Pathway to Japanese Literature

The moment she received the telegram, Yukiko was overcome by a strangely urgent feeling. If she had been so anxious about whether her husband Maki could return to Tokyo in time for a certain responsible professional meeting scheduled for ten o'clock that morning, then she should have naturally felt reassured by that notification.

The telegram text, sent last night from F City, stated "Asuasa kujitsuku."

The meeting location was not particularly far from Tokyo Station. Therefore, if the train were to arrive at nine o'clock, not only would he make it to the appointed time with plenty to spare, but there would even be enough leeway to change clothes if necessary. There was absolutely no reason for Yukiko to be anxious. —But she could not settle. Somewhere in her heart that had until now been tranquil—or perhaps oppressively still—sudden ripples began to form, and she could feel an anxiety as though those ceaseless undulations would soon come to permeate her entire body and mind.

I Maki was a literary scholar teaching at a certain university in the city.

His hometown was located in Ura-Nihon near Wakasa. There, his elderly father spent his peaceful final years alongside his eldest brother's family, tending ancestral fields that had acquired an almost antiquated character. Normally too busy to even find leisure for writing letters properly, he had used the brief vacation coinciding with the academic term's end to make his first visit home in six months. Initially, Yukiko had naturally planned to accompany him. Having been married less than two years, she had seen her husband's hometown only once. Moreover, life in that region—where Buddhist practices burned particularly bright—exerted a peculiar fascination that tugged at Yukiko's sensibilities.

Due to her biological father’s hometown being in a certain part of Tohoku—a relationship that had until now confined her conception of rural areas to reclaimed plots scattered across wilderness—the discovery of a castle-town village with its old-fashioned narrow paths, whitewashed walls, and even village office edicts...

"Time must be strictly observed; conduct must align with Buddha's wisdom." The daily life of this castle-town village—with its edicts written in such a manner—was truly novel. Moreover, in terms of scenery, it was by no means a bad place. The dense undulations of the Hakusan mountain range, and the scenery where as evening fell and the sun set, dreamlike white mists would rise from the ultramarine mountain valleys where night herons cried—all possessed a Japanese-style graceful elegance that had left an especially strong impression on her heart. Moreover, to this homecoming had been added a pleasant daydream.

For many years, Maki had lived apart in both city and countryside, never having had the opportunity to intimately comfort his elderly father; this time, during the pleasant season, he had been saying he wanted to invite his father to go somewhere—perhaps a quiet hot spring—and leisurely reminisce about old times. As March finally drew near and the trip loomed, Yukiko felt an uncharacteristic excitement.

Every evening after finishing dinner, they would gather around a single lamp. And feeling on their skin the soft night air suffused with the scent of daphne drifting in from the open garden, examining their itinerary, discussing souvenirs, and arranging house-sitting duties became their shared pleasure. And yet, when it finally came time to make the decision, Yukiko felt her heart resist.

It was not that she disliked going to X Prefecture at all. However, the hesitation that perhaps by not going she might obtain more direct joy for her heart and life had gradually begun rising in her mind. Yukiko was engaged in literary work. Exactly around that time, a long and grueling task loomed ahead. She had been completely devoted to that one task for six months by then. But that work—which had barely even begun—loomed before Yukiko like a terrifying monster she couldn't control. It wasn't merely that it wasn't progressing. For a certain spiritual weakness she had never before experienced had taken hold and begun to darken her heart.

Time and again, Yukiko was overcome by despair so profound it threatened to obliterate her very existence. Yet the more terrifying it became, the more excruciating it grew, the less she could bring herself to relinquish her grip on that work. For her, abandoning it in despair meant more than merely discarding a single unfinished novel. She felt with crushing certainty that she would have to cast away her very faith in creation itself.

"Of course traveling wouldn't be bad," she thought. "But wouldn't staying quietly at home ultimately prove more beneficial for myself? Rather than entering Maki's relatives' circle—people I'm not particularly close to—and letting their very goodwill fragment my life further..." The thought had taken deep root in Yukiko's heart—that if amidst this rare, invigorating solitude she could discover some new shift in mood, perhaps her work too might somehow fall into place.

Yet even she could not voice that thought lightly without due consideration. Maki believed she had decided to go. He did not make as much verbal commotion as she did, but Yukiko could fully perceive he was looking forward to it and likely conjuring up various scenarios. To discard it needlessly—

“I won’t be going.” To say that—Yukiko knew her husband’s feelings too well. He would inevitably, in the end, “Then that’s fine.”

Since he would undoubtedly say that, she found herself unable to bear making him voice it. However, one day when Maki said he would write to his hometown and picked up a pen,

“Then may I tell them you’ll be coming too, yes?”

When he pressed for confirmation, Yukiko made a snap decision. “Well…” she said. Then from the adjacent room where she had been reading a magazine, she came and sat beside him. “—If I were to cancel, would you do the same?” Yukiko looked at her husband’s face and asked quietly. “Are you suggesting we cancel?”

“Just this once, I think we should try doing that—but if you were to call it off as well…” “There’s no need for me to cancel too—what’s come over you so suddenly?”

Yukiko explained her reasons.

"You still haven't properly told your father yet, have you? So if you think it's acceptable, I'd like to try staying here... Though I do feel terrible about canceling after saying I'd go." "I don't particularly mind that, but..."

Maki, who had been wearing a somewhat displeased expression at the unexpected change, suddenly curled a wry smile at the corner of his mouth when matters reached this point. “Even so, can you stay here alone?” Looking into her husband’s eyes, Yukiko found herself involuntarily mirroring his smile.

Maki's question contained a particular brand of irony.

Their house stood in a town overlooking the groves of Koishikawa-dai, across a narrow valley crowded with roofs. There were many houses around; opening just one lattice gate would bring the neighboring garden within reach. However, around that time, as robberies and violent crimes frequently occurred in the suburbs not too far away, Yukiko—who would be left alone during the day—grew uneasy and had just recently pestered Maki so relentlessly that he replaced the lock at Mizuguchi.

“There’s simply no way I could stay here alone! —What if I go to ×町…” “Hmm…”

This time, unmistakable hesitation surfaced across Maki's brow. Though she'd expected this reaction, Yukiko still felt her chest constrict when she saw it.

×町 was an alternate name for her parental home. At a leisurely walking pace, it lay within the same ward—no more than forty minutes away. To this house, Yukiko held a bond of heart distinct from the ordinary nostalgia married daughters feel for their so-called childhood homes. Yet it wasn't merely that lingering impressions of its garden and rooms evoked her childhood and maiden years with a touch of poetic yearning. Once she recalled that place, fierce longing surged through Yukiko's breast—a thirst for the enveloping "comfort" she'd experienced there, something that had embraced both mind and body whole.

"It wasn’t the sort of comfort, kindness, or peace that could be found anywhere. Something utterly unique—something that existed nowhere but there—that very delight which, if she could but touch it, would make her heart spring to life and begin its finest activity," called to her like a magnet, luring her in.

That this subtle psychological allure stemmed from the indelible blood ties with her parents and younger siblings was evident. But in Yukiko’s case, her mother’s emotions played a particularly significant role. Sukako, who had placed nearly desperate love and hope in her daughter, even after marriage, did not leave Yukiko solely entrusted to her husband’s care as was common in society. She would often, on every possible occasion to others, “Really, how I envy other mothers. “How can they just feel so at ease? “Someone like me could never just blithely feel at ease simply because my daughter’s been sent off as a bride… If anything, it only becomes more trying…”

As she lamented, Sukako truly felt intense anxiety at having to let go of her daughter.

"Her ceaseless influence, attention, and guidance—no matter what she said—would no longer reach directly." "Then, would Yukiko truly achieve proper, admirable development?"

Therefore, what kind of implications she gave Yukiko through her words and gestures could be readily imagined.

When viewed from another angle, this relationship unmistakably revealed a distrust toward Maki that could not be denied.

To put it bluntly, for Sukako, there was simply no comparison between Yukiko’s and Maki’s endearing qualities. However much Yukiko trusted Maki as her husband—Sukako could never bring herself to trust that man. For Maki was not the “groom” she herself had chosen and presented to Yukiko. They had freely loved each other and married solely through mutual will. These emotional undercurrents had naturally given Maki a sort of dark intuition. What lay between Sukako and Maki was something far beyond mere words like “unpleasantness.”

Yukiko was not unaware of that.

But now, when confronted with this overt disapproval, she found herself unable to accept it as it was. So much so that this hope—"If only I go to ×町!"—shone before her as something fresh and brilliant.

Yukiko remained silent for a while, waiting for her husband to gather his thoughts. Afterward, “Can’t I go?” she pressed. Her voice and gaze contained a force that made “no good” impossible to say.

Maki,

“If you consider it and think that would be better, then of course that’s what you should do,” he said. “So what do you intend to do here? Will you have Mr. Yoda come again?” His tone had returned to a calmness after weathering the crisis. Yukiko too found herself softening. “Would that be disagreeable? After all, even if we both went, that’s what you were planning to do anyway, right? — As for the mail and such, you can just have them bring it when you return to ×町 in the morning.”

“Hmm—well then, just go ahead and try that for now. If that works out well, that would be good.” “That’s exactly right! After all, it’s where I was born—I’m sure it will go perfectly smoothly. Don’t you think so?”

“That’s how it should be—I suppose.” Maki said doubtfully. “But anyway, there’s no use insisting on going alone if it’s settled—you should just go to ×町 and see how things work out. I’ll write a letter to your father, so…”

“Is that so?” Yukiko immediately stood up. "In that case, I’m sorry to trouble you, but please explain the situation to Father for me." “If that can be arranged, I’d be truly delighted.” Yukiko bustled off to ×町. And in the small room where electricity had yet to arrive, filled with the bustle of twilight, she asked her mother both to look after her and to have a student come only at night.

Sukako agreed to that with almost more delight than expected.

“Splendid notion! “Come whenever you please.” “—Well now, I must say you’ve finally decided to come.”

In the evening gloom, while tidying her sewing materials, she teased her daughter with innocent cheer born of delight.

“So… how long will you be staying?”

“About ten days, I suppose. Since school’s about to start, I can’t stay long anyway.” “How fortunate it’s so brief!” “You’re so mean, Mother!”

The two of them laughed in unison.

“Anyway—you must come. I’ll give you a proper welcome. It’s been so long… When was it? You only stayed one night that time, didn’t you?”

Though their homes were nearby and opportunities to meet existed, Sukako—who had long been deprived of the joy of unreservedly living together—was so overjoyed it verged on pitiable. She welcomed Yukiko with such warmth in heart and eyes that Yukiko could not help but feel love overflowing.

Yukiko flew home on wings of joy, everything having turned out splendidly. “Don’t worry! “It will work out perfectly. “Mother was absolutely delighted too. “Thank you—truly. “If this goes well, I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”

Maki departed on a radiant first day of April.

A refreshing whitish morning sun streamed in alongside a gentle breeze through the slightly disordered eight-tatami room. Yukiko, dressed lightly, presented her cheek to Maki as he stood on the stone entry step, “Safe travels. We’re both returning home now, aren’t we?” she said, laughing.

A few hours later, she tidied the house, locked up, packed only the barest necessities into a small suitcase, and came to ×町 with a light heart and brimming with hope.

II

The hospitality in ×町 was so profoundly overwhelming that it left Yukiko with a vague sense of discomfort.

Her seven-year-old sister Miyoko would invariably put on her shoes each morning while about to leave for kindergarten, “Yukiko-chan, are you staying again today?” she asked her sister. “Yes, of course I’m staying. Why do you ask?” Yukiko crouched on the entrance step, laughing as she watched the movements of her younger sister’s small shoulders and hands. “Will you stay here until I return from kindergarten?”

“Don’t worry! I definitely won’t go back.” “You’re staying! Hey, hey,” The sight of her—still insisting further while being accompanied by the student, her bobbed head glancing back again and again as she turned around the hedge—even brought unexplained tears to Yukiko’s eyes. The menu had been specially arranged to include 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 engaging conversation.

It would be no exaggeration to say that Yukiko, only now at this moment, had come to fully realize just how deeply everyone in the household loved her and delighted in living together.

She set up her desk once more in her original six-tatami-mat room. The old, narrow garden that had been her companion through all circumstances for six or seven years until her marriage now returned before her eyes, filled once more with the quiet beauty of spring. Sheltered by earthen eaves filtering soft sunlight, sensing the damp earth's scent at dawn and dusk, she felt certain that calmness and focus she once knew were reviving in her heart beyond doubt. During daylight hours, her brother, sister, and mother would never leave her alone. With her cheerful father anchoring their gatherings, when evening meals—overflowing like blossoms past their prime—concluded, Yukiko forcibly disentangled herself from clinging gazes and retreated to her study.

And then, lighting a lamp in the refreshing night air and sitting down before the chilly desk, she calmed her heart and faced the paper. —But after one or two nights passed, Yukiko discovered an entirely unexpected new fact. That even this six-tatami room now exerted no greater influence on her heart than that of any silent chamber—this was what she had discovered. In earlier times, when Yukiko withdrew from the lively dining room and parlor to this space, simply being enveloped by those brown sand walls that quietly absorbed light had been enough to fully restore her concentrated mind. The dark winding corridor and low sliding doors demarcating this solitary area had always formed a workspace for the soul, brimming with invisible inspiration.

Now, sitting here, Yukiko felt only an utterly ordinary stillness. First came relief. Then, resting her cheek on her hand at the desk while watching hydrangea buds dimly emerging from the garden's dense darkness, her mind—far from coalescing around work—grew increasingly unfocused. And from the depths of that daze, Maki’s presence gradually emerged as a clear silhouette.

It wasn’t that she particularly missed him. Nor was it that she felt restless with longing. However, during the day—as if gripped by invisible arms—the surrounding circumstances that permitted no rest to her consciousness beyond interactions with them would, when she became truly alone, cause her to dwell on thoughts of her husband.

As incense smoke rose and swayed in unseen currents, her heart drifted toward him—and for a while, Yukiko felt both an inexpressible intimacy and loneliness simultaneously. From the dark hedges beyond, cheerful lights leaked through in flickers. That lively laughter! "But only here, alone, can I recover all my emotions." Truly, everyone in the household had devoted themselves to her alone with heartbreaking intensity. Not a soul considered Maki's presence or state of mind alongside hers. This very atmosphere—so certain that even if she settled here permanently, likely none would feel shock or grief for Maki's sake—instead pierced Yukiko with profound sorrow.

Even after shutting herself in her room until bedtime, Yukiko had not gained a single coherent line of work. She would carefully re-examine the picture postcard that had come from Maki, or unintentionally recall the house in × Prefecture with its storehouse rooms where orchids and oleanders grew... Before her eyes, her husband’s face—laughing and shaking his head as if saying something—would revive with such vividness that moving even slightly made her chest ache.

When her heart became too overwhelmed, Yukiko would quietly open the storm shutters and wander endlessly through the moonless garden. The shadow of a large Chinese parasol tree; thick clusters of camellias and podocarps where, when one listened carefully, the faint rustling of leaves could be heard. The large house with its storm shutters tightly closed appeared beneath the glittering starry sky, leaning as if in sorrowful slumber.

It was exactly the fifth morning since arriving in ×町.

Yukiko awoke that day with an unusual surge of creative excitement from the very start. The previous night, a scientist’s biography she had read late into the hours dispelled her near-chronic melancholy. The gloom that had clouded her mind these past few days lifted, and bright love and courage—along with the unclouded morning light—were now felt refreshingly throughout her being.

Awakening from healthy, sound sleep and washing her body, she felt not only the cleanliness of her flesh but a chaste purity in her soul. Her breath came deep, her limbs brimmed with human vitality, and her entire heart felt drawn by instinctive yearning toward some beloved intangible thing seeking birth into this world through her spirit. Yukiko finished breakfast early, saw her father off to work, and withdrew directly to her room. Surrounded by the pleasant morning breeze flowing through the casement window as she faced her desk, she could not help feeling her heart flutter with joy.

“Now this makes coming here worthwhile!” If things had continued as they had these past days, she might as well have never come—where was the value in having stubbornly insisted on coming to ×町? But “Today is the day!” Yukiko shook her shoulders and head like a young mare prancing up to shake its mane. Sitting up straight once more, she calmed herself and began rereading the accumulated pages when suddenly—before her eyes—the scene she needed to depict next started materializing with vivid clarity.

That place was not Japan. Vivid young elm leaves dappled sunlight through the grass where a young woman in a light summer dress lay sprawled on her elbow. Beside her, a squirrel played, making waves with its tail. Tranquility... a cool breeze. Startled by an unexpected shadow, she rose abruptly—and in that instant, Yukiko felt as if she saw it all before her eyes: the glint of a golden tray, the sway of an ornamental sash, set against the luminous green backdrop of early summer. In the fevered imagination, the boundary between self and other dissolved. —She set down her brush. While patiently sustaining the gradually swelling inspiration, she proceeded to write character by character. —

If things had continued that way, Yukiko would have been ecstatic and offered thanks for that day, April 5th. But when she reached a certain point, she suddenly began feeling an involuntary loss of strength. Both the text and her mind were gradually losing their cadence, the rhythm growing increasingly dull. No matter how she whipped her mind into action, straightened her posture, and tightened her focus, the excitement that had slackened only continued dissipating. Yukiko was struck by terror akin to sliding helplessly from midway up a sheer sand slope—dragged down relentlessly by inexorable force toward the valley floor. There was nothing to grasp. There was no one to cling to! Unable to bear the terror, she threw down her pen while fighting back tears.

"!…"

For six months now, Yukiko had indeed been facing this terrible disappointment. "Is my spirit growing thin? Do I lack the stamina to carry through? Before getting married, this had never existed. Did I, in obtaining Maki, enter into marriage with this fatal flaw as well?"

Especially that morning—precisely because the premonitory mood was so splendid, precisely because her hopes were so grand—her downfall became unbearable.

Before her bloodshot eyes—eyes strained with anguish—the most expressionless version of Maki’s face floated up with unbearable vexation, then vanished. From next door came women’s laughter—playful and unrestrained—Yukiko felt her body might burst— —and felt a self-destructive impulse threatening to erupt in smoke.

In her eyes vaguely gazing at the sunlit exterior scene—somewhere near midday, redolent of the kitchen—within her darkened mind swirled storm-like doubts about her married life. How much time had passed… Suddenly, from behind came the sound of a sliding door opening. Yukiko involuntarily startled back to awareness and hurriedly turned her face. She didn’t want to hear anyone’s voice when she felt like this. If it had been her sister or the maid, she would have tried to say above all else: “Please leave me alone for now.” But reflected in her brief gaze was none of them. Mother lowered her head with its freshly tied Meiji-era hairstyle and slowly ducked through the low lintel. —Yukiko felt an indescribable confusion and pressure. She knew all too well how sensitive her mother was to her moods. “This level of gloom simply couldn’t be concealed. She’ll take one look and see right through me.” And then—

—Yukiko forced a semblance of calm onto her still-turned face while asking, "What is it?" she said.

“Oh, it’s nothing really.” Sukako moved her feminine black eyes about as she looked around the room here and there.

“How’s it coming?”

Of course, she was asking about her work. Yukiko involuntarily felt as though her voice were choking.

“Well…” She pivoted on the zabuton cushion, turning her back to the writing desk as she faced her mother. “Wouldn’t you like to sit down?”

“Ah.”

Having posed the question, Sukako gazed at the garden without particularly seeking a definite response.

“It’s still so pleasant here—so quiet. “And then—just look—isn’t it strange how insects don’t attack that maple tree alone?” Yukiko stiffly twisted her neck to look outside. Indeed, while most of the maples in the garden—their cores eaten away by longhorn beetles—grew increasingly gaunt in their branches with each passing year, that single tree alone, sheltered beneath glossy Japanese cedar leaves, had its young buds gleaming like silk dyed carmine-brown. Yet her state of mind was far too preoccupied to appreciate this sight.

To be honest, she could not surmise why her mother had come there. If there was something needing attention, Yukiko wanted it settled swiftly—this desperate urge to be alone immediately driving her with fierce urgency. While fearing she might offend her mother,

“Did you need something?” she countered.

“No particular reason. I was just wondering how you were doing—”

Sukako looked at her daughter’s face. And then—as if suddenly reflecting back her daughter’s agitation—she changed her expression ever so slightly and continued. “And besides, last night I couldn’t sleep and ended up thinking about various things—if staying here helps your mood coalesce, I thought it might be good for you to remain a while.” “—Do you think you can manage it?”

Yukiko formed a gloomy smile—one so pronounced she herself noticed it—before even uttering a word. "It’s not going very well. —But still…" Sympathizing with her mother’s feelings, Yukiko tried to force a bright tone into her voice. "Please don’t worry so much. It’ll get better soon…… If you fuss over me too much right beside me, I’ll just end up getting flustered." "That’s certainly true—not that I’d fuss over you or anything." Even as she said this, Yukiko couldn’t miss her mother’s darkening expression.

“I’ve come to think that unless you settle down for at least a year, your work will never properly come together. Yukiko-chan, you seem far more masculine than someone like me, yet at heart you have a truly feminine side.”

“That may well be.” “Indeed…… No matter how you look at it, if you keep on like this, whether one year passes or two, your work will never come together properly.” A desperate look that defied description suddenly surfaced on Sukako’s face. Though what had caused it remained unclear, she spoke those words with a chilling certainty, as though she’d been rehearsing them all through the night.

Involuntarily looking at her mother’s face, Yukiko felt as though her chest had been pierced.

Up until this very moment, had she herself not been utterly terrified by that dreadful imagination? To hear this stated so bluntly to her face by her own mother, as if endorsing those very fears, was unbearably painful. The more terrifying it became, the less she could calmly dismiss it.

“Why do you think that way?” Yukiko pressed back with accusatory intensity, forgetting herself.

“Because it’s the truth.” Mother appeared composed, as if stating an axiom. “If your feelings stay divided like this, you’ll never achieve anything. ……Truly—for someone like you who aspires to create—marriage becomes an impossible burden. It’s as though everything shifts—even your very essence—”

When she heard those few regret-tinged words, Yukiko felt as though she had clearly grasped the true feelings at her mother’s core.

At the same moment, she felt herself advancing into a dark cavern from which there was no escape—no matter how far she pressed onward. Beneath the surface current, the conversation’s core had already drifted to entirely different waters. Yet Yukiko strove to steer their exchange along calmer channels. “Compared to men, it does seem inevitable that way,” she replied, weighing each syllable. “But considered from another angle—precisely that makes marriage fundamentally essential for women. Wouldn’t you say it becomes a crucial developmental stage itself? At least I’ve found it so for me.”

“Of course it is—as long as one changes for the better.” “As long as one keeps changing for the better.”

“Whether one changes for better or worse depends on each person’s attitude, don’t you think? They head toward it—” Yukiko gazed at her mother’s face. “That may be so. However, certain people—” Sukako also looked straight into her daughter’s eyes. “There are those who stubbornly believe only in their own correctness while actually heading down the wrong path, completely disregarding what others say—it’s terrifying.” Yukiko too could not remain unaware of her mother’s sarcasm. Even though she understood this, continuing the circuitous conversation was all the more agonizing. Continuing from her earlier mood, she felt an intense urge to pierce through the invisible membrane that lay between her and her mother.

“Mother, let’s speak plainly.—You think I’ve completely deteriorated since marrying Maki, don’t you?” “Oh, you’ve changed.” Sukako received that intensity squarely and looked at Yukiko with eyes filled with reproach. “First of all—consider this.” “Focusing solely on your inability to work since marrying him—you can’t call that acceptable!” “This situation absolutely can’t go on forever.” Yukiko asserted as if declaring an immutable truth no matter what occurred.

“It will surely pass.” “After all, your current circumstances are completely different from your previous life.” “Don’t you see that?” “Even you, Mother—just think back to when you first got married.” “I’m certain that’s exactly how it was for you.”

Her voice carried a genuinely gentle resonance. But Sukako denied it vehemently, as though she had been insulted. “When I was newly married, I did nothing but cry.—But even so, why must you try to explain and justify every single thing! Trying to silence me alone won’t work.” “Right now, you can’t seem to do any work—isn’t that so?” “Even when various people question you or make snide remarks, you endure them resolutely and keep waiting, thinking maybe someday you’ll manage—” Mother forcefully suppressed her trembling voice. “You keep saying ‘circumstances, it’s all because of circumstances,’ but when exactly will that change anything?” “Do you think leaving it alone will make everything work itself out, huh?” “You keep barking ‘circumstances, circumstances’ like some animal, but when you talk about circumstances, aren’t you really talking about the other person?” “Isn’t it the other person’s character?”

“—But… Mother.” Yukiko unintentionally let earnestness show on her face. “If you persist in thinking my inability to work stems entirely from Maki, that’s a grave mistake.” “Of course, were that person to consider my work trivial and demand its abandonment, that would be wrong.” “But that isn’t so—he’s been deeply concerned too, you know.—And besides—” Yukiko’s eyes brimmed. “Someone who’d think ‘Let her work rot for all I care’ would never have married me to begin with.”

“—That’s because Mr. Maki can’t even be compared to someone like you.”

“Why on earth?” Yukiko looked at her mother in shock. “Why? Because he’s a better performer than you.” “Are you suggesting he’s been deceiving me?”

Yukiko felt a desperate force welling up inside her—even though her opponent was her own mother. "I doubt it's that extreme, but at least he's got you completely figured out." "Influencing each other is only natural, isn't it?"

“If it’s mutual, there’s nothing more to say, I suppose.” “But even if my eyes deceive me, that man is truly dominating you.” “How skillfully he makes you alone do all the reflecting, hmm?”

“…………”

Yukiko could not help but feel her mother’s alienation toward Maki anew. There was no doubt that she—her mother—truly had Yukiko’s best interests at heart and sincerely worried over her inability to complete her work. Yet whenever she tried to put those feelings into words, or whenever she attempted to structure them into a coherent train of thought, she found herself inevitably colliding first with the name Maki. Yukiko had clearly perceived her mother’s true feelings. However, when baseless criticism was directed at Maki, she could no longer endure it. She was driven by an almost instinctive impulse to protest. Compared to the garden’s cheerful spring scenery, after an overwhelmingly tense silence, Yukiko managed to say just this.

“Mother, I’m truly grateful for your love and concern—truly! But I’d rather you didn’t criticize Maki simply as a reaction to that sentiment. I can’t help but say something either, you know. While Maki may not be a great moral exemplar nor a brilliant genius, he is at least someone who possesses genuine sincerity toward those he loves.” “That’s just what you think.”

“You might call me infatuated, but I at least believe I know what sort of person Maki is better than you do, Mother.” Yukiko felt her heart flare up. “If you were in this position, Mother—would you speak that way about someone you chose yourself?” Sukako appeared utterly stricken by these words. “When it comes to Mr. Maki, you become unhinged. Anyway... Just...” Her voice suddenly trembled weakly. “If a woman who marries of her own free will ends up unable to work... Well, she must have been born for nothing more than that anyway...”

Seeing her mother’s lips pale and tears begin to fall, Yukiko found the situation unbearable. “Mother!”

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

Sukako avoided her daughter’s hand while turning aside and pressed her sleeve to her face. “Anyway... I’m just a foolish parent... I was the idiot all along!” Unable to bear her mother’s violent sobs, Yukiko embraced her shoulders. “Listen, Mother—please hear me out. “You think I’m just idling about clinging to Maki without any real will to work seriously—that’s why you feel this way. “I’m not unaffected either. “Don’t you see I’m trying to do something about it?”

Yukiko felt tears welling up.

“I don’t intend to live without being able to work either, you know. Mother, please believe me. Please believe that I am someone capable of doing something. You know, being despaired of by you—that’s what I find most unbearable, truly…”

While she herself was wet with tears, Yukiko gently brushed the damp stray hairs away from her mother’s cheek.

III

It was precisely that afternoon, not long after this exchange, when the Express Mail addressed to Maki arrived forwarded from ×× University. Due to fatigue after the agitation and profound melancholy, Yukiko, leaning absently against a pillar in the tatami corridor, sank into thought. In the distance, her little sister was singing a childlike song while vigorously shaking her head and pumping the organ pedals with all her might. The silken voice of the girl and the solitary instrument note, together with the tilting gold-green landscape, drifted with a faint loneliness.

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 forwarded to ×町 through the kindness of their neighbors. It was a notice regarding the qualification screening for new students, concerning which Maki, as a committee member, was absolutely required to attend a meeting starting at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Yukiko, feeling a particular wistfulness in that moment, took it in her hands and gazed at the addressed name—Maki Jun’ichi. Then, she turned it over once more. Not only was the message handwritten, but even double emphasis marks in red ink had been added to the four characters "by all means."

Yukiko thought for a while. "He’s away... Would merely stating that suffice?" she wondered.

In her mind, the idea of sending a telegram flashed like lightning. "If he thought it better to return, he would probably find a convenient train and make it back in time. If he found it unnecessary—of course he would stay for the planned ten days..." But this latter possibility seemed to her not even one chance in ten.

Yukiko soon took the postcard and went to her mother’s sitting room. Beside her mother who was preparing to cut fabric, she thought to draft a telegram while consulting with her.

The six-mat room, with a pale bird-and-flower painting in its flat alcove, was quietly calm. Mother adjusted her reflection in the hanging mirror from her elegant ears to her chignon while quietly handling plain silk fabric. Yukiko stepped inside, “Mother…” she called out. Mother turned her face—still slightly downcast yet now completely calm again. “What is it?”

“Well, this just arrived now.” Moving aside the spread-out fabric and sitting down beside her, Yukiko showed the postcard. “I must inform him.” “What do you think?”

“Hmm, it does seem like rather important business.” “But simply saying he isn’t here won’t suffice, will it? Should I send a telegram? Wouldn’t that be better?”

“What?” Mother began measuring the fabric again with her ruler. “What do you mean…?” Yukiko sensed her mother’s indifference and grew anxious. “They sent these instructions—shouldn’t we ask if he should come back?” “……That’s fine……” “Then I’ll do that... What wording should I use?” Yukiko spread the telegram form by the sewing box and hunched over it, folding her fingers repeatedly as she struggled to draft a concise message. But what chilled her heart was Mother’s complete lack of earnest involvement in the discussion. Yukiko pressed on desperately—

“Look, Mother, do you think this makes complete sense?”

Even when Yukiko asked, “Look, Mother, do you think this makes complete sense?” and pleaded, “Won’t you suggest a better way to phrase it?”, she merely murmured obligatory responses like “I suppose so” or “Well…”, all while making thread marks on the fabric. Not only that, but seeing her daughter repeat the same phrases over and over so many times, she murmured in an almost angry tone.

“It’s not like we’re sending it to a child—being approximate should suffice.” “What do you think you’re accomplishing by coddling him like that?!” Yukiko was crushed by her mother’s displeasure. She felt an indescribable loneliness, but feared stirring up another unpleasant commotion. Yukiko tersely drafted the telegram, asked a student helper to send it from the nearest post office with a reply request, and had it delivered to Maki in × Prefecture.

Sukako's displeasure had by no means ended there.

Father returned home, the bath was finished, dinner began, and soon after everyone took their seats at the table, Sukako—addressing no one in particular from her seat at the head of the table—

“Tomorrow morning, Mr. Maki will be returning, I hear.” “Tomorrow morning, Mr. Maki will be returning, I hear,” she said. The words themselves meant nothing. But within them lingered a certain tone—one that abruptly silenced the lively clamor of overlapping voices that had filled the air until now. Seated beside her father and reaching for her chopsticks, Yukiko felt an involuntary constriction in her chest—a shock that stole her breath. Pressed by an unseen force,

“You still haven’t figured it out!” she denied forcefully.

“What’s the matter?”

From beside them, Father calmly turned around.

Yukiko explained in subdued tones about the express mail that had arrived that afternoon and the telegram she had sent to Maki. But from across the table, the eyes of the small ones fixedly watching her caused an indescribable pain. They had sensed something extraordinary in Mother's tone. With surprise and a desire to know, they stopped their chopstick-holding hands, eyes wide open, and watched their older sister's demeanor intently.

“I see. If it’s necessary, he’ll return. Well enough.”

When he grasped the situation, Father impassively raised his wine glass. However, her younger siblings—especially Miyoko—would never let matters rest so simply.

The girl who had been listening intently to her sister’s words now looked between her mother and sister with a doubtful expression, “Yukiko, are you leaving?” Miyoko asked. And then, from beside them, before Yukiko could say anything,

“Ah, she will be returning home.”

When she heard her mother’s response, Miyoko suddenly let out a piercing shout, “Yukiko-sama can’t leave!” she shouted. Still clutching her chopsticks and everything else, she rushed to her sister’s side, half-leaning against her body while tugging insistently at her hand. “You can’t go! No, Yukiko-sama can’t go!” she began pleading.

From her sister’s attitude—which seemed half-focused on gauging their mother’s mood—Yukiko couldn’t purely feel happy about her attempts to keep her there. She restrained the small yet strong hand while saying, “Be quiet now,” she urged. “Please settle down.” “Since nothing’s decided yet—don’t carry on so—be good.—Even if she does go back—what’s wrong with that? When Miyo-chan comes again—we’ll just say ‘Good day’—”

Yukiko forced a smile. “That’s right—go with Brother and have him treat you to lots of goodies.” “Even so, he says he can’t stand a child who won’t eat her meals.” Father also helped Yukiko from beside them, half in jest. The somewhat gloomy mood that had settled over the gathering transformed through these exchanges without anyone noticing when. Whether by chance or design—through Father’s uncharacteristic levity and her younger sister’s drawn-in participation—the dinner nevertheless ended amidst laughter.

However, Yukiko had her first tasteless meal since coming to × Town at that moment.

When she quietly withdrew to her room amidst the family gathering, she was assailed by such longing for their home in △ Town that she wanted to burst into tears. The house they had found noisy and tedious when it was just the two of them—the daily life in that home—now came flooding back with a soul-draining nostalgia. When she thought of how fervently hopeful and enthusiastic she had been upon arriving, she felt that everything in × Town could only be deemed a failure.

First of all, her work still wasn’t progressing at all; she felt an even deeper melancholy. That she had become emotionally entangled with her mother was utterly contrary to her expectations. Mother had likely never intended for things to turn out that way either. I too hadn’t intentionally caused this. Yet the fact could not be concealed. It could well be said that the vague apprehensions Maki had harbored in the shadows of his expression had now manifested in concrete form, exactly as they were.

However, Yukiko could not feel ashamed that her plan had failed—as if her pride had been wounded before her husband. Out of sheer stubbornness, she had no desire to dredge up his better qualities and explain them. Utterly defeated, she could not help but acknowledge that the only place where her heart might find peace was indeed "our home."

The fact that she had stubbornly made her husband concede now weighed painfully on Yukiko. When she recalled their modest, simple daily life through the lens of renewed affection, womanly devotion set her entire being ablaze. In the depths of her closed eyes there vividly floated up the image of a tightly shut eight-mat room that somehow resembled a winter night. Bright lamplight, the warmth of enclosed air. There, facing her husband who leaned against the desk turned toward her, her own figure smiling as if about to speak appeared small yet distinct within a single glowing point of eggshell hue that seemed to gather all joy.

…… Yukiko felt a shudder. Truly, she longed for her husband’s return. Had there ever been even a single time before now when she had cherished life in △ Town so dearly?

The next morning, Yukiko left her bed at an unusual hour. And then, to the first person she encountered, "Hasn't the telegram arrived?" she asked. But the reply was disappointing. Even while washing her face, even when she spread the newspaper in her solitary dining room because it was still too early, to Yukiko, that alone weighed on her mind.

What if he were to send word saying his attendance wasn’t necessary! Since last night, Yukiko had been earnestly awaiting her husband’s return to Tokyo; merely thinking about it sent a shiver through her. Every time the door leading to the corridor opened, Yukiko would start so violently it embarrassed her; no matter what she was doing, she would jerk her head up. Yet waiting remained unbearable; unable to properly savor anything, she was at least sipping morning tea with everyone when suddenly the student came clattering in with a terrible racket. In his hand was what appeared to be a telegram.

“Has it arrived?”

She reached out her hand and took it, “Thank you.”

Without a moment’s delay, she tore open the seal. Though in the usual hard-to-read katakana, clearly, “TOMORROW MORNING NINE O’CLOCK ARRIVE” is written.—

Yukiko, unconsciously smiling as she gradually blushed, let out a deep sigh accompanied by the intense pounding of her heart.

“You know, Mother,” At length, Yukiko turned to her mother with a bright face that forcibly held back her overflowing joy. This morning, after a night had passed, she had become an unbelievably “good mother.” As if in reaction, she had gently settled into calmness, and at the same time, “Oh my, this is urgent! “Mr. Maki is coming back!”

she had even regained enough cheerfulness to tease Yukiko. Feeling even more delighted by her mother’s good mood, Yukiko asked. “Mother, do you think Maki will come straight here? Or will he go to △ Town?”

“I don’t know.—Wouldn’t the train connections be better for △ Town?”

“That’s true. But he doesn’t have a key, so if he goes there, he won’t be able to get in.” “Silly you!” Mother laughed. “In that case, he’s bound to come here first before returning to △ Town! Make sure of it!”

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 business at ×× University will likely finish around two or three o’clock, you can take your time and decide without rushing until then—well then.”

Mother looked at the clock and stood up. “Since the teacher will be here shortly, I must practice a bit…”

Her calligraphy teacher was scheduled to come at ten o'clock that day.

“Are you coming upstairs?” “Well…” Yukiko absently stood up and followed her mother. “In any case, he’ll have lunch before leaving, won’t he?” “—I don’t know.” When her mother suggested he would go after lunch, Yukiko suddenly became convinced Maki’s meeting would end around noon. If it concluded by twelve, he—having left his luggage at the station—would retrieve it and head straight to △ Town via the most direct route. Imagining him stranded before their locked house, believing she’d sent the telegram after one o’clock, Yukiko felt compelled to act. What should I do? Lost in thought, she lingered at the stairwell, gazing blankly upward at her mother’s figure laboriously climbing the steps. As Sukako reached the top, turned the corner, and nearly vanished from sight, Yukiko impulsively—

“Mother!” she called out in a loud voice. She had suddenly decided to return.

But— “What is it?”

When Mother’s face peered down and said this, she found herself at a loss for words again. And with an awkward, vague smile upturned, she kept shaking her head, signaling that it was nothing.

There, Yukiko stood motionless for a little while, her hands clasped on her head. Then, after going to her mother’s living room and fixing the disarray of her hair while looking in the mirror, she returned to the dining room. Stepping out into the corridor, going to the parlor... How many times must Yukiko have circled round and round through the entire house!

When eleven o'clock came, she finally could no longer bear it. On the second floor, the teacher seemed to have already arrived.

She resolutely asked the maid to call a rickshaw. Then in great haste, she gathered her scattered belongings, changed her kimono, entrusted a message for her mother to the maid—who stood staring in amused disbelief—and dashed out through the gate of X Town as if propelled forward. The rickshaw seemed strangely slow. The tips of white magnolias extending from hedges in the quiet residential area and the lower oak branches with new buds, under the clear blue sky, sparkled beautifully as they came into view.—

IV

Yukiko became like a jewel of joy glowing translucent with happiness as she waited for her husband who would appear any moment now. The small house was thrown completely open, welcoming dancing sunlight into every nook and cranny. She decorated each room—which, having been touched by her own hands for the first time in ages, seemed to instantly regain their lively resilience and charm—with beautiful flowers. She swept the garden and sprinkled water. While staring at the dew on hinoki leaves that tumbled down embracing small rainbows, Yukiko found herself seized by a strange trance—one that would come intermittently amidst intense tension.——

Just then came the unexpected sound of the lattice door opening. Yukiko started as if she’d forgotten she’d been waiting all this time. Her body stiffened reflexively. Simultaneously pivoting her frame, she rushed soundlessly to the entryway. Heart pounding soundlessly behind parted lips, she crouched by the shoji screen like a kitten poised to spring the moment it slid open. Footsteps shifted on the earthen entryway—there was an air of something being set down on the narrow step. Yukiko felt her heart might burst from her chest. The instant she tensed further— The front shoji screen—utterly straight—

“I’m back.”

Along with that voice, it slid smoothly open. Yukiko—holding her breath, having involuntarily dropped to her knees before rising—caught one glimpse of her husband's eyes and felt every shred of joy crumble away.

Maki cast a languid glance in her direction and showed no sign of noticing her outstretched hands. Sunburned, sweat-stained, and looking thoroughly inconvenienced, he yanked off his hat,

“Ah, uh—I’m back.” He plopped down with his back to the entrance step. “—” The instant she suppressed the sorrow surging violently in her chest, Yukiko found herself wanting to laugh aloud at herself through her tears. Was everything I’d waited for so desperately since last night, yearned for so intensely—was it all for this? The rose-colored world of loveliness that had enveloped her in humble rapture vanished more faintly than a lie.

Bitter disappointment and tedium surged violently toward Maki, who seemed to lack even the emotional capacity to acknowledge such profound feelings. But Yukiko barely restrained herself. Having taken a long journey—with crowded trains or perhaps no sleep at all last night—it had been a mistake to think he could be receptive to such feelings in the first place.—

She finally said in a quiet voice, “How was your return?” she said. Compared to how she had felt until just moments before, what a lackluster greeting this was. Her dark, intense gaze kept flickering toward her husband’s turned-away head and shoulders, which Yukiko forcibly tried to distract herself from.

“Did you make it in time this morning?” “Ah, thanks—made it in time. But I’m completely worn out.”

When he finished taking off his shoes, he took his coat and strode through the entranceway. "When I ride it after so long, the train is truly awful. "I'm completely worn out." "I had to stand all the way from XX." “Oh, is that so?” The cause of Maki’s indifference became apparent, and Yukiko felt her heart ease somewhat. “Had you been back for quite some time?” "No, just a moment ago. I thought you might have gone to ×町, but…" "I'm glad I came back." “With my sudden return, everyone must have been quite surprised, I imagine?”

“Ah well, it was unexpected in any case, but—”

Maki awkwardly took off his white shirt.

“When I actually went there, it turned out not to be such a big deal after all.” “What?” “The XX errand.” “Oh my! Then would it have been better if you hadn’t come back at all?” Yukiko involuntarily looked at her husband. “Not at all. “No matter how long I stayed, it would’ve been the same situation anyway. “Actually, it was good I made a clean break and came back. “Moreover, this time around, Yamagishi’s aunt died, so there was no time for hot springs anyway, you know.”

After changing into a kimono, brushing her hair, and deliberately sitting cross-legged facing him, Yukiko at last felt her heart settle. While making tea and picking at X Prefecture’s famous sweets, Maki recounted various details about how things had been over there in a tone still charged with post-travel excitement. “Everyone kept asking why you didn’t come—I had such trouble explaining each time.” “I couldn’t very well say ‘Apparently she didn’t want to,’ now could I?” He laughed. Then, as though savoring the tatami room he hadn’t seen in so long, he let his gaze wander about.

"By the way――how was ×町? “Did it go well?”

Under her husband’s gaze, Yukiko vaguely replied, "It wasn’t that bad," with a bitter smile. Had this been her state of mind until just moments before, she would have surely shaken her head decisively and declared, "It’s no good!" completely denying it. And she would have undoubtedly marveled, "Truly, our home is our own." But now, she could not even bring herself to voice such candid thoughts. The intensity and ferocity of her emotions sank deep into the recesses of her heart, leaving only a superficial layer that her husband could tolerate to barely trickle forth.

“That wasn’t good.” Maki looked at Yukiko, continued speaking, and seemed about to say something. But he held back, “You brought all the letters and such, didn’t you?” “Well, let’s leave this for later. Now then—”

He stood up.

“I should just deal with the luggage now. After all, we can’t leave it lying around forever.”

As if declaring he had finished another rest, Maki promptly began carrying bags and boxes out to the veranda. “Here, this too—since we don’t need that muffler anymore, it’d be better to store it away with some camphor. We didn’t use it over there either.”

Returning item after item to their usual places and sorting laundry, Yukiko spent a hectic interval. At times like these, demonstrating his inherent diligence and meticulousness by proceeding systematically from one task to the next had always been Maki’s way. Even knowing this, Yukiko felt utterly empty. Despite not having seen each other for five days, they exchanged no proper conversation; once they caught their breath, they 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 conventional roles of husband and wife for the sake of the “house.”

While helping him and making appropriate responses, Yukiko felt as though her heart had stepped aside to watch them both with lonely intensity.

After dinner facing each other, they went to X Town for a walk, bringing small souvenirs. And around eleven o'clock, they returned walking shoulder to shoulder through the hushed streets of the slumbering town, appearing outwardly harmonious.

However.—

The next day, after finishing a rather late breakfast, Yukiko turned to Maki—who sat reading the newspaper in a sunlit spot— “Are you busy today?” she asked.

“Me?” “I’m not particularly busy—why do you ask?”

“So you’re able to talk at a leisurely pace?”

“Well…” Maki rustled the large newspaper and refolded it.

“Talking leisurely—well, there’s scarcely time for that now. Today I must send acknowledgments to × Prefecture and write various replies...” “—Will you be home?” “Naturally! If you’ve no pressing matters, you may come here.” Maki settled before the sunlit desk and methodically arranged stationery. Observing this, Yukiko rose. She entered her adjoining room and soundlessly closed the fusuma partition—a north-facing three-mat space devoid of cheerful gardens or distant vistas found in formal parlors. Yet through its broad glass panes, beyond low evergreen hedges, perpetual serene light poured unfiltered from the sky.

After standing by the window, taking the ivory-handled hand mirror given to her by friends when she married, and gazing at her face for a while, Yukiko began reading a new magazine. That issue featured a 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 the bookstore the previous night, intending to read it.

Yet as she read on, her attention grew scattered—not because the writing was uninteresting. It wasn’t that her surroundings were noisy. But inside herself was far too tumultuous. The strangely twisted mood that had persisted since yesterday still hadn't lifted by morning. She had finally managed to contain within an unnatural silence a bitterness and vague resentment that, merely by lasting through the night, had in every way become more malignant.

Yesterday, swept up in the recoil of intense emotions, she had single-mindedly assailed her husband. But now that matters stood thus, things refused to resolve so neatly. She understood his initial brusqueness hadn't sprung from deliberate malice. Were she to censure his subsequent bustling efficiency again, she'd ultimately have to confront his fundamentally matter-of-fact nature. Even if he felt satisfied and secure—by ordinary measures, all requisite conditions for a fulfilling life were satisfied. ——Yet this pain stemmed from my own unquenched heart. It spewed ink. If Maki's accidental gestures had wounded my breast so deeply, oughtn't I cultivate greater magnanimity? If this sprang from character—then who had loved and chosen him? Yukiko wished to evade fruitless clashes. But prolonging this mute stillness carried peril.

Yukiko, who knew full well how vivid and cheerful she became when her heart was truly joyful and filled with love, clearly understood—and feared—what lurked beneath such a state. But no suitable opportunity to unravel it was granted, nor could she discover one. Though she had devoted considerable time to reading, she had progressed only slightly through the pages and now wandered adrift in purposeless thoughts.

The belated lunch finally concluded when it was nearly three o'clock. Maki, noticing something different about her demeanor, kept pressing her with questions. "What's wrong with you?" "If you're not doing anything, why don't you come over here?" "Cheer up, cheer up!" Yukiko couldn't muster the stubbornness to retreat to her room. She settled beside her husband's desk. Gazing at the garden still marked by fresh broom strokes in its soil, and through gaps in the trees at a distant two-story house where small futons hung drying on the veranda rail soaking up sunlight, she resumed reading her magazine.

It was a work that depicted, against the backdrop of the recent marked social phenomenon of housing shortages, how people—those with good hearts in their own way, those with evil hearts in their wicked way—interact with this crisis. When a house was viewed as a dwelling for both spirit and flesh, or targeted as an object of malicious greed, it meant its influence could never be confined merely to the physical structure of wood, stone, and clay—a meaning rendered through refined and composed prose.

As she continued reading with heightened interest compared to before, Yukiko found herself struck by various emotions. In some passages by the striking similarity in perspectives; in others by the beauty of descriptions. In still others, viewed through her current mood, she couldn't help feeling certain passages settled too neatly into a kind of formulaic correctness. Abruptly she wanted to voice her thoughts. Put into words, it would have amounted to no more than ten or twenty phrases at most. But Yukiko, suddenly seized by the impulse,

“Hey, you...”

things like, “Oh! Just...” When she would say such things and raise her head, there was always only the profile of her husband facing away, engrossed in something. Not only his long-maintained concentration, but also—the moment she tried to voice some remark—a more intense look would flood his features, swiftly and wordlessly conveying his desire not to be disturbed. —— Gradually, Yukiko’s state of mind had deteriorated into something worse than if it had never come. Even though the circumstances differed, a similar kind of provocation to yesterday’s now resurrected all her accumulated entanglements in one surge within her breast. When this awareness began to arise, Yukiko was just reaching the final scene of that novel. And the protagonist said to his wife, “Since you said you couldn’t tell whether that man was a half-wit or suspicious, I’ll tell you. “He seems to be a thoroughly cunning fellow.” When she read this brief remark concerning the landlord, an indescribable envy suddenly welled up in Yukiko’s breast. There was no room for criticism about whether it was skillful or clumsy. Yukiko gazed with the envy of a starving dog upon the spiritual harmony maintained invisibly and inaudibly between that couple—how when one perceived something, the other would respond with shared interest and unified naturalness, their interactions flowing with effortless brightness.

"Of course, there would be nothing to discuss over trivial matters like whether to have the meal now or postpone it. Theoretically speaking, that’s how it should be. Such a thing was unattainable. Even if we pressed forward in this manner, we might still reach agreement. But could there truly exist for us something like this—where our very emotions flow in effortless harmony without end? At present, might I not be feeling unending dissatisfaction on that point?"

――

After a somewhat prolonged silence, Yukiko spoke in a clear voice,

“You.”

She called out to Maki. Her tone lacked the natural ease appropriate to inconsequential matters. Maki turned around. "What?…" "Let's talk."

Gazing at her eyes that were looking straight at him, Maki turned back to his papers as if to say, "What?"

“If you want to talk, go ahead. As much as you want—I can hear you just fine like this.” “Then this doesn’t feel like talking at all!” Yukiko felt what had begun as water seeping through a dam now swelling with irresistible force—gaining both volume and velocity. “What’s this about?” “It’s not about business... But since yesterday, we haven’t had a real conversation!” “Even trying to formalize it wouldn’t work. Unless the moment comes naturally—”

Maki looked directly at Yukiko and spoke in a voice devoid of jest. “If there’s nothing urgent, can’t you keep quiet? I have so many things I want to get done during my break, you see. You know how I’m normally busy with no free time…”

It was indeed true that Maki was compiling documents related to his specialty. Of course Yukiko knew that. But in this situation, she found it unbearable to be oppressed by the authority of his "specialty". Deep within her heart, in the recesses of her awareness, lay the discomfort of being made to reflect on her own work. Yukiko felt her heart turn spiteful.

“If there’s no practical matter to discuss, we might as well stop talking altogether!” She glanced at her husband with the calculated cruelty of someone plunging a known-poisoned needle into an insect. “……What’s wrong? “You shouldn’t use that tone when speaking.”

“But that’s not how it is! If you won’t talk about anything beyond obvious matters, then isn’t this all pointless?”

Maki, who kept trying to return to his work and would snatch up his pen whenever there was an opening, clattered his fountain pen onto the desk upon hearing these words. Yukiko involuntarily gasped. A feeling of unbearable terror came over her. At the same time, she felt a desperate ferocity—a determination to fight against anything—surge up within her. She had, in the end, thrust her chest against the collision she’d so desperately tried to avoid.

Maki faced Yukiko directly. And,

“Yukiko.” He deliberately assumed a calm tone. “What are you dissatisfied with? If there’s something to discuss, let’s do it properly and in order. Getting yourself all worked up won’t help us understand each other.” “—You always do this. The moment I try to say anything, your first reaction is to tell me not to get worked up. First of all, I won’t have you approaching me with such preconceived notions!” Yukiko looked at her husband with eyes so fierce they seemed pitiable. “What I find dissatisfying is that you don’t feel my dissatisfaction yourself.”

“I have no dissatisfaction whatsoever.” “Exactly! You’ve decided it shouldn’t exist in the first place—is that it?” “Isn’t that right? If we’re both healthy, our life gradually stabilizes, and our work comes together—there’s nothing more we ought to be grateful for.” “What do you consider to be an established life?”

“That would be—”

Yukiko impatiently cut him off. “I’m not talking about some established life where we just save up petty cash like everyone else and become the model husband and wife.” "Nor do I want a life where we have no time to talk or focus on our work just to achieve that kind of stability." “Of course, it’s perfectly reasonable that you’d insist such a thing isn’t good.” “—But...”

Maki tried repeatedly—

“What’s wrong? Yukiko,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. “What’s wrong?” But Yukiko recklessly charged headlong—onward and onward—to where her passions led.

“You’re utterly confident that you’re loving me deeply and completely, aren’t you? So... so... all my dissatisfaction and suffering get dismissed as nothing but my own selfishness or childishness.—What am I supposed to do? Bit by bit, bit by bit, my heart is being killed—what will become of me? Who can I even tell? When I have nowhere else to take it but to you…”

Yukiko pressed her mouth with both hands clenched into round shapes and burst into loud sobs.—

This was by no means the first time such conflicts—or violent waves—had arisen between them.

The causes were often trivial when considered as concrete events. Yet they always culminated in Yukiko's near-maddening wails. She knew full well her own vehemence disrupted her capacity for rational speech and thought. But when Maki—regardless of phrasing or persistence—remained oblivious to that crucial point, when Yukiko clashed with him precisely over clarifying that very point, weeping became her only emotional outlet. Was this truly her one beloved?—Yukiko utterly lost self-control through gnawing frustration and desperate impatience.

Precisely because their marriage had been entered into by their own will, the anguish of such moments defied description. Yukiko would often brush against absolute despair. Today again, the memory of that conversation exchanged with her mother in × District plunged her into feral rage. Had she simply been abandoned to despair, the matter might have resolved itself effortlessly. But Yukiko abandoning Maki proved as impossible as clawing out her own eyes. However hopeless she appeared, however bone-deep her solitude ran, the unbreakable bond between them remained undeniable.

After crying intensely for some time, Yukiko gradually found her heart calmed by her husband’s words and caresses—words and caresses that grew earnest as he became alarmed and uneasy at the excessive violence of her weeping. After crying herself out and resting her dazed head on her husband’s arm, as she listened entranced to his earnest words, the revived vow of love gradually soothed her heart.

She knew that everything she had initially tried to say—the demands she had made of him, the points where she had hoped he would somehow address—remained entirely unchanged as they were. But at any rate, having her smoldering passions flare up in violent explosion only to be gently quelled afterward proved an almost nerve-soothing relief. Yukiko washed her face, lightly powdered her painfully swollen eyelids, leaned against a pillar, and gazed outside.

It was nearly dusk now. The surroundings were faintly shrouded in mist, and between the distant trees where twilight lingered, dim streetlamps began flickering without brilliance. At intervals a train would clang its bell and plunge through the commotion like a sudden gale.

The outdoors bustled with such abruptness that the house felt especially hushed, a moment when the deepening twilight seemed profound.

Before her drowsy mind floated up a vision of some evening from about a month prior. Yukiko, absentmindedly, ...how warm it had gotten. "...how warm it had gotten," she had thought. And with that—as she sat there until her fingertips and toes grew cold to the marrow—a certain day from last month rose again in her memory.

It was probably a Saturday. From afternoon onward, they had been harmoniously reading and writing together when Yukiko casually pointed out a typo in Maki’s work—a remark that gradually diverted them until they once again reached the same sort of conclusion as today. At that time, there had undeniably been a point where Maki had misconstrued her true intentions, so even after their reconciliation, Yukiko struggled to dispel the lingering discord in her heart. Though they went out together for an appointment in × District, there remained an indefinable distance between them—each withdrawing into separate conversational spheres.

However, just as they were about to leave, her mother suggested that they take a bath to warm themselves before going. Father had gone in before dinner, and since no one else had used it since, it should still be clean and hot, she explained. “Since I find it troublesome right now, I’ll have you allow me to do so next time instead.” “And what will you do?”

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

“Then please come in.” “It’s better if Yukiko can stay even thirty minutes longer.” Father suggested with a laugh.

“Let’s do that… Then excuse me for a moment.”

Yukiko didn’t even ask “Do you know where the towel is?” having not followed him as usual. After barely glancing at Maki’s retreating back as he rose to leave, she continued talking with her mother—likely about where to enroll her younger sister in kindergarten. As they spoke, before ten minutes had passed, the entrance door abruptly opened. Then Maki’s face appeared, laughing. When she turned toward what she thought was someone else, Yukiko felt her own complexion shift. She’d intuitively sensed something abnormal about Maki.

“Oh, what’s happened? Are you feeling unwell?”

Yukiko unconsciously stood up and drew near him. Beside them, her parents watched with baffled expressions. "What has happened?"

“It’s fine, it’s fine—there’s nothing wrong at all. “It’s just that the water was a bit too cold.” “What? “Was it lukewarm?” “That won’t do. “You won’t catch a cold, will you?” “I’m perfectly fine.—I thrashed about quite thoroughly in there.” After all the commotion about needing to drink something hot and so forth, they finally left × District around well past twelve o’clock. Walking briskly down the late-night avenue where even the trains had stopped, Yukiko felt a new astonishment arise within her heart.

"Despite there being so many people in the room, it was I who first noticed that something was amiss with Maki"—there lay infinite meaning in this. She had felt such unpleasantness, had so clearly thought "I don't care," yet when the crucial moment came, she found herself moved by the depth and breadth of her own love—a love that ran so profoundly through her heart that she had been the very first to notice. —— Before Yukiko’s narrowed eyes appeared her own figure—vividly clear—wrapped in a navy coat and walking in step with Maki. The midnight avenue stretched straight and far into the distance, its gentle slope arching smoothly like a long fish-cake crescent. The glittering city lights of blue, red, and yellow twinkling in the soft black curtain of night appeared strung together like a large ornamental necklace. From the sky she had excitedly looked up at—where stars shone profoundly—to the white clouds streaming past, blown by the west wind, she recalled everything.

The surrounding scenes returned with striking vividness. But as she recalled them, Yukiko felt a sense of dissatisfaction she couldn't quite place. "That I—who had believed Maki wrong and fought to make it clear—should come to know my own love's depth..." Somehow it wasn't that she'd forgiven his misunderstanding—if misunderstanding it was—through that emotional surge, but rather that she'd let herself be distracted by a passing mood, forgotten everything, then entangled with him again without reservation—that was how it felt.

Therefore, when some chance occurrence made her suddenly notice it again, wouldn't she leap upon it with that same fleeting, distractible tenacity?

Following the agitation, it was an uncommon occurrence. In Yukiko’s heart rose a hazy reflection—her own foolishness, this capricious self without firm convictions, repeatedly swinging between impassioned ardor and fury.

After having a light dinner, Maki said, “Let’s take a short walk—we need to get some sleep,” and invited Yukiko.

They left the house and, contrary to the bustling townscape, made their way into the depths of Koishikawa-dai. Of course, it was a residential district. Yet strolling through that lane—devoid of passersby, where budding trees wafted their fragrant, delicate aroma between the faintly dark earthen path and the sky—soothed their hearts. Yukiko felt truly at ease. Being treated kindly by her husband and cared for while being together like this almost sensuously soaked her heart in a satisfaction beyond reason.—

As she walked, recalling her earlier intensity, she couldn’t help but feel ashamed and bitter. Yukiko would never have acted so wildly toward her mother or others. What needed to be said was said as it should be, with everything properly compartmentalized.

Yet when facing Maki, everything—the tenderness, the sorrow—all became jumbled together and ultimately dissolved into triviality. What could possibly explain this? She could not help but recognize within herself an alarming mental laxity.

"That’s why I can’t even work properly—isn’t that it?"

Yukiko was struck by a thought that pierced through the darkness. "If I were to insist that knowing Maki best stems from loving him most deeply, shouldn't I be able to assert the same about myself with equal conviction? Moreover, she demonstrates this with intense passion, like a seasoned guide. But could I accept all of that as precise intuition or observation?"

Yukiko could not help but honestly say “No.”

In certain instances where Sukako stood upon her firm conviction that nothing in this world—not even a mother’s love, and especially not her own love as a mother—could be as profound and pure as this, Yukiko felt nothing but the suffocating intensity of passion itself.—"How could anyone claim such emotions do not arise within my own feelings!" After marriage, the so-called "femininity" that had abruptly begun to grow within her— That feminine sensuality expressed through various forms and words—"cute," "gentle," "refined"—a strangely unfocused corporeality lacking tangible substance. Toward these, she could no longer help but cast a suspicious eye.

When they got into bed, Maki gently called out to Yukiko beside him, “Are you feeling well?”

[Maki] called out to Yukiko beside him. “Oh, thank you. I’m fine.” “Rest well.” Maki extended his hand from where he lay and gently patted Yukiko’s head. But she could not bring herself to return it twofold as she usually did. “—Pray rest well.”

Yukiko gazed at her husband’s quiet silhouette with a certainty in her heart—as though some unprecedented path had been forged within her over the course of this single day.