Pathway to Japanese Literature

Recently, Aikawa’s negligence had become the talk even within the company.
Once you strap on a lunchbox at your waist, carrying it for eight or nine years requires no particular effort.
While leading a grubby lifetime in dust-filled streets, Aikawa had already neared forty.
He was not originally the sort of person meant to be buried in a company, but to support his aging Mother, he had no choice but to perch on chairs in such places.
Though referred to as a company, it had distinct divisions like Sales and Banking—first and foremost, a vast organization resembling a government ministry.
The translation of foreign documents—that was his daily duty.
Wash my hands of this—quickly—this thought had recently begun coursing through his mind with particular intensity.
Because of this, he would become absorbed in thought until late at night, mornings would grow late, and he ended up prone to negligence.
He had grown utterly weary and exhausted from his long, long lunchbox-carrying life.
Truly, being bound to such a place was ill-suited to Aikawa’s temperament—he was not willfully negligent—so colleagues who understood his heart would defend him.
Even the impertinent reception clerk who said things like “Mr. Aikawa, perhaps you should have your tardiness slips printed in movable type—how about that?” secretly respected his noble character in her heart, not viewing him as an ordinary company employee.

On the second floor of a grand building in Nihonbashi Gofukuchō, while burying himself in a mountain of ledgers, Aikawa was troubled by thoughts of his future prospects.
Just when he was worn out from thinking, the office attendant arrived with a business card.
It read Hara.
Hara had been employed at a school in Kanazawa and had come to visit for the first time in ages.
Old friends—among the many one could name—Hara, Otsukotsu, Nagata, and Takase had maintained a close relationship with Aikawa since his youth through frequent visits.
When Nagata was said to be returning home before long, Takase emerged from the mountains, and now Hara too would be moving his entire household to the capital; thus the group would reunite in Tokyo, turning their hardships of ten years into stories of shared ordeals.
Without ceremony, Aikawa left his chair.
Along the high dim gray walls, brushing past businesslike people, he descended the long staircase.

Hara was waiting in the reception room.

"I heard from both Otsukotsu and Takase that you were coming," said Aikawa familiarly. "By the way, Hara—is your wife accompanying you this time?"

"No," replied Hara in a somewhat formal tone, "I came alone."
"Due to various circumstances, I left my family back there."
"And there's still luggage remaining too—"

“In that case, you’ll have to go back to Kanazawa again.”

“Yes, I’ll return, settle things at my house, and then come back out again.”

“That must be tough.”
“After all, moving a house is no easy task—especially when it’s such a distant place.”

Aikawa removed his gold-rimmed glasses and carefully wiped them with a white handkerchief, then gazed at his friend’s face as he replaced them.

“Aikawa, since I still plan to stay in Tokyo for two or three days, I’ll come over to your place one of these days.”
Hara said this.
“There are various things I would like to discuss.”

“Well then, Hara, do this for me. Come to my house tomorrow morning. Let’s have a proper talk after all this time.”

“Tomorrow?” Hara asked dubiously. “Tomorrow’s Saturday—you have work, don’t you?”

“Nah, I’ll just take a day off.”

“Is that really allowed? What about the company?”

“It’s fine.”

“Well then, let’s do that. Tomorrow I’ll come over to your place. Since I’ve come out after so long, even when I ride the train, I can’t make heads or tails of the direction anymore. From Ogawamachi to Kudan—that area has changed dreadfully. I must say, I’m astounded by how Tokyo has changed. It’s truly astonishing. In the eight years or so I’ve been in Kanazawa, I’ve turned into a complete country bumpkin.”

“Well, eight years is nearly a decade.”
“You might have stayed a bit too long there.”

When told this, Hara smiled with a lonely expression.
To put it bluntly, Hara had left Kanazawa behind, but upon coming to the city, he still lacked any clear purpose.
This move to the capital was also subtly for the purpose of searching for employment.
A sense of unease had lingered constantly in Hara’s heart.

“Well then, I’ll take my leave.”
“Since you must be quite busy.”
Hara took his hat and stood up.
“Well… tomorrow…”

“Well, never mind,” said Aikawa, raising his eyebrows in a manner that seemed to rouse his own flagging spirits.
He took out a fresh paper-rolled cigarette and lit it demonstratively to show he wasn’t particularly busy at the moment, but Hara failed to pick up on the implication.

“Otsukotsu seems rather vigorous these days.”

As if suddenly remembering something, Hara stood at the doorway and inquired.

“Otsukotsu?” responded Aikawa. “What about him?”

“Please give him my regards if you happen to meet him.”

“Ah.”

Hara left in a hurry.

That day was an oppressively sweltering early August day that seemed to corrode people's spirits. By the time Aikawa finished his translation work and threw down his pen, he had already succumbed to dejection.
Whenever evening approached, a sense of regret—as if he had squandered the entire day—would surge within him.
This had recently become something of a habit for Aikawa.
"There's nothing to be done about today now"—muttering this like a soliloquy, Aikawa resolved to spend what remained of the day as he wished.

While navigating his gloomy state of mind, he made his way back to his house in Iidamachi 6-chome. As he walked, memories of his friends surfaced in his mind. They had indeed aged. Those we meet morning and night, just as when gazing upon a town we’ve long inhabited, remain too familiar to stir fresh impressions; yet when seeing friends encountered but rarely, they’ve changed to an astonishing degree. Though these weren’t the words of his friend Takase: “There are two types of people—one kind ages gradually.” “The other remains young for years before collapsing abruptly.” Recalling those words now, Aikawa placed Hara among the gradual agers and himself among the sudden collapsers, laughing quietly—yet he hadn’t anticipated his friend changing so markedly. “Hara, of all people, beginning to show age now—what’s the point?” he sighed as he walked. In truth, Aikawa still considered himself young. He thought about his long-absent friend and felt a gnawing frustration.

"It's because he stayed too long in the countryside," he told himself.

Hunting for old books had recently become one of the solaces he had discovered.
There could be nothing that costs so little yet brings so much pleasure—this was his firm belief.
That day too, as was his custom, he set out from Nishikichō to Ogawamachi Street.
After searching here and there to no avail, he eventually wandered all the way to Ura-Jinbocho, where a street lined with bookstores unfurled before his eyes.
All kinds of books were displayed to catch customers' eyes.
There were biographies of sages left to gather dust on shelves, discarded tales, prison diaries, and poetry forgotten by the world; there were also guidebooks on wine, women, and food.
It appeared like a kind of exhibition showcasing the transformations of eras up to the present day—or perhaps human futile efforts, tears shed in vain, names destined to perish—such things seemed to be haphazardly displayed.
At various storefronts, people stood idly perusing.
Hunting for this sort of miscellaneous books was not, of course, Aikawa’s purpose, but as he stood before a certain shop surveying the scene, something suddenly caught his eye.
He picked it up absentmindedly and brushed the dust from the sun-bleached cover.
There was no mistaking it—this was his own work.
It was something he had published some years ago, now out of print even at the publisher’s.
Having been lent out and lost, it no longer remained in his possession.
At any rate, a copy had surfaced.
After purchasing it, Aikawa soon left the store.
Rain began to fall in scattered drops.
He had intended to read it after returning home, but that evening was visited by a university student named Aoki.
It was a relatively mosquito-free evening, and the two of them ate watermelon while talking.
When said book was first published, it was this Aoki who had written a lengthy critique in a certain magazine stating, "It possesses Turgenev’s sentiment but lacks Turgenev’s imagination."
Aoki returned home around eight o'clock.

Then Aikawa opened the book and began reading while lying down on the tatami.
Various matters came to mind.
There were also matters related to friends like Hara and Takase.
There were also people he wondered about—where they had married off to and how they had ended up.

“People believe that in all things, if they accomplish a certain thing, it is acceptable.
But what is that certain thing?
I seek to know it, yet have not found it.
‘Farewell—is dwelling in such darkness my life’s work—?’”

The far older draft also contained such passages.

A summer rain that seemed to embody bold sentiment suddenly came cascading down like a waterfall.
On the roof and on the garden plants alike, it poured down fiercely.
Listening to the sound of the cold rain, he contemplated matters of past and present.
Even after crawling into the mosquito net, Aikawa couldn’t sleep.
Never had he reflected on his thirty-some years of sensitive and passionate life as intensely as he did that night.

When he opened the shutters in his sleepless discomfort, the rain had already ceased completely.
The garden looked as if washed clean and unnervingly pale; dawn must have been approaching.

"A short night."

Muttering this, Aikawa crawled back into the mosquito net.

The next day, Hara came to visit during the morning.
Aikawa’s family came out one after another and entertained this rare guest.
Beginning with the adorable seven-year-old girl, the four children looked on curiously as they gathered around this bearded uncle.

Notice

I, due to illness, humbly wish to be absent from work today; hereby notify [the company] of this matter.

Having written this, Aikawa decided to have a rickshaw man deliver it to the company.

“Is that you, Mr. Hara?”
“I have completely failed to recognize you.”

Aikawa’s mother said this in a country-accented tone and came out to greet him there.

It was Aikawa’s mother who came out to greet them there, speaking in a country-accented tone.

“I’m terribly sorry to have made him take a day off from the company on my account.”

Hara turned toward Aikawa’s wife and said.

“Oh, not at all—it’s such a rare occasion for you to visit us,” Aikawa’s wife replied graciously. “The inn couldn’t be more delighted.”

While this conversation was taking place, Aikawa changed his clothes. Before long, the two friends left the Iidamachi inn together.

Aikawa treated them to lunch. That day, having resolved to stroll through Hibiya Park and converse at leisure for the first time in ages, they rode a Tokyo City Streetcar through neighborhoods undergoing urban renovation. For Hara, this visit to Hibiya marked not only his first occasion but also presented a cityscape through the train windows that seemed to proclaim nothing but astonishing truths. The roads had transformed. The architecture of houses had transformed. The shopfront displays had transformed. Here and there stood towering edifices—magnificent, innovative structures that appeared to overwhelm the soot-darkened traditional forms they dwarfed. Everything surged forward. Everything churned with unrest. Everything brimmed with vitality. The new strained to supplant the old. August sunlight flooded beyond the windows, blazing across rooftops and verdant foliage to make this Tokyo metropolis appear vigorously aflame. All that met Hara's eyes and ears fiercely agitated his heart. When Hara alighted from the streetcar with Aikawa, the jostling crowds rushing past and chaotic clamor of objects left him feeling somewhat faint.

The scene of the new park soon unfolded before the two.
When they emerged onto the narrow path between the pond and flower garden, the leaves of the kakuremino trees were lushly intertwined, and the shadows cast upon the grass appeared a particularly deep green.
The scent of roses, like those wilted by the sun, came wafting on the wind.
When he smelled that, suddenly Hara remembered the skies of Kanazawa.
The eight years of rural life spent tilling fields and raising chickens—how quiet, serene, and pleasant that must have been for Hara himself.
Even if Hara were to move his entire household here now, he found himself dreaming of suburban life in places like Tsunohazu or Sendagi.
Like a philosopher who knows contentment, Hara resolved to entrust himself to nature and find enjoyment.

Groups of people holding beautiful Western umbrellas passed by the two men several times.
The customs of the time, with people vying to outdo each other in following the latest trends, appeared resplendent, unrestrained, and picturesque.
Colors had changed, tastes had changed—everything had changed.
Among them were also those who entrusted their delicate hands to men, whispering from the side and walking through the tree shade while laughing lightly.
Hara, who had never even walked with his wife, would occasionally stop and gaze intently.
"Is this the new era we craned our necks longing for?"
Thus did Hara pose this question to himself.

When they emerged behind the Concert Hall, Hara gazed intently,

“However, we’ve both aged, haven’t we?”

Hara said.
Aikawa laughed and,

“Aged?
“I’ve never once thought such a thing!”

“Is that so?” Hara also smiled. “I have...
“Just the day before yesterday I met Kashiwagi from the university—and I thought to myself, ‘Ah, Kashiwagi has aged too.’
“Everyone ages, you know.
“Just look at someone like me.
“If it were just white hairs on my head, that would be one thing, but they’ve even started appearing in my beard now.”

“You’re bringing up such disheartening things,” Aikawa thought to himself. If you asked Aikawa, getting old was something he wouldn’t even deign to mention in passing. When he saw women who once wore traditional chignons now with pallid faces, their luster faded into hag-like visages, even trifling matters grated on his nerves. Such was his disposition. “We’re still in our thirties—someone like me has his whole future ahead,” Aikawa kept repeating inwardly.

The two men walked side by side in silence.

After a short while, Hara began speaking about the enjoyable aspects of his life in Kanazawa. He spoke of how he had rented a large former samurai residence with tea fields and bamboo groves in its backyard; how he had taken up a hoe to grow vegetables himself; how he had planted various Western flowers while raising chickens and keeping a cat—in short, how he had lived as naturally as a farmer for exactly eight years.

Hara spoke with the expectation of being heard—while there were businesses in the city proper, there was no true living to be found there; real life existed in the suburbs. Thus his plan involved relocating to areas like Sumidahasu or Sendagi; in any case moving house, first considering where to live before tackling business matters—this was what he explained.

"So you've roughly sorted out the housing situation then?" Aikawa inquired.

"Yep."

"Ha ha ha ha! You and I are quite different, Hara. If it were me, I'd look for work first—the house could wait indefinitely."

"But once I actually move here, I imagine some kind of work will naturally present itself."

"It's not that simple—you'd need to be prepared to idle about for a year first."

The two friends—one who sought to base his life plans around home, and the other who aimed first to step outside and then achieve something—eventually entered a teahouse within the park. Choosing a spot where cool breezes might reach them and sitting down, Aikawa took out a rolled cigarette from his Western suit's inner pocket. Hara, still wearing his black gauze haori, rolled up his sleeves and wiped his sweaty hands with a handkerchief.

Bright yellow mounds of "ice cream," summer fruits, and sweets were carried over. Aikawa smoked his rolled cigarette while,

“By the way, Hara – did you move here this time with some sort of plan?”

“What plan?” Hara asked, wiping his long mustache with a handkerchief.

“But you—isn’t that right? Soon we’ll both be hearing forty’s call, won’t we?”

“So that’s why I left the countryside.”
“And well—for now I don’t have any particular occupation, but I suppose something will work out eventually—”

“No—”
Aikawa cut him off. “That what—your plans going forward.”
“By now you should be starting your life’s work.”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about this,” said Hara, moving his thick eyebrows. “I want to try running a library.”

“Hmm, a library could be interesting,” Aikawa said emphatically.

“In Kanazawa, I already managed a school library and have some experience in that area—somehow it suits my inclinations. If there were a large library attached to the parliament, I’d like to go see it—”

Hara laughed while twisting his mustache.

In a corner of the teahouse, four or five young waitresses had gathered and were playing with a kitten. Occasionally, high-pitched bursts of laughter arose. The kitten—a black-furred creature with gleaming eyes—had come over to where the two men were sitting and meowed without them noticing. Before long, it climbed onto Hara’s lap.

“It seems it can tell who likes it,” Aikawa said with a laugh, watching Hara stroke the kitten’s head.

"By the way, Hara—you must have studied quite extensively during your long stay in the countryside."

"Me?" Hara smiled bitterly. "Someone like me doesn't read anything new. Just recently I received a letter from Nagata in England—he says we're both fellow old-fashioned traditionalists—"

"You needn't be so modest. It was you who started reading Balzac and Daudet before I did—look at this."

"I was obsessed back then," Hara murmured before shifting tone. "You're the one who must have studied hard. They say you're quite the continental expert."

“I wouldn’t call myself a continental expert, but I’ve collected quite a few Russian works,” Aikawa said as if recalling something. “Lately, I’ve started reading Turgenev again. It’s one of his later works—you know, Virgin Soil. I’ve been taking that to the office and reading it in my spare time. There’s this protagonist named Nezhdanov who appears, see. There are parts that somehow make me think, ‘Didn’t he write this about me?’”

At that moment, Aoki the university student entered the teahouse together with a friend named Fuse. The greeting “Ah” came simultaneously from both parties. Aikawa’s surroundings abruptly grew lively.

“Hara, let me introduce you,” said Aikawa, gesturing toward Aoki. “Aoki here—he’s in the university’s English literature department.”

“Ah, you must be Mr. Aoki. I have often read your writings in magazines,” Hara said with a polite bow.

Aoki was a man wearing silver-rimmed glasses with cropped hair who returned Hara's formal greeting with slight stiffness.

"This one here," said Aikawa, pointing at Fuse, "is Fuse—he's in the same year as Aoki."

Fuse had his hair impeccably parted.
In a manner both masculine and amiable, he said, "I've been an ardent reader of Mr. Hara's works since my middle school days."

"This Fuse studied under Mr. Nagata," said Aikawa, turning toward Hara.

“With Mr. Nagata?” Hara said nostalgically.

“Ah, I was greatly indebted to Mr. Nagata,” Fuse replied.

“Aoki, Western clothes are quite a rarity for you,” said Aikawa with a laugh. “Hmm, they suit you rather well.”

“Aoki—” Fuse interjected, “they say you look younger when wearing Western clothes.”

“I really do get teased everywhere I go,” Aoki said, stroking his closely cropped head.

“By the way, how was the meeting decided?” Aikawa asked.

“Professor Otsukotsu’s lecture—that’s settled.”
“And Mr. Takase has also graciously consented to attend.”
Fuse responded thus.

“Takase—you see how he keeps himself aloof—we’ll need to coax him out properly,” said Aikawa, then turned to Hara. “When you relocate here, you must lend your efforts to our circle’s endeavors.”

“Please, Mr. Hara—would you honor us with a few words?” Fuse entreated respectfully.

“It won’t do,” Hara demurred humbly. “As I just told Mr. Aikawa—someone like me belongs among the topknot traditionalists now—”

“There’s no such thing,” Fuse said, softening his tone with nostalgic warmth. “Truly, I’ve been an avid reader of Mr. Hara’s works. I often spoke about that with Professor Nagata too, you know.”

“Well, we are the children our esteemed teachers have brought into being,” Aoki added.

The youthful vigor in Aoki’s gaze as he looked their way through his glasses; the sincerity etched into Fuse’s features as he fondly recalled bygone days—both became seeds of nostalgia within Hara. The era when Aikawa, Otsukotsu, Takase, and even Nagata would regularly come and go now felt like a distant past to him.

Soon, the four of them left this teahouse.

At a narrow path between lawns planted with thin-trunked pines, Aikawa and Hara parted from the students and turned right along the pond's edge.
When Hara looked back, Aoki and Fuse had already vanished from view.

Hara sighed,

“The young people these days seem to come up with rather interesting ideas,” said Hara.

“Well, you see, they’re moving forward,” said Aikawa as he lit a new cigarette while walking.
“It’s different from when our lot were young.”

“I suppose so.”

“Plus, those two are perfectly capable workers—how can you not see that?”

As they walked along exchanging these words, the two emerged onto the stone wall overlooking the pond.
Beneath the trees, people lay sprawled across communal benches, greedily indulging in afternoon slumber.
There were women with pallid, death-like faces.
There were men of impoverished artisan appearance.
Among them were downcast souls who stared vacantly into the distance, anxiously pondering how to secure that evening’s meal.
Between the trees, flower gardens spread their charming vistas, while in the shimmering sunlight swayed the luminous patterns of Western umbrellas borne by fashion-chasing crowds.

The two men chose to walk under the lush zelkova trees.
There was no one there.

“I’m exhausted today.”

Aikawa sat down with a look of disappointment.
Hara stood gazing intently while,

“Mr. Aikawa, why has the world changed so suddenly?”
“Has there been such intense change specifically in these past two or three years? Or was everything transforming just as much ten years ago too—only we failed to realize it?”

“Well…” said Aikawa, puffing out his chest, “the changes these past two or three years must have been particularly drastic.”
“This is what the world has become.”

“Could it be the war’s influence?”

“Of course that’s part of it,” said Aikawa. “Then with trains now running, traffic intensifies—urban reforms are drastically transforming the city—Tokyo is now in the midst of a revolution.”

“The dark tea color has become quite influential,” Hara remarked as if recalling something.

“Hmm, dark tea color,” Aikawa said with a thoughtful look.

“Women have changed too,” Hara said emphatically. “Coming from the countryside, I was astonished to see how women’s fashions have transformed. Truly gorgeous, bold fashions. Look—everyone passing by has their own distinct style.”

“Anyway, we’ve progressed this far,” said Aikawa.
“Looking at kimono colors alone—in the past, people were satisfied with relatively simple ones.
Now even children’s clothes—they no longer speak of yellow or red, but have come to use many intermediate colors.
That’s how much we’ve advanced, I suppose.”

“But Aikawa,” said Hara, “has the interior progressed in the same way?”

“Of course.”

“Is that so...”

“Hara, Hara—here we are still thinking it’s our era, and before we know it, a new era has arrived.”

For a long time, the two men remained silent, gazing despondently into the distance.

At last, the time to part came.
For a while, the two men stood at the stone bridge outside the gate and gazed at the bustling traffic.
The old capital lay crumbling, with relics from the Tokugawa era still scattered here and there—it all recalled the chaotic tumult of a blazing fire scene filled with flames, smoke, and crowds.
New Tokyo—the metropolis yet to be built—seemed to unfold naturally amidst this demolition, collapse, and astonishing transformation.

“Ah, I’m glad I came out.”
Hara repeated these words in his heart.

After promising to meet again, he boarded the Tsukiji-bound train.

When he parted with his friend, Aikawa suddenly felt his spirits decline.
He made his way back from Wadakura Bridge toward Hitotsubashi along the flat road following the inner moat.
He who had laughed at his friend's talk of aging now conversely felt his own ambitions had been profoundly, deeply wounded by that very friend.
In truth, there were many things Aikawa was planning.
He was thinking of establishing a new school.
He was considering starting a newspaper.
He was contemplating publishing ventures.
At the very least, he harbored a burning, fervent hope to devote himself to society.
However, he had not laid a hand on a single one of them.

Two days later, as Aikawa was heading home from the company, he once again passed along this moatside. When he emerged onto what he habitually called "Lunchbox Carrier Avenue"—around the time government ministries were closing—crowds filed past with cloth-wrapped bundles tucked under their arms. Observing these masses trudging through hot sand with arms folded in Western suits, heads hung low, or peppermint pipes clenched between teeth—their irregular, feeble gait suggesting imminent collapse into the earth, their demeanor fretful over personal futures yet devoid of long-term foresight or preparation—Aikawa felt as though he were viewing the many willows lining this moatside: trimmed to uniform heights, branches and leaves lopped off, each denied the chance to extend its distinctive character. "Ah, it's the tree-lined avenue," Aikawa brought to mind the lives of lunchbox carriers.

“Walk with your heads held higher!”

Muttering this to himself, he gazed intently at the crowd of people now covered in dust.