Pathway to Japanese Literature

Characters.

Yaichi Nonaka: National School teacher, thirty-six years old.

Setsuko: His wife, thirty-one years old.

Shizu: Setsuko's biological mother, fifty-four years old.

Yoshio Okuda: National School teacher, residing at the Nonaka residence, twenty-eight years old.

Kikuyo: Yoshio’s sister, twenty-three years old.

Others: Several schoolchildren.

Place.

Tsugaru Peninsula, a remote coastal village.

Time.

April 1946 (Showa 21).

Act I

The stage is a classroom in the village's National School.
After school, around 4 PM.

The front held the teacher’s platform, with students’ desks and twenty or thirty chairs arranged before it.
Through the downstage glass doors streamed slanting sunlight.
Upstage too had glass doors.
Then came the entrance.
Beyond that lay the corridor.
The sea was visible through the corridor’s glass doors.

The atmosphere of a school with about one hundred and fifty students.

On the front blackboard, characters such as the following were messily and haphazardly scrawled, with some parts vigorously erased but mostly legible.
The sense that Teacher Nonaka had written this during class and left it untouched.

The characters were:

“Fourth-Rate Country.”
Hokkaido, Honshu, Shikoku, Kyushu.
Nation of Four Islands.
Spring has come.
*Ruin or independence?*
Light comes from Tohoku.
*Tohoku’s conservatism.*
*Conservatism and feudalism.*
*Inflation.*
*Politics and Economy.*
*Black Market.*
*Mutual Trust Among the People.*
*Morality.*
*Culture.*
*Democracy.*
*Parliament.*

*Suffrage.*
*Love.*
*Teacher-Student Relationship.*
*Good Child.*
*Conscience.*
*Scholarship.*
*Study and Agriculture.*
*Bounty of the Sea.*

and so on.

The curtain rises.

The stage remains empty for a while.

There was a sudden sound of rough footsteps, and—“I’m not scolding you.
“There’s something I want to ask.
“There’s no need to cry,” came a voice as National School teacher Yaichi Nonaka opened the upstage door and entered, dragging a sobbing schoolchild.

(NONAKA) (forcing a smile onto his pale face) I’m not scolding you at all.
“What’s with you? You’re already a second-year higher elementary student, yet you’re crying like this—how shameful.”
“Come on, wipe your tears properly.”
(Yaichi Nonaka hands the schoolchild the towel hanging from his waist.)

(The schoolchild) (obediently wiped their tears with the towel.)

(Nonaka) (took the towel from the schoolchild and hung it back at his waist) "Alright, come on—sing."
"I won’t scold you."
"I won’t scold you at all—now sing that school song you were all singing together out on the playground right here."
"Even a low voice is fine—just sing."
"I’m not scolding you."
"I’ve forgotten parts of that song, you see, so I’m thinking of having you teach it to me now."
"That’s all there is to it, so rest assured. Come on, be a man and sing it for me."

(As he says this, he sits down on a front-row student chair.
(meaning he turns his back to the audience))

The schoolchild faced the audience directly, assumed a formal at-attention stance, closed his eyes, and sang softly.

Spring—the banquet of fragrant citrus flowers,

Circulating sake cups casting shadows,

The pines of Chiyo parted long ago,

The light of old—where now?

(The schoolchild) (finishes singing and hangs head.)

(NONAKA) (propping his cheek on the desk) Thank you.
“No—well, as you all know, I’m not very good at school songs. That one too I only half-remembered. Thanks to you, I’ve finally recalled it clearly now.”
“It’s a sad song, isn’t it?”
“Lately you all seem to be singing that school song constantly—did some teacher teach it to you?”

(The schoolchild) (shakes their head.)

(NONAKA) Did you pick it up on your own without anyone teaching you?

(The schoolchild remained silent.)

(NONAKA) “Do you truly understand the meaning when you sing this song?”
“Or rather—do you sing it because this song best matches how you all feel now?”

(The schoolchild hung their head and remained silent.)

(NONAKA) “I won’t scold you at all—speak your mind plainly.”
“You see, I’ve been pondering various matters myself.”
“Just moments ago—” (he gestured slightly toward the front blackboard) “—I wrote all those things intending to teach you about Japan’s new form. Yet after finishing, I felt unbearably anxious... desolate.”
“I’ve even begun wondering whether I understand anything at all.”
“In truth, I’ve come to think there may be things I must learn from you all.”

“So, what’s your answer?”
“First—could you all honestly tell me what feelings you have when singing that song?”
“Is it because you’re unbearably lonely that you want to sing such a song?”
“Or are you singing it with some mischievous intent?”
“What’s your answer?”

(The schoolchild remained silent.)

“Just say something—anything,” he pressed.
“You’re not laughing at Teacher in your hearts, surely?”
(He gave a low laugh and stood) “Enough.”
“You may go home.”
“But you shouldn’t sing such gloomy songs too often.”
“Tell the other students that too.”
“However we must—we must try to keep our spirits bright.”
“Enough.”
“Go home.”

The schoolchild wordlessly bowed to Mr. Nonaka and exited through the stage right exit.
Nonaka watched them leave and stared blankly for a while.
Eventually, he slowly walked toward the podium, stepped up onto it, took the blackboard eraser, and meticulously erased each character on the blackboard one by one.
While erasing, he eventually began to sing in a low voice: "Spring—the banquet of fragrant citrus flowers, / Circulating sake cups, casting shadows—"

The stage darkened slightly.
The setting sun had begun to fade.

Giggling stealthily, Kikuyo Okuda entered from the stage right exit.

“Quite skilled, aren’t you, Teacher?”

(Nonaka) (startled, turned to find Kikuyo, smiled bitterly) “Oh, it’s you.”
(After finishing wiping the blackboard and turned forward) “Please don’t tease me.”

“Oh, but I mean it,”
“You’re terribly good,”
“Such a wonderful baritone.”

(NONAKA) (distorting his mouth into a bitter smile) Please stop this nonsense.
"In my family, we've been tone-deaf since my parents' time."
(shifting his tone) "Did you need something?"
"If you're looking for Mr. Okuda, he left just now."

(KIKUYO) "No, I didn't come to see my brother."
(playfully adopting exaggerated formality) "Today, I wished to pay my respects to Mr. Yaichi Nonaka."

(NONAKA) "Don't be absurd—we see each other daily at home."

(KIKUYO) “Yes—but even living under one roof gives us precious few chances to talk alone.”
“Oh my—how forward of me.”
“Now don’t start getting ideas.”

“I don’t mind.”
“No—I shouldn’t.”
“I’ll get scolded by your brother.”
“Your brother is serious, you know.”

“Your wife’s serious too, you know.”

The two laughed.

Mr. Nonaka slowly descended from the podium and leaned against the glass door on stage left to gaze outside.

Kikuyo sat on the schoolchild's desk.
Her extravagantly casual kimono was draped loosely about her.

(NONAKA) (turning his back to Kikuyo and gazing at the scenery outside) It's already fully spring.
“Tsugaru’s spring comes all at once with a bang, doesn’t it?”

(Kikuyo) (quietly) Truly.
“Not with a hop, step, and jump kind of progression—just a single step and spring arrives abruptly, doesn’t it?”
“The snow that had piled up so deeply vanished in the blink of an eye—it was truly strange and almost frightening.”
“I’d been away from Tsugaru for ten years, so I’d completely forgotten how spring arrives here in a single step. I’d thought the snow piled so deeply across the fields and mountains would take until the end of May to melt away.”
“Well, you know—once it started melting, didn’t it just vanish completely in less than ten days?”
“In early April—to think I could see such spring greenery—I never imagined it.”

(Yaichi) (still gazing at the scenery outside) “Green grass? But what’s emerged from beneath the snow isn’t just green grass.”
“Look—it’s another blanket of withered leaves.”
“The withered leaves that fell last autumn have now reappeared from beneath the snow, completely unchanged.”
“These withered leaves are meaningless.”
(Chuckling low) “All through that long winter—day and night—buried under the snow, enduring... What exactly were they waiting for?”
“It’s chilling, isn’t it?”
“Even after the snow melts and reveals them in this filthy state, they can’t possibly come back to life. These leaves will just rot away as they are.”
(Turning back toward Kikuyo, leaning against the glass door, laughing in a joking tone) “Even the returning spring holds no meaning for these weary withered leaves.”
“What were they enduring under the snow for so long?”
“Even if the snow melts, these withered leaves are beyond saving.”
“Nonsense—that’s what this is.”

Kikuyo laughed out loud.

(NONAKA) (deliberately putting on a serious face) “No—this isn’t a laughing matter.”
“We too might be such nonsensical Spring’s Withered Leaves.”
“For ten years—even longer—enduring, persevering, I feel we’ve barely survived like insects. Yet perhaps without realizing it, we’ve already withered, fallen, and died.”
“From now on—just rotting endlessly—even when spring comes or summer arrives—never reviving... Yet unaware of this—waiting for spring like everyone else—haven’t we become utterly meaningless existences?”

(Kikuyo) (bluntly) “Surprisingly sentimental, aren’t you, Teacher?”
“Get a grip.”
“You’re still young.”
“Your future’s still ahead.”

(Nonaka) (scowling as if genuinely angered) "Don't talk nonsense."
"I'm already thirty-six."
"When country people turn thirty-six, it's already grandparenting age—not like city folks."
"Stop teasing."

(Kikuyo) "But Teacher, you still don't have any children."
"That's why you look young somehow."
"Your wife's so beautiful—practically younger than me."
"How many years between us, I wonder?"

(NONAKA) “Compared to whom?”

(Kikuyo) “Me, of course.”

(Nonaka) (with apparent disinterest) “My wife is thirty-one.”

(Kikuyo) “So that’s a full eight years between us.”
“She looks quite young.”
“As expected of an heiress daughter—she carries herself with dignity and looks every bit the proper wife from any angle.”
“Teacher, you’re such a lucky man.”
“With a wife like that, being an adopted son-in-law isn’t entirely wretched, is it?”

(Nonaka) (with growing displeasure) “Why must you keep saying such trivial things?”
“Let’s stop this already.”
“Did you come to see me today for some reason?”

(Kikuyo) (calmly) “I brought money.”

(Nonaka) “Money?”

(Kikuyo) That's right.
(Taking a white square envelope from her obi and walking over to Mr. Nonaka) "Teacher—keep quiet, okay? Don't say anything. Just stay silent and take this!"

(Yaichi brushed it away reflexively) “What? What is this?”

“It’s all right, Teacher,”
“Just take it like it’s nothing.”
“And use it however you please.”
“Don’t tell a soul.”

(Nonaka crossed his arms and smiled bitterly.) “Understood.”
But I have really fallen low, have I not?
“Kikuyo-san—never mind. Just put that envelope away.”

Kikuyo, holding the envelope awkwardly, gently placed it on a nearby student’s desk.

“As you well know, my household is poor.”
“We’re terribly poor.”
“Anyone lodging in my home and living under this roof would surely grow tired of the miserably shabby daily life of a country teacher.”
“To a young woman like yourself—only recently evacuated from Tokyo—it might already look like an unbearable vision of hell.”
“But there’s no need for concern.”
“Your sympathy is appreciated, but our household has its own pride.”
“If anything, we’re the ones feeling sympathy for you.”
“Such—such money—such—such worries—please never trouble yourself with them again.”
“We think even the monthly rent we take from you is too high.”
“We feel pity for you.”
“Now—I’ve understood already. Put that money away.”
“Let’s return home together.”
“Kikuyo-san!”
“But you,” (staring intently at Kikuyo’s face) “are a good person.”
“Your kindness alone has touched me deeply—I accept it gratefully.”
(lightly laughing) “Let’s shake hands.”

Teacher Nonaka extended his right hand.
Kikuyo struck his palm with such force that a sharp smack echoed through the room.

With a mocking sneer, she spat: “Oh, how pathetic.”
“Don’t misunderstand.”
“You look utterly ridiculous.”
“I know everything.”
“Everyone knows.”
“You can say what you like—you all want money.”
“Stop pretending.”
“You. Your wife. That mother of yours. You all crave it.”
“You’re consumed by greed.”
“Yet you’re not poor.”
“You keep whining ‘poor, poor,’ but you’re not poor.”
“You’ve got a proper house. Land. Stacks of kimonos and Western clothes.”
“Still you want more.”
“Bottomless greed.”
“Miserly hearts.”
“You’ve convinced yourselves nothing matters but money.”
“Now compare that to how we live.”
“My brother’s always been here—he’s different. I went to Tokyo with Father. Even before the war started, we had no peace. When the fighting began, I worked at his factory alongside the laborers. We stopped knowing whether we lived or died—just mindlessly survived each day until everything burned away. Now all we have left are five trunks we evacuated here earlier. That’s truly everything.”

“Father stayed behind alone in Tokyo to persevere, while I came here to burden my brother—but truly, I have nothing left.”
“With nothing left, I’m forced to pull these garish kimonos from my trunks—but country folk must think we’re indulging in some extravagant fashion whim.”
“The truth is opposite—even our plain clothes burned away, leaving only these teenage kimonos I must wear.”
“Money’s no different.”
“We have nothing.”
“Oh, my brother might’ve saved something with his rigid ways—but *we* have nothing.”
“Every yen we get vanishes instantly—Father and I lived like that for ten years in Tokyo.”
“Yet through it all, I never once craved money.”
“Without it, we’d scheme our way through—we always managed.”
“But country life won’t allow that.”
“Here they measure your worth by cash alone.”
“That’s their sole standard.”
“What chills me is how calmly they believe this—no jest left.”
“It makes me shudder.”
“However refined their airs, their hearts reek of it—disgusting.”
“If they knew I’m penniless now—your wife’s face, your mother’s... even yours...”
“Of course you would.”
“They’d despise me from their cores—see me as some filthy creature.”
“I can’t even mention my poverty.”
“You’re different.”

“Even if you go on about being poor or whatever, everyone already knows you have proper assets—so when you complain about high prices or wonder how you’ll manage from here on out, it can come off as charming. But what if we were to say such things?”
“It can’t even pass as a joke or a charming gesture.”
“We’re seen as nothing more than a wretched, lowly breed to be wary of.”
“Ridiculous.”
“So we have to show off by spending every last bit of our money as flashily as we can.”
“Then you all say that Tokyo folks are wasteful and undisciplined, but if we try living as stingily as you, we’re treated like genuine paupers—miserable creatures, practically caterpillars or beggars. Just where does your wife get off putting on such airs?”
“Are we a different breed?”
“She puts on such airs, never laughs at my jokes, acts like she’s on some higher plane than us—what’s that about?”
“A beauty?”
“Don’t make me laugh.”
“In the dim counters of third-rate Tokyo boarding houses, there are landladies with faces as sallow as pickled loofah.”
“I know all about them.”
“Those are the ones who want money most of all.”
“Greedy.”
“Stingy.”
“Respecting money more than husbands or parents.”
“I know.”
“Teacher, give that money to your wife.”
“Teacher, take my side!”
“I want revenge.”

“Teacher, inside that envelope is what would make your wife happiest.”
“It’s all new yen.”
“Since this is money I earned myself, I don’t need to hold back from anyone.”

The whistling of two or three students could be heard.
It was an ensemble of the song *Haru, Kōrō no Hana no En*.

(Kikuyo) (pricking up her ears at the whistling) “Oh, my friends have come to meet me.”
“I have to go.”
“Then I’ll leave it to you.”
“Is that okay?”
“Don’t tell your wife it’s from me—come up with some clever lie and give it to her as if it’s from you.”
“Ah, how delightful—imagining what face that prim-and-proper wife of yours will make!”

Kikuyo ran off toward the upstage entrance.

Teacher Nonaka suddenly regained his composure and called out to stop her.

“Wait, Kikuyo-san.”
“Where are you going?”

Kikuyo rose at the doorway and spun sharply toward Teacher Nonaka.
The whistling persisted.

(Kikuyo) (brightly) “To my friends!”

(Nonaka) “So you taught them that song?”

(Kikuyo) (with evident pride) “Exactly.”
“We’re organizing a music gathering.”
“A music gathering to turn profit!”
“We’ll earn New Yen.”
“Haru Kōrō, Tōjin Okichi, even that Foreigner with Blue Eyes song—all my teaching!”
“Today we’re rehearsing at the temple—all of us together.”
“Since I’ll return late, tell Brother it’s for Japanese culture’s sake—yes?”

Kikuyo exits, giggling.
The whistling continues on.

The stage darkens slightly once more.

Teacher Nonaka chased after Kikuyo for two or three steps, then stopped, turned back, picked up the square envelope on the desk, put it into his coat pocket, paused in thought, took it out again, and examined the contents of the envelope.
He silently counted the large bills—one, two.
Ten bills.
He looked around.
He counted them again.

The stage quietly revolves.

Act Two

The stage was the inner six-tatami room in the home of Yaichi Nonaka, a National School teacher.
This was the room rented by Yoshio Okuda and his sister Kikuyo.

The front part of the room was a sandy garden.
No grass or flowers.
Only the dirty-looking so-called "Spring’s Withered Leaves" were scattered here and there.

The stage stops.

Shizu, Yaichi’s mother-in-law, was taking in laundry from the garden clothesline pole.
Kikuyo’s brother Yoshio Okuda squatted on the six-tatami room’s veranda, fanning a charcoal brazier to cook while reading a book he’d set beside him.
The setting sun had faded, evening mist gathering in the air.

The same day as Act One.

(Shizu) (Taking in the laundry, cradling an armful in both arms, starting to leave toward stage right, then suddenly stopping as she glanced at the veranda) “Oh, Mr. Okuda—the pot’s boiling over.”

(Yoshio) (flustered, removing the pot lid and looking at Shizu with a wry smile) “My sister flew off somewhere again today and hasn’t come back, so… well.”

(Shizu) “Oh my, oh my.”
“Then you must have your hands full as well.”
(approaching the veranda while laughing) “What are you cooking there?”

(Yoshio) (hurriedly putting the lid back on the pot) “No—I can’t show you this.”
“I just throw everything into the pot to boil, then close my eyes and gulp it down—that’s the plan.”

(Shizu) (laughing aloud) “Truly, men’s cooking is so pitiful—I simply can’t bear to watch.”
“Later, I’ll bring you some pickles or something.”

(Yoshio) (seriously) “No, I don’t need anything.”
“Ever since my student days over a decade ago, I’ve lived nothing but this kind of life, so being with my sister and eating her pretentious dishes actually feels rather unpleasant.”

(He picked up the book and stood, entered the room, and turned on the light.)
(He then sat cross-legged at the desk facing the veranda—or rather, sat facing the audience—placed the book on the desk, unconsciously riffled through its pages, and said bluntly) “I’ve never once thought dishes women prepare taste good.”

(Shizu) (softly placing the laundry on the veranda and perching lightly at its edge) “Well, I never.”
(Laughing magnanimously, then solemnly) “How many years has it been since your mother passed away?”

(Yoshio) (without particular emotion) “It was the summer I entered this elementary school that she died—so it’s been almost twenty years now.”

“Has it really been that long?”
“We remember your mother’s funeral very well.”
(Folding the laundry piece by piece) “Even now, I still can’t forget how your sister looked when your father held her hand as she toddled up to offer incense.”
“When we saw that, we thought: Ah, a mother cannot die peacefully if she leaves small children behind.”

(Yoshio) (calmly) “However, my mother did commit suicide.”

(Shizu) (raising her face) “Oh my—you mustn’t say such things.”

(Yoshio) “I heard it from Mr. Nonaka.”
“Officially, it’s listed as a heart attack, but it was indeed suicide.”
“She had an affair with the dark-skinned cook our family employed. When it became a scandal, she killed herself.”
“So we don’t know who my sister Kikuyo’s real father is.”
“That’s why we closed our inn, left this area for Aomori, and once I was set to enter Aomori Teacher’s College, my father abandoned me there and took only Kikuyo to Tokyo.”
“Mr. Nonaka told me my father apparently couldn’t stand remaining in the Tsugaru region any longer.”

“Oh my—what a dreadful thing for him to say.”
“They’re completely groundless.”
“First of all, he hadn’t even come to this village when your mother passed away.”
“He hasn’t been part of our household as an adopted son for even ten years yet.”
“Before that, he was living in his birthplace of Kuroishi and working as an elementary school teacher there. There’s absolutely no way he could know about things from twenty years ago in this village.”
“Absurd.”

(Yoshio) (lightly) “No, but newcomers tend to be oddly sensitive to local secrets.”

(Shizu) (laughing bleakly) “That’s nonsense.”
“How could such an absurd thing even exist?”
(Suddenly changing her tone) “Wasn’t he drinking at the time?”
“When he told you that.”

(Okuda) (absently) Yes, he was drunk.

(Shizu) Isn’t that right?
(enthusiastically) Exactly!
"They say he dabbled in philosophy or literature in his youth—that’s what gave him terrible neurasthenia that still hasn’t fully healed even now! When he drinks these days he starts rambling like a madman—insisting his dreams are real events—and we’re always tormented by his stubbornness."
"To think he’d spread such nonsense about cooks... The sheer audacity!"

(Yoshio) (with a wry smile) But that dark-skinned cook you mentioned—he did exist in our family.
"A man from Hakodate they called him—the sort who'd have ballads written about him... I remember that much even from childhood."

(Shizu) (sharply) Stop this nonsense.
"You're questioning his very character."

(Yoshio) It doesn't bother me.
"What's past means nothing now."

(Shizu) Unacceptable.
"And what of *his* disrespect?"
"To spew such filth at the Okuda family heir—the man's a demon through and through."

(Yoshio) “Calling someone a demon is harsh.”
(Laughing cheerfully)

(Shizu) (urgently) “He is a demon!”
“He might be more than a demon.”
“You still don’t understand the true dreadfulness of that person.”
“When he drinks sake, he becomes utterly deranged—whether you call it stubbornly perverse or slyly malicious. To outsiders, he may seem terribly amiable, but to those of us in the household, it’s nothing short of cruelty—or perhaps brutality. No, truly, that’s the reality.”
“In fact, you yourself saw just the other day how he…”

(Yoshio) (interrupting) “But Mr. Nonaka is an honest, good person.”
(smiling) “It may indeed be presumptuous for someone like me to say this, but isn’t there something both you, Mother, and Mrs. Nonaka ought to reconsider?”

(Shizu) “Oh my!”
(Pushing aside the laundry and twisting her body toward Okuda) “For example?”
“For example—what aspects would *that* involve?”

(Yoshio) “For example… Well…” (trailed off)

(Shizu) (vehemently) “This is precisely why I detest it! No one understands our unseen struggles. The meticulous care required when taking in an adopted son—it’s utterly exhausting! To think we accepted someone like *that*—a lazy incompetent—to inherit the Nonaka name. We’ve bent over backwards to conceal his flaws from others, never speaking ill of him and even lying to sing his praises, all to spare us public ridicule. And how does he repay us? Stubborn as a mule—not an ounce of gratitude! He’s obsessed with that Yamamoto family from Kuroishi—landlords in their precious castle town, their grand estate supposedly beyond compare to our poor fishing-village home. But mark my words—even those landlords are drowning in debt nowadays!”

“From the start, that family fell short of the matchmaker’s promises—stingy and heartless, their values alien to ours. In eight full years since he came here, they’ve not sent him a single garment or coin for pocket money!”

“Yet despite such cruelty, he clings to them! Remember when his Kuroishi brother won that council seat? His glee was downright shameful—I lost all respect.”

“Council members aren’t so grand anyway.”

“Our Nonaka house may be a poor rural family now, but we’ve never endured public scorn. For generations we’ve served this village—my husband, as you know, received a medal as Tsugaru’s model teacher. And our late eldest son… He entered Tokyo Imperial University’s medical school—over ten years ago now. When he died just before graduation, professors and students alike sent condolences. One teacher even journeyed to this backwater to pay respects at his grave.”

“If only he’d lived… If only…” (Crying) “He’d be a proper doctor by now, and we wouldn’t suffer so…” (Her complaints dissolved into tearful ramblings.)

(Yoshio) (awkwardly) “But even if you say such things…”
“Mother.”
“The aspects I need to reconsider are precisely those kinds of things.”
“Here, the master of the Nonaka household is now Mr. Nonaka himself, isn’t that right?”
“Isn’t the present more important than the past?”
“While I don’t fully grasp the moral essence of what an adopted son should inherently be, if you insist on showily displaying those large portraits of your father and brother in the main room like that, even Mr. Nonaka—timid as he is—might feel rather unsettled.”

(Shizu raised her face) “That’s because he’s deficient.”
“Because he’s inadequate.”
“We displayed those two photographs side by side hoping he’d become someone worthy of my late father and brother—to encourage him, that’s all…”

(Yoshio laughed abruptly) “So that’s why? No—this could go on forever.”
He stood and stepped onto the veranda, removing the pot from the clay stove to replace it with an iron kettle.
(While moving about, muttering) “What’ll become of them clinging forever to ‘Nonaka family this, Yamamoto family that’?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand.”

(Shizu) (disillusioned) “You’ll understand once you take a bride yourself.”
(Stands up and adjusts her collar) “Oh, it’s cold.”
“Even though the snow has melted, it still gets cold in the evening.”
(Hurriedly gathering the laundry) “I must be going.”

The wind began to blow, and sand and dust rose. Spring’s Withered Leaves also danced in the corner of the garden.

Shizu exited from stage right.

(Yoshio) (standing on the veranda, watching her leave) “She said she’d bring pickles or something, but given how she is, I can’t count on it.”
(Laughing alone) “Well, time to eat, I guess.”

Okuda carried the pot into the room and closed the shoji screen.
On the shoji screen, Okuda’s shadow figure stood, moved about, and seemed to be preparing a meal.
Faintly, behind Okuda’s shadow figure, a woman’s shadow figure loomed.

The woman's shadow figure remained standing motionless.

Outside was evening gloom.

National School Teacher Yaichi Nonaka entered the garden from stage left in a drunken stagger.
In his right hand was a 1.8-liter sake bottle—half-empty now, the remaining half still clutched tight.
His left hand dangled two large flatfish bound with rope.

(Yaichi) “Mr. Okuda.”
“Hey—there you are! There you are!”
“Oh—Kikuyo-san’s here too!”
“This’ll do just fine.”
“Let’s make it a proper feast!”
“Sake we’ve got—fish we’ve got!”

The woman’s shadow figure on the shoji vanished as if brushed away.

At the same time, the shoji opened, and Okuda showed his face while laughing.

(Okuda) “Ah, you’re back.”
(Steps out onto the veranda) “You seem quite cheerful tonight.”
“Did someone invite you out today?”

(Yaichi) “An invitation?”
“How pitiful to call it that.”
(Plonks heavily onto the veranda) “However destitute we National School teachers may be—must we truly grovel for crumbs from the tables of the powerful?”
“Hey, Kikuyo-san—isn’t that right?”
(Throws open the shoji screens wide) “Kikuyo-san!”
“Oh—she’s not here?”

“My sister hasn’t come back yet,” said Yoshio.
“It must be another one of her usual cultural gatherings.”

(Nonaka) (calming slightly) “Right.”
“I do know that… But right now, surely…”

(Yoshio) (quietly) “You seem quite intoxicated tonight.”
“Won’t you come inside?”

(Nonaka) (suddenly perking up again) “Ah, I’ll take you up on that.”
(Taking off his sandal-like footwear and stepping onto the veranda, he staggered) “Today, let’s make it a grand one, shall we?”
“In this major teacher reassignment, both you and I have avoided getting fired—we’ve both managed to come out unscathed, at least for now.”
“In celebration of this—well,” (entering the room carrying the 1.8-liter bottle and fish in both hands, opening the sliding door at the back of the room) “Hey! Hey!”
“Setsuko!”
(calling out to the main house)

Nonaka’s wife, Setsuko, entered.
However, as she was squatting outside the sliding door, she could not be seen by the audience.

(Nonaka) (handing the flatfish to Setsuko outside the sliding door) “Fresh from the harbor—just landed.”
“Make these into sashimi.”
“Mr. Okuda and I are having a banquet here tonight.”
“Listen—bring the sashimi right away. Heaps of it.”
“Heaps of it.”
“Wait, wait.”
“You should make one into sashimi and grill the other.”
“Don’t you be stingy.”
“You all eat.”
“Listen, make your mother eat until she’s sick of it.”

Setsuko closed the sliding door quietly without a word.

(Nonaka) (grinning while still holding the 1.8-liter bottle and sitting by Okuda’s desk) “I mean—really now. Even though we’re teachers in a fishing village, not being able to eat fish makes us pitiful beyond words.”

(Yoshio) (while tidying the pots and bowls he had carried to the center of the room back to the corner) How about the fish now?
“Have prices improved at all since the new yen came into use?”

(Nonaka) (with a bitter smile) They haven’t dropped.
“The fishermen’s audacity knows no bounds.”
“A single flatfish now costs nearly our entire month’s salary.”
“These days when their children beg for pocket money, fishermen just casually hand them 100-yen bills without blinking.”

(Okuda) “Yes—that does seem to be true.”
(After moving the small dining table from the center back to the corner) “Letting children carry such large sums can’t be wise.”
“I hear gambling’s become rampant among them lately?”

(Nonaka) “So it seems.”
“Everything’s gone mad.”
(Shifting tone) “Leave that table where it is.”
“Money talk bores me.”
“Let’s drink.”
“Fetch two teacups.”

Okuda set up the small dining table in the center of the room again, then went out to the veranda to fetch teacups.

(Nonaka) (In the meantime, suddenly picked up the half-read book on Okuda’s nearby desk) “History of the French Revolution... What’s this? You’re reading something like this?”
“Enough, enough.”
“History doesn’t repeat.”
(Tossing the book lightly onto the tatami) “History repeats itself? Pah—that’s just because you don’t understand dialectics, you see? Maybe I should join the Socialist Party or something, try to climb the ranks.”
“Boring.”
“Let’s drink!”
“Let’s drink and dispel this gloom.”

Thou powerless National School teacher.

The two men sat cross-legged around a small dining table, and Nonaka poured sake from the 1.8-liter bottle into two teacups.

(Nonaka) “Cheers!”
(He drank deeply.)

(Okuda) (started to drink, then stopped) “What is this?”
“This...”
“It smells like gasoline.”
(He placed the teacup on the dining table.)

(Nonaka) “Suntory.”

(Okuda) “Huh?”

(Nonaka) “Suntory Whisky.”
(As he spoke, he lifted the 1.8-liter bottle to eye level and held it up to the light.) “Colorless and transparent Suntory Whisky.”
“A 1.8-liter bottle for 150 yen.”

(Okuda) “You’ve got to be joking.”

“No—that’s precisely what makes it interesting. Even I know this is just medicinal alcohol cut with water. But here’s the thing—listen closely—the man who sold me this ‘Suntory Whisky’ for 150 yen was a certain hard-drinking fisherman from this village. And get this: he himself utterly believed this was a top-shelf drink called Suntory Whisky. Isn’t that just delightful? In other words, he went to Aomori to sell his fish and got swindled by a black market dealer there into buying three *shō*—no, maybe four *shō*—of this so-called ‘premium liquor.’ Then this very morning, bright and early, he gathered his drinking buddies for a party—and that’s when I showed up to ask him for some fish. In no time they grabbed me and said, ‘You’d surely know this, Teacher—it’s called Suntory, too fine for the likes of us. We insist you have a bowlful,’ sloshing it into a large teacup and thrusting it at me. Upon seeing it—colorless and transparent like this—and then catching that smell... Even I hesitated. Well... that stuff... might’ve been methyl alcohol.” However, when I saw those fishermen’s truly proud expressions—utterly free of doubt—I couldn’t bear it any longer and resolved to die. Yes, resolved to die. I resolved to die together with these foolish, innocent, pitiful fishermen. I drank it. It didn’t taste that bad. More than that—it felt pleasant, flushing me with intoxication. So then I took a *shō* from them and drank heartily together with them. “After all, Suntory’s the real deal—once you drink Suntory, other liquor tastes too foul to stomach!” I spouted that flattery... and felt this strange sadness well up.

(While saying this, he poured for himself and drank) “Oh right—there are cigarettes too.”
“Smoke.”
“There are plenty.”
(Took out a handful of loose cigarettes from his coat pocket and placed them on the dining table) “These too—I got them from those fishermen after all.”
“Honestly, those guys have everything.”

(Yoshio) (took a cigarette with an almost expressionless face) “I’ll take one.”
(Took out matches from his trouser pocket and lit the cigarette.)

(Nonaka) "Take them all."
"Have them all."
"I've got plenty more left."
(He pours himself another drink and gulps it down alone)

It's not you—
No, it's not.
It's not you—
No—
You—

“Wait.”

“It wasn’t there—”

“Do you even know this song? This here—it’s a popular song these days called ‘When You Open the Door.’ Don’t tell me you don’t know it. Haven’t you heard it? This is unexpected. It all comes down to negligence. Isn’t modern popular music at least more significant for us than things like the history of the French Revolution? Given that you’re a national school teacher, you—(pouring himself another drink and downing it)—you don’t know a single modern popular song? You.”

(Okuda) “Are you all right? Don’t drink so much.”

(Nonaka) “I’m fine, perfectly fine. This is Suntory Whisky—a premium product, isn’t it? Don’t mock me. You too—quit putting on airs and just try a sip.”

It’s not you—
No, it’s not.
It’s not you—
No—
You—
Wait—
It wasn’t there—

“This is rather nice. They say it’s a song about heartbreak. How tragic. Come on, have a drink.”
(Lifts the one-shō bottle)

(Okuda) (stopping him) "No, I still have a full cup here."
(Forcing a bitter smile, he touches his lips to his bowl in a perfunctory gesture before setting it down) "I really can't manage more."

(Nonaka) "Is your life that precious?"
(Laughs mockingly)

The sliding door in the upper part of the room opened quietly.

Nonaka’s wife, Setsuko, entered carrying two large plates.
On one plate was sashimi; on the other was grilled fish.

(Nonaka) “Ah, there you are.”
“Oh-ho! Quite extravagant.”
“This is too much.”

(Setsuko) (Without smiling, she cleared the table and placed both dishes) “This completes everything.”

(Nonaka) “Everything?”
(Looked up at her) “What about Mother?”
“She won’t eat?”

(Setsuko) (seriously) "We have already finished our meal."

(Nonaka) (indignantly) "Is that so?"
(Abruptly overturning the dining table) "It's been ages since we had flounder!"
"I bought this for Mother—for you—for everyone to eat."
"What is this supposed to mean?"
"Treating it like filth, like something disgusting—not even taking one bite? This is too cruel. Too cruel."
(voice breaking into a sob)

Setsuko silently gathered the scattered food onto the plate.

“Stop!”
“Stop picking them up.”
“Throw it all away!”
“Having you gather them up just so we can eat them again—it’s too pathetic.”
“Too pathetic.”
“At least try to understand how I feel.”
(Taking a white square envelope from his coat’s inner pocket and tossing it toward Setsuko’s hands) “There should still be seven or eight hundred yen left.”
“It’s New Yen!”
“Use that to buy proper dishes.”
“Go buy it right now.”
“Don’t be stingy.”
“Whether it’s sea bream or tuna—buy everything they have at the fishermen’s houses.”
“And while you’re at it, stop by Jinbei’s place—if there’s any of this Suntory whiskey left, get him to give you another one-shō bottle.”
“I’m going to start drinking again now.”
“And then, by all means, I’ll have Mother and you eat the dishes.”

(Setsuko) (Does not so much as glance at the square envelope, silently hanging her head.)
(Eventually raises her face quietly) "There is something I wish to ask."

(Nonaka) (flinching) "What?"
"Do you have some complaint?"

(Setsuko) (voice tensing) "You... What exactly—"

At this moment, two schoolchildren came running from stage left to the front garden, shouting, “Mr. Nonaka! Mr. Okuda!”

Mr. Okuda stepped out onto the veranda.
Two schoolchildren, panting heavily, whispered something to Mr. Okuda.

(Okuda) (after hearing them) “Understood.”
“I’ll go immediately.”
(Entering the room and putting on his coat from the wall while addressing Nonaka) “My sister’s been taken by the police.”
“Gambling charges.”
“She’d been teaching mahjong gambling to the schoolchildren.”
“I’d suspected it might come to this.”
“I’ll go to the police station now.”

(Nodding politely, he stepped out onto the veranda and searched for footwear.)

(Nonaka) (staggers to his feet) "I'm going too."

(Okuda) (putting on his shoes) “No, no.”
“You can’t walk properly anymore.”
(Turning to the schoolchildren) “Let’s go.”

Mr. Okuda ran off toward stage left together with two schoolchildren.

(Nonaka) (walked almost expressionlessly like a sleepwalker and stepped down barefoot from the veranda in his tabi socks) “I’m going too.”

Mr. Nonaka, though barely able to walk, staggered and stumbled after Mr. Okuda and the others toward stage left, still barefoot in his tabi socks.

Setsuko had been sitting with cold composure when she suddenly noticed the white square envelope at her knees. She picked it up, rose, stepped out onto the veranda to search for footwear, slipped on Yaichi’s sandals, and followed after them in silence.

The stage revolves.

Act III

The stage was set at a moonlit beach.
Three fishing boats were beached on the sandy shore.
In that area stood a clump of withered reeds.

The backdrop was Aomori Bay.

The stage stopped.

A gust of wind blew, and from around the fishing boats, Spring’s Withered Leaves swirled up in great numbers.

Unnoticed by all, Mr. Nonaka—still in his appearance from the previous scene—appeared soundlessly from the hanamichi runway.

At a slight distance, like his shadow, his wife Setsuko followed with bowed head.

(Nonaka) (Came to center stage and collapsed against a nearby fisherman like an utterly exhausted man) “Ah, my head hurts.”
“This is... terrible.”

Setsuko wordlessly drew close to Nonaka, looked around, and then quietly held out the white square envelope to him.
The square envelope caught the moonlight and glinted sharply.

(Nonaka) (weakly batting it aside with one hand) “You give that to Ms. Kikuyo.”

Setsuko remained motionless, silently staring at Nonaka’s face.

(Nonaka) “If you refuse, fine.”
(Snatching the envelope from Setsuko’s hand and stuffing it into his coat pocket) “I’ll return it myself.”
(Slumping again suddenly) “But you… you’re strong. ……I lost. I lost.”
“I lost.”
“Where does this strength of yours even come from?”
“This isn’t gender equality.”
“With things like this, men end up having to beg you for help.”
“What is this?”
“The essence of your strength—well,”
“Feudalism—what’s the point of saying it?”
“Calling it conservatism is ridiculous.”
“I don’t think it’s anything grand like historical forces.”
“You’ve had this strength since prehistoric times.”
“And from now on—as long as humanity exists on this earth—no, as long as animals survive—you’ll stay strong forever.”

(Setsuko) (coldly) “Are you not ashamed?”

(Nonaka) (groaning) “Ugh… tch! Damn it!”
(Raising his head) “I speak on behalf of all humanity.”
“You are a demon!”

(Setsuko) (coldly) "Why?!"

(Nonaka) "Don't you understand?
"You march into where I'm perishing from shame and dare ask 'Aren't you ashamed?' That makes you a demon!"

(Setsuko) "You feel no shame."

(Nonaka) "How can you tell?
"How could you possibly know that?"

(Setsuko) (Silent)

(Nonaka) “So even Jesus did not deign to answer?”
“Your weapon of silence is formidable.”
“Don’t torment me so much.”
“Ah, my head hurts.”

(Setsuko) “What will you do now?”

(Nonaka) “I’ll die.”
“If I die, that’d be just fine, right?”
“After all, I’m a disgrace to the Nonaka family—I’ll die to atone for it.”
(Slumping down and sitting cross-legged on the sand) “Ah, my head hurts.”
“I’ll commit seppuku.”
“I’ll commit seppuku and die.”

“This is no time for jesting.”
“What do you intend to do with Ms. Kikuyo?”

(Nonaka) "There's nothing to be done."
"Ah, my head hurts."
(Clutching his head and collapsing onto the sand) "We've lost."
"Ms. Kikuyo and I schemed rebellion against you all, but you proved unexpectedly strong—we suffered a crushing defeat."
"Push us, pull us—you all won't budge an inch."

“But you all are doing wrong things, you see.”

(Nonaka) “It is written in Scripture.”
“He who is forgiven little, loves little.”
“Do you understand what this means?”
“It means those convinced of their own faultlessness turn out heartless.”
“The greater the sinner, the deeper the love.”

(Setsuko) “That’s sophistry.”
“Then—should humans strive to do many bad things?”

(Nonaka) “Exactly!
“The problem is—”
(Laughing) “What do you mean, 'exactly'?!”
“It is.”
“I am a sinner now.”
“Even though I’ve got no business teaching people—the longer you stay in this teaching game—the more that damn teacherly self-importance sticks to you like tar.”
What in the world was the true nature of these National School teachers?
To begin with—fundamentally—they lacked scholarship.
In the entire Tsugaru region—not a single teacher could read foreign languages fluently.
Not to mention foreign languages—they couldn’t even read The Tale of Genji!
Despite knowing nothing—they still stood at those podiums—had the gall to teach with confidence!
Even if they lacked scholarship—you might excuse it if they had upstanding character—but watching them scurry around chasing daily bread—what character did they have worth a damn?
In loving their pupils—they couldn’t compare to the children’s own parents—as playmates—far inferior to kindergarten nurses!
As school custodians—janitors proved more useful than teachers—and fundamentally—this word “teacher” held no meaning at all!
Rather—a term dripping with contempt!
If you’re set on mocking me—go all out—call me “Your Excellency”!
Our social standing matched beggar monks!
Becoming a National School teacher now meant being branded society’s rejects—failures—dropouts—eccentrics—incompetents!
We were beggars!
Beggars mocked with this nickname “Teacher”!

Hey, even Mr. Okuda's just the same.
Give up, give up.

“What is it?” Setsuko asked sharply.
With a faint smile, she added, “You do say such strange things.”

(Nonaka) I know.
“Who’s the one you’re longing for?”

(Setsuko) Good heavens!
“That’s absurd.”
“Please stop this!”
“That’s vulgar.”

(Nonaka) It's nothing.
"Everyone has two or three people they long for."
"So? What's your point?"
"What happened after that?"

(Setsuko) I don't understand a single thing you're saying.

(Yaichi) “Fine—I’ll make it plain.”
“You went to Mr. Okuda’s room before I came home today.”

(Setsuko, clearly) “Yes.”
“When Mother told me Mr. Okuda was preparing supper alone, I thought to offer help and peeked into his room.”

(Yaichi) “How charitable.”
“Strange—that even you possess such tenderness.”
“Admirable.”
“A noble sentiment.”
“Yet when I called from outside—poof! You vanished like smoke. What manner of *charity* was that?”

(Setsuko) “Because I didn’t want to.”

“Strange, isn’t it?”

(Setsuko, voice breaking) “What on earth am I supposed to answer?”

(Yaichi) “Ah, never mind.”
“Enough.”
“Pointless.”
“You can’t possibly win anyway.”
Ah...

The world was surging forward with democratic revolution; all my compatriots stood shoulder to shoulder at the new starting line, brimming with courage for our homeland’s reconstruction—and there I was alone. What a farce.
Still getting drunk, being jealous of my wife, engaging in shameless arguments—it was pure hell.
Yet this too was my reality.
Ah, I was sleepy.
If I were to sleep like this and never wake up, then I might be saved... though.
(Appeared to be asleep)

(Setsuko places a hand on Nonaka’s shoulder) “Hey. Hey.”
(Shakes his shoulders.)

(Nonaka, half-asleep and delirious) “Kill!”
“Shut up!”
“Get lost!”

Mr. Okuda, the teacher, enters restlessly from stage right.

(Yoshio) “Ah, Mrs. Nonaka!”
(Looking at the sleeping Nonaka with growing alarm) “What’s happened here?”

(Setsuko) “He followed you here and fell asleep.”
“More importantly, what about Kikuyo-san?”
“How did things turn out?”

(Yoshio) “Well, you see—I lost track of those children along the way.”
“Anyway, I went alone to the police station and tried to discreetly check the situation inside, but it was strangely quiet—there didn’t seem to be anything out of the ordinary.”
“Making a fuss and embarrassing myself wouldn’t solve anything, so I decided to search for those students again and question them properly—that’s why I came back.”
“Depending on how things went, that woman might’ve…”

“Huh?”

“No—it’s nothing...”

(Setsuko) “Mr. Okuda! Have we done something wrong to Ms. Kikuyo?”

(Yoshio, formally) “Why do you ask?”

(Setsuko) “That story about being arrested by the police for gambling—it’s a lie. I’ve come to understand everything now.” (Suddenly bursting into tears) “This is too cruel. This is too cruel. Why must we endure such mockery from Ms. Kikuyo?”

“I’m sorry. To be honest, I went all the way to the police station and immediately realized Kikuyo had made a fool of me—but even if that’s true, why would she drag children into such an absurd farce…?”

“I know that.”
“Ms. Kikuyo incited Nonaka to buy sake and side dishes, then even had Mother and me serve her—only to later reveal that the money came from her gambling earnings. She meant to watch from the shadows and laugh mockingly at Mother and me in our disgraceful panic as we hosted her with false cheer. But even considering that—her scheme is too vile.”
“It’s too malicious.”

(Okuda) “So?”
“What about that money?”

(Setsuko) “Weren’t you aware?”
“It’s Kikuyo-san’s money.”

(Yoshio) “I see.”
“No—that’s exactly the sort of prank she’d pull.”
(Laughs)

(Setsuko) “There is still more.”
“She incited Mr. Nonaka, and then me and you…”

(Yoshio, seriously) “But Mrs. Nonaka.”
“My sister may be a fool, but she wouldn’t say such nonsense.”

(Setsuko) “But Mr. Nonaka just now said something unpleasant—as if suspecting me.”

(Yoshio) “In that case, that is solely Mr. Nonaka’s fantasy.”
“Mr. Nonaka is a bit of a romanticist, you see.”
“There was a time when he and I had a debate.”
“What Mr. Nonaka stated was this: ‘The sheer scale of betrayal occurring in this world is beyond imagination—no matter how close the family or friend, they will inevitably betray you behind your back, slandering you or worse.’ He claimed that if a person were to fully grasp every last instance of betrayal constantly unfolding around them, that person would surely go mad.”
“But I opposed that, arguing humans are tormented more by the fantasies entwined with reality than by reality itself.”
“Imagination may expand limitlessly, but reality is after all merely a small problem that can be surprisingly easily managed.”
“This world is by no means a beautiful place, but neither is it some infinitely vile abyss.”
“I did say what’s truly terrifying is the realm of imagination—but I must say Mr. Nonaka’s fantasies are becoming quite a problem.”

(Setsuko, in an altered voice) “But what if it were true?”

(Yoshio, flustered) “Huh?”
“What do you mean?”

(Setsuko) “That delusion of Nonaka’s…”

(Yoshio) “Mrs. Nonaka!”
(angrily) “What are you saying?”

(Setsuko, sobbing loudly) “I have no recollection of ever doing anything wrong.”
“And yet, why must all of you torment me like this?”
“I have not indulged in a single personal pleasure and have strived solely for the sake of the Nonaka household.”
“Is it wrong to cherish and protect the family’s honor?”
“Please tell me.”
“Is enduring patiently and refraining from wasteful spending to ensure there’s no anxiety about tomorrow’s livelihood a bad thing?”
“Is it wrong for a country woman to act like a country woman should—to stay home quietly doing needlework instead of going to concerts or movies?”
“Not reading novels, not drinking alcohol, behaving properly, and not getting involved in improprieties with men—is that wrong?”
“Nonaka said earlier that people who do not make mistakes are heartless. Then does that mean it is right for humans to make mistakes?”
“Mr. Okuda, I am a rustic and slow-witted woman.”
“I do not understand anything.”
“Please tell me.”
“If I had loved you—if that were truly the case—would that make me right instead?”
“I am not good with words.”
“I cannot say it well.”

“I do not know the words.”
“But I have endured.”
“I have endured.”
“I have always believed that saying or doing whatever I please on my own is wrong.”
“Mr. Okuda, please tell me.”
“I no longer understand what is right or wrong.”
“What is wrong with me that everyone torments me so?”

(Yoshio) “Mrs. Nonaka.”
“There exists a concept called ‘beyond good and evil.’”
“The shore across from good and evil.”
“In ethics, there are right things and wrong things—but don’t you think there must be something else beyond those categories?”
“Even if one tries to split everything into right and wrong—as you do—isn’t it impossible to divide them completely?”

(Setsuko) “I don’t fully understand... Then would it be permissible if I were to commit some transgression?”

(Yoshio, laughing) “That won’t do.”
“Fundamentally, it’s unnatural.”
“That is precisely the realm of Mrs. Nonaka’s fantasy.”
“Mrs. Nonaka cares deeply for Mr. Nonaka.”
“And that is also Mrs. Nonaka’s reason for living, isn’t it?”
“Let’s abandon these preposterous fantasies.”
“Mrs. Nonaka, you’re not yourself tonight.”
“Let’s return to practical matters.”
(altering his tone) “We will be moving out from your household.”
“That is the only matter.”
“I will move into the school’s duty room, and as for my sister—well, I believe it would be best for her to return to Tokyo.”

From afar, the chorus of *Haru, Kōrō no Hana no En* could be heard.
Amidst the children’s voices, a woman’s voice resembling Kikuyo also mingled.

Pause.

(Setsuko, regaining composure, raises her face and speaks clearly) I earnestly request that you do so.

(Yoshio, growing flustered) “What do you mean?”

(Setsuko) (ignoring him, listening to the distant singing) “Is this what counts as urban sophistication—singing and playing like that? Must every man and woman in Japan now become like Kikuyo-san?”
“Is someone like me—an old-fashioned country woman—already obsolete?”
“I still cannot comprehend it.”
“Why must people adopt urban airs?”
“Why is rustic simplicity deemed unacceptable?”

“Humanity has gone rotten,”
“There’s nothing left to strive for.”
“Grand ideals and major trends—their true nature has been laid bare.”
“We’ve entered such an era.”
“I am now an egoist.”
“Before I knew it, I’ve become this way.”
“Kikuyo’s affairs will be handled by Kikuyo herself.”
“We in our twenties may be far more adult than you all in some respects.”
“I have no delusions whatsoever about myself.”

(Setsuko quietly) "What does that mean?"

(Yoshio) "My sister remains my sister, and I remain myself."
"No—perhaps it would be better to say people are people, and I am myself."
"Mrs. Nonaka, you would do well not to dwell excessively on others' affairs."

(Setsuko) "Yet Kikuyo-san torments us."
"Inciting Nonaka and disrupting our household—"

(Yoshio laughing) "We shall move out. Immediately."

“That would be a relief.”

The singing voices gradually grew closer.

The wind blew.
Withered leaves danced.

(Okuda) "It's gotten cold, hasn't it?"
(Jerking his chin toward the sleeping Nonaka) "What will you do?"
"He drank quite heavily tonight."

(Setsuko) "Was it not bad sake?"
"He kept saying his head hurt."

(Yoshio) "He'll be fine."
"The fishermen have been drinking the same sake since morning without issue."

(Setsuko) "But their constitutions are entirely different from Nonaka's."

“Won’t he become a test subject?” (Laughing) “Well now—shall I carry him on my back for you?”

(Setsuko) (cutting him off sharply) “No.”
“I will handle it.”
“I will not trouble you any further.”

(Yoshio) “Others are others, and the husband is the husband?”
(laughing without malice) “That’s for the best.”
“In that case, I’ll head over to that ragtag band”—he points toward the singing voices—“and track down my sister to get to the bottom of this matter.”
“What a stupid prank to pull.”
(While saying this, he exits casually from stage right.)

The wind blew even more strongly.

The singing voices draw ever closer.

(Setsuko sees Okuda off, then squats and shakes Nonaka’s shoulder) “Hey. Hey.”
“You’ll catch a cold.”
“Come now, let’s go home together.”
(Taking Nonaka’s hand) “Oh, you’ve gotten so cold.”
“Forgive me.”
“It was my fault.”
“What’s the matter?”
(Bringing her face closer) “You!”
(Frantically stroking Nonaka’s face, chest, and legs) “Hey, you!”
(Suddenly stands up and runs to stage right) “Mr. Okuda!”
“Mr. Okuda!”
(Runs back, throws herself onto Nonaka’s corpse and weeps) “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“You—open your eyes again.”
“I’ve changed my heart.”
“I was going to keep you company drinking—do anything from now on—you!”
(Wails)

The wind.
Withered leaves.
Singing voices.

——Curtain.