Pathway to Japanese Literature

Part 1

March 27th—Rain fell mixed with snow across this mountainous village in Rikuchū.

From beneath the thin snow that had been gradually melting in the rain, patches of black earth began to appear here and there.
Throughout the winter, snow that had completely blanketed the earth now began to reveal patches of black soil here and there.
The mountain forests that had stood darkly were now taking on a vague grayish hue.
From the still, frozen sky, even in the sunlight that had shown a weary glow, there now gradually emerged a soft yet powerful light awakening to spring.
Even in the sunlight reflecting off the snow, one could sense a burgeoning warmth.

The snow-cloaked fields of Tohoku lumbered sluggishly toward spring.
Long, gloomy, monotonous winter was beginning to fade away.

I had come all the way to this T Village in Rikuchū about a month prior, both to gather materials for a certain study and out of particular curiosity about this region, but finding myself surrounded by nothing but snow wherever I looked—confined within this snow country-style house with its dark gloom—my heart grew gradually heavier and more listless.

The frozen snow across the vast fields glowed blue, while beneath a transparent sky—its azure bearing light as if filtered through ice—the sun sank lower.
To the dusk sky, to the light of that evening star—we had grown accustomed within mere days.
The heart grew weary of nature's monotony—its appearance as if lifeless.
Then, the leaden-hued scenery around me—this utterly still panorama—began instead to irritate my heart.

Above all else, I began to feel most intensely nostalgic for the bustling nights of Tokyo.

S-kun—who was my friend in Tokyo and a local of this village—grew even more strongly nostalgic for Tokyo than I had.

S-kun was one of the landlords of this village who returned from Tokyo every winter and summer to oversee and manage household affairs.
In Tokyo, he lived peacefully immersed in his books.
Moreover, being still young, even when he returned to his hometown, he would always head back to Tokyo as soon as his business was concluded—but because I had said I was coming, he had endured waiting here in the snow from year's end through March.
……Therefore, the way he grew bored was intense.

My face must have appeared to bring something new, for upon my arrival, S-kun's state of mind became momentarily vivid, as if something had flashed in the darkness.
But that too was merely a sign; next, this gloomy air had seeped even into my heart.

Lately, we both often yawned.
In the large dimly lit room, warming ourselves at the kotatsu with listless eyes, we spent our days.
To me, the village life around here and the amusing snowbound pastimes that S-kun took such care to explain—all of it fell utterly short of expectations and failed to spark even the slightest interest.
Accompanied by this lethargy of heart, I couldn't even muster the will to proceed briskly with the very purpose that had brought me here from the start.

As we went on like this, one day S-kun suddenly blurted out.

"I want to hear Tokyo women's voices!"
Then I immediately picked up on this and,

“You're right.
I've also started wanting to return to Tokyo before long.
The brightness of Tokyo's nights comes to mind.”… After a while,

“Once we get back this time, why don't we have ourselves a proper good time?”

“Let’s have fun!
I truly want to hear Tokyo women's voices.”

“I’m always like this—when I leave Tokyo to travel, I start thinking ‘What’s so great about Tokyo? It’s such a dull place,’ and want to hurry off to some unknown destination, but once I go, I get bored right away.”

“Tokyo’s good after all.”

“So Tokyo really is the best after all, isn’t it?”

“Let’s go back already!” S-kun declared with forced enthusiasm.

“Let’s go back.”
I gave a half-hearted reply.
With that, our conversation died.
Though my mind raced with thoughts of work and home obligations, my body seemed to have sunk heavily into this kotatsu.
Faintly yet irritably aware that my own body had become utterly beyond my control.

After a while，S-kun，as if remembering something，
"You really don’t feel like staying just a little longer—until the snow melts?"

“Well…”
I let out a big yawn.
"Still, wouldn't it be tough waiting until that snow melts and whatever flowers bloom?"

“Katago flowers?”
"Even then, there'd still be twenty days or so left—maybe even a bit less."

“Then let’s just get going already.”
“Even work’s no good.”
I said in a curt tone.
Then,

“Let’s go. Let’s go tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow—let’s go tomorrow,” declared S-kun with forced vigor, his tone rebelling against this wearied state of mind.

We had ultimately become like this.

And so, though my work was still halfway done, I managed to bring it to a close, deciding to depart on the third day—the 30th.

Then, our spirits began to revive.
We suddenly began working on the unfinished tasks.
And both of us found ourselves nostalgically recalling Tokyo's brilliant nights and the passionate, flamboyant words of women.

The bustle of the city, warm and bright, as if being courted, floated into our hearts.

II

March 30th—Noon approached as we packed.
One bag that had long sat in the tokonoma corner was now crammed full with personal effects.
Another we filled to bursting with walnuts from S-kun's house—wrapped in furoshiki cloth as Tokyo souvenirs.
When carried, their husks scraped together with a dry clatter.

We sat back down.
In that high-ceilinged room—dim and vast like a temple hall—I surveyed our surroundings with lingering attachment.
The shoji screen separating us from the next room stood open.
Through it lay a country dwelling crammed with belongings.
Deep within its smoke-darkened interior burned hearth flames.
I contemplated those who'd spent lifetimes by such fires.

At that moment, S-kun's mother came in with freshly prepared tea.
I found my restless heart had completely settled, yet became faintly aware of sorrow arising at leaving this room where I had stayed a full month.

I sat facing S-kun and his mother for what might be the last time.
I studied his mother’s face.
Deep wrinkles creased her sunburned skin.
In those simple childlike eyes shone pure affection.
She resembled the mountain trees rooted here.
The wrinkles of her aged face revealed sorrow at our impending departure.

I was struck by a profound silence during these brief, restless ten-odd minutes before departure. Behind S-kun's mother's lonely face lay a kind of fate. S-kun had seemed genuinely aware of that expression since morning, his face clouded as he fidgeted restlessly. A young soul cannot even become a sacrifice to the emotions of the only mother who loves it. The heart's demand to live anew pays even this price.

“How about it then?”
After some time had passed, Mother looked at me and broke the silence.
The quiet was shattered.

“Hah…”

“What of S-kun then?”

“Hah.”

“Thank you for all your kindness.”

“No, we’re both in the same boat,” I said, glancing at S-kun’s face as I wordlessly signaled with my eyes that we should stand.
S-kun wore an expression clouded with loneliness while

“Let’s go,” he said beginning to rise.

“Are you leaving already?” Mother said restlessly while standing up.

Once out on the road we exchanged farewell words again.

Even where patches of black earth showed through snow still lay spread across.
We walked briskly through it.
We planned to stay at Town T tonight and take the carriage early next morning.

After walking about a hundred meters I suddenly turned around.
S-kun’s Mother stood at the edge of the house fence watching us off.

“Hey, your mother’s standing there watching us,” I said. S-kun kept walking without turning around,

“Don’t look at that,” he said, shaking his head vehemently.
I was surprised to find S-kun’s pent-up frustration showing through his irritation.
When I glanced at his face, his clouded expression was tearful.
We both hurried along the road in silence.

S-kun wore a meisen kimono with a haori jacket and a fedora.
He tucked up the hem of his kimono and wore geta.
I wore Western clothes and a large Ulster coat.
The appearance of this pair must have seemed extremely peculiar, for everyone they passed on the road looked back at them in wonder.

Three

It was around dusk when we entered Town T.

From Village T to this town was three ri.
Having walked three ri through the muddy path of melting snow, my body grew weary.
The snow on the road had melted more than expected.

The clouded look on S-kun's face showed no sign of clearing even after these several hours.

At the town entrance, S-kun said "Wait a moment," had me wait, and stood at the gate of a certain house.
I stood by the roadside, waiting for S-kun as I gazed at the town.
The place where I stood was where the road from this town branched off—one leading toward Village T, the other crossing a certain famous mountain pass to Port K.

On both sides of the town flowed streams about three shaku wide.
The town was dim and looked cold.
Within it, children were playing in groups.
I watched the children with an impassive expression.

When I suddenly turned to look back toward S-kun, there before my eyes hung a white rabbit upside down from the eaves, where a man was skinning it.

A man with bulging eyes, round cheeks and jawline, hairy-faced with thick beard growth around his mouth, was skinning a rabbit using a small knife. From the soot-blackened eaves hung a white rabbit with short ears, one leg tied up and dangling. In moments, the pelt came off in swift circular motions. The man cleanly split open its belly and drew out the entrails for inspection.

A man who happened to be passing by stopped,

“Rabbit, eh?” he said, clasping his hands behind his back while staring fixedly.
The bearded man turned with a faint smile,

"Today, I caught it in Odoshikano," he said as he peeled all the way up to the head.

I was intently watching the man’s greasy face and thick lips.

At that moment,

“Hey,” S-kun called me, and I turned my gaze toward him, but the town had grown even dimmer.

Passing by the post office, we sent a telegram addressed to Tokyo informing them of our arrival date.
Then turning west onto broad Ichijōchō street, we settled at the inn called Kōzen where we had stayed on the night of our arrival.
When shown to the room, the lamp was already lit.

After entering the bath and settling down, first I wrote a letter to I-kun, whom I had newly become acquainted with in this town.
I-kun was someone who had attended the same school as me during the same period but left midway and returned home.
Since it would be some time before we could meet again, I thought to gather with the various people I had come to know here.
Among them was a young man called M-kun who wrote novels.

I-kun came immediately.
When I discussed this matter, that night I was led to a small restaurant in town and taken up to a second floor with a low, cave-like ceiling.
The karakami paper, the shoji screens, and the walls were all darkened.

On the old and stained counter were arranged two or three kinds of food.
We sat around its perimeter.

I-kun looked at me and said:

“I too want to go to Tokyo, but once you get pulled back into the countryside, there’s just no escaping it.”

“Is that so? You should try to make time to get away now and then.”
“Traveling broadens one’s perspective and actually makes work more enjoyable.”
“It renews your spirit, you see.”

“I suppose so.”

“...”

I then turned to M-kun as well and said, "Why not come to Tokyo at least once?"
When I suddenly became aware of it, I felt that M-kun's heart had been profoundly stirred by these casual words of mine.
But more than that, I saw that even my mere act of sitting face-to-face with these people was giving them a taste of Tokyo's stimulation.

To these people, Tokyo was a brilliant sun.

The sake was bitter, but we became thoroughly drunk.
By the time we left that house, the night had already grown late.

This mountain town lay steeped in black slumber.
Through it blew an icy wind.

IV

March 31st.

I had barely registered a faint melting sensation when I was roused.
Day had already broken.
I raised my head, but due to lack of sleep, my eyelids felt heavy as if swollen.
My face must be sallow by now.

As I tried to sit up, S-kun, as though unable to wait any longer,

“You, the carriage is no good,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘no good’?”
Still sitting up, since I couldn’t make sense of anything, I looked up at S-kun’s face from below.
It seemed the drunkenness from last night's sake still lingered at the back of my head, leaving my body unsteady.

“Just now, the inn staff came and said that today—again for some reason—there are so many guests they can’t fit everyone into the usual two carriages.”

“So what do we do?”
My body felt unbearably weary,” I said without thinking.

“I’ll walk, so you stay at the inn until tomorrow morning.”

“Why? And you’re saying you’ll wait in Town H?”

“Yes.”

“Why? That won’t do—you should stay too.”

“I want to get away from this place as soon as possible.
“I want to put as much distance between myself and home as quickly as I can,” he said, fixing me with sorrowful eyes.
I could discern S-kun’s state of mind.
In Tokyo lay hopes belonging to S-kun alone.
Yet in the house he’d occupied until yesterday remained both domestic obligations and his mother—left behind in solitary desolation.
Whenever S-kun beheld his household’s condition and mother’s plight while pursuing those Tokyo-bound hopes, he felt a pain like an unendurable weight upon his shoulders.
...Now this very pain hounded S-kun.

“Well then, let me ask once more,” I said, clapping my hands. When I inquired with the inn staff, they explained there were too many people today and they could only accommodate those who had registered since last night. I then asked them to make one more effort to let both of us board. Then S-kun abruptly—

“You should ride alone.”
“I’ll walk.”

“Why?”

“It would be more practical that way.
I dislike carriages anyway—walking suits me better.
Though I’d ride if one were available, but they say it’s frightfully expensive.”

Thus, through their efforts, I was made to ride alone.

After a while,

“In that case, we can only take one person. By claiming you were part of the judge’s party who stayed with us last night, we finally got them to agree,” said the inn clerk with a self-satisfied air.

And so came my time to depart from this place.

When word came that the carriage had arrived around nine o'clock, I went down from the second floor.
Standing at the inn's gate, I saw I-kun approaching from the eastern direction.
M-kun too appeared at that moment.
About two others also gathered.
I felt an unspoken weight with these people - countless things left unsaid between us.
Yet I remained silent, simply wearing a smile.

“Do send letters from Tokyo,” said I-kun as we stood facing each other.

“Oh.”
I was merely smiling and couldn’t find any words.

S-kun stood beside M-kun in straw sandals and gaiters, his kimono hem hitched up.
The carriage arrived.
I nodded to these people and boarded the carriage whose ceiling was low enough to bump my head.
Raising the lowered curtain on the window, I leaned my face out toward those standing outside.
From inside the house emerged a swarthy, high-cheekboned man of thirty-seven or thirty-eight with a beard.
Following him came a bald man who appeared to be a village official, carrying a scroll wrapped in persimmon-tanned paper.
The bearded man boarded the carriage, gave a slight nod to that man as he received it.
He sat facing me.

They closed the entrance door from outside.
With departure imminent, I-kun and the others drew nearer and resumed their conversation.
Just then,

“Let’s be off!” called a voice from the driver’s seat.
From below came the inn clerk’s response: “Right away!”
I kept my head protruding from the window, scrutinizing every face among those standing there,

“Goodbye! Take care, everyone,” I said.

“Goodbye!” came three or four voices in unison.

My body jolted forward as the carriage rattled into motion. Those standing there took four or five steps following it. But the carriage suddenly dashed off.

“Goodbye!” we called again from both sides.

The carriage had gone half a chō when it turned north. The people who had seen us off disappeared from view. I drew my face back from the curtain and straightened my seat. My eyes briefly met the judge’s, but we turned away without a word. On impulse, I tugged up the curtain behind me.

The carriage was traveling through a long, straight town stretching northward.
The dingy town roofs with their long, protruding eaves remained bluish-black and damp, not yet fully dried after the prolonged snowmelt.
Overhead, pale sunlight now shone.
As I gazed out at what seemed a chilly, dreary morning, S-kun suddenly rounded the distant bend behind us.
I involuntarily waved my hat.

S-kun also waved a hat.
And then, the carriage suddenly stopped.

“Just one?”
Facing the town, the coachman said.

"Two people," came a voice from below.
Just then, two men in their mid-twenties wearing straight-sleeved overcoats and snow hoods entered.
After giving us a slight bow of acknowledgment, they sat facing us.

The carriage showed no sign of moving, appearing to still be loading luggage.
With nothing else to do, I belatedly took out the photos of I-kun and M-kun that had been given to me at our parting and looked at them.
Then my shoulder was tapped from outside the window.
When I turned around, S-kun stood there. "Here, have this," he said, producing an egg.
"I don't need it.
"I have plenty," I said. "Then let's meet tonight in Town H," he replied before trotting off. The thought of spending this entire day being jostled thirteen ri along the road in this cramped box of a carriage made me feel weary already.
My head felt dull and foggy.

The carriage started moving again.

When we left the town behind, we traveled along the river. This road to Town H would open into broad fields only to then follow mountain-bordered streams. When we left the river behind, we traveled through wide fields. The snow was melting in patches. In the fields stood apple trees, but amidst the snow they stretched out like blackened dead trees. In every direction around us, steep high mountains stretched out, encircling this vast field. Apart from houses visible here and there, the snow lay stark white under the sun, with human figures sparse.

Two carriages traveled through this landscape, lurching up and down through the uneven terrain.

I waited intently for S-kun's figure to appear in these fields, my eyes kept watching the area behind us.

Before long, we arrived at S Village.
When the carriage stopped, the two young men jumped down and emerged outside.
This place lay one and a half ri from Town T—the first lodging station.
When I had come here before during my journey, it had been amid a blizzard, and I had arrived only after nightfall.

I waited for the carriage to move, harboring a listless sense of displacement.

Five

Looking out from under the carriage curtain, I saw that the path I had come by stretched as a single wide road between flat apple orchards.
No human figures could be seen on that road; the fields on both sides still retained their unmelted snow.
Between them stretched a black road continuing far into the distance.

Now that I came at midday, this tea shop stood with just two or three houses clustered sparsely along the roadside, both sky and road tinged gray.
The houses too appeared weathered and grimy.
When I saw that landscape, I felt as if an unforgettable memory imprinted in my heart had been erased.
—That memory from when I first came through this village—strange and vivid as if being stared down by nature's immense living eyes—when during a blizzard this field lay darkly shrouded, a light had glimmered from its depths like some secret deep exhalation.
Stepping out of the carriage to stand on the snow-covered road and look around, I sensed something immeasurable lurking in those dark depths.
Then within that darkness, the black silhouette of a nearby mountain abruptly revealed itself.
Gazing at this darkness-tinged scenery filled me with dread.
But now seeing it again, everything appeared merely as an ordinary rural tea shop.

And so I didn't even think of going outside; I simply waited for the carriage to depart.
The carriage remained motionless for twenty minutes—longer even—with leisurely indifference.
I grew weary.
At the same time, my head began swimming from lack of sleep.
Then an idea struck me—I lifted the curtain and called over the tea shop person to bring tobacco.
Now when I went to pay, I searched through my pockets but found no wallet.
I panicked and,

"Huh?" I blurted out.
I frantically checked every pocket but couldn't feel it.
In my mind's eye rose the second-floor room of the inn where I'd stayed until that morning—I grew furious at my own carelessness.
Unconsciously,

"Tsk!" I clicked my tongue sharply.

Then the judge who had been intently watching my condition from across said in a heavy tone,

"Did you forget something?" he said.
I—

"Yes," I replied with a faint wry smile, then began, "My wallet..."

"At the inn? Last night's inn, I take it? In that case, you should go on to M up ahead and have them telephone Town T from there," he said.

“Telephone?”

"I asked in return, finding this unexpected in the countryside."

“Yes, if you go to M, there’s a telephone at the police station, so you could borrow that.”

“Oh, I see,” I said, but I couldn’t settle down.
I even thought about turning back to Town T once more.
Because my body felt sluggish, I also thought that if I turned back now, even half a day would be fine—I wanted to stretch out and sleep.
Moreover, the thought of spending even a single night in an utterly unfamiliar place without money felt daunting.

As I stood there wavering indecisively, something heavy slid slickly from beneath my coat down over my trousers. I started, then panicked anew. Ah, it was there after all, I thought—yet simultaneously felt keenly embarrassed by my own flustered state. Forcing a bitter smile as I met the Judge's gaze, I half-muttered to myself,

"There it was," I said.

After paying for the tobacco, I sucked the hot smoke deep into my mouth, still slick with saliva.

Before long, one of the two young men who had gone out earlier came rushing back in. He was holding a small branch with Usnea attached. Upon entering, he held it out between us and asked, “What is this?” Thinking the Judge might say something, I remained silent for a while, but when the Judge stayed quiet, I finally said while tilting my head to study it, “It’s called Usnea.” Then added, “But what exactly is this?”

“It must be a type of moss after all. They say it doesn’t grow except in deep mountains. No roots, right? Survives on mist moisture,” he said.

“Hmm,” I replied, studying the Usnea-laden branch. “When I happened to look up at S Pass and spotted something strange, I climbed that tree to fetch this.” I leaned closer to examine it.

The Judge craned his neck for a better look.

Thereupon, another young man rushed in.
Seeing this, “Got it,” said the man holding the Usnea.

“Did you figure it out? What is it?”

“They call it saruo-gase.”

“Saruo-gase.”
“I’ve never heard that before.”
“Write that down.”

"While saying 'They say it doesn't grow except in deep mountains,' the man took out a notebook from his coat pocket,"

"Saruo... What characters for 'gase'?" he asked, turning to me.

"No, that's not how you write it,"
"I can't remember the exact characters either... I'm sure they exist, but I've forgotten."
"Well, write it in kana for now," I said.

“Saruo-gase,” he murmured under his breath while writing the name in pencil.

At that moment, another man of thirty-five or thirty-six wearing an Inverness coat entered quite unceremoniously. A ruddy-black complexioned man with heavy beard stubble and sharp eyes, who had been drinking sake. Upon entering, he shouldered aside the young man sitting near where I was facing and forced his way in.

“Did you understand that just now?” he asked the man.

“They say it’s called saruo-gase. A type of moss that grows in deep mountains, they say…”

“Hmm, quite a rare thing.”

At that moment, a pale middle-aged man with smooth complexion entered.
He wore a white Kai silk scarf around his neck.
When that man entered, the one who had been between the Inverness-clad man and the Judge came to my side.
With this, the small box-like carriage became packed tight.
Pressed down as if by some force, we couldn't move an inch.

The driver mounted the coachman's seat—(this carriage had only one driver)—and cracked his whip.

“Shall we get moving?” said the Inverness-clad man with a proprietary air.
The driver didn’t answer that,

“Let’s move out!” he called to the following carriage, then cracked the whip sharply against the horse’s hindquarters.
With a loud clatter, it lurched violently and charged through the deep mud.
We were suddenly thrown so violently that we nearly lost our balance.

6

Under a pale sky where faint sunlight filtered through, the carriage hurried along as if in a panic.
After leaving Village M, the road gradually began heading toward the mountain's foothills.

When the carriage began moving, those inside soon adjusted their knees and settled into their seats.
Though exchanging glances with those around me, I made no attempt to strike up conversation.
Then Inverness, addressing the two men holding Usnea,

“Is th’ carriage packed full today?” he asked.

“Apparently there were unusually many people wanting to ride today, so they said they’d only take those who applied last night,” answered one of them.

“Even so, no matter what unreasonable demands we make here, they’ll let us ride.
“Even today, there must have been people who couldn’t get on because of us.”
The Inverness-clad man said with a self-satisfied air.

When I heard those words, I felt displeased.
Thinking that the locals’ high-handed behavior was thus causing travelers unfamiliar with local customs to suffer inconveniences, I stared fixedly at the man’s face.
The Inverness-clad man continued speaking about how he held influence in this area.
Before long, the carriage proceeded along a road near the mountains next to Upper M Village.
As I listened to his boasting, my resentment toward this man swelled.

After passing through Upper M Village, the road wound along a deep ravine halfway up the mountainside.

“No, I have no connection to the school.”
“I see.”

The Judge seemed to think I might be a school teacher. Then he asked about my occupation. I spoke about my own profession—one that's rather obscure and difficult for others to understand when explained.

This exchange seemed to quieten the adjacent conversation somewhat.
Eight pairs of eyes turned toward us.
Yet when the Judge and I kept talking in a manner unrelated to those people, the Inverness-clad man suddenly puffed himself up and resumed speaking loudly.
His discourse progressed in true provincial polemicist fashion from parliamentary matters to broader political affairs.
Throughout this, the Judge maintained a bitter smile somewhere on his face.
Meanwhile, we continued our fragmented conversation in low, detached tones.

The road wound ever deeper into the mountains.

I asked the Judge about two or three types of crimes in this region.
It was said that this man came from M City on occasional business trips to hold court in Town T.
Since he hadn't been coming to this region for long, he mentioned he wasn't deeply familiar with local affairs, yet still told me several stories.

Thinking that through examining crime types and their circumstances, one could study aspects like the region's level of civilization, emotional tendencies, and other factors, I listened to his accounts with keen interest.

In his account were things like this.
In this region, there were cases where people committed arson over trivial matters—like not being given lunch—unaware that such acts constituted serious crimes; or instances driven by strong superstitions, like burning someone believed to be fox-possessed.

While leaning against the window and gazing at the broad mountainside across the ravine, I listened to this account.
From the deep winter of quiet slumber, while gazing at these surroundings still not awakened, I found myself contemplating—through this account—the sensibilities of urban versus rural people.
Before long,

“What do you think—between people from the cities and people from the countryside, which do you suppose commits more cruel acts?” I asked.

"That would be the countryside," the Judge replied immediately.

“To me, it seems like it would be the city people, but...”

“Why?”

“So you mean ignorant people are more cruel, I wonder?”

“Because they don’t even understand what cruelty means.”
There was a slight discrepancy between my thoughts and Mr. Judge's words.
In my view, city people’s nerves seemed corroded.
Therefore, it seemed to me their actions were more complex and cruel.

Then the carriage stopped.
It was as if we had reached the summit of a mountain pass.
The road veered away from the ravine and opened into a moderately spacious level area.

When the carriage stopped, a man came rushing out of the hut as if he'd been waiting impatiently.
The Inverness-clad man saw this and bowed his head two or three times.
When the man came beneath where the Inverness-clad man was riding,

“Priest!” he called again formally, handing the Inverness-clad man a five-yen banknote unwrapped in paper.
When the Inverness-clad man received it, the man took out another twenty-sen silver coin and,

“This is an offering.”

“No, no,” said the Inverness-clad man as he pushed it back, but ultimately bowed several times and accepted it.

When I saw that, I thought this man must be a priest.

The carriage started moving again.
The Inverness-clad man's loquaciousness showed no sign of abating.

Before long, we arrived at M Village.
This was a carriage transfer point.

When I took out my watch and looked, it was already three o'clock. In the sky hung a hue that somehow suggested the sun had shifted course. The passengers alighted restlessly. From the carriages following ours emerged various people. Mr. Judge was met by two or three figures, exchanged hurried greetings, then departed. I stood at the gate of the house where I'd rested upon arriving earlier, gazing down the road while wondering whether S-kun might not come after all...

They said the carriage from Town H that I was bound for still hadn't come. The inn people explained that with the road being so terribly bad now, there was no knowing when it might arrive. I felt like I'd been thrown out by the roadside and left behind. And so I kept standing at the gate.

Then, abruptly, S-kun stood before me.

“Ah!” I exclaimed in surprise.

“Did you just arrive?”

“Yeah.
But they say the carriage from H hasn’t arrived yet, so it’ll be late tonight.”

“Right… Then stay here tonight.”

While exchanging these words, we went up to the second floor.
The inn’s daughter followed and lit the kotatsu.
We ate there while talking.

“I nearly cried several times on the way here,” S-kun said.

“I thought I’d take a shortcut coming here when I saw how full of snow the mountains still were.
“There I encountered a lone postal worker coming my way, but not a single other soul passed by otherwise.
“In the snow lay a single narrow path—just the trail someone had trampled through, that was all there was.
“I stood there, overcome with the urge to cry.
“Whenever I thought of Mother or remembered home, my chest would tighten unbearably.
‘I should just turn back.
‘Turn back and apologize to Mother,’ I kept thinking...
“Even so, while turning all this over in my mind, I ended up coming all the way here.”
I listened in silence.
In my heart rose that narrow path through the snow.

S-kun's tears were keenly felt by me.
When S-kun left home, his clouded face dissolved into tears.
Yet even as we spoke like this, we found ourselves unable to stop thinking of what lay ahead—Tokyo—now.

And so, the two parted ways here once again for the time being, and S-kun ended up taking the carriage toward Town H.

After a while, the two bid each other farewell,

“See you in Town H,” we said to each other, then S-kun descended from the second floor and boarded the carriage.

After that, I sat alone by the kotatsu in a daze, waiting for the carriage from Town H that showed no sign of arriving. Eventually, worn out from last night's sleeplessness and being jostled about in the carriage since morning, I fell asleep.