Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

“This time too, I might be delayed due to circumstances. I plan to go somewhere to write...” I called out to my son F as he left for Yuigahama Elementary School that morning. He answered in his usual curt tone: “Sure.” Since being brought from a distant hometown by me to live together in the gloomy room at S-in within Kenchoji Temple about three months prior, F had grown quite accustomed to facing such situations by now. He didn’t seem to mind my hardships while away as much as I endured them himself. He would eat rice brought from a nearby caterer, take a lunch box when going out, and upon returning in the evening, have the twenty-two-year-old daughter from the caterer’s come stay and look after him in various ways.

It was the afternoon of February 1st. I boarded a train from Kamakura, got off at Shinbashi, exchanged the crude eight-page manuscript I’d scrawled overnight at a magazine office behind Ginza for cash, then took a streetcar to visit my younger brother working at a transport company in Iidabashi. Finding it just as he was about to leave work, we stepped outside and decided to walk all the way to Waseda while chatting idly. I bought manuscript paper and ink in Kagurazaka. “The debts from the neighborhood are so persistent that I can’t bear it, so I intend to go somewhere to write… I think I’ll head toward Oarai,” I said to my younger brother.

“I hope it goes well…” said my younger brother, who knew how often such plans of mine had failed, his face uneasy. That night, I drank late into the evening with my younger brother in the four-and-a-half tatami-mat rented room he shared with his wife, then drank until dusk the following day before boarding a train from Ueno shortly after six o'clock. It was around eleven o'clock when I arrived in Mito. I immediately rushed into the station-front inn. Although there was a shared bus running from the station front to Oarai, I still thought I would take the steamboat down the Naka River. At K-ro in Oarai—thirteen years ago, the very year F was born in our hometown—I had once stayed for a little over half a year. Indeed, those had been days of reckless living. I thought I would head toward that house and see. Passing through bamboo thickets and reeds along both riverbanks, tall cliffs near Iwaimachi, the high long bridge called Kaiunbashi, and the antiquated streets of Iwaimachi lined with teahouses and rented parlors—then along the sandy path through pine groves spanning several blocks—I couldn’t help but feel nostalgic toward those sights. But when I paid the one-night lodging fee that morning, I began to feel acutely anxious about how little remained in my wallet. Moreover, it was a cloudy, cold, unpleasant day that looked ready to start snowing at any moment, so I boarded a train for about an hour and got off at Sukegawa Station. And then I went to visit Uchida, who ran a small dry goods store in town.

In a small, thatched-roof house on the outskirts, seated before the ceramic brazier at his shopfront, Uchida gazed blankly at the passersby with a pallid complexion. In the small display window were hung two or three bolts of meisen silk and detachable collars, while inside the shop, cheap cotton stripes and flannel lay piled in dingy stacks. Seven or eight years prior, when he had branched off from his brother’s household to open this store, I had briefly visited once; yet compared to that time, the stock appeared no more abundant now.

“Why have you come here?” he said, eyeing me suspiciously. “Well, actually…” I explained my circumstances for visiting and said, “That’s why I was hoping you could direct me to an inn that might let me stay about ten days…” “Well then, come inside,” he said, ushering me to the long hearth in the next room. He had divorced the wife I’d met before and remarried a young woman—the daughter of an elementary school teacher—the year before last; she had given birth to a girl half a month prior and now lay in bed with the infant. The seventeen- or eighteen-year-old girl helping out—said to be his wife’s younger sister—prepared sake. Though not much of a drinker himself, Uchida kept me company while diligently tending to his wife’s hot water bottle and changing diapers. At thirty-six, one year my senior, he had just become a father for the first time.

It was exactly Setsubun day. Around three o'clock, the snow began to fall. After nightfall, we went out while listening to an apprentice loudly shouting “Out with demons! In with fortune!” as he scattered beans. We walked about ten blocks to the coastal inn, battered by the snow all the way.

That evening at S-kaku Inn where we had been taken, we called geisha and serving women to drink and carouse. "The guest for five or six days..." Uchida said this to the inn's mistress. The compound was large with numerous rooms, its bleak garden containing an expansive pond. Through the glass-paned shoji screens, one could glimpse the blue sea while seated. But being a seaside resort area, there were no other guests besides myself. No maids attended either. Just an elderly couple, a young couple, an aged bath attendant, and a rice cook—that comprised the entire staff. The owner—a ruddy-faced man nearing sixty with a balding pate who had once been a major local landowner before filling his rice fields a decade prior to build this business—sported imposing sideburns and would hobble into the sunlit garden on his stroke-stiffened leg to berate a mischievous pup. The young master was an adopted son. He served as cook. The mistress, their only daughter nearing thirty yet childless, had a flat russet face and coarse manners. "If you grew side-whiskers like this," I once drunkenly told her—irritated by how apt the comparison felt—miming thick facial hair on my cheeks with both hands, "you'd be your father's very image." Even this ever-opinionated woman finally looked properly chastened.

II

Perhaps from walking through the snow, from the next day onward I felt feverish, spending my days in bed and only rising near evening to drink late into the night. Snow lay piled deep. As I drank alone listening to the sound of waves, thoughts of F kept surfacing unbidden. Kamakura must have been buried too—with nearly fifteen blocks between temple and school—and I found myself imagining their struggles through this morning's commute. The memory of my cousin who died last December kept forcing its way through—...

Regarding that cousin, I had intended to write about him as a continuation of an unfinished manuscript I had previously published in a magazine. But with that manuscript, I had been struggling quite a bit. I completely lost the mood to write, but there were circumstances that made abandoning it impossible. So I resolved that this time, no matter what it took, I had to write twenty—no, thirty—pages before returning. Because I couldn't write that manuscript, my state of mind had become quite constrained lately. In that manuscript, I had written so many disparaging remarks about acquaintances that I even felt as if I were cursed—wondering if that was why I now found myself unable to write like this.

On the third night, I finally resolved to forgo my evening drink and, facing my desk until past two o'clock, wrote six or seven pages. That morning, the mistress who had brought the combined breakfast-lunch tray waited for me to set down my chopsticks,

“Since today is lunar New Year’s Eve and we have our own payments to manage, we must ask you to settle your account now…” she began.

“I see.” “That does complicate matters.” “The truth is, I don’t have any money with me—that’s why I asked Mr. Uchida to bring me here under these circumstances…” “Well now,” said the mistress with a disagreeable expression, “since you’re a guest brought here by Mr. Uchida, we would naturally expect payment from him directly—though we did wonder about your own situation. Moreover, while we know Mr. Uchida by sight, we’re hardly close acquaintances. His brother’s shop near the station is convenient for occasional small purchases, but with Mr. Uchida himself—well, there’s no particular connection…” Her manner showed open contempt toward Uchida.

“Oh no, I would never dream of causing you any trouble. I came here because I have urgent work to finish—as you can see, it’ll be completed in five or six days…” I said apologetically, showing her the manuscript on the tea stand.

“Just what is your relationship with Mr. Uchida... Are you friends?” asked the mistress, her tone suggesting suspicion born from their differing occupations and appearances. “Well, he’s an old friend,” I could only reply. “He doesn’t look anything like his brother or parents.” “Is that so? I don’t know much about his parents, but he doesn’t seem to resemble his brother—does that go for them too?”

“Yes, his parents don’t look like that either.” The mistress said such things as this and then cleared the tray and left.

I felt a flicker of resentment at her unnecessary remarks about Uchida’s appearance, but more than anything found it unsettling to realize that even Uchida seemed to lack credibility. Thinking my earlier explanation had satisfied the mistress, I was at my desk when Uchida arrived that evening in a flustered manner, “Got a letter like this,” he said, producing the inn’s correspondence from his coat. “I see—so they’re still kicking up a fuss?” I said as I read through the letter, which indeed listed several sternly worded complaints. There were phrases like “drinking until late every night and resting through the day—and so on.”

“I’ve only just started writing here as you can see, so go talk to them about giving me five or six more days.” “How many pages have you managed to write?” “Well, I only started writing last night, so I’ve only managed six or seven pages so far, but I’ll be able to pick up the pace from here on out.” “In any case, I’ll go talk to the front desk.” Thus, a five- or six-day postponement was agreed upon, after which I stayed up two nights straight and managed to write fifteen or sixteen pages—only for my pen to come to a sudden halt. Even though I had almost no habit of abstaining from evening drinks or pulling all-nighters, having kept it up for two nights straight threw both my mind and body completely out of order. For a day or two I stared blankly at my desk until, sick of it all, I tore up the manuscript.

That night, as I was drinking in a self-destructive mood, Uchida came by. “I tore it up because I wasn’t satisfied, but I’ll write twenty or thirty pages in two or three days—don’t worry. If there’s not enough money, I’ll just sell the copyright to my little book to pay for it. Anyway, I’m truly sick of this manuscript—it’s not just about the money anymore—I’m determined to finish it this time and be done with it…” “Well, actually I just stopped by the front desk too—apparently it’s come to seventy yen or so. And you’ve been drinking late and going on about geishas this and geishas that—they’re really fed up. Anyway, they want you to settle the account now…”

“That’s a problem,” I said. “In any case, go talk to them again for me. If necessary, I can send a letter to the bookstore in Tokyo tomorrow to negotiate.” We decided to go speak at the front desk together, but being terribly drunk, I apparently made an unfavorable impression instead. Though I couldn’t clearly remember what happened that night. The next morning—unusually early—I found myself rising with determination to face my desk. “I was completely drunk last night and didn’t catch anything,” I asked the mistress who had brought my meal tray. “Did Uchida say anything?”

“Oh，he’s supposed to come today．He’ll be here soon enough，” said the mistress with a nonchalant face．

It was a clear, fine day. The sea glittered blue. The two or three plum blossoms that had begun to open in the large alcove vase seemed to carry an air of elegance. The sound of a hunting gun reached my ears. With this mindset, I could write! That was how it felt. I sensed within my chest a sympathetic stirring—a resonance with that quiet, humble state of mind in which my unfortunate cousin had lived until the end, harboring no resentment toward others or the world, grateful for each given day. This would suffice. "If I keep writing honestly with this mindset, it will be fine." Thinking this, I wrote a new title on fresh manuscript paper. Through this novel there was something I needed to confess to my cousin's spirit, yet worldly shame made me hesitate every time. This was why I felt reproached by his soul. The soul cannot be deceived. Even when denying the soul, the torment of conscience remained. My inability to continue writing this novel stemmed not merely from technical struggles, but from such fundamental flaws and self-reproach that made me balk at putting words to paper. After all, I resolved I must adopt an honest and humble mindset. This thought lightened my mood, giving me courage to take up the brush. Wasn't the very act of sitting at my desk free from distractions itself a tremendous happiness? With this conviction, I continued writing two or three pages.

But in the afternoon Uchida came, and whether he’d consulted at the front desk or not, he sat down with a stern face. “This time I won’t let this slide for free. You’ll pawn whatever you’ve got to scrape together some cash—hand over your belongings,” he declared. “I can’t do something so foolish. It’s not like this will take many more days. If that’s how it is, I’ll just send a letter to Tokyo to get the money—as if I could actually do that!” I said irritably.

“Then I can’t take responsibility either.” “What’s so foolish about that?” “If you can’t pay without money, that’s just how it goes—isn’t that obvious?” “That may be true, but since I can wrap this up in two or three days, there’s no need to go that far.” “But the inn says they won’t wait anymore—what choice do we have?” “Then why don’t you go talk to them about it again?” “I can’t just negotiate for free either.” “Unless you put down some deposit and get them to wait two or three more days, even the inn won’t listen.” “So hand it over…”

“No...” “You’re incomprehensible.” “The inn says they’re done with guests like you—even if you claim you’ll pay now, who knows what excuse you’ll make next.” “So just hand over your things.” “This is hopeless.” “Fine—let’s do it your way,” I said, producing three items: my overcoat, meisen haori, and pocket watch. “This coat cost a hundred yen last winter.” “But pawnshops won’t lend much.” “What could this striped silk haori even fetch?” “And how much did you say this watch was worth?”

“If you were to buy it outright, it’d cost twenty-five yen,” he said in a thoroughly disgusted tone. After he took that bundle down to the front desk, I sat alone smoking with reckless abandon. Coming right on the heels of that earlier moment of happiness made it impossible not to feel bitterly ironic toward myself. But then I reconsidered—after all, he was a penny-pinching merchant. I found myself dwelling on how the mistress had fixated on my facial features. A narrow protruding forehead, buckteeth in ugly alignment, a sharp chin, pallid complexion, thin upturned eyelids that looked positively merciless—in any case, relying on these had been my mistake. I even grew suspicious about what story he might be spinning at the front desk, but when he returned nonetheless,

“The front desk says even with a deposit down, they won’t take guests like you anymore. So either go back to Tokyo right now and scrape up the money yourself, or have someone send it—pick one,” he bluntly declared. “I can’t do such a thing.” “You don’t think I can just go back to Tokyo over something like this, do you?” “So can’t you handle it this way?” “If you’re absolutely set on refusing me here, I’ll go stay at another inn for two or three days to scrape up the money—so can’t you front me just fifteen yen for the expenses in the meantime?” “Either I’ll pawn my coat, or if that won’t do, can’t you arrange for me to stay at a cheap inn in town for two or three days?” I pleaded.

“No way,” he declared triumphantly. “If you’re refusing, then I’ll get the money myself—so I won’t hand over my belongings.” “Then I’m washing my hands of vouching for you here.” “That’s your prerogative.” “I’ll have the police witness it then.” “That way I’d still feel better about it.”

The mistress also entered and interjected during our exchange, but it became clear that Uchida had indeed persuaded the inn to refuse me. From his perspective, it was only natural that casting me off here would be most advantageous. And so when the discussion began to grow difficult, he promptly left the room. Along with a lack of understanding, there also seemed to be resentment toward my line of work at play.

“Since I’ve settled matters with Mr. Uchida, you must leave now.” The mistress said this and brought only the haori that Uchida had left behind. “It’s only because it’s Mr. Uchida that he left even the haori behind. If the police were to mediate, he wouldn’t leave a single thing.”

“But I still felt better that way. “So Uchida was the one who took that item away, then?” “Yes, he took it away.”

“I see.” “In that case, I’ll just go talk to Uchida’s older brother.” “What an utterly absurd farce this is.”

"Well, I suppose your older brother must have his own considerations too," said the mistress in a somewhat sympathetic tone.

III

The older brother’s house was located near the station. The area was a town that had newly developed alongside the mine where crude barrack-like buildings stood jumbled together in rows. The forty-one or forty-two-year-old man—the older brother—who was sitting at the front of his shop said,“Well come in…” Having said this he started guiding me inside but Uchida—with same hostile expression as before—emerged from back rooms dragged me outside. “What hell you doing here?” “I came thinking I'd try consulting your older Brother.”

“Why the hell would I deal with your brother? You’d better just go back to Tokyo instead.” “I can’t go back. And I don’t have train fare.” “If it’s just fare, I’ll lend it.” “No.”

“Then do as you please. But no matter what you come here saying from now on, I won’t deal with you anymore—keep that in mind. You’re disrupting my business. Do you think I’ve got time to deal with the likes of you?” With that dismissal, he strode off. What a strange man, I thought—though such behavior was commonplace in my wretched existence. Yet seeing how deadly serious this seemed to him as he walked away, I found myself managing only a bitter smile, unable to summon even indignation.

And then I returned to the shop front and sat down on an earthen-floored bench while explaining this latest predicament to my older brother.

"Given these circumstances, I want to manage things for two or three days while I send out letters to get money—and from the proceeds of pawning those items Uchida brought over, I’d like to borrow about fifteen yen—but since Uchida’s in such a furious state, I was hoping you could somehow talk to him about this…" It was likely assumed that Uchida had already handed over the items to the inn, but at this point there was nothing left but to say this.

“Well, you see how stubborn that man is—when it comes to business matters, I both do and must intervene, but with everything else I’ve resolved not to interfere at all. So even if I were to offer well-meaning advice, he’d immediately rebel against it—meaning there’s no telling what might happen if I go there myself. In any case, I’ll head out right after you—couldn’t you go on ahead first?” “I’ll just finish up this bit of business and come right after you…”

Having been told this, I walked alone the nearly ten blocks to Uchida’s shop. At the shop front stood a man who might be called a miner foreman—wearing a straight-sleeved overcoat over a mine-emblazoned happi coat and leather shoes—standing there while having the sleeves of his underrobe displayed for inspection. They were pairs of crepe silk and silk. “How much can you knock off?” “I’m afraid the price is fixed.” “This is strictly wholesale pricing—these items went for twelve or thirteen yen last year at peak rates, so seven yen already reflects our wholesale quote. Should you find them priced higher elsewhere, you’re welcome to return them anytime without issue. The price truly is… Well then—as a courtesy, I’ll deduct ten sen.”

“So ten sen off still leaves it at seven yen, huh?” “Well, I’ve already quoted you an exceptionally low price as it is…” In this manner, he went to great trouble dealing with the customer for about thirty minutes—tapping his abacus here and there—but in the end, the man left with a “Well, I’ll come back later…” Watching from the sidelines, I too felt a pang of sympathy. The opportunity to sell these two pairs of silk sleeves was certainly a rare occurrence in such shops. It also struck me that perhaps they hadn’t sold because I’d shown up—and given this man’s disposition, such a thought wasn’t entirely unfounded. He rose in apparent displeasure and stored the items on the back shelf,

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his expression growing even harsher. “Your [older]brother should be coming right after me.” “Even if your [older]brother comes—no matter who shows up—I want nothing more to do with these negotiations.” “You’re disrupting my business.” “This busy self of mine can’t waste time on someone like you.” “Whether you scurry back to Tokyo tonight or crawl into some other inn—do what you want—but get my money ready immediately or I’ll be ruined.” “I won’t suffer fools who lack basic decency.” With brusque finality, he spat these words and vanished into the back rooms.

I couldn't remain seated at the shop front, and feeling I no longer had either the energy or interest to negotiate with him, turned back once more to my younger brother's place. Uchida and I had known each other for about fifteen years - since my hemorrhoid surgery at the university hospital when he'd come for his own hydrocele operation. It had been a cold day in early February when sleet fell.

The first was a hemorrhoid patient who'd been a soldier; the second was him. Soon he—still sleeping like a corpse—was wheeled via handcart from the corridor to the patients' waiting room, his pallid bucktoothed face occasionally emitting eerie groans that left me with a rather repulsive impression. At that time, my older brother had accompanied him. Over sixty-odd days thereafter, we began meeting every other day and grew close enough to visit each other's homes. Then around when cherry blossoms first bloomed behind the hospital—with merely two or three days separating our discharges—we young men parted ways with mutual fondness. Strangely enough afterward, we continued meeting every two or three years. I would stop by his place when returning home, while he visited my lodgings whenever coming to Tokyo. Four or five years ago it happened. He came to Tokyo seeking treatment for a chronic venereal disease. When I took him to a certain specialist in Kanda, he balked at costs appearing severalfold his budget and abandoned treatment. With the money he'd brought, we amused ourselves at a Kagurazaka geisha house. He sternly demanded his share of expenses, but though maintaining a separate household then, my dire poverty made settling impossible. Consequently we parted amid mutual insults as now, with me resolved to sever ties. Yet last summer he suddenly visited with fourteen or fifteen companions under pretext of attending Yokosuka's warship launching ceremony. They drank beer and rested about an hour before leaving. Afterward they visited twice more when 'happening' to come to Tokyo, whiling away half-days each time.

"So after all," it occurred to me, "when he came to Kamakura, it wasn’t simply for leisure—he must have intended to demand repayment of his share all along. Though in the end, he likely couldn’t bring himself to mention it and left."

I spoke with my older brother at the shop front again. "The thing is—he’s in such an extremely agitated state that it’s hopeless." "I think it would likely be useless even if you went there yourself." "So—as I mentioned earlier—circumstances now make it impossible for me to return without finishing my writing this time. I’ve decided to sell publishing rights or something similar through a Tokyo bookstore to get money—couldn’t you lend me just fifteen yen? Enough for two or three days’ stay?" "They’re not worth much—but I’ll leave my haori and hakama as collateral…" Having given up on Uchida’s side of things entirely now—this time—I tried asking my older brother instead.

"In that case, let's at least ask him what exactly the situation has come to." "After all, merchants—contrary to appearances—have their own hardships to bear..." My younger brother left after saying this in a lifeless tone.

I sat waiting at the cold shop front for about two hours. Lunar New Year customers stopped by to buy hand towels, a mistress from the neighborhood came to purchase half a tan of striped cotton cloth for her child, and the sixteen- or seventeen-year-old apprentice was handling them all.

“I’m terribly late.” “I was detained by a New Year’s customer who’d had too much to drink along the way… My sincere apologies.”

My older brother returned with a somewhat flushed face, “Well, he isn’t particularly enraged or anything—he says handling things this way would be better for your sake.” “…After all…it would still be best if you returned and secured some funds first.”

“Is that so? Thank you for your trouble,” I said, perplexed despite having anticipated this outcome.

“There’s really no helping it.” “Well then, even if you were to return, it’s already late, and I suppose you’d want to go to some other inn, explain your situation, and have them keep you while awaiting a reply. So—though I’m truly embarrassed to ask—if I leave the hakama as collateral, might you lend me just five yen?” This time, he proposed five yen. “No—the hakama isn’t necessary…” he said, taking the money from the cashbox on the counter desk and placing it before me.

I put it into my pocket and left as though fleeing. As I crossed the station overpass—which allowed passage even for non-passengers—two men in overcoats and hunting caps stood near the midway ticket gate, their unsavory faces giving me a hard stare that seemed to scrutinize my disheveled appearance. Just four or five days prior, they had dismissed over three hundred miners at the mine, so I immediately sensed these were detectives guarding against potential unrest. At the brazier of a stall selling snacks and mandarins in front of the station, a man in a workman’s livery coat was talking to an old woman; before him, another man of similar appearance pedaled his bicycle around,

“Which way is G Hall?” I asked. “G Hall…?” The two men nearly said in unison, making as if to draw closer to my face, so I too suddenly realized and briskly walked past them.

As I walked along the dark coastal sand road toward G Hall—where I had stayed one night about ten years prior—the wide entrance of the mine's official inn, newly constructed in recent years, came into view right there. Reconsidering that a larger establishment would better understand my situation, I went inside.

IV

"I was staying at S-kaku Inn, but there was a slight misunderstanding and my belongings were taken—though I assure you I'm not a suspicious character. I'd like to stay here two or three days while awaiting a reply from Tokyo. Could you have the clerk come here for a moment?..." The tray had been brought out, and after drinking about a bottle or two of sake, I made this request to the young maid who spoke in the Kyoto dialect. It seemed both the master and all the servants had come from Kyoto, for even the young clerk who appeared spoke in the Kyoto dialect,

“Well, truth be told, I’ve only just arrived here myself and am not yet accustomed to handling such matters, so I’ll have someone else come instead...” The clerk listened to my story but, having said such things, promptly left. “Well, I came here counting on yours being the largest establishment in the area, but…” I called out to his retreating back, though I already knew there was no hope left.

This time, a man in a workman’s livery coat came to solicit customers, but—

“In that case, we’ll accommodate you for just tonight, but as for tomorrow—the master states we must request that you change lodgings.” I made the same plea multiple times, but they too kept repeating the same response endlessly. “Well, there’s truly no helping it then,” I could only say. She was a rather pretty maid who, to her credit, stayed late keeping me company with her gentle Kyoto dialect as she poured drinks. Resolved to call the Tokyo bookstore tomorrow, I finally slept aided by alcohol.

Around nine o'clock while in bed, I looked through the telephone directory and had the maid make the call. After eating a late breakfast that doubled as lunch, unable to bear staying awake while waiting for the phone to connect, I burrowed back into bed and read a storytelling magazine I’d borrowed from the maid. Still the call wouldn’t connect—I had them check repeatedly with the operator whether they’d actually put in the request from the start or had avoided involvement by not submitting it—but ultimately it never connected until evening when the lights came on. When I asked to stay one more night but saw no sign of agreement, I stepped out through the brightly lit entrance at dusk. Blown by icy winds through Shinkaicho, I walked while gazing desolately at banners for Soganoya Gojuukuro and Soganoya Chyauchin fluttering above a grimy storage-like theater building, until finally heading toward a merchant inn near Uchida’s house that I recognized in passing—now left with only enough money for sending telegrams.

The next day was February 15th, exactly fifteen days since I had left Kamakura. I woke around nine and immediately asked the maid to send a telegraphic money order for twenty yen to my younger brother in Tokyo, but then right away the maid came again saying she needed me to settle my bill. The bill came to three yen and five sen for three gō of sake I'd drunk.

“I was staying at an inn along the coast, but my budget got disrupted and I’m out of money. Still, the funds will definitely come by tomorrow, so please tell the front desk to let me stay one more night.” When I made this request, a hardworking-looking mistress over forty—though seemingly honest—came out and again demanded I change lodgings, but I handed over my haori and hakama to beg for one more night’s reprieve.

“Since I can’t sleep without drinking every night, please include three gō of sake as usual.” I added this request, but she agreed to that as well.

As I drank the three gō of sake I poured myself, I let out a small sigh—thinking my younger brother would surely return from the shop tonight, see the telegram, and have some solution by tomorrow—and tried reading the dodoitsu fortune slip wedged between the disposable chopsticks. It said something like: Though I resign myself to being a caged bird, waiting for seasons to change tests my patience. This struck me as an ill omen.

It was a sunlit, fairly tidy, and pleasantly comfortable six-tatami room. Thinking I wanted to finish writing at least ten or fifteen pages while I had the chance, I spread out my manuscript paper from morning and tried working while awaiting a reply, but after writing five or six pages, I couldn't continue any further. I waited until around three in the afternoon, but as there was no reply, the mistress came again. "Just one more night! The reply is definitely supposed to arrive..."

I took off my lined kimono as well, changed into a single wadded robe provided by the inn, and when I requested to pawn them, borrowed ten yen. With that, I paid tomorrow night’s lodging fee. Then I sent another telegram. The fortune slip during evening drinks carried an equally disheartening message—that if sincerity lay with the flowers, someday even birds would come to sing—but it only deepened my unease.

The third day dawned cloudy and cold. When tomorrow morning came, I would have to leave whether I liked it or not. I waited until around three in the afternoon, but still there was no response. I even thought of asking them to call the police today to request protective custody, but first resolved to try appealing to Uchida one last time. Tucking away my fountain pen—my final remaining asset—I set out. The police station stood five or six houses down from the inn. Gazing at its copper gate and fence—another mine donation—and contemplating how my dealings with Uchida might soon force me through those barriers, even I had to acknowledge how pitiful I looked in just a single padded robe.

“Are you still here? …So you finally borrowed from your brother after all.” He eyed my disheveled state up and down at the shopfront, sneering in his characteristic way. “How shameless can you get? It’s downright astounding.” “Ah, it’s nothing worth fussing over.” I matched his mockery. “Perfectly ordinary.” “What’s ordinary for your kind looks like pure recklessness to us. I can’t humor such irrational behavior. Why won’t you return to Tokyo? Don’t you grasp that dithering will only worsen things?…”

“I don’t know, do I? And I can’t very well return to Tokyo in this state either.” “Where are you staying now?”

“I’m at M-ya Inn.” “...Well then,” I said, explaining how I was waiting for a telegraphic money order and told him he should lend me five yen since I was putting up my fountain pen as collateral.

“It’ll definitely come tonight. Even if the money doesn’t arrive, at least a reply should come without fail. I didn’t have time to send proper letters—just dashed off a telegram with my whereabouts—so there might’ve been some crossed communications. But I’m certain it’ll come tonight...” “How much do I owe at M-ya Inn?” “About ten yen…” “So with just that ten yen plus train fare, I can get back to Tokyo?”

“More or less.” “Then hand over the fountain pen.” “I’ll handle M-ya from here. Get back to Tokyo this instant.” “You need to settle S-kaku’s bill pronto, or I’ll be in a fix.” “I’ll go if I must—but I’ve waited this long. I’ll hold out till tomorrow.” “The room’s paid through tomorrow anyway.”

“No—if you’re not leaving this very instant, then I won’t have it.”

“Well, if that’s how it is—I’ll leave.”

“In that case, I’ll come right after—you go on back first.” When told this, I returned to the inn, and he showed up shortly after. But as we exchanged a few words, he started making annoying demands—that I write a power of attorney for the money order I wasn’t even sure would arrive, or draft a document authorizing them to dispose of my belongings at S-kaku if I didn’t pay by a certain date—so without even feeling annoyed, I snapped, “If you’re just going to spout such nonsense, then leave.” “Leave the fountain pen and get out,” I said.

“What the hell—draggin’ me out here when I’m swamped.” “Leavin’!” “But whatever mess you land in after this—ain’t my problem no more.”

“Ah, fine then! Go home!” I blurted out, this time feeling a somewhat exhilarating sensation.

By evening, the rain turned to sleet. The fortune slip during evening drinks read: “Return after meeting or depart without? A cold moonlit night’s Katō-bushi.” I tried to think it through but found myself unable to reach any conclusion. At last I saw only two paths—either throw myself on the police’s mercy come morning, or sell my fountain pen, glasses, military-style belt, and worn hat to some junk dealer, move to a flophouse, and start sending letters anew. Still, I couldn’t shake my suspicion over having heard nothing from my younger brother. With Uchida in the picture too—he’d never imagine me reduced to this state—was that why matters lay neglected? Or was he away on business errands while his wife floundered helplessly? If neither held true, some word should’ve come by now—unless this was divine instruction that I must sink deeper still. I envisioned formal exchanges with policemen, my shivering form in a detention cell, myself swaddled in a wafer-thin futon at some flophouse. Yet remembering how even that world—and my dead cousin—had once trodden such paths made them feel not entirely foreign; fresh memories of that cousin surfaced unbidden. Still, this ill-timed rain began gnawing at me. Thinking snow would’ve been kinder company, I went to bed—only to wake next morning beneath skies scrubbed clean, sunlight spilling warm through the windowpane. However else matters stood, I gave silent thanks for this day’s weather. After a late breakfast came firm resolve: work until two o’clock. I bundled the manuscript papers from my desk into a cloth wrap and sat in quiet meditation to steady my mind.

It was nearing one o'clock when the maid came running down the hallway. "It's here!" she said, entered carrying the envelope containing the telegraphic money order. With a look that seemed surprised by its arrival, she stared at my face.

“How much came through?” asked the maid with presumptuous country familiarity. “Didn’t I tell you it was twenty yen?” I said, masking my delight as if stating fact. I immediately arranged for its pawning. This left a balance of ten yen. I felt grateful for having refused Uchida the day before. I even contemplated handing this money to the inn and opening negotiations with a Tokyo publisher. The inn’s staff had come to grow on me. I wondered whether I should finish writing my manuscript here before returning. The thought of going back empty-handed seemed truly regrettable, yet I sensed no likelihood of finding stable footing elsewhere if I departed. Still, lingering here any longer also struck me as pushing my luck too far.

"What should I do? I feel like handing over that money now, then getting funds from another source in the meantime to finish my work and return home—what do you think?" I tentatively proposed to the mistress. "Well... But you see, after all this business, perhaps it would be better for you to depart while still in good spirits," the mistress replied calmly.

“Hmm, I see.” “Well then, I suppose I’ll depart after all.”

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

V

I had departed Sukegawa on the one o'clock train when something suddenly occurred to me—though I hesitated considerably—and got off at A Station along the way. There lived a famous writer called Mr. S in his villa, though he was someone I had never met. I had thought to visit him, explain my circumstances, and ask him to introduce me to an inn. It was both unbearably regrettable and made me feel I couldn't face my younger brother and wife.

Because there were no rickshaws in front of the station, I walked along asking for directions. It was nearly five o'clock, and a cold wind was blowing. The town had a desolate feel. After walking four or five blocks, I turned right at the fire watchtower I'd been directed to and took a narrow path out to the fields. Coming two or three blocks along the muddy road, I branched right again toward the marsh and descended gradually until I saw a small painted building above a nearby farmhouse. Thinking this must be it, I circled the fence but found no proper gate nor any sign of inhabitants. Returning to the path through the fields, I bumped into an elementary school building before finally meeting a farmer who pointed me to a thatched-roof house. Walking through wheat fields toward it, I found a nameplate belonging to someone else. As I was about to turn back defeated, I encountered a woman dressed for travel—likely a farmer's wife—who told me a Tokyo person's villa lay further ahead. Certain now, I pressed through pine groves only to find a new building with its entrance shut tight and no geta marks in the gateway. Assuming he'd returned to Tokyo, I started back but—just to confirm—called out at a farmhouse by the gate and was told to take the small path before the thatched-roof house down to the marsh's edge.

“Have you seen Mr. S around here lately?” I asked the old man. “I saw him two or three days ago—he’s probably still there.”

Deep dusk had thickened. I turned back again through the wheat field and went down the narrow path before the thatched-roof house from earlier. There before me lay a marsh of considerable size, and beside a solitary farmhouse stood Mr. S's modest villa. Having finally located it through such roundabout means, my courage failed me; I remained standing outside the entrance for some time before finally mustering my resolve to call out. Then a middle-aged woman who appeared to be a maid emerged,

“He’s away in Tokyo, but should return tomorrow,” she said.

“I see.” “Then I’ll be going.”

“...I am someone called K.” “Mr. K…?” “That’s correct. In truth, I’m someone visiting for the first time, but... I must apologize.” Having said this, I turned back in a fluster without even leaving a calling card—as if fleeing—and let out a heavy sigh. I was glad he was out. I felt ashamed of these actions. Yet knowing my own unrestrained nature—that once resolved to something, I must charge headlong into it regardless or remain unsettled—I thought this too couldn’t be helped; finding some comfort in the notion that through this thorough failure, I could now return to Tokyo. And I hurried along the dark muddy path as if running, yet still emerged near that painted house I had first seen. The fact was, I had been wandering in circles like a human bewitched by a fox.

I arrived at my younger brother’s place after nine o’clock. He had returned late and said he’d just finished dinner, looking exhausted. “Well, I’ve really landed myself in it,” I said with forced nonchalance, though I felt genuinely remorseful toward my brother and his wife. The initial telegram had arrived late at night with several notes attached. My brother had sent the telegraphic money order around noon the following day, assuming it would naturally be delivered by that evening at the latest, so he hadn’t bothered sending me a separate telegram either. It finally came into my hands around noon two days later.

“It was a complete failure,” I said as we began drinking, though I could only keep repeating this. “We never imagined things had gotten this bad here—we probably thought you’d gone off drinking somewhere and couldn’t even get Mr. Uchida to cover that money, so you must’ve just sent a telegram instead. That’s why we didn’t think much of it.” “And anyway, Mr. Uchida’s in a completely different line of work—he couldn’t possibly understand such situations—so naturally he started worrying when the bills kept mounting up.”

“No—it was a complete failure. Maybe I shouldn’t have left Kamakura after all. But I truly thought this time—this time without fail—I could write it. It’s not just the money problem—that manuscript’s been eating at me till I can’t stand it. Gnaws at me so bad, if I get funds by negotiating with the publisher tomorrow, I’m thinking of going out somewhere again.”

“You really ought to stop now.” “If you get the money, it’d still be better to go back to the temple—just think how worried F must be.” “It’s truly pitiful about F,” said the timid wife, her eyes moistening.

"I want to see F." "He must have run out of pocket money by now," I found myself preoccupied with thoughts of F.

VI

After two or three days had passed, I sent a servant from the inn before Kamakura Hachimangu and called for F. Since the caterer’s daughter had come along as well, the three of us ate dinner together. When night fell, only F went back ahead. “You should come back with me too,” I said, but the girl wouldn’t listen.

“F-san, you should go back ahead now, okay?” “I’m taking your father back with me no matter what, okay?” “Otherwise I’ll get scolded when I go back home.” The girl said this as she saw F off.

“It’s no use saying that. Not only money—as you can see, my coat and watch have been taken too. At any rate, I’ll head out once more in a different direction. And this time without fail, I’ll finish writing it in about a week and come back with money, so go home and tell them that for me.” “That won’t do, not like this. At home they’re furious—F-san’s been left alone for nearly twenty days with no word at all, and today they were slamming things around in anger 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, her face on the verge of tears.

“So look, I’m begging you. Since I don’t have money—even if I go back to the temple, if they come yelling every day like before, I won’t be able to work. In the end, I’d just have to run away again.” “That would only make things worse.” “That means more trouble for your place too, you know.” “And besides, I absolutely must finish handling this manuscript now.” “Once I’m done with this, I’ll find some way—any way—to get money and come back. Just go tell them to wait one more week or ten days. You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” I repeated this, but the girl wouldn’t agree.

“If that’s how it is, fine—I’ll follow you anywhere.” “And I’ll wait until the money comes through,” said the girl, who seemed to think I had a decent sum prepared, her small, wide-set eyes taking on a stubborn glint as she spoke. “Fine, have it your way.” “But I’m planning to head toward Gotenba now, you know.” “Even so—you’re sure about this?”

“That’s fine with me—I don’t mind at all.” “Back home they said the same thing, so I don’t mind at all.” I had intended to stay that night and depart in the morning, but growing annoyed with my persistent companion and being rather drunk besides, I settled the inn’s bill and stepped outside. Though I dismissed her insistence, thinking there was no way she’d actually follow me all the way to the train, I tried joking about it as we walked—but seeing her deadly serious demeanor, I began to feel a twinge of fear. The Tokyo-bound train arrived before long. Listening to the sound of the train,

“You’re really serious about going?” I couldn’t help but confirm. “I certainly am since you won’t come back…” said the girl, her face on the verge of tears yet wearing a resolute gaze. “Then I’ll buy two tickets.” “It’s fine—I have train fare from my own means.” With fox-bewildered bewilderment anew, I handed her a ticket and boarded facing seats after passing through the wicket gate. She wore her usual work-stained meisen haori from spinning labor. Once we reach Ofuna—she'll likely say to disembark. But if not...this spells trouble—my unease grew with the train's motion. Pity surfaced imagining her ordered to tail this deadbeat father anywhere, and F awaiting her return while depending solely on this girl— both becoming figures of pathos. If she truly stays past Ofuna...maybe return myself? Haven't wandered enough?— yet also indifference surfaced. Just sway till stillness comes— even felt like rousing my own shit-courage.

“If we transfer at Ofuna, we’ll arrive just past twelve—but will the inn still be awake by then?…” I ventured, but— “Is that so…” she said, burying her chin in her collar and maintaining a stony silence. There came a recollection of the tranquil room at old-fashioned F-ya Inn—deep in that very town where I had stayed about a week after descending Mount Fuji fourteen or fifteen years earlier, when stomach pains had afflicted me.