Pathway to Japanese Literature

A strange creature had made its nest inside my belly since some time ago and gnawed away.
From around November, this creature would rampage inside my belly, clamoring, "I want snow! I want snow!"
Then the blood throughout my body would boil up, visions of snowy landscapes flickering before my eyes, until I could neither sit still nor stand still.
As exam periods drew to a close, the creature's rampages had grown increasingly violent, and I grew terribly anxious about what it might do inside my belly if I didn't feed it snow soon.
Since I had been attacked by the creature, there must be other victims out there.
After much difficulty searching around, I finally discovered that Koike and Kobayashi were indeed fellow victims.
The three victims boarded the 9 PM train at Ueno Station bound for Goshiki.
What follows is merely the ravings of that creature and by no means my own thoughts.
I am merely faithfully transcribing as a stenographer.

When looking at the trio's outfits, Koike—resembling a giraffe—wore something ridiculously long for a jacket yet absurdly short for an overcoat, with stockings on his legs. It must have been what they call a short coat. Surely it couldn't be borrowed. Kobayashi and I were also wearing long overcoats. The world wasn't so accommodating. It was exactly like dealing with contractors. The train was extremely crowded, with everyone jostling vigorously. No matter how much we all paid the same price for tickets, the quick and the pushy ended up snatching all the seats. Those socialists clamoring for societal equality ought to have devised a way for third-class passengers to sit equally. Even so, we finally managed to sit down. Once the train departed, Kobayashi was already endeavoring to sleep. He seemed to think the world existed solely for sleeping. Yet despite this, around midnight he started making a racket, disturbing everyone's sleep, and then insisted on playing cards. He must have caused considerable trouble to everyone around with his reckless noise. At that time, he hadn't noticed there were people around. This must be what they call acting without regard for others. Dawn broke in Fukushima. Koike was at a loss where to put his long legs. It would have been better to put him in a horse freight car, but there was no helping it now. From then on, the train would be pushed and pulled by two locomotives from both ends.

The slope appeared so steep that our progress became slower than walking.
At this point, Kobayashi started dozing off again.
The snow grew steadily heavier as the train pressed onward, deeper and deeper into the mountains' embrace.
Outside the train windows, snow-capped mountains piled in pure white and a mountain stream flowing through deep valleys like an ink painting came into view.
The air inside the train, fouled by steam and human warmth, seemed to be cleansed by the scenery beyond the windows.
It was no mere traveler’s vista.
An even more majestic, even more profoundly serene landscape.
The train exited and entered snow-protection tunnels, proceeding with a sound that resonated through the quiet snowy world.
After a considerable time had passed, when I shook Kobayashi awake, he rubbed his eyes and remarked, "How's this for splendid snow?" only now showing appreciation.
I was left speechless in exasperation.

When I noticed what looked like a mass of snow at seven o'clock, we had already arrived at Itaya Station. We couldn't determine what had been unloaded. As we stepped onto the snow for the first time, we jumped into the house before the station bearing a sign that read "Goshiki Hot Springs Information Office." Settling down by the comfortable hearthside, we ordered breakfast and also requested porters. The distinctive quiet of the snowy world and its truly serene atmosphere could be perceived in both the neat little hearth and the blackened pillars.

Hearing that there still wasn’t a single skiing guest in Goshiki yet, I grew tremendously delighted.
Moreover, it was said that the inn could accommodate up to a thousand people, which made me feel somewhat daunted.
Around ten o'clock, two porters from Goshiki came to meet us on skis.
For about two chō, we followed the snow-swept railway tracks, walking while carrying our skis.
To the left, across the valley below the railway tracks, pure white mountains stood in a row.
Everything in sight was snow.
After passing through about two tunnels, it was finally time to descend into the valley to the left.
When I strapped on my skis and looked down below, the slope was terribly steep.
There was nothing to be done about it.
Kobayashi and I somehow managed to descend successfully.
Once we had descended and looked up, Koike's figure stood towering majestically atop the snow.
Before I could properly register his precarious stance, his body came plummeting down the slope, sending up a vigorous spray of powder that obscured him from view.
No sooner would I think he'd reappeared than another plume would rise five or six ken later.
Appearing and vanishing like a phantom—truly unrestrained.
Finally gathered together again, we made our way through the cedar forest; crossing the swaying suspension bridge over the mountain stream revealed an alarmingly steep slope looming overhead.
On top of that, the snow was soft.
Thinking we were in for trouble, we climbed up behind the porters.
Sure enough, it proved terribly slippery.
Of course, since we had put on our skis intending to glide forward, slipping backward while climbing became maddeningly troublesome.
Each time we slid back, our energy seemed visibly sapped away.

Even with those glasses and his sturdy legs, Kobayashi was forced to cling to a tree branch barely peeking out of the snow and engage in all manner of struggles. The branch remained fixed in one place, but the skis slid downward according to the laws of physics. Consequently, his body would stretch and contract in one spot while digging holes in the snow—a vigorous motion indeed. Finally, even the brave general proved unable to defy the laws of heaven and earth; perhaps having realized that snow was meant to be slid upon, he let out a shriek: “I’m taking off these skis!” Kobayashi strapped on his self-styled “wappa” snowshoes and began walking, sinking knee-deep into the snow. Koike also greatly favored tree branches. He clung to the branch, reluctant to part with it—either kneeling to shed tears of parting or lying prostrate on the snow in worship of the age of the gods. Finally looking up to the sky, he said, “Maybe I should take off these skis too.” Above them, Itakura made a face that seemed both pitiable and on the verge of shouting in exhilaration as he delivered an unsympathetic remark: “Take them off and you’ll just dig yourself in.” With a frustrated expression, General Koike stood up indignantly. What bravery. Finally climbing this steep section made it considerably easier. When they had gone about two chō, a building resembling gathered school dormitories stood imposingly ahead of them, backed by a mountain. The building was entirely covered with thatch. Finally past eleven o’clock, they rolled up the straw mat and arrived at the inn through a small entrance. They were shown into the tatami room and immediately burrowed into the kotatsu. The only sound reaching their ears was that of the iron kettle.

This stillness could only be savored in the world of snow.
When the three exchanged glances—feeling both the misery of their past struggles and the sublime comfort of this divine realm removed from the fleeting world—they couldn’t help but laugh.
It was a feeling as though all the grime of the cities had been completely washed away.
From noon onward, they finally began practicing in earnest.
The area about one chō in front of the inn was an obstacle-free open space where they could freely choose their slopes.
The snow bore no trace of anyone.
They skied recklessly as if it were their own private garden.
Koike would straighten out rigid as a rod.
And he continued vigorously practicing his ninja-like techniques to vanish from sight.
A hole would inevitably appear afterward.
Ninjutsu and holes seemed to share some profound connection.
Kobayashi was a master of braking methods.
He would invariably glide with the composure of one astride a horse.
Had he cleared his throat in that manner, tens of millions of pixiu would surely have made way for him.
Itakura's skiing technique was quite skillful.
No lie.
I was the one saying so.
Standing atop the snow and gazing out, Mount Hachimori revealed its soft snowy lines in the distance while the snow behind it blazed under the setting sun, displaying myriad hues.
They gave no thought to the cold.
After darkness fell, they entered the house and soaked in the hot spring.

Hot water emerged from beneath a tunnel-like rock.
Because it was ridiculously lukewarm, they stayed in for a long time while shouting random nonsense.
Since the vocalist who produced strange vocal tremolos wouldn't arrive for another two days or so, they felt somewhat relieved.
When they finally prepared to sleep and looked at their pillows, they found them mouse-gray.
Even Itakura had to concede defeat. He vigorously insisted on having them replaced and negotiated with the maid, but when she countered with "They've been washed," he backed down. Upon pleading to at least exchange this peculiar futon, they only replaced the outer duvet cover—making him surrender again.
With no alternative, they wrapped the pillows in hand towels, covered their mouths with towels, then solemnly slept as a trio gathered around the kotatsu.

December 25th.

“It’s already nine o’clock, I tell ya,” laughed the pockmarked clerk as he stoked the fire by their pillows.
“Breakfast is ready at seven, I hear.”

Of course, Glasses didn't wake up. They started skiing around ten o'clock. Last night's snow had filled in yesterday's ski tracks. Koike strained himself today, trying desperately to master turns. His rod-like body would begin tilting rightward only to stiffen and collapse sideways like a rotten tree falling. This was apparently his attempt at turning right. Naturally, the same applied to the left. Such wholehearted commitment to falling was rare indeed. It made for a truly dynamic spectacle. I hereby bestowed upon us the name "Borer Insects." That afternoon brought six newcomers from Nikō. From tomorrow onward, our Borer Insect ranks would multiply further. It was a terrifying prospect.

December 26th.
As expected, the Borer Insects multiplied until the snow was riddled with holes.
They became acquainted with the innkeeper’s son, Mr. Kouichi.
At twenty-five or six years old, he wore smaller glasses—ordinary ones compared to Kobayashi’s.
His attire was also more put-together than ours.
They respected him as their senior.
They practiced setting up five or six poles and weaving through them using karate.
There was a certain overwhelming intensity to it all; Kobayashi’s nose seemed to have grown considerably longer.
Koike practiced earnestly down below.
Since he still couldn’t boast any great accomplishments, things remained safe.
In the afternoon, led by Kou-chan, they went to the field on the right.
Even if one wanted to see the soil’s color, it remained hidden.
There was nothing but pure white snow.
Over these two days, they had completely forgotten the earth’s hue—no matter where they fell now, they never got dirty.
The snow began feeling like a close friend.
From this field, the mountain range stood especially visible.
The realm of snow had cloaked every unsightly aspect of nature.
Above them stretched a vast sky.
What met their eyes were snow-covered peaks.
The nauseating sight of matchbox houses crammed together with overlapping eaves, streets soiled by litter, stinking automobiles—all such things had vanished without trace or shadow.

In the midnight-like silence, the majesty of snow that admonished human frivolity pressed in relentlessly. The great power that smashed desk-bound empty theories and sophistries into leaf-like fragments cried out through this snow, urging us to awaken to falsehoods. It taught to wash away falsehoods. Koike fell into the snow and kept insisting there was a majestic scent to it. It was a scent that teaches true sincerity. It was a scent that reveals human nature. Those who could catch the scent of snow were truly fortunate. Even if you fell stiff as a board, catching the scent of snow cost you nothing. If you went further across this field, there was a good slope. Sliding through untouched snow where not a single ski track remained was delightful. It felt as though you could slide on endlessly without stopping. It was exhilarating because you instantly arrived at a new world. Your eyes gradually grew dazzled by the snow’s reflection, making the slope’s incline impossible to discern. You thought it was flat, then started sliding. On their way back from being shown this new spot, they skied through the woods near the inn for about three hundred meters. When you picked up too much speed and thought "This is terrifying!" you were bound to fall. You mustn't fear, but when the trees started appearing in a line, you couldn’t help thinking this was too fast. It felt faster than being dragged by a horse. At night, they played cards while warming themselves at the kotatsu.

December 27th.

When I woke up and looked outside, a fierce wind raged.
The snow blew about like a blizzard.
Today we were supposed to have Kou-chan take us to the back mountain, and somehow this made me grow frightened.
Still, everyone stubbornly endured without suggesting we stop.
They tied ropes to their skis as brakes.
Itakura carried three lunch boxes on his back that were bound to get crushed.
To the left of the inn stood an unreasonably steep slope they immediately began climbing.
As they angled up the near-vertical cliff face, violent gusts threatened to tear their balance away.
Snow whipped sideways against their faces.
Pain, cold and fear twisted everyone's expressions.
Upon reaching this steep section's summit, a hut appeared where the slope finally eased.
The wind kept hurling snow that pierced through sweaters like needles.
Winding through shrubs, they saw Shin-Goshiki Hot Spring Inn flattened in the distant valley below—a shadow or perhaps water staining the pure white snow dark ahead of it.
Thinking frozen water might let us skate, I asked Koike only to be rebuffed: “It’s a shadow.”
Climbing onward revealed Mount Hachimori's overlapping peaks through agonizing snow gusts.
The higher they climbed, the fiercer grew the wind.
Wishing Kou-chan would call retreat, I followed behind.
Wind-driven snow at their backs threatened to pitch them forward.
However sublime the snowscape, such suffering rendered it pitiable.
Koike and Kobayashi made monkey-like faces without speaking.

Before long, Kou-chan stopped and said that even if we went further ahead, the wind was too fierce so we should turn back; they immediately agreed.
When they looked back, their tracks had already been erased by the wind.
The moment Kou-chan slid away from view...
When he turned around thinking This is bad!, his skis had already begun sliding.
With an actual valley yawning before him...
The skis slid relentlessly downward...
Being dragged by a horse would still feel safer...
If one fell...
Poles would burrow endlessly...
One would have to struggle...
After recklessly exerting myself...
When told “There’s no telling how deep this drop is!”, Kobayashi’s legs...
If your side-step toes dipped slightly...
Should you slide...
When extending legs timidly...
Those who put on airs...
Having finally descended until...
His skis became tangled...
Even trying to right himself...
Buried in snow...

Up above, Koike and Kobayashi were delighted.
His hands were just a bit too short to reach the tree branch, and just as he was truly at his wit’s end, Kou-chan came to his rescue.
The Borer Insects and Kobayashi were utterly delighted and exaggeratedly claimed it had indeed taken six minutes.
It was about five minutes.
At lunchtime, they were served cold beef and everyone was overjoyed.
Exhausted, they slept at the kotatsu until around three o'clock.
After that, they went to yesterday’s field to ski, returned when it grew dark, and upon hearing that a companion from Tokyo had arrived, wondered who it might be—and then Boujou and Toda came.
Kitazato apparently wasn't coming.
From today, the indoors became much brighter.
It glowed bluish like gas.
Whose doing was this?
When sweets arrived, they were overjoyed.
From today, vibrational sounds could be heard in the bath, resonating in their heads.
They didn’t know who it was, but it sounded familiar.
After all, with two more people added, it was lively.

December 28th.
Since there were first-time skiers, we decided to ski in front of the inn.
Boujou skied as if declaring "Behold my skill!", but his skis caught in the snow and he fell.
Because it was the skis that tripped rather than the person, it held the same meaning as a judo throw—slightly different yet fundamentally similar.
Toda appeared to be sporting a halo, though where exactly it shone remained unclear.
One ken was indeed skiable.
Standing took three shaku, falling two shaku, and rising another shaku—totaling six shaku. Converted directly, six shaku divided by six (since inroku makes six) equals one ken.
If my calculations differ from yours, feel free to adjust them.
By afternoon, the snow had hardened considerably and lost its charm.
Toda progressed enough to ski three or four ken.
With five people now sharing one kotatsu, Itakura found himself crushed against the karakami paper door.
An Austrian man apparently arrived today.

December 29th.
Around nine-thirty, they set out to ski.
The Austrian was skiing in the park to the left.
Today, the area before the inn was dangerous like ice.
They decided to head to the field.
Sliding down the slope about twice, they reached their usual incline.
They glided freely across the pleasant fresh snow.
Toda—taking advantage of nobody being around—had lost one of his six-foot skis and was digging his leg into the snow to search for it.
There couldn’t be many searches like this.
It must’ve been freezing, but credit to him for enduring.

In the afternoon, Boujou, Itakura, and Kobayashi recklessly descended a steep cliff.
Boujou was pleased with himself, saying his skis had lifted about a shaku without him noticing.
They descended into the valley, climbed up the opposite side, and emerged onto a path.
They boldly descended the steep slope leading to Itaya.
Kobayashi and the others descended toward the smoke of a charcoal kiln rising quietly.
Boujou and Itakura paused midway to observe the scenery.
Across the valley ahead, on the mountainside opposite, a train crawled upward with great noise, slower than an earthworm's pace.
Along with smoke billowing from its front and rear locomotives, only sound reverberated loudly through this silent world as it advanced.
The moment it disappeared into a snow-covered tunnel, the snowy realm regained its original stillness.
About a minute later, smoke emerged from the distant tunnel exit as renewed chugging echoed from the now-tiny train.
This spectacle proved truly fascinating.
The two exchanged glances and laughed.
On their return climb, Kobayashi carried his skis while sweating profusely.
The act of walking through snow while bearing skis defied comprehension.
To compound matters, his wheezing breaths defied all description.
When we later looked back at the cliff we had descended, its pure white face bore individual ski tracks.
Pride swelled at having conquered such precipitous terrain.
Eager to leave more tracks on steeper slopes, all three selected another incline and began climbing.
Toda and Koike appeared to have returned earlier, their figures nowhere in sight.
They arrived back at the inn around four-thirty.

That evening, Boujou opened a canned sweet sake.
The only ones who truly liked it were himself and Toda, but due to his usual obstinacy, he had recklessly added salt, making it unbearably salty and thoroughly disagreeable.
Koike and the others, feeling nauseated, demanded hot water and ridiculed the sweet sake—but no sooner had Boujou tilted his head than he stubbornly declared it delicious.
Through sheer pigheadedness, he and Toda ultimately drained every drop.
It was a horrifying exhibition of persistence.
Toda—being a peace advocate akin to the Pope—had humored him throughout, while Boujou—believing he had gained his sole ally—began inviting him to drink sweet sake at his Tokyo home after their return.
Before long, they’d be poisoned by sweet sake—and no amount of handstanding would save them.

December 29th.
In the morning, they skied at yesterday's spot.
In the afternoon, they ventured rightward seeking new terrain.
From a charcoal kiln hut buried in snow, smoke rose quietly.
While everyone skied there, Itakura crossed over a mountain to the other side.
Thinking he found a good slope, he slid forward only to encounter a three-shaku drop—before he knew it, he floated mid-air before crashing down.
Using his poles to avoid falling, he smugly continued sliding until catching his crotch on a tree and tumbling.
Soon the others noticed and attempted uncharacteristic jumps.
Scraping snow away, they slid as if forcing themselves airborne.
Itakura had barely soared one ken upward when he was slammed down two ken ahead with bone-jarring force.
The three behind laughed heedless of his pain.
Boujou lay sideways from takeoff, floating like Tenkatsu's hypnotic illusion before splatting messily—a sight to bring tears.
Kobayashi and Koike naturally stood no chance of success.
Neither braking techniques nor rotten-tree collapse methods applied to jumping.
Toda skied solemnly nearby.
He'd improved remarkably.
Foot positioning seemed no great obstacle.
As sunlight slanted, they began their return.
Halfway there, everyone went ahead leaving him alone.
Distant mountain clouds were tinged orange, gray, purple—every hue.

The rustling sound of bamboo leaves peeking through the pure white snow whispered into my ears. It was a quiet, bone-chilling natural world. I was not merely gazing at nature. I felt as though I had been cast out by nature. Planting my pole and warming my hands at my mouth, I gazed at this lonely yet pure vista.

Tonight I managed to obtain canned sweet red bean soup.
When it comes to this sort of thing, I end up licking the pot clean.
It makes for a world of difference from that sweet sake.
Since Kobayashi was returning tomorrow, he ordered large five-colored rice crackers to take back as souvenirs.
Taking advantage of the occasion, they drank cider, grilled dried fish, and gathered around the brazier to eat.

December 30th.
Kobayashi had broken his oversized glasses the previous night, so even when everyone was eating breakfast, he remained moping in bed.
Finally Boujou lent him ordinary glasses, letting him emerge.
With these spectacles he looked considerably more human.
Though still not quite human-like.
Hearing Westerners had arrived, Kobayashi and I went halfway to meet them—they were climbing up through snowdrifts below.
Yesterday's ski tracks on the cliff had been wiped clean by fresh snow.
Against nature we stood no chance.
The second man who looked English called out “Is there any Japanese?” then answered himself with “Down below?”
“Smooth talker,” I thought.
The Englishmen spoke excellent English.
We skied before the inn today.
Today’s foreigners comprised two Germans and two Englishmen.
They conversed animatedly in German with remarkable fluency.
I’d expected German to sound rougher, but it flowed like English.
Since articles tumbled out heedless of case—nominative or genitive—German clearly belonged to Germany.
At one o’clock Kobayashi prepared to leave; Koike, Boujou and I saw him off.
Kobayashi took point, gliding through snow-flecked pines—a heartening sight.
After sliding four blocks’ worth of path in one breath and stopping sequentially, he doffed his hat: “Well then, farewell.”
Snow fell thick upon Kobayashi’s retreating back as he skied away alone.

Even with one person gone, it felt quite lonely.

December 31st.

Toda was resting, as he seemed to have caught a cold.
The remaining three ended up going to the mountains with the foreigners.
Mr. Winkler from Austria was an energetic twenty-nine-year-old.
“Please accompany me today,” Mr. Winkler blurted out in awkward Japanese.
Then came the reply: “Yes, but it’s just a short distance.”
“It’s not particularly interesting,” came the response in fluent Japanese.
The ages of those following behind couldn’t be determined since they were foreigners.
After all, there seemed to be people ranging from their thirties to around forty.
With Kou-chan joining us, the Japanese, British, and German mountain climbs made for an interesting contrast.
The cliff we had struggled up before was easily climbed today, and they formed a line to ascend the section battered by wind and snow.
Mr. Winkler took the lead, with Kou-chan bringing up the rear.
The three Japanese in the middle were sliding backward recklessly, though it wasn’t very dignified.
Following properly behind the leader in a zigzag formation, the long-awaited first descent finally arrived.
It was difficult to descend since the mountain loomed close on our left.
When the leader skillfully descended and came to a precise stop, the next person would descend.
Boujou started his descent, veered right downward, and sent up a plume of snow.
What kind of signal that was supposed to be.
Every time Koike slid, he pressed up against the mountain on his left.
The skis never faced downward but instead pointed toward the mountain.
In other words, lines perpendicular to the slope formed parallel to each other.

If you imagine sliding sideways across ladder-like steps one by one, then extending a foot down to the next step, you could grasp how it worked. It was truly safe but hardly looked easy. Moving a little further brought them to Sai no Kawara. We had to walk over rocks on our skis. Eventually we reached the ridge. A violent wind roared.

It was freezing—no, beyond freezing. This was a place that would look cold even in summer, utterly unbearable. When we looked out, the Yonezawa Basin stretched before us in all directions. Far, far ahead in the mountain shadows, a flat area came into view. It looked just like a map. While thinking this must be Uesugi territory, I gazed at the vast, frigid landscape spread before my eyes. As we made our way rightward along the mountainside, the leader soon came to a stop. Just when I thought we were finally about to descend, Mr. Winkler vanished with a whoosh down the mountainside. There was no telling what lay ahead. Regardless, we started sliding after the ski tracks. As we curved around one mountain during the descent, Mr. Winkler's figure appeared small below us. While rejoicing at the tremendously long slope, our skis steadily gained speed with each passing moment. The ski tracks snaked downward in S-shapes, but once we reached breakneck speeds, making turns became impossible. Still thinking it unwise to go straight down, we struggled to carve even slight curves—only to be flung nearly two meters sideways instantly. This time we descended straight down in frustration. The wind howled—not merely fast but unimaginably so. In moments we reached where the leader had stopped. With no other choice, we planted our poles in our own style, leaned far back, and finally halted as Mr. Winkler watched. "It's hard to see when you plant poles behind you," he cautioned. "You should place them sideways." Boujou, who had come up from behind, laughed mockingly as if saying, "See? Told you you'd get scolded."

Gazing upward, an immense slope spanning over a dozen chō lay beneath the sky.
From above, three bean-sized people came descending while carving S-shapes.
Occasionally, they could be seen suddenly kicking up a spray of snow and tumbling over.
The German ski instructor expertly descended.
“That’s how you descend,” Mr. Winkler gestured.
The Germans skillfully used their poles while decisively lowering their hips at each turn, but their calm manner when switching poles was something to behold.
The other German, it was said, was attempting this for the first time.
He tumbles over bravely.
“Kou-chan, there was a charcoal hut here last year, wasn’t there?” Mr. Winkler turned to address him.
“We’re not burning any this year,” Kou-chan replied.
“This is troublesome—I thought we’d eat our lunch,” someone said, yet they still declared, “Let’s eat here,” and each found their spot.
There were two large tree stumps.
One had been claimed by the Germans.
Japan took the other one.
The British chose another spot.
Looking around, Germany, Britain, and Japan had each taken up separate positions.
“Shall we start a war?” the three of them laughed.
Overhead, a cable transporting sulfur was moving.
Mr. Winkler pointed at the bundle of firewood dangling like an airship and said with a charming smile from afar, "Look, a Zeppelin!"
While stuffing bread into my mouth, I looked out to see distant mountains in my field of vision—pure white and undulating like wrinkles on the Earth’s surface—with a beautiful plain stretching beyond them.

When viewed from such a place, I came to realize that mountains were entirely the Earth's folds. From a celestial perspective, one might say it didn't exist—and yet, such folds existed upon this Earth. Even a single one of those undulations appeared tremendously large from our perspective. When I looked at things this way, I felt as though I were viewing Earth from beyond its surface. The clouds racing across the sky had grown unreasonably fast. When the sun showed its face, the warm light felt immensely welcome to our frozen bodies, but the moment clouds covered it, the wind began to blow. We trembled while stuffing our mouths with bread and dried grapes. The Japanese trio wore sweaters, while the foreigners had all brought proper jackets. Moreover, with us Japanese wearing ordinary footwear, the cold—whether you called it freezing or not—caused tremendous pain. Kou-chan, apparently feeling cold, was doing exercises. Mountain climbing required complete preparation—this realization filled me with utter despondency. Before long, we departed. We passed alongside the large slope we had just descended and began climbing upward once more. As Mr.Winkler led the way up the steep mountain, creating a path, those behind formed a single line and climbed along his tracks. Because it was steep, our field of vision expanded step by step. To the left of Mount Hachimori visible ahead stretched a continuous line of sharp-peaked and round-topped mountains. That end was blocked by the large snow-covered mountain continuing from the one we were currently climbing. Between that mountain and the one we now climbed lay the excellent slope we had earlier. The pure white snow made it appear skiable anywhere, but the slope remained treacherously steep. Mr.Winkler pointed at a sharp mountain towering in the distance and said, “I’ve climbed that one too—Mount Shichimen.”

Countless mountains remained to be climbed.
Regrettably, I had yet to tread upon any of them.
No matter how much one puffed themselves up with “Just wait and see,” it meant nothing without actual climbing.
When we advanced further, the novice German gentleman ahead said, “Let’s descend a little.”
“How delightful!” he added.
“Since we’re sliding down anyway, ‘Let’s descend’ hits the mark!”
This time we descended along a mountainside bordering a valley to our right, but the slope curved upward too steeply for safe passage.
The leader halted splendidly about two hundred meters ahead.
Those following mostly became buried in snow.
When my turn came, I steeled myself and pushed off—instantly gaining terrifying speed.
While others’ skis slowed at that section, mine accelerated uncontrollably.
By the time I reached where they’d stopped, halting proved impossible.
Ahead lay a rock eighteen meters distant, beyond which yawned a fatal drop.
I jammed my pole into the snow with desperate strength.
The icy surface resisted—the pole stuck fast as I somersaulted beside the exposed stone.
Foreigners cheered “Banzai!” as I rose wryly, only for Mr.Winkler to instruct: “You must practice turning more.”
My humiliation deepened beyond measure.

As we were about to reach the ridge now, the snow was hard, and moreover, mirror-like snow was plunging into a valley of unfathomable depth.
As we climbed with the mountain looming to our left, our legs tingled with unease.
When we reached the ridge, a ferocious wind struck.
In this state, I thought we would freeze to death if we kept walking much longer.
Not only did it pelt us with gravel-like snow, but our bodies were being blown backward.
The sensation in my fingertips vanished, and my face burned unreasonably.
When we finally had no choice but to turn back, I wanted to quickly reach the shelter of the mountain.
Sliding across the hardened snow, we had to make turns—but as our speed increased, unable to complete the curves, we would fall and resume sliding.
Everyone was skiing straight ahead, but the path ahead was interminably long.
Since we generally had the mountain looming to our left, we found it hard to slide and were at a loss.
When descending steep valleys, while watching the distant figure of our leader growing small ahead, we ourselves had no idea where we would come to a stop.
It was a daunting experience.
In any case, since following others' tracks made us go too fast, we decided to ski down a completely different path.
At that point ahead, we encountered an extremely steep mountain and turned back.
“Zurück!” Mr.Winkler called.
As we made our way back, observing a valley where trees grew in wild profusion, Mr.Winkler said, "We'll descend here.
"We passed through here last year too," Mr.Winkler said sympathetically.
“Keep your body low and come through slowly,” he said as he made his way through the thicket.
I thought this was quite a situation, but there was no helping it.
We charged through the steeply packed trees where our skis could barely fit side by side.

Of course, we left our fate to heaven.
Lowering our bodies as if lying down, we slipped through the branches in an instant.
Everything was utter chaos.
If we stopped moving, the cold became unbearable.
Snow fell while the wind blew and the sun dipped lower, making everything grow colder still.
Sometimes our poles were snatched by trees while our bodies slid onward; other times we got caught on branches—we performed all manner of acrobatic feats.
The German instructor would occasionally stop and call out to the novice gentleman.
“Stemmen!” he barked.
The novice German charged through both individual trees and entire groves without hesitation.
I was impressed by his valor.
We finally emerged at our daily skiing grounds.
“Now we truly understand what ‘utter chaos’ means,” the three of us laughed together.
“We’re quite a bunch of oddballs.”

By the time we reached the inn, it was already dark.
Toda was waiting alone, forlornly.

January 1st.
New Year’s celebrations could not be found anywhere.
Therefore, I resolved to cease aging.
The snow-covered world lay unchanged from yesterday in pure white.
Those who wished to grow older or impose New Year’s divisions like bamboo nodes were free to add their own segments.
I decided to set my own arbitrary divisions and reckoned a year as the span from birth to death.
Japanese people tended to put on airs or affect self-importance too soon.
Thus once past thirty, they could no longer even run properly, waddling like ducks as they chased after trains.
Since everyone wasn’t doing it, it seemed I could get away with not doing it either.
They went about aging themselves arbitrarily, then came saying things like “I don’t have time for that” or “I’m already an adult.”
Because they didn’t exercise, they never truly knew nature.
Therefore petty arguments and armchair theories multiplied without restraint.
People who mechanically passed on others’ ideas from right to left like phonographs increased, as did those who transcribed others’ thoughts through their pens like typewriters.
Those who didn’t exercise had no right to comment on exercise.
They had no right to comprehend country youths’ sentiments.
Human beings who couldn’t connect with nature were crippled.
They remained oblivious to their minds’ emptiness yet put on adult airs and engaged in hollow debates—an intolerable nuisance.
If you stood alone in the snow, you realized your own foolishness.
Rootless arguments came to seem as foolish as duckweed.
It would be better to become more childlike.

A child who knows the emptiness of their own mind has a future, but an adult rusted with vanity becomes nothing but an obstacle to the world.
Look—when you stand in a world of snow, there is nothing but snow.

The three of us went to the usual mountain.
Snow was falling.
Today, Toda wore a large fur hat that gave him the semblance of a Western samurai of old.
“General Jean!” someone called from the mountain’s base, and the valiant general’s figure—feet planted firmly on the snowy peak, seeming to float in midair—came descending.
“Hoy!” he cried out as snow spray rose.
Itakura and Boujou came sliding down the steep cliff trying to somehow succeed, but in an eroded section riddled with holes from their previous falls, they got violently slammed into the snow.
Boujou kept stubbornly persisting, attempting it again and again.
Itakura also tried, but in the end, both of them removed their helmets.
In the afternoon, they played while warming themselves at the kotatsu.
We decided to return tomorrow.

January 2nd.
We skied together with the foreigner to the vicinity of Itaya.
The foreigner was heading to Hachimori.
At the fork in the road, when I said, “Well then, I’ll take my leave,” Mr. Winkler replied, “Let’s meet again.”
Gazing at the snow we were so reluctant to leave behind, the train departed.
Toda got off at Utsunomiya.
The remaining three arrived at Ueno at seven o’clock.
When I saw the earth churned into muddy chaos, I thought we should never have returned.
Walking through Ginza, I felt a squalor like that of a slum.
Even looking at the decorated dolls’ costumes, they seemed garish and not the least bit beautiful.
Everything appeared garish and filthy.
People’s faces looked shriveled.
I felt like laughing out loud.
Our shoes were torn, and our clothes were wrinkled.
People made strange faces.
I thought that if I became a beggar, I could feel this way.
Beggars aren’t so bad after all.
Vanity bars one from becoming even a beggar.

The above are the belly worm’s grumblings.
Since it had spoken such terrible insults, even I, transcribing them, grew angry.
Fortunately, it didn’t say much about me.
Since it had cowed my belly, it must have shown restraint.
Therefore, those who were subjected to insults ended up at a disadvantage.
The fault lies with me for publishing it in the Jinshikai magazine.
Forgive them with a generous heart.

(March 1918)