Pathway to Japanese Literature

Yokomitsu Riichi Rikako would occasionally raise her lustrous eyes as though stealing glances at my face. At first I couldn't fathom why she wore that expression particularly today, but by the time I understood, I already felt she loved me. Conveniently enough, I neither harbored any intention to take Rikako from her husband nor had any need to take her. For I had been robbed of Rikako by her husband. Whether this misfortune having now fortunately led to a happy outcome would still constitute misfortune for me or not—that I do not know. That I—Rikako who had been my wife—was indeed taken from me by Q remains fact. Yet if one were to say I gave Rikako to him, then it could be said. To such an extent does some element exist between Rikako, Q and myself that induces simple hesitation. What may appear as mundane behavior commonplace in society contains within it a single point I cannot perceive as ordinary. The psychological principle that two people can coexist peacefully but three cannot—that this situation proceeds peacefully must mean either one among us three possesses remarkable wisdom or someone plays the fool. In this case among us three, it remains certain that I am by far the greatest fool. As for Q and myself—in every matter I achieve more foolish results. If we trace our origins—we two being of same age and class year sharing identical majors—as fellow boarders upstairs and downstairs in Rikako's house we similarly devoted attention to bewildering her. When I brought home a diamond specimen from crystallography class and first showed it to Rikako—if I trace it back—this marked Rikako's initial bewilderment between us two. In other words—Rikako's life began with a diamond. At that time we were in Q's room discussing measurements of diamond crystal faces I had just conducted downstairs. Then Rikako entered carrying tea and began conversing as usual before asking where the diamond originated. Yet while I understood its relation to parent rock and natural crystal faces—I alone failed to grasp this ordinary thing she most wanted to know. Then Q—to my genuine astonishment—immediately declared it was Minas Gerais. Though I myself didn't even know what country contained Minas Gerais—to Q stating something Rikako who'd barely graduated girls' school couldn't possibly comprehend—at first even I couldn't help astonishment—yet my astonishment swiftly transformed into reverence before shifting again into entirely different astonishment—this was nothing other than [the case].

Q snapped at my dubious expression, declaring that since the diamond’s parent rock was conglomerate and bore traces of erosional deposition under eruptive conditions, it undoubtedly originated from an Ordovician eruption—and if the parent rock was conglomerate from an Ordovician eruption, then it could only be Minas Gerais. Though I didn’t even know where Minas Gerais was, how could Q know its connection to diamonds? This left me dumbfounded, and in my distraction I forgot Rikako was beside me as I asked, “Where exactly is this Minas Gerais you mention?” Q—as if restraining himself from humiliating me further before Rikako—silently wrote “Minas Geraes” in pencil and said, “Coffee.” “Ah—Brazil?” I uttered, but by then it was too late.

This first defeat before Rikako—who at that age was always eager to compare our knowledge—was tantamount to having already spent half my life in continuous defeat. From then on, I began studying more intensely beneath him to recover from this initial defeat—but the more I did so, the more Q kept studying just as vigorously upstairs. If we supposed both of us were studying equal amounts, it inevitably turned out I ended up studying far less than him. When I read Lange, Q was reading Bauer. When I read Humboldt, he was reading Lorentz and Moissan. By the time I finally reached Moissan, he had already moved on to Wolf and Hasslinger—a predicament where even burning midnight oil couldn't help me catch up. However sorrowful one might profess to feel, nothing could surpass the bitterness of watching my rival relentlessly widen his lead above me. But when that chasm grew too vast, I began specializing exclusively in revering him. To him, someone like me had never been an adversary from the start. Contemplating how foolishly I'd imagined myself his rival while brooding alone made me pitifully self-aware. Moreover, Q himself faced perpetual outmatching by his own rival A. Between A and Q—just as between Q and me—A emerged superior in every contest. When Q grappled with Common Water Theory, A wrestled with Common Fire Theory. When Q tackled Disaster Theory, A had already advanced to Payer's Evolutionary Theory—a pattern that drove Q to ever-greater exertions. Yet observing Q oppressed by A stirred in me not vengeful glee but supportive fervor that made me spur him onward. On days like when Q suffered public defeat by A during research presentations,I shriveled as though experiencing his humiliation firsthand—exactly as when Minas Gerais had pierced me through. Q had plunged into explaining magma differentiation's relationship with parent liquid—petrology's paramount issue—only for A to ambush him by declaring Darwin himself originated obsidian's silicic acid measurement method. For Q—who like myself and all present had considered Darwin purely a biologist—this proved devastatingly unexpected. With matters reaching this pass regarding lava mineral precipitation patterns—our former focus—A's supremacy became indisputable.

The gathering then gradually began assuming the precise form of crystallographic laws, each person sinking according to their specific gravity. As I contemplated myself—far inferior to Q—then considered A who surpassed even that Q, and measured the insurmountable gulf of innate ability between A and myself, my very fate materialized distinctly before my eyes. Thereafter, my mind grew increasingly humble. Not only toward Q, but even toward other friends, neighbors, seniors and juniors alike, I could no longer lift my head. It was precisely from that moment I began contemplating God. That human bodies all possess identical numbers of muscles and skeletons, yet this imbalance of innate abilities persists—through pondering this paradox I took my first step toward approaching God. Now in retrospect I recognize that pursuing this line of inquiry constituted a distinctive quality among our circle of friends, though at the time I could only perceive it as another defeat inflicted by them. From then on, my humility served solely to draw Q and me into closer proximity. Q assisted me in every matter, praised my character as peerless among friends, commended my sluggish mental pace as evidence of excessive intelligence backfiring, and proclaimed that powers of discovery and invention resided not in Q's or A's mental processes but perpetually in my mind's counter-rotating force. Moreover, he tended to both her and me as though delighting in our growing closeness. Regarding Q's transformation in this manner, I could perceive nothing except the natural manifestation of his virtue.

And so, Rikako and I ended up marrying through presuming on Q’s generosity. Whether I first seduced her or was seduced by her remains unclear, but our being alone in the house at that moment became the cause of our misfortune. I was conducting blowpipe analysis on trachyte collected from the crater as usual when Rikako suddenly entered my room saying the diathermy seemed broken and asked me to check it. Whenever she spoke to me, I’d developed this peculiar habit of abandoning my studies—the instant I did so, I’d always think “I’ve messed up.” By contrast, when Q studied, he rarely even glanced away no matter who addressed him. Though I abandoned my work to follow Rikako, I found myself contemplating Q’s formidable presence, feeling solitary irritation. While fuming “Why would a cultured woman interrupt others’ studies?” I entered her room where she declared, “It’s precisely because it’s you that I can ask anything anytime—isn’t fixing this malfunctioning machine pressed against my skin, like the diathermy, your specialty?” “Yet my mind deteriorates precisely because you’re using it,” I countered. When I added “If you must use it, use it to elevate rather than fixate—my mind already tilts too much toward you,” Rikako fell silent and pressed her head motionless against my knee. Looking down at her stillness, I convinced myself she wept from distress—me having overstepped by speaking so. Flustered, I tried lifting her up with excuses, whereupon Rikako—interpreting this as proof of deepening affection—clung tighter until separation became impossible. My mind dissolved into chaos until time and space retreated from us both. Though their actions here weren’t inherently wrong, the diathermy’s vibrations—wholly separate from their wills—that first set Rikako trembling lay silently as the faultline fracturing their fates. Only later did I realize she’d already been using this radio-like device to soothe abdominal pain before my arrival. Thus when she summoned me mid-treatment to fix it, her body had been sufficiently stimulated and compromised. For years I believed her excitement stemmed solely from me, never suspecting the machine secretly dominated her show of affection. Thereafter I burglarized household privacy while hastening marriage preparations. After initial hesitation about consulting Q, I finally broached the matter. After prolonged silence studying my face, Q uttered one phrase: “Will this hold?” Having frozen thinking his silence meant loving Rikako, I now realized he’d withheld speech from concern for my welfare.

I expressed gratitude to Q and said that Rikako and I had ended up in that situation precisely because you hadn't been watching over me sufficiently. To this, Q laughed and replied that in that case it was just as well he hadn't watched over me, even encouraging us not to hesitate to speak up should our married life encounter difficulties. Thus when we married, I took a position at the Geological Society while Q remained in graduate school. And so we were happy for three years thereafter. Our tranquil interactions with Q continued. When I became engaged in surveying Tertiary strata, Q plunged ever deeper into stratigraphy. Yet this calm in our friendship resembled a rock standing firm across flowing river water. The current had never ceased its motion. The virtues and talents of Q that even moved me could hardly have failed to manifest themselves to Rikako, who had flowed between us since time immemorial. Soon Rikako's heart began daily forgetting me through fantasies of Q. To rephrase - from within Rikako who had first given herself to me, the diathermy's efficacy began withdrawing into shadows. Having conquered her through machinery only to be abandoned by that machinery, I now had to provide some substitute. Yet I couldn't comprehend what that substitute might be. Initially I endured it, believing Rikako's conduct stemmed from intellectual maturation. But she did not stop at gradually pushing me aside. In every petty quarrel she would finally invoke Q's name; alone she endlessly wrote Q's name on paper; in sleep she began crying Q's name. Far from feeling jealousy, I even considered loving one's husband's friend the ultimate proof of spousal devotion - the most refined courtesy. Whereupon Rikako redoubled her own courtesies in response to my cheerful propriety, until finally declaring Q had loved her more than I ever did. Hearing this I fell mute; from Rikako's perspective it might well be true; repeated assertions made me half-believe it; seeing her conviction I progressed to certain knowledge that Q's love had indeed surpassed mine. Then I remembered Q's prolonged silence when I'd confided in him before our marriage. What I'd taken for concerned hesitation was in truth speechless grief - only when fearing discovery did he hastily affect solicitude for my welfare.

When I thought that, I abruptly stopped feeling that Rikako had been my wife since that time.

My life began to turn upside down from its very foundations. Until now, I had thought Rikako and I married because she loved me—a belief that existed solely in my own mind. But upon realizing that in truth Rikako had also loved Q, and Q had loved Rikako, the nature of my discomfiture began shifting; it no longer consisted merely of searching for holes to hide in.

I continued to lament how our marriage—conducted for Q's former virtue—had brought me such profound unhappiness. That marriage meant defeat was something I began to recall from that very time. Yet when I considered that I had been first to take Rikako—whom Q had secretly loved—from him, I found myself compelled to confront Q's endurance, which must have persisted through daily lamentations far exceeding my own, with what meager patience I now possessed. In this bizarre contest of endurance and repentance, Rikako grew ever more diminished under the weight of her regret at having married me. I could no longer bear to witness her daily condition, and I myself had reached the limit of enduring this existence as it stood.

One day I mustered my resolve and suggested to Rikako that she go to Q's place. Though she had become another's wife—wasn't it Q who had made her one in the first place?—moreover, he had shifted onto me the very stone he himself should have borne. When I said, “Even if I were to return that stone to Q, he couldn’t possibly get angry with me,” Rikako replied, “I’ll go,” her face flushing. There, while walking Rikako to Q’s gate, I realized along the way that even in our “endurance” competition, I had been defeated by him. However, the loneliness of my solitary life thereafter was nothing compared to the “endurance” of those days when I bore her.

Especially since Rikako sometimes came alone to visit me. Even when I told Rikako not to come, Q insisted she must visit my place. When I argued that she shouldn’t come under those circumstances, she replied that she herself wanted to. Even in this contest of pious virtue—where I urged her not to come while Q pressed her to go—it remained clear that Q surpassed me through his very insistence. The depravity of virtue—each time Rikako’s face appeared before me, I couldn’t help contemplating this corruption born from Q and I competing in moral excellence. What’s more, though Rikako didn’t love me, I was compelled to perceive great affection within her pitying gaze. For my part, I had no choice but to forgive her self-indulgent conduct regarding the excessive tenderness I’d received from both Q and her in the past. At what specific point did I need to feel anger toward them? The true cruelty lay solely in Q and Rikako’s pitying affection for me. I understood that for them, showing pity meant respecting me more than withholding it would. Yet continuing to pity me only deepened their own suffering. Here existed one superfluous element. ——One day I explained this to Rikako, addressing her as I would Q. She responded that such unnecessary worrying wasn’t for “you people” to handle—she alone should bear it. When I retorted that she shouldn’t visit anymore then, she countered: “But I can’t help it—I still love you.” I found myself begging her to keep meeting me until she grew to thoroughly despise me. Even when I protested this was too self-serving and unreasonable, she shot back: “Then which of us two brought things to this state?” Confronted thus, I had to admit it was indeed myself—and when days passed without seeing her, that void filled completely with visions of Rikako. This proved unbearable. Any attempt at remedy left me listless until I disgusted myself with my own wretchedness. Not only could I not confess my loneliness to Rikako—

When I met her, I had to say nothing but that I didn't want to meet her anymore. She knew this too, and when coming to see me, she wouldn't say she'd wanted to meet me but spoke only of Q's virtues. I would have preferred maintaining the virtues we both acknowledged over hearing her disparage Q, yet I gradually realized Rikako's praises of him existed solely to gratify my disposition. Had some new change—different from what I imagined—arisen within her? It was some time after I began thinking this. The debate between Q and A over shellfish fossils in the geologists' journal intensified. Even without my resentful heart toward Q influencing matters, it was clear he had lost—both in inductively organizing his abundant materials and in reliably applying reasoning principles. Ultimately, A told Q to use "fossil" instead of the German "Perefacten," arguing it better suited the term's meaning—adding that anyone knew "fossil" derived from Latin "fossere" (to dig out) and should translate as ancient organism. Of course A's arrogance angered me, but more pressingly, I couldn't help sympathizing with Q's defeat. Imagining Q enduring daily bitterness made Rikako's pallid face beside him materialize before me. Her demeanor transmitted Q's seething resentment in waves that crashed against me. Observing Rikako, I began sensing even the magnitude of Q's defeated blow. Moreover, I detected beneath her praises the turbulence of her dawning realization: Q stood far inferior to A. This was what I hated most about her. The fresh ugliness of her agitation at her husband's defeat—this ugliness embodied woman's most savage cruelty. Yet considering Q's existence—endlessly battling Rikako's cruelty while being daily crushed by A's relentless vigor—I came to see him as mankind's most wretched man. Sunlight would likely never again shine between Rikako and Q. Unless Q surrendered her to A. —But here Q differed from me. He possessed virtue enough to endlessly sacrifice himself for weaker men—yet against stronger ones couldn't retreat until death.

Moreover, between A and Q—in this battle of theirs—no matter how protracted it became, A was destined to emerge victorious each time. If Rikako were to scorn Q with every defeat—I came to realize that having returned Rikako to Q had been an act of supreme vice even on their behalf. Though I understood there was no obligation to feel contrite should my intended benefaction transform into maleficence, the truth remained that from this moment—as Rikako abruptly became repugnant to me—Q grew all the more dear. One day I obliquely recounted to Rikako how geology's great geniuses had been successively vanquished by newly emerging minds. Even as I traced the century-spanning rise and fall of theories, I could not escape sensing the crushing insignificance of individual capability's confines. When contemplating Hutton's Plutonism overturning Werner's Neptunism that once reigned supreme; Cuvier's Catastrophism supplanting Hutton; Lyell's Uniformitarianism routing Sedgwick's Catastrophism; and Darwin synthesizing them all into evolutionary theory—I found myself compelled to perceive one individual's defeat by another not as failure, but as divine service. If this constituted defeat, then every victor must inevitably succumb to another.

If I were to say that even the battle between A and Q was not a battle but merely producing a gift for the next emerging genius—Rikako, who until now had been silently listening to my loquaciousness—suddenly collapsed against my chest. If this shift in her feelings were to bring happiness again upon Q and her—as I thought this—it unexpectedly revealed that Rikako had turned toward me. If an individual’s defeat is not truly defeat, then just as Q did not lose to A, neither have I lost to Q. All my loquaciousness until now had been for no one’s sake but my own. That Rikako collapsed against my chest was likely because she thought I had spoken for myself—but even so, her action alone sufficiently proved that during my ramblings, she had been thinking of me rather than Q. Revived love—but wasn’t that ultimately something I had twistedly engineered? As myself, I must wrench her back to Q once more. Having thought this, I immediately told Rikako: “Since you’re misapplying the virtues of Q that we two crafted together, from today you must change your heart and comfort him—otherwise you’ll never know happiness again. Happiness has never resided in knowledge; it lies solely in lowering one’s head to assimilate.” Yet the moment I spoke these words, I realized this too was increasingly becoming something uttered solely for my own sake. “So ultimately,” I continued, “since these admonishments must emerge from my own heart, listen without assuming I speak for myself—everything I say is for your sake. If you think it’s for me, I wouldn’t utter it even if I died—consider this at least as respect for our long life together. Otherwise, what was the purpose of our shared years?” To this, Rikako replied: “That’s because you’ve done nothing but misunderstand me lately.” When I asked what misunderstanding she meant, she said: “You insist on viewing my actions through their ugliest facets alone—because of this, you discard even the occasional goodness through your heart that clings to loving me.” “So seek out the good in me like before—unless you do, I’ll never find happiness.” I suddenly pondered once more what aspect of Q had compelled Rikako to say such things—but could think no further than I already had. Then I asked: “So do you love Q now?” She answered that she did love him—but not as before—that she still loved me more. Even if a lie, this pleased me—yet I no longer understood why such words should bring joy. No—rather, how could Rikako—who had so adored Q when she left—have transformed this drastically in less than a year? This mirrored when she fled my home as the Diathermy subsided—that she now began escaping Q too must be because the new Diathermy of me latent within him had started waning. The reason I ended up marrying Rikako initially was surely because Diathermy had ignited flames within her body. The reason she married Q was surely because I had kindled her like Diathermy. And now that she fluttered back to me again—it must be that Q’s Diathermy had rekindled its fire within her. I detest this woman now. “Get out, you bastard,” I silently roared within—when Rikako abruptly began hurling criticisms of Q she’d hitherto restrained, as if denying me even a moment’s reflection.

According to her, she spoke ill of you—even though you secretly praised Q so much—yet Q did precisely the opposite. Lately I couldn’t perceive from any angle where Q’s supposed excellence lay. He was a fraudster and liar—a sore loser obsessed with posturing—who knew only how to scorn others and chase women. As I stared dumbfounded at her face, Rikako began laughing—but with each laugh she grew paler until tears burst forth. I felt like watching panes of glass grinding against other panes deep within already abraded glass; boundaries blurred between where my rightful joy ended and where Q lay trampled. Then Rikako lunged at my throat: “You look like some bumbling fool yet scheme relentlessly—a sniveling monk who frets and preaches!” This tempestuous outburst swept away all lingering bitterness from hearing Q disparaged. More than that—each word she spat resonated through me until my neck bobbed in frenzied agreement. Truly I had been overpraised by Q and Rikako until then. The more they lauded me, the more rigidly I calcified into that praised form—sliding ever deeper into ruin. This warped heart ceaselessly craved opposing joys—striving to surpass others yet wallowing when defeated—parading enlightened calm while hoarding mediocrity—shunning conflict yet rotting through refinement—and when my own voice hissed Haven’t you finished? Haven’t you?, I erupted with Rikako into savage laughter. That Q had secretly slandered me now only deepened my respect for him. But even so—was this shift genuine? Even if my perspective erred—surely I wasn’t alone in savoring pain as pain? My greatness—if any existed—lay solely in refusing to mistake weakness for strength.

I said to Rikako: "You’ve somehow managed to gather knowledge about women that astonishes even me—but that knowledge will only destroy you and Q, ultimately serving to rescue me all the more." "Don’t you know I’m always picking up what you keep dropping?" "Don’t you even know what it is you’re dropping?" However much I said, Rikako merely grew pale at her own thrown words until finally, crying on my lap, she declared she would never return to Q again. I had to laboriously string together lies once more to send her back to Q. She called me a hypocritical monk, a liar, a coward, and then—still searching for more insults when words failed—bit into my wrist. I pushed her away—"I’ve forgotten how to love someone like you." "Disgusting, get out"—even as I said this, Rikako lunged at me again. "You love me." "No matter how much you lie, it’s no use," she said, refusing to let go. I—I had finally clawed my way up the cliff as a wretched figure, only to hurl myself back into the mud once more. When Rikako saw my fallen state, she suddenly began coming alive like a child. That was her habit when happy—but more than that, what would become of Q now that he’d been left alone? What was I to do—I who must continue another life with her? In any case, that night we first returned to Q’s house; after persuading Rikako—telling her she should inform Q if she wanted to return anew—we went out. When we stepped outside, she entered the grounds of a passing shrine and rang the bell. All the while, I stood alone at the gate, feeling an unstable self as if dangling unsupported in midair. After returning from before the shrine, Rikako told me to go bow there. "I won’t," I said. Then she bowed for me herself and pleaded: "After being lost so long, I’ve finally come to understand your true worth—won’t you bow just once for that?"

But even then, my inner anger toward her hadn’t subsided—I couldn’t bring myself to bow. I remained silent and tried to walk past as I was. But Rikako didn’t let go of my wrist. “Please, do it for my sake—when I think of how I’ve kept troubling someone as good as you, it’s because even if I bow alone any number of times, it’s no use.” “No,” I said. “Then I’ll be punished forever—even if I come to you, there’s no happiness left for me,” she began to cry. As I watched Rikako cry, I felt my heart naturally breaking. And yet—why was she now so pitifully weakened after having berated me so fiercely earlier? Though I thought this must be the figure of that once-ferocious woman losing ground to me, I didn’t lower my head as if to strike her face. Then Rikako forcibly turned my body toward the shrine 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 spoke again. “You’re angry with me; even if you scold me, there’s nothing to be done about it, but I want you to forgive me just for today.” “I’ve truly reformed from the heart—please at least accept that much. If you reject even my repentance, I’ll have no choice but to fall into depravity.” “Please help me now, I beg you.” As I walked ahead, wondering what I was still angry about, Rikako’s wilted state suddenly struck me as pitiful, and I found myself saying, “Alright, alright.” This was exactly why it was no good—whenever I recalled those long hours I made her suffer and grew angry, it immediately crumbled away, and I ended up feeling more pity for Rikako than for myself. When I became aware of this hopeless self of mine, before I knew it, I found myself bowing to Q this time. When I thought that even Rikako was probably secretly bowing to Q, I found myself wishing she would indeed be like that. I asked Rikako, “Have you ever once apologized to Q from the very beginning?” Then Rikako remained silent and wouldn’t answer, no matter how long she waited.

If you ask whether bowing before the shrine would do any good—doing such a thing would only diminish your worth. When I said you’d surely flutter back to Q again someday, Rikako circled behind me and began weeping. I told her that when I said such things to you, it wasn’t to show some goodness of mine that Q could never match—it was because I felt Q’s loneliness after you left him more acutely than anyone could imagine. To this she replied, “Then I’ll return to Q tonight and apologize.” “Very well,” I said—but after seeing her to Q’s gate and returning home, I grew even more conflicted about handling Rikako. In truth, when I first took Rikako from Q, I did so silently; when I returned her, silently too; and today, having seized her again with equal silence—where in me lay such privilege? Though Rikako was once my wife, wasn’t she now another’s? Yet no sooner had I thought this than I realized—as if doused in icy water—that the defeated one wasn’t Q but myself. The taker stood vanquished. What fool would layer guilt upon his own defeat and wallow in torment? Then my heart brightened as though flipping a palm. I must sever all ties to past memories. I must cast off my former life. If defeated, then let defeat be. Above all shone a radiance like piercing through clouds. Resolving thus, I promptly decided to board a plane skimming the earth—the inaugural step toward the new life Rikako and I would forge.

The next morning, when Rikako came to my place, I could discern her joy at a glance. Having resolved not to ask a single thing about what Q might have said, I immediately began explaining my plan. I said: “Our relationship has been tangled for a long time, but I want you—with me, on this very day—to cast off all past memories and life. We two shall be reborn. If that would also bring you joy, I want you to depart on a plane journey with me from today onward.” “But what if we fall and die?” she said. “If we fall and die, it’ll simply be both the end and the beginning of life. Could there be anything more splendid than that? Our relationship isn’t like others’. Unless we wash our hands clean of the earth once and for all, the stench of our old life will cling to us no matter how far we go—I’m certain of it. If from now on we are constantly pursued by our old life, then I will end our life once and for all!” When I declared that, Rikako nodded for the first time. When she nodded, she became more eager than I did, and immediately afterward called the airline to purchase two seats. Soon we would become birds. Birds. This joy was immeasurably great even for me, a geologist. A body flying over mountains, rivers, sea, and plains; the instant of kicking off the ground; the sensation above the clouds—I had the car race to the airport while looking up at the sky like an eagle poised to take flight. Now when the time finally came and I began hearing the propeller whirring in the field, I had Rikako stuff cotton into her ears and asked: “Is this alright?” “Alright,” she answered. We sat down side by side in the tilted seats inside the aircraft.

The black-clad people at the airfield peered through the still-open door as though witnessing our final moments. I want nothing more than to leave this place at once. I want to hurl gloves at the past. To the long-withered past.

Then, suddenly, the door closed. That was enough—farewell. The aircraft began its takeoff roll. I waited with bated breath for the moment when the wheel’s leg-like arc would kick against the ground. Then wings sprouted from my body. The wheels spun to a halt in midair. Before my eyes, the forest began to shrink. The house sank. The field began to undulate like waves beneath our feet. I had become a bird.

Into a bird. My wings struck the mountains. From beneath the wings, a crumbled peninsula appeared. The parched town cowered like a skin disease.

I wondered where I had dropped my past along the way. While chasing only the light that spun like a fan amidst the clouds, I continued to float. Now I had no life anywhere. My heart merely ravaged the earth like light rays. From the depths of time cleaving straight in two, what became visible was nothing but graveyards. Primeval times enveloped my surroundings and began to slumber. Dreams upon dreams spread out like a great sea, only to spread again. I watched over their trajectory and before I knew it, shattered. Suddenly looking at Rikako beside me, I regained my position. But Rikako—what manner of being was this giant monster rivaling even the peninsula? I touched her body. Then my fingertips sent into me—like a single line connecting to the ground—the earthly habits, smells, and temperatures I had completely forgotten for so long. But like a sharp wind blowing through a gap, it now only served to refresh my chest. I pulled Rikako close and wrote "marriage" on a piece of paper. Then Rikako added "Thank you" beside it. The two of them placed the first step of their new married life at the very center of the clouds. Tiny water particles accumulated on the wings' undersides and, trembling, flowed toward the armpits. The wire knots supporting the wings kept dancing like butterflies within the rainbow. We broke through one rainbow only to be assailed by another. Was it a single connected rainbow? Or clustered rainbows? Prostrating ourselves beneath rainbows that glittered as if in battle, Rikako and I remarried once again.