Pathway to Japanese Literature

1 After finishing cleaning the second floor and leisurely removing her apron, when she stepped into the six-tatami room and looked around, most of the seamstresses had already arrived. In unison, they curtly greeted Nui, the teacher’s daughter. Nui closed the sliding door while slightly bending her upper body toward the group, “Good morning.” she replied. She sat down in front of the floor cupboard that served as her usual spot. The needle boxes and furoshiki bundles containing unfinished sewing had been neatly arranged before the zabuton cushion by one of the seamstresses. However, without untying the bundle immediately, Nui pulled closer the fiercely glowing brazier beside her and hunched over its heat to warm her hands. By the window, Tei, the rickshaw owner’s daughter, was examining cotton-padded komon samples. The bright narrow room felt softly crowded with spread-out sewing in various colors, the smell of dye, and too many girls for the space.

As Nui placed her wrists on the edge of the brazier and was unwinding the bandages around her chapped fingers—still damp from cleaning—Yone lifted only her head from the workbench and called out in a loud voice,

“Sensei!” Yone called out to the adjacent room.

“Yeees?” “Should we lock up yesterday’s men’s garments after all?” “That will do.”

Nui and the other girls listened to that exchange with uninterested faces. Yone had been intently cutting the navy lining fabric for a while when suddenly— “Hey, what do you think? Do you think Chiyono-san will come back?”

Yone suddenly said.

At that voice, Tei whirled around,

“How about you, Nui-san? And last night’s spectacle!” Tei said with barely contained excitement. Nui, still hunched over the brazier, gave a mocking twist to her mouth as she laughed and nodded knowingly. “What’s that?”

It wasn’t only Yone who was filled with curiosity. “Did something happen to Chiyono-san?”

Tei said nonchalantly while placing pins, “Ms. Chiyono had her wedding yesterday, you know.” “Well, well!” For some reason, the whole group burst into laughter as if they found it utterly amusing. “Really? Did it really happen last night?” “That awful Chiyono-san! When I see her next, I’ll give her a piece of my mind!” “When I asked her the other day when we met, she just coolly said ‘Next year’—can you believe it?” “Did you see it? Tei-san.” “Tei-san.” “I saw it, you know.” Tei triumphantly winked at Nui as if signaling that only the two of them knew about it.

“It was simply wonderful, wasn’t it?” Nui once again opened her large eyes—their lids slightly swollen—wide and nodded while pulling down her lips. —Having been shown this suggestive expression, the girls could no longer contain themselves.

“Hey, wait! What’s going on? What happened?” “You’re so mean! Don’t keep us in suspense—just say it already! Well—” “Even I didn’t know a thing about Ms. Chiyono’s wedding last night! What time was that? Around eight? Nui-san and I stopped by Itogen on our way back from the bathhouse—right near Ms. Chiyono’s place, you know? When we came this way, there was such a crowd in front of Ms. Chiyono’s house. I thought something was wrong and got so startled, really! When we hurried over with Nui-san to look, that turned out to be Ms. Chiyono’s wedding procession, you know.”

“But—how could you see it so clearly from the front?” “They’d left the shop wide open on purpose so everyone could see—Ms. Chiyono’s mother, you know—it’s not nice to say, but she’s quite something, isn’t she?” “So they were just desperate for everyone to see—that sort of place...” Yone muttered with sympathy and envy. “Ms. Chiyono’s the shameless one here, isn’t she?”

—Everyone fell silent for a moment. Eventually, the shy and young Nobu, “Was Chiyono-san beautiful?”

Nobu asked.

“She was beautiful.” “The Shimada?” “That’s right.” “What kind of attire? The pattern?” “That’s right—what was that pattern called? Wasn’t it Hourai?” Nui was bandaging fingertips while,

“......I couldn’t see it,” she replied curtly. She had known it was Hourai all along, but Tei’s triumphant chatter was becoming unbearable. Yet Tei pressed on: “The groom was far more splendid than that, you know. He’s surely smaller than Ms. Chiyono—no doubt about it.” Her booming declaration sent the others laughing. “But Chiyono-san won’t carry on like before now—just look at our sister here and you’ll understand,” Yone added soberly.

As Yone began speaking gravely, the girls in their early twenties started debating whether marriage or adoption was preferable, each arguing their own case. Growing increasingly absorbed—citing examples and passing along secondhand gossip in their fervor to convince one another—they became swept up in the discussion while Nui watched their animated state vacantly from her place by the brazier. She was a girl who often sat listlessly with idle hands, her attention adrift. With scraps of white silk cloth lightly bandaging her left index and ring fingers, she held a hand over the large brazier as if cradling a small butterfly, resting her cheek against its back while observing them all. The brazier's heat had flushed her fair, delicate complexion pink. Yet she remained there motionless until Yone—noticing something pitiable about her—

“Nui-san, is something wrong?” she said.

“Oh? Are you feeling down?” “Something?” Glaring mockingly at the exaggerated Tei, Nui slowly raised her head. She arched her back and, without any pretense, rubbed her eyes vigorously with both hands while, “Aaaah, I’ve gotten so sleepy.” she let out a big, genuine yawn. When they saw that, everyone laughed all the more uproariously. The fact that Nui was trying to cover it up became clear, making their laughter surge all the more. Nui, being laughed at so much, found herself faintly blushing as well.

“Oh, stop it already—” She reluctantly shifted her petite frame—still seated cross-legged in her homespun kasuri garment—toward the wrapped bundle and finally began working.

II

Nui had come to be thought of as a hysterical girl, though no one could say exactly when. Even when the regular wives—in good spirits—would say to her face, "Nui-san, you mustn't have another hysterical episode now," she never showed the slightest anger. With the practiced composure of a woman her age, she laughed and brushed it off with jokes—"Oh? Oh?"—in reply. Did she herself acknowledge her hysteria then? Nui believed that it was someone like Yamashina's daughter who truly had hysteria, so she didn't dwell on herself. The Yamashinas were a wealthy family from Akita who maintained a second home in Tokyo—in its rented quarters lived Nui's parents: the Sugimuras headed by Kanjirō. A relationship beyond that of tenant and landlord had formed through the sewing commissions that brought work to Nami. The Yamashinas' daughter was named Momoyo. Back when she had been a plump five- or six-year-old wearing fine kimonos, how perfectly the name Momoyo had suited that lovely child. Even now kimonos remained her indulgence—the reason Nami was sometimes made to work through the night—but she had grown into a woman no longer particularly winsome. Momoyo was twenty-five, went by Momo-chan, and remained at home. When something displeased her about the maids or menservants, she would douse them with water even in midwinter. In Akita there might still have been workers willing to endure such treatment, but in Tokyo—where the Yamashina estate wasn't the only household hiring help—they all fled. At such times they came for Nui. Rather than assign her menial tasks, they requested her services as Momoyo's companion. Though their ages hardly differed—Nui being twenty-three—whenever this third party joined them as conversational ballast, Momoyo never once flew into the kind of rage that brought out the water bucket. Outrageously—dressed so extravagantly that walking beside her became awkward—they would go see Saemosaburō's moving pictures.

That kind of behavior was precisely what true hysteria looked like. Nui never did anything that would give rise to such gossip. She simply found that everything about her life would inexplicably become tedious whenever some unknown impulse struck—a feeling she couldn’t articulate even if she tried. It wasn’t that she hated being alive. It wasn’t that anything specific felt tedious. Ah, that utter listlessness and apathy... Nui found even keeping her eyes open hateful and tiresome. Even sewing—something that had come naturally given her mother being a sewing instructor—failed to serve as a stimulant during such times. Let alone ordinary water chores and laundry. She ended up burrowing into the futon and staying there. She would silently emerge to eat before returning to burrow under the futon again.

The house had only two rooms downstairs. When Nui lay sleeping in the four-and-a-half-mat room where the chest of drawers and elongated brazier stood, the seamstresses had no choice but to pass through that space on their way to wash their hands. Alongside her mother and younger sister Tomi, even the seamstresses appeared to comprehend Nui's condition—yet not one among them showed sincere concern. Even Yone and Tei, who normally shared closeness with her, treated it with utter casualness—

“Nui-san, how are you feeling?” They merely called out in passing and went on their way. No one crouched by her bedside to speak to her.

Left strangely neglected, Nui lay there. Was she awake in that state of being held at arm’s length by the household’s not-quite-contempt, or was she dozing? Her strength had gone limp; her body wouldn’t sit up straight. When she laboriously turned over, tears flowed coldly from the corners of her eyes.

In the morning, at six-thirty, Tomi opened her eyes. She,

“Sis.” With that, she woke Nui, who had been sleeping beside her. “It’s already time.” Nui opened her severely bloodshot eyes and, still lying gloomily in bed, watched her younger sister changing clothes. “The fire’s lit, so please get up quickly.” Tomi was a third-year student at a private girls’ school. She had lit the fire and even set the pot, yet her older sister still hadn’t gotten up. In that room was a desk with school supplies placed on it, and Tomi— “What’s wrong with you, Sis?”

Urging her in a sulky voice, she slid open the shoji screen. Still lying with her head on the pillow, Nui fixed her younger sister with a resentful glare, then turned away and yanked the bedding over herself.

“———”

Tomi, momentarily taken aback, once she grasped the situation,

“There’s just no helping you.” she muttered like an adult. “Sis, aren’t you getting up? If you won’t get up, then I’ll have to get Mom to make you, don’t you think?”

Seeing that her sister wouldn’t utter a word, Tomi called out through the sliding door to the adjacent room. “Mom, please get up. Sis says she won’t get up this morning—” “Oh dear, that’s terrible—have you already put the rice on?” Nami’s voice—always calm, yet retaining a lingering country accent that caught unpleasantly like a bad tooth—sounded. “It must be another one of her episodes.” While coming out here, she looked down at Nui’s futon and said without a trace of surprise.

“I had a feeling something was off these past two or three days—the way her face was flushed was strange. Now, Tomi-chan, go fix your hair—that’s enough already…”

The fact that Nui had taken to bed seemed to stir no more emotion within the household than a single burnt-out lightbulb would in another family.

Her father Kanjirō, a minor official at the Ministry of Commerce, rolled a toothpick in his mouth after breakfast. “What’s wrong?” With just that single remark, he changed into Western clothes near the edge of Nui’s bedding and left for work as usual.

III Since there were seamstresses to handle such matters, in Sugimura people customarily didn’t bother much with preparing elaborate side dishes. At noon, Nami grilled dried sardines she’d gotten from Yone’s household. She alone finished eating first. Afterwards, Nui emerged at the dining area wearing her red cord-fastened robe. Bancha tea had been poured and left waiting in the Seto-hiki kettle. She drizzled it over her rice and began eating ochazuke while picking at the dried fish. Before her stretched a three-foot-wide veranda; through gaps in the sparse cypress hedge bordering the neighboring house, part of a garden was visible. Red persimmon leaves lay scattered across ground swept clean with broom marks. Sunbeams that seemed to carry the scent of sunlight fell upon the pristine earth. Gazing at the day’s crystalline hues through swollen eyelids while chewing sullen mouthfuls, Nui found tears spilling forth. A loneliness seeped into her chest. Was it because this late autumn light shone too purely? Even when alone—even for Nui who felt her mind unraveling—she could still sense nature pressing upon her this way. She could no more explain to others why her tears fell than she could explain to herself why such crushing apathy overwhelmed her. As she watched the sunlight’s color through freely flowing tears, Nui began feeling slightly unburdened.

It seems she had fallen asleep again after getting into bed. And it seems she had slept quite deeply. Nui woke to the sound of voices. The afternoon sun was streaming through the hem of the shoji screens. The seamstresses seemed to have already left, and in the six-tatami room, Nami and a close acquaintance—Imaizumi’s wife—were conversing in low voices.

“Yes, that’s exactly right…” This was Imaizumi’s wife’s robustly hoarse voice. “Why is that? Even though we eat the same things—” “—Tomiko and I are completely fine.” “Even chapped skin seems to come down to one’s constitution.”

After a pause, Imaizumi’s wife said. “It does seem people are better off having steady employment—you should have Nui-san take up something like that too.” “After graduating from practical studies, she did work for a time, but no matter what she tried she couldn’t stick with it—she’s someone who struggles to get up in the morning, so winter especially is just impossible.” “People live by having something to strive for—whether it’s koto lessons, flower arrangement, or any sort of training, she should just do it properly since whatever you learn becomes an accomplishment.”

“If only there were something she liked to do...”

Her mother’s voice sounded as if reminiscing. Her mother only ever spoke when Nui was positioned before her. Nui listened from within her futon as if it were someone else’s affair.

Then, suddenly, Imaizumi’s wife raised her voice, “Oh, once a proper match is found and her position settled, she’ll be perfectly fine.” That voice resounded terribly loud in Nui’s ears as she lay there. “I do think that’s likely, but you see…” Then their conversation suddenly dropped to whispers. Nui felt sickened. Without realizing it, she pulled the bedding up over ears that had been straining to listen, and closed her eyes listlessly once more.

The whispered conversation in the six-tatami room went roughly like this: “After all, there are social obligations concerning Nui—that’s precisely where things become rather complicated.” “If we carelessly send her off as a bride, people will start making a fuss—acting like I’ve got some scheme in mind—and even if we tried adopting someone to carry on the family line, well… adoption brings its own difficulties, you see.” “If there were property involved, that would be one thing, but…” That was the gist of it. Nami was a rare woman as an even-tempered second mother. She was simply too even-tempered—to the point that even when speaking of Nui, it felt no different from discussing one of the seamstresses she had looked after for years.

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

Around four o'clock, Tomi returned from school.

“Oh! Nee-san, are you still in bed?”

In her school uniform—resembling her mother Nami though darker in color, with a well-proportioned figure—she placed her belongings on the desk. “Get up already.—It’s not like anything’s wrong with you, right? I’m cramped here.” Nui objected in a weak voice. “My head is heavy—just leave me alone.” Without needing to be told to leave her sister alone any further, Tomi crouched in front of the tea cupboard. “What’s this—oh—lovely!” She had discovered a small bowl filled to the brim with candied sweet potatoes.

“Did you cook these at lunchtime? Sis, you ate a lot, didn’t you?” Teasing her, Tomi promptly brought chopsticks.

“Oh, these are delicious!” Just as she was happily clutching her favorite treat, the lattice door clattered open. Mother and Tomi stopped their chopsticks, and before they could even rise to leave, the sliding door in the partition was flung open all at once.

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

Standing there in a kimono was her cousin Eisuke. “Ugh! Eisuke-nii, you startled me!” Tomi turned her attention once more,

“Hello” She gave a girlish greeting.

“What’s wrong? Feeling unwell?” Nui pulled the futon collar up to her nose, flushed red, and laughed awkwardly with her eyes alone. “She says her head feels heavy.” Tomi answered for her. “Oh, a cold? Seems like it’s been going around lately—there’s even someone in my class who’s been having a rough time with it.” He glanced again at Nui lying there. “It’s not that bad, right?” Nui nodded weakly. “It’s Sis’s nervous condition.” “Good thing it’s not just pretending! Ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

As she watched Tomi serve tea and Eisuke drink it beside them, Nui began to find her own bedridden state increasingly tedious. Her body grew lighter. She even felt as though she were forcibly tucking it into the futon. “Where’s Mom?” “She’s out shopping.” “What do you mean?” Eisuke seemed to have noticed the small bowl Tomi had been holding. “It’s nothing.” “Come on—let me have some too.” “No.”

“That’s strange—what’s going on here? Whoa, Tomippe! I’m shocked you like this stuff!” “I don’t mind.” Tomi apparently settled back down and began eating the candied sweet potatoes again. Eisuke, wearing a haori and leaning on the meal tray, followed by Tomi’s round face as she chattered and ate beside him—it all looked so cheerfully harmonious. Nui felt envious; she could no longer suppress her desire to get up. She let out a sound that was neither a yawn nor a sigh and heavily turned over beneath the futon. Tomi,

“What was that noise?” Tomi laughed. “Why don’t you just get up already, Sis…” “Up you get, up you get! If you play hard enough, that sort of illness’ll cure itself right up!”



Since Eisuke’s close friend held a position akin to a director at a small bank and Eisuke himself attended Keio University’s law department, the Sugimura family always felt the house grew somehow brighter whenever he visited. Not only the daughters but even Nami—when she returned from outside— “My, what a rarity!” —expressed cheerful delight. “Can you take your time today? And how has your mother been keeping?” She saw Nui standing on the futon adjusting her obi and showered her with a harmless joke.

“Come now, our patient can’t possibly stay in bed any longer.”

Though still unwell, Nui had been moving about with the air of someone making an effort for their rare guest, but once dinner concluded merrily and her beloved flower card matching game began, she forgot all pretense of containing the genuine vitality she felt surging up. With the zabuton in the center, on both sides of the long brazier were her father Kanjirō and Nami. Tomi was next, and Nui was seated beside Eisuke. “I fold! I fold! How am I supposed to play when I’m stuck with these ridiculous cards?”

Then Nui said, “Alright, let’s have you take a look then. Well, how’s this hand—are you sure?—there’s just no helping it, right?”

Holding the cards fanned out in both hands, she settled onto her knees and extended them toward Eisuke. “Well now—if we had this play, it’d be perfect—but…” Eisuke vigorously, “Go on, go on! I’m right here with you!” and let go of the hands he’d been using to steady and watch. “Then I’ll begin.” “How formal.” “Good idea? Then I’ve got a winning hand!”

Tomi raised her voice in earnest.

“Eleven!” Nui flipped through the karuta cards with hands constantly angled toward Eisuke’s view, her movements bearing the refined grace of someone engaged in Hyakunin Isshu. “Sis and Father are exactly alike—what dreary ways you both have of playing.”

Dark-skinned yet plump with soft skin, Kanjirō twitched his thick eyebrows while, "If you win, how you do it doesn't matter," he said languidly. "This is strange—I shouldn't be in this situation. Take a look at this!" Eisuke rattled the borrowed measure of peanuts that had collected in the go stone container's lid. At last, Eisuke became the dealer.

“Alright, with this I’ll clean out everyone’s assets!” “Fold!”

“Oh my!”

The daughters all panicked at once.

“Bring out the small bets!” “Bring out the small bets!” “Oh please—shh!” “So how about that?” “Pretty impressive, right?”

“What? “Oh, monk?” “Oh! Oh! That’s cheating, Eisuke-nii! Cheating! Playing three cards worth twenty all at once like that…” “There’s no helping it—heaven has blessed me! Ah, step right up! Those staying in put down nine kan, those folding start at three…”

Nami truly seemed a bit flustered, “This is rather troubling indeed... They seem to want to stay in, but nine kan is rather steep.”

With that, she scratched her old-fashioned chignon with a pin. “Alright then—I’ll make a special exception at eight kan.” Throughout the match, Nui didn’t utter a single proper word. While laughing in a sisterly manner at Tomi’s immediate shifts between delight and despair, she occasionally received help from Eisuke, peeked at his cards, and played along. She flushed, glowing with a contented warmth. Her back slightly stooped, her entire body devoid of any real strength, she took on the appearance of a young old woman. When Nui felt happiness, unlike most young girls who become lively and agile, she developed a tendency toward tottering steps—arms slack, as if lacking strength.

Around ten o'clock. “There, that’s done.” Eisuke was the first to throw down his cards. “Ahhh… I got completely caught up in it.”

Kanjirō lit a cigarette and said with an air of importance. “After all, it’s more entertaining than those Western playing cards for us Japanese.”

Nami, “Now then, your mouths must be getting peckish, everyone.”

With that, she stood up and headed to the kitchen. Eisuke began looking through *Women’s Pictorial* that lay beside him. Tomi peeked along. “Eisuke-nii, what kind of person do you like?”

“Well... I like them all.” “But really? Oh! What about this one?” While joking verbally, Eisuke kept his eyes rather intently focused—Nui perceived this. She began putting peanuts back into the can with feigned indifference. “Eisuke-nii, what kind of wife would suit you—” “—A modern type?” “Ha ha ha! How direct you are, Tomi-ppe.” “—Country girls won’t do.” “So she must speak English and play piano, then...”

“Who cares about piano playing?” Flipping through the magazine’s pages upon pages of young ladies’ portraits, Eisuke suddenly grew serious and muttered thoughtfully with a naturalness that showed no awareness of Nui beside him. “From now on, women need to at least graduate from a technical school or they won’t make it.”

Each time the peanuts fell into the tin, they made a clamorous noise, but Nui never failed to hear it. The murmur was louder than the clatter of peanuts scattering— “—Sis. Mom’s calling for you, isn’t she? …No good spacing out again like that.” Nui noticed this for the first time and slowly stood up to go to the kitchen.

Nui appeared in the six-tatami room again the following day and joined the seamstresses. Seeing her sitting before the floor cupboard again, not a soul even asked if she was better now.

“Good morning, Nui-san.” “Good morning…” During lunch break, Yone read aloud from *Daibosatsu Toge* for everyone to hear. “‘Begging your pardon.’ The one who barged in there, plopped down cross-legged, and tossed his black hood was indeed Shichibei from Urajuku.” “Excuse me—is Nui-chan there?” While trimming her nails without much interest as she listened to Yone’s well-oiled voice, Nui set down the small scissors and opened the sliding door. When she went to look in the tearoom, Yuu—wearing a brown sweater and Western-style trousers—had just left from Mizuguchi. Nui silently came to the far side of the long brazier and crouched.

“I’m at my wit’s end—apparently the Yamashinas have caused another scene.” Nui twisted her lips while fidgeting with the ashes. “They want you for two or three days—what do you say? You may as well go help them—it’s not like your sewing will amount to much anyway.” Nui had just been asked the other day—due to a labor shortage at the household connected through obligation to Imaizumi’s wife—and had spent ten whole days helping there with unpleasant feelings. “Isn’t it another household? Besides, with these chapped hands, I can’t even do the laundry even if I stay home, you know.—”

“……” After remaining silent for a while as she draped a cloth over the long brazier, Nami eventually spoke as though she had hit upon a good idea.

“Oh, really now! “This time, no matter what the Yamashinas say, we can’t keep accepting their favors indefinitely. “There was the memorial service on the 20th. “We absolutely must have you back by that day, so today is—what’s the date? “It’s already the sixteenth, isn’t it? Just a few days—you should go help them.”

Without responding whether she would go or not, and while blocking the autumn sunshine with her body as she stared at the somewhat dim iron kettle, Nui found herself overwhelmed by a peculiarly wretched feeling. The thought of her aimless existence pierced her to the core. This time she would go there. Again she would go there. As she did this, she felt something inexpressibly pitiable about herself. Nui teared up. Then Nami, lowering her voice out of consideration for the seamstresses, “What is this now?”

Nami scolded her. “What do you expect to achieve with such spinelessness?” “There’s no need for you to cry like this.”

When scolded harshly, Nui let her tears stream soundlessly down her cheeks even more. Nami watched this with a troubled look, but— “Why must you be like this?” Nami sighed. And she remained utterly oblivious to the particular anguish of existence that perpetually hung like a mist over Nui’s innately weak and listless heart—

“Go have Dr. Omura examine you this evening—you must be quite unwell,” she advised.