Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part One

When hurried footsteps clattered past the gate, a massive wooden clog hung suspended from the sky within Daisuke's mind.
Yet as those footsteps retreated into the distance, the clog slipped free from his head and disappeared entirely.
Then his eyes opened.

At his bedside lay a double-layered camellia blossom fallen upon the tatami.
Daisuke had distinctly heard this flower drop during last night's repose.
To his ears it had echoed like a rubber ball hurled down from the attic.
Though he'd attributed it to midnight's deepening hush, he'd nevertheless pressed his right palm over his heart before sleeping - verifying through rib's edge that precise percussion of blood.

Staring vacantly for a while at the large flower—its color as vivid as a baby’s head—he suddenly placed his hand over his chest while still lying down, as if remembering, and began checking his heartbeat again.
Listening to the pulse in his chest while lying down had recently become his habit.
His heartbeat remained calm and steady as ever.
Keeping his hand pressed to his chest, he tried to imagine the warm crimson blood flowing slowly beneath this pulsation.
He thought: This was life.
I am now pressing down on flowing life with my palm, he thought.
Then he considered how the pulse responding in his palm—a sound like clock hands—resembled a death knell luring him.
If only I could live without hearing this alarm bell—if the vessel holding blood weren’t also keeping time—how carefree I would be.
How absolutely I could savor being alive.
Yet—Daisuke shuddered involuntarily.
He was a man who wanted to live so desperately that he couldn’t endure imagining a heart undisturbed by pulsing blood—a quiet heart.
He sometimes lay in bed with his hand placed beneath his left breast, imagining what would happen if someone struck him there with a hammer.
Though living soundly, he even found himself perceiving the very fact of his being alive—this robust reality—as scarcely more than a miraculous stroke of luck.

He removed his hand from his heart and picked up the newspaper by his pillow.
He pulled both hands out from under the bedding and spread them wide to either side; on the left side was a picture of a man cutting down a woman.
He immediately shifted his gaze to the next page.
There, the school disturbance was printed in large type.
Daisuke read it for a while, but soon let the newspaper drop from his weary-looking hand onto the bedding with a soft flap.
While blowing a puff of smoke from his mouth, he slid about five inches out of the futon, picked up the camellia on the tatami, flipped it over, and brought it to the tip of his nose.
His mouth, mustache, and most of his nose were completely hidden.
The smoke came out so thickly that it drifted, entwined with the camellia’s petals and stamen.
After placing it on the white cloth, he stood up and went to the bathroom.

There, he meticulously brushed his teeth.
He was always pleased with his well-aligned teeth.
He removed his clothes and thoroughly rubbed his chest and back clean.
His skin had a concentrated luster.
As if he had thoroughly wiped away the traces of perfumed oil, each time he shook his shoulders or raised his arms, the fat in those areas appeared to swell faintly.
He was satisfied with that as well.
Next, he parted his black hair.
Even without applying oil, his hair moved with amusing freedom.
His mustache, like his hair, was fine and fresh, elegantly covering his mouth.
Daisuke stroked his plump cheeks several times with both hands while gazing at his reflection in the mirror.
It was exactly like the gestures of a woman applying face powder.
In truth, he was a man who took such pride in his physical body that he would not even hesitate to apply face powder if necessary.
What he detested most were skeletal features reminiscent of an arhat’s visage; every time he faced the mirror, he felt almost grateful not to have been born with such a countenance.
On the other hand, even if others called him stylish, he could feel no pain whatsoever.
To that extent, he had transcended the Japan of the old era.

Part Two

About thirty minutes later, he took his seat at the dining table.
While sipping hot black tea and spreading butter on his toast, Kadono, the student lodger, came from the sitting room carrying a folded newspaper.
While placing the quarter-folded paper next to the cushion,

“Sir, something terrible has begun!” he said in an exaggerated voice.
This student lodger would shower Daisuke with polite honorifics like “Sir! Sir!” whenever he caught him.
Daisuke had initially protested once or twice with a bitter smile, but with nervous laughter—“Heh heh, but you’re sir”—the student would immediately revert to formal address. Left with no choice but to accept it, this had gradually become habitual until now he calmly allowed himself to be addressed as “sir” exclusively by this man.
In truth, it was only after having taken in a student lodger that Daisuke came to realize there existed no suitable title for someone like himself as master other than “sir.”

“It’s about the school disturbance, isn’t it?” Daisuke was eating his bread with a calm expression.

“But isn’t it exhilarating?”

“Is it about expelling the principal?”

“Yes, he’ll have to resign in the end!” he said excitedly.

“If the principal were to resign, would you profit from it somehow?”

“You can’t be serious.”
“You can’t feel exhilarated if you’re just calculating profit and loss!”

Daisuke kept eating bread.

“Do you know whether they’re really expelling the principal because he’s bad, or if there’s some profit-driven reason behind it?” he said while pouring hot water from the iron kettle into his teacup.

“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean? Do you know something about it, sir?”

“I don’t know either.”
“I don’t know, but do you really think people these days would stir up such a fuss if there wasn’t something in it for them?”
“That’s just an expedient, you.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Kadono replied with a somewhat serious expression.
Daisuke fell silent after that.
Kadono was a man who could not comprehend beyond this point.
No matter how far one pressed beyond this point, he would persist in maintaining his composure with a “Hmm, is that so?”
It was utterly unclear whether he was responding to what was being said or not.
Daisuke, finding that vagueness required no stimulation and was preferable, had employed the student lodger for that very reason.
In exchange, he didn’t go to school, didn’t study, and idled around all day.
There were times when he would say things like, “You should try studying a foreign language or something.”
Then Kadono would always only respond with things like, “Is that so?” or “Is that how it is?”
He never actually said he’d do it.
Again, in this way, an idler cannot give such a clear answer.
Daisuke, for his part, wasn’t born to educate Kadono either, so he left him be after a certain point.
Fortunately, unlike his head, his body moved well, and Daisuke greatly valued this aspect.
It wasn’t just Daisuke—even the old woman who had been there all along had lately come to find Kadono’s presence a great help.

Because of this, the old woman and Kadono got along quite well. When the master was away, the two often talked.

“What on earth does sir mean to do, I wonder? Auntie.”
“Once one reaches his station, they can do anything. There’s no call for worry.”
“I’m not worried, mind... It’s just I think he ought to be doing something.”
“Well now, I expect after taking a proper wife and such, he’ll set about finding some respectable post at his leisure.”
“Fine plan that is. I’d like to spend my days reading books and going to concerts too.”

“You think you could do that?”

“I don’t need to read books or anything. I’d like to just idle around like that or something.”

“All husbands are predestined from past lives—there’s nothing to be done about that.”

“I suppose that’s how it is.”

Such was the nature of their exchanges.

Two weeks before Kadono moved into Daisuke's place, a conversation of the following nature had taken place between this young unmarried master and this lodger.

1-3

“Which school are you attending?”

“I did attend before, though. I’ve given it up now.”
“Where did you go before?”
“Oh, various places here and there. But I just get bored too easily.”

“Do you get bored quickly?”

“Well, I suppose that’s about right.”

“And you don’t have any real intention to study either?”

“Well, not particularly.”
“And besides, my family’s circumstances haven’t been too good lately.”

“The old woman at my house says she knows your mother, you know.”

“Yes, well, she used to live right nearby.”

“Your mother is still…”

“She’s still doing trivial side jobs, but with the recession lately, it doesn’t seem to be going very well.”

“You say it’s not going well—aren’t you living together?”

“We do live together, but it’s such a nuisance that I’ve never even asked about it.”
“Seems she complains about everything.”

“And your brother?”

“My brother works at the post office.”

“Is that all your family?”

“I still have a younger brother.”
“This one’s at a bank—well, a position that’s just a hair above janitor, I suppose.”

“So you’re the only one idling about, then?”

“Well, I suppose that’s how it is.”

“So, what do you do when you’re at home?”

“Well, I mostly sleep.”
“Otherwise, I might go for a walk or something.”

“While everyone else is out there earning their keep, isn’t it painful for you to just lie around sleeping?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that’s quite the case.”

“Is your family really that harmonious?”

“We don’t really fight or anything.”
“It’s a strange thing.”

“But from your mother and brother’s perspective, they’d want you to become independent the sooner the better, wouldn’t they?”

“That might be the case.”

“You seem to have an excessively carefree disposition. Is that truly how it is?”

“Well, I’ve no particular reason to lie.”

“So you’re a complete idler through and through, then?”
“Well, I suppose you might call me an idler.”

“How old is your brother?”

“Let me see… Would that make him six?”

“Then he must already need to take a wife, I suppose.”
“Even if your brother takes a wife, do you still intend to carry on as you are now?”

“Well, I can’t really say until I see how things are then, but I suppose it’ll work out somehow.”

“Don’t you have any other relatives besides that?”

“I have one aunt, though.”
“This one’s currently running a shipping business down at the harbor.”

“Your aunt?”

“It’s not like my aunt’s the one running it, but well, it’s my uncle, I suppose.”

“Why don’t you ask them there to take you on?”
“If it’s a shipping business, they must need quite a lot of hands.”

“It’s just that I’m lazy by nature.”
“I figure they’ll probably turn me down anyway.”

“If you keep priding yourself on that, it’ll be a problem.”
“The truth is, your mother has asked the old woman at my house if she could have you stay here—there’s been some discussion about it.”

“Hmm, she was saying something like that.”

“How do you actually feel about this yourself?”
“Well, I’ll try not to be too lazy...”
“Would you prefer coming here?”
“I suppose that’s about right.”
“But if all you do is sleep and take walks—”
“No trouble at all.”
“My body’s plenty sturdy.”
“I’ll draw baths or whatever’s needed.”

“As for the bath, since there’s running water, you don’t need to draw it.”

“Then I suppose I’ll do some cleaning.”

It was under these conditions that Kadono became Daisuke’s student lodger.

1-4

Daisuke finished his meal and then lit up a cigarette.
Kadono, who had been sitting pensively behind the tea cabinet hugging his knees to his chest and leaning against a pillar, decided it was finally a good time and posed another question to his master.

“Sir, how is your heart this morning?”

Since he had known Daisuke’s habit for some time now, his tone carried a hint of teasing.

“I’m still all right today.”

“Somehow it looks like it might turn critical by tomorrow. If you keep fussing over your body like this, sir—you might end up catching a real illness.”

“You’re already sick.”

Kadono merely went "Hmm..." and continued gazing over Daisuke's haori at his lustrous complexion and the well-fleshed area around his shoulders.
Daisuke always felt sorry for this young man in such situations.
From Daisuke's perspective, this young man's head could only be thought of as being stuffed with cow brains.
When engaged in conversation, he only followed the main thoroughfare of commoners for about half a block.
Occasionally, when he turned down a side street, he would immediately get completely lost.
He couldn't even set foot into shafts dug vertically into the bedrock of logic from the very start.
As for his nervous system, it was even cruder.
It gave rise to the sensation that it had been assembled with coarse straw rope.
Daisuke observed this young man's living conditions and even found himself wondering for what purpose he dared to breathe and exist.
And yet he nonchalantly idled about.
Moreover, with this idling, he seemed to implicitly assume it belonged to the same category as his own attitude and carried himself quite proudly.
Moreover, armed with his stubbornly single-minded physique, he instead closed in on his master's nervous vulnerabilities.
His own nerves were the tax he paid for his uniquely delicate reasoning power and acute sensitivity.
It was the pain of reverberations arising from the far side of refined education.
It was the unwritten punishment received as retribution for having become a noble by heavenly virtue.
It was precisely by submitting to these sacrifices that I had become who I was now.
No, there were even times when I directly acknowledged the meaning of life in these very sacrifices.
Kadono had no understanding of such things.

“Mr. Kadono, hasn’t the mail arrived yet?”

“The mail?”
“Let me see...”
“It has arrived.”
“A postcard and a letter.”
“I put them on the desk.”
“Shall I bring them?”

“No, I can go there myself.”

At this halting reply, Kadono had already gotten to his feet.
He then brought over the postcard and letter.
The postcard contained an extremely brief message scrawled in pale ink: “Arrived Tokyo today at 2 PM. Lodged at the address on front immediately. Hastily inform: Wish to meet tomorrow morning.” On its face appeared the name of an Ura-Kanda inn and the sender’s full name—Hiraoka Tsunejiro—written with the same careless roughness as the address.

"So he’s already come? Must’ve arrived yesterday," he muttered to himself. Taking up the letter, he saw it bore his old man’s handwriting.
He had returned two or three days prior.
He wrote that while there was no urgent business, there were various matters to discuss, so he should come upon receiving this letter, followed by a few lines of trivial remarks about Kyoto's flowers still being early and the express train being packed and uncomfortable.
Daisuke rolled up the sealed letter while making a strange face as he compared both.

“Could you please make a telephone call for me? To the house.”

“Ah, to your house. What should I say?”

“Tell them I have an appointment today and someone to meet with, so I can’t come over. Say I’ll definitely visit tomorrow or the day after.”

“I see. To whom?”

“The old man has returned from his trip and says there’s something to discuss—but you don’t need to call him specifically. Just tell anyone there that.”

“I see.”

Kadono left casually. Daisuke returned from the family dining room to his study through the tatami reception room. When he looked around, everything had been cleaned beautifully. The fallen camellia too had been swept away somewhere. Daisuke went to the stacked bookshelves at the right side of the vase, picked up the heavy photo album resting atop them, and standing there, undid its gold clasp. He began turning the pages one by one until halfway through, when his hand froze abruptly. There lay a half-length portrait of a woman around twenty years old. Daisuke lowered his gaze and stared fixedly at her face.

II-I

He was just thinking of changing into a kimono and visiting Hiraoka’s inn himself when, quite opportunely, Hiraoka arrived from his side.
The carriage clattered up to the gate, and the voice shouting "This is the place!" as they lowered the carriage pole was unmistakably identical to when they had parted three years before.
At the entrance, when he stopped the caretaker woman and said, "I forgot my purse at the inn—could you lend me twenty sen for a moment?" Daisuke could not help recalling Hiraoka from their school days.
Daisuke ran out to the entrance and, without taking his hand, ushered his old friend into the sitting room.

“What’s wrong? Just take it easy.”

“Oh, a chair,” Hiraoka remarked as he heavily dropped his body into the armchair. The way he handled his own flesh—which must have weighed over fifteen kanme—seemed to place no more than three coppers’ worth of value on it. Then, leaning his shaved head against the back of the chair, he glanced around the room briefly,

“This is quite a nice house.
Better than I expected,” he remarked.
Daisuke silently opened the lid of the tobacco pouch.

“And then? What about after that?”

“This and that—well, there’s much to discuss.”

“I used to understand your situation through your frequent letters—but lately you haven’t sent a single one.”

“Ah, I’ve been remiss with correspondence everywhere,” Hiraoka Tsunejiro said abruptly removing his glasses. He pulled a creased handkerchief from his suit’s breast pocket and began wiping his eyes while blinking rapidly.
He had been nearsighted since their school days.
Daisuke stared fixedly at this performance.

“What about you?” he said while taking a thin vine with both hands to tangle behind his ear.

“I’m still the same.”

“You’re best off staying the same.”
“It’s just that you’ve changed too much.”

At this, Hiraoka knit his brows into a figure-eight shape and began gazing at the garden’s pattern, then abruptly altered his tone:

“Oh, there are cherry blossoms.”
“They’ve only just begun blooming.”
“The climate must be quite different here,” he said.
The conversation somehow refused to settle into solemnity.
Daisuke too adopted an air of deflated detachment,

“It must be rather warm over there,” he offered, his greeting nearly perfunctory.
Then, this time with almost excessive fervor,

“Yeah, it’s quite warm,” came the vigorous reply.
It was a tone as though he had suddenly become aware of his own existence—abrupt and startled.
Daisuke gazed at Hiraoka’s face once more.
Hiraoka lit his rolled tobacco.
At that moment, the old woman finally poured tea into the teapot and brought it out.
Having just filled the iron kettle with water—which took time to boil—she apologized for the delay as she placed the tray on the Western-style table.
While the old woman chattered away, the two looked at the rosewood tray and remained silent.
The old woman, finding herself ignored, forced a polite smile and left the room alone.

“What’s with her?”

“It’s the old woman. I hired her. She has to eat.”

“You’re quite the flatterer.”

Daisuke curved both ends of his red lips slightly downward in a scornful laugh.

“She’s never worked in a place like this before, so there’s nothing to be done.”

“You should’ve brought someone over from your house. There must be plenty there.”

“They’re all just young,” Daisuke answered seriously.
Hiraoka laughed aloud for the first time now.

“If they’re young, all the better, isn’t it?”

“Anyway, I can’t stand the household staff.”

“Is there anyone besides that old woman?”

“There’s a student lodger.”

Kadono had returned unnoticed and was talking with the old woman in the kitchen.

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. Why do you ask?”

“Haven’t you taken a wife yet?”

Daisuke’s face flushed slightly，but he immediately regained an utterly ordinary tone.
“If I were to take a wife，I should at least notify you—more than my husb—” He stopped abruptly.
“—more than my husband—you—” he began，then stopped dead.

2-2

Daisuke and Hiraoka had known each other since their secondary school days, and particularly in the year following graduation, they maintained a closeness akin to brothers. At that time, their greatest pleasure lay in confiding everything to one another and declaring how they would support each other. As this amusement not infrequently turned into actual deeds, they became convinced that every word spoken for each other's sake contained not amusement but a constant element of sacrifice. Yet they remained oblivious to the trite truth that paying such sacrifices immediately would transform amusement's very nature into pain. A year later, Hiraoka married. Simultaneously, he was transferred to a branch office of his bank in the Keihanshin region. When seeing off the newlyweds at Shimbashi Station, Daisuke grasped Hiraoka's hand with apparent cheerfulness, urging him to come straight back home. Hiraoka dismissed this with a "There's nothing to be done; I'll endure it for now," though behind his glasses flickered a self-satisfied expression so intense it was almost enviable. Seeing this, Daisuke suddenly felt hatred toward his friend. Returning home, he shut himself in his room and spent the day deep in thought. He had canceled plans to attend a concert with his sister-in-law, causing her great anxiety.

From Hiraoka there came constant correspondence.
A postcard announcing his safe arrival; notification of establishing a household there; accounts of branch office duties; hopes for future prospects—there were all varieties.
Whenever a letter arrived，Daisuke invariably sent a courteous response.
Strangely，whenever Daisuke composed replies，he would invariably be assailed by unease.
At times，the strain of endurance became intolerable，leading him to abandon responses midway.
Only when Hiraoka expressed gratitude regarding certain past deeds did his pen glide effortlessly，yielding replies of relative composure.

Gradually, their exchange of letters became more sporadic—twice a month became once, then once began to stretch over two or three months—and when this happened, he now found himself growing anxious if he did not write, leading him to wet the glue on an envelope for no reason other than to drive away this feeling.
As this continued for about half a year, Daisuke began to feel as though the very structures of his mind and chest were gradually changing.
With this change, whether he wrote letters to Hiraoka or not, he came to feel no pain at all.
In fact, since Daisuke had established his own household over a year ago, it was only during this spring’s exchange of New Year’s cards that he had taken the occasion to inform them of his current address.

Even so, due to certain circumstances, he could not entirely forget about Hiraoka.
He would sometimes remember.
And he would sometimes imagine all sorts of things about how he must be living now.
He had merely remembered him from time to time—without mustering the courage or feeling the need to make inquiries—when, two weeks prior, a letter from Hiraoka had suddenly arrived.
The letter stated that he would soon withdraw from this area and relocate to your place.
However, I would be troubled if you were to consider this an other-directed career move implying a promotion due to an order from the main office.
I had some considerations and suddenly decided to change professions, so upon arriving in Tokyo, I must ask for your continued support.
Whether this “continued support” was a genuine request or merely a formality remained unclear, but that Hiraoka had undergone a sudden personal upheaval was an undeniable fact.
At that moment, it struck Daisuke.

And so he had been waiting to hear the full account of this upheaval the moment they met, but unfortunately, the conversation veered off and refused to return easily to that point.
When he seized an opening to raise the matter himself, Hiraoka would say something like “Let’s discuss it later” or such evasions, making no real headway.
Daisuke, left with no recourse, finally,

“It’s been a while—let’s have dinner around here,” he proposed.

Even so, Hiraoka still wanted to repeat his evasions, but [Daisuke] forcibly pulled him along and took him to a nearby Western restaurant.

2-3

The two men drank quite a lot there.
It began with a remark about how their drinking and eating habits hadn’t changed since the old days, and their stiff tongues gradually loosened.
Daisuke spoke amusingly about the Easter service at Nikolai’s that he had gone to see a few days earlier.
The festival began at the stroke of midnight, taking its cue when the world had settled into sleep.
When the pilgrims circled around the long corridor and returned to the main hall, thousands of candles had been lit all at once, unbeknownst to them.
When monks in vestments processed past, a black shadow was cast very large upon the blank wall.
Hiraoka rested his cheek on his hand, listening with his double eyelids behind his glasses reddening.

Daisuke then passed through broad Gojō Avenue around two o'clock at night, crossed over iron rails stretching straight through the darkness in the late hours, arrived alone at Ueno's forest, and stepped into flowers illuminated by electric lights.

“Cherry blossoms at night with no one around are quite something,” he said.
Hiraoka silently drained his cup, then moved his lips slightly with what seemed like pity,

“It must be nice—though I have not seen it myself yet.”
“But while you can still indulge in such things, life remains easy for you.”
“Once you’re out in the world, it’s hardly so simple,” he said, implicitly looking down on the other’s inexperience.
To Daisuke, the content of the reply felt more irrational than its tone.
He considered the experience of that Easter night to hold greater meaning in life than worldly experience.
There, he offered this response.

“I think there’s nothing as foolish as so-called worldly experience.”
“Doesn’t it only bring pain?”

Hiraoka slightly widened his drunken eyes.

“Your way of thinking has changed quite a bit, hasn’t it?
“But didn’t you used to argue that such pain later becomes medicine?”

“That was the theory from when I was an imprudent youth capitulating to commonplace proverbs and spouting half-baked ideas.”
“I’ve long since scrapped that.”

“But even you must soon enter society.”
“Then that’ll be a problem.”

“I’ve been out in society since long ago,”
“Especially since parting with you, I feel society has grown immeasurably vast.”
“It simply differs in kind from the society you inhabit.”

“Even if you boast like that, you’ll only end up surrendering.”

“Naturally, I’d surrender any time if facing starvation.”
“But why should those who want for nothing today trouble themselves to taste inferior experiences?”
“It’s precisely like Indians donning overcoats to guard against winter’s approach.”

A flicker of displeasure flashed across Hiraoka's brow.
With red eyes fixed, he was puffing away at his rolled tobacco.
Daisuke, realizing he had gone too far, softened his tone slightly—

“Among those I know, there are some who don’t understand music at all.
They work as schoolteachers—since one position doesn’t pay enough, they take on three or four jobs. Pitiful souls who have no time beyond preparing lessons and mechanically moving their mouths in classrooms.
On rare Sundays, they laze about all day under the guise of resting.
So no matter where concerts are held or how renowned the visiting musicians, they never get to attend.
In short, they must die without ever entering that beautiful world called music.
To me, there’s no inexperience more wretched than this.
Bread-related experiences may feel urgent, but ultimately they’re inferior.
Without tasting luxuries divorced from bread and water, one can’t be called fully human.
You still seem to think me a child—but in this luxurious world I inhabit, I consider myself far your elder.”

Hiraoka tapped the ash from his rolled tobacco into the dish in a somber, dark tone,

“Yeah, if you can keep living in that kind of world forever, more power to you.”
The heavy words seemed to drag behind them a kind of curse against wealth.

2-4

The two men got drunk and went outside.
Because they had gotten into a strange argument under the influence of alcohol, the crucial personal discussion had still not progressed in the slightest.

“Why don’t we take a walk?” invited Daisuke.
Hiraoka, not appearing as occupied as his words suggested, walked along while giving vague replies.
They turned from the main street into a side alley and, while seeking a suitably quiet spot for their talk, found before they knew it that an opening had formed and the conversation settled on the intended subject.

According to Hiraoka, at the time of his appointment, he had worked quite busily for his clerical training and investigating local economic conditions.
If possible, he had even thought to study the practical application of academic theories, but since his position was not high enough, he reluctantly set aside his plan for future consideration.
To be fair, at first he had made various proposals to the branch manager, but the branch manager had always coldly dismissed them.
If he brought up complicated logic or such matters, the branch manager would become quite displeased.
He would adopt an air of “What could some greenhorn possibly understand?”
Yet he himself seemed to actually understand nothing.
From Hiraoka’s perspective, it seemed that the branch manager’s refusal to engage stemmed not from him being unworthy of engagement, but rather from fear of doing so.
That was where Hiraoka’s frustration lay.
There had been more than one occasion where he had nearly come into conflict.

However, as time passed, his frustration gradually faded without notice, and little by little, his mind began to blend in with the surrounding atmosphere.
Moreover, he strove as much as possible to harmonize.
As this happened, the branch manager’s attitude toward him gradually began to change.
At times, he would even initiate discussions himself.
Since Hiraoka was not fresh out of school, he made sure to avoid mentioning things the other party wouldn’t understand or that would be inconvenient.

“It’s not as if I’m resorting to empty flattery or buttering people up,” Hiraoka made a point to clarify.
“Naturally, that’s how it should be,” Daisuke replied with a solemn expression.

The branch manager had expressed various concerns about Hiraoka’s future.
Since he was scheduled to return to the main office soon, he had even half-jokingly promised, “You should come along with me then,” or something of the sort.
By that time, he had grown accustomed to the office work, his credibility had deepened, his social connections had expanded, the time for study had naturally dwindled away, and he had come to feel that studying was actually hindering his practical duties.

As the branch manager confided everything in me, I trusted a man named Seki, my subordinate, and consulted him on various matters.
However, this man became involved with a geisha and before long had opened a hole in the accounts.
Since this had been exposed, of course the man himself had to be dismissed, but due to certain circumstances—if left unchecked—it seemed some trouble would reach even the branch manager. Therefore, I took responsibility and tendered my resignation.

Hiraoka’s account was roughly as follows, but to Daisuke, it also sounded as if he had been persuaded by the branch manager through appeals to karmic consequence and urged to resign.
At the end of his account, Hiraoka added, “Company employees—the higher up they go, the more they can get away with things.”
“To tell you the truth, someone like Seki—embezzling that trifling sum and getting dismissed straightaway—it’s pitiable enough to make one weep.”

“So the branch manager is the one getting away with things the most, huh?” asked Daisuke.

“Maybe that’s how it is,” Hiraoka replied evasively.

“So what happened to the money that man embezzled?”

“Since it was less than a thousand yen, I covered it.”

“Well, you had that much to spare.”
“You also seem to have pulled off quite the clever move.”

Hiraoka made a bitter face and glared sharply at Daisuke.

“Even if I did pull off some clever move, I’ve already used up every last bit of it. It’s not even enough for living expenses. That money—I’ve borrowed it.”

“I see,” Daisuke responded calmly. Daisuke was a man who never lost his usual composure, no matter the circumstances. And within this low, clear composure lay a certain roundedness.

“I borrowed from the branch manager and covered it.”

“Why didn’t the branch manager just lend directly to that Seki guy or whoever?”

Hiraoka did not answer.
Daisuke did not press further to ask.
The two men walked side by side in silence for some time.

2-5

Daisuke concluded there must be something more than what Hiraoka had told him. However, he was aware that he did not possess the right to take one step further and thoroughly investigate its truth. Moreover, to arouse such curiosity would require him to be less urbanized than he had in fact become. He, a denizen of twentieth-century Japan, had already reached the realm of nil admirari whether he had turned thirty or not yet. His thoughts were not so steeped in provincial naivety as to be shocked upon encountering humanity’s darker aspects. His nerves did not feel bored in such a way as to take pleasure in sniffing out such stale secrets. No—from one perspective, he was so exhausted that he could not even bring himself to accept stimuli several times more pleasant than this.

Daisuke had evolved—though when one examines the reverse side of evolution, it always proves to be degeneration, a lamentable phenomenon throughout history—to such an extent within his own unique world that bore almost no relation to Hiraoka's. Hiraoka remained entirely unaware of this. He still seemed to view Daisuke as unchanged from his original mindset of three years prior. To lay bare one's weaknesses before such a young master would be as futile as throwing horse dung to startle a young lady—it risked achieving nothing but disgust. Better to stay silent than invite disfavor through unnecessary actions—this was how Daisuke interpreted Hiraoka's calculations. Consequently, Hiraoka's silent retreat without response struck Daisuke as utterly foolish. To the degree that Hiraoka regarded Daisuke as a child—or perhaps even more so—Daisuke had begun viewing Hiraoka as a child himself. Yet when the two men had walked fifteen or sixteen paces and resumed speaking, no trace of this remained in either. The first to break the silence was Daisuke.

“So, what do you plan to do from here on out?”

“Well…”

“After all, you’ve got experience up to now—the same line of work might suit best.”

“Well…”
“Depending on circumstances.”
“Actually, I’d been meaning to consult you properly.”
“Do you think there might be an opening at your brother’s company?”

“Yeah, I’ll ask—I need to go to his house in a couple of days anyway.”
“Though I wonder…”

“If business doesn’t pan out, I might try getting into a newspaper or something.”

“That could work.”

The two men emerged again onto the streetcar thoroughfare.
Hiraoka had been eyeing an approaching streetcar when he abruptly announced he’d take this one home.
Daisuke replied “I see” but neither detained him nor immediately turned away.
They walked to the stop marked by a red pole.
There,

“How is Michiyo?” he asked.

“Thank you. Well, she’s about the same.”
“She asked me to send her regards to you.”
“Actually, I’d planned to bring her today, but she said the train ride had left her feeling unwell, so I left her at the inn.”

The streetcar stopped in front of the two men.
Hiraoka started to walk quickly a few steps ahead but stopped when Daisuke called out to him.
The streetcar he was supposed to take had not yet arrived.

“It’s a shame about the child.”

“Yeah.”
“It was pitiful what happened.”
“Thank you again for your considerate help back then.”
“If it was going to die anyway, better never born at all.”

“How’s she been since then?”
“Can’t there be another?”

“Yeah, as things stand, probably hopeless already.”
“Her health isn’t in very good shape.”

“When you’re moving around this much, not having children might actually be more convenient.”

“That’s true too. If one were single like you, it might be even more carefree.”

“I’ll stay single.”

“You’re joking—more than me, my wife kept wondering whether you’d already taken a wife or were still single.”

The streetcar arrived at the spot.

Three-One

Daisuke’s father was named Nagai Toku—an elderly man who had fought in the wars of the Meiji Restoration yet remained remarkably spry to this day.
After quitting his government service, he entered the business world, and while engaging in various ventures, money naturally accumulated such that over these past fourteen or fifteen years he had become quite the wealthy man.

There was an older brother named Seigo. Right after graduating from school, he joined the company his father was involved with and came to occupy an important position there. Umeko bore two children. The older brother was named Seitaro and was fifteen. The younger sister was named Nui and was three years younger.

Apart from Seigo, there was still one older sister; she had married a diplomat and was now living in the West with her husband. Between Seigo and this sister there had been another sibling, and between this sister and Daisuke yet another sibling had existed, but both died young. Mother also died.

Daisuke’s family was composed of precisely this number of people. Of these, those who had left the household were the sister who had gone to the West and Daisuke, who had recently established his own residence, leaving four members remaining in the main family.

Daisuke went without fail once a month to collect money from the main house. He lived on funds that could not be clearly identified as belonging to either his parents or brother. Beyond these monthly visits, he would head out whenever boredom struck him. Then he would return home after teasing the children, playing Go with the student lodger, and discussing theater productions with his sister-in-law.

Daisuke liked this sister-in-law. This sister-in-law was a unique type of person who seemed to have been ruthlessly stitched together from Tenpo-era aesthetics and Meiji-era modernity. She would deliberately order from her sister-in-law in France some exceedingly expensive fabric with a tongue-twisting name, have four or five people cut and sew it into an obi sash to try on among other things. Later, when they discovered it was actually something that had been exported from Japan, they burst into laughter. It was Daisuke who went to the Mitsukoshi Exhibition Hall and looked into it. She had liked Western music ever since her marriage and was often invited by Daisuke to go listen. Just when you thought that was all, she maintained an intense interest in fortune-telling. She greatly admired Ishiryuko and a certain Mr. Ojima. Daisuke also tagged along in a rickshaw all the way to the fortune-teller’s place on two or three occasions.

The boy Seitaro had recently become engrossed in baseball.
Daisuke would go and sometimes throw the ball for him.
He was a child who harbored peculiar hopes.
At the start of every summer, when the many sweet potato vendors abruptly transformed into shaved ice shops, the first to rush over and devour ice treats without even breaking a sweat was Seitaro.
When there were no ice confections, he made do with shaved ice.
And then he would return home proudly.
Lately, he had been saying that if a permanent sumo hall were built, he wanted to be the first to enter.
There was a time he asked Daisuke, "Uncle, do you know anyone who knows sumo?"

The girl named Nui would answer, “That’s fine!” or “I don’t know!” whenever anyone said anything to her. And then countless times a day she would change her ribbons. Recently, she began attending violin lessons. When she returned home, she practiced with a sound like sharpening a saw’s teeth. However, she never did it when people were watching. She would close herself in her room and make it screech away, so her parents thought she was quite skilled. Because Daisuke would sometimes quietly open the door, she would scold him with things like “That’s fine!” or “I don’t know!”

The older brother was usually absent.
When things grew particularly busy, the only meal he ate at home was breakfast, and the two children had no notion how he spent the rest of his days.
To the same degree, Daisuke too remained unaware.
This ignorance was preferable; so long as unnecessary, he never probed into his older brother’s daily life beyond the home.

Daisuke enjoyed great esteem from the two children.
He commanded considerable regard from his sister-in-law as well.
As for his older brother, whether such regard existed or not remained unclear.
When elder and younger brother met at gatherings, they exchanged only trivialities.
Both parties maintained ordinary expressions and carried on unperturbed.
They appeared thoroughly inured to the banal.

III-II

The one Daisuke most had to contend with was his old man. Despite his advanced age, he kept a young mistress, but that was of no concern. From Daisuke’s perspective, he rather approved of it; he believed that it was precisely those who lacked the means to keep a mistress who would attack the practice of keeping mistresses. The old man was also quite the busybody. When he was a child, there had been times when Daisuke was profoundly troubled by this. However, as an adult now, he saw no particular need to be repelled by it anymore. The only response required was that his father conflated his own youth with Daisuke’s present circumstances, believing there was no significant difference between the two. Therefore, the logic became that unless Daisuke too was made to act according to his father’s mindset from when he had navigated the world in his youth, it would be a lie. However, on Daisuke’s part, he had never asked back, "What lie?" So it never turned into a fight. As a child, Daisuke had had an extremely hot temper—around eighteen or nineteen, he had even come to blows with his old man once or twice—but after growing up, graduating from school, and some time passing, this temper had abruptly ceased. From then on, there had not been a single instance where he had gotten angry. His father secretly took pride in this, believing it to be the result of his own upbringing.

To tell the truth, his old man’s so-called upbringing had done nothing but gradually cool the lingering warmth of affection between father and son.
At least, that was what Daisuke believed.
However, in his old man’s mind, it had ended up being interpreted in exactly the opposite way.
No matter what they did, they were flesh-and-blood parent and child.
The innate affection a child has for a parent could not change based on how the child was treated.
Even if one pushed a child somewhat for education’s sake, the outcome would never affect their natural affection as parent and child.
The father, steeped in Confucianism, had firmly believed this.
The father—who thought the mere fact of having given Daisuke existence served as an eternal guarantee of affection against all displeasures and pains—had pushed forward with that conviction.
And thus he created a son cold toward himself.
Though from around Daisuke’s graduation onward, his treatment had changed considerably; in some respects, it had grown surprisingly lenient.
Yet this was merely the execution of a program this old man had devised for Daisuke the moment he was born—no adjustment made in response to any perceived shift in Daisuke’s sentiments.
As for the adverse effects his education had inflicted upon Daisuke, even now he remained utterly oblivious.

The old man took great pride in having gone to war.
At the slightest provocation, he would dismissively criticize you, saying that since you’d never been to war, you lacked fortitude and were therefore worthless.
They were remarks spoken as though courage were the supreme human ability.
Daisuke felt unpleasant every time he was made to hear this.
Courage might indeed have been a necessary qualification for survival in barbaric eras like his father’s youth—times when life-and-death struggles were fierce—but from the perspective of today’s civilized age, Daisuke understood it to be little more than a tool scarcely different from antiquated practices like archery and swordsmanship.
No, he considered that there were many abilities which could not coexist with courage yet ought to be far more valuable than courage.
He heard another lecture on courage from Father.
There was a time when he remarked that if everyone spoke like Father, stone Jizo statues would end up being considered the greatest in the world, and laughed about it with his sister-in-law.

Such a Daisuke was of course cowardly.
Yet he felt no genuine shame about this cowardice.
At times he even felt inclined to take pride in it.
As a child, at Father’s instigation, he had once deliberately gone to Aoyama Cemetery in the middle of the night.
After enduring the eerie atmosphere for a full hour until he could bear it no longer, he returned home with an ashen face.
At that time even he himself had felt regretful.
When Father laughed at him the next morning, he felt hatred toward Father.
According to Father’s account, the boys of his generation had followed this custom to cultivate courage: banding together at midnight, each would climb alone to Kengamine’s summit—one ri north of the castle—keep vigil until dawn at its crossroads shrine, worship the sunrise, then return.
Father criticized that today’s youth differed fundamentally in their approach to such matters.

Daisuke thought it pitiable that his old man had earnestly uttered such things and still could not refrain from doing so now.
He hated earthquakes.
Even a momentary tremor sent waves through his chest.
At times, sitting rigidly in his study, he would sense—at some trigger—"Ah, an earthquake approaches from afar."
Then the zabuton cushion beneath him, the tatami mat, even the floorboards seemed to tremble distinctly.
He believed this was his true nature.
To Daisuke, his old man could only be perceived as either a neurologically underdeveloped savage or, failing that, a fool deluding himself.

3-3

Daisuke was now sitting face-to-face with this old man.
Because it was a small room with long eaves, when sitting and looking at the garden, one felt as though the garden was partitioned off at the edge of the eaves.
At least, the sky did not appear wide.
Instead, it was quiet and calm—a comfortable place to settle.

The old man was smoking cut tobacco, having pulled the long-handled tobacco tray closer and occasionally tapping the ash container with soft pops.
The sound resonated pleasantly through the quiet garden.
Daisuke had lined up four or five golden cigarette holders in the hand warmer.
Having grown weary of exhaling smoke through his nose, he crossed his arms and studied the old man’s face.
The face carried more flesh than seemed fitting for his age.
Yet his cheeks were sunken.
Under thick eyebrows, the skin of his eyelids hung slack.
His mustache held more of a yellowish cast than pure white.
Moreover, when speaking, he had a habit of shifting his gaze evenly between his listener’s knees and face.
When his eyes moved like this, their whites would flicker faintly—giving whoever sat across from him an uncanny sensation.

The old man was now saying such things: —
“One shouldn’t think only of oneself.”
“There’s society to consider.”
“And the nation too.”
“You must do at least something for others—otherwise it leaves a bad taste.”
“You can’t possibly feel content just drifting about like this.”
“Now if it were some uneducated lout from the lower classes—that’d be different. But there’s no earthly reason for a man with your education to find pleasure in idleness.”
“What one learns only becomes worthwhile when put to practical use.”

“That’s correct,” Daisuke replied.
Whenever lectured by his father, Daisuke developed a habit of giving vague replies because he found himself at a loss for a proper response.
If Daisuke were to speak freely, his father’s ideas—having arbitrarily made half-baked conclusions about all matters from the outset—lacked any fundamental significance.
Moreover, no sooner did they appear to act altruistically than they shifted to self-interest without notice.
The words alone flowed eloquently and were delivered with solemnity, but ultimately amounted to empty talk that defied comprehension.
Trying to dismantle this from its foundations was an immensely difficult task and ultimately impossible; therefore, he tried to avoid engaging with it as much as possible from the beginning.
However, the old man took it as given that Daisuke belonged to his own solar system and thus believed he had every right to govern Daisuke’s orbit perpetually, pressing this conviction upon him.
Therefore, Daisuke had no choice but to present himself as revolving obediently around the aged sun that was his father.

“If you find business distasteful, then so be it."
“After all, it’s not as if merely earning money can be said to benefit Japan.”
“You don’t have to earn money.”
“If I start talking about this and that for money’s sake, you must feel bad too.”
“I’ll keep supplementing your funds as I have until now.”
“I don’t know when I’ll die either, and I can’t exactly take money with me when I go.”
“I’ll take care of your monthly livelihood.”
“So you should apply yourself and do something.”
"You should do it as your duty to the nation."
“You’re already thirty, I suppose.”

“That’s correct.”

“To reach thirty and still be loafing around as an idler—how utterly unbecoming.”

Daisuke did not think he was idling in the least.
He merely considered himself a member of a superior race who possessed time rich in substance untainted by profession.
Whenever the old man said such things, Daisuke actually felt sorry for him.
In the old man’s immature brain, there was absolutely no reflection of how these days spent so meaningfully were crystallizing and manifesting within Daisuke’s own thoughts and sentiments.
There was no help for it, so he put on a serious face and,

“Yes, it’s quite troubling,” he replied.
The old man had viewed Daisuke as a mere brat from the start, and since his replies always remained those simple, detached phrases that never lost their childishness, even as he dismissed him as a fool, he couldn’t help but feel that this young master would remain utterly useless even as an adult—a truly troubling matter.
Yet when one considered it, Daisuke’s tone was so unperturbed, calm, unembarrassed, and utterly ordinary that one couldn’t help feeling this brat was beyond handling.

三の四

“Your body is healthy, isn’t it?”

"I haven't caught a cold in the past two or three years."

“Your mind isn’t deficient, I suppose.
“Your school grades were quite respectable, weren’t they?”

"Well, that’s correct."

“It’s a waste to idle away with that.”
“That... what was his name? There’s that man who often comes to talk to you, isn’t there?”
“I’ve met him once or twice myself.”

“Hiraoka?”

“Yes, Hiraoka. I hear that fellow wasn’t particularly capable—didn’t he go off somewhere right after graduating?”
“But in return, he failed and has already come back.”

The old man couldn’t suppress a wry smile.

“Why?” asked the old man.

“Because he worked simply to eat, I suppose.”

The old man didn't fully grasp this meaning.
"Did he do something disagreeable?" came the return question.
"In each situation he presumably does what's required—yet that very requirement becomes precisely what causes his downfall."

“Haaah…” he replied without enthusiasm, then shifted his tone and launched into an explanation.

“When young people speak of failure, it’s entirely due to lacking sincerity and diligence.”
“I’ve worked through decades of experience to reach this age—without these two virtues, success remains impossible.”

“Yet having sincerity and diligence might conversely cause one to fail.”

“No—that’s preposterous.”

Above the old man’s head hung a resplendent plaque bearing 誠者天之道也 (Sincerity is the way of Heaven). He claimed it had been written by the former feudal lord of the previous generation and treasured it above all else. Daisuke detested this plaque. He detested its first character. More than that, he despised the very sentiment it expressed. After “Sincerity is the way of Heaven,” he yearned to add “but not of man.”

Long ago, when their domain’s finances lay in ruins beyond recovery, Nagai—tasked with their restoration—had summoned several townspeople connected to the feudal lord. Removing his sword and bowing deeply before them, he begged temporary financial relief. From the outset, repayment had been uncertain—a truth he openly confessed—yet this very honesty secured his success then. Thus came the plaque from the lord’s hand. Ever since, Nagai kept it displayed in his parlor, contemplating it morning and night. Daisuke could scarcely recall how many times he’d endured this origin story.

Fifteen or sixteen years ago, when monthly expenses at the former feudal lord’s household had begun mounting and its painstakingly recovered economy started collapsing once more, Nagai was again entrusted with reorganization through his skillful methods from the previous year.
At that time Nagai personally burned bath firewood himself and began investigating discrepancies between actual consumption and ledger records. Having poured his entire soul day and night into this single task alone, he succeeded in establishing an exemplary system within approximately one month.
From then onward, the feudal lord’s household maintained a relatively prosperous livelihood.

Possessing such a past history and never daring to step beyond it to consider anything else, Nagai tended to frame everything in terms of sincerity and zeal.

“You seem somehow deficient in sincerity and zeal.”
“That won’t do.”
“That’s why you can’t accomplish anything.”

"I do possess sincerity and zeal, but they simply cannot be applied to practical affairs."

"What do you mean by that?"

Daisuke was again at a loss for a reply. According to Daisuke’s thinking, sincerity and zeal were not pre-made things one stored in one’s chest; rather, they were phenomena that ought to arise between two parties—like sparks produced when stone and iron strike—depending on how well friction was managed with the other person. Rather than inherent qualities one possesses, they are an exchange process of the mind. Therefore, if the other party was flawed, it could not arise.

“Father, it’s because you swallow gold ingots like the Analects and Wang Yangming’s teachings that you end up saying such things.”

“What do you mean by ‘gold ingots’?”

Daisuke remained silent for a time, but finally said, "They come out still as ingots." Nagai, despite his curiosity, did not deign to engage with what he took to be the incoherent maxims typical of bookish, eccentric, inexperienced youths who relish such pronouncements.

3-5

About forty minutes later, the old man changed his kimono, put on hakama trousers, boarded a jinrikisha, and went out somewhere.
Daisuke saw him off to the entranceway but then turned back, opened the guest room’s door, and stepped inside.
This was a Western-style annex built recently, its interior decorations largely realized through specialists commissioned to execute Daisuke’s designs.
The patterned paintings framing the transom especially held deep interest for him—works he had requested from a former painter acquaintance after extensive consultations.
Standing there, Daisuke gazed at the horizontal expanse of color like an unfurled scroll painting, yet somehow they seemed strikingly shabbier than when he had last inspected them.
As he thought this hardly reassuring yet continued examining details section by section, his brother’s wife suddenly entered.

“Oh, are you in here?” she said, but continued, “I couldn’t find my comb around here.”
The comb was at the foot of the sofa.
Apparently, when she had lent it to Nui yesterday, it had been lost somewhere, so she had come searching.
Pressing both hands against her head, she pushed the comb into the base of her bun and looked up at Daisuke with a sharp gaze.

“Still as vague as ever, aren’t you?” she teased.

“I ended up getting lectured by Father.”

“Again? You do get scolded often, don’t you. You rushed home in such a hurry yet show no consideration at all. But I don’t like you very much either. You never do a single thing Father tells you.”

“I don’t argue with Father or anything like that when I’m before him. I keep everything restrained and behave properly.”

“That’s precisely why it’s so vexing. Whenever someone says something, you just go ‘Yes, yes,’ and then pay no heed whatsoever.”

Daisuke smiled bitterly and fell silent. Umeko turned toward him and settled into a chair. She was a woman with a slender back, somewhat sallow complexion, thick eyebrows, and thin lips.

“Oh, do sit down.”
“I’ll keep you company for a bit.”

Daisuke remained standing as he was and kept his eyes on his sister-in-law.

“You’re wearing an unusual collar today.”

“This?”

Umeko drew in her chin, furrowed her brows into an eight-shape, and tried to look at the collar of her underkimono.

“I bought it the other day.”

“It’s a nice color.”

“Oh, never mind about that—just sit down there.”

Daisuke sat down directly across from his sister-in-law.

“There, I’ve sat down.”

“What exactly were you scolded for today?”

“I’m not entirely sure what I was even scolded for. But I was surprised by Father’s devotion to the state and society. Apparently he’s been devoting himself nonstop from age eighteen until today.”

“That’s precisely why he’s attained such standing, isn’t he?”

“If devoting oneself to the state and society could make one as much money as Father has, I’d gladly devote myself too.”

“So instead of idling about, you should devote yourself properly.
“You’re cunning because you try to get money just by lying around.”

“I’ve never actually tried to take any money.”

“Even if you don’t try to take it, using it amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it?”

“Did Brother say something about it?”

“Brother’s too exasperated to say anything.”

“That’s quite intense.
But Brother is more admirable than Father, isn’t he?”

“Why?—Oh, how naughty! Using such flattery again.
That’s your flaw.
Because you keep a straight face while mocking others.”

“I suppose that’s how it is?”

“That’s simply how it is—it couldn’t be anything else. Why don’t you try thinking about it properly for once?”

“Somehow whenever I come here, I turn into Kadono—it’s vexing.”

“What’s this ‘Kadono’?”

“Well, he’s the student lodger at my house. Whenever someone tells him something, he invariably answers with either ‘I suppose that’s how it is?’ or ‘Is that so?’”

“Him?”
“That’s rather peculiar, isn’t it?”

3-6

Daisuke paused briefly in his speech and, looking over Umeko’s shoulder through the gap in the window curtains, gazed out at the beautiful sky.
In the distance, there stood a single large tree.
Covered entirely in pale brown buds, the soft tips of its branches where they met the sky were hazy, as if blurred by a fine drizzle.

“It’s become lovely weather, hasn’t it? Shall we go somewhere for flower viewing?”

“Let’s go. Since we’re going, go ahead and say it.”

“What?”

“About what Father told you.”

“I was told various things, but I find it troublesome to repeat them in an orderly fashion. It’s because I’m not clever enough.”

“You’re still playing dumb. I know perfectly well.”

“In that case, shall I tell you?”

Umeko stiffened slightly.

"You've become quite the glib talker lately."

"Oh, it's not to make you fed up yet—by any chance—today feels unusually quiet."
"What about—where are all those kids?"

“The children are at school.”

A sixteen- or seventeen-year-old maid opened the door and peered in.
“The master requests you come to the telephone,” she relayed, then stood silently awaiting Umeko’s response.
Umeko rose at once.
Daisuke followed suit.
As he moved to leave the parlor after her, Umeko turned back.

“You stay right there.”
“I have something to discuss.”

Daisuke always found his sister-in-law’s imperious tone oddly entertaining.
After watching her depart with leisurely eyes, he resumed his seat and returned to contemplating the painting.
Before long, the colors seemed not merely applied to the wall but to be streaming from his very eyeballs—launching outward to cling in viscous patches across the surface.
Eventually, through this ocular alchemy alone, every figure and tree before him became mutable at whim.
Thus Daisuke repainted each clumsy brushstroke until he sat entranced within a cocoon of imagined hues—the most exquisite colors his mind could conjure.
Then Umeko returned, and reality snapped shut around him once more.

When he formally inquired about what Umeko wanted to discuss, it turned out to be that familiar marriage proposal matter again.
Daisuke had been introduced to various candidates for a wife through photographs and in-person meetings thanks to Umeko even before graduating from school.
However, every single one had been unsuitable.
At first, he had refused them with polite excuses that preserved appearances, but starting about two years prior, he suddenly became blunt and would invariably find fault with the other party.
He would come up with strange criticisms—whether the angle between mouth and jaw was off, whether eye length disproportioned facial width, whether ears were misplaced.
Since none of these were ordinary remarks, even Umeko eventually began to reconsider.
This was ultimately because her excessive meddling had led her to overstep and trouble others.
She resolved it would be better to leave things be temporarily and let the other party take initiative in making requests. From then on, she ceased mentioning marriage proposals to her husband.
Yet he himself showed no signs of distress whatsoever and had continued living to this day with an attitude that remained as ambiguous as ever—neither fish nor fowl.

It was at this point that the old man returned from his travels, having found a candidate of considerable persistence.
Two or three days before Daisuke’s visit, Umeko had been informed of this matter by the old man, so she had deduced that today’s discussion would inevitably concern that very topic.
Yet in reality, Daisuke heard nothing from the old man regarding the marriage issue that day.
The old man may have summoned him intending to broach the subject, but upon observing Daisuke’s demeanor, he formed the view that greater restraint would prove wiser—an outcome one might interpret as his having deliberately avoided addressing the matter.

Daisuke had a certain special relationship with this candidate.
He knew the candidate’s surname.
But he did not know the given name.
As for her age, appearance, education, or personality, he knew nothing at all.
Yet he knew full well the circumstances that had led her to become a candidate.

3–7

Daisuke’s father had an older brother.
His name was Naoki, and though he was only a year older than his father, his smaller stature combined with facial features—eyes, nose, and overall countenance—that were so strikingly similar that strangers often mistook them for twins.
At that time, his father was not yet called Toku.
He went by the childhood name Seishin.

Just as Naoki and Seishin closely resembled each other in appearance, their temperaments too were truly those of brothers.
When it was inconvenient for both—unless they made special arrangements—they would live together in the same place and spend their days doing the same things.
They would go to and return from their lessons at the exact same time.
They were so close that they even shared a single lamp when reading.

It was precisely Naoki’s eighteenth autumn.

One day, the two brothers went to Tōkaku-ji Temple outside the castle town on an errand for their parents.
This was the feudal lord’s family temple, and since the monk Sosui residing there was on intimate terms with their parents, they had gone to deliver the letter to this Sosui.
The errand was a simple one—likely an invitation to play Go that didn’t even require a reply—but Sosui detained them, and as they talked about various things, time slipped away until they finally left the temple about an hour before sunset.
That day happened to coincide with a festival, and the town was considerably thronged.
In their haste to return through the crowd, they collided with a certain man from the opposite riverbank district at a corner where they were about to turn into a side street.
The two brothers and this certain man had long been on bad terms.
At that time, the certain man appeared quite intoxicated; after exchanging a few heated words, he drew his sword and suddenly slashed.
The one who had been slashed was the older brother.
He had no choice but to draw his sword and confront him, but the opponent, being an extremely notorious ruffian even when sober, remained formidable despite his drunken state.
If he remained silent, the older brother would lose.
At that, the younger brother also drew his sword.
And then, the two of them ended up violently cutting down and killing their opponent.

As was the custom in those days, when a samurai killed another samurai, the killer had to commit seppuku.
The brothers returned home resolved to this fate.
Their father too had resolved to line them up and serve as their second himself.
However, their mother had unfortunately been called away to an acquaintance's house for the festival and was absent.
Before making his sons commit seppuku, their father - moved by human sentiment to let them see their mother one last time - immediately sent for her.
And while awaiting their mother's arrival, he both admonished the brothers and had them prepare the seppuku room, making rather a fuss all the while.

The place where Mother had gone to visit was the influential Takagi family—distant relatives—so this proved very convenient.
This was because those were times when society was beginning to undergo changes, and samurai codes were no longer enforced as strictly as in former days.
The man they had killed was a notorious delinquent youth.
Therefore, Takagi came to the Nagai residence with Mother and admonished Father to leave matters as they stood for the time being and refrain from taking action until an official decision came from the authorities.

Takagi then began his efforts.
And first, he persuaded the chief retainer.
And then, through the chief retainer, he persuaded the feudal lord.
The parents of the slain man were also unexpectedly reasonable people; not only had they long been troubled by their son’s poor conduct, but it also became clear that he had effectively initiated the violence when he attacked. Thus, they raised no particular objections to the movement for lenient treatment of the brothers.
After confining themselves in a single room for a time to express contrition, both brothers secretly abandoned their home.

Three years later, his older brother was killed by masterless samurai in Kyoto.
In the fourth year, the realm became Meiji.
After another five or six years, Seishin summoned his parents from their hometown to Tokyo.
And then he took a wife and adopted the single-character name Toku.
By that time, Takagi—who had saved their lives—was already dead, and his line had passed to an adopted heir.
They tried various ways to persuade him to come to Tokyo and seek an official position, but he did not comply.
This adopted heir had two children; the male one went to Kyoto and entered Doshisha.
After graduating from there, he apparently lived in America for a long time, but now he is engaged in business in Kobe and has become quite a wealthy man.
The daughter married into the household of a large taxpayer in the prefecture.
The candidate for Daisuke’s wife was this large taxpayer’s daughter.

“It’s all so convoluted, isn’t it? I was simply shocked,” said Umeko to Daisuke.
“Haven’t you heard this countless times from Father?”
“But since marriage talk never comes up otherwise, I only half-listen.”

“I wonder if Sagawa really had such a daughter.”
“I didn’t know anything about it either.”
“Why don’t you just take her?”

“So you approve?”

“I certainly approve. It’s all about fulfilling that karmic obligation, isn’t it?”

“Rather than receiving through the karmic obligations fabricated by my ancestors, I suppose it’s better to receive through those I’ve fabricated myself.”

“Oh, does such a thing even exist?”

Daisuke gave a bitter smile and did not answer.

Part IV, Chapter 1

Daisuke sat with his elbows propped on the desk, having just finished reading a thin Western book that lay open before him. His mind was filled with the final scene—beyond a distant tree that looked cold against the sky, two small square lanterns swayed soundlessly into view. There stood the gallows. The condemned man waited in darkness. One had lost a wooden clog from his foot. "It's cold," someone said. "What?" another asked again. The first repeated himself: missing his clog and feeling chilled. Someone asked where M was. A voice answered from the shadows: "Here." Between the trees loomed something large and pale and flat. A damp wind blew through from that direction. G declared it was the sea. Soon the lanterns revealed a document bearing their sentence and the white hand—ungloved—that held it. A trembling voice suggested there was no need to read it aloud. Then the lanterns went out.……"Now I'm alone," K said with a sigh. S had died. W had died. M too was gone.

He had ended up all alone.……

The sun rose from the sea.
They loaded the corpses into a single vehicle.
And then they pulled away.
They loaded the elongated necks, bulging eyes, and tongues soaked in the terrifying flower-like blood bubbles that had bloomed upon their lips, then turned back down the original road.……

Daisuke had mentally replayed the final scene of Andreyev’s *The Seven Who Were Hanged* up to this point and stiffened with a reflexive hunch of his shoulders.
At such times, what he felt most acutely was the anxiety of what he should do were he ever faced with such a situation.
When I think about it, I couldn’t possibly die—but then again, since they’d kill me regardless, how utterly cruel.
He sat rigidly imagining himself caught between life’s desires and death’s pressure, his mind painting the anguish of clinging to both worlds, when suddenly every pore across his back prickled with a crawling sensation nearly unbearable.

His father often told people that at seventeen, he had cut down one of the household retainers and consequently resolved to commit seppuku.
According to Father’s account, he himself was supposed to perform his elder brother’s kaishaku [assisted suicide], then request their grandfather to perform his own—though how anyone could have carried out such an act was beyond comprehension.
Whenever his father spoke of the past, Daisuke found him more an unpleasant man than a respectable one.
If not, then he must be a liar.
Being a liar felt far more like Father.

It was not Father’s approval.
There was also such a story about Grandfather.
When Grandfather was young, a fellow swordsmanship student—one who had grown too skilled—provoked others’ jealousy and was slain by someone while returning via Nawate-dori to the castle town one night.
The first to rush to the scene was Grandfather.
Holding up a lantern in his left hand and gripping a drawn sword in his right, he reportedly struck the corpse with the blade’s edge and barked, “Make sure of it, Gunpei! The wound’s shallow!”

When his uncle was killed in Kyoto, hooded men came storming into the inn. As his uncle leapt from the second-floor eave and fell clawing at a garden rock below, they mercilessly struck him down from above—leaving his face said to resemble finely chopped meat. About ten days before being killed, he had returned from Shijo to Sanjo late one night wearing a raincoat and geta, brushing snow from his umbrella as he walked. When he was still two blocks from the inn, someone suddenly called out from behind, “Nagai Naoki!” Without turning around, Uncle kept his umbrella raised until he reached the entrance, slid open the lattice door, and stepped inside. He snapped the door shut and declared from within: “I am Nagai Naoki!” He is said to have asked, “What business do you have?”

Whenever Daisuke heard such stories, it was fear rather than courage that arose first.
Before he could even think to admire their mettle, a fishy stench would cut through his nostrils like a response.

If death were possible, Daisuke had long been convinced it would arrive in that climactic instant when a seizure reached its zenith. Yet he was no man given to fits. His hands trembled; his legs trembled. The quavering of his voice and the leaping up of his heart were constant occurrences. Still, of late he had scarcely known true agitation. This state of agitation was nature’s stairway approaching death—with each step upward, one visibly grew more prone to dying—and though at times curiosity drove him to press near its threshold, such efforts proved utterly futile. Whenever Daisuke dissected his present self these days, he could not help but marvel at how wholly unlike his self of five or six years prior he had become.

IV-2

Daisuke closed the book on the desk and stood up.
A warm, pleasant wind blew in through the gap of the slightly opened glass door on the veranda.
It gently swayed the red petals of the potted amaranth.
The sunlight fell upon a large flower.
Daisuke bent down and peered into the flower.
Then, taking pollen from the tip of a slender, elongated stamen, he brought it to the pistil’s end and meticulously applied it.

“Did some ants get on them?” Kadono asked as he came out from the entrance.
He was wearing hakama trousers.
Daisuke raised his face while still bent.

“You’ve already been and come back?”

“Yes.”
“It seems there’s something...”
“They’ll be moving tomorrow.”
“He said they meant to start moving in today.”

“Who?”
“Hiraoka?”

“Yes… Well.”
“They seem awfully busy.”
“You’re quite different from him.”
“If it’s ants—pour seed oil.”
“Then kill them one by one when they crawl out struggling.”
“Shall I do it?”

“It’s not ants.”
“When I take pollen on a fine day like this and apply it to the pistil,” he explained, “the fruit will form before long.”
“Since I’ve got time, I’m just doing what the nurseryman told me.”

“Ah, I see. What a convenient world we live in now.”
“But bonsai are splendid things.”
“So beautiful and enjoyable.”

Daisuke found it too troublesome to reply and remained silent.
Before long,

“Enough mischief,” he said as he stood up and settled into the rattan armchair fixed on the veranda.
With that, he vacantly sank into deep thought.
Kadono, having grown bored, withdrew to his three-mat room near the entrance.
Just as he slid open the shoji to enter, he was called back to the veranda.

“Did you say Hiraoka was coming today?”
“Yes, he did mention he would come.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
Daisuke put off going out.
The truth was, he had been rather preoccupied with Hiraoka’s situation for some time now.

At the time Hiraoka had visited Daisuke previously, he had already been in circumstances that prevented him from settling down. According to what he himself had told Daisuke, since he had leads on two or three positions, he apparently intended to lobby in that direction for the time being—but as for how those positions now stood, Daisuke knew almost nothing. Daisuke had visited the Jinbōchō lodgings twice on his own initiative, but on one occasion, Hiraoka had been out. On another occasion, he had indeed been there. However, still dressed in Western clothes, he had been standing on the room’s threshold, berating his wife in a hurried tone.—To Daisuke, who had come down the hallway unannounced and emerged beside Hiraoka’s room, this impression struck him suddenly yet unmistakably. At that moment, Hiraoka turned slightly and said, “Oh, it’s you.” In neither his face nor demeanor was there the slightest hint of pleasantness. His wife, who had leaned out from the room, saw Daisuke and flushed faintly red in her pale cheeks. Daisuke somehow felt ill at ease as he took his seat. He half-listened to Hiraoka’s perfunctory “Well, come in,” but—or rather, there was no particular reason. I just thought I’d come by to see how you were doing. “If he was going out, they should go together,” he reasoned, and with that, he took it upon himself to invite him and stepped outside.

At that time, Hiraoka wanted to quickly find a house and settle down, but being far too busy, he could do nothing about it; occasionally, when the inn staff would inform him of a place, either the previous tenants had yet to vacate or the walls were currently being painted.
And so on—until they boarded the streetcar and parted ways, everything was nothing but complaints.
Daisuke, too, felt sorry for him and decided to have his student lodger look for a house.
After all, with the recession, there should be plenty available.
He promised and returned home.

From that time on, he sent Kadono out to search as promised.
No sooner had he sent him than Kadono found a suitable place.
When Kadono showed it to the Hiraoka couple after guiding them there, they apparently left saying it would mostly do; but since Kadono felt responsible to the landlord and also thought they could look elsewhere if unsatisfied, he made them clearly confirm once more whether they would take it or not.

“You did go tell the landlord they’re taking it, right?”

“Yes, I stopped by on my way back and told them they’d be moving in tomorrow.”

Part 4-3

Daisuke remained seated in his chair and contemplated the future of the couple newly establishing their second household in Tokyo.
Hiraoka had changed considerably from when they had parted at Shinbashi three years prior.
His career was akin to having missed a step or two on society’s ladder.
The mere fact that he hadn’t climbed very high—if one could call that fortunate—meant that while his body bore no bruises visible enough to register in society’s eyes, his mental state had already gone awry.
When they first met, Daisuke had immediately thought so.
However, after calculating the changes that had occurred within himself over three years, he revised his judgment: perhaps it was his own mind that had echoed back toward Hiraoka.
But afterward, when he went to visit Hiraoka at his inn and—without entering the parlor—went out together with him, visualizing everything from his demeanor to his speech and actions before his eyes, he found himself compelled to revert to his initial judgment.
Hiraoka had gathered a certain tension at the center of his face at that time.
Even when wind blew or sand flew, he twitched—without restraint—the area between his eyebrows that seemed poised to receive strong stimulation.
Moreover, everything he said, regardless of its content, struck Daisuke’s ears as both hurried and desperate.
To Daisuke, all of Hiraoka seemed like a man with weak lungs swimming through viscous liquid with labored breath.

“So frantic…” Daisuke muttered under his breath as he watched Hiraoka board the streetcar and rush away. And he thought about the wife left behind at the inn.

Daisuke had dealt with this wife yet had never once called her “Mrs.” He invariably called her Michiyo-san—using her given name just as he had before her marriage. After parting with Hiraoka, Daisuke thought about turning back, going to the inn, and meeting Michiyo-san to talk. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to go. Even when he stopped to consider it, to his present self, he could find no reason why going would be wrong. But his conscience held him back. He thought that if he mustered his courage, he could go. For Daisuke, mustering even this much courage was painful. So he returned home. Yet even after returning home, he felt a strange sensation—something restless and unfulfilled. So he went out again and drank alcohol. Daisuke was a man who could drink any amount of alcohol. That evening, he drank copiously.

“What was I doing back then?” Daisuke mused, leaning back in his chair as a relatively detached self critiqued his own shadow.

“Do you need anything?” Kadono reappeared.
He had taken off his hakama and tabi, exposing dumpling-like bare feet.
Daisuke silently looked at Kadono’s face.
Kadono likewise looked at Daisuke’s face and stood motionless for a moment.

“Oh! Didn’t you call for me?
Oh! Oh!” he exclaimed before withdrawing.
Daisuke found nothing particularly amusing about this.

“Auntie, he didn’t call for you,” came Kadono’s voice. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “That’s why there was no clapping or anything,” he added, his words drifting from the direction of the dining room. Then followed the sound of Kadono and the maid laughing together.

At that moment, the awaited guest arrived.
Kadono, who had gone to answer the door, returned with a look of surprise.
Then leaning in close to Daisuke, he whispered, "Sir, it's your wife."
Daisuke wordlessly rose from his chair and entered the tatami room.

Part 4-4

Hiraoka’s wife was a fair-skinned woman with dark hair and a slender face where her eyebrows stood out distinctly. At first glance, she carried a vaguely lonely air reminiscent of an old ukiyo-e print. Since returning to Tokyo, the healthy glow of her complexion had grown particularly dull. When they first met at the inn, Daisuke had been rather startled by her appearance. He wondered if her fatigue from being jostled about on the long train journey still lingered—but when he asked and she replied that no, she had always been like this, he felt pity for her.

Michiyo gave birth in the first year after leaving Tokyo.
The child died soon after birth, after which she apparently developed heart trouble, leaving her in poor health.
At first she simply wandered listlessly, but when her condition stubbornly refused to improve, she finally consulted a doctor who, though uncertain, suggested it might be some heart disease with a complicated name.
If this were indeed the case, they declared it a severe condition where blood flowing from the heart into the arteries gradually reversed course, leaving no hope of complete recovery. Shocked by this diagnosis, Hiraoka devoted himself fully to whatever care he could provide—and whether because of these efforts or not, within about a year her health had improved remarkably.
Since her complexion had largely regained its former luster on most days and she herself was rejoicing, about a month before their return her coloring began deteriorating again.
However, according to the doctor, this time it wasn't due to her heart.
Her heart hadn't grown as robust as before but was certainly no worse than it had been.
The diagnosis stated there was absolutely no evidence now of any malfunction in the valve's operation.
This was what Michiyo had directly told Daisuke.
At that time, Daisuke looked at Michiyo's face and thought it might still be due to some anxiety after all.

Michiyo had vivid double eyelids with beautifully layered lines.
Her eyes were almond-shaped, but when she fixed her gaze and stared intently at something, they would appear remarkably large for some reason.
Daisuke had judged this to be due to the dilation of her pupils.
Before Michiyo became a wife, Daisuke often saw this kind of gaze from her.
And even now, he remembered it well.
When he tried to conjure Michiyo’s face in his mind, before the outline could fully form, these black, moistly haloed eyes would suddenly emerge.

Michiyo, who had been guided through the hallway to the sitting room, now took a seat before Daisuke. And then she folded her beautiful hands on her lap. On her lower hand too was a ring. On her upper hand too was a ring. The one on her upper hand was a contemporary-style piece with a comparatively large pearl set in a slender gold frame—a congratulatory gift Daisuke had presented three years prior on the occasion of her marriage.

Michiyo raised her face.
Daisuke, suddenly recognizing those eyes, involuntarily blinked once.

"We were supposed to come together with Hiraoka the day after arriving by train, but I ended up not being able to come because I felt unwell. After that, since there was no opportunity to visit unless alone, I kept refraining... Today, just as I was about to say 'exactly'—" She stopped mid-sentence, then suddenly remembered: "When you came by the other day, Hiraoka was just about to leave—it was terribly rude of us," she apologized.

“You could have waited,” she added with polite feminine charm. But her tone was subdued. To be fair, this was simply her characteristic tone—if anything, it made Daisuke recall the past.

“But he did seem terribly busy.”

“Yes, he is busy—certainly busy—but isn’t it better… Even if he’d made me stay… That’s too formal of you.”

Daisuke had thought to ask what had happened between the couple at that time but ultimately refrained. Under normal circumstances—given their relationship where someone might half-jokingly tease, “You were scolded for something and blushing, weren’t you? What mischief did you do?”—Daisuke found Michiyo’s charm pitiable as it seemed to retroactively patch over the situation, leaving him without even a moment’s vigor to escalate the jest.

Part 4-5

Daisuke lit his tobacco and, keeping the mouthpiece between his lips, leaned his head against the chair back in a relaxed posture.

"It's been so long—shall I treat you to something?" he asked.
And within himself, he felt this manner of his offered some measure of comfort to the woman.

Michiyo said, “That’s quite enough for today—I can’t take my time like this,” briefly showing her old gold tooth.

“Well, I suppose that’s fine.”

Daisuke brought both hands behind his head, interlaced his fingers, and looked at Michiyo.
Michiyo reached into her sash and produced a small watch.
When Daisuke gave this woman the pearl ring as a gift, Hiraoka bought this watch for his wife.
Daisuke remembered how, after purchasing separate items at the same shop, he and Hiraoka had exchanged glances and laughed as they stepped over the threshold together.

"Oh, it's already past three, isn't it? I thought it was still around two o'clock—I took a bit of a detour," she added, as if muttering to herself.

"Do you need to rush off so soon?"

"Yes, I want to get back as soon as I can."

Daisuke removed his hands from his head and flicked off the tobacco ash.

"In three years, you've become quite settled into domestic life. Can't be helped."

Daisuke laughed as he said this. Yet his tone carried a certain bitterness.

"Oh, but aren't we moving tomorrow?"

Michiyo’s voice suddenly sounded strikingly vivid at that moment.
Daisuke had completely forgotten about the move.
“Then you could have come leisurely after moving.”

Daisuke, lured by her seemingly agreeable tone, found himself pressing further without reservation from his side.

"But," said Michiyo, a slightly flustered expression crossing her forehead as she glanced downward briefly before raising her face again.
They were faintly flushed.

“Actually, I came because I have a small request to make.”

Daisuke’s nerves were keenly attuned—the moment he heard Michiyo’s words, he understood exactly what this entailed. Truthfully, ever since Hiraoka’s arrival in Tokyo, he had half-consciously steeled himself for this very issue.

“What is it? Please speak freely.”

“Are you having difficulty securing the funds?”

Though Michiyo’s words carried a childlike innocence, her cheeks had flushed red nonetheless. Daisuke pitied Hiraoka’s present circumstances—circumstances that reduced this woman to such mortification.

As he listened further, it turned out the money wasn't needed for tomorrow's moving expenses or establishing a new household after all.
When they had withdrawn from the branch office, they had left behind several debts—three in total—and now one of them urgently required settlement.
Upon arriving in Tokyo, they had made a firm promise to resolve it within a week; but given particular circumstances—this debt being of a nature they couldn't disregard like the others—Hiraoka had been worrying and scrambling about since the day after their arrival, yet with no sign of success emerging, so it became clear he'd been forced to send Michiyo to make this appeal to Daisuke.

“Is this the debt you said was borrowed from the branch manager?”

“No. That one can be postponed indefinitely, but we simply must do something about this one. Because it will affect his efforts here in Tokyo.”

Daisuke realized that such circumstances indeed existed. When he asked about the amount, it came to five hundred yen and a bit more. Daisuke thought to himself, *Is that all?* but in reality, he didn’t have a single penny to his name. Daisuke realized he was a man who, while appearing to live without financial constraint, was in reality greatly constrained by money.

“Why did he take on so much debt?”

“That’s why thinking about it makes me sick,” she said. “I was ill too—though that’s hardly an excuse—”

“Is this about medical expenses?”

“No.” Her cheeks flushed faintly. “Medicine costs hardly amount to anything.”

Michiyo did not elaborate beyond her husband. Daisuke too lacked the courage to press further about him. He simply gazed at her pallid face, sensing within it a vague unease about what lay ahead.

5-1

The next morning, Kadono hired three carts and went to Shimbashi Station to retrieve Hiraoka’s luggage. In truth, it had arrived some time ago, but as their residence had not yet been finalized, it had remained there until today. When he calculated the round-trip time and the loading period at the station, it inevitably amounted to half a day’s work. As soon as Daisuke got out of bed, he cautioned, “If you don’t leave soon, you won’t make it in time.” Kadono replied in his usual manner, “There’s no problem at all.” This man, being one who seldom considered time constraints, had given such a breezy response; only after hearing Daisuke’s explanation did his face take on an “Ah, I see” expression. After delivering the luggage to Hiraoka’s residence, he was instructed to help until everything was neatly arranged. When told this, he readily accepted with a “Yes, understood” and “No problem at all,” then set off.

After that，Daisuke read until past eleven o’clock．But suddenly，he recalled the story of a man named D’Annunzio who had decorated his house by dividing its rooms into blue and red．D’Annunzio’s principle apparently lay in the notion that life’s two major tones could only be expressed through these two colors．Therefore，any room requiring stimulation—such as a music room or study—should be painted as red as possible．As for bedrooms，resting rooms，and all spaces demanding mental calm，they were to be adorned with blue-tinged hues．This seemed to be a poet’s application of psychological theory，a curiosity satisfied．

Daisuke wondered why someone as sensitive to stimulation as D'Annunzio would require such fiercely intense red—a color potent enough to be deemed excitatory. He himself found no particular pleasure even when viewing Inari shrine gates. If possible, he thought, he would let just his head drift amidst green hues and sleep peacefully—that was how he felt. At a certain exhibition, a painter named Aoki had depicted a tall woman standing at the sea's bottom. Among all the submitted works, Daisuke considered that piece alone to evoke a truly pleasant sensation. In short—it was because he too had wished to inhabit such sunken yet composed atmospheres.

Daisuke stepped out onto the engawa and looked at the sprawling expanse of green that stretched beyond the garden. The flowers had long since scattered; now was the early stage of new buds and tender leaves. He felt as though a vivid green had suddenly splashed across his face. Pleased to find a somber undertone beneath the eye-opening stimulation, he donned his hunting cap and stepped out the gate still in his everyday meisen kimono.

When Daisuke came to Hiraoka's new residence and looked inside, he found the gate standing open and completely empty—no sign of delivered luggage nor any indication that the Hiraoka couple had arrived.
Only a man with a rickshaw driver's build sat on the engawa smoking tobacco.
Upon inquiring, he received the reply that they had indeed come by earlier once but had returned home again, saying that since this arrangement was unsuitable anyway, it would likely be past noon already.

"Did the master and madam come together?"

"Yes, they came together."

“And did they return together?”

“Yes, they have returned together.”

“The luggage should arrive soon. Thank you for your trouble.” He stepped back out into the street.

He came to Kanda but had no intention of stopping by Hiraoka’s inn. Yet somehow, the couple weighed on his mind—particularly Hiraoka’s wife. So he stopped by briefly.

The couple had set out their meal and were eating. The maid held a tray with her back to the threshold. From behind her, he called out.

Hiraoka looked at Daisuke with a surprised expression. His eyes were bloodshot. He said it was due to not having slept well for two or three days. Michiyo laughed and called it an exaggerated way of putting things. Daisuke felt pity yet also relief. He left his lodgings, ate a meal, got his hair cut, stopped by Kudanshita briefly, then went to check on the new residence again on his way back. Michiyo had wrapped a hand towel around her head like a kerchief, loosely draped her yuzen-patterned underkimono, and with her sleeves tied back by a sash, was tending to the luggage. The maid who had assisted them at the inn was also present. Hiraoka was untying the cords of a trunk on the engawa* when he noticed Daisuke. With a laugh, he asked, "Could you lend a hand?" Kadono had removed his hakama*, tucked up his shirt hem, and while carrying a stacked chest into the sitting room with the rickshaw driver, said, "Sir, how about this outfit? You mustn't laugh."

5-2

The next day, as Daisuke sat before his breakfast tray sipping black tea as usual, Kadono entered the tearoom with his freshly washed face gleaming.

"What time did you return last evening? I ended up getting so tired I dozed off, so I didn't notice a thing at all. You saw me sleeping there, didn't you? That's quite unkind of you, sir. Really now—about what time was it that you returned? And where had you been until then?" he rattled off effortlessly in his usual tone.
Daisuke remained solemn,

“You stayed until everything was settled, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, we’ve finished tidying everything up.”
“But I tell you, it sure was a hassle.”
“After all, unlike our move, there are all sorts of large items.”
“Mrs. Hiraoka stood blankly in the center of the sitting room, looking around like this—it was rather something to see.”

“She isn’t feeling well, you see.”

“It does seem that way.”
“Her complexion didn’t look quite right, I thought.”
“She’s quite different from Mr. Hiraoka.”
“He’s quite well-built.”
“Last evening when I took a bath with him, I was shocked.”

Daisuke soon returned to his study and wrote two or three letters.
One was a letter of thanks to a friend residing at the Residency-General of Korea for the Koryo pottery he had sent some time ago.
One was addressed to his brother-in-law in France, requesting that he find affordable Tanagra figurines.

When he peeked into Kadono’s room while leaving for his afternoon walk, the man was once again sprawled out snoring away.
Daisuke looked at Kadono’s innocent-looking nostrils and felt envious.
To tell the truth, I had a very hard time falling asleep last night.
As usual, the pocket watch he had placed beside his pillow was making a terribly loud noise.
As it was bothering him, he reached out and pushed the watch under his pillow.
However, the sound continued to resonate inside his head.
While listening to it, he drifted off, and in that moment, all external consciousness descended completely into a dark abyss.
Yet he was aware that only the rhythmic clicking of a sewing machine needle stitching through the night continued to pass unceasingly through his mind.
But before he knew it, the sound had transformed into the chirping of insects, seeming to emanate from deep within the shrubbery beside an elegant entrance.
Daisuke had retraced last night’s dream to this point and felt as though he had discovered a kind of thread connecting sleep and wakefulness.

Daisuke was a man who, once something caught his attention, would become thoroughly preoccupied with it. Moreover, he possessed the mental capacity to clearly assess the extent of his own foolishness, which made his preoccupations all the more glaring. Three or four years ago, he had attempted to solve the problem of how his usual self entered dreams. At night, when he crawled into his futon and just began to drift off, he would startle himself with the thought: Ah, this is it—this is how one falls asleep. Then, in that instant, his eyes would snap open. After a while, when he started to doze off again, he would think: Ah, here it is again. Daisuke was tormented by this curiosity nearly every night, repeating the same thing two or even three times. In the end, even he himself grew exasperated. He desperately wanted to somehow escape this pain. Not only that—he had come to think of himself as a fool. Attempting to appeal one’s obscure consciousness to one’s clear consciousness while simultaneously trying to reflect upon it was, as James said, akin to lighting a candle to inspect the darkness or stopping a spinning top to examine its motion—a sure way to never sleep again in one’s lifetime. He understood this, yet when night fell, he would startle himself with the same realization once more.

This difficulty had gradually receded into the distance before he knew it, lasting only about a year. Daisuke compared last night’s dream with this difficulty and found it peculiar. He thought there was more intrigue in severing a part of his sane self and transferring it unchanged into a dream without conscious awareness. Simultaneously, it occurred to him that this process might resemble the state of descending into madness. Until now, Daisuke had believed that he himself could not go mad precisely because he never became agitated.

5-3

For the next two or three days, both Daisuke and Kadono spent their time without hearing any news from Hiraoka.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, Daisuke was invited to a garden party at a house in Azabu and attended.
A considerable number of guests had gathered—both men and women—but the main attendees were an excessively tall man purported to be either a British parliament member or businessman, along with his wife who wore pince-nez.
She was quite a beauty, her looks almost too refined for someone merely visiting Japan, yet she proudly carried a decorative parasol from Gifu—one wondered where she might have acquired it.

The day boasted exceptionally fine weather; standing on the expansive lawn in frock coats made one feel summer’s arrival so keenly—from shoulders down to spine—that even the sky seemed pierced through with crystalline azure.
The British gentleman frowned up at the sky and remarked, “Truly beautiful.”
His wife immediately responded, “Lovely.”
The greeting had been delivered in a shrill, overly emphatic voice, leading Daisuke to conclude that British compliments truly occupied a class of their own.

Daisuke was also addressed with a few words by the wife.
But before three minutes had passed, he found it unbearable and promptly retreated.
After that, it was taken over by a young lady dressed in Japanese attire who had deliberately styled her hair in a traditional Shimada knot and a certain man who had long been engaged in commerce in New York.
This certain man prided himself on being a genius at speaking English; he never missed a meeting of the English conversation society, where he would engage in English dialogues with fellow Japanese and then deliver table speeches in English—his greatest pleasure.
He had a habit of saying something and then laughing uproariously afterward as though it were terribly funny.
The British would occasionally look puzzled.
Daisuke thought they should probably stop at that.
The young lady was quite adept herself.
This was the daughter of a wealthy family who had hired an American woman as a tutor and devoted herself to studying the use of English.
Daisuke, thinking that her words were more adept than her face, listened with deep admiration.

Daisuke had been invited here not because of any personal connection to the host of this place or to this British couple.
It was entirely due to the ripple effect of his father and brother’s social influence that the invitation had come around.
So he went around to various places, bowed half-heartedly, and wandered aimlessly.
His brother was also among them.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said without even touching his hat.

“Well, it’s lovely weather today.”

“Ah.”
“Fine.”

Daisuke was not short by any means, but his brother was even taller.
Moreover, having gradually grown stout over the past five or six years, he cut quite an impressive figure.

“How about it? Shall we go over there and have a little chat with the foreigners?”

“Nah, I’ll pass,” his brother said with a wry smile.
Then he fiddled with the gold chain dangling from his large belly with his fingertips.

“Foreigners are certainly in fine form, aren’t they?”
“A bit too fine, if you ask me.”
“Once they start praising something, even the weather feels obliged to stay perfect.”

“Did they really make such a fuss about the weather?”
“Hm.”
“Isn’t it rather too hot?”

“Too hot for me too.”

Seigo and Daisuke simultaneously produced white handkerchiefs and wiped their brows.
Both wore heavy silk hats.

The brothers moved to a tree’s shade at the lawn’s edge.
No one stood nearby.
Some entertainment had begun in the distance.
Seigo gazed at it with the same expression he wore at home.

When one became like his brother, he supposed they would feel the same whether at home or receiving guests. Even having grown utterly accustomed to the world like this—there being no joy left, how dreary it all must be—Daisuke thought while observing Seigo's demeanor.

“What did Father do today?”
“Father is at a poetry gathering.”

Seigo answered with his usual expression, but Daisuke found it somewhat amusing.

“And Sister?”
“She’s in charge of entertaining the guests.”
When he imagined his sister-in-law would later voice complaints about this duty, Daisuke found himself amused anew.

5-4

Daisuke knew his brother Seigo was perpetually busy.
He also understood that most of this busyness arose from gatherings like these.
Yet he never showed displeasure nor voiced a single complaint—drinking irregularly, dining out, keeping company with women—all while never appearing fatigued or agitated, maintaining perfect composure as he grew stouter each year; Daisuke could only admire this aptitude.

Daisuke considered that Seigo's manner—entering meeting houses, ascending to banquet restaurants, attending evening dinners, being invited to luncheons, going to clubs, seeing people off at Shinbashi, welcoming others at Yokohama, paying courtesy visits to Oiso, appearing from morning till night at crowded gathering places without looking triumphant or appearing dejected—must stem from being thoroughly accustomed to this lifestyle, like a jellyfish drifting in the sea without finding the saltwater bitter.

That aspect was troublesome for Daisuke. The reason was that unlike his father, Seigo had never subjected him to tedious lectures or the like. Things like principles, assertions, or views on life—those rather abstruse matters—he never so much as mentioned, making it nearly impossible to grasp whether he actually held any or not. On the other hand, he had never actively attempted to demolish these abstruse things like principles, assertions, or views on life. He was truly ordinary and fine.

But he wasn't interesting, thought Daisuke. As a conversational partner, he found his sister-in-law far more engaging than his brother. Whenever they met, Seigo would invariably ask, "How's it going?" He might mention, "There was an earthquake in Italy, wasn't there?" or "The Sultan of Turkey's been deposed, hasn't he?" He'd bring up things like the flowers on Mukojima having withered already, a giant serpent kept in the hull of some foreign ship at Yokohama, or someone getting run over by a train—hadn't he heard? They were all matters that had appeared in the newspapers. Instead, he possessed any number of these inoffensive topics at his disposal. No matter how much time passed, there showed no sign of his subjects running dry.

But then again,
there were times when he would ask strange questions like, "Has that Tolstoy person died yet or something?"
There were also times when he would ask things like, "Who’s the greatest Japanese novelist nowadays?"
In short, he was utterly indifferent to literature and astonishingly ignorant about it, but since he asked questions with such casualness that transcended both respect and contempt, Daisuke found it easy to respond.

When talking face-to-face with his brother like this, while it lacked stimulation, it was free of bitterness and pleasantly relaxing.
The only trouble was that since he was out and about from morning till night, one could rarely catch him.
Even Umeko, Seitaro, or Nui would find it unusual if he stayed home all day and never missed sharing all three meals with his family.

So when he stood in the shade and compared shoulders with his brother, Daisuke thought it was the perfect opportunity.

“Brother, I need to speak with you. Are you free sometime?”

“Free time,” Seigo repeated, then laughed without explanation.

“What about tomorrow morning?”

“I have to go to the harbor tomorrow morning.”

“What about the afternoon?”

“I’ll be at the company in the afternoon, but there’s a matter I need to discuss—so even if you come, I won’t be able to talk leisurely.”

“Then evening should work.”

“Evening’s at the Imperial Hotel.”
“I’m hosting that Western couple there tomorrow night—can’t make it.”

Daisuke pursed his lips and fixed his brother with a stare.
Then they both laughed.

“If you’re that pressed, how about today?”
“Today works.”
“Let’s share a meal for old times’ sake.”

Daisuke agreed.
He’d assumed they might go to a club, but Seigo unexpectedly proposed eel instead.

“This is my first time going to an eel restaurant wearing a silk hat,” Daisuke hesitated.

“What does it matter?”

They left the garden party, boarded a rickshaw, and ascended to the eel restaurant at the foot of Kanegasubashi Bridge.

5-5

The place had a river flowing by, willows, and was an old-fashioned house.
After placing two silk hats upside down side by side on the staggered shelves next to the blackened toko-bashira pillar, Daisuke remarked, "This feels strange."
However, sitting cross-legged with just the two of them in the open second-floor room proved more enjoyable than the garden party had been.

The two drank sake in good spirits.
His brother maintained an attitude that suggested he had no purpose beyond drinking, eating, and making small talk.
Daisuke, too, nearly forgot the crucial matter if he let his guard down.
When the maid had placed the third sake flask and left, they finally began their discussion.
The topic of Daisuke's discussion was, needless to say, the matter of the financial request Michiyo had made previously.

To tell the truth，Daisuke had not yet made a request for money to Seigo until today．Admittedly，after having graduated，he had spent rather excessively on geishas and pushed responsibility onto his brother．At that time，contrary to expectations that his brother would scold him，Seigo instead said，“You’re quite a handful，” instructed him through their sister-in-law to keep it quiet from their father，and neatly paid off the debt．And he didn’t utter a single word of reproach．From that time on，Daisuke had felt deeply indebted．After that，he often found himself short on pocket money，but each time trouble arose，he would impose on his sister-in-law．Therefore，when it came to matters like this，dealing with his brother was akin to a first encounter．

From Daisuke’s perspective, Seigo was like a medicine kettle without a handle—he couldn’t figure out where to lay a hand on him. But that very aspect was what interested Daisuke.

Daisuke began methodically recounting the Hiraoka couple’s background under the guise of casual conversation. Seigo listened while drinking, showing no sign of annoyance and keeping time with rhythmic nods. Even when the conversation progressed to the part where Michiyo had come to borrow money, he continued to keep time with rhythmic “Hmm”s and nothing more. Daisuke, resignedly,

“Well, I felt sorry for her, so I agreed to try and do something about it.”

“Hmm.”
“Is that so?”

“What do you say?”

“Can you get the money?”

“I don’t have a penny to my name.
“I’m borrowing it.”

“From who?”

Since Daisuke had intended from the start to bring the conversation to this point, he continued in a clear tone,

“I intend to borrow it from you,” he said, looking directly at Seigo’s face again.
His brother still wore his usual expression.
And then, calmly,

“Well, I must decline,” he answered.

When Daisuke heard Seigo’s reasoning, it wasn’t that it had no relation to obligation or human feelings; nor was it related to the gain or loss of repayment. It was simply a straightforward assertion that in such situations, leaving things be would naturally lead to some resolution.

To prove this assertion, Seigo presented various examples.
Within Seigo’s estate, a man called Fujino was living in a rented row house.
Recently, this Fujino was asked by a distant relative to take their son into his house.
However, when the son suddenly had to return home for his conscription exam, it turned out Fujino had already spent both the tuition and travel expenses that had been sent from his hometown in advance. So he came asking for a temporary loan.
Of course, Seigo hadn’t met him directly but had instructed his wife to refuse.
However, that son returned to his hometown by the deadline and completed the examination without any issues.
Furthermore, there was an instance where a certain relative of this Fujino—who ended up using the deposit money from a rental property he owned—came pleading to Fujino, saying he still couldn’t procure the funds even as the tenants were on the verge of moving out the next day.
However, he refused this one as well.
Even so, there was no particular trouble, and the deposit was returned.—There were other instances too, but they were all just examples of this sort.

“That must be because sister-in-law is secretly providing for them behind your back.
“Ha ha ha.”
“Brother, you’re remarkably carefree.”

Daisuke laughed loudly.

“What nonsense.”

Seigo still wore his usual expression.
Then he picked up the sake cup in front of him and brought it to his mouth.

六の一

That day, Seigo showed no inclination whatsoever to lend the money.
Daisuke also made considerable effort to avoid whining about Michiyo being pitiable or a poor thing.
While I do harbor such feelings toward Michiyo, I thought bringing my oblivious brother to that point wouldn't suffice through ordinary means; moreover, were I to recklessly utter sentimental phrases, not only would he dismiss me as foolish, but I'd feel he'd been ridiculing me all along. So I remained my usual self - idly drifting here and there, drinking as I always do.
While drinking, he thought that this was precisely where his father’s so-called sincerity fell short.
But Daisuke was confident he wasn’t so vulgar as to try moving people through tears.
He was acutely aware that nothing was more pretentious than affected tears, feigned anguish, exaggerated seriousness, or performative zeal.
His brother understood such matters all too well.
So if he were to botch this approach, he would lose his own value for life.
He was aware of this.

As Daisuke drank, he gradually distanced himself from the matter of money. They talked in such a way that they could each maintain the awareness that they had drunk well, simply because they were facing each other. But when they reached the point of eating tea over rice, as if suddenly remembering, he requested that even if he didn’t borrow the money, could Seigo not find some position to employ Hiraoka.

“No—I must decline that sort of person,” said Seigo. “Not only that—there’s nothing to be done in this slump,” he added, shoveling rice into his mouth with gusto.

When Daisuke awoke the next morning, the first thing he did while still in bed was think this.

"To move Brother, it must be another businessman like him. Merely relying on brotherly affection won't accomplish anything."

Though he had thought this way, he felt no resentment toward his brother's apparent heartlessness. Rather, he recognized it as natural. It seemed ironic, given how this same brother had once settled his extravagant debts without complaint. Then what if I were to stamp my seal here for Hiraoka's sake and co-sign a loan? Would he cleanly resolve it for me as he did before? Had Brother refused after considering that possibility? Or perhaps he never intended to lend from the start, confident I wouldn't take such unreasonable action?

From Daisuke’s current tendencies, he was in no position to put his seal on anything for others’ sake. I think so too. But if Brother saw through that and refused to lend the money, he also wanted to test how his attitude might change by forming an unexpected alliance. Having come this far, Daisuke couldn’t help but wryly acknowledge within himself that his nature wasn’t exactly virtuous. But there was one certainty. Hiraoka would undoubtedly come soon, promissory note in hand, to obtain my seal.

While thinking this, Daisuke got out of bed.
Kadono was in the tearoom sitting cross-legged and reading the newspaper, but as soon as he saw Daisuke returning from the bathhouse with damp hair, he abruptly straightened his posture, folded the newspaper, and pushed it aside near the sitting cushion while—

“『Bai'en』 has really become quite serious!” he said loudly.

“Are you reading it?”

“Yes, I read it every morning.”

“Is it interesting?”

“It seems interesting, sir. Quite so.”

“In what way?”

“What do you mean, 'in what way'? You ask so formally—it’s hard to answer. Isn’t it that, overall, this sort of modern anxiety comes through?”

“And doesn’t it reek of flesh?”

“It does indeed. Greatly.”

Daisuke fell silent.

六の二

Still holding a teacup, he withdrew to the study, settled into a chair, and gazed vacantly at the garden where gnarled pomegranate branches and young buds—a murky blend of dark green and crimson—sprouted in clusters around the base of a gray trunk.
In Daisuke's eyes, this vision flashed momentarily before its stimulus vanished entirely.

Nothing concrete now occupied Daisuke’s mind.
Just like the weather outside, it worked quietly and steadily.
But at its foundation, countless entities—indistinct as motes—pressed against one another.
In cheese, no matter how much insects wriggle within, as long as the cheese remains in place, it goes unnoticed—and Daisuke too remained nearly unaware of this faint tremor.
However, each time it reflexively manifested through his physiology, he had to shift his position on the chair ever so slightly.

Daisuke rarely spoke words like "modern" or "anxiety" that people had lately been using as catchphrases. This was partly because he considered it self-evident that he was modern, and partly because he believed on his own terms that being modern did not necessarily entail anxiety.

Daisuke interpreted the anxiety found in Russian literature as stemming from weather patterns and political oppression. He viewed the anxiety in French literature as arising from the prevalence of adultery with married women. He judged the anxiety permeating Italian literature—as represented by D'Annunzio—to originate from a sense of self-deficit born of unrestrained corruption. Thus, he regarded Japanese writers' tendency to depict society solely through the lens of anxiety as mere imitation of imported novelties.

The anxiety born of rational doubt had indeed existed during his school days; it had progressed to a certain point before abruptly halting and reversing course. It resembled hurling stones skyward. Daisuke now believed he should never have thrown those misguided stones in the first place. The realm Zen monks called the "great doubt manifesting" remained an uncharted territory he had yet to enter. Daisuke was simply too cleverly made to doubt everything with such reckless impetuosity.

Daisuke was reading "Bai'en," which Kadono had praised. That day he had placed the newspaper beside his teacup but felt no inclination to open it. Since D'Annunzio's protagonists were all men of financial means, one might accept their extravagant pranks as plausible outcomes of luxury—but when it came to Bai'en's protagonist, he was so impoverished as to leave no room for such indulgences. To push matters to that extreme required nothing less than the power of affection itself. Yet neither Yoichi nor Tomoko showed any sign of being swept beyond society's pale by true love against their will. When Daisuke considered what inner force drove them, doubt arose within him. A protagonist who could carry out such acts under those circumstances likely felt no anxiety at all—it was precisely in one's own hesitation to act that elements of anxiety ought to reside. Every time he thought it through alone, Daisuke concluded he was an exceptional individual. Yet when it came to being exceptional, he had to acknowledge Yoichi far surpassed him in skill. Thus until recently he had read "Bai'en" driven by curiosity, but these days—having come to feel too great a gulf between himself and Yoichi—he often left its pages unturned.

Daisuke shifted his position on the chair from time to time.
And yet, he himself believed he remained perfectly composed.
Soon, having finished his tea, he began to read as usual.
For about two hours, it proceeded without issue, but when he reached the middle of a certain page, he suddenly stopped and propped his cheek on his hand.
And then, he picked up the newspaper that was beside him and read Bai'en.
The lack of synchronization remained unchanged.
And then he read other miscellaneous articles.
Count Ōkuma was vigorously agitating in support of the students involved in the disturbances at the Higher Commercial School.
It was expressed in quite strong language.
When Daisuke read such articles, he interpreted this as Count Ōkuma’s convenient pretext to draw students to Waseda.
Daisuke threw down the newspaper.

六の三

It was past noon when Daisuke finally began to realize he himself was unsettled.
He felt as though countless tiny creases had formed inside his abdomen—each ceaselessly shifting position and shape while rippling across the surface like disturbed water.
Daisuke would occasionally find himself under the sway of such moods.
And until now, he had treated this kind of experience as nothing more than a physiological phenomenon.
Daisuke slightly regretted having eaten eel with his brother the previous day.
He thought of visiting Hiraoka under the pretext of a walk, but he could not clearly distinguish whether his true aim was the walk itself or seeing Hiraoka.
He had the old woman lay out a kimono and was about to change when his nephew Seitaro arrived.
Holding his hat in hand, he thrust his neatly rounded head toward Daisuke's and sat down.

“Has school let out already? Isn’t it too early?”

“Not early at all,” he said, laughing as he looked at Daisuke’s face.

Daisuke clapped his hands to summon the old woman.

“Seitaro, would you like some chocolate?” he asked.

“I’ll have some.”

Daisuke ordered two cups of chocolate, then began teasing him.

“Seitaro, you’ve been playing so much baseball lately that your hands have gotten enormous. They’re bigger than your head now!”

Seitaro grinned and rubbed his round head round and round with his right hand.
He did indeed have large hands.

“Uncle, I heard Father treated you yesterday.”

“Ah, he treated me.”
“Thanks to that, my stomach’s been acting up all day—it’s unbearable.”

“There you go with your nerves again.”

“It’s not nerves—it’s the truth. It’s entirely my brother’s doing.”

“But Father did say that.”

“What?”

“On your way home from school tomorrow, stop by Daisuke’s place and have him treat you to something.”

“Oh? As thanks for yesterday?”

“Yeah, since Father treated you today, tomorrow’s your turn.”

“So you came all this way just for that?”

“Yeah.”

“With a nephew around, there’s no escaping obligations.”
“So isn’t it fine if I let you have some chocolate now?”

“Chocolate or something?”

“Not going to have any?”

“I’ll drink it, but...”

When Daisuke properly listened to Seitaro’s request, it turned out to be a demand that when the sumo tournament began, he take him to Ekōin and let him watch from the best front seats.
Daisuke readily agreed.
Then Seitaro, looking delighted, suddenly—

“Uncle, even though you’re idling around, they say you’re actually great.”
Daisuke was slightly taken aback by this.
Helplessly,

“Isn’t my greatness already obvious?” he replied.

“But I only heard about it from Father last night,” came the excuse.

According to Seitaro’s account, after Brother returned home last evening, the three of them—Father, Sister-in-law, and Brother—seemed to have held a discussion evaluating Daisuke.
Since it was a child’s account, it wasn’t entirely clear, but being relatively intelligent, he often remembered fragments of what was said then.
Father had apparently assessed Daisuke as seeming rather unpromising.
Brother, in response to this, had countered that even while carrying on like that, he had a rather astute understanding.
It would be best to leave him be for the time being.
It’s perfectly safe to leave him be—there’s no mistake.
He had apparently defended him by saying that he would do something worthwhile sooner or later.
Then, his sister-in-law had apparently concurred, insisting it was safe because a fortune-teller she’d consulted just a week prior had determined this man was certain to rise above others.

Daisuke went “Hmm,” and “Then?” as he listened with apparent interest throughout, but when it came to the fortune-teller part, he truly found it comical.
Before long, he changed his clothes, saw Seitaro off while heading out through the front entrance, and visited Hiraoka’s house.

6-4

Hiraoka’s house, amidst the price inflation of the past decade, stood as the crudest and most unsightly structure—one that thoroughly embodied in its architecture the increasingly squeezed circumstances of middle-class society. To Daisuke especially, it appeared exactly so.

The space between the gate and entrance was barely one ken wide.
The kitchen entrance fared no better.
Behind and beside it stood equally cramped houses of the same ilk.
This was a monument to survival—hastily thrown up by bottom-tier capitalists who, exploiting Tokyo’s feeble urban expansion, schemed to funnel their paltry capital into twenty or thirty percent interest returns.

In today’s Tokyo City—especially its outskirts—such houses dotted every corner; more than that, they multiplied daily like fleas in rainy season, swelling at an unnatural rate.
Daisuke had once dubbed this phenomenon “the development of ruin.”
And he considered it the supreme symbol representing contemporary Japan.

Some of them were covered in square scales patched together from oil can bottoms.
No one who rented one of these houses escaped being awakened at night by the sound of pillars splitting.
Their doors invariably bore knot holes.
Their sliding doors were invariably destined to warp.
People who poured capital into their heads and tried to live by extracting interest from those heads every month were all holed up in such places.
Hiraoka was one such person.

When Daisuke passed by the fence, his eyes first caught the roof.
And then, the dull black color of the tiles strangely stirred his mind.
To Daisuke, these lightless earthen tiles seemed capable of absorbing any amount of water.
In front of the entrance, straw scraps from the unpacked straw bundle during the recent move were still scattered.
When shown into the parlor, Hiraoka was seated before his desk, in the midst of writing a lengthy letter.
Michiyo was in the next room rattling the handles of the chest of drawers.
Beside her, a large trunk lay open, from which the sleeve of a fine long underrobe was halfway out.

While Hiraoka said, "Excuse me, but wait a moment," Daisuke was looking at the trunk, the long underrobe, and the slender hand that occasionally withdrew into the trunk. The sliding door remained open with no sign of being closed. Yet Michiyo's face remained shadowed and unseen.

Soon Hiraoka flung his brush onto the desk and straightened his posture. He appeared to have been writing something intricate with great effort—his ears burned red. His eyes too were bloodshot.

"Well?"
"Thank you for your help the other day."
"I meant to come express my gratitude afterward, but haven't yet."

Hiraoka’s words sounded less like an excuse and more like a challenge.
Without putting on an undershirt or fundoshi, he immediately sat cross-legged.
Because he hadn’t properly fastened his collar, a bit of chest hair was visible.

“You still haven’t settled in, I suppose,” Daisuke asked.

“Settle down? At this rate, I’ll never settle down in my lifetime,” he said hurriedly, blowing out tobacco smoke.

Daisuke understood perfectly well why Hiraoka was treating him in this manner.
He realized it wasn’t aimed at him at all—no, it was aimed at society. Or rather, at himself. And this made Daisuke feel pity instead.
Yet to nerves like Daisuke’s, this tone rang exceedingly unpleasant.
It was merely that he didn’t feel anger.

“How’s your place working out? The layout seems decent enough, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, well, even if it’s bad, there’s nothing to be done about it. If you want to move into a house you like, there’s no way but to play the stock market or something. Isn’t it said that all those fine houses going up in Tokyo these days are built by stockbrokers?”

“That may be so. But for every one of those fine houses that goes up, who knows how many others collapse in their shadow.”

“So that makes them even better to live in, I suppose.”

Hiraoka said this and laughed heartily.
There, Michiyo came out.
With a casual “About the other day...” she greeted Daisuke, then sat down and placed before him the tightly rolled red flannel she held in her hand, showing it to him.

“What is that?”

“It’s a baby’s outfit.
After making it, I simply left it tied up as it was—but when I looked in the trunk’s bottom just now, there it was, so I brought it out,” she said while untying the fastened cord and spreading the cylindrical sleeves open to either side.

“Hey.”
“You still had that stored away?”
“Hurry up and tear it apart to make into dustcloths or something.”

6-5

Michiyo had placed the child’s clothes on her lap and, without replying, gazed down at them for a while.

“I made it the same as yours,” she said, looking toward her husband.

“This?”

Hiraoka wore flannel layered beneath his splashed-pattern lined kimono against his bare skin.

“This is no good anymore. It’s too hot.”

Daisuke, for the first time, came face to face with the Hiraoka of old.

“If I layer flannel under a lined kimono, it’s already too hot.”
“You should switch to a summer underrobe.”

“Yeah… It’s just easier to keep wearing it.”

“Even when I tell you to take it off so I can do the laundry, you never actually remove it.”

“No—I’ll take it off now. I’ve grown a bit tired of it myself.”

The conversation had strayed completely from the matter of their dead child.
And then, the air had grown somewhat warmer than when they had first arrived.
Hiraoka suggested having a drink for the first time in a while.
Since Michiyo was also going to prepare something, he stayed to ask her to take her time before going into the next room.
Daisuke, watching his retreating figure, wished he could somehow procure the money for him.

“Have you found any job prospects yet?” he asked.

“Well, it’s sort of there and not there.”
“If there isn’t one, I’ll just have to idle around for a while.”
“If I take my time searching, something will work out eventually.”

His words were calm, but to Daisuke’s ears, they sounded only like someone frantically searching.
Daisuke had intended to inform Hiraoka of the outcome of the discussion that had occurred between his brother and himself the previous day, but upon hearing this remark, he decided to hold off for the time being.
Somehow, he felt as though he were intentionally undermining the dignity that the other party was striving to maintain.
Moreover, regarding the matter of money, I have not yet received even a single word of consultation from Hiraoka.
Therefore, he had no need to make any formal overtures.
If he remained silent like this, Hiraoka was certain to inwardly think ill of him as a cold-hearted man.
But the present Daisuke was nearly insensible to such reproach.
Moreover, I actually considered that I myself was not such a passionate person.
If I were to become my past self from three or four years ago and critique who I am now, I might well be degenerate.
But when I look back at my self of three or four years ago from my current self, I clearly see that I had exaggerated my own moral convictions and wielded them proudly.
Rather than endure the desperate scheming required to pass plated gold for real, I find it easier to accept being brass and tolerate the contempt befitting brass.
That’s what I think now.

That Daisuke had come to accept himself as brass was not because he had been suddenly swept into some great tempest and, out of shock, experienced a complete change of heart—as if he possessed a history worthy of a novel. It was simply that he himself had, through his own unique powers of thought and observation, step by step peeled away the plated gold. Daisuke believed that the majority of this plated gold had been stamped on by his father. At that time, his father had seemed like gold. Many of his seniors had seemed like gold. All those who had received a proper education had seemed like gold. That was why his own plated gold had been painful. He had tried impatiently to become real gold as quickly as possible. However, once his gaze began to strike directly at the true metal of others, that effort suddenly came to seem like a foolish endeavor.

At the same time, Daisuke thought this: Since I had changed this much over three or four years, Hiraoka too must have changed considerably within the scope of his own experiences during the same period. Had I been my former self—desperate to earn Hiraoka’s goodwill—I would have quarreled with my brother, argued with my father, devised some scheme for his sake, then rushed to his place to grandly announce my success. But to expect such a reaction now would require him to still be the Hiraoka of old. The man before me no longer placed much weight on friendship.

And so they concluded their main discussion in a word or two, and as they passed the time with miscellaneous small talk afterward, sake appeared.
Michiyo gripped the flask by its base as she poured.

Six of Six

As Hiraoka drank, he gradually grew more talkative.
No matter how much he drank, there were moments when this man remained remarkably composed.
Yet at other times, he would become strikingly animated, his tone tinged with a peculiar exhilaration.
When this happened, he not only spoke more eloquently than ordinary drinkers but occasionally raised relatively serious topics, engaging in spirited debates with his counterpart while maintaining a cheerful air.
Daisuke recalled how they used to line beer bottles between them in the old days and vigorously argue with Hiraoka.
What struck Daisuke as strange was his own realization that these very moments of Hiraoka's intoxication made him easiest to debate.
"Shall we drink and speak frankly?" Hiraoka would often propose.
The boundary between them today had diverged far from what it once was.
And so both carried in their hearts the unspoken truth that having drifted apart, they found no path back.
The day after arriving in Tokyo, when they met for the first time in three years, they discovered they had already stepped away from each other's sides at some indeterminate point.

But today was peculiar.
The more Hiraoka drank, the more he regained his old manner.
The alcohol reached that sweet spot, seeming to numb completely his present financial troubles, immediate livelihood struggles, and all their accompanying pains, grievances, and inner turmoil.
Hiraoka's discourse leapt to a higher plane.

"I've failed."
"But even failing, I'm working."
"And I mean to keep working from now on."
"You watch my failures and laugh—or even if you're not laughing, it amounts to the same in the end, so it doesn't matter."
"Look—you're laughing. You laugh, but do nothing about it."
"You're a man who takes the world exactly as it is."
"Put differently—a man incapable of developing his will."
"It's a lie to say you have no will."
"You're human."
"The proof is you must constantly feel unfulfilled."
"I can't keep living unless I exert my will upon real society and grasp proof that this society has bent to my will even slightly."
"That's where I find value in my existence."
"You just think."
"Just thinking—so you've built separate worlds inside and outside your head to inhabit."
"Isn't enduring this great discord itself an intangible colossal failure?"
"Try telling me why."

“Mine merely brings that discord to the surface, while yours keeps it bottled up inside—so by what’s outwardly visible, my failures might actually be less severe than yours.”
“But I’m being laughed at by you.”
“And thus I can’t laugh at you.”
“No—I do want to laugh, but from society’s perspective, I mustn’t laugh, I suppose.”

“It doesn’t matter what you laugh at.”
“Before you laugh at me, I’ve already laughed at myself.”

“That’s a lie.”
“Hey, Michiyo.”

Michiyo had been sitting silently until then, but when her husband suddenly sought her opinion, she smiled faintly and looked at Daisuke.

“It’s true, isn’t it, Michiyo?” Daisuke said as he held out his cup and received sake.

“That’s a lie.”
“Even if my wife defends you, it’s a lie.”
“Granted, even if you laugh at others or yourself, since you handle both internally, it’s impossible to tell whether it’s a lie or the truth, but...”

“You can’t be joking.”

“It’s no joke.
This is entirely serious business.
That’s not how you used to be.
The old you wasn’t like that，but the current you is quite different.
Hey，Michiyo.
Anyone can see Nagai’s living large these days!”

“Somehow，ever since earlier—while listening here—you seem far more pleased with yourself.”

Hiraoka let out a loud “Ha ha ha” laugh.
Michiyo took the sake decanter and stood up to go to the next room.

六の七

Hiraoka poked at the food on the tray with his chopsticks two or three times, kept his head down and mumbled for a while, but soon raised his bleary eyes and spoke: —

“Today, for the first time in a long while, I’ve gotten pleasantly drunk.”
“Hey, you.”
“You’re not feeling too good, are you?”
“This is utterly outrageous.”
“It’s outrageous that I’ve become the old Hiraoka Tsunejiro again, yet you haven’t returned to being the old Nagai Daisuke.”
“You must become!”
“And then, I implore you to act with all your might!”
“I too shall act from now on.”
“So you too must act, I implore you!”

Daisuke recognized within these words a kind of earnest yet naive effort to revert his present self to the past. And then, he was moved by it. But on the other hand, he felt as though someone were dunning him for bread he’d eaten two days prior.

“When you drink, even if your words get drunk, your head usually stays clear—that’s why I’m speaking up.”

“That’s it.”
“That’s Nagai-kun for you!”

Daisuke suddenly grew weary of speaking.

“You—is your head clear?” he asked.

“Of course it is. If you’re certain, then I’m always certain,” he said, looking squarely at Daisuke’s face. In truth, he was exactly the man he claimed to be. At this, Daisuke said:—

“You’ve been attacking me this whole time about not working, but I kept quiet. I kept quiet precisely because I am what you accuse me of being—someone who doesn’t work.”

“Why don’t you work?”

“Why don’t I work? That’s not my failing. It’s society that’s rotten. To put it more grandly—I don’t work because Japan’s relationship with the West has failed. First of all, there’s no country like Japan—piling up debts while trembling in poverty. When do you think this debt will ever be repaid? Oh, we might settle the foreign loans. But that’s not our only debt. Japan can’t survive without borrowing from the West. And yet it presumes to call itself a first-class nation. Then it forces its way into the ranks of first-class nations. So in every direction, they’ve hacked away at depth just to keep up the facade of a first-class frontage. The fact that it barely holds together makes it all the more tragic.”

“It’s just like a frog trying to compete with a cow—at this rate, you’ll split your belly open.”
“Because all those effects are reflected upon us individuals—just look.”
“A nation under such Western pressure has no mental capacity left—they can’t do decent work.”
“With an education system that’s been cut back to the bone, and then being worked to the point of dizziness—they all end up with neurasthenia. Try talking to them—most are fools.”
“They don’t think about anything beyond their own affairs—their today, their immediate present.”
“They’re too exhausted to even think—it can’t be helped.”
“Mental exhaustion and physical decline are, unfortunately, inseparable companions.”
“Not only that, but moral decay has also arrived.”
“If you look out across all of Japan, is there not even a single square inch of gleaming surface?”
“All is darkness.”
“Standing amidst it all, even if I alone were to say anything or do anything, it’s no use.”
“I am by nature a lazy person.”
“No—I’ve been a lazy man since the time we used to go around together.”
“At that time, I forced myself to put on a lively front, so I must have appeared full of promise to you.”
“If even now Japanese society were generally sound in mind, morals, and body, I would still be full of promise.”
“If that were the case, there would be plenty to do, you see.”
“And then, I believe that enough stimuli to overcome my own laziness would also emerge in abundance.”
“But this won’t do.”
“As things stand now, I’ve rather become nothing but myself.”
“And then, accepting the world as it is—as you call it—I maintain contact with what suits me best within it and find satisfaction.”

“Actively trying to make others conform to my way of thinking—that’s simply not something that can be done—”

Daisuke paused briefly for breath.
Then, glancing at Michiyo, who sat looking somewhat constrained, he paid her a compliment.

“Michiyo-san. What do you think of my ideas? They must seem rather nonchalant, don’t they? Don’t you agree?”

“It’s somehow both pessimistic and carefree—an odd combination, isn’t it?”
“I do not quite understand.”
“But you seem to be sugarcoating things a bit, do you not?”

“Huh.”
“Where exactly?”

“Where exactly? Hmm, you…” Michiyo looked at her husband.
Hiraoka had placed his elbows on his thighs and rested his chin in his hands, remaining silent; without a word, he slid the sake cup in front of Daisuke.
Daisuke accepted it in silence.
Michiyo poured another drink.

Six of Eight

As Daisuke touched his lips to the sake cup, he felt there was no longer any need to speak beyond this point.
This had never been a debate meant to make Hiraoka reconsider things in his own manner, nor was it a visit where Hiraoka had come seeking counsel.
From the very beginning, Daisuke had understood they were fated to remain two separate entities who could never truly unite, no matter how long they stood together—and so he curtailed the argument and tried to guide their talk toward commonplace social topics that would allow Michiyo to join in.

However, Hiraoka was a man who grew persistent when drunk.
Thrusting out his chest—flushed crimson through the thicket of chest hair—he said:

“That’s amusing."
"Highly amusing."
“Those of us who, like me, are tackling specific issues and wrestling with reality have no room to consider such things.”
“Even if Japan is called poor or cowardly, those who are working forget all about it while they’re busy.”
“Even if society is corrupt, they don’t notice its decay and just keep working within it, you see.”
“To an idle person like you, Japan’s poverty and our decay might seem concerning, but those are matters only bystanders with no stake in society should speak of.”
“In other words, it’s because you have the luxury of looking at your own face in the mirror that you end up like this.”
“When you’re busy, doesn’t everyone forget about their own face?”

As Hiraoka rambled on, he naturally seized upon this metaphor and, feeling as though he had gained a formidable ally, concluded his argument with evident satisfaction.
Daisuke responded with a resigned, thin smile.
Then Hiraoka immediately added more:

“You don’t have money troubles—no wonder you can afford not to work.”
“Because you aren’t struggling to make ends meet, you’ve no desire to work.”
“In short, you’re just a spoiled brat spouting refined nonsense—”

Because Daisuke had grown somewhat annoyed with Hiraoka, he suddenly cut him off mid-sentence.

“It’s fine to work, but if one works, it must be work beyond mere livelihood to be honorable.”
“All sacred labor exists apart from bread.”

Hiraoka peered at Daisuke’s face with a strangely unpleasant look in his eyes.
And then,

“Why?” he asked.

“Because labor for livelihood isn’t labor for labor’s sake.”

“I don’t understand these logic-chopping propositions of yours.”
“Use words that actual working people can understand.”

“In other words, occupations undertaken merely to eat can’t be performed with sincerity—that’s what I mean.”

“That’s completely opposite to my way of thinking.”
“Because it’s for survival—that’s why you’re driven to work so fiercely.”

“You might work fiercely, but you can’t work sincerely.”
“When you speak of labor for eating—which do you think is the true purpose: eating or laboring?”

“Of course it’s for eating.”

“There, you see?
“If eating is the purpose and working merely a means, then naturally you’d adjust your manner of working to make eating easier.”
“In that case, it wouldn’t matter what work you did or how you did it—wouldn’t it all just come down to getting your bread?”
“Since the content, direction, and even the sequence of labor are all dictated by others, that labor is nothing but decadent labor.”

“You’re still being theoretical, I see. What’s wrong with that?”

“In that case, let me explain with a most refined example—though it may be an old-fashioned tale, I recall reading something like this in a book. It’s said that when Oda Nobunaga employed a certain famous chef and first tasted his cooking, he found it rather unpalatable and gave the man quite a scolding. Having served his finest dishes only to be rebuked, the chef subsequently began serving his master second- or third-rate fare instead, and was constantly praised for it—or so the story goes.” Daisuke leaned forward slightly. “Look at this chef. While he may have been shrewd in working to sustain himself, from the perspective of laboring for his culinary art itself—isn’t he utterly insincere? Wouldn’t you call him a degenerate chef?”

“But if he didn’t do that, he’d be dismissed—there’s simply no alternative.”

“Precisely,”
“Those not wanting for food or clothing—in other words, unless their labor isn’t some dilettante’s fancy—cannot engage in genuine work.”

“Then unless one shares your privileged position, sacred labor remains impossible.”
“Which means you’re obliged to make yourself useful.”
“Don’t you agree, Michiyo?”

“It’s true.”

“Seems we’ve looped back to where we began.”
“That’s precisely why arguments prove futile,” said Daisuke, scratching his head.
Thus the debate finally reached its conclusion.

七の一

Daisuke entered the bath.

“Sir—how about warming some sake? Should I heat it a bit more?” Kadono suddenly poked his head through the doorway.
Kadono was precisely the sort of man who noticed such details.
Daisuke kept perfectly still in the steaming water,
“That’s fine,” he answered.
Then Kadono,

“Is that so?” he muttered dismissively and turned back toward the tea room.
Daisuke was deeply intrigued by the manner of Kadono’s reply and chuckled quietly to himself.
Daisuke had sensory nerves capable of perceiving things beyond ordinary human sensitivity.
Because of this, he sometimes found himself in distress.
There was a time when a friend’s father passed away, and he attended the funeral. Suddenly catching sight of his friend clad in mourning robes, clutching a green bamboo stick as he trailed behind the coffin, he found himself overcome by an urge to laugh—a predicament that left him deeply unsettled.
Another time, while listening to his father’s lecture, he happened to glance at the man’s face and was suddenly seized by an urge to burst into laughter—a predicament that left him utterly distressed.
When he didn’t have a bath at home, he would go to the neighborhood bathhouse, where there was an attendant with a powerfully built frame.
Every time Daisuke went there, he would come rushing out from the back and scrub his back while offering to wash him.
Every time that attendant vigorously scrubbed his body, Daisuke couldn’t help feeling as though he were being handled by an Egyptian.
However much he reflected on it, he couldn’t bring himself to think of him as a Japanese person.

But there was another curious thing.
The other day, when Daisuke read a book stating that a physiologist named Weber could intentionally alter his own heartbeat—speeding it up or slowing it down at will—he felt compelled to try it himself. Having long harbored a habit of testing his pulse, he began experimenting fearfully two or three times a day. But just as he seemed on the verge of matching Weber’s feat, he grew startled and abruptly stopped.

Soaking quietly in the hot water, Daisuke absentmindedly brought his right hand to his left chest, but no sooner had he heard the thump-thump of life’s rhythm two or three times than he suddenly remembered Weber and immediately stepped out of the bath.
And then, remaining seated cross-legged there, he blankly stared at his own feet.
Then those feet began to take on an odd quality.
They no longer seemed to be growing from his torso but rather appeared as something entirely unrelated to him—crudely sprawled there as if they had no business being attached.
Once that happened—though he hadn’t noticed until now—they were in fact unbearably ugly.
The hair grew unevenly, blue veins snaked sporadically across them—they were like some bizarre creature.

Daisuke got back into the bath and thought that, just as Hiraoka had said, having too much free time was what led him to dwell on such matters.
When he stepped out of the bath and saw his own reflection in the mirror, he once again recalled Hiraoka’s words.
When it came time to shave his jaw and cheeks with the thick-bladed Western razor, the gleam of its sharp edge reflecting in the mirror stirred a peculiar, almost itchy sensation within him.
As he became acutely aware that this sensation, when intensified, would feel identical to gazing down from a lofty tower, he finally finished shaving.

As he was about to pass through the tea room,

“The sir’s really something, isn’t he?” Kadono was saying to the old woman.

“What’s so good?” Daisuke asked, standing and looking at Kadono.

Kadono stammered, “Oh—are you already done with your bath? That was quick.”

Since this greeting didn’t prompt him to ask again what had been meant by “good,” he simply returned to his study, sat down in his chair and rested.

While resting, he found his mind working with peculiar sharpness in strange directions—bad for his health, he thought—and considered taking a short trip somewhere.

It would also conveniently let him avoid the marriage problem that had recently come up.

But then Hiraoka’s affairs began weighing oddly on his mind again, and he immediately abandoned his relocation plans.

When he boiled it down thoroughly, it wasn’t Hiraoka he was concerned about—no—it remained Michiyo after all.

Even having pressed forward to that point, Daisuke didn’t feel particularly unethical about it.

Rather—he felt positively pleased.

Seven-Two

Daisuke became acquainted with Michiyo four or five years prior, when he was still a student.
Through his connections to the Nagai family, Daisuke knew the faces and names of many young women who had emerged into society's upper echelons at that time.
But Michiyo was not that sort of woman.
In terms of coloration, she was more subdued; in terms of mood, somewhat somber.
Around that time, there was a classmate of Daisuke's named Suganuma who associated closely with both him and Hiraoka.
Michiyo was his sister.

This Suganuma hailed from a neighboring prefecture of Tokyo. In the spring of his second year as a student, under the pretext of furthering his studies, he brought his sister from their hometown while vacating his boarding house to establish a household together.
At that time, his sister had just graduated from her local girls’ high school and was said to be eighteen years old; she wore an ornate detachable collar and kept her shoulders squared.
And before long, she began attending a girls’ school.

Suganuma’s house stood in Shimizuchō, Yanaka; though lacking a garden, stepping onto its veranda revealed the towering old cedars of Ueno’s forest.
Moreover, they had a striking color, like rusted iron.
One of them was nearly withered, its upper reaches reduced to bare skeletal branches where, in the evening, many crows would gather and caw.
Next door lived a young painter.
It was a narrow backstreet where few carriages passed, and there stood an exceptionally quiet residence.

Daisuke often went there to visit.
When he first met Michiyo, she merely bowed politely and withdrew.
Daisuke returned after critiquing Ueno’s forest.
No matter if he went twice or three times, Michiyo would only bring out tea.
But since it was a small house, she had no choice but to remain in the adjacent room.
While conversing with Suganuma, Daisuke could not rid himself of the awareness that Michiyo was in the adjacent room, listening to his words.

As for when Daisuke began speaking with Michiyo—what opportunity had prompted it—this no longer remained in his memory.
It must have arisen from some trivial, ordinary incident—so insignificant it left no trace.
For Daisuke, who had grown weary of poetry and novels, this was instead intriguing.
But once they began to speak, just as with poetry and novels, the two quickly grew at ease with each other.

Hiraoka too, like Daisuke, often visited Suganuma's house.
There were times when the two came together.
And then, following Daisuke's lead, he grew close to Michiyo.
Michiyo would tag along with her brother and these two, and there were times when they strolled around the edge of ponds.

The four of them spent just under two years in this relationship. Then, in the spring of Suganuma’s graduation year, his mother came up from the countryside for a visit and stayed in Shimizuchō for a time. This mother had customarily visited Tokyo once or twice a year to stay at her children’s home for five or six days at a time, but on that occasion, she developed a fever the day before her return and became completely immobilized. When typhoid fever was confirmed a week later, they immediately admitted her to the university hospital. Michiyo moved to the hospital as an attendant to provide nursing care. Though the patient’s condition had temporarily improved somewhat, it relapsed midway through treatment until she finally died. That was not all. The typhoid fever infected her brother who had come to visit her, and he too soon passed away. In their hometown, only their father remained.

He had come both when her mother died and when Suganuma died to handle the arrangements, and through this became acquainted with Daisuke and Hiraoka, who had been close during their lifetimes. When taking Michiyo back to their hometown, he visited the two boarding houses separately with his daughter to bid farewell and offer his thanks.

That autumn, Hiraoka married Michiyo. And it was Daisuke who stood between them. Officially, they had asked a senior from their hometown to serve as matchmaker and attend the ceremony, but it was Daisuke who had taken action to arrange matters for Michiyo.

Shortly after marrying, the two left Tokyo. The father who had been in their hometown was compelled by unforeseen circumstances and ended up moving to Hokkaido as well. To speak of Michiyo's current position, she found herself in precarious circumstances. I want to somehow make it possible for her to settle here in Tokyo. Daisuke thought of consulting his sister-in-law once more and trying to arrange to procure the money from before. He also thought of meeting Michiyo again to inquire more thoroughly into her circumstances.

7-3

However, even if he went to Hiraoka, Michiyo was not the sort of woman to thoughtlessly air grievances or complain at length; and even were he to hear in detail how they had come to need such money, the true depths of a married couple’s hearts could not be so easily fathomed. When Daisuke looked deep into his own heart, he had to acknowledge that what he truly wished to understand lay precisely here.

Therefore, to be honest, he had already moved beyond needing to investigate why the money was required.

In truth, whether he inquired into the external circumstances or not, he wanted to lend Michiyo money and satisfy her.

However, he had absolutely no intention of procuring money as a means to win Michiyo’s favor.

Daisuke simply did not have the capacity for such strategic schemes toward Michiyo.

Moreover, even if one were to visit Hiraoka's house during his absence, it would prove difficult to fully ascertain the circumstances up to now, particularly regarding financial matters.
As long as Hiraoka remained at home, it was perfectly clear that a detailed conversation would be impossible.
Even were it possible, he couldn't take anything at face value from start to finish.
Hiraoka was putting on a show for Daisuke out of various societal motives.
Even in matters unrelated to appearances, he maintained silence through some calculation.

Daisuke resolved that, come what may, he would first try consulting his sister-in-law. And yet, even to himself, he thought it a rather uncertain plan. He had hit her up for money bit by bit many times before, but pressuring her so abruptly was a first. But since Umeko had some assets at her disposal, it might not be impossible after all. If that didn’t work, he could borrow at high interest, but Daisuke had yet to feel inclined to go that far. If he were eventually to be formally held jointly responsible by Hiraoka and found himself unable to refuse, then this notion of choice had taken root almost beyond reason in his mind—that he would far rather take the initiative himself to directly bring Michiyo happiness.

It was a day when an unseasonably warm wind blew.
The cloudy weather hung listlessly across the sky with no sign of dusk approaching as he left home shortly past four and took the train to his brother’s house.
When they came near Aoyama Palace, his father and brother passed hurriedly by on the left side of the train in a rope-drawn carriage.
Before he had time to exchange greetings, they passed by each other, and of course, they went on without noticing.
Daisuke got off at the next stop.

When he entered the gate of his brother’s house, the sound of a piano came from the parlor. Daisuke paused for a moment on the gravel, then immediately turned left and circled around toward the kitchen entrance. There outside the lattice lay Hector—a large British-bred dog with his massive muzzle bound by a leather strap. As soon as Hector heard Daisuke’s footsteps, he shook his long-haired ears and abruptly raised his mottled face. Then he wagged his tail.

After peering into the student lodger’s room at the entrance and standing on the threshold to exchange a few pleasantries, he immediately headed toward the Western-style room; upon sliding open the door, his sister-in-law sat at the piano moving both hands. Beside her stood Nui wearing a long-sleeved kimono, her usual hair hanging down to her shoulders. Whenever Daisuke saw Nui’s hair, he would recall her figure on the swing. He had vividly etched into his mind how her black hair, pale red ribbon, and yellow crepe obi had all been swept up by the wind and streamed through the air.

The mother and child turned around simultaneously.

“Oh.”

Nui ran over in silence.
Then she tugged insistently at Daisuke’s hand.
Daisuke came up beside the piano.

“I thought some virtuoso was playing!”

Without saying a word, Umeko furrowed her brow into an inverted V shape, laughed while waving her hands, and cut off Daisuke’s words.
And then she said:

“Daisuke, please try playing this part here for me.”

Daisuke silently exchanged places with the sister-in-law.
While looking at the score, he moved both fingers deftly for a while; then,

“Like this, I suppose,” he said and immediately left the seat.

7-4

For about thirty minutes, the mother and child took turns sitting at the instrument, practicing the same section, until Umeko said:

“Let’s stop now.
“Let’s go over there and have a meal.
“Please join us too, Uncle,” she added as she stood up.
The room had grown dim.
For some time now, Daisuke had been listening to the piano, watching his sister-in-law and niece’s white hands move, and occasionally gazing at that transom painting—so much so that he had nearly forgotten about Michiyo and the matter of borrowing money.
When he left the room and looked back, only the part where the navy-blue waves broke and white foam surged back was distinctly visible in the darkness.
Daisuke had painted golden-hued peaks of clouds across the expanse of this great wave.
And upon closer inspection of those cloud peaks, he had skillfully outlined them to resemble a group of giant, fully naked women—their hair disheveled, bodies leaping—raging wildly as one.
Daisuke had commissioned this painting under the pretense of likening Vulcan to clouds.
He conjured in his mind this massive, indistinct mass—whether they were peaks of clouds or giant women—and secretly delighted in it.
However, when completed and installed in the wall, it proved worse than imagined.
When they left the room with Umeko, this Vulcan was nearly invisible.
The navy-blue waves had not been visible to begin with.
Only a large mass of white foam remained faintly visible.

The electric light was already lit in the living room.
Daisuke finished dinner there with Umeko.
The two children also shared the table.
He had Seitaro fetch a Manila cigar from his brother's study and smoked it while making small talk.
Before long, the children said it was time for tomorrow's preparatory reading and, reminded by their mother, withdrew to their rooms, leaving only the adults behind.

Daisuke thought that abruptly bringing up the matter would seem strange, so he began to approach it gradually from an unrelated topic. He started by asking whether Father and Brother had rushed off to some meeting in their rope-drawn carriage, how Brother had treated him to a meal the other day, why she hadn’t attended the Azabu garden party, or if Father’s Chinese poetry was mostly bombast—and amidst this exchange of questions and answers, he uncovered a new fact. It was none other than this: according to reports, his father and brother had begun rushing about so conspicuously of late that these past four or five days, they scarcely had time to sleep.
“What on earth has started?” Daisuke inquired with a composed expression.
“Well… something must have started,” his sister-in-law replied in her usual tone. “Since Father and Brother don’t tell me anything either, I really don’t know.” Just as Daisuke was about to say, “Rather than that—what about that marriage candidate from before—” the student lodger entered.

After conveying the phone message—“I’ll be late again tonight; if so-and-so comes, tell them to come to such-and-such place”—the student lodger left once more.
Daisuke, anticipating that the conversation would circle back to the marriage issue—a prospect he found tiresome—quickly interjected, “By the way, Sis, I actually came here with a small request.”

Umeko listened to Daisuke’s words without protest.
Daisuke spent roughly ten minutes laying out his entire case.
Finally,
“So please lend it to me—once and for all,” he said.
Then Umeko’s face turned grave and—

“Well.”
“But really—when do you plan to pay it back?” she countered with an unexpected question.
Daisuke kept his fingers pinched at his chin’s tip and intently watched his sister-in-law’s expression.
Umeko assumed an even graver expression and spoke again.
“It’s not sarcasm.”
“You mustn’t get angry.”

Daisuke was of course not angry.
He simply hadn’t anticipated such a question from his brother and sister.
The more he elaborated on now intending to repay or planning to receive it all—the more foolish he appeared—so he simply resigned himself to absorbing the blow.
Umeko felt she had finally managed to rein in her unruly younger brother; what followed became far easier to say——

7-5

“Daisuke, you’ve always looked down on me.—No, I’m not being sarcastic; it’s the truth, so there’s no helping it. That’s how it is, isn’t it?”
“This is difficult—being interrogated so earnestly like this.”

“Very well.
“Don’t evade.”
“Because you know perfectly well.”
“So just honestly say that’s how it is and be done with it.”
“If you don’t, we can’t move forward.”

Daisuke remained silent, smirking.

“That’s how it is.”
“There, you see?”
“But that’s only natural.”
“I don’t mind in the least.”
“No matter how much I put on airs, it goes without saying I can’t possibly rival you.”
“You and I are perfectly satisfied with our relationship as it’s always been, so there’s nothing to complain about.”
“Well, if that’s acceptable—then you mock Father as well, don’t you?”

Daisuke liked the sincere quality of his sister-in-law's attitude.
And so,

"Yes, I do mock them somewhat," he replied.
Then Umeko laughed cheerfully, her voice bright.
And then she said:

"You mock Brother too."

"Brother?"
"I greatly respect Brother."

“You’re lying.”
“Now that we’ve started, why don’t you lay everything bare?”

“Well, I suppose there are aspects I can’t help mocking.”

“There, you see?”
“You go around mocking every single person in this family.”

“I stand thoroughly corrected.”

“Such excuses don’t matter.”
“From your perspective, everyone deserves to be mocked.”

“Shouldn’t we drop this already? You’re being quite harsh today, aren’t you?”

“It’s the truth. It’s perfectly acceptable. It’s not like there’s any quarrel or anything. But tell me—why would someone as great as you need to borrow money from someone like me? Isn’t that absurd? No—if you think I’m nitpicking, you’ll get angry. That’s not it at all. Even someone as great as you has to bow your head to someone like me if you’re out of money.”

“That’s why I’ve been bowing my head from the start.”

“You’re still not listening seriously, are you?”

“This is me being serious.”

“Well, that too might be part of your greatness.”
“But if you can’t find anyone to lend you money and fail to save your friend, what will you do?”
“However great you may be, won’t it all come to nothing?”
“Incompetence makes you no different than a rickshaw puller.”

Daisuke had never imagined until now that his sister-in-law could level such apt criticism at him. In truth, ever since he had conceived of arranging the money, he himself had been dimly aware of this weakness.

"I truly am a rickshaw puller, aren't I?"
"That's why I'm asking you, Sister."

"There's no helping it with you, is there?"
"You're simply too great."
"Then go get the money yourself."
"If it were a real rickshaw puller, I might consider lending it—but I've no desire to help you."
"But that's going too far, isn't it?"
"You're already a monthly burden on Brother and Father—and now you want to take on someone else's share and lend out money?"
"Who in their right mind would want to give you anything?"

What Umeko said was indeed perfectly reasonable.
Yet Daisuke had already moved beyond such reasonableness without realizing it.
When he looked back, his sister, brother, and father stood clustered behind him.
He felt he too must retreat and align himself with societal norms.
As he left the house, he worried his sister-in-law would refuse his loan request.
But precisely for that reason, he found himself utterly unable to resolve to work vigorously and earn the money himself.
Daisuke did not view this affair as being nearly so grave.

7-6

Umeko tried to exploit this opportunity to needle Daisuke from every angle.
Yet Daisuke saw straight through her intentions.
The clearer they became, the less he felt compelled to react.
Soon the conversation drifted from money back to marriage.
Daisuke had endured two recent confrontations with Father about this latest candidate.
Father's reasoning remained as antiquated and duty-bound as ever when heard before, though this time it carried less authoritarian force.
To marry into the bloodline of one's own life-giver was a noble act, Father insisted—therefore he should accept her.
Doing so would repay some measure of familial debt, he claimed.
To Daisuke's mind, the argument collapsed under its own absurdity—what nobility lay here? What debt demanded repayment?
True enough, regarding the candidate herself, Daisuke harbored no particular objections.
Thus without disputing Father's logic, accepting her posed no inherent problem.
These past few years had schooled Daisuke in attaching little weight to anything—marriage seemed no exception.
As for this Miss Sagawa, he knew her only through a photograph, which already felt excessive.
(Admittedly, the photograph showed considerable beauty.)
(Therefore, should he take her, no troublesome conditions need arise.)
The simple truth remained—no firm answer of acceptance had yet taken shape.

If Father were made to assess that ambiguous behavior, it would amount to an incoherent greeting befitting a dullard. From Sister’s perspective—one that regarded marriage as a paramount requirement straddling life and death, subordinating all other events to it—the matter became utterly incomprehensible.

"But come now—even you don’t truly mean to remain single your whole life, do you?"
“Stop being so obstinate—why not settle it properly and be done with this?” Umeko said with growing impatience.

Whether he would remain single his whole life, keep a mistress, or form a relationship with a geisha—even Daisuke himself had no clear plan at all. However, it was certain that he, at present, could muster little interest in marriage—unlike other single individuals. This stemmed from three factors: his temperament being incapable of sustained focus on any single matter; his mind being unusually sharp, with that sharpness having been largely expended—due to contemporary Japanese social conditions—on shattering illusions up to the present day; and finally, his relative financial freedom having acquainted him with a considerable number of a certain type of woman. But Daisuke saw no need to dissect and analyze matters to that extent. He simply held fast to the self-evident fact that he had no interest in marriage and intended to let his future unfold naturally in accordance with that truth. Therefore, he interpreted the frantic efforts of those who, from the outset, concluded marriage to be a necessary event and strove to realize it someday as unnatural, irrational, and reeking of vulgarity.

Daisuke had no intention of expounding such philosophy to his sister-in-law.
But as he was gradually cornered, in desperation,

"But Sister—is it really and truly necessary for me to take a wife?" he would ask.
Daisuke of course fully intended to ask in earnest, but Umeko could only feel exasperation.
And so, she took it as him making a fool of her.
That evening, after going through her usual routine with Daisuke, Umeko said such things.

“How strange you are, being so averse to it—you say you don’t dislike it, but if you won’t take a wife, isn’t that just the same as disliking it?”
“Then there must be someone you like.”
“Tell me their name!”

Until now, Daisuke had never recalled designating even a single woman he favored as a marriage candidate.
Yet when confronted like this, Michiyo’s name suddenly surfaced in his mind unbidden.
Immediately afterward, the phrase “So please lend me the money I mentioned earlier” formed itself within his thoughts.
But Daisuke merely offered a bitter smile and kept sitting before his sister-in-law.

8-1

The night Daisuke returned home after failing with his sister-in-law was already quite late.
He had barely managed to catch the last streetcar on Aoyama-dori.
Nevertheless, while he was talking, neither his father nor his brother had returned home.
Though during that time, Umeko had been called to the telephone twice.
However, since there was nothing unusual about his sister-in-law's demeanor, Daisuke did not venture to ask anything of his own accord.

That night, the rain-laden sky appeared the same color as the ground.
Standing alone by the red pillar of the streetcar stop, waiting for the vehicle, he felt an intense loneliness as a small orb of light emerged from the distant darkness—swaying vertically in a straight line while drawing nearer to him through the gloom.
When he boarded and looked around, there was no one there.
Wedged between the black-uniformed conductor and driver, engulfed in mechanical noise as they moved forward, the world outside the traveling streetcar lay pitch-black.
Daisuke sat alone in the illuminated compartment, feeling as though he were being dragged around endlessly on this streetcar with no chance of ever disembarking.

As he approached Kagurazaka, a desolate road flanked by two-story houses on both sides stretched narrowly ahead, blocking his path. When he had climbed halfway up, it suddenly began to roar. Daisuke, assuming it was wind striking the house ridges, stopped and looked up at the dark eaves. As his gaze swept from roof to sky, a kind of terror abruptly overcame him. The clashing sounds of doors, shoji screens, and glass grew increasingly violent until—Ah! An earthquake!—the realization struck just as his legs stiffened mid-stride. In that moment, Daisuke felt the two-story houses on either side collapsing inward to bury the slope beneath them. Then suddenly, a sliding door on the right clattered open—a man clutching a child burst out shouting, "Earthquake! A big one!" Daisuke finally breathed relief at the man's voice.

When he arrived home, the old woman and Kadono were already talking animatedly about the earthquake. However, Daisuke thought that neither of them had likely felt it as acutely as he had. After going to bed, he again pondered how to handle Michiyo's request. However, he did not reach the point of applying careful judgment. He surmised what could be keeping his father and elder brother so busy lately. He resolved to leave marriage dawdling as it was for now. And then he fell asleep.

The next day's newspapers first reported what came to be called the Japan Sugar Scandal. It was a report that executives of a sugar manufacturing company had used company funds to bribe several Diet members. Kadono, as usual, commented on how thrilling it was to see the executives and Diet members being arrested—how thrilling—but Daisuke did not find it nearly as thrilling. But within two or three days, the number of those under investigation had grown considerably, and the public began sensationalizing it as a major scandal. Some newspapers referred to this as a crackdown targeting Britain. The explanation stated that since the British Ambassador had bought up Japan Sugar shares, suffered losses, and lodged a complaint, the Japanese government had taken action by way of apology to Britain.

Shortly before the Japan Sugar Scandal erupted, the company Toyo Kisen had reported an 800,000 yen deficit in the half-year following a 12% dividend payout.
Daisuke remembered this.
He also remembered that newspapers at the time had dismissed this report as unworthy of trust.

Daisuke knew nothing about the company his father and brother were involved with.
But he had always thought something could happen at any time.
Moreover, he did not believe his father or brother were sacred in every respect.
If subjected to thorough scrutiny, he had even come to suspect both might well qualify for arrest.
Even if it hadn't reached that point, he could not accept that his father and brother's wealth had been built through their mental faculties and abilities alone in a manner anyone would recognize as just.

In the early years of the Meiji era, the government had given land to migrants to encourage relocation to Yokohama.
There were now those who had become extremely wealthy simply through having received that land at the time.
However, this was rather a coincidence bestowed by heaven.
Those like his father and brother had likely artificially and politically constructed a hothouse to fabricate such fortunate coincidences solely for themselves—or so Daisuke assessed.

8-2

With such thoughts, Daisuke was not particularly surprised by the newspaper article.
He was not honest enough to worry about his father and brother’s company either.
Only Michiyo’s situation weighed somewhat on his mind.
However, since going empty-handed wasn’t appealing, he resolved in his mind to handle the matter eventually and spent four or five days engrossed in reading.

Strangely enough, after that, neither Hiraoka nor Michiyo said anything further regarding the matter of the money.
In his heart, Daisuke had actually been eagerly awaiting the possibility that Michiyo might come alone again to hear his response, but his anticipation came to nothing.

In the end, he began to feel ennui.
Wondering if there was somewhere to go for amusement, he searched through entertainment guides and conceived the idea of going to see a play.
He boarded the Sotobori Line from Kagurazaka, and by the time he reached Ochanomizu, his mind had changed; he decided to visit his school friend Terao in Morikawacho.
Upon graduating from school, this man had declared that he would take up literature as his profession since he disliked teaching, and despite others’ attempts to dissuade him, he had embarked on this risky business.
Three years had passed since he began, yet his reputation had not risen, and he continued scraping by on manuscript work.
Because the magazine he was associated with kept pressing him to write anything at all, Daisuke had once contributed something interesting.
It had been displayed in the magazine’s storefront for a month, only to be carried off somewhere by fate, vanishing forever from the human world.
After that, Daisuke had declined to take up his pen again.
Every time they met, Terao urged him to write more.
And “Look at me” was his catchphrase.
However, when one asked others, the rumor was that Terao too would soon give up.
He was extremely fond of Russian works, particularly those by writers whose names were unknown to others, and his pastime was scraping together what little money he had to purchase new publications.
When Terao’s enthusiasm grew too fervent, Daisuke coldly remarked, “As long as literary scholars are afflicted with Russophobia, they’re still no good.”
“Unless one has gone through the Russo-Japanese War,” he had once added pointedly, “they can’t speak on such matters.”
“They can start wars anytime they like,” Terao retorted with a solemn face, “but wouldn’t it be pointless to end up like Japan after that war?”
“Still,” he answered, “it’s better to have Russophobia—cowardly but safe,” and continued championing Russian literature.

When Daisuke entered from the entryway into the sitting room, he found Terao in the center, having set up a single-panel desk. With a headband tied around his head—complaining of a headache—and his sleeves rolled up, he was writing a manuscript for Teikoku Bungaku.

"If I'm in the way, I can come back another time," Daisuke said.

"No need to leave," Terao replied with a dismissive wave. "I've already earned two yen fifty sen since this morning."

Soon, he removed his headband and began to speak.

No sooner had he begun than he started vehemently denouncing contemporary Japanese writers and critics with eye-popping gusto.

Daisuke listened with interest.

But internally, he thought that since no one praised Terao, this denigration of others must be his countermeasure.

"Why don't you publish such opinions?" Daisuke suggested.

"That won't do," Terao laughed.

Even when pressed for a reason, he didn't answer.

After a moment, he continued: "If I were in your carefree position, I'd have plenty to say—but a man's got to eat."

"It's not a serious business anyway."

"That's fine—keep at it properly," Daisuke encouraged.

"No—it's not good at all," Terao said. "I want to become serious somehow." He leaned forward. "How about it? Won't you lend me some money to make me serious?"

"Well—if you keep doing what you're doing and come to think of it as serious," Daisuke teased as he stepped outside, "I'll lend you the money then."

He came as far as Hongo Street, but his sense of weariness remained unchanged from before.
No matter where or how he walked, it felt unsatisfying. Yet he had no desire left to visit anyone’s home.
When he examined himself, his entire body felt as though he had a severe stomach illness.
From Yonchome, he boarded the train again and this time came as far as Dentsūin-mae.
Each time the train jostled him, he felt a wave surge through the putrid contents within his large stomach—several feet long—as if something inside were rotting.

He returned home absentmindedly a little past three o'clock.
At the entrance, Kadono,

"A messenger had come earlier from your family’s residence."
"The letter had been placed on the desk in the study."
"I had quickly written out the receipt and handed it over," he said.

8-3

The letter was inside an old-fashioned letter box.
The front of the red-lacquered box bore no address or anything else, with only a black ink mark on the seal where a brass ring passed through the Kanseo-twisted cord.
Daisuke glanced at the desk and immediately realized the sender of this letter was his sister-in-law.
His sister-in-law had such old-fashioned tastes, and they would sometimes emerge in unexpected ways.
Daisuke poked at the knot of the Kanseo-twisted cord with the tip of his scissors, thinking it was a troublesome procedure.

However, the letter inside was the complete opposite of the ornate box, succinctly addressing the matter in simple colloquial style:
"The other day when you went out of your way to come, I was unable to handle your request as asked, and I felt terrible about it.
Looking back now, I’m troubled by all the rude and thoughtless things I said at the time.
Please do not take this unkindly.
In return, I will give you money.
However, I can’t give you all of it.
I can only manage to give you two hundred yen.
So please deliver it immediately to your friend’s place.
Since this must be kept secret from my brother, you must handle it accordingly without fail.
Since we agreed to leave your friend’s wife’s matter as pending, please give a well-considered reply."

Enclosed in the letter was a 200-yen check.
Daisuke gazed at it for a while until he began feeling guilty toward Umeko.
The other night when leaving, she had asked from across the way: “So you don’t need the money?”
When he had boldly requested a loan only to be harshly rebuffed, it was she—having been the one to refuse—who grew concerned as he resigned himself to leave and came to press the matter.
In this Daisuke saw both a woman’s beauty and frailty.
He lost all courage to exploit that vulnerability.
It was because he could not bring himself to toy with this beautiful weakness.
“No need—something will work out,” he had said upon parting.
Umeko must have interpreted this as cold formality.
Daisuke concluded those frigid words had snagged somewhere behind her usual decisive manner until they finally coalesced into this letter.

Daisuke immediately wrote a reply. And then he expressed his gratitude using the warmest words he could muster. Daisuke did not feel this way even toward his brother. He did not feel this way even toward his father. He did not feel this way toward society in general, of course. He did not feel this way even toward Umeko of late.

Daisuke considered whether to go to Michiyo’s place immediately. Truth be told, two hundred yen was an inadequate amount for Daisuke. If they were going to give this much, he felt it would be better to fully commit to what he had insisted upon and secure satisfaction. But this was when Daisuke’s thoughts shifted from Umeko to Michiyo. Moreover, to Daisuke—who believed that women, however resolute they might be, remained emotionally half-hearted—this did not strike him as particularly objectionable. No, he considered that such an attitude in women, in demonstrating the elasticity of sympathy compared to men’s decisive measures, was rather pleasant. Therefore, had it been his father, rather than Umeko, who had given him the two hundred yen, Daisuke might have interpreted this as an economically half-hearted gesture and instead been struck by an unpleasant feeling.

Daisuke left again without even eating dinner.
When he followed the edge of the Edogawa River from Gokencho and crossed to the opposite bank, he did not feel the mental exhaustion that had weighed on him when returning from his earlier walk.
As he climbed the slope and came alongside Dentsūin Temple, a tall narrow chimney between two temple buildings was belching filthy smoke into the cloud-filled sky.
Seeing this, Daisuke thought how unsightly it looked—the feeble industry's labored breath struggling for survival.
He found himself unconsciously associating this chimney with Hiraoka who lived nearby.
In such situations, it was Daisuke's custom for aesthetic considerations of beauty and ugliness to take precedence over human sympathy.
At this moment, Daisuke became so agitated by the pitiful coal smoke scattering across the sky that he nearly forgot about Michiyo altogether.

In the entryway of Hiraoka’s house, a pair of women’s three-layered straw sandals lay discarded. When he opened the lattice door, Michiyo emerged from the back with a rustle of her hem. At that moment, the two-tatami entrance area was nearly dark. Michiyo sat within that dimness and greeted him. At first she seemed unable to discern who had come, but upon hearing Daisuke’s voice, she murmured in a low tone, “Oh—it’s you…” Daisuke gazed at Michiyo’s indistinct figure, finding it more beautiful than usual.

8-4

Hiraoka was absent.
When he heard this, Daisuke felt a strange sensation—as though speaking would be both easy and difficult.
Yet Michiyo remained as composed as ever.
Without lighting the lamp, they sat in the dark room they had kept tightly closed.
"The maid is out too," Michiyo said.
"I went out earlier myself—just came back after finishing some errands and having dinner," she added.

Soon, the topic of Hiraoka came up.

As expected, Hiraoka was still busily occupied.
However, for about this past week, he had stopped going out much.
Saying he was tired, he often stayed home sleeping.
Otherwise, he drank.
If someone came to visit, he would drink even more.
And he often got angry.
He vigorously berated people.
So it seemed.

"He’s become rougher than he used to be—it’s unbearable," said Michiyo, her tone implicitly seeking sympathy.
Daisuke remained silent.
The maid returned and made a clattering noise at the kitchen door.
After a while, she came out holding a Western lamp with a bamboo base.
When she closed the sliding door, she looked as if stealing a glance at Daisuke’s face.

Daisuke took out the check from his pocket.
He placed it folded in two before Michiyo and called out, “Mrs.”
This was the first time Daisuke had called Michiyo “Mrs.”

“This is the money you requested the other day.”

Michiyo gave no answer.
She merely raised her eyes and looked at Daisuke.

“To be honest, I meant to give it to you immediately, but my circumstances prevented it—hence the delay. Tell me—have you settled the matter yet?” he asked.

At that moment, Michiyo suddenly adopted a low, anxious-sounding voice.
And resentfully,

“Not yet. After all, there’s no way it could be settled, is there?” she said, staring wide-eyed at Daisuke.
He picked up the folded check and opened it.
“Is this not enough?”
Michiyo reached out and accepted it.
“Thank you. Hiraoka will be pleased,” she said quietly, placing the check on the tatami.
Daisuke briefly explained how he had borrowed the money, then added, “I may seem to lead a carefree life, but when I try to handle matters beyond myself, I become utterly useless—so please don’t think poorly of me.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she said. “But I was so desperate that I couldn’t do anything else. I ended up making such an unreasonable request of you.” Michiyo offered this apology with a pained expression.

Daisuke pressed further. “Will that amount be enough to settle it? If not, I could try arranging more.”

“Arrange more again?”

“I’d have to stamp a seal and borrow money at high interest.”

“Oh, you mustn’t do such a thing!” Michiyo quickly interjected.
“That would be disastrous. You—”
“You—”

Daisuke had heard that the root of Hiraoka's current torment lay in the ill-gotten money he had begun borrowing, which had circulated and come back to curse him.
In that place, Hiraoka had initially been known as an exceptionally diligent man; however, after Michiyo developed a heart condition following childbirth and began wandering out aimlessly, he started indulging in dissipation.
At first, it wasn't so severe, so Michiyo resigned herself to thinking it was perhaps unavoidable in social circles, but eventually it escalated beyond all measure, so Michiyo became deeply concerned.
If this continued, his health would deteriorate.
Then his dissipation would only intensify.
"He isn't being unkind."
"It's my fault," Michiyo deliberately insisted.
"But with a lonely face," she continued, "I blamed myself—confessing that I had earnestly thought if only a child had lived for me, things might have been better."

Daisuke felt he had roughly surmised the marital relationship lurking behind the economic issues, so he refrained from asking too many questions himself. As he was leaving, he mustered encouragement:
"You mustn't be so weak. Please regain your former vitality. And do come out for some leisure now and then."

"I suppose I should," Michiyo laughed.
They recognized their shared past in each other's faces.
Hiraoka never did return.

8-5

Two days later, Hiraoka suddenly arrived.

That day, a dry wind blew across a clear sky; something blue caught in one's eyes—it was hotter than usual.
The morning newspaper had carried an announcement about irises.
The large potted Clivia Daisuke bought had finally shed all its blossoms on the veranda.
Instead, green leaves as wide as short swords grew long by parting the stems.
The old leaves remained darkened yet glinted in the sun.
One had broken halfway from some impact before dropping abruptly about five suns from the stem—an unsightly sight to Daisuke.
Daisuke took scissors and stepped onto the veranda.
Starting from where the leaf bent, he cut off and discarded the broken part.
The thick cut end suddenly appeared to take on a simmered hue; as he gazed at it, a plop sounded on the veranda.
What gathered at the wound was thick green sap.
Daisuke thrust his nose into the tangled leaves seeking its scent.
He left droplets glistening on the wooden planks.
As he stood wiping the blade with a handkerchief from his sleeve, Kadono came announcing Mr. Hiraoka's arrival.
At that moment, Daisuke held no thoughts of Hiraoka or Michiyo.
He moved under the strange green liquid's spell, detached from worldly concerns.
Hearing Hiraoka's name shattered this trance.
Then came reluctance to face him.

When urged by Kadono with “Shall I show him in?” Daisuke grunted “Mm” and entered the sitting room. After being shown to his seat, Hiraoka was already dressed in summer attire—both collar and white shirt crisp and new, topped with a fashionable knit tie that made him appear too dapper for anyone to mistake as unemployed.

When conversation began, Hiraoka’s situation remained unchanged. “These days even effort’s pointless for now,” he said. “So I just idle about like this daily.” He let out a booming laugh. “Or claim I’m napping at home!” Daisuke agreed it might be wisest before filling time with cautious small talk—exchanges less organic than strategic evasions, leaving both men nursing tension like stones in their guts.

Hiraoka did not bring up Michiyo or money.
Therefore, he said nothing about Daisuke’s visit to his empty house three days prior.
At first, Daisuke too had deliberately avoided touching on that point, maintaining his composure. However, no matter how much time passed, Hiraoka continued acting distant, which only made Daisuke more uneasy.

“The truth is, I went to your place a couple of days ago, but you were out,” he began.

“Yeah.”
“Yeah, so I heard.”
“I must thank you again for that occasion.”
“Thanks to you.”
“Well, I could have managed without troubling you,” he said with cold courtesy, “but that woman worried too much and ended up causing you trouble.”
“Also,”

“Though I’ve effectively come to express gratitude myself, the proper thanks will naturally come from the person herself in time,” Hiraoka said, deliberately distancing himself from Michiyo.
Daisuke simply replied, “Is there any need for such tedious formalities?”
The conversation ended there.
Yet again, it shifted toward some common ground that held little interest for either of them.
Then Hiraoka abruptly declared:
“I may very well abandon business altogether.”
“The more I learn about what truly goes on behind the scenes, the more repulsed I become.”
“And after coming here to test the waters with some efforts... I’ve utterly lost my nerve,” he confessed with apparent sincerity.
Daisuke paused briefly,

“That may well be the case,” he replied.
Hiraoka seemed rather struck by the indifference of this response.
Yet he pressed on.

“I mentioned it briefly the other day, but I’m thinking of trying to get into a newspaper or something.”

“Is there an opening?” Daisuke asked back.

“There’s one now.”
“It should work out.”

When he first came, he had said that making efforts was pointless so he was just idling around; now he said there was an opening at a newspaper so he was going out—it was a bit incoherent, but thinking it too troublesome to press further, Daisuke—

“That might be interesting,” he said, indicating his approval.

8-6

When he saw Hiraoka off to the entrance, Daisuke leaned against the shoji screen for a while and stood on the threshold.
Kadono also joined in watching Hiraoka’s retreating figure.
But he promptly spoke up.

“Mr. Hiraoka is more Westernized than I thought.
In that outfit, our household seems a bit too shabby in comparison.”

“Not really.
These days, everyone’s like that,” Daisuke answered while standing.

“In this day and age, you can’t tell anything just by someone’s clothing.
You think they’re some fine gentleman, but then they end up going into the weirdest houses,” Kadono promptly added.

Daisuke returned to his study without replying.
The green drops from the Clivia plant that hung down onto the veranda had thickened into mud and were beginning to dry up.
Daisuke deliberately closed the partition between the study and sitting room completely and entered the solitary space.
After meeting visitors, it was Daisuke’s habit to indulge in solitary sitting for a time.
On days like today when his rhythm was disrupted, he felt this need all the more acutely.

Hiraoka had at last completely distanced himself from him.
Every time they met, it felt like responding from afar.
To tell the truth, it wasn’t just Hiraoka.
No matter whom he met, he felt the same way.
Modern society was nothing more than an aggregate of isolated individuals.
Though the earth stretched unbroken through nature, once houses were built upon it, everything fragmented instantly.
The people inside those houses became fragmented too.
"Civilization is what forces us into isolation," Daisuke concluded.

During the time when Hiraoka had been close to Daisuke, he had been someone who took pleasure in making others cry for him.
Even now, he might still be that way.
But since he showed not the slightest hint of such an expression, it was impossible to tell.
Rather, he was making an effort to repel others’ sympathy through his behavior.
Whether it was stubbornness—persisting in isolation to prove he could survive in the world—or enlightenment that this was modern society’s true nature, it ultimately came down to one or the other.

During the time when Daisuke was close to Hiraoka, he had been a man who took pleasure in weeping for others. That had gradually become something he could no longer do. It wasn’t that not crying was more modern. In fact, he had rather wanted to reverse this and say that it was because one did not cry that one was modern. Under the oppression of Western civilization, among those who groan beneath its weight and stand in the fierce arena of survival, Daisuke had yet to encounter anyone who could truly weep for another’s sake.

Daisuke felt not so much a sense of isolation toward Hiraoka now as rather a feeling of disgust.
And he concluded that in the other party too, a sentiment akin to his own had sprouted.
In the past, Daisuke too had occasionally noticed such shadows within his heart and been startled.
At that time, it had been terribly sad.
Now that sadness had almost entirely worn away.
Therefore he stared fixedly at the black shadow himself.
And thus he thought this was real.
He found it unavoidable.
That was all it had come to.

To plunge into such depths of loneliness and torment required a clarity of mind Daisuke possessed in excess.
He had come to regard this predicament as the inevitable fate all modern people were destined to follow.
Thus, when he examined it through his present eyes, he concluded that the estrangement between himself and Hiraoka was merely the natural outcome of having traversed an ordinary path up to a certain point.
Yet simultaneously, he couldn't help recognizing that this alienation had arrived prematurely due to one particular circumstance lying between them.
That circumstance was Michiyo's marriage.
It had been I who originally arranged Michiyo's union with Hiraoka.
My mind at the time hadn't been feeble enough to harbor regrets.
Even now when looking back, my actions remained a radiant honor illuminating the past.
But over three years, nature in its own fashion had thrust its peculiar consequence before them both.
They'd been compelled to abandon their satisfaction and brilliance, bowing low before it.
And so Hiraoka began wondering intermittently why he'd taken Michiyo as his wife.
Within himself, Daisuke heard a voice demanding why he'd ever arranged that marriage.

Daisuke shut himself in his study and sank into thought all day.

During dinner, Kadono said,

“You’ve been studying all day today, sir.”
“How about taking a short walk?”
“Tonight’s Torabisha, I tell ya.”
“At the Engeikan, Chinese international students are performing a play.”
“What sort of thing are they planning to perform? Why don’t you go take a look?”
“Those Chinese folks—they’ve got no shame, see? Willing to do anything without a care…” he muttered to himself.

Book Nine, Part One

Daisuke was summoned by his father once again.
Daisuke had a fair idea of what it was about.
Daisuke had made it a habit to avoid meeting his father as much as possible.
By this time, he had grown even more reluctant to approach the inner quarters.
For whenever they met, despite responding with polite words, he couldn't help feeling as though he were insulting his father internally.

Daisuke, as one member of humanity, had labeled modern society—where people could not dare make contact without insulting each other internally—the decadence of the twentieth century.
And he interpreted this as the high pressure of the suddenly expanded desire for livelihood having prompted the collapse of moral desire.
Moreover, he had come to view this as a collision between these old and new desires.
Finally, he had come to regard the remarkable development of this desire for livelihood as a tsunami that had surged from Europe.

These two factors had to achieve equilibrium somewhere.
However, Daisuke believed that until the day came when impoverished Japan could rival Europe’s strongest nations in financial power, this equilibrium could not be achieved in Japan.
And thus, he had resigned himself to the fact that such a day would never dawn upon Japan.
Therefore, the majority of Japanese gentlemen plunged into this predicament had to commit sins daily, either to the extent that they did not violate the law or merely in their minds.
And so, while mutually aware of what sins the other party was currently committing, they had to converse and laugh together.
As one member of humanity, Daisuke could not endure either inflicting such insults or having them inflicted upon him.

In Daisuke’s father’s case, compared to others, the situation was all the more complex for carrying a somewhat unique tendency. He had received an education rooted in moral principles—the kind inherent to samurai before the Restoration. This education was an unreasonable system that set standards for emotional and volitional acts in some distant realm beyond the self, disregarding immediate truths that ought to have been proven through factual developments. Yet bound by habit, his father still clung to this education. At the same time, he had engaged in business ventures easily susceptible to intense material desires. In reality, year after year, his father had been corroded by these desires until now. Thus between his former self and present self, there ought to have been a vast difference—a difference his father refused to acknowledge. He publicly declared that his former self had accomplished his current enterprises through those same old principles. Yet Daisuke believed that without narrowing the scope of education meant solely for the feudal era, there was no way to continually satisfy modern material desires. If one tried to let both exist as they were, such a person would inevitably suffer great anguish from the contradiction. And if someone endured this inner torment while acutely aware of the pain yet unable to discern its cause, they were an inferior type with a dull mind. Every time Daisuke faced his father, he felt compelled to conclude he was either a hypocrite hiding his true self or a fool lacking discernment. And he found this conclusion unbearable.

That being said, his father was a man who could do nothing by Daisuke’s methods.
To Daisuke, this was perfectly clear.
Therefore, Daisuke had never driven his father to the extreme of contradiction.

Daisuke believed that all morality originated solely from social facts.
He was convinced there could be no greater perversion than implanting rigid morals in one’s mind from the outset and attempting to shape social reality backward from those principles.
Consequently, he regarded the expository ethical education practiced in Japanese schools as utterly meaningless.
They taught antiquated morals in schools.
When not doing that, they forced students to swallow ethics suitable for average Europeans.
To this unfortunate nation besieged by violent livelihood desires, these were nothing but impractical abstractions.
Those subjected to this irrelevant education would eventually face society and laugh at their old lectures.
If not laugh, they’d feel like fools.
As for Daisuke himself, he’d received not only school instruction but direct moral training from his own father—the strictest yet most obsolete kind imaginable.
This had once tormented him with excruciating cognitive dissonance.
Daisuke resented it profoundly.

When Daisuke had previously gone to thank Umeko, she advised him to go a little further inside and greet him.
Daisuke asked with a laugh, feigning ignorance, “Is Father here?”
Even when he received the definite answer that he was present, he came back saying he’d skip it today since he was in a bit of a hurry.

Book Nine, Part Two

Today he had come specifically for this purpose; like it or not, he had to face his father.
As usual, when he circled around from the inner entrance to come to the parlor, there sat his brother Seigo—unusually cross-legged—drinking sake.
Umeko was also sitting nearby.
His brother looked at Daisuke,

“How about it? Care for a glass?” he said, holding up the wine bottle that had been in front of him and giving it a shake.
Inside, there was still a considerable amount left.
Umeko clapped her hands and had a wine glass brought over.

“Go on—take a guess at how old it is,” she said, filling a glass and pouring the wine.

“As if Daisuke could tell,” said Seigo, gazing at his brother’s lips.
Daisuke took a sip and lowered the glass.
In place of appetizers, thin wafers lay arranged on a dessert plate.

“It’s good,” he remarked.

“Then guess the vintage.”

“It has a vintage? You’ve really got your hands on something impressive here. I’ll take a bottle home when I leave.”

“I’m afraid this is all we have. It was a gift,” said Umeko, stepping out onto the veranda and brushing the wafer crumbs that had fallen on her lap.

“Brother, what’s going on with you today? You seem awfully carefree,” said Daisuke.

“Today I’m taking a rest. I’ve been so overwhelmed lately that I’m worn out,” said Seigo as he put the extinguished cigar in his mouth.
Daisuke struck the match that lay by his side.

“Daisuke, aren’t you the one who’s carefree?” said Umeko as she returned from the veranda.

“Sister, have you been to the Kabukiza? If you haven’t yet, you should go see it. It’s interesting.”

“Oh! You’ve already been? You’re quite the slacker yourself, aren’t you?”

“Being a slacker is no good. It’s just that the direction of my studies differs.”

“You just keep pushing your point so stubbornly. You have no consideration for others’ feelings,” said Umeko, looking toward Seigo. Seigo, his eyelids red, was vacantly blowing cigar smoke.

“Hey, you,” Umeko pressed.
Seigo shifted the cigar between his fingers with an annoyed look,

“We should have you study hard now so that when we end up poor later, you can save us—wouldn’t that be better?”
Umeko turned to him,

“Daisuke, you really could’ve been an actor,” she remarked.
Daisuke said nothing and placed the wine glass before his sister.
Umeko silently took up the wine bottle.

“Brother, I hear you were incredibly busy lately,” Daisuke asked, returning to the previous topic.

"Nah, I'm completely worn out," said Seigo as he lay down.

"Were you involved in the Japan Sugar Scandal or something?" asked Daisuke.

"I wasn't involved in the Japan Sugar Scandal, but I was busy."

His brother's answers had never been any clearer than this.
In truth, he probably didn't want to speak clearly, but to Daisuke's ears, it sounded as though his brother was simply being his usual careless self, too timid to elaborate.
And so Daisuke always slipped comfortably into those replies.

“The Japan Sugar [Scandal] ended up in such a mess, but wasn’t there any way to prevent it from coming to that?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”
“In truth, you never know what will become of things in this world.”
“Umeko, today you must tell Naoki to give Hector some exercise.”
“Ah, letting him overeat and lie around is harmful,” said Seigo, vigorously rubbing his drowsy eyelids with his fingers.
Daisuke said, “I suppose I’ll go deeper inside and get scolded by Father,” as he once again placed the wine glass before his sister-in-law.

“I suppose I’ll go deeper inside and get scolded by Father,” he said as he once again placed the wine glass before his sister-in-law.
Umeko laughed and poured the wine.

“Is it about the marriage matter?” asked Seigo.

"Well, I suppose that’s probably the case."

“It’s fine to keep it.
“What’s the point of making the old man worry like that?” he said, this time in a more decisive tone,

“You must be careful.
“There’s a bit of a low-pressure system moving in,” he cautioned.
Daisuke, halfway to his feet,

“Surely this low-pressure system isn’t from all that rushing about lately?” he pressed.
His brother remained lying down,
“I can’t say for sure. From the looks of it, we’re in the same boat as the Japan Sugar executives—no telling when they’ll come to arrest us.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense,” Umeko chided.
“It must be the low-pressure system brought on by my idleness,” Daisuke said with a laugh as he stood up.

Nine-Three

Passing along the corridor and crossing the courtyard, when he came further inside and looked, his father was sitting before a Chinese-style desk reading a Chinese book.
Father liked poetry and would read Chinese poetry collections when he had leisure.
However, there were times when this became the clearest indicator of his foul mood.
During such times, even his brother—thick-nerved as he was—would make a point of keeping his distance.
In cases where they absolutely had to meet face-to-face, they would take the measure of dragging either Seitaro or Nui before their father.
Daisuke had also come to the veranda and noticed this, but deciding such measures were unnecessary, passed through one sitting room and entered his father’s study.

Father first removed his glasses.
After placing them on the book he had been reading, he turned to face Daisuke.
And then, with just a single word,

“You came,” he said.
The tone was even calmer than usual.
While placing his hands on his knees, Daisuke wondered whether his brother was making fun of him with that serious face.
There, Daisuke was made to drink bitter tea and passed the time with small talk for a while.
The conversation stretched on at length in haphazard directions—things like how the peonies had bloomed early this year, how this was the season when hearing tea-picking songs made one drowsy, and how somewhere there was a large wisteria with blossoms just under four shaku in length.
Daisuke, finding that approach convenient once more, kept following along from behind in hopes of prolonging it indefinitely.
Father too, finally at his wit’s end, began by saying, “Now, the reason I called you here today—”

From then on, Daisuke did not utter another word. He simply listened deferentially to what his father was saying. When faced with Daisuke’s attitude, his father had no choice but to continue speaking alone for a long time, as if delivering a lecture. However, more than half of it was merely repeating the past. But Daisuke listened to it with the same degree of attention as if hearing it for the first time.

In the midst of his father’s lengthy lecture, Daisuke noticed two or three new points. One of them was a serious question: "What exactly do you intend to do from now on?" Daisuke had until now only received orders from his father. Therefore, he had grown accustomed to evading those orders ambiguously. But when it came to such a major question, he couldn’t answer offhand. Because speaking carelessly would immediately anger his father. To confess honestly would require having educated his father’s mind for two or three years beforehand; otherwise, it would make no logical sense. The reason was that Daisuke, faced now with this great question, had neither the thoughts nor anything else to clearly articulate his future. He had thought this was perfectly natural for him. Therefore, for his father to hear that and accept it with an "I see" would take an extraordinary amount of time. Or perhaps it might never get through to him in his lifetime. To satisfy his father, all one had to do was declare something grand—for the nation’s sake, for society’s sake, some lofty cause incompatible with marriage—but no matter how much Daisuke steeled himself to self-abasement, this alone struck him as too idiotic to voice. Since there was no other choice, he answered that while he did indeed have various plans, he intended to properly organize them and consult him in due course. After giving his answer, he found the situation utterly absurd, but there was nothing to be done.

Daisuke was next asked whether he wanted enough wealth to become independent.
Daisuke answered that of course he did.
Then Father attached a condition: that it would be advisable for him to marry Miss Sagawa.
It remained highly ambiguous whether the wealth would be brought by Miss Sagawa or given by his father.
Daisuke tried to press a little further on that point, but ultimately failed to grasp the crux of the matter.
However, he concluded that there was no need to pursue it further.

Next, he was asked whether he had any intention of going abroad at all.
Daisuke said that would be fine and agreed.
But even in this, marriage once again emerged as the prerequisite issue.

“Is there really such a need for me to marry Miss Sagawa?” Daisuke finally asked.
Then Father’s face turned red.

Nine-Four

Daisuke had not the slightest intention of angering his father.
As his recent principle, quarreling with others had become a mold for human degeneration.
He understood that provoking anger in others - as part of any quarrel - constituted not merely the act itself, but rather a blow that wounded his very life through how unpleasantly the enraged person's countenance struck his eyes.
He possessed unique convictions even regarding evil.
Yet he did not believe one could escape punishment simply by behaving naturally.
He firmly maintained that the punishment for killing another lay in the blood flowing from the slain person's flesh.
For he felt that none could behold spurting blood's hue without their pure heart falling into disarray.
Daisuke was a man of nerves so acutely honed.
Thus when he saw his father's face redden, an odd discomfort seized him.
Yet not the faintest inclination arose to obey his father's words and doubly atone for this sin.
For he was also a man who held his own intellectual faculties in profound esteem.

At that moment, Father began expounding in a heated tone: first, that he was growing old; second, that he worried about his children’s futures; third, that securing a wife for one’s child was a parent’s duty; fourth, that regarding a bride’s qualifications and other matters, parents exercised far more thorough consideration than the child themselves; and finally, that while such kindness might seem like unnecessary meddling at the time, a day would inevitably come when one would wish to be interfered with so thoroughly again. Daisuke listened with a cautious demeanor. Yet even when his father’s words came to an end, he still did not express any consent. Then Father, in a deliberately restrained tone,

“In that case, I’ll drop the Sagawa matter.”
“Then you can marry whoever you like.”
“Is there someone you want to marry?” he said.
This mirrored his sister-in-law’s earlier question, but Daisuke could no longer deflect it with the same bitter smile he had used on Umeko.

“There’s no one I wish to marry,” he replied plainly.
Then Father’s voice erupted as if torn from his very liver:

“Well then, if you’d just consider my position a little, that would be preferable.”
“There’s no need to be so fixated on your own affairs all the time!” he said hurriedly.
Daisuke was startled when Father suddenly shifted away from him and leaped to his own interests.
However, this surprise was directed solely at the abrupt, illogical shift.

“If there’s something that suits you so well, I’ll consider it again,” he replied.

Father grew increasingly irritated.
There were times when Daisuke found himself utterly unable to abandon logic while interacting with others.
Because of this, he was often perceived by others as aiming to corner his interlocutors.
In truth, there was no man as averse to cornering others as he was.

“I’m not saying you should take a wife just for my own convenience,” Father corrected his earlier statement.
“If you insist on logic, then for reference, I’ll tell you this: you’re thirty now—thirty. When people reach that age and don’t marry, you must know what society generally thinks.”
“Of course, times are different now from the past, and being single is a matter of personal choice. But if your singlehood causes trouble for your parents or siblings—or worse, leads to something that tarnishes your honor—what do you plan to do about it?”

Daisuke merely stared blankly at his father’s face.
For Daisuke could scarcely grasp what point Father had intended to strike at him.
After a while,

“Well, since it’s me we’re talking about, I do have my indulgences, but…” he began.
Father immediately cut him off.

“That’s not it.”

The two of them remained silent for that entire time.
Father believed this silence to be the result of the blow he had dealt Daisuke.
Before long, he softened his tone and,

“Well, do give it proper consideration,” he said.
Daisuke responded with a vague “Hah” and withdrew from Father’s room.
He came to the drawing room and looked for his brother, but found him absent.
When he inquired after his sister-in-law, the maid informed him she was in the parlor; going to open the door, he found Nui’s piano teacher there.
Daisuke offered the teacher a brief greeting and summoned Umeko to the doorway.

"You're not going to slander me to Father, are you?"

Umeko laughed—a dry, mirthless sound that hung in the air between them.

And then,

“Oh do come in.”
“It’s just the right moment,” she said, pulling Daisuke over beside the instrument.

Ten to One

The season had arrived when ants would creep into the tatami rooms.
Daisuke filled a large basin with water and immersed pure white Of, Ze, Vallée lily stems into it.
The clustered small flowers hid the edge of the dense pattern.
When he moved the basin, the flowers spilled.
Daisuke placed it on top of the large dictionary.
And then, he placed a pillow beside it and fell backward onto it.
His black head settled just beneath the basin’s shadow, and the fragrance from the flowers wafted agreeably into his nose.
Daisuke dozed while inhaling their fragrance.

Daisuke would at times receive overwhelmingly intense stimuli from the ordinary external world.
When it became severe, there were times when even sunlight reflecting from clear skies grew unbearable for him.
At such times, he would minimize his interactions with the world as much as possible and devise ways to sleep regardless of whether it was morning or afternoon.
For this method, he often used the fragrance of flowers—extremely faint and lightly sweet.
Closing his eyelids, shutting out the light that fell upon his pupils, breathing quietly through his nostrils alone—as he did so, the flowers by his pillow gradually blew his restless mind toward dreams.
When this succeeded, Daisuke’s nerves settled as though reborn, and his connection with the world could be established with relative ease compared to before.

For two or three days after being summoned by his father, whenever Daisuke saw the red roses blooming in the corner of the garden, their scattered crimson pricked his eyes relentlessly.
At those times, he would always shift his gaze to the Hosta leaves beside the water basin.
On their surfaces lay three or four unruly white streaks, long and disarrayed.
Every time Daisuke looked, the Hosta leaves seemed to stretch further.
And with them, the white streaks too appeared to lengthen freely, unbound.
The pomegranate flowers looked more showy and oppressive than the roses.
Their vivid hue stood out so starkly that they seemed to glimmer amidst the green.
Consequently, these too clashed with Daisuke’s present state of mind.

His current mood, as sometimes arose in him, was tinged with an overall somber tone. Therefore, when he encountered anything excessively bright, he found the contradiction unbearable. Even staring at the Hosta leaves for too long quickly grew intolerable.

Moreover, he was assailed by a peculiar anxiety unique to modern Japan. This anxiety was a barbaric phenomenon arising from the fundamental lack of faith between people. He felt profoundly disturbed by this psychological state. He took no pleasure in placing faith in God. Moreover, as a man of intellect, he was by nature incapable of such faith. Yet he believed that those who shared mutual faith had no need to rely on God. He had interpreted that God first gained the right to exist as a means to liberate people from the suffering of mutual suspicion. Therefore, he concluded that in countries where God exists, people tell lies. However, he had discovered that present-day Japan was a nation devoid of faith—in both gods and people. And so, he attributed this solely to Japan's economic conditions.

Four or five days earlier, he had read in the newspaper about detectives who had colluded with pickpockets to commit crimes.
They were not just one or two.
According to other newspapers, if they were to strictly extend their reach from one to the next, Tokyo might temporarily fall into a state of near lawlessness.
When Daisuke read the article, he could only manage a wry smile.
And then, he thought it was only natural that underpaid detectives, forced to contend with life’s hardships, would resort to wrongdoing.

When Daisuke had met with his father and received the marriage consultation, he had felt somewhat similarly.
But this was nothing more than an unfortunate suggestion for Daisuke, stemming solely from his lack of faith in his father.
And then, Daisuke could not perceive such an odious hint within his own heart as immoral.
Even if it were to materialize as fact before his eyes, he still intended to acknowledge his father as justified.

Daisuke harbored a similar feeling toward Hiraoka.
However, Daisuke conceded that for Hiraoka, it was only natural.
He simply couldn’t bring himself to like Hiraoka.
Daisuke loved his brother.
But even toward this brother, he still could not place any faith.
His sister-in-law was a woman of sincerity.
However, he had reasoned that as long as his sister-in-law did not directly face life’s hardships, she was that much easier to approach than his brother.

Daisuke had always dismissed the world to this extent.
Therefore, despite his highly nervous temperament, he was seldom assailed by feelings of anxiety.
And he himself was aware of it.
That somehow suddenly began to shake.
Daisuke inferred that this was likely due to physiological changes.
So he untied the bundle of Lily of the Valley that someone had brought from Hokkaido and given to him, soaked them all in water, and slept beneath them.

Part 10-2

An hour later, Daisuke opened his large black eyes.
His eyes remained fixed in one place for a while without moving at all.
His hands and feet preserved their sleeping posture perfectly, precisely like those of a dead person.
At that moment, a black ant crawled along the flannel collar and fell into Daisuke’s throat.
Daisuke immediately moved his right hand to press against his throat.
Then, furrowing his brow, he brought the tiny creature pinched between his fingers up to his nose and examined it.
By then, the ant was already dead.
Daisuke flicked the black speck clinging to his index fingertip with his thumbnail.
And then he sat up.

Around his knees were still three or four crawling ants, which he killed with a thin ivory paper knife. Then he clapped his hands to summon someone.

"Are you awake, sir?" said Kadono as he appeared.

"Shall I make some tea?" he inquired.
Daisuke scratched his bare chest while asking in a calm tone,
"You—didn't anyone come while I was asleep?"

"Ah yes, someone did come by. Mrs. Hiraoka."
"You knew that already," replied Kadono evenly.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were sleeping so soundly.”

“But if it was a guest, there was no helping it, right?”

Daisuke’s tone grew slightly stronger.

“But Mrs. Hiraoka herself said it would be better not to wake you.”

“So she went back home?”

“It’s not exactly that she went back home. She said she had some shopping to do in Kagurazaka and would come back after taking care of it.”

“So she’s coming back then.”

“Yes, that’s right. Actually, she came up to this room intending to wait until you woke up, but upon seeing your face sleeping so soundly, she must have thought you wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon.”

“Did she leave again?”

“Well, yes, that’s about right.”

Daisuke laughed and stroked his sleep-creased face with both hands. Then he went to wash his face in the bathroom. After wetting his head and returning to the engawa, as he gazed at the garden, his mood had lifted considerably compared to before. The sight of two swallows flying across the clouded sky looked very pleasant.

Ever since receiving Hiraoka’s visit prior to this, Daisuke had been eagerly waiting for Michiyo to come afterward.
However, Hiraoka’s words ultimately never materialized as fact.
Whether there had been special circumstances causing Michiyo to deliberately not come or whether Hiraoka had merely used polite language from the start—this uncertainty left Daisuke feeling a certain emptiness somewhere in his heart.
However, he discovered this sense of emptiness as an experience within his daily life and had little inclination to do anything about its causes.
For when he peered into the depths of this experience itself, he thought he glimpsed an even darker shadow flickering there.

And so he had been avoiding visiting Hiraoka of his own accord.
During walks, his feet often headed in the direction of the Edo River.
When the cherry blossoms were scattering, buffeted by the evening wind, he would cross four bridges from this side to the other, then recross them back again, walking as if stitching along the long embankment.
But those cherry blossoms had all scattered, and now it was the season of green shadows.
Daisuke sometimes stood in the middle of the bridge, leaning his cheek against the railing, gazing intently at the water’s light that passed straight through the thick leaves.
Then, in the direction where the light had narrowed to a thin line, he looked up at the towering forest of Mejirodai.
However, he stopped crossing the bridge to the other side and climbing the slope of Koishikawa, instead turning back to return home.
One time at Ōmagari, he noticed Hiraoka’s figure getting off the train from about half a block away.
He was indeed certain that this was the case.
And then, he immediately turned back toward Ageba.

He was concerned about Hiraoka’s well-being. Though he thought Hiraoka no doubt still remained in the precarious position of idle dependency, he also imagined that perhaps some avenue had opened up for him to forge a path in life. However, he could not bring himself to pursue Hiraoka to confirm it. He had come to anticipate a certain inexplicable discomfort whenever facing Hiraoka. Yet he did not dislike Hiraoka enough to worry about his circumstances solely for Michiyo’s sake. For Hiraoka’s sake too, he still held a heart that prayed for his success.

III

In this manner, Daisuke had carried a hollow corner of his own heart to the present day. Just now, when he had called Kadono to bring a cylindrical pillow and indulged in an afternoon nap, he had felt such an urge—were it possible—to submerge his head overwhelmed by the universe’s too-vivid stimuli into deep, blue-tinted water. To such an extent did he feel life’s sharpness too keenly. Thus, when he laid his hot head upon the pillow, Hiraoka and Michiyo had almost ceased to exist for him. He was fortunate enough to fall asleep with cool composure. Yet within that tranquil sleep, he felt as though someone had slipped silently in and out again. Even after waking and sitting upright, that sensation lingered stubbornly in his head, impossible to wipe away. And so he called Kadono and asked whether anyone had come while he slept.

Daisuke pressed both hands to his forehead and watched from the engawa as swallows darted playfully through the high sky, but soon finding the sight dizzying, he retreated into the room. However, the imminent expectation that Michiyo would visit again had already disturbed his composure, leaving him unable to focus on either contemplation or reading. Finally taking out a large art album from the bookshelf, Daisuke spread it across his lap and began flipping through it—though this too amounted only to mechanically opening pages with his fingertips. He couldn't bring himself to appreciate even half of any painting.

Before long he reached Blangin's section. Daisuke had always maintained particular interest in this decorative painter. His eyes—shining with their usual intensity—fell upon the work once more: a harbor scene depicting ships' masts and sails grandly scaled in the background, while vivid clouds and dark blue waters framed four or five nude laborers in the foreground.

Observing the men's mountainous musculature and the flesh converging from shoulders to spine like whirlpool-carved valleys, Daisuke briefly acknowledged a visceral pleasure in their raw power before leaving the album open and turning his attention elsewhere. From the kitchen came the old woman's voice, followed by milk bottles clinking as their deliverer hurried out—every sound amplified through Daisuke's acute hearing by the house's stillness.

Daisuke was vacantly staring at the wall. He considered calling Kadono again to ask whether Michiyo's return time had been specified, but hesitated, deeming it too foolish. Moreover, he reasoned there was no particular justification for awaiting another man's wife with such anticipation. If he was going to wait that eagerly, he thought, he ought to visit her himself anytime to talk. When he viewed both aspects of this contradiction in duality, Daisuke suddenly found himself compelled to feel ashamed of his own irrationality. His hips had risen halfway from the chair. Yet he thoroughly understood the various factors underlying this irrationality. And so, for his present self, he concluded there was no alternative—this irrational state was the sole reality. Furthermore, he judged any logic conflicting with this reality to be merely a formal construct—an assemblage of propositions irrelevant to his true self that disparaged his very essence. Having reached this conclusion, he settled back into the chair.

From then until Michiyo arrived, Daisuke had little awareness of how he had passed the time.
When a woman’s voice sounded at the front entrance, he felt a single heartbeat in his chest.
He was a man who, while strongest in logic, was weakest in the workings of his heart.
The reason he had recently become unable to get angry was entirely due to his intellect—his reason no longer permitted him to make such a fool of himself as to lose his temper.
However, in all other respects, he was compelled to be governed by emotions far more than usual.
When Kadono, who had gone to answer the door, appeared at the entrance to the study with heavy footsteps, the healthy color in Daisuke’s cheeks had faintly lost its luster.

Kadono,

“Will you receive her here?” Kadono asked tersely, confirming Daisuke’s preference.
Because it was too troublesome to ask whether to show her to the parlor or meet her in the study, he had tersely condensed the question.
Daisuke said “Hmm,” and, as if to dismiss Kadono who was waiting at the entrance for a response, stood up himself and leaned out toward the engawa.
Michiyo stood at the junction of the engawa and the entrance, facing this way and hesitating.

IV

Michiyo’s face was paler than when they had last met.
When Michiyo, beckoned by Daisuke with his eyes and a nod, approached the study entrance, Daisuke noticed her labored breathing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Michiyo entered the room without answering.
She wore a silk gauze summer kimono over an under-kimono, holding three large white lilies in her hand.
She abruptly placed the lilies on the Western-style desk and sat down in the chair beside it.
Then, without a second thought, she pressed the loosely tied knot of her hair against the back of the chair,

“Ah, it was painful,” she said, looking at Daisuke and laughing.
Daisuke clapped his hands to summon water.
Michiyo silently pointed at the Western-style desk.
There lay Daisuke’s glass Western-style cup for gargling after meals.
Inside remained about two mouthfuls of water.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Michiyo.

“I drank from this earlier,” he said, picking up the cup but hesitating.
From where Daisuke sat, when he tried to discard the water, a glass door beyond the shoji stood in his way.
Kadono habitually left one or two panes of the engawa’s glass doors unopened each morning.
Daisuke rose from his seat, stepped onto the *engawa*, and called for Kadono while emptying the water into the garden.
Kadono—who had been there moments before—gave no immediate reply.
Slightly flustered, Daisuke returned to Michiyo’s side,

“I’ll bring it right away,” he said, leaving the freshly emptied Western-style cup on the desk exactly as it was before heading toward the kitchen.
When passing through the tea room, Kadono—his awkward hands at work—was scooping gyokuro from the tin tea caddy.
When he saw Daisuke’s figure,

“Sir, I was just about to,” he excused himself.

“The tea can wait. I need water,” said Daisuke, heading to the kitchen himself.

“Ah, I see. Will you be handling it yourself?” Kadono threw down the tea caddy and followed after him.
The two searched for the Western-style cup but could not find it immediately.
When they asked about the old woman, they were told she had gone to buy sweets for the guest.

“If there were no sweets, you should have bought them sooner,” said Daisuke, twisting the faucet and letting water overflow from the cup.

“I simply forgot to tell Auntie about the guest’s needs,” Kadono replied apologetically, scratching his head.

“Then you should go buy the sweets,” Daisuke addressed Kadono while exiting the kitchen.
Even so, Kadono still replied.

“Well, besides sweets, there are still other things she needs to buy,”
“With her bad leg and this awful weather—she really ought to cancel.”

Daisuke returned to his study without turning around.
The moment he stepped over the threshold, he saw Michiyo’s face. She sat holding the Western-style cup he had left behind earlier, both hands resting on her lap.
Inside the cup was water filled to precisely the level he had poured into the garden.
Daisuke stood blankly before her, still clutching the teacup.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Michiyo, in her usual composed tone,
“Thank you.”
“That’s enough.”
“I just drank that.”
“Because it was too beautiful,” she answered, glancing back at the pot where the lily of the valley was soaking.
Daisuke had filled this large pot with water to about eighty percent of its capacity.
From where stems as thin as toothpicks, their pale bluish hue aligned in the water, the pattern on the pottery appeared faintly.
“Why did you drink that?” Daisuke asked in disbelief.

“But it’s not poisonous, right?” Michiyo held out the Western-style cup in her hand toward Daisuke and tilted it to show him through the light.

“Even if it isn’t poisonous, what would you do if it were water that’s been sitting for two or three days?”

“No—when I arrived earlier, I brought my face close to it and smelled it.”
“At that time, you yourself said you had just poured water into that pot from the bucket.”
“It’s perfectly safe.”
“It has such a lovely fragrance.”

Daisuke wordlessly lowered himself into the chair.
Had she drunk that basin water out of poetic sentiment, or been driven by some physiological urge? He found himself unable to summon the resolve to press further.
Even if he granted the former explanation, he could not bring himself to see her act as some affected poetic gesture or novelistic affectation.
Thus he simply—

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked.

10-5

Michiyo’s cheeks gradually regained a hint of color.
She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and began speaking while wiping around her mouth.—“I usually take the train from Dentsūin-mae to Hongo for shopping, but when I asked around, they said things in Hongo are inevitably ten or twenty percent more expensive compared to Kagurazaka, so lately I’ve come out this way once or twice to try.
I was supposed to stop by earlier as well, but I ended up running late and had to hurry back.
Today, with that in mind, I left the house early.
But since you were resting, I decided to go all the way to the street to finish my shopping first and stop by on my way back.
Then the weather took a turn for the worse, and as I was about to ascend Waradana, it began to drizzle.
I didn’t bring an umbrella, so I tried not to get wet and ended up rushing too much—it immediately took a toll on my body, and I struggled to catch my breath.”

“Still—I’ve grown so accustomed to it that nothing startles me anymore,” she said, giving Daisuke a forlorn smile.

“Is your heart still not fully recovered?” Daisuke asked with a look of concern.

“Completely recovering? That’ll never happen in my lifetime.”

Michiyo’s words lacked the weight their despairing meaning should have carried.
He saw the ring on a slender finger bent backward.
Then she rolled up the handkerchief and returned it to her sleeve.
Daisuke gazed at where the woman’s lowered forehead met her hairline.

Then Michiyo, as if suddenly remembering, began thanking him for the check from before.
At that moment, her cheeks seemed to color faintly.
To Daisuke with his acute perception, this was unmistakably clear.
He interpreted it purely as a flush of shame arising from financial transactions.
Immediately he steered the conversation elsewhere.

The lilies that Michiyo had carried in earlier still lay on the Western-style table.
A cloyingly strong scent lingered between them.
Daisuke could not endure keeping this oppressive stimulus beneath his nose.
Yet he could not bring himself to act decisively enough toward Michiyo to remove them without permission.

“What happened to these flowers? Did you buy them?” he asked.
Michiyo silently nodded.
And then,

“It has a lovely fragrance, doesn’t it?” she said, bringing her nose close to the petals and sniffed demonstratively.
Daisuke involuntarily planted his feet straight and leaned his body backward.

“You shouldn’t sniff it so close like that.”

“Oh, why?”

“There’s no particular reason why, but you shouldn’t.”

Daisuke slightly furrowed his brows.
Michiyo returned her face to its original position.

“Do you dislike this flower?”

Daisuke tilted the legs of his chair diagonally and, keeping his body stretched backward, did not answer but instead offered a smile.

“Then you shouldn’t have bought them at all.”
“What a pointless detour.”
“All it did was get you caught in the rain and leave you gasping for breath.”

The rain had really begun to fall.
Raindrops gathered in the gutter, their flow producing a rushing sound.
Daisuke stood up from his chair.
He took the bundle of lilies before him and twisted off the wet straw binding their stems.

“Did you give these to me?
Then let’s arrange them quickly,” he said, tossing them into the large vase.
The stems being too long, their roots splashed water upward, nearly spilling over.
Daisuke pulled out the dripping stems once more.
He then retrieved Western scissors from the desk drawer and crisply snipped them down to half-length.
Finally, he floated the large blooms atop the cluster of Lily-Off-Ze-Vare.

“There, that should do it,” said Daisuke as he placed the scissors on the Western-style desk.
Michiyo had been looking at the lilies arranged in such an oddly crude manner when suddenly,

“When did you start disliking this flower?” she asked with an unusual question.

Back when Michiyo’s older brother was still alive, there had been a day when Daisuke, on some impulse, bought long lilies and visited their house in Yanaka.
At that time, he had Michiyo clean a precarious-looking vase before carefully arranging the flowers himself, then made both her and her brother sit formally on the floor to admire them.
Michiyo had remembered this.

"But didn't you make me press my nose right against them and sniff?" she said.
Daisuke thought that such a thing might have happened and gave a wry smile despite himself.

十の六

Before long, the rain grew heavier.
A distant sound enveloped the house.
Kadono came out and asked, "It seems a bit cold. Shall I close the glass door?"
While [Kadono] slid the glass door shut, the two of them turned their faces toward the garden.
The blue tree leaves were all drenched, and a quiet dampness blew in through the glass onto Daisuke’s head.
Everything that had been floating in the world appeared to have settled upon the earth.
Daisuke felt like himself again for the first time in a long while.

“It’s lovely rain, isn’t it?” he said.

“I don’t like it one bit. I came wearing zōri, you know.”

Michiyo gazed resentfully at the raindrops leaking from the gutter.

“I’ll have a carriage arranged for your return, so that should suffice.”
“Take your time.”

Michiyo did not appear to be in any position to take her time.
She looked directly at Daisuke,

"You're still saying such carefree things as ever," she chided.
Yet in her eyes lingered the shadow of a smile.

Until now, Hiraoka's face had remained blurred behind Michiyo's shadow, but now it emerged vividly in Daisuke's mind's eye.
Suddenly he felt assaulted by something from the dimness.
Michiyo remained a woman who walked dragging an inseparable black shadow.

“How is Hiraoka doing?” he asked, deliberately keeping his tone casual.
Michiyo’s mouth seemed to tighten slightly.

“He’s still the same.”

“Hasn’t he found anything yet?”

“Well, that part is... somewhat settled.
It seems the newspaper position will mostly be sorted out starting next month.”

"That's good."
"I had no idea at all."
"Then wouldn't that suffice for now?"

"Well... thank you," Michiyo said in a low, earnest voice.
At that moment, Daisuke found Michiyo utterly endearing.

Then,

"Is there nothing he can be held responsible for at present?" he asked.

"The person over there—" Michiyo hesitated slightly, then suddenly flushed.

"I actually went to apologize to my husband today," she said, lifting her face again after having once looked down.

Daisuke showed even the slightest hint of awkwardness and could no longer bear to stir the woman’s gentle emotions.
At the same time, he deliberately chose words that seemed to align with her intentions, thereby avoiding any outcome that would make her feel unduly pitied.
So he quietly listened to what Michiyo was saying.

The 200 yen from before had been meant to go straight toward repaying debts upon receiving it from Daisuke, but with various expenses from moving into a new house, she ended up diverting some of it to cover those costs instead—that was how it all began.
When she considered what remained, she found herself swamped by daily living expenses.
Though she felt uneasy about it herself, she had no choice but to use the money for one pressing need after another until every last bit was gone.
After all, had they not done so, the couple could never have managed to live this way up until now.
Looking back now, perhaps they might have scraped by somehow even without the money—by doing this or that—but precisely because they had it on hand, they desperately used it to meet immediate needs instead, leaving the crucial debt with its formal documents completely untouched.
This was not Hiraoka’s fault.
It was entirely my own fault.

“I’ve truly done something inexcusable, and I’ve been regretting it,” she said. “But when I borrowed it, I never meant to deceive you with lies—please forgive me.” Michiyo offered this explanation with visible anguish.

“I gave it to you in the first place. However you used it, no one has any right to comment,” Daisuke reassured her. “If it served any purpose at all, then that’s enough.” He deliberately made the word “you” resonate with both weight and languor. Michiyo merely—

“I’ve finally found peace regarding my husband,” she said simply.

Because the rain was heavy, he hired a carriage for her return as promised.
Because it was cold, he tried to put a man’s haori over her serge garment, but Michiyo laughed and did not put it on.

11-1

Before one knew it, people had begun walking about in lightweight summer haori.

For two or three days, Daisuke had stayed home attending to tasks without looking beyond the garden. When he stepped outside wearing his winter hat, he suddenly felt the heat.
Realizing he too needed to remove his serge, after walking five or six blocks, he encountered two people wearing lined kimonos.
As if confirming this, at a new ice shop, a student lodger was holding a Western glass and drinking something cold.
At that moment, Daisuke recalled Seitaro.

Lately, Daisuke had come to like Seitaro more than ever before.
When speaking with others, it felt like conversing with human surfaces—an experience so unbearably frustrating it made his teeth ache.
Yet when he turned his gaze inward, he seemed crafted among all people to frustrate others most profoundly.
Contemplating whether this too might be punishment for enduring years of survivalist causality left him feeling anything but grateful.

These days Seitaro persistently wanted to practice ball-juggling—a direct consequence of their recent joint excursion to Asakusa's Okuyama district.
That single-mindedness had clearly inherited his sister-in-law's temperament.
Yet being his brother's child, within that focus lay an unforced generosity that never felt constricting.
Keeping company with Seitaro brought pleasure through the boy's soul flowing unreservedly into his own.
In truth, Daisuke found it agonizing to remain perpetually besieged—day and night—by a psyche that never lowered its guard.

Seitaro began attending middle school this spring.
It suddenly seemed his stature was rapidly growing.
In another year or two, his voice would change.
From there onward, it was unclear what path he would take as he grew, but as a human being striving to survive, he was certain to arrive at the fate of being disliked by others.
At that time, he would be dressed in inconspicuous, plain clothing and wander through the crowded streets like a beggar, searching for something.

Daisuke went out to the embankment.
The azaleas that until recently had clustered in dense red and white patches against the green of the opposite embankment had vanished without a trace. Now, on the steep slope where wild grass grew thickly, dozens of large pine trees stood in an unbroken line stretching as far as the eye could see.
The sky cleared beautifully.
Daisuke thought about taking the train home to tease his sister-in-law and play with Seitaro, but suddenly growing weary of the idea, he decided instead to walk along the embankment by these pines until exhaustion took him.

When he arrived at Shimmitsuke, the trams coming toward him and those departing in his direction began to irritate him, so he crossed the moat and emerged into Banchō from beside Yasukuni Shrine.
As he wandered aimlessly around the area, he suddenly found his purposeless walking absurd.
He had always believed that people who walked with purpose were vulgar commoners, yet in this moment alone, those very commoners seemed somehow nobler.
Realizing ennui had assailed him once more, he turned back.
As he approached Kagurazaka, a shop was blaring music from a large gramophone.
The sound carried an intensely metallic sharpness that vibrated powerfully through Daisuke's skull.

When he entered the gate of the house, Kadono—taking advantage of his master’s absence—was belting out a biwa song at full volume. But upon hearing Daisuke’s footsteps, he abruptly fell silent.

“Well, look who’s back early,” Kadono said, emerging at the entrance.
Without a word of reply, Daisuke hung his hat there and stepped into his study from the veranda. Then he deliberately slid the shoji doors shut with a firm clack.
Kadono, who had poured tea into a cup and brought it over, asked, “Shall I keep them closed? Isn’t it hot?”
Daisuke took a handkerchief from his sleeve and wiped his brow, but still—

“Close them and leave them closed,” he commanded.
Kadono made a strange face, closed the shoji doors, and left.
Daisuke sat blankly in the darkened room for about ten minutes.

He was a man with skin so lustrous it invited envy and muscles uncharacteristically soft for a laborer.
He had enjoyed such robust health since birth that he had never experienced an illness worthy of the name.
It was precisely in this that he believed his purpose in life lay, and thus his health held more than twice the value for him than it did for others.
His mind was as sound as his body.
The fact remained that he was perpetually tormented by logic.
From time to time, he would feel the center of his head overlapping in two or three layers like an archery target.
Especially today, he had felt that way since morning.

XI-II

It was at times like these that Daisuke would sit silently contemplating why he had been born into this world.
He had grasped this great question countless times before, holding it up before his eyes for examination.
The impulse had sometimes come from mere philosophical curiosity; other times from worldly phenomena rushing to imprint their excessively complex hues upon his mind; and finally, as today, from ennui—yet each time he reached the same conclusion.
But this conclusion differed little from outright negation of the question itself.
By his reasoning, humans were not born with any inherent purpose.
Rather, purpose first came into being through the very act of human existence.
To objectively fabricate a purpose from the outset and attach it to a human being amounted to robbing them of free activity at birth itself.
Therefore, a human’s purpose must be self-created by that individual after coming into existence.
Yet no person—regardless of who they might be—could fashion this purpose at will.
For the aim of one’s existence proved inseparable from what the unfolding course of that existence had already declared to the world.

Daisuke, who had set out from this fundamental principle, had made his innate activity his innate purpose. He walks because he wants to walk. Then walking becomes the purpose. He thinks because he wants to think. Then thinking becomes the purpose. To walk or think with any purpose other than that is akin to the degradation of walking and thinking; likewise, to act by setting a purpose outside one’s own activity is the degradation of activity. Therefore, those who mobilize all their own activities and use them as expedient tools are tantamount to having destroyed the very purpose of their own existence.

Therefore, until today, whenever desires or cravings arose in Daisuke's mind, he had existed for the purpose of fulfilling these very desires and cravings. Even when two incompatible desires clashed within him, it remained the same. He had interpreted this as the depletion of a singular purpose born from contradiction. When distilled to its essence, he had been acting by making so-called purposeless actions his purpose. And in never deceiving others about this, he had considered it the most moral course.

He who strove to carry out this principle to the fullest extent would sometimes find himself, in the midst of its execution, unwittingly assailed by a problem he had long since discarded and wonder, “For what purpose am I doing this now?”
The doubt that arose in him while strolling through Banchō—why was he walking at all?—was precisely this.

At such moments, he would notice that his vitality lacked fullness.
Starved actions—deficient in both the courage for decisive execution and the interest to sustain them—naturally led one to question their very significance midway.
He had named this condition *ennui*.
When seized by *ennui*, he believed it induced a disarray of logic.
For it was none other than ennui that aroused this topsy-turvy doubt—*For what purpose?*—midway through his actions.

In the tightly closed room, he pressed his head once or twice and shook it.
He could no longer endure dwelling on the meaningless doubts that thinkers from ages past to the present day had ceaselessly repeated.
When that figure flickered before his eyes once more, he cast it aside immediately, as if to say, “Again?”
At the same time, he felt with acute intensity the insufficiency of his own vitality.
Therefore, he had no interest in carrying out the act itself as its own purpose in a satisfactory manner.
He stood alone in the wilderness.
He was dazed.

He was a man who yearned for the satisfaction of a noble desire for life.
In another sense, he was a man who sought to purchase the satisfaction of his moral desire.
And he had anticipated that upon reaching a certain point, there would be a critical juncture where these two would clash in a shower of sparks.
So he had kept his desire for life at a low level and endured.
His room was an ordinary Japanese-style room.
It was not particularly decorated.
According to him, not even a tastefully chosen frame adorned the walls.
The only thing beautiful enough to catch the eye with its color was, so to speak, gathered in the Western books lined up on the bookshelf.
He now sat blankly among these books.
It was good—to intensify his consciousness that had sunk into such a deep slumber, he would have to do something more with his surroundings, he thought as he looked around the room in circles.
And then, he stared blankly at the wall.
But in the end, he concluded that there was only one way to save himself from this feeble existence.
And then, he muttered to himself.

"After all, I must meet Michiyo-san."

11-3

He regretted having gone out for a walk in the direction his feet refused to take him.
He was thinking of setting out again and going all the way to Hiraoka’s place when Terao arrived from Morikawacho.
Wearing a new straw hat and a subdued, thin haori, he wiped his red face while muttering, “It’s so hot.”

"What brings you at this hour?" Daisuke said without courtesy.
This was how he and Terao typically interacted with each other.

“I suppose this is just the right time for a visit.”
“You’ve been napping again, haven’t you?”
“People without occupations are just spineless and utterly useless.”
“What on earth were you born for, anyway?” said Terao, vigorously fanning his chest with his straw hat.
Since the weather wasn’t yet so hot, this gesture added quite a charming touch.

“What business is it of yours why I was born?”
“If anything, *you* should explain why you came here.”
“And haven’t you been here for ten days already? If it’s about money, count me out,” Daisuke bluntly cut him off.

“You’re quite the man who doesn’t know propriety,” Terao replied with forced composure.
Yet he showed no particular sign of being offended.
To speak truthfully, words of this nature were not considered remotely impolite by Terao.
Daisuke kept silent while observing Terao’s face.
This act stirred no more feeling in Daisuke than gazing at an empty wall would have.

Terao extracted a shoddily bound book from his breast pocket.

“I must translate this,” he declared.
Daisuke maintained his silence as before.

“Since you don’t have to worry about putting food on the table, there’s no need to look so listless.”
“Make yourself clearer.”
“This is a life-and-death battle,” said Terao, rapping the small book twice against the chair’s corner.

“By when?”

Terao flipped through the book’s pages with a rustling sound but declared in a decisive tone,

After answering “Two weeks,” he explained, “No matter how I approach it, if this isn’t settled by then, I won’t be able to eat—there’s no way around it.”

“Some impressive urgency,” Daisuke sneered.

“That’s why I came all the way from Hongo. Not that I need to borrow money—though if you’d lend some, that’d be even better—but there’s a part here I can’t quite grasp, so I thought I’d consult you.”

“What a nuisance.”
“My mind isn’t working properly today—I can’t handle such things.”
“Why not just translate it carelessly and be done with it?”
“They’ll pay you by the page regardless.”

“Even I couldn’t produce such an irresponsible translation.”
“If someone points out mistranslations later, it’ll cause endless trouble.”

“Can’t be helped,” said Daisuke, maintaining his indolent manner. Then Terao—

“Listen,” he pressed.
“This isn’t a joke—someone like you, loafing about all day, must occasionally do such things to stave off boredom.”
“If I wanted proper literary consultation, I wouldn’t have troubled myself to come here.”
“But unlike you, those competent people are all occupied,” he continued undaunted.
Daisuke resolved to either quarrel or comply.
By nature, he could feel contempt for such persistence, but lacked the will to rebuke it.

"Let's make this as brief as possible," he preemptively declared, then examined only the marked sections. Daisuke lacked even the courage to inquire about the book's synopsis. The consulted portions themselves teemed with ambiguities. Terao presently...

“Ah, thanks,” he said, closing the book.

"What'll you do about the parts you don't understand?" asked Daisuke.

"I'll do something about it.—No matter who you ask, they won't understand it properly anyway. First, there's no time, so I have no choice," declared Terao as though living expenses were a far graver matter than mistranslations.

When their consultation ended, Terao, true to form, launched into literary discourse.
Strangely enough, when it came to this, he grew intensely earnest—unlike with his own translations—just as he always did.
Daisuke reflected that among contemporary literary scholars' published works, there must be many sharing the same essence as Terao's translations, finding this contradiction in his friend darkly amusing.
Yet deeming it too bothersome, he kept silent.

Thanks to Terao's interference, Daisuke ultimately failed to visit Hiraoka that day.

11-4

During dinner, a package arrived from Maruzen. Putting down his chopsticks and opening it, he found two or three new books he had ordered from abroad some time ago. Daisuke tucked them under his arm and returned to his study. He picked up each book one by one, flipping through two or three pages in the dim light, but found nothing that caught his attention. When he reached the last book, he had already forgotten even its title. Resolving to read them eventually, he gathered them together, stood up, and stacked them atop the bookshelf. Peering outside from the veranda, he saw the beautiful sky beginning to lose its vivid color, with a pale moon emerging above the neighbor's Chinese parasol tree that now stood out darker against the fading light.

At that moment, Kadono came in carrying a large Western-style lamp.
On it hung a blue shade with vertical grooves resembling silk crepe.
Kadono placed it on the Western-style desk, then went out to the veranda again, but as he was leaving,

“It’s almost time for the fireflies to come out, isn’t it?” he said.
Daisuke made a strange face and,
“They probably aren’t out yet,” he answered.
Then Kadono, as usual,

“Is that so?” he replied, then immediately adopted a serious tone. “Fireflies were quite the trend in the old days, but lately literary scholars don’t seem to make much fuss about them anymore.”
“What do you suppose the reason is?”
“Things like fireflies and crows—these days you hardly ever see them mentioned at all,” he said.

“Indeed.”
“I wonder why that could be,” Daisuke replied with feigned innocence, offering a serious response.
Then Kadono,
“They’re probably retreating step by step, overwhelmed by electric lights,” he concluded, chuckling to himself at his own joke, then headed back to his student lodger’s room.
Daisuke also followed him out to the entrance.
Kadono turned around.
“Are you going out again?”
“Very well, sir.”
“I’ll take care of the lamp.”
“Auntie has been lying down with a stomachache since earlier, but it’s probably nothing serious.”
“Take your time.”

Daisuke left the gate.
When he reached Edogawa, the river water was already dark.
He had originally intended to visit Hiraoka.
Without following his usual route along the riverside, he immediately crossed the bridge and ascended Kongoji Slope.

To tell the truth, after that, Daisuke had met Michiyo and Hiraoka two or three times.
One instance was when he received a fairly long letter from Hiraoka.
First came words of gratitude for your kindness since his arrival in Tokyo.
Then—after imposing on various efforts from friends and seniors—he had recently received an offer through an acquaintance’s mediation to become chief reporter in the economics department of a certain newspaper.
He felt inclined to accept it.
However, having made an initial request to you upon arriving in Tokyo, he thought it improper to proceed without notice and had written with intent to consult you once.
Daisuke had been asked by Hiraoka back then to mediate with his brother’s company but had left the matter unresolved without refusal until now.
Interpreting this as prompting a response,
he also considered that rejecting him outright with a single letter would seem too callous,
so he visited the next day,
explained his brother’s circumstances,
and asked him to abandon hope for now.
At this,
Hiraoka said,
“I mostly expected as much,”
and looked toward Michiyo with an odd expression.

“Now that my newspaper position has finally been settled, I want to spend an evening drinking properly with you.”
When Hiraoka’s postcard arrived requesting him to come on a specific day, Daisuke used the excuse of a prior engagement to stop by during his walk and decline.
At that time, Hiraoka lay sprawled asleep in the center of the tatami room.
“I attended some gathering last night and overdid the drinking,” he explained while vigorously rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
Suddenly looking at Daisuke, he declared, “No man can accomplish anything unless he stays single like you.”
“If I were alone,” he lamented loudly, “I could go to Manchuria or America tomorrow—this married life is nothing but inconvenience.”
Michiyo worked quietly in the adjoining room.

The third time, he visited when Hiraoka was out at his company.
At that time, he had no particular business or reason.
He sat on the veranda and talked for about thirty minutes.

Since then, he had resolved to avoid the Koishikawa area as much as possible, and thus had arrived at this evening.
Daisuke went up to Takebashi-cho, passed through it, and after walking two or three blocks, came right in front of the nameplate reading "Hiraoka."
When he called out from outside the lattice door, the maid came out holding an oil lamp.
However, both Hiraoka and his wife were out.
Without even asking where they had gone, Daisuke immediately turned back, rode the train to Hongo, transferred at Hongo to Kanda, got off there, entered a beer hall, and gulped down his beer.

11-5

When he awoke the next day, there still remained from the center of his brain a sensation as though circles of differing radii were partitioning his head into two layers.
At such times, Daisuke had developed a habit of perceiving his head's interior and exterior as nothing but dovetailed joinery work of differing materials.
To counter this, he would vigorously shake his own head in attempts to blend the two elements.
He now lay with his hair pressed against the pillow, formed his right hand into a fist, and tapped two or three times just above his ear.

Daisuke had never attributed such abnormalities in his brain to alcohol's fault.
He had been a man endowed with alcohol tolerance since childhood.
No matter how much he drank, he never strayed far from his normal state.
Moreover, once he achieved sound sleep, he could afterward detect no physical disorders whatsoever.
There had been an instance when, through some chance circumstance, he engaged in a drinking contest with his older brother and drained thirteen three-gō sake bottles.
The next day Daisuke went to school with undisturbed composure.
His brother had complained of headaches for two full days while being thoroughly vexed.
And he had declared this resulted from their difference in age.

As he knocked his head, Daisuke thought how foolish the beer he drank last night seemed compared to those past experiences. Fortunately, no matter how layered his head felt, his mental faculties had never fallen into derangement. At times, using his head was simply burdensome. Yet he remained confident that with effort, he could manage sufficiently complex work. Thus even when sensing such abnormalities, he found no cause for pessimism about harmful mental effects from cerebral tissue changes. The first time he experienced this sensation, it startled him. The second time, he welcomed it as a novel experience. Lately, this phenomenon had increasingly accompanied declines in mental vigor. Performing actions devoid of substance had become symptomatic of his existence. To Daisuke, this was profoundly unpleasant.

Sitting up on the bedding, he shook his head again.
At breakfast, Kadono tried to talk about the battle between a snake and an eagle that had been in that morning’s newspaper, but Daisuke did not respond.
Kadono thought Here we go again and left the dining room.
In the kitchen,

"Auntie, working so hard can't be good. I'll wash the professor's dishes for you—why don't you go rest over there?" Kadono consoled the old woman.
Daisuke remembered the old woman's illness for the first time.
It was a situation where he could have offered some kind words, but he found it too troublesome and refrained.

No sooner had Daisuke set down his knife than he immediately took up his teacup and retreated into his study.
When he looked at the clock, it was already past nine.
For a while, he gazed at the garden and lingered over his tea, when Kadono came and—

“Someone has come from your residence to fetch you,” he said.

Daisuke had no recollection of receiving a summons from his residence.
Even when Daisuke asked again, Kadono only spoke vaguely about a coachman or something, so Daisuke shook his head repeatedly and went to check the entrance.
There stood Katsu, who pulled his brother’s carriage.
He had properly positioned the rubber-wheeled carriage sideways at the entrance and made a polite bow.

“Katsu, what’s this about fetching me?” he asked. Katsu adopted a deferential attitude and replied,

“Madam was ordered to take the carriage and go fetch you.”

“Did something urgent come up?”

Of course, Katsu knew nothing.

“You’ll understand once you go—” he answered succinctly, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Daisuke went inside.
He thought about calling the old woman to have her bring out his clothes, but disliking using someone who was in pain, he rummaged through the drawers of the chest himself, hurriedly got dressed, and went out to board Katsu’s carriage.

That day, the wind blew fiercely.
Katsu, seeming to struggle, leaned forward as he drove.
Daisuke, riding in the carriage, was blown by the wind so fiercely that his double-layered head spun in a dizzying whirl.
Yet the soundless wheels moved beautifully, and the sight of them carrying his consciousness-deprived self through the air in a half-asleep state was pleasant.
By the time they arrived at the Aoyama house, his spirits had grown considerably brighter than when he had first awoken.

11–6

Thinking something might have happened, he peeked into the student lodgers' room on his way upstairs and found Naoki and Seitaro alone there, eating strawberries sprinkled with white sugar.

“Well, what a feast!” No sooner had Daisuke spoken than Naoki straightened his posture and offered a greeting.

Seitaro, with the edges of his lips still wet, suddenly asked, “Uncle, when are you going to get married?”
Naoki was smirking.
Daisuke was momentarily at a loss for a reply. Having no choice, he said in a tone that was both mocking and scolding, “Why aren’t you going to school today? And eating strawberries on an empty stomach first thing in the morning…”

“But today is Sunday, isn’t it?” Seitaro said earnestly.

“Oh, it’s Sunday?” Daisuke exclaimed in surprise.

Naoki looked at Daisuke’s face and chuckled.
Daisuke also laughed and came to the parlor.
There was no one there.
On the newly replaced tatami mats lay a single round hollowed-out rosewood tray, and within it sat a teacup depicting a patterned design by Asai Mokugo of Kyoto.
The morning’s green light streamed in from the garden into the spacious, empty parlor, and everything appeared tranquil.
The wind outside seemed to have suddenly died down.

Passing through the parlor toward his brother's room, he sensed movement.

"Oh, but that's too much for a husband!" came Umeko's voice.
Daisuke entered.
Inside were his brother, sister-in-law, and Nui.
His brother stood facing him with a gold chain wrapped around his stiff sash and wearing one of those strange gauze haori that had become fashionable lately.
When he saw Daisuke,

"There he is. See?
So take her along," he told Umeko.
Daisuke had no idea what this meant from the beginning.
Then Umeko turned toward him.

“Dai-san, you’re free today, aren’t you?” she said.

“Yes, well, I’m free,” Daisuke replied.

“Then please come to Kabukiza Theater with me.”

Daisuke, upon hearing his sister-in-law's words, suddenly felt a sense of the absurd well up within him.
However, today he lacked the courage to tease his sister-in-law as he usually would.
Because it was troublesome, he assumed a composed expression,

“Yes, that’s fine. Let’s go,” he answered cheerfully.
Then Umeko,

“But you’ve already seen it once, haven’t you?” she countered.

“Whether it’s once or twice, it doesn’t matter at all. Let’s go,” Daisuke said, smiling at Umeko.

“You’re quite the hedonist yourself, aren’t you?” remarked Umeko.
Daisuke felt increasingly amused.

His elder brother said he had business to attend to and left immediately.
It seemed he had made arrangements to swing by the theater around four o'clock once his business was concluded.
Until then, watching with just himself and Nui alone would have been acceptable, but Umeko declared she couldn't stand her husband.
When his brother advised him to take Naoki along instead, Naoki-dressed in a navy-striped kimono and hakama, sitting stiffly-replied that it wouldn't do.
Since there was no other choice with that, they had sent for Daisuke-this was his elder brother's explanation as he was leaving.
Daisuke thought it was somewhat illogical but simply replied, "Is that so?"
And he concluded that his sister-in-law had deliberately summoned him both because she wanted someone to talk to during the intermissions and because she wished to give him various instructions when her husband said it was time-hence her intentional call.

Umeko and Nui spent a long time on their makeup.
Daisuke obligingly became their makeup supervisor and stayed by their side.
From time to time he offered teasing comments in jest.
Nui repeated "Uncle, you're impossible!" two or three times over.

Father had left early that morning and was not home.
She said she didn't know where he'd gone.
Daisuke felt no particular desire to find out.
If anything, he found Father's absence a relief.
Since their last meeting, Daisuke had encountered Father only twice.
Even those meetings lasted no more than ten or fifteen minutes each.
Whenever conversations threatened to grow complicated, he'd made it his practice to suddenly offer polite excuses and take his leave.
Father had come out to the parlor remarking how Daisuke lately couldn't sit still for a moment.
He'd declared angrily that merely seeing his face made the boy prepare to flee - this Umeko reported while smoothing her summer obi's end before the mirror.

“I’ve really lost all credibility, haven’t I.”

With these words, Daisuke picked up his sister-in-law and Nui’s umbrellas and stepped out to the entrance ahead of them.
Three rickshaws were lined up there.

Eleven-Seven

Daisuke had put on a flat cap for fear of the wind.
The wind had finally subsided, and the strong sun shone down through gaps in the clouds overhead.
Umeko and Nui, walking ahead, opened their umbrellas.
Daisuke occasionally shaded his forehead with the back of his hand.

During the play, both Umeko and Nui were very enthusiastic spectators.
Daisuke could not devote his attention solely to the stage—whether due to it being his second viewing or because of his mental state over the past three or four days.
Because he constantly felt an oppressive heat in his mind, he often took a fan in hand and sent breezes from his collar up to his head.

During the intermissions, Nui occasionally turned toward Daisuke and asked strange questions.
They were mostly unanswerable questions like why that person was drinking sake from a basin or how a monk could suddenly become a general.
Umeko laughed every time she heard them.
Daisuke suddenly recalled a theater review by a certain literary scholar he had seen in the newspaper two or three days prior.
In it was written that Japanese plays were so filled with excessively far-fetched plots that one could not comfortably watch them.
At that moment, Daisuke thought that from the actors' perspective, there was no need to have such people watching.
He told Kadono that bringing complaints meant for the author to the actors was akin to being a fool who wants to listen to Koshiji Jōruri in order to understand Chikamatsu's works.
Kadono continued to respond with his usual vague agreement: "I suppose that's how it is."

Having grown accustomed to traditional Japanese theater since childhood, Daisuke was naturally a straightforward connoisseur of art—just like Umeko. He narrowly interpreted stage artistry as something that should be evaluated solely through actors' technical skills. This made him perfectly aligned with Umeko in conversation. From time to time, they would exchange glances, offer childlike critiques, and nod in mutual appreciation. Yet overall, he had grown thoroughly weary of the stage. Even mid-act, he peered through his binoculars, scanning here and there. Through the lenses appeared numerous geisha. Some among them had turned their own opera glasses toward him.

To Daisuke’s right sat a man of his own age who had brought along a beautiful wife wearing her hair in a traditional chignon. Daisuke looked at the wife’s profile and thought she closely resembled a geisha he knew. To his left sat about four men. And they were all doctors. Daisuke recognized each of their faces. Next to them was a spacious area occupied exclusively by just two people. One was about his brother’s age and wore a properly tailored Western suit. He had gold-rimmed glasses and a habit of thrusting his chin forward while tilting his head back slightly when looking at things. When Daisuke saw this man, he felt he had seen him somewhere before. But try as he might to recall, he could not. His companion was a young woman. Daisuke judged she was probably not yet twenty. She wore no haori overgarment, had her sleeve cuffs pulled out wider than usual, and mostly sat with her chin pressed firmly against her collar.

Because he was uncomfortable, Daisuke repeatedly stood up from his seat, went out to the back corridor, and looked up at the narrow sky.
When his brother arrived, he thought he might just hand over his sister-in-law and Nui and leave immediately.
Once, he took Nui along and walked around those areas for exercise.
In the end, he thought about ordering a little sake to drink.

His brother arrived as dusk was approaching.
When he said, "You're quite late, aren't you," his brother pulled out a gold watch from his sash and showed it.
Actually, it was slightly past six o'clock.
His brother, as usual, maintained his composed expression and looked around the area.
However, when it was time to eat, he stood up and went out to the corridor and did not return for quite some time.
After a while, when Daisuke suddenly turned around, his brother had gone over to the seat next door—past one section—where the man with gold-rimmed glasses sat and was talking to him.
He also seemed to occasionally speak to the young woman.
However, the young woman merely showed a brief smile before immediately turning back to face the stage with a serious expression.
Daisuke thought of asking his sister-in-law the man’s name, but since his brother was a man of such broad social connections—one who could calmly insert himself anywhere people gathered, treating the world as his own home—he thought nothing of it and remained silent.

Then, during the intermission, his brother returned to the entrance and, while saying “Daisuke, come here for a moment,” led Daisuke to the seat of the man with gold-rimmed glasses and introduced him as his “foolish younger brother.”
Then he said to Daisuke, “This is Mr. Takagi from Kobe,” and made the introduction.
The gold-rimmed gentleman glanced at the young woman and said, “She is my niece.”
The young woman gracefully bowed.
At that moment, his brother added that she was Miss Sagawa.
When Daisuke heard the woman’s name, he thought to himself that it had been skillfully set up.
But he pretended as if he knew nothing and talked in a nonchalant manner.
Then his sister-in-law turned slightly toward him.

11-8

Five or six minutes later, Daisuke returned to his seat with his brother.
Until being introduced to Miss Sagawa, he had intended to flee at the first sight of his brother, but now that was no longer possible.
He feared that appearing too obvious might invite unwanted consequences, so he endured his discomfort and remained seated.
His brother too seemed utterly disinterested in the play, yet maintained his usual composed demeanor, swaying a cigar that emitted enough smoke to envelop his dark head.
When occasionally offering comments to Nui, they amounted to little more than remarks like "That scene must be pretty."
Umeko, contrary to her typical inquisitiveness, neither posed questions about Takagi nor Miss Sagawa nor offered any opinions.
To Daisuke, her affected composure struck him as absurdly comical.
He had occasionally fallen victim to his sister-in-law's schemes before now.
Yet he had never once grown angry.
Under ordinary circumstances, he might have dismissed this charade as mere diversionary amusement and laughed it off.
But this was different.
Had marriage been his intent, he could have instead manipulated this farce into crafting some congratulatory comedy himself—spending a lifetime ridiculing his own compliance with satisfaction.
Yet when he considered that even this sister-in-law might now be conspiring with his father and brother to gradually corner him into helplessness, he found himself unable to regard their performance as simple comedy.
Daisuke felt somewhat cowed contemplating how his sister-in-law planned to develop this affair going forward.
For among all family members, she had always shown the keenest interest in such designs.
The more she pressed him along this path, the more Daisuke harbored a lurking dread that he would inevitably grow estranged from his kin.

The play ended around eleven o'clock.
When he stepped outside, the wind had completely died down, leaving a quiet moonless night faintly lit by streetlamps.
The lateness left no time for conversation at the teahouse.
Three people had come to meet them, but Daisuke had forgotten to arrange a rickshaw beforehand.
Finding it bothersome, he dismissed his sister-in-law's urging and boarded the streetcar right outside the teahouse.
At Sukiyabashi, while waiting in the dark roadway hoping for an easy transfer, Kami-san approached from the opposite direction carrying a child on his back, looking inconvenienced.
Streetcars passed two or three times on the other side.
Between Daisuke and the tracks rose an embankment-like pile of earth or stones.
Daisuke realized he'd been standing at the wrong boarding spot all along.

“Mr.Kami，if you want to catch the train，this isn’t the place.”
“It’s on the other side,” he informed while starting to walk.
Mr.Kami thanked him and followed along.
Daisuke walked haphazardly through the dark，as if groping his way.
After moving twenty-five or twenty-six meters to the left toward the edge of the moat，he finally found the station pillar.
Mr.Kami boarded the train there，heading toward Kandabashi.
Daisuke，all alone，boarded the Akasaka-bound train heading in the opposite direction.

In the train car，he felt sleepy yet unable to sleep.
Even as he was jostled by the motion，he found tonight’s sleep burdensome.
He was greatly fatigued and felt lethargy toward everything in the daytime，yet due to some unknown excitement，he often found himself unable to indulge in a quiet night.
In his mind，the colors that had left alternating traces throughout the day now scattered all at once，oblivious to the sequence of time or distinctions of form.
And he could not clearly discern what colors they were or what movements they represented.
He closed his eyes and resolved that once home，he would again rely on whiskey’s aid.

He could not help recalling Michiyo as a reflection of these fleeting, vivid color tones. There, he felt he had found his place of refuge. Yet this refuge never clearly materialized before his eyes. He recognized it only through the overarching cadence of his heart. Thus he had merely discovered that Michiyo's face, her bearing, her words, her marital ties, her illness, her station—all bound together—formed an object attuned to his emotional state.

11-9

The next day, Daisuke received a long letter from a friend in Tajima.
This friend was a man who had returned to his hometown immediately after graduating from school and had never once come to Tokyo since.
He himself had certainly harbored no intention of living in the mountains but found himself confined to his native place by parental decree.
For about a year afterward, he had persistently attempted to persuade his father through countless letters clamoring about returning to Tokyo until recently appearing to abandon these efforts altogether.
His family was an old-established one in their region where managing ancestral forests through annual harvests formed their principal occupation.
The letter contained detailed accounts of his daily life.
Furthermore came news of his election as mayor a month prior—a position yielding three hundred yen annually—which he boasted about in his missive with mock-seriousness.
Even had he become a middle school teacher straight after graduation, he noted while comparing himself with peers, he would have earned thrice that amount.

After returning to his hometown, this friend married a bride from a wealthy family in Kyoto about a year later.
That was, of course, ordered by his parents.
Then after some time had passed, Naoko’s child was born.
He had not mentioned his wife beyond the time he married her, but seemingly taking interest in his child’s growth, he occasionally sent Daisuke reports so comical they bordered on absurdity.
Every time he read them, Daisuke imagined his friend’s life of growing satisfaction with this child.
And for the sake of this child, he wondered how much his impressions of his wife had changed compared to when he had first married her.

The friend occasionally sent him dried sweetfish and persimmons.
Daisuke generally sent new Western literary books in return.
Then in his replies, there would invariably be critiques serving as proof he had read them with interest.
However, this did not last long.
Eventually, he stopped even sending acknowledgments of receipt.
When Daisuke deliberately inquired about it, the friend replied he had gratefully received the books.
He had meant to express thanks after reading them, but kept postponing it.
"The truth is, I still haven't read them."
"To confess, it's less that I lack time to read than that I lack any desire to."
"To put it more bluntly—even if I read them, I no longer understand them."
Such was the reply that came.
Daisuke resolved henceforth to abandon sending books and instead purchase new toys to dispatch.

Daisuke put his friend’s letter back into the envelope and keenly felt how this old companion, who had once shared his own tendencies, now lived under completely opposing ideas and actions, producing a distinct tone in his existence. Then he precisely compared the resonances emerging from the vibrations of their life-strings.

As a theorist, he endorsed his friend’s marriage. For he had grasped it as natural law that those dwelling in mountains among trees and valleys should wed exactly the wife their parents secured to achieve safe results. Through this same logic, he concluded that marriage in any form brought misfortune to city dwellers. The reason being that urban centers amounted to nothing but human exhibitions. He had traced such a path to reach this conclusion from its premise.

He was a man who recognized distinctions of beauty in both body and mind. And he considered that the opportunity to come into contact with every variety of beauty was the prerogative of urbanites. He concluded that those who encountered all forms of beauty yet shifted their interest from A to B each time without moving their heart from B to C were insensitive philistines lacking appreciation. He believed this to be an indisputable truth drawn from his own experience. Starting from this truth, he reached the conclusion that all men and women leading urban lives were constantly undergoing immeasurable changes in their attractions between the sexes, adapting entirely to circumstance. Extending this logic meant any married couple would find both parties infected by what society calls adulterous thoughts, condemned to forever taste misfortunes born from their past. As the ultimate representative of urbanites with the most refined sensitivity and freest social connections, Daisuke selected the geisha. Who could say how many lovers some of them might replace in a lifetime? Were not ordinary city dwellers all geishas to a lesser degree? Daisuke ranked those who spoke of unwavering love in this modern age as history's foremost hypocrites.

When he thought this far, Michiyo's figure suddenly floated into Daisuke's mind. At that moment, he suspected he might have forgotten to include some factor in this logic. Yet try as he might, he could not discover that missing element. By this reasoning, his emotional connection to Michiyo too became merely a present phenomenon. His mind fully acknowledged this truth. But his heart lacked the courage to firmly accept it as such.

Part Twelve, Chapter One

Daisuke feared his sister-in-law's encroaching pressure. He also feared Michiyo's gravitational pull on him. There was still time before summer retreats began. He had lost all interest in entertainment. Even when reading, he could no longer trace his own shadow across the black characters. When settling into contemplation, his thoughts unraveled like lotus filaments—yet gathering them revealed something others would find horrifying. In the end, he grew terrified of himself for thinking this way. To churn his pallid brain like a milkshake, Daisuke resolved to travel awhile. His initial plan had been his father's villa. But being assailed from Tokyo there would differ little from staying in Ushigome, he concluded. He bought a travel guide to research destinations yet felt nowhere in all creation beckoned him. Still, Daisuke determined to go somewhere forcibly if needed—he wasn't too green to make preparations. Boarding a train, he reached Ginza where breezes danced through a luminous afternoon. Circling Shinbashi's bazaar, he ambled down broad avenues toward Kyōbashi until houses opposite flattened into theatrical backdrops beneath skies painted directly onto rooftops.

Daisuke browsed through a few Chinese goods stores and checked the items he needed.
Among them was a relatively expensive perfume.
When he tried to buy toothpaste at Shiseido, a young clerk brought out their own product and persistently recommended it despite his refusal.
Daisuke frowned and left the store.
With the paper-wrapped package still tucked under his arm, he made his way to the outskirts of Ginza, then circled around Daikongashi and headed from Kajibashi toward Marunouchi.
Walking aimlessly westward while considering this might qualify as convenient travel, he grew weary and thought to hail a rickshaw. Finding none anywhere, he boarded the train once more and returned home.

When he entered the gate, a pair of shoes that appeared to be Seitaro's were neatly arranged in the entrance. When he asked Kadono, the answer was: "Yes, sir. They are waiting for your arrival from the other party." Daisuke immediately went to the study to check. Seitaro was sitting in the large chair where Daisuke usually sat, reading Alaska Exploration Journal in front of the Western-style desk. On the Western-style desk, buckwheat buns and a tea tray were placed together.

"Seitaro, what's this? Coming when no one's home and helping yourself?" Daisuke said. Seitaro laughed, first stuffed the Alaska Exploration Journal into his pocket, and stood up from his seat.

“If you want to stay there, you can stay,” he said, but there was no reply.

Daisuke caught Seitaro and started teasing him in his usual way.
Seitaro knew exactly how many times Daisuke had yawned at the Kabukiza Theater.
And,

“Uncle, when are you going to get a wife?” he asked again, the same question as before.

On this day, Seitaro had come on his father’s errand.
The message was that he should come by eleven o’clock tomorrow.
Daisuke found it troublesome that he was so frequently summoned by his father and brother.
He turned to Seitaro with a half-angry expression,

“What’s this? Isn’t this too harsh?”
“Without even stating the reason, to summon someone so arbitrarily—” he said.
Seitaro was still smirking.
Daisuke thereupon diverted the conversation to another topic and left it at that.
The sumo match reported in the newspaper was a topic that overlapped for both of them.

Seitaro declined the invitation to stay for dinner, saying he had school preparations to attend to, and returned home.
Before leaving,

“So, Uncle, aren’t you coming tomorrow?” he asked.
Daisuke, having no choice,

“Hmm.
“I’m not sure.
Go back and tell them Uncle might go traveling,” he said.

When Seitaro asked back, “When?” Daisuke replied that it would be today or tomorrow. Seitaro accepted this and went out to the entrance, but as he stepped down to the entryway, he suddenly turned back.

“Where are you planning to stay?” he asked, looking up at Daisuke.

Daisuke said, “Where? How should I know yet? I’ll just wander around,” so Seitaro, smirking again, stepped out through the lattice gate.

12-2

That night, Daisuke resolved to depart immediately, had Kadono clean out the Gladstone bag, and packed a few belongings. Kadono gazed at Daisuke’s leather bag with considerable curiosity but remained standing stiffly as he asked, “Shall I help?”

“No need,” Daisuke refused while taking out the perfume bottle he had just packed. He peeled off its wrapper, pulled out the stopper, and held it to his nose to sniff. Kadono, seeming to have exhausted his pleasantries, withdrew to his room. After two or three minutes, he came out again.

“Sir, shall I arrange the carriage?” he suggested.
Daisuke placed the Gladstone bag in front of him and looked up.
“Very well. Kindly wait a moment.”

When he looked into the garden, faint sunlight still lingered on the topmost points of the hedge. While looking outside, Daisuke thought to determine his destination within the next thirty minutes. He would board a train departing at whatever time seemed convenient, get off wherever that train took him, spend the day there until tomorrow, and while living there, wait for a new fate to come and seize him—such was his plan. Of course, his travel expenses were not sufficient. If Daisuke were to continue staying in lodgings suitable for his travel attire, his funds would not last even a week. However, when it came to such matters, Daisuke remained indifferent. If it came to that, he was prepared to send for money from home. Moreover, since this journey was fundamentally intended to change the surrounding atmosphere, he had resolved not to place importance on luxury. If he got carried away, he was prepared to hire a porter and walk all day.

He opened the travel guide again and began meticulously examining the detailed figures, but before he could draw any closer to reaching a decision, his thoughts once more slipped toward Michiyo. He resolved to check the situation one last time before setting out and then leave Tokyo. It was settled that the Gladstone bag would be packed tonight and made ready to be carried out early the next morning. Daisuke hurried out to the entranceway. Hearing the sound, Kadono too rushed out. Still in his everyday clothes, Daisuke took his hat from the hook.

“Are you going out again? Is there something you need to buy? If it’s acceptable, I’ll go purchase it for you,” said Kadono with an astonished look.

“I’ll pass for tonight,” Daisuke declared as he stepped outside. The world had already grown dark. In the beautiful sky, stars began to multiply their faint glimmers one by one. A pleasant breeze rustled through his sleeves. Yet Daisuke, striding vigorously with his long legs, had barely walked a few blocks before sensing sweat forming at his temples. He pulled off his hunting cap. His black hair dampened by night dew, he walked on, deliberately shaking the hat at intervals.

When he came near Hiraoka’s house, shadowy figures flitted quietly here and there like bats. Through gaps in the crude plank fence, lamplight spilled onto the street. Michiyo was reading a newspaper under that light. When he asked if she was reading it at this hour, she replied it was her second time.

“Are you really so idle?” Daisuke shifted a cushion onto the threshold, leaned against the shoji screen, and half-emerged onto the veranda.

Hiraoka was not there.
Michiyo said she had just returned from the bath and had even placed a fan beside her knee.
With a warm hue coloring her usually pale cheeks, she stood to make tea in the tearoom, saying, "He should be back soon, so please make yourself comfortable."
Her hair was styled in Western fashion.

Hiraoka did not return as readily as Michiyo had said.
When he asked if he was always this late, she laughed and replied, “Well, I suppose that’s about right.”
Daisuke detected a certain loneliness in her laughter and, straightening his gaze, stared intently at Michiyo’s face.
Michiyo suddenly took the fan and waved it beneath her sleeve.

Daisuke was concerned about Hiraoka’s financial situation.
He asked her directly whether she was having any difficulties with living expenses lately.
Michiyo said, “I suppose that’s right,” and laughed in the same manner as before.
Since Daisuke did not respond right away,

“To you, it must appear that way,” she asked again from across the room.
And then, tossing aside the fan she had been holding, she spread her slim, beautiful fingers—still fresh from the bath—before Daisuke.
Neither the ring Daisuke had given her nor any other rings adorned those fingers.
Daisuke, who had always kept the memento close to his heart, understood Michiyo’s meaning well.
At the same moment Michiyo withdrew her hand, her face flushed red.

“It can’t be helped, so please bear with me.”
Daisuke felt a pang of pity.

12-3

Daisuke left Hiraoka's house around nine o'clock that night. Before leaving, he took out what was in his wallet and handed it to Michiyo. At that moment, he had to devise an approach. He first casually opened his wallet at chest level, scooped up the bills inside without counting them, and nonchalantly placed them before Michiyo while saying, "Take this and use it." Michiyo, in a voice hushed as if wary of the maid,

"Don't do this," she said, pressing both hands flat against her body. Yet Daisuke couldn't withdraw his own hand.

“If you would accept a ring, then accepting this should be no different. Think of it as a paper ring and please take it.”

Daisuke laughed as he said this.
Michiyo still hesitated, thinking it was too much.
Daisuke asked, "Are you worried Hiraoka will scold you if he finds out?"
Michiyo, unable to tell whether she'd be scolded or praised, kept wavering.
Daisuke advised that if she'd be scolded, she should keep it secret from Hiraoka.
Michiyo still didn't extend her hand.
Daisuke naturally couldn't take back what he'd offered.
With no alternative, he leaned in slightly and brought his palm near Michiyo's chest.
At the same time, he drew his own face to within about a foot of hers,

“It’s alright. Please take it,” he said in a steady low voice.
Michiyo drew back as if burying her chin in her collar and silently extended her right hand forward.
The bills fell upon it.
At that moment, Michiyo batted her long eyelashes two or three times.
Then she tucked what had fallen onto her palm into the fold of her obi.

“I’ll come again.
Please give my regards to Hiraoka,” said Daisuke as he stepped outside.
After crossing the town and descending into the alleyway, the surroundings darkened.
Daisuke walked through the dark night as though traversing a beautiful dream.
He arrived at his home’s gate within thirty minutes.
Yet he felt no urge to pass through.
Beneath high stars, he wandered circles through the quiet residential district.
He thought he could walk until midnight without tiring.
Amidst this circling, he again found himself before his house.
Inside lay quiet.
Kadono and the old woman seemed to have been chatting in the tearoom.

“You’re very late. What time will you depart by train tomorrow?” he asked the moment Daisuke stepped into the entrance.
Daisuke smiled and replied, “I’ve canceled tomorrow as well,” then entered his room.
There lay his already prepared bedding.
He took the perfume he’d uncorked earlier and let a drop fall onto the buckwheat pillow.
Somehow this felt insufficient.
Still holding the bottle, he stood and moved to each corner of the room, sprinkling a drop or two in each spot.
Having amused himself thus, he changed into an unpatterned yukata and stretched his limbs comfortably beneath a new summer haori.
Then he sank into rose-scented slumber.

When he opened his eyes, the high sun was casting quivering golden light onto the veranda.
By the pillow were two newspapers laid out neatly.
Daisuke had no idea when Kadono had opened the rain shutters or when he had brought the newspaper.
Daisuke did one long stretch and got up.
While drying himself off in the bathroom, Kadono came in looking somewhat flustered and,

“Your brother from Aoyama has come to see you,” he said.
Daisuke replied that he would come immediately and thoroughly dried himself off.
Whether the parlor had been cleaned yet or not, he saw no need to rush out himself, so without hurrying, he parted his hair, shaved as usual, and leisurely returned to the tearoom.
Even there, he found himself with no inclination to sit down leisurely to the meal.
Standing, he sipped a cup of black tea, stroked his mustache briefly with a towel, tossed it aside, and immediately headed to the guest room.

“Hey, Brother,” he greeted.
His brother, as usual, held an extinguished dark cigar between his fingers and was calmly reading Daisuke’s newspaper.
As soon as he saw Daisuke’s face,
“This room smells quite pleasant—is that coming from your head?” he asked.
“It was here before you even saw my head,” he replied, explaining about the perfume from the previous night.
His brother calmly said,
“Hah, you’ve taken up something rather stylish.”

12-4

Brother was a man who rarely came to Daisuke's place.
When he did visit occasionally, he always had unavoidable business requiring his presence.
Once concluding his affairs, he would promptly depart.
Daisuke thought something must have occurred today too.
He imagined this was likely the backlash from having half-heartedly fobbed off Seitaro yesterday and sending him away.
After five or six minutes of idle chatter, his brother finally broached the subject.

"Last evening Seitaro returned saying, 'Uncle's departing on a trip starting tomorrow,' so I came."

“Well, actually, I was planning to leave around six this morning,” Daisuke replied with perfect composure, stating something that sounded like a lie.
His brother also maintained a serious expression,

“If you were a man who could get up early enough to leave at six, you wouldn’t have come all the way from Aoyama at this hour,” he said.
When he inquired again about the matter, it turned out to be nothing more than the expected direct confrontation.
In other words, today Father had ordered that Takagi and the daughter of the Sagawa family be invited for lunch and that Daisuke also attend.
According to what his brother had recounted, upon hearing Seitaro’s reply the previous evening, their father had become greatly displeased.
Umeko, worrying herself sick, had proposed meeting before Daisuke’s departure to have his trip postponed.
It seemed his brother had stopped her.

“As if you’d leave tonight! Right now you’re probably just sitting there in front of your suitcase lost in thought.”
“Wait until tomorrow—even if we leave you alone, you’ll come anyway,’ I told my sister-in-law to reassure her,” Seigo said calmly.
Daisuke became slightly irritated.
“Then you should just leave me alone and see.”
“But women are such impatient creatures. Just because it would look bad to Father, she started pestering me the moment she got up this morning,” said Seigo without any trace of amusement.
Rather, he was looking at Daisuke with an annoyed expression.
Daisuke neither affirmed that he would go nor refused.
However, when it came to his brother, just as with Seitaro, he lacked the courage to send him away without letting him grasp the gist.
Having refused lunch, even if he were to travel, he could no longer rely on his own funds.
After all, unless he caused pain to someone among the opposing faction—be it his brother, sister-in-law, or father—he found himself in a position where he could not move a muscle.
There, keeping a measured distance, they discussed Takagi and Miss Sagawa’s reputations.
He had only met Takagi once about ten years prior, yet strangely, he felt some familiarity, and when he spotted him at Kabukiza Theater the other day, he was puzzled.
In contrast, with Miss Sagawa—even though he had only just recently obtained her photograph—when faced with the real person, not a single association arose.
Photographs are peculiar things. If one first knows the person, it is easy to determine who they are in the photograph from that knowledge; conversely, determining the person from the photograph alone is exceedingly difficult.
When considered philosophically, this leads to the truth that while it is impossible to produce life from death, transitioning from life to death follows the natural order.

“I came to that conclusion,” said Daisuke.
His brother answered, “I see,” but did not seem particularly impressed.
As the cigar had grown shorter, he carelessly shifted its position, seemingly about to set his mustache on fire,

“Then you don’t necessarily have to travel today, do you?” he asked.

Daisuke had no choice but to answer in the negative.

“Then you can come for lunch today, right?”

Daisuke had no choice but to agree.

“Well then, I’ll make a quick stop elsewhere now, so make sure you come without fail,” he said, looking as busy as ever.
Daisuke had already steeled his resolve and, in a mindset that whatever happened was fine, gave a response that suited the other party’s convenience.
Then his brother suddenly,

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you intend to marry that woman? Why not just take her? If you’re this choosy about a wife, you’ll look like some Genroku-era dandy—it’s ridiculous. Didn’t everyone back then have stifling love affairs anyway? Well, whatever—just don’t go angering the old man,” he said before leaving.

Daisuke returned to the parlor and sat digesting his brother’s barbed remarks. When it came to marriage, he could only conclude that he actually shared his brother’s view. Therefore—contrary to his brother—he arrived at a convenient conclusion: those urging marriage shouldn’t get angry but simply let things be.

12-5

According to what his brother had said, Miss Sagawa had come up to the capital this time with her uncle after a long absence, partly for sightseeing, and would be taken back home as soon as her uncle’s business was concluded.
Whether Father had seized upon this opportunity to forge a lasting bond of mutual interest between their families, or whether he had proactively created this opportunity himself during his recent trip and returned with it in hand—in either case, Daisuke saw little point in analyzing which it might be.
He thought that if he simply sat at the same table as these people and appeared to enjoy lunch, his social obligation would end there.
If any further developments beyond that became necessary, he reasoned there would be no choice but to address them when the time came.

Daisuke called the old servant woman and had her bring out his clothes. He found it bothersome, but to show respect, he put on his crested summer haori. Since he had no unlined hakama, he decided to go home and wear either his father’s or brother’s. Despite his neurotic tendencies, owing to a habit since childhood, Daisuke did not particularly mind appearing in public. When occasions arose—banquets, invitations, farewell gatherings—he generally made arrangements to attend. Thus he had come to recognize quite a few faces of prominent figures in certain circles. Among them mingled noblemen such as counts and viscounts. He entered their company and felt neither loss nor gain in their socializing as such. His speech and conduct remained unchanged wherever he went. To outside observers, this aspect bore a striking resemblance to his brother Seigo. Consequently, those who did not know them well believed the natures of these brothers belonged entirely to the same mold.

When Daisuke arrived in Aoyama...
The elder brother had also not yet returned...
The sister-in-law had properly prepared and was sitting in the parlor...
Seeing Daisuke’s face...

“You’re quite reckless yourself...
Going so far as to sneak off on a trip behind everyone’s back—” she bluntly accused...
Depending on...
To Daisuke...
And so...
He had heard Father...
When pressed...

“When the guests arrive, I’ll go inform him in the inner rooms and greet him then,” he said, continuing his usual idle chatter as always.
However, regarding Miss Sagawa, he did not broach the topic with a single word.
Umeko tried by some means to steer the conversation there.
To Daisuke, that was clearly visible.
Therefore, he feigned ignorance and countered her ploy.

Before long, the awaited guests arrived, so Daisuke, keeping to his promise, immediately went to inform his father.
Father, as expected,

“I see,” he said and immediately stood up—that was all.
There was no time for even a reprimand toward Daisuke.
Daisuke returned to the parlor, put on his hakama, and then went to the reception room.
There, all the guests and host met face to face.
Father and Takagi were first to begin talking.
Umeko took on the role of entertaining Miss Sagawa.
At that moment, his brother entered in the same morning attire with a heavy step.

“Ah, I must apologize for being so late,” he greeted the guests, but when taking his seat, turned back to Daisuke,

“You were quite early,” he said in a low voice.

For the dining room, they used the room adjacent to the reception room.
Through the open door, Daisuke noticed the striking color of the white tablecloth's corner and realized lunch would be Western-style.
Umeko stood up briefly and went to peer into the next doorway.
It was to inform Father that preparations for the meal had been completed.

“Well then, shall we?” Father stood up.
Takagi nodded acknowledgment and rose.
Miss Sagawa too stood following her uncle’s lead.
At that moment Daisuke noted how slender and elongated her form appeared from the waist down.
At table’s center Father and Takagi faced one another directly.
Umeko sat at Takagi’s right hand while Miss Sagawa occupied the seat to Father’s left.
As the women faced each other across the spread, so too did Seigo and Daisuke find themselves positioned opposite one another.
From his slightly angled vantage behind the serving stand, Daisuke studied the young lady’s countenance.
He observed how light streaming through rear windows accentuated shadows beneath her cheekbones where flesh met nasal contours.
Yet where illumination grazed her ears’ periphery bloomed a delicate flush of pale rose.
Those small auricles seemed almost translucent beneath daylight’s caress – fragile as pressed blossoms.
Contrasting sharply with her complexion’s pallor loomed large eyes of deep russet hue like autumn leaves steeped in shadow.
These dual contrasts – shadowed planes against luminous edges – conspired to frame a visage whose rounded contours suggested some Noh mask’s serene geometry.

12-6

The dining table, given the number of people, was not particularly large.
Proportionate to the room's spaciousness—if anything, it was rather too small—the pure white tablecloth had been decorated with gathered flowers, within which the meat knife and spoon gleamed with vivid clarity.

The table conversation consisted mainly of ordinary small talk.
At first, even that seemed to lack much vitality.
On such occasions, Father would customarily bring up topics about his favorite artworks and antiques.
And when in the mood, he would fetch any number of pieces from the storehouse and lay them out before his guests.
Thanks to Father, Daisuke had developed certain preferences in this field.
Through the same influence, his brother too had come to know at least the names of painters.
However, the latter would simply stand before hanging scrolls and remark things like, "Ah, this must be Qiu Ying," or "Oh, an Ōkyo."
Since he made no effort to appear interested, none of it seemed particularly engaging either.
Moreover, in never brandishing magnifying glasses or such tools to appraise authenticity, Seigo and Daisuke were alike.
Neither brother had ever applied criticisms like Father's—such as declaring that artists of old never painted waves this way, making them improper by established standards—to any painting.

Father tried livening up the dry conversation by broaching his favorite subject.
But within moments it became apparent that Takagi cared nothing for such matters.
Being an experienced man, Father promptly withdrew.
Yet when both retreated to their respective safe territories, neither found any substance in their exchange.
With no alternative, Father asked what amusements Takagi enjoyed.
Takagi replied he had no particular hobbies.
Adopting an air of resignation, Father entrusted Takagi to Seigo and Daisuke before removing himself from the conversation.
Seigo effortlessly expanded their talk to Kobe inns and Kusunoki Shrine, seizing on whatever topics came to hand.
Within these subjects he naturally crafted a role for Miss Sagawa to play.
The young lady merely offered necessary words before retreating.
Daisuke and Takagi first discussed Doshisha University.
Then they moved on to American universities.
Finally Emerson and Hawthorne's names arose.
Daisuke confirmed Takagi had such knowledge but stopped there without probing further.
Thus their literary discussion ended with just a few names and titles, never progressing beyond that.

Umeko had been talking nonstop from the very beginning.
Her repeated efforts were naturally focused on breaking through the reserve and silence of the young lady seated before her.
Even out of propriety, the young lady could not avoid responding to Umeko’s incessant questions.
However, there was almost no evidence that she had actively tried to sway Umeko’s heart on her own initiative.
When speaking, she had a slight habit of tilting her head to the side.
Even that, to Daisuke, could not be interpreted as an attempt to flirt.

The young lady received her education in Kyoto.
As for music, she first learned the koto but later switched to the piano.
She also practiced the violin a little, but since the hand movements here were complicated, it was practically the same as not playing at all.
She had rarely attended the theater.

“How was Kabukiza Theater the other day?” When Umeko asked this, Miss Sagawa did not respond at all.
To Daisuke, it seemed less that the husband did not understand theater and more that he despised it.
Yet despite this, Umeko persisted on the same subject, launching into critiques of Actor So-and-so’s performance and Actor Such-and-such’s shortcomings.
Daisuke once again thought that his sister-in-law had strayed from logic.
Since there was no other way from the side,
“Even if you dislike theater, you do read novels, don’t you?” he asked steering the conversation away from plays.
The young lady for the first time then glanced briefly at Daisuke.
However the answer was unexpectedly clear.

“No, not even novels.”

The hosts and guests who had been awaiting the young lady's answer all burst into laughter.
Takagi took pains to explain on the young lady's behalf.
According to his account, under the influence of a certain Miss So-and-so who had educated her, she had been trained in certain respects almost like a Puritan.
Then Takagi even appended a critique after his explanation, declaring this was quite behind the times.
At that moment, naturally, no one laughed.
Father, who held little goodwill toward Christianity,

"That is commendable," he praised.
Umeko could not comprehend the value of such education at all.
Nevertheless,
"Umeko used a vague phrase ill-suited to refined taste: 'How true.'"
Seigo immediately changed the subject to prevent Umeko’s words from leaving too strong an impression on their guest.

“Then you must be skilled in English?”

The young lady said “No” and blushed slightly.

12-7

After the meal, the hosts and guests returned to the parlor and resumed their conversation, but like a candle replenished with wax, the flame showed no sign of suddenly leaping to a new wick.
Umeko stood up and opened the lid of the piano.

“How about playing something?” Umeko suggested, glancing at the young lady.
The young lady naturally did not leave her seat.

“Well then, Dai-san, why don’t you start us off with something?” Umeko said this time to Daisuke.
Daisuke was aware that he was not skilled enough to perform for others.
But if he were to make such an excuse, the exchange would become pedantic and persistent,

“Well, just leave the piano lid open for now.”
“I’ll do it later,” he replied, then continued talking about unrelated matters as if nothing had happened.

After about an hour, the guests left.
The four of them went out shoulder to shoulder to the entrance.
When they went back inside,

"Daisuke isn't planning to leave yet, is he?" said Father.

Daisuke, lagging a step behind everyone else, stretched his arms up toward the lintel so that his hands nearly reached above it. After that, he wandered through the empty parlor and dining room for a while before coming to the sitting room, where he found his brother and sister-in-law facing each other in conversation.

“Hey, you can’t leave right away.
Father has some business to discuss, it seems.
Go to the back,” said his brother in a deliberately serious tone.
Umeko was smiling faintly.
Daisuke silently scratched his head.

Daisuke did not have the courage to go to his father's room alone.
Making some excuse about mosquitoes or something, he tried to drag his brother and sister-in-law along with him.
When that didn't work, he finally settled down right there.
Just then a maid came,

"Young master, if you could please go to the back rooms," she urged.

"Yeah, I'll go now," he replied, then laid out his reasoning to his brother and sister-in-law: "If I meet Father alone, I'll end up putting him in one of his moods—and given how prone I am to bluster, I might just make the old man furious."
"In that case, even you two would have to come mediate later or something."
"Since that would actually trouble you both, it'd be better if you'd just come with me now without making a fuss."

Because his brother was a man who disliked arguments, he made a face as if to dismiss it as trivial but said nothing,

“Well then, let’s go,” he said, standing up.
Umeko also stood up immediately, smiling.
The three of them crossed the hallway to their father’s room and sat down as though nothing had happened.

There, Umeko skillfully adjusted the conversation to prevent their father from reproaching Daisuke about his past.
She steered the flow of discussion as much as possible toward evaluating the recently departed guests.
Umeko praised Miss Sagawa as a remarkably demure and lovely girl.
To this, Father, Brother, and Daisuke all expressed agreement.
However, Brother raised a doubt: if she had truly received an American Miss’s education, she ought to carry herself more distinctly in the Western manner.
Daisuke concurred with this doubt.
Father and sister-in-law remained silent.
Thereupon, Daisuke explained that her demureness stemmed from an innate shyness rather than Miss’s education—it was likely rooted in Japan’s social customs between men and women.
Father acknowledged this as correct.
Umeko speculated it might be due to the young lady having been educated in Kyoto.
Brother said, “Even in Tokyo, there aren’t any like what you’ve seen.”
At this moment, Father tapped his tobacco pipe with a stern expression.
“And her looks—aren’t they better than average?” said Umeko.
To this, neither Father nor Brother raised objections.
Daisuke also voiced his agreement.
The four of them shifted from that topic to discussing Takagi.
Since Wanken was known as good-natured, that matter was quickly settled.

Unfortunately, none knew the young lady's parents.
Yet Father had guaranteed before the three of them that they were upstanding and modest folk.
He had apparently confirmed this with a certain member of the House of Peers from their prefecture - one elected by major taxpayers.
Finally came discussion of the Sagawa family's assets.
At this, Father declared that such people had a firmer foundation and were more secure than ordinary businessmen.

When the young lady's qualifications had been roughly settled, Father turned to Daisuke.

"You don't have any significant objections, I trust?" he inquired.
Both in its phrasing and intent, this carried more weight than a mere "What do you think?"
Daisuke,

"That may be so," he still answered evasively.
Father stared fixedly at Daisuke, his wrinkled forehead gradually clouding.
Brother, resignedly—
"Well, you should think it over a bit more carefully," he said, giving Daisuke some leeway.

Thirteen, Part One

Four days later, on his father’s orders, Daisuke went to Shimbashi Station to see Takagi off. Having been forcibly roused from sleep while still drowsy—perhaps because his sleep-deprived head had been exposed to the wind—by the time they reached the station, he felt as though he had caught a chill in his hair. No sooner had he entered the waiting room than Umeko remarked that he did not look well. Without responding, Daisuke took off his hat and occasionally pressed his damp head. In the end, the hair he had neatly parted that morning became thoroughly disheveled.

On the platform, Takagi suddenly turned to Daisuke and,

“How about taking this train to Kobe for a visit?” he suggested.
Daisuke merely answered with a thank you.
Just as the train was about to depart, Umeko deliberately approached the window and specifically called out the young lady’s name,

“Be sure to come visit us again soon.”
The young lady inside bowed politely at them through the glass pane.
After seeing off the train and exiting through ticket gates together once more—they all went their separate ways then.
Umeko tried inviting him along toward Aoyama next—but pressing at his temples instead—he declined outright.

He got into the rickshaw, immediately returned to Ushigome, and without pause entered his study, then collapsed onto his back.
Kadono came briefly to check on him but, knowing Daisuke’s usual state, said nothing; he picked up the haori draped over the chair and left.

Lying down, Daisuke thought about what his near future would hold.
If I leave things as they are, I will inevitably have to take a wife.
I have already refused quite a number of marriage proposals up until now.
If I refuse again now, it seems it will come down to either them losing all patience or truly getting angry.
If they were to lose patience and give up on marriage proposals after this, nothing could be better—but being met with their anger would be quite troublesome. That said, accepting something one does not want is foolishness for people of today.
Daisuke paced amidst this dilemma.

He was not an old-fashioned man like his father, who from the outset devised plans and forced nature to conform to them.
Because he believed nature to be something greater than all the plans humans had devised.
Thus, he thought: if Father were to force his plans by acting against his own nature, it would be akin to a divorced wife attempting to prove her marital bond by wielding a divorce notice as her shield.
However, he had absolutely no intention of explaining such logic to Father.
Confronting Father with logical arguments was the most difficult of tasks.
Even if he were to brave that difficulty, it would bring Daisuke no benefit whatsoever.
The result would only incur Father’s displeasure, leaving him no choice but to refuse the marriage without giving a reason.

Among the three of them—father, brother, and sister-in-law—he harbored the most doubts about his father’s character.
Even regarding this marriage, he had inferred that the marriage itself was not necessarily his father’s sole objective.
However, he had not been given the opportunity to clearly know where his father’s true intentions lay.
As a son, he did not find it immoral to speculate about his father’s true intentions in this manner.
Therefore, the thought that he himself was the most unfortunate among many parent-child relationships did not occur to him at all.
He felt displeased that, because of this, the distance between his father and himself seemed likely to grow even greater than it had been up to now.

He imagined a state of complete estrangement between father and son as the ultimate form of isolation. Therein he recognized a certain pain. Yet that pain was not unbearable in degree. Rather, what terrified him more was the severance of financial resources that would result from it.

If potatoes were to become more precious than diamonds, humanity would be finished—this was something Daisuke had always believed. Should he incur his father’s wrath in the future and have their financial ties severed, he would have no choice but to cast aside diamonds and sink his teeth into potatoes, however reluctantly. All that would remain as compensation was natural love. The object of that love was another man’s wife.

He lay there thinking endlessly.
But no matter how long he thought, his mind could arrive nowhere.
Just as he had no right to determine his own lifespan, he could not determine his own future.
At the same time, just as he could roughly estimate his own lifespan, he perceived a faint shadow in his own future.
And so, he attempted in vain to grasp that shadow.

Thirteen-Two

At that time, Daisuke's brain activity merely produced flickering, bat-like illusions that startled the evening gloom. While chasing that fluttering light in his sleep, his head floated up from the floor, and he began to feel weightless. Then, before he knew it, he fell into a light sleep.

Then suddenly, someone struck an alarm bell right by his ear.
Daisuke opened his eyes even before becoming aware it signaled a fire.
Yet he did not leap up, remaining prone.
Such sounds in his dreams were nearly routine.
At times they continued resonating even after he regained full consciousness.
Five or six days prior, he had been roused by the violent shaking of his house.
At that time he had distinctly felt the tatami mats shifting beneath him through his shoulder, waist, and part of his spine.
He often retained phantom heartbeats from dreams long after waking.
In these moments he would press a hand to his chest like some ascetic saint, staring fixedly at the ceiling through wide-open eyes.

Daisuke remained lying down this time as well, waiting until the alarm bell’s sound had fully resonated and faded deep within his ears. Then he got up. When he went to the tearoom and looked, a bamboo blind had been hung over his meal tray placed beside the brazier. The wall clock had already struck twelve. The old woman, having apparently finished her meal, was dozing in the maid's room with her elbows resting on the rice tub. There was no sign of Kadono; not even a shadow remained.

Daisuke went to the bathroom, wet his head, then sat alone at the meal tray in the tearoom. There he finished his solitary meal and returned to his study, resolved today—for the first time in a while—to do some reading.

When he opened the Western book he had been reading at the place where the bookmark was inserted, he found he had completely forgotten the context.
For Daisuke's memory, such a phenomenon was rather rare.
He had been an avid reader since his school days.
Even after graduation, he took pride in his status that allowed him to reap the benefits of reading at his leisure, free from worldly cares of food and clothing.
Whenever a day passed without him glancing through a single page, he would feel an indefinable sense of desolation out of habit.
Therefore, even when unexpected events occurred, he would arrange matters as best he could and devote himself to print.
At times, reading itself felt like his sole true calling.

Daisuke, now dazed, turned back two or three pages of the book he had been reading while letting tobacco smoke drift about. He strained to reconstruct his thoughts, trying to recall what arguments lay there and how they progressed. This effort proved no easier than transferring cargo from a barge to a pier. It was as if something entangled in misaligned cross-section A had been forcibly shifted to section B. Still Daisuke persisted, fixing his eyes upon the pages for nearly two hours. But ultimately he could bear it no longer. What he read undoubtedly registered in his mind as printed characters conveying meaning, yet showed no sign of reaching his flesh and blood. He felt unsatisfied, like biting into ice through an ice bag.

He closed the book.
And he thought reading at such a time was futile.
At the same time, he concluded he could no longer rest.
This pain differed from his usual ennui.
It wasn't a state of finding all action tedious, but rather a mental condition that compelled him to act.

He stood up, went to the tearoom, and threw on the folded haori once more.
Then, thrusting his feet into the geta he'd kicked off at the entrance, he rushed through the gate as if pursued.

The time was around four o'clock.
He descended Kagurazaka and, without any particular aim, boarded the first train that caught his eye.
When the conductor asked his destination, he blurted out a reply without thinking.
When he opened the wallet, the remainder of the travel expenses he had given Michiyo was still tucked deep inside the tri-fold compartment.
Daisuke bought a train ticket and then checked the number of bills.

He spent that evening at a teahouse in Akasaka.
There, he heard an interesting story.
A young and beautiful woman had a relationship with a departing man and conceived his child, but when it came time to give birth, she shed tears in sorrow.
When asked later about the reason, she replied that it was pitiful to be made to bear a child at her age.
This woman had felt a certain instability because the time she had devoted solely to love was far too short, and the parent-child relationship had assailed her young mind without mercy.
She was, of course, not a respectable woman.
Daisuke found this story to be of great interest as illustrating the psychological state of a woman who devoted herself solely to physical beauty and spiritual love, disregarding all else.

13-3

When the next day came, Daisuke finally went to see Michiyo again.
At that moment, he fabricated an excuse internally—that he was concerned whether Michiyo had told Hiraoka about the money he had left earlier or not told him, and if she had told him, what effect it might have had on their marital relationship.
He interpreted that this concern had driven him about restlessly without allowing firm stability until finally propelling him toward Michiyo.

Before leaving home, Daisuke changed out of all the undergarments and unlined kimono he had worn the previous evening, renewing his spirits.
Outside, the mercury in the thermometer was climbing day by day along its graduated scale.
As he walked, the sun blazed so intensely that the humid rainy season felt all the more longed for.
In reaction to last evening's events, Daisuke found his own black shadow cast in this bright air oppressive.
While wearing a wide-brimmed summer hat, he wished the rainy season would arrive soon.
The rainy season now loomed just two or three days away.
His head felt oppressively heavy, as if foreboding its arrival.

When he arrived before Hiraoka's house, the roots of his thick hair covering his clouded head were heaving. Daisuke removed his hat before entering the house. The lattice door was fastened shut. When he circled to the rear intending to make his presence known, Michiyo was starching laundry with the maid. From halfway along the starching board propped against the shed, she craned her slender neck forward, pausing hands that had been carefully smoothing crumpled fabric, and looked at Daisuke. For a moment, she could not speak. Daisuke too remained standing in silence. At last,

When she said, “You’ve come again,” Michiyo waved her wet hands and hurriedly went up from the kitchen.
At the same time, she signaled with her eyes for him to go around to the front.
Michiyo herself descended to the entrance and, while unlatching the lattice door,
“It’s unsafe,” she said.

Because she had been moving her hands under the clear sunlight all this time, her cheeks appeared flushed. As the flush reached her forehead and faded into its usual pallor, beads of sweat began to trickle along that pale border. From beyond the lattice door, Daisuke studied Michiyo’s delicate skin—so thin it seemed translucent—and waited silently for her to open it. Michiyo—

“Thank you for waiting,” she said, stepping sideways with a gesture that invited him in. Daisuke brushed past her into the house. In the parlor, he found a purple zabuton cushion neatly arranged before Hiraoka’s desk. The sight unsettled him. Where the garden soil lay unevenly packed, its yellow patches glared through tangles of overgrown weeds.

Daisuke, while offering a conventional apology for intruding during a busy time, gazed at this tasteless garden.
At that moment, he felt it was truly pitiful to have Michiyo in such a house.
Michiyo placed her hands - fingertips slightly swollen from handling water - on her knees and said she had been starching clothes because she was so terribly bored.
The meaning of Michiyo's boredom was that her husband was always out, leaving her to suffer through monotonous hours of house-minding in boredom.
Daisuke deliberately,

"A fine position you're in," he mocked.
Michiyo showed no sign of expressing the desolation within her own heart to Daisuke.
Silently, she stood and went to the next room.
She clanged the ring of the chest of drawers and came back holding a small box lined with red velvet.
She sat down in front of Daisuke and opened it.
Inside was the ring Daisuke had given her long ago, neatly placed.
Michiyo merely,
"It's acceptable, isn't it?" she said apologetically to Daisuke, then immediately stood and went to the next room.
Then, as if wary of society's eyes, she put away the commemorative ring in the chest of drawers here and there and returned to her original seat.
Daisuke said nothing about the ring.
Looking toward the garden,

“If you’re so free, how about pulling some weeds in the garden?” he said.
This time, it was Michiyo who fell silent.
After this continued for a short while, Daisuke asked again.

“Did you tell Mr. Hiraoka about the matter from the other day?”

Michiyo said in a low voice,

“No,” she answered.

“Then you still haven’t told him?” he asked back.

At that moment, Michiyo explained that she had intended to tell him, but as Hiraoka had hardly been home lately, she had ended up missing the chance and still had not informed him.
Daisuke naturally did not think Michiyo’s explanation was a lie.
However, he could not help but think that the reason she had not yet told her husband—something that could have been done in five spare minutes—was due to some unresolved hesitation festering in Michiyo’s heart.
Daisuke thought that he himself had made Michiyo into someone bearing such guilt toward Hiraoka.
Yet this husband had not yet pricked Daisuke’s conscience to any meaningful degree.
For he believed that Hiraoka too must shoulder clear responsibility for this outcome as natural retribution—legal judgments aside.

13-4

Daisuke asked Michiyo about Hiraoka's recent situation.
Michiyo, as was her custom, did not care to say much.
However, it was clear that Hiraoka's treatment of his wife had changed since their marriage.
Daisuke had already perceived this when the couple first returned to Tokyo.
Though he had never formally heard their true feelings since then, it appeared nearly undeniable that matters were progressing daily in an unfavorable direction with increasing speed.
If it were true that their estrangement had arisen because Daisuke had been placed between them as a third party, then he might not have acted with sufficient caution in this matter.
But Daisuke, appealing to his own intellect, could not bring himself to believe that.
He attributed part of this outcome to Michiyo's illness,
and concluded that their physical relationship had reverberated in her husband's mind.
He attributed another part to the child's death.
Then he attributed another part to Hiraoka's dissipation.
He attributed another part to Hiraoka's failure as a company employee.
Finally, he attributed the remaining portion to the financial circumstances arising from Hiraoka's dissolute behavior.
After summarizing everything, he concluded that Hiraoka had taken someone he should not have taken, and Michiyo had married someone she should not have married.
Daisuke deeply regretted in his heart having responded to Hiraoka's request and arranged Michiyo for him.
But he could not bring himself to believe that Hiraoka had left his wife because he himself had swayed Michiyo's heart.

At the same time, Daisuke could not entirely deny that his affection for Michiyo was thriving precisely on this couple's current relationship as its essential condition.
Setting aside for now how far matters had progressed between Daisuke and Michiyo before her marriage to Hiraoka, he found himself utterly unable to remain indifferent to the present Michiyo.
He pitied Michiyo in her illness more than he had pitied the Michiyo of old.
He pitied Michiyo in her childlessness more than he had pitied the Michiyo of old.
He pitied Michiyo in her fading marital love more than he had pitied the Michiyo of old.
He pitied Michiyo in her financial struggles more than he had pitied the Michiyo of old.
Yet Daisuke lacked the boldness to attempt directly severing this marital bond forever.
His passion had not reached such a fever pitch.

The anguish evident around Michiyo’s eyes stemmed from financial troubles.
That Hiraoka was not allocating the full amount of living expenses he could earn on his own to household needs was clear from Michiyo’s tone.
Daisuke thought he must at least do something about this matter.
So,

“Let me try meeting Mr. Hiraoka and having a proper talk,” he said.
Michiyo looked at Daisuke with a forlorn expression.
If successful, it would be ideal—but Daisuke knew all too well that failure would only compound Michiyo’s troubles, leaving him unable to press the matter further.
Michiyo rose again and fetched a letter from the adjoining room.
The letter lay inside a pale blue envelope.
It had been sent to Michiyo from her father in Hokkaido.
Michiyo extracted a lengthy letter from the envelope and showed it to Daisuke.

The letter spoke of unfavorable circumstances there, the high cost of living making livelihood difficult, having neither relatives nor connections to rely on, a desire to come to Tokyo but no means to do so—all of it nothing but pitiful matters.
Daisuke carefully rolled up the letter and handed it to Michiyo.
At that moment, Michiyo had tears welling up in her eyes.

Michiyo’s father had once owned fields that could be considered a modest fortune.
At the time of the Russo-Japanese War, he had responded to others’ advice and invested in stocks, but after completely failing, he resolutely sold off his ancestral land and moved to Hokkaido.
As for subsequent news, Daisuke too had known nothing about it until being shown this letter now.
“Relatives are as good as absent even when present” were words Michiyo’s brother had often spoken to Daisuke while alive.
Indeed, Michiyo had been living relying solely on her father and Hiraoka.

“You must be envious,” she said, blinking.
Daisuke lacked the courage to deny it.
After a while, once more,

“Why haven’t you taken a wife yet?” she asked.
Daisuke was unable to answer this question as well.

13-5

As he continued silently gazing at Michiyo’s face, the color gradually drained from her cheeks until they became noticeably paler than usual.
At that moment, Daisuke realized for the first time the danger of sitting face-to-face with Michiyo for too long.
That their mutual words—flowing from natural rapport—had unconsciously driven them to overstep propriety’s bounds had occurred within these past two or three minutes.
Even were Daisuke to venture further than her husband had, he could still feign ignorance and retreat—such was his mastery of conversation.
Whenever he read Western novels, he always regarded their romantic dialogues between men and women as far too explicit, far too unrestrained, and moreover far too linearly intense.
If read in the original, well and good—but he considered it a sensibility untranslatable into Japanese.
Therefore, he had not the slightest intention of using imported phrases to develop his relationship with Michiyo.
At least between them, ordinary words sufficed.
Yet there lurked a danger of slipping from Position A to Position B unbeknownst to them.
Daisuke barely managed to stop at that critical moment just one step further.
When leaving, Michiyo came to see him off to the entrance,

“I get so lonesome I can’t bear it—please come again.” The maid was still starching and stretching laundry in the back.

Having stepped outside, Daisuke wandered aimlessly for about a block. He should have felt he had ended things at an opportune moment, yet his heart held not a trace of such satisfaction. Nor did he regret having stayed longer with Michiyo, speaking freely as nature compelled before returning home. He realized it would have been the same whether he had ended it there or five minutes later. He recalled that his current relationship with Michiyo had already developed during their previous meeting. No—it had been so even before that meeting, he remembered. Retracing their past step by step, he found in every cross-section the flame of love burning between them. When he concluded that Michiyo had essentially been wedded to him even before marrying Hiraoka, an unbearable weight crashed into his chest. He staggered under its burden.

When he returned home, Kadono said,
“You look terribly pale—what happened?”

Daisuke went to the bathroom and wiped the sweat clean from his pale forehead.
And then, he soaked his overly long hair in cold water.

After that, Daisuke did not go out at all for about two days. On the afternoon of the third day, he rode the train and visited Hiraoka at the newspaper company. He was determined to meet Hiraoka and speak fully on Michiyo’s behalf. After handing his business card to the attendant, while waiting in the dusty reception area, he frequently took a handkerchief from his sleeve and covered his nose. Before long, he was shown to the second-floor reception room. It was a poorly ventilated, stiflingly hot, gloomy, cramped room. Daisuke smoked one cigarette there.

The door labeled "Editorial Room" remained constantly open, with people going in and out.
Hiraoka, who had come to meet Daisuke, also emerged from that doorway.
He wore the summer clothes he had been seen in previously and still sported a clean collar and cuffs.
Looking busy,

“Oh, it’s been a while,” he said, standing before Daisuke.
Daisuke also stood up as if prompted by him.
The two men had a brief conversation while standing.
It was exactly during the busy time of the editorial department, so they couldn’t do anything leisurely.
Daisuke once again inquired about Hiraoka’s availability.
Hiraoka took out his watch from his pocket and looked at it.

“Sorry, but could you come back in about an hour?” he said.
Daisuke took his hat and descended the dark, dusty stairs again.
When he stepped outside, a cool breeze blew there as well.

Daisuke wandered aimlessly around the area. As he contemplated how to broach the conversation when finally meeting Hiraoka, his sole intention was to provide Michiyo with even the slightest immediate comfort. Yet he feared this very intention might wound Hiraoka's feelings instead. In envisioning the worst possible outcome, Daisuke even anticipated a rupture arising between himself and Hiraoka. Still, he possessed no concrete plan for rescuing Michiyo at that moment. Though having lacked the courage to further alter their relationship during their face-to-face meeting, he had now reached a point where he could no longer remain passive regarding Michiyo's plight. Thus today's meeting became less a calculated strategy born of reason than a reckless venture swept up in emotional turbulence—a departure from Daisuke's usual self that went unnoticed by the man himself. An hour later, he stood once more at the editorial room entrance before exiting through the newspaper company's gate alongside Hiraoka.

Thirteen-Six

After coming three or four blocks through the back streets, Hiraoka took the lead and entered a house.
Water ladles hung under the eaves of the tatami room, and the narrow garden lay completely drenched with water.
Hiraoka took off his coat and immediately sat cross-legged.
Daisuke did not find it particularly hot.
The fan sufficed merely by being held in hand.

The conversation began with conditions at the newspaper company.
“It looks hectic, but it’s surprisingly manageable work,” remarked Hiraoka.
His tone betrayed no defensiveness.
“That’s because you’re not held accountable,” Daisuke quipped.
Hiraoka straightened up and offered an explanation.
He elaborated that no field demanded such fierce competition and mental agility as modern journalism.

“I see. Mere penmanship alone wouldn’t cut it,” Daisuke replied without enthusiasm.
Then Hiraoka spoke again.

“I’m in charge of the economic section, but even just that alone has turned up quite a few interesting facts.”
“How about I write up some exposé on your family’s company?”

From his usual observations, Daisuke was not so absentminded as to be surprised when told such a thing.

“I suppose writing it would be rather amusing.”
“In return, I’d like you to be fair,” he said.

“Of course I don’t intend to write lies.”

“No, I mean I want you to criticize not just my brother’s company, but all of them uniformly through your writing.”

Hiraoka laughed mockingly at this moment.
And then,

"The Nittō Incident alone doesn't quite hit the mark," he said through gritted teeth.
Daisuke drank his sake in silence.
The conversation appeared to lose momentum in this vein.
Then Hiraoka—perhaps thinking it relevant to business world realities—suddenly launched into recounting an anecdote about Okura-gumi during the Sino-Japanese War.
At that time, Okura-gumi in Hiroshima had been contracted to supply several hundred cattle to the Army as military provisions.
They would deliver a few head each day, only to sneak back at night and steal them.
Then they'd feign ignorance and deliver those same cattle again the next day.
The officials kept purchasing the same livestock day after day.
When they finally caught on, they started branding each received animal.
But unaware of this new measure, Okura-gumi stole them again.
Not only that—they calmly brought back the branded cattle the following day, until their scheme was finally exposed.

When Daisuke heard this story, he considered it a quintessential example of modern absurdity through its connection to real society.
Hiraoka then explained how intensely the government feared Kōtoku Shūsui, the socialist.
Two or three police officers kept watch day and night in front of and behind Kōtoku's house.
At one point, they had even set up a tent to observe from inside.
Whenever Kōtoku went out, officers would follow him.
The slightest loss of surveillance might trigger a major incident.
Reports flew by telephone across Tokyo - now he appeared in Hongō, now he came to Kanda - throwing the entire city into turmoil.
The Shinjuku Police Station was spending a hundred yen monthly just to monitor Kōtoku alone.
When a fellow candy peddler from his group worked on confectionery displays in the street, white-uniformed officers would plant themselves before the stall, rendering business nearly impossible.

This too failed to carry a serious ring to Daisuke’s ears.

“Still a prime example of modern absurdity, ain’t it?” repeated Hiraoka, challenging Daisuke.
Daisuke laughed airily, but being not only disinterested in this topic but also unwilling today to engage in ordinary chatter as usual, he let the socialist matter drop.
This was also why he’d earlier compelled Hiraoka to abandon summoning a geisha.

“There’s actually something I need to discuss with you,” Daisuke finally ventured.
At this, Hiraoka abruptly altered his manner, fixing unsettled eyes upon Daisuke before—

“Well, I’ve been meaning to do something about it for some time now, but as things stand, there’s nothing to be done.”
“Please wait a little longer.”
“In return, I’m keeping myself from writing about your brother and father in such a manner,” came Hiraoka’s unexpected reply.
Rather than finding it absurd, Daisuke felt a distinct loathing.

“You’ve changed considerably,” he said coldly.

“I’ve changed just as you’ve changed.”
“If we keep wearing each other down like this, there’s no remedy.”
“So please wait a while longer,” replied Hiraoka with an artificially forced laugh.

13-7

Regardless of what Hiraoka said, Daisuke resolved to state only what he intended to say.
If he were to make excuses like "I'm not here to collect debts," Hiraoka would see through it again—which would irritate him—so Daisuke decided to let Hiraoka's agitation be and proceed with his own approach.
Yet his primary dilemma was this: if he revealed he knew of Hiraoka's financial state through Michiyo's account, Michiyo might face repercussions; but if he avoided mentioning that point entirely, any warnings or advice would be completely useless.

Daisuke had no choice but to take a detour.

"You’ve been frequenting these kinds of places quite often lately, it seems. You’re on familiar terms with everyone here, aren’t you?"

"Unlike you with your easy money, I can’t afford to splurge like that. But it’s socializing—can’t be helped," said Hiraoka, deftly bringing the sake cup to his lips.

“Though it’s none of my business—does your household balance its income and expenses?” Daisuke charged ahead.

“Yeah. Well, I’m managing well enough.”

Having said this, Hiraoka suddenly lowered his tone and gave an utterly disinterested reply.
Daisuke could no longer press the point any further.
Unavoidably,

“Usually, she would have returned home by now, I suppose.”
“When I visited the other day, it seemed rather late,” he inquired.
Then, Hiraoka replied in a tone that seemed to evade the issue.

“Well, she comes home sometimes, sometimes she doesn’t. Since my occupation has such an irregular nature, it can’t be helped,” he said vaguely, as if half-defending himself.

“Michiyo-san must be lonely.”

“Oh, she’s fine. That one has changed quite a bit too, you know,” said Hiraoka, looking at Daisuke.

Daisuke sensed a dangerous apprehension within those eyes.

Perhaps, he thought, this couple’s relationship could never be restored.

If this couple were to be cleaved apart by nature’s axe, his fate would stand before an irreversible future.

The more the couple drifted apart, the more Michiyo and he had to draw closer—because that was how it had to be.

Daisuke said as if on immediate impulse—

“There’s no way such a thing could be true.”
“No matter how much she’s changed, that’s just the natural change from getting older.”
“Go home as soon as you can and give Michiyo-san some comfort.”

“Do you think so?” said Hiraoka, taking a swig.
Daisuke merely—

“Do I think so? Who wouldn’t have to think that way?” he answered, the words half tumbling out unbidden.

“Do you think Michiyo remains the Michiyo of three years ago?”
“She’s changed quite a bit.”
“Ah, she’s changed quite a bit,” Hiraoka declared, taking another forceful swig.
Daisuke involuntarily felt a palpitation in his chest.

“She’s the same—from my perspective, exactly the same. She hasn’t changed one bit.”

“But what am I to do? Even if I return home, there’s nothing enjoyable there.”

“That’s impossible.”

Hiraoka widened his eyes and looked at Daisuke again.
Daisuke’s breath grew slightly constricted.
Yet he felt nothing like a guilty man struck by lightning.
He had uttered something illogical on pure impulse, contrary to his usual self.
But he firmly believed—without a shadow of doubt—that this was for Hiraoka’s sake.
Half-unconsciously, he had made one final attempt to restore the Hiraokas’ marriage to its state three years prior, using this as pretext to sever himself from Michiyo permanently.
It never once crossed his mind that this might be a makeshift ploy to conceal his relationship with Michiyo from Hiraoka.
Daisuke readily judged himself far too morally elevated to employ such distrustful words or actions toward Hiraoka.
After some time, Daisuke regained his customary composure.

“But if you keep going out so freely, you’ll naturally need money,” said Daisuke.
“Consequently, the household finances will suffer.”
“And gradually, the home becomes unpleasant—isn’t that all there is to it?”

Hiraoka rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to his forearms.
“The household?” he retorted.
“It’s not much of a blessing either.”
“Only bachelors like you put such weight on family,” he said.

Thirteen of Eight

When Daisuke heard these words, Hiraoka had worsened.
To lay bare his true thoughts: if Hiraoka so detested his household, then fine—in return, he would take the wife away.
However, their exchange still had some way to go before reaching that point.
Daisuke attempted to probe Hiraoka’s inner self from another angle.

“When you first arrived in Tokyo, I was lectured by you.”
“You told me to ‘get to work’ or something.”

“Yeah.”
“And then I was made to listen to your passive philosophy and was shocked.”

Daisuke truly thought Hiraoka must have been astonished. At that time, Hiraoka had been consumed by a thirst for action like a man in the grip of fever. Had he sought wealth as the fruit of his deeds? Or honor? Or influence? If none of these, had he pursued action itself as its own end? Even Daisuke could not discern this.

“Someone spiritually ruined like myself reluctantly voices such passive views—but fundamentally, opinions don’t exist for people to obey them. People exist first, and views suited to them emerge—so my theory applies only to me. I’m certainly not using it to dictate how you should live your life. I still revere the vigor you showed back then. As you yourself declared then, you’re truly a man of action. I want you to give it your all.”

“Of course I fully intend to do so.”

Hiraoka's answer was limited to just this single sentence.
Daisuke tilted his head inwardly.

"Do you intend to do it through the newspaper?"

Hiraoka hesitated slightly.
But soon declared clearly:

"As long as I'm with the newspaper, I intend to work through it."

"That's admirably succinct."
"I'm not asking about your entire life, so that reply suffices."
"But can you engage in meaningful activities through the newspaper?"

"I intend to make it work," Hiraoka replied tersely.

Even having come this far, the conversation had merely progressed in abstract terms.
Daisuke had indeed grasped the gist in words, but he was utterly unable to ascertain Hiraoka’s true nature.
Daisuke somehow felt as though he were dealing with a responsible government official or lawyer.
At this moment, Daisuke offered a calculated, strategic compliment he had steeled himself to give.
In that compliment, the example of Lieutenant Commander Hirose, the War God, came up.
Lieutenant Commander Hirose, having joined the blockade squadron and perished during the Russo-Japanese War, was idolized by the people of the time and ultimately revered as a War God.
However, when we look at today, four or five years later, there are almost no people left who speak the name of Lieutenant Commander Hirose, the War God.
The rise and fall of heroes occurs with such abruptness.
This is because, in most cases, heroes are people who were extremely important in their era; though their names may sound grand, they are fundamentally quite practical.
So when they pass that crucial moment, society gradually begins to strip them of their status.
During the war with Russia, the blockade squadron may have been crucial, but upon the dawn of peace restored, even a hundred Lieutenant Commander Hiroses would be nothing but ordinary men.
Society is as pragmatic toward its neighbors as it is toward heroes.
Therefore, even such idols undergo constant metabolism and struggle for existence.
For this reason, Daisuke had not the slightest intention of being hailed as some hero or the like.
However, if there exists an ambitious, spirited man here, becoming a hero through the enduring power of the pen rather than the fleeting might of the sword would ensure a more lasting legacy.
Newspapers are the representative enterprise in that regard.

Daisuke had laid out his argument up to this point, but since it was essentially flattery couched in overly academic language, he found himself feeling almost comical in his own mind, unable to summon any real conviction.
To this reply, Hiraoka merely said:
"Well, thank you."
He showed no particular signs of irritation, yet his complete lack of enthusiasm was evident even in this terse response.

Daisuke burned with shame at having underestimated Hiraoka too greatly.
In truth, his plan had been to sway Hiraoka's heart from his own position, roll him from that well-lubricated point of momentum midway, and send him sliding back into his original household.
But Daisuke had faltered barely beyond the starting line of this circuitous and most arduous approach.

13-9

That night, Daisuke finally parted from Hiraoka in a muddled, indecisive manner.
Judging from the outcome of their meeting, even I myself could not understand why I had gone to visit Hiraoka at the newspaper office.
From Hiraoka’s perspective, it was even more so.
In the end, Daisuke had come all the way to the newspaper office for what purpose? He ended up returning without ever pressing the question.

The next day, alone in his study, Daisuke replayed the events of the previous evening in his mind countless times.
During the two hours they had spent talking together, the only time he had been relatively sincere with Hiraoka was when defending Michiyo.
However, that sincerity was merely in motive; the words he had spoken were nothing more than careless improvisations.
To put it harshly, it could have been called a lie.
Even the motives he himself had believed sincere were ultimately a means to save his own future.
From Hiraoka's perspective, it could never have been considered sincere from the outset.
As for the rest of their conversation, it had been a calculated scheme from the very start—an attempt to drag Hiraoka down from his current position into the place he desired.
Therefore, he was unable to do anything about Hiraoka.

If he had resolutely brought Michiyo into the discussion and stated his thoughts without reservation from the very outset, he could have made a far stronger case. He could have shaken Hiraoka more. He could have plumbed the depths of his heart. There was no doubt about it. On the other hand, if he mishandled it, Michiyo would be the one to suffer the consequences. He would end up fighting with Hiraoka. He might.

Daisuke felt spineless as he realized he had unwittingly adopted a safe yet ineffectual approach in dealing with Hiraoka. If, while confronting Hiraoka with such an attitude, he simultaneously harbored anxiety so profound that he could not entrust Michiyo’s fate entirely to Hiraoka, then he must be said to have brazenly committed a contradiction that logic cannot permit.

Daisuke envied how people of old—from their muddled minds, standing in self-serving positions while firmly believing themselves to act for others' sake—wept, felt, raged, and in the end managed to move others exactly as they wished. If my head had been that muddled, I might have been more moved during last night's meeting and achieved a more favorable outcome. He had been called a man lacking in fervor by others—especially by his own father. According to his analysis, the facts were as follows: Humans do not constantly possess motives and actions that are noble, sincere, and pure enough to warrant being approached with fervor. They are far inferior to those. To treat such inferior motives and actions with fervor is either the mark of an imprudent, immature mind or else merely a swindler who flaunts fervor to elevate themselves. Therefore, his coldness could not be called progress as a human being, but was nothing more than the result of having better dissected humanity. He would ordinarily scrutinize his own motives and actions, and upon finding them overly crafty, insincere, and mostly containing falsehoods, he could never bring himself to carry them out with fervent force. And this, he resolutely believed.

At this point he reached a dilemma.
Should he develop his relationship with Michiyo linearly as nature dictated, or should he go entirely against it and return to an oblivious past?
He thought that if he did not choose one or the other, it would be equivalent to losing life's meaning.
All other half-measures could only begin with falsehood and end in falsehood.
All were societally safe yet utterly powerless against the self.
he thought.

He attributed his relationship with Michiyo to divine will—he could think of it as nothing else but divine will. He knew the social danger of letting it develop. A love that followed divine will yet violated human laws would typically gain society's recognition only through the lovers' deaths. He pictured an accidental tragedy between them and shuddered uncontrollably.

Conversely, he attempted to envision eternal separation from Michiyo. In that scenario, rather than obeying divine will, he would have to become one who martyred himself to his own volition. As the means for this, he arrived at the marriage proposal pressed upon him by his father and sister-in-law. And he believed consenting to this marriage would reset all relationships anew.

14-1

Daisuke was torn between becoming nature's child or a man of will.
As a matter of principle, he detested the folly of binding his reactive self—which responded instantly even to heat and cold—like a machine under some inflexible policy.
At the same time, he keenly realized his life had reached a crisis demanding decisive judgment.

Regarding the marriage issue, he had been told to give it proper consideration before returning home, yet still hadn't found time to seriously contemplate it.
When he returned that day, he'd merely felt grateful for escaping danger once more, then cast the matter aside.
Though his father hadn't pressed him further, he couldn't shake the conviction he'd be summoned to Aoyama within days.
Daisuke fully intended to think nothing of it until summoned.
If called, he meant to gauge his father's mood and improvise some response on the spot.
He didn't exactly look down on his father.
He'd always believed all replies should emerge spontaneously like this—by weighing both parties in the moment.

If his feelings toward Michiyo had not been pushed to the brink, Daisuke would undoubtedly have taken such measures with his father. However, Daisuke now had no choice but to cast the dice in his hand, regardless of the other's demeanor. Whether the resulting number proved inconvenient for Hiraoka or displeasing to his father, once the dice were cast, there was no other way but for it to follow heaven's law. Since he held the dice in his hand—and since they were made to be cast—there could be no one but himself to determine their outcome. Daisuke resolved deep within himself that the final authority lay within him. Father, brother, sister-in-law, and Hiraoka had not appeared on the horizon of decision.

He was cowardly only toward his fate.
He spent these four or five days gazing at the dice resting in his palm.
He was still holding them today.
He wished fate would come from beyond his door and give a light knock.
But on the other hand, he was immensely glad for the awareness that he could still hold onto them.

Kadono occasionally came to the study.
Each time he came, Daisuke sat motionless before the Western-style desk.

“How about going out for a short walk?”
“Studying like that must be bad for your body,” he had said once or twice.
His complexion had not improved.
As summer approached, Kadono began boiling bathwater for him every day.
Whenever Daisuke went to the bathroom, he would look in the mirror for a long time.
As he was a man with a thick beard, when it grew even a little, he found it quite unsightly on himself.
When he touched it, the rough texture was even more unpleasant.

He still ate his meals as usual.
However, due to lack of exercise, irregular sleep, and mental strain, his excretory functions had undergone changes.
Yet Daisuke thought nothing of it.
His physiological condition left him almost no time to dwell on discomfort as he kept revolving around one matter in his thoughts.
Once this became habitual, endlessly circling without conclusion became easier than mustering the effort to leap beyond the bounds.

Daisuke finally fell into self-loathing over his indecision. With no alternative, he had even contemplated refusing the Sagawa marriage arrangement as a means to advance his relationship with Michiyo - a thought that startled him when it surfaced. Yet through all his mental circling, the idea of accepting marriage to sever ties with Michiyo never once occurred to him. Refusing the proposal was something he could decide alone countless times over. But when he considered how refusal's backlash would inevitably force him to drench Michiyo with his entire being, reaching that realization made him shudder anew.

Daisuke waited anxiously for his father’s summons.
Yet no word came from his father.
He considered meeting Michiyo once more.
But he could not muster sufficient courage.

At last, the conviction gradually took hold in Daisuke’s mind that while marriage might sever him and Michiyo through the forms of morality, it would likely bear no influence upon their essential bond—the substance of morality itself.
If such a relationship could arise with Michiyo, already wedded to Hiraoka, then granting himself the status of a married man offered no inherent reason why their connection should not persist.
To deem it unsustainable was mere concern for appearances; formal constraints incapable of binding the heart would only multiply suffering with each added layer.
Such was Daisuke’s logic.

Daisuke had no choice but to refuse the marriage proposal.

14-2

The next day after having resolved thus, Daisuke cut his hair and shaved his beard for the first time in ages. Following two or three days of relentless rain since the rainy season's onset, both ground and tree branches lay thoroughly dampened, every speck of dust having settled into quiet stillness. The sunlight held a paler hue than before. Through rifts in the clouds, the rays that fell appeared softened, as though half their reflective power had been sapped by the world's lingering dampness.

While reflecting his image in the barber’s mirror and stroking his plump cheeks as he always did, Daisuke thought that from today he would at last enter into an active life.

When he arrived at Aoyama and looked, there were about two rickshaws at the entrance.
The waiting rickshaw pullers, leaning against the footboards in sleep, did not notice Daisuke passing by.
In the parlor, Umeko placed a newspaper on her lap and was vacantly gazing at the intricate greenery of the garden.
She too seemed to be vacantly dozing off.
Daisuke abruptly sat down before Umeko.

“Is Father here?”

Before replying, Umeko scrutinized Daisuke’s condition with an examiner’s gaze.

“Dai-san, haven’t you lost weight?”
Daisuke stroked his cheek again,

“That’s hardly the case,” he dismissed.

“But your complexion looks terrible,” said Umeko, leaning close to peer at Daisuke’s face.

“It’s the garden’s doing,” he replied, glancing toward the plantings. “The green leaves are reflecting.” Then he added, “That’s why you look pale too.”

“I haven’t been well these past few days.”

“No wonder you seemed so vacant. What’s wrong? Have you caught a cold?”

“I don’t know why, but these rashes keep appearing.”

Umeko answered thus and immediately removed the newspaper from her lap. She clapped her hands and called the maid. Daisuke once again confirmed whether his father was present or not. Umeko had already forgotten his question. When he inquired about it, he learned that the carriage at the entrance belonged to a guest visiting his father. Daisuke thought he would wait until the guest left if it wouldn't take too long. Since she still seemed unfocused, Umeko stood up saying she would go wash her face with water at the bathhouse and return. The maid brought kudzu dumplings exuding a pleasant fragrance in a deep dish. Daisuke dangled one by its leaf tail and kept sniffing at it.

When Umeko returned from the bathhouse with a cool expression, Daisuke was swinging one of the kudzu dumplings like a pendulum and asked, “What happened to Brother?” As though under no obligation to answer this trite question immediately, Umeko stood for a while on the edge of the engawa gazing at the garden before observing with uncharacteristic attentiveness, “The moss has turned such a vivid shade after these few days of rain,” and returned to her seat. Then she asked again, “What happened to Brother?” When Daisuke repeated his earlier question, his sister-in-law replied in the most nonchalant tone,

“What do you mean, ‘what happened’? It’s the same as always,” she replied.

“Is he still often away from home?”

“Yes, yes—he’s rarely ever at home morning or evening.”

“Aren’t you lonely with your husband?”

“At this late stage, what’s the use of asking such a thing now?” Umeko laughed.
Whether she thought he was teasing or found it too childish, she showed almost no sign of engaging.
Daisuke too looked back at his usual self and found his current self—having posed such a serious question—rather peculiar.
Even though he had long witnessed his brother and sister-in-law’s relationship until now, he had never once noticed its true nature.
Nor had his sister-in-law ever shown any behavior that Daisuke would perceive as lacking.

“Do couples in society truly manage with just the husband?” he muttered like a soliloquy, though without any real expectation of Umeko’s reply. Keeping his eyes averted from her face, Daisuke let his gaze fall to the newspaper spread on the tatami.
Then Umeko abruptly cut in:
“What did you say?”
When Daisuke’s eyes—startled by her tone—suddenly flicked back toward himself,

“So if you were to take a wife, you ought to keep her at home always and lavish affection upon her,” she said.
For the first time, Daisuke became aware that his interlocutor was Umeko and that he had not been his usual self.
He therefore made an effort to assume his ordinary tone.

Fourteen-Three

However, Daisuke’s mind was focused entirely on his refusal of marriage and the relationship with Michiyo that would follow that refusal.
Therefore, no matter how much he returned to his usual self and intended to engage with Umeko, an unexpected tone—one she hadn’t anticipated—would sometimes emerge in their conversation unintentionally.

“Dai-san, you’re not yourself today,” Umeko finally said.
Daisuke was, of course, well-versed in any number of ways to deflect his sister-in-law’s words.
However, doing so seemed both frivolous and bothersome, and today he had grown tired of it.
Instead, he earnestly asked her to tell him where he was acting strange.
Umeko made a strange face at how foolish Daisuke’s question seemed.
But since Daisuke pressed her further, she prefaced her response with “Well then, I’ll tell you,” and began listing examples of his strange behavior.
Daisuke naturally interpreted this as Umeko deliberately feigning seriousness.
Among these was,

“Because you said things like ‘Brother’s often away—you must be lonely,’ which was far too thoughtful of you.”
Daisuke interjected into the moment.

“No, I happen to know a woman in such circumstances—I feel terribly sorry for her—so I found myself wanting to ask about other women’s feelings. I wasn’t mocking you.”

“Really? What sort of husband is he anyway?”

“It’s difficult to name him.”

“Then you should advise that husband to treat his wife more affectionately.”

Daisuke smiled.

“Do you think that way too, Sister?”

“That’s only natural.”

“If that husband doesn’t heed my advice, what should I do?”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“You mean we should leave her be?”

“If you don’t leave her be, what else can you do?”

“Then, does the wife have an obligation to uphold her wifely duties toward her husband?”

“You’re being terribly logical about this. It likely depends on how unkind the husband is.”

“If the wife has someone she loves, what then?”

“I don’t know.”
“That’s absurd.”
“If she had someone she loved that much, shouldn’t she have gone to him from the very beginning?”

Daisuke fell silent and thought.
After a while, he said, "Sister."

Umeko was startled by the profound tone and looked at Daisuke’s face anew.
Daisuke continued in the same tone.
“I intend to refuse this marriage proposal.”

Daisuke’s hand holding the cigarette trembled slightly.
Umeko listened to his refusal with an expressionless face.
Daisuke pressed on, paying no heed to her reaction.

“Regarding marriage matters until now, I’ve caused you repeated troubles, and now I’ve made you worry yet again.”
“I’m already thirty, so as you say, I should generally follow your recommendations. However, I have certain considerations, so I wish to decline this proposal as well.”
“I’m sorry to Father and Brother, but it can’t be helped. It’s not that I dislike the person in question, but I must refuse.”
“The other day Father told me to think carefully, so I gave it much thought, but I still believe refusal is best—therefore I will refuse.”
“In truth, today I came to see Father for this very purpose, but as he appears to have a guest now—though it’s rude to mention it abruptly—I’ll inform you as well.”

Because Daisuke’s demeanor was serious, Umeko listened without her usual idle chatter, but when he finished speaking, she finally voiced her opinion. It was both extremely simple and practical—a brief phrase.

“But Father will certainly be troubled by this.”

“I’ll speak to Father directly myself.”

“But the matter has already progressed this far.”

“No matter how far it’s progressed, I’ve never said I would accept.”

“But you never clearly stated you wouldn’t accept her, did you?”

“That’s precisely what I’ve come to say now.”

Daisuke and Umeko remained facing each other and were silent for a while.

14-4

Daisuke felt he had already said everything there was to say.
At the very least, he had absolutely no intention of proceeding further to explain himself to Umeko.
Umeko had many things she wanted to say and many questions she wanted to ask.
It was simply that none of them connected naturally to their previous exchange or came to her lips in that fleeting moment.

“Though I myself don’t fully grasp how far the marriage negotiations have progressed without your knowledge—no one could have anticipated you would refuse so decisively.”

"Why?" Daisuke asked with cold composure.
Umeko twitched her eyebrows.
"Even if you ask why, it's not about logic."
"It doesn't need to be logical—just tell me."
"But even if you keep refusing like this, doesn't it amount to the same thing in the end?" Umeko explained.
Yet the meaning didn't immediately register in Daisuke's mind.
He lifted puzzled eyes to look at Umeko.
Umeko began unfolding her true intent.

“In other words, even you must intend to marry someday.”
“Even if you dislike it, there’s no help for it.”
“If you keep up this selfishness forever, you’ll only wrong Father.”
“So you see,”
“Since you’d be dissatisfied with anyone we choose, it makes no difference who it is—that’s what I mean.”
“No matter who we show you, none will suit you.”
“There isn’t a single person alive in this world who could please you.”
“So when taking a wife, you must resign yourself from the start to someone you don’t like—isn’t that so?”
“If you’ll just quietly accept the one we deem best, everything will settle smoothly—then perhaps Father might even consult you thoroughly this time before deciding anything.”
“From Father’s standpoint, that’s only natural.”
“But if you refuse even this, won’t you die without ever seeing your wife’s face?”

Daisuke listened calmly to his sister-in-law's words.
Even after Umeko finished speaking, he kept his lips firmly shut.
If he were to argue back, he thought, the conversation would only grow more tangled, and his true feelings would never reach her ears.
But he had no intention whatsoever of accepting her reasoning.
As a practical matter, he believed this would only create mutual difficulties.
Turning to face her,

"What you say isn't without merit, but I have my own perspective. Let's leave it at that for now."
His tone naturally betrayed his irritation at her meddling.
Yet Umeko refused to stay silent.

“Well, Mr. Dai, you’re not a child anymore, so of course you have your own independent thoughts.”
“Since my unnecessary meddling must be a bother to you, I won’t say another thing.”
“But try putting yourself in Father’s position.”
“Since Father is already providing exactly the monthly living expenses you require, you’re actually becoming more of a burden to him now than you were during your student days.”
“Even if you’re being supported—which you naturally are—now that you’ve grown up and become independent, acting high-handed by saying your words aren’t heeded like before won’t work, will it?”

Umeko, appearing somewhat agitated, was about to press on when Daisuke cut her off.

"But if I take a wife, wouldn't that make me even more of a burden on Father?"

"Isn't that acceptable? Since Father deems her suitable."

"So Father is resolved to make me take a wife, however much I might dislike her?"

"But that's only if there were someone you favored—and even if you scoured all Japan, no such person exists, does there?"

“How would you know that?”

Umeko fixed an intense gaze on Daisuke.
And then,

“You speak just like a lawyer,” she said.
Daisuke moved his pale forehead closer to his sister-in-law.

“Sister, there’s a woman I love,” he declared in a low voice.

14-5

Until now, Daisuke had often said such things to Umeko in jest.
At first, Umeko had taken those words at face value.
There had even been something comical in how she'd quietly maneuvered to investigate the truth.
Once the facts became clear, this so-called beloved woman of Daisuke's lost all potency against Umeko.
Even when he brought it up again, she paid no heed whatsoever.
If not ignoring him outright, she'd deflect with a joke.
Daisuke too had remained unruffled by this dynamic.
Yet this instance alone held extraordinary significance for him.
Whether through his expression, his gaze, the intensity coiled beneath his low voice, or the circumstances that had driven them to this impasse—by every measure, it rendered Umeko incapable of remaining unshaken.
His sister-in-law perceived this brief declaration as a dagger flashing from its sheath.

Daisuke took out his watch from his obi and looked at it. The guest who had come to see Father showed no sign of leaving. The sky clouded over again. Daisuke thought it would be more expedient to first withdraw and then return another time to settle matters with Father.

“I’ll come again. It would be better for me to come back later and see Father,” he began to rise. In the meantime, Umeko had recovered her composure. Umeko was a woman who, precisely because she possessed a genuine intent to meddle in others’ affairs to the utmost, could not abandon things halfway. She stopped Daisuke as if to restrain him and asked the woman’s name. Daisuke, of course, did not answer. Umeko pressed him insistently. Daisuke did not respond even to that. Then Umeko asked why he didn’t marry that woman. “I simply can’t marry her, so I won’t,” answered Daisuke. Umeko finally shed tears. She resented him, saying that he had undercut the efforts of others. She reproached him, demanding why he hadn’t been open from the start. Yet no sooner had she reproached him than she expressed sympathy, saying she felt sorry for him. However, when it came to Michiyo, Daisuke ultimately said nothing. Umeko at long last gave in.

At the point when Daisuke was finally about to leave,

“So, you’ll speak directly to Father yourself then.”
“Until then, it would be better for me to remain silent,” she asked.
Daisuke himself didn’t know whether it was better to have her remain silent or to have her speak.

“I suppose so,” he hesitated, then added, “After all, I came to refuse,” and looked at his sister-in-law’s face.

“Then, if it seems more convenient for me to speak, I will.”
“If it seems inadvisable again, I’ll keep silent about everything, so you should speak to him yourself from the start.”
“That should be best,” Umeko kindly offered.
Daisuke,

“I leave it in your hands,” he said as he went out.
When he reached the corner—intending to walk from Yotsuya—he deliberately boarded a Shiochō-bound tram.
As they passed by the drill ground, thick clouds split open in the west, revealing a sunset unseasonably vivid for the rainy season that dyed crimson across the entire plain.
The light struck the wheels of a distant carriage ahead; each rotation gleamed like forged steel.
The carriage appeared minuscule within that expanse.
So vast was the plain that it rendered even wheels small.
The sun blazed with a venomous blood-red hue.
Daisuke watched this scene askance as wind-slicing tram rails carried him onward.
The weight in his skull swayed unsteadily.
Upon reaching the terminus—whether spirit had invaded flesh or flesh invaded spirit—such revulsion gripped him that he yearned to disembark at once.

Daisuke walked, dragging the umbrella he had brought for rain protection like a cane.

As he walked, he whispered within himself that today he had voluntarily destroyed half his destiny—it amounted to the same thing. Until now, he had maintained a comfortable distance from his father and sister-in-law, gently asserting his will. This time, he could no longer follow through without laying bare his true nature. Simultaneously, any hope of finding conventional satisfaction in this direction had dwindled. Yet there remained room to turn back—though doing so would now require deceiving his father as well. Daisuke sneered inwardly at his former self. He resolved to recognize that today's confession had indeed shattered half his fate. And as reaction to the coming blow, he yearned to strike decisively at Michiyo—to overwhelm her completely.

He wanted to prepare himself so that when meeting Father this time, he wouldn't be able to retreat a single step. Therefore, before seeing Michiyo, he deeply feared being summoned by Father again. He regretted having given his sister-in-law the freedom today to decide whether or not to convey his intentions to Father. If she told him tonight, he might get summoned tomorrow morning. Then he would need to meet Michiyo that very night and lay bare his true self beforehand. But he thought nighttime would make this inconvenient.

14-6

When he came down from the corner, dusk was beginning to fall.
After passing straight before the Military Academy to reach the moatside and walking several blocks to where he should have turned toward Sajihara-cho, Daisuke deliberately followed the tram tracks instead.
He returned home as usual but found himself unable to spend the night in tranquil ease within his study.
Beyond the moat, trams passed incessantly below the high embankment where rows of black pines stretched endlessly along its length.
Daisuke felt a lightness in watching the nimble cars glide effortlessly along the rails, swiftly departing and returning.
In exchange, he resented the Outer Moat Line trains that relentlessly traveled his same route, finding them more clamorous than usual.
When he reached Ushigome Mitsuke, he discerned scattered points of lamplight in the distant Koishikawa woods.
Daisuke walked toward where Michiyo dwelled without a thought for supper.

After about twenty minutes, he climbed Andōzaka slope and emerged before the charred ruins of Dentsū-in Temple.
When he turned left through the space where large trees overhung from both sides and came near Hiraoka’s house, a light was shining as usual from the wooden fence.
Daisuke leaned against the base of the fence and peered intently inside.
For a while, there was no sound at all, and the house remained completely still.
Daisuke thought about passing through the gate and calling out from outside the lattice.
Then, near the veranda, there came the sharp slap of a shin being struck.
The person stood up and moved toward the interior.
Before long, voices could be heard.
He couldn’t make out the words, but they were unmistakably Hiraoka’s and Michiyo’s.
The voices fell silent after a short while.
Then footsteps approached the veranda again, and the sound of someone dropping heavily onto the floorboards carried clearly.
Daisuke drew back from the fence.
And he began walking in the opposite direction from which he had come.

For a while, he walked in a daze, unaware of where or how he moved.
All through this time, the scene he had witnessed burned and danced relentlessly in Daisuke's mind.
When its intensity waned slightly, he felt an unspeakable disgrace toward his own actions.
He wondered why he had committed such a base act and retreated like one startled.
Standing in the dark alleyway, he secretly rejoiced that the world was falling under domination this very night.
Yet fettered by the heavy air of the rainy season, the more he walked, the more he felt himself suffocating.
When he emerged onto Kagurazaka slope, his eyes were abruptly dazzled.
Countless bodies enveloping him and countless lights mercilessly scorched his head.
Daisuke climbed Waradana Street as though fleeing.

When he returned home, Kadono was there with his usual vacant expression,

“You’re quite late, aren’t you? Have you already had dinner?” Kadono asked.

Daisuke did not want food, so after replying that he did not need it, he ushered Kadono out of the study as if driving him away.
But before two or three minutes had passed, he clapped his hands and called out again.

“Didn’t a messenger come from the main house?”
“No, sir.”

Daisuke said curtly, “Well, that’s fine.” Kadono stood at the entrance looking dissatisfied. “But sir—I mean—didn’t you go to the main house after all?” “Why?” Daisuke’s face hardened. “But you said so yourself when you left earlier, sir.”

Daisuke found dealing with Kadono bothersome.

"I did go to the main house.—If no messenger comes from there, then that's fine, isn't it?"

Kadono responded evasively,

"Ah, I see," he said dismissively and left.
Daisuke knew his father grew more impatient with him than with any other matter in the world; fearing a messenger might still arrive even after his return home, he had pressed for confirmation.
After Kadono withdrew to the student lodgings, he resolved that come tomorrow he must meet Michiyo without fail.

That night, lying awake in bed, Daisuke wrestled with how he might arrange to meet Michiyo.
If he sent a letter via rickshaw man summoning her to his residence, she would likely come—yet having already concluded his discussion with his sister-in-law that day, there was no telling whether his brother or sister-in-law might confront him as early as tomorrow.
Moreover, the prospect of meeting her at Hiraoka's house filled Daisuke with particular anguish.
In the end, he resolved there remained no alternative but to meet in some neutral location bearing no connection to either himself or Michiyo.

The rain began pouring heavily from midnight.
The hanging mosquito net looked all the colder as a rumbling sound enveloped the house.
Daisuke waited for dawn within that sound.

14-7

The rain did not clear up by the next day.
Daisuke stood on the damp veranda, gazed at the dark sky, and changed last evening's plans once more.
He found it unpleasant to call Michiyo to some ordinary meeting place and talk there.
If unavoidable, he had thought of meeting under a blue sky, but with this weather, even that seemed uncertain. That said, he had no intention from the start of going to Hiraoka's house.
He concluded that there was no other way but to bring Michiyo to his own residence.
Kadono would be somewhat in the way, but he thought it could be managed so as not to reach the student lodgings, depending on how they conducted the conversation.

Until just before noon, he vacantly gazed at the rain.
No sooner had he finished his midday meal than he threw on a rubber raincoat and went out.
Through the downpour he came to Kagurazaka slope's base and telephoned the Aoyama residence.
He preemptively declared his intention to visit tomorrow.
His sister-in-law came on the line.
She informed him she still hadn't spoken to Father about that recent matter - wouldn't he reconsider once more?
With words of thanks, Daisuke rang off.
Next he dialed Hiraoka's newspaper office to confirm his presence.
The reply came that Hiraoka was at work.
Daisuke turned back into the rain and climbed the slope again.
Entering a florist's, he purchased armfuls of large white lilies and bore them home.
Still dripping wet, he divided them between two vases.
The remainder he tossed into his usual pot - filling it with water, hacking stems short - with careless splashes.
Then facing his desk, he wrote to Michiyo.
The message was brutally brief.
It stated only that urgent matters required immediate meeting - she must come.

Daisuke clapped his hands and called Kadono.
Kadono appeared with a snort.
While receiving the letter,

“What a wonderful fragrance,” he said.
Daisuke,

“Take the carriage and bring her here,” he emphasized.
Kadono went out into the rain to the carriage office.

Daisuke gazed at the lilies and, enveloped in the room’s overpowering fragrance, abandoned himself completely.
In this olfactory stimulation, he distinctly perceived Michiyo’s past.
In that past, there was something inseparable—the shadow of my former self coiled and clung like smoke.
After some time,

“Today I return to nature’s original state for the first time,” he declared inwardly.
When he managed to voice this thought, an unfamiliar comfort permeated his entire being.
Why hadn’t he been able to return sooner?
Why had he resisted nature from the very start?
In the rain, among lilies, within this recreated past, he discovered a life of pure peace.
Within that existence lay neither greed nor gain, no morality crushing the self.
There was freedom like clouds and nature like flowing water.
All became happiness.
Therefore all became beautiful.

Eventually, he awoke from the dream.
The eternal pain born from that fleeting moment of happiness suddenly assailed Daisuke's mind.
His lips lost their color.
He stood silent, gazing at his own hand.
The blood flowing beneath his fingernails seemed to quiver violently.
He rose and went to the lilies.
Drawing near until his lips brushed the petals, he inhaled the overpowering fragrance until his vision swam.
Moving from bloom to bloom, choking on their sweetness, he nearly collapsed unconscious in the room.
Eventually crossing his arms, he began pacing between study and parlor.
His chest throbbed incessantly with awareness of each heartbeat.
At times he would stop before a chair's edge or Western-style desk.
Then resume walking.
The turmoil in his heart forbade lingering long in any one place.
Yet paradoxically compelled him to halt at random spots whenever thought demanded it.

Meanwhile, time gradually passed.
Daisuke kept looking at the hands of the table clock.
He looked again, as if peering, at the rain outside from under the eaves.
The rain was still falling straight down from the sky.
The sky had grown slightly darker than before.
The mass of clouds swirled into a vortex in one spot, appearing to surge gradually toward the ground.

At that moment, the carriage glistening with rain was drawn through the gate into the compound.
When the sound of the wheels, overpowering the rain, reached Daisuke’s ears, he let a smile escape onto his pale cheeks and placed his right hand on his chest.

14-8

Michiyo was led by Kadono through the main entrance and came along the corridor.
She wore meisen silk with indigo kasuri patterns and an arabesque-design single-layer obi—an outfit entirely different from before—so at first glance, Daisuke felt struck by its newness.
Her complexion remained as pallid as ever, but when she faced Daisuke at the parlor entrance, her eyes, brows, and mouth froze abruptly as if all movement had ceased.
As she stood on the threshold, her legs seemed to have lost all ability to move—there was no other way to interpret it.
From the moment Michiyo had seen the letter, she had anticipated something.
Within that anticipation lay fear, joy, and worry.
From alighting the carriage until being guided to the parlor, Michiyo’s face had brimmed with that expectant hue.
There, Michiyo’s expression abruptly froze.
Daisuke’s demeanor struck her with an intensity equal to her husband’s impact.

Daisuke pointed to one of the chairs.
Michiyo sat down as instructed.
Daisuke took his seat opposite her.
The two faced each other for the first time.
However, for a good while, neither of them spoke.

“Do you have some business with me?” Michiyo finally asked.
Daisuke merely...

"Yes," he said.
The two of them, bound by that mutual constraint, once again listened to the sound of the rain for a while.

"Is there some urgent business?" Michiyo asked again.
Daisuke again

"Yes," he said.
Both of them were unable to speak as lightly as they usually did.
Daisuke was ashamed of himself for being the sort of man who needed liquor's aid to speak his mind.
He had long resolved that when confessing, it must be done as his ordinary self.
Yet when formally facing Michiyo, he for the first time yearned for a drop of spirits.
He stealthily rose to go to the next room, considering tilting whiskey into a Western glass, but ultimately couldn't sustain that resolve.
He believed his sincerity required declaring things openly under broad daylight through normal conduct.
The thought of building drunkenness as a protective wall to embolden himself felt cowardly, cruel, and akin to defiling her.
He could no longer maintain moral postures toward social conventions, but toward Michiyo was determined to harbor not one immoral motive.
No—Daisuke loved Michiyo so completely that no room remained for base instincts.
Yet when Michiyo asked his purpose, he couldn't pour out his heart immediately.
When questioned a second time, he still hesitated.
On the third occasion, having no alternative—

"Well, let's talk slowly," he said, lighting a cigarette.
Each time her reply was delayed, Michiyo's face grew more troubled.

The rain still fell long and thick, striking objects with sound.
They were cut off from the world by the rain and by the sound the rain brought.
They were cut off even from Kadono and the old woman who lived in the same house.
They remained isolated, sealed within the fragrance of white lilies.

“I went out front earlier and bought those flowers,” Daisuke said, glancing around his surroundings.
Michiyo’s eyes followed Daisuke as he moved about the room.
Afterward, Michiyo inhaled deeply through her nose.

“Thinking to recall the time when my brother and you and I were in Shimizucho, I bought as many as I could,” Daisuke said.

“What a lovely fragrance,” said Michiyo as she gazed at the large petals unfurling like upturned skirts, but when she shifted her eyes from her husband to Daisuke, her cheeks flushed faintly.

“Thinking about those times—” he began, then stopped halfway.

“Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“You used to wear a showy collar and tie your hair in the ginkgo-leaf style.”

“Because I had just come to Tokyo, you see.”
“I soon stopped doing it.”

“When you brought those lilies the other day, wasn’t your hair in the ginkgo-leaf style?”

“Oh, you noticed.”
“That was just for that time.”

“Did you want to tie your hair in that chignon back then?”

“Yes, I just wanted to try tying it on a whim.”

“When I saw that chignon, I was reminded of the past.”

“Yes,” Michiyo replied bashfully, nodding.

When Michiyo was in Shimizucho, after she had grown comfortable conversing with Daisuke, there had been an occasion when he complimented her hairstyle from when she had first come from the countryside.
At that time she had laughed, but even afterward never once tied her hair in the ginkgo-leaf style.
The two still remembered this well.
Yet though it rose to their lips, neither spoke of it.

14-9

Michiyo's brother possessed an open-hearted disposition, and owing to his unassuming manner of socializing, he was deeply cherished by his friends.
In particular, Daisuke was his close friend.
This brother, being as open-hearted as he was, doted on his quiet sister.
Bringing her from the countryside and establishing a household together stemmed not from any sense of obligation to educate his sister, but entirely from his affection for her future and his present desire to keep her close by his side.
Before summoning Michiyo, he had already confided this intention to Daisuke.
At that time, Daisuke welcomed this plan with great curiosity, like an ordinary young man.

After Michiyo came, her brother and Daisuke grew increasingly closer.
Which of them had taken the steps to deepen their friendship was unclear even to Daisuke himself.
After her brother’s death, whenever Daisuke looked back on that time, he could not help but recognize a certain meaning within their intimacy.
Her brother did not explicitly state it until his death.
Daisuke also did not dare to speak of anything.
Thus, their mutual thoughts ended up buried as a secret between them.
Whether her brother had ever revealed this meaning to me and Michiyo during his lifetime was something even Daisuke did not know.
Daisuke had gained nothing more than a particular impression from Michiyo’s behavior and speech.

From that time onward, Daisuke had approached Michiyo’s brother as a man of taste.
Michiyo’s brother did not possess sensitivity beyond the ordinary in that regard.
When conversations turned profound, he would honestly confess his lack of understanding and avoid unnecessary debates.
It was around that time that Michiyo’s brother had somehow discovered the term arbiter elegantiarum and began liberally using it as Daisuke’s sobriquet.
Michiyo sat silently listening to her brother and Daisuke converse in the adjoining room.
Eventually she memorized the term arbiter elegantiarum through sheer repetition.
Once when she asked her brother about its meaning, he reacted with astonishment.

It appeared as though her brother had entrusted all matters concerning his sister’s education in matters of taste to Daisuke.
He endeavored to provide his sister’s mind—which awaited Daisuke’s enlightenment—with as many opportunities for contact as possible.
Daisuke did not decline either.
Looking back later, there were also traces that seemed to suggest he had voluntarily undertaken that responsibility.
Michiyo was of course glad to receive his guidance.
The three of them thus rotated like a tomoe, proceeding from month to month.
Whether consciously or unconsciously, the tomoe’s ring gradually narrowed as it turned.
Finally, when the three tomoe had drawn close together and were about to form a perfect circle, one suddenly broke away, leaving the remaining two unbalanced.

Daisuke and Michiyo began speaking unreservedly of events from five years ago.

As they spoke, their present selves receded, gradually returning to their student days of that time.
The distance between the two drew near again as it once was.

“If my brother hadn’t passed away then and were still healthy, what would I be doing now?” Michiyo said, as though longing for that time.

“If your brother were still healthy, would you have become a different person?”

“I wouldn’t become a different person.”
“And you?”
“It’s the same for me.”

At that moment, Michiyo spoke in a slightly reproachful tone,

"Oh, that's a lie," she said.
Daisuke fixed his deep eyes on Michiyo,
"I haven't changed at all—not from back then, not now," he answered, still keeping his gaze locked on her.
Michiyo immediately averted her eyes.
Then, half to herself,

“But you had already changed since then,” she said.

Michiyo’s voice was far too low for ordinary conversation.
Daisuke fixed his deep eyes on Michiyo.

“I haven’t changed.”
“It merely appears that way to you.”
“Even if it appeared that way to you, there’s nothing to be done—but that’s just your prejudice.”

As for Daisuke, he spoke more earnestly than usual in a clear voice, as though defending himself.
Michiyo’s voice grew even lower.

“I don’t care if it’s prejudice or anything else.”

Daisuke silently observed Michiyo's condition.
Michiyo kept her eyes lowered from the start.
To Daisuke, the trembling of her long eyelashes was clearly visible.

Fourteen of Ten

“For my existence, you are essential. You are absolutely essential. I specifically called you here because I wanted to tell you about that matter.”

Daisuke’s words contained none of the sweet embellishments typical of ordinary paramours.
His tone was as simple and plain as his words.
Rather, it had verged on solemnity.
However, the fact that he had deliberately summoned Michiyo under the pretense of urgent business solely to speak of that very matter resembled a nursery rhyme.
Yet Michiyo was precisely the kind of woman who could comprehend such an urgent matter—detached from the mundane in this sense.
Moreover, she had never held much interest in the rhetorical flourishes of youthful passion found in society’s novels.
It was a fact that Daisuke’s words had given nothing splendid to Michiyo’s senses.
It was also a fact that Michiyo had not thirsted for them.
Daisuke’s words transcended the senses and immediately reached Michiyo’s heart.
Michiyo let tears flow down her cheeks from between trembling eyelashes.

“I want you to acknowledge this.
Please acknowledge this.”

Michiyo still wept.
She was in no state to respond to Daisuke.
She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her face.
A part of her thick eyebrows, her forehead, and just her hairline remained in Daisuke’s vision.
Daisuke pulled his chair closer to Michiyo.

“You will agree to this, won’t you?” he said close to her ear.
Michiyo still had her face covered.
While hiccuping between sobs,

“You’re too cruel,” came a voice from within the handkerchief.
That assaulted Daisuke’s hearing like an electric current.
Daisuke keenly realized that his confession had come too late.
If he were to confess, he should have done so before Michiyo married Hiraoka.
He could not bear to hear Michiyo’s words, stitched haltingly between her tears.

“I should have confided this to you three or four years ago,” he said, closing his mouth with a resigned expression.

Michiyo suddenly removed the handkerchief from her face.
With eyes whose lids had reddened, she suddenly opened them wide upon Daisuke,

“You didn’t have to confess—why—” she began hesitantly, then resolved herself: “Why did you abandon me?” No sooner had she spoken than she pressed the handkerchief to her face and wept again.

“It’s my fault.
Please forgive me.”

Daisuke grasped Michiyo's wrist and tried to pull the handkerchief away from her face.
Michiyo did not resist.
The handkerchief fell onto the lap.
Michiyo kept her gaze fixed on her lap and, in a faint voice,

“That’s cruel,” she said.
The flesh around her small mouth quivered like trembling.

“Even if you call me cruel, there’s nothing to be done.”
“In return, I’m being punished for exactly that.”

Michiyo raised her face with a look of bewilderment,

“Why?” she asked.

“You’ve been married over three years, yet I remain unmarried.”

“But isn’t that your own choice?”

“It wasn’t my own choosing.
“Even if I wished to take one, I couldn’t.
“Since then, I’ve lost count of how many times my family pressed me to marry.
“But I refused them all.
“This time too, I turned down another.
“Now I don’t know what will become of me and Father.
“But whatever happens matters not—I refuse.
“As long as you exact revenge upon me, I must keep refusing.”

“Revenge,” Michiyo said.
Her eyes darted about as though frightened by those two syllables.
“Even now, since marrying until today, there hasn’t been a single day I’ve lived without wishing you would get married as soon as possible,” she said with slightly formal phrasing.
However, Daisuke paid no heed.

“No—I want you to take revenge on me endlessly.”
“That is my true desire.”
“That I called you here today and intentionally bared my heart—I can only see this as part of being revenged upon by you.”
“I’ve committed a social crime just the same.”
“But since I was born this way, committing crimes feels natural to me.”
“Even if condemned by society, so long as I can confess before you, that suffices.”
“I believe there’s nothing more joyful than this.”

Fourteen-Eleven

Michiyo laughed for the first time amidst tears.
However, not a single word escaped her lips.
Daisuke found another chance to speak about himself—

“I am well aware that telling you such a thing now is cruel.
“The more cruelly it sounds to you, the more it becomes equivalent to my success against you—so there’s nothing to be done.
“Moreover, if I did not confess such a cruel thing, I could no longer go on living.
“In other words, I’m being selfish.
“That’s why I’m apologizing.”

“It is not cruel. So please stop apologizing.”

Michiyo’s tone suddenly became clear at this moment. Though subdued, compared to before, it was now remarkably calm. However, after some time had passed, once more,

“If only you had told me a little sooner...” she began, her eyes welling up with tears.
At that moment, Daisuke asked this: —

“Then would it have been better for you had I stayed silent my entire life?”

“That isn’t so,” Michiyo refuted with force.
“Even I might have found myself unable to keep living if you hadn’t spoken those words.”

This time, it was Daisuke who smiled.

“Then that should be all right, shouldn’t it?”

“I’m grateful it’s better than merely being acceptable.”
“Only——”
“You mean you feel remorse toward Hiraoka?”

Michiyo nodded uneasily.
Daisuke asked this: —

“Michiyo, tell me honestly. Do you love Hiraoka?”

Michiyo did not answer.
As he watched, her face turned pale.
Her eyes and mouth stiffened.
Everything was a pained expression.
Daisuke asked again.

“Then, does Hiraoka love you?”

Michiyo was still looking down.
Daisuke, attempting to deliver a decisive judgment upon his own question, had already brought the words to his lips when Michiyo suddenly raised her face.
On her face, the anxiety and pain seen moments before had almost vanished.
Even her tears had mostly dried.
Her cheeks had of course been pale, but her lips were firmly set, showing no sign of movement.
From between them, low, heavy words emerged haltingly, one syllable at a time.

“There’s no help for it. Let us steel our resolve.”

Daisuke trembled as if doused with cold water down his spine.
The two souls who should be banished from society simply faced each other and stared as if to bore holes through one another.
And then, defying everything, they feared and fought against the very force that had brought them together.

After a while, Michiyo suddenly covered her face with her hands and began crying as though something had assailed her.
Daisuke could not bear to watch Michiyo weep.
He propped his elbow and hid his forehead against the back of his hand.
The two maintained this posture without moving, rigid as a sculpture of love.

In this rigid state, they felt a spiritual tension so intense it seemed to compress fifty years before their eyes.
Yet even amidst this tension, they never lost awareness of existing side by side.
They simultaneously received both love's punishment and love's gift, profoundly savoring both in that moment.

After some time, Michiyo took her handkerchief, wiped her tears cleanly, and quietly,

“I should go now,” she said.
Daisuke,

“You may go home,” he replied.

The rain had let up, but Daisuke had no intention of sending Michiyo back alone.
Deliberately not hiring a rickshaw, he went out to escort her himself.
He accompanied her all the way to Hiraoka's house but parted from her on the bridge over the Edogawa River.
Daisuke stood on the bridge and watched until Michiyo turned the corner of the side street.
Turning around slowly from there, in his mind,

"Everything ends," he declared.

The rain ceased in the evening, and when night fell, clouds scudded restlessly across the sky. From their midst emerged a moon that seemed freshly laundered. Daisuke gazed from the veranda at the garden's wet leaves gleaming in the light, until at last he slipped on his geta and stepped down into the garden. What little space there was—for it had never been a large garden to begin with, and the trees stood unexpectedly dense—left scarcely any room to walk. Daisuke planted himself at its center and stared up at the expanse of sky. Presently, he fetched the lilies bought that day from the drawing room and cast them about himself. White petals dotted the ground, their sheen sharpened by moonlight. Some glimmered faintly in the murk beneath trees. Daisuke stood hunched among them, purposeless.

When it came time to sleep, he finally went up to the drawing room.
The room still retained the full scent of flowers.

Fifteen: Part One

Having met Michiyo and said what needed to be said, Daisuke found it far easier to approach peace of mind compared to before their meeting.
However, this had merely unfolded as he had anticipated; it was hardly an unexpected result.

The day after their meeting, he rose with the resolve of one who had finally cast aside the dice long clutched in his hand.
He became aware that from yesterday onward, he must bear a certain responsibility toward his own fate and Michiyo's.
Moreover, this was unmistakably a responsibility he had voluntarily sought.
Therefore, bearing it upon his back caused him no pain.
Rather, pressed by its weight, he felt his feet moving forward of their own accord.
Placing upon his head this fragment of fate he himself had chiseled out, he made ready to confront his father.
Behind his father stood his brother; behind them, his sister-in-law.
After battling these foes, there remained Hiraoka.
Even should he overcome these, there still loomed vast society itself.
A machine-like society that showed not the slightest regard for individual freedom or human sentiment.
To Daisuke, this society now appeared utterly benighted.
Daisuke resolved to wage war against all.

He was astonished at his own courage and fortitude.
Until now, he had fashioned himself as a gentleman of peace who detested fervor, avoided approaching danger, disdained competition, remained cautious, and cherished tranquility.
Though he had never committed any act of cowardice carrying grave moral significance, he found himself utterly unable to dispel this self-awareness of timidity.

He was a subscriber to a certain popular foreign magazine.
In one of its issues, he had once encountered an article titled "Mountain Accidents" that had profoundly unsettled him.
The piece catalogued numerous injuries and miscalculations of adventurers scaling high peaks.
There were accounts of climbers crushed by avalanches mid-ascent—bones vanishing without trace only to resurface decades later at a glacier's edge—and of four mountaineers traversing a sheer cliff face who, while crossing an immense vertical slab midway up the precipice, stacked themselves simian-like from shoulder to shoulder until the uppermost man's fingers grazed the rock's lip—whereupon the stone fractured, their waist ropes snapped, and the three above came tumbling down past the fourth man in a twisted mass. Among these countless tales appeared an illustration showing humans clinging like bats to a mountainside steep as a brick wall, scattered in two or three locations.
At that time, Daisuke had found himself compelled to imagine the vast sky and distant valley in the white void beyond that cliff face, mentally recreating the vertigo born of terror.

Daisuke now knew he stood in the same position as those climbers within the moral realm. Yet when he actually faced that precipice himself, he felt not the slightest hesitation. To falter through fear would have been manyfold more agonizing for him.

He wanted to speak with his father at the earliest opportunity. Fearing complications, he had telephoned the day after Michiyo's visit to inquire about arrangements. The reply came that his father was out. When he inquired again the following day, they refused him outright, citing prior engagements. Then arrived the message that he need not come until summoned. Daisuke waited obediently as instructed. Throughout this period, neither his sister-in-law nor brother sent any word. At first, Daisuke speculated his family might be granting him extended time for reflection through deliberate strategy, and maintained his composure accordingly. He ate three proper meals daily. His nights brought relatively tranquil dreams. During lulls in the rain, he took Kadono walking once or twice. Yet no messenger or letter arrived from the main house. Daisuke grew restless at this prolonged intermission halfway up the cliff face. Finally resolving himself, he set out for Aoyama personally. His brother proved absent as usual. His sister-in-law regarded him with an expression of pity. But concerning the incident itself, she said nothing.

Hearing Daisuke’s reason for coming, she said, “Then I shall go to the back for a moment and inquire about your father’s availability,” and stood up.
Umeko’s attitude seemed almost as though she were shielding Daisuke from his father’s wrath.
At the same time, it could also be interpreted as excluding him.
Daisuke waited anxiously, tormented by which of the two it might be.
Even as he waited, he repeated to himself over and over, “It’s all before the resolution anyway.”

It took quite some time before Umeko emerged from the inner rooms.
Looking at Daisuke with a pitying expression, she said his father seemed unavailable today.
Daisuke had no choice but to inquire when he should come again.
Naturally lacking his usual vigor, he asked in a dispirited manner.
In a tone suggesting sympathy for Daisuke's condition, Umeko told him to return home today, stating she would personally ensure he received word of a suitable time within two or three days.
As Daisuke was leaving through the inner entrance, Umeko deliberately came out to see him off,

“This time, make sure to think it through properly before you act,” she cautioned.
Daisuke left the gate without replying.

15-2

The journey home was unbearably unpleasant.
The peace of mind he had come to savor since meeting Michiyo—now partly shattered by his father and sister-in-law's attitudes—intensified with every step.
I will tell Father exactly what I think; he will voice his views without restraint—this will bring conflict. Whatever comes of that clash, I shall accept it with resolve.
This was Daisuke's expectation.
His father's conduct proved more disagreeable than anticipated.
That conduct—reflecting Father's unyielding character all too vividly—left Daisuke ill at ease.

As he walked, Daisuke recalled why he had hurried to arrange the meeting with his father despite the anguish it caused.
Since this was ultimately nothing more than his own response to his father's demand, the convenience should have rested more naturally with his father who awaited it.
If his father were to deliberately avoid him and postpone their meeting, it would only delay resolving his own problem without achieving anything.
Daisuke believed he had already settled the major aspects concerning his future.
He resolved to leave household matters untouched until his father summoned him with a specified date and time.

He returned home.

Regarding his father, only a dimly unpleasant shadow remained in his mind. However, this shadow was of a nature that would inevitably grow darker in the near future. Beyond this, he recognized two currents of fate before him. One showed the direction in which Michiyo and he should flow henceforth. The other was a fierce current that must inevitably sweep both Hiraoka and himself into its maelstrom. Daisuke had met Michiyo the other day and had cast aside one current. Even if he were to see Michiyo’s face from now on—though he had no intention of going long without seeing her—when it came to determining their future course, he held no resolve to advance even a single step beyond their current state. Regarding this point, Daisuke himself had not formulated any clear plan. As for the future that would carry away both Hiraoka and himself, he was merely prepared for whatever might come at any time. Of course, he intended to act decisively when opportunity arose. Yet he had prepared no concrete measures. In every situation, what he vowed never to fail in was confessing everything to Hiraoka. Therefore, the current of fate that Hiraoka and he were destined to form became dark and terrifying. His greatest concern remained how he might rescue Michiyo from this dreadful tempest.

Finally, regarding the society that enveloped him with every conceivable human presence, he had formed no coherent thoughts.
As a matter of fact, society possessed the authority to impose sanctions.
Yet he believed that the right to motivated action could only spring forth entirely from one's innate nature.
On this point, he resolved to proceed under the conviction that there existed no connection whatsoever between society and himself.

Daisuke stood at the center of his small world, observed it in this manner, and methodically examined the proportional relationships of its components in his mind.

"It shall be well," he said, and left the house again. Then, after walking a block or two, he came to the rickshaw stand, chose a clean and speedy-looking one, and leapt in. With no particular destination in mind, he named some random town and rode around aimlessly for about two hours before returning home.

The next day too, in his study just as the day before, he stood at the center of his own world and, after surveying all around him thoroughly once more,

“Good,” he said, stepping outside. With no particular errand this time, he let his feet carry him as he wandered aimlessly back home.

On the third day, he repeated the same routine.
But this time, no sooner had he stepped outside than he crossed the Edogawa River and went straight to Michiyo's residence.
Michiyo behaved as though nothing had transpired between them,

"Why didn't you begin by approaching my husband?" she inquired.
Daisuke found himself startled by her unnervingly composed demeanor.
Michiyo deliberately pushed the futon that had been positioned before Hiraoka's desk toward Daisuke,

"Why must you be so restless?" she pressed, compelling him to sit upon it.

As they talked for about an hour, Daisuke’s mind gradually grew calm.
He realized that instead of riding around aimlessly in a rickshaw, it would have been better to come here even thirty minutes sooner.
When leaving, Daisuke,
“I’ll come again. Since it’s alright, please rest assured and go inside,” he said to Michiyo in a comforting manner.
Michiyo merely smiled.

15-3

That evening, he finally received notification from his father.
At that time, Daisuke was eating a meal served by the old woman.
After placing his bowl on the tray and receiving the letter from Kadono, he read it to find instructions requiring his appearance by a specified time tomorrow morning.
Daisuke,

“Quite the bureaucrat, aren’t you?” he said, deliberately showing the postcard to Kadono.

Kadono politely examined it while asking, “Is this from the Aoyama residence?” but having nothing more to say, flipped the paper over.

“Well now.”
“People from older times really did have fine penmanship,” Daisuke remarked, leaving this empty compliment behind as he exited.
The old woman had been chattering incessantly about almanac matters since earlier - Mizunoe and Kanoto zodiac signs, Hassaku festivals, Tomobiki days, nail-cutting days and construction days - an unbearably tedious litany.
Daisuke had naturally been only half-listening.
The old woman renewed her pleas about finding Kadono employment.
“Even fifteen yen would do - couldn’t you place him somewhere?” she pressed.
Daisuke himself scarcely noticed what reply he made.
In his heart he thought Kadono’s situation precarious - or rather, that he himself stood in graver peril.

No sooner had he finished his meal than Terao arrived from Hongo.
Daisuke looked at Kadono’s face and thought for a while.
Kadono, without hesitation,

“Are you going to refuse?” he asked.

Daisuke had uncharacteristically missed a meeting once or twice since then.
As for the occasions when he thought he could avoid meeting visitors, he had refused them about twice.

Daisuke resolutely met with Terao.
Terao was, as usual, frantic and searching for something.
Seeing his state, Daisuke found himself unable to maintain his customary sarcastic tone.
Whether it was translation or adaptation, Terao was resolved to keep at it as long as he lived—he still seemed more a child of society than Daisuke himself.
When Daisuke imagined himself disgraced and placed in the same position, wondering how much work he could actually endure under such circumstances, he felt profound pity for himself.
And since he had resigned himself to the near certainty that he would soon fall from grace even more severely than Terao—a fact almost as certain as if it had already occurred—he could not bring himself to receive Terao with contemptuous eyes.

Terao had finally completed the recent translation by month’s end, but when the publisher announced they would postpone publication until autumn due to inconvenient circumstances, he found himself unable to immediately convert his labor into cash and had come in desperation. When asked whether he’d begun work without a publisher’s contract, he apparently denied it outright. Yet he stopped short of explicitly accusing them of reneging on their agreement. In short, the situation remained murky. The only apparent fact was his dire need. Yet Terao—thoroughly inured to such setbacks—showed no signs of resenting anyone as a matter of ethics. His grumbling about disrespect or impropriety amounted to mere lip service; the true worries in his gut seemed wholly concentrated on rice and meat.

Daisuke felt pity and provided some temporary financial assistance.
Terao expressed his gratitude and left.
Before leaving, he confessed that he had indeed borrowed a small advance from the publisher as well, but that he had already used it up long ago.
After Terao left, Daisuke thought that such behavior constituted a type of personality.
But even if one were to live this carefree existence, it was by no means sustainable.
He grew vaguely troubled, wondering if the current so-called literary world was not groaning under pitiable circumstances to such an extent that it had naturally produced such personalities by deeming them necessary.

That evening, Daisuke grew deeply troubled about his own future prospects. He doubted whether he could truly resolve to become another Terao should his father sever his material lifeline. If he couldn't even take up a brush and emulate Terao, then he deserved to starve outright. And if he didn't take up the brush—what capacity for action did he possess at all?

He opened his eyes and occasionally gazed at the lamp placed outside the mosquito net. In the middle of the night, he struck a match and lit a cigarette. He tossed and turned many times. It was not a night so hot as to make sleep difficult. The rain came pouring down again. Daisuke would think he might fall asleep to the sound of this rain, only to be abruptly awakened by it again. The night passed in a state between waking and sleeping.

15-4

When the appointed time arrived, Daisuke went out.
Wearing geta and carrying an umbrella, he boarded the tram—but with one window tightly shut and passengers packed shoulder-to-shoulder clinging to leather straps, he soon grew nauseous, his head turning heavy.
The effects of sleep deprivation seemed evident as he awkwardly reached back to loosen his collar.
Rain lashed mercilessly against him from collar to hat.
After two or three minutes, noticing his neighbor’s irritated expression, he slid the glass window shut again.
On its outer surface, burst raindrops pooled into beads that warped the street beyond into wavering shapes.
Daisuke craned his neck upward to peer outside while repeatedly rubbing his eyes.
Yet no matter how hard he rubbed, he couldn’t dispel the awareness that the world’s contours had subtly shifted.
Even when squinting obliquely through rain-streaked glass into the distance, that disquieting sensation persisted.

After transferring at Benkei Bridge, the crowd thinned and the rain let up.
His head felt lighter as he gazed at the rain-soaked world.
Yet his father's displeased face assailed his mind with various expressions.
Even imagined conversations resounded clearly in his ears.

After entering through the front entrance and before proceeding to the inner rooms, he first met his sister-in-law as was customary.
His sister-in-law,

“Isn’t this oppressive weather?” she said amiably, pouring tea herself.
However, Daisuke felt no inclination to drink it.

“Since Father must be waiting, I’ll go have a word with him,” she said, starting to stand up.
His sister-in-law wore an uneasy expression.

“Daisuke, if it can be helped, please don’t cause the elderly to worry. After all, Father doesn’t have much longer either.”
It was the first time Daisuke had heard such gloomy words from Umeko’s mouth.
He suddenly felt as if he had fallen into a cellar.

Father sat with the tobacco tray before him, looking downward.
Even when hearing Daisuke's footsteps, he did not lift his face.
Daisuke came before his father and bowed with utmost courtesy.
Contrary to his expectation of being met with a severe glare, Father proved unexpectedly composed,

“You went through the trouble of coming in the rain,” he acknowledged with consideration.
When Daisuke noticed for the first time at that moment, his father’s cheeks had grown emaciated without his realizing.
Originally a fleshy man, this change appeared all the more striking to Daisuke.
Involuntarily,

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

Father merely shifted a paternal expression across his face momentarily, showing no particular sign of heeding Daisuke’s concern, but as they spoke briefly,

“I’ve grown quite old,” he began.
As this tone differed entirely from Father’s usual manner, Daisuke could not help but regard what his sister-in-law had said earlier with increasing gravity.

Father revealed to Daisuke his intention to retire from the business world in the near future, citing declining health due to age as the reason.
However, he explained in detail that they were now suffering the backlash of postwar industrial and commercial expansion following the Russo-Japanese War, with the enterprises under his management having reached the depths of recession. Until they could weather this crisis, he said, there was no alternative but to endure for the time being - otherwise they could not escape accusations of irresponsibility.
Daisuke found his father’s words entirely reasonable.

Father expounded on the difficulties, dangers, and strenuousness inherent in ordinary business ventures, as well as the fearsome mental anguish and tension arising from these that burden those involved.
Finally, he spoke of provincial landowners who, while seemingly plain, in reality possessed a far more solid foundation than we did.
And then, using this comparison as grounds, he made a renewed effort to bring about this marriage.

“Having such a relative would be tremendously convenient, and indeed, isn’t it rather necessary at this juncture?”
Daisuke had not, from the start, overrated his father to such an extent that he would now be surprised by this rather blatantly strategic marriage proposal—blunt even for a parent.
In their final meeting, when Father began shedding his habitual mask, Daisuke actually found it refreshing.
He himself had concluded that he was precisely the sort of person capable of boldly undertaking a marriage of this nature.

On top of that, he felt an unprecedented sympathy toward Father. In his face, his voice, and his efforts to sway Daisuke—in all of these, he could discern the pathos of old age. Daisuke could not take even this as his father’s strategy. I wanted to say that I’ll be fine with whatever you decide, so please settle things in whatever way suits you best.

15-5

However, now that he had finally had his last meeting with Michiyo, Daisuke found himself unable to perform even the most immediate acts of filial piety that would satisfy his father’s wishes.
He was by nature a man of no fixed allegiance.
In return for never having literally obeyed anyone’s orders, he had never made any attempt to openly resist anyone’s opinions.
Depending on interpretation, his approach could be taken as that of a tactician or thought to stem from an indecisive nature.
Even he himself, upon hearing either of these two criticisms, could not help but inwardly nod in agreement that they might indeed be so.
But the majority of its cause was neither strategy nor indecisiveness; rather, it was because he possessed two flexible eyes that allowed him the convenience of seeing both sides at once.
Because of this ability, he had until now been robbed of the courage to charge single-mindedly at things.
He had often found himself standing frozen in the present, neither approaching nor retreating.
The fact that this appearance of maintaining the status quo did not arise from a lack of deliberation, but rather from clear-sighted judgment, became clear to him for the first time only when—armed with an unassailable spirit of daring—he resolutely carried out what he believed.
In Michiyo’s case, this was precisely the prime example.

He had not conceived of erasing the self he had confessed before Michiyo when facing his father. At the same time, he felt genuine pity for his father. The course ordinary Daisuke ought to take at this juncture required no explanation. Short of retracting his relationship with Michiyo, he had no alternative but to accept a marriage that would satisfy his father. Thus Daisuke could have reconciled both parties. It would have been easy to stand neutrally at the center and advance with indecisive half-measures. Yet the present him differed fundamentally from his usual self. It was already too late to thrust half his being beyond the fence and clasp hands with others. He believed his responsibility toward Michiyo to be immeasurably profound. This conviction arose half from rational judgment. Half from heartfelt longing. These twin forces governed him like a tidal surge. He stood before his father as one reborn from his former self.

He remained restrained like his usual self, speaking as sparingly as possible.
To his father’s eyes, there was nothing different about him from usual.
But Daisuke was rather surprised at how his father had changed.
In truth, he had surmised that his father’s repeated refusals to meet him since their last encounter stemmed from a deliberate postponement—a fear that he might oppose his will.
He had resolved himself to facing a bitter countenance should they meet today.
He even thought he might be scolded outright from the very start.
For Daisuke, this prospect was actually preferable.
A third of his motivation even harbored the ulterior design of psychologically leveraging his own reactive opposition to his father’s fury to deliver a definitive refusal.
Daisuke felt disquieted that his father’s demeanor, choice of words, intentions—everything contrary to expectation—tended to weaken his resolve.
Yet he had fortified himself with determination to overcome even this distress.

“While I find each of your arguments entirely valid, I lack the courage required to consent to this marriage, and therefore believe I must decline,” Daisuke finally declared.
At that moment, Father simply stared at Daisuke’s face.
After a measured pause,

“Does it take courage?” Father said, flinging the pipe he had been holding onto the tatami.
Daisuke stared at his knees and remained silent.

“Is it that you don’t like her?” Father asked again.
Daisuke still did not reply.
He had never confided even a quarter of himself to his father until now.
This very reticence had allowed him to maintain a peaceful relationship with Father all this time.
Yet regarding Michiyo alone, he had never intended concealment from the beginning.
For he found distasteful the cowardice of evading through schemes consequences that ought rightly to crash upon his head.
He simply judged the time for confession had not yet come.
Thus Michiyo’s name never passed his lips.
Finally, Father—

“Well then, do whatever you please,” he said with a bitter face.

Daisuke, too, was uncomfortable.
However, as there was nothing to be done, he bowed and attempted to withdraw from his father’s presence.

Just then, his father called him back,

“From my side as well, I will no longer provide for you,” he said.

When he returned to the parlor, Umeko was waiting expectantly—

“What are you going to do?” she asked.
Daisuke had no way to answer.

Sixteen: Part One

The next day, even after waking, his father’s final words continued resonating in the depths of Daisuke’s ears. Given the circumstances, he had no choice but to ascribe greater weight to their content than usual. At minimum for himself, he needed to resolve that the material support from Father had already been severed. The moment Daisuke most feared had arrived. To regain Father’s favor—even while refusing this marriage—he couldn’t have opposed all matrimony outright. Even had he opposed all marriage, he would’ve needed to articulate reasons compelling enough to make Father acquiesce. For Daisuke, both options proved impossible. On an issue touching the very foundation of his personal philosophy regarding life, deceiving Father grew doubly impossible. Recalling yesterday’s meeting, Daisuke could only conclude everything had progressed as destined. Yet terror gripped him. He felt himself pushed to the edge of a sheer cliff—shouldering causality’s weight while nurturing its natural progression within.

As a first measure, he thought he must seek some occupation.
But in his head, there was only the word "occupation," and the occupation itself did not take on concrete form.
As a result of having held no interest in any occupation until today, no matter what occupation he tried to conjure up, he could only skim over its surface, ultimately finding himself unable to step inside and consider it from within.
To him, the world appeared like a flat, complex division of colors.
And he himself could only think that he bore no color whatsoever.

After surveying every occupation, his eyes came to rest on the wanderer and there they stayed.
He clearly found his own shadow among the crowd of beggars wavering between the realms of dog and human.
The degeneration of his existence was what he found most painful in how it destroyed his spirit's freedom.
After smearing all manner of filth upon his flesh, he contemplated how desolate his mind would become, and shuddered.

In this desolation, he had to drag Michiyo through it.
Spiritually speaking, Michiyo was no longer Hiraoka's possession.
Daisuke had resolved to bear responsibility for her until his dying day.
Yet now it struck him that there was ultimately little difference—the infidelity of those in high standing and the kindness of those fallen to ruin.
To say he would bear responsibility for Michiyo until death meant having the purpose to bear it, but it had never become an actual fact of bearing.
Daisuke stood bewildered and lost, like one afflicted with amaurosis.

He went to visit Michiyo again.
Michiyo remained as composed as she had been the day before.
Her countenance brimmed with radiance and smiles.
The spring breeze swept generously across her brows.
Daisuke understood that Michiyo had entrusted her entire being to him.
When he witnessed this conviction anew before his eyes, he could no longer withstand the surge of tenderness and anguish.
He then castigated himself as though he were some villain.
In the end, he completely failed to voice his thoughts.
As he prepared to leave,

"Could you arrange to visit my house again?" he asked.
Michiyo nodded with a soft hum and smiled.
Daisuke felt as though his flesh were being flayed—so excruciating was the pain.

Daisuke had been compelled to visit Michiyo only during Hiraoka's absences, unpleasant as it was.
Initially, he hadn't dwelled on this arrangement much, but recently the discomfort had intensified beyond mere unpleasantness into something increasingly difficult to endure.
Furthermore, repeated visits during her husband's absence risked arousing the maid's suspicions.
Whether imagined or real, even when serving tea, she would fix him with such peculiarly distrustful glances that he could hardly bear it.
Yet Michiyo maintained a completely oblivious expression.
At least her upper body remained composed.

As for his relationship with Hiraoka, he naturally had no opportunity to inquire in detail.
Even when he tried asking a word or two about her husband at their meetings, Michiyo did not respond.
It seemed her natural tendency was to become utterly immersed in the momentary joy of gazing at Daisuke’s face for as long as she could.
The anxiety that the black clouds encircling them might close in at any moment—though perhaps lurking in the shadows—showed not even a trace before Daisuke.
Michiyo was by nature a woman of nervous disposition.
When he thought her recent demeanor was in no way characteristic of this woman, he could not help but interpret it not as evidence that Michiyo’s circumstances had yet to approach the severity of her husband’s, but rather as a sign that his own responsibility had grown heavier still.

“There’s something else I need to discuss, so please come,” Daisuke said with somewhat more seriousness than before, and parted with Michiyo.

16-2

Two days passed until Michiyo came, and Daisuke's mind had failed to open any new path.
In his head, the two characters for 'occupation' were seared in large regular script.
When he pushed them aside, the severing of material provisions thrashed about wildly.
When that shadow withdrew, Michiyo's future lay terribly desolate.
A whirlwind of anxiety blew into his head.
The three things rotated without a moment's rest, like a spinning tomoe.
As a result, his surroundings began to rotate entirely.
He was like a person aboard a ship.
Amidst his spinning head and the spinning world, he remained composed.

There was no word from the Aoyama residence.
Daisuke had not anticipated that outcome.
He forced himself to indulge in idle chatter with Kadono.
Kadono—a man whose sole occupation in this heat was managing his own body—obligingly moved his mouth exactly as Daisuke expected.
Even when they tired of talking,

"How about shogi, sir?"
he proposed with trailing implication.
Come evening, they watered the garden.
Both went barefoot, carrying brimming buckets to haphazardly drench every corner.
When Kadono vowed to water even the crown of the neighboring paulownia tree, he swung his bucket upward only to slip and land hard on his backside.
Dusty miller bloomed by the fence.
Begonia leaves beneath the water basin had grown remarkably large.
The rainy season finally broke, leaving days filled with mountainous clouds.
The sun blazed so fiercely it seemed to burn through the vast sky, pouring heaven's full heat upon the earth.

Daisuke spent the night gazing up at the stars above his head.
In the morning, he entered his study.
Over the next few days, the sound of cicadas could be heard from morning onward.
He went to the bathhouse and repeatedly cooled his head.
Then Kadono, thinking it was about time,

“It’s really unbearably hot, isn’t it?” he said as he entered.
Daisuke spent two days living this distracted life.
On the third day at noon, gazing out from his study at the blazing sky and catching the flame’s breath exhaled from above, he was seized with terror.
It was because he thought his mind was undergoing a permanent change from this violent climate.

Michiyo braved the scorching heat to keep yesterday's promise.
When Daisuke heard the woman's voice, he himself rushed to the entranceway.
Michiyo stood beyond the lattice door, umbrella closed tight and cloth-wrapped bundle clutched to her chest.
Having apparently left home still in everyday wear, she was midway through retrieving a handkerchief from the sleeve of her plain white yukata.
The moment Daisuke glimpsed her figure, he felt as though fate had carved out Michiyo's future and maliciously laid it bare before his eyes.
He laughed involuntarily,

“You look like you’ve been running around in this heat,” he said.
Michiyo calmly replied,
“But it would’ve been awkward to come without making shopping my pretext,” and followed Daisuke earnestly into the inner rooms.
Daisuke immediately produced a fan.
Beneath the blazing sun, Michiyo’s cheeks glowed with a healthy radiance.
Her usual weariness had vanished entirely.
A youthful vitality dwelled in her eyes.
Daisuke submerged his senses in this vivid beauty and momentarily forgot all else.
But when he realized it was he himself who was eroding this beauty in unseen depths, sorrow overwhelmed him.
He must have summoned Michiyo today precisely to dim a portion of that splendor.

Daisuke hesitated several times to speak of himself. To make this young woman who appeared so happy before him worry even enough to furrow a single brow was, to Daisuke, an utterly immoral act. Had his sense of duty toward Michiyo not functioned so sharply within his breast, he might have—instead of disclosing the circumstances following Hiraoka’s ultimatum—repeated his earlier confession within that same room and cast everything aside beneath love’s simple pleasure.

Daisuke finally resolved himself.

“Since then, has there been any change in your relationship with Hiraoka?”

Even when faced with this question, Michiyo remained happy.

“Even if there were, it wouldn’t matter.”

“Do you trust me that much?”

“If I didn’t trust you, how could I be here like this?”

Daisuke squinted as he gazed at the distant sky, which resembled a hot mirror.

Sixteen, Part Three

“I don’t seem worthy of being trusted that much,” he answered with a bitter smile, though inside his head blazed like a kiln.

However, Michiyo did not seem to take it to heart and did not ask why.
She simply,
"Oh my," she said with exaggerated surprise.

Daisuke became serious.

“I must confess—to be honest, I’m a man even less reliable than Mr. Hiraoka. Since it’d be troublesome if you overestimated me, I’ll lay everything bare,” he prefaced, then detailed his relationship with Hiraoka and his father up to the present day.

“I don’t know what will become of my standing from now on. At the very least, I’m not a full-fledged adult for the time being. I can’t even manage half that.” He faltered, “So...”

“So what will you do?”

“That’s why I’m worried I won’t be able to fulfill my responsibilities toward you as I intend.”

“When you say ‘responsibility,’ what kind do you mean? You must explain it more clearly for me to understand.”

As a result of Daisuke’s habitual emphasis on material circumstances, he knew only that poverty would not satisfy his lover.
Thus, having considered wealth merely as one responsibility toward Michiyo, he had no clearer concept than that at all.

“It’s not moral responsibility—it’s material obligation.”

“I don’t want such things.”

“Even if you say you don’t want them, they’ll become absolutely necessary.”
“No matter what new relationship I might form with you from now on, material provision would solve half of it.”

“Solution or not, there’s no point dwelling on that now.”

“It’s easy to say that now, but when the moment comes, the hardship will be plain to see.”

Michiyo’s face paled slightly.

“Now that I’ve heard your father’s account, didn’t you know from the start that things would turn out this way?”
“Even you must have realized something like that long ago, I should think.”

Daisuke could not reply.
He pressed his head,

"My brain’s a bit off," he muttered as if to himself.
Michiyo’s eyes grew slightly moist with tears.

"If you’re concerned about your husband, I’ll manage just fine on my own—why don’t you reconcile with your father and resume your relations as before?"

Daisuke suddenly grasped Michiyo’s wrist and, shaking it forcefully, said—
"If I intended to do such a thing, I wouldn’t have worried from the start.
I’m only apologizing because I feel sorry for you."

“Apologize? I—” Michiyo interrupted in a trembling voice. “Since I’m the one who caused things to turn out this way, isn’t it wrong to have you apologize?”

Michiyo sobbed aloud.
Daisuke, as if to soothe her,
“Then will you endure it?” he asked.
“I won’t endure it.”
“That’s only natural.”

“There will be more changes yet to come.”

“I am aware of that.”
“No matter what changes come, I won’t mind.”
“I’ve been—from some time ago, I’ve been fully prepared to die if something were to happen to me.”

Daisuke shuddered violently.

“Do you have any hope for what I should do from now on?” he asked.

“I have no hope.”
“I’ll become exactly as you say.”

“Drifting—”

“Even drifting would be fine. If you tell me to die, I’ll die.”

Daisuke stiffened again.

"If things stay like this—"

"Even staying like this is fine."

"Does Hiraoka seem completely unaware?"

"He may have noticed."
"But I've already steeled my resolve, so it's alright."
"But it's fine even if I'm killed at any time."

"You can't just flippantly talk about dying or being killed like that."

"But even if left alone, isn't this a body that can't live much longer anyway?"

Daisuke stiffened and stared at Michiyo as though frozen.
Michiyo cried out resolutely, as though seized by a hysterical fit.

十六の四

After some time had passed, the fit gradually subsided. Afterwards, she became her usual self—a quiet, refined, profound, and beautiful woman. The area around her eyebrows looked particularly serene.

At that time, Daisuke,

“Would it be acceptable if I were to meet Hiraoka myself and settle things?” he asked.

“If such a thing can be done…” Michiyo looked surprised.
Daisuke,

“I am prepared to do it,” he answered firmly.

“Then… whatever you say,” Michiyo replied.

“Let’s proceed that way. It would be wrong for us to deceive Mr. Hiraoka in handling this matter. Of course, I’ll explain only the facts in a way he can fully comprehend. And I’m resolved to properly apologize for my faults. The outcome may not align with my expectations. Yet however it goes awry, I intend to prevent any reckless developments. Keeping things half-resolved like this brings mutual anguish and does Mr. Hiraoka injustice. Though if I take this decisive step, you’ll likely face humiliation before him—for that I’m truly sorry, but if we speak of disgrace, I too am disgraced. If bearing moral responsibility for my actions—however shameful—is only proper, then even without personal gain, we must disclose everything between us to Mr. Hiraoka. Moreover, since this confession will determine our course henceforth, I believe it becomes all the more imperative.”

“I fully understand.”
“Since if things go wrong, I’m prepared to die anyway.”

“Dying?—Even if you were to die, how much time would there be from now on—and if there’s enough danger for that, why on earth would I go speak to Mr. Hiraoka myself?”

Michiyo began to cry again.

“Then I will apologize properly.”

Daisuke waited until the sun began to set before sending Michiyo home.
However, he did not see her off as he had done before.
He spent about an hour in his study listening to the cicadas' chirping.
After confiding his future plans to Michiyo, his mood felt cleared.
He tried writing a letter to Hiraoka to arrange a meeting and took up his brush, but suddenly finding the weight of responsibility unbearable, he couldn’t muster the courage to continue past the salutation.
Suddenly, clad only in a shirt and barefoot, he rushed out into the garden.
When Michiyo left, Kadono—who had been napping in a dazed state—

“Isn’t it still too early? The sun’s still out,” he said while pressing both hands against his shaven head and appearing at the edge of the veranda. Without replying, Daisuke slipped into the corner of the garden and swept the bamboo leaves forward. Kadono also reluctantly took off his clothes and came down.

Although the garden was small, because the soil was dry, thoroughly wetting it was quite laborious. Daisuke complained that his arm hurt and, half-heartedly wiping his feet, went back inside. Blowing tobacco smoke and resting on the veranda, he was seen by Kadono,

“Sir, hasn’t your heartbeat gone a bit wild?” Kadono teased from below.

In the evening, he took Kadono to the festival at Kagurazaka, bought two or three pots of autumn plants, brought them back, and lined them up outside under the eaves where dew was forming.

The night was deep, and the sky was high.
The stars shone thickly and densely.

Daisuke deliberately left the storm shutters open and slept that night.
The fear of carelessness was completely absent from his mind.
He extinguished the lamp and, lying alone inside the mosquito net, gazed through the darkness at the dark sky.
In his head, the events of the day glowed vividly.
He made his heart leap several times with the thought that a final resolution would be achieved within a few days.
But before long, he was absorbed into the vast sky and vast dream without even realizing it.

The next morning, he resolutely sent a letter to Hiraoka.
"I wish to discuss something privately; please let me know when convenient.
I am available at any time."
He wrote only that but deliberately made it a sealed letter.
When he moistened the envelope's glue and firmly affixed the red stamp, he felt as though he had issued a bond to the crisis.
He instructed Kadono and dropped this emissary of fate into the mailbox.
When handing it over, his fingertips trembled slightly, but after passing it on, he found himself in a daze, utterly lost.
When he recalled mediating between Michiyo and Hiraoka three years earlier, it all seemed like a dream.

16-5

The next day, he waited all day in anxious anticipation for Hiraoka's reply.
He spent the entire following day at home as well.

Three or four days passed.
But there was no word from Hiraoka.
Amidst this, as usual each month, the day came when he had to go to Aoyama to collect his allowance.
Daisuke’s funds had grown alarmingly thin.
From the time he had last met his father, Daisuke had steeled himself to the fact that he could no longer receive support from home.
At this point, he had no intention whatsoever of putting on a calm face and nonchalantly heading out there.
For two or three months, he had confidently reassured himself that even if he sold his books or clothes, he could manage somehow.
Once things were settled, he also had the prudence to gradually look for employment.
He had already begun believing—without ever having experienced it himself—the half-proverbial truth people constantly repeated: that humans don't starve so easily, that things somehow work themselves out.

On the fifth day, enduring the heat, he took the streetcar to Hiraoka's office and found out that Hiraoka had not come to work for two or three days.
Stepping outside, Daisuke looked up at the grimy windows of the editorial department and thought he should have called to confirm before making the trip.
He even began doubting whether the letter he had sent earlier had actually reached Hiraoka.
This was because Daisuke had deliberately addressed it to the newspaper company.
On his way back, he detoured through Kanda and asked the second-hand bookstore he frequented to come inspect the unwanted books he wished to sell off.

That evening, having lost even the courage to sprinkle water, he blankly watched Kadono wearing a white mesh undershirt.

“Are you tired today, sir?” Kadono said with a click of his tongue.
Anxiety pressed upon Daisuke’s chest until he could muster no clear reply.
At dinner, the rice held almost no flavor.
He forced it down his throat as if swallowing and flung his chopsticks aside.
He called Kadono over,

“Go to Hiraoka’s place. Ask if he’s seen that letter I sent earlier.”
“If he has read it, tell him I request a reply—and bring back word of his answer,” he instructed.
Worried Kadono still might not grasp the matter fully, he added explicit mention of having previously dispatched this very letter to the newspaper office.

After sending Kadono off, Daisuke went out to the veranda and sat down in a chair. When Kadono returned, Daisuke had extinguished the lamp and was sitting motionless in the dark. Kadono stood in the gloom.

"I've been there," he reported.
"Mr. Hiraoka was there. He said he'd read your letter. He told me he'll come tomorrow morning."

"I see. Thank you," Daisuke replied.

"Actually, he was supposed to leave earlier, but someone at home fell ill and delayed him. He asked me to tell you this."

“Sick?” Daisuke asked reflexively.
In the darkness,
“Yes, it seems his wife is unwell,” Kadono replied.
The white hem of Kadono’s unpatterned yukata faintly caught Daisuke’s eye.
The dim light of night was too faint to illuminate their faces.
Daisuke gripped both arms of the rattan chair he sat in.

“Is it serious?” he pressed sharply.

“Hard to say exactly.”
“It didn’t seem trivial.”
“But since Mr. Hiraoka can come tomorrow, it can’t be too grave.”

Daisuke felt somewhat relieved.

"What's... what's the illness?"

"Ah, I must've missed that part."

Their conversation ended there.
Kadono turned back down the dark corridor and entered his own room.
As he listened quietly, after a while, there came the sound of the lamp's cover being fitted onto the chimney.
Kadono appeared to have lit the lamp.

Daisuke remained motionless in the darkness. Though keeping perfectly still, his chest churned uneasily. Sweat from his palms seeped into the rattan armrests he gripped. Daisuke clapped his hands once more to summon Kadono. The faint white shape of Kadono's figure reappeared at the far end of the corridor.

“It’s still dark in here, isn’t it? Shall I light the lamp?” he asked.
Daisuke declined the lamp and inquired again about Michiyo’s illness.
He pressed every conceivable detail—from whether a nurse was present to Hiraoka’s condition, even whether his absence from the newspaper office stemmed from his wife’s illness or some other cause.
Yet Kadono’s replies merely echoed what he had said before.
When they differed, they amounted to little more than haphazard conjectures.
Still, for Daisuke, this exchange proved more bearable than sitting silent and alone.

16-6

Before going to bed, Kadono brought out a letter from the late-night mail.
Daisuke received it in the dark and did not even attempt to look at it.
Kadono said,

“It appears to be from your household.”
“Shall I bring a lamp?” he suggested, as if prompting.

Daisuke had a lamp brought into the study for the first time and cut open the envelope beneath its light.
The letter was a considerably long one addressed to him from Umeko.—
“You must have been greatly troubled by the matter with the wife all this time.
On our side as well—starting with Father, Brother, and I—we were all very worried.
Yet despite our efforts, when you came the other day and firmly refused Father in the end, though deeply regrettable, we have now resigned ourselves to it being unavoidable.
However, I later heard that at that time Father became furious, declaring ‘I will no longer concern myself with you—do as you please.’
I imagine your subsequent absence has been entirely due to that as well.
On the day we were to send the monthly allowance, I wondered what to do, but since you still did not come, I am worried.
Father says to let it go.
Brother is as carefree as ever and says that if you’re in trouble, you’ll come around eventually.
At that time, you should make Father apologize properly.
If he still doesn’t come, Brother says he’ll go himself and give him a good talking-to.
However, since the three of us have already given up on the matter of marriage, there should be no trouble for you on that point.
Though Father still appears angry.
In my view, I believe it will be difficult for things to return to how they were for the time being.
Considering that, it might actually be better for you not to come here.
The only thing that worries me is the matter of sending the monthly allowance.
Given your nature, I don’t believe you would suddenly start managing it yourself, but I can so clearly picture you struggling right now that it pains me terribly.
So I will arrange to send the monthly allowance as usual—please accept it and make do with this until next month.
Father’s mood should improve before long.”

“Brother has also agreed to say the same, and it has been arranged.”
“If a suitable opportunity arises, I will apologize to you.”
“Until then, it would be best if you continue to refrain from visiting as you have been doing until now…”

There was still quite a bit more, but since it was a woman’s writing, most of it was mere repetition.
Daisuke pulled out the check that had been enclosed inside, then after thoroughly rereading the letter once more, carefully rolled it back up as it had been and renewed his silent gratitude toward his sister-in-law.
The characters written as “From Umeko” were rather clumsy.
The letter’s use of genbun’itchi style was in accordance with Daisuke’s longstanding recommendation.

Daisuke continued gazing intently at the envelope lying before the lamp.
His old lifespan had been extended another month.
For Daisuke—who needed to renew himself sooner or later—his sister-in-law's kindness, though appreciated, was nothing but poison.
Yet before settling matters with Hiraoka, having been unwilling to work for bread, his sister-in-law's gift became all the more precious to him now as provisions.

That night too, before entering the mosquito net, he abruptly extinguished the lamp.
Since Kadono had come to close the storm shutters, he left them as they were without comment.
Through the glass door, the sky remained visible beyond the shutters.
Only it was darker than the previous evening.
Suspecting clouds had gathered, he deliberately stepped out to the veranda and peered up through the eaves—a luminous streak flowed diagonally across the sky.
Daisuke rolled up the mosquito net once more and climbed inside.
Unable to sleep, he made his fan flap noisily.

Household matters were not his only concern.
He resolved to let his occupation take its course and steeled himself.
Only Michiyo's illness—its cause and consequences—tormented Daisuke's mind.
Then he imagined various scenarios of his impending meeting with Hiraoka.
This too agitated his thoughts profoundly.
The message had stated Hiraoka would come tomorrow morning around nine, before the heat intensified.
Daisuke was not one to premeditate formalities about how to broach matters with Hiraoka.
The substance of their discussion was already decided; only its sequence depended on circumstance—he felt no anxiety, wanting merely to convey his thoughts calmly yet effectively.
Therefore rejecting undue excitement, he desperately sought a tranquil night.
He closed his eyes striving for deep sleep, but his mind stayed painfully alert, making rest harder than the previous evening.
Soon the summer night abruptly paled toward dawn.
Daisuke could endure no longer and sprang up.
Barefoot, he leapt into the garden, crushing cold dew beneath his soles.
Returning to the veranda's rattan chair, he waited for sunrise until consciousness drifted into haze.

16-7

Kadono, rubbing his sleepy eyes, had gone out to open the storm shutters when Daisuke started awake from this shallow slumber. Half of the world was already washed in red sunlight.

"My, you're up early!" Kadono exclaimed in surprise.
Daisuke immediately went to the bathroom and splashed water over himself.
He skipped breakfast and drank only a cup of black tea.
He looked at the newspaper but could hardly comprehend what was written.
As he read, what he had read clustered together and vanished away.
Only the clock's hands occupied his mind.
There remained a little over two hours until Hiraoka would arrive.
Daisuke wondered how he would pass the time until then.
He could not remain still.
But no matter what he did, nothing held his attention.
He wanted to force himself to sleep through these two hours and find Hiraoka before him when he opened his eyes.

Finally, he tried to devise some task. Suddenly noticing Umeko's envelope lying on the desk, Daisuke decided this would do and forced himself to sit before it, writing a letter of thanks to his sister-in-law. He had meant to compose it as courteously as possible, but after sealing the envelope and addressing it, a glance at the clock showed barely fifteen minutes had passed. Remaining seated, Daisuke fixed restless eyes on the ceiling, seeming to search for something in his mind. Then abruptly he rose.

“If Hiraoka comes, tell him I’ll return shortly and have him wait a while,” Daisuke instructed Kadono before heading out.

The intense sun struck Daisuke’s face with a force that seemed to pin him in place from the front. As he walked, his eyes and brows were in constant motion. He entered Ushigome Mitsuke, passed through Iidamachi, emerged at the foot of Kudanzaka, and reached the used bookstore he had visited the day before.

“I asked you yesterday to come collect the unnecessary books, but circumstances have led me to postpone it. Let’s leave it at that,” he informed them.

On his return journey, the heat proved too severe, so he took the streetcar around to Iidabashi before detouring through Ageba and Sujikai to emerge at Bishamon-mae.

A rickshaw was parked in front of the house.
In the entranceway, shoes were neatly arranged.
Daisuke did not wait for Kadono’s notice and realized that Hiraoka had come.
He wiped off his sweat, changed into a freshly laundered summer kimono, and went out to the drawing room.

“No, it’s merely a visit,” Hiraoka said.
Still wearing Western clothes, he flapped his fan as if being steamed.

“You’ve come all this way in such heat,” Daisuke found himself compelled to use formal language.

For a while, the two men talked about the weather.
Daisuke immediately wanted to ask about Michiyo's condition.
But he found it difficult to phrase the question appropriately.
Eventually, they finished the usual greetings.
It was proper for the one who had initiated the meeting to broach the matter first.

“I hear Michiyo-san is ill.”

“Yeah. With all that going on, I had to take a couple days off from work. Ended up forgetting to send you a reply.”

“That’s not important. Is Michiyo-san that ill?”

Hiraoka couldn’t give a decisive answer in one word. He briefly explained that while there didn’t seem to be any immediate cause for alarm, it was by no means a minor matter.

The morning after she had stopped by Daisuke’s place while out shopping in Kagurazaka during the height of summer, Michiyo was helping Hiraoka prepare for work when she suddenly collapsed still clutching her husband’s collar. Startled, Hiraoka abandoned his own preparations to tend to her. After ten minutes, Michiyo insisted he should go to work since she was fine now. A faint smile even played about her lips. She lay down but showed no worrisome symptoms, so Hiraoka left instructions to call the doctor if her condition worsened and to telephone his office if needed before departing for work. He returned late that night to find Michiyo already in bed, claiming she felt unwell. She gave no clear answer when he asked about her condition. The next morning, her complexion looked dreadful when he awoke. Alarmed, Hiraoka summoned a doctor. The physician examined Michiyo’s heart and frowned. He attributed her collapse to anemia.

The doctor cautioned that she had developed severe neurasthenia.
Hiraoka took time off work as her husband.
Michiyo insisted she was fine and urged him to go about his duties, but Hiraoka would not listen.
On the evening of the second day of nursing her, Michiyo, with tears streaming down her face, told her husband there was something she absolutely had to atone for and that he must visit Daisuke to hear the reason.
When Hiraoka first heard this, he dismissed it entirely.
Thinking her mind must be disordered, he comforted her with placating words of "There, there."

On the third day, the same plea was repeated once more.
At that moment, Hiraoka finally discerned a certain significance in Michiyo's words.
Then when evening fell, Kadono made a special trip all the way to Koishikawa to inquire about the reply to the letter Daisuke had sent.

"Is there some connection between your business and what Michiyo spoke of?" Hiraoka asked, eyeing Daisuke with a look of bewilderment.

Sixteen · Eight

Hiraoka’s account had deeply moved Daisuke since earlier, but when suddenly confronted with this unexpected question, Daisuke stiffened.
Hiraoka’s question struck Daisuke’s heart with unexpected directness.
He blushed slightly, uncharacteristically, and looked down.
However, when he raised his face again, he had regained his usual calm and unapologetic demeanor.

“Michiyo-san’s need to apologize to you and my desire to speak with you are likely profoundly connected.”
“Or perhaps they are the same thing.”
“I must tell you about it regardless.”
“Since I believe I have an obligation to speak, I am speaking. In light of our friendship until today, I ask that you graciously allow me to fulfill this duty.”

“What’s this? Getting all formal.” Hiraoka straightened his expression for the first time as he spoke.

“No—if I give a preface, it’ll sound like an excuse, which I want to avoid. I’d prefer to speak bluntly if possible, but since this is a rather grave matter and goes against our usual interactions, I’m concerned that if you become enraged midway through, it would be quite troublesome. That’s why I must ask you to hear me out until the end.”

“Well, what is it? This matter you’re talking about—”

Along with his curiosity, Hiraoka’s expression grew even more serious.

“In return, after I’ve said everything, no matter what you tell me, I intend to listen quietly until the end.”

Hiraoka said nothing. He simply fixed his large eyes on Daisuke from behind his glasses. Outside, the glaring sun beat down, its light reflecting up to the engawa, but the two men paid almost no heed to the heat.

Daisuke lowered his voice slightly. Then he began explaining in detail how his relationship with Michiyo had changed since the Hiraokas’ arrival in Tokyo, leading up to the present day. Hiraoka pressed his lips tightly together and listened attentively to every word Daisuke spoke. Daisuke spent a little over an hour recounting everything. During that time, he received about four brief questions from Hiraoka.

When he concluded his explanation with, “That’s roughly how it happened,” Hiraoka responded to Daisuke with only a groan-like deep sigh.
Daisuke was being extremely harsh.

“From your perspective, I must appear as if I’ve betrayed you.”
“You must think me a wretched friend.”
“If you think so, I’ve nothing to say in rebuttal.”
“This has become inexcusable.”

“So you think what you did was wrong, then?”

“Of course.”

“So you’ve been advancing all this time while knowing it was wrong?” Hiraoka pressed again.
His tone had grown marginally more urgent than before.

"That’s correct. Therefore, regarding this matter, I am resolved to accept without resistance any sanctions you intend to impose on us. What I just did was simply relate the facts as they are—I have no intention of using them as material for your judgment."

Hiraoka did not answer.
After a while, he leaned his face close to Daisuke and said.

"Do you believe there exists in this world any means by which my tarnished honor can be restored?"

This time, it was Daisuke who did not answer.

"The sanctions of law and society mean nothing to me," Hiraoka said again.

"So you're asking whether there exists a means to restore honor solely among those involved?"

"Exactly."

"If we could completely reverse Miss Michiyo's feelings to make her love you twice as much as before, and even make her detest me like snakes and scorpions, that would serve as some recompense."

“And you think that’s something you can pull off?”

“It’s impossible,” Daisuke declared.

“So then, you’ve developed something you thought was wrong up until today, and now you’re trying to push it to extremes under the same policy of considering it wrong?”

“It might be a contradiction.
“However, this contradiction arises because the socially prescribed marital relationship and the naturally formed marital relationship did not align—there’s nothing to be done about that.”
“As a matter of social propriety, I apologize to you as Miss Michiyo’s husband.”
“However, I maintain that my actions themselves have not involved any contradiction or wrongdoing.”

16-9

“Well,” Hiraoka said, raising his voice slightly.
“So you’re saying we two cannot form a marital relationship that conforms to societal norms?”

Daisuke looked at Hiraoka with eyes full of sympathetic pity.
Hiraoka’s stern eyebrows slackened slightly.

“Hiraoka.
From society’s perspective, this concerns a man’s honor.
So while it’s inevitable that your heart moves unconsciously to protect your rights—even if you don’t deliberately intend to—and this naturally intensifies… Could you become your school-days self again, before this relationship existed, and properly listen to what I have to say one more time?”

Hiraoka said nothing.
Daisuke also held back for a moment.
After taking a puff of tobacco, he resolved himself.

“You never loved Miss Michiyo,” he said quietly.

“Well…”

“This may be unnecessary to say, but I must say it. I believe that holds the key to resolving this entire incident.”

“Do you bear no responsibility?”

“I love Miss Michiyo.”

“Do you have the right to love another man’s wife?”

“It can’t be helped.
“Miss Michiyo is publicly yours.
“But since a human being isn’t an object, no one can claim ownership of their heart.
“No external force can dictate the growth or direction of affection.
“A husband’s authority doesn’t extend that far.
“Therefore, keeping your wife’s love from straying elsewhere should rather be the husband’s duty.”

“Even if it were true that I didn’t love Michiyo as you expected,” Hiraoka said, forcing himself to suppress his emotions.
He was clenching his fist.
Daisuke waited for Hiraoka to finish speaking.

“Do you remember what happened three years ago?” Hiraoka changed his line of questioning again.

“Three years ago was when you married Miss Michiyo.”

“That’s right.
Does the memory of that time still remain in your mind?”

Daisuke’s mind suddenly leaped back three years.
The memory of that time blazed like a torch swirling through darkness.

“You were the one who suggested arranging Michiyo for me.”

“You were the one who confessed your wish to have her.”

“I haven’t forgotten that either. I’ve remained grateful for your kindness to this day.”

Having said this, Hiraoka sank into meditation.

“It was when we two passed through Ueno at night and descended to Yanaka. After the rain, the roads below Yanaka were treacherous. From the museum entrance we kept talking, and when we reached that bridge—you wept for me.”

Daisuke remained silent.

“I have never felt more grateful to a friend than I did at that time.”
“I was so happy that I couldn’t sleep a wink that night.”
“It was a moonlit night, so I stayed up until the moon disappeared.”

“I too was happy at that time,” Daisuke said dreamily.
Hiraoka cut him off with a force that severed the conversation—

“Why did you cry for me back then? Why did you pledge to arrange Michiyo for me? If you were going to precipitate something like today’s events, why didn’t you leave things as they were after that dismissive ‘hmph’? I don’t recall having wronged you enough to deserve this profound retribution.”

Hiraoka's voice trembled.
Beads of sweat formed on Daisuke's pale forehead.
And then he spoke as if pleading.

“Hiraoka, I’ve loved Miss Michiyo since before you did.”

Hiraoka stood blankly, gazing at Daisuke’s pained expression.

“The me of that time was not who I am now.”
“When I heard your story then, I believed sacrificing my future to fulfill your wish was a friend’s fundamental duty.”
“That was wrong.”
“Had my mind been as mature as it is now, there might still have been another way—but regrettably, I was too young then and held nature in too much contempt.”
“Whenever I recall that time, I am assailed by intense remorse.”
“Not merely for my own sake.”
“In truth, I feel this regret for your sake.”
“What I truly owe you apology for is not this recent matter, but rather that half-hearted chivalry I forced myself to complete back then.”
“I beg you to forgive me.”
“Having thus received nature’s retribution, I prostrate myself before you in atonement.”

Daisuke spilled tears onto his knees.
Hiraoka’s glasses fogged up.

16-10

“It’s fate—there’s nothing to be done.”

Hiraoka let out a groan.
The two finally faced each other.

“If you have any plans regarding remedial measures, I’ll hear them.”

“I am a man prostrating himself in apology before you.”
“I have no right to broach such matters henceforth.”
“It’s only proper to hear your thoughts first,” said Daisuke.

“I have nothing,” Hiraoka responded, pressing his hands against his head.

“Then I’ll say it plainly. Won’t you give me Miss Michiyo?” he declared in a decisive tone.

Hiraoka removed his hand from his head and dropped his elbow onto the Western-style desk like a rod.
At the same time,

"I'll give her," he said.
And before Daisuke could reply, he repeated it again.

"I'll give her.
"I'll give her, but I can't give her now.
"I may not have loved Michiyo as much as you assumed.
"But I wasn't cruel to her.
"Michiyo is ill now.
"And it's no trivial matter.
"I refuse to hand over a bedridden patient to you.
"If I can't transfer her to you until she recovers, then until then, as her husband, I have the duty to care for her as such."

“I have apologized to you,” said Daisuke. “Miss Michiyo has also apologized to you. From your perspective, we’re both undoubtedly unscrupulous scoundrels—and no matter how much we apologize, you may never forgive us—but in any case, she’s bedridden with illness.”

“I understand that,” Hiraoka replied. “You probably think I’d exploit her illness to vent some grudge—maybe even abuse her—but rest assured, I wouldn’t stoop that low.”

Daisuke believed Hiraoka’s words.
And then he thanked Hiraoka in his heart.
Hiraoka then said the following.

“Given what has transpired today—from my position as her husband in society’s eyes—I can no longer associate with you. As of today, we sever our ties. Please understand this.”

“It can’t be helped,” Daisuke said, hanging his head.

“Michiyo’s illness, as I have just said, is not a mild case.”
“There is no telling what changes may lie ahead.”
“You must be worried too.”
“However, given that we have severed ties, there is no helping it.”
“Regardless of whether I am present or not, I must ask you to refrain from visiting my house.”

“Understood,” Daisuke said falteringly.
His cheeks had grown even paler.
Hiraoka stood up.

“You, please stay for another five minutes,” Daisuke pleaded.
Hiraoka remained seated in silence.

“Is there a chance that Miss Michiyo’s illness could suddenly become critically dangerous?”

“Well...”

“Won’t you tell me that much?”

“There’s really no need for such concern.”

Hiraoka answered in a leaden tone, as though exhaling into the earth itself.
Daisuke could no longer bear it.

“If... If there’s even a chance—before anything happens—let me see her just once. I’ll ask nothing else. Only that. Please... grant me this.”

Hiraoka kept his lips sealed, offering no reply.
With no outlet for his anguish, Daisuke ground his palms together until the grime between them twisted into cords.

“We’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Hiraoka answered heavily.

“Then, may I go to inquire about the patient’s condition from time to time?”

“That’s a problem.”
“You and I have absolutely no connection anymore.”
“From now on, the only time I’ll have any dealings with you is when I hand Michiyo over—that’s what I’ve decided.”

Daisuke leaped up from his chair as if struck by an electric current.

“Ah—”
“Understood.”
“You intend to show me nothing but Miss Michiyo’s corpse.”
“That’s cruel.”
“That’s cruel.”

Daisuke circled around the edge of the Western-style desk and approached Hiraoka.
With his right hand gripping Hiraoka’s suit jacket at the shoulder, he shook him back and forth,
“Cruel! Cruel!” he cried out.
Hiraoka saw a terrifying madness blazing in Daisuke’s eyes.
As his shoulder was shaken, he rose to his feet.

“There’s no such thing!” Hiraoka said, suppressing Daisuke’s hand.
The two stared at each other with faces as if possessed by demons.

“You need to calm down,” said Hiraoka.

“I am calm,” Daisuke replied.
But those words escaped painfully through gaps in his labored breathing.

After a while, the reaction to the fit came.
Daisuke, like someone who had exhausted all strength to hold himself up, sank back into the chair.
Then he pressed both hands against his face.

Seventeen: Part One

Daisuke left the house stealthily past ten at night.

“Where are you going at this hour?” Kadono asked in surprise.

“Just something,” he replied evasively, and arrived at Teramachi Street. As it was midsummer, the town still lingered in early evening’s grasp. People clad in yukata passed before and behind Daisuke endlessly. To his eyes, they registered only as moving shapes. Shops lining both sides blazed with light. Daisuke turned into a dimmer side street as if shielding himself from glare. When he reached Edogawa’s banks, a faint dark wind stirred. Black cherry leaves rustled slightly. Two figures stood on the bridge gazing down from its railings. At Kongōji Slope he met no one. The Iwasaki estate’s high stone walls choked the narrow incline from both sides.

The town where Hiraoka lived remained quiet.
Most houses kept their lamplight contained.
The clatter of wheels from an empty rickshaw approaching from the opposite direction echoed startlingly loud.
Daisuke reached the edge of Hiraoka's fence and halted.
Pressing close to peer inside, he found only darkness.
Above the tightly shut gate, an eave light uselessly illuminated the nameplate.
A gecko's shadow slanted across the lamp's glass surface.

Daisuke had come to this place again this morning. He wandered through the neighborhood from noon onward. He thought to catch the maid when she went out shopping and ask about Michiyo’s condition. But the maid never came out. There was no sign of Hiraoka either. Even when he pressed close to the fence and strained his ears, he couldn’t hear any voices that sounded like her husband’s. He thought to intercept the doctor and inquire in detail about her condition, but no carriage that looked like a doctor’s had stopped in front of Hiraoka’s gate. Before long, his head, struck by the intense sun, began to sway like the sea. When he stood still, he felt as though he would collapse. When he began to walk, the ground seemed to ripple in great waves. Daisuke endured the agony and crawled his way home. He collapsed without eating dinner and lay motionless.

The dreadful day had finally set, and the night gradually deepened the stars' hues.
Daisuke revived for the first time within the darkness and coolness.
And so, while letting dew settle on his head, he made his way back to where Michiyo was.

Daisuke walked back and forth several times before Michiyo's gate.
Each time he came beneath the eaves light, he stopped and strained his ears.
For five or ten minutes he stood motionless.
Yet he could grasp nothing of the house's interior.
Everything lay hushed.

Each time Daisuke came to a stop beneath the eaves light, a gecko clung tightly to the glass of the lantern.
The black shadow remained diagonally cast and never moved.

Every time Daisuke noticed the gecko, he felt an unpleasant sensation.
The motionless figure strangely weighed on his mind.
His mind fell into a superstition born of excessive sharpness.
He imagined that Michiyo was in danger.
He imagined that Michiyo was now suffering.
He imagined that Michiyo was now dying.
He imagined that Michiyo, wanting to see him once more before dying, was stealing breaths to stay alive, unable to fully die.
Daisuke clenched his fist and could not help but knock on Hiraoka's gate hard enough to break it.
Suddenly, he realized he was someone who didn't even have the right to lay a finger on anything belonging to Hiraoka.
Daisuke was so terrified that he broke into a run.
In the quiet lane, only his own footsteps echoed loudly.
Daisuke grew even more frightened as he ran.
When he slowed his pace, his breathing became very labored.

There were stone steps by the roadside.
Daisuke sat down there half in a daze, pressed a hand to his forehead, and froze rigidly.
After a while, when he opened his tightly shut eyes, there was a large black gate.
From above the gate, a thick pine tree spread its branches all the way beyond the hedge.

Daisuke was resting at the temple entrance.

He stood up.
He began walking again in a daze.
After walking a short distance, he once more entered Hiraoka's alley.
As if in a dream, he stopped before the eaves light.
The gecko remained reflected in the same spot.
Daisuke released a deep sigh and finally descended southward from Koishikawa.

That night, his head spun endlessly within a whirlwind—hot and red like fire.
Daisuke exerted all his strength and struggled to escape from the whirlwind.
However, his head did not obey his commands in the least.
Like a leaf, without any hesitation, it was swept round and round into the fiery wind.

Seventeen-2

The next day, the sun rose high again as if to sear everything.
Outside, the fierce light began scorching every surface.
Daisuke held out until just past eight before finally rising.
The moment he awoke, his vision swam unsteadily.
Following his daily routine, he bathed in cold water, entered his study, and stood frozen rigid.

Kadono came to inform him of a visitor and, upon doing so, stood at the entrance looking at Daisuke with a startled expression.
Daisuke found even responding to be a burden.
Without asking who the visitor was, he turned his face—still propped up by his hand—about halfway toward Kadono.
At that moment, the guest’s footsteps sounded on the veranda, and without waiting to be announced, his brother Seigo entered.

“Oh, over here,” was all Daisuke could manage as he offered a seat.
No sooner had Seigo taken his seat than he produced a fan and began sending a breeze as if to open the collar of his linen robe.
Seeming to struggle as his fat melted in this heat, he let out a rough breath.

“It’s hot,” he said.

“Is there anything amiss at your house?” Daisuke inquired like a man utterly spent.

The two exchanged their customary trivialities for a brief while.
From the outset, Daisuke’s manner and tone were anything but ordinary.
Yet his brother never once inquired what troubled him.
When their conversation reached a natural pause,

“The fact is,” he began while reaching into his breast pocket to produce a letter.

“I came today because there’s something I must ask you,” he said, rotating the envelope to show its back to Daisuke.

“Do you know this man?” he asked.
On it was written Hiraoka’s address and full name in his own handwriting.

“I know,” Daisuke replied almost mechanically.

“They say he was your former classmate—is that true?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know this man’s wife?”

“I do.”

His brother took up the fan again and snapped it open several times.
Then, leaning slightly forward, he lowered his voice by a degree.

“Do you have some kind of relationship with this man’s wife?”

Daisuke had never intended to conceal anything from the start.
But when questioned so bluntly, he wondered how he could possibly encapsulate such a complicated course of events in a single word and found himself unable to form a reply.
His brother took the letter out from the envelope.
He rolled it back about four or five inches,

“Actually, a man named Hiraoka sent this sort of letter to Father. Would you like to read it?” he said, handing it to Daisuke.
Daisuke silently received the letter and began reading.
His brother was staring fixedly at Daisuke’s forehead.

The letter was written in small characters.
As he read line after line, the completed portion hung long from Daisuke's fingertips.
Even when it had stretched over two shaku in length, there remained no sign of ending.
Daisuke's eyes flickered.
His head felt heavy as iron.
Daisuke resolved he must force himself to read through to the end.
His entire body endured indescribable pressure as sweat streamed from his underarms.
When he finally reached the conclusion, he lacked even the courage to roll up the letter in his hand.
The letter lay splayed across the Western-style desk.

“Is what’s written there true?” his brother asked in a low voice.
Daisuke merely,
“It’s true,” he replied.
His brother, like someone struck by a blow, momentarily stilled the sound of his fan.
For a while, neither could speak.
When his brother had composed himself,
“What on earth possessed you to do such an idiotic thing?” he said in a stunned tone.
Daisuke still did not open his mouth.
“You could’ve married any woman you wanted—as many as you liked,” his brother said again.
Even then, Daisuke remained silent.
For the third time, his brother spoke:—

“You’re not exactly someone who’s never indulged in pleasure. If you were going to make such a mess of things, then all the money we’ve poured into you up until now might as well have been wasted.”

Daisuke no longer had any courage to explain his position to his brother now. Until just recently, he had been in full agreement with him.

17-3

“Your sister-in-law’s crying,” his brother said.

“I see,” Daisuke replied as if in a dream.

“Father is angry.”

Daisuke did not answer.
He gazed at his brother with eyes that looked into the distance.

“You’ve always been an utterly incomprehensible man.
“Still, I kept associating with you all this time, thinking someday you might understand.
“But this time—this time—I’ve given up on you as completely beyond understanding.
“There’s nothing more dangerous in this world than someone incomprehensible.
“I can’t rest easy not knowing what you’ll do or what you’re thinking.
“You may act as you please, but consider Father’s and my standing in society.
“Surely even you possess some notion of family honor?”

His brother’s words grazed past Daisuke’s ear and spilled out into emptiness.
He felt pain throughout his entire body.
Yet he was not so shaken in his brother’s presence as to endure the lash of conscience.
He had no intention from the start to contrive convenient excuses or perform theatrics to gain sympathy from this worldly brother now.
Within his mind lay the conviction that he himself had walked the righteous path.
This sufficed him.
The sole being who comprehended this satisfaction was Michiyo alone.
Apart from Michiyo—his father, brother, society, all humanity—were enemies.
They sought to envelop the pair in blazing flames and burn them alive.
Wordlessly embracing Michiyo, Daisuke deemed it his supreme wish to be swiftly consumed by this fiery gale.
He offered no reply to his brother.
Propping up his leaden head, he remained motionless as stone.

“Daisuke,” his brother called.
“Today I’ve come as Father’s messenger.
“You’ve stopped visiting the house since that day.”
“Normally Father would summon you himself to demand answers, but today he can’t bear to look at your face—that’s why I’ve come in his stead to verify the facts.”
“So—if you have any defense to offer, I’ll hear it now.”
“But if there’s no defense at all—if every word Hiraoka says proves true—Father declares this:—”
“I will never see Daisuke again.”
“Wherever he goes or whatever he does shall be his own affair.”
“In return, from this day forth I shall no longer acknowledge him as my son.”
“Nor shall he consider me his parent.—This is only just.”
“Now having heard your account—since Hiraoka’s letter contains not a single falsehood—there remains nothing to be done.”
“Moreover, regarding this matter, you show neither remorse nor apology.”
“In that case, even I cannot return and plead your cause to Father.”
“I merely convey his exact words to you before taking my leave.”
“Is this clear?”
“Do you understand what Father has declared?”

“I understand perfectly,” Daisuke answered succinctly.

“You idiot!” his brother shouted in a loud voice.
Daisuke kept his face down and did not raise it.

“You’re a dimwit,” his brother said again.
“You never shut up more than anyone else ordinarily, but when it really matters, you stay completely silent like a mute.”
“And then you go around pulling underhanded stunts in secret that tarnish our parents’ honor.”
“What was the point of receiving an education all this time?”

His brother took the letter on the Western-style desk and began rolling it up himself.
In the quiet room, the sound of half-cut paper rustled.
His brother returned it to the envelope as before and put it in his pocket.

“Well then, I’ll be going,” he said this time in a normal tone.
Daisuke politely bowed.
His brother,
“I won’t see you again either,” he dismissively said and went out to the entrance.
After his brother left, Daisuke remained motionless as before for a while.
When Kadono came to clear away the tea set, he suddenly stood up,
“Mr. Kadono. I’m going out to look for a job,” he declared, and without another word, donned his hunting cap and rushed out into the midday sun at the front gate without even taking an umbrella.

Daisuke walked hurriedly through the heat without breaking into a run.
The sun beat down straight from above his head.
Dry dust enveloped his bare feet like scattered embers.
A creeping urgency gnawed at him.

"Hurry, hurry," he muttered under his breath as he walked.

He came to Iidabashi and boarded the streetcar.
The streetcar started moving straight ahead.
Daisuke, inside the streetcar,

“Ah, it moves.
The world moves,” he said loud enough for those nearby to hear.
His head began to spin at the speed of the streetcar.
As it spun, it began to scorch like fire.
He thought that if he continued riding like this for half a day, he could be completely burned up.

Suddenly, a red postbox caught his eye.
Then, that red color suddenly flew into Daisuke’s head and began whirling around.
On the umbrella shop’s sign, four red bat umbrellas were stacked high and hung.
The color of the umbrellas flew into Daisuke’s head again, whirling into a vortex.
At the intersection, there was a vendor selling large, bright red balloons.
When the streetcar suddenly turned the corner, the balloons chased after it and attached themselves to Daisuke’s head.
When a red cart loaded with parcel post suddenly passed by the streetcar, it was sucked into Daisuke’s head.
The tobacco shop’s curtain was red.
The sale flags were also red.
The utility pole was red.
Red-painted signs continued from one to the next.
In the end, the world turned crimson.

And then, whirling round and round with Daisuke’s head at its center, it blew a fiery breath as it spun.
Daisuke resolved to ride the streetcar until his own head burned away.