Pathway to Japanese Literature

Ubasute (Abandoning the Elderly)

At that moment,

“It’s okay.”
“I’ll end things properly.”
“I’ve been ready for this all along.”
“Really, I’m done.”
Because she muttered in a changed voice,

"That won't do."
"I understand this resolve of yours."
"Either planning to die alone or recklessly ruin yourself with nothing but your own body—that must be it," he supposed.
"You have proper parents and a brother."
"I can't just say 'Oh?' and feign ignorance when I know you're feeling this way." Even as he uttered these self-righteous words, Kashichi suddenly wanted to die.

“Shall we die? Let’s die together. Even God will forgive us.”

The two solemnly began their preparations.

The wife, who had caressed a mistaken man, and the husband, who had driven their daily life into such ruin that he pushed her to such acts—they both resolved to end their lives through death.
It was a day in early spring.
The living expenses for that month amounted to fourteen or fifteen yen.
They carried all of it.
Aside from that, all they had left were every last piece of their change of kimono, Kashichi’s padded robe, Kazue’s one lined kimono, and two obi sashes—that was all.
They wrapped everything in a furoshiki cloth bundle, which Kazue carried, and the couple set out side by side—a rare occurrence.
The husband had no overcoat.
In a Kurume kasuri-patterned kimono and hunting cap, with a deep navy silk scarf tied around his neck, only his geta were white and new.
The wife also had no coat.
Her haori and kimono were both of arrow-feather-patterned meisen silk; a pale red foreign-made scrap of shawl covered her upper body in an ill-fitting, oversized manner.
The couple parted ways a little before the pawnshop.

At midday, people were coming and going through Ogikubo Station in hushed tones.
Kashichi stood silently in front of the station, smoking a cigarette.
Darting her eyes about in search of Kashichi, the moment she suddenly caught sight of him, she came scrambling over almost as if she might trip,

“Success! A great success!” she exclaimed excitedly. “They went and lent me fifteen yen! How ridiculous!”

This woman would not die.
She wasn't someone you could let die.
She wasn't crushed by life like I was.
She still retained the strength to live.
She wasn't someone who died.
The mere fact of having planned death should have sufficed as this person's justification to society.
That alone was enough.
This person would be forgiven.
That was fine.
I would die alone.

“That’s quite an achievement,” he said with a smile intended to praise her, feeling the impulse to gently pat her shoulder. “That makes thirty yen total, doesn’t it? We can manage a little trip.”

He bought tickets to Shinjuku. They got off at Shinjuku and ran to a drugstore. There they purchased a large box of sleeping pills, then went to another pharmacy and bought one box of a different type. Leaving Kazue waiting outside, Kashichi bought the medicine while laughing—they weren’t particularly suspected by the shop. Finally entering Mitsukoshi, he went to the drug department and, emboldened by the store’s bustle, asked for two large boxes.

A dark-eyed clerk with a serious, narrow face momentarily furrowed her brow in suspicion. She made a displeased expression. Kashichi stiffened. He couldn’t suddenly produce a smile. The medicine was coldly handed over. She stood on tiptoes watching our retreating figures. Knowing this, Kashichi deliberately walked pressed close to Kazue through the crowd. Even as he walked calmly himself, there remained something uncanny about his presence in others’ eyes. Kashichi found it sorrowful.

At Mitsukoshi, Kazue then bought a pair of white tabi socks at the bargain section while Kashichi purchased premium foreign cigarettes before exiting. They took a car to Asakusa. They entered Katsudokan, where *The Moon over the Ruined Castle* was playing.

First came images of a rural elementary school’s roof and fence projected on screen, accompanied by children’s singing voices. Kashichi found himself weeping at this.

“Lovers,” Kashichi laughed in the darkness as he addressed his wife, “they say people hold hands like this even while watching movies.” Out of pity, he used his right hand to pull Kazue’s left hand toward him, covered it with his hunting cap, then gave her small hand a firm squeeze. Yet between a couple trapped in such dire circumstances, this act felt unclean and terrifying—Kashichi quietly released her hand.

Kazue gave a soft laugh. She wasn’t laughing at Kashichi’s awkward joke, but rather delighting in some trivial gag from the film.

This person was a modest, good woman who could find happiness simply by watching movies.
This person must not be killed.
For such a person to die would be a mistake.

“Why don’t we give up on dying?”

“Yes, go ahead.”
She answered properly while continuing to watch the movie spellbound.
“I’m planning to die alone.”

Kashichi felt the enigma of womanhood.
By the time they left Katsudokan, night had fallen.
Kazue said she wanted to eat sushi.
Kashichi disliked sushi for its raw fishiness.
Moreover, tonight he wanted to eat something a little more expensive.

“Sushi is a problem for me.”

“But I want to eat.”
It was none other than Kashichi who had taught Kazue the virtue of selfishness, proudly lecturing her by using the impurity of feigned resignation as an example.

Everything bounces back to me.

They drank a little sake at the sushi restaurant.
Kashichi ordered oyster fry.
He tried to convince himself that this would be their last meal in Tokyo but couldn’t help forcing a bitter smile.
The wife was eating a tuna roll.

“Is it good?”

“Terrible.”
She said with genuine loathing and stuffed another bite into her mouth before muttering again: “Ugh—terrible.”

Neither of them spoke much.

They left the sushi restaurant and entered the manzai hall.
It was full; there were no seats.
Customers packed tight enough to spill out from the entrance stood jostling one another while watching, yet still burst into unified laughter—ha ha ha—from time to time.
Buffeted by the crowd, Kazue was swept more than five ken away from Kashichi.
Being short-statured, she strained mightily to peer at the stage through gaps in the wall of customers.
She looked like some country bumpkin of a girl.
Kashichi too, jostled by patrons, would occasionally rise on tiptoe to anxiously track Kazue’s figure.
He watched her more than the stage.
Clutching the black cloth bundle—containing their medicine—tight against her chest, Kazue craned her neck this way and that trying to glimpse the performers, yet still glanced back now and then seeking Kashichi.
Even when their eyes fleetingly met, neither smiled.
They kept straight faces yet felt reassured.

I was deeply indebted to that woman.
That, I must not forget.
All the responsibility lies with me.
If the people of the world were to condemn that person, I would have to defend her by any means necessary.
That woman is a good person.
That, I know.
I believe.

What of this time?
Ah, no, no.
I can’t just laugh this off.
It’s no good.
When it comes to that matter alone, I cannot remain indifferent.
I can’t bear it.

Forgive me.
This is my final egoism.
Ethics—I can endure them.
The sensation is unbearable.
It’s utterly unbearable.

A wave of laughter surged through the hall.
Kashichi signaled Kazue with a glance and went outside.

“Let’s go to Minakami, okay?”
They had spent one summer the year before at Tanigawa Hot Springs—a mountain hot spring resort reached by hiking about an hour uphill from Minakami Station.
It had truly been a summer of unbearable suffering, yet precisely because of that intensity, it had now transformed into an almost sweet memory, like a picture postcard saturated with vivid colors.
The mountains and river beneath white evening downpours—it struck him as a place where one might die beautifully of sorrow.
When she heard “Minakami,” Kazue’s body abruptly came alive.

“Oh, in that case, I have to buy some chestnuts to take along.”
“Auntie kept saying she wanted to eat them, you know.”
Kazue would act affectionately toward the elderly innkeeper’s wife and seemed cherished in return.
It resembled a makeshift boarding house more than a proper inn—only three rooms and no indoor bath. To bathe, they had to fetch hot water from the large neighboring inn, go down to Tanigawa riverbed with umbrellas in the rain, or carry lanterns or naked candles to the small open-air bath there at night.
The elderly couple had no children and lived alone, though their three rooms would occasionally fill up; during those times they scrambled about frantically while Kazue appeared to alternate between helping and getting in the way in the kitchen.
The meal trays bore items like salmon roe and natto—clearly not the inn’s own cooking.
Kashichi felt at ease there.
When the elderly wife suffered a toothache and Kashichi gave her aspirin out of pity, the medicine worked too well—she fell into a deep drowsy sleep without resistance. The innkeeper who normally doted on her paced anxiously while Kazue laughed uproariously.
Once when Kashichi wandered alone near the inn with bowed head through grassy fields and glanced toward the entrance, he found the elderly wife sitting small and flat beneath the dim entrance steps, gazing absently at him—a moment that became one of his treasured secrets.
Though called an elderly wife, she was a plump-faced woman in her mid-forties with refined composure.
The innkeeper seemed to be an adopted son.
That was the elderly wife.
Kazue bought chestnuts.
Kashichi urged her to buy a little more.

Ueno Station carried the scent of home.
Kashichi was always terrified someone from his hometown might be there.
That night especially, dressed in such a way that they resembled shop clerks and maids on their day off loitering about, they felt terribly apprehensive of attracting attention.
At the kiosk, Kazue bought a copy of Modern Japan’s Detective Fiction Special Issue, and Kashichi purchased a small bottle of whisky.
They boarded the 10:30 Niigata-bound train.

After settling into facing seats, the two smiled faintly.

“Hey, do you think Auntie will find it strange seeing me dressed like this?”

“Don’t worry about it. If we say that after the two of us went to see a movie in Asakusa, on the way back the master got drunk and insisted on going to Auntie’s place in Minakami, so we just came along—that should work.”

“I suppose that’s true.”
She was nonchalant.

Immediately, she started speaking again.

“Auntie will be surprised, won’t she.”
Until the train departed, they still seemed restless.

“She’ll be pleased.”
“Absolutely.”

The train departed.
Kazue’s face stiffened abruptly; she glanced sideways at the platform with darting eyes—this was the end.
Whether from summoned resolve or not, she untied the furoshiki bundle on her lap, took out the magazine, and turned its pages.

Kashichi's legs felt heavy, his chest alone churned with restless discomfort, and he sipped the whisky like it was medicine.

If I had money, I wouldn't need to make this woman die.
If that man had been slightly more decisive, this could have taken another form.
I couldn't bear to watch.
This woman's suicide has no meaning.

“Hey, am I being a good one here?”
Suddenly, Kashichi blurted out.
“Am I the only one trying to play the good one here?”

Kazue panicked at the loudness of his voice; then she furrowed her brows and glared angrily. Kashichi grinned timidly, his smile wavering nervously.

“But you know,” he jested, deliberately lowering his voice more than necessary, “you’re still not that unhappy. After all, you’re an ordinary woman—neither bad nor good, ordinary through and through. But I’m different. What a piece of work I am. Apparently, this is subpar.”

The train passed Akabane, passed Omiya, and rushed onward through the darkness.
Due to the whisky’s intoxication and spurred on by the train’s speed, Kashichi grew talkative.

“I know how disgraceful it is—being given the cold shoulder by my wife yet still trailing around after her like this, unable to do anything about it.”
“It’s foolish.”
“But I’m not a good boy.”
“I hate being a good boy.”
“It’s not that I’m trying to gain some half-baked sympathy—being seen as ‘pure’ by my fellow artists or pitied as ‘that weak-willed good man’ by ordinary people—just because I got deceived by a woman due to my own naivety, couldn’t bring myself to abandon her, and let myself be dragged to death.”
“I succumb to my own suffering and die.”
“It’s not like I’m dying for your sake.”
“I too had many faults.”
“I relied too much on others.”
“I overestimated others’ strength.”
“That too, and all my other shameful failures—I know them all myself.”
“I have tried so hard, desperately, to live an ordinary person’s life—don’t you understand even a little of that?”
“I have been clinging to a single straw to survive.”
“Even under the slightest weight, that straw was about to snap, and yet I tried so hard.”
“You understand, don’t you.”
“It’s not that I’m weak—the pain is just too heavy.”
This is a complaint.
It’s resentment.

But unless I say it out loud—unless I make it explicit—people will... no—even you will overestimate my iron-faced toughness and dismiss that man’s endless moaning about suffering as mere posing, as gestures.

Kazue started to say something.

“No—it’s fine. It’s not that I’m blaming you. You’re a good person. You’ve always been honest—someone who took words at face value. I don’t intend to blame you. Even those far more educated than you, even long-time friends, did not know my suffering. They didn’t believe in my love. No wonder. In other words, I was just clumsy.”

Having said that and smiled, Kazue momentarily looked smug,

“I understand.”
“That’s enough.”
“If others hear, it’ll be trouble.”

“You truly don’t understand anything.”
“To you, I must appear utterly foolish.”
“I wonder—you see—if even now, as I try to act like a good boy myself, that very impulse isn’t still lurking in some corner of my heart. That’s what torments me.”
“Though we’ve been together six or seven years, you’ve never—no—I don’t mean to blame you for such things.”
“It’s only natural.”
“It’s not your fault.”

Kazue wasn’t listening.
She silently began reading a magazine.
Kashichi adopted a stern expression and continued speaking toward the pitch-dark window as if muttering to himself.

“This is no joke.”
“Why on earth would I be a good boy?”
“People call me all sorts of names—liar, lazybones, self-absorbed fool, spendthrift, womanizer—and beyond that, I’ve been bestowed a terrifying number of other vile epithets.”
But I remained silent.
I didn’t offer a single word of explanation.
I did have my own convictions.
But that was something I mustn’t put into words.
In that case, everything would become meaningless.
I still found myself contemplating the notion of a historical mission.
With only my own happiness alone, I couldn’t go on living.
I resolved to assume the villain’s role in history’s grand narrative.
The stronger Judas’s evil, the more Christ’s gentle light intensified.
I had always considered myself part of a race destined for extinction.
My worldview had taught me so.
I attempted a fierce antithesis.
The more I emphasized the evil of those destined to perish, the more powerfully the spring of healthy light that would be born next would rebound—that was what I had believed.
I had been praying for that.
What became of me alone didn’t matter.
If my role as the antithesis could contribute even slightly to the clarity to come, then I was prepared to die for it.
Even if no one would actually laugh and do it—in reality, that’s exactly what I had thought.

I am such a fool.
I might have been wrong.
After all, perhaps somewhere I had grown conceited.
That itself might have been nothing but sweet delusions.
Life isn’t some stage play.
Those words—"Since I’m beaten and bound to die soon anyway, at least you should hold yourself together"—might have been mistaken from the start.
A banquet stinking of corpses, crafted by discarding one’s very life—not even stray dogs would touch it.
The recipient themselves might find it nothing but a nuisance.
"Unless we both rise triumphant, none of it holds meaning."
The window offered no reply.

Kashichi stood up and staggered toward the restroom.
He entered the restroom, closed the door properly behind him, hesitated for a moment, then pressed his palms together in prayer.
He assumed a posture of prayer.
Not a bit—it was no pose.

They arrived at Minakami Station at 4 AM.
It was still dark.
The snow they’d worried about had mostly melted away, leaving only ash-gray patches lingering quietly in the station’s shadows. He thought they might even be able to walk to Tanigawa Hot Springs up in the mountains under these conditions, but Kashichi decided to err on the side of caution and roused the car rental shop in front of the station.

As the car wound its way up the mountain in zigzagging curves, they came to realize that the fields and mountains were blanketed in snow so pure white it seemed to brighten the dark sky.

“It’s cold.”
“I never imagined it would be this cold.”
“In Tokyo, people are already wearing serge.”
She kept apologizing for their appearance even to the driver.
“Ah, right there.”

As the inn approached, Kazue grew animated.
“They must still be asleep.”
This time she told the driver, “Yes, just a bit further.”

“Alright, stop,”
Kashichi said.
“We’ll walk from here.”
The road beyond narrowed.

Abandoning the car, both Kashichi and Kazue removed their tabi socks and walked about fifty meters to the inn. The snow on the road had barely settled into a precarious thin layer as it melted, leaving their geta thoroughly soaked through. When he tried to knock on the inn’s door, Kazue—who had been walking slightly behind—darted forward.

“Let me knock,” she said.
“I’ll wake Auntie up.”
She resembled a child competing for praise.

The elderly innkeeper couple were startled.
Or rather, they were calmly flustered.

Kashichi briskly went up to the second floor alone, entered the room where they had lived the summer before last, and twisted the light switch.
Kazue’s voice could be heard.

“But you see, he just wouldn’t listen about going to Auntie’s place.”
“Artists are such children, aren’t they?”
She was acting excitedly, as if unaware of her own lie.
Tokyo said “serge” again.

The elderly wife quietly came upstairs and，while slowly opening the room’s shutters，

“Well, you’ve come.”

The elderly wife said just one thing.

Outside had grown somewhat brighter, and a stark white mountainside appeared right before their eyes. Peering into the valley through the hazy morning mist below, they could see a single mountain stream flowing darkly.

“It’s terribly cold.”
It was a lie.
He hadn’t actually felt that cold, but muttered, “I kinda want a drink.”

“You okay?”

“Ah, my body’s completely fine now.”
“I’ve gotten fat, right?”

Just then, Kazue brought over a large kotatsu she carried herself.

“Ah, this is heavy.”
“Auntie, I borrowed Uncle’s.”
“Uncle said it was okay to take it.”
“It’s freezing—I can’t stand it!”
Without even glancing toward Kashichi, she was acting excitedly all by herself in an unusual manner.

When they were alone, they suddenly became serious,

“I’m exhausted. I’ll take a bath, and then I think I’ll plan to get some sleep.”

“I wonder if we can go to the outdoor bath below.”

“Yes, I heard we can go. They say Uncle and Auntie also go in every day.”

The innkeeper, wearing large straw boots, tamped down again and again on the snow that had just piled up yesterday to create a path, and then Kashichi and Kazue followed behind him, descending to the dimly lit Tanigawa river. On the mat the innkeeper had brought, they discarded their kimonos and slid their bodies into the hot water. Kazue’s body was round and plump. He simply couldn’t imagine her as someone who would die tonight.

After the innkeeper had left, Kashichi jerked his chin toward the white mountainside where thick morning mist drifted slowly. “Around there?”

“But with snow this deep, we’d never make the climb,” she countered.

“Maybe further downstream would be better.”
“There wasn’t that much snow around Minakami Station, you see.”

They were discussing where to die.

When they returned to the inn, the futon had been laid out.
Kazue immediately burrowed into it and began reading a magazine.
At the foot of Kazue’s futon, a large kotatsu had been placed, looking warm.
Kashichi rolled up his own futon, sat cross-legged before the table, and drank sake while clinging to the brazier.
The side dishes were canned crab and dried shiitake mushrooms.
There were also apples.

“Hey, why don’t we put it off one more night?”

“Yes,”
The wife answered while looking at the magazine.
“Whatever. It’s fine.
But we might run out of money.”

“How much do we have left?”
While asking this, Kashichi burned with shame.

Lingering attachment.
This was disgusting.
The most disgraceful thing in existence.
This wouldn’t do.
The reason I kept dawdling like this—it had to be because I wanted this woman’s body.

Kashichi was exasperated.

Did he have no intention of living on and continuing life with this woman?
Debt—and morally burdensome debt at that—what was to be done about this?
Disgrace—the disgrace of being half-mad—what was to be done about this?
Suffering—the ironic suffering of people not believing it—what was to be done about this?
And then, family.

“Hey, you were ultimately defeated by my family after all, weren’t you.”
“Seems that way.”

Kazue answered briskly without taking her eyes off the magazine.

“That’s right. I’m just an unwanted bride anyway.”

“No, you can’t just say that.”
“Certainly, there were areas where your efforts fell short.”

“That’s enough. More than enough.”
Throwing down the magazine, she said, “You’re just spouting rationalizations.”
“That’s why you’re hated.”

“Oh,” he said flatly.
“So you hated me after all.”
“How rude of me.”
Kashichi slurred his words like a drunken man.

Why don't I feel jealous?
After all, am I just a vain person?
There's no way she could hate me.
Was I actually believing that?
I felt no anger.
Is it because she's simply too weak?
Isn't this very way of mine—this manner of perceiving things—precisely what you'd call arrogance?
Then all my ways of thinking are worthless.
My way of living up to now—all of it's worthless.
It's only natural—without puzzling over it as a riddle, why can't I simply hate her?
Such jealousy—isn't that precisely what's modest and beautiful?
Isn't this fourfold-layered fury precisely what's noble and unfeigned?
The figure of a man dying solely from the shock of being betrayed by his wife—isn't that precisely the sorrow of purity?
But what am I?
Lingering attachments and goody-two-shoes and hypocritical piety and morality and debt and responsibility and obligations and antitheses and historical duties and family—oh, this won't do.

Kashichi wanted to brandish a club and smash his own head to a pulp.

“We’ll leave after a quick nap.”
“Let’s do it. Let’s do it.”

Kashichi noisily flapped open his futon and burrowed into it.

He was thoroughly drunk, so he managed to sleep somehow.
When he awoke hazily just past noon, Kashichi couldn’t endure the desolation.
He sprang up and immediately began muttering “Cold, cold” while asking someone downstairs for sake.

“Come on, time to get up now.”
“We’re leaving.”

Kazue slept with her mouth slightly agape.
She opened her eyes vacantly,

“Oh, is it already that time?”
“No—it’s just a little past noon, but I can’t go on.”

He didn’t want to think about anything.
He wanted to die quickly.

Then everything moved quickly.
Using the pretext of wanting to tour the nearby hot springs while they were at it, they made Kazue voice the suggestion and left the inn.
The sky was perfectly clear, and since we were strolling leisurely down the mountain while taking in the scenery along the way, we declined the car. After walking about a block, I suddenly turned around to find the elderly innkeeper’s wife running after us from far behind.

“Hey, Auntie’s coming.”
Kashichi was anxious.

“Here, um...”
The elderly wife, her face flushing red, held out a paper package to Kashichi. “It’s silk floss.”
“I spun and made it at home.”
“It’s nothing special.”

“Thank you,” said Kashichi.

“Oh Auntie, really—no need to fret over us,” said Kazue.
Somehow, both of them felt relieved.

Kashichi started walking briskly.

“Take care now, you two go on.”

“Auntie, you take care too.”
Behind them, they were still exchanging farewells.
Kashichi turned sharply on his heel,

“Auntie, let’s shake hands.”

Having her hand firmly gripped, discomfort and even a tinge of fear appeared on the elderly wife's face.

“He’s drunk.”
Kazue added from the side.

He was drunk.
Laughing as they parted with the elderly wife and trudged down the mountain path—the snow growing thinner as they went—Kashichi began whispering to Kazue, suggesting spots here and there.
Kazue said it would be better to find a place closer to Minakami Station so it wouldn’t feel so desolate.
Before long, the town of Minakami spread out darkly below.

“There’s no more time for hesitation now, huh?”
Kashichi said, feigning cheerfulness.

“Yes.”
Kazue nodded seriously.

Into the cedar grove on the left side of the road, Kashichi deliberately walked in slowly.
Kazue also followed.
There was almost no snow.
The dead leaves were piled thickly, damp and muddy.
They pressed forward resolutely, paying no heed.
They crawled up the steep slope.
Even dying required effort.
They finally found a meadow just large enough for two people to sit.
There, a little sun was shining, and there was also a spring.

“Let’s do it here.”
He was tired.

Kazue spread out a handkerchief and sat down, making Kashichi laugh at her.
Kazue remained nearly silent.
From the furoshiki bundle, she took out the medicines one after another and cut open their seals.
Kashichi took them up,

“When it comes to medicine, nobody but me would know.”
“Let’s see—you should drink exactly this much.”

“That’s so little.”
“Can you really die from just this?”

“The first person can die with just that amount.”
“Since I take these constantly, I need to drink ten times your dose.”
“If we survive this, we won’t even be able to face ourselves.”
“If we survive—it’s prison.”

But could it be that I'm letting Kazue survive to carry out this servile revenge? No way—this was like some cloying dime-store novel plot. Growing furious at the thought, Kashichi gulped down pills overflowing from his palm with spring water, one after another. Kazue too drank them with clumsy hands.

They kissed and lay down side by side,

“Well, this is goodbye.
The one who survives has to live strong, you hear?”

Kashichi knew that sleeping pills alone wouldn't kill someone easily.
He quietly moved his body to the cliff edge, untied his sash, wrapped it around his neck, tied the other end to a mulberry-like trunk—setting up a mechanism where he would slip off the cliff upon falling asleep and be strangled to death.
He had specifically selected this meadow atop the cliff for that purpose from the start.
He fell asleep.
He faintly sensed himself sliding downward.

It was cold.
He opened his eyes.
It was pitch black.
Moonlight spilled down. Where was this?—he realized with a start.

I survived.

He brought his hand to his throat.
The sash remained securely entangled.
His waist was cold.
He had fallen into a puddle.
That was how he knew.
His body had not fallen vertically down along the cliff but had rolled sideways and fallen into a hollow atop the cliff.
In the hollow, water trickling from the spring pooled, and from Kashichi’s back down to his waist, the cold penetrated to the bone.

I lived.
I hadn't died.
This was an immutable truth.
From now on, I mustn't let Kazue die.
Ah, keep living—keep living.

His limbs had gone limp; even sitting up proved difficult.
Gathering all his strength, he righted himself, untied the sash fastened to the tree trunk and removed it from his neck, then sat cross-legged in the puddle and quietly scanned his surroundings.
There was no trace of Kazue.

He crawled around and searched for Kazue.
At the base of the cliff, he spotted a black object.
It looked like a small puppy.
Slowly crawling down the cliff, he approached and looked—it was Kazue.
When he grabbed her leg, it was cold.
Is she dead?
He lightly pressed his palm against Kazue’s mouth and checked her breathing.
There was none.
Idiot!
She went and died.
Selfish brat.
He was seized by a strange rage.
He roughly grabbed her wrist and checked her pulse.
A faint pulse could be detected.
She’s alive.
She’s alive.
He placed his hand on her chest.
It was warm.
Oh, come on.
You fool.

She's alive, damn it.
Bravo, bravo.
I felt intensely tender.
With that amount, there was no way she could die.
Ah... ah.
With a faint sense of happiness, he lay down on his back beside Kazue.
After that, Kashichi lost consciousness again.

When he woke up for the second time, Kazue beside him was snoring thunderously.
Kashichi, hearing this, burned with shame.
What a tough creature.

“Hey, Kazue.”
“Get a grip.”
“We survived.”
“We both survived,” he said with a bitter smile shaking Kazue’s shoulder.

Kazue lay fast asleep looking utterly tranquil.

In the deep night, the cedar trees of the mountain jutted up silently, their needle-like treetops crowned by a cold half-moon.
For some reason, tears welled up.
He began to sob quietly.
I’m still just a child.
Why must a child suffer like this?

Suddenly, Kazue beside him cried out.

“Auntie.”
“It hurts...”
“My chest... it hurts.”
It resembled the sound of a flute.

Kashichi was shocked. If she kept making such a racket, he thought, someone passing by on the mountain path might hear them—and that would be disastrous.

“Kazue, this isn’t the inn.”
“Auntie isn’t here.”

There was no way she could have understood.
Crying “It hurts, it hurts,” she writhed her body in agony and eventually went tumbling down the slope.
The gentle incline seemed intent on rolling Kazue’s body all the way to the road at the mountain’s base, and Kashichi too forced his own body into a roll as he chased after her.
Blocked by a single cedar tree, Kazue clung to its trunk,

“Auntie, I’m cold. Bring the kotatsu!” she shouted shrilly.

When he drew near and saw Kazue bathed in moonlight, she had ceased to look human. Her hair hung loose, matted with cedar needles—a wild, coarse tangle resembling a lion spirit’s mane or a mountain hag’s disheveled locks.

I must stay strong. Even alone, I must stay strong.
Kashichi swayed upright, gathered Kazue in his arms, and labored to haul her back into the cedar grove’s depths. He stumbled forward, crawled up slopes, slid down inclines, clutched at roots, clawed through soil—dragging her body inch by tortured inch deeper into the woods.
How many hours had he persisted in this feeble, insect-like struggle?

Ah, I can't take this anymore.
This woman is too heavy for me.
She's a good person, but she's beyond what I can handle.
I am a powerless human.
Must I spend my whole life enduring such hardship for this person?
I don't want this. I can't take this anymore.
Let's part.
I did everything I could within my power.

At that moment, he made up his mind clearly.

This woman was hopeless.
She relied on me endlessly.
Let people say whatever they wanted.
I would part with this woman.

Dawn was drawing near.
The sky began to grow pale.
Kazue, too, was gradually growing calmer.
The morning fog hung thick and hazy, filling the grove.

Let me be simple.
Let me be simple.
I won’t mock the simplicity of this word “manliness.”
Human beings have no other way to live than to live plainly.

While carefully removing each cedar needle one by one from Kazue’s hair as she lay asleep beside him,

I love this woman.
I love her so much I don't know what to do.
That's where all my suffering began.
But enough.
I had gained some kind of strength that let me love while keeping my distance.
To keep living, I had to sacrifice even love.
What's the fuss? It's only natural.
Everyone in the world lives like that.
I'd live properly.
To go on living, there was no other way.
I wasn't a genius.
I wasn't crazy.

Kazue slept soundly until a little past noon.
During that time, Kashichi, though staggering, took off his wet clothes and dried them, searched around for Kazue’s geta, buried the empty medicine boxes in the soil, wiped the mud from Kazue’s clothes with a handkerchief, and did many other tasks.

Kazue woke up and was told various things about last night by Kashichi,

“Papa, I’m sorry,” she said with a polite bow of her head.
Kashichi laughed.

Kashichi could walk again now, but Kazue remained unable.
For a while, they stayed seated and discussed their plans from that day onward.
They still had nearly ten yen left.
Kashichi insisted they return to Tokyo together, but Kazue argued her kimono was too soiled and she couldn’t possibly board a train in such a state. In the end, arrangements were made for Kazue to return by car to Tanigawa Hot Springs—where she would tell Auntie some clumsy lie about falling during a walk at another hot spring and dirtying her clothes—and rest at the inn until Kashichi went ahead to Tokyo, retrieved a change of clothes and money, and returned to fetch her.
When Kashichi’s clothes had dried, he slipped out of the cedar forest alone, made his way to Minakami town, purchased senbei rice crackers, caramels, and cider, then returned to the mountain where they ate together.
Kazue took one sip of cider and vomited.

They stayed together until dark.
Kazue had finally managed to walk, and the two of them stealthily left the cedar forest.
After putting Kazue in a car and sending her to Tanigawa, Kashichi returned to Tokyo alone by train.

After that, he explained the situation to Kazue’s uncle and entrusted everything to him.
The taciturn uncle,

“What a pity.”

and looked genuinely regretful.

The uncle brought Kazue back and took her into his house,

“That Kazue—just like the inn’s daughter—would lay out a futon between the husband and wife innkeepers at night and sleep peacefully.
‘What an odd one,’ he said, hunching his neck as he laughed.
He said nothing else.”

This uncle was a good person.
Even after Kashichi had clearly parted with Kazue, he drank and caroused with Kashichi without any reservations.

Even so, from time to time,

“Kazue’s had it rough too, hasn’t she.”

He would suddenly say as if remembering, and each time, Kashichi felt weak-hearted and troubled.