Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

Kokura’s winters could hardly be called winters.
From the northwestern sea, skimming a corner of Nagato, a cold wind blew in, swept the dried leaves from citrus trees onto the garden sand with a crackling rustle, scattered them about the grounds, toyed with them awhile, and finally drove them beneath the eaves.
When such days waned, every household bolted their doors early in the evening.

Outside, before one knew it, it turned to snow.
From time to time came the sound of bells from the messenger service, their footsteps marking time as they hurried past.

To speak of 'denbin'—though outsiders likely wouldn't grasp the term. This was one of two Western customs that had been imported to Kokura before they could be introduced to Tokyo. At the base of Tokiwa Bridge stood a round pillar. This was where advertisements were posted. On red, blue, and yellow paper they would write large characters and rough-brushed illustrations to advertise newly opened shops, as well as performances such as plays and spectacles. Of course there was only a single pillar; since this was a place with little need for advertisements beyond those posted here and on Daimoncho's stone walls, handwritten notices outnumbered printed ones. Even the illustrations lacked the sophistication of the *affiches* one saw in Paris. However, the mere existence of an advertising pillar was remarkable. This was one.

The other was *denbin*. Though Heinrich von Stephan had been born in a police state and skillfully spread a postal network across the realm—rendering correspondence theoretically free of inconvenience—this applied only to matters calculated in days or months. For errands requiring hourly calculation within a single day, the postal service proved inadequate. Even when arranging a rendez-vous, postal communication sufficed for deciding where to meet tomorrow. However, for abrupt changes necessitating a meeting that very night, it wouldn’t do. In such cases, some might resort to telegrams—a solution that seemed rather like using a sledgehammer to crack a nut—and moreover, its solemn delivery method made for a dreary affair. What one truly needed under such circumstances was a runner-service courier.

Wearing caps emblazoned with company insignia and stationed at street corners, these couriers handled anything—delivering letters across town, retrieving inconvenient purchases mid-errand to carry home—such was *denbin*. In exchange for letters or parcels, they gave slips of paper stamped with corporate seals—a system that surprisingly rarely erred. What Kokura called *denbin* was precisely this messenger system.

The explanation of *denbin* had ended up being too long. On a snowy night in Kokura, during those quiet hours when doors remained shut, the bells of the *denbin* messenger service could be heard—tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle in rapid succession. Then came a woman’s gentle voice calling out “Kari ka akari ka, dokkoi sa no sa” in a lilting rhythm as she passed by. They carried palm sugar in a tin container—the sort used for botanical specimen collection—slung over their shoulder, walking about to sell their wares while holding a small lantern. Although the *denbin* messengers and palm sugar sellers came at all hours, in summer it was the fortune-teller vendors that caught one’s ear—the jingling bells of the messengers and the women’s voices selling palm sugar went unnoticed.

On a night like this, some people might use portable kotatsu.
But in truth, it wasn’t that cold.

The next morning, a layer of ice formed on the hand-water basin.
This ice seldom lasted more than two days.
By the third day at the latest, the wind shifted.
Both the snow and the ice melted away completely.

II

It was a snowy night in Kokura.

At Ōno Yutaka’s house in Shingyomachi, two guests gathered.
One was a man named Togawa, the court director, with a salt-and-pepper head.
The other was Tomita, the city hospital director, who had come to this town after graduating from Tokyo University to save funds for studying abroad.
As his funds were mostly in order, he said he would soon hand over his position to a young medical scholar named Kitagawa and depart.
Director Tomita was also past forty, yet his buzz-cut showed not a single streak of white.
It was evident at a glance that he was fond of drink—a portly, ruddy-faced man.

The master, living an extremely simple bachelor life, had his maid Take buy udon dough balls, cook them in the kitchen, and served them sake. In this household, when boiling tea—since he considered it tastier than the famed Tsurunoko—they had roasted sweet potatoes purchased. At the corner where Tokiwa Bridge’s crossing turns toward Kyōmachi, an old man wearing a hand towel on his head had set up a pot and was calling out, “Hot and fresh! Hot and fresh! Freshly roasted!” as he sold his wares. He didn’t drink sake himself, but when serving it to close friends, he would have them purchase good udon noodles. This too was bought from a house two or three shops down from the corner where the sweet potato pot stood—a place with a faded indigo curtain bearing the bold-dyed characters “Bunroku.”

The master shared only the udon noodles and, with a seemingly indifferent face suffused with a smile, watched the two drink their sake.
The conversation was hushed.
Only Tomita’s laughter would occasionally rise loudly, disrupting the overall tone.
This area was near the red-light district of Asahi-machi, so there were sounds of shamisens and drums, but they were so muffled and faint that they weren’t bothersome.

When Take came out from the kitchen and offered udon replacements, Tomita waved his hand and said, “No more! I’ve had enough of udon! If there were a wife in this house, I wouldn’t be sitting here quietly drinking sake with udon like this!”

This became the spark that ignited the debate over marriage and bachelorhood.
The debate had come up among these people in this room before—tonight was by no means its first occurrence.

Two years had already passed since the master became director of the Imperial Coal Mining Company and came to Kokura. In time, Ōno’s bachelor life had become quite renowned in Kokura and was thus frequently brought up as a topic of discussion.

Was the master truly living without any involvement with women? Tomita too had been one troubled by this issue. So he said:

"It seems nothing in Kokura has caught Master Ōno’s eye. Thinking it was probably Shimonoseki, I made quite diligent inquiries about the matter, but the results came up negative."

“You’ve had quite the ordeal,” said the reserved Togawa, looking at the master’s face.

The master simply smiled slyly.

Tomita, slightly inebriated, found his arguments increasingly directed at the master.
“Living this way endangers every woman around you.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because one never knows when or with whom something might begin.”

“It’s as if I were Don Juan himself.”

Togawa, feeling sorry for the master, half-unconsciously tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.
And in his characteristic sullen and reticent manner, he proceeded to tell a strange story.

III

Togawa held both hands over the hibachi, rounded his back, and spoke.

“Well, maintaining singlehood without incident is certainly difficult for most people.”
“Among my classmates was a man named Miyazawa.”
“His first post after graduation was Shibata.”
“You know what sort of place that was.”
“He rented a small house near the courthouse and kept a single maid.”
“Though colleagues urged him to take a wife, he absolutely refused.”
“As they kept wondering why—why?—they apparently settled on stinginess as the reason.”
“I’d known him since our student days—he wasn’t stingy.”
“Not the sort to stubbornly hoard money.”
“In all matters, he lacked decisiveness.”
“He must’ve concluded a judge’s assistant salary couldn’t support a family.”
Given the local climate, snowy nights like this one would persist for days on end.
Miyazawa would shut himself alone in his room reading.
The maid did needlework in the adjacent room beyond a single wall.
Miyazawa yawned.
The maid stifled her yawn.
Time passed in this manner.
Then came an evening storm—wind howling beyond the shutters while garden bamboo scraped against them like broom bristles.
Around ten o’clock, the maid brought tea and remarked, “What a dreadful night,” then lingered hesitantly.

Miyazawa, finding himself unbearably lonely, supposed that the maid must surely be feeling the same and said, “How about this—bring your needlework over here. I don’t mind.”
Then the maid happily brought her needlework and began working in a corner of the room, making herself small.
“From then on, the maid would say things like ‘There likely won’t be any more guests,’ and from time to time bring her needlework to Miyazawa’s room.”

Tomita burst out laughing.

“Mr. Togawa.”
“You’re quite the novelist.”
“Skillfully done.”

Togawa also laughed and scratched his head.
“Oh, no—”
“The truth is, since Miyazawa regretted it and told me about it in such exhaustive detail, my telling naturally became quite thorough too.”
“I’ll skip over the rest.”
“But there’s one more concrete matter I wish to relate.”
“It goes like this.”
One evening, after the maid bid goodnight and withdrew to the adjacent room, Miyazawa lay awake hearing her sighs and restless tossing beyond the wall.
After some time listening, those sighs gradually swelled until they resembled moans of pain.
At this, Miyazawa finally asked, ‘Is something wrong?’
“Having told this much, I’ll truly omit what follows.”

Tomita made an exaggerated noise.
“Hey—wait a moment will you? While you’re at it don’t skip over any details—tell us everything properly! It’s quite interesting.” He raised his voice further.
“Hey—Miss Take! You’d do well to listen carefully.”

The host Ōno who had been grinning all along furrowed his brow.

Togawa continued talking.
“Mr.Tomita keeps interrupting—it’s a problem.
Anyway after that,the maid ceased being a maid.
Miyazawa immediately regretted it.
Given his position,I can well imagine he thought exposure would spell disaster.
But then—the maid who’d been modest until now began applying makeup,wearing flashy kimonos.
She somehow drew people’s eyes.
Miyazawa grew frantic with worry.
In the end he went to her parents saying he’d make her his wife eventually,took her back temporarily and started sending an allowance.
He thought he’d handle it somehow later but her parents were upright folk—he couldn’t manage anything.”

Miyazawa was in considerable distress but tried to sever ties by devising a plan involving money.
However, her parents would absolutely not accept anything beyond the fixed allowance.
“Since they genuinely didn’t want it, there was nothing he could do.”
“In the end, he made that maid his wife, and they remain so to this day.”
“She’s living respectably in Tokyo now, but given that she’s an uneducated woman, Miyazawa is constantly troubled by one thing or another.”

Tomita spitefully sipped his sake while needling them.
“Is that all?
“That’s anticlimactic, isn’t it?”
“If that’s how it ends, I shouldn’t have praised it.”

IV

At this moment, there came a sound at the entrance like someone stamping their feet to shake snow from their geta clogs.
The large dog named Jean kept by the master seemed about to bark but stopped, sniffing repeatedly with its nose.
Take opened the shoji screen, and her voice could be heard saying something.

Before long, a monk wearing saffron-dyed robes entered, his face bearing a beard grown out about two-tenths of an inch. After glancing at everyone and nodding politely with a "My profound apologies for the lateness," he placed his folded sitting cushion under his right arm and settled into the space between Togawa and Tomita.

This monk was Reverend Neikokuji of the Sōtō sect.

Near the railway tracks in Kanadamachi stood Neikokuji Temple, which had long resembled an abandoned temple.
As most of the former samurai families of the Kokura Domain who had been its parishioners had relocated to Toyotsu, it had come to resemble an abandoned temple.
In this temple’s main hall—resembling an enlarged wayside shrine—newspaper scraps had been pasted on the walls; this monk had recently taken up residence there.

The master, wearing a pleased expression, called the maid and gave instructions.

“If there’s still udon left, why don’t you heat up a bowl and give it to Reverend Neikokuji?”
“He must be cold.”

Togawa pushed the brazier he had been shading with his hands to Reverend Neikokuji’s front.

Reverend Neikokuji, maintaining a nearly ceaseless smile, turned his thin face toward the master and began speaking in this manner.

“This morning, when I went out for alms, I noticed a whole stack of fine volumes of the *Great Treatise on Perfection of Wisdom* piled up at a small secondhand bookstore in Tate-machi.”
“While thinking it strange that such books were being sold as incomplete sets, I walked this way and, upon passing through Nishiki-machi toward Tangabashi Bridge, saw another secondhand bookstore where the same *Great Treatise on Perfection of Wisdom* was piled up in a heap there as well.”
“Besides that, there are various others like *Hōenjurin* and whatnot.”
“If we combine those from both shops, it seems we could assemble the entire *Great Treatise on Perfection of Wisdom*,” Reverend Neikokuji said.

The master interjected.
“Then they must have deliberately split them into incomplete sets to sell separately.”

“Exactly as you’ve surmised.”
“We also have a fair notion of their provenance.”
“These being texts one might feel compelled to examine under certain circumstances—and since leaving them as incomplete sets would surely lead to their disposal as scrap—it seemed truly regrettable. Thus I spoke with the priest at Tōzen Temple and made arrangements to have them acquired and safeguarded.”
“Thinking there might yet remain volumes among those left behind that you would care to inspect, I deemed it proper to come inform you.”

“That is most kind.”
“I’ll make sure to stop by and look on my way back from the office tomorrow.”
“Now then.”
“The udon will get cold.”

Reverend Neikokuji ate the udon noodles.
After a while, Take came out asking, “Would you like seconds?”
And waiting for the second helping to arrive, the master called Take back.

“Tidy up around here, make some tea, and bring that Bakan yokan by cutting it.”
“Hey.”
“Don’t you dare clear away Dr. Tomita’s sake flask.”

“No—if this gets taken away, we’re done for!”
Tomita gripped the sake flask with shrimp-curled hands.
Then he said to the master:

“Now your encyclopedic knowledge is all well and good, Master Ōno, but I can’t fathom why a man of science bothers with Buddhist texts.”
“Shouldn’t such books be left to our reverend here?”

Reverend Neikokuji ate the udon noodles slowly, his face still maintaining its usual smile.

The master said this:
"It's only natural you'd think that way. Medical books—if read by non-doctors—not only prove useless but can even cause harm. But Buddhist texts are different."

"I wouldn't know about that," Tomita retorted. "It's strange enough you remain single, but taking refuge in the Three Treasures on top of it—it's too much to bear."

"You're starting in on the bachelorhood attacks again," Ōno replied calmly. "In my humble view, even someone like you takes refuge in the Three Treasures."

“Even looking like this, someone like me doesn’t know what exactly the Three Treasures are.”

“You take refuge in them even without knowing.”

“There’s no use trying to split hairs like that.”

The master said this with a face that was half-joking, half-serious—an inscrutable expression.

“That’s not it.
You keep going on about ‘science, science,’ don’t you?
That too is the Dharma.
Among your colleagues, you have those great teachers you revere.
They’re *Authoritaeten*, aren’t they?
They are all Buddhas.
And all of you are monks.
And then sometimes they try to subjugate those very authorities, you know.
*Authoritaeten-Stuermerei* is what they call it, isn’t it?
That amounts to reprimanding Buddhas and insulting ancestral teachers, doesn’t it?”

Reverend Neikokuji ate a piece of bean-jam cake and sipped his tea, all the while maintaining his perpetual smile.

V

Tomita fixed his gaze on the master.

“There you go with another lecture.”
“Even while just chatting away—oh, I find myself being lectured again.”
“That’s such a pain.”
He continued speaking with a slightly furrowed brow.

“Well, the sake’s a treat indeed.”
“But when the side dish is udon, I’m at my wit’s end.”
“And then being made to listen to your lectures on top of that—it’s unbearable.”

The master was smirking.
“Who was it that started attacking Buddhism in the first place?”

“No—
“If you’d just quit preaching, I wouldn’t slander the Dharma either.”
“But mark my words—I won’t stop attacking bachelorhood.”
“Go to Minamura’s place, and the side dishes are something else entirely.”
“Mrs. Ume stations herself solemnly before the tokonoma and issues a divine proclamation ordering Tomita to prepare a feast.”
“Then delicacies from mountain and sea spread out before them.”

“I don’t understand.”
“Who is this Minamura?”
“And why does this Mrs. Ume put on such airs?”

“Well of course she puts on airs.”
“She goes to sit before the tokonoma, declares it’s a divine message, and Minamura prostrates himself at a distance.”

“Who is this Minamura?”

“Minamura?
“He’s the man who runs a pediatric hospital out near Nagahama.
When his previous wife had fallen ill and passed away, and he was in mourning, someone apparently came by one day and left a large sea bream.
When Minamura was utterly shocked and started making a fuss by asking around the neighborhood or whatnot, Mrs. Ume—who was still just his maid at the time—calmly declared, ‘This sea bream was bestowed by Lord Inari,’ immediately cooked it, and apparently forced Minamura to eat it whether he liked it or not.
That was just the beginning of the strangeness, and from time to time there would be divine messages from Inari.
There was even a divine message ordering him to wed Ume, which she herself had delivered in advance.
But when Minamura began preparing for the wedding, Mrs. Ume put on a look of surprise and said, ‘And where might this bride be coming from?’
It seems I’m in divine favor—there’s a message ordering Tomita to prepare a feast.”

“She’s a shady woman,” Togawa interjected.

“What nonsense! I’m not saying this because she feeds me well, but she’s quite a good wife. All the hospitalized children adore her. They say she takes good care of them. It’s just that there are divine messages from time to time.”

Reverend Neikokuji exchanged glances with the master and listened with his perpetual smile before saying, “Good night,” and springing to his feet.
The master had no time to rise and see him off.

This monk always came and went with an air of nonchalance.

The wind howled.
Take carried the kettle, came to pour hot water into the teapot, and said, “The sky has cleared up completely.”

“Why don’t we all head home now,” said Togawa.

Tomita’s broad face broke into an equally broad smile.
“But I simply can’t leave yet.”
“Because after the Master here—living his single life *berufsmaessig*—has retreated from the field, we’ve got to mount one last assault.”
“Minamura’s no different.”
“I dare not pry into divine reasoning to ask why Lord Inari specifically promoted Mrs. Ume from maid to wife.”
“But in any case, securing a second wife so quickly proved fortunate for Minamura.”
“Minamura doesn’t lack for anything these days.”
“And guests like me at Minamura’s place don’t go wanting either.”
“When the master’s content, his guests share in that contentment.”

On the master’s seemingly indifferent face, no matter how much Tomita rambled on, the shadow of a smile never disappeared.

Togawa exchanged a meaningful look with the master.
“No—it’s gotten quite late.
I’ll take my leave now.”

And though he made as if to rise, he remained seated while persistently urging Tomita on.
“Come now,”
“Why don’t you come along too?”
“I already know,”
“I know.”

Togawa finally led Tomita out as if dragging him.

Tomita staggered slightly as he stepped out to the entrance and shouted at the top of his voice:
“Hey.
“Miss Take.
“I was supposed to get another hot one, but I’ll leave it in your care until next time.”

The master went out to see them off and whispered to Togawa:
“Shall I send someone to call a rickshaw?”

“Nonsense!”
“Since we’re going the same way anyway, I’ll walk with you to the gate.”
“Goodbye.”

VI

After the two guests had left, the place fell abruptly silent.
The drum of Asahimachi had ceased at some point, and now the sound of the sea, which had been inaudible until now, could be heard.

Take emerged and began tidying up the sake and tea utensils.
Master Ōno watched her absently when he abruptly attempted to regard Take as a woman.

She was short with sparse hair and eyes of slightly unequal size.
When first entering service years prior, she’d been gaunt-faced and pale with traces of modesty.
After joining this household though gradual nourishment plumped her cheeks.
Her womanly appeal had markedly diminished.

Her family home was located near Kokura, but her older brother ran a small restaurant in Hakata. Her brother had advised that instead of working as a cook, if she would serve drinks instead, he would help her quickly prepare for marriage; so she went to Hakata for a while. But the customers who came there were all sailors—terribly rough—so she got scared and ran back home, it was said. She was a guileless maid who worked selflessly for her master—a rare servant indeed. However, he found it difficult to view her as a woman. He had never once thought of her as a woman, but even now, when he tried to regard her as one, it proved nearly impossible. The feeling that she was of the opposite sex ultimately did not arise.

As she finished tidying up the utensils and stood to leave, the master saw her off and involuntarily smiled.
And he felt a somewhat puzzled feeling toward his own aloofness.

This feeling acted with strange defiance, evoking in him a sensation as though he were searching for some hidden trace of attraction toward the opposite sex within himself.

In Ōno’s imagination rose the memory of when they had held a Buddhist memorial service for the war dead in Kokura.
Because a distinguished branch member of Honganji Temple had come, people of all ages and genders were packed tightly around the ceremonial tent.
As Ōno sat in a guest seat chair, the crowd gradually pressed forward until a peasant girl with her hair in a Shimada-style chignon squatted down between his knees.
There was a mingling of white powder and hair oil.
The speech he had been half-listening to now reached his ears as mere noise, his mind utterly captivated by the vision of red-spotted cloth adorning her chignon and the scent rising from her hair and skin.
In that single moment, Ōno too had been unmistakably enslaved by sensuality.
Recalling that instant, he smiled involuntarily once more.

Ōno was forty this year.
It had been many years since he had parted from the wife he once had.
His grandmother in Tokyo was deeply concerned about his remaining single in Kokura, and every time she sent a letter, she investigated potential brides.
Tonight as well, since there were guests, he had left the letter from his grandmother unopened on his desk.

Ōno twisted up the dimmed lamp’s wick and opened the letter’s seal.
Looking at the well-mannered family-style fine calligraphy was like seeing the bespectacled face of his grandmother with those angular frames.

As the year-end approaches, I find myself counting down the days until your return to the capital with growing anticipation.
In my previous letter, I mentioned that Mrs. Tanida wishes to arrange an introduction to the young lady from the Inoue family—today I visited Ueno regarding this matter, and having just returned home, I now take brush in hand to write you.
When Mrs. Tanida and I had first arrived and were waiting at our designated spot, Tomiko's mother arrived together with her; when I first beheld Miss Tomiko standing there after alighting from her rickshaw with that splendid high Shimada chignon, I was truly astonished.
Could such a beautiful person truly exist in this world? The thought filled me with wonder.
Were you to meet her, I believe even Your Lordship—despite your aversion to women—could not possibly refuse.
While I cannot speak definitively of her character after but a single meeting, her keen intelligence was unmistakably evident.
The sole curious matter was that during our hour-long rest at the teahouse, Miss Tomiko never once smiled.
It happened that a group of Westerners were at the same establishment—due to the language barrier, various amusing incidents occurred; Mrs. Tanida interpreted with her usual English fluency, and while both Tomiko's mother and I laughed heartily, Miss Tomiko remained completely unsmiling.
As I noted previously, given her unfortunate circumstances, it stands to reason she might differ somewhat from other girls her age.
Be that as it may, I earnestly await Your Lordship's swift return to the capital, where you might confirm that my judgment remains sound.
Respectfully yours.

Furthermore, I had proposed that she would prove more suitable than the Seijirō couple.
I believed that the single barrel of tortoiseshell I had instructed Ishizaki to send some days prior had by now reached you.

Having finished reading, Ōno Yutaka lit the snow lantern that Take had placed beside the desk, took it, blew out the lamp, and stood up.
What sort of dreams would he see upon entering his cold, solitary bed now?
(January 1910)