Pathway to Japanese Literature

(I)

Chiyoko was very tired.

Immersed in the soft air of a spring dusk fading into watery hues, seeing a pale yellow moth flutter in circles around her body and the “insects” from a small oak forest—a mated pair—skim through the air was precisely what made her forget the pleasant weariness within her.

As if never tiring, Chiyoko walked around the black soil of the tennis court while delighting in how her own limbs and the glimpse of her nose bridge appeared strikingly white.

The clamor of the towns resonated like waves crashing ashore, making her feel as though she were at the sea; she recalled the sound of pebbles grating under waves, the scent of seaweed, and it even seemed she could hear sand crunching beneath her feet.

While contemplating the opening of what she intended to write next, she took deep, deep breaths as if in her own world, becoming suffused with a calm, clear feeling.

Powerful confidence and hope now filled Chiyoko’s heart to bursting—so thoroughly that she couldn’t bring herself to doubt or condemn this feeling that everything in the world had been created solely for her.

When the green hues turned dark and clusters of precious stars began to glitter, Chiyoko returned to her room with a feeling akin to having completed necessary tasks, then habitually settled herself properly at her desk as if something significant were afoot. She went through motions resembling contemplation of how to spend the time until sleep—flipping through the pages of a half-read book with a gondola-shaped paper cutter inserted, haphazardly turning them over.

If only someone would come—

She would listen for footsteps passing outside the gate or even go out of her way to summon the maid,

"Didn't you say someone was coming?"

Chiyoko had asked such questions and done similar things so much that she found herself waiting intensely for friends to arrive.

Even when night grew quite late, no one—whoever they might be—came to visit with any hint of ill intent.

Unable to endure any longer,

"You really are—though I do feel sorry for you—

Go quickly and call Kyōko-san for me.

You must tell her she simply has to come no matter what."

...and instructed her on what to say, then sent the maid to fetch Kyōko, who lived closest by.

About fifteen minutes later, when Kyōko entered the study, Chiyoko sat with a vacant face as if worn out from waiting, gazing at the woman in the framed painting hanging on the wall.

“I heard you were in quite a bad mood today,”
“What’s wrong?”

With a laugh, Kyōko spoke as soon as she saw Chiyoko’s face.

In a bad mood?

They’ve decided all on their own that I’m in a bad mood if I don’t sing—I’m sick of it.

And besides, that’s about the limit of her observational capacity anyway.

While looking with annoyance at the door the maid had left slightly ajar, Chiyoko said. Then, after staring silently at Kyōko’s round chignon styled like a split peach—puffed up in front—Chiyoko suddenly let out a high-pitched laugh of delight and seized her shoulders as she spoke.

“Oh no—to tell the truth, I was just a tiny bit out of sorts. But now I’m completely better—because you came for me.”

“You’re such a fickle creature—and so terribly self-centered too! That woman must be showing consideration in unexpected ways as well, you know.”

When she came by yesterday morning, as soon as she saw my face—
“Oh, Madam, you’ve come at just the right time—though I must wake her, it’s a bit awkward—”
“I hate you most in the morning.”
...because Madam says such things.
she was saying, poor thing—
“Well, that’s true too,”
Since you had told me to wake you at six o'clock sharp two mornings ago, when six struck exactly, she came to my place and shook my shoulders while saying,

“Madam, I left it as you instructed.”

Though I—who had been awake since earlier—clearly understood what she meant by that, when I pretended to be a tanuki and went to the mirror to busy myself with something while trying not to make noise, then saw that Madam had gotten up—well, the flustered look on that clumsy woman’s face was beyond compare.

While spouting such nonsense, Chiyoko laughed boisterously like a man.

As she laughed with her mouth gaping wide, it seemed her tantrum and all the pent-up feelings would fly out through that maw, leaving her so lighthearted her head might start bobbing up and down.

In a cheerful voice, Chiyoko read aloud to Kyōko something she had recently finished writing—an extremely short and pitiful piece—and sang a song that came to mind in a melodic tone.

Kyōko, who had been silently watching the cheerful face, said in a heartfelt low voice:

"But someone like you, living exactly as you please without any hardship or worry, really ought to endure just a little dissatisfaction."

"Lately, someone like me has been in a state that's truly miserable beyond compare."

"Even if painting is my profession, if I keep drawing botanical illustrations day in and day out, there's just no motivation left."

"The beauty portrait I’d been painting—since my uncle came and tore it to shreds, I ended up washing it off, so— While doing work I began out of love, even just a little— Ah, I hate this. When I think that, I feel this sort of loneliness.” “Well, of course anyone would feel envious thinking someone else’s work is easy and free of hardship—that’s only natural. But really, it’s precisely because you have complaints about your own work that it’s good—if you didn’t, that would truly be pitiful."

Chiyoko spoke quietly in an enlightened tone; Kyōko cut her off with a brusque laugh,

“Of course it is!”

she retorted.

Chiyoko whimsically took down the charcoal paper she occasionally used for watercolors from the shelf, cut it into four pieces, and with deft hands drew the lonesome figure of the woman with the ginkgo-leaf hairstyle hunched over the kotatsu. She pasted it to the wall and, blinking rapidly, said in a voice that seemed to lean in:

“This is what I do most often all winter long.”

“Does your winter self look that lonely?”

“If I were to draw it, I would depict myself sitting atop blazing flames, surrounded by hothouse flowers.”

“That’s exactly why you and I are different in every way.”

Chiyoko looked at the gaping mouth of the stove that had remained unlit for about a month.

And since it was too empty and unpleasant, she was thinking of spreading soil and planting some plants or flowers, when—

“Oh yes, I’m sure that would be splendid.”

“I can just picture you throwing a tantrum and scolding away when you see some spindly, stunted flower blooming pathetically in the dark where barely any sunlight reaches.”

Kyōko laughed teasingly after saying this.

“Honestly now,

how absurd.”

With a serious face and in a jesting tone, Chiyoko said.

As if drawn in by that, Kyōko carefully recounted her story about when she went to Saikyō.

“When people speak of Osaka, they imagine it as dustier and smokier than Kyoto, but that neighborhood Naruzono-san depicted is quite lovely—the hostesses there are prettier than ours, and even when they’re equally ‘worldly,’ their speech is gentler, so it doesn’t feel so unpleasant.”

“They might be skillfully covering up their ‘worldliness,’ but there weren’t many you could grow fond of.”

She also talked about such things.

Chiyoko silently gazed at the wall, recalling the feeling she had when, while walking through Yazaemonchō, she saw a hostess open her mouth wide and stuff it with mitsumame.

Seeing Kyōko repeatedly take out Chiyoko's old books that had been eaten by bookworms here and there and busily examine them,

“What are you up to?”

Chiyoko said in a listless voice.

“Well...

Once I finish my current work, I thought I’d try creating picture scrolls of old tales with an entirely new feeling.

I just can’t find one that I like.

I wonder what would truly be best.”

Kyōko said as if she had truly struggled to pose the question.

“If you can’t find a good one, why not just create your own story?

There’s no reason it absolutely has to be an old one.”

What I create myself is best because even if I don’t like it, there’s no one to criticize it.

Moreover, if I were to see someone from before me who has depicted the same thing more skillfully than I have, such things will happen where I can't feel at ease unless I either tear it up or hide it away somewhere out of sight.

"But things never go that smoothly for me."

“There’s nothing you can’t do once you set your mind to it.”

“If you say so, then that settles it.”

The two of them talked about such things in fits and starts.

“Even after you went to all that trouble to come, it turned out quite differently than I expected.”

The usual complaints welled up in Chiyoko’s heart.

When she thought this, she began to feel there was somehow something “troublesome” about Kyōko sitting beside her own self.

Looking up at the clock beside her, Chiyoko glanced sideways at Kyōko and,
“Ahhh, it’s already half past ten.”

she murmured.

“Really now…”

She should head back now—tomorrow she had to be in Koishikawa again by eight o'clock.

Once her current work was finished, she would be free for a while.

Kyōko stood up and, while adjusting the drape of her kimono, talked about what she would do from now until returning home to sleep.

“It’s already midnight no matter what.”

Since she had to get up at six, it was no wonder she had to go around with a sleep-deprived, sallow face.

“Well then, it seems Japanese ancestors must have been chronically sleep-deprived.”

Toiling away without respite from poverty and ruin—

While saying such things and laughing, Chiyoko—carrying some books for Kyōko—left through the gate together with her, intending to see her off.

Outside, the deep darkness of the starry night spread out in all directions, and from somewhere came the sound of someone chanting a clumsy naniwabushi ballad.

The sound of Chiyoko’s zori sandals and Kyōko’s stylishly light footsteps mingled to create a distinctly feminine rustling as they walked, while their occasional bursts of laughter—sometimes as if suddenly recalled, sometimes as if erupting—faded into the cherry blossom branches above.

When they came to Kyōko’s modest gate, Chiyoko—as if caught off guard—abruptly bowed her head,

“Goodbye then,”
“Next time, if you have some free time, do come again,”
I don’t want to walk back alone!

As soon as she said this and heard Kyōko call something from behind, she began striding swiftly with large steps. After walking a short distance and glancing back, seeing Kyōko still standing there, she quickened her pace even more than before. The darkness lurking along both sides of the wide mansion district road seemed to surge forward; the jari gravel piled about five meters long and over a meter high glinted coldly under the gaslight like burial mounds of those swallowed by darkness. When she returned home as if fleeing and sat at her desk, she found a postcard and letter lying atop it.

The letter from her aunt—which essentially just said "Come over this Sunday and I’ll treat you to a feast"—was written at such tedious length, embellished with all sorts of decorative flourishes, as if she had filled half a scroll with her ramblings.

Her aunt must have had considerable time and patience.

Chiyoko recalled her aunt’s flat face and small forehead.

And she wrote a reply that seemed overflowing with gratitude, reciting it in her mind as she laughed at some vague amusement.

The postcard was from a friend who had sent it saying, "Since Kanary has raised chicks, I'll give you some."

Raising them might perhaps be enjoyable, but when she considered times of illness and other troublesome matters, she had no desire to take them.

Even after Chiyoko got into bed, she found it difficult to fall asleep.

Recalling the many friends who had come and gone since childhood, she felt as though she had somehow become separated from everyone else.

That she alone had removed herself from the crowd of many people was not necessarily an unpleasant way of being apart.

Chiyoko, who from a young age had never been one to fuss over making friends, still did not have very many even now.

Intellectual friends,

Form-based friends,

Chiyoko had divided her friends into two categories in this way.

Intellectual friends—those were people Chiyoko had yet to obtain who could satisfy her.

The same applied to form-based friends.

She had not a single person who could truly be called a close friend.

That she herself was also like this was something Chiyoko considered fortunate.
Chiyoko deeply believed that even if people became close friends while laughing together, there were no close friends who could part ways still laughing.
Moreover, she had many such experiences.

The lack of close friends meant convenient situations outnumbered inconvenient ones.

Who is the one you are closest to?

People often ask such things.

Every time this happened, Chiyoko would smile silently while letting her eyes rest on the many books.

Chiyoko, who had been feeling this way even more intensely of late, spent that evening thinking of Kyōko as well. Under the dim lamplight, she deeply inhaled both the golden glimmer of book spines catching the light and the quiet scent of paper drifting about.

And so she felt that the large forehead she herself took pride in had grown even larger—more pronounced.

Well, no matter what—I must become stronger.

Chiyoko, thinking this was the same month last year when her mind had deteriorated, let out a deep breath and covered her eyes with a look as though she had cast everything aside.

Insects that had begun chirping unnoticed beneath the veranda droned on persistently, continuing until Chiyoko fell asleep.

(2)

When she returned from an errand to Kanda, she unexpectedly found Atsushi had come and was waiting for her return.

The maid, holding a paper-wrapped package and an umbrella, stood there laughing cheerfully,

“I had gone out earlier.”

"You mentioned you'd return by three o'clock, so I let him know and he's been waiting," she said to Atsushi, who stood examining books by the shelf.

"Madam has returned."

With that, she retreated fidgetily to the back.

Chiyoko went to the study still wearing her meisen kimono with the double-layered obi tied low.

“I’m terribly sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“When did you arrive?”

Atsushi closed the book and stood up, speaking in a round voice.

“It was just a moment ago. I thought about leaving, but that woman said you’d be back soon, so I waited here like this.”

“Are you busy?”

“Yes, up until yesterday.”

“But today I’m free,”

“Because I never have fixed plans.”

“Are you alone today?”

“No, well—he came to that usual place over there.”

“You know that Mr. Nakamura we met once before?”

“He came with that person.”

“But he said he still had business elsewhere and went to Kyōbashi!”

“Oh, he went out of his way to make up an errand,”
“Of course he would.”
“He doesn’t seem the type to visit someone he’s not particularly close with,”
“He does strike one as rather withdrawn.”
“That might very well be true,”
“With that person!”
“Though that’s also among his virtues.”
Atsushi said with a gaze that seemed to be trying to recall the man’s face, then abruptly changed tack and began speaking in carefully modulated tones while studying the opal on Chiyoko’s finger, as if practicing vocal exercises.

“How has your health been lately? Your eyes look slightly sunken—could it be summer fatigue?”

“No, it’s not exactly summer fatigue, but from April through May, my head always acts up without fail. Once I start feeling the thick April air pressing down on me as if it’s suffocating, I gradually get worse. Even so, I recover quickly. It’s like having had neurasthenia a couple of years ago turned into a habit.”

“If we’re talking about The Tale of Genji, then with ‘Omono no Ke’—”

Chiyoko laughed cheerfully and reached out to flip aimlessly through the pages of the book Atsushi had been reading.

“Really, though.
Why don’t you go to the coast this year, starting now?”

“I still intend to stay in Tokyo for now,
Tokyo is rather pleasant this time of year.”

I love the streets of Ginza around the time when one wears flannel kimonos.

Because I could see people who remained memorable for quite some time.

"As for me, I've never met anyone who remembers me even a little, no matter how much I walk through Ginza."

Was it because they're men?

“Does such a thing even exist?”

It’s because they aren’t perceptive enough.

Among those I had remembered for so long there remained just one person I couldn't forget due to something peculiar about them.He was entirely unremarkable yet joined my roster of unforgettable people through how his oddly slender little finger caught my eye when brushing back stray locks.She had been about seventeen years old though.When recalling him,the sequence always began with that little finger sweeping up bangs then moved through neck,hairline,and eyes-no matter how peripheral an element might be,the first place your gaze lands dictates what surfaces.

And it’s not a strange description at all.

“I’ve never experienced such a thing even once.
Is it interesting?”

“There aren’t many people who say such things,”
among the people we know.
“Is that so?”
“Whether something’s interesting depends on who you ask,”
“it’s not an unpleasant thing at all.”
All sorts of imaginings well up, you know,

“And also, it’s one of my favorite things.”

“You truly are someone who finds pleasure in so many different ways!”

Atsushi gazed at Chiyoko’s bluish-tinged white eyes and the earlobes barely visible through her hair before smiling faintly with an almost enticed expression.

Laughing while repeatedly brushing back thick long strands of hair that kept falling over her forehead with her palm, she watched through densely growing young maple leaves outside the window as the black shadow figure of the neighbor's maid moved busily about.

"What is it?"

Chiyoko asked while looking in that direction.

“The neighbor’s maid is watching the shadow figure.”

“Shadow figures have such an oddly suggestive quality about them, don’t they?”

“The maid’s?”

“I often think that maids—though they’re women just like us—have heads bestowed by God as something entirely special, you see. It’d make for fascinating research, investigating their psychology.”

“Maids, as seen through women’s eyes, truly appear as peculiar beings.”

“Men probably wouldn’t understand such things at all.”

Atsushi turned his eyes from the window and looked at Chiyoko’s face, which was gazing contemplatively at a single spot.

“Is that so?”

Atsushi said.

“As for me, perhaps because I have few opportunities to interact with maids, I don’t know much about them.”

“And also, I’ve never tried to learn about them either, you see.”

“They differ both physiologically and mentally.”

They hadn’t noticed any special qualities,

“One can never eliminate that servant mentality no matter what,”

“The longer they serve, the more their obsequious flattery, false humility, and detestable audacity—all increasingly unpleasant—tend to multiply.”

“They become able to nonchalantly torment their own bodies and laugh—terrifyingly so.”

“What a nasty thing.”

“But that such circumstances exist feels somehow truly pitiful.”

“After all, for a woman raised without intellect, proper form, or talent, becoming a maid remains indeed the simplest path to independence.”

“That’s exactly it. For example, suppose they do something bad—if you sympathize, thinking it’s due to their lack of intelligence, and refrain from scolding them, they’ll immediately take advantage,” she said, “with a face that declares ‘It’s only natural,’ you know.”

Chiyoko paused the story for a moment.

And then she did not open her mouth again for quite some time.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Atsushi asked while peering into Chiyoko’s face.

Chiyoko shook her head from side to side like a small child would.

After a while, she said in a quiet, calm voice:

“It’s nothing.”

“But you know—I just realized we’ve been talking about such trivial things until now—”

“It all seems so foolish now.”

“There’s nothing we can do about what’s already been said, is there?”

Atsushi laughed while speaking in a loud voice.
To Chiyoko, that resonated as truly sincere words.

“That’s true.”

Even as she said this, Chiyoko wore a thoughtful expression.

"That really is true!"

In the depths of Chiyoko's heart—she who had murmured those words—something heavy took form.

She staggered over and opened the piano lid.

Then remaining standing, she played Schubert's lullaby.

The gentle harmonies embraced Chiyoko's heart and made her feel cradled within a rocking bassinet.

Atsushi quietly added his voice.

To the low swaying melody, Chiyoko felt a tearful softness blossom in her chest.

“This is truly a wonderful piece.”

Chiyoko said to Atsushi behind her, opening and closing the lid again and again.

“Ah, I’ll let you hear a sound that stirs mysterious feelings.”

Deliberately opening the closed lid, Chiyoko looked toward Atsushi and released the CD’s sound all at once.

The sound with its perfect fourth interval was strange like a Triangular School painting yet carried a comforting and peaceful resonance; its lingering tone contained sharp irony, making it an utterly sensual sound.

“Hey, like one of Wilde’s works—”

With eyes as if intently listening to the sound, Chiyoko said.

“To some extent, I do think so—”

“I don’t feel it that much.”

Chiyoko shook her head in disappointment at Atsushi’s response and quietly closed the lid.
“You’re rather dull, you know,
that’s no good at all—acting like that.”

With a deliberately exaggerated laugh, Chiyoko averted her gaze to some distant point.

Chiyoko paced about the room without making any move to sit down.

Atsushi quietly watched as the pale obijime peeked from beside her tea-colored obi, and the silk hem lifted by her white tabi formed folds heavy with shadow.

"You're quite the carefree person."

Chiyoko clasped her hands together from the far corner, stretched them all the way down, and said as she walked over here.

“Why is that?”

“Everything seems that way,

as if I said to let things take their course—”

She said such things and laughed.

After laughing, Chiyoko suddenly straightened her expression, sat down, rested both elbows on the armrest, supported the sides of her face with them, and spoke with startling seriousness.

“I found,
A story that I myself don’t find foolish at all.”

“Do you know beauty so startling it takes one’s breath away? Neither some painted girl nor colors lying on surfaces—”

“Is this another thing beyond my understanding? Something I don’t know?”

“No—it’s neither something requiring thought nor recollection.”

“The beauties that astonish me—”

“Snow under moonlight, opals, silverware gleaming in sunlight.”

Atsushi laughed as if cornered while looking at Chiyoko.

“Yes, yes exactly,

“To live amidst such things is something truly beautiful.”

“But I know even more.”

“Hair seen in candlelight,

the tip of a little finger held up to the sun—

Right?

You don’t know about such things.

I truly mean it—

The beauty lurking within unmanifested things is the most beautiful of all.

And so again, within things that cannot be made by human hands, there exists much of that astonishing beauty.

I am an admirer of the beauty of nature.

Greek mythology is something we cannot actually see now; to try to see it, one must necessarily go through something artistic—exactly—”

“It is precisely because it’s akin to that beauty of silverware—which cannot be seen unless bathed in the sun’s radiance—that it still shines above our heads even now.

“Tell me, there’s no distinction of large and small in beauty, is there?

“I believe I live within beauty and shall be buried in it,

“and that’s precisely what I desire.”

Chiyoko declared with eyes blazing in excitement.

“As for me—”
“Whenever I speak of such things,” she said with hands clasped tightly at her chest, “I always feel as though I’m nestled deep within some great creature’s bosom.”
A surge—hope swelling thick like sap beneath bark—rose through her from that realm men name Beauty itself.
To grasp its essence unerringly… ah! What grace! What fortune undeserved!

Atsushi looked at Chiyoko’s face in surprise.

When speaking of nature’s beauty—a regular occurrence—Chiyoko would grow excited and speak of various matters as though reciting a beautifully linked chain of words.

“Though they say sadness holds more nuance than joy, nature’s beauty shares that very quality.”

“Don’t you agree?”

“Even if ninety-nine out of a hundred people condemned or mocked nature’s beauty, I alone could remain its utterly unwavering loyalist.”

“Until I can both protect it at times and be protected by it at others, the beauty of nature and I can draw close and remain good friends.”

She also spoke of such things.

Atsushi looked at Chiyoko’s flushed cheeks and youthful red lips and said,

“Can you still feel such beauty even when you’re alone?

What do you do when you feel like talking—when no one is around—”

“At such times, you know—”

Suddenly, Chiyoko let out a loud, hysterical laugh.

Then, lowering her voice completely and looking up from beneath her eyes, she spoke in a pressing tone.

"At such times, you know,

“I recite what surfaces in my heart like prayer verses, you know,

clasping my hands over my chest, you know,

kneeling in the beautiful sunlight, you know,

I speak until my heart is satisfied.”

When my heart was satisfied, a single tear spilled out, and with that, I became completely satisfied.

“I’m happy—
You could never understand—no matter what—
Because it’s my domain.”

After saying such things, Chiyoko let out a deep sigh as if exhausted from speaking too long.

With eyes that were completely different from before—sunken—Chiyoko looked at Atsushi’s face and spoke.
“You truly are such a quiet person,”
“You’re like the water of a marsh deep in the mountains.”
“But if that water level holds such intriguing depth, then splendid indeed.”
“That’s true,”
“I often think so myself.”

“But it’s my nature, so there’s nothing to be done.”

“So even if I think ‘Beautiful!’ and pursue it to a certain point, it just fizzles out, and even if something strikes me, I can’t go beyond that halfway point.”

“Everything ends up clumping together into something small.”

“Even if I strive to do so myself, I cannot manage it,”

“Even if people prone to extremes strive to be half-hearted, they can’t manage it,”

“Someone like me can only go this far.”

Atsushi said in a quiet voice.

“I was born into such a destiny, no matter what.”

“Fate?”

“I don’t want to be controlled by fate, you know. Fate is something one can open for oneself.”

“I might be alone in this, but that’s what I believe,”

“And it must certainly be so indeed.”

“What kind of schemes could fate possibly have? Who could possibly know?”

“The ruler of fate delights in making timid humans perform dangerous feats as if they were mere ‘diversions’.”

“Even if it’s just stubborn will,” Chiyoko declared emphatically.

Then, as if truly exhausted to her core, she leaned her head against the chair and closed her eyes.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?”

Atsushi asked with a laugh.

“Yes,

I talked too much, you see.

It’s always like this.”

She spoke in a voice that sounded like stifling a yawn between her teeth.

“I must be going now—I have an engagement until six-thirty,”
“I’ll just barely make it if I leave this instant.”
“I’ll visit someday—with someone—”

“Well then, goodbye.”

“You may bring them along, but don’t make it an incomplete number.”

While saying such things, Chiyoko escorted Atsushi to the entrance.
It seemed the wind had picked up.

Atsushi said such things while stepping on each stone one by one and left.

As soon as she returned to the room, Chiyoko sank into the large chair as if burrowing into it.

And then burying her head into the back cushion, she sank into a sleep full of nothing but dreams like a child who had cried itself to exhaustion.

When she awoke some time later, a feather quilt had been laid over her body, and an electric lamp glowed with a swollen-hued light beside her. Rubbing her face with the back of her hand, she moved with slovenly effort and called the maid’s name.

“Oh my, you’ve awoken, Madam.”

Around the time the maid entered saying this in a loud voice, Chiyoko was undoing her hair and combing it.

"I came over right after the guest had left."

"Ah, because I talked too much, you see,

I'm completely exhausted."

"Well now, when I heard Madam speaking in such a loud voice, I thought you must have been up to something."

The maid said this and then burst into loud laughter for no reason at all.

And when the maid brought milk in a silver-glinting vessel, Chiyoko—having returned to her original chair—began to feel drowsy, on the verge of nodding off.

After finishing a light dinner, Chiyoko, in an uncharacteristically serious manner, wrote replies to the letters that had piled up and made diary entries.

Three days later, on a mere whim, Chiyoko drew a face making a comically reddened expression that filled the large white space on the page.
And beside it, with a crackling sound,

Crackle crackle

and added "Crackle crackle".

For so long that even she herself wondered how she didn’t grow bored of it, she stared at the drawing.

To the friend who had promised to send white pigeons, she wrote such a reply in clumsy penmanship.

This childlike me is truly delighted.
I’ve been waiting eagerly from this very moment for the day when that dear young couple of white pigeons will come to my garden.
I’m already imagining them dancing through fragrant purple summer dusks.
After making the maid send off that flimsy letter, she kept reminding herself not to forget to order a "delicate hanging cage" from the hardware store tomorrow.

“You there—
You absolutely have to say it that way!”

Chiyoko abruptly spoke the moment she saw the maid’s face.
“What is it, Madam?”
“Is there something you wished to command?”

Thinking that the maid had a look in her eyes as though anticipating being scolded,

“I’m not angry—
You know what!”

“Look, didn’t I tell you the other day? A young couple will be arriving soon—so we must build a house for them.”

“Huh? A young master and mistress— Where will you be building their house?”

“What!
“It’s nothing really,
“You there—go to the hardware store tomorrow and have them make a ‘hanging cage’ about four shaku in height and one and a half ken in length.”
“About three days, okay?”

“What on earth...”

The maid laughed boisterously while saying, “It’s about the pigeons, isn’t it?” as if she had just realized. “Do you truly need a cage one and a half ken long just for two solitary pigeons?”

“But if it’s too cramped for them, wouldn’t that be cruel?

Even one and a half ken is just this small!

Going out of her way to stand up, Chiyoko pointed out the space from pillar to pillar.

Somehow, I’m really looking forward to it, you know.

She laughed as if to say something.

As long as you don’t grow tired of it.

As she said this, on the Maid’s face,

“I’ll be the one taking care of them again!”

The look that said, "As long as you don’t grow tired of it," was vividly visible.

That's all I needed.

Chiyoko said disappointedly and turned sharply away.

More than usual, Chiyoko found herself excessively concerned that the maid might take out her frustrations on the innocent pigeons during her absence.

I wish she’d just follow me wherever I go.

She had also been thinking such things.

That day, until she went to bed, Chiyoko kept thinking of nothing but the pigeons.

(III)

After the honorable pigeon couple arrived, Chiyoko would immediately slip out of bed whenever the maid came to wake her. For many days—day after day—she remained in good spirits, watching these carefree creatures play in their hanging cage or on tree branches with a leisurely manner.

Then, as if having let her guard down, the maid would sometimes call out near her ear at times that weren’t strictly the appointed hours,

“Madam”

would call out “Madam” or,

“The pigeons have been out since a while ago.”

she began to say things like.

With an annoyed look,

“You know, just because we have pigeons now doesn’t mean time stops existing. There’s such a thing as proper hours,”

she would say on occasion.

The Maid showed half-amused kindness toward the pigeons too.
Watching two white clumps beneath camellia flowers busily vying for winged insects, Chiyoko stretched her legs across the sunlit southern veranda—handling a gaudy yet silk under-collar all the while—and said:

“You know,”
“I’m giving them to you because you’ll care for the pigeons properly,”
“so if you mistreat them, I’ll take them back.”

Observing her capricious young mistress—who wore a girlish face and feigned agreeableness—with a heart equally divided between affection and derision, the Maid compared deep down the collar she had just given her with the one Chiyoko currently wore.

They had said her mood improved since the pigeons came.

It was around this time that Kyōko, who came by frequently, said such things while laughing.

Around the time they put the pigeons into their coop, a light rain began to fall, continuing unabated even after night came.

When she had finished dinner and was singing a song，Kyōko’s voice repeatedly—
“Come here，come here—do come here and see.”
she heard her saying.
Chiyoko went to the entrance on tiptoe and roughly opened the shoji，then unintentionally let out a cry.
“My，what on earth do you mean？”

“Why?”
“Isn’t it unusual?”

“If I were to sit next to you with that dry, parted hairstyle of yours—it would surely be amusing—”

Kyōko said such things.

Wearing geta with green-painted edges and holding a snake-eye umbrella, Kyōko stood beneath the blue gaslight.

Her dark hair, which appeared almost purple, was elegantly arranged in a well-shaped shimada updo, lending just the right amount of beauty to her oblong face.

She wore a rough-striped omeshi kimono and a thin chirimen haori that seemed barely held in place, the tall shape of her obi forming a softly rounded prominence as she had arranged her entire appearance to be twice as beautiful and composed than usual.

“I went to such lengths to dress this way.

Because this rain feels like wearing a silk crepe kimono, you see.

And that tiresome work is finally done.”

“Oh, do come inside already.

You see, just now,

I had a slightly awkward moment with that woman.

Since I was feeling rather sulky,

Come on up now!

Won’t you come up?”

It seemed Kyōko had been insisting it was fine to remain standing.

Chiyoko pulled Kyōko along as she led her to the study.

Even when she spoke with a truly sullen-looking face, Kyōko moved slowly.

Doing even one thing truly became tiresome—yesterday and today she had done nothing but stare at the sky. The paint that had been on the plate remained caked on, and the brushes stayed stiff and rigid—she decided to stay as she was and take it easy for the time being. Leaning against Chiyoko, she spoke. Why did she act so clingy—despite her large build—compared to me, you're quite substantial in frame. But today she looked far prettier than usual—the pleasant color of her kimono—

And you know, someone like you looks best in dark things. You shouldn’t wear horizontal stripes—because most of the time they make you look wider. She scrutinized Kyōko’s appearance like a mother. You shouldn’t wear anything with a new diamond pattern. I absolutely hate how it somehow looks oddly shady.

Chiyoko also said such things.

The two of them leaned against each other as if truly close friends might do and murmured about trivial matters in hushed tones.

“From now on, why don’t you bring over the paintings you draw each day? I’ll do what I want to do too, and we’ll spend whole days together like this.”

“It will surely be nice.”

“Right?”

“Shouldn’t we really do that?”

“Well…”

“Let’s do that then.”

“I too had thought of that before—starting tomorrow truly—” Her immediate prospects seemed to have shifted quite noticeably. “But carrying my tools over here would be terribly troublesome.” Kyōko said this with complete seriousness. They continued talking about theater and the current “trends,” shifting from one topic to another. Kyōko declared her preference for plays like those at the Ichimura-za: “Oh come now, just imagine—there’s a hanamichi you won’t find in Marunouchi.”

“The feeling when men in dashing attire draw back the curtain—you can see pale-faced attendants in the scarlet galleries lined with lanterns.”

“How saturated with theatrical essence it becomes—what could someone like you possibly understand about that?”

“Someone like me, who’s befriended coral dust and agate’s dazzling hues—of course I prefer that.”

“And besides, it’s a feeling that matches the work we do.”

While saying such things, Kyōko praised Matsutake profusely, declaring he displayed beautiful, intense artistry.

“That much?”

Chiyoko listened in a disinterested tone.

While drinking cold tea, the two sat silently looking in separate directions.

A vague sense of dissatisfaction filled Chiyoko’s entire body.

“Are you in for a moment?”

From the dark outside, someone called out.

Chiyoko floated a faint smile around the mouth, turned the eyes upward, and said as though straining to hear.
“Who?”

“It’s me.”

Chiyoko quickly adjusted the kimono collar.
And then,

“Please come in.”

As she said this, she looked at Kyōko,

“He’s someone who doesn’t mind anything,
Just come in like that—”

—she said.

“Ah, today I’ve brought someone new,”

“You’ll meet them, won’t you?”

Atsushi, still standing outside, said this and opened the door slightly.

Looking toward Kyōko, he abruptly lowered his head and turned his eyes toward Chiyoko once more as if confirming.

“See? It’s fine.”

he said.

Chiyoko silently nodded.

Kyōko wore an awkward expression of utter social inexperience,

“Why not use another room?”

“I hate being around strangers I’ve never met before.”

She said this in a nasal voice.

While Chiyoko remained without giving any response, two dark faces appeared overlapping at the entrance.

“Please come in.”

In an unreserved voice, Chiyoko said.

"You! Come in."

Atsushi pushed the other person’s shoulder, left the door open, and went to Chiyoko’s side.

"Welcome."

Chiyoko looked at the new guest, spoke, and turned her eyes toward Atsushi,

"Who is this?"

"What manner of person are you referring to?" she asked.

“That is—Sasahara Hajime is his name.”

“Waseda, eh, you?!”

“We’ve been close friends since we were little, you know.”

“Well then—it’s almost strange I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him until now.”
“Ah, and then—”
“You come over here.”
Chiyoko was inviting Kyōko over while,
“This person here—she’s someone I’ve been acquainted with for quite some time—Ms. Kyōko from Yamashina—”
“She’s working on paintings now.”
After exchanging very brief introductions, the four formed a circle and sat down.
Kyōko pressed close to Chiyoko’s side, while the man called Sasahara seemed determined not to leave Atsushi’s vicinity.

Among the four of them formed an unbreakable barrier of "people meeting for the first time," and inevitably the conversation kept tending to center only on Chiyoko and Atsushi.

To avoid that detestable sense of being an outcast, Chiyoko struck up conversations with everyone.

Aimless, commonplace small talk swirled among the four—to recover the waning atmosphere, Atsushi even spoke about his own trivial daily affairs.

Hajime was a quiet man.

He had small yet intense eyes that seemed to gleam, small red lips, and a tall, slender frame. The way he smiled or frowned in response to the conversation had a somewhat affected air about it, yet it didn’t give an unpleasant impression. He wore a brownish kasuri-patterned lined kimono with a black collar layered over ogura hakama trousers, and had thrown the same haori coat over them.

Chiyoko said with a laugh.

“You’re quite the quiet one, aren’t you?”

“Yes, because I had no siblings and was always alone by my grandmother’s side, I ended up this way on my own.”

“But it’s not like I have nothing to talk about.”

“It really is a gathering of fellow quiet people, you know.”

“Even when we make a big fuss to meet amidst our busy lives and go out to places like fields—leaning on each other while gazing at the sky—there are times when we end up parting after just exchanging a few words.”

“But strangely enough, even so, we’re satisfied—”

“—mutually.”

Atsushi was saying such things while tugging at Hajime’s hakama cord.

“If people could become true friends, anyone would be like that, I suppose.”

Chiyoko, who had no close friends, watched the two in their brother-like manner with apparent interest.

Chiyoko stood up and distributed the chocolate and tea that the maid had brought while—
“You don’t dislike it?”
Laughing，she looked down at the white of Hajime’s closely cropped scalp from above and said：
“This person here’s an utter chocoholic，you know.”

“Earlier, you know, when we went to see ‘The Lady of the Sea’ or whatever it was—whether he ate it or didn’t eat it—”

“In the end, on nights when his throat got all irritated and he couldn’t sleep, he went out of his way to write me a letter around two in the morning and send it over.”

Atsushi said something quite uncharacteristic of him.
“You shouldn’t say such things.”

It was a slightly high-pitched, somewhat hoarse voice - thin and round. When he laughed, the teeth that peeked out were white enough to chill. And they were very small and uniformly aligned.

Kyōko made a face that seemed to say, "Because I can't say what I want to say," and—

“I should be going too—”
“My uncle from Honmoku-cho is here.”
“I’ll come up again another time; excuse me.”

Before Chiyoko could say anything in response, she smoothly recited her excuse as if from memory and seemed about to leave.
She excused herself briefly.

Hurriedly, Chiyoko stood up and followed Kyōko to the entrance.
“Please do come again.”

“Even tomorrow, okay?!”
While adjusting Kyōko’s collar, she said.
She went outside and briefly looked up at the sky,
then came up completely.

Kyōko said in a clear voice, and all the while, the clattering sound of meticulously stepping on the paving stones echoed for quite some time.

When she entered the study, the two were talking quietly about something and laughing.

“Oh, I just now thought the same thing.”

[The following page of manuscript is missing]

A color caught his eye.
He noticed her not particularly large eyes—which one might describe as having a nervous bluish tint—shining brightly.
And he learned she had a slight tendency to look downward while speaking, with a habit of glancing up at people from beneath her eyelids.
Hajime found himself unconsciously staring at the area around Chiyoko’s eyes.

He turned toward Atsushi and kept talking about something.
Chiyoko glanced briefly in Hajime’s direction,
“Do you have ink on you?”
she said and laughed.

“Huh?”

Hajime’s face suddenly turned faintly red as if he had just realized something, then he looked down and made an awkward face. Seeing his childlike demeanor, Chiyoko laughed with a looming sense of superiority.

From then on, looking more often in Hajime’s direction, Chiyoko spoke. She talked about paintings and music.

“Among Japanese instruments, which do you like best?”

Hajime appeared to consider for a moment,

"Well,

I'm not entirely sure, but I do play the koto myself."

After saying this, he exchanged looks with Atsushi and smiled.

“You play it yourself?

Do you go to an instructor’s place?”

"No, I learn from my sister.

I’ve always thought that Chidori no Kyoku is wonderful."

"You’re quite knowledgeable, aren’t you.

I can’t play the koto," she said.

"But I only like the shamisen enough to listen to it,

“I’m not old enough to know what’s good or bad about the shakuhachi anyway.”

“You know, Hajime-kun’s sister always says that.”

“‘Since someone like you will never amount to much anyway, it’d be better for you become a koto teacher,’ she said.”

“She laughs, saying that if you were to become a koto teacher acting like that, people would think there’s something odd about it.”

“If you were to become one, then as for me—”

“‘I’d at least think, “That’s a bit odd.”’”

“Honestly, there’s nothing as nauseatingly distasteful as a male masseur with open eyes or a koto teacher.”

But you see, near where we lived in Koishikawa, there was this sixty-year-old sighted koto teacher—quite respected with many disciples—who made quite a spectacle whenever they called their gatherings “practice sessions.” Everyone thought it happened around mid-summer, but when a “For Rent” sign went up overnight as usual, it sparked such scandalous rumors that the liquor store clerk came out with this story:

“That ‘old man’ had the gall at his age to elope with the wife of a reputable sake shop owner.”

“Of course he was a bachelor with neither wife nor children.”

“‘How old do you think the woman was,’”

“‘Fifty-six,’ he said.”

I imagined those withered elopers cackling self-mockingly under blazing sunlight, sweat streaming down their bodies as they became coated in dust—it felt like I was being subjected to some ironic theatrical spectacle.

No one laughed.

Before long, Hajime said with a grave look.

“What if Poe or Gorky had written it?”

“Yes, really. If we were to model it after that, nothing but vulgar absurd comedy would emerge—we’re still too young to write about such things and above all far too contented as it is.” Chiyoko said in an analytical manner. “We truly are inexperienced in hardships, aren’t we.”

Chiyoko soon said in a voice that seemed happy.

“But if someone like you had grown up knowing life’s hardships and having to endure trivial pains, you surely would have become an extremely distrustful, unpleasant person.”

Atsushi said while looking at the gentle swell of Chiyoko’s plump chest with a restless yet resolute gaze.

“It’s truly going smoothly.”

“Although my mother grew up in a truly cold and unpleasant environment, she has a mind that doesn’t disturb others’ peace of mind.”

Of course, unlike me, she was born with a rational and clear mind...

“You!”

Hajime called out to Chiyoko for the first time, and with quiet bashfulness—haltingly, like a child speaking—

"I am an exception in that case."

"My parents did care for me, and though we were poor, I grew up in a household that didn’t have to struggle much—yet somehow I turned out to be a person with so many shadows."

He said with a faint laugh.

“So then, didn’t you do that yourself?”

“You were physically frail growing up, weren’t you?”

“Yes, until school age I was constantly under doctors’ care.”

“That’s exactly why.”
“I’m certain of it – children who were frail in their youth won’t grow up particularly cheerful even if left unchanged, you see.”

"But still, you’ve managed to turn out decently up until now, haven’t you?"

Chiyoko spoke in a tone one might use with someone younger and laughed.
The three of them, for some reason, didn’t engage in any particularly relaxed conversation.

“Hey, Mr. Sasahara, even though we’re speaking so cautiously today—nursing secretive thoughts since this is our first meeting—if we were to spend three or four years together and then look back on today, I’m sure we’d feel like laughing somehow, don’t you think?”

“That might be the case,” he replied, “but there’s no way to know such things at this point.”

Hajime replied in a low voice.

As if they had run out of conversation topics, while the three sat gathered in a circle and kept silent, something quite whimsical—almost like a fairy-tale notion—rose in Chiyoko's mind.

However, Chiyoko did not speak of it.

Atsushi didn’t have much interest in such things, and Hajime had just met her for the first time and wouldn’t understand anyway.

As she was thinking such things, Hajime tilted his head slightly and looked toward Chiyoko, who was listening to the sound of the gas burning,

“You?”
“What time is it?”

he asked Atsushi.

“Are you concerned about the time?”

Chiyoko said abruptly while still looking at the same spot, making Atsushi think she had gotten angry.

“Because it wouldn’t do to stay out too late.”

he said excusingly,

“What! It doesn’t matter! Look all you want!”

Chiyoko laughed in a loud voice.

While closing the watch lid,

“Well, since it’s getting quite late, I’ll take my leave now.”

Having said that, the two men tried to stand up but, after awkwardly winding chains around their hakama cords, still found no opportunity to rise.

An even more intense gap than before had formed between the three of them; Chiyoko even thought its depth was surely enough for her to slip through and die.

While speaking in a tone lower than the gas's hissing sound, they looked around intently in all directions.

While they were doing so, the bong-bong clock in the maid’s room struck eleven with a sound like that of a dim-witted large woman.

The two men sprang to their feet as if repelled,

“No matter how you look at it, this is too much,” they said.

“I’m terribly sorry. You must have been kept waiting so long, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“The clock ringing for me.”

When they suddenly made a noisy exit toward the entrance, Hajime was putting on his hat while,

“Thank you for having me.”

"I may come up again another time."

"Please—"

"As long as you're aware of my fickleness，selfishness，and ‘tantrums’..."

Chiyoko lightly lowered her head and laughed.

And while their retreating figures were still visible, she retreated into her room.

――○――

The two men walked closely side by side along a night path shrouded in desolate darkness and utterly devoid of distinction.
And as young women often do, when they encountered puddles with their hands clasped together, they formed an arch with their hands over the water and leapt across.
While sending a pebble skittering with his foot, Atsushi peered into Hajime’s face and inquired.

“So, how was it?”

“What?”

“What d’you mean ‘what’? I’m asking how today’s visit went, aren’t I?”

“Well… nothing in particular—”

Hajime gave an evasive reply.

“What did that woman think—”
“What did you think when you first saw her?”

“Well...
Such a thing—you can’t really say it clearly.”

Hajime said in a formal tone, looked up at the gas lamp, and made a grimace.

“No—it wasn’t bad,

He likely had no intention of making this first visit his last.

Atsushi said, putting his arm around Hajime’s shoulder.

“But you know,
that woman really is an emotional person - selfish and fickle.”

And—

Hajime, without saying a word, was watching the lonely town spread out before him.

“That person, you know—she’s someone no young person can dislike. Not that she has any particularly striking face or figure. And well—she can handle music passably enough—”

Atsushi continued making disjointed remarks.

"But I haven't really felt that much yet.
After all, it's someone I just met for the first time.
If you feel like going next time, let's go together again."

Hajime was recalling Chiyoko's forehead and her somewhat unusual hairstyle.
And in a voice that seemed to come from within a tube, he gave this reply.

When they crossed the dark street, a streetcar scattering pale sparks from an unseen pole ahead ran past.

Hajime stood under the red pillar, groping for Atsushi's hand, and said.

“Hey, you—we’ve been close friends for nearly twenty years now,

Hey, you—

Nearly twenty years now—”

“Ah… It’s been nearly twenty years now, huh.”

"But I still don't understand how we ever became such close friends in the first place."

"Such things aren't meant to be searched for."

"Ah—you really shouldn't search for such things."

Hajime said in a low, trembling voice, terribly agitated by something.

They boarded the sparsely occupied streetcar and sat huddled together silently.
Hajime was thinking about the person he had met for the first time that day,
Atsushi thought of Hajime sitting close beside him, and the streetcar plunged forward as if parting the darkness.

Just as the two boarded the streetcar, Chiyoko was wrapped in a fluffy futon, singing herself a lullaby to fall asleep.

(4)

After ten consecutive sleepless nights, Chiyoko finally took to her bed.

"I suppose I’m truly cursed by the months of April and May."

Chiyoko, her blue eyes sunken and her face unpleasant to anyone who saw it, said this while drinking a sweet yet bitter-smelling herbal medicine.
That was also around the time when the maid—more than usual—found herself unable to manage Chiyoko’s difficult moods and had to remain on edge throughout the day.

Kyōko came nearly every day.
Having been instructed by Kyōko that no matter who visited,
“Her head isn’t well and she’s suffering greatly because of it.”

She awkwardly refused.

Small scraps of paper bearing brief get-well messages gradually accumulated, and among the jumble of scribbled notes lay a pale blue sheet with feminine handwriting:

"I’m truly concerned about you."

This note most caught Chiyoko’s attention—though she couldn’t tell who had written it.

Chiyoko said that not knowing—that very fact—made it better to imagine the writer as something beautiful.

Kyōko spent the entire day painting by Chiyoko’s side.

For Chiyoko—who met no one and could read nothing—the only comfort lay in watching Kyōko’s state: the steady progression of her brushstrokes, her heart and body both poured into that brush’s tip.

Kyōko had arranged both the colors and patterns of her kimono to suit Chiyoko’s preferences as much as possible.

“Look—I’m painting this thinking it’ll be your little diversion, so I’ll do it exactly to your liking.”

Chiyoko, who had grown so affection-starved that such words delighted her, often wrote letters to her mother in a tone befitting an utterly docile girl.

The act of writing while stealing glances at Kyōko’s scolding eyes became another point of interest.

On the seventh day after taking to her bed, it was as hot as if summer had come right from the morning.

“Oh, I’m truly hot—if I keep this quilted coverlet on, I’ll end up stewing! Tell the maid to bring out the red thin-quilted coverlet, please.”

Chiyoko said such things while combing her hair again and cleaning her nails.

And for a while, she let Kyōko play with her hair.

"My, your hair is so light,"

"It’s truly so fluffy,"

Why is it like this, I wonder?

Without responding to what Kyōko said, Chiyoko narrowed her eyes and deeply savored the indescribably pleasant sensation of five fingers being run through her hair, stirring it between the strands.

"Hey you—there isn’t a woman alive who’d say having her hair handled like this feels good,

“Most women would say they hate being touched—”

As for me, it wasn’t a good feeling at all—on the contrary, it actually gave me a headache.

“For your age, you do like bold things,

You’re like a forty-year-old woman!”

Kyōko said while looking at Chiyoko’s neck where baby hairs were still growing.

“Forty?!”

“How could that be? How could we understand such a thing even if you say so? Just as something new is born in one’s heart from fifteen or sixteen until twenty, so too does something new arise in women around forty. There are things we simply can’t understand, you know.”

Chiyoko’s mood improved so much in the afternoon that even she herself found it strange.

She removed the kimono she had been wearing until that day and changed into one with damp, crisp creases.

Listening to the light rustling sound of the decorative sash wrapped around her slender waist,

"I do so want to go to the deep wooded forest,"

"Right there—look,"

“Did we go ahead already?”
“Let’s go there.”

“How wonderful that would be.”

Chiyoko said such things while poking Kyōko, who sat beside her chewing a paintbrush.

“If you want to spend another week in bed starting tomorrow, then let’s go.”

She said in a prim tone that insisted she was Chiyoko’s protector through and through.

Chiyoko fell silent at that.

Chiyoko, who was sitting on the floor watching the white pigeons flutter about, softly sang the remembered songs one after another.

And she felt bright and relieved.

“Hey, Kyōko-san—it seems I’ve completely recovered now.”

Her head did feel light and pleasant.

“If you think you’ve recovered, you’ll end up recovering completely in less than a minute!”

She was manufacturing her own illness.

She must have wanted to stay awake.

“But my head feels a bit unsteady.”

“Then you’re still not well yet, are you?”

None of it made the slightest sense.

The two of them laughed loudly.

And Kyōko, while looking at Chiyoko’s sunken eyelids, said something like, “Your eyes seem to have regained some presence now.”

Immediately after dinner ended, Hajime came.

Chiyoko showed him into the room where she was.
“How are you feeling?”
As soon as he saw her face, Hajime asked.

“Thank you, today I’m as you can see.”

Have you come often?

“No, I haven’t come that often though,”

I’ve come up two or three times.

With Atsushi-san—

“Did the maid turn you away?”

It wasn’t me who brought that up—it was instructed by the person here.

Chiyoko laughed while looking back at Kyōko.

“I thought it would bother you.”

Kyōko complained grumblingly but laughed along.

“But you know, thanks to you, I’ve completely recovered now.”

My head isn’t bothering me so much anymore either.

“Today I’ve been up since the afternoon the whole time—

It was such nice weather—truly—

“Well now,
Please get well soon.
Atsushi-san was also quite worried,
He said he knew about last year when you were unwell too.
He said it was truly eerily unsettling to see you sitting there in that wide chair in the study with such a pale face.”

The area above her eyes had indeed sunken,
And so her eyes appeared larger.
Chiyoko recalled Kyōko’s earlier words and, laughing, stood up to bring a small mirror.

While looking at her own face reflected within that small mirror,

"Oh my, that's really true."

Her face took on a slightly deranged look,

"My face is quite pale, isn't it?

Moreover, since I'm not usually so ruddy-faced, it stands out all the more."

Hajime had been silently staring at Chiyoko's face.

"Oh, you also have a habit of staring,

I have that kind of habit too, you know."

"Is that so,

He himself hadn't noticed though.

Hajime had become quite talkative since their first meeting one month prior today—they had met five or six times by now—and even when speaking he had developed a habit of staring fixedly at one spot with his long-lashed eyes opened wide.
"Why does that person always speak in such an excited-sounding voice?"

Chiyoko had even thought such a thing.
Tonight, his tendencies were even more apparent.

Chiyoko spoke in a subdued voice.

“You have such a troubled look.” Is there something wrong with his head?

“No, that’s not it.”

"But there's something stuck in my head that won't go away, and it's been troubling me,

As anticipated—

“Can’t you tell me?”

“It’s not that I can’t tell you.”

“It’s truly a trivial matter, but I’m being made to think about it.”

“If it’s something you can talk about, please go ahead and tell me.”

“Well—”

Hajime remained silent, looking only toward the garden.

When she saw those desperate-looking eyes and drawn cheeks, Chiyoko could mostly guess what Hajime was thinking.

“Hey, Mr. Sasahara?

Shall I say it for you?

It’s about your family, isn’t it,

That’s what you’re thinking about,

That must be it.”

Chiyoko spoke with evident conviction.

“Yes, you’re right.”

“How did you know?”

I haven't said a single word yet.

“But I understand. Most people’s troubles are like that, you know—at least temporarily—”

"I was like that too, you know. For ages, I wandered lost in all sorts of trivial matters. It frightened even myself, I tell you."

"Even for a woman?"

"Such things don't care whether you're a man or woman."

"Is that how it works?"

Hajime's eyes sank into truly desolate hollows.

And he looked at the shadow-filled room with its small desk and the faint red of the floral arrangement.

“Won’t you tell me?”
“Is it... unpleasant?”

“No—it’s just that I don’t know how to begin—I’m at a loss—but,

The thing I find most painful is not being close to my parents.

The more I see my aging parents relying on me so desperately, the more distant I feel.”

No matter how hard I tried to change my thinking.

"Do you feel estranged from your parents?

"When I was little, I went through something similar for a time.

"Why was it so detestable?

"If you were to ask me why, I couldn't give a clear reason, but I was such an unbearably gloomy child morning till night.

"But I truly believe these things do heal,

“Right now, I feel I could pour out everything to Mother.”

“Though I have this heart that’s grown distant from my parents, lately I’ve been thinking how truly unfortunate that is.”

“No matter what happens, it’ll mend itself in time.”

“But I truly don’t seem to be healing at all—that’s why I hate returning home.

When I see my younger brothers being close to our parents, envy and hatred well up in me all at once.

If they see me being distant, even my parents give me these looks of uncertainty, you know,

Even the woman’s mother seems to be showing consideration toward me.”

“Your mother must be suffering even more painfully and sorrowfully than you are.”

Lately I had come to think deeply—just how profound and attentive parents' emotions toward their children are, you know. So when your child doesn't become attached to their parents at all—even if they think they've become separated from them—it's a tragedy surpassing Hamlet. There's such a complex psychological state and sadness contained within it—so much so that we find it hard to put into words... Everyone these days often says they feel like they've betrayed their parents,

"There may be some disagreements arising from differing ideologies, but does everyone actually end up feeling such betrayal?"

"I tell you, it's a certain sad and heartrending 'epidemic'."

"So you're saying I've caught that 'disease' too?"

"How would I know if that's true?"

"It's not that I don't sympathize with you at all."

“But I won’t tell you how you should conduct yourself or suggest you try doing it this way.”

“First of all, I don’t even know what your parents are like.”

“So after all, do I have to keep feeling the same way as before?”

“In truth, I don’t really understand my parents’ thoughts and such—”

“Then, when you return home next time, you should politely, kindly, and deftly peek into your parents’ minds.”

“It’s surely work that will yield some result,

“I’m certain you’ll gradually grow closer to your parents.”

“Without even properly understanding their thoughts yet complaining you can’t get close—it’s exactly like food aversion, isn’t it? Truly.”

The two of them let out an ambiguous laugh.

“But what if you found something terrifying in their minds?”

If that were to happen—well, what would become of me?

Hajime spoke in a voice that seemed to both foresee what lay ahead and behold something terrifying before his very eyes.

“That’s precisely why I still don’t comprehend—

Unless they’re one’s own flesh-and-blood parents or someone truly deranged, there should be nothing dreadful about them no matter how you look or peer from any angle.”

"That is certainly true indeed."

If one thought something was terrifying or such, it simply meant their own emotions had been misperceived—when viewed with a clear and certain heart and eyes, one could say there were absolutely no terrifying things to be found at all, you know. But since we’re all human after all, looking at things too critically meant not everything would feel pleasant, you see.

In an uncharacteristically calm mood, Chiyoko spoke of such things. Such matters—the very things Hajime was now agonizing over—were nothing more than what Chiyoko herself had resolved long ago when viewed from her current perspective.

Chiyoko’s home lay serenely warm, with everyone around her devoting their care solely for her sake.

“And yet—why had it been that way?”

There were things she thought of now.

But at the same time, she also thought it had by no means been a wasted experience.

"You know, after going through all that—not understanding your parents' hearts, getting pointlessly confused trying to figure them out—once you finally grasp what they're thinking and clearly know your own feelings toward yourself, the force with which you grow attached to your parents becomes truly formidable,"

“With even greater force than the Moskstraumen’s great maelstrom,” she said.

It could not be controlled by reason or anything of the sort—not in the least.

“When my heart swells into a great surging wave and crashes against my parents’ hearts—those small ripples lapping at the shore with delicate resonance and form—scattering droplets as they merge together, that feeling truly defies all description.”

Like joy, like strength, like triumph—

Chiyoko gazed at Hajime’s silent face and smiled faintly.

“A day like that will surely come to you soon—and when it does, let’s celebrate sincerely from the heart.” She also said such things.

“Somehow, I don’t think it seems possible.”

“It’s better not to feel anxious,

You must believe it will surely happen.”

Hajime had not been taught anything by Chiyoko—and yet, though he had not come up with anything either, he somehow thought he felt a weight lifted.

“I feel a bit lighter now.”

From between thin lips, he laughed, revealing teeth that looked cold.

“Anyone would feel their heavy mood lift a bit if they talk to someone.”

"If just talking with me could lighten your burden that much, then it couldn’t have been all that heavy to begin with."

Chiyoko burst out laughing.

"No, it was quite heavy."

[The following four manuscript pages are missing.]

“It’s because your hands looked prettier than when they played my koto,”

I was envious.

Chiyoko laughed conceitedly.

“Ah, I should go now,
if I stay here too long, I might end up bothering you.”

Hajime spoke as if playing a flute.

Chiyoko made no particular effort to stop him.

“Next time I come, I’ll bring Atsushi-san with me,

Somehow, I truly feel conscience-stricken about this.”

“Are you still worrying about that?”
“Come with anyone you like,”
“If it’s not disagreeable, we’ll meet.”
Chiyoko spoke these words while watching the yellow flame sway and flicker.
Being in such a gloomy atmosphere wasn’t doing Chiyoko any good.

“Hey, being in this black room where nothing but huge shadows keep getting cast gives me such a strange feeling,”

My hair seems like it’s going to fall out in clumps—

“It feels like some huge thing clutching the rope that’ll strangle me is lurking—”

You know…

Chiyoko said in a low, pressing voice.
“Yes.”

The flickering candlelight cast two enormous hulking shadows on the wall, making them perform an eerie dance.

(5)

At the sound of the bell, the maid went out to check while muttering complaints, and there stood the usual two again.

“She’s in, isn’t she?”

Atsushi asked with a laugh.

“Yes,”
“Please come in.”

Leading Hajime ahead, she went to Chiyoko’s study.

The book’s pages, left open, were being blown about by the wind from the window left wide open, and Chiyoko had apparently not been here for some time now.

“Where did she go?”

“What, she’ll come soon, I’m sure.”

While saying such things, the two sat down by the window and looked at the lush green maple leaves that spread out like a sea and the bright red leaves of some kind mixed among them.

Atsushi stopped, tilted his head slightly, and listened intently.

“She was outside, wasn’t she.”

Hajime said in a low voice.

Through the overlapping leaves, Chiyoko’s voice singing in a high tone from the garden reached the two men’s ears.

The two exchanged glances, smiled faintly, and began listening to the voice.

“She’s quite energetic today.”

“It must be because the weather is nice.”

Chiyoko’s voice, more lustrous and forceful than usual, seemed to vanish into the lofty sky filled with white clouds.

Atsushi leaned out from the window and peered into the distance through the gaps between the tree trunks.

Atsushi found Chiyoko sitting under a magnolia tree where a rattan chair had been placed.

Loosely adjusting the collar of her striped kimono, she placed a small poetry collection on her knees and looked up while singing.

Her lips looked bright red.

From her pure white chin down to her swollen throat area, her voice seemed to emerge, while shadows of leaves swayed upon her shoulders.

“What’s that?”

Hajime also peered from the same window.

Both of them remained silent as they watched Chiyoko’s demeanor.

“She’s more beautiful than usual,”
“I wonder why.”

After a while, Hajime spoke.

“The way sunlight falls can make any woman look beautiful.”

Even as he said this, Atsushi did not take his eyes off Chiyoko.

“Should we call her?”
“Don’t.”
“It’s better this way.”

The two fell silent again, their heads side by side.

Suddenly, the two pulled their heads back, stifling giggles like mischievous monk boys,

“She found us, didn’t she? I’m sure of it.”

“Of course she did! Well,

she looked over here and laughed.”

The two, seemingly unable to contain their amusement, leaned against a corner chair and waited for the door to open.

“When did you arrive,

have you been there since earlier?”

With a flushed face, Chiyoko said in a lively voice.

"Yes."

The two spoke in unison.