Pathway to Japanese Literature

Author: Kasai Zenzō

I

“I might be a little late again this time due to circumstances. I need to go somewhere to write...” I called out to my son F as he was heading out to Yui Beach Elementary School that morning, but “It’s fine,” F replied in his usual curt manner. In the three months since I’d brought him from our distant hometown to live together in this gloomy room at S-in within Kenchō-ji Temple, F had been subjected to such situations often enough that he now seemed thoroughly accustomed to them. He didn’t appear nearly as troubled by these disruptions as I was by my struggles away from home. We ate meals delivered from a nearby caterer, carried lunchboxes when we went out, and each evening upon returning, the twenty-two-year-old daughter from that same caterer would come stay overnight to look after various matters for us.

It was the afternoon of February 1st. I boarded a train from Kamakura, got off at Shimbashi, exchanged eight crudely scrawled manuscript pages—written overnight at a magazine office in the Ginza backstreets—for cash, then took a streetcar to visit my younger brother at the transport company in Iidabashi. Finding it just as he was about to leave work, we stepped outside and decided to stroll all the way to Waseda while talking. In Kagurazaka, I bought manuscript paper and ink. "The debts from the neighborhood have become so unbearable that I need to go somewhere to write... I think I'll head toward Oarai," I told my younger brother.

"I hope it goes well..." said my younger brother with a worried look, knowing full well how often these plans of mine had failed before. That night, I drank late into the evening with my younger brother in the four-and-a-half-mat rented room he shared with his wife, continued drinking until dusk the following day, and then departed Ueno on a train a little past six o'clock. I arrived in Mito around eleven o'clock. I immediately rushed into the inn in front of the station. Although there was a shared auto running from the station front to Oarai, I decided to take the steamboat down the Naka River instead. At a place called K-ro in Oarai, thirteen years ago—the very year F was born in our hometown—I had once stayed for over half a year. Indeed, those had been days of reckless living. I decided to head for that house and see. Passing through bamboo groves and reeds lining both riverbanks, high cliffs near Iwaimachi, the tall long bridge called Kaiunbashi, and the old-fashioned Iwaimachi with its rows of teahouses and rental rooms—then traversing several blocks of sandy path through pine forests—I couldn't help feeling nostalgic for these sights. But when I paid the morning’s lodging fee, my wallet began to feel dishearteningly meager. Moreover, with the overcast sky looking ready to start snowing at any moment and the chilly, unpleasant weather, I boarded the train again and rode for about an hour before getting off at Sukegawa Station. And I went to visit Uchida, who ran a small kimono shop in town.

In a small thatched-roof house on the outskirts, seated before a Seto-ware brazier at the shopfront, Uchida gazed listlessly at the street with a pallid complexion. In the small display window were arranged two or three bolts of meisen silk and detachable collars, while inside the shop, cheap striped cotton and flannel lay piled in dingy heaps. Seven or eight years earlier, when he had split from his brother's household to open this shop, I had briefly visited once—but compared to those days, the stock hadn't grown at all.

“Why did you come?” he said, eyeing me with a suspicious look.

“Well, actually...” I explained the circumstances of my visit, “so under the circumstances, I was hoping you could recommend an inn that would let me stay for about ten days...” “Well then, please do come in,” he said, leading me to the long brazier in the next room. He had divorced the wife I’d met previously and taken a new young wife—the daughter of an elementary school teacher—the year before last, but she had given birth to a girl about half a month prior and now lay in bed with the infant under the covers. A seventeen or eighteen-year-old girl—the wife’s younger sister who had come from the neighborhood to help—prepared the sake. Uchida, though not much of a drinker, kept me company, while during that time his wife busied herself replacing hot water bottles and diapers. Uchida was thirty-six, one year older than me, and had just become a father for the first time.

It was precisely the day of Setsubun. It began snowing around three o'clock. After nightfall, we went out while listening to an apprentice shouting "Fortune in, demons out!" at the top of his lungs as he scattered beans. We trudged about ten blocks through wind-driven snow to reach the coastal inn.

That evening at S-kaku Inn where we'd been taken, we drank and caroused, summoning geisha and hostesses. "The guest for five or six days..." Uchida said this to the inn’s landlady. The building stood large with numerous rooms, its bleak garden containing an expansive pond. Through the glass-paned shoji where I sat gazing out, one could glimpse the blue sea. But being a place specializing in sea bathing, there were no other guests besides myself. Nor were there any maidservants. Just an old couple, a young couple, an elderly bath attendant, and a cook—that comprised the entire staff. The owner—a ruddy-faced man nearing sixty with thinning hair who had been a substantial local landowner until filling his own rice fields a decade prior to build this business—sported imposing sideburns and dragged stroke-stiffened legs out to sunlit gardens where he'd berate a mischievous pup. The young master was an adopted son. He served as cook. Their only daughter—the childless landlady nearing thirty—had a flat russet face and coarse manners. "If you grew sideburns here like this," I once told her drunkenly—irritated by how perfectly apt it was—miming Zhong Kui-style whiskers on my cheeks with both hands, "you'd be your father's spitting image." Even this woman who commented on everything now looked thoroughly cowed.

II

Perhaps from trudging through the snow, I came down with a chill starting the next day and spent my days in bed, rising near evening only to drink late into the night. A considerable amount of snow had accumulated. As I drank alone while listening to the sound of waves, thoughts of F kept coming to mind. In Kamakura too, snow must have fallen—considering it was about fifteen blocks from the temple to the school—it occurred to me that they must have had trouble that morning. The thought of my cousin who had died last year kept coming to mind…

Regarding that cousin, I had intended to write a continuation of the unfinished manuscript I previously published in a magazine. But with that manuscript, I had been struggling considerably. I had completely lost any desire to write, yet circumstances made abandoning it impossible. And so I resolved that this time, no matter what it took, I must write twenty or thirty pages before returning. Because I could not write that manuscript, my recent state of mind had become rather constrained. In that manuscript I had filled pages with what amounted to disparaging remarks about acquaintances—and perhaps because such things brought retribution, maybe that was why I couldn't write like this—I even felt cursed.

On the third evening, I finally steeled myself to skip my usual nightcap and wrote six or seven pages at my desk until past two o'clock. That morning, when the landlady brought the combined breakfast-lunch tray, she waited until I had laid down my chopsticks, "Since today is New Year's Eve by the old calendar," she began, "and we have our own payments to manage—we must ask you to settle your account now..."

“I see.” “That’s quite a predicament.” “The truth is, I don’t have any money on me, so I asked Mr. Uchida to bring me here, you see…” “Well now, since you’re a guest brought here by Mr. Uchida himself, we’d normally have no issue receiving payment through him. But given your... circumstances,” said the landlady with a sour expression, looking thoroughly down her nose at Uchida’s mention, “and considering we’re merely acquainted with Mr. Uchida—not exactly close associates—though we do make occasional small purchases at his brother’s shop in front of the station... Well, that’s neither here nor there regarding Mr. Uchida himself.”

“I assure you there will be absolutely no trouble caused. I came here with urgent work to finish—as you can see, it’ll be done in five or six days...” I showed the manuscript on the tea stand and spoke in a placating tone. “What exactly is your connection to Mr. Uchida... Friends, perhaps?” asked the landlady, her voice tinged with suspicion at the mismatch between their professions and demeanors. “Well—he’s an old friend,” was all I could muster.

“He doesn’t resemble his brother or parents one bit.” “Is that so? I don’t know much about his parents, but though he doesn’t resemble his brother—is that true of his parents too?” “Yes, his parents didn’t have that sort of face either.” After saying even such things as this, the landlady cleared the meal tray and left. I couldn’t help feeling a touch of resentment—wasn’t this talk about Uchida’s physiognomy just unnecessary chatter?—but regardless, I felt uneasy realizing that even Uchida didn’t seem to be particularly trusted. Assuming the landlady had been convinced by my earlier explanation, I was sitting at my desk when in the evening Uchida came rushing in with an air of urgency,

“Here’s a letter from the inn,” he said, pulling it out from his pocket. “I see. So they’re still making some fuss after all,” I said as I read the letter—indeed, it was filled with stiffly formal complaints. There were phrases like “drinking late into every night and resting all day long—” and so forth. “As you can see, I’ve just started writing like this,” I said, “so go tell them I need five or six more days.”

“About how many pages have you written?” “No, I only started writing last night—still just six or seven pages so far. But I’ll be churning them out steadily from here on.” “Then I’ll go sort things out at the front desk.” This secured us a five- or six-day extension. After two consecutive all-nighters pushed me to fifteen-odd pages, my pen stopped dead. Having scarcely ever skipped evening drinks or pulled all-nighters before, these two nights left both mind and body thoroughly deranged. For a day or two I stared vacantly at my desk until frustration won out—I tore up the manuscript.

That night, as I drank alcohol in a self-destructive mood, Uchida came.

“I tore them up because they didn’t satisfy me, but I’ll write twenty or thirty pages in two or three days—don’t worry. If the money still falls short anyway, I’ll sell the copyright to my minor book to pay it off. Honestly, I’ve grown completely sick of this manuscript—it’s not about the money anymore—I’m determined to finish it properly this time and be done with it once and for all…” “Actually, I just came from the front desk—they say it’s reached about seventy yen now. And with you drinking late every night going on about ‘geishas this’ and ‘geishas that,’ they’re thoroughly disgusted. Anyway, they want you to settle the account right now...”

“That’s a problem.” “Anyway, you go talk to them again for me.” “If need be, I could send a letter to a Tokyo bookstore tomorrow to make arrangements.” We decided to go to the front desk together to discuss matters, but given how utterly drunk I was, it seems I only managed to make a poor impression. As for what exactly transpired that night, I could scarcely comprehend.

And so, the next morning, I got up earlier than usual and felt like sitting down at my desk. "Last night I was completely drunk and didn't understand anything properly—did Mr. Uchida say something?" I asked the landlady who had brought the meal tray.

“Oh, he’s expected to come today.” “He should be here any moment now,” the landlady said with a casual expression.

It was a clear, fine day. The sea shone blue. The two or three plum blossoms beginning to bloom in the large alcove vase appeared tastefully elegant. A hunting rifle's report echoed through the air. With this feeling—I could write! The conviction surged through me. Stirring within my chest came an empathy for that quiet humility—how my unfortunate cousin had lived until his last moments without resentment toward people or fate, grateful for each granted day. This was how it should be. If I wrote honestly with this mindset alone... Thinking thus, I wrote a new title on fresh manuscript paper. Through this novel lay confessions I wished to make to my cousin's spirit—yet social shame always stayed my hand. Thus I felt chastised by his soul. One cannot deceive spirits. Even denying their existence brought no relief from conscience's torment. My inability to continue stemmed not from technical struggles alone—these fundamental flaws and self-reproach made me falter. Still—I must embrace honest humility! With that resolve came lightness of heart and courage to take up my pen. That mere ability to sit distraction-free before my desk felt blessing enough—so thinking, I wrote two or three more pages.

But in the afternoon Uchida came over—whether he’d consulted at the front desk or something—and sat down with a stern face before declaring: “This time I won’t let you delay without consequences. I’ll pawn whatever you’ve got to scrape together some money—hand over everything you have.” “That’s absurd!” I snapped. “There aren’t many days left anyway—if it’s come to this, I’ll write to Tokyo to get money arranged… As if I could pull off such a thing!”

“In that case, I can’t take responsibility either.” “What’s so absurd about that?” “If you don’t have the money to pay, isn’t that only natural?”

“That may be so, but since I’ll have it settled within two or three days, there’s no need to go that far.” “But the inn says they won’t wait any longer—what else can be done?” “So if you could just go talk to them there again, that should settle it.” “Even for me, I can’t just negotiate without some deposit.” “Unless you put down a deposit and tell them to wait another two or three days with that, they won’t even consider it at the inn.” “So hand them over…”

“I don’t want to…” “You don’t get it either.” “Anyway, the inn says they’re done with customers like you—even if you say you’ll pay this time, who knows what they’ll say now.” “Just hand over the items.” “Ah, there’s no helping it.” “Well then, let’s settle it that way,” I said, producing three items: my coat, haori, and watch. “I had this coat made for a hundred yen at the end of last year.”

"But if you take them to a pawnshop, they won't lend much." "How much would this figured silk haori even amount to?" "And how much was this watch worth?" "If you were to buy it new," he said in a completely fed-up tone through clenched teeth, "it'd cost twenty-five yen." After he took that bundle down to the front desk with quick steps like a debt collector making his rounds through cheap inn corridors they both knew too well—after all hadn't they done this dance three times already since New Year?—I sat alone chain-smoking cigarettes whose bitter smoke stung more than usual now that my earlier euphoric mood had curdled into self-mockery so sharp I could taste copper on my tongue. But then I reminded myself—what else could one expect from a haberdasher turned loan shark who measured human worth by thread count and pawnshop valuations? The landlady's words about my face came back unbidden—that narrow forehead pushing forward like cheap luggage straining its straps those crooked teeth yellowed from too many cigarettes those upturned eyes she'd called 'merciless' though really they just looked perpetually startled like some nocturnal animal caught mid-scurry. Relying on these features had been my mistake from start. Even now I imagined him at reception—Uchida with his merchant's smile oiled smooth as pomaded hair—haggling over my coat while snow fell outside indifferent as creditors.

“The front desk says even if you put down a deposit, they’re done with customers like you. So either go back to Tokyo right now and get some money together, or have it sent here—whichever you choose,” he declared dismissively. “There’s no way I can do that! “I can’t possibly go back to Tokyo over something like this! “So can’t you handle it this way? “If you absolutely insist on refusing me here, then I’ll go stay at another inn for two or three days to arrange the money—so couldn’t you please cover about fifteen yen for my expenses during that time? “Couldn’t you either pawn my coat or, if that won’t do, arrange for me to stay two or three days at a cheap inn in town?” I pleaded.

“No way in hell,” he declared triumphantly.

“If you’re saying ‘no way,’ then I refuse to hand over the items either—since I’ll prepare and pay the money myself.” “In that case, I’ll have nothing more to do with guaranteeing your stay here.” “That’s your prerogative. I’ll have the police witness it. That way still feels better to me.”

The landlady also entered and interjected during their exchange, but it became unmistakably clear that Uchida had persuaded the inn to refuse me through his negotiations. From his perspective, it was perfectly reasonable to consider cutting me loose here as the most advantageous move. Whenever the discussion threatened to grow complicated, he would briskly exit the room. Beyond mere incomprehension, there seemed to be active resentment toward my very profession at play.

“Since I have settled matters with Mr. Uchida on my end, you must leave regardless.” The landlady brought only the haori Uchida had left behind after saying this. “Since it was Mr. Uchida, he at least left the haori behind, but if it comes to police involvement, they won’t leave a single thing.” “But even so, that was preferable.” “So Mr. Uchida was the one who took those items away, then?”

“Yes, he took them away.” “I see.” “In that case, I’ll just go try talking to Uchida’s brother or someone.” “After all, this is utterly absurd.” “Well, I suppose his brother must have his own considerations too,” the landlady said in a tone that held some semblance of sympathy.

III

His older brother’s house was near the station. That area was a town developed alongside the mines where crude row-house style buildings clustered haphazardly in rows.

The forty-one- or forty-two-year-old brother who had been sitting at the shopfront said, “Well now, do come in...” With that, he began guiding me toward the back rooms, but Uchida—wearing the same hostile expression as before—emerged from the rear and dragged me outside. “What are you doing here?” “I thought I’d consult your brother or someone.” “Why would I involve my brother? You’d do better to just go back to Tokyo.” “I won’t go back. Besides, I don’t even have train fare.”

“I’ll lend you the train fare.” “No.”

“Then suit yourself.” “But no matter what you come here to say from now on, I won’t deal with you—keep that in mind.” “You’re disrupting my business.” “Do you think I have time to deal with the likes of you?” He dismissively declared this and walked off. What a ridiculous man, I thought—though in a life like mine such things were commonplace—but realizing this might be a gravely serious matter for him, watching his retreating back, I couldn’t even feel indignant beyond a bitter smile.

And returning to the front of the shop, I sat down on the bench in the earthen-floored area and explained the situation to his brother. “Given these circumstances, I was thinking I could manage for two or three days while sending letters to obtain the money—and from what’s been pawned of the items Mr. Uchida brought over, I wanted to borrow about fifteen yen. But since Mr. Uchida is in such a furious state, I was hoping you might somehow negotiate with him on my behalf…” I assumed Uchida had likely already handed over the items to the inn, but under these circumstances, I had no choice but to make this request.

“Well, he’s as obstinate as you see—when it comes to business matters I do intervene—in fact can’t help intervening—but with all other affairs, I’ve resolved not to interfere whatsoever. So even if I show him kindness, he’ll immediately push back—meaning if I go see him now, there’s no telling how it might go. In that case, I’ll set out right after you—would you mind going ahead first?” “I’ll just finish this task I’ve begun and come along directly…”

Having been told this, I walked nearly ten blocks alone to Uchida’s shop. At the front of the shop stood a man who might have been a miner’s foreman—wearing a mine-emblazoned happi coat over a straight-sleeved overcoat and leather shoes—examining the sleeves of an underrobe he had pulled out. They were pairs of crepe silk and plain silk. “How low can you go?” “Regarding the price... This is strictly wholesale pricing—these items sold for twelve or thirteen yen during last year’s peak season, so seven yen is already our absolute bottom offer as intermediaries. Should you find higher prices elsewhere, you’re welcome to return them anytime without issue. As for the price point... Well then, as a token of goodwill, I’ll knock off ten sen.”

"So ten sen off would still make it seven yen, huh?" "Well now, as for the price... I've already offered it at a truly low rate." In this manner, he went through the trouble of dealing with the man for about thirty minutes—tapping away at the abacus and such—but in the end, the man left with a "Well then, I'll come back later..." Watching from the side, I too couldn't help feeling sorry for him. The chance to sell these mere two pairs of silk sleeves was without doubt a rare occurrence for such a shop. I felt certain that given this man's disposition, he must be thinking they hadn't sold because I'd shown up. He stood up sullenly and stowed the items on the back shelf,

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his expression growing even sterner. “Your brother should be coming right after me.” “Whether my brother comes or anyone else comes, I want no part in these negotiations whatsoever.” “You’re disrupting my business.” “I can’t spare time for your matters when I’m this busy.” “Anyway, go back to Tokyo immediately or find another inn—do as you please—but if you don’t get the money ready straightaway, I’ll be inconvenienced.” “I absolutely refuse to deal with an irrational person like you.” With a brusque and dismissive manner, he said this and promptly withdrew into the back.

I couldn't remain sitting at the front of the shop, and feeling that I no longer had either the energy or room for interest to negotiate with him, I turned back toward his brother's place.

About fifteen years ago, when I underwent hemorrhoid surgery at the university hospital, Uchida had come to receive surgery for hydrocele, and that was how we became acquainted.

It was a cold day in early February when sleet fell. The first patient had been a soldier with hemorrhoids; the second was him. Soon he—still corpse-like in slumber—was wheeled via handcart from the corridor into the patients' waiting room. His ashen face, periodically contorted by eerie groans that bared protruding front teeth, left me with a distinctly unsavory impression. The one who accompanied him then had been his brother. For sixty days thereafter, we met every other day, growing sufficiently close to visit each other's homes. When cherry blossoms first bloomed behind the hospital, we were released from confinement just two or three days apart—young as we were then—and parted with mutual nostalgia. Strangely enough, we continued meeting every two or three years thereafter. I would stop at his place when returning home; he would visit my lodgings whenever he came up to Tokyo. Four or five years ago it had been. He came to Tokyo seeking treatment for a chronic venereal disease. When I took him to a certain specialist in Kanda for examination, he recoiled at costs appearing severalfold beyond his budget and abandoned treatment. With the money he'd brought, we amused ourselves at a Kagurazaka geisha house. He sternly demanded my share of expenses, but though I maintained a branch family then, my dire poverty made this impossible. Consequently, we parted amid reciprocal insults much like this time's exchange—I resolved to sever ties completely. Yet last summer he suddenly appeared with fourteen or fifteen others, claiming it was en route to Yokosuka for a warship launch ceremony. They drank beer and rested an hour before departing. Later he visited twice more on purported Tokyo errands, each time whiling away half a day in amusement.

"So after all, even his coming to Kamakura wasn’t just for leisure—he must have intended to demand repayment of my share, but perhaps couldn’t bring himself to mention it and left," I realized. I spoke with his brother at the front of the shop.

“The thing is, he’s in such an extremely agitated state that it’s impossible.” “I think it would be futile even if you were to go.” “So, as I explained earlier, circumstances now make it impossible for me to return without finishing my writing. I’ve decided to sell the publishing rights or such to a Tokyo bookstore to secure funds, so could you please lend me just fifteen yen—enough to stay for two or three days?” “They aren’t valuable, but I’ll leave my haori and hakama as collateral…” I gave up on Uchida and this time tried asking his brother.

“In that case, let me at least try asking him what exactly has transpired.” “After all, it’s not merely appearances—merchants have their own hardships to bear...” His brother left after saying this in a lifeless tone. I had been sitting and waiting at the cold front of the shop for nearly two hours. Customers from the lunar New Year stopped by to buy hand towels, neighborhood housewives came to purchase half a tan of striped cotton for their children’s clothes, and a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old clerk attended to them.

“I’m terribly late—I got detained by a New Year’s customer who was drunk along the way... I do apologize for the delay.” His brother returned with a somewhat flushed face, but

“Well, he isn’t particularly enraged or anything like that, but he says it would be better for you this way.” “…I still think it would be best for you to return home first and secure the funds.”

“I see. Thank you for your trouble,” I said—having anticipated this outcome yet still feeling perplexed. “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it.” “Even if I were to return now, it’s already too late. I thought I might go to another inn and explain my circumstances so they’ll let me stay while awaiting a reply. So truly—I apologize for asking—but could you lend me just five yen? I’ll leave my hakama as collateral,” I proposed this time.

“No, the hakama trousers won’t be necessary…” he said, took out the money from the cash box on the counter, and placed it before me. I put that into my pocket and left the place as if fleeing. As I crossed the station overpass—which allowed passage even for non-passengers—there stood two unpleasant-looking men in coats and hunting caps near the midway ticket gate, their eyes scrutinizing my disheveled appearance. Just four or five days prior, over three hundred miners had been dismissed at the mine, so I immediately sensed these must be detectives on guard against any potential unrest. A man in a workman's coat talking to an old woman at the brazier of a stall displaying cheap sweets and mandarin oranges in front of the station, and another man of similar appearance cycling around in front of it,

“Which way is G-kan?” I asked. “G-kan?...” the two men said almost in unison, their manner suggesting they might press closer to my face. Suddenly realizing this, I briskly walked past them.

Trudging along the dark coastal sand road toward G-kan, where I'd once stayed a single night about ten years prior, I soon caught sight of the grand entrance of a newly built inn reserved for mine officials. Thinking a larger establishment might be more accommodating, I changed course and entered.

IV “I was staying at S-kaku, but there was a bit of trouble—my belongings had been taken, so I ended up coming here. I’m not some suspicious character, though. I’d like to stay two or three days while I wait for a reply to a letter I’ve sent to Tokyo. What do you think? Could you have the clerk come here for a moment?…” When the meal tray arrived and after I’d drunk a bottle or two of sake, I made this request to the young maid with Kyoto speech patterns. It seemed both the proprietor and all servants had come from Kyoto, and the young clerk who appeared also spoke in Kyoto dialect,

“Well, truth be told, I’ve only just arrived here myself—I’m not at all accustomed to handling such matters. I’ll have someone else come over...” The clerk listened to my story but left promptly after saying this. “No—I came here counting on yours being the largest establishment in town,” I said as I watched his retreating figure, though I already knew there was no hope left. This time a tout in a workman’s coat appeared,

“In that case, you may stay just tonight, but tomorrow we must ask you to change lodgings—that’s what the master has instructed...” I had made the same request over and over, yet the other party likewise kept repeating the same response. “Well, there’s no help for it then,” I had no choice but to say.

She was a somewhat pretty maid who nevertheless kept me company late into the night with her soothing Kyoto dialect as she poured drinks. At any rate, I resolved to call the Tokyo bookstore tomorrow and fell asleep aided by sake.

Around nine o'clock, while in bed, I looked through the phone directory and had the maid place a call. Then, after eating a late breakfast that served as both morning and noon meal, unable to bear staying awake while waiting for the phone line to connect, I burrowed back into bed and read a storytelling magazine I’d borrowed from the maid—but the call simply wouldn’t go through. Though I had them contact the exchange repeatedly—whether they’d never properly placed the request in the first place or had avoided getting involved—in the end, it never connected before night fell. I asked to stay another night, but seeing no sign of being accommodated, I stepped out through the brightly lit entrance at dusk. Battered by the cold wind through Shinkaicho, I walked on—past a theater in a dilapidated storage-shed-like building bearing banners for troupes like Soganoya Gojuukuro and Soganoya Chouchin—and bleakly made my way toward a merchant inn near Uchida’s house that I’d noticed in passing. I had only enough money left to send a few telegrams.

The next day was February 15th, exactly fifteen days since I had left Kamakura. Around nine o'clock, I rose and promptly asked the maid to send a telegram requesting twenty yen be wired to my younger brother in Tokyo—but no sooner had I done so than the maid came again demanding payment. I had drunk three gou of sake, and the bill amounted to three yen and five sen. "I was staying at a coastal inn, but my budget's gone awry and I'm out of funds. Still, the money will definitely arrive by tomorrow—could you speak to the front desk about letting me stay one more night?"

When I said this, a landlady past forty—hardworking yet seemingly honest—came out and once more demanded I change lodgings, but I handed over my haori coat and hakama trousers to beg for one more night’s grace.

“Since I can’t sleep without drinking sake every night, please have three gou added each night.” I added this request, and they consented to that as well. I drank my three gou of sake by my own hand while thinking how my brother would surely send word tomorrow after returning from work tonight and seeing the telegram. With a faint sigh of relief, I read the dodoitsu-style paper fortune wedged between disposable chopsticks—it said something like: “Though I resign myself as a caged bird, being told to wait for the right time feels endless.” This struck me as an ill-omened fortune indeed.

It was a six-tatami room with good sunlight—fairly neat and pleasant.

While doing this, I thought I must finish writing at least ten or fifteen pages no matter what, so from morning I spread out my manuscript paper and tried working while awaiting a reply, but after writing five or six pages, I couldn’t keep going any longer. I waited until about three in the afternoon, but with no reply coming, the landlady appeared once more.

“Just one more night! The reply should be arriving any moment now, so...”

I removed even my lined kimono, changed into a single padded layer—the inn’s provided robe—and upon requesting to pawn them, managed to borrow ten yen. With that, I paid tonight’s lodging fee. And then I sent another telegram. The paper fortune during evening drinks—its message that if the flowers held sincerity, someday even birds would come to sing—was yet another disheartening one. The third day dawned cloudy and cold. At long last, tomorrow morning I would have to leave without any choice in the matter. I waited until around three in the afternoon, but still there was no response. I even considered asking them to call the police for protection before day’s end, but resolved first to try appealing to Uchida one last time—tucking into my pocket what remained of my assets, the fountain pen—before setting out. The police station stood five or six buildings away from the inn. Gazing at its copper gate and fence—also said to be a mine’s donation—and contemplating how my dealings with Uchida would soon force me to pass beneath them, even I found my own figure in a single layer of padding to appear wretched indeed.

“You’re still here? So you finally went and borrowed from your brother after all.” He spoke in his usual tone at the shopfront, sneering as he scrutinized my disheveled appearance. “Just how thick-skinned can you get? This beggars belief.” “It’s nothing out of the ordinary,” I retorted mockingly. “What you lot call ordinary looks like pure madness to us. I can’t deal with someone this unreasonable.” His voice sharpened. “Why won’t you return to Tokyo? Don’t you grasp that dragging your feet like this will only make things worse?”

“I don’t get it. And looking like this, I can’t possibly return to Tokyo either.” “Where are you staying now?” “I’m at M-ya... So,” I said, explaining how I was waiting for a telegram, then added: “I’ll give you my fountain pen as collateral—lend me five yen.” “It’ll definitely come tonight. Even if the money doesn’t arrive, the reply itself should come without fail. After all, you didn’t have time to send letters and only telegraphed your whereabouts—maybe that caused some crossed wires—but I’m certain it’ll arrive tonight...”

“About how much do I owe at M-ya now?” “About ten yen…” “So with just that ten yen and train fare, I can return to Tokyo?” “Well, more or less.” “Then hand over the fountain pen. As for M-ya, I’ll take care of that—you head back to Tokyo right away. If you don’t quickly settle your account with S-kaku, it’ll cause me trouble.” “Well, I’ll go back if I must—but I’ve waited this long already. Might as well wait until tomorrow. Since the lodging fee’s been paid through tomorrow anyway.”

“No—if you’re saying I have to leave right this moment today, that’s out of the question.” “Fine then—go ahead and leave.” “In that case, I’ll follow right after—you go on ahead back.” When told this, I returned to the inn—and soon enough he came over. As we exchanged a few more words, he started making troublesome demands: that I write a power of attorney for the money transfer whose arrival even I doubted, and draft a document permitting disposal of my belongings if I failed to send payment for S-kaku by a certain date. Without even feeling irritated, I found myself snapping: “If you’re just going to keep spouting such unpleasant things, fine—get out! Take the fountain pen and go!”

“What the— You’ve got some nerve dragging me out here when I’m busy—” “Fine, I’m leaving.” "But whatever happens after this—I won’t know or care.”

“Ah, by all means. Then get out,” I said, feeling somewhat gratified this time as I snapped back.

From evening onward, the rain turned to sleet. The fortune-telling slip during evening drinks read: "Return after meeting, or depart without meeting? A cold moonlit night's ballad." I tried to consider its meaning, but this time couldn't reach any conclusion. Ultimately, I saw only two paths left: either face police intervention tomorrow, or sell my fountain pen, glasses, military-style sash, and old hat to a junk dealer, move to a flophouse, and send another letter from there. Still, I found it strange there'd been no word from my younger brother. With Uchida in the picture, my brother likely couldn't imagine I'd fallen into such straits—maybe that's why he was ignoring me. Or perhaps he was away on business while his wife struggled helplessly. If neither applied, some solution should have materialized—yet I couldn't shake the feeling this might be divine punishment urging me to sink lower still. Visions arose—dealing with policemen, trembling in a holding cell, huddling under a cracker-stuffed futon at some flophouse. Remembering even my deceased cousin had walked such paths made these prospects feel not entirely foreign, bringing his memory freshly to mind. Yet this ill-omened rain began gnawing at me regardless. As I lay down thinking how manageable things might feel if only it snowed instead, I awoke next morning to find the sky scrubbed clean and sunlight streaming warmly through the window—for today's weather at least, I felt grateful. After a late breakfast, having steeled myself to stay until around two in the afternoon, I wrapped the manuscript paper from my desk in a cloth bundle and sat meditating to calm my mind.

Around one o'clock, the maid came running down the hallway and entered holding the telegraph money order envelope while announcing, “It’s arrived!” With a look that seemed to say its arrival was strange, she stared at my face. “How much did you get?” said the maid with country-bred familiarity. “Didn’t I tell you it’d be twenty yen?” I said, hiding my delight and speaking as if it were only natural.

I promptly requested to pawn my belongings. That left a balance of ten yen. I felt relieved I'd severed ties with Uchida the day before. I even considered handing this money over to the inn and initiating negotiations with a Tokyo publisher. The people at this inn had grown on me. Once again, I thought about completing the manuscript here before returning. The prospect of going back empty-handed filled me with deep regret, yet leaving seemed to offer no place where I might settle. Still, persisting here any longer began to feel like sheer stubbornness.

“What should I do? I feel like handing over that money now, then use the time to get funds from elsewhere to finish my work and return home—what do you think?” I tentatively proposed to the Madam. “Well, let me see… But considering how things have gone, perhaps it would be better for you to depart while still in good spirits,” the Madam replied calmly. “Well then… I suppose I’ll be leaving after all.”

I also said this and left the M-ya in good spirits.

Five

I had departed from Sukegawa on the one o'clock train when something occurred to me—though not without much hesitation—and I got off at Station A along the way. There, though I had never met him, the famous writer Mr. S was living in a villa. I thought to visit this man, explain my circumstances, and have him recommend me an inn. It felt both deeply regrettable and left me unable to face my younger brother and his wife. With no rickshaws at the station front, I walked while asking directions. It was nearly five o'clock, and a cold wind blew. The town felt desolate. After walking four or five blocks, I turned right beneath the fire watchtower I'd been directed to and followed a narrow path into fields. Proceeding two or three blocks along the muddy road before branching right toward the marsh, I descended gradually until spotting a small painted structure above a farmhouse—what I thought must be the villa. Circling its fence revealed no proper gate nor signs of habitation, so I returned to field paths. After bumping into a schoolhouse and finally meeting a farmer who pointed me toward a thatched-roof home, I trudged through wheat fields only to find another's nameplate there. Resignedly turning back, I encountered a travel-dressed woman—likely a farmer's wife—who said a Tokyoite's villa lay further ahead. Certain I'd found it this time, I pressed through pine groves to discover a new building with locked entrance and no geta prints in the gateway. Assuming they'd returned to Tokyo, I nearly left but—to be thorough—called at a farmhouse by the gate where an old man directed me down the path before the thatched house to reach the marsh's edge.

“Has Mr. S been around here lately?” I asked the old man. “I saw him two or three days ago, so he’s probably there.”

Dusk had fully settled. I turned back again and made my way through the wheat fields, descending the narrow path before the thatched-roof house I’d seen earlier. There, facing a marsh of considerable size, stood Mr. S’s modest villa alongside a farmhouse. In this way, after much difficulty, I managed to find it, but my courage faltered; I stood outside the entrance for a while before finally mustering the resolve to call out. Then a middle-aged woman who appeared to be a maid came out,

“He’s away in Tokyo but is supposed to return tomorrow,” she said.

“I see. “Then I’ll be on my way.” “…I’m someone called K.” “Mr. K…?” “That’s correct. “Actually, this is my first visit… I’m sorry to have troubled you.” Having said this, I turned back in a fluster without even leaving my business card and let out a sigh. I felt relieved he wasn’t home. I was ashamed of such actions. Knowing my own unrestrained nature—that once I’ve resolved to do something, I can’t rest until I’ve charged headlong into it at least once—I thought this too couldn’t be helped; realizing that with this, I could return to Tokyo having thoroughly failed without regret, I felt a sense of consolation. And I hurried along the dark muddy path as if running, yet still emerged back toward that painted house I had first seen. I had been circling around as if tracing loops, wandering about the area like a human bewitched by a fox.

I arrived at my younger brother’s place a little past nine. He had returned late and said he’d just finished eating, wearing an exhausted expression. “Well, what a mess I’ve been through,” I said in an offhand manner, though I felt truly sorry from the bottom of my heart toward my younger brother and his wife. The first telegram, bearing several tags, had been delivered late at night. My younger brother had sent the telegraphic money order around noon the following day, so naturally assuming it would be delivered by that day’s end even if late, he hadn’t bothered to send me a separate telegram either. It was around noon the following day that I received it.

“It was a complete disaster,” I repeated helplessly as we began drinking after that. “We never imagined things would turn out like that here. We just assumed you’d probably gone out drinking somewhere and ended up having to send a telegram because you couldn’t ask Mr. Uchida to cover that money too—that’s why we didn’t think it was such a serious matter.” “Moreover, considering Mr. Uchida’s line of business is entirely different from ours, it’s only natural he couldn’t fully grasp the situation and began worrying about the bills mounting up.”

“No—it was an utter disaster. Maybe I really shouldn’t have left Kamakura after all. But I was certain this time I’d finally write it—truthfully, it wasn’t just about the money. That manuscript kept gnawing at me relentlessly. It’s driving me mad, so I figure if I can get funds by negotiating with the bookstore tomorrow, I’ll head out somewhere again.” “You should stop now. If you get money, you ought to return to the temple instead—just think how worried F-chan must be.”

“It’s truly pitiable, F-chan,” the timid wife said with moist eyes.

"I want to see F. His allowance must have run out by now," I thought—and even I found myself preoccupied solely with matters concerning him.

Six

Two or three days passed, and from the inn at Kamakura Hachimangu-mae, I sent a messenger and called for F. Because the caterer’s daughter had come along as well, the three of us ate dinner together. When dusk fell, only F left first to return home. "You should come back with me too," I said, but the girl wouldn't listen. "Mr. F, you should go on ahead first," "I absolutely must take your father back with me," "Otherwise I'll get scolded when I go home." The girl said this while seeing F out.

“Saying that won’t work.” “Not only do I not have money—they’ve even taken my coat and watch—but anyway, I’ll set out once more in a different direction.” “And this time I’ll definitely finish writing it in about a week and come back with the money, so go home and tell them that.” “This won’t do, not like this.” “They’re really angry back home.” “F-san has been left alone for nearly twenty days now without a single word from you, and today they were fuming all over again—that’s why they sent me to say you absolutely must come settle this properly. I won’t go back alone!” said the girl with a face on the verge of tears.

“So please,” I said. “Since I don’t have any money—even if I went back to the temple—I couldn’t work with them coming to yell at me every day.” “Then things would only keep getting worse.” “Your place would end up with even more trouble piling up that way.” “And no matter what—this manuscript—I absolutely must finish it this time.” “Once I finish this—any method—I’ll get money somehow and come back.” “Just tell them—bear with me one more week—ten days at most—when you go home.” “Okay? That’s fair—right?” I repeated this plea—but the girl wouldn’t agree.

“Fine then—I’ll follow you wherever you go. And I’ll wait until the money’s ready,” declared the girl, her wide-set small eyes glinting obstinately as she spoke—evidently convinced I had funds prepared. “Then suit yourself. But I’m heading toward Gotemba now, you know. Still alright with that?”

“That’s perfectly fine. They told me to say exactly that when they sent me here, so it’s no trouble at all.” I’d meant to stay overnight and leave at dawn, but growing irritated by her persistence—and being rather drunk besides—I wearily settled the inn’s bill and stepped outside. Though I dismissed the possibility that this stubborn girl would actually follow me to the station, making lighthearted remarks as we walked along, her genuinely resolute demeanor made me feel a flicker of unease.

The Tokyo-bound train would arrive shortly.

As I listened to the sound of the train, “Are you really serious about going?” I couldn’t help pressing her. “I certainly am—since you refuse to come back...” said the girl, her face trembling on the verge of tears yet eyes burning with resolve. “Then I’ll buy two tickets.”

“That’s perfectly fine—I have enough for my own train fare.”

With a sense of having been tricked once more, I handed one ticket to the girl, exited through the ticket gate, boarded the train, and sat down on the facing seat. The girl wore her usual attire—a meisen silk haori soiled from spinning work. Once we reach Ofuna, she’ll probably say she’s getting off. But if she doesn’t get off now, this’ll turn into real trouble, I thought anxiously as the train began moving. When I considered that she might have truly been ordered to follow that deadbeat father of hers wherever he went, I pitied her; and when I thought of F waiting for her return, relying solely on this girl, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for F too. If she really doesn’t get off at Ofuna… maybe I should go back myself. Haven’t I had enough of this drifting already? But then again, part of me felt like it didn’t matter. Should I just let myself be jostled until the swaying stopped—? I even felt like mustering some damned courage within myself.

“If we transfer at Ofuna and get there，it’ll be just past twelve—but I wonder if the inn will still be up…” I said— “Hmm，is that so?” she replied，burying her chin in her collar and not shifting her stony expression.

I found myself recalling the tranquil room at F-ya—an old-fashioned inn deep in that town where I had stayed about a week after descending Mount Fuji fourteen or fifteen years earlier, suffering from stomach pain.