Pathway to Japanese Literature

As magnolia blossoms scattered and swallows darted about, he found himself chasing only the shadow of eternity. Yet his heart perceived how faint that shadow remained. The wind from the previous night had subsided, allowing bright morning light to creep across the floor. It was then that the maid brought a letter to his study. At that instant, his heart constricted. The letter came from his younger uncle in Kyoto. He stared vacantly for several moments before breaking the seal. What followed was a series of fragmentary, concise phrases.

I have long intended to visit the old acquaintances in your region once, yet though leisure—leisure I do possess—I have spent days hesitating in heart without yet finding the opportune moment. Thereafter, my intention to depart from the capital having gradually taken shape, I shall depart this evening and likely obtain the honor of meeting you tomorrow. I should wish to inquire about the state of your new residence as well—...

And then there were also such phrases. "However, this time I travel incognito—though 'incognito' may be too grand a term—I would have you know that none besides yourselves are aware of this departure from the capital. However, this is not due to any special business. I simply thought to inform you in advance that my visit would be but a single night’s stay…" He read over that passage again. And the letter had concluded thus. "Though you may be startled by this sudden turn of events, I trust you'll find some interest in it as well. As this letter should be posted this morning, I trust it will reach you before my arrival. I myself shall depart by night train this evening. However, I append this condition: should today’s sunset suggest tomorrow’s fair weather. Farewell."

Something inexplicable was brewing within his heart. And so he read it over and over, trying to ascertain Uncle's true intentions. Yet what caught his eye remained nothing beyond those very phrases. He carefully rolled up the letter and put it away, then left the desk and threw himself onto the sofa.

The emaciated figure of his uncle—who had lost his beloved wife and lived shrouded in sorrow—appeared in his mind. Then came Uncle who had loved Taeko; Uncle who upon hearing of their romance had mediated between them; Uncle who soon sought employment in Kyoto and departed; Uncle who devoted his leisure to studying cherished plants while dwelling in loneliness with an elderly maid—the elapsed two years had unfolded these disparate visions of Uncle before him one by one. He regarded them with tranquil detachment, as one might contemplate a distant handscroll. Yet now this sudden letter announcing a visit—arriving when their correspondence had grown sparse—planted an uncanny seed of tragic solemnity in his heart. He wondered whether Uncle still kept Taeko's image concealed within some hidden chamber of his soul.

But why had he seen? But that wasn’t the real issue. He had to do something about it, he thought. And before him spread a vast space. Within it were Uncle, he himself, and his wife Taeko.

He stood up and went to his wife’s room, still holding the letter. She was doing embroidery as a pastime. Seeing her husband’s figure, she watched his face. Her eyes seemed to ask, “Do you need something?” He sat down beside his wife and silently presented the letter. “Read this.” When she received the letter and turned it over, she looked up and stared into his eyes. Then she casually opened it and read through the contents. “Is that truly so?” she said.

“But yesterday’s sunset was beautiful, wasn’t it?”

“So he’s coming today then.” “Ah, Uncle might arrive soon.” “I suppose so.” He stared at his wife’s face. He felt as though he were looking at a woman from somewhere else who had nothing to do with him. He felt like asking, “Who are you?” And he said:

“Did Uncle send any separate letters to you?”

“No, nothing at all.” At that moment, he remembered the past. At a time when he had not yet become aware of the relationship between him and Taeko, Uncle had written two letters to her. Later, when mediating between them, he had received those letters back from her and presented them before him. “You may look at them,” said Uncle. However, he did not open them, and the two of them turned them to ashes. He had finally concealed the fact that he had been shown them by Taeko before.

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

“No, I haven’t.” “Why?” “Ah, that’s fine then.” “Huh?” she said, gauging his expression. And she added: “You aren’t thinking something strange, are you?” “I’m not thinking anything at all.” “……Uncle is our benefactor, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.” “Let’s prepare him a lavish feast.”

And the two of them smiled for no reason. "We really must make sure he feels completely at ease." After a while, he spoke thus.

The maid reported Uncle’s arrival to him around eleven o’clock.

He stood up and peered through the window at the blue sky. He slightly raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath. As if to firmly suppress a certain hardened feeling at the bottom of his heart. Then he entered the parlor. His wife had just shown Uncle there. “We’ve been waiting for quite some time,” he said.

“I arrived here at nine, but I ended up being late because I spent some time walking around the outskirts.” He gazed at Uncle’s face. He saw that the face which had once possessed a gentle, womanly quality somewhere was now drawn tight in meditation. And discovering an unfamiliar expression there, he stared at it with a puzzled look.

“Why are you staring at my face like that in silence?” said Uncle.

At that moment，he noticed for the first time that a short mustache had been grown． Then he smiled and said this． “When I thought there was something unfamiliar about you，I see you’ve grown a mustache．”

“Oh, so that’s what it was. I also felt something was different,” said Taeko. “Ah, this?” Uncle said with a bitter smile. “Did you just notice now? You’re all quite unobservant.”

Uncle spoke of various things about Kyoto in response to their questions - groups of cleaning women wearing woven hats and makeup in the Old Imperial Palace; an octogenarian woman tending Kiyomizu's tea shops who told tales of old; Maruyama Park's night cherry blossoms; stories of Ohara women; from ancient temples deep in Sagano to venturing into discussions about monastic life and even the daily lives of monks and nuns. And he added: "Truly there seems to be a contradiction in their way of life - particularly the nuns'." "In their quiet devotional practices, they dig deeper and deeper into cherished memories of the past." "As those memories grow more familiar and beautiful, they seem to believe this path leads them toward finding joy in extinction." "And ultimately, not knowing how to move forward, they turn completely backward into the past - retreating endlessly, I suppose."

“Then doesn’t that mean they’ve completely conquered time itself?” “One could say that—but conversely, it might also mean they’ve been conquered by time instead, I suppose.”

He had been sensing some strong will underlying what Uncle had been saying since earlier. So he tried offering a cigarette. “I’ve completely quit cigarettes.” Having said this, he let a lonely smile drift across his face.

“Is there something wrong with your health?” Taeko inquired.

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 quite some time. He himself only occasionally felt some stiffness in his shoulders, but according to the doctor’s assessment, there appeared to be significant infiltration in his right lung; they were concerned about a sudden change. “In that case, perhaps you should also resign from your company position.”

“Well, human beings grow lonely if they aren’t doing something,” he said. Then suddenly lowering his voice, he continued: “Truth be told, the doctor has forbidden me from traveling, but I wanted to see you all once before my condition worsens.” Everything seemed to have become clear to him. Neither pitying nor sympathizing, but with a feeling akin to staring fixedly into Uncle’s heart, he watched the lonely shadows on that face.

“In that case, perhaps you should rest at leisure for four or five days.” “No—I’d hate to get scolded by the doctor again later.” Uncle gave a carefree laugh. “Besides, I have various pending matters to attend to.” “Since the room where Father stayed remains as it was, if you don’t mind, you should rest there and recover from your fatigue.” “Ah, that would be fine.” “However, I’m not exactly a patient—please don’t fuss over me.” “That way I can remain free, you see.”

So he and his wife cleaned the room where his father had stayed, placing a soft sofa by the window and arranging beautiful fresh fruits on the table. Uncle silently looked out the window at the garden plantings.

"That tree has grown considerably since I last saw it," he said, pointing to the phoenix tree sprouting verdant buds. "Of all trees, the phoenix grows fastest."

“That’s right,” said Uncle, still gazing fixedly at the garden. As afternoon came, thin clouds veiled the sky. Pale sunlight blurred the outlines of things with a hazy halo, lending a pallid brightness to the shadows.

He withdrew alone to the study and listened to the chirping of sparrows that seemed to come from nowhere. "He must be rather tired from the train after all," Uncle had said, and now he thought that Uncle was likely lying on the sofa in that room, wrapped in a blanket, indulging in a faint daytime slumber. The image of that emaciated face within the white blanket pressed upon his heart with the intensity of one gazing upon a figure from the distant past.

From the moment he first saw Uncle, he had felt something steadily seeping into him. That nebulous thing had gradually settled around a central point and coalesced. There, he thought, lay something akin to the life of nuns Uncle had spoken of earlier. A feeling of wanting to stay apart from others, to remain immersed in something unremarkable while keeping his eyes wide open, clung to his heart.

Of course Uncle hadn't come solely for Taeko's sake either, he thought. Nor had he come solely for his own sake either. He had likely come to immerse himself in the atmosphere being cultivated between him and Taeko, seeking to bestow one final heroic and beautiful impression upon past memories. But would Uncle later come to regret that instead? For he tried closing his eyes and keeping them shut. For weren't both he and Taeko staring at Uncle's heart with probing eyes? Uncle would notice that. No, he might already know it. And then?...

He placed his heart in a distant place removed from others and from there looked back once more upon the scene of himself, the ailing Uncle, and Taeko sitting together as three. Then he felt as if he alone were drifting further and further away from that place.

He stood up and went out to the corridor before the room, opening the window as he looked down at the garden below. The pallid brightness of the clouded sky lay stagnant across the garden, revealing profound depths between utterly motionless fresh-green trees. It's like winter sunlight, he thought. Then he gazed at the long stems of sprouting plantain weeds. The moment he spotted Uncle among the grove of trees, he instinctively drew back. Afterward, he peered out again quietly. Uncle was walking while conversing with Youko, his youngest sister who had returned from school. He moved slowly with hands tucked into his sleeves and head slightly bowed. Youko seemed to giggle intermittently about something. He watched that gaunt figure—seemingly devoid of any shadow—with pained intensity.

“Oh! Brother!” At his sister’s voice, he was startled. At the same time, Uncle silently looked up toward him. He forced his facial muscles to relax and said: “Couldn’t you sleep?” “Ah... somehow... Though walking seems better than napping.” “Wouldn’t you like to come over here?” “Well, shall I have a look at your study then?”

“Can I come too?” Youko said loudly at that moment.

“Well, perhaps it’s better if you don’t come.” “What a mean streak!” Youko glared. “Fine, I’ll just tell Sister-in-law then.” Before long, Uncle appeared in his study with his tall figure. He placed a chair in the room and invited him there. Trying to hide even from himself something hardened that lay in the depths of his heart. “Lately, are you doing any research?” said Uncle.

“I wouldn’t call it research exactly, but I’ve been reading books bit by bit.” Uncle surveyed the bookshelves packed with Western and Japanese volumes, then contemplated the few framed pieces hanging on the wall. Among them hung a large reproduction of Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper.” In reflections from the grass-green walls he’d had painted to his liking, Christ’s chest area shone with a faint purple tint.

“Have you read the Bible before?” Uncle suddenly asked.

“Yes, a long time ago.”

“How was it?”

“Well... let me see. I recall finding certain parts of the Old Testament and the Gospel of John quite interesting. Do you read such things, Uncle?” “There's an acquaintance of mine who's an ardent believer—he kept insisting I read it—so I glanced through it briefly. Utterly uninteresting.” “Yes, that seems likely.” “What does?” “No—I meant plant research would hold more appeal for you, Uncle...”

“Fascinating.” Then Uncle explained about various lichen species and their subtle effects. In Nishisagano had recently emerged a peculiar moss where all other weeds had completely withered away - only plantain weeds now thrived there; this moss clung fast against their lower leaves pressed flat against the ground’s surface while inhabiting that narrow space between earth and foliage. When those leaves eventually withered away too - so they said - it would then attach itself afresh onto new ones growing up. And then Uncle concluded: “When you study nature’s will down to its finest details - why then - seems an entirely different world starts opening up before your eyes.”

“Since Uncle’s research is that of an amateur, it must be all the more fascinating.” “That’s true. But I wonder if I’m too much of an amateur in everything.”

“That may not be entirely the case, though…” he began to say but fell silent. Because he had fleetingly sensed something strangely impenetrable. And then he tried saying this: “In Maeterlinck’s L'Intelligence des Fleurs—‘The Intelligence of Flowers’—there’s an interesting book.” “There’s an English translation available, so why don’t you give it a read?”

“I see,” said Uncle, making no effort to inquire further into the matter.

Silence lingered. And something oppressive settled between them. He strained his ears, sitting there as if trying to catch some elusive sound. He began to feel as if he could see the daylight gradually shifting and fading. The two of them were apart, yet the feeling that they were watching the same thing through separate eyes clearly surfaced in his mind.

At that moment, Uncle suddenly said this.

“I came rather abruptly—perhaps I startled you a bit?” “No, because I received your letter this morning. Even so, I was a bit surprised when I read your letter.” “After all, I made up my mind suddenly. To be honest, I was concerned about my health, and I thought if I missed this chance, I wouldn’t be able to come again.”

“Is your condition really that serious?” “I can’t say for myself, but the doctor insists it’s quite serious.”

He gazed at his uncle's face. And in those eyes, he saw a thought lurking that seemed hesitant to be voiced.

“Is what was written in the letter true?”

“I didn’t write a single falsehood.” “And you having no special reason for coming…”

“That’s right. Just that I wanted to see you all for a moment—nothing more than that.” “Was there anything about your visit that left you dissatisfied?”

“You always think that way—that’s where you go wrong.” “You should understand my heart well enough by now.” “And I believe I understand yours too.” “There’s nothing odd about an uncle visiting his nephew’s house.” “That’s how it should be.”

“Yes, but since I’m rather unskilled at hosting guests, I was worried you might be bored…” “Not at all—it’s better without formalities between us.” As he said this, Uncle laughed brightly. At that, he too finally felt his mind grow calm. Having said all that needed saying, he felt as though nothing remained unspoken. So he opened some art books and showed them. “There seem to be rather many nude paintings here.”

"Yes," he said with a smile.

At that moment, the sound of the piano echoed in. Uncle seemed to listen attentively for a moment. He remembered that Uncle had often enjoyed listening to Taeko’s playing. So he said this.

“Wouldn’t you like to come over there?”

“Sure,” said Uncle, hesitating slightly. It was exactly where Taeko and Youko stood by the piano, laughing together about something. The two of them widened their eyes as if startled and watched them.

“Play something for Uncle,” he said to his wife. “I’ve completely forgotten how to play, you know.” “That’s a lie!” Youko said. “There’s no rule saying you can’t play!” At that, everyone burst into laughter. And Taeko placed her fingers on the keys. She chose an innocent piece from the second part of Beethoven’s sonata. He first watched her faintly visible white fingertips moving from her side. Then he immersed himself wholeheartedly in the quiet melody. Yet his attention was drawn unconsciously toward Uncle. Uncle had been watching the area around her shoulder before shifting his gaze to fix intently on the landscape painting hanging midway up the wall. There was a hurried quality to her playing. In harmonies that should have been most natural and innocent, moments where religious solemnity laid bare were often disrupted by slight deviations in her fingers. Whether aware of this or not, Uncle remained fixed on the landscape painting. When she finished one sonata and immediately began another, a faint spasm crossed Uncle’s face. This conveyed a special anguish in his heart. He hardly registered the music’s melodies as he became absorbed in gazing at the painting of large oak trees standing in rows. And he felt he was beginning to understand Uncle’s emotional state as he gazed at it. Between intervals of sublime feeling from the painting and tragic feeling toward Uncle interposed itself the melody of a noble yet innocent, rapturous sonata. It took form as entranced 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 just won't move properly," she said.

He was surprised by her perceptiveness. While inwardly grateful she had stopped playing sooner, he gently grasped her fingertips. Uncle, who had still been staring at the painting, looked away and said: "It feels strange hearing music after so long—as if vanished time were reversing itself." "Sis, play another one for me?" Youko pleaded. "Why don't you play something? You must have improved quite a bit by now," he said.

“That’s a lie,” Youko said, then fell silent. An oddly agitated silence lingered. The faint light of the electric lamp that had come on unnoticed carried their thoughts, torn into fragments, into distant space.

“Uncle,” he began. “Do you often listen to music in Kyoto as well?” “Well, first of all, opportunities are scarce—and besides, I haven’t the courage to go out of my way to listen.”

Then they immediately sat down to the evening meal. Uncle was an extremely light eater. That evening,the four of them gathered to play cards and chat until nearly ten o'clock. As Uncle occasionally coughed.he.said,“You should probably retire fort he night.” “I suppose so,”Uncle replied in a low voice．

“Uncle lost the most,” Youko said as she reluctantly tidied the cards. When Uncle stood to leave, he told his wife, “Go attend to him,” then stepped out onto the veranda. As the garden’s tree shadows rustled and swayed, he strained his ears—only for everything to fall into deathly stillness. Within that silence, he sensed something creeping toward him from the murky darkness. He paced the veranda’s length, squaring his shoulders as if to physically cast off the inexplicably agitated thoughts plaguing him. The pillar clock struck ten, its hollow clangor reverberating through the rooms. The silent night pressed down from all sides. Enveloped in a ruin-visiting mood, he stood transfixed for a long while—unconsciously peering back through time’s veil toward some distant antiquity.

At that moment, footsteps sounded from the other side of the corridor. It was Taeko.

She peered through the dim light, and no sooner had she caught sight of her husband than she rushed to his side almost as if running.

Her eyes were shining. He could not discern their meaning in the dim light. So he gently placed his hand on his wife’s shoulder and said: “And Uncle?”

“He must have retired for the night, I suppose.”

The low voice quivered against the hand resting on her shoulder. He stared intently at his wife’s face once more.

“Didn’t Uncle say anything?” “No.” And she paused for a moment. “He just said, ‘You’ve changed completely from before,’ and stared intently at my face.” “I stayed quiet thinking he would say something next, but no matter how long I waited, he didn’t say a word.” “When I looked up, Uncle was gazing out through the window.” “So I said ‘Good night’ and came out.” “But… I had such a strange feeling.”

“Just that?” “Yes.”

A sorrowful tremor reached his heart. A veil of incomprehension gently descended, and within it, he felt his very self growing faint and indistinct. And something else, something clear and penetrating, came into his mind.

“You’re such a coward.” “Huh?” She raised her face and gazed into his eyes. “In such moments, you should gently kiss his forehead.” “No! No!” He tightly embraced his wife, who was leaning into him with both arms. "That’s fine, that’s fine," he repeated in his heart. Suppose that in the past Taeko had loved Uncle and were to now give him a farewell kiss—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, pushing aside his wife’s body. She looked up at her husband’s face once more, then left without a word.

When he was alone, he felt as though another self—one that had been intently watching what he had just done—had returned. So he took a hand-rolled cigarette from the room and, while lighting it, went down to the garden.

The afternoon's cloudy sky had cleared beautifully without anyone noticing. In the moonless dark expanse, stars blazed resplendently as they traced their eternal course along a grand arc. Upon the earth's profound silence pressed the eternal rhythm of celestial bodies with full yet gradual force. He looked up at the sky, then peered into the depths of a shadowy grove. The turbulent emotions within his heart held their breath, coalescing into a great circular force that constricted his chest from within. There existed something inscrutable there - something thrumming with tense inspiration. Invisible entities and unknowable presences surrounded him, extending boundlessly without end. The soul's solitude and the pluralistic universe's mutual love were felt in his heart with nearly no contradiction. Yielding to sky and earth's beckoning call, he abandoned himself to their pull - forgetting all things as he wandered aimlessly about.

At that moment, noticing a flickering light ahead, he stopped rigidly. That was Uncle’s room. Uncle had opened the window and was silently gazing outside. He approached stealthily and stared at his face. Uncle stared fixedly at the ground, his hands resting limply on the windowsill. His face, illuminated by the electric light from behind, stood out faintly white, remaining so still he might have turned to stone. At that moment, Uncle raised one hand to support his neck. Startled by the intensity of his own gaze, he drew back slightly into the tree’s shadow, then called out softly.

“Uncle!” Uncle started up as if startled by something and retreated slightly from the window. He peered in the direction of the voice. “Are you still awake?”

“Ah,” Uncle answered as if gradually relieved. “I somehow thought I wanted to get 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, allowing him to face Uncle’s heart directly. And while gazing at each star along the extended line of the Big Dipper’s tail, he drew a straight line of sight across the vast sky.

“Where are you going?” asked Uncle as he soon arrived.

“Well…” he replied absently. Even so, as if by mutual consent, the two of them began walking toward the depths of the garden.

After inheriting his parents' estate and taking charge of maintaining this spacious mansion, he demolished the flower beds and narrow cultivated plots, selecting large trees to have them planted profusely. From a distance, the mansion appeared almost like a forest, but since gardeners occasionally tended to it, stepping inside revealed an unexpectedly vast open space beneath the towering trees that stood in dense rows. The two of them walked through it in silence.

As they walked through the dimness guided by starlight filtering through the treetops, he nearly forgot that the person standing beside him was his uncle. There he saw a single human being—a man whose lifespan had been shortened by illness, a man who had traveled far to visit the home of a married woman who was once his former lover, and also his own revered friend.

“You,” he said. “Since becoming ill, has something akin to your life philosophy undergone any change?” “Well, I can’t claim to grasp complicated matters, but it seems my manner of viewing things has altered.”

“How so?” “It seems I was always pushing my thoughts further and further ahead.” “But since falling ill, I feel I’ve started looking back at the past.” “That perspective seems to have spread to how I view other things now.” “To put it another way, even in plant research, my tendency to focus solely on developmental aspects appears to have intensified.” “I’ve grown conservative, haven’t I?” “That may also be partly because you’re approaching middle age.”

“That may be so. Even if it’s called an illness, I still don’t feel that unwell myself.”

“Even someone like me becomes strangely withdrawn and contemplative when my health falters a little, but ordinarily I rush ahead too much—I often fear I might pass through everything without grasping anything.” “That must be fine.” Uncle paused briefly, then continued speaking. “Since coming to your home, I’ve come to think this especially: how your life and mine are worlds apart.” “After all, your household is full of young people.”

“Was there anything that caused you offense?”

“You’re rather oversensitive, aren’t you?” Uncle laughed. “But didn’t you feel some dissatisfaction—as if things had fallen short of expectations?” “A little… Now that you mention it, there is something of that feeling.”

“Because I consider you our benefactor...”

“I’ve long since stopped thinking about such things,” Uncle suddenly interjected. “No, I have always wanted to truly thank you from the bottom of my heart someday, Uncle. And furthermore, since your way of life seems so 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 sense, I was also praying that Uncle was happy... that he would remain happy.”

“When it comes to happiness, I suppose I am still happy.” “Because I don’t believe I made a wrong start.” “Yes. However…” he said, trailing off. That Uncle hadn’t made a wrong start— He lowered his eyes fixedly as he contemplated what lay beyond. “What?” “No, I’m like that too, but Uncle, you seem rather unwell.” “Yes, there are times when I myself think that way.”

After that, the two of them fell completely silent. He found his thoughts turning, unbidden, toward ephemeral things - whatever form the sentiments flowing in the depths of human nature might take, those painful emotions that always linger where one seeks to cherish them, and such matters. Uncle had been walking beside him in silence for a while when he suddenly stopped.

“Are you unwell?” “It’s nothing—I just feel a bit chilled.” “Ah, it seems we stayed out too long.” “We mustn’t let it harm your health.” “No—it’s not quite 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 Uncle’s cheeks were tightly drawn. And that he had grown slightly pale. He watched that cold-looking face for a while, then politely bowed his head.

“Please take your rest undisturbed.” And he remained standing there for a while, listening to the sound of Uncle closing the door.

Because sleeping in had become a habit, when he rose the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. Sunlight glistened on each new green leaf swaying in the breeze, and a flock of sparrows chirped cheerfully to one another.

“Where is Uncle?” he asked the maid. “Early this morning, Uncle said he was going out to the fields and left.”

He went out into the garden to breathe fresh air, then returned to the room and waited for Uncle. He tried to recollect within his heart the events of last night fading like a dream, as if chasing after them. The memories took on a gentle form, revealing something hazy that bore no relation to his present self. Within that haze, the Big Dipper shone clearly, imprinting itself in his mind.

There, Uncle returned with a somewhat refreshed expression, as if he had forgotten everything and as though he had long been familiar with his surroundings. “Did you sleep well?”

“Ah. This morning feels extremely pleasant.” With these words, he showed a friendly smile.

After partaking in a meal that could hardly be called breakfast or lunch, Uncle declared he would depart on the three-fifty train. "At least wait until Youko returns," they all urged him to stay. And he, Taeko, and Uncle sat down in the parlor as the three of them made trivial small talk. However, the conversation often broke off. When silence struck, they hurried to find some topic. All three of them, while sharing an unguarded ease, feared that the silence might bring forth something new.

He felt that sitting face-to-face like this brought on considerable fatigue. And he noticed a rebellious emotion trying to raise its head during the lulls in conversation. He also saw signs of Uncle’s efforts, as though he were forcefully suppressing his own heart. He even worried whether this might not take a toll on his health.

“Though it’s been but a single day since yesterday, it feels like an eternity,” said Uncle as if recalling something. “Yes, I too somehow feel as though you’ve stayed with us for much longer.” “Then shall I depart as if newly assigned to Kyoto?” “Indeed. I think maintaining fresh perspectives gives life its vigor.” “Yet life ultimately remains unchanged.” With that, Uncle offered a wry smile.

When Youko returned, he felt as though he had been saved with relief.

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

Since there was nothing to do, though the three were reluctant, they began playing cards again as Youko urged them. While shuffling the deck, Youko said: “I’ll thrash Uncle so soundly he’ll be too mortified to leave.”

The westward-tilting sun's shadows moved so swiftly he could almost see them shifting. An uncertain mood filled the room as all three sat immersed in it, feeling as though they were intently watching shadows of things passing away. Only Youko devoted herself entirely to shuffling cards.

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

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

Shinbashi was already crowded with many passengers. Only the restlessness of those departing, the helplessness of those seeing them off, and a certain faint melancholy arising from these filled his heart. He placed himself far from the bustling crowd and, in his calm state, became absorbed in the "solitude" flowing beneath the clamor. “It’s quite crowded.” “Ah. But they'll open the sleeper cars soon though.” Uncle watched him and Taeko in turn from the train window. Then he averted his eyes and looked over the large crowd of well-wishers standing opposite.

He approached the window.

“Please take your leisure to visit us next time.” “You should come to Kyoto sometime yourself.” “Yes, I certainly intend to go at least once.” “The sooner the better,” said Uncle. And his eyelashes fluttered faintly. “Take care,” he said as the train began moving. And he bowed his head. Uncle silently acknowledged everyone’s farewells, then promptly shut the window.

They stood amid the scattering crowd of well-wishers, their eyes tracing along the pale-glowing rails as they watched the shadow of the departing train.