Pathway to Japanese Literature

Last summer, I saw my hometown for the first time in ten years.
That autumn, I compiled those events into a forty-one-page short story titled "Returning Home" and submitted it to a quarterly journal's editorial department.
What happened next came right after that.
Both Mr. Kita and Mr. Nakahata visited my humble Mitaka residence together.
They then informed me that my mother back home was in critical condition.
Deep down, I had expected to receive such news within five or six years—but never imagined it would come so soon.
The previous summer, guided by Mr. Kita, I had visited my family home for the first time in nearly a decade. Though my eldest brother Bunji was absent then, I met my second brother Eiji, his wife, nephews and nieces, along with my grandmother and mother. At sixty-nine, Mother had grown terribly frail—her steps uncertain when she walked—yet she hadn't been bedridden.
For five or six years—no, ten—I'd been indulging in this greedy fantasy.
I believe I recorded those events as faithfully as possible in "Returning Home," though circumstances limited my stay at the family home to barely three or four hours.
Near that story's end I wrote—how I wanted to see more of my hometown.
There was so much left to see—this and that, countless things.
Yet all I managed was a stolen glimpse.
When would I see those familiar mountains and rivers again?
I'd written that should anything happen to Mother, I might properly revisit my hometown—though that prospect pained me too—yet never dreamed this "chance to see home again" would arrive right after mailing that manuscript.

“I’ll take responsibility this time as well.”
Mr. Kita was nervous.
“Please bring your wife and child.”

Last summer, Mr. Kita had taken me alone.
This time, they were taking not only me but also my wife and Sonoko—a one-year-and-four-month-old girl—everyone together.
I had written in detail about Mr. Kita and Mr. Nakahata in that novel titled Returning Home; Mr. Kita was a Tokyo tailor, Mr. Nakahata a kimono merchant from my hometown—both people who had maintained close ties with my family home since long ago—and even after I had done bad things five or six times—no, truly countless times—resulting in being cut off from my family, these two men continued looking after me for a long time with what you might call pure goodwill, never once showing displeasure.
Last summer as well, Mr. Kita and Mr. Nakahata had consulted together and, fully prepared to face the wrath of my eldest brother in my hometown, orchestrated my first return home in ten years.

"But is it really all right? If I take my wife and child along only to be turned away at the entrance, I couldn't bear to look." I always anticipated the worst possible outcomes.

"That won't happen," both men denied earnestly.

“What about last summer?”
It seemed there was also a miserly wariness in my character—the sort that makes one knock on a stone bridge before crossing it.
“Afterward… did either of you get told anything by Brother Bunji—my eldest brother?
Mr. Kita, what about you?”

“Well, considering Elder Brother Bunji’s position,”
Mr. Kita replied thoughtfully, “with the relatives watching too, we can’t exactly say your visit was welcomed.”
“But if I take you there myself, I believe it will be fine.”
“When I met Brother Bunji later in Tokyo after last summer’s affair, he only said one thing to me: ‘You’re quite the troublemaker, Mr. Kita.’ That was all.”
“He wasn’t angry in the slightest.”

“I see.”
“How about you, Mr. Nakahata?”
“Did Brother Bunji say anything to you?”

“No.”
Mr. Nakahata raised his face and said, “He didn’t say a single word—not one thing—to me. Until now, whenever I did something to help you, Brother Bunji would invariably make some sarcastic remark afterward, but regarding last summer’s matter, he didn’t say a single thing.”

“I see.”
I felt slightly relieved.
“If it won’t cause you any trouble, I would like to be taken along. It’s not that I don’t want to see Mother, and also—though I couldn’t meet Brother Bunji last summer—this time I truly want to. If you would take me along, I would be most grateful—but what about my wife? Since this will be her first time meeting her husband’s relatives, there’s the hassle of kimonos and whatnot for her to deal with—she might find it a bit of a hassle. In that regard, could you please explain it to my wife, Mr. Kita? If I were the one to tell her, she’d no doubt make a fuss about it.”

I called my wife into the room.

However, the result was unexpected.
As Mr. Kita was telling my wife about Mother's critical condition and mentioning things like having Sonoko see her, my wife pressed both hands flat against the tatami mat,
"I leave it in your hands," she said.

Mr. Kita turned back toward me,

“When would you like to proceed?”

It was decided that we would leave on the 27th.
That day was October 20th.

For the next week, my wife was in a flurry of preparations.
Her younger sister came from her parents’ home to help.
There were all sorts of things that absolutely had to be newly purchased.
I was nearly bankrupt.
Sonoko alone, oblivious to everything, toddled around the house.

The 27th at 19:00, Ueno Station departure express train.
It was packed.
We remained standing for about five hours until Haramachi.

“HAHAIYOIYOWARUSHI” DAZAII TSUKOKU MO HAYAKU OIDEMATSU”
NAKABATA

Mr. Kita showed me that telegram.
It was a telegram that had come to Mr. Kita that morning from Mr. Nakahata, who had returned to our hometown ahead of us.

The next morning at eight o'clock, we arrived in Aomori and immediately transferred to the Ou Line. At Kawabe Station we changed again to a train bound for Goshogawara—from there onward, apple orchards flanked both sides of the tracks. This year's apple harvest appeared bountiful.

"My, how lovely," she said.
My wife widened sleep-deprived eyes still faintly bloodshot.
"I'd always wanted to see apple trees laden with fruit."

The apples glowed crimson within arm's reach, so near one could almost pluck them.

Around eleven o'clock, we arrived at Goshogawara Station.
Mr. Nakahata’s daughter had come to meet us.
Mr. Nakahata’s house was located in this town of Goshogawara.
We were to rest at Mr. Nakahata’s house, have Michiko and Sonoko change their clothes, and then proceed to visit the family home in Kanagi Town—that was the plan.
Kanagi Town was located forty minutes north of Goshogawara via the Tsugaru Railway.

We were treated to lunch at Mr. Nakahata’s house while being informed in detail about Mother’s condition.
Her condition was nearly critical.

“Thank you for coming all this way.”
Mr. Nakahata instead thanked us.
“When would you arrive? When would you arrive? I was beside myself with worry.”
“At any rate, now I can rest easy.”
“Your mother hasn’t said a word, but she very much appeared to be waiting for you all.”

I fleetingly thought of "the Prodigal Son’s return" from the Bible.

When we finished lunch and were about to depart,

“It would be better not to take the trunk, don’t you think?” Mr. Kita said to me in a slightly firm tone.
“Even though Elder brother Bunji hasn’t given permission yet, you bringing a trunk or something like that—”
“Understood.”
We decided to leave all our luggage at Mr. Nakahata’s house.
Mr. Kita had warned me that we still didn’t even know whether we would be allowed to meet the patient.

Carrying only Sonoko’s diaper bag, we boarded the train bound for Kanagi.
Mr. Nakahata also boarded with us.

Moment by moment, my feelings grew increasingly gloomy.
They are all good people.
No one is a bad person.
It was solely due to the fact that I alone had committed improper acts in the past, remained insufficiently wise even now, was ill-reputed, and was a destitute writer living hand-to-mouth that everything had become so awkward.

“It’s a place with lovely scenery.”
My wife said as she gazed out at the Tsugaru Plain beyond the window.
“It’s unexpectedly cheerful here.”

“Is that so?”
The rice had all been harvested, and winter’s colors had deepened across the endless rice fields.
“To me, it doesn’t look that way.”

At that time, I felt no desire to take pride in my hometown.
It was just terribly painful.
Last summer had not been like this.
Back then, I had gazed upon my hometown’s scenery after ten years away with my heart pounding.

“That is Mount Iwaki.
Because it’s said to resemble Mount Fuji, they call it Tsugaru Fuji.”
I explained with a wry smile.
I had no passion whatsoever.
“This low mountain range over here is called the Bonju Mountain Range.
That is Mount Batsugesan.”
It was truly a careless, half-hearted explanation.

The tale of Niiguchi Village, where Umekawa Chūbei proudly explains, "This is my birthplace—just four or five blocks that way," makes for a rather charming play, but my own situation was nothing like that. Chūbei had been pointlessly huffing with anger. Beyond the rice fields, a red roof flickered into view.

"That is—"
"My house—" I started to say, then caught myself. "Elder brother's house."

But it turned out to be the temple's roof. The roof of my family home lay to its right.

“No—that’s not it. The slightly larger one on the right.” It was utter chaos.

We arrived at Kanagi Station.
A young niece and a beautiful young woman had come to greet us.

“Who is that girl?” my wife whispered to me.

“A maid, perhaps? No need for formal greetings.”
Last summer too, I had mistaken an elegant maid around this girl’s age for my brother’s eldest daughter and bowed so deeply it was nearly a prostration—which left me feeling rather awkward—hence my cautious remark this time.

The little niece was my elder brother’s second daughter; I had met her last summer and knew this. She was eight years old.

“Shige-chan,” I called out, and Shige-chan laughed without restraint.
I felt somewhat relieved.
This child alone wouldn’t know about my past.

We entered the house.
Mr. Nakahata and Mr. Kita immediately went up to my elder brother’s room on the second floor.
I went with my wife and child to the Buddhist altar room, paid respects to the Buddha statue, then moved to the "Jōi" room where only close guests gathered, and sat down in a corner.
Both the eldest brother’s wife and the second brother’s wife welcomed us with smiles.
Grandmother too came, led by the maid.
Grandmother was eighty-six years old.
Her hearing seemed to have grown poor, but she was energetic.
My wife was struggling to get Sonoko to bow as well, but Sonoko flatly refused to do so, tottering around the room and making everyone uneasy.

Elder Brother came out.
He swiftly passed through the room and went into the next one.
His complexion was pallid, he had grown alarmingly thin, and his features had taken on a severe cast.
In the next room too was a single visitor who had come to see my mother.
Elder Brother talked with that guest for a while, and after the guest eventually left, he came to the "Jōi" room, and before I could say anything—

“Ah,” he nodded, placed his hands on the tatami mat, and gave a slight bow.

“I must have caused you so much worry.”
I stiffened and bowed.
I informed my wife, “That’s Elder Brother Bunji.”

Elder Brother Bunji bowed to my wife before her bow could even begin.
I felt anxious.
When the bowing ended, Elder Brother Bunji promptly went upstairs.

"Huh?" I thought.
"Something's wrong," I thought bitterly.
This brother of mine had always made those peculiarly distant, polite bows only when he was in a foul mood.
Neither Mr. Kita nor Mr. Nakahata had come back downstairs since then.
"Did Mr. Kita bungle things?"
The moment this thought struck me, I was suddenly overwhelmed by loneliness and terror, my heart thudding violently in my chest.

The sister-in-law came out beaming,

“Come on,” she urged us.
I stood up relieved.
I could meet Mother.
There was no particular awkwardness—I was being permitted to meet Mother after all.
Oh.
I had worried too much.

As we crossed the hallway, my sister-in-law,

“She’s been waiting since two or three days ago—truly, she’s been waiting,” she told us.

Mother was lying in the detached ten-mat room.
On the large bed, she lay withered like dried grass.
But her consciousness was clear.

“You’ve come,” she said.
When my wife gave her first greeting, Mother lifted her head slightly and nodded.
When I held Sonoko and pressed her small hand against Mother’s emaciated palm, Mother gripped it with trembling fingers.
The aunt from Goshogawara at the bedside smiled while wiping away tears.

In the sickroom besides Aunt were two nurses, my eldest sister, my second brother’s wife, an elderly relative, and many others.
We went to the adjacent six-tatami waiting room and exchanged greetings with everyone.
Shūji (my real name) hadn’t changed at all.
Everyone said he’d put on some weight and actually looked younger.
Sonoko too wasn’t as shy with strangers as we’d feared, smiling at everyone.
They all gathered around the charcoal brazier in the waiting room, began speaking in hushed whispers, and gradually the tension started easing.

“Are you going to stay longer this time?”

“Well, who can say? Like last summer, I wonder if we’ll end up taking our leave in just two or three hours again. According to Mr. Kita’s explanation, that was considered acceptable. I intend to do everything exactly as Mr. Kita says.”

“But with Mother’s condition being so dire, how can you abandon her and leave?”

“I’ll discuss that with Mr. Kita eventually—”

“There’s no need to be so fixated on Mr. Kita.”

“It’s not that simple.
As for Mr. Kita, I’ve been greatly indebted to him up until now.”

“Well, I suppose that’s true.
But even Mr. Kita wouldn’t—”

“No—what I’m saying is that we should consult with Mr. Kita.
There’s no mistake in following Mr. Kita’s instructions.
It seems Mr. Kita is still talking with Elder Brother Bunji upstairs—perhaps some complicated matter has arisen.
The three of us parent and child, uninvited, blithely barged in—”

“There’s no need for such worry. Brother Eiji—the second brother—also sent you an express letter telling you to come immediately, didn’t he?”

“When was that? We never saw it.”

“Oh.”
“We simply assumed you had come after seeing that express letter again—”

“That’s no good.”
“The letters must have crossed paths.”
“That’s bad.”
“It’s ended up looking like Mr. Kita oddly meddled where he shouldn’t have.”

Somehow, I felt I had fully grasped everything. I thought it was bad luck.

“There’s nothing wrong. It’s best to come as soon as possible, you know.”

However, I became dejected.
I also felt sorry for Mr. Kita, who had gone out of his way to abandon his business and bring us here.
They had tried to inform me properly at a good time—I could understand my brothers’ frustration about that, and I found the whole situation terribly awkward.

The young woman who had come to meet us at the station earlier entered the room and bowed to me with a laugh. It was another blunder. This time, I had overcompensated through excessive caution. She wasn’t a maid in the slightest—she was my eldest sister’s daughter. I had known this girl until she was seven or eight years old, back when she was a petite child with dusky skin. Now, seeing her again, her posture was elegantly straight with an air of refinement, making her appear like an entirely different person.

“It’s Hikari-chan.”
Aunt also laughed and said, “She’s become quite the beauty, hasn’t she?”

“She’s become a beauty.”
I answered earnestly.
“The complexion has become fairer.”

Everyone laughed.
My feelings also began to ease a little.
At that moment, when I suddenly looked at Mother in the adjacent room, she opened her mouth weakly, took two or three rough breaths with her shoulders, and then lightly waved her emaciated hand through the air as if shooing away a fly.
Strange?
*Strange?* I thought.
I stood up and went to Mother’s bedside.
The others too, with worried expressions, quietly gathered around Mother’s bedside.

“She seems to suffer at times.”
The nurse explained quietly and slipped her hand under the coverlet to vigorously rub Mother’s body.
I squatted by her pillow and asked, “Where does it hurt?”
Mother faintly shook her head.

“Hang in there. You have to see Sonoko grow up.”
I said this while suppressing my embarrassment.

Suddenly, an elderly relative took my hand and made me clasp Mother’s.
I wrapped Mother’s cold hand in both of mine to warm it.
The elderly relative pressed her face against Mother’s coverlet and wept.
Aunt and Taka-san—the second brother’s wife—also began crying.
I contorted my mouth to hold back.
After staying like that awhile, I could bear it no longer and quietly slipped away from Mother’s side into the hallway.
I walked down the hallway to the Western-style room.
The Western-style room was cold and empty.
Oil paintings of poppies and a nude woman hung on white walls.
A single clumsy wooden carving sat isolated on the mantelpiece.
A leopard skin lay spread across the sofa.
The chairs, table, and carpet all remained exactly as they’d been before.
I paced circles around the room, drilling into myself that shedding tears now would be a lie—that crying now would be false—fighting desperately not to weep.
Sneaking off to the Western-style room to cry alone—what a devoted, tender-hearted son.
Corny.
Could anything be more affected?
There was some cheap movie like that.

What’s this—thirty-four years old and still playing the tender-hearted Mr. Shūji? Cut out the sentimental act. It’s not like I can play the dutiful son now—not after getting myself detained for my selfish stunts. Quit it. If I cry, it’d be a lie. Tears are lies, I told myself as I paced round and round the room with hands stuffed in my sleeves, yet still that sob kept rising in my throat. I was utterly defeated. Smoking cigarettes, blowing my nose—I tried every trick until finally, not one tear escaped my eyes.

Night fell.
I did not return to Mother’s sickroom and lay silently on the sofa in the Western-style room.
This detached Western-style room appeared unused now; even when I turned the switch, the light did not come on.
I was alone in the cold darkness.
Neither Mr. Kita nor Mr. Nakahata came to the annex.
What were they doing?
My wife and Sonoko seemed to be in Mother’s sickroom.
What would become of us tonight?
According to the original plan—following Mr. Kita’s suggestion—we were to pay our visit and immediately withdraw from Kanagi, staying that night at our aunt’s house in Goshogawara. But given how dire Mother’s condition had become, wouldn’t sticking to that schedule and leaving right away only make things more awkward?
Anyway, I wanted to see Mr. Kita.
Where in the world was Mr. Kita?
Could it be that the discussions with Elder Brother Bunji were becoming increasingly complicated and tangled?
I felt as though I had no place where I belonged.

My wife entered the dark Western-style room.

“You!”
“You'll catch a cold.”

“What about Sonoko?”

“She fell asleep.”
She said she had put her to sleep in the anteroom adjoining the sickroom.

“Is she all right?”
“Did you make sure she won’t get cold?”

“Yes. Aunt brought a blanket and kindly lent it to us.”

“What do you think? They’re all good people, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” But she still seemed uneasy. “What will become of us now?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are we staying tonight?”

“There’s no use asking me about such things. Everything must be done according to Mr. Kita’s instructions. That’s how it’s been for ten years now. If you ignore Mr. Kita and speak directly to Elder Brother Bunji, it’ll turn into a commotion. That’s how it’s been arranged. Don’t you get it? I have no rights now. I can’t even bring a single trunk, you see.”

“You seem to resent Mr. Kita a little, don’t you?”

“Fool. I’m acutely aware of Mr. Kita’s kindness. But with Mr. Kita mediating like this, my relationship with Elder Brother Bunji has gotten all tangled up in strange ways too. We have to preserve Mr. Kita’s dignity no matter what, and there’s not a single person here who’s at fault—"

“It really is something.”
It seemed my wife had also begun to understand somewhat.
“Even though Mr. Kita went to the trouble of bringing us here, I thought it would be rude to refuse, so I even came along with Sonoko—but if this ends up causing trouble for Mr. Kita, I’d be in a bind too.”

“That’s true too. One shouldn’t carelessly meddle in others' affairs, huh? A troublemaker like me is the real problem here. Mr.Kita truly had an awful time of it this occasion too. For him to come all this way and then receive insufficient gratitude from both us and my brothers—it’s disastrous. Even if just us alone should devise some way here to save Mr.Kita’s face—unfortunately I lack that capability. If we bungle things by overstepping, it’ll be utter chaos. Well, I suppose we’ll keep muddling through like this for now. You go to the sickroom and massage Mother’s legs or something. Mother’s illness—just concentrate on that alone.”

The wife did not try to leave immediately.
In darkness she stood with her head bowed.
Thinking it would be terribly awkward if someone saw us two there together like that in such darkness I rose from sofa went out into hallway.
The cold was bitter.
This was northern tip of Honshū.
Gazing through hallway glass door at sky there was not single star.
It was just oppressively dark.
I suddenly wanted work.
I didn’t know why.
Alright do it.
Single-mindedly felt so.

Sister-in-law came looking for us.

"Oh, here you are!" she exclaimed brightly. "Dinner is ready. Michiko, please join us too." Sister-in-law no longer seemed to harbor any wariness toward us.
To me, that seemed utterly dependable.
I thought that if I consulted this person about everything, there might be no mistake.

We were led to the Buddhist altar room in the main house.
Seated with their backs to the tokonoma alcove were Mr. Goshogawara—my aunt’s adopted son—followed by Mr. Kita and Mr. Nakahata; facing them were Elder Brother Bunji, Brother Eiji, myself, and Michiko, with seven seats arranged in total.

“The express letter must have missed its recipient.”
The moment I saw Brother Eiji’s face, those words slipped out unintentionally.
Brother Eiji gave a slight nod.

Mr. Kita lacked his usual vigor.
His expression remained clouded.
At drinking gatherings, he typically enlivened the mood, making his subdued countenance that night particularly striking.
I grew certain something had transpired.

Even so, since Mr. Goshogawara got a little tipsy and livened things up, the room was relatively cheerful.
I stretched out my arm and poured drinks for both Elder Brother Bunji and Brother Eiji.
Whether my brothers had forgiven me or not—I resolved to stop dwelling on such matters.
I would never be forgiven in this lifetime, and I must abandon this self-serving, childish way of thinking that hoped for forgiveness.
Ultimately, whether I loved my brothers or not—that was the issue.
Blessed are those who love.
It was enough that I loved my brothers.
I must abandon this lingering, greedy way of thinking—such were the idle questions I continued asking myself as I drank heavily alone.

That night, Mr. Kita stayed at the aunt’s house in Goshogawara.
The Kanagi house was in disarray due to the patient, so perhaps out of consideration, Mr. Kita ended up staying in Goshogawara after all.
I went to see Mr. Kita off to the station.

“Thank you very much.”
“It’s all thanks to you.”
I said this from the bottom of my heart.
Parting with Mr. Kita now filled me with unease.
From now on, there would be no one left to give me direction.

“Are we allowed to stay in Kanagi tonight like this?”
There were other things I wanted to confirm.

“That should be fine.”
Was it my imagination, or was his tone slightly distant?
“After all, your mother is in such a critical condition.”

“Then we’ll stay at the Kanagi house for another two or three days—would that be too presumptuous of us?”

“That would depend on your mother’s condition.”
“Anyway, let’s discuss it over the phone tomorrow.”

“Mr. Kita?”

“I’m returning to Tokyo tomorrow.”

“It must be so hard for you. Last summer too, you had to return right away, Mr. Kita, and this year we had actually been preparing to show you around a hot spring near Aomori or somewhere...”

“No—with your mother in such a critical state, this is no time for hot springs. To be honest, I never imagined her condition would deteriorate this much. It was unexpected. I’ll calculate and reimburse you later for the train fare you covered.” When he suddenly brought up something like the train fare, I was flustered.

“You must be joking.
I’m the one who should be buying your return ticket as well.
Please refrain from such concern.”

“No—let’s calculate this properly.
As for your luggage left with Mr. Nakahata, let’s have him promptly deliver it to the Kanagi house tomorrow.
With that, I have no further business.”
He walked briskly down the pitch-dark road.
“The station was this way, right?
There’s no need to see me off any further.
There’s really no need now.”

“Mr. Kita!”
I quickened my pace by two or three steps as if clinging to him. “Did Elder Brother say something to you?”

“No.”
Mr. Kita slowed his pace and said in a solemn tone:
“You should stop worrying about such things now.
Tonight has left me feeling at peace.
When I saw Elder Brother Bunji, Brother Eiji, and you—three splendid children sitting there together—it filled me with such joy I could have wept.
I need nothing more now.
I’m content.
From the very start, I never desired a single coin in payment.
You must know that yourself, don’t you?
All I wanted was to see you three brothers seated side by side.
It feels right.
I’m satisfied.
Shūji—well—you must strive earnestly from now on.
It’s time we old men made ourselves scarce.”

After seeing Mr. Kita off, I returned home.
When it occurred to me that from now on I must stop relying on Mr. Kita and speak directly with my brothers myself, what I felt was not joy but terror.
I was filled with a wretched anxiety—the fear that I would surely commit some clumsy faux pas and end up provoking my brothers’ anger.

The house was crowded with visitors.
Trying not to be noticed by the guests, I slipped in through the kitchen and was heading toward the detached sickroom when I happened to peer into the *koma* adjacent to the *jōi*. Spotting Brother Eiji sitting there alone, I found myself drawn as if by some dread force and slid over to sit beside him.
Quivering inside,
"Is there really no hope for Mother?" I asked.
It was an undeniably abrupt question—even I recognized it as ill-considered.
Brother Eiji forced a wry smile, glanced about briefly, and then—

“Well, this time we must consider it grave,” he said.
At that moment, Elder Brother Bunji suddenly entered.
He looked somewhat flustered, walked around here and there, opened and closed closets, then plopped down cross-legged beside Brother Eiji.

“This is trouble. This time, it’s trouble.”
Having said that, he lowered his face, pushed his glasses up onto his forehead, and covered both eyes with one hand.

When I suddenly noticed, my eldest sister was sitting quietly behind me.