Pathway to Japanese Literature

When Takataro got up, the Tsuneo couple were still asleep.
He quietly finished his morning preparations, then went into the six-tatami room on the second floor for a while.
At that moment, the fact that he had awoken that morning to a sense of something hastily fleeing away briefly surfaced in his consciousness before vanishing again.

He stepped out onto the veranda and gazed at the cold autumn morning. The sharp rays stabbing through yellow cherry leaves, the faint mist over fences, damp roofs of neighboring houses in rows, and the distant high azure sky—all these struck his sleep-deprived eyes with dazzling intensity. Yet within his heart lingered a languid weariness—and beneath it, a singular fixation. ――The events of yesterday pressed relentlessly on his mind.

In the room's center stood a large ebony desk strewn with two or three magazines. The tokonoma alcove held a jumble of travel bags and handbags, while chrysanthemums in the hanging flower basket still maintained their vivid hues. A white blanket lay draped over the rattan chaise lounge by the veranda edge. Together these elements gave the space both disorder and an odd settledness—a room without fixed ownership. Takataro used the adjacent chamber as his study and bedroom, while the Tsuneo couple occupied several rooms downstairs. Here their idle hours often intersected in passing exchanges—a space Takataro dubbed the house's salon.

Here Takataro had shared Tsuneo's torment and debated philosophies of love. Here Tomiko—Tsuneo's wife—had confessed her past to him and received his consoling words of sympathy. And here, yesterday evening, Takataro and Tomiko had suddenly locked lips and limbs in embrace.

Takataro was anxious about his own state of mind whenever he now saw the Tsuneo couple’s faces.
Although yesterday’s incident had not taken any significant form in his heart, he feared that some dark shadow might yet arise from it.
In truth, while it had been a natural act arising from mutual understanding and shared sentiment between Tomiko and him, and while it might also have been a simple act beguiled by the tranquil evening, the very absence of any forced artifice there was what instead brought him unease.

When Takataro quietly came down from the second floor, Tsuneo was reading a newspaper in the family dining room.
While saying “Good morning!” to Takataro, he still did not take his eyes off the newspaper.

Takataro also silently picked up a different newspaper.
At that moment, he found himself utterly composed and felt slightly surprised.

“Is there anything interesting in it?” he asked.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything—it’s always the same sort of articles that make one rather weary.”

Then they discussed something like how the smell of morning newspapers truly belonged to warm summer months.

After some time, Takataro rose from his seat.
And he encountered Tomiko coming from the direction of the kitchen.
He saw her plump chin and tousled hair.

She paused briefly and looked at Takataro.
Then suddenly in a cheerful tone, she said, “Go over there, please. I’ll make tea now.”

He became terribly flustered for no discernible reason.
And just like that, he followed Tomiko back to the tearoom.

They had made it their practice to always drink a cup of black tea before breakfast.
That morning, Takataro felt some sort of novel sensation.
And after drinking the black tea, he became concerned that his own manner seemed awkward, and hesitantly looked toward Tsuneo and Tomiko.
They drank their black tea as usual—freely and with few words.

“It seems we’re a bit late today,” said Tsuneo, glancing up at the pillar clock.

“Is that so?”

Tsuneo stared fixedly at Tomiko, who had spoken.
However, he said nothing more after that.

Tomiko soon stood up.
At that moment when her eyes turned toward him, Takataro caught a flicker of yesterday's sensation within them and started.
Her eyes always carried a certain sensual moisture.

Takataro gradually began spending increasingly restless days.
Something suffocating had started fermenting within his heart.

When he saw Tomiko's anguished heart—when he saw that heart swaddled in eternal dissatisfaction from seeking what could never be attained—he felt like pressing his palms together before her.
He wanted to offer words of solace that might bathe her heart in tender tears.
This would be good for her sake alone, he thought—not for her and Tsuneo together, but purely for her soul.
Yet when beneath such words he saw her gaze—pleading, leaning closer—he could no longer act.
There neither words nor will held sway anymore.
He could do nothing but be drawn to her lips.

When he looked back at himself in such moments, he would peer into Tsuneo’s heart as though gazing up at it from below. And eventually... he thought. But what did "eventually" mean? — He knew the Tsuneo couple’s relationship all too well.

Tsuneo was a close relative of Takataro.
He was still young when he secured an important position at a certain company under the aegis of his father’s prestige, then married Tomiko and moved out to live separately.
A sweet year had passed between them.
Then through some trivial incident, Tsuneo learned that his wife had previously been involved with another man.
Then he saw the photograph of that man his wife still kept hidden.
He resented her heart in that regard, but loved her beautiful body.
That hatred and attachment tormented him.

Tsuneo once said to Takataro:

“I pleaded with my wife many times to fully disclose her past.”
“In truth, I wanted to know my wife’s past completely—it was because I wished to love her properly.”
“But my wife would only answer, ‘Please don’t make me recall things from the past I’ve already forgotten.’”
“That only aggravated my irritation further.”
“Yet hating her heart like that didn’t hinder my love for her body in the slightest.”
“In truth, an attachment to my wife’s body had taken deep root within me.”
“And that attachment made me increasingly obsessive.”
“As you say, I don’t blame my wife for loving another man before she knew me.”
“But that man still lives, and likely thinks of my wife occasionally.”
“There’s no doubt my wife also remembers him from time to time.”
“Even separated, the fact their hearts still glance back at each other—keeping the past alive in the present—is an unbearable torment to me.”
“In truth, by blaming her for this, I might actually be reviving those old memories in her heart.”
“But then what should I have done?”
“Perhaps either I or my wife was at fault.”
“But now there’s nothing left to be done.”
“……If either that man or my wife had died, it would have been better.”

Having said this, Tsuneo's facial muscles twitched spasmodically.
And Takataro, who had told him, "If you believe in love, you should build a new future upon your present attachment," could no longer bear to look at his face after hearing this confession.

Tomiko likely did not comprehend this aspect of Tsuneo’s psyche.
Moreover, while Tomiko had once carried that man’s child—a pregnancy that ended in a natural miscarriage—Tsuneo remained completely unaware of this fact.
And then, if Tsuneo were to learn of this new relationship between Tomiko and Takataro...

Takataro felt as though his heart were being wrung dry.
And though he tried to tell himself it had been merely a sympathetic kiss... he couldn't bear to examine what lay beyond.

“Shall we go somewhere?” Tsuneo said to Takataro one day.

It was a beautifully clear Sunday morning.
The serene unseasonably warm sunlight carried a sensation like birdsong lingering somewhere.

“I suppose so,” Takataro replied ambiguously.

The names of various suburban landmarks spilled from Tsuneo’s lips.
And in the end, it was decided they would spend a day around Kamakura.

However, at that moment Takataro felt a kind of languid weariness and found himself somehow hesitant to walk with Tsuneo under the bright sun.
The rays filling the clear sky, the yellow ginkgo leaves, the tranquil fields and sea all registered in his mind, yet his own heart observing them felt somehow exposed.

“What about Ms. Tomiko?” he asked casually.

“Let’s take Tomiko along with us,” Tsuneo answered.

When Tomiko arrived, Tsuneo glanced at Takataro's face and said:

“Shall we go to Kamakura today?”

“Huh?”
“Why?”
“Just going for fun.”

“I…” Tomiko said, lifting her face to look at the two men.
“Why don’t you both go?”

Among the three of them, an inexplicable hesitation and indecision lingered for some time.

"I'll keep the house," said Takataro.
And turning toward Tomiko, he added, "You should go."

"But..." Tomiko began, tilting her head slightly.

At such moments, Tomiko's body took on a peculiar allure.
The soft fullness of her flesh stretched from cheeks to neck.
Her habitual gesture—languidly tilting it leftward while lightly supporting it with left fingertips—heightened this effect.
A palpable sensation hovered where fingers met neck's curve.

When Takataro saw Tsuneo's eyes fixedly watching this, he alone grew increasingly agitated.

“And besides, I have some business to attend to today,” said Takataro.

“Then I’ll go alone,” Tsuneo said, raising his eyebrows.

While Tsuneo was getting ready, Takataro was still wavering about whether to go or not.

And while he was dawdling, Tsuneo left the house.

At that moment, Tomiko looked at Takataro with a relieved expression.
He became terribly restless for some reason and silently went upstairs without another word.

When alone, Takataro thought it was just as well he hadn't gone.
A mood of not wanting to move had come over him.
Yet remaining home alone with Tomiko weighed heavily on his conscience.
This was not mere consideration for Tsuneo.
Even within himself, picturing Tomiko alone like this felt somehow improper.
Nevertheless, he still thought of Tomiko downstairs and pondered her relationship with Tsuneo.
Suddenly there rose in his memory something Tsuneo had once said excitedly.

―It was during a certain frenzied time of late spring.

Tsuneo and Tomiko leaned close together, watching the tormenting clouds drift across the dusky sky.
While letting the man’s hand toy with her fingertips, Tomiko gently pressed her cheek against his face.

"My ear..." she whispered.

Tsuneo clamped the woman's soft earlobe between his lips.
"Harder."
So he bit down on it fiercely with his teeth.

“It hurts!” the woman said, sharply pulling her face away.
Then she glanced briefly at her husband’s face.
She became flustered for some reason, then blushed and looked down.

Tsuneo stared fixedly at her figure.
"My wife is far less virginal than I am!" he thought.
Afterward, every time he recalled it, he surmised that his wife’s sensations were intermingled with recollections of her past with that man.

Takataro recalled that story now, and a feeling of disgust arose.
However, it was not directed at Tomiko, but rather at Tsuneo who had said those things.
And then, toward Tomiko who hadn’t gone with Tsuneo today either, he felt an inexplicable irritation.

When he came face to face with Tomiko that afternoon, he said with a tormented heart,

"Why didn't you go today?"

"Then what about you?" Tomiko said.

"Because I didn't want to go."

"Me too."

The two of them remained crouched there on the veranda.
Tomiko cast a pleading gaze at his profile.

“Please don’t dwell on things so much.”

“I’m not thinking about anything.”
Takataro answered while still looking straight ahead.

“Hey!”
After some time had passed, Tomiko let out a relieved breath.

“I’m truly sorry to you.”

“You mustn’t say such things.”
“No one is at fault here.”

“I will say nothing more—how many times have I resolved to endure my suffering alone?”
“Even so—I still had wanted to cling to something.”
“I just couldn’t stay silent before you, you see… What should I have done?”

“Let’s not speak of the past anymore,” he said.
“Let’s just live looking toward the future.”
“That would be better.”

“The future?”

“Yes,” answered Takataro, though he suddenly felt pulled back by something unseen.
“You mustn’t dwell on things too much.”

“Don’t lie to me.”
“Because I’m suffering—because I’m lost.”
“Lies hurt me most of all now.”

“Let’s stop this,” said Takataro.
“What falsehood could exist between us?”
“Rather than twisting words, let’s stay silent.”
“Silence will calm our minds—don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Tomiko answered softly.

“As long as you keep your heart calm, that’s all that matters.”
“Don’t think about anything and keep your heart still.”
“In time, even Mr. Tsuneo will….”

“Tsuneo!” Tomiko cried out involuntarily.
She stiffened and stared fixedly at Takataro.
But this lasted only an instant.
Once more she let her head droop limply.

“What’s wrong?” he inquired.

“Nothing at all.”

“I believe in Mr. Tsuneo.”

Tomiko raised her eyes and stared fixedly at Takataro.

“Lately,” she said, “he seems constantly preoccupied with something.”
“And though he’s grown far less prone to anger these days…”

“But…?”

“For me, it’s better to be treated coldly than warmly.”

Takataro shuddered slightly.
Then he gazed fixedly at her.
As he studied the contours from her cheek to her head, he was assailed by something tormenting.

Tomiko let out a relieved sigh.
Something oppressive came between them.
The two of them fell into silence and quietly cast their eyes upon the shifting shadows in the garden.
Autumn's decay imperceptibly came over even the narrow garden.
On the trunks of the lonesomely standing trees, shadows of loneliness coldly condensed, and from the knotholes in the board fence that marked the boundary, a biting chill seeped through.

Takataro recalled days gone by.
In early autumn’s first chill, he and Tomiko would often sit motionless together in prolonged silences.
At that time, the woman’s heart brimmed with fretful anxieties and ephemeral hopes.
He kept vigil over that heart through eyes brimming with gentle solace.
Between them flowed currents of profound tenderness.
Then imperceptibly—a shadow crept across his psyche while fate’s darker stain seeped into hers.
Though their communion amounted only to scarce inevitable unions of lips and limbs clasped in embrace—these fleeting touches irrevocably dyed their shared atmosphere in hues alien to its origins.

“I can’t go on living without you anymore,” Tomiko whispered in a desperate tone.

“We must walk a path where we harbor no regrets toward each other.”
“Don’t you ever feel an unpleasant shadow suddenly pierce your heart?”

“No, why would I?”
“If I hadn’t met you, what would have become of me by now?”

“If I’ve been of even the slightest help to you, nothing could make me happier.”

“You’ll always remain my friend, won’t you?”

“Yes—so long as you stay as you are now.”

“You’re the only one I can rely on.”

“I feel as though I’m losing my strength—as if my footing grows unsteady…”

“I’ve also…”
Tomiko suddenly seized Takataro’s shoulder as she spoke.

The two of them stared fixedly into each other’s eyes.
At that moment, the true meaning of Takataro’s words had been conquered by Tomiko’s gaze.
Takataro was no longer conscious of it.

Within them there had been a single moment of complete oblivion.
And around them was the pale light of day.

Tsuneo always returned home from the company around five in the afternoon.
But there were times when he returned around three o'clock instead.
At such times, he would typically pass the time until dinner by talking with him about various matters in what was referred to as Takataro's salon.
One day, he again returned early and ascended to the second floor.

At that moment, Takataro lay on the chaise lounge gazing at the sky.
Tsuneo promptly sank onto the zabuton cushion placed there.
This was the very cushion Tomiko had occupied until moments earlier.

“How is your job search going?” Tsuneo asked.

“There’s still no lead whatsoever.”

While giving this answer, Takataro reflected on his own situation.
After graduating from school and spending idle days searching for employment, he had come to live at Tsuneo’s house due to various circumstances.
Since then, over half a year had passed.
He simply spent his days living an indolent life in idleness.

“It would be nice to always be as carefree as you are.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m carefree, but it’s just that worldly affairs feel rather oppressive.”

After that, the two of them talked about various mundane topics for a while.
But Takataro gradually grew uneasy continuing like this.
What concerned him was how Tsuneo seemed to be concealing something.
So he directly asked like this.

“Don’t you seem a bit agitated today?”

“Yes, that may be,” Tsuneo answered calmly.

“Is something troubling you?”

“It’s still that same issue.”
“I’ve been made to dwell on nothing else.”
“And I find myself gradually arriving at a sorrowful conclusion.”

“When you say ‘conclusion’…?”

“How to phrase it… In brief, I’ve come to see that Tomiko and I are fundamentally incompatible.”

“Isn’t this because you’re determined to force yourself into that perspective?”
“In truth, you seem excessively mired in Ms. Tomiko’s past.”

“No—it’s not quite like that.”
“What I mean is, I’ve been approaching it from a different angle.”
“In truth, up until now I’ve done nothing but stare fixedly at my wife, leaving my own side neglected.”
“That too was probably because I had placed too much expectation on what a wife should be.”
“My ideal has been utterly betrayed by reality.”
“For that, I kept demanding ‘Why? Why?’ as I reproached my wife and then reproached myself.”
“Demanding ‘Why?’ of reality’s current form is as absurd as commanding the past to return to the present.”
“So I stopped reproaching my wife for why she didn’t match my ideal.”
“Instead, I tried viewing Tomiko as a person and myself as a person separately.”
“So I’ve come to think that Tomiko and I are fundamentally two incompatible things.”

“So have you found utter loneliness then?”

“No—I don’t believe in such a thing as complete loneliness.”
"In truth, when I look inward, within myself I find my wife’s... let me see—her scent, her breath—or rather something."
"My wife’s flesh is deeply embedded within me."
“And consider this—my heart and my wife’s stand completely back-to-back, facing opposite directions.”

“Isn’t it because you approach Ms. Tomiko’s heart from the wrong quarter?”
"I believe every human heart contains warm tenderness when viewed from its proper aspect."
"And when one touches that heart from there, a reverent impulse arises—the kind that makes one press hands together in prayer."
“Persist in such an approach, and ultimately only love should remain.”

“Are you trying to apply that not just to broad love but to what’s called romantic love—something narrower and deeper?”

"My view of romantic love is a separate issue. However, I do think your attitude toward Ms. Tomiko should properly begin from there."

"That may be so. But what should I do about this strong attachment I have toward my wife? What should I do about her past that resides within my current wife? And what should I do about the cold animosity between the two of us? By now, those things have taken such deep root that there's no going back. I suppose you could say it's like holding a beautiful chestnut burr to my chest. I hold it so tightly and intimately against myself that I can no longer step back to look. Even so, in the end, my chest and the chestnut burr remain separate entities that cannot coexist. Unless one of them breaks…"

“Then you’d just break the burr and cling to what’s inside.”

"For that to happen... my wife and I must become entirely separate and distant entities—"

"Eh!" Takataro exclaimed.

The two men silently exchanged looks.
An ominous shadow flickered through their agitated minds.

Takataro gazed intently at Tsuneo’s face. He saw the outline of that slightly swollen lower face—the somewhat angular muscles of the chin and the intense gleam in the eyes.

“Exactly what do you intend to do with that?” said Takataro.

Tsuneo assumed a youthful expression and stared into the distance.

“After all, Tomiko and I are husband and wife.”

Takataro stiffened at something and fell silent.
He looked back and pondered the space between himself and Tomiko—and Tsuneo.
And there he saw a discordant anxiety.

“Let’s stop this foolish talk,” Tsuneo said after a while.
He tightly pursed his lips and pressed his right fist firmly against the tatami mat.

They then talked about trivial matters for some time.
But there was an oddly cold distance between the two of them.

Time gradually brought a chill among the three of them.
There were times when they would fall completely silent without reason, as if testing the boundaries of each other's hearts.
And Takataro, alone, grew restless—he had to do something, he had to do something…

One evening, when they all gathered in the tearoom, a shadow of obstinate arrogance settled across Tomiko's face. The calmness that sought to repel everything about it and Tsuneo's motionless eyes mirrored each other, their mutual reflection growing ever more intense. Takataro tried forcing out some words with feigned cheerfulness, but he quickly became infected by Tsuneo and Tomiko's strained silence and fell completely still.

“Bring me some wine,” Tsuneo said.

Tomiko stood up silently and brought a bottle and glass.
Then she took the tray of fruit from the maid’s hands and placed it before Tsuneo.
And said, “Yes.”

Tsuneo twitched his eyebrows at her words.
Still, he silently drained his glass.

“How about it?” Tsuneo offered to Takataro as well.

“But you’ve just finished your meal…” Tomiko spoke for the first time.

Takataro grew distressed.

“It’s an oddly muggy evening,” he said, quietly rising from his seat.
When he suddenly looked at Tomiko’s face, the cold gleam in her eyes pierced his chest.

Takataro slid open the shoji screen and stepped out onto the engawa.
Cold air flowed over his heated forehead.
It was a quiet, hollow night.
Every shadowed corner could be seen through with eerie clarity.
He remained standing there for a long time in a tense mood.

At that moment, a clatter rang out like something being hurled down.
Takataro bolted into the tearoom in horror.

A hurricane-like force suddenly swirled through his head.
He held his breath and stood rooted to the spot.
And gradually, the state of the room came into clear focus before his eyes.

The wine bottle and glass tray had been thrown there.
The wine that had gushed from the bottle was silently sliding across the tatami like crimson blood.
Tomiko sat before it with a pale face, yet she remained seated, staring at a corner of the room.
With bloodshot eyes fixed and rigid as stone, Tsuneo stood rooted there.
Between them existed a taut silence and repulsion that seemed ready to snap at any moment.
And something seemed to press in relentlessly, as though to crush them.

“What happened?!” Takataro shouted.

That voice suddenly reverberated as if goading something.
Tsuneo’s shoulders jerked sharply.
Takataro recoiled at his own voice.
Then almost instinctively, he spoke.

“Let’s go outside.”

Tsuneo shook his head sharply two or three times.
Then, in a resolute tone, he responded to Takataro.

“Let’s go outside.”

The two went out just as they were.
At that moment, Takataro abruptly turned back to look at Tomiko’s face.
Not a single eyebrow moved on her tightly drawn features.
And her haughty eyes—challenging something—shone with an animalistic cold gleam.

When they went outside, their tense and agitated spirits hardened completely into place.
They no longer had anything to speak about, anything to think about.
Merely carrying something vague and tense in their heads, they walked straight down the bleak street.

The street, dotted with eaves lights, was engulfed in a hollow void that obliterated all sense of depth and distance.
And over all things, a dark sky—clouded yet crystalline—hung heavily.

The two simply walked on, guided by their feet.
And they came to the edge of a certain canal.
As if by unspoken agreement, they leaned against the cold railing and gazed down at the stagnant yet flowing black water surface below.

“What do you intend to do?” Tsuneo suddenly spoke.
Those words resounded almost challengingly through the surrounding air.

Takataro momentarily bit his lip.
Then, in a quiet, composed tone, he said:

“Why did you do such a thing….”

“It’s not entirely my responsibility.”

“However, it would only be proper for you to reflect on this at least a little.”

Tsuneo suddenly let his upright upper body drop against the bridge railing as though leaning on it.

“I too am suffering perhaps more than you could imagine.”
After a while, he continued speaking again.
“It’s truly an inevitable momentum with no alternative. Suppose my wife pours tea for me.”
“At that moment, somehow my wife’s cold gaze pierces my chest.”
“My heart suddenly hardens, and on my wife’s face appears a persistent defiance.”
“And reflecting each other’s combative moods, that tension inevitably escalates.”
“There’s simply no way around it… In truth, my wife has a cold thorn that pierces my chest.”

“You too must have a cold thorn that pierces Ms. Tomiko.”

“That may be the case. But ultimately, there’s nothing that can be done about it.”

“But you didn’t have to resort to such violence…”

“Because my wife also provokes me from her side. In my wife’s eyes, it can be clearly read. What an arrogant woman!”

“Then you yourself could be called arrogant.”

“I don’t care if I’m arrogant.
“Just because I’m arrogant doesn’t mean my wife’s arrogance should be excused.”

“So you mean to say you love Ms. Tomiko?”

“It’s because I love her that I grow impatient.”

Tsuneo straightened up abruptly and glared down at the dusky black water surface.

Takataro felt as if he had been suddenly struck by something.
The fact that he had wished for love between Tsuneo and Tomiko made him inexplicably infuriated.
And the feeling of rebellion seethed and surged within him.

“You’re trampling Ms. Tomiko’s character far too much!”
“So what?”

“That’s fine.”

“This has nothing to do with you.”

The two fell completely silent after that.
Above them loomed a gloomy night sky; below them, turbid water stagnated yet flowed.
And in the distance, a red light reflected on the water’s surface floated motionlessly.

“I’m going home now,” said Tsuneo.

Despite his resentment and disdain, Takataro followed mutely behind Tsuneo as though drawn by some sinister thread.

When they entered the house, the maid greeted them at the entrance.
And in the air of the house and the glow of the electric lights, their hearts found an unspoken relief.

“Good night,” they both said.

Takataro immediately entered the cold futon.
And he pulled the futon over his head.

The muddled thoughts that had filled his head gradually began to clear.
And then, the face of Tomiko he had seen when going out with Tsuneo earlier flickered before him.
He tried to recall it as if chasing after it.
There existed an indescribable anger toward both himself and Tomiko.
He clearly felt that something of himself was held in the palm of Tomiko’s hand.
And her body and that arrogance gave him a vague sense of anger and fear.

He no longer held any resentment or contempt whatsoever toward Tsuneo.
He tried placing Tsuneo in a position of intimacy with himself.
And... he pictured Tsuneo and Tomiko lying side by side on the futon and stared fixedly.
—Tsuneo and Tomiko are husband and wife.
Despite their suffering, they would likely never be able to destroy and abandon their married life.

Takataro felt his heart growing heavy with anguish.
He closed his eyes and wanted to shut away every imagining.
He felt as though he suddenly collided with an oppressive, immovable force.

He opened his eyes wide and glared at something.
Then suddenly he pressed his face and eyes against the futon.
Suffocating tears welled up in his eyes.

Takataro tried to avoid being before Tsuneo and Tomiko as much as possible.
Having eyes that calmly stared at them made him feel somehow guilty even toward himself.

Even so, Tsuneo seemed to be trying to present a carefree front to him.
However, this deliberately feigned composure often ended up disconcerting him.
And it seemed to place a distance between the two of them.

“What a pleasant evening,” Tsuneo said to Takataro on a refreshing night.

“Yes,”
Takataro looked up at his face.

“On a night like this, it would be good to wander about aimlessly.”

“That’s right.”

But a strange silence fell briefly between them. Then suddenly Tsuneo began frantically searching inside his sleeve.

“Oh right… There was an urgent letter I needed to write.”

Tsuneo muttered this as if to himself and went into his study.

However, Takataro was no longer particularly concerned about Tsuneo.
He had a significant problem within himself.

Tomiko's demeanor had gradually changed.
She had grown markedly reticent even toward Takataro.
Yet she seemed intent on steadily probing his heart.
Her eyes, which occasionally peered at him as if stealing glances, revealed this.
Takataro always faltered under such gazes from her.

Takataro would often lean against his study desk, gaze at the sunlit shoji paper, and ponder the space between himself and Tomiko. A problem that demanded resolution—whether to advance or retreat—lay there. He clearly understood Tomiko was covertly pressing for that decision. Yet days continued to drag on listlessly between them.

Takataro believed in romantic love between men and women—a powerful bond where hearts unite under an almost blind, irresistible force. From this conviction, he thought, must begin the true shared life of a man and woman. He believed there must exist at least one such woman in the world meant for him. The bias coloring his view of Tsuneo and Tomiko’s marriage sprang from this belief. And that singular woman had never been Tomiko from the start.

Moreover, he could not fully grasp Tomiko’s true nature. The woman who had once entreated him to be “permanent friends” and the woman who remained obstinate under Tsuneo’s fury appeared as two separate entities in his eyes. Then he considered her body centrifugal and her mind centripetal. The images of Tomiko he had encountered at various times did not form a unified whole.

Then why had he been drawn to her lips? Was that merely an act of sympathy and solace? Are the lips of men and women truly something so cheap? When his thoughts reached that point, the image of Tomiko and Tsuneo engaged in sexual intercourse rose vividly before his mind’s eye. And a violent surge of disgust and irritation shattered his thoughts into chaos.

Takataro lay sprawled on the sofa in his so-called salon and turned the same thoughts over in his mind again and again.
And in the end, he felt an unintelligible hazy mist and languid fatigue.

At that moment, Tomiko quietly climbed the staircase and stood silently before him.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“And what about you? Making such a face.”

Takataro just absently stroked his forehead with the palm of one hand.
Then he got down from the chair and sat beside Tomiko, stretching out his legs.
And seeing Tomiko remain endlessly silent, he grew strangely rigid.

“Haven’t you been acting oddly lately?” Tomiko said after a pause.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason... I just had that feeling.”

“You shouldn’t dwell on every little thing.”
“The more you dwell, the more complicated it becomes.”

“I’m not thinking anything complicated... But it’s started aching somehow.”

“You’re hurting yourself by staring so fixedly at external matters.”
“You mustn’t abandon your own heart.”

“And you would have me…” Tomiko began, then stared deep into Takataro’s eyes.

“No—you’re the one concealing things from yourself at times.”
“What first caused you such torment has already taken deep root within you.”
“Though you and Mr. Tsuneo stand opposed heart to heart, you’ve become indispensable to him just as he’s become indispensable to you.”
“Of course that may hold true—but you both arrived there through a tragedy utterly unlike any ordinary course.”
“You both embarked upon entirely the wrong path from the very start.”

“That isn’t a sin I bear alone.”

“But why did you go and confess your past to Mr. Tsuneo from the very beginning, instead of showing him passionate tears rather than cold resistance?”
“Didn’t I recommend that to you repeatedly long ago?”

“Tsuneo isn’t the kind of man who would forgive that once he heard it.”
“That… that kind of violent person would do such a thing, you know.”

“You’re the one provoking him too, aren’t you?”

“What!”

“It’s your haughty, obstinate gaze that made Mr. Tsuneo this way…… And without realizing it yourself, you’re craving it.”

Tomiko’s complexion began leaching of color.
She spoke with a faint spasm quivering near her eyebrows.

“But don’t you see how I’ve been suffering since then……”

Takataro suddenly felt a startled sensation.
He felt as though the words he had spoken up to now had been directed less at Tomiko and more at his own heart.
He stared fixedly at Tomiko's face.

"There's no use talking about the past anymore."

"Then what should we do?"

“What should we do…”

“I already—” Tomiko began, then let out a small sigh.
“I’m thinking of telling Tsuneo everything—absolutely everything about us.”

“What!” Takataro exclaimed.

“There’s nothing to be done now.”

Takataro felt as though something had violently pierced him.
A mood of wanting to cast everything aside without regard and a mood of wanting to escape from it all swirled within his chest.

“What do you intend to do?”

“What do you mean… For me…”

“There’s nothing to be done now,” Tomiko repeated.

"I still…" Takataro said.
And in his head: "I haven't thought about such things."

Tomiko silently stared into Takataro's eyes.
Keeping that position, she tilted her upright body slightly.
Her rigid frame suddenly grew supple and slack.
Those eyes held an instinctive light that captivated hearts.
Lips trembled with near-imperceptible motion.
A smooth sensation lingered across plump cheek skin.

Takataro abruptly reached out and took her hand.
A warm sensation coursed through his entire body.
Then suddenly it pierced his chest with a jolt.
He looked at the woman's face in surprise.
Suspiciously sharp eyes were there.

Takataro suddenly stood up without thinking.
In his head, something chaotically swirled.
And then he paced around his room.

A discordant stretch of silence passed between them.
The tree branches cast by the pale afternoon sunlight on the shoji screen flickered faintly.

“You still haven’t made up your mind, have you,” Tomiko said quietly.

“I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

After that, the two of them fell silent once more.
Tomiko stared fixedly at the tatami mats.
And after a short while, she said quickly without looking at Takataro.

“What do you intend to do with me?”

“What are you demanding from me?” Takataro reflexively countered.

Tomiko’s shoulders trembled violently. Then, a large tear plopped from her eye onto her lap.
Then she sat perfectly still and shed ceaseless tears.

Takataro stood blankly before Tomiko as if possessed.
Something within him had lost its equilibrium.

He bent down and placed his hand on Tomiko’s back.

“What’s wrong… eh?… eh?”

Tomiko remained silent as tears fell.

“I don’t know what to do.”
“Please say something… eh, anything.”

Then Tomiko’s tears ceased abruptly.
Her eyes stayed fixed on empty space.
In a clear tone, she said:

“You’re more cruel than Tsuneo.”

The two of them gazed intently into each other’s eyes.
Takataro saw the flesh of her cheeks still as cold marble and beautiful eyes brimming with tears.
Despite her words, the tears seemed to wash and calm everything within her.
Her face possessed such a clarity of cold purity.

“Let’s forget everything,” Tomiko said.

“What?!”
“Why?”
“No, it’s fine.”

Tomiko stood up calmly.
Takataro also stood up together with her without quite knowing why.
For an instant, tense, timid eyes flashed between them.

Tomiko left the room just like that.

Takataro stood dazedly.
Before long, he threw himself limply onto the chaise longue once more.
Before him was the cold air of twilight.
And the lofty blue sky was filled with bright evening sunlight.

In Takataro's calm head, the scenes that had passed by revived vividly.
He gazed fixedly at them.
And there he saw something that seemed deceived by worldly matters.
Then he saw something irreversible and guilt-ridden again.

Takataro looked back anew across his entire past.—Would it be right to discard everything and follow what Tomiko said? Or was it most proper to reject all matters and protect himself alone?
Or had his own past attitude been mistaken? If so, should he have sought Tomiko's troubled soul elsewhere?
Or was it that what Tomiko sought was mistaken?
And though Tomiko and I had pressed burning lips together...

Takataro, having thought this far, felt as if he had been violently wrenched back by something.
His chest tightened under an oppressive weight.
A savage impulse to rend everything to shreds raged uncontrollably within him.

Yet when he sat at the dinner table facing Tsuneo and Tomiko, a leaden mass had already congealed in his skull.
Everything appeared before his eyes as lifeless stone lumps.

Takataro gradually began shutting himself away in his study.
Partly because the cold had suddenly intensified, but also because a new torment had seized his heart.
Fretful days dawned and dusk fell without incident.

As the cold intensified, Takataro’s heart sank ever deeper.
But with even greater force, it was dragged outward.
The images of the past grew hazy, and the troublesome present settled in his heart.

When Tomiko had nearly ceased appearing upstairs, Takataro stared wide-eyed at the carnal desire for her now deeply budding within himself.
Only those breath-held instants with Tomiko from the past—the moments that severed all connections—kept resurrecting in his heart again and again.
And with deranged eyes, he aimed his gaze fixedly at Tomiko’s retreating form.

“Why have you been staying silent like this lately?” Takataro said to Tomiko one day.

At that moment, Tomiko stood on the veranda, gazing vacantly at the garden that had grown desolate.
She suddenly raised her eyes and looked at Takataro’s face, but immediately averted her gaze.

“Because I feel it’s better to remain silent,” she said.

Takataro stared at her silent profile as if devouring it with his gaze.
And the cheek muscle twitched faintly.

“What are you staring at so intently?” Tomiko said, flashing a faint smile.
But that smile immediately froze into coldness.

“Lately I’ve become completely unable to understand your heart.”

“You never understood from the start, did you?”

“I did seem to understand at first.”

“Huh?” Tomiko suddenly turned toward Takataro.

Takataro saw something terrifying in her eyes.

“You’ve changed utterly of late.”

“Everyone together makes me this way.”
“Then what… Mr. Tsuneo?”

“What are you saying?”

Tomiko held her breath for a moment after saying this, as if astonished at her own words.
Takataro saw trembling stray hairs on her profile.
Then his heart suddenly could no longer endure.
He wanted to throw himself down right there and scream.

“Please forgive me.”
“I am suffering.”

“You shouldn’t say such things.”
“I… No, if we stay like this, it’ll be bad for both of us.”

Tomiko silently went off.

Takataro followed a few steps behind her.
But suddenly he felt as though he had run into something.
He perceived almost simultaneously the cold walls surrounding him and the hot breath within himself.
And in that breathless moment, he gazed out at the pale, sharp sunlight filling the garden.

Takataro once again stood blankly and summoned Tomiko’s figure to mind. Persistent silence and loneliness had settled thickly around her without her knowing. And there existed both a cruelty that sought to repel everything and a heart that seemed to hold its breath within that space.

He found himself cast aside and fixed covetous eyes upon Tomiko. Yet Tomiko always avoided him as if fleeing from his presence.

Yet occasionally the three of them—Takataro, Tomiko, and Tsuneo—would gather around a single brazier in the tearoom for a while. At such times, Tsuneo always avoided meeting Takataro’s gaze with his own.

“You must be busy with work lately,” Takataro said casually to him.

“Yes. And somehow it’s just not enjoyable at all.”

“When it comes to occupations, there probably aren’t any that are truly interesting.”

“That’s true,” he said.
“But…” Tsuneo started to say, then glanced sidelong at Tomiko, who sat silent with downcast eyes.

“How has your condition been lately?” Takataro asked again.

Tsuneo had been taking doctor-prescribed medicine for quite some time, claiming he had a brain condition.

“It’s not exactly an illness, but I just can’t seem to feel refreshed.”

“How terrible it must be.”

“Yes... My head grows constantly feverish—as if burning up—and somehow all capacity for thought seems to drain away.”

“Perhaps you’ve been overusing your mind?”

“Yes,” Tsuneo answered before abruptly shrugging his shoulders into silence.

“It might do you good to take a change of air somewhere for a time.”

Tsuneo made no reply but stared at Takataro’s face.
Takataro saw in those eyes an inviolable defiance.
And he simply grew irritable without cause.

“You’re also too…” Takataro began, then fell silent.

“What is it?”

“No,” he said—how obstinate! He couldn’t bring himself to voice those words. And he stared fixedly at Tsuneo’s disheveled hair. Tsuneo raised his slightly rounded eyebrows and gazed intently at the charcoal fire in the brazier.

In the midst of this agonizing silence, Takataro suddenly recalled something. Once, when the three of them were sitting together like this, Takataro had said, “It would be nice if we had some sort of game to play,” to which Tomiko responded, “That’s because you’re all just sitting here in silence.” At that time, Tsuneo had retorted, “You’re the one staying silent.” Those words pierced coldly into Takataro’s heart. And Tomiko’s brow quivered faintly.

“Have you taken your medicine yet?” Tomiko suddenly broke the silence.

“No, not yet,” Tsuneo answered and looked up. And he averted his eyes to the corner of the room as if avoiding Takataro’s gaze.

But Tomiko sat perfectly still for a while.
Then she stood up and silently placed the medicine bottle before Tsuneo.
Tsuneo’s hand trembled slightly as he took the medicine.

"I believe I'll take my leave early today—I seem to be coming down with a chill," he said.
Then, to Tomiko who had risen to follow him, he added, "Don't bother."
Tomiko stared at her husband's face but did not move.

“Tsune (the maid’s name) is preparing,” she called out to Tsuneo from behind.

Tsuneo left the room just like that.

Takataro watched over Tomiko sitting before him.
Within her lingered the shadow of tragic endurance.
She remained silent, as if barely breathing.
However, Takataro once again saw the soft flesh from her cheek down to her neck.
And then the shape of her somewhat low, red, sensual nose.
And both her unyielding inner self and her beautiful body—showing no trace of emaciation—cast a certain bewilderment upon him.

Takataro grew increasingly distressed.
And then he timidly said:

“Why do you keep your heart so tightly locked away?”

“What? Me?”

“Why do you behave as if hiding things?”

Tomiko raised her face and looked at Takataro.
She suddenly flushed with panic like someone jerked from a dream.
Takataro too found himself unable to quell the turmoil rising through his chest.
And this stark realization - that his disquiet and hers sprang from different sources - stripped away what little composure remained.

"I've resolved never to speak of anything to anyone again," Tomiko said.

On Tomiko’s face was an expression as though she were clenching both hands tightly to her chest.
And upon brushing against something unfathomable in its depths, Takataro shuddered.

“Well, just a moment…” After a pause, Tomiko said while heading toward Tsuneo’s living room.

After Tomiko left, Takataro stood up without quite knowing why.
A feeling of not knowing what to do with himself seized him.
And he simply paced restlessly around the room.

Before long, Tomiko quietly entered.

"What are you standing there frozen for?" she said, remaining rooted to the spot.

Takataro saw Tomiko’s eyes hazily glowing beneath her Western-style updo—black, wet eyes whose contours blurred into her long lashes.

“I thought I’d go to bed…” he answered while feigning composure.

“Good night,” Tomiko said immediately.

When Takataro found himself alone in his room, he felt a desolate loneliness and irritation beyond words.
With his heart pounding from some emotion, he cursed Tsuneo, then cursed Tomiko too.
Yet even as he cursed her, unbidden came the image of Tomiko before his eyes.
As he immersed himself in it, an oppressive dread took hold.
He felt as though he had gazed into a bottomless abyss of torment.

One cold night, Takataro and Tsuneo walked together along the street with their coat collars turned up.

That night, Tomiko somehow broke Tsuneo’s medicine bottle.
The three stood silently in place watching Tsune clean the tatami.

“They say spilled medicine makes illnesses heal faster,” Tsune said.

But no one offered any response to that.
And Tsuneo and Takataro went out for a walk together as if by unspoken agreement.

They did not exchange a single word.
In each other's hearts lay a feeling that kept sinking deeper and deeper into the recesses of their chests.
And the very act of walking itself lightly stirred their thoughts.

It was a night veiled in thin haze.
The eaves lantern's light trembled coldly.
And the moon hung hazily in the dark sky.
All the passersby stiffened and hurried past while staring at their toes.

“I’ve come to loathe life itself lately!” Tsuneo forced out.

“Isn’t your heart rather unsettled these days?” Takataro said, glancing briefly at Tsuneo while uttering words he didn’t truly mean.

“If you call it quiet, then I suppose it is quiet—at least on the surface.”
Tsuneo’s eyes flashed.
“But something seems to be pressing in with inexorable force.”

“I suppose the end comes all at once with a thud.”

“But that interim period…”
“I’ve ceased to believe in fixed motives or results behind people’s actions.”
“It’s exactly like turbid water flowing.”
“And when we speak of fate, that’s precisely what we mean.”

“That’s right. Yet somehow everyone keeps piling up trivial things day after day—all gathering together until something oppressive settles over our heads.”
“By the time you start thinking about fate… that terrifying thing has already become so deeply entrenched—both behind and ahead—that there’s no seeing through it.”

Takataro found himself unwittingly speaking about himself.

They passed through bright tram-lined streets and turned into narrow alleys.
Their breath turned white, froze, and drifted away.

“Has something happened to Ms. Tomiko lately?”

Tsuneo stopped for a moment and looked at Takataro.
Then he lowered his gaze to the ground and started walking again.

“She’s been terribly silent somehow.
I sometimes get terrified…
…as if she’s secretly planning something.”

Takataro flinched.
However, he spoke as if trying to conceal it himself.

“It seems there are two contradictory things about Ms. Tomiko…”

“That may be the case.”
“One of them is something I’ve fabricated.”

Having said this, Tsuneo quickened his pace slightly and started walking.
Takataro called out while hurrying after him.

“Do you truly love Ms. Tomiko?”

“Is there such a thing as false love?”
“And when I look at my attachment to my wife, I’m seized by an inexplicable terror.”

The two of them continued walking in silence for a while.

“What on earth will become of us?” Tsuneo said abruptly.
“What should I do?”
“Huh?!”

The two men briefly exchanged glances.
Then, immediately losing any sense of adversarial intent, they averted their gazes.

“How about having some beer?”

“Well…” Takataro hesitated.
“I have some business to…”

“Then let’s part ways here.”

The two men parted to the right and left, avoiding looking at each other’s faces.

Takataro walked straight ahead.
When he emerged onto a tree-lined path and walked beneath trees with scattered leaves, a spider’s thread suddenly caught near his brow.
He raised his hand to brush it away, but however many times he swiped, the slender filament still seemed to cling near his eye.
Peering through the flickering branches, he saw a hazy moon hanging dimly in the sky.

In Takataro's confused mind floated the figures of Tomiko, Tsuneo, and himself.
Around the three of them hung an inescapable web of delusion.
They would go on living, slowly scorched by anguish.
There was no path left to flee—none anywhere.
Just….
Takataro came to a motionless halt at that moment.

He suddenly thought of Tomiko's death.
If Tomiko were gone, the two of them would be saved.
And ordinary, tender love might revive.
But how would she die?
Poison, dagger, pistol, drowning, hanging—none suited her.
Yet she would surely die....

Takataro had unwittingly become immersed in the belief that Tomiko had resolved to die.
The image of her lying in wait for some opportunity floated vividly through his mind.
Then Tsuneo's words came back to him—"It seems she's secretly planning something."... Tsuneo likely hadn't returned home yet.
And Tomiko was alone...

Takataro shuddered and snapped his eyes wide open.
Danger!
The realization flashed through his mind.

Takataro ran as if galloping through the cold air on his way home.
Nothing entered his vision.
Then he abruptly slid open the fusuma door to Tomiko’s room and stood rigidly there.

Tomiko sat motionless leaning against the hibachi.
Before her lay some half-sewn cloth cast aside carelessly.

She quietly raised her face and looked at Takataro.
But in those eyes was a light of indescribable anxiety.
"What's happened?" she said rapidly.

Takataro stood rigid as a post in blank stupefaction, his wide eyes fixed vacantly on Tomiko.

“What’s the matter?” Tomiko repeated.

And suddenly, as if startled by something, Tomiko stood up.

Takataro was horrified.
And almost instinctively, as if fleeing from Tomiko’s presence, he ran up to the second-floor study.
Then he leaned against the desk and slumped down heavily.

He sensed something clattering apart inside his head.
And then it felt as though the tide that had flooded his mind abruptly receded.
Everything became vaguely clear to him.

In his chest, his heart was still pounding violently.
Amidst this, he felt as though—in fragmented, nightmarish pieces—he were dragging behind him a dark, immense thing of unknowable depths, even when he peered back.
The back of his head felt as heavy as stone.
Then, startled by something, he abruptly turned to look behind him.