Pathway to Japanese Literature

I The region was vaguely known only as a former duchy’s territory—details went unspoken—but precisely because it had produced so many new nobles of marquis, count, viscount, and baron ranks, there were not a few figures who, though equally swept up in the Restoration’s storms, had slipped from some strange rung of the social ladder to end up unable to secure even a baron’s title, let alone a prefectural governor’s seat, retreating instead to their hometowns to decay into obsolescence. Such men were invariably eccentrics—stubborn, willful, haughty—and Tomioka Sensei was no exception.

Tomioka Sensei was not merely known to all in those parts—indeed, he stood as an elderly man of such renown that even among the Marquises, Counts, Viscounts, and Barons residing in Tokyo, there likely existed no small number who would immediately think "Ah, that fellow?" upon hearing his name, their brows furrowing in recognition. Now then, as to what Tomioka Sensei was doing in his hometown—having refused even the care offered by relatives—he had named a lone house amidst vast rice fields, one measuring about five rooms, as the Such-and-Such Academy, gathered seven or eight youths from nearby villages to teach Chinese classics, and entrusted household affairs to his youngest child alongside an elderly servant.

This youngest child was a girl called Umeko who, from as young as six or seven, had been rumored by all to possess such rare beauty that she would blossom into an extraordinary beauty—and indeed this proved true, for with each passing year she grew ever more radiant. After her seventeenth spring passed uneventfully and the end of her eighteenth summer arrived—a time when Tokyo schools would soon commence their new term—Bachelor of Laws Otsu Teijiro returned home. From Tomioka Sensei’s Such-and-Such Academy had emerged—while attending elementary school and studying Chinese classics—three individuals who ultimately graduated from university. That Miss Umeko seemed to have resolved all three were her destined matches was a fact society had largely discerned, a matter none disputed. Yet not a few young men watched from afar, sucking their fingers in anticipation of which among the three might ultimately succeed in taking Miss Umeko back to Tokyo.

Bachelor of Laws Otsu Teijiro returned home. He was one of the three. A new topic of interest was added to the idle chatter in households across the towns, villages, and hamlets—stretching from such-and-such mountain pass westward to the banks of such-and-such river. Groups of women engaged in fierce debates—speculating that at last Otsu’s son must have returned to take Miss Umeko as his bride; that if matters proceeded smoothly, the remaining two—Mr. Takayama and Hasegawa’s son—would surely face disappointment; and that after all, while Miss Umeko might reign as local beauty, Tokyo overflowed with women of her caliber—so those other two likely weren’t fixated solely on her anyway.

One evening at dusk, a young gentleman of fine bearing in Western attire came to a halt before Tomioka Sensei’s house; he kept peering intently inside while fidgeting nervously, but finally passed through the gate and stood rigidly at the entrance. Even the voice saying “I beg of you” seemed to tremble slightly. The one who bellowed “Who’s there?!” was unmistakably Tomioka Sensei’s voice. The sliding door opened quietly, and the one who appeared was Umeko. Both the gentleman’s face and Umeko’s face flushed crimson in an instant. Umeko nodded slightly and went inside.

“What’s this? Has Otsu Teijiro come? Tell him to come right up!” Tomioka Sensei’s gruff voice rang out clearly. Guided by Umeko, Otsu was led to Tomioka Sensei’s parlor for the first time in years—the very room where he had once received instruction in the rote recitation of Chinese classics. To be sure, during his university days—when he had returned home one summer—he had visited then too. The exchange between the aged Confucian scholar and the newly credentialed Bachelor of Laws proceeded roughly thus: “Ah, Otsu. You’ve come home?” “In any case, I have attained my Bachelor of Laws.”

“What’s that supposed to be, eh?” “It’s been decided I’ll join the Ministry of Interior—through Mr. Eto’s good offices.” “Hmph. And you call this cause for celebration? But who exactly is this ‘Mr. Eto’ you speak of?” “About Marquis Eto… About Mr. Naobumi.” “Hmm—Sansuke? If it’s Sansuke, you should’ve said Sansuke from the start. How fares Sansuke these days?” “He remains in good health.” “Hmph. Splendid. And Kyonosuke?”

“He appears to be well.” “I see. When you meet them next time, make sure to tell them I put in a good word!” “Understood.” “Just tell them to send a letter! “And tell them: ‘Don’t you go putting on airs as a Marquis and forget us old samurai!’ “The very idea of you groveling and begging those bastards with your head bowed—it’s a disgrace to Tomioka’s academy! “If you’d told me, I would’ve sent those bastards a letter myself. “They’d have no reason not to heed my words!”

Such was the exchange. And so Tomioka Sensei sat there with an unperturbed expression. Otsu soon took his leave and stepped out to the entrance, where Umeko came to see him off. Otsu glanced sideways at Umeko’s face, muttered something like “Another time,” then hurried out the gate with a snort and a sigh.

“Damn it!” “That arrogant madness still hasn’t subsided.” “Miss Umeko’s the shameless one here—hmph, looking down on people,” he muttered while trudging along the dim path through the rice fields, though his heart remained far from calm.

Five or six days passed, and a rumor arose that Otsu Teijiro had entered into a marriage arrangement with Kuroda’s daughter. Many of those who heard this tilted their heads in bewilderment, their faces betraying surprise. However, this was indeed entirely true: Kuroda’s daughter Tamako—whose looks fell considerably short when compared to Umeko—had just graduated from the prefectural girls’ school and returned home when，through the tireless efforts of a certain friend，it had finally been decided that she would marry Otsu. Strangely enough，once this had been decided，groups of horse-faced young men emerged，loudly chattering about how it would now be a competition between Hasegawa and Takayama—wondering whose possession Miss Umeko would become.

Now then, Otsu Teijiro, the Bachelor of Laws, had proposed that he urgently marry and turn his return journey to Tokyo into a honeymoon trip; consequently, both the Otsu and Kuroda households were thrown into extraordinary commotion. Both families occupied positions in the rural upper class, so the stream of congratulatory formalities never ceased. For the village, this was no mere celebration akin to those of the Iwasaki and Mitsui families in the city—it was an extraordinary commotion. Both families were frantically occupied with preparations for the wedding ceremony.

It was probably around three in the afternoon on what was to be the evening of the long-awaited wedding.

In the village stream, near where it flowed out to sea beneath recently sprouted willow trees that formed a small shaded area, two people were fishing. One was Tomioka Sensei; the other was Hosokawa Shigeru, the village school principal—a twenty-seven-year-old man who had once attended Tomioka Sensei’s academy. They sat two or three yards apart with their lines cast into the water. The vivid sunset of late summer and early autumn, slanting westward, bathed every corner—the distant villages, nearby hills, and groves—in light. Their backs caught this evening glow, their tilted straw hats and white yukata fabric illuminated in equal measure.

Both men had not been speaking much and seemed somehow immersed in contemplation when suddenly Principal Hosokawa turned toward old man Tomioka.

“Teacher, were you invited to Otsu’s wedding tonight?” “Hmph! Invited I was, but this lord ain’t going!” Tomioka Sensei boomed in his gravelly bass. The truth was he hadn’t been invited at all. Otsu—for reasons unclear—had excluded his former teacher from the guest list. “What about you?” “Since Otsu no longer deigns to acknowledge me these days, no invitation came my way.” “Invited or not—don’t you dare go!” “What fool would attend that frivolous upstart’s farce?” “Why, even Kuroda’s daughter’s wasted on such trash!” “Mark this—though they graduated the same university, Takayama and Hasegawa stand head and shoulders above as men! Aye, and Takayama especially—there’s a fellow of real promise!”

Hosokawa Shigeru remained silent and said nothing; he simply kept his gaze fixed on the water’s surface. Old man Tomioka also fell silent.

After a while, two or three people passed by talking along the embankment across the river; their figures were obscured by the willow trees' shade, though hats and Western umbrellas occasionally peeked through gaps in the foliage. By their voices alone, it became clear that one was Otsu Teijiro, another was a certain friend, and the third was Kuroda's clerk. Both old man Tomioka and Hosokawa Shigeru involuntarily pricked up their ears. The three men came laughing uproariously to the exact opposite bank where the two crouched—naturally taking no notice of their presence there.

“But they say you were quite keen on Tomioka’s Miss Umeko!” This was the voice of Kuroda’s clerk. “Lies! Absolute lies! Even if Miss Umeko is a fine woman, becoming that stubborn old man’s son-in-law is something I’ll have none of! Ha ha… Miss Umeko’s the pitiful one! Because of that arrogant madman, she can’t make her way in the world!” This was unmistakably the voice of Otsu, the Bachelor of Laws. The three men burst into laughter simultaneously: “Ha ha ha…”

Old Man Tomioka threw down his fishing rod and abruptly stood up. He glared at the three men with the whites of his eyes and bellowed, “You utter fools!” in a thunderous voice. This fearsome roar echoed across the river’s surface. The three men on the opposite bank seemed startled; then, as if realizing something, they immediately hushed their voices and hurried past. Old Man Tomioka continued glaring across the riverbank until the sound of their footsteps faded away, then gradually shifted his gaze to a distant bald mountain. The hill where young pines grew lay quietly bathed in sunlight—yet even within that vivid radiance, nature’s features carried autumn’s desolation everywhere, evoking a sorrow that seemed to stir human hearts. The tall, robustly built old man stared fixedly ahead, occasionally narrowing his eyes, until at last—with none of his earlier vigor—he turned listlessly toward Hosokawa Shigeru.

“Hey, you! Carry this equipment to my place. I’m heading back.”

With those words, he left. Principal Hosokawa found being left behind disagreeable, yet kept casting his line; in truth, he had been deeply lost in thought. After a short while, he too listlessly reeled in his line, lifted the basket from the water, slung Tomioka’s equipment over his shoulder, and went to the residence nearby.

In the front garden.

“Has something happened to the master, I wonder?” the elderly servant Kurazo asked in a hushed voice.

“No, he isn’t doing anything.” “But his condition seemed a bit off—I thought perhaps something had happened again.” “What’s Teacher doing now?” “He’s resting, but he called Young Mistress to his bedside and seems to be speaking in a faint voice...” “I see.” “Well now, why don’t you come up and stay till evening?”

“I’ll come by this evening!”

Hosokawa shouldered his own fishing rod, dangling the basket as he made his way home with a troubled expression. It must have been a little past four o'clock at this time. At home, the old mother was spinning thread.

Around eight o'clock that night, just as Old Man Tomioka usually finished his evening drink, Principal Hosokawa came to visit Tomioka Sensei. The reason so many lanterns flickered along the rice paddy path was Otsu the Bachelor of Laws' wedding, and Principal Hosokawa encountered one or two people on his way who had been invited to the occasion. Each time he met them—as they were all familiar faces—he exchanged a few words of greeting, but took no joy in it.

When he went as far as Tomioka’s gate, he found it closed, and within all was silent. The principal found this suspicious but had no pressing reason to knock on the gate. As he wandered about the area lost in thought, before long the elderly servant Kurazo came hurrying along the rice paddy path. “Hey, Kurazo! Has Sensei already retired for the night?”

“Oh! Hosokawa Sensei—the old master has just set off for Tokyo!” gasped the elderly servant, planting himself before Hosokawa. “To Tokyo?!” Hosokawa seemed to choke on his own voice. “Haah... To Tokyo...!” “Oh! What could have happened?!” “What about Miss Umeko?”

“Together.” “Oh! What could have happened?” The principal was shocked while an unspeakable anguish pressed upon his chest. His mind went blank, anxiety overwhelming him. As Kurazo opened the gate, “Do come in now.” The principal followed through the gate and sat on the veranda—all seemingly done in a daze. “Principal—do you truly know nothing of this?” “What would I know? I was fishing today—the old master said not a word.”

“Is that so?” Kurazo began smoking with a suspicious look on his face. “Do you not know the reason?” “The master just ordered me, Kurazo, to hurry and take this to the village headman’s place. So I took that letter over to Mr. Village Headman, and when I came back home, the preparations were already done. I immediately escorted ’em to the station and just now got back myself. What do I know?”

“Hmm,” the principal mused, “when did he say he’d be coming back?”

“The old master said he’d return in about ten days, though even that he wasn’t certain of…” “I see…” The principal sighed, yet

“I’ll come again,” Hosokawa said abruptly as he left Tomioka’s residence and immediately went to visit the village headman.

The village headman was a man in his forties—the prime of discretion—who commanded immense trust in the village and possessed considerable wealth; the principal had always consulted this man as his confidant.

“Do you know Tomioka Sensei has gone to Tokyo?” Principal Hosokawa demanded, the words bursting out as he half-sat, half-collapsed onto the floor.

“Of course I know. Earlier, Kurazo brought a letter from Sensei—it said to entrust household matters during his absence,” said the village headman, only his head protruding from under the bedding. He had been invited to Otsu’s wedding but caught a cold and couldn’t attend, so he had remained in bed. “What reason could have made him suddenly go to Tokyo?” “That reason wasn’t written in the letter, but you can probably imagine it, can’t you?” said the village headman with a faint smile, staring straight at Hosokawa’s face. He had discerned that Hosokawa secretly pined for Umeko.

"I can't make sense of it," the Principal sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? Otsu married Kuroda’s Tamako, so Tomioka Sensei’s plans fell through. He likely thought to salvage things—take Miss Umeko to Tokyo, parade her before Marquis Eto and Count Inoue, and go ‘Hey Inoue! Look after my daughter!’ or some such scheme.” “Is that so…?”

“Exactly! Moreover, since Sensei has always raved about Takayama this and Takayama that, he’s probably told Count Inoue to press Miss Umeko onto Takayama—and mind you, Takayama’s had his sights set on Miss Umeko for ages anyway.” “Is that so…?” Hosokawa’s voice quavered. “Exactly! He’s probably saying he’ll wipe that smirk off Otsu’s face! Well, Sensei himself has grown quite frail—if he settles Miss Umeko’s future quickly, he can rest easy and die in peace, I suppose.”

The village headman spoke of the natural course of reason with detached composure. One part of his intention was to make Hosokawa swiftly relinquish his affections. "That's absolutely true. Sensei won't last long, looking as he does now..." With this strengthless utterance, the principal soon took his leave from the village headman's residence.

Pitiable Hosokawa Shigeru! He had become utterly disheartened. Within that disappointment lay a particular anguish. He could not rid himself of the persistent thought: “If only I were a Bachelor of Laws.” In his childhood, he had surpassed even Otsu, Takayama, and Hasegawa at elementary school; at Tomioka’s private academy, his performance had been the finest. The teacher had always favored him above all others. Yet due to family circumstances, he could not even enter middle school, ultimately enrolling in a government-funded normal school instead—graduating to become an elementary schoolteacher. In natural talent, he was by no means inferior to those two or three, yet now even Tomioka Sensei—despite whatever excuses he might make—ultimately regarded Otsu and Takayama as vastly superior men compared to himself, seeking to attach a ceremonial wrapper to Miss Umeko for their sake! It was regrettable, but he found himself forced to swallow not only the disappointment of love but also an inexpressible resentment beyond it.

However, being a man of steadfast character who could endure hardships well, he did not neglect his principal’s duties because of this anguish. With his usual composed countenance, he stood presiding over five or six teachers and guided several hundred children, yet a shadow of gloom accompanied him wherever he went.

II

It was the seventh day since Tomioka Sensei had suddenly gone to Tokyo; the teacher returned home accompanied by Umeko. The moment Principal Hosokawa read the old teacher’s letter stating, "I’ve just returned home, so come visit tonight," he unconsciously looked around his surroundings. While indulging in his own selfish fantasies, he hurried over only to find the village headman already seated, and the sake had begun. Umeko was, as usual, pouring sake for her elderly father with a smile.

“Hey Hosokawa! You must’ve been shocked by my sudden departure! I suddenly wanted to show my daughter Tokyo, you see. I’d planned to stay ten days or so, but everything grated on my nerves—ended up leaving after three! Like I was just saying—all our hometown folks in Tokyo are worthless! Not one decent soul among ’em!” The principal stood utterly baffled—smoke-screened by these words, unable to form any response—his eyes darting between Tomioka Sensei’s face and the village headman’s. The headman wore an enigmatic smile at his lips.

“Listen here—I took my daughter to Inoue Kikuchi’s place and Eto Sansuke’s place too! Damn it all—when I specially brought my daughter all the way from our hometown after so long, you’d think they’d at least know how to speak properly! But no! Flaunting their Marquis and Count visages without restraint—their insolent, disrespectful manner was beyond belief!” “I got so thoroughly pissed off that I didn’t stay half an hour before storming back to the inn!” He downed his cup in one gulp and thrust it toward the principal,

“Well, that’s just their nature—let it pass! What’s unbearable is how Takayama and Hasegawa are acting! Hey Hosokawa—they’re utterly worthless! Same as Otsu! Putting on arrogant airs like reckless upstarts—who’d have thought becoming petty officials would swell their heads so? Even I’ve exhausted all love and hate for them!” “When my patience had boiled over completely and I was preparing to return home at once, along comes Takayama with a shocked look and says, ‘Since you’ve gone to the trouble of bringing her here, why not at least entrust your daughter to Count Inoue? The Count said it’d be pitiful for Tomioka if we didn’t look after the girl, and he seemed terribly concerned for you.’ Can you believe it? I straightaway whacked that bastard square on the head—‘What?! You too think I’m some pitiful wretch?! You’d hand over my daughter with that in mind?! Imbecile!’” “and bellowed.”

“And what did Takayama do?” the principal barely managed to utter. “What could he do? He turned crimson and fled! Then I immediately left Tokyo without stopping anywhere and came straight back home.” “That seems rather futile, after you’d gone to such trouble,” the principal ventured timidly.

Tomioka Sensei’s fervor only intensified further; he brought out his usual tales of bygone days and began berating the current Marquis, Counts, Viscounts, and Barons one after another, but the village headman seized the moment to take his leave. The principal endured until Tomioka Sensei—having chattered himself into exhaustion—collapsed drunk, all while remaining the sole focus of his fervor.

When leaving, Umeko saw him out to the entrance, but the principal was faintly smiling. As soon as he stepped onto the path through the rice fields, he walked briskly along the road as if the heavy burden of recent days had suddenly lightened—yet by the time he reached his house, he scarcely realized how he had come there.

III

It was two days later when a letter from Takayama, the Bachelor of Laws in Tokyo, arrived at the village headman’s residence. The gist of the letter was as follows. No sooner had Tomioka Sensei gone to the trouble of coming to Tokyo than he suddenly returned home; regarding this matter, I am deeply pained—the teacher remains as obstinate as ever. Of course, neither we nor our senior colleagues have ever treated Sensei coldly, but he has arbitrarily decided that we have and grown enraged—he truly is a vexing man with whom there’s no reasoning. In truth, I had long desired to take Miss Umeko as my wife; therefore, I had requested Count Inoue to keep Miss Umeko there temporarily so that negotiations could be conducted afterward, but with Sensei’s abrupt return home, that plan too has come to naught—a most regrettable outcome. It is not merely Miss Umeko’s appearance that I admire; as you are aware, she possesses a truly rare and beautiful character seldom seen among young women these days. Though I have observed many young ladies of Tokyo at length, I have never encountered a woman as unassuming, graceful, and guileless as Miss Umeko. Miss Umeko possesses in full measure those qualities one might call the very essence of womanhood—gentle, serene, and unfailingly kind. I trust Your Honor shares my sentiments on this matter. If one were to name Miss Umeko’s flaw, it might be a certain lack of fortitude; yet to demand perfection in a human being is the folly of those who demand it. As a woman, one could rightly call her near-perfect. Indeed, I think this very absence of rigidity may rather lend an added depth of refinement to her character. I assure you my feelings are not frivolous; I sincerely revere this young woman. I earnestly entreat Your Honor to lend me your support and gently persuade the old teacher on my behalf. There exists no man more difficult to steer than that old man, but should Your Honor skillfully manage that task, I shall in turn request Count Inoue to arrange all necessary procedures. I humbly beseech your kind assistance in this matter.

However, when speaking to Tomioka the old man, I would ask you to await an exceptionally opportune moment; acting rashly would only invite failure. While I trust Your Honor would never be negligent in such matters, we must recall that even this venerable teacher possesses ordinary human sensibilities—he remains someone capable of understanding when properly made to understand. Yet layered upon his inherent disposition—which contained a singular vein of obstinate endurance—was the reality that during the Restoration, peculiar circumstances had diverted him onto a sidelined path, ultimately denying him the achievements he should have attained. Each time he witnessed peers becoming Marquises and Counts while juniors attained titles like Viscount and Baron—while he himself remained a rural old teacher—his temperament grew increasingly abrasive. This calcified into second nature until he became a man impossible to handle by any means. Thus, within the old teacher’s heart dwelled two perpetually warring personas: one being the natural Tomioka, the other the Tomioka Sensei forged by his life’s trajectory. Moreover, Tomioka Sensei had grown thoroughly accustomed to violently suppressing Tomioka at all times; consequently, even matters that Tomioka might hope for, consent to, or desperately desire would—should they so much as brush against the obstinate, seething mood of that Tomioka Sensei—be annihilated in a single stroke. You may already grasp this dynamic, but I entreat you to remain vigilant and thoroughly ascertain the optimal opportunity before broaching the matter.

It had been written at length and with great earnestness to convey this meaning. The Village Headman, having fully absorbed every detail, thought he must find an opportune moment to gently bring this marriage proposal to fruition.

After about three days had passed, the Village Headman visited Old Man Tomioka at night. He had gone to find an opportune moment. However, with Principal Hosokawa present in the room and sake having been served—and with Tomioka Sensei’s fervor raging so fiercely—he did not stay long and left.

Five days later, the Village Headman came to Old Man Tomioka’s gate around two o'clock in the afternoon with the intention of visiting him. Then came the teacher’s voice—

“You fool! Have even you turned into a complete fool? What’s so amusing? You utter fool!” The sound of his usual loud berating came through crystal clear. The Village Headman, startled, stopped in his tracks and strained to discern who was being rebuked when the elderly servant Kurazo quietly emerged from within. “Hey Kurazo—who’s being yelled at now?” the Village Headman whispered. Kurazo silenced him with a hand gesture and pressed his mouth to the Village Headman’s ear: “Miss Umeko is being scolded.”

“What?! Miss Umeko?!” the Village Headman exclaimed, his eyes widening. That being the case, Umeko had hardly ever been scolded by Old Man Tomioka before. When it came to Umeko, even the venerable teacher became utterly childlike—whenever people saw the serene and delicately affectionate bond between father and daughter, they all thought Tomioka Sensei seemed like an entirely different person. “What on earth?!” the Village Headman asked in surprise. “I don’t know why, but ever since he returned from Tokyo this time, he’s been drinking sake every day. The old teacher who had always been so kind to Miss Umeko—these past two or three days, he’s started raising his voice and yelling over the slightest things. I’ve been at my wit’s end trying to handle it,” he said sorrowfully,

“Given how things are, he won’t last much longer—forgive me for saying such ill-omened things…” Kurazo blinked his eyes. At this moment, with Tomioka Sensei’s voice—

“Kurazo!” A voice called “Kurazo!” from the veranda edge of the tatami room. Kurazo hastened his words, his voice growing even softer. “But come evening, the principal usually visits—and only then does his mood improve somewhat. Yet even when told things like ‘How admirable,’ he never retorts and remains gentle, so eventually the old teacher’s temper eases a little…” “Kurazo! “Isn’t Kurazo here?!” Once again, the old teacher’s booming voice resounded.

Kurazo, still bowing, hurried around toward the garden. The Village Headman crossed his arms and pondered for a while, then sighed and turned back toward his house.

IV

While the Village Headman found no opportunity to broach Takayama’s request, Principal Hosokawa Shigeru visited Tomioka Sensei nearly every night, staying past ten o’clock in what could scarcely be called conversation—rather becoming a target for grumbling, slander, bluster, and boastful tales. Tomioka Sensei had of late been drinking sake ever more excessively; just as Kurazo had said, his speech grew increasingly rough and his temper ever more fractious. What had changed most notably was his behavior toward Umeko; at times he would bellow, “You fool! “Die already! Because you exist, even I can’t die!” he would sometimes roar. Yet Umeko endured this patiently and continued nursing him with increasing obedience. At this, Kurazo—

“Miss… Ah, there’s none like you! When they speak of a godlike person, it’s you they mean! How utterly admirable…” Tears streamed from the aged eyes as he spoke. In this manner, before anyone knew it, mid-autumn had arrived. Hosokawa Shigeru had caught a cold and thus had been unable to visit Tomioka Sensei for four or five days; but with his fever having subsided, he set out one evening around seven o’clock.

Finding the house uncharacteristically silent, Hosokawa felt a flicker of unease as he proceeded to the sitting room; there in the chamber adjacent to Tomioka Sensei’s study, Umeko sat sewing alone. Even when Hosokawa entered, she did not lift her head; growing increasingly suspicious, when he looked closely, the lamplight revealed with stark clarity the tears streaming down her pale cheeks. Principal Hosokawa was startled,

“Miss Umeko, is something the matter?” he asked in alarm. Umeko kept her head bowed, staring fixedly at the motionless needle in her hands as she remained silent. At this moment, in the adjacent chamber,

“Who’s there?!” Tomioka Sensei shouted. “It is I.” “It is Hosokawa.” “What are you doing not coming in here? I have business—come here at once!” Just as the Principal began to rise with “Right away,” Umeko suddenly looked up at Hosokawa’s face; tears spilled down onto her knees. Startled, Hosokawa hesitated; unable to utter a word or stop himself, he entered the teacher’s study as he was. A kind of indescribable shudder welled up within his body; by the time he sat down, his face had turned deathly pale. Old Man Tomioka was lying on his bed, a medicine jar placed by his pillow.

“Oh, are you feeling unwell somewhere?” Hosokawa managed to say in a strained voice. Old Man Tomioka did not utter a word; the room lay silent; Hosokawa felt as though his very breath were stifled. After some time had passed,

“Hosokawa! You! What the hell are you even coming to my place for in the first place?” Lying on his bed, Tomioka Sensei spoke in a tone that crushed people and a voice that mocked them. Hosokawa could not utter a single word.

“Huh?! What the hell did you come here for in the first place?!” “Are you here to visit me?” “Are you here to curry favor with my daughter, huh?” “Answer me!” The principal kept his eyes shut tight, teeth clenched, head bowed low with both fists planted on his knees. “You’ve been scheming after my daughter, haven’t you?!” “Plotting to make my daughter your own, aren’t you?!” “Hmph!” Hosokawa’s fists trembled. “You—think carefully now!” “You’re nothing but a rural elementary school principal!” “Even Takayama and Hasegawa from my academy—they’re Bachelors of Laws! And I wouldn’t give my daughter to the likes of them!” “Know your station!” “Fool!”

The principal’s face visibly flushed crimson. Hot tears spilled down onto the clenched fist. From the mouth that usually reviled Marquises and Counts—how could such words emerge? No doubt human-conferred titles mattered more to Sensei than personal merit. He suppressed the retort surging to his lips: "How utterly contemptible." Coming from this Sensei, such words were hardly surprising; had he intended to counter with logical arguments, he would never have frequented this house in the first place. And he recalled.

“Huh?! Or are you saying you’re hell-bent on taking my daughter?! You!”

The principal did not utter a word. “Declare it plainly! Do you insist on having her?! Say it plainly like a man, you!” Hosokawa firmly raised his head.

“That is correct! I have always wished to take Miss Umeko as my companion!” he declared resolutely, staring straight into Tomioka Sensei’s eyes. “And if I say I won’t give her—what then?” “There is nothing to be done!” “Get out! Don’t come back until I send a summons—get out!” The old man spat these words and turned over to face the wall. Hosokawa immediately stood and left the room—whereupon Umeko, who had been crouched weeping, suddenly rose and hurried to see him off at the entrance,

“I beg you, please do not take Father’s words to heart… You know his temperament well!” she said in a voice quivering with anxiety.

“No—I shall not take it to heart in the least. Please take good care of Sensei… and you must look after yourself as well…” Unable to say anything more to the end, he hurried out through the gate.

That night, Hosokawa returned home after midnight. Where had he been wandering? His mother—who had stayed up waiting—looked at his ashen face and utterly exhausted state with suspicion, but—

“Haven’t you caught another cold? It’s not good to wander about so late at night when you’re not fully recovered yet.” “There’s nothing particularly wrong,” Hosokawa said offhandedly and entered his study just like that. His mother watched his retreating figure and quietly sighed.

V

From the following day onward, Principal Hosokawa attended work and carried out his duties as usual, but within his breast burned an anguish he had never experienced since the day he was born. Had he been merely scolded by Tomioka Sensei, he might have agonized over finding some resolution; though that torment would have been painful enough in itself, this was a battle—one his willpower could have withstood.

However, his present anguish was an unresolvable confusion—why had Umeko been weeping that night? When he had been summoned by Sensei and entered that parlor, why had she looked at him with such an expression while tears streamed down her face? She must have been listening from the adjoining room when he had declared his hopes to Sensei; had she been entirely opposed to them, she would never have comforted him so when he left... The conviction that Umeko loved him—or at least did not find his love disagreeable—had taken root in Hosokawa’s mind with obsessive tenacity; he could not possibly deny it. Yet precisely because she showed equal kindness to all and never special favor to anyone alone, he found himself unable to fully trust this belief. Each time he recalled her tearfully upturned eyes that seemed both to plead and apologize simultaneously, he grew entranced as if dreaming—his longing blazing with such intensity it bordered on madness. Love’s confusion and shame’s sting—this anguish clung relentlessly to him through waking hours and restless sleep alike.

There had been a time when he resolutely asked Kurazo to secretly deliver a letter, intending to lay bare his true feelings to Umeko, staying awake until around two o'clock at night as his brush raced across the page—but upon reflection, he tore up that letter.

About ten days passed in this manner. One day, after finishing school around four o’clock, as Hosokawa was returning home lost in thought along the foot of the hill as usual, he encountered Kurazo. Kurazo held a medicine jar in his hand.

“Sensei! Why haven’t you visited at all lately?” Kurazo asked with feigned ignorance, though fully aware of the circumstances. “How fares the old gentleman’s illness?” The principal ignored Kurazo’s question and inquired about Tomioka’s condition instead. “He’s grown terribly frail these days—keeps to his bed constantly—though no particular ailment shows itself.” “But he won’t last much longer now!” Kurazo sighed.

“Hmm, is that so? I would like to visit him once, but...” The principal’s voice and demeanor both grew subdued. “You should come visit! Who cares what he says? When he’s in one of his tempers, he’ll spout all sorts of nonsense...” “That may be so… but how is Miss Umeko faring?” he resolutely asked. “Lately, she’s been so gloomy all the time—it’s pitiful to see. Truly, the young mistress is so pitiful...” The tear-prone Kurazo turned aside, gazing out at the rice paddies as his eyes already began to grow moist.

“This is rather troublesome. Is Sensei still speaking harshly as usual?” “Well these days, the old gentleman’s been half-asleep in bed most of the time and hardly says a word.” “How strange,” Hosokawa said, tilting his head. “Though there’ve been times he was troubled before, never been this lacking in vigor—truly seems a sign he won’t last much longer.”

“Perhaps so!” Hosokawa said, furrowing his brows. “Moreover, there’s something about him—as if his spirit has broken and he’s regressed into foolishness.” “When I see that, I can’t help but feel pity. You should think it’s better for the harsh one to stay harsh.” “Perhaps I should go visit tonight.” “You must come! Don’t mind what he says!” “Hmm…” Hosokawa pondered for a moment. “Please give my regards to Miss Umeko.” “Understood. Please do come tonight.”

Hosokawa gave a slight nod, and the two parted. After thinking various thoughts and agonizing in many ways, the principal ultimately could not visit Tomioka that night. Three days later at dusk, Kurazo came to the principal’s residence with a solemn expression and handed over a letter from Umeko into Hosokawa’s hands. As Hosokawa stared in astonishment, eyes widening at Kurazo’s face, he left without even a greeting. A letter from Umeko! Hosokawa Shigeru's hand trembled. It was no wonder—an unprecedented event, an unthinkable occurrence. Not only Hosokawa, but none of the young men who knew Umeko could have imagined such a thing!

Upon opening and reading it, he found an exceedingly brief text stating she was writing this letter in her father’s stead—an earnest request for him to come immediately that night, explaining her father had something urgent to discuss. Hosokawa rushed off at once. The old gentleman’s command from the previous night—“Do not come until I send for you!”—now struck him as strangely incongruous, and he repeated these words to himself several times along the way. Yet when his thoughts inadvertently grazed that night’s torrent of scolding, his legs seemed to shrink beneath him.

However, he had been summoned. By some mysterious force that beckoned him from ahead and propelled him from behind, he was suddenly set running; without hesitation, he passed through the gate. When shown into the parlor, he found the village headman present. Sensei had sat upright in bed and was leaning against the futon. Umeko too was seated there; at first glance, this gathering appeared different from ordinary occasions. Serious and somber—moreover, somewhere within them stirred a hue of sorrow.

The principal bowed courteously to the gathering, then turned once more to Tomioka the elder, “How is your condition?” “This illness of mine just won’t improve,” even the voice uttering these words had weakened and sunk. “Please take care of yourself...” “No, I suppose this time I too must bid my farewell.”

“Such a thing!” Hosokawa tried to comfort him with a contained smile. Yet the old man remained solemn, “I shall not live long enough to grow senile without knowing my own death—I don’t believe I have much time left. That is precisely why I wish to discuss a matter of particular gravity with you.”

And so that night, until around ten o'clock, Tomioka the elder's parlor at times echoed with voices and at times lapsed into silence. At times, the old man's coughs could be heard.

The following day, the village headman sent a lengthy letter to Takayama Bunsuke, Bachelor of Laws in Tokyo, the contents of which were as follows:— The reason I had not sent any written correspondence since your inquiry was that there had been no opportunity to discuss the matter with Tomioka the elder. In your recent letter, you mentioned that two personas—Tomioka Sensei and Mr. Tomioka—were warring within this old man’s heart. That was indeed accurate, and I too had thought as much. However, ever since around the time I received your letter, what might be called the violence of Tomioka Sensei had only intensified, to such an extent that one could say there was scarcely a moment when Mr. Tomioka’s countenance showed itself—indeed, I imagine even in his dreams, Tomioka Sensei must have raged unchecked.

There was reason for this: Tomioka the elder's sudden journey to Tokyo at autumn's onset had been entirely meant to secure Miss Umeko for your esteemed self—or so I concluded. Yet for Tomioka Sensei, "Tokyo" proved most ill-advised of all. Once there, he could not avoid witnessing Marquis Eto, Count Inoue, and other hometown seniors in their imposing circumstances—a sight that became for him the very font of resentment, obstinacy, and eccentricity. His veins bulged instantly; even your conduct—which he had targeted—turned into an irritant. I believe he ultimately shattered the purpose he himself had established and returned home. Yet upon homecoming reflection, nearly all hopes the old man had envisioned for Miss Umeko lay in ruins. Tomioka Sensei had grown unable to distinguish one thing from another. Hence his irritability intensified further; he turned self-destructive; his drinking surged abruptly; his mind grew ever more deranged—truly, I believe he had descended into a pitiable, wretched state.

Indeed, on the day I visited Sensei regarding your esteemed self's proposal, his loud berating of Miss Umeko could be heard all the way to the gate; judging the timing inopportune, I immediately turned back. Yet according to Kurazo's account, during that period Sensei had even been summarily scolding away that cherished daughter of his—that very meek Miss Umeko. Imagining Sensei's condition from this, I believe your esteemed self too must find this development unexpected. Not only I, but given these circumstances, visitors to Tomioka were naturally scarce—save for one person: Mr. Hosokawa Shigeru, whom you know, who apparently called nearly every night, enduring rebukes while offering solace.

However, last evening—having heard Tomioka the elder had recently taken to his sickbed—I went to pay a visit, intending to broach your proposal should the opportunity arise. The old man was indeed bedridden; what proved unexpected was how his vigor had waned entirely during our brief separation—or rather than waned, his spirit had nearly broken, transforming him into what you term "Mr. Tomioka," an old man now thoroughly versed in mundane affairs. More unexpected still was his profuse delight at my visit—indeed, he revealed he had been considering summoning me. As our conversation progressed, the old man entrusted me with various posthumous matters; his manner suggested he knew his death was near, and I found myself swallowing back tears. Thereupon, deeming this the perfect moment to raise your proposal—just as I prepared to speak—most unexpectedly, the old man himself broached Miss Umeko's situation. It ran thus: I intend to wed my daughter to Hosokawa Shigeru; he too has declared his wish. Though initially reluctant, upon reflection I deem this match most suitable for both my daughter and Hosokawa. I earnestly entreat you to serve as official matchmaker. Though that matter weighed on my heart, leaving me at a loss for words, I quickly reconsidered and accepted.

To state it plainly—though this may seem discourteous to your esteemed self—since Hosokawa made his proposal first and the old man had already given consent, your hope is now dashed; even I can do nothing about it. Upon deeper reflection, I believe that even had your esteemed self’s proposal come first, this match would not have been realized and would nonetheless have ended in Hosokawa Shigeru’s success; as for the reason, I leave it entirely to your speculation—you who know Tomioka Sensei thoroughly will surely comprehend immediately.

Moreover, just as I desire the fulfillment of your esteemed self's hopes, I wish for Hosokawa's fervent desires to be realized; regarding this matter, I hold not the slightest partiality. Even your esteemed self, now that Hosokawa's wish has been settled as fulfilled, would surely rejoice for his sake. Moreover, for Miss Umeko's sake as well, it would surely be a cause for rejoicing. And from what I have observed, Miss Umeko also appears to be pleased to wed Hosokawa. If this isn't a good match, then what could be? No sooner had I consented to serve as matchmaker than I sent for Hosokawa; Hosokawa came immediately. There, with Miss Umeko also taking her seat and all four of us present together, Tomioka Sensei once again addressed Hosokawa to grant permission regarding Miss Umeko, while from Miss Umeko's own lips came a pledge that she held not the slightest objection to her father's decision and would gladly wed Mr. Hosokawa—the wedding date was thus set for October 20th of the coming year, exactly as the old gentleman decreed. The lot had finally been cast in favor of the remaining suitor.

I trust that your esteemed self will naturally send congratulatory messages to Tomioka Sensei and Hosokawa as well.

VI

The wedding concluded auspiciously. The countryside resembled an autumn-clear sky freshly wiped, and in Principal Hosokawa Shigeru's garden, the bride in her ceremonial headdress knelt halfway, arranging the draperies.

And so, at November's end, Tomioka Sensei finally departed this world, and his province lost its most notable man. In two or three major Tokyo newspapers appeared a black-bordered advertisement spanning twenty lines, bearing the names of his disciple Takayama Bunsuke, his kinsman Hosokawa Shigeru, his friend Viscount Nogami, and others arrayed in solemn procession. Those from his home province saw this notice and nodded at once—"So Sensei has died at last"—but among the greater number of newspaper readers, some wondered what manner of man could warrant such an elaborate announcement, while others passed it by without a glance.

However, this advertisement was Tomioka Sensei’s final roar unleashed upon this world—the grievance-filled teacher’s pent-up frustrations had at last been vented through acquaintances. A few thoughtful countrymen wept upon seeing this.