Pathway to Japanese Literature

Dusk

I

Mizuguchi's glass door clattered open.

Okume, who had been standing vacantly before the counter bathed in lamplight while stirring the stew, turned around in surprise.
Through the narrowly opened gap appeared what looked like a pale woman's face.
When she realized she had been noticed, the face outside tilted its bangs slightly,

“Good evening.”

While saying this, she opened all the remaining doors and revealed herself.

“Oh my, what’s this—Nobu-chan?”

In Okume’s eyes, which had been tense and filled with suspicion, there suddenly drifted an indescribably warm light.

“What’s wrong? Did you come from school at this hour?”

Okume, holding cooking chopsticks in one hand, descended to the doorway and looked nostalgically at her daughter’s figure.

“In the dark, I thought you were someone else.”

Nobuko, wrapped in a vibrant peach half-collar and large-patterned kasuri ensemble, looked so beautiful in the dim light that even her own mother might have mistaken her for someone else.

“Do you have business? — Oh, do come in for a moment.”

Okume gazed at her daughter, surveyed the kitchen where dinner preparations were underway, and showed a look of being torn between the two.

“It’ll be done soon—come up now.”

Yet Nobuko remained standing outside,

“Yes.”

She merely said this and made no move to enter.

“What’s wrong?”

“—Mother, are you busy tonight?”

“I’m not particularly busy, but I’ve just started on dinner. But it’s fine—come on up.”

“Yes… Madam is here, isn’t she?”

Nobuko entered while saying this and stood at the sink—a step lower than where her mother was handling the pot.
And then,

“Well, you see... actually, Mother,”

Lowering her voice and looking down at her mother’s hands, she began to speak.

“I was hoping you could come with me to Kōjimachi for a bit...”

“To Kōjimachi?”

Okume had also, without realizing it, lowered her voice and brought her face closer to her daughter.

“Did something happen?”

“It’s not like anything’s wrong, but… Sister says it’s rude to Brother-in-law that you haven’t shown your face at all even though you’ve come here.”

“…………”

Around Okume’s eyebrows—long untouched by a razor—hesitation clearly swelled.
Kōjimachi was where Fusako, her eldest daughter, had married into.
Her husband worked as a minor official at the Ministry of Home Affairs and, at home, ran a drugstore while managing a side business with the help of a pharmacy apprentice.
From there, Nobuko, who was attending nursing school, had received repeated financial assistance for her tuition.

“The other day when I went there, she told me to definitely bring you along next time I came, right? This month required a bit more money than usual, so Sister’s been making a fuss about it.”

“...If there were places Mother wanted to go, she would’ve gone long ago. But if I go, they’ll just pester me with all sorts of things...”

“But you’ve been in Tokyo half a year now—not visiting even once is too cruel.—Can’t you go tonight? You’ll have to go eventually anyway. If you can get permission, please come today—right?”

“It’s not that I couldn’t get permission, but…”

Seeing her mother’s demeanor of both wanting and not wanting to go, Nobuko, fully sensing her advantage, began urging her earnestly. In the cramped house, Nobuko spoke softly yet intently—making sure the master couple wouldn’t hear—as she explained how Sister felt constrained before her husband due to Mother’s lack of contact, and how if Mother would just come once to speak on her behalf, even the same financial support could be received with far greater ease.

Nobuko’s boarding school was located toward Ichigaya. When Okume imagined her coming all the way from there to Shitaya only to then go to Kōjimachi, she felt an unwitting surge of pity.

What hardships must this daughter endure—barely twenty years old—all because of her parent’s misfortune alone.

To be honest, Okume had never quite gotten along with her eldest daughter. Having been raised in constrained circumstances without proper education—let alone the usual feminine accomplishments expected of women—and then married into the thoroughly Tokyo-bred Aida family, how many secret tears Fusako must have shed was something Okume could sense with painful clarity. Therefore, that she constantly felt inadequate as a parent—meddling in everything from appearances to manner of speech lest she be seen as some ignorant woman—could, upon reflection, be said to have some justification. Yet for strong-willed Okume, it always struck her heart. At times, she even wondered if this daughter of hers—so fixated on appearances—hadn’t inherited the very character of the husband she’d cast aside when giving birth.

Okume had temporarily closed her hometown home where nothing but misfortunes had kept occurring, and through an unexpected turn of events had come to work as a helper for the Sawada household as if they were strangers—a fact Fusako concealed even from the hired help.
In the sweltering heat of July, soon after arriving in Negishi, she had sent Nobuko with a letter instructing that addresses not be written down and that should the need arise, everything must be arranged under the pretense of staying with relatives in Shibuya.

Even then, Okume felt an indescribable humiliation from society and her daughter while maintaining a composed demeanor.

"That’s perfectly fine?"

she said.

"After all, someone like Sister would have no reason to need me."
"Even someone like me has been looking forward to being closer to you and meeting often, you know."

"If I simply didn’t feel like doing it, there’d be no need to work in other people’s kitchens at all, but—"

One reason was that Okume had lived until now without even writing a single letter, driven by a feeling of why should I go when I haven’t even been asked to come?

But when, at this unexpected moment, Nobuko urged and pleaded with her like this, Okume's heart wavered.

Though she knew going would mean trouble, the visage of Fusako—whom she hadn’t seen in nearly two years—and the form of her first grandson Joichi, whom she’d only ever glimpsed in photographs, pressed upon her heart with an indescribable weight.

She felt as though her calmly stilled blood had suddenly grown warm and begun to thud thickly from deep within her body.

“I could go, but then she’ll start in right away with ‘You came with your hair like that again?’ and give me an earful.”

Even though she didn’t say anything definite aloud, Okume visibly began to hurry.
Her cheeks flushed faintly as she busily moved her eyes and began taking down small bowls from the shelf.
Beside her, Nobuko was waiting for a pause in the cooking.
The mother who spoke with apparent nonchalance yet cared deeply—both for her sister and herself—revealed this concern through an elderly fluster that manifested despite her attempts to feign ignorance. To Nobuko, it felt both endearing and pitiable.

Just then, the partition’s sliding door opened.

At the moment the mother and daughter turned their faces in unison,

“How’s it going?”

As she said this, Yoneko, the mistress of the household, appeared.
Holding something like a small jar lid in one hand, she had undoubtedly come to check on the kitchen without any particular intent.
When she saw Nobuko’s figure—lively like a half-bloomed flower spilling over—behind Okume’s dark-clad form, she—

“Oh, you were here.”

she exclaimed with innocent surprise.

“I thought I heard voices for some time now—”

To Yoneko, who beamed as she looked between the mother and daughter, Okume opened her posture as if to properly present her child,

“She came saying there was business from Kōjimachi, so…”

she said.
Following behind, Nobuko modestly

“I sincerely apologize for the imposition, but might we beg a brief leave of absence? An urgent matter has arisen.”

she made her purpose clear.
She felt the vexing frustration that leaving things solely to her mother would never get the matter settled.

“Oh? So you’re going right now?”
“Of course, it’s fine if you go, but since Nobu-san has come all this way, why not have a meal together before leaving?”

In terms of age, Yoneko was not much different from Nobuko.
Naturally, toward Nobuko—who came frequently on Sundays and such—she held genuine goodwill.

“Even though you could have gone to visit leisurely during New Year’s, Okume-san is always holding back like this.”

She gave Nobuko a brief smile.

“Then you should get ready right away—I’ll make the arrangements for you.”

“Is that acceptable?”

Okume, for the first time, let out a voice that couldn’t contain her agitation.

“In that case, I’m truly sorry, but I’ll have you handle it briefly.”
“I will return immediately.”
“What could it be—”

Once decided, she turned toward her daughter in a manner that barely allowed her to properly face Yoneko.

“I suppose I must change into a kimono before going—what a bother in this cold.”
“My hair’s like this too… Well, it’s fine.”
“It can’t be helped.”

Okume seemed to have no time left to maintain the facade of a proper housewife.
Slipping past Yoneko—who was carrying dishes and small bowls to the dining room—and entering her own chamber, Okume began consulting Nobuko again and again: slicking her hair at the temples with a water-soaked comb, pulling out a haori coat and scarf for going out from the trunk’s depths, she bustled about the four-and-a-half-mat room around her daughter, who stood there unsure how to help.

Then, panting heavily, she hurriedly fastened the black satin obi over the mismatched collar of her old-fashioned undergarments that jutted out unevenly at her chest.

“Oh,” she said. “Haven’t you seen my handkerchief? What a nuisance—I never dress up like this… Are you really ready like that?”

Her agitated, rapid-fire speech echoed through the knife-edged silence of the house so sharply that it filled young Nobuko with peculiar discomfort. Brushing past Yoneko’s suggestion to at least finish dinner first, Okume finally stumbled out into the street in flustered disarray.

II

Throughout the long train ride from Shitaya to Kōjimachi, Okume sat vacant and slack-limbed, barely uttering a word. Pressed close beside her youthful daughter Nobuko, her flushed face emerging from a charcoal-gray scarf, she gave no indication of registering their route through the city.

“Mother, we change trains here.”

If her daughter hadn’t reminded her, she might not have even known to rise from her seat when they reached the transfer station.

Okume, about to meet her elder daughter after so long, felt a tumult in her chest that was neither wholly joy nor anxiety.
At every turn, interconnected memories of the past she wished to forget came surging back.
In appearance, intermittently revealing gaps in her country-bred demeanor under the bustling lights that grazed her line of sight, Okume uncertainly compared past and present.

Glad to be led by Nobuko without considering where or how they turned corners, she found herself standing before the Satodas’ tidy latticework. From the pharmacy on the main street, a short way inside that lattice door’s interior—as always reflecting Fusako’s meticulous nature—had been swept immaculately clean.

The brand-new shoji screens stood quietly closed, while on the shoe-removal stone lay unfamiliar men's geta neatly arranged.

As Nobuko stepped forward to grasp the lattice, Okume stopped her,

"There might be guests—if so, it would be improper,"

she whispered.

"It's all right.
I'll go check first."

Nobuko quietly stepped up from the edge of the shoe-removal area.
She opened the shoji, the sound of a sliding door opening followed, and soon after, Nobuko reappeared at the entrance.

“How is it?”

Okume raised her eyebrows and asked in a low voice.

“It’s fine, I’m told. It’s Brother-in-law’s guest.”

……

Okume finally closed the lattice behind her. Then, on the narrow entrance platform, she removed her coat, folded her scarf, and with an altered state of mind—as if she were a visiting guest—opened the sliding door to the tea room.

Fusako sat before the long hibachi containing a polished copper kettle, watching the sake warm. When she caught sight of the thin knees turned askew and the slender line of the nose, Okume was suddenly struck by a loneliness that seemed to pierce through her.

Even though it had always been this way, why wouldn’t she at least turn her face toward me and smile to welcome me?

“It seems there’s a guest, then.”

Okume sat down while muttering, as if to distract herself from her own feelings.

“Yes, it remains as drawn-out as ever.”

Fusako called out, “Tome! Tome!” summoning the maid to bring the warmed sake flask. Then, gradually turning toward her mother, she began with formal courtesy: “First, I’m relieved to see you’re well.” Okume, though facing her own daughter, seemed intimidated and couldn’t form a proper response. With her hair styled in a lush chignon, makeup delicately applied, and collars impeccably arranged, Fusako’s appearance radiated both beauty and intimidation. “I did want to come earlier, you know… But as you’re aware,” Okume offered, “what with me being country-bred and all. Just thinking about the train made it feel like such a hassle...”

“That’s true enough—the transfers do get mixed up sometimes,” she said. “But when Ms. Osan from the Ebihara family came asking after you the other day, I was utterly at a loss.”

“Ebihara—from back home?”

“Yes.”

Fusako tilted the heavy iron kettle with deliberate motion, pouring hot water into the teapot.

“It doesn’t matter!”

“Mother, you always say that, but we can’t go dismissing everything so carelessly in this world.”

The Ebiharas corresponded to Okume’s grandmother’s younger brother’s wife.
Since this grandmother had been a stepmother—the woman who from Okume’s youth, after she lost her father early on, had sown hardship’s seeds persisting to this day—she held no fondness for the Ebihara family either.
When she thought they had come all the way to Tokyo just to say something again, Okume couldn’t bring herself to continue the conversation.

“That aside—what about Joichi? Has he gone to sleep already?”

She changed the subject.

“Yes, he’s about to start standing now, so it’s dangerous.”
“And decent nursemaids are impossible to find…”

“What a shame, coming all this way and not getting to meet him.”
“At least let me see his sleeping face.”

Okume began to stand as if prompting Fusako.

“Well then… Nobu-chan, I’ll take you there.”

Guided by Nobuko, circling the veranda outside the guest room and peering at her grandchild’s face peacefully sleeping in the six-tatami-mat room at the back, Okume still felt her heart remained unfulfilled.

Was this truly the feeling one had when visiting the home of a daughter—one of only two she’d borne—who had finally become a respectable member of society?

Had I not unknowingly yearned all this time—yearned to bask here in the warmth I could never grasp, no matter how I tried, within the Satoda household where I remained an outsider?

Okume remained watching her grandchild’s sleeping face without thinking,

“Sister’s still the same as ever, huh.”

“Sister’s still the same as ever,” she muttered.

“…She’s just been so busy…”

Nobuko muttered sympathetically about her mother—the one she’d brought along yet who received little welcome.

Even after being treated to sushi ordered from nearby, Okume—still unsettled in some vague way—couldn’t properly savor the meal.
Because they’d been delayed along the way, the hour had grown unexpectedly late.

The sake flasks kept multiplying one after another, and the guests in back showed no sign of leaving.

Okume said,
“It seems I won’t be able to meet Mr. Aida tonight after all.”

she said.

“I suppose I should head back before it gets too late—Please give them my regards, and I’m truly sorry for all the trouble Nobu’s causing. It’ll only be a little while longer…”

When the topic shifted slightly to her own affairs, Nobuko—from beside her mother—lowered her head while stealing a glance at her sister.

“Ohhh~, I don’t mind that in the slightest.”
“The truth is, Nobu’s been rather careless.”
“Even this month—after extra expenses for new books and donations—she goes and decides to make a haori she doesn’t even need!”

As expected, Okume found herself at a complete loss for words.

“You might assume that with us running a proper shop like this, a sum like twenty or thirty yen would be trivial—but I assure you there’s absolutely no money to spare anywhere.”

Fusako gradually adopted a tone that seemed to let slip the reminiscences buried in her heart.

“Even Aida can’t say how long his government position will last—we’ve strained ourselves to set up the shop as a precaution for emergencies… And you’re no child either, Nobu-chan—you ought to think a bit about your own future.”

Okume found herself compelled against her will to intercede on Nobuko’s behalf.

“That may well be,” she said. “Managing people’s comings and goings alone is no simple matter—and Nobu here has endured hardships since childhood. Surely you’re not foolish enough to be unaware of that—what a worthless parent I am… Only ever causing trouble.”

Fusako remained silent, tilting her head as she furrowed her brows and scratched the base of her chignon with a hairpin.

“Mother, you could have managed somehow.”

Eventually, in the oppressive atmosphere surrounding them, Fusako muttered dismissively.

“The other day when Ms. Jun came, she said the same thing.”
“If you could just get a proper person on your side—even if the law decides otherwise—Rokuzo-san intends to handle something like Mother’s living situation however needed.”

Given the flow of conversation, Okume could only interpret those words as essentially saying: Why not stop harping on family lineage or inheritance rights—take what you can get and use it to support Nobuko’s education?

When she heard the dismissive tone implying how absurd it all was—her having stirred up such uncharacteristic commotion by filing lawsuits and hiring lawyers—Okume felt her resentment flare up.

To prevent it from reaching the back rooms, straining her nerves and lowering her voice, she—

“That’s absurd! Who could do such a thing?”

she sharply rebuffed her daughter’s words.

“It’s precisely because I refuse to accept even half a penny of ill-gotten money that I’ve endured hardships others might deem unnecessary. When I first brought Rokuzo to court, it wasn’t merely to reclaim the stolen money—I wanted the public eye to judge between my claims and their underhanded methods, to make clear which side was right. To think that behind those daily face-to-face interactions, there were such schemes—I resent Grandmother, but I even directed affectionate feelings toward the prosecutor who refused to clarify what should have been clear.”

Having spoken heatedly and looked between her daughters, Okume’s eyelids burned fiercely as tears welled up.

“And that’s all because your father was the way he was.”

A lonely cloudiness came over Okume’s voice.

“If only your father had properly protected the household—all of this would never have happened.
“You may think you’ve suffered because of your parents… but Mother… hasn’t had it easy since she was young either.”

Fusako kept her head bowed, smoothing the ashes in the brazier; Nobuko sat with tears glistening faintly—in the bright tearoom, not a single soul spoke.

Okume was born the heiress to a renowned weaving family in Yashu.
When she was eighteen, she received an adopted son from the paternal relatives of Fusako’s husband.
Their relationship was not particularly incompatible, but this adopted son named Seigoro—being a schemer—would take out large handfuls of the family funds at every opportunity and lose them somewhere.
Burdened with the responsibility of being the sole successor to carry on the family lineage, she was forced to discuss divorce after having three children.
Okume, who had been convinced that preserving the household was paramount, agreed to the separation with the resolve of a woman of unwavering principle.
In exchange, the son born between her and Seigoro would become the household head, and her lifetime along with the children’s future were supposed to be securely guaranteed.
Despite this pledge, when the elderly grandfather died, the step-grandmother—whose brother was a notary—mortgaged every last bit of the property and had her nephew take possession.

Having lost the family estate through an unforeseen scheme, Okume—shocked and enraged—resorted to the law.
However, since her opponent was a businessman, before the case could progress as expected, she even suffered the loss of her most irreplaceable son.
If everyone had plundered it, the share would have been meager—yet for that very property, Okume had endured mental anguish she could have avoided if not for her poverty.
And now, it could be said that nothing but futile mental anguish had been left for her.
At merely thirty years old, having left her husband, for fifteen years Okume managed to raise the two daughters who had barely survived in precarious circumstances.

III

Since Okume had gone out for the first time in ages, the Sawada household had assumed she would surely stay over.

However, just past eleven, when they were about to retire for the night, she abruptly slid open the lattice door and returned.

“Oh, you’re back? You could have stayed the night.”

Before the mistress, Okume bowed her head deeply.

“I’m home.”

“How did it go?”

“Thank you very much…”

Seeing Okume’s unusual reticence, Yoneko wore a suspicious look but, seeming to discern that something in Kōjimachi had made her taciturn, tactfully rose from where she sat before Okume.

“You must be exhausted—take your time and rest.”
“We’re quite all right here.”

To that, Okume simply bowed her head in silence.
And she entered her own room, closed the sliding door, and with a slowness that was the complete opposite of when she had set out, undid the obi that had come loose, letting it fall onto the tatami mats.
The four-and-a-half-mat room, with its small desk in the corner and built-in cupboard, felt like an entirely different place from before.

Even so, what an unexpected thing I had heard.

After parting with Nobuko on the desolate night path of Ichigaya, Okume’s heart had filled with an indescribable turbulence—something between shock and emotion.

Perhaps because she found herself in a position inviting blame, Nobuko had grown disquietingly silent in her sister’s presence.

Even when Okume said something, she would only respond with brief phrases like “Yes” or “Is that so?”

However, through her mother’s intervention, it was settled that the necessary funds would be provided, and Okume,

“Well then, shall we get going soon?”

When she had said this and stood up, Nobuko,

“Then I’ll walk you there.”

While saying this, she too came along to the tram stop.

Walking along the quiet evening street lined with houses typical of office workers, the two talked in bits and pieces about various things.
Whether it was due to the hush enveloping their surroundings or the relief of having settled their business, the mother and daughter found themselves feeling at ease for the first time.
And then, as they were discussing her sister’s household with growing closeness, Nobuko suddenly—

“Mother, has there been any word from Osaka?”

“Osaka?”

Okume tried to look at her daughter’s face with a startled expression.
But the road lay precisely in the tree-shaded darkness of a large estate, where only what seemed to be her outline appeared faintly white, floating into view.

Before the mother could say anything, Nobuko added:
“He’s here now.”

“He’s been in Tokyo since last month, I hear…”

In speaking of this matter, Nobuko did not utter a single name—neither surname nor given.
Moreover, she had not even casually let the word ‘Father’ escape her lips.
But to Okume, of course, she immediately surmised who he was.
Of late, she too had known through hearsay that her departed husband was living in Osaka—this being the sole piece of news about him.
However, once she had severed ties, she regarded it as a disgrace and did not even attempt to learn his exact address.
The thought of sending word was something she had never even dreamed of; for a long time, she had only accumulated memories in her heart.

"How does Nobuko know that?"

Indeed, Okume felt her heartbeat quicken.

She looked down at the dark ground beneath her feet as if gathering it up,

“How did you figure it out?”
she asked in return.

“I’ve met him several times before, you see—”
Nobuko said in a gently explanatory tone.

“—I met him at Sister’s house before.”
“—That’s why he sent word about coming to Tokyo again this time.”

Though Okume had told her since childhood what a worthless father he was, when Nobuko came of age and still wanted to meet him—even concealing it from her—she could not help being moved.
Yet it wasn’t merely that parent-child bonds proved unbreakably deep—she even felt something startling: that between herself and the husband she had considered wholly unrelated, there existed somewhere unseen a firm connection binding them together.

Okume, concealing her profound emotions, resolutely muttered, “In any case, we must ensure we don’t cause any trouble.”
“Your sister has her own household to manage, and you’re at a crucial point where you need to become independent. And if something else happens and you end up suffering terribly again…”

“It’s all right.
“I don’t know what sort of person he was before, but when I met him earlier, he didn’t seem bad at all.”

Her daughter’s words kindled an unspeakably tender feeling in Okume’s heart.

“It’s not that he’s bad, mind you. But—”

Okume barely swallowed back at her lips the instinctive questions—Where is he now? What’s he doing?

Nobuko too seemed to have many things she wanted to say about their father—now that he was entering old age and appeared to be trying to reconnect with them in a nostalgic manner. However, unable to gauge her mother’s feelings and out of consideration, she did not speak much.

Now that they had both endured hardships and their feelings seemed to have changed, what would they feel if they met? The desire to have them meet had welled up strongly in Nobuko’s heart.

The two women, each harboring feelings beyond what words could express, walked in silence until they emerged onto the bustling streetcar thoroughfare.
While the back alleys lay as quiet as midnight, here on the tram route it still felt like early evening, with shopkeepers and apprentices returning from public baths passing by while chattering loudly.
The ringing of rickshaw bells and blaring automobile horns swiftly grazed past the backs of these women standing side by side.
――
Having reached a place where their faces were plainly visible, even Nobuko appeared to find it difficult to continue their conversation.

Okume’s heart was full of questions she wanted to ask, but somehow she found it difficult to put them into words.

Before long, with a roaring, surging clatter, the tram approached from the distance.

Okume abruptly started to fret,

“Give my regards to Sister. Come and visit me.”

With those words, she hurriedly tried to step onto the tram's step.
At that moment, Nobuko—who had been standing beside her—suddenly took two or three quick steps closer, bringing her mouth nearly level with her mother's ear,

“Father is at the Sawaya Inn in Manseibashi.”

Nobuko whispered frantically.

“Come on, quickly!”

The conductor urged her on with the signal rope in hand.

Before Okume could look back at her daughter’s face, the tram had already started swaying up and down as it sped off along the wide outer moat road.

“Was it because we were in such a hurry that Nobuko unintentionally said ‘Father’?”

In the rattling glass window of the tram speeding past two or three unmanned stations, Okume vaguely glimpsed her own reflection and felt the echo of “Father, Father” reverberating through her entire being.
Her mind seized by a single thought, she had returned to Shitaya in a daze, as though guided by a magnet beneath her geta.

IV

That night, Okume lay awake on her bedding without sleeping a wink until dawn.

The inner rooms lay hushed in slumber, while only in her tiny chamber with the lamp dimmed low did the bitter winter night air creep in relentlessly.

Burying her chin deep into the night quilt and resting her head on a small wooden pillow as she became absorbed in her thoughts, Okume even forgot where she was now.

"Sawaya, Sawaya, Sawaya—their father is there."
From just that single phrase she had caught in passing, she could vividly picture even the appearance of this likely modest inn's facade rising before her eyes.

"What could he have come to Tokyo for—"

From the time she had been with him, it had never been unusual for him to come to Tokyo.
He would steal away from the watchful gaze of his old-fashioned, rigidly principled grandfather and fabricate pretexts to visit Tokyo.
And no matter what he was doing there—even if his business concluded in a day or two—he would never return until letters summoning him back were about to be sent—

At the mention of Tokyo, the figure of her husband—who would invariably depart on the second morning train—rose vividly in Okume’s mind.
Dressed in stylish clothes rarely seen around their neighborhood, with a folded briefcase tucked under his arm—how many times had she watched that retreating figure with a heartache blending jealousy and proud affection?

Fifteen years had passed since their separation—he too should have become an old man by now.
Yet what rose in Okume’s memory was always her husband at thirty-five, in what might be called the prime of manhood.
And could this heart of hers, still stirred by that image, truly belong solely to a woman nearing fifty?
When facing her daughters, she who instinctively played the role of provider would find her thoughts turning inward—these were never merely the lamentations of some ageless drudge immune to decay.

"That man never thinks of his wife and children—how much must that reckless spender have changed by now."

"In Osaka he must have taken a wife and children by this time, but what sort of life do they lead?"

Okume felt such an urgent need to rush straight to that Sawaya Inn and demand every detail of what had happened since their parting.
Because of him, she wanted to pour out every hardship she'd endured since then—to make him understand through her desperate pleading just how unforgivable it all was.

"The fact that Nobuko had suddenly revealed her father’s whereabouts at such a critical moment—wasn’t it because she harbored thoughts of what might happen if they met?"
An indescribable trembling welled up in Okume’s chest.

"If by any chance he was also alone like herself, feeling remorse for their younger days, and if he thought to subtly use their children as intermediaries to rekindle their bond..."

Okume let out a deep sigh as if unable to bear the thought and turned over in bed.
But—could such a thing really be possible?…… Gradually, practical reconsiderations began surfacing in her mind.
"Even if it were possible—could I really cling with lingering attachment to the husband I once abandoned for the family’s sake, believing there was no future with him? Could I do such a thing before my daughters and before society…?"

As her agitation gradually subsided and the once-bright fantasies that had flared up began to fade, various doubts befitting her age began rising within Okume’s heart.

Above all, no matter how much he had aged, she couldn’t accept that the man who had neglected his household would suddenly start caring about the daughter he had cast aside.

"The fact that he came to Tokyo and sent letters to Nobuko—wasn’t it all just his scheme to exploit her?"

The notion that he—having somehow learned Nobuko might become self-reliant by next year—was now grooming her to extract even a small amount of money when needed struck Okume as something utterly plausible rather than inconceivable. Having heard such unexpected news, she—acting unbecoming of her age—had let her imagination run solely toward optimistic outcomes, until even she began to feel like something deserving mockery.

As she herself grew older and her resolve weakened with time, who could say he wasn’t scheming to exploit both mother and daughter once more—and yet…

Okume’s soul, adrift in the midnight void, seemed to wander time and again near Sawaya.

Whether his intentions were bad or good, Okume felt an overwhelming desire surging painfully through her chest—so fiercely it set her body aflame—to hear directly from his own lips why he had come to Tokyo, why he had contacted Nobuko, and to definitively ascertain the truth.
——

No sooner had she begun to doze off than the time came when she had to rise.

Okume, forcing her eyelids—swollen from sleeplessness and anxiety—to appear nonchalant, carried out her fixed morning routine.

The mistress of the household, Yoneko, seemed completely unaware; she neither asked about yesterday’s events nor tried to make Okume speak.
But as she remained silent, Okume’s heart swelled with each passing moment, now on the verge of spilling over.

It was an unseasonably warm winter day, and gentle sunlight streamed warmly through the veranda, reaching all the way to the tatami mats.

While feeling the deep colors of the turned-out bedding dazzling her tired eyes as she knelt wiping with a dustcloth, her hands had stopped moving altogether in one spot.
Startled, she looked around and abandoned the task she had begun in great haste.—

After finishing lunch, Okume felt so suffocated, so utterly suffocated, that she could no longer bear to stay confined inside the house.

Even if she picked up her sewing, her hands wouldn’t settle to the task.
She felt too restless to even make small talk with the mistress.
There was nothing she could pinpoint.
As if the air throughout the house had suddenly turned rigid, pressing in relentlessly from all sides, Okume felt she couldn’t even steady her gaze.

She finally came up with one shopping errand as an excuse to go out.
Yoneko, who had recently had a new set of bedding made, had mentioned some days ago about wanting to prepare a futon wrapping cloth.

Okume, as a precaution against being told not to go, had even properly changed into a kimono before casually—

“Madam, while buying sugar, I thought I’d also get the futon wrapping cloth—what do you think?”

—and stepped before Yoneko.

“Well, there’s no particular rush, but…”

“But—if I don’t buy it now while I’m out, I won’t be able to sew it later…”

This was by no means a baseless request.

“In that case, you should go ahead.”
“The green and white arabesque pattern.”

——That hadn’t been her intention when leaving the house, but as she stepped onto the sunlit street—pleasant underfoot—the characters for “Sawaya” grew even more vivid in Okume’s heart. If she boarded the train that passed right by here, she could reach Manseibashi without transferring.

"What was he doing now?"
"It wasn't impossible I might bump into him at that corner.—"

When a man glanced back at her while passing by, Okume found herself involuntarily startled.

She unconsciously quickened her pace and entered a bustling fabric store on the main street.
After purchasing the cloth she had wanted, she let her eyes linger on fashionable garments that captivated women's hearts regardless of their age—and found her strangely agitated mood somehow soothing itself.

"What nonsense," she thought.
"Acting like some foolish girl—"
For the first time since last night, Okume felt composed enough to permit herself a secret wry smile.

But when she stepped out again onto the faintly warm street and saw the tram moving off while cheerily ringing its bell, suddenly her heart was stirred by an indescribably fierce force.

Okume nearly shouted “Ah! Wait a moment!” and even felt compelled to make the driver—who was gripping the handle while laughing alongside his companion—stop the car.

“Where do I think I’m going…?”
Before long, she stood frozen beneath a red pillar, her face etched with an ineffable dread, staring fixedly into space.