Pathway to Japanese Literature

Though my legs are weak, this rugged mountain path— Though I cannot climb it, remaining at its base— To this joyful melody—if one sings ceaselessly, Those who hear and rise emboldened—such ones must exist.

Hymn No. 159:

April 16th. Friday. The wind was terrible. Tokyo's spring remained unpleasant with its strong, dry winds. Dust had invaded even into my room, leaving the desk gritty and my cheeks coated with grime—an unbearable sensation. Once I finished writing this entry, I resolved to take a bath. The persistent feeling of dust creeping down my back made me want to scream.

I will start keeping a diary from today. This is because lately, each of my days has come to feel like something profoundly significant. They say that human personality forms between sixteen and twenty—Rousseau or someone said that—and perhaps that's how it works. I am already sixteen years old. When I turned sixteen, the person called me changed with an audible click. Others probably won't notice—it's a metaphysical change after all. Indeed since turning sixteen, mountains and seas and flowers and people on the streets and even blue skies all look completely different now. I've gained some understanding of evil's existence too. I've come to vaguely sense how this world truly contains overwhelming numbers of difficult problems. That's why I'm in such a foul mood every day lately. I've grown terribly irritable. Eating wisdom's fruit apparently makes humans lose their laughter. There was a time when I'd play the cheeky fool, deliberately bungling things to make everyone at home laugh—something I prided myself on—but lately that brand of clowning has come to seem utterly foolish. Clowning is what servile boys do. The loneliness of performing buffoonery to be coddled by others—it's unbearable. It's empty. Humans must live more seriously. A boy mustn't try to make others dote on him. A boy should strive to earn others' "respect."

Lately, my expression seemed abnormally grave. Because I was too serious, I finally received an admonishment from Older Brother last night.

“Shin, you’ve become awfully serious all of a sudden. You’ve suddenly aged,” said Older Brother with a laugh after dinner. I thought deeply before answering. “There are so many difficult life problems. I am going to fight from now on. For example, regarding things like the school examination system—” I had started to say when Older Brother burst out laughing.

“I got it—but you don’t have to put on such a scary face and strain yourself every single day．You’ve lost weight lately，haven’t you？I’ll read you Matthew 6 later．”

He was a truly good brother. He had entered Imperial University’s Department of English Literature four years ago but still hadn’t graduated. He failed once, but Older Brother remained unperturbed. Since it wasn’t due to being stupid that he failed, I too believed it was absolutely not Older Brother’s disgrace. Older Brother had failed out of a heart of justice. I was sure of it. For Older Brother, school must have been so unbearably dull. He stayed up all night writing novels every evening.

Last night, I had Older Brother read me Matthew 6 from verse 16 onward. That was a profound teaching. I was ashamed of my current immaturity until my cheeks burned red. To ensure I wouldn't forget that teaching, I resolved to transcribe it here in bold letters. "When you fast, do not make yourselves gloomy-faced like the hypocrites. They disfigure their faces to show others they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their full reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may not be apparent to others but only to your Father who is hidden. And your Father who sees what is hidden will repay you."

It was a subtle teaching. Compared to this, I was so simple as to be not worth mentioning. A scatterbrain and a meddler. Reflect. Reflect. “Smile while practicing justice!”

I’ve come up with a good motto. I’ll write it on paper and put it up on the wall, maybe. Oh no, that won't do. That’s exactly it. “To show to others,” I’m trying to put it up on the wall. I might be a terrible hypocrite. I must take great care.

There is a theory that personality is determined between sixteen and twenty. Truly, now is a crucial time.

One reason is to help unify my chaotic thoughts, another is to serve as material for reflecting on my daily life, and yet another is to preserve a fond record of my youth—relying on the image of myself ten years later, twenty years later, secretly reading it with a smirk while twirling a splendid mustache—let me start keeping a diary today. But I mustn’t become too rigid or overly "serious."

Smile while practicing justice! That’s a refreshing phrase.

The above was the opening first page of my diary. I had intended to write a bit about today’s school events and such, but oh no—this dust was terrible. Even in my mouth, it had turned gritty. It was unbearable. I would take a bath. After writing something like “I’ll take my time later,” it suddenly hit me—“Oh, nobody’s paying any attention to you”—and I felt disappointed. It was a diary no one would read—even if I tried writing with affectation, all that remained was loneliness. The fruit of knowledge teaches anger, and then loneliness.

Today on my way home from school, I went with Kimura to eat red beans—no, I'll write about this tomorrow. Kimura too is a lonely man.

April 17th.

Saturday.

The wind had subsided, but the morning remained heavily overcast. Around midday, a light rain fell; then it gradually cleared until the moon appeared at night. Tonight, I first read through yesterday’s diary and felt ashamed. It’s truly clumsy. My face turned red. The anguish of being sixteen hasn’t been expressed at all. Not only is the writing awkward, but my very ideas are childish. It can’t be helped, I suppose. Just now it struck me—why did I start this diary on such an arbitrary date as April 16th? I don’t even understand myself. It’s perplexing. I’d long wanted to keep a diary, but perhaps it was because Older Brother shared some fine words with me the day before yesterday. In my excitement, I resolved, “All right, starting tomorrow.” Sixteen years old on the sixteenth day, Matthew chapter six verse sixteen. Yet all that is mere coincidental alignment. Taking pleasure in trivial codes is disgraceful. Let me ponder this more deeply. That’s it! I’ve grasped part of it now. The secret lies not in the sixteenth day itself, but in its being a Friday. I was someone who grew strangely pensive on Fridays. I’d always had that tendency.

It was a strangely unsettling day. This day was an unfortunate one even for Christ. That is why，even in foreign countries，it seems to be disliked as an unlucky day. I wasn’t particularly imitating foreigners by holding onto superstitions，but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to spend this day with indifference. That was right，I liked this day. I had a considerable tendency to love misfortune，indeed. That was right—it had to be so. It might have seemed like nothing，but this was a significant discovery. This tendency to yearn for misfortune might very well form a major part of my personality in the future. Thinking this，I somehow felt uneasy. I had a feeling something terrible was going to happen. I started thinking about such trivial things. But since this was a fact，there was nothing I could do about it. The discovery of truth does not necessarily bring people pleasure. The fruit of knowledge is bitter.

Now, today I must write about Kimura, but I’ve already grown sick of it. To put it simply, I came to completely respect Kimura yesterday. Kimura was a notorious delinquent even at school. He had failed multiple times and must already be nineteen years old. I had never properly talked with Kimura before, but yesterday on my way home from school—after being dragged by him to a sweet red bean soup shop where we ate azuki beans—we exchanged our first philosophical discussions about life.

Kimura was unexpectedly an extremely diligent student. He studied Nietzsche. As for Nietzsche, I hadn't yet been taught about him by Older Brother, so I understood nothing and simply blushed. I brought up the Bible and Roka, but it was no use. Kimura's ideology was amazing precisely because it was being properly put into practice in his daily life. According to Kimura's theory, Nietzsche's thought was said to be connected to Hitler. As for how they were connected, Kimura gave me various philosophical explanations, but I didn't understand a single one. Kimura was really studying. I admired this friend. I wanted to get to know him more deeply. He was said to be taking the entrance exam for the Imperial Japanese Army Academy next year. After all, it seemed to be related to Nietzscheanism as well. But since the Imperial Japanese Army Academy was said to be extremely difficult, he might not make it.

“You should quit it,” I said in a low voice, whereupon Kimura glared sharply at me. It was terrifying. Not wanting to be outdone by Kimura, I resolved to study harder as well. I resolved then to tackle 1,000 English vocabulary words and then start algebra and geometry over from the beginning. Even while admiring the strength of Kimura’s ideology, for some reason, I didn’t feel inclined to read Nietzsche.

Today was Saturday. At school, while listening to the ethics lecture, I vacantly gazed out the window. The cherry blossoms that had filled the window with their magnificent bloom had mostly scattered, leaving only reddish-black calyxes clinging spitefully. I thought about various things. The day before yesterday, I'd said, "There are many difficult life problems," then let slip, "For example, regarding the examination system—" only to have Older Brother see right through me. But perhaps my recent melancholy stemmed from nothing more than next year's First Higher School entrance exams. Ah, how I hated exams! That human value could be summarily determined through mere one- or two-hour tests seemed a terrifying thing. It violated God. The examiners would all go to hell. Older Brother kept insisting, "You'll be fine—take it in your fourth year and pass," overestimating me as usual, but I felt no confidence whatsoever. Still, having grown thoroughly sick of middle school life, I resolved that even if I failed the First Higher exam next year, I'd quickly enter some cheerful university preparatory course. Now then—I needed to establish a lifelong, unshakable goal and advance toward it. Yet this very task paralyzed me. How should I proceed? I hadn't the faintest idea. All I could do was sit bewildered, fighting back tears. "Become a great man!" My teachers had drummed this into me since elementary school, but what an empty phrase that was. I couldn't grasp what anything meant anymore. They were mocking us. Those utterly irresponsible words. I wasn't a child now. Bit by bit, I was coming to understand life's hardships in this world.

For example, even middle school teachers—their hidden lives seemed unexpectedly miserable. Even in Soseki’s *Botchan*, wasn’t it properly written about? There were probably some relying on loan sharks and others being yelled at by their wives. There even seemed to be teachers who came across like tragic remnants of life’s casualties. Their erudition didn’t seem particularly outstanding either. Such boring people were always prattling on about the same safe, impressive-sounding lessons without any conviction, which was precisely why we ended up hating school. If only they had taught us more concrete, immediate guidelines—who knew how much it might have helped us. Even if teachers had simply shared their own failure stories without any embellishment, it would have struck a chord in our hearts—yet they just kept endlessly repeating the same old definitions of rights and duties or distinctions between the greater self and lesser self, things we already understood perfectly well. That day’s ethics lecture was especially tedious. The lecture had been titled “Heroes and Commoners,” but Mr. Kaneko had simply gone on praising Napoleon and Socrates while vehemently condemning the wretchedness of commoners in the streets. That wouldn’t accomplish anything. Not everyone could become a Napoleon or Michelangelo; there must be something noble even in the commoners’ daily struggles—yet Mr. Kaneko’s lectures were always this abstract and accomplished nothing. It was precisely such people who were called philistines. He must have been old-fashioned. Since he was already over fifty, there had been nothing to be done. Ah, once a teacher came to be pitied by his students, it was all over. Truly, these people had taught me nothing to that day. Next year, I would have to decisively choose between science and humanities! The situation was pressing! Really, it was getting too serious.

What should I do? I could only remain lost. While half-listening to Mr. Kaneko's hollow lecture at school, I found myself seized by an abrupt, violent longing for Mr. Kuroda who had left us the previous year. It burned with a scorching intensity; my longing became unbearable. There was certainly something about him. First of all, he was sharp-witted. He carried himself with masculine vigor. You could say he commanded respect throughout the entire middle school. During one English class, after calmly finishing his translation of a chapter from King Lear, he suddenly began speaking. His tone had shifted entirely. Would you describe it as a voice that chewed and spat out its words? At any rate, his delivery was brusque. And because he started saying these things without any preamble, we all froze in shock.

“This is it—our farewell.” “A fleeting thing.” “In reality, the relationship between teachers and students is a flimsy thing.” “Once a teacher quits, they become complete strangers.” “It’s not you who are at fault—it’s the teachers who are at fault.” “Truth is, teachers are all morons.” “They’re all bastards you can’t even tell are men or women.” “It’s wrong to say this to you all, but I just couldn’t take it anymore.” “The atmosphere in that teachers’ room—I tell you.” “Uneducated!” “Selfish!” “They don’t love the students.” “I’ve been grinding away in that teachers’ room for two whole years now.” “Can’t take it anymore.” “Before they could fire me, I quit on my own.” “Today—with just this period—it’s over.” “I might never see you all again, but let’s each study like hell from now on.” “Studying—as a pursuit—is good.” “Some fools think algebra and geometry become useless after graduation—dead wrong.” “Plants or animals, physics or chemistry—study ’em all while time allows.”

“It is precisely the studies that have no direct use in daily life that will complete your personalities in the future.” “There’s no need to boast about your own knowledge.” “Study, and then you can cleanly forget it all.” “It’s not that memorizing is what’s important—what’s important is being cultivated.” “Culture isn’t about memorizing formulas and vocabulary—it’s about having a broad mind.” “In other words, it’s knowing what it means to love.” “Those who neglect their studies during their student days will inevitably become cruel egoists even after entering society.” “Scholarship—it’s perfectly fine to forget what you’ve learned even as you commit it to memory.” “But even if you forget everything, a handful of gold dust will remain at the bottom of that scholarly training.” “This is it.” “This is what’s precious.” “You must study.” “And you must not rush to forcibly and directly apply that scholarship to daily life.” “Become truly cultivated human beings—unhurriedly!” “What I want to say is just this.” “I can no longer study together with you all in this classroom.” “But I’ll remember your names for the rest of my life!” “You all too—please remember me once in a while.” “It’s a disappointingly abrupt farewell—but between men.” “Let’s make this quick.”

“Finally, I pray for your good health.” With a slightly pale face and not smiling at all, Mr. Kuroda bowed to us from his side.

I wanted to throw myself at Mr. Kuroda and cry. “Bow!” Yamura, the class leader, gave the command in a half-sobbing voice. Sixty students quietly stood up and bowed from the heart.

“Don’t worry about the upcoming exam,” Mr. Kuroda said and smiled warmly for the first time.

When Shida, the repeater, said in a small voice, “Goodbye, Mr. Kuroda!” the sixty students followed suit in unison, “Goodbye, Mr. Kuroda!” they shouted together.

I wanted to cry out loud.

I wonder what Mr.Kuroda is doing now.Perhaps he might have been drafted.He should still be around thirty.As I write about Mr.Kuroda like this,I truly forget the passage of time.It's already late at night,nearly twelve.Older Brother is in the next room quietly writing a novel.It seems to be a long novel.It's apparently over two hundred pages now.Older Brother has his days and nights reversed.Every day he wakes up around four in the afternoon,and then he inevitably stays up all night.That can't be good for his health.I'm unbearably sleepy now.Now,I plan to read a bit of Roka's Reminiscences and go to sleep.Tomorrow is Sunday so I can sleep in late.The only enjoyment of Sundays is that.

April 18th.

Sunday.

Sunny at times, cloudy at others. Today I got up at eleven in the morning. There was nothing particularly unusual. That’s only natural. Thinking something good will happen just because it’s Sunday is a mistake. Life is an ordinary thing. Tomorrow is Monday again. Starting tomorrow, I have to go to school for another week. I seem to have a rather self-defeating disposition. I can’t even enjoy this Sunday as a Sunday. I cower before Monday’s spiteful expression lurking in Sunday’s shadow. Monday is black, Tuesday is blood-red, Wednesday is white, Thursday is brown, Friday is light, Saturday is rat-gray—and Sunday becomes a red danger signal. It must be lonely.

Today from noon, I frantically worked on English vocabulary and algebra. It was an unusually muggy day.

In just a towel nightgown, I studied without caring about appearances. The tea after dinner was delicious. Older Brother also said it was delicious. I wondered if this was what alcohol tasted like.

Well, what should I write about tonight? Since there's nothing to write about, I'll try writing a bit about my family. My family currently consisted of seven people: Mother, Sister, Older Brother, me, our live-in student Mr. Kijima, the maid Ume, and Nurse Sugino who had come to our house last month—seven people in total. Father died when I was eight years old. During his lifetime, he had been apparently somewhat famous. He had graduated from an American university, was a Christian, and belonged to what were then called new intellectuals. It would be more accurate to call him a businessman than a politician. In his later years he entered politics and worked for the Seiyukai party, though that lasted only four or five years; before that he had been a local businessman. After entering politics, most of our family fortune was said to have been lost over five or six years. It might seem odd for me to talk about finances like this, but Mother apparently endured great hardship back then. Not long after Father died, we moved from that large house in Ushigome to our current home here in Kōjimachi. After that Mother fell ill and has remained bedridden ever since. But I couldn't bring myself to hate Father at all. Father used to call me "Baldy, baldy." I don't have many clear memories left of him. The one thing I distinctly remember is him washing his face with milk every morning. He seemed to have been an extremely fastidious person. The photograph displayed in our parlor shows his handsome, dignified features. They say Sister's face resembles Father's most of all.

My sister was a pitiable person. Sister was twenty-six that year. At last she would be getting married on the 28th of this month. For many years she had been unable to marry because she nursed Mother’s illness and looked after us brothers. Mother had fallen ill and taken to her bed right after Father’s death. It was spinal caries. She had been bedridden for nearly ten years. Though an invalid herself, Mother remained sharp-tongued and willful—she would hire nurses only to drive them away immediately. None would do but Sister. But at this year’s New Year, Older Brother spoke severely to Mother and finally compelled her consent to Sister’s marriage. Older Brother became terrifying when angered. With Sister’s wedding now approaching, Nurse Sugino had come last month and begun tending Mother under Sister’s guidance. Mother grumbled but seemed resigned to accepting Nurse Sugino’s care. Even Mother appeared no match for Older Brother. Mother! Even when Sister leaves us—for Older Brother’s sake and mine—please keep up your spirits! But Sister being twenty-six already makes it pitiable. Oh—I shouldn’t have said that. I’d spoken too presumptuously. Yet marriage remains life’s monumental event.

For women especially, it might well be called the sole monumental event. Let me consider this seriously without embarrassment.

Sister had been a noble sacrifice. To say Sister's youth ended with household chores and nursing Mother would be no exaggeration. Yet I believe this long endurance was not without purpose for her. Sister must have gained a discernment far surpassing what we brothers could ever achieve. Endurance sharpens human reason. Lately, Sister's eyes had grown beautifully clear. What's admirable is how she avoids putting on airs or growing giddy even as her wedding nears. She appears ready to enter married life with tranquil composure. Her fiancé Mr. Suzuoka approaches forty as a company executive. They say he holds fourth-dan rank in judo. Though his round red nose mars his looks, he seems kindhearted. I feel neither fondness nor aversion toward him. He remains fundamentally a stranger. Still, Older Brother remarked that having such a brother-in-law might prove reassuring in various ways. Perhaps there's truth in that. But I intend never to depend on this brother-in-law's support. My sole occupation now lies in praying fervently for Sister's happiness. How desolate our home will grow when she leaves. It may feel like the hearthfire has gone out. Yet endure it we shall.

If Sister were happy, that would be enough. Sister would become an excellent wife. That was something I, as one of her blood relatives, could responsibly guarantee. I could recommend her as the finest bride. We had truly caused Sister a great deal of trouble. Had Sister not been here, we would never have known what might have become of us. I might have become a delinquent by then. Sister had discerned each of us brothers' individualities and kindly nurtured them. Sister, Older Brother, and I—the three of us had shared a Platonic bond of elevated connection. There had been a sacred alliance. And since Sister surpassed us in reason, she had always naturally guided us. I believed. Sister would surely cultivate quiet happiness in her married life. Even if struck by dark calamity, Sister possessed the precious power to never let marital happiness be tainted.

Sister! Congratulations. From now on, Sister will be able to attain happiness. It may be rude to speak so presumptuously, but Sister—you probably don't yet understand what love between a married couple truly is. (However, even I know nothing about it. I can't even begin to guess. It might turn out surprisingly dull.) But if marital love exists in this world, Sister will surely realize its highest form.

Sister! Please don’t destroy this beautiful "illusion" of mine.

Farewell, go forth! Go and live in peace! If this should be our eternal parting, then may you live in peace forever.

The above was written with the feeling of secretly speaking to Sister alone, but she may never notice these hidden farewell words of mine. This is, after all, my own secret diary. But if Sister saw this, she would probably laugh. That I lack the courage to say these farewell words directly to Sister is both spineless and heartbreaking.

Tomorrow is Monday. Black Day. I should go to bed. God. Please don't forget me.

April 19th.

Monday.

It was mostly clear.

Today was truly unpleasant. I decided to quit the soccer club. Even if I didn't quit outright, I now hated sports. From then on, I would just half-heartedly go along with them. Since those guys were so irresponsible anyway, there was nothing to be done. Today, I punched Captain Kaji once. Kaji was vulgar.

After school today, all the club members gathered on the field and started their first practice of the new school year. Compared to last year’s team, this year’s team had plummeted both in spirit and technique. As things stood, it was doubtful whether they would be able to compete against other teams during this term. Just because all the members had gathered didn’t mean they had achieved any teamwork whatsoever. The captain was no good. Kaji didn’t have what it took to be captain. He was supposed to graduate this year but had become captain through seniority after failing. To lead a team required not an impressive kick but strength of character. Kaji's personality was base. Even during practice he kept spouting vulgar jokes. He was fooling around. It wasn't just Kaji—the entire team was fooling around. They were slacking off. I wanted to grab each of them by the collar and dunk their heads in water. After practice ended following our routine, everyone went to wash up at Momoyu Bathhouse nearby. In the changing room Kaji suddenly made a vulgar remark. Moreover he said it about my body. Those are words I absolutely refuse to write. I stood before Kaji completely naked.

“Are you a sportsman?” I said.

Someone said, "Cut it out." Kaji, who had started taking off his shirt, put it back on, jutted his chin out and laughed with a flash of white teeth. "Looking for a fight, huh?" I punched him square in the face. "If you're a sportsman, you should be ashamed!" I said.

Kaji kicked the floorboards with a thud,

“Damn it!” he said and started crying.

It was truly unexpected. He’s such a spineless guy. I briskly went to the wash area and washed my body.

Fighting completely naked isn’t something to be praised. I’ve come to hate sports now. There’s a proverb that says a sound mind dwells in a sound body, but in the original Greek, it’s phrased as if only a sound mind were to dwell in a sound body! It apparently contains both a wish and a lament. Brother had once said that. It seemed to mean something like: If a sound mind were to dwell in a sound body, how splendid that would be—but in reality, things rarely work out so neatly. Even Kaji has an imposing physique, but it’s truly a waste. If only a bright spirit dwelt in that sound physique! It does not.

In the evening, I listened to Ms. Helen Keller's radio broadcast. I wanted to make Kaji listen. Though blind and deaf—possessing such a hopelessly unsound body—through effort she had gained speech, learned to understand her secretary's words, become able to write works, and ultimately even earned a doctoral degree. We should truly show boundless respect to this woman. As I listened to the broadcast, occasional bursts of applause from the audience—roaring like tidal waves—reached my ears; their overwhelming emotion struck directly at my chest, bringing tears to my eyes. I also read some of Ms. Keller's works. There were many religious poems. Faith might have been what redeemed Ms. Keller. I keenly felt faith's formidable power. Religion is the power to believe in miracles. Rationalists cannot understand religion. Religion is the power to believe in the irrational. Because it's irrational—this special power of 'faith'—oh no, I'm getting confused. I'll ask Brother again.

Tomorrow is Tuesday. I hate it, I hate it. They say when a man steps over his threshold he faces seven enemies—how true that rings. There's no room for carelessness—none whatsoever. Going to school felt no different than storming into a hundred foes. I don't want to lose to others yet can't bear the desperate effort needed to win. Is this what they call a victor's sorrow? Nonsense. Kaji—tomorrow let's share smiles and shake hands. Just like you told me at the bathhouse—my body really is too pale. It disgusts me beyond bearing. But I swear I'm not powdering any strange places. He's mocking me. Tonight I'll read Scripture before sleeping.

Take courage! It is I. Do not be afraid.

April 20th. Tuesday.

Clear skies—though not a perfect Japanese sunny day. It was mostly clear, you might say. Today I promptly reconciled with Kaji. Not wanting to linger in anxiety, I went to Kaji's classroom and apologized plainly. Kaji appeared pleased.

My friend’s— At the loneliness hidden behind a smile, I return a smile with my own loneliness. But I still despise Kaji in the same way as before. There’s just no helping this. Kaji spoke in an oddly contemplative, almost trusting low voice,

“I’d been meaning to talk to you about this—we’ve got fifteen new first-year students in the soccer club this time.” “They’re all hopeless.” “Even if we take in a bunch of lousy ones, it just drags down the club’s quality. Hell, I can’t get fired up about it either.” “Keep that in mind,” he said, but it sounded ridiculous to me. Kaji was making self-justifications. He was trying to blame his own sloppiness on the new students. He really was a despicable bastard.

“What does it matter if there are more? Just crack down hard in practice—the dead weight will collapse and the decent ones will stay,” I said. “Ain’t that simple,” he barked with a hollow, idiotic laugh.

Why he couldn't do it that way was beyond my understanding. In any case, I no longer had as much passion for the soccer club as I once did. Go ahead and try it Your Highness's way. A spineless team would take shape.

On my way home from school, I stopped by Meguro Kinema and went to see Susume Ryukhei. It was boring. A truly dreadful work. I lost thirty sen. And wasted time too. This all happened because that delinquent Kimura kept vehemently insisting—veins bulging—that it was some incredible masterpiece I absolutely had to see. But what nonsense! The film reeked of cheap pomade and looked like it would pair perfectly with harmonica accompaniment. Where on earth—and how—could Kimura have found this impressive? Incomprehensible. Could he actually be...a child? Does seeing horses gallop alone make him happy? That guy’s Nietzsche has grown increasingly unreliable. Might as well call it Chewing Gum Nietzsche.

Tonight, Sister received a call from Mr. Suzuoka and went out to Ginza. That’s what they call pre-marital courtship. The two of them walked through Ginza with oddly serious expressions and probably had something like an ice cream soda at Shiseido. They might unexpectedly have been watching something like “Susume Ryukhei” and being impressed by it. Even though the wedding was soon, they were being awfully carefree about it. They’d better stop. Mother flew into a rage just a moment ago. Apparently, she said the water in the metal washbasin for washing her body was too hot and overturned it. Nurse Sugino cried. Ume-ya clattered about running around. It was a tremendous commotion. Older Brother kept studying, pretending not to notice. I was beside myself with anxiety. If Sister were here, everything would have settled down without any trouble. Ms. Sugino appeared to have been sobbing for a long time at the bottom of the stairs, and the sight of Mr. Kijima, the student lodger, attempting to console her in a philosopher-like, solemn tone was comical. Mr. Kijima was said to be a distant relative of Mother’s. Five or six years ago, he had graduated from a rural higher elementary school and come to my house. He had once returned to the countryside for his conscription exam but came back to the house after some time. Due to his severe nearsightedness, he had been classified as Class C. The acne was terrible, but his face itself wasn’t bad. His ideal seemed to be becoming a politician.

But since he hadn’t been studying at all, he probably wouldn’t make it. I heard that when he went out, he referred to my father as “Uncle.” He was a well-meaning, uncomplicated person. But that was all there was to him. He might intend to stay at my house his entire life.

Sister finally returned home. 10:08.

I will now tackle about thirty algebra problems. I'm tired and feel like crying. Mr. Robert Something once said: "A single nuisance perpetually clings to myself—its name is called honesty." Mr. Shin Serikawa once declared: "A single nuisance perpetually clings to myself—its name is called entrance examinations."

I want to get into a school without entrance exams.

April 21st.

Wednesday.

Cloudy. Rain at night. How far must this gloom stretch? I’ve even grown to hate keeping a diary. Today during math class, Tanuki came in wearing grubby rubber boots and said, "How many people in this class plan to apply starting in their fourth year? Raise your hands." Startled, I reflexively raised mine slightly—only to find I stood alone. Even class rep Yamura kept his hand cautiously lowered. He looked down and fidgeted. What a coward. Tanuki said, “Oh? Serikawa?” and grinned slyly. I burned with shame until the world went pitch black for an instant.

“Where are you applying?” Tanuki’s tone dripped with complete contempt. “I haven’t decided yet,” I answered. Even so, I lacked the courage to say “First Higher School.” I was sad. Tanuki pressed his mustache down with one hand and snickered. It was truly unbearable. “However,” said Tanuki, adopting a solemn expression as he scanned the room, “if any of you are taking exams starting from fourth year, you mustn’t approach it with a half-hearted mindset like ‘I’ll just give it a try.’ You must resolve to pass without fail. If you take them half-heartedly and fail, you’ll develop a habit of failing—even when you retake them in fifth year, you’ll often already be beyond saving. Make your decision after thorough consideration,” he said in a tone that utterly disregarded my entire existence.

I wondered if I should kill Tanuki. I thought it would be good if this school with such rude teachers burned down in a fire. I resolved that come hell or high water, I would transfer to another school starting from fourth year. There was no way I'd stay until some fifth year. This body of mine would rot away here. Though my math grades couldn't compare to language studies—precisely because of that—I'd been studying day and night. Ah, how I wanted to enter First Higher School and rip Tanuki's guts inside out—but maybe it was impossible. Somehow I'd even grown to hate studying.

On my way home from school, I stopped by Musashino-kan and watched Crime and Punishment. The accompaniment music was truly wonderful. When I closed my eyes and just listened to the music, tears welled up. I thought I wanted to fall into depravity.

Even after returning home, I didn’t study at all. I wrote a long poem. The gist of that poem was that I was now crawling through the dark depths. But I was not in despair. From somewhere unknown, a dim light was shining. But I didn’t know what that light was. While dimly receiving the light in my palm, I could not decipher its meaning. I was just restless. "Mysterious light"—I had written something like that. Someday, I thought I would have Brother take a look at it. Brother was so great. Because he had talent. According to Brother’s theory, talent was something that manifested when one became abnormally interested in something and threw themselves into it wholeheartedly—or so he said. But for someone like me, who spent each day drowning in hatred, anger, and tears, such reckless obsession only led to chaos and could never serve as motivation for talent to emerge. Rather, it might have been a mark of incompetence. Ah, wouldn't someone clearly define me? Was I a fool? A genius? A liar? An angel? A demon? A philistine? Was I to be a martyr? A scholar? Or a great artist? Suicide? I had truly come to feel like I wanted to die.

I had never felt Father's absence as acutely as I did tonight. I usually forget it cleanly, yet somehow it feels strange. "A father," I thought, "is somehow an immensely large and warm thing." I felt I could understand how Christ must have felt when he cried "Abba, Father!" at the height of his sorrow.

Thicker than maternal love, Deeper than the earth’s foundation.

Towering above human thoughts Vaster than the heavens

—Hymn 52—

April 22. Thursday.

Cloudy. There was nothing particularly unusual to note, so I didn’t write. I was late for school.

April 23. Friday. Rain. At night, Kimura came to my house with a guitar, so I told him to play it. He was terrible. Because I kept silent throughout, Kimura said "Later then," and left. Only an idiot would haul a guitar through the rain like that. Exhausted, I turned in early. Bedtime: 9:30.

April 24. Saturday.

Sunny. Today I skipped school from morning till evening. On such a fine day, going to school seemed too wasteful. I went to Ueno Park, ate my lunch on a bench, then spent the whole afternoon at the library. I checked out volumes one through four of Masaoka Shiki's complete works and skimmed through them here and there. After dark fell, I went home.

April 27. Tuesday.

Rain. I was irritated. I couldn't sleep. At 1 AM, the faint sound of laborers' night work could be heard. In the rain, they labored in silence. Only the rhythmic sound of shovels and gravel came through. Not a single shout could be heard. Tomorrow was Sister's wedding. Sister sleeping in this house—tonight would be the last time. What must she be feeling? Other people didn't matter. End.

April 28. Wednesday.

Clear skies. In the morning, I sat properly, bowed to Sister, and hurried off to school. When I bowed, Sister cried out “Shin-chan!” and burst into tears. Mother seemed to be calling “Susumu, Susumu” from the back of the house, but I dashed out the entrance without even tying my shoelaces.

May 1. Saturday.

Mostly clear. Diary-keeping had fallen into neglect. There was no reason. It was simply because I hadn't wanted to write. I would write now because I'd suddenly resolved to try. That day,I had Older Brother buy me a guitar. After finishing dinner,I went out for a walk with Older Brother to Ginza,and along the way peered into a music store's display window, “Kimura had one just like that,” I remarked offhandedly,and Older Brother,

“Do you want it?” he said.

“Really?” I said, feeling apprehensive as I tried to read Older Brother’s expression. Then Older Brother silently went into the store and bought it for me.

Older Brother is ten times lonelier than I am.

May 2. Sunday.

Rain followed by clear skies.

Even though it was Sunday, I got up at eight—a rare occurrence for me. Upon waking, I immediately polished the guitar with a cloth. My cousin Kei-chan came to visit. This was his first visit since becoming a commerce university student. The brand-new Western clothes were nearly blinding.

When I gave him the backhanded compliment, “You’re a whole different breed now,” he laughed with an awkward “Heh-heh.” He’s so undisciplined. Just because he got into commerce university doesn’t mean he’s suddenly a different breed of person. He was wearing a red-striped dress shirt and acting oddly pretentious. “Haven’t you read ‘The body is not inferior to garments’ yet?” “German is so difficult,” he remarked. “Oh really? Is that so?” “Once you become a university student, you really are different, aren’t you?” Feeling irritated, I did nothing but play the guitar. I was invited to Ginza but refused.

I was not studying at all now. I was doing nothing. Doing nothing is doingill. To do nothing is to commit sin. I might have been jealous of Kei-chan. It was vulgar. Let me think carefully.

May 4. Tuesday.

Clear.

Today, a welcome party for new soccer club members was held in the school hall. I peeked in briefly and went straight home. These days, there isn't even any tragedy in my life.

May 7. Friday.

Cloudy. Rain at night. The rain was warm. Late at night, holding an umbrella, I sneaked out to eat sushi. There were two waitresses—one completely drunk, the other sober—munching on sushi. The drunk one made a rude remark to me. I didn't feel angry. I merely offered a wry smile.

May 12. Wednesday.

Clear.

Today during math class, Tanuki presented an applied problem. We had twenty minutes. "Anyone finished?" No one raised their hand. I thought I might have solved it, but not wanting to endure another humiliation like that Wednesday three weeks back, I kept pretending ignorance.

“What? None of you can do it?” Tanuki sneered. “Serikawa – you try.” Why did he have to pick me? My body stiffened. I stood up and wrote on the blackboard. Squaring both sides made it simple. The answer was zero. I wrote “Answer: 0” – then hesitated. Remembering last time’s humiliation, I added “must be” in tentative script. Tanuki burst into laughter – wahaha!

“I’m no match for Serikawa, really,” he said while shaking his head, and even after I returned to my seat, he kept staring intently at my face before adding bluntly, “Even in the teachers’ room, everyone says you’re cute.” The entire class erupted in laughter. I felt truly awful. It was even more unpleasant than that Wednesday. I felt so embarrassed by my classmates that I couldn’t bear to face them. I thought both Tanuki’s insensitivity and the atmosphere in the teachers’ room were unbearably disrespectful and utterly vulgar. On my way home from school, I decisively resolved to drop out. I thought of rushing out of the house, becoming a movie actor, and supporting myself. Older Brother once said that Shin seemed to have a talent for acting. I had clearly remembered that.

However, at dinner, things unfolded as follows, and nothing came of it.

“I hate school.” “I just can’t go on.” “I want to be self-reliant.”

“School is such a terrible place. “But isn’t the true value of student life found precisely in continuing to attend even while hating it? “It may sound paradoxical, but schools exist to be hated. “Even I hate school, but I never thought to stop at just middle school.” “I suppose so.”

My rebellion was crushed in an instant.

Ah, life is monotonous!

May 17th. Monday.

Clear. Soccer started up again. Today, we had a match against Second High School. I scored two goals in the first half and one in the second half. In the end, three-three. On the way back from the match, I drank beer with seniors in Meguro.

I began to feel like an imbecile.

May 30th.

Sunday.

Clear. Though Sunday, my heart was dark. Spring too was passing.

Morning. A call from Kimura. He asked if I wouldn't go to Yokohama. I refused. In the afternoon, I went to Kanda and acquired all the entrance exam prep books. I'll finish Algebra Studies (Volumes 1 & 2) before summer vacation and do a comprehensive review of plane geometry during the vacation. At night, I organized my bookshelf.

Profound gloom. Melancholy. I lift mine eyes unto the hills. From whence cometh my help?

June 3rd. Thursday.

Clear. Actually today marked the start of a six-day school trip for fourth-year students, but I decided not to participate—the thought of sleeping packed together at an inn with everyone and shuffling around in disorderly lines to gawk at tourist spots seemed utterly unbearable.

For six days, I intended to spend my time reading novels. Today I started reading Soseki’s Light and Darkness. It was a dark, dark novel. This darkness could only be understood by those born and raised in Tokyo. It was an inescapable hell. The guys in my class were probably sound asleep in the night train by then. How innocent they were. A hero is strongest when standing alone. (Schiller, was it?)

June 13th. Sunday.

Cloudy. The soccer club seniors, Mr. Osawa and Mr. Matsumura, came ambling over. Having to entertain them felt unbearably foolish. They were excitedly declaring this a major crisis—the soccer club’s summer training camp looked likely to be canceled. Since I’d had no intention of joining the camp this year anyway, this development actually suited me perfectly—though for seniors Mr. Osawa and Mr. Matsumura, deprived of something they’d anticipated, it meant endless complaints. Apparently Captain Kaji had bungled the accounting, making it impossible to obtain camp funding from the school. Mr. Matsumura kept vehemently insisting Kaji had to be dismissed. Anyway, they’re all idiots. I wished they’d left even a minute sooner.

In the evening，I gave Mother a foot massage for the first time in a while。 “In all things，endure...” “Yes。” “Siblings should get along...” “Yes。” Mother’s second remark was always “Endure...” followed by “Siblings should get along...”。

July 14th.

Wednesday.

Clear. The first term's main examinations had been underway since July 10th. They would end in just one more day. After another week passed,the grades would be announced,and then summer vacation would finally begin. I was happy. After all,I was happy. Ah—the cry escaped me naturally. Grades didn't matter at all. Because I'd been so ideologically conflicted this semester，my grades might have dropped considerably. But as for national language，Chinese classics，English，and math alone，I believed I'd improved—though until seeing the results，I couldn't say for certain. Ah，summer vacation was finally here. When I thought of that，I couldn't help grinning. Even though there was another exam tomorrow，I couldn't resist wanting to write in my diary. Lately，I'd neglected my diary quite a bit. It was because life had no purpose. It must've been because I myself was devoid of content. No—it must've been because there was something I'd deeply despaired over. I had become very，very sly. I'd come to dislike thoughtlessly letting others know what I was thinking. What kind of ideology I held now—I didn't want others knowing too much.

I can say just one thing. "My future goal had, before I knew it, been decided." I won't say anything more. I have another exam tomorrow. Study, study.

January 4th. Wednesday.

Clear. I ended up spending New Year’s Day through the 4th just playing around. Day and night were all play. Even when I played, it wasn’t as if I was forgetting everything and having fun—no, thoughts like “Ugh, I’m sick of this” or “This isn’t fun at all” kept swirling through my mind even as I got swept along into playing. But when it came to the loneliness afterward—that was truly something else. It was extreme loneliness. I deeply resolved to study. Over this past month, I felt as though I’d made no progress whatsoever. I felt unbearably frantic. Truly—this year—I wanted to try studying without gaps. Last year had been nothing but restless days spent in a rattling car on the verge of breaking down—but now that this new year came around, joyful hopes somehow seemed within reach. Right there—if I stretched out my hand—I began to feel like grasping something warm and good.

Seventeen years old. It’s a somewhat hateful age. I truly feel I’ve become serious now. Suddenly I feel like I’ve turned into an ordinary person. I might have already become an adult. With entrance exams coming this March, I must stay tense. I still plan to take Ichi High’s exam. And decisively—humanities it is! After Tanuki crushed me two or three times last year, I cleanly severed ties with the sciences. Older Brother approved too. “The Serikawa family lacks scientific blood,” he said laughing. But even having chosen humanities—do I possess literary talent equal to Older Brother’s? That’s doubtful. First off, I’ve no confidence about entering Ichi High’s English Department. Older Brother breezily insists “It’ll be fine,” but since he entered effortlessly himself, he apparently thinks others can too. Older Brother seems not to recognize human handicaps. He likely believes everyone shares his own capabilities. That’s why he sometimes coolly orders me to do utterly impossible things. He utters unconsciously cruel remarks. Maybe he really is just a spoiled rich boy after all. I simply can’t handle Ichi High.

I'll probably fail. If I fail, I intend to enter a private university like R University. I have no intention of repeating fifth year. If I must endure another year of being mocked by Tanuki and his ilk, I'd rather die. Since R University is a Christian school, I think studying the Bible deeply there might bring me joy. It feels like a radiant place.

On the first and second days we played gesture games—it was fun at first, but by the second day I had grown completely sick of it. Then Kei-chan from Kamakura suggested that the four of us—Older Brother, Mametan from Shinjuku, and myself—do a reading of *The Father Returns*. As expected, I was clearly the best. Older Brother’s “father” had been too serious and ended up being bad. On the 3rd, the four of us carried out a winter hike to Mount Takao. The cold had been unbearable. I was utterly exhausted and ended up falling asleep leaning on Older Brother’s shoulder on the return train. Kei-chan and Mametan stayed over at our house again last night.

Today, after those two had left, Kimura and Saeki came over. I'd resolved not to play with such tedious middle schoolers anymore, yet ended up doing so anyway. Cards. Touten Jack. Kimura's competitive tactics were so foul they left me aghast. At year's end last year, he'd filched two hundred yen from home, gallivanted around Yokohama and Atami until penniless, then wandered dazedly to my house—whereupon I promptly phoned his family. Apparently they'd already filed a missing persons report with the police. Now his household deems me their great benefactor. Not that Kimura's family seems much better than him—the boy's an utter fool. Just your common delinquent. Nietzsche would weep. Saeki's no better. Lately everything about them repulses me. That bourgeois brat stands nearly six feet yet remains all spindly limbs. They say his frail constitution will keep him from advancing beyond middle school. Initially he'd regale me with foreign literary talk until I—much like when Kimura first thrilled me with Nietzsche—became convinced Saeki alone was my true friend. I even visited his house uninvited. But his effeteness proved insufferable. At home he sports outsized kasuri kimonos meant for five-year-olds and calls supper 'mama'. I shuddered. Our conversations grew more dissonant with each meeting. You couldn't tell if he was boy or girl.

He was slobbering. He had a face that looked like it was drooling. Due to his weak constitution, he had been saying quite pretentiously just the other day that he wanted to forgo university and quietly associate with Serikawa-kun at home while studying literature together—but I absolutely refused. “Well, you’d better think it over,” he told me. By the time I finished entertaining Kimura and Saeki, the day had grown dark. We ate rice cakes together. When the two left, this time Ms. Choppiri graced us with her presence. I was drained. This Ms. is our father’s sister. Therefore, she is our aunt. Her esteemed age was either forty-five or forty-six—in any case, she was of considerable years. She is unmarried. She is a grand master of flower arrangement. She serves as the secretary of some women's association. Older Brother has been saying that Ms. Choppiri is a disgrace to the Serikawa clan. She isn’t a bad person, but it’s that she’s a bit Choppiri. The name “Choppiri” was something Older Brother invented last year. At my sister’s wedding reception, this aunt was sitting next to my older brother. Another gentleman offered Aunt some alcohol. Ms. twisted her body,

“Oh, I simply couldn’t possibly accept, you see.” “But, well, just one cup.” “Ohohohoho! Well then, just a teensy Choppiri!” Revolting! Older Brother reportedly wanted to kick his seat and leave out of sheer embarrassment. One thing tells all. Her affectedness was simply unbearable. Tonight as well, upon seeing my face,

“Oh my! Shin-chan, you’ve got black hair growing under your nose! You must take better care of yourself,” she said. Idiotic. Utterly disgusting. Crude. Disgraceful. She was truly the family’s shame. Sitting through this was impossible. Stealthily exchanging nods with Older Brother, we slipped out together. Ginza swarmed with people. The dreadful thought struck me—were all these people escaping dreary homes like ours? While drinking coffee at Shiseido, Older Brother muttered, “It seems the Serikawa bloodline flows with debauchery,” making me flinch. On the bus back, we debated “sincerity.” Older Brother himself appeared to be rotting lately. With Sister gone, he had to manage household duties, and his novel languished unfinished.

When we returned home, it was eleven o'clock. Ms. Choppiri had already left.

Well then, from tomorrow onward I shall advance with a noble spirit and fresh hope. I have turned seventeen. I swear to God. Tomorrow, I will get up at six and study without fail.

January 5th. Thursday.

The sky was overcast. A strong wind blew. Today I did nothing. Windy days were no good. I hadn’t gotten up until one in the afternoon—later than ever before last year too, I felt—and while I was still dawdling about, Sister called me from her new home in Shitaya. “Why don’t you come over?” she said. Out of that same old indecisiveness, I mumbled “Yeah.” The truth was I couldn’t stand the Suzuokas’ house—so vulgar now—and Sister herself had changed completely. She’d visited us not long after her wedding but already seemed different then—dried out somehow, just an ordinary housewife now without any of her former softness. What shocked me most happened within ten days of her marriage: her hands turned rough and ugly at the backs. Then she grew strangely calculating—selfish even—though she tried hiding it. I saw right through her.

By now, she had become completely one of the Suzuokas. Even her face seemed to have come to resemble theirs. Speaking of faces, whenever I think of Toshio’s face, I become utterly flustered. Toshio was Mr. Suzuoka’s real younger brother. After graduating from a rural middle school last year, he now lives with my sister and her family while attending Keio University’s liberal arts department. It’s terrible of me to say this, but Toshio is the ugliest man I’ve ever seen. It’s truly awful. I’m not the least bit good-looking myself, and I truly don’t want to comment on people’s appearances, but Toshio’s face is so dreadful that I end up getting completely flustered. It’s not that there’s something wrong with his nose or his mouth. The whole thing is somehow disjointed. There is nothing humorous about it either. Whenever I meet that person face to face, I always end up sinking into strange contemplation. It’s about one in ten thousand. Putting it this way is unpleasant even for me, and it’s something I shouldn’t say, but since it’s the truth, there’s no helping it. That face was one I had never seen before in my life. I firmly believe that men’s faces aren’t an issue—as long as their spirits are pure, they can manage splendidly in society—but when I think of someone like Toshio, so young and studying in such a glamorous place as Keio’s liberal arts department, having that face must be quite a hardship. When we meet face to face, even I become disgusted with life to such an extent. It’s truly awful. Throughout his long life ahead, due to that congenital trait of his, he will likely be pointed at, gossiped about, and shunned on multiple occasions. When I think about that, I grow skeptical of modern social structures and begin to resent this world.

I grow sick of people’s cruelty. I naturally feel righteous indignation too. If Mr. Toshio were to secure a suitably respectable profession and achieve a life free from want, that would indeed be something most commendable and worthy of blessing. But when it comes to marriage—how about that? Even if there were a woman he considered suitable, how miserable would he feel when unable to marry due to his ugly face? He would groan aloud. Ah, thinking about Toshio fills me with melancholy. I sympathise from the bottom of my heart, but I just can’t stand it. It’s awful. I simply cannot find any words to describe it. I would rather not look. Perhaps I too possess the same cold-hearted, self-satisfied nature as everyone else. The more I think about it, the more flustered I become. Since last year, I have still only been to the house in Shitaya twice. I want to see Sister, but her husband Mr. Suzuoka puts on such airs of being my elder brother, calling me “boy” over and over—it’s unbearable. You might call it a heroic disposition, but I think “boy” goes too far. Seventeen years old and being called “boy”, responding with “Yes”—it’s an unpleasant thing. I even consider sulking without replying, but given that he’s apparently a fourth-dan judo practitioner, I’m still scared. Naturally, I become spineless. When I meet Toshio face to face, I become flustered; when dealing with Mr. Suzuoka, I act timidly; and when I go to the house in Shitaya, I fall apart completely.

Today again when Sister asked if I wouldn’t come visit, I ended up saying yes without thinking, but afterward was utterly conflicted. No matter what, I don’t want to go. I finally consulted Older Brother.

“I was told to come visit from Shitaya, but I don’t wanna go. On a windy day like this, such a pain.”

“But you did say you’d go, didn’t you?” Older Brother was being a bit mean-spirited. He had seen through my indecisiveness. “I have to go.” “Ouch! I’m suddenly feeling stomach pain.”

Older Brother burst out laughing.

“If you hate it that much, you should’ve refused outright from the start.” “They’re waiting over there.” “Your trouble is wanting to please every damn person.”

I ended up getting lectured. I hate lectures. I hate even Older Brother’s lectures. To this day, I have never once been lectured and changed my ways. I have never once thought that people who lecture others are admirable. Lectures are just self-indulgence. It's just self-centered pretense. Truly great people simply smile and watch our failures. But that smile is so profoundly clear that even without a word, it strikes straight to one’s heart. The moment you startle—the scales fall from your eyes. Truly, one can repent. I really can't stand lectures. I hate even Older Brother’s lectures. I ended up sulking.

“If I just refuse clearly, right?” I said, and with some agitation called the house in Shitaya—only to have Mr. Suzuoka answer, darn it.

“Boy, hm?” “Happy New Year.” “Yes, Happy New Year.” After all, he was a fourth-dan judo practitioner. “Sis is waiting.” “Hurry up and get over here.” He had the nerve to call her “Sis”.

“Um, my stomach hurts...” I’m pathetic even to myself. “Please give my regards to Toshio too.” I even ended up offering unnecessary pleasantries. Without a face to show Older Brother, I shut myself in my room and skimmed Kierkegaard’s Training in Christianity until sunset. I didn’t understand a single line. I merely let my eyes skim over the printed words here and there while thinking about other, utterly trivial matters.

Today was a day of foolishness. The house in Shitaya was truly a tough nut. When I imagined Sister being in that house and laughing happily like that, I just couldn't make sense of anything anymore.

At dinner time,

“What do married couples even talk about, I wonder?” When I said this, Older Brother “Well, they probably aren’t talking about anything,” he answered in a bored tone. “That’s probably how it is.” Older Brother was, as expected, smart. He knew the tedium of Shitaya. At night, my throat hurt, so I went to bed early. Eight o'clock. I wrote in my diary while lying down. Mother had been in good health lately. If she got through this winter safely, she might start recovering soon. After all, it was a troublesome illness. Be that as it may, I wondered if I could get five yen. I had to return it to Saeki. I would pay it back cleanly and cut all ties. Honestly, when you borrowed money, you ended up losing your backbone. Sell old books and make it? I guessed I’d have to ask Older Brother after all.

It is written in Deuteronomy. “Thou shalt not lend upon usury to thy brother.” To ask Older Brother seemed safer. I appeared to have a miserly aspect.

The wind still blows strong.

January 6th. Friday.

Clear. The cold was severe. Every day I did nothing but make resolutions, and it was shameful. Gita had become increasingly skillful, but this was nothing to boast about. Ah, I wanted to spend days without regret. I was sick of New Year’s already. My sore throat had healed, but now my head was hurting. I didn’t feel like writing anything.

January 7th. Saturday.

Cloudy.

An entire week of idleness. From the morning, I ate almost a full box of mandarin oranges alone. My palms appeared to have turned yellow.

Shame on you!

Shin Serikawa. Your diary has been far too undisciplined lately! There’s not a trace of intellect about you anymore. You must pull yourself together. Have you forgotten your grand aspirations? You’re already seventeen years old. You should be a full-fledged intellectual by now. What disgraceful sloth! Have you forgotten being taken to church every week by Older Brother during elementary school to study the Bible? You were supposed to have properly internalized Jesus’s sacred mission. Have you forgotten promising Older Brother you’d become someone like Jesus? Have you forgotten that night when you read up to “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings” and burst into uncontrollable sobs? Day after day you make these solemn resolutions, only to squander an entire week acting the fool.

In March of this year, there would be the entrance exam. Entrance exams were not life’s ultimate goal, but as Older Brother had said, the value of student life lay in fighting them. Even Christ studied. He had researched every last scripture of that era exhaustively. All geniuses throughout history had studied ten times harder than others.

Shin Serikawa, you're a complete fool! Quit this diary already! A diary written in a spoiled, rambling way by a fool—not even pigs would touch it. Are you living just to keep a diary? You should quit this self-indulgent, rambling diary. No matter how much you reflect on or organize a life of nothingness, it remains nothing after all. The fact that you're droning on and on about it is truly absurd. Your diary has no meaning left.

“When we confess our minor faults, it is only to make others believe we have no major ones.” — La Rochefoucauld.

Serves you right!

The day after tomorrow, the third term began. Be enthusiastic and press on!

April 1st. Saturday.

Partly cloudy. Gale. It was a fateful day. A day I would never forget in my life. I went to see the First Higher School's announcement. I had failed. It felt as if my stomach and intestines had suddenly vanished. It felt as if my insides had turned hollow. It wasn't that I felt disappointed. I just teared up. Shin was pitiable. But I also felt that it was natural to have failed.

I didn't want to go home. My head felt heavy, my ears rang shrilly, and my throat grew parched. I went to Ginza. Standing at Fourth Block's corner, buffeted by the gale as I waited for the traffic signal, tears finally came. I nearly cried out. It's no wonder—this being my first failure ever—and when that thought struck me, I could no longer endure it. I don't know why I walked. Two people turned back to look at me. I boarded the subway. I came to Asakusa Kaminarimon. Asakusa teemed with crowds. I had stopped crying. I felt myself becoming Raskolnikov. I entered the milk hall. The tabletop lay whitened with dust. My tongue turned gritty with dust. I struggled to breathe. Failed student. This ain't a pretty sight. Both legs felt leaden, ready to give way.

Before my eyes floated a vivid vision.

The Roman ruins bathed in the yellow sunset were so sorrowful. A woman wrapped in white garments disappeared into the stone gate while looking down. Cold sweat formed on my forehead. I had passed R University’s preparatory course, but surely—no, actually—it didn’t matter at all. Even if I did get in, it would just mean putting my name on the register anyway. I had no intention of graduating. I would support myself starting tomorrow. Since just before last summer vacation, my resolve had been made. I was done with the leisure class. Oh, what a wretched guy I had been—parasitically dependent on that leisure class. "It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." Wasn’t this truly a splendid opportunity? Starting tomorrow, I would no longer depend on the household. Ah, stormy skies! O Soul! Tomorrow would begin my way in the world. Again, a vision floated before my eyes.

The green was terrifyingly vivid. A spring welled up. Gurgling forth, it flowed over the green grass. The sound of water lapped. A bird flew off.

It disappears.

Next to my table sat an ugly-faced girl in Western-style clothing, an empty coffee cup placed before her as she stared blankly. She took out a compact and tapped the tip of her nose. Her expression in that moment looked idiotic. Yet her legs were slender, and her silk stockings alarmingly thin. A man approached. He seemed the type who'd slather pomade even on his face. The woman smirked and rose. I averted my gaze. Would Christ have loved even a woman like this? If I ran away from home, would I too start bantering casually with such women? What a vile thing to witness. My throat parched. I would drink another milk. My future bride shall be that beak-faced creature; my dearest companion shall reek head-to-toe of pomade. This prophecy shall hold true. Outside streamed a ceaseless flow of people. Everyone must have some nest to return to.

“Oh, you’re back. You’re back early today, aren’t you?” “Hmm, the work matters settled quite nicely.” “That is splendid. Would you like to take a bath?”

An ordinary, yet quiet nest of respite. I have nowhere to return. A failure. What a disgrace this is! There’s no telling how intensely I had despised failed students until now. I had always thought they were a different breed, but lo and behold, the failed student’s branding iron had been pressed clearly upon my own forehead. I am the new recruit; I humbly beg your kind guidance.

Did you all not see a certain middle school student wandering through Asakusa's neon forest like a stray dog on the night of April first? Did you all see? If you saw me, then why didn't you call out with a single 'Hey, you!' at that time? I must have looked up at your face and pleaded, 'Please be my friend!' And then, wandering through the fierce wind together with you, we would save the poor! We must have sworn to each other over and over again. How wonderful it must have been for both you and me—gaining an unexpected comrade in this vast world. But no one spoke to me. I returned to the house in Koji-machi, worn out.

Writing about what followed is even more painful. I swear to God I shall never again commit such wickedness in my lifetime. I struck Older Brother. Around ten that night, I crept home and was fumbling with my shoelaces in the dark entryway when abruptly the light flashed on and Older Brother appeared.

“How’d it go? No good?” It was a carefree voice. I remained silent. After taking off my shoes and standing on the entryway step, I forced a faint smile before answering. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” My voice caught in my throat. “What!” Older Brother’s eyes went round. “Really?” “This is your fault!” I suddenly struck my brother’s cheek. Ah, rot, this hand! It was anger without any reason. Even though I’m feeling so ashamed I could die, you all keep acting refined and living with those cool expressions on your faces—drop dead! Seized by such a violent fit, I hit my brother. Older Brother made a childlike pout.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” I wailed as I clung to Older Brother’s neck. The student lodger Mr. Kijima carried me into the room and helped me out of my Western clothes while saying, “You’re overexerting yourself. Look—you’re only seventeen. It’s too much. If only your father were here...” he murmured softly. He appeared to have misunderstood something. “It wasn’t a fight! You idiot! It wasn’t a fight,” I insisted between sobs. Someone like Kijima would never comprehend. Mr. Kijima laid the futon over me, and I slept.

I am now lying face down on my futon, writing this "final" diary entry. That's enough. I am leaving home. Starting tomorrow, I'll support myself. I will leave this diary behind in this house as my memento. Older Brother would cry if he read this. He was a good older brother. Older Brother had, since I was eight, stepped in as Father's substitute to care for and guide me. Had Older Brother not been there, I might have become a terrible delinquent by now. Because Older Brother is so steadfast, Father must be resting easy in the afterlife. Mother's condition has improved so much lately that it even seems she might make a full recovery soon. It's a joyous thing. Even when I'm gone, don't lose heart; keep believing in Shin's success and stay at ease. I will never become corrupt. I will certainly overcome the world. Before long, I will make Mother very happy. Goodbye. Desk! Curtain! Guitar! Pietà! Everyone, goodbye. Please don't cry; laugh and bless my departure.

Farewell.

April 4th. Tuesday.

Clear.

I was now living very happily at the villa in Kujūkuri Beach. Yesterday, I had been brought here by Older Brother. Yesterday at 1:23 PM, we departed Ryogoku by train, and with my heart racing as if it were my first journey since birth, I kept restlessly gazing at the scenery outside the window. After departing Ryogoku, there were nothing but factories on both sides of the tracks for a while; just when I thought it was all factories, countless small poor houses clustered like woodlice between them would appear, then suddenly open up to reveal patches of green with small red-tiled roofs that looked like salaryman residences glimpsed here and there. I thought about the lives of the people living in this grimy suburb. Ah, the lives of the people were something so nostalgic and yet so sorrowful. I thought I still hadn’t suffered enough. We waited fifteen minutes in Chiba, then transferred to the Katsuura-bound train, arriving at Katakai in the evening. However, there was no bus. The last bus had apparently left thirty minutes earlier. The two of us tried to negotiate with an entaku driver, but he was reportedly ill, making it impossible.

“Shall we walk?” said Older Brother, shrinking his neck against the cold.

“Yes.” “I’ll carry the luggage.” “No need.” Older Brother burst out laughing.

The two of us first made our way to the coast. Following the shore would bring us relatively close. The setting sun shone upon golden sand that looked beautiful, but the fierce wind striking our cheeks made it cold. I hadn't visited the Kujūkuri villa in four or five years. Since it was too far from Tokyo and rather desolate, even during summer vacations we usually went to my mother's family home in Numazu instead. But coming here after so long, I found Kujūkuri's sea remained as vast and blue as ever. Great swells ceaselessly rose only to collapse. When I was a child, I used to come here every year. The villa was called Matsufūen and had once been a local attraction at Kujūkuri. Many summer visitors would come see its garden, and Father would graciously welcome each one without distinction, sending them all home happy. Truly, Father seemed to have delighted in pleasing people. Now an elderly policeman named Kawagoe Ichitarō lived there with his wife Mrs. Kin as caretakers, but our family hardly ever visited anymore, and Ms. Choppiri only occasionally brought her disciples and friends to use it, leaving the place nearly derelict. The garden had grown wild until Matsufūen itself had perished. Even Kujūkuri's summer visitors had likely forgotten Matsufūen by now. There seemed no more eccentric souls visiting the garden. Thinking of many things, I followed behind Older Brother, crunching through the sand with each step. Two black shadows stretched long across the sand. Two people. In the Serikawa household, there were only Older Brother and me—just us two. I earnestly resolved that we should live harmoniously and support each other going forward.

By the time we arrived at the villa, it had already become pitch dark. Because we had sent a telegram ahead of time, Old Mrs. Kin had everything prepared and was waiting. I immediately took a bath, ate a delicious fish dinner, and when I lay down on my back in the sitting room, a great sigh escaped from the depths of my belly. The hellish frenzy of the first and second days now seems like a dream. On the morning of the second, I woke before dawn, packed my belongings into a trunk, and secretly slipped out of the house. As for money, the twenty-yen allowance I received on the morning of the first still has more than half remaining. Even so, because I felt uneasy, I made sure not to forget to bring both the stopwatch I had borrowed from Older Brother and my own wristwatch when I left. If I sold them both together, I might get around a hundred yen for them. Outside, there was a terrible fog. When I reached Yotsuya Mitsuke, the night began to dawn palely. I boarded the government railway. Yokohama. Why I bought a ticket to Yokohama—I myself can’t quite explain it. Anyway, going there felt like good luck was waiting. But there was nothing. In Yokohama Park, I sat on a bench until around noon. I gazed at the steamships in the harbor. Seagulls were flying. I bought bread from the park kiosk and ate. Then, carrying the trunk again, I went to Sakuragicho Station and bought a ticket to Ofuna.

If I can’t make a living, I’ll become a movie actor. Last year, when I was insulted by the math teacher called Tanuki and readily tried to quit school, even then I resolved that I would become a movie actor and support myself. For some reason, I harbored a strange delusion that if only I became an actor, I could achieve splendid success. It wasn’t vanity about my looks. It was a delusion regarding education and art. I do not yearn to be a movie actor. It’s harsh; I even consider it a miserable profession in some respects. However, other than this profession, I can’t quite think of anything I might be capable of. I have no confidence in milk delivery. I got off at Ofuna. No matter what happened, I was determined to persist and meet at least one director. I had swiftly resolved this matter immediately after learning of my failure at First Higher School. In the end, I had resolved that this was the way. I went to the studio gate with such intense determination that I could barely see, but this ended in a bitter smile. It was Sunday! What a careless child I was! It may have all been according to God’s divine will. Simply because it was Sunday, my fate had once again completely reversed.

Carrying my trunk, I returned to Tokyo once more. The Tokyo evening was beautiful. Sitting on a bench at Yurakucho Station’s platform, I gazed at the flickering lights of the buildings until my tears blurred them from view. At that moment, I was lightly tapped on the shoulder by a gentleman. It was my crying that had been the mistake. I was taken to a police box, but I was treated politely. Father’s name seemed to have been effective. Older Brother and Mr. Kijima came to meet me. The three of us got into the car, and after a while, Mr. Kijima suddenly spoke up.

“However, isn’t the Japanese police force the best in the world?”

Older Brother did not say a single word. When we got out of the car in front of the house, Older Brother said to no one in particular,

“I haven’t told Mother anything,” he said quickly.

I was exhausted that night and slept like the dead.

And then the next day, Older Brother brought me to Kujukuri Beach. In other words, it happened yesterday. We walked along the shore and arrived at this villa around sunset. We took a bath, ate a delicious dinner, and when I flopped down to sleep in the tatami room, a big, long sigh whooshed out from the pit of my stomach. That night, for the first time in a long while, I slept side by side with Older Brother under separate futons.

“I’m sorry I made you take First Higher School’s exam. “It was my fault.”

I wonder how I should respond. Casually saying things like “No, it’s my fault” and neatly smoothing over the situation—such a feat was beyond me. I couldn’t bring myself to do such a blatantly insincere, dishonest act. I could only whisper, "Please forgive me," with an aching heart, secretly apologizing to God and Brother from the depths of my chest. I writhed my body violently under the futon. My body had nowhere to direct itself.

“I read your diary.” “After reading that, even I almost wanted to run away from home with you,” said Older Brother with a quiet laugh. “But that must’ve looked ridiculous.” “No wonder—even if someone like me were to frantically try running away with wide-eyed desperation, the whole thing would be utterly nonsensical.” “Kijima would be surprised too.” “And then Kijima, after reading that diary—this would be his running away too.” “And then Mother and Ume-ya would run away too, and we’d all rent a new house together—something like that.”

I, too, ended up laughing. Older Brother would tell such jokes to prevent me from feeling awkward. It was always like this. Older Brother was a more timid person than I was.

"When is the announcement for R University?" "The sixth." "I think you'll pass R University, but tell me—if you do pass, don'tcha think you'll just keep going there forever?" "I could keep going there, but—" "You should just say it straight." "You don't intend to keep going, do you?" "I don't." The two of them laughed.

“Let’s talk more casually. Actually, I quit university last month too. There’s no point meaninglessly paying tuition fees forever. From now on, I plan to write a proper novel with a ten-year plan. Everything I’ve written up till now is worthless. I was too full of myself. They’re all complete garbage. My lifestyle was undisciplined— acting all high-and-mighty alone, pulling all-nighters and such. Starting fresh this year, I want to do it right. Shin—how about studying together with me from now on?”

"Studying? Are you going to take First Higher again?" "What are you talking about? I won’t make such unreasonable demands anymore. Exam prep isn’t the only kind of study there is. Didn’t you write about it in your diary? You wrote that your future path had somehow settled itself without you noticing—was that a lie?" "It’s not a lie, but truthfully, even I don’t fully understand. It feels clearly decided somehow, yet I can’t grasp anything concrete about it."

“Movie actor.” “No way!” I was terribly flustered. “That’s right. You want to be a movie actor.” “There’s nothing wrong with that.” “If you became Japan’s number one movie actor, that’d be something to be proud of, wouldn’t it?” “Mother would be happy too.” “Brother, are you angry?” “I’m not angry.” “But I’m worried.” “Very worried.” “Shin, you’re seventeen.” “Whatever you become, you still need to study more.” “You understand that, right?”

“I’m not as smart as you, Brother, so there’s nothing else I can do. So, I’ve been thinking about becoming an actor or something, but—”

“It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this artistic atmosphere so irresponsibly. I was careless. This is my punishment.” “Brother,” I felt a flicker of irritation. “Is art really that terrible?” “Failure would be devastating. But if you’re determined to pursue this path seriously from now on, I won’t stand in your way. In fact, I want us to study together and support each other. Well—it’ll mean ten years of rigorous training. Can you handle that?”

“I’ll manage it.”

“I see.” Brother sighed. “In that case, first go to R University as well.” “Whether you graduate or not is beside the point—just get into R University.” “It’s better to get at least a taste of university life too.” “Agreed?” “And then—don’t rush off to movies or anything right now. For five or six years—no, seven or eight if needed—enroll in a proper first-rate theater troupe and have them drill the fundamentals into you thoroughly.” “As for which theater troupe to join, we’ll figure that out later together.” “That’s all for now.” “You have no objections, I take it?”

Brother was getting sleepy. “Let’s sleep. We have enough money to live modestly for about ten years. No need to worry.”

I thought I would give half—no, four-fifths—of all my future happiness to Brother. My happiness would be too great otherwise.

I woke up at seven this morning. How many years had it been since such a refreshing morning? Brother and I raced out barefoot onto the sandy beach—running races, wrestling sumo-style, doing high jumps and triple jumps—then from early afternoon onward began something called golf. Though we called it golf, it wasn’t the proper kind. We wrapped cloth thickly around an ink bottle to make our ball. We would hit it with a baseball bat in a golf-like stance and try to land it in the hole under a pine tree about a hundred meters away across the field. The field along the way proved a formidable obstacle. It was fun. We laughed loudly together. Crack! When we sent the ink-bottle ball flying with that satisfying crack, it felt truly exhilarating. Old Lady Kin brought us rice cakes and mandarin oranges. We gratefully devoured them, munching noisily as we continued our golf game. I got it into the hole in just six strokes. That became today’s record. Four children from the beach had somehow started following us.

“I’ve got it down.” “I’ve got it down too.” “Just gotta smash it into that hole over there,” they whispered conspiratorially. They seemed eager to join in. When Brother said, “Give it a try,” and held out the bat, they excitedly swung it wildly while chanting, “I’ve got it down!” They were utterly endearing. Wondering how these children amused themselves daily brought a lump to my throat. Ah—every last one of them yearns for happiness in exactly the same way. The children played as if devouring every moment. We grew weary and collapsed onto the sandy beach.

Sunset.

The red light visible through the gaps in the clouds was like a burning crimson ribbon. When I raised my head, the pine forest encircling the villa glittered vivid red under that crimson light. The sea—even the Choshi Peninsula—appeared faintly purple, while the horizon showed a pale green like the edge of a mirror. Seagulls skimmed small above the sea's surface. The waves ceaselessly swelled and crashed. Ah, life contains moments like this. Ah, today I shall hold back before no one and savor this unfeigned happiness to the fullest! When humans are happy, it’s all right for them to act like fools. God too will deign to forgive. This day was a Sabbath for us two. Brother wrote a poem on a seashell with a pencil.

“What?” I said, peering over. “I wrote a hidden prayer on it,” Brother said with a laugh and threw the shell into the sea.

We returned home, took our baths, finished dinner, and were already sleepy. Brother was first to burrow into the futon and fell asleep snoring thunderously. I had never seen Brother sleep so soundly. I slept briefly before rising again to pen this diary entry. I believe I wrote of these three days' events without a single falsehood. Never forget these three days all my life!

April 5th.

Wednesday.

A gale. The ferocious gale this morning must lie beyond city dwellers' imagination. It was terrible. A west wind so violent you might call it a hurricane roared with ground-shaking force. To make matters worse, two or three pine trees on the house's western side had been snapped off. The wind raged with a splintering intensity that threatened to batter this house apart. It was terrible. There was something almost bracing about its fury. I couldn't take a single step outside. By afternoon, the west wind seemed to have shifted northeast. In the morning, I brought Mr. Kawagoe's puppies into the living room to play. There were five of them. They'd apparently been born just days earlier. Truly adorable. Perhaps frightened by the storm, they trembled incessantly. When I pressed my cheek against them, a milky scent rose sharply. It felt more noble than any perfume. Gathering all five into my lap, their ticklish squirming made me yelp an involuntary "Aah!"

Brother had been sitting at his desk since the afternoon, earnestly writing something on manuscript paper. I lay down beside him and read a bit of Before the Dawn. The text was difficult to read.

The wind subsided a little by nightfall. Yet it kept vigorously shaking the storm shutters. Outside lay a beautiful moonlit night. O wind, you may blow as fiercely as you like, but spare that moon and those stars. Brother continued writing through the night. I kept reading more of *Before the Dawn* in bed again.

Tomorrow is R University’s results announcement. Mr. Kijima should inform us of the outcome by telegram. I’m a little concerned.

April 6th.

Thursday.

It was sunny and cloudy by turns. Morning brought a little rain. The rain at the beach became a silent film. Even when falling, it made no sound at all—just soaked quietly into the sand. The wind had died down completely. I got up and gazed awhile at the rainy garden before muttering, “Ah, back to bed!” then burrowed into my futon again. Brother slept peacefully with his Pushkin-like face. Though Brother often mocked his own dark complexion, I preferred faces like his—sun-browned and full of shadowed contours. My own face was merely flat white with ruddy cheeks that held not a trace of melancholy. They say letting leeches suck your cheeks removes their redness—a disgusting notion I lacked courage to test. As for noses? Brother’s stood bony with vivid ridges along its bridge—originality incarnate—while mine simply bulged large and round. Once when I waxed enthusiastic about a friend’s looks by my bedside lamp light years ago now—Brother suddenly cut in from beside me saying “You’re handsome,” souring everyone’s mood—how bitterly resented him then! Not that I ever thought myself sole Adonis among troglodytes! Preposterous notion! Were I some peerless beauty surely others’ looks would leave me cold! One grows magnanimous toward ugliness when crowned perfection! But for us who loathe our own mirrors—others’ faces become obsession! “Poor souls must despair,” we commiserate! Indifference proves impossible! My face couldn’t claim even one percent of Brother’s beauty!

My face lacked even a single trace of spiritual or intellectual depth. It was like a tomato. Brother might mock his own dark complexion now, but once he gains literary fame and people start calling him the handsomest man in the literary world, he'll surely grow flustered then. He does bear a faint resemblance to Pushkin. My face belongs among the illustrated cards of the Hyakunin Isshu.

I drifted in and out of sleep and had various dreams. It seemed to be somewhere around Ueno Station’s grounds—there I was, surrounded on all sides by trains, soaking in a bathtub filled with hot water while looking around restlessly. Suddenly, Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony resounded overhead like thunder. In a flustered panic, I stood up completely naked, raised both hands, and began conducting. At times I conducted fiercely; at times grandly and leisurely; other times making my whole body writhe softly as I led. The symphony abruptly vanished. Train passengers stared calmly at me from their windows. I grew embarrassed. There I stood—utterly naked in the bathtub, frozen mid-conducting pose with agonized fervor. It was an indescribably humiliating stance. I burst out laughing at myself and woke up. Though brief, I felt grateful to have heard Beethoven’s Seventh again after so long—something I’d been yearning for. When I dozed off once more, it became an exam scene. The venue looked unusually grand with a stage up front—apparently the Imperial University entrance exam. But when Tanuki arrived as the examiner, I grew suspicious. The examinees were all familiar fourth-year classmates. Despite being an English test, the paper bore a tiger drawing. I couldn’t solve it no matter what. Tanuki sidled up and said, “Want me to teach you?” I snapped, “No! Get lost!”

“No, I’ll teach you,” said Tanuki, snickering. I hated it, hated it—it was unbearable. “If I write a tragedy, that should do it,” I said. Tanuki replied, “No—Hagoromo.” Just as I thought he was saying something absurd, the bell rang. I handed the blank paper to Tanuki and exited to the hallway. In the hallway, everyone was clamoring.

“What’s tomorrow’s exam about?” “It’s the field trip exam.” “Gonna be a real pain.” “They’re sayin’ to watch out for the snacks.” “I ain’t in the sumo club.” This was so like Kimura.

“They’re twenty-five yen shoes, I hear.” “Let’s drink sake and then go see the autumn leaves.” This was also typical of Kimura. “Sake’s plenty for me.”

“Shin, you passed!” This was Brother’s real voice. He stood by the pillow, laughing.

“A telegram came from Kijima saying ‘Splendid pass!’” For a moment, I felt inexplicably—intensely—ashamed. When I took the telegram from Brother and looked at it, it read: “MIGOTO GOUKAKU” Banzai. My embarrassment deepened. Having others make a big fuss over my modest success was, for no reason, mortifying. I even felt as if everyone were laughing at me.

“Mr. Kijima’s being so dramatic too. Writing ‘Banzai’ like that—he’s making fun of me,” I said, pulling the futon over my head. There was simply no other way to maintain my composure.

“Kijima must have been genuinely happy too.” Brother said in a reproachful tone. “For Kijima, even R University is a dazzlingly impressive university.” “And in fact, the substance of any university is much the same.” “I know, Brother.” I pulled my face out from under the futon and involuntarily grinned. The face that laughed was no longer that of a middle school student. The middle schooler who had been under the futon quietly peeked out from beneath it, only to find himself transformed into a bona fide university student—a metamorphosis so straightforward it could be called utterly without trickery or artifice. A magic trick. Ah, I got a bit too carried away when writing this. Embarrassing. What even is R University?

Today, somehow, no matter where I walked, it felt like my feet weren’t touching the ground. It felt like I was walking on fluffy clouds. Brother too said, “I’ve been feeling that way all day.” At night, when we went to Katakai town, we were shocked. It was completely different. This wasn’t the Katakai town I remembered. It couldn’t be that I was still seeing the continuation of this morning’s dream. The town lay utterly desolate, without a trace of its former vitality. Everywhere was pitch black. A heavy silence pressed down on everything. There was no sign of people. Even Katakai’s Ginza district—which had swarmed with summer visitors just five years earlier—now stood without a single electric light burning. Darkness swallowed everything. The distant howling of dogs felt unnervingly intense. This decay wasn’t just seasonal—Katakai itself had truly fallen into ruin.

“It feels like we’re being tricked by a fox,” I said. Brother then...

“Well, we might actually be getting tricked right now.” “Something’s off,” he said seriously. We entered the billiard hall we’d known for years. A dim light bulb was the only one lit, leaving the place completely empty. In the back room, an unfamiliar old woman was sleeping alone. “Y’gotta strike ’em hard,” she said in a hoarse voice. “Y’gotta strike ’em proper. Fetch them balls from this here closet.”

I thought of fleeing. However, I was astonished when Brother calmly walked into the back room, stepped over the old woman’s bedding, opened the closet, and retrieved the balls. Brother too was clearly not himself today. We decided to play just one game, but the balls crawling slowly across the darkened baize began to seem eerily alive, and before the match could conclude, we said, “Let’s stop, let’s stop,” and went outside. Entering a soba shop, we ate lukewarm tempura soba while,

“What’s happening… tonight? It’s like will and action are completely out of sync. I wonder if my head’s going strange,” I said. Brother then smirked and replied, “Well, ever since Shin became a university student around now, I’ve had this feeling today was suspicious.”

“Oh no!” I felt like he’d struck right at my core. Perhaps the cause of today’s eerie occurrences lay not in Katakai town itself, but in my own lightheaded excitement. Still, it was strange that Brother would claim to feel similarly ungrounded—as if his feet weren’t touching earth either. Could even Brother have grown so giddily distracted from simple happiness? What a fool you are, Brother. Getting so worked up over such trifles.

I'll make you happier and happier from now on. Today felt like I'd been dreaming all day—but if this were a dream,I prayed not to wake. The sound of waves clung to my ears,making sleep elusive. Yet with this,I felt my future path had become clearly defined. I resolved to thank God.

April 7. Friday. Sunny. A gentle breeze blew from the east. I already began wanting to return to Tokyo. I grew somewhat tired of Kujukuri too. After breakfast, we immediately went out to the beach and started playing golf, but it wasn't as fun as the first time. My heart wasn't in it. Midway through golfing, Shigeo Ikuta—an eighteen-year-old middle schooler living next to the villa—approached us saying, "Good afternoon." When we returned his greeting with a "Good afternoon," he immediately thrust a notebook before my face and demanded, "Solve this algebra problem." I found it terribly impudent. Though we'd often played together as children, I still thought it rude beyond measure that he'd demand problem-solving the instant greetings ended after years apart. I even suspected he might hold some hostility toward us. His skin had tanned so darkly he became unrecognizable—now fully a beach youth.

“Doesn’t look like I can do this,” I said, barely glancing at the problem in the notebook. “But you got into university, didn’t you?” he pressed. His tone was downright confrontational. I felt extremely unpleasant. “Where did you hear that?” Brother calmly inquired. “I heard a telegram came yesterday, didn’t it?” Shigeo said eagerly. “I heard it from Aunt Kawagoe.”

“Ah, I see.” Brother nodded and said with a smile, “He’s finally gotten in.” “Since Shin apparently didn’t study properly for the exams either,” he continued, “even difficult problems that you can’t solve would likely be beyond him.” Then Shigeo’s face rapidly brightened with delight,

“Is that so? I thought someone who could enter university starting in their fourth year—a real genius—would solve this easily. My apologies.” “This factorization problem is quite difficult.” “I plan to take the Higher Normal School exam next year too.” “Since I’m no genius, I’ll try from my fifth year.” He laughed with a hollow, brazen chuckle and walked away. What an idiot! Maybe his environment twisted him this way, but how pointlessly dark the world grows because of fools like him! He didn’t need to challenge me at every turn and pick me apart. Getting into R University doesn’t make me the least bit arrogant—I’d never dream of looking down on others! Brother watched Shigeo’s triumphantly retreating back,

“That’s how some people are,” he muttered with a sigh.

We had become utterly dejected, and somehow, playing so carefree in a place like this began to feel like a terribly bad thing.

“Foxes have holes, and birds have nests, huh?” I said. Brother— “Behold! The day will come when the bridegroom is taken,” he said and laughed. I couldn’t help but think that if Mr. Shigeo and the others heard this conversation, they’d find it unbearably pretentious. Then what are we supposed to do? We aren’t the least bit conceited. Even though we’re always being so reserved. Ah, I want to return to Tokyo. The countryside is so complicated. Having no energy left to continue golf, we exchanged sad jokes as we made our way home.

At noon came another failure. This was a big failure. Moreover, that was entirely my fault from start to finish, so it was unbearable. After finishing lunch, I dragged Brother out to the garden and was taking his photo when I heard two of Grandfather Ishizuka’s grandchildren whispering furtively outside the hedge. “I did have my photo taken when I was three.” The boy said proudly.

“When you were three?” It was the sister’s voice.

“Yeah, that’s right. “I had a hat on when they took it, yeah. “But I don’t remember it at all.” Brother and I both burst out laughing. “Come play,” Brother said loudly. “I’ll take your photo for you.”

The area outside the hedge fell silent. Grandfather Ishizuka was someone who used to watch over this villa in the past, and he still lived in this area even now. The grandchildren consisted of an older boy around ten and a younger girl around seven. Before long, the two of them came scurrying into the garden with bright red faces, immediately came to a halt, both of their faces growing even redder as they shyly hesitated, not taking a single step forward. Their hesitant manner was refined and pleasant.

“Come over here,” Brother motioned with his hand. Then—oh, I’ve really said something terrible. “I’ll give ya some candy.” The girl suddenly raised her face, then whirled around and scampered away. The boy, seemingly less sensitive than the girl, hesitated for a moment, but he too soon chased after her and fled. “If you abruptly say you’ll give them candy, even children will feel insulted.” “They have their pride—they didn’t come here expecting handouts.” Brother said with a look of disappointment. “You’re such an idiot.” “This is exactly why even Mr. Shigeo resents you.”

I couldn't offer a single word of defense. After all, there must be some arrogant streak within me. What a ridiculous fool I am. This countryside simply won't do. I keep tripping over myself. My spirits have turned gloomy. I very nearly went to Grandfather Ishizuka's place to apologize to those young siblings, but ultimately couldn't bring myself to go. It felt too theatrical—the shame was too much, and I simply couldn't do it.

Tomorrow, I think I'll return to Tokyo. When I consulted Brother, he said he’d also been thinking it was about time to return and agreed. In the evening, when I got out of the bath and looked in the mirror, my nose was bright red from sunburn, like something out of a cartoon. My eyelids shifted between double, triple, and single folds with every blink. My eyes might have sunken. I’d exercised too much and ended up losing weight. I felt like I’d suffered a terrible loss. I want to return to Tokyo as soon as possible. I am, after all, a city child.

April 8th. Saturday.

Kujukuri was clear; Tokyo was rainy. I arrived home around 7:30 PM. Sister was here. I felt strange about it. "I just came by a moment ago," Sister said calmly, but later Mr. Kijima accidentally revealed to us that she had actually been here since two nights prior. Why does Sister tell such unnecessary lies? There might be something going on. Exhausted anyway, we got into the bath and went straight to bed.

April 9th.

Sunday.

Overcast sky. I woke up at 1 PM. After all, I can sleep soundly at home. It might have been because of the futon. Brother seemed to have woken up much earlier than I did. And then, it seems he had some kind of argument with Sister. Sister and Brother were both being curt with each other. Something must have happened. Eventually, the truth will come out. Sister left for Shitaya in the evening without properly speaking to me. That night, Brother took me to Kanda and bought me my university cap and shoes. I wore that cap home. On the bus back,

“What’s wrong with Sister?” I asked, and Brother clicked his tongue irritably. “You say such stupid things. She’s an idiot,” he said, then fell completely silent. He wore a face like he’d bitten into something bitter. He seemed terribly angry.

Something must have happened. But since I knew nothing about it, I couldn’t say a word. For the time being, I would keep to the sidelines and observe. The tailor was supposed to come tomorrow to take measurements for my suit. Brother had said he would buy me a raincoat too. Gradually, I was becoming a full-fledged university student in both name and reality. O flowing water. That night, I felt deeply that passing R University had indeed been the right choice. Once a little more time passed, I intended to begin my theater studies in earnest. Brother said he’d first introduce me to a good theater teacher. It might be Mr. Saito. Mr. Saito Ichizo’s works had already become something like classics in Japan, and someone like me had no right to criticize them, but their content felt somewhat conventional and unsatisfying. However, his stature was considerable, and someone like that might actually be the best choice as a teacher.

Brother said the path of art was difficult. But I would study. As long as I kept studying, there would be no anxiety. That I could now walk this path I wanted to try was all thanks to Brother. Let us lend each other a hand and strive throughout our lives, and thus achieve success together. After all, Mother always said, "Brothers should get along." Mother would surely have been pleased. Brother had been deep in conversation with Mother in her room for a while now. It had been going on for ages. It was finally clear—something must have happened. It felt frustrating.

April 10th.

Monday. Clear. The official acceptance notice from the school arrived. The start of term ceremony was on the twentieth. I just hope the uniform arrives in time. That day, the tailor came to take measurements. I ordered a conservative style instead of the fashionable one. If I were to walk around wearing a fashionable student uniform, I’d look unintelligent—that wouldn’t do. Walking around in a plain-style suit has a way of making one look quite scholarly. Brother, too, was wearing an ordinary-style student uniform. And he looked very scholarly.

In the evening, Yoshi-chan came to visit. She was Kei-chan’s younger sister from Commerce University. Though still a schoolgirl, she acted quite cheeky. “So you got into R University?” “You shouldn’t have bothered.” What a dreadful greeting. When I retorted, “Commerce universities are fine,” she dismissed them as boring. When I pressed her about what was good instead, she declared middle schoolers were best because they’re cute. “This conversation is pointless.” She had Ume-ya mend her skirt’s torn hem, then left immediately after. Returning to clothing—why must schoolgirl uniforms be so frumpily dowdy and grubby? Couldn’t they manage even slightly tidier attire? Walking through town, not once did I see—not a single one! Not a single uniform that made me think “This!” They all resemble sewer rats. With their clothes in such a state, their very hearts scuttle about like gutter vermin. What truly shocks is their complete lack of respect for men.

Today，Brother went out in the afternoon. It was now ten o'clock at night，but he had yet to return. The outline of the incident had almost become clear to me.

April 24th.

Monday.

Clear.

I have become disillusioned with university. From the very day of the opening ceremony, I had already grown sick of it. It was no different from middle school. The clean, pure atmosphere tinged with religiosity that I had expected was nowhere to be found. In the class were about seventy students—young men all around twenty years old—yet in terms of intelligence, they were like drooling toddlers. They just screamed their heads off. They were so bad I began to wonder if they weren’t idiots. From my middle school, only Akazawa had come here, but since Akazawa joined in the fifth year, we weren’t particularly close. We exchanged brief nods at most. Therefore, in class, I was completely isolated. I had already classified the students during the opening ceremony into fifty idiots, ten grade grubbers, five opportunists, and five members of the violent faction. I believed this classification was accurate. I was certain there wasn’t the slightest error in my observations. There wasn’t a single genius-like person to be found. I was truly disappointed. In this situation, it seemed I’d ended up being the top figure in the class. There was no end to the lack of stimulating challenges. I thought there would be swarms of outstanding rivals with whom I could converse and mutually encourage one another, but this felt exactly like starting over in the first year of middle school. There were even students who brought harmonicas to the classroom—it was unbearable. After attending school on the 20th, 21st, and 22nd—just three days—I was already sick of it.

I thought I should quit school immediately, join some theater troupe, and begin serious formal training. School felt completely worthless. Yesterday I stayed home all day finishing Composition Classroom, thought about various things, and couldn't sleep at night. The author of Composition Classroom is exactly my age. I realized I couldn't keep wasting time like this. Even some poor uneducated girl could produce work like this. I wondered if privileged circumstances might actually be detrimental for an artist. I wanted to escape my current environment quickly - become some impoverished trainee in a theater company and devote myself entirely to drama. After four in the morning I finally drifted off, only to be startled awake by the alarm at seven, feeling dizzy. Still I forced my heavy legs toward school out of grim obligation.

The school building was unusually quiet—huh? Thinking this, I went to the office only to find no trace of anyone there either. It hit me—today was a holiday for Yasukuni Shrine's grand festival. A failure of isolationist tactics.

If I’d known today was a holiday, I could have enjoyed myself more last night. Ridiculous.

But today was a nice day. On the way back, I stopped by Yoshida Bookstore in Takadanobaba and leisurely browsed through used books. Sometimes I felt dizzy. I selected several volumes of Teatro, Cochran’s *The Actor’s Art*, Tairov’s *Liberated Theater*—just those—and had them wrapped. I felt quite dizzy. I went straight home and went to bed immediately. I seemed to have a slight fever as well. Lying in bed, I looked through things like the table of contents of the books I’d bought today. Theater books were hard to find even in bookstores, which was a problem. If we're talking about foreign-language books, my brother seemed to have a few related to theater, but I couldn't read them yet. I must thoroughly master foreign languages from now on. Not being fully proficient in languages was rather inconvenient.

After taking a nap, I woke up at three in the afternoon. I had someone make plum rice balls and ate them alone. However, after eating one, my stomach turned queasy, a strange chill came over me, and I burrowed back into the futon. Sugino-san took my temperature out of concern—thirty-seven point eight degrees. “Shall I call Dr. Kagawa?” she suggested. “There’s no need,” I refused. Dr. Kagawa is my mother’s attending physician. He has an obsequious air about him that I dislike. I received aspirin from Sugino-san and took it. As I dozed fitfully, I broke into a heavy sweat and began to feel refreshed. I think I’m okay now. My older brother apparently went to Shitaya this morning regarding the Rei incident and still hadn’t returned—it seemed things had reached a point where they couldn’t be easily resolved anymore. Without my older brother here, I felt somehow uneasy. Then, when I had Sugino-san take my temperature again, it was thirty-six point nine degrees. Summoning my courage, I lay face down on the bed and wrote in my diary: *I have become disillusioned with the university.* I had to write that down no matter what. My arms felt heavy.

It was now eight o'clock in the evening. My head was clear, and I couldn't seem to fall asleep.

April 25th.

Tuesday.

Clear. The wind was strong. Today I took the day off from school. Older Brother also said I should rest. Since my fever had completely subsided, I alternated between sleeping and waking up.

The incident concerned Sister declaring she wanted to leave Mr. Suzuoka. There seemed to be no direct cause. It was simply that she said she didn’t want to. One could argue that her not wanting to was itself the most significant cause, but there appeared to be no specific reason for it. That was why Older Brother had become so angry. He had called Sister selfish and lashed out. He must have felt sorry toward Mr. Suzuoka. On Mr. Suzuoka’s side, there was absolutely no intention of separating. He seemed quite fond of Sister. But Sister had ended up disliking Mr. Suzuoka for no reason. Even I didn’t like Mr. Suzuoka, but I thought Sister might have been a bit selfish this time too. It seemed only natural for Older Brother to be angry. Sister was now at Ms. Choppiri’s place in Meguro. Older Brother had apparently made it clear he didn’t want her coming to the Koji-machi house. She had immediately taken her belongings and settled in at Ms. Choppiri’s residence instead. Somehow, I couldn’t help feeling Aunt Choppiri was pulling strings behind this incident from the shadows. Mr. Suzuoka seemed greatly perplexed. Even Older Brother had reportedly spoken with a bitter smile—Mr. Suzuoka cleaned rooms while Toshio cooked rice—a situation both deeply serious and pitiable yet so bizarre it nearly made one burst into laughter. I supposed that was only natural. The Judo fourth-dan holder tucking up his kimono skirt to dust the shoji screens, Toshio contorting his peculiar face into a lonely grimace while grilling fish—though terrible to picture, the scene was truly something to behold even in imagination.

It was pitiable. Sister had to be made to return. They said there was no cause, but perhaps some concrete significant one existed. In that case, everyone should have examined the cause together and worked toward an amicable resolution by correcting what needed correction. Somehow no one consulted me about anything - it was truly frustrating. Not even the truth of the matter had been reported to me. Regarding this incident, I decided to maintain an observer's position while secretly striving to gather intelligence on the truth. In my opinion, there was something fishy about Ms. Choppiri. If he were disciplined through physical punishment, he might confess the truth. Sometime soon I resolved to visit Ms. Choppiri's place with an innocent face for covert scouting. Being single himself, he must have been inciting Sister and plotting to make her single too. Mr. Suzuoka didn't seem like a bad person either, and Sister possessed splendid spiritual qualities. There had to be some malicious third party involved without fail. At any rate I needed to investigate the truth more clearly through covert means. Mother appeared decisively on Sister's side. She seemed determined to keep Sister by her side forever. This incident didn't seem known to other relatives yet - currently Sister's allies were Mother and Ms. Choppiri. Mr.Suzuoka's sole ally was Older Brother. Older Brother gave every appearance of fighting a lone battle. Older Brother had been in a very bad mood lately.

There were also two or three times when Older Brother came home late at night, heavily drunk. Older Brother is one year younger than Sister. Therefore, Sister doesn’t take everything Older Brother says at face value. Older Brother, however, is now the head of the household and has the right to give Sister orders. That is precisely where the difficulty lies. Older Brother also seems to be standing quite firm regarding this incident. Sister also shows absolutely no signs of yielding. It’s no good with Ms. Choppiri standing by. Anyway, I too must try to advance my covert investigation a bit further. What on earth is going on?

Today, I was scolded by Older Brother. After dinner, adopting a casual tone that feigned nonchalance,

“It was around this time last year when Sister left, wasn’t it? It’s already been a year since then,” I muttered while scheming to get information about the incident from Older Brother, but he saw through me.

“Whether it’s been a year or a month, there’s no law that lets a woman who’s married and gone to her husband’s home return without reason.” “Shin seems to have an odd interest in this, doesn’t he?” “Not very becoming of a lofty artist, huh?”

I was left utterly speechless. But I wasn't investigating this matter out of base curiosity. It was because I wished for the family's peace. And because I could no longer bear watching Older Brother suffer and wanted to help him. But if I were to say such a thing, he'd likely yell, "Don't get cocky!" Since I thought he'd shout something like that, I kept quiet. Lately, Older Brother had become truly frightening.

At night, I read bits of Teatro while lying in bed.

April 26th. Wednesday.

Clear. Light rain from evening.

When I went to school, I heard that yesterday had also been a holiday due to the Yasukuni Shrine festival and thought Oh. In other words, yesterday and the day before had been two consecutive holidays. If I had known that earlier, I could have slept more soundly and comfortably. It seems those who isolate themselves end up disadvantaged in such situations. But well—for now I suppose I'll remain part of the isolated faction. Older Brother too apparently belonged to this isolationist group during his university days. He had almost no friends. Only Mr. Shimamura and Mr. Kobayakawa would occasionally visit. It appears people with lofty ideals inevitably face temporary isolation. One mustn't surrender to worldly vulgarity simply because of loneliness or inconvenience.

Today’s Chinese classics lecture was somewhat interesting. Since the textbook wasn’t much different from my middle school one, I’d been dreading a repeat of the same material, but the lecture content turned out surprisingly different. I was impressed he spent a full hour just interpreting the phrase “Is this not also a joy?” after “A friend has come from afar.” Back in middle school, we were taught this simply meant feeling happy when a close friend visits unexpectedly from far away. Indeed, our Chinese classics teacher Gamasen had taught it that way—he’d smirk and say, “Picture this: when you’re bored stiff, a friend shows up at your gate with gifts like premium sake and a duck, shouting ‘Yo!’ Wouldn’t that be life’s greatest joy?” he’d add with delight. But apparently, that’s completely wrong. According to Mr. Ichita Yabe’s lecture today, this phrase isn’t about vulgar pleasures like sake or duck at all—it’s purely metaphysical. He explained it means feeling joy when unexpectedly hearing support for your ideas from distant people, even if society rejects them immediately—that subtle sense of your ideals hitting their mark. He said this line embodies idealists’ highest aspirations—not some master lounging bored on tatami, but charging determinedly toward his goals. Mr. Yabe gave a long explanation about the “mata” in “mata tanoshikarazu ya” too, though I’ve forgotten it. Anyway, Gamasen’s “sake and duck” interpretation seems regrettably crude. But honestly? I wouldn’t mind that sake and duck myself. It sounds thoroughly enjoyable. I can’t help finding Gamasen’s take hard to dismiss completely.

My thoughts being understood from afar, and then a bottle of premium sake and a duck arriving on a fine evening—that was my ideal, though perhaps it revealed too deep a greed. In any case, it remained a fact that while listening to Mr. Ichita Yabe’s imposing lecture, I found myself strangely missing Gamasen from middle school. He must still be happily giving those lectures at the middle school this year too, complete with his bottle of premium sake and a duck. Gamasen’s lectures were fairy tales.

During lunch break, I was alone in the classroom reading Kaoru Osanai’s *Introduction to Theater* when a bushy-bearded student from the main course lumbered in,

“Is Serikawa here?!” he shouted loudly, then pouted, “What—there’s no one here at all,” before calling out, “Hey, Chigo! Don’t you know where Serikawa is?” he asked me. He must have been quite the scatterbrain. “Serikawa is me,” I answered with a frown. “Oh! So you are.” “My mistake, my mistake,” he said, scratching his head. He wore an innocent smile. “I’m from the soccer club. Could you come with me for a moment?”

I was led out to the schoolyard. Under the cherry tree-lined path, five or six students from the main course were standing and squatting, yet all wearing equally serious expressions as they waited for me. "This is Shin Serikawa." The usual scatterbrain said this with a laugh and pushed me forward in front of everyone. "I see," said a dignified-looking student with an unusually broad forehead who appeared to be over forty, nodding magnanimously. Without even a hint of a smile, he asked me, "Have you already quit soccer?" I felt slightly pressured. People who don’t smile at all when speaking, even during our first meeting, are rather difficult for me to handle.

"Oh, I quit." I let out a slightly ingratiating laugh. "Won't you reconsider?" He asked again without smiling, looking straight into my eyes.

“What a waste that would be.” From beside them, another undergraduate student chimed in, “You made such a name for yourself back in middle school.” “I—” I resolved to state it clearly. “If it’s the magazine club, I think I might join.” “Literature?!” Someone said in a low but clearly mocking tone. “Is that a no?” The broad-foreheaded student sighed. “We were hoping to have you join us.”

I felt a deep ache. I seriously considered joining the soccer club. But imagining how university practices would be even more grueling than middle school’s—leaving no time for theater studies—I steeled myself and replied. “I can’t.” “He’s being annoyingly decisive.” Another voice dripped with mockery. “Enough,” the broad-foreheaded student turned sharply, silencing them. “Forcing someone serves no purpose.” “Pursue what you love with all your heart.” “Serikawa here appears unwell.”

“I’m perfectly healthy,” I protested, getting carried away. “Though right now, I’m a bit under the weather with a cold.” “I see,” said the dignified student, smiling for the first time. “You’re quite the joker. Come visit the soccer club sometimes.”

“Thank you.”

I managed to extricate myself, but I couldn't help admiring the character of that broad-foreheaded student. He might be the captain. I seem to recall that last year's captain of R University's soccer team was indeed someone named Ota—that broad-foreheaded student might very well be the famous Captain Ota himself. Even if he wasn't Ota, any man who becomes captain of a university sports team must have some admirable qualities as a person.

Until yesterday, I had completely despaired of the university, but today, between the Chinese classics lecture and that Captain’s attitude, I found myself reassessing my view of it. Now then, today there was a momentous event, but owing to all that activity, I’m now too exhausted to write about it in detail. It was truly exhilarating. I’ll write about it properly tomorrow at leisure.

April 27th. Thursday.

Rain.

All day, the rain fell.

The morning brought fierce thunder. Because I had overexerted myself so much yesterday, even by morning the fatigue hadn't lifted, and getting up was difficult. I wore the new raincoat someone had bought me for the first time and went to school. I discovered that broad-foreheaded student from yesterday was indeed the famous Captain Ota. I found out by overhearing my classmates gossiping during break time. Captain Ota was apparently the pride of R University. From his first year in the undergraduate program he had apparently become captain. I see, I thought, impressed. Apparently his nickname was Moses. To this as well I found myself thinking Ah I see, and was impressed.

I also wanted to write down what had impressed me in that day’s Bible lecture, but I supposed there would be another opportunity to do so later.

Today, no matter what, I had to write down yesterday's events before I forgot them. After all, it had been quite an ordeal.

On my way home from school yesterday, I suddenly thought of stopping by Aunt Choppiri’s place in Meguro. Once that idea came to me, I felt I absolutely had to go today no matter what. Even though the weather turned foul in the afternoon and looked ready to pour, I ended up heading to Meguro almost in a daze. Ms. Choppiri was at home. Sister was also there. Sister made a slightly awkward face,

“Oh my, the boy has gotten a bit thin, hasn’t he, Auntie?” “Ah, enough with ‘the boy’ already.” “I’m not a boy anymore,” I said, sitting cross-legged in front of Sister. “My!” Sister widened her eyes. “Well, of course I’ve gotten thin. “I’ve come down with a serious illness. “Today, I’ve finally managed to get up and walk.” I said with some exaggeration. “Hey, Auntie, give me some tea. “My throat’s so dry I can’t stand it.”

“What kind of way is that to speak!” Aunt grimaced. “You’ve turned into a complete delinquent, haven’t you?” “I might as well become a delinquent too. Even Older Brother has been coming home drunk every night lately. We brothers will both become delinquents. Give me some tea.” “Shin-chan.” Sister adopted a serious expression and said, “Did Older Brother say something to you?” “He didn’t say anything.” “Is it true you had a serious illness?”

“Oh, just a bit. It’s from worrying so much that I got a fever.”

“Is it true that Older Brother has been coming home drunk every night?” “That’s right. Older Brother has completely changed too.” Sister turned her face away. She cried. I also wanted to cry, but I held it back right then and there. “Aunt, give me some tea.” “Yes, yes.” Ms. Choppiri replied with utter disdain and, while making tea, said, “No sooner do you manage to get into university and think you can finally relax than you immediately start picking up these delinquent habits.”

“Delinquent? When did I become a delinquent? Aunt, you’re the real delinquent here. What’s this, Ms. Choppiri? Putting on airs like that.” “Well, I never!” Aunt was truly furious. “To speak so insolently even to me. Look! You’ve made Sister cry now, haven’t you? I know exactly what’s going on. You think you can come barging in here after being egged on by Older Brother—how disgraceful! Everyone knows what’s really happening backstage. And what is this ‘Ms. Choppiri’ nonsense? You ought to mind your language.”

“Ms. Choppiri is Aunt’s nickname.” “In my household, we’ve made it a rule to call you that.” “Didn’t you know?” “Well then, I’ll have just a little tea.” I gulped down the tea and glanced sidelong at Sister. She was looking down. She looked pitiful. Since everything was Aunt’s fault, my resentment toward her grew even stronger. “In Kōjimachi, there are only good children—how fortunate.” “Shin-chan, since you’re such a good boy, go home now.” “When you get home, tell Older Brother this: If he has something to say, he should have the decency to come himself like a man instead of sending some child like you.” “What’s this? He just keeps sneaking around in the shadows and hasn’t shown his face in Meguro at all lately, has he?” “There’s something I want to say to Older Brother myself.” “He comes home drunk every night, you say?” “He’s so disgraceful.”

“Please don’t speak ill of Older Brother.” I too had become genuinely angry. “Aunt, why don’t you watch your language instead?” “I didn’t come here because Older Brother put me up to it.” “You keep calling me a child—don’t look down on me.” “Even I can tell good people from bad.” “I came here today to fight with you, Aunt.” “It has nothing to do with Older Brother.” “Older Brother hasn’t said a word about this to anyone.” “He’s been worrying all by himself.” “Older Brother isn’t some coward.”

“Now, how about some snacks?” Aunt was crafty. “It’s delicious castella.” “I understand everything perfectly well, so stop with the nasty remarks, have some snacks, and just go home for today.” “You’ve completely changed as a person since becoming a university student!” “Even at home, do you speak so roughly to your mother?” “Castella? I’ll take some.” I noisily munched away. “It’s delicious, isn’t it? “Aunt, don’t get angry.” “Give me another cup of tea.” “Aunt, I don’t know anything about this current matter, but still, I think I can understand Sister’s feelings.” I pretended to soften a little.

“What nonsense are you spouting.” Aunt sneered. However, her mood improved slightly. “You wouldn’t understand.” “Well, what do you think?” “But there must certainly be a clear cause.”

“Well now,” she leaned in, “it’s no use telling a kid like you, but ants here, ants there—ants everywhere!” I was at a loss—Aunt’s words were genuinely so vulgar. This “ants here, ants there” business was awful, I thought. “First of all, you’ve been married for over a year now, yet you haven’t told your wife a single thing about how much property or income you have—what’s that about? It’s suspicious, don’t you think?” I remained silent and listened. Then Aunt, apparently thinking I was listening with admiration, grew even more animated and said, “Mr. Suzuoka may seem to be doing well for himself now, but if you trace it back, he was nothing more than your father’s servant.” “I know all about that.” “You’re all still young and might not know, but I know all about it.” “That—well now—he sure was looked after a great deal indeed.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Even I was getting annoyed. “No, it’s not okay. So to speak, we’re the main branch here. What’s this? They’ve completely neglected visiting Kojimachi lately—why, they’ve forgotten my very existence from the start! Well, I’m just a single, incomplete woman anyway—it can’t be helped if people look down on me—but you should know we’re the main line of—” She gestured with such force she nearly pounded the tatami mats.

“You’re getting off track, Aunt.” I burst out laughing.

"That’s enough." Sister also burst out laughing. "Rather than that—hey—Shin-chan?" "You and Older Brother both really hate the Shitaya house—right?" "You all already look down on Toshio completely—and—"

“That’s not true.” I panicked. “But you didn’t come even this New Year’s—not just you all—not a single relative has stopped by Shitaya either.” “I’ve thought about it too.”

Ah, so that’s how it is, I thought, and let out a deep sigh. “This New Year’s, I was really looking forward to Shin-chan coming.” “Suzuoka also genuinely cares for you, Shin-chan—always calling you ‘dear’ and talking about you.”

"My stomach was hurting—my stomach." I became flustered. Even something like that must have been quite a painful blow for Sister, I realized for the first time.

“Well, it’s only natural they don’t come.” This time, Aunt took my side. This is absurd. “After all, they’re not coming over in the first place.” “In Kojimachi, they’ve apparently stopped visiting altogether, and as for me, they don’t even send New Year’s cards.” “As for me—” She seemed ready to launch into another tirade. “It was wrong of us.” Sister said calmly. “Suzuoka too—whether you’d call it his student’s approach or something else—has been completely neglecting not just Kojimachi and Meguro, but even his own relatives.” “Whenever I say something about it, he just says relatives come second and that’s the end of it.”

“That’s just fine.” I found myself liking Mr. Suzuoka a little. “Honestly, if a man must trouble himself with such tedious formalities even toward his own flesh and blood, he’ll never accomplish anything.” “You think so?” Sister’s face brightened.

“That’s right. You don’t need to worry. Do you know who’s been going out drinking with Older Brother every night until late recently? It’s Mr. Suzuoka. They’ve really hit it off. He calls all the time.” “Really?” Sister widened her eyes and stared at me. Her eyes shone with delight. “Isn’t that obvious?” I said, getting carried away. “Mr. Suzuoka rolls up his sleeves every morning and cleans his own room, you know? Then Toshio ties on a red sash and gets dinner ready.” I heard that story from Older Brother and suddenly came to like the Shitaya house. “But I wish you’d stop calling me ‘dear.’”

“I’ll correct myself.” Sister was buoyant. “Because Suzuoka says it that way, I’ve ended up picking up the habit too.” To me, it sounded like newlywed talk. However, teasing about that would be vulgar. “I was in the wrong too, and even Older Brother had his moments of carelessness.” “Aunt, I’m sorry.” “I said all those harsh things earlier,” I made sure to humor Aunt as well.

“Well, I too thought there’d be nothing better than having things settle smoothly.” Aunt was indeed quick to seize the opportunity. She abruptly changed her attitude. “But Shin-chan, you’ve become quite clever, haven’t you.” She was astonished. “But hey, you can stop with all that ‘Choppiri’ business and making fun of old folks.” “I’ll correct myself.”

I felt good. I was treated to dinner at Aunt’s place and returned home. Never before had I longed so intensely for Older Brother’s return home as I did that night. Mother, having heard I had eaten dinner at the Meguro house, kept persistently asking about Sister’s situation and pestering me with questions. But I felt oddly reluctant to tell her anything properly, only giving vague replies—"You should ask Older Brother later," "I don’t really understand it myself"—before dodging her and escaping from Mother’s room.

Around eleven o’clock, Older Brother returned home terribly drunk. I followed Older Brother to his room and,

“Older Brother, should I bring you some water?” “Don’t need it.” “Older Brother, should I undo your necktie?”

“Don’t need it.” “Older Brother, should I press your trousers overnight?” “Cut it out. Go to sleep. Is your cold better now?” “I’ve forgotten all about my cold. I went to Meguro today.” “You skipped school, didn’t you.” “I stopped by on my way back from school. Sister said to say hello to you, I tell ya.” “Tell her I won’t listen. Shin, you’d better quit clinging to that Sister already. She’s someone else’s now.”

“Sister really does care about us, you know.” “She teared up.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “Go to sleep.” “If you’re wasting your time on such trivial nonsense, you’ll never become Japan’s best actor.” “Lately, it doesn’t seem like you’ve been studying at all.” “You think you know everything, don’t you?” “You’re not studying at all either.” “Every day, you just drink alcohol.”

“Don’t get smart with me. None of your lip.” “Because I feel bad for Mr. Suzuoka,――” “So why not just make Mr. Suzuoka happy?” “Sister doesn’t dislike Mr. Suzuoka at all, I tell you.” “That’s what I say to you.” “So you’ve finally been bought off too, Shin.” “I won’t be bought off with some sponge cake!” “Choppiri—no, it’s Aunt who’s wrong.” “It was Aunt who instigated it.” “She was spouting vulgar stuff about not disclosing the property or whatever, I tell ya.” “But that’s not what really matters.” “In truth, we were the ones at fault.”

“Why?” “What’s wrong with it?” “I’ll take my leave and hit the sack.” Older Brother changed into his nightclothes and burrowed into the futon. I darkened the room and turned on the desk lamp for him. “Older Brother, “Sister was crying, I tell ya.” “If you said you go out drinking every night and don’t come home until late, Sister sniveled, I tell ya.” “Well, no wonder she’s crying.” “She’s being selfish and making everyone suffer.” “Shin, get me a cigarette from there.” Older Brother lay face down on the futon. I lit his cigarette with the lighter and,

“And then she said, ‘Shin and Older Brother both hate the house in Shitaya too, don’t you?’” “Huh? What a damn strange thing to say.” “But that’s exactly how it was! Now it’s different, but before, even you never went to visit the house in Shitaya either, did you?” “You didn’t go either.” “Right, I was wrong too. After all, he’s a fourth dan in judo, so I was scared.” “You looked down on Toshio too.”

“It’s not that I looked down on him, but… somehow, I just didn’t want to meet him.” “It’s just... weighing on me.” “But from now on, I’ll get along with them.” “Come to think of it, he had a kind face.” “Idiot.” Older Brother laughed. “Mr. Suzuoka and Toshio are both truly good people.” “After all, people who’ve endured hardships are different.” “Even before, I didn’t think they were bad—if we had, we wouldn’t have let Sister marry into their family—but I hadn’t realized they were such good people.” This time, I truly came to think so. Sister still didn’t fully grasp Mr. Suzuoka’s merits. “What? Are you saying she’ll leave Mr. Suzuoka because we don’t visit?” “That’s not it at all!” “That’s what selfishness is.” “She’s not some nineteen-year-old miss—what childish behavior!” He wouldn’t yield an inch. That might be what they called a household head’s discernment.

“Even Sister understands Mr. Suzuoka’s good qualities perfectly well.” I was desperate. “Since it seemed that Mr. Suzuoka and we just didn’t get along, Sister ended up worrying.” “Sister values you and me deeply, I tell ya.” “We were also at fault.” “Just because we sent Sister off to be married elsewhere doesn’t mean she’s a stranger now, I tell ya.” “Then just what are you telling me to do?” Older Brother also grew serious.

“It’s not like you have to do anything.” “Sister’s already overjoyed.” “When I told Sister you and Mr. Suzuoka have been drinking together every night lately and really hitting it off, she went, ‘Really?’” “And the look on her face when she said that!”

“I see.” He let out a sigh. After remaining still for a while, he said, “Alright, I get it. “I was wrong too.” Older Brother sat up abruptly. “Twelve o’clock? Shin, call Mr. Suzuoka right away—tell him I’ll come over immediately. Then call Asahi Taxi and request one urgently.” “In the meantime, I’ll go talk to Mother.”

After seeing Older Brother off to Shitaya, I calmly began writing that day’s diary entry, but thoroughly exhausted, I abandoned it halfway through and went to sleep. Older Brother stayed overnight at the house in Shitaya.

Today, when I returned from school, Older Brother, grinning slyly, took me to Mother’s room without saying a word. At Mother’s bedside sat Mr. Suzuoka and Sister. When I sat down beside them and bowed with a laugh, “Shin-chan!” Sister cried. On the morning she left to be married, Sister had cried out my name in just that way. Older Brother stood in the corridor, smiling wryly. I cried a little. Mother remained lying in bed,

Mother said again, "Siblings should get along—"

God, please protect our family. I will study.

Tomorrow is apparently Sister’s first wedding anniversary. After discussing it with Older Brother, I think we’ll give some kind of present.

April 28th. Friday.

Sunny. When I considered it carefully, it felt shameful for a man—any man worthy of the name—to exhaust his full strength running about for mere family squabbles, growing somewhat proud as if engaged in grand endeavors. Though family peace matters, a man pursuing ideals must grow far stronger against the outside world. Today at school, I keenly felt this truth. At home, pampered by Mother, Older Brother, and Sister—praised as clever—I feel grand; yet stepping outside brings immediate calamity. How wretched. To be plunged from ecstasy’s peak into despair’s depths—this seems my inevitable fate. Why must the world seethe with such petty, needless hostility? It sickens me.

This morning, the moment I got off the bus in front of the university's main gate, I ran into that soccer club member from before. It was the same scruffy-bearded student who had come looking for me in the classroom that day. Since I'd felt some goodwill toward him, I immediately grinned and,

“Good morning,” I said cheerfully. Then—how dreadful—that student just shot me a truly nasty, hateful look and marched straight through the main gate. He felt like an entirely different person from that innocent bumbler I’d met before. His eyes were indescribably shallow. You didn’t have to turn on me like that just because I won’t join the soccer club. Aren’t we both R University students? You idiot! I wanted to yell at his retreating back. He must’ve been twenty-four or twenty-five already. At his age, going out of his way to loathe me! I felt utter contempt for him while somehow sensing I’d glimpsed something vile in human nature, leaving me desperately lonely. All yesterday’s happiness seemed smashed into hell’s deepest pit in an instant. Petty, petty small-mindedness. How brutally their ugly pettiness wounds our free-spirited lives and kills all joy! What’s worse, they don’t even realize the poison they spread—it’s staggering. Nothing’s scarier than fools—this proves it. This is exactly why I hate school. School isn’t for learning—just breaking your back over pointless socializing. Today too, classmates sauntered into class with magazines like *Shojo Club*, *Shojo no Tomo*, and *Star* crammed in their pockets. Nothing matches the ignorance of students today.

I was thoroughly sick of it all. Before classes began, they threw paper airplanes like children's toys at each other, gasped in amazement at trivial things with cries of “Wow!”, made lewd gestures—and yet when the teacher arrived, they suddenly quieted down and pretended to listen devoutly to even the most tedious lectures. Once school ended for the day, they’d say things like “Let’s hit Ginza today!” and make a boisterous fuss as if revived. This morning in the classroom too, they made a huge commotion with all their shrieking. When I wondered what was happening, apparently last night K—the class ladies' man—had been walking through Ginza with a woman who seemed to be his girlfriend. So when that charmer entered the classroom, an immediate shrieking uproar erupted. There was no other word for it but despicable. It reeked of pretentious allure—a veritable cesspool. While K blushed under everyone’s jeers yet still smirked as if not entirely displeased (typical K), what exactly did those students think they were achieving by hooting “Hey! Hey!” at him? I couldn’t comprehend it. Disgusting! Despicable. As I watched their idiotic commotion from a distance, violent fury welled up within me. I grew convinced this was unforgivable. I resolved never to speak with such people again. Even being ostracized would be preferable. There was no need to force myself into triviality by joining such company. Ah, you romantic students! Youth seems such a joyous thing indeed.

"You bastards! What are you living for? What are your ideals? You probably intend to live peacefully your whole lives—enjoying moderate fun without rocking the boat, graduating university without incident, getting new suits for company jobs, marrying cute wives while anticipating salary raises—but I’m afraid things may not go so smoothly. Unexpected things will happen. Are you prepared? Poor things—you know nothing. Ignorance."

Having been completely fed up since morning, when I tried to go to drill training in the afternoon, I suddenly realized I'd forgotten my gaiters. In a panic, I went to the neighboring classroom and asked three students to lend me a pair for just an hour, but each of them only smirked oddly and didn't even respond. I froze. They didn't seem to have any clear reason for refusing—not unwillingness or inconvenience. It appeared to be an idiotic kind of selfishness, as if declaring, "There's no rule requiring that!" It was as if they'd never once had the experience of lending to someone in need since birth. With such people, no amount of begging would get through. I found it appalling. I resolved never to ask students for anything again. I skipped drill training and went straight home.

Whether it was those soccer club undergraduates, this morning’s despicable uproar in the classroom, or the students from the neighboring class—it was all truly something.

Today, I was torn to shreds. But "Well, it's fine," I tell myself. I have my own path. I just need to pursue it straight ahead.

Tonight, I made a request to Older Brother.

“I’ve gotten a general sense of how school works now, so I think it’s about time I properly begin studying theater. Older Brother, please take me to a good teacher soon.”

“So that’s what you’ve been thinking so deeply about tonight.” “Alright.” “Let’s go consult Mr. Tsuda tomorrow.” “What kind of teacher would be suitable—anyway, let’s go to Mr. Tsuda’s place and ask.” “We’ll go together tomorrow.”

Older Brother has been in a very good mood since yesterday.

Tomorrow was the Emperor’s Birthday. I felt as though my future were being blessed. Mr. Tsuda had been Older Brother’s German teacher during his high school years and had since resigned from teaching to make his living entirely through writing novels. Older Brother had him review his works.

I tidied my room late into the night. I tidied up neatly, even the inside of the desk drawers. I sorted the books I had finished reading from those I was yet to read and rearranged the bookshelf. I replaced the picture in the frame from the Pietà to da Vinci’s self-portrait. It was because I wanted something with strong willpower. I discarded the quill pen. I wanted to eliminate any girlish tendencies. I stored Gita away in the closet. I felt quite refreshed.

This spring feels like it will remain a vivid memory throughout my lifetime.

April 29. Saturday.

A perfect sunny day. Today was the Emperor’s Birthday. Both Older Brother and I rose early. A quiet, beautiful morning. Older Brother maintained his theory that since ancient times, fine weather had been decreed for this imperial occasion. I chose simple belief. Around eleven o'clock we left home together, detouring through Ginza to purchase an anniversary gift for Sister's marriage. Older Brother selected a glass set. The ulterior motive surfaced - using these tumblers for wine with Mr. Suzuoka during our planned Shitaya visit. I procured premium playing cards. My hidden agenda involved card games with Sister and Toshio during that same excursion. Both purchases revealed cunning forethought for future enjoyment. We arranged direct delivery from shop to Shitaya address.

We ate lunch at Olympic and then visited Mr. Tsuda in Hongo. In the spring when I entered middle school, I had once been taken by Older Brother to visit Mr. Tsuda's house. At that time, I was astonished to find books crammed into every corner—the entrance, hallway, and tatami room. "Did you read all of these?" I bluntly asked, and Mr. Tsuda laughed, "There's no way I could read all these. But if you line them up like this, the time to read them will surely come," I remember him answering clearly.

Mr. Tsuda was at home. As always, books were crammed into every corner—the entrance, hallway, and tatami room. Nothing had changed at all. Mr. Tsuda was just the same as he had been four years earlier. He must have been nearly fifty, yet there was no sign of aging. He still talked and laughed frequently in that high-pitched voice. “You’ve grown up.” “You’ve really grown into a man.” “R University?” “How is Takaishi-kun doing?” Takaishi was the English lecturer at R University.

“Yes, he’s currently teaching us Samuel Butler’s *Erewhon*, but he’s rather indecisive, don’t you think?” I said exactly what I was thinking, and Mr. Tsuda’s eyes widened. “You’ve got quite a sharp tongue.” “If you’re like this already, I can’t imagine what your future holds.” “You and your brother must be sitting around every day badmouthing us, huh?” “Well, something like that,” said Older Brother with a laugh, “it seems my younger brother never intended to graduate from R University from the start.”

“That’s your bad influence at work.” “There’s no need to drag your little brother along your path too.” Mr. Tsuda said this while laughing. “Yes, it’s entirely my responsibility.” “He says he wants to be an actor, but—” “Actor?” “That’s quite bold.” “Surely you don’t mean a movie actor?” I kept my head bowed and listened respectfully to their conversation. “Movies,” Older Brother said plainly.

“Movies?” Mr. Tsuda emitted a strange cry. “That’s a real problem for you.” “I’ve given this considerable thought myself, but it seems whenever my brother suffers terribly, he invariably resolves to become a movie actor." “Since it’s a child’s matter, there’s no logical reason behind it, but I believe there must be something fateful in that very fact.” “When he’s comfortable and idly yearns to be a movie actor, that’s hardly worth discussing, but when he’s at life’s critical juncture and suddenly conceives this idea of becoming a movie actor, I can’t help but regard it as the voice of God." “I find myself wanting to believe in that.”

“Even if you say that, there’s bound to be opposition from relatives and whatnot. Anyway, that’s a real problem.” “I’ll handle any opposition from relatives and such. I dropped out of school midway myself, and since I’m an aspiring novelist, I’ve grown quite accustomed to relatives’ opposition.” “Even if you’re fine with it, your brother—” “I’m fine with it too,” I interjected. “Well, if you say so,” Mr. Tsuda said with a bitter smile. “You two are quite the pair of brothers.”

“What do you think?” Older Brother pressed on with the conversation. “Is there a good theater teacher available? After all, I believe he needs at least five or six years of foundational study, and—” “That’s true.” Mr. Tsuda suddenly grew animated. “You must study! You absolutely must study!” “So please introduce us to a good teacher. How about Mr. Sizo Saito? My brother also seems to respect him, and I too think someone classic like that would be ideal, but—”

“Mr. Saito?” Mr. Tsuda tilted his head. “Is he unsuitable? Mr. Tsuda, you’re quite close with Mr. Sizo Saito, aren’t you?” “I wouldn’t say we’re close, but after all, he’s been our teacher since our university days. But I wonder if he’s suitable for today’s young people? I could introduce him, but what then? So you’re saying he’ll become Mr. Saito’s live-in apprentice or something?” “No way. Well, I imagine he’d only occasionally go to hear about the resolve required in theater, but first and foremost, he probably wants to inquire which troupe would be best.”

“Theater troupe?” “So it’s not a movie actor after all?” “Movie actors are symbols. He isn’t fixated on their literal reality.” “Anyway, he wants to become the greatest actor in Japan—no, the world.” Older Brother smoothly voiced exactly what I felt. I could never have phrased it so precisely myself. “Therefore, first by hearing Mr. Saito’s opinions, he’s determined to join a proper troupe and polish his craft for five years—ten if needed.” “After that, whether he does films or kabuki hardly matters.”

“You’ve got everything neatly arranged, haven’t you? So it’s not entirely some spring night’s fantasy after all?” “Don’t be absurd. Even if I fail, I want to ensure my younger brother succeeds.” “No—both of you must succeed. Anyway, study!” he declared loudly. “Since you two don’t seem burdened by immediate livelihood concerns, take your time and work thoroughly. You mustn’t squander this privileged environment. But an actor... How astonishing. Well then, I’ll write a letter of introduction to Mr. Saito. Take it and try your luck. He’s stubborn, mind you—you might get turned away at the door.”

“In that case, we’ll have you write us another letter of introduction, Mr. Tsuda.” Older Brother stated composedly. “Serikawa’s grown rather brazen before one knew it.” “I do wish some of that boldness would find its way into your work.”

Older Brother suddenly became dejected. “I also intend to start over with a Ten-Year Plan.”

“It’s a lifetime. “It’s a lifetime of training.” “Have you been writing anything lately?” “Well... It’s just so difficult.”

“You don’t seem to be writing anything.” Mr. Tsuda let out a sigh. “You mustn’t cling too much to pride in your daily life.” Even while exchanging jokes, when the conversation turned to his work, a stern atmosphere could be felt all around. I thought they truly were a fine teacher and disciple.

After receiving the letter of introduction he had written for us, when we were taking our leave, Mr. Tsuda came to see us off all the way to the entrance,

“Whether you’re forty or fifty, the suffering doesn’t lessen”—the words he muttered like a soliloquy struck me in the chest with a thud. I realized writers who reach someone like Mr. Tsuda’s stature truly possess something distinct.

As we walked through the streets of Hongo, Older Brother: “Hongo really is depressing, isn’t it? For someone like me who left Imperial University midway, these university buildings feel like targets of fear. Somehow I’m growing servile and can’t bear it. I’m starting to feel like a criminal. Should we go to Ueno instead? I’ve had enough of Hongo,” he said with a lonely laugh. Perhaps having been lightly admonished by Mr. Tsuda made him feel all the more desolate.

We went out to Ueno and ate beef hot pot. Older Brother drank beer. He also let me drink a little.

“Still, it went well.” Older Brother gradually regained his energy and said, “I really gave it my all today, you know." “Finally, even Mr. Tsuda wrote us a letter of introduction—it’s a complete success!” “Mr. Tsuda—for all that, he’s got quite a stubborn streak, you know. Once something starts to bother him even a little, he’s done for.” “Sugar candy—no good.” “I can’t afford to let my guard down for a second.” “Today went well.” “It all went surprisingly smoothly.” “Was it Shin’s good attitude?” “Mr. Tsuda may be always cracking jokes like that, but he observes people quite sharply.” “He seems to have eyes in the back of his head.” “Well—it seems Shin has passed after all.”

I smirked.

“It’s still too early to rest easy.” Older Brother seemed slightly drunk. His voice had become unnecessarily high. “There’s still the hurdle of Mr. Saitō ahead.” “He seems to be quite the stubborn one, doesn’t he?” “Mr. Tsuda also tilted his head a bit, didn’t he?” “Well, we’ll approach it with sincerity. You do have the letter of introduction, right?” “Let me see it for a second.” “Is it okay if I look?” “I don’t mind. You see, letters of introduction are intentionally left unsealed so the bearer can read them without issue. See? Isn’t that right? It’s better if I give it a quick look here too. Let’s read it. No—this is awful. It’s too simple! I wonder if this is really going to be enough.”

I also read it. It was ridiculously simple. It was a broad statement introducing my friend Mr. Shin Serikawa and stating his desire to receive the teacher’s guidance, and so forth. It does not touch upon a single specific detail.

“Is this really okay?” I grew anxious. I began to feel as though my future had suddenly become bleak. “It’s probably fine.” Older Brother also seemed to lack confidence. “But here it says, ‘Friend, Shin Serikawa,’ and this ‘friend’ part might be what tugs at the heartstrings.” He was just spouting nonsense. “Let’s have dinner.”

I grew dejected.

“Let’s do that.” Older Brother also wore a disillusioned expression.

After that, the conversation didn’t flow well.

By the time we left the restaurant, the sun had already set. Older Brother suggested stopping by the Suzuokas’ house nearby, but since I planned to visit Mr. Saitō first thing tomorrow, I wanted to return home early today to read theater books so I wouldn’t falter if he tested me. In the end, Older Brother went alone to the house in Shitaya while I parted ways with him at Hirokōji and returned to Kōjimachi.

It was now ten o'clock at night. Older Brother had not returned yet. He might have been drinking with Mr. Suzuoka in Shitaya. Older Brother had become a full-fledged drinker these days. He didn’t write many novels either. But I believe in Older Brother to the very end. Before long, he will surely write a wonderful masterpiece. Anyway, he’s no ordinary person.

For a while now, I had Mr. Saitō’s autobiography Fifty Years on the Stage Path spread open on my desk without turning a single page. My heart raced with wild imaginings. The tension felt strangely oppressive. My real struggle with actual life would finally begin now. The image of a man fighting gallantly on his own! My chest tightened unbearably. Would tomorrow’s meeting go well? This time I would go alone. No one would assist me. That simplistic letter of introduction couldn’t be expected to achieve much. In the end, I alone would have to bare my sincerity and declare my hopes. How worrisome. Dear God—please protect me. Don’t let them turn me away at the door. What sort of old man was this Mr. Saitō? Maybe he’d unexpectedly prove a kindly grandfather type narrowing his eyes to say “You came!”—no no, that couldn’t be. I mustn’t underestimate this. He remained Japan’s foremost playwright after all. Those eyes must blaze fiercely—his physical strength formidable too. But surely he wouldn’t actually strike me.

If he hits me, I won't stand for it. I'll retaliate with full force. Then he'd say, "Not bad, kid! That's the spirit!" and let me become his apprentice. I'd seen that sort of movie before. Wasn't that the Miyamoto Musashi one? Ah, these fantasies never end. At any rate, tomorrow's meeting could decide who my lifelong mentor will be. Truly, this is a momentous day. What should I do tonight? Even when I try to read, not a single page or line stays in my head. I should sleep. That seems best. It'd be bad to show up sleep-deprived and ruin my first impression. But I don't feel sleepy at all. Outside, the night laborers had started their shift. Come to think of it, they work like this nearly every night from ten until six in the morning. A full eight hours of grueling labor. They chant "Heave-ho!" as they work. What could they be doing? Maybe pulling gas pipes from the manhole?

According to Older Brother's theory, those chants were apparently meant to keep the laborers themselves awake. When I listened with that in mind, those chants began to sound terribly pitiful. How much were they getting paid, I wonder?

I’ve started wanting to read the Bible. At times like this—when I’m unbearably irritated—it seems only the Bible will do. Even when all other books feel dry and lifeless, not a single word entering my head, only Scripture’s words resonate in my chest. Truly extraordinary.

I took out the Bible now and flipped it open, and the following words entered my eyes.

“I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live. Whoever lives and believes in me shall never die. Believest thou this?”

I had forgotten. I was weak in faith. I'll entrust everything and sleep tonight. I had even been neglecting my prayers lately.

Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

April 30.

Sunday.

Clear.

At ten in the morning, seen off by Older Brother at the gate, I departed. I wanted to shake hands, but since it seemed too theatrical, I restrained myself. When I took the exams for First Higher School and R University, I hadn't been this nervous. With R University's exam, I'd only realized it that morning and rushed out in a panic.

The outset of life's journey. This morning, I truly felt that way. On the way, I teared up repeatedly in the train. And then around noon, I returned home in a daze. I was somehow completely exhausted.

Mr. Saitō’s residence in Shiba stood tranquil. It was a single-story house that seemed to stretch endlessly back. No matter how many times he pressed the entrance bell, silence persisted. He tensed at every sound expecting some guard dog to charge out—yet not even a stray pup materialized. As he stood flustered at this impasse, "Oh! What a surprise!" A girl cinched in crimson obi emerged from behind garden latticework. Neither maid nor mistress—her bearing lacked refinement altogether.

“Is Mr. Saitō at home?”

“Who knows?” It was an ambiguous reply. She was simply smiling cheerfully. She’s a bit brash, but doesn’t give a bad impression. She might be something like a relative’s daughter. “I’ve brought the letter of introduction.” “I see.” The girl obediently accepted the letter of introduction. “Please wait a moment.” First step done, I thought, smirking to myself. And that’s where it all went wrong. After a while, the girl came again from the direction of the garden,

“What is your business?” This stumped me. I couldn’t explain it simply. There was no way I could say, “I’ve come to receive your guidance,” exactly as written in the letter. That would make me sound like some swordsman. As I hesitated, anger suddenly flared up. “Is Mr. Saitō actually here?” “He is.” She remained unflustered. She was clearly making fun of me. Underestimating me.

“Did you present the letter of introduction?”

“No.” She remained unflustered. “Oh, come on.” I felt like I wanted to insult this entire house. “He’s working right now.” She said in an oddly childish tone. I wondered if her tongue was too short. She tilted her head lightly and asked, “Won’t you come again?” A polite dismissal at the entrance. There’s no way I’d fall for that trick. “Around when will he be available?”

“Well, perhaps in two or three days?” It was completely unclear. “In that case,” I declared, puffing out my chest, “around this time on May 3rd, I will come to visit again. I’ll count on your assistance then.” I glared fiercely at the girl. “Oh…” she replied noncommittally, still smiling cheerfully. I suddenly wondered if she might be a madwoman. In short, there wasn’t a single result. I returned home with a blank expression. For some reason, I was terribly exhausted, and couldn’t bear the hassle of reporting to my brother. My brother asked me about every single little detail.

“The problem lies in determining who that woman really is.” “How old was she?” “Was she beautiful?” “I couldn’t tell.” “I think she might be insane.” “Nonsense. She’s clearly a housemaid.” “One who doubles as a secretary, I’d wager.” “She must have finished girls’ school.” “Which makes her at least nineteen—no, possibly over twenty.” “You should go next time, Brother.”

“Depending on the situation, I might have to go myself, but it doesn’t seem necessary yet. You look so dejected, but today wasn’t a failure at all. For you, this was quite an accomplishment. Just clearly stating you’d return on May 3rd alone makes this a major success. That woman seems to have taken a liking to you.” I snorted. “No, really.” Brother was earnest. “This dismissal feels different from a regular one. “There’s potential here. “They strictly refuse visitors during work hours, but I’d planned to arrange special access for you. His wife or someone must have interfered.” Brother’s interpretation felt overly optimistic. “That’s exactly what happened. “Next time, don’t glare at her—be more courteous. “Bow properly when you leave.”

“Darn it! Today I didn’t even take off my hat.”

“That’s right. If you’d kept glaring like that without even taking off your hat, normally you would’ve been handed over to the police box right away. You were saved because that woman showed understanding. On the third of next month, you’ll do it properly.”

But I was in despair. I had long prepared myself for the fact that the path of art would require mundane hardships no different from those of an ordinary salaryman, and I wouldn't buckle under such trifles, but walking home from Mr. Saitō's residence today—forced to fully confront my own obscurity and insignificance—I grew sickened. Mr. Saitō and I were far too different. I hadn't realized there existed such a chasm between us—like clouds towering over weeds. I'd imagined that if I called out "Hey," he might casually reply "Hey" in turn. What childishness. Today I truly felt we might belong to entirely separate species. There's a saying about things remaining beyond one's efforts, but I couldn't help thinking some things in this world lie forever out of reach no matter how hard you strive—this realization left me utterly drained. The ideal of becoming "Japan's greatest" had vanished. The very effort to achieve greatness now appeared ludicrous. I could never erect such an impregnable fortress as Mr. Saitō's.

In the evening, I was dragged by my older brother to go see the Moulin Rouge. It was boring. It wasn’t funny at all.

May 3. Wednesday.

Clear.

Skipping school, I trudged off to Mr. Saitō’s residence in Shiba. The description "trudging" was by no means an exaggeration. I was in a profoundly gloomy mood.

However, today wasn't so bad. No—it wasn't that good either. But well, it might have been on the better side. In front of Mr. Saitō's residence, a car stood parked. Just as I reached for the doorbell, commotion erupted inside—the entrance clattered open from within, and a gaunt little old man popped out, striding briskly past me. It was Mr. Saitō. As if chasing after him, the woman from before came rushing out through the entrance clutching a suitcase and cane,

“Oh! We were just about to go out. Perfect timing - why don’t you have your talk now?”

I took off my hat, bowed slightly to the woman, then immediately chased after Mr. Saitō, “Mr. Saitō!” I called out. Mr. Saitō didn’t even turn around, briskly walked to the car waiting at the gate, and promptly got in. I ran up to the car window, “The letter from Mr. Tsuda—” I had started to say when he glared sharply at me, “Get in,” he said in a low voice. Thinking Got it!, I opened the door and plopped down right next to Mr. Saitō. Oh, I thought maybe sitting next to the driver would have been proper etiquette, but moving over there now seemed too awkward, so I kept still in my seat.

“Well, that’s all settled then.” While handing the suitcase and cane through the window to Mr. Saitō, the woman said, still laughing cheerfully as she looked between our faces, “My, you did come home quite upset the other day.” Mr. Saitō furrowed his brow in displeasure and remained silent. He still seemed intimidating. I thought again that I should have ridden up front with the driver. “Do have a safe journey.”

The car started moving. “Where are you headed?” I asked. Mr. Saitō did not respond.

After five full minutes had passed, “Kanda,” he said in a heavy tone. His voice was terribly hoarse. His face was as handsome as an old actor’s. Again, silence fell. The stifling atmosphere grew more oppressive by the moment until it became unbearable. “There’s no need...” he began in a barely audible murmur before continuing, “...to leave in anger.” “Ah.” I instinctively bowed my head. So I really should have ridden up front with the driver.

“How do you know Mr. Tsuda?” “Uh, my brother is having his novel reviewed,” I said, but Mr. Saitō remained silent, showing no reaction, as if he hadn’t heard. After a while, “Mr. Tsuda’s letter, per usual fashion, lacks clarity—” So that’s how it was. He wouldn’t grasp anything from just that. “I want to become an actor.” I stated only the conclusion.

“Actor.” He didn’t bat an eye. Then he fell completely silent again. I was growing thoroughly exasperated.

“I want to join a good theater troupe and train rigorously.” “Please tell me what kind of theater troupe would be good.” “Theater troupe.” He muttered lowly and fell silent once more. I was utterly exasperated. “A good theater troupe,” he muttered again, then suddenly raised his voice in anger. “There’s no such thing.” I was surprised. I thought about being rude and asking to be let out of the car. I absolutely couldn’t have a proper conversation. Is this what they call arrogance? I thought this had really turned into a predicament.

“Are there no good theater troupes?” “None.” He remained composed. “I hear your *Buke Monogatari* will be performed at the Kaei Troupe soon,” I said, attempting to change the subject. He did not answer. He was repairing the loose snap on his bag. “There,” Out of nowhere, he said, “they’re recruiting trainees.” “I see. Should I join them?” I asked eagerly. I thought the conversation had finally reached the main point.

He didn’t answer.

“So it’s no good after all?” He didn’t answer. He kept restlessly fiddling with the bag.

"I wonder if anyone can just apply on their own," I muttered, deliberately making it sound like a soliloquy. There was no reaction at all.

“There’s an exam, isn’t there?” This time I asked firmly, leaning in as if to press him.

It seemed he had finally finished repairing the bag. Looking out the window, “Don’t know,” he said. I resolved not to ask anything more.

The car stopped at Surugadai, in front of M University. When I looked, a large sign had been erected at M University’s main gate, and on it was written "Special Lecture by Mr. Shizō Saitō."

When I tried to get off, Mr. Saitō— When he said, “You—where are you getting off?” I wondered if that meant I could borrow this car and keep riding in it like this,

“Kōjimachi,” I said apologetically. “Kōjimachi.” Mr. Saitō paused briefly before replying, “That’s far.” Seeing this was getting nowhere, I promptly exited the car. Had it been somewhere closer, he might have lent it—but regardless, he remained a canny old man.

Even when I said "I'm terribly sorry for the intrusion" in a loud voice and bowed formally, Mr. Saitō didn't so much as glance back, briskly walking through the gate.

Indeed, he was something else. I took the streetcar and went straight home. Older Brother was waiting for me and grilled me about every detail of how things went today. "He’s even more of a remarkable character than I’d heard," Older Brother said with a wry smile.

“He’s definitely out of his mind,” I said. “No, that’s not it. He’s very composed. Someone who presumes to be a world-class literary figure must have at least that much composure.” Older Brother still seemed a bit naive. “But you really stuck with it well. You have an unexpectedly audacious side. It’s the way of fools rushing in where angels fear to tread, but still, it’s a great success. By some fluke, you might have actually made a somewhat favorable impression.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “He didn’t tell me anything at all. It was unsettling.” “No—you’re definitely being viewed favorably,” he countered. “The fact that he let you ride in his car isn’t trivial. I suspect that woman must have smoothed things over beforehand. Mr. Tsuda’s letter of introduction might actually be working behind the scenes more than we realize.” His tone grew admonishing. “He did us the favor of writing it; we shouldn’t speak ill of it.” A note of reconsideration entered his voice. “Now that I think about it, it may have been an excellent letter after all.” He clapped his hands once. “This is a triumph! So you’ll call Kaei Troupe now to ask about their apprentice recruitment?” He was getting excited on his own.

"But he never said Kaei Troupe was good." "He didn't say it was bad either, did he?" "He said he didn't know." "That's precisely what makes it right." "I tell you, I understand Mr. Saitō's mind." "He's a man tempered by hardship through and through." "You should start from that very point—begin gradually, I'd say that's the meaning here." "You think so?" Finding Kaei Troupe's office phone number proved arduous. Older Brother phoned an acquaintance employed at the Ginza Playguide to make inquiries, which finally yielded results.

“Alright—from now on, you do everything yourself.” Older Brother said this and handed me the telephone receiver. I couldn’t help feeling tense. When I called the Kaei Troupe office, a woman answered—possibly a famous actress—who explained everything in clear, natural speech without any affectation, giving polite instructions. Submit to the office by May 8th: a handwritten résumé and parental consent letter (both formats unrestricted; one copy each), plus one recent bust-sized photograph.

“May 8th? So that’s soon, isn’t it?” My heart pounded, and my voice grew hoarse. “And? The exam?” “On the ninth, it will be conducted at the Shintomicho Institute.” “Huh...” A strange voice came out. “What time does it start?” “Please gather at the Institute exactly at 1:00 PM.” “What subjects? What subjects? What kind of exam will it be?” “I’m afraid I cannot disclose that.” “Huh...” Another strange sound came out. “Well, thank you.” I hung up the phone.

I was shocked.

May 9.

There's only one week left! I can't prepare a single thing. "It's probably an easy exam," Older Brother said nonchalantly, but it wasn't that simple. I am the man who must become Japan's greatest actor. If that man were to write a clumsy answer now, as he took his first step into the world of theater, it would leave an indelible stain on his life. I absolutely had to achieve first place—no, an outstandingly superior result. This was different from school exams. School exams hadn't necessarily been directly connected to my future life, but this exam was directly linked to my ultimate path in life. If I failed this, I'd have absolutely nowhere else left to go. When I failed school exams, I could maintain some composure and pride by thinking, "Oh well, I have another good path," but with this exam, I couldn't afford to say "Oh well." There was no path left. There was nothing. Wasn't this the last desperate trump card? I couldn't afford to be carefree. I had become completely serious. I wasn't entirely confident, but I was something like a disciple of that Mr. Saitō Shizō. They might not acknowledge it as significant, but from now on, I resolved to firmly believe it on my own and conduct myself with utmost restraint. After all, we had ridden in the car together. I rarely produced poorly written answers. It concerned Mr. Saitō's reputation.

Damn it all! I'll show Mr. Saitō something that'll astonish him. How thrilled I'd be if he declared that nobody but Serikawa could play Jūbei in *Buke Monogatari*. No—this wasn't the time for indulging in naive fantasies. I had to pass with overwhelmingly superior results.

Tonight, I piled up all the reference books I’d accumulated until now on my desk. Pudovkin’s *On Film Acting*. Cochran’s *On the Art of Acting*. Tairov’s *The Liberated Theater*. Kunio Kishida’s *Modern Drama Theory*. Shizō Saitō’s *Fifty Years on the Theatrical Road*. Baruhātui’s *Chekhov’s Dramaturgy*. Kaoru Osanai’s *An Introduction to Theater*. Toyotaka Komiya’s *Theater Essays*. And then *A History of the Tsukiji Little Theater*, *On Directing*, *The Technique of Film Acting*, *Director’s Notes*, and *Fūshikaden*, which Older Brother lent me. *The Actor’s Analects*. *Conversations on Sarugaku*. First, I intended to read through roughly twenty of these reference books by the ninth. Then, I also wanted to cram in some English and French vocabulary.

I must do this properly. Tonight, I intended to read through Cochran’s *On the Art of Acting* and Mr. Saitō’s *Fifty Years on the Theatrical Road*.

Tomorrow I had to go to the photo studio.

May 8. Monday.

Rain. Today， I skipped school. Everything became utterly incomprehensible—how exactly had I spent this precious week? Even when I went to school， I fidgeted restlessly and smirked for no reason; returning home， I obsessively tidied my room and didn’t read a single reference book. I was just squirming around in my room. My state of mind grew more panicked with each passing moment; even as I wrote this diary， my hands trembled. In other words—that tense feeling， like I’d lost my nerve， something solemn yet hollow—all while constantly being on edge， endlessly going to the bathroom only to psych myself up with “Alright， let’s study!” and return to my room， only to start tidying it again. Can I be forgiven? It was no good. I just couldn’t settle down. There were so many things I wanted to say， so many things I wanted to write. But my emotions became needlessly heightened， my heart raced， and I couldn’t stay seated. And so， it was just more senseless tidying of the room. Carrying things from here to there and from there to here， repeating the same task over and over—it was me dashing about all by myself. It was embarrassing to admit， but in truth， even the Bible had no effect. Since this morning， I’d flipped it open three times， but nothing stuck in my head. I was truly embarrassed. It was no good anymore. I would go to sleep. 6:00 PM. I wanted to chant some Buddhist prayers or something.

Christ and Buddha became all jumbled together. After sleeping a little, I leaped up violently. Once night had fallen, my mind began to settle somewhat. I stared at the visiting card-sized photographs sent from the photo studio yesterday. Three copies of the same photo had arrived, but I'd selected the one with relatively darker complexion and more shadowing, sending it off yesterday via express mail along with my résumé to the institute. Why was my face so simple—like an onion? I tried to furrow my brows into a complex expression, but the moment they tensed sharply, they vanished. I attempted to bend my mouth into a crooked shape and create deep wrinkles beside my nose, but it wouldn't work. Maybe my mouth was too small. It wouldn't bend—it just tapered. No matter how much I sharpened my mouth, it wouldn't give my face shadows. It only made me look foolish.

"What if they clearly declare at tomorrow's exam, 'Your face isn't suited for acting'?" From that moment on, I would become precisely a "living corpse." Even alive, I would become a person without meaning. Ah, did I truly possess any talent for theater? Everything would be decided tomorrow. Again, I felt the urge to start tidying the room.

Older Brother came over,

“Did you go to the barber?” he asked. I had not gone yet.

In the rain, I rushed to the barber. Nothing was working. At the barber's, I heard Dvořák's 'New World' Symphony. It was playing on the radio. Though it's a piece I love, my feelings refused to connect with it no matter what. If there were music like some massive battle drum being pounded frantically, it might have matched this irritated state of mine. But such music probably doesn't exist anywhere in the world.

I returned from the barber, and then, encouraged by Older Brother, tried practicing my lines a bit. Lopakhin from *The Cherry Orchard*. I was given various pointers by Older Brother. “Speak naturally using your own voice.” “Put more strength in your abdomen and speak clearly.” “Don’t move your body too much.” “Don’t pull back your chin every time.” “Relax the muscles around your mouth more.” This stung. I had tried too hard to bend my mouth into that crooked shape.

“You don’t seem to pronounce sa-shi-su-se-so very well.” This stung. I had indeed been dimly aware of that myself. Was my tongue too long? “Forgive my nonsense.” Older Brother laughed. “Compared to someone like me, you’re incomparably better. But since tomorrow you’ll be performing before professional actors, I thought I’d give some harsh criticism tonight to make you tighten your resolve. Though I wonder if it worked.” “No, you did splendidly.”

I might be no good. My thoughts are in utter disarray. The prose in my diary seems different from usual. Certainly my feelings too—no, rather, the fact that my feelings differ must be madness. Surely I'm not going mad—yet tonight feels strange. The sentences too are a jumbled, incoherent mess. My thoughts lie tangled like flax. What am I to do like this? Tomorrow—no, it's already past twelve, so today—today at one in the afternoon comes the exam. Even when I try to do something, nothing takes hold. It can't be helped—I'll just fill my fountain pen with ink and go to bed. When I consider it, should I fail tomorrow's exam, I must die. My hands tremble.

May 9. Tuesday.

Sunny.

I skipped school again today. It was an important day, so it couldn't be helped. I had dreamed all night long. In my dream, I wore a juban over my kimono. It was inside out. The shape looked strange. It felt like an ominous dream. I took it as a bad sign.

Today was splendid weather—the finest in recent days. I woke at nine，took a leisurely bath，and departed at eleven-thirty． Today Older Brother didn't come see me off at the gate． He seemed convinced I'd be fine． When we'd gone to Mr．Saitō's place before，Older Brother had been more nervous than me，yet today he was utterly relaxed．I wonder if he considers Mr．Saitō a bigger problem than exams． Older Brother tends to take exams too lightly—whether entrance exams or anything else． Maybe because he's never suffered failing one． But if I failed spectacularly just when he's so optimistic，the humiliation would be unbearable． I wish he'd worry about me more． I might fail again．

I had left too early. I found the research institute in Shintomicho right away. It was on the third floor of an apartment building. I arrived a little past noon. I thought I'd check things out and knocked on the door, but there was no response. No one seemed to be there. I gave up and went outside. It was springtime. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Wanting something cold to drink, I entered a small diner on Showa Avenue, drank soda water, and then went ahead and ate rice curry. It wasn't that I was particularly hungry, but I couldn't help eating—I was just so anxious. When my stomach became full, my head grew fuzzy, and my irritating feelings subsided a bit. I left there, wandered all the way to Kabukiza Theatre, looked at the billboard paintings, and then turned back toward the research institute in Shintomicho.

It was exactly one o'clock. I climbed the apartment stairs. They were here. They were here. About twenty people. But really, what a bunch of guys with such lifeless faces. There were five students. There were three women. They were hideous women. Eternally cast as Cousin Bette. The rest were all people around thirty in business suits, their faces weary from life. There was even a forty-year-old man who looked like a shopkeeper, his face utterly devoid of any connection to the arts. I felt something odd. Everyone was acting solemnly, keeping their eyes downcast as they leaned against the corridor walls, standing or squatting, occasionally whispering to each other. I felt gloomy. I thought this must be a place where the defeated came. I began to feel as if even I had become miserable myself. When I thought that these people were my competitors today, I felt disgusted. It felt as though I had lost my fighting spirit without even fighting. If I were the examiner, I'd fail them all at a glance. I recalled that excitement and tension I'd felt until this morning and grew increasingly irritated. I thought they were making a fool of me.

Before long, a middle-aged woman came out from the office. "I will now distribute your number tags," she said, but her voice sounded familiar. It was the voice of that woman who had told me with clear pronunciation when I'd called a week earlier to inquire, saying "Exactly one o'clock in the afternoon." Her voice was truly beautiful—I'd even thought she might be an actress—but you can't judge women by voice alone. She wore a baggy brown jacket that made her look anything but an actress—no, I shouldn't say that. Even if she didn't consider herself a beauty, criticizing her face like this felt sinful. Anyway, she was a woman around forty.

“I will now call your names, so please respond when your name is called.”

I was third. There were also quite a few people who hadn't come. She called about forty names, but only approximately half that number of attendees were present.

“Now, number one, please proceed.” It finally began. Number one was a woman. Led by the old woman, she trudged dejectedly inside. The lifelessness felt overwhelming. The institute’s interior appeared divided into two rooms. One served as an office while the back seemed to function as a practice hall. The examination would evidently take place in that practice hall. I heard it—I heard it. A play recitation. Perfect! The Cherry Orchard. What incredible luck! I’d always excelled at reciting The Cherry Orchard—hadn’t I even practiced just last night? I’d be fine now. Bring it on! Though brimming with courage, that woman’s recitation struck me as utterly inept. A monotonous drone. She stumbled over words and kept repeating passages. With that performance—total failure.

Complete failure. I found it funny and snickered to myself, but the others didn't even crack a smile, sitting there dazedly as if asleep.

“Now, number two, please proceed.”

I wonder if candidate number one had already finished. That was quick. Was there no written examination, I wondered. The next one was me. My legs began trembling. I started feeling like I was in a hospital. I was about to undergo major surgery. I waited for the nurse to come call me. I felt the urge to go to the bathroom. I hurried to the bathroom. When I returned from the bathroom,

“Now, number three, please proceed.”

"Yes," I instinctively replied, raising my right hand high. The office was cramped and dreary, and I felt deeply moved wondering if such a place could give birth to those splendid plans of the Kaei Troupe. Number One and Number Two seemed to finish almost simultaneously and left the hallway together. I stood in front of the old woman’s desk in the office and received some simple questions. The old woman perched lightly on the edge of her chair, then glanced between the photo on the desk and my face,

“How old are you?” she asked. I felt slightly insulted, “Wasn’t it written in the résumé?” When I retorted, she suddenly looked flustered, “Yes, but—” Having said that, she leaned forward and examined my résumé, which was spread out on the desk. She seemed nearsighted. When I said, “Seventeen,” she looked relieved and raised her face,

“Is parental consent confirmed, correct?”

This question was also unpleasant. “Of course,” I answered a bit angrily. She’s not even an examiner, yet she keeps spouting off unnecessary crap. She must have wanted to seize this opportunity to secretly play examiner and act a little self-important.

“Then, please proceed.”

I was led into the adjacent room. They had been making a racket, but when I entered, they abruptly stopped talking, and the five men all looked up at me in unison. Five men sat in a row facing me. There were three tables. They all had faces I recognized from photographs. The fat man sitting at the center must have been Mr. Tarō Yokozawa, the playwright-director who had recently risen to prominence. The remaining four appeared to be actors. As I hesitated at the entrance, Mr. Yokozawa boomed out,

“Hey, get over here,” he said in a vulgar tone. “This one any better?” The other examiners smirked. The whole room felt grubby and low-class. “Where’d you go to school?!” No need to act so damn high and mighty. “R University.” “How old?” “Disgusting, ain’t it?” “Seventeen.” “Get your old man’s permission?” Like I was some criminal. My anger flared.

“I don’t have a father.” “Has he passed away?” A man who seemed to be the actor Mr. Shinsuke Uesugi gently inquired from the side with a conciliatory expression. “It should have been stated in the consent form.” I answered with a sullen face. Was this really an exam? I could only feel dismay. “Quite the spirited one.” Mr. Yokozawa smirked and said, “Showing some potential, eh?” “Are you in the drama club or literature club?” Mr. Uesugi asked while lightly tapping his chin with a pencil.

“What do you mean?” I didn’t understand. “So you want to be an actor?” Mr. Yokozawa blared in that idiotic voice again, “Or a playwright? Which is it?!” “Actor.” I answered instantly. “Then I’ll ask.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking. Why did Mr. Yokozawa have such a disreputable air? Even his features were unappealing, his slovenly kimono worn loose without proper fastening. To think this was the leader of Kaei Troupe—one of Japan’s most refined theater companies—left me utterly deflated. He must spend all day drinking rather than studying anything worthwhile. He thrust out his lower lip, pondered awhile, then finally delivered his query.

“What is the actor’s mission?!” A foolish question. I was startled. I nearly laughed aloud. It was completely nonsensical. The question laid bare, without reservation, the emptiness in the questioner’s mind. There was simply no way to answer it. “That’s equivalent to asking what mission humans are born with—one could easily give any number of plausible-sounding false answers. But I want to say I still don’t understand this mission.”

“That’s a strange thing to say.” Mr. Yokozawa was an insensitive person. He said this in a casual tone took a cigarette from his cigarette case put it in his mouth asked “Got a match?” and borrowed one from Mr Uesugi beside him lit his cigarette then declared “An actor’s mission is twofold: externally to enlighten the masses; internally to exemplify communal living.” “Don’t you agree?”

I was appalled. I thought failing would be more honorable. “That’s not limited to actors—anyone in educational organizations must keep that in mind. As I said earlier, those grand abstract words can be endlessly repeated.” “And they’re all lies.” “Is that so?” Mr. Yokozawa remained unperturbed. His sheer insensitivity made me almost like him. “That way of thinking is rather interesting.” Absurd.

“Let’s move on to the recitation.” Mr. Uesugi said with affected refinement. His manner held a sort of feline, passive-aggressive hostility. This one’s tougher than Mr. Yokozawa. That’s what I thought. “What shall we have him perform?” Mr. Uesugi inquired of Mr. Yokozawa in a sickeningly polite tone. “I hear this candidate is rather advanced.” What a nasty thing to say! Despicable! He belonged to the most irredeemable breed of men in existence. Was this the true face of Mr. Shinsuke Uesugi—the man hailed as Japan’s greatest for his Uncle Vanya? He didn’t live up to it at all!

“Faust!” Mr. Yokozawa shouted. I was disappointed. I would have been confident with *The Cherry Orchard*, but Faust was my weakness. Truth be told, I hadn’t even read *Faust* in full. A failure—I was a failure. “Please read this section.” Mr. Uesugi handed me the script and marked the passage with his pencil. “Read it silently first to build confidence before reciting.” His tone carried a spiteful edge.

I read it silently. It seemed to be the Walpurgis Night scene. These were Mephistopheles’ lines. Old man there, if you don’t grab hold of the rocky crags, You’ll end up being blown down into the valley floor. The fog rose and deepened the hue of night.

Listen to the trees of that forest creaking and groaning. The owl-faced fellow startles and rushes out. Listen. Of the Eternal Green Palace The pillars are shattering. The branches creak and squeak as they snap. The trunk booms with thunderous noise. The roots groan and rumble. Tangled top and bottom, piling layer upon layer, They all break and collapse in the end. And over the valley blanketed by those corpses The wind whistles shrilly through.

You—that high place there— Can you hear those voices from distant and near? The mountain trembles and quakes as this terrifying magic song resounds.

“I can’t recite this.” I had skimmed through it silently, but Mephisto’s whispers felt utterly repulsive to me. The text overflowed with grating sound effects—howling winds and creaking noises—exactly fitting a demon’s song, exuding such an unwholesome, distasteful atmosphere that I couldn’t bring myself to voice it. Failing would be acceptable. “I’ll read a different section.”

Haphazardly flipping through the text, I found a decent passage and began reciting it in a loud voice. Part Two: Morning in a Blooming Field. *Awakened Faust.* Look above—what do you see? The mountain peak like a giant, It already heralds the radiant hour. That summit would later turn toward us— The summit turns toward and descends, first bathed in eternal light. Now upon Alp’s green-hollowed pasture, New light and vividness are bestowed.

And it spreads step by step. The sun rises. Unfortunately, I am quick to be dazzled by the light, I turn my back. I feel a piercing pain in my eyes. Yearning aspiration, trusting, striving, When we arrived at the place of our highest wish, the door of fulfillment— When we saw that it was open, it was like this. At that moment, from the abyss of eternal depths—too intense,

Because flames burst forth, we startle and halt. We had meant to light life’s torch, But our bodies are swallowed by seas of fire.

What a fire this is! Is this burning, encircling force love or hatred? Terrifyingly assailed by joy and sorrow alternating back and forth, Trying to wrap myself in the silken robes of my youthful past, Again I come to turn my eyes toward the world below. Stay behind me, sun! I watch the waterfall cascading from that crevice in the rock, I gradually find myself watching with growing interest.

Tier after tier it cascades down, becoming a thousand streams, then ten thousand, hurling spray

is hurling high into the air. However, rooted in this wild revelry of water, A seven-colored rainbow, Ah, the transient form lies beautifully spread across the sky.

Just when it seemed vivid and distinct, it scattered across the sky once more, Filling the surroundings with a fragrant, cool radiance.

This rainbow is the shadow of human endeavor.

If one were to look at that and consider it carefully, they would understand better than before. Life rests upon a painted shadow!

“Brilliant!” Mr. Yokozawa praised me with innocent enthusiasm. “Full marks. “We’ll notify you within two or three days.”

“Is there no written examination?” Feeling oddly let down, I asked. “Don’t get cocky!” The small-statured actor at the far end—a man who appeared to be Ryōichi Ise—abruptly shouted. “Did you come here to look down on us?” “No,” I was scared out of my wits. “But what about the written exam—” I became flustered. “As for the written examination—” With his face turning slightly pale, Mr. Uesugi answered. “Due to time constraints, we don’t conduct them. We can generally tell just from the recitation. I’ll tell you this now—if you start being picky about lines already, you show no prospects. The most important qualification for an actor is not talent but rather character. Even if Mr. Yokozawa gives you full marks, I will give you zero.”

“Well then,” Mr. Yokozawa grinned as if unfazed and said, “The average is fifty points. Just go home today. Hey! Next up—number four! Number four!”

I bowed lightly and withdrew, but I also felt quite pleased with myself. This was because Mr. Uesugi, while intending to criticize me, had instead ended up confessing that he recognized my talent. “The important thing is not talent but character,” he had said, which would mean that what I currently lack is character, while my talent is sufficient—doesn’t it? As for my character, I believe I make efforts and constantly reflect upon myself, so when people praise that aspect, it rather makes me feel ticklish instead of particularly pleased. Moreover, even if people misunderstand me and speak ill of me, I can maintain composure thinking, “Just wait and see—they’ll understand eventually.” However, regarding talent—this is truly something entirely heaven-sent—I feel there exists something terrifying about it that no amount of effort could ever hope to reach. That talent resides within me—Japan’s top new theater actor had carelessly affixed his seal of approval. Ah, try as I might not to rejoice, I cannot. What a triumph! I did have talent. I may lack character, but they say I have talent. Mr. Uesugi cannot judge character. His judgment is a lie. That person has no right to judge. But when it comes to assessing talent, he must be considerably more accurate than someone like Mr. Yokozawa, mustn’t he? Experts know best. An actor’s talent cannot be understood by anyone but an actor. It was a joyous thing. It seems I have talent as an actor. Try as I might not to smile, I cannot. Now, I don’t care if I fail. As if I’d captured a demon’s head, I returned home triumphantly.

“No good, no good,” I reported to Brother. “A splendid failure.”

“What’s this? You’re making an awfully happy face for someone who failed.” “Is there anything about failing that isn’t a failure?” “No—it was a failure.” “The script recitation got zero points.”

“Zero points?” Brother, too, became serious. “Is that true?”

“They said my character was no good. “But，you know，as for talent—”

“What are you grinning about so much?” Growing slightly displeased, he said, “There’s nothing joyful about receiving a zero.” “But there is!” I gave Brother a thorough report of today’s exam proceedings.

“You passed.” After hearing my story through to the end, Brother calmly pronounced his verdict. “You absolutely did not fail. The acceptance notice will arrive within two or three days. But what an unpleasant theater troupe.”

“It’s not proper.” “Failing would be more honorable than this.” “Even if I pass, I won’t join that troupe.” “Studying with someone like Mr. Uesugi is absolutely out of the question.”

“Yeah… It’s a bit disillusioning,” he said with a forlorn laugh. “How about consulting Mr. Saitō again? Why not tell him frankly that you found that theater troupe disagreeable? If he says all troupes are like that and you should endure joining one, then there’s no choice. You’ll join. Or he might introduce you to another good theater troupe. At any rate, you should at least report that you took the exam. What do you think?”

“Yeah.” My spirits felt heavy. Mr.Saitō was somehow frightening. This time, I might truly face discipline. But I had to go. There was no alternative but to go and receive his orders. I would summon courage. Had I not been a man of great talent as an actor? I was different from myself of yesterday. I would advance with confidence. The day’s labors were sufficient unto the day. Today, somehow, I felt precisely so.

After dinner, I shut myself in my room and wrote a lengthy diary entry about today. In this single day, I had unmistakably become an adult. Progress! The word throbbed and surged against my chest. An individual human being is an extremely precious thing! I also keenly felt the truth of this.

May 10th. Wednesday.

It was sunny.

When I woke this morning, I realized everything had already completely changed. The excitement from yesterday had utterly dissipated. This morning brought only a solemn mood—no, perhaps it would be more accurate to call it a contrived mood. Until yesterday, I had truly been mad. I had been in a frenzy. I couldn't comprehend why I'd floated about so buoyantly, carried away by nothing but these peculiar adventure-like pursuits. It all felt utterly mystifying.

After waking from a long, sad dream, this morning I found myself blinking my eyes and tilting my head aimlessly. From this morning onward, I had become just an ordinary human. No matter what clever arithmetic I applied, this existence of mine as 1.0 remained unmoving like a stake standing in the current. Terribly insincere. This morning, I was as solemn as a stake standing still. In my heart, not a single flower bloomed. What in the world had happened? I went to school only to find all students looking like ten-year-old children. And so I found myself constantly thinking about each student's parents. I felt neither my usual contempt for them nor any hatred—only a faint sense of pity weaker than what one might feel for sparrows, nothing strong enough to stir my heart. A terrible awakening.

Absolute solitude. What I had called loneliness until now was merely relative loneliness - a performative isolation born from excessive awareness of others and reactive posturing - but today's emptiness felt different. I found myself utterly uninterested in anyone. They were simply noise. I could have effortlessly renounced the world and become a monk that very moment. Life indeed holds such mystifying mornings.

Disillusionment. That was the word. I had wanted to avoid using this term if possible, but there truly seemed to be no other words. Disillusionment. Moreover, it was genuine disillusionment. I felt as though I had once fiercely written, "I became disillusioned with university," but upon considering it now, that had not been disillusionment—it had been a blazing passion of hatred, hostility, ambition, and the like. True disillusionment wasn't something so active as all that. Just dully. And then, dully solemn. I had become disillusioned with theater. Ah, I didn't want to say such words! But somehow, it felt like the truth.

Suicide. This morning, I was composed and thought of suicide. Genuine disillusionment is a terrifying monster that either drives people utterly mad or makes them commit suicide.

I am indeed disillusioned. I cannot deny it. But what is a man to do when he has become disillusioned with the last remaining path in life? Theater had been my sole reason for living. Let me not deceive myself; I will try to think deeply. I do not think theater is trivial or anything of the sort. To call it trivial—that’s preposterous. If I had thought it was trivial, there might have been anger there; I could have completely scorned it, cast it aside, and boldly thrown myself into another path—but my feelings this morning were nothing like that. It’s hollow. Everything just doesn't matter anymore. Theater. That must be quite splendid, I suppose. Actor. Ah, that might be fine too. But I do not move. Clearly, a gap had formed. A cold wind was blowing. When I first visited Mr. Saitō’s residence and was politely turned away at the entrance, I experienced a similar feeling. Rather than the world being absurd, it is I myself, living and striving within this world, who becomes absurd. Alone in the darkness, I want to let out a dry laugh.

In this world, there's no such thing as ideals. Everyone lives so pettily. I've come to feel that human beings might exist solely to eat after all. What a tedious affair.

After school, I wandered listlessly to the soccer club's preparation room. I thought perhaps I should join the soccer club. I wanted to stop thinking altogether, just kick a ball about, and live vacantly as an ordinary student. The soccer club room stood empty. They must have gone to the training lodge. Lacking even the passion to seek them out there, I simply returned home. When I reached home, an express letter from the Kaei Troupe awaited me. I had passed. "Through this review process," it stated, "five individuals have been accepted as research students. You are among them. Present yourself at the institute tomorrow at six o'clock." Such was the notice's content. I felt no joy whatsoever. My calmness struck me as peculiar. When I'd received my R University acceptance letter, I'd been happier than this. I no longer possessed any desire to train as an actor. Yesterday, when Mr. Uesugi had partially acknowledged my theatrical talent, I'd swelled with pride as though seizing a demon by the neck - yet upon waking this morning, even that satisfaction had turned ashen. What use was talent? It proved unreliable - character mattered more - such earnest reconsiderations now occupied me. From where did this abrupt shift in sentiment arise? Was it the nihilism of one who has obtained love completely? Or perhaps, as with that Faust line I'd unconsciously chosen during yesterday's Kaei Troupe examination - "When we see achievement's door standing open, we startle and halt in our tracks" - had seeing how easily within reach lay that long-coveted actor's path filled me with revulsion?

“You don’t seem very happy even though you passed,” Older Brother also said. “I’ll think about it.” I answered seriously.

Tonight, I had a very trivial argument with Older Brother. It was a debate about what food was the most delicious. We went back and forth showcasing food connoisseurship, but in the end concluded that nothing surpasses canned pineapple juice. The juice from peach cans is delicious too, but it still lacks pineapple juice's refreshing quality. As for canned pineapples, it was concluded that one doesn't eat the fruit itself but only drinks the juice,

“If it’s pineapple juice, I could drink an entire bowlful without trouble,” I said.

“Yeah,” Older Brother nodded. “And if you add some chunks of ice when drinking it, it’d be even better.” Older Brother was also thinking of foolish things. After talking about food, they found themselves ravenously hungry, so the two foodies secretly went to the kitchen, made rice balls, and ate them. They were incredibly delicious.

Nihilism and appetite seem to have some connection.

Older Brother was now in the adjacent room writing a novel. It seemed to have already passed fifty pages. It was said to be planned for two hundred pages. It was a beautiful novel that began with the opening line, "When the snow started to fall..." I had been allowed to read about ten pages. When it was completed, he planned to submit it to the Bungaku Koron literary prize. Older Brother used to despise submitting to literary contests so much—what had happened to him? "Isn't submitting to contests just devaluing yourself? It's a waste of the work," I said.

“But if it wins, it’s two thousand yen. If you can’t even make money from it, then novels are just foolish,” he said with a vulgar expression—but I worry Older Brother has been drinking so much lately; isn’t he becoming rather depraved?

In everything I look at, I see the loss of ideals.

Tonight, I'm terribly sleepy.

May 11.

Thursday.

Cloudy. The wind was strong.

Today was a somewhat fulfilling day. Yesterday I was a ghost, but today I was a somewhat active participant in life. The Bible lecture at school was interesting. There was a special lecture by Father Terauchi once a week that I always looked forward to. The Thursday lecture from two weeks prior had also been interesting. It involved studying "The Last Supper," where he clearly diagrammed where each of the thirteen attendees had been positioned around the table. I was astonished to learn they had all reclined during the meal. Apparently it was customary then to have dining couches around the table where people would lie down to eat and drink. This meant Da Vinci's *The Last Supper* differed from historical reality. I heard that in some Russian painter Ge's version of *The Last Supper*, everyone actually reclines. Though completely unrelated to Christ's teachings, I found this fascinating. I must be too preoccupied with food. Today too I caught myself thinking about eating matters again, though this time it wasn't entirely pointless. I gained some meaningful insight. Today Father Terauchi focused his lecture on Deuteronomy from the Old Testament. He never lectured from the podium. Instead he'd sit at an empty student desk and speak casually as if studying alongside us. It created an excellent atmosphere. Felt like we were all discussing something enjoyable together. While covering Deuteronomy's account of Moses' struggles today, what particularly intrigued me was how Moses even micromanaged people's dietary habits.

“Chapter 14. Thou shalt not eat any unclean thing. The beasts which ye may eat are these: namely, oxen, sheep, goats, stags, antelopes, roe deer, fallow deer, chamois, and such like. Of all beasts, those that part the hoof and are cloven-footed and chew the cud, ye may eat. However, among those that chew the cud and have divided hooves, these are what ye shall not eat: namely the camel, the hare, and the rock badger; for though they chew the cud, their hooves are not divided—they are unclean unto you. And the swine, because it divideth the hoof but cheweth not the cud, it is unclean unto you: ye shall not eat of their flesh, nor touch their dead carcass.

Of all that are in the waters, these shall ye eat: all that have fins and scales shall ye eat. All that have not fins and scales shall ye not eat; they are unclean unto you. Also, of all clean birds, ye shall eat them. However, ye shall not eat these: namely the cormorant, the eagle, the pelican, the stork, the parrot after its kind, the sandpiper, and the bat; also every winged thing that creepeth shall be unclean unto you—ye shall not eat them. Of all clean winged things that fly, ye shall eat them.

“Of all that dieth of itself, ye shall not eat.”

Truly, it had been taught down to the minutest details. It must have been such a hassle. Moses may have tried tasting each of these birds and beasts himself—even camels and ostriches. The camel must have tasted awful. Even Moses must have grimaced and said, “This one’s no good.” Pioneers did not merely preach grand teachings with their words. They were directly assisting in the people’s daily lives. No—it might be said that their work consisted almost entirely of practical assistance in the people’s daily lives. And in between those acts of assistance, they delivered their sermons. If all you did was preach from start to finish, no matter how splendid the sermons might have been, it seemed the people would not follow. Even when reading the New Testament, Christ appeared utterly exhausted, almost solely occupied with healing the sick, raising the dead, and distributing vast amounts of fish and bread to the people. Even the Twelve Disciples, when their food ran out, immediately grew anxious and began secretly consulting each other. Even the gentle-hearted Christ eventually scolded his disciples, saying, “Ah, you of little faith! Why do you discuss having no bread? Have you still not understood? Do you not remember how many baskets full of leftovers you gathered when you divided five loaves among five thousand, and how many baskets full of leftovers you gathered when you divided seven loaves among four thousand? What I spoke of was not about bread—why do you not understand this?” he sighed deeply. How lonely Christ must have been. But there had been no helping it. The people were stingy in that way. They were only thinking about their own tomorrow’s livelihood.

As I listened to Father Terauchi’s lecture and pondered various things, I suddenly felt something flash through my mind like lightning. Ah, that’s it. Humans have no ideals from the very beginning. Even if there is one, it is an ideal rooted in daily life. Ideals detached from life—ah, that is the path to the cross. And that is the path of the Son of God. I am merely one of the masses. I’m only thinking about food. I have lately become a person of daily life. I had become a bird crawling upon the earth. The angel’s wings had vanished without my noticing. Frantically struggling won’t change a thing. This is reality. There's no way to sugarcoat it. "To know God alone without understanding human misery invites arrogance." This was, I believe, Pascal’s words, but until now, I had not known my own misery. I had only known the stars of God. I had wanted that star. In that case, I was bound to taste the bitter cup of disillusionment someday. Human misery.

I was only thinking about eating. My brother had once said that writing novels that didn’t even make money was pointless—a frank human statement I might have been wrong to dismissively condemn as his decadence. No matter what noble things humans say, it’s all pointless. The tail of life was dangling. “Accept the material chains and bonds. I now release you solely from spiritual bonds.” This was it, this was it. While dragging the wretched tail of life, there should still be salvation. I should be able to strive toward the ideal. Even the disciples who followed Christ while worrying about tomorrow’s bread eventually became saints. My efforts too had to be completely restarted from scratch.

I had even been trying to deny human life itself. The day before yesterday, I took the Kaei Troupe’s examination, and upon seeing those artists lined up there making such painstakingly cautious efforts to protect their meager positions, I became utterly fed up. What’s more, even someone like Mr. Uesugi, who is said to be Japan’s most progressive actor, was burning with such competitive spirit toward a nobody student like me that his face turned pale—it was so wretched, I couldn’t stand it. Even now, I do not think Mr. Uesugi’s attitude is admirable in the least, but to have tried to deny all of human life because of that was my overstepping. Today, I thought I would go to the Kaei Troupe’s research institute and try to have a proper discussion with those artists once more. The mere fact that I was selected from twenty applicants might be something I should be grateful for.

But after school, when I left the school gate and was struck by a fierce wind, my feelings shifted abruptly. I simply can't bear it. Kaei Troupe—I can't bear it. Dilettantes. There isn't merely an absence of lofty ideals there—even life's shadow grows faint. There's no tenacity one could call living through theater. Or perhaps they're merely vainly enamored with theater? It feels like nothing but a gathering of hobbyists basking in ambiance. For me, it remains utterly insufficient. From today onward, I am no longer some naive idealist. It may sound odd, but I want to live as a professional!

I resolved to go to Mr. Saitō’s place. Today, no matter what, I thought, I must have him properly hear the extent of my resolve. When I resolved to do so, my body felt as though it were warmly enveloped in God’s grace. Without despairing at human misery and my own ugliness, [I will] "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might." I must strive. I am not trying to escape from the cross. Without concealing my ugly tail, I will drag it along, stumbling step by step as I climb the slope. What lies at the end of this slope—the cross or heaven—I do not know. To declare that it must inevitably be the cross is the talk of those who do not know God. Only, "Thy will be done."

With tremendous resolve, I set out for the Saitō residence in Shiba, but truth be told, I found the Saitō residence rather daunting. Even before passing through the gate, I felt a strange pressure. It made me think: Could this be what David’s fortress was like?

I pressed the bell. The one who came out was the usual woman. As expected, just as my brother had surmised, she seemed to be something like a secretary and maid combined.

“Oh, welcome.” She was still acting overly familiar. Completely looking down on me. “Is Mr. Saitō here?” I had no business with this woman. I asked without smiling.

“He’s here.” Her tone lacked propriety. “I have an important matter and wish to see—” I began, but the woman burst out laughing, covered her mouth with both hands, turned bright red, and choked on her laughter. I was unbearably irritated. I am no longer a child like I used to be. “What’s so funny?” I said in a quiet tone. “I must meet with Mr. Saitō.”

She nodded, “Yes, yes,” and retreated into the back as if she were laughing uproariously. Could it be that I had ink or something on my face? She was a rude woman. After some time had passed, she came out again wearing a slightly solemn expression and said, “I’m sorry to say Mr. Saitō has caught a slight chill and cannot meet anyone today.” “If you have business, please write it briefly on this paper,” she said, holding out stationery and a fountain pen. I was disappointed. I thought veteran masters were terribly self-indulgent creatures. Perhaps you could say they had strong vitality—in any case, I thought he was a man of profound karma.

Resigned, I sat down on the entrance platform and briefly wrote on the stationery. "I applied to the Kaei Troupe and was accepted. The exam was a very slipshod affair. This one thing tells the whole story. I received a notice yesterday saying 'Come to the Kaei Troupe's research institute at 6 p.m. today,' but I don't want to go. I am wavering. Please tell me what to do. I want to pursue humble training. Shin Serikawa."

Having written this, I handed it to the woman—but I just couldn’t write it well. The woman took it and went inside, but she did not come back out for a long time. Somehow, I felt anxious. I felt as if I were sitting all alone at a mountain temple. Suddenly, that woman came out laughing loudly.

“Here’s your reply.” Unlike the previous stationery, she presented a small scrap of paper that looked like a torn-off piece from a scroll. It was written in flowing brushstrokes.

Shunjū Troupe That was all. There was nothing else written. “What is this?” I finally grew angry. There’s a limit to mockery. “Here’s your reply.” The woman looked up at my face and smiled with apparent innocence. “Are you saying I should join the Shunjū Troupe?” “Wouldn’t you say so?” she answered plainly.

I knew about the Shunjū Troupe. But the Shunjū Troupe was a theater company organized by gathering none other than kabuki actors bearing grand titles. It was certainly not a troupe where a student like me could simply waltz in and become a member. "This is impossible! If I at least had a letter of introduction from Mr. Saitō—" I had just begun to say when, like a bolt from the blue,

“Do it alone!” came a sharp command from the back. I was stunned. He was there. The master himself had been hiding behind the sliding door, listening all along. I was startled. That terrible old man! In disarray, I retreated. What a terrible old man. I was truly astonished. When I returned home and recounted today’s events to my older brother, he doubled over laughing. I also ended up laughing along, though I still felt a bit resentful.

Today, I was completely defeated. But encountering what I'll now call Mr. Saitō's strangely hoarse shout made even the gray clouds of these past two or three days scatter away. I'll do it alone. Shunjū Troupe. But then, how on earth should I proceed? I had absolutely no clue. My older brother too appeared perplexed. The conclusion we reached that night was to thoroughly study the Shunjū Troupe.

Unexpected things kept happening one after another. Life proved utterly unpredictable. Lately, I felt I'd truly come to understand faith's meaning. Every single day became a miracle. No—every part of existence revealed itself as miraculous.

May 14. Sunday.

Cloudy. Later, clear. For two or three days, I stopped writing in the diary. There had been no particular change. Lately, I felt weighed down and could no longer write my diary as breezily as before. I began to feel that even the time spent keeping a diary was wasteful—or perhaps what you'd call self-restraint—and came to think that jotting down every trivial thing was like a child's pretend game, something truly sad. I had to exercise self-restraint—this thought kept recurring to me. Though these are Beethoven's words: "You are no longer permitted to live for yourself alone." That was indeed how I felt.

Today, from early morning onward, there was a tremendous commotion throughout the house. Mother had finally decided to go recuperate at the Kujukuri villa. Today was supposedly an auspicious day called "Taian," and though the morning had been slightly cloudy, Mother insisted on departing today no matter what, so we finally set off. Mr. Suzuoka and Sister came to help from early morning. Auntie Choppiri from Meguro also came. The adjective "Choppiri" was something I had promised Auntie I would refrain from using, but it had become such a habit that it slipped out unintentionally. Neighbors, the young master from Asahi Taxi, and our family doctor, Dr. Kagawa—with everyone mobilized, preparations for departure commenced. After all, Mother was a bedridden patient, so they required considerable effort. It was decided that Nurse Sugino and the maid Ume would accompany Mother, leaving behind my older brother, myself, the live-in student Mr. Kijima, and a woman over fifty said to be a distant relative of Mr. Suzuoka's. This old woman was named Shun and was quite a lively character. Since Nurse Sugino and Ume were both accompanying Mother and there would be no one left at home to handle cooking and such for the time being, we had arranged for this grandmother to come temporarily. From now on, the house would likely become even lonelier. In the large taxi were Mother, Dr. Kagawa, and Nurse Sugino. In the other taxi were Mr. Suzuoka and his wife along with the maid Ume. They would speed straight to Matsukaze-en Villa in Kujukuri by taxi. Dr. Kagawa and Mr. and Mrs. Suzuoka planned to return to Tokyo by train after ensuring Mother had settled in at her destination. It was a tremendous commotion.

In front of the house, about twenty passersby had stopped to watch, looking as if wondering what was happening. Mother, carried on the back of the young master from Asahi Taxi, remained perfectly composed as she loudly scolded Ume and pushed through the crowd to board the automobile. It was quite a spectacle. She was just like the grandmother who appears in Dostoevsky’s *The Gambler*. She was certainly full of life. If Mother convalesces in Kujukuri for a year or two, she might truly make a full recovery.

After everyone had departed, the house felt hollow and desolate inside. But rather, amidst this morning's commotion, something slightly strange had occurred. This morning, Older Brother and I were only getting in everyone’s way rather than helping, so we took refuge upstairs. While we were badmouthing the helpers, Nurse Sugino came into our room with a stiff expression, as if she had business, and plopped down,

“It’s farewell for now, isn’t it?” she said with a face that seemed to smile, her mouth twisting oddly—then an instant later let out a sharp cry and collapsed into tears.

It was unexpected. My older brother and I exchanged looks. Older Brother pursed his lips. They looked perplexed. Nurse Sugino then sobbed convulsively for two or three minutes. We remained silent. Nurse Sugino soon got up and left the room, her face still covered with her apron. When I muttered, "Oh...," in a small voice, Older Brother also frowned and, "That was disgraceful," he said. But I mostly understood. At that time, we mutually avoided speaking further about Nurse Sugino and began other small talk, but after everyone had boarded the taxis and departed, even Older Brother seemed to fall into a somewhat pensive state.

Older Brother was lying on his back in the second-floor room, "Why don't I just get married?" he said with a laugh. "Older Brother, had you noticed it before?" "I don't know. When she started crying earlier, I thought 'Huh?'" "Older Brother, do you like Ms. Sugino too?" "I don't like her. She's older than me." "Then why would you get married?" "But... she cried."

The two of them burst out laughing.

Ms. Sugino had an unexpectedly romantic side to her. Yet this romance never came to fruition. Her method of courtship consisted solely of letting out a sharp cry and bursting into tears. It was truly a form perfected in its very clumsiness. In matters of romance, any hint of absurdity must be strictly avoided. She must have shed those few tears, thought "Oh no!", then resigned herself completely before departing for Kujukuri. The spinster's love affair had unfortunately ended as nothing more than a comedic interlude.

“Fireworks, huh.” Older Brother offered a conclusion befitting a poet. “It’s a sparkler.” I corrected it like the realist I was.

I felt somehow lonely. The house was empty. After finishing dinner, I talked it over with Older Brother and decided to go to the Enbujō. We invited Mr. Kijima as well. Grandma Shun stayed behind to look after the house.

At the Enbujō theater, the Shunjū Troupe was performing *The Woman-Killer and the Hell of Oil*, followed by a new adaptation of Ōgai Mori's *The Wild Goose* by up-and-coming playwright Yukichi Kawakami, and a new dance piece titled *Leaf Cherry Blossoms*. Each production had been praised in newspapers and such. By the time we arrived, *The Woman-Killer* had already ended, *Leaf Cherry Blossoms* appeared finished too, and *The Wild Goose* was just beginning its final act. The stage design perfectly evoked the Meiji era atmosphere. Though born in Taisho with no direct experience of Meiji, I'd always believed that sudden pang of nostalgia felt while strolling through Ueno or Shiba Park must be its lingering essence. Yet I found it jarring how all dialogue carried distinct Showa-era speech patterns—likely the adapter's oversight. The actors displayed remarkable skill. Even supporting roles were performed with utter composure. Their teamwork flowed seamlessly. This truly seemed an exceptional company. If I could join such a troupe, I thought, I'd want for nothing. During intermission, walking down a corridor, I spotted a small box at a corner with "Share Your Thoughts on Tonight's Performance" painted in white. Inspiration struck—I scribbled "Aspiring member seeking application procedures" on provided stationery with my address and name before dropping it in.

On the stationery attached to the box, I wrote, "I am an aspiring member. Please inform me of the procedures," added my address and name, and dropped it into the box. What a brilliant idea! This too was a miracle. Until the very moment I read those words on the box, I hadn't realized such an excellent method existed. It had flashed through my mind in an instant—divine grace. But I kept this from Older Brother. More than fearing ridicule, I somehow wanted to stop relying on him so much and forge ahead guided solely by my own intuition.

June 4. Tuesday.

Clear.

Just when I had forgotten about it, a letter arrived from the Shunjū Troupe. News of happiness never comes when you wait for it. It never comes. Waiting for my friend—ah, is that footsteps? At the very moment when my heart leaps with anticipation, those footsteps are never theirs. And then, that person comes suddenly. There were no footsteps or anything of the sort. It comes suddenly, seizing that blank moment when you least expect it. It’s a curious thing.

The letter from the Shunjū Troupe was typed on a typewriter. The gist of it was as follows: This year, we plan to recruit three new members. Limited to healthy males aged sixteen to twenty. We do not require academic background, but we will conduct a written examination. After two months have passed since joining the troupe, provisional members will be provided a monthly makeup allowance of thirty yen along with transportation expenses. The maximum period for provisional membership shall be limited to two years, after which they shall be granted treatment equal to all members as full members. Those who still cannot be recognized as qualified for full membership even after the maximum period has elapsed shall be dismissed. Applicants shall submit to the office by June 15 a handwritten résumé, family register extract, one recent photograph in hand-size format (frontal upper-body shot), and permission from the household head or guardian, all accompanied together. Regarding examinations and other matters, we shall notify you in due course. If no such notification has been received by midnight on June 20th, you shall abandon your application. Furthermore, we shall not entertain individual inquiries. And so forth.

The original text wasn't actually this rigidly formal, but the letter generally carried such an atmosphere. It really did spell out every detail clearly, down to the finest points. Though devoid of any flourish, a profound solemnity emanated from it instead. As I read, I felt compelled to straighten my posture. Back during the Kaei Troupe affair, I'd been all giddy excitement and empty fussing, but this time there was no room for levity. It even carried a tinge of gloom. Ah—so I too was finally plunging into the actor's trade, I thought, and felt tears welling up.

Three people will be hired. Whether I can get in or not—I have absolutely no idea—but I’ll give it a try anyway. Older Brother was also tense tonight. When I returned home from school today,

“Shin. Here’s a letter from the Shunjū Troupe,” he said. “You didn’t sneak out some blood-sealed petition behind my back, did you?” He laughed at first, but after opening the letter and reading its contents with me, his manner turned grave. “I wonder what Father would’ve said if he were alive,” he murmured—the sort of disheartening remark one makes when overcome by uncertainty.

Older Brother was kind, yet ultimately weak. Where could I possibly go now? After enduring such prolonged anguish and torment, I had finally made my way here. Now Mr. Saitō alone remained my lifeline. Mr. Saitō had clearly written those three characters - "Shunjū Troupe." "Do it alone!" he bellowed. I would try. I would keep trying no matter what.

It was an early summer night. The stars were beautiful. Mother! I called out in a small voice and felt ashamed.

June 18. Sunday.

It was clear. It was a hot day. Fiercely hot. It being Sunday, I had wanted to sleep in, but the heat made it impossible to stay in bed. I woke at eight. Then the mail arrived. Shunjū Troupe. I had cleared the first hurdle. It felt almost inevitable, yet I was still relieved. I had thought the notification would come tomorrow or the day after, but happiness—with a certain spitefulness—only ever arrives when least expected.

The First Examination will be conducted from 10:00 AM on July 5 at the Shunjū Troupe Acting Dojo in Kagurazaka. The First Examination consists of script reading, written examination, oral examination, and simple physical exercise. For the script reading, one may be of any kind; applicants shall bring a script of their choice to the examination site and freely recite it. However, this reading time shall be within five minutes. Additionally, we will present one script to be read aloud at the examination site. For the written examination, applicants shall use pencils as much as possible. Applicants shall not forget to prepare pants and shirts so as not to impede physical exercise. Lunch need not be brought. A simple meal will be provided at this dojo. On the day, applicants shall assemble in the acting dojo waiting room ten minutes before 10:00 AM.

As ever, it was concise and clear. It said "First Examination," but did that mean even if I passed this test, there would still be Second and Third Examinations? They were being quite cautious. But when determining an actor's suitability, perhaps taking this level of thoroughness was indeed necessary. It differed completely from getting a job at a company or bank. Even if they conducted irresponsible examinations and hired someone recklessly, if that person turned out unsuitable as an actor, they wouldn't be able to easily switch careers like moving to the bank next door—that person's entire life would end up utterly destroyed. I desperately hoped they would conduct the examination with utmost strictness. If it had been like the Kaei Troupe, even passing would have left me uneasy. I had abandoned everything for this. I couldn't bear being treated irresponsibly.

There were four subjects: script reading, written examination, oral examination, and physical exercise; but among these, the self-selected script reading was the real challenge. I thought it showed some cleverness in their examination method. Depending on what one chose, they could reveal everything about an applicant's personality, cultural background, and environment. This was treacherous. There still remained two weeks until the examination. I resolved to take my time and calmly select the perfect script. I decided to consult thoroughly with my brother before finalizing anything. My older brother had been visiting Mother in Kujukuri for four or five days already and was scheduled to return to Tokyo that evening or the next. The previous night brought a postcard from him. Mother had developed a slight fever about a week earlier, but her temperature had since subsided and she was now full of vigor. Ms. Sugino had become deeply tanned yet continued working unfazed. My brother had departed joking that he might make Ms. Sugino cry again, but apparently nothing of that sort had occurred. My brother was hopelessly naive.

At night, while the three of us—Mr. Kijima, Grandma Shun, and I—were making and eating some strange ice cream together, the bell rang. When I went to check, there stood Kimura’s father, looming heavily at the entrance.

“Has my idiot come here?” he demanded. The night before last, he had left home carrying a guitar and hadn’t returned since, apparently. “I haven’t seen him at all lately,” I said. He tilted his head, “Since he left with his guitar, I was certain he’d be at your place—so I thought I’d stop by.” He fixed me with a suspicious, unpleasant stare. He was mocking me.

“I’ve already quit the guitar,” I told him. “I thought so.” “At your age, I can’t approve of you fiddling with that instrument forever.” “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time.” “If that idiot comes here, “Please give him a lecture from your side as well,” he said before leaving. The delinquent Kimura had no mother. I didn’t want to speak of another family’s scandal, but their household seemed mired in chaos. I thought that rather than lecturing Kimura, I should lecture his family members. Kimura’s father was what people called a high-ranking official, but he lacked any refinement. His eyes held a vulgar glint. I decided it was wrong to repeatedly call one’s own child “my idiot” even in public. The words grated unbearably. Kimura remained Kimura, but his father proved equally flawed. In the end, it held little interest for me. Dante, they say, merely observed and passed through the torments of hell’s sinners. Not one rope did he cast their way. Lately I’d come to think this was proper.

July 5th. Wednesday.

Clear. Evening, light rain.

I decided to write down today’s events in detail. I was now very calm. It felt utterly refreshing. In my heart, there was not a trace of anxiety. I had given it my all. The rest, I entrusted to the heavenly Father. A refreshing smile rose to my lips. Truly today, I had been able to honestly exert all my strength. Happiness might be what this feeling was called. I wasn’t concerned in the slightest about passing or failing. Today I had taken the First Examination at the Shunjū Troupe’s acting dojo. That morning, I had gotten up at 7:30. I had been awake since around six o'clock, lying in bed deeply and quietly thinking about whether there were any oversights in my mental preparation. To say there were oversights would be an understatement—they were everywhere—but even so, I hadn’t panicked. Anyway, as long as I didn’t try to deceive anyone, it would be fine. If one proceeded honestly, all matters should resolve simply, leaving no difficulties anywhere. It was when you tried to cover things up that all sorts of difficulties arose. Not to deceive. The rest, I left to Him. I thought that as long as I had prepared just that one thing in my heart, I wouldn’t need anything else.

I tried to write a poem but couldn't manage it well. I got up, washed my face, and looked in the mirror. My face was composed. Perhaps because I'd slept deeply last night, my eyes were clear. I smiled and gave a bow to the mirror. Then I ate an enormous amount of rice. Grandma Shun looked astonished. Though I normally sleep late, when it comes to exams I properly rise early and devour heaps of food. "Boys ought to be like this," she praised in her odd manner. Grandma Shun seems convinced today's test is for school. Were she to learn I'm taking an actor's entrance exam, she'd likely collapse in shock.

I got ready, then bowed to the photograph of my father at the family altar, and finally went to my older brother’s room,

“I’m off,” I said loudly. My older brother was still asleep. He abruptly sat up,

“Oh, leaving already?” “What shall I liken the kingdom of God to?” he said, laughing. “It is like a grain of mustard seed,” I answered. “Grow and become a tree,” he said in a voice filled with tenderness.

As a blessing for my future path, it felt almost too precious a phrase. My older brother truly was a poet a hundred times superior to me. He instantly selected the perfect words.

It was hot outside. I trudged through Kagurazaka and arrived at the Shunjū Troupe’s acting dojo a little past nine o’clock. I was a bit too early. I went to Beniya, drank some soda water, wiped off my sweat, and then when I set out again at a leisurely pace, the timing was just right this time. It was an old, large estate. As I was taking off my shoes in the entrance, a clerk-like young man with a neatly fastened kakuobi waist sash came out and said "Please" in a soft voice before adjusting the slippers for me. It had a calm atmosphere. It was as if I were being treated like an honored guest. The waiting room was a spacious, bright Japanese-style room of about twenty tatami mats, where seven or eight examinees had already gathered. They were all extremely young. They were like children. The age limit was supposed to be sixteen to twenty, but at first glance, those seven or eight individuals looked exactly like thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boys. There were those with bobbed hair, those wearing red Bohemian neckties, and those dressed in flashy-patterned kimonos—all of them boys who gave the impression of being geishas’ children or something similar. I felt self-conscious. The clerk-like man from earlier brought rice crackers and tea, offered them to me, and said, "Please wait a little while." I was nothing but overwhelmed. Examinees began gathering sporadically. Three or four people around twenty years old also came. However, everyone was wearing either suits or kimonos. In the end, I was the only one in a student uniform.

None of the faces looked particularly intelligent, but they didn't have the gloomy feel of the Ōzaka Troupe. There was no sense of them being life's casualties. They were just blankly looking around. When about twenty people had gathered, the usual clerk-like man came out and said, "Thank you for waiting." In a calm tone he added, "I'll call your names now," summoned five examinees, and guided them to another room with a "This way please." My name wasn't called. After that silence returned; I stood up, stepped into the hallway, and gazed at the garden. The place had the atmosphere of a restaurant or inn courtyard. The garden was surprisingly spacious. The faint rumble of trains could be heard. The heat pressed down relentlessly. After being kept waiting about thirty minutes, my name was finally included in the next group called. Led by the same clerk-like man, we five wound through dim corridors making two turns before being ushered into a breezy Western-style room.

“Good morning, welcome.” A young man in a suit with a strikingly handsome face greeted us courteously. “We’ll now conduct the written examination.” We sat around the large central table, received three sheets of manuscript paper each from that handsome young man, and began writing. The instructions stated we could write about anything. Impressions, diary entries, poetry—all were acceptable provided they related to the Shunjū Troupe in some way, though they cautioned against merely jotting down Heine’s love poems that popped into our heads. We had thirty minutes to organize our thoughts within one to two manuscript pages.

I began by writing a self-introduction and then wrote frankly about what I felt after seeing the Shunjū Troupe's *The Wild Goose*. It filled exactly two pages. The others were writing and erasing, clearly struggling quite a bit. Even so, these were the selected few who had been chosen from many applicants through resumes and photographs. They were quite a timid group of candidates. But it might be precisely these imbecile-like people who unexpectedly display genius talent in acting. That could happen. While thinking I must not let my guard down, the clerk-like man suddenly poked his head out from the door,

“Those who have finished writing, please bring your answer sheets and come this way.” It was another instance of being guided. I was the only one who had completed writing. I stood up and stepped into the hallway. I was ushered to a spacious room in a separate building.

It was quite an impressive room. Two large dining tables were placed. Surrounding a dining table near the tokonoma were six examiners, and about two meters away was the examinee’s table. I was the only examinee. The five candidates who had been called before us must have all finished and left, as there was no one else. I stood up and bowed, then faced the dining table and sat down properly. There they were, there they were. Ichikawa Kikunosuke, Serikawa Kunijūrō, Sawamura Kaemon, Bandō Ichimatsu, Sakata Monnosuke, Somekawa Bunshichi—the top executives were all smiling uniformly and looking this way. I also laughed.

“What will you read?” Serikawa Kunijūrō said, briefly flashing his gold teeth. “Faust!” I had intended to say it quite enthusiastically, but Kunijūrō simply gave a slight nod and—

“Please proceed.” I took out Ōgai’s translation of *Faust* from my pocket and read aloud the prescribed “Field of Blooming Flowers” scene with all my might, as if to make the heavens resound. Before settling on this *Faust*, my brother and I had given it considerable thought. Based on my brother’s opinion that kabuki classics would likely be welcomed by the Shunjū Troupe, we tried various works by Mokuami, Shōyō, Kidō, and even Saitō-sensei, but somehow we couldn’t quite replicate vocal styles like Sadanji’s or Uzaemon’s. My individuality didn’t come through. However, the works of Mushanokōji and Kubota Mantarō had dialogue that was too fragmented and didn’t really work as texts for recitation. Reading dialogues where one person plays three roles would be precarious with my current abilities, and scenes where a single person delivers long lines are limited to just two or three per play—no, sometimes there aren’t any at all—surprisingly few. Just when you think they might exist occasionally, they turn out to already be a famous actor’s vocal mimicry or a party trick. When told to just pick anything at all, I actually found myself getting lost in indecision. While I was dawdling, the exam deadline drew near. “In that case, should I just play Lopakhin from *The Cherry Orchard*?” No—if that’s the case, I’ll go with *Faust*. That line was something I intuitively found in the heat of the moment during the Ōgi Troupe’s examination. It was a memorable line. Surely, this must be something connected to my destiny. I’ll go with Faust! That’s how I came to choose Faust. Even if I fail because of this *Faust*, I have no regrets. I read it through without hesitation. While reading, I felt a refreshing sense of calm.

"It's okay, it's okay," I felt as though someone behind me was saying that. Life rests upon colored shadows! Upon finishing, I couldn’t help but break into a grin. For some reason, I was happy. I began to feel like the exams didn’t matter anymore.

“Well done.” Mr. Kunijūrō nodded slightly and said, “One more request from us.” “Yes.” “Please read aloud here the answers you just wrote over there.” “The answers? “This one?” I was flustered. “Yes,” he said, laughing. This had me a bit stumped. But I thought the Shunjū Troupe members were rather clever. This way, they could save the trouble of checking each answer later, make efficient use of time, and if someone had written nonsense, their flustered reading would make the flaws in the writing increasingly apparent—I had to admit they'd checkmated me with this approach. However, I regained my composure and read slowly and unapologetically. I read without any inflection in my voice, in a natural tone.

“That will suffice. Please leave your answers here and wait in the waiting room.” I gave a quick bow and stepped into the hallway. Though my back was drenched in sweat, I only noticed it then. Returning to the waiting room, I leaned against the wall and sat cross-legged. As I waited about thirty minutes, the four other examinees from my group gradually returned. When everyone had gathered, the clerk came to fetch us again—this time for calisthenics. We were led to a spacious wooden-floored room resembling a bathhouse changing area. Two men who appeared to be senior executives—around forty years old wearing formal sashes—sat in rattan chairs at the corner, though I didn’t recognize them as actors. A young man dressed like a clerk in white pants and shirt began barking orders at us. Those wearing traditional clothes had to remove all garments, while Western attire required only jackets off. Since our group wore Western clothing, preparations went smoothly and exercises began immediately. The five of us moved through drills—*Right face! Left face! About face! Forward march! Double time! Halt!*—then did radio-style calisthenics before shouting our full names in turn. The letter had called it “simple exercise,” but it proved otherwise. I felt only slightly tired. Back in the waiting room, tables now stood lined up with examinees beginning their meals. Tempura rice bowls. Two soba-shop apprentice-like youths directed by the clerk bustled about pouring tea and carrying bowls. The heat was stifling. I ate my tempura bowl as sweat streamed down my face. I couldn’t finish it all.

The final test was an oral examination. We were summoned one by one by the clerk and led away. The oral examination room was the same one used earlier for script readings. Yet its atmosphere had completely transformed. Chaos reigned—a terrible mess. Two large dining tables stood pushed tightly together where three pallid long-haired men—likely from departments like Literary or Planning—sat jacketless with elbows propped in relaxed poses amid documents strewn wildly across tabletops. A half-finished glass of iced coffee sat among them.

"Please sit down. Sit cross-legged, cross-legged," said what appeared to be the eldest examiner, pushing a zabuton cushion toward me. "Mr. Serikawa, was it?" he said, extracting my resume and photos from the documents on the desk. "Do you plan to continue attending university?" It was precisely the question that struck at the core. That was exactly my dilemma. I thought their approach harsh. "I'm still considering it." I answered truthfully.

"You can't do both." The attack was relentless. "That's..." I let out a small sigh. "After getting accepted," My words trailed off. "Well, that may be true." The man immediately sensed this and laughed. "After all, you haven't actually been accepted yet." "Was that a foolish question?" "Forgive my asking, but your brother seems rather young." It stung. These flanking attacks were more than I could handle. "Well, he's twenty-six."

“Is your brother’s approval alone sufficient?” His tone carried genuine concern. I thought the man who seemed to lead this oral examination must have weathered profound hardships in life. “That’s all right. My brother will manage it.” “He’ll apply himself thoroughly, so there’s no cause for concern.”

“Will you work hard?” He laughed cheerfully. The other two examiners also exchanged glances and smiled warmly. “Did you read Faust?” “Did you choose it entirely by yourself?” “No, I consulted with brother too.”

“So your brother chose it for you then?” “No, even after discussing it with my brother, we couldn’t reach a decision, so I ended up deciding on my own.” “Excuse my asking, but do you really understand Faust?” “I don’t understand it at all. But that holds important memories for me.”

“I see.” He laughed again. “Does it hold memories for you?” He gazed at my face with gentle eyes, “What sports have you played?” “I played soccer a bit in middle school.” “I’ve stopped now, though.” “Were you on the team?”

And then they proceeded to ask about even the smallest details. When I mentioned my mother was ill, they earnestly inquired about her condition. The most frequent questions concerned family circumstances—such as what close relatives I had, whether there was someone who could act as my brother’s guardian, and similar matters. Because they asked so naturally and smoothly, I was able to answer comfortably, and it wasn’t unpleasant. Finally,

“What aspect of the Shunjū Troupe appealed to you?” “Not really.”

“Huh?” The examiners all seemed to tense up at once. The chief, his displeasure clearly etched between his eyebrows, asked, “Then why did you apply to the Shunjū Troupe?” “I don’t know anything. I had vaguely thought it was a reputable theater troupe, though.” “Just… well, on a whim?”

“No, if I didn’t become an actor, I had nowhere else to go.” “So when I was at my wit’s end and consulted someone, that person wrote ‘Shunjū Troupe’ on a piece of paper for me.” “On paper?” “That person is... rather peculiar. When I went to consult him, he claimed to have a slight cold and refused to meet me. So I wrote ‘Please tell me a good theater troupe’ on Western-style paper in the entryway and handed it to a woman—whether she was a maid or secretary, I couldn’t tell—who kept laughing incessantly, asking her to deliver it for me.” “Then that woman brought back a response paper from the inner rooms.” “But that paper only had three characters written on it: ‘Shunjū Troupe.’”

“Who is that?” The chief widened his eyes and asked. “He’s my teacher. But that’s just me arbitrarily convincing myself of that on my own, so they might not consider someone like me worth any attention at all. But I’ve resolved to consider that person my teacher for life. I’ve only spoken with that person once so far. I chased after him and was allowed to ride in the car together.”

“Who exactly is this person?” “They must be someone from the theater world.” “I don’t want to say.” “Even though I only rode in their car and spoke with them once, using their name now would feel contemptible—I can’t bear it.” “Understood.” The chief nodded solemnly. “So? You mean you came straight here because they wrote ‘Shunjū Troupe’ for you?”

“That’s correct. Just saying ‘Join the Shunjū Troupe’ was impossible,’ I complained to the maid at that time.” Then, from behind the sliding door came a bark: “Do it alone!” The teacher had been standing there listening all along. “So I was startled, and—” The two young examiners burst into laughter. However, the chief remained composed. “What an inspiring teacher,” he remarked casually. “It’s Mr. Saitō, isn’t it?”

“I can’t say that.” I replied with a laugh, “I’ll tell you when I’ve become someone worth mentioning.” “I see.” “Then we’re finished here.” “Thank you for your efforts today.” “You’ve eaten, I trust?” “Yes, I’ve had my meal.” “A notice may arrive within two or three days. Should none come, you must consult that teacher again.”

"That is my intention."

With this, all of today’s examinations had been completed. With a contented and calm feeling, he returned home. In the evening, he and his older brother made and ate Serikawa-style beefsteak together. They treated Grandma Shun to a meal as well. I was truly fine, but my older brother seemed to be secretly anxious. He kept trying to ask about the exam details, but this time I turned the tables by asking things like, “What is the Kingdom of God like?” and had no desire to speak at all about the exams that had passed.

In the evening, I wrote in my diary. This may become my last diary entry. I don't know why, but I feel that way. I'll go to sleep.

July 6.

Thursday.

Cloudy. This morning, I was so sleepy I couldn't get up no matter what and skipped school.

At 2:00 PM, there was an express mail from the Shunjū Troupe. "We will be conducting a health checkup. Please come to the hospital listed below at noon on the 8th, bringing this letter with you." It stated the name of a certain hospital in Toranomon. This was what they called the notification for the Second Examination. My older brother said that with this, passing was practically assured and was completely relaxed, but to me, it didn't seem that way. When I went to the hospital, I even felt as though all of yesterday's examinees had gathered there again. I wanted to store up such abundant fighting spirit that I could start the battle anew from the beginning if necessary. Fortunately, my body should be fine everywhere.

In the evening, I spent time alone listening to records. I narrowed my eyes at Mozart’s Flute Concerto.

July 8. Saturday.

Clear.

I went to Takegawa Hospital in Toranomon and have just returned. Hot, hot. Pardon my state—I'm writing this diary entry wearing nothing but underwear. When I arrived at the hospital, there were only two people. Just me and a boy with bobbed hair who looked about fourteen or fifteen. It seemed all the others had been eliminated. The selection process had been brutally strict. A chill ran through me. Three doctors took turns scrutinizing every inch of our bodies. The examination was so rigorous it left me slightly dazed. They X-rayed me and took blood and urine samples. The boy started sniveling when they diagnosed him with trachoma. But when told it was a mild case that would clear up in a week's treatment, he immediately beamed. His face wasn't particularly endearing, but possessed an unsettling uniqueness. An extraordinarily elongated face. He might unexpectedly harbor genius-level talent. They examined us for nearly three hours.

From the Shunjū Troupe, a person who looked like a clerk had come. On the way back, the three of us went together.

“That’s good news,” said the clerk. “The initial applications came from places like Karafuto and Shinkyo as well—we gathered nearly six hundred in total.” “But isn’t it still uncertain?” I said. “Well, who can say?” replied the clerk ambiguously. They said an official notice would arrive within a week if you passed. We parted ways at the city tram stop. If I told my older brother, he would be overjoyed. I had never seen my older brother so elated.

“That’s wonderful! Truly wonderful! Shin, becoming an actor was indeed the right path for you after all. “Only two selected from six hundred applicants—that’s astonishing! “You’re remarkable… Thank you… I can’t express how happy—” He began before tears interrupted him. This was ridiculous. It remained too early for celebration. I couldn’t afford complacency until the formal notice arrived.

July 14. Friday. Clear.

The passing notice arrives.

July 15. Saturday.

Clear. It's fiercely hot.

Yesterday, I placed the passing notice on the family altar still in its envelope, and my older brother and I reported to Father. Truly, I've started to feel like I could become Japan's greatest actor. The real hardship is yet to come. "But I wish to prove that those who act well and nobly can endure misfortune through that fact alone." These are Beethoven's words—a sublime resolve. The geniuses of old all fought with this same determination. Press onward without breaking. Last night, my older brother, Mr. Kijima, and I went to Sarugakken and held a modest celebration. We toasted to Mother's health. Mr. Kijima got drunk and sang something called Chakkiri-bushi.

Lately I hadn't been going to school at all. I was thinking of taking a leave of absence starting next term. My older brother kept saying there was no alternative but to do so. From next Monday onward, I would have to attend Shunjū Troupe's acting dojo daily. They said I'd soon be assisting with actual productions too. Even during the two-month apprenticeship period, there was a monthly stipend of twelve yen - with additional transportation costs properly covered whenever helping with performances. After two months passed came thirty yen monthly as an associate member's makeup allowance. Then over two years the stipend would gradually increase until becoming a full member eligible for equal treatment with all troupe members. If things went smoothly I'd become a full member by autumn when nineteen. But this was no time for indulging in sweet fantasies. Immediate effort mattered most. The hardship must be immense. Only after two years as a full member would true actor training begin. Ten years' training would make me twenty-nine. Countless things would happen by then. Choosing scripts would likely outweigh personal acting skills as my greatest challenge. Regardless - effort. I had to become a great actor. It felt like launching a dugout canoe into open ocean. Yet receiving even this modest stipend from this month onward left me oddly self-conscious.

A little happy. With my first salary, I thought I would buy Older Brother a fountain pen. Older Brother said he would go to Mother’s family home in Numazu tomorrow to escape the heat. He planned to stay about ten days. Normally I would have gone along too, but with my theater duties starting next week, it was out of the question. This summer I would stay in Tokyo and persevere. Older Brother’s novel for Literary Review apparently hadn’t made the deadline after all. When he had shown the half-finished manuscript to Mr. Tsuda, he received unexpected praise and encouragement—but after that, progress stalled completely until he finally abandoned it. What a waste. Older Brother was always lamenting how his abilities fell short of Balzac or Dostoevsky’s, but wasn’t aiming to surpass such giants from the start overly ambitious? “You really can’t write novels until you’re past thirty,” he’d say—but then why not try short prose poems before then? Still, Older Brother possessed such tremendous talent that once he found his rhythm, he would surely produce a world-class masterpiece. The beauty of his prose truly had no equal in Japan.

Tonight, when I got into the bath and looked in the mirror, I was shocked at how haggard my face had become. How could my face have changed so much in just two or three days? After all, these past few days must have taken a considerable mental toll. My cheekbones stood out, making it completely the face of an adult. It was hideous. I had to do something about it. I was an actor now. Actors had to take care of their faces. I just didn't like this face. Like a dried-up monkey. From now on, every morning, I would have to perform facial care using things like cream and gourd lotion. Just because I'd become an actor didn't mean I needed to start dressing up in a rush, but having such a lifeless face was a problem.

At night, I read inside the mosquito net. *Jean-Christophe*, Volume Three.

August 24. Thursday.

Cloudy. A hellish summer. I might go mad. I hate it, I hate it. I can’t tell how many times I’ve thought of suicide.

I can play the shamisen now. I can dance too. Day after day, from ten in the morning until four in the afternoon. The acting dojo was a valley of hell! I had quit school. There was nowhere else for me to go now. A punishment! After all, I had underestimated being an actor.

O cursed one—thy name is boy actor. I find it strange myself how my body has managed to hold out. I had prepared myself, but I never imagined I’d endure humiliation of this magnitude.

Today again, during the thirty-minute lunch break, as I lay on my back in the dojo’s grassy courtyard, tears welled up.

“Mr. Serikawa, you always look so gloomy,” said the boy Rei as he approached. “Get lost!” I said. Even I—oh? My tone had been more solemn than I’d expected. My worries—do you idiots have any idea?!

The boy’s name was Takita Teruo. He was said to be the secret child of Takita Setsuko, once a famed actress at the Imperial Theater. His father was apparently Mr. M, a financial titan who had died years prior. Eighteen years old. He was a year older than me but remained just a child. He bordered on idiocy. Yet his acting was extraordinary. In every performing art, someone like me couldn’t hope to match him. This guy was my rival. Perhaps my lifelong rival. I was always compared to this fool and ended up chastised. But I utterly rejected the concept of idiot savants. Just wait and see, I thought. Nothing is more precious than the tenacious resolve of the inept. Within the Shunjū Troupe, only our leader Ichikawa Kikunosuke doubted Takita and supported me. Everyone else recoiled at my gracelessness. They’d dubbed me “Mr. Logic.” That day after leaving the dojo, I walked with senior member Sawamura Kaemon to the tram stop,

“I hear you bring a different book in your pocket every single day.” “Are you really reading them?” he said with a sneer.

I did not respond. In my heart, I said this: "Kinokuni-san, actors these days—even those as skilled as you won't cut it anymore." About ten days prior, Ichikawa Kikunosuke had taken me to Rainbow, treated me to a meal, and while pushing boiled potatoes around with a fork, abruptly said: "I was called untalented until thirty. "And even now, I still consider myself untalented."

I wanted to cry. If not for those words from the leader, I might have hanged myself around today.

I will establish a new artistic path. It is an impossible task. Arrows never strike the head—they only pierce arms and legs. This is the most unbearable agony. A single mustard seed—will it become a tree? Will it become a tree?

Let me try writing out Beethoven's words once more in large letters. "I wish to demonstrate that those who act with goodness and nobility can endure misfortune through that very fact alone."

September 17th. Sunday.

Cloudy. Occasional rain. Today, practice was canceled. Yesterday at the dojo, practice lasted until eleven-thirty at night. I felt dizzy and nearly collapsed on the stage.

Kabukiza Theatre，October 1st opening day. The program was *Sukeroku*. Natsume Soseki’s *Botchan*. Then *Shikisai Kan Karimame*.

My stage debut. To be fair, my roles were just a lantern bearer in *Sukeroku* and a middle school student in *Botchan*—that was all. And yet, the practice was so intense, repeated over and over. Even after returning home and going to bed, I was plagued by a series of strange, unpleasant dreams and kept tossing and turning all night. When I became too exhausted, I ended up being unable to sleep at all.

This morning around eight o'clock, my sister in Shitaya called me. "It’s an emergency, so come to Shitaya right away with Brother—emergency, emergency!” she said, laughing. No matter how much I asked what was wrong, she wouldn’t tell me. "Just come," she said.

There was no helping it. Brother and I hurriedly ate our meal and headed out to Shitaya.

“I wonder what it is,” I said, and Brother—

“I’d rather not mediate a marital spat,” he said with a slightly uneasy expression.

When we went to Shitaya, there was no emergency after all—the three family members were just laughing uproariously. "Shin-chan, did you read this morning's Miyako Shimbun?" Sister said. I didn't know what she meant. In Kōjimachi, we didn't subscribe to the Miyako Shimbun. "No." "It's a big deal! Look!" The entertainment section of the Miyako Shimbun's Sunday special edition. My photo appeared small alongside Takita Teruo's. The name was wrong. Under my photo: Ichikawa Kikumatsu. Under Takita's: Sawaragi Senosuke. There was an explanation about us being the Shunjū Troupe's two new members, followed by "Please treat us kindly." I was stunned. I felt they were mocking me. We knew we'd become associate members starting with this debut performance, but we hadn't known stage names had already been assigned. We'd received no notification whatsoever. Even if it was some randomly fabricated stage name, shouldn't they have consulted me before finalizing it? A gloom settled over me. Yet behind this oddly crude stage name—Ichikawa Kikumatsu—I sensed our leader Ichikawa Kikunosuke's silent guardianship, and that faint warmth made me glad. Ichikawa Kikumatsu.

What a lousy name. It makes me sound like some errand boy. “At last,” Mr. Suzuoka said, laughing, “it’s getting serious now.” “To celebrate, let’s go get some Chinese food.” Mr. Suzuoka would suggest Chinese food at the drop of a hat. “But when things get this exaggerated, I worry.” My sister and her husband had known about my aspiration to become an actor for some time and, while somewhat worried, had ultimately given their tacit approval. “Wouldn’t it be better not to tell Mother yet?” It had been an absolute secret from Mother from the very beginning.

“Of course.” Brother answered in a firm tone. “She’ll find out eventually, but I’ve decided to wait until Mother’s a bit stronger before telling her everything.” “Anyway, this is my responsibility.” “You don’t need to fuss over stuffy formalities like responsibility.” Mr. Suzuoka spoke boldly. “Whether as an actor or anything else, keeping at it seriously makes you respectable.” “A seventeen-year-old pulling fifty yen monthly—that’s no small feat.”

“Thirty yen.” I corrected. “Well, if your base salary is thirty yen, with allowances and such, it should come to sixty yen.” He seemed to regard actors and bank clerks as one and the same.

The five of us—Mr. and Mrs. Suzuoka, Toshio-kun, Brother, and I—went out to Hibiya to eat Chinese food. Everyone was buoyantly cheerful, but I alone found no enjoyment at all, partly owing to last night's sleeplessness. The hellish training never left my thoughts for an instant, leaving me in an utterly gloomy state. This actor's apprenticeship wasn't some frivolous diversion. My darkness remained incomprehensible to all. "Please treat us kindly," indeed. Ah, why must those who seek to grow be made to bend!

Ichikawa Kikumatsu. It’s lonely.

October 1. Sunday.

A clear autumn day.

Stage debut. I was crouching on stage holding a lantern. The audience seats formed a terrifyingly dark swamp. Not a single face was visible in the audience. Everything shifted in deep blue haziness. No matter how wide I strained my eyes, the blue haze persisted. Not a single sound reached me. The silence pressed down heavily. I started thinking maybe no one was there at all. A tepid swamp - deep and vast. An eerie sensation crept over me. I felt myself being pulled into its depths. My consciousness began fading. Nausea welled up from my gut.

When I finished my role and returned dazedly to the dressing room, Brother and Mr. Kijima were there. I was happy. I wanted to put on a brave front for Brother.

“I knew immediately.” “I knew immediately it was you, Shin!” “No matter what kind of disguise you’re in, I’d still recognize you, you know.” Mr. Kijima was saying this with extreme excitement. “I was the very first to spot you.” “I knew immediately.” He kept repeating the same thing.

I heard that Mr. Suzuoka’s family was also in the first-class seats. I heard that Aunt Choppiri was also working hard in Uzura with five disciples in tow. When I heard that from Brother, I pulled a tearful face. I truly realized how wonderful family is.

Mr. Kijima had apparently shouted "Ichikawa Kikumatsu! Ichikawa Kikumatsu!" twice at the top of his voice. There was no point calling out to the lantern bearer anyway. That was just another embarrassing thing he'd done. "Did you hear me cheering?" he asked boastfully. Far from hearing anything, the lantern bearer had nearly fainted on stage from dizziness. Brother leaned close to my ear and whispered with a perfectly straight face, putting on airs like some sophisticate: "Shall I have sushi delivered to the dressing room?" That made me burst out laughing.

“It’s fine. At the Shunjū Troupe, we don’t do things like that,” he said,

“I see,” he said with a dissatisfied look.

During the second Botchan performance，I felt relatively at ease. I could faintly hear laughter from the audience seats. But still，I couldn't see their faces at all. As I grew accustomed，not only laughter but whispers and babies' cries became clearly audible—so much so that it ended up being rather noisy. Apparently，they say you'll even come to immediately recognize who's sitting where among them. I am still no good. I'm absorbed. No—the brink of life and death.

Having finished all my roles and entered the dressing-room bath, when I thought about doing this every day starting tomorrow, I felt unbearable disgust that nearly drove me mad. I hate being an actor! Though it lasted only an instant, the pain was so intense I thrashed about. As I kept wishing I would just go mad, that suffering vanished like a breath, leaving only loneliness behind. When you fast—those words of Christ I had boldly written at my diary's front in my sixteenth spring came back vividly then. When you fast, anoint your head and wash your face. Suffering exists for everyone. Ah, you must fast with a smile. At least make ten more years of effort—then truly rage. Haven't I not even created a single work yet? No—I haven't even grasped creation's technique yet.

Lonely, yet feeling a sweetness inside my body akin to taking a sip of milk, I stepped out of the bath.

I went to greet the troupe leader, Ichikawa Kikunosuke, in his room. When he said, “Ah, congratulations,” I felt happy. It was such a trivial thing. The dark anguish of the bathhouse was cleanly blown away by the troupe leader’s bright remark. To make my stage debut in Kobikichō might be the most blessed start for an actor. “You are fortunate,” I told myself.

The above is an account of my glorious stage debut.

After returning home, I talked passionately about celestial bodies with Brother until around 1 a.m. Why I started talking about celestial bodies and such, I don’t even know myself.

November 4th. Saturday.

Clear. Now in Osaka. Nakaza Theatre.

The plays were: "Kanjinchō (The Subscription List)", "Utagatari (The Song Lantern)", and "Momijigari (Autumn Foliage Viewing)".

Our lodging was in the very heart of Dōtonbori. It was a damp shared inn called Hotei-ya. In two six-tatami rooms lived we seven. But I will absolutely not degenerate!

Ichikawa Kikumatsu is said to be a saint.

November 12th. Sunday.

Rain. I'm sorry. Tonight I was drunk. Osaka was such an unpleasant place. Dōtonbori was terribly lonely. I drank alcohol at that dimly lit "Yayoi" Bar. And so, I got drunk for the first time in a while. Even when drunk, I remained pretentious. "Protect your honor from youth!"

Senosuke is despicable. Even when drunk, he reaches the height of grotesqueness. Then on our way back, he whispered an indecent matter to me. When I laughed and politely declined, Senosuke said,

“I’m lonely.”

I was left speechless with disgust.

December 8th. Friday.

I couldn't tell whether the sun was shining or rain was falling. There was nothing but this constant urge to cry. I was in Nagoya.

I want to go back to Tokyo soon. I'm done with touring. I don't want to say anything. I don't want to write. I'm just being dragged along through life.

I felt ashamed that I understood nothing of sexual desire's essential meaning, only knowing its concrete aspects. Like a dog.

December 27th. Wednesday.

Clear. With the Nagoya performances ended, I arrived at Tokyo Station this evening at seven thirty. Osaka. Nagoya. When I returned after two months away, Tokyo was already in December. I had changed too. My older brother had come to meet me at Tokyo Station. I became flustered when I saw my older brother’s face. Older brother was smiling calmly.

I became acutely aware that I now inhabited a world entirely separate from my older brother's. I was a sun-baked man of practical living. Romanticism had vanished without trace. A rigid, spiteful realist - that's what I'd become. How I'd changed.

A boy wearing a black soft hat and a suit. Carrying a bag that smells of white makeup, he walks through the plaza in front of Tokyo Station.

Is this the form of the pearl—after enduring suffering upon suffering since that sixteen-year-old spring until finally crystallizing into a single grain and falling? That long anguish culminates in nothing but this small, forlorn figure. Not one person passing by would notice my two years of frantic struggle. I think it remarkable I persisted without dying or going mad, yet others will likely frown and say that prodigal son has finally sunk to becoming an actor. An artist's fate is always thus.

Is there no one who will carve an epitaph like the following on my tombstone?

"He loved nothing more than making people happy!" This has been my destiny since the moment I was born. The reason I chose this profession of actor was solely for that purpose. Ah, I want to become Japan's greatest—no, the world's greatest actor! And through that, I want to bring joy to everyone—especially those living in poverty—until they tremble with happiness.

December 29th. Friday.

Clear.

Shunjū Troupe held its year-end general meeting.

I was elected to the planning committee panel. It is a committee directly under the executives that deliberates on script selection and other matters as well as the troupe’s policies. I felt the gravity of the responsibility. Furthermore, it was decided to let Ichikawa Kikumatsu alone try performing the recitation of "The Apprentice's Guardian Deity" for the January 2nd radio broadcast. This seemed to be the result of my efforts during the two-month tour performances being recognized. But I was not at all conceited now. "To desire wisdom for oneself alone is nothing but great folly." (La Rochefoucauld)

I just have to keep working earnestly. From now on, I will act simply and honestly. I will say I don’t know what I don’t know. What I can't do, I will say I can't do. If I discard all affectation, life seems surprisingly smooth. On a large rock, I will build a small house. At New Year's, I plan to go first to Mr. Saitō’s place for the New Year’s greetings. This time, I have a feeling he’ll agree to meet me.

I will be eighteen next year.

On the path I tread, flowers bloom and fragrance fills the air. For peace and calm— // I shall not pray. ——Hymn 313