Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

When she finished cleaning upstairs and leisurely removed her apron before stepping into the six-mat room, most of the seamstresses had already arrived. In unison, they curtly greeted Nuiko, the master’s daughter. While closing the sliding door, Nuiko bent her upper body slightly toward the group. “Good morning.”

she replied. She sat down in front of the floor cupboard that she had designated as her own spot. The needle box, furoshiki bundles containing unfinished sewing projects, and other items had been neatly arranged before the zabuton cushions by one of the seamstresses. However, without undoing the package, Nuiko drew the blazing brazier closer and hunched over it to warm her hands. At the window, Chou, the cart driver’s daughter, was examining the matching of the small-patterned cotton padding. The bright, narrow room was softly crowded with various elements: the colors of spread-out sewing projects, the smell of dye, and too many girls for the space.

When Nuiko placed her wrists on the edge of the box brazier and began unwinding the bandages around her chilblained fingers—damp from cleaning—Yone raised only her head from the cutting table and called out in a loud voice: “Instructor”

she called out to the adjacent room.

“Yes?” “Should we still lock up yesterday’s men’s garments?” “That should be fine.” Nuiko and the other girls listened to the exchange with expressionless faces. Yone had been intently cutting navy-blue lining fabric for a while when suddenly,

“Hey, what do you think? Do you think Chiyono-san will come again?” Yone brought it up. At the sound of her voice, Chou whirled around,

“Nuiko-san, what do you think? The scene last night—oh my goodness!” she exclaimed as if she couldn’t contain herself. Nuiko, still hunched over the brazier, pulled down the corner of her mouth in a mocking smile and nodded in understanding. “What is it?” It wasn’t only Yone who brimmed with curiosity.

“Did something happen to Chiyono-san?” Chou said deliberately offhand while sticking pins.

“Ms. Chiyono’s wedding took place yesterday, you know.” “Oh my!” For some reason, the whole group burst out laughing in great amusement. “Really? Did it really happen last night? That sneaky Ms. Chiyono—next time I see her, I’ll really give her a piece of my mind! When I asked her the other day when we met, she acted all innocent and said, 'Next year,' or something like that——” “Did you see it... Ms. Chou?” “Ms. Chou.” “I saw it, wasn’t it?” Chou proudly winked at Nuiko as if signaling that only the two of them knew about it.

“It was so splendid, wasn’t it?”

Nuiko once again opened her large eyes—their lids slightly swollen—and nodded in understanding while pulling down her lips. —The girls, subjected to this knowing look, could no longer contain themselves. “Hey now!” “What’s going on? What happened?”

“You’re so mean! Stop teasing and just tell us already—quickly! Come on!” “I didn’t know a thing about Ms. Chiyono’s wedding last night either! What time was that? Around eight? Nuiko-san and I stopped by Itogen on our way back from the bathhouse—right near Chiyono-san’s place—you know where that is? When we came this way, there was a huge crowd gathered in front of Chiyono-san’s place. I thought something was wrong—my heart just skipped a beat! When we hurried over with Nuiko-san to look—you know what it was? Ms. Chiyono’s wedding!”

“But—how could you see all that from the street?” “They’d thrown the shop wide open on purpose so everyone could see—Ms. Chiyono’s mother, you know—I shouldn’t say this, but she’s quite something, don’t you think? So she was just dying to have people see—all that sort of thing……”

Yone muttered with a mix of sympathy and envy. "Chiyono-san's the one who's been made a fool of."

—Everyone fell silent for a moment. Before long, the shy and young Nobu, “Did they say Ms. Chiyono was beautiful?” Nobu asked. “She was beautiful.” “Shimada?” “That’s right.” “What kind of attire? The patterns?” “That’s right, wasn’t it? What was that pattern—Hourai, wasn’t it?” Nuiko, bandaging her fingertips, “...I couldn’t see it.” she replied curtly. Though she knew it had indeed been the Hourai pattern, she was growing increasingly annoyed by Chou’s smug storytelling. And Chou,

“The groom? She was far more splendid than him, you know. The groom—he must’ve been way tinier than Ms. Chiyono, I tell you!”

Chou declared boisterously, making everyone laugh. "But Ms. Chiyono won't be able to keep going like she has until now—just look at my older sister and you'll understand."

As Yone began speaking solemnly, the girls in their early twenties started debating among themselves whether it was better to marry out or be adopted into another family. Nuiko gazed vacantly from near the brazier at their increasingly fervent state—how they cited examples and piled rumor upon rumor in animated attempts to sway their peers, caught up in the excitement. Nuiko was a girl who often found herself unable to focus on anything, her mind adrift in a daze. With scraps of white silk cloth, she had lightly wrapped the index and ring fingers of her left hand. Her hand—looking as if a small butterfly alighted on it—was held out toward the large brazier, resting her cheek against its back as she gazed at the others. From the heat of the fire, her thin-skinned, pale face took on a flush. Even so, she kept at it. Because there was something pitiable about her, Yone suddenly noticed—

“Nuiko-san, what’s wrong?”

Yone said.

“Oh, are you feeling pessimistic?” “Or something?” Nuiko slowly lifted her head, glaring at Chou’s exaggerated antics as though mocking her. She arched her back and, while rubbing her eyes with crumpled hands unceremoniously, “Ahhh, I’m getting so sleepy.” She let out a big, exaggerated yawn. At that, everyone burst into even louder laughter. Because Nuiko’s attempt to cover it up was so transparent, their laughter welled up all the more. Nuiko found herself flushing faintly under the weight of their laughter.

“I said stop it—” She reluctantly shifted her petite frame—still seated cross-legged in her homespun kasuri kimono—toward the furoshiki-wrapped bundle and finally began her work.

Two

Nuiko had come to be thought of as a hysterical girl since when exactly no one could say. Even when visiting housewives said to her face during their good moods, "Nuiko-san, you mustn't have another fit of hysteria," she never got angry in the least. With the practiced smile of a woman who had seen her share of life's absurdities, she would brush it off with an "Oh? Oh?" as though it were all some joke. Did she herself then acknowledge her hysteria? Nuiko believed that it was someone like Yamashina's daughter who embodied true hysteria, so she never dwelled on her own condition. Mr.Yamashina was a wealthy man from Akita who owned a second residence in Tokyo, where Nuiko's parents—the Sugimura family headed by Kanjirou—lived as tenants. A relationship beyond that of mere renter paying thirty-four yen and landlord had arisen through the intermediary of sewing work commissioned to her mother Nami. Mr.Yamashina's daughter was named Momoyo. In her childhood days of five or six, when she wore plump, well-padded kimonos, how perfectly the name Momoyo had suited that lovely little girl. Even now kimonos remained her indulgence, and because of this Nami was sometimes made to stay up all night—though Momoyo had grown into a woman no longer particularly lovely. Momoyo was twenty-five, went by Momo-chan, and remained at home. When something about the maids or menservants displeased her, she would douse them with water even in midwinter. In Akita there had probably been no shortage of people willing to work despite this, but in Tokyo—where Yamashina's house wasn't the only gate standing open—everyone fled. When troubles arose, they came to fetch Nuiko. Rather than having her perform menial tasks, they requested her to be Momoyo's companion. Despite their similar ages—Nuiko being twenty-three—whenever a third party joined their conversations, Momoyo never once flew into the kind of rage that would make her douse someone with water. Terribly—she would dress in such extravagant finery that walking beside her felt mortifying—they would go see Tsumesaburo's moving pictures, and that was about the extent of it.

That’s what you call true hysteria—hysteria in its purest form. Nuiko never did anything that would give rise to such gossip. She simply found that at some turn of events, everything in her life would occasionally grow tedious beyond words—all of it, without exception. It wasn't that she found living repulsive. It wasn’t that anything in particular felt tedious. Oh, that utter listlessness, that indifference— Nuiko found even the act of keeping her eyes open disagreeable until it grew burdensome. Even sewing—something she’d naturally picked up since her mother was the instructor—failed to serve as a stimulant for Nuiko during such times. Even more so with ordinary tasks like water chores and laundry. ——She burrowed into her futon and stayed there. From there, she would emerge in silence, eat her meal, and return to burrow under the futon once more.

The house had only two rooms downstairs. When Nuiko lay in the four-and-a-half-mat room with its chest of drawers and long brazier, the seamstresses going to wash their hands inevitably had to pass through that space. Alongside her mother and younger sister Tomi, even the seamstresses appeared to understand Nuiko’s condition—yet not one of them showed genuine concern. Even Yone and Chou, who were usually close to her, treated her with casual indifference, “Nuiko-san, how are you doing?”

They merely called out in passing as they went about their business. No one crouched by her bedside to speak. Left oddly to her own devices, Nuiko lay there. Was she lying awake yet adrift beneath the household’s dismissiveness—something not quite contempt—or merely dozing? Her strength had withered; her body refused to stand upright. When she laboriously turned over in bed, tears streamed cold from the corners of her eyes.

At six-thirty in the morning, Tomi opened her eyes. She— “Sis”

With that, she roused Nuiko, who lay sleeping beside her. “It’s time already.” Nuiko opened her bloodshot eyes and lay there gloomily, watching her sister change clothes.

“I’ve lit the fire, so please get up quickly.”

Tomi was a third-year student at a private girls' school. Even though she had lit the fire and even put on the kettle, her older sister still hadn't gotten up. The room also contained a desk laden with school supplies, and Tomi— "What's wrong with you, Sis?"

She urged in a sulky voice while opening the sliding door. Still lying with her head on the pillow, Nuiko glared at her sister as if in resentment, then turned away and pulled the bedding over her head. “——”

Taken aback for a moment, Tomi, once she came to understand,

“There’s no helping it,” she murmured in a grown-up way. “Sis, aren’t you getting up? If you won’t get up, then we’ll have to get Mother to wake you right?” Seeing that her sister didn’t respond at all, Tomi called out through the sliding door to the adjacent room.

“Mother, please wake up. Sis won’t get up this morning—” “Oh dear, that’s terrible.—Have you served the rice yet?” Nami’s ever-calm voice—still carrying a rural accent that clung with the stubborn drag of misaligned teeth—sounded. “—It must be another episode.” While coming over, she looked down at Nuiko’s futon and said without a trace of surprise. “I’ve actually had my suspicions these past few days—the way her face flushed was unusual. Now, Tomi-chan, go fix your hair—that’s enough now…”

The fact that Nuiko had taken to her bed seemed to stir no more feeling within the household than a single burnt-out lightbulb would in some other family. Kanjirou, her father and a minor official at the Ministry of Commerce, rolled a toothpick around in his mouth after breakfast, “What’s wrong?”

After uttering just that, he changed into his Western clothes near the hem of Nuiko’s bedding and left for work as usual.

III Since there were seamstresses to handle such things, in Sugimura it was customary not to put much effort into preparing side dishes. At noon, Nami grilled dried sardines she had received from Yone. Then she alone finished eating first. Afterwards, Nuiko appeared at the meal table wearing an outfit tied with a thin red cord. Bancha tea had been poured and left in a Seto-glazed kettle. She poured it over her rice and began eating the tea-soaked meal while picking at the dried fish. Before her lay a three-foot-wide veranda; through gaps in the sparse hinoki cypress leaves of the neighboring hedge, part of a garden was visible. Where broom-swept patterns remained crisp on the ground, red persimmon leaves lay scattered. Sun-warmed rays fell upon the immaculate plot. With swollen eyelids heavy as weights observing the day’s crystalline clarity while eating in sullen disarray, Nuiko began spilling tears. A loneliness seeped into her chest. Was it because this late autumn light shone too transparently? Even Nuiko—whose mind seemed to fray whenever alone—could feel nature pressing upon her this way. Just as she couldn’t make others understand why her tears fell, she couldn’t explain to herself why such crushing apathy overwhelmed her. Gazing at sunlight’s hues while letting tears course freely down her cheeks, Nuiko felt her spirits ease slightly.

It appeared Nuiko had fallen asleep again after getting into bed. Moreover, she seemed to have slept quite soundly. Nuiko was awakened by voices. The setting sun was striking the lower part of the shoji. The seamstresses appeared to have already left, and in the six-tatami room came the low voices of Nami and a close acquaintance named Mrs. Imaizumi.

“Why yes, of course...” This was Mrs. Imaizumi’s energetic, hoarse voice.

“I wonder why that is,” she said. “Even though we’re eating the same things, Tomi and I remain completely unaffected.” “Things like chapped skin also seem to depend on one’s constitution,” came the response.

After a pause, Mrs.Imaizumi said. “It does seem people fare better with steady employment—you should have Ms.Nuiko take up proper work too.” “Right after finishing her practical course, she did work for a time, but nothing ever stuck—she finds mornings so difficult, you see, especially in winter…” “People live on purpose, you see—whether it’s koto lessons or flower arrangement or any sort of training, if you take them up, you’ll get whatever comes from learning them, so she should just do that.”

“If only she had something she enjoyed doing, I suppose…” Mother’s voice took on a reminiscent tone. Mother only said what she had to say with Nuiko present. From within her futon, Nuiko listened as though it were someone else’s affair.

Then, suddenly, Mrs. Imaizumi said in a loud voice, "Why, she'll be perfectly fine once a proper match comes along and her position settles."

said Mrs. Imaizumi.

That voice rang terribly loud in Nuiko’s ears where she lay. “I suppose that’s true, but still...” Then their voices suddenly dropped to whispers. Nuiko felt ill at ease. She unconsciously pulled the bedding over even the ears she’d been straining and closed her eyes listlessly once more. The whispers in the six-tatami room were roughly: “After all, there are obligations concerning Nuiko—that’s where it gets rather tricky.” “If I were to carelessly marry her off, people would say I had ulterior motives and make a fuss. But even adopting someone to carry on the family line—adoption brings its own complications.” “If there were property involved, it would be one thing, but...”

That was what she meant. Nami was a rare woman as an even-tempered second-time mother. She was simply too even-keeled—so much so that even when speaking of Nuiko, it carried the same tone as discussing one of the seamstresses she had managed for years.

The next day, Nuiko ended up leaving her futon due to an unexpected trigger.

Around four o’clock, Tomi returned home from school.

“Oh, Sis, are you still in bed?”

In her school uniform, with a well-proportioned figure resembling her mother Nami though darker in complexion, Tomi placed her belongings on the desk.

“Get up already—there’s nothing wrong with you, is there? I’m cramped here.”

Nuiko protested in a feeble voice. "My head feels heavy—just leave me alone."

Needless to say, without concerning herself any further with her older sister, Tomi squatted in front of the tea cupboard.

“Oh, it’s nothing—oh! How wonderful!”

She discovered a small bowl filled with sweet potatoes simmered in kinton syrup.

“Did you simmer these at noon? You ate a lot, didn’t you?”

While teasing, Tomi promptly brought chopsticks. “Ah, delicious!” Just as she was happily cradling her favorite treat, the lattice door clattered open. Mother and Tomi paused their chopsticks, and before they could even start to leave, the sliding door at the boundary was flung open in one swift motion.

“Hey there. What’s this—Nui-chan, are you feeling unwell?”

The one standing there in a kimono was her cousin Eisuke. “Ugh, Eisuke-nii, you startled me!” Tomi composed herself once more and,

“Good afternoon,” she offered in a girlish tone. “What’s wrong—are you unwell?” Nuiko drew the quilt’s collar up to her nose, flushed crimson, and smiled with eyes that wavered awkwardly.

“Her head feels heavy,” said Tomi.

Tomi answered instead. “Oh—a cold? Seems like it’s been going around lately—there was someone in class really struggling with it.”

And once more, he turned his attention to Nuiko lying there.

“It’s nothing serious, right?” Nuiko nodded in understanding. “It’s her hysteria.” “Well, at least it’s not a feigned illness! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

As she watched Tomi serve tea and Eisuke drink it from beside them, Nuiko began to find her own state of lying in bed increasingly tedious. Her body had grown light at some point. She even felt as though she were forcibly keeping her body subdued under the bedding. “Where’s Mother?”

“She just went shopping.” “What’s that?”

Eisuke seemed to have found the small bowl Tomi had been cradling.

“It’s nothing.” “Come now—let me have some too.” “No.” “That’s strange—what’s going on here? Whoa, Tomi-chan, I’m surprised you like this stuff!” “It’s fine.” Tomi seemed to calmly start eating the simmered sweet potatoes again. Eisuke, wearing a haori and leaning on the meal tray with Tomi’s plump face beside him as she chatted and ate—it all looked so delightfully harmonious. Nuiko was envious; she could no longer suppress her urge to rise. She emitted a sound caught between a yawn and a sigh, then turned over heavily beneath the futon. Tomi,

“What’s with that noise?”

Tomi laughed. "Why don't you just get up already, Sis..." "Get up! Get up! If you go out and really play around like crazy, that sort of illness'll cure itself!"

IV

Since Eisuke’s close friend held a position akin to a director at a certain small bank and Eisuke himself was attending Keio University’s law department, the Sugimura family always felt the house became somewhat brighter whenever he visited. Not only the daughters but even Nami, when she returned from outside,

“Well, this is a rare sight!” she expressed cheerful delight. “Can you stay a while today? —And how is Aunt faring these days?” She saw Nuiko standing atop the futon tying her obi and showered her with a harmless joke. “Come now, our dear patient can’t possibly stay in bed any longer.”

Though still feeling unwell, Nuiko had been managing her body with an air of obligation—after all, they had this special guest—but once dinner concluded boisterously and her beloved flower-matching game began, she forgot entirely about maintaining the effort to suppress the vitality overflowing from within. With the zabuton cushion at the center, on either side of the long brazier sat her father Kanjirou and Nami. Tomi was next in line, and Nuiko found herself seated beside Eisuke.

“Discard? Discard? How can I possibly play when I’m stuck with these ridiculous cards?”

Then Nuiko,

“Alright, let’s have you take a look then. Hey, how’s this hand—is it okay?—It’s hopeless, isn’t it?”

Holding the cards fanned out in both hands, she sat cross-legged and extended them toward Eisuke. “Hmm… If we had this ‘shadow,’ it’d be splendid, but—”

Eisuke vigorously— “Go on, go on—I’ve got your back.”

With that, he let go of the hand he’d been holding and examining. “Then I’ll begin.” “How proper.” “Good enough? Well then, I’ve got a winning hand here!”

Tomi grew earnest and raised her voice. “Eleven!” Nuiko kept showing her hand to Eisuke while flipping through the karuta cards with the practiced grace of someone playing Hyakunin Isshu. “You and Father are exactly alike—both so dreary in how you do things.”

Dark-complexioned yet plump with soft skin, Kanjirou twitched his thick eyebrows as he—

“If you win, how you do it doesn’t matter one bit.”

he said sluggishly. “This is strange—I wasn’t supposed to end up like this. Take a look at this.” Eisuke rattled the borrowed peanuts that had collected in the go stone container’s lid. At last, Eisuke became the dealer. “Alright—I’ll clean out everyone’s fortunes with this one! No match!” “No match!” “Oh my!”

The daughters all panicked at once. “Koba, come out! “Koba, come out!” “What now—Shh! “How about that?” “I’m something else, aren’t I?” “What? “Oh, Brother? “Oh! Oh! That’s cheating, Brother Eisuke! Cheating! Playing three cards worth twenty all at once like that…” “Can’t be helped—heaven has blessed me! Ah, step right up—those staying in pay nine kan, those folding start at three...” Nami appeared genuinely flustered,

“This is quite troublesome indeed.” “I’d like to stay in, but nine kan is rather steep.” She scratched her old-fashioned bun with a pin. “Well then, I’ll make a special exception—eight kan.” Throughout the match, Nuiko never uttered a single proper word. Laughing in a sisterly manner at Tomi’s immediate shifts between delight and despair, she sometimes received help from Eisuke, peeked at his cards, and played on. She flushed, looking blissfully warm. Her back slightly bent, her entire body devoid of any real strength, she took on the appearance of a young woman resembling an old one. When Nuiko felt happiness—unlike many young girls who became lively and agile—her arms would grow weak, and she developed a faltering gait.

Around ten o'clock.

“There we go—that’s the end of it.”

With that, Eisuke was the first to throw down his cards. “Ahhh, I got completely carried away!”

Kanjirou lit his tobacco and said with an air of gravity.

“After all, this beats those Western card games for us Japanese.”

Nami,

“Well now, I’m sure your mouths are watering, everyone.”

With that, she stood up to go to the kitchen.

Eisuke began looking through the women's magazine next to him. Tomi peered along with him.

“Brother Eisuke, what kind of person do you like?” “Well, I like them all.” “The truth? Oh, what about this one?”

While joking aloud, Eisuke’s eyes seemed to Nuiko to be gazing with unusual focus. She began indifferently returning the peanuts to the tin. “Brother Eisuke, what sort of wife would suit you? —Someone modern?”

“Ha ha ha ha! Straight to the point, aren’t you, Tomi? Country bumpkins are a hard pass for me.”

“So she has to speak English or play the piano, then…” “Piano doesn’t matter at all.” Eisuke flipped through the magazine filled with photo spreads of countless young ladies, then suddenly muttered with unexpected seriousness, his tone so natural one might think he’d entirely forgotten Nuiko was sitting beside him. “From now on, women really need to have at least graduated from a professional school, I tell you.”

Each time the peanuts fell into the tin, they clattered noisily, but Nuiko never missed hearing it. The clatter of a thousand peanuts paled against the weight of this whisper— “Sis, honestly... “Mother’s calling, isn’t she? …You can’t space out again.”

Nuiko noticed for the first time and sluggishly stood up to go to the kitchen. From the following day onward, Nuiko reappeared in the six-mat room and rejoined the seamstresses. No one even asked if she was alright when they saw her sitting before the floor cupboard again. “Good morning, Nuiko-san.” “Good morning…” During lunch break, Yone read aloud from *Dai-Bosatsu Toge* for everyone to hear. “Beggin’ yer pardon,” came the voice as he barged in, plopped down cross-legged, and tossed off his black hood—and indeed, it was none other than Shichibei from Urajuku.

“Excuse me—is Nui-chan there?” While trimming her nails with little interest as she listened to Yone’s polished, animated voice, Nuiko set down the nail scissors and opened the fusuma. When she went to look in the tea room, Isamu—wearing a brown sweater and Western-style trousers—had just left through the Mizuguchi entrance. Nuiko wordlessly came around to the far side of the long brazier and crouched down. “Good grief,” came Yone’s voice, “I hear there’s been another commotion at the Yamashinas’ place.” Nuiko twisted her lips while sifting through the ashes.

“They want help for two or three days—what do you say? Since your sewing’s getting careless anyway, you might as well go assist them.” Nuiko had only just returned from being asked—due to claimed understaffing—to spend ten disagreeable days helping at a household connected to Mrs. Imaizumi through social obligation. “It’s another different place again, isn’t it? And even if I stayed home with these chapped hands, I couldn’t manage a single load of laundry—” “……” After remaining silent while draping a cloth over the long brazier, Nami eventually spoke as if she’d conceived an excellent idea.

“Ah, really! No matter what the Yamashinas say this time, I can’t keep lending you out for long.—There was a memorial service on the 20th. We absolutely need you to come back by that day, so today is—what’s the date? It’s already the 16th, right? Just a short while—go help them.” Without responding whether she would go or not, and while staring at the somewhat dim iron kettle—using her own body to block the autumn sunlight—Nuiko found herself overcome by a strangely wretched feeling. The thought of her aimless existence pierced her to the core. This time I’ll go here. I’ll go there again. As she went through these motions, she sensed something indescribably pitiable within herself. Nuiko teared up.

Then Nami lowered her voice out of consideration for the seamstresses, “What is this?” she admonished. “What do you expect to achieve with such spinelessness?” “There’s no need to shed tears like that.”

When admonished sharply, Nuiko let her tears flow soundlessly down her cheeks with renewed intensity. Nami looked perplexed at this but, "Why must it be this way, I wonder."

She sighed. And remained utterly oblivious to the anguish of existence that hung like perpetual fog over Nuiko’s inherently fragile, listless heart— “Go have Dr. Omura examine you this evening—something must be seriously wrong,” she advised.