to side with her parents in Kyoto whenever any issue arose. Still, she tried to avoid opportunities for conflict with her brother as much as possible. She had always refrained from making critical remarks about her sister-in-law, believing it worse than confronting her brother directly. Yet inwardly she felt precisely the opposite. Toward Oen, who remained silent rather than voicing opinions like her brother did, she consistently directed extra criticism. The notion that things might have been better had her brother not married such a showy woman perpetually lingered at her core. And it never once crossed her mind that this amounted to nothing more than self-serving bias—a pitiable critique of Oen.

Oshu believed she understood her position well.
She was aware that, if not actively disliked by her brother and his wife, she was by no means thought well of by them.
However, the thought of altering her position never entered her mind.
The primary reason she did not change was that the two would dislike it.
The fact that they disliked her position ultimately amounted to disliking her herself, so she felt compelled to assert her defiance there.
The second reason was that a conscience telling her she was right had been at work.
This was an assertion that no matter how much she was disliked, it didn’t matter as long as she believed it was for her brother’s sake.
The third had to be condensed into the single point that she simply disliked the showy Oen.
Even she, who had more financial leeway than Oen and could afford greater luxuries, wondered why she found Oen—inferior to herself in that regard—so disagreeable.
It posed no problem for Oshu.
However, Oshu had a mother-in-law.
And so, Oen was entirely her own master except for her husband.
However, Oshu did not even consider this difference in relation to this issue.

The time when Oshu—having been asked by Oen over the phone about Tsuda’s condition—went to visit him at the hospital the following day was nearly an hour before O-toki was to arrive, just as Kobayashi was about to receive the coat and entered his tatami room.

92

Having slept poorly the previous night, Tsuda had barely touched the breakfast tray the nurse brought him that morning before lying back again and closing his heavy eyes to make up for the previous evening’s deficit.
Oshu entered just as he was drifting into a drowsy half-sleep, so he immediately opened his eyes at the sound of the sliding door.
Then he exchanged glances with Oshu—who had deliberately opened it quietly out of consideration for the patient.

In such situations, they never exchanged pleasantries. Nor did they show each other any cheerful expressions. From their perspective, such gestures were merely too trite a social formality—an effort bordering on falsehood at that. They shared a tacit understanding perceptible only between siblings, one that would never translate to outsiders. After all, even if they had consciously tried to endear themselves to each other—tried to be liked—and merely performed the superficial courtesies expected of everyone else, it was far too late for that now. Over years, they had reached an unspoken pact: rather than clumsily going through the motions of mutual deception, why not simply face each other with countenances true to their conscience? And those conscience-true faces were ultimately nothing more than charmless masks.

First of all, they were on close terms as ordinary siblings.
Therefore, in the sense that there was no need for reserve, their uncharming greetings did not trouble them.
Secondly, they had certain points of discord between them.
That became the root of trouble; whenever they saw each other's faces, they wanted to repel one another.

In Tsuda's eyes—which had abruptly lifted his head and found Oshu there—there existed precisely this neglect and indifference born of dual meanings.
As if awaiting something, he laid his once firmly raised head back down on the pillow.
Oshu for her part remained utterly indifferent to this, entering the room without uttering a word.

Before anything else, she first gazed at the meal tray by the bedside.
The tray was filthy.
Beneath an overturned milk bottle lying on its side was a single eggshell crushed by its weight; nearby lay a piece of toast bearing teeth marks, discarded half-eaten.
Moreover, another untouched piece lay neatly on the plate.
One egg was also still left.

“Brother, have you finished this already?”
“Or haven’t you even finished it?”

In truth, Tsuda’s manner of tidying up was a careless affair that could be interpreted either way.

"I'm already done."

Oshu frowned and carried the tray to the foot of the staircase.
Whether due to the nurse's negligence or not, the remnants of breakfast scattered around her brother's bedside were not a pleasant sight for her, having just come from her own immaculately cleaned home.

“How filthy.”

Without directing her complaint at anyone in particular, she muttered this to herself and returned to her seat.
However, Tsuda stayed silent and did not acknowledge her.

"How did you know I was here?"

"Your wife informed me over the phone."

"Oen did?"

"Yes."

"But I explicitly told her not to tell you."

This time, it was Oshu who did not respond.

“I had intended to come right away, but unfortunately there was a slight complication yesterday—”

Oshu said nothing more after that.
After her marriage, she had somehow developed this habit of only ever speaking in half-finished sentences.
Depending on the situation, this struck Tsuda as odd.
There were times when he interpreted it as meaning, "Now that I've married into another family, even you, Brother, are a stranger."
Even when considering their own marital relationship, Tsuda—with a mind so thoroughly logical that he couldn't fail to recognize there was nothing unreasonable about it—was by no means incapable of such reflection.
In fact, he had even secretly hoped that Oen would interact with others in this same manner as his sister.
Yet when confronted with such behavior from Oshu himself, he found it thoroughly unpleasant.
And so he had no room left for self-reflection—no time to consider that he himself had been constantly displaying this very behavior toward Oshu.

Without asking further, Tsuda said what he thought.

“There’s no need for you to go out of your way to come today, especially when you’re busy. It’s not a serious illness anyway.”

“But Sister-in-law specifically told me over the phone to come if I had time.”

“I see.”

“And besides, Brother, I have something I need to discuss with you.”

Tsuda finally turned his head toward Oshu.

93

A strange sensation from his incision site assailed him.
It was merely a peculiar feeling caused by the sudden contraction of muscles around the gauze-packed wound—but once it began, it became something that progressed with regular precision, much like breathing or a pulse, and would not cease.

He had felt the first contraction on the afternoon of the day before yesterday.
This experience—occurring just as Oen, having obtained his permission to attend the theater, descended the staircase—was not at all new to him.
When he had previously undergone treatment, he had already discovered this same phenomenon; he couldn’t help but cry out inwardly, *It’s starting again*.
Then, as if deliberately replaying that bitter memory for him, the contractions began progressing with mechanical regularity.
First, flesh contracted—he felt himself being roughly scrubbed by packed gauze—then this sensation gradually eased as muscles attempted to return to their natural state—only for the contraction to resurge violently, like a wave retreating then crashing back onto shore with renewed force.
At once, his will lost all ordinary command over that region.
The more frantically he tried to halt it, the less his muscles obeyed.
—This was the process.

Tsuda did not know what connection existed between this strange sensation and Oen. He felt sorry for treating her as if she were a bird in a cage. He considered it unmanly to keep her by his side indefinitely. So he willingly released her into the open air. However, no sooner had she expressed gratitude for his kindness and left his sickbed than he suddenly began to feel as though he alone had been left behind. He strained his ears restlessly as he listened to the sound of Oen descending downstairs. Even the harsh clang of the bell she rang when opening the entrance door felt too intrusive to him. The unpleasant muscular sensation from his affected area recurred precisely at this moment. He attributed it to a kind of stimulus. And he concluded this stimulus stemmed from nothing but his overly sensitive nerves. Could Oen’s actions have made his nerves so hypersensitive? Even Tsuda, who had abruptly begun feeling displeasure at her behavior, could not reason that far. Yet according to him, it was self-evident this was no mere coincidence. He constructed a relationship between the two phenomena through his own logic alone. Simultaneously, he wanted to later explain this connection to Oen—simply to make her regret abandoning her bedridden husband for a day’s amusement that had turned sour, to make her feel remorseful. But he knew no suitable words to express it. Even if expressed, he was certain she wouldn’t comprehend. Even should she comprehend, making her feel as he desired would prove difficult. He had no choice but to remain silent and ill at ease.

The moment he turned back toward Oshu, the contraction in his affected area that had begun again immediately made Tsuda recall this entire sequence of events.
He made a bitter face.

There was no way Oshu, who knew nothing, could have understood such subtle nuances.
She interpreted it as nothing more than that familiar expression her brother always showed only to her.

"If you dislike it, shall we discuss it after you leave the hospital?"

Though she showed no particularly sympathetic attitude, she still had to make some considerations.

“Are you in pain somewhere?”

Tsuda simply nodded.
Oshu remained silent for a while, watching his condition.
At the same time, the contractions began repeating with regular precision in Tsuda’s affected area.
Silence continued between them.
Throughout this sustained silence, he did not alter his bitter expression.

“That’s troubling if it’s so painful.”
“What’s wrong with your wife?”
“But according to yesterday’s phone call, she said there wasn’t any pain or anything like that…”

“Oen doesn’t know.”

“Then did the pain start after your wife left?”

Unable to say, “Well, the pain actually started because of Oen,” Tsuda suddenly saw himself as behaving like a spoiled child.
As for his upper body, he could manage, but he felt ashamed that his inner abdomen was so unlike an elder brother.

“What on earth is this business you came for?”

“Oh, you don’t have to talk when you’re in so much pain.”
“Let’s leave it for another time.”

Tsuda could easily deceive himself.
But at that moment, he disliked deceiving.
He had already forgotten the sensation in his affected area.
The contraction had this peculiar trait: it would subside when forgotten and be forgotten once it subsided.

“Never mind that—just tell me.”

“After all, it’s my business—nothing worthwhile anyway.”
“Fine then.”

Tsuda also had a rough idea of what it was about.

94

"It's that matter again, I suppose."

Tsuda paused for a moment, then reluctantly spoke as follows.
However, by that time, he had already reverted to his usual expression of not wanting to listen.
Oshu felt irritated by this contradiction in her heart.

“That’s why I’ve been saying from the start that we should leave this matter for next time, haven’t I?
But since you insist on pressing me like this, Brother, I end up feeling like telling you after all.”

“Then why don’t you just speak without holding back? You came here intending to talk about that anyway, didn’t you?”

“But Brother, you’re making such a disagreeable face.”

Oshu was not the kind of woman who would merely make a displeased face at her brother and leave it at that. Therefore, Tsuda had no reason to feel sorry. He instead thought of her as someone who, despite being his sister, criticized him unnecessarily. He passed by without paying any attention.

“Did something come from Kyoto again?”

“Well, more or less.”

Since it was nearly established that news from Kyoto was mainly conveyed to Tsuda through his father and to Oshu through her mother, he saw no need to inquire again about who handled the correspondence.
However, given their present circumstances, the contents of the letter Oshu had received from her mother could not possibly have been indifferent.
Ever since dispatching his second request to Kyoto, he had been ceaselessly worrying in his heart about whether remittances had arrived.
Even as Tsuda cautiously tried to avoid hearing about the incident referred to between the siblings as “that matter,” he could not help feeling vital stakes in the sources for month-end payments and hospital expenses; moreover, he understood better than Oshu the implications of these two matters being intricately entangled under inseparable circumstances.
He had no choice but to actively push forward himself.

“What did they say?”

“Didn’t Father say something to you too, Brother?”

“Yeah, he did. You already get it without me spelling it out.”

Oshu neither affirmed nor denied that she understood.
She merely allowed a faint shadow of a smirk to play about her neatly arranged lips.
The way this seemed to hint at a triumphant air of having bested her brother grated on Tsuda.
Under normal circumstances, Oshu's looks—which by mere virtue of their sibling relationship never drew his attention—only served to irritate him unpleasantly at such moments.
Her looks, mediocre yet slightly above average, had even made him suspect more than once that this woman might needlessly wound others' feelings.
There were times he wanted to snap: You intend to boast your whole life about being married off for your looks, don't you?

Oshu turned toward her brother with her neatly arranged eyes and nose composed.

"So what did you do, Brother?"

"What am I supposed to do about it?"

"Didn't you tell Father anything?"

Tsuda remained silent for a while.
Then he answered in a manner that suggested he had no choice.

“I told him.”

“Then?”

“Then there’s still no response at all. Of course, it might have already arrived at the house, but unless Oen goes home to check, even that remains unclear.”

“But you must have some idea what kind of reply Father will send,”

Tsuda did not answer.
He fumbled for the collar of the cotton-padded robe Oen had prepared for him, then pulled out a small toothpick from beneath his black habutae silk garment and began picking at his front teeth.
As he remained silent, Oshu rephrased her question with different words that carried the same meaning.

“Brother, do you think Father will readily send the money without complaint?”

“I don’t know.”

Tsuda answered bluntly.
And then he added irritably.

“That’s why I’ve been asking you since earlier what Mother said to you.”

Oshu deliberately averted her eyes toward the engawa.
This was merely her way of sighing "Ah, ah" in front of him without actually doing so.

“It’s not that I wasn’t going to tell you.
I knew this would happen from the start.”

95

Tsuda finally asked what matters were written in the letter addressed to Oshu.
According to the contents conveyed from his sister’s mouth, their father’s anger was more intense than he had anticipated.
If he could manage the month-end shortfall himself, that would be one thing; but if he couldn’t even do that, then their father’s actual thinking seemed to be that he might suspend future remittances for the time being as a lesson.
When he considered it, the previous excuses about fence repairs and rent arrears that had been conveyed to him must have been lies.
Even if they weren’t lies, he still had to regard them as mere lip service.
Why on earth had Father sent him such insincere, formal words again?
If he was going to scold me, he should have done it in a more manly way.

He mused deeply.
The face of his father, with his goatee and tendency to put on airs about everything; the head of his mother, who for no reason detested short Western-style hair and insisted on always wearing a chignon—such characteristics provided no clues whatsoever to interpret this situation.

“It’s your fault for not keeping your promise, Brother.”
There was nothing Tsuda wanted to hear less than these words she had repeated countless times since the incident.
He understood perfectly well that failing to keep the promise was his fault—he didn’t need his sister to tell him that.
He simply hadn’t acknowledged the necessity of doing so.
And he wanted others to acknowledge that position as well.

“But that’s impossible!” said Oshu.
“No matter how close parent and child are, a promise remains a promise.”
“Besides, if it were just Father and Brother’s matter, it wouldn’t matter, but...”

For Oshu, the fact that her husband Hori was involved in this matter was the most crucial issue.

“Even my husband is troubled.
"When my husband receives such a letter from Mother,"

It was Hori’s influence that overturned his father’s opinion—that once one graduates from school, secures a decent position, and establishes a new household, one must manage an independent livelihood without relying on one’s parents, even if imperfectly.
Hori, who had been asked by Tsuda and casually took on the task, arbitrarily listed various convenient factors—rising prices, the necessity of socializing, changing times, the distinction between Tokyo and the provinces—and persuaded Tsuda’s father, a man solely committed to diligence and frugality.
Instead, it was he who had devised the policy of allocating the majority of Tsuda’s biannual bonuses to partially repay the monthly allowance in a lump sum.
He, who had taken on responsibility with the establishment of that plan, was also an utterly carefree man.
He had not only never given serious thought to fulfilling promises from the start, but by the time the period for execution arrived, he had already forgotten about them.
Having received a letter bordering on reprimand from Tsuda’s father, he was all the more startled precisely because he had hardly kept this incident in mind.
However, after the cash had been neatly spent, even if he realized it, there was nothing he could do.
The optimistic he merely wrote a perfunctory reply and considered the matter settled.

However, he had to be taught by Tsuda’s father that the world was not constructed to accommodate his careless ways.

Tsuda’s father continued to treat him as the responsible party.

At the same time, a splendid ring that seemed mismatched with Tsuda’s financial means began to glitter on Oen’s finger.
And the first one to discover that was Oshu.
The fellow women’s curiosity heightened her sensitivity.
She praised Oen’s ring.
Having praised it, she took the opportunity to try to ascertain when and where it had been bought.
Oen, who knew nothing of the promise between Tsuda and his father that Hori had guaranteed into existence, remained completely innocent on that point—contrary to her usual prudence.
The effort to demonstrate how much Tsuda loved her overcame all considerations.
She told Oshu everything exactly as it was.

Oshu, who had long viewed Oen in a somewhat negative light as a woman too ostentatious for everyday life, immediately reported the entire matter to Kyoto.
Moreover, she composed the letter to imply that Oen, despite being fully aware of the biannual agreement, had deliberately manipulated her husband into withholding funds meant for repayment.
Oshu had concluded from the outset that Tsuda’s failure to disclose his financial circumstances to Oen—a decision rooted in his own vanity concerning his wife—was itself an extension of Oen’s vanity.
Thus she transmitted her own misunderstanding directly to Kyoto.
Even now, she remained unable to extricate herself from that misunderstanding.
Therefore, regarding this incident, it might have been more accurate to say her adversary was not her brother Tsuda but rather her sister-in-law Oen.

“What exactly does Sister-in-law intend by this?”
“Regarding the current matter?”

“What does Oen have to do with any of this?”
“I haven’t told her a single thing.”

“Is that so.”
“Then Sister-in-law has it easiest, doesn’t she?”

Oshu showed a sarcastic smile.
In Tsuda’s mind vividly appeared the figure of Oen from the evening before going to the theater—how she had thrust the gleaming thick obi into the lamplight, saying she might pawn this.

Ninety-Six

“What on earth am I supposed to do?”

Oshu’s words could be interpreted both as an attempt to harass her irresponsible brother and as an expression of her own perplexity.
She had her husband’s dignity to uphold.
Even a mother-in-law more circumspect than her husband lingered in the shadows.

“My husband only spoke up because you asked him to—he never meant to shoulder responsibility to that extent. Not that I’m calling him irresponsible now, mind you. But since there’s no written contract stating ‘I’ll resolve it this way if trouble arises,’ if Father persists in interpreting everything through legalistic lenses, I’m the one who’ll face difficulties with my husband.”

Tsuda had no choice but to at least superficially acknowledge his sister’s position.
However, since no sense of guilt toward her arose anywhere in his conscience, his attitude naturally rebounded upon Oshu.
She saw before her a brother who was utterly self-serving.
Her brother had thought of almost nothing besides his own convenience.
If he was thinking of anything at all, it was only of his newly acquired wife.
And he had grown indulgent toward his wife.
Rather, she was being given free rein.
To satisfy his wife, he had to become even more self-serving toward others than he had been before.

As she viewed her brother in this manner, she adopted an attitude toward him that, in Tsuda’s words, was most lacking in sympathy and unlike that of a sister. When expressed without reserve in words, it became something utterly blunt like: “Your troubles are your own fault, so there’s nothing to be done about them—but what about settling my situation?”

Tsuda did not say what he would do. He also had no intention of taking action. Instead, he raised his father’s intentions—which were difficult to imagine—as an issue before Oshu.

“What on earth is Father’s intention?”
“Does he think that if he suddenly declares he won’t send the money, Yushu will manage somehow?”

“That’s exactly it, Brother.”

Oshu looked meaningfully at Tsuda’s face.
And then she added.

“That’s why I say I’m troubled with my husband.”

A faint suggestion flashed through Tsuda’s mind. Like distant lightning glimpsed at summer’s end, it was remote yet undeniably keen-edged. This concerned Father’s character. While one might call it remote in the sense that he had remained utterly unaware until now, once noticed, this impulse to affirm it based on Father’s usual conduct cut sharply into Tsuda as a son. In his heart he first cried “Impossible!”, yet in the next instant found himself amending it to “Unless perhaps...”

The psychological state of his father, illuminated through a lens of conjecture, had been engineered to reach its anticipated outcome through the following sequence:
—First, tactfully refuse the remittance.
Tsuda would be left in distress.
Compelled by prior circumstances, he would explain the situation to Hori.
Hori, now forced to acknowledge responsibility toward Kyoto, could only discharge his duty as guarantor to Father by rescuing Tsuda from his plight.
Thus he would have no choice but to cover the monthly sum.
Father would then merely offer thanks and maintain his composure.

When he structured his thoughts into paragraphs like this, he detected a certain wariness within them.
There was also considerable logic at play.
A certain degree of skill in his methods was undeniably evident.
Yet simultaneously, there was no trace of straightforwardness to be found.
While not descending to outright baseness, there lingered a faint whiff of fox-like cunning.
His excessive fixation on trivial sums of money stood out with particular clarity.
In short, everything bore Father's unmistakable stamp.

However much they might clash on other matters, even Tsuda couldn't outdo Oshu in remaining unimpressed by Father's tactics.
Though Oshu aligned with Father in every other respect, when it came to this single point, even she found herself compelled to furrow her brows in unison with Tsuda.

Father’s character.
That was rather a separate matter.
Tsuda did not take kindly to receiving assistance from Oshu.
Oshu, for her part, harbored no favorable feelings toward her brother and his wife either.
Moreover, she found herself painfully considering her obligations to her husband and mother-in-law.
The two of them first agonized over how to resolve the practical problem.
Yet in speech, neither possessed the courage to probe to the very depths.
The understanding of Father’s intentions that had formed through their mutual surmise progressed no further than being tacitly acknowledged in conversation.

97

Unable to move forward while untangling the knot where emotion and logic intertwined, they wandered endlessly through their conversation.
Their attitudes—dancing around the heart of the matter without ever quite reaching it—scorched them both with impatience deep within.
Yet they remained brother and sister.
Both shared a penchant for nitpicking pettiness.
Though each silently condemned the other's evasiveness, neither dared make an undignified scene.
But Tsuda, being both her elder brother and a man, possessed greater finesse than Oshu in steering their talk toward resolution.

“So you’re saying you have no sympathy for your brother?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then you’re saying you have no sympathy for Oen? Either way, it comes down to the same thing.”

“Why, I haven’t said a word about Oen!”

“In short, you’re declaring me the chief culprit in this whole affair—that’s your conclusion, isn’t it? You needn’t explain—I understand perfectly well. Fine then. I’ll submit to this punishment of yours. This month I’ll manage without taking Father’s money.”

“You think you can actually do that?”

The tone that seemed to mock her brother immediately provoked Tsuda’s next words.

“If I can’t do it, then I’ll just die.”

Oshu finally relaxed her tightly pursed lips slightly, revealing a glimpse of white teeth.
In Tsuda’s mind reappeared the figure of Oen under the lamplight, handling the thick obi that gleamed.

“Perhaps I should just lay bare all my financial circumstances to Oen.”

For Tsuda, there had been no solution so easily attainable.
Yet given the circumstances, no admission could have been more excruciating.
He understood Oen’s vanity all too well.
To provide her with every possible satisfaction was, in essence, an extension of his own vanity.
To undermine Oen’s trust in him—a cornerstone so vital to a woman—was like inflicting a wound upon himself.
More than any pity for Oen, it was the humiliation of diminishing his own standing before his wife that pained him most.
Even in such trivial circumstances—where others might mock him for making much ado about nothing—he found himself paralyzed.
There was money in the house—more than enough to maintain his dignity before Oen.
Yet this arbitrary reality of “in spite of it all” stubbornly asserted itself.

Moreover, he was not one to fly into a rage under any circumstances.
He who regarded losing self-control as utterly vulgar had also been endowed by his parents with a temperament that made such loss of composure fundamentally alien to him.

After flinging out the words "Then I'll just die if I can't," he continued studying Oshu's reaction.
He felt neither shame nor particular concern that nothing matching the decisiveness of his declaration arose from within.
Rather dispassionately, he began weighing matters on the scales of his heart.
He measured the agony of confessing their circumstances to Oen against the distastefulness of accepting aid from Oshu.
Then he contemplated what might transpire were he to dare choose the latter option.
Oshu, fully capable of responding to such an appeal, found herself vexed first and foremost by her brother's complete absence of remorse.
She bitterly resented how Oen—that paragon of virtue—maintained her composed stance behind him.
It galled her beyond measure how Father in Kyoto kept making oblique approaches as if her husband Hori bore responsibility for this whole affair.
Even after Tsuda's intentions had become transparent through these convoluted circumstances, she still couldn't bring herself to show any proactive goodwill.

At the same time, Tsuda’s attitude toward Oshu—who had married into a relatively wealthy family through social aspirations—was also filled with a kind of self-respect. He detected in this sister of his, following her marriage, a certain whiff reminiscent of an upstart. Or perhaps he had merely imagined detecting it. Before he knew it, he had begun to be dominated by a mood toward her—as though clad in the imposing armor of an elder brother. Therefore, even he could not simply bow his head before Oshu.

As a result, neither brought up the matter of money. And so both waited for the other to broach the subject.

In the midst of their indecisive, half-hearted private conversation, the maid O-toki suddenly burst in and completely dismantled the scenario the two had been constructing.

Ninety-eight

However, before O-toki came directly, it was certain that a call had come to Tsuda.
He heard the pharmacy clerk’s bothered voice relaying, “Mr. Tsuda, you have a call,” while on the staircase steps.
He temporarily stopped his conversation with Oshu and asked back, “Where is it from?”
The pharmacy clerk said as he descended, “Probably from your home, I suppose.”
This sarcastic greeting made Tsuda’s mind—which had been too deeply engrossed in their tangled conversation—grow indolent.
It further irritated him, who had already been displeased with Oen’s behavior of not showing up yesterday or today since she went to the theater.

"She’s reeling me in with phone calls."

He thought at once.
Yesterday she’d called, today she’d called—likely tomorrow she’d call again too. Only after thoroughly hooking his attention would she suddenly reveal her true face. That had to be her tactic, he concluded.

Considering Oen's usual demeanor toward him, this line of reasoning wasn't entirely unfounded. He even imagined Oen's smile—suddenly and quietly startling him when it entered his mind at an unguarded moment. That smile's peculiar effect on his heart was something he understood all too well. With the power of that sharp weapon she flashed in an instant, she would instantly conquer him every time. From his perspective—having had his resolve, which he'd stubbornly maintained until now, deftly flipped—it was as though he were helplessly watching himself fall into her trap.

Despite Oshu’s warning, he left the telephone as it was.

“It’s nothing important anyway.
Just leave it be.”

This response struck Oshu as utterly unexpected.
First, it clashed with her brother’s fastidious nature that abhorred sloppiness.
Second, it contradicted his usual attitude of yielding to Oen’s every whim.
She concluded he was feigning indifference toward his wife to conceal his habitual leniency out of consideration for her presence.
Though privately gratified by this interpretation, she found herself compelled to rise when the pharmacy clerk’s booming voice urged them about the call from below.
She deliberately descended the stairs.
Yet her effort proved futile.
After the clerk’s rough handling, the public telephone’s receiver had gone dead.

When she had formally fulfilled her obligation and returned to her seat to resume their shared conversation, O-toki—who had rushed there in haste—finally lost all patience, abandoned the public telephone, and boarded a train. Within less than fifteen minutes, Tsuda found himself startled once more when yet another unforeseen matter came from her lips—something he hadn’t anticipated.

After O-toki left, his mind did not readily return to its former state. Though confident he thoroughly understood Kobayashi’s character, he could not help being surprised—and compelled to reflect—that Kobayashi, who had suddenly barged into his empty home, had not even attempted prolonged conversation with Oen, whom he hardly knew. This was no mere question of whether to give a coat or not. The issue lay in his very nature—utterly unrelated to coats yet calmly capable of receiving another coat directly from the hands of an unfamiliar wife. Or perhaps it was a secondary nature born inevitably from his circumstances. Pushing further, Tsuda’s concern became how this nature might act upon Oen. Here lay eccentricity. Here lay self-destructiveness. Here were cold white eyes perpetually gazing upon satisfied people with dissatisfaction. The newlywed couple now risked being singled out by him as prime representatives among all contented souls within his reach. Tsuda—who from the first had shown no mercy in his contempt for him—was fully conscious that he himself had laid this groundwork.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A sudden terror welled up in Tsuda’s heart.
Oshu, on the contrary, burst out laughing.
The very meaning behind her brother’s endless nitpicking about this man Kobayashi was almost entirely lost on her.

“Whatever Mr. Kobayashi says—or whatever—what does it matter?”
“No one takes anything that man says seriously.”

Oshu also knew one aspect of Kobayashi well.
However, that was largely limited to the aspect he showed in front of Uncle Fujii.
And that aspect was a completely different, calm side of him—as though reborn—compared to when he drank alcohol.

“That’s not it at all—far from it.”

“Have people become so wicked lately?”
“That person…”

Oshu still wore an expression of disbelief.

“But even one match can burn down a great house if you want it to.”

“On the other hand—if the fire doesn’t spread—that ends it all, even if you’ve stockpiled crates of matches.”
“Your wife isn’t the sort of woman to let someone like him light her fire.”
“Or else…”

Ninety-Nine

When Tsuda heard the latter half of the sentence from Oshu's lips, he deliberately kept his eyes motionless.
He remained facing away, waiting intently for what would follow.
Yet the continuation he anticipated never came.
Oshu had merely half-uttered something likely to concern him before abruptly changing the subject.

"Why on earth are you worrying about such trivial matters today of all days?"
"Is there some special circumstance?"

Tsuda kept his eyes fixed on the same spot as before.
This was to prevent his sister from discerning his inner thoughts as much as possible.
It was to stop her from reading the look in his eyes.
And indeed, he found himself affected by the consequences of this unnatural act.
He felt vaguely timid.
At last he turned toward Oshu.

“It’s not like I’m particularly worried.”
“You’re just letting it bother you.”

If he continued in this manner, he would only invite Oshu's derision.
He immediately shut his mouth.

At the same time, the constricting sensation that had been building since earlier arose again in his lower abdomen. After having unpleasantly experienced this two or three times, he found himself seized by the apprehension that this time too it might repeat itself at regular fixed intervals.

Oshu, oblivious to such matters, clung persistently to the same issue for reasons unknown. No sooner had she lost her opening on the matter than she brought it before him again in a different form.

“Brother, what on earth do you think of your wife?”

“Why make such a formal inquiry now? How absurd.”

“Very well then—I shan’t inquire further.”

“But why ask?”
“Then why don’t you tell me your reason?”

“There was something I needed to confirm.”

“Then tell me what that necessity is.”

“The necessity was for your sake.”

Tsuda made a strange face.
Oshu immediately followed up.

“It’s because you’re so concerned about Mr. Kobayashi.”
“Doesn’t it seem a bit strange?”

“That’s something you wouldn’t understand.”

“Since you don’t understand anyway, it must seem odd to you. Then tell me exactly what Mr. Kobayashi might say to your wife, and how?”

“He hasn’t mentioned approaching her or anything of the sort.”

“I mean there’s a risk he might approach her. To rephrase—”

Tsuda did not answer.
Oshu stared at his face as though trying to bore a hole through it.

“I simply can’t imagine it. Even if that person were to turn malicious, there’d be nothing to say about it. Just think about it yourself.”

Tsuda still did not answer.
Oshu pressed forward determinedly.

“Even if he were to say something, wouldn’t it all come to nothing as long as your wife simply doesn’t engage with him?”

“I know that already without being told.”

"That's exactly why I'm asking."
"Brother, what do you actually think of your wife?"
"Do you trust your wife or don't you?"

Oshu suddenly intensified her assault.
Tsuda didn't fully comprehend her intent.
But needing to break her rhythm there, he evaded a definitive response and deliberately manufactured a laugh.

“You’re putting on quite the act.
“It’s like I’m being interrogated here, isn’t it?”
“Don’t dodge—give me a straight answer.”

“What do you expect me to do if I tell you?”

“I am your sister.”

“And what does that matter?”

“You’re not indifferent—that’s why it’s no good.”

Tsuda tilted his head in puzzlement.

“This conversation seems to have taken a strange turn—aren’t you being a bit oversensitive?”
“I didn’t bring up Kobayashi with any profound implications.”
“It’s simply that he’s an unpredictable man who might approach Oen while I’m away and God knows what he’d say.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.”

Oshu suddenly looked as though she had missed the mark.
However, she did not remain silent.

“But Brother, if someone were to come to my place while Hori is away and say something.”
“You think Hori would find out and worry about it.”

“I don’t know anything about Hori.”
“You may be determined to insist you won’t worry, but...”

“Yes, I can state that definitively.”

“Fine.—So?”

“That’s all there is to my side of things.”

The two of them had no choice but to fall silent.

100

However, the two were already bound by karmic consequence. They absolutely had to wrest some truth from each other's depths through conversation - up to a critical threshold - or neither would yield. For Tsuda especially, this held immediate urgency. The pressing matter of securing funds now lay within reach; should he let this chance slip, it would never return to his grasp. Thus even in this single aspect, he found himself at a disadvantage against Oshu. He pondered how to reclaim the conversation's lost initiative.

“Oshu, why don’t you have a meal at the hospital before leaving?”

The timing proved perfectly suited for such an amiable gesture.
Moreover, with Hori’s family—who had reportedly taken his mother and children to visit relatives in Yokohama that morning—being absent from home, this courtesy gained particular significance through Tsuda’s strategic intent.

“You’ve likely no pressing matters awaiting at home anyway.”

Oshu complied with Tsuda’s suggestion.
Their dialogue revived effortlessly between them.
Yet this remained merely sibling-appropriate conversation.
Such superficial exchanges did nothing to resolve their underlying tensions.
They lingered, anticipating openings to probe each other’s unspoken truths.

“Brother, I have it right here.”

“What?”

“What you need, Brother.”

“Is that so.”

Tsuda hardly responded.
That very coldness stood in precise proportion to his self-respect.
He did not want to bow his head to this sister, either mentally or formally.
However, he wanted the money.
Oshu, for her part, didn’t care about the money.
However, she had wanted to make her brother bow his head.
Thus she had to use the money her brother wanted as bait to achieve her own purpose.
The result inevitably ended up making her brother impatient.

“Shall I give it to you?”

“Hmph.”

“There’s no way Father would ever give it to you.”

“He might not give it to me after all, you know.”

“But Mother came to me and clearly said so.”
“Today I brought that letter intending to show it to you, but ended up forgetting.”

“I know that.”
“Didn’t I hear it from you earlier?”

“That’s why I’m telling you I brought it.”
“I’m telling you I brought it.”

“Is this to torment me, or to actually give it to me?”

Oshu suddenly fell silent like someone struck.
Then in moments, tears pooled at the depths of her beautiful eyes.
To Tsuda, those could only be tears of bitter frustration.

“Why have you become so sarcastic lately, Brother?”
“Why can’t you accept people’s sincerity like you used to?”

“Brother hasn’t changed one bit from how he used to be.”
“Lately, it’s you who’ve changed.”

This time, a look of exasperation appeared on Oshu’s face.

“When and in what way do you say I have changed? Please tell me.”

“You don’t need to ask others about such things. Just think carefully—you’ll understand it yourself.”

“No, I don’t understand.
That’s why I’m asking you to tell me.
Please tell me.”

Tsuda watched with rather cold eyes as Oshu pressed her sharp attack.
Even now, he found himself calculating whether it would be more advantageous to win back her favor or to crush her outright in one blow.
Having decided to steer a middle course, he slowly opened his mouth.

“Oshu, you might not realize this, but from Brother’s perspective, you’ve changed quite a bit since going to live with Hori.”

“Well of course I’ve changed! If a woman marries and bears two children, wouldn’t anyone change?”

“Then that’s acceptable.”

“But how precisely do you say I’ve changed toward you, Brother? Please tell me that part.”

“Well…”

Tsuda did not answer everything.
Yet through his tone, he made Oshu understand it wasn't that he couldn't answer.
Oshu paused briefly.
Then she immediately counterattacked.

“Brother, you’ve always believed I tattled to Kyoto deep down, haven’t you?”

“I don’t care about that.”

“No, that’s exactly why you hold a grudge against me.”

“Who does?”

The unfortunate words ignited the name Oen that had lain between them like censored text.
Oshu swung it like a torch before her brother’s eyes.

“You’re the one who changed, Brother.”
“The Brother before marrying your wife and the Brother after are completely different.”
“Anyone would say you’re another person.”

101

From Tsuda's perspective, Oshu was armored with prejudices against him.
The final attack in particular amounted to nothing more than the very act of misunderstanding itself.
To him, his sister's voice endlessly repeating "Sister-in-law, sister-in-law" grated unbearably on his ears.
Before this sister who interpreted every self-serving act of his as having been performed solely to please his wife, he felt considerable displeasure.

"I'm not some two-faced schemer like you think I am!"

“That might be the case. Even when Sister-in-law calls, you deliberately act cold in front of me, brushing it off like it’s nothing.”

When such words began erupting from Oshu’s mouth one after another regardless of place, Tsuda found himself nearly forced to forget the immediate stakes before his eyes. He clicked his tongue once or twice inwardly.

“That’s exactly why I warned Oen repeatedly not to call this guy, but…”

He kept tugging at his short mustache like someone trying to distract himself from nervous agitation.
Gradually, his expression grew bitter.
And so he gradually became more taciturn.

Tsuda’s attitude had an unexpected effect on Oshu.
Perceiving that her brother’s weaknesses were being stripped bare layer by layer for her benefit, Oshu seemed convinced he would eventually fall silent in shame and pressed her attack even more fiercely.
As if with the momentum to make him thoroughly regret everything before her in one final breath.

“Before you married your wife, Brother, you were far more honest.”
“At least much more straightforward.”
“I loathe being accused of making baseless claims, so I’ll state facts plainly.”
“Therefore you too must answer my questions plainly.”
“Brother—do you remember ever telling Father such lies before marrying your wife?”

At this moment Tsuda faltered for the first time.
What Oshu said was an irrefutable fact.
Yet that fact had not originated from the meaning Oshu ascribed to it.
By Tsuda’s account, it had been merely coincidental.

“So are you saying Oen’s the one responsible for this whole mess?”

Oshu deliberately avoided affirming what she wanted to say.
“No, I haven’t mentioned a single thing about Sister-in-law’s matters.”
“I’m merely asserting that fact as proof you’ve changed.”

Tsuda fell into a situation where he absolutely could not afford to publicly lose face.

“If you insist I’ve changed so much, then fine—I’ve changed!”

“That’s not good. You should feel ashamed before Father and Mother.”

Tsuda immediately replied “Is that so?” and coldly added, “In that case, fine.”

Oshu’s expression seemed to ask whether he still wouldn’t regret it even now.

“There’s still more evidence that you’ve changed, Brother.”

Tsuda feigned ignorance.
Oshu unhesitatingly presented the evidence she had referenced.

“Brother, you’ve been worried since earlier that Mr. Kobayashi might come while you’re away and say something to Sister-in-law, haven’t you?”

“Annoying! Didn’t I just explain I’m not worried?”

“But you are concerned about it.”

“Interpret it however you like.”

“Yes—either way! Isn’t that proof you’ve changed?”

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“It’s proof! Solid proof! Brother—you’re this terrified of Sister-in-law.”

Tsuda suddenly shifted his gaze.
Keeping his head on the pillow, he peered up at Oshu's face from below.
His finely shaped nose then wrinkled into a sneer.
This composure struck Oshu as utterly abrupt.
She who had meant to hurl him into confession's abyss with one final push now first suspected level ground might yet stretch behind her brother.
Yet she had to press onward to the furthest reach.

“Until just the other day, Brother, you were dismissing someone like Mr. Kobayashi with a flick of your nose, weren’t you? No matter what he said, you wouldn’t engage with anything he said, weren’t you? Why are you so afraid of that today of all days? The reason you’ve come to fear someone like Mr. Kobayashi isn’t because the one he’s dealing with is your wife?”

“Then that’s fine. Even if I were terrified of Kobayashi, that wouldn’t make me disloyal to Father and Mother.”

“So you’re saying it’s not my place to interfere?”

“Well, I suppose that’s about right.”

Oshu flushed.
At the same time, a bolt of lightning flashed through her mind.

102

“Understood.”

Oshu snapped in a piercing voice.
Yet her formal declaration left Tsuda’s composure unshaken.
He displayed no further inclination to engage her provocation.

“Understood, Brother.”

Oshu repeated her previous words in a manner that seemed to shake Tsuda’s shoulder.
Tsuda reluctantly opened his mouth again.

“What?”

“I mean why you’re so concerned about your wife.”

A kind of curiosity arose in Tsuda’s mind.

“Go on, say it.”

“There’s no need for me to say it.
All I require is your acknowledgment that I’ve understood the meaning.”

“Then there’s no need to make a point of refusing.
Just keep quiet and think you’ve figured it out on your own.”

“No, that isn’t acceptable.
Brother, you don’t regard me as your sister.
You act as though I have no right to say anything before you unless it concerns Father and Mother.
So I won’t say anything.
But even if I don’t speak, my eyes see clearly.
Because it would be wrong for you to think my silence means ignorance—I felt obliged to state this plainly.”

Tsuda concluded there was no other path but to bring the conversation to a close here.
He thought matters would only grow more troublesome the longer they engaged with half-measures.
Yet he harbored not the slightest inclination to apologize to his sister.
The very notion of performing such theatrical regret before her lay beyond his imagination.
This man who could dare such acts proved unexpectedly arrogant toward the sister he had always regarded as beneath him.
Moreover, he displayed this arrogance more freely toward others than [he did toward her].
Thus his conciliatory words ultimately proved ineffective.
To Oshu, only the contempt at his core transmitted itself through these tepid expressions.
She showed no mercy toward Tsuda, who had since earlier worn the look of one driven to extremity.
Then she uttered "Brother" once more.

At that moment, Tsuda noticed a change in Oshu that had eluded him until then.
Until now, she had consistently channeled her barbs toward Oen through him.
Though her attacks on her brother weren't feigned, her true seriousness lay in needing to strike down the sister-in-law waiting behind him, even if it meant leaving him standing in the line of fire.
This dynamic had shifted imperceptibly.
She had arbitrarily swapped their positions of assailant and defender.
Then she marched straight toward her brother.

“Brother, does a sister have no right to speak about her brother’s character?”
“Even if there’s no right, if a sister harbors even the slightest doubt, it would be your duty as a brother to clear it up—no, I take back ‘duty.’ That may be too presumptuous a word for me to use.”
“—But shouldn’t that at least be your natural duty as a brother?”
“As your sister, I grieve to stand before a brother now bereft of that very human feeling.”

“What impertinent nonsense are you spouting?!”
“Shut up! You don’t understand a thing!”

Tsuda's temper finally exploded.

"Do you even understand what 'personality' means? For someone who merely graduated from a girls' school, it's presumptuous enough that you dare use such words before me like everyone else."

"I don't care about words."
"I'm addressing facts."

"What facts? Do you think an uneducated woman like you could ever grasp the facts in my head? You fool!"

"If you despise me so, I'll give you fair warning."
"But is that truly so?"

“There’s no need to debate right or wrong.”
“You come to where someone is sick—what’s with that attitude?”
“And you still dare to call yourself my sister?”

“Because you’re not behaving like a brother should.”

“Shut up!”

“I won’t be silent.”
“I’ll say what I have to say.”
“You’re letting yourself be controlled entirely by your wife.”
“You value your wife more than Father, Mother, or even me.”

“Valuing one’s wife over one’s sister is natural no matter which country you go to.”

“If that were all, it would be fine.”
“But with you, Brother, it doesn’t stop there.”
“You cherish your wife, yet there’s another you hold dear.”

“What?”

“That’s why you fear your wife.”
“And that fear of yours—”

When Oshu began to say this, the sliding door of the sickroom slid open with a swish.
And then, Oen’s pallid-faced figure suddenly appeared before the two.

103

It was three or four minutes prior that she arrived at the doctor’s entrance.
The doctor's consultation hours were divided into morning and afternoon sessions, with the afternoon period—established from four to eight o'clock for the convenience of those working at government offices or companies—allowing Oen to open a comparatively quieter door and enter inside.

In reality, unlike when she had come three or four days earlier, she did not find a single pair of the usual jumble of footwear—woven straw sandals or tatami-soled clogs—upon the shoe rack.
The absence of patients was naturally the reason.

To her, who had not given the slightest thought to the idea that it was outside of hours, the surroundings were so desolate that it struck her as utterly strange.

She noticed a single pair of women's geta, neatly aligned on the shoe rack in the serene entrance. Judging from their price, those new geta—unlikely to be worn by a nurse or the like—suddenly set her heart racing. The geta were unmistakably a young woman’s. Her heart filled with the suspicions Kobayashi had planted, she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from them for some time. She stared at them fiercely.

From the small square window on the right protruded a student lodger's face.
When he discerned Oen's motionless figure there, he fixed her with a look meant for interrogating intruders.
She promptly verified whether Tsuda had any visitors.
She further asked whether any were young women.
Then willfully declining an attendant's mediation, she proceeded alone to the staircase's base.
There she tilted her head upward.

Ceaseless voices resonated above.
Yet their cadence differed utterly from the fluid exchange of ordinary chatter between interlocutors.
Intense emotion permeated them.
Agitation pulsed through.
Moreover, one could distinctly hear their struggle to contain it.
This dialogue - interpretable only as meant for private ears - honed Oen's nerves to needle-like sharpness.
An intensity surpassing even her earlier scrutiny of the geta materialized.
She redoubled her auditory efforts.

Tsuda’s room was directly above the examination room.
In terms of the house’s structure, upon climbing the stairs one immediately faced a wall at the landing, and since the right-hand side contained a small four-and-a-half-mat room, one had to go past this room along the corridor to reach where Tsuda lay.
Therefore, the conversation Oen strained to hear was coming from behind her—a direction not ideal for listening.

She quietly climbed the stairs. Her footsteps from her supple frame were as quiet as a cat's, achieving the same effect as one.

On one side of the stairway entrance, a handrail about six feet long had been installed against falls. Oen leaned against it to peer at Tsuda's condition. Then Oshu's sharp voice suddenly struck her ears. The distinctive phrase containing "sister-in-law" rang out clearly against her eardrums. Caught completely off guard, she stiffened anew. Before the rigid tension could ease, it assailed her again. She had to discern what meaning lay behind this "sister-in-law" being hurled from Oshu's lips at Tsuda. She strained her ears.

As she listened, their tones intensified.
They were clearly quarreling.
In the midst of that conflict, she found herself entangled without knowing how.
Perhaps she herself may not have recognized being this quarrel's primary cause.

However, not knowing the full context, she couldn't determine her own position from that alone. Moreover, the words they used—or rather, the words Oshu used—came down like hail. There was no time at all to gather and examine each word's meaning as they kept falling one after another. Terms like "character," "cherish," and "natural" simply kept striking the ears of her standing there in rapid succession.

She considered remaining motionless until she fully grasped the situation. Then Oshu's words exploded like a final artillery barrage—"Brother treasures someone else besides Sister-in-Law"—suddenly shaking her heart. No phrase could have mattered more to Oen than this one that rang out with crystalline clarity. Yet simultaneously, nothing felt more opaque than this very utterance. Without hearing what followed, she couldn't possibly reconstruct meaning from it alone. Oen desperately needed to hear the rest, whatever the cost. Yet she found herself utterly incapable of enduring another word. The verbal duel that had escalated with each exchanged syllable now clearly peaked—there remained no alternative interpretation. They had reached an impasse permitting no further advance. To press onward would have required physical violence. Thus Oen became compelled to enter the sickroom as social lubricant preventing disgrace.

She knew well the relationship between brother and sister.
She had long understood that she herself was the cause of their discord.
To show her face there required proper tact.
Yet she was not entirely without confidence in this.
At the critical moment, she resolved herself.
Then with deliberate care, she quietly opened the sickroom's sliding door.

104

Sure enough, the two fell utterly silent.
Yet this silence—born when a storm about to rage had its course abruptly halted—was no symbol of peace.
Rather, within that unnaturally stifled moment lurked something truly terrifying.

Given their positions, Tsuda was first to see Oen.
As he lay with his head toward the south-facing veranda, it followed naturally that her figure entering from the opposite side would first meet his eyes.
In that instant, two things were laid bare before Oen.
One was his anxiety.
The other was his relief.
Both feelings—the troubled and the relieved—flashed across his face before he could mask them.
This aligned perfectly with what Oen had anticipated upon her sudden entry.
From but a fraction of the expression that had surfaced on her husband's face, she now clutched within her heart lasting proof that suspicion would not be unwarranted.
Yet this remained a secret.
In that critical moment, she had no choice but to make responding to her husband's other aspect her immediate purpose for coming.
She fixed Tsuda with a strained smile upon her pallid cheeks.
As this action coincided exactly with Oshu turning around, to Oshu it seemed Oen had outmaneuvered her to exchange some secret pact with Tsuda.
A faint crimson flush rose unbidden to Oshu's cheeks.

“Oh!”

“Good day.”

A brief exchange of greetings passed between them.
Yet when this ended, their conversation failed to resume its usual flow.
Both found themselves constrained by the oppressive silence.
Oen, unable to voice anything trivial, opened the cloth-wrapped bundle under her arm, extracted the English comic novel Okamoto had lent them, and passed it to Tsuda.
At her fingertip glimmered the ring that had been gnawing at Oshu's thoughts.

Tsuda lifted each slender volume in turn, pages rustling beneath his indifferent fingers, before returning them to his bedside.
He lacked even the inclination to read a single line.
No courage surfaced within him to offer commentary.
He kept silent.
Meanwhile, Oen traded another handful of words with Oshu.
Every syllable had been drawn from her own lips first, squeezing only the barest required responses from the other's throat as if by force.

Oen took out another letter from a pocket.

“When I checked the mailbox on my way here just now, it was inside, so I brought it.”

Oen’s words had stiffened into meticulous formality.
Compared to when facing Tsuda directly, she was polite as if she had become another person entirely.
She secretly detested this formal aloofness in herself.
Yet before others—particularly before Oshu—she felt compelled to adopt such unnatural speech for reasons of her own.

The letter came from the father in Kyoto that husband and wife had been awaiting.
That this one too lacked registered postage like its predecessor, containing nothing to resolve their pressing matters—even Oen, still uninformed by Oshu of anything, had roughly surmised as much.

Tsuda said to her before cutting open the envelope.

“He says you’re no good.”

“So, what?”

“Father says he won’t give us any more money no matter how much I ask.”

Tsuda’s manner of speaking was uncharacteristically filled with sincerity.
Through his rebellious feelings toward Oshu, he had unwittingly become a mild-mannered husband toward Oen.
Moreover, he himself had remained entirely unaware of this.
The unpretentiousness of that attitude pleased Oen.
She answered in a tone of comforting warmth.
Unconsciously reverting even in her speech, she had returned to her usual self.

“Alright then.
I’ll handle it on my end.”

Tsuda silently opened the envelope.
The letter from his father that emerged was not particularly long.
Moreover, it was written in such large characters that one could grasp the gist at a glance.
Even so, unlike with the comic book earlier, the two women did not exchange words.
Both kept their equally attentive gazes fixed on the scroll-like stationery.
So when Tsuda finished reading it, returned it to the envelope unchanged, and tossed it beside his pillow, they had already grasped its general meaning.
Even so, Oshu deliberately inquired.

“What does it say, Brother?”

Tsuda, wearing an indifferent expression, answered with a light “Hmph.”
Oshu turned slightly away.
Then she asked again.

“It’s just as I said, isn’t it?”

The letter indeed contained exactly what she had surmised.
However, his sister’s attitude—which seemed to say "See? I was right"—was utterly galling to Tsuda.
Even apart from that, given how things had gone up to now, he found it irritating to give a natural response to Oshu.

105

To Oen, her husband's state of mind lay vividly exposed.
She feared another clash might erupt within her heart.
Simultaneously, she found herself doubting his true intentions.
The husband she had always known moved through life with self-restraint perpetually at his heels.
Yet this restraint alone did not define him.
There existed too that icy disdain lurking deep within his gut when he looked down upon others.
She believed these very traits concealed something still beyond her grasp.
Though this hidden element remained an enigma to her, she clung to the conviction that mastering it would grant effortless control over his contentment.
Yet describing the husband who showed only his surface self required no particular effort.
He was not one given to easy anger.
Here was a man who—to borrow English phrasing—might exemplify keeping one's temper; why then did he teeter toward explosion before his own sister?
More precisely—why had he detonated so spectacularly even before she entered the room?
Regardless, Oen knew she must interpose herself between them before retreating waves came crashing back.
She resolved to become the quarrel's new focal point.

“Did you receive any word from Father as well, Oshu?”

“No—from Mother.”
“So, it’s about this matter after all.”
“Yeah.”

Oshu said nothing more after that.
Oen pressed further.

"After all, there must be various expenses in Kyoto as well."
"And originally it was our side's fault."

Oshu had never seen the gem on Oen’s finger sparkle as brilliantly as it did at that moment.
And so Oen, with feigned innocence, was holding out the glittering ring before Oshu once more.
Oshu said,
“That may not be entirely the case.”
“Old people are strange—they trust your brother.”
“They think managing such things is well within their means.”

Oen smiled.

"Well, when push comes to shove, we'll manage somehow, won't we?"

Having said this and turned her gaze toward Tsuda, Oen signaled with her eyes: *Hurry up and say it.*
Yet though Tsuda recognized the movement of her eyes she showed him, their meaning utterly escaped him.
He repeated his usual refrain.

"There may not be anything impossible about it, but I can't help finding Father's words peculiar."
"Mending fences? Overdue rent? Aren't such expenses fundamentally trivial matters?"

“It probably won’t go that way, you know. If you actually owned a house of your own with this—”

“We already have a house, don’t we?”

Oen directed her characteristic smile toward Oshu this time.
Oshu answered with equally unsparing charm.

“Brother suspects there’s some ulterior motive behind it all.”

“That’s your fault for doubting Father. Father couldn’t possibly have any ulterior motives, right, Oshu?”

“No—he thinks there’s still another ulterior motive beyond Father or Mother.”
“Something else?”

Oen looked surprised.

“Yes, he’s surely thinking there’s something else behind this.”

Oen turned again toward her husband.

"What on earth do you mean by that?"

"Since Oshu's the one who said it, why don't you ask her?"

Oen gave a wry smile.
Oshu's turn to speak came around again.

"Brother thinks we've been scheming behind the scenes with Kyoto."

“But…”

Oen could not say anything beyond that.
And what she had said made almost no sense.
Oshu immediately filled that void.

“That’s why he’s been in a terrible mood since earlier—though whenever Brother and I get together, we always end up quarreling—especially since this incident started.”

“It’s troubling, isn’t it,” Oen answered with a sigh before turning to ask Tsuda again.

“But that’s truly how things stand.
You aren’t entertaining thoughts utterly unbecoming of a man yourself now, are you?”

“I can’t say for certain why—but I suppose that’s how it must appear from Oshu’s perspective.”

“But if you and Hideko-san were truly scheming such things—what possible purpose could you imagine it serving?”

“It’s probably to make an example of me,” said Tsuda. “Though I don’t really understand it well.”

“What kind of example?” pressed Oen. “What exactly did you do wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Tsuda snapped irritably.

Oen turned her gaze toward Oshu with desperate helplessness. A pleading look surfaced between her narrow eyes and brows.

106

“It’s simply that Brother is being stubborn,” Oshu said.
Driven to explain herself to her sister-in-law, she hated that very sister-in-law all the more intensely as she spoke these words.
To her eyes at that moment, there existed no woman more hypocritical and shameless than Oen.

“Yes, my husband is stubborn,” replied Oen before immediately turning toward her husband.

“You truly are stubborn.”
“Miss Hideko is entirely correct.”
“But you really must abandon that particular habit of yours.”

“What exactly counts as stubbornness?”

“Well now, even I don’t quite understand that myself.”

“Is this about you trying to extract money from Father through any means possible?”

“Well…”

“I haven’t said anything about taking it or anything else!”

“Well… There’s no way you would say such a thing. And even if you did say such a thing again, there’d be no use if it doesn’t work.”

“Then where am I being stubborn?”

“Where exactly? Even if you were to ask, it’s no use. I don’t really understand it myself either. But there’s something stubborn about you somewhere.”

“Idiot.”

Oen, having been called an idiot, instead smiled with a hint of satisfaction.
Oshu could bear it no longer.

“Brother, why won’t you simply take what I’ve brought?”

“Whether you’re being sincere or dutiful—whether I take it or refuse—isn’t this all because you never properly offered anything from your side to begin with?”

“Because you won’t say you’ll accept it, I can’t offer it.”

“From my perspective, I don’t take it because you don’t offer it.”

“But if you won’t take it properly, then I find it disagreeable too.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

“You know perfectly well.”

The three of them remained silent for a time.

Suddenly Tsuda spoke out.

“Oen, why don’t you apologize to Oshu?”

Oen looked at her husband in bewilderment.

"What for?"

"If you just apologize, she'll likely hand over what she brought."
"That's how Oshu's mind works."

"It means nothing for me to apologize."
"If you tell me to apologize, I'll apologize endlessly."
"But—"

Oen directed pleading eyes at Oshu.
Oshu cut her off.

“Brother, what are you saying? When did I ever say I wanted an apology from sister-in-law? If such false accusations get fabricated against me, wouldn’t I just lose face before sister-in-law?”

Silence fell upon the three of them once more.
Tsuda deliberately remained silent.
Oen had no need to speak.
Oshu prepared to speak.

“Brother, even so, I believe I’ve been fulfilling my duty toward you both.—”

Just as Oshu began to say this much, Tsuda abruptly interrupted with a question.

“Wait a moment. Is it duty? Is it kindness? What exactly do you mean by what you’re trying to say?”

“To me, it makes no difference either way.”

“Is that so? Then there’s nothing to be done. So?”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s because of this—if people think I’m going behind your backs and prodding Father and Mother, causing hardship for you and sister-in-law, it’s truly unbearable for me. That’s why I’m saying I went out of my way to bring this today out of goodwill to somehow give just that amount. To be honest, when sister-in-law called yesterday, I meant to come right away, but I had morning errands at home and then needed to go to the bank about that matter in the afternoon, so I ended up missing my chance to come. It’s a trifling sum to begin with, so I’ve no mind to make a fuss over it—but I do want to say how regrettable it is that my consideration hasn’t reached you at all, Brother.”

Oen peered into Tsuda’s still-silent face.

“Why don’t you say something?”

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘what’? Say thank you.”
“Thank Ms. Oshu for her kindness!”

“I hate being made to feel indebted over such a trifling sum.”

“Didn’t I just say I’m not making you feel indebted?” retorted Oshu in a slightly frayed voice.
Oen maintained her usual calm tone.

“So stop being stubborn and say thank you like I told you.
If accepting the money repels you, then refuse it—but at least show gratitude.”

Oshu made a perplexed expression.
Tsuda adopted an attitude that said, "Don't talk nonsense."

107

The three found themselves in an awkward predicament.
Bound by cause and effect peculiar to their relationship through circumstance, they grew increasingly unable to divert the conversation elsewhere.
They could, of course, no longer leave their seats.
Having sat there, they now had no choice but to resolve this problem by any means necessary.

Yet viewed objectively, this problem could scarcely be called significant.
To anyone positioned to calmly observe their status and circumstances from afar, it would have appeared as nothing more than a trifling matter.
They understood this perfectly well without external admonishment.
Still they had to quarrel.
The karmic bonds upon their backs stretched intricate threads from a past beyond others' understanding, manipulating them at will.

Finally, the following exchange occurred between Tsuda and Oshu.

“If I’d kept quiet from the start, that would’ve been one thing—but having mentioned it, I’d feel terrible returning without handing over what I brought. So please take it.
Brother.”

“If you want to leave it behind, then just leave it.”

“Then please properly take it.”

“Honestly, I don’t understand what would satisfy you. So why don’t you just state your conditions more plainly?”

“I’m not demanding anything like such difficult conditions.”
“If you, Brother, would just accept it willingly, that would be all I ask.”
“In other words, if you would just act like proper siblings, that’s all I ask.”
“And if you would just sincerely apologize to Father once, then it’s nothing at all.”

“I told Father I was sorry long ago.”
“You know that.”
“And not just once or twice either.”

“But what I mean isn’t that sort of formal apology.”
“It must be remorse from the heart.”

Tsuda thought it was merely a trivial matter.
The thought of regret had never even crossed his mind.

“Are you saying my apology is insincere? No matter how much I want money, I’m still a man who stands on his own two feet.”
“Do you really think I’d grovel like some beggar? Try picturing that!”

“But Brother, you do actually want the money, don’t you?”

“I’m not denying I want it.”

“So you did apologize to Father after all.”

“If that weren’t the case, there’d be no need to apologize at all—would there?”

“That’s precisely why Father stopped providing for you.”
“Can’t you see that?”

Tsuda closed his mouth.

Oshu immediately pounced.

“Since you’re in that frame of mind, Brother, it’s not just Father—I can’t give it to you either.”

“Then just stop.”
“I’m not saying I’m forcing you to give it to me.”

“But aren’t you insisting on taking it even by force?”

“When?”

“You’ve been saying that all along.”

“Don’t go picking fights, you fool.”

“It’s not a baseless accusation. Haven’t you been saying that in your heart all along? It’s you, Brother, who isn’t indifferent—that’s why you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud.”

Tsuda looked at Oshu with a harsh gaze.
In those eyes glistened hatred.
Yet nowhere within them shone a light of shame toward conscience.
And when he spoke, even Oen was startled by its unexpectedness.
He said something completely contrary to her expectations in the most composed tone he could muster.

“Oshu, you’re absolutely right.
“I’ll confess it again now.
“For me, the money you’ve brought is absolutely necessary.
“I will declare it once again.
“You are a deeply affectionate, sisterly woman.
“Brother thanks you for your kindness.
“So please leave that money here by my bedside.”

Oshu’s hands trembled with anger.
Blood rushed to both her cheeks.
The blood appeared to surge all at once toward her face from some unknown place within her heart.
Because her complexion was pale, it appeared all the more vivid.
Yet her choice of words alone did not change that much.
She, who had even shown a smile amidst her anger, suddenly abandoned her brother and turned her gleaming eyes upon Oen.

“Sister-in-law, what should we do? Since Brother has gone to the trouble of saying so, shall I leave it here for you?”

“Well, that’s entirely up to Miss Hidoko.”

“Yes. But you’re saying Brother absolutely needs it?”

“Yes, it may be absolutely necessary for my husband. But I don’t need it at all.”

“So Brother and Sister-in-law are completely separate entities after all.”

“And yet, we’re not separate at all. Even so, we’re husband and wife—everything gets bundled together.”

“But—”

Oen did not let her finish.

"What my husband absolutely needs is something I'll arrange properly myself."

As she said this, she took out from her obi the check she had received the day before from Uncle Okamoto.

108

As she conspicuously handled it to make sure Oshu saw before passing it to Tsuda, she held a particular expectation toward her husband.
This expectation—calculated from the sequence of events and her own disposition—was none other than this.
She prayed inwardly that her husband would harmonize his response with hers as he accepted it.
Whether he nodded with a knowing smile and carelessly tossed it beside his pillow, or simply offered a brief yet thoroughly satisfied word of thanks before returning it to Oen’s hand—what mattered was demonstrating to Oshu this truth: that between husband and wife existed an understanding regarding the check’s origins.

Unfortunately for Tsuda, both Oen's actions and the check came far too abruptly.
Moreover, the theatrical techniques he employed in such situations differed slightly in style from his wife's.
He gazed at the check with a look of bewilderment.
Then he slowly asked.

"What on earth is this?"

This cold tone and equally cold retort already cruelly crushed Oen's enthusiasm at the very first step of their exchange.
Her expectation went unmet.

“It’s nothing to make a fuss about. I just arranged it because it was needed.”

Having said this, she felt a chill of anxiety in her stomach.
She was terribly afraid Tsuda would adopt a serious tone and inquire further.
It would only expose before Oshu evidence of the lack of rapport between husband and wife.

"You don't need to ask about reasons while you're ill.
You'll understand eventually anyway."

Even after saying this much, Oen—who remained uneasy—immediately added what came next before Tsuda could respond.

"So what if you don’t understand? It doesn’t matter. It’s only this much money—if I wanted to prepare it, it could come from anywhere."

Tsuda finally tossed down the check he held in his hand by his bedside.
He was a man who desired money.
Yet he was not one who valued money.
He, who felt the need for money more keenly than others precisely to spend it, possessed a nature that—in his contempt for that very money—wholeheartedly affirmed Oen’s words.
And so he remained silent.
Yet precisely because of that, he did not utter a single word of thanks to Oen.

She was not satisfied.
Even if he didn’t say a word to me, she thought bitterly, he could at least have offered Oshu some remark that would settle her frustration—just one line would have sufficed.

Oshu, who had been observing their exchange for some time, suddenly called out, “Brother.”
Then she produced an elegant woman’s purse from her kimono fold.

“Brother, I’ll leave what I brought right here.”

She pulled out something wrapped in blank paper from her purse and placed it beside the check.

“If I leave it like this, that should be fine.”

Oshu, who had addressed Tsuda, seemed to be implicitly waiting for Oen’s response.
Oen responded immediately.

“Miss Oshu, I couldn’t possibly accept that—please don’t trouble yourself with such concerns. While we couldn’t manage here ourselves, that’s one thing—but since we’ve already managed it now.”

“But in that case, I’m the one who’ll feel bad again. Since I went through the trouble of wrapping it up and bringing it here, please don’t say such things and just accept it.”

The two women deferred to each other. They began repeating similar exchanges. Tsuda once again endured listening to it with stoic patience. In the end, the two finally had to turn to their brother.

“Brother, please take it.”

“You can go ahead and take it.”

Tsuda smirked.

“Oshu, you’re quite clever.”
“Just now you were so insistent, and now you’re trying to make me take it dirt cheap?”
“Which one is the real you?”

Oshu drew herself up rigidly.

“Both are true.”

This answer struck Tsuda abruptly.
That forceful tone then blunted his edge—that sarcastic sharpness he'd maintained until the end.
For Oen, its impact cut deeper still.
She turned startled eyes toward Oshu.
Her sister-in-law's face burned as fiercely as before.
Yet within those composed eyes shone more than simple anger.
Beyond resentment's hostility flickered another element demanding recognition.
But only through Oshu's own lips could its nature be revealed.
Both found themselves transfixed.
The mindset they'd sustained until now required abrupt realignment.
Unmoving, they waited to receive illumination from her words.
At precisely their moment of expectation, speech burst forth from Oshu.

109

“To tell the truth, I’ve been debating since earlier whether to speak or stay silent,” she said, “but when Brother sneers at me like that, even I can’t bear to leave without a word.”
“So I’ll say what must be said here.”
“But let me make one thing clear—what I’m going to say now has a slightly different meaning than before.”
“If you listen with your usual attitude, it might prove troublesome—not merely because I hate being misunderstood, but because my true feelings would never reach you both.”

Oshu’s explanation began with these words.
That doubly shifted the angle of anticipation for the two, who were already beginning to adjust their own attitudes.
They waited silently for what would come next.
However, Oshu pressed the point once more.

“You’ll listen more seriously now, won’t you? If I become serious—”

Having said this, Oshu shifted her intense gaze from Tsuda to Oen.

“Not that I’ve been insincere until now, mind you.”
“But with you here with us—well, that should suffice.”
“If it turns into our usual sibling spat, just stop us when it happens—that’s all I ask.”

Oen offered a smile.
But Oshu did not reciprocate.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you for some time now, Brother.”
“In Sister-in-law’s presence.”
“But there was never an opportunity until today.”
“Now I’ll say it plainly here before you both.”
“It’s simply this.”
“You two are precisely the sort who think of nothing beyond your own affairs.”
“As long as you’re content yourselves, you can turn away and ignore however others may struggle or suffer.”

Tsuda had been rather able to accept this conclusion calmly.
For he not only acknowledged it as his own characteristic but had accepted without question that it was a universal human trait.
Yet for Oen, there had been no criticism as unexpected as this.
She could only stare in utter disbelief.
Whether fortunately or unfortunately, Oshu had already pressed onward before she could open her mouth.

“Brother only cares about doting on himself.”
“And Sister-in-law only gets doted on by Brother.”
“In your eyes, there’s nothing else at all.”
“Not just your younger sister—even your father and mother no longer exist in your eyes.”

Having come this far, Oshu suddenly appended more.
She acted as though fearing one of them might interrupt her.

“I’m merely stating the facts as they appear to my eyes.”
“It’s not that I want you to accept it.”
“That time has already passed.”
“To put it plainly, that opportunity passed today.”
“Actually, it passed just this very moment.”
“It passed while you weren’t noticing.”
“I have no choice but to resign myself to everything through karmic inevitability.”
“However, there is one result deduced from that fact that I must by all means have you both hear.”

Oshu shifted her gaze from Tsuda to Oen again.
The two had no clear concept of what Oshu meant by her so-called result.
Therefore, they had the curiosity to hear it.
Therefore, they remained silent.

“The result is simple,” said Oshu.
“The result is simple enough to state in one sentence.
But you probably don’t understand.
Since you likely haven’t even realized what it means to be people who can never accept others’ kindness.
Even if I say this, you still might not grasp it, so I’ll repeat myself.
What I mean is: You, who can think only of yourselves, have forfeited your right as humans to reciprocate kindness.
In other words, you’ve been reduced to beings incapable of appreciating goodwill.
You may think that’s good enough for you.
You may believe there’s no deficiency anywhere.
But from my perspective, this becomes a terrible misfortune for yourselves.
It appears as if heaven has stripped you of the ability to feel human joy.
Brother, you say you want this money I’ve offered.
But you declare this kindness of mine in offering it unnecessary.
From my view, this is completely inverted.
As humans, it’s entirely backward.
Therefore, it’s a profound misfortune.
And Brother, you remain blind to this misfortune.
Sister-in-law thinks it best if Brother doesn’t take this money I brought.
She’s been trying desperately from the start to stop you accepting it.
By refusing this money, you’re also rejecting my kindness.”

“And that becomes a great triumph for Sister-in-law.”
“You have it backwards too.”
“You have no conception whatsoever of how much more humanly pleasant it would be—many times over compared to this petty triumph you’re savoring—to properly appreciate the sincere intentions of your younger sister through an open-hearted reception.”

Oen could no longer remain silent.
However, Oshu was even less able to stay quiet than Oen.
In a heated tone that crushed Oen's attempt to cut her off at the very outset, she had no choice but to say everything she wanted to say.

110

“If you have something to say, Sister-in-law, I’ll listen properly later—so please bear with the inconvenience and let me finish saying what I need to say now. It’s almost over anyway. It won’t take that long.”

Oshu’s manner of refusal was strangely calm. Compared to when she had clashed with Tsuda earlier, she now exhibited the complete opposite tendency, having shifted from fury to composure. In this situation, that appeared to the two as an utterly unexpected phenomenon.

“Brother,” said Oshu.
“Why didn’t I place this wrapped item before Brother sooner?”
“And now, how could I present it before you all without the slightest compunction?”
“Consider this.”
“You too, Sister-in-law—consider this.”

Without even needing to think, the two could only perceive this as Oshu’s sophistry.
To Oen in particular, it appeared that way.
However, Oshu was serious.

“Brother, I wanted to use this to make you truly behave like a brother should.”
“You’ll probably sneer, ‘All this fuss over such a sum?’”
“But from my perspective, the amount means nothing.”
“If there’s even the slightest chance to make you act more like a proper brother, I’ll seize it without hesitation.”
“I exerted myself fully here today.”
“And failed spectacularly.”
“Ever since Sister-in-law arrived, my failures have grown glaringly obvious.”
“That moment forced me to discard my sisterly devotion forever.—Sister-in-law, I implore you—endure a little longer and hear me out.”

Oshu restrained Oen, who tried to speak again.

“I’ve come to fully understand your attitude.”
“Rather than hearing one or two hours of explanations from you, I find I comprehend better by making my own judgments through what I’ve observed here today—so I’ll ask nothing more.”
“Yet I still need to explain myself.”
“That you must by all means hear.”

Oen stayed silent while considering herself a thoroughly self-serving woman.
But for her—already imbued with a victor’s composure from the outset—this silence cost little.

“Brother,” said Oshu.
“Please look at this.
"It is properly wrapped in paper."
“This should serve as evidence that Oshu prepared and brought it from home.”
“Therein lies Oshu’s intent.”

Oshu deliberately picked up the paper-wrapped package by the bedside and showed it.

“This is what is called kindness.”
“Since you all cannot grasp that meaning no matter what, I must explain it myself.”
“And I will also explain that even if Brother refuses to act as a proper brother should, I’ve no choice but to leave this kindness I brought from home right here.”
“Brother—is this your sister’s kindness or her duty?”
“Earlier, Brother posed that question to me.”
“I said they’re one and the same.”
“When you refuse to accept your sister’s kindness yet she persists in offering it regardless—how does that kindness differ from obligation?”
“Aren’t you yourself transforming my kindness into mere duty?”

“Oshu, I get it now,” Tsuda finally said.
The meaning of his sister’s words had become clear in his mind.
Yet none of the emotion she had anticipated arose within him.
He had endured swatting away flies while listening to her talk since earlier.
In his eyes, his sister was neither kind nor sincere.
She possessed neither charm nor dignity.
She was merely a nuisance.

“I get it now.
That’s fine.
I’ve had enough.”

Oshu, who had already given up, did not make a resentful face.
She simply said this.

“This isn’t money that my husband is advancing for you, Brother. If you broke the promise that my husband guaranteed in Kyoto—which forced him to cover it out of obligation to Father—then even you wouldn’t feel right about accepting it, would you? I dislike troubling my husband over such matters too. So let me make this clear: this money has nothing to do with him. It’s mine. That means you can take it without a word. Even if you refuse my kindness, at least take the money itself. As I am now, I’d feel better having you accept it silently than forcing hollow gratitude from you. This matter isn’t about you anymore. It’s simply for my sake. Brother, please accept it for me.”

Oshu stood up after saying this.
Oen looked at Tsuda's face.
On that face, no expression that could be called a signal was visible.
She had no choice but to see Oshu out and descended the stairs.
The two exchanged ordinary greetings at the entrance and parted.

111

The mere fact of encountering Oshu at the hospital held no particular surprise for Oen. Yet when considered through its consequences, their meeting culminated in a shock surpassing mere unexpectedness. Even she, who had always understood Oshu’s attitude toward her, had never imagined confronting her in such circumstances. Even after this confrontation, she could only interpret it as a chance alignment of events. She felt no compulsion to trace past causes that might establish its inevitability. To articulate this psychological state plainly: it meant she bore no responsibility whatsoever for the incident. All burdens necessarily fell upon Oshu alone. Therefore, Oen’s mind remained unexpectedly tranquil. At least, her conscience revealed no readily apparent points of disquiet.

From this meeting, Oen had gained two things.
One was the unpleasantness that arose afterward.
Within that unpleasantness were interwoven even the conflicts likely to be brought upon them through Oshu in the future.
She was fully resolved to overcome them.
However, this required Tsuda's unwavering support until the very end.
When it came to that, she felt seventy percent secure and thirty percent uneasy.
To what extent today's self had reduced that thirty percent of unease was a crucial question for her.
At the very least, today's version of herself believed she had gained some confidence in that regard—in having shown Tsuda every possible proof of her efforts to earn his love, or rather to reclaim it.

This was one aspect—indeed the most essential one Oen herself recognized among these developments—but beyond this, there had also arisen a gain that, unbeknownst to her, had been arranged to naturally fall into her hands.
Of course, it was nothing more than a temporary thing.
However, from her husband’s suspicious gaze—which should rightfully have been directed at her—she had fortunately been spared.
The reason was that Tsuda before taking on Oshu as an opponent and he after beginning to be troubled by her were completely different, whether in terms of his state of mind or in terms of what should be the focus of his consciousness.
Thus, at the critical moment when this change arose intensely and manifested itself, Oen—who performed the role of naturally spreading the wave of that change—ended up unwittingly reaping a windfall.

She was able to spare herself the trouble of explaining to Tsuda all the personal circumstances involved—why Okamoto had insisted on inviting her to the theater and why she had needed to go to his house the day before. In fact, regarding Kobayashi’s words—which she herself had nearly wanted to bring up—she didn’t have the opportunity to say a single thing. After Oshu had left, the two were entirely occupied with thoughts of her.

They discerned it from each other's expressions. The moment when they looked at each other’s faces was the very instant when Oen, having seen Oshu off, ascended the staircase and reappeared at the room’s entrance with her slender figure. Oen smiled. Then Tsuda also smiled. There was nothing else there. There were only the two of them. And so their exchanged smiles sank into the depths of each other’s hearts. At least, Oen felt as though she had glimpsed the true Tsuda there for the first time in a long while. She hardly knew what that smile floating upon his flesh symbolized. The very form of his flesh that had moved into a pose was, to her, a delightful memento. She carefully stored it away deep within her heart.

At that moment, their smiles abruptly changed.
The two opened their mouths so wide that their teeth showed and laughed out loud in unison.

“I was surprised.”

With that, Oen came back to Tsuda’s bedside and sat down.
Tsuda replied with deliberate calmness.

“That’s why I told you not to call that guy.”

The two naturally had to make Oshu the subject of their discussion.

“Miss Shuko isn’t a Christian, is she?”

“Why?”

“Well, because—”

“Is it because she left the money?”

“It’s not just that.”

“Because she delivers those sanctimonious sermons?”

“Well, yes.
“My first time.
“I’d never seen Miss Shuko hold forth so grandly before.”

“She’s a logic-monger.
“The sort who can’t rest till she’s dissected every last thing.”

“But this was my first time!”

“Your first.
“I’ve weathered countless.
“Her affectation of profundity over trifles—that’s her nature.
“And that taint comes from lapping up Fujii’s uncle’s philosophies.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because she was always by Fujii’s uncle’s side, constantly watching his fondness for arguments—that’s how she wound up so damn smooth-tongued.”

Tsuda made a face that said it was all nonsense.
Oen responded with a strained smile.

112

Oen felt elated, as though she had truly faced her husband for the first time in ages. She experienced the buoyant relief of suddenly tearing down a thin curtain that had imperceptibly hung between them.

Through loving him, she resolved to make him love her in return no matter what—this became her ironclad determination. This resolve drove her to exert tremendous effort. Fortunately, her labors bore fruit. She had finally been rewarded. At least rewarded enough to envision future prospects. What she had to call an unforeseen rupture became nothing less than the dawn of rebirth for her. She could faintly glimpse a rose-tinted sky along the distant horizon. Within that warm hope, she forgot every unpleasantness born from this rupture. The mysterious black mark Kobayashi had cruelly imprinted still weighed on her chest. The dubious phrase that had erupted from Oshu’s lips now flickered like a dull star of suspicion in her mind. Yet these had already withdrawn to a remote distance. They no longer troubled her much. She felt no need to recall even the agitation that had surged through her when first hearing those words.

Even if some unforeseen event were to occur, she herself would be safe.

Even this sort of confidence toward her husband had taken shape within Oen at that moment.
Therefore, when it came to a crisis, she had the composure to take whatever appropriate measures were necessary.
The feeling that dealing with such an opponent would be no trouble also contributed.

Opponent?
If someone were to ask, "What kind of opponent?" how would Oen have answered.
It was an opponent vaguely outlined in pale ink.
And it was a woman.
And she was a woman who would take Tsuda’s love away from her.
Oen knew nothing beyond that.
However, she felt that this opponent was lurking somewhere.
Had the turmoil between Oshu and their couple not grown so perilously intense, Oen would have been obliged—given how matters stood—to investigate from afar this opponent residing within Tsuda's heart as a necessary course of action.

Oen looked back on herself for having disrupted that plan and rather felt fortunate.
She never once considered that postponing her anxieties would prove unbearably painful.
She judged it wiser to instead stretch this opportunity’s tension as far as it would go and hammer her present kindness firmly into her husband’s mind.

No sooner had she resolved this than she told a lie.
It was a trifling falsehood.
Yet for her—who deeply believed without doubt that the check she had brought had rescued her husband from dire straits both material and spiritual—this held rather grave significance.

At that moment, Tsuda picked up the check and gazed at it again.
The amount written there exceeded what he had requested.
But before questioning that, he said to Oen,

“Oen, thank you.
Thanks to you, I’m saved.”

Oen’s lie followed right after these words of gratitude and immediately slipped from her lips.

“The reason I went to Okamoto yesterday was to get this from Uncle.”

Tsuda looked surprised.
When he had asked his wife to visit Okamoto for funds earlier, she had flatly refused—yet here was Oen herself presenting this check.
As he wondered how such goodwill could have suddenly emerged in less than a week, Tsuda found it utterly perplexing.
Oen offered her explanation.

“Well, I hate this.
To trouble Uncle further about money...”
“But there’s no choice, you see.”
“When pressed, I must summon that much courage—otherwise I can’t fulfill my duty as your wife.”

“Did you explain things to Uncle?”

“Yes, that was terribly hard.”

Oen had had Okamoto prepare most of her preparations for coming to Tsuda.

“Moreover, I’ve kept up appearances of not being troubled by money until today, you know.
“That’s why it feels even more awkward now.”

Based on his own character, Tsuda could fully understand the extent of awkwardness in such situations.

“Well done.”

“If you say it, you can do it, you know. It wasn’t that I couldn’t.”
“It was just difficult to bring up.”

“But then there are sticklers like Father and Oshu in this world.”

Tsuda made a face as though his pride had been wounded instead.
Oen spoke as if mending the situation.

“Oh, it’s not like I got it solely for that reason.”
“Uncle promised to buy me a ring.”
“He said he’d buy it for me now instead of when I married—he’s been saying that lately.”
“So he likely gave it with that intention.”
“There’s no need to worry.”

Tsuda gazed at Oen’s finger.
There, the gem he had bought for her was properly glittering.

113

The two of them were more in harmony than ever before.

Tsuda's heart, which until now had been fortified to maintain appearances before Oen, unwittingly slackened.
The vigilance that had persisted—born from two causes: the anxiety that his father might appear miserly in her eyes, and the fear that she might underestimate his father's financial power beyond his own expectations—had now dissipated, allowing him to maintain an ambiguous facade regarding Kyoto-related matters.
Yet he remained oblivious to this change.
Without effort or conscious will, he had been carried along by natural forces.
It was as though the incident had gently lifted the cautious Tsuda and borne him there for Oen's benefit.
To Oen, this brought delight.
Without any resolve toward reformation, there was an unforced naturalness in her husband's newly composed demeanor.

At the same time, to Tsuda’s eyes, Oen now carried a similar air.
Setting aside other matters for the time being, ever since their marriage, there had always been a strange covert struggle between them concerning financial power.
And this arose from the following chain of cause and effect.
Tsuda, who like ordinary people wished to flaunt his wealth, had estimated his father’s assets at a far greater sum than they actually were and boasted of this to Oen to make her think as highly of him as possible.
That alone would have been manageable.
He did not neglect to carry his weakness one step further.
The version of himself that he had let Oen perceive was that of a young master in a far more comfortable position than his current one.
If necessary, he could always request any amount of assistance from his father.
Even if he didn’t request it, there was never any worry about struggling with monthly expenses.
At the time he married Oen, it was as though he had already shouldered this much responsibility for his words toward her.
Astute as he was, he knew full well that when it came to valuing financial power, Oen’s nature was no less than his own.
To put it bluntly—for him who could even believe that love itself was born from the gleam of gold—there was an anxiety that he must somehow maintain appearances before Oen.
Above all, he deeply feared being despised by Oen in this regard.
The fact that he had arranged through Hori to receive assistance from his father every month was actually due to such hidden motives beyond mere necessity.
Even so, he still harbored an uncomfortable feeling somewhere.
At the very least, there was a considerable distance between his inner self and outward appearance regarding her.
To Oen—sharp-witted as she was—that distance became as clear as if she could grasp it in her hands.
Inevitably, she could not help but harbor dissatisfaction there.
However, rather than reproaching her husband’s deceptions, she resented his lack of detachment.
She simply thought him distant.

She was tormented by why he couldn't manfully expose his weaknesses before his wife.
In the end, if my husband maintained such distance that he dared not do it, then I resolved within myself that I too was prepared.
Then that attitude resonated in Tsuda's chest like a tree spirit.
No matter how far they went, they couldn't bring themselves to face each other directly.
Moreover, out of mutual reserve, they had been careful to avoid touching on it as much as possible.
However, the conflict with Oshu had shattered in one blow this door that existed in Oen's chest.
Moreover, Oen herself had not noticed this in the slightest.
She had opened herself up to her husband without any effort or resolve to do so, as naturally as could be.
Therefore, to Tsuda too, she appeared as pleasantly as if she were a completely different person.

In this way, the two were more in harmony than ever before.
Then, the moment they had melted together, a strange phenomenon immediately occurred.
They nonchalantly brought up the issue they had been avoiding until now.
Together, they devised countermeasures regarding Kyoto.

The same foreboding arose in both of them.
The anxiety that this incident would not end here tightened both their hearts.
Oshu would surely do something.
If she did, she would undoubtedly head straight for Kyoto.
And the result would naturally be to their disadvantage—this was the point where their views aligned.

What followed next were the crucial countermeasures.
However, when it came to that point, their opinions were divided and did not easily come together.

Oen first nominated Fujii’s uncle as a mediator.
However, Tsuda shook his head.
He was well aware that both his uncle and aunt were on Oshu’s side.
Next, Tsuda suggested Okamoto.
However, on the grounds that Okamoto did not have a particularly close association with Tsuda’s father, this time Oen objected.
She even devised a simple plan: perhaps she herself should go to Oshu’s place with the aim of reconciliation.
To this, Tsuda had no significant objection.
For even had it not been for this incident, so long as they did not wish to sever relations, the interaction between the two families was fated to be revived under some formality.
However, be that as it may, they wanted to try implementing a slightly more effective method at the same time.
They thought.

In the end, Yoshikawa’s name emerged from both their mouths simultaneously.
His position, his relationship with Tsuda’s father, the current arrangement of overseeing Tsuda under special request from the father—the more they listed these factors, the more favorable conditions Yoshikawa possessed.
Yet there lay another kind of difficulty.
To have Yoshikawa—with whom they weren’t even particularly close—intervene on their behalf, they absolutely needed first to win over his wife.
But this wife happened to be someone Oen found particularly challenging.
Oen tilted her head slightly before consenting to Tsuda’s proposal.
Tsuda, being on good terms with Mrs. Yoshikawa and seeing ample chance of success through this approach, pressed his case fervently.
In the end, Oen finally yielded.

After the incident, having opened up to each other through such discussions, the two parted ways in good spirits.

114

Burdened by fatigue from his sleepless night, Tsuda surprisingly fell asleep easily that evening.
The next day, as translucent sunlight met his eyes and he gazed at the crisp autumn air beyond the windowpane, the familiar scrubbing sounds from the neighboring laundry carried an indefinable seasonal charm to his ears.

"...If you're going out, put it on and go already.
Swish-swish-swish!"

The laundryman sang a folk song while rhythmically inserting "Swish-swish-swish" between verses.
The sounds conjured images of workers bustling about, their hands moving busily beneath white steam.

They suddenly emerged from a peculiar hole onto the roof, carrying white bundles.
Then they climbed up to the clothesline and spread those white items across the autumn sky without a gap.
Since arriving there, their daily repeated actions had been monotonous.
Yet they remained diligent.
What this truly signified, Tsuda could not comprehend.

He had to think of something kinder for his present self. He recalled Mrs.Yoshikawa’s figure. His future—to envision it before his eyes was too vague. Whenever he tried to organize it, Mrs.Yoshikawa would appear. This focal point representing his future had now taken on special significance.

First, there had been unresolved matters since their last meeting. It was she who had suddenly brought to mind a certain problem sealed between them at that time. He had made efforts not to pursue it further. Yet the will to inquire had also stirred within him. If she had broken the seal first, it seemed only right that he should now reveal its contents.

Secondly, he was concerned about the matter of Kyoto.
When considered apart from their relative importance, this matter was rather urgently pressing.
Meeting her as soon as possible seemed like the wisest course of action.
Still managing a body that he absolutely could not move for another four or five days, yesterday before Oen left, he had even tried to send her to Mrs.Yoshikawa’s place in his stead.
Though this had been rejected by Oen and thus did not come to fruition, he still believed it was the most suitable approach.

Why Oen was so reluctant to visit Mrs.Yoshikawa with such a purpose was something Tsuda couldn’t help but find strange.
Even though she’s the type of woman who’d eagerly frequent those circles without being asked.
And he thought at that time.
He went so far as to emphasize his own proposal, asserting it was just like when tasks had been deliberately fabricated for him to appear before Mrs.Yoshikawa.
However, even in that situation, he found himself without the urge to forcefully impose on Oen, who remained utterly unwilling to take on the task.
This was partly due to their open and relaxed mood as a couple, but from another perspective, it was also connected to Oen’s manner of refusal.
She said that if she went, it would definitely end in failure.
However, instead of stating her reasons, she said that if it were Tsuda, it would surely be effective.
Even if it were effective, since they couldn’t meet unless he left the hospital first, there was a risk of delay—when Tsuda pointed this out, Oen gave him another unexpected reply.
She asserted that Mrs.Yoshikawa would certainly come to visit him at the hospital.
She asserted that if they just took advantage of that opportunity, things would proceed most naturally and simply.

While gazing at the laundry drying outside the laundry shop, Tsuda reviewed yesterday’s conversation in this manner, pulling each point closer to examine them one after another.
Then again, Mrs.Yoshikawa seemed likely to come visit him.
But then again, she didn’t seem likely to come for him either.
In other words, he could no longer understand why Oen had so firmly insisted on coming herself.
He vividly imagined before his eyes the large group said to have gathered at the dinner table in the theater’s dining hall.
He even tried novelistically piecing together what conversation had been exchanged between Oen and Mrs.Yoshikawa.
But when it came to pinpointing where in their conversation this prophecy had emerged, he had no choice but to dismiss it as something beyond his comprehension.
He had already allowed Oen a measure of intuition—a measure of intuition that, unfortunately, heaven had not granted him.
In that regard, Tsuda—who always had to maintain a certain wariness toward her—lacked the courage to broach the subject carelessly. Simultaneously, being utterly unable to trust in her intuition, he began considering whether there might be some way to contrive summoning Mrs.Yoshikawa to the hospital himself.
He immediately thought of the telephone.
He wrestled with how to make a phone call that wouldn’t seem lazy or deliberate, but would naturally prompt her to come here.
However, that effort was nearly akin to trying to create bubbles on water.
No matter how much he labored to devise them, they would only vanish immediately afterward.
When he realized it was futile to keep laboring to make a fundamentally impossible fantasy into reality, he gave a wry smile by himself and gazed out through the window once more.

Outside, the wind rose at some point.
A single willow branch in front of the laundry shop swayed gently along with the white laundry.
The three electric wires strung across as if skimming them also swayed unsteadily, as though keeping in rhythm with their surroundings.

115

To the doctor who had come upstairs, Tsuda at that moment appeared thoroughly bored.
The moment their eyes met, he asked, “How are you?” before immediately adding in a comforting tone, “Just a little more patience.”
Then he changed Tsuda’s gauze.

“The wound still needs to be left undisturbed—it could be dangerous.”

Having given this warning, he slightly loosened the area where direct pressure was being applied and told him a cautionary tale about blood oozing out.

The replaced gauze covered only part of the wound. With his body in such a state that removing the critical dressing might make blood gush out, even Tsuda couldn’t bring himself to insist on going home.

“I’m afraid there’s no choice but to stay for the originally planned duration.”

The doctor made a sympathetic face.

"Well, depending on how things progress, we might not need to take such excessive precautions."

Even so, the doctor seemed to treat Tsuda as a patient who lacked neither time nor financial resources—one who appeared thoroughly at ease from every perspective.

"It's not as if you have any particularly urgent business, I take it?"

“Well, I could stay here for about a week. However, since a minor incident has come up unexpectedly…”

“Well… However, it’s almost healed. Just a bit more patience needed.”

The doctor, who had no other way to phrase it—perhaps because the outpatient area wasn’t yet busy—sat down and made some small talk. Among this chatter was an anecdote from his time as an assistant at a large hospital that inadvertently drew a laugh from Tsuda. The story about someone barging into the doctors’ office, accusing a nurse of killing a patient by giving the wrong medicine and demanding she be beaten, struck Tsuda as utterly ridiculous. Born with a nature entirely opposite to such people, he could find nothing but foolishness there. To put it plainly, he became fixated solely on the other’s flaws. Then, on the flip side, he secretly delighted in highlighting his own virtues. Thus, he reached the same conclusion: he never became aware of his own shortcomings.

After the doctor’s examination, he found himself growing pessimistic about his current self—confined to one place for a full week due to such a trivial illness. Perhaps it was his imagination, but to him, the present moment seemed extraordinarily precious. Even regret over how it would have been better if he had postponed the treatment a little longer welled up inside him.

He began thinking about Mrs.Yoshikawa again.
Rather than trying to devise a way to summon her here, his mental focus gradually shifted toward simply wishing she would come of her own accord.
Though he had always disparaged Oen’s intuition for fear of being seen through, somewhere within him now stirred a desire for it to prove accurate in this exceptional case.

He selected one volume from the books Oen had left behind. An air that compelled acknowledgment of its worthiness as part of Okamoto’s collection could be discerned here and there. Unfortunately, he lacked the capacity to appreciate humor. While the printed words made sense intellectually, they failed to resonate emotionally. Passages that even his intellect couldn’t digest continued appearing one after another. Unburdened by responsibility, he flipped rapidly through pages seeking something suited to himself. Then by chance, his eyes fell upon the following passage.

“When the girl’s father asked the young man, ‘Do you love my daughter?’ he replied, ‘It’s not a matter of loving or not loving—I’d even be willing to die for your daughter.’ ‘If I could receive even a single kind glance from those dear eyes, I would die content right then and there. I’ll immediately throw myself from that two-hundred-foot cliff onto the rocks below and let you see me reduced to a mangled, blood-soaked mass,’ he declared. The girl’s father shook his head and replied, ‘To tell the truth, I too have something of a tendency to tell lies, but having two liars in a small family like mine gives one pause.’”

The word “liar” forced an ironic smile from Tsuda’s lips—more bitter than usual.
He was a man who privately admitted being a liar himself.
Simultaneously, he was one who fundamentally discerned others’ falsehoods.
Yet he remained utterly untouched by pessimism.
Rather, he believed lies became necessary precisely to sustain life’s opposite course.
He had existed until now beneath this vague worldview without ever realizing it.
He simply proceeded.
Thus whenever he probed deeper, he found himself merely growing confused about his own position.

“Love and Falsehood”

Having been led to these two words through the anecdote he had read, he found himself at a loss as to how to explain their relationship.
He was someone who harbored an important problem of his own.
Compelled by inner necessity to resolve this matter at any cost, he had no choice but to endlessly turn it over in his mind unless given an opportunity for practical testing.
Not being a philosopher, he could not even arrange before his own eyes—in any orderly, systematic form—the view of life he had carried with him until now.

116

Tsuda considered one disjointed matter after another.
Before he knew it, the afternoon arrived.
His head was tired.
He lost the courage to continue thinking about one more thing for long.
Though it was called autumn, the day was far too long for lying alone.
He began to feel bored.
And then he let his thoughts turn to Oen again.
He, who had expected her figure to appear before his eyes again today, was complacent.
After exhaustively thinking through nothing but matters requiring caution in her presence until now, when this grew tiresome, he calmly assumed Oen would likely arrive soon.
He did not even have the excuse at that moment that he could not take responsibility for what naturally welled up in his mind.
While there were puzzling aspects to the Oen he perceived, a consideration that he too harbored facts unknown to her might have been at work somewhere in the distance; but even that would not have formed into clear words in his mind unless absolutely necessary.

Oen did not come for quite some time.
Mrs. Yoshikawa, who was awaited even more than Oen, naturally did not make an appearance.
Tsuda was displeased.
The sound of chanting that someone nearby had been performing since earlier—the one he disliked most—unpleasantly irritated his ears.
The long, narrow signboard for Noh chant instruction that existed in his memory was suddenly recalled.
It was a two-story house located diagonally across from the laundry shop.
The second floor apparently served as a practice room, for considering the distance, the voice resounded excessively loudly.
He, finding nowhere the right to stop others from doing as they pleased, could do nothing with his dissatisfaction.
He merely wanted to be discharged from the hospital as soon as possible.

As Tsuda gazed vacantly with unfocused eyes at the red brick warehouse behind the willow tree—adorned with a crest resembling a shop emblem featuring a horizontal line beneath a mountain shape, with large bent nail-like objects protruding inexplicably from the walls on either side—the sudden sound of bold footsteps echoed, and someone came thudding up the staircase.
Tsuda thought, "Hm?"
From the rhythm of these footsteps, he had already largely surmised who their owner was in his mind.

His premonition immediately became fact.
When he turned his eyes toward the room’s entrance, almost at the same moment, Kobayashi strode briskly in wearing the coat he had just received.

“How’s it going?”

He sat cross-legged abruptly.
Tsuda offered what resembled a pained smile in place of a greeting.
The thought What are you here for? had already surfaced the instant he saw his face.

“This is it,” he said, thrusting the coat sleeve toward Tsuda.

“Thank you—with this, I’ll survive the winter.”

Kobayashi repeated before Tsuda the same words he had said in front of Oen. However, since Oen hadn’t mentioned it to him, he didn’t take it as sarcasm at all.

“Your wife came, didn’t she?”

Kobayashi asked once again.

“She came. Isn’t it only natural she would?”

“She must have said something, right?”

Tsuda wavered between answering “Uh-huh” or “No—”, hesitating briefly. He wanted to know what Kobayashi had told Oen. If he could just make him repeat it now, his own response—whether affirmation or denial—would amount to the same thing. But deciding which approach would work couldn’t be done in that instant. Yet this very hesitation took on unintended significance, provoking Kobayashi’s reaction.

“Your wife came here angry.”
“I had a feeling that must be why.”

Having easily obtained a clue, Tsuda immediately clung to it.

“It’s because you tease too much.”

“No, I’m not bullying at all.
“I just teased her a bit too much—poor thing.
“Didn’t she cry?”

Tsuda was slightly surprised.

“Did you say something to make her cry?”

“Well, after all—it’s just me talking nonsense.
“In other words, your wife was raised in an upper-class household like Mr. Okamoto’s, so she still doesn’t know that vulgar men like me exist in society.
“That’s why she probably even frets over trivial matters.
“If you just teach her from the start not to pay any mind to that fool, that’s all you need to do.”

“I *have* been teaching her that!” Tsuda retorted defiantly.
Kobayashi barked a laugh.

“Looks like your training’s still a bit lacking.”

Tsuda changed tack.

"But what exactly did you say to provoke that woman?"

"You've already heard that from Oen-san, haven't you?"

"No, I haven't."

The two locked eyes.
Simultaneously surfaced their mutual attempt to plumb each other's depths.

One hundred seventeen

In Tsuda’s attempt to draw out Kobayashi’s true feelings lay a particular significance. He knew well the striking facets of Oen’s nature. In complete contrast to Oshu, she unfailingly displayed an attitude of sincerity and elegance before him at all times, while equally maintaining aspects that remained utterly beyond his control. Her talent was singular. Yet its application extended to both sides. When it came to matters she deemed unfit for her husband’s knowledge or better left concealed, she became entirely a wife beyond Tsuda’s grasp. The more docile she appeared, the less Tsuda could extract from her. As for what exchange had occurred between her and Kobayashi the previous day—though unavoidable in reality, given how time had slipped by without opportunity for detailed inquiry amid Oshu’s uproar—if Tsuda had demanded a thorough, unvarnished account during calmer circumstances, would Oen have readily satisfied his request without stinting effort to provide meticulous answers? When he pondered this, grave doubts arose. Judging by Oen’s usual conduct, Tsuda rather believed he would be deceived. If Kobayashi had indeed spoken unreservedly about the very point he half-dreaded, then Oen seemed all the more likely to feign ignorance and pass silently before her husband’s presence. At least, the Oen Tsuda had observed possessed composure ample for such dissembling. With resignation dawning that he must abandon hope through Oen, Tsuda found no alternative but to seek the knowledge he required directly from Kobayashi.

Kobayashi somehow seemed to be aware of that.

“I didn’t say a thing.”
“If you think I’m lying, go ask Mrs. Tsuda again.”
“Though to be honest, I felt bad about it as I was leaving, so I came to apologize.”
“To tell the truth, why I apologized—I don’t even understand it myself.”

He sneered after saying this.
Then he abruptly reached out, picked up the half-read book by Tsuda’s pillow, and silently read it for about a minute.

“You read this sort of thing?” he asked Tsuda in a thoroughly contemptuous tone.
He carelessly flipped through the pages, working backward from the end toward the beginning.
When he discovered a small bookmark labeled "Okamoto" there, he said, "Hmph."

“Oen-san brought this, didn’t she? No wonder I thought it was an odd book. By the way—you, Mr. Okamoto is wealthy, I suppose?”

“I don’t know about that.”

“There’s no way you don’t know. But isn’t that Oen-san’s family home?”

“I didn’t investigate Okamoto’s assets and then go and marry her or anything like that.”

“Is that so?”

This simple “Is that so?” rang oddly in Tsuda’s head.
It even struck him as carrying the implication: “You wouldn’t have married without investigating Okamoto’s assets.”

“Okamoto is Oen’s uncle, you know. Don’t you even know that?”
“It’s not even a proper family home or anything!”

“Is that so?”

Kobayashi repeated the same words again.
Tsuda became even more displeased.

“If you’re that desperate to know about Okamoto’s assets, shall I investigate them for you?”

Kobayashi said, “Heh heh.”
“When you’re poor, even other people’s assets become an unavoidable burden.”

Tsuda ignored him.
Just when he thought they were dropping the matter, Kobayashi immediately circled back to it.

“But really—about how much do you think there actually is?”

This attitude epitomized his distinctive character.
It always permitted dual interpretations.
To dismiss someone outright as a fool was one matter; yet once aware of being made a fool oneself, it meant submitting to limitless mockery.
Tsuda hovered between belief and doubt regarding him.
Thus when any trace of vulnerability lurked within, he inevitably inclined toward interpreting himself as the mocked.
Left with no recourse but caution to prevent the other’s presumption, he merely smiled.

“Shall I borrow some for you?”

“I hate borrowing. If I were to receive it, maybe—but no, I’d rather not receive anything either. There’s no intention of giving it anyway. If there’s no other choice, well, I suppose I’ll just take it then.”

Kobayashi laughed boisterously.
“Maybe before heading to Korea, I’ll share an interesting secret and take a little something from Mr. Okamoto.”

Tsuda immediately redirected the conversation to Korea.

“So when are you leaving?”

“It’s still not entirely clear.”

“But are you really going to leave?”

“I will leave when the time comes.
Whether you press me or not, when the day comes to leave, I’ll leave properly.”

“I’m not trying to rush you.
What I’m saying is—if I have time—I’ll hold a farewell party for you.”

Having conceived that if he failed to obtain sufficient information from Kobayashi today he would utilize the farewell party instead, Tsuda thus implicitly crafted a second opportunity as contingency through these words.

118

Whether by design or chance, given how Kobayashi stubbornly refused to be steered in the direction Tsuda wanted, this precaution might indeed have been necessary.
He maintained an attitude that seemed to both answer and evade Tsuda’s questions indefinitely.
And he persistently clung only to topics about himself.
Because this also had an indirect yet deep connection to what Tsuda was trying to inquire about, he felt both swarmed by flies and frustrated.
He also felt as though he were being indirectly jabbed at.

“Are Yoshikawa and Okamoto related to you?” Kobayashi brought up.

To Tsuda, this question did not seem innocent.

“They’re not relatives—just friends. Didn’t I explain that when you asked before?”

“Ah right—they’re people so far removed from me that I’d clean forgotten.”
“But even as friends go, they’re hardly ordinary ones.”

“What nonsense are you spouting now?”

Tsuda nearly added “you fool” under his breath.

“I only meant they must be exceptionally close friends.”
“No need to flare up like that.”

The relationship between Yoshikawa and Okamoto was exactly as Kobayashi had imagined.
The mere fact was simply that.
However, behind that surface, by juxtaposing Tsuda and Oen, one could freely observe both sides of the meaning simultaneously.

“You’re a fortunate man,” Kobayashi said.
“As long as you take good care of Oen, you can’t go wrong.”

“That’s why I do take good care of her.
Even without your advice, I know that much.”

“I see.”

Kobayashi used the word “I see” again.
Each time this overly serious “I see” was repeated, Tsuda felt as though he were being threatened by him.

“However, you’re wise enough, unlike someone like me.”
“Everyone else thinks you’ve completely surrendered to Oen.”

“Who are these ‘others’?”

“The doctor or the wife, you know.”

Tsuda had a fair idea that Fujii’s uncle and aunt viewed him in this way.

“Since you’ve completely surrendered, I guess it can’t be helped that they see it that way.”

“I see—but someone honest like me could never imitate you.”
“You really are an impressive man.”

“So you’re the honest one and I’m the fake?”
“So the fake is impressive while the honest man’s a fool?”
“When did you invent such a philosophy?”

“I’ve had that philosophy invented for quite some time now. This time, I plan to formally present it when I go to Korea.”

A strange inkling flashed through Tsuda’s mind.

“Have you already secured your travel expenses?”

“I’ll manage the travel expenses somehow.”

“Did the company agree to cover it?”

“No...
“No—I’ve already arranged to borrow from the teacher.”

“Is that so.”
“How convenient.”

“Not convenient at all.
Even so, I can’t bear imposing on the teacher like this.”

He was a man who calmly had Fujii handle matters with his sister Okan.

“Even if I am shameless, I can’t go troubling the teacher over this money matter.”

Tsuda gave no answer.
Kobayashi said in an innocent tone, as if consulting him.

“You don’t happen to know somewhere I could shake down for funds, do you?”

“Well, there isn’t,” Tsuda snapped, deliberately turning away.

“Don’t you? There must be somewhere.”
“There must be somewhere.”

“There isn’t. Times are hard these days.”
“Times are hard these days.”

“How about you? The world aside, you always seem to be doing well, don’t you?”

“Don’t talk nonsense!”

The check he had received from Okamoto and the paper-wrapped package Oshu had left behind—after handing all of these over to Oen, his wallet had become as empty as the sky itself.
Even if those funds had still been in his possession, he would have felt no inclination to make a financial sacrifice for Kobayashi in this situation.
As long as the main issue hadn’t reached critical urgency, he saw absolutely no need to entertain his consultations.

Strangely, Kobayashi too refrained from pressing Tsuda any further.
Instead, he abruptly steered the conversation into bizarre territory, startling him.

That morning he had gone to Fujii’s house where, as usual, he was treated to lunch and spent considerable time organizing manuscripts when the lattice entrance door opened, causing him to casually step out himself to answer it. There he unexpectedly discovered Oshu.

When Tsuda heard Kobayashi’s account reach that point, he couldn’t help inwardly exclaiming: Damn! He got there first! But that alone didn’t settle matters. Kobayashi still retained material in his mind to astonish Tsuda.

One hundred nineteen

However, his method of surprising others followed its own peculiar sequence.
He began by saying these things to provoke Tsuda.

“I hear you had a fight with your sister. The teacher and his wife were quite worn out after being lectured by Oshu-san.”

“You were eavesdropping on them again?”

Kobayashi smiled wryly and scratched his head.

“It’s not like I meant to listen. The words just naturally reached my ears. After all, when Oshu-san does the talking and the teacher eggs her on...”

Oshu possessed a stubborn, single-minded disposition. When provoked, her usual composure would vanish entirely, replaced by an abrupt ferocity utterly unlike her normal self—a trait that starkly contrasted with Tsuda’s character. As for Uncle, true to form, he was the sort who wouldn’t rest until he’d dug to the absolute bottom of any matter. His approach demanded maintaining what common parlance called logical consistency, even if only superficially in wording—an attitude born from his lifelong habit of dissecting ideological issues through writing, which had seeped into his daily interactions. He’d let others speak their fill, then counter with endless questions. These interrogations would often escalate beyond mere inquiry into outright cross-examination.

In his mind, Tsuda imagined the scene of his uncle and sister sitting face to face.
He even began to suspect that perhaps another commotion had arisen there.
However, partly out of consideration for Kobayashi, he deliberately took a high-handed approach.

“They probably went on some wild rant badmouthing me, didn’t they?”

Kobayashi responded with nothing but a loud laugh before saying:

"But it doesn't suit you either—fighting with Oshu-san like that."

"It's because it was me who did it. Even she would show more restraint if Hori were around."

"Hmm, I suppose that's how it is. People often talk about married couples' quarrels, but aren't siblings' quarrels actually more common? Having no experience with a wife myself, I'm completely in the dark about that side of things. But even someone like me with a sister thinks I understand sibling quarrels quite well. What about you? A brother like me has never fought with my sister, I tell you."

“That depends on the sister.”
“But that also depends on the brother.”
“Even a brother has times when he gets angry.”

Kobayashi was grinning slyly.

“But even you don’t think provoking Oshu-san now is a good strategy, do you?”

“That’s obvious, of course. Who would ever start a fight on purpose? With someone like her?”

Kobayashi laughed even more heartily. With each laugh, he gained a measure of composure.

“It must have been unavoidable, I suppose. But that’s what I say. I’m a man who doesn’t care who I quarrel with. I’m someone who’s sunk into a situation where no matter who I quarrel with, I can’t possibly lose out. If there is any result from a quarrel, it won’t be my loss. Because, you see, I’ve never had anything from the start that could possibly turn into a loss. In short, since every possible change arising from a quarrel only works to my advantage, I might as well wish for quarrels. But you’re different. Your quarrels will never work to your advantage. And there are hardly any men in the world as thoroughly versed in profit and loss as you are. It’s not just that you understand—you’re a man who can live from morning till night under that very understanding. At the very least, you’re a man who’s always thinking you have to live that way. Listen here.”

“And yet you—”

Tsuda impatiently cut Kobayashi off.

“Alright, I get it.”
“I get it.”
“In other words, you’re advising me not to clash with others.”
“Especially since clashing with you would only be to my detriment—you’re telling me to keep things amicable. That’s your main point, isn’t it?”

Kobayashi put on a feignedly foolish expression and maintained his composure.

“What, with me? I don’t have the slightest intention of quarreling with you.”

“I already said I get it.”

“If you’ve understood, then that’s fine. Just to be clear—I’ve been talking about Oshu-san all along, you.”

“I already know that.”

“You say you understand—but that’s about Kyoto, isn’t it? You mean things over there would end in failure?”
“Of course I do.”

“But you—it’s not just that. There’ll be other repercussions too—better watch out.”

Kobayashi paused there and gazed at Tsuda’s face to gauge the effect of his words.
Tsuda was indeed unable to remain composed.

120

Kobayashi seized this moment.

“Oshu-san, you know,” he said, having already ensnared Tsuda by that point.

“Oshu-san visited another house before coming to the doctor’s place.”
“As for that particular house—can you guess where it might be?”

Tsuda could not imagine it.
At the very least, regarding this incident, there could be no place she would have visited besides Fujii.

“There’s no such place in Tokyo.”

“No, there is.”

Tsuda had no choice but to search through his mind again, wondering whether it was this or that.
But no matter how much he thought about it, what he couldn’t find still remained unfound.
When, finally, Kobayashi, laughing, spoke the name of the house, Tsuda indeed let out a loud voice as if surprised.

“Yoshikawa? Why did she go to Mr. Yoshikawa’s place again? It has nothing to do with anything!”

Tsuda could not help feeling puzzled.

If it had merely been a matter of connecting Yoshikawa and Hori, even Tsuda could have managed that easily.
There was no need to rely on flights of fancy or anything else.
At the time of the Tsuda couple’s marriage, it had been clear to all that the Yoshikawa couple—who had formally served as their public matchmakers—maintained social ties with his sister Oshu and her husband Hori.
Yet despite that connection, he could find no reason why Oshu—having raised this issue—would specifically seek out Yoshikawa’s doorstep.

“She probably just went for a visit; simply paying her respects.”

“But that doesn’t seem to be the case.”
“From listening to Oshu-san’s account,”

Tsuda suddenly wanted to hear that story.
Kobayashi cautioned him instead of satisfying him.

"But you're the kind of man who seems meticulously prepared yet has gaps somewhere."
"When you try too hard to plug every hole, your hands naturally can't reach everything—that's how it goes, right?"
"Even this time—isn't that true? First off, given your position, there's no reason to provoke Oshu-san."
"And once you've angered her, letting her go charging off to Yoshikawa would be idiotic."
"On top of that, being convinced she wouldn't head to Yoshikawa and writing it off from the start—that doesn't match your usual self, does it?"

From the perspective of outcomes, even Kobayashi found it easy to identify Tsuda’s weaknesses.

“After all, your father and Yoshikawa are friends, aren’t they?”
“And I suppose your father has already asked Yoshikawa to handle all your affairs properly.”
“So isn’t it only natural that Oshu-san would come rushing there?”

Before coming to the hospital, Tsuda recalled the words Yoshikawa had told him in the company’s executive office: “You mustn’t worry the old folks. We know exactly what you’re doing in Tokyo—if anything troublesome happens, I’ll just notify Kyoto.” He remembered these words that had meant “Be careful.” Even now interpreting them, they remained nothing more than a half-joking warning. Yet if anything could transform them into entirely serious statements there, Oshu was their architect.

“What an outlandish woman.”

Precisely because this eccentric quality wasn’t part of his family heritage, his criticism contained genuine surprise.

“What on earth did she say to Yoshikawa? If you take her words at face value, only she comes out looking good—everyone else ends up worse off. It’s infuriating.”

In Tsuda’s mind flickered consequences far more significant than the immediate effects. He couldn’t grasp how his credibility with Yoshikawa, Yoshikawa’s relationship with Okamoto, or Okamoto’s connection to Oen might transform through a single stratagem of Oshu’s.

“Women are shallow creatures after all.”

When Kobayashi heard this, he suddenly burst into laughter. The intensity of that laughter—more forceful than any he’d produced before—made Tsuda startle. For the first time, he became aware of what he’d just said.

“Never mind that—if you heard what Oshu told Uncle about her visit to Yoshikawa’s, tell me.”

“She kept rattling on about something,” Kobayashi replied. “Truth be told, I found it too tedious to listen properly.”

Having said this, Kobayashi reached the critical moment only to feign ignorance and withdraw from the conversation.
Tsuda was disappointed.
After letting that disappointment linger for a while, Kobayashi returned to the conversation.

"But wait a little longer.
You’ll have to listen whether you like it or not."

Tsuda thought there was no way Oshu would come again.

“What do you mean, ‘Oshu-san’?
“Oshu-san won’t be coming right away.
“Instead, Mrs.Yoshikawa will be coming.
“It’s not a lie.
“I heard it with my own ears.
“Oshu-san even specified the time when Yoshikawa’s wife would arrive.
“She’ll probably be here soon.”

Oen’s prediction came true.
Mrs.Yoshikawa, whom Tsuda had been trying to summon by any means possible, had ended up coming without him realizing it.

121

Two things flashed through Tsuda’s mind in quick succession.
One was a prior intimation that he would have to skillfully handle Mrs.Yoshikawa, who was now coming here.
That she would take the trouble to come to the hospital herself was indeed most in line with his original hopes; however, now that a new significance had been added to her visit here, he had no choice but to adjust his manner of response accordingly.
Imagining Mrs.Yoshikawa’s demeanor in this situation, he felt a twinge of anxiety.
The Mrs.Yoshikawa who had been filled with prejudice by Oshu and the Mrs.Yoshikawa not yet inflamed with resentment appeared quite different even to his eyes alone.
Yet even there, his usual confidence accompanied him.
He was resolved to fully overturn and demonstrate the prejudice and resentment Mrs.Yoshikawa would bring in a single meeting.
At the very least, if he didn’t accomplish that much here, his own future would be in jeopardy.
With three parts anxiety and seven parts confidence, he awaited her visit.

The remaining flash of insight informed him of the expediency of temporarily altering his attitude toward Oen once again.
Until just moments ago, he had been waiting for her appearance every moment out of sheer boredom.
However, he now had a separate tension.
He anticipated an entirely different kind of stimulus.
Oen was no longer needed.
Or rather, her coming was actually a nuisance.
Moreover, he had a special issue he wanted to discuss face-to-face with Mrs.Yoshikawa, just the two of them.
He resolved that he absolutely must prevent Oen and Mrs.Yoshikawa from meeting here together.

As an additional condition, a means to quickly drive Kobayashi away had also become necessary. However, Kobayashi, while making remarks suggesting Mrs.Yoshikawa would arrive any moment now, showed no indication whatsoever of leaving himself. He was not the sort of man to be troubled by his own presence becoming a hindrance to others. Depending on the time and circumstances, he was the sort of man who, fully aware of it, might even go out of his way to be a hindrance. Moreover, he was an exasperating man who would calmly slip away without allowing others to firmly judge whether he went that far and actually caused trouble without realizing it or whether he had an understanding and intentionally caused trouble.

Tsuda feigned a yawn.
This action, completely out of sync with his feelings, split him in two.
While fidgeting restlessly and appearing thoroughly ill at ease as he interacted with Kobayashi, the fragmented nature of his interrupted mood showed in uneven patches.
Even so, Kobayashi maintained his composure.
Tsuda, who had once again picked up the clock by his pillow, set it down and finally blurted out a question.

“Do you have business here?”

“Well, there might be something.
Not that it’s anything specific to now.”

Tsuda mostly grasped his meaning.
Yet he still couldn't bring himself to surrender.
Even so, he found himself with even less courage to immediately drive him away.
He had no choice but to remain silent.
Then Kobayashi came out with this.

"I think I'll meet Mrs.Yoshikawa before leaving."

This was no joke, Tsuda thought to himself.

“Do you have some business here?”

“You’re always going on about ‘business,’ but meeting people doesn’t always require business.”

“But she’s a stranger.”

“Exactly because she’s a stranger, I want to meet her.”
“I was wondering what she might be like.”
“You see, I’ve never stepped into a wealthy household or mingled with those sorts of people, so when a chance like this comes along, I can’t help wanting to meet her—even just briefly.”

“It’s not some sideshow.”

“No, just simple curiosity. And besides, I’ve got time to kill.”

Tsuda was exasperated. He detested the idea of Mrs.Yoshikawa seeing proof that he counted a shabby man like Kobayashi among his friends. If he were to be despised for associating with that sort of person, he thought it would even affect his future.

“You’re quite the carefree one. You know perfectly well why Mrs.Yoshikawa is coming here today, don’t you?”

“I know. — Am I in the way?”

Tsuda had no other path left but to deliver the final verdict.

“You’re in the way. So leave quickly before she gets here.”

Kobayashi showed no particular signs of anger.

“I see. Then I can leave.
“I can leave, but in exchange let me just state my business—since I went to the trouble of coming here.”

Finding it all too troublesome, Tsuda finally blurted out the matter himself.

“It’s about money, isn’t it?
“If it’s legitimate business for me, I’ll agree to it.
“But I don’t have a single penny here.
“But then if you go off to my house to get it like you did with the coat, that’d be a problem.”

Kobayashi grinned and wordlessly asked through his expression what he should do then.
Tsuda, who still had matters to discuss with Kobayashi, found it more convenient to meet him again before he left.
However, having both him and Oen meet at the hospital would be inconvenient due to potential complications.
Under the pretext of a farewell gathering, Tsuda specified the date, time, and place for their meeting and finally managed to dismiss this troublesome individual.

122

Tsuda immediately embarked on the second preventive measure. He removed the small cosmetic box placed on the floor, pulled out from beneath it the usual stationery along with a lavender-colored envelope, and immediately began writing with his fountain pen. The letter—concisely conveying that she should postpone her visit today due to pressing matters—was completed in under a minute. To his hurried mind, even the time to reread it seemed too precious to spare. He sealed it promptly. And he gave no consideration whatsoever to how Oen might grow suspicious from the letter's incomplete contents. This situation, which had stripped him of his usual caution, not only rendered him hasty but compelled his mind into single-minded focus. Still holding the letter, he went downstairs and called for the nurse.

“There’s an urgent matter, so please have a rickshaw man take this to my house immediately.”

The nurse said “Huh?” as she took the sealed letter, her face showing she was wondering what urgent matter had arisen as she looked at the address.
Tsuda calculated in his head even the time the rickshaw man would take for the round trip.

“Please have him take the streetcar.”

He feared they might miss each other.
If Oen were to arrive at the hospital before receiving the letter, all his efforts would be wasted.

Even after returning upstairs, he could think of nothing but that.
Thinking this, he even felt as though Oen had already left home, boarded the train, and was heading in this direction.
Naturally, along with that, Kobayashi clung to his mind.
If his wife were to appear with her slender figure at the top of the stairs before his objective was achieved, he thought it would be entirely Kobayashi’s fault.
After having his precious time wasted and pleading with him to leave, Tsuda watched Kobayashi’s retreating figure—yet even now, he was on the verge of utilizing this same man to resolve his pressing matter.
“Even if it’s a bother, stop by my house on your way back and warn Oen not to come today.”
He was startled by these words that had nearly escaped his lips and hastily swallowed them back.
In fact, he even thought how much more convenient it would have been at this moment if it hadn’t been Kobayashi.

As Tsuda sharpened his nerves, dominated by minute anticipations of her imminent arrival while waiting moment by moment for Mrs.Yoshikawa, the letter he had handed to his nurse for Oen was compelled to reach a fate he had yet to conceive.

The letter was handed to the rickshaw man without delay, just as he had ordered.
The rickshaw man, following the nurse’s instructions, immediately boarded the streetcar while still holding it.
Then he got off at the instructed stop.
After walking a short distance from there, he turned off the main avenue into the familiar narrow alley where he effortlessly found the surname on the neat nameplate of a two-story house.
He approached the entrance.
There he handed the letter he was holding to O-toki, who had come out to receive it.

Up to this point, all steps had proceeded exactly as Tsuda had planned.
However, after this—at the moment he had composed the letter—a fact that had not even entered his mind lay waiting.
The letter did not immediately reach Oen’s hands.

However, contrary to Tsuda’s fears, Oen—who was not at home—had not gone to the hospital as he had feared.
She had another destination in mind.
Moreover, it was the result of her fully demonstrating her agile prowess in seeking to exploit a critical opportunity.

That day, Oen was her usual self from the morning.
She rose as she always did and moved about as she always did.
She carried out her tasks no differently than when Tsuda was present, yet due to his absence, she spent a leisurely morning with so much free time it almost felt excessive.
After eating lunch, she went to the public bathhouse.
Wanting to freshen up a bit before showing her face at the hospital, she spent considerable time there doing so thoroughly. Then, wrapped in a refreshed mood and the glossy skin from her bath, she returned home only to hear a report from O-toki that seemed too good to be true.

“Mrs. Hori has arrived.”

Oen was so astonished she could hardly believe the maid’s words.
For Oshu to come all the way here to see her the very next day—
There was no reason such an unexpected visit should have occurred.
She checked with the maid twice, then a third time.
She couldn’t rest without even demanding why Oshu had come.
She questioned why they hadn’t made her wait.
Yet the maid knew nothing.
The only clue came from words left by Oshu’s own maid: she had merely stopped by briefly on her way back from Fujii’s place.

Oen instantly altered her predetermined plans.
She resolved to bypass the hospital and redirect her destination to Oshu's place.
This was merely a promise exchanged between Tsuda and herself.
Now was the moment to fulfill that agreement without a trace of artifice.
She left the house as though pursuing Oshu.

123

Hori’s house was roughly in the same direction as the hospital; thus, if one alighted from the streetcar about two stops early and turned right immediately upon getting off, one could reach the gate after walking just four or five *chō*.

Unlike the residences of Fujii and Okamoto, his mansion in the distant suburbs boasted almost no garden to speak of.
Carriage houses and coach houses were naturally present.
Between what might be called the two-story structure facing the street and its gate lay a mere space of less than three ken (approximately 5.4 meters).
Moreover, since this area had been completely paved with stones, the natural color of the ground remained nowhere visible.

As a result of urban improvement projects, the street—considerably widened long ago—had a width rarely seen elsewhere. Yet despite this spaciousness, not a single shop could be found throughout the entire neighborhood. Lawyers' offices, doctors' clinics, and inns lined the avenue, maintaining an unbroken quietude that belied the bustling surroundings.

On both sides of this elevated road stood rows of willow trees planted with military precision. During fine weather, even the bleak city winds took on a certain charm as they rustled through these swaying green curtains. The largest tree extended its long branches diagonally from the base of Hori's wall to arch over the gate—to passersby, it appeared as though this specimen had been deliberately transplanted there to complement the house's elegant facade.

As for other distinctive features, there was a large iron rain barrel in front of the entrance. This lengthy object, which evoked images of a downtown pawnshop or something similar, harmonized well with the entrance structure immediately beside it. The entrance, relatively wide in frontage, was entirely partitioned by thin lattices alone, with no decorative elements such as Chinese-style doors or other ornamental features visible anywhere.

To put it simply, while this house’s profession—which could readily be agreed upon if one were to describe it as a modernized residence of a nagauta performer—could at least systematically be discerned externally just by observing its appearance, what was strange was its master.
He had never known what sort of house he was living in.
Lacking the sensitivity to be troubled by such matters, he remained completely unperturbed no matter how others criticized his family’s occupation.
Though a man of leisure, he differed entirely from an uneducated nouveau riche; indeed, given his personality, he might have been rather ill-suited to live in such a house tailored for performers—he was a man of remarkably little self-assertion.
To put it harshly, he was a man deficient in selfhood.
He was an easygoing soul who not only followed societal customs but also made no effort to alter his household’s unique traditions.
Thus he lived contentedly in a house built by his father and mother—that is, the previous generation—a plaster-walled storehouse-like structure imbued with theatrical flair.
If any virtue could be found there, one had no choice but to praise his attitude of not being ostentatiously pleased with himself.
Yet he also had no reason to take pride in it.
The residence reflected in his eyes was far too commonplace for pride.

Every time Oen saw Hori's house, she felt an incongruity between herself and the structure itself.
Even after entering the house, she would often remember that sense of distance.
In Oen's view, the only one who could sit there perfectly at ease was Hori's mother.
Yet this mother was the woman Oen disliked most in the family.
She was less someone to dislike than a woman who proved difficult to interact with.
The times were different—to put it harshly, there was a generational divide. If that missed the mark, then their personalities clashed, their backgrounds differed—there were endless ways to phrase it, but ultimately it always came down to the same thing.

Next, Hori himself became the focal point.
From Oen's perspective, this master of the house appeared both harmonious with and discordant against his residence.
To elaborate further, this meant he would seem equally matched yet mismatched with any dwelling—a condition nearly identical in implication to never having considered it an issue from the outset. There was little substantial difference between these states.
This very ambiguity laid bare Oen's ambivalent feelings toward Hori.
To state it plainly, she appeared simultaneously drawn to and repelled by him.

When it came to Oshu, who came last, she could be summed up in a single word. From Oen’s perspective, she had been raised in a manner utterly ill-suited to the structure of this house. To lend a bit more dignity to this conclusion and translate it psychologically, she and the atmosphere of this household could never align, no matter how much time passed. Whenever Oen mentally juxtaposed Hori’s mother and Oshu, she was compelled to confront a certain contradiction. Yet whether this contradiction would culminate in tragedy or comedy remained impossible to discern.

In Oen’s eyes, which were accustomed to juxtaposing houses and people in this way, there was just one thing that seemed strange.

"Hori’s mother, who harmonized most perfectly with the house, caused her the greatest vexation, while Oshu—polished to an opposite extreme—appeared poised to inflict anguish upon her through entirely different means."

When she opened the lattice door of the entrance, the doorbell rang violently, as if to resurrect all at once such thoughts that had always existed in Oen’s mind.

124

The fact that Hori’s mother—who had gone to Yokohama with her grandchild to visit relatives the previous day—had not yet returned was an unexpected opportunity for Oen as she was shown into the parlor.
This opportunity, which could prove either advantageous or disadvantageous depending on one’s perspective, had rid her of dealing with the elderly woman who was difficult to converse with while simultaneously forcing upon her the disadvantage of facing her true adversary Oshu alone.

This circumstance—unknown to Oen—disrupted her plans from the very outset of the visit.
On any ordinary day, Hori’s mother with her small chignon would have been first to emerge and shower her with obligatory flattery, but today of all days not only did Oshu appear immediately at her arrival, but the anticipated elderly woman showed no signs of materializing afterward—throwing Oen off from her usual natural demeanor shaped by expectation.
The instant her eyes fell upon Oshu, they betrayed bewilderment.
Yet this was no lingering regret over unresolved matters.
It was simply an awkwardness born from the recoil of yesterday’s victorious battle.
A faint dread that some unseen foe might strike.
A turmoil of thought—not knowing how to navigate this situation.

At the moment Oen cast this glance at Oshu, she felt her present self had already been grasped by her opponent.
Yet this occurred after the glance had flashed forth from the lofty wellspring of her own artifice—a source beyond her governance.
Lacking power to intercept what had come unexpectedly from unreachable shadows, she could only submit and await the consequence.

The glance proved effective upon Oshu.
Yet the manner of her response defied all anticipation.
When Oen considered Oshu’s habitual bearing—that bearing which had fractured yesterday, the resolution achieved through Tsuda and herself jointly managing that rupture, all these orchestrated steps—tying them to Oshu’s character, ever conspicuous to bystanders’ eyes—peaceful resolution became inconceivable.
That affairs might conclude without provoking some new upheaval, whether great or small, was unthinkable even to Oen, who prided herself on her deft handling.

Therefore, she was surprised.
When Oshu, having taken her seat, offered a greeting more amiable than expected—contrary to her usual manner—Oen grew so astonished she nearly doubted her own perception.
Confronted with the other woman’s flawlessly executed demeanor—designed to prevent even a moment’s deferral of that doubt—she instead felt uneasy.
From the astonishment of What a transformation! emerged the suspicion: What could it mean?

However, Oshu never made any effort to explain the crucial meaning of that to Oen.
Not only that, but she also showed no sign of saying a single word about the unfortunate incident that had occurred at the hospital the previous day.

Since the other party was aware and deliberately avoiding sensitive issues, it would be strange for Oen to bring it up herself.
Firstly, there was no need for her to willingly touch on a sore spot.
Even so, unless they set some boundary and cleared things up between them, she could no longer grasp the purpose for which she had come all the way here today.
However, since they had already achieved the substance of reconciliation without going through its formalities, it would be foolish to bring it up explicitly now.

The clever Oen was troubled.
The more smoothly the conversation glided along, the more a certain dissatisfaction began to rise within her chest.
Finally, it occurred to her that she might break through some part of her opponent and peer into what lay within.
When it came to such matters, she—being quite adventurous—was not unaware of the danger that could arise from this situation should she fail.
However, this was accompanied by considerable confidence in her own abilities.

Moreover, if opportunity allowed, Oen harbored a desire to attempt probing a particular point in Oshu's psyche. Letting that area be tapped to fully hear the genuine feelings naturally emerging from that specific part was neither the main purpose nor anything related to the visit she had arranged with Tsuda—yet for Oen herself, this constituted a far more crucial task than successfully completing her role of reconciliation and returning home.

This matter requiring concealment from Tsuda closely resembled in nature the incident Tsuda had to keep secret from her. Just as Tsuda worried about what Kobayashi might have said to Oen during his absence, Oen too wanted to definitively ascertain what Oshu had told Tsuda while she herself was away.

After pondering where to find an opening, she had no choice but to bring up Oshu’s visit—the one where she had stopped by on Fujii’s return—as a topic again.
However, when she—who had already used the phrase “I heard you came by earlier, but unfortunately I was at the bath” to initiate the conversation upon sitting down—now attempted to revive it with the question “Did you have some matter to discuss?”, Oshu merely replied “No,” cleanly dismissing Oen.

125

Oen next tried to approach through Fujii.
Oshu's admission that she had visited their uncle that morning provided a convenient foothold for steering the conversation in that direction.
Yet Oshu's defenses remained rigorously maintained even on this front.
Each time necessity arose, she would deliberately emerge from behind that gate to greet Oen with practiced cordiality.
That Oshu owed her very personhood to this uncle's patronage was thoroughly known to Oen.
That she had been spiritually molded by his influence was equally understood.
Thus as protocol demanded, Oen first deployed flattering remarks about this uncle's character and lifestyle calculated to please Oshu.
Yet from Oshu's perspective, each such remark resonated with exaggeration and falsehood—leaving her not only unable to find any sincere entry point for engagement, but increasingly compelled to betray signs of irritation as this thread dragged on.
The nimble-witted Oen, realizing she had overestimated her adversary, swiftly pivoted tactics.
Whereupon Oshu now launched into effusive chatter about Okamoto.
This uncle—who stood in precisely the same relation to Oshu as Fujii did to herself—was vital to Oen yet remained for Oshu a perfect stranger devoid of any familial warmth.
Consequently her words bore only a glossy veneer, their crucial substance devoid of blood or flesh.
Still Oen had no choice but to gulp down this flattery—hand-prepared by Oshu herself—as though savoring its flavor.

However, when her turn came around again, Oen was not so foolish a woman as to force Oshu into a corner by mustering up her rehearsed charm a second time.
Having deftly concluded the conversation when the moment was ripe, she next sought to stir things up through Mrs.Yoshikawa.
Yet she feared that merely employing the same approach as before—lavishing praise—might result in another failure.
So she cast aside moral standards and tentatively floated Mrs.Yoshikawa's name between them.
Then steeled herself to determine her subsequent strategy based on how this landed.

She knew Oshu had come by her house when Fujii was returning home, during her absence at the bathhouse.
Yet it had never crossed her mind that before visiting Fujii, Oshu had already called on Mrs.Yoshikawa.
Nor could she have imagined that yesterday's hospital turmoil would drive Oshu to make such an extraordinary visit.
In this regard, she—as artless as Tsuda—found herself startled by Oshu just as profoundly as he had been startled by Kobayashi.
But their startlements differed entirely.
Kobayashi's had been a straightforward report of facts.
Oshu's manifested as a silence pregnant with meaning.
Accompanying this silence came her faintly flushed complexion.

When Mrs.Yoshikawa's name first slipped from Oen's lips, she felt as though a drop of miraculous elixir had fallen from heaven between them. She immediately witnessed its effect before her eyes. Yet unfortunately, this proved nothing more than a useless effect for her purposes. At the very least, it was an effect whose utility she couldn't grasp. The sheer unexpectedness of its nature only startled her. As she spoke the name, she even wondered whether she might need to apologize for a blunder right then and there.

Then came a second unexpected development.
When Oen saw Oshu slightly avert her face, she found herself compelled to revise her initial impression.
She realized for the first time then that the change in complexion was by no means due to anger.
This expression—which could only be described as a simple awkwardness grown so stale over the years that it had become tiresome—could not help but startle Oen even more.
She clearly ascertained the meaning behind this expression.
Yet the origin of that meaning could not be confirmed again without awaiting Oshu's explanation.

While Oen was hesitating over what to do, Oshu suddenly changed the subject as abruptly as grafting bamboo onto a tree.
Given the flow of the conversation, that topic—completely unrelated to anything discussed so far—was so startlingly abrupt that it could easily have surprised Oen for the third time.
But Oen had confidence.
She immediately rose to meet it.

126

Among the unexpected phrases that escaped Oshu's lips, the first to strike Oen's ears was the word "love". That this single clichéd word had emerged before Oen with the novelty of a hidden ambush was undoubtedly due both to its abrupt eruption—disconnected from any contextual continuity—and to the fact that such language had never before been used as conversational material between them.

Compared to Oen, Oshu was a woman more prone to logical reasoning.
Yet arriving at this conclusion required some elaboration.
Oen was a woman who applied her own logic through her actions.
Thus when she ordinarily refrained from debate, it was not from inability but from seeing no need.
As for knowledge imparted by others, she maintained no substantial reserve.
Even magazines she had read habitually in her schoolgirl days now rarely found their way into her hands.
Still she had never considered herself deficient.
That her strong vanity remained largely unstimulated stemmed neither from want of leisure nor lack of competitive peers—it was simply that she perceived no lack within herself.

However, Oshu was fundamentally different starting from her very education. Reading constituted nearly everything that made her who she was. At the very least, she had been conditioned to believe it must encompass everything. The education she received from her uncle Fujii—a man profoundly steeped in books—yielded strange consequences for her in both positive and negative senses. She came to value books more than herself. Yet however much she might diminish her own worth relative to books, she still had to live and function independently from them in her own manner. Thus books and her self inevitably grew estranged. To phrase it more precisely, she developed a tendency to insist on arguments ill-suited to the occasion. From the perspective of her capacity for self-reflection, however, there remained a considerable journey before she would recognize the futility of arguing merely for argument's sake. Viewed through the lens of obstinacy, her ego proved excessively dominant. To put it plainly—though this "self" constituted her essential being—she deliberately extracted from her revered books a logic incongruent with that essence, ultimately defending it through the authority of their written words. At times, this resulted in absurdities akin to brandishing a cannon meant for firing live rounds as though it were a short ceremonial club.

The problem indeed began with a certain magazine.
Oshu's questions about the views on love published in that monthly magazine held little real interest for Oen.
Yet when she admitted she hadn't read it herself, her curiosity suddenly flared.
She resolved to somehow turn this abstract problem to her advantage.

She understood her opponent's weakness well—this tendency to drift into airy theories at the slightest nudge.
For Oen, poised to tackle a delicate practical matter, nothing could be more inconvenient.
If she was merely to be drawn into arguments for argument's sake, it would've been better not to engage at all.
She needed to keep her adversary firmly grounded.
Yet in this case, her opponent had already taken flight from the very start.
The love Oshu spoke of wasn't Tsuda's love or Hori's love—wasn't even Oen's or Oshu's own.
It was formless love floating through empty air.
Thus Oen's first task became dragging down Oshu's balloon-like talk to earth.

When Oen discovered that Oshu—who already had two children and was far more experienced in household matters than herself—was in this sense far less steady than her, she nodded along with everything Oshu said outwardly while inwardly seething with frustration.
She felt like declaring, "Enough with these wordy fronts—strip bare and let's wrestle this out properly!" and pondered how she might expose this debater's true nature.

Eventually, Oen’s mind reached a resolution.
The discernment was nothing other than this.
To make use of this problem, she would have to sacrifice either Oshu or herself—without choosing one or the other, there was simply no way to achieve her desired outcome.
There was no difficulty in sacrificing her opponent.
All she had to do was find some way to expose a weakness in her opponent—that would suffice.
Whether that weakness was factual or hypothetical was not what Oen had intended.
For a stimulus attempted solely to provoke a natural reaction, scrutinizing its authenticity was an unnecessary consideration.
But there was also a corresponding danger.
Oshu was certain to get angry.
Yet provoking Oshu was both her objective and not her objective at all.
Thus, Oen had no choice but to waver.

Finally, she seized an opportunity and arose.
And by the time that moment arrived, she had already resolved to sacrifice herself.

127

“When you say that, I don’t know how to respond—someone like me...”
“Whether Tsuda loves me or not—I’m just so caught up in it all.”
“You’re fortunate there—when it comes to that.”
“You’ve had proper assurance from the very beginning.”

The fact that Oshu had been chosen for her qualities had been known to Oen even before she married Tsuda.
That was undoubtedly an enviable truth for women in general, and especially for women like Oen.
When Oen first heard this story from Tsuda—even before laying eyes on Oshu—she had felt a faint twinge of jealousy toward her.
When she later realized it was nothing more than a shallow truth, she had felt a sense of gratification akin to exacted revenge through her faint sneer.
From then on, regarding matters of love, Oen’s attitude toward Oshu had been one of contempt.
To present this outwardly as joyful news and feign shared understanding was, of course, nothing more than flattery.
To put it bluntly—it was mockery.

Fortunately, Oshu had not noticed this.
And that was precisely why she remained unaware.
The reason was simple: when it came to truly understanding love through lived experience, Oshu stood no chance against Oen.
She was a woman who had never passionately loved another nor been loved with undivided devotion—one who remained ignorant of love's fullest, most formidable potential.
Yet she remained a wife perfectly content with her husband.
The proverb "What you don't know can't hurt you" might as well have been coined for her situation.
At her wedding, she had tucked away into her heart—as if it were an ordinary contract—that stamp of marital love pressed upon her future by her husband's hand, retaining enough innocence even now to accept Oen's words at face value.

Oshu, who had never truly acknowledged the reality of love, was not only thoroughly seen through by the sharp-witted Oen through her careless use of ambiguous words.
She was calmly deducing Tsuda and Oen’s relationship based on her own marital one.
That became clear even from the genuinely surprised look on her face when she heard Oen’s words.
Why would whether Tsuda loved Oen or not become an issue now?
Moreover, that this should come from the wife’s own mouth—what on earth was this?
And to go so far as to present it before her husband’s sister—what possible meaning could there be in that? This was what Oshu’s expression conveyed.

From Oshu’s perspective, Oen was either a presumptuous woman who knew no satisfaction with Tsuda’s current affection, or else a hypocrite who, despite having Tsuda fully wrapped around her finger, deliberately feigned ignorance of that fact.
She said, “Oh?”

“Do you still want to be loved even more on top of that?”

This retort had arrived exactly as per Oen’s usual expectations.
Yet in this situation, it could not satisfy her.
She had to say something more to clarify her intent.
But to express it plainly would require the blunt statement: “If Tsuda has someone else in mind besides me, then I can’t possibly remain content with things as they are now.”
Realizing that voicing this outright would ruin her own plans, she began “But—” only to hesitate and freeze mid-sentence.

“Is there still something missing?”

Having said this, Oshu narrowed her eyes and looked at Oen’s hand.
There, the usual ring shone unapologetically.
However, Oshu’s sharp glance had no effect whatsoever on Oen.
Her innocence regarding the ring remained exactly as it had been the day before.
Oshu grew slightly frustrated.

“But Enko, aren’t you fortunate?”
“You can have him buy you anything you want, take you anywhere you want to go—”

“Yes.”
“At least in that respect, I suppose I’m fortunate.”

Oen, who had always reasoned that unless she asserted her happiness and good fortune to others she would risk exposing her vulnerabilities—a situation she deemed wholly disadvantageous—ended up resorting to her usual stock phrases even in this circumstance.
And once again she reached an impasse.
The day after going to the theater, after repeating verbatim the words she had used when visiting Okamoto and speaking to Tsugiko, she realized her interlocutor was Oshu.
That Oshu made a face that seemed to say, “If that’s all there is to your happiness, isn’t that enough?”

Oen did not want to show Oshu even the slightest evidence that she herself suspected Tsuda.
Yet pretending complete ignorance and letting herself be made a fool of by Oshu before her very eyes was still unbearable.
Consequently, navigating this exchange required meticulous care.
She thought steering their conversation to its intended destination would prove arduous.
However, she never realized she was making such a hopelessly unreasonable effort.
She altered her demeanor once again.

128

She resolutely took a bold leap.
She cast aside the constrained, roundabout way of speaking entangled in personal considerations and attempted to face Oshu directly while remaining seated across from her.
Instead, her words had no choice but to become abstract.
Even so, she thought it was still preferable to attempt to grasp the shadow of the truth through the thrusts of debate.

“Can a man truly love more than one woman at the same time?”

When Oshu began advancing her argument based on this question, she had no prepared responses for it.
The knowledge she had acquired from books and magazines concerned only love in general terms, proving entirely inadequate for application to this particular situation.
With no substantial understanding to draw upon, she affected a contemplative air.
She answered honestly.

"I don't quite grasp that."

Oen pitied her.
"Doesn't she already possess Hori as a living specimen for her research? Hasn't she been observing her husband's attitude toward women right beside him day and night?"
The instant Oen formulated this thought, Oshu's second remark slipped out.

“Isn’t it only natural that I wouldn’t know? Because I’m a woman, after all.”

Oen thought this too was a foolish reply. If this truly reflected Oshu’s nature, she could not help but imagine the sheer dullness of her mental faculties. Yet Oen immediately began putting this inept answer to use.

“Then from a woman’s perspective—how would you see it?”
“Can you imagine your own husband loving another woman besides yourself?”

When asked “Can’t you do that, Enko?” Oen started in surprise.

“Am I in a position where I must imagine such things now?”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Oshu promptly assured.
Oen immediately echoed the words back.

“Perfectly fine?!”

That ambiguous intonation—neither fully question nor interjection—left even Oen uncertain of its meaning.

“It’s perfectly fine.”

Oshu also repeated the same words once more.
At that moment, Oen noticed a flicker of a scornful smile around Oshu’s lips.
However, she immediately suppressed it.

“Well, of course you’re perfectly fine, Oshu. After all, the conditions when you came to Mr. Hori were quite specific.”

“Then what about you, Enko?”
“Weren’t you the one Tsuda counted on after all?”

“That’s a lie. That’s about you.”

Oshu suddenly stopped responding.
Oen also spared herself the futility of digging any further into the same barren vein.

"What exactly are Tsuda’s views on women?"

"That’s something his wife should know better than his sister."

After being rebuffed, Oen realized that she herself had posed a similarly foolish question as Oshu.

"But when it comes to Tsuda as a brother, you must understand him better than I do."

“Yes—but no matter how much I understand him as his sister, that wouldn’t serve as any reference for you.”

“It undoubtedly serves as a reference.”
“But I’ve known about that since long ago.”

Oen’s barbed remark struck at the crucial moment.
Oshu indeed rose to it.

“But you’ll be fine. You’ll be perfectly fine, Enko.”
“You’ll be perfectly fine, Enko.”

“It’s safe yet dangerous, you know.”
“I absolutely must hear the full account from you, Oshu.”

“Oh, I don’t know anything about that.”

Having said this, Oshu suddenly flushed crimson.
As for what shame had provoked this reaction, even Oen's strained nerves could not discern it.
Moreover, she had not forgotten the initial impression this same phenomenon had made at the start of her visit.
What relation existed between that faintly reddened face seen when Mrs.Yoshikawa's name was mentioned and this blush now reappearing before her—even she, so skilled at detecting nuances, could not begin to fathom.
In this moment, she felt compelled beyond reason to force a connection between these two phenomena.
But the thread that might bind them together proved elusive, no matter how she searched.
The cruelest realization for Oen was this conviction: that between these matters surpassing her current understanding, some vital link must surely exist.
And with it came the premonition that this connection held profound significance for her present situation.
Naturally, she had no recourse but to probe deeper into this mystery.

129

Oen, dominated by a sudden impulse, could not suppress the lie that sprang to her lips.

“I’ve also heard about it from Mrs.Yoshikawa, you know.”

When she said this, Oen realized her own boldness for the first time.
She stopped there and had to observe the results of her gamble.
Then Oshu, with a look of surprise completely different from her previous blushing, asked in return.

“Oh? About what?”

“That matter.”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘that matter’?”

For Oen, there was no longer any way back.
For Oshu, there was a path forward.

“You’re lying.”

“It’s not a lie.”
“It’s about Tsuda.”

Oshu suddenly stopped responding.
Instead, she deliberately gathered the shadow of a sneer onto her neatly shaped lips and showed it.
When that sneer, now markedly more pronounced than before, surfaced visibly, Oen felt as though she had taken a wrong step and sunk one foot deep into a muddy field.
If her characteristic aversion to losing had not been so strong, she might have bowed her head before Oshu and pleaded for mercy.
Oshu said,

“How odd! There’s no reason Mrs.Yoshikawa would talk about something like Tsuda’s affairs though. What could have happened?”

"But it's true, Oshu."

Oshu laughed aloud for the first time.

“That must be true.”
“No one would think it’s a lie.”
“But what on earth is it about?”

“It’s about Tsuda.”

“So what about my brother?”

“I can’t tell you that.”
“You have to be the one to say it.”

“That’s quite an unreasonable demand.”
“Even if you tell me to say it, I have no idea.”

Oshu maintained her composure as if ready to welcome any approach.
Thick sweat streamed from under Oen’s armpits.
She suddenly lunged.

“Oshu, aren’t you a Christian believer?”

Oshu looked surprised.

“No.”

“Otherwise, there’s no reason you would have said such things yesterday.”

The two women’s positions from yesterday to today had reversed as if their statuses had been swapped.
Oshu maintained the composure of the dominant party throughout.

“Right.
“Well then, that’s fine.”
“You probably dislike Christianity, Enko.”

“No, I do like it.
“That’s why I’m asking you.”
“So please adopt that noble frame of mind you had yesterday and take pity on this insignificant Oen.”
“If I was in the wrong yesterday, then I’ll prostrate myself before you like this and apologize.”

Oen thrust her hand adorned with a sparkling gemstone ring before Oshu and, just as she had declared with her words, actually bowed her head.

“Oshu, please don’t hide anything and be honest.”
“Then please disclose everything.”
“Oen is being honest like this.”
“I’m showing my regret like this.”

When she displayed her habitual mannerism and furrowed her brows, tears fell from Oen’s narrow eyes onto her lap.

“Tsuda is my husband.”
“You are Tsuda’s sister.”
“Just as Tsuda is important to you, Tsuda is important to me.”
“It’s solely for Tsuda’s sake.”
“For Tsuda’s sake, please disclose everything and speak openly.”
“Tsuda loves me.”
“Just as Tsuda loves you as a sister, he loves me as a wife.”
“Therefore, I, who am loved by Tsuda, must know everything for Tsuda’s sake.”
“Just as you are loved by Tsuda, you will surely confide everything in me for his sake.”
“That is your kindness as a sister.”
“Even if you don’t feel any kindness toward me in this situation, I won’t hold any grudge at all.”
“But toward Tsuda as your brother, you must still have kindness left to offer.”
“That you have plenty of that is clear from your expression.”
“You are absolutely not such a callous person.”
“You are undoubtedly the kind person you yourself declared you were yesterday.”

When Oen had said this much and looked at Oshu’s face, she recognized a particular change there.
Oshu turned slightly pale instead of blushing.
Then, in an excessively hurried tone, she spoke in wording that conveyed she needed to deny Oen’s words as quickly as possible.

“I have no recollection of doing anything wrong.
Toward my brother and toward you, I have nothing but goodwill.
There’s not a bit of malice.
Please make sure there are no misunderstandings.”

130

Oshu’s excuse came as a surprise to Oen.
Again, it was sudden.
She had no idea where that excuse had come from or what purpose it served.
Oen was struck by a thought.
What could lie hidden behind Oshu’s back now exposed before her as if by divine revelation?
Oen immediately tried to pierce that darkness.
The third lie slid effortlessly from her lips.

“I understand that.”
“Your actions and your intentions—I understand them perfectly well.”
“So don’t hide anything—just confess everything.”
“You don’t want to?”

When she said this, Oen looked at Oshu, her narrow eyes filled with as much charm as she could muster.
However, this gesture—which she had expected to be effective when directed at the opposite sex—completely missed its mark.
Oshu, like someone who had been startled, posed an abrupt question.

“Enko, did you go to the hospital before coming here today?”

“No.”

“Then did you come around from somewhere else?”

“No.”
“I came straight here from home.”

Oshu finally seemed relieved.
Instead, she said nothing more afterward.
Oen still did not let go of the hand she was clinging to.

“Come on, Oshu—just tell me already.”

At that moment, a cruel light flashed in Oshu’s cool eyes.

“Enko, you’re quite self-centered.
You appear incapable of being satisfied unless you alone are loved to the fullest.”

“Of course.”
“Oshu, you don’t mind even if that’s not the case.”

“Look at my husband.”

Oshu immediately dismissed this with her words.
Oen deliberately drove Hori from the conversation.

"Mr.Hori isn't part of this discussion.
Since he doesn't matter anyway let's have an honesty contest.
Even you Shuko couldn't possibly like someone so fickle,could you?"

“But how could there possibly exist in this world a husband so devoted that other women might as well not exist compared to his wife?”

Oshu, who had until now relied solely on magazines and books for her intellectual nourishment, suddenly transformed into a pragmatic realist and appeared before Oen.
Oen didn’t even have time to notice that contradiction.

“There is one, you know.”
“Shouldn’t there be? Once something bears the name ‘husband’—”

“Oh? And where does such a paragon exist?”

Oshu turned her sneering eyes toward Oen again.
Oen couldn’t muster the courage to shout Tsuda’s name aloud.
With no alternative, she answered evasively.

"That’s my ideal."
“I won’t accept anything less than that.”

Just as Oshu had become a pragmatist, Oen too had unwittingly transformed into a theorist.
The positions they had maintained until now were inverted.
Thus both of them, entirely unaware of this reversal, were carried forward by the momentum of their exchange.
What followed became neither theoretical debate nor practical discussion—a spontaneous battle of wits.

“No matter how ideal it is, that’s impossible. For that ideal to be realized, every woman besides the wife would have to lose her very qualification as a woman.”

“But complete love can only be truly tasted when you reach that point. Unless you go all the way there, even after spending your whole life, you can’t possibly experience genuine affection—isn’t that how it works?”

“I don’t know about that, but expecting him not to see other women as women and think you’re the only one in existence—that’s not something you can accomplish through reason.”

Oshu finally ignited the character for "you".
Oen wasn’t bothered in the least.

"I don't care about reason—as long as he feels I'm the only woman in his heart, that's enough for me."

"You're demanding he see only you as a woman."
"I understand that."
"But forcing him not to regard other women as women would be like suicide."
"If a husband could stop seeing other women as women entirely, then he probably wouldn't consider even you—the one who matters most—to be a woman either."
"It's just like saying only the flowers blooming in your own garden are real flowers, while everything else in the world is nothing but withered grass."

“I think withered grass would be just fine.”

“That might be fine for you. But since men aren’t withered grass themselves, there’s nothing to be done about it. Rather than that—when there are countless women in this world he could fancy—wouldn’t you find it more satisfying as a sister-in-law to be the one he likes best? That’s what truly being loved means.”

“I want to be loved absolutely—no matter what. I’ve hated comparisons from the very start.”

A look of contempt appeared on Oshu’s face.
Behind it lay a clear indictment of what a hopelessly obtuse woman she thought Oen was.
Oen seethed.

"I’m just a fool who can’t grasp your logic anyway."

“You need only provide a concrete example.”
"That would settle things nicely, don’t you agree?"

Oshu coldly terminated the discussion.
Oen stamped her feet internally in frustration.
Her meticulous efforts had borne no further fruit.
Unaware that a letter from Tsuda—awaiting her return—had arrived, she departed Hori’s residence without another word.

131

While Oen and Oshu sat facing each other in battle, at the hospital—true to its nature as a hospital—a separate scheduled incident was progressing.

Mrs.Yoshikawa, whom Tsuda had been waiting for, appeared there while the rickshaw driver he had sent with the letter addressed to Oen had not yet returned; in terms of timing, it was about ten minutes after Kobayashi had left.

When he heard the nurse mention Madam's name, he first rejoiced at the good fortune that these two people as different as separate species had avoided a confrontation in the narrow room.
At that moment, he hardly had time to even consider the material sacrifices he had been forced to make to arrange this convenience.

The moment he caught sight of Madam, he immediately tried to sit up from his bed.
Madam stopped him while standing.
Then, glancing back at the potted plant cradled in the nurse’s hands, she asked in a consultative tone, “Where shall we place this?”
Tsuda gazed at the color of maple leaves reflected on the nurse’s white chest.
After the potted plant—its three trunks cramped in unison within a small pot, arranged beneath an appropriately sized decorative stone—had been placed in the alcove, Madam finally took her seat.

“How does this look?”

Tsuda, who had been observing her demeanor since earlier, was finally able to ascertain Madam’s attitude toward him at this moment. Half the anxiety he had been harboring in secret, wondering “could it be?”, was as if swept away by those few words. Madam was not as cheerful as usual. On the other hand, she wasn’t as frivolous as usual either. In short, she seemed to have entered his room in a certain mood that Tsuda had never before detected in her. This simultaneously demonstrated her composure to an extreme degree while also appearing to display her magnanimity at its very peak. Tsuda was slightly taken aback. Yet precisely because this surprise carried positive implications, it made him all the more uneasy. Even if this attitude didn’t signify animosity toward him, he couldn’t discern what lay beneath it. Even should nothing fearsome lurk there now, he couldn’t predict how her disposition might shift as their conversation progressed. Tsuda found himself compelled to treat this Madam—who, accustomed to having others cater to her whims, permitted herself to change capriciously at will—as a sort of feminine tyrant by necessity. In more formal terms, her every smile and frown became matters of grave concern for Tsuda. At this particular juncture, this held especially true.

“Ms. Oshu came by this morning.”

Oshu’s visit was presented first like an agenda item from her lips.
Tsuda naturally had to respond.
And he had already considered his response method before Madam’s arrival.
He knew about Oshu visiting Madam yet intended to feign ignorance.
Because he disliked having to mention Kobayashi’s name if questioned about his source.

“Oh? Is that so?
Since she’s been neglecting her visits so thoroughly, she must’ve thought an occasional apology necessary.”

“No, that’s not it.”

After hearing Madam’s words, Tsuda immediately produced his next lie.

“But there’s no reason she would have any business.”

“But there was a reason.”

“Oh?”

Having said this, Tsuda waited for what would come next.

“Try to guess what her business was.”

Tsuda acted blankly and pretended to think.

“Well, regarding Oshu’s business—hmm, what could it be?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Well, you see… Fundamentally, even though Oshu and I are siblings, we’re quite different in nature.”

Tsuda deliberately hinted at their sibling differences there.
It was to defend himself from afar before the matter arose.
It was also to test how Madam would receive his words—to gauge their resonance.

"That's rather logical of you," she remarked.

The moment he heard this remark, Tsuda seized the opening with calculated shrewdness.

"When it comes to her logic, even I—her own brother—find myself tormented by it."
"No one could possibly endure listening to her quietly."
"So whenever we quarrel, I always end up abandoning the argument halfway."
"Then she swaggers about thinking she's won, spreading whatever version suits her convenience everywhere."

Madam smiled.
Tsuda could certainly interpret this as a smile showing sympathy toward him.
Then Madam's words took a direction entirely contrary to his expectations.

"I doubt it's quite like that, though."
"But she's quite logical and clear-headed, isn't she?"
"I like her."

Tsuda gave a wry smile.

"Well, she’s not such a fool as to visit your home and foolishly reveal her true self."

"No, Ms.Oshu is the honest one."

Madam offered no explanation as to why Oshu was more honest than anyone else.

132

Tsuda's curiosity stirred.
His imagination had nearly grasped it.
However, to bend and proceed in that direction would go against his intentions.
He simply needed to excavate the relationship between Madam and Oshu.
Madam’s visit—serving both as a sickbed call and personal business—was naturally meant to involve discussions about that matter.
Yet she possessed a certain distinctive charm unique to herself.
Unbound by temporal constraints, she would meddle in others' private affairs at every opportunity without being asked; rather than tending to matters close at hand—particularly those she favored—she instead unabashedly revealed her pleasure-seeking nature wherever she went.
At times she would recklessly rush to conclude matters.
Yet at other times she became the complete opposite.
She deliberately prolonged interactions with vigorous persistence while maintaining an air of genuine interest.
Her attitude during these moments—like a cat toying with a mouse—however it might appear to others, she herself seemed to interpret as the privileged right of the superior party necessary to inject convoluted drama into idle hours.
For those caught in her clutches, endurance was paramount.
In return, gratitude for having endured always followed.
By promising future visits, she encouraged her counterparts.
Not only that—she took this as her own ethical point of pride.

Because of this tacit understanding formed between her and Tsuda, there had been only one significant loss Tsuda had ever suffered. Regarding this matter, how she privately felt responsible toward him was something the astute Tsuda did not overlook. Even he, who prioritized Madam's will in all his actions, secretly relied on this single advantage alone. Yet this was merely a strategic reserve he had kept for true emergencies. In ordinary times, he resigned himself to being the mouse before the cat, compelled to be toyed with as the other pleased. Even on this occasion, Madam took considerable time before reaching her main point.

“Ms.Oshu came yesterday, didn’t she? Here.”

“Yes. She came.”

“Ms.Oen also came, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“What about today?”

“She hasn’t come yet today.”

“She’ll be coming soon, won’t she?”

Tsuda couldn’t tell.
He couldn’t even mention in front of Madam that he had sent a letter earlier telling her not to come.
The fact that he hadn’t received a reply was also actually weighing on his mind.

“What do you think?”

“Can’t you tell whether she’s coming or not?”

“Well, I’m not really sure. I don’t think she’ll come.”

“Aren’t you being rather callous?”

Madam laughed mockingly.

“Is it me?”

“No, both of you.”

After waiting for Tsuda—who wore a wry smile—to close his mouth, Mrs.Yoshikawa opened hers.

“Oen and Oshu met here yesterday, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

“And then something strange happened afterward, didn’t it?”

“Not particularly...”

“Don’t play coy.
If something occurred, state it plainly—like a man would!”

Madam had finally begun exhibiting her natural way of speaking and distinctive traits.
Tsuda found himself at a loss for words.
He concluded there was nothing to do but stay silent and watch how things unfolded.

"Aren't you claiming you both tormented Oshu mercilessly?"
"The two of you together—"

“How could such a thing happen? It was Oshu who got angry and stormed off in a huff.”

“Is that so? But you did have an argument, didn’t you? Though I wouldn’t call it a physical fight.”

“But even that wasn’t as exaggerated as Oshu makes it out to be.”

“That may be true enough, but there was some degree of conflict nonetheless.”

“If you insist on calling it a minor misunderstanding.”

“At that time—the two of you ganging up on Ms.Oshu—you tormented her.”

“We didn’t torment her. She was just blustering like some Christian missionary.”

“Anyway, there were two of you against one of her, weren’t there?”

“That may be.”

“There, you see? That’s what’s wrong.”

Madam’s assertion carried neither meaning nor logic.
Thus Tsuda couldn’t comprehend at all what exactly was wrong.
Yet the distinctive traits Mrs.Yoshikawa displayed in such situations had already been hammered into his mind as something unopposable.
He had no choice but to submit meekly to her scolding.

“We didn’t intend for it to happen that way, but through natural momentum, I suppose it ended up like that before we knew it.”

“You mustn’t say ‘I suppose’."
“Declare it clearly.”
“This may sound rude, but it’s because you indulge Oen too much.”

Tsuda tilted his head.

133

Contrary to his clever disposition, Tsuda had never fully grasped the relationship between Mrs.Yoshikawa and Oen.
Just as Mrs.Yoshikawa maintained consideration for Tsuda’s position, Oen too harbored reservations toward him—and this mutual guardedness clouded the mind of someone as intelligent as he was, who should have been able to straightforwardly comprehend both sides.
Though he usually discounted women’s polite remarks by a fair margin, he had failed to notice this point; consequently, he took at face value both Mrs.Yoshikawa’s assessment of Oen made in his presence and Oen’s remarks about Mrs.Yoshikawa that reached his ears, without doubting either.
Thus, both assessments were admirable.

It was at this moment that the subtle friction between the two women—which they had mutually sensed yet striven with all their might until now to keep concealed—began unfolding before Tsuda like a mist gradually clearing under inevitable necessity.

Tsuda said to Mrs. Yoshikawa.

“She’s not a wife I cherish so dearly that you need concern yourself over such matters.”

“No, that doesn’t seem to be the case. That’s what everyone in ‘society’ thinks.”

The grandiose term “society” caused Tsuda to startle.
Mrs. Yoshikawa reluctantly explained.

“By ‘society,’ I mean everyone.”

For Tsuda, even that 'everyone' couldn’t be clearly comprehended.
Yet the meaning behind Mrs.Yoshikawa’s exaggerated terms like "society" and "everyone" was by no means difficult to infer.
She seemed determined to hammer that point into Tsuda’s head by any means necessary.
Tsuda deliberately forced a laugh.

“When you say ‘everyone,’ you mean Oshu, don’t you?”

“Ms. Oshu is naturally one of them.”

“And that one of them is also acting as representative, wouldn’t you say?”

“That might well be.”

Tsuda laughed boisterously again.
Yet he caught himself immediately.
This ill-considered laughter now rebounding upon Madam could not be undone.
Having grasped the tactical advantage of silent contrition, he swiftly recomposed his bearing.

“In any case, I shall take greater care henceforth.”

Still Madam remained unsatisfied.

“If you think it’s only Oshu, you’re mistaken.”
“Your uncle and aunt share the same opinion too, so you should act accordingly.”

“I see.”

It had also become clear that information about the Fujii couple had reached Madam through Oshu’s reports.

“There are still others,” Madam added.
Tsuda merely said “Haa” and looked at her face—and in that instant, the very words he had anticipated immediately spilled from her lips.

“To be honest, I share the same opinion as everyone else.”

Before Madam, who had declared this in conclusion with a tone that carried the weight of authority, he naturally saw no need to muster the courage to raise a voice of opposition.
But deep down, he simultaneously arrived at a peculiar shift in his thoughts.
He doubted.

"Why had this person suddenly taken such an attitude?"
"Not only was she criticizing him for treating his Oen with excessive care, but could it be that she was including Oen herself within that criticism?"

This doubt was entirely new to Tsuda.
So novel was this doubt that even envisioning the process through which one might arrive at the Madam's true intent proved difficult for him.
Before confronting this doubt, he posed one remaining question that lingered in his mind.

"Does even Okamoto hold such opinions?"

“Okamoto is different. Okamoto has nothing to do with me.”

When Madam declared this with perfect composure, Tsuda couldn't help but think Hmm? The next question—"Then are you and Okamoto completely separate?"—had naturally risen to his throat.

To tell the truth, he did not treasure Oen as much as society's gossip suggested. Even if explaining to others how this reputation born of mutual misunderstandings had arisen—from where and why—would require considerable complex effort, within his mind existed a properly clear conception, and he understood the factual basis well enough to enumerate each detail as if pointing them out on his palm.

The primary responsible party was none other than Oen herself. It was she who unabashedly displayed everywhere her skill in reflecting—through the most convoluted angles and in every direction—how dearly Tsuda cherished her and how much freedom she permitted him. The second responsible party was Oshu. Her eyes, already prone to exaggeration, became further tinged with a peculiar jealousy. Tsuda knew not from where this jealousy sprang. Having first comprehended the significance of a sister-in-law through marriage, he now found himself burdened with this hard-earned understanding precisely because he couldn't interpret it. The third responsible party lay with Fujii's uncle and aunt. In their case, devoid of either exaggeration or jealousy, their distaste for showiness operated with excessive force. Thus in the end, matters resolved into the same outcome as misunderstanding.

134

Tsuda had a special reason to maintain this misunderstanding precisely as a misunderstanding.
And that reason was exactly as Kobayashi had discerned.
Therefore, he attempted to reserve Okamoto's goodwill—which readily arose from this misunderstanding—for his own convenience as much as possible.
Treating Oen with courtesy amounted to currying favor with the Okamoto family, and since Okamoto and Yoshikawa were as close as brothers, it followed logically that the more he cherished Oen, the more secure his future would become.
He who prided himself on shrewdness in profit-loss calculations was not foolish enough to take mere pride in the Yoshikawas' role as nominal matchmakers in their marriage.
He recognized there a significance far weightier than honor.

However, this was merely the general state of affairs.
Peeling back another layer revealed yet another depth below.
Tsuda and Mrs.Yoshikawa had already been tied together by a chain of cause and effect unnoticed by others up to this point in events.
They, who had navigated their own unique twists and turns both within and without, were compelled to regard this new relationship established half a year prior through eyes slightly more complex than others'.

To put it bluntly, before marrying Oen, Tsuda had loved another woman.
And it was Mrs.Yoshikawa who had maneuvered him into loving that woman.
The meddlesome Madam took perverse delight in freely wielding idle tactics that alternately drew the young pair together and pulled them apart, relishing how each time they became flustered or agitated right before her eyes.
However, Tsuda firmly believed in Madam’s kindness and never doubted it.
Madam also did not hesitate to declare the fate that should ultimately befall the two.
Not only that, but she had timed the ripened opportunity and plotted to permanently join their hands.
But just as the critical moment arrived, Madam’s confidence was thoroughly crushed.
Tsuda’s arrogance was not spared either.
Along with Madam’s confidence, it was bludgeoned down with a single blow.
The crucial bird had abruptly flown away, never to return to Madam’s grasp.

Madam blamed Tsuda.
Tsuda blamed Madam.
Madam felt responsible.
However, Tsuda felt no such thing.
He had until now failed to grasp its meaning and was still wandering in a dense fog of confusion.
At that point, Oen’s marriage issue arose.
Madam rose once more to involve herself in a second romantic incident.
And together with her husband, acting as public matchmakers, they brought about a clean resolution to the matter.

Having closely observed Madam’s demeanor at that time, Tsuda thought indeed.

"This must be her feeling of compensation toward me," he thought.

He considered this.
He attempted to broadly formulate his future policy based on this sentiment.
He convinced himself that living harmoniously with Oen was part of his duty toward Mrs.Yoshikawa.
He had even concluded that as long as they didn't quarrel, there would be no mistake in his future.

Tsuda, who had determined from the outset that this approach toward Mrs.Yoshikawa couldn't possibly be flawless, naturally thought "Hmm?" when he detected even a hint of indirect criticism toward Oen from his opponent.
Before adjusting his position to please Mrs.Yoshikawa, he first needed verification.

“If beyond reproaching me for being overly devoted to Oen, you believe Oen herself has any shortcomings, I’d ask you to counsel me frankly.”

“In fact, that’s exactly why I came today.”

When Tsuda heard these words, his chest filled with curiosity about what would emerge from Mrs.Yoshikawa's mouth.
Mrs.Yoshikawa resumed speaking.

“I’m telling you this because no one but me would dare say it to your face.”
“You mustn’t think Ms. Oshu came here to give you advice.”
“If you end up troubling Ms. Oshu later on my account, that would reflect poorly on me—do you understand?”
“Of course Ms. Oshu did come here specifically about that matter.”
“But her true purpose was slightly different.”
“Ms. Oshu’s main concern lies with Kyoto.”
“Naturally, since Kyoto means your father to you, you can’t possibly treat him with negligence.”
“Especially considering how my husband has been entrusted by your father with your care—I can’t simply stand by and say nothing.”
“But you see—those are mere branches. The root lies elsewhere. I believe it’s far more effective to treat from the root first.”
“Otherwise, misunderstandings like this one will surely keep occurring.”
“If they just cropped up now and then that would be one thing—but if Ms. Oshu comes every time they do, mediating becomes quite tiresome for me.”

The root of the trouble that Mrs.Yoshikawa spoke of was indeed Oen.
So how did she intend to treat that root?
Given that this wasn't a physical illness, Tsuda thought, the term 'treatment' couldn't be easily applied unless through separation or divorce.

135

Tsuda had no choice but to ask.

“In short, what should I do?”

Mrs.Yoshikawa displayed a motherly satisfied expression at this childlike question.
Yet she didn’t immediately reach the main point.
She simply smiled as though indicating an unspoken answer.

“What exactly are your feelings toward Oen?”

When the same question had been posed in the same words yesterday, Tsuda recalled how he had answered Oshu.
He had not prepared any special reply for Madam.
Instead, he was in a position where he could freely answer however he wished.
To speak without reserve, the thought in his heart was that he could provide whatever response you preferred.
But the favorable reply that Madam had in mind lay entirely beyond his imagination.
He smirked awkwardly in his confusion.
Naturally, Madam was compelled to take a step forward.

“You’re quite fond of Ms. Oen, aren’t you?”

Even here, Tsuda's preparations proved insufficient.
He could have dismissed Madam with half-serious jokes in countless ways.
Yet when attempting to deliver a solemn, responsible answer shaped to Madam's liking, those words refused to flow smoothly.
What served him best yet troubled him most was this mental state permitting free answers either way.
For in truth, he both loved Oen and did not love her enough.

Mrs.Yoshikawa adopted an increasingly earnest posture.
Then she delivered her third question in a tone permitting no escape.

"I'll keep this strictly between us, so speak truthfully."
"What I wish to hear is nothing complicated."
"A single honest word reflecting your true thoughts—that will suffice."

Tsuda, unable to get his bearings, grew all the more confused.
Madam said.

“You’re such a frustrating man.”
“If you can say it, then act like a man and just spit it out already.”
“No one’s asking you anything complicated.”

Tsuda was finally compelled to open his mouth.

"It's not that I can't answer, but the problem is too vaguely defined..."

"Then I suppose I must say it myself. Will that suffice?"

"I would prefer that you do."

“You are—” Madam started, then paused briefly before resuming.

“Are you truly certain? ――You see, with my blunt nature, I often find myself regretting irreversible actions after blurting out exactly what I think.”

“I don’t mind.”

"But if you were to get angry at me, that would be the end of it. I don’t want to act like such a fool that no amount of apologizing later would make amends."

"But if I don’t take any offense, then that should suffice."

"If that much is certain, then naturally it’s fine."

"I assure you—whether false or true, I would never resent anything you say, Madam. Please speak freely without hesitation."

Having concluded that shifting all responsibility to the other party would be far simpler, Tsuda gave this response before fixing Madam with an expectant gaze.
After repeatedly verifying her safeguards through relentless confirmation, Madam finally opened her mouth to speak.

“If I’m mistaken, you must forgive me.
“You’re just as everyone thinks—deep down, you don’t value Ms. Oen all that much.”
“Unlike Oshu, I’ve held that view from the start—what do you say? Isn’t my observation accurate?”

Tsuda remained unperturbed.

“Naturally.”
“Didn’t I state as much earlier?”
“I don’t particularly cherish Oen.”

"But that was just a polite remark you made, wasn't it, Madam?"

"No, I meant to speak the truth."

Madam resolutely refused to nod in agreement.

“No evasions now.
Then may I proceed with the rest?”

“Yes, please do.”

“Even though you don’t truly value Ms. Oen that much, aren’t you desperately trying to make others think you’re utterly devoted to her?”

“Did Oen say something like that?”

“No,” Madam denied flatly.
“You’re the one saying it. Your demeanor and attitude are precisely what make me understand that much.”

Madam paused there for a moment.
Then she continued.

“How about that? I was right, wasn’t I? I know exactly why you’re putting on such an act—and I know the reason behind it too.”

136

Until that day, Tsuda had never heard such words from Madam's lips.
He who had given little thought to how Madam might have been observing their marital relationship from behind the scenes finally became aware of this matter.
While thinking she should have cautioned him sooner if that were truly the case, he concluded that listening obediently to Madam's diagnosis and opinions through to their end remained the wisest course.

“Please don’t hesitate to say everything. Since it will serve as guidance for me going forward.”

Having come halfway, Mrs.Yoshikawa could no longer stop there even if Tsuda hadn't urged her onward, so she immediately threw out the rest before him.

“You put on such a show of valuing Ms.Oen because you have appearances to maintain in front of my husband and Okamoto, don’t you? If you desire something more explicit, I can state it even more explicitly. You put on an outward show of valuing Ms.Oen, even if your inner feelings don’t match—isn’t that right?”

Tsuda had not imagined that the other's observation would cut so deeply into such an ironically contradictory point.

"Does my nature or attitude appear that way to you, Madam?"

"Yes, it does."

For Tsuda, it was as if he had been cut down with a single stroke.
He asked the reason after being cut down.

“Why? Why does it appear that way?”

“There’s no need to hide, is there?”

“It’s not like I’m particularly trying to hide it…”

Madam proceeded as if fully convinced her estimation had been entirely accurate.
Tsuda’s response, having inwardly nodded in agreement to only six of them, naturally had to retain an ambiguous note somewhere.
That this would become a source of misunderstanding in this situation was an easily foreseeable outcome.
Madam persistently repeated the same words, driving Tsuda solely into the direction she desired.

“You mustn’t hide it. If you hide things, I won’t be able to say what comes next.”

Tsuda absolutely wanted to hear what came next. To hear the rest, he had no choice but to accept Madam’s assessment from start to finish. Madam rebuked Tsuda with “There, you see?” before pressing forward.

“You’ve misunderstood from the very beginning. You’re grouping me with my husband, aren’t you? And then lumping my husband together with Okamoto too? That’s utterly wrong! While grouping Okamoto and my husband might be tolerable, including me with them in this matter is absurd, don’t you agree? It’s hardly fitting for an educated person like yourself to make such distinctions.”

Tsuda had finally come to understand Madam's position.
Yet he still couldn't grasp where that position stood or what relation it bore to himself.
Madam spoke.

"You understand perfectly well, don't you?"
"I alone share a special relationship with you."

Tsuda understood perfectly well what meaning was packed into the phrase "special relationship." Yet this wasn't the immediate issue at hand. Because he believed it was precisely through thoroughly digesting this special connection that he'd managed to impart a particular hue and cadence to his actions up till now. When he realized new problems would only emerge after more clearly pinpointing how this special relationship governed Madam, merely acknowledging his misunderstanding wouldn't suffice.

Madam dismissed it in one breath.

“I am your sympathizer.”

Tsuda answered.

"I have never once doubted that until now."
"I have believed it completely."
"And for that I am deeply grateful to you."
"But in what sense?"
"In what sense do you mean to act as my sympathizer in this situation?"
"I'm rather slow-witted, so I can't fully grasp your meaning, Madam."
"That's why I ask you to speak more plainly."

"As your sympathizer in this matter, I believe there's just one thing I can do for you."
"But you probably—"

After saying this much, Madam looked at Tsuda’s face.
Tsuda thought he was going to be kept in suspense again.
However, Madam’s question—which had asserted otherwise—suddenly shifted.

“Will you listen to what I say or not?”

Tsuda still retained common sense.
He thought about the things that anyone pushed into such a situation would have to consider.
However, he lacked the courage to openly declare his thoughts as he had conceived them before Madam.
Consequently, his attitude remained indecisive.
Unable to state whether he would listen or not, he hesitated.

“Well, go ahead and say it.”

“That won’t do.
You must be more decisive, or I can’t bring myself to say it.”

“But still—”

“But that’s still not good enough.
If you mean to listen, then say it properly like a man!”

137

Tsuda secretly feared, unable to predict what demand might issue from Madam’s lips. If he were to fall into a predicament where he would have to retract after agreeing, that would be the end. He tried to imagine Madam in that situation. Whether judged by her social standing, considered from her disposition, or determined by the special relationship she had with him, Madam was never one to forgive him. Unforgiven before Madam, he was no different from a lifeless corpse deprived of any means of revival. Being cautious, he lacked the courage to enter a perilous situation where survival was uncertain.

Moreover, unlike ordinary people, there was no telling what unreasonable demand Madam might present.
In an environment where freedom held excessive sway—one she had long grown accustomed to—her eyes scarcely reflected any awareness of her own unreasonableness.
When she spoke, most matters were accepted.
If something occasionally met resistance, she would force it through by sheer willfulness.
What proved particularly troublesome was her composure in never feeling compelled to clearly dissect her own motives.
Rather than composure, it was more a nonchalant disposition of mind she maintained.
For her—having decided from the outset that her meddling in others' affairs stemmed purely from kindness and goodwill, devoid of any personal motive—there could be no cause for anxiety.
With her self-criticism barely existing from the start, and others' criticisms neither reaching her ears nor finding anyone bold enough to voice them, this outcome became inevitable.

When pressed before Madam, with all these thoughts writhing and swirling in Tsuda’s breast, the impasse only grew more unyielding.
Seeing his state, Madam finally burst out laughing.

“What are you thinking so hard about?”
“You must think I’m about to make another unreasonable demand.”
“No matter how I may seem, I wouldn’t consider anything you couldn’t possibly do.”
“If you’d only set your mind to it, it could be done without any trouble.”
“And the result would only benefit you.”

"Is it really that simple?"

"Well, think of it as a joke."
"Even at its most exaggerated, it's just playful mischief."
"So say you'll do it decisively."

To Tsuda, everything was a mystery.
However, the thought that it was merely mischief finally arose within him.
He finally made up his mind.

“I don’t know what it is, but I’ll give it a try. Please go ahead and tell me.”

However, Madam did not immediately explain the nature of that mischief. After securing Tsuda’s assurance, she changed the subject again. However, that was, by any measure, utterly unrelated to mischief. At least for Tsuda, it held significant implications.

Madam first introduced it between them with the following words.

“Have you met Ms. Kiyoko since then?”

"No."

Tsuda’s slight surprise stemmed not just from the question’s abruptness.
It was because the name of the woman who had abruptly abandoned him had suddenly slipped from Madam’s lips—Madam, who bore half the responsibility for letting her go.
Madam pressed on.

“So you don’t know how she’s doing now?”

“Not at all.”

“And you’re content knowing nothing?”

“What choice do I have?
She’s been married off to another family.”

“Did you attend Ms. Kiyoko’s wedding celebration?”

“I didn’t go. Even if I’d tried to go, it would’ve been awkward.”

“Did the invitation arrive?”

“The invitation arrived.”

“At your wedding celebration, Ms. Kiyoko didn’t attend, did she?”

“No, she didn’t come.”

“Did you send the invitation?”

“At least I sent the invitation.”

"So that was the end of it for both of you?"

"Of course that was the end of it," Tsuda replied. "If it hadn't ended there, that would be a problem."

"Well." Mrs.Yoshikawa's lips curved slightly. "But isn't that just forcing a resolution to the matter?"

Tsuda didn't fully grasp her meaning.
Before explaining further, she shifted course entirely.

"Does Ms.Oen know about Kiyoko?"

He hesitated.
Without having thoroughly analyzed Kobayashi's potential involvement, he couldn't formulate a definitive response.
Madam pressed her inquiry.

“You haven’t told her yourself, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“So Ms.Oen remains completely unaware of that matter, then?”

“Yes, at least she hasn’t heard anything from me.”

“I see. So she’s completely innocent then? Or does she harbor some suspicion?”

“I suppose so.”

Tsuda had no choice but to think it through.
But even after thinking it through, he had no choice but to withhold judgment.

138

As they spoke, Tsuda once again encountered an unexpected facet of her psychology.
Until then, he had interpreted without question that keeping Kiyoko's existence hidden from Oen served both his own convenience and Madam's intentions. Only now did he realize.
No matter how he considered it, Mrs.Yoshikawa appeared to want Oen to affect airs about it.

"She ought to be able to make a rough estimation, don't you think?" said Madam.
Precisely because Tsuda understood Oen's nature, he found it increasingly difficult to respond.

"Do I have to understand that part?"

"Yes."

Tsuda didn’t know why.
But he answered.

"If necessary, I don’t mind speaking about it…"

Madam laughed.

"If you go doing something like that now, you’ll ruin everything.
You must keep feigning ignorance until the very end."

After saying this much and pausing her words, Madam began anew.

"Shall I state my judgment?
Ms.Oen is such a clever woman—she must have noticed by now.
Of course they can’t all know—and if they all did know, we’d be in trouble.
That ambiguous state between knowing and not knowing—that’s precisely what you’d call the most opportune moment.
So according to my assessment, Ms.Oen must be conveniently positioned exactly where I’ve arranged her to be."

Tsuda had no choice but to say, “Is that so?” Yet in his heart, he thought there was scarcely any basis for Madam to reach such a conclusion. Nevertheless, Madam insisted there was.

“Otherwise she wouldn’t put on such an act.”

This marked the first time Madam had characterized Oen’s attitude as pretense. Confronted with these two words, Tsuda found himself compelled to recognize their ironic truth even as they perplexed him. Still, he couldn’t give unreserved consent. Madam laughed airily again.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. If by any chance she remains completely unaware, well—when that time comes, I have plenty of methods at my disposal.”

Tsuda remained silent and waited for what would follow. Then, with no continuation, the conversation suddenly shifted direction toward Kiyoko.

“You still have lingering feelings for Ms.Kiyoko, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

“That’s what constitutes a man’s lie.”

Though Tsuda hadn’t meant to lie, he realized he wasn’t speaking the complete truth either.

“Does this still appear as lingering attachment to you?”

“It doesn’t show at all, you realize.”

“Then why make such an assessment?”

“Precisely because of that.
Because it doesn’t show is precisely why I assess it so.”

Madam’s arguments were completely opposite to those of ordinary people.
Yet there was no trace of incoherence in her reasoning.
She confidently elaborated on it.

“Other people wouldn’t see any difference between the outside and the inside.”
“But since I can’t bring it to the surface, I have no choice but to conclude that your lingering feelings have withdrawn inward.”

“Madam, you’re saying that because you’ve decided from the start to assume I have lingering attachment, aren’t you?”

“What’s unreasonable about making that assumption?”

“I can’t stand being arbitrarily judged like this.”

“When have I ever made such an arbitrary judgment?”
“Mine isn’t a judgment.”
“It’s a fact.”
“I’m stating a fact known only to you and me.”
“It’s a fact—you can’t possibly hide it from me when I know it so well, no matter how much you’ve managed to deceive others.”
“If it were a fact known only to you, that would be one thing—but since it’s a fact shared by both of us, unless we discuss it properly and bury it somewhere, it won’t disappear as long as our memories remain, will it?”

“Then how about we discuss it together and bury the matter here?”

“Why bury it?
“Is there any need to bury it?
“Rather than that, why not put it to good use?”

“Put it to use?
“Even now, I still don’t want to approach anything resembling sin.”

“What do you mean by ‘sin’?
“When did I ever tell you to do something so rough?”

“But…”

“You still haven’t heard everything I have to say, have you?”

Tsuda’s eyes glittered with curiosity.

139

It was as though Madam had already pinned Tsuda down by thrusting evidence of his lingering attachment before his eyes.
His attitude, tantamount to a confession, brought their contest to a pause, thereby strengthening Madam's position.
Yet she was not the arbitrary tyrant Tsuda had initially imagined her to be regarding this matter.
She appeared to be observing Tsuda's psychological state with more meticulous care than he had anticipated.
After having once prevailed, she presented him with the concrete proof.

“You mustn’t go on about ‘lingering feelings’ and make such a cloud-grasping commotion.”
“As for me, I have my own firm grip on things, you know.”
“With even this evidence before you, do you truly intend to dismiss your lingering attachment as some mere trifle and think you can explain it away?”

Tsuda couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it.

“Could you please explain it to me?”

“If you wish, I could certainly explain. But then that would mean I end up explaining you.”

“I don’t mind.”

Madam burst out laughing.

“It’s a problem if you can’t grasp what others are saying. Even though you’re right there present, not understanding yourself and needing someone else to explain you—isn’t that utterly foolish?”

If Madam’s words were indeed true, then it was undoubtedly foolish.
Tsuda tilted his head.

"But I don't understand."

"No, you do understand."

"Then I must not be aware of it?"

"No, you're fully aware of it."

“Then what does that mean? — Does it come down to something I’m hiding?”

“Well, exactly.”

Tsuda gave up.
Even cornered this far, he couldn’t help feeling it unreasonable that even he still tried to maintain his facade.

“If I’m a fool, so be it. I’ll gladly accept being called one—please explain.”
“I’ll accept any accusations of foolishness—just explain.”

Mrs.Yoshikawa sighed faintly.

“Ohhh, there’s simply no fight in you then.”
“After I painstakingly prepared all this for you, with you being like this, it’s exactly like wasting my efforts.”
“Perhaps I should just leave without another word.”

Tsuda was only being drawn into the labyrinth.
Even knowing he was being drawn in, he had to chase after Madam.
At that point, his own curiosity was strongly at work.
His sense of obligation toward Madam and his apprehension were by no means trivial factors.
He repeated the same words many times, urging Madam to explain.

"Very well, I'll tell you," Madam responded finally, her demeanor rather triumphant.
"In return, I'll ask you something," she declared, and true to form, she disarmed Tsuda from the very outset.
"Why didn't you marry Kiyoko-san?"

The question came suddenly.
Tsuda was left breathless.
Seeing him remain silent, Madam rephrased her words.

“Then I’ll rephrase the question—why didn’t Kiyoko marry you?”

This time Tsuda answered as though compelled by some resonant force.

“I truly don’t understand why.”
“It’s simply inexplicable.”
“No matter how much I ponder it, nothing comes to light.”

“She abruptly chose Mr.Seki instead?”

“Yes—abruptly.”
“To speak truthfully, what you call ‘sudden’ had ceased being sudden long before.”
“I barely had time to gasp ‘Ah!’ before turning to find her already wed.”

“Who said ‘Ah!’?”

To Tsuda, there was nothing more meaningless than this question.
Whoever had said 'Ah!' seemed like nothing but unnecessary meddling to him.
Yet Madam stopped there and did not move.

“Was it you who said ‘Ah!’?”
“Was it Kiyoko-san who said ‘Ah!’?”
“Or did both of you say ‘Ah!’?”

“Well...”

Tsuda had no choice but to think.
Madam pressed ahead of him.

“Wasn’t Kiyoko perfectly composed?”

“Well...”

“Well, if that’s all you can say, then there’s no help for it.
How did Kiyoko appear to you at that time?
She didn’t look composed.”

“She seemed perfectly composed.”

Madam directed a look of contempt at him.

“You’re rather carefree too.
Wasn’t it precisely because Kiyoko was so composed that you were made to exclaim ‘Ah!’?”

“Perhaps that might be the case.”

“Then how do you plan to settle that ‘Ah!’ business from back then?”

“There’s nothing to be done about it.”

“There’s nothing to resolve, but you actually want to resolve it, don’t you?”

“Yes. That’s why I’ve thought about it in every way possible.”

“And did thinking make it clear?”

“I don’t understand. The more I think, the less I understand.”

“So that’s why you stopped thinking about it?”

“No, I still can’t stop.”

“Then you’re still thinking about it even now?”

“That’s right.”

“There, you see? Isn’t that your lingering attachment?”

Madam finally forced Tsuda into the position she desired.

140

The preparations were nearly complete.
The main points at last had to be laid out before Tsuda.
Madam, seizing the opportunity, gradually proceeded there.

“Then why don’t you act more manly?” were the first vague words to leave Madam’s lips.
At that moment, Tsuda thought, Here we go again.
Every time he had been told phrases like “Act manly” or “You’re not manly” since earlier, he secretly sneered at Madam in his heart.
He wondered where exactly the meaning of Madam’s “manly” lay.
Without even needing to wipe away his critical gaze, he could only interpret that she was arbitrarily using this phrase wherever convenient—solely considering her own interests to corner Tsuda.
He asked with a bitter smile.

“What does it mean to act manly? — How does one become manly?”

“Just by resolving your lingering attachment—you know.”
“It’s perfectly obvious, isn’t it?”

"Why?"

"What exactly do you imagine would resolve this?"

"I don't understand that."

Mrs.Yoshikawa suddenly became animated.

“You’re such a fool.”
“How can you not understand something so basic?”
“Isn’t it just a matter of meeting her and asking?”

Tsuda was unable to respond.
Even if meeting her were made necessary, by what method, where, and how would he meet her?
That matter had to be the primary issue to resolve first.

“That’s precisely why I made a special trip here today,” Madam said. At that moment, Tsuda involuntarily looked at her face.

“Actually, I’ve been wanting to properly understand your intentions for some time now, and when Oshu came this morning about that matter, I thought it was the perfect opportunity to come here, you see.”

With his internal preparations incomplete, Tsuda's mind was simply in disarray.

Madam observed this and said:

“You mustn’t misunderstand.”
“I am myself, and Oshu is Oshu.”
“Surely even you can understand that just because Oshu asked me to come doesn’t necessarily mean I’m here solely to take her side.”
“As I said earlier, I am still your ally here.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that.”

There, having brought the exchange to a pause, Madam plunged without missing a beat into the second phase of her agenda—the critical points she needed to address.

“Do you know where Ms.Kiyoko is right now?”

"Isn't she at Seki's place?"

“That’s the usual situation.
“I’m talking about right now.”
“Where is she at this very moment?”
“In Tokyo or outside?”

"I don't know."

“Take a guess.”

Tsuda stayed silent, his expression suggesting he found this guessing game trivial.
Then Madam abruptly named an unexpected location.
The memory of that hot spring resort—a day’s journey from Tokyo and rather famous—remained fresh enough in Tsuda’s mind.
When its scenery suddenly surfaced in his thoughts, he could only manage an “Oh...” before his words failed him completely.

Madam kindly provided an explanation for Tsuda’s benefit.
According to her explanation, the person in question was staying there for convalescence for the time being.
Madam even knew why convalescence was necessary for that person.
Having told him that recovering her health after the miscarriage was the main purpose, Madam looked at Tsuda and smiled meaningfully.
Tsuda felt he had nearly managed to interpret the meaning of that smile within himself.
But such matters were not an immediate issue for either Madam or him.
He had no inclination to offer even a single criticism, and so he remained quiet, intending to simply be Madam’s listener.
At the same time, Madam moved into the third phase.

“You should come along.”

Tsuda’s heart had already been wavering even before hearing these words.
Yet even after hearing them, his resolve to go still did not form.
Madam goaded him with one final prod.

“Do come.”
“Even if you go, you wouldn’t be troubling anyone, would you?”
“If you go and maintain your composure, that would settle everything.”

“That’s true.”

“You’ve been independent from the very beginning—there’s no need to fuss over this.”
“When you start hauling around unnecessary burdens like reserve and hesitation, you only make matters complicated.”
“Besides, after leaving here, spending time at such a place would do your condition good.”
“If I may say so, even considering your health alone provides more than enough reason to go.”
“So you must come.”
“Go and carry yourself as though you’d arrived there naturally.”
“Then return like a proper man who’s tidied up his lingering attachments.”

Madam urged Tsuda, even offering to cover the travel expenses.

141

To have travel expenses provided, work arrangements handled, and convalesce at an uplifting hot spring resort with his post-illness body was undoubtedly desirable for anyone.
For Tsuda—who sought to make personal pleasure humanity's central theme—this constituted a rare, tailor-made opportunity.
By his reasoning, consciously letting such an opportunity slip away was the height of folly.
Yet the particular condition attached to this circumstance was far from ordinary.
He considered.

The nature of the psychological force restraining him was immediately apparent.
Yet he remained only aware of this mechanism's conspicuous power, without leisure to reflect on its meaning.
In this respect too, Madam proved the more astute observer of psychology than he himself.
When Madam—who had expected Tsuda to pledge immediate compliance—saw his lingering hesitation, she declared:

"You're desperate to go inwardly, yet here you fidget."
"That unmanliness of yours—if I may say so—is your most wretched flaw."

Tsuda, who didn’t feel particularly pained even when criticized for being unmanly, responded.

"That may be true, but I need to consider it a bit..."

“That habit of thinking is what haunts your character.”

Tsuda exclaimed “Huh?” in surprise.
Madam maintained her composure.

“Women don’t think—not in such situations.”

"Then doesn't that make me manly for thinking?"

When she heard this response, Madam’s demeanor abruptly turned harsh.

“You shouldn’t give such cheeky retorts.”
“If you think you can silence others with mere words—what difference does it make how you do it? How absurd!”
“Despite being someone who went to school and studied, you can’t even see yourself—how pitiful.”
“That’s precisely why you ended up getting left behind by Ms. Kiyoko.”

Tsuda exclaimed “Huh?” again.
Madam paid no attention.

“If you don’t understand, I’ll tell you.”
“Why you don’t want to go—I understand perfectly well.”
“You're a coward.”
“You can’t face Ms. Kiyoko.”

“That’s not it.
I…”

“Wait.”
“You think you have courage, don’t you?”
“But you think going would compromise your dignity, don’t you?”
“From my perspective, putting on such airs of dignity is precisely where your cowardice lies—does that please you?”
“Let me tell you why.”
“Such principles are nothing but vanity, aren’t they?”
“Even if you put it nicely, it’s just a superficial facade, isn’t it?”
“If you let societal appearances and hesitation hold you back, what will be left afterward?”
“It’s just like a bride who skips her meals out of self-consciousness when no one’s said a word to her.”

Tsuda was dumbfounded.
Madam’s scolding continued.

“In other words, you have too much vanity, so you feel compelled to assert yourself in such unnecessary situations.”
“And that transforms into your conceit and emerges in the strangest places.”

Tsuda had no choice but to remain silent.
Mrs. Yoshikawa mercilessly took a step further and explained his conceit.

“You intend to remain elegantly silent forever.”
“You’re trying to settle things by staying perfectly still.”
“And yet deep down, you’re constantly tormented by that matter.”
“Try pushing a bit harder there now.”
“While I’m sitting here like this, I’m sure Kiyoko will come to offer some explanation—she’ll come, she’ll come—”

“Do you really think I’m thinking such a thing? Even I wouldn’t go that far.”

“No, I’m saying it amounts to the same thing as thinking it.”
“If there’s no actual difference in reality, then you’ve no grounds to complain about being told that, have you?”

Tsuda no longer had the courage to resist.
The sharp-witted Madam seized the opportunity.

“Aren’t you fundamentally a shameless person by nature? And you think that shamelessness counts as some sort of virtue for getting through life.”

“No way!”

“No, that’s exactly it. If you imagine I still don’t grasp that point, you’re gravely mistaken. What’s wrong with it? Be shameless—I happen to adore shamelessness. So here, manfully display your innate shamelessness to the fullest. That’s precisely why I went through all this trouble to arrange things.”

“The application of shamelessness?” Tsuda rephrased his words.

“Is that person going alone?”
“Of course she’s alone.”

“What about Seki?”

“Mr. Seki is here. He has business here.”
“He has business here, you see.”

Tsuda finally steeled himself to go.

142

However, between Mrs. Yoshikawa and Tsuda, there still remained one unresolved problem.
The two couldn't properly conclude their conversation without addressing that point.
Before Mrs. Yoshikawa could turn her heel, Tsuda had already left for home.

"So if I go," he asked, "what becomes of what you mentioned earlier?"

“That’s precisely it.”
“I was just about to address that point.”
“If I may speak frankly, there could be no better remedy than this.”
“What do you think?”

Tsuda remained silent.
Madam pressed her advantage.

“You do understand now, don’t you?
“The rest goes without saying.”

The meaning behind Madam’s words had been almost entirely grasped by Tsuda without requiring further explanation.
However, how exactly that was meant to influence Oen—when it came to that point—he had no clear idea.
Mrs.Yoshikawa laughed.

"You just need to keep pretending not to notice.
I’ll handle the rest."

Tsuda answered "Is that so?" while harboring doubts in his mind.
To fully entrust everything to Madam would be no different from handing over Oen’s fate to others.
He, somewhat fearful of Madam’s capabilities, felt apprehensive.
He was restrained by the apprehension of not knowing what might be done.

"I can certainly leave it to you, but if I knew the means and methods involved, I thought it might be prudent to inquire."

"Such things needn't concern you."
"Well then watch closely—I'll cultivate Oen into a wife befitting her station."

The Oen reflected in Tsuda's gaze was undeniably incomplete.
Yet the flaws that displeased him didn't necessarily align with Madam's criticisms.
Madam appeared to conflate these indiscriminately, laboring under the delusion that molding an Oen convenient to herself would thereby create the ideal wife for Tsuda.
Worse still—should one venture deeper into Madam's psyche—one might uncover conclusions too outlandish to countenance.
Perhaps she had devised some scheme purely from dislike, unwittingly embarking on Oen's torment.
Perhaps she plotted punitive measures based on mere personal antipathy.
Blessedly unburdened by societal or self-imposed scrutiny requiring such acknowledgments, she remained untroubled.
Oen's reformation.—The phrase slipped shamelessly from her lips.
Tsuda—having never glimpsed the true nature between Madam and Oen—lacked grounds to doubt this declaration.
He chose broadly to trust Madam's sincerity.
Yet regarding that sincerity's practical effects, apprehension proved unavoidable.

“Is there really anything to worry about? You know the saying—‘You’ll see the craftsmanship polished to perfection,’ don’t you?”

Though Tsuda had pressed her repeatedly, Madam had refused to elaborate; after delivering this dismissive remark, she addressed him like a teacher instructing a pupil.

“She does have rather too high an opinion of herself.”
“And then there's the fact that her inner self and outer appearance still don't align.”
“Her exterior is impeccably polite, while her inner self is almost too resolute.”
“And because she’s clever, she doesn’t let it show—but make no mistake, there’s quite a lot of arrogance in that one.”
“So we must get rid of all that…”

While Mrs.Yoshikawa was making blunt remarks about Oen, the voice of the nurse—who had stopped halfway up the staircase—reached their ears.

“There is a telephone call for Madam Yoshikawa from a gentleman by the name of Mr. Hori.”

Madam responded “Yes” and immediately stood up—but at the threshold, she looked back at Tsuda.

“What could it be about?”

Madam, who had gone downstairs to attend to that matter—which even Tsuda couldn’t comprehend—immediately came back up and abruptly said:

“Oh no, oh no!”

“What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

Mrs. Yoshikawa answered calmly with a laugh.

"Oshu-san kindly went out of her way to warn me."

"About what?"

“It seems Oen has been at Oshu’s place talking until now.”
“Since she might stop by the hospital on her way back, she says she wanted to let us know.”
“She’s just left Oshu’s gate now.”
“Well, that’s fortunate.”
“If she were to come while we were badmouthing her, we’d be utterly humiliated.”

Once seated, Madam soon stood up again.

"Well then, I'll take my leave now."

Seeing Oen's face after having discussed such matters seemed to make even her feel ill at ease.

“Let’s make our retreat quickly before she comes.”
“I’ll leave the rest to you.”

With a single word of farewell left to her, Madam finally exited the hospital room.

143

At this moment, Oen had already started toward the hospital.

To reach the doctor's office from Hori's residence, she had to exit through the gate, walk one or two blocks east, then cross another large T-shaped intersection beyond that point. When she reached this corner, a streetcar from the north stopped just before her—or rather, slightly askew from her direction. She absentmindedly raised her head and glanced at the window on this side without really looking. Through the window glass among the reflected passengers was a woman. Due to their positions, Oen had seen only half or perhaps a third of the woman’s profile, but that glimpse alone jolted her with recognition—the thought that it might be Mrs.Yoshikawa had instantly struck her mind.

The streetcar soon started moving.
Oen, after watching for a while the departing figure that had rushed away without giving her sufficient time to scrutinize it, crossed the street to the east side.

The streets she walked were now only side streets.
Familiar with the geography of the area, she intended to take the shortest path by turning right and left through several narrow lanes to quickly reach the hospital.
However, after encountering the streetcar, her feet suddenly grew heavy.
When she had come within two or three blocks' distance, she thought of returning home first instead of stopping by the hospital.

Her heart had weighed heavy since leaving Hori’s gate. She’d recklessly provoked Oshu only to end up clutching the frustration of her botched attempt. There lingered an itch of irritation—being unable to seize the critical issue outright, instead having its edges teased from the shadows. That faint whiff of suspicion she’d caught had only steeped her anxieties darker. What loomed largest was the dread that they’d seen through her vulnerabilities and turned them against her.

Oen's keen mind was still probing far beyond the immediate situation.
She grew so agitated that she became convinced a plot against her was secretly unfolding somewhere.
Whoever the mastermind might be, Oshu was undoubtedly among them.
That Mrs.Yoshikawa was involved could also be plainly inferred.
—Having reached this conclusion, she was suddenly overcome with dread.
Before she realized it, she found herself surrounded—a mental state like a lone army under siege—assaulting her from all directions.
She scanned her surroundings.
But there stood no one she could depend on except her husband.
She had no choice but to rush to Tsuda first.
Even while doubting him, she still clung to a vestige of faith.
No matter what might transpire, her feet—certain that her husband alone would never join the conspirators—turned toward the hospital on their own accord the instant she passed through Hori's gate.

When that psychological reaction now had to be suppressed, Oen cursed from the depths of her being the shadow of the streetcar she had encountered on the street.
If the person in that streetcar was Mrs.Yoshikawa, if Mrs.Yoshikawa had gone to visit Tsuda, and if during that visit she had—
Even for someone as clever as Oen, the subsequent events—not granted the freedom to consider—did not readily present themselves.
But the conclusion was singular.
Her thoughts abruptly leapt from Oshu to Mrs.Yoshikawa, then from Mrs.Yoshikawa to Tsuda.
She somehow began to gaze at these three as if they formed a swirling tomoe pattern.

"Perhaps the three were exchanging some kind of electricity without letting me feel it."

Until now, she had thought only of rushing to her husband’s side as a refuge, but now she had no choice but to reconsider.

"Given how things are, just going won't do.
What would I even do if I go?"

She realized she had come all this way without any plan of action.
Then the question of what attitude and manner would prove most effective when meeting Tsuda under these circumstances began to loom critically large in her mind.
Since she'd heard no criticism about how absurd it was for a married couple to put on such formal airs with each other—she who had firmly concluded that the best strategy was to first return home, properly compose herself, and then start afresh—turned back from midway down the lane that would have reached the hospital in five or six minutes.
Then she walked from the willow-lined main street to the bustling thoroughfare and immediately boarded a streetcar.

144

Oen returned home as daylight grew dim.
After getting off the streetcar and walking about a block wrapped in evening mist that seeped into her bones, she yearned for nothing more than the warmth beside the hibachi.
No sooner had she removed her coat than she sat down there and held out her hands to the fire.

Yet she was granted scarcely a minute's rest.
The moment she sat down, she received Tsuda's letter from O-toki.
The letter's contents were naturally brief.
She could finish reading it in nearly the same time it took to open the envelope.
But the Oen who existed after reading it was no longer the Oen who had existed before.
Those mere three lines of text moved her more powerfully than an entire book.
Before this missive that instantly ignited the mood she'd carried home from outside, her heart leapt.

"What could he possibly mean by saying he can't come to the hospital today?"

Even without that impetus, she had been meant to make another attempt, yet now lacked even the leisure to consider timing.
She startled O-toki—who had brought the meal tray from the kitchen—and rose immediately.

"I'll have the meal after I get back."

She put back on the coat she had just taken off and left through the gate. However, when she had walked as far as the tram street, her feet came to a stop again at the corner of the alley. For some reason, she felt she couldn't bring herself to go to the hospital. In this state, even if she went, the thought that it would prove useless suddenly struck her.

Given my husband’s nature, he would never explain even the meaning of this letter honestly.

She grew anxious and watched the streetcars passing to the right and left before her.
If she took the streetcar to the right, it would be the hospital; if she boarded to the left, it would be the Okamoto residence.
She hit upon the idea of abandoning her original plan and going to her uncle’s place instead; no sooner had she thought of it than she immediately imagined the difficulties that lay in that direction.
If she went to Okamoto to consult him, she would have no choice but to have a frank talk.
Unless she laid bare the depths of their marital relationship that she had kept hidden until now, she could not take a single step forward.
Before her uncle and aunt, she had to make a clean confession of her own lack of discernment.
Oen considered that the situation had not yet reached such a critical point where she would have to endure that level of humiliation.
When there was no sufficient prospect of revival, such honesty as to bludgeon her own vanity in a drunken revelry was what she despised most.

Unable to decide, she swayed slightly to the right and left.
Unaware that she was in such turmoil, Tsuda sat up in bed and calmly faced the meal tray the nurse had brought.
When the call from Oshu had come earlier, he had already anticipated Oen’s visit and been quietly preparing himself mentally to see his wife in the hospital room in place of Mrs.Yoshikawa; but since his wife had turned back midway, perhaps from waiting in mild disappointment until dinnertime arrived, he spoke to the nurse the moment he saw her face.

“Finally, dinner? When I’m alone like this, the days just drag on endlessly,” Tsuda remarked.

The nurse was a petite woman with an unhealthy pallor. Yet her face held an odd quality that made her age impossible for Tsuda to determine. Her constant white uniform distanced her further from ordinary women. Tsuda often wondered—when wearing regular kimono, did she still use shoulder pads or had she discarded them? He had once seriously asked her this very question. She had grinned then, replying “I’m still in training,” leaving him to make only rough guesses.

After placing the meal tray by his pillow, she did not immediately go downstairs.

“You must be bored,” she said with a grin, then immediately added.

“Your wife hasn’t come today, has she?”

“Yeah, she’s not coming.”

Tsuda’s mouth was already full of burnt bread.
He couldn’t say anything more.
However, the nurse was free.

“Instead, another guest had come.”

“Yeah. That old woman—I suppose she’s really put on weight, hasn’t she?”

Since the nurse showed no sign of joining his disparaging remarks, Tsuda had to keep talking by himself.

“If more young, beautiful people came rushing to visit me, I’d recover faster,” he said, making the nurse laugh—only to be met with her icy retort.

“But it’s always women coming to see you every day. You must have excellent timing.”

She seemed unaware that Kobayashi had visited.

“The madam who came yesterday was quite beautiful, wasn’t she?”

“She’s not that beautiful. That one’s my sister, you know. Do we look alike anywhere—her and me?”

The nurse neither affirmed nor denied the resemblance, continuing to smirk as before.

145

That was an unexpectedly fortunate day for the nurse.
The doctor, suffering from diarrhea and unable to attend the examination room as usual, had asked his friend to substitute; this friend only managed to arrange his schedule for the morning, and from afternoon through evening never showed his face again.

“He said he was on duty today, so he couldn’t come in the evening.”

Having said this, she showed none of her usual busy manner and settled herself slowly before Tsuda’s meal tray.

Feeling he had found an excellent companion to relieve his boredom, Tsuda’s tongue knew no restraint.
He asked various things half in fun.

“Where are you from?”

“Tochigi Prefecture.”

“Hmm, now that you mention it, I suppose that’s true.”

“What was your name again?”

“I don’t know any names.”

The nurse was quite reluctant to give her name. Finding the resistance he discovered there amusing, Tsuda deliberately asked the same question over and over again.

“Then from now on I’ll just call you Tochigi, Tochigi.”
“Got that?”

“Sure thing.”

The initial of her name was Tsu.

“Dew?”

“No.”

“Hmm, I suppose it’s not Dew.”
“Then Earth?”

“No.”

“Wait a minute—if it’s not Dew or Earth…”
“Ah ha, got it!”
“Tsuya, I bet.”
“Otherwise, Tsune?”

Tsuda spouted as much nonsense as he pleased.
Each time he said something, the nurse shook her head and smirked.
Every time she laughed, Tsuda pressed her further.
When it finally became clear that her name was Tsuki, he still toyed with this unusual name.

“So, it’s Tsuki-san, then.”
“Tsuki-san is a nice name.”
“Who gave you that name?”

Instead of giving a reply, the nurse suddenly countered.

"What is your wife's name?"

"Take a guess."

The nurse deliberately listed two or three feminine-sounding names before speaking.

"It must be Oen."

She had guessed right.
Or rather, she must have overheard and remembered Oen's name at some point.

"You're not someone to let your guard down around, Tsuki-san."

Just as Tsuda was amusing himself with this exchange, Oen herself suddenly appeared in the doorway. The startled nurse turned around and stood up hastily, still holding the meal tray.

"Ah, you've finally come."

Having replaced the nurse and sat down at Tsuda's bedside, Oen immediately looked at him.

"You didn’t think I’d come, did you?"

"Well, not exactly. But I did think it might be too late today."

There was no falsehood in Tsuda's words.
Oen possessed the discernment to recognize this truth.
Yet this recognition only intensified the contradiction.

"But you did send that letter earlier, didn't you?"

“Yeah, I sent it.”
“It says not to come today, doesn’t it?”
“There was some inconvenience.”
“Why would my coming be inconvenient for you?”

Tsuda finally noticed.
He answered while watching Oen's reaction.

"It's nothing at all. Just a trivial matter."

"But you went to the trouble of having a servant deliver it, so something must have happened."

Tsuda tried to cover it up.

“It’s a trivial matter, you know.
“Why are you even concerned about such a thing?”
“You’re such a fool.”

Tsuda’s words, intended to console, instead produced the opposite effect on Oen.
She moved her black eyebrows.
Without a word, she put her hand into her obi and took out the letter from earlier.

“Take another look at this.”

Tsuda silently took it.

“There’s nothing particularly written here, is there?” The moment he said this, his gut finally contradicted his words.
The letter was simple.
But it was sufficient to arouse Oen’s suspicion.
Already possessing a weakness that warranted suspicion, he thought he had failed.

“Since there’s nothing written here, I want to hear the reason,” Oen said.

“Couldn’t you simply tell me? I did make the effort to come.”

“Did you come here specifically to ask that?”

“Yes.”

“On purpose?”

“Yes.”

Oen remained immovable no matter how things progressed.
When Tsuda grasped his opponent’s tenacity, he happened upon a suitable lie.

“The truth is Kobayashi came.”

The two characters “Kobayashi” indeed reverberated through Oen’s being.
Yet this alone proved insufficient.
To placate Oen, he found himself compelled to elaborate on precisely that point.

146

“I thought you’d hate meeting someone like Kobayashi too.”
“That’s why I realized it and deliberately sent word.”

Even after he said this, Oen still showed no sign of being persuaded, so Tsuda had no choice but to draw out his reassurances.

“Even if you don’t mind, I mind having you meet that sort of man.”
“And then that fellow brought up some unpleasant business I didn’t want you hearing about either.”

“Is it something I shouldn’t hear about?”
“So it’s a secret between the two of you?”

“It’s not like that,” said Tsuda, but when he saw Oen’s narrow eyes fixed unwaveringly on him, he flusteredly tacked on an addition.

“He came to pester me for money again.
That’s all there is to it.”

“Then why is it bad if I listen?”

“I’m not saying it’s bad.
Just that I didn’t want you to hear it.”

“So this letter was sent purely out of kindness then?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

Oen’s narrow eyes, which had been fixed on her husband, narrowed even further as a faint smile escaped her lips.

“How very thoughtful.”

Tsuda could no longer maintain his composure.
He lost the presence of mind to sift through his ill-prepared words.

“You’d hate meeting someone like him too, wouldn’t you?”

“No, not at all.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why is that a lie?”

“But didn’t Kobayashi say something to you?”

“Yes.”

“So I’m saying you’d hate meeting that guy too.”

“Then do you know what I heard from Mr. Kobayashi?”

“I don’t know about that. But since it’s that guy we’re talking about, he probably didn’t say anything decent. What on earth did he say?”

Oen bit back the words that had risen to her lips. Then she retorted.

“What did Mr. Kobayashi say here?”
“He didn’t say anything.”

“That’s a lie. You’re hiding it.”

“Aren’t you the one hiding something? You were told some irresponsible nonsense by Kobayashi and yet took it seriously—”

“That I might be hiding. Since you go to such lengths to hide things, I can’t help doing the same.”

Tsuda fell silent.
Oen also fell silent.
Both waited for the other to speak.
However, Oen’s endurance gave out sooner than Tsuda’s.
She suddenly raised a sharp voice.

“Lies! Everything you say is lies.”
“Mr. Kobayashi hasn’t even come here, yet you go out of your way to fabricate such a story just to deceive me!”

“Even if I did make it up, it’s not like that would benefit me in any way.”

"No—you're deliberately dragging someone like Kobayashi into this to hide that another person came."

"Another person? Who do you mean by 'another person'?"

Oen's gaze fell upon the maple potted plant resting on the floor.

"Who was it that brought that here?"

Tsuda realized he had made a mistake. He regretted why he hadn't confessed sooner about Mrs.Yoshikawa's visit. His initial silence on the matter had been an act of discretion. There had been no particular reason not to speak of it, but the nature of what he had discussed with Mrs.Yoshikawa had naturally made him apprehensive toward Oen. Conscience-stricken, he had concluded that exercising restraint would be the wiser course of action.

When he, having looked back at the potted plant, tried to say Mrs.Yoshikawa’s name and hesitated, Oen preempted him.

“Mrs.Yoshikawa was here, wasn’t she?”

Tsuda blurted out.

“How do you know?”

“I know. That much at least.”

Tsuda, who had been observing Oen’s demeanor, finally regained his composure.

“Ah, she came.
So it turns out your prediction was right.”

“I even know precisely that Mrs.Yoshikawa took the train.”

Tsuda was surprised again.
He had merely thought that perhaps a car had been waiting on the main street and paid no closer attention to Mrs.Yoshikawa’s vehicle.

“Did you meet her somewhere?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

Oen, instead of answering, asked a question in return.

“What did Mrs. Yoshikawa come here for?”

Tsuda answered casually.

“That’s what I was just about to tell you now.
“But it’d be a problem if you misunderstood.”
“Kobayashi certainly did come.”
“Kobayashi came first, and then Mrs. Yoshikawa arrived afterward.”
“That’s why they ended up missing each other.”

147

Oen realized she was more agitated than her husband.
The moment she determined that continuing to press him in this manner would no longer overwhelm him, she turned away before exposing her own vulnerability.

“Fine, if that’s how it is, then so be it. Whether Mr.Kobayashi came or not is none of my concern. In return, please tell me about Mrs.Yoshikawa’s business. Of course I understand it wasn’t just a simple visit—”

“Even so, she didn’t come for anything particularly important. If you get your hopes up like that, you might be disappointed when you hear it—I should warn you now.”

“I don’t mind even if I’m disappointed. As long as I can hear the truth as it is, that alone will dispel my doubts.”

“The main purpose was a visit, with business merely tacked on afterward—you understand?”

“Fine, either way.”

Tsuda recounted only Mrs.Yoshikawa’s hot springs suggestion in an utterly matter-of-fact tone. As Oen employed her signature stratagems, he wielded his own brand of evasion; by artfully omitting inconvenient details, a perfectly plausible and rational explanation flowed effortlessly from his lips to Oen’s ears. Superficially, she found no opening to interject even a single criticism.

The only thing unsettled was their true feelings.
Oen tried to peer through this simple explanation to glimpse what lay beyond.
Tsuda was resolutely determined not to reveal it.
An extremely peaceful covert struggle had to be staged as a contest of nerves and a battle of wits.
However, given that the husband had a weakness to protect, it was only natural that an advantage would accrue to the wife on the offensive.
Therefore, setting aside their innate talents and considering only their positional relationship, Oen was already the superior party before any battle had even begun.
Even taking the actual merits as the standard, she had already won before any contest began.
Tsuda was aware of this.
Oen, too, had roughly the same understanding of the situation.

The war had to reach its conclusion based on whether these internal facts could be brought to the surface as they were.
Had Tsuda only been honest, there would have been no contest more easily won.
Yet if even a speck of dishonesty remained within Tsuda, it followed that there could be no position more precarious than this.
Poor Oen had not yet forged the weapons needed to drive Tsuda out against his will.
In her present circumstances where she could employ no means beyond besieging his gates, viewed by result alone, she differed little from one utterly incapable.

Why couldn't she gracefully conclude matters after having won the inner battle? Why couldn't she rest content without displaying her triumph outwardly? She presently lacked such composure. For there remained something far more crucial than this contest. With secondary and tertiary objectives still awaiting her, she had no choice but to breach this point first—otherwise she could advance no further.

Not only that—in truth, the contest itself held no primary significance for her. What she truly sought was rather the actual truth itself. Her principal aim lay not in vanquishing her husband, but in dispelling her own doubts. And dispelling those doubts proved absolutely essential for her very existence—an existence predicated on Tsuda's love. That alone constituted a paramount purpose already. It confronted her with a significance so grave it could scarcely be termed mere expediency or means.

Given the circumstances, she had to fixate on that with all her might, as much as her judgment allowed.
That was her natural disposition.

But unfortunately, the whole of nature was greater than she was.
It extended far above her.
It cast an impartial radiance that did not hesitate to try destroying her delicate self.

Each time she fixated on one point, Tsuda took a step back.
When she fixated on two points, he retreated two steps.
With every fixation, the distance between them gradually widened.
The vast Nature mercilessly trampled actions born from her limited nature.
At every turn, it destroyed her purpose without remorse.
She dimly sensed this.
Yet she couldn't grasp its meaning.
She could only cling stubbornly to the conviction that such a thing was impossible.
And so she lost her composure once more.

“I’ve been thinking of nothing but you, yet you don’t even notice.”

Tsuda made a helpless face.

“That’s why I’m not suspecting you of anything.”

“That’s only natural. If I’m to be suspected by you even now, I’d be better off dead, I tell you.”

“You don’t need to be so dramatic about dying.”
“First off, there’s nothing—absolutely nothing.”
“If there were something, you’d say so.”
“Then I’d explain myself properly. But there’s no handling groundless complaints from the start.”

“The root lies within you.”

“This is absurd—just that?”
“Kobayashi wormed something out of you, didn’t he?”
“It must be so.”
“Out with it—what did he say?”
“No need for reserve.”

148

From Tsuda’s tone and demeanor alone, Oen had been able to clearly ascertain his state of mind.
Her husband had been troubled by Kobayashi’s visit during his absence.
He remained anxious about what Kobayashi might have said to her.
Yet he still hadn’t clearly grasped the content of their conversation.
Thus he was trying to set a snare to draw her out.

There lay a clear secret.
All the material that had accumulated in her breast until now poured forth without doubt or contradiction in the same direction.
The secret was certain.
It shone as bright as day.
Yet like daylight itself, it cast no shadow anywhere.
She could only stare at it.
She knew no means to lay hands on it.

The clever woman, who amidst her distress still spared a moment's consideration, immediately flung back the snare her husband had set without removing it.

“Then I’ll tell the truth.
“The truth is, I’ve already heard everything in detail from Mr. Kobayashi.
“So hiding it now is pointless.
“You’re truly terrible.”

Her explanation verged on nonsense.
Yet in the earnestness with which she delivered it, there was no difference from complete sincerity.
With heated intensity, she had no choice but to label Tsuda a “terrible one”.

The reaction immediately fell upon her husband.
Tsuda began to retreat before this nonsense.
Despite not learning from her bitter failure with Oshu, Oen's daring in repeating the same risky venture seemed about to pay off.
She lunged forward.

“Why didn’t you confide in me before it came to this?”

The phrase “before it came to this” was ambiguous.
Tsuda struggled to grasp its meaning.
Even Oen herself still did not understand.
So even when asked, she didn’t explain.
Tsuda vaguely pressed for confirmation.

“You can’t possibly mean going to the hot springs.”
“If you say that’s inconvenient, I don’t mind stopping.”

Oen looked surprised.

“Who’s making such unreasonable demands? If your company’s arrangements can be managed and your post-illness recovery achieved, could there be anything more splendid than that? To think I’m making absurd claims about it being bad—how ridiculous. It’s not like I’m being hysterical.”

“Then, may I go?”

When she said “By all means,” Oen suddenly pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, pressed it to her face, and began sobbing quietly. The subsequent words emerged between heaving breaths—formless and fragmented, like shards of broken pottery.

“Selfish as I may be… interfering with your convalescence… such a thing… I’ve always been grateful for the freedom you’ve allowed me… yet for me to hinder your recuperative trip…”

Tsuda was finally relieved.
But Oen still had more to say.
When the fit subsided, the rest came out relatively smoothly.

"I'm not thinking about such trivial things."
"No matter how much of a woman or a fool I am, I still have my own dignity to maintain."
"So as a woman or as a fool, I want to maintain that dignity in my own way."
"If that is damaged…"

Oen had gotten this far when she began crying again.
What followed became fragmented again.

"If by any chance... if such a thing were to happen... toward Uncle Okamoto... toward Aunt... I would lose face... I wouldn’t be able to show my face..."
“Even without that... I’ve already been utterly treated like a fool by Oshu... And you... you just sit there watching... acting composed... acting composed... pretending not to notice...”

Tsuda suddenly opened his mouth.

“Are you saying Oshu treated you like a fool?”
“When?”
“Was it when you went today?”

Tsuda had unintentionally let slip something outrageous.
Unless Oen had spoken of it, he should not have known about that meeting.
Oen’s eyes indeed flashed.

“There, you see?
“The fact that I went to Oshu’s place today—you already knew about it perfectly well, didn’t you?”

The reply “Oshu called” did not immediately slip out from Tsuda’s throat.
He wavered, torn between speaking out and holding back.
But at that moment, there was no room for hesitation.
The more he tried to choke it back, the more precarious his position became.
He had nearly reached his limit.
But at the critical moment when there was no time to spare, a perfect excuse descended from heaven.

“The rickshaw driver came back and told me that.
O-toki must have told the rickshaw driver.”

Fortunately, the fact that Oen had pursued Oshu was also known to the maid. When his improvised excuse had struck lucky by chance, Tsuda patted his chest in relief once more.

149

Oen, who had been desperately trying to break through Tsuda's defenses, came to a halt. The moment she realized her husband hadn't been deceiving her to that extent, her resolve drained away; Oen, who had intended to press forward in one breath, found herself unable to advance. Tsuda peered into that opening.

"What does it matter what someone like Oshu says? Oshu is Oshu, and you are you."

Oen answered.

"Then it shouldn't matter what Kobayashi or anyone says to me, should it?"
"You're you, and Kobayashi's Kobayashi."

"That's fine."
"If only you'd stay steady."
"It's just that when you stir up suspicions and misunderstandings and wave them about recklessly, it becomes such a nuisance—that's why I can't stay silent either."

“It’s the same for me. No matter how much Oshu may treat me like a fool, no matter how Aunt Fujii may shut me out, as long as you stay firm, there should be no hardship. But you—the crucial one…”

Oen had reached an impasse. She possessed no concrete evidence. Consequently, no definitive words rose to her lips. There, Tsuda seized another opening.

“You probably imagine I’ll commit some blunder that tarnishes your dignity. Wouldn’t it be better to lean on me more and rest assured?”

Oen suddenly raised her voice loudly.

“I want to cling to you.
I want to feel secure.
I want to cling to you so desperately—more than you could ever imagine.”

“Can’t imagine?”

“No, you truly can’t.
If I could make it take hold, you’d have to change too.
But since it doesn’t stick, you can keep up this composed act.”

“I’m not acting composed.”

“You don’t think it’s pitiable or feel sorry for me at all.”

“Pitiable… Feel sorry…”

Having repeated this much, Tsuda paused once.
Afterward, the phrases he tacked on staggered unsteadily.

“Even if you don’t think so—
“No matter how much I try to think… If there were a reason to think so, I’d think it endlessly.
But if there isn’t, what can you do?”

Oen's voice trembled from tension.

"You. You."

Tsuda remained silent.

“Please, let me feel at ease.
Let me feel secure by believing you’ll help me.
I’m a woman with nowhere else to lean but you.
If you were to cast me aside, I’d be left a helpless woman with no one to rely on, forced to collapse right then and there.
So please tell me to rest assured.
Just say ‘Rest assured’—even a single word will do.”

Tsuda answered.
“It’s alright.”
“Rest assured.”
“Really?”

“Really, just rest assured.”

Oen suddenly flew at him with explosive force.

“Then tell me.
“Go on, tell me.
“Don’t hide anything—tell me everything right here.
“Then put my mind at ease once and for all.”

Tsuda stiffened.
His heart began swaying like a wave.
He nearly resolved to spill everything before Oen.
Yet he also reasoned that she merely suspected him without proof.
If she actually knew the facts, he concluded, she wouldn’t have pressed this far without confronting him directly.

He felt pity.
At the same time, room to escape still remained for him.
Moral duty and self-interest drew peaks and valleys as they swayed his heart up and down.
Then suddenly, the weight of the hot springs trip was added to one side.
Fulfilling this promise was his obligation to Mrs. Yoshikawa.
It was also a demand born of necessity.
At least until settling that matter, the conviction that keeping silent was wisest overcame his urge.

"Even if we keep saying such trifling things, we'll just redden our faces endlessly. Let's stop now."
"In exchange, I'll vouch for it. That should suffice."

“Vouch for it?”

“I’ll vouch for it. I’ll provide a written guarantee for your dignity—that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because there’s no other way to furnish documentary proof—I can only swear it verbally.”

Oen remained silent.

“In other words, if you’ll just say you trust me—that’s all there is to it. If an unexpected situation arises, you can just say, ‘Please take responsibility.’ In that case, on my end, I’ll respond by saying I’ve properly guaranteed it—that’s all. How about it—can’t we reach a compromise there?”

150

However incongruous "compromise," a Chinese-derived term, might sound in this situation, it was perfectly apt to describe Tsuda's state of mind at that moment. Indeed, the meaning most fittingly represented by this word had undeniably taken root in his gut. When this registered in Oen's keen eyes, her agitation was finally checked. Tsuda—who had been secretly tormented by anxiety that the emotional tide might yet swell—found himself saved. Now having stemmed that tide, he gained sufficient margin to devise means of redirecting its force in the opposite direction. He began comforting Oen. He liberally employed phrases likely to please her. Maintaining his composed exterior, he proved adept at flexibly adapting himself to his counterpart's disposition. His efforts proved far from fruitless. For the first time in ages, Oen saw Tsuda as he had been before their marriage. Memories from their engagement period revived vividly in her heart.

"My husband hadn't changed after all."
"He really was the same person as before."

Oen’s satisfaction in thinking this had been sufficient to rescue Tsuda from his predicament.
The turbulence that had tried to become a storm but failed had finally subsided.
Yet the husband and wife they had been beforehand were no longer the husband and wife they became afterward.
Before they knew it, they had unawares altered their mutual relationship.

As the turmoil subsided, Tsuda realized.

After all, women were easy to soothe.

He secretly rejoiced, clinging to this confidence that the recent turmoil had brought him. Until now, there had never been a moment when confronting Oen didn't stir some sense of inadequacy within him. Though looking down on her as a mere woman, situations requiring him to endure a gnawing discomfort arose daily. Whether this stemmed from her intuition, her tactical use of intuition resembling active strategy, or something else entirely—he still couldn't conclusively analyze it—the fact remained unshakable. Moreover, it was a fact he had kept folded within his breast, never once divulged to another. Therefore though termed a fact, it was equally a secret. Then why had he intentionally concealed this self-evident truth? Simply put, he wished to maintain his own lofty self-regard. In their marital life viewed as a 'war of love,' he who perpetually stood defeated nevertheless nursed considerable arrogance. Yet when conquered by Oen, his surrender came through compulsion rather than heartfelt submission. He found himself not honorably captured by love's forces, but perpetually ambushed through tactical feints. Just as Oen—oblivious to how she crushed her husband's pride—found fulfillment solely in conquest, Tsuda too would reluctantly yield each time overpowered by her strength, hating defeat yet unable to resist. When their night of earnest entreaties inverted this peculiar dynamic, his perception of Oen inevitably shifted. Never before had he witnessed such ferocious frontal assaults that masked genuine humility in a woman like Oen. Clutching his weakness while evading, he finally achieved victory over her. The outcome proved unequivocal. At last he could despise her—while simultaneously feeling greater sympathy than ever before.

In Oen's case too, a transformation was beginning within her following the turmoil. She who had never before confronted her husband with such an attitude had become too absorbed in assailing Tsuda's weakness all at once; consequently revealing her own never-before-exposed weakness to him became her foremost regret. In her desire to be loved by her husband alone, she had always maintained a belief in relying on her own capabilities. She had resolved to demonstrate her own judgment through to the end. Of course this judgment could hardly be called complex—it amounted merely to stubborn pride that no matter how essential her husband's love might be to her existence, she could not perform the unsightly act of bowing her head to beg for pity. If her husband would not love her as she desired, then through sheer force she would make him yield—such was her ironclad resolution. For her who had continuously executed this resolve, it fundamentally equated to perpetual tension. And such extreme tension was destined to rupture somewhere inevitably. Should it rupture, she would clearly end up destroying her own judgment—this outcome was evident even as she pressed forward without recognizing the contradiction. Thus it finally ruptured. After the rupture she at last felt regret. Fortunately nature proved less cruel than feared. By exposing her weakness she simultaneously gained a form of compensation—her husband's demeanor, which had never satisfied no matter how triumphantly he prevailed before, now showed subtle change. He had taken a step toward satisfying himself. He had clearly uttered the word 'compromise'. Within this lay implicit confession of the secret existence she had strained to unearth—Confession?

She often checked with herself.
When she confirmed this was undoubtedly a confession bordering on tacit approval, she felt both frustration and joy simultaneously.
She did not press her husband any further.
Just as Tsuda had come to feel pity for her, she too came to feel pity for him.

151

However, nature proved more stubbornly foolish than they had anticipated.
The two could not part ways over this alone.
Through some strange mechanism, the turmoil that had once begun to subside was now on the verge of swelling up again.

It was when Oen's agitated state of mind had somewhat returned to calm.
The aftermath of the turmoil they had just weathered was already beginning to take effect on her mood.
Like someone aware of their own intoxication yet choosing to wield it, she turned to face Tsuda.

“So when are you going to the hot springs?”

“I’ll go right after leaving here. It seems better for my health that way.”

“True. You should go as soon as possible. Now that it’s been decided...”

Tsuda felt tentatively relieved by this.
Just then, Oen suddenly appeared.

“Can I come along too?”

Tsuda, whose guard had relaxed, was suddenly jolted.
He had to think before he could answer.
Taking her along had not been a consideration from the start.
Yet outright refusal remained difficult.
Depending on how he refused, he couldn’t tell how she might change.
As he deliberated over how to respond, the crucial moment passed.
Oen pressed.

“So I can come along, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“Can’t I?”

“There’s no reason you can’t, but…”

Tsuda felt his inner reluctance to take her along being gradually forced outward. If a suspicious glint were to stir even once in Oen’s eyes, he had discerned that matters would end there; in truth, he was being governed by the same psychological state as Oen. The effects of the recent turmoil had already taken hold of him. For his part, he had no choice but to make use of it. He immediately recalled the two characters: “soothing.”

*Soothing is the only way.*
*A woman can be managed if you just soothe her.*
He turned to Oen, holding up this new conclusion he had just arrived at.

“You can go. More than okay—in truth, I want you to come with me.”
“To begin with, being alone would be inconvenient.”
“Even just having you look after me would naturally make things more practical.”

“Ah, I’m so happy! Then I’ll go.”

“But here’s the thing...”

Oen made a displeased face.

“But what’s the matter now?”

“But here’s the thing... What about the house?”

“Our house has Toki, so it’s fine.”

“Saying ‘It’s fine’ like some carefree child—you can’t just say things like that.”

“Why? What’s so carefree about that? If having just Toki is unreliable, I’ll ask someone to come.”

Oen proceeded to list two or three suitable people to look after the house in quick succession.
Tsuda refused them as much as he could.

“Young men won’t do. We can’t just leave Toki alone with a young man like that.”

Oen burst out laughing.

“Don’t be silly! Nothing would possibly go wrong—it’s only for a short while.”

“That won’t do. That absolutely won’t do.”

Tsuda adopted a resolute attitude while feigning contemplation.

“Isn’t there someone suitable?”
“If there were a suitable old woman or something available, that’d be just perfect to bring along.”

In Fujii’s household, Okamoto’s, or any other place they could think of, there wasn’t a single conveniently available person with free time.

“Well, I’ll give it some proper thought.”

Tsuda, who had tried to end the conversation there, missed his mark.
Oen refused to let go of the sleeve she clutched.

“What will you do if you still haven’t thought of anyone?”
“If there’s no old woman available, then I simply can’t go.”

“I never said it was wrong.”

“But such an old woman doesn’t exist.”
“I understand that much without needing to think.”
“Instead of this evasion, just tell me clearly—am I forbidden to go or not?”

Cornered, Tsuda oddly came up with another clever pretext at that moment.

“If it comes to that, I wouldn’t care about house-sitting. However, even if we were to leave Toki alone, there’s still another problem. I’m receiving travel expenses from Mrs.Yoshikawa. If people think we’re taking other money to go gallivanting around as a couple, that wouldn’t look very good now, would it?”

“In that case, we don’t need to take it from Mrs.Yoshikawa. Because there’s that check.”

“Then this month’s payment will be an issue.”

“There’s what Hideko-san left behind.”

Tsuda was cornered again.
And once again, he had opened up a perilous path.

“I have to lend Kobayashi a little something.”

“To someone like that...”

“You say ‘someone like that,’ but even he is about to go all the way to Korea this time.”
“He’s pitiful.”
“And since I’ve already made the promise, there’s no way around it.”

Oen naturally had no reason to make a pleased expression.
However, Tsuda somehow managed to weather the immediate crisis.

152

After that, the negotiations progressed more smoothly than anticipated, and soon a second compromise had been reached.
To satisfy his obligation of friendship toward Kobayashi and discharge the responsibility of his prior promise, Tsuda resolved to allocate a portion from the check Oen had obtained and present it to Kobayashi as a farewell gift for his journey to Korea.
Though formally designated as a loan, since they harbored no intention of repayment and couldn't reasonably budget this amount for future use, it effectively became an outright gift.
Naturally, Oen had displayed considerable resistance before matters reached this conclusion.
The notion of bestowing funds upon such an insolent man as Kobayashi was unthinkable; not even the slightest inclination to have him draft proper documentation for this temporary arrangement could have emerged from any recess of her heart.
Moreover, her tendency to scrutinize the hidden motives behind her husband's insistent push to execute this plan left Tsuda feeling distinctly chilled with each probing glance.

“I simply can’t understand why you go to such lengths to be kind to someone like that.”

Words carrying this meaning were repeated two or three times by her.
When Tsuda showed no sign of engaging solely through human compassion, she pressed further ahead.

“Then tell me why.
“If you’d just clearly explain the circumstances—that there’s some reason you must do this to avoid failing your social obligations—then I wouldn’t mind giving you that entire check.”

For Tsuda, this was the most crucial barrier he could never let Oen breach.
Rather than defend Kobayashi directly, he invoked their past association and the nostalgic memories arising from it.
When criticized for using the term “nostalgic,” he reluctantly expanded his explanation to contrast Kobayashi’s former self with his present state.
Seeing Oen’s still-unconvinced expression, he abruptly elevated their discussion’s tone to expound upon humanitarian principles.
Yet these principles he espoused ultimately collapsed into utilitarian logic; unwittingly advancing toward the trap he himself had laid without realizing it, moments arose where Oen nearly pulled his feet out from under him and sent him tumbling.
Expressed through representative terms and simplified examples, it unfolded as follows.

“After all, he’s in trouble—so much so that he can’t stay on the mainland and has to flee all the way to Korea—so don’t you think we should show him a little sympathy?”
“Moreover, you attack his character indiscriminately, but there’s some unfairness in that.”
“Certainly, he’s a hopeless fellow.”
“He’s certainly a hopeless fellow, but when you really think about why he became this way, it’s nothing at all.”
“He’s just dissatisfied.”
“Then why is he dissatisfied? Because he can’t get money.”
“But he’s neither lazy nor stupid—he actually has a decent head on his shoulders.”
“When I think that he became like that because he unfortunately didn’t receive a proper education, I can’t help but feel sorry for him.”
“In other words, if you just consider that it’s not his fault but his circumstances that are bad, then that’s all there is to it.”
“In short, he’s an unfortunate person.”

If he had stopped at this, it would have been quite commendable as mere lip service; however, he ultimately could not stop there.

“Moreover, there’s this matter I must consider.”
“If you oppose someone who’s gone completely reckless, there’s no telling what they might do.”
“He wants to pick a fight with anyone—claims that fighting anyone only benefits him. In fact, he came here declaring that proudly. He’s truly impossible to deal with.”
“So if I were to reject his demand now, he’d get angry.”
“If he were just angry, that would be one thing, but he’ll definitely do something.”
“He’s sure to take revenge.”
“But we have our social standing to consider, while he has none of that. So when it comes down to it, we’re no match for him. Understand?”

By this point, his initial humanitarian principles had largely crumbled.
Even so, had they simply concluded matters there, Oen would have had no choice but to nod silently.
Yet he pressed further still.

"If that man's ideology were merely about attacking high society or slandering the wealthy in general, that would be one thing."
"But his approach isn't like that—it's far more pragmatic."
"He intends to start by gradually encroaching upon whatever falls within his reach."
"Which makes me the primary victim of this calamity."
"However I consider it, our optimal strategy lies in demonstrating sufficient generosity to placate his sentiments and expedite his departure for Korea at the earliest opportunity."
"Otherwise, there's no predicting what misfortunes might befall us."

At this point, Oen couldn’t help but speak up again.

“No matter how violent Kobayashi may be, if you’ve done nothing wrong yourself, there’s no reason to fear him so much.”

Even settling the check through such verbal sparring between them took a full ten minutes.
Yet once Kobayashi’s matter was decided, the remaining arrangements fell quickly into place.
Her condition—that she would use it as personal spending money to freely indulge her whims—was promptly accepted.
In exchange, she would not accompany Tsuda to the hot springs.
Thus they were compelled to accept Mrs.Yoshikawa’s proposed arrangement for funding the trip.

On a deceptively chilly evening, the waxing and waning of turmoil that had arisen between the young couple finally reached its conclusion.
The two parted ways temporarily.

153

The postoperative course Tsuda had to endure was progressing well.
Or rather, it proceeded without complications.
When the fifth day came, after replacing all the gauze for him as scheduled, the doctor assured him of this.

“It’s progressing extremely well.”
“The bleeding is only around the mouth area.”
“The internal area shows no issues whatsoever.”

On the sixth day, the same treatment was repeated.
But the affected area had become healthier than the previous day.

"How's the bleeding?"
"Hasn't it stopped yet?"

"Well, it's mostly stopped now."

Tsuda, who couldn't grasp the significance of the bleeding, couldn't grasp the meaning of this reply either.
He hastily interpreted it as meaning "It's already healed" and was overjoyed.
However, the actual fact didn't match his assumption.
A conversation that had occurred between him and the doctor clarified the true circumstances.

“What would happen if this doesn’t heal properly?”

“We’ll cut again.”
“Then you’ll have a smaller hole than before.”

“That’s unsettling.”

“Well, nine times out of ten it heals.”

“So true recovery still needs time?”

“Three weeks at best, four at worst.”

“When can I leave here?”

“The day after tomorrow works.”

Tsuda felt grateful.
Having resolved to head straight for the hot springs upon discharge,
he deliberately kept silent, having calculated that a half-hearted consultation with the doctor - which might result in a travel prohibition - would only needlessly agitate his nerves.
This was an almost uncharacteristically careless approach for him.
Though determined to willingly carry out this imprudent act,
he felt somehow uneasy, being already aware of his own internal contradiction.
He even tried posing unnecessary questions to the doctor.

"You say you left the sphincter muscle uncut, but then how can gauze be packed from below?"

"The sphincter muscle isn't at the entrance."
"It's set back about half an inch."
"There's a section that's been shaved up diagonally from below by about a third of an inch."

Tsuda began eating rice gruel from that evening.
To a mouth that had long endured nothing but bread, even the watery taste of rice held a certain novelty.
Lacking the capacity to appreciate night-chilled gruel as aesthetic pursuit, he could savor the warmth of thin porridge—set against the autumnal evening's chill—with greater relish than any ordinary haiku poet.

Due to medical necessity, to facilitate bowel movements that had long been restricted, he had to take a mild laxative.
As his stomach—which had never been particularly troublesome—grew lighter, his mood too gradually lightened.
With his body now comfortable, he lay down and simply waited for the day of discharge.

That day too came as soon as dawn broke.
The moment he saw Oen's face - she who had come by car to fetch him - he spoke.

"So it's finally been settled that I can return home."
"What a relief."

"You don't seem particularly grateful."

"No, I truly am grateful."

"So you're deigning to say our home remains preferable to the hospital?"

"Well... perhaps along those lines."

After Tsuda said this in his usual manner, he suddenly added as if recalling something.

“This time I was really saved by the wadded robe you prepared.”
“Maybe because the cotton’s new—it’s remarkably comfortable to wear.”

Oen laughed while coldly mocking her husband.

“What’s come over you? My, you’ve suddenly become quite skilled at flattery. But your judgment is mistaken.”

Oen admitted to her husband that she hadn't used all new cotton in the wadded robe as she folded it.
Tsuda was changing his kimono at the time.
What truly mattered to him was meticulously wrapping the crepe silk sash with its shibori-dyed pattern around his waist.
His casual charm that had so lightly dismissed the robe's contents wasn't even waiting for Oen's honest response.
He simply said, "Oh, is that so?"

“If it pleases you, please take it with you to the hot springs as well.”

“And then maybe I’ll occasionally remember your kindness too.”

“But if the robe provided by the inn were to be far better or something, what a humiliation that would be for me.”

“That’s not true.”

“No, there certainly is. If the quality is poor, it inevitably gets damaged, and in times like that, any kindness immediately flies off somewhere.”

Oen’s innocent words did not reach Tsuda’s ears with the simple sincerity she had intended.
There quivered a kind of irony.
The wadded robe could be taken as some kind of symbol.
Feeling somewhat unsettled, Tsuda kept his back turned to Oen as he tied the ends of his sash into a small knot.

Before long, escorted by the nurse, they emerged at the entrance and immediately boarded the waiting car.

“Goodbye.”

The eventful week-long hospital life finally drew to a close with that single word.

154

Before departing for the hot springs destination, Tsuda had to meet Kobayashi first as part of the predetermined plan’s sequence.
When the appointed day arrived, he received the necessary money from Oen and, laughing, turned to look at his wife.

“Somehow it feels like a waste to let that guy take this much.”

“Then you should just cancel it.”

“I’d like to stop too.”

“If you want to stop it, why can’t you? Shall I go cancel it for you instead?”
“Yeah, can I leave it to you?”

“Where are you meeting that person?”
“If you just tell me the place, I’ll go handle it for you.”

Even Tsuda couldn't tell whether Oen was serious.
Yet in such situations, it wasn't difficult for him to imagine that taking her words at face value and pushing the matter as a joke might instead leave him struggling to handle the consequences.
Oen was a woman who would earnestly carry out exactly what she declared when pressed.
Whether it breached their agreement or not, had the role of repelling Kobayashi on Tsuda's behalf presented itself, she might well have willingly taken it up.
He cautiously avoided stepping into perilous territory and deliberately steered the conversation toward frivolity.

“You’re quite the courageous woman despite that modest appearance of yours.”

“I do think I have some courage myself.”
“But since I’ve never had occasion to show it, even I don’t truly know how much.”

“No need for you to understand—I know well enough, and that suffices.”
“When a woman heedlessly displays such courage, it only inconveniences her husband.”

“It wouldn’t inconvenience you at all.”
“If it’s courage shown for her husband’s sake, why should any man object?”

"Well, there might be times when that's appreciated," Tsuda said without any intention of responding seriously.
"It seems I haven't witnessed any courage from you thus far worthy of admiration."

"Well that's exactly right.
Because I've been keeping it all bottled up inside.
Why don't you try looking inside here then.
No matter how much I might seem, I'm not nearly as untroubled as you think I am."

Tsuda did not answer.
However, Oen did not stop.

“Do I appear so carefree to you?”

“Ah, you look that way.”
“Extremely carefree.”

Before this half-hearted banter, Oen let out a faint sigh and said:

“How tedious it is to be a woman!”
“Why ever was I born female?”

“Complaining to me won’t help.
“You’ve nowhere to take your grievances except to your father or mother in Kyoto.”

Oen gave a bitter smile but still did not fall silent.

“Just you wait and see.”

“What?” Tsuda retorted, slightly startled.

“It doesn’t matter what—just you wait and see.”

“I’m watching, but what exactly is it?”

“That’s something I can’t say unless an actual problem arises.”

“Doesn’t being unable to say it mean you yourself don’t understand?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“What nonsense. That’s just a prophecy like clutching at clouds.”

“But mark my words—that prophecy will surely come true. Just you wait and see.”

Tsuda snorted through his nostrils. In contrast, Oen’s demeanor grew increasingly earnest.

“It’s true. I don’t know why, but lately I keep thinking—the day must come when I’ll have to summon this courage I hold inside me. Just once.”

“Once? Sometime? So what you're saying is no different from delusion.”

“No, it’s not just once in my lifetime. It’s in the near future. That ‘once’ coming a little later.”
“In the near future.”
“That ‘once’ coming a little later.”

“It will only get worse.”
“If such recklessness is displayed before your husband in the near future, I won’t be able to handle it.”

“No, it’s for your sake.”
“That’s why I’ve been saying all along—it’s courage I’m showing for your sake.”

As he gazed at Oen’s earnest face, Tsuda found himself gradually being pulled in. His nature lacked the poetic sensibility that Oen possessed. Instead, disquieting realities loomed over him from a distance. Oen’s poetic notions and what he called delusions began to stir. When the bird’s wing he had been idly toying with—having thought it dead all this time—suddenly seemed to twitch, he felt an uncanny sensation and abruptly cut short their conversation.

He took out his watch from between his sash and looked at it.

“It’s time—I should be going now.”

Having said this and risen to his feet, Oen followed him to the entranceway. She took a brown felt hat from the hat rack and placed it in his hand.

“Go on now.”
“Please don’t forget to tell Mr. Kobayashi that Oen said to give her regards.”

Without turning back, Tsuda stepped out into the cold evening air.

155

The meeting place with Kobayashi was located slightly off the main thoroughfare of Tokyo's busiest street, about halfway along its length.
To avoid the unpleasantness of being invited to Kobayashi's residence and to spare himself the trouble of visiting his lodgings, Tsuda had arranged to meet him there at a fixed time.

That appointed time had already passed while he rode the train.
Yet this tardiness—caused by changing clothes, receiving money from Oen, and engaging in brief conversation—proved insufficient to cause him any distress.
To speak plainly, he had no desire to demonstrate to Kobayashi any scrupulous meticulousness.
On the contrary, even if he made Kobayashi wait a little longer, he wanted to take down that arrogant pride a peg.
Whether called a farewell gathering or anything else, since this was fundamentally an encounter between money-giver and money-receiver, Tsuda stood undeniably as the superior party.
Therefore, maintaining that superior position with utmost resolve while establishing their respective roles beforehand served as his optimal strategy to preemptively curb Kobayashi's haughtiness.
Even as retaliation divorced from practical benefit alone, this approach held greater appeal.

In the roaring train car, he checked his watch and thought that even now, this might still be too early for the shameless Kobayashi. If he arrived too soon, he considered casually browsing the night stalls to make Kobayashi—his anticipation stretched taut with greed—wait a little longer.

When he alighted at the stop, countless lights flickering through his vision vividly conveyed the city's nocturnal bustle as they darted about in every direction. He stood amidst them, hesitating whether to walk among these lights for ten minutes before turning toward his destination. But when he pushed aside the evening paper thrust before his face and surveyed his surroundings, he couldn't suppress a start of surprise.

Kobayashi—whom he had assumed would be thoroughly exhausted from waiting by now—stood unexpectedly on the opposite side.
The location lay at one end of a crossroads separated by a single paved walkway where Tsuda had disembarked and the carriageway. Since their lines of sight failed to align properly, the flickering candlelights of night and bustling crowd conveniently obstructed mutual recognition.
Moreover, Kobayashi wasn't squarely facing this direction.
He stood conversing with a young man whom Tsuda had never met.
With only two-thirds of the youth's face and one-third of Kobayashi's visible from Tsuda's vantage point, he could observe their movements carefully from his stationary position, nearly free from detection.
The two men never glanced aside.
As their bodies—locked face-to-face in unbroken posture—burned vividly into Tsuda's vision, it grew unmistakably clear that earnest negotiations were being exchanged between them.

Behind them was a wall.
Unfortunately lacking side windows, no strong light penetrated from any direction.
Just then an automobile approached from the south, roaring loudly as it tried to round the corner.
At that moment, the two stood fully illuminated by the massive headlamp mounted on the vehicle’s front.
For the first time Tsuda could clearly perceive the young man’s features.
The pallid complexion assaulted his vision alongside shaggy hair hanging from beneath the hat’s brim—uncut for months.
The instant the automobile passed, Tsuda pivoted sharply on his heel.
Then deliberately set off in the opposite direction to avoid crossing paths with them on their sidewalk.

He had no particular purpose.
The interest of strolling past each brightly lit storefront was nothing more than the urban beauty.
Apart from the goods changing as the businesses differed, he found no complex charm whatsoever.
Nevertheless, he found visual satisfaction everywhere.
Finally, when he saw a stylish Western-style collar accessory displayed in the front of a certain imported goods store, he at last entered the establishment, took hold of the item he desired in his hands, and twisted it around.

When he decided it was time, he turned back again.
The two figures that had been standing on the sidewalk had indeed vanished.
He quickened his pace slightly.
Warm light spilled from the windows of the designated house onto the street.
With its high brick walls and windows screened by patterned cream-colored cloth that diffused the light into the night, what formed in Tsuda's mind as he gazed up from the curb was an elegant dining room graced by a mellow gas stove.

Located in a corner of a large block and, to describe it in words, rather unobtrusively situated, the restaurant was not particularly spacious.
Tsuda had discovered this place only very recently.
The reason he had invited Kobayashi there was simply that Hara had told him it was good—the chef having long served as cook for someone like a minister to France; apart from having dined there four or five times, there was no other reason.

He pushed open the door without ceremony and entered.
There, just as expected, he found Kobayashi looking somewhat at loose ends, his solemn face directed toward an evening paper or some such thing.

156

Kobayashi raised his eyes and glanced toward the entrance, but immediately dropped them back to the newspaper.
Tsuda, with no other choice, silently approached the table where he was sitting and spoke first.

“My apologies.
“I’m a bit late.
“Did I keep you waiting terribly long?”

Kobayashi finally folded the newspaper.

“You have a watch, don’t you?”

Tsuda deliberately did not take out his watch.
Kobayashi turned around and looked at the large pillar clock hanging on the front wall.
The hands were about forty minutes ahead of the appointed time.

“Actually, I’ve only just arrived myself.”

The two sat facing each other.
There were only about two groups of customers in the vicinity, and since both groups consisted of women in elaborate attire, the room was unexpectedly quiet.
Moreover, the glow from the gas stove placed about six feet away beside them imparted a pleasant warmth to the clean, white-dominated air of the room.

A strange contrast took shape in Tsuda’s mind.
The scene from the other night—the suspicious-looking bar he’d been forcibly dragged into because of Kobayashi—floated vividly before his eyes.
The fact that he had now been the one to bring that same companion here this time gave him a certain sense of satisfaction.

“So, how do you like this place? It’s rather elegant and has a pleasant atmosphere, isn’t it?”

Kobayashi looked around the surroundings as if noticing them.

“Hmm. Doesn’t look like there are any detectives here.”

“Instead, there are beautiful people here, I suppose.”

Kobayashi suddenly raised his voice.

“Those are all geishas or something.”

Having been made to feel somewhat awkward, Tsuda spoke in a scolding tone.

“Don’t talk nonsense.”

“Ah, but there’s no telling. In this world where you never know what’s lurking where.”

Tsuda lowered his voice even further.

“But geisha don’t dress like that.”

“Is that so? If you say so, then it must be true. For a country bumpkin like me, I can’t even begin to tell the difference—there’s nothing to be done about it. I just end up thinking anyone wearing a fine kimono must be a geisha.”

“Still with the sarcasm, I see.”

Tsuda let a disagreeable expression surface. Kobayashi remained unperturbed.

“No sarcasm intended. The truth is, poverty has kept me from developing an eye for such distinctions. I’m merely stating what I honestly think.”

“Then that’s just fine.”

“Even if it’s not good, there’s no helping it, I suppose. But what about the reality of it?”

“What?”

“In reality, is there truly such a distinction between what they call ‘ladies’ in this modern age and geisha?”

Tsuda had to demonstrate a demeanor that transcended childlike sincerity before this opponent who excelled at feigning ignorance. Simultaneously, he felt compelled to deliver some sharp retort. Yet he restrained himself—or rather, the words for such a rebuke simply wouldn’t come.

"This is no laughing matter."

"It’s truly no laughing matter," said Kobayashi, abruptly raising his eyes to look at Tsuda’s face.
Tsuda noticed.
Yet having realized his opponent had some ulterior motive, he had been too clever.
He lacked the resolve to feign composure and move past it.
Still, he had mastered the skill of deftly steering conversations aside without giving offense.
He had no choice but to let Kobayashi corner him.
He said.

“So, how do you find the food here?”

“The food here isn’t much different from anywhere else—for someone like me with an undeveloped palate.”

“Is it bad?”

“It isn’t bad—it’s good.”

“That’s an ideal balance. Since the chef himself handles the cooking, it might be slightly better than other places.”

“Even if the chef shows off his skills, it can’t possibly suit a palate like mine. He’d just end up crying, I tell you.”

“But if it’s good, that’s all that matters.”

“Well, if it’s good, that’s all that matters. But if you told him his ‘deliciousness’ was no different from ten-sen uniformly priced single dishes, wouldn’t the chef himself end up crying?”

Tsuda could do nothing but force a wry smile. Kobayashi continued talking by himself.

“As I am now, I’ve got no room to play the connoisseur, declaring French cuisine is delicious just because it’s French or English cuisine is bad just because it’s English."
“It’s just that it tastes good because it goes into my mouth.”

"But then you wouldn’t understand why it tastes good, would you?"

“I know that perfectly well.
“It’s just that it tastes good because I’m hungry, that’s all.”
"What’s the use of logic or loofahs anyway?”

Tsuda was silenced once more.
However, when the prolonged silence between them began pressing heavily on his chest, he found himself compelled to open his mouth again—only to have Kobayashi immediately seize the initiative.

157

“To someone as perceptive as you, a dullard like me might deserve contempt in every way.”
“I know that full well—I accept being scorned as my due.”
“But I too have my own arguments to make.”
“This dullness isn’t necessarily born of natural incapacity.”
“Give me time! Give me money!”
“Then watch what sort of man emerges before your eyes!”

At this point, the alcohol had taken greater hold in Kobayashi’s system.
In his bluster that hovered ambiguously between jest and sincerity, there now appeared a melancholic dissipation deliberately amplified by intoxication.
Tsuda found himself compelled to acknowledge the validity of his opponent’s words directly while recognizing the need to match his conversational pace.

“That’s precisely as you say.”
“That’s why I sympathize with you.”
“You must at least understand that much.”
“Otherwise I’d never have gone through the trouble of arranging this farewell dinner for your Korea trip.”

“Thank you.”

“No, it’s not a lie. In fact, I even explained the reason thoroughly to Oen recently.”

A look of suspicion glinted in Kobayashi’s eyes beneath his brows.

“Oh? Really. Is that so? Defending me in front of your wife like that—it seems you still have a shred of your old kindness left in you. But that… What did your wife say?”

Tsuda silently put his hand into his pocket.
Kobayashi watched this motion and deliberately added, as if to stop it.

“Ah, ha.
“So you needed to defend me after all.”
“I thought something wasn’t right.”

Tsuda withdrew his hand from his pocket.
He had meant to say “Oen’s answer is here” and hand over the neatly prepared money, but hesitated.
Instead, he redirected the conversation.

“Ultimately, people are products of their circumstances.”

“I maintain it’s all about one’s reserves.”

Tsuda did not resist.

“You could say it all hinges on one’s reserves.”

“I’ve lived my entire life up to today on the razor’s edge. How do you suppose someone like me—who’s never known what reserves even are—differs from those raised in utter luxury and self-indulgence?”

Tsuda gave a thin smile.
Kobayashi was serious.

“You’re standing right here without needing to think about it.”
“You and I.”
“Compare us side by side and you’ll see immediately—the results of lives shaped by financial reserves and desperate urgency.”

Tsuda nodded inwardly in partial agreement.
But just as he concluded there was no merit in hearing such grievances now, Kobayashi pressed onward.

“So what do you think? I’m constantly despised by you—not just you, but by your wife too, by everyone. No—wait, there’s more to say. It’s a fact—a fact you know well, and I know well. It’s all exactly as I told you before. But there’s one thing here that neither you nor your wife have yet understood. Of course, even if I told you this now, it wouldn’t change our positions—there’s no helping that—but if I go to Korea now, I may never live to meet you again...”

Kobayashi showed signs of mild agitation at this point in his speech, but immediately added with candor, "Though considering it's me we're talking about—once I actually go to Korea, it might prove unexpectedly disappointing, and I can't say I won't grow weary and come straight back," making Tsuda burst into involuntary laughter.
Kobayashi himself, having briefly faltered, started afresh.

“Well, since this might serve as reference for your future life, listen well.”
“To tell the truth, just as you despise me, I too despise you.”

“I know that.”

“No—you don’t understand.
“You may grasp the consequences of contempt, but its true meaning hasn’t reached you or your wife yet.”
“So in return for tonight’s kindness, I’ll properly explain it as my farewell.”
“How about it?”

“Very well.”

“Even if it’s worthless, a penniless man like me has nothing else to leave behind—there’s no alternative.”

“So that’s fine.”

“Will you listen quietly? If you’re going to listen, then I’ll tell you. I’m the sort of man who can devour this French cuisine you’re treating me to now and still find that cheap bar’s sake from the other night—the one where I got scolded for inviting you—equally palatable with my indiscriminate palate.”

“That’s what you despise, isn’t it?”

“Yet I take pride in precisely that point, and in turn despise you who despise me.”

“Understand? Have you grasped what that means?”

“Consider this—between you and me, which of us is constrained and which is free in this regard?”

“Which of us is happy, and which feels more fettered?”

“Which one stands firm and which wavers?”

“From my perspective, your stance perpetually falters.”

“You lack settled conviction.”

“You endlessly avoid what displeases you while recklessly pursuing whatever catches your fancy.”

“And why do you suppose that is?”

“For no reason beyond your having too much freedom.”

“Because you possess the luxury to complain.”

“Because unlike me—driven into desperate straits—you cannot reach that state of mind where one says ‘to hell with it all’ and lets matters take their course.”

Tsuda had been glaring down at his opponent from the outset.
Yet he could not deny the truth.
Kobayashi had indeed been fashioned into someone far more brazen than himself.

158

However, Kobayashi’s lecture was not yet finished. Having closely observed Tsuda’s demeanor, he suddenly circled back to an unexpected point. It was none other than the problem that had been briefly touched upon between them at the start of their meeting, only to be swiftly swept away by the surrounding momentum.

“My meaning has already gotten through to you.”
“Yet you still don’t seem convinced.”
“A contradiction.”
“I know why.”
“First—the fact that your opponent is me, a man with no status, position, wealth or stable profession—that’s what troubles your refined sensibilities.”
“If this same argument came from Mrs.Yoshikawa or someone of her standing, no matter how trivial, you’d straighten your collar and listen properly.”
“This isn’t some petty grudge of mine—it’s an irrefutable fact.”
“But you must consider this—”
“That it’s precisely because it’s me saying it.”
“You should realize that even the Doctor and Madam fall short in this regard.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“There’s no particular reason.”
“However poor the Doctor becomes, he still hasn’t tasted my particular brand of experience.”
“Let alone those who’ve lived even more comfortably than him—how much less could they understand!”

Even Tsuda wasn’t quite sure who "those people" referred to.
He simply assumed in his mind it must mean Mrs. Yoshikawa or Okamoto, and left it at that.
In reality, Kobayashi gave no opening for such questions and briskly pressed onward.

"Second point."
"Your present circumstances keep you from feeling any need to heed what I’ve said—call it advice, warning, or mere information, it matters not."
"Your head comprehends, but your heart remains unconvinced—that’s your current state."
"In short, you might dismiss this as inevitable given our disparity, but my true aim is to make you notice that very disparity—understand?"
"Differences in human circumstance or social standing amount to little."
"Properly speaking, ten people all repeat nearly identical experiences through different forms."
"To clarify—I observe through eyes most urgent to me, you through eyes most convenient to you. That’s the extent of our difference."
"So when the fortunate grow flustered, lose their way, or trip—why, their eyes’ hue shifts instantly."
"But however their eyes’ color changes, they can’t shift their eyes’ position."
"In short—should misfortune strike you someday, you’ll inevitably recall this advice of mine—that’s all."

“Well then, I’ll make sure to remember that and not forget.”
“Yeah, don’t you forget it—something will surely come back to you.”

“Very well.”
“Noted.”

“But no matter how much you understand, it won’t work—how absurd it is.”

Kobayashi suddenly burst out laughing after saying this.
Tsuda didn’t understand the meaning of that.
Kobayashi explained without being asked.

“Suppose you suddenly realize it at that moment, understand? Then could you transform in an instant with a shout of ‘Hey!’ when that time comes? Could you change into someone like me in a flash?”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“You do know—you understand perfectly well. Of course you can’t become like me. Though I say it myself, reaching this point required rigorous training. However dull-witted I may be, I’ve paid my dues in blood to become who I am now.”

Tsuda was irritated by Kobayashi's self-satisfaction. What exactly had this bastard managed to grasp by shedding his dog-like poisonous blood? Having thought this, he deliberately showed a look of contempt on his face as he asked:

"Then why make me listen to all this? Even if I remembered it, it wouldn't do any good when the time comes."

"It won't do any good. But isn't it better than not listening at all?"

"Not listening would be better by far!"

Kobayashi leaned back against his chair with a delighted expression and burst into laughter.

“There! That’s exactly the reaction I wanted!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not saying anything special—just stating facts. But I’ll explain anyway. Soon enough, when you’re cornered and helpless, you’ll remember my words. You’ll remember them, but won’t be able to act on them at all. Then you’ll wish you’d never heard such things in the first place.”

Tsuda made a displeased face.

“Idiot! If you do that, what’s supposed to happen?”

“Nothing will come of it. In other words, that’s precisely when my revenge against your contempt will first be realized.”

Tsuda rephrased his question.

“Do you really hold such hostility toward me?”

“What? No, no! Hostility? Far from it—I’m acting with nothing but goodwill here. But the fact remains that you’ll always hold me in contempt, no matter how much time passes. Even if I were to point out the reverse—that from my perspective, there are contemptible aspects about you too—you’d just remain serenely composed up on your high perch, wouldn’t you? When words fail, it comes down to action. So I’ve no choice but to settle this through actual confrontation—that’s all there is to it.”

“I see, I understand.—So that’s all you have to say?”

“What? Not at all.
Now I’m finally getting to the main point.”

Tsuda watched with mild exasperation as Kobayashi pressed the Western-style cup to his lips and gulped down the beer in one go.

159

Before continuing his words, Kobayashi set down the Western-style cup and first surveyed the room. Among the guests accompanied by women, one companion was wiping her hands—which had eaten fruit from the finger bowl—with a beautiful handkerchief drawn from her sleeve. Across from him, a man of about twenty-five or twenty-six who had taken a seat diagonally opposite and had been stealing glances at them from time to time was holding a coffee cup in his hand, gazing at the smoke from the cigarette a man was exhaling, and talking incessantly about the theater. Both parties, having arrived earlier than them, appeared to have their meals progressing in line with the order in which they would leave before them—it was at that moment Kobayashi spoke.

“Oh, perfect timing. You’re still here.”

Tsuda was startled once more. Kobayashi was sure to say something that would offend them, making certain they could hear it.

“Hey, that’s enough—stop it already.”

“I haven’t said anything yet, have I?”

“That’s why I’m warning you. I can endure any amount of attacks on me, but please refrain from badmouthing unrelated people in a place like this.”

“You’re being overly cautious. You probably mean you can’t stand this place being lumped together with some dive bar in the outskirts, right?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel, then inviting a ruffian like me to a place like this was a mistake.”

“Then do as you please.”

“While telling me to do as I please with your mouth, you’re secretly anxious inside, aren’t you?”

Tsuda fell silent.
Kobayashi laughed with amusement.

“I won, I won! How about it? You’ve surrendered, haven’t you?”

“If that’s what you consider winning, then by all means keep thinking you’ve won.”

“In return, I'll despise you even more from now on—so you can go on thinking that.”
“I don’t give a damn about your contempt.”

“If you don’t think so, then don’t.”
“What a persistent man.”

Kobayashi stared at Tsuda’s sullen face as though peering into it and said:

“So, figured it out yet?
“This is actual combat, see?
“No matter how much reserve you’ve got, what wealthy connections you keep—no matter how high you hold your nose—once defeated in battle, that’s your end.
“That’s why I keep saying: folk who ain’t been forged through real hardship might as well be wooden puppets.”

“Exactly! In this world, no one can match a seasoned cynic and a drunkard.”

Kobayashi, who should have responded, instead looked around at the female companions once more before speaking.

“Now comes the third point.”
“I have to say this before those women leave.”
“Listen up—this is a continuation of what we were discussing earlier.”

Tsuda turned away in silence.
Kobayashi remained unfazed.

"Thirdly.
To rephrase—if we're getting to the main point.
Earlier I grabbed those women and asked if they were geisha, only to get scolded by you.
You berated me as some uncouth savage who doesn't understand propriety toward proper ladies.
Fine—I am a savage.
Since I'm a savage, I can't distinguish geisha from ladies of quality.
So I asked you—what exactly differentiates a geisha from a lady of quality?"

While saying this, Kobayashi directed his gaze a third time toward the women companions.
The person who had been wiping their hands with a handkerchief stood up as if it were a signal.
The remaining person also called the waiter and settled the bill.

“They’ve finally left. If we’d waited a bit longer, we would have reached the interesting part—what a shame.”

Kobayashi watched the departing women’s retreating figures.

“Oh dear, is the other one leaving too? Well, can’t be helped—looks like you’re my only company after all.”

He turned back toward Tsuda again.

“That's exactly where the problem lies, you see. When I can't distinguish French cuisine from English and brag about mixing excrement with miso, you refuse to take me seriously. You act like it's just a matter of appetite and dismiss it as trivial. But in essence, they're all the same thing. Whether it's my underdeveloped palate or confusing geisha with ladies of high society—”

Tsuda rolled his eyes as if to say "So what?" and looked at Kobayashi.

“Therefore, I’m saying the conclusion must converge to a single point.”
“Just as I, though despised by you in matters of taste, assert that I am happier than you, so too in distinguishing women, though despised by you, I declare without hesitation that I stand in a freer position than you.”
“In other words, I’m saying that the more a man has the discernment to distinguish that one’s a geisha and this one’s a lady of quality, the more his suffering increases.”
“Why do you think that is?”
“In the end, you’ll grow sick of that one and fed up with this one.”
“Or perhaps you’ll end up insisting it has to be this one, it has to be that one.”
“How unbearably stifling!”

“But if you like such stifling, there’s no helping it.”

“There it is—finally. When it comes to food, you won’t engage, but bring up women and you just can’t stay silent—seems that way, doesn’t it? That’s exactly it! That’s the real issue I’m about to tackle now.”

“That’s enough.”

“No—it seems we’re not quite done yet.”

The two exchanged glances and smiled wryly.

160

Kobayashi skillfully drew Tsuda in.
Having realized this, Tsuda—with his own considerations—allowed himself to be deliberately drawn in by Kobayashi.
The two men were finally forced into a precarious position.

“For example,” he began.
“You were infatuated with that woman, Ms. Kiyoko.”
“For a while there, you were going on as if everything had to be about that woman.”
“Not only that—you must have interpreted it as if she too believed there was no other man in the world but you.”
“But how did that turn out?”

“The result is as you see now.”

“Aren’t you being quite indifferent about it now?”

“What else can I do?”

“No—there must be something. Even if there were something, you’d just put on airs and act all refined. Otherwise, you’re hiding it from me and still up to something even now, aren’t you?”

“Don’t talk nonsense. If you keep spouting such nonsense recklessly, it’ll lead to a terrible misunderstanding. Be more careful.”

“The truth is—” Kobayashi began, then looked as though he were asking whether Tsuda knew what came next.
Tsuda immediately wanted to ask.

“What did you actually do?”

“The truth is, I told your wife everything recently.”

Tsuda's expression changed instantly.

"What?"

Kobayashi paused for a while, remaining silent as if chewing over his opponent’s tone and expression.
However, when he presented his response, he had already completely changed his attitude.

"Just kidding."
"Actually, it was a lie."
"There’s no need to worry like that."

“I’m not worried.”
“Even if you bring that up at this point—”

“You’re not worried?
“I see. Then mine is true as well.”
“Actually, it’s true.”
“I spilled everything.”

“Idiot!”

Tsuda’s voice was unexpectedly loud.
The waitress, who had been sitting properly in her chair, slightly raised her head and turned her eyes toward them, so Kobayashi immediately seized on this.

“You'll startle the lady—keep it down a bit.
Drinking with a ruffian like you damages my reputation—it simply won’t do.”

He looked toward the waitress and smiled.
The woman also smiled.
Tsuda couldn’t remain the only one angry.
Kobayashi immediately took advantage of that opportunity.

“So how did that whole affair end up, I wonder.”
“I never asked for details, and you never spoke about it—or have I forgotten?”
“Not that I particularly care—but did she flee from you, or did you flee from her?”

“That’s precisely what shouldn’t concern you at all.”

“Well, it’s only natural that I wouldn’t care.”
“And I don’t actually care.”
“But for you, that won’t do.”
“You must be making a big deal about it.”

“That’s only natural.”

“That’s precisely why I’ve been saying all along.”
“You have too much margin.”
“That very margin drives you to excessive luxury.”
“And what happens as a result? The moment you obtain what you desire, you immediately crave the next thing.”
“When what you desire slips away, you stamp your feet in vexation.”

“When have I ever acted like that?”

“You certainly did.
And you’re actually doing it right now.
That’s precisely why your margin is coming back to haunt you.
That’s precisely what I find most gratifying.
It’s the principle of karmic retribution—poverty taking revenge on wealth, isn’t it?”

“If you insist on evaluating others through your own fabricated framework from the outset, then that settles it.
It’s simply that I have no need to explain myself.”

“I haven’t fabricated any framework myself at all.
Even this is me trying to point out the real you.
If you don’t get it, should I show you with facts?”

Tsuda, who had neither told him to explain nor not to explain, ultimately had to be made to listen.

"You married Oen based on your own preferences, didn’t you? But you aren’t satisfied with her at all now, are you?"

"But given that nothing in this world is perfect, isn’t that also unavoidable?"

“Using that as your excuse, you’re planning to go searching for something better, aren’t you?”

“Don’t spout such vile nonsense—how dare you! You truly are the scoundrel you claim to be. Whether it’s the vulgar sarcasm in your observations or the blunt crudeness in your words and actions—”

“And that is precisely why it deserves your contempt.”

“Of course.”

“There, see? That’s exactly why mere words won’t cut it. You’ll never grasp it without real combat. I’ll make a prophecy—just wait and see. The battle will begin any moment now. That’s when you’ll finally understand what it means that I’m not your enemy.”

“It doesn’t matter—being beaten by a jaded old hand like you is an honor for me.”

“Stubborn, aren’t you? You’re not fighting me at all.”

“Then who am I fighting?”

“You’re already waging war within yourself right now. It’s only a matter of time before that inner battle spills out into action. That comfortable margin of yours will drive you into a losing battle with no real role to play.”

Tsuda abruptly pulled a wallet from his breast pocket and thrust before Kobayashi the money he had brought as a parting gift after consulting with Oen.

“I’ll hand it over now, so take it. The more I talk with you, the more I just want to back out of this promise—that’s why.”

Kobayashi carefully unfolded the two folded new ten-yen bills and counted them.

“There are three here.”

161

Kobayashi tossed what he had received, still bare and unfolded, carelessly into his suit's inner pocket. Just as his movements were composed, so too was his manner of giving thanks insolent.

“Thanks. I intend to borrow this, but you likely mean it as a gift. After all, you’ve acknowledged from the start—with contempt—that I’ve no means to return it, nor any intention to.”

Tsuda answered.

“Of course I did. But once you take it, even someone like you won’t be able to ignore your own contradiction.”

“Nah, I don’t notice a thing. What exactly is this contradiction? Is receiving money from you the contradiction?”

“Not exactly,” said Tsuda, assuming a condescending manner. “Just think it through. That money was in my wallet until just now. And in the blink of an eye, it was transferred to the lining of your inner pocket. If you dislike such novelistic terms, shall I state it more plainly? Who suddenly transferred the ownership of that money from me to you? Answer me.”

“You did. You gave it to me.”

“No, not me.”

“What nonsense are you spouting—like some Zen monk’s sleep-talking? Then who was it?”

“No one. It was your margin. The very margin you’ve been attacking since earlier gave it to me. So by silently accepting it, you’re trashing the concept of margin with your words while actually bowing down before that very margin. Isn’t that a contradiction?”

Kobayashi blinked several times before saying this.

“I see—if you put it that way, I suppose that’s how it is.”
“But there’s something off about this.”
“Honestly, I don’t feel like I’m bowing my head before this so-called margin at all.”

“Then give it back.”

Tsuda thrust his hand toward Kobayashi’s nose.
Kobayashi looked at that palm, which appeared as soft as a woman’s.

“No, I won’t give it back.
The margin doesn’t tell me to return it.”

Tsuda laughed and withdrew his hand.

“There you go.”

“What ‘there you go’? It seems you don’t quite grasp what it means that the margin doesn’t tell me to return it. You poor little aristocrat!”

Kobayashi said this and, turning sideways to look toward the entrance, added another remark.

“He should be here by now.”

Tsuda, who had been closely watching his behavior, was somewhat startled.

“Who’s coming?”
“No one special—just someone with even less margin than me.”

Kobayashi ostentatiously tapped his hidden pocket where he had stowed the exposed paper money.

“The margin that passed this from you to me doesn’t tell me to give it back.
It orders me to pass it along properly to someone with even less margin than me.
Margin’s like water.
It flows from high to low, but never reverses from low to high.”

Tsuda nearly grasped the meaning of Kobayashi’s words.
Yet he couldn’t grasp their substance.
Thus he sank into a restless state, half-sober and half-drunk.
Then Kobayashi’s next declaration came crashing in.

“I bow before margin, acknowledge my contradictions, and accept your sophistry. I don’t care about any of it. I’ll thank you, I’ll show my gratitude.”

He suddenly began shedding tears in big drops. This abrupt change made Tsuda, who was already somewhat startled, even more uneasy. Unable to help recalling the scene from the bar where he had been harassed the other night, he frowned and simultaneously realized that now was the moment to use his opponent.

"Why would I expect gratitude from you? You're the one who's forgotten the past. The fact that I'm still acting as I always have is being interpreted by you in completely the opposite way, which is only making our association increasingly troublesome. For instance—when you went to my house while I was out to retrieve your coat and took that opportunity to say something to my wife—"

Having said this much, Tsuda subtly tried to gauge his opponent's reaction. However, because Kobayashi was looking downward, he could not at all fathom the transformative shift in his feelings.

“There’s no reason I’d go out of my way to meddle in a friend’s marriage.”

“I don’t recall saying anything about you.”

“But earlier…”

“That was just banter.
You started sneering first, so I sneered back.”

“I don’t care who began it.
It would’ve been simpler if you’d just told me the truth.”

“That’s precisely what I’ve been saying!
I’ve repeated countless times that I said nothing about you.
Why not interrogate my wife if you doubt me?”

"Oen..."

"What did you say?"

"It's because she won't say anything that it's problematic."
"If she keeps her thoughts bottled up without speaking out, I can neither defend myself nor explain anything—so I'm left stranded."

"I won't say anything."
"The real issue lies in whether you'll start conducting yourself properly as a husband from now on."

"I—"

When Tsuda began this retort, footsteps approached and a newly arrived figure stood beside their dining table.

162

When Tsuda realized this was the long-haired youth who had been conversing with Kobayashi earlier at the main street corner, he was startled anew. Yet within that surprise lingered an implicit expectation he had unconsciously harbored toward this man. To articulate Tsuda's sensation plainly, it manifested as a contradiction between his conviction that such a person had no place being here and his simultaneous presumption that if anyone were to arrive, it could only be this very individual.

To tell the truth, when illuminated by the automobile's lamplight, this person's image reflected in his eyes struck Tsuda as peculiar.
As his gaze shifted from himself to Kobayashi and then to this youth, he recognized a considerable distance between them in various aspects—class, ideology, occupation, attire, and other points.
Inevitably, Tsuda had to observe him from afar.
Yet the more he gazed at him from a distance, the more urgently he felt compelled to commit him to memory.

"I wonder if Kobayashi associates with people like that."

Having thought this, Tsuda surveyed his own situation of not associating with such individuals and considered himself relatively fortunate, which naturally shaped his clear attitude toward the newcomer. He suddenly made a face as if greeted by someone dubious.

The youth who had removed his floppy hat with its upturned narrow brim and now held it in hand sat down beside Kobayashi, his eyes gleaming unnaturally. He appeared uneasy toward Tsuda—a nervous glint born from mingled resentment, fear, and the untamed pride of one raised beyond social graces. Tsuda grew increasingly uncomfortable. Kobayashi addressed the youth.

“Hey, take off that cloak already.”

The young man silently stood up again.
Then he smoothly took off his long cloak, which resembled a temple bell, and threw it over the back of the chair.

“This is my friend.”

Kobayashi introduced the young man to Tsuda for the first time.
The surname Hara and the designation of artist finally reached Tsuda's ears.

“What happened? Did it go well?”

This was Kobayashi’s next question.
Yet there was no time for this inquiry to receive a proper response.
Kobayashi immediately continued.

“It’s no use.
“Hopeless with a guy like that—bound to be.
“How could some nobody like that ever understand your art?
“Just sit down and eat something.”

Kobayashi abruptly flipped his knife over and began pounding on the table.

“Hey! Bring this man something to eat!”

Soon, Hara’s Western-style goblet was filled to the brim with beer.

Silently observing this scene, Tsuda finally realized his original business here had concluded.
Judging it unbearable to prolong this company any further, he sought an opportune moment to take his leave.
Then Kobayashi suddenly turned toward him.

“Hara paints good pictures, you know. Buy one of his paintings. He’s in a bind right now—it’s pitiable.”

“Is that so?”

“How about I bring them to your house next Sunday to show you?”

Tsuda was startled.

“I don’t understand things like paintings.”

“No, that can’t be right. Hey, Hara. Just take them over and show him anyway.”

“If it’s not too much trouble,”

It was naturally a nuisance for Tsuda.

“I’m someone with absolutely no interest in things like paintings or sculptures, so please.”

The young man looked wounded.
Kobayashi immediately came to his defense.

“Don’t lie.
There are actually few men in society with as rich an appreciation as you.”

Tsuda couldn’t help but force a wry smile.

“You’re spouting nonsense again—don’t mock me.”

“I’m stating facts—why would I mock you?
Someone like you with such a refined ability to appreciate women couldn’t possibly neglect art.
Hey Hara, since you like women, you’re bound to like art too.
No matter how much you try to hide it, it’s no use.”

Tsuda was gradually becoming unable to endure it any longer.

“Since this conversation seems likely to drag on, I’ll take my leave first—Miss, the bill.”

As the waiter moved to stand, Kobayashi halted him with a loud voice and turned back to Tsuda.

“He’s just completed a truly excellent piece.
“Hara stopped by here after consulting about its value with a prospective buyer—what better opportunity could there be?
“You absolutely must purchase it.
“My view is that artists shouldn’t sell to those insolent types who exploit their position to haggle ruthlessly.
“In return, I’d promised earlier at that corner to find you a proper buyer if you came here afterward—to be frank.
“So I’ll take one off your hands myself—not that this changes anything, mind you.”

“Before you’ve shown me any paintings or anything else first, making such arrangements on your own is useless, isn’t it?”

“I’ll show you the paintings—didn’t you bring them home today?”

“They told me to wait a little longer, so I left them there.”

“You’re an idiot. In the end, they’ll just fleece you for nothing.”

Tsuda listened to this exchange and sighed in relief.

163

The two men left Tsuda aside and talked incessantly about paintings. Alongside the strange names he occasionally heard like the Triangle School and Futurists, he was subjected to numerous katakana terms he had never encountered before. Finding no interest in any of it, he effectively extricated himself from the conversation’s periphery without needing expulsion. All this was tedious enough on its own, yet there remained one more thing actively irritating Tsuda. He had treated these two before him—especially Kobayashi—from the start as dilettantes who recklessly brandished new artistic trends. He layered their pretentiously expert attitudes atop this prejudice and observed them. When it began appearing that making the ignorant Tsuda envious was nearly their very purpose, he started rising again from the seat he’d reluctantly settled into. Then Kobayashi stopped him once more.

“It won’t be long. I’ll go with you—just wait.”

“Well, it’s getting too late...”

“There’s no need to put others through such embarrassment.
“Or are you saying that waiting until Mr. Hara eats everything up would compromise a gentleman’s reputation?”

Hara placed the chopped salad on top of the ham and stopped his hand that had pierced it with a meat fork.

“Please don’t trouble yourself.”

As Tsuda returned a slight bow and was on the verge of standing up, Kobayashi spoke almost as if muttering to himself.

“What on earth do you think this gathering is?”
“You go declaring it a farewell party and inviting others, only to abandon the guest of honor and leave first—it’s revolting how this world has people who’d deal such insults.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“If it wasn’t your intention, then stay a while longer.”

“I have some business to attend to.”
“I’ve got some business myself.”
“If it’s about paintings, I’ll pass.”
“I won’t say you have to buy them.”
“Don’t be so cheap.”

“Then hurry up and take care of that business.”

“You can’t just stand there. You’ve got to sit properly like a gentleman.”

With no other choice, Tsuda sat back down and took out a cigarette from his sleeve pocket, lighting it. When he suddenly looked, the ashtray was already filled to the brim with the remains of Shikishima cigarettes. It suddenly occurred to Tsuda that nothing could be more fitting as a memento of tonight. When he thought that even this cigarette he was about to smoke would within three minutes or less transform into nothing but ash, smoke, and a filter—leaving only useless coldness on the plate—he felt an inexplicably unpleasant sensation.

“What’s this business you’re talking about? Surely you’re not hitting me up for money again?”

"That's why I've been telling you since earlier—don't say such stingy things."

Kobayashi gripped the right front of his suit with his right hand and thrust his left hand into the inner pocket. He kept his eyes glued to Tsuda's face the whole time, moving his inserted hand behind the suit lining as if groping through darkness. Suddenly, an outlandish scene materialized in Tsuda's mind. Simultaneously, a strange delusion grazed faintly through his heart like the smoke from the cigarette he was currently inhaling.

"Isn't this guy about to pull a pistol from his pocket? And isn't he planning to shove it right under my nose?"

When this theatrical moment faintly stirred his premonition, the tips of his nerves trembled like slender twigs teased by an invisible wind. Simultaneously, the force of reason—which sneered at the absurdity of this self-constructed fantasy drama—had already begun working at his core.

“What are you looking for?”

“Well, there’s all sorts of things mixed in here. Unless I carefully feel around with my fingertips to find it, I can’t just haphazardly present anything to you.”

“If you mistakenly pull out some bill you stuffed in there earlier, that’d be awkward.”

“No, the bill’s fine.
“Because unlike other scraps of paper, it’s alive.
“If I feel around like this with my hand, I can tell right away.
“It’s friskily hopping about inside the inner pocket.”

Kobayashi kept up his stream of banter while deliberately holding out an empty hand.

“Oh, it’s not here. How strange.”

He thrust his right hand into the outer breast pocket on his left chest.
However, all he pulled out from there was a crumpled, slightly soiled handkerchief.
"What, planning to use some magic trick with that handkerchief?"

Kobayashi did not pay any attention to Tsuda’s words.
With a serious expression, he stood up while slapping both hips simultaneously, then abruptly spoke.

“Yeah, it was here.”

What he pulled out from the hidden pocket of his Western trousers was a letter.

“Actually, I want you to read this thing.
And since I won’t have another chance to meet you for some time, it has to be tonight.
While I talk with Mr. Hara, read this quickly.
It’s nothing complicated—just a bit long, is all.”

Tsuda’s hand moved almost mechanically as he received the sealed letter.

164

The letter, scrawled in pen across manuscript paper, was in length alone certainly more than twice the norm.
Not only that, but while the addressee was unmistakably Kobayashi, the sender was someone whom Tsuda had neither seen nor heard of—a complete stranger.
After reading both sides of the envelope, Tsuda wondered what connection this could possibly have to him.
Yet a certain curiosity that arose alongside his cold indifference immediately guided his hand.
Having pulled out the ruled paper with ten lines of twenty characters each from the envelope, he cast his eyes upon it and read through it in one go.

"I have come to regret ever coming here.
You must think me terribly impatient, but this stems from an inherent difference in our natures—there's nothing to be done about it.
Rather than dismiss me with 'Again?', please hear me out.
'Since it's just women here and unsafe at night,' he said, 'come stay until the bank matters are settled and keep watch. Write your novel if you like. Bring your own lunch when going to the library. Study painting in the afternoons.'
'Soon I'll move the bank to Tokyo and enroll you in a foreign language school. Don't worry about household affairs—I'll provide relocation funds.' I was lured by these generous promises.
Though I didn't take every word at face value, I convinced myself some portion must be true.
But upon arriving, none materialized—it was lies from start to finish.
Not only was my uncle frequently in Tokyo himself, but he made me serve as his live-in student substitute—running errands from dawn till dusk.
'Our live-in student,' he calls me—even before guests—right to my face.
Thus everything became my duty: fetching his sake portions by the shō to scrubbing verandas.
I never received a single sen.
When my one-yen geta split apart, he bought twelve-sen replacements and forced them on my feet.
He promised funds tomorrow while relocating my family to my sister's—then after moving us, never mentioned money again—leaving me homeless."

Uncle's work piled up like a mountain.
There wasn't a penny to be found.
And they were both utterly cold-hearted and miserly.
When I first came here, driven by hunger, I'd return to my sister's house every three days or so to get fed.
There were times when provisions ran out and I survived on roasted sweet potatoes and regular potatoes.
This was just me, of course.
Aunt was a thoroughly unpleasant woman.
Everything was calculated and superficial—she'd fuss over every little thing, poking and prodding until I felt stabbed from all sides.
Uncle drank sake constantly despite having no money.
When visiting the countryside, he'd put on airs like some country lord.
But behind closed doors? Nothing but shock after shock.
Lawsuits piled up left and right.
Every time I needed to leave town, I'd scramble to pawnshops or beg my sister for train fare—all while Uncle sat there unbothered, probably planning to deduct it from my living expenses.

"Aunt must have assumed from the start that I could support myself by writing manuscripts or such. Whenever I hold a pen, she makes snide remarks like, 'What exactly will become of all that writing?' She shoves 'Office Clerk Wanted' ads from the newspaper's job listings at me while hinting at things.

When I see these patterns repeating endlessly, I become completely unable to comprehend why I ever came here. I find myself driven to strange thoughts. The bizarre, shapeless existence of this household and its endlessly shifting peculiarities—from morning till night, it feels like being trapped in a terrifying dream that haunts my thoughts.

When I realize others would never understand even if I explained, I can only believe I alone in this world am encircled by demons, leaving me even more desolate—sometimes feeling on the verge of madness. Or rather, when I start suspecting I might already be mad, unbearable terror seizes me.

In this dungeon of earth where I suffer, there's no sunlight—I might as well have no hands or feet. Because even if I raise my arms or move my legs, everything remains pitch black around me. However desperately I cry out, thick cold walls prevent my voice from reaching the world.

Now I stand utterly alone under heaven.
I have no friends.
Even if they do exist, it's as though they don't.
Because no one with the intellect to touch my ghost-like state of mind could possibly exist.

I wrote this letter overwhelmed by anguish.
Not to beg for salvation.
I know your circumstances.
I haven't the faintest desire to receive material aid from your direction.

If even a fraction of this pain could flow through the veins of human kindness within you and stir ripples of sympathy—that alone would satisfy me.
Through that, I might clutch proof that I still exist in society as human.

Is there not even one slender beam of light piercing this demonic siege to reach humanity's expanse?"

"I am now doubting even that.
And I want to resolve that doubt based on whether a reply comes from you or not."

The letter had ended there.

165

At that moment, the ash from the cigarette he had lit and begun smoking earlier had grown to nearly an inch in length without his noticing and plopped onto the ruled paper.
Tsuda, visually struck by the scattered powder across the blue vertical and horizontal lines, suddenly realized he had kept his cigarette-holding hand motionless all that time.
Or rather, his mouth and hand had at some point forgotten the cigarette's existence.
Since finishing the letter and dropping the ash weren't simultaneous acts, he had to acknowledge the vague, empty time that had intervened between them.

What purpose had that empty time served?
To begin with, nothing had been more distant from Tsuda than this letter.
First, he did not know its author.
Second, he could not begin to fathom what relationship existed between this writer and Kobayashi.
As for its contents, they described matters so removed from his own position and circumstances that they might as well have belonged to another world.

Yet his impressions could not end there.
Somewhere within him, he thought, "Hm?"
Until now, he had been looking only ahead, having concluded that the world existed here, when suddenly he was compelled to turn around.
And he came to a halt to scrutinize this existence that stood in opposition to himself.
Then, Ahhh—the realization that this too was human arose as he gazed at something ghost-like he had never encountered until now.
The fact that what was extremely distant in relation had instead been close in relation appeared before his eyes.

He stopped there.
And he paced back and forth.
But he did not take a single step further than that.
He had only come to understand this eerie letter in his own way.

When he brushed the cigarette ash off the manuscript paper, Kobayashi, who had been talking to Hara about something, immediately turned toward him.
A single phrase that seemed to conclude their business discussion reached his ears.

“Oh, it’s fine.
It’ll sort itself out eventually; you don’t need to worry.”

Tsuda silently held out the letter toward Kobayashi.
Kobayashi asked before taking it.

“Did you read it?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

Tsuda did not answer.
However, he felt it necessary to at least confirm the other party’s main intention.

“Why on earth did you make me read that?”

Kobayashi retorted.

“What on earth do you think was the reason I made you read it?”

"The person who wrote this is someone I don't know, isn't he?"

"Of course you don't know him."

"Even if I don't need to know him, does this concern me in any way?"

"Is it about this man? Or this letter?"

"It makes no difference either way."

"What do you think?"

Tsuda hesitated again.
In truth, this was evidence that the letter's meaning had gotten through to him.
To put it more clearly, his awareness that he had interpreted the letter in his own way had similarly dulled his response.
After a while, he spoke.

"If it's the meaning you're implying, then it has absolutely nothing to do with me."

"What do you mean by 'the meaning I'm referring to'?"

"Don't you understand?"

"I don't understand.
Try saying it."

"No—well, let's drop it."

Tsuda suspected Kobayashi was thrusting this letter before him with the same implication as the earlier picture. That someone would first reduce him to a complete material victim, then adopt this sneering attitude of "Look at you finally surrendering!" was an intolerable insult. No matter how much they tried to intimidate him with poverty's specter, his defiant resolve naturally exerted its influence over Kobayashi.

“Instead of that, why don’t you manfully explain your main intention to me?”

“Manfully?”
“Hunh,” said Kobayashi, pausing his words before adding.

“Alright, I’ll explain it to you. This person, this letter—even its contents—none of it concerns you. But socially speaking, understand? To prevent any misunderstanding about what ‘socially’ means, I’ll clarify that too. You bear no obligations from conventional society regarding this letter’s contents.”

“Isn’t that obvious?”

“That’s exactly why I’m saying it’s socially irrelevant. But why not broaden your moral perspective a bit more?”

“No matter how broad I make it, I don’t feel any obligation to give money.”

“Naturally—given your character. But you would feel some sympathy?”

“Of course that would happen.”

“That suffices for me. To feel sympathy means essentially wanting to give money. Yet since you actually don’t want to give it, anxiety arises from your conscience’s struggle. My purpose has already been fully achieved with that.”

Having said this, Kobayashi put the letter into his hidden pouch and, at the same time, took out all three of the banknotes from the same place and arranged them on the dining table.

“Here, take it. Take as much as you need.”

Having said this, he looked toward Hara.

166

Kobayashi's behavior came as a complete surprise to Tsuda.
His mind—suddenly stripped of its venom yet force-fed excessive irony—lunged toward his opponent.
What could only be called an electric current of hatred shot through his body in an instant.

Simultaneously, a suspicion flashed through his astute mind.

These two might have been colluding to make a fool of me from the start.

This thought merged with memories of their street-corner conversation, Kobayashi's conduct since arrival, Hara's belated entrance, and their triangular verbal sparring—all whirling through Tsuda's consciousness like festival sparklers, spinning too rapidly to distinguish cause from effect.
Seeing three crisp ten-yen bills neatly aligned on the white tablecloth, he cried out internally.

"So this was the finale of the charade this worn-out schemer had staged?"
"You fool! Did you think I'd let you have your way?"

For his wounded pride's sake, he resolved he must transform this disgraceful curtain call before parting from the two men.
Yet when it came to actually overturning this disadvantageous position pressed upon him to the bitter end - having made no preparations whatsoever - he found himself utterly powerless.

Behind his relatively composed exterior, the futile workings of his wit raced intensely.
Yet this chaos remained mere chaos, offering him no resolution, so after smoldering, his heart merely throbbed restlessly.
Even the fact that this throbbing was gradually transforming into a state of panic was, regrettably, realized by him.

At this critical juncture, he encountered yet another unforeseen phenomenon.
It was the effect Kobayashi's displayed ten-yen notes had produced on the young artist.
It manifested in the peculiar light radiating from eyes fixed upon the currency.
There lay astonishment mingled with delight.
There existed a species of starvation.
There pulsed a voracious urge to seize.
And each element—the astonishment and delight, the starvation and urge—represented genuine manifestations of their essential nature.
He found himself utterly unable to interpret this as artifice, contrivance, or collusive performance.
At minimum, this remained Tsuda's sole conceivable perception.

Moreover, a fact sufficient to confirm Tsuda's judgment followed afterward. Hara did not reach for the banknotes he seemed to desire so intensely. Yet he displayed no resolve to flatly refuse Kobayashi's ostensible kindness. The anguish of restraining himself from extending the hand he seemed about to stretch out was plainly evident in his expression. Should this pale youth ultimately refrain from touching the bills, Kobayashi's carefully staged farce would be half undone. And if Kobayashi were to return the banknotes—once drawn from his hidden pouch—back to their origin without passing any portion to Hara as initially declared, the outcome would turn into an even greater comedy. Whichever path it took, the situation appeared likely to develop in a direction convenient for salvaging his dignity. Clinging to this slender hope, Tsuda resolved to remain silent a while longer and observe how events would unfold.

Soon, an exchange arose between the two of them.

“Why aren’t you taking it, Mr. Hara?”

“But I feel too sorry for you.”

“For my part, I also feel sorry for you.”

“Well, thank you.”

"The man sitting before you is one who pities me too."

“Huh?”

Hara looked at Tsuda with a face that showed he didn’t understand a thing.
Kobayashi immediately explained.

“These three bills—I just got them all from that man.”
“Freshly received.”

“Well, thank you…”

“Don’t ‘well thank you’ me.
“That’s precisely why.
“That’s why I can hand them over to you so easily.
“Since I can hand them over so easily, you should be able to take them just as easily.”

“Is that really how the logic works?”

“Of course it does.
“If this were money earned from staying up all night writing manuscripts at thirty-five sen a page, no matter how much I wanted to part with it, wouldn’t I feel some attachment?
“It’d be inexcusable even to the sweat dripping from one’s brow.
“But this is nothing.
“Alms that affluence scatters into space.
“The more merit the receiver gains, the more affluence rejoices.
“Right, Mr. Tsuda? Isn’t that so?”

Tsuda, who had already passed through the irksome ordeal, found himself being consulted at an opportune moment as though it were all the same.
His magnanimous assent was enough to bring at least a formally proper end to the discordant gathering of three that had convened here tonight.

He seized the opportunity before him to avoid a retreat that would make him appear unsightly.

“That’s right. That would probably be best.”

After much back-and-forth, Kobayashi finally handed one of the three bills to Hara.
As he put the remaining two bills back into the hidden pouch, he said to Tsuda:

“Rarely does affluence flow upward from below.
But they say it won’t flow back upward from here.
So after all, I owe you thanks.”

The three of them went out front and came to the moat’s edge; as they waited together for the streetcar, they gazed up at the vast starry moonlit night.

167

Before long, the three of them went their separate ways.

“Well then, I won’t see you to the station.”

“Is that so? You could have come along, though. Your old friend is going to Korea, you know.”

“Whether it’s Korea or Taiwan, I want no part of it.”

“There are so many matters devoid of any emotional bonds. Then I’ll come over once more to say goodbye before I leave—alright?”

“I’ve had enough—you don’t need to come.”

“No—I’m going. Otherwise I won’t feel right.”

“Suit yourself.”
“But I won’t be there even if you come.”
“I’ll be traveling starting tomorrow.”

“Travel? Where to?”

“I need some rest cure, you see.”

“A change of climate? How refined.”

“If I may say so, this too is affluence’s bounty.”
“Unlike you, I must remain thoroughly grateful for this affluence.”

“So you mean to thoroughly render my cautions meaningless?”

“To speak truthfully—well, that’s roughly the shape of it.”

“Fine—we’ll see who comes out on top. Being set straight by cold hard facts would serve me better than any ‘enlightenment’ from you.”

This was the exchange that occurred between the two when they parted.
However, this was merely the manifestation of ill feelings carried over from the evening—the ill feelings Tsuda had been storing up against Kobayashi since dusk.
For Tsuda, who felt a measure of relief from this, there remained no room to consider the final words that had come from the other man's mouth.
He had to discard—out of sheer stubbornness—the ideas and arguments of someone like Kobayashi, regardless of their merit or fallacy.
Once alone, he immediately began picturing the hot springs town in his mind while on the train.

The bright morning brought wind.
The wind carried sparse threads of rain diagonally down to the ground.

"What a nuisance."

Tsuda, who had woken up on time, looked up at the sky from the veranda edge and furrowed his brows.
The sky had clouds.
And those clouds were moving ceaselessly like a visible wind.

“It might clear up around noon.”

Oen’s tone suggested agreement with carrying out the predetermined plan.

“Because delaying even a day would mean wasting a whole day.”
“It’s better if you go quickly and return quickly.”

“That’s my intention too.”

The marital arrangement between the couple, undisturbed by the cold rain, first produced a slight discrepancy as their departure approached.
Oen took her clothes from the chest drawer and placed them on the persimmon-tanned paper alongside her husband's Western garments.
Tsuda noticed.

“You don’t have to go.”

“Why?”

“There’s no particular reason why, but isn’t it rather excessive trouble for you in this rain?”

“Not at all.”

Oen’s words were so guileless that Tsuda couldn’t suppress a derisive laugh.

“It’s not that I’m refusing because having you come would be a bother.
“I feel sorry for you.
“It’s just a place that doesn’t even take a day to reach. Having you go out of your way to see me off would be rather absurd.
“Even when Kobayashi was leaving for Korea, I told him last night I wouldn’t see him off.”

“That’s true, but even if I stay home, there’s nothing for me to do.”

“Go enjoy yourself. I don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind.”

When Oen finally gave a bitter smile and stopped arguing, Tsuda was able to leave home alone in a rickshaw.

Standing in the forlorn atmosphere of the rainy station that stood in contrast with the surrounding bustle, as Tsuda vacantly stared at the second-class ticket he had just purchased, a student suddenly appeared before him and greeted him like an old acquaintance.

“What unfortunate weather.”

That was Yoshikawa’s student whom Tsuda had first seen the other day.
In contrast to the aloofness he had shown when meeting at the entrance during the delivery, today even his manner of removing his hunting cap was polite.
Tsuda hadn’t grasped any particular meaning behind this.

“Who might you be seeing off, and where to?”

“No, I’m just here to see someone off.”

“So who?”

The student looked troubled.

"The truth is, Madam had a prior engagement today, so she instructed me to bring this and go in her place."

The student showed Tsuda the basket of fruit he held in his hand.

"Oh no—please don't trouble yourself."

Tsuda immediately tried to take the basket.
However, the student did not hand it over.

“No, I’ll bring it all the way into the train.”

As the train departed, Tsuda returned a polite “Please give my regards” to Yoshikawa’s student—who had wordlessly bowed with perfect decorum—then settled into a relatively uncrowded corner of the compartment. Slowly lowering himself onto the seat, he thought it had indeed been better not to have Oen come along after all.

168

Around the time Tsuda took out the newspaper that Oen had thoughtfully placed in his coat's hidden pocket and began examining it more thoroughly than usual, the weather outside the window gradually deteriorated. The sparse rain streaks visible until moments earlier suddenly multiplied in number, filling every inch of viewable space at once—a spectacle that appeared even more violent when observed through the train window's relatively panoramic vantage point.

Thick clouds loomed above the rain.
To either side of the rain, wherever vision remained unobstructed, clouds stretched endlessly.
When this vast continuum of clouds and rain without gaps completely dominated Tsuda's field of vision, he contrasted the desolate scenery beyond the carriage with the agreeable comfort of the train's well-equipped interior.
He—who regarded physical comfort as civilization's privilege—imagined venturing out into this downpour that afternoon and gave an involuntary shrug.
At that moment, the fortyish man seated beside him—who had been vacantly watching raindrops sporadically strike the windowpane, each impact leaving shattered beads on the glass—leaned slightly forward and addressed his cross-legged companion opposite.
Yet with train noise overwhelming rainfall, his words failed to carry on first attempt.

“It’s really coming down. At this rate, the Light Railway tracks might get damaged again.”

He had no choice but to raise his voice loud enough to reach Tsuda’s ears:

“Nothing to worry about.
No matter how ‘Light’ they call it, if it breaks down that easy, passengers’ll be in real trouble, eh?”

This was his companion’s reply.
The companion was a sixtyish old man wearing a woolen traveling cloak.
On his head sat an odd brimless hat—the sort you wouldn’t find even if you combed through every import shop in town.
The owner of this hat—which looked specially ordered from some haberdasher who artfully arranges tobacco pouches, scraps of Chinese silk, and antique chintz in their displays—proved himself thoroughly Tokyo-born through his speech.
Tsuda found himself surprised both by the old man’s vigorous demeanor that clashed with his attire, and more unexpectedly, by his manner of speaking that bordered on cultured eloquence.

The term "Light Railway" that had been casually mentioned in their exchange struck Tsuda as an omen of sorts.
He would spend several hours that afternoon being jostled along that very Light Railway.
Wondering if these men might be heading to the same destination for leisure, Tsuda found his ears sharpening to catch every word of their conversation.
With no possibility of changing seats, he could clearly hear everything the two men said as they endured their awkward postures and raised voices against the noise.

“I didn’t think it would turn into weather like this. It would’ve been easier to postpone for another day.”

When the composed man wearing a camel coat and bowler hat said this, the old man immediately replied.

“What’s a little rain? If you’re worried about getting wet, it’s nothing!”

“But the luggage is the problem. Thinking about it being loaded onto that Light Railway exposed to the rain makes me uneasy.”

“Then we’ll get soaked ourselves and have just the luggage put inside the compartment.”

The two men laughed uproariously.
After that, the old man spoke again.

“Well, there was that commotion last time, you know. Since it’s a train that could spring a leak in its boiler halfway and get stuck, it’s downright unsettling, no doubt about it.”

“How did we manage to get there that time?”

“Well, we met up with the guys coming from over there halfway up the mountain. Didn’t we get pulled up using their boiler?”

“I see, but what happened to the train that had its boiler taken?”

“No mistake—if we take theirs here, they’ll be in a real fix.”

“So I’m asking—what became of the train they left behind?”
“They wouldn’t rescue others only to get stranded themselves, would they?”

“Thinking on it now, you’ve got a point—but back then, we couldn’t spare a single thought for that other train.”
“The sun was dipping low, cold cutting right through us.”
“We shook like leaves, I tell you.”

Tsuda's conjecture gradually solidified into certainty. The two men had even determined they must be heading to one of the three hot spring resorts flanking the Light Railway's tracks. Yet if this railway line—to which he would now entrust himself for two or three hours—proved as wildly unreliable as they claimed, he couldn't predict what misfortunes might await him in this rain. Still, he recognized the innate tendency of Tokyo natives toward hyperbole. Noticing this just as he nearly asked "Is it truly that deficient?", Tsuda suppressed a wry inner smile and saved himself the trouble of posing the question. Now mentally linking Kiyoko to this railway—thinking "when even a lone woman can traverse it with ease"—he stopped paying any attention to their frivolous, curiosity-driven banter.

百六十九

As the train neared its destination station, the weather that had concerned three people gradually began settling. At that moment, Tsuda looked up at the sky where the rain was clearing and noticed clouds moving busily across it.
The clouds raced swiftly away in the direction opposite to the train's course.
Then from behind, one after another, they pressed in densely as if chasing those ahead.
Within the shifting sky, a slightly brighter area began forming.
Sections appearing relatively thinner compared to other parts gradually multiplied.
Particularly one corner showed signs that it might soon be torn open by the wind, through which a blue radiance would likely spill from the ruptured gap.

Grateful for weather that had shown him more kindness than anticipated, Tsuda disembarked from the train and promptly transferred to a streetcar where he again encountered the two men he'd met earlier. When it became evident they were indeed heading in his same direction using identical transportation—exactly as he'd surmised—he cautiously inspected their luggage. Yet nowhere could he find baggage substantial enough to warrant their earlier anxiety about rain exposure. Moreover, the old man appeared to have already forgotten what he himself had previously declared.

“What a relief—perfect timing! That’s why when you decide to go, it’s best to just up and leave. If you dawdle around in Tokyo like this, just see what happens. Ah, how boring! If I’d known it’d be like this, I’d have just up and left this morning—now I’m only left with regrets.”

“That’s right. But I wonder if Tokyo’s enjoying this nice weather by now too.”

"That you ain’t gonna know kinda unless you go see for yourself. If you want, why don't you call and ask? But generally speakin’, there’s no mistake, I tell ya. The sky’s connected all over Japan, I tell ya."

Tsuda found it slightly strange. Then the old man immediately spoke up.

“You’re heading to the hot springs resort too, I take it? I’d pretty much figured as much since earlier, I tell ya.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why? ’Cause you can tell right off when you look at folks going to those places for leisure, I tell ya.”

He said this and glanced at his companion beside him.
The man in the bowler hat reluctantly grunted, “Ah.”

Tsuda couldn’t help a wry smile at this clairvoyant remark and was about to end the conversation when the jovial old man refused to release his audience.

“But travel’s gotten mighty convenient these days, I tell ya! Just haul your carcass around and you’re anywhere you please—what a blessing! Specially for impatient cusses like us. Why, this trip I ain’t brought nothin’ but this here sack and Taishō’s satchel over yonder—strip those away and all that’s left’s our sorry hides, I reckon! Ain’t that right, Taishō?”
“Wherever you go, just movin’ your bones gets you there these days—pure luck!”
“Perfect for antsy folks like us, I say.”
“Why, this time I didn’t pack nothin’ but this sack here and Taishō’s bag—take those and we’re just breathin’ meat!”
“Eh, Taishō?”

The person addressed as Taishō again responded with only an “Ah.”
If they couldn’t bring this much luggage into the train car, then their so-called Light Railway must either have been extremely crowded or else have been incomplete to a degree that defied all common sense.
Tsuda thought of verifying this point but immediately felt it would be futile and remained silent.

When he got off the streetcar, Tsuda lost sight of the two men. He ate his lunch at the teashop before the station, gazing at advertisements for the hot spring resort—each elaborately designed with photo prints and lithographs—while he ate. Given the time, this lunch—over an hour later than usual—allowed him to fully demonstrate his nature as a man who devoured his meals. However, departure was imminent. He threw down his chopsticks and immediately had to transfer to the Light Railway again.

The terminal station stood right before the teahouse where he had rested.
While eyeing the carriage—narrower than the streetcar—he took the change for the service fee from the maid and promptly stepped outside.
The space between where they clipped tickets and the platform barely qualified as a distance.
Five or six strides brought him to the foot of the boarding stairs.
Inside the compartment, he again came face-to-face with the two travelers from before.

"Mornin' to ya.
Park yourself over here."

The old man shifted his hips to make space for Tsuda to lay out the lap blanket he had brought along in his arms.

"It's quite alright; there's plenty of space today."

The old man first explained in his usual amused tone how crowded this railway became with hot springs visitors—those coming both to escape the cold from year-end through New Year's and those escaping the heat spanning July and August—before turning to look at his companion.

"Bringing women along during such times is practically a crime."
"First off, with their big behinds, they can’t even squeeze in, I tell ya."
"And then they get sick right away—can’t stand it, I tell ya."
"In that sushi-tight crush, they’re puking and retching all over the place, I tell ya."
"What a disgraceful sight, I tell ya!"

He spoke in a manner that seemed to completely forget the presence of the woman sitting beside him.

170

Even aboard the Light Railway, Tsuda's peace teetered on being disrupted by this elderly optimist. As fragmented images - of the inn he would reach, mountains and streams he would see, how his demeanor might shift depending on what awaited him - flitted restlessly through scenery his imagination conjured, the old man abruptly jolted him from reverie.

“They’re still using that temporary bridge, I tell ya. No sense of urgency at all.”
“Look—it’s ’cause they got them laborers workin’ their tails off over there, I tell ya.”

After railing against the company’s negligence for leaving the proper bridge—washed away in last year’s flood—still unrepaired, the old man pointed to a newly built house at the river’s mouth where it met the sea, trying again to catch Tsuda’s attention.

“That house got swept off by waves last year too, I tell ya.”
“But they went and rebuilt it quick as you please—gotta say that’s more impressive than this Light Railway business, I tell ya.”

“It must be to avoid losing this summer’s resort guests.”

“Staying here all summer really takes its toll, I tell ya.”
“Without greed, nothin’ gets done quick and proper, I tell ya.”
“Even this Light Railway’s the same! Since that temporary bridge barely does the job, the company’s been lazy as sin—never bothers to replace it!”

Compelled to nod along with the old man’s worldview, Tsuda assumed a sleepy-eyed look during conversational pauses and let his mind wander freely.

His mind was ceaselessly crossed by disjointed fragments of imagery.
Among them was the face of Oen he had seen that morning.
The figure of Yoshikawa's student who had come to the station drifted through.
There was also the fruit basket brought into his compartment.
The impulse arose to open its lid and distribute Mrs. Yoshikawa's gifts to his two companions.
The trouble arising from that action, along with the exaggerated greetings they might offer when receiving this goodwill, were all vividly conjured.
Then the old man and the man in the derby hat vanished abruptly, replaced by the shadowy figure of portly Mrs. Yoshikawa striding through his mind's darkness.
The association leapt immediately to Kiyoko at the heart of the hot springs resort he approached.
His heart began swaying back and forth with the carriage.

The vehicle, barely deserving the name "train," would no sooner race perilously clattering up the steep mountainside that sloped directly down to the sea than it would slip between peaks and climb and descend repeatedly.
Many of those mountains, densely planted with mandarin oranges, dotted the warm autumn of the southern land in clusters under a beautiful sky.

“That looks delicious.”

“They’re not tasty at all—lookin’ at ’em from here’s way prettier, I tell ya.”

When they had climbed one relatively steep, winding slope, the carriage came to an abrupt halt.
What was visible there—not even a station—was only some miscellaneous trees tinted with frost.

“What’s going on?”

As the old man said this and leaned his head out the window, the conductor and driver suddenly got off the train and began talking animatedly among themselves.

“It’s derailed.”

When he heard these words, the old man immediately looked at Tsuda and the man in the derby hat before him.

“That’s why I kept my mouth shut, I tell ya! I was sure something would happen, I tell ya!”

Suddenly adopting a prophetic tone, he grew animated as though declaring the time had finally come to indulge his ramblings.

“Well, I drank my parting cup before leaving home—made my peace with whatever comes. But truth be told, I’d rather not stage Benkei’s last stand here of all places! Though waitin’ around like this won’t get ’em to fix it any quicker, I tell ya. What with days being short and tempers shorter, we can’t just sit on our hands. How ’bout it, everyone—shall we all get off and give this car a push?”

The old man was the first to jump down energetically as he said this.
Those remaining stood up with wry smiles.
Tsuda, too, could no longer remain sitting alone inside the compartment, so he stepped down onto the ground along with everyone else.
Leaving behind the woman who stood vacantly on the yellowed grass, they pushed the carriage with grunts.

“Whoa! That’s no good—we pushed it too far, I tell ya!”

The carriage was pulled back again.
Then it was pushed forward again.
After pushing it forward and pulling it back two or three times, the derailment was finally resolved.

“We’re behind again, Boss—thanks to you.”

“Who’s to thank for that?”

“It’s all thanks to the Light Railway, I tell ya.”
"But if it weren’t for this kinda thing, I’d be dozin’ off, I tell ya."

“What’s the point of making this trip for fun?”

“Absolutely, I tell ya.”

Worrying about the lost time, Tsuda parted ways with this lively old man at the designated station and stepped out alone into the dusky air.

171

The town vaguely outlined in something that could not be definitively called mist or night's hue resembled a desolate dream. When Tsuda compared the flickering weak electric lights around him with the vast darkness beyond their reach, he truly felt something dreamlike.

"I'm now trying to trace the continuation of this dream-like thing.
From before leaving Tokyo—or to be precise, from before Mrs. Yoshikawa suggested this hot springs trip—no, digging deeper, from before marrying Oen—and even that falls short—in truth, from the very moment Kiyoko turned her back on me, I've been haunted by this dream-like thing.
And now I'm right in the midst of chasing that dream.
Looking back, I wonder—will this single strand of dream carried from the past vanish cleanly the moment I reach my destination?
That was Mrs. Yoshikawa's opinion.
Therefore I must say I now agree with her view and have made it my own course of action.
But is that truly the case?
Will my dream be wiped away cleanly?
Am I really standing in this hazy cold village like a dream with such conviction?
The low eaves within sight; the narrow road recently graveled; dim electric lights; sagging thatched roofs; a single-horse carriage with yellow hood—this jumble neither modern nor traditional, made all the more dreamlike by evening chill and encroaching darkness—isn't this sensation from these vague realities symbolic of the fate I've carried here?
It was a dream before, is a dream now, will be a dream hereafter—clutching this dream I'll return to Tokyo.
That might not conclude matters.
No—it likely will end so.
Then why leave rainy Tokyo for this place?
Am I simply a fool?
If being a fool is settled now, I could turn back even from here—"

These impressions came all at once.
Before even half had passed, all this order, paragraphs, logic, and fantasy had passed through his mind as if embracing one another.

However, from that point onward, he was no longer the protagonist of his own story.

A young man of unknown origin suddenly appeared and took his luggage. Without a moment's delay, he pulled him into the teahouse right before them—asking the name of Tsuda's intended inn, confirming whether he would take a carriage or rickshaw—and within that busy interval, even deployed unexpected charm with perfect control before dismissing him. He was soon unceremoniously loaded onto the carriage with its canvas hood lowered. Then, while murmuring "Excuse me," he was startled to find this same young man from earlier sitting directly before him.

“Are you coming along too?”

“Oh, if I’m not intruding, please allow me.”

The young man was the clerk of the inn Tsuda was heading to.

“There’s a flag here.”

He bent his neck and looked at the small red flag inserted in the corner of the driver’s seat.
Because it was dark, the characters dyed into it did not catch Tsuda’s eye.
The flag was merely whipped violently toward his seat by the wind generated from the carriage’s speed.
He pulled in his neck and turned up his coat collar.

“It has become rather cold at night now.”

The clerk, bearing the driver’s seat on his back and sheltered from the wind by his position, made this remark that struck Tsuda’s ears with an air of smug cleverness.

The road seemed flanked by rice fields on both sides.
At its margins with the fields, the murmur of a small stream occasionally reached them.
The paddies felt narrowly partitioned by mountains on either side.

Tsuda exposed only the portion of his face left uncovered by his hat and upturned coat collar to the wind, adopting a meditative posture toward the clerk as though defying the cold.
Finding this arrangement preferable, the clerk made no attempt to force conversation from his side.

Then suddenly, Tsuda's heart wavered.

“Are there many guests?”

“Oh, thank you kindly. Thanks to you all.”

“About how many?”

The clerk, who hadn’t answered the number, instead gave an excuse-laden reply.

“Unfortunately, it’s the off-season now, you see, so we don’t have many guests at present.”
“During the cold season from year-end through New Year’s, and then in summer—well, July, August, and February—those are our busy times.”
“During those times, we had to turn away temporary guests almost daily.”

"So now's exactly the quiet season then?"

"Oh yes, please take your time."

"Thank you."

"So you've come all this way for your health after all."

"Well, something like that."

Tsuda had begun this exchange intending to ask about Kiyoko, but suddenly found himself choking up. He hesitated. Her name stuck in his throat. Worse yet, he reconsidered—it might cause complications later if he asked now. Turning his face from the clerk and leaning back against the carriage seat once more, he resumed his silent posture.

One Hundred Seventy-Two

The carriage soon found itself about to collide with a large black rock-like formation and circled around its base. When he looked, fragments of the same rock were rudely blocking the roadside on the opposite side too. The driver who had jumped down from his seat immediately took hold of the horse's bridle.

On one side towered a tree so tall it seemed to pierce the sky. From the terrifying shadow cast by what appeared to be an ancient pine under the starlit night's glow and the sudden roar of rushing water that burst forth nearby, Tsuda—who had long been confined to urban life—underwent an abrupt transformation within himself. He felt as though he were recalling some forgotten memory.

Ah, so such things did exist in this world—why had I forgotten them until now?

Unfortunately, this reflection wasn't allowed to fade into isolation.
In Tsuda's mind immediately formed the figure of Kiyoko whom he was going to meet.
To this day—nearly a year since their parting—he had no memory of ever losing his recollection of this woman.
This act of being jostled along night roads in a carriage was fundamentally nothing but a gesture of single-mindedly pursuing her shadow.
The driver kept cracking his whip recklessly against the emaciated horse's hindquarters as if fearing lateness.
His heart chasing a lost woman's shadow—translated bluntly—wasn't this precisely that gaunt horse?
Then if this pitiful creature before him blowing steam from its nostrils was himself—who wielded this cruel whip?
Mrs.Yoshikawa?
No—he couldn't state that definitively.
Then was it himself after all?
Tsuda disliked settling this point precisely yet couldn't stop pondering beyond it.

"Why am I going to meet her? To remember her forever? Even without meeting her, haven’t I kept remembering her as I am now? Then to forget her? Perhaps that was it. But if I were to meet her, would I be able to forget her? Perhaps that was it. Or perhaps it wasn’t. The color of pines and sound of water—they made him recall mountains and valleys he had entirely forgotten until now. The woman he hadn’t forgotten at all, the woman flickering at his mind’s edge, the woman who had deliberately followed him from Tokyo—what effect would she have on him?"

When the cold mountain air, the night's hue that mysteriously shaded the mountains black, and Tsuda—his entire being consumed within that nocturnal darkness—all converged at once, he felt an involuntary fear.
He shuddered.

The driver, keeping hold of the horse's bridle, slowly crossed the bridge spanning the rapids where white foam scattered against rocky edges and roared as it rushed by.
Then several electric lights immediately flashed before Tsuda’s eyes, so he instantly thought they had arrived.
He even considered that perhaps one of those lights might now be illuminating Kiyoko’s figure.

"It was the fated beacon."
"There was no path but to follow that beacon."

Being unpoetic by nature, he had never known to utter such words.
Yet he was in a state of mind that warranted such a description.
He stretched his neck toward the clerk.

“Looks like we’ve arrived.”
“Which one’s your place?”

“Ah, it’s about one block further in.”

The hot spring town was so narrow that a carriage could barely pass through. Moreover, with its irregular twists that seemed almost deliberate, it prevented the driver from cracking his whip atop the carriage again. Even so, reaching the inn took only five or six minutes. In that way—with mountains and valleys stretching vast—the town remained correspondingly narrow.

The inn was as quiet and still as the clerk had said.
Not merely due to the night or the building's spaciousness, but in a stillness that could only stem from having few guests, Tsuda felt grateful for this coincidence that the favorable season had allowed for such an encounter as he was shown to his room.
Given his nature that should have preferred to be among others, the situation worked in his favor.
He asked the maid sitting across from the tray.

"Is it always this quiet during the day?"

“Oh,”

“It seems there aren’t any guests anywhere at all—doesn’t it?”

The maid listed names like the New Wing, Annex, and Main Building to explain Tsuda’s confusion.

“Is it really that large? Someone who doesn’t know their way around could end up like a lost child, couldn’t they?”

He had to ascertain Kiyoko’s whereabouts. However, just as he had been unable to pose blunt questions to the clerk, he found himself incapable of making straightforward inquiries to the maid.

“There aren’t many people who come alone to a place like this, I suppose.”

“Not particularly, sir.”

"But they're men, right? There's no way a woman would be staying here alone."

"There's one staying here now."

"Oh? She isn't sick, is she? Someone like that..."

"She might be."

"What sort of person is she?"

Because her duties were different, the maid didn't know the name.

“Is she young?”

“Yes, she’s a young and beautiful lady.”

“I see. I’d like to have a look at her.”

“When you go to the bath, you’ll pass by this room’s side. If you wish to see her, anytime—”

“So I can see her? That’s a relief!”

Tsuda had the woman’s direction pointed out to him and then had the meal tray cleared.

173

Intending to bathe once before bed, when Tsuda requested guidance from the maid, he first noticed the vastness of the house that she had mentioned earlier.
Turning through unexpected corridors and descending unanticipated staircases until he came upon the bath chamber before him, he truly began doubting whether he could return alone to his own room.

The bathhouse was partitioned into several sections with wooden planks and glass doors.
On both sides, three small bathtubs each faced each other in a row, and apart from them was a large one that was more than twice the size of an ordinary bath.

"This is the largest and most comfortable one," said the maid as she clattered open the frosted glass door for Tsuda.
There was no one inside.
Perhaps to prevent steam from accumulating, even in what would correspond to a transom in a tatami room, there were glass doors installed here as well. Through the gap between these two doors—left about half-open—a cold stream of night air struck Tsuda's body as he began removing his wadded robe, characteristic of the mountain village.

Ah! Cold!

Tsuda plunged into the bathtub with a splash.

“Please take your time.”

The maid, who had tried to close the door and leave, came back again after saying this.

“There’s also a bathhouse on a lower floor, so if you prefer that one, please feel free.”

To Tsuda, who had already descended one or two staircases on his way here, the idea that there could still be a floor below this bath seemed unimaginable.

“Just how many floors does this house have anyway?”

The maid laughed and did not answer.
However, she didn’t neglect to state her business.

“This one is newer and certainly clean, but they say the water in the lower bath is more effective.”
“That’s why all those who come here truly for treatment purposes use the lower bath.”
“Also, if it’s the lower bath, you can have your shoulders and lower back pounded by the waterfall stream there.”

With only his head sticking out of the bath, Tsuda answered.

“Thank you.”
“Then next time I’ll use that one, so please take me there.”

“Yes.”
“Are you unwell somewhere, sir?”

“Yeah, I’m a bit unwell.”

After the maid left, Tsuda found himself unable to forget her words—“guests who come here truly for treatment purposes”—for some time.

Am I really that kind of guest?

He wanted to think of himself that way, and yet he didn’t want to think of himself that way either.
Which of the two he had come here prioritizing—his heart knew full well.
Yet even after braving the rain to come this far, he still had room for deliberation.
There was hesitation.
Some leeway remained.
And that leeway taught him.

"If it’s now, I can still do anything."
"If I want to become a guest who came here truly for treatment purposes, I can become one."
"Whether you become one or not, right now you’re free."
"Freedom remains blessed no matter how far you go."
"But it also remains unresolved however far you go—that’s why it leaves you wanting."
"So you’d cast aside that freedom?"
"When you lose your freedom at dawn’s break, what can you grasp with certainty?"
"Do you know that?"
"Your future hasn’t yet materialized."
"Your future may hold mysteries multiplying beyond that single enigma from your past."
"To solve the past’s riddles by demanding from the future what suits your whims—discarding your present freedom—are you a fool or a sage?"

Tsuda could not decide whether he was being foolish or clever.
Just as everything was about to be decided by the outcome, the very day he began to doubt that outcome, it was only natural that he found himself unable to move a muscle.

From the very beginning, he had three paths available to him.
And there were no paths for him other than those three.
The first meant preserving his current freedom at the cost of perpetual indecision; the second meant forging ahead even at the risk of foolishness; the third—what he truly sought—meant achieving a satisfactory resolution without compromising his dignity.

Among these three, he had departed Tokyo fixated solely on the third.
Yet after being jolted by trains, shaken in carriages, chilled by mountain air, and steeped in sulfurous baths—just as he grasped that his objective now lay within reach and stood poised to act come morning—the first path abruptly materialized.
Then before he knew it, the second had appeared too, smiling faintly at his side.
Their coming was sudden.
Yet quiet.
Through the mist veiling his vision—a mist that dissolved without whisper of wind—he found himself able to survey his prospects with newfound clarity.

Tsuda, who had been unexpectedly romantic, was also unexpectedly steadfast.
Yet he remained unaware of this duality within himself.
Thus there was no need for him to agonize over his contradictions.
All he needed was to make a decision.
But to reach that decision required waging an inner war—It's acceptable to become a fool—No, becoming a fool is detestable—No, I couldn't possibly become a fool—When what had been provisionally settled through battle crumbled once more into these three stages and fell through to their conclusion, only then could he finally rise.

In the large, empty bathtub, moving his hands in a motion that was neither quite washing nor scrubbing, he kept noisily splashing the clear hot spring water.

174

The sudden clatter of the glass door being flung open startled Tsuda, who had been so immersed in his own thoughts that he'd completely forgotten his surroundings.
He instinctively raised his head and looked toward the entrance.
When he glimpsed a woman's figure emerging halfway through the steam, his heart pounded like a warning bell.
Yet the premonition that had flashed through him vanished as quickly as it came.
This wasn't the person who'd truly come to startle him.

The woman, whom Tsuda had no recollection of ever meeting before, seemed dressed for bed as she revealed an immodest appearance that would have drawn disapproving looks in daylight. The vibrant hue of her long underkimono—whose length would normally keep even the hem of her outer garment concealed—now blazed unreservedly before Tsuda's eyes.

The instant the woman caught sight of Tsuda's naked form crouching like a beggar in the hot spring vapors, she withdrew her partially entered figure.

“Oh, excuse me!”

Tsuda felt as though the words of apology he should have offered had been preempted by the other party.
Then, the sound of indoor shoes descending the staircase could be heard again.
No sooner had it stopped at the glass door than a man and woman’s conversation reached his ears.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is someone in there?”

“Is it occupied?”
“It’s fine as long as it’s not crowded.”

“But…”

“Then we'll use the smaller one.”
“The smaller ones should all be available.”

"Isn't Mr. Katsu here?"

Tsuda wanted to quickly vacate the bath for this pair. At the same time, he found something disagreeable in the woman's attitude—her apparent insistence on entering the very bath he was using. Resolving that she was welcome to enter if she wished without restraint, he sank back into the bathwater.

He was a tall man.
Stretching out his long legs comfortably and moving them up and down in the hot spring water, he gazed with satisfaction at the lower limbs floating and sinking within the transparent liquid.

At that moment, suddenly came the voice of someone who seemed to be the Mr. Katsu that the woman had been seeking.

“Good evening. My, you’re up early tonight, sir.”

To Mr. Katsu’s greeting came the man’s reply.

“Yeah, I was so bored I thought I’d turn in early tonight.”

“Oh, have you already finished your practice?”

“Well, not exactly finished...”

Next came the woman's voice.

“Mr. Katsu, that one’s occupied, isn’t it?”

“Oh, is that so?”

“Don’t you have any newly prepared ones somewhere?”

“We do. On the other hand, it might be a bit hot though.”

The sound of the bathhouse door opening—apparently having guided the two—came from the direction ahead. No sooner had this happened than the entrance to Tsuda’s bath clattered again.

“Good evening.”

A square-faced, small-statured man entered again while saying this.

“Shall I scrub your back, sir?”

He immediately stepped down to the washing area and drew water into an oval-shaped bucket.
Tsuda turned his back to him without any choice.

“So you’re Mr. Katsu?”

“Yes sir, you’re quite well-informed.”

“I just heard it now.”

“I see.
If you say that, then I just saw you a moment ago yourself, sir.”

“I just arrived, you see.”

Mr. Katsu said “Hah!” and burst out laughing.

“Have you come from Tokyo?”

“That’s right.”

Mr. Katsu used terms like “down train” and “up train” to extract precise answers from Tsuda. He then peppered him with questions—whether he had come alone, why he hadn’t brought his wife along, that the current couple were raw silk dealers from Hamacho, that the husband was learning Gidayū chanting from his wife every evening, that the mistress of the house excelled at nagauta—all while dispensing various tidbits of knowledge. To Tsuda, forced to listen even to unnecessary details, it seemed there was only one subject Mr. Katsu avoided mentioning. And that unmentioned matter was none other than the name Kiyoko. This chance outcome left Tsuda with lingering dissatisfaction. Of course, Tsuda himself had no intention of broaching the topic either. Before there was time for that, Mr. Katsu finished saying his piece and abruptly concluded the washing.

“Please take your time.”

After seeing off Mr. Katsu’s retreating figure as he departed with these words, Tsuda too found no further need to linger. He promptly dried himself and stepped out through the glass door. However, dangling his wet hand towel, he climbed the bathhouse stairs, passed by the wash area and full-length mirror there, and when he thought he had turned a corner in the corridor, found himself at a loss as to where to return.

175

At first, he walked almost without awareness.
Even his doubt—whether this was indeed the path he had taken earlier when guided by the maid—only blurred his memory like a hazy dream.
Yet when he still hadn’t reached anything resembling his room despite walking what felt like the full length of the corridor, he came to an abrupt halt.

_Hmm... Maybe further back? Or perhaps a bit further ahead?_

The corridor illuminated by electric lights was bright. One could have gone freely in either direction they chose. Yet there was no sound of footsteps anywhere. No maids attending to duties were visible either. After setting down his hand towel and soap there, Tsuda clapped his hands as he would when summoning Oen in his home study. Still no reply echoed from any direction. Unacquainted with the layout, he had no notion where the head maid might be stationed. Having entered through a front gate—situated at the garden's far end and scarcely distinguishable from a private residence—the locations of service entrances, kitchens, and offices remained as mysterious to him as any classified secret.

After repeating the gesture of clapping his hands once or twice and confirming that no one would respond, he picked up the soap and hand towel again with a wry smile.
He began to find this rather amusing.
The tipsy amusement that he would eventually reach his room while circling around also contributed.
He began walking again with the mindset of someone deliberately savoring his first experience at an inn in his life.

The corridor soon ended.
After ascending diagonally from there a couple of times, another wash area appeared.
Into four glistening white metal basins arranged in a row, water—whether mountain spring or purified stream—continuously cascaded from a nickel faucet with a splashing sound. Not only were all four basins filled to overflowing, but one could clearly observe the beautiful sight of crystal-like thin curtains of water smoothly spilling over their rims.
The water in the metal basins swayed as if sensing subtle tremors within the stillness, simultaneously pressed from behind and struck from above.

Tsuda's eyes, long accustomed to modern plumbing alone, immediately made him forget his location.
He simply thought it wasteful.
When he considered reaching out to tighten the faucet, he finally recognized his own foolishness.
Simultaneously, within the white porcelain basins, swelling and shrinking vortices provoked an odd sensation in him.

The surroundings were quiet. When he faced the meal tray, it was just as the maid had said. Or rather, in reality, it was far quieter than he had implicitly imagined when nodding along to each of her statements, assuming it would probably be about this level. It wasn’t a matter of suspecting where the guests might be—it made one want to doubt whether there were any people at all. Within that quietness, the electric light spread its illumination without exception. But this only shone; it made no sound and showed no movement. Only the water before his eyes moved. It formed a vortex-like shape. And then the vortex expanded and contracted.

He immediately averted his gaze from the water. When that same gaze suddenly encountered a human figure, he started and fixed his eyes. Yet it was merely his own reflection in the large mirror hung beside the wash area. The mirror was large, if not life-sized—at least as large as those found in ordinary barber shops. Due to its placement, it stood upright like a barber's mirror. Thus his face—not just his face but his shoulders, torso, and hips—were reflected with their feet on the same plane as his own, facing him directly. Even after recognizing himself, he couldn't look away from the mirror. His post-bath complexion appeared unnaturally pale. He couldn't grasp why this should be. His long-neglected hair lay disheveled across his head. The bath-damp strands shone like lacquer. For some reason, they reminded him of a front garden ravaged by storms.

He was a handsome man with well-proportioned features.
The texture of his face was so exquisitely formed it seemed almost too fine for a man.
He had always been confident in this regard.
Only those moments when the mirror confirmed this confidence remained in his memory.
Thus when an unsatisfying impression unlike his usual self appeared in the glass, he started slightly.
Before recognizing this as himself, the notion that this might be his ghost first assailed him.
Even in this heightened state, he retained resilience.
Widening his eyes further, he stared fixedly at his own form.
Immediately stepping two paces forward, he seized the comb before the mirror.
Then with deliberate composure, he neatly arranged his hair.

However, his actions ended abruptly as he threw down the comb.
He regained his former self—the one that had been searching for his own room.

He looked up at the staircase attached opposite the wash area. And he discovered a distinctive feature about that staircase. First, it was about one-third wider in width than ordinary ones. Secondly, it was constructed so sturdily that even an elephant stepping on it would presumably make no sound. Thirdly, unlike ordinary ones, the entire surface was coated with varnish in imitation of Western-style buildings.

Even in his confusion, he retained a clear memory that he had certainly not descended this particular staircase earlier. Realizing that ascending it wouldn't lead him back to his room, he turned his body sideways away from the mirror, resolved to retrace his path once more.

176

Then came the sound of a shoji door being opened and firmly closed in one of the second-floor rooms.
Though the staircase's structure suggested numerous rooms above in such a spacious building, the clarity of the sound reaching Tsuda's ears—as distinct as if held in his palm—allowed him to immediately gauge the room's proximity based on its sharpness.

The upper portion of the staircase visible from below resembled nothing so much as the architecture of ordinary restaurants that people often encounter.
There lay a broad wooden-floored area.
Disregarding the width beyond his field of vision and using the wall blocking the far end as a reference point, he estimated the length appeared sufficient to lay one tatami mat vertically.
From this wooden expanse, whether corridors branched three ways or bent in two directions—a configuration Tsuda could only imagine without ascending—the source of that shoji sound undoubtedly lay in the room nearest the stairs, immediately behind the wall visible from below.

In the stillness, Tsuda suddenly heard this sound and realized for the first time that there were guests upstairs. Or rather, he had finally become aware of a human presence. Startled—he who until now had been wholly absorbed by stimuli from an unexpected direction—though of course the surprise was slight. Yet in nature, it was the same shock one feels when something thought dead abruptly revives. He tried to flee immediately. This was partly because he loathed others witnessing the foolishness clinging to his current self—lost and unable to return to his room—but also because, truthfully, he felt ashamed to publicly expose his own disarray: this ugliness of having lost composure even slightly through the shock.

However, the natural course of events was slightly more complex.
The instant he tried to turn around, he noticed.

"It might be a maid."

Having reconsidered, his composure instantly returned.
In his heart, which had already moved beyond mere surprise, there now emerged a readiness to face whoever might appear.

"Anyone will do—when they come, I'll have them tell me the way."

He resolved himself and stood staring up at the staircase from beside the full-length mirror.
Then quiet footsteps began sounding behind the wall exactly as anticipated.
The footsteps were indeed quiet.
Had it not been for the faint swish of slippers flicking against heels, they were quiet enough that he might have missed them entirely.
At that moment something abruptly struck his heart.

"This is a woman.
But she isn't a maid.
Perhaps..."

When the very person he had suspected appeared mercilessly before him—the one he had thought "Could it be...?"—Tsuda's legs froze instantly, seized by a shock tens of times more intense than what he had just experienced.
His eyes remained fixed.

The same force seemed to pin Kiyoko there even more powerfully.
When she reached the wooden floor upstairs and stopped abruptly, she became for Tsuda a living painting.
He imprinted this as one of his unforgettable impressions deep within his heart for years to come.

Her casually casting her eyes downward from above and her recognizing Tsuda there appeared simultaneous yet were not actually so.
At least, that was how it seemed to Tsuda.
Some time passed before her blank state transformed into conscious awareness.
After passing through moments of surprise, wonder, and doubt, she finally became like a pole standing rigid.
If someone were to push her shoulder from the side—even with the force of a single finger—she looked as though she would topple over more easily than a clay doll; in that posture, she stood rigidly like a pole.

She appeared to be following the usual routine of hot spring guests by intending to warm up with a bath before bed, holding a small towel in her hand. Just like Tsuda, she carried a bare nickel soap case. Why she hadn't dropped it on the floor while standing rigid as a pole became a question that persistently surfaced in his memory whenever he later revisited that fleeting moment.

Her appearance wasn't as disheveled as that of the woman he had encountered earlier in the bathhouse. Yet in such a place, the unspoken mutual acknowledgment common among guests had already been exercised. She wasn't wearing the formal wide obi. A vivid decorative sash with neatly aligned stripes of red, blue, yellow and other colors hung loosely about her. The hue of the layered underrobe beneath her nightwear covered her bare feet thrust into thin woolen slippers.

As Kiyoko's body stiffened, the muscles in her face hardened too. Then both her cheeks and forehead visibly paled before his eyes. In the midst of this vivid transformation becoming clear, Tsuda—who had lost himself—snapped back to awareness.

I have to do something.
There was no telling how pale her face might become.

Tsuda steeled himself to call out. At that instant, Kiyoko moved. She whirled around and kept moving. Leaving Tsuda downstairs, she retreated down the hallway—then the second-floor landing light that had illuminated her abruptly cut out. In the darkness, Tsuda heard the sound of a shoji screen sliding open. Simultaneously, from a small room beside him that he hadn't noticed came the shrill clang of a return bell.

Soon, the pattering sound of hurried footsteps reached his ears from a distant corridor.
He stopped the owner of the footsteps mid-stride and had the maid—who was on her way to attend to Kiyoko—tell him the location of his room.

177

That night, Tsuda could not sleep well.
The rustling sound outside the storm shutters clung incessantly to his ears.
Unable to escape it, he wondered.
Was it the rain? Or was there a mountain stream flowing near the eaves?
He had even considered that if it were rain, there would be no sound on the eaves, and if it were a mountain stream, its flow was too sluggish; meanwhile, his mind was tormented by a far more significant subject than those.

When he returned to his room and found the bedding that the maid—who had considerately prepared it without his notice—had laid out warmly in the center of his own quarters, he immediately burrowed into it and became absorbed in thoughts about the chance-driven adventure he had just undergone.

Looking back at himself this evening, he felt almost like a sleepwalker.
His behavior had generally been that of someone wandering aimlessly through the house.
Particularly when he saw water swirling in a vortex beneath the staircase's stillness or suddenly encountered his own eerie face in the full-length mirror—even judging from less than an hour's remove—he was undoubtedly under the sway of abnormal psychological effects.
For him, a man rarely deserted by common sense, this unusual mood appeared nothing less than shameful from his current vantage of lying peacefully in bed.
Yet setting aside appearances, merely trying to consider why he had come to feel this way defied explanation.

Setting that aside, when he shifted to the question of why he had forgotten Kiyoko's presence at that moment, Tsuda couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at himself.

"Am I truly so cold toward her?"

He certainly believed that was not the case.
At mealtime, he had already been informed by the maid of the direction where Kiyoko was.

"However, I didn't keep that in mind."

As he wandered about the corridors, he somehow managed to shake off Kiyoko.
But he who did not even know where he himself was walking could not possibly have known where she was.

"If only I had known this might happen, I wouldn't have been caught off guard like that."

Having thought this, he felt he had already let slip the first opportunity.
Her turning away, her act of extinguishing the light and blocking the stairway entrance, her immediate ringing of the bell to summon the maid—when he considered all these together, they amounted to caution.
It was vigilance.
And thus, it was severance.

However, she was startled. She had been far more startled than he had. It could also be said that it was simply because she was a woman. It could also be said that he had harbored unexpected anticipation within the suddenness, while for her there had been nothing but suddenness within suddenness. But could her surprise truly be explained by that alone? Wasn't she viscerally feeling a more complex past in that moment?

She turned pale. She stiffened. Tsuda clung to hope there. He tried interpreting it in a way favorable to his present self. Then he turned that interpretation over and examined it from the opposite side as well. After exhaustively considering both perspectives, he found himself compelled to judge which was more reasonable. This judgment refused to cohere due to insufficient evidence. Even when it momentarily coalesced, it immediately crumbled away. Leaning one way shattered his confidence; tilting the other brought the knell of disillusionment ringing in his ears. Strangely, his confidence—or rather, his vanity, to use his own self-deprecating term—seemed rooted deep within his chest. The knell assailing it conversely felt perpetually external, as though sounding from beyond his skull. While believing himself impartial toward both, he consistently maintained a distinction between intimacy and distance in their treatment—or rather, the disparity in proximity appeared an inherent natural attribute of these two forces from their very origin.

The result was clear.
He chided himself while stroking the head of his vanity.
While listening attentively, he detested the sound of the half-bell.

And so, in his heart where thoughts chased and were chased by each other, quiet sleep tried to come but could not. Having resolved to leave everything until tomorrow, he tried several times to summon sleep but failed, ending up merely turning to the right and lying on the left, repeating the same restless motions by turning over.

He tried to light a cigarette and took the matches by his pillow.
At that moment, the cotton-padded robe—which the maid had hung on the clothes rack with its sleeves folded—caught his eye.
When he came to his senses, he realized he had left what Oen had packed in her bag untouched; still wearing the one he had taken out earlier at the inn, he had gotten into bed.
When he left the hospital, he immediately recalled the compliment he had given Oen about the new cotton-padded robe.
At the same time, Oen’s reply was summoned to the stage of his memory.

"Compare them and see which one is better."

The inn's cotton-padded robe was indeed superior in quality.
The difference between silk crepe and plain-woven silk stood out clearly even to his eyes.
As he compared the robes while picturing his wife before him, matters he had privately pondered at that time resurfaced in his consciousness.

Oen and Kiyoko.

Having muttered this alone, he immediately crushed his cigarette butt into the ashtray. Upon hearing the sizzle from its depths, he yanked the bedding over his head.

The resolve and effort to force himself to sleep were finally rewarded only when that resolve and effort had exhausted themselves and vanished somewhere.
He finally fell into a dream without realizing it.

178

The dream, nearly shattered by the sound of a man coming early to open the rain shutters, barely persisted in that hazy state between sleep and wakefulness.
By the time the room had brightened into a square too glaring to remain abed—when he supposed morning light must have flooded the world outside—Tsuda's eyelids still felt heavy as he first sat up.
He opened the shoji while using a toothpick.
Then with eyes like one who had finally awakened from last night's haunted realm, he surveyed his surroundings.

The garden before his room was unexpectedly devoid of any mountain village charm. An irregular pond had been artificially constructed, with young pines and azaleas arranged around it in conventional fashion—a scene that leaned more toward vulgarity than mere ordinariness. Between the artificial hills near his room, they had diverted a mountain stream to create a small waterfall cascading into the pond, supplemented by a fountain that shot up five or six water columns like fireworks, though not particularly tall. When he saw with a bitter smile the source of the contrivance that had disturbed his sleep the previous night, his thoughts immediately shifted to Kiyoko—who had tormented him far more than this water's sound ever could. "Washing daikon radishes might be as dreary as this fountain," he thought, "or rather, if it proved equally meaningless, that would be unbearable."

As he stood blankly on the threshold with a toothpick in his mouth and hands tucked into his sleeves, the man who had been sweeping fallen leaves in the garden with a long broom since earlier approached him and politely greeted him.

“Good morning. You must be tired from last night.”

“So it was you who rode in the carriage with me all the way here last evening.”

“Oh, it was no trouble at all.”

“Indeed, it’s as quiet as you said. And it’s an unreasonably large house, isn’t it?”

“No, as you can see, this area lacks flat land, so they leveled what they could and kept building upward, resulting in a house with multiple tiers—though I suppose the corridors alone might indeed be unreasonably wide and long as you say.”

“That explains it,” said Tsuda. “Last evening when I went to the bathhouse, I got completely lost on the way back—it was quite a hassle.”

“Ah, that...”

As they exchanged these words, a man and woman descended from the hill adjoining the garden. Their path wound through gaps in the autumn leaves and dead branches like lightning bolts—constructed both to navigate the woods and ease the climb up the steep slope—so even their figures, visible just there, took considerable time to reach the garden’s edge. Yet the clerk didn’t wait idly for them. Having abandoned Tsuda without hesitation, this pragmatic man dashed to the hill’s base and offered greetings as if he’d come up from below to meet them.

At this moment, Tsuda properly observed the two people's faces for the first time.
The woman, who had appeared alluringly dressed the previous evening, was unmistakably the person who had opened his bathroom door.
The large chignon that had startled him in the bathhouse had been undone and restyled into an ordinary tied-up hairstyle at some point, causing him to initially fail recognizing her.
He then scrutinized the man—whose face remained unknown despite having heard his voice—comparing him with the woman as one might assess strangers meeting for the first time.
The man sported a short modern-style mustache trimmed beneath his nose, bearing precisely the merchant-like countenance the bath attendant had described.
The instant Tsuda saw his face, he recalled Oshu's husband.
Hori Shōtarō—often abbreviated to Hori no Shō-san or further shortened to Hori-shō—seemed to epitomize his brother-in-law's character; it struck Tsuda that this man's name must similarly reek of commoner origins, as though his mustache had been forcibly trimmed to fit bourgeois propriety.
Tsuda's imagination, sparked by this cursory inspection, refused to halt there.
He pressed further into cynicism, questioning whether they were truly married at all.
Their explicit declaration about rising early for a pre-breakfast post-bath stroll struck him as nothing less than a social anomaly.
He remained standing in place, scraping his teeth with a toothpick.
Though deliberately looking elsewhere, he clearly overheard their conversation with the clerk.

The woman asked the clerk.

“How is the mistress of the annex today?”

The clerk answered.

“No, I have no knowledge whatsoever about that matter—though if there’s something—”

“It’s nothing particular—it’s just that I always meet her at the morning baths without fail—but today she didn’t come.”

“Ah yes—perhaps she’s still resting.”

“That may well be.”
“But she always keeps both times strictly set—when going to her morning bath.”

“Ah—I see.”

"Moreover, we had made an arrangement this morning to take a walk together to the mountain behind here."

"Then I'll go check."

"No, that's quite unnecessary now."
"The walk has already been completed as you see."
"I merely thought she might be feeling unwell somewhere and asked you about it."

"I believe she's likely just resting, but perhaps—"

"There's no need to put on such solemn airs with your 'but perhaps—'."
"I was simply making an inquiry."

The two of them passed by just like that.
Tsuda, while filling his mouth with tooth powder, headed out into the corridor once more to look for last night’s bathhouse.

179

Yet a weighty term like "searching" proved utterly unnecessary for him this morning.
Though the path held winding complexities, when he effortlessly descended to last night’s bathhouse without misstep, a fresh awareness of absurdity surged within him—how utterly ridiculous his nocturnal self had been.

Through the high glass door set beneath the bathhouse eaves, the autumn morning sun streamed intensely. Gazing up through the glass at what might have been a rock or embankment casting its shadow near his head, he discovered as he soaked in the hot spring how the bath had been excavated below ground level. He thought there was quite a significant difference in height between this cliff and where he stood. After estimating the distance by eye to be one and a half to two ken, he realized that if there were an older bathhouse beneath this one too, the building must contain multiple tiers within it.

On the cliff grew silverleaf plants.
Unfortunately, the morning sun was not shining there, so the color of the stiff, glossy leaves swaying occasionally in the wind looked utterly cold.
The scattering of sasanqua flowers could also be observed from the bathtub.
However, the scenery remained fragmented.
Beyond the two shaku permitted by the glass door’s length, nothing above or below entered Tsuda’s field of vision.
The unknowable world was undoubtedly ordinary.
Yet this very fact somehow stirred his curiosity.
Even the bulbul that had apparently alighted by the cliff and abruptly begun singing left him unsatisfied—its voice audible yet its form unseen.

However, that was merely an added layer of insufficiency. To tell the truth, Tsuda had been churning over an incident that concerned him far more deeply within himself, so from the moment he descended to the bathhouse, he had already been feeling a certain lack in secret. Finding not a single figure in the brightly lit bathroom, he stood in the building steeped in desolation—as if surrendering all to rampant desolation—and methodically opened each small bath compartment door lining both sides of the corridor, just to be thorough. To be sure, one might say—though not definitively—that this was merely an action prompted by a slipper left discarded at one entrance that had given him a hint, which then became the impetus. Thus when his turn came while opening each door in sequence and he finally reached the door shut tight before the slipper, he suddenly hesitated. He had not been without intention from the start. Moreover, a sense of impropriety added its weight somewhere. Reluctantly pressing his ear against the door from outside but finding the interior silent, he gained resolve and managed to swing the door open decisively with his hand. When yet another empty bathroom just like the others appeared before him, both relief—"Well, that's good"—and hollow disappointment—"How pointless"—surged through his chest at once.

Having already stripped naked and immersed himself in the bathtub, he felt a ceaseless anticipation arising within him from this continuation. With a wry smile, he compared the changes he had undergone between last evening and this morning. Last evening, he had been rather innocent until startled by the woman with the round chignon. This morning, he felt tense from before anyone arrived due to a kind of anticipation.

It might have been guilt instigated by the ownerless slippers. But as for why the slippers had incited him—it was because upon waking, he had been told of Kiyoko's whereabouts, which had become entangled in rumors involving the woman from Yokohama and the clerk. She had not yet risen. At least she had not yet entered the bath. If she were to bathe, it had to be either that she was entering now or would come to enter hereafter.

His sharp ears suddenly caught the sound of footsteps descending the stairs.
He immediately stilled his splashing hands.
Then the footsteps became inaudible.
Yet whether from imagination or not, those once-stilled footsteps now seemed to retreat back up the stairs.
He imagined the cause.
He wondered if following others' example by leaving his slippers discarded before the door had been unwise.
Why hadn't he taken them all the way into the bathroom? This regret too now sprouted within him.

After a while, he heard unexpected footsteps again—this time outside the bathhouse.
It was after he had gazed at the silverleaf flowers but before he heard the brown-eared bulbul’s call that this occurred.
His imagination immediately linked the earlier and later footsteps.
He readily concluded that whoever had avoided the bathhouse earlier had intentionally gone outside.
Then, suddenly, a woman’s voice rang out.
However, it came from a completely different direction from the footsteps.

Judging by the external view observed from below, the cliff top appeared to have a flat area of several tsubo, with a single building situated before that flat area seemingly facing toward the bathhouse. After all, the voice had come from that direction. And indeed, its owner was the woman who had spoken with the clerk about Kiyoko upon returning from her walk earlier.

The glass door under the eaves—left ajar last evening to vent steam—remained tightly shut today, preventing her words from reaching Tsuda’s ears. Yet judging by her tone among other clues, one fact became certain: she was calling out from the cliff top toward the base below. By logical sequence, a reciprocal greeting should have emerged from beneath the cliff as well. Yet unexpectedly, that direction remained utterly silent—no ordinary call-and-response conversation materialized. The speech stayed confined solely to the upper precipice.

However, the footsteps alone did not cease as they had earlier.
Undoubtedly, a woman in garden clogs ascended the cliff via irregular stone steps.
Around the time he thought she had finished climbing, the hem of her kimono appeared fleetingly at the upper edge of the glass door as she walked.
Then it vanished instantly.
The momentary impression lingering in Tsuda's eyes was simply that of a beautiful pattern fluttering.
In that retreating pattern, he felt he recognized the same color he had glimpsed from beneath the staircase the previous evening.

180

When he returned to his room and sat down to breakfast, he spoke with the serving maid.

"The place where the guests from Yokohama are staying would be on the cliff visible from the new bathhouse, right?"

“Yes.
Have you been over there to see it?”

“Nah, I just figured it was probably like that.”

“You guessed right!
Please come visit for a bit—both the master and his wife are such interesting people.
They say they’re bored, bored every day—it’s quite a problem.”

“Are they staying quite long?”

“Yes, it’s been about ten days now.”

“That’s it—they’re the ones doing gidayū.”

“You know so much about it—have you already heard them perform?”

“Not yet. I’ve just been told by Mr. Katsu.”

The maid, who had supplied information about the two without reserve as he listened, nevertheless knew her place. When it came to the crucial point, she deliberately avoided Tsuda’s questions.

“By the way, what exactly is that woman?”

“She’s the wife, you know.”

“Is she really his wife?”

“Yes, she must be his real wife,” she said, laughing. “There’s no such thing as a ‘fake wife,’ surely—why do you ask?”

“Well, for an amateur, she’s just too refined, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering, the maid abruptly shifted the conversation to Kiyoko.

“The wife staying in the inner quarters has a more admirable character.”

According to the building’s layout, Kiyoko’s room lay behind Tsuda’s, while the couple’s guest parlor was situated before his position.
Discovering himself placed midway between both locations, he finally nodded in comprehension.

“So this place is right in the middle, then.”

Though positioned centrally, the room being slightly recessed meant it didn't connect to either passageway.

"Is that lady friends with those two guests?"

"Yes, they're quite close."

"From the start?"

"Well, I'm not sure about that part... They most likely became acquainted after coming here."
"They're always coming and going between each other—both parties have so much free time, you see."
"They went out to the park together yesterday as well."

Tsuda made sure not to let the topic slip away.

"Why is that lady alone?"

"She hasn't been well."

"And her husband?"

"When she arrived here, her husband was with her—but he left soon after."

“He left her behind? That’s cruel.”
“And he hasn’t come back since?”

“He said he’d return soon, but what became of that?”
“The wife must be bored, don’t you think?”
“Why not go have a little chat and offer that to her?”
“Is it all right if I go have a chat? Do listen in later for me.”

“Heh,” replied the maid, merely smirking without taking it seriously.
Tsuda asked again.

“What does she do to pass the time, that wife?”

“Well, she takes baths, goes for walks, listens to gidayū performances—sometimes arranges flowers too—and often practices calligraphy in the evenings.”

“I see.
What about books?”

“I suppose she reads books too,” she answered evasively, finally letting out a laugh as Tsuda’s questions grew increasingly detailed.
Tsuda finally noticed and, somewhat flustered, diverted the conversation.

“This morning I left some slippers at the bathhouse—I thought it was occupied at first and hesitated to go in, but when I opened the door, there was no one there.”

“Oh? Then it must’ve been that sensei again.”

The sensei was a calligraphy specialist.
Having recognized the signature from the scrolls and signs hanging in various places, Tsuda said, “Hmm.”

“He must be quite old by now, don’t you think?”

“Yes, he’s an old man.
“He has a white beard this long—”

The maid brought her hand to her chest area and demonstrated the length of beard befitting a calligrapher.

“I see. So he’s still writing calligraphy after all?”

“Yes, it’s for an epitaph to be carved on a tombstone. He’s working on a very large piece, writing a little each day.”

When Tsuda heard from the maid that the calligrapher had come here specifically to write that epitaph, he was surprised and impressed.

“Does writing something like that really take so much effort? Amateurs probably think it could be finished in half a day.”

This impression did not resonate with the maid at all.
Yet within Tsuda’s heart lay something even greater that he did not voice.
He silently compared the old gentleman’s purpose with his own.
He then mentally placed alongside them the two from Hamatsu, who were said to be diligently practicing gidayū despite their comfortable circumstances.
Then he placed Kiyoko—who seemed to arrange flowers and practice calligraphy without any discernible purpose—alongside them in his considerations.
Finally, when told of the maid’s observation regarding the remaining guest—who neither spoke nor moved, merely sitting vacantly in the tatami room gazing at the mountains—he remarked:

“There are all sorts of people here.”
“Even with just five or six gathered, it’s like this.”
“It must get overwhelming in summer or at New Year’s.”

“When we’re full, we inevitably end up accommodating around 130 or 140 people.”

The maid, who didn’t seem to fully grasp Tsuda’s meaning, simply cited the number of guests that come to this house during their busiest season.

181

After the meal, Tsuda turned to the small desk placed beside the bed. He added brief messages one by one to the picture postcards he had asked the maid to procure, then wrote the addresses on their fronts. He had written one to Oen, one to Uncle Fujii, and one to Mrs. Yoshikawa—more than enough for what was needed—yet several postcards still remained from those the maid had brought. He idly held the fountain pen while gazing absently at local scenery bearing incongruous titles like Fudo Falls and Luna Park that seemed ill-suited to a mountain village. Then he set his pen moving again. This time, postcards addressed to Oshu's husband and his parents in Kyoto were completed in an instant. Once he began writing this way, driven by momentum, it began to feel almost rude not to use up every last postcard. Names he hadn't initially considered—Okamoto, Okamoto's child Issan, Issan's school friends—then circling back through associations to his own relatives like nephew Shinji—various names came to be listed abundantly. Though aware from the start, Kobayashi alone remained unwritten until the end. Beyond other implications, Tsuda absolutely refused to disclose this destination from fear of having his whereabouts detected. This Kobayashi was someone due to depart for Korea imminently. Priding himself on freedom from constraints, he might already be rocking on a train resolved to cross the sea. Yet given his erratic nature, it remained equally possible he wouldn't move even on his declared departure day. Looking at these postcards—should Tsuda send them—one could never definitively state he wouldn't come straight here.

As Tsuda grappled with this troublesome friend—or more accurately, this enemy—as though contending with mercurial weather, he involuntarily squared his shoulders. Once this aperture of imagination had opened, the envisioned scene refused to halt there. It pulled him forward relentlessly. He suddenly visualized Kobayashi pulling up a carriage at the entrance, then barging into his room with a thunderous voice.

"What did you come here for?"

“No reason at all. I came to annoy you.”

“On what grounds?”

“Reasons? That’s bullshit! As long as you keep hating me, no matter how long or where you go, I’ll just keep chasing you.”

Damn it!

Tsuda suddenly clenched his fist and struck Kobayashi across the cheek.
Instead of resisting, Kobayashi immediately sprawled spread-eagled in the center of the room.

“You hit me, you bastard!
Go ahead, do whatever you want!”

A melodramatic showdown that could only be witnessed on stage played out.
It disturbed everyone in the inn.
And among them, Kiyoko absolutely had to be involved.
Everything had to be shattered forever.

Tsuda, who had unintentionally conjured in his mind a scene more vivid than reality, suddenly shuddered and came back to his senses. He thought about what he would do if such an absurd confrontation were to surface in real life. He felt a distant sense of shame and humiliation. To symbolize this, he even felt as if the inside of his cheeks grew hot.

However, his self-critique could not advance beyond that point. Losing face before others—if he were to commit such a blunder, it would be disastrous. This alone lay at the foundation of his ethical view. When he pared it down, it ultimately could only reduce to the meaning of social disgrace. Thus, the villain had to be Kobayashi alone.

What problem could there possibly be for me?
If only that bastard weren’t here.

Having said this, he reproached Kobayashi who now appeared on the imagined stage.
And he made the other man shoulder all responsibility for his own dishonor.

After passing judgment on the dreamlike criminal, he immediately shifted his mental state and took out a single business card from his card case. On its back with a fountain pen, he wrote "I came here last night for convalescence," then tilted his head. Then he added, "I heard this morning that you are here," and pondered again.

"This feels too hollow—I have to mention last night’s meeting somehow."

However, it was somewhat difficult to touch on that point without causing offense. The more complex his writing became, the more characters filled the space until a single business card alone would no longer suffice. He wanted to convey as plain a message as possible. Therefore, he had no desire to use cumbersome formal letters.

As if struck by a thought, he gazed at the top of the staggered shelf and, upon seeing Mrs.Yoshikawa’s untouched gift still placed there exactly as it had been yesterday, immediately took it down. He slipped the business card—on which he had written "How is your condition? This is a get-well gift from Mrs.Yoshikawa"—between the lid and the fruit basket, then called the maid.

“Is there someone by the name of Mrs. Seki staying here?”

The same maid who had served him that morning burst into laughter.

“Mrs. Seki is the lady I mentioned earlier.”

“I see.
Then take this to Mrs. Seki.
And tell her I’d like to meet her if it’s not inconvenient.”

“Right.”

The maid immediately took up the fruit basket and went out into the corridor.

182

While awaiting a reply, Tsuda remained as restless as a misfit ornament.
The fact that the maid—who should have returned immediately—did not come back as expected made him grow all the more anxious.

"Surely she wouldn't refuse...?"

He had used Mrs.Yoshikawa's name precisely because he had already considered such eventualities.
Mrs.Yoshikawa and her get-well gift—these two elements served as nothing less than an ideal pretext for Tsuda, who delivered them, to release Kiyoko from her constraints.
Even if her true motive was merely to avoid the nuisance of interacting with him or suspicions that might arise from it, the proper way to thank someone for the fruit basket was to meet the person who delivered it in person.
All the more because he believed he had devised an impeccable plan that no one could fault, he found the maid's delay increasingly unbearable—discarding his half-smoked cigarette, stepping onto the veranda, gazing blankly at scarlet carp moving in the pond without purpose, then crouching to reach toward a dog's snout sleeping beneath the eaves.
When at last the maid's footsteps echoed from the corridor's bend, his heart grew so agitated that he felt compelled to outwardly display a deliberately feigned composure.

“What happened?”

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. It took quite a while, didn’t it?”

“It’s nothing like that.”

“I was helping out a bit, you see.”

“With what?”

“I tidied up the room, and then I did madam’s hair for her. But even so, I was quick, don’t you think?”

Tsuda thought that a woman’s chignon wasn’t something that could be tied so effortlessly.

“What is it—a ginkgo-leaf chignon or a round chignon?”

The maid, without responding, simply burst into laughter.

“Well then, go and see for yourself.”

“You’re telling me to ‘go and see’? So is it all right if I do? Haven’t I been waiting all this time for that reply?”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry—I completely forgot the most important reply. She said, ‘Please do come.’”

Finally relieved, Tsuda stood up and deliberately pressed the point half-jokingly to be sure.

“Really? Wouldn’t it be a bother? I’d hate to go over there only to make her feel pitied.”

“Sir, you’re quite the suspicious one, aren’t you? Then your wife must also be quite—”

“Who do you mean by ‘wife’? Is it Mrs. Seki or my wife?”

“You know which one I mean, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t know.”

“Is that so?”

The maid, having moved behind Tsuda as he readjusted his hakama sash, draped a haori jacket over his back as he prepared to leave the room.

“This way?”

“I’ll show you the way now.”

The maid took the lead.
The memory of having wandered like a sleepwalker the previous evening flashed suddenly into Tsuda’s mind when he came before that familiar full-length mirror.

“Ah, here it is.”

He involuntarily said this.
The maid, unaware of the circumstances, innocently asked in return.

“What was it?”

Tsuda quickly deflected.

“I’m just saying that this is where I met the ghost last evening.”

The maid made a strange face.

“Don’t be ridiculous.
What ghost would ever appear in this inn?
If you say such things—”

Realizing he had made a bad pun about an establishment that catered to guests, Tsuda cleverly looked up at the second floor.

“It’s up here, isn’t it? Mr. Seki’s room.”

“Why, you know it well, don’t you?”

"Yeah, I know that."

"You have heavenly vision, don't you?"

"It's not heavenly vision—it's heavenly smell. I can sniff out anything."

"You're just like a hound."

The conversation that had started midway up the stairs was already within hearing range of Kiyoko's room, situated closest to the stairway entrance.
Tsuda vaguely sensed this.

"Since we're here, I'll sniff out Mr. Seki's room for you—just watch."

He reached Kiyoko's door and abruptly stilled his slippers' sound.

“Here it is.”

The maid glared at Tsuda from the corner of her eye and burst out laughing.

“See? I guessed right, didn’t I?”

“Well now, your nose certainly is sharp.”
“Even more reliable than a hunting dog!”

The maid laughed again in amusement, but from within the room came no response to this lively exchange.
The interior remained as desolate as ever, giving no indication whether anyone was present.

“A guest has arrived.”

While calling out to Kiyoko from outside, the maid smoothly slid open the well-fitted shoji screen.

“Excuse me.”

Upon entering the room with a brief greeting, Tsuda thought, "Oh?"
He could not immediately find Kiyoko before his eyes as he had expected.

183

The room consisted of two adjoining chambers.
The place where Tsuda’s foot stepped was the anteroom without a raised floor.
Before a rectangular mirror with a black persimmon frame and stand sat a thick zabuton cushion patterned in crosswise stripes; beside it, a small oblong hibachi crafted from paulownia wood evoked the modest semblance of a family tearoom.
In the corner stood a black-lacquered clothes rack.
Garments in gaudy hues meant for the opposite sex lay piled there, their smooth-textured silk stripes overlapping where they had been casually draped.

The sliding doors between the rooms remained wide open.
Tsuda saw vibrant winter chrysanthemums arranged in the tokonoma directly ahead.
In front lay two zabuton cushions facing each other.
The cushion—crepe silk dyed deep tea-brown with a single circular white pattern left untouched, perhaps a peony—stood imposing both in quality and as preparation for receiving guests.
Before even taking his seat, Tsuda intuited it.

"Everything had been formalized. This must be the fateful distance lying between them as they met today."

Suddenly noticing this here, he tried in that instant to regret having entered this room now.

But where had this distance arisen from? When he thought about it, it was only natural that it had arisen.
Tsuda had simply forgotten about it.
Then why had he forgotten about it? When he thought about it, perhaps this too was something he was naturally meant to forget.

As Tsuda, caught in these thoughts, remained standing in the anteroom—neither leaving nor taking a seat—absentmindedly gazing at the zabuton cushion before him, Kiyoko finally revealed herself from the corner of the veranda.
Until then, he had no idea what she had been doing there.
Moreover, why she had specifically gone out there was something else he couldn’t comprehend.
Perhaps after tidying the room while waiting for him to arrive, she had leaned against the railing corner and been gazing at the layered autumn leaves on the mountains.
Even so, her demeanor was odd.
To put it bluntly, rather than welcoming a guest, it would have been more fitting to say she had chanced upon one—this was the apt phrase to describe her attitude at that moment.

Yet strangely, this attitude did not grate on his nerves as much as the stiffly formal zabuton awaiting his seating or the corner hibachi seemingly placed to block the space between them. This was because her demeanor had not diverged completely from the image of Kiyoko originally formed in his mind.

The Kiyoko Tsuda knew was never a petty woman. She had always moved with unhurried composure. If anything, "leisurely" might have defined her very temperament - that quality which naturally colored all her actions. He had always trusted this characteristic implicitly. Yet placing excessive faith in it had ultimately betrayed him. At least, this was how he interpreted matters. Even as he did so, remnants of that former trust lingered unconsciously within him. Her sudden marriage to Seki might have been swift as a swallow's midair twist, but that event stood apart from present realities. When trying to reconcile two contradictory truths harmoniously, turmoil inevitably arose; yet viewed separately, each retained its own validity - fact A remained fact A, just as fact B stubbornly persisted as fact B.

"Why did that unhurried person ride an airplane?"
"Why did he do a somersault?"

The doubt should have resided precisely there.
But whether one doubted or not, the fact remained a fact—it would never vanish on its own.

Kiyoko, the rebel, was more fortunate in this regard than the faithful Oen.
If, when Tsuda entered the room, it had been Oen—not Kiyoko—who deliberately peered out from the corner of the veranda at an awkward moment, throwing off his momentum, how would Tsuda have reacted then?

“Don’t you go scheming something again.”

He must have thought this immediately.
However, when the same action was performed by Kiyoko instead of Oen, the result became entirely different.

"She’s still as unhurried as ever."

Despite having convinced himself of her unhurried nature—even while being physically overwhelmed by her sudden maneuver—Tsuda could only assess things this way.

Moreover, Kiyoko hadn't merely mistimed her actions.
She appeared from the veranda corner still clutching in both hands the large fruit basket Tsuda had earlier presented under Mrs.Yoshikawa's name.
Whatever her intentions might have been, it remained evident that treating the gift as burdensome didn't constitute genuine coldness toward him.
Even interpreting that she'd temporarily set down then retrieved the heavy object while on the veranda, her movements showed no particular strangeness.
At minimum, they appeared awkward.
There was something childish about them.
Yet Tsuda, intimately familiar with her everyday demeanor, couldn't deny recognizing an essence uniquely Kiyoko in this very act.

How ridiculous.
It’s so like you—this ridiculousness.
And you haven’t noticed that ridiculousness at all.

When Tsuda saw Kiyoko carrying the basket that looked heavy, he almost wanted to say this.

184

Then Kiyoko immediately handed the basket to the maid.
The maid, unsure what to do, mechanically reached out to receive it and remained silent.
While this simple exchange unfolded between them, Tsuda still had to remain standing.
Yet instead of the usual restlessness such moments brought, he felt an unexpected ease that spared him any discomfort.
He interpreted it merely as a continuation of her protracted mannerisms, consistent with Kiyoko’s usual self.
This only intensified the suspicions born from last night’s memory.
Why had this composed person turned so pale?
Why had she seemed so rigid?
That startled reaction and this calm demeanor—no matter how he considered them, they refused to harmonize.
He felt as though he had just discerned the difference between night and day for the first time in his life.

Before being invited, he first took it upon himself to sit in the prepared seat.
And then, remaining standing, he watched Kiyoko as she instructed someone to arrange the fruit on plates.

“Thank you very much for the gift.”

This was the first greeting that escaped her lips.
The topic of conversation had to shift from the person who had brought the gift to the goodwill of the person who had given it.
Having already resolved to lie when he used Mrs. Yoshikawa’s name, Tsuda, at that moment, no longer even retained any awareness of deception.

“I was this close to handing a mandarin orange to the old man who became my travel companion.”

“Oh, why?”

Tsuda remained unperturbed no matter how he might answer.

“Because it was too heavy and became such a burden.”

“So you carried it in your hands the whole way here?”

To Tsuda, this question sounded utterly characteristic of Kiyoko—innocent through and through.

“Don’t make fun of me. It’s not like you—could I carry something like this and move back and forth along the veranda?”

Kiyoko merely smiled.
Her smile offered no explanation.
In other words, it held a kind of composure.
Tsuda’s mind, having begun with a lie, only grew more unperturbed.

“As always, you seem so untroubled—how admirable.”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t changed at all from before.”

“Yes, but I’m still the same person.”

Upon hearing this response, Tsuda suddenly wanted to say something cutting.
At that moment, the maid who had been dividing the contentious mandarin oranges into dishes abruptly laughed aloud.

“What are you laughing at?”

"But what ma'am said was so funny," the maid excused herself. Seeing Tsuda’s serious expression, she felt compelled to elaborate further.

"I see, that must certainly be the case. As long as we’re alive, we’re all the same person—unless we’re reborn, no one can become someone entirely different."

“But that’s not true! There are plenty who get reborn even while still living.”

“Oh really? If such people exist, I’d certainly like to meet one.”

“If you wish, I can arrange for you to meet one.”

“Please,” said the maid, bursting into raucous laughter.
“It’s this again, isn’t it?”

She brought her index finger to the tip of her nose.

“I’m no match for this of yours, Sir.
You’re the one who can even distinguish the mistress’s room by scent.”

“It’s not just rooms. With this nose alone, I can tell everything about you—from your age to your domicile, birthplace, everything.”
“—with just this nose alone.”

“My, how frightening! —I’m simply no match when meeting you, Sir.”

The maid stood up after saying this.
However, as she was about to leave the room, she flung another sarcastic remark at Tsuda.
“Sir must be quite the expert hunter, I imagine.”

In the south-facing room bathed in sunlight, the two of them left behind suddenly fell silent.

Tsuda sat facing the veranda, bathed in sunlight.
Kiyoko sat with her back against the railing, turned away from the sun.
From Tsuda's vantage point, the mountain folds visible beyond overlapped in tiered layers, creating a landscape that sharply distinguished sunlit slopes from shadowed valleys—a view as tangible as if held in one's palm.
The autumn leaves coloring those slopes cast vivid gradations of light and shadow into his eyes.
Yet unlike Tsuda who faced this expansive vista, Kiyoko had nothing before her eyes.
When she looked, there was only the northern shoji screen and Tsuda's silhouette blocking part of it.
Her field of vision felt constrained.
Still, she showed no particular discomfort.
Where Oen would have instantly shifted position without fail, Kiyoko remained perfectly composed.

Her face was slightly redder than the Kiyoko he usually knew, contrary to last evening. Yet this could also be interpreted as the physiological effect of strong autumn sunlight striking directly from above. When Tsuda's eyes—which had been gazing at the mountains—fell upon Kiyoko's earlobe flushed as if with rising blood, he thought this to himself. Her earlobe was thin. Given their positions, it seemed to him that sunlight penetrating through the flesh's underside passed through the gathered surge of blood there before finally becoming visible to his eyes.

185

In such situations, who would speak first? If the other party were Oen, the answer required no deliberation.
She was a woman who allowed Tsuda not a moment's respite.
By that same nature, she could grant herself no quarter of repose.
She simply exerted her utmost influence wherever and whenever she pleased.
Thus Tsuda found himself perpetually forced into passivity.
And he had to endure both the anguish of tension and the constriction of effort demanded to counter her.

However, when Kiyoko was positioned before him, an entirely different quality emerged there.
The arrangement had abruptly reversed.
In sumo terms, she would always rise to meet Tsuda's call.
Therefore, Tsuda—having turned her to face him—would invariably take proactive action.
He could execute this completely and with ease.

When the two of them were left alone, it was only after being left behind that he first became aware of this peculiarity.
When he realized it, memories of the woman from his past had already been revived without his notice.
The sense of idleness he had been anticipating vanished abruptly and mysteriously, precisely at the moment when that idleness should have arisen.
He sat at ease before Kiyoko.
And this differed little from what he had experienced during uneventful times in the past when he was with her.
At the very least, he became aware that this must share the same nature.
Therefore, when the conversation lapsed, it was he who actively took initiative again, just as before.
Moreover, the very capacity to act with unchanged feelings became an unexpected satisfaction to him.

“How is Mr.Seki doing? Is he still studying as diligently as ever? After that, I’ve been neglecting to reach out and haven’t seen him at all.”

Tsuda hadn’t given it a second thought. The advisability of bringing up Kiyoko’s husband at the start of their conversation was indeed a point requiring careful consideration—whether viewed through practical interests, through the emotional developments that had unfolded between them until now, or through critiques of naturalness when setting aside those lingering emotional entanglements. Tsuda, who had carelessly introduced this topic without any trace of his usual meticulousness or even a moment’s consideration, had undoubtedly forgotten the precautions he normally took when dealing with Oen.

However, the person before him was no longer Oen.
The evidence that Tsuda could afford to forget his caution became immediately apparent through Kiyoko’s manner of response.
She smiled and answered.

“Yes, thank you.
“Well, he’s much the same as ever.”
“The two of us sometimes speak of you.”

“Ah, is that so? I’ve also been constantly busy, so I’ve been neglecting everyone…”

“My husband is just the same as you. These days, having leisure time is practically equivalent to being unable to survive. So naturally we grow distant from each other. But there’s nothing to be done about that—it’s simply how things unfold.”

“That’s true.”

Having given this response, Tsuda felt an urge to ask “Is that so?” instead of saying “That’s true.” The interrogative challenge of “Is that so? Did you grow distant just because of that? Is that your true feeling?” had already become a silent protest concealed within him.

Moreover, he found before him a Kiyoko who was almost as simple as before—or perhaps one that could not be interpreted as simple.
Her attitude contained just the right composure for them to discuss Seki between themselves.
There was a detachment in her manner sufficient to discuss it without discomfort.
But that was something Tsuda had implicitly anticipated, and at the same time, it was undeniably something he could never have predicted.
The satisfaction of having met again the unchanged heroine had to come together with the dissatisfaction that she could speak of Seki so calmly before Tsuda with the same magnanimous attitude as in the past.

"Why was that dissatisfying?"

Tsuda lacked the courage to confront this question directly. Since Seki was now her husband, he had to respectfully acknowledge her attitude through public decorum. Yet this acknowledgment remained superficial—merely the passing criticism of indifferent strangers. Beneath this facade persisted another perspective altogether. There dwelled a self distinct from these casual observers, one Tsuda could not name as "I" but stubbornly termed "a special person." This so-called special person stood as an expert against amateurs, a sage confronting ignorance, a specialist towering above laypeople. To Tsuda's mind, such distinction naturally granted greater authority to speak than ordinary conventions allowed.

Tsuda’s feelings toward Kiyoko—acknowledged outwardly yet refused inwardly to assent—were bound to manifest themselves externally in some form.

186

“I must apologize for last evening.”

Tsuda suddenly tried saying this.
How it might sway her was precisely what he wanted to observe.

“I should be the one.”

Kiyoko's reply came smoothly.
When he perceived no pain there, Tsuda doubted.

"Is this woman unable to relive last night's surprise even now that morning has come?"

If she had lost even the ability to recall it, then his mission—whether for good or ill—was a fleeting thing.

"Actually, after startling you like that, I realized I'd done something inexcusable."

"Then you should have stopped yourself."

“I should have stopped myself. But if I didn’t know, there’s nothing to be done about it, is there? I never even dreamed you would be here, you see.”

“But you came all the way from Tokyo bringing me a souvenir, didn’t you?”

“That’s true. But it’s also a fact that I didn’t know. Last evening was merely a chance encounter.”

“Is that so? I wonder.”

The tone in Kiyoko’s voice, which seemed to ascribe deliberate intent to Tsuda from the previous evening, startled him.

“But there’s no way I’d do such a thing on purpose, no matter how drunken my high spirits were!”

“But you were standing there for quite some time, it seems.”

Tsuda must have been gazing at the water overflowing from the basin. He must have been staring at his own reflection in the mirror. Finally taking the comb there, he must have been dawdling as he combed his hair thoroughly.

"If I were a lost child who didn't know his way, what else could I have done?"

"I see."
"That may be so."
"But I couldn't see it that way myself."

“Do you think I was lying in wait for you? Don’t be absurd. Even if my nose were all-knowing, I couldn’t possibly know when you’d be entering the hot spring bath.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true.”

The way Kiyoko’s “I see” carried such a tone of genuine understanding made Tsuda burst out laughing despite himself.

“What on earth makes you suspect such a thing?”

“Even if I don’t say it, you should already understand.”

“There’s no way I could understand, is there?”

“Then it’s fine if you don’t understand.
“There’s no need to explain it.”

Tsuda reluctantly turned sideways.

“Then tell me what purpose I had in lying in wait for you at the corridor corner.
“Please explain that.”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“You don’t have to be so reserved—please tell me.”

“It’s not reserve—I simply can’t speak of it because I can’t.”

“But isn’t it something within your own heart? If you simply choose to speak, you could tell anyone, I should think.”

“There’s nothing in my heart at all.”

This simple remark abruptly blunted Tsuda’s sharpness. At the same time, it propelled his verbal momentum.

“Then where did that suspicion come from if there’s nothing there?”

“If suspecting you is wrong, I apologize.”
“And I’ll stop there.”

“But haven’t you already suspected?”

“But there’s nothing to be done about that.”
“It’s a fact that I suspected you.”
“And it’s also a fact that I confessed to that fact.”
“No matter how much I apologize or what I do, the fact can’t be undone.”

“So if you would just let me hear those facts, that’s all.”

“Haven’t I already told you the facts?”

“That’s only half or a third of the facts. I want to hear everything.”

“This is troubling. What am I supposed to say in response?”

“It’s perfectly simple—if you’d just say there was some reason that made you suspect me, that single sentence would settle everything.”

Kiyoko, who had appeared troubled until now, suddenly wore an expression suggesting everything had clicked into place.

“Ah, so that’s what you wanted to hear.”

“Of course. Haven’t I been persistently bothering you like this precisely because I wanted to inquire about that since earlier? It’s because you’re trying to hide that—”

“If that’s how it is, you should have said so sooner. I’m not hiding anything of the sort. There’s no reason at all. It’s simply that you’re the sort of person who does such things.”

“Lying in wait, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t make a fool of me.”

“But since the you I’ve seen is that kind of person, there’s nothing to be done. It’s neither a lie nor a falsehood, you see.”

“I see.”

Tsuda crossed his arms and looked down.

187

After a while, Tsuda raised his face again.

“Somehow our conversation has turned into an argument. I didn’t come here to debate with you.”
“I didn’t come here to argue with you in the first place.”

Kiyoko answered.

“I didn’t have even the slightest intention of that either. I was just naturally carried there without any deliberation.”

“I acknowledge that it wasn’t deliberate. In other words, it’s because I pressed you too hard, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose so.”

Kiyoko smiled again.
When Tsuda perceived her usual composure within that smile, he could no longer restrain himself.

"Then while we're at this discussion, might you answer one more question?"

"Certainly—anything at all."

Kiyoko answered like someone who had prepared responses for every possible question Tsuda might ask.
This fact disappointed him considerably even before he posed his inquiry.

"This person has forgotten everything."

Having thought this, he simultaneously recognized it as Kiyoko's inherent distinctive trait.
Feeling compelled to confirm matters thoroughly, he pressed further.

"But last evening on the staircase, you turned pale, didn’t you?"

"I suppose I did. Since I can’t see my own face, I can’t say for certain—but if you insist I turned pale, then that must be so."

"Oh? So the 'me' reflected in your eyes isn’t a complete liar after all—how fortunate. Does this mean you acknowledge the facts as I do?"

“Even if I don’t acknowledge it, there’s nothing to be done if I actually turned pale, you know.”

“Right.—And then you stiffened up, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I was aware that I’d stiffened up.
I thought I might have collapsed if I’d stayed like that even a moment longer.”

“So you were startled, then.”

“Yes, I was quite startled.”

“So—” Tsuda began, then leaned forward slightly and gazed at Kiyoko’s hands as she meticulously peeled an apple.
The transformation—where peel colored like dripping hues slipped past the knife’s edge as it spiraled away, gradually revealing pale bluish flesh that seemed full of moisture—made him recall a past from over a year ago.

“Back then, this person had peeled an apple for me in just this posture, with just this kind of apple, hadn’t she?”

The way she held the knife, the movement of her fingers, both elbows grazing her knees, the manner in which her long sleeves fell open—amid all these exact reproductions of that time, Tsuda noticed one point of difference.
They were two beautiful jewels adorning her fingers.
If these were meant to eternally commemorate her marriage, then nothing divided Tsuda from her more sharply than those small, glittering lights.
His eyes fixed on her supple fingers in motion had no choice but to acknowledge—within his dreamy recollection of that time—a dazzling glint of wariness.

He immediately averted his eyes from Kiyoko’s hands and looked at her hair.
However, the hair that the maid had arranged for her that morning was in its usual bangs style.
The black gloss showed no peculiarity beyond leaving neat vertical rows where the comb’s teeth had passed through.

Tsuda resolutely took up once more the words he had tried to abandon.

“So what I want to ask is—”

Kiyoko did not raise her face.
Tsuda continued on regardless.

"Last night you were so startled, yet this morning you're completely composed—how does that happen?"

Kiyoko answered without looking up.

"Why?"

"I'm asking because I don't understand that psychological effect."

Kiyoko still answered without looking at Tsuda.

“Even I don’t understand complicated things like psychological effects.”
“Last night was that way, this morning is this way.”
“That’s all.”

“Is that all the explanation?”

“That’s all there is to it.”

If he had meant to put on an act, this was where Tsuda would have sighed.
Yet he couldn’t muster the courage to follow through.
The awareness that such theatrics would prove futile before this woman somehow restrained him—this man who tended toward artifice.

“But you didn’t wake up at your usual time this morning, did you?”

The moment this question was posed, Kiyoko looked up.

"Oh, how do you know such a thing?"

"I know for certain."

Kiyoko briefly met Tsuda's gaze, then immediately lowered her eyes.
And then, while slicing into the beautifully peeled apple, she answered.

“So you’re not clairvoyant but clair-sniffant. That nose of yours works remarkably well.”

Before this remark that couldn’t be pinned down as a joke, sarcasm, or sincerity, Tsuda retreated.

Kiyoko finally finished peeling the apple and pushed it in front of Tsuda.

“Won’t you have some?”

188

Tsuda did not touch the apple Kiyoko had peeled for him.

“Won’t you have some? Mrs.Yoshikawa kindly sent this for you.”

“Well, and then you went out of your way to bring it all the way here.”
“I really must accept such kindness from you too.”

As she said this, Kiyoko picked up a slice of apple lying between them.
Yet before bringing it to her mouth, she asked again.

“But when you think about it, it’s rather odd. What exactly happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I never imagined I’d receive a get-well gift from Mrs.Yoshikawa. And I certainly never dreamed you’d be the one to bring it here.”

Tsuda muttered inwardly, “That’s right—even I hadn’t thought of such a thing.” In Kiyoko’s eyes that had intently watched his face shone an anticipatory light, as though awaiting a definitive answer from him. He recalled a particular memory linked to that radiance.

“Ah, these eyes...”

Vivid scenes from their shared past rose before Tsuda’s eyes—scenes repeated countless times between them. In those days, Kiyoko had believed in a man called Tsuda. She received all knowledge from him. She sought solutions to every doubt through him. She appeared to cast every incomprehensible future upon him. Thus even when her eyes moved, they retained stillness. When poised to ask something, they held a luminous trust and serenity. He felt born with an exclusive privilege to claim this brilliance for himself alone. He even thought these eyes existed precisely because he did.

The two finally parted.
And then they met again.
When Tsuda felt he had been made aware that Kiyoko—even after leaving him—still possessed those same eyes from the past, though now imbued with a different meaning, he was struck by a certain emotion.

“That is your beautiful quality.”
“But has that beauty now become nothing more than something to disappoint me?”
“Tell me plainly.”

After Tsuda’s doubts and Kiyoko’s doubts had met in their gazes for a time, it was Kiyoko who first drew attention.
Tsuda saw the way she withdrew.
And there too he recognized the difference in resolve between them.
She did not press further.
As if it didn’t matter, she shifted her gaze away and let it fall upon the winter chrysanthemums arranged in the alcove.

Having been evaded through her eyes, Tsuda had to pursue with his words.

“No matter how you look at it, even I didn’t come here solely as Mrs.Yoshikawa’s messenger.”

“See? That’s exactly why it’s strange.”

“There’s nothing strange about it at all. I was already planning to come here on my own when I met Mrs.Yoshikawa—that’s when I first learned you were staying here—and wound up being asked to bring this gift along.”

“That’s right. Otherwise, no matter how you consider it, it would seem strange.”

“No matter how strange something appears, coincidences do exist in this world—just like with your situation…”

“So it’s no longer strange now that we know why. Once you learn the reason behind things, everything becomes perfectly ordinary.”

Tsuda nearly blurted out, “I came here to ask for that reason too.” However, Kiyoko’s question—seeming entirely unconcerned with such matters—was sincere.

“So, are you unwell somewhere yourself?”

Tsuda tersely explained the course of his illness.
Kiyoko remarked:

“How convenient for you—being able to arrange leave from the company during such times. Compared to that, my husband’s quite pitiful—he appears busy from dawn till dusk.”

“It’s precisely because Mr.Seki is so passionate that there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“Poor thing—surely not.”

“No—I mean passion in the best sense of the word.”
“In other words, he’s a hard worker.”

“How clever of you.”

At that moment, hearing the sound of zori sandals hurriedly ascending the staircase from below, Tsuda—who had been about to say something—fell silent and observed the situation.
Then a different maid from earlier appeared.

"The guest from the beach cottage said, 'Would Madam care to join us for a walk toward the waterfall this afternoon?' and instructed me to come inquire."

“I’ll join you.”
Having heard Kiyoko’s reply, the maid turned toward Tsuda as she stood and said, “Won’t you join us as well, Sir?”

“Thank you. Is it already noon?”

“Yes, I’ll bring your meal right away.”

“I was surprised.”

Tsuda finally stood up.

He tried to say “Madam” but faltered, and ended up calling out “Kiyoko.”

“How long will you be staying?”

“I have no fixed plans at all. If a telegram comes from home, I’ll have to return even today.”

Tsuda was surprised.

“Would such a thing come?”

“That I can’t say.”

Kiyoko said this and smiled.
Tsuda returned to his room while attempting to interpret the meaning of that smile by himself.

--Unfinished--