Pathway to Japanese Literature

1 Having grown thoroughly bored, the women were singing the Sparrow Dance Song. When one listened intently to that Sparrow Dance Song, it seemed to articulate their own state of mind; mingling with the presence of snow outside, it took on a strangely narrative quality. The roof of the red public telephone booth before restaurant Lila was now heaped with snow like matsutake mushrooms; the faint glow within its pale box, when viewed from a slight distance, resembled an old-fashioned Western lantern.

Though night had just fallen, the cotton-like snow descended so thickly that everything was as quiet as the dead of night. From Lila’s armored-shutter-style windows, the earlier Sparrow Dance Song still flowed pensively. Inside the lantern-like telephone booth, a middle-aged man in a navy wool overcoat had been speaking into the receiver since earlier—scratching his ear irritably at times—while occasionally casting furtive glances toward Lila’s entrance, as though gauging the situation inside.

Outside the breath-fogged telephone booth, snow-crowned streetcars and automobiles ceaselessly coursed down the street.

“Huh?!” “So just come out for a moment—I could go there myself, but if Okada or someone spots us, that’d be bad… Got it?” The man on the phone said these things and clattered the receiver back into place. When he happened to turn toward the entrance, a faint smile lingered on his face—his complexion flushed like a boy’s—as he took out a cigarette from his pocket and deftly lit it with a lighter. At that moment, Lila’s green glass door opened and a slight-framed woman without even a haori emerged—her manner suggesting she had just stopped singing the sparrow song and stepped away from her companions—muttering vague excuses under her breath like “Well now” and “This won’t do,” yet with eyes darting restlessly about as she came out. When she emerged, she walked clacking through the thick snow in her straw sandals all the way to the shadowy street corner two or three buildings ahead.

The man, upon catching sight of the woman’s retreating figure at the street corner, repeatedly made the cigarette’s ember glow red with each breath as he opened the telephone booth’s heavy door and walked off in the same direction as the woman. “Aren’t you cold?” “No…” “Naoko-san, you’ve become quite adept at slipping away.” “Oh! What a horrid thing to say…” “Well, never mind that—I just want to leave somewhere like this.” “Yes…” “Shall we go?” “Such recklessness—no! “It’s no use—this would only bring us misery…”

Cotton-like snow fell upon the azuki-clad woman’s shoulders like willow leaves. The man, still wearing his hat, now appeared frosted over, as if growing agitated. “The car’s here...” “Yes… Well then, I’ll go with you tomorrow. Please go home tonight—if not for Mr. Okada’s sake, then because Tsubu-san will make such trouble…” The man flapped his handkerchief to brush snow from her shoulders while staring unwaveringly into her eyes.

“Well then... goodbye...” “Yes… Goodbye. What time should we have the car come tomorrow?” “If it’s in front of the shop, that would be… problematic. It would be best if you could have them wait somewhere farther away…” “Then, Shinbashi Station.” “You know my car, right?”

“Yes—then around four in the evening…” The woman suddenly coughed lightly several times and pressed her sleeve to her mouth. “Don’t catch cold—then tomorrow without fail…” The woman bowed politely at the waist before breaking into a quick trot back toward Lila’s entrance. With a childlike affectation, she glanced over her shoulder at the man and flashed him a tender smile.

2 Inside the Ginza restaurant Lila, the Sparrow Dance Song lingered scattered on the women’s lips here and there while the space lay as silent as the ocean depths. The chairs were occupied solely by five women; not a single customer remained. Hushed and still, the wintry aura from the snow outside seemed to have seeped through into this small restaurant Lila; the women wore chilled expressions, as if abruptly ceasing their song now only deepened their desolation. Only Tsubu—the longest-serving woman at Lila—remained irritable, taking swigs of whiskey in the shade of a potted plant resembling a tropical fern while barking out complaints.

“Even if it looks easy, you have to fall seven times or more! Most of these women haven’t experienced a single hardship, yet they carry on as if they’ve endured real suffering—it’s utterly appalling, don’t you think, Kan-chan?”

The long-faced bartender was inflating a pink paper balloon while— “You shouldn’t joke about that—seven tumbles? In this world nowadays, a hundred tumbles are more like it!” “Idiot! What the hell are you talking about? Heh heh—why don’t you go tip over shrine gods and blow balloons instead?” Tsubu emerged from behind the potted plant with a disenchanted expression and slipped into the chairs where the women sat as though drowsing. The women had been listening to Tsubu’s bizarrely tangled harangue when Naoko entered, her thick straight hair still dusted with cotton-like snow, prompting them to resume the Sparrow Dance Song as though nothing had occurred.

“Enjoy!” “……” “Naoko-san’s business prospers even outside—how utterly enviable.” It was Tsubu’s sharp way of speaking. Naoko continued facing the wall mirror in silence, wiping the cotton-like snow from her hair with a handkerchief, painfully aware of Tsubu’s eyes boring into her back.

“Naoko-san! That call earlier was from Mr. Maki, wasn’t it?”

“……” “Oh my! Well now, when did Naoko-san go mute?” “Or have you resolved never to deign speech upon someone like myself again?”

By now, the women were in no state to continue the Sparrow Dance Song; surrounding Tsubu—now pleasantly drunk—they could only try to calm her with repeated pleas of “Now, now, that’s enough.” The more they tried to stop her, the angrier Tsubu became—so angry that she grew increasingly frantic to extract even a single word from Naoko. “Do you think I’m just some drunken woman and look down on me?” “Go ahead! Trample me all you like and mock me to your heart’s content!”

“……” “Now really—Tsubu-san, what are you saying? With all this snow falling and everyone feeling so low…” “Let them rot in their gloom for all I care! Hmph! What burns me is that smug face of yours—acting like I’m just some drunkard! You’re mocking me!” “Oh now, it’s nothing like that—come, why don’t we put on a record and brighten things up?” Artificial trailing roses bloomed crimson like stained glass around the yellow lantern on the ceiling.

Naoko’s eyes grew hot without her realizing.

“It’s the snow’s fault—that there are so few customers and everyone’s on edge…” In the corner, the small-statured Yuriko and Senko—who bore a mole on her lip—were whispering in hushed tones. Tsubu, sinking into the leather-upholstered chair while perhaps having given up on Naoko—now fully withdrawn into silence—covered her face with her sleeve and began singing the Sparrow Dance Song in a drawn-out voice. 3 “My, what dreadful snow.” Perhaps because singing had become dreary, Senko pushed open the door and gazed out at the street.—Yuriko was applying menthol ointment to the base of her ring finger while working the stiff ring off.

“What’s wrong… doing that…” Yuriko and Satomi—close companions—leaned against each other on the same chair, gazing listlessly at Yuriko’s childlike hands. “Hey—how do you write ‘shocked’?”

In an abruptly loud voice, Misao—who had been writing a letter or something in the corner of the room—called out to Yuriko and the others. Then Tsubu, who had been covering her face with her sleeve while singing the Sparrow Dance Song, suddenly stood up and looked around the room. “Hey, do you know how to write the character for ‘surprised’?” “The character for ‘surprised’ is written as kitsukyō, right? What a strange character it is, don’t you think?” Satomi wrote “surprised” on a small slip of paper and brought it over to her. The room was warm enough, yet strangely listless, and the women moved like shadows, drifting wherever their hearts inclined. These shadow-like women, unaccustomed to such stillness, found themselves listless with a shared sentiment—that it would be a relief if someone, anyone, would hurry in. —And into that listlessness came three businesslike men who pushed open the door and stumbled in, blinded by the snow. The room suddenly came alive, and the women, as though rescued, swam over to the men’s sides.

“Things are pretty slow here...” “Don’t you go joking now—it’s only just beginning!” Misao tossed aside a letter and had the three men remove their overcoats. Tsubu—perhaps acquainted with one of them—suddenly became animated, leaning against the man’s shoulder and whispering into his ear. “Hey, if only one guy gets all the attention, I’m outta here!” The men shouted while wiping their faces with hot towels.

“You mustn’t joke like that! Just the other day, I lost at mahjong to Mr. Nakamura, and if I have to drink over that loss one more time, I’ll lose my mind—that’s why I was hoping to ask a favor! How absurd! Chee!” “Chee!” “Well now, that’s music to my ears! Hey, why don’t we indulge a little? Sure, sure!” The women laughed shrilly. The phonograph record of “One Kiss” jazz spun on. At last, the room had grown somewhat brighter—warmer and brighter it had become—but even as the three men entered, fulfilling their earlier wish for someone to hurry in, the women’s swarming gathering lasted only a moment. Like a snapped thread, the women—all except Misao and Tsubu—scattered listlessly to the chairs in the four corners.

“So you’re going to return the ring?”

“Of course! What I loathe is that man who thinks returning this mere trinket will somehow liberate my very soul. Back in the day, even tavern barmaids had the guts to throw wads of cash back in men’s faces… And here he was pouring his heart out—what a ridiculous farce!”

Yuriko was soothing the reddened mark on her ring finger while grinding the opal stone against the wall with a harsh scraping sound. “But between lovers, aren’t there supposed to be so many discrepancies?” “No—it’s not about discrepancies! That person went and held their wedding without a second thought! I wanted desperately to ruin their wedding night, but I didn’t have travel money and got so worked up I fell ill—I just couldn’t summon the resolve—”

“You’re probably right—but what good would returning the ring do? That man will surely come to weep over memories of you. If you’re just going to return a ring like that, wouldn’t it be better to go there once and make a clean break of it? Why not just sell off that ring completely and have some fun—might be easier that way…” Satomi was thinking of her own situation even as she spoke. Thinking about it proved futile, but in the end she resigned herself to the notion that “there was nothing to do but watch time flow by.”

“That’s right—if I sell this ring, I could take a trip somewhere prosperous… You should come too, Satomi-san.” “Hoh… And if I’d have to listen to you cry all night at some travel inn, I’d rather not come along.” “You’re being silly—who says such painful things…” The two of them giggled quietly like schoolgirls.—The phonograph record kept singing the same song over and over.

Like drifting clouds... You tonight No trace of longing remains Let’s part…

It was Naoko’s favorite song. From the men’s booth came Tsubu’s shrill voice, “Stop that! That gloomy song—it’s so damn persistent!” The phonograph record screeched as it spun uselessly and stopped. The women in the corners stood up as if brushing off dust with patting sounds.

“At this rate there'll be quite an accumulation.” Senko—who had been patting her nose tip briskly with a compact as if suddenly remembering something—quietly approached Naoko by the phonograph and spoke up. “There's something off about Tsubu-san.” “You'd do better not to dwell on her.” “She seems terribly agitated about Mr. Maki.” “Though she knows full well nothing'll come of it...” Naoko smiled faintly. Yet behind that smile lay utter desolation—everything felt bleak and wretched through her inner lens. The three men appeared thoroughly drunk now, periodically turning toward Naoko while exchanging whispers among themselves.

“She’s a real looker, isn’t she?” “With that look, she has a child?” “She’s practically a child herself—that husband of hers... Hey... Isn’t it true he got taken down by the reds?” “A widow?” “That’s pretty cute.” Surged up like a flood, the men would occasionally lower their voices as if suddenly remembering something. Tsubu, crude wrinkles gathering around her lips, was laughing together with Misao.

Those filthy words like arrows came thudding into Naoko’s chest. Naoko suddenly felt her chest grow hot, could no longer bear it, and pushing open the door with hurried steps, went back out into the falling snow. “Naoko-san!” “Wait!” “Naoko-san, you…!” When Senko chased after Naoko and went outside, a burst of laughter erupted momentarily but soon vanished like fireworks, leaving behind a forest-like silence. When the silence deepened into something forest-like, even Misao found herself unsettled by an inexplicable awkwardness, resorting to childish jokes to fill the heavy air.

“That Tsubu woman is truly spiteful… Unbearable… People like her… You’ll find those wretched types anywhere.” “For one thing, she probably resents Naoko-san for ‘stealing’ Mr. Maki—but with those trashy ways of hers, it’s perfectly clear why she’ll never succeed.”

Yuriko and Satomi also involuntarily turned to look at Tsubu. “Ah… It’s unbearable, isn’t it? All these women of the same ilk gathered here—competing and being competed against…” “What does Maki do for a living?” “Oh, he’s a professor at T University!” “He seems quite refined.” “Putting on airs like Tsubu-san does won’t get you anywhere, I tell you.”

Yuriko’s ring finger had that opal ring slipped onto it again before anyone noticed. Every time she touched her cheek or hair, the opal stone sparkled faintly. As if someone had cried their fill, outside the snow had softly piled up beneath a clear sky. Only on the pavement had the snow been swept away, making the walking terribly smooth. Senko drew close to Naoko, and they both felt a sadness that would never subside.

“They’re treating people like utter fools—it’s because you’re too meek! You should’ve said something back then…” Naoko’s body shook violently with anger and sorrow. “I was thinking… tonight might be my end…” “Oh now, you mustn’t say such things. “No one truly sides with her—when she boasts about her hardships, that’s proof she’s never suffered! Acting like some spiteful courtesan… You must find strength now—strength…”

When they turned the corner, a dimly lit alleyway appeared with food stalls and fortune-teller's lanterns. Because the snow had stopped, the cold seemed to bite all the more sharply, their shoulders aching piercingly. Yet despite this, both women continued walking aimlessly without their coats, their footsteps plodding heavily. Strangely, everything felt desolate.

“Naoko-san, I want to have my fortune read. “Wait a moment, please.”

The lantern bore the inscription: “Come, All Who Wander.” Senko stood beside this lantern marked “Come, All Who Wander,” held up her palm, and began: “I have a sickly husband and one child who’ll turn seven.” Naoko gazed at Senko’s pallid, chapped palm with an icy dread creeping through her. Though rough, the palm’s structure remained tender and guileless. The fortune teller pursed her toothless lips like a drawstring pouch cinched tight,

“First, the bonds with blood relatives grow thin, and there’s a sign you’ll toil in foreign lands…”

The magnifying glass placed on Senko’s palm was a murky gray, dampened by the snow. “Is it all right if I’m separated from my child?” “First, you should keep them close through this entire year… There’s risk of illness.” “Is it all right if I continue in this line of work for long...” “No, it won’t do to continue long.” “Oh…” “You there show signs of grave peril... Shall I examine them for you?”

Naoko suddenly jerked her shoulders up and hid behind a yakitori stall like a dog.

5 The car was driving smoothly along the Keihin Highway.

On a warm evening after the snow had cleared, the briny scent of the sea struck their nostrils from somewhere. Naoko, as if satisfied by that briny scent alone, had kept her eyes downcast for some time now.

“Naoko-san, what are you thinking about now?”

“Me? Somehow I’ve been unexpectedly remembering things from my childhood.” “What was your childhood like, Naoko-san…?” “I used to think I could live a better life—a purer one.” “So… then isn’t it pure now?” “There are times when I think it feels terribly muddied. “In the end, I end up wanting to die—”

“We mustn’t indulge in foolish talk—we have to get serious.”

The sea came into view. The two of them fell silent. But remaining silent made them both feel as though something were rushing them. Though they loved each other deeply—sadly, inexplicably—they found themselves recalling their respective families. Naoko thought of her child playing alone with blocks in a three-tatami room without a view of the garden and of her mother with fading eyesight. “Since he’s already five? I’ll take him back to the countryside and raise him somehow—so if you find a good match, you should settle down properly.”

The mother’s words about having no one to help care for her grandchild had lingered strangely in her heart. But the man I love so deeply already has a wife, doesn’t he? He had two children. As for him, he had come to dread the habits of his long-established family life.

“Good morning.”

His wife’s words—“Have a safe day”—had never once faltered over the years, as regular as clockwork, spoken each morning as she washed her face with their two children and sat down to breakfast together. Though it was a modest and pure life, why did this feeling persist—this unsettling breeze blowing through his heart? The memories of my student days and those years abroad—none were lives I needed to feel ashamed of before my wife. But now, I love this restaurant’s waitress more than my own life.

Once before, my wife had come to my side and said something using our child as a pretext. “Father’s skin had grown so cold, my boy, that I could no longer bring myself to approach him.” The man’s heart suddenly ached, and he raised his head. “Naoko-san, please stay strong.” “Yes.” Her cheeks were cold with tears. It was because their respective households had become too intertwined. “I intend to leave that place.” “Yes, that’s good—I’ll take care of your living expenses, Naoko-san.”

“No—it’s not that. I have my mother and child to think of. No matter what happens, I must keep working… It’s just that I can’t endure that place any longer.” An unspeakable urgency pressed upon them. The car came to a halt before the snowmelt wharf now transformed into something like a park. In the harbor, the small flags of anchored ships snapped sharply against the wind, their sound mingling with the waves. A blonde girl with a small dog leaned against a white bench singing, while a dark-skinned man stood vacantly nearby.

“If only we could go abroad together just as we are.” “There must be all sorts of beautiful countries beyond this sea—if I were alone, I might reach such places... But as it is, I suppose I’ll live out my whole life like this...”

6 The sky had cleared crisply. An advertising plane soared over the snowmelt pavement of Ginza, scattering balloons.

Outside restaurant Lila, there was a man who had been jiggling the receiver of the freshly red-painted public telephone for a long time. But no matter how much time passed, the call refused to connect as he wished, so the man violently kicked the door and stormed into Lila’s green-glass interior, where even the eaves lanterns remained unlit. Since it was still around three o'clock, only Misao and Yuriko were in the restaurant reading the newspaper.

"Oh! You're early—what brings you here already, Mr. Okada?" "No matter what angle I take—was Naoko-san working here last night?" "No sir—she took her official day off yesterday." "Is something wrong?" "She must've gone somewhere with Mr. Maki." "Don't you think?" Both Misao and Yuriko frowned deeply through knitted brows—their expressions heavy with foreboding. "This morning—there was a call from Mrs. Maki." "The Professor never came home last night." "It being his first time missing like this—his wife must've been shocked senseless."

“Oh! Is that so?!” “Let us hope nothing has gone amiss.” “Let us hope all is well.” “Right… If they’ve just gone sightseeing casually, there’s nothing to worry about—but did any calls come through the night before last?” “It seems one did—this concerns Tsubu-san. When a call came from Mr. Maki to Naoko-san, poor Tsubu-san had to relay it in her awkward position. She got so worked up she lashed out like that and ended up dead drunk sprawled out in a stupor… It was unbearable.”

“The other night, that Tsubu went off on Naoko-san again like she always does… And it was so vulgar I could barely stand it. By the way, Mr. Okada—you were smitten with Naoko-san too, weren’t you?” “Don’t talk nonsense… But she’s not a woman I dislike—though if those two are together, since they’re both serious types, it’s worrying.” “Really…” The three of them kept repeating how worried they were—how worried—but in truth, each in their own way thought it would be more charming and, yes, even interesting if those two simply kept running far away. ...there entered Tsubu, her ashen face framed by a coat trimmed with plush fox fur in the style of a country squire.

“It’s mild outside.” “How’s that hangover treating you?” “Which hangover are you even talking about? I’m drunk every day—I can’t tell anymore.”

Tsubu took off her coat, took off her gloves, and stood before the mirror with vacant eyes. “You know, I’ve become so prickly-faced.” “One shouldn’t half-heartedly meddle in love, Mr. Okada… Lately, I’ve grown utterly weary of myself…” Okada naturally, along with Yuriko and Satomi, were stunned by Tsubu’s unexpectedly tender words—so uncharacteristic of her headstrong and crude demeanor—leaving them bewildered. But that astonishment strangely rendered the air sentimental, creating an intensely somber atmosphere.

“Is love really something one should avoid? Exactly—it’s more dreadful than a major earthquake.”

Absently, Satomi stood before the phonograph and flipped through the records. Like drifting clouds... Tonight’s you No lingering attachment remains Let’s part tonight... Though it was a song Tsubu detested, here it fit all too well—crackle…—the record kept spinning. “So all we can do is wait for time to pass, right?” When Satomi spoke these words as if suddenly remembering, Tsubu smiled from within the mirror. “If I didn’t do that much, I’d go mad,” she said with girlish innocence. ...No one was to blame—it was all fate—and so Yuriko too walked beside Satomi and lit a fragrant Chinese Muse cigarette.

7 — Though I don’t know what will become of me, I am still alive. Though I keep wanting to see you just once, the days slip by against my true wishes. "I’m terrified of letting things continue like this… Please stay well." —On the day when all the snow had melted away, Senko received this letter from Naoko. Since they shared similar circumstances—both having children and ailing husbands—it was likely only to Senko that Naoko could speak openly about anything. Senko, for her part, found herself thinking more often—strangely so—now that Naoko was gone.

Lately at Restaurant Lila，alongside Tsubu growing quiet，the atmosphere had taken on a terribly gloomy air． Today again，as the Sparrow Dance Song flowed from the women’s lips，loud-voiced Misao let out a shriek beside Satomi and Yuriko． “What’ll become of all these waitresses in the end，I wonder？—See？Last night，I finally went off to Ōmori with that man．You’ll laugh？” “But it can’t be helped—”

Yuriko widened her eyes.

Satomi stopped her hands, which had been combing Yuriko’s bobbed hair with a cold celluloid comb.

“I don’t want to live anymore. If only there were someone who’d stand by me... I’d want to die.”

When night fell, even so, Restaurant Lila’s interior grew lively with its usual contingent of women, firecrackers popping from within the customers’ booths. “That man—×××××××—he’s been tormenting me all night long, you know.” “I might as well go to a marriage agency and become a mannequin.”

Misao, her round eyes darting about, seized Satomi and wouldn’t let go. She appeared so unapproachable there was nowhere to grasp—world-weary in demeanor—yet perhaps at her core lay timidity.

Everyone was timid by nature yet had surrounded themselves with walls. From within those walls, they barked at everyone indiscriminately with dog-like bluster—yet if those walls were stripped away, wouldn’t anyone possess an innocent, beautiful garden? Along with the jazz records increasing by ten more, a woman named Sakura and a new woman named Sumiko came in. Sakura had said it was her third time, but Sumiko seemed to be new—still a beautiful girl who looked suited to shoulder pads. Each time the women at Restaurant Lila changed, its clientele transformed from top to bottom—nowadays, student school anthems leaked through Lila’s armored-style windows.

“Yuriko, you should sell that ring quickly. Then why don’t we go to Nikko for a day, just the two of us?” Lately, Satomi—who had taken to wearing severely dark clothes—would pester Yuriko every time she caught sight of the cold glint of Yuriko’s opal stone. “As for me,” Yuriko said, “I want to wash my hands of this place soon—I wonder how much my tips even amount to by now.” “It’s like I’m just working to pay for kimonos...”

“We’re just working because we have to.” “By the way, I’ll sell this ring off in a couple days. With that money—instead of Nikko—I want to go see some town where men live their lives. You’ll come with me, won’t you?” “My, what serious lingering attachment…” “Well yes—I was desperately in love, you see. I can’t casually take up with the next man like Tsubu-san, nor throw myself into reckless Ōmori escapades like Misao-san—it’d be such a waste…”

“Ōmori escapades? That’s clever phrasing. So if I took up Ōmori escapades, what would you do? Would you despise me…?” “Fool! If you took up Ōmori escapades, I’d respect you!” Sumiko stood surrounded by students singing a song. Gradually, her figure—steeped in the day’s atmosphere—appeared forlorn through Satomi and Yuriko’s eyes.

“Mama, how many more sleeps till you let me take organ lessons?” “Let’s see… After three more sleeps, we’ll go to the organ teacher’s place, okay?” “But… Grandma’s lying! I told you the organ teacher isn’t dead at all!” “That’s because you keep pestering me so much, Ryū. If you behave after school, I’ll take you to the organ teacher’s place.”

Resembling Senko, the child’s lips too bore an adorable mole.

Taking the hand of the child wearing a band-aid and arriving at the suburban station,

“Alright, I’ll be off now. Once I see Grandma off, mind the cars and come straight home.” “I’ll bring back a souvenir, okay?” “Yeah...”

“Oh, what’s wrong? Spacing out or something? Hey, Ryū!”

“It’s nothing! Dad looks lonely, so come home early, ’kay?” “Silly Ryū… Oh ho… It’s not you who’s lonely…”

Senko’s chest swelled as if about to burst with happiness. However trying her present circumstances might be, she resolved she must endure them.

“I’m not saying this out of spite, but in truth, I must be nothing but a burden to you.” “Oh, don’t be so formal! Once you can work again, I’ll settle by the long brazier and work you to the bone—it’s not like I’m scheming that up right now…”

In such trivial exchanges they comforted each other, the two of them now laughing through tearful laughter. Inside the train, children just like her own rode in droves, chirping like sparrows. When she pictured her child—who took after his father in loving music—begging so sweetly to take organ lessons, Senko thought that whatever it took, she wanted to make sure he could learn. But then again—when she reconsidered—the ideal life always flew through skies far in the opposite direction. If one weren’t prepared to allow certain liberties with hands and lips, being a hostess would no longer be such a lucrative job these days.

Having said that, she was no longer young enough—unlike Naoko—to abandon both mother and child. As the train clattered along, Senko’s wandering thoughts dwelled neither on grand mansions nor gaudy visiting attire. They lingered solely on the modest organ lesson fees she let her child clutch in their palm—a permitted fantasy, more precious than poetry yet within reach. What a delicate reverie it must have been.

The town was cold as glass, yet the pavements remained overflowing with people. The withered willows of Ginza held a certain charm, lending a spring-like air. In another three or four months, green buds would appear on those willows too. Senko felt even the clattering of assorted tools in her furoshiki as a cold weight on her heart, yet her longing for spring burned stronger than anyone else in the city.

“Senko-san…?” “Oh! Naoko-san, what’s wrong…? Well, you’re looking well.” Behind the public telephone booth, Senko—grasping the hand of Naoko in her Chinese-patterned black coat—panted breathlessly like a child.

“I’m sorry for causing you worry.” “That’s neither here nor there, but after Mr. Okada came that one time—and then that vague letter of yours—there’s just no way to track you down, is there?” Though they’d been apart mere four or five days, there was so much to discuss—this and that, everything clamoring to be said.—Yet the only words that escaped Senko’s lips were, “I’m just glad you’re alive and well.”

9 The two hurriedly entered Matsuzakaya. For them now, this very bustle was perhaps the only place where they could settle down to talk.

“I’m completely blind right now… Though just thinking about Mother and my child makes my heart ache—but don’t you think there are times when people simply can’t go on anymore…?” “What are you saying? Those impossible situations are ones you create yourself… If you think about your child and Mother, you should manage somehow.” “Oh…” “No—are you alright? You can’t be weak—Mr. Maki has his wife and children too, you understand?”

“Oh…” Despite having so much to discuss—this and that, everything clamoring to be said—when pressed to confront the heart of the matter, both found themselves only circling restlessly along peripheral lines, never reaching the center. “How is Tsubu-san doing?” After gulping down the hot tea, Naoko shifted the conversation to another topic with a detached mood. “That person’s always been like that… Lately she’s gotten herself a patron and says she’s going to Manchuria—you know about the two new girls who started working there, don’t you? One was an amateur, but lately she’s quite taken to that atmosphere—singing loudly and drinking without a shred of shame.”

“Oh, is that so… What about Satomi-san and the others?” “Well, I heard today Yuriko-san was going somewhere near Hiroshima accompanying her—but those two can manage on their own. Since they don’t have children or husbands, they’re far more carefree than someone like me and don’t need to hurry about.” “Honestly though, that Satomi-san is different somehow. She looks vaguely bored yet stays composed. I like how she keeps herself untainted by that bar atmosphere—maintains her own self through it all.”

“But lately, even Tsubu-san and Misao-san have grown so timid—they’ve become such good people. Though Misao’s Ōmori exploits are troubling… but that’s just how it is, isn’t it? With her husband in Ichigaya, it’s such a lonely tale.”

The two walked down the hallway as they talked. A young lady purchasing a koto plucked at the strings repeatedly with a *kororinshan* sound as she chatted and laughed with a motherly woman.

Naoko lowered her eyes and found herself thinking of her hometown. In memories from her girlhood—when persimmons hung vividly ripe and red—the strains of *Black Hair* had often echoed. Now, hearing even a passing stranger’s koto playing filled her with unbearable emotion. And when music—strangely enough—sweetly touched her heart, she came to feel it would be acceptable to follow through with Maki just like this and die. “When it comes down to it, life really does wear you out, doesn’t it?”

“Naoko-san!” “You’re still such a proper young lady,” she said. “These days I’ve begun wrestling with life itself—my ideal was having my child take organ lessons… but yes—I want to make that my life’s work. Lately I’ve even started thinking that living itself might hold joy.”

10 Like Drifting Clouds... *Tonight, you...* Without a trace of lingering attachment,

*Let’s part…*

Among the women of Lila restaurant, this song still lay dormant on their lips. Tsubu had perhaps grown weaker to drink as well, spending her days in a daze smoking cigarettes and doing little but sing.—Satomi remained as ever, smirking with that inscrutable expression of hers as she played records. Yuriko, for her part, had been making nothing but lavish kimonos, leaving Misao and the others green with envy.

On an evening after a succession of balmy, snowless days—someone quietly opened the door of Lila, where a phonograph record had begun to play,

“Hey!”

“They’ve finally done it!” “There!”

Senko was the first to stand up. Okada spread out a newspaper on the mahogany table with trembling hands.

Dr. Maki and Waitress Plan Double Suicide.

The location was Naoko’s hometown of Kyoto, though the specifics remained unclear in print. "Someone who used to work here... Oh dear..." Sumiko—now fully embodying the mannerisms of a veteran waitress—leaned over Okada’s shoulder to examine Dr. Maki’s photograph. Sakura, Misao, Satomi, and Yuriko all wore faces like stones dropped from great heights, yet Senko and Tsubu likely bore even heavier weights upon their hearts. "They’ve truly gone through with it now!"

What thoughts crossed Tsubu’s mind? She began quietly turning the phonograph record—the one that spun uselessly with its crackling static, "Like Drifting Clouds... Tonight, You..."—changing its needle with seeming tenderness.