Pathway to Japanese Literature

No one knew when Oiku’s faith had begun or what motives had driven its inception.
By the time they noticed it, there remained not a single person among her ten-odd old friends whom she had not earnestly instructed about the manifest divine protection of Tenri-Ō-no-Mikoto.

Plump, wealthy, and contented, Oiku would drop everything and rush to comfort those people whenever she heard even the slightest rumor of misfortune befalling someone in her circle of friends.
Resting her plump hands—dimpled at the base of each finger—lightly on either side of her rounded knees and tilting her head slightly to the left,

“Hmm, hmm.”

Resting her plump hands—dimpled at the base of each finger—lightly on either side of her rounded knees and tilting her head slightly to the left, she listened earnestly to people’s confessions, appearing from every angle like a kindhearted, benevolent “auntie.” While offering various criticisms, people found themselves uplifted by her honest, cheerful disposition. Yet precisely these Tenrikyo lectures and proselytizing that inevitably followed—the more earnest she became—left all who encountered her tormented.

The friends who had been molded by rather advanced education during their maiden years all observed Oiku’s behavior—this sudden immersion in uncharacteristic devotion—with mingled mockery and curiosity. And whenever those familiar discussions of faith blossomed around her, they would deftly sidestep her fervent eloquence—as if having silently coordinated beforehand—until at last,

“But you see, Ms. Oiku.”
“We simply can’t maintain such devout hearts, you see. If your god is truly so merciful, why haven’t you made Ms. Megumi believe first?”

With this phrase, they would invariably conclude matters.
The moment this single phrase emerged, no matter how resolute Oiku had been, she would grow pitifully dejected,

“Well really…”

and having said that, never again display that sharp edge.
Everyone had thoroughly mastered this tactic.
Yet not one person knew why Oiku became so disheartened when told this.
From childhood through to middle age, Oiku and Megumi had been such famously inseparable companions that merely hearing “best friends” would make people think, “Ah—those two!”
That Oiku—even with the earnestness that vexed everyone—still could not persuade Ms. Megumi, who should have been her foremost ally, seemed all the more perplexing to those who fully understood both women’s natures.

From the time she wore her hair in a child’s chignon and attended elementary school, Ms. Megumi had been a gaunt, lonesome, quiet child.
But Oiku was entirely the opposite—born with a vigor that let her steer her bosom friend however she pleased within certain bounds.
Whether for good or ill, she had always gotten her way—and so those nearby supposed that this single matter resisting her will must have chafed at strong-willed Oiku sorely.

Even Oiku was not without such feelings.
The friendship through which she had supported Ms. Megumi—who seemed born already burdened with misfortune—both materially and spiritually, was by no means ordinary.
At the same time, she felt that a certain pride—a kind of pride—which had welled up over long years regarding her own profound friendship, now seemed to lose its authority through others' words.
However, the reason she became so dejected at the phrase "Ms. Megumi and all that" was by no means limited to this alone.
Regarding this matter, even Oiku harbored a memory—one that would make her break into a cold sweat—untold to anyone, buried deep within her ample bosom.

That had happened going on three years ago now.

One evening near the end of August, as Oiku burned mosquito coils and let in the breeze on the bamboo veranda, she was startled by the unexpected news that Ms. Megumi’s husband had passed away.

Mr. Hirota’s illness was not something that had begun just recently. His kidneys had been failing for about half a year, and she had known full well how the summer heat had recently sapped his strength completely. In fact, when she had visited him the day before and seen him—weak as he was—sipping pear juice with such apparent relish that something so sudden seemed impossible, upon hearing this news,

“He died?”
“Mr. Hirota?”
“You haven’t misheard something, have you?”

She was so astonished that she pressed for confirmation.
Of course she couldn't delay even a moment.
After urging the flustered maid into mourning clothes, Oiku boarded the rickshaw still clutching her obi clasp between her teeth.
The timing couldn't have been worse - with the nearby factory's dismissal hour coinciding, K-town's narrow streets overflowed with pale blue work uniforms and empty carts until even the twilight seemed choked by the congestion.

As the rickshaw nimbly wove through the congestion and came to a stop before the small gate of Ms. Megumi’s modest house, she—her face already contorted with barely restrained tears—pushed past the attending maid and rushed into the inner room.

Perhaps because it had all happened so suddenly, the entire house was eerily quiet.
In that desolation, Oiku—startled by her own vigor—stifled her sobs with her sleeve and passed through the corridor to the master’s study, well-known to her.
There sat Ms. Megumi, looking even smaller and more emaciated than usual, forlornly protected by her two young children as she sat on this side of the surrounding folding screens arranged in reverse.

“Oh, Ms. Megumi…”

When she saw her friend's heartrending state, she burst into loud, choking sobs and dropped heavily to the floor in a deep bow.

“Good heavens, what on earth has happened!”

Seeing Oiku’s plump face—thoroughly drenched in tears as she shuffled closer on her knees—Ms. Megumi, who until that moment had been unable to weep, found her tears finally breaking free.

While embracing the shoulders of the children who seemed frightened on either side,

“Even though you’re so busy… coming all this way right away…”

As she spoke these words, bowing her head and letting her tears fall drop by drop onto her lap, how profoundly must Megumi’s appearance have struck Oiku’s heart.

In the dimness where no lamp was lit, chasing mosquitoes that approached with faint buzzing sounds, she gazed painfully at this unfortunate friend.

“How unfortunate you are…”

Since coming to know her，she had never once seen Ms．Megumi laugh brightly with unreserved mirth．Though her family stood prominent，no sooner had she left parents plagued by perpetual misfortunes and privations than her husband proved congenitally frail．Even if daily sustenance posed no hardship，without respite for peace of mind，she now suddenly found herself tending children while facing abandonment’s ordeal．—

To Oiku—who still had healthy parents and embodied every happiness ordinary society deems fortunate—these pains seemed nothing less than torments beyond imagination.
She could not begin to comprehend it.
When one considered how she kept shouldering that terrible suffering—endlessly, one burden after another—Ms. Megumi’s modest, petite form appeared almost like a messenger of ill fortune.
If this were to continue unchanged, what would ultimately become of her?

In Oiku’s mind surfaced the teachings of Tenrikyo—which she had begun to follow about half a year earlier through some trivial incident—now rising unbidden.
According to that doctrine—which held that people encountered unexpected misfortunes or calamities precisely because they had at some point acted contrary to divine will—she, who believed these words buttressed by various cited examples, could not help but apply the same logic to this situation.
In other words, this recent misfortune that had befallen Ms. Megumi must have stemmed from a cause—a failure to adhere to divine will—that had produced such an outcome.

When she thought this through, Oiku felt as though everything became clear.

If Ms. Megumi’s misfortunes were indeed the result of divine wrath, then she need only repent and apologize to God.
If she did so, God would forgive her and surely remove her future misfortunes.
Once this realization struck her, Oiku could no longer remain silent and let the next misfortune take its toll.
If not I, then who would there be to worry about such distant future matters for her?

If she would just cling to the divine mercy of Tenri-Ō-Mikoto now, everything would improve in the future.

Oiku, while folding the tear-dampened handkerchief on her lap onto the stone pavement,

“Ms. Megumi, this truly is such an unexpected turn of events—I scarcely know what to say."
“But you know, even now, when I think deeply about it like this, I can’t help feeling this is no ordinary matter—I just can’t shake it off.”

she began formally.

“It really was so sudden… Are you saying it wasn’t just an ordinary matter?”

Ms. Megumi tilted her noticeably haggard face—grown gaunt overnight—with languid weariness and looked at Oiku.

“You know, Ms. Megumi—I just had a thought. I was wondering if perhaps… you haven’t done something to incur God’s wrath, have you?”
“God, from the very beginning…”
Oiku stole a furtive glance at her.

“God would never bestow such sudden misfortunes on the truly blameless, you know. So if there *is* any— you must quickly—”

“Incur God’s wrath—what are you saying, Ms. Oiku?!”

Ms. Megumi absently straightened her posture as if pushing aside the two children who had been leaning against her.
Startled by the sudden tension, Oiku involuntarily raised her face and perceived something in Ms. Megumi’s eyes that made her instinctively shrink back.

Ms. Megumi had misunderstood—how terrible! How awful! The moment Oiku instinctively sensed what Ms. Megumi had thought, her face paled and she hastily placed her hands on Ms. Megumi’s knees.

“Oh, Ms. Megumi! Please! I never meant it that way! It’s just… you see… because I’m a believer…”

Ms. Megumi quietly brushed away the hands that sought salvation from her own knees.

“Ms. Oiku, though I may have been lacking, I believe I’ve done everything required of me as a wife.”
“Even if you say such things with whatever intent, I have no memory—not even a speck—of ever doing anything to incur God’s wrath.”

Ms. Megumi’s voice, straining to maintain composure, was uncannily disrupted by sobs that rose uncontrollably.

“To you—that even you would say such things…”

Ms. Megumi, who had collapsed in tears with shoulders trembling within kimono sleeves, eventually lifted her head. She pressed close to her husband’s remains at the pillow side, biting her lip as if it might tear, and quietly transferred flame to fresh incense.

"What on earth had I gone and said?"

Just recalling those two eyes that had blazed at her with shame and indignation made Oiku’s body stiffen even now.

Even if it was a misunderstanding born of inadequate phrasing, given the circumstances being what they were, Oiku could find no excuse to justify herself.

Stupid me, foolish me—she regretted that blunder so intensely she could have bitten her own hand.

If I had been Ms. Megumi, what would I have done?
I would have undoubtedly been so furious that I might have slapped the other person’s face.

After that, she began visiting almost daily, and now that her heart had finally eased—even though it had become but another lonely anecdote—whenever she caught sight of Ms. Megumi’s face, she could not help recalling that incident.
When she recalled that, even she could not bring herself to be so brazen as to speak again of divine wrath and grace.
That Ms. Megumi treated their misunderstanding as a private matter between them—never revealing it to anyone and covering for her own carelessness—was, for Oiku, a blessing beyond compare.

After these circumstances, their friendship regained its former depth.
But while Oiku’s proselytizing was restrained with an unimaginably humble reserve, a second misfortune struck Ms. Megumi.

The only son she had painstakingly raised to the age of ten had tragically died of acute pneumonia after being hospitalized for just three days.

At that time, the kindness Oiku had shown was of such magnitude that even a devoted elder sister could scarcely have matched it.

Despite Megumi having her own brother who treated the widowed woman as a burden—offering only a single formal condolence during her grief before coldly turning away—Oiku, burning with righteous indignation at his cruelty, became Ms. Megumi’s steadfast support, staying overnight to assist her.

Thanks to the wholehearted fervor of Oiku—who was prone to becoming deeply absorbed in things—Ms. Megumi was barely able to carry out her beloved child Aiko’s funeral without incident.
On the evening when the funeral had finally concluded, in an especially desolate room, the tears they shed while embracing each other were complex.
But when all the complexity was bundled together, what ultimately emerged from its depths was joy and gratitude for their boundless friendship.

“Thank you—truly, thank you for all your help.”

Taking Ms. Megumi’s hand as she bowed her head with these words, Oiku shook it as though dismissing something preposterous.

“Oh, your thanks! Save your thanks for strangers!”

At such times, an equally profound emotion welled up in her heart.
Yet there was something undeniably lacking in Oiku—something that could not be argued against.

In her heart, she had helplessly sent off the second calamity that had come upon them, and now the next misfortune was feared.
But she lacked the courage to voice that warning.
Even when they conversed in open-hearted intimacy, even when they wept together, the moment that thought rose to mind, Oiku would avert her gaze and find herself compelled to stare at her dearest friend’s face.

That day too, while embracing the same thought beneath her thickly layered collar, Oiku alighted from the rickshaw at Ms. Megumi’s gate.

It was a cold day.
In the still and silent house where barely fourteen days had passed since the memorial service, Ms. Megumi sat huddled at the kotatsu.

When Megumi saw Oiku—who had brought her solid frame, which seemed to catch on doorframes, into the room without ceremony or waiting to be guided—she unintentionally set aside her sewing and brightened.

"Oh, you've come at just the right moment."
"It's so cold out—you've come all this way. Please come over here."
"Since it's chilly, if you don't mind, you should warm yourself here too."
"Yoshiko, please make some hot tea for her."

Megumi, with genuine delight, cleared a seat by the wall where one could lean—deliberately for Oiku's ample frame—while gathering up the sewing she had spread out.

“It’s been nothing but sleet every single day,” she said. “So I’ve had no choice but to keep myself busy with this—it’s a prayer drum quilt. Isn’t it lovely?”

Ms. Megumi grabbed the small Yuzen-patterned cloth she had apparently been sewing until now and, fluttering it about, smiled faintly.

Yet how could she overlook her friend’s reddened, parched skin around her eyes, or the color of her cheeks that remained damp yet stiff?

“Ms. Megumi, you mustn’t do this—here you are crying all alone as you dwell on memories.”
“Now, now—you must stop with that sewing at once. Isn’t it precisely because you bring out such things that you end up sinking deeper into despair?”

With a roughness imbued with indescribable kindness, Oiku snatched the small cloth of gaudy, beautiful colors from Ms. Megumi’s hands.

“You really must find something to distract yourself… Honestly, you…”

Oiku hurriedly blew her nose.

Ms. Megumi, raising her face with an obedient smile in response to the sisterly scolding, had eyes that appeared to shine with a mingling of sorrow and trust. After a moment, she began to speak in a tone more subdued than usual, her words emerging hesitantly.

“Lately, with the cold outside and my spirits being so low even at home, I’ve ended up huddled at the kotatsu like this and done so much thinking.”
“Until now, there’s been such turmoil—one thing after another—that I never truly had the chance to think things through properly, you see.”

Oiku, uncertain of what to say, gazed at Ms. Megumi’s pale, small face.

“When I think about it now, I realize I’ve been living in such a careless way.”
“I’ve been so careless without even realizing it myself.”
“I was only concerned with superficial things, you see.—You once said that Hirota’s death was no ordinary occurrence…”

“That—Ms. Megumi, I…”

“No, it’s all right. I never meant it that way—truly. Lately I’ve begun to realize there must be reasons behind Hirota’s death and Seishi’s death too. Back then, I was just being stubborn and defied you out of spite, you know.”

Megumi looked at Oiku with a lonely smile, then lowered her eyes and gazed into the tea bowl she held cradled in both hands.

“As you know, Hirota was a righteous person.”
“Seishi too—from my perspective—was born with something uniquely good compared to others… though of course that may just be a parent’s partiality.”
“But even allowing for partiality—when a child I myself would sometimes bow to is taken away so unexpectedly—it leaves me with this… this unbearable sense of having committed some grave oversight.”
“You’re fortunate—you’ve never lost a single one of your children—so you couldn’t possibly understand. But losing a child… it’s truly unbearable.”
“I think I can’t even fathom how many times more painful it is than dying myself.”

Ms. Megumi’s lips trembled vainly as she tried to smile, and tears spilled from her eyes.

Hearing these anguished words, Oiku found herself overwhelmed by something that left her nearly immobile. If she were to say something, she might blurt out something outrageous—Oiku now felt anxious that if she were to speak, whatever she said would sound like empty platitudes to everyone. “...” On Oiku’s round face appeared a pained expression verging on bewilderment.

“So, you see—the more I think about it, the more this unbearable restlessness comes over me.”
“I’ve even come to think that perhaps because I’ve been so inadequate as a parent and as a wife, God in His mercy took that child away.”
“He truly was a child who seemed to have inherited only the best parts of Hirota’s and me—”

“That’s unthinkable, Ms. Megumi! You’re letting your thoughts run away with you—but—”

Oiku suddenly brightened her entire face at a secret joy flashing through her heart.

"If that's truly what you believe," she said, "then following your conscience must bring peace."

"Isn't it?"
"So as you've advised, I've resolved to take this chance and hear Tenrikyo's teachings."
"If my own failings were to make even Yoshiko wretchedly unhappy—why, I couldn't bear to live."
"And it might serve as remembrance for Seishi too."
That frail, lonely smile perpetually haunting Ms. Megumi's cheeks stole across them once more.

“And I will apologize to everyone.”

“Oh, Ms. Megumi…”

Avoiding the gaze she had suddenly met, Oiku involuntarily lowered her eyes.
When what she had long imagined and desired materialized before her as present reality, she found herself unable to feel any of the bright, unclouded joy she had anticipated.

Rather, Megumi seemed to have firmly taken hold of something absent from all Oiku’s prior experiences—a sensation akin to grasping a solemn weight that appeared small and fragile yet carried dignified substance.
Oiku felt as though she herself—who until moments before had been thoroughly weighted down—had now abruptly become as light and insubstantial as a wisp.

But for her—who had received her education during her youth over twenty years prior—she lacked the capacity to examine in detail where these emotions welling up within her had come from.

The "acts of faith" begun by the wealthy—those earthly beings adorned with every happiness—who fear being cast from these sweet divine graces by sudden calamity cannot easily intuit the sentiments of those who, having piled misfortune upon misfortune, extend both hands to God in supplication from the deepest depths.

――

However, Oiku was not one to dwell long on "logic that couldn't be understood even through contemplation."
She soon regained her inherent cheerfulness.

Inflamed by the emotion that her friend—who had endured prolonged trials and failures as excruciating as being flayed—had at last arrived where she ought to be, and by the radiant pride of being her senior in this path, Oiku expounded with such eloquence (enough that Ms. Megumi periodically lifted her eyes to regard her) the divine protection she had amassed.

Before seven o'clock the next morning, Oiku visited Ms. Megumi's house in her ceremonial crested kimono.
Led by her, Ms. Megumi passed through the gate of the Tenrikyo church—festooned with sacred ropes—for the first time in her life.
Oiku's joy at having finally made Ms. Megumi a Tenrikyo believer—or at least taken her first step in faith—appeared beyond compare.

Whenever she met friends, she would tell each one of them—

“Well now, even Ms. Megumi has relented and finally turned to cling to God.”
“How grateful I am—it seems there truly was divine will at work in our long-standing friendship after all. Well now, with this, I’ve finally been able to perform one act of service.”

—she boasted.

To every eye, she appeared to be at the peak of malice-free triumph.
Even the friends who had always scoffed at her lackluster persuasive power would now find nothing left to say.
They never imagined that such a seemingly insurmountable matter could have been concluded so adeptly.

Amidst such pleasures, within Oiku’s heart, the extent of tears and pain Ms. Megumi had endured to reach this point had faded from her awareness—not so much forgotten as allowed to slip away.

Oiku, being an energetic person who couldn’t sit still for half a day, had already been visiting Ms. Megumi’s house frequently up until now.
But since her friend had lost her son—and especially since she had begun practicing her faith—her visits had only increased in frequency.
To Ms. Megumi, who kept declining,

“Don’t mind that! It’s just getting some fresh air—it’s good for me too, you know.”

And so, she would stop her beautiful black-lacquered rickshaw at least every three days.

Exactly on a Saturday, at a bright midday hour, Oiku alighted from her rickshaw before her friend’s gate as usual.

In one hand, she held a box of her favorite “kenuki-zushi,” and as she stood before the latticed door with frosted glass to ask for entry, from within came an air of something amiss.

Two or three people seemed clustered together doing something. Oiku, who had hesitated momentarily wondering if there were other visitors, soon—

“Mom! Mom! Here!”

She was startled by Yoshiko’s frantic voice crying out.

“Madam, shall I bring some hot water...? Are you all right?”

Amidst the maid’s flustered voice, Ms. Megumi seemed to whisper something too faint to make out.

Oiku slid open the lattice door with a clatter.
There sat Ms. Megumi on the entrance step, her face deathly pale, propped up by the maid’s arms.
Her hair disheveled at the temples, she strained to extend her neck just enough to sip from her daughter’s hand—whether it was hot water or plain water remained unclear.

“Oh! Madam—”

The maid’s voice—as if relieved—and,

“What’s happened here?!
“Oh!”

Oiku’s words burst forth simultaneously from both their lips.

“When she returned home, she suddenly said her chest was hurting,” explained the maid.

“—My breath… it’s coming too fast… too fast…”

Ms. Megumi languidly lifted her body, still in her coat.

“Anyway, there’s no use staying in this entranceway. Come on, Ms. Yoshiko.”

Oiku forced a cheerful demeanor as she guided the trembling daughter.

“Since this big auntie here will help you, let’s get your mother into her room.”

When laid down on the hastily spread-out floor, still wearing her haori and everything, Ms. Megumi did not move a muscle for some time.

On this fine day, an indescribably pale, cold hue suffused the space from her forehead to her cheeks. Beneath thin eyebrows lay eyelids closed in quiet loneliness; with lips slightly parted near the chest of her friend who gradually began breathing slow and deep, Oiku watched while holding her breath.

"I wonder if we shouldn't call the doctor..."

To Oiku’s murmur—which seemed almost to herself—Ms. Megumi paused before replying in a quiet voice.

“I’m feeling much better now, thank you… ever so.”
“Are you all right?—What’s happened here?”

From beside them, Yoshiko and the maid explained that lately, she would often complain of chest pains after walking long distances and lie down for a while.

They said that sometimes her fingers would turn icy cold to the tips, and she would even feel as though she might faint.

The maid, who served in a household with only the mistress and her still-young daughter—a position where she would bear primary responsibility should anything happen—seemed eager to secure Oiku’s protection at every favorable opportunity.

While listening to the various words spoken in a low yet earnest tone, she lowered her eyelids and looked at her friend’s face upon the pillow.
Indeed, after the accumulation of misfortunes, Ms. Megumi had aged noticeably.
The backs of ears swept up into a plain bun and the corners of eyes showed evident signs of weary decline.
However... when considering her age and her own health, Oiku couldn’t bring herself to believe that Ms. Megumi was truly so weakened from within.

At merely forty-four or forty-five, can one age so much that even walking leaves them breathless?

Oiku had never even known a headache since her youth.
Though obese and cumbersome in movement, she still harbored within her a vitality indistinguishable from her thirties.

To her, Ms. Megumi’s frailty could only stem from a heart steeped in disappointment and despair.

"There is even the saying that 'Illness stems from the mind.'"
——

Even so, within Oiku’s heart, anxiety gradually began to stir—the fear that such circumstances might cause Ms. Megumi’s courage to falter and her faith to grow distant.

Having introduced such a zealous person, she herself was also pleased.
From one perspective, this very fact served as proof of the strength of her own faith.
For Ms. Megumi’s sake as well, she couldn’t help but feel that if she stopped there, all her perseverance until now would come to nothing.

After all, everything has its peak.
Even if you take up calligraphy or learn the koto, at first you improve as if by magic.
You improve so remarkably that people marvel at how your skills could advance so much.
However, when you reach a certain point, the path ahead suddenly becomes completely blocked, and you feel there's nothing more to be done.
No matter how hard you try, there's no visible progress, and in the end, you even feel like casting it all aside with a sigh of despair.
When she considered that faith, too, had such periods of trial in the same way, Oiku felt all the more unable to remain silent.

She herself had experienced it. If one endured that critical juncture and persisted with eyes closed as it were, the chance to enter a radiant realm would eventually come round. After drinking wine diluted with water and regaining some vigor, Oiku cautiously asked Ms. Megumi: “Have you been attending every day lately?”

“Yes. I have been going, but… it’s just so far—today I barely managed to make it home.”

“You say it’s far, Ms. Megumi, but it’s only to S Town.”
“It can’t be that far from here, can it?”
“Well, how far could it really be?”

Ms. Megumi opened her eyes wide and, with a subtle upward glance as she began to laugh, looked at Oiku.

“Have you ever walked it yourself?”

Oiku felt this gentle question strike a vital spot.
Half from reluctance and half from her habit of comfortable living, she had never walked even ten chō on her own feet.

Though situated in Tokyo where trains ran, she had never once considered the hardship of those who had to walk a little over two miles through inconvenient neighborhoods on cold dawn mornings.

Even she couldn’t immediately continue with her next words.
However, Oiku, with her innate optimistic disposition, soon recomposed herself smoothly.
Now was not the time to be faltering over something like this.
If even the slightest laxness had begun taking root in Ms. Megumi’s heart, who but herself would prune it away and guide her back to the true path?

“Listen, Ms. Megumi.”

Oiku slowly began to speak.

“I do believe your faith has reached a critical point.”
“You may not have realized it yourself yet—but I’ve seen quite a number of people.”

“Is that so… But”

Sitting on the floor while changing her haori, Ms. Megumi countered in her usual calm tone.

“But isn’t it too soon for it to have reached a critical point?”
“It hasn’t been long at all since I began listening to the teachings.”

“In terms of time, that’s true—but even with measles, aren’t there children who catch it early and those who get it when they’re older?”
“After all, it’s just like that, isn’t it?”
“I think you too have begun to encounter God’s trial to determine whether you are one who can enter true faith or not.”

Ms. Oiku then explained divine chastisement—careful not to wound the listener’s heart yet with a fervor that did not yield an inch of her ground.

When humans greedily pursue nothing but bodily ease, how fierce becomes the divine wrath that manifests? Even a woman as exceptional as the Foundress—should she ever willfully act against God’s intent through her own self-indulgence—would face sufferings beyond any human or medicinal remedy. That your body suffers thus—Oiku reasoned—might well be God’s forewarning: somewhere in your soul, a dreadful spiritual laxity had begun to fester.

“Truly, faith is a grave matter, isn’t it? Truly, as the Foundress said—‘Plunge completely into the valley’s depths’—for as long as you torment this body borrowed from God with selfish desires, you simply cannot attain the true path.”

Intoxicated by her own eloquence and seeing her friend’s face listening reverently, Oiku had no capacity to consider her own circumstances. Like an evangelist proclaiming the gospel, she felt exhilarated. The simple Oiku, then—without a moment to consider how much labor she herself had devoted to her faith or what Ms. Megumi’s actual physical condition was in reality—was propelled into ardent fervor.

In an unsparing tone directed at her,

“Your faith—hasn’t it been, from the very beginning, solely for your own comfort?”
“In other words, it’s for atonement, isn’t it?”
“You must be making offerings so that Mr. Hirota and Seishi may reside in the blessed Kanrodai, and so that Ms. Yoshiko may be happy in this world.”

When told this, Ms. Megumi—who had initially listened with mere surprise—found herself unable to resist heeding her friend’s words.
Truly, the mind of God was unfathomable.
When, where, what kind of revelation lay hidden—it was impossible to know.
When she thought of her deceased husband and son and of the daughter who alone always watched over her with black eyes, the gravity of lax faith suddenly surged with new power like a tsunami.

“I also…”

Ms. Megumi spoke in a quiet yet sincere voice.

“I am by no means negligent in my devotion.”
“But you see, I’m so weak—when I think that I might not even be capable of deep faith… it terrifies me.”

“That’s exactly what’s wrong, Ms. Megumi.”
“When you keep declaring yourself weak—it’s as if you’re putting weakness at the forefront and following it rather than striving to become capable.”
“You must forget such things.”
“And devote yourself single-mindedly to spiritual healing!”

If one had listened discerningly to these words, they might have detected some unconscious selfishness in Oiku.
Yet for Ms. Megumi—who lacked anyone to intimately encourage her or pat her shoulder with a "Stay strong"—these words became tremendous encouragement.

At any rate, Oiku's vitality seemed to pierce through Ms. Megumi's gaunt, pallid body like an electric current.
Gradually, she herself grew exhilarated, found vigor, and felt courage surging within—the resolve not to retreat from the path she had embarked upon.

The docile Ms. Megumi regarded even this single stimulus as a kindness born of Oiku’s friendship. From the bottom of her heart,

“Thank you.”
“I will be steadfast.”
“Truly, there’s nothing as seemingly knowable yet unknowable as one’s own heart, isn’t there?”
she said.
“I’ll do my best to regain my strength.”

The two women exchanged smiles.

“That’s right!
“If I could, I’d gladly give you half of my own body—I mean it.”

Delighted that her words had been so readily accepted, Oiku’s ruddy face glowed with an even deeper luster.

She opened the sushi box she had brought with her, summoning Yoshiko and the maid while making lighthearted quips.

It was not long after that, one morning.

Ms. Megumi finished her simple breakfast as usual, got ready, opened the gate that had been closed overnight herself, and left the house.

It was a morning of intensely thick fog.

The hushed world past six in the morning was enveloped in a milky-white mist carrying a faint burnt scent, while air warmed by the gradually rising sun flowed like water around her form.

In the distance, a melting rose-colored radiance permeated the atmosphere, and the street scene—where sparse human figures floated upward as dim black shapes—filled her heart with an unfamiliar sense of beauty.

Through occasional gaps in the fog appeared yellow cedar leaves and oak treetops glittering like pulverized light.
Yard by yard, as her steps progressed, the path beneath her feet revealed itself, where moisture-beaded pebbles cast reflections resembling the keen eyes of a youth.

Within the walls of a large estate where not a speck of dust had yet been stirred, the energetic dog shaking its body to jingle its collar and darting about with snuffling noises sounded exactly like what one would expect from a pleasant December morning.

As she walked on unimpeded, wrapped in the cold yet warm mist and sunlight, an indescribable peace filled Ms. Megumi’s heart.

How many times had she walked this path?
There were times when even the thought of tomorrow morning had filled her with such weariness that she had dragged her feet along this road.

This morning, it felt as pleasant as if she were in an entirely different world.
Just as she felt uncommonly well these days, as though rejuvenated, so too did nature seem to overflow with a childlike, cheerful vitality.

Her feet moved lightly of their own accord.
As she walked like this, it felt as though this wasn’t the kind of walk compelled by duty—one that required her to come all the way here.
Without hurrying or worrying, she advanced through the quiet residential district in a mood as leisurely as if taking a stroll.

No police officers were in sight as she passed by a certain police box and approached the narrow-street commercial district—by then, the fog in all directions had completely lifted.
Sunlight flickered on the roof tiles and the small decorated windows newly awakened from sleep.
The figures of shop boys moving about storefronts, students in black coats passing by with white breaths visible—these collectively evoked the bustling thoroughfare of nearly seven o’clock in the morning.

Turning right from beside the stationery shop that had just opened and emerging onto another quiet back street, Ms. Megumi’s feet had unknowingly quickened their pace.
The Tenrikyo church branch was located on the slope past one more corner.
The awareness that she had been walking too slowly until now, and the thought that her destination was no longer far away, had unconsciously spurred her onward.

Ms. Megumi moved her feet diligently with the determination of one trying not to fall behind the middle school students walking ahead. And as she approached the temple near the final corner, she suddenly began to feel an indescribable tightness in her chest.

As if startled by something, her chest lurched—then her pulse suddenly quickened, and if she moved carelessly even slightly, her breath grew so labored it seemed she might collapse at any moment.

Pressing her chest with the sleeves of her drab mouse-gray coat, Ms. Megumi stood frozen in bewilderment, at a loss for what to do in that instant.
Around her were neither houses where she could ask for care nor any people.
In any case, if she stiffened and couldn't calm down, there was no telling what might happen.
From her experience as a senior practitioner, Ms. Megumi knew that at times like these, rest was more necessary than anything.

She tried as much as possible not to exert force anywhere in her body, scooting sideways just the width of her foot to retreat unobtrusively to the roadside. Before she knew it, a clammy sweat had begun seeping along her hairline. Listless now, as if strength had drained from every joint, Ms. Megumi found she could no longer remain standing. She lowered her head, clutched her chest, and sank into a crouch there on the ground. The change came too abruptly—even she couldn’t grasp what was happening. All former realities vanished in an instant, leaving only vague, instinctive sensations of loneliness and exhaustion that flooded both body and mind completely.

Ms. Megumi did not hear the milkman's empty cart rattling briskly down the street behind her turned back.
She did not see the sharp trifoliate orange hedge jutting before her eyes as if to stab her face.

Only time splintering—a loathsome chill and breath that no amount of gasping could expel—shook her body.
Beneath her thinly closed eyelids, she saw a gray space trembling like agar.
From below to above, from below to above, countless vivid blue flames rose up.

When Oiku received the urgent news that Ms. Megumi had been carried back on a stretcher from behind Jōganji Temple, her shock defied imagination. When she arrived with her half-done hair still in tight coils, trembling head to toe, the Ms. Megumi who greeted her was already— “You’ve come…” With those words she smiled—no longer the woman who had existed until that morning. The cold, rigid corpse of a lonely-looking woman lay uneasily in the same spot where her husband had lain three years prior.

Her lips turned pale, and Oiku couldn’t speak.

In the room was an elderly fellow believer who had also discovered Ms. Megumi—an ailing person collapsed on the street drawing a crowd—having chanced upon her.
Even Megumi’s usually cold-hearted brother—with his mean-spirited broad face—could be seen present in a manner suggesting that now that his sister had died, he could not very well abandon her.

However, Oiku even forgot to offer appropriate condolences to them.

Could such a thing be possible?
How could such a thing be permitted?

Moving forward on her knees and removing the face covering, when she gazed upon her friend’s countenance—which had not changed much—tears flowed ceaselessly from her eyes for the first time.

The still feminine, well-shaped forehead; eyebrows that seemed the very embodiment of modesty.
As she tried to die by the roadside—what had flashed through her heart in those final moments?—upon her colorless lips lingered a truly beautiful, yet chillingly mysterious shadow of a smile.

Too sorrowful to call her name, too nostalgic to bow, Oiku pressed her forehead against her slender friend’s hand as she wept aloud.

From the upside-down hem pattern of the black crepe, a faint scent of camphor wafted.

Feeling a coldness that seeped through to her very core and the heat of her tears, Oiku swore a final vow of friendship in the depths of her heart.
If Ms. Megumi could have uttered a single word, how she would have spoken of her only daughter.
How she would have agonized, how she would have lamented her tragic fate.

Even if her mouth were silenced forever, Oiku felt her friend’s heart as strongly and clearly as if it had been whispered into her ear. Oiku perceived the trust within the silence placed upon her in the vastness between heaven and earth.

“Ms. Megumi, please rest assured and return to God’s lap.”
“As long as I live, I will never let you worry.”
“I’ve certainly taken charge of Yoshiko.”
“You truly lived such an unfortunate life, but…”

Even in her heart, she couldn’t bring herself to utter hollow phrases like Kanrodai now.
Oiku, wiping her tears, took a comb from her own hair and brushed back her friend’s disheveled strands.