Pathway to Japanese Literature

1 By now thoroughly bored, the women were singing the sparrow-dance song. ――When one listened intently to that sparrow-dance song, it seemed to articulate the women’s own state of mind; mingling with the presence of snow outside, it sounded strangely eerie. On the roof of the red public telephone booth in front of the Lila restaurant, snow had already piled up mushroom-like and deep, and the faint light within its box-like structure appeared—when viewed from a slight distance—like an old-fashioned lamp.

Even though dusk had just fallen, cotton-like snow was descending thickly, rendering everything as silent as deep night. From Lila’s shutter-like windows, the sparrow-dance song from earlier still flowed quietly, reaching one’s ears. Inside the public telephone booth that resembled an old-fashioned lamp, a middle-aged man in a navy wool overcoat had been speaking into the receiver since earlier—occasionally scratching his ear with nervous irritation—while stealing glances toward Lila’s entrance, as if observing the situation inside.

Outside the fogged-up telephone booth, trams and cars with snow-whitened roofs passed incessantly down the street. “What?!” “Just come out for a minute—I could go instead, but if Okada or someone sees us, it’ll be trouble… Understand?” The man spoke these words into the receiver before clattering it back into place. When he turned toward the entrance by chance, a faint beautiful smile remained on his face, his cheeks flushed like a boy’s.—He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and deftly lit it with his lighter. At that moment, Lila’s green glass doors opened and a slender woman without a haori emerged—one who had just stopped singing the sparrow song and seemed to have broken away from her companions—muttering indistinct complaints under her breath even as her eyes darted anxiously about. Once outside, she walked clattering in her zori through the deep snow to a shadowed street corner several buildings away.

When the man caught sight of the woman’s retreating figure standing at the street corner, he took several deep drags from his cigarette—its tip glowing red each time—opened the telephone booth’s heavy door, and began walking in the same direction as her.

“Aren’t you cold?” “No…”

“Naoko, you’ve gotten quite skilled at making excuses to slip away.” “Oh! How unkind…” “Well, never mind—I want to go away like this right now.” “Yes…” “Would it be all right to go?” “Such a reckless thing—no! “No, it’s no good—it’ll only bring suffering, I tell you…”

On the maroon-clad woman’s shoulders, cotton-like snow fell like willow leaves. The man, still wearing his hat, was now a frosted figure and seemed to be growing impatient. “The car is here, but…” “Yes… Well then, I’ll accompany you tomorrow. Please go home tonight, all right? Otherwise—not just Mr. Okada—Ms. Tsubu will make a terrible fuss, you see…”

The man patted the snow from the woman’s shoulders with a handkerchief while gazing into her eyes. “Well then… goodbye…” “Yes—goodbye. What time should you send the car tomorrow?” “Having it in front of the shop would be problematic, so if you could wait somewhere farther away…” “Then Shinbashi Station.” “You know my car, yes?” “Yes… let’s say around four in the evening…”

The woman suddenly gave a small cough and pressed the sleeve to her mouth. "You'll catch a cold—no, I mean... Tomorrow without fail..."

The woman bowed politely, then ran back toward Lila in quick steps, turned back toward the man with a childlike air, and smiled sweetly.

2 Inside the Ginza restaurant Lila, fragments of the sparrow-dance song still clung unevenly to the women’s lips while the space lay as silent as the ocean depths. Only five women sat on the chairs; not a single customer remained. A heavy stillness permeated the air—the snow’s presence outside seemed to seep through the walls of this small restaurant until even Lila’s interior felt chilled by its touch. The women wore desolate expressions now that they had abruptly stopped singing, as if belatedly recognizing the futility of their song. Only Tsubu, the establishment’s most senior hostess, gulped whiskey behind a potted plant resembling tropical ferns while shouting irritably.

“Even if it looks this easy, it takes more than seven falls! Most of these women act like they’ve endured real hardship when they haven’t even tasted a single stumble’s worth—it’s downright pitiful, don’t you think, Kan-chan?”

The long-faced bartender was inflating a pink paper balloon while, "You shouldn’t joke about it—it’s not seven tumbles; in today’s world, people take a hundred tumbles or more." "Idiot, what nonsense are you spouting? Heh heh... Why don’t you go trip over yourself and blow up balloons, oh holy one?"

Tsubu emerged from behind the potted plant with a disenchanted expression and slipped into the midst of the women in their chairs who looked half-asleep. The women had been listening to Tsubu’s strangely convoluted high talk, but just as Naoko entered with cotton-like snow clinging to her thick hair, they simply resumed the sparrow-dance song. “Enjoy yourselves!”

“…………” “Naoko, your business thrives even outside—how utterly enviable.”

Tsubu’s sharp way of speaking. Naoko remained silent as she faced the wall mirror, wiping the cotton-like snow from her hair with a handkerchief, painfully aware of Tsubu’s gaze piercing her back.

“Naoko! Was that call earlier from Mr. Maki?”

“…………” “Oh! Well, when did you go mute, Naoko?” “Or have you resolved never again to speak even to someone like myself?”

By this point, the women were well past singing their sparrow-dance song; surrounding Tsubu, who was now nicely drunk, they could only try to placate her with repeated "Oh, come now"s. The more they tried to placate her, the more Tsubu’s anger flared—hotter and hotter—until she grew frantic to force even a single word from Naoko.

“Do you think I’m just some drunken woman you can look down on? Go on—stomp all over me! Mock away to your heart’s content!” “……” “Oh now, Ms. Tsubu—what are you saying? With this snow falling and everyone feeling so gloomy…” “Let them wallow if they want! Hmph! What galls me is that serene face of yours dismissing me as some drunk—you’re mocking me!” “Forgive us, that’s not it at all—come now, shall we play a record to brighten things up?”

On the ceiling, artificial vine roses bloomed red like glass around a yellow lantern. Naoko’s eyes grew hot without her realizing.

“It’s the snow’s fault—that there are so few customers and everyone’s so irritable…” In a corner, the petite Yuriko and Senko—the one with a mole on her lip—were whispering in hushed tones. Tsubu, sinking into the leather chair—perhaps having given up on Naoko, who remained utterly silent—covered her face with her sleeve and began singing the sparrow-dance song in a drawn-out voice.

“Oh, this snow is truly dreadful.” Perhaps having grown weary of singing, Senko pushed open the door and gazed out at the street.—Yuriko applied Mentholatum to the base of her ring finger while struggling to remove the stubborn band.

“What’s the matter… doing something like that…” Satomi, who was close with Yuriko, leaned against the same chair and listlessly watched Yuriko’s childlike hands.

“Hey, how do you write ‘surprised’ in characters?” In an absurdly loud voice, Misao, who had been writing a letter in the corner of the room until now, called out toward Yuriko and Satomi. Then Tsubu, who had been covering her face with her sleeve and singing the sparrow-dance song, suddenly stood up and scanned the room. “Hey, do you know how to write ‘surprised’?” “You write ‘surprised’ as kitsukyau (吃驚).” “It’s quite a strange character, isn’t it?”

Satomi wrote "surprised" on a small slip and took it over to them. The room was warm enough, yet strangely dispirited, and the women drifted about like shadows, moving wherever their hearts inclined. These shadow-like women were so unaccustomed to such stillness that they each felt restless, as though it would be a relief if just anyone would hurry in.

Into this restlessness came three men who looked like company employees, pushing open the door and stumbling in covered with snow. The room suddenly came alive, and the women, as if rescued, swam over to the men’s side. “Things are pretty gloomy here…”

“You mustn’t joke like that—it’s only just beginning!” Misao tossed aside the letter and had the three men take off their overcoats. Tsubu—perhaps recognizing one of them—suddenly brightened up, leaned against his shoulder, and whispered into his ear. “Hey! If one guy’s hogging all the attention, we’re going home!”

The men wiped their faces with hot towels and shouted. "You mustn't joke like that! We lost at mahjong to Mr. Nakamura the other day—if we have to drink over that defeat too, it'll be unbearable! We were just begging for some mercy here—how ridiculous!" "Enough!" "Hoh! Now that's music to my ears! Let me butt in a little too—I tell ya, I tell ya!" The women cackled shrilly.

The jazz record “One Kiss” was playing. The room had finally grown a bit brighter—warm and bright it had become—but even their earlier wish that someone would hurry in and save them, now that three men had indeed entered, saw them swimming over to gather only for a fleeting moment. Then, like a snapped thread, the women—all except Misao and Tsubu—scattered back to the chairs in the four corners.

“So you’re returning the ring?” “Of course. The man who thinks that just by giving back this thing, even my soul would be freed—he’s detestable.” “Back in the day, even maids in cattle houses had the grit to throw wads of cash back at men’s cheeks… And here I was laying my heart bare—what a farce, don’t you think?” Yuriko ground the opal stone against the wall while tending to the reddened mark left by the ring on her finger. “But don’t they say lovers always end up at cross purposes?”

“Ugh—it wasn’t some *misunderstanding*! He went and held his wedding without a care! I *so* wanted to ruin that night for him, but I didn’t have the money to travel there, and I was fretting myself sick—ended up ill! By then, I’d lost the heart for it—” “You’re right—but what good would returning the ring do? That person will surely have moments when they cry over your memories. If you’re going to return a ring like that, wouldn’t it be more straightforward to go there yourself once? In that case, why don’t you just sell that ring off cleanly and have yourself a good time—it might be easier that way…”

Satomi was thinking of her own matters even as she spoke. Though thinking proved futile, she ultimately resigned herself to the notion that “there’s nothing to do but watch time flow.” “You’re right—if I sell this ring, I could take a trip somewhere lively. You should come along too, Satomi.”

“Hoh…… And if I’d have to listen to you cry all night at some inn, I’d rather not come along.” “Don’t be silly—who says such hurtful things…”

The two of them giggled like schoolgirls.—The record kept playing the same song again and again. Like fleeting clouds You tonight Not a trace of lingering attachment. Let’s part…

It was Naoko’s favorite song.

From the men’s booth came Tsubu’s shrill voice, “Stop it! That gloomy song is so persistent!” “That gloomy song just won’t let up!” The record screeched as it spun idly and came to a halt. The women in the four corners stood up as if brushing off dust.

“At this rate, it’ll pile up quite a bit, won’t it?” Senko, who had been tapping her nose with her compact as if suddenly remembering something, quietly approached Naoko by the phonograph. “Ms. Tsubu isn’t herself—best not to dwell on it.” “She seems awfully on edge about Mr. Maki.” “Even though she doesn’t stand a chance…”

Naoko was smiling thinly. But though she was smiling, in her heart she could not help but feel everything was desolate and wretched. The three men seemed quite drunk, and every now and then they would turn toward Naoko and whisper among themselves. “She’s a looker, isn’t she?” “And she has a child with that look?” “She looks just like a girl. And her husband—hey… Isn’t it true he was done in by the reds?” “A widow, you say?” “That does sound cute.”

Their voices surged like a flood, then occasionally remembered themselves and hushed. Tsubu, a vulgar crease forming at the corner of her lips, laughed together with Misao. The arrows of those filthy words pierced through both Naoko’s chests. When her chest suddenly burned hot, Naoko could no longer endure it. She briskly pushed open the door and stepped back out into the falling snow.

“Naoko!” “Wait!” “Naoko, really!”

When Senko followed Naoko outside, a burst of laughter erupted momentarily but vanished like fireworks, leaving the room in heavy silence. When this heavy silence settled in, Misao—feeling oddly awkward—tried to dispel it with childish jokes.

“That Tsubu woman—she’s downright spiteful! Unbearable! People like her… you’ll find those rotten sorts anywhere.” “Partly, it’s that she resents Naoko taking Mr. Maki from her—but with her rotten nature, it’s clear nothing good would come of it.” Yuriko and Satomi also involuntarily turned to look at Tsubu. “Ah… It’s unbearable, isn’t it? All of us—the same kind of women gathered here—vying against each other, being vied against…”

“What does Maki do?” “Oh, he’s a professor at T University.” “He’s quite a refined man, isn’t he?”

“Even if Ms. Tsubu puts on airs, it’s no use.” On Yuriko’s ring finger, that opal ring had settled once more without her noticing. Each time she touched her cheeks or hair, the opal stone sparkled faintly.

As if after someone had cried their fill, the outdoors lay silent with accumulated snow, and the sky was clear. Only on the pavement had the snow been cleared, making it terribly easy to walk. Senko drew close to Naoko, and they both felt a sadness that would not subside. “They’re really making a fool of you, aren’t they? It’s because you’re too quiet—you should say something back at times like that…”

Naoko’s body trembled violently with anger and sorrow.

“I was just thinking of putting an end to everything tonight…”

“Oh, but you mustn’t say such things—no one here sides with that woman! She boasts about how much she’s suffered? That just proves she hasn’t suffered at all! Acting like some spiteful courtesan… You must keep your spirits up—you simply must…”

Turning the corner, they found a dimly lit alley lined with food stalls and fortune-teller’s lanterns. The snow had stopped, making the cold bite all the more sharply; their shoulders throbbed with stabbing pain. Yet despite this, both women—still without their haori—found themselves plodding aimlessly onward. Strangely, everything around them felt steeped in desolation.

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

On the lantern was written, "Let the lost come." Senko stood beside the lantern bearing “Let the lost come,” holding out her palm. “I have an ill husband and a seven-year-old child,” she began. Naoko gazed at Senko’s pale, rough palm with a chilling feeling. The palm was rough, but its lines were gentle and honest. The fortune-teller, her toothless lips pursed like a drawstring pouch,

“First, the bonds with blood relatives are thin, and the signs point to laboring in a foreign land…” The magnifying glass placed on Senko’s palm was ashy and clouded, wet with snow.

“Is it all right if I’m separated from my child?” “First, it would be best not to let the child leave your side for the rest of this year… There is a risk of illness.” “Can I keep doing this line of work much longer…” “No, it’s not advisable to continue for long.” “Well…” “You have severe sword misfortunes showing… Would you like me to take a look?” Naoko suddenly hunched her shoulders and hid like a dog behind the yakitori stall.

5 The car glided smoothly along the Keihin National Highway.

On a warm evening after the snow had cleared, from somewhere came the briny scent of the tide striking one's nostrils. As if satisfied with just that briny scent of the tide, Naoko had kept her eyes downcast since earlier.

“What are you thinking about now, Naoko?”

“Me? “Somehow, things from my childhood keep coming back to me.” “What was your childhood like, Naoko…” “I was thinking about how to achieve a better life—a purer life.” “So… then, isn’t it pure now?” “There are times when I think it’s terribly muddied.” “In the end, I end up wanting to die——”

“We mustn’t say such foolish things—we have to get serious, don’t we?”

The sea came into view. Both of them fell silent. But remaining silent made both of them feel as though they were being hurried along by something.

Though they loved each other deeply, sadly enough, they each found themselves remembering their respective families.—Naoko thought of her child playing alone with building blocks in the three-tatami room with no view of a garden, and of her mother, whose eyes had grown weak. “Since he’s already five?” “I’ll take him back to the countryside and raise him somehow, so if you find a good match, settle down properly.” The mother’s words about having no Yonen companion for the grandchild had strangely lingered in her heart. But the man she loved so deeply had a wife, didn’t he? He had two children.

Moreover, the man had come to dread the entrenched habits of family life. “Good morning.” His wife’s words—“Please go ahead”—uttered as she washed their two children’s faces and sat with them at the table, had never strayed from their rhythm like a clock through all these years.

Though it was a modest and pure life, how had this feeling—this strangely ephemeral wind blowing through his heart—come to be? Memories of his student days, those years spent living abroad—all had been lives that brought no shame to his wife, yet now he loved the waitress at this restaurant more than his own life. Once before, his wife had come to his side and said something using the children as a pretext.

“The warmth of Father’s skin has grown so cold, my boy, that I can no longer draw near.” The man suddenly felt his heart ache and raised his head.

“Please stay strong, Naoko.” “Yes…” Her cheeks were cold with tears. It was because their respective households had become too deeply intertwined.

“I intend to quit that place.” “Yes, that’s good—I’ll take care of your living expenses at least.” “No, it’s not like that—I have a mother and child to care for, so no matter what happens, I must work—it’s just that… I can’t bear that place anymore.” It was an inexpressible, suffocating feeling. A car stopped before the snowmelt pier that had become like a park. The small flags on the ships anchored in the harbor snapped sharply in the wind, their sound mingling with the waves. A blonde girl with a small dog was leaning against a white bench singing a song, and a dark-skinned man was standing there in a daze.

“If only we could just run away abroad like this, wouldn’t that be something?” “There must be so many beautiful countries across this sea—if I were alone, I might have been able to go to such places—but as things are, I guess I’ll spend my whole life stuck living like this…”

6 The sky was crisply clear.

An advertising plane flew over the snow-thawed pavement of Ginza, scattering balloons. At the freshly painted red public telephone booth before restaurant Lila, a man had been making a clattering call for a long time; but when the call refused to connect despite the passing hours, he violently kicked the door and entered Lila’s green-glass interior where the eaves light still hung unlit. It must have been around three o’clock—inside, only Misao and Yuriko sat reading newspapers.

“My, you’re early! What’s wrong, Mr. Okada?” “No matter what I do or how I try, it’s serious. Was Naoko here last night?”

“No, she took a day off yesterday, you know.” “Is something wrong?” “They must’ve run off with Mr. Maki.” “Isn’t it?” Misao and Yuriko frowned deeply, looking terribly troubled.

“This morning, there was a call from Maki’s wife.” “The Professor didn’t come home last night after all.” “Since it was the first time, his wife must’ve been shocked.”

“Oh! Is that so!” “I do hope nothing’s gone wrong.”

“I do hope everything’s all right.” “Right… If they’ve just gone off sightseeing together, there’s nothing to worry about if it’s just a casual fling—but were there any calls the night before last?” “Seems there was one—according to Tsubu—but when Mr. Maki called for Naoko, poor Tsubu had to pass on the message. She got so sulky about it she lashed out at everyone and ended up sprawled dead drunk… I’m sick of it.”

“The night before last, that Tsubu must’ve gone off on Naoko again like she always does… And it was so vulgar I couldn’t stand it.” “By the way, Mr. Okada—you must’ve been taken with Naoko too, right?” “Don’t talk nonsense… But she’s not a woman I dislike—still, if those two are together, they’re both such serious types—that’s what worries me.” “Really…” All three of them paid lip service to their concern—repeating “how worrying” like a refrain—yet each in her own way thought it would be far more charming and intriguing, if not exactly admirable, were the two to simply vanish into the distance.

...At that moment, Tsubu—her face pallid beneath a coat lavishly trimmed with fox fur like some provincial magnate’s—stepped inside.

“It’s warm outside.” “How’s the hangover?” “Which hangover do you mean? I’m drunk every day—I can’t tell.” She took off the coat, removed the gloves, and stood before the mirror with vacant eyes. “Look how prickly-faced I’ve become. Better not meddle with love, eh? Mr. Okada—I’ve worn myself ragged lately…” Okada naturally, along with Yuriko and Satomi, were shocked into silence by these unexpectedly tender words from the usually brash and vulgar Tsubu. Their astonishment lent the air a strange sentimentality, casting an intensely somber mood over them all.

“Is half-hearted love truly something to avoid? Make no mistake—it’s more terrifying than any earthquake.”

Casually, Satomi stood before the gramophone and flipped through records. Like clouds drifting Tonight’s you No lingering affection remains. Let’s part… Though it was a song Tsubu hated, here it fit all too well—and with a crackle… the record continued to spin. “So all we can do is wait for time to pass.”

When Satomi said this as if recalling, Tsubu smiled from within the mirror and replied, “If we don’t do at least that much, it’ll be unbearable,” with a sincerity like a girl’s... No one was to blame—it was all fate—and so Yuriko too walked over to Satomi’s side and lit a fragrant Chinese Muzu cigarette. 7—Though I don’t know what will become of me, I am still alive. While I’ve wanted to see you even once, time slips away against my will. “I’m terrified of letting things continue like this… Please stay well.” On the day when the snow had completely melted, Senko received this letter from Naoko. Since their circumstances—having children and ailing husbands—were alike, Naoko must have felt she could tell Senko anything. For her part, Senko found herself thinking more and more—strangely so—now that Naoko was gone.

Lately at the restaurant Lila, along with Tsubu growing quiet, the atmosphere took a turn for the worse. Today again, as the sparrow-dance song flowed from the women’s lips, Misao—with her booming voice—let out a scream beside Satomi and Yuriko. “What will become of all these hostesses? —Last night, I finally went to Omori with that man, you see. Laugh if you want.” “But there’s no helping it——”

Yuriko's eyes grew round. Satomi stopped mid-stroke, the cold celluloid comb still tangled in Yuriko's bobbed hair.

“I don’t want to live.” “If there’s anyone who’ll go with me, I want to die.”

When night fell, even so, the interior of restaurant Lila grew lively with the number of women present, and firecrackers were popping from within the customers’ booths.

“That man’s turned into a total [expletive], so he’s been tormenting me all night. I might as well go to a marriage agency and become a mannequin—it’d be better than this.”

Misao, darting her round eyes about, grabbed Satomi and wouldn’t let go. She appeared so threadbare there was nothing left to grasp, yet perhaps her core was timid. Despite everyone being timid by nature, they had each surrounded themselves with walls. From within those walls, with dog-like bravado, they barked at anyone and everyone; were the walls to be removed, might not anyone possess an innocent, beautiful garden?

As the jazz records increased by ten more, a woman named Sakura and a new woman named Sumiko entered. Sakura said it was her third time there, but Sumiko appeared to be new—a beautiful girl who still looked suited to having her kimono sleeves lengthened. Each time the women at restaurant Lila changed, the clientele too would shift completely from top to bottom, and lately, the sound of students singing their school songs seeped through Lila’s shutter-style windows.

“Yuriko, sell that ring quickly—then why don’t we go to Nikko for a day?” Lately, Satomi—now dressed in somber blacks—would badger Yuriko each time she glimpsed the cold glint of the opal stone. Yuriko herself replied, “I want out of this place soon... What do you suppose the tips even amount to these days?” “It’s like I’m working just for the kimonos...”

“We’re just working because we have to.”

“By the way, I’ll get rid of this ring within two or three days. With that money—instead of Nikko—I want to go see where that man lives now and come back. You’ll come with me, won’t you?” “My, what fierce attachment...”

“Well, I was head over heels in love, you see. I can’t just move on to the next lover like Tsubu here, and throwing myself into Omori training like Misao would be such a waste…” “‘Omori training,’ huh? That’s a clever way to put it. Well, if I were to do Omori training, what would you do? Would you look down on me…?” “You fool! If you did Omori training, I’d respect you.”

Sumiko was surrounded by students and singing a song. Gradually, her figure—steeped in Lila’s atmosphere—appeared lonely in Satomi and Yuriko’s eyes.

“Mama, how many more sleeps until you let me take piano lessons?”

“Well, after three more sleeps, we’ll go to the piano teacher’s place.” “Yeah… You’re a liar, Grandma. The piano teacher isn’t dead at all, they said.” “That’s because you keep begging so much, Ryū. When you come home from school, behave properly—then I’ll take you to the piano teacher’s place.”

The child’s lips, like Senko’s, also bore an adorable mole.

When she arrived at the suburban station leading by hand a child wearing a wristband, “Well then—after seeing Mom off—I’ll watch out for cars and come straight back.” “I’ll bring you a souvenir too.” “Yeah…”

“Oh my—what’s wrong? Spacing out or something? Hey—Ryū-chan!” “It’s nothing, okay? Your father seems lonely, so go home early.” “Ryū-san, you fool… Hoho… *You’re* the lonely one…” Senko was so happy her chest seemed to swell. No matter how harsh her current life might be, she resolved that she must endure it.

“I don’t mean to sound bitter, but I really am just a burden to you, aren’t I?” “Oh, don’t be so stiff. When you can work again, I’ll settle by the long brazier and work you ragged—it’s not like I’m plotting about it right now or anything…”

And so the two of them now, comforting each other over such trivial matters, laughed through their tears. Inside the train were many children just like her own, chirping like sparrows. When Senko pictured her child—who took after his father in loving music—adorably begging to take organ lessons, she resolved that no matter what it took, she would let him learn. But when she thought back, the ideal life was always flying off to some distant, opposite sky. If she wasn’t prepared to allow at least a little touching of hands and lips, then the life of a hostess was no longer such a well-paying job these days.

But even so, she was no longer young enough—like Naoko—to abandon both mother and child. Senko, jostled by the clattering train, found her usual dazed reveries concerned neither grand mansions nor ornate visiting attire. All she dwelled on was the modest organ tuition she would let her child clutch in his palm—a fantasy more precious than poetry yet permitted to remain within easy reach; how delicate a reverie it must have been.

The city was cold like glass, yet the sidewalks still overflowed with people. The withered willows of Ginza held a certain elegance, carrying a hint of spring. In three or four months, green buds would emerge on those willows. Senko felt the cold clatter of tools within her cloth-wrapped bundle resonate in her heart, yet her yearning for spring burned fiercer than anyone else's in the city.

“Isn’t that… Senko?”

“Oh! Naoko, what’s the matter…? Well, you’re alright…” Behind the public telephone booth, Senko—grasping the hand of Naoko, who wore a black Chinese brocade coat—was panting rapidly like a child. “I’m sorry for making you worry.” “That’s all well and good, but Mr. Okada came once and that was it—and then those vague letters of yours! There’s no way to track you down!” Though they had been apart for only four or five days, there was so much they wanted to say—where to begin, this and that—but all that spilled from Senko’s lips were the words, “I’m glad you’re safe and sound.”

9 The two hurried into Matsuzakaya in a fluster. For them now, this sort of bustling place was paradoxically where they could speak calmly. “I’m completely lost right now… Though thinking of my mother and child breaks my heart… But don’t you think there are times when people simply can’t do anything about things…” “What nonsense! Those hopeless situations are ones you make yourself… If you focus on your child and mother, you’ll find a way through.”

“Well…” “No—that’s not it. Are you alright? If you’re weak-willed, it’s no good—Mr. Maki has his wife and children too, you know? You understand that, don’t you?” “Well…” Though they had so very much to discuss—this and that—when pressed like this, the two of them could only circle frustratingly around lines far from the center. “How’s Ms. Tsubu doing?” After gulping down the hot tea, Naoko—her spirits dampened—shifted to another topic.

“That person’s like that… Lately she’s been saying she’s got a patron and is going to Manchuria—you know about the two new people who’ve joined, right? One of them was an amateur, but lately she’s blended right into that atmosphere—singing loudly and drinking without a hint of shame.” “Oh, I see… And what about Ms. Satomi and the others?” “Well, I heard Ms. Yuriko and the others were planning to go to Hiroshima around today, but… they’re fine as they are. Since they don’t have children or husbands, in that regard, they’re far more carefree than someone like me, and don’t need to rush around.”

“Honestly, though—that Ms. Satomi is different, isn’t she? She has this absent-minded, almost bored look about her, yet she’s so composed. I like people who stay true to themselves—untainted by that bar atmosphere.” “But lately, even Ms. Tsubu and Ms. Misao have become so timid—they’re such good people now. Though Misao’s ‘Omori development’ is troubling… but I suppose that’s just how it has to be. They say her husband’s been put away in Ichigaya—what a lonely tale.”

The two walked down the hallway while talking. A young lady buying a koto plinked and plucked at the strings repeatedly while chatting with a motherly woman.

Naoko lowered her eyes and occasionally thought of her hometown. In her memories of girlhood when persimmons ripened crimson red, how often "Kurokami" had been played on the koto—now, hearing those casual notes from a passing musician filled her with unbearable emotion. And when music—strangely enough—came sweetly to her heart, she found herself feeling it would be acceptable to go all the way with Maki and die together as they were. "No matter what, life really does wear you out in the end, doesn't it?"

“Ms. Naoko!” “You’re still such a proper young lady—me, these days, I’m locked in a battle with life itself. My ideal is to have my child learn the organ… Well, I’ve come to think of it as my life’s work to make that happen. And lately, I’ve even started to believe that living itself can be a joy.” 10 Like drifting clouds

Tonight, my love No lingering regrets Let's part... Among the women of restaurant Lila, this song still clung moss-like to their lips. Tsubu—perhaps having grown weaker to alcohol—spent her days dazedly smoking cigarettes and doing little but sing.—Satomi, as ever, smirked with her inscrutable expression while playing a record. Yuriko, for her part, kept making extravagant kimonos that made Misao and the others envious.

On an evening after days of mild, snowless weather—the door of Lila was quietly opened where the record had begun to play—

“Hey! They’ve finally done it! Look!”

Senko was the first to stand up. Okada spread out a newspaper on the mahogany table with trembling hands. —Dr. Maki, Doctor of Law, and Hostess Plot Double Suicide. The location was Naoko’s hometown of Kyoto, but the article had not yet provided clear details. “It’s someone who used to be here before… Oh my, how dreadful…” Sumiko, who had taken on the air of a hostess, peered over Okada’s shoulder at Dr. Maki’s photograph. Sakura, Misao, Satomi, and Yuriko all wore faces like they’d been struck by a heavy blow—but it was Senko and Tsubu who must have borne it even more heavily in their hearts.

“They’ve finally gone and done it!” Tsubu—perhaps lost in thought—quietly began playing the record *Tonight, My Love Like Drifting Clouds*, changing the needle as it whirred hollowly, its empty spinning echoing through the room.