Pathway to Japanese Literature

Though hard to climb—I remain at the base,

If I sing ceaselessly to this joyous melody— There may be one who hears and takes heart.

Hymn No. 159

April 16th. Friday.

The wind was fierce. Tokyo’s spring was unpleasant with its strong dry winds. Dust had invaded even inside the room—the desk felt gritty under my palms while my cheeks were caked with grime—an unbearable sensation. Once I finished writing this entry I would go bathe. This feeling of dust having crept between my shoulder blades made me want to scream.

I will start keeping a diary today. Because lately, each day of mine has come to feel like something profoundly significant. They say—Rousseau or someone—that human personality is formed between sixteen and twenty years of age. Perhaps that’s how it works. I am already sixteen. When I turned sixteen, this person called me changed with an audible click. Others probably haven’t noticed. It was—how should I put it—a metaphysical transformation. Indeed since turning sixteen, everything—mountains and seas and flowers and townspeople and blue skies—all began looking utterly different. I even came to grasp something of evil’s existence. And I grew able to vaguely sense that this world truly contains vast multitudes of difficult problems. That’s why I’ve been so sullen every day lately. Why I’ve become so quick to anger. They say eating from the tree of knowledge makes humans lose their laughter. Before, I was playful—deliberately bungling things to make everyone laugh around the house and feeling proud of it—but lately such clowning has started seeming unbearably foolish. Clowning is what spineless boys do. That loneliness of performing antics just to be coddled—it’s intolerable. Empty. Humans must live more earnestly. Men mustn’t go wanting others’ affection. Men must strive to earn others’ respect.

Lately, my expression had appeared unusually grave. So grave that last night, Brother finally admonished me.

“You’ve become ridiculously solemn, haven’t you? You’ve aged suddenly,” Brother said with a laugh after dinner. I thought deeply before answering.

“There are so many difficult problems in life.” “I am going to fight from now on.” “For example, about the school exam system and—”

I had started to say when Brother burst out laughing.

“I get it.” “But you don’t have to go around with that scary face, straining yourself every single day.” “You’ve lost a bit of weight lately.” “Later, I’ll read you Matthew chapter six.”

He was a good brother. He had entered the English literature department at Imperial University four years ago but still hadn't graduated. Though he'd once failed a grade, Brother remained unfazed. Since it wasn't from lack of brains that he'd failed, I believed it brought him no shame at all. Brother had failed out of principle. I was certain of it. He must have found school utterly pointless. Every night, he wrote novels through till dawn.

Last night, I had Brother read me Matthew 6:16 and onward. That was a profound teaching. I felt ashamed of my current immaturity, and my cheeks turned red. Lest I forget, I will copy that passage here in large letters to keep. “When you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites. They disfigure their faces to show others that they are fasting. Verily I say unto you, they have received their reward. But thou, when thou fastest, anoint thy head, and wash thy face; so that thou appear not unto men to fast, but unto thy Father which is in secret: and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly.”

Subtle philosophy. Compared to this, I was hopelessly simplistic. I was a scatterbrained busybody. Reflection, reflection. "Do justice with a smile!"

I’ve come up with a good motto. I wonder if I should write it on paper and put it up on the wall. Ah, that’s no good. There I go again. “To show others,” Trying to put it up on the wall. I might be a terrible hypocrite. I must be very careful.

There is a theory that one's personality becomes fixed between sixteen and twenty. This is indeed a crucial period.

One reason was to help unify my chaotic thoughts; another was to serve as material for reflecting on my daily life; and yet another was to create a nostalgic record of my youth—counting on the image of myself ten or twenty years later, twirling a splendid mustache as I secretly read it and smirked to myself—I resolved to begin keeping this diary today.

But I mustn’t become too rigid or overly "solemn" either. Do justice with a smile! Refreshing words.

The above is the opening page of my diary.

I had intended to write a bit about today’s school events afterward, but—ah—this dust was awful. My mouth turned completely gritty. It was unbearable.

I'll take a bath. After writing something like "I’ll return to this later," it suddenly struck me—oh right, nobody’s paying attention to you—and I felt utterly deflated. It’s a diary no one will ever read—so even when I try writing pretentiously, all that lingers is this hollow ache. The fruit of knowledge imparts rage first, then solitude.

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

April 17th. Saturday.

The wind had died down, but the morning remained drearily overcast; around noon a light rain fell, then gradually cleared up until by night the moon had come out. Tonight I first tried rereading yesterday's diary entry and felt ashamed. It's truly awful. My face flushed red. The anguish of being sixteen hasn't been captured at all. Not only is the writing clumsy, but his own thoughts are childish. There's just no helping it. Now that I think of it, why did I start this diary on such an arbitrary day as April 16th? Even I don't understand. It's baffling.

I had wanted to keep a diary for some time, but perhaps it was because the day before yesterday my older brother taught me a meaningful phrase—this excited me and made me resolve to start tomorrow. Sixteen years old on the sixteenth, Matthew chapter six verse sixteen. But all of that was nothing more than a coincidental alignment. Delighting in trivial codes was undignified. Let me think more deeply. That's it! I came to understand some parts of it. Perhaps the secret lay not in the date being the sixteenth, but in it being a Friday. I was a man who would grow strangely contemplative on days called Friday. I had possessed such a habit from long before. It was an oddly unsettling day.

This day was an unfortunate one even for Christ. That’s why even in foreign countries, it seems reviled as an ill-omened day. It’s not that I’m copying foreigners by clinging to superstitions, but somehow I couldn’t pass through this day undisturbed. Yes—I like this day. Within me exists, to no small degree, an inclination to cherish misfortune. Yes—that must be it. However trifling it may seem, this constitutes a grave discovery. This proclivity toward yearning for misfortune might well come to form a principal component of my character in days to come. Contemplating this, I feel oddly apprehensive. I sense some wretched event looming. What foolishness to fixate on such things. Yet being truth, it cannot be helped. The revelation of truth does not invariably bring delight. The fruit of wisdom tastes bitter indeed.

Well, today I must write about Kimura, but I’d already grown sick of it. To put it simply, I found myself utterly in awe of Kimura yesterday. Kimura was a notorious delinquent even at school. Having failed multiple grades, he must have already been nineteen. I’d never properly conversed with Kimura before yesterday—on our way home from school, he dragged me to a red bean soup shop where we ate azuki beans and exchanged philosophies of life for the first time.

Kimura was unexpectedly a very diligent student. He was studying Nietzsche. I hadn't yet been taught about Nietzsche by my brother, so I understood nothing and simply blushed. I talked about the Bible and then Roka, but couldn't measure up. What was impressive was that Kimura's ideology was being properly implemented in his daily life. According to Kimura's theory, Nietzsche's philosophy was apparently connected to Hitler. Kimura gave me various philosophical explanations about how they were connected, but I didn't understand a single one of them. Kimura was truly studying diligently. I thought this friend was remarkable. I wanted to get to know him more deeply. He apparently planned to take the entrance exam for the Army Officer School next year. It seemed to be related to Nietzschean philosophy after all. But I heard the Army Officer School was extremely difficult, so he might not make it.

“You should stop that,” I whispered, whereupon Kimura glared at me with bulging eyes. I was terrified. Resolved not to lose to Kimura, I decided to study harder. Right then, I determined to memorize a thousand English words and restart algebra and geometry from scratch. Even while respecting the vigor of Kimura’s philosophy, somehow I couldn’t bring myself to read Nietzsche.

Today is Saturday. At school while listening to the ethics lecture, I gazed absentmindedly out the window. The cherry blossoms that had once filled the window with their splendor had mostly fallen away, leaving only their reddish-black calyxes clinging spitefully to the branches. I thought about many things. Two days ago I'd said, "There are so many difficult problems in life," then carelessly added, "Take the exam system for instance—" only to have Older brother see straight through me. Yet perhaps this recent melancholy of mine stems from nothing more than next year's First Higher School entrance exams. Ah, how I hate exams. That human worth gets decisively measured through mere one- or two-hour tests—this terrifies me. It's blasphemy against God. All examiners will surely go to hell. Older brother insists, "You'll be fine—take them starting from fourth year and you'll pass," overestimating me as he does, but I haven't an ounce of confidence. Still, being thoroughly sick of middle school life now, even should I fail the First Higher exams next year, I intend to promptly enter some cheerful university's preparatory course. Now then—I must establish an unshakable lifelong goal and advance toward it—yet this proves an excruciating problem. What on earth should I do? I haven't the faintest idea. All I can do is wallow in confusion, sniveling like a child. "Become an eminent person!" My teachers have drilled this into me since elementary school—but what irresponsible nonsense! I don't understand anything. They're making fools of us. Utterly irresponsible words. I'm no longer a child. Bit by bit I'm coming to grasp life's harshness in this world.

For example, even middle school teachers—their hidden lives were apparently miserable ones, surprisingly. It’s even written about in Soseki’s Botchan, isn’t it? There must be some who were indebted to loan sharks, and others who got yelled at by their wives. There even seemed to be teachers who gave off the air of pitiful casualties of life. Even their knowledge didn’t seem particularly outstanding. When those boring people kept rattling off the same harmless, lofty-sounding lessons over and over without any conviction, it was no wonder even we’d grown to detest school. If only they would teach us more concrete, immediate policies—how much easier things would have been for us. Even if they’d just told us plainly about their own failures—stories that would have struck right to our hearts—instead they kept droning on and on about the same hollow definitions of rights and duties, distinctions between higher and lower selves, things we’d understood a thousand times over. Today’s ethics lecture was especially boring. The lecture was titled “Heroes and Commoners,” but Mr. Kaneko did nothing but effusively praise Napoleon and Socrates while vehemently denouncing the misery of common folk. That wouldn’t accomplish anything. Not everyone could become a Napoleon or a Michelangelo, and there must have been something noble in the daily struggles of common folk, yet Mr. Kaneko’s lectures were always this abstract and missed the mark. Such people were precisely what you called philistines. He must have been old-fashioned. He was already over fifty, so there was 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 up until today. Next year, I had to decisively choose between science and humanities! The situation was pressing! Really, things were getting too serious.

What should I do? I could only wander in uncertainty. While half-listening to Mr. Kaneko’s hollow lecture at school, I found myself gripped by an abrupt, violent longing for Mr. Kuroda, who had left us last year. The yearning burned hotter, searing. That teacher had possessed something genuine. First off, he’d been sharp. Uncompromisingly masculine in his bearing. You could say he’d been revered by the entire middle school. During one English class—after calmly finishing his translation of the King Lear chapter—Mr. Kuroda suddenly spoke up. His tone shifted entirely. Was this what people meant by “gnarled and spat-out” speech? Anyway, his delivery turned brusque. He’d blurted it out without warning, startling us all.

“This is where we part ways.” “Fleeting things.” “In truth, the bond between teachers and students is a casual thing.” “Once teachers retire, they become complete strangers.” “It’s not your fault—it’s the teachers who are to blame.” “Actually, teachers are all idiots.” “They’re all indistinguishable bastards—can’t even tell if they’re men or women.” “It’s wrong to say these things to you all, but I just can’t take it anymore.” “The atmosphere in the faculty room, you see—” “Ignorant!” “Egotism!” “They don’t love their students.” “I’ve been grinding away in the faculty room for two years now.” “I can’t do this anymore.” “I decided to quit before they could fire me.” “Today, with just this class, it’s over.” “We might never meet again, but let’s both study hard from now on.” “Studying is truly a good thing.” “Some people seem to think that studying algebra and geometry becomes utterly useless once you graduate from school, but that’s dead wrong.” “Whether it’s botany, zoology, physics, or chemistry—you must study them as much as time allows.”

“It is precisely the studies that aren’t directly useful in daily life that will perfect your personalities in the future.” “There’s no need to boast about your knowledge.” “Study, and then you can cast it all aside.” “It’s not about memorizing things—what matters is being cultivated.” “Culture isn’t about memorizing formulas and vocabulary—it’s about broadening your mind.” “In other words, it’s about learning to love.” “People who neglected their studies in their student days will inevitably become cruel egotists once they enter society.” “Scholarship is something you can forget as soon as you memorize it.” “But even if you forget everything, a handful of gold dust will remain at the bottom of that training in study.” “This is it.” “This is what’s precious.” “You must study.” “And you mustn’t rush to forcibly apply that learning directly to your daily lives.” “Become truly cultivated human beings—unhurried and composed!” “That’s all I wanted to say.” “I can no longer study with you all in this classroom.” “But I’ll remember your names for the rest of my life!” “You all—think of me sometimes too, will you?” “It’s a disappointingly brief farewell—but this is between men.” “Let’s keep this simple.”

“Finally, I pray for your good health.” With a slightly pale face and without smiling at all, the teacher bowed to us from his side.

I wanted to throw myself at the teacher and cry.

“Bow!”

Class leader Yamura gave the command in a half-sobbing voice. Sixty people silently stood up and bowed sincerely. “Don’t worry about this next exam,” said the teacher, smiling warmly for the first time. “Mr. Kuroda, goodbye!” When Shida, the failing student, said this in a small voice, sixty students followed suit in unison,

“Mr. Kuroda, goodbye!” they all shouted in unison.

I wanted to cry out loud.

I wonder what Mr. Kuroda is doing now. He might have been drafted. He should still be around thirty. As I write about Mr. Kuroda like this,I truly lose track of time. It’s already late at night,nearing twelve. Older brother is in the next room quietly writing a novel. It seems to be a full-length novel. It has apparently surpassed two hundred pages. Older brother has his days and nights reversed. Every day he wakes up around four in the afternoon. And he always stays up all night. That can’t be good for his body. I’m so sleepy I can’t stand it. Now I intend to read a bit of Roka’s Recollections and then sleep. Since tomorrow is Sunday,I can sleep in leisurely. That’s the only pleasure Sundays hold.

April 18th. Sunday.

Sunny intervals and cloudy spells.

Today, I got up at 11 AM. There was nothing particularly different. That goes without saying. It’s a mistake to think something good will happen just because it’s Sunday. Life is an ordinary thing. Tomorrow will be Monday again. Starting tomorrow, I have to go to school for another week. I seem to have a rather self-defeating nature. I can’t enjoy this present Sunday as Sunday should be enjoyed. I cower before the spiteful expression of Monday lurking in Sunday’s shadow. Monday is black, Tuesday is blood-red, Wednesday white, Thursday brown, Friday blinding light, Saturday mouse-gray – and Sunday? A crimson danger signal. It ought to feel desolate.

Today from noon onward, I studied English vocabulary and algebra with reckless abandon. It was an unbearably muggy day. Clad only in a towel-like nightgown, I studied without caring about appearances. The tea after dinner tasted delicious. Older brother said it was delicious too. I wondered if this was what alcohol tasted like.

Well, what should I write about tonight? Since there’s nothing to write about, I suppose I’ll try writing one thing about my family.

My family currently consists of seven people. Mother, Older Sister, Older Brother, me, our live-in student Mr. Kishima, the maid Ume, and Nurse Sugino who came to our house last month—that makes seven people.

Father died when I was eight. During his lifetime, he was apparently somewhat famous. He graduated from an American university, was a Christian, and had been one of the new intellectuals of his time. He was more of an industrialist 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 industrialist. They say most of his assets disappeared within five or six years after entering politics. It may sound strange coming from me to discuss finances, but Mother apparently suffered terribly during that period. Not long after Father’s death we moved from our large house in Ushigome to this current home in Kōjimachi. Then Mother fell ill and has remained bedridden ever since. Yet I can’t bring myself to hate Father at all. He used to call me “bōzu, bōzu.” I don’t retain many memories of him. The one thing I clearly remember is him washing his face with milk every morning. He seems to have been quite the dandy. Even in the photograph displayed in our parlor he has a dignified, handsome face. They say my sister’s features resemble Father’s most closely. My older sister is a pitiable soul. She turns twenty-six this year. At last she’ll be married on the twenty-eighth of this month. For years she couldn’t wed because she was nursing Mother and caring for us younger brothers.

Mother collapsed into her sickbed immediately after Father’s death. She had tuberculosis of the spine. She was bedridden for nearly ten years. Despite being a patient, Mother was remarkably articulate and utterly selfish—even when we hired nurses, she drove them away immediately. It had to be Older Sister. However, this New Year’s, Older Brother spoke sternly to Mother and finally made her consent to Older Sister’s marriage. When Older Brother got angry, he was terrifying. Since Older Sister’s wedding was now imminent, last month Nurse Sugino came and began caring for Mother under Older Sister’s guidance. Mother seemed to have resigned herself to Nurse Sugino’s care though she kept grumbling about it. Mother too seemed no match for Older Brother.

Mother! Even when Older Sister is gone, don’t lose heart—please stay strong for Older Brother and me. After all, Older Sister is already twenty-six—it’s pitiable. Oh no—that came out wrong. I’d said something precocious. But marriage is a monumental life event. For women especially, it might well be called the single greatest event of their lives. Let’s set aside embarrassment and consider this seriously. Older Sister had been a noble sacrifice. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say her youth ended with housework and nursing Mother’s illness. Still, I believe this long endurance wasn’t wasted on her. Older Sister must have gained discernment far beyond what we brothers possess. Hardship hones human reason. Lately her eyes had grown clear and beautiful. Commendably, she didn’t act frivolously or get carried away as the wedding approached. She seemed poised to enter married life with calm composure. Her fiancé Mr. Suzuoka was a company executive nearing forty. A fourth-dan judo practitioner, they said. His round red nose was a flaw, but he appeared kindhearted. I neither liked nor disliked him.

After all, he's just a stranger. However, Older Brother had said that having such a brother-in-law was reassuring in all sorts of ways. That might be the case. But I have no intention of ever relying on my brother-in-law's support. I am simply praying earnestly for Older Sister's happiness. If Older Sister were gone, how lonely the house would become. It might become like a fire that's gone out. But we will endure. If Older Sister is happy, then that's enough. Older Sister will make a splendid wife. That is something I, as one of her blood relatives, can confidently guarantee with full responsibility. I can indeed recommend her as the finest bride. We truly did put our older sister through a great deal of trouble. If Older Sister hadn't been there, we don't know what would have become of us. I might have become a delinquent by now. Older Sister discerned our individual personalities and warmly nurtured them. Older Sister, Older Brother, and I—the three of us had a lofty Platonic bond. There was a sacred alliance. And because Older Sister was superior to us in reason, she always naturally led us. I believe.

Older Sister will surely create a quiet happiness in her married life. Even if struck by dark calamity, Older Sister possesses the noble power to never let their marital happiness be tainted. Older Sister! Congratulations, Older Sister. Older Sister will be able to find happiness from now on. It may be rude to say something so forward, but Older Sister does not yet know what marital love is. (However, even I don’t know a thing. I can't even begin to guess. (It might turn out to be surprisingly dull.) However, if such a thing as marital love exists in this world, Older Sister will surely realize its highest form. Older Sister! Please do not destroy this beautiful "illusion" of mine.

Farewell, go! May you live in peace! If this be our eternal farewell, may you live in peace forever.

The above was written as though I were secretly speaking these words to you alone, Older Sister, but you might never notice my private farewell. This is my own secret diary after all. Still, if Older Sister were to see this, she would likely laugh.

The fact that I lack the courage to say these farewell words directly to Older Sister is spineless and sad.

Tomorrow is Monday. Black Day.

I should go to sleep now. God. Please don’t forget me.

April 19th. Monday.

Mostly clear.

Today was truly unpleasant. I decided to quit the soccer club. Even if I don't quit outright, I've already come to hate sports. From now on, I'll just half-ass my way through dealing with them. Since those bastards are so half-hearted anyway, there's no helping it. Today I punched Captain Kaji once. Kaji's vulgar.

After school today, all the club members gathered on the field and began their first practice of the school year. Compared to last year’s team, this year’s team had plummeted both in spirit and technique. Given this, it was doubtful whether we’d even be able to play matches against other schools this term. Just because the members had gathered didn’t mean they’d established any teamwork. It was the Captain’s fault. Kaji didn’t have what it took to be captain. He was supposed to graduate this year, but because he’d failed, he became captain through seniority. To lead a team, what’s needed isn’t an amazing kick but the power of personality. Kaji’s personality was lowly. Even during practice, he did nothing but spout vulgar jokes. He was fooling around. Not just Kaji—the entire team was fooling around. They were slacking off. I wanted to grab each one by the nape and dunk their heads underwater. After practice ended, as per custom, we all went to wash up at the nearby Momo no Yu bathhouse. In the changing room, Kaji suddenly made a vulgar remark. Moreover, he said it concerning my physique. That’s a phrase I absolutely refuse to put into words.

I stood before Kaji, completely naked.

“Are you a sportsman?” I said.

Someone said, “Cut it out.”

Kaji re-dressed the shirt he had started to remove, “You looking for a fight?” he sneered, jutting his chin and baring his teeth in a laugh.

I punched that face with a sharp crack.

“If you’re a sportsman, you should be ashamed!” I told him.

Kaji kicked the floorboards with a heavy thud,

“Damn it!” he shouted, bursting into tears.

It was truly unexpected. He’s such a spineless bastard. I promptly went to the washing area and washed my body.

Fighting naked isn’t exactly something to be proud of. I’ve come to hate sports. There’s a proverb that says “a sound mind dwells in a sound body,” but in the original Greek, it actually states “if a sound mind were to dwell in a sound body—!” It’s said to carry both wishfulness and lament. Older brother had once told me that. If a sound mind were to dwell in a sound body, how magnificent that would be—but reality rarely unfolds so neatly, or so the meaning goes. Even Kaji possesses a remarkably imposing physique, yet it’s utterly wasted. If only a bright spirit inhabited that robust frame! It would.

At night, I listened to Ms. Helen Keller’s radio broadcast. I wanted to make Kaji listen. Despite being blind, deaf, and possessing such a desperately unsound body, through effort she became able to speak, able to comprehend her secretary’s words, able to write, and ultimately even earned a doctorate. We should truly pay infinite respect to this woman. As I listened to the radio broadcast, the audience’s roaring applause would occasionally reach my ears; their fervent emotion struck directly at my heart, and I found myself fighting back tears. I also tried reading some of Ms. Keller’s works. There were many religious poems. Faith might have been what reformed Ms. Keller. I keenly felt the formidable power of faith. Religion is the power to believe in miracles. Rationalists cannot comprehend religion. Religion is the power to believe in the unreasonable. It is precisely because it is unreasonable that "faith" possesses its unique power—oh, damn, I’ve started to lose grasp. I’ll try asking Older brother again.

Tomorrow was Tuesday. I hated it, I hated it. They say that when a man steps over the threshold and goes outside, he faces seven enemies—and that’s exactly right. There was no room for carelessness—none at all. Going to school was no different from charging into a hundred enemies. I didn’t want to lose to others, and yet winning required desperate effort—and I just... hated it. The sorrow of a victor? Don’t be absurd. Kaji, tomorrow we'd share a warm smile and shake hands. Just as you'd told me at the bathhouse, my body really was too white. It was awful—unbearable. But I didn't put white makeup on weird places, I tell you. They were making fun of me. That night, I would read the Bible and go to bed.

Peace be with you; it is I. Do not be afraid.

April 20th. Tuesday.

It was clear, though not a perfectly clear day. It was mostly clear, I suppose. Today, I quickly reconciled with Kaji. Not wanting to remain anxious indefinitely, I went to Kaji’s classroom and apologized plainly. Kaji looked pleased.

My friend’s, To the loneliness hidden behind a smile, I too return a smile—this loneliness.

But I still despised Kaji just as I had before. This was something I simply couldn’t help.

Kaji spoke in a low voice that was oddly contemplative and seemed to trust me—

"I was gonna talk to you about this once—we got fifteen new first-years in the soccer club this time." "They’re all worthless." "Buncha crappy recruits’ll just drag the club down. Hell, I can’t even get fired up anymore." "Keep that in mind for me," he said, but it sounded ridiculous to me. Kaji was making excuses. Trying to pin his own slackness on the new kids. What a goddamn lowlife.

“What does it matter if there are many? Just push ’em hard in practice—the lousy ones’ll drop out, and the decent ones’ll stick around anyway,” I said.

“It ain’t that simple,” he said loudly, letting out a hollow, foolish laugh. Why it couldn’t be done that way—I couldn’t grasp. At any rate, I no longer had the same passion for the soccer club as before. Do as you damn well please. A spineless team would be what you’d get.

On my way home from school, I stopped by Meguro Kinema and watched *Advance, Cavalry*. It was boring. It was truly a terrible film. I lost thirty sen. And then, I lost time too. Because delinquent Kimura had puffed himself up like a carnival barker, insisting it was an absolute masterpiece I simply had to see, I’d gone expecting greatness—but what a farce! It was the sort of film that would’ve paired nicely with a wheezing harmonica soundtrack, reeking of cheap pomade and shallow theatrics. Where on earth—and how—had Kimura been impressed? Incomprehensible. Maybe he’s just a child after all? Does the mere sight of galloping horses send him into raptures? Even his vaunted Nietzsche has begun to ring hollow. Chewing Gum Nietzsche—that’s what this might be called.

Tonight, Older Sister received a call from Mr.Suzuoka and went out to Ginza. That’s what they call premarital courtship. The two of them walked around Ginza with oddly serious expressions and probably had something like an ice cream soda at Shiseido. They might unexpectedly be watching something like Advance,Cavalry and being impressed.Their wedding is soon,yet they’re so carefree. She should stop. Mother threw a fit just a moment ago. Apparently she said the water in the metal wash basin was too hot and overturned it. Ms.Sugino,the nurse,cried. Ume-ya clattered about in a frenzy. It was utter chaos. Older Brother pretended not to notice and kept studying. I was beside myself. If Older Sister were here things would settle down without any problem,but... Ms.Sugino seemed to have been sobbing at the bottom of the stairs for a long time,and the sight of Mr.Kijima,the student lodger attempting to console her with a philosopher-like solemn tone was comical. Mr.Kijima is said to be a distant relative of Mother. Five or six years ago he graduated from a rural higher elementary school and came to my house. He had once returned to his hometown for a conscription exam but came back after some time. Due to severe nearsightedness he was classified as Class C. His acne was terrible but his face wasn’t bad. His ideal seems to be becoming a politician.

But since he wasn't studying at all, he probably wouldn't make it. Apparently, when he went outside, he referred to my father as "Uncle." He was a well-meaning, straightforward person. But that was all he was. He might have intended to spend his whole life at my house.

Older sister had finally returned home. 10:08.

I’m about to dive into around thirty algebra problems. I’m exhausted and feel like crying. “As Mr. Robert Something once declared: ‘There exists a meddler that perpetually clings to one’s person—its name is Honesty.’” “Mr. Shin Serikawa once proclaimed: ‘There exists a meddler that perpetually clings to one’s person—its name is Exams.’”

I want to enter a school without exams.

April 21st. Wednesday.

Cloudy, rain at night.

How far did this darkness stretch! Keeping a diary became unbearable too. Today during math class, Tanuki came in wearing grubby rubber boots and said, "How many in this class are taking exams from fourth-year level? Raise your hands." Startled, I instinctively raised mine slightly—only to find I stood alone. Even class president Yamura cautiously kept his hand down. He looked down and fidgeted. Cowardly bastard. Tanuki went, "Oh? Serikawa’s taking it?" with a smug smirk. I burned with shame—for one black instant, the world went utterly dark.

“Where are you applying?” Tanuki’s tone dripped with contempt.

“I haven’t decided yet,” I replied. Even so, I didn’t have 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, all of you,” said Tanuki with a solemn expression, scanning the class, “if you take the exam from the fourth-year level, you mustn’t approach it halfheartedly—no casual ‘let’s give it a try’ attitudes. Resolve to pass without fail. If you take them with a half-hearted attitude and fail, you’ll develop a habit of failing—even when you attempt them again in your fifth year, you’ll likely end up unsuccessful in most cases. Make sure to think very carefully before deciding,” he said in a tone that utterly dismissed my entire existence.

I thought about killing Tanuki. I thought this school with such an impudent teacher should just burn down in a fire.

I will by all means enroll in another school starting fourth year. As if I'd stay back in fifth year! This body of mine will rot away. Though my math grades paled compared to language studies—precisely because of that—I studied day and night. Ah, I want to enter First Higher and flip Tanuki's belly over... but it might be hopeless. Somehow I've come to hate even studying.

On my way home from school, I stopped by Musashino-kan and watched Crime and Punishment. The accompaniment music was very good. When I closed my eyes and listened to just the music, tears welled up. I wanted to degenerate. Even after returning home, I didn’t study anything. I wrote a long poem. The gist of that poem was that I was now crawling through dark depths. But I hadn’t given in to despair. From somewhere unknown, a dim light was streaming in. But I didn’t understand what that light was. Though I dimly caught the light in my palm, I couldn’t decipher its meaning. I was just consumed by impatience. I had written something along the lines of O mysterious light! I thought of having Older brother look at it someday. Older brother had it good. Because he had talent. According to Older brother’s theory, talent manifests when someone becomes engrossed in something they’re abnormally interested in—or so he said. But for someone like me, who spent every day drowning in hatred, anger, and tears, this excessive obsession was nothing but chaos—hardly a catalyst for talent to emerge. Rather, it might be the mark of an incompetent person. Ah, wouldn’t someone just clearly define me? Am I a fool? Clever? A liar?

Angel? Demon? Philistine? Martyr? Scholar? Or great artist? Suicide? I’ve truly come to feel like dying. Never before have I felt the absence of father so acutely as tonight. I usually forget it completely, but it’s strange. The concept of "father" is something immensely large and warm. I feel like I can understand how Christ must have felt when, in the extremity of his sorrow, he cried out loudly, "Abba, Father!"

From mother’s love—still deeper,

From the foundation of the earth—still deeper,

Towering above human thoughts— vaster than the sky—

――Hymn No. 52

April 22nd. Thursday.

Cloudy. Since nothing particularly noteworthy had happened，I didn’t write about it. I was late for school.

April 23rd. Friday.

Rain.

At night, Kimura came to my house with a guitar, so I told him to play it. He was terrible. Since I kept silent the whole time, Kimura said, "Well, see ya," and left. Only an idiot would haul a guitar through the rain like that. I'm tired—going to bed early. Lights out at nine-thirty.

April 24th. Saturday.

Sunny. Today I skipped school all day starting from the morning. On such a beautiful day, going to school would be a waste. I went to Ueno Park, ate my lunch on a park bench, and spent the entire afternoon at the library. I borrowed volumes one through four of The Complete Works of Masaoka Shiki and skimmed through various parts. After it got dark, I returned home.

April 27th.

Tuesday.

Rain. I'm irritated. I can't sleep. At 1 a.m., the faint sound of laborers' night work reached me. Wordless labor in the rain. Only the sounds of shovels and gravel came through with rhythmic regularity. Not a single shout was heard.

Tomorrow was Older Sister’s wedding. Tonight would be the last time Older Sister slept in this house. What must she have been feeling? I didn’t care about other people’s affairs. End.

April 28th. Wednesday.

Clear skies. In the morning, I sat down and properly bowed to Older Sister, then hurried off to school. When I bowed, Older Sister cried out, "Shin!" With that, she burst into tears. It seemed like Mother was calling “Shin! Shin!” from the back of the house, but I dashed out the front door without tying my shoes.

May 1st. Saturday.

Mostly clear.

My diary had fallen into neglect. There was no particular reason. It was simply because I hadn’t wanted to write. I’ll write now because I suddenly decided to try writing.

Today, I had Older Brother buy me a guitar. After finishing dinner, I went out for a walk to Ginza with Older Brother, and along the way, I peered briefly into a music store’s display window.

“Kimura has one just like that too,” I remarked offhandedly. Older Brother then—

“Do you want it?” he said.

“Really?” I said, feeling almost afraid as I peered at Older Brother’s expression. Then he silently walked into the store and bought it for me.

Older Brother is truly ten times lonelier than I am.

May 2nd. Sunday.

Rain, then clear. Even though it was Sunday, I surprisingly got up at eight o'clock. As soon as I woke up, I polished the guitar with a cloth. My cousin Kei-chan came to visit. This was his first visit since becoming a commerce university student. His brand-new Western suit was dazzlingly bright.

“Your type’s changed, hasn’t it?” I offered the hollow compliment, and he laughed with a heh-heh. What a slob. Just because he got into commerce university doesn’t mean he’s evolved into some new species. There he was preening in that garish red-striped shirt like some peacock. “Have you still not read ‘The body surpasseth raiment’?” “German’s frightfully difficult,” he pontificated. “Oh? Is that so?” “Once you become a university man, everything changes.” My irritation mounting, I did nothing but play the guitar. When invited to Ginza, I refused.

I’m not studying at all right now. I’m doing nothing. Doing nothing is doing ill. To refrain from all action is to be in the midst of committing sin. I might have been jealous of Kei-chan. It’s vulgar. I should think carefully.

May 4th. Tuesday.

Clear.

Today, a welcome party for new soccer club members was held in the school hall. I took a quick look and left immediately. These days, there isn't even tragedy in my life.

May 7th. Friday.

Cloudy. Night: Rain. It was warm rain. Late at night, holding an umbrella, I sneaked out to eat sushi. A severely drunk waitress and two sober ones were munching on sushi. The drunk waitress said something rude to me. I didn’t even get angry. I just gave a wry smile.

May 12th. Wednesday.

Clear.

Today during math class，Tanuki presented an applied problem. The time was twenty minutes. “Anyone finished?”

No one raised their hand. I felt like I might have solved it, but not wanting to suffer another humiliation like that Wednesday three weeks ago, I pretended not to notice.

“What’s this? Could none of you solve it?” Tanuki sneered. “Serikawa, try this one.” Why would he go so far as to call on someone like me? I was startled. I stood up, went to the blackboard, and wrote. If you square both sides, there’s nothing to it. The answer is 0. I wrote “Answer: 0,” but fearing that if I was wrong I’d be insulted again like last time, I wrote “Answer: 0, perhaps.” Then Tanuki roared with laughter.

“I’m no match for Serikawa in reality,” he said, shaking his head repeatedly. Even after I returned to my seat, he kept staring at my face and remarked bluntly, “Even in the teachers’ lounge, everyone says you’re adorable.” The entire class burst into laughter. I felt truly disgusted. It was even more unpleasant than that Wednesday. I felt too ashamed to face my classmates. I thought both Tanuki’s nerve and the atmosphere of the teachers’ lounge were unbearably disrespectful and utterly vulgar. On my way home from school, I resolutely decided to drop out. I thought about leaving home, becoming a movie actor, and supporting myself. Older brother had once said that Shin seemed to have a talent for acting. I had clearly remembered that.

However, at dinner—given how things unfolded—nothing came of it.

“I hate school. “It’s impossible. “I want to live independently.” “School is a wretched place. “But isn’t the true value of student life found in attending despite hating it? “It may sound paradoxical, but schools exist to be despised. “I loathe school too, mind you. Yet I never considered ending my education at middle school.” “I suppose so.”

I couldn’t hold out at all. Ah, life is so monotonous!

May 17th. Monday.

Clear.

I started playing soccer again. Today, I had a match against Second Middle School. I scored two goals in the first half and one in the second. In the end, three to three. On the way back from the match, I drank beer with an upperclassman in Meguro.

I began to feel like an idiot.

May 30th. Sunday.

Clear. Even though it was Sunday, my heart was dark. Spring slipped away. In the morning came a call from Kimura. He proposed going to Yokohama. I refused. That afternoon I went to Kanda and collected all my exam prep books. I’d finish Algebra Studies (Volumes I & II) before summer vacation—then during break I’d review plane geometry in full. At night I tidied my bookshelf.

Bleakness. Despondency.

I lift my eyes to the mountains. From whence does my help come?

June 3rd. Thursday.

Clear.

Actually, starting today, there was supposed to be a six-day school trip for fourth-year students, but I decided not to go because I found it utterly unbearable—sleeping packed together at an inn and trudging around famous spots in a dreary line.

I plan to spend six days reading novels. Today I’ve started reading Soseki’s “Light and Darkness.” A dark, dark novel. This darkness can only be understood by those born and raised in Tokyo. A hopeless hell. The guys in my class are probably sound asleep in the night train by now. They’re so innocent.

A hero is strongest when standing alone. —(Was it Schiller...?)

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 getting excited, saying the soccer club’s summer training camp might be canceled—a major crisis. As I had no intention of joining the summer training camp this year anyway, this actually worked out well for me. But for seniors Osawa and Matsumura, losing one source of enjoyment meant they were full of complaints. Apparently, Captain Kaji botched the accounting, making it impossible to get the training camp funds from the school. Mr. Matsumura was raging about how Kaji had to be dismissed. In any case, they were all idiots. I wanted them to leave even a moment sooner.

At night, I gave Mother a foot massage for the first time in a while. “You must endure all things—” “Yes.” “You must keep harmony between siblings—” “Yes.”

“Yes.” “You must keep harmony among siblings—”

“Yes.”

Mother’s second remark was always “Endure,” followed by “Keep harmony among siblings.”

July 14th. Wednesday.

Clear.

The first term's main exams had begun on July 10th. In one more day—tomorrow—they would finally end. After another week passed, the results would be announced, and then summer vacation would begin. I was happy. Still, I was happy. A cry of “Ah…” escaped me naturally. I didn’t give a damn about grades or anything. Since I’d been so ideologically adrift that semester, my scores might have plummeted considerably. But as for National Language, Chinese Classics, English, and Mathematics alone—those I believed had improved. Though I couldn’t say for certain until seeing the results. Ah—it was finally summer vacation. Thinking of that, I couldn’t help grinning to myself. Even with another exam tomorrow, this unbearable urge to write in my diary consumed me. Lately I’d neglected my diary terribly. It was because my life lacked vitality. No—because I myself was hollow. Or rather, because there existed something over which I’d deeply despaired. I had become frightfully cunning. I’d grown to detest carelessly revealing my thoughts to others. I didn’t want people knowing too much about what ideas I harbored now. There was just one thing I could declare.

"My future goal had somehow been decided without me realizing it." I won’t say the rest. There’s another exam tomorrow. Studying, studying.

January 4th. Wednesday.

Clear.

I ended up spending New Year’s Day, the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th just playing around. Day and night were nothing but play. Even when I played, it wasn’t like I could forget everything—all the while thinking “God, I’m sick of this, this isn’t fun,” I’d still end up getting dragged into it—but the loneliness that came afterward was truly exceptional. It was extreme loneliness. I deeply resolved to study.

Over this past month, I felt like I’d made no progress at all. I felt unbearably frantic. I truly want to try studying without gaps this year. Last year I’d lived day after day in a restless state of mind, like riding in a rattling car on the verge of breaking down—but with this new year, I felt something like a glimmer of joyful hope had begun to emerge. I began to feel that if I just reached out, right there within grasp, I could seize something warm and good.

Seventeen years old.

A somewhat detestable age. I finally feel like I’ve become serious. Suddenly, I also feel like I’ve become an ordinary person. I might have already become an adult.

Since there's an entrance exam in March this year, I have to stay tense. I still intend to take the First Higher School exam. And thus—resolutely—the humanities! Last year, after Tanuki bested me two or three times, I cleanly gave up on science. Older Brother approved too. "The Serikawa family has no scientist's blood in it," he said with a laugh. Now—choosing humanities doesn't mean I have Older Brother-level literary talent; that remains doubtful. First off, I've no confidence about entering First Higher's English Literature Department. Older Brother breezily insists "You'll manage," but since he waltzed in effortlessly, he assumes everyone else can too. He refuses to acknowledge human handicaps. Seems convinced everyone shares his exact capabilities. Hence him casually demanding impossible tasks of me. He unconsciously utters such cruelty. Maybe he really is just some privileged brat. Truth is—I'm hopeless for First Higher. I'll likely fail. If I do—I'll enter private R University instead. No way I'm repeating fifth year. Another year enduring Tanuki's mockery? I'd rather die. R University being Christian means I could properly study the Bible—that sounds fulfilling.

It seemed like a bright school. On the first and second days, we played at making gestures—it was fun at first, but by the second day I’d grown completely sick of it—so on Kei-chan from Kamakura’s suggestion, the four of us—Older Brother, Mame-chan from Shinjuku, and me—performed a reading of *The Father Returns*. After all, I was clearly the best. Older Brother’s "Father" was too serious and missed the mark. On the 3rd, we carried out a winter hike to Mount Takao with the aforementioned four. The cold overwhelmed me. I was utterly exhausted and ended up leaning on Older Brother’s shoulder to sleep on the train ride home. Kei-chan and Mame-chan, the honorable two, stayed over at our house again last night.

Today, after the honorable two had left, Kimura and Saeki came to visit. I had resolved never to play with such boring middle schoolers again, but in the end, I played with them anyway. Playing cards. Touten Jack. Kimura’s way of competing was so dirty that I was appalled. Last year around New Year’s, Kimura took two hundred yen from his home, went carousing around Yokohama and Atami, and after spending all his money, wandered dazedly over to my house—so I immediately called his family to inform them. Apparently, Kimura’s family had filed a missing persons report with the police. In his household, I am now regarded as a great benefactor. Kimura’s family seems problematic, but Kimura himself is an idiot. After all, he’s just a delinquent. Nietzsche would weep. Saeki’s an idiot too. Lately, I’ve grown thoroughly sick of everything. The child of wealthy bourgeoisie, standing nearly six feet tall and lanky. Because his body is weak, he’ll stop after middle school, I hear. At first, he would tell me all sorts of things about foreign literature, so I—much like when I’d gotten excited over Kimura’s Nietzsche—was greatly moved and came to believe Saeki was my only friend, even taking the initiative to visit his house myself. But he turned out to be far too effeminate for my liking. When at home, he wears an oversized kasuri kimono like one meant for a five- or six-year-old child and calls meals “nom-noms” or some such nonsense. I shuddered. As I gradually spent more time with him, our conversations started to diverge. You can’t tell if he’s a man or a woman.

He was all slack-jawed. He had a face that looked like he was drooling. The other day, he piously said that since his body was weak, he wouldn’t go to university but instead wanted to quietly associate with Serikawa-kun at home and study literature together—no thank you! “Well, you should think about it,” I said.

By the time I finished entertaining Kimura and Saeki, the day had grown dark. We ate mochi together. As soon as the two left, Ms. Choppiri arrived. I was drained. This lady was my father’s younger sister. Therefore, she was our aunt. Her age was exactly forty-five—or maybe forty-six—but in any case, she was quite advanced in years. She was unmarried. She was a master teacher of flower arrangement. She served as the secretary of some sort of women's association. Older Brother said Ms. Choppiri was the Serikawa clan’s disgrace. She wasn’t a bad person, but it’s just that she was a bit Choppiri. The name "Choppiri" was something Older Brother had come up with last year. At Older Sister’s wedding reception, this aunt had sat side by side with Older Brother. A gentleman from elsewhere had offered Aunt a drink. Ms. Choppiri writhed her body,

“Oh my, I simply couldn’t possibly accept, you see.” “Well, just one cup then.”

“Ohohohoho.” “Well then, just a teensy Choppiri!”

Disgusting! Older Brother apparently wanted to kick over his seat and leave from sheer embarrassment. One thing tells all. She was just too affected to bear. Again tonight, when she saw my face,

“Oh my goodness! “Shin! You’ve started growing black hairs under your nose! “Behave yourself!” she said.

How idiotic. Utterly filthy. Brutal. Shameful. She was undeniably the family’s disgrace.

Attending the same gathering? No thank you. I secretly exchanged nods with Older Brother and slipped out together. Ginza heaved with bodies. Did everyone come here fleeing homes as dreary as ours? The thought chilled me. At Shiseido over coffee, Older Brother muttered, "The Serikawas have lust running through our veins," and my blood turned to ice. On the homebound bus, we picked apart the meaning of "sincerity."

Older Brother, too, seemed to be decaying lately. With Older Sister gone, he had to manage the household work, and his novel didn’t seem to be progressing as he wished.

When we got back, it was eleven o'clock. Ms. Choppiri had already left.

Well then, starting tomorrow I shall advance with a lofty spirit and fresh hope. I have turned seventeen. I swear to dear God. Tomorrow I will wake at six and surely study.

January 5th. Thursday.

Overcast sky. Strong wind.

Today, I did nothing. Windy days—I just couldn't manage. I finally got up at one o'clock in the afternoon. I felt I'd become even more undisciplined than last year. When I rose and was puttering about, there came a call from my sister—who now kept house in Shitaya—for me. "You should come visit," she said, but I was perplexed. Out of that same old indecisiveness of mine, I ended up replying, "Uh-huh." The truth was, I hated Mr. Suzuoka's house. It felt so vulgar. Older Sister had changed too. After marrying, she soon came visiting our home, but she'd already changed. She'd become all parched. She was just an ordinary housewife now. All her softness had vanished. I was shocked. That was when less than ten days had passed since her wedding, yet the backs of her hands had grown terribly rough. Then she'd turned disturbingly shrewd—even selfish. Older Sister tried hiding it, but I saw right through. She was completely a Suzuoka now. Her very face seemed to have started resembling Mr. Suzuoka's.

Speaking of faces, every time I think of Toshio-kun’s face, I become utterly disconcerted. Toshio-kun is Mr. Suzuoka’s biological younger brother. Last year, he graduated from a rural middle school and now lives with my sister’s household while attending Keio University’s liberal arts department. It’s terrible to say this, but Toshio-kun is the ugliest man I’ve ever seen. It’s truly awful. I’m not exactly handsome myself, and I really don’t want to talk about people’s appearances, but Toshio-kun’s face is so awful that I end up getting completely flustered. It’s not merely that his nose is this way or his mouth that way. The whole thing feels... disjointed. There’s nothing remotely humorous about it. Whenever I meet him face to face, I always end up strangely lost in thought. It’s one in ten thousand. This way of putting it is unpleasant even to me, and it’s something I shouldn’t say, but since it’s the truth, there’s no help for it. Such a face—I had never seen one like it in all my born days. I firmly believe that a man’s face isn’t an issue—if his spirit is pure, he’ll be fine and can lead a splendid social life—but when I think of someone as young as Toshio-kun, studying in such a glamorous place as Keio’s liberal arts department, having that face must bring considerable hardship. In truth, whenever we meet face to face, it gets to the point where even I come to loathe life. It truly is awful. In his long life to come, due to that congenital trait of his, he will likely be pointed at, gossiped about, and avoided on multiple occasions. When I think of that, I grow skeptical of modern societal structures, and the world fills me with resentment. The cruelty of people’s hearts disgusts me. I naturally feel righteous indignation as well.

If Toshio-kun could secure a suitable profession and manage a life free from want in the future, that would truly be a commendable outcome worthy of blessing. But when it comes to marriage—what then? Even if there were a woman he considered ideal, how utterly wretched he would feel being unable to wed her due to his hideous face. He would let out loud moans. Ah, thinking of Toshio-kun fills me with gloom. Though I sympathize deeply from the bottom of my heart, I simply can’t bear it. It’s truly awful. I can find no words to describe it. I’d rather not look at it at all. Perhaps I too possess the same cold-hearted, self-satisfied nature as everyone else in this world. The more I dwell on it, the more disconcerted I become. Since last year, I’ve only visited the Shitaya house twice. I want to see Older Sister, but her husband Mr. Suzuoka puts on such airs of seniority, calling me “boy” over and over—it’s unbearable. You might call it a swashbuckling demeanor, but “boy” goes too far. Being seventeen and having to answer “Yes” when called “boy” is revolting. I even consider refusing to reply and sulking instead, but given that he’s apparently a fourth-dan judoka, I inevitably grow fearful. Naturally, I become servile. When facing Toshio-kun, I grow flustered; around Mr. Suzuoka, I act timid—visiting the Shitaya house reduces me to ruin. Today too, when Older Sister asked if I wouldn’t come visit, I carelessly said yes, then agonized endlessly afterward. No matter what—I don’t want to go.

I finally consulted Older Brother.

“They told me to come visit from Shitaya, but I don’t want to go.” “On such a windy day… What a lousy time to go.”

“But you already said you’d go, didn’t you?” Older Brother was being a bit mean-spirited. He saw through my indecisiveness. “I have to go.” “Ouch! A sudden onset of abdominal distress!”

Older Brother burst out laughing.

“If you hated it that much, you should’ve just refused outright from the start.” “They’re waiting over there.” “You’re no good because you try to be everyone’s good boy.” I finally got lectured. I hate lectures. Even Older Brother’s lectures—I hate them. I have never once been reformed by a lecture. I have never once thought someone lecturing me was admirable. Lectures are nothing but self-indulgence. They’re nothing but selfish pretense. Truly great people simply smile and watch our failures. But that smile is so profoundly clear that even without a word, it strikes deep into my heart. With a start, the scales fall from my eyes. Truly, I can repent. I just hate lectures. Even Older Brother’s lectures—I hate them. I turned sullen.

“Then just refuse clearly!” I said, and with a slightly combative air, I called Shitaya—damn it, Mr. Suzuoka picked up, “Boy, is that you? “Happy New Year.” “Yes, Happy New Year.” After all, he’s a fourth dan in judo. “Your sister’s waiting.” “Hurry up and get over here now.” He dares to call her “Sis.” “Um, my stomach hurts, so...” I disgust myself. “Give my regards to Toshio-kun as well.” I even ended up spouting unnecessary pleasantries.

Unable to face Older Brother, I shut myself in my room and skimmed through Kierkegaard’s Training in Christianity until sunset. I couldn’t understand a single line. I merely ran my eyes over the printed text here and there, thinking about nothing but other scattered matters.

Today was a day of being a fool. The house in Shitaya is a real problem. When I imagine Older Sister being in that house, laughing so happily and all, I just can’t make sense of anything anymore.

At dinnertime,

“What do married couples even talk about, I wonder?” I said, and Older Brother— “Who knows. They probably aren’t talking about anything,” he answered in a bored tone. “Yeah, probably.”

Older Brother really was smart after all. He knew the tedium of Shitaya.

At night, my throat hurt, so I went to bed early.

Eight o'clock. I kept my diary while lying down. Mother had been in good spirits lately. If she could get through this winter safely, she might start recovering soon. After all, it was a troublesome illness. That aside—could I get five yen? I had to return it to Saeki. I would return it properly and cut all ties. Really, when you borrow money, humans become spineless—it won't do. Should I sell old books to make it? Or should I ask Older Brother after all?

It is written in Deuteronomy. “Thou shalt not take interest from thy brother.” Asking Older Brother seemed safest. I seemed to have a stingy streak. The wind still blew strong.

January 6th. Friday.

Clear. The cold was severe.

Every day I do nothing but make resolutions, yet it shames me that I accomplish nothing. Gita has become increasingly skilled, but this is nothing to boast about. Ah, I want to spend days without regret. I'm sick of New Year. My throat pain has healed, but now I have a headache. I don't feel like writing a thing.

January 7th. Saturday.

Cloudy. Finally, a week of utter idleness. From morning, alone, I ate almost a whole box of mandarins. My palms appeared to have turned yellow. Feel shame! Shin Serikawa.

Your diary has become far too slovenly lately. There’s not a single trace of anything resembling an intellectual in you. You must pull yourself together. Have you forgotten your grand ambition? You are already seventeen years old. You should be a proper intellectual by now. What utter slovenliness. Have you forgotten that during elementary school, every week, you were taken to church by Older Brother and studied the Bible? You should have properly internalized Jesus’s fervent wish. Have you forgotten that you promised Older Brother you’d become someone like Jesus? "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!" Have you forgotten that night when you read up to this passage and wept aloud despite yourself? Every single day, your resolve stood so grand—and yet you ended up fooling around like an idiot for an entire week.

You have the entrance exam this March too. Exams aren’t life’s ultimate goal—but as Older Brother said—the worth of your student life lies in battling them. Even Christ studied! He researched every last scripture from that era. All ancient geniuses studied ten times harder than others.

Shin Serikawa, you’re a colossal fool! Enough with this diary! A diary that a fool has written in a self-indulgent, rambling way—even pigs wouldn’t eat it. Are you living just to keep a diary? You should quit this self-absorbed, meandering diary. No matter how much you reflect on or try to organize your life of nothingness, it remains nothingness. The fact that you’re tediously writing about it is truly absurd. Your diary is already meaningless!

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

Serves you right!

The third term began the day after tomorrow.

Go all out and push forward!

April 1st. Saturday.

Partly cloudy. A fierce wind rages.

It was a fateful day. A day that could not be forgotten throughout one’s life. I went to see the First Higher School’s announcement. I had failed. It felt like my stomach and intestines had suddenly vanished. It felt like the inside of my body had become hollow. This wasn’t what you’d call disappointment. I simply welled up. Shin was pitiable. But I also felt it had been natural that I’d failed.

I didn’t want to go home. My head felt heavy, my ears were ringing shrilly, and my throat was parched. I went to Ginza. As I stood at the corner of Fourth Block, battered by the fierce wind while waiting for the traffic light, tears came for the first time. A sob nearly escaped me. No wonder—it’s my first failure since being born—and once I thought that, I could no longer bear it. Why I had walked there, I didn’t know. Two people turned around and looked at me. I got on the subway. I came as far as Asakusa Kaminarimon. Asakusa was teeming with people. I wasn’t crying anymore. I felt like Raskolnikov. I entered a milk hall. The tabletop was white with dust. My tongue was gritty with dust. My breathing was painfully difficult. Failed student. Not a good look. Both legs felt leaden, about to give out.

Before my eyes, a phantom appears vividly.

The Roman ruins bathed in the yellow evening sun were profoundly sad. A woman wrapped in white garments disappeared into the stone gate while looking down.

Cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I did pass the preparatory course at R University too, but no—well, whatever. It didn't matter. Even if I enrolled, it would just be a formality anyway. I had no intention of graduating. I was going to support myself starting tomorrow. My resolve had been in place since just before last summer vacation. I was done with the leisure class. Oh, what a wretched fellow I had been, parasitically clinging to 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. What a splendid opportunity this was, don't you think? Starting tomorrow, I would no longer depend on my family's care. Ah, tempest! Soul! Starting tomorrow, I would make my own way in the world. Again, a phantom appeared before my eyes.

The green is awfully vivid. A spring wells up. Gushing forth, it flows over the green grass. The sound of splashing water can be heard. A bird takes flight.

It disappeared. Next to my table sat an ugly-faced girl in Western dress, an empty coffee cup before her, staring blankly into space. She took out a compact and tapped the tip of her nose. At that moment, her expression resembled that of an imbecile. But her legs were slender, and her silk stockings were unnervingly thin. A man came. A man who looked like he'd smeared pomade all over his face. The woman smirked and stood up. I averted my face. Would Christ have loved even a woman like this? If I left home, would I too end up casually exchanging jokes with such a woman? I saw something repulsive. My throat was parched. I would drink another glass of milk. My future bride shall be that snout-faced woman, and my future best friend shall reek of pomade from head to toe. This prophecy shall come true. Outside, a sluggish stream of people shuffled by. Everyone must have a nest to return to.

“Oh, you’re back. You’re back early today, aren’t you?”

“Well, the work matter settled quite advantageously.” “That is most splendid. “Might you care to take your bath?”

An ordinary, tranquil haven of rest. I have nowhere to return to. Flunked-out brat. What a disgrace! I can’t begin to comprehend how fiercely I once despised those who failed. I’d always believed they belonged to an entirely separate species, yet here I stand—the red-hot brand of academic failure seared unmistakably upon my own brow. The new initiate greets you. Your gracious consideration would be most humbly appreciated.

Did any of you see the middle school student wandering through Asakusa’s neon jungle like a stray dog that April Fool’s night? Did you glimpse me? If you spotted me, why didn’t you toss out a simple “Hey there”? I would’ve looked up at your face and begged, “Please be my friend!” Then we’d have roamed through howling winds together, vowing again and again to save the poor! In this wide world, wouldn’t it have been glorious—you finding an unexpected ally, me discovering a kindred spirit? But no one uttered a word. I dragged myself back to that Kōjimachi house.

Writing about what came after was even more agonizing. I swore to God I would never again commit such evil deeds in my lifetime. I had hit Older Brother.

Around ten at night, sneaking back home, as I was untying my shoelaces in the dark entryway, the light suddenly flashed on and Older Brother appeared.

“How’d it go? No good?” His voice was carefree. I remained silent. I took off my shoes, stood on the step, forced a faint smile, and answered. “It’s settled, isn’t it?” My voice caught in my throat.

“What?!” Older Brother widens his eyes. “Really?” “It’s your fault!” I suddenly strike Older Brother’s cheek. Ah, rot away, this hand! A completely baseless fury. While I’m here burning with shame that could kill me, you all keep up your refined act—living with those cool little faces of yours! Drop dead! Seized by this violent fit, I hit him again. Older Brother pouts like a child.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I clung to Older Brother’s neck and wailed. Mr. Kijima, the live-in student, carried me into my room and, while helping me take off my Western clothes, “It’s too much for you. “Look, you’re only seventeen. It’s too much for you.” “If only your father were here, you know,” he said in a small voice. He seemed to be misunderstanding something. “It wasn’t a fight. You idiot. “It wasn’t a fight,” I said through sobs, repeating it over and over. Someone like Kijima wouldn’t understand. I had Mr. Kijima cover me with a futon and went to sleep.

I am now lying face down on my bed, writing this "final" diary entry. I’ve had enough. I am going to leave home. Starting tomorrow, I’ll be on my own.

I will leave this diary behind in this house as my memento. Older Brother will cry if he reads this. He was a wonderful brother. Older Brother, since I was eight years old, acted as a substitute for our father, caring for me with affection and guiding me. If Older Brother hadn’t been there, I might have become a terrible delinquent by now. Because Older Brother is so reliable, Father must be resting peacefully in the afterlife. Mother has been doing better lately—so much so that it even seems like she might make a full recovery soon. It’s a joyous thing. Even if I’m gone, don’t lose heart—please believe in Shin’s success and stay at ease. I will never degenerate. I will surely overcome the world. Someday, I’ll make Mother truly happy. Goodbye.

Desk! Curtain! Guitar! Pieta! Everyone, goodbye. Don’t cry—instead, laugh and bless my journey.

Farewell.

April 4th. Tuesday.

Clear.

I was now living very happily at the villa in Kujukuri Beach. Yesterday, I had been brought here by Older Brother. Yesterday at 1:23 PM, I departed Ryogoku by train and, with my heart racing, kept gazing out the window at the scenery as if it were my first journey. After departing Ryogoku, for a while there were nothing but factories on both sides of the tracks—factories and more factories—but then between them clusters of small, poor houses huddled like roaches in countless numbers would appear, and just when you thought that was all, the view would suddenly open up to reveal patches of green and small red-tiled roofs that seemed to belong to salarymen’s homes, glimpsed here and there. I thought about the lives of the people living in this grimy suburb. Ah, the lives of the people—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 and arrived at Katakai in the evening. However, there was no bus. The last bus had left thirty minutes earlier, they said. The two of us tried bargaining for a motorized rickshaw, but the driver was apparently ill, making negotiations impossible.

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

“Hmm… yes. “I’ll handle carrying everything.”

“It’s fine.” Older Brother laughed. The two of us first made our way to the coast. Following the shoreline turned out relatively close. The sunset shone upon yellow sand that glowed beautifully, but fierce winds struck our cheeks with coldness. We hadn’t visited the villa at Kujukuri Beach these past four or five years. Being too far from Tokyo and too desolate a location, we would usually go to my mother’s family home in Numazu even during summer vacations. But returning after so long revealed Kujukuri’s sea still blue and vast as ever. Great swells rose ceaselessly only to collapse upon themselves. In childhood we had come nearly every year. The villa was called Matsukaze-en and had once been Kujukuri’s celebrated landmark. Summer visitors would flock to see its garden—Father welcomed everyone indiscriminately with such hospitality that they all left delighted. Truly he seemed to have loved bringing people joy. Now an elderly policeman named Kawagoe Ichitaro lived there with his wife Mrs.Kin as caretakers—though our family rarely visited—and Ms.Choppiri occasionally brought disciples or friends until it neared ruin. The garden grew wild until Matsukaze-en itself had perished. Even Kujukuri’s summer crowds must have forgotten it by now. No eccentric visitors came wandering anymore. Thinking many thoughts while following Older Brother’s footsteps through crunching sand— Two black shadows stretched endlessly across the shore— Two.

In the Serikawa household, there were only Older Brother and me—just the two of us. Let us get along well and support each other from now on, I earnestly thought. By the time we reached the villa, it had already grown completely dark. Since we had sent a telegram ahead of time, Mrs.Kin was properly prepared and waiting. I immediately took a bath, ate a delicious fish dinner, and when I lay face-up on the tatami room floor, a great sigh escaped from the depths of my belly.

The hellish frenzy of the 1st and 2nd now seemed like a dream to me. On the morning of the 2nd, I rose before dawn, packed my belongings into a trunk, and slipped out of the house in secret. As for money, the twenty-yen allowance for April that I had received on the morning of the 1st still had more than half remaining. Even so, because I felt anxious, I made sure to bring both the stopwatch I had borrowed from Older Brother and my wristwatch. If I sold them together, they might fetch around a hundred yen.

Outside was a terrible fog. When we arrived at Yotsuya Mitsuke, the night began to pale into dawn. We boarded the government railway.

Yokohama.

Why I bought a ticket to Yokohama—even I couldn't properly explain it to myself. Anyway, I felt going there might bring me good fortune. But there was nothing. I sat on a bench in Yokohama Park until midday came. Gazed at steamships in the harbor. Seagulls flew about. Bought bread from the park kiosk and ate it. Then hoisted my trunk again, went to Sakuragicho Station, bought a ticket to Ofuna. If I couldn't earn my keep anymore, I'd become a movie actor—that's what I told myself. Last year too, when that math teacher they call Tanuki humiliated me and I coolly decided to quit school, I'd resolved then to become a movie actor and support myself through that. For some reason I nursed this odd conceit that merely becoming an actor would guarantee me splendid success. Not vanity about my looks—conceit regarding my cultural refinement and artistry. I don't particularly aspire to be a movie actor. In some ways I even think it's a wretched profession. But try as I might, I can't imagine any other line of work I could manage. Milk delivery? No confidence there whatsoever. Got off at Ofuna Station. No matter what happened, I was determined to stick it out and meet at least one director face-to-face. This resolution had come to me in one swift motion right after learning about the First Higher School dropout business.

In the end, I had resolved that this was it. I had marched to the studio gates with such frenzied determination I could barely see straight, only for it all to collapse into a grimace of bitter realization. It was Sunday! What an utterly careless fool I was! Perhaps it had all been divine will. Because it was Sunday, my fate spun round yet again.

I carried the trunk and returned to Tokyo once more. Tokyo's dusk was beautiful. Sitting down 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, a certain gentleman lightly tapped me on the shoulder. It was my crying that had been the mistake. I was taken to the police box, but was treated politely. Father's name must have been effective. Older Brother and Mr.Kijima came to pick me up. The three of us got into the car, and after a while, Mr.Kijima suddenly spoke up.

“But isn’t the Japanese police force the best in the world, Mr. Kijima?”

Older Brother didn’t say a single word.

When we got out of the car in front of the house, Older Brother said without addressing anyone in particular,

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

That night, I was exhausted and slept like the dead. And then the next day, Older Brother took me to Kujukuri Beach. In other words, it was yesterday’s affair. We walked along the rocky shore and arrived at this villa around sunset. I took a bath, ate a delicious dinner, and when I flopped down to sleep in the tatami room, a big long sigh heaved 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, our futons laid out together.

“I shouldn’t have made you take the First Higher School exam. “It was my fault.”

I wondered how I should answer. Casually saying things like "No, it's my fault" and artfully smoothing things over—such maneuvers were beyond me. I couldn't bring myself to do such hollow, dishonest things. All I could do was ache with the plea "Please forgive me," secretly offering apologies to God and Older Brother from my heart's deepest recesses. I twisted my body violently under the covers. It was my body, with nowhere to direct its restlessness.

“I read your diary.” “Reading it made me almost want to run away with you,” Older Brother said with a low chuckle. “But how absurd that would’ve been.” “No helping it—even if I went wide-eyed and scrambled to flee too, it’d be pure nonsense.” “Kijima would’ve been stunned.” “Then Kijima reads that diary—another runaway.” “And then Mother and Ume-chan join the exodus—all of us renting some shiny new house together.”

I couldn’t help but laugh too. Older Brother made these kinds of jokes to keep me from feeling awkward. He always did that. Older Brother was an even more timid person than I was.

“When are the results for R University coming out?”

“The sixth.”

“I think you’ll pass R University, but what do you say? If you do pass, do you plan to keep at it long-term?” “I could keep going, but—” “Better to speak plainly.” “You don’t actually intend to continue, do you?” “I don’t.” The two laughed. “Let’s talk freely. Truth is—I quit university last month too. No sense endlessly wasting money on tuition fees. From now on, I’m planning a ten-year project to write a proper novel. Everything I’ve written so far is garbage. I was too full of myself. Utter failures. My lifestyle was sloppy. Playing the great author alone, pulling all-nighters and such. This year I’ll start over properly. Shin—how about it? Want to study together with me starting this year?”

“Studying? Taking the First Higher exam again?”

“What are you talking about? “I won’t make unreasonable demands anymore. “Exam prep isn’t the only form of study. “Didn’t you write it in your diary? “That bit about your future goal having somehow settled itself—was that a lie?”

“It’s not a lie, but honestly, even I don’t really understand. I feel like it’s clearly decided, but concretely, somehow, I don’t know.”

“Movie actor.”

“No way!” I was terribly flustered.

“That’s right. You want to become a movie actor.” “There’s nothing wrong with that.” “If you were Japan’s number one movie actor, wouldn’t that be something impressive?” “Mother would be happy too.”

“Brother, are you angry?”

“I’m not angry. But I’m worried. I’m very worried. Shin, you’re seventeen. No matter what you become, you still have so much more to learn. You understand that, right?” “I’m not smart like you, Brother, so there’s nothing else I can do. So I’ve even thought about something like becoming an actor, but—” “It’s my fault. It was wrong of me to irresponsibly drag you into the world of art like that. I was really careless. It’s divine punishment.”

“Brother,” I felt slightly irritated. “Is art really such a bad thing?” “If you fail, it’ll be disastrous, you know. But if you’re determined to throw yourself into studying that path from now on, I won’t stand in your way. Far from opposing you, I’m thinking we should study together and support each other. Well, it’ll be ten years of training from here on out. Can you keep at it?”

“I will keep at it.”

“I see.” Older brother let out a sigh. “In that case, first go to R University as well. “Whether you graduate or not is beside the point—at any rate, enter R University.” “It’s better to get at least a little taste of university life.” “I promise.” “Then, don’t even think about rushing off to movies or anything right away. Instead, for five or six years—no, seven or eight—attend a top-notch theater troupe and have them rigorously drill the basics into you.” “As for which theater troupe you should join—we’ll figure that out together later.” “That’s all for now.” “You have no objections, I trust?”

Older Brother was getting sleepy. Time to sleep. There’s enough money to live modestly for about ten years. There’s no need to worry.

I decided to give half—no, four-fifths—of all my future happiness to Older Brother. Because my happiness was too great this way.

I woke at seven this morning. How many years had passed since I last experienced such a crisp dawn? My brother and I raced barefoot onto the sandy shore—sprinting, sumo-wrestling, leaping in high jumps and triple jumps until afternoon, when we devised our version of golf. Not proper golf, mind you. We wrapped thick cloth around an ink bottle for a ball. Swinging a baseball bat golf-style, we aimed for a hole beneath a pine tree a hundred meters across the field—though the intervening farmland proved our greatest adversary. It was glorious. We roared with laughter. Clang! Sending that ink-bottle sphere soaring felt sublime. Granny Kin brought rice cakes and tangerines. We devoured them gratefully before resuming our game. I sank mine in six strokes—today’s record. Four beach children had begun trailing us unnoticed.

“I got it down!” “I got it down too! If we just slam it into that hole over there, that’ll do,” they whispered among themselves, clearly wanting to join in. When Older Brother said, “Why don’t you give it a try?” and held out the bat, they indeed began gleefully swinging it around wildly while chanting “I got it down!” over and over. They were so endearing. Wondering what these children did every day to amuse themselves made my chest tighten. Ah, everyone—every last one of them—wants to be happy in exactly the same way. The children were playing as if their lives depended on it. We grew tired and lay down on the sandy beach.

Sunset. The red light visible through gaps in the clouds was like a burning crimson ribbon. When I raised my head and looked, the pine forest surrounding the villa, bathed in that crimson light, shimmered a vivid red. The sea—even the Choshi Peninsula appeared faintly purple—stretched out before us, its horizon a faint green like the edge of a mirror. Seagulls skimmed low across the water’s surface. Waves swelled and crashed without end. Ah—life holds moments like this too! Today I’ll hold nothing back—let me drink deep of this raw happiness! When people are happy, it’s fine for them to act like fools! Even God would forgive us! This day was our Sabbath—mine and Older Brother’s! Older Brother wrote a poem on a seashell with his pencil.

“What?” I said, peering in.

“I wrote a secret prayer,” he said with a laugh and threw the shell into the sea. I returned home, took a bath, and once I’d finished dinner, I was already sleepy. Older Brother was the first to burrow into the futon and started snoring loudly as he fell asleep. I had never seen Older Brother sleep so soundly. I slept a little, then got up again and wrote this diary entry. I believe I’ve written about every event of these three days without falsifying a single one. Never forget these three days for as long as you live!

April 5. Wednesday.

Gale. This morning’s magnificent gale would be unimaginable to city dwellers. It was ferocious. A west wind so fierce it could almost be called a hurricane roared across the land. To make matters worse, two or three pine trees on the west side of the house were felled by the storm, making it utterly unbearable. The wind raged with such force it seemed ready to splinter this house apart. It was absolutely horrible. It was almost exhilarating. We couldn’t take a single step outside. When afternoon came, the west wind seemed to shift to a northeast wind. In the morning, I brought Kawagoe-san’s puppies into the tatami room and played with them. There were five of them. Apparently, they had been born just the other day. Truly adorable. Perhaps they were scared of the wind after all—they trembled uncontrollably. When I pressed my cheek against them, a milky scent struck me sharply. It felt more noble than any perfume. When I tucked all five into my lap, it tickled so much that I let out an involuntary “Waah!”

Older Brother had been sitting at his desk since afternoon, diligently writing something on manuscript paper. I lay sprawled beside him and read a little of *Before the Dawn*. The text was hard to read.

As night fell, the wind subsided a little. Yet it still rattled the storm shutters violently. Outside lay a splendid moonlit night—and yet... Wind—blow as fiercely as you will, but spare that moon and those stars! Older brother kept writing through the night. I went on reading *Before the Dawn* in bed awhile longer.

The following day would bring R University’s announcement. Mr. Kijima was supposed to telegraph us the results. I felt uneasy.

April 6. Thursday. It was sunny one moment and cloudy the next. Morning brought light rain. The beach rain became a silent film. Even as it fell without sound， soaking quietly into sand. The wind had completely subsided. I rose， gazed at the rainy garden awhile， then muttered “Screw this， back to bed!” and burrowed into my futon again. Older Brother slept soundly with Pushkin’s features. Though he often mocked his own swarthy complexion， I preferred faces like his—sun-darkened and full of shadows. Mine lay flat-pale with ruddy cheeks， utterly devoid of gloom. They say leeching redness from cheeks works， but disgust stayed my hand. His nose stood angular with sculpted bridge—originality itself—while mine bulked thickly large. Once when enthusing about friends’ looks， he interjected “You’re our pretty boy” killing conversation stone-dead—still rankles. Not that I fancy myself sole Adonis among brutes. Absurd notion. Were I peerless handsome， others’ looks would scarcely register. Ugliness itself might draw generous sympathy. But hating my own face makes others’ visages impossible to ignore. Their imagined misery compels empathy.

I couldn't remain indifferent. My face wasn't even one percent as beautiful as Older Brother's. There wasn't a single trace of intellectual depth in my face. It was like a tomato. Though Older Brother self-deprecatingly mocked his dark complexion, I knew people would someday call him the most handsome man in literary circles once he became famous through his writing—he'd surely be flustered then. "He slightly resembles Pushkin," I mused. "My face belongs among the picture cards of the Hundred Poets." Dozing off, I fell into strange dreams. The scene seemed set around Ueno Station's grounds—there I was, surrounded by trains on all sides, soaking in a bathtub's hot water while glancing about restlessly. Suddenly Beethoven's Seventh Symphony crashed overhead like thunder. In a panic, I stood up naked, raised both hands, and began conducting. Sometimes fiercely, sometimes with grand sweeping gestures, other times writhing my entire body softly as I directed. The symphony abruptly vanished. Train passengers stared calmly at me from their windows. Shame washed over me. There I stood completely naked in the bathtub, frozen mid-conducting writhe. The position was unspeakably humiliating. I burst out laughing at myself and woke up. Though brief, I felt grateful to have finally heard Beethoven's Seventh—a piece I'd longed to experience again. When I drifted back to sleep, exams awaited.

There was a stage at the front, and when I thought it was an oddly splendid examination hall, it turned out to be the Imperial University entrance exam. However, when the one who came as the examiner turned out to be Tanuki, I found it suspicious. The examinees were all familiar fourth-year students. Even though it was supposed to be an English exam, the question paper had a drawing of a tiger. I couldn’t figure it out no matter what. Tanuki came closer and said to me, “Shall I teach you?” I said, “No! Get lost!” “No, I’ll teach you,” said Tanuki, snickering. It was so unbearably awful. When I said, “You should write a tragedy,” Tanuki replied, “No—Hagoromo.” Just as I thought, What a weird thing to say, the bell rang.

I handed the blank paper to Tanuki and went out into the hallway. In the hallway, everyone was clamoring noisily.

“What’s tomorrow’s exam?”

“Field trip exam.” “Gonna be a real pain.”

“They’re saying to watch out for the snacks.”

“I ain’t in the sumo club.” This was so like Kimura.

“They’re twenty-five yen shoes, apparently.” “Let’s drink some sake and then go see the autumn leaves.” This too was so like Kimura. “Sake’s plenty!” “Shin, I passed!” This was Older Brother’s real voice. He was standing by my pillow, laughing. “A telegram came from Kijima: ‘Brilliantly passed!’” For a moment, I felt terribly embarrassed for some reason. When I took the telegram from Older Brother and looked at it, it read “MIGOTO GOUKAKU BANZAI.” I was more embarrassed than ever. Having others make a huge fuss over my modest success felt inexplicably embarrassing. I even felt like everyone was laughing at me.

“Mr. Kijima’s being way too dramatic. ‘Banzai’? He’s making fun of me,” I said, pulling the futon completely over my head. There was simply no other way to save face.

“Kijima must have been genuinely happy too.” Older Brother said in a reproachful tone. “To Kijima, even R University is a dazzlingly prestigious institution.” “And in fact, any university’s substance is much the same.”

“I know, Older Brother.” I pulled my face out from the futon and couldn’t help but grin. The smile on my face was no longer that of a middle school student. The middle school student who had been under the futon quietly peeked out his face, only to find himself transformed into a bona fide university student—a magic trick with no gimmicks or hidden mechanisms. Magic trick. Ah, I got a bit too carried away when writing that. I’m embarrassed.

What’s R University anyway?

Today, for some reason, no matter where I walked, it felt like my feet weren’t touching the ground. It felt like I was walking on fluffy clouds. Older Brother had said, “I’ve been feeling that way too today!”

That night when we went to Katakai Town, we were shocked. It had changed completely. This wasn’t the Katakai Town from before. Surely I wasn’t still seeing the continuation of this morning’s dream? The town lay desolate beyond recognition. Everywhere was pitch black. And utterly silent. There was no trace of human presence.

Even Katakai’s Ginza, which five summers ago had been teeming with vacationers, now stood without a single electric light. It was pitch black. The distant howling of dogs was strangely intense. It wasn’t just because of the season—Katakai Town itself had truly fallen into decline. “It feels like we’re being tricked by a fox,” I said, and Older brother— “No, we might really be getting tricked right now. Something’s off,” he said seriously. We decided to enter the old familiar billiard hall. Only a single dim light bulb was lit, leaving the space completely empty. In the back room, an unfamiliar old woman was sleeping alone.

“Play...” she said in a hoarse voice. “Go on and play – fetch them balls from this here closet.” I thought about running away. But I was shocked when Older Brother calmly walked into the back room, stepped over the old woman’s futon, opened the closet, and retrieved the balls. Older Brother really wasn’t himself today either. We decided to play just one game, but the balls creeping sluggishly across the darkened baize began to feel eerily alive. Before a winner could be decided, I said, “Let’s stop, let’s stop,” and we went outside.

We entered a soba shop and, while eating lukewarm tempura soba,

“What’s wrong with me tonight? My will and actions seem completely disconnected. Is my head going strange?” I said. “Well ever since Shin became a university student,” Older Brother replied with a grin, “I’ve had this feeling today would turn peculiar.” “Oh no!” I felt he’d pierced right through me.

The cause of today’s strangeness might not lie with Katakai Town after all, but rather in me being slightly flustered. Even so, it’s strange that Older Brother would agree by saying he feels the same way—like his feet aren’t touching the ground. Could it be that Older Brother too, just like me, has become so happy he’s spaced out? What a foolish older brother he is. He’s getting so worked up over something this trivial.

I'll make him even happier soon enough. All day today, I felt like I was dreaming—but if this is a dream, please don't let me wake from it. The sound of the waves clung to my ears, and I couldn't fall asleep. But now, I feel like my future path has become clear—a single straight road ahead. I should thank God.

April 7. Friday.

Clear. A weak wind rustled from the east. I already wanted to return to Tokyo. I’d even grown a bit tired of Kujukuri Beach. After eating breakfast, we immediately went out to the sandy beach and started playing golf, but it wasn’t as fun as the first time. I couldn’t get into it. Midway through our golf game, an eighteen-year-old middle school student named Shigeo Ikuta who lived next to the villa came over saying, “Hello,” and no sooner had we returned the greeting than he thrust his notebook under my nose and demanded, “Solve this algebra problem for me.” I thought it was quite rude. Though Shigeo and I had often played together as children, even so, demanding “Solve this problem for me” no sooner had we exchanged greetings after such a long time apart struck me as incredibly rude. I even began to suspect he might harbor some hostility toward us. His skin had darkened so much it was unrecognizable; he’d completely transformed into a beach-dwelling youth.

“Doesn’t look like I can solve this,” I said, barely glancing at the problem in the notebook. “But you did get into university, didn’t you?” he pressed, leaning in. His tone was downright combative. I felt extremely uncomfortable.

“Where did you hear about that?” Older Brother asked calmly.

“I heard you received a telegram yesterday, didn’t you?” Mr. Ikuta said eagerly. “I heard it from Auntie in Kawagoe.” “Ah, I see.” Older brother nodded and said, “He finally made it in. Since Shin didn’t study properly for the exams either, he likely can’t solve problems too difficult even for you,” he said with a smile. Mr. Ikuta’s face instantly lit up with delight,

“Is that so? I came here thinking that if someone’s such a genius they can enter university starting from the fourth year, they’d solve a problem like this easily—but I’ve truly been rude. This factorization problem is quite difficult, you know. I’m also thinking of trying for Higher Normal School next year. Since I’m not a top student, I’ll be taking the exam from the fifth year. Hahaha,” he said with an empty, shrill laugh as he left. What a fool! Maybe the environment had warped this person so thoroughly, but just think—how meaninglessly the world darkens because fools like this exist. He doesn’t have to compete with me and pick at every little thing. Just because I got into R University doesn’t mean I feel even a speck of arrogance—the very thought of looking down on others is unthinkable to me. Older brother also watched Mr. Ikuta’s triumphant retreating figure,

“Well, there are people like that,” he muttered, and sighed.

We had become completely dejected, and somehow, even the carefree way we were playing here started to feel terribly wrong. When I said, "Foxes have holes, birds have nests," Older Brother...

“Behold! The day cometh when they shall seize the bridegroom!” he said with a laugh. If Mr. Ikuta and the others heard this conversation, they’d probably find it unbearably pretentious, I imagined. Then what were we supposed to do? We weren’t conceited in the slightest. Even though we were always so reserved... Ah, I wanted to return to Tokyo. The countryside was so complicated. Lacking the energy to continue golfing, we returned home exchanging sad jokes.

At noon, I made another mistake. This was a major failure. Moreover, since every bit of that was entirely my own fault from start to finish, it was unbearable. After finishing lunch, I dragged my older brother out to the garden and was taking photos of him when I heard Mr. Ishidzuka’s two grandchildren whispering outside the fence. “I had my picture taken when I was three too.” The boy declared proudly.

“When you were three?” It was his sister’s voice. “That’s right! “I had my picture taken wearin’ a hat!” “But I don’t remember a thing ’bout it.” Older brother and I both burst out laughing.

“Please come and play,” Older brother said loudly. “I’ll take photos for you.”

Outside the fence fell silent. Mr. Ishidzuka was someone who used to look after this villa in the past and still lived in the area. The grandchildren were an older boy around ten and a younger girl around seven. Eventually the two came scurrying into the garden with bright red faces, stopping short immediately—both now blushing even more intensely with shyness, not taking a single step forward. Their fidgeting manner seemed refined and pleasing.

“Come over here,” Older brother gestured, and then—ah, I really had said something awful. “I’ll give you some sweets.” The girl suddenly lifted her face, then spun around and scampered off. The boy, seeming less sensitive than her, faltered briefly before darting after her. “If you blurt out about giving sweets like that, even children will feel insulted.” “They’ve got pride—they didn’t come here for handouts.” Older brother said with a regretful expression. “I’m such an idiot.” “This is why even Shigeo holds a grudge against me.”

I couldn't offer a single word of defense. After all, there must still be some arrogant part of me somewhere. I'm just a scatterbrained fool caught up in trivial nonsense. The countryside is just impossible. I keep stumbling over everything. I feel gloomy. I seriously considered going to Mr. Ishidzuka's place to apologize to those little siblings, but in the end, I couldn't bring myself to go. It felt like an overreaction, and I was too embarrassed—I just couldn't bring myself to go.

I think I’ll return to Tokyo tomorrow. When I consulted Older brother, Older brother said he’d also been thinking it was about time to return and agreed with me.

In the evening, after getting out of the bath and looking in the mirror, my nose was bright red from sunburn, like something out of a comic. My eyelids kept shifting between single, double, and triple folds, changing every time I blinked. My eyes might have sunken in. I’d exercised too much and ended up losing weight instead. I felt like I’d been terribly shortchanged. I want to return to Tokyo soon. I am, after all, a city kid.

April 8. Saturday.

Kujukuri was sunny; Tokyo rainy. We arrived home around 7:30 p.m. Older sister was there. I felt uneasy. "I just dropped by a moment ago," Older sister said coolly, but later Mr. Kijima accidentally revealed she'd been staying since two nights prior. Why would Older sister tell such needless lies? Something must be going on. Too exhausted to dwell on it, we bathed and went straight to bed.

April 9. Sunday.

Cloudy sky. I woke up at 1 p.m. After all, at home I could sleep soundly. Maybe it was the futon. Older brother seemed to have woken up much earlier than I had. Then he appeared to have argued with Older sister about something. Older sister and Older brother were both giving each other the cold shoulder. Something must have happened. The truth would probably come out eventually. In the evening, Older sister returned to Shitaya without properly speaking to me.

In the evening, Older brother took me to Kanda and bought me the university uniform cap and shoes. I wore that hat home. On the bus back,

When I asked “What’s wrong with Older Sister?” Older Brother tsked in irritation and, “What a stupid thing to say. That’s just stupid,” he said, then fell silent completely. He looked as if he’d bitten into something unbearably bitter. He seemed terribly angry.

Something must have happened. But since I know nothing about it, I can't say a word. For now, I'll just stay on the sidelines.

Tomorrow, the tailor was supposed to come to take measurements for my suit. Older brother had also said he’d buy me a raincoat. Gradually, I was becoming a full-fledged university student in both name and reality. O flowing water! Tonight, I deeply felt that getting into R University truly had been the right decision after all. Once a little more time passed, I intended to start studying theater in earnest. Older brother said he’d first introduce me to a proper theater teacher. It might be Mr. Saito. Mr. Saito Ichizo’s works had already become quasi-classics in Japan, and someone like me had no right to criticize them, but their content felt somewhat too conventional and lacking. Still, his scale was grand, and someone like that might indeed be the best choice for a teacher.

Older brother said the path of art was difficult. But this was studying. As long as I kept studying, there would be nothing to worry about. That I had been able to walk this path I wanted to try was all thanks to Older brother. Let us help each other and strive our whole lives—then we would succeed. After all, Mother always says, "Brothers should get along." I felt certain Mother would be pleased too.

Older brother had been deep in conversation with Mother in her room since earlier. Their talk dragged on endlessly. Something must have finally happened. Frustrating.

April 10.

Monday.

Clear.

The official admission notice arrived from the school. The opening ceremony was on the 20th. I just hoped the suit would be ready by then. Today, the tailor came to take my measurements. I ordered a conservative style, not a fashionable one. If I walked around wearing a trendy student uniform, it made me look unintelligent, which was no good. If you walked around wearing a plain-style suit, you looked remarkably like a top student. Older Brother, too, wore a perfectly ordinary-style student uniform. And thus, he looked very much like a top student.

In the evening, Yoshi-chan came over to play. She was a commerce university student—Kei-chan’s younger sister. Though still a schoolgirl, she acted awfully cocky. “I hear you got into R University?” “You shouldn’t have bothered.” What a terrible greeting.

“You can keep your commerce university,” I retorted, to which she sniffed, “Even that’s boring.” When I asked what she considered worthwhile, the middle school student declared, “Being cute is best.” “This is absurd,” I muttered. She had Ume-ya mend the tear in her skirt and left immediately after. Returning to the matter of clothing—why must schoolgirl uniforms be so unfashionably dowdy and faintly grimy? Couldn’t they manage something more trim and neat? Walk down any street and you won’t find a single one who makes you think—this! Not a soul who sparks that reaction. They’re all sewer rats through and through. Dressed like that, their very hearts skitter about like gutter vermin. What truly shocks me is how utterly devoid they are of respect for boys.

Today，Older Brother went out in the afternoon. It’s now ten o’clock at night，but he still hasn’t returned. The outline of the incident has almost become clear to me.

April 24. Monday.

Clear.

I have become disillusioned with university. From the very first day of the opening ceremony, I was already sick of it. It differed not at all from middle school. The religiously pure atmosphere I had anticipated was nowhere to be found. The class contained about seventy students who all appeared to be young men around twenty, yet in terms of intelligence resembled drooling infants. They just shriek and carry on. One might almost suspect them of being idiots. Only Akazawa came from my middle school, but since he entered in the fifth year, we aren't particularly close. We exchange little more than cursory nods. Thus in class I remain utterly isolated. Fifty idiots, ten grade-grubbers, five opportunists, five violent types—this was how I had classified my classmates during the opening ceremony. I believe this categorization to be accurate. In my observations, there exists not the slightest error. Not a single genius could be found. I was truly disappointed. Under these circumstances, it seems I must be considered the foremost figure in the class. Countless matters lack any real challenge. I had imagined swarms of outstanding rivals with whom I could converse and mutually encourage each other, but this feels exactly like restarting first year of middle school. There are even students who bring harmonicas to class—it's unbearable. After attending school on the 20th, 21st, and 22nd—just three days—I was already sick of it.

I thought about skipping school, quickly joining some theater troupe, and embarking on rigorous professional training. School felt utterly pointless. Yesterday I stayed home all day reading *Tsuzurikata Kyoshitsu*, then lay awake half the night thinking. The book's author was my exact age. I realized I couldn't keep wasting time like this. If some impoverished, uneducated girl could produce such work—then maybe privileged environments actually hinder artists? I wanted to escape my current circumstances immediately, become some penniless apprentice in a theater company, and devote myself completely to acting without distractions. I finally drifted off after four AM only to be jolted awake by my alarm at seven, head spinning. Still I dragged my leaden feet to school through sheer obligation.

The school building was too quiet. What’s this? Thinking this, I went to the office—no one there either. I jolted to realization. Today was a holiday for Yasukuni Shrine’s grand festival. It was the isolationists’ failure. Had I known today was a holiday, last night would’ve been more enjoyable. Absurd.

But today had good weather. On my way back, I stopped by Yoshida Bookstore in Takadanobaba and leisurely searched through used books. At times, dizziness occurred.

I selected a few copies of *Teatro*, Cochrane’s *The Art of Acting*, and Tairov’s *The Liberated Theater*—just those—and had them wrapped. Somehow，I felt dizzy. I returned straight home and immediately went to bed. I seemed to have a slight fever as well. While lying in bed，I looked through the table of contents of the books I had bought that day. Theater books weren’t even readily available at bookstores，so I was at a loss. If they were foreign books，my older brother seemed to have a few related to theater，but I still couldn’t read them. I had to fully master foreign languages from then on. If my language skills weren’t perfect，it was really inconvenient.

I took a nap and woke up at three in the afternoon. I had Ume-ya prepare rice balls and ate them alone. But after eating one, I felt nauseous—a strange chill came over me—and I burrowed back into the futon. Ms. Sugino took my temperature out of concern. Thirty-seven point eight degrees. She suggested calling Dr. Kagawa over. I refused, saying it wasn’t necessary. Dr. Kagawa is Mother’s primary physician—a man with an obsequious streak I can’t stand. Ms. Sugino gave me aspirin, which I took. As I drifted in and out of sleep, I broke into a heavy sweat until my mind finally cleared. I thought I’d be all right now. Older Brother had gone to Shitaya early that morning about the Rei incident and still hadn’t returned. It seemed things wouldn’t settle easily. Without Older Brother here, I felt strangely uneasy. Ms. Sugino took my temperature again—thirty-six point nine degrees now. Mustering courage, I lay prone on my bed and wrote in my diary: “I have become disillusioned with university.” I just had to get that down. My arm felt heavy.

It was now eight o'clock at night. My mind remained clear, with no prospect of sleep.

April 25. Tuesday.

Clear. The wind was strong. Today I took a day off school. Older Brother also said I should rest. Since I no longer had a fever, I alternated between sleeping and waking up.

The incident in question was that Older Sister had said she wanted to leave Mr.Suzuoka. There seemed to be no direct cause. She just kept saying she didn’t want to. You could argue that her refusal itself constituted the most significant cause, but there appeared to be no concrete reason behind it. That was why Older Brother had become furious. He had called Older Sister selfish in his anger. He must have been apologizing to Mr.Suzuoka. As for Mr.Suzuoka himself, he showed not the slightest intention of separating. He seemed genuinely fond of Older Sister. Yet Older Sister had come to dislike Mr.Suzuoka without any apparent reason. Even I didn’t particularly like Mr.Suzuoka, but I couldn’t help thinking Older Sister might have been somewhat unreasonable this time. Older Brother’s anger felt justified under the circumstances. Older Sister was currently staying at Ms.Choppiri’s residence in Meguro. It appeared Older Brother had flatly refused to let her come to the Koji-machi house. When denied entry, she had immediately gathered her belongings and settled in at Ms.Choppiri’s place. I couldn’t shake the conviction that Aunt Choppiri must be manipulating events behind the scenes. Mr.Suzuoka reportedly found himself deeply troubled by the situation. Even Older Brother had recounted with bitter amusement how Mr.Suzuoka cleaned rooms while Toshio-kun cooked rice—their pitiful circumstances so absurdly tragic they nearly provoked laughter. I supposed that was how things stood. The mental image of a fourth-dan judo master hiking up his hakama to dust shoji screens while Toshio-kun—his peculiar face contorted in lonely grimace—grilled fish proved almost too vividly absurd to contemplate.

How pitiable. I must make Older Sister return. There was no cause at all—or perhaps there was some concrete, significant cause after all. In that case, everyone should have examined the cause together, corrected what needed correcting, and worked toward an amicable resolution. Because no one consulted me about anything, it became truly exasperating. I hadn’t even been informed of the truth of the matter. Regarding this incident, I intended to adopt the position of a bystander for the time being and secretly endeavor to spy out the truth. In my opinion, Ms. Choppiri seemed fishy. If someone were to discipline her, she might confess the truth of the matter. Sometime soon, I decided I should go scout out Ms. Choppiri’s place once, putting on an innocent face. Since she herself was single, she must have been scheming to entice Older Sister into remaining single as well. Mr. Suzuoka didn’t seem like a bad person, and Older Sister had a noble spirit. There must certainly have been a malicious third party involved. In any case, I had to investigate the truth of the matter more thoroughly through covert means. Mother seemed decisively on Older Sister’s side. After all, she appeared to want to keep Older Sister by her own side forever. This incident still didn’t seem to be known by the other relatives, but as of then, those on Older Sister’s side were Mother and Ms. Choppiri. Mr. Suzuoka's ally was Older Brother alone. Older Brother was fighting a lone battle. Older Brother had been in a very bad mood lately.

There had been two or three instances where he returned home late at night completely drunk. Older Brother was one year younger than Older Sister. Therefore, Older Sister didn't follow everything Older Brother said. However, since Older Brother was now the head of the household, he did have the right to give orders to Older Sister. That was where things became complicated. Older Brother also seemed to be persisting quite resolutely in this current incident. Older Sister also showed no signs of yielding. With Ms. Choppiri stationed nearby, it was hopeless. In any case, I had to try stepping up my covert investigations a bit more. What on earth was going on here?

Today I was scolded by Older Brother. After dinner, I said in a light tone, with feigned nonchalance,

“It was around this time last year that Older Sister left, wasn’t it? Has it already been a year since then?” I muttered, trying to scheme information about the incident from Older Brother, but he saw through it.

“Whether it’s been a year or even just a month, there’s no law that allows a woman who’s married to return home without reason.” “Shin seems oddly interested, doesn’t he?” “Doesn’t befit a high-minded artist, does it?” Wham—I was crushed. But I am not spying on this matter out of vulgar curiosity. It’s because I want our family’s peace. Also, it’s because I can’t bear to watch Older Brother suffer and want to help him. But if I were to say such a thing, this time he’d snap, “Don’t get cocky!” Because it seemed he would yell at me, I kept quiet. Older Brother has been so intimidating lately.

At night, while lying in bed, I flipped through Teatro.

April 26th. Wednesday.

Clear. Light rain from evening. When I went to school, I heard that yesterday had also been a holiday due to Yasukuni Shrine’s grand festival, and thought Oh. In other words, yesterday and the day before had been two consecutive days off after all. If I’d known that, I could’ve slept soundly without a care. Truly, those who isolate themselves seem to be at a disadvantage in times like these. But still, for the time being, I’ll stick with the isolationist faction. It seems Older Brother had also been part of the isolationist faction at university. He had almost no friends. Only Mr. Shimamura and Mr. Kobayakawa would occasionally come to visit. It seems that people with high ideals inevitably end up isolated for a time. Even if you’re lonely or inconvenienced, you mustn’t succumb to the world’s vulgarity.

Today’s Chinese classics lecture was somewhat interesting. Since the textbooks were nearly identical to those from middle school, I’d dreaded we’d just repeat the same material, but the lecture’s content turned out refreshingly different. “A friend has come from afar. Is this not also a joy?” They spent a full hour dissecting just this phrase—I was impressed. Back in middle school, we’d been taught this line simply meant the joy of a dear friend suddenly visiting from far away. Indeed, Gama-sen from Chinese classics class had taught it that way. I recalled him smirking slyly as he said, “Picture this—when you’re bored stiff, a friend shows up at your gate with gifts like a sho of premium sake and a duck, shouting ‘Hey there!’ That’s real joy! Might be life’s happiest moment!” he’d mused contentedly. But how wrong that was! According to Mr. Yabe Itta’s lecture today, this phrase isn’t about vulgar earthly pleasures at all—it’s purely metaphysical. Even if society rejects your ideas outright, he explained, hearing unexpected support from distant quarters—isn’t that also a joy? It sings of that thrill when you faintly sense your arrow might hit true. They say this line embodies idealists’ highest aspiration—not some master lounging bored on tatami, but charging dauntlessly toward his ideals. Mr. Yabe droned on about nuances in the “mata” part too, but I’ve forgotten all that. Anyway, Gama-sen’s “sake and duck” interpretation seems regrettably crude by comparison. Though honestly? A sho of premium sake and a duck sounds pretty good to me too. Downright delightful. Can’t deny Gama-sen’s take has its charms.

My ideal was for my ideas to be understood from afar, and then for a sho of premium sake and a duck to arrive on a fine evening—though perhaps that was being too greedy. The truth remained that while listening to Mr. Yabe Itta’s imposing lecture, I’d grown strangely nostalgic for middle school’s Gama-sen. No doubt he was still happily delivering those lectures about a sho of premium sake and a duck at the middle school this year too. Gama-sen’s lectures were fairy tales.

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

“Is Serikawa here?!” he shouted loudly, then pursed his lips and muttered, “What? There’s no one here at all,” before calling out, “Hey, Chigo-san. Do you know where Serikawa is?” he asked me. He must have been quite the flustered type. “I’m Serikawa,” I answered with a frown. “Oh! Right!” he said, scratching his head. “My apologies, my apologies!” 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 rows of cherry trees, five or six main course students stood and crouched, all wearing uniformly serious expressions as they waited for me.

“This is—uh—Shin Serikawa.” The habitual flustered one announced this with a laugh, shoving me before the group. “I see.” A dignified student with an abnormally broad forehead—looking every bit of forty—nodded graciously and inquired without the slightest smile, “Have you quit soccer already?” I felt a twinge of pressure. Those who don’t smile even during first encounters always unsettle me. “Oh, I quit.” I manufactured an obliging grin.

“Won’t you reconsider?” True to form, he inquired without so much as a smile, staring straight into my eyes. “What a waste.” From the side, another main course student chimed in, “You were so famous back in middle school, though.” “I—” I thought I would state it clearly. “I think I could join the magazine club, though.” “Literature?!” Someone said in a low, yet unmistakably mocking tone.

“Is it no use?” The broad-foreheaded student sighed. “I’d thought we wanted you...”

I was terribly distressed. I seriously considered joining the soccer club. But considering how the university soccer club would have even more grueling practice than the one in middle school—under those conditions, I’d hardly be able to study theater—I hardened my heart and answered. “I can’t.” “Damn, he’s being awfully blunt about it.” Someone else said mockingly.

“No,” said the broad-foreheaded student, turning around to reproach the mocking voices behind him, “even if you drag him in by force, it’s no use.” “It’s better to do whatever you like with all your might.” “Serikawa seems to be in poor health.” “I’m perfectly healthy.” I pressed my advantage and objected. “Though I am feeling a bit under the weather at the moment.” “I see.” The dignified student also smiled slightly for the first time. “You’re a cheeky one.” “Come visit the soccer club sometime too.”

“Thank you.” I managed to extricate myself, but I was impressed by that broad-foreheaded student’s character. He might be the captain. I recall that last year’s captain of R University’s soccer team was definitely someone named Ota, but that broad-foreheaded student might very well be the renowned Captain Ota. Even if he isn’t Ota, any man who becomes captain of a university sports team must have something admirable about him as a person.

Until yesterday I had completely despaired of the university, but today—whether through the Chinese classics lecture or that Captain’s attitude—I found myself reconsidering it slightly.

Now then—today something major happened, but due to all that exertion, I’m now too exhausted to write about it in detail. It was truly exhilarating. I’ll take my time writing about it tomorrow.

April 27. Thursday.

Rain. It rained all day. Morning: violent thunder.

Because I’d overexerted myself yesterday, even this morning the fatigue hadn’t lifted, making it hard to get up. I wore the new raincoat that had been bought for me for the first time and attended university. I’d found out that the broad-foreheaded student from yesterday was indeed the famous Captain Ota after all. I discovered this by overhearing my classmates gossiping during break time. Captain Ota was apparently R University’s pride. He had apparently become captain starting from his first year in the main course. “I see,” I thought, impressed. His nickname was Moses. I was impressed by this too—"Makes sense,” I mused.

I also want to write down what impressed me in today’s Bible lecture, but I suppose there will be another opportunity to do so later. Today, I must write down what happened yesterday before I forget. It was quite something.

On my way home from school yesterday, I suddenly thought of stopping by Aunt Choppiri’s place in Meguro. Once that thought came to me, I felt I absolutely had to go today no matter what. Though the weather had turned bad in the afternoon and looked ready to start raining, I somehow found myself walking all the way to Meguro in a daze. Ms. Choppiri was home. Older sister was there too. Older sister wore a slightly awkward expression,

“Oh, Auntie, hasn’t the boy gotten a bit thin?” “Ah, cut out the ‘boy’ talk! I’m not a ‘boy’ forever,” I said, sitting cross-legged in front of my older sister. “Oh!” Older Sister widened her eyes. “Of course I’ve lost weight. I’ve come down with a serious illness. Today, I finally managed to get up and walk.” I said with slight exaggeration. “Hey, Aunt—get me some tea. My throat’s dry—I’m parched out of my mind.”

“What’s with that tone of yours!” Aunt frowned. “You’ve gone and turned into a full-blown delinquent, haven’t you?”

“Sure, I’ll become a delinquent too. “Even Older Brother’s been coming home drunk every night lately.” “We’ll both become delinquents—the two of us brothers.” “Tea.”

“Shin-chan.” Older Sister’s expression grew solemn. “Did Older Brother say something to you?” “He didn’t say a thing.”

“Is it true you had a serious illness?” “Ah, just a bit. I was so worried I gave myself a fever.” “Is it true that Older Brother comes home drunk every night?” “That’s right. Older Brother’s completely changed too.”

Older Sister turned her face away. She cried. I also wanted to cry, but I gritted my teeth and held it back.

“Aunt, get me some tea.” “Yes, yes.” Ms. Choppiri answered mockingly as she poured the tea. “No sooner do we get you into university and breathe a sigh of relief than you start imitating these delinquent ways.” “Delinquent? When did I become one?” “You’re the delinquent here!” “What’s this? Coming from Ms. Choppiri herself!” “My, what insolence!” Aunt Choppiri grew truly angry. “You dare speak rudely even to me?” “Look!” “You’ve made your sister cry!” “I know everything.” “You think you’ve come here to cause a scene like some brat your brother put up to this—how shameful! The backstage truth is perfectly clear.” “What exactly is this ‘Ms. Choppiri’ nonsense?” “Mind your language.”

“Ms. Choppiri is your nickname, you know. “In my household, we’ve decided to call you that.” “Didn’t you know?” “Well then, I’ll have just a Choppiri bit of tea.” Gulping down the tea, I glanced sidelong at my older sister. She was looking down. She was pitiful.

As I became convinced that everything was Aunt’s fault, my hatred for her grew even stronger.

“In Kojimachi too, you’ve got nothing but good children—how fortunate.” “Shin-chan, since you’re such a good boy, go on home now.” “Go home and tell Older Brother—if he’s got something to say, he should man up and come himself instead of sending some kid like you. That’s what you tell him.” “What’s this? He’s just been lurking in the shadows and hasn’t shown his face in Meguro at all lately?” “There’s something I want to give Older Brother a firm ‘yes’ about myself.” “So he’s been coming home drunk every night?” “Disgraceful.”

“Please don’t speak ill of Older Brother.” I grew genuinely furious. “How about you mind your own words instead?” “I didn’t come here because Older Brother put me up to it.” “Stop calling me a kid and underestimating me.” “Even I can tell good people from bad.” “I came today to fight with you, Aunt.” “This has nothing to do with Older Brother.” “Older Brother hasn’t breathed a word about this to anyone.” “He’s been worrying himself sick over it alone.” “Older Brother’s no coward.”

“Well, how about some sweets?” Aunt Choppiri was cunning. “This castella’s delicious. Since I understand everything perfectly well, stop with these pointless snide remarks, have some sweets, and just go home for today. You’ve completely changed since becoming a university student. Do you speak to your mother that rudely even at home?”

“Castella? Don’t mind if I do.” I devoured it noisily. “It’s delicious. Aunt, you mustn’t get angry. Give me another cup of tea. Aunt, I don’t know anything about this whole situation, but I think I can understand how Sister feels.” I put on a show of softening slightly.

“What nonsense are you saying now?” Aunt Choppiri sneered. Yet her mood improved slightly. “Someone like you wouldn’t understand.” “Well, what do you think? But there must undoubtedly be a clear cause.”

“Well now,” she leaned forward, “there’s no use telling a child like you, but ants will be ants—and these are big ones!” I was utterly exasperated—Aunt’s words were truly vulgar. This “ants will be ants” business—I thought it was awful. “First off—it’s been a full year since the wedding, yet he hasn’t told your sister a single thing about his property or income. What sort of behavior is that? Doesn’t that seem suspicious?” I kept silent and listened. Then Aunt, apparently thinking I was listening raptly, grew even more animated: “Mr. Suzuoka might be doing well for himself now, but originally he was just your father’s servant.” “I know all about it.” “You’re still young—maybe you don’t know—but I know perfectly well.” “He’s already received more than enough favors.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Even so, it was getting a bit too much. “No, it’s not good at all.” “So to speak, well, we’re the main branch here.” “What’s this? They haven’t shown their faces in Koji-machi at all lately—why, they’ve long since forgotten someone like me even exists!” “Well, I’m just a single, half-baked woman anyway—haven’t got any right to complain if people look down on me. But even you—we’re the main branch of the family, so—” Her words came with such force it seemed she might pound the tatami.

“You’re derailing, Aunt.” I burst out laughing. “That’s enough.” Older Sister also began to laugh. “Rather than that, hey, Shin-chan? “You and Older Brother both really hate the Shitaya house, don’t you? “You all already look down on Mr. Toshio completely, and—”

“That’s not true.” I was flustered.

“Because even during New Year’s this year, you didn’t come—and it’s not just you all; none of the relatives stopped by Shitaya either.” “I thought about it too.” I see—so that’s part of it too, I thought, and let out an involuntary deep sigh. “This New Year’s, I had been really looking forward to Shin-chan coming and waited.” “Mr. Suzuoka also genuinely dotes on you, Shin-chan—calling you ‘boy’ this and ‘boy’ that, always talking about you—though.”

“It was my stomach—my stomach hurt.” I grew flustered. Even something like that must have been quite a blow for Older Sister—the realization struck me for the first time. “Well, naturally they wouldn’t go.” This time, Aunt sided with me. This was madness. “They’re not exactly making efforts from their side either.” “They haven’t visited Koji-machi at all lately—why, they haven’t even sent New Year’s cards to someone like me.” “Honestly—someone like me—” She seemed poised to start anew.

“It wasn’t right,” Older Sister said calmly. “With Mr. Suzuoka—whether you call it student habits or something else—he’s completely neglected not just Kojimachi and Meguro, but even his own relatives. Whenever I mention it, he just says ‘We’ll deal with relatives later,’ and that’s that.” “That’s perfectly fine,” Aunt interjected. I found myself warming slightly to Mr. Suzuoka. “Honestly, if a man had to bother with all these tedious formalities even for family, he’d never get any real work done.”

“Do you think so?” Older Sister’s face lit up with happiness.

“That’s right. Don’t you worry. Do you know who Older Brother’s been out drinking with every night lately? It’s Mr. Suzuoka. They seem to be in perfect sync. Mr. Suzuoka calls all the time, you know.”

“Really?” Older Sister widened her eyes and stared at me. Her eyes were shining with joy. “Isn’t that obvious?” I said, pushing my luck. “Mr. Suzuoka, you know—I hear he rolls up his sleeves every morning and cleans his own room himself.” “And then, Toshio-kun ties on a red sash and prepares dinner.” Hearing that story from Older Brother, I suddenly started loving the Shitaya house. “But couldn’t he at least drop the ‘boy’ stuff?”

“I’ll correct that.” Older Sister was buoyant. “But since Mr. Suzuoka says that, I’ve ended up picking up the habit too.” To me, it sounded like a newlywed gushing about her husband. But teasing her about that would’ve been vulgar. “I was in the wrong, and even Older Brother had his moments of carelessness.” “Aunt, I’m sorry.” “I said such harsh things earlier,” I added to humor Aunt.

“Well, even I thought it’d be best if things could be settled smoothly.” Aunt was nothing if not quick to read the room. She’d completely changed her tune. “But Shin-chan, you’ve grown so clever!” She clicked her tongue in admiration. “Still—quit with all this ‘Choppiri this’ and ‘Choppiri that’ business. Stop teasing your elders.” “I’ll correct that.”

I felt good. I was treated to dinner at Aunt Choppiri’s place and returned home.

Never before had I longed so intensely for Older Brother’s return as I did that night. When Mother heard I’d had dinner at the Meguro house, she became excessively eager to know how Older Sister was doing and kept pestering me with questions. But somehow I felt reluctant to tell her properly—I kept giving vague answers like You should ask Older Brother about that later and I don’t really understand it myself—before finally fleeing her room.

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

“Older Brother, shall I bring you some water?”

“Don’t need it.” “Older Brother, shall I loosen your necktie?” “Don’t need it.”

“Older Brother, shall I press your trousers overnight?”

“Shut up! Go to bed! Your cold better already?”

“I forgot all about that cold. I went to Meguro today.” “You skipped school.”

“I stopped by on my way back from school.” “Older Sister said to send her regards, you know.” “Tell her I won’t listen.” “You ought to give up on that sister of ours already, Shin.” “She’s an outsider now.”

“Older Sister really does care about us, huh.” “I got a little teary-eyed.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “Go to bed.” “If you keep getting distracted by such trivial things, you’ll never become Japan’s number one actor.” “Haven’t you been studying at all lately?” “I know exactly what’s going on.” “You’re not studying at all either!” “You drink nothing but alcohol every day.”

“Don’t get cocky. Quit the attitude.” “Because I feel bad for Mr. Suzuoka—” “Then why not just make Mr. Suzuoka happy?” “Older Sister doesn’t dislike him at all, she says.” “That’s what she tells you.” “So you’ve been bought off too, Shin.”

“As if I’d let myself be bought off with some castella! Partially—no, Aunt is the one who’s wrong. Aunt was the one who instigated it. She was spouting vulgar stuff about not disclosing assets or whatever. But that’s not what really matters. The truth is, we were the ones who were wrong.” “Why?” “What’s wrong with that?” “I’m turning in for the night!” Older Brother changed into his sleepwear and burrowed into the futon. I turned off the room lights and lit the desk lamp for him.

“Older Brother,” “Older Sister was crying, y’know.” “When I told her you go out drinking every night and don’t come home until late, Older Sister just kept sniffling.” “Well no wonder she’s crying.” “She’s the one being selfish and making everyone miserable.” “Shin, pass me a cigarette from there.” Older Brother rolled onto his stomach on the futon. I flicked the lighter to light his cigarette and “Then she said, ‘Shin and Older Brother both hate the Shitaya house, don’t you?’”

“Huh? You say the strangest things.” “But that’s how it was, wasn’t it? Now it’s different, but before, even you, Older Brother, never went to play at the Shitaya house, did you?” “You didn’t go either, did you?”

“Right, I was wrong too.” “After all, they say he’s a judo fourth dan—I was scared stiff.” “You despised Toshio-kun too.” “It’s not that I despised him... I just didn’t want to see him.” “It weighed on me.” “But we’ll get along from now on.” “When I really thought about it, they had decent faces.” “Idiot.” Older Brother laughed. “Mr. Suzuoka and Toshio-kun are both good people.” “Those who’ve endured hardships really are different.” “I never thought they were bad before—we wouldn’t have let Sister marry into that family if they were—but I never imagined they’d be this decent.” This time, I felt thoroughly convinced. Sister still doesn’t grasp Mr. Suzuoka’s merits. “What? You think she’d leave him just because we don’t visit?” “It hasn’t come to that!” “That’s what selfishness is.” “She’s not some nineteen-year-old maiden—what a pathetic state.” She wouldn’t budge. Maybe that’s what they call a household head’s dignity.

“Even Older Sister understands Mr. Suzuoka’s good qualities perfectly well.” I was desperate. “Because it seemed Mr. Suzuoka and we just couldn’t get along, Older Sister ended up agonizing over it.” “Older Sister cares deeply about you and me, I tell ya.” “We were also in the wrong.” “Just because she was married off doesn’t mean she’s a stranger, I think.” “Then what on earth are you telling me to do?” Older Brother grew serious.

“You don’t have to do anything special.” “Older Sister’s already overjoyed.” “When I told her you and Mr.Suzuoka have been drinking together every night lately and really hitting it off, she went ‘Really?’” “You should’ve seen how her face lit up when I said that!”

“I see,” he sighed. After staying motionless for a moment, he said, “Alright, understood.” “My mistake too.” Older Brother sat up abruptly. “Twelve o’clock? Shin, call Mr. Suzuoka immediately—tell him I’m coming over right now. Then phone Asahi Taxi and have them send a car at once.” “While you do that, I’ll go speak with Mother.”

After seeing Older Brother off to Shitaya, I calmly started on that day’s diary, but exhausted as I was, I ended up stopping halfway and going to sleep.

Older Brother stayed overnight at the Shitaya house. 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 Older Sister. I sat down beside them and, laughing, bowed to the two of them. “Shin!” Older Sister cried. Older Sister had cried out my name in this same way on the morning she left to be married.

Older Brother stood in the hallway, smiling wryly. I cried a little. Mother remained lying in bed, Mother said again, “Siblings should get along—”

Dear God, please protect our family. I will study.

Tomorrow would mark the full one-year anniversary of Older Sister’s wedding, I heard. After discussing it with Older Brother, I thought we should give some sort of gift.

April 28. Friday.

Sunny. When I really thought about it, it was shameful for a man—someone who ought to know better—to exert all his energy rushing about for mere family squabbles, feeling somewhat proud as if he were engaged in some grand endeavor. While family peace was indeed important, men striving toward ideals had to become even stronger in facing the outside world. Today, when I went to school, I keenly felt that truth. At home, pampered by Mother, Older Brother, and Older Sister, praised as clever, I felt quite grand—but the moment I stepped outside, I was immediately met with harsh reality. Pathetic.

That I’m invariably struck by abysmal despair immediately after ecstasy—this seems to be my fate, somehow.

Why must the world be so petty, burning with such unnecessary hostility toward one another? It makes me sick.

This morning, as soon as I got off the bus in front of the university's main gate, I ran into that soccer club undergraduate from the other day—the bushy-bearded student who had come looking for me in the classroom that time. Since I still felt kindly toward him, I immediately flashed a grin and cheerfully said, "Good morning." How dreadful—the student just shot me a vile, hateful look before briskly marching through the main gate. Compared to that innocent flusterer from before, he seemed like an entirely different person now. His eyes held an indescribable shallowness. Was it really necessary to change his attitude so drastically just because I refused to join the soccer club? We're both R University students! You idiot! I wanted to shout after him. He must be twenty-four or twenty-five already—far too old to be harboring such genuine hatred toward me. As I felt intense contempt for him well up, I somehow also sensed I'd glimpsed some fundamental flaw in human nature, leaving me utterly desolate. All yesterday's happiness seemed smashed into oblivion in an instant. Petty...petty bourgeois mentality! How cruelly their ugly small-mindedness must be crushing our carefree lives and shattering our illusions! What's worse, they remain completely oblivious to the poison they spread rather than reflecting on it—it's appalling. This must be what they mean when they say nothing's more terrifying than a fool. Exactly why I hate school.

School was not a place for academic pursuits, but merely a space to exhaust oneself over trivial socializing. That day too, my classmates came sauntering into the classroom with magazines like *Shoujo Club*, *Shoujo no Tomo*, and *Star* crammed in their pockets. Nothing in this world matched the ignorance of modern students. I felt utterly sickened. Until classes began, they'd throw toy paper planes at each other, gasp theatrically at every trifle, or make obscene gestures—yet when teachers arrived, they'd suddenly scurry about and piously endure even the most vapid lectures. Once school ended, they'd all bellow, "Off to Ginza today!" and carry on as if reborn. That morning too, the classroom erupted in shrill chaos. When I investigated the commotion, it turned out K—the class Casanova—had been seen walking through Ginza with some supposed girlfriend the previous night. The moment that dandy entered the room, they burst into screeching uproar. It was downright vile—a cesspool of affected allure. Though K blushed under their jeers, he still wore that smug smirk (typical K), but what exactly did those hooting students think they were achieving? It defied comprehension. Disgusting! Despicable.

As I watched their foolish commotion from a distance, an intense fury welled up within me. I began to feel it was unforgivable. I decided I wouldn’t even speak to these bastards anymore. Even if I were excluded from the group, that would be fine. There was no need to force myself into triviality by joining such company.

Ah, you romantic students! Youth must be such a joyous thing, huh? You idiots! What are you living for? What are your ideals? You probably plan to play just enough to stay out of trouble, graduate university without a hitch, get yourself a new suit for some company job, marry a cute wife, look forward to pay raises, and live out your days in peace—but tough luck, things might not go that smoothly. Something unexpected will happen. Are you prepared? Pathetic. They know nothing. Ignorance.

I’d already been thoroughly fed up since morning. Then in the afternoon, when I tried to go to military training and suddenly realized I’d forgotten my gaiters, I panicked and went to the neighboring classroom. I asked three students to lend me a pair for just an hour—but every one of them just smirked weirdly and didn’t even respond. I was startled. They didn’t seem to have any clear intention—whether it was reluctance or inconvenience about lending. It seemed like moronic selfishness—as if declaring, "There’s no such obligation." It was as if they had never once experienced lending to someone in need since the day they were born. With such people, no matter how much you plead, you’ll get nowhere. I thought it was appalling. I resolved never to ask students for anything again. I skipped military training and went straight home.

Whether it was those football club undergraduates, this morning’s despicable ruckus in the classroom, or the students from the neighboring class—it was truly a sight to behold. Today, I was cut to pieces. But “Well, whatever,” I thought. I have my own path. All I have to do is pursue it straight ahead.

Tonight, I made a request to Older brother.

“Now that I’ve gotten a general sense of how school works, I want to start seriously studying theater. Older Brother, please take me to a good teacher soon.” “When I thought you were being so terribly serious tonight—it was about *that*.” “Alright.” “Tomorrow let’s go consult Mr.Tsuda.” “What kind of teacher would be best? Anyway let’s go ask at Mr.Tsuda’s place.” “We’ll go together tomorrow.” Older Brother had been in an excellent mood since yesterday.

Tomorrow is Emperor’s Birthday. I felt as if my future was being blessed. Mr. Tsuda was Older brother’s German teacher from his high school days, who had resigned from teaching and was now making his living solely by writing novels. Older brother was having this person review his works.

Late into the night, I organized my room. I neatly tidied even the desk drawers. I sorted the books I’d finished reading from those I planned to read next and rearranged the bookshelf. I replaced the Pieta in the frame with da Vinci’s self-portrait. It was because I wanted something that exuded resolute strength. I discarded the quill pen. I wanted to purge myself of girlish tendencies. I stored the guitar away in the closet. I feel thoroughly refreshed.

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

April 29. Saturday.

Clear skies. Today is Emperor’s Birthday.

Older brother and I both got up early today. It was a quiet, fine day. According to Older brother’s theory, since ancient times, it had apparently been decided that Emperor’s Birthday must always have such splendid weather. I wanted to simply believe it.

Around eleven o'clock，we left home together，stopped by Ginza on the way，and bought a gift for my older sister’s first wedding anniversary． Older brother chose a set of glasses． He had planned to drink wine with Mr．Suzuoka using these glasses during our visit to Shitaya． I chose a deluxe set of playing cards． I had planned to play with Older Sister and Toshio-kun using this deck during our visit there． Both purchases were shrewdly planned so we could fully enjoy ourselves． We arranged for both items to be sent directly from the store to Shitaya．

We ate lunch at Olympic and then visited Mr. Tsuda in Hongo. When I first entered middle school that spring, I was once taken by my older brother to visit Mr. Tsuda’s house. At that time, I was astonished to find books crammed into every corner—the entrance, the hallway, even the parlor.

“Did you read all of these?” I asked bluntly. Mr. Tsuda laughed and replied, “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 before, books were crammed into every corner—the entrance, hallway, and parlor. Nothing had changed at all. Mr. Tsuda remained exactly as he had been four years earlier. Though he must have been nearing fifty, there wasn’t the slightest hint of aging about him. He still chattered away in that high-pitched voice of his and laughed often.

“You’ve grown up, haven’t you?” “And you’ve become quite manly too.” “R University?” “Is Takashi-kun doing well?”

Takashi was R University’s English lecturer. “Yes—he’s teaching us Samuel Butler’s *Erewhon* right now—but he’s such a wishy-washy person,” I blurted out candidly. Mr.Tsuda’s eyes went round.

“You’ve got a sharp tongue. If you’re like this already, your future doesn’t look promising. Every day, just the two of you—you and Older Brother—sit around badmouthing us, don’t you?” “Well, something like that,” Older Brother said with a laugh. “My younger brother apparently never intended to graduate from R University from the start.” “That’s your bad influence, you know— There’s no need to drag your own brother into following your path, is there?” Mr. Tsuda was also saying this with a laugh.

“Yes, it’s entirely my responsibility. He says he wants to become an actor, but—”

“Actor? That’s quite a bold move. Surely you don’t mean a film actor?” I kept my head bowed and listened reverently to their conversation. “Film,” Older Brother said bluntly. “Film?” Mr.Tsuda let out a shrill cry. “That’s a problem, you know.” “I’ve given it considerable thought myself—whenever my younger brother finds himself in dire straits, he invariably resolves to become a film actor. Since he’s just a child, there’s no logical reason behind it—but I thought there might be something fated in that very fact. When he’s at ease and idly yearns to become a film actor? Not worth taking seriously. But when he’s on the brink of despair and suddenly hits upon that idea? I can’t help but think of it as the voice of God.” He paused briefly before adding: “I want to believe in that.”

“Even if you say that, your relatives and others will surely oppose it. No matter how you look at it, that’s problematic.” “I’ll handle any opposition from relatives and such.” “After all, I dropped out of school myself, and what’s more, being an aspiring novelist means I’ve grown quite used to relatives’ objections.”

“Even if you’re fine with it, your brother—” “I’m fine with it too,” I cut in. “Is that so...” Mr. Tsuda gave a wry smile. “You two are quite the brothers.”

“What do you think?” Older brother, unperturbed, resolutely pressed on with his discussion. “Do you know of any good theater teachers? After all, I think he’ll need five or six years of foundational study, and—” “That’s true.” Mr.Tsuda suddenly became animated. “You must study! Must study!” “So please introduce us to a good teacher. What about Mr.Saito Ichizo? My younger brother seems to respect that man as well, and I too think someone with classical training like him would be ideal, but—”

“Mr. Saito?” Mr. Tsuda tilted his head. “Is that not acceptable? Mr. Tsuda, you’re quite close with Mr. Saito Ichizo, aren’t you?”

“We’re not exactly close, but he’s been our teacher since university days.” “But for today’s youth… I wonder how he’ll fare?” “I could introduce you to him, but what then?” “Is he planning to become Mr. Saito’s live-in disciple or something?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “At most, his commitment would amount to occasionally observing rehearsals. But first, he needs to ask which troupe would be best.”

“Theater troupe? Surely you don’t mean a film actor?” “A film actor is a symbol. He isn’t hung up on its reality. Anyway, he wants to become Japan’s greatest—no, the world’s greatest actor.” Older brother articulated my feelings exactly as they were, smoothly and effortlessly. I could never have expressed it that accurately myself. “So first he’ll consult Mr. Saito’s opinions and join a proper theater troupe—resolved to polish his craft for five years, even ten if needed. After that, whether he appears in films or kabuki won’t matter.”

“You’ve got everything neatly arranged,” Mr. Tsuda remarked. “This isn’t just some spring night’s fantasy after all, is it?” “Don’t be absurd,” my brother retorted. “Even if I fail, I intend to ensure my younger brother succeeds.” “No—both of you must succeed.” His voice rose emphatically. “Study above all! Since you’ve no immediate worries about livelihood, take your time and immerse yourselves fully.” He jabbed a finger at us. “Don’t waste this privileged environment. Though an actor… I must say, that surprises me.” Resuming his seat, he scribbled briskly. “Very well—I’ll draft an introduction letter to Mr. Saito. Take it and visit him.” A wry chuckle escaped him. “He’s stubborn as mules—might slam the door in your faces.”

“In that case, we’ll have you write another letter of introduction for us again, Mr. Tsuda.” Older brother said deadpan. “Serikawa’s gotten awfully shameless before you know it.” “I just wish some of that audacity 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?” “Ah, it’s just so difficult.” “You haven’t been writing, have you?” Mr. Tsuda let out a sigh. “You mustn’t cling too stubbornly to pride in your daily life.” Even as they exchanged jokes, when the conversation turned to his work, an undeniably tense atmosphere permeated the room. I thought they were truly a remarkable teacher and student pair. When we were about to take our leave after having him write the letter of introduction, Mr. Tsuda came to see us off at the entrance,

"Whether you're forty or fifty, the suffering never lessens." The words he muttered like a soliloquy struck deep in my chest. I realized that writers who reach Mr. Tsuda's level truly possess something different.

As we walked through the streets of Hongo, Older brother said, “Hongo is so dreary. For someone like me who left Imperial University midway, these campus buildings are objects of terror. Somehow I end up feeling so servile I can’t stand it. I start to feel like a criminal. Shall we go to Ueno? I’ve had enough of Hongo,” he added with a lonely laugh. Perhaps being lectured a bit by Mr. Tsuda had made him feel all the more lonely.

We went out to Ueno and ate beef hot pot. Older brother drank beer. He let me have a little too.

“But well, it worked out.” Older brother gradually became more energetic and said, “I was really serious today, you know. Since Mr. Tsuda finally wrote the letter of introduction for us, it’s a great success. Mr. Tsuda may seem easygoing, but he’s got quite a contrary streak—once something rubs him the wrong way, it’s all over. That kind of stubbornness is just no good. You can’t let your guard down for even a second around him. Today went well. It all went surprisingly smoothly. I wonder if Shin’s attitude made the difference? Mr. Tsuda may be cracking jokes all the time, but he’s actually observing people with remarkable sharpness. It’s like he has eyes in the back of his head. Well Shin, it seems you’ve passed after all.”

I smirked.

“It’s still too early to relax.”

Older brother seemed slightly drunk. His voice had become unnecessarily loud. “There’s still the formidable hurdle of Mr.Saito 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 him with sincerity. You do have the letter of introduction, right?” “Let me see it for a second.” “Can I take a look?” “It’s fine. “You see, letters of introduction are deliberately left unsealed so the bearer can read them without issue.” “See? Isn’t that right?” “I should probably look it over too, just to be safe.” “I’ll read it now.” “No, this... this is awful.” “It’s too simple.” “Will something like this really be okay?”

I also read it. It was absurdly simple. It was a broadly written statement along the lines of introducing my friend Shin Serikawa and his wish to receive the teacher’s guidance, and so forth. It did not touch upon a single specific matter.

"Is this really okay?"

I was growing anxious. My future prospects suddenly seemed to darken. “It’s probably fine.” Older Brother also seemed to lack confidence. “But here it says ‘friend, Shin Serikawa’—maybe this ‘friend’ part is what tugs at the heartstrings.” He’s just spouting nonsense.

“Shall we get dinner?” I became completely dejected.

“Let’s do that.” Older brother also wore a disenchanted look.

After that, our conversation didn't flow well. By the time we left the shop, the sun had already set. Older Brother suggested stopping by Mr. Suzuoka's house nearby, but since I intended to visit Mr. Saito first thing tomorrow, I wanted to return home early today to read various theater books so I wouldn't falter if questioned by him. In the end, Older Brother alone went to the Shitaya house, while I parted ways with him at Hirokoji and returned to Kojimachi.

It was now 10 PM. Older brother had not returned yet. He might be drinking with Mr. Suzuoka in Shitaya. Older brother had become a full-fledged drinker these days. He didn’t write much fiction anymore either. However，I still believed in older brother no matter what. Before long，he would surely write a wonderful masterpiece. In any case，he was no ordinary person.

For some time now, I had Mr. Saito’s autobiography Fifty Years on the Theatrical Road spread open on my desk, but I hadn’t moved a single page forward. With all sorts of fantasies, my heart was simply racing. It was an oddly unpleasantly intense tension. From now on, the real confrontation with actual life was finally about to begin. The sight of a man battling valiantly onward! My heart was already overflowing. Will tomorrow's meeting go well? This time, I would be going alone. There was no one to help me. With such a simple letter of introduction, I couldn’t expect it to have much effect. In the end, I alone would have to lay bare my sincerity and state my hopes. Oh, I was so worried. God, please protect me. I hoped I wouldn't get turned away at the entrance. What kind of old man was Mr. Saito like? To my surprise, he might be a kindly old man who would narrow his eyes and say “Ah, you’ve come”—but no, that couldn’t be right. I mustn’t take this lightly. After all, he was Japan’s number one playwright. He must have fiercely blazing eyes and considerable physical strength. But surely he wouldn’t actually hit me.

If he hit me, I wouldn't take it lying down. I'd strike back with everything I had. Then he'd probably say, "Not bad, kid! That's the spirit!" and agree to take me on as his disciple. I'd seen that kind of scene in a movie before. Was it the one about Miyamoto Musashi? Ah, my imagination was running wild again. Still, depending on how tomorrow's meeting went, I might finally find the mentor who would shape my entire life. This was truly a pivotal day. What should I do tonight? Even when I tried to read, not a single page would stick in my head. I should sleep. That seemed like the best option. Showing up with bags under my eyes and making a bad first impression would be disastrous. But sleep felt utterly impossible. Outside, the night shift workers had started their labor. Come to think of it, they worked like this every night from ten until six in the morning. Eight hours of grueling work. Their rhythmic chants of "Heave! Ho!" carried through the air. What were they doing out there? Maybe pulling up gas pipes from a manhole?

According to Older brother’s theory, that chanting served as a way for the laborers themselves to ward off their own drowsiness. When I listened with that thought in mind, those work chants began to sound terribly pitiful. How much were they getting paid, I wondered?

I’ve come to want to read the Bible. At times like this, when I’m unbearably irritated, the Bible seems to be the only thing that works. Even when all other books are dull and lifeless, not a single word entering my mind, only the Bible’s words resonate in my heart. Truly remarkable.

I took out the Bible and flipped it open, and the following phrases caught my eye.

“I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in me shall live even though he dies.” “Whoever lives and believes in me shall never die.” “Dost thou believe this?” I had forgotten. My faith was weak. I’ll entrust everything and sleep tonight.

I had even been neglecting prayer lately.

As Your will is done in heaven, so may it be done on earth.

April 30. Sunday.

Clear weather.

At ten in the morning, I was seen off by my older brother to the gate and departed. I wanted to shake hands, but since it seemed too dramatic, I held back. When I took the exams for Ichikō and R University, I hadn’t been this nervous. When it came to R University’s exam, I didn’t even realize until that very morning and ended up rushing out in a panic.

The start of life's journey. This morning, I truly felt that way. On the way, I teared up many times inside the train. And so, around noon, I returned home in a daze. Somehow, I was utterly exhausted.

The Saito residence in Shiba was enveloped in silence. It was a single-story house that seemed to stretch deep into the grounds. No matter how many times I rang the front doorbell, the silence remained unbroken. I was on edge, thinking a fierce dog might come out, but there wasn’t even a sign of a single puppy appearing. While I was dawdling by the garden’s wicket gate—

"Oh! What a surprise," said a girl wearing a bright red obi as she appeared. She didn't seem like a maid, but she couldn't possibly be the young lady of the house either. She lacked refinement.

“Is Mr. Saito at home?” “Well…” It was an ambiguous response. She was just smiling vaguely. Though a bit brash, she didn’t give off a bad impression. She might be something like a relative’s daughter.

“I’ve brought a letter of introduction.”

“I see.” The girl readily accepted the letter of introduction. “Please wait a moment.”

"Good start," I smirked to myself. But then things went wrong. After a while, the girl came back from the garden, "What brings you here?" This was troubling. I couldn't put it simply. There was no way I could just say, "I've come to receive your guidance," exactly as written in the letter of introduction. That would make me sound like some swordsman. As I fidgeted awkwardly, a surge of anger welled up inside me.

“Is Mr. Saito actually here?”

“He is here.” She was smiling ambiguously. It certainly seemed like she was making a fool of me. She was taking me lightly. “Have you shown him the letter of introduction?”

“No.” She remained unfazed.

“Oh, come on.” I felt like I wanted to insult this entire house. “He’s working right now.” She said in an annoyingly childish tone. I wondered if her tongue was too short. With a light tilt of her head, she said, “Perhaps you could come back another time?”

This was a polite dismissal at the front door. There was no way I was going to fall for such an obvious ploy. “When will he be available?” “Well, perhaps in two or three days?” It offered no clarity whatsoever. “In that case,” I puffed out my chest and declared, “I will return at this same hour on May 3rd. When that time comes, I ask for your kind assistance.” I fixed the girl with a fierce glare. “Huh,” she answered airily, still smiling.

The thought suddenly crossed my mind—could she be a crazy woman?

In short, there was not a single thing gained. I returned home with a vacant expression. Somehow, I was terribly tired, and the thought of reporting to Older brother was too bothersome to bear. Older brother asked me about each and every little detail. “The problem is figuring out who that woman is.” “About how old was she?” “Was she pretty?”

“Hell if I know,” I said. “I think she’s a madwoman or something.” “Nonsense,” Older brother replied. “She’s just a maid. A maid who doubles as a secretary, I’d say. She must have graduated from girls’ school. So she’s probably over nineteen—no, maybe even twenty.” “You should go next time.” “Depending on the situation, I might have to go myself eventually, but it doesn’t seem necessary yet.” He leaned forward. “You’re moping around, but today wasn’t a failure at all. For you, that was quite the accomplishment.” His lips twitched faintly. “Just clearly stating you’d return on May 3rd counts as a major success. And that woman—she seemed rather taken with you.”

I burst out laughing. “No, really.” Older brother was serious. “It seems different in nature from an ordinary dismissal. There’s potential here. They strictly refuse visitors during work hours, but I thought I’d try to arrange something especially for you, only to be thwarted by his wife or someone else.” Older brother’s interpretation seemed overly optimistic. “That’s definitely how it is. So this time, you too shouldn’t glare at her or anything and treat her a bit more kindly, okay?” “Make sure to bow properly, okay?”

“Darn it! Today I didn’t even take off my hat.” “Right? If you’d kept glaring like that with your hat still on, under normal circumstances you’d have been hauled straight to the police box first thing. You only got off because that woman showed some understanding. You’ll do it properly on the third of next month.”

But I was in despair. I had long steeled myself for the fact that the path of art would require mundane struggles no different from those of an ordinary salaryman, and I wasn’t about to buckle under something like that. But today, on my way back from Mr. Saito’s residence, being made acutely aware of my own obscurity and insignificance, I grew sick of it all. Mr. Saito and I were simply too different. I hadn’t realized there was a distance as vast as that between clouds and weeds. I had thought that if I called out "Hey," he would respond with a "Hey" of his own. What utter naivety. Today, I truly felt as though that person and I belonged to entirely different species. There’s a saying that some things remain out of reach no matter how hard you try, but I couldn’t help but feel disgusted, thinking that perhaps this world does contain things that remain beyond one’s grasp no matter how much effort is made. The ideal of "Japan's best" had flown away. The effort to become great had come to seem foolish. For someone like me, building such an imposing fortress like Mr. Saito’s seemed utterly impossible.

In the evening，dragged along by Older brother，I went to see Moulin Rouge. It was boring. It wasn’t funny in the least.

May 3. Wednesday.

Clear. I skipped school and trudged off to the Saito residence in Shiba. The description "trudged" was by no means an exaggeration. It was truly a gloomy mood.

However, today wasn't too bad. No, it wasn't that good either. But well, maybe it was on the better side.

At the gate of Mr. Saito’s residence stood a single parked car. Just as I reached to press the front doorbell, sudden commotion erupted inside. With a clatter, the front door swung open from within, and a gaunt little old man slipped out, striding briskly past me. It was Mr. Saito. Chasing after him came the woman from before, hurriedly emerging from the entrance clutching a briefcase and walking stick,

“Oh! We’re just about to leave. Perfect timing—go ahead and speak.” I took off my hat, gave a slight bow to the woman, then immediately chased after Mr. Saito,

I called out, "Mr. Saito!" Mr. Saito walked briskly to the waiting car at the gate without turning around and promptly got in. I ran up to the car window,

“I started to say, ‘The letter of introduction from Mr. Tsuda—’” when he glared at me,

“Get in,” he said in a low voice. Thinking “This is my chance!”, I opened the door and plopped down beside Mr. Saito. Oh—maybe sitting by the driver would’ve been proper, I thought, but moving now felt too awkward, so I stayed frozen where I was. “How splendid!” The woman passed the briefcase and walking stick through the window to Mr. Saito while cheerfully laughing as ever, glancing between our faces as she said, “Last time, you stormed home in quite the temper.”

Mr. Saito knit his brows in displeasure and said nothing. He really was intimidating. I thought again that I should have ridden in the driver’s seat. “Have a safe trip.”

The car drove off.

“Where are you headed?” I asked. Mr. Saito did not reply. After a full five minutes had passed,

“Kanda,” he said in a heavy tone. It was a terribly hoarse voice. His face was as handsome as a veteran actor’s. Another period of silence followed. It was terribly stifling. The pressure mounted moment by moment, becoming unbearable. “There’s no—” His voice dropped to a nearly inaudible low. “Need to go home angry.” “Ah.” I instinctively dipped my head in a bow. So I should’ve ridden up front after all.

“How do you know Mr.Tsuda?” “Well, my older brother is having his novel reviewed,” I said, but Mr.Saito remained silent, showing no reaction—whether he was listening or not. After a while,

“Mr. Tsuda’s letter, as per his usual style, doesn’t get to the point, but—” It was just as I’d suspected. With just that, he probably wouldn’t understand a thing. “I want to become an actor.” I stated only the conclusion.

“Actor.” He didn’t show the slightest surprise. Then he fell completely silent again. I was finally growing impatient. “I want to join a good theater troupe and train rigorously.” “Please tell me what kind of troupe would be best.” “Theater troupe.” He muttered it lowly and stayed quiet for a while. I was utterly exasperated. “Good theater troupe,” he muttered again, then suddenly barked angrily. “There’s no such thing.”

I was surprised. I considered being rude and asking to be let out of the car. It was utterly impossible to hold a proper conversation. Is this what you call arrogance? I thought, this has truly become a problem.

“Is there really no good theater troupe?”

“There aren’t any.” He remained unperturbed.

“I hear your play ‘Buke Monogatari’ is going to be performed at Kamome-za this time,” I said, attempting to change the subject.

He didn’t answer. He was repairing the part of the briefcase’s snap that had become loose. “There,” he said abruptly, at an unexpected moment. “They’re recruiting trainees.” “I see. Should I enter that?” I asked eagerly. I thought the conversation had finally gotten to the main point. He didn’t answer. “So... it’s no good after all?”

He didn’t answer. He was fidgeting with the briefcase incessantly. “Can just anyone apply on their own, I wonder?” I deliberately muttered as if talking to myself. He showed no reaction at all.

“There’s an exam, isn’t there?” I pressed more forcefully this time, leaning in as I asked. It seemed he had finally finished repairing the briefcase. Gazing out the window, “Don’t know,” he said.

I resolved to ask nothing 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, on which was written "Special Lecture by Mr. Saito Ichizo."

When I tried to get off, Mr. Saito said, "You—where are you getting off?" This made me think maybe I could borrow the car and ride it all the way home, so I answered apologetically, "Kojimachi." "Kojimachi," he repeated. After a brief pause, he declared, "Too far." Realizing this was hopeless, I quickly stepped out of the car.

If it had been somewhere closer, he probably would have lent it to me, but in any case, he was a shrewd old man.

Even when I said "My deepest apologies" in a loud voice and bowed politely, Mr. Saito didn't so much as turn around, walking briskly through the gate. He was truly something else. I rode the city tram straight home. My older brother was waiting and asked about every detail of how things had gone that day.

“He’s even more of a character than I’d heard,” my older brother also said with a wry smile.

“There must be something wrong with him,” I said,

“No, that’s not it. He’s thoroughly composed. Those who presume themselves world-class literary masters must have at least that much about them.”

My older brother was, after all, a bit naive.

“But you really stuck it out, didn’t you? You’re surprisingly brazen. That ‘fearless of blind snakes’ approach of yours—but still, a great success. Through sheer dumb luck, you might’ve actually made a decent impression.” “Don’t be ridiculous. He didn’t tell me anything useful. It was downright unsettling.” “No, he clearly took a liking to you. Letting you ride in his car isn’t something he’d do lightly. I suspect that woman smoothed things over behind the scenes. And Mr. Tsuda’s letter of introduction might be working invisible wonders after all. It’s wrong to badmouth something he kindly wrote for us.” Now that I thought about it, the letter did seem rather impressive. At any rate, it worked. “So you’ll call Kamome-za now to ask about their trainee recruitment?” He was getting worked up on his own.

“But he never said Kamome-za was good.” “He didn’t say it was bad either, did he?” “He said he didn’t know.”

"That's just fine." "I understand how Mr. Saito feels." "He's someone who's been through his share of hardships." "So starting from there... take it step by step—that's what he means." "I wonder."

We had a hard time finding Kamome-za’s office phone number. Older brother called an acquaintance who worked at the Ginza Playguide, requested an investigation, and finally got it sorted out. “Alright, from now on, you try handling everything on your own.” With those words, older brother handed me the receiver. I was, indeed, nervous. When I called Kamome-za’s office, a woman answered—perhaps even a famous actress—and with natural, crisp words devoid of any fawning tone, she politely provided the information: a handwritten resume; a parent/guardian consent form (both formats unrestricted, one copy each); plus one recent bust-sized photograph—all to be submitted to the office by May 8.

“May 8th?” “That’s soon, then?” My heart pounded and my voice cracked. “So then?” “What about the exam?”

“On the 9th, at the research institute in Shintomicho.” “Oh...” A strange noise slipped out. “What time does it start?” “Please assemble at the research institute at precisely 1 PM.” “The subjects? What subjects? What kind of exam will it be?” “That information cannot be disclosed.” “Huh...” Another odd sound escaped me. “Well then, thank you.” I hung up.

I was shocked.

May 9. There was only one week left! I couldn’t prepare anything at all. “It must be an easy exam,” Older Brother said carefreely, but things wouldn’t be that simple. I was a man who had to become Japan’s greatest actor from now on. 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 had to achieve first place—no, an outstanding result that left everyone else in the dust. This wasn’t like school exams. School exams hadn’t necessarily connected directly to my future life, but this exam was directly tied to my ultimate path in life. If I failed this, I’d have nowhere else to go. Even if I failed school exams, I could maintain some composure and pride by thinking, “Ah well, I have another good path,” but with this exam, I couldn’t afford to say “Ah well” at all. There was no other path left. There was nothing. Wasn’t this my absolute last trump card? I simply couldn’t afford to be carefree. I had become completely serious. I wasn’t entirely confident, but I was something like a disciple of Mr. Saito Ichizo. They might not consider it an issue over there, but I decided to willfully believe that and conduct myself with great restraint from now on. We had ridden in a car together. I couldn’t afford to write a shoddy answer.

It was a matter that concerned Mr. Saito’s reputation as well. Damn it all! I’d make Mr. Saito take notice soon enough. How thrilled I’d be if Mr. Saito declared that only Serikawa could play Jubei in *The Samurai Chronicles*. No—this wasn’t the time for indulging in sweet fantasies. I had to pass with results so outstanding they’d leave everyone in the dust.

Tonight, I piled up all the reference books I had bought and accumulated until now on my desk.

Pudovkin’s “On Film Acting”. Cochran’s “On the Art of Acting”. Tairov’s “Liberated Theater”. Kunio Kishida’s “Modern Drama Theory”. Saito Ichizo’s “Fifty Years on the Theatrical Road”. Baruhātui’s “Chekhov’s Dramaturgy”. Osanai Kaoru’s “Introduction to Theater.” Komiya Toyotaka’s “Theater Essays”. And then things like “History of the Tsukiji Little Theater,” “On Directing,” “The Art of Film Acting,” “Director’s Notes,” and also “Fūden-sho (Transmission of Flowers Treatise),” which Older Brother lent me. “Analects of Actors.” “Sarugaku Dangi.” First, I intended to skim through nearly twenty of these reference books by the 9th. And then, I also wanted to cram in some English and French vocabulary beforehand.

I must buckle down. Tonight, I intend to read through Cochran’s "On the Art of Acting" and Mr. Saito’s "Fifty Years on the Theatrical Road" from start to finish.

Tomorrow, I had to go to the photo studio.

May 8. Monday.

Rain.

Today, I skipped school. Everything had become a blur—I couldn’t make sense of anything anymore. How on earth had I spent this precious week? Even at school, I had fidgeted restlessly, giggling nervously at nothing in particular. Returning home, I had obsessively rearranged my room over and over. And through it all, I hadn’t read a single reference book. I was just writhing around in my room. My feelings grew more panicked by the moment, and even as I wrote this diary entry, my hands trembled. In other words—that tension devoid of courage, that solemn emptiness—kept me constantly agitated. I’d dash to the bathroom nonstop, psych myself up with “Alright, let’s study!”, return to my room in a flurry only to start rearranging everything again. Couldn’t I be forgiven? It was no use. I simply couldn’t settle down. There were mountains of things I wanted to say, volumes I wanted to write. But my emotions would surge needlessly, leaving me restless and unable to stay seated. And so I just kept frantically rearranging my room. Moving things from here to there and back again, repeating the same task over and over—I danced this frantic jig alone. It’s embarrassing to admit, but in truth, even the Bible had proven useless. Since morning I’d flipped through it three times, yet none of it stuck in my head. I felt utterly ashamed. It was over. I’d go to sleep.

6:00 PM. I want to chant a Buddhist prayer or something. Christ and Buddha got all mixed up.

After dozing off for a bit, I bolted upright again. Once the sun had set, my mind began to settle a little. I stare at the calling card-sized photos that arrived yesterday from the photo studio. Three copies of the same photo had arrived, but I selected the one with relatively darker skin tone and better shadow definition from among them and sent it off express mail yesterday along with my resume and other materials. Why is my face so simple, like an onion? I try to furrow my brow and make a complex expression, but as soon as the wrinkles crease up sharply, they vanish immediately. I try to twist my mouth into a 'ヘ' shape and create deep wrinkles on both sides of my nose, but it just doesn’t quite work. My mouth might be too small. It doesn’t bend; it tapers. No matter how much I purse my lips into a point, my face gains no depth or shadow. I just look like an idiot.

"What if at tomorrow’s exam they declare outright, 'Your face isn’t suited for acting'?" From that moment on, I would become nothing but a "living corpse." Even alive, I’d be a person without meaning. Ah, do I truly possess any talent for theater? Everything will be decided tomorrow. Once more, I felt the urge to start tidying my room.

Older brother came over,

“Did you go to the barber?” he asked. I still hadn’t gone.

I hurried through the rain to the barbershop. Actually, it didn’t turn out right. At the barbershop, I listened to Dvořák’s New World. It was a radio broadcast. It was a song I liked, but no matter what, I just couldn’t get into it. If there were music that frantically pounded away on something like a massive festival drum, it might have perfectly suited my current agitated state of mind. But such music probably didn’t exist anywhere in the world.

After returning from the barbershop, encouraged by my older brother, I tried practicing my lines a little. Lopakhin from The Cherry Orchard. My older brother gave me various pointers. "Speak naturally using your own voice." "Put more strength into your abdomen and enunciate clearly." "Avoid moving your body excessively." "Don’t pull back your chin every time." "Relax the muscles around your mouth more." This stung. I had overexerted myself trying to bend my mouth into a downward curve.

“You can’t seem to pronounce sa, shi, su, se, so properly.” This stung too. Even I had vaguely sensed that. Is my tongue too long? “Forgive my nonsense.” Older brother laughed. “You’re so much better than me that there’s no comparison. But since tomorrow you’ll be performing in front of professional actors, I thought I’d give you some harsh criticism tonight to make you brace yourself. Nah, you did great.”

I might be no good. My thoughts scatter into a thousand fragments. The sentences in my diary feel different from usual. To think my feelings have changed—no, that my very feelings differ—is madness itself. Surely I'm not going mad, yet tonight feels strange. My writing too becomes a jumbled mess of utter chaos. They lie tangled like hemp fibers. What am I doing like this? Tomorrow—no, since midnight's passed, today—there's an exam at one this afternoon. Even when I try to act, nothing comes to hand. No choice but to fill my fountain pen with ink and go to bed. When I consider it—if I fail tomorrow's exam—I must die. My hands tremble.

May 9. Tuesday.

Clear.

I skipped school again today. It was an important day, so there was no helping it. Last night I kept having dreams. I dreamt I wore my juban underrobe over my kimono. It was inside out. The shape looked strange. It felt like an ominous dream. I thought it must be a bad omen.

Today was nevertheless the finest weather we'd had in recent days. I woke at nine, soaked leisurely in the bath, and departed at half past eleven. Today my older brother didn't come see me off to the gate. He must have concluded everything would be fine. When we visited Mr.Saito before, my brother had been more nervous and fretful than I was - yet today he seemed utterly carefree. Does he consider Mr.Saito more problematic than this exam? My brother tends to underestimate all exams too much - entrance exams included. Perhaps because he's never witnessed the humiliation of failing one. But if I were to fail spectacularly just when he's so optimistically certain of my success - how bitter that awkwardness would taste. I wish he'd show just a little more concern. I might very well fail again.

The departure time was too early. The research institute in Shintomicho was easy to find. It was on the third floor of an apartment building. I arrived a little past noon. Thinking I’d check the situation, I knocked on the door but got no response. There seemed to be no one inside. I gave up and stepped outside.

Bright spring. Sweat beaded on my forehead. Wanting something cold to drink, I went into a small diner on Showa Street, drank soda water, and then went ahead and ate rice curry too. I hadn't been particularly hungry, but gripped by some undefined anxiety, I found myself unable to resist eating. When my stomach filled up, my head grew foggy and my irritability eased somewhat. Leaving there, I aimlessly wandered all the way to Kabukiza Theatre, stared at the painted billboards, then turned back toward the Shintomicho research institute.

That was exactly one o'clock.

I climbed the apartment stairs. They were here. They were here. About twenty people. But my goodness—they all had such lifeless faces. Students: five. Women: three. What hideous women. She’d be stuck playing Cousin Bette forever. The rest were all people around thirty in suits, their faces worn with the exhaustion of life. There was also a forty-year-old man who looked like a shop clerk, his face utterly devoid of any connection to art. I felt a strange sensation. Everyone solemnly lowered their eyes, leaning against the corridor walls, standing or squatting, occasionally exchanging whispers. A gloomy feeling came over me. I thought this must be where the defeated come. Even I myself began to feel somehow miserable. When I realized these people were today’s competitors, I felt disgusted. It felt like I’d lost my fighting spirit without even a fight. If I were the examiner, I’d fail them all at a glance. I recalled my own excitement and tension from that morning and grew irritated. I thought they were mocking me.

Soon, a middle-aged woman came out from the office. "I will now distribute the number tags," she said, but I recognized her voice. It was the voice of that woman who had answered clearly with precise pronunciation when I called to inquire a week ago, saying things like "exactly one PM." Her voice had truly been beautiful, so I'd thought she might be an actress, but you can't tell what a woman is like by her voice alone. Wearing a loose brown jacket—far from being an actress—no, better not say it. Even though that person didn't pride herself on being a beauty, criticizing her face like this was a sin. In any case, she was a woman around forty—a granny.

“I will call your names, so please respond.” I was third. There were quite a few people who hadn’t come. She called about forty names, but the attendees numbered roughly half that.

“Then, Number one, please proceed.”

Finally, it was beginning.

Number one was a woman. Led by the middle-aged woman, she trudged dejectedly inside. The sheer lack of vitality was staggering. The interior of the research institute appeared to be divided into two rooms. One was an office, and the back seemed to be a practice hall. The exam seemed to be conducted in that practice hall.

I could hear it, I could hear it. It was a dramatic reading of a play. Jackpot! The Cherry Orchard. What luck! I’d always been good at reciting The Cherry Orchard, and hadn’t I even practiced a bit last night? I was all set now. Bring it on! I was filled with courage, but even so, that woman’s recitation was so terribly bad. A monotone drone. She stumbled over words here and there, rereading passages. That was a failing performance. Complete failure. I found it amusing and chuckled to myself, but the others didn’t so much as smile, sitting there dazed as if asleep.

“Number two, please proceed.” Had Number one already finished? That was quick. Was there no written exam? Next was me. My legs began trembling. Somehow I felt like I was in a hospital. Now I had to undergo major surgery. I waited for the nurse to come call me. Suddenly I needed the restroom. I rushed there immediately. When I returned,

“Number three, please come forward.”

“Yes.” Without thinking, I raised my right hand high. The office was oppressively cramped and utterly dreary - I felt profound disbelief that Kamome-za’s dazzling productions could originate from such a place.

Numbers One and Two seemed to have finished almost simultaneously and left together into the hallway. I stood before the office granny’s desk and was asked a few simple questions. The granny perched lightly on her chair, briefly comparing the photo on the desk with my face, “How old are you?” the woman asked. I felt slightly insulted, so “Wasn’t it written in the resume?” I retorted, and she suddenly looked flustered,

“Yes, but—” she said, leaning forward to examine my resume spread out on the desk. She seemed nearsighted. “I’m seventeen,” I said. She looked up with visible relief,

“Is the parental consent confirmed?” This question too was unpleasant. “Of course,” I answered sharply. Even though she wasn’t an examiner, she kept prying with unnecessary questions. She must have grabbed this chance to secretly imitate an examiner and put on airs.

“Then, please proceed.”

I was led to the adjacent room. Though they had been chattering noisily, when I entered, they fell silent, and the five men all looked up at me in unison.

Five men were sitting in a row facing this way. There were three tables. All of their faces were ones he had seen in photographs. The fat man sitting in the middle must be Mr. Yokozawa Taro, the playwright-director who had recently become remarkably popular. The remaining four seemed to be actors.

As I hovered nervously at the entrance, Mr. Yokozawa called out in a loud voice,

“Come over here,” he said in a vulgar tone. “Maybe you’re slightly better this time?” The other examiners smirked. The room’s atmosphere felt grimy and low-class. “Where’s your school?!” You didn’t need to act so self-important. “R University.” “How old?” “Disgusting.” “Seventeen.” “Get your old man’s permission?” Like I was being treated as a criminal. Anger simmered up.

"I don't have a father." “Did he pass away?” A man who appeared to be the actor Mr. Shinsuke Uesugi asked me gently with a conciliatory look from beside me. “It should have been written in the consent form.” Stone-faced, I answered. Was this what they called an audition? I felt utterly appalled. “You’ve got some backbone, huh?” Mr. Yokozawa smirked and said, “You’ve got some promise, huh?” “Are you from the theater department or the literary department?” Mr. Uesugi asked while lightly tapping his chin with a pencil.

“What do you mean?” I didn’t understand. “So you wanna be an actor?” Mr. Yokozawa boomed in his grating voice: “You wanna be a playwright? Which is it?!” “I’m an actor.” I answered without hesitation.

“In that case, I’ve got a question.” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking. Why did Mr. Yokozawa have such poor taste? His features weren’t even pleasant, and his outfit—a sloppily worn kimono—was disheveled. When I thought this was the leader of Kamome-za, one of Japan’s most cultured theater troupes, I felt utterly disappointed. He must do nothing but drink and never study at all. He thrust out his lower lip firmly, pondered for a while, then posed his grand question.

“What’s an actor’s mission?!” A foolish question. I was shocked. I nearly burst out laughing. It was utterly nonsensical. It laid bare, without reservation, the vacuity of the questioner’s mind. There was simply no way to answer. “That’s the same as asking what mission humans are born with—you could give endless plausible-sounding lies, but I want to answer that I still don’t understand that mission.”

“You say strange things, huh?” Mr. Yokozawa was an insensitive man. He said this casually, took a cigarette from his cigarette case, put one between his lips, asked, “Got a match?” borrowed one from Mr. Uesugi beside him, lit his cigarette, and continued: “An actor’s mission—externally, it’s the edification of the masses; internally, the exemplary practice of communal living. “Don’t you think so?”

I was appalled. I thought failing would be more honorable instead.

"That applies not just to actors but to anyone involved in educational organizations—they must all strive for it. So, as I said earlier, those impressive-sounding abstract words can truly be churned out endlessly." "And all of that is a lie." "Is that so?" Mr.Yokozawa remained unfazed. Due to his sheer insensitivity, I even came to like Mr.Yokozawa a little. "That way of thinking is rather amusing." This was absurd.

“Let’s proceed with a reading.” Mr. Uesugi said, affecting a slightly refined air. His attitude contained a sort of feline, passive-aggressive hostility. Compared to Mr. Yokozawa, this one seemed more formidable. That was the impression I had.

“What shall we have him do?” Mr. Uesugi asked Mr. Yokozawa in an exaggeratedly polite tone. “This person is said to be quite advanced.” What a disgusting way to put it! Despicable! He was the most irredeemable breed of man in the world. Was this the true nature of Mr. Shinsuke Uesugi, who had been praised as Japan’s finest for his performance in Uncle Vanya? He was nothing like it! “Faust!” Mr. Yokozawa shouted. I was disappointed. I would’ve been confident with The Cherry Orchard, but I was no good at Faust. First of all, I hadn’t even read Faust in its entirety. Failure. I’d failed.

“Please read this section.” Mr. Uesugi handed me the script and marked the section to be read aloud with his pencil. “Read it silently first to gain confidence before reading it aloud.” It felt like a mean-spirited way of phrasing it. I read it silently. This seemed to be the Walpurgis Night scene. These were Mephistopheles’ words.

Hey there, old man—if you don’t grab hold of the rock’s ribs,

"You’ll be blown off into the valley!"

The fog rose, deepening the hue of the night.

Listen to the trees in that forest creaking. The Owl Servant, startled, bursts out.

Listen. Of the eternal green palace

The pillars are being shattered.

The branches screeched and snapped. The trunk boomed with thunderous noise. The roots groaned and roared.

Tangled top to bottom, layers piling upon layers, They all snap and collapse. And over the valley strewn with those corpses,

The wind howls and blows through. You—that high place and— Can you hear the voices from far and near? Shakes and rattles this mountain,

"A terrifying magical song resonates!"

“I can’t read this aloud.” I skimmed through it silently, but Mephistopheles’ whispers felt intensely unpleasant to me. There were too many unpleasant onomatopoeias like howling and creaking, making it feel exactly like a demon’s song—unhealthy and repulsive—so I couldn’t muster any desire to recite it. It’s okay if I fail. “I’ll read a different part.”

Haphazardly flipping through the text, I found a decent passage and began reciting it in a loud voice.

Part II: Morning in the Blooming Field. Awakened Faust. Look up there. The giant-like mountain peak, already heralds the radiant hour.

That peak will later turn toward us, descending as it is first bathed in eternal light.

Now, upon the pastures sunken in the green of the Alps, New light and vividness were bestowed. And it spread step by step.

The sun rose. Regrettably, I immediately became photophobic and turned away. I felt a searing pain in my eyes. When an aspiring ambition trusts, strives,

When I arrived at the pinnacle of my highest aspiration—the door of fulfillment— When I saw it open, it was just like this. At that moment, from the eternal depths of the abyss—an overpowering— Because flames burst forth, we, startled, came to a halt.

We had thought to light life's torch, Yet I found myself swallowed by a sea of flames. What manner of fire is this? Does this blazing force encircling me stem from love or hatred?

Assaulted by joy and anguish alternating violently, Trying to wrap myself in the gauzy silk robes of my youthful past, I came to turn my eyes back to the world below.

Just stay behind me, sun. I watched the waterfall cascading from the crevice in the rock, and gradually found myself observing it with growing interest.

Tier by tier it fell, becoming a thousand streams, became ten thousand streams; spray— sent spray high into the air. But rooted in this wild water’s revelry, the seven-colored rainbow’s transient form—ah, how beautifully it lay across the sky.

Just when it seemed distinct, it immediately scattered into the sky again, filling the surroundings with a cool, fragrant turbulence.

This rainbow is the shadow of human effort.

"If you look at that and think about it, you’d understand better than before." Life lies upon a colored shadow! “Well done!” Mr.Yokozawa praised me guilelessly. “Full marks. We’ll notify you within two or three days.” “Is there no written exam?” Feeling strangely deflated, I asked. “Don’t get cocky!” A petite actor in the back—likely Ryoichi Ise—snarled abruptly. “Did you come here to look down on us?”

“No,” I was scared stiff. “But the written exam too—” I was completely flustered.

“The written exam—” Mr. Uesugi’s face paled slightly as he answered. “We don’t conduct them due to time constraints. “A recitation alone usually tells us enough. “Let me make this clear—if you start being choosy about your lines now, you’ll get nowhere. “What matters most for an actor isn’t talent—it’s character. “Even if Mr. Yokozawa gives you full marks, I’ll be giving you zero.” “Well then,” Mr. Yokozawa grinned unaffectedly. “That averages out to fifty points. “Go home for today. “Hey—next! Number four!”

I bowed lightly and withdrew—though I also felt quite triumphant. The reason was that in attempting to criticize me, Mr. Uesugi had instead ended up confessing his recognition of my talent. "He said, 'What matters isn’t talent—it’s character.' But by that logic, doesn’t it mean that what I currently lack is character, while my talent is more than sufficient?" As for my character, I believe I’ve been making efforts and constantly reflecting on myself, so even if others praise that aspect, it only makes me feel ticklish rather than particularly pleased. And even if people misunderstand me and speak ill of me, I can maintain composure thinking, “Just wait—they’ll understand eventually.” But when it comes to talent—this is truly something heaven-sent, something terrifying that no amount of effort could ever reach, or so it seems to me. That talent resides in me—Japan’s foremost new-school actor has inadvertently certified it. Ah, try as I might not to rejoice, I cannot. What a victory. I did have talent after all. I may lack character, but apparently I do have talent. Mr. Uesugi cannot judge character. That judgment is a lie. That person lacks the qualifications to judge. But when it comes to judging talent, mightn’t he be several degrees more accurate than someone like Mr. Yokozawa? An expert knows best. The talent of an actor cannot be understood by anyone who isn't an actor. How wonderful. It seems I have talent as an actor. Try as I might not to exult, I cannot. Now, even if I fail, it doesn’t matter. As if I’d captured a demon’s head itself, I returned home triumphantly.

“No good, no good,” I reported to Older Brother. “A magnificent failure.” “What’s this? You’re making an awfully happy face.” “There’s no such thing as failure for you, is there?” “No, it’s no good. "The play recitation was zero points." “Zero points?” Older brother grew serious as well. “Really?” “They said my character was no good. “But, you know, as for talent—”

“What are you grinning about like that?” Growing slightly irritated, he said, “There’s no reason to be happy about receiving zero points.”

“But there is a reason.” I gave Older Brother a detailed account of today’s exam. “You passed.” After hearing my story through to the end, Older Brother calmly delivered his verdict. “You absolutely didn’t fail. The passing notice will arrive within two or three days. But what an unpleasant troupe.”

“It hasn’t turned out. Failing would be more honorable. Even if I pass, I won’t join that troupe. I want nothing to do with studying alongside someone like Mr. Uesugi.” “Hmm, perhaps so. A bit disillusioning, I suppose.” Older brother laughed forlornly. “How about it—why don’t we try going to consult with Mr. Saito again? Why don’t you try honestly expressing how Shin feels—that he dislikes such a troupe? Since all troupes are like that, if Mr. Saito says to endure and join, there’s no help for it. You’ll get in. Or perhaps he might introduce us to another good troupe. Anyway, you should at least report that you took the exam. How about it?”

“Yeah.” My spirits felt heavy. Mr. Saito was somehow intimidating. This time around, I might truly get scolded. But I had to go. There was nothing for it but to go receive his instructions. I would muster courage. Had I not been a man of considerable talent as an actor? I was different now from yesterday’s self. I would press forward with confidence. A day’s labor sufficed for itself. Today—somehow—that’s how I felt.

After dinner, I shut myself in my room and wrote today’s long diary entry. In just this single day, I have grown up remarkably. Evolve! The words "Evolve!" swarm and press against my chest. A single human being is an extremely precious thing! I also keenly feel this.

May 10. Wednesday.

Sunny.

When I woke up this morning, I realized everything had completely changed. The excitement from yesterday had completely subsided. This morning brought only solemnity—or rather, something closer to a forced composure. Until yesterday, I had indeed been out of my mind. I had been in a frenzy. Why had I floated along so buoyantly, chasing nothing but these strange adventures? I could no longer understand. It was nothing but bewildering. Having awakened from a long, sorrowful dream, I found myself blinking and tilting my head aimlessly this morning. From today onward, I became an ordinary human. No matter what clever equations one might apply, my existence as 1.0 remained unmoving—a stake planted in the current. It felt terribly forced. This morning I stood solemn as that motionless stake. Not a single flower bloomed in my heart. What had happened?

I went to school, but all the students looked like ten-year-old children. And so I found myself constantly thinking about each student’s parents. As usual, I felt no urge to scorn them nor any hatred—only a faint sense of pity, even weaker than what one might feel for sparrows flocking together, nothing strong enough to stir my heart. Terrible disillusionment. Absolute solitude. Until now, my loneliness had been what you might call relative loneliness—a state where I was too conscious of others, forced into postures by their reactions—but today’s feeling was different. I had absolutely no interest in anyone. They were just noise. I felt I could effortlessly renounce the world and become a monk as I was. Life has mornings of strange wonder indeed.

Disillusionment. That's it. I had wanted to avoid using this word as much as possible, but there seemed no alternative. Disillusionment. And genuine disillusionment at that. I recalled how I'd once frantically written "I am disillusioned with university!" But now I realized—that wasn't disillusionment at all. It had been a blazing storm of hatred, hostility, and ambition. True disillusionment isn't so active. Just hazy. Hazily solemn. I am disillusioned with theater. Ah—I don't want to utter these words! Yet somehow they feel true.

Suicide. This morning, I calmly thought of suicide. Genuine disillusionment is a terrifying demon that either drives one utterly mad or leads them to suicide.

Certainly, I am disillusioned. I cannot deny it. But what is a man to do when he becomes disillusioned with the last remaining path in life? Theater, for me, was the sole reason for living.

Without evasion, I will try to think deeply. I do not think of theater as something trivial. To call it trivial is outrageous. If I had thought it trivial, there might have been anger there; I could have scorned it completely, cast it aside, and boldly leapt into another path—but my feelings this morning were nothing like that. It's hollow. Everything just doesn’t matter. Theater. That must be splendid, I suppose. Actor. Ah, that might be good too, I suppose. But I don’t budge. Clearly, a gap had formed.

A cold wind blew. When I first visited Mr. Saito’s house and was politely turned away at the entrance, I had felt something similar. Rather than the world being absurd, it was that I myself—living and striving within it—became absurd. Alone in the darkness, I felt like letting out a hollow laugh. In this world, there’s no such thing as ideals. Everyone lives so pettily. I’d come to feel that human beings might exist solely to eat. It’s a hollow tale.

After school, I wandered aimlessly to the soccer club's preparation room. I thought maybe I should join the soccer club. I wanted to just kick a ball without thinking and live as an ordinary student in a daze. The soccer club room was empty. They must have gone to the training camp. Without enough passion to seek out the training camp, I simply went home.

When I returned home, an express letter from Kamome-za had arrived. I had passed. "As a result of this review," it read, "we have accepted five individuals as trainees. You are among them. Be at the institute tomorrow at six PM." I felt no joy. Strangely calm. The notification of my R University acceptance had stirred more happiness than this. I no longer wanted to train as an actor. Yesterday, when Mr. Uesugi had acknowledged my acting talent, I'd swelled with triumph as if slaying a demon—but waking this morning, even that joy turned ashen. *What folly—talent means nothing,* I seriously reconsidered. *Character matters most.* Where did this shift come from? Was it the nihilism of one who'd grasped love completely—or like that *Faust* line I'd unconsciously chosen during yesterday's Kamome-za audition—"When achievement's open door we spy, we startle, halt"—had seeing my longed-for actor's path lie so easily within reach made me recoil?

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

Tonight, I had a terribly trivial argument with Older Brother. It was a debate about which food was the most delicious. We each flaunted our foodie airs in great detail, but ultimately concluded nothing surpasses canned pineapple juice. The juice from canned peaches was delicious too, but still lacked pineapple’s refreshing quality. As for canned pineapple, we decided one shouldn’t eat the fruit itself—only drink the juice,

“If it’s pineapple juice, I could easily drink a whole bowlful,” I said.

“Yeah,” Older Brother nodded, “and if you add crushed ice to it, it would taste even better.” Older Brother was also thinking of foolish things.

After talking about food, we got so hungry that the two of us foodies sneaked into the kitchen and made rice balls to eat. They were extremely delicious.

Nihilism and appetite seem to be related somehow.

Older brother was writing a novel in the adjacent room now. It had apparently already passed fifty pages. It was supposed to be two hundred pages long - a beautiful novel beginning with the line "When the snow began to fall." I'd read about ten pages of it. Once finished, he said he'd submit it for the Bungaku Koron literary prize. What had happened? He used to despise prize submissions so much. "Entering a literary contest - isn't that just degrading yourself?" I said. "What a waste of your work."

“But if I win, it’s two thousand yen. If you can’t even make money from it, then writing novels is just foolishness,” he said with a crude expression—but I was worried that Older Brother had been drinking quite a lot lately and seemed to be deteriorating somehow.

Wherever I look—loss of ideals.

Tonight, I’m terribly sleepy.

May 11. Thursday.

Cloudy. The wind is strong.

Today was a somewhat fulfilling day. Yesterday I had been a ghost, but today I became somewhat of an active participant in life. The school’s Bible lecture was interesting. There’s a special weekly lecture by Father Terauchi that I always look forward to. The Thursday lecture from two weeks ago had also been interesting—a study of *The Last Supper* where he clearly explained with diagrams where each of the thirteen people had been seated around the table. I was shocked to learn they had all reclined while dining. Apparently, it was customary at the time to have couches around the table where people would lie down to eat and drink. Da Vinci’s *The Last Supper* turned out to be historically inaccurate. I heard that in a Russian painter’s version—someone named Ghe or similar—everyone is depicted reclining. Though this had nothing to do with Christ’s teachings, I found it utterly fascinating. I really do seem overly preoccupied with eating. Today too I ended up thinking about food, though not entirely pointlessly—I actually gained some insights. Today’s lecture focused on Deuteronomy from the Old Testament. Father Terauchi never stands at the podium. He sits at an empty student desk and talks with us in a relaxed manner, as if studying alongside us. It created a pleasant atmosphere, like we were all discussing something enjoyable together. While speaking about Moses’ struggles in Deuteronomy, what struck me most was how Moses even micromanaged what people ate.

“Chapter 14. You shall not eat any abominable thing. These are the beasts you may eat: cattle, sheep, goats, stag, antelope, roe deer, ibex, chamois. Among all beasts, you may eat those that have hooves divided and split into two parts and chew the cud. But these you shall not eat among those that chew the cud or have divided hooves: the camel, the rabbit, and the hare—for though they chew the cud, their hooves are not split; they are unclean for you. And the pig, for though it has divided hooves, it does not chew the cud; it is unclean for you. You shall not eat their flesh nor touch their carcasses.

Of all that live in water, you may eat these: any that have fins and scales you may eat. All that have not fins and scales you shall not eat; they are unclean for you. And all clean birds you shall eat. However, these you shall not eat: the vulture, eagle, cormorant, stork, owl of any kind, heron, and bat; and whatever has wings and crawls—they are unclean for you. You shall not eat them. All clean things that fly with wings you shall eat.

“You shall not eat anything that dies of itself.” Truly, they were specified down to the finest details. It must have been such a hassle. Moses might have personally tried eating each of these beasts—camels, ostriches, and the like—one by one to test them. The camel must have tasted awful. Even Moses must have frowned and said, “This one’s no good.” A pioneer did not merely preach grand teachings with words. They were directly helping the people’s lives. No—it might have been safe to say it was almost entirely practical assistance for the people’s daily lives. And in between those acts of assistance, they would preach sermons. If all you did from start to finish was preach sermons, then no matter how splendid those sermons might have been, the people would not follow along, it seemed. Even when reading the New Testament, Christ appeared utterly worn out—constantly occupied with healing the sick, raising the dead, distributing fish and bread in abundance to the people, almost wholly consumed by such tasks. Even the Twelve Disciples would grow anxious and start whispering among themselves as soon as their food ran out. Even the kind-hearted Christ eventually scolded his disciples, saying, “Ah, you of little faith! Why do you discuss having no bread?” “Do you still not understand?” “Do you not remember how five loaves were divided among five thousand, and how many baskets you gathered of what remained? Or how seven loaves were divided among four thousand, and how many baskets you gathered of what remained?” “My words were not about bread—why do you not understand?” he sighed deeply. How lonely Christ must have been. But there was no helping it. The people were petty like that.

They are only thinking about their own tomorrow’s livelihood.

While listening to Father Terauchi’s lecture and pondering various things, I suddenly felt something flash like a bolt of lightning within my chest. Ah, that’s it. Humans don’t have any ideals from the start. Even if they exist, they’re ideals rooted in everyday life. Ideals divorced from life—ah, that is the path leading to the cross. And thus, that is the path of the Son of God. I am nothing more than one of the people. I am only concerned with food. I have indeed become a man of practical life these days. I have become a bird that creeps along the ground. The angel’s wings had vanished unawares. Fussing and flailing won’t change a thing. This is reality. There’s no room for pretense. “To know God without knowing human misery gives rise to arrogance.” This, I believe, were indeed 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, it’s only natural that I would inevitably be forced to drink the bitter cup of disillusionment. Human misery.

I could think of nothing but food. Older Brother had once said novels which didn't earn money were worthless—but that was a candid human statement—and I who had tried to condemn it outright as Older Brother's degeneration might have been mistaken.

No matter what noble things people said, it was all pointless. The tail of life dangled there. “Accept the material chains and bonds. “I now release you solely from spiritual bonds.” This was it. This was it. Even while dragging the wretched tail of my existence, there had to still be salvation. I should be able to strive toward my ideals. Even the disciples who always worried about tomorrow’s bread as they followed Christ eventually became saints. My efforts too must now be entirely replanted from scratch.

I was indeed trying to deny even human existence itself. The day before yesterday, I took Kamome-za’s exam, and upon seeing the artists lined up there making such painstakingly cautious efforts to protect their meager positions, I lost all patience. What’s more, when even someone like Mr. Uesugi—hailed as Japan’s most progressive actor—was burning with competitive spirit so fierce it turned his face pale, even toward a nobody student like me, it felt so wretched that I couldn’t stand it. Even now, I certainly do not think Mr. Uesugi's attitude is admirable. However, to go so far as to reject all of human life because of that was my own excess. Today, I thought I would go to Kamome-za’s research institute and try talking properly with those artists one more time. Just the fact that I was selected from among twenty applicants may be something I should be grateful for.

But after school, when I stepped out the school gate and was struck by a fierce wind, my feelings abruptly shifted. No. I can't. Kamome-za is out of the question. They're dilettantes. Not only is there no whiff of lofty ideals there, but even the shadow of life feels faint. They lack the steadfastness one might call truly living for theater. Or perhaps I should say they're using theater as vanity—it feels like a gathering of dilettantes who just bask in the atmosphere. For me, it's utterly insufficient. I am no longer a naive idealist from today onward. It may sound strange, but I want to live as a professional!

I resolved to go to Mr. Saito’s place. Today, no matter what, I thought I must have him properly hear the full measure of my resolve. When I made that resolution, I felt as if my body were warmly enveloped in God’s grace. Without despairing at human misery and my own ugliness—"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 and climb the slope, stumbling step by step. What lies at the end of this slope—the cross or heaven—I do not know. To definitively decide it must 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 Mr. Saito’s residence in Shiba—but I found that place unbearable. Even before passing through the gate, I felt an uncanny pressure. It made me wonder, “Could David’s fortress be like this?”

I pressed the bell. The one who appeared was the usual woman. As Older brother had surmised, she indeed seemed to be something like a secretary and maid.

“Oh, welcome back.” She was still as overly familiar as ever. She’s looking down on me completely. “Is Mr. Saito here?” I have no business with this woman. I asked without so much as a smile. “He’s here, you know.” Her tone lacked decorum. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with—” I began, when the woman burst out laughing, covering her mouth with both hands and turning crimson as she laughed until she choked. I was unbearably irritated. I am no longer the child I once was.

“What’s so funny?” I said in a calm tone, “I absolutely must meet with Mr. Saito.”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded, retreating into the back while laughing as if doubled over. “Do I have ink on my face or something?” What an impudent woman.

After some time had passed, she came out again wearing a slightly solemn expression and said, "I'm afraid Mr. Saito is feeling a bit under the weather today and cannot meet with anyone." "If you have business, please write it briefly on this paper," she said, presenting stationery and a fountain pen. I was disappointed. I thought veteran masters were terribly self-centered. Perhaps it was what you might call formidable resilience—or something like that—but in any case, I thought him a man burdened by deep karma.

Resigned, I sat down on the genkan step and wrote briefly on the stationery.

"I passed the Kamome-za audition. The exam was utterly slipshod. This one thing tells everything. Yesterday I received a notice ordering me to come to Kamome-za's research institute at six this evening, but I don't want to go. I'm torn. Please advise me. I want to undergo proper training. Serikawa Shin." Having written this, I handed it to the woman. Somehow I couldn't phrase it right. The woman took it and went inside, but didn't return for a long time. I grew uneasy. I felt like sitting alone in some mountain temple.

Suddenly, that woman came out laughing loudly.

“Here’s your reply.” She presented a small scrap of paper—different from the previous stationery—like something torn from a scroll. It was written in flowing brushwork.

Shunjū-za

That is all. There was nothing else written. “What is this?” Even I was getting angry now. There are limits to mockery.

“Here’s your reply.” The woman looked up at my face and laughed with feigned innocence. “Are you saying I should join Shunjū-za?” “Wouldn’t that be the case?” she answered breezily.

I’m well aware of Shunjū-za’s existence. But Shunjū-za was a troupe organized precisely by gathering nothing but leading kabuki actors. It’s not the kind of troupe where someone like me—a mere student—could just waltz in and become a member.

"This is impossible! If I at least had a letter of introduction from Mr. Saito—" I began, when—a bolt from the blue—

“Do it on your own!” someone barked from the back.

I was stunned. He was there. The man himself had been hiding behind the sliding door and listening. I was startled. What a terrible old man! In disarray, I beat a hasty retreat. Incredible. What an old man. I was utterly astonished.

When I returned home and told Older brother about today’s events, he doubled over laughing. I couldn’t help but laugh too, though I also felt a twinge of resentment.

Today, I was completely defeated.

But when Mr. Saito (I decided to call him Mr. Saito from then on) barked out that strangely hoarse shout of his, it felt like the gray clouds that had hung over me these past two or three days were blown away. I'll do it alone. Shunjū-za. But how on earth was I supposed to do that? I had absolutely no idea. Older brother seemed perplexed too. Let's carefully study Shunjū-za—that became our conclusion that night.

Unexpected things keep happening one after another. Life is utterly unpredictable. Lately, I feel like I’ve truly come to understand the meaning of faith. Every single day is a miracle. No, the entirety of life is a miracle.

May 14.

Sunday.

Cloudy. Later, clear.

I stopped keeping my diary for two or three days. There was nothing particularly different to write about. Lately, my mood has felt inexplicably heavy, and I can no longer write my diary with that same lighthearted buoyancy as before. I began to feel that even the time spent maintaining this diary was wasteful—or perhaps what you might call self-restraint—and came to think that jotting down every trivial thing resembled a child's game of make-believe, something profoundly pitiful. I must exercise self-restraint—this conviction keeps pressing upon me. Though these are Beethoven's words: "You are no longer permitted to be a person who lives for yourself alone." Such is the sentiment I now harbor.

Today, from early morning, the entire household was in a great commotion. Mother had finally decided to go to the Kujukuri villa to recuperate. Today was supposedly Taian—an auspicious day—and though the morning had been slightly cloudy, Mother insisted on departing no matter what, so we finally set out. Mr. Suzuoka and Older Sister came to help from early morning. Auntie Choppiri from Meguro also came. I had promised Auntie I’d refrain from using the adjective "Choppiri," but since it had practically become a verbal tic, it slipped out unintentionally. The neighbor uncle, the young master of Asahi Taxi, and Dr. Kagawa, the attending physician, were all there. With everyone mobilized, preparations for departure were made. After all, Mother was a bedridden patient, so it required considerable effort. Nurse Sugino and the maid Ume were to accompany Mother, while those remaining at home would be Older Brother, me, the live-in student Mr. Kijima, and a woman over fifty said to be a distant relative of Mr. Suzuoka. This old woman was named Shun and was quite a humorous person. 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, they had decided to have this old woman come temporarily. From now on, the house would 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 Matsufūen in Kujukuri by taxi. Dr. Kagawa and Mr. and Mrs. Suzuoka planned to return to Tokyo by train after ensuring Mother had settled in there. It was a tremendous commotion. In front of the house, about twenty passersby had stopped to watch with expressions that seemed to ask, "What’s happening?" Mother, carried on the back of Asahi Taxi’s young master, remained perfectly composed as she loudly scolded Ume and pushed her way through the crowd to board the car. It was quite a spectacle. She was just like that old woman who appears in Dostoevsky’s *The Gambler*. In any case, she was full of life. Mother might truly make a full recovery if she convalesces at Kujukuri for a year or two.

After everyone had departed, the house felt hollow and unsettling. No—more than that—amidst this morning’s chaotic bustle, something rather peculiar had occurred. That morning, Older Brother and I had been nothing but nuisances to everyone else, so we retreated upstairs where we took shelter and began gossiping about the helpers—when Nurse Sugino entered our room wearing a rigid expression, as if on some urgent business, and plopped herself down,

“It’ll be goodbye for a while, won’t it?” she said with a face that seemed to smile, her mouth twisted oddly—then an instant later, she let out a sharp cry and collapsed into tears.

It was unexpected. Older brother and I exchanged looks. Older brother had pursed his lips. He looked perplexed. Nurse Sugino then sobbed uncontrollably for two or three minutes. We remained silent. Nurse Sugino eventually got up and left the room, her face still covered by her apron. “Oh...” I whispered, and Older Brother also scowled, “How undignified,” he said. But I had a rough idea. At the time, we avoided speaking further about Nurse Sugino and began other small talk, but after everyone had boarded the taxis and departed, even Older brother wore a somewhat thoughtful look.

Older brother was lying on his back in the second-floor room, "Maybe I should get married," he said with a laugh.

“Older Brother, had you noticed it before?” “Dunno. “Well, she started crying earlier, so... Hmm?” “...is what I thought.”

“Older brother, do you like Nurse Sugino too?” “Nah, I don’t like her.” “She’s older than me.” “Then why would you get married?”

“But she cried.” The two of us burst into laughter.

Nurse Sugino too had a romantic streak that contradicted her appearance. Yet this romance never materialized. Her method of courtship consisted solely of bursting into sudden tears. It was truly the pinnacle of clumsy technique. Romance and absurdity make poor bedfellows. She must have shed those few tears, thought "Oh no!", then resigned herself completely before departing for Kujukuri. The spinster's love affair had regrettably ended as nothing more than a comic interlude.

“Fireworks, huh?” Older brother offered a conclusion worthy of a poet.

“Sparklers.” I corrected him in my pragmatic way.

I felt lonesome. The house was desolate. After finishing dinner, I consulted with Older Brother and decided to go to the Enbujō Theater. We invited Mr. Kijima as well. Granny O-Shun stayed behind to look after the house. At the Enbujō Theater, the Shunjū-za troupe was currently performing. *The Woman-Killing Oil Hell*, then Mori Ōgai’s *The Wild Goose* as adapted by newcomer Mr. Yukichi Kawakami, and finally a new dance piece called *Leafy Cherry Blossoms*. Each of them seemed to be receiving favorable reviews in newspapers and such.

By the time we arrived, *The Woman-Killing Oil Hell* had already ended, *Leafy Cherry Blossoms* seemed finished too, and *The Wild Goose* was just beginning. The stage perfectly evoked the Meiji era's atmosphere. Born in Taisho, I could never know Meiji firsthand, but when I walk through Ueno Park or Shiba Park and suddenly feel nostalgic, I believe that must be Meiji's lingering essence. Yet I found it regrettable how nearly all the actors' lines carried Shōwa-era speech patterns - perhaps the adapter's oversight. The actors were skilled. Even minor roles were performed with steady composure. Their teamwork was flawless. I thought it an excellent troupe. To join such a company would leave me speechless with satisfaction.

While walking through the corridor during intermission, I found a small box placed at a corner where the hallway turned. On it was written in white paint, “Please share your thoughts on tonight’s performance.” Seeing this, I suddenly had an inspiration.

On the stationery attached to the box, I wrote, "I am an aspiring member. Please inform me of the procedures," penned my address and name, and dropped it into the box. What a splendid idea that was! This too was a miracle. I hadn’t realized such a good method existed until the very moment I read the words on this box. In an instant, it flashed through my mind. It was divine grace. However, I kept this from Older Brother. Because I didn’t want to be laughed at—or rather, somehow I’d come to feel that from now on, I wanted to stop relying so much on Older Brother and charge ahead entirely by my own intuition.

June 4. Tuesday.

Sunny.

When I had forgotten about it, a letter arrived from Shunjū-za. News of happiness is something that never comes when you're waiting for it. It never comes.

I was waiting for a friend—ah! Was that footsteps? When my heart raced like that, it was never their footsteps. And then they came without warning. No footsteps at all—nothing. They struck precisely during that blank moment when I held no expectations. How strange it was.

The letter from Shunjū-za was typed on a typewriter. To summarize its contents: This year we intend to recruit three new members. Limited to healthy males aged sixteen to twenty. We do not require academic background; however, we will administer a written examination. After two months of joining the troupe, they will be provided a monthly stipend of thirty yen for makeup and travel expenses as associate members. The maximum period for associate membership shall be two years; thereafter, they shall be granted treatment equal to all full members as full members. Even after the maximum period has elapsed, those still deemed unqualified for full membership will be expelled. Applicants must submit to the office by June 15 a handwritten resume, an extract of family register, one recent cabinet-sized photograph (front-facing upper body), and permission from the household head or guardian, all enclosed together. Details regarding examinations and other matters will be notified at a later date. If there is no notification by midnight on June 20, you are to abandon your application. Furthermore, we are unable to respond to individual inquiries. ...and so forth.

The original text wasn't nearly this rigid in its wording, but the letter did have roughly this sort of tone. It spelled everything out in meticulous detail. There wasn't a hint of flourish—instead, I sensed an air of profound solemnity. As I read it, I began to feel the urge to sit up straight. Back during the Kamome-za audition, I'd just buzzed with excitement over nothing, but this time—it was no joke. I even felt a sense of gloom. Oh—so I too was finally venturing into the actor’s trade—the thought made me tear up a little.

Three will be accepted. I had absolutely no idea whether I could get in among them, but I’d try anyway. Older Brother was nervous that night too.

When I came back from school today,

“Shin.” “There’s a letter from Shunjū-za.” “You didn’t go behind my back and send some blood-oath petition, did you?” he began with a laugh. But after opening the letter and reading its contents together with me, he abruptly grew serious—even venturing to say something as disheartening as, “What would Father have said if he were alive?”

Older Brother was kind, and yet still weak. Where could I possibly go now? After enduring such prolonged anguish and suffering, I had finally made it this far.

In this situation, Mr. Saito alone was my lifeline. Mr. Saito had written three clear characters: Shunjū-za. "And do it alone!" he bellowed. I'll try. I'll keep trying, no matter what. An early summer night. The stars were beautiful. "Mother!" I said in a small voice and felt embarrassed.

June 18. Sunday.

Clear. A hot day. Fiercely hot. It was Sunday—I wanted to sleep late but couldn't stay abed for the heat. I woke at eight. Then came mail. Shunjū-za.

I had passed the first hurdle. I felt it was only natural, but still, I was relieved. I had thought the notification would come tomorrow or the day after, but happiness really does arrive maliciously, only at the most unexpected times.

The first examination will be conducted at the Shunjū-za Acting Dojo in Kagurazaka from 10:00 AM on July 5. The first examination comprises script recitation, written test, oral examination, and basic physical exercises. For the script recitation: candidates must bring one script of their choice to the examination venue and perform a free recitation. However, each recitation must not exceed five minutes. Additionally, we will provide another script at the venue to be recited. For the written test, candidates should preferably use pencils. Do not forget to prepare pants and a shirt suitable for physical exercises. Bringing lunch is unnecessary. A simple meal will be provided at this dojo. On the examination day, assemble in the acting dojo waiting room ten minutes before 10:00 AM.

As always, it was concise and clear. It said "first examination," but then—even if one passed this test, would there still be second and third examinations to follow? They were being quite cautious. But when determining someone’s suitability as an actor, perhaps being this thorough was indeed necessary. It wasn’t like getting a job at a company or a bank. If they were to conduct irresponsible screenings and hire someone haphazardly, and if that hired person turned out to be unsuitable as an actor, they wouldn’t be able to simply switch jobs as easily as moving to the bank next door—that person’s entire life would end up utterly destroyed. I did hope they would conduct the screenings with the utmost strictness. If they were anything like Kamome-za, passing would only make me more anxious. I had thrown everything away and was staking it all here. I couldn’t stand being treated irresponsibly.

There were four components: script recitation, written exam, oral examination, and physical exercises—but among these, the freely chosen script recitation was the real challenge. I thought it was a clever screening method. They’d figure out everything about your personality, education level, and background just from seeing what you chose. This was tough. There were still two weeks until the exam. I would take my time to calmly select the perfect script. I’d discuss it thoroughly with my brother and decide together. My older brother had been visiting Mother at Kujukuri for four or five days and was scheduled to return to Tokyo that night or the next. The previous evening, a postcard had arrived from him. Mother had developed a slight fever about a week earlier, but her temperature had subsided and she was now full of energy. Ms.Sugino had gotten deeply tanned and was working away unfazed. My brother had joked when leaving that he might make Ms.Sugino cry again, but nothing of the sort seemed to have happened. Honestly, my brother was too naive.

At night, Mr. Kijima, Oshun-baasan, and I were making and eating some strange ice cream together when the doorbell rang. When I went to check, there was Mr. Kimura’s father standing hulkingly in the entranceway.

“Has my idiot son come here?” he demanded.

The night before last, he left home carrying a guitar and hasn't returned since. When I said, "I haven't seen him at all lately," he tilted his head and— "Since he left with his guitar, I was certain he'd be here with you, so I thought I'd stop by," he said, eyeing me with a suspicious, unpleasant glare. He was making a fool of me. "I've already quit the guitar," I told him,

“I thought as much.” “I can’t respect someone your age still fiddling with that instrument.” “No, I’ve troubled you enough.” “If that idiot does come here—” “—please give him a good scolding from you as well,” he said before leaving.

Kimura the delinquent didn’t have a mother. I didn’t want to speak of other families’ scandals, but theirs seemed to be in disarray. Rather than scolding Kimura, I thought I’d rather give a scolding to the people in Kimura’s household. Mr. Kimura’s father was what you might call a high-ranking official, but he lacked any class. The look in his eyes had been unpleasant. Even if it was his own child, I thought it wasn’t right for him to go around calling him “our idiot” even in public. It had been truly cringeworthy. I thought Kimura was no saint, but his father was just as bad. In short, I had little interest in them. It was said that Dante merely watched and passed through the suffering of the sinners in hell. Apparently, he hadn’t even thrown them a single rope. That’s how it should be—I’d come to think lately.

July 5th. Wednesday.

Clear. Evening: light rain.

I’ll try to write down today’s events in detail. Right now, I was very composed. It felt almost refreshing. There wasn’t a trace of anxiety in my heart. I had done my best. The rest, I left to the Heavenly Father. A refreshing smile welled up within me. Today, I had truly been able to exert all my strength with complete sincerity. Perhaps this was what they meant by happiness. I wasn’t worried at all about whether I’d pass or fail.

Today I took the first examination at Shunjū-za’s acting dojo. I got up at seven-thirty this morning. I had been awake since around six o’clock, lying in bed while quietly contemplating whether I’d overlooked anything in my mental preparations. If I were to count oversights, there were plenty—yet I didn’t panic. At any rate, what mattered was not cutting corners. If I proceeded honestly, everything would resolve itself simply without difficulties. It’s when you try to cut corners that complications arise. No cutting corners. The rest I left to Him. I thought that preparing just this one thing in my heart would make everything else unnecessary. I tried composing a poem but failed. I rose, washed my face, and looked in the mirror. My expression was calm. Perhaps because I’d slept soundly last night, my eyes were clear. I smiled and bowed to my reflection. Then I ate an enormous breakfast. Oshun-baasan looked astonished. Though he usually sleeps late, when exams come he rises early and devours his food—she seemed to think this proved her strange praise: “A boy ought to be like this.” Oshun-baasan apparently convinced herself today’s test was for school.

If she found out I was going to take the actor’s exam, she might faint from shock. I got ready, then bowed respectfully to the photograph of my father at the family Buddhist altar, and finally went to my older brother’s room,

"I'm off now," I said loudly. My older brother was still asleep. He abruptly sat up, “What, you’re leaving already? ‘What shall I compare the Kingdom of God to?’” he said with a laugh. “It is like a mustard seed,” I replied, “Grow and become a tree,” he said in a tone filled with affection.

As a blessing for my future, those were wonderful words—almost too good for me. Older Brother was indeed a hundred times the poet I was. In an instant, he had selected precisely the right words.

It was hot outside.

I trudged through Kagurazaka and arrived at Shunjū-za’s acting dojo a little past nine o’clock. I was a bit too early. I went to Beniya, drank some soda water and wiped my sweat, then started out slowly again—this time, the timing was just right. It was an old, large mansion. As I was taking off my shoes in the entrance, a young man who looked like a head clerk, his obi neatly fastened, came out and said “Please” in a soft voice while adjusting the slippers for me. It had a calm atmosphere. I might as well have been 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 terribly young—practically children. The age limit was supposed to be sixteen to twenty years old, but those seven or eight people looked for all the world like thirteen- or fourteen-year-old boys at first glance. Some had bobbed haircuts, others wore red Bohemian neckties, and still others were draped in gaudily patterned kimonos—they all looked like sons of geishas or something of the sort. 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 could only feel terribly self-conscious. Examinees began trickling in. Three or four people around twenty years old also arrived. However, everyone wore suits or kimonos. In the end, I remained the only one wearing a student uniform. None of their faces looked particularly clever, but at least there was none of the gloom that hung over Kamome-za.

There was no sense of life's castoffs among them. They simply glanced about absentmindedly. When our numbers reached about twenty, the clerk-like man reappeared and said in a subdued tone, "Thank you for your patience." "I will now call your names," he continued, announcing five names before guiding them to another room with a polite "This way, please." My name went uncalled. In the renewed silence, I stood and wandered into the hallway to gaze at the garden. The place felt more like an upscale restaurant or inn than a theater dojo. The garden stretched impressively wide. A distant train whistle drifted through the air. The heat pressed down relentlessly. After thirty minutes of waiting, my name finally surfaced in the next round of calls. Led by the same clerk-like man, we five wound through dim corridors that twisted twice before reaching a breezy Western-style room.

“Oh, welcome.” A young man in a suit with an exceptionally handsome face greeted us amiably. “We will now conduct the written exam.” We sat around the large table in the center, received three sheets of manuscript paper each from the handsome young man, and began writing. We could write about anything. He explained that impressions, diary entries, or poetry were all acceptable—so long as they related in some way to Shunjū-za. We were specifically cautioned against impulsively transcribing something like Heine’s love poems should they happen to come to mind. The time limit was thirty minutes, and we were to organize our responses within one to two sheets of manuscript paper.

I began by writing a self-introduction and candidly described my impressions of Shunjū-za’s *The Wild Goose*. It filled exactly two pages. The others kept writing and erasing, clearly struggling with their compositions. Even so, these were the select few who had been chosen from numerous applicants through their resumes and photographs. They made for such timid candidates. Yet these very people who seemed like fools might unexpectedly reveal genius talent in acting. That was entirely possible.

I mustn’t let my guard down—I was thinking such things when the clerk suddenly poked his head through the door and—

“Those who have finished writing, please bring your answers this way.” Another round of being escorted.

I was the only one who had finished writing. I stood up and went out into the hallway. I was led to a large room in a separate building. It was quite an impressive room. Two large dining tables had been placed there. Six examiners surrounded the dining table near the tokonoma; about two meters away sat the examinees' table. The examinee was me alone. The five examinees who had been called before us must have all finished and left already—there was no one else. I stood up and bowed, then faced the table and sat properly. There they were—all of them. Ichikawa Kikunosuke, Serikawa Kunitaro, Sawamura Kaemon, Bando Ichimatsu, Sakata Monnosuke, Somekawa Bunshichi—the senior executives were all uniformly beaming and looking this way. I also laughed.

“What will you read?” Serikawa Kunitaro said, flashing his gold teeth.

“Faust!” I had meant to declare it with much enthusiasm, but Kunitaro merely gave a slight nod and—

“Please go ahead.”

I took out Ogai’s translation of *Faust* from my pocket and read aloud the scene of the blooming field as instructed—with all my might, as if to make the heavens resound. This *Faust* selection was something my older brother and I had carefully deliberated over. Following his opinion that Shunjū-za would favor kabuki classics, we tried works by Mokuami, Shōyō, Kido, and even Mr.Saito’s pieces, but I simply couldn’t mimic Sadanji or Uzaemon’s vocal mannerisms. My individuality refused to emerge. Yet the plays of Mushanokōji and Kubota Mantarō had fragmented dialogue that made poor recitation material. Tackling dialogues requiring triple role-playing exceeded my current abilities, while scenes with extended monologues proved surprisingly scarce in any given script—at most two or three per play, if any existed at all. When I did find such passages, they turned out to be famous actors’ party tricks—vocal imitations perfected for banquet entertainment. Being told to choose just one piece paralyzed me with indecision. As I waffled, the exam deadline crept nearer. Maybe I should attempt Lopakhin from *The Cherry Orchard* instead? No—if it came to that, Faust remained preferable. That particular line had come to me instinctively during Kamome-za’s urgent audition. A commemorative line. Undoubtedly connected to my fate in some profound way. I decided to go with Faust! Thus it was settled. Even were I to fail because of this Faust choice, I’d harbor no regrets. I read without restraint. As I recited, an icy clarity suffused me. It’s okay—it’s okay—the words seemed whispered at my back by some unseen presence.

“Life rests upon colored shadows!” When I finished reading it, I couldn’t help but break into a smile. For some reason, I was happy. I started to feel like exams didn’t matter anymore. “Well done.” Mr. Kunitaro gave a slight bow and said, “One more request from us.”

“Yes?” “Please read aloud the answer you just wrote over there.” “My answer? “This one?” I was flustered.

“Yes.” He was smiling. This had me a bit stumped. But I had to admit that the people at Shunjū-za were quite clever. This way, they could save the trouble of checking each answer later, make efficient use of time, and—if someone had written something trivial—their flustered recitation would only make the flaws in their writing all the more apparent. I had to admit they’d outsmarted me with this one. However, I regained my composure and read slowly, without faltering. I added no inflection to my voice and read in a natural tone.

“That will do. Please leave your answer sheet here and kindly wait in the waiting room.”

I gave a quick bow and stepped out into the hallway. Even 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 returned one after another. When everyone had gathered, the clerk came to fetch us again—this time for physical exercises. We were led to a spacious wooden-floored room resembling a bathhouse changing area. Two men around forty—likely senior staff members wearing kaku-obi sashes—sat in rattan chairs at the room’s corner. A young man dressed like an office worker in white pants and a dress shirt began barking orders. Those wearing traditional clothes had to remove all garments, but Western attire only required taking off jackets. Since our group wore Western clothes, preparations went smoothly and exercises started immediately. The five of us performed right face, left face, about face, forward march, double time, halt—then something like radio calisthenics—before shouting our full names in turn. The letter had called them "simple exercises," but they weren’t simple at all. I felt slightly tired. Back in the waiting room, dining tables stood lined up with examinees beginning to eat. Tempura rice bowls. Two soba shop apprentice-looking youths directed by the clerk bustled about pouring tea and carrying bowls. The heat was oppressive. I ate my tempura rice bowl streaming with sweat. I couldn’t finish it all.

The final part was the oral examination. We were called one by one by the clerk and led away. The oral examination room was the same as the recitation room from earlier. Yet the atmosphere inside had completely changed. The space lay in terrible disarray. Two large dining tables had been pushed tightly together, where three sallow-complexioned men with long hair—likely from departments like Literary or Planning—sat with jackets removed and elbows propped in relaxed postures, chaotic documents strewn across the tabletops. There was even a half-finished glass of iced coffee.

“Please have a seat. “Cross-legged, cross-legged,” the apparent eldest examiner urged, pushing a zabuton cushion toward me. “It’s Mr. Serikawa, right?” he said, pulling out my resume and photos from the documents on the desk, “Do you intend to continue attending university?” It was precisely a question that struck at the core. My worry was exactly that. I thought it was harsh. “I’m still thinking about it.” I answered truthfully. “You can’t do both.” The pursuit was relentless.

“That...” I let out a small sigh. “After being accepted,” My words trailed off. “Well, I suppose that’s true, but...” The examiner burst into laughter, having keenly sensed my hesitation. “After all, your acceptance hasn’t been finalized yet.” “Was that an impertinent question?” “Forgive me, but your brother seems rather young.” It stung deeply. I couldn’t withstand this pincer attack. “Ah... he’s twenty-six.” “Is your brother’s approval alone truly sufficient?” His tone carried genuine concern. I thought this oral examination supervisor must have endured great hardships in life.

“That’s fine. My brother will work very hard.” “Will he work hard?” he said with a cheerful laugh. The other two people also exchanged glances and smiled warmly. “You’ve read Faust? Did you choose it by yourself?” “No, I discussed it with my brother as well.” “So your brother chose it for you?” “No, even when I consulted my brother, we couldn’t settle on anything, so I ended up deciding by myself.”

“Excuse me for asking, but do you properly understand Faust?” “I don’t understand it at all. But there’s an important memory connected to it.”

“I see,” he laughed again. “Do you have a memory associated with it?” He gazed at my face with gentle eyes. “What sports do you play?”

“In middle school, I played soccer a bit.” “Now I’ve stopped though.” “Were you on the team?”

They went on to ask about even the minutest details. When I mentioned my mother was ill, they pressed eagerly about her condition. Most questions focused on my household circumstances—what close relatives I had, whether there existed someone who might serve as my brother's guardian, and such matters. But their inquiries flowed so naturally that I found myself answering with ease, and it wasn't unpleasant. Finally,

“What about Shunjū-za appealed to you?” “Not really.”

“Huh?” The examiners all tensed up abruptly. The chief examiner frowned with vivid displeasure and demanded, “Then why did you want to join Shunjū-za?” “I don’t know anything. I’d only vaguely thought it was a proper troupe.” “Just... wandering in aimlessly?”

“No, if I didn’t become an actor, I had nowhere else to go.” “So when I was struggling and consulted someone, they wrote ‘Shunjū-za’ on paper for me.”

“On paper?” “That person is rather odd. When I went to consult him, he claimed to have a cold and refused to meet me. So I wrote ‘Please recommend a good troupe’ on Western-style stationery at the entrance and handed it to a woman—whether she was a maid or secretary, I couldn’t tell—who laughed incessantly and agreed to deliver it. Then she brought back a response from inside. But the paper only had three characters written on it: ‘Shunjū-za.’”

“Who was that?” The chief examiner asked with widened eyes.

“He’s my teacher.” “But that might just be me believing it on my own—they might not consider someone like me at all.” “But I’ve decided he’ll be my teacher for life.” “I’ve only spoken with him once.” “I chased after him and got him to let me ride in his car.” “Who on earth is this person?” “He must be someone from the theater world.”

“I don’t want to say.” “Even though I only rode in his car and spoke with him that one time, using his name now would feel so wretched—I can’t stand it.”

“Understood.” The chief examiner nodded solemnly. “So? You mean you plunged straight into here because that person wrote ‘Shunjū-za’ for you?”

“That’s right. But even if he said ‘Just join Shunjū-za,’ it was impossible—that’s what I complained to the maid at the time.” Then someone shouted from behind the sliding door: “Do it alone!” “The teacher had been standing there listening all along. So I was startled, and—”

The two young examiners laughed out loud. However, the chief examiner did not laugh so much, “He’s quite a bold teacher, isn’t he? It’s Mr. Saito, isn’t it?” he said offhandedly. “That’s not something I’ve been told.” “I’ll tell you once I’m more accomplished,” I said with a laugh.

“I see.” “Then this will suffice.” “Thank you for your efforts today.” “Have you had your meal?” “Yes, I have.”

“In that case, another notification may be sent within two or three days, but if nothing arrives within that time, you will go consult that teacher again, I take it?” “That is my intention.”

With this, all of today’s exams were now finished.

With a contented, tranquil heart, he returned home. In the evening, he and his older brother made Serikawa-style beefsteak and ate it together. They also treated Oshun-baasan. I was truly fine, though my older brother seemed to be secretly worrying. He kept trying to ask about the exam in various ways, but this time I turned the tables by posing questions like "What is the Kingdom of God like?" and had no desire whatsoever to speak of the concluded examination.

The evening was for my diary.

This may well be my last diary entry. I don't know why, but I feel that way. I'll go to sleep.

July 6th. Thursday.

Cloudy.

This morning, he was so sleepy he couldn’t get up no matter what and skipped school.

At two in the afternoon, an express mail arrived from Shunjū-za. “We will conduct your 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 Tora-no-Mon.

This was what they called the notification for the second examination.

Older brother said that with this, passing was practically certain and was completely at ease, but to me, it didn’t seem that way. When I went to the hospital, I even got the feeling that all of yesterday’s examinees had gathered there again. I want to amass enough vigor that I could start the fight all over again from the beginning. Fortunately, my body shouldn’t have any problems.

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

July 8th. Saturday.

Sunny. I went to Takekawa Hospital in Toranomon and had just returned. It was hot, hot. Begging pardon—I wrote this diary entry wearing nothing but my underwear. When I went to the hospital, there were only two people. Me, then a boy with bobbed hair who looked about fourteen or fifteen—that was all. The rest seemed to have failed. It had been an incredibly strict selection. A shiver ran through me.

Three doctors took turns examining every inch of our bodies. The grueling examination left me somewhat dazed. We were put through X-rays and had our blood and urine taken. The boy started sniffling when they diagnosed him with trachoma. But upon hearing it was a mild case that would heal within a week's treatment, he promptly brightened. His face wasn't exactly charming, but possessed an unsettling distinctiveness. An abnormally elongated face. He might unexpectedly harbor genius-level talent. We endured nearly three hours of probing.

From Shunjū-za, a clerk-like individual 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, totaling roughly six hundred.”

“But it’s still not certain, is it?” I said.

“Well, who can say?” he replied evasively. If I passed, an official notification would arrive within a week, they said. We parted ways at the streetcar stop. If I told Older Brother, he would be overjoyed. I had never seen Older Brother so happy.

“That’s wonderful, that’s wonderful! Shin, it was right for you to become an actor after all.” “Two out of six hundred—that’s incredible, isn’t it?” “You’re amazing—thank you. I’m so happy—” he started to say before choking up slightly. This was absurd. It was still too early to celebrate. Until the official notification arrived, I mustn’t let my guard down.

July 14th. Friday. Sunny.

The passing notification arrived.

July 15th. Saturday.

Sunny. It's scorching hot.

Yesterday, I placed the passing notification on the family altar still in its envelope and, together with Older Brother, reported it to our father. I truly began to feel like I could become Japan’s number one actor. The real hardship was yet to come. However, "I wish to prove that those who act well and nobly can endure misfortune through that fact alone." This was Beethoven’s statement, but it embodied a ferocious resolve. The geniuses of old had all fought with such resolve. Unbroken, I would press onward.

Last night, Older Brother, Mr. Kijima, and I went to Sarugakuen and had a modest celebration. We toasted to Mother’s health. Mr. Kijima got drunk and sang something called the Chakkiribushi.

Lately, I hadn’t been going to school at all. From the second term onward, I’d decided to take a leave of absence. Older Brother had said there was no other choice but to do so. Starting next Monday, I would have to attend Shunjū-za’s dojo every day. It seemed I’d soon be helping out with actual performances too. Even during the two-month trainee period, they provided a monthly stipend of twelve yen, with additional transportation fees properly covered when assisting performances. After two months passed, as an associate member, the monthly makeup allowance became thirty yen. Then over the next two years, the allowances would gradually increase until becoming a full member entitled to equal treatment. If all went smoothly, I would become a full member by autumn when I turned nineteen. But now wasn’t the time to drift off in sweet fantasies. Immediate effort mattered most. It was going to be tough. Once two years passed and I became a full member, the real actor’s training would begin. Ten years of training—twenty-nine years old. Countless things would happen. Choosing scripts would matter more than my individual acting. Effort—that was everything. I had to become a distinguished actor without fail. It felt like rowing a dugout canoe into open seas. Yet receiving even this small salary starting this month gave me an odd ticklish feeling.

A little happy. With my first salary, I plan to buy Older Brother a fountain pen.

Older Brother said he would go to our mother’s family home in Numazu tomorrow to escape the heat. He planned to stay about ten days. Normally I would have gone too, but since I’ll be on “duty” starting next week, it couldn’t be helped. This summer I would stay in Tokyo and work hard. Older Brother’s novel for Bungaku Koron had apparently missed its deadline after all. When he showed Mr. Tsuda the half-finished manuscript, he received unexpectedly high praise and encouragement—but after that, he couldn’t make progress and ultimately abandoned it. What a waste. Older Brother always lamented how his abilities fell short compared to Balzac or Dostoevsky, but wasn’t it too ambitious to try surpassing those giants from the start? He’d say things like “You really can’t write a proper novel until you’re past thirty,” but why not try writing short prose poems before then? At any rate, Older Brother possessed such tremendous talent that once he found his rhythm, he would surely produce a world-class masterpiece. The beauty of his writing was truly without equal in Japan.

Tonight, when I got out of the bath and looked in the mirror, I was shocked to see how terribly haggard my face had become. Can my face have changed this much in just two or three days? After all, these past two or three days must have taken a considerable toll on me. My cheekbones were protruding; it had become completely an adult face. Horribly ugly. I had to do something about this. I was now an actor. An actor must take good care of their face. I just couldn’t stand this face. Like a dried-up monkey. From now on, every morning, I would have to use things like cream and loofah cologne to tend to my face. Just because I’d become an actor didn’t mean I needed to start primping all of a sudden, but a face this lifeless was a problem.

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

August 24. Thursday.

Cloudy. Hellish summer. I might go mad. No, no. I don't know how many times I've thought of suicide. I've learned to play the shamisen. I can also dance. Every day, every day, from 10 AM to 4 PM.

The acting dojo is a hellish valley! I've quit school. There's nowhere else to go now. This is punishment! I'd underestimated what it meant to be an actor.

Accursed being—thy name is boy actor. I myself find it strange that my body has held up this well. I had steeled myself, but I never imagined I would suffer 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 melancholy,” said the boy as he approached.

“Go away!” I said. Even I was taken aback— my tone had been so solemn. How could you idiots ever understand my troubles!

The boy’s name was Takita Teruo. He was apparently the secret child of Setsuko Takita, who had been a famous actress at the Imperial Theater. His father was apparently Mr. M, a prominent figure in the financial world who had passed away some years prior. Eighteen years old. He was one year older than me, but still just a boy. An idiot savant. But his acting was brilliant. In every performing art imaginable, someone like me couldn’t hold a candle to him. This guy was my rival. My lifelong rival, perhaps. I was always being compared to this idiot and scolded for it. But I utterly rejected this so-called genius idiot. Just wait and see, I told myself. There’s nothing more precious than the stubborn resolve of someone inept. At Shunjū-za, only the company director Ichikawa Kikunosuke questioned Takita and supported me. The rest were appalled by my uncouthness. They’d dubbed me with the stage name ‘Rikutsuya’. That day after leaving the dojo, I found myself walking to the tram stop with senior executive Kaemon Sawamura—

“You carry a different book in your pocket every single day. Are you really reading them?” he said with a thin smile.

I did not respond.

In my mind, I retorted: Kinokuniya-san, actors nowadays can't survive on technical prowess alone like you do. About ten days prior, Ichikawa Kikunosuke had taken me to Rainbow and treated me to dinner; while prodding boiled potatoes with his fork, he'd abruptly said this.

“I was called ‘daikon’ until I was thirty. “And even now, I still think of myself as a daikon.” I wanted to cry.

If not for the company director’s words, I might have hanged myself today.

I will establish a new artistic path. It is formidable. Arrows don't strike my head—they only pierce my arms and legs. It is the most unbearable pain. Can a single mustard seed become a tree? Can it become a tree?

Let me try writing Beethoven’s words again, large and bold.

"I wish to prove that those who act well and nobly can endure misfortune through that fact alone."

September 17.

Sunday.

Cloudy. Occasional rain.

There was no practice today. Yesterday at the dojo, rehearsals lasted until half past eleven at night. I grew dizzy and nearly collapsed onstage. The Kabukiza Theatre's opening day would be October 1st. The program consisted of *Sukeroku*, Sōseki's *Botchan*, and then *Shikisai Kan Karimame*. It was my debut performance. Though my roles were merely a lantern bearer in *Sukeroku* and a middle school student in *Botchan*—that was all. Yet the rehearsals' fierce intensity demanded relentless repetition. Even after returning home and going to bed, I was tormented by a continuous stream of strange, unsettling dreams and kept tossing all night. When I was too exhausted, sleep became impossible.

This morning around eight o'clock, I received a call from my sister in Shitaya. "It's a crisis—come to Shitaya right away with Older Brother!" she said with a laugh, repeating "Crisis! Crisis!" No matter how much I asked what was wrong, she wouldn't tell me. She just kept saying to come anyway. There was nothing I could do. Older Brother and I hurriedly ate our meal and set out for Shitaya. "I wonder what it is," I said, and Older Brother—

“I want no part in mediating marital squabbles,” he said with a slightly uneasy look.

When we went to Shitaya, it turned out to be nothing serious—the three of them were just laughing uproariously. “Shin, did you read this morning’s Miyako Shimbun?” said Older Sister. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” In Kojimachi, we didn’t subscribe to the Miyako Shimbun. “No.”

“It’s a huge deal! Look!” The entertainment section of the Miyako Shimbun’s Sunday special edition showed my photo printed small beside Teruo Takita’s. The names didn’t match. Mine read Ichikawa Kikumatsu while his bore Sawamura Ōnosuke. An explanation labeled us as Shunjū-za’s two new members followed by a “Please treat us kindly.” I was appalled. They were making fools of us. I’d known we’d become associate members after our debut performance, but they’d slapped these stage names on us without notice. No consultation whatsoever—just some haphazardly fabricated identities. A gloom settled over me. Yet behind this clunky “Ichikawa Kikumatsu” lurked the silent protection of Company Director Kikunosuke Ichikawa. That thought brought faint comfort. Ichikawa Kikumatsu. What a rotten name. Like some errand boy’s.

“At last,” Mr. Suzuoka said with a laugh, “things are getting properly serious now. To celebrate, let’s go eat Chinese food.” He always jumped at any excuse for Chinese cuisine. “But when things escalate like this, it worries me,” said Older Sister. She and her husband had known about my acting ambitions beforehand and, though concerned, had given their silent approval. “Shouldn’t we keep this from Mother a while longer?” It had been an absolute secret from Mother from the very beginning.

“Of course.” Older Brother answered in a firm tone. “She’ll find out eventually, but I’ve decided to wait until Mother has recovered a bit more before telling her everything.” “Anyway, this is my responsibility.” “You don’t need to worry about stiff formalities like *responsibility*.” Mr. Suzuoka was bold. “Whether you’re an actor or whatever—if you can keep at it earnestly, that’s commendable.” “Getting fifty yen a month at seventeen—that’s not something just anyone can pull off!”

“It’s thirty yen,” I corrected. “No—with allowances and such, a thirty-yen monthly salary becomes sixty yen.” He seemed to think actors and bank employees were all the same.

Mr. and Mrs. Suzuoka, Toshio, Older Brother, and I—the five of us went out to eat Chinese cuisine in Hibiya.

Everyone was buoyant and cheerful, but I alone, partly due to last night’s sleeplessness, found no enjoyment at all. The hell of training would not leave my mind for a single moment, and I was simply in a state of utter gloom.

This isn't some dilettantish actor training. No one understands my gloominess. "Please treat us kindly," huh? Ah, why must those who wish to stand tall be made to bend!

Ichikawa Kikumatsu. How lonely.

October 1. Sunday.

A clear autumn day.

Debut performance. I am on stage, squatting while holding a lantern. The audience seats form a terrifyingly dark, deep swamp. None of the audience's faces are visible. Deep blue and hazily shifting. No matter how wide I strain my eyes, it remains deep blue and hazy. Not a single sound reaches me. Utter silence. I began wondering if anyone was there at all. A tepid, deep, vast swamp. It feels ominous. I felt myself being sucked into it. My consciousness grew distant. A wave of nausea welled up.

When I finished my role and returned dazedly to the dressing room, my older brother and Mr.Kijima were there. I was happy. I wanted to show samurai-like bravado to my brother. "I recognized you immediately," said Mr.Kijima, terribly excited. "I knew right away it was Shin. No matter how you're made up, I can still tell it's you." "I was the very first to spot you," he continued. "I recognized you immediately." He kept repeating the same thing.

Apparently, the Suzuokas were sitting in the front-row seats too. Aunt Choppiri was also working hard in Uzura with five students in tow. When I heard this from Older Brother, I made a tearful face. I truly realized how precious family could be. Mr.Kijima had apparently shouted “Ichikawa Kikumatsu!” twice at the top of his lungs. There was no point calling out to a lantern bearer anyway. He’d gone and embarrassed me thoroughly. “Did you hear my shout?” he asked proudly. Far from hearing anything, the lantern bearer onstage had become so dizzy he nearly collapsed.

Older Brother brought his mouth close to my ear and whispered with a serious face, putting on airs of sophistication, “Shall I have sushi delivered to the dressing room?” which made me burst out laughing. “It’s fine,” I said. “At Shunjū-za, we don’t do things like that.” “So I see,” he replied with a dissatisfied look.

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

During the second performance of *Botchan*, I felt relatively carefree. I could faintly make out laughter from the audience seats. But still, I couldn't see the audience's faces at all. As I grew accustomed, not only the audience's laughter but even whispers and babies' cries became clearly audible, making everything seem all the more noisy. They say you eventually learn to recognize who's sitting where in the audience. I was still no good. I became absorbed. No—this was the brink of life and death.

After finishing all my roles and entering the dressing room bath, when I thought, "Every day from tomorrow onward," I felt unbearable disgust that nearly drove me mad. I hate actors! Though it lasted only an instant, the pain was so intense it made me thrash about. As I kept thinking I'd rather go mad, the agony vanished with a whoosh, leaving only loneliness behind. When you fast—those words of Christ I had written boldly at my diary's beginning when sixteen that spring came vividly back to me then. When you fast, anoint your head with oil and wash your face. Suffering exists for everyone. Ah, fasting must be done with a smile. At least put in another ten years of effort; only then may you truly rage. Haven't I yet created even one thing? No, I haven't even grasped the technique of creation yet.

Lonely, but with a sweetness inside like I’d taken a sip of milk, I got out of the bath.

I went to Company Director Ichikawa Kikunosuke’s room to pay my respects.

“Oh, congratulations,” he said, and I felt happy. How trivial it all seemed. The dark torment in the bathhouse had been swept clean away by the Company Director’s cheerful remark. To make my debut in Kobiki-cho might be the most blessed beginning an actor could hope for. “You’re happy,” I insisted to myself.

The above is an account of my honored debut performance.

I returned home and talked passionately about celestial bodies with Older Brother until around 1 AM. I don’t even know why I started talking about celestial bodies and such.

November 4. Saturday.

Clear.

Now in Osaka. Intermission.

The performances were *Kanjinchō*, *Utagae no Tō*, and *Momijigari*.

Our lodging was right in the heart of Dotonbori. Hotei-ya—a damp communal lodging. Two six-tatami rooms were where we seven lived. But I would absolutely not succumb to depravity!

Ichikawa Kikumatsu is said to be a saint.

November 12. Sunday.

Rain.

I'm sorry. Tonight I am drunk. Osaka is such a disagreeable place. Dotonbori is an extremely lonely place. I drank at that dimly lit bar called "Yayoi". And so, I got drunk for the first time in a long while. Even when drunk, I was putting on airs. “Guard your honor from youth!”

Senosuke was foolish. Even when drunk, I became utterly grotesque. And then on the way back, he whispered something shameless to me. When I declined with a laugh, Senosuke said,

“I’m lonely.”

I was too appalled to speak.

December 8.

Friday.

I couldn't tell whether the sun was out or it was raining. Nothing filled me but the urge to cry. I was in Nagoya.

I want to return to Tokyo soon. I'm sick of touring. I don't want to say anything. I don't want to write. I am just being dragged along and living. I am ashamed that I know nothing of the essential meaning of sexual desire, only its concrete aspects. Like a dog.

December 27.

Wednesday.

Clear.

Having finished the Nagoya performances, I arrived at Tokyo Station tonight at 7:30 PM. Osaka. Nagoya. When I returned after two months away, Tokyo was already deep into December. I had changed.

My older brother was there to meet me at Tokyo Station. I saw his face and could only grow flustered. He smiled calmly.

I became acutely aware that my older brother and I now inhabited entirely separate worlds. I am a sunburned man of practical life. There’s no romanticism left. A hardened, mean-spirited realist. I’ve changed, haven’t I?

A boy wearing a black soft hat and a suit. Carrying a bag that smelled of makeup, he walked through Tokyo Station’s front square. Was this the pearl formed from all the suffering endured since that spring at sixteen - crystallized through relentless trials before finally dropping as a single bead? The grand summation of those long agonies was this small figure shivering in the cold. Not one person passing by would recognize my two years of desperate struggle. I marveled at having persisted without dying or going mad, yet knew others would simply frown and mutter: “That wayward son’s finally sunk to becoming an actor.” An artist’s fate always follows such paths.

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—from the moment I was born. The reason I chose the profession of an actor was entirely for that one purpose alone. Ah, I want to become Japan’s greatest—no, the world’s greatest actor! And then I want to make everyone—especially those who are poor—so happy it thrills them to the core.

December 29. Friday.

Clear.

Shunjū-za: the year-end general meeting. I was elected to the planning committee. A committee directly under the executives that deliberates on script selection and other matters related to the troupe's policies. I felt the weight of responsibility.

Furthermore, it was decided that Ichikawa Kikumatsu alone would perform the reading of "The God of the Little Servant" for the January 2nd radio broadcast. It seemed my efforts during the two-month tour had finally been recognized. But I was not at all conceited now. To desire wisdom through oneself alone is nothing but great folly. (La Rochefoucauld) All I could do was keep striving earnestly. From now on, I would act simply and honestly. What I didn’t know, I would say I didn’t know. What I couldn’t do, I would say I couldn’t do. If I discarded all affectation, life seemed surprisingly level. I would build a small house upon a large rock.

For New Year’s, I plan to go to Mr. Saito’s place first thing to pay a New Year’s visit. This time, I feel he might agree to meet me.

I will be eighteen next year.

On my path—flowers bloom fragrantly. Though I pray for tranquility— ——Hymn 313