Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Miyamoto Yuriko The moment she received the telegram, Yukiko began to feel a strangely urgent unease. If Yukiko had been so anxious about whether her husband Maki could return to the capital in time for a certain responsible professional meeting scheduled to commence at ten o’clock that morning, then she should have naturally felt reassured by that notification.

The telegram, sent last night from F City, read: "Arrive tomorrow morning nine."

The meeting location wasn’t particularly far from Tokyo Station. Therefore, if the train arrived at nine o’clock, not only would there be ample time to make it punctually, but there would even be enough leeway to change clothes if necessary. There was, in fact, no reason whatsoever for Yukiko to fret. But she could not settle. Where her heart had until now settled in serene—or perhaps gloomy—stillness, sudden ripples began to rise; she could feel the ceaseless undulations soon filling her entire body and being with an anxiety that felt all-consuming.

I

Maki was a literary scholar who taught at a certain university in the city.

His hometown was located in Ura Nihon, near Wakasa. There, the elderly father lived out his peaceful retirement alongside his eldest brother’s family, tending to ancestral farmland that seemed almost antique-like.

Normally too busy to even find the mental space to write a proper letter, he had used the brief vacation at the end of the academic year to make his first visit home in half a year.

At first, Yukiko had naturally intended to accompany him. Having been married for less than two years, she had only seen her husband’s hometown once. Not only that, but the way of life in that region—where Buddhism was fervently practiced—also held a unique kind of interest that drew Yukiko’s heart. Due to her father’s hometown being in a certain part of Tohoku, Yukiko had until then associated the countryside solely with reclaimed lands scattered across wilderness. For her, encountering old-fashioned narrow paths, white-walled houses, and even village office notices that—

“Be diligent with time; it accords with Buddhist wisdom.” The daily life of a castle village where notices were written in such a manner was entirely novel to her. Moreover, in terms of scenery, it was by no means a bad place. The lush undulations of the Hakusan Mountain Range, and the sight of dream-like white mist rising at dusk from ultramarine gorges where Japanese night herons called—all possessed a Japanese-style grace and delicacy that had left an especially strong impression on her heart. Moreover, this homecoming had been accompanied by a pleasant fantasy.

For many years, Maki had lived divided between city and countryside life, never having found an opportunity to intimately console his elderly father; now during this season of fine weather, he had said he wanted to invite his father to some tranquil hot spring and leisurely share reminiscences of old times.

As March finally drew near and the trip loomed, Yukiko felt a strange exhilaration.

Every evening after dinner, they would gather under a single lamp. Feeling against their skin the soft night air that carried the scent of daphne drifting in from the open garden, reviewing travel plans, discussing souvenirs, and arranging house-sitting duties became their shared pleasure. Yet when it came time to finalize everything, Yukiko felt her heart resist. It wasn’t that she disliked visiting X Prefecture. But a hesitation had begun taking root—if she stayed behind, might she not find more immediate joy for both her spirit and daily life? Yukiko worked as a writer. At that very moment, an arduous long-term project loomed before her. She had already devoted half a year exclusively to this single endeavor. Yet this barely-begun work loomed like some terrifying beast beyond her control. It wasn’t merely stagnation. A mental frailty unlike anything she’d known before had begun shadowing her heart since she’d become entangled with it.

Frequently, a despair so profound it obliterated all sense of self assailed Yukiko. Yet the more terrifying and tormenting it grew, the more she found herself unable to relinquish her grip on that work. For her, abandoning it in despair meant more than merely leaving a single long-form work unfinished. She felt with crushing certainty that she would also have to cast away every shred of confidence in her creative endeavors.

“Of course, traveling wouldn’t be so bad. But wouldn’t it ultimately be better for me to stay quietly behind rather than inserting myself into Maki’s relatives—whom I’m not deeply familiar with—and fragmenting my life further, even through their goodwill?” The thought that in those rare moments of refreshing solitude—if she could discover some new shift in her mood—her work might somehow make progress had taken deep root in Yukiko’s heart.

But after all, she couldn’t bring herself to voice that thought lightly. Maki believed she had decided to go. He did not make as much outward fuss as she did, but Yukiko had fully sensed he was looking forward to it and likely weaving all sorts of fantasies in his mind. To discard that needlessly—

“I will not be going.” To actually say those words—Yukiko knew her husband’s feelings too well. He would inevitably end up,

“If that’s the case, then you should do as you see fit.” Since he would undoubtedly say that, she couldn’t bear to make him voice it again. But one day, when Maki announced he would write a letter to his hometown and picked up his pen,

“In that case, it’s all right if I tell them you’re coming too, yes?”

When he pressed for confirmation, Yukiko, in a sudden resolve, “Well…” she said. And from the adjacent room where she had been reading a magazine, she came to his side and sat down. “If I were to cancel… would you also cancel?” Yukiko looked at her husband’s face and quietly asked. “Are you suggesting we cancel?”

“Just this once, I think we should try doing that.” “But if you were to cancel as well…” “There’s no need for me to cancel too—what’s come over you so suddenly?” Yukiko explained her reasoning. “You still haven’t properly told Father yet, have you? “So if you think it’s acceptable, I’d like to stay behind… Though it’s truly wretched of me to say I’ll go and then withdraw.”

“I don’t mind that…” Maki, wearing a slightly displeased expression at the unexpected change, suddenly twisted his lips into a bitter smile. “Even so, can you stay here alone?” Looking into her husband’s eyes, Yukiko found herself unwittingly mirroring his smile. Maki’s question carried a distinct sarcasm.

Their house was located in a town separated by a narrow valley filled with roofs, overlooking the groves of Koishikawa-dai. There were many houses around them, and opening a single gate would bring the neighbor’s garden within arm’s reach. However, around that time, frequent robberies and violent incidents had erupted in the not-too-distant outskirts of the city. Yukiko, left alone during the day, grew uneasy and had recently pestered Maki until he replaced the lock on the water inlet—a task he had just completed.

“I simply can’t stay here alone. What if I went to X町…” “Hmm…” This time, clear hesitation surfaced on Maki’s brow. When she saw that—though she had anticipated it—Yukiko felt a constricting sensation in her chest.

X町 was another name for her family home. Even at a leisurely pace, it was within the same ward—no more than forty minutes away. To that house, Yukiko held a bond of the heart—different in nature from the ordinary nostalgia married daughters feel for their so-called family home. It wasn’t merely that the garden’s lingering image and the impressions of each room evoked her childhood and maiden years with a touch of poetic nostalgia. Once she recalled that place, a fierce longing for the "comfort" she had experienced there—enveloping both heart and body—welled up in Yukiko’s chest.

“It wasn’t the sort of comfort，kindness，or tranquility that could be found anywhere.” “That particular pleasure—something utterly unique，something existing nowhere but there—made its presence known like a magnet and beckoned；a pleasure that，were she but to touch it，would make her heart spring to life and begin its highest activity.”

This subtle psychological allure was clearly rooted in the unbreakable blood ties with her parents and younger siblings. But in Yukiko’s case, her mother’s emotions played an especially significant role. Sukako, who harbored nearly desperate love and hope for her daughter, had not—even after Yukiko’s marriage—entrusted her solely to her husband’s care as society typically did. She often, on various occasions, would say to others, “I truly envy other mothers. “How can they be so at ease?” “As for someone like me—no matter how you spin it, I can’t just leave her be and rest easy after sending my daughter off in marriage. If anything, it only becomes another burden…”

As she lamented, Sukako truly felt intense anxiety over having to let go of her daughter. "My own ceaseless influence, attention, and guidance—no matter what I might say—could no longer be directly exerted." "And with that—will Yukiko achieve proper, admirable growth?"

Therefore, one could almost imagine what kind of implications she—through her words and demeanor—imparted to Yukiko. When viewed from another angle, this relationship undeniably contained a clear distrust toward Maki.

To put it bluntly, for Sukako, there was simply no comparison between her fondness for Yukiko and that for Maki. Yukiko trusted Maki as her husband to the fullest extent—yet Sukako could not bring herself to trust the man. Maki was not a "son-in-law" she had personally chosen and secured for Yukiko. They had freely fallen in love and married solely through mutual will. Such undercurrents of emotion had naturally imparted a kind of dark intuition to Maki. Something far beyond the mere label of unpleasantness lurked between Sukako and Maki.

Yukiko was by no means unaware of it. But now, when confronted with this overt disapproval, she found herself unable to acquiesce. So intense was her hope—"If only I could go to X町!"—that it shone within her with pristine brilliance. Yukiko stayed silent awhile, waiting for her husband to organize his thoughts. Afterward,

“So I can’t go?”

She asked back. Her voice and gaze contained a force that rendered “you can’t go” unsayable.

Maki said, “If you consider it and think that would be better, then of course it would be best to do so.” “So what do you intend to do about here? Will you have Yoda-kun come again?” His tone had returned to a calmness that had passed through the crisis. Yukiko, too, could not help but soften. “Would that be disagreeable? After all, even if we both go, that’s what you intended to do anyway. As for the mail and such, you can have them bring it when you return to X町 in the morning.”

“Hmm—well, in any case, proceed with that.” “If that works out well, it would be satisfactory.”

“That’s exactly right! “After all, it’s the place where I was born. I’m sure it will work out perfectly—don’t you think so?” “That’s how it should be, I suppose.—” Maki said doubtfully. “But anyway, there’s no use insisting you go alone—you should just go to X町 and check how things stand. I’ll write to Father…” “Really?” Yukiko immediately stood up and said, “Well then, I’m sorry to trouble you, but please explain the situation to your father for me.” “If that can be done, I’d be truly happy.”

Yukiko briskly set out for X町. And then, in the small room where the electricity had not yet been turned on and the bustle of dusk flowed through, she asked her mother to take care of her and to have the student lodger come only at night.

Sukako agreed to the matter far more gladly than could have been anticipated. “Of course!” “Come anytime you like.” “—Well，I must say you’ve finally decided to come.” In the evening gloom，while putting away her sewing materials，she teased her daughter with an innocent cheerfulness born of delight. “So... how long are you planning to stay?” “It’ll probably be about ten days.” “Because school is about to start—I can’t stay long anyway，you know.” “Short and sweet!”

“You’re such a mean Mother!” The two of them laughed in unison. “Anyway—please do come.” “I’ll welcome you warmly.” “It’s been so long… When was it… you only stayed over one night, didn’t you?” Since their homes were nearby, even when they had chances to meet, Sukako—who had long been denied the simple joy of living together without reservations—became so delighted it seemed almost pitiable. She welcomed Yukiko with such warmth in her heart and eyes that Yukiko instinctively sensed her overflowing affection.

Yukiko returned home as if flying, filled with joy at everything going splendidly.

“Don’t worry! It will surely work out. Mother was absolutely delighted too. Thank you, truly. If it goes well, I won’t be able to thank you enough.”

The day Maki departed was the first pleasant day of April.

A refreshing whitish morning sun streamed in with a gentle breeze through the slightly disheveled eight-tatami room. Yukiko offered her cheek to Maki standing on the stone step in light attire,

“Safe travels! Both of us are going home, aren’t we?” she said and laughed.

After a few hours, she tidied the house, locked up, packed only the bare essentials into a small suitcase, and arrived in X町 with a light heart and brimming with hope.

II

The hospitality in X町 was so profound that it somehow made Yukiko feel vaguely uncomfortable. Her seven-year-old sister Miyoko, without fail, while putting on her shoes in the morning before heading to kindergarten,

“Yuki-sama, are you staying again today?” asked her older sister. “Yes, I am staying. Why do you ask?”

Yukiko crouched on the stone step, laughing as she watched her sister’s small shoulders and hands move.

“Will you stay until I come back from kindergarten?” “It’s okay! I definitely won’t go home!” “You’re staying!” “Hey, hey!”

The sight of her—still reiterating her insistence as she was accompanied by the student lodger, her bobbed head turning again and again while rounding the hedge—even brought inexplicable tears to Yukiko’s eyes. The menu had been specially arranged to include all her favorite dishes. Even the bath was heated for Yukiko every night. And, like a shadow clinging to its form, Mother entertained her daughter with an inexhaustible supply of stories that never grew old. It would not be an exaggeration to say that it was only at this moment Yukiko came to realize for the first time just how deeply everyone in the house loved her and delighted in living together.

She set up her desk once more in her old six-tatami-mat room. For six or seven years until her marriage, the old narrow front garden that had been her companion in all circumstances now returned before her eyes, once again filled with the quiet beauty of serene spring. The soft sunlight filtered through the earthen eaves; morning and evening brought the scent of damp earth; she became certain that the composure and focus she once knew were undoubtedly reviving in her heart. During the day, her brother, sister and mother would never leave her alone. After the lively dinner centered around her father—like blooming flowers spilling over—Yukiko forcibly extricated herself from the clinging gazes and returned to her study.

And then, lighting a lamp in the refreshing night air, she sat before the chillingly cold desk and, calming her heart, faced the paper. But—as one or two nights passed—Yukiko discovered an entirely unexpected new fact.

That is, even this six-tatami room now held no influence over her heart beyond being merely a quiet single room. In the past, Yukiko would withdraw from the lively dining room and guest parlor to here, and once she was surrounded by the brown sand walls that quietly absorbed the light, that alone had been enough for her to completely regain her focused mind. The dim, winding corridor and the low sliding doors marking off this single space had once been a workspace for the soul, perpetually filled with unseen inspiration.

Now, when she sat here, Yukiko felt nothing but an utterly superficial quietness. First came relief. Then, resting her cheek on her hand at the desk and watching young hydrangea buds dimly emerge from the garden’s thick darkness, her mind—far from converging on work—only grew more clouded. From those depths of daze, Maki’s presence gradually began taking distinct shape. It wasn’t that she particularly missed him. Nor was her heart restless with longing. Yet during daylight hours—as if gripped by invisible arms—the circumstances surrounding her allowed no respite for consciousness beyond interactions with others. Could it be that when she became truly alone at last, those very circumstances compelled her to recall her husband?

As the incense smoke rose and swayed in the unseen air, her heart drifted toward him—and for a while, Yukiko felt an indescribable intimacy and loneliness simultaneously. From the distant black hedges, cheerful lights flickered through. That joyous laughter! But it is here, alone, that I can finally regain all of my emotions. Truly, everyone in the house had devoted themselves solely to her—to a pitiable degree. No one took into account Maki’s presence or feelings alongside her. The atmosphere among everyone—so absolute in its conviction that not a single person would likely feel shock or sorrow for Maki’s sake even if she declared she’d settle here permanently—instead pierced Yukiko with profound sadness.

Even if she shut herself in her room until bedtime, Yukiko did not achieve a single coherent line of work.

She would carefully re-examine the picture postcard that had come from Maki, or find herself recalling, without intending to, the house in X Prefecture with its storehouse room where orchids and oleanders grew… Before her eyes, her husband’s face—laughing and shaking his head as though saying something—revived with such vividness that even shifting slightly made her chest ache. When her heart grew too overwhelmed, Yukiko would quietly slide open the storm shutters and pace ceaselessly through the moonless garden. Under the shade of a large blue paulownia tree lay a thick growth of camellias and pines where one could hear the faint rustle of leaves when listening closely. The large house with its storm shutters tightly closed appeared to tilt sadly in its slumber beneath the starry sky.

――It was exactly the fifth morning since arriving in X Town.

Yukiko had awakened that day with an unusual surge of creative desire from the very moment she opened her eyes. Her late-night immersion in a scientist’s biography the previous evening had dispelled the sentimentality that had nearly become chronic. The gloom clouding her mind these past few days vanished completely—bright love and courage now flowed through her being alongside the cloudless morning light, refreshingly tangible. Having risen from healthy deep sleep and washed her body, she felt as though she could perceive not only her flesh’s purity but even her soul’s chastity. Her breath came deep, her limbs brimmed with human vigor, and her entire heart seemed instinctively drawn by yearning toward some beloved intangible essence that her own spirit strove to birth into this world.

Yukiko finished breakfast early, saw her father off to work, and then retreated to her room. And then, surrounded by the pleasant morning breeze flowing in from the lower window as she faced her desk, she couldn’t help but feel her heart flutter with joy.

“Now this is what makes coming here worthwhile!”

If things had continued as they had been these past days, I could even say it would have been better not to have come—where was the value in having been so insistent on coming to X Town? But “Today is the day!” Yukiko tossed her shoulders and head like a young mare rearing up and shaking its mane. And then, sitting upright once more and calming herself, as she read back through the pages she had written thus far, the scene she was to depict next began to appear vividly before her eyes.

It was not Japan. Vivid young elm leaves cast dappled sunlight upon the grass, where a young woman in a light summer dress lay propped on her elbows. Beside her, a squirrel played, its tail making wave-like motions. Tranquility... a cool breeze. Startled by an unexpected shadow, she leapt to her feet—and in that instant, the glint of a golden tray and the sway of a decorative sash against the backdrop of translucent early summer greenery felt as if she were seeing it right before her eyes. Within the heated imagination, the boundary between self and other vanished. —She set down her brush. While patiently sustaining the gradually rising tide of inspiration, she continued writing one character at a time. ——

If it had continued like that, Yukiko would have been ecstatic and offered thanks to that day—April 5th. But when she reached a certain point, she suddenly began to feel a loss of strength she couldn’t account for. The words and her mind gradually became a dull, monotonous rhythm. No matter how she lashed her heart, straightened her posture, and tried to focus her mind, the once-slackened fervor only continued to slacken further. Yukiko was struck by a terror akin to sliding helplessly down from the midpoint of a sandhill with no foothold, dragged by an inexorable force to the valley floor. There was nothing to grab hold of. There’s no one to cling to! Unable to bear the terror, she threw down the pen, on the verge of tears.

“!…” For six months until today, Yukiko had faced this terrible disappointment. “Is my spirit too weak? Do I lack the energy to sustain it? Before marriage, this didn’t exist. Did I marry even this fatal flaw when I gained Maki?” Especially that morning—precisely because her anticipatory feeling had been so splendid, precisely because her hopes had been so vast—her downfall became unbearable. Before her eyes—swollen as if inflamed with anguish—Maki’s face at its most expressionless moment surfaced with intolerable vexation before vanishing. From next door came women’s raucous laughter—Yukiko felt her body might snap! She sensed a self-destructive impulse about to burst forth violently enough to emit smoke.

While her eyes gazed vacantly at the sunlit scenery—somewhere near midday, carrying the scent of a kitchen—within her darkened mind, doubts about her married life swirled like a storm. How much time had passed…

Suddenly, the sound of a sliding door opening came from behind. Yukiko, startled back to herself, hurriedly turned her face.

In such a mood, she didn’t want to hear anyone’s voice. If it had been her younger sister or the maid, she would have said, “Please leave me alone for now.” But the figure that came into her brief line of sight was neither of them. Mother lowered her head with the freshly tied bun and slowly ducked through the low lintel. —Yukiko felt an inexpressible confusion and pressure. She was fully aware of how sensitive her mother was to her own mood. “I can’t possibly hide this much gloom.” “She’ll take one look and know everything.” And then. —Yukiko forced a semblance of softness onto her still-turned face,

“What is it?” she said. “It’s nothing much, really.” Sukako moved her dark, womanly eyes about as she surveyed the room. “How’s it going?”

Of course, she was asking about the work. Yukiko found herself overcome by a sensation as if her voice had been choked off. “Well…”

She turned around on the zabuton cushion and, turning her back to the desk, faced her mother. “Would you like to sit down?”

“Ah.”

Having posed the question, Sukako gazed at the garden without appearing to seek any definite response.

“It’s still nice here—so quiet.” “And look—isn’t it strange how only that maple tree stays untouched by insects?”

Yukiko stiffly turned her neck to look outside. Indeed, while most of the maple trees in the garden had their cores eaten away by longhorn beetles—their branches growing increasingly gaunt with each passing year—that single tree alone, nestled among glossy Japanese cypress leaves, had its young buds shining beautifully as though painted with a silken maroon-tea hue. Yet to find pleasure in gazing at this required a state of mind far too unburdened for her present condition.

To be honest, she could not surmise why her mother had come there. If there was some business to attend to, Yukiko was fiercely driven by the desire to settle it quickly and be alone as soon as possible. She, while fearing to upset her mother’s feelings, “Was there something you needed?” she countered.

“It’s not business—I just wondered how you were doing.”

Sukako looked at her daughter’s face. And then—as if instantly mirroring her daughter’s agitation—she shifted her expression almost imperceptibly and continued. “And besides, I couldn’t sleep last night and kept thinking—if staying here helps settle your mind, then perhaps it would be best for you to remain a while longer.” “—Do you think you can manage that?”

Yukiko formed a gloomy smile—so pronounced she herself noticed it—before she could utter a word.

“It’s not going very well.—But…” Sympathizing with her mother’s feelings, Yukiko tried to force out a firm voice. “Please don’t worry so much.” “It’ll get better soon… If you hover over me like this, I’ll only get more flustered.” “That’s certainly true—not that I’d hover over you.” Even as she said that, Yukiko couldn’t miss her mother’s darkening expression. “After all, unless you settle down for a full year, your work will never come together.” “Yuki-chan—you act tougher than I ever did, yet there’s something so fundamentally girlish about you.”

“That may be true.” “Exactly… Anyway, you know, if things keep going like this, your work will never take shape—not in a year, not even in two.” A sudden, indescribably desperate look came over Sukako’s face. It was unclear what had caused it, but she delivered these words with a certainty and chill as though she had been rehearsing them all through the night.

Instinctively looking at her mother’s face, Yukiko felt as though her chest was pierced.

Hadn’t she, until this very moment, been trembling in fear of her own terrifying imaginings? To have this—as if confirming her fears—said directly to her face by her mother was unbearably painful. The more terrifying it was, the less she could calmly dismiss it. “Why do you think that?” Yukiko retorted, forgetting herself in her urgency.

“But it’s the truth.” Mother appeared calm, as if stating something entirely natural. “If your heart is split in two, you can’t accomplish anything at all.” “Truly, marriage is such a major problem for someone like you trying to accomplish something.” “It’s as if everything—even your very mood—changes completely, you know—” Upon hearing those few regret-tinged words, Yukiko felt as though she had clearly come to understand the true feelings lying in her mother’s heart. At the same time, she felt as though she were heading into a dark cave from which there was no escape no matter how far she went. Beneath the surface, the heart of their conversation had already shifted entirely to a different point. But Yukiko made an effort to keep the conversation calm.

“Compared to men, it really does seem that way,” she answered thoughtfully. “But from another perspective, isn’t marriage fundamentally important for women—a crucial stage of development? At least, I believe that’s how it is for me.” “Of course that’s true—” “If only you change for the better.”

“Whether one changes for better or worse depends on their own attitude, doesn’t it?” “Heading toward that—” Yukiko gazed at her mother’s face.

“That may be so.” “However, some people—”

Sukako also looked straight into her daughter’s eyes. “There are those who believe only they’re right—actually heading down the wrong path—yet never listen to a word others say. It’s terrifying.” Yukiko couldn’t help but notice her mother’s sarcasm. Even though she understood that, continuing to speak in such roundabout terms was all the more painful. Carrying over the mood from earlier, she was overcome by a fierce impulse to pierce through the invisible membrane that lay between her and her mother in a single thrust.

“Mother, let’s speak plainly—you think I’ve completely deteriorated since marrying Maki, don’t you?” “Ah, you’ve changed.” Sukako caught that intensity squarely and looked at Yukiko with eyes almost harboring resentment. “First of all, just think about it.” “Even if you only look at your inability to work since marrying, no one would call that good, would they?”

“This won’t go on forever!” Yukiko asserted as though stating that this much was certain no matter what.

“It will surely pass! “My current circumstances are completely different from my previous life, you know. “Don’t you think so? “Even you, Mother—try thinking back to when you first got married. “I’m sure that’s how it must have been for you.” Her voice carried a genuinely tender resonance deep within its tone. But Sukako denied it with vehement words, as if she had been insulted.

“When I was newly married, I did nothing but cry.—But even so, why must you try to explain or make excuses for every single thing?! Trying to argue me down on your own won’t work.” “Right now, you can’t seem to manage any work—isn’t that right?” “Even when various people question you or line up their sarcastic comments, you just stiffen up and endure it—waiting and thinking maybe someday you’ll manage—but—”

Mother stifled her trembling voice. “You keep saying ‘circumstances, it’s all because of circumstances,’ but when exactly will that change?” “Do you think leaving things alone will make them resolve themselves?” “You keep going on about ‘circumstances, circumstances’ like some obsessed creature, but when it comes down to it, circumstances mean your opponent, don’t they?” “It’s his very character that’s the problem, isn’t it?” “But... Mother.” Yukiko unintentionally let earnestness show on her face.

“If you think my inability to work comes entirely from Maki, that’s completely wrong.” “Of course it would be terrible if he thought my work meant nothing and wanted me to quit.” “But that’s not how it is—he worries about it too, you know.—And besides—” Yukiko’s eyes grew moist. “If he were someone who thought my work didn’t matter at all, he never would have married me in the first place.”

“That’s because Mr. Maki is someone you can’t even compare to.” “What? Why?” Yukiko stared at her mother in shock. “Why? Because—he’s a better actor than you.” “Are you saying I’m being evasive?”

Yukiko felt a desperate force surging up within her—even though her opponent was her mother.

“It’s not as if it’s that extreme—but at the very least, he has you completely figured out.”

“Influencing each other—isn’t that only natural?”

“If it’s mutual between us, there’s nothing left to say.” “But even if my eyes deceive me—that person truly controls you.” “He’s cunningly made you shoulder all the self-reflection while staying spotless himself.” “……”

Yukiko could not help but feel her mother’s lingering reservations toward Maki even now. There was no doubt Sukako genuinely cared for her sake, deeply troubled by her inability to complete her work. Yet whenever she tried to articulate those feelings or organize them into coherent thoughts, she inevitably found herself confronting Maki’s name. Yukiko clearly discerned her mother’s sincere intentions. But when unfounded criticisms were leveled at Maki, she could endure it no longer. An almost primal urge to defend him surged through her. After a silence too stark against the garden’s cheerful spring scenery, Yukiko managed to utter just this much.

“Mother, I’m truly grateful—truly!—that you love me and worry about me. But I don’t want you criticizing Maki merely as a reaction to those feelings.” “I can’t help speaking up when this happens.” “It’s not that Maki is some great moral exemplar or brilliant genius—but he does possess genuine sincerity toward those he loves.” “—So that’s what you believe?”

“You might say I’m obsessed—but in any case, I at least believe I know what kind of person Maki is better than you do.” Yukiko felt her heart flare up. “Mother, if it were you in this situation, would you speak that way about the person you yourself chose?” Sukako appeared utterly struck by these words. “When it comes to Mr. Maki, you lose your mind.” “It’s all… all the same…” Her voice suddenly trembled weakly. “If a woman who willingly marries of her own accord can’t work after that… well, she was just born that way anyway…”

When she saw lips lose their color and tears begin to stream down，Yukiko was overcome.

“Mother!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine—just leave me be.”

Sukako avoided her daughter’s hand, turned sideways, and pressed her sleeve to her face.

“It’s all… I’m just a doting fool of a mother… I was the real idiot all along!”

Unable to bear the violent sobbing, Yukiko embraced her mother's shoulders.

“Hey Mother, please listen.” “You think I have no intention of working seriously—that I’m just idling about clinging to Maki—so that’s why you feel this way.” “I’m not unaffected either—” “Don’t you think I want to do something about this?”

Yukiko felt tears surging up. "I don't want to go on living without being able to work either. You know?" "Mother, please believe me." "Please believe I'm someone who can accomplish something." "Having you despair of me—that's truly the most unbearable thing of all..."

While her own cheeks were wet with tears, Yukiko gently brushed aside a damp strand of hair from her mother’s cheek.

III

It was in the afternoon, not long after that incident, when an express mail addressed to Maki from ×× University was forwarded to them. Exhausted from the earlier agitation and weighed down by profound melancholy, Yukiko leaned absently against the pillar of the tatami corridor, lost in thought. In the distance, her younger sister was singing an innocent song, swaying her head back and forth as she pressed down on the organ pedals with all her might. The silken voice of the girl, the single note of the instrument, and the slanting golden-green landscape together cast a faint forlornness.

She was thinking, as if for the first time, about the complexity of human love.

At that moment, the maid came. And then an unexpected “express mail” was handed over.

The postcard had initially been delivered to their house but was then redirected through the kindness of a neighboring household to × Town. It was a notice concerning the evaluation of qualifications for new students, informing Maki—in his capacity as committee member—that his attendance was absolutely required at a meeting commencing at ten o'clock the following morning.

Yukiko, feeling a particular nostalgia in that moment, took it in her hand and gazed at the address bearing the name Maki Jun’ichi. Then she turned it over again. Not only was the message handwritten, but the four characters for “by all means” even had double circles marked emphatically in vermilion. Yukiko thought for a while. “Just ‘Away from home’… Would that suffice…?” In her mind, like a flash, the idea of sending a telegram arose.

“If he thought it better to return, he would find a suitable train and make it back in time.” “If there was no need—of course, he would stay for the planned ten days…” But in the latter case, it seemed to her there wasn’t even a one-in-ten chance. Yukiko took the postcard and went to her mother’s living room. Beside her mother, who was preparing to cut fabric, she thought to draft a telegram while seeking her input.

The six-mat room with a flower-and-bird painting in pale hues adorning its flat alcove was quietly calm. Mother, while examining her reflection in the hanging mirror from her lovely ears to her chignon, was quietly handling a subdued silk fabric. Yukiko entered,

“Mother…” she called.

Mother turned her face—still slightly downcast but now fully composed—toward her. “What is it?”

“You know, something came.” Moving aside the spread-out fabric and sitting down beside her mother, Yukiko showed the postcard. “We must inform him.” “Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, this does seem rather urgent.” “But simply saying he’s away won’t do, will it?” “Should I send him a private telegram?” “Wouldn’t that be best?” “Phrased how?” Mother resumed laying the ruler against the fabric.

“What do you mean…?” Yukiko felt her mother’s disinterest and became troubled. “They sent word saying such-and-such—shouldn’t I ask if he’ll come back?”

“Fine…” “Then I’ll do that… What should I write?” Yukiko spread out the telegram form beside the sewing box and, crouching awkwardly over it, kept counting on her fingers as she tried to compose an efficient message. What chilled her heart was that Mother showed no personal involvement whatsoever in discussing the matter with her. Yukiko pressed on earnestly: “Mother… Does this get the meaning across properly?”

Even when Yukiko asked, “Does this get the meaning across?” or implored, “Couldn’t you suggest a better way to phrase it?”, Mother only muttered obligatory responses like “I suppose” or “Well…” while making thread marks on the fabric. Not only that—whenever she saw her daughter agonizing over the same wording again and again so many times, she muttered in a tone verging on anger. “It’s not for a child—isn’t it fine to keep it simple? What do you think you’re doing, coddling him like that?!”

Yukiko was overwhelmed by her mother’s displeasure. She felt an indescribably lonely ache, yet feared provoking another wave of unpleasant agitation. Yukiko tersely composed the telegram, entrusted it to the student lodger, and had it sent reply-paid from the nearest post office to Maki in × Prefecture. Sukako’s ill humor had by no means subsided with that alone. After Father returned home, the bath was drawn, and dinner commenced—soon after they had all taken their places at the table—Sukako spoke from her seat at the head, addressing no one in particular,

“Mr. Maki will be coming back tomorrow morning, I hear.” Sukako said. The words themselves were unremarkable. But within them lingered a certain tone that abruptly silenced the lively clamor of voices that had been chattering away until now.

Yukiko, seated next to her father and holding her chopsticks, felt an involuntary jolt clench her chest. She was pushed by an invisible force,

“You still don’t understand!”

she denied emphatically.

“What’s the matter?” From beside her, Father turned around calmly.

Yukiko explained in short, somber words about the arrival of the express mail that afternoon and having sent a telegram to Maki. But from across the room, the eyes of the little ones staring intently at her inflicted an indescribable anguish. They had sensed something extraordinary in Mother’s tone. And so, driven by surprise and curiosity, they stopped their chopsticks mid-air, eyes wide open, focusing intently on their sister’s demeanor.

“I see. If he needs to come back, he will. Well, that’s fine.”

When he grasped the situation, Father impassively raised his wine glass. However, the younger siblings—especially Miyoko—wouldn’t let things end so neatly.

The girl who had been listening attentively to her older sister’s words now looked equally at both her mother and sister with a doubtful expression, “Yuki-sama, are you going home?”

she asked. And, from nearby, before Yukiko could say anything— “Ah, she will be returning home.”

Upon hearing Mother’s reply, she suddenly let out a piercingly loud voice, “Yuki-sama, don’t go home!” she screamed. Still clutching her chopsticks and everything else she’d been holding, she rushed to her sister’s side, half-leaning against her while tugging insistently at her hand. “Don’t go home—no, Yuki-sama, don’t go home!” she began to beg. From her sister’s attitude—which seemed half-focused on gauging their mother’s expression—Yukiko couldn’t purely feel glad about the urging to stay. She pressed down on the small yet strong hands while—

“Be quiet now—please be quiet!”

she said. “Since nothing’s been decided yet, don’t make such a fuss—be a good girl.—Even if I do go back—it’s fine—when Miyo-chan comes again—we’ll say ‘Good day’ and—” Yukiko forced a smile. “That’s right—go with Brother and have him treat you to a feast. “Though mind you—Brother says he can’t stand children who won’t eat.” Father chimed in from beside her—half-jokingly helping Yukiko. The group’s gloomy mood shifted imperceptibly through these exchanges.

Whether by chance or design—through the interplay of Father, who was even more lighthearted than usual, and Sister, who had been drawn into his mood—the dinner came to an end amidst laughter. However, Yukiko had her first tasteless meal since arriving in ×Town at that very moment.

After quietly retreating from the family circle to her room, she was assailed by such longing for the house in △Town that she felt on the verge of tears. The home where they had once found each other’s company noisy or dull—the daily life within those walls—now came to be remembered with such nostalgia, as though it were siphoning away her very soul. When she thought of how she had arrived here burning with hope and full of resolve, she felt that everything in ×Town could only be called a failure.

First of all, her work still wasn't progressing at all; she felt a deeper melancholy. Even just having become emotionally entangled with Mother was entirely contrary to her expectations. Mother probably hadn't intended for that to happen either. Even I hadn't intended for this to happen. But the fact could not be concealed. It could be said that the vague apprehension Maki had harbored beneath his expression had now fully taken concrete form.

However, Yukiko could not bring herself to feel ashamed of her plan’s failure as something that wounded her self-esteem before her husband. Stubbornly clinging to her pride, she had no intention of trying to find and explain any redeeming qualities in him or their relationship. Utterly defeated, she couldn’t help but acknowledge that the only place where her heart could dwell in peace was still “our home.” The fact that she herself had pushed her husband to compromise now weighed painfully on Yukiko.

When she recalled their modest, simple daily life with renewed love, a womanly devotion inflamed Yukiko’s entire heart. In the depths of her closed eyes floated up—vividly, for some reason—a tightly shut eight-tatami room reminiscent of a winter’s night. Bright lamplight, the warmth of enclosed air. There at the desk, leaning on his elbow toward her, sat her husband opposite her own figure—saying something through laughter—all joys gathered into a single glowing point the color of eggshell, small yet sharply visible.

……

Yukiko felt a shudder. She truly longed for her husband’s return. Had she ever once, until now, cherished life in △Town so deeply?

The next morning, Yukiko left her bed at an unprecedented hour.

And then, to the first person she encountered, “Didn’t the telegram come?”

she asked. But the response was a disappointment.

Even as she washed her face, and even when she spread the newspaper in her own solitary dining room—all too early—Yukiko found herself preoccupied with that alone. What if they were to say attendance wasn’t necessary! Yukiko—who since last night had been earnestly awaiting her husband’s return to Tokyo—shuddered at the mere thought.

Every time the door leading to the hallway opened, Yukiko would startle so sharply it embarrassed her, and no matter what she was doing, she would swiftly lift her head. However, waiting was still unbearable, so without even properly tasting it, she was sipping morning tea with everyone when suddenly the student lodger made a terrible racket and burst in. In his hand was what appeared to be a telegram. “Did it come?”

She extended her hand to take it and, “Thank you.” Without a moment’s delay, she tore open the envelope. Despite the usual hard-to-read katakana, it was clearly— “Arriving tomorrow morning at nine o’clock.” it said.— Yukiko, while her smile gradually reddened without her realizing it, let out a deep sigh alongside the fierce pounding of her heart. “Hey, Mother.” Before long, Yukiko turned to her mother with a bright face that forcibly suppressed her overflowing joy. This morning, after a night had passed, she had become an unbelievably “good mother.” As if in reaction, she had become gently composed, and at the same time,

“Oh my! Your husband’s coming home!” she had even regained enough cheerfulness to tease Yukiko.

Feeling even more delighted by her mother’s cheerful mood, Yukiko asked. “Mother, do you think Maki will come straight here? Or might he go to △Town instead?”

“I don’t know.—Wouldn’t the train schedule be better for △Town?” “That’s true.” “But since he doesn’t have a key, if he goes there, he won’t be able to get in.”

“Silly man!” Mother laughed. “Then he’ll surely stop here first before going back to △Town! Make absolutely certain of that!”

Yukiko also laughed amusedly. “But what if he doesn’t even consider that I might have gone back home?” “If that’s what you think, then go home.—Anyway, since his meeting at the university will likely end around two or three o’clock, why not take your time and decide calmly before then?—Let me see…”

Mother looked at the clock and stood up. “The teacher will be arriving soon, so I must practice a little…” Her calligraphy teacher was scheduled to come at ten o’clock that day. “Will you come upstairs?” “Well…” Yukiko stood up absentmindedly following her mother.

“He’ll have lunch before leaving anyway, won’t he?” “...I don’t know.” When told he should have lunch before leaving, Yukiko suddenly began to think Maki’s meeting would likely end around twelve o’clock. If it were to conclude at noon, he—having indeed left his luggage in temporary storage at the station—would retrieve it and come to △Town via the most direct route. Given that it was past one o’clock and he had presumably sent a telegram, Yukiko felt she couldn’t abandon him when imagining him stranded before their own house after returning. What should she do? While pondering this, Yukiko stood at the staircase entrance and gazed up absently at her mother’s retreating figure laboriously climbing the stairs. As her mother finished ascending, turned the corner, and was about to vanish from view, Yukiko hurriedly—

“Mother!”

she called out in a loud voice. In that moment, she thought of going back. But, “What now?”

When her mother’s face peered out in response, she became speechless again. And then, tilting up an awkward, vacant smile, she shook her head repeatedly as if to signal it was nothing. There, Yukiko stood motionless for a little while, her hands resting on her head with fingers interlocked. Then, after going to her mother’s sitting room and adjusting the disarray of her hair while looking in the mirror, she returned to the dining room. Yukiko went out into the corridor, went to the guest room... How many times did she circle round and round through the entire house!

When eleven o'clock came, she could finally stand it no longer. On the second floor, the teacher had apparently already arrived.

She resolutely asked the maid to call a rickshaw. Then, in great haste, she gathered the scattered items, changed into her kimono, entrusted a message for her mother to the maid who was laughing in surprise, and rushed out through the gate of ×Town.

The rickshaw felt inexplicably sluggish. From behind the hedges of the mansion-lined district where few pedestrians passed, the white magnolia treetops and lower oak branches bursting with new buds shimmered resplendently under the fair weather's azure sky.—

IV Yukiko became like a luminous orb of joy, radiant through and through with happiness as she waited for her husband who was about to appear. The small house stood thrown completely open, dancing sunlight welcomed into every corner. She decorated each room—which now seemed to instantly regain vibrant elasticity and charm after being touched by her own hands for the first time in ages—with beautiful flowers. She swept the garden and sprinkled water. While gazing at dew tumbling down cypress leaves that cradled small rainbows, Yukiko found herself seized by a strange trance that would come between moments of intense tension.—

Just then, unexpectedly, the sound of the lattice door opening came. Yukiko started as though she had forgotten she’d been waiting all this time. Her body stiffened in shock. At the same moment, she swiftly turned her body and rushed to the entrance without making a sound. Her heart pounding, she laughed and opened her mouth, crouching by the shoji screen like a kitten poised to pounce the moment it slid open. A sound of shifting direction came from the stone-paved entrance.—There was a sense of something being placed on the narrow entry platform. Yukiko felt as though her heart would leap out. And then, the moment she tensed her body even more. The front shoji screen—utterly without hesitation—

“I’m home.” Along with the voice, the shoji screen was slid open smoothly. Having held her breath and involuntarily dropped to her knees before rising, Yukiko—the moment she caught a glimpse of her husband’s eyes—felt every shred of joy crumble away. Maki cast a fleeting, indifferent glance her way and showed no sign of noticing her outstretched hands. Sunburned, sweat-stained, and with an annoyed look as he roughly tore off his hat— “Ah, uh—I’m home.”

With that, he turned his back heavily on the entry platform. —— The moment she suppressed the intense sadness welling up in her chest, Yukiko felt like laughing at herself aloud through her tears. “Was this all that came of it—the way I had waited and yearned with such desperation since last night?” The rose-colored world of loveliness that had enveloped her in meek rapture vanished more faintly than a lie.

Bitter disappointment and frustration welled up violently toward Maki, who seemed to lack even the emotional capacity to acknowledge such profound feelings. —But Yukiko barely managed to restrain herself.

To have thought that he—after his long journey, the crowded train, and perhaps not sleeping a wink last night—could be in such a mood in the first place had been her mistake.—

She finally said in a quiet voice, “Welcome home. How was it?” she said. What a colorless greeting this was compared to all she had felt until moments before. Yukiko forced herself to ignore how darkly and intensely gazes kept darting toward her husband’s head and shoulders as he turned away.

“You managed to make it in time this morning, didn’t you?”

“Ah, thank you, I made it in time. …But really, I’m exhausted.”

After finishing taking off his shoes, he took his coat and strode through the entryway. “When I ride the train after so long, it’s truly awful.” “I’m completely worn out.” “From ××, I had to stand the whole time.” “Oh, was it that bad?” Having inferred the cause of Maki’s indifference, Yukiko felt her heart soften somewhat. “Had you been back for quite some time?” “No, just a moment ago. I thought you might have gone to ××-cho, but…” “I’m glad you came back.” “Everyone must have been surprised by my sudden return, don’t you think?”

“Ah, well, it was unexpected after all, but—”

Maki awkwardly took off his white shirt. “Once I actually went there, it turned out not to be such a big deal after all.”

“What wasn’t?” “The business in ××.” “Oh! Then would it have been better if you hadn’t come back?” Yukiko involuntarily looked at her husband. “That’s not the case.” “No matter how long I stayed, it would’ve been the same.” “In fact, it was good I made a clean break of it.” “Plus, this time around, Yamagishi’s aunt passed away, so it wasn’t exactly hot spring weather.”

After changing into a kimono, brushing her hair, and finally sitting cross-legged opposite him, Yukiko indeed felt her heart settle. While making tea and selecting × Prefecture’s famous sweets, Maki recounted the details of his trip in a tone still charged with lingering travel excitement. “Everyone kept asking why you didn’t come,” he said, “so I had trouble explaining each time. Of course, I couldn’t very well say you didn’t want to come.” He laughed. Then, as if fondly recalling the tatami room he hadn’t seen in ages, he let his gaze wander about.

“By the way—how was ×-cho?” “Did it go well?”

Yukiko, under her husband’s gaze, vaguely, “It wasn’t that much,” she said with a bitter smile.

If this had been her state of mind until moments before, she would have surely shaken her head in immediate refusal,

“No good!”

she would have flatly refused. And, “Truly, home is home after all.”

She must have indeed sighed in admiration. But now, she couldn’t muster even a socially polite version of such candid expression. The full intensity and ferocity of her emotions sank deep into her heart’s recesses, leaving only the faintest surface layer—something her husband could accept—to trickle out.

“That wasn’t good, was it?”

Maki looked at Yukiko, continued his words, and seemed about to say something. But he held back, “They brought all my letters and such for me—didn’t they?” “Well then, let’s leave this for later. Now...” He stood up. “Let’s sort the luggage.” “After all, we can’t just leave things like this forever.”

As if declaring another rest period had ended, Maki promptly brought out suitcases and boxes to the engawa veranda. “Here—this too. Since that muffler isn’t needed anymore, better to pack it away with camphor.” “Didn’t use it over there either.” As item after item kept emerging, Yukiko spent a hectic stretch returning them to their usual places and sorting laundry. At such times, it was always Maki’s habit to display his innate diligence and meticulousness, seeing matters through from beginning to end.

Even though she knew this, Yukiko felt an utterly hollow emotion. Though they hadn’t seen each other for five days, there was no proper conversation—once they caught their breath, he began bustling about here and there. It felt dissatisfying, as if they weren’t acting for their own sake as a couple, but rather striving to fulfill the perfunctory roles of husband and wife for the sake of the “house.” While helping him and responding dutifully, Yukiko felt as though her heart had detached itself to stand vigil nearby, watching over them with lonely intensity.

After dinner facing each other, they went to ×-cho for a walk, carrying small souvenirs. And around eleven o’clock, they returned through the town that had settled into sleep, walking shoulder to shoulder with an air of amiability.

However.—

The next day, after finishing a late breakfast, Yukiko approached Maki, who was reading the newspaper in a sunny spot, “Are you busy today?” she asked. “Me?” “I’m not that busy—why do you ask?” “So you’ve been able to talk leisurely?” “Well…” Maki rustlingly refolded the large newspaper.

“Talking leisurely… Well, there’s not much time left for rest today—I have to send a thank-you note to × Prefecture and write replies here and there…” “—Are they at home?” “Of course they are! If they had nothing to do, they should’ve just come here.” Before long, Maki took his seat at the desk where sunlight streamed brightly and began methodically arranging papers and envelopes. Seeing this, Yukiko also stood up. Then she entered her own room at the back and quietly closed the partition door. It was a north-facing three-tatami room. It lacked the cheerful garden and clear distant views characteristic of the front guest room. However, through the wide glass window, a steady, unchanging gentle light streamed directly from the sky, filtering through the low evergreen hedges.

Standing by the window, taking the ivory-handled hand mirror that had been given to her by a friend when she married and gazing at her own face for a while, Yukiko began reading the new magazine.

That issue contained a creative work by a certain woman writer for whom she had always held deep respect. She had gone out of her way to buy it from a bookstore the previous night with the intention of reading it. But as she read on, her attention kept wandering—not because what was written was uninteresting. It wasn’t that her surroundings were noisy. However, inside herself, it was far too tumultuous. The strangely twisted mood that had lingered since yesterday had not dissipated even by this morning. She had finally come to hold within an unnatural silence the bitterness and vague resentment that, merely carried over through the night, had in every sense grown more malignant.

Yesterday, swept up in the backlash of intense emotions, her husband had been assailed single-mindedly. Yet now that matters stood thus, nothing progressed in that straightforward manner. That he had been curt from the outset—she understood this stemmed from no malicious intent. Were she to criticize his brusqueness afterward again, she would ultimately have to lay blame on his matter-of-fact disposition. Even if he felt content and secure, by ordinary measures their life possessed all requisite conditions for stability. It was simply that her unfulfilled heart tormented her. It spewed ink. If Maki's casual gestures could wound her so deeply, ought she not have shown greater magnanimity? If this derived from temperament—who then had loved and chosen him? Yukiko wished to avoid futile clashes. Yet sustaining such hushed silence too long courted danger.

Yukiko, who knew how vividly alive and cheerful she became when her heart was truly joyful and filled with love, clearly understood—and feared—what lay hidden beneath this state. However, no suitable opportunity to address it was given or found. While persisting for a long time, she barely progressed in her reading and remained perplexed within aimless musings.

The lunch that had been repeatedly delayed ended at nearly three o’clock.

Maki, noticing something amiss in her demeanor, kept pressing with all sorts of questions.

“What’s wrong with you?” “Why don’t you come over here if you’re not doing anything?” “Cheer up, cheer up!”

Yukiko, even so, couldn’t bring herself to be stubborn enough to shut herself away in her room.

She sat down beside her husband’s desk. And gazing at the still broom-marked new garden—while through gaps in the trees she glimpsed a two-story house in the distance, its handrail sun-drenched with small futons hung out to dry—she began reading the magazine again. It was a story set against the backdrop of housing shortages, that recent prominent social phenomenon, exploring how humans—those with good hearts in their own way and those wicked hearts in theirs—interact with this reality. With cultured composure, it depicted how when a house is conceived as a dwelling for both spirit and body or targeted by malicious greed, its influence never remains confined to mere wood, stone, and mortar.

As she continued reading with heightened interest compared to before, Yukiko was struck by various emotions. In some parts by the striking similarity in perspectives; in others by the beauty of descriptions. Elsewhere, viewed through her current mood, she couldn’t help feeling certain passages settled too neatly into a formulaic sort of “correctness.” Again and again she wanted to voice these impressions. Put into words, it would have been no more than ten or twenty phrases at most. But Yukiko, suddenly caught up in the moment,

“Say, you.” Or, “Oh! Wait—” When she uttered such words and lifted her head, there would always be nothing but the profile of her husband turned away, absorbed in something. Not only the long-held tensions carried over time, but also—at the very moment she tried to utter some word—a more strained expression would surge forth, one that silently signaled his desire not to be disturbed. —— Gradually, Yukiko’s state of mind had taken on a condition worse than if it had never come. Though the circumstances differed, through the same kind of stimulus as yesterday, all the lingering resentments in her heart surged back at once. When this awareness began to surface, Yukiko was just reaching the final scene of the novel. And then, the protagonist said to his wife, “Since you said you couldn’t tell whether that man was a half-wit or just suspicious, I’ll enlighten you.” When she read the brief line written about the landlord—"He’s a thoroughly cunning man from the core"—an indescribable envy suddenly welled up in Yukiko’s chest. There was no room for criticism of whether it was good or bad. The spiritual harmony maintained unseen and unheard between that couple—when one sensed something, the other would respond with the same interest and a naturalness that made them one, their carefree brightness resonating freely—Yukiko gazed upon it with envy, like a starving dog.

"Of course, there's no need to voice something as trivial as deciding whether to have dinner now or later." "Theoretically speaking, that should be how it works." "It should be impossible." "Even if we pressed forward like this, we'd still find agreement." "But does this kind of thing—where feelings themselves effortlessly harmonize endlessly—truly exist for us?" "Wasn't I currently feeling endless dissatisfaction on precisely this point?"

——

After a somewhat brief silence, Yukiko said in a clear voice,

“You.”

Yukiko called out to Maki. In her tone, there was none of the natural smoothness that should accompany trivial matters. Maki turned around.

“What?…”

“Let’s talk.” Gazing at her eyes staring straight at him, Maki—as if to say “What?”—turned back to his papers.

“You can talk if you want. I’ll hear you fine while working like this.” “Talk all you want—I can listen just fine like this.” “Then it doesn’t feel like we’ve talked at all—does it?” Yukiko began feeling like river water that had first seeped through an embankment in sluggish trickles, now swelling in volume and speed with inexorable force. “What do you need?” “It’s not about needing something… but haven’t we gone without a proper conversation since yesterday?” “Even if we try to formalize it, that’s not how these things work.” “If the moment doesn’t arise— But…”

Maki looked directly at Yukiko and said in a voice devoid of jest. “If you have nothing important to say, can’t you just be quiet?” “I have a lot I want to get done during the break, you know?” “You’re aware I’m usually too busy for free time…”

It was indeed true that Maki was compiling documents related to his specialty. Of course Yukiko knew that. But at this moment, she could not endure being pressed down by the authority of that "specialty." In the depths of her heart lay an irritation—lurking just beneath her awareness—at being made to reflect on her own work. Yukiko felt her heart turn sharply spiteful. "If there's no errand, then we can't even have a conversation?!"

She darted a glance at her husband with the cruelty of someone knowingly plunging a poisoned needle into an insect. “……What’s wrong? You shouldn’t speak in that tone.” “But that’s not it! If you only talk about obvious matters and show no intention of real conversation, then what’s even the point?”

Maki, who had been trying repeatedly to return to his work and snatching his pen back at every opportunity, threw the fountain pen clattering onto the desk when he heard these words. Yukiko involuntarily gasped. She was overwhelmed with unbearable dread. At the same time, she felt a desperate ferocity—a resolve to battle anything—welling up inside her. She had finally thrust herself headlong into the collision she had been straining to avoid.

Maki faced Yukiko directly. And then,

“Yukiko.” He forced himself to adopt a calm tone. “What are you dissatisfied with? If there’s something to discuss, let’s do it properly and in order. Getting all worked up won’t make things clear.”

“—You always do this. The moment I start to say something, you immediately tell me not to get worked up.” “First of all, I won’t have you approaching me with that preconceived judgment!” Yukiko looked at her husband with eyes so intense they seemed pitiful.

“What I’m dissatisfied with is that you don’t even sense my dissatisfaction on your own.”

“I have no dissatisfaction whatsoever.” “Exactly! You’ve decided dissatisfaction shouldn’t exist at all, haven’t you?” “Isn’t that right? If we’re both healthy, gradually establish our lives, and our work comes together—there’s nothing more we could ask for.”

“What do you consider an established life to be?” “That—”

Yukiko interrupted impatiently. “I’m not talking about an established life where we save up even a little money like everyone else and become some model husband and wife.” “Nor do I want a life where we’re so busy chasing that kind of stability that we have no time to talk or focus on our work.” “Of course, you’ve settled on declaring that you don’t think such a life is good.” “—But…” Maki, repeatedly, “What’s wrong?” “Yukiko,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. But Yukiko, recklessly plunging headlong, further and further, charged onward to where her passion led her.

“You’re completely confident you love me deeply and fully, aren’t you?” “So… so… all my dissatisfaction and suffering get dismissed as nothing but my own selfishness or childishness! What should I do?” “Little by little, my heart is being crushed—what will become of me?” “Who can I tell?” “When I’ve nowhere else to take this but to you…” Yukiko pressed her mouth with tightly cupped hands and burst into loud sobs.—

Between them, such conflicts—or rather, such stormy clashes—had by no means occurred for the first time. The causes were often extremely trivial in nature. But in the end, it always culminated in Yukiko’s maddening wails. She knew, of course, that her own agitation was disrupting her coherent words and ability to think. But no matter what Maki said or how he said it, there was a certain point he couldn’t grasp—and when they clashed over that very point she was trying so desperately to clarify, she had no outlet for her emotions except to cry. Is this the one person she loved? Overwhelmed by frustration and desperate impatience, Yukiko completely lost her self-control.

Precisely because their marriage had been entered into of their own volition, the pain of such moments defied description. Yukiko often verged on utter despair. That day too, the memory of the conversation exchanged with her mother in X Town had driven her into an even greater frenzy. Had they simply been driven to despair and then severed ties, the matter might have been easily settled. But for Yukiko to abandon Maki would have been as impossible as gouging out her own eyes. Even when she seemed to have lost all hope and felt loneliness to her core, it remained clear that a deep, unbreakable bond still connected him and her.

After crying intensely for some time, Yukiko was gradually calmed by her husband’s words and caresses—words that became earnest as he grew both alarmed and uneasy at the excessive intensity of her weeping. Having cried herself out and rested her dazed head on her husband’s arm, as she listened raptly to his earnest words, the revived vow of love at some point soothed her heart. She understood that what she had initially meant to say—the points she had demanded he somehow address—remained entirely unchanged and unaddressed. But in any case, igniting her smoldering passion in a fierce explosion only to have it gently calmed was a relief that soothed her nerves.

Yukiko washed her face, applied powder lightly over her painfully swollen eyelids, and leaned against a pillar to gaze outside.

It was already nearing dusk. The surroundings were softly enveloped in haze, and between the distant trees where dusk had yet to fully fall, streetlamps flickered dimly into view. Occasionally, a train rang its bell and plowed through the clamor like a gust of wind. The commotion outside, due to its abruptness, made the entire house feel especially hushed in the deepening dusk at that moment.

Before her drowsy mind, there suddenly floated up a scene from an evening a month or so prior. Yukiko gazed vacantly, “……how warm it had become.” she thought. Along with that, as she stayed like this, she found herself recalling a certain day last month when the tips of her limbs had grown cold to the core. It was probably a Saturday.

They had been harmoniously reading and writing together since the afternoon, but starting from Yukiko’s offhand remark about a typo Maki had made, they gradually deviated until they culminated in the same outcome as today. At that time, there had undeniably been a point where Maki had misinterpreted her true intentions, so even after their reconciliation, Yukiko found it difficult to erase the lingering conflict within her heart. As they had an appointment to go to X Town, they went out together, yet there was an air of detachment about them, each engrossed in their own separate conversations.

However, just as they were about to leave, her mother suggested they might want to take a bath and warm up before going. Because Father had been the last to use it before dinner and no one else had entered since, she reasoned that it would be clean and still hot. “Since it’s too much trouble for me, I’ll take you up on it next time.” “—And what will you do?”

Yukiko asked Maki. “Well… either way is fine…”

“Then please do come in.” “Yukiko would probably prefer being able to stay even thirty minutes longer.”

Father urged with a laugh. “Let’s do that… Well then, I’ll excuse myself for a moment.” Yukiko did not follow behind as she usually would have, nor did she ask, “Do you know where the hand towel is?” After briefly glancing at Maki’s retreating figure as he stood to leave, she resumed her conversation with her mother. It must have been about something like where to enroll her younger sister in kindergarten. While they were talking, less than ten minutes had passed when the entrance door suddenly opened. And then, Maki appeared with a laugh. Thinking it was someone else, when she glanced over abruptly, Yukiko felt as though she could sense her own complexion changing. She had intuitively sensed that something was amiss with Maki.

“Oh! What’s happened?” “Have you become unwell?” Yukiko involuntarily stood up while approaching him. Beside them，the parents were watching with perplexed expressions.

“What’s happened?” “I’m fine, I’m fine—it’s nothing at all. Just that the water was a bit too cold.” “What? Was it lukewarm? That’s no good. You won’t catch a cold, will you?” “I’m perfectly fine—I thrashed around enough in there.”

After a hubbub over needing to drink something hot and whatnot, they finally left X Town around past twelve o'clock. Walking briskly down the late-night avenue where even the trains had stopped, Yukiko felt a fresh astonishment within her heart.

“Even though there were so many people in the room, the first to notice something different about Maki was me”—there was infinite meaning in that. She had felt such displeasure and so clearly thought “I don’t care,” yet in that critical moment, she found herself moved by her own love—a love so deep and pervasive within her that her attention still reached him first. —— Before Yukiko’s narrowed eyes appeared the vivid image of herself wrapped in a navy coat, walking in step with Maki. The late-night avenue stretched straight into the distance, its gentle slope resembling a fish cake. The city lights—glittering blue, red, and yellow—hung like a grand bejeweled necklace against the soft black drape of night. From the sky she had excitedly gazed up at, where stars shone with depth, she even recalled the white clouds streaming westward, blown by the wind.

The surrounding scenes revived themselves with striking vividness. But as Yukiko recalled these things, a feeling of something not sitting right began to stir within her. "Believing Maki was wrong and fighting to prove it—just because I realized how deep my love was…" It wasn’t that she had forgiven his misunderstanding—if it even was a misunderstanding—out of that very gratitude, but rather that, swept away by a passing mood, she had once again plunged back into clinging to him without reservation.

“Therefore, when some turn of events makes her suddenly notice it again, wouldn’t she lunge forward with that same momentary, fleeting obsession?” This was uncharacteristic after such agitation. In Yukiko’s heart, the foolishness of her own vacillating self—swaying between repeated bouts of passion and anger—dimly surfaced through reflection.

After having a light dinner, Maki,

“Let’s take a short walk—I need to be able to sleep.” Maki invited Yukiko.

They left the house and, in contrast to the bustling town area, entered into the depths of Koishikawadai.

Of course, it was connected to the house. However, strolling along the quiet path—devoid of passersby, faintly dark between the earthen road and the sky, where budding trees wafted a fragrant, gentle scent—soothed their hearts. Yukiko truly felt good. Being treated kindly by her husband and existing together while being cared for immersed her heart in an almost sensual, unreasonable satisfaction.— As she walked, recalling her own ferocity from earlier, she felt ashamed and could not help but feel bitter. Toward her mother, Yukiko had never acted so recklessly. What needed to be said was said as it should be—she kept things properly compartmentalized.

“Yet when it came to Maki—how did everything become such a jumble? The affection and sorrow all tangled together until they turned into something trivial.” She couldn’t help recognizing a terrible slackness of mind within herself. “Is this why I can’t work?” The thought pierced Yukiko like darkness splitting open. “If claiming I love Maki most means I know him best—shouldn’t I assert with equal force that I know myself just as well?” Her mother had demonstrated exactly that kind of fierce passion before her. “But could I ever accept all this as true intuition or clear-sighted observation?”

Yukiko could not help but honestly say "No." There were moments when Sukako—standing firm in her ironclad belief that nothing in this world matched the depth and purity of a mother’s love, least of all her own—only made others feel the suffocating weight of passion itself.—"How can you claim such a thing doesn’t arise even in my own emotions?!" After marriage, the so-called "femininity" that had suddenly begun to grow within her—the elusive female sensuality expressed through various forms and words like "cute," "gentle," or "refined"—that strangely focused outward, offering no tangible response. She could not help but cast a suspicious eye upon those things.

When they got into bed, Maki gently, “Are you feeling alright?” he said to Yukiko beside him. “Oh, thank you. I’m fine.” “Sleep well.” Maki extended his hand from his place and gently tapped Yukiko’s head. However, she could not bring herself to return it twofold as she usually would. “Goodnight to you.” Yukiko gazed at her husband’s quiet outline with a newfound certainty in her heart—as though an entirely new path had been forged within her over the course of the day.