Pathway to Japanese Literature

After the early spring season that year after year took its toll on his body had passed, he once again began his quiet life in the study, feeling as though gazing fixedly at the footprints of time slipping away. Watching the magnolia blossoms scatter and swallows dart about, he pursued only shadows of eternity. Yet his heart perceived their insubstantiality. The wind from yesterday ceased during night's depth, and bright morning sunlight gradually traced its path. At that moment, a maid delivered a letter to his study. When he turned it over, his heart tightened momentarily. The letter came from his still-young uncle in Kyoto. He fixed his eyes upon empty space awhile before slitting the envelope. Fragmentary phrases stood arrayed in brevity.

I have long intended to visit the old haunts of your esteemed locale, but time—though time I have—has found me passing my days in hesitation, still unable to seize the opportunity. Afterward, my resolve to leave the capital having gradually taken shape, I shall depart this evening and believe I may have the honor of meeting you tomorrow. I should also like to see for myself the state of your new residence...

Then there were also such phrases. "However, this time it constitutes an incognito visit—though 'incognito' may be too grand a term—it being my intent that none outside your household know of this departure from the capital. Yet this does not stem from any particular business. Merely to apprise you beforehand that it will be but a single night's stay…"

He read over that part again. And the letter concluded thus: Though you may be astonished by this sudden matter, I believe even that could prove interesting. As this letter is to be posted this morning, I believe it should reach your hands before my arrival. I am scheduled to depart this evening by night train. However, I append this condition—that if today’s sunset should portend tomorrow’s fair weather—farewell. Something inexplicable began brewing in his heart. And so he read it over and over again, trying to ascertain Uncle’s true intentions. However, what caught his eye was nothing more than the aforementioned phrases. He carefully rolled up the letter again, then left the desk and threw himself onto the sofa.

The figure of his emaciated uncle—who had been living a life of sorrow since losing his beloved wife—appeared in his mind. Then came Uncle who had loved Taeko; Uncle who upon hearing of his and Taeko's romance had mediated between them; Uncle who soon left for Kyoto to seek employment himself; Uncle devoting his leisure to studying favored plants while living a solitary life with an elderly maidservant—the past two years had shown him these disparate images of Uncle unfolding one after another. With the calm composure of someone viewing a distant picture scroll, he observed them. Yet now—this sudden letter announcing a visit, arriving when their correspondence had grown infrequent—imparted a strange air of tragic solemnity to his heart. "Perhaps Uncle still keeps Taeko's image hidden deep within," he thought.

But why had he perceived this? That wasn't the question. He had to do something about this, he thought. And before him spread a vast space. In that space was Uncle, was he himself, and was his wife Taeko.

He stood up and went to his wife's room, still holding the letter. She was engaged in leisurely embroidery. When she saw her husband's figure, she gazed at his face. Her eyes seemed to ask wordlessly, "Do you require anything?"

He sat down beside his wife and silently held out the letter.

“Read this.”

When she received the letter and turned it over, she raised her face and stared into his eyes. Then she nonchalantly opened it and read through the contents. “Is it really true?” she said. “But yesterday’s sunset was beautiful, wasn’t it.”

“So he’s arriving today then.” “Ah, he might come soon.” “I suppose so.” He gazed at his wife’s face. He felt as though he were looking at some unrelated woman from another place. He even felt like asking, “Who are you?”

And then he said. “Didn’t you receive any other letters from Uncle?” “No, nothing at all.”

At that moment he recalled the past. When he had still been unaware of the relationship between himself and Taeko, Uncle had written two letters to her. After mediating between them, he had gotten her to return those letters and laid them out before him. "You may look at them," said Uncle. Yet he did not open them, and together they burned the letters to ashes. He had kept hidden until now how Taeko had once shown him those very letters.

“You’ve never written any letters to Uncle either, have you.”

“No, I haven’t. Why?” “Ah, that’s all right.” “Huh?” she said, peering at his expression. And she added: “You’re not thinking something strange, are you?” “I’m not thinking anything at all. ...Uncle is our benefactor, you know.” “Yes, that’s right. Let’s treat him to a proper feast, shall we?”

And the two of them ended up smiling for no particular reason. “We really must make sure he feels completely at ease.”

After some time, he spoke thus.

The maid informed him of Uncle's arrival around eleven o'clock.

He stood up and peered at the blue sky through the window. He furrowed his brows slightly and took a deep breath. As if steadfastly suppressing a certain hardened feeling in the depths of his heart. Then he entered the guest room. His wife had just shown Uncle there. “We’ve been waiting for you for quite some time,” he said. “I arrived here at nine, but since I spent some time walking around the outskirts, I’m afraid I’ve kept you waiting.”

He watched Uncle’s face. He saw that the face, which had once possessed a gentle, womanly quality somewhere about it, was now tensed meditatively. And discovering an unfamiliar expression there, he gazed quizzically.

“Why are you staring at my face like that in silence?” said Uncle. At that moment he noticed for the first time a short mustache grown beneath the nose. He smiled and said: “When I wondered what seemed unfamiliar about you—it’s that you’ve grown a mustache.” “Oh! So that was it,” said Taeko. “I too felt something was different.” “Ah, this?” Uncle replied with a wry smile. “Only noticing now? How carefree you all remain.”

Uncle spoke of various things about Kyoto as he was questioned—groups of cleaning women wearing woven hats and makeup inside the Old Imperial Palace; an octogenarian guarding Kiyomizu’s tea shop recounting old tales; Maruyama Park’s night cherry blossoms; stories of Ohara women; from ancient temples deep in Sagano to advancing further into the lives of monks in hermitages and nuns. Then he added: “In their lives—especially those nuns—there seems to be a contradiction. In their quiet ascetic practice, they dig deeper and deeper into cherished memories of the past. As those memories grow more familiar and beautiful, they seem to believe this leads them along the path to nirvana where extinction becomes bliss. And in the end, without knowing how to move forward, they turn completely backward toward the past—retreating endlessly.”

“Then haven’t they completely conquered time?” “One could certainly say that,” he said, “but conversely, one might also say they were conquered by time.” He had been sensing something imbued with a strong will in what Uncle had been saying since earlier. And so he tried offering a cigarette.

“I’ve completely quit smoking.” With these words, he let a lonely smile drift across his face. “Is something wrong with your health?” asked Taeko. Both of them had noticed that Uncle was occasionally coughing lightly.

According to Uncle’s account, he had been suffering from a lung condition for some time. He himself only felt occasional shoulder stiffness, but according to the doctor’s assessment, there was significant infiltration in his right lung, and they were concerned about a sudden deterioration. “In that case, perhaps you should resign from the company.”

“Well, humans grow lonely when idle,” he said. Then suddenly lowering his voice: “Truth be told, though doctors have prohibited my journeying, I wished to meet you all once ere my state declines.”

It seemed to him as though everything had become clear. Neither out of pity nor sympathy, but with a feeling as though he were gazing into Uncle's very heart, he watched the desolate shadows playing across that face.

“In that case, you should take four or five days to rest properly.” “No, I’d rather not have the doctor scold me again later.” And Uncle laughed lightly. “Besides, I have various obligations pending as well.” “In that case, since the room where Father used to stay remains exactly as it was, if it isn’t disagreeable to you, you should take your time resting there to recover from your weariness.”

“Ah, that sounds splendid.” “However, I’m not exactly a patient, so please don’t go to any trouble on my account.” “That way it’s better—more freedom.” So he and his wife cleaned the room where his father had lived, setting a soft sofa by the window and arranging beautifully presented fruits on the side table. Uncle silently looked out the window at the garden plantings.

“That tree has grown quite a bit since I last saw it,” he said, pointing at the Chinese parasol tree sprouting verdant buds. “Of all trees, the Chinese parasol grows fastest.” “I suppose so,” said Uncle, still gazing at the garden.

In the afternoon, thin clouds veiled the sky. Pale sunlight blurred the outlines of objects with a haze, leaving a wan brightness suspended in the shadows. He withdrew alone to his study and listened to sparrows chirping from indeterminate directions. "It seems the train journey did tire me out after all," Uncle had said. Now he imagined Uncle wrapped in blankets in that room, stealing a shallow daytime sleep on the sofa. The vision of that gaunt face within white wool pressed upon his heart with the audacity of beholding someone from antiquity.

He had felt from the first moment he saw Uncle that something had been insistently transmitting itself. That amorphous thing had gradually settled upon a certain center and coalesced. It seemed to him there was something akin to the monastic life Uncle had described earlier in that coalescence. A feeling—as though he wanted to remain apart from others, quietly steeped in something unadorned while keeping his eyes wide open—lingered in his heart. Uncle had of course not come solely for Taeko’s sake either, he thought. Nor had he come simply for his own sake. He must have come to immerse himself in the atmosphere cultivated between him and Taeko—to imbue his past memories with one final heroic beauty. But wouldn’t Uncle come to regret that later instead? Because he had closed his eyes tightly. Because both he and Taeko were staring into Uncle’s heart with probing eyes, were they not? Uncle would notice that. No—he might already know that. And then what?…

He placed his mind at a distant remove from the crowd and, from that vantage point, looked back upon the scene of himself sitting in triangular formation with his ailing uncle and Taeko. Then he felt as though he alone were receding farther and farther from that place.

He stood up and stepped out into the corridor before the room. While opening the window, he gazed down at the garden below. The cloudy sky's pallid light pooled across the entire garden, revealing depths between motionless fresh green trees. It was like winter sunlight, he thought. He watched the long stems of sprouted shepherd's purse. At that moment he noticed Uncle's figure among the trees and involuntarily drew back. Then he peered out cautiously again. Uncle was walking while talking with Youko, his youngest sister who had returned from school. He walked slowly with head slightly bowed and hands tucked into his sleeves. Youko seemed to be giggling about something intermittently. He watched that shadowless emaciated figure with pity.

“Oh, Brother!” At his sister’s sudden exclamation, he started. Simultaneously, Uncle silently lifted his gaze toward him. He forced his facial muscles to relax and said: “Were you unable to sleep?” “Ah... I can’t quite say... But walking seems better than napping.”

“Won’t you come this way?”

“Well then, I think I’ll take a look at your study.”

“Can I come too?” Youko said loudly at that moment. “Well now, perhaps it’s better if you don’t come along.” “You’re so mean!” Youko glared. “Fine, I’ll just tell Sister-in-law then.” Before long, Uncle appeared in his study with his lofty stature. He set up a chair in the room and invited him there. As if hiding even from himself something that had hardened somewhere in the depths of his heart.

“Have you been working on any research lately?” said Uncle. “It’s nothing you could call research, but I have been reading books little by little.”

Uncle looked around at the shelves packed with Western and Japanese books, then gazed at the several framed pictures hanging on the wall. Among them was a large reproduction of da Vinci's "The Last Supper." In the reflection from the grass-green walls he had painted to his taste, the area around Christ’s chest took on a faint purple hue and shone. “Have you ever read the Bible?” Uncle suddenly asked. “Yes, long ago.”

“What did you think?” “Well… let me see, I do recall there being quite interesting parts in certain sections of the Old Testament and the Gospel of John.” “Uncle, do you read such things?” “A friend of mine—a devout believer—insisted I read it, so I gave it a quick look, but found it utterly dull.” “Yes, I suppose that’s only natural.” “What?”

“No, I simply thought plant research would be more interesting to you, Uncle…” “Interesting.” Then Uncle spoke about the subtle effects of various lichen species. In Nishisagano，a peculiar moss had recently appeared；there all the weeds had completely withered away，leaving only plantains to proliferate．This moss adhered the plantains’ lower leaves to the ground，inhabiting the narrow space between earth and leaf． When those leaves wither，it supposedly adheres to new ones again． And Uncle concluded thus． “When you minutely study the will inherent in natural things，it seems an entirely different world opens up．”

“Since Uncle’s research is that of an amateur, it must be all the more fascinating.”

“Indeed. But I think I might be too much of an amateur in all things.” “Perhaps not, but…” he began before trailing off. For he had momentarily sensed something oddly resistant to rapport. Then he ventured: “There’s an interesting book by Maeterlinck called L’intelligence des fleurs—The Intelligence of Flowers. Since there’s an English translation, why don’t you read it?”

“I see,” said Uncle, making no attempt to probe further.

Silence persisted. And between the two of them, something oppressive was placed. He was in a state of straining his ears, as though trying intently to discern something. He came to feel as though he could see the daylight gradually shifting and fading. The two were apart from each other, yet a sensation that they were observing the same thing through separate eyes clearly manifested in his mind.

At that moment, Uncle suddenly said: “I didn’t startle you by coming so suddenly, did I?” “No, I received your letter this morning. Even so, when I read your letter, I was a little surprised though.” “After all, I suddenly decided to come myself, you see. Truthfully, I was concerned about my health too, and I thought if I let this chance slip away, I likely wouldn’t be able to come again.” “Is it really that bad?”

“I can’t say myself, but the doctor insists it’s quite serious, you see.”

He watched his uncle’s face. And he saw in those eyes feelings that seemed hesitant to voice themselves lurking within. "Is what you wrote in the letter true?" "I don’t believe I wrote any falsehoods." "That there’s no particular business requiring your visit." "That’s right. Just that I wanted to see you all for a moment—nothing more."

“Was there anything about your visit that left you dissatisfied?” “You always think that way—that’s where you go wrong.” “You ought to understand my heart well enough.” “And I believe I understand yours as well.” “...There’s nothing strange about an uncle visiting his nephew’s household.” “That’s how it should be.”

“Yes, but… I’m afraid I don’t really know how to entertain guests properly, so I was worried you might be bored…” “Oh, your reserve is precisely what makes this comfortable.” With those words, Uncle laughed cheerfully.

And so he too finally seemed to have settled his mind. Once he had said that much, he felt as though there was nothing left to say. And so he opened an art book to show him.

“There seem to be quite a lot of nude paintings.” “Yes,” he said with a smile.

At that moment, the sound of the piano reverberated. Uncle appeared to be listening with slightly inclined attention. He recalled how Uncle had always taken pleasure in hearing Taeko play. Then he spoke. “Wouldn’t you care to join them over there?” “Perhaps,” said Uncle after brief hesitation.

It was precisely where Taeko and Youko stood by the piano, laughing and enjoying themselves together. The two of them stared wide-eyed in surprise as they watched them approach. "Why don't you play something for Uncle?" he said to his wife. "I've completely forgotten how to play, you see."

“That’s a lie!” said Youko. “You can’t just refuse to play!” At this everyone burst into laughter. Then Taeko laid her fingers on the keyboard. She deliberately chose an artless piece from the second movement of Beethoven’s sonata.

He first watched the faintly visible white fingertips moving from her side. Then, within the serene melody, he sought to immerse himself wholeheartedly. Yet before he knew it, his attention had been drawn toward his uncle. Uncle had been watching the area around her shoulders, but then shifted his gaze and fixed his eyes on the landscape painting hanging midway up the wall. There was a hurried quality to her playing. The religious mood that bared the heart—contained within harmonies that should have been most natural and innocent—was frequently disrupted by slight deviations of her fingers. Whether aware of this or not, Uncle remained steadfastly gazing at the landscape painting. When she finished one sonata and immediately began another, a faint spasm appeared on Uncle's face—conveying the particular anguish in his heart. He barely registered the music, his gaze absorbed in the painting of towering oaks. And he felt he was beginning to understand Uncle's state of mind as he contemplated it. Between intervals of the sublime sensation emanating from the painting and the pathos-laden feeling toward Uncle interposed the noble, innocent melody of ecstatic sonata—taking form as spellbound anguish that tormented his heart.

Suddenly, with a tumultuous burst of music, his wife left the piano and threw herself onto the sofa beside him.

"My fingers simply won't move as I wish them to," she said. He marveled at her perceptiveness. While privately thankful she had ceased playing when she did, he softly clasped her fingertips. Uncle, who until then had kept his gaze fastened upon the painting, turned away and spoke:

“Listening to music after so long gives me such a strange feeling—it’s as if vanished time were reversing itself.” “Sister-in-law, play another one for me,” Youko pressed. “Why don’t you play? “You must have improved quite a bit by now,” he said.

“That’s a lie,” said Youko, then fell silent.

A peculiar, feverish silence lingered. The faint light of the electric lamp that had been turned on unnoticed carried their thoughts, scattered in tatters, into distant space.

“Uncle,” he began. “Do you listen to music often in Kyoto?” “No—opportunities are few to begin with, and I lack the courage to make special trips just to hear it.”

Then they immediately sat down to the evening meal. Uncle ate very little.

That evening, the four of them gathered, played cards, chatted, and stayed until nearly ten o'clock. As Uncle was coughing occasionally, he said, “You should retire for the night.”

“I suppose so,” replied Uncle in a low voice.

“Uncle lost the most,” said Youko, who had been tidying up the playing cards, sounding reluctant to end things. When Uncle stood to leave, “You should check on him,” he said to his wife, then stepped out onto the veranda.

Because the garden’s tree shadows rustled and swayed, when he then listened intently, the surroundings fell into complete silence. In that silence, he felt something from the shadows stealthily trying to approach him. So he paced around the veranda and tightened his shoulders as if trying to shake off some inexplicably agitated thoughts that even he himself couldn’t comprehend. Just as the pillar clock struck ten, its hollow, rough reverberation echoed through the room. The silent night pressed down on it from all sides. He stood wrapped in a mood akin to visiting the remains of ruins, with a sensation of peering once more into the distant past, and found himself standing motionless for a long while without realizing it.

At that moment, footsteps sounded from the other side of the hallway. It was Taeko. She peered through the dim light, and the moment she recognized her husband’s figure, she nearly ran to draw near to him. Her eyes were shining. He could not discern their meaning in the faint glow. So he gently placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder and said.

“What about Uncle?” “He must have retired by now.”

He felt her low voice quivering through the hand resting on her shoulder. He stared intently at his wife’s face once more. “Didn’t Uncle say anything?” “No.” She paused for a moment. “He just said, ‘You’ve completely changed from before,’ and stared intently at my face.” “I stayed quiet thinking he’d say something next, but no matter how long I waited, he didn’t utter a word.” “When I looked up, Uncle was gazing out through the window.” “So I said good night and came out.” “But… I felt such a strange sensation.”

“Just that?” “Yes.” A pang of pathos reverberated through his heart. A veil of incomprehension gently descended, and within it, he felt his sense of self growing faint and indistinct. And something else, something piercingly clear, came into his mind.

“You’re such a coward.”

“Huh?” she said, raising her face to stare into his eyes. “At times like that, you should gently kiss his forehead.” “No! I won’t! I won’t!” He tightly embraced his wife as she leaned against him. "That’s fine, that’s fine," he repeated in his heart. Suppose Taeko had loved Uncle in the past and now gave him a farewell kiss—in that case, he would love her all the more painfully. But wouldn’t that cast a long shadow over his heart? That’s fine! And he cried out once more in his heart.

“Sister-in-law!” “Sister-in-law,” came Youko’s voice calling from the room across the way. “Go on,” he said, shifting his wife’s body aside as if to push her away.

She looked up at her husband’s face once more, then left in silence. When he was alone, he felt as though another self that had been watching what he had just done had returned. So he fetched a hand-rolled cigarette from the room and, lighting it, went down into the garden.

The afternoon's clouded sky had cleared beautifully before one knew it. In the moonless dark expanse, stars blazed brilliantly along their eternal paths, carving grand arcs through time. Upon the earth's profound silence now pressed the eternal rhythm of celestial bodies, shifting gradually with full force. He looked up at the sky, then peered into the shadowed depths of the grove. The turbulent emotions in his heart quieted, coalescing into a great circular force that constricted his chest from within. There existed something inexplicable there - something tense yet inspired. Invisible unknowable things surrounded him, extending boundlessly in every direction. The soul's spiritual loneliness and the pluralistic universe's mutual love resonated within him without contradiction. Surrendering to heaven and earth's revealed invitation, he abandoned all thought and wandered aimlessly.

At that moment, noticing a flickering light in the distance, he halted abruptly. That was Uncle’s room. Uncle had thrown open the window and was gazing wordlessly outside. He crept closer on stealthy feet and fixed his eyes on that face. Uncle stared at the ground, both hands dangling limply from the windowsill. His face—pale beneath the lamplight from behind—floated there so motionless it might have turned to stone. Then Uncle raised one hand to support his neck. Startled by his own unrelenting stare, he drew back into the tree’s shadow and called out softly.

“Uncle!” Uncle jumped up as if startled and stepped back slightly from the window. He peered in the direction of the voice. “Were you still up?” “Ah,” Uncle answered, seeming gradually relieved. “Somehow I felt like getting a bit of fresh air.” “...Are you alone?” “Yes. Would you care to take a short walk?”

“Yes, I was just thinking the same thing.”

With these words, Uncle closed the window.

He leaned against the tree trunk and looked up at the sky. It felt as though a barrier had fallen away, letting him confront Uncle's heart directly. While tracing the extended line of the Big Dipper's tail and gazing at each star along its path, he drew a straight line of sight across the great sky. "Where are you going?" asked Uncle, who had arrived moments later. "Hmm..." he answered vaguely.

Even so, the two of them began walking toward the depths of the garden as if they had agreed.

After inheriting his parents' estate and taking charge of maintaining this spacious mansion, he dismantled the flower beds and narrow fields, selecting large trees to have them planted haphazardly. Though from afar the mansion now appeared almost like a forest, as gardeners occasionally tended to it, when one stepped inside, beneath the shade of densely towering trees there unexpectedly lay a vast clearing. The two of them wandered through it in silence.

As he walked through the dimness guided by starlight filtering through the treetops, he nearly forgot that the person standing beside him was his uncle. There in that moment he saw a single human being—a man whose life had been shortened by illness, who had journeyed far to visit the home of a woman he once loved now wed to another, and who was also his own revered and cherished friend. “You,” he began. “Since becoming ill—has your philosophy of life, or something akin to it, undergone any transformation?”

“Well, I can’t explain anything profound, but it does seem my way of looking at things has changed.”

“In what way?” “It seems I was always overthinking what lay ahead.” “But since falling ill, I find myself looking back on the past.” “That perspective has seeped into how I view other matters now.” “To put it another way—even when studying plants, I’ve grown inclined to focus solely on their developmental aspects.” “A conservative approach, I suppose.” “That might also stem from you nearing middle age.”

“I suppose so. Even if I call it an illness, I don’t feel that unwell myself yet.” “As for someone like me—when my health falters slightly, I become strangely withdrawn and contemplative, but ordinarily I often think I rush too far ahead—that I might rush past everything without grasping anything.” “I suppose that’s fine.” Uncle paused briefly, then resumed speaking. “Since coming to your home, I’ve come to think this especially—about how your life and mine are so far apart.” “After all, your house is full of young people.”

“Was there anything that made you uncomfortable?” “You’re quite the sensitive one,” Uncle laughed. “But you didn’t feel any dissatisfaction—as if something had fallen short of expectations?”

“A little... Now that you mention it, I suppose I do get that feeling.” “Because I consider you our benefactor...”

“I’ve long since stopped thinking about such things,” Uncle suddenly cut in. “No, I’ve always wanted to thank you sincerely from my heart someday, Uncle. And also, since your life seems so profoundly noble, I’ve long wanted to have a proper conversation with you someday.”

“You’ve been happy ever since then, I suppose.”

“Yes. “And in a way, I also prayed that you were happy… that you would remain happy.” “If we speak of happiness, I am indeed happy. “Because I believe I didn’t embark on the wrong path.”

“Yes. “However...” he trailed off. The fact that Uncle hadn’t made a wrong departure now— He lowered his eyes fixedly as he contemplated what lay beyond.

“What is it?” “No, while I’m that way myself, you also seem rather frail.” “Yes, there are times when I think that way myself.”

After that, the two of them fell completely silent.

He had involuntarily let his thoughts wander toward ephemeral things alone—whatever form the sentiments flowing through humanity's depths might take; those persistently lingering, painful emotions that arise whenever one tries to cherish them.

Uncle had been walking beside him in silence for some time when he abruptly stopped. "Is something wrong?" "It's nothing—I just feel slightly chilled."

“Ah, it seems we’ve stayed out too long.” “It might harm your health.” “No, it’s not really like that...” “But tonight we were able to have a clear conversation, and it was most pleasant.” When they entered the house and looked in the electric light, he noticed that Uncle’s cheeks were tightly drawn and somewhat pale. He watched that cold-looking face for a while, then politely bowed his head.

“Please take your leisure and rest well.”

And he stood there for a while, listening to the sound of Uncle closing the door.

Because he had grown accustomed to sleeping in, he did not rise the next morning until after the sun was already high in the sky. Sunlight glinted on each fresh green leaf swaying gently in the wind, and a flock of sparrows called joyfully to one another.

“Where’s Uncle?” he asked the maid. “Early this morning, your uncle stated he was going out to the fields and departed.”

He went out into the garden to breathe fresh air, then returned to the room and waited for Uncle. He tried to recall last night’s events as they faded like a dream, chasing after them in his mind. Memories assumed gentle forms, presenting themselves as hazy images bearing no relation to his present self. Within them, the Big Dipper shone clear as crystal in his consciousness. Then Uncle returned with a somewhat refreshed expression—as if he had forgotten everything, yet as if he had maintained a long-standing familiarity.

“Did you sleep well?” “Ah. “I feel wonderful this morning.” With these words, he showed a friendly smile. After having a meal that was neither breakfast nor lunch, Uncle announced he would depart on the 3:50 train. Saying, “At least until Youko returns,” everyone tried to stop him. And he, Taeko, and Uncle sat down in the parlor and made trivial small talk. However, the conversation often tended to break off. When silence struck, they hurriedly searched for some topic. Though all three of them were in an unreserved state of ease, they feared the silence might bring forth something unforeseen.

He felt this face-to-face sitting was utterly exhausting. And during the silences between words, he detected a rebellious emotion struggling to raise its head. He also discerned signs of Uncle straining to suppress his own heart. He worried whether this might affect his health.

“Though only a day has passed since yesterday, it feels like an eternity,” Uncle remarked as if recalling distant memories. “Yes, I too feel as though you’ve been staying with us for much longer.” “Then I suppose I shall depart now as if newly assigned to Kyoto.” “Indeed—I find living with constant renewal gives life its vital momentum.”

“However, life remains the same as ever.” With those words, Uncle smiled bitterly. When Youko returned, he felt as though he had been saved.

“Are you leaving today? My!” said Youko, widening her eyes.

Since there was nothing to do, the three of them reluctantly began playing cards again at Youko’s urging. While shuffling the deck, Youko declared: “I’ll defeat Uncle so thoroughly he’ll be too frustrated to leave!” The shifting shadows of the setting sun seemed to race across the room with visible speed. An unsteady mood permeated the parlor—all three sat immersed in it, feeling as though they were watching shadows of transient things pass by. Only Youko poured her entire being into the game.

Uncle decided to take the seven o'clock train. At dinner, he offered wine. Uncle also comfortably drank two or three glasses.

When everyone went out to the station, he watched his wife's face. She met his gaze with an ingratiating look. Then he went outside with a strangely unsettled feeling. When Uncle looked back at the house once more, he looked up at the sky and gazed at the twilight of the azure sky transitioning from day to night.

Shimbashi Station was already crowded with many passengers. The frenetic bustle of those departing, the helplessness of those left behind, and the pale melancholy distilled from these alone filled his heart. He kept himself apart from the throngs of people, contemplating with composed detachment the "loneliness" flowing beneath the clamor. "It’s quite crowded." "Ah. "But the sleeping cars will open soon." From the train window, Uncle watched him and Taeko standing outside in turn. Then averting his eyes, he gazed over the multitude of well-wishers standing across.

He approached the window.

“Please take your leisure when you come next time.”

“You should come to Kyoto sometime too.”

“Yes, I do mean to go there without fail.” “The sooner you do,” said Uncle. His eyelashes quivered faintly.

“Take care of yourself,” he said as the train began to move. And he bowed his head. Uncle silently returned everyone’s farewells, then promptly closed the window. Amidst the shuffling crowd of well-wishers turning to leave, they stood watching the shadow of the departing train, their eyes tracing along the pale glowing rails.