Pathway to Japanese Literature

I

At the end of March，Mr. Yajima wrote the following in his diary：— Of course，Mr. Yajima did not keep a diary；this was merely a metaphorical way of speaking. I felt a strange mood lately. I somehow felt like something new and wonderful was about to happen. It was certainly not confined to my inner life alone，nor did it belong solely to my external life—yet it undeniably related to me. I still did not know what it might be. In any case，something seemed about to happen. ...But perhaps nothing would happen after all，and these pale days might simply continue unchanged.

Pale days—yes, that’s an apt phrase. Listless... No, that wouldn’t be accurate. It’s not that I’m bored—I’m not lacking in work to do; if anything, I’m rather busy. Pallid... No, that wouldn’t be accurate. My life isn’t so empty, nor are my days cheap enough to merit such pretentious words... And yet pale... Yes, pale days. It is a fact that something within my heart has loosened. To say that my grip on life has loosened would not be inaccurate. From my youth onward, I had firmly grasped my own life. Or perhaps I had been tightly gripping something all along. It may have begun to loosen recently. To put it more clearly—one might say the heat contained within my soul had diminished. From the academic discipline I pursued: the pressure that tightly grasps objects is force; force is energy; energy is heat. It seemed the heat of my soul had cooled. Consequently, my mental activity had diminished. This too could be explained through the academic discipline I had acquired. What we perceive as light and heat ultimately boils down to electron movement. That I now felt less heat in my heart meant decreased motion among the electrons constituting me. In other words—my inner mental activity had diminished. But whether you call it inner self or soul or spontaneous life—such things remained unclear to me; I merely sensed them. I perceived that activity within my soul had declined.

However, that does not mean my life has become worthless. On the contrary, it may indicate that my life has gained stability and become fulfilling. I have now reached a state where, without being driven by foolish passions or ambitions, I can remain calm and steady no matter what may occur. But… Until I obtained the title of engineer, I had intended to stay in Tokyo and work on a project. But out of admiration for my father’s admirable spirit and because this town was not too far from Tokyo, I had returned here. My family possessed considerable assets and lineage. By utilizing that, Father and I were able to establish an electric light company and assume positions such as president and managing director. And then, through the initial difficulties of the business, my father’s death from illness, unexpected financial troubles, my mother’s death—in any case, I have managed to navigate through them all. Now everything proceeds smoothly. I can even view with a friendly eye the development of the gas company that in some sense has become a form of competition to my business. And I have a quite beautiful wife. I have four children. One died young, but the remaining three have grown up, and the eldest has even entered high school. And I have passed the age of forty and am increasingly vigorous... But that’s all there is.

This phrase “that’s all there is” most accurately expresses my current state of mind. However, that is not at all because I consider my past cheap. I have considerable confidence in how I’ve lived my life—though of course I’m not one to rest content with that alone... But what in the world am I supposed to do about this feeling I now sense in my heart? I affirm that my heart’s grip has loosened and that my days are pale. And I also affirm the considerable value of my life and my considerable confidence in my own strength. But the phrase “that’s all there is”—which should be cast at the past—has its eyes wide open toward my present, and wide open toward my future too. Because of that, I don’t particularly feel uneasy about myself—yet my heart waits intently for something. Or rather—inevitably—my heart is sensing something I do not know. ……I feel like something—something wonderful—is about to happen. Or perhaps I also feel like nothing may happen at all.

Since today was beautifully clear, I took a slight detour and returned home via the outskirts. The cleared-up sky, the pleasantly damp earth, and then the soft, brilliant rays of the sun transitioning from winter to spring—taking a slight detour through the outskirts on such a day must indeed be a fresh pleasure. My heart was blissfully serene. And it was profoundly disoriented. While relishing nature’s fresh air, I seemed to have forgotten something. I was at peace but not fulfilled.—This feeling seems to assail me frequently these days. In the past, I did not truly understand this “complacent oblivion.” Or at least I did not know the “unfulfilled awareness” that flows beneath this “complacent oblivion.” In my youth, I had experienced emotions similar to this, but they were of an entirely different coloring.

I wondered if this feeling might stem from nature’s impressions. In nature not yet fully emerged into spring—however soft its light or tender its shadows—there still lingered a mournful desolation. The skin of nature, ravaged by winter winds, remained exposed. Something discordant dwelled there. And from those unsettled depths of disharmony, something new—new life—prepared to sprout forth all at once. ……Within such nature, a fresh mystery fermented. And perhaps that had brushed against my heart.

I tried to touch the sky and the earth with my own heart. The sky was filled with a softly hazy atmosphere pregnant with the sun's rays. From the pitch-black skin of the earth, spindly blue wheat sprouts were emerging. Amidst the withered thicket, a single dandelion flower had bloomed abruptly. Then, standing on the bank of a small stream—oh, the cold water and the sky’s light reflected upon it; the warm sunlight being drawn into the water flowing with a quiet sound......Something was watching intently; something was slumbering quietly.

I felt as though there was a hole somewhere in nature—and that there was a hole somewhere within myself as well. That feeling drew my heart inward. I could not afford such carelessness. I had to hurry back home. Something might be waiting—something new and unforeseen. But perhaps...

II

“Hey, hasn’t a letter come?” Whenever Mr. Yajima returned from the company, he would ask this— When entering through the house gate, he would invariably peek into the mailbox once. Then, welcomed by his wife Tsuneko and the maid and led to the inner rooms, he would customarily sit straight down in the parlor. There he would ask Tsuneko, “Has any mail come?” If a letter had arrived, he would promptly read through it and typically shake his head as if annoyed. When receiving the reply “No, nothing has come,” he would twist his mustache slightly with his right hand. Mr. Yajima possessed a splendid mustache.

One time, Tsuneko, intending to show tact, immediately said this when her husband sat down by the brazier. “No letters have arrived either.”

Mr. Yajima stared fixedly at his wife’s face and then shouted. “What about the letters, you idiot!” At that moment, there was a kind of terrifying tension in Mr. Yajima’s face, so Tsuneko did not answer and remained silent. Mr. Yajima did not speak for a while after that.

However, that too was soon forgotten. And before they knew it, a new habit had formed.

“Hasn’t a letter come?” inquired Mr. Yajima. “No letters have arrived,” Tsuneko answered. In reality, since most of Mr. Yajima’s business matters were handled at the company, the number of letters arriving at his residence was extremely small. And even those were mostly nothing more than mere social greetings.

However, one day, the following conversation took place between Mr. Yajima and Tsuneko. Mr. Yajima had changed into his everyday clothes and was sipping black tea; Tsuneko gently held her hand near the iron kettle resting on the long brazier. “You were able to take your time today, weren’t you.”

“Ah.” “Because I had work that took some time.” “But it’s all settled now.” “That must have been quite satisfactory.” “...Actually, a rather unusual visitor came today.” “Who was it?” “This ‘unusual person’ you speak of...”

“Mr. Sasao.” “Sasao!” “And what else did he come to say?” “In essence, he said he wanted to be reinstated at the company.” “He even brought this fancy box of sweets…” The confectionery box that the maid had brought was filled with splendid Western-style sweets. Mr. Yajima stared fixedly at it but picked up one.

“These are good sweets... Why would Sasao have this kind of spare money? He said his elderly mother was terribly ill and in dire straits, but...”

Tsuneko remained silent. “What did he say?” “He pleaded again and again to be taken back.” “That act was truly done out of desperation for his elderly mother’s medicine costs and was by no means motivated by greed.” “And now he has truly reformed.” “...he kept saying things like that many times.” “Then, with tears welling in his eyes, after confiding about his mother’s illness, the hardships of making ends meet, and all manner of things, he said that if he wasn’t reinstated, he’d have to let his only elderly mother die—and that if it was truly impossible, he at least wanted to administer proper medicine to her,” she said, her own face on the verge of tears. “I truly felt sorry for him.” “Because he’s such a devoted son.”

“So you’re telling me he wants you to plead his case?” “No, he said he wished to meet with you personally from the start.” “He waited for your return, but when you were delayed so late, he mentioned he would call at the company another time and has only just left.” Mr. Yajima remained silent for some time. “Is it truly impossible to take him back?” “He possesses reliable skills, has served here since olden times, and must have given considerable service to the company.”

“That may be so, but since everyone at the company already knows about it, it’s problematic.” A prolonged silence followed. Mr. Yajima twisted his beard and spoke: “What do you think?” “Should we let Sasao back into the company or not?” Tsuneko remained silent, studying her husband’s face. “The facts are clear.” “Sasao rose from office boy to become a skilled technician.” “For years he served the company faithfully.” “Then his mother fell ill.” “He suffered an injury.” “Stole company wires and sold them secretly.” “This was discovered.” “I settled it internally—kept it out of the papers.” “But all employees know.” “So I dismissed him.” “Now he begs reinstatement—claims he’s reformed for his mother’s sake and his own.” “Given this... what would you have me do?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to employ him? And if you were to properly present both the circumstances surrounding the incident and the fact of his repentance before all the company members, wouldn’t that actually benefit the company?” “I see. So you’re convinced Sasao won’t do anything like that again from now on.” “I’m not so sure about that.” “But putting that aside—if someone else were to do something like that and then make the same kind of plea under similar circumstances, what would you propose we do then?”

“There is no other way but to judge based on that person’s character.” “That may be so.” “That is one way to look at it.” “But you’re completely indifferent to this incident itself, and your only concern is Sasao.” “I too know that kind of mindset.” “In other words, you’re looking only at the person without seeing the incident itself.” “Emotional people and women are all like that.” “But you must be cautious.” “When you think you’re looking only at the person without seeing the incident, there are times you end up not seeing even the person—and only seeing your own emotions.” “After that, the devil sticks out its tongue.”

“Then what do you intend to do?” “I consider both the incident and the person thoroughly before making a judgment.”

“Then you intend not to employ Mr. Sasao anymore, I suppose?”

“I don’t know about that, but in any case, I’m not as sympathetic as you, nor am I as heartless as you.” “You’re calling me heartless?!” Tsuneko’s eyes flashed. She then expounded at length about how deeply she pitied Sasao and how she sympathized with his elderly mother. She also told him how that day too, when Sasao was leaving, she had wrapped some money as a token for his mother’s care and given it to him. “When I apologized, saying ‘This is terribly rude of me,’ Mr. Sasao just said ‘No’ and silently bowed his head.” “I was the one nearly moved to tears.”

Mr. Yajima listened silently to his wife's words. Then he said: "If we found ourselves in Sasao's circumstances, what would you do?"

A hint of confusion appeared in Tsuneko’s eyes. Then it gradually changed into a haughty gleam. “Well, fine. We won’t know unless we’re in that position.” “But Sasao really did have such a miserable experience.” “When he comes to the company, you’ll meet with him?”

“Of course I’ll meet with him.” “There are also some things I want to discuss.” “Then you’ll be taking care of something again, I suppose.” “By all means, do so properly.” “After all, he’s actually a very honest and good person.” “How could he come back to me if he weren’t honest?” “But…” Mr. Yajima cut off his words midway. And he gulped down the cold tea in one go. “With just one box of sweets, you’ve completely become part of the Sasao faction, haven’t you.” “How delightful.”

“Me?!… How could you think I’d stoop to something so vulgar…” “Oh, never mind,” Mr. Yajima interrupted Tsuneko’s words. “That was just nonsense.” “I’m concerned about Sasao too.”

Mr. Yajima stood up after saying that. At that moment, a tense dark shadow passed across his face. And he entered his study.

However, Mr. Yajima soon emerged from his study again. And he found Shinkichi doodling in a notebook on the second-floor engawa lit by the western sun.

“What are you drawing?” said Mr. Yajima. “I’m sketching… Teach me, Father.” “What are you sketching?” “All the rooftops I can see, and that mountain over there too.” From that vantage point, the entire southern expanse of the town lay spread across fields in a single sweeping view. Where houses ended, cultivated land continued, and beyond to the right stood a blue mountain demarcating the sky’s edge. Mr. Yajima took Shinkichi’s notebook and began sketching rooftops, mountains, and hills with sporadic, tentative strokes. Across fields gilded by the western sun, the mountain’s shadow appeared to gradually widen its reach.

Shinkichi silently watched his father’s hands at work.

III

Mr. Yajima’s company was located at the northern edge of the town. In summer, fierce winds blew through the rows of tiled roofs. In winter, north winds from below the snow-covered mountains came sweeping across the fields.

Mr. Yajima’s office was on the second floor facing northwest. There, Mr. Yajima would often bring out a chair to the window edge sheltered from the north wind and warm his back in the sun. Compared to the poor coal fire in the stove, that was so much more comfortable.

Mr. Yajima was an exceptionally diligent man. When there was no work, he would usually read books and magazines. Yet lately he had increasingly taken to simply basking in the sun. He would often sit quietly leaning back in his chair and sink into aimless thoughts. Then he would twist his beard absently as if suddenly remembering something. But he made no move to rise. Something both comforting and weighty occupied his mind. At such times when clerks came on business, he would slightly furrow his brows and call out loudly, “Come in.”

One day, Mr. Yajima returned home from the company and, while taking off his suit, said to his wife:

“Sasao hasn’t shown up at all.” “Is that so?” Upon hearing Tsuneko’s cold reply, Mr. Yajima fell silent. However, Mr. Yajima wasn’t particularly waiting for Sasao to come either. At times, thoughts of Sasao would abruptly surface in his mind, but he recognized no particular meaning in them. He felt only an inexplicable and peculiar restlessness. And even when Sasao came to visit the company one day, Mr. Yajima found it strange that he had perceived it immediately.

That day, Mr. Yajima stood by the window looking outside. Beyond the houses, the Gas Company building could be seen in the distance. His eyes came to rest on the large gas holder. Bathed in the afternoon light, it glowed with a dusky russet hue.

Mr. Yajima knew that the tank expanded and contracted at fixed times every day. He also knew the power behind that giant iron tank's quiet movements. As he stared at it, an indescribable excitement and melancholy surged in his chest. The dusky russet glow of iron and the swirling smoke spewing from the chimney atop it captured his gaze. And he felt the quiet movement of the swelling tank like the earth's breath. The sound of the engine immediately below failed to reach his ears.

It was while Mr. Yajima stood there motionless like that. He suddenly sensed—intuitively—that Sasao had come. Voices rose from downstairs. When he strained his ears, it was unmistakably Sasao’s voice.

Mr. Yajima suddenly moved away from the window. He then walked around the room twice. And this time, he sat down in the chair before his desk and twisted his beard. Then he lit a cigarette.

Sasao knocked on the door, then stopped briefly at the entrance.

“Please come in,” Mr. Yajima called out.

Mr. Yajima gazed intently at Sasao, who had come all the way in and timidly taken his seat. He wore what appeared to be a faded mosquito-checkered work shirt, his hair grown long. Around his neatly shaved cheeks lingered shadows of exhaustion. "The other day you came by my house—I’m afraid I was out then." “……How is your mother’s condition?” “It was nephritis, if I recall correctly.” “Yes,” Sasao said, raising his face for the first time. Mr. Yajima started at those bloodshot, sunken eyes.

“The doctor said the progress hasn’t been positive.” “That won’t do.” “I hear kidney conditions are particularly challenging to manage.” “Yes, and they say nourishment is most crucial—I’ve become utterly desperate.” “With no income whatsoever, I’ve reached a point where even medicine eludes me. Though undeserving of further requests, if you might employ me in any capacity—I’d refuse no task—this is why I’ve come to beg today…”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t refuse any job then.” “Yes—if I could just earn enough income for basic sustenance through any means possible.” “At present my mother’s medicine costs remain entirely unmanageable.” “The wretchedness of our circumstances… I’ve resorted to measures beyond your most dire imaginings.” Sasao recounted his exhaustive efforts seeking employment elsewhere. How every attempt proved futile; how no relatives existed who might offer aid. “Should this continue unchanged,” he continued hoarsely,“my bedridden mother and I face starvation.” “Her condition shackles us here—relocation remains impossible.” “Thus I kneel before you fully cognizant of my presumption… Yet grant me this clemency President Yajima,and our salvation lies within your hands alone.”

Sasao pleaded with eyes full of tears. “Very well, I understand your circumstances and state of mind.” “But do you understand what it is you’ve done?”

“Yes,” Sasao said, bowing his head. “The mother has a prolonged illness and struggles with medicine costs.” “You borrowed money from me once, but you can’t ask a second time.” “So this time you embezzled the company’s electric wires and sold them off elsewhere.” “That’s all it was.” “Moreover, for the company, such a loss is nothing.” “But consider this carefully.” “How much would that affect the other employees and workers?” “Moreover—what do you suppose would happen if we were to employ you again at headquarters?”

“Yes.” “Putting that aside for now—are you certain you won’t do such a thing again?” “Even if you were to face even greater adversity than now.” “Yes, I will never do it again.” “I swear… I solemnly vow.” “Then that’s acceptable.” “But if you work for a meager salary from now on, what will become of your mother?” “What? Mother…?” “Is there any prospect of her recovery?” “That I do not know.” “But we are just a single parent and child.” “I will do everything I can.” “Moreover, mother knows all about this incident.” “When she asked me about it, I told her everything.” “Mother feels terribly sorry about it and is deeply worried.” “If she were to see me return to the company, I cannot tell you how relieved she would be.” “As for anything beyond that, I resign myself to fate.” “I just don’t want to worry mother.” “And I would like to try everything within my power.” “I will definitely, definitely cure mother’s illness.”

“Go on and cure her then, work hard—you’re fortunate.” And Mr. Yajima peered intently into Sasao’s eyes. “If circumstances demand it, go ahead and steal again.” “What?! “What are you saying, sir?” “It’s not just you—I too am aware there’s something irrational in the current relationship between capitalists and laborers… Yet here you are now, speaking of your mother with eyes full of tears.” “But I still remember the gleam in your eyes when you crushed your left hand before.” “There are two different things within you.” “Which one is real?”

Sasao gazed blankly at Mr. Yajima’s face.

“That’s right—you still haven’t fully realized it. But don’t you want to stir something up? You have been in this company since you were small, working as an errand boy. And now you’re a splendid electrician. You must hold many of this company’s weak points. So don’t you want to incite the other workers and pressure me into something? ……Now your heart is entirely preoccupied with your mother as a dutiful son. But if your mother were to die from illness, your heart would surely begin dreaming of new things. How about it? … Behold—your eyes are beginning to gleam with a different light, aren’t they?”

Sasao, seized by an inexplicable suspicion, took a step back while rising to his feet. “You are afraid now,” Mr. Yajima continued. “But the time when you cease fearing will soon arrive. “…I too am afraid now; but the time when I cease fearing might never come for me. I am growing older. But ultimately, if you workers don’t instigate something, we capitalists might be the ones to instigate something from our side. I know there’s a contradiction in this lifestyle. But I don’t yet clearly understand it.”

Mr. Yajima’s cheek muscles twitched involuntarily.

“That’s right—I still don’t clearly understand. ……Or perhaps there was simply some flaw in my own way of living. But it’s not confined to me alone. ……That’s right—you too bear no blame. “……Do you understand?”

Sasao took another step back under Mr. Yajima’s piercing gaze. Mr. Yajima stared silently into space.

“In that case, I must take my leave here,” Sasao said while lowering his eyes. “You should think it over carefully,” Mr. Yajima said, suddenly regaining composure in a gentle tone. “As for me, I simply cannot take you back into employment. “However, if you persuade your fellow workers and have them all request it from me, then I can reinstate you as before.” “Do you have that much courage?” “I will give it careful consideration,” Sasao declared firmly, his lips quivering.

“Then come by anytime if you have further need.” Sasao bowed politely and left. Mr. Yajima stood up and opened the windows wide. Radiant beams of early spring haze filled the atmosphere. Mr. Yajima cast his gaze to the farthest reaches of the distant sky. However, he immediately collapsed into the armchair like someone utterly exhausted. Something vague tightened around his heart. He stared fixedly with eyes as if tears were welling up.

4

The eldest son Hideo returned from his spring break trip after April had begun. After entering Tokyo Higher School, he initially often came to stay from Saturday through Sunday, but later stopped returning except during holidays unless there was a specific reason. And during those holidays, he gradually began to travel more often.

"Young people should be free to flit about as they please," Mr. Yajima thought. "And they should freely take in all manner of things." However, Mr. Yajima felt that Hideo brought back something new each time he returned, and that a new world was being brewed within Hideo.

Mr. Yajima saw the sunburned cheeks of Hideo, who had returned from his trip. Then for a while he looked at the thick eyebrows that had not been trimmed with a razor.

“You look remarkably sturdy now,” Mr. Yajima said.

“Yes, traveling seems best for the body—and for the spirit too.” “Somehow everything—my world feels like it’s expanding.” “That’s right.” “Maybe I’ll take a little trip myself.” “But Father, you always seem so busy.” “It’s not really like that,” Mr. Yajima replied in a feeble tone.

“When you have some free time, shall we try going somewhere together?” “Ah, let’s go.” However, both of them knew they would likely never travel together. The heart-to-heart exchange between them had long since ceased without their noticing. But that was no one’s fault.—

"If one were to recognize any sin there," Hideo thought, "the parent-child relationship itself is a perpetual contradiction." And Hideo averted his eyes from his father's gaze.

Hideo kept his own world stored away within his heart. That was a child’s subtle deference toward a parent. And when he sensed that deference, Mr. Yajima became aware of a hollow tranquility settling within him. That tranquility reflected back onto Hideo. “Let’s travel together,” they would say. They were parent and child. Yet Mr. Yajima held a nebulous expectation toward Hideo. What that might be, even Mr. Yajima himself could not have said.

Mr. Yajima hurried home every day.

“Hey, I’ll treat you to whatever you want—just name it,” he said to Hideo. Hideo simply gave a peaceful smile. “Your offers never work,” Tsuneko said upon hearing that. “They always fall through anyway.” “Why don’t we all take our time and go on an outing to Tokyo instead?” “You never tire of Tokyo, do you.” “Actually, one doesn’t grow tired of Tokyo,” Hideo said.

Mr. Yajima did not respond to that. Mr. Yajima felt something discordant closer around himself. And he felt lonesome when Hideo wasn’t around.

“Mr. Sasao has come.”

When Tsuneko said this one day, Mr. Yajima glanced at Hideo’s face. “Hideo met him and talked… It seems his mother has passed away… And Mr. Sasao is going to Tokyo, I hear……” Mr. Yajima silently heard the story from Tsuneko—that his elderly mother had suddenly developed uremia and died of heart paralysis; that settling her affairs afterward had been difficult; that Sasao had sold off all their household belongings by himself and left for Tokyo to seek work, relying on distant relatives……

“Hmm.” With these words, Mr. Yajima twisted his beard. And he diverted the conversation and said something else.

However, that evening when the two were alone, Mr. Yajima asked Hideo. “Did you meet Sasao?” “Yes. At first, it was Mother and me together.” “But later, when we were alone, we talked about all sorts of things.” “How did Sasao seem?” “He was relatively open and told me various things.” “He seemed filled with desperate resolve.” “He was getting excited while talking.” “Hmm.” And Mr. Yajima twisted his beard again.

Mr. Yajima slipped into his garden geta and stepped down from the engawa outside. There wasn’t a single cloud in the sky. A waning crescent moon hung in the western sky, and sparse stars twinkled here and there. It was a quiet night. And it was an evening when dew seemed poised to fall silently through air that still held winter’s chill in places.

Hideo gazed steadily at his father’s figure from behind. A tense emotion welled up in his heart. He went down to where his father was.

“It’s a nice evening.” “Ah.” At that moment, Hideo read a deeply pensive expression on his father’s cheek - a troubling shadow both enhanced and intensified by the crescent moon’s light.

“When Sasao was leaving, we wrapped a small amount of money as a condolence offering.” “In the names of Father, Mother, and me—the three of us.” “After reverently accepting it with a sad look in his eyes, Sasao said to convey his regards to you.” “Ah, that was good.”

However, Hideo realized those words might have been cruel to his father. And he said: "Sasao seems to have a steadfast side." "What a pity it turned out this way." "I think so too." "...Didn't he say anything about me?" "Did you tell Sasao various things?" "Ah, I may have said something or other." "He said he somehow feels oppressed when facing you." "It's not just because of what he did." "And he said it made him reflect on many things." "Then too, while saying he wanted to see you before leaving, he looked ready to burst into tears." "Sasao must have received much kindness from you since childhood." "But somehow, Father's way of handling this matter might have been unusual."

“My approach?” “Yes.” After that, the two of them fell silent for a while.

Mr. Yajima’s estate had a spacious plot of land that had been passed down through generations. There were clusters of trees here and there, and a spacious garden had been laid out. In the depths of the garden stood a small detached house that Mr. Yajima’s father had built as a pastime in his old age. The doors had been completely shut. When the two of them had threaded their way through the lawn and hedges to reach that spot, they sat down on the small exterior veranda. The moonlight spread out like a pale cloth across everything, and the leaves were glittering. "I worried a great deal about Sasao." Mr. Yajima blurted out.

Hideo remained silent. Mr. Yajima resumed speaking. "My feelings toward Sasao may have been too complex." "To say they were complex might mean they were impure." "Since you've heard various things from Sasao, you must understand well enough—but governing a company brings tremendous difficulties... Yet even now, I still believe this." "What I did regarding Sasao never adversely affected him." "If I had taken him back, it would have inevitably led to worse outcomes."

“That may be the case. But what you did—well, it turned out all right in the end—must have been terribly dangerous.”

“What’s dangerous?” “In various senses…” “In any case, it seems to me that not particularly noble motives were at work on Father’s side either.” “What do you mean by ‘noble motives’?”

“Father, do you recall Iwata?” “Father, didn’t you take such good care of that elderly janitor couple back then?” “I still haven’t forgotten the impression when I peeked into that filthy janitor’s room…” When the company people looked up at Father from below as if gazing up at him, when the newspapers extolled Father as a model president, I felt tears welling up. ……However, this matter was entirely unexpected to me. It might not even be too much to call it cruel. Of course, there’s no doubt that Sasao committed a crime, but wasn’t there another way to save him? At least a way to save Sasao’s elderly mother.

“There might have been one.” “Then why didn’t you do that?” “Why?!... Ah, that’s...” Having started to say this, Mr. Yajima held his breath and fixed his gaze.

“It’s because I’ve gotten old.” Hideo looked at his father in surprise at his tone. Mr. Yajima, while furrowing his brow, let his head drop heavily.

A tragic intensity welled up in Hideo’s heart. It was a desolate feeling akin to kneeling in worship within the abandoned shell of an old chapel. He stood and cast a searching gaze between the pale sky and earth. When he turned back, his father stood with eyes fixed downward, back against tightly closed storm shutters, bathed in moonlight.

“Shall we go now?”

Hideo’s voice as he said this was oddly trembling.

“Ah, let’s go.” Mr. Yajima stood up. The moon had sunk low in the western sky. The shadow of the hedges lay stretched across the elevated lawn, shifting quietly. “You’re still young—you should go out and try all sorts of things.”

Mr. Yajima suddenly looked toward Hideo after saying this. Hideo could not bring himself to look at his father’s face.

At that moment, what reawakened in both their hearts was that distant emotion called "father and son"—from within the distant and ancient blood. They walked in silence while steeped in it. And... when Hideo felt the physical form separating them, his tears fell like scattering petals.

“The evening still had a chill.” Mr. Yajima said in a quiet voice. And he peered toward the main house. There were his beloved wife, the father and son, and Shinkichi. He glanced at Hideo beside him but said nothing more.

Five

Mr. Yajima passed an oppressive night. At dawn he dreamed. Then a heavy mood came over him.

Before going to bed, Mr. Yajima stood alone on the veranda, gazing for a long time at the western sky where the crescent moon had sunk.—"To look at the night sky as one approaches fifty..." Mr. Yajima thought bitterly. Yet what exactly that was, even he himself could not comprehend.

In the dream, and in the heavy mood after waking, what returned to Mr. Yajima was the phantom of Iwata.

A dim shadow hung over the janitor’s room.

Since the light entering from the entrance was insufficient, the single beam streaming through the high left window remained clearly visible even at midday. That shaft of brightness made the room appear even more dimly squalid. Beneath that window sat a small contraption for odd jobs, and on the shelf beside it, teacups and other dishware lay jumbled inside a rat-proof container. There were two rooms with sunken floors and tatami edges frayed to threads—in the back room stood a small faded chest among other belongings; in the front room, upon a thin cotton futon printed with pale arabesques, Iwata lay on his back. His eyes had sunk deep, cheekbones and jaw jutting sharply. A rubber tube inserted into his slit throat finally seemed to permit faint breaths. In the body sustained by meager liquid food alone, every root of strength appeared drained dry. His lips hung slack, only his sunburned balding forehead gleaming greasily. By his side sat his wife motionless, her sparse hair streaked with white and tied back. She would occasionally touch her husband’s hand where it lay flung from the futon. The thumb with its strange shape—as if machinery had sliced off a gourd. Her gaze fell. She sometimes coughed…….

Since Iwata developed laryngeal cancer, Mr. Yajima had spared no expense in providing his treatment. However, Iwata had allowed only a small portion of Mr. Yajima’s generous efforts to be put into practice. He stubbornly clung to that lowly station. And after a long period of being bedridden, he died. Not long after that, his wife also quietly closed her eyes on the same thin futon as her husband. At that time, all the company members shed tears not so much for the two who had died as before Mr. Yajima’s benevolence.

“When Iwata’s illness worsened and he was advised to enter the hospital, he said this: ‘This place suits me best.’” “‘A place I’ve lived in for years is where it’s easiest to close my eyes for good.’”

Indeed, he had been a janitor since the company’s founding. From that time, he had already aged considerably. And his soul, having shut itself away alone within that lowly station while refusing to be dragged out from it, died just like that. And his wife did too. Mr. Yajima did not spare his efforts for them. At that time, Sasao—who was still working as a messenger—often ran errands for them.… Mr. Yajima got up with an oppressive heaviness in his heart. The sky was beautifully clear, and the morning sun was shining splendidly. He went out into the garden and took a deep breath.

“Did you just wake up?” When Mr. Yajima saw Hideo, he said. “Yes.”

“You’re a late sleeper.” “But I’m actually an early riser compared to others.” “Some of my friends are terrible about sleeping in.” “…But they might start waking earlier gradually.” “Don’t people naturally wake sooner as they age?” “What nonsense could that be?” Yet Mr. Yajima observed the youthful glow of Hideo’s cheeks. A face brimming with vitality from ample sleep, eyes shining free of weariness or exhaustion. And that robust frame.

“When are you returning to Tokyo?”

Mr. Yajima asked this before leaving for the company.

“I must return within two or three days,” Hideo answered. “Sofu’s such a busy person too,” Tsuneko said. “School hasn’t even started yet, has it?” “But there are various matters to attend to. I mean, even so I’m terribly busy. Because there are absurdly many things that must be done.” “What could you possibly have to do that amounts to so much?” Tsuneko looked at Hideo with gentle eyes. “Why don’t you go see the company sometime? There might be something instructive.”

“Yes, that’s right,” Hideo replied perfunctorily.

While listening to this conversation, Mr. Yajima got ready and left. In Mr. Yajima’s mind flashed a glimpse of his monotonous life repeating the same things every day. But that vanished immediately, and he felt a vague, unfocused oppression closing in on him. Mr. Yajima entered the company with a heart that seemed to await something. While everyone bowed politely, he responded with his usual “Hey there.” Then he entered his room and smoked a cigarette. And he twisted his mustache.

Then he began his work.

That day, Mr. Yajima made his rounds through the company. From the furnace’s condition to the engines, transformers, and switchboards, the solemn machinery he always saw continued their flawless, perpetual motion. Mr. Yajima could discern the condition of each key part at a glance. To his eyes, even those intricate machines appeared as nothing but extremely simple things. After making his rounds, he escaped the roaring din of the machinery and stepped outside, where the soft April light brushed against his cheek.

Mr. Yajima walked quietly around the large reservoir. And suddenly his gaze was drawn to the janitor’s room across the way. Hirata was absorbed in reading a book of dramatic tales alone.

Mr. Yajima cast a restless gaze about. Then he quietly went over to Hirata’s side.

“Heh heh heh. Good day,” said Hirata, closing his book and bowing his head.

“How have things been lately?” Mr. Yajima asked in a somewhat distracted tone. “No, it’s been hopeless from the start.” “I just think being able to live like this is a blessed happiness.”

"But you always seem so carefree." "Heh heh heh. Once you reach this age, you've got to resign yourself completely." "The world ain't exactly brimming with nothing but interesting things." "You'll understand once you've lived just a little while." "I've done quite a variety of things in my time—found 'em interesting right then, but afterward they all just seem foolish." "And you get used to things quick enough."

Mr. Yajima gazed at Hirata’s slightly pockmarked face with its thick eyebrows and ruddy complexion. Then, with an uneasy gaze, he swept his eyes around the room. The room that had been given some care after Iwata’s death had become slightly grimy again unbeknownst to anyone. Moreover, since Hirata was a bachelor, the place appeared even more cluttered and in disarray. There were stains on the tatami mats, and dirty work clothes lay strewn about. And through that high window, a shaft of brightness streamed into the room in the same manner.

“I was just about to start cleaning,” said Hirata, shrinking under Mr. Yajima’s gaze. “Forgive me for showin’ you such a cluttered, dirty place.” “Isn’t this room uncomfortable to live in?” “Ah, for folks like us, it’s more’n enough.” “Long as they let us eat ’n’ sleep, that’s plenty.” Mr. Yajima raised his eyes again to the window. And he remembered the words Iwata had murmured during his long convalescence—“That window was a real blessing.”

"That window is truly a blessing," Mr. Yajima found himself repeating in his heart. When he became aware of this, an indescribable anxiety assailed him. "But young folks shouldn't get all extravagant-like," he said. "Whenever my daughter comes 'round, she always scolds me about how filthy it is." "I hear you've got a good daughter."

“She’s a hopeless woman, I tell ya.… Even if you hit her, she just carries on shameless.” “Not that I hit her much anymore, mind—just that I’ve gone old and lost my strength.” “Heh heh heh. Lately it’s me getting ordered about instead.” “Get to our age, you can’t keep up with youngsters nohow.” “…Though credit where due—she does send me spending money now ’n’ then.” “Never asked what she’s at, but says she’s working some eatery—doubt it’s decent work.” “Turned into a proper hag years back, yet still got the gall to carry on so.”

“How can you not feel lonely like that?”

“Heh heh heh. Once you’ve gotten like this, a little loneliness ain’t nothin’ at all.” “Carefree living’s the best medicine, I tell ya.”

Mr. Yajima once again looked around the room. Then he suddenly said. “Oh, I interrupted you.” “Not at all, I tell ya.” And Hirata gauged Mr. Yajima’s expression. “Please forgive me for blathering on about such trivial matters.” Mr. Yajima left the spot as if fleeing. And when he reached the reservoir, he shook his head once or twice as if to cast off some lingering guilt. But he simply headed back to the office.

VI

The day Hideo departed for Tokyo was a strangely chilly one. Though his mother had tried to stop him by suggesting he postpone it one more day, he said he had plans and promptly finished preparing. "You go see him off at the station," Mr. Yajima said to Shinkichi. "I may go by rickshaw too, right? Hey, Father!" Shinkichi exclaimed joyfully. "What do you mean? We'll walk. Go with Fumiko." "Are you going too, Sis?" Shinkichi asked, making a puzzled face as he looked at his sister.

“Fumiko, you go along too,” Mr. Yajima said to Fumiko, who had been silent. “The three of you siblings should take a leisurely walk there. You should just send the luggage ahead.” “I suppose so,” Hideo said, shooting a sharp glance at his father. “Well then, let’s go as the three of us. I’ll treat you all at the station.” Tsuneko and Fumiko exchanged somewhat odd smiles, but in the end, it was decided that the three siblings would go out together. And Mr. Yajima followed Tsuneko and saw everyone off to the entrance.

“Well then, I’ll take my leave,” Hideo said, bowing before his father.

“Ah,” answered Mr. Yajima.

When they exited the gate, Fumiko approached Hideo’s side.

“Father’s acting strange today, don’t you think?” “He’s not acting strange.” “But…,” Fumiko started to say, but then fell silent and glanced at Shinkichi.

After the three had left, Mr. Yajima returned to the tea room. "Everyone's grown up so much." "Of course they've grown up," said Tsuneko with a serene smile. "We've reached a certain age ourselves." That's right—I've reached a certain age. But I haven't grown senile yet.

“Hohoho, I can’t have myself going senile just yet.” “But you’ve grown downright grandmotherly-looking.”

“Do you think so?” said Tsuneko, blinking her eyes. However, she was smiling serenely within her heart.

A strange chill of loneliness swept over Mr. Yajima’s heart. Then he stood up and went into his study.

The thinly overcast spring day reflected through the glass-paned doors, filling the room with shadowless brightness. Built into walls painted pale hues to Mr. Yajima’s preference, bookshelves stood packed with Western volumes and Japanese tomes. Before them loomed a large desk, while at the room’s center sat a round table. On the front wall hung an imposing portrait of his deceased father; on the left-hand wall, framed photographs of various Western scientists. Mr. Yajima swept his gaze across them before sinking into the armchair before the desk.

"Lately, I felt threatened by something. But I didn't know what it was," Mr. Yajima thought. "I believed I had done a full-fledged job. And now that my business had finally stabilized, what on earth was this feeling? As my life stabilized, my heart grew unstable…" Mr. Yajima's life was stable. Mr. Yajima was conscious of the honor, wealth, and power within himself. He thought of his company. He thought of the many people working there and the mighty machines. He thought of the immense electric power created daily by his own will. Then he thought of the numerous factories receiving that electric power, the tens of thousands of households at night, and his own power built upon them. Indeed, for Mr. Yajima, his business was not merely a profit-driven endeavor. It was the dynamic function of a living personality into which will, power, and life were woven.

"I am a pillar of society," he declared to himself. "But lately I find myself wanting something." Where does this desire come from? "Or perhaps I’m growing weary of my current life…"

When he had thought that far, Mr. Yajima was seized by a great contradiction. He became aware almost simultaneously that he felt no weariness in his own heart and that the hues of weariness had grown deeper around his life. At that moment, the figures of various people floated up before his eyes. "They have no need for me anymore... Yet I—I feel as though I have some need for them." Mr. Yajima kept his eyes firmly lowered. Hideo was no longer mine. Sasao too had no use for me. Hirata was the same. Iwata had died without asking anything of me. And likely, the many people I currently employ, and those in this town living under my shadow, hold no demands toward me either. And yet... I—my heart—have some need for them. What need that might be, I cannot clearly say, but regardless, I have some need for them. I am not unrelated to them.

“I feel some need for them… But have they ever asked anything of me…?”

When Mr. Yajima said this to himself, his heart grew troubled. It felt as though he saw his own soul—poignantly isolated—placed within a desolate expanse. At that moment, he looked up steadily at the portrait of his deceased father. The muscles of his cheek spasmodically contorted into a face that looked about to burst into tears. But soon he hung his head heavily again.

“Do you think if Father were still alive…?”

When he saw Tsuneko's face, Mr. Yajima posed this question. Tsuneko struggled to fully grasp his meaning and simply studied her husband’s expression.

“Have you never thought such a thing?”

“I do often think that indeed. But since your father passed away happily, I too am happy.” “Yes, he died happily. But what is it…” Mr. Yajima began, then tilted his head as though trying to gather his thoughts. “He was a good father.” “How can you speak that way about the deceased?”

“Since when is it forbidden to speak of the dead?” “But you speak as if mocking someone.” “Don’t talk nonsense—you could never understand what I mean.”

Tsuneko fixedly lowered her eyes. And she said. "You’ve been rather strange lately." "Is there something troubling you?" "You sit alone thinking all the time without saying a word - I’m truly worried." "Well, being alive means having things to think about." "But isn’t there something troubling you?" "There’s nothing to worry about." "...Just seem slightly unwell."

“Then how about retiring to bed?” “Sleeping would be most beneficial for your mind.” Mr. Yajima gazed intently at his wife’s face as she spoke these words, but soon turned the conversation to other matters.

“They’re all terribly late.” “But it’s not yet time for the train, is it? Moreover, since it’s just Fumiko and Shinkichi alone together, there’s no telling what places they might wander around before coming back.” “That’s fine.”

However, Mr. Yajima went to bed early that evening. He suddenly recalled how Fumiko and Shinkichi, who had returned that evening, had been chattering away to Tsuneko about various things, but Mr. Yajima forced himself to brush it aside and drifted into sleep. He felt some sort of utterly exhausted sensation within himself.

Feeling a senseless nightmare of dissolving substance, Mr. Yajima awoke in midnight's depth. Half-entangled in dream residue, he snapped his eyes open. Absolute stillness reigned - not even a moth's flutter disturbed the silence. A two-candlepower bulb cast watery light through the chamber. Then it struck him - a primal dread vibrating through the room's atoms - and his body convulsed. But the terror evaporated like ether. Night and stillness came lapping back against his consciousness. His gaze hooked on Tsuneko's form sprawled across the adjacent futon. Her jaw hung slack, neck bent at an awkward angle against the pillow, submerged in fathomless sleep. Eyes sealed beneath puffy lids. Dimness pooled in the gullies of her cheek-wrinkles. Decades of powder had leached the blood from her skin, leaving a waxen pallor that seemed to hover above her facial epidermis like mist.

Mr. Yajima stared fixedly at that face. And in his mind appeared the figure of a woman who had aged peacefully. A tranquility indifferent to everything enveloped her. She had given birth to four children and raised three of them. She had watched life as it unfolded. She had probably desired nothing, perhaps gained nothing, and perhaps had outlived her purpose in life—yet within her something had settled: the weight of a life lived through years, the female body that bore it.

A vague fear surged through Mr. Yajima’s heart. He stared as if devouring his wife’s sleeping face. He fancied he heard a gurgling, eerie sound from the pit of his stomach.

Mr. Yajima involuntarily said, “Hey.” And again he said, “Hey.” At that moment, Tsuneko’s eyebrows twitched slightly and she shifted her body a little. Mr. Yajima started and abruptly pulled the futon over himself. He remained perfectly still for a long time, as if frightened by something. And feeling a distant ache in the core of his head, he remained in that state until sinking into a painful sleep...

The next day, Mr. Yajima became aware that his mind was in a state of utter bewilderment. He tried recalling the night’s events as if they belonged to the distant past, but those memories quickly grew indistinct in the bright daylight. Then he left for the company at his usual hour. At that moment, as he walked bathed in April light, Mr. Yajima dimly conceived the idea of keeping a diary from then on. He himself did not know how long he could maintain it. "But at any rate, I’ll try starting a diary today." Mr. Yajima raised his right hand and twisted his mustache. Finding even himself strangely amused by this gesture, he glanced all around. The spring sun was shining across the breadth of the earth.