Pathway to Japanese Literature

I While working, Ryūsuke wondered what he should do that day. It was almost eight o'clock. When work dragged on and it became that awkward hour, Ryūsuke would always find himself conflicted about this.

He went down to the basement, opened the coat locker, and was taking out his overcoat to put it on when he thought of catching the 8:20 train back to his suburban home. The train station was not even two chō from the bank. Since his house was also near the train station, he could quickly return home and read the book he had started. The book was a rather difficult one that required some patience, but Ryūsuke was currently intrigued by it. He had many books that he would abandon halfway when encountering some obstacle—a habit of his.

Ryūsuke decided that today, at least, he would go straight home.

He greeted the person on night duty and went outside. In Hokkaido, a rare clinging thaw-snow was falling. Stopping briefly at the exit while putting on gloves, Ryūsuke suddenly pictured himself reading hunched over in the unheated second floor. The act of returning home—drawing a straight line from one fixed point to another—struck him as utterly absurd. As he began walking, he wavered about what to do. When he reached the train station, people already stood on the platform.

Ryūsuke stopped for a moment, keeping his hands thrust in his pockets. At that moment, a train whistle sounded. And so he felt a sense of relief. He started walking across the tracks. Afterwards came the sound of the railroad crossing gate lowering, followed by a subterranean rumble.

Ryūsuke thought about visiting T at the library. The train entered the platform. When he looked back, two or three cars behind the stopped train became visible from the edge of the houses. For an instant, he thought of turning back. Because he had a commuter pass, if he started running now, he might still make it. He took two or three steps back. But even as he did so, he felt uncertain. The whistle blew. A clattering sound came from up ahead in succession, and the train began to move. Once that happened, he now felt unbearable regret for not having gone straight home. It felt like something irretrievable had been lost. Ryūsuke came back to the front of the train station. The waiting room stood hollow and empty, its stove burning. Before it stood a man with a reddish-black face wearing a plain happi coat and work pants torn at the shins. He had a soiled hand towel around his neck.

Ryūsuke changed course this time and emerged onto a bustling street. As he walked, he thought that if he had taken that train home, he would already be at home reading a book. Yet at the same time, he found this indecisive self utterly pathetic. And he thought all of this stemmed from the matter with Keiko. But Ryūsuke shook his head. For him, memories of Keiko were unpleasant. Because the self that lived within memories seemed far too wretched.

The street sloped slightly upward, with a river flowing through its center. Small bridges were built every two or three ken intervals. There were many pedestrians. Under bright electric lights each falling snowflake stood distinctly visible. With no wind present they drifted down soundlessly with indolent ease. When he reached the Permanent Movie Theater a blue-uniformed ticket seller stood vacantly watching foot traffic from her booth. Ryūsuke briefly considered going inside. But he thought films where you could predict every plot turn within five minutes offered no redemption. Yet standing there he felt drawn to watch just the acclaimed final reel. He wavered—should he enter? If only he would commit... This might steady his nerves he told himself. But recognizing his own deliberative posturing made him despise himself anew. He walked away.

Ryūsuke crossed the bustling crossroads. At that moment, he briefly noticed two people approaching from ahead. They were bank colleagues who had recently taken wives. He walked slightly diagonally to distance himself from the two. They passed by without recognizing him. After walking a short distance, he glanced back. The two walked on shoulder to shoulder. They're doing it, he thought. But when he glanced back, he turned red at himself.

The library was in the park. As he walked, Ryūsuke thought that if T wasn't there, his rhythm might be thrown off again tonight. When this occurred to him, he began feeling T might not actually be there. But when the library entrance's electric light came into view, he stopped. Why was he going to his friend's place like this? he wondered. Visiting his friend arose from some instability in his own emotional state - instability his friend would surely perceive.

He would enter and say, “I came to hang out.” If at that moment the other were to emerge with an utterly composed demeanor, holding something like a pen (or a book) in hand, then and there his wretched self would be made to feel—vividly, mercilessly—confronted face-to-face. I can't handle that.

Because he had walked briskly up the sloping path, his body grew hot. He saw the bright electric light in T's room. There at his desk sat T—undistracted by the outside world, focused solely on his work—the image came to him immediately. To bring this wavering mind into that space and spout nonsense to cover it up! What absurdity! At every turn, he found himself pitiful. He began to turn back. But his emotions had already passed beyond return. He emerged onto another park path. It was dark behind the city hall. Tall trees lined both sides of the road, their branches intertwined high above. And from that great height came the faint sound of snow brushing against leaves yet to fall.

Ryūsuke wanted to meet another person—S the painter. But if he went to the station now, he could still catch the 9:10 train. Even then, he felt he might manage some studying at home. He wanted to channel his emotions into some definite course.

II

From the hilltop park, the entire town spread out below in a single sweeping view. The sky above the brightest, liveliest street was reflecting light. Ryūsuke walked along the path descending into the town while,

"What on earth do I want to do?" he wondered. But he didn't understand. "Don't I understand?" "Hmph—what absurd nonsense that makes no logical sense," he thought bitterly, and Ryūsuke smiled wryly to himself.

When Ryūsuke entered the town, he thought he would go into some café and try calling S. But each establishment along his path refused him entry with an honest heart. In the end, he stopped by his regular bookstore, borrowed their phone, and called S. As the operator connected him and the recipient answered—during that brief interval—Ryūsuke simultaneously felt both "If only he were there" and "If he weren’t home, things would be settled." He hesitated, thinking he might hang up before anyone answered, but at that moment S’s sister came on the line. S wasn't there. He was disappointed. Tonight’s another bust, he thought.

When Ryūsuke left the bookstore, he started.—Keiko! Coming from the bright interior, his vision hadn’t yet adjusted. But an electric shock came—sharp and jolting. Ryūsuke couldn’t bring himself to look again. Concealing himself from the woman took precedence over confirming her identity. He pressed into the shadows as if leaping over muddy slush.—But it wasn’t Keiko. Relief brought awareness of his own sweat-drenched body. Alone in the darkness, he flushed crimson.

When walking through town, Ryūsuke always remained vigilant. He would mistake women approaching from ahead who resembled Keiko for Keiko herself and, even when walking with friends, often abruptly turn back to slip into an alley. Keiko was large-framed with a stride that swung forward—unusual in women—so whenever he encountered someone with those features, he would startle in mistaken recognition. It became unbearably uncomfortable.

Ryūsuke's feelings toward Keiko had emerged after undergoing various developments. That the rather alluring Keiko was a café girl first made him fret over the inevitable implications of that fact—this had been the beginning. He knew such women tended to follow warped paths. When that thought—of Keiko, toward whom he felt even a shred of goodwill—occurred to him, he couldn't keep his composure for even a moment. This inability to remain indifferent—this 'concern'—had been intensifying Ryūsuke's feelings toward Keiko without his realizing it. However, he suppressed those feelings through his awareness of being both physically frail and financially strapped. He couldn't bring himself to justify his love based solely on passion's intensity. For him, such an adventure was impossible—or rather, it would be more accurate to say that such an 'immoral act' was beyond his capability. That was how it was. And as these two aspects developed in tandem, Ryūsuke found himself able to meet women with ease. Keiko, conversely, displayed blatant affection toward him. Letters from the woman would occasionally arrive. “I’d had a feeling since morning that you’d come.” “But in the end, you never appeared.” “I fell asleep with a heartache.” Such things she wrote. Various rumors about Keiko reached Ryūsuke's ears. He heard she engaged in prostitution. Elaborate terminology had even emerged—‘Eternal Prostitution,’ ‘Periodical Prostitution,’ ‘Five Yen a Time.’ He questioned Keiko about these matters.

Keiko—"If that's how it is, then believe me no matter what anyone says!" she said. Rumors spread with more detailed claims—that Keiko had been arrested for prostitution, that there was an escape tunnel behind her house. Ryūsuke grew irritated. Even believing Keiko, these things kept creeping into his awareness in different ways—it felt unbearable. Yet simultaneously, he began feeling a desire to make Keiko entirely his own. It came with stubborn force. Ryūsuke became conscious of his dangerous self, but it was futile. His feelings had raced far ahead long before. He resolved to confess everything at Z Coast—reachable by thirty minutes' train ride from the city. The coast's sand dunes stretched in undulating waves so vast they seemed to merge with distant horizons. Cows with rope-like tails often grazed there, swishing flies off their backs with practiced flicks. He became convinced it must be there—nowhere else would do. He imagined countless scenarios unfolding there.

When there were no other customers, Ryūsuke asked Keiko, “Let’s go to Z Coast,” inquiring about her availability. Having blurted it out, he found himself flustered. Keiko asked back, “Why?” “Just... for fun.” “Well… I’ll think about it,” she said. “You’ll think about it?” “But there are various circumstances… and my husband…” “Well then, I’ll come in two or three days.” When Ryūsuke stepped outside, he felt relieved. He let two or three days pass.

Keiko said this coming Sunday would be fine. He set the train time and, deciding to wait at the station, returned home. On Saturday he took winter clothes he didn’t immediately need to the pawnshop and sold books. So the money was sufficient. The next day he went to the train station. Because the weather was nice, it was packed with people heading out somewhere. Ryūsuke paced back and forth restlessly at the entrance to the waiting room. He checked the clock repeatedly. Then he went to look down the street where Keiko would come. The train pulled into the platform. Keiko hadn’t come!

After the train had departed, Ryūsuke wondered what to do but decided to go to the café. Keiko was cleaning with her hand towel wrapped like a kerchief around her head. When he entered, she made excuses for not being able to come. He promised their next meeting and left.

On the evening before their promised day, he went to the café, thinking to prevent a recurrence of what had happened last time. The woman said she had just mailed him a letter, then abruptly declared that something had come up tomorrow and she couldn’t go. And she assumed a look of sincere contrition. He wound up spending there the money he’d strained to prepare for the following day. He returned late.

After two or three days, Ryūsuke went to the café again. And so he resolved that they would definitely go this coming Sunday and returned home. From Saturday evening, the sky turned rainy.

When he woke in the morning, it was pouring rain. Ryūsuke burrowed into the futon in disappointment. He saw nothing but strange dreams before waking around noon. This marked three failures. Such matters kept gnawing at his emotions. Throughout that time he remained unsettled, unable to work. Yet these repeated frustrations only intensified his obsessive feelings toward Keiko. He went to the woman's place again. The woman said, "This time for real, I swear!"

There remained about a week until the promised day. Throughout that period, it did nothing but rain. Snow occasionally mingled in. Ryūsuke grew fixated on the weather, his mood vacillating between cheer and irritation with each evening paper's forecast. Even he ultimately found himself ridiculous. The weather cleared from Saturday onward. Feeling like a schoolchild awaiting his first field trip, Ryūsuke lay awake through the night. That day he went to the station. He arrived in buoyant spirits. But Keiko never appeared! What ought he do? Ryūsuke lost all certainty.

Ryūsuke sent a long letter that laid bare his feelings toward Keiko. When slipping it into the postbox, he hesitated two or three times. For Ryūsuke, this act of "clarification" held terror. But continuing indefinitely in this indecisive state would mean utter ruin. He resolutely thrust in the letter. Turning the handle twice brought the clatter of paper hitting metal. Keiko's reply arrived at once. "You were too late!" began the letter. It explained she had recently resolved to marry another man.—

“Even a dog!” “Even a dog wouldn’t be this wretched!” Ryūsuke thought this without exaggeration and wept. More than having lost the woman, he now found himself unable to endure the humiliation. He wept from the depths of his heart—after making him wait time and again, she’d gone and stuck out her tongue in mockery! Ryūsuke had grown weary of himself since this incident. He could find no confidence in anything. He couldn’t make clear decisions about things—somehow, whenever he tried to settle on something, it seemed like things would turn strange.

…When Ryūsuke now pressed himself into the shadows, he became aware of himself as inferior to a dog.

III As he walked, Ryūsuke felt that he wanted friends after all. He was afraid of being alone. Because the past awoke without restraint. To Ryūsuke, it was a specter.—He could have used a drink. But he knew that alcohol couldn’t intoxicate him—that he would only become more wretched instead. Ryūsuke thought of stopping by S’s place on the way.

The snow was still falling. Even so, five or six night stalls were set up on both sides of the street. And because snow was falling between them, few people stopped by. But there were two or three clusters of people gathered. From one circle came the rising shrill notes of a Yagibushi folk song—"Aah-aah—aah—"—pulsing with drums. A shared bus churned through the slushy snow as it passed. On its rear was pasted an advertisement: "Charlie Chaplin's The Gold Rush – Coming Soon." Ryūsuke suddenly remembered A Woman of Paris. Chaplin hadn't appeared in it, but it was his work—he'd directed it. He'd seen it right after things with Keiko ended badly. It had resonated with him completely. He'd gone three times that week alone. The ticket seller recognized him and pulled faces. The film showed an earnest man driven to suicide by a woman who—though not unfaithful—embodied feminine superficiality, taking no responsibility for her own feelings or her lover's. Such feminine flaws were mercilessly exposed. Ryūsuke felt his own experiences being replayed there anew.

As he walked, he resolved that he must go see The Gold Rush. When he turned the corner of that street, five or six people were standing there. As he passed by, Ryūsuke glanced inside. A nearsighted woman of thirty-five or thirty-six, holding a shamisen, was saying something. In front of her stood a grubby girl of twelve or thirteen, her face sullen as if she had just been crying. “You!” The older woman poked the child’s shoulder with her plectrum. “Come on, you’re going to sing this time, okay?—Sweetheart…” Having said that, the woman demonstratively moistened her wrist with spit as she touched the shamisen case, then stiffly plucked a jangling twang from the instrument. “Come on!” She urged the girl. And with a thoroughly hoarse voice, she began singing “Aah—aah—”.

The girl kept both hands tucked into sleeves and remained silent. “Again!” the older woman said, as though gnashing her teeth. The girl instinctively raised hands to head as if being hit. “Oh, you!” The older woman suddenly struck the girl’s back with her plectrum. The girl tripped over geta sandals, staggered, and lurched forward into the feet of the watching crowd. “Oh dear, this child—haah, she’s such a handful.” “Oh dear, if things keep up like this, both of us will be left high and dry.” “Heh heh heh… why—why did I end up with such a child, oh dear…” she said, bowing head now and then as she looked toward the bystanders. “We’re out here performing like this, but tonight we haven’t earned a single penny—all because of this child…”

Someone threw them some money. The nearsighted middle-aged woman tilted her head but formed a smile and bowed two or three times.

“There!” “They took pity on you and gave us alms.” “Say thank you.” “Say something about the money…”

The girl picked up the money and handed it to the older woman. The woman took it, held it up before her eyes, and assessed its value by touch. “Oh, oh… Thank you very much.” At that moment, another person threw money and said, “Don’t bully her too much.” He couldn’t watch any longer. He felt a sullen excitement welling up from the pit of his stomach. The snowfall had grown heavier. From behind came the indistinct sound of a shamisen.

S had not yet returned. S’s sister said her brother had asked that when Ryūsuke came, he look at the painting before leaving. And she brought a size-twelve canvas depicting a still life. S’s mother pulled the lamp over from the next room and angled its light toward the painting to show it.

“It’s splendid,” Ryūsuke said. “What sort of thing is this, I wonder?” Mother laughed. As he stepped outside, Ryūsuke suddenly wanted to return home.

IV

The train was already gone. As he walked home, Ryūsuke thought he wanted to accomplish something remarkable through his work. He would often think like that and grow excited whenever he returned from pointlessly wandering around cafés. Yet it all seemed like empty excitement—reactive surges welling up in an utterly exhausted mind—leaving him profoundly lonely. Ryūsuke had been working on a lengthy manuscript. But his unstable life had prevented it from cohering properly, leaving the work abandoned and incomplete. Year after year they went to the bank anticipating higher salaries, saved modest monthly sums, acquired demure pretty wives, and lived carefree lives. In time they’d likely have adorable children too. Then spend their old age comfortably... There was nothing inherently wrong with that. All his colleagues thought this way and lived accordingly. Yet Ryūsuke believed such lives contained profound sin. If this world were truly perfect—if all people could live in circumstances allowing them to “eat sweets”—then perhaps it might be acceptable. But this was a transitional era. Everyone should unite their strength—should first strive to create such a world—this was surely the time for that. Yet they concerned themselves with no such matters. They occupied a “position” where enduring just a little longer could bring happiness—why would anyone choose unhappiness voluntarily! Ryūsuke thought these people—whom many praised as earnest, quiet individuals of considerable education benefiting society—were unexpectedly history’s worst blasphemers obstructing humanity’s inevitable progress.

Ryūsuke suffered conscientiously over his own life among such people. He was bound to this false existence not only for himself but to sustain his fatherless family’s livelihood. The turmoil stemming from this became entangled with matters concerning Keiko, until ultimately Ryūsuke could accomplish no work at all.

Ryūsuke could not escape awareness of this life. But "in actual fact," since he couldn’t extricate himself even a single step from this life, it merely circled round and round in his head like a lion in a cage. Ryūsuke felt himself becoming depressed as he always did. The very fact that he clearly understood why he felt this way, and that he knew he ultimately couldn’t escape it through mere 'thinking' alone, was unbearable. It was a hell that offered him no way forward or back. And whenever he suffered enough from such things, he would find himself slipping into a reckless state of mind so extreme that even he thought it strange.

*

After walking a short distance, Ryūsuke stopped with an uncertain feeling. He became aware that he had been sly. While he had never once touched upon this matter until now, it was something like his subconscious that had desired to come here and brought him. When he realized this was the final place for those as indecisive as himself, he felt profoundly lonely. He stopped and thought about going straight home. But his desire to go see the woman he had briefly visited last night and the night before was stronger. In the end, he walked in that direction.

On both sides of the road stood houses with noren bearing signs reading "Instant Prepared Meals" and "Buckwheat Noodles." A woman stood at an entrance calling to passersby. A man in a mantle was conducting 'negotiations' at such a place. When she noticed Ryūsuke, a woman called out from between noren curtains. He passed through these establishments. After walking a short distance stood a single such house set apart from the others. There it was... Ryūsuke had passed this way two days prior. It had been a cold night under clear skies. Approaching the entrance now, he found a woman standing by the noren wearing a shawl. The dim lighting obscured her features, but she appeared to be a petite, fair-skinned girl of seventeen or eighteen.

“It’s cold.” When Ryūsuke stuck his head out from the noren and said that, the woman replied curtly, “Sure is cold.” Both of them fell silent for a moment. The woman stared fixedly at him.

“Going up?”

“I don’t have any money.” After saying that, he asked, “How much?”

The woman grabbed Ryūsuke's hand and made him grip two fingers. “Just this much…” Without looking away from Ryūsuke’s eyes, the woman said.

“No.” The woman fixed her eyes on Ryūsuke’s face for a moment. And then she said, “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

“I don’t lie.” Again the woman looked at him. “Well then…” She first made him grip one finger, then five. “No good.” Ryūsuke said. The woman snorted and fell briefly silent, then hunched her shoulders and muttered “Cold” like a soliloquy. “How much you got?” she asked. She thrust both hands into her sleeves and clattered her clogs in quick little steps. “How’s business?”

“Not a single customer!” She said with unexpected earnestness. He felt a slight goodwill toward her. “It’s no use talking.” “Madam... she’ll get angry... won’t even let me eat proper meals... and...” The woman shook her head two or three times and said, “Hey, hey.” Her loosely anchored traditional hairstyle swayed unsteadily to the front and sides each time. “If there are no customers, they don’t give me the hairdressing money.” “This hairstyle’s been stuck like before.”

“……Yeah.” Ryūsuke thought about asking how much the hairdressing fee was. He felt he might as well give her that much.

“Hey, if you don’t have enough for upstairs, at least give me the hairdressing fee… thirty sen.” The woman said with an awkward laugh. She gave a slight shake of her body and looked outward. His charitable impulse warped into disgust. That’s when he noticed the shabby fortyish woman pacing before the house, stealing glances his way. “No. I’ll come back later.” He turned on his heel. He couldn’t bear being seen here. After walking a short distance, Ryūsuke pissed into roadside snow. While urinating, he glanced back toward the house. The shabby fortyish woman who’d been loitering now stood talking with the younger one in the building’s dim periphery. The older woman pulled something from a bundle and passed it over. The younger kept her head rigidly bowed. They conversed in low murmurs.

Ryūsuke understood! When he realized she must have been the woman’s madam, he turned bright red. And he hurried out to the next street.

The next evening, Ryūsuke passed by there thinking that if the woman was present, he would give her the hairdressing fee. He took thirty sen from his coin purse and gripped it in his hand. As he walked, he deliberately whistled. Then the woman would show her face, he thought. He came all the way to the front, but she didn't come out. Ryūsuke crouched slightly in the street and tried peering inside. She didn't seem to be there. He went to the entrance. The glass set in the shoji door had thin paper pasted over it, making the interior indistinct, but the woman was not there. Leaning against the entrance's glass door, Ryūsuke tried whistling into the house. But she didn't come out. At that moment, Ryūsuke suddenly noticed a pair of men's geta with new toe-protecting leather patches neatly placed at the edge of the entranceway. In an instant, Ryūsuke jolted. He felt as though he'd glimpsed something he shouldn't have. As he walked back from there, he felt an odd sense of dissatisfaction. And he felt a certain loneliness.

After some time, Ryūsuke noticed his right hand—thrust deep into his overcoat pocket—clutching thirty sen. He suddenly hurled them into the piled snow. Yet the three silver coins produced no satisfying clink against the muffling whiteness.

And this makes three times tonight—the thought struck Ryūsuke suddenly. Feeling some emotion stirring deep within him that drove him to keep coming here, he shuddered. The woman hadn't come outside. But hearing footsteps, she came out immediately.

“Bro, come on in…” As she spoke while looking at his face: “Like last time… just messing with me again?” “I’m going up.” His voice rasped slightly.

“Really?” the woman asked.

5 The hallway floorboards were warped every single one, creaking when walked on. The woman, carrying a zabuton cushion, led the way and guided him to the room at the very end. The woman left after receiving the money. Ryūsuke kept listening intently to the footsteps receding down the hallway. His body suddenly began trembling.

Ryūsuke shoved his hands into his trousers and paced about the small, freezing room. This was the first time he had ever come to such a place alone. He had always carried the urge to come. When he awoke in bed at night, he would sometimes feel a restless impulse from some trigger—an "I can’t sit still" agitation that seized him. In those moments, unutterable obscenities would casually parade through his mind, each thought bizarrely embellished as it leapt from one notion to the next. This only stoked his carnal desires further. Yet he couldn’t simply bring himself to visit such places because of that. He would sometimes go out, only to return in the end without doing anything. It wasn’t from what people call “moral consciousness,” but rather from a deep-rooted sentiment within himself—the torment of using money to insult a woman’s human dignity—that this feeling resonated so precisely with him.

There had been times when he came to such places with friends. But he would return without doing anything until the very end. At such times his friends would tell him, “Quit dangling that antiquated virginity around—it’s disgraceful!” But that didn’t apply to him. He had no particular attachment to losing his virginity. Even in that case, it was absolutely necessary for him that there be a mutual personal relationship between them. He could not become like his friends who would say, “A prostitute is just a prostitute.” He could by no means perceive such women as erotic. Immediately, the wretchedness came. And so there were nights when he lay awake in excitement all night long due to sexual urges that came like physiological fits. Suffering over such things might be a foolish ordeal. But when he heard that Prudhomme would climb onto the roof at such times, gaze at the stars, calm his mind, and after a while return to his room to sleep, he felt a deep resonance. When he thought there might be someone who felt the same way, he was glad.

He couldn’t stop trembling. He paced back and forth across the room repeatedly. He abruptly slid open the fusuma partitioning the adjacent room. Kimonos were discarded haphazardly in what appeared to be a woman’s room, with a dressing table standing immediately beside it. The small drawer had been left open, and a powder brush lay discarded beside it. At that moment, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching down the hallway. He closed the fusuma. The woman entered holding toilet paper while softly humming something like a folk song. And then she folded the cushion there in two and (...)

Ryūsuke suddenly felt his heart pounding thump-thump. “Idiot, I don’t intend to do anything.” He stammered slightly. The woman at first truly did not do it, ×××××. Ryūsuke stood silently. “Really?” “It’s true.”

“Oh?…” She asked again, “Really?” The woman stood up.

The woman went out of the room to get alcohol. Ryūsuke lay supine in the center of the room. The low ceiling boards were stained amber with soot, streaks of it dripping here and there.

Ryūsuke, in an empty mood, looked at the ceiling and tried saying "Idiot" in a low voice.

“Idiot!” He raised his voice slightly. And he listened for its echo. Then he suddenly wanted to shout “Idiot!!” at the top of his lungs.

The woman entered carrying alcohol with an expressionless face. There were two chipped sake bottles, vinegared octopus, and boiled fish. Immediately after, another short woman with thick lips brought in fire. After transferring it to the brazier, she left without a word.

It was cold. Ryūsuke brought the table next to the brazier, sat down on it, and propped his feet on the edge of the brazier. “Your manners are bad.” The woman looked up at Ryūsuke from below.

“It’s cold.” “Instead, lay this down.” He pushed the zabuton toward her. But the woman said, “No need,” and pushed it back. “You’ll get chilled.”

“Doesn’t make a difference.” And when he pressed her again, she said, “No need.” “That’s odd.” He said that and forced the woman to lay it down. “Why aren’t you laying it down yourself, ‘Big Brother’?” Even after sitting down, the woman remained somewhat unsettled, fidgeting restlessly. “Well then, I’ll lay it down,” she said. The woman poured the sake, “Here,” she said to him. “I don’t drink. “I’ll let you drink.”

“Why?” “I don’t want to drink.” He made her hold the sake cup. “There,” the woman drank immediately this time. Ryūsuke poured for her. “Really, is this okay?” “Yeah.” The woman drank with a slight smile. He kept pouring without setting down the bottle. Each time she drank, she asked “Really?” “You can eat this octopus and fish too.”

He split the chopsticks and placed them on the plate. “Is this okay?… Somehow…” The woman blushed slightly and looked up at Ryūsuke two or three times with furtive glances before saying, “Why… ‘Big Brother’…” “I’m not eating. Just go ahead.” “Well… I don’t know…” The woman poked at the fish with the tips of her chopsticks and again asked softly, “Is this okay?” And then—first pinching a tiny morsel between her chopstick tips, placing it on her left palm—she stole a glance at Ryūsuke as she brought it to her mouth, twisted her body slightly, turned her face aside, and ate. He immediately poured her another drink. The woman ate more fish. She picked at the octopus too. She must be hungry, he thought.

“How old are you?” “...Years?” She put a slight coyness in her eyes and looked at him. “Yeah.” “...Seventeen.” “Don’t think about it—just say it straight.” “I’m telling you. Seventeen.”

“Oh… Is the octopus good?” “…………” Without responding, the woman laughed.

“Since when?...”

“Since fifteen.” “Fifteen?—” Ryūsuke poured her more sake. One of the bottles was already empty. He shook the sake bottle demonstratively before her eyes. The woman gave a slight shrug and laughed silently. “There’s still some left.” “Don’t worry.” He took the other bottle in his hand and said, “Now I’ll pour for you.” And asked, “Why did you come to a place like this?”

The woman fell silent for a moment. Resting both elbows on the edge of the brazier and holding the sake cup precisely at eye level, she stopped bringing it to her lips and stared fixedly at it. Both fell silent for a moment. Then, the woman raised her face and,

“What’s the point of asking that?” she asked. “And…

“No! Not me!” he said, shaking his head. “You want to know?”

A pause. “Why?” “It’s just how it is. For money? Or because I wanted to?…” “I’m not telling…”

The woman suddenly burst into laughter.

“You got into this because you wanted to, didn’t you?” He said in a slightly decisive tone.

“It’s the money… But…” The woman placed the cup on the brazier’s edge. “But why ask that?” She looked directly at him this time and said: “Why’re you so set on asking?” “…My family was poor.” “I’ve got four siblings still to feed.” “So there you go.” “…But well… guess part of me also wanted—wanted to try wearing powder and such, y’know?”

Having said that, she laughed alone again.

“Hmph… You think so?” “And have you all never thought to hate people like us?” The woman’s eyes widened slightly.

“Why?” She said it as if genuinely asking without understanding. The woman picked up a piece of octopus with her chopsticks and brought it to her mouth. Putting it in her mouth while doing so, she said again: “Why?” “Your bodies… with money… right?” Ryūsuke turned red as he spoke.

“They’re clients…” The woman answered plainly. Ryūsuke faltered. “Buying chastity with money…” “That sort of thing…” “Huh… That sort of thing…” He found himself echoing her words. “If they’re not rough clients, it’s nothing special.”

“Huh.” “How was your first time?” “Weren’t you scared?” “Well…” The woman poured herself a drink and drank it alone. “But it’s strange… all these things… somehow I don’t feel like talking about it anymore…” “I thought I was losing my precious chastity…”

“I’m not telling anymore.” The woman looked at him and snickered. “Tell me.—” “Oh, stop it.—Well, just a little awkward at first.”

“I won’t say anything else,” the woman said bluntly. “Instead, I’ll tell you next time you come.” “—I won’t come. Do you think I’d fall for that trick?” The woman shook her body and laughed exaggeratedly. Ryūsuke grew uncomfortable. He silently kept watching from his seated position as the woman drank her sake. The powder applied to her neck had become uneven, giving off a dirty, blackish impression. Her hair still hadn’t been tied up. Each time she took a bite, the temple where veins were faintly visible twitched as if that spot alone were alive.

He tried to say something. But the woman simply wouldn’t settle down. Ryūsuke thought he saw something on the woman’s nape at that moment. It was a louse. It seemed to have crawled out from within. Upon reaching a brighter area of skin on her neckline，it changed direction as if hesitating slightly，then moved to the collar of her underrobe. Then，when it reached the very top of the collar，it stopped again. At that moment，as she set her chopsticks down on the table，the louse that had just emerged seemed to itch—she tucked her chin to her chest，stretched her nape，and scratched lightly with her little finger. Ryūsuke remained silent. The louse started heading back slightly along its original path，but soon stopped and slipped between her underrobe and second kimono layer.

Ryūsuke took out a fifty-sen coin from his pocket and placed it on the table. “What’s this for?” “Hair-dressing fee… from the other day…”

And Ryūsuke said, "I'm going home now," and stood up. The woman also stood up.

“I’m going home.” “Oh? “Thank you.” “See ya later.”

The woman who had followed after Ryūsuke said that and shook her body two or three times. He went outside without saying anything. “See ya, do come again,” the woman said once more at the exit.

As Ryūsuke stepped outside, agitation welled up within him. "No one," "Nothing." They don't understand, he thought. Everything stemmed from unconsciousness. It was because no one examined their own lives, he thought. It was wretched, but those women didn't realize their own wretchedness in the slightest. This struck him as terrifying. He stepped into snowdrifts again and again. Yet simultaneously he felt self-reproach. Though he clearly knew what needed doing, this vague self of his remained unsettled—indecisive and adrift. He felt Keiko somewhere mocking him, this stray dog of a man wandering without purpose. In such states, merely thinking of Keiko became unbearable.

A figure approached from ahead. As they passed each other, their momentum caused them to collide with a heavy thud. It was a tall laborer wearing a happi coat. He glanced back briefly. The man also looked back. And muttered, “Idiot…” He appeared drunk. “You bastard!! Where you slinking around, you grain-wasting parasite!!” But whether those words had actually been spoken remained unclear—the instant he thought he’d heard them, his body suddenly felt weightless, as though leaping upward. His vision swam. Then in the next moment, Ryūsuke found himself palms-down in a roadside snowdrift. One eye throbbed viciously. He couldn’t open it wide. Ryūsuke stayed motionless like a child who’d fallen from a great height—breath trapped, momentarily unable to cry. He couldn’t move. He remained frozen in that posture for some time.

He felt the snow falling on him with a faint sound. But he remained perfectly still.