Pathway to Japanese Literature

Yokomitsu Riichi

Rikako would occasionally raise her lustrous eyes as if stealing furtive glances at my face. At first I couldn't discern why she wore that particular expression today, but by the time I understood, I already sensed she loved me. Conveniently enough, I harbored neither intention to steal Rikako from her husband nor need to take her. For it was I from whom Rikako had been taken by her husband. Whether this misfortune—now fortunately transformed into happy outcome—would still constitute misfortune for me remained unclear. That Q had taken Rikako—Rikako who was then my wife—stood as undeniable fact. Yet one might equally say I had given Rikako to him. So potent was this simple condition breeding confusion between me, Rikako and Q. Though their conduct seemed commonplace as any worldly affair, here lurked one point I couldn't deem ordinary. This psychological current—that two people maintain peace while three disrupt it—flowed so strongly that peaceful continuation required either extraordinary wisdom or utter foolishness among the trio; in our case, my position as undisputed greatest fool stood confirmed. Between Q and myself, every instance found me achieving more foolish results. Tracing origins—we two being same age, classmates sharing major—we'd become fellow boarders in Rikako's house, upper and lower floors, paying equal attention to leading her astray. When I brought home that diamond specimen from crystallography class and first showed Rikako—that marked inception of her confusion between us two. Thus Rikako's life began with diamond. At that time we sat in Q's room discussing measurements of diamond's crystal faces I'd conducted downstairs. Then Rikako entered bearing tea as usual, initiating conversation with question about diamond's origin. Yet while comprehending parent rock relations, formation conditions and natural crystal faces, I failed grasping that girl's simplest desired knowledge. Whereupon Q—to my genuine astonishment—instantly declared it Minas Gerais. Though ignorant even of Minas Gerais' homeland, watching Q tell barely-graduated Rikako something incomprehensible—initially I too felt astonishment at his psychology—yet this astonishment swiftly transformed into admiration before shifting again into wholly different amazement. Q hurled words at my suspicious expression: observing diamond's conglomerate parent rock exhibiting erosional-depositional eruptive traces proved Ordovician eruption; conglomerate parent rock plus Ordovician eruption left Minas Gerais as sole possibility.

How could Q know about Minas Gerais' relationship with diamonds when I didn't even know where Minas Gerais was? This left me utterly astonished, and I momentarily forgot Rikako's presence as I asked, "Where exactly is this Minas Gerais you're talking about?" Q then fell silent as if restraining himself from further humiliating me before Rikako, writing "Minas Geraes" in pencil before adding: "Coffee." "Ah—Brazil?" I said, but the damage was done. This initial defeat before Rikako—at that age always eager to compare our knowledge—equaled half a lifetime of accumulated losses. From then I studied frantically under him to reclaim my standing, yet the harder I worked downstairs, the more intensely Q labored upstairs. If we supposedly studied equal amounts, it always appeared I'd done far less. When I read Lange, Q read Bauer. When I tackled Humboldt, he'd moved to Lorenz and Moissan. By the time I reached Moissan, he was already wrestling with Wolff and Hasslinger—even sleepless nights couldn't close that gap. Nothing stung more bitterly than watching my rival overhead relentlessly widen our distance. But when the chasm grew too vast, I specialized solely in revering him. To him, I'd never been a rival from the start. Contemplating how foolishly I'd imagined us adversaries while stewing alone made me pity myself. Moreover, Q himself faced A—the perpetual superior who outmatched him at every turn. Just as between Q and me, A surpassed Q in all matters. When Q studied Common Water Theory, A tackled Common Fire Theory. When Q grappled with catastrophism, A had already advanced to Payer's evolutionary theory—this rhythm drove Q to ever greater efforts. Yet observing Q's oppression under A filled me not with schadenfreude but vicarious resolve to spur myself harder. When Q suffered public defeat by A during a symposium, I withered as though I myself were Q. Exactly like when Minas Gerais had pierced me through.

Q had come under attack from A while explaining the relationship between magmatic differentiation and mother liquor—petrology’s greatest problem—when A suddenly declared that the method for measuring the specific gravity of silicic acid, which should form obsidian’s crystalline mother liquor, had been initiated by Darwin. For Q—who, like myself and all those gathered there, had until now thought of Darwin as nothing but a biologist—this came as far too great a surprise. Once that happened, when it came to matters like the specific gravity differences and depositional positions of various minerals within lava—issues that had been problematic until now—A undoubtedly knew best. The gathering then gradually began taking on the exact form of crystallographic laws, each person sinking according to their specific gravity. Considering how far inferior I was to Q, then how much more superior A was compared to that Q, when I contemplated the insurmountable distance in innate talent between A and myself, even my own fate became starkly clear before my eyes. From then on, my mind grew increasingly humble. Not only toward Q, but even toward other friends, neighbors, seniors, and juniors, I could no longer hold my head up. It was precisely from that time that I began contemplating God. That I came to ponder—why this imbalance in talent exists despite all human bodies being endowed with exactly the same number of muscles and bones—marked my first step toward approaching God. Looking back now, I realize that my having pursued this line of inquiry was a distinctive quality among us friends, but at the time, I could think of it as nothing but a result of defeat at the hands of my friends. My humility from that point onward only served to bring Q and me even closer together. Q would unfailingly offer me assistance in every matter, praise my character as unparalleled among our friends, commend the cause of my brain’s sluggish speed as being due to an excess of intelligence that perpetually backfired, and declare that powers of discovery and invention resided not in the workings of Q’s or A’s minds, but always in the reverse rotation of my own. Not only that, but he—as if taking pleasure in bringing Rikako and me closer—cared for both her and me. As for Q beginning to change in such a manner, I could only perceive it as a natural manifestation of his virtue. And so, before we knew it, Rikako and I ended up getting married, taking advantage of Q’s generosity. Whether I had been the one to tempt her first or she had tempted me remains unclear, but it was the fact that no one else was home at the time that sowed the seeds of our misfortune. Just as I was engaged in the blowpipe analysis of the trachyte I had collected from the crater as usual, Rikako suddenly entered my room saying the diathermy machine seemed broken and she wanted me to take a look. I had developed this strange habit of abandoning my studies whenever she said anything to me, and the moment I did so, I would always think, “This is a failure.” In contrast, when it came time to study, Q would rarely even turn away no matter who said what. Even as I abandoned my studies and followed after Rikako, I found myself contemplating Q’s magnificence and felt nothing but irritation.

And so, while angrily thinking—Why would a woman of supposed cultivation interrupt another’s studies?—I entered Rikako’s room, where she declared: “It’s precisely because it’s you that I can ask anything at any time—even fixing this deranged machine pressed to my skin like some diathermy device.” “Yet my mind grows duller by the day—that too is your doing,” I retorted. “If you must use my brain, use it to lift me up rather than drag me down. As it stands, my thoughts tilt too heavily toward you already.” At this, Rikako fell abruptly silent and lay motionless with her head upon my knee. Peering down at her stillness, I convinced myself she wept from distress—though I’d no right to speak so harshly. Flustered, I sought excuses and tried raising her up—only for Rikako to press closer still, clinging as if convinced my rebuke signaled earnest love. My confusion deepened until time and space themselves retreated from our entangled forms. Had this been mere momentary lapse, our actions might have passed without consequence. Yet beneath it all thrummed the diathermy’s vibrations—mechanical tremors wholly divorced from our wills—that silent catalyst destined to sunder our fates. Only later did I realize: this radio-wave contraption had already been humming against Rikako’s abdomen before my arrival, applied by her own hand to soothe some pain. Thus when she summoned me to mend its malfunction, her body stood thoroughly compromised—stimulus and error intertwined. For years I clung to the delusion that her ardor had been mine alone, never suspecting machinery’s covert dominance in our embrace. Thereafter I moved like a night-prowler through household gaps while feverishly plotting marriage. After days of hesitation, I finally confessed matters to Q. He studied me long before uttering: “Will you be all right?” I’d braced for jealous rage—certain his silence betrayed secret love for Rikako—yet now grasped his quietude as concern for my welfare. “We ended up thus precisely because you weren’t watching me closely enough,” I blurted in thanks. Q laughed darkly. “Then my negligence proved fortunate.” With false magnanimity he added: “Should hardship strike your new life together, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Thereupon, we married, and at the same time I began working at the Geological Society while Q remained in graduate school. And so we were happy for three years thereafter. My amicable exchanges with Q continued. When I became involved in Tertiary layer surveys, Q plunged ever deeper into stratigraphy. Yet this tranquility in our friendship resembled rocks standing across flowing river water. The current never ceased. The virtue and talent of Q that even moved me could not have failed to be reflected in Rikako alone—she who had flowed between us since ancient times. Before long Rikako’s heart began forgetting me day by day for Q’s illusions. To rephrase: from within Rikako—who first gave herself to me—the diathermy machine’s efficacy began retreating into shadow. When I who had conquered her alongside the machine found myself abandoned by it, I needed to give her something in its place. Yet I couldn’t comprehend what that might be. Initially I endured by convincing myself Rikako’s behavior sprang from intellectual growth. But she did more than gradually push me away. In every petty quarrel she’d finally invoke Q’s name; alone she endlessly wrote Q’s name on paper; in sleep she began crying Q’s name through delirious murmurs. Far from feeling jealous, I even considered loving one’s husband’s friend the ultimate proof of spousal devotion—the most refined courtesy. Then Rikako applied her own courtesy more intensely to match my cheerful decorum, until finally she began insisting Q had loved her more than I ever did. Hearing this left me speechless. From Rikako’s perspective—viewed a certain way—this might hold truth, I’d recall. When repeated often enough I started thinking perhaps it did hold truth. Pressed further still—even witnessing her claims firsthand—I progressed to believing Q must indeed have loved her more. Then I remembered Q’s prolonged silence when I’d confided in him before our marriage. Back then I’d rejoiced thinking it showed Q’s concern for me—but now came to believe the opposite: that Q fell silent from grief, then feigned concern when fearing I might notice. Thinking this made me abruptly cease feeling Rikako had ever been my wife since that time.

My life began turning upside down from its very foundations. I had always thought Rikako married me because she loved me—a notion that existed solely in my mind—but upon realizing that in truth Rikako had loved Q and Q had loved Rikako, my discomposure manifested not through seeking holes to hide in but through their utter absence. I continued lamenting how our marriage, made for Q’s past virtue, had brought me such profound unhappiness. It was from that time I came to think of marriage as defeat. Yet when I considered that I had been the one to first steal Rikako—whom Q had secretly loved—from him, I found myself compelled to pit my meager endurance against Q’s patience, which must have been steeped in daily lamentations far surpassing my own. In this strange competition of endurance and remorse, Rikako shrank ever further under the weight of her regret over marrying me. I could no longer bear to witness her daily state, and I myself had reached my limit in enduring this life as it was. One day I resolutely suggested to Rikako that she should go to Q’s place. Even though she had become another’s wife, wasn’t it Q who had made her someone’s wife? Moreover, he had shifted onto me the stone he himself should have borne. When I said that even were I to return that stone to Q he couldn’t possibly resent me, Rikako replied with flushed cheeks, “I’ll go.” As I walked her to Q’s gate, I realized along the way that I had also been defeated by him in our “endurance” competition. Yet the loneliness of my solitary life afterward paled before the “endurance” of those days when I bore her. Especially since Rikako would sometimes visit me alone. Even when I told her not to come, she insisted Q must visit me. When I said “Then you really shouldn’t come,” she replied, “But I want to come myself.” Even in this pious virtue where I said “Don’t come” and Q said “Go,” still it was Q—urging action—who proved superior. The vice of virtue—whenever Rikako’s face was shown to me, I couldn’t help dwelling on how Q and I competed in our virtues’ corruption. Moreover, though Rikako didn’t love me, her very act of pitying me had to be imbued with love’s magnitude. As for myself, I had to forgive even her self-indulgent conduct regarding the excessive affection I’d received from Q and Rikako. What reason had I to be angry at them?

The only cruelty for me lay in Q and Rikako’s pitying affection toward me. I understood that for them, pitying me rather than not constituted respecting me. Moreover, for them, continuing to pity me had become an even greater continuation of pain. There was one unnecessary thing here.

One day I explained this to Rikako and told her as one would speak to Q. She replied that such needless worrying wasn't for us two to bother with—if anyone should bear it, she alone would suffice. "If that means you shouldn't come anymore," I pressed on. "I can't help it—I still like you," she said. "I beg you—keep meeting me until I grow to utterly despise you." "You're being preposterously self-serving!" I retorted. "If things have come to this, which of us two bears responsibility?" Confronted thus, I had no choice but to accept blame. Moreover, when days passed without seeing her, my mind became filled with nothing but visions of Rikako. This proved unbearable—even when mustering resolve, I'd sink into listless wretchedness, loathing my own weakness. Not only could I never confess my loneliness to Rikako— when we met, I found myself compelled to insist I didn't want our meetings. She knew this well. When visiting, she'd speak exclusively of Q's virtues rather than admit wanting encounters. Though preferring shared admiration over hearing Q maligned, I gradually realized her praise served only to gratify some perverse aspect of my nature. Had some new transformation occurred within her, unrelated to my imaginings? Some time after this suspicion took root, the fossil debate between Q and A in geological journals intensified. Even without my resentful bias against Q, his defeat became undeniable— whether in organizing abundant data inductively or applying reasoning principles consistently. Matters culminated with A lecturing Q: "'Fossil' surpasses German 'Perefacten' for conveying mineralized remains. Any educated person knows 'fossil' derives from Latin 'fodere'—to dig— and should translate as 'paleontological organism.'" While A's arrogance angered me, I couldn't help sympathizing with Q's defeat. Whenever imagining Q's daily humiliations, Rikako's complexion—she who stood beside him— would materialize before me. Her very bearing transmitted waves of Q's resentful discontent, crashing against my consciousness. Observing Rikako, I began gauging even the magnitude of defeat's impact on Q.

Moreover, even the agitation of Rikako coming to realize that Q was a far inferior figure to A—I detected this from beneath her words of praise for Q. That’s what I hate most about her. The new ugliness of her agitation over her husband’s defeat—this ugliness was nothing but the most barbaric savagery inherent to women. Yet when I considered Q’s life—one in which he must continue being defeated daily by the formidable A while still battling Rikako’s savagery—it struck me that Q had become the most wretched man of all. There would likely be no sunlight left to shine upon Rikako and Q’s relationship. As long as Q did not hand Rikako over to A. But that was where Q differed from me. He was a man who, while possessing the virtue of limitless self-sacrifice toward those weaker than himself, could never retreat from those stronger—even unto death. Moreover, in this battle between A and Q—no matter how far it went—A was destined to keep winning. If Rikako were to despise Q each time—I realized that returning her to Q had been nothing short of the greatest vice for both him and her. I understood well enough that there was no need for compunction even if what I had done thinking it virtuous had turned vicious—yet the fact remained that just as Rikako had abruptly come to dislike me from that moment on, Q had grown increasingly dear to me. One day, I casually told Rikako how the great geniuses of geology’s past had been successively defeated by newly emerging geniuses over time. Truly, even as I recalled the rise and fall of new theories that had emerged over the past century, I could not help but feel the limitations of individual power. When I considered Hutton’s Plutonism that overturned Werner—the Neptunism advocate who once dominated an era—then Catastrophism that overturned Hutton’s Plutonism, Lyell’s Uniformitarianism that defeated Sedgwick’s Catastrophism, and finally Darwin’s Theory of Evolution which synthesized them all, I could not help but feel that one individual’s defeat by another was not defeat at all, but rather service to God. If that was defeat, then the victor must inevitably lose to someone else. When I suggested that even the battle between A and Q was not a battle at all but merely manufacturing gifts for future geniuses, Rikako—who until then had been silently listening to my ramblings—suddenly collapsed onto my chest. If this shift in her emotions were to bring happiness again to Q and her—I thought—it unexpectedly revealed that Rikako had instead shifted toward me. If an individual’s defeat was not truly defeat, then just as Q had not lost to A, neither had I lost to Q. All my previous ramblings had been for no one’s sake but my own. That Rikako had collapsed onto my chest was likely because she too thought I had spoken for myself; even so, her action alone sufficed as proof that while I rambled on, she had been thinking of me rather than Q.

Revived love—but wasn’t that ultimately something I had twisted into being? As myself, I must twist her back to Q once more.Having thought this,I immediately told Rikako:"You’ve been misusing Q’s virtue that we two created together—from today onward,reform yourself and comfort him.Unless you do,your happiness will never return.Happiness never resides in knowledge;it lies solely in lowering your head and assimilating."Yet the moment I said this,I realized these words too were increasingly becoming nothing but a speech for my own sake. And so I told her:"Since my admonishing words must ultimately come from my own heart,dont assume Im speaking for myself—everything I say is for your sake.If you think its for me,I’d rather die than speak at all.At least consider this as showing respect for our long life together—otherwise,what was our shared existence for?"To this,Rikako replied that it was because Id been persistently misjudging her lately. When I asked what misunderstanding she meant,shesaid:"You insist on viewing my actions through my ugly aspects alone,and because of that you brush away even my hard-won good parts—all through your supposedly loving heart." "So please try harder to find my good side like before—if you dont,I’ll never know happiness again." I once again considered what aspect of Q had compelled me to say such things abruptly,but couldnt think beyond my prior conclusions. So I asked,"Does that mean you love Q?"She replied she did,but not as before—that she still loved me more.Even if a lie,I felt joy,yet no longer understood why such words pleased me. But more pressingly—how had Rikako changed so drastically now,having left despite such admiration for Q,yet not even a year later? Just as she fled my home when the diathermy machine’s effects waned,might her escape from Q now stem from my diathermy-like influence within him losing potency? My marriage to Rikako began because that machine ignited fire in her body. Her marriage to Q undoubtedly occurred because I had sparked her like diathermy. And now her return must mean Q’s diathermy has reignited flames within her. I detest this woman now. Get out,youdamn beast—as I silently roared this internally,Rikako suddenly began spewing restrained criticisms of Q as if denying me thought. Accordingtoher,speaks ill of you—though you secretly praise Q so much,Q does the opposite. I could no longer sense what made Q remarkable these days. She called him a fake,a liar,a sore loser obsessed with dominance—a man versed only in women and contempt. As I stared dumbfounded,Rikako spoke through laughter growing paler with each chuckle while tears fell. It felt like watching panes of glass grate deep within—the boundaries between my rightful joy and Q’s trampling grew hazy.

Then Rikako, as if sinking her teeth into my windpipe, launched into an attack: “You—playing the fool and saint while being sly and impossible to dismiss, sniveling like a fretful monk yet forever itching to lecture people!” This tempestuous outburst of hers swept away the discomfort festering in my heart as I’d listened to her disparage Q until now. Not only that—each word Rikako spoke resonated in my chest until I found myself nodding along up to my neck, thinking Yes, exactly. The truth was, I’d been overpraised by Q and Rikako all this time. The more they praised me, the more rigidly I became fixed in that praised form, sliding ever deeper into wretchedness. That warped heart ceaselessly craved contradictory happiness—striving to best others yet sinking into gloom when defeated by fixating on their vulnerabilities—possessing every mediocre virtue while maintaining a serene mask of enlightenment—secretly lamenting—disdaining conflict yet prizing refinement only to wallow in vulgarity—I—prodding myself—hissed: *Haven’t you had enough?* Then, together with Rikako before me, I erupted into savage laughter. That Q had secretly spoken ill of me now served only to heighten my reverence for him. But even so—were these stirrings in my heart genuine? Even if my perspective was flawed, surely I wasn’t alone in finding perverse comfort in feeling one’s own pain as pain? As for greatness—if I possessed any—it lay solely in refusing to mistake my weakness for strength.

I told Rikako. "You’ve somehow uncovered this astonishing feminine knowledge from me—knowledge that will only destroy you and Q, while ultimately lifting me higher than ever." "Don’t you know I’m always picking up everything you keep dropping?" "Don’t you even know what you’re dropping?" However much I pressed her, Rikako only grew paler at the words she had thrown out herself, until finally, weeping on my lap, she declared she would never go back to Q again. Once again, I had to line up lies and toil in order to send her back to Q’s place. She called me a stinking monk, a liar, a coward, and then—when she ran out of insults to hurl—sank her teeth into my wrist. I pushed her away—"I’ve forgotten how to love someone like you." "Disgusting! Get out!" I shouted—but even so, Rikako lunged at me again. "You love me." "No matter how many lies I tell," she cried, refusing to let go of me. I—I had finally crawled up to the cliff’s edge in my wretched state, only to push myself back down into the mud. Rikako began to suddenly come alive, childlike, upon seeing my wretched state. That was her habit when rejoicing, but more than that—what will Q, left alone by her, do now? What am I to do—I who must continue this life with her once more? But in any case, first that night I calmed Rikako down by telling her to return to Q’s house once and—if she wanted to come back—to properly inform Q about it beforehand—and then we two went out. When we went outside, she entered the grounds of a shrine we happened to pass by and rang the bell. During that time, standing alone at the gate, I felt myself becoming unstable—as if dangling weightlessly in midair.

When Rikako returned from before the shrine altar, she told me to go there and bow. I said no. Then she came and bowed for my sake, saying that since she—after being lost in doubt for so long—had finally come to understand my true worth, I should at least bow once for that reason. Yet even as my inner anger toward her hadn’t subsided, I couldn’t bring myself to bow. I tried to walk past in silence without responding. But Rikako grasped my arm and did not let go. “Please do this for me—when I think of how I’ve kept troubling someone as kind as you, no amount of bowing alone will suffice,” she said. “I said no.” “Then I’ll be stuck with punishment forever—even if I come to you, there’s no happiness left for me,” she began crying. As I watched Rikako cry, I felt my heart naturally giving way. Even so—why was she now so pathetically weakened after having berated me so fiercely earlier? Though I thought this must be how a fierce woman like me makes her submit, I did not lower my head as if to strike her face. Then Rikako forcibly turned my body toward the altar and pressed down on my head from above. I couldn’t bring myself to get angry, but when I flicked away Rikako’s hand, I tried to slip into the crowd. She came chasing after me and said again: “You’re angry with me—I can’t blame you for that, but please forgive me just for today.” “I’ve reformed from the bottom of my heart—please accept that much at least. If you reject even my reformation, I’ll have no choice but to fall into depravity.” “I want you to help me now—please,” she pleaded. As I walked ahead wondering what I was still holding onto this anger for, I suddenly took pity on Rikako’s wilted state and ended up saying, “Alright, alright.” This was exactly why it was no good—I’d think, and though I’d grow furious recalling those long hours I’d made her suffer again, I’d immediately falter, ending up feeling sorrier for Rikako than myself. When I became aware of this hopeless self of mine, before I knew it, I was bowing my head to Q.

When I thought that perhaps even Rikako was secretly bowing her head to Q, I found myself desperately wishing she truly was. I asked Rikako, “Have you ever once apologized to Q from the start?” She remained silent, never answering. So even if you bowed at the altar, it wouldn’t help—doing that would erase your gratitude. When I said, “Then someday you’ll surely flutter back to Q again,” Rikako moved behind me and began crying. I told her that when I say such things, it’s not to show some goodness of mine that can’t compare to Q’s, but because I understand better than anyone the loneliness Q must feel after you left—to which she replied she’d go apologize to Q tonight. “Fine then,” I said, but after seeing her to Q’s gate and returning home, I grew even more conflicted about handling Rikako. The truth was—when I first took Rikako from Q, I did so silently; when returning her, silently too; and today, taking her again in silence—where did such privilege reside in me? Even if Rikako was my former wife, wasn’t she now another’s? But no sooner had I thought this than I realized—as if doused in cold water—that the defeated one wasn’t Q, but myself. The taker had been taken. What fool would willingly torment themselves by grinding sin’s depths into their own defeat? Then my heart brightened as if flipping a palm. I must first sever all past memories. I must cast off my former life. If defeated, then defeated—so be it. First came a brightness like piercing through clouds.

Having thought that, I immediately resolved to embark on a journey aboard a plane kicking off the earth and speeding away as the first step toward the entirely new life that Rikako and I were to begin.

When Rikako came to my place the next morning, I could discern her joy at a glance. I resolved not to ask anything about what Q had said and immediately began explaining my plan. I said, “Our relationship has been tangled for a long time, but I want you to shed—today of all days—all past memories and life together with me. The two of us will be reborn. If that brings you joy too, I want you to depart on a plane journey with me starting today.” “But what if we fall and die?” she said. “If we fall and die, it’ll just mean our life ends where it began—could there be anything more splendid than that?” Our relationship was different from others’. Unless we washed our hands of the earth once and for all, the stench of our old life would cling to us no matter how far we went. “If from now on we’re constantly pursued by our old life, I’ll sever our bond myself when that moment comes!” When I declared this firmly, Rikako nodded for the first time. As she nodded, she grew more eager than I was and immediately called the airline to purchase two seats. Soon we would become birds. Birds. This joy felt immeasurably great even to me—a geologist. A body leaping over mountains, rivers, seas and plains; that instant of kicking off the ground; the sensation above clouds—I had the car speed toward the airport while gazing skyward like an eagle poised to take flight. When the time came and I heard the propeller whirring in the field, I stuffed cotton into Rikako’s ears and asked, “Ready?” “Ready,” she answered. The two of us sat side by side in the tilted aircraft seats.

The black-clad people at the airport peered in through the still-open door as if witnessing their final glimpse of us two. I wanted nothing more than to leave this land that very instant. I wanted to hurl my gloves at the past— At that long-withered past. Then abruptly, the door slammed shut.

That was enough. Farewell. The aircraft began taxiing. I waited in eager anticipation for the moment when the wheel’s arc—like a leg—would kick against the ground. And feathers sprouted on my body. The wheels ceased spinning in mid-air. Before my eyes, the forest began shrinking. The house sank. The fields began floating like waves beneath the soles of my feet. I became a bird. Into a bird. My wings struck the mountains. From beneath the wings appeared a crushed peninsula. The parched town cowered out like a skin disease.

Where had I dropped my past along the way? While chasing only the fan-like swirling light amidst the clouds, I continued floating. Nowhere in me did life remain. The mind merely ravaged the earth like a ray of light. From the depths of time cleaving straight down the middle, all that was visible were graveyards. Ancient times enveloped my surroundings and began to sleep. Dreams upon dreams spread like a great sea, spreading ever further. While watching their course, I ended up shattering before I knew it. When I suddenly looked at Rikako beside me, I regained my position. But Rikako—this gigantic monster rivaling a peninsula—what could she be? ―I touched her body. Then my fingertips sent into me—like a single line connecting from the earth—the habits, smells, and temperatures of the ground I had long forgotten. But now, like a sharp wind seeping through cracks, it merely refreshed my chest. I pulled Rikako close and wrote "marriage" on paper. Then Rikako added "Thank you" beside it. The two placed their new married life's first step at the clouds' very center. Tiny water droplets accumulated under the wings and flowed trembling toward armpits. The knotted wire supporting wings danced endlessly like butterflies within rainbows. We broke through one rainbow only to be assailed by another new one. Was it a single connected rainbow? A swarm of clustered rainbows? Prostrating ourselves beneath shimmering rainbow feet that glittered as if in battle, Rikako and I renewed our marriage once more.